Simply put, it's pretty damn amazing. Here's hoping....
(Illustrator Greg Halbert created this illustration - I love it.)
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Obama
Simply put, it's pretty damn amazing. Here's hoping....
(Illustrator Greg Halbert created this illustration - I love it.)
Friday, January 16, 2009
US Airways V. Big Bird
I don't know about you, but I was much more fascinated by yesterday's US Airways crash into the Hudson, than I was about Bush's farewell speech. ABC News' Liz Cho (whose hair frighteningly stayed intact as she bobbed her head in disbelief) reported the incident last night being sure to inform the masses of exactly how horrific this crash could have been. Experts say a bird flying into an engine could potentially cause catastrophic damage, let alone several of them. Luckily, everyone got out safely and all survived, some with very minor injuries... with that said:
What a set of BALLS on these birds, no? Last time I checked, the sound of a passing car, a fire engine, the quiet clap of an infant was enough to send a bird running for cover... let alone a fucking jet engine! I guess the flock was too busy trying to make the perfect "V" to notice the giant jet behind them when 2 of them bit it. Interestingly, one Ms. Converse out of Yardville, NJ alerted authorities (me), via email earlier today, of exactly who is now the prime suspect in the case, one "Big... Bird". Witnesses were reported to have said "It was big. It was loud... It was awful." Fascinating, right?! Given this dramatic chain of events, I've decided to conduct my own investigation.
Upon extensive phone calls, googling, and visits to the U.N., it turns out that said "Bird" had an accomplice. ABC News' Liz Cho reports: "If you see this man....."
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
I think I froze a nipple...
So it's no big surprise that this week is supposed to be cold as fuck. Note to selves: Friday's high is supposed to be 14 degrees. Anyway, I was on my way to work today when, walking from Rockefeller Center (where the express bus leaves me in the am) to the 50th street 1 train station, I was in physical pain. Of course I was walking against the direction the wind was blowing... hence the quasi-frozen nipplage. However, I thought of the perfect remedy to this week of bitter, brutal cold....
Alcohol.
I have a question I need answered though... (The 3 people in the world who actually read my drivel can either email me or post their answers in the comments section.) If you were to mix up the following:
A shot of Coconut Rum
A shot of Blue Curacao (Orange liqueur dyed blue)
Splash of club soda
Would you prefer passion fruit, mango, or pineapple juice as your main ingredient? What would make the nipple, that wasn't frozen on the walk to your door, stand up at full salute?
Alcohol.
I have a question I need answered though... (The 3 people in the world who actually read my drivel can either email me or post their answers in the comments section.) If you were to mix up the following:
A shot of Coconut Rum
A shot of Blue Curacao (Orange liqueur dyed blue)
Splash of club soda
Would you prefer passion fruit, mango, or pineapple juice as your main ingredient? What would make the nipple, that wasn't frozen on the walk to your door, stand up at full salute?
Friday, January 9, 2009
"B*tch, gimme ma' kidney!"
Alright, every once in a while some absolutely fucking ridiculous news story breaks out of Long Island that just makes me proud, proud, proud to have been raised in such a fine place. Take, for example, one Richard Batista from Massapequa. This poor son of a bitch donated a kidney to his soon-to-be ex-wife back in 2001 and is currently insisting she either give it back to him, or at the very least pay him $1.5 million. Wow. Now, I've dealt with some nasty breakups in the past and gone back for ooooh a portable dvd player, a Calvin Klein shirt that clearly fit me better, the good porn, you know - all reasonable shit. It turns out that Batista's, quite unattractive, philandering wife happened to be banging her physical therapist, but in all reality, what the hell is he going to do? Pay tens of thousands of dollars in medical bills to hack himself up and put the fucking thing back in? I'm thinking it's something in the water out there... Have you seen the Long Island Sound? It ain't pretty. This is warning to all my friends and family back in L.I. Do yourselves a favor - switch to Poland Spring.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Pearrrrrrl Cream
Does anyone else remember this idiotic infomercial? Of course you do. It was huge in the 80s and I've made it my mission today to figure out what the hell happened to little Nancy Kwan. Although I haven't seen any of the movies she claims to have been so popular in (What the hell was "Nobu How"?), I'm intrigued. People like Ron Popeil and his Pasta Maker, Food Dehydrator, and Rotisserie Machine from hell fascinate me. How the hell did they become so successful hocking this shit that's basically completely useless after 2 tries? Well, I have to admit I own the rotisserie, though it's sitting in my grandmother's apartment in brooklyn... I live in Queens... we ain't got the counter space. Hahaha, I love how when I mention queens my writing skills go in the toilet. Anyway, sitting at my desk here at work I'm thinking I need to invent something... something good. Something tasty perhaps? I don't know. I have all of the manufacturing contacts in China through this job. Hmmm... If anybody has any ideas, holla' at a brutha!
Ummm, I just IMDB'd Nancy Kwan: "Nobu How" = "Noble House" Ooops
Ummm, I just IMDB'd Nancy Kwan: "Nobu How" = "Noble House" Ooops
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Adios '08!
Let's hope 2009 will be filled with less stress, more money, less drama, more cocktails, and lastly let's just hope it's a whole lot fucking better than last year. Here are my top 5 highlights of '08:
#5: "It's Halloween, bitch."
Every year we host it and have a pretty damn good time, but there was something about rockin' a beaded cornrow wig, a velvet open-chested red blazer, and calling everyone in the room a 'bitch' that really did it for me. Ahhh good times, and this year's party favors were priceless too (See Facebook's 70s-80s Hits album) - next year's theme is 80s television shows... be warned, bitches.
#4: "My 'Lifealert' is on back-order."
Ok, not to beat a dead horse, but yes I turned 30 this year. I was eased into it with a helluva lot of drinking and some pretty great people too. The joint pain's started and the gray hairs are a-sproutin', but it's all well and good. I got some pretty amazing gifts too, which I really didn't expect at all (ie. I actually own something from Gucci - and it's fucking REAL! Thanks, baby), and I definitely owe all of you guys. There are still a few of you out there that haven't yet hit the quasi-milestone, but I'll be sure to welcome ya to the club - or kick you the fuck out if you get carded at the bar and I don't.
#3: "My mother can text... sort of."
I swear to god, new technology - scratch that... technology that was invented circa 1990 and beyond it basically completely fucking foreign to my mother. She's a relatively young mom at 49 years old, but has yet to grasp simple concepts like AIM, a dvd player vs. VCR, and the fact that you can purchase clothing from establishments other than Kohls. My sister, at 12 years old is very much aware of these things and is slowly trying to bring my mother out of the cave. She texted me for the first time a few months back with a simple "Hi, how are you? Love, Mom" (Oh yes, each text is in letter form), to which I responded with "I'm fine - I'm at work". Now most semi-proficient texters would respond with something like "have fun with that" or "lol, hahaha, (insert stupid fucking texting shortcut here) that sucks" or "oh, Im sorry".. or maybe even no response at all. My mother on the other hand responds to all text like she does an IM - with a phonecall. Now, is it just me, or does anyone else find this strange? She'll text me with "Hi baby" and follow it up with a 25 minute phone call telling me about my stepfather's gas problem. I've since taken to texting my 12-year-old sister instead and using her as a conduit to deal with her, but we'll see if 2009 throws a wrench in that plan...
#2: "Rock the Vote! Then have a Baconator"
I had to drag my ass all the way out to Long Island to vote, because I never changed the address on my license and didn't fill out an absentee ballot in time. It's the same place I voted last election and nothing's really changed at all. It's a very small, somewhat smelly, elementary school that apparently even at 8pm is filled with screaming misbehaved little mongrels some might call children. I had a mission: I wanted to do my part and vote hoping that Señor Obama could do this country some good, and basically just get the fuck out of there. I'm on line and this slew of elderly women are ushering people to the correct table, line, booth etc. This little older black woman looks at me and asks "Hello, how are you? Your last name?" I tell her and she points me to the correct table. I start to walk there and she stops me, "Excuse me, you were here last time right? I remember your face." I tell her yes, ummm 4 years ago in the last election?" She responds with "Oh.. you mean you weren't here before then?" I tell her no, very confused. She looks at me and says, "Well, you look familiar to me. Oh well, hell, I guess we all look alike... Next!" What the fuck was that? I know I'm probably one of 3 ethnic faces in that entire town, but grandma really threw me for a loop. Anyway, I voted - I did my part, and immediately celebrated with a big fat Baconator from Wendy's. It's my new celebratory meal for any significant event. You should try it.
#1: "(Cue the harps) The Margaritaville Frozen Concoction Maker was made by Jesus himself."
There's a line in 'Interview with the Vampire' that goes, "He never knew what life was till it ran out in a red gush over his lips". Only in my case, I never knew what life was till I got brain-freeze 4 fucking days in a row 'cause I can't stop making these goddamn things. This machine is genius. You can make margaritas, piña coladas, and basically any frozen slushy drink and add alcohol to it. Not even the 15 degree weather stopped me. I was determined to get my drink on, and that motherfucker needed to be frozen. I haven't yet mastered how to drink it without chugging the damn thing, but I'm learning. I've made frozen amaretto sours, frozen strawberry daiquiris with banana schnapps, frozen blue raspberry coladas... good lord the possibilities are endless, and I've just begun.
Ok, I've been writing way too long and haven't eaten so I'm getting a little irritable. Be well, fools and I'll see you in the new year. I hope... not... sporadically!
[5 bucks to the first person who emails me with the movie that line's from. :)]
#5: "It's Halloween, bitch."
Every year we host it and have a pretty damn good time, but there was something about rockin' a beaded cornrow wig, a velvet open-chested red blazer, and calling everyone in the room a 'bitch' that really did it for me. Ahhh good times, and this year's party favors were priceless too (See Facebook's 70s-80s Hits album) - next year's theme is 80s television shows... be warned, bitches.
#4: "My 'Lifealert' is on back-order."
Ok, not to beat a dead horse, but yes I turned 30 this year. I was eased into it with a helluva lot of drinking and some pretty great people too. The joint pain's started and the gray hairs are a-sproutin', but it's all well and good. I got some pretty amazing gifts too, which I really didn't expect at all (ie. I actually own something from Gucci - and it's fucking REAL! Thanks, baby), and I definitely owe all of you guys. There are still a few of you out there that haven't yet hit the quasi-milestone, but I'll be sure to welcome ya to the club - or kick you the fuck out if you get carded at the bar and I don't.
#3: "My mother can text... sort of."
I swear to god, new technology - scratch that... technology that was invented circa 1990 and beyond it basically completely fucking foreign to my mother. She's a relatively young mom at 49 years old, but has yet to grasp simple concepts like AIM, a dvd player vs. VCR, and the fact that you can purchase clothing from establishments other than Kohls. My sister, at 12 years old is very much aware of these things and is slowly trying to bring my mother out of the cave. She texted me for the first time a few months back with a simple "Hi, how are you? Love, Mom" (Oh yes, each text is in letter form), to which I responded with "I'm fine - I'm at work". Now most semi-proficient texters would respond with something like "have fun with that" or "lol, hahaha, (insert stupid fucking texting shortcut here) that sucks" or "oh, Im sorry".. or maybe even no response at all. My mother on the other hand responds to all text like she does an IM - with a phonecall. Now, is it just me, or does anyone else find this strange? She'll text me with "Hi baby" and follow it up with a 25 minute phone call telling me about my stepfather's gas problem. I've since taken to texting my 12-year-old sister instead and using her as a conduit to deal with her, but we'll see if 2009 throws a wrench in that plan...
#2: "Rock the Vote! Then have a Baconator"
I had to drag my ass all the way out to Long Island to vote, because I never changed the address on my license and didn't fill out an absentee ballot in time. It's the same place I voted last election and nothing's really changed at all. It's a very small, somewhat smelly, elementary school that apparently even at 8pm is filled with screaming misbehaved little mongrels some might call children. I had a mission: I wanted to do my part and vote hoping that Señor Obama could do this country some good, and basically just get the fuck out of there. I'm on line and this slew of elderly women are ushering people to the correct table, line, booth etc. This little older black woman looks at me and asks "Hello, how are you? Your last name?" I tell her and she points me to the correct table. I start to walk there and she stops me, "Excuse me, you were here last time right? I remember your face." I tell her yes, ummm 4 years ago in the last election?" She responds with "Oh.. you mean you weren't here before then?" I tell her no, very confused. She looks at me and says, "Well, you look familiar to me. Oh well, hell, I guess we all look alike... Next!" What the fuck was that? I know I'm probably one of 3 ethnic faces in that entire town, but grandma really threw me for a loop. Anyway, I voted - I did my part, and immediately celebrated with a big fat Baconator from Wendy's. It's my new celebratory meal for any significant event. You should try it.
#1: "(Cue the harps) The Margaritaville Frozen Concoction Maker was made by Jesus himself."
There's a line in 'Interview with the Vampire' that goes, "He never knew what life was till it ran out in a red gush over his lips". Only in my case, I never knew what life was till I got brain-freeze 4 fucking days in a row 'cause I can't stop making these goddamn things. This machine is genius. You can make margaritas, piña coladas, and basically any frozen slushy drink and add alcohol to it. Not even the 15 degree weather stopped me. I was determined to get my drink on, and that motherfucker needed to be frozen. I haven't yet mastered how to drink it without chugging the damn thing, but I'm learning. I've made frozen amaretto sours, frozen strawberry daiquiris with banana schnapps, frozen blue raspberry coladas... good lord the possibilities are endless, and I've just begun.
Ok, I've been writing way too long and haven't eaten so I'm getting a little irritable. Be well, fools and I'll see you in the new year. I hope... not... sporadically!
[5 bucks to the first person who emails me with the movie that line's from. :)]
Thursday, September 11, 2008
September 11th
Well... normally, I'd be bitching, complaining, or pointing out some other ridiculous situation I've put myself in recently, but I still can't get my head around the fact that it's been 7 years since I was stuck in my boss' apartment wathcing "Alive" with his wife at 3am. The subways and LIRR weren't running that day; I had no cell reception, and thusly nowhere to go. Joe insisted that I stay with him and his family until it was all over. Holy shit was that a mistake. Some part of me would have welcomed a confrontation with the Taliban just so I wouldn't be subjected to the antics of that entire fucked up family. Let me paint a picture for you:
We leave the office, sometime in the early afternoon and walk to his multi-million dollar apartment on Riverside Drive. The reason I noted the "million-dollar apt." is that upon entering the apartment, you would have thought this family was eligible for low-income housing. None of the furniture matched. There was a half-dead ficus in the corner looming over animal-destroyed sofa, and the 50" flat screen television was propped up by a broken wooden footstool. I shit you not - it was awful. I don't have a fraction of what these people have, and my Walmart linens are in better shape than this. We sat there watching the horrific videos of the towers and all of that looped CNN footage till I basically wanted to stab myself with the switchblade that was resting on the kitchen counter. (I don't know why it was there either.) His friend from Germany was planning on staying that night also which meant that sleeping arrangements were going to get a little tricky. I stayed awake watching bad television for most of the night when my boss' wife, Robin, couldn't sleep either. We sat up watching "Alive" on HBO or Cinemax or some shit. Granted, probably not the most appropriate thing to be watching, but at this point I need to find a happy place - even if that place is on a mountain in the Andes ready to fry up my best friend's ass cheeks for food.... it happens.
To make a long story shorter, I ended up sleeping in a twin-sized pink Barbie bed, complete with Barbie canopy. (The daughter left to sleep with her parents.) My fat ass could barely fit under the sheets, much less my feet, that dangled at the ends like two giant half-wrapped hershey bars. When I woke up there was a 3 year old that desperately wanted me to play 'house'. Fuck that. I gave it a go for about 10 mins before the reality set in.... I'm in my boss' apartment, desperately in need of a shower, and I have a 3 year old girl looking at me like I'm a fucking Teletubby come to life for the sole purpose of entertaining her. My shoes were by the front door so I had to tip-toe out without anyone hearing me. I instructed the little girl to give her doll a new hairstyle until I got back (clearly the makers of this doll thought it was 1988 - it was awful), so she was taken care of. I get about 4 feet from my shoes when I see freedom actually within reach until... about a foot away from the door knob, I step in a giant puddle of cold fucking dog piss.. Not warm, cold - apparently an overnight gift left by their little pooch. I took off my socks and stuffed them in the garbage can, grabbed my shit, and was almost out the door when I see Robin walking out of the bedroom. "I'm making chocolate-chip pancakes? Where you going?"... Fuck. Who am I to turn down pancakes... chocolate chip even. So, I sat and ate quietly still not believing like the events of the day prior had actually happened. Not the towers.. I slept in a fucking Barbie bed! Ok, yeah the towers. It was completely fucking surreal, and after I'd had my pancakes, I was getting the fuck out and on my way home where I belonged.
I actually have no memory of getting home, probably from the lack of sleep the night before. However, I will take with me this - If I EVER find myself in a situation like that again, national attack or otherwise, I will walk, steal, hitchhike, hijack a fucking car if I have to. Life's too short and if it's my time to go, it won't be in the presence of these crazy sons of bitches.
Over and out.
We leave the office, sometime in the early afternoon and walk to his multi-million dollar apartment on Riverside Drive. The reason I noted the "million-dollar apt." is that upon entering the apartment, you would have thought this family was eligible for low-income housing. None of the furniture matched. There was a half-dead ficus in the corner looming over animal-destroyed sofa, and the 50" flat screen television was propped up by a broken wooden footstool. I shit you not - it was awful. I don't have a fraction of what these people have, and my Walmart linens are in better shape than this. We sat there watching the horrific videos of the towers and all of that looped CNN footage till I basically wanted to stab myself with the switchblade that was resting on the kitchen counter. (I don't know why it was there either.) His friend from Germany was planning on staying that night also which meant that sleeping arrangements were going to get a little tricky. I stayed awake watching bad television for most of the night when my boss' wife, Robin, couldn't sleep either. We sat up watching "Alive" on HBO or Cinemax or some shit. Granted, probably not the most appropriate thing to be watching, but at this point I need to find a happy place - even if that place is on a mountain in the Andes ready to fry up my best friend's ass cheeks for food.... it happens.
To make a long story shorter, I ended up sleeping in a twin-sized pink Barbie bed, complete with Barbie canopy. (The daughter left to sleep with her parents.) My fat ass could barely fit under the sheets, much less my feet, that dangled at the ends like two giant half-wrapped hershey bars. When I woke up there was a 3 year old that desperately wanted me to play 'house'. Fuck that. I gave it a go for about 10 mins before the reality set in.... I'm in my boss' apartment, desperately in need of a shower, and I have a 3 year old girl looking at me like I'm a fucking Teletubby come to life for the sole purpose of entertaining her. My shoes were by the front door so I had to tip-toe out without anyone hearing me. I instructed the little girl to give her doll a new hairstyle until I got back (clearly the makers of this doll thought it was 1988 - it was awful), so she was taken care of. I get about 4 feet from my shoes when I see freedom actually within reach until... about a foot away from the door knob, I step in a giant puddle of cold fucking dog piss.. Not warm, cold - apparently an overnight gift left by their little pooch. I took off my socks and stuffed them in the garbage can, grabbed my shit, and was almost out the door when I see Robin walking out of the bedroom. "I'm making chocolate-chip pancakes? Where you going?"... Fuck. Who am I to turn down pancakes... chocolate chip even. So, I sat and ate quietly still not believing like the events of the day prior had actually happened. Not the towers.. I slept in a fucking Barbie bed! Ok, yeah the towers. It was completely fucking surreal, and after I'd had my pancakes, I was getting the fuck out and on my way home where I belonged.
I actually have no memory of getting home, probably from the lack of sleep the night before. However, I will take with me this - If I EVER find myself in a situation like that again, national attack or otherwise, I will walk, steal, hitchhike, hijack a fucking car if I have to. Life's too short and if it's my time to go, it won't be in the presence of these crazy sons of bitches.
Over and out.
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