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. :)]
Saturday, January 3, 2009
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.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
Shepherd One
At the risk of sounding mean (thought I should probably use that preemptive phrase at the beginning of all of my blog posts), does anyone else find it hilarious and rig-goddamn-diculous that the name of the plane that flies the Pope from Point A (Vatican City) to Point B (Anywhere else and vice-versa) has been officially named "Shepherd One"? I swear to god, I was waiting for X-Zibit to come out of the plane and show me all the plasma tvs and Vatican bling they've got on display, but no. Instead I got almost an hour of fucking news commentary.
I'm watching tv quietly on a sunday night after having just finished dinner, when I put on CBS to watch Big Brother (no judgments, please) and I get the view of the Pope's ass ever-so-slowly ascending the stairs to board "Shepherd One". Now, Shepherd One has a big fat airbrushed logo on the side of it that reads 'Alitalia'. Last time I checked that was an actual airline that flew out of italy. There was no crucifix on the wing, no little shepherd decals pasted on the inside of the windows... just a regular plane that happened to hold a lot of robed men with italian accents. Maybe it's because it was Sunday night and the impending doom of Monday wasn't far away, but for christ's sake, let me watch my show, please. I missed the entire thing and had to watch a re-aired version at midnight. It's all well and good that he came to visit and say "God Bless You" to the masses, but did every waking moment need to be televised?
I'm hoping SNL does a skit.
God Bless.
I'm watching tv quietly on a sunday night after having just finished dinner, when I put on CBS to watch Big Brother (no judgments, please) and I get the view of the Pope's ass ever-so-slowly ascending the stairs to board "Shepherd One". Now, Shepherd One has a big fat airbrushed logo on the side of it that reads 'Alitalia'. Last time I checked that was an actual airline that flew out of italy. There was no crucifix on the wing, no little shepherd decals pasted on the inside of the windows... just a regular plane that happened to hold a lot of robed men with italian accents. Maybe it's because it was Sunday night and the impending doom of Monday wasn't far away, but for christ's sake, let me watch my show, please. I missed the entire thing and had to watch a re-aired version at midnight. It's all well and good that he came to visit and say "God Bless You" to the masses, but did every waking moment need to be televised?
I'm hoping SNL does a skit.
God Bless.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Sevs
Just a few fun facts about good old 7-Eleven:
If you're from Long Island, you know you've begged your parents to take you for slurpies, and you've probably had a late night run-in (at some point) with a dirtydog (they call them hotdogs), some burnt coffee, or even one of the pseudo-meat sandwiches. Oh, and we can't forget about the congregation of one or two groups of people - the motorcyclists, or complete fucking losers who use the parking lot as a meeting place, or perhaps to induct new members into their highly elite little club. It is what it is, but thought you all might be interested in a little not-so-well-known info about the establishment:
The Busiest Location Is:
Samutprakarn, Thailand
The Busiest Location in U.S. Is:
East Quogue (Long Island), N.Y.!!!
Fun Facts:
There are over 7,500 7-Eleven stores in North America and 33,700 globally.
7-Eleven's birthday is on July 11 (7-11), and the stores used to operate from 7 a.m. to 11.p.m.
Who? What? Where? Who’s buying the most 7-Eleven stuff? The answer is – the most Slurpee® beverages in the world are purchased in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada; and for the United States, it’s the Greater Detroit Area; hot dogs in Washington, D.C., coffee on Long Island, nachos in Colorado, Big Gulp® drinks in Las Vegas and Utah.
If you're from Long Island, you know you've begged your parents to take you for slurpies, and you've probably had a late night run-in (at some point) with a dirtydog (they call them hotdogs), some burnt coffee, or even one of the pseudo-meat sandwiches. Oh, and we can't forget about the congregation of one or two groups of people - the motorcyclists, or complete fucking losers who use the parking lot as a meeting place, or perhaps to induct new members into their highly elite little club. It is what it is, but thought you all might be interested in a little not-so-well-known info about the establishment:
The Busiest Location Is:
Samutprakarn, Thailand
The Busiest Location in U.S. Is:
East Quogue (Long Island), N.Y.!!!
Fun Facts:
There are over 7,500 7-Eleven stores in North America and 33,700 globally.
7-Eleven's birthday is on July 11 (7-11), and the stores used to operate from 7 a.m. to 11.p.m.
Who? What? Where? Who’s buying the most 7-Eleven stuff? The answer is – the most Slurpee® beverages in the world are purchased in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada; and for the United States, it’s the Greater Detroit Area; hot dogs in Washington, D.C., coffee on Long Island, nachos in Colorado, Big Gulp® drinks in Las Vegas and Utah.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Wheel of Misfortune
I sincerely hate this show. The only real pleasure I get out of it is watching people make asinine mistakes and lose all of their money. Is that evil? Does that make me a bad person? I was laying down in the bedroom relaxing when I heard a loud gasp coming from the living room. It was John, horrified that this man, Scott, had just asked for an "N" after having landed on $3500 on the wheel. To his surprise, there were 4 N's. His $3500 wheel spin was immediately followed by a big fat honkin' BANKRUPT. (Insert gasp here) John comes running in to tell me what happened, and while I could honestly give a shit about Wheel of Fortune, I lept to my feet to see the expression on his face after having just won and lost $14,000 in a matter of 40 seconds. Sadly, I had missed it... and here I am... blogging about my joy in watching someone lose money that really wasn't theirs to begin with. Maybe I'm just bitter and wish it was me that won it. Maybe it's just that I'm exhausted from a long day of dealing with an office full of complete fucking imbeciles. Oh well.... I'm going back to the show. With any luck, Megan (barefoot and desperately in need of some rhinoplasty) will win a little cash. Looks like she could use it.
Death Bus
So there's this regular, or so it seems, MTA bus that makes it way around the corner at 157th Ave. and Cross Bay Blvd. Just about once or twice a month, I catch a glimpse of it on my way out of Blockbuster or CVS or some other irritating store I dread making the weekly pilgrimage to on my weekend off. This bus is never occupied by more than 6 or 7 people... who all look DEAD. Oh, I'm not kidding. They're not just old and lonely. They're not just tired from a long 10-hour stretch working the nightshift... They're dead. No one is under 70 years old. One man might be asleep with his face against the glass, another woman might be hunched over with what seems like her head in her purse searching for something, except her eyes are closed. I've officially named it Death Bus. Though technically, I believe its the Q-Something... Q17? Some regular NYC Transit bus, only occupied by those who've quite obviously crossed over. The bus turns the corner from 157th onto Cross Bay... continues on up and makes a right onto Nassau Pkwy never to be seen again.......
On an otherwise average sunday afternoon, I really get excited to see it. John thinks I'm psychotic, but I'm telling you the truth. He's seen it - he knows what I'm talking about. The MTA has made some sort of deal with the Grim Reaper. Maybe he got lazy and was tired of lugging that heavy fucking scythe everywhere - who knows. Alright... Maybe they're not actually dead, ok, but it is quite remarkable how these people look like every ounce of life has been completely drained out of them and all they're left with is this shell of a body and not much to look forward to except pushing that little red button that signals the next stop..... the fucking afterlife. Although maybe they'll hit up the bakery first. There's this really great italian bakery on Cross Bay Blvd. right next to ACE Hardware. If you ever get a chance, order the Cannoli Cream Pie. Mmmmm good times, but I digress...
Next time any of you are in the area on an otherwise dull Sunday afternoon, check it out. It'll make the trip worth every penny.... just don't get on.
On an otherwise average sunday afternoon, I really get excited to see it. John thinks I'm psychotic, but I'm telling you the truth. He's seen it - he knows what I'm talking about. The MTA has made some sort of deal with the Grim Reaper. Maybe he got lazy and was tired of lugging that heavy fucking scythe everywhere - who knows. Alright... Maybe they're not actually dead, ok, but it is quite remarkable how these people look like every ounce of life has been completely drained out of them and all they're left with is this shell of a body and not much to look forward to except pushing that little red button that signals the next stop..... the fucking afterlife. Although maybe they'll hit up the bakery first. There's this really great italian bakery on Cross Bay Blvd. right next to ACE Hardware. If you ever get a chance, order the Cannoli Cream Pie. Mmmmm good times, but I digress...
Next time any of you are in the area on an otherwise dull Sunday afternoon, check it out. It'll make the trip worth every penny.... just don't get on.
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