Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Wonders if tomorrow is Jimmy Shaker Day.
That's fine and all, but two things: 1) Who the fuck is Jimmy Shaker and 2) HE HAD THIS STATUS MESSAGE UP FOR LIKE 6 MONTHS. I mean, how much can one wonder if today is Jimmy Shaker Day or not?
So I took some action. Some passive aggressive action. I put up a status message that read: TODAY IS NOT JIMMY SHAKER DAY which in turn prompted Fiddles to put up a status message that declared tomorrow (that'd be today now) JIMMY SHAKER DAY.
Crimenotes and Flop rejoiced (ok Flop got annoyed), and today we celebrated Jimmy Shaker Day by doing absolutely nothing and denying each other group chat invites. He [Jimmy] would have been proud. Thanks, Jim.
Note: For those absolutely confused by this post, you're not alone. I'm not sure I get it either, but I can share this with you which won't help at all:
(but Lt. Dan, you ain't got no legs! How can you point that gun at me, Lt. Dan?!)
Friday, April 25, 2008
My roommate Kate (yes, that one) and my roommate Miranda were taking their walk of shame when Kate found the need to relieve herself. Rather than going in the nearest bush, Kate had the brilliant idea to go use the bathroom in a random house. I suppose she was above squatting in the bushes.
The next morning Kate and Miranda were recounting their tale of breaking and entering to me. When I expressed my astonishment at Kate breaking in to a random house to use the bathroom while they were either asleep or away, she interrupts me to say, "Yeah well Miranda puked in their living room."
That's right folks! Imagine these poor folks awaking to all their toilet paper gone and a pile of puke in their living room the next morning. I only hope that someone there was black out drunk and woke up thinking that the puke was theirs and cleaned it up.
Wait, on second thought, that's still gross.
THESE ARE MY FRIENDS.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Sadly I've replaced going out with The Bachelor and triathlon training. I only try and go out one night a week to save some cash and when I do go out it usually involves nothing too exciting.
I think this blog hit it's peak last summer, and that makes me mildly sad, but still a little indifferent. I see new blogs,
Stick around if you like, if you are the type who are going to be leaving anonymous comments about "this blog sucks now" please go now. I'm not quitting, but I no longer have the desire to post everyday. Sure, there might be some weeks when I do post every day, but more than likely that won't be the case.
I have a feeling this blog will (d)evolve back into an outlet for my friends to keep track of me and less a forum for the masses to peak in on my drunken antics. And I'm ok with that.
Anyways...thanks for reading.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
- Ladies first, gentlemen - Yes, I know you're an asshole, but ladies should always get on and off the elevator before you. I'm not one for the antiquated laws of unnecessary chivalry, but this is one that pisses me off. Any guy that gets off before me is an asshole. There, I said it.
- Form a line - Too many times I have waited patiently for my elevator only to have some jackass with there Iced Decaf Triple Venti Soy 1 Pump Sugar Free Vanilla Latte (can you tell I used to work at Starbucks?) walk to the front of the line and get in first. Yes, I know there isn't a velvet rope, but it's common courtesy to let those who were there first board the elevator first. The best spots in the elevator are always the ones in the back anyways. You don't have to get out of the elevator to let anyone off ever!! This isn't the Titanic and there's enough room for everyone (most of the time), I know. But just do it. That brings me to my 3rd point...
- If you do get on last, get out of the way when people on lower floors need to get off - Nothing irks me more when the elevator doors open and the people closest to them just stare blankly up at the floor number expecting the people behind them to leap frog over them to get off their floor. Don't worry, asshat, the elevator won't leave without you despite me furiously pressing the "close door" button to leave you behind.
- No, there is not "room for one more" - I once was in a very crowded elevator as we stopped on every single floor on the way down (I can't even tell you how many times I have heard the, "this is the local elevator! Ha Ha Ha" when this happens). I was pretty sure we were filled to maximum capacity as this 300 lb brawd's fake Louis Vuitton was digging into my lower back. The doors open, and this guy, rather than just wait for the next elevator, literally pushed himself in. It was so cramped at this point that I'm pretty sure someone impregnated me. The best part was, the elevator stopped on the next floor and the same asshole was all, "SORRY NO MORE ROOM!" It was at that point when I thought about encouraging the people he denied to stand on his shoulders. Or maybe decapitation. Either one.
- If you see the elevator doors closing, don't throw your arm to get on - Sometimes you're running really late only to see the elevator doors closing on you. It happens to everyone. Well, friend, there are two kinds of people in this world. There are the people who let the doors close because they understand if they wanted that elevator, they should not have been late. Then there are the people who would throw the head of their first born in there to stop the elevator from going up. You see, every time you throw your arm in there, you are delaying the people who are in the elevator. You also could be the 5th person to throw your arm in there. That means the person who waited patiently for 5 minutes for this elevator because she refused to throw her arm in the door (that'd be me), now has to wait another 5 minutes as the doors re-open and close for every person willing to sacrifice their appendages to get on a fucking elevator. I am actually thinking about writing my local government to possibly get razor sharp knives installed on every elevator door in this city. They'll learn real fast that way.
- TAKE OFF YOUR BACKPACK
- Turn down your ear phones - Dude, you're gonna go deaf. When I can hear every word to Mary J Blige circa 1998, it's time for you to turn down the volume and get some new tunes. I suggest Rick Astley. If you're gonna make me listen to your music, at least let it be something I enjoy, and who doesn't enjoy a good Rick Roll?
- Take the fucking stairs, you fatass - There is a company in my building that works on the 3rd floor. I call them the "3rd Floor Fuckers". Every time I see someone come in and press that "3", I have to clench my teeth. How lazy are you? Take the fucking stairs. God created your bipedal legs. You know they're quite an efficient use of energy, right? Oh no, I forgot. You're the laziest sonofabitch I have ever seen in my life. And considering I see myself every day, that is saying something.
I want you all to study these very carefully. If not, you might see me in an elevator and I don't think you will appreciate the bitch-slap I'm gonna give to you if you don't follow my rules.
Coming next week....subway courtesy! GET PUMPED.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
I've again returned to watching, and let me tell you, it's fucking AWESOME. Let me share with you some observations:
- The Bachelor says "I can see myself falling in love with you." This would be fine and "romantic" and all, but he literally says this to every single girl. Most of these girls aren't as savvy as us New York ladies as we hear "Daayum, baby. I'd love you LONG time!" just walking down the street (usually from parking attendents, alcoholic bar patrons smoking outside, and of course, construction workers. The difference with these girls who hail from cities like Littleton, CO and Holland, MI, is that they actually believe him. I can honestly say I've thought "I could fall in love with this person" once, maybe twice in my lifetime. But hand a pretty boy with no personality 25 roses, and suddenly he's in love more than Cher.
- Every rose ceremony is "the most dramatic rose ceremony....EVER." Look, unless I see those bitches spittin' on each other, a la Flavor of Love or getting beejes in the bathroom a la Paradise Hotel, no one rose ceremony is more dramatic than the next. It's pretty formulaic. Boy gets rid of minorities first (can't bring them home to mom and dad....ick!), boy goes on one-on-one dates with blond Account Executives, Fashion Merchandisers, Real Estate Agents etc etc etc., girls look nervous throughout rose ceremony as their eyes well up with tears watching the women that "aren't there for him" get THEIR rose, and then proceed to get booted out the door as the tears really start flowing and they wonder about their "special connection" that the Bachelor claimed they shared. Asshole!
- If I went on this show, I'd be the one who gets drunk. First off, I'd be condescending as all hell which would not go over with my potential Prince Charming. I need sarcasm, sports, beer, and getting felt up in the bathroom NOT BCBG dresses, strappy sandals, perfectly coifed hair with highlights, french manicures, "romance", champagne, and a guy prettier than I am. I would then proceed to drink the champagne, however, because "alcohol is alcohol" where I'd get in a fight with the token black chick about how "real I am", hit on Chris during the Rose Ceremony, throw my drink down at the Bachelor's feet when I don't get a rose, throw my arms up in the air and shout, "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO", run outside, pass out in the bushes where there would be a single shot of my bare foot as the show fades to commercial. I would remain there til morning when the producers had to tell me "it's time for me to go" and roll my suitcase (filled only with Hawkeye sweatshirts and Chuck Taylors) right next to me.
- The dates are the stupidest things I have ever seen. No one does shit like that. Last night I witnessed a date where the Bachelor and his lady ate chocolate covered strawberries in candlelight on a rug (I'm only assuming it was bear skin). The only time I have ever ate anything on the ground is because I passed out there and I needed sustenance from the leftover crumbs from the pizza I shoved into my mouth at 3am the previous night. Plus fruit and chocolate is gross.
- All I ever want the women to do is fight. There is nothing better in the whole world. The cattier, the better.
- Watching people kiss on that show is more nauseating to me than Two Girls-One Cup.
- Why would anyone go on this show? I think the record for "love found on a reality show" might be like 1-50, the one being Trista and Ryan (I am ashamed to know this). People need to do what I do, and just find love in a bar. With their beer, that is. Not a guy. And maybe play some Nudie Touch cause that shit is fu-uunnnn.
Despite all this, I can't stop watching. It's a beautiful train wreck in which no one dies. They all just cry. And eat chocolate covered strawberries.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
As the sun rises in the sky, so does my desire to unsheathe my gifts. Doth thou not knowest my thirst?
It's causing me significant distress to honor my presental agreement with you. I feel if I were to unmask one of the three strangers that were delivered unto me, I'd find the ability to breath more easily. Curiosity killed the cat, but to be honest, he deserved it.
I do not.
Your meeting needs to end now so I can free these parcels from their parchment prisons.
In Great Pain,
After much thought, I've determined that my previous correspondence may have been slightly intemperate. Desire and patience make strange bedfellows, and I fear I let desire rule the roost for just a bit. I've regained control of my emotions and would like to sincerely apologize for my previous note.
It's with regret that I'm penning this note, for I've made an error and must now accept responsibility for it. In my apology note, I was not clear, I fear, so I would like to re-apologize here. In my previous note (the third in the series of three) I was apologizing for the brevity with which I spoke of your package in my second note. I wasn't talking about my first note in the third note. I see now I was not clear in my first apology note (the third note in the series, i.e. the note previous to this one). Just wanted to clear that up.
You will not hear from me again (by post) on this matter.
Filled With Shame,
subject: One More Thing
Thanks for the packages. I'm happy to wait as long as it takes for you to get out of your meeting. I'm just grateful to have gifts at all, so no matter how many hours you're in your meeting, it's no problem. I really don't mind that you're in some meeting going on and on and on and on and on about LY and YTD and SSG and the like. I'm like more patient than anyone. I mean, just the other day, someone yelled "Hey, Job!" and I looked, because I thought they were talking to me. They weren't. Also, they were yelling "Hey, Jew!" and there was this huge race war right there in the bread aisle at the supermarket. There was rye bread and blood everywhere! It was crazy, crazy stuff. Anyway, I'll wait all day (and it appears I'll have to) if necessary. Yup. I'll just sit here and wait. No big!
Job's got nothin on me!
I know you're there. You're just sitting there eating a sushi sub, drinking a Coke Zero, and reading Defamer while I'm here crying my eyes out.
Why have you forsaken me?
Bleak Future Gazing,
No Longer On Speaking Terms,
subject: Nice Try
You think you can break me? HA! HA HA! HA! Never! I can do this all day. Waiting? This is fun! I'm having a fucking blast here, so if you think you got me, you're sorely mistaken. [twirls in a circle doing jazz hands] See that? Light as a feather!
Call me AD (that means All Day)!!!
Doing Time Like It's My Job,
I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S TAKING SO LONG AND I WANNA LOOK AT MY STUFF! WHAT THE HELL KINDA MEETING TAKES 7 HOURS ON A TUESDAY MORNING ANYWAY? NOT COOL!!!
I NEED them! I need these presents! I have to open them! I'm so excited! I'm so excited! I'm so... scared.
Filled With Pills,
subject: Re: So
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
What I wasn't aware of what that my dad had a couple relatives that were left behind. And they lived in Staten Island.
dum Dum DUM.
When my dad arrived on Friday for a quick visit in NYC for the weekend, he informed me that he was going to see said cousin(s) on Sunday and asked if I wanted to go. Of course I didn't. I can talk to anyone in a bar, or any peer (pier!) of mine, but throw me in someone else's house who is 50 years older than me, and I clam up. I'd rather have my fingernails pulls out one by one then spend the day with old people.
So I did what any non-confrontational person would do in my position--I let my dad decide. Now, occasionally in a blue moon, he'll see that I don't want to do something and just let me be, but this time upon asking if he wanted me to go, he simply shrugged and said, "Sure!" Looking back, I don't think it was so much as him wanting me to meet his relatives, but rather him not wanting to be alone with them for hours.
So off we went...to Staten Island. And we wouldn't even be able to hit any clubs. Dammit!
We crossed the Verrazano Bridge into Staten Island around 2:30 pm. I was greeted with a tanning booth on every corner, along with gas stations. Lots and lots of gas stations. For about 3 miles we were behind a car with specialized license plates that said, "MikeMissU" surrounded by a plate frame what had the kid's DOB and DOD on it along with the phrase, "Our angel in Heaven. Always looking out for us. Always and forever" or some shit like that. If that wasn't enough of a tribute, they had a bumper sticker of the kid's face on the window again with his DOB and DOD in case we forgot. And of course the kid was wearing a homey hat in the picture.
So eventually we depart from Mikey's family and arrive at my dad's cousin's house. Prior to our arrival, my dad informed me that his cousin was 71, and has a son that "may or may not" have been in a car accident. Uh....ok....
We ring the doorbell, and there is a short (shorter than me), rather round (to say it nicely), bald (bald as my dad and that is saying something) around the age of 40-45 blankly staring back at us. My dad was confused for a second, thinking it was his actual cousin until his actual cousin screamed at the back of the house. Turns out the gentleman that opened the door was my dad's cousin's son. Or my 2nd cousin. And he didn't take his eyes off of me.
When he finally spoke 3 minutes after I entered the door and introduced myself, his words were, "My you're a pretty girl." And then I knew what kinda day this was gonna be.
Turns out my dad's cousin was kinda awesome. And so was his wife. We had some big Italian home cooked dinner which was delicious, which was only spoiled by the fact my 2nd cousin would only talk to me the entire meal. But it wasn't actual conversations. He would interrupt his father's discussion about he and my dad's childhood to pepper me with questions like:
Where do you live, Megan?
Do you have a cell phone, Megan?
Have you ever been to this theater, Megan?
What kind of music do you like, Megan?
What's your favorite movie, Megan?
In between courses of dinner, 2nd cousin went to get his gee-tar. When I told him I liked classic rock (shutup), he immediately got out his guitar to play "Here Comes the Sun" for "everyone". When he was done, we'd all politely clap and he would bow his head graciously, hold up his hand, and mutter thank you--and then look at me.
This went on all night and I was increasingly getting uncomfortable. I thought maybe he was just nice, and I was being paranoid, but when I went to leave, he asked me what I was doing this weekend and told me he would be right in my neighborhood. I told him that was awesome, and that I have friends in town so enjoy my neighborhood alone (that's actually the truth, Hellafied is coming!). He kept on inching towards me getting closer and closer. Then, his father had to say, "OK [name redacted], that's enough." And then we left.
As soon as we got in the car, my dad said "Wow, I think he liked you."
Yeah, no shit Dad! He went on stating he has never witnessed a guy fawning over his youngest like that, to which I had to remind him THAT HE WAS MY FUCKING COUSIN.
His only response was a chuckle as he told me thruogh the laughter, "I can't wait til your sisters hear about this. He might not get girls like you coming his way very often."
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
However, there was one highlight that I need to share with everyone. For those of you who are keeping score at home, I live in New York. A city that isn't stranger to bad neighborhoods. Now, that being said, I've never felt scared walking around a "bad" neighborhood as long as there are people around. I've walked through East Harlem at night and stood at Yankee Stadium in the South Bronx waiting to be picked up in January. I would say I have been sheltered, but I am fully aware of what a bad neighborhood looks like. Hell, I've driven through Gary, Indiana. If that isn't considered a war zone, then I don't know what is.
Now back to my trip to Chicago. I had to take the commuter train from the financial district of Chicago to the Southside. My aunt lives in a gorgeous neighborhood of Chicago filled with homes of judges and policemen. It was gorgeous. However, in order to get to my aunt's neighborhood my train traveled through some...um, not nice neighborhoods.
As I mentioned before, I don't get that shocked by poverty anymore, but the site of all those condemned houses with rickety porches was even too much for me to look at. Almost. For the most part, a lot of New York's bad neighborhoods actually used to be the residences of very wealthy people. When the neighborhood(s started to turn bad, those houses were split up into apartments, etc etc so while the insides rotted with poverty, the outside of these buildings remained relatively intact. Even the projects look solid from the outside.
So I'm cruising by all these houses in a neighborhood of what I think is Cabrini Green (? help me out people) studying each building trying to imagine the story behind it (It's a crack house! A brothel! It's Britney Spears' new vacation home!) when I past the strangest site I have ever seen.
There was some broken down house, barely standing on its foundation, and in it's backyard was ...a speed boat. Yep. It just lying on its side on the ground just hanging out. In a fenced in yard.
Now I don't know about you, but I've been in several boats in my day, and I know they are impossible to move around without the help of a trailer to tow it. So how did this homeowner, obviously someone of limited means from the appearance of his or her house, get the boat in their FENCED IN BACK YARD. Did they build the efnce after to prevent someone from stealing their beloved speed boat? Was there a flood in Chicago I wasn't aware of?
This is a riddle I would like answered. Your suggestions, please.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
And you know what? It's just not that fun anymore.
That's right folks. I'm quitting my blog. It's just become more of a burden than anything else. I try not to blog at work, and because of that, I kill my brain every night trying to come up with creative blog posts. My life has devolved into not a life, but bits and pieces of material for a blog. And you know what? I'm tired of it. I don't even get paid for this.
I've had stalkers, horrible comments, demeaning emails, and hurt friends along the way. It's just not worth it, you know?
So, with this, I bid you adieu, dear reader. God speed, my friends. God speed.