Hello all,
The other day I talked to a friend on the phone and told him that I was talking to Fuckhead again. As with everyone else in my life, he told me that I was stupid for doing it but understood my reasoning, guised in sentiment for something that was already sour.
Well, he and everyone else were right. Although in the beginning of our conversations, Fuckhead was 2% better than he was before it all boiled down to the same thing. He said he would call and he didn’t, it’s been 6 days now, no call. I, in turn, have become a 13 year old girl with my main hobby being making sure his voicemail box is always full so he can’t receive any new messages. I claim that it’s a result of me being annoyed and not mad, but I never was a good liar. The thing is is that I thought I was over this. New Year’s was MY new year. I feel better, I’m excited to move forward, but he still lingers in my head, and not only because he has all my stuff. Arg…
In my second year in college my parents adopted my fourth brother. He was 2 ½ years old and had been rescued from an abusive family; I am talking, of course, of their Boston Terrier, Spike. Now, I love him dearly as well, but they coddle him like a baby with Downs who just scored a perfect SAT score everytime he comes in out of the cold.
My dad looks at him with such pride. Hello? Who scored 3 points in 3 years of middle school basketball? It sure wasn’t him! AND, who became a completely unsuccessful ballet dancer with an $80,000 BFA, huh? Not him! That was ALL me……..maybe he had a point. Every night Spike and my mom wrap themselves up in micro-fleece blankets and doze from 7pm-12am pretending to watch TV until it’s time for bed. Cooing and nudging eachother while I’m left to interpret what’s happening on syndicated Sex and the City. What season is this? How long was Carrie with Aiden? Why is Samantha such a small part? I can answer all of these, but when Spike decides he’s too hot and peeks out of the blanket for air, he’s a genius.
Today I was outside on a potty break with the dogs and as I called for Spike I saw him eating a pile of his poop. I knew he did this because of the way his breath smelled, but actually seeing him eating it was a vivid sight. Why was he eating his poop? Is he trying to clean it up? Does it taste good?
I thought of how disgusted I was at this and I immediately knew why all my friends and family acted the way they did when I told them I was looking at starting things back up with Fuckhead. Why would I do this, AGAIN? Am I trying to make it better? Does it feel good?
My emotional baggage with Fuckhead is my poop and I keep on eating it. I reek of it. All my friends are like, “Ug, here comes Noah with his poop breath.” And trying to appear cool and available at a bar when I have the poop of a 5 ½ year relationship smeared across my face is getting me nowhere. I try talking to new people about my life but inevitably a steaming pile of crap falls out of my mouth and I appear desperate and crazy.
Spike waits for Mom and Dad to come home and feed him, so do I. Mom and Dad yell at Spike when he’s been outside for too long, they yell at me too. He get’s overly excited when new people come to the house, so do I. He struts around the house with a sense of entitlement although he contributes in no way, I don’t either. Maybe my brother from another mother and I aren’t so different after all. I will still yell at him to stop eating his poop, I only wish he could do the same.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Same Ol', Same Ol'
Hello all,
Since the my parents computer at home sounds like it has hamsters playing sloppy catch with lug nuts in it, I am at the Pendleton Library, or as they say in Virginia, "Liberry". Seriously, they did, one more factor that contributed to my undoing. Being surrounded by people, who for the most part speak correctly, is a luxury I have rarely been awarded. In high school I was constantly battling with my dad who puts an "R" in wash. The president lives in WaRshington D. C., sometimes the waRsher breaks and we have to wait to waRsh our clothes. It's odd, if someone from Boston adds an "R" to the end of idea, it's somewhat humorous, this is a different story. But, what are ya gonna do?
Anyways, I have been talking to Fuckhead recently....I know, don't roll your eyes at me. After his birthday, I wanted to get my things back. In the beginning of our relationship I would always give him something of mine that was very special to me, something that I wanted to see every day. Being the youngest child I am very possessive, so naturally I would look for what I gave him, but if he had it I knew I would think about him too ( and not only cause he had my stuff). Well, we continued this tradition for quite some time. And with my things that he still has, he said that if he gave them up than he would be letting go of something he wasn't ready to do yet.
I know what you're thinking, "Noah, he lives in a different state!, Noah, he fucked you over many times...times, PLURAL!, Noah, he's a ballless chode who is just messing with you so he can feel better!" I know, I know all of this. But, if I didn't give him a sporting chance, I wouldn't be able to feel like the better person at the end of the day. And although I am not sleeping well as a result of our awful conversations on the phone, in the deepest part of my soul, I feel like a better person. Tis better to have loved and gotten fucked over and tried to get back together numerous times and sold parts of your soul to a small addiction to vodka and lost than to have never loved at all............or something like that, no?
After a very harrowing conversation with my knight in shinning Fuckhead, I received a text message from a number to which I had not saved the name.
"i miss you...grrr"
It was just what I needed. Fuckhead clearly does not miss me enough and I'm awesome. Think about how awesome I must be if a person I don't even know misses me and follows it with a tawdry "grrr"! Though when you think about it, "grrr" is a little weird. I responded:
Me: "What do you mean by grrr?"
Him: "U diss like and it makes me go grr, sorry"
What the hell does that mean?!?!? I was puzzled for a solid 3 min. before I wrote back:
Me: "What are you smoking? I have no idea what you are talking about."
Him: "I don't smoke anything....u blew me off and it bothers me..."
Still having no clue who this person was, "blew" suddenly became a very ambiguous word. Did I know him and stop talking to him? Did I not know him and walk away? Did we meet in the bathroom? No clue.
Me: "Why are you telling me this?"
Him: "because i miss u silly..."
"Silly"? Seriously? Huh. I was trying to pull some facts out of him but he was a tough nut.
Me: "Miss is an awfully strong word."
Him: "ok... sorry to bother you then...."
Me: "That's ok."
Was that it? How would I find out who this was? Who missed me so much? A couple of weeks ago, when Mr. Lives-with-Grandma wouldn't leave me alone, I deleted his name out of my phone and when he called me back and wanted to talk I fed him a good line, so I used it again.
Me: "I'm sorry. I just cleared numbers out of my phone. I thought I'd be able to tell who this was by but you were saying but I'm still not sure."
Him: " nevermind NOAH.....wow....."
Me: "Alrighty then."
I imagine that it was Mr. Lives-with-Grandma again. We only talked for 2 days! One of two things is true; I make quite an impression or his life sucks hard. Maybe both are true.
Since the my parents computer at home sounds like it has hamsters playing sloppy catch with lug nuts in it, I am at the Pendleton Library, or as they say in Virginia, "Liberry". Seriously, they did, one more factor that contributed to my undoing. Being surrounded by people, who for the most part speak correctly, is a luxury I have rarely been awarded. In high school I was constantly battling with my dad who puts an "R" in wash. The president lives in WaRshington D. C., sometimes the waRsher breaks and we have to wait to waRsh our clothes. It's odd, if someone from Boston adds an "R" to the end of idea, it's somewhat humorous, this is a different story. But, what are ya gonna do?
Anyways, I have been talking to Fuckhead recently....I know, don't roll your eyes at me. After his birthday, I wanted to get my things back. In the beginning of our relationship I would always give him something of mine that was very special to me, something that I wanted to see every day. Being the youngest child I am very possessive, so naturally I would look for what I gave him, but if he had it I knew I would think about him too ( and not only cause he had my stuff). Well, we continued this tradition for quite some time. And with my things that he still has, he said that if he gave them up than he would be letting go of something he wasn't ready to do yet.
I know what you're thinking, "Noah, he lives in a different state!, Noah, he fucked you over many times...times, PLURAL!, Noah, he's a ballless chode who is just messing with you so he can feel better!" I know, I know all of this. But, if I didn't give him a sporting chance, I wouldn't be able to feel like the better person at the end of the day. And although I am not sleeping well as a result of our awful conversations on the phone, in the deepest part of my soul, I feel like a better person. Tis better to have loved and gotten fucked over and tried to get back together numerous times and sold parts of your soul to a small addiction to vodka and lost than to have never loved at all............or something like that, no?
After a very harrowing conversation with my knight in shinning Fuckhead, I received a text message from a number to which I had not saved the name.
"i miss you...grrr"
It was just what I needed. Fuckhead clearly does not miss me enough and I'm awesome. Think about how awesome I must be if a person I don't even know misses me and follows it with a tawdry "grrr"! Though when you think about it, "grrr" is a little weird. I responded:
Me: "What do you mean by grrr?"
Him: "U diss like and it makes me go grr, sorry"
What the hell does that mean?!?!? I was puzzled for a solid 3 min. before I wrote back:
Me: "What are you smoking? I have no idea what you are talking about."
Him: "I don't smoke anything....u blew me off and it bothers me..."
Still having no clue who this person was, "blew" suddenly became a very ambiguous word. Did I know him and stop talking to him? Did I not know him and walk away? Did we meet in the bathroom? No clue.
Me: "Why are you telling me this?"
Him: "because i miss u silly..."
"Silly"? Seriously? Huh. I was trying to pull some facts out of him but he was a tough nut.
Me: "Miss is an awfully strong word."
Him: "ok... sorry to bother you then...."
Me: "That's ok."
Was that it? How would I find out who this was? Who missed me so much? A couple of weeks ago, when Mr. Lives-with-Grandma wouldn't leave me alone, I deleted his name out of my phone and when he called me back and wanted to talk I fed him a good line, so I used it again.
Me: "I'm sorry. I just cleared numbers out of my phone. I thought I'd be able to tell who this was by but you were saying but I'm still not sure."
Him: " nevermind NOAH.....wow....."
Me: "Alrighty then."
I imagine that it was Mr. Lives-with-Grandma again. We only talked for 2 days! One of two things is true; I make quite an impression or his life sucks hard. Maybe both are true.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Winter Wonderland
Hello all,
I am writing you today from my car while the snow falls around me. I am waiting for my dog to be done at the groomers. Just minutes ago, I was waiting in my car outside of a coffee house that I usually go to while he gets his hair done. The place was closed because of the inclement weather, but I still used the internet connection from my laptop in my car.
The groomers called me to tell me that Graham was close to being done and that I could come anytime. I put my car into reverse to leave the parking lot and…………nothing! I wasn’t going anywhere! I was stuck in the snow! And as if you couldn’t tell I am not one of those resourceful gay men who can understand football, knows things about cars, or likes to work outside, so naturally I was screwed. I thought kitty litter. KITTY LITTER!!! I can use kitty litter for traction! No, no, I don’t have a cat (I’m allergic) or kitty litter in the back of my car. I thought this was it, this is how I die, frozen in a Hosier winter storm. Naturally, my initial thoughts went to my blog. I had had such an interesting week but there wasn’t a cohesive element to tie it into a story, so I contemplated putting it into bullet format. It would have looked something like this:
-The other day at work a small girl and what I assumed to be her mother came through my lane. I wasn’t listening to what the girl was saying at first, but as she came into earshot she was continuously chanting/screaming. “This is my dad’s girlfriend!!!! This is my dad’s girlfriend!!!!” Now, to the unimaginative stranger you may think that she had a single father, but I thought otherwise, and it became a much more interesting transaction.
-On Friday night I met a new friend and slept over at his town house that evening because of the distance and time of night that we got in from dancing. When we went to bed it was very cozy and dark in his home and I paid no notice to his décor but by the morning came it was a different story. As my eyes opened I saw a waterfall scene behind his bed. I sat up while my eyes adjusted and said, “Uh, is that a giant waterfall picture on the wall?” He said it was and that he had a special affinity for water falls. “Huh, that’s nice,” I said. On the way to the living room I noticed a picture on the wall of a fisherman’s wharf; it plugged into the wall, and was a working fountain. I pointed at it indirectly and politely asked if he had ever had any roommates who had left things behind. He said that everything in the house was his. “Huh, that’s nice,” I said. At the breakfast table there was a decorative table fountain and I asked if he found the sound of water soothing. He said that he did, but that specific fountain was for the cat to drink out of. I am highly allergic to cats and knew that one was there because of all of the clotted blood in my nose. Trying not to gag as I imagined a cat sitting where my cereal was I said, “Huh, that’s nice.” As we cleared the table I turned on myself to inspect the living room and what I found was something that I can’t do the justice of describing, but I’ll try. Radiating from the corner of the room he had built an indoor waterfall. Because of his vaulted ceilings, he was able to use15ft. bamboo trees and the base of the rock fountain was 5ft. high; he had also spread pebbles, the same shade ass the carpet, in a semicircle all around the instillation. It took up a corner of the room, but because of the shrubbery, it projected into the room as well. Fully knowing that I would never enter this house again, I stood there with my mouth wide open while he described to me the difference between Japanese and Chinese water gardens and I said, “Huh, that’s nice.”
-The other day at work I was in the break room watching Ellen. She was talking about a recent trip to the doctor where she received a colonoscopy and had not yet reached the punch line. One of my managers was in the room with me and found it necessary to engage me in conversation. He acts like and tells me that I am so much younger than him but in reality, I think we’re the same age. He has the skin of an anemic hot dog, a full head of hair but still has a comb over that goes from ear to ear, and I am certain that he was breast fed until he was 15 or 16.
Him: “Uhhhhhhhhh, hey!”
Me: “Hello.”
“That is actually how it is.”
“What?”
“A colonoscopy, that is an accurate description. I had that procedure done last year.”
“Huh.” Realizing that he had just talked over the punch line.
“Yes, if I had to describe it that would be exactly it. They put a piece of blue plastic in your mouth, ask you to roll over, and you wake up 6 hours later.”
I thought that I had seen movies that started like that, but I didn’t think he would find that funny, so I just nodded and smiled. Later on in the day we were stocking a shelf next to a TV that was playing the prequel to the Little Mermaid. Just trying to make conversation I had realized that the evil sea witch’s henchman was a manatee and said,
“Did you know that sailors used to think that manatees were mermaids and that’s where the legend begins?”
Him: “Oh,…….. is that so?”
“Yes, but it kind of bothers me to see a manatee on the ocean floor……..It’s a mammal, it wouldn’t survive on the ocean floor.”
“Oh, yes. But there’s also another reason a manatee could not be the friend of an evil sea witch.”
“Why’s that?” I said
Dead serious, not joking at all “They just don’t have the demeanor for it.”
“………Oh, yeah. I heard that once.” I walked away as quickly as possible.
Seriously, as I was stuck in the snow I thought of this, that and Graham. Who would pick him up? Who would take care of him?!?! Oh my God!! My eyes frantically chased from side to side and fell upon the letter “N”. I was in neutral. I was revving my engine in neutral, thinking that I was stuck in the snow. I put my car in reverse, for real and hightailed it to where I am now, waiting for Graham. I am not an idiot, I’m just eccentric.
I am writing you today from my car while the snow falls around me. I am waiting for my dog to be done at the groomers. Just minutes ago, I was waiting in my car outside of a coffee house that I usually go to while he gets his hair done. The place was closed because of the inclement weather, but I still used the internet connection from my laptop in my car.
The groomers called me to tell me that Graham was close to being done and that I could come anytime. I put my car into reverse to leave the parking lot and…………nothing! I wasn’t going anywhere! I was stuck in the snow! And as if you couldn’t tell I am not one of those resourceful gay men who can understand football, knows things about cars, or likes to work outside, so naturally I was screwed. I thought kitty litter. KITTY LITTER!!! I can use kitty litter for traction! No, no, I don’t have a cat (I’m allergic) or kitty litter in the back of my car. I thought this was it, this is how I die, frozen in a Hosier winter storm. Naturally, my initial thoughts went to my blog. I had had such an interesting week but there wasn’t a cohesive element to tie it into a story, so I contemplated putting it into bullet format. It would have looked something like this:
-The other day at work a small girl and what I assumed to be her mother came through my lane. I wasn’t listening to what the girl was saying at first, but as she came into earshot she was continuously chanting/screaming. “This is my dad’s girlfriend!!!! This is my dad’s girlfriend!!!!” Now, to the unimaginative stranger you may think that she had a single father, but I thought otherwise, and it became a much more interesting transaction.
-On Friday night I met a new friend and slept over at his town house that evening because of the distance and time of night that we got in from dancing. When we went to bed it was very cozy and dark in his home and I paid no notice to his décor but by the morning came it was a different story. As my eyes opened I saw a waterfall scene behind his bed. I sat up while my eyes adjusted and said, “Uh, is that a giant waterfall picture on the wall?” He said it was and that he had a special affinity for water falls. “Huh, that’s nice,” I said. On the way to the living room I noticed a picture on the wall of a fisherman’s wharf; it plugged into the wall, and was a working fountain. I pointed at it indirectly and politely asked if he had ever had any roommates who had left things behind. He said that everything in the house was his. “Huh, that’s nice,” I said. At the breakfast table there was a decorative table fountain and I asked if he found the sound of water soothing. He said that he did, but that specific fountain was for the cat to drink out of. I am highly allergic to cats and knew that one was there because of all of the clotted blood in my nose. Trying not to gag as I imagined a cat sitting where my cereal was I said, “Huh, that’s nice.” As we cleared the table I turned on myself to inspect the living room and what I found was something that I can’t do the justice of describing, but I’ll try. Radiating from the corner of the room he had built an indoor waterfall. Because of his vaulted ceilings, he was able to use15ft. bamboo trees and the base of the rock fountain was 5ft. high; he had also spread pebbles, the same shade ass the carpet, in a semicircle all around the instillation. It took up a corner of the room, but because of the shrubbery, it projected into the room as well. Fully knowing that I would never enter this house again, I stood there with my mouth wide open while he described to me the difference between Japanese and Chinese water gardens and I said, “Huh, that’s nice.”
-The other day at work I was in the break room watching Ellen. She was talking about a recent trip to the doctor where she received a colonoscopy and had not yet reached the punch line. One of my managers was in the room with me and found it necessary to engage me in conversation. He acts like and tells me that I am so much younger than him but in reality, I think we’re the same age. He has the skin of an anemic hot dog, a full head of hair but still has a comb over that goes from ear to ear, and I am certain that he was breast fed until he was 15 or 16.
Him: “Uhhhhhhhhh, hey!”
Me: “Hello.”
“That is actually how it is.”
“What?”
“A colonoscopy, that is an accurate description. I had that procedure done last year.”
“Huh.” Realizing that he had just talked over the punch line.
“Yes, if I had to describe it that would be exactly it. They put a piece of blue plastic in your mouth, ask you to roll over, and you wake up 6 hours later.”
I thought that I had seen movies that started like that, but I didn’t think he would find that funny, so I just nodded and smiled. Later on in the day we were stocking a shelf next to a TV that was playing the prequel to the Little Mermaid. Just trying to make conversation I had realized that the evil sea witch’s henchman was a manatee and said,
“Did you know that sailors used to think that manatees were mermaids and that’s where the legend begins?”
Him: “Oh,…….. is that so?”
“Yes, but it kind of bothers me to see a manatee on the ocean floor……..It’s a mammal, it wouldn’t survive on the ocean floor.”
“Oh, yes. But there’s also another reason a manatee could not be the friend of an evil sea witch.”
“Why’s that?” I said
Dead serious, not joking at all “They just don’t have the demeanor for it.”
“………Oh, yeah. I heard that once.” I walked away as quickly as possible.
Seriously, as I was stuck in the snow I thought of this, that and Graham. Who would pick him up? Who would take care of him?!?! Oh my God!! My eyes frantically chased from side to side and fell upon the letter “N”. I was in neutral. I was revving my engine in neutral, thinking that I was stuck in the snow. I put my car in reverse, for real and hightailed it to where I am now, waiting for Graham. I am not an idiot, I’m just eccentric.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Foreign Thoughts
Hello all,
I never realized it before, but even in Indianapolis, I live in an integrated society. I grew up in Indiana but I never even had a conversation with a black person until I was in college. It’s not that I avoided people of color, I just never saw any. It took me a few months not to say things like, “What color is your tongue?”, “So what do you do for Christmas?”, or “Can I touch your hair?” I wasn’t racist, I was just curious. Now I talk to people of various ethnicities and rarely ever notice their color, speech, though, still makes me giggle a little.
I was walking through the kitchen in the restaurant where I work and one of the kitchen guys was chugging a small cup of soup. It didn’t bother me that he was eating in the kitchen; I’ve seen way worse stuff happen around that stove. This particular cook fooled me the first few times we talked, he knew how to say “Hello” and “How are you?” with no trace of an accent. I would proceed with more complex questions and he had no idea what I was talking about. Well, after he was done with his soup as I walked by, I raised an eyebrow and he called after me, “Noah!! I have hungry!!!” He he.
At my other job, I was ringing in between a Chinese lady and an Indian man, English is not the native tongue to either. They were talking to eachother about God knows what and it kept a smile on my face for 15 minutes. They could have been talking about business or the weather, but I don’t think either of them carried one point from the other into their next statement. I experienced this while I was in New York, 2 foreign people trying use a English as a common bond. It’s like listening to 7 year olds talk about sex; neither of them quite knows exactly how to master the subject but the misunderstood understanding makes them both proud.
Later in the day a crazy man came through my lane. He looked perfectly fine, like the cutest kind of guy you could see changing your oil, but would never actually hook up with. Anyways, he came up to me and yelled,
Crazy: “How are you?” (said in Spanish, which I will not misspell)
Me: “Good!” (also in Spanish)
Crazy: “mnjhsfduhfuwe ,dua jfua hgug”
Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. That’s all the Spanish I know.”
Crazy: “That’s a’iet!”
Me: “I took 8 years for German.”
Crazy: “German? Oh, German! Yeah, you know what they say in German? Fuck You!!!”
Me: “……………………”
Crazy: “FUCK YOU!!!!! Ha!!!”
Me: “……….um I’m good thanks.”
Crazy: “Huh, are you Jewish?”
Me: “No, Lutheran.”
Crazy: “Lutheran, huh, like them protestants and shit?”
Me: “The very ones.”
Crazy: “Huh, they gotta lotta people from over there, like Hitler.”
Me: “Yes, Hitler was in fact from Germany.”
Crazy: “And you know who else came from up there, that John guy, yeah, John.”
Me: “Ah, yes, well…. have a good day.”
Crazy: “Yeah, uh, how do you say goodbye in Germany?”
Me: “Aufwiedersein.”
Crazy: “Wha? Well, Offverseyn, or shit ha ha!”
Me: “Uhhm, bye.”
As he left I looked over at the next cashier, who reminds me of an Indian Kelly Kapowski, and mouthed, “OMIGOD!!!!” I don’t think she knew what I mouthed but she was as enthusiastic about the crazy man as I was.
I never realized it before, but even in Indianapolis, I live in an integrated society. I grew up in Indiana but I never even had a conversation with a black person until I was in college. It’s not that I avoided people of color, I just never saw any. It took me a few months not to say things like, “What color is your tongue?”, “So what do you do for Christmas?”, or “Can I touch your hair?” I wasn’t racist, I was just curious. Now I talk to people of various ethnicities and rarely ever notice their color, speech, though, still makes me giggle a little.
I was walking through the kitchen in the restaurant where I work and one of the kitchen guys was chugging a small cup of soup. It didn’t bother me that he was eating in the kitchen; I’ve seen way worse stuff happen around that stove. This particular cook fooled me the first few times we talked, he knew how to say “Hello” and “How are you?” with no trace of an accent. I would proceed with more complex questions and he had no idea what I was talking about. Well, after he was done with his soup as I walked by, I raised an eyebrow and he called after me, “Noah!! I have hungry!!!” He he.
At my other job, I was ringing in between a Chinese lady and an Indian man, English is not the native tongue to either. They were talking to eachother about God knows what and it kept a smile on my face for 15 minutes. They could have been talking about business or the weather, but I don’t think either of them carried one point from the other into their next statement. I experienced this while I was in New York, 2 foreign people trying use a English as a common bond. It’s like listening to 7 year olds talk about sex; neither of them quite knows exactly how to master the subject but the misunderstood understanding makes them both proud.
Later in the day a crazy man came through my lane. He looked perfectly fine, like the cutest kind of guy you could see changing your oil, but would never actually hook up with. Anyways, he came up to me and yelled,
Crazy: “How are you?” (said in Spanish, which I will not misspell)
Me: “Good!” (also in Spanish)
Crazy: “mnjhsfduhfuwe ,dua jfua hgug”
Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. That’s all the Spanish I know.”
Crazy: “That’s a’iet!”
Me: “I took 8 years for German.”
Crazy: “German? Oh, German! Yeah, you know what they say in German? Fuck You!!!”
Me: “……………………”
Crazy: “FUCK YOU!!!!! Ha!!!”
Me: “……….um I’m good thanks.”
Crazy: “Huh, are you Jewish?”
Me: “No, Lutheran.”
Crazy: “Lutheran, huh, like them protestants and shit?”
Me: “The very ones.”
Crazy: “Huh, they gotta lotta people from over there, like Hitler.”
Me: “Yes, Hitler was in fact from Germany.”
Crazy: “And you know who else came from up there, that John guy, yeah, John.”
Me: “Ah, yes, well…. have a good day.”
Crazy: “Yeah, uh, how do you say goodbye in Germany?”
Me: “Aufwiedersein.”
Crazy: “Wha? Well, Offverseyn, or shit ha ha!”
Me: “Uhhm, bye.”
As he left I looked over at the next cashier, who reminds me of an Indian Kelly Kapowski, and mouthed, “OMIGOD!!!!” I don’t think she knew what I mouthed but she was as enthusiastic about the crazy man as I was.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Real Men Use Chopsticks
Hello all,
Just so you know, even though you may not believe me, interesting things don't happen to me everyday. Somedays I need a little bit of perspective to realize what is funny and what is just mildly amusing. So for those of you, how I am like you personal crack, I apologize for any delay of posting because of writer's anxiety and mundane jobs.
Anywho-New Year's Eve. So I went out by myself and and had a spectacular time. I was wearing a new outfit (indigo shirt, white and silvery tie, grey vest, my tightest jeans- oh yeah, I was in it to win it) and I chugged a fruit smoothie with a crap load of vodka in it from the car to the bar. Drinks are expensive and driving intoxicated, although it happens, is also not cool. I just felt I needed to clarify that.
So, a handful of drinks later, I woke up the next morning in some guy's bed (no judgement). We could call him....Mr. Has-a-cat, or we could call him Mr. Smokes-with-drinks, but for the sake of hilarity, let's call him Mr. Lives-with-Grandma. Now, life happens, I of all people understand this and people who live in glass houses with relatives shouldn't throw rocks.....unless it's your only way out. But when I sobered up around 9 a.m. and found myself peeing into one of those toilets with the medical seat and handle bars attached to the bowl, I knew there was something different between living with you parents and living with your 83 year old grandmother who just broke her hip.
Mr. Lives-with-Grandma was very into me, which I found very endearing, and after I left him that morning the first 20 texts were more than welcomed. But somewhere in between the 50th "Can't wait to C U!!!" text (gag) and me showing up to the bar a half our early, where I realized I was way too cute for him and was getting hit on by a plethora of guys in my waist range, I lost interest. At the second bar I met many more fun guys and Mr. Lives-with Grandma faded into the background with nothing more than a blurry memory and about 8 angry texts I found on my phone the next morning.
The next morning I woke up with a new friend (no judgement!) and he could have a real name as well, but let's call him Stumpy-end of story.
I was sitting at P. F. Changs today thinking over my lunch special. I looked left and I looked right and decided that I was the most sophisticated person at the bar. It wasn't my love of the arts, feelings of competitive drive during a heated game of Jeopardy!, or the fact that I read books for fun; I was the only one using chopsticks. I do not eat exceedingly well with chopsticks, but I try. I try because when I see someone eating with chopsticks I think, "Whoa, he must know what he's doing!" And that's hot. I am looking for a man who eats with chopsticks. He could be named Mr. Unemployed or Mr. Doesn't-believe-in-manscaping, he could even be named Mr. No-college-degree, but as long as he ate with chopsticks, he would make it through the second date......It wouldn't hurt if he was independently wealthy and really hot; I mean if he's going to be a hairy unemployed college drop-out he better be hot.....or rich.
Just so you know, even though you may not believe me, interesting things don't happen to me everyday. Somedays I need a little bit of perspective to realize what is funny and what is just mildly amusing. So for those of you, how I am like you personal crack, I apologize for any delay of posting because of writer's anxiety and mundane jobs.
Anywho-New Year's Eve. So I went out by myself and and had a spectacular time. I was wearing a new outfit (indigo shirt, white and silvery tie, grey vest, my tightest jeans- oh yeah, I was in it to win it) and I chugged a fruit smoothie with a crap load of vodka in it from the car to the bar. Drinks are expensive and driving intoxicated, although it happens, is also not cool. I just felt I needed to clarify that.
So, a handful of drinks later, I woke up the next morning in some guy's bed (no judgement). We could call him....Mr. Has-a-cat, or we could call him Mr. Smokes-with-drinks, but for the sake of hilarity, let's call him Mr. Lives-with-Grandma. Now, life happens, I of all people understand this and people who live in glass houses with relatives shouldn't throw rocks.....unless it's your only way out. But when I sobered up around 9 a.m. and found myself peeing into one of those toilets with the medical seat and handle bars attached to the bowl, I knew there was something different between living with you parents and living with your 83 year old grandmother who just broke her hip.
Mr. Lives-with-Grandma was very into me, which I found very endearing, and after I left him that morning the first 20 texts were more than welcomed. But somewhere in between the 50th "Can't wait to C U!!!" text (gag) and me showing up to the bar a half our early, where I realized I was way too cute for him and was getting hit on by a plethora of guys in my waist range, I lost interest. At the second bar I met many more fun guys and Mr. Lives-with Grandma faded into the background with nothing more than a blurry memory and about 8 angry texts I found on my phone the next morning.
The next morning I woke up with a new friend (no judgement!) and he could have a real name as well, but let's call him Stumpy-end of story.
I was sitting at P. F. Changs today thinking over my lunch special. I looked left and I looked right and decided that I was the most sophisticated person at the bar. It wasn't my love of the arts, feelings of competitive drive during a heated game of Jeopardy!, or the fact that I read books for fun; I was the only one using chopsticks. I do not eat exceedingly well with chopsticks, but I try. I try because when I see someone eating with chopsticks I think, "Whoa, he must know what he's doing!" And that's hot. I am looking for a man who eats with chopsticks. He could be named Mr. Unemployed or Mr. Doesn't-believe-in-manscaping, he could even be named Mr. No-college-degree, but as long as he ate with chopsticks, he would make it through the second date......It wouldn't hurt if he was independently wealthy and really hot; I mean if he's going to be a hairy unemployed college drop-out he better be hot.....or rich.
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