I. P. Freely

I know we spend a lot of time joking on here, but today I have to get serious. I have a problem. I haven’t talked about this problem with a lot of people, but I think it’s time to share my story. Maybe I will learn that there are others like me out there. Others with an overly-powerful urethra.

Every time I sit down to pee the force is so strong that my country time lemonade hits the porcelain and sprays back up onto my legs! This is not only time consuming (having to wipe down my inner things) but also a real bruise to my fragile ego. Nothing like peeing on yourself to knock you down a couple of notches.

So this is my question. Is it the force or the angle? Does everyone pee on themselves and no one talks about it? Is this why I’m single?! Does everyone KNOW I pee on myself?! HELP!!!!

Who's the Princess? I'M THE PRINCESS.

FINALLY! It’s my birthday. Today I expect to be pampered and dote upon like the Queen that I am. I woke up this morning and opened all the cards and presents I had acquired over the past few weeks, and being the giving person that I am I even let Basta (the fat cat) play with one of my open FedEx envelopes. Another example of my being a selfless god of a human being: I decided to sacrifice myself and not take my free day off of work. I slept in though, and ended up having to take a shower after my roommate. This was a bad idea. Roomie takes 20 minute long showers. I don’t know what he does in there, but what he doesn’t do is leave me hot water for my birthday. Thanks Roomie!
After the cold shower I was running late and when I got to the train there were no seats. Even worse, even though it’s my birthday today nobody gave up their seat for me. What a bunch of assholes you all are. It’s my birthday damn-it!! So then I STOOD on the subway and was late to work
Anyway, I know you are all now worried that I may not be enjoying my birthday. But things are looking up. Mom and dad_pants sent me flowers and told me I’m amazing (duh). Coworker_cubemate bought me beans and rice for lunch, and plans are in action for a grilled kangaroo dinner. Plus somewhere in the mess of this morning there was an incident involving a Red Velvet cupcake. Keep the presents coming though…

What I learned about Brooklyn

Having started my new job in fabulous downtown Brooklyn, I thought I would be overwhelmed by the glory that is never leaving the borough. That’s right. I now work 15 minutes from home. If I weren’t OCD about going to the gym in the morning I could actually sleep until 8am and STILL get to work on time! Glorious! Pure glory. But alas, my joy has been soured.

Firstly, taking the bus is not all it’s cracked up to be (although the bus driver may be more cracked up than you’d like them to be). On my first trip, the driver forgot to let someone off until they started screaming (“like a crazy person” is implied here, as I was on the bus – home of all crazies). On my ride home the driver first closed the door on me when I was entering and THEN forgot to let me off at my stop! What the hell people! I think we now know why they haven’t been promoted to train conductor. The city can’t handle all of the severed limbs lawsuits. Despite my bad luck yesterday, I decided to go for the bus again this morning. Wouldn’t you know it? I was at the corner just in time to see the bus fly by! I gave up. Back to the train I go. Screw you bus and your crazies! At least the train runs on some sort of schedule (yeah, it does, didn’t you know that?) and sometimes you get to hear an accordion!

Then there’s the gym. I was very happy with my BK NYSC experience yesterday. Millions of machines, no one there, only one anorexic girl in sight (you can’t win ‘em all). Then there was the shower experience. It’s a mere trickle. Seriously, my hair could be washed easier by lying underneath the man dripping with sweat on the treadmill next to me. Um, yeah. Not my idea of a good time (usually) either way. So then I go this morning, try to put my towel on the thing and accidentally bump this woman. So sorry lady! Didn’t know I was entering your dance space. Whatever. No one’s tough once you see them naked. And did I ever…moving on! I guess the good news is that most of the people at this gym are pretty out of shape, making me feel like a friggin’ marathoner or something. Oh wait. I am a marathoner.

So then there’s the salad issue. I have a very specific salad intake requirement. It basically means that I need about 1 lb of lettuce, an entire tomato, corn, cucumber, bell peppers, croutons and balsamic vinegar (and then I add my own avocado). Basically it’s a salad that won’t fit in anything smaller than a gallon ice cream bucket. Mmmm. It’s a delicate formula. None of these Brooklyn dives can make me a salad. This brings a great sadness to my heart and now I will be taking matters into my own making-too-much-money-to-make-my-own-salads hands. Where’s my pity?

Ok, I’m done wasting time now I can go home…hopefully the bus won’t run me over…

Mmmm...Meaty

What the hell is wrong with Indian food in this city? I am outraged at the lack of restaurant sanitation and the inability for me to be served Vegetable Biryani without cockroaches in it. Seriously, Indian food is my absolute favorite. It has everything that I could ever require from a nutritional source - and when I say everything I mean rice. Because if all the third-world populations in the world can subsist on a diet of 80% rice and still stay skinny then I can too. But the problem is that sometimes I don't want protein in my rice. It’s not that I don't like protein. I am a huge fan of sausage and hamburgers and also hot dogs because I'm not that picky about where my meat comes from. And once in Japan I ate grasshoppers. My issue is when I don't WANT there to be bugs in my food. And when I'm sipping on my fourth spoonful of Mulligatawny soup and a roach floats to the top of my plastic container it's not a happy surprise!! I'm not excited to see the dead cockroach with its legs and inch-long antennae.
This is the fourth time in a year that I have found a roach in my Indian food. Fifth if you count Kickmeup's Jackson Height's experience a few months ago. This is 3 times too many to find bugs in my food from the same food nationality. So please tell me what needs to be done in the back kitchens of curry row to reduce the chances of me receiving roach tikka marsala.

Oh, and, I’m very excited to eat kangaroo on my birthday.

Back to Breukelen

I've decided to join Give Us Back New York, the initiative to turn New York back into the great city of New Amesterdam. Please see the banner that I have inserted wihtout asking Kickmeup's opinion. Aside from having insanely good photoshop skills, the people on this website have a great idea. I support it 100%. I just hope it doesn't involve too much of my time nor require me to do anything more involved than figuring out how to get the banner posted on this blog and making a hyperlink. It took me less time than I thought it would but still - a lot of brain stress for this early in the morning.
This is a great cause for me because of my obsession with historical New York. I also collect old out of print New York City history books...AHEM BIRTHDAY APPROACHING.
If you think about it, New Amsterdam was the actually the cornerstone for what evolved into the modern liberal city of New York. It was a polyglot, muli-relgious society of all races and colors. As opposed to Great Britain where there were a lot of white folk who went to church and burned people. Damn those Brits and their red coats.
Anyway, cheers to me for being a joiner. Or as the dutch say - Cheers!

UGH

I am so uninspired I can hardly stand it. It must be the season for lack of inspiration because all my favorite procrastination blogs are also lacking in posts. I can’t remember the last time I laughed out loud in my cubicle – except when I asked Nigger Nose what the black folk eat on Thanksgiving besides Yams. Nobody has anything interesting to write about; maybe because the pending holidays are distracting. Even if you try to concentrate on something witty to write it’s hard not to drift off mid-sentence…mmm….mashed potatoes.
Those who know me know that I have a small issue with garlic mashed potatoes. This year I’m just going to forgo the turkey and pile on the taters. I have already informed my mother of this plan so there will be extra mashed for me. And I have requested butter and regular fat milk to ensure maximum creaminess. I will eat them slowly, squish them through my front teeth and back into my mouth and then think how sad it must feel to be my vegan cousin on thanksgiving. Every year she brings some strange concoction, congealed in the pot after the drive down from Boston. Anybody hungry for curried vegetables and brown rice?
Well, so much for this boring post. I guess I can’t be amazingly funny ALL the time.

ARRRRR You Sleepy?

I recently discovered that Duane Reade sells eye patches in the same section as sleep masks and ear plugs. There is something inherently wrong with this. Sleep masks and eye patches have two completely separate purposes. People who have a missing eye don't use an eye patch to cover the good one so they can sleep soundly during the middle of the day. They use it to cover their gaping, empty eye sockets! Okay, maybe that's taking it a bit far - I'm sure most of the people who require eye patches still have an eyeball but it's scratched or leaking fluids or in some way dysfunctional. Eye patches should be sold in the first aid section of the pharmacy along with bandages and rubbing alcohol.

Speaking of retards, I think that people should not speak unless spoken to. I also think people should not layer gray tights, rainbow Juicy Couture knee socks and black knee-high boots. Yes, you know whom I’m talking about. Let’s just call her “Strawbery Barf”. As in, did you SEE Strawberry Barf this morning? It looks like she got raped by an Eskimo’s cowboy-brother’s Saint Bernard. Oh that was yesterday but you get the drift.

Also, leggings are not pants.

I am the Ultimate Fighting Champion

I will never understand subway etiquette, which is why I chose to completely ignore it. And I don’t understand why other people can’t do the same. Because a subway car is a dog-eat-dog world; it is a competitive stratosphere where there are no winners. Except for me, of course.

I will now explain why the whole concept of giving up your seat is completely ridiculous.

First of all, what constitutes a weaker rider? Obviously this criterion is based upon a superficial judgment that is almost always wrong. You might say, for example, that people who are older are weaker. But that’s not necessarily true. How do you even know if a person is older than you? Just because they have more wrinkles doesn’t mean they have more years. If there is an old lady and she’s covered with wrinkles and all hunched over and missing teeth I suppose one could deduce that she’s old. But that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s weak! The old people in this city have no right to pull the whole “oh I’m so old I can’t stand up” trick. You have to be tough and resilient to survive in this city especially if you’re old. And if an old person is really sick and about to die then they should take a cab. By the time they’ve walked around outside, down into the bowels of the earth and battled their way into the subway car I think that any argument for them not being able to stand up during the ride is null and void. When I’m sick and riding the subway and about to faint all over the place I am officially weaker than the old man who’s reading the paper in front of me. But nobody offers me a seat. Move it old man!!

Second of all, pregnant women have no right to exploit themselves to get a seat. It is a voluntary action to become pregnant and they should deal with the repercussions. I’m not going to give up my seat to a pregnant lady because she had a choice to let a person grow inside of her and make her have to pee all the time and cause her back pain. I will not allow her narcissistic urge to create a miniature version of herself to get in the way of my pre- or post-work nap. And, once again, if you’re so tired take a cab.

Third of all, children should not be allowed to sit on the subway – period. They are young and full of energy and therefore should have to stand. They spend all day playing and crying and eating cookies. I spend all day working and making money to pay my bills. I am more tired than the children.

In conclusion, subway seats should be first come first serve. And even though this means sometimes I will have to stand, it’s okay because so will the old, the pregnant, the crippled and the children. And since I can easily shove all of these people out of the way, I am the only subway winner.

Nativity This

Forget Jesus, the most sacred day of the year is quickly approaching. That would be the day the most wondrously adorable little ball of sunshine ever to be seen burst forth from the womb. ME people, I'm talking about me.
I think Birthdays are terrific. Some people are scared of wrinkles and getting old and then being attacked by liver spots and such. But since I still look like I'm 16 the fear hasn't set in. I hate it when people complain about their birthdays and how they keep aging and haven't done anything important with their lives and they're not famous yet and they still don't know if they're going to go back to graduate school or not and the time frame for having a threesome with a bearded midget is growing smaller and smaller by the minute. Enough already. Birthdays are a time to rejoice and receive and it's the only day of the year when it's okay to act like the earth revolves around you. Because if it wasn't for the day of your birth then the people around you would never be graced with your amazing presence. And when I say "your" I mean MY because I'm pretty sure YOUR presence isn't that wonderful. But I know for a fact that my own presence is awesome.
Anyway, I still don’t know if I’m going back to graduate school or if I will be a slave to the man for the rest of my life. But I don’t really care about all that because my living room is going to be furnished for free this year. And maybe I’m self-involved and greedy, but it’s a part of me I’ve come to terms with in the past 20-something years and it really does make me more fun to be around. So anyway, I am greatly looking forward to receiving. And Kickmeup, just because you’re leaving the city doesn’t mean you get off free…this gorgeous package doesn’t come cheap.

Sho Nuff

Real_pants says: do you think if i got a hamster my cats would eat it?
Nigger_nose says: yes either the cats or richard gere's Asshole
Real_pants says: ew
Real_pants says: or would they play with it? and the they could cuddle with it
Nigger_nose says: uhm, are they all declawed?
Real_pants says: no! that's inhumane
Nigger_nose says: lol then no, the hamseter will die
Real_pants says: what about some fishes?
Nigger_nose says: that they could do
Real_pants says: i want a hamster
Nigger_nose says: sorry, no
Real_pants says: you are mean
Nigger_nose says: what?! it's the cats they will kill it
Nigger_nose says: no questions asked
Real_pants says: no you don't want me to be happy
Nigger_nose says: lol, now you're just doing crazy talk
Real_pants says: whatever "friend"
Nigger_nose says: don't I support the Man#1 2006?
Real_pants says: no you want me to die alone
Nigger_nose says: would you be sad if the kitty cats killed the hamster?
Real_pants says: yes, i would blame you

guys, stop screaming...

Ah yes, real_pants. I do recall. I thought the movie was ok, albeit WAY TOO LONG and without nearly enough Gael García Bernal. And any movie that is so long it makes me envious of characters on screen peeing in some Moroccan family’s rice pan while having a Kodak moment is not going to be at the top of my list. No. Movies at the top of my list need Christian Bale or dinosaurs. Do you hear that Screen Actors Guild?!

So let’s take a moment to discuss the fact that real_pants and I are both still at WORK. it is FRIDAY at 6:11pm and we’re both here! it’s not just. in a just world, we would be out of work. I bet its times like this that real_pants wishes she were a real Jew and got to leave work at 3 on Fridays.

Gee I love work. Look at what my boss told me and my buddy today: “guys, stop with the screaming, if you need me to address something, please let me know.” should I be proud that I had to be told to stop screaming at work? I guess that they should have seen this coming when I kept getting noted on my report card like “socializes too much in class” or “won’t stop stealing everyone else’s pudding”. Actually no. That second part is why we shouldn’t be surprised I weighed 150 lbs in 5th grade…

On that note, more popcorn and booze for me tonight! Hazaa!

Goats n Stuff

Dear Kickmeup,
Remember that time last night when we went to see a movie and it was TWO AND A HALF HOURS long? And remember how there were a lot of Japanese vag shots and dentist molestations and musical interludes where NOTHING HAPPENED in slow motion? And do you remember how we both had to pee really badly and we were all like “hey, movie, tell me what’s in the letter so we can go to the bathroom,” and the movie was like “get back in your seats, bitches, you may never know and I’m gonna make you sit there for 20 more minutes before you figure it out”? Yeah, exactly.

I’m disturbed by this whole never-ending movie trend. A movie should be no longer than 1 hour and 45 minutes. First of all I get hungry after that long because I’ve finished my popcorn 1 hour and 45 minutes ago. Second of all, there is no story in the world that can hold my attention for 2 whole hours. Third of all, my butt starts to hurt.
Back in the day when I was a young tike, movies were like 1 hour and 30 minutes long. All of them were that long. They barely ever went on for longer. And, you know what? They were good movies!! Take Big, for example, which in 1 hour and 30 minutes managed to fit in an entire storyline and they even made time for dancing the chopsticks on a giant keyboard. Movies these days are longer but they’re not even better! Why would you make them longer but not better? It doesn’t make sense; I am confused and distraught and I cannot understand who’s idea it was to charge me 11 dollars to be uncomfortable and only mildly entertained for almost 3 hours. I could watch SIX different TV shows during that time and consume at least 8 servings of rice and beans. Opportunity cost people!! If you want me to continue to give you my hard earned money and valuable time, you’d better make it worth more than 6 TV shows and rice and beans. And in my world, that is pretty damn expensive.

In conclusion, I will see you all in line for Borat. Bringing my own snacks.

PS. That cat has nothing to do with goats or movies but it's cute and makes me want to snuggle.

No respectable human...

Hello World!

I know you’ve all been on the edge of your seats waiting for my entrance to the fabulous world of I hate to break it to you. So without further adieu…let’s talk about something not so fabulous. I’ll give you a hint. This rhymes with “cocks” but isn’t nearly as glorious. Crocs people. Crocs. It’s time.

These alleged “shoes” entered my life back when I was a poor peasant worker at Whole Foods. Only a bunch of goddamn hippies would sell these things. I would look on in horror seeing people dressed decently (or as decently as Whole Foods shoppers dress) with a pair of BLAZE ORANGE Crocs in their hand-basket with their arugula and bean sprouts. I’d have to bite my tongue and watch them spend good money (I think the ugly fuckers are like $25 or something?) only to assault my eyes. Hey kids, go next door and buy 7 cute shirts at Forever 21 with that money like a respectable human being!

Today I got pushed over the edge. It’s rainy. It’s gross. But let’s review. Crocs are NOT galoshes! They’re not! They have HOLES! So really, these fools have no excuse for wearing them. None! Not in Manhattan! Maybe they can wear them in their garden in Westchester, but not here. No. Take them off Mr. Guy-who-works-in-our-sales-department! Not only are they not galoshes but they are certainly not dress shoes!

So anyway, this has been a lame first post! I have to go watch “Babel” now and eat 17 lbs of buttered popcorn. Deal with it.

I'm Down With Retarded

I am discovering this whole blog this is a lot harder than it seems. You need to have a topic every day. I am obligated to entertain the masses – meaning kickmeup and Man#1, the only two people who read this. What if I don’t have a topic? What if I fell into a slack jawed sleep on the train to work and therefore missed the visual stimulants necessary for my blogging lunacy?
I was going to write about retarded people this morning. Not as in mentally disabled retarded but as in people who act really stupidly and are therefore retarded by proxy of me. Then I was going to tell the story about how I once went on a date to a wine bar with this guy who quoted Sideways and then, after he got me good and drunk, screamed at me outside the bar when I informed him he would not be having the sex with me that night or ever. So I was going to draw a fancy parallel between the two and come to the conclusion that the stupid wine bar guy is retarded.
Speaking of the disabled, how are we supposed to tell if someone is a midget or just really short? I’m pretty sure the cashier at Sophie’s Cuban Cuisine still qualifies as being just short.
I can say these things because, much like when I make fun of Jews, I am short and often quite retarded. The only difference between, for example, wine bar guy, and me is that I am fully aware of my retardedness. And that makes me cool.

Seriously, Put it Away

Halloween is over but let us take this time to reflect on the most disturbing costume sighting of the night. There are several runners up including the guy in my office who dressed like – oh god I can’t even describe the horror – a grandmother giving her baby grandson a piggyback ride. The visual was far more vomit inducing than the description because it involved a very large fat man with cheek stubble wearing a fleece baby bonnet. Then there was the old man on the train wearing leather pants, vest and motorcycle boots. I’m not even sure if it was a costume, but I am positive he had the biggest frontal bulge I’ve ever seen. I’ve seen a lot of bulge, and this man’s package was no smaller than the size of my head. Granted I have an absurdly small head, but even so it’s quite impressive.
But the winner of the night was the pregnant pirate. First of all, NO. Second of all, ICK. My theory of NO and ICK is as follows. In my opinion, a real lady-pirate would never let herself get all knocked up. I mean, I can barely walk to the subway when I have a stomachache. Can you imagine trying to rape and pillage when you have a baby inside of you consuming half of the nutrients in your body and giving you a uterus ache for 9 months? It just wouldn’t work logistically. Not to mention the fact that a Pirate ship is a man’s world. It’s like all those 80’s movies where the female broker is trying to move up in her financial firm but all the men on the board of trustees don’t want to promote her because they’re afraid she’ll want to get married and make tons of babies and not have time to finish her work. If the lady-pirate wants to keep her position she does not have a baby. And the crew would hardly stand to have a pregnant pirate on board! They’d most certainly take her to the plank.
On the subject of ICK I say: put your gross, hard, round pregnant belly AWAY. I do not want to see it. I don’t know who’s idea it was to tell all these women that it’s okay to walk around with their pregnant parts hanging out, but I want to have words with them. Because it’s not true at all. Putting the weird pirate thing aside, pregnant women look misshapen and their bellies are full of liquid and small people!!! That’s disgusting!! I think it’s best if they kept a layer of fabric between their stretched-out skin and my retinas.
So I’m going to go eat some more M&M’s and decide whether or not to order Cuban rice for lunch. Now we can all start looking forward to the next national holiday – my birthday.