Sky Writing is Hard To Do Wall-To-Wall

I should start by saying, it is not MY guilt that is in question here. It may seem like I live in a glass house, since I will often sit on the couch 10 feet from Matt and start a chat window with him in Facebook (but in my defense the "what do you want for dinner" game gets on my nerves when it is done out loud) and I rarely ever call anyone anymore since I already know how they are since I can stalk them on FB and I may rely on my "friends" to post news stories so I know what is going on in the world and I spend my work day feeling like I am hanging out with old friends since I am constantly on my phone reading status' and I really enjoy the uncomfortable updates that so and so "has changed their relationship status to single" and getting to relish in the fact that I knew it would never work out from the start. So yes, it may seem like I live in a glass house with what I am about to say, and you may be right.

**sidenote**I should stop here and make it clear that I DO NOT think it matters what kind of house you live in, you should not be throwing stones, unless, of course, you are being chased by zombies, are at a Justin Beiber concert, or trying to deter kids from walking on your lawn.**over**

It makes me really sad that people have let FB replace the phone, the singing telegram, personal email, sky writing, blimps, and pigeons posts. Today I got an email, through FB of course, that let me know one of my good friends has been attacked by a body snatcher. (She used the word pregnant, but let's just agree to call it what it is) Don't get me wrong, I appreciate that I get the info before the big FB blast, that is no doubt on its way, right before the black and white photos from the parasitic growth inside her abdomen and the pictures of her naked belly with her defunct belly button, all of which are only meant to act as suspense builders to the day she posts the size of her womanhood for every to see (yes that is right ladies, for all of you that do not know, 'dilation' is actually the size of your woo woo).

I DO feel special that I was given this information before that guy on her friend list that she has not talked to since 5th grade, but I wish society has not instilled in us that all our communication has to be through FB. I am not trying to be high maintenance or anything, but it seems that when saying:

"Hey friend, I am going to the other side of the cold war. it's been nice knowing you",

you should AT LEAST send a singing telegram.

When I said "Everything", I meant salt, garlic and poppy seeds NOT vengeance, wrath and brutality!

It started off like any other morning... waking up 2 minutes before the alarm clock going off and getting pissed off because only old people do that and then spending my extra 2 minutes laying in bed thinking deep thoughts like "How much DNA could you find if you swabbed any street corner in NY?". Everything was familiar about the morning, little did I know there was a coup d'é·tat being planned. That's right, my ninja knives decided that today was the day that the bagel would win the fight. Needless to say, the knives are no longer allowed to hob-knob with the bread items, because they obviously can not be trusted not to start a revolution. The only victim during the uprising was my thumb (my other fingers that got grossed out and maybe the hard woods, any ideas on how to remove blood from wood floors?) I stood with rivers of blood streaming down my arm and grabbed a towel. I, being built of major toughness, continued to get ready for work thinking that I would stop bleeding eventually. About 30 minutes later, my plasma was still seeping out of the towel. I decided I needed help to wrap my finger. The only one that could help was Matt and he was asleep. I know he does not like to startled from sleep, so I went up to the bed and took the towel off and stood there as blood was dripping to the floor and screamed "OH MY GOD I AM GOING TO DIE!!!!!". Once I was convinced he was up, I told him I was joking (he plays it cool but I know he loves these games). He helped me wrap it and I went to work.

It only took me about 5 minutes for work to get mad at me. Which I need to stop here and vent about how unfair this is. We allow clients to enter the building EVERY DAY that smell like 5 sumo wrestlers ate burning tires and then took a dump on them, they drool all over themselves, get their menses all over the chairs (the 3pt word is intentional since this is a classy page and will never again talk about period here), they piss and crap themselves, and when they are not dropping something out of their mouth onto the floor, they are dropping it on you. SO I was a little offended when people at work decided to complain about me dripping blood all over the place. I was sent home to go get stitches.

I went and got my finger super glued, seriously, they super glued it and after 4 hours of constant bleeding, it stopped instantly. If I knew being a doctor involved art supplies I would have totally gone a different direction. Then they gave me my tetanus shot which I only mention because it has the word anus in it which made my arm feel like it was burning from the inside until I went to bed.

So know I am stuck without the use of a thumb for a week. Here is a list of ways you take your thumb for granted:

• taking off pants (leading me to almost pissing my pants)
• typing
• showering
• double fisting my adult beverages
• Smoking meth
• unscrewing to cap on the flask I keep at work
• thumb war
• sing where is thumb-kin
• making a proper fist to punch people in the face
• -and so many more-

But the silver lining: With my bandage, every day gets at least 1 thumb up, and I have changed up my finger prints which I firmly believe may be useful one day.

You Look Like Little Birds Helped You Get Dressed

You may have noticed an absence here lately, and that would be because I have fallen madly in love with a trucker named Bubba I have recently been sucked into a black hole of suckage. I know, I know, you look at my life and say "hey, your life kicks a**, you got 432 multi-color, super bendy straws for you birthday which guarantees that you can use one straw a day and your friend Vodka will be delivered to your liver in the most funky way for the next 1.18 years (unless I decide to share with a guest, which is unlikely because in order to earn the right to one of my bendy straws you pretty much need to give me a midget that is comfortable living in a closet when he is not conducting dance parties and making tasty beverages to go with my bendy straws)".

Anyway, back to the suckage. There has been a whole lot of suckage going on lately, but today I woke up with a new outlook. I decided that I am not going to let the ill mannered boss, or the constant sewage smell at work, or the fact that Richard Simmons is stalking me bring me down anymore. I have tried everything lately. My tiara only offers moments of relief and, on average, I am having to do a 10 second dance party every 1/2 hour, which means last week at work I danced it out for a total of 800 seconds. I try really hard to hide my dancing secret at work, but lately I am running to my office, closing the door and coming out in 10 seconds with sweat on my face. People are starting to talk. Time has come, for me to get serious.


There is a well known fact, to people that know it, that Socks are a great coping skill. I only wear Mary Janes to work, so I have a good view of my socks everyday. Normally I am conservative with my neutral colored stripes that match my outfit, but on days when I need to perk up or when I have a meeting I do not want to be a part of or when I need to divert my inner rage, I will act out. Today I am wearing my rainbow socks, which I have already been told this morning do not match what I am wearing, which I find to be the most ridiculous thing since these socks have every color on them and I know for a fact my sweater matches AT LEAST one of these colors.

Just when I think i am alone in all my behavioral techniques, I get to work and start playing Scrabble doing really important work things, when I look down at my work friends' shoes and notice he is wearing these. I think it is his subtlety that makes us friends.

Porn and Grandparents, Do Not Mix

I was going through the new releases on Netflix..... oh, you didn't know? I will be 32 this weekend and, naturally, this means I start planning my wild weekends no later than Wednesday by pulling out the trusty whirl-E- gig laptop while sucking on my Werther's Original and filling my movie queue on Netflix. Anyway, as I was going through the new releases, I saw Lonesome Dove and was shot back into "Traumatic Memory Zone".

I have watched Lonesome Dove exactly 1 time in my life. I was a kid, about 7 years old, and I was staying at my grandparents house for a bit of the summer. They loved watching boring, crappy movies, in all their Technicolor glory. Staying with the grand'rents would always lead to a boring night where I would lay on the floor in my perfectly constructed blanket fort, built out of fleece and dining room chairs, in front of the TV and watch whatever my grandma would want to watch that night (because no one argued with grams, those were the rules). One night, her selection was a Western/tragedy/romantic flick called Lonesome Dove. It was a miniseries, so on VHS that meant a 2 NIGHT EVENT!!!! I sat and watched this movie with my grams and gramps for 2 nights, almost 6 hours, AND THEN....... there was a scene with a red headed woman where she was not wearing any clothes and there was a man on top of her.......

....and to this day, all I remember about this miniseries is that there is a sex scene with a red headed woman. I was so traumatized by this scene, that I didn't move until the credits rolled because even though I was young, I was smart enough to know that it is a bit awkward to watch porn with your grandparents. I must have amazing defense mechanisms, because I had blocked that memory for 25 years.

Boys Will Do Anything For Cookies.

Matt and I went out for lunch and had a few beers. On the way to the train we see a Blood Drive bus.

Matt: Hey want to go give blood and get all f***ed up?
Me: Will they take our blood if we have been drinking?
Matt: That is the game... we can't tell them that part.
Me: Well I am anemic and they won't take my blood, but do you think they still give free t-shirts, because I would get one for trying and that would totally be worth it.
Matt: We could get free shirts, feel light headed AND get free COOKIES!!

Pregnancy Changes Center of Gravity.... Is That Why Keg Stands are Inappropriate?

I got exactly 31 emails at work today and 17 of them were about parties. Apparently, every single person I work with is quitting, having a baby, getting married, or retiring. This not only means that I will now have to attend 5 parties that I could care less about, but that will be 5 hours of my life I will not get back. It also means that I need to give up between $25 and $50 for "presents" and I also have to make some shitty food dish, that no doubt will end like it did last time, when everyone got all upset that I used special ingredients to make my brownies or when I convinced everyone to drink the Jesus Juice. I have never been able to figure out why people get so uptight about making sure the mother-to-be enjoys the party as much as you do. I am guessing by the baby bump that it is because everyone knows what a slut she can be at a party. I still stand by my argument that I don't think it should be called a "Pot Luck" if none of the dishes are "Lucky".

After sitting here all day being copied on the party planning emails, that I am excepted to weigh in on, I find myself rather angry. I think it is mighty presumptuous of them to think I care about things that make them happy. Ultimately, they are asking me to celebrate someone that is quitting, which I interpret as "I am too good to be here with you guys, I have found better people to spend my day with", why the hell would I waste my special brownies on someone that feels that way. Then the one that really gets me is that everyone feels I need to be excited because you are getting married or having kids. I do not believe in either of these things. They might as well tell me I have to give $5 AND cook for god or Iowa.

Just another reason I hate work and feel like the gods are constantly pointing and laughing at me.

Mrs. Butterworth is Soooooo 2009

"A man's worth can be measured in how many trophies he has won."

I think it was God that said that, but it may have been me, I can't recall right now. It is an important statement for my friend Lucia. She made it public knowledge that she has never won a trophy IN HER ENTIRE LIFE. How is this possible? I have stolen won tons of trophies in my life, most of them my mom sold at a garage sale, along with my Snoopy Sno Cone Maker (which is just another mark on the list "Things I May Never Forgive My Mother For"). Anyway, while all the dirty kids shopping at my moms garage sale were buying up all my trophies, so they could pretend their life was worth something, I saw my self worth going down the toilet. You see Lucia, it was at this point that I was worthless, just like you. This lasted for years, until March of 2010.

I was on a cruise where I had mad skill in a Roulette Tournament and Fred entered my life, fair and square. Fred is my most prized possession.Whenever I get upset or have a bad day , I can come home and talk to Fred. He is incredibly superior to Mrs. Butterworth, who I used to have to rely on before I had Fred, and let's face it, she is a Bitch. I thought I would take this opportunity to make Lucia feel even worse about not having a Fred encourage Lucia to go out and find something she can win.

Meet Fred.

He is always the life of the party. He likes to spin me mad beats to cheer me up or when it is time for a 10 second dance party.

He even gets along with Matt.... here he is helping Matt build a mobile


He helps encourage me to exercise.


He always gives me options when making me a drink.


and he always passes out first so I don't have to feel like the biggest alcoholic at the party.

Lucia, if you can't find something to win at, I would suggest going to a kiddie pageant and kicking the little princess over as they come out and stealing their Fred's. It will be worth it!!!!

Commune, Party of 9, Your Table is Ready.

There are exactly 8 people on this Earth (no more, no less) that I would want hanging out with until I die. (for the rest of you, don't get your panties in a wad, I like you too, just not THAT much) These people are from various phases of life starting in preschool and ending in professional life. Some I have spent tons of time getting to know and some have moved away before that could happen, but not before I could realize that you belong on the short list. The one thing they all have in common is that they live all over the US; far, far away from me. California, Arizona, Washington, Georgia, etc. I am hoping these 8 people know who they are because I am about to propose an offer.

I would like for us to move to the same neighborhood and hang out with one another until we die. It really can be this simple. I would prefer that we all live next door to one another but as long as we can walk to each others house, I will be happy. Now I am not one to be COMPLETELY selfish, so here is what I am offering in return:

I will vow to make Matt grill out Farmer's Market Sausages at least once a week. If you ever get sick I will bring you Toy Story DVD's with Banana Popsicles. If you have a bad day at work, I will invite you over to eat Pillsbury Cinnamon Rolls for dinner and even let you help ice them. I will always be there to punch you in the face when you are stupid. I will bring you Justin Bieber CD's and porn and promise not to tell anyone that you asked for them. If you gain weight, not only will I still like you, I will go shopping with you at Old Navy to buy new "fat clothes". If you get too drunk, I will bring you Saltines and Gatorade so you don't die. I promise to initiate 10 second dance parties and not get upset with you, when you do not want to attend. When it rains, I will help you make "water angels" in your front yard. I will come over and hook your house up with a living room fort so you will have a place for alone time. If you ever have a big project to complete, I will let you use my Sharpies. I will bedazzle all of us friendship hats so we will have a clear sense of community. And, lastly, I promise to be your friend until I die.

Are you with me?

Ever Wonder Why There Are Not Bars in Toy Stores?

In my defense, I should start by saying that the world would be a better place if more people had my sense of humor. With that said, I had out of town guests this weekend that were full of awesome ideas. There were a few really great ideas but the best one (as judged by me) included sitting outside at Rockefeller Center in the ice rink area and drinking for the better part of the day. There is something about sitting on an outdoor patio that can make you forget how much you are drinking or how loud you are talking. We sat there long enough for my friend Lucia to request sand in her drinks because she was pretending she was at the beach. We realized that if we were going to make it home we should continue on with our day and leave the bar. This could only mean one thing.... it was time to go to FAO Schwartz. My guests wanted to go to the Muppet Workshop and make muppets of themselves, so off we went.

We arrive at FAO and proceed to the Muppet area where all the 20 something employees are standing there with various puppets. One of them is holding a muppet that looks a little like this....
We were wondering how to get started, so I told Brad he should ask the guy holding the "whore puppet". I was not trying to be rude, I just really thought the puppet looked like a whore. Apparently, the employees are a bit rude, because this is when I realized that the employee was eavesdropping on my conversation and I was corrected that it is not a "whore" it is "a princess". I might have responded by whispering to Brad, "if she is not a whore why is he fisting her". I realize that it would be best for me to go play with the lunchboxes and let my friends build their puppet. I quickly got bored and lonely and went back over the my friends were I realized that all the puppets had whips. I asked if they all came with whips and I was once again corrected and was told they were not whips, but it was the hand control to move the arm. This final correction was when I first noticed "THE LOOK". This may surprise you, but I am pretty familiar with "THE LOOK". It is the type of look that one shoots me to let me know I have possibly crossed over the line that most people find comfort on the other side of. It is the kind of look that says "I have very low tolerance for anyone that wants to make a joke ". It is the type of look that lets me know that this person is working in a toy store not because they need the money, but because they love kids and care about the well being of these kids and I might be a bad influence on them. Ultimately, it is the kind of look that lets me know my time is limited in whatever establishment I am in. That is when I looked around and saw that not only was the guy holding the whore puppet giving "THE LOOK", but so were the other 4 people trying to pimp their puppet. I like to think that we were all just as inappropriate but my 2 friends were actually purchasing a puppet so they got away with their shenanigans. I did not want to ruin the magical moment when "Lucia Puppet" was born so I went away.

Finally, Lucia Puppet was ready and she came out wearing a hippy dress and....YES.... she came with her very own whip.

Moral of the story is when in a toy store, even if a guy has his whole hand up a puppets butt, there is no time when it is ok to use the word "fisting" in a toy store..... and that alcohol makes it easier to deal with all the kids in a toy store. Now I know.

If this isn't the American Dream, than I am not American

I don't know about you, but I am constantly 2 thoughts away from being Steve Slater. I fantasize about exploding and causing a huge scene about every 15 minutes. I constantly have a running stream of cuss words ready to go at a moments notice. I even have a nickname picked out for everyone I work with, should a situation arise that they piss me off. I sit in every meeting visualizing myself standing on top of the table and addressing each person on why I find them to be so stupid. These are things I just THINK about.

My new Hero ACTUALLY went on a PA system, cussed every out (they no doubt deserved it), deployed an emergency slide (who the hell doesn't love a slide), stole some beer (becuase the first thing you want when quitting your job is a cold one) and cruised down to the tarmac at 9.8 meters per second squared and hurried home to his girl where he engaged in celebratory "I just lost my shit and ruined my future" shag. (Of course, that was cut short when the cops showed up).

Mr. Slater picked an interesting time for his display. I had a pretty decent interview yesterday and the reality of potentially walking in and saying "I am fed up with this crap and I am outta here" has become more than a passing a thought.

If I do choose to change jobs, I will be in a position to pull a Slater. I admit, it will not be easy!! We have no glass ceiling at work I can jump through. I work in a basement so rappelling out of my window is not an option. I am not a guy so it is not as easy to spell "I QUIT" in piss on my boss's desk. On top of this, my normal level of "crazy" at work is something the staff has become quite accustom too. I could sit on the floor in the corner and eat Campbell's Cheddar Cheese Soup out of the can and only reply to questions in the voice of Beaker from the muppets and they would not even think twice. I will need to reach to new levels.

I would like officially to go on the record saying..... Thank you Mr. Slater, for throwing the gauntlet down. I ACCEPT your challenge!!

Week in Review: Conversations

On Me:

Friend: "I got you something"
Me: "Seriously, I know you like me but you do not have to bring Frankincense and Myrrh EVERY TIME you come to see me!"
___________________________________________
On Kids:

Matt: "you need to go to showusthecow.com"
Me: "Did you seriously just send me to a site with a bunch of stupid kids dressed up as cows?"
Him: "Someone sent me a funny picture.... I realize that is what I was sending you to, sorry about that"
Me: "uh huh... Are you trying to tell me you want to have a cow"
Him: "Maybe, but preferably one without a baby growing out it"
____________________________________________
On Religion:

Friend: "That's whats good about being an Atheist, you don't have to worry because in the end you are just going to rot"
Me: "I try to not be purely evil, for example I wouldn't eat baby"
Friend: "But I could if I wanted to, and that is my point."
____________________________________________
On Dating:

Me: "OMG, He FINALLY got a girlfriend?!?!"
Friend: "I don't know how he did it but he found a chick that has a thing for big Asian men and swords. He needs to hang on to her"
____________________________________________
On Homosexuality:

Client: "My residence hates me because I am gay"
Me: "What do they do to make you think that?"
Client: "They tell me that I can not write letters to other guys anymore"
Me: "Give me an example of a situation where they said something like that"
Client: "I wrote a letter to another guy that lives there and ALL it said was 'I want to see you naked in the locker room at the pool'"
____________________________________________
On Music:

Matt: "How do know about Slipknot?"
Me: "I have dated a lot of drummers that made me listen to horrible mousic, and I know that the only reason people listen to that shit is because the 'DRUMMER KICKS SO MUCH DAMN ASS!!!' or some something stupid like that"
Matt: *uncontrollable laughter because he knows I am right*

William Hung-1, Failure (formally known as Me)- 0

As I was setting up my Countdown Application for 2012 for my vacation on my phone, I became hyper aware that my birthday is in about a month. I will be 32 years old, and I was hit with the sobering feeling that I am a complete and utter failure at life. (Maybe "sobering" is too strong a word since I am referring to "reality", and let's face it, I haven't felt "Sober" since 1995). I have had 27 years to accomplish certain goals (don't judge me because I squandered away my first 5 years doing nothing). Not only have I not meet any of these goals, but I have not even started working on them.

~I was supposed to be training whales and dolphins by now. The only progress I have made on this is that I finally figured out who lives in the damn pineapple under the sea.

~I was supposed to be an Alligator Wrangler and at this point I don't even have a cowboy hat, much less a bone necklace and tribal tattoo around my bicep.

~I was supposed to be a Ice Sculptor. Once again, NOWHERE CLOSE TO ACHIEVING THIS!!!! I can't even consistently refill the ice cube trays in the freezer. At this rate, I will never get around to carving all 4 Horsemen for outside my door so when the apocalypse finally gets here and the Horsemen divide and conquer, they will see that there are already Horsemen at my door and skip it.

~And finally, the one I feel the most remorse for, is that I was supposed to be an astronaut by now. If only I had not procrastinated for so long, I might have been able to go to Pluto and find that Walt Disney is actually frozen there and convince the world that Pluto not only DESERVES to be a planet but is the happiest planet of them all.

It sucks to wake up and realize that you are a failure, but a little advice, in case you find yourself in a similar situation: Banana pudding with nutter butter cookies and rainbow sprinkles will make you feel like the best loser in the world!!!

May Teddy Ruxbin haunt your sleep if you ever leave me out of fun again!!!

I just picked up on the fact that there is a new game being played at work. If I wasn't always so busy playing on the Internet and looking for Narnia in my file cabinets doing tons and tons of really important, awesome work, I may have noticed sooner that there are still 2 doors in my hallway that has Christmas Cards hanging on them.

I thought maybe you wouldn't believe me so here is proof. (yes that is even a hand made snow flake on the top)It would be insane to think that someone walks through their door every day and does not realize they are still celebrating a season that was over 7 months ago, so I am left to believe that the staff started a game of "Who Can Be More Out Of Date?" and left me out of it.

(which I need to state for the record that this is bullsh*t, since I invite everyone to play ANY game I start, including "Where Did I Put My Phone?", "Whose office did I hide the rotten eggs in?, "Who can name 100 reasons I am the greatest person in the fastest time?", and "Office Chair Roller Derby")

So after I got over the hurt of not being included, I got my game face on and started getting busy. I think I have a good mix of all things old. Kimmy Gibbler and Boo Berry cereal have never let me down before.

I am not sure when the judging panel takes place but it better be before December or I will be the hands down winner.

This is your brain, This is your brain in skinny jeans going *SPLAT*

This weekend I went to a Ska show, like I have done hundreds of times in the past, only this time everyone got younger but me. It was like time stopped and I grew older and no one else did. All the concert goers were looking at me like I was there chaperoning one of the other tweens. It was so bad I saw kids hiding their joint when they saw me standing there. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed having the entire bar to myself and never having to wait for a drink, but it is a lot of responsibility to be solely responsible for the tips the bar tender takes home. (I am fully aware how UN-punk rock it is that I worried about the bartenders tips, only more proof I was too old to be there).

While I was there pondering how the country will function when everyone is 17 year old... I looked down and saw a kid about to lose his lunch/pills/40 oz/whatever. He was sitting on the ground with his head in his hands looking pretty miserable. I could not help but notice the wall of skinny boys in their uber trendy tank tops, skinny jeans and bad hair cuts that surrounded him. They literally formed a wall so that no one would trip over him. One kid was even rubbing his back telling him that he would be fine. I don't know about you, but the code in my circle growing up was that if you couldn't handle what you ingest, you deserve to be left. I could call any of my friends right now and they would say "I would maybe have put him in the corner but hell no am I babysitting him all night". This was the code we lived by and if you didn't want to be deserted in your time of need, then you made sure you could handle whatever it was you felt like using.

I started feeling a little sad for the world. It is not that I wanted to see the kid get left by his friends (or maybe I did), but it is more about the lessons our friends teach us. All that kid learned from that experience is that when he f*cks up, someone will be there to rub his back and tell him that things will be ok. This is not a lesson that will take him far in life. My friends taught each other some serious life lessons that our parents didn't have a chance at teaching us. Our methods were effective and it generally only took 1 bad experience to change your negative behavior.

• If you act stupid, you deserve to have no friends.

• If you say "take your best shot".... brace yourself to get fully punched in the face.

• If you fall asleep first, on the only couch to sit on, be prepared to have a penis Sharpied to your face in the morning.

• If you are too messed up to realize that you are not wearing any pants, it is not my job to tell you.

Just as I was mourning the toughness of our nation, the concert started and some kids rushed the stage and dived off. When the 3rd kid took his leap of faith, the crowd parted and he ate it, face first into the concrete. My faith was finally renewed that at least some of these kids would walk away having learned a big lesson.

Before taking a risk, hope for the best....but be prepared in case you hit the concrete and have to wipe the blood off your face with your Ed Hardy tank top.

The Wheels on the Bus Make Me Drop it Like It's Hot!

For some masochistic reason I decided to go shopping today. Not only do I hate shopping but it is also 102 degrees outside. I was on my way back and was standing at a bus stop in the heat about to die, when bus pulls up. My overwhelming feeling of relief was cut short when I looked up and saw "OUT OF SERVICE" on the top of the bus. Apparently, I am too good looking to pass by I looked as if I was about to die, because the bus door opens:

Bus Driver: "get in, it is too hot out there for you to be standing around"
Me: "You are my favorite person on the Earth"

** I get on the empty bus and remember that there is a rule for this. Anytime, I, and the people with me, get on an empty subway car or bus, a dance party MUST be called**

Me: "Since you are so awesome I will now have a dance party and you are invited, if you so choose"
BD: "well if I must, I must"

We proceeded down 1st Ave to my stop, while jamming out. A few blocks later he dropped me off and we parted ways. As far as best bus rides, this one is SO much better than when I saw the bus driver beat up the 9 year old in the Bronx.

Just when I think I left the crazy at work..... I meet the ketchup

I went out for 132 a few drinks after work tonight with a coworker. As we are sitting there drinking, engaged in completely mature and appropriate adult conversation about the Holocaust, Labradoodles and the crucifixion (the Jesus one), the ketchup on our table decided to commit suicide. No, it was not a respectful suicide, it didn't eat a bunch of pills or run away to jump off the Manhattan Bridge (oh haven't you heard... the Brooklyn Bridge is SO last year, and the 59th St bridge is too groovy for all that death)... NO, our ketchup decided to be completely dramatic and jump off the table onto the sidewalk. Luckily, there was a crazy dude hanging out on the curb that was apparently "triggered" by the pile of red splat and loud noise, because he was able to start screaming about his 19 y/o friend that died yesterday which totally took the attention away from the gory scene of the pile of dead ketchup.

The waitress drink lady came over and saw the horrific scene and sent a guy with a broom over. While he was sweeping up ketchup, with a broom, on the sidewalk, I looked at him and said "I am so sorry for your loss". The sweeper looked up at me and said "no problem, this happens all the time". Shocked that this was a regular thing at this bar, I got a little upset and started my screaming at the sweeper "YOU SHOULD LEARN TO TREAT YOUR KETCHUP BETTER AND MAYBE THEY WOULD NOT ALL BE TRYING TO KILL THEMSELVES". He looked a little confused, and looked at me as if to say "what the hell is wrong with you". I took this opportunity to point out he was the one SWEEPING ketchup with a broom on the sidewalk.

If you want to see me cry, call me Jane

There are some things that I live in constant fear of becoming. I know, I know you are going to try to tell me it is unlikely that I will become a crack whore slinging tricks on the corner, a midget, a cast member of Jersey Shore, or Gary Busey's love child but I assure you, life can take quick turns and *BOOM* you find your self offering a trucker named Bubba a choice between purple or green condoms. I try to not discount that we are ALL just a few life decisions from being what we promised ourselves as children we would never be. (i.e. I made one wrong turn and now I am a therapist). There is a list of things I fear, but this weekend I left home without my wallet and my biggest fear of them all became a very real possibility.

It was the most stressful 4 hours and 32 minutes of my life. Not having an ID means that if I get kidnapped and tossed in the park like bag of garbage, I will become a JANE DOE. Can you think of anything sadder? There are all the normal reasons that this is saddest thing ever:

• It means you have most likely had a REALLY BAD day
• Your family has no idea where you are
• You are probably dirty
• Your favorite jeans are most likely ripped
  
• Your entire name only has 2 syllables
• If your bruises heal and you go out for a much needed beer, you may not get served without an ID
• Even though you may have done nothing wrong, you get a police sketch that gets printed in the papers so when your college professor is flipping through to find the Sudoku puzzle they catch a glimpse and think you are wanted for some horrible crime and mouth "I always knew it" to themselves.

These are all good reason for not being a Jane Doe, however, there is one, more terrifying possibility. It is totally possible that if you leave home without any ID and get kidnapped and your skull gets crushed in before you are dumped in the park like a bag of trash, the police may need make a clay model of your skull to recreate what you look like so your family may recognize you and claim your remains.

I challenge you to tell me there is something worse than having the last images your family and friends will remember of you looking like this.

Tell me who you are... you have a minute and a half... GO!

Last week was Kid week on Jeopardy. My favorite week! I am able to lay the smack down on those snotty little know-it-alls. This week I find myself back to the grind of sitting on the couch at 7:30 watching 3, socially awkward contestants fight over who knows more about 750BC or the government of Djibouti. As I sit here, feeling like less of a person because after 31 years, I still do not know what the damn Potpourri category is about, I am left only to wonder about the mini interviews Alex does after the first commercial break.

These people have 1.5 minutes to tell the world who they are. This is their big chance to make their friends and family proud and to make themselves look like they might not be the nerdy, socially awkward person we all know they are. I find it hard to believe that EVERY SINGLE PERSON that goes on Jeopardy freely gives the dumbest story they can think of, so I am left to think that they are given a formula they, no doubt, HAVE to follow. After much Vodka research, I think I have cracked the code.

topic that is randomly chosen by looking at some ink blots
+
story from at least 10 years ago (since all the recent years are only stories about how you have sold your soul and no one find that funny)
+
from a time in your life that you felt you were much hipper than you actually were
OR
a moment of trauma that you feel you can laugh at now
=
1.5 minutes of complete senseless stupid story that makes me lose IQ

I am willing to admit, that my dreams of going on Jeopardy are as far gone as my virginity, however, I still want my 1.5 minutes to tell my most important story utilizing the Jeopardy Formula.

Alex: It says here that you owned a 2D bird?
Me: HaHa, yes Alex that is right. When I was a child I had a bird that my mother got me for my birthday. My sister and I were laying on the floor one night watching TV and the bird was walking on her back when we fell asleep. I woke up to my sister screaming and looked at the floor and saw the flattened bird that my sister had apparently slept on.
Alex: I bet that was the last bird your mom bought you.
Me: No doubt, that bird sucked!

--Cue inappropriate audience laughter--

Just Another Reason Falkore is Cooler than Brooklyn Dragons.

There are Dragons that live above the elevator at work. I try not to talk about them because the staff freaks out at Bed Bugs, I can only imagine what they would do if they knew we worked with dragons. I know they are there because I am smarter than anyone I work with I hear them all the time when I am in the elevator. They make a lot of mechanical sounding noise, they breathe fire explaining why it is always so hot and sometimes they get pissed and decide they do not want to elevator to work anymore.

I got to work today and get into the elevator, at which point I hear all the dragons going nuts. I have always had suspicion that they have raging parties that start the moment we all leave work on Friday. Naturally, I thought that they partied so hard this weekend that they forgot to settle it down by Monday morning, but by the time I got down to the Basement, I realized that they were not partying at all. They were pissed, and it was going to be one of "those days".

I went to my office and saw on my calendar that I have one of the most dreaded meetings ever today. I decided to make these two unfortunate things work for me.... because when it comes down to it, I AM a Silver Lining kind of girl. So I proceeded to ride the elevator up and down over and over again for 3 hours. I have learned that the dragons enjoy when I do Kung Fu Fighting while alone in the elevator, so I resisted the urge today, because ultimately I was there to piss them off. Instead, I opted for the Macarana to pass the time. I knew I was on the verge of seeing the dragon's true rage when I had to go to my meeting. Not 10 minutes after I left for my meeting, the dragons finally felt the rage and shut the elevator down trapping a client in it. DAMN YOU DRAGONS THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ME TRAPPED IN THERE BUT INSTEAD I SPENT 2 HOURS IN POINTLESS MEETINGS WHEN I COULD HAVE BEEN SITTING IN AN ELEVATOR WAITING ON GOOD LOOKING FIREFIGHTERS!!!!! Falkore would have never let me down like that.
I only tell you this story because tomorrow is "Embrace your Geekness Day", and if you are looking for a way to cheer me up after my horrible day..... I offer you this FANTASTICALLY AWESOME IDEA!

Please don't tell Vodka!!!!

Dear Absinthe,

Every night as I go to bed, I spend a few moments going over the topics that I consider to be approved dream topics for the nights entertainment. You know like zombies, becoming president of the vampires, the four horsemen finally wanting to hang out with me, space camp, Jenny Jones vs. Sally grudge match, escaped convicts, or running through the food court arm in arm with Kirstie Alley. Last night, you snuck into my sleep movie without being invited. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed watching as I was attacked by a Komodo Dragon while all my friends sang Sweet Caroline and sipped you, but I feel that you are coming on to strong.


I only bring this up because we will be hanging out tonight and I do not need you getting the wrong idea. Sure, it is true you make me feel prettier than my tiara does and I really like the warm fuzzy feeling you offer, but I need to be very clear: I AM HEAD OVER HEELS IN LOVE WITH POTATO JUICE!!!! I have no room for another full time relationship. I know this is hard to hear and you are going to try to change my mind but I think we should make a deal before things get out of control. So I am going off the record and suggesting that maybe you if play your cards right, we could be friends with benefits.


Tootles,

Subliminally Incognito