A bunch of us went to a Yankees game this Friday. It was fun. But we did have some questions/make some observations. Such as:
1. What happens when you run out on the field? What are you actually charged with? It's not trespassing because I paid to enter the stadium. Also, do you get banned from the stadium after that? Does that mean that they employ 1 guy to watch all the door to make sure you don't enter?
2. I've written about this before--baseball pajama pants. I mean, those guys look like they just rolled out of bed and got on the field. Get a real uniform.
3. There's no fighting. It's not like football or hockey or soccer. It's kind of lame. Because it's not a contact sport/real sport.
4. Baseball players are guys who were not tough enough/big enough to play football, not tall enough for basketball, too out of shape for soccer and too pretty for hockey. Therefore, their default sport which allocates them millions of dollars is Baseball.
5. On TV the field seems so big but actually the distance between bases is pretty small. So, not only do they have to stand there waiting for someone to actually hit the ball, then they only have to run a few feet before stopping and standing there again.
On another note, our group from work sat in the same section as a useless parent who had the audacity to call the school that day and say that her son was sick and couldn't come in. She does this on a weekly basis and we've been battling her for the last 2 years. Well, her and her son looked pretty healthy to me. Guess who's getting called in for a meeting on Monday. And guess who will have ACS at their door if they don't show up. I don't like being lied to. And if you lie to me, I will break you down. Fucking assholes.
So, I was told several times during the night that I was mean. Ok. The first was a guy who said something and then I said something snarky and he said "You're mean!" and I said "Um, yeah. I'm not here to make friends. I'm watching the game."
Then we went to a bar by the stadium and another guy from the same group was all up in my business. I tried to give him a chance, because apparently I have to be more open minded or something. Well here is the transcript of that interaction(and yes, I wrote it as we were talking. I made him hold my beer):
Dude: Do you wanna go on a date?
Me: No.
Dude: You're such an asshole!
(a couple minutes later)
Dude: Come on. What's your number? I'll call you.
Me: How about you telepathically call me.
Dude: You're a bitch.
(I finally did give him my number in an effort "get out there" again. About 5 minutes later...)
Dude: So, when are you free?
Me: After Wednesday.
Dude: Ok. You have my number. Hit me up.
Me: Um, the rules haven't changed. You're supposed to call me.
Dude: Um, no. The girl calls the guy.
Me: Well, I guess you're going to be waiting with baited breath for me to call then...
Dude: I guess I'll call you then.
We mingled with the group and later when I went outside, I found him hugging another girl. Guys are such assholes. I don't have time for that shit. 15 minutes later as I was talking with some other guy, I looked over to see the first guy dancing around the bar in his underwear. I shit you not. Security obviously stopped that.
On to the next guy who was all over my shit. He was cute and seemed nice. This did happen though:
Dude: come here and let me lean on you.
Me: No. you're ok on your own.
Dude: No. I'm drunk and I need to lean on you.
THIS is what I'm working with out there. Fuck.
We all kind of went our separate ways and he didn't get my number but....I checked the guy out on facebook and discovered....he's in a relationship! Of course he is. Disgusting. I want to message the girl (who's from CT but lives in Ghana) and let her know what he's doing back at home. All men are disgusting. That is the thesis of this post. You're welcome for now knowing.
I am officially buying some cats and calling it a year.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Oh Boys...
I love living with boys. I've learned a lot. I mean, I kind of already knew how disgusting they were from my dad and brother, but I'm noticing over time that all men have similar habits. Such as the following:
1. they love coin jars. I think it's the funniest thing! And they love them to be near the door not hidden away somewhere like where I keep my coins. One day, one just showed up on my kitchen counter. It hasn't left and I don't mind it. I hear the boys go into it once in a while and I smile.
2. They DO NOT clean the fridge out. They don't care that there are 3 containers of milk in there all with a few drops left. They just keep them there. While the boys have been gone I cleaned it out and found a container of milk from February. That's kind of gross, but again, I don't mind. I've accepted that there are some things they won't do. Now, spilling something in there and not cleaning it up, does bother me. Arg.
3. They love leaving stray articles of clothing all over the house. I have a shirt and a sock on my bar stool, had a towel on the couch once for a few days, and currently a sock and a shirt in the dryer. It's like they start stripping once they walk through the door.
4. They will not take out the garbage until it is overflowing/making a trail to the door. I can't stand an overflowing garbage can. But boys just keep piling shit up in there until you can hardly close the bag. What's up with that?
Why is it you ask, that I am so easy going about all this? Like my friend Jersey L says, I am part man. It's not so much that I can think like one, but I've observed enough people to know what typical man behavior is and I've accepted their limitations. She also brought up a good point, that unfortunately, even though I am part man, I am also part female. And it's the emotional part that is my demise. Because, underneath this tough exterior is a girl with a very large romantic comedy movie collection among her superhero and action movies. That part always gets me into 'pickles' as my sister likes to say.
1. they love coin jars. I think it's the funniest thing! And they love them to be near the door not hidden away somewhere like where I keep my coins. One day, one just showed up on my kitchen counter. It hasn't left and I don't mind it. I hear the boys go into it once in a while and I smile.
2. They DO NOT clean the fridge out. They don't care that there are 3 containers of milk in there all with a few drops left. They just keep them there. While the boys have been gone I cleaned it out and found a container of milk from February. That's kind of gross, but again, I don't mind. I've accepted that there are some things they won't do. Now, spilling something in there and not cleaning it up, does bother me. Arg.
3. They love leaving stray articles of clothing all over the house. I have a shirt and a sock on my bar stool, had a towel on the couch once for a few days, and currently a sock and a shirt in the dryer. It's like they start stripping once they walk through the door.
4. They will not take out the garbage until it is overflowing/making a trail to the door. I can't stand an overflowing garbage can. But boys just keep piling shit up in there until you can hardly close the bag. What's up with that?
Why is it you ask, that I am so easy going about all this? Like my friend Jersey L says, I am part man. It's not so much that I can think like one, but I've observed enough people to know what typical man behavior is and I've accepted their limitations. She also brought up a good point, that unfortunately, even though I am part man, I am also part female. And it's the emotional part that is my demise. Because, underneath this tough exterior is a girl with a very large romantic comedy movie collection among her superhero and action movies. That part always gets me into 'pickles' as my sister likes to say.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Spring Break Review
I'm not sure if there was a holiday or some sort of occasion but there was an abundance of people out on Monday night. Pig on 2nd had a good crowd and live music and for the celebration of my first day of freedom I decided it was Bellini Monday and went full force. I lost track after number 5. Even the bartender couldn't remember. Then it took me a full day to realize there was also a shot of Jameson involved before I left and then a glass of wine down the block. Who am I?! I sure was paying for it the next day. My head still hurts.
I ran away for 2 days and went on a roadtrip to PA this week. Along the way we stopped at college radio stations to promote my cousins new album. From being on campuses I realized, and I know for a fact, that if I had dormed at school I would be THAT girl. You know, the one who's always drunk and known to have slept with half the rugby team. I'm easily influenced and swayed by peer pressure. It's the self destructiveness that lurks within me. I'm glad and sad at the same time about not having that experience. Wait, not sad about being a crazy whorebag but sad that I'll never know if that's true or not.
I was at the park with Marky Mark this week where we people watched and drank 2 bottles of wine. And we noticed the groups of teenagers on the Great Lawn. They were like little casts of Gossip Girl. The typical Manhattanite teenagers. You can spot them a mile away. We started talking about how different we would be if we grew up in a city like NYC instead of where we did (I do realize that the Bronx IS part of NYC but it is NOTHING like Manhattan). There were no bars around the corner or clubs or taxis at any time of night. It's such a different upbringing than that which we see on Gossip Girl. And we wondered if we would have gotten sucked into the Paris Hilton world of clubbing at 15 and being spoiled and entitled little shitheads. Probably. Like I said before, I'm easily influenced.
My roommates are leaving me. Not forever but for a week. Both at the same time. That's never happened before. So, that means I'm going to be alone for a week in this shitty apartment. That's unsettling. Because I HATE this building. I hate it more and more with every day that passes. I hate that my room is covered in plastic because of the leaks. I hate that the stupid doors don't stay open on their own. I hate the guy on the 2nd floor who keeps complaining that people are throwing cigarette butts onto his terrace almost every day. And most of all, I hate the day 3 years ago when I first noticed this building. Because it's brought me nothing but trouble. It's not good when you pull up to your building and it takes you two minutes to leave the car because you loathe walking into it. There are other reasons why I hate coming home which has led me to finally give in and run away on a weekly basis. Someone had suggested that a few weeks ago and they were right. Being away for 2 days this week made me feel a lot better. Less anxious. So, as of right now, Pittsburgh, Boston, D.C., and Chicago are on my list. I guess I'll be doing some overtime to fund these trips.
I ran away for 2 days and went on a roadtrip to PA this week. Along the way we stopped at college radio stations to promote my cousins new album. From being on campuses I realized, and I know for a fact, that if I had dormed at school I would be THAT girl. You know, the one who's always drunk and known to have slept with half the rugby team. I'm easily influenced and swayed by peer pressure. It's the self destructiveness that lurks within me. I'm glad and sad at the same time about not having that experience. Wait, not sad about being a crazy whorebag but sad that I'll never know if that's true or not.
I was at the park with Marky Mark this week where we people watched and drank 2 bottles of wine. And we noticed the groups of teenagers on the Great Lawn. They were like little casts of Gossip Girl. The typical Manhattanite teenagers. You can spot them a mile away. We started talking about how different we would be if we grew up in a city like NYC instead of where we did (I do realize that the Bronx IS part of NYC but it is NOTHING like Manhattan). There were no bars around the corner or clubs or taxis at any time of night. It's such a different upbringing than that which we see on Gossip Girl. And we wondered if we would have gotten sucked into the Paris Hilton world of clubbing at 15 and being spoiled and entitled little shitheads. Probably. Like I said before, I'm easily influenced.
My roommates are leaving me. Not forever but for a week. Both at the same time. That's never happened before. So, that means I'm going to be alone for a week in this shitty apartment. That's unsettling. Because I HATE this building. I hate it more and more with every day that passes. I hate that my room is covered in plastic because of the leaks. I hate that the stupid doors don't stay open on their own. I hate the guy on the 2nd floor who keeps complaining that people are throwing cigarette butts onto his terrace almost every day. And most of all, I hate the day 3 years ago when I first noticed this building. Because it's brought me nothing but trouble. It's not good when you pull up to your building and it takes you two minutes to leave the car because you loathe walking into it. There are other reasons why I hate coming home which has led me to finally give in and run away on a weekly basis. Someone had suggested that a few weeks ago and they were right. Being away for 2 days this week made me feel a lot better. Less anxious. So, as of right now, Pittsburgh, Boston, D.C., and Chicago are on my list. I guess I'll be doing some overtime to fund these trips.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Speak Up
Last week I was walking towards my building at work and noticed that the new stones put on the terrace were loose already after only a year. Then I looked up and saw rust stains coming down the roof of the building over my office. I thought “it’s such an ugly, plain building that’s falling apart from the outside”. Then I thought about my apartment building and how it’s so shiny and new on the outside but falling apart on the inside. Then I thought about how those buildings represented the human population. Those were a lot of thoughts in less than 2 minutes, before 8am and pre-coffee.
It’s true though, some of us are damaged on the outside, some damaged on the inside. Some are newly built but broken and some last for 40 years before becoming broken. There are cracks and leaks and loose floorboards. And sometimes we need some repainting or caulking and we’re good as new, and sometimes we need to be demolished and rebuilt from the ground up. It’s not a bad thing. It’s just the way we are. Mostly all of us can be fixed though. It sometimes takes time, but it can be done.
The problem is that we always feel like we’re the only ones who are broken. Like we’re the only ones who feel the things we feel. If that were true, then we wouldn’t be able to say “shit, this song is saying the exact thing I feel right now”. Because if we identify with song lyrics that means that someone thought of it and wrote it down which means that someone else was going through the same thing we’ve felt. I’ve been reading a lot of memoir-esque books of people who have illnesses or addictions which is why I’ve been thinking about this more than usual. I’ve also been watching a lot of Dexter and Californication, and if those 2 guys don’t epitomize being broken, then I don’t know who does.
I was thinking about this a lot in the last week---Being broken. And from talking with people and discussing the limitations of the human race, I’ve discovered that one thing that works in women’s favor is that we talk about things. We sometimes talk things to death, but we do it. We talk about situations, and how things made us feel and solutions. That’s something men don’t do to a certain extent. Yes, they talk to each other but they’re not sitting around drinking beer and watching the Yankees game and talking about their fears. We do. That’s one thing I discovered in the last couple of years. It’s good to talk about things because if you keep everything to yourself, it’s eventually going to drive you mad. We can only live with our thoughts, fears, concerns, and obsessions, for so long before needing an outlet. Before finding that person(s) who understand what we’re feeling. I’m that type of person—if I’m alone for too long with my thoughts and problems then I start obsessing about them and making myself crazy. It’s not good to live in your head all the time.
The only way you’re going to discover that other people feel the same, is to talk to them. It’s hard. Opening up and being vulnerable is difficult and scary (especially when you think that no one is going to understand) but it’s the only way you’re going to know and begin to repair. I’m still working on that, opening up and being really honest. Sometimes I feel like I say things but I’m not really saying anything because I’m holding back. I know it. I’m conscious of it but I can’t help it. It’s fear though. Fear of being honest to other people and ourselves. Because sometimes being honest with ourselves is the scariest thing because we don’t want to really admit or see who or what we are. We all have demons we wrestle with whether teenie tiny kick-dog demons or gigantic transformer sized demons. A demon’s a demon. There are several reasons why we’re damaged—maybe it’s one event or maybe it’s a lifetime of events. In the end, it is what it is. You have to deal with it at some point.
It’s true though, some of us are damaged on the outside, some damaged on the inside. Some are newly built but broken and some last for 40 years before becoming broken. There are cracks and leaks and loose floorboards. And sometimes we need some repainting or caulking and we’re good as new, and sometimes we need to be demolished and rebuilt from the ground up. It’s not a bad thing. It’s just the way we are. Mostly all of us can be fixed though. It sometimes takes time, but it can be done.
The problem is that we always feel like we’re the only ones who are broken. Like we’re the only ones who feel the things we feel. If that were true, then we wouldn’t be able to say “shit, this song is saying the exact thing I feel right now”. Because if we identify with song lyrics that means that someone thought of it and wrote it down which means that someone else was going through the same thing we’ve felt. I’ve been reading a lot of memoir-esque books of people who have illnesses or addictions which is why I’ve been thinking about this more than usual. I’ve also been watching a lot of Dexter and Californication, and if those 2 guys don’t epitomize being broken, then I don’t know who does.
I was thinking about this a lot in the last week---Being broken. And from talking with people and discussing the limitations of the human race, I’ve discovered that one thing that works in women’s favor is that we talk about things. We sometimes talk things to death, but we do it. We talk about situations, and how things made us feel and solutions. That’s something men don’t do to a certain extent. Yes, they talk to each other but they’re not sitting around drinking beer and watching the Yankees game and talking about their fears. We do. That’s one thing I discovered in the last couple of years. It’s good to talk about things because if you keep everything to yourself, it’s eventually going to drive you mad. We can only live with our thoughts, fears, concerns, and obsessions, for so long before needing an outlet. Before finding that person(s) who understand what we’re feeling. I’m that type of person—if I’m alone for too long with my thoughts and problems then I start obsessing about them and making myself crazy. It’s not good to live in your head all the time.
The only way you’re going to discover that other people feel the same, is to talk to them. It’s hard. Opening up and being vulnerable is difficult and scary (especially when you think that no one is going to understand) but it’s the only way you’re going to know and begin to repair. I’m still working on that, opening up and being really honest. Sometimes I feel like I say things but I’m not really saying anything because I’m holding back. I know it. I’m conscious of it but I can’t help it. It’s fear though. Fear of being honest to other people and ourselves. Because sometimes being honest with ourselves is the scariest thing because we don’t want to really admit or see who or what we are. We all have demons we wrestle with whether teenie tiny kick-dog demons or gigantic transformer sized demons. A demon’s a demon. There are several reasons why we’re damaged—maybe it’s one event or maybe it’s a lifetime of events. In the end, it is what it is. You have to deal with it at some point.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Week In Review
Some things from the last week:
I love when people go out of their way to be nice to you when they don't necessarily have to do it. My doormen have been awesome these last few weeks. One morning last week I came down and he said "good morning! you're looking beautiful as always. have a great day." The other morning he gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek and told me to have a good day. Wow, thanks buddy! That was a great way to start the day. Even if he was lying, it's still nice to hear. The weekend doorman insisted that I needed to get my aggression out via shooting range (going in May) and boxing. He was going to see if we could get some equipment in the gym. I went down the other day to discover some gloves and a padded vest. Awesomeness! Now I only need someone to be my victim.
(p.s. I do realize that it is weird to be so close with my doormen. Those guys know everything though! Gotta keep them as allies)
I saw lots of guys walking around with bouquets of flowers on Sunday evening and Monday afternoon. It’s not near Mother’s day or Valentine’s Day so I’m guessing there was an abundance of mistakes made over the weekend….
Men in their 40’s and 50’s love me. It’s their sons I have trouble with. The older men find my sassiness adorable. Their sons find it intimidating. I can’t fucking win…
Several men over the last week have noticed(and commented on) my habit of raking through/twirling my hair. One thought it was an adorable nervous habit, the other thought it meant he was boring me. Who’s to say who is right.
I love girls who can’t walk in their heels. If you look like you’re in pain or your shoe is going to fall off in the middle of 2nd avenue at some point, don’t wear them!! You don’t look good and guys are not attracted to you hobbling all over the place. I sometimes feel like running up to them and pushing them over just for fun.
And lastly, my life is one big ball of awkwardness. As my secretary says, "I must've been a pedophile in my last life to deserve this shit"...That is all I'm saying...
I love when people go out of their way to be nice to you when they don't necessarily have to do it. My doormen have been awesome these last few weeks. One morning last week I came down and he said "good morning! you're looking beautiful as always. have a great day." The other morning he gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek and told me to have a good day. Wow, thanks buddy! That was a great way to start the day. Even if he was lying, it's still nice to hear. The weekend doorman insisted that I needed to get my aggression out via shooting range (going in May) and boxing. He was going to see if we could get some equipment in the gym. I went down the other day to discover some gloves and a padded vest. Awesomeness! Now I only need someone to be my victim.
(p.s. I do realize that it is weird to be so close with my doormen. Those guys know everything though! Gotta keep them as allies)
I saw lots of guys walking around with bouquets of flowers on Sunday evening and Monday afternoon. It’s not near Mother’s day or Valentine’s Day so I’m guessing there was an abundance of mistakes made over the weekend….
Men in their 40’s and 50’s love me. It’s their sons I have trouble with. The older men find my sassiness adorable. Their sons find it intimidating. I can’t fucking win…
Several men over the last week have noticed(and commented on) my habit of raking through/twirling my hair. One thought it was an adorable nervous habit, the other thought it meant he was boring me. Who’s to say who is right.
I love girls who can’t walk in their heels. If you look like you’re in pain or your shoe is going to fall off in the middle of 2nd avenue at some point, don’t wear them!! You don’t look good and guys are not attracted to you hobbling all over the place. I sometimes feel like running up to them and pushing them over just for fun.
And lastly, my life is one big ball of awkwardness. As my secretary says, "I must've been a pedophile in my last life to deserve this shit"...That is all I'm saying...
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
I Have Thoughts
Just a few thoughts and observations from these last couple of days:
1. It's nice when a man stops and holds open the door so you can walk in first. This doesn't really happen anymore. They always want to be first. Assholes. The problem is that when it finally does occur, women usually end up standing there with a confused look on their faces. We're so not used to it that we think there's something wrong. Then we do the surprised "thanks!" And walk through. Just because we're not barefoot and wearing an apron in the kitchen anymore doesn't mean we don't want you to open doors for us. We're still ladies(at least some of us).
2. Being stuck in an elevator alone sucks. I don't have a problem with being in there as much as I have a problem with the thought that it will plummet at some point and I will perish.
3. Some girls still haven't gotten the memo. Maybe it got lost in the mail along with my childhood letters to santa. LEGGINGS are NOT PANTS! Leggings should be worn under shorts, skirts, tunics, long sweaters. I should not be able to see your ass jiggling as you walk in front of me. I saw so many boots with leggings and short shirts today I thought I was going to be sick. Unless you're 95 pounds, you should not wear them as pants. The worst is I saw a girl the other day walking towards me who was wearing a pair that were so worn that they were see through. I can see your thigh. Take it down a notch, mama.
4.I don't know how some people sleep at night with the things they do. For example: How do brokers show you an apartment with a straight face that looks like Liberace threw up all over it after a night of heavy drinking? It was gross. Even worse was the broker who told me he was the original broker of my building who sold apartments to unsuspecting victims a few years ago. Then procedes to tell me all the problems my building has had. Um, yeah buddy. Structural prolems? Check. Shady owners? Check. And you're the asshole who sleeps at night knowing that you sold them to people who are stuck with them for at least the next 5 years? Great. So, why would I trust you about this "Green" building across the street from a project that is only half occupied. Sleep on that, buddy.
5. Is it wrong for me to think that Rembrandt is a pretentious asshole? I mean, what's with the 90 self portraits. Calm down. I find them so annoying. And, yes I understand about the lighting and the textural details of his work but...sorry, not impressed.
1. It's nice when a man stops and holds open the door so you can walk in first. This doesn't really happen anymore. They always want to be first. Assholes. The problem is that when it finally does occur, women usually end up standing there with a confused look on their faces. We're so not used to it that we think there's something wrong. Then we do the surprised "thanks!" And walk through. Just because we're not barefoot and wearing an apron in the kitchen anymore doesn't mean we don't want you to open doors for us. We're still ladies(at least some of us).
2. Being stuck in an elevator alone sucks. I don't have a problem with being in there as much as I have a problem with the thought that it will plummet at some point and I will perish.
3. Some girls still haven't gotten the memo. Maybe it got lost in the mail along with my childhood letters to santa. LEGGINGS are NOT PANTS! Leggings should be worn under shorts, skirts, tunics, long sweaters. I should not be able to see your ass jiggling as you walk in front of me. I saw so many boots with leggings and short shirts today I thought I was going to be sick. Unless you're 95 pounds, you should not wear them as pants. The worst is I saw a girl the other day walking towards me who was wearing a pair that were so worn that they were see through. I can see your thigh. Take it down a notch, mama.
4.I don't know how some people sleep at night with the things they do. For example: How do brokers show you an apartment with a straight face that looks like Liberace threw up all over it after a night of heavy drinking? It was gross. Even worse was the broker who told me he was the original broker of my building who sold apartments to unsuspecting victims a few years ago. Then procedes to tell me all the problems my building has had. Um, yeah buddy. Structural prolems? Check. Shady owners? Check. And you're the asshole who sleeps at night knowing that you sold them to people who are stuck with them for at least the next 5 years? Great. So, why would I trust you about this "Green" building across the street from a project that is only half occupied. Sleep on that, buddy.
5. Is it wrong for me to think that Rembrandt is a pretentious asshole? I mean, what's with the 90 self portraits. Calm down. I find them so annoying. And, yes I understand about the lighting and the textural details of his work but...sorry, not impressed.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Bridge and Tunnel City
I spent this lovely afternoon in my old stomping ground. Murray Hill. 28th and 3rd. What a time in my life. It was fun and I have blog material to last a lifetime but WOOF. The original vortex of all that was not right---Arctica. Good, bad, silly, crazy. It housed it all. The neighborhood should be renamed "bridge and tunnel city" cuz that's who it attracts. Mostly long island douchbags and silly girls with fake tans and ugg boots. How did I end up there you ask? I followed the long islanders. I was there. I'm not ashamed to admit it. Minus fake tan and a head full of air though.It began with Music Man. I was there almost every sunday night during that Summer into Fall.
The infamous story of my life is entitled "That Tuesday". No one will forget it. Aside from Arctica establishing the existance of Music Man and co. in my life, it also gave birth to Druggie Douchebag. I remember the look on the bartenders face the night I met him. His eyes were warning me it was bad news. They were screaming "noooooo!" but I couldn't really say no to a British accent. "That Tuesday" resulted in a lost phone, realization he had a drug problem as we stopped in at various bars and even a bodega for him to "use the bathroom", getting no sleep, going to work at 8am, and being awake for 38 hours straight. Never again. Great story, but never again.
As I'm writing this waiting for my friend to show up for lunch, I'm staring right at the giant looming problem of the neighborhood---Tonic East. Its the mecca for all things bridge and tunnel. Its the long island version of the Jersey Shore house. I think if we douce it in gasoline one Saturday night and accidentally lit a match, it would rid the surrounding area of the spread of STD's and reduce the statistics of bad decision making in the city.
You know how I know its a bad place? Druggie Douchebag took me there. And, he used to work there. And, he got fired from there. I should've known right then and there.
The infamous story of my life is entitled "That Tuesday". No one will forget it. Aside from Arctica establishing the existance of Music Man and co. in my life, it also gave birth to Druggie Douchebag. I remember the look on the bartenders face the night I met him. His eyes were warning me it was bad news. They were screaming "noooooo!" but I couldn't really say no to a British accent. "That Tuesday" resulted in a lost phone, realization he had a drug problem as we stopped in at various bars and even a bodega for him to "use the bathroom", getting no sleep, going to work at 8am, and being awake for 38 hours straight. Never again. Great story, but never again.
As I'm writing this waiting for my friend to show up for lunch, I'm staring right at the giant looming problem of the neighborhood---Tonic East. Its the mecca for all things bridge and tunnel. Its the long island version of the Jersey Shore house. I think if we douce it in gasoline one Saturday night and accidentally lit a match, it would rid the surrounding area of the spread of STD's and reduce the statistics of bad decision making in the city.
You know how I know its a bad place? Druggie Douchebag took me there. And, he used to work there. And, he got fired from there. I should've known right then and there.
I Don't Fight. I Just Raise the Eyebrow.
I've never been in a fight. Never. Most people assume I have because of the way I look. When I pull out the serious face mixed in with the raised eyebrow people get scared. I guess that's good for me. No one has ever messed with me. But....
I'm kind of itching to get into one. Just to see what would happen. My theory is that I don't know how to just injure someone and instead will kill them. I feel my DNA has encoded "destroy" in that sector of my brain and not "maim". Because Spartans don't injure, they kill.
And the only thing that's stopping me from getting in a fight is the thought of jail time. Because frankly, I'm too pretty for jail. And, I don't think they'll let me bring my flatiron.
There are some people I would like to punch in the face. I'd even settle for ripping out a few hairs from the head of some Long Island whorebag. I think it would make me feel better. What's the worst that could happen? Being charged with assault? What's the penalty for that? I would probably just have restraining orders against me. I can live with that. I just need to punch you in the face one good time and don't expect to be back after that anyway.
Some people just need a really good beat down.
I'm kind of itching to get into one. Just to see what would happen. My theory is that I don't know how to just injure someone and instead will kill them. I feel my DNA has encoded "destroy" in that sector of my brain and not "maim". Because Spartans don't injure, they kill.
And the only thing that's stopping me from getting in a fight is the thought of jail time. Because frankly, I'm too pretty for jail. And, I don't think they'll let me bring my flatiron.
There are some people I would like to punch in the face. I'd even settle for ripping out a few hairs from the head of some Long Island whorebag. I think it would make me feel better. What's the worst that could happen? Being charged with assault? What's the penalty for that? I would probably just have restraining orders against me. I can live with that. I just need to punch you in the face one good time and don't expect to be back after that anyway.
Some people just need a really good beat down.
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