Oh I’ve been meaning to post this to show I am not as bitter and cynical as you think:
Even though they’re all probably gonna end up as coats.
Kidding! I don’t know what they’re for but I’m sure they are going to have long happy lives with wonderful people who love them.
I’ve just returned from lunch, where, as usual, I was the person amongst many persons who gets stopped by another person looking for money. I must have SUCKER written on my face. And I had my headphones in. WTF??? LEAVE ME ALONE, what is the matter with you? Don’t you observe social signals that say someone is occupied? It’s like when someone’s intently reading a book on the plane, head down, and who sits next to you (and by “you” I mean “me”) but some goddamn chatterbox. You know how on TV there’s always some story on some channel about some woman who got on a plane and who should sit next to her but the most fabulous, intelligent, drop-dead-gorgeous, funny, witty, wonderful man in the history of the world and they just happen to be going to the same place and they are completely suited to each other and they fly off to Paris (it’s always Paris, never some dump like Lagos, Nigeria) and get off the plane and head straight for the Hôtel de Crillion (it’s always the Crillion, never some $20/night hellhole in the 19th Arrondissement) and they have mad passionate sex which is PERFECT and then they wander down to the Eiffel Tower (at night, never during the day when the lights are off) and then have an espresso at some perfectly charming little place (and it’s always some picturesque family place, never the McDonald’s in the run-down section of the Arab neighborhood) and they each wonder where the other has been all their lives and it’s a magical fairytale of light and love? Well that’s all a bunch of bullshit. It don’t happen. It just doesn’t. Those guys don’t sit next to anyone. They are somewhere, they do exist, but they don’t sit next to people on planes. Only chatterboxes who won’t shut up when I want to read do.
Anyhoo, this guy said he was a former homicide detective who needed to get a hotel room to take a shower. (Well props for a new story at least; that old “I just need $2.00 more for a bus ticket to New Hampshire is so 2006.) Then he said he would make a deal with me: he’d bet me $5.00 that he could tell me where I got my shoes.
Well I worked in a bar for more than 10 years and I have heard every scam/joke “bet” on the planet. Nobody’s getting free drinks out of me unless I want to give them to them.
So I just looked at him and said very matter-of-factly, “I can tell you where I got them too. I got them ON MY FEET.”
A look of surprise at being beaten washed over his face. It was really visible, like a theatre curtain dropping down embroidered with the silky letters of BUSTED in curlicued script. He knew the game was over right then. I should have asked why he didn’t just pop by the precinct headquarters about a half mile away if he was a police. Surely they would help one of their own.
Not that I’m heartless, if he really needs money for whatever reason, I feel bad for him, not that it’s going to make me give him any, but a *hotel room*??? He needs a hotel room to take a shower? The ocean is down the street! Or if he really wanted fresh water for washing, $1.70 buys a train ride to a beach with indoor plumbing.
If you have a bar bet that you think I can’t answer, let me know and if I can’t figure it out I’ll possibly buy you a shower in a hotel room. There’s probably a few of these tricks somewhere that are new to me.
Or maybe not.
9. My cat has done very well after her surgery and spent all night sleeping on my tummy. I was afraid to move, for fear of disturbing her, and because I thought she might claw my eyes out.
The End.
bleah
Well this is freaking me out. I totally smell bacon. But I have not cooked bacon in weeks, and I have a house where nobody else lives.
Should I go check for a bacon-loving Caspar?
Yes, more, many more, typos corrected. What a threilling Firday night, staying at home drinknng Crystal Light and liquor and smelling bacon. And making typos. w00t!
I have had three drinks tonight–at home–HIGHLY unusual–and I don’t know how people do this every night. I am totally ready for a nap. I could certainly not drive. I also don’t know how I managed not to kill myself years ago when I drank far more than this on a regular basis. White Russian, shot of Irish Mist, one after the other, was about the usual. Nauseating to think of that now. Hang around people who drink a lot, you’ll drink a lot too. Don’t even think you won’t. Unless you stop drinking entirely, then maybe you can do it. Anyway, if you leave the environment of lots of people who drink, that might be enough to make you stop.
By the way, Crystal Light Lemonade with Limoncello and Myer’s Rum is DELICIOUS. And low-calorie! (Relatively.)
Also, I have corrected many, many typos. You would not want to see this post before I had done so, as it probably looked like one of those South Seas clicking languages.
Do you think it’s tacky to plant a “garden” in an old toilet, which you will be placing in your backyard?
Yes: _____
or
YES: _____
I’ve seen a lot of weird things on craigslist but this one is pretty near the top on the WTF scale:
Girls with long tongues needed (Boston and New England)
If you know a pretty girl over 18 with a really long, agile tongue, please ask her if she’d like to get paid to show off her tongue tricks on video. She can make the video herself and I`ll pay for it. I am collecting videos of the longest, most talented, sexiest female tongues in the Boston area. I know this sounds unusual, but it`s absolutely legit ! This girl (name removed) replied and made a few videos of her tongue tricks for me, earning over $600 to date. (link removed, it’s a girl with a tongue WAY past the bottom of her chin) No nudity, no sex involved .. just her face, soft voice and sexy tongue tricks.
I will need to see some pics of her tongue before hiring her, obviously.
Um okay sure! “No sex involved”?? Yeah maybe not for the girl doing the tongue tricks but I have a feeling there’s plenty of sex, one-sided and/or one-handed as it may be, for the guy on the other end.
Now just because I’m saying it’s weird, and it IS weird, doesn’t mean I’m judging. People should do what they want no matter how oddball it is! Free love for everyone!! 
<—-there’s a long tongue for ya but I guess a little green body-less man isn’t what this guy’s looking for.
Hey guess what? Today I stopped traffic! Yes that old cliché is completely true. You’ve heard how it goes: some women are just so smokin’ incredibly hot that cars come screeching to a halt as they pass by. She walks in beauty like the night, men fall to their knees, Song of Solomon, etc. etc.
Unfortunately, those words do not describe me. What is more fitting is “Damn that girl trips a lot.” Or “That’s a big scab you got there, how’d that happen?” What happened to me was I caught my toe on some invisible thing that everyone else can just step over but nooooo not me and then fell on my ass in the middle of the crosswalk and nearly got run over. Then some guy yelled at me about it because he had to slam on the brakes because he does not care about pedestrians, obviously, and that made the guy behind him have to slam on the brakes and within seconds people were beeping their horns and making a generally unpleasant racket as they waited for the road obstruction to clear. AND I scratched my iPod.
But at least it was a very elegant fall, really. Nobody can say I don’t trip like a ballerina, if ballerinas tripped. If they ever thought about it that is.
In other cliché news–even less flattering if such a thing is possible–last night I had ants in my pants.
Okay, one ant. I was inside listening to messages and I felt “something” tickling my backside. I ignored it for a minute, since there was no one there and I’m not prone to believing in ghosts, but this faint yet noticeable tickling continued. I thought maybe a hair had fallen down my shirt and into my pants, which are rather too big for me and thus there’s plenty of room for things to fall into. So I put my hand down my pants–oh come ON don’t tell me you have never fixed your underwear when nobody was around–and I felt this “thing” and flicked it out and it was an ant. In my pants! I think maybe it fell in when I was out fiddling with the rose bushes before coming in.
I also had a giant bee down my tank top once and that was not something I’d care to repeat. No cliché goes with that one, not that I can think of anyway.
I was watching Colbert the other night and he had an author on who has written a book, the message of which, when you get right down to it, is:
“Men Like Tail.
They Like Looking At It, They Like Chasing It,
and They Like Getting It.”
Subtitle:
Some Are Better And/Or
More Lecherous About It Than Others
I thought years ago about writing a book like that but assumed it was TOO OBVIOUS. Like, “Hey Random House, I have a great idea for a book: ‘The Sky Is BLUE!!!’ What do you think?”
Late on the damn gravy train again, I am.
I’ve been watching DVDs of The Wire, which might be the best TV show you’ve never seen, which if you haven’t seen you ought to fix like right now if you can. Anyway one thing is really confusing me: all the drug dealers have fantastic teeth. Gorgeous straight pearly white (but not “fake white”) beautiful little jewels in their mouths. I don’t get it. They’re all drug dealers and most of them, at least the lower-level ones, are pretty skanky-looking otherwise, but they’ve all got fantastic teeth.
Now I KNOW it’s a TV show and those aren’t real drug dealers and they’re actors and actors have good teeth (usually). But it would be easy to make them seem to have not-quite-so-good teeth, or at least give a few of them something to make you eternally grateful for your company’s shitty insurance plan. But no, they’ve all got stunning teeth that any Crest Toothpaste commercial would be proud to display.
A ha, you say, they’re drug dealers, which means they’re rolling in dough, and can afford to get their teeth capped, bleached, porcelained, veneered, braced, or otherwise cosmetic-fied, just like they do on Extreme Makeover. But noooo, not all of them are lighting cigarettes with hundred-dollar bills for fun. Some of them are living in burned-out tenements with no running water yet their teeth shine with the brightness of a new diamond. I can understand the high-level drug dealers having good teeth but not some of these corner boys. (I am also puzzled as to how the high-level guys, who are apparently raking in $50,000 or more per day, appear to be storing their money in random places like inside walls–which can be robbed–instead of finding a good Cayman Islands offshore.)
Which brings me to another thing, one of the “rules” these drug dealers follow is that nobody touches the product. They’re mainly selling heroin, and nobody NOBODY is supposed to be using it. To which I say: are you naïve or what? You’ve got all these people, kids really, who grew up in the projects where it seems (on the show) that everyone and their mother is shooting up day and night, and yet this group of people who are staring at it all day long never touch it? I find that hard to believe.
By the way, they do have one guy who is missing a tooth but he’s a mere user, not a dealer. And for a long-term hardcore heroin addict, he seems to be pretty well put-together.
Anyway this is the first of a few posts wherein I shall outline things that puzzle me. Why? Because I want to, that’s why. Next up: the proliferation of “secrets” that are going to be revealed within the pages of trashy magazines sold at the supermarket checkout counter. I even took pictures for that one. How can they be secrets when millions of people have just been told what they are? 
I wish someone to explain to me the purpose of “spoilers” on the trunk of a car. I saw one today about 2 feet high. It was hideous, but more importantly, it probably cost heaps of money extra and if that guy has an accident I bet it’s another $2,000 to replace that useless piece of plastic.
What are they for? Do they have any actual purpose or are they just supposed to look cool?
I am a very extremely highly sensitive person, yes it’s true, I know you don’t believe it, but I AM, and here I come over here to see if my spot on the Technorati list of Web site popularity has gone up from #2,445,879 to maybe an even 2,000,000 and what do I see but COMMENTS, which makes me so happy to know that someone is reading this, someone besides the automatic spambots who leave me lovely pornographic messages about things that I have never even heard of and trust me I have heard a LOT, and the secret goings-on of various celebrities that I don’t give a flying fuck about, and how I can make a million dollars trafficking in African monies, and I go and click on these comments and
THEY ARE EMPTY.
This is because you, you commenters are whom I am talking to, did not do the math question, the one that says “please add 2 plus 2″ or something like that. If you write your profound and educationally valuable thoughts here and do not do that math question, your comment will be gone with the wind. This makes me so sad. I am left to wonder who actually took the time to write something and the stress of not knowing is very disturbing. IT IS and NO I have NOT talked to a therapist about this and I WON’T.
If you don’t want me to go hang myself from a tree over the despair from this, please remember to do the math question.
Off to find my Valium now!
What do those “baby on board” signs mean? Are they telling other people to drive more carefully, or that you (the driver of the sign car) will drive more carefully, since there is a baby in there? I think announcements that you or others should or will be driving more cautiously because of whom you’re carrying are just stupid. You should be driving cautiously anyway. Certain types of passengers don’t warrant safety more than others. The corollary would be that some passengers warrant less safety. Like maybe unemployed & temporarily non-contributing people should be paired with chronic speeders, or wayward not-sufficiently-repentant youths should only be passengers in the cars of persons who are unaware that “red” means “STOP.”
Or are those little signs supposed to be telling emergency personnel that there is a baby in the car, so that in case there’s an accident they know to look for a small, possibly immobile, perhaps unable-to-speak, person?
Well that makes a little more sense, except: is there anyone on this entire planet of baby-on-board sign-holders who takes that sign off the car when baby is NOT on board?
I didn’t think so.