Location: Employees Only entrance at a downriver 7-11.
There are two sure fire signs that you are awesome at life (besides having a happy bunny keyboard).
1. You get written up for putting bottles and cans in the wrong boxes and/or 2. You take a page from the 7-11 manager Suzy playbook and you are bat shit crazy.
Also...
I heart random capitalization, and possessive cans. Kudos to Suzy for spelling "their" correctly on her second attempt.
…I have a hard time wrapping my head around why anyone would ever want to aggressively impede another person’s happiness. I just don’t get it.
So, help me understand. I doubt anyone who’s reading this right now is the kind of person who would do that, but in case any of you are, please, please, please fill me in.
REPENT!!
I wanna know what makes a person feel entitled enough to tell millions of people that they are less than, inferior and do not deserve equal rights. Is it fear? If so, is it fear of the unknown? Does it gross you out? Does it make you feel threatened? Cause last time I checked ya’ll SUCK at the marriage thing. What’s the statistic up to now? Help me remember…
Is it a religious thing? Cause I’m pretty sure the main pillars of Christianity are about love and respect and NOT judging other people. I’m pretty sure the Bible is very clear about the proverbial “us (i.e. YOU)” having no authority in that department. Isn’t that supposed to be the job of the big guy upstairs? Maybe I read it wrong.
And I know there are passages about “homosexuality”, but we could go rounds there too. Cause there’s an awful lot of contradictory shit in the b-i-b-l-e. and it’s fine if you cherry pick for what you want out of it, cause I’d probably do the same thing in your shoes. We could talk about the context with which the Bible was put together, why certain things are in there and certain things aren’t, or about how it might be—and I could be going way out on a limb here-a liiiitttle outdated.
If it’s not religion, than what is it? And even if it is religion that wigs you out, then what gives you the right? Yeah, I guess that’s what im asking. The old schoolyard adage of “who died and made you king? I’m pretty sure the answer is no one.
So, stop it.
believe it or not, this was taken BEFORE i was ready to talk about "it"
You see, when I came out to my family and friends it took me a long time, because I was afraid. I was scared shitless that they would treat me differently, that they might love me less because of something that is completely out of my control.
And, while we’re dancing around the subject I just want to quickly mention that it’s not a choice, trust me. Why would anyone choose to be hated?
Anyway, everyone was fine with it. A lot of the convos went like this:
ME: …I’m gay. THEM: …and? ME: that’s it. Im gay. THEM: Oh. Ok. ::shrugs:: Sorry, I thought there was more. Well that’s cool. I mean, whatever makes you happy.
And then we’d hug it out for good measure.
It took a while, but eventually i told everyone, they figured it out on their own, heard it through the grape vine or just kind of always assumed. And none of them treated me like a weirdo, made me feel like shit, told me I was a freak, tried to change me... none of that stupid, pointless shit.
Some people in my family don’t know, and who knows, maybe they’re reading this right now. Ha.
Anyway, they either don’t know or pretend not to know and at this stage in the game, I don’t really think there’s any point to upsetting my 80 year old Pat Robertson-loving grandparents. They would most definitely freak out and they are probably 100% supportive of the discrimination they’ve legislated all over the country.
I wish I could pick their brains about it, but I’d have to tell them first, which is not happening.
One of my favorite stories w/r/t the little dance I do with my grandparents is this:
A couple winters ago I was visiting them at their home. We were chit chatting and telling stories and then I noticed a plate of cookies sitting on the counter tucked in the corner. They were on some sort of holiday themed paper plate, covered in cellophane. They looked delicious.
“Ooooh! Can I have one of these?” I asked.
My grandmother reached her arm out towards me like I’d just thrown a lit match into the gas tank of their Cadillac, “NOOO!! You don’t want those cookies.”
“Oh.” I pulled my hand away from the plate. “Are they old or something?”
“No they’re not old. They’re from,” she lowered her voice, “ the neighbors.”
I lowered my voice too, “are they terrorists?”
“No,” she said, “they’re… lesbians.”
Um… what? I was puzzled. Why the hell should that matter? They seriously looked really, really good, those cookies.
“Are they also terrorists?” I pulled the plate towards myself, “Did they put anthrax in these cookies?” I began to un-wrap the cellophane.
“Didn’t you hear me? They’re…” she lowered her voice again, “they’re lesbians.”
“They’re just cookies. You can’t catch gay from a cookie.” I picked up a cookie and raised it to my lips.
She shook her head and sighed a great big heavy sigh that said, well… at least I tried…
I ate that damn cookie and it was delicious. And I can tell you with utmost certainty that the delicious, homemade, “lesbian” cookie, that was lovingly delivered to my grandma’s front door, along with a holiday card, did not turn me gay.
Cookies cannot make you gay. Sharing a glass w/a gay person does not make you gay. Shaking hands with and/or hugging a gay person does not spread gay either. If that were the case a LOT more people would be gay. In fact, we’d all be gay. You wanna know why?
EVERYONE knows a gay person.
Statistically, we the gays, make up a tenth of our population. That means that we work with you, we’re in your family, we’re your friends, we’re your neighbors and we are no different from you on the inside. Our love just takes a different form than yours.
And I swear, we mean no harm. We’re trying to do the same shit you are. It’s just a little tougher for us, because so many people STILL think we’re freaks.
That’ll all change with the passing of time with an evolution of sorts. The older, less accepting generation will slowly die off and then it’ll be just like anything else.
Until that day, I urge you to do one of a few thing:
1. If you are gay. Keep being true to yourself and show, by example, that there’s nothing to be afraid of.
2. If you are not gay, but there’s someone in your life who is and you are totally cool with it, show your support whenever you can. It means more than you think is does, and we could really use the help.
3. If you are not gay but you hate gay people or are scared of them or think that I am crazy when I say that someone you know is gay… first of all, wow. Second of all, open that little heart of yours and let us in, yo.
Life’s too short to walk around carrying all that hate on your back.
And to my fabulous friends and family, I love you more than I could ever express adequately in words. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for never treating me like anything less than the hopeless smart-ass-nerdy-goofball that I will always be. I love you.
When I was in high school I had a lot of rage issues. I was pissed off ALL the time. I was incredibly bitter and mentally unhealthy. Amidst all of my teen angst, I made what I refer to as “the list”.
The list began with only one person. At the end of high school, there were four people on it. It wasn’t a Columbine type list. I wasn’t out for blood. But I was definitely enraged. The names on the list were people who had done things I considered really shitty/unforgivable. Usually it was betrayal and I do not possess the capacity to overcome such a thing. I stay bitter and it’s really best if I never see that person again cause then I feel like the Hulk and I wanna throw cars at them.
This past week/end three new people were added to the list.
Sidenote: there were seven names on “the list” before Thursday.
Thursday night…
The ladies and I had band practice and then we decided to venture out to the new pool hall in Ferndale. We have come to love that establishment, despite of or maybe b/c of it’s ridiculous name (Loving Touch). If you haven’t been there yet, I recommend it. Just, maybe keep your eye out for the guy that roofied Kelly.
At some point during the night Kelly was drugged. We didn’t realize it until later so there’s not much we can do about it.
She wandered off like she always does and when I went to find her she was chatting it up with a big guy who was built like a starting defensive lineman. I put my arms around her and he gave me a dirty look. In my head, I thought, “um… fuck you asshole.”
Kelly was acting weird. This guys a few seats over gestured towards me, so I walked up to him.
ME: (slightly annoyed): what’s up? HIM: is that your friend. ME: yeah. HIM: don’t leave her alone with that guy he’s trouble. ME: seriously? HIM: yeah.
So, I took Kelly away from the creeper and brought her back to our table. She was wound up and crazy and we sort of assumed she was drunk. Shortly thereafter she lost muscle control and assumed the position of a raggedy Ann. We carried her out and she spit up foam.
Thank god she made it through the night and that asshole from the bar didn’t have a chance to do anything to her.
My question is this… what in the FUCK is going on in the head of a person who drugs girls? I mean, really. How do they twist their own personal logic into thinking that it’s ok to do that? And why the hell would they want to have sex with a person who is limp and lifeless and spitting up foam? Sick motherfuckers.
So, dude from the bar… I have the memory of an elephant and I could pick you out of a line-up w/o my glasses on. You should know that you’re on my list. And if I see you out somewhere, so help you. You are in for a world of pain, fucker.
Also, in case you are wondering, I looked after her until the next day. She was shaky but ok.
Saturday night…
A group of us were at soho enjoying a few adult beverages and some delicious pizza. McMannus walked up to me way more calm than she could’ve been and announced, “um… I think some guy just stole my purse.”
The cops were called, our night came to a screeching halt and McMannus has now lost some very important possessions like an external hard drive with very important information.
The cops think they have a pretty good idea of who it is, which is absolutely fabulous b/c I wanna kick his teeth in. The first purchase he made was at the CVS down the street. He bought cough drops, cigarettes and a Verizon gift card. Really, Papi? Really?! Cough drops?
McMannus and I spent Sunday afternoon digging through trash cans and dumpsters up and down 9 mile and the back alleys, hoping, against all odds that we might find her discarded bag. Unfortunately, we did not. But we did learn a lot about my neighbors in Ferndale. Among countless treasures, we found:
1. a bouquet of flowers 2. a winter coat 3. expensive chocolates 4. nearly finished bottles of vodka and whiskey 5. and about a million coffee cups and McDonald's bags
We also discovered that the dumpster behind hungry howie's smells really, really good.
So, douche bag potential heroin addict who stole McMannus’ purse, your days are numbered, b/c you just made the list too.
I don’t know which day this happened
…but Annabell’s car was stolen. She has finally gotten in back, but they jacked it up pretty bad after taking it from in front of her house.
Speaking from experience, I can tell you that having your car stolen is really effing shitty. It happened to me once and probably happens to a lot of people who own Crysler’s. They’re pretty easy to steal, or so I’ve been told. Does that make it ok? Of course not.
We should all be able to buy whatever effing car we want and park it in front of our houses expecting to find them in the morning.
everyone needs to chill the fuck out
A part of me feels like everyone is wigging out an extra special amount b/c of the rate in which our economy is tanking. But, c’mon… Everyone needs to chill the fuck out. If you are short on cash, do not take someone else’s purse and/or wallet. That is not the answer. If you think it is, I hope I never see your face EVER, cause you’re only gonna be able to crawl away.
That also applies to stealing cars. Don’t do it. Breaking out my windows for spare change is also completely unacceptable. That has happened to me twice and it’s entirely unnecessary.
Oh, and if you’re having trouble getting laid, pick up a hooker. Do not try and drug others into having the worst, most horrifically scarring sex of their lives. You are a total fucking monster if that even crosses your mind.
the moral of the story is this…
We are living in what my grandmother refers to as “the end times”. Personally, I think it’s been a lot scarier before and it should also be noted that she’s been saying that for roughly 50 years. Anyway! My point is this: times are shitty and you need to keep your guard up.
Accept that it’s a little scarier than normal and keep an eye on your shit. Double up on any normal precautions you’d take in any situation:
If you go to the bar, don’t leave your drink unattended.
If you carry a purse, keep it on your person always.
If you drive a car or ride a bike or donkey or something, make sure you lock it up and don’t leave anything of value in plain sight (i.e. stereo face plate, change, iPod, movies, cd’s, etc.) People will steal the craziest shit.
Oh! And a really important thing my mom taught me ages ago… If you ever have mail in your car, even if it’s a magazine you subscribe to, make sure it’s face down or in a bag of some sort. If someone sees your car in a lot and likes it, they could find your house and take it in the middle of the night way easier if they know your name and address. Lord knows what else they might do.
If you get angry/mean/antagonistic when you're drunk and the only person every laughing is you, please do not drink around me. Ever.
For some reason, the mean drunks like to pick on me and it's really annoying. Last night, for instance...
After dealing with a very emotional phone call from a certain friend I made my way to Soho to join my father in his pre-birthday celebration. P-freaking-S everybody!!! My dad's birthday is today. Happy Birthday dad!!
So we were up at Soho last night and i felt like it was Dean 2.0 or something. some guy my dad sort of knows through Angela started harassing me like crazy. i sat down and within two seconds he started up:
HIM: i feel like I've met you before, but i don't remember your name. ME: Yeah i dunno. I'm not great with names either. It's all good. HIM: well we're meeting again now, so, this time make yourself memorable. ME: [pause] um, ok. [sarcastically] ready? go!
Now, before i continue, let me give you a little preface of sorts. The words that left this guy's mouth were almost entirely saturated in a condescending tone. Every word sort of oozed from his lips and his body language said that we were lucky to drink in every word.
However, i respectfully disagree. It's the same story I've told maybe a thousand times, just with different players. Man #1 is "normally" a nice guy, until he gets drunk and/or high and then he's an asshole. To me, this excuse is tired and annoying. If you turn into a monster when you get drunk, don't get drunk. It's obnoxious and then people stop returning your phone calls and turning their backs on you in public places.
Yeah, I've stop talking to people like that. It happens.
Meanwhile, back at Soho...
HIM: So, what are you going to school for? ME: computer science. HIM: yeah, but i mean, like for what? ME: i work in IT, so I'm finishing up my bachelors so i can make more money and have a little more job security. HIM: yeah but what's your specialty? ME: networking. HIM: what kind? ME: network management. HIM: meaning? ME: you know, i don't really like talking about work.
Remember the tone!!! It's all about the damn tone.
Later on, we were standing at the bar asking for another drink...
HIM: how long does it take you to do your hair? --time the hell out! does this sound familiar to anyone but me?-- ME: (!!!!!!) ha. um, i dunno, a few minutes. HIM: you're lying. ME: Ok. HIM: seriously, how long does it take you? ME: a few minutes. HIM: you're lying. ME: whatever. HIM: you have very small ears. ME: ok. HIM: do you like having small ears? ME: im fine with it. HIM: really? ME: yes. HIM: but they're so small. ME: so what? i don't care. (this is where i start biting my nails b/c I'm annoyed) HIM: don't bite your nails. ME: listen, don't tell me what to f**kin do. HIM: oh, god. you and those small ears.
later on, at the table...
...and in between him starting to make a comment and my dad telling him very sternly, "watch it.":
HIM: [to me, from across two tables] your ears are so small. PAPA BEAR: so f**kin what? I said, 'watch it'. quit talking about her damn ears. HIM: [ignoring him, adressing me still] I've never seen someone with ears so small. ME: Ok. HIM: what's wrong? you seem upset. ME: I'm not upset. i don't know what you're trying to do, if you're trying to get a rise out of me or something, but you're barking up the wrong tree. i don't give a damn what you think about my ears or my hair or my name or whatever.
I was smiling the whole time he was trying to get a rise out of me. It was bizarre. My dad asked me later why i didn't talk about his hair, b/c it was disgusting. I just told him i really didn't want to give him an excuse to drag out another stupid conversation.
I'm only sharing it now as a sort of public service/case study. This is Exhibit 842: another drunk asshole bugs the shit out of me on the patio.
It's weird how certain men will sit down with us, get wasted and then start picking on me. I feel like maybe they're projecting or something. As far as I'm concerned, if your friends have to walk out after you, turning back and saying, "i swear, he's normally a nice guy", you should probably stop drinking.
I know this was short, but I wanted to post it quick so it won't get lost in the post i will be doing tomorrow or the day after. It's gonna be chock full of whatever happens tonight.
I'd like to leave you with this:
This is me and Val sword fighting with bread sticks. I think it was two Christmases ago. Miss you Val!!
I had the best weekend ever! (last weekend of course. Sorry for the delay in posting)
But before I get to that I would like to share something with you.
I am a voicemail pack rat. It's hard not to be when you have friends like Kat and Chelsea and Eric that leave you ridiculous voicemails that you can't bear to part with. The trouble is, I save so many of them that my mailbox fills up, like a lot. All the time. My actually mailbox is kind of like that too. But only because I hate opening mail.
When I was little I used to love getting mail. I'd get Highlights or something and I was like, "OMG I JUST MAIL!!" Imagine how excited I was when AOL first came out. You know, "You've got mail." Holla!
Anyway I hate mail now. It makes giant piles and I dread digging through all of it. But voicemails I save cause they're too funny not to.
So, my voicemail inbox has been full for...we're probably going on a few days now. I went through the three new ones and erased them. I didn't have room for much else, apparently. And because of that fact, I decided to do a little house/phone/voicemail cleaning. End of summer closeout, if you will.
Among all sorts of good stuff that I could not part with was one from Eric that I must've received when I was drunk. I have no recollection of hearing it a single time before today. He must've been drunk when he left the voicemail. And I quote:
Hello Elida Harris. I thought I would call and Harris you. And by Harris, I mean harass And by her ass, I mean her booty And by her booty, I mean her badunk-a-dunk And by her badunk-a-dunk, I mean something to put your mug on And by something to put your mug on, I mean coffee table And by coffee table, I mean mahogany wood And by mahogany wood, I mean ancient forests And by ancient forests, I mean Sasquatch territory And by Sasquatch territory, I mean some very dirty lesbians And some very dirty lesbians, I mean some very fun times And that is all I have to say. Good night.
I love Eric a lot.
Let's start at the very beginning/a very good place to start...
Friday was our show in Chesterfield. That place was nothing short of amazing. Let the record show that NY/NY was a spectacular venue. I must admit I was a little skeptical due to the location (the middle of nowhere) and the fact that it was in a strip mall (and basically looked like a Halloween USA from the outside).
Sweet Jesus, once we were inside our jaws hit the floor. Look at the stage we played on:
NY/NY is easily the best venue we've played yet. They served food and alcohol and the smoke eaters made it so the whole place felt like a non-smoking section regardless of your proximity to an actual lit cigarette.
The lights were intense. I had, without exaggeration, 100 different ADD moments while up there. Which reminds me, Emily said something to me the other night that was so dead on I felt like she could read minds. She said, "what do you think about when you're onstage? Cause it looks like you're thinking about a million other things that are completely unrelated."
She's right. My mind wanders. I try super hard not to let it, but with the lights and shiny things all over the places we play, it's hard not to.
Regardless of the distractions, the show was great. The crowd was great. I was on cloud nine. And! They had the most delicious spinach and artichoke dip. Ever. It was damn good I wanted to marry it. But not really, cause, you know, gays can't marry.
POP!
Saturday was interesting. I think it was the longest we have ever been in a venue before we've actually gone on for our set. Total time spent between arrival and actual performance: almost 5 hours.
Once we got onstage it was totally worth the wait. The audience made up of mostly theatre kids got really into it. There was clapping, swaying, dancing, fake moshing and Chelsea ended up with underwear on her head. One of the guys threw them onstage.
The stage:
The crowd:
We even got called back for an encore, which has never happened before. AND we got asked to sign autographs. We received the request from an older gentleman that was inexplicably in attendance. I don't think he knew anyone involved in the play or the film. We had certainly never seen him before. During our set he was jumping around in his chair, (sort of) keeping time, slapping his knee over and over.
While we were packing up, he approached Chelsea and then we all took turns signing. Here's me signing my fake name:
PS: A special thank you to Kyle for always taking pictures of us, for coming to all of our shows and for being awesome in general.
Anyway, so we all signed our autographs on the back of the program and he took a flyer with our band contact info on it. Today, I was checking our band email and found this little gem:
Subject: Curious & Interested ;~
Hello Elida Quesada.
This is Eugene, you signed an autograph for. I am curious if you meant what you wrote me, when you sign your autograph. Just to jog your memory a little, you wrote: I <3 Eugene. Would you be interested, also? You may reply to: takemydog0123@yahoo.com This is my address. Hope to hear from you. Tell Chelsea, Noel & Kelly I said hi.
Take care! May God bless all of you! Eugene
[sindenote: It goes without saying that I changed his name and only slightly altered his email address b/c I thought it was so funny.]
This, I am hoping, is the beginning of something even more spectacular than I had envisioned when the ladies and I started playing together. You see, "Eugene" was an older guy. If I had to guess, I would say that he's in his early 70's. What little left he has of his snow white hair was swept over his scalp in a comb over. Total hottie.
Now, I want to make it clear that I really do <3 Eugene. His enthusiasm during our show made me really happy. But I am a gay lady and I am not interested in, say, going to dinner with him. I do sincerely hope that more people will ask for my autograph and then ask me out via email. Especially old dudes. Bring 'em on!
hello pot, this is the kettle...
I forgot to mention this story before. Not sure why, but it just popped into my head so I am going to share it with you now.
A few weeks ago I was up at Soho w/the usual suspects. We were sitting out on the front patio telling stories and joke and enjoying what little there is left of summer. At one point I told a joke and my dad started cracking up. He sat back in his chair, head up, laughing his ass off.
At that same moment this crazy bastard came walking out of the bar. Everyone calls him Groucho, because he has big, thick, cartoonish eyebrows tattooed to his forehead. He's rail thin, average height with a clean shaven head that is covered in tattoos that look like hair. I am almost positive that he does not have Alopecia because he has hairy legs.
He wears skin tight sleeveless tshirts and even tighter spandex biking shorts. The shorts make him, in essence, a walking anatomy lesson. He has been known to get a little crazy, yelling at total strangers and launching into stories about getting kicked out of Como's for dressing "inappropriately". Frankly, I'm surprised they would kick anyone out of Como's.
I digress.
So, just as my dad was throwing his head back in laughter, Groucho walks out the front door, through the patio and onto the sidewalk. He stopped at my father and leaned in saying very clearing, "Eat shit and die you fuckin' Nazi."
Groucho started walking away and my turned to him with a flabbergasted look on his face, mouth open hands in the air as if to say, "what the hell are you talking about".
Apparently Groucho is a mind reader, paused, turned around and said, "oh, like I don't know."
My dad's eyebrows narrowed, "Fuck you."
Groucho smiled placing his hand over his heart, "oh yeah, I'm real hurt," and continued walking away.
We all sort of looked at each other, like "what the hell?"
Darryl chimed, "that man is crazy."
Fast forward to two weeks ago
Darryl, Steve and I were sitting at the exact same table out front having a few drinks, shooting the shit. Groucho appeared again, as if from nowhere (like always) and walked up to our table. I guess he was kicked out of Como's again for being dressed like he always dresses. You know, the anatomy lesson costume... None of us really had anything to say.
Steve is such a nice guy that will sometimes entertain the craziest of crazies, including Groucho. Steve conversed with him, not sure of what to say, other than "hmm." I was trying not to laugh so I grabbed my phone out and started texting.
Steve and Groucho's convo went like this:
GROUCHO: So, I walked into Como's and that skeletor bitch owner stopped me just inside the entrance. She told me I was dressed inappropriately, that I could only come in if I changed my clothes. STEVE: Hmm... GROUCHO: So, I says, "fuck you. your food sucks anyway." And i came back here cause there's nothing else to do in this shit hole town. STEVE: [nervous laughter] Yeah, i don't know what to tell you. That sucks? GROUCHO: Well, fuck them. I'm debating whether or not I want a drink. DARRYL: [muttering under his breath] Go for it, honey. But you can't sit with us. GROUCHO: What's that? DARRYL: [sharply] I said, go for it honey. GROUCHO: Oh, really? Darryl, you are such a bitch. DARRYL: [wide smile] Thank you. Thank you. GROUCHO: Oh, fuck off, Darryl.
Groucho started walking away and just as he was about to go out of ear shot Darryl shouted, not looking up from his Real Detroit, "CUUUUHHHHHRRRAAAAAAAZZZZZZYYYYYYYY!"
We wanted to kill Darryl and also thank him, because I am very sure now that Groucho and his gross ass pants and crazy Nazi accusations will stay the hell away from us.
i take a whiskey drink. I take a vodka drink...
Sunday night was a fabulous way to put a bookend on the weekend. It was one of those nights when we've only intended to stay for one drink and then all of a sudden "the bar is closing in 20 min".
It was a nice little motley crew: my dads, Jen, Dave, Darryl and Jeremy was kind of in an out. It's hard to recount the night without doing so in a sporadic manner.
Dean ended up sitting with us for one reason or another. To put it simply: I cannot fucking stand Dean. I wouldn't say I hate him, but he's awfully close. My dislike for Dean has been long running. It began just over a year ago. I had just chopped all my hair off and he was super toasty drunk.
Dean is a mean drunk. I was sitting at the bar with my dad and a few others and Dean started talking to me. I had never met the man before. He sort of skipped right past any formal introduction and asked me what kind of product I used in my hair. I told him and he rolled his eye, "you don't know what you're doing."
He leaned forward in his chair, stretched his arm out and ran his hand through my hair. His fingers got caught a little and he sort of yanked them out. I had a shit ton of hair spray in my hair, because it's thick and wavy and I have to force it to be anything but. He totally jacked my hair up and I wanted to kill him immediately.
"See, I should be able to run my fingers through your hair. You're using too much product and the cut looks like shit." He took a long drag from his cigarette and sat back.
I was instantly fuming, "Okay, listen. What's your name again? Don't fucking touch my hair. Ever. I will chop your fucking arm off. That was rude and you're an asshole. Fuck off."
Dean is the kind of guy who will sit at your table uninvited and do whip-its mid-sentence or excuse himself to do poppers in the bathroom. All the while he is usually already blindingly drunk. And he's mean when he's drunk. I always want to punch him when I see him and notice that he is intoxicated. One of these days I'm going to and he won't be ready for it.
One time he was doing whip-its in front of everyone while lecturing us about the dangers of smoking. He had quit maybe two months ago and thus became an expert on the subject. If he would've taken his own advice, he wouldn't have started back up again maybe a week later.
This past Sunday, he ended up at our table nearing his angry drunk state, smoking and rambling on about his extensive knowledge of nappy hair.
Let me back up again really quick. Dean's hair is disgusting. He's a hair dresser who looks like he has not washed his hair since bell bottoms first hit the scene. It's really, really gross. It hasn't been cut in months and it's the color of straw. That's why I get so mad when he gives hair advice cause he looks like such a piece of shit.
Anyway, for one reason or another he started talking about Darryl's hair and how it was nappy and he was all of a sudden an expert again, even though he's never cut African American hair. I wanted to pour his drink on him. He kept saying "nappy" and it enraged me something fierce.
I said, "Dean, what the hell are you talking about? You don't know shit about 'nappy hair'. In fact, you don't know shit about most things, but you insist on running your mouth. No one gives a damn, Dean."
He brushed me off, "you're young and stupid. You don't know shit from shit."
"Aw, thanks, Dean. I hate you."
"Can I bum a clove?"
"You've got to be kidding."
"C'mon. Just one."
"You're out of your mind. Fuck off."
He started laughing. Then Loud Paul came outside. I also like to call him Seattle, mostly because the only thing he could really think to say was, "FUCK SEATTLE, man."
He sounded like a California stoner, but looked like a jack Russell terrier in human form. He was short and stocky and looked like he liked to bang his head on things, which probably explains his limited vocabulary.
Dean invited him to sit down, of course. And then Loud Paul started "talking". I put "talking" in quotes because it was more like yelling. Everything he said was in big bold capital letters followed by an excessive amount of exclamation points.
FUCK SEATTLE!!!!
Jen was drunk for the first time ever I think. It's not that she's never been drunk in her whole life, that night just happened to be the first time I'd seen her that way. And it was more amazing than I could have ever dreamed.
You see, that was the night that she discovered Cosmopolitans. After taking her first sip she said, "it tastes like Kool-Aid." And that's pretty much where it all started.
It didn't take much for her to get tipsy. She kept flipping straws out of her glass, trying to find them with her mouth. The ground was littered with them by night's end. Her Kool-Aid also inspired her to come up with some great one liners.
It's kind of hard to describe Jen without sounding too simple. She's absolutely lovely. She's a very petite Canadian with brown hair that's always pulled back perfectly, her bangs sort of sweeping across half of her forehead. She's very smart and that night in particular, she was very annoyed by what she feels is a misconception about her. People say she's reserved. I'd have to disagree. She can seem quiet if you don't know her, but not in an uncomfortable, "what's going on? i'm out of my element? omg someone just made eye contact!" kind of way. She's just smart, one of the few people I know who don't speak unless they really have something to say.
Here's a picture of Jen (middle, dark hair), Dave is standing to her right w/the glasses. Oh, and that's Rich. Also fabulous, of Chuck & Rich. Behind them: Becky and English.
Anyway, Sunday evening, the filter was removed and she offered these gems:
When my dad's neighbor asked him if he like Cosmo's and poured half of his drink into my dad's glass, Jen said, "do you like to wear Cosmo's?"
Earlier in the night, Jen was hungry. She did the girl thing, where she mentioned that she was hungry a couple times, prompting her husband Dave to walk down and get her a sandwich. Dave was either unaware or ignoring her. Either way, she started getting grouchy. My dad threw his arms up and went down the street to get a sandwich for her. Since she's a vegan we yelled after him, "EXTRA CHEESE!!"
Darryl got up and followed because he wanted a hot chocolate and Dave got up and followed after to make sure cheese wouldn't be put on the veggie wrap.
Oh, here's a picture of (L-R) Darryl and Tony! [<3] and Dave!
Later on that night we brought it up again and my dad said, "i don't know why you wouldn't just go get her a damn sandwich."
Jen piped in mid-sip, "yeah. why didn't you just go get me a sandwich, asshole?"
FYI: she was totally kidding. But she delivered the line dead pan, so it was brilliant. She was quick to follow it with, "oh my god, I'm kidding, honey. i love you. thank you for the sandwich. it was delicious."
Jeremy was in an out of the bar singing Karaoke. He put on quite a show for us. He did his usual Cher that Jen sang along to with vigor, her fist in the air like a soap opera character.
At one point, Jeremy grabbed a hold of the door frame and pumped his knee up and down to the tempo of the chorus. I would kill to know the name of that song right now. The point is, it was hysterical. Oh, and btw, Jeremy does the best Cher. I mean, he's no Sean Hayes. But who really is?
So, let me get back on track. You have to picture all of this happening at once: my dads and I with our belly laughs and Jeremy singing and jumping around and Dave laughing in a pitch so high only dogs could hear him and Jen's spitting straws and her fist's in the air and Dean is sloshy and bitchy and then Loud Paul walked out and ruined everything.
I mean, we still had fun I guess. But the fun changed. It became us, versus him and his obnoxious decibel level. My dad started it and everyone followed suit. We all started talking as loud as we possibly could and then Loud Paul would pause and realize that someone was actually louder than him. He would lean back and go, "...right on."
And then he started talking about his penis...
Now, I know what you're thinking, but that's not the angle he was going for. Instead of the chest pounding alpha male declaration of enormity, he started telling us about how small his penis is. Never in my life have I witnessed such a thing.
"MY PENIS IS SO SMALL!! I MEAN, IT IS LIKE, REALLY SMALL!!! MY PENIS IS REALLY SMALL! IT'S FUCKING TINY!! NOBODY WANTS A SMALL PENIS, BUT I HAVE ONE!! YOU CAN'T DO SHIT WITH A SMALL PENIS!!"
Loud Paul was sitting right next to me, so I got the brunt of his yelling. I turned to him roughly every two minutes and said, "dude my ears are seriously this close to bleeding."
He would apologize, but it would be a matter of seconds before he was at it again. Eventually Darryl got so pissed that his mama bear came out.
"Oh no, honey. Miss Elida is not gonna sit here and listen to you yell about your small penis. She's a lady."
So, they kicked him out. And we laughed all the way home cause Jen was still drunk.
There's something really fun about seeing someone who many people would consider reserved, really let her hair down for a night. It was fantastic, and since they are still on vacation until Tuesday, I'm sure there will be more to come.
One last thing...
My cousin jen sent me this. It's a picture of her son and we totally have matching hair. :)
I don't think I am ever going to get to a point in my life where I will understand why strangers feel the need to vent their problems to other strangers knowing full well that they're just wasting the other person's time. I know that might seem ridiculous coming from someone who keeps a blog, but I would like to think that it's a little bit different. Case in point:
I work at a law firm. I believe I have mentioned this on at least one occasion. As a whole, the job is average. It's a lot like most other jobs; some days you have a really good time and other days you want to throw yourself in front of a speeding bus. Today feels a lot like the latter.
Part of my job involves answering the phones when they ring. I work the late shift, so after 6-ish pm, all of our other offices forward their phones and I intercept all of their calls. Now, you might ask yourself why someone would call a law firm after 5pm. I'm not sure. The best I can reason is that maybe people are hoping to get the voicemail and then a call back the following day. But who knows? I am convinced that a large percentage of middle aged and elderly middle Americans love to hear the sound of their own voice.
I just got off the phone with a woman calling for the Illinois office. I gave her my little speech, "their phones are forwarded, blah blah blah, if you want I can email him the message blah blah blah."
She responded very slowly, "Oh....so they don't have voicemail?"
"No."
"Really? Well that's strange. So, no voicemail then?"
"That's correct."
"Well you see, I have a very bad head cold and I'm calling in regards to a settlement offer. Will you please tell him [coughs, but very forced and hallow sounding] Excuse me. I have a terrible head cold. If the settlement offer doesn't at least meet what I have requested then I am not interested."
"Ok. I'll give him that message. Thanks."
"I mean, why should I be expected to take $1,000 when the repairs alone will cost me double. And, you know, with this head cold, I'm very distressed. That's just not right, you know? It should be at least $1,000. Don't you think so?"
[silence] and then, "um...i don't really know. But i'll pass that message along."
"Ok. Good. Thank you. Like I said before, I have a terrible head cold and I might not even be accepting telephone calls tomorrow. I mean, it just goes right through my head. You know?"
[head explodes]
"Anyway, thank you for your time."
Oh. My. Fucking. God. Why??? Why does anyone think that people care anymore? I know I don't and I don't expect anyone else to care, except maybe close friends and people related to me by blood.
I consider myself a pretty liberal person, but somewhere along the way, the PC-ing of America has led everyone to believe that they are special. And I mean, I'm sure you're special to someone, but you're not special to me. You're wasting my time and yours because I'm just gonna scream after I slam the phone down. I don't want to hear about your head cold. I don't care. Just give me the message and I will relay it, but I am not going to empathise with you because I don't make enough to give a shit about hundreds of random strangers everyday.
Just now, I tried to do the math in my head, and I talk to at least 100 people everyday and most of them I talk to for the very first time. How can anyone expect me to care? That's just ridiculous. I'm not the pope. I'm not running for president and I am certainly not running for Jesus. So, please, random people who call anyone, encounter anyone in the service industry:
STOP UNLOADING YOUR STUPID FUCKING PROBLEMS ON STRANGERS. IT'S RUDE AND REALLY ANNOYING. SAVE IT FOR YOUR PRIEST/THERAPIST/HOOKER. STOP KIDDING YOURSELVES. MOST PEOPLE DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT ANYTHING PAST THEIR OWN NOSES. THE SOONER YOU GET USED TO IT, THE BETTER.
[exhale] Wow. I'm glad I got that off my chest. Please, feel free to comment/vent your similar experiences. Let it out. This time, someone does care. Until I post again, and then all bets are off. Aaaaannndd.....go.
Yesterday was a ridiculously productive day. I finally finished putting together the shelf that I began assembling months ago. Long story, short: I should never attempt the construction of anything if I am even the slightest bit upset.
While writing the first draft of this, I was watching Running With Scissors.
See, I kind of felt like reading but there were a great many other things I needed to get done. Since I only own a few books on tape (by that, of course I mean CD) I went to the next best thing: books on DVD. Holla!
Although, not all books translate well to film, some are pretty ok and some others are great. More on that later.
First, I would like to address the responses I got from my last post. More than anything I was shocked that anyone would think, even for a second, that I was spreading “hurt”, “hate”, etc.
Maybe I should’ve prefaced the whole thing with a bit about how I was just kidding around and didn’t mean any harm to anyone. I wasn’t insulting the artists themselves, just poking fun at a few goofy album covers.
If anyone took it as a personal jab at the artists themselves, what they might’ve done for the women’s movement, or how much fun their sing-a-longs may be, I apologize. Rest assured that I didn’t mean any harm.
I just think it’s ridiculous that anyone would be offended by such a thing and I think that maybe you (those who are/were offended) should lighten up. Life is gonna be pretty upsetting if you can’t learn to laugh at yourself/funny album covers. But, yeah, sorry. And also, calm down/maybe read a different blog that’s about rainbows and sunshine and butterflies.
Sidenote: Wanna know what I miss most about office work? Bagels.
(I was just watching The Devil Wears Prada and Anne Hathaway gets one on the way to her interview. It looked so delicious. Yay for bagels!)
Awesome = The Departed
Not Awesome = WSU theatre dept. paperwork. Trust me.
Most Awesome Thing EVER = JP! She just edges out kosher wine and bagels.
Question: Why can’t I fall asleep before 5am?
Possible Solutions: Pass out drunk.
It’s worked before, but I’m hesitant to try again. Here’s why:
Pros: I’d have to start drinking early and heavily in order to pass out at a decent hour, let’s say midnight.
Cons: Liver damage, money I really shouldn’t be spending, sleep/feel like shit all through the next day (meaning I might stay up late again and be right back where I started).
Really, there is only one pro and that’s really a con, unless I go to the bar and have a blast. It’d be cheaper to do it at home, but that would just be sad, even if my girlfriend/roommate was keeping me company.
Hmm…
Back to the books on DVD topic. Actually, you know what? I’m kind of tired and I have lost sight of where this was going in the first place.
Update: (11-18-07)
I’m in Chicago right now and I would like to blog about that real bad instead, so I just want to post this as is. I kind of sat on it for a while, in the vain hope that I would somehow finish it in a timely fashion. But hasn’t worked out so well. So, I’m throwing in the towel. This post was probably doomed from the beginning anyhow.
More to come that will be more entertaining. I swear.
Hello. Hi. Sometimes I make jokes/make fun of people, places and/or things. You might think I'm being mean, or maybe you'll even think I'm mildly funny. At the very least, please know that I am only kidding and I don't mean any real harm to anyone. Thanks.
