Salty will return in March.

In Poor Taste

When I heard that someone got shot for talking during a movie, I thought, Finally...

Boyfriend's twin brothers are the most cruel poeple in the entire world. That's why I wish they were my best friends.

Some years ago BF's mom quit real work to become an artist. The paint kind. "Think about it," the twins said, "what real artist do you know puts up her own framed work in every room in the entire house and presents them like they're the work of some other artist? Count it! She has two of her own paintings in every room!"

I tried to defend her. "You really have to be your own advocate," I said, stumbling.

My favorite thing about talking to Boyfriend's mom is that she loves to complain about BF's dad. It kind of makes me uncomfortable because I like his dad a lot, but that is easily forgotten when she gets into the really salacious stuff. This morning she told me about their recent trip to snow country where they drove through a dangerous patch of black ice. "I was good, better than I usually am when he's driving and doesn't know what he's doing," she told me, "All I did was pray. Out loud, of course!"

I've been trying to get BF to join the same swanky gym that I recently joined. I mostly only use the treadmill, but I'm still really excited about everything. "Come on," I told him, "We can take yoga and we could even play tennis. I'm really into tennis these days."

He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. "You mean the concept of tennis?"

A friend of mine called today from San Francisco, where he lives now. He called to report some bad news. His dog Big Boi had mauled the guy who had been taking care of him here in Tempe. The dogsitter was nice enough not to press charges or put the dog to sleep, because he loved the dog and he felt somehow culpable for the mauling. The dog is in doggie jail with a $500 bail; the dog sitter's arms were completely fucked up, his abdomen was split in two and has staples in his ankles to hold the skin down. No, he would not press charges, but no, the dog would live there no more.

My friend asked if I would be able to take care of the Big Boi. I declined. So did all his other friends.

"That's the thing about this whole incident," he concluded, "now my dog has this stigma attached to him."

I found myself in the passenger's side of my sister's car the other day. When we spend time together I always try to make the time worthwhile by sharing some of my wisdom, because she really needs it. When she asked me what kind of jobs and careers I'm looking at I spent a long time telling her about the travails of finding something that I like doing and that I'm good at and that can pay for the decadent lifestyle I have planned for myself. It was very sincere.

Trying to engage her, I asked what her dream job might be. She said, "I'm trying to get famous."

We catered a holiday event for a local law firm the other night. As I stood in line at the bar a young lawyer cut the line, ordered a Stella and handed the bartender one of the passe vertical IDs that Arizona used to give to those under 21. The bartender refused to serve him because the vertical IDs aren't valid state ID anymore.

The lawyer turned red. "I've never even heard that before. I've used this ID all around town. I'm an associate at this firm. You're not going to serve me?"

The bartender crossed his arms. "I'm sorry sir," he said, smiling, "but it's the law."

Economist's Valentine

I prefer you!

One of the guys I work with is Indian. I can't pronounce his tribe's name, so I call him Navajo. He has taught me all about teepees, buffaloes, and rain dances.

Yesterday for his birthday I asked him if his celebratory plans included getting real drunk then shooting some bows and arrows. He said no; he was planning to scalp some white people while listening to Morrissey.

I totally begged to come along.

The flavor of these lactose pills is Vanilla Swirl. They taste like a McDonald's ice cream come. Could this be a careless mistake? An inappropriate joke? An attempt at irony?

Since Sixteen

For years, I have done most of my running in alleyways. I don't like people watching me while I run, because I have personally watched myself run alongside several mirrored buildings. It's nothing to harbor illusions over.

Alley running is the best. There is no concrete. You get chased by escaped chihuahuas. You know where the best free couches are. Best of all, there is privacy.

Today I ran into my very first alleybum. Well, ran by him. He was scoping out some awesome free clothing. I thought it would be a nice encounter so I started to wave. In return he gave me a look that advised me to get the hell out of there ASAP. So I did. I ran very quickly.

On Sunday BF and I went shopping for games to play while on Christmas vacation with his freaky genius brothers in a snowy winter cabin. "Put down Scrabble. Put down anything that requires verbal or mathematical acumen. Your brothers will win every time. I can't even sit at that table. I belong in the barn," I instructed BF. "Your Game choice has to show support for me and my disabilities. Think Pictionary, or something."

At that instant I spotted my own Game Choice. I picked it up. But it was too late.

"Dirty Minds The Game Of Naughty Clues? My parents are going to be there," he said, yanking it away and placing it far above my reach.

"That's not how you pronounce it," Boyfriend informed me. "It's wan-tin, not won-ton. And you said Quantum of Sole-is. It's sah-lis."

I looked at him and frowned. "Kiss my ass," I said, and walked away.

Special Sunday Edition

Sretan Rodendan Rumena!

To G.C.

One Thing I Can Do Without:

A man who, after belching loudly, does not say Excuse Me, but rather, "Wow!"

Some time ago, I went to get my hair cut. I wish I didn't. The signs were all there. The woman told me I was one of her first real hair cuts. She had no idea what a "pixie cut" was. And worse of all, she said, "Katie Holmes? Like Dawson's Creek?"

Everybody at work has been calling me Mister and it's been over a month.

My frat boy neighbors are annoying. One of the annoying things they do is create rudimentary toys out of wood and then paint "Delta Upsilon" on them. In this tradition, they recently made a seesaw. And then they decided to store it where I park my car.

When I drove up to my parking spot I initially decided to park around it. Then I decided to run into it. Pushing on the gas pedal was great fun. But then the car treated the seesaw as a ramp, and soon I was halfway up the seesaw. There was a brief Oh Shit moment when I didn't know if my car was going to flip sideways or if it would be fun to see if the car could reach past the midpoint and effectively have seesawed.

Wisely I decided to put the car in reverse.

I've been furiously writing in a makeshift dungeon for the last few days because as it turns out I actually did have to turn in that paper that I was supposed to be writing for the last month.

Last night in bed I gave it to Boyfriend and told him to proof it. I got under the covers, put a pillow over my head, and began to cringe in waiting for the billion red marks that would grace my paper. After a half hour I asked him if it was really that bad. "Nope," he replied, "Just enjoying the silence."

Last night I rolled up to a Whataburger drive-thru. Whataburger is an unpopular burger chain known primarily for once having the Phoenix Suns announcer emcee their commercials. Everything on the Whataburger menu begins with "What."

"Whatahello," I said into the speaker.

There was a long pause, and then a sigh.

And then, "Are you going to order or not?"

My sister is ghetto fabulous. She reads books by Kimora Lee Simmons. While anorexics have Thinspiration, my sister has Asspiration. In her room you'll find pictures of Kim Kardashian and Beyonce. I wish I were kidding.

When she saw me yesterday she exclaimed, "Wow, God Damn, your ass is huge." So I think she was complimenting me.

I spent my weekend at a wedding in Tucson. Since it was in Tucson, it was a little bit different. Boyfriend and I and half the other guests filtered in after the ceremony took place because of a typo on the invitation. The reception was outside, there were rocks for centerpieces, and bottles and bottles of wine on each table. There were no seating arrangements.

Of all the people to sit next to, Boyfriend and I ended up with an Air Force guy. The guy was not expecting to sit by someone like me. At cake-cutting time he turned to Boyfriend and said curtly, "Your girlfriend should work on the 'inner dialogue' thing."

Recently I changed my major password to "JesusChristIsSuperstar," because I happened to be reading a JCS-related Perez Hilton post at the same time that I was prompted to change my password in another tab. In this time some majorly good developments have occurred in my life.

People want to blog with me. I killed a fly with my bare hands. I got a pseudo-job offer that I was really looking forward to. My current boss offered me some extra holiday hours. My boyfriend's parents decided to fly us out for a white Christmas in Northern California. I had some really really good sex.

I'm just sayin', cuz it might work for you, too.

One of my friends is MIA. I had beer with her three weeks ago and since then I can't get a hold of her. Not by texting, not by phoning, not by email. I am sure she is not dead.

Finally I faced up to probability, sighed, and texted, "Have I offended you?"

Here comes my man

Over dinner today, Boyfriend announced, "In case you were wondering, yes, I did doctor this stir fry. It asked for three quarters of a pound of meat, but I used a whole pound. Also, I added some red wine and garlic. And see, the vegetables are still really crisp. That's because I didn't cook it that long."

"You're a rebel," I told him.

Me Vuele Queya Nuestas Aqui

I saw my friend Elise and her boyfriend over the weekend. I knew them when they were getting together and they are my favorite couple in the whole world. They give the best soundbites.

Like when she said, "When I first met you I thought the word 'cannabis' was pronounced Kanabi. Rhymes with wasabi. You let me go a whole two months without correcting me." He started to chuckle. She looked hurt and said, "How could you make fun of me for that?"

Go where you want to, do the things you feel

I've actually forgotten to blog three times in the past month.  That's a sign that I need to stop blogging. 

 

There's also the most obvious sign, which is that my blogging has sucked balls lately.  Not huge moose balls, but something bigger than squirrel balls.  At least groundhog balls.

 

It's not a mystery as to why my blogging sucks.  There are two big reasons:

 

1.  I love my new job.  It's no fun to write about loving a job.  I fucking hate people who love their job and I want to strangle them, not read about them.  Whenever I hear someone say, "Yeah, you HAVE to love your job" I want to stab them with a dirty fork.  Those fucking assholes should suck my balls.  Which I think are bigger than squirrel balls.

 

2.  I've aged and I no longer have any fire in me. 

 

I used to think that Rachel Ray was a fucking barrel-shaped shitbag who encouraged mediocrity.  Now I think that she has her own style of cooking and if some people like it, then I'm glad that she makes them happy.  I'm happy for her.

 

I used to think that the guineas on Staten Island should be bathed of their cologne and shot in front of their only true loves: their mothers.  But now I think that they're just from a different culture than I am and if techno music and hair product makes them happy, that's fine with me.  I'm happy for them.

 

I used to think that lawyers were scum-sucking pieces of shit who should suffer slow painful deaths and be tortured for all eternity.  Well, I still think that.  Fuck them.

 

I'm going to take some time off.  I'm sure I'll hate this job soon enough.  Drop me a line if you ever get arrested in New Jersey.  It happens to the best of us. 

 

2 Slvr Trees

My car is dead. It is heading to the junk yard. I asked my dad if he could help me buy another car. He said, "Remember back when you were a cyclist?"

Why is Gmail so concerned that I send messages with subjects?

Day after day I'm more confused

Yesterday I was off from work for Election Day.  I persuaded the wife to call in sick, which wasn't all that difficult since her company is in and may not exist in a few weeks. 

 

Around noon we headed out to get a pizza for lunch, I said, "Are you sure nobody will mind that you called in sick?"

 

She said, "Oh, that reminds me.  I need to call in sick."

 

You fucking kidding me??

This morning at about 8:35 am I was driving toward Starbucks for free coffee. I never made it. My car died in the middle of the road. It was not a fun experience.

When I finally got to class I told my deskmate what had happened to me. She said, "That happens to me ALL the time! I hate it too!"

Uhm..... who the fuck drives around in a car that is "likely" to die out randomly while transporting you at 45 mph??

In utero

I saw a friend over the weekend. She is very witty.

When I asked her what she thought of our waiter she said, "I think they used the forceps on him."

I hid behind anger, held back the tears

Over the weekend, my lovely wife took me to a super-fancy Greek restaurant called Anthos for dinner. The food was amazing. I think I was introduced to a dozen flavors that I had never tasted before. I am almost certain that I will return for the smoked octopus and I may try to learn how to make hilopita at home.

The coffee was a different story. It was served with a teaspoon of mastic in a cup of ice water. I was instructed to lick the mastic for sweetness after each sip of coffee. I thought this would be as weird as my night would get.

While we were putting on our coats, a gentlemen who was coming into the restaurant held the door open for us as my wife readied herself. As we walked out, I thanked the gentleman and said, "Thanks. OhmyGod, it's Lewis Black! Thanks, Lewis Black!" He smiled and said, "Hey, have a good night" as he entered the restaurant. I think that was weirder than the coffee.

Charlie Brown!

I stopped by my parent's today, just in time to catch my dad as he ran out to get candy. "Your mother's making me get candy," he told me, "I'm getting my favorite kind. Just in case we don't get a lot of trick-or-treaters. Or if I forget to open the door."

Ain't to proud to beg

In my seven years of working for law firms, I went to one trial and I was in front of a judge three or four other times.  In my new job, I argue in front of a judge every day.

 

My new job does not believe in training or supervision, so I am literally trained by trial and error.  This is an actual transcript from yesterday:

 

Pepper:  Your honor, I would like that order to remain in effect.

 

Judge:  Counsellor, can you give me any legal basis whatsoever for that request?

 

Pepper:  No, your honor. 

 

Judge:  Well, I'm glad that you know that.  Your request is denied.

 

Since I could hold my head up high

Today I got the first news in a while from an old acquaintance. In the last six months he got rid of his apartment in the cool part of town, bought a house in a less cool part of town, married his girlfriend, and is expecting a son in January.

The news shocked me. My initial response involved the term "knocked up." Then I remembered that Words Can Hurt and changed my response to, "Hot Dad!"

Dirty Jersey, hunt 'em down

I always feel like a badass when I drive through the bad parts of Newark.  I think, "Yeah, I'm not afraid.  I'm not scared to die.  I'm tough.  Maybe they will quiz me on rap history and decide not to kill me because I'm so incredibly cool."

 

Then I get home and when I reach for the handle to get out of the car, I discover that, sometime during the course of my drive, I've locked the door.

 

What I Learned Today

It is hard to convince your boyfriend that you are engaging in a serious conversation with him when you are openly swigging on a bottle of wine.

Example.
"You're not being serious."
"Yes I am!"

Bob Digi, yeah you know who is he

I had a desktop computer at my parents' house. My mom used it to go shopping on the Internet. I wanted the computer back. She refused.

My younger brother gave me a broken laptop. The hard drive was fried and the computer was so slow it wasn't worth repairing.

I put a old, useless hard drive that I had lying around in the broken laptop. Then I flipped the monitor inside out, folded the laptop up, put it on a plate stand, wired a new power button to an evaporated milk can that my mom had lying around, and gave it to my mom. I hooked up a wireless keyboard and mouse and changed the wallpaper from Lucy Pinder to a pig (one of my mom's requirements). I made sure that the computer accessed the Vermont Country Store web site and LLBean.com. I told her, "To turn it on, just press the red button on the milk can."

I took home my desktop computer.

I called after a few days to see how it is all working. She said, "Eh, it's just like the old one."

Electric avenue

Today at work we all got a lecture because someone had written, "Miguel is a donkey lover," on the cork board. "This is FUCKING IMMATURE," my boss railed. "It's FUCKING INTOLERABLE and it WON'T BE TOLERATED. If I see this shit ONE MORE TIME someone's getting fired. This shit is just so FUCKING IMMATURE."

Five minutes later he found that someone had dumped his soda (clearly marked "Boss") in the trash. He thought it was retribution. He called us in again to the empty room. Waving the soda cup, he started again. "This is FUCKING IMMATURE..."

Chubb rock jumps up on the scene

My new favorite product is the "100 calorie packs" of snacks.  I think it's brilliant.  I wish we could think of more ways to create a lot more packaging that destroys the environment because we can't take our fat hands out of the big bag of chips when we have had enough.

 

Few products can be such a testimony to our apathy toward the environment and our humungous asses.

 

A Food Service Story

Over the weekend my new boss sat with us in the break room and told us a story about how when he was in his twenties he and a friend did some shrooms and then jumped on an ATV to ride the sand dunes of Southern California. It was a hellaciously bumpy ride and at one point my boss looked down and began to scream, "THE DORITOS ARE GONE." They then went looking for the lost Doritos.

This is what I call "A Food Service Story," because it is the sort of story you would only hear while working inside the Food Service Industry.

I am sure that more will come, and I will be able to share them with you.

You don't know me and you don't know my style

This morning the wife and I had a hard time getting out of bed.

 

She said, "We should make mimosas."

 

I said, "We don't have any orange juice."

 

The wife, in her incredible wisdom, said, "Sometimes when you follow a recipe, you have to leave out one ingredient."

 

R.I.P Char's: A Long Time Ago - A Month Ago

About a month ago, the best Thai restaurant in Tempe closed down for "restructuring". Char's is being renamed "Thai-Rama". Like every person I've spoken to, I am at a loss over the need to change an establishment that looks like a greasy barbecue from the outside but inside features prominent original posters of Communist Thai revolutionaries along with flags and horse-like cardboard statues. I don't know why the place wasn't declared a community landmark-- they do it to those Adobe sheds, right?

In protest BF and I went to a local competitor. I ordered something with peanut sauce. It came to me looking like noodles over which Mister Peanut squatted and left a big dump.

I hate this city more and more each day.

But Obi-Wan, he set me straight of course

The wife and I have to go to a wedding on Sunday.  Like every wedding I've ever been to with the wife, she somehow has NOTHING TO WEAR.

 

Pepper:  Why don't you wear that brown dress?

 

Wife:  You said I look like Obi-Wan Kenobi in that dress.

 

Pepper:  Yeah, but I love Obi-Wan.  Everybody loves Obi-Wan.  And besides, it's almost Halloween!

 

Wife:  Yeah, but do you want to fuck Obi-Wan?

 

And then we spent the whole night dress shopping. 

 

That's the way we get back

When I got home tonight I noticed that Boyfriend had made a really nice dinner and set it out for us. He beamed with pride.

That is, until my initial reaction: "You did the dishes!"

I will be the one who loves you 'til the end of time

Yesterday during my afternoon stroll, I was thrilled to discover a grease truck that parks one block away from my current job.

 

I ordered a Taylor ham, egg, and cheese sandwich.  The chef/driver looked like a slightly thinner Fat Joe with a nicely trimmed chinstrap beard, oversized baseball cap, and bluetooth device clipped permanently to his ear.  I asked him if he had coffee in the truck and he said, "YEZZIR!  Yo, I even got beers in here if you want.  You look like you're having a tough day, maybe you could use one."

 

I have a new best friend.

 

Get it?!

Today I spoke to one of the asshole division presidents of a big apparel company to ask for help on a project I'm doing. As I explained the concept of the project to him, he interrupted me to say cryptically, "Your position is nebulous."

What the fuck does that mean?? I asked him to clarify.

Nasty!

It'd been well over a month since I'd last had my eyebrows done, before I had them waxed today.

That appointment took a long time.

No one on the corner has swagger like us

Over the weekend I made a cranberry-apple pie, an apple-cranberry-raisin pie, and some rice krispie treats topped with Swedish Fish (something I saw on Serious Eats last week). The pies took three hours. The candy sushi took ten minutes. I'll let you guess which was more popular.

My mother-in-law made a blueberry crumb cake.

The blueberry buckle is one of my most popular desserts. On July 4th, I made one for everyone I know to celebrate New Jersey blueberry season. I was not happy with her infringing on my turf.

I told her that she is no longer allowed to make my trademark dessert. I said, "It would be like if I made your best dessert..." AND THEN I COULDN'T THINK OF ANY OF HER GOOD DESSERTS and she saw me struggling and it was just really, really bad.

You can pay for school but you can't buy class

Yesterday at my grandmother's house, one of my cousin's kids punched me in the testicles so hard that it still hurts today.

 

The kid is only three or four so his fists are really small and he only hit the right testicle.  But that little fist flew like a bullet with incredible precision and I was trying to play Nintendo DS so I was caught completely off guard.  I almost vomited.  He smiled and laughed.

 

When I brought it up to his parents, his father, who has three sons, said, "Yeah, he's a bastard.  Last week in 7-11 when I wasn't paying attention, he punched me right in the balls and I couldn't move.  He got me one other time when I was working on the house.  You're lucky it wasn't the big one, he got me good once and I hit the floor."

 

I didn't realize that it was a family game.  I never thought I'd say this, but my family may actually be too white trash for me.

 

What to do with those tossed salads, scrambled eggs

Once on a night run when I was somewhere in middle high school I came upon a yard that was being sprayed by the really good kind of sprinklers so I came into the yard and squatted upon the best sprinklerhead, the one in the middle of the yard, and wetted my hair and rinsed my face and enjoyed the fine mist a bit when the man that I didn't notice sitting on the front porch said, "Boo!" causing me to run away in genuine fear. It was a whole quarter of a mile down the road before I realized it was just an elderly man having a joke on me.

That happened again tonight. I'm 23 now. And I am ashamed.

Are you ready for a good time?

My two brothers are going into business together. 

 

Did you ever get the feeling that people you love are doing really stupid things just to give you good blogging material?

 

I'm a simple girl, I like simple things

Know what's funny? For the last year that I've blogged, I've kept very tight-lipped about the journal. I thought of it as a secret diary, an outlet to really be myself. I've told less than 10 people, and some of those I've told I knew would never remember that I had revealed something personal. Over time I've become less guarded, even adapting "bloggable" as a frequent adjective for some crazy happening. And no one ever asks what it means. Ever.

Throw your triple beam up, this is fishscale

My mother-in-law is having a lot of people over this weekend so in addition to my usual dessert services, I offered to make a side dish or two.  She gratefully accepted and told me that she's making a fish stew as the main course. 

 

I don't know what goes with fish stew except a large trash can for disposal and a phone call to the pizzeria.

 

Do you think I can make a rib roast and tell her that it's a side dish?  Leg of lamb?  Can I pass off White Castle sliders as a side dish? 

 

I hate to say auf wiedersehen, but I love to watch you go

Have no fear, Heavy D is here

I did a little dieting before running the half-marathon this past weekend, but I did a lot of eating properly.  I timed my protein, carb, and fat intakes around my running times every day and avoided junk food while still eating a ton of calories.  Good nutrition and good timing goes a long way to making a decent runner into a good runner.

 

So in the past two days, I've eaten every food that I've been craving but avoiding for the past month.  Yesterday I had four Crunch bars for lunch followed by chicken nuggets AND pizza for dinner.  Then I had two more Crunch bars for dessert.  Tonight, chips and dip for dinner.  Maybe brie and Triscuits for dessert.  I wonder if they make huge bags of Reese's Pieces.  My belt feels tighter already.

 

I Hate Myself And I Want To Die

On Saturday night I drove around on a mission for Pete's Fish N Chips-- the kind of place that serves squashed breaded shrimp on a styrofoam meat dish instead of a plate-- but found their locations closed. Dejected, I drove slowly through the winding streets of Apache near College. Suddenly my caravan of sorrow was stopped by a large man on a cruiser. He wore a beard and a horned viking hat and a red football jersey that read PHELPS on the back. He stopped his bike in front of my car, placed his pudgy palm up to my window and pronounced, 'HALT! I AM A CHAMPION! YOU ARE NOT!' After staring me in the eyes for three whole seconds he rode off into the dark night, toward the avenue of Spence, to probably do some meth.

It was the beginning of a very bad night.

Straight outta Jersey

Over the weekend I took my wife to see Savion Glover tap dance in Newark.  We've seen him dance a number of times before, but he still amazes me every time. 

 

The wife enjoyed the show but wanted more audience participation.  I pointed out that there was some clapping involved.

 

She said, "Well, I was hoping for something like they pick a random girl out of the cheap seats and they ask her to come up on stage and they give her tap shoes and I get to dance with them."

 

Fuck you, Debbie!

Over the weekend I invited a friend over for dinner. I told her I had vegetarian pizza with lots of spinach and also some roasted vegetables if she wanted. There was also lemonade and sorbet for dessert.

When she came over she brought leftovers from Macaroni Grill and a Diet Dr. Pepper. She brought beers from her knapsack and told me about how she had been invited to model in a fetish show wearing a straightjacket and a bite. When she asked him what a bite is, he said, "Think of a speculum for the mouth. Oh yeah, and there'll be a guy following you, swatting you with a short leather whip. "

And she'll take what you give her, as long as it's free

Yesterday I ran the Staten Island Half-Marathon.  I didn't run good time, but it was a huge personal victory for me since I came into 2008 ten pounds heavier, smoking, and with a hamstring injury that I thought would never heal.

 

On the race course, some kid decided to aim his speakers out his bedroom window to provide music to the runners.  I heard him changing the radio station until he came across "She's Always a Woman" by Billy Joel.  Then he clapped as we ran by. 

 

I'm sure he meant well, but that song isn't going to make its way on to my running playlist anytime soon.

 

But Does That Mean You Love Me?

In a move that is sure to make me want to shoot myself in April when I receive 12 W-2s in the mail, I recently got a new job, this time at a country club. The job is the bomb. I do banquets, which means I work with food-service types while serving rich people who belong to ridiculous organizations. Again, this job is the bomb.

Last night I chided a co-worker for constantly being sarcastic. "You have to be serious sometimes," I told him, "or else the cynicism loses its meaning." Then I picked up one of the powerpoint printouts and newsletters that the Risk Management Association left behind. I slid it under the napkin covering my server tray. "The best part of this job is stealing the literature they leave behind. It's so much fun to read," I told him.

He looked at me and said, "I'm just gonna say this, no sarcasm at all. You are really weird."

It's the freakin' weekend baby

When I was a second-year associate, I was working on a patent for a steel plate that is used to hold together broken bones.  I remember working on it all weekend and bringing it to the senior associate for review on Monday morning, which happened to be Columbus Day.  The staff was off, but most of the lawyers were at work.

 

As the senior associate flipped through my draft, he said, "I wish I was one of those assholes who actually didn't come to work on these bullshit holidays." 

 

Well, now I'm one of those assholes.  Yesterday, I looked up a list of our holidays at my new job.  For the first time in my life, I'm getting a three-day weekend for a meaningless holiday!  And we get off election day!  We even get off on Lincoln's birthday, even though I have no idea when that is.  I'll have to make a cake for Lincoln.

 

She's a self-inflicted obsession

Me: What?
Him: What?
Me: What?
Him: I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR YOUR BULLSHIT TODAY I'M ALL STRESSED OUT ABOUT THIS BULLSHIT AND THAT BULLSHIT AND I DON'T HAVE THE PATIENCE RIGHT NOW AND YOU'RE REALLY TRYING ME HERE.
Me: What?

PS: Why do we use the dative case pronouns? Shouldn't it be, "I" and "He"? Wouldn't that be the correct short form of "I said," and "Boyfriend said"?

I've been there, I've done that

In every new class of lawyers, there's an old guy.  When I started out with a bunch of kids in their early twenties, G-Man was the old guy.  He was in his forties and possessed a confidence and wisdom that the kids didn't have.  He didn't take anything too seriously.  Of course, he was my favorite person in our class.

 

The next year when my buddy Fluff started out in the firm, Pink was the old guy.  To this day, I've never seen someone capable of exuding the most innocent, childlike charm one second and say the filthiest, most disgusting thing the next second.  We all loved him. 

 

Yesterday at my new job, I showed up for a training session with all of the new hires.  Every one of them is under 25 except for me.  I'M the fucking old guy.  But I'm not charming or wise.  I'm suddenly feeling a lot of pressure.  I don't think I'm up for the job. 

 

Top 2 reasons why I love corked wine

2. It tastes just fine.
1. My boyfriend won't drink it... But I will!!

West side walk it out

The wife's cousins don't really care for us much.  We started seeing them a lot less in the past year and there isn't much doubt that my arrival in the family didn't help matters.

 

Last year the cousins recruited a huge team for an autism walk.  The wife and I forked over some big money and participated in the walk.  We found out last night that the cousins ran the team again this year and didn't even invite us. 

 

The wife is concerned about our relationship with her cousins.  I said, "If you won't even send someone an e-mail to ask for money, that's true hatred.  I'm sorry."

 

I Don't Want To Live Like A Refugee

On Sunday Dorian was late for coffee. After paying for my brew and chatting up the worker girls, I eyed the outside patio nervously. There was a homeless man sitting right next to the spot I wanted. I fretted that he would make me uncomfortable, and that I would have to get up and sit inside. After deciding that the chances of contact were slim, I took a deep breath and walked outside.

"You should come and sit here next to me," he told me. I respectfully declined. "I know I don't stink because I just took a shower," he insisted. I told him I was waiting for a friend. "FRICKIG HRA HRA WOODISKAKI CHINGA JANG JANG SEEN WITH SOMEONE LIKE ME!" he replied, then got up and left.

Dorian didn't believe me when I told him what'd happened. "Wait," he said, "YOU made HIM so uncomfortable that he abandoned his fucking cup of coffee?"

Most of these niggas think they be macking but they be acting

Wife:  I'm only working on my iPod because I don't have anything else to do.  I'm open to doing something else if you want to do something.

 

Pepper:  Are you trying to seduce me?

 

Wife:  Yes.

 

This is a true story

Last week, my dad was home alone with the dogs. The dogs are a pit bull, Killer Kia, and a German Shepard, Uta. The dogs get into a fight. My dad lets them fight. "We should let nature take its course," he says. He continues to watch football. My sister gets home. She sees Uta's ear on the floor. She says, "Dad, what is wrong with Uta?" He replies, "What do you mean?" She responds, "Her ear is on the floor." He replies, "What do you mean?" She shows him the ear. He replies, "Oh, that's what you mean." Then he calls the dog. They confer that yes, Uta's ear has been chomped off by Killer Kia. My sister puts hydrogen peroxide on Uta's stub. My dad continues to watch football.

Instances like these are why I left home when I was seventeen. When people today ask me why I left so young, I just shrug my shoulders and reply, "I went to college early."

Cash rules everything around me, cream

As I was cutting up the raspberry pies I made yesterday, my cousin's five-year-old son asked me what he should call me since I'm not really his uncle.

I said, "You can call me anything you want."

He seemed excited by this as I served him his piece of pie. "Really?"

I assured him that anything would be ok. He thought about it and said, "How about meatball head?" I said that would be fine and whenever he screamed "Meatball head" I would come running. Sadly, this is the coolest nickname I've ever had.

He poked at the pie I served him and said, "Meatball head, I don't like this pie. Can I just have whipped cream?" So I gave him a pile of whipped cream to eat. And that is why meatball head is the coolest.

Yeah, yeah, yeah

I've finally found the phone cord that I'd been missing for months. It was lost it sometime during the move, and I let Boyfriend know that the blame was squarely on his shoulders. "I can totally see you doing this," I told him, "picking something up, not knowing what it is, and tossing it because if it isn't important to you it isn't important to anyone, is it?"

I found it in my underwear drawer. That's where I put everything that I never want to lose. This made me angry. I confronted Boyfriend. "Why didn't you tell me to look in the underwear drawer? You KNOW that's where I put everything that I'm afraid of losing."

Talk dirty to me

Yesterday the wife offered to take me out to breakfast on my last day off.  I chose Shopsin's because I heard that Kenny Shopsin wrote a cookbook and I was hoping to get him to sign one for me.

 

Shopsin's isn't really a restaurant, it's a collection of four or five tables arranged in the corner of an indoor marketplace.  There are no signs that say "Shopsins" but you can usually hear Kenny Shopsin cursing up a storm as soon as you enter the market. 

 

Yesterday Kenny was in a great mood and took our order with a smile and joke.  That's good since I'm kind of terrified of him.  When I asked him about his cookbook, he told me to go to a bookstore. 

 

We ordered an egg sandwich, a burrito and sliders to share.  The sous chef -- who I've heard is Kenny's son -- came out and said, "There's no way you're going to eat all of that shit.  Fucking assholes."

 

The food, as always, was amazing.

 

When the check came, the wife looked at me and asked, "How much do you tip when they call you a fucking asshole?"  We settled on twenty percent. 

 

Dij, dij, dij, dijonnaise, naise, naise

Supposedly, traditional birth control works in two ways. First, it prevents the ovaries from releasing an egg. Second, it thickens the mucus around the cervix thus hindering the movement of sperm. What they don't tell you is that it also works by rearranging your brain cells so that you become relatively sexually apathetic.

I have been off the BC for five days. Being off BC is like being on a sexual hallucinogen. No, I'm not staring at the eyelash that fell on their cheek. I'm imagining them boning me doggy-style. I imagine myself straddling them. I want them to slap my ass as I walk away.

This is why I need to be on BC.
This is why I'm glad my BF does not read my blog.

You are my destiny

I had to go to a continuing legal education class this week so I asked the wife for one of her books to read.  She gave me a book called The Alchemist.

 

When I got home from my class, I said, "That was one of the worst books I have ever read.  Supermarket philosophy.  Yeah, follow your destiny!  Everyone finds out what their destiny is when they are a child!  When you follow your destiny, the whole universe helps you out!  Follow the omens!  What a crock of bullshit.  Ever since I was a kid, the whole universe has been against me.  The universe conspires to crush you, not help you out.  And when I was a kid I thought my destiny was the be the next DJ for Run DMC.  I guess I could do that since their DJ is dead now, but I really don't think that is my destiny.  I can't believe you liked that book.  It could have be written by the Care Bears in cloud village where everything always works out.  I should burn that book instead of giving it back to you."

 

She just ignored me.  Then I asked, "Why did you marry such an asshole?" 

 

If Your Neighbor's House Is On Fire, Maybe They Smoke Too Much In Bed

Last night I went with my friend Gina to hang out with some weirdos I'd never met before. "This is my friend Salty," she said, "Salty was my roommate for our year abroad. We didn't know each other when we flew over together and when we landed I commented that I needed to brush my teeth but had nothing to do it with so she whipped her toothbrush out and said, 'Here, use mine!"

I turned red. This is not how I like to be introduced.

In revenge I told them about how her grating personality caused our other roommate to stop flushing the toilet, ever, and then videotaped her reaction and the ensuing pandemonium for months until she went home early.

This is how you know you're best friends with someone.

I just can't remember who to send it to

Last night at my inlaws' house I asked my wife whether I could use the inlaws' computer to check a few things.  My wife said, "My mom's computer is upstairs but judging from her e-mails, none of the punctuation works."

 

I said, "OMG my mom must have the same keyboard!"

 

You're fit, and you know it

I saw my friend Dorian this weekend and over coffee he told me about his newfound love for public speaking. "I just love it. I love public speaking," he said. "You just love talking," I assured him.

I might even grow me a fu manchu

Since it's my last week of unemployment, I cut my beard into a fu manchu moustache.  Think Paul Teutul, Sr.  Think Hulk Hogan.  Think Fresh Pepper.

 

When I visited my grandmother's house, everyone laughed and said I looked like an asshole.  Some said I looked like a 70's gay porn star. 

 

When I visited my wife's family, my father-in-law laughed and my mother-in-law asked what I was thinking.  Then when we visited the wife's extended family, something very strange happened: nobody even mentioned it.  Not a word.  I don't know if that means that we're just not that close and they aren't comfortable telling me I look like an asshole or that they're a little scared of me. 

 

And then he got mad when I stared at Gerard Butler with an open mouth

Saturday I went to Blockbuster with Boyfriend. Negotiations were tough. He brought up something with Arnold Schwarzenegger and I countered with Mama Mia. He just looked at me.

In the end it was Hackers. I am the best girlfriend ever.

I hate that stupid old pickup truck you never let me drive

When I drive my Harley, the most dangerous people on the road are the men in pickup trucks with HARLEY DAVIDSON stickers all over the back.  They try to look at my bike, give me the thumbs up, or let me in front of them instead of watching the road. 

 

I don't understand the Harley stickers on cars and trucks.  If you were cool, you'd be on a Harley.  It's like making your wife walk around wearing a picture of your mistress.  I think I'm going to put a Jeep sticker on the back of my Harley just to mix it up a little.  When I see people in Jeeps, I'll give them the thumbs up and point to the sticker to let them know that my other vehicle is just like theirs.

 

 

Beef is when you need 2 gats to go to sleep

I spoke to my uncle today. My uncle is the kind of guy who breeds Rottweilers out of genuine love of the breed. The kind of guy who gives them tough-guy dog names, like Arnold and Tasha and Digau, which is Chinese for Big Dog. The kind of guy who spends five years mourning them after their death, refusing to get replacements.

He finally got a new Rott and named it Ali. The problem is his kids have a speech disorder. They call him Ollie.

"I have to get a new name," he said.

They say that all good things must end

One week from today I start my new job.  The summer of Fresh is over. 

 

I tried to come up with a list of crazy things to do in my last week of freedom, but so far all I can think of is baking a lot of pies.  And maybe take a few naps. 

 

Give me a reason to be a woman

When you have to drain your bathtub with a bucket and the toilet before showering, it's time to call the plumber. As I dialed the rental office to request service, certain thoughts ran through my mind- thoughts like, "What could go wrong?" and, "Hey, it's free!"

I guess I didn't really think there was a thong stuck up there.

All the cats want to dance with sweet little sixteen

Sometimes when the wife goes off to work and I'm home all alone...

 

Well, I don't want to get too inappropriate so let's just say I wish I had recorded more of Shawn Johnson's olympic routines.

 

Funkytown

Have you ever put a Q-tip in either ear and started twisting them around and then had that strange feeling when you realized suddenly that your ears aren't symmetrically placed on your head? And then to make double-sure you took out the Q-tips and replaced them and did it over again?

Oh no, me neither.

Blood on the dance floor

Me:  You need to start throwing away your fucking Crystal Light wrappers.  Every day, there is one on the counter and every day I have to throw it out.  It's driving me fucking insane.  Today I had to reach under the microwave to get one, and I cut open my hand and bled all over the kitchen.  If I see any more of them, I'm going to light the entire apartment on fire.

 

Wife:  Oh my God, did you get any blood in my dinner?

 

Call on me, call me! Call on me, call me!

Sometimes when I come home and only my mom is there, we like to drink wine and laugh at the various documents that detail my little sister's inability to socialize herself. Yes, it's wrong. But the selection, a big stack at the top of the computer desk, is available and top-notch. It's usually things like insurance claims, traffic tickets, and notices of insufficient funds.

Like, today's zinger still has me laughing. It was a notice of insufficient funds for a bill paid at a tanning salon. The thing is, my sister's natural skin color is REALLY BROWN.

There's something about you, girl

Last night when the wife came home from work, she smelled like maple syrup.

 

"I made maple-flavored oatmeal for lunch," she said, "and spilled it all over my skirt."

 

She was upset about the skirt, but having a wife that smelled like pancakes filled me with lust for some reason.  I think I may have called her Mrs. Butterworth during sex.

 

One by one I'll knock you out

I think one of the funniest things about me is that I spend all day using my hands like ferocious cymbals trying to kill every fly I see. Then when I catch one, I get upset because then I have to wash my hands.

Take me to the river

My inlaws don't have any hand soap in the bathroom.  There's a bottle of Purell hand sanitizer next to the sink.  This is not soap.  This drives me fucking insane.

 

Yesterday I was doing some baking at their house.  After attempting to wash my hands with Purell, I decided to just wash my hands at the kitchen sink.  Then I discovered that there is no hand soap on the kitchen sink either.  There is only dish soap on the kitchen sink.

 

Then I wondered how they have been washing their hands while they have been preparing the many meals that I have eaten at their house. 

 

 

Are you ready for a new sensation?

I remember hating tacos as a kid.  My younger brother hated steak. 

 

This was because we almost never went out to eat until we were teenagers and we only knew certain dishes as they were prepared by my father.  My Irish father.  He meant well, but his tacos had chunks of uncooked onions and green peppers in them.  His steak was cold in the middle and completely burned all around the edges. 

 

Last night my wife asked me why I never made pesto sauce on pasta night.  I told her that I hated pesto sauce and I would never make it.  She said, "Have you ever had pesto sauce that wasn't made by your father?" 

 

I can't believe I'm 31 and I'm still recovering from my father's culinary disasters.  Tonight is pesto night!

 

some feel the heat and realize that they can't go on

Today I had a long-time-coming conversation with a friend who is getting married soon. She took a while to complain about her own mother's lukewarm reaction to the news of the engagement. It made her feel really unimportant. As she ranted, I jogged my memory to my own reaction to the news. With a grimace, I remembered.

I sent her a text message that said, "Congratulations!"

Looking at the man in the mirror

Three or four weeks ago, at one of the cool fratboy parties that they have in our backyard, some of the guests decided to bid adieu and say goodnight upon the bicycles that belong to Boyfriend and I. I imagine this was difficult since my cruiser weighed a hundred pounds and had two flat tires. Boyfriend is too tall for most people to ride his bike. I applaud the ambition of these bikethief losers.

We confronted the fratboys about our stolen bikes and they promptly agreed to replace them. And then, when we found out where the bikethiefs live, our neighbors promised to get them back. I imagined the fratboys engineering complicated plans to resteal our bikes in the middle of the night. I imagined a lookout person and someone with a chainsaw. I imagined them valiantly returning my bike.

As the weeks pass by, I'm starting to think I was wrong about that.

Spread love, it's the Brooklyn way

Yesterday I took my Jeep in for inspection.  I was terrified that it would fail since I can't really afford any repairs right now. 

 

When the inspector called me over, he didn't look happy.  He looked like Biggie Smalls and he had the word "IRON" tattooed on his forearm. 

 

He said, "Why does your car smell like pizza?"

 

I excitedly explained that I had just baked some orange and almond shortbread and pulled it from my back seat to offer him a piece.  He took one and said, "This is pretty good.  Here's your sticker.  See you in two years.  Bring more cookies."

 

One is a genius, the other insane

Over the weekend, I washed my thirty-something pairs of underwear by hand in the bathtub. Since then, the bathtub has been superclogged. Putting two and two together I imagine there is a thong stuck somewhere in the piping.

Using ingenering ingenuity, I am approaching the problem with a two-step method. I have dumped so much Dran-o and hot water down the drain that I might be liable for damaging them. I also began an experiment to test the hypothesis, "With time, Dran-o will dissolve a thong." My test features a thong submerged in a jelly jar of Dran-o.

Since the Dran-o has neither dissolved the thong nor cleared the pipes, I am currently applying "indefinite period of time" to the problem and hope that that fixes it.

These ain't no ordinary shoes, shoes, shoes

This morning while reading the newspaper, my wife said, "Wow, I love these boots."

 

I didn't even look away from the television.  I said, "You have a pair just like that."  Trust me, it was a pretty safe bet. 

 

She said, "Yeah, I know.  And I think I like mine better."

 

I am getting good at this whole marriage thing.

 

You know you are poor when...

you grab an old pair of jeans and upon feeling something in the pocket pray, "Oh I hope it's money!"

Hot scorchin, but stone cold like Steve Austin

My wife and I spent some time on the weekend visiting our families. 

 

These are actual quotes that I collected from members of her family:

 

"You don't understand, the partners at my firm actually lost money this year."

"That supporting bar [in the couch] is steel.  You can't drill through steel."

"Michael Phelps would be twice as fast if he was swimming on the beach because the salt water makes you buoyant."

 

I was giggling to myself at the insanity of my wife's family when we visited my family and my cousin said, without any prompting, "I saw that movie 'Condemned' the other day.  I'll tell you, Stone Cold Steve Austin needs to make more movies."