Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Just admit it.

I used to smirk at the people in Starbucks tied to laptops and cell phones, now I'm one of them.
I understand the addiction. email; there's nothing worse than waiting for that important message.
Did I get it? Did I accidentally delete it? Could it be the message I've been waiting for? 
Texting? please, I've turned into a 14 year old girl waiting by the phone                                                    (gimme back my Duran Duran poster). 

Years ago, I tried a chat room. Struck me as a bunch of teenage and mid-twenties douches trying to one up each other. Sorry, I have better things to do. Like what you ask? Maybe I'll watch a marathon of documentaries about crystal meth. There, I can find out how people buy the products on line, cook it up at home in their lovely double-wide trailers and proceed to sell and or smoke it all. At that point, you sit in your hole, surrounded by beer cans, porn, pizza boxes and the smell of rotted teeth. As you probably can tell, I watch too much of the Discovery Channel. Yes, I know far too much about bikers, speed and meth mouth.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

I've done something I would not have done otherwise


I've been reading my horoscope a lot lately. Not that I belive in any of that; personally, I think most of it's recycled generalizations.
Taurus - You're stubborn; try to be nice, change your attitude and you will be free of the bitterness that is blighting your life. Yes--that was part of my horoscope.

Listen: if I'm bitter, it's not because I'm an water sign born in the year of the pig (okay, I would prefer snake or dragon; no woman wants to be called a pig). On the bright side, my number in numerology is 7. Seven is the number of the mystic (ooh, my inner workings are intricate) and I have an uncanny understanding of human nature. I'm sure you are dying to meet me now... aw shucks.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

There's nothing about today that interests me except tommorow

It's easy!

I thought they were retired.  Those stupid "Easy" buttons;  (Yes from the old Staples commercial). Things are tough, so you press the Easy button and magically, things are perfect. Now, as revolting as the commercial is, you know what's worse--people who buy the damn thing. Why are you buying a useless piece of red plastic crap? And why does the teller at my bank  have one at her station; why is this nimrod handling my money? Should I be surprised if she had a wall filled with Kathy cartoons and a poster of the "Hang in there baby" cat poster. If any of you out there have an "Easy" button and you are constantly pressing it, every time you do that, you lose a small piece of your soul.


I need coffee.  Every day, just the way it is.

I've tried the tea thing, that only works when I'm  sick.  I go where the java is.
Sometimes at work, I'll partake in the homemade brew but usually I'm too late,
I get the last cup what you could call "burnt goodness". 

As usual I  travel to my local Starbucks down the block
and order up my cup of Pike or Xmas blend,whatever 54 cent refill can't lose. 
But today--Today my coffee tasted funny...  Why?  Yes I wondered also.
Got to my office sat in my cubicle pored the contents into another cup and found--
The top of a salt shaker at the bottom.
Okay this explains the salty yet metallic taste but WTF? How does this happen?

 Did I go back and explain "yes I know the coffee refills are cheap
but really could you have looked a bit closer and noticed this before you gave me the beverage"?
No like a jackass i just threw out the coffee.  Too much to go through in one sitting...

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Multinational death burger: the sequel, "No country for old Hippies"

Do you know this person?

Everthing to them is a conspiracy: "the corporations are destroying this country". Yes, I get it: Wal-Mart is the devil; so is Kmart, Target, all large bookstores--Borders, Barnes and Noble, the grand Satan, Mc Donalds and of course the Big Daddy, Starbucks.

Of course it goes a little something like this: you sit there with your coffee (latte, extra foam, do you know how many Guademalan children have to pick those beans for you to get one cup? Read a book from some conglomerate store, swallowing up the little guy so you can get the new Oprah's book selection half price. Go buy your wares at one of the "stores" (they dare not speak its' name, like it's Candyman or Voldemort, for goodness' sake). All the suffering, so you can have your things. Oh yes, you must be hungry; have a bite at the local McMultinational death burger--that should make you feel good. Can you hear the cows screaming in pain?

Does any of this sound familiar? Save the earth, Free trade, Stop the corporations from taking over the country... I have always wanted to ask this question: have you ever been to a local coffee shop? I might be generalizing, but coffee shops and diners stink. Overpriced; service is lousy and from the minute you sit down, they want you to go. I always shop at Target; I love Target--sorry, vintage overpriced duds aren't my thing anymore. And as far as I'm concerned,
I hate fast food; I've learned not to trust food that smells the same coming in and going out
(don't make me spell it out). If you want to eat a McRib, God bless--your insides
will probably explode, but you will enjoy it going down your gullet.

The world in general is a scary place, filled with lots of nasty dictators, thieves and vile scum.

Fine; if it makes you feel better carry a bag to the supermarket, support your local whatever, fight the good fight, carry your silly heart on your sleeve, just don't do it in front of me. I laugh and point.

Multinational death burger

Do any of you have friends that just make you cringe?

Not cringe in a good way, like your drunken friend from college--still drinking and whoring like it's 1994. Every time its the same--starts out fun; hours later she's in a supply closet, blowing the porter crying in a puddle of bile. You cradle her, brush away her vomit crusted hair and whisper gently, "It's okay; your stepdad isn't here. Let it go; he cant hurt you".

The whole time, you're filming it on your cell phone and stick it on YouTube.

How about this group: vegans. Not the wimpy "I only eat fish" types; the no leather, wool, silk,
won't eat meat, cheese,dairy. Always against animal testing, want to blow up research labs, attack the ASPCA and generally thinks that people are scum. Just a bunch of Tofurkey eating loons. I had a debate class with one of these wack jobs in college. We had to choose between saving a baby or a dog and she picked the dog. She put a higher value on Marmaduke-- granted, he could really get into some funny shenanigans, but we are talking about a baby, people.

Now if it was the choice of baby Hitler and Lassie, maybe she might've had a point.

But thats the problem with these people. Chickens don't have a soul; cows are cute, but dumb, and you know what? No matter what you do--how many animals you save--Clarice, the lambs will not go silent. Trust me; if I'm in the ocean, the shark that will rip me to shreads isn't thinking about my existence.

Eat a damn cheeseburger and put on some ill-fitting leather pants.

The folly of youth brings memories I'd rather forget

The fun, frolic and frivolity of days gone by; when you didn't have to get up in the morning, you could play all day and in the evening sit on the porch, drink Country Time lemonade and listen to old-timey music while grandma braided your hair. Actually, I made that part up. I only had one grandparent and she could have been described as a "passive-aggressive manic depressive", who one minute was nice; the next minute, putting rat poison in my fruit punch. "Come on sweetie, grandma made you a drink; it's got an extra kick to it". No wonder I always had stomach aches and nose bleeds as a kid. Yes, my grammy was Lucrezia Borgia, damn her and her hollow ring.

Remember the lovely Peanuts animated specials? I was never that much of a fan.

Charlie Brown was a pussy; Lucy: just an angry feminist living in a man's world. Linus and that stupid blanket--did he ever wash that damn thing? Peppermint Patty aka Jodie Foster--just one of the boys with a gentleman's hair-do (wink, wink), oh and Franklin; what the hell did he ever do? Poor token cartoon character; he probably had to be bused in from another comic strip every day. Do not get me started on Snoopy; damn war monger. There was no Red Baron, you loony canine, and always doing his dumb dog house dance. Oh and Woodstock, hippie bird --probably had mescaline in his bird seed. I don't know if you were aware of this; back in the day, my mom described Peanuts as a bunch of Christian comic strips, lots of homilies for the kiddies being spoon fed this pablum right under their noses. I guess that made Charlie Brown Christ, and Lucy was Mary Magdelene (angry whore, not actual whore). Who knows the truth?

My Mom also hated "Little House on the Prairie"; she thought that was a load of of do-gooder, fake sentimental crap. Honestly, I can't argue with that; have you ever gone back and watched it? Trust me, if there's ever a marathon on TV Land, you will be running for the remote. Either that or in the begining when "little half pint", Melissa Gilbert goes running down the hill, you'll hope she trips and breaks her neck. Please spare me another picture with Michael Landon and his poofy '80's hair. Loved the Gingam though.

I want to be alone...

You go on Facebook, My Space or any other social networking site with the best intentions (Call it "My date rape and murder and body found in a shallow grave 2 weeks later, if you're dumb enough to meet someone you talked to on line"). And it becomes  a creep congregation. You just want to get in contact with someone for networking friendship or a business transaction and it turns into perv free-for-all.

I joined a site to sell jewelry and the freaks came out of the woodwork.  Jackass #1 calls himself "Well Hung"; next winner calls himself "Porn69". Do they realize I could be 12; do you want to end up on Dateline NBC? "I thought she was 25"; sure you did.

Anyway, why do people do this crap? Is it any different than the garbage that makes the sounds and gestures to you when you walk down the street? If only my hard, cold stare carried the Ebola virus, I could have taken care of this problem long ago.

I would like to share with you a reply I sent to a master of subtlety:

Dear Sir,

Or shall I call you by your other name, "Recently Released Sex Offender"? I am just a simple lass, trying to make a busisness transaction. I have no interest in a hook up, dirty messages or being sent private photos. I know you are from the generation that hooks up first, asks questions later, like "why don't you like being chained to my radiator? I thought you enjoyed crying and blood? Wasn't in your profile?"

But I, sir, don't tolerate this sort of guff. Now I ask you to leave me be; go back to your collection of underage prostitute body parts you have stuffed in your large freezer and who knows? If you wish real hard, maybe you can create one whole girl from that mess. Go away creep.

Let's do the the time warp

So here I am, sitting in the car waiting for the light to turn--what breaks my concentration?

The guy in the next car over.

He's playing Pearl Jam. Now I know you people out there think, ''but they were one of the greatest band of the 90's.''

And yes I had a copy of Ten (red cover, their arms outstretched: ''reach the sky, man'').
Maybe that's my point, I had a copy. And yes, before you even think it, there was worse--
Nirvana maybe? God, how I wish Kurt Cobain would have done his suicide pact with the wife, Gig Young style (Google the name for a chuckle).

Sorry--back to the guy and the car. He was driving a Jeep and had on a on a sweater, a beanie cap, long hair and yes--a soul patch. All that was missing was a girlfriend with green hair and a nose ring lunchbox as purse, Doc Martens and a ''Take Back The Night'' t-shirt. The song that was playing? "Jeremy", from Ten.

I had a suspicion Ole Grunge Boy got caught in a worm hole 14 years ago and just got
spit back out. Sadly, he broke my illusion by whipping out his cell phone. Bye-bye
Grunge Boy, wherever you may mope.

Monday, November 8, 2010


My worst New Year's hangover was about twenty two years ago. Just a bunch of silly teenage geese going to every bar on Avenue A that would serve us liquor. How many? All. So after many hours of drinking "Blue Whales" I found myself at a friends house, with an urge to vomit. I was such a good friend, I waited to hurl after I left the apt., just did it in the street and a cab. Got home eventually and put a bucket next to my bed. How cute; like a little Bukowski in training. Many hours later I awoke, dragged myself into the living room; my Mom watching a Gilligan's Island marathon, barely looking at me. All she said was "I made a ham; eat some and take out the garbage." Translation: "I don't know what you did last night; I don't want to know. Eat some ham because we are Jews that laugh in the face of God." Or something like that.

Don't bogart that cigarette my friend


I have never been one to get on a soapbox about anything. I have my opinions and such. If you want serious commentary or political dissertation this isn't the blog. I just feel that the cigarette hysteria is a bit much for me. No, my dad isn't Fred Marlboro and I don't think smoking is ''cool''. Well, I used to; it had that whole chic Euro thing and gave all the shy girls something to do with their hands; oh yeah and it tasted good. I'm not saying for or against cigarettes, I'll say instead the pungent aroma never bothered me much.

Remember the good old days? You would see smokers everywhere, restaurants, movie theaters and airplanes. Remember bars? You can still go to a bar, pickle your liver till it looks like an olive, but you can't smoke. And as far as I can see in films nowadays, they have "special" ratings for smoking, and it's always after "mild scenes of violence". What a bunch of pandering sissies. The only time you see a smoker nowadays, there usually a Terrorists, and European. Yes, people the threat to this great nation is... a bunch of French guys filled with ennui. Stop, please stop.

Yes, I know the old amputeed foot guy and hole-in-the-throat-where-the-voice-box-used-to-be are very effective commercials, but don't you think somebody warned those guys? And they would probably still be smoking if not for the fact one guy can't walk to the store to get the cigs and the other one has no throat? Just a sick observation; sorry, no really, sorry.

In conclusion, I am a big proponent of free will. You want to smoke, go ahead, if twenty years from now you get sick and they remove your larynx and you sound like Neil Young circa Trans-- hey, if you're happy, what do I care? So ol' Lucille Ball voice--smoke up and have fun until those crazed Frenchmen destroy our American way of life.

Desperately seeking superficiality


You and I may have similar traits. Maybe a love of films, music, good bottle of white wine or
mixed drink ("Love potion" -- banana liqueur & gin; very tasty). Maybe you and I love tasteless jokes: "what do you say to the woman who has two black eyes"? Answer--"nothing she hasn't been told twice already". Okay; if you're laughing, you know this is a joke; if your mouth is agape in horror, remember somewhere in the recesses of my brain the synapses aren't firing at 100%. Either that or I can just blame it all on my parents.

Even with all my personal flaws people still seem to like me, especially men. Well, the types
that either troll Facebook at 2 in the morning and have a duffle bag filled with torture porn, a rope, shovel and bad intentions. Or maybe the guy whose My Space profile has a
picture of someone who looks like Clive Owen, but in reality seems to to be a 300 lb. gentleman with a mullet and possessing the social graces of Stuntman Mike. (I just know the reality of life. If you're a woman, have a sunny disposition, breasts, legs and all your teeth, you may wind up a target for some types).

Maybe it's my way of looking at the world that stops me from enjoying some things in life. For some reason, everyone I know loved the show "My So-Called Life"; me, I would have rather drank bleach then have to sit through that self-important hour long "teen drama" of the horrible '90's. Did the people who made the show ever go to high school? Sorry; really pretty girls with the porcelain skin, perfect hair and slim bodies didn't have the problems--try being 50 pounds overweight, have acne, pissed-off & warring parents, dyslexia and no privacy--that's high school, boyo. Of course it probably says something about me that I'm writing about
a show that's probably been off the air for 14 years. Yes, just call me relevant; next, I'll discuss
whether "Red Dawn" was a piece of cold war propaganda or could Quincy really do his job as ME and solve crimes at the same time (please bring that show back; just to hear ol' half a larynx speak would be worth it).

For all my bravado I really am a sensitive gal. I have a keen idea of the inner thoughts and personality traits of others. I'll tell you who you really are and just what you're thinking. In the end, dispensing thoughtful, sage advice. Now if I could follow my own advice, then I would have it made; instead, I wisely chose not to. One can't spend too much time thinking of one's self can we and let's face it; without something to have neurosis about, how would I exist?

The ol' whippersnappers need to get the what for from me


There are many things I regret: from the minor--using a sun lamp three inches from my face, without sun block (my face looked like pink puffer fish) to the time I bought a pair of shoes
1 size too small (it was the only size they had; hey they were adorable). Unfortunately, I then
walked around N.Y., turning my feet into a bloody mess. Maybe sometimes I drank too much. Maybe I didn't take school seriously enough. Then there's the monumental; things you said that you wish you could take back--you feel as if they've changed the course of your existence. I bet right now you might be wincing at the thought of your grand faux pas.

Maybe it's me. I've had a strong sense of shame all my life; the old right vs. wrong. You do something bad; hence, you feel bad right? Why does it seem as if no one has a sense of shame at all anymore: I do what I want, when I want--screw you. And why does it seem the ones doing it are all younger than me and couldn't give a flying rat's ass?

The one thing I find interesting about getting older is how much disdain I have for the youth.
Age gives you that great force field of indignation; no, not the old "in my day" speech, just the way things are going the youth today do seem like a cavalcade of schmucks.

They were mollycoddled as kids, can do no wrong as teens and now in their early twenties are covered in tattoos and piercings, sitting in Starbucks with laptop all day long. Why don't you
have a job? What do you do all day? I would love to have the life of leisure; why, in fact I've written about it, but I can't--I have that pesky thing called rent. Whatever happened to having tattoos that you could hide; you know, if you had a job. I love when women have tattoos on their necks; nothing says classy like having "Tony's Girl" blazoned across one's throat. I want that woman handling my cash at the bank.

It's just my opinion--I can just imagine the parents of some of these winners. Probably out there, a couple worked their fingers to the bone to send Fred to college, only to find he's in debt
from his second life habit. His avatar name is Thor--he's quite the lady killer for a cartoon; his
girlfriend's avatar name is Luxana, a raven haired goddess (!)--actually, she's a Midwest lump with two kids and probably has a bunch of dumb tattoos--a bunch of cherubs and fairies.

Me, I don't have kids--don't want them and I can't imagine what it must feel like to be the parent of some of these wretches. Parents, I would say I feel for you , but I would make me a liar and that would make me feel shame.