fuck you | bicycle

I got on the rush hour F train last week and myself having to squeeze into a spot between a woman and her bicycle. I wondered if the bicycle had paid for the room it was taking up or if she snuck him in under the turnstile. Then I thought about how much I hated bicycle and the bitch who was walking him. I was under the impression that they were meant to be ridden outside and not taking up valuable space underground. But no, I was mistaken. Apparently those are last year’s rules and now that the earth is melting, there are new ones. Please see below.

Old Rule
Thou shalt ride your bicycle in designated bicycle-riding areas only. You will utilize the wheels for what they were created for and refrain from causing great discomfort to those not lucky enough to have wheels. Walking of bicycle is forbidden.

New Rule
Thou shalt ride your bicycle all willy nilly and shit. The roads were meant for cars but only in theory. You shalln’t observe laws as you are a renegade and are working for a bigger cause – to save the earth, one peddle at a time. You shalln’t even have to ride as long as you carry it around with you, like an expensive accessory that showcases your intellectual wealth. Recruit as many riders as possible. Current goal: new energy sources.

You rules don’t scare me, bicycle. I have more horsepower than you. Always did and always will.

Why yes, you should definitely consider that a threat. So smart you are.

gitmo | in | nyc

Barack Obama wanted to close Gitmo but the poor guy saw opposition in Senate. Even his own team thumbs downed him. Apparently, no one really wants these detainees to come to the US. And I’m like, why the fuck not? Bring them to New York!

I wouldn’t mind paying extra taxes to build a new, more suitable detention center for these fine citizens of society. We have so much extra room, too. Union Square is practually desolate and the Lower East Side is just screaming for a new building. In addition to stimulating the local economy with new construction, supporters of this brilliant plan wouldn’t have to travel far to mingle with those they care so much about. It would be a championship moment in history.

I am sorry, Mr. President, that you have to work with such vile, racist people. I hope you eventually succeed in your plan so that we can all live happily together in this great land. Just like Jesus wanted.

manboy | vaginas

There is something amiss in the drinking water. It has affected males aged 25-35 along the Eastern Seaboard. Testicles are shrinking. Ovaries are growing. The result is an abundance of manboys. It is now an epidemic. Hide your daughters.

Or inform them.

If you see a man with a pussy, stay away. He is no good. He may be of age to drink, smoke and have a job but on the inside, he has the mental capacity of a 5-year-old girl. Except the girl is more mature. 5-year-olds are obnoxiously honest while manboys are just obnoxious. Both like to run around in circles but when asked about this running, the 5-year old will tell you she is playing Duck, Duck Goose with a ghost. The manboy will stutter uncontrollably and then just say “uh, uh, uh, I dunno.” The 5-year-old isn’t afraid of anything – honesty, heights or expired milk. The manboy is afraid of everything, particularly honesty. More stuttering ensues.

The worst part is that manboys have accepted their status as peons while 5-year-old girls are eager to grow. They will tell you things like “I am 5 years old, 7 months and 6 days old which means I’m 6.” Manboys will tell you things like “I know I’m almost 30 but I’m still a kid.” Since when did it become acceptable to be so comfortable in one’s own ineptness?

And if you read the previous post, you will know that I write this on behalf of my love for another. I’ve unfortunately encountered these deformed species but to me, they are not worth a sentence. Not even a fragment. But for my friend – they are worth four paragraphs and a weekend in the slammer. Sorry officer but I didn’t realize I’m not allowed to throw bricks at people. Why yes, the cave I live in is quite spacious.

Grow up, boys. You repulse me more than fat people in white bathing suits.

me | awesome

Did you know that I’m awesome? Because Jessica O did. She has nominated me for the awe-summmm award (see above) and I’m not sure when the ceremony is but I’ve already purchased a dress and shoes. The handbag I’m not sure about and will likely need some assistance in that department.

But first I must write 7 awesome things about me and then tag 7 others who I feel deserve this nomination. Easy breezy.

1) I’m nice – I’ll pretty much do anything for anyone as long as it doesn’t inconvenience me too much. Need me to read your paper? No prob. Need me to Google a phone number for you ASAP? I’ll get that shit done. Sick and need medicine/a hug? I’ll bring you the medicine. Just ask and I’ll help you out!

2) I don’t cook – I consider this a public service. Not trying has saved a lot of folks a visit to the hospital.

3) I’m understanding – (Mostly) nothing shocks me, nothing is new and I’m probably the only person who won’t judge you when you do something stupid. Not only because I don’t care about what you do with your life but also because I’ve probably been there and done that. Twice. I’m also great at damage control. Fucked shit up? Great. Me too. Now lets fix it!

4) I’m super protective of my friends and will defend their honor quicker than my own. If a stranger attacks (verbally, physically, or with thoughts), I feel bad for that stranger. I may be violent with Zohra but if anyone else tries to harm her, I will slice them quicker than you can say “oh shit, that crazy bitch got a knife.” This applies to all family and friends. It’s best not to test this.

5) I’m fun – I am. If you haven’t seen that side of me, it’s probably because you make my palms sweat from discomfort.

6) I’m honest – If you look fat in the dress, I will tell you. It’s not nice to lie to friends because if you lie once, they will continue looking fat in dresses. And how do you think they’ll feel when they realize they look porky in all of the pics and you didn’t tell them? Terrible and fat. She’ll be more hurt when you crop her out anyway. Henceforth, truth is awesome.

7) I’m modest – I’m all about self-deprecation but that is only because I know I’m all that and a bag of chips. Gourmet chips from Whole Foods. Sometimes I make out with myself but that is only after I have staring contest with the mirror and just can’t keep my hands off. Awesomeness radiates through my pores and that is obvious by the nomination. I want to win, damnit.

Now I have to tag other people who I think are awesome and they have to do the same thing.

stop annoying me by tannerleah

nyc mind munchies by mike g

origin of cotton by rodrigo the fake jew

live wrong and prosper by kali

the little survivor. i cant find you. sigh.

12 by anna

in ether by in ether

moving | on

Over the course of the last two years, I’ve learned many valuable lessons. The most important one is that people are not a constant. They will always leave you, usually when you least expect it or when you need them the most. This is the formula of life. In order to cope with this discovery, I have perfected the art of not having feelings. I simply beat them out of me in order to not be bothered by the inevitable.

The following people are either leaving or have already left.

Val: Her departure was not a shock and so I had time to detach myself from her ample bosoms and luxurious mane of Chewbacca-esque hair. What I will miss most about her is her creepy ability to read my mind. All we have to do is look at each other and she will know what mischief is brewing. She will take me to the side and say something like “I understand your need to __________________ but why don’t you think about _____________ and ____________ before you go and do that?” Then I spend some time thinking about it before I go and do that. She will then blink three times at me and I will know exactly what she is saying. Usually it is “You’re an asshole” but sometimes she throws in a “You fucking suck” for good measure. While I can live without such telepathy, I would much prefer not to. I await her return to civilization but until then I’ve made new friends who will help me forget about her.

Sarah: It was disturbing to learn that Sarah would be moving back to the West Coast, leaving me roommateless once again. I had grown accustomed to her cooking me dinner every night and baking cookies. My heart skipped a beat when she broke the news. Mostly it was because I wondered who would change Moses’ water and brush his shell. She is also funny and tells good celebrity stories but her care taking skills are exceptional. Sarah taught me how to do laundry in the basement, how to make tasty eggs but not much else really. She will be missed but I hope to find a new roommate soon who will help me forget about her.

Grocery Store Man #1 and 2 – My grocery guys know what I order in the morning. The only thing I have to say is good morning and 30 seconds later I have my coffee, even if there is a line. This morning I come to find out they have been bought out. There is a new grocery store man. His name is Joey, just like my Dell customer service agents name is Bob. I says to Joey – who the hell are you? What have you done to my guys? He tells me some fancy story and then asks what I’d like. I forget what I’d like because the point is that my guys remember for me. I manage to figure it out and tell Joey that he too should remember because “I come here every morning. Don’t expect me to remember how I like my coffee and/or wait for it.” We shook hands but I’m concerned about his memory. I really miss my old grocery mans and don’t think I can move on just yet. You can’t just replace people like that. Please enjoy a poem in their honor.

Poem

Oh dear grocery store mans
was leaving me one of your master plans?

you make my coffee always right
you make my mornings oh so bright.

where did you go and will you ever come back?
because i think this joey is a total hack.

i’ll miss you forever, this much is true
because good people like you, there are so few.

zohra | email

See that watermelon? It reminds me of Zohra’s mouth. Unfortunately the only thing she uses it for is to argue with me. We had another one of those serious fights this past weekend. I got crazy and would have probably beaten her but we were in a car. Instead I kindly said “SHUT THE FUCK UP ZOHRA BEFORE I KILL YOU.” She just kept right on with her banter (THAT’S HOW YOU FEEL? FINE! FINE! FORGET I EXIST. FORGET I EXIST I SAID!!………) and I realized the only way I could escape this was to jump out of the car. I undid my seatbelt and was about to open the door when I realized we were on the highway and I was no stunt man. Instead I tried to throw her out.

We made up that evening but by the looks of things, Zohra is done with me. Again. She can’t handle my mood swings anymore. I am distraught. But only if distraught means celebrating with a jig and a glass of wine. Please enjoy her breakup email.

I want a divorce from you like right away. not a fake one either. I won’t even joke about fake Tibetan children. That was hahahaha funny. this is hahahahahah…NOT funny! I think in every marriage there is a moment when everything becomes clear and you realize the person next to you is a gypsy. Diana – you are that gypsy…you give fake predictions…you don’t bathe…and you smell of musk and cigarettes. I would like you to buy a tambourine and call someone that cares. In the divorce, I plan on taking your magic 8 ball, your collections of NYSYNC pop CD’s, your bag of sunflower seeds and your forever 21 belt collection. I hope that when the dust settles and you’re hairless, you will remember who I was – the best thing that ever happened to you since you discovered Bonsai trees. And by Bonsai I just mean trees.

YOU, my friend, are a lubricant.

I hope you’re doing okay. text me later!

She is one of those “i don’t want to be with you but I don’t want to lose you either because i still love you” breaker uppers. I dig it.

marriage | rules

I don’t think you need marriage in order for this to happen. Just time.

Pic courtesy of Daniel.

professional | breast stroker

Why is it that we reward inadequate children with photo shoots? This girl is clearly old enough to know how to swim and yet there she stands, with her arms on her waist and a victorious smile. It’s as if she is awaiting a gold medal for being the least talented child at the swimming pool.

Her mother is equally as proud. She looks up at her daughter with a smile that suggests she will be telling her friends about this accomplishment. “My wonderful Suzy is like Michael Phelps. She will sink quicker than any other child. Would you like to arrange a race?”

If only all mothers were like mine. She taught me how to swim at a very early age by throwing me into the bathtub. “You wanted to swim? Go swim. Just keep talking so I know you’re alive,” she would say before going into the other room to chat on the phone. This is how I learned how to hold my breath underwater and swim long distances. Unlike Suzy, I actually had talent but I never got my photo shoot.Or a medal. Only moderate brain damage that I attribute to the ceramic tiles and their incessant need to hurl themselves at my head. Haters.

abs of | steel

^ last summer. not quite there.

I have recently taken up laundry in an effort to get abs of steel. While I have not achieved my goal just yet, I do see the formation of lines. Excitement.

If you would like abs of steel, simply follow these simple instructions.

1) When transferring clothing from teleshka or hamper bag, randomly drop articles of clothing on the floor.*

2) Pick up said random articles. Do not bend your knees and suck your stomach in.

3) Repeat

I look forward to my new physique and can’t wait to move on to lunges.

*Dropping of clothes must be done accidentally as doing it on purpose would make you a retard.

facebook | quizzes

I love facebook and I love the quizzes even more. I mean, how would I sleep without knowing which neighborhood I should live in? (Sheapshead and I don’t) Or what type of Barbie I would be? (Stripper and I wish) Or whats wrong with me? (Everything and ditto)

But what’s up with those other ones? Like, what is your real eye color? What is your best feature? What is your real weight? Seriously? You need a quiz to determine what your eye color is? Because if that’s the case, then maybe you should take the ‘how retarded are you?’ quiz and just call it a day.

one of | the guys

Last week, Daniel saved me from myself. Again. He invited me to go with him and Vinny to West Palm Beach (formerly known as westfuckingpalmbeach) to visit Nicky. The reason he invited me was because I caught him talking about it on facebook and threatened to slice my wrists if he didn’t invite me. When he asked if I wanted to go, I said no because I don’t accept pity invites. And then I bought my plane ticket.

Upon arrival, all boys were briefed on my status by Daniel. “She is one of the guys. She is really cool. Yeah, joke about whatever all you want. She is one of the guys. I promise.” This was an ideal situation as I was living in a house with 3 males and no longer feared I might get gang raped in the midst of the night. No one wants to be that dude who rapes one of the guys, you know? It would just make for a very uncomfortable situation for all parties involved and defeat the purpose of a vacation. I remain a virgin.

One of the great things about being “one of the guys” is that I started developing their habits. For instance, my days started to revolve around food and I started thinking about nothing. When I was looking up at the sky, I wasn’t thinking about my life – nope. I was thinking about the clouds and how long it would take before they stopped blocking my friend, the sun. When I stared out the window, I wasn’t thinking about the responsibilities that awaited me at home. I thought about the goats I saw running around in the backyard and attempted to calculate how long my ankles would last if I chased them. And even when my mom called me to tell me that I had filed my taxes incorrectly and would probably go to jail, I didn’t think about how I wouldn’t deal with it at home. I just thought about how I wasn’t going to call her anymore while I was away. Simple. No drama. Like one of the guys.

But of course I am not really a guy and so I learned a lot too. For instance, shaking isn’t good enough and toilet paper is required when peeing (especially when wearing tan pants). This is because sometimes the pee is a girl and tricks them into believing they are in the clear. The walk away and all of a sudden they are peeing on themselves. I learned that when this happens, they must march back to the bathroom, wash their hands and smear non-pee wetness on the wet spot. It is obviously better to be a demented retard that can’t wash his hands than one who pees on himself. It makes sense.

I was told to “stop being difficult” only once. It was when I had just woken up after napping in the car (drunken mess I was) and realized that I was a) hungry, b) thirsty and c) annoyed that I was hungry and thirsty. And so I walked into the kitchen, threw something and demanded to know why I wasn’t fed and why there was nothing to drink and what the fuck kind of vacation is this?! After Vinny told me to stop being difficult, he made me food and I stopped being difficult.

I had a great time and I love my boys (myself not included). But mostly because they actually treat me like a girl. And by that I mean a princess.

And in case you’re wondering – Nicky is doing fabulous.

A big thanks to Daniel, Vinny, Nicky, Joe and Julie.