I'm sorry, is my friendship inconveniencing you? Is my mere presence in your little corner of the world a constant reminder to you that you have no loyalty, or gratitude for everything I ever did for you? That you are too scared to stand up for what is right, too scared to live your life, too scared to acknowledge right and wrong?
You're the one who supported them as they twisted the knife in my back. Then you helped them clean up the blood spatter after, testifying that they couldn't have done what they did because they were with you. But I was still there for you.
You went back on every promise we ever made to each other, our oath to stick together through thick and through thin, but I upheld my end of the bargain. I fought for you, sacrificed for you, and defended you every chance I got. That's what friends are for.
And now you avoid me and have nothing substantial to say to me, pretending that nothing has changed and nothing is wrong. But I know the truth, I can see it in your eyes. I was your friend, after all, I know when things are bothering you.
It would have hurt less if you had owned your choices, if you had come right out and said that you were choosing cowardice over our friendship. At least then I could have respected you.
I guess it's hard for you. I guess that everything about me is a reminder that you are still miking the cow that I hand-fed and raised. That you are being paid, and paid well, to turn your back on me, to forget what you promised me you would do if this ever happened. You know I would have been true to you if the tables were turned, and maybe that makes it even harder that you weren't.
I'm sorry you have to go through that, and I'm sorry that I served as a weekly reminder of such distasteful things.
I hope you continue to ride the wave, and that you never have to know the destitution and alone-ness that I felt when I was tossed out on the street like yesterday's trash, looking up at those people that I thought were my friends, as you stood behind my enemy and kept silent.
I don't want a reminder of that any more than you do. So enjoy your milk.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Friday, November 21, 2008
Bah
People who say "Bah" instead of "Bye" when they get off the phone with someone should be strung up by their balls and subjected to Chinese water torture using the blood of small rodents.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
I fought The Law...
For those of you that don't yet know, I recently bought a piece of crap Pontiac Grand Am solely for the purpose of commuting to and from work in the winter. Apart from the pool of water in the trunk that pours out into the interior of the car and all over my feet, and a driver door window that won't open, the driver seatbelt clip is ripped off which makes it a real pain in the ass to buckle up when I get in the car. Combine that little problem with the fact that I have to wear 17 layers of clothes these days just to keep warm (making it difficult to put my arms down), and attaching my seatbelt in the morning is like strapping into a carnival ride, only without the toothless hillbilly in a torn red bandana to help.
But every morning after swearing a bit and (literally) splashing around trying to get myself into position to properly intercourse the two pieces of metal, I succeed and drive up the driveway to work, an errant belt screeching protest under the hood. This morning was no exception.
My ride takes me through two neighborhoods that I wouldn't otherwise have any reason to visit, nor do I expect would I generally be all that welcome. These are, coincidentally, also the types of neighborhoods where the police get in the habit, apparently, of pulling people over for the lamest of reasons - maybe they are hoping (or expecting) that when the driver window rolls down a cloud of pot smoke will billow out or there will be a pile of AK-47's in the passenger seat and they can put one more hatchmark in the monthly quota of arrests column.
This morning I was stopped at a particularly vexingly long stop light, listening to the radio and pretending I was in a lawn chair on the beach in Tahiti with my woman instead of bundled into a leather coat, scarf, wool hat, and gloves breathing in exhaust fumes on my way to the widget factory with all of the other lemmings. A police car pulled up to the left of me (in the left turn lane) and stopped a few feet in front of my car. It was obvious that he saw something of interest and was stopping to get a closer look - he was about 20 feet from the car in front of him.
I looked around and there was a guy walking up the sidewalk next to my car. He saw the cop, turned around and looked behind him, and then ducked into a bus stop shelter. I figured that his day was about to get worse, that the cop was going to harass him somehow, and went back about my business of pretending I wasn't there. The left turn light went green, and I watched the cop pull up to the front of the line and then cut into my lane, almost causing an accident.
As the lemming line started pulling forward, he pulled into a gas station and then turned around to position himself to pull back out into the road. I thought he was turning around, and thought nothing of it as I drove past him. As I did, however, he pulled out behind me and turned on his lights. Not having done anything wrong I assumed he was just going to pass me, but instead he pulled up right behind me. I pulled over and started the long laborious process of rolling my window down, which, because the motor is almost shot always makes me worry that it won't go back up. It finally finished squeaking down as he came up to the car, hand on his gun.
I thought that was a little extreme, but given the neighborhood (I was headed into the ghetto, an area I flirt with on the way to and from work in order to avoid the rest of suburbia's commuters) I figured better safe than sorry. I stopped reaching into my pocket for my wallet and put my hands on my lap where he could see them.
"I pulled you over because of your seatbelt" he said authoritatively.
"This one?" I said, pulling it up off of my chest into view.
"Yeah, well, when I drove by your before you weren't wearing it."
"Uh, yeah, I was."
He got pissed. "WHAT did you say?"
"Sir, I've been wearing my seatbelt since I pulled out of my garage."
He relaxed visibly at this, as if the fact that I said I had been following the law from the get-go meant he was no longer in danger.
"Oh. OK. You're free to go." He said, waved his hand at the road, and then walked back to his car.
Now, here's the thing. I know that he's got a job to do. But enforcing the seatbelt law? Really? I always sort of thought that was the sort of thing where if you got pulled over for something else they would give you a citation for not wearing your seatbelt if you happened to be stupid enough to leave it unbuckled. I never dreamed that people actually got pulled over for something like this. And certainly not with the cars full of pot smoke and automatic weapons driving around nearby.
Perhaps most ironic is the fact that he nearly caused an accident in front of me for the explicit purpose of pulling me over because I'm not wearing a seatbelt - which presumably he wants me to wear so that I don't get injured in an accident???
I'm thinking about painting the seatbelt in my Grand Slam bright orange so I don't get frivolously pulled over again, just in case I forget to put away the AK-47s in my front seat...
But every morning after swearing a bit and (literally) splashing around trying to get myself into position to properly intercourse the two pieces of metal, I succeed and drive up the driveway to work, an errant belt screeching protest under the hood. This morning was no exception.
My ride takes me through two neighborhoods that I wouldn't otherwise have any reason to visit, nor do I expect would I generally be all that welcome. These are, coincidentally, also the types of neighborhoods where the police get in the habit, apparently, of pulling people over for the lamest of reasons - maybe they are hoping (or expecting) that when the driver window rolls down a cloud of pot smoke will billow out or there will be a pile of AK-47's in the passenger seat and they can put one more hatchmark in the monthly quota of arrests column.
This morning I was stopped at a particularly vexingly long stop light, listening to the radio and pretending I was in a lawn chair on the beach in Tahiti with my woman instead of bundled into a leather coat, scarf, wool hat, and gloves breathing in exhaust fumes on my way to the widget factory with all of the other lemmings. A police car pulled up to the left of me (in the left turn lane) and stopped a few feet in front of my car. It was obvious that he saw something of interest and was stopping to get a closer look - he was about 20 feet from the car in front of him.
I looked around and there was a guy walking up the sidewalk next to my car. He saw the cop, turned around and looked behind him, and then ducked into a bus stop shelter. I figured that his day was about to get worse, that the cop was going to harass him somehow, and went back about my business of pretending I wasn't there. The left turn light went green, and I watched the cop pull up to the front of the line and then cut into my lane, almost causing an accident.
As the lemming line started pulling forward, he pulled into a gas station and then turned around to position himself to pull back out into the road. I thought he was turning around, and thought nothing of it as I drove past him. As I did, however, he pulled out behind me and turned on his lights. Not having done anything wrong I assumed he was just going to pass me, but instead he pulled up right behind me. I pulled over and started the long laborious process of rolling my window down, which, because the motor is almost shot always makes me worry that it won't go back up. It finally finished squeaking down as he came up to the car, hand on his gun.
I thought that was a little extreme, but given the neighborhood (I was headed into the ghetto, an area I flirt with on the way to and from work in order to avoid the rest of suburbia's commuters) I figured better safe than sorry. I stopped reaching into my pocket for my wallet and put my hands on my lap where he could see them.
"I pulled you over because of your seatbelt" he said authoritatively.
"This one?" I said, pulling it up off of my chest into view.
"Yeah, well, when I drove by your before you weren't wearing it."
"Uh, yeah, I was."
He got pissed. "WHAT did you say?"
"Sir, I've been wearing my seatbelt since I pulled out of my garage."
He relaxed visibly at this, as if the fact that I said I had been following the law from the get-go meant he was no longer in danger.
"Oh. OK. You're free to go." He said, waved his hand at the road, and then walked back to his car.
Now, here's the thing. I know that he's got a job to do. But enforcing the seatbelt law? Really? I always sort of thought that was the sort of thing where if you got pulled over for something else they would give you a citation for not wearing your seatbelt if you happened to be stupid enough to leave it unbuckled. I never dreamed that people actually got pulled over for something like this. And certainly not with the cars full of pot smoke and automatic weapons driving around nearby.
Perhaps most ironic is the fact that he nearly caused an accident in front of me for the explicit purpose of pulling me over because I'm not wearing a seatbelt - which presumably he wants me to wear so that I don't get injured in an accident???
I'm thinking about painting the seatbelt in my Grand Slam bright orange so I don't get frivolously pulled over again, just in case I forget to put away the AK-47s in my front seat...
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Eat a dick, Old Man Winter
I have two friends, we'll call them Brian and Mark. They live together in Florida (not as a couple, although those would be really stereotypical gay couple names, wouldn't they?), but come from New England. So, they are no strangers to the harsh winter weather we have up here, but I suspect that they've conveniently forgotten just how shitty it feels to live through it.
As I write this, my weather widget says that it's 61 in Florida - 29 here. I would imagine that down there they are bundled up and shivering and complaining about not being able to wear flip flops outside at night anymore, but they aren't suffering from the weather change so much as a lack of perspective. Here it was 29 all day today, even when the sun shone. Combine that with the wind and it felt like it was 374 degrees below zero. That's wind chill, bitches, and I'm not going to explain it to you because it has to be experienced to be understood.
So to remind those of you parked comfortably below the Mason-Dixon line what it's like up here this time of year, I've compiled a list of exactly what is so shitty about winter.
1) It's cold. I know that saying this while complaining about winter may sound redundant, but it's worth mentioning. Again. It's not chilly, nor is it breezy, and there isn't a "hint of freshness in the air". It's fucking freezing cold. It's not even Thanksgiving yet and my boogers froze in my nose during the 3 block walk from my car to the office this morning. That's not natural. Boogers should be soft and squishy and a little bit warm. The inside of my nose should not be an ideal place to mix a cocktail. I'm talking the kind of cold that settles into your bones and doesn't go away all day, no matter how much coffee you drink.
2) There's no sun. Well there is sun, but there might as well not be. First of all, it goes away at 4. This does me no good, since I have to be at work until well after 5. Driving home in the cold and dark sucks, thank you Federal Government and your stinky Daylight Saving plan. When there is sun, it's weak and soft and you can't feel what little warmth it generates on your skin because you're all bundled up away from the harsh cold air. All summer I was rosy and red from riding my motorcycle everywhere and spending every possible moment outdoors, but it's not even December yet and I'm already a sickly pale white color. In fact, I think my skin is starting to turn translucent. I'm beginning to look like a mushroom growing under a toilet seat in northern Siberia. If it keeps up at this rate, by January I'm going resemble one of those glowing fish with the weird lightbulb antennae that live in deep canyons all those miles underwater. Only without the cool lightbulb antennae.
3) Winter fashion sucks. The snow bunny fur hat look is super cool on hot babes, but apart from that it's a process just to get dressed to go out and get the mail. Failure to properly insulate body parts and protect exposed skin results in frostbite and 3-day chills. In the summer I'd pop outside for the mail or a quick jaunt down to the store, but in the winter there's no popping anywhere. No jaunting either, for that matter, whatever that means. In the winter you have to layer up until you feel like the Staypuft Marshmallow Man or risk losing body parts to frostbite. And of course holding a coffee or digging into your pockets for keys with gloves on doesn't work so you have to do the whole "pull your glove off with your teeth and get fuzz all in your mouth" routine. It's goddamn annoying. All of it.
4) Lack of excerise + holiday food and drink = Fatness. It's really hard to work out in the winter, more than half of my workout options disappeared as soon as the thermometer dropped below "too fucking cold to be outside". This means having to go to the gym every day - after dark, rather than hiking or biking or swimming or any of the other wonderful active activities that take up my summer days. And quite frankly, going to the gym when I'm all bundled up and shivering in my car waiting for the heat to kick in is the last thing on my mind, the first thing being getting home and snuggling under a warm blanket with a snow bunny and a shot of something with high alcohol content. And on the days when I do get up enough gumption to go work out, I always regret it as soon as I step back out into the cold and all of the sweat on my back freezes instantly leaving a sheet of thin ice to make the car ride home even more miserable than it would have been otherwise.
5) Snow needs to be shoveled. I'm not going to spend a lot of time bitching about this one because for the first time in 10 years I have a garage to keep my car in, but still, waking up to a winter wonderland means having to shovel something before going to work. I used to have a big fuck-off truck with four wheel drive, which was cool because I could just barrel up the driveway regardless of how much snow fell the night before, but now I drive a shitty little Grand Am which would and will probably get completely buried under 4 inches of slush.
6) Paying for heating oil funds the terrorists. Nuff said. America, FUCK YEAH!
7) Except for snowmobiling, which is more of a drinking game than a sport, winter sports are stupid. The entire point of skiing and snowboarding is to avoid falling into the snow. Being an adult I'm already doing that, so I see no reason to pay $65 per day to do it inbetween rides on a moving chair. Cross country skiing is even dumber, because the thing I hate most about skiing is having to ski-walk to the lift, which as far as I can tell is exactly what cross-country skiing is - only you don't get to sit down after. Ice skating is like rollerblading except it's cold and the liklihood of being cut by a dull metal blade somewhere below the waist is higher, which is a consideration that I regard as "mighty important" when determining whether something is worth doing. The only thing that makes ice skating the least bit intruiging is the possibility that when you add sticks you might have an impromptu game of ice hockey, which is a fun sport but doesn't compare to street hockey for the same reasons that ice skating doesn't hold up to rollerblading. Ice fishing isn't a sport, it's just stupid.
8) People in New England can't drive in the rain, let alone the snow. You'd think they would have figured it out by now, but everytime anything liquid-based comes out of the sky everyone around here immediately crashes into the nearest telephone pole. It's retarded.
There are so many more reasons but I'm starting to depress myself typing these up so I'm going to stop now. Maybe I'll compile a Part II list someday, assuming I don't slit my wrists from Seasonal Affective Disorder (or S.A.D. - psychiatrists are so clever) first.
The bottom line is that we are not Vikings, even those of us descended directly from those pale white northern-European tribes who thought Beowolf was a good story (it wasn't, and shitty CGI graphics and Angelina Jolie's CG naked ass don't make it any more entertaining). Technological advancements mean that our bodies don't have to adapt to cold weather any more. Instead, we wrap them in insulation and wicking materials and blast hot air at them and keep them sheltered and warm. But we're still not technologically advanced enough to heat an entire city or state, so we still have to brave the arctic chill for 4 or 5 months every year.
I'm already looking forward to Groundhog Day; if that little fucker sees his shadow I'm going to beat the snot out of him. And then I'm going to start figuring out how fast I can orchestrate a move to Florida, so I can bask in the sun wear and work on forgetting just how shitty winter in New England actually can be.
As I write this, my weather widget says that it's 61 in Florida - 29 here. I would imagine that down there they are bundled up and shivering and complaining about not being able to wear flip flops outside at night anymore, but they aren't suffering from the weather change so much as a lack of perspective. Here it was 29 all day today, even when the sun shone. Combine that with the wind and it felt like it was 374 degrees below zero. That's wind chill, bitches, and I'm not going to explain it to you because it has to be experienced to be understood.
So to remind those of you parked comfortably below the Mason-Dixon line what it's like up here this time of year, I've compiled a list of exactly what is so shitty about winter.
1) It's cold. I know that saying this while complaining about winter may sound redundant, but it's worth mentioning. Again. It's not chilly, nor is it breezy, and there isn't a "hint of freshness in the air". It's fucking freezing cold. It's not even Thanksgiving yet and my boogers froze in my nose during the 3 block walk from my car to the office this morning. That's not natural. Boogers should be soft and squishy and a little bit warm. The inside of my nose should not be an ideal place to mix a cocktail. I'm talking the kind of cold that settles into your bones and doesn't go away all day, no matter how much coffee you drink.
2) There's no sun. Well there is sun, but there might as well not be. First of all, it goes away at 4. This does me no good, since I have to be at work until well after 5. Driving home in the cold and dark sucks, thank you Federal Government and your stinky Daylight Saving plan. When there is sun, it's weak and soft and you can't feel what little warmth it generates on your skin because you're all bundled up away from the harsh cold air. All summer I was rosy and red from riding my motorcycle everywhere and spending every possible moment outdoors, but it's not even December yet and I'm already a sickly pale white color. In fact, I think my skin is starting to turn translucent. I'm beginning to look like a mushroom growing under a toilet seat in northern Siberia. If it keeps up at this rate, by January I'm going resemble one of those glowing fish with the weird lightbulb antennae that live in deep canyons all those miles underwater. Only without the cool lightbulb antennae.
3) Winter fashion sucks. The snow bunny fur hat look is super cool on hot babes, but apart from that it's a process just to get dressed to go out and get the mail. Failure to properly insulate body parts and protect exposed skin results in frostbite and 3-day chills. In the summer I'd pop outside for the mail or a quick jaunt down to the store, but in the winter there's no popping anywhere. No jaunting either, for that matter, whatever that means. In the winter you have to layer up until you feel like the Staypuft Marshmallow Man or risk losing body parts to frostbite. And of course holding a coffee or digging into your pockets for keys with gloves on doesn't work so you have to do the whole "pull your glove off with your teeth and get fuzz all in your mouth" routine. It's goddamn annoying. All of it.
4) Lack of excerise + holiday food and drink = Fatness. It's really hard to work out in the winter, more than half of my workout options disappeared as soon as the thermometer dropped below "too fucking cold to be outside". This means having to go to the gym every day - after dark, rather than hiking or biking or swimming or any of the other wonderful active activities that take up my summer days. And quite frankly, going to the gym when I'm all bundled up and shivering in my car waiting for the heat to kick in is the last thing on my mind, the first thing being getting home and snuggling under a warm blanket with a snow bunny and a shot of something with high alcohol content. And on the days when I do get up enough gumption to go work out, I always regret it as soon as I step back out into the cold and all of the sweat on my back freezes instantly leaving a sheet of thin ice to make the car ride home even more miserable than it would have been otherwise.
5) Snow needs to be shoveled. I'm not going to spend a lot of time bitching about this one because for the first time in 10 years I have a garage to keep my car in, but still, waking up to a winter wonderland means having to shovel something before going to work. I used to have a big fuck-off truck with four wheel drive, which was cool because I could just barrel up the driveway regardless of how much snow fell the night before, but now I drive a shitty little Grand Am which would and will probably get completely buried under 4 inches of slush.
6) Paying for heating oil funds the terrorists. Nuff said. America, FUCK YEAH!
7) Except for snowmobiling, which is more of a drinking game than a sport, winter sports are stupid. The entire point of skiing and snowboarding is to avoid falling into the snow. Being an adult I'm already doing that, so I see no reason to pay $65 per day to do it inbetween rides on a moving chair. Cross country skiing is even dumber, because the thing I hate most about skiing is having to ski-walk to the lift, which as far as I can tell is exactly what cross-country skiing is - only you don't get to sit down after. Ice skating is like rollerblading except it's cold and the liklihood of being cut by a dull metal blade somewhere below the waist is higher, which is a consideration that I regard as "mighty important" when determining whether something is worth doing. The only thing that makes ice skating the least bit intruiging is the possibility that when you add sticks you might have an impromptu game of ice hockey, which is a fun sport but doesn't compare to street hockey for the same reasons that ice skating doesn't hold up to rollerblading. Ice fishing isn't a sport, it's just stupid.
8) People in New England can't drive in the rain, let alone the snow. You'd think they would have figured it out by now, but everytime anything liquid-based comes out of the sky everyone around here immediately crashes into the nearest telephone pole. It's retarded.
There are so many more reasons but I'm starting to depress myself typing these up so I'm going to stop now. Maybe I'll compile a Part II list someday, assuming I don't slit my wrists from Seasonal Affective Disorder (or S.A.D. - psychiatrists are so clever) first.
The bottom line is that we are not Vikings, even those of us descended directly from those pale white northern-European tribes who thought Beowolf was a good story (it wasn't, and shitty CGI graphics and Angelina Jolie's CG naked ass don't make it any more entertaining). Technological advancements mean that our bodies don't have to adapt to cold weather any more. Instead, we wrap them in insulation and wicking materials and blast hot air at them and keep them sheltered and warm. But we're still not technologically advanced enough to heat an entire city or state, so we still have to brave the arctic chill for 4 or 5 months every year.
I'm already looking forward to Groundhog Day; if that little fucker sees his shadow I'm going to beat the snot out of him. And then I'm going to start figuring out how fast I can orchestrate a move to Florida, so I can bask in the sun wear and work on forgetting just how shitty winter in New England actually can be.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Women's Room Etiquette
As a follow-up to my post about men's room etiquette, I just wanted to say the following about women's bathrooms. I don't know what the hell you women do in the bathroom, or if you actually do have couches and potpouri and midgets with hand towels to dab off your privates after you pee, and truthfully I don't want to know. In my mind when you go to the bathroom you are making new friends and showing each other your boobs and soaping each other up in the shower and trading secrets about dildos and your man's cock and teaching each other blowjob techniques on giant glass dildos.
So don't tell me what you're doing in there, just keep doing what I imagine you are doing and I'll be in the men's room stall rubbing one out thinking about it, thankyouverymuch.
So don't tell me what you're doing in there, just keep doing what I imagine you are doing and I'll be in the men's room stall rubbing one out thinking about it, thankyouverymuch.
Men's Room Ettiquette
Gentlemen, let me make one thing unequivocably clear. When I am peeing, I don't want to have a conversation with you. I don't want to say "hi", give you a head nod, discuss the weather or politics or my new shoes, or hear about your day. I most certainly don't want to make eye contact.
There are dividers between urinals for a reason. This isn't a bar and we're not in Europe. Please keep your eyes forward and your mouth closed.
When we're washing hands then minimal conversation is permitted, but even then let's keep it short and simple.
It's not that I'm insecure about my manhood or my sexuality, quite the contrary. I just feel that some things are personal, and taking a piss or dropping a deuce are two that rank very high up on the list. I don't come into your bedroom to chat when you are boning your wife, and I expect you to extend the same courtesy to me when I'm doing my business.
If you want to shoot the shit then hang out in the kitchen. My schedule is as follows: Kitchen for water or coffee - desk - bathroom. Repeat.
There are dividers between urinals for a reason. This isn't a bar and we're not in Europe. Please keep your eyes forward and your mouth closed.
When we're washing hands then minimal conversation is permitted, but even then let's keep it short and simple.
It's not that I'm insecure about my manhood or my sexuality, quite the contrary. I just feel that some things are personal, and taking a piss or dropping a deuce are two that rank very high up on the list. I don't come into your bedroom to chat when you are boning your wife, and I expect you to extend the same courtesy to me when I'm doing my business.
If you want to shoot the shit then hang out in the kitchen. My schedule is as follows: Kitchen for water or coffee - desk - bathroom. Repeat.
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