Tuesday, December 15, 2009
As I'm about to enter my commuter zombie-like trance, I caught a whiff. For those of you who know me, I'm big into smells. I like trying to describe them as accurately as possible so you, the reader, get the full olfactory joy of what it is I'm experiencing.
This will be no exception in my case, but what I smelled was nothing other than a rancid Bologna fart. Pure and simple. I can't describe it any more acutely than that. It smelled like someone shoved a slice of Bologna up their ass, and then let out a little squeaker.
It was bad. I mean real bad. My eyes were watering, and I was nauseous. I tried frantically and deliriously to open a window, but they'd all been locked shut for the winter.
Seriously people?! Farting! In public?! Disgusting! Who does that? That is not funny.
As the bus pulls around to drop people off, I burst out of the doors in the comical cartoon fashion and all that was left was an outline of my shape in the closed door.
I had rushed down and jumped aboard the U.S.S. Orange line, and got a good seat near the door, but not near enough that I'd have to give up my seat to an elderly person or a disabled person. Don't get me wrong, I'm not evil. I give up my seat when the train is packed, it is just that those old traces of chivalry still live in me and I feel guilty when I don't give up my seat to a woman who looks older than I do.
All was well on the orange line. Typical crazies: angry teenagers who are upset about something someone did, religious knobs who sell Jesus or the flying spaghetti monster, and the occasional homeless person who takes up 3 seats. All was well, until Chinatown.
Someone got on from Chinatown carrying bags of what must have been garbage. I can only describe it as such. The bags were squishy, yet paradoxically crunchy, and they had the arresting, musty funk of trash cans left out in the humid June air. The sort of stink that attracts black flys in seconds.
It was like an affront to God. It was unholy, and the angels wept.
Unfortunately I was lazy and didn't get up to move. Curse my stupid lethargic ass!
Thankfully at North Station I was given a reprieve of the stink because I had to get off. The offending bags of trash had to be moved a bit to let people off, and where they were sitting on the floor was a glistening, rainbow colored film of putrescence.
Oh man, do I love riding public transportation.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Ok, here we go. I'm heading down to DC for work tomorrow, and my flight is at 7am. Technically, since it is a domestic flight and I will have no checked baggage, I can probably show up around 6:30, maybe even 6:45 and be ok. But I'm friggin' paranoid, so I want to show up around 6am. That way I'll be there, I don't have to be stressing if I'm going to miss the plane, and I can sit and enjoy a coffee from Dunkins.
The trip from Reading to Logan airport is about 20 minutes, maybe more if there is traffic. I'm not too worried about there being traffic at 5:45am on a Monday morning, but I'd like to give it a little wiggle room just in case. That means, I would love to leave my house at around 5:30am to get to Logan airport for 6am, for my flight at 7am. I know there will be a lot of sitting around, but I'd rather sit and wait for an hour with my thumb up my ass than be kicking myself in the balls because I missed my flight by 45 seconds.
Being the kind and loving boyfriend that I am (I just farted and repulsed my boyfriend who was rubbing my shoulders as I type) I figured that I should take a taxi rather than wake up Tim and have him drive me.
I google up some taxi services in Reading MA, and low and behold there are 14 of 'em! Christ! How many business people need a goddam limo ride to and from the airport?!
Ok, let's see. "Calculator" (names have been changed to protect the innocent) airport service. They have 4 excellent reviews, let me try them.
First try: ring. ring. Ring. RING. RING! RRRIIINNNGG!!! Fucking pick up the god damn phone! This is 2009! Who the fuck doesn't have a friggin' answering machine this day and age?!
I hang up. And because I'm a prick I immediately call back.
Second try: Ring. Ring. RINNG. RRRRIIINNGGGG! "Hello?"
"Uh, hi, how's it going?" - shit, what was I going to ask?
"Good, can I help you?" the man asks
"OH right, I need a ride to Logan airport from Reading MA tomorrow at 5:30am"
"Ok, let me call you back and see if we are available"
Fine. Take your time. In the mean time I decided to make some english muffins (from scratch!) and also make some chicken carbonara (from scratch).
He calls back. "Sorry, my guy's out sick, let me see if I can find someone else. I'll call you back" he hangs up. Leaving me very confused.
An hour later he calls back "Ah, well, actually I can't do 5:30, is 5 - 5:15 ok?"
You know, it isn't. I already have to get up super fucking early. Any earlier and I might as well just go sleep at the damn airport. "Let me call you back"
So I go to the second one on the google list.
First try: Ring, Ring "Hello?"
"Ah, hi, how's it going?" - Why do I keep forgetting what I'm calling about? Must be C.R.S.
"Good, good, can I help you?"
"Yeah, I need a ride for tomorrow at 5:30 am..."
"Actually" he interrupts "I'm out on a porch enjoyin a beer after the Pats game, you mind calling my wife? It's a family business?"
"Hahhahaha, um, sure, what's the number" - he gives me the number and I politely hang up.
What the hell, I love family businesses. More likely not to drive like an asshole because they only have one or two cars. I figure. So I call the wife.
"Hello, first rate limo service, how can I help you?"
"Ah, hi, how are you?" - Obviously too much mercury in the water.
"I'm fine... do I know you?" says the wife.
"Probably not. I need a ride tomorrow morning at 5:30am to Logan from Reading MA"
"Oh, ok, let me check ::Pause:: yup. we can do it. That'll be $75. That ok?"
"I ain't payin' for it. Sure it's fine with me"
"haha, ok, see you 5:30 am"
Ok, because I'm such a good guy, I decide to call up "Calculator" and let him know I won't need his service.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. "Hello?"
"Oh, hi, it's me" - Like we've become best friends and I know him.
"How's it going?"
"Yeah, I'm not gonna need the ride, thanks anyway!" I say, chipper as a bird.
"Oh ok, no problem. Sorry I've not been getting back to you quicker. I just got out of the hospital. I had ah... what'd I have? Oh I had a herniated umbilical cord. Yeah. I almost died, I've been tied up for about 2 weeks. My son came over and said 'We gotta get you to a hospital'. He took me and the doctor said 'If you'd come in on Monday (this was Sunday), you'd be dead! So I've been healing up from that. I could barely sit, let alone lay down! It was wrapped around my small intestine. It messed me up!"
Ok. For those of you who say I give out too much information, you need to call up "Calculator" and talk to this guy. King of TMI. Seriously. My mouth hit the table when he was telling me this. My jaw still hurts at dropping so far. Really? Do I need to know this?! Good lord!
I sat there just saying "Oh, wow, oh my, wow, ok, huh, wow, ok". Finally he paused and I said "Well, I hope you feel better" and hung up the phone. I'm still traumatized.
Friday, September 25, 2009
After this man, this very frazzled, very tanned, very middle aged, very grey haired man finds that he has no extra holes in his body, he pulls out of his bag a metal cigar tube. He then uncorks it, and pulls out a small spray bottle.
Energetically and with all the enthusiasm of a man clawing at your shins while you are holding his head underwater with your foot, he starts spraying himself. All over. Everywhere. On the back of his neck, the top of his head, his hair, his shirt, under his shirt, his pants, in his crotchel region, his shins, his butt, and then his feet. He then sprays his hands and rubs this stuff all over his face.
At first I thought it was strange. I smelled nothing. Not even a waft of scent. I was starting to think that he was just spraying himself with water when all of a sudden it hit me.
It was... all I can do to describe it is use a really long analogy that will waste not only my time in writing it, but your time in reading it.
It was like an old Greek woman named Nicola who has emigrated to the united states from her hometown on the Island of Lesbos. She has lived here in the U.S. for 35 years with her husband Yurgi. They run a small dry cleaning and tailoring shop over on Elm St. Two years ago Yurgi developed lung cancer, probably from the chemicals at the dry cleaners. The two couldn't afford the treatment, and so Nicola watched Yurgi slowly fade away as the cancer ate his body up. He died a painful death 3 months after diagnosis. Nicola continued to work the dry cleaning store, only to fall slowly behind in work. Eventually the bills piled up (Yurgi dealt with the finances) and her store was forced to close. Bank notices and collection calls hound Nicola for weeks, until finally she receives a foreclosure notice in the mail. Distressed, Nicola goes to the bank, pleading for help. The nice young man who is handling her case says that he can only afford to give Nicola one more month. Satisfied and placated, Nicola leaves the bank.
Only to be smashed into by a runaway bread truck.
That's how bad it hit me. Soberingly awful and with forced tears in my eyes. Fer Christs' sake dude, fucking spray that shit elsewhere. I've heard of cologne showers, but goddam! The fucking orange paint on the train was peeling. I'd rather you shower yourself with urine because then I'd understand you aren't sane! Damn! It still haunts me!
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
It has begun! The reaping of the tomatoes!!! But not without peril... read on!
My coworker Corinne came up to me one Friday and asked "Hey, how are your tomatoes doing?"
"Fine, little wet" I said.
"Oh that's cool. Seems everyones tomatoes are getting screwed over this year because all the rain has cause a fungus to kill them all. Apparently it was the same one that started the Irish potato famine all those years back. Good to hear yours are doing well! You could sell them as locally grown and make a fortune because there is no competition!"
We chuckled and then went on our way. Later that night when I went home, I noticed that some of the roots on my tomato plants were looking very weak, and I had to dump excess water out of several of the pots.
Fuck. I was having just fine luck up until Corinne jinxed me. Thanks a bunch sweetheart!
So I did what any good, impatient, and pissed off man did: I ignored the problem.
Tim was a little more conservative. "Do you think we should move them in?" he asked.
"NO! They are fine, just keep dumping out the excess water from all this rain".
Apparently Mother Nature was having her period on my tomato plants. She was ruining them!!!
No to worry though, I only lost about 1 of the cherry tomatoes, and 4 (Out of 6) of the roma tomatoes.
Sure am glad I can make that $76 dollars is spent on them stretch out. After 3 weeks of constant rain and retarded determination of dumping out the excess water in the apparently undrainable pots, we had a nice sunny day so I decided to exam more closely the tomatoes.
All of them had almost no roots. I don't know how they were still standing up, but sure enough just like France, they were still around. Well that too harsh for my tomatoes. They never surrendered to anything. Lousy cheese eating surrender monkeys.
Anyway, there were a few roma tomatoes and probably 15 cherry tomatoes. All in all, I walked away with some very bitter, sour, 2.5lbs worth of roma and cherry tomatoes.
Holy fuck did I savor those terrible bites of tomato sauce that I made from the harvest. They tasted like your socks smell after you jog 5 miles. Acrid and milky.
Oh well, I didn't give in when they were being drown daily in rain, I sure as hell ain't giving up when they are "rippend" and "ready to harvest" (those terms used loosely).
I made a sauce and chocked it down. Mother Nature, you see what I do for you? Anyone else would have given up; not me with my stupid tenacity.
Stupid, stubborn tenacity.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Sunday night we saw Hedda Lettuce, she is a funny, green bitch! She sang such marvelous songs as "Botox Face" to the tune of "Poker face" by Lady Gaga, "She's got a fanny pack" to the tune of Justin Timberlake's "She's bringing sexy back" and also my personal favorite, "You can't drink with a dick in your mouth". Tim and I sat close to the stage so we could get a good view of the action. In retrospect, it's kind of a bad idea to sit up close to a drag queen when she's preforming. You inadvertently wind up "participating" in the show. I was deemed the "Water Bitch", which meant I had to hold her water bottle and whenever she said "Water, Bitch" I had to hand it to her so her parched manish lips and deep voice could be quenched. She was such a hoot that I bought her CD. If I can figure out how to put stuff up, I'll put up her song "You can't drink with a dick in your mouth".
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4BJtGatuBQ is Hedda's "Botox Face"
We went to the beach a few more days and got our crisp brown on. Fun times!
We had a romantic, rainy dinner at a wonderful restaurant where you can actually color with crayons on the table! I tried to compete with the people who were sitting next to us, but their artistic talent beat out my autistic talent. Oh well, I still had fun!
We went shopping! I bought an hour glass for myself and my friend Anthony. Now I can literally watch my life slip away one grain of sand at a time.
I bought a cupcake from a stranger on the side of the road! As I was eating Tim's cupcake (the guy was named Tim) I thought "Fuck, I could make a better cupcake than this! This tastes like a goddamn hastily done box mix with a pepto bismol colored, jackass cream frosting decorated by caffeinated-Parkinson's-patient cupcake! Fuck, I want my 2 dollars back!
I saw Bob the queeny judge from "The next food network star!". He was vacationing in Ptown! Tim and I went to a cool little bar that was located across from Purgatory (the bar, not the plane of dead unwed mothers, unbaptised babies, homosexuals, Jews, the Irish, Ronald McDonald, and shopping at the grocery store on Saturday. Not entirely evil, but not good enough to get into Catholic heaven) that served some killer drinks. It was pretty nice! It was classy and all the twinky trash gets turned away at the door. We learned about this place from the nice guy behind the counter at the leather sex toy bear shop. He was nice and told us we should check it out so we did.
Anyway, Bob. I saw him across the room, and I thought "Do I bowl with that guy? I think I do, I should say hi, he looks familiar". The question as to how I knew him was answered when we bumped into some of my gay bowling buddies. I asked them who he was, and drunken Jim McDonald (in between gawking at Tim and doing his best to seduce him infront of me "Heyyouguisschwantohangoutschometime? ::seductive heavy lidded eye implications placed here:;) said "Oh that's the guy from the next food network star".
AH-HA! I knew I knew you, ya big queen!
So I hemmed and hawed all night about going to say hello and get a picture from him. I finally figured "Hell, the guy only weighs about 90lbs. If he gets upset that I want his picture I'll push him down, take his drink, and leave. Maybe urinate on him to exert my dominance over him."
I pulled Tim over to where he was standing and I tapped him on the shoulder. He is somewhat famous, what with being someone who is on a sub prime cable show for about 10 minutes at a time, so I became nervous.
"Can I get a picture of you?" I asked. Not Hello, not "Hey you look like a silver fox". Can I get a picture of you. That's one for the annuls of time you smooth talker.
"Sure!" and he turned around and Tim snapped a photo of us. He then asked me my name, and he said "Nice to meet you! I'm Bob! Have a nice night!".
What a nice gentleman. There will be photo's to come.
Now we come to the section of "Why we cut our vacation short by 1 night".
Thursday night into Friday morning, a terrible front had moved in. It decided to dump 1 inch of rain and have gusting, icy cold blasts of air rush at us all night long. The wind and rain were so loud we couldn't get to sleep. Tim and I were just laying there, on our slowly deflating aerobed, watching the tent vibrate back and forth, just wondering and waiting for the thing to collapse in on us.
Tim, in his meek voice, asked "Do you think we'll be safer in the car?" to which I promplty replied "We're safe here, nothing'll happen. Just go to sleep". I'd used the tone of voice that my Father reserves for my Mother when she asks him to pull over and ask for directions. Obviously I knew where I was and I knew we would sort of be safe.
About 20 minutes went by, and Hurricane CockBlock decided to pick up the pace and punish us like I punish a toilet after spicy Thai/Mexican fusion food: Horribly and with lots of gaseous shit flying around.
I decided to do what all men in my situation would do: Ignore it. That is until I pulled the covers up around my chest, and felt icy cold fingers of wetness grasp my toes. The bottom of the blanket was completely soaked in water.
This tent. This muther fuckin' tent. This army-surplus, government job, slap dash, economical, insect attracting, limp dick, made in Poland out of a goddamn sieve, fucking tent... was leaking.
Not just a little water. No, why have a little water when you're camping? Go for the whole experience. It was a goddamn bathtub of water. Our tissue box was floating. No lie. I wanted to cling to the deflating airbed to use as a life raft, but of course it failed at that like it failed at keeping my fat ass off the floor. I reached for our camp-lamp and put my foot down only to hear "Splash" and feel ankle deep water.
Innumerable curses flashed through my head. Some in languages that I didn't even know. I didn't need to turn on the lamp because the rage in my eyes was illuminating everything around me in a deep red glow. Tim said "Wow".
At this point: I. Have. Had. Enough.
"Let's get in the fucking car" I said to apparently thin air. As soon as I had said the word "Let's", all I saw was Tim's outline in cartoonish ghost form, and then I heard the car door slamming shut. I will be honest, it didn't take me that long to get there either. We spent the rest of the night sitting semi-upright in his warm, lovely Honda Fit. The trees kind of looked like really tall people in the gloaming, and it is no strange reason why I dreamt that we were driving through a crowd of people very slowly.
The next day, we both agreed that it was time to pack up our soaking belongs and head home. The weather forecast for Friday into Saturday was more of the torrential down pour. Sadly and with heavy hearts, we loaded up the Lela (Tim's car) and we headed home. Back to the oppressive real world. And work. FML. This is where the depression sets in.
We hit no traffic because we were leaving the cape when everyone was heading towards it. We stopped at Christmas Tree Shop, and bought a bunch of stuff that we don't need and I am pretty sure we haven't used yet. Such is the nature of that store. You go in not needing anything, and when you leave you are filled with items that you still don't need. Sort of like the casino, you go and lose money, only it isn't as satisfying.
So we made it home, unpacked all our stuff to let it dry out, then sat around and watched TV. All in all we had a great time camping!
By the way, we have a great Tent for sale. $75, OBO!
Monday, August 3, 2009
I was afraid I was actually going to piss myself. Nothing puts a cramper on your day like walking around with moist underpants from letting a little urine flow. Trust me, I know.
So, thankfully, we arrive at North Station, and I book it to the bathroom. I'm pretty sure I pushed a few nuns and children onto the tracks, but in my haste I couldn't stop and see lest I let a little golden shower out.
I made it to the urinal, and let loose. It was one of those pees that feel better than sex. Honestly, I was a bit winded and I swooned at the urinal after I was done.
The man next to me I noticed finishing up, then he reached up and did a heavy grab onto the urinal flush bar. It was a very full, manly handshake to the flush.
I didn't think anything of it, because I was too busy zippering up. I turned around, and went to wash my hands, but stood aghast. Every one of the sinks was overflowing because they were clogged, and people were furiously pumping the handsoap dispensers to no avail. Not even the trace scents of soap were inside these empty and dry dispensers.
I decided to forgo the hand washing and whipped out my trusty purell bottle. I always carry some. I ride the damn T! If I didn't have purell with me, I'm pretty sure I would have caught malaria, syphilis, dysentery, E. bola, and a whole host of "social" diseases.
I noticed that the man who was having a moment with the flush bar look at the sinks, then just walk out. He was standing by the bathroom when I came out, and for some reason I had a stroke of kindness.
"Would you like some Purell?" I asked.
The man looked at me as if I asked if he would like me to spray him down with whale piss then follow it up with powdered chicken shit.
"What? No, I don't think so" he said.
Right. Because my offering you hand sanitizer is gross. Never mind the fact that you were just touching your crusty, gonorrhea infested crotch, then the chlamydia infected flush bar, and then didn't wash your hands because the sinks were too gross for you. You nasty bastard.
Ten bucks says he's on his way to work at some Sysco or Aramark food service, tossing salad with his hands, or slicing deli meat for the lunch rush. Come to think of it he did look like the guy who makes my sandwiches at the B.I. Great.
Commuting is fun!
Friday, July 24, 2009
Tim and I decided that the best way to beat the traffic would be to head down on Wednesday morning (7/15/09). We packed up Lela (the name Tim gave to his Black Honda fit. Interestingly enough, Lela means "Night Beauty" in some foreign language. Can't remember which one...) and headed on down to Ptown.
Tim had made plans to visit his Grandmother (not gramma, heaven forbid we adopt a more social and loveable term. That is beneath us and menial. Pedestrian even.) and Grandfather (not grampa) who live in an antique salt-box home in Wareham. Being the good gay boyfriend I am, I made a berry pie to shove down their diabetic elderly throats.
We met up, visited with them for a while, put up with Grandmothers nudges on Grandfather ("I won't name any names... but someone at this table ::roles her eyes at her husband, Eddy:: EDDY! is a real fool - is something that she said while at the table) left the pie, flew into the car, and tore ass on down to Ptown.
Tim and I usually stop in Orleans to pick up some food stuffs at Stop and Shop, mostly because the Grand Union (Also known as "The GOO" by Ptown residents) food store in Ptown is kind of run down and disgusting.
I happened to run into my cousin Eve and her three children. We chatted it up for a bit, and then as we parted ways, she said "Be sure to stay away from the nude beaches!" and then made a creeped out face.
Ok, I will forgive her for this statement. She has kids; she has to look out for them and in doing so will remain away from said nude beaches. Tim and I, however, do not to my knowledge have any children. I'm not saying that there haven't been times when I got a few to many margaritas in me and I wound up puttin' Mr. Happy someplace he shouldn't have gone, but I'm sure I don't have kids. I'm digressing, where was I?
Oh, right, after my cousin said "Stay away from the nude beaches!" I promptly asked...
"Why?" and made a face back... but she didn't see that, and we continued on with our shopping.
We grabbed some cartons of juice, some cereal bars, and a box of cereal (pretty much anything that wasn't perishable) and headed back on the road.
We got to the camp site around 6pm, and then set up a new, lovely, awesomely huge tent that Tim bought from someone on Craigslist. This thing is huge: it has 3 rooms, one of them being a screened in porch. A goddamn luxury-liner of a tent! Then headed into gay mecca downtown Ptown.
For those of you who have never gone to Ptown, it can be described as this:
Very Liberal, Very Open, and Very Fun.
It was like when Harry Potter went to Hogsmeade, the completely wizard village. He didn't have to hide the fact that he was a wizard, because everyone else was a wizard too. So too does this apply to Ptown. Wizards... I mean Gayness everywhere. Human Rights Campaign stickers on every window, rainbow flags and stickers on every stoop, door, window, and building, and same sex couples holding hands on the street. Drag Queens run wild in the streets, calling everyone a bitch and being cunty up and down the street. Muscular men wear next to nothing, and big bearish and hairy men wear practically nothing. Lesbians put on their best flannel, strap on their fanny pack, and let their mullets down. Fantastic times.
For my straight friends who read this, imagine all year you are couped up and surrounded by gay people, and though it is accepted you still kind of get the feeling that nobody likes having your being straight rubbed in their face. Then for one week a year you go out to Straightville and it is ok to let your straight flag fly and be yourself. Oh, wait I have a better analogy.
Being in Ptown is kind of like being able to take off a really tight sweater you've been wearing all year, and you are free to be comfortable.
So here Tim and I are. We arrived in the middle of "Bear Week" which means that there is probably not going to be any young twinks running around (pretty much what Tim is) and instead there will only be big, hairy, bearded gay bears running around (pretty much what I am). I turned a lot of heads and felt pretty :).
Thursday night Tim and I walked around Ptown and took in the sights and all that good stuff. I got messages from my friends Patrick and Matty saying that they were going to be arriving at 10:30am or so and we should hang out.
Tim immediately sensed danger in this. "You know, tomorrow is going to be a perfect beach day... we should have them come to the beach and then walk around Ptown later." I said we'll see what they wanted to do.
Sure enough what they wanted to do was be confusing as hell and not get their shit together, but little did I know of this.
Tim and I find them on the streets of Ptown, perusing the streets and shops and men. That's fine, what the hell. The only problem was that it was turning out to be a gorgeous day, and the weather man said there wouldn't be that many coming up and to enjoy it while it was here.
Tim had a look of forced indifference at what we were going to do, but behind his veiled and poorly disguised nonchalance was a boiling sea of rage and frustration. I know this mostly because I spend a good chunk of time with him, and when he gets this look on his face, you should tuck your tail between your legs and slip quietly into the kitchen.
Patrick had met some of his friends that had rented an apartment for the week in Ptown. We shopped around with them, and then around 12pm, we decided to get some lunch.
"Ok, let's all head over to the Lobster Pot" said Patrick's friend.
Tim and I had set a budget for the week, and we were saving our big eat out dinner for our anniversary which fell later in the week. Grand. These flamers want to eat a 30 dollar-a-plate lunch. I looked at Tim and he just shook his head "no".
"Ok guys, have fun there, we are gonna go to the Portuguese bakery. They are pretty cheap." Luckily Patrick and Matty wanted cheap too, so the 4 of us headed over and ate there. Patrick was really nice and bought us lunch!
After lunch, we headed over to Patrick's friends apartment. There, these older (40 years old+) bears were there lounging by the pool. It was ok, but the leathery sack of a man that Matty was hitting on was constantly eye fucking Tim, so Tim and I decided to go back and get our swimsuits and go swimming at this pool where we know no one.
After reading what I just typed there, that totally makes no sense. A stranger is mentally banging my boyfriend, so we decide to go take of more clothing and go swimming in front of him. Hmmm. That may have lead to the confusion later...
We came back after changing, jumped into the pool and swam around for a bit. Then the weirdest thing happened. Matty and the overly tanned rawhide jockstrap bear decided to go make some "cocktails". Yes, infer everything you want here. Tim and I were kind of left swimming in a pool surrounded by complete strangers. At a strangers house. Were we knew no one. We decided to leave and go get a snack.
Now that I look back upon it, we kind of abandoned Matty. But then again Momma said to not take candy from strangers, and here Matty was eagerly eating a lollypop from a shifty looking fellow in the back of a van from no windows. I was sure he'd be fine.
We eventually met up, decided to go to the Tea Dance with everyone, and have a good time.
The Tea Dance. How can I describe it? Let's just say it isn't "Family Friendly".
We arrived, payed the 10 bucks cover fee, and waided into a sea of large guts, hairy bodies, scantily clad hotties, old leather daddies, twinks, jocks, computer geeks, drag queens, and the cluster of confused English Socialites who actually thought there was tea at the tea dance.
We had a good time! There was drinking, cruising, perusing, grouping, dancing, touching, and pretty much any other adjective you can apply -ing to. The dance went from the hours of 4-7, and it was wicked fun! After it was over, we all drunkenly shambled around commercial street in Ptown.
Matty, this time, bought us dinner! Burritos! Yum! While we were sitting eating our burritos, the urge to pee crept up on us all. There were only two bathrooms, and you had to go to the front counter and ask for a key to go use the bathroom. I asked, and the man said that the key was out.
Well, we couldn't find the damn key, so Matty took measures into his own hands and went pee in a little alleyway. I played goal keeper in that there were all these children running around and I kept directing them away. These retarded little meat sacks found nothing entertaining about the damn dark alleyway 10 minutes before, but of a sudden they can't stay away.
You know what? I should have let them go down there. What the hell? If their stupid parents haven't taught them about what happens in dark alleyways to people, then it is their own fault. Though it is Ptown... the kids probably would have been swept up by a Drag Queen and accessorized.
I finally found the key after seconds of looking and relieved myself in the bathroom. After I got out, Tim, Matty, and I met up with Patrick (he went to eat with his friends) and hung around at those strangers house again. We were there for a while, when the guy who rented it said "Patrick can I speak to you?" and stepped aside.
Immediately, Matty, Tim, and I stood up to get ready to leave. In saying "Patrick can I speak to you?" he really said "Ok guys, get the fuck out. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here".
Tim and I were getting kind of tired, and were thinking of going to bed, but Matty and Patrick were going strong. We wanted to be with both of them, in case they needed a place to stay and decided to stay on the floor of our tent.
We went to the crown and anchor, and hung around with a bunch of gays having a beer dancing to Lady Gaga (the singer, not the drag queen... although now that I compare the two the similarities are striking). The night began to wear thin with Tim and I: There is only so much you can see of your friends trying to pick up men before it gets a little tiring.
I asked Patrick where he was staying, and he said that he would be staying with his friends later on in the night. I asked Matty, and he said that he didn't know. Patrick pretty much said that we shouldn't worry about Matty, he'd be alright.
I wasn't too worried. It was warm out and I'm sure there were dry places around if he couldn't, um, persuade? someone to let him stay with them. Maybe persuade is the wrong word. Convince? No... trick? Defiantly not. I dunno, but I'm sure he would be fine.
We didn't implore him, and instead drifted back to camp and promptly feel asleep on our under-inflated air mattress. More to come in the next posting!
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
For any of you who can't imagine what that would smell like; I can sum it up in one word:
Thanks lady. I know this recession has hit everyone hard, but soap is still pretty cheap. So is water. Hell, you don't even need the water! Just wedge a bar of Ivory soap in between that cavernous hell you call an ass crack, and the violent slapping / grinding / vibrations of your ass from walking 3 feet, combined with the buckets of sweat you obviously produce, should create enough lather and scent to at least minimize the smell of rotting carcass. You malodorous hag. You are the type of beast that gives fat people a bad rap about smelling bad. My god, it's rainy out: Go stand under a damn drain pipe and hose off.
Thankfully she got off a few stops before me, but unfortunately the stain and ass reek on the seat was left for everyone to enjoy. Some one call the HAZMAT team, the stain is starting to foam up!
God I love commuting!
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
"Hey man, how's it going?"
"I'm good, what's new?"
"Not much... oh, hey, you wear your hat to the table, huh?"
"Yeah, never had it done. The wife loves it."
"That's cool. Hey, listen, I gotta go, I'll see you tomorrow!"
What? Wait, What?! Huh?! WHAT DID HE SAY?!
When did it become Kosher to talk about a man's circumcision while showering at the gym?!! Normally you are just supposed to stare from afar and act like you aren't looking. These two fellows just up and change the rule. What's next?
"Hey Steve, how's life?"
"Good! Hey, I never knew you had 3 testicles! That's groovy!"
"Yeah, the wife loves it."
Or how about
"Hey Jim, what's shakin'"
"Oh hey Roy. Say Roy, you are awfully stretched down there. You ok?"
"Oh yeah I'm fine. Just had me a really deep anal fisting from a guy in the steam room"
Then what's after that?
"Hey Tom... let me help you with that...(nom nom gag)
"Oh, thanks Mark, little to the left, that's it. Thanks a bunch."
"Did you eat pineapple and asparagus?"
What the fuck?! Come on people, show a little dignity! Talk about the weather or sports, don't ogle each other's wedding tackle! Jeese... I'm gay and I'm complaining!
Friday, June 19, 2009
After getting home at around 2:30am and finally crashing into bed around 2:45am, I am awakened by an alarm. I can't remember if it was Tim's alarm or mine. Needless to say I didn't want to get out of Bed. Tim kept saying "It's 10am, get up and get ready! We have to meet your friends for 11 at Dbar!" Never before had he cared about me being on time for my friends, but needless to say I didn't think anything of it.
I showered and got dressed, and then Tim started to say that he was feeling a bit under the weather (he was holding his stomach and he said that he had the runs). I felt bad and was going to stay home, but he said that I should go and not worry about him. He also reminded me that it was now 10:45am and I was going to be late getting to my friends.
So I give him a peck on the cheek (I don't want what he caught) and I rush outside to my car. I turn the engine on and the time on the digital display reads "10:25". I just thought that Tim had been inching the clock forward so he won't ever be late for his class.
I get down into Cambridge, pick of Chris Erdo, and then we make our way over into Charlestown to pick up Patrick LeRoy. Unlucky for us, Charlestown was having it's "Bunker Hill Memorial Parade". The already freakishly confusing one way streets of Charlestown were now being converted into a veritable kamikaze mission. I felt like a mouse in a maze, only there was no cheese for a reward and the soundtrack was Cher and Madonna.
We finally make it to Dbar. We sit down with Chris, his friend, John Cesanick, Victor and Peter (the handsome married couple) Matt Brooks, Chris Erdo, Patrick LeRoy, and myself. The usual jovial banter about gayness ensues, and I smile because this is the only time I can let my caddy self out of the closet and do some bitchin' gossip. Sort of like gay therapy. After a few moments of sitting, I realized that I had forgotten my wallet in my car. In Dorchester. So I excuse myself and rush out, thinking that for sure I was going to see some crack-whore blowing a Chinese business man while he was doing lines off a mirror, using my credit cards to cut up the blow in the back of my car. Thankfully I had locked my doors, and that didn't happen.
I head on back inside, and we sit and have some nice Brunch. I got the Eggs Benedict ( a rich and filling dish). The meal being finished, we were all going to go out separate ways, when Matty says "Oh, we have some time to kill before we are all going to the Block party tonight. Let's head up to Reading so I can buy some comic books at that cool comic book store". Matty had come up previously and had brunch with us before, and we stopped in and looked at a really cool comic book store in Reading.
I was a little put off, mostly because it was doom and gloom outside, what with the lovely June rains and all. I didn't mind Matty coming up, but I didn't want to go to the damn block party if God was going to be pissing on us the whole time. I just wanted to go home and sleep the shit out of my bed. I was tired!
I acquiesced (of course) and Matty, Patrick, Chris, and I piled into my car and started to drive up to Reading. Poor Patrick had some surgery on his jaw and was in a lot of pain, so he asked if I could drop him off in Charlestown. Thankfully the parade was over by now.
As we were driving along, Matty was in the backseat yacking up a storm to one of his friends. He was actually being kind of loud, but that's Mat :). I decided to call Tim and ask him what the hours were of the comic book store in Reading, that way if it was closed we could all just stay in the city. I called, he answered, I asked, and in the middle of chatting with him he hung up. I just figured there was a problem with his phone. He called back a few minutes later, and he told me the hours, and that he'll see us when we get there.
As we were driving up, somewhere around the Malden exits, Matty is sitting in the back seat saying "Oh boy, do you think we could go to your house first? I ate something bad!". I started to pick it up, not looking forward to having him drop ass in my bathroom. Why was he going to punish my toilet? It never did anything bad to him. Oh well, I guess better the toilet than my back seat.
So I pull into my driveway, and I start showing off my place from the outside to my friends. It was just Matty, Chris and I, so I was explaining the yard (yah, we can play on the grass!) and the laundry (we have our own! No coin-op for us!). Ahhh the benefits of living outside the city.
I open the door, and walk upstairs and I hear Tim call out "Kevin?"
and this is where I will post a video. You can see Anthony trying not to ruin the surprise by holding his mouth to suppress the laughter!
I said "Are you decent?!" and when he came around the bend, I said "Oh God, put some clothes on, my friends are here!" Trying to be cheeky funny.
Tim says "Don't be angry, I rearranged the furniture"
Me - "AGAIN??!! But I liked it the way it was!"
He told me to close my eyes so he could lead me in and show me.
So I do, I close my eyes, he leads me into the living room, and says to open them.
When I do, I am surrounded by a bunch of my friends ans family, and they all yell
"SURPRISE!!!" There is a big banner that says "Happy Birthday, Kevin!"
It was a big surprise birthday party! For me! I didn't know what to say so I smiled and said thank you and kind of walked around like I was hopped up from huffing paint fumes for a few minutes. I was very happy!
It turns out that my innocent boyfriend had been plotting and scheming behind my back for the past few months! Everyone was in on it! That is why he wanted me to stay out drinking the night before with Joe, that way he could clean the apartment and hide all the food! Also why he was so damn anxious to get me out of the house Sunday morning, and why he "fell ill" with the trots and couldn't come! He was planning it all!
Matty was also in on it, and when I left to get my wallet from the car, he told everyone that I was eating with that he had to keep me there for at least 1 hour while Tim got everything ready, and people were showing up!
Apparently Matty was also on the phone with Tim in the car, telling him where we were going, and when we would get there. When I called Tim, he was still on the line with Matty, and quickly hung up on him, then me to talk to him, then he called me back! I suspected nothing!
It was really a fun time! A lot of my friends and family showed up too!
For presents, I got a bread machine (which makes wonderful loaves of bread!) from Julie, Chris, and Adam. I got a Coleman portable grill from my parents, $40 from our neighbors downstairs, which is a lot considering we never really talk to them, a nice cake platter and some sphincter shrinker (I shit you not, that's the name of it) hot sauce from Anthony and Michelle. The awesomest gift that I got was a Nintendo Wii from Timothy! That son of a gun bought me a Wii console. So much for the $30 limit we set for each other!
Now I'm no longer going to the gym, and I'm going to be sinking all my money into buying games for this console. Thanks a bunch hun! I love it!
My brother and sister-in-law bought me some rechargeable batteries and a docking station for the wii remotes, that way we won't run out of batteries, and also a game called "Wario's Dance Moves" which I think is wicked fun. You do all sorts of different moves with the Wii remote to accomplish tasks. Pretty fun!
So we wined and dined the night away, then I pulled out the Wii and opened it up, and we all took turns bowling on it. It was a lot of fun.
My friend Adam and his girlfriend Erica came early and manned the grill out in the rain for Tim and I, and then they stayed a while later and we chatted after the party and smoked out of my hookah. It was a fun time had by all!
Thanks so much guys! It was a wicked blast!
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Friday night, the little man, myself, and Tim's lesbianic friend / classmate Jen (she's a hoot!) decided to go to "Queer Guerrilla Bar Take Over". Basically this is a Facebook group that gathers all the gays in the city and goes to a straight bar and makes it a "gay bar" for the night. There is usually a lot of a gay people and confused straight people. We've gone many times before, and usually it is wicked fun. Last Friday it was a bit of a bummer, mostly because the DJ was so horrific. He'd mix 4 songs together, play a snippet of each song, then move on to another abomination to the ears. You could dance fast for 30 seconds to one song, then there would be an infusion of Meatloaf (the singer, not the food) "And I would do anything for love..."
HOW IN THE HELL DO YOU DANCE TO THAT?!
Eventually we crapped out around 1am and went home. I promptly let my head hit the pillow before I had to get up and finish a cake for my friend Joe. His mother had passed away one year ago, and the funeral was held on my birthday (June 23). So it stands to reason that his memorial party was going to be held on the 23rd of June, but of course fate likes to laugh at me and the party was decided to be held on the weekend of pride. The one weekend where all the gays converge on Boston and basically rule the city, I was going to be forced to miss a major chunk of it to go to this Memorial party.
Sigh. I can't really complain, because it is a memorial service, and a friendship is more important than seeing go-go boys wave their bulging speedos in our faces on Boston Common.
So here I am, 8:30 am, frosting a cake with a sweet chocolate grenache (most of which I ate out of the pot) then decorating the cake with pink and white stars. I've done this before, and it makes the cake look like a sea anemone. Sorry I didn't take pictures, I was kind of tired and didn't think of it. Thank God for Coffee.
I finish the cake just in time to jump in the shower, then rush off with Tim to Oak Grove to catch the orange line down to Downtown crossing so we could watch the parade outside of the state house. We like watching it there because it is usually shaded and not that crowded.
Tim's friends eventually met up with us as we witnessed the parade. Free condoms were passed out, as well as various articles on how to keep yourself STD free. Also information on how to help someone in an abusive relationship, as well as (my favorite) free comics from sexy men dressed up in super hero garb. There was the Flash, and Nightcrawler, and Batman. I am so going to Comicopia from now on for all my comic needs! I was also handed a cotton black thong from the Jaggermister float. It was a good time had by all!
Unfortunately, Tim was beaned pretty hard by a flying medallion from the Jaggermister float. As it struck, everyone (including myself) went "Oooohhh!....SfSfSfSfSfSf!!! (that sucking noise you make through your teeth when you witness something painful happening, or when you just got kicked in the shin). He was ok though, and we immediately went back to gawking at the Jagger hotties.
The parade over, the throng of Tim's friends and I made our way through the flamboyant press to Government Center, where the "Festival of Gayness" (as I call it) was taking place. Government center is basically taken over by tons of gay vendors and gay activities. Two years ago I signed up with my gay bowling league there. This year there wasn't much there except more free condoms and other freebees.
I also saw my favorite porn star walking through the crowd. Trevor Knight was just hanging out without his shirt on. I should have gotten a picture.
From here Tim and I went over and had lunch at Whole Foods. They have a really bitchin' salad bar there. You can go and load your plate up with completely un-salad like things like falafel and grilled chicken. After dinning, we decided to go home since we were pretty beat. When we got home, my head hit the pillow and I was lost to oblivion. I woke thinking I hadn't even rested.
I had to rush to get ready to go down to Easton for Carolyn Witt's memorial service hosted by Easton's best: The VFW. Last time I was there it was like walking into the exhaust pipe of a really big Mac truck. Since it is a private club, smoking is still legal there.
I arrived at around 7:30pm, and much to my pleasant surprise, the VFW had become smoke free! Though that didn't stop the old time crusties from lighting up 3 feet from the door and walking outside with a lite cigarette, or actually exhaling their last lungful of black, slightly blue smoke as they came in and sat down next to you. Oh well, can't teach all the old dogs new tricks.
We at hors d'euvers and everyone liked my cake. There was a DJ and dancing, and we watched a movie on the life of Carolyn Witt. Mostly just a montage of pictures, but it was moving and very nice.
I was all set to go home around 9 o'clock so I could meet Tim in the city and go to the Roxie. I wasn't too thrilled about the idea, it was going to be $30 to get in! That's a lot, considering there would probably be crappy music, but you would definitely get to see some sexy men scantily clad and bumping and grinding up against everyone. A few of my friends were going, and I figured that Tim and I would join them considering it only comes around once a year (meaning Pride only happens once a year, and all the gay clubs think "Why not charge the pickle puffers an arm and a leg to get in?! They have extra income!").
I called Tim, and he said "Well, we can go" and I was kind of dragging my feet. I said "I don't really want to, I have the Internet, I can always see naked men there". He said he would pay for me and it would be his present to me, for an early birthday present.
I said that I didn't actually want to go (truth be told) and he said that he didn't either, and I should stay down in Easton with Joe and hang out. So I did.
Joe Witt has the amazing power to make you do things you do NOT want to do. I'd thought I'd developed a certain resistance to him, but in fact I still am a weak willed bastard that acquiesces to everything.
"So we going to RCC?!" - Joe
"I don't really want too... it is late and I have a long drive home. Let's just drink here" - I say
We argue for a bit, and Joe finally agrees to have just one more drink at the VFW before I leave.
Well, that's all it took. That extra 3 oz of Grey Goose got me lubed up, so when he asked "So, we going to RCC?!" I said yes. But only for one drink ;).
RCC or Randolph Country Club is, as you would call it, a gay dive bar. It exists, and it is found in Randolph Massachusetts. On any typical night, you will find a collection of low lives, old people, and confused twenty somethings that haven't realized that there is are better gay bars just half an hour North AND South in Boston and Providence. This place caters to the lazy queer that doesn't want to travel that far from home.
Don't get me wrong, I love RCC. You can drink outside by a pool (Yes, they have a greasy, slimy pool) on nice nights, and I in general have a good time. On a side note, the only people that hit on me there are the very old (65+) or very socially awkward (something ain't right with Billy...). Sometimes the two merge together to create a socially awkward senior who wants me to be his trophy boyfriend.
Thanks, I'm honored. Let me just break up with my hot 27 year old spinner I have at home so I can wipe your ass after I change your diaper, you infirm bastard. How the hell did you get out of the nursing home anyway? Are you lost? I know you are confused...
So here I am, Saturday night at Pride, having a drink with Tabitha, Miss Karen Azulay, and Joe (all men). Exactly where I didn't want to wind up on the night of pride. Fantastic. After being served a revolting vodka tonic (I had forgotten that you DO NOT order the house vodka, gin, tequila, bourbon, scotch, or, in general, house anything) we wandered outside by the pool. I had put down my drink on the bar, and one of Joe and Tabitha's barber friends drunkenly staggered over to us. He was a short little thing, 4 foot nothing and full of groping 40 year old charm. He slurredly tried to sex us up and engage in conversation, but didn't realize that all his sentences were coming out sounding like one long word. "heyaboiswhatssexin?" I think is what he said.
I actually like him, because he drunkenly put down his drink, promptly forgot which one was his, and grabbed mine and downed it. Thanks a bunch! You saved me a hangover of terribleness.
So it is 1 am, and I'm running off very little sleep, so I say goodbye to my friends, and drive the hour home. I have brunch in the morning at 11 am at Dbar in Dorchester the next morning. I'll post about that later on. Phew! That's a long post and it isn't even done!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
"This isn't Soviet Russia; you don't need to sit and wait in the breadline, Babushka!" I said to Tim when he got back. Apparently, BagelWorld is THE place to be in Reading. You'd think there was fantastic bagels there. True, they are good, but good enough to warrant being in line for 1 hour!
As we munched on our bagels, we silently vowed that we would pass BagelWorld up for Dunkin Donuts. This is saying a lot, we typically try and support the local business man every single time. We will happily pay 20 cents more for everything if we know that the money helps out the local economy.
Listening to one of my favorite radio programs "Polka Time!" on Sunday (one of my previous posts) the man that puts on the show always says:
I hope you are enjoying Polka Time! Once again it is brought to you this week by our great family of sponsors: Tire World and Bagel World! If you go there, let 'em know that you heard it here on Polka Time!
Well, anything to help my Polka Time buddy! Bob Litwin and his wife Judy Litwin, the Polka Queen!
So one morning after the gym, I decided I would give BagelWorld another change, and I decided to go. In and out. No one there at 7am on a Thursday morning. So far so good.
Saturday morning, 9:30 am is completely a different story. I pulled in, and there was no place to park, the drive thru was packed, and there was a goddamn line out the damn door! I love Polka, but I love coffee more, so I went to Dunkin Donuts.
For some reason, this morning I decided that I would be a glutton for punishment. I went to bagel world at 11am, on a Sunday morning. The line was mega long, but luckily I am lazy, and once I stood in line, I didn't want to go anywhere.
Ahead of me in line is a woman in her mid 30's, a there was a very large congregation of young (18 - 19 year olds) of Doodguys. Everyone knows a doodguy when they see one. Always wearing some athletic material, they drag their knuckles when they walk, talk about some of their sexual conquests the night before, scratch themselves then touch everything, and finish every sentence with "DOOOOODGUY!". They are boreder line meat heads, excepting the fact that they say "DOOODGUY!" at the end of every sentence.
So as I'm standing there in a Mental Fog (No coffee yet) a doodguy and his skank stand behind me. Instantly there is a calling of "DOOOOOOOOOOOOODGUY!!!" from his friends standing in font of me and the lady.
I am not one to confront. Seriously, I'll tough out any situation, and just wait for it to be over. I was suffering being a sexy man sandwiched between these Dumbass DOODGUY's as the bread.
As I sit there staring off into space thinking of how cool it would be if I could lift cars with my mind, I feel DOODguy and his slut edge past me to join the Dongle of Dumb ahead of me.
Instantly I felt rage. How dare you cut me! INSOLENT BASTARD!! I was not the only one who was pissed! The women (remember her, scroll up and see when I mentioned her) that was ahead of me turned brilliant red; the sky's darkened, snakes burst from her skull dripping venom, her very body became immolated with rage and fire, and she was about to destroy the mindless mouth breather who just cut us in line when I leaned over to her and said "I'm actually happy he cut us, that way we won't have DOOOODGUY!!! being shouted behind as well as in front of us.
This calmed her down to the point where hell closed up, sorry that it had not been unleashed, and she shot me a smile of understanding and comprehension.
Armageddon averted, I went back in to my mental discussion of how it would be better to be able to lift heavy objects with your mind than to start fires with your mind for a few minutes. BagelWorld was incredibly slow. I mean that, entire empires had risen and fallen in the time I stood in that line. I actually had to take a step back because there was a birth in the line ahead of me, but then there was a death, so we got to move forward a space again. Pretty soon we will have turned over into a new generation by the time I got my mediocre bagels.
Finally I got within site of the counter. The Doodguys had placed their order, and were congregating around a female who had separated from her pack. She was doomed. Soon she will have been cracked over the skull with a club and drug back to a cave, all the while sweet croons of "DOODGUY" will alert her to the immanent fate that awaits her.
DOODGUY that cut the woman and I placed his order, and it happened to be an iced coffee. This some how impressed the other walking cauliflower brains.
"Whoa, you drink iced coffee? I can't drink that, it gives me the shakes" Apparently the cutter is now a badass.
"Yeah, I gotta have it" is his reply.
How does he take his iced coffee? You are dying to ask me I can tell.
Extra Extra Cream, Extra Extra Sugar. He gets his iced coffee and there is, no lie, about 1.5 inches of sugar on the bottom with a whole container of white cream on top of it. This little pompous shit just likes coffee milk. You "gotta have it?!" FUCK YOU.
I HAVE to have it, or else I will start killing people.
He gathers up his order, and joins his friends out in the parking lot where a newly acquired, semi-conscious, clubbed, dragged by her hair female is in tow. I thought about helping her, but then I realized it was nature, and as an Eagle Scout, one does not interfere with nature.
Finally I got up, ordered my iced coffee with milk only, an onion bagel, and then I was on my way. Unfortunately I needed a cane to walk because I was so old, and my car had rusted away because I was in there for so long. That's OK, luckily i was able to take hover bus home because I was now a senior citizen.
People would pay $5 to have their old Christmas tree taken from their lawn ($1 for wreaths!) and disposed of so they wouldn't have too. I had stopped by this old lady's house, she was probably in her 70's, and she opened the door and ordered me inside because it was so cold out (in retrospect, this was a bad idea. This is how you wind up in a chest freezer, or as a lamp shade of skin. But she was an old woman, and I was a spry, chubby 13 year old. I had my bets that I could take her).
I heard in her kitchen some lively, jaunty music playing. Tubas and Trombones and an Accordions Oh My!! She came back, handed me a ten and said keep the change (What a nice lady!) and I asked her what that music was. "Oh that? That's Polka! I luvadaPolka!" and she did a quick skip-hop dance in front of me. I loved it! I said thank you and I left. This woman, this saintly, generous woman, had instilled in me a lasting love of fine Norwegian dance music that should only be described as "deeply disturbing".
Polka. It's fun, and you can actually dance to it. This is true white guy music! To dance to it, all you do is hop from one foot to the other! Sometimes you hop in a circle! No rhythm, or style, just hopping!
So back to October, I'm baking a cake, and I'm remembering this old woman in her kitchen, and I think "I wonder if Reading has any polka stations?" So I turn on the Wave Radio (I love that thing!) flip the dial over to the AM stations, and I listen for the familiar diddy of Tubas and Trombones and Squeeze boxes all chiming together with some (obviously) white guy singing (usually badly) about his love of beer, or women, or sausages. Sometimes all three at once.
1020 - "Praise be to JESUS!!!" - Good bye
1030 - WBZ Accuweather forcast of the boston area... - Fuck off, I can look outside.
1230 - "Hastabliando Caliente!!!!" - No Megusto
1390 - Berusnakov Doshvedonya ... - The cold war is over, no need to broadcast missile plans on AM frequency anymore.
God damn it... nothing. All forgien languages and bible thumpers. Oh well. For some reason, I figured "Go through each frequency, one at a time". So I did. What the hell, I had 30 minutes whilst the cake baked.
1210 - nothing
1220 - nothing
1230 - You're listening to 1230 on your AM dial, POLKA TIME!!!!
No. Fucking. WAY!!!!!!
I think I had just evacuated in my pants from the sheer excitement. Polka Time! READING! This little piss ant town of Reading, has POLKA TIME!!!!!! AWESOME!!!!
"TIM, GET IN HERE! ENJOY THIS WITH ME!!!" I bellowed.
Tim can running, heard it was polka, then turned around and said "Whatever" - He woke up from the coma 2 weeks later, luckily with no real lasting damage.
So now I can hear some old fat white guy every Sunday morning from the hours of 11am to 1pm play such classics as "My heart of Polka" or "My Beer Queen" or "I Love You Almost as Much as Polka!". How can you not love this?!
Even as I type this, I'm listening to the diddy about the Squeeze Box being broken (gasp)!
Praise be to God, Maker of Beer and Polka, Ruler of the music of Polka, give us this day our Daily
Sausage, and forgive us our Dance, techno, and pop, and lead us not into temptation of good music, for thine is the Kingdom of Polish American Halls, The Power of Tuba, and the Glory of Polka Forever, Amen.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Needless to say, I imbibed a bit too much, stumbled onto the train (thankfully the right one!) and got off at Reading! I've missed my stop before and had to call Tim to come and save me. As I was walking the 40 yards from the train to my apartment, I got that good 'ol "your stomach and your brain are in battle. This will not be pretty, find somewhere to duck and cover" feeling come on. It was pretty sudden too.
Normally, I'd run off to the side or hide behind a dumpster like a foreigner evading INS when I get this feeling, but there was no place to go! A wave of panic and anxiety swept over me... I have to vom, and I know I won't make it the 30 feet to my place so look for a trashcan, the back of a car, anything!
I began looking, desperately trying to find a place to hide my shame, to no avail! Usually there are cars and trashcans on my street, but at 11:30pm, there was nothing! Not even a small wall where I could hurl my guts.
I saw my neighbors covered porch, and I thought "That's a pretty good place to do it! Out of the way... no one would see me!!" - Thank god a small part of my brains said "You fool! I think you can get arrested for that! I'm not too sure right now, but that seems like a bad idea!"
Well, at this point, I was out of options, because the war of Angels and Demons was taking place in middle of my digestive track, and I'd rather it come up and out than down and out.
I bent over, one leg on my neighbors lawn, one leg on the sidewalk, and released a powerful evil. It came out in two strangely solid splats. To be honest, it looked like some crazy chef decided to kneed orangey-pink pizza dough and sushi together.
I would have marvelled at my creation; hell I probably would have taken it up and tried to cook it in a tandoori but at that moment my conscience was fading fast, and in it's death throws it said "get inside before they see you!" -Who "they" are I have no idea, but I know it to be a good idea to get inside.
I made it inside, said hello to Tim, and then showered and went to bed.
This morning, 7am came real quick. I crawled out of bed, gathered up some clothes (can you believe this... I actually folded my clothes and put them away!) from my drawers, and step out to get dressed. I really felt ok, and I was happy thinking I'd escaped a hang over.
I drank some coffee, brushed my teeth, got dressed and ready to go. As soon as I stepped out the door, the good Lord in Heaven thought it would be funny to make the sky incredibly bright (even though it was overcast) and every noise sound like a herd of buffalo was tramping on the street. The train was so loud it hurt. I almost wept.
I got to work, and by that time I'd gotten over most of the awful feelings, and the inexplicable rage I felt at humanity every time someone would bump into me. I walked like a Zombie when I changed over at North Station, and I was still pretty stiff legged by the time I'd gotten to work. I'm better now, but I feel like my head is in a fog.
Note to self: keep the drinking down at work. You really shouldn't do that more than once, maybe twice Ever but now you are at twice in one year (previous time was congratulating my boss on being cancer free for a year). Shameful!
Thursday, May 28, 2009
I wanted to chime in and side with naked guy 2, but I didn't feel like arguing time and date with two men wearing their birthday suit best and me in a towel. There are times when it is just ok to let people be.
So I decide to let these men argue about the details of the Earth's tilt and when we are closest to the sun (which is in June BTW). I towel off, and go get dressed in the changing room. NNNNGGGAH!! guy and Naked guy 2 continue their discussion on out into the changing room. They talk for several minutes about the sun and how it is awesome: the giver of all life and tanner of all skin.
Pretty soon, another man (now he shall be called Naked guy 3... incidentally I didn't mind him talking and chatting in the buff, he was a looker) started talking about how the sun tans the skin. I didn't really pay attention to what he was saying, but I was paying attention to the general situation: Here are three men, all standing within 5 feet of each other. NNNgggahh! is delousing his body with some acrid and sharp smelling powder (Maybe he's worried about bed bugs?) and he was paying special attention to where the sun doesn't shine. Naked guy 2 was just standing there, enjoying a healthy breeze about his privates, listening to a lecture from Naked guy 3 on how to get a good old fashioned "Puerto Rican" tan. I forgot to mention, Naked guy 3 has a deep tan, except a milky white area of his crotch that looks like he was wearing a speedo whilst tanning.
So I get all dressed up, and then I hear from NNNNGGaah! guy, "I don't have to worry about getting a good tan, I'm a stupid Guinea and have a wonderful tan all year round!"
So there you have it folks, your NNNNGGGaahh! guy moment of the week. Until next time, stay fresh my friends.
Friday, May 22, 2009
"Please be advised the we will be testing the fire alarm systems. Please ignore all lights and sounds in your area"
Whatever. This means that our work station is turned into a Belgian techno-disco for a few minutes. Strobe lights flash and were it to be dark, I'd be up taking my shirt off dancing to some Britney Spears. Thankfully it is day time. And I'm at work so I wouldn't actually do that :).
The intercom system clicks on again after a few minutes, and we here a garbled word and then the smooth music of Daughtry, "What about now" playing. Someone left the mic on next to the radio.
The song ends, then we hear "Magic, 106.7!" Awesome. It would be good if they played something good, or as my co-worker Adam said "They should play some techno, so that it goes with the lights".
Eventually the music stops, and so do the lights. It was nice being in an adult contemporary disco for a few minutes. Certainly breaks up the day!
Thursday, May 21, 2009
"BBBBBBBVVVVVVRRRRRIP!!!!" I lifted my leg and let out possibly the loudest fart I had ever done in my life. The damn windows rattled. Picture frames fell off the wall. Car alarms in the distance were set off. The neighbors probably thought a gas main had exploded (and in a way, one did!).
I was beaming with pride, and I had to contain my mirth because I didn't want to wake Tim any more than he was already awake. Which, considering how cacophonic and voluminous that anal expulsion was, he was probably not at all asleep.
He pulled the cover over his head (undoubtedly because he probably thought that the world was coming to an end) and said "Get out of the room" in might I add a very rude tone.
Here I had done something great, something so awesome that only occurs once, maybe twice a month, and he shuns me out of the room. The nerve.
I immediately ran to the radio and turned it on to see if they were reporting on any geologic movement because that fart would have definitely ticked the Richter scale off.
Nothing. Oh well, I'm off to go eat some onions and beans to see if I can mimic that awesomeness again.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
In my head I had pictures of casually going out there every morning and watering my new preciouses and culturing them, feeding them miracle grow, and then when they started to grow huge, ripe, luscious, juicy and succulent tomatoes, I would pluck them in the warm sunlight. Nature itself would sing with harmony and joy, and I would be revered as the most wonderful human, with little birds on my shoulders, and squirrels running around my feet. All this on my rooftop.
Two days later, Tim brought home some baby plants. Six beefsteak and Six Cherry tomato plants. They were neat and I am excited.
Skip forward 5 days. They are still not in the ground, and I worry that they will die. So I aim to head out to do something about this.
Still floating on my hippy-esque trip (there must have been LSD in the water in Reading) about how easy and simple it will be to reap the benefits of nature, I travelled to Home Depot to purchase some supplies.
I had made a mental checklist: Six pots for the beefsteak, six for the cherry, some soil, some fertilizer, oh, some of those wire things to hold the tomatoes in place, and OOH! a nice new trowel.
I grabbed a cart, and strolled over to the soil. Hmm, 1.5 cubic feet of garden soil should do. Ah, well, better make it 2 bags, it's only 3 bucks a bag. Next were the pots. All the information online said to get at least a 10" pot per plant. I'll need 12 of those, and at $5.47 a pop, my tune soon changes.
"Hmm, maybe I can get away with only 6 pots, and then a garden box and fit the little cherry tomatoes in that!" I bought 6 pots, and 2 garden window boxes to fit three cherry tomatoes into each one.
At about this point, a large man came to me and asked if I needed any help. I said that I was planting tomatoes on my rooftop, and I'm just gathering stuff up. He said "You should really go with the topsy turvey tomatoes. Only $10, they grow upside down, so you only have to hang them somewhere with light. They produce lots of tomatoes."
You ignorant slut, if I'd wanted some comical form of wacky houseplant, I'd buy a very full spider plant, you big pile of Jack Sauce. "Oh, thanks, but I already have the seedlings."
"Ok, but you'll need more soil than that".
Listen, you dry dip stick, if I wanted advice from a asshole, I'd go take a shit. Thanks anyway.
"Yeah that's a good idea". - Hey, I can have negative thoughts. I wanted to prove that I was one with nature, Lord Druid of home plant: Earth. This guy is cutting the balls of my vision, and emasculating me by bringing me to reality.
So I follow his advice, and buy 2 more bags of soil. Also I had to do battle with those damn wire cages that hold the tomato plants. What sadistic madman came up with the horrible idea to stack wire cones inside one another? It took me 25 minutes to separate them. Where was that lumbering ogre when I needed him? Gone off to try and rub his junk on the toothless wench that is ringing people out I see. Grand. Thanks for the help.
I finally separate everything, then think to myself "Oh, you'll need some fertilizer" So I picked up some of the Miracle Grow Tomato fertilizer. Then I got a nifty trowel.
So now I am armed with a small spade should that ogre decide to give up on his attempts at boning Ms. Gums and come and help me. I can be the ogre slayer of Home Depot. I'd gain a level (Dungeons and Dragons terms).
I get to the cash register, and an actually friendly young lady took care of me. Not in a condescending way or anything that would irritate me, but actually friendly! It went like this:
"I can help you... oh cool, your gonna grow some tomatoes? You have all the right stuff here for it!" said the perky blond
"Yeah, took me a while with these wire cages. They were all stuck together".
"I know, I had to get a few myself. Who designed those? They should be punished ::Giggle::"
Lady, if I was attracted to females, right now I'd be sporting wood so huge it should belong in a national forest. Because it would be like a redwood. Big and strong. Do you get my analogy?
I paid with debit, and then I saw the price.
$76 fucking dollars.
"Do you know how many cheap whores in Dorchester you could get for $76 dollars?! 32, with $2 left to take the T home!" I wanted to shout, but I like the Home Depot, so I didn't. Plus I didn't want to go to jail for disturbing the peace.
I loaded up my car, then headed on home. By that time it was too late, and my self-esteem had hit the daily limit of low. I just wanted to go home and veg. No pun intended.
The next night, Tim and I set up a little assembly line outside on the driveway. We'd fill up the pots with soil, and then I'd put the tomatoes in place. We'd hoisted them upstairs, through the living room, then into our bedroom. Tim scurried out onto the roof and then clung to the side of the house like he was out for a spacewalk from the NASA shuttle.
"Don't worry hun, you won't fall. You've got 8 feet from the side of the house till the drop". I said
"I KNOW!" he shouted at me. Translation: Don't pester me, I can do this, I'm not weak or afraid.
"Do you want me to go out there and do it?"
"NO, Just hand me the damn pots!" Translation: I'm actually kind of scared out here, but I don't want you to see it, and I don't want you judge me.
"Are you sure?" I said. Translation: I can see through your bullshit and that you are terrified. You are clinging to the far wall like an Ethiopian to a chicken nugget. Your voice is elevated. I just want to get this done.
"Yes I'm sure. Let's just hurry up and get this done". I know you know I'm afraid, but now I have to maintain dignity. Please don't say anything else.
So I hoisted all the plants out to him. He set them up in neat rows, and then I handed him a watering can so he could water them while he was out there.
I decided (once he came in) that I wanted to see how hard it is to get in and out of the window. It is friggin hard. You have to squat over the sill, and then stretch your legs out so that you can touch the roof. Your nuts crunched pretty good and your back gets bent trying to wedge out there. Well, at least that is what it is like for me.
So now, we have a bunch of tomato plants out on our roof, and even though it will be a pain in the ass to go out there twice a day to water these bitches, it'll be worth it because I will have grown my own tomatoes.
At the end of all this, Tim turns to me and says "How much did you spend? You know, Stop and Shop is selling them for, like, a dollar a pound. We could have gotten 76 pounds of tomatoes for all of this.
Yes, this is true, but then we wouldn't have grown our own food. And built character along the way. Plus it also makes the roof a little prettier having plants out there. And now we'll have all the stuff to be able to do it again, cheaper next year.
And shut the hell up jerk, i didn't think of that.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Guess what? After months of struggle, bowling gutter-balls, splits, spares and strikes, dancing up and down, grumbling left and right, my team, the Pin Pals, came in Second place in our Division!
True, it is a trophy league, and there is a handicap, but it is still awesome! We did really good!
We had the awards ceremony on Wednesday night, and it was quite the banquet! Lots of good food, and lots of fun! The awards we were given was an engraved glass ice bucket. It had our names, our team names, 2745 (the total pins we knocked down to get into second place) and the date. I'm so pumped! Here are some pictures:
The trophy itself. It says "Beantown South, 2009, 2nd Place, Pin Pals, 2745, Kevin Carlson"
Jim had a few drinks in him. Here he displays his "Bowled 200 pins over average" badge.
Here he stuck my "Bowled 160 pins over average" badge to his face. He's selling valuable face retail, any offers?
Here is the Pin Pals! (L-R, Kevin Carlson, John Cesanik, Doug Shaheen, Jim Rodenmacher)
And finally, me with my trophy and badges. I'm so happy!