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!
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
I absolutely love it when you are on a crowded train, it's hot, everyone is cranky, and you let out a silent ripper that's so bad people's eyes begin to water. My own personal schadenfreude. Watching these humble commuters silently gag on my ass reek brings me to a level that one can only describe as pure bliss. Ecstasy even. Savoring my own brand of perfume while others' faces melt in a confined area such as the subway is my own personal glimpse into the Elysian fields. I know I will sleep well that night, thinking of how I'd enlightened 20-30 people as to what I'd eaten that day via olfaction. True Heaven.
Now when the shoe is on the other foot, when some 90 year old, crusty, dry, seconds from death foreign woman lets out her version of the bubonic plague that's been festering in the bowels (literally) of hades for the last 20 years, I am filled with a sense of madness that can only be comparable to rabies.
You know who let the silent ninja, that SBD (silent but deadly) go and is enjoying it is the one person who is wearing a smile while everyone else is shoving sparklers up their nose to ease the pain.
That being said, let me tell you about my morning! I decided that I would have a nice omelet for lunch. I had a bag of frozen onions and peppers in the freezer, so I pulled them out, cooked them up, and then added a cup of my favorite egg substitute (cooks up like egg, tastes like egg, but only 30 calories a serving and cholesterol free, it is the egg that doctors, recovering cholesterol addicts, and health nuts agree upon). While it was cooking up, I got ready for the day: brush the teeth, comb the hair, scratch myself inappropriately in front of the open window, curse loudly at the radio, and scare away any children that generally look like the will be within 10 feet of stepping on my lawn. This is normal.
When it was finished cooking, I slid this delicate culinary delight out of the pan and into my Tupperware container. I save all the plastic take out containers because they are really durable, and its good to recycle, yada yada.
I rush out to the train, and get on board moments before it started to head into town. I sat down, pulled out "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies" and began my read.
Slowly, oh so slowly, this rancid fart was making its rounds. It smelled bad. Really bad. People were making faces. I was too. I didn't fart, so therefore I was not enjoying it! I mean, really... 7:30 am, who is in that much of a rush that they couldn't shit before coming to work? NAH... I'LL JUST SLEEP AN EXTRA 4 MINUTES, AND SHIT LATER! I CAN ALWAYS LET OUT A FEW ASS CLOUDS, NO ONE CARES!!! WHAT DOUCHE BAG SUCKER LET ONe.....
and then I noticed that it smelled of eggs. And onions. And peppers.... dear god, I had created a monster, but not as delicious nose candy to myself, but as my meal!
I was truly embarrassed for once: here I was, seemingly to let out this putrid stench of sulfur and rotting vegetation from my ass, when in all actuality it was from my lunch! Had I actually ass queefed this stench, I would be proud! But since I didn't, I couldn't take the credit and wear a smile... I had to look embarrassed. Everyone, even myself included, had a horrible, brimstone and quagmire stench commute.
At least the omelet tasted good.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Today is Harikrishnan's birthday. We all decided to go to Thaitation (formerly Brown Sugar) and get some delicious Thai food. A few of us had no money, so we went to the Landmark Center Bank of America ATM. A man was standing in front of me at the machine, and then turned and said "I think it's broken. It keeps making this noise". I just assumed it was broken, considering it still had the "Thinking" screen up.
It clicked over to the normal screen of "Insert your card" and I thought, what the hell, I'll try it. I put my card in, and withdrew $40. When the machine spit out my money, I noticed that there were some crumpled bills in the way. My mind said "OOOH!!!" and before I could snatch them out, the machine closed up. "Damn it" I thought.
I could still see a small corner of the crumpled money sticking out of the machine. I figured "Hey... try again" only this time I held onto that small corner. I withdrew an additional $20 out, and like dying relative who is trying to buy their way into heaven, I easily got an extra $60!
I felt bad like I'd stolen the previous guys money. I felt bad, but not bad enough to turn it in! Now I have the extra coin I need to buy a camera! Yeah!
Now I only hope that I won't have to turn it in.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
The conductor opened the door and bellowed "WAKEFIELD" and my head snapped forward and I lurched in my seat, coming to a full attention and out of my sleep state, thus causing the noise to stop.
That's right: that strange noise I was hearing was my snoring. I was partially asleep and I could hear myself snore. I think it was for quite a few minutes, and multiple stops on the line. The train was packed, and at Wakefield center it emptied out, so that means that there were a quite few people who heard me snore for a long while. Grand. I have see these people everyday! Now I have to avert my eyes for a few months so they can forget about "Ol snory". I was pretty gassy too, I hope that I didn't let out a few rippers. Course I'll never know if I did...
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
It's 5:30 a.m., Wednesday May 6, 2009. You are at the gym. Everyone there is groggy. Even the staff. It's 5:30 a.m. fer chrissake. Everyone is groggy, except NNNNGahhh guy!
NNNNGahhh guy is my new favorite person at the gym. The man probably weighs 175lbs, and stands about 5'6". Probably around 40 years old, and he's solid muscle.
Everyone else at the gym does their work out silently and resentfully. NNNNGahh guy does his push ups, and at the height of each push up, he bellows "NNNNNGAHHH!!"
He'll put about 500lbs(no lie) of weight on a machine, throw his back into it (it really looks like he is going to hurt himself) and screams "NNNNGAHHHH!!" as he pulls the weight back, lets it slam down ::KLANK!!:: and does another rep. So that at 5:45a.m. you can here the smooth music of Kiss 108 fm playing, as well as "NNNNNGAHHHH!!!" ::KLANK!!!:: "NNNNNNGAHHHHH!!!::KLANK!!!:::
I love him for that reason alone. But there is more!
I finish my work out and strip down and put on my towel in the locker room, and I go to the stall, and pull the shower curtain closed. Because the gym is cheap and doesn't replace torn shower curtains, they don't exactly close you off and give you complete privacy; just enough privacy to keep your goods private. I can totally see people walking buy as they enter the shower area. Usually old men and no lookers.
NNNNGAHHH guy comes in, naked as cheap whore in a hotel room, pulls the shower curtain to the side and wraps it around his towel hook, thus exposing himself completely to everyone as he showers. He's kind of at an angle so I don't see anything, but I know that his stall is completely visible. People walk buy and look the other way so as to give some modicum of decency to the showering guy. Why, I don't know since he obviously wants you to look. Or he just might be freaked out by the dirty shower curtain.
Anyway, I'm showering, then I hear moans coming from his stall. It is his stall because presently we are the only two showering. They aren't moans of pleasure, or of pain, or of someone relaxing after a good work out. No, these moans startle me to the point of thinking that there is a FUCKING ZOMBIE!!! In the next stall! Deep throated, guttural moans that should be accompanied with a raspy "Braaaaiiiinnnnssss". Thankfully he didn't do that.
So I get out of the shower, towel off, and go to my locker and start changing up. Ten seconds later, out struts NNNNGAHhh guy, naked and dripping, and to my shock, sporting a semi-stock. Not big enough to fly your flag, but enough to notice. I guess it was a pleasurable moan after all!
This isn't the only funny thing he does. He lays down his towel and sprays his feet with what I assume to be an anti-fungal. Normal procedure at a gym. Foot hygiene is important. He then puts his undies on, then puts his sock and shoes on. Let me go over that again. He puts his underwear on, then his socks, then his shoes. No shirt, no pants. Just boxer briefs with socks and shoes.
So here is a man all clean and aroused from the shower, freshly deloused, and now strutting around in with his fruit of the loom, argyle socks, and penny loafers on. I wanted to ask him if he noticed that he forgot a step, I mean, we all have a rough day from time to time, I know I've left the house without brushing my teeth, but I had to leave the locker room because I was done changing and didn't want to linger.
I asked the guy near me if NNNNGAhhh! forgot a step. He looked at me weird, but then looked at the man I gestured too, and he gave a little shrug / snort / chuckle. I love the gym.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
This has happened to me before, and usually the conductors are nice when I tell them the situation. I usually show them my previous months' passes (I keep a few in my wallet, mostly because I'm lazy and don't take them out) and they say "Well, don't let it happen again". I then pick up the pass at work, and I'm all set.
Yesterday, that wasn't the case. An older male conductor said to me "It's the 4th. I will have to charge you". I silently grumbled as I handed over the $5 and he gave me back a quarter. I was angry with myself over having to have thus paid twice for the commuter rail. Once for the pass, and once just then.
I go on to reading my book: "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies". It's about the story "Pride and Prejudice" but with zombies. Fun read. Anyway, I hear the conductor move down a few seats, and I hear a woman's voice. For some reason I zoned in on this.
"Tickets, passes" -Conductor
"I didn't pick mine up yet from work, I'm really sorry" -pretty, attractive woman around 26 years old.
"Oh... well be sure to pick it up and let me see it tomorrow, ok?" - Ass hat conductor
"Thanks, I will, I'm really sorry" - woman who obviously can't see that Jack Sauce the haploid conductor wants to give her his pass, if you know what I mean.
"Don't worry about it, it happens" - Sir Colonel Douche of the double standard regime.
"Thanks" said the loose trollop.
I sat and silently fumed about how the world had screwed me yet again, but then I realized something that made me instantly calm down, and feel a thousand times better:
I can stand when I pee.
If that means I have to pay the occasional $4.75 for a commuter rail ticket, then may the tax come. Unfortunately it isn't a tax based on anything dimensional, because I then think that $4.75 may be a bit steep, and come April 15th, I should be getting some money back!
Until next time,
I'll keep paying the penis tax.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Now that I've started a blog, I'll have to buy a camera so that I can post pictures of the hilarious shit that I've seen. Also I'll have to start posting old stories of things I've done / things I've seen that tickle me pink. As for now, just be happy that I've actually started this thing up.
I know what everyone is thinking: "Oh God, another Blog where someone just bitches about life" but it won't be like that. I'm just gonna put up things that are out of the ordinary. If I ever blog about how "The cafe ran out of 1.5% milk today ::gasp::" someone tell me to get a pnuematic drill and put it to my head to bore out the lame. Oh, by the way, I can't spell. Get used to it.