This is what happens when you invite a seemingly nice stranger into your Gchat…

2:21 PM biggermoosebear: hey stud

me: holler

hows it going?

biggermoosebear: hey man

me: hey!

2:23 PM that’s cool you’re an actor

i am too

5 minutes

2:28 PM biggermoosebear: hey sexy

me: howdy

is this working?

2:31 PM gmail has been sucking lately

2:32 PM biggermoosebear: i wanna suck you

me: oh ok

cool

2:35 PM

biggermoosebear: you’re cute

you should be on TV

me: thanks, i’m trying

2:36 PM biggermoosebear: try to what

me: be on TV

biggermoosebear: how

me: idk, with talent i guess? haha

2:37 PM biggermoosebear: oh, so you’re an actor?

6 minutes

2:43 PM me: yeah

biggermoosebear:

me: hahah

biggermoosebear: one sec

me: ok

biggermoosebear: ok im back

me: ok

2:44

PMbiggermoosebear: just so you know

one of my ex’s had a 14/15 shoe and loved making me take all of his toes in my mouth at once and watch it stretch around it

2:45 PM me: oh really?

biggermoosebear: yeah, he used to smash my head in the floor

with his big boots and make me scream

you play football?

me: nope

biggermoosebear: you should

you would look good in a uniform

what size are your feet?

me: 13

2:46 PM

biggermoosebear: you want to step on my face?

2:47 PM

me: um, i’ve never stepped on a face before

biggermoosebear: i want you to step on my face

squash me like a bug

2:50 PM me: yeah? you like to get stepped on

2:51 PM

biggermoosebear: fuck ya step on my face full weight

me: you like to get rough i take it?

biggermoosebear: yeah, let’s wrestle

me: that sounds hot

2:52 PM biggermoosebear: what does

2:53 PM me: wrestling

2:54 PM

biggermoosebear: i played football

had my head stoped a few times

stomped

2:55 PM me: and you liked that? whats it do for you? im very curious about this idea

biggermoosebear: its cool

im pretty tough

i like to see how much i can take

me: pushing things to the limit?

biggermoosebear: whats yer beggiest and heviest footwear

me: my timberland boots

2:56 PM they have great traction

biggermoosebear: how heavy

how big

me: their about 3 pounds and size 13

i have them on now actually

2:59 PM biggermoosebear: want them on my face?

me: yeah i wanna make prints on your face

3:01 PM biggermoosebear: think ya can?

me: i know i can

biggermoosebear: why is that

me: cuz i can be mean

3:02 PM and heavy

heavy and mean

3:03 PM biggermoosebear: stand both feet on my skull?

3:04 PM me: ooh man

sure if you want it

haha

lets do it

biggermoosebear: why ooh man?

me: just cuz it sounds scary

biggermoosebear: why scary?

me: just cuz i would be afraid of hurting you

3:08 PM

biggermoosebear: i ain’t no pussy

me: you better not be no pussy

biggermoosebear: ive been slammed and stoped on a felid

me: yeah, you got messed up?

3:10 PM biggermoosebear: yeah you into it

3:11 PM me: yeah, lets fcuk and slam each oterh around

biggermoosebear: slam each other around?

3:13 PM me: you know, get rough and wrestle and crap

3:15 PM biggermoosebear: do you know anyone for a threeway?

maybe we can start a team

3:16 PM me: yeah i got a friend who might be into it

biggermoosebear: where he live

me: williamsburg

3:18 PM biggermoosebear: Pennsylvania?

me: brooklyn

13 minutes

3:31 PM biggermoosebear: so you guys want to stomp on me

and stand on my skull?

3:32 PM me: yeah man

lets do it

lets do it right now

3:34 PM biggermoosebear: skull goin POP like a melon

LOLO

me: yeah man

i wanna crush you

make you scream

make your face turn red

hear your bones snap

6 minutes

3:41 PM biggermoosebear: you sound mean

i dont like mean

5 minutes

3:46 PM biggermoosebear: so what ya liek about crushin a dudes head udner yer foot

me: i don’t know

i’ve never done it

what do you like when a guy crushes your head

3:47 PM biggermoosebear: um its more how you like it

me: oh

3:51 PM biggermoosebear: can i call you

me: right now?

biggermoosebear: yeah i need to get in a car

me: not really

biggermoosebear: ok, watch this video

bye!

Home again, home again, jiggety jig.

As soon as I got off the plane, New York City slapped me in the face. It was freezing cold and people were fighting each other for taxis. Babies cried. Cops yelled. New Orleans faded away from me while I stood in a 30 minute cab line and watched the world collapse.

I woke up the next morning with a balloon head so I called out sick to work. Once the afternoon rolled around, I felt fine, so I did every ounce of laundry from my trip. Everything smelled like booze and boys and needed to be washed immediately.

Last night, my alien roommate told me that he was going out of town from December 18th to “sometime in January”. He informed me that his friend, “Dimitry from Europe”, will be staying in his room while he is visiting family in Texas or Jupiter or somewhere.

“Do I get to meet Dimitry from Europe before this is official?”
“No.”
“Don’t you think that’s weird, since I’ve never met him?”
“Well, you can’t meet him. He’s in Europe.”

A couple months ago, when Joaquin from Jupiter first moved in, we had a conversation about our travel plans during the Chrismukkwanzakkuh Holidays. I mentioned that I had plans for a friend of mine to come to town and spend Christmas with me. Joaquin said no problem.

When I tried to explain why it is strange that some dude is gonna live in some other dude’s room without having met some other dude’s other roommate, a blank look of stupidity washed over his face. Joaquin from Jupiter said that it’s the same thing as me telling him that my friend was staying with me. He failed to understand the difference was that I would still be physically present with my friend for the duration of his week long visit, while Dimitry from Europe would be alone with me for an indefinite amount of time. Seems different to me.

Dimitry from Europe could look like Jake Gyllenhaal and have a thing for chunky gay boys and we could fall in love and he would take me to Europe where he is a DJ and I get to sleep in late, or Dimitry from Europe could be a murdering, drug addicted, sloth who steals everything I own. Either way, Joaquin from Jupiter is a complete moron.

My alien roommate’s and my trails of thought are from two different planets. There are many hilarious stories about what a dense piece of cat crap he is, but this is the one that has broken my will. I’m trying very hard to not escalate this to The Great Christmas War of 2008. How do you reason with someone who has no reason? How do you explain anything to someone who is tuned out to the world around them and only interested in the world directly in front of their loud-eating, smacky-gross face?

I will have my New Orleans blogs up as soon as possible, but my computer is full and won’t let me download all my photos. Of course.

New Orleans! I miss you!

I even miss that tiny, bullshitty shower I had to shower in every day.

The Other Side of Normal

“My name is Sandra. Don’t call me Sandy. It sounds like candy and I’m not allowed to have candy.”

This week, my morning bus commute has brought a new friend into my life. Her name is Sandra and her work schedule recently changed from afternoon hours to morning hours. She lives a block away from my apartment and we meet at the same bus stop every morning. She wears a lot of pink and has very long salt and pepper hair that is usually wrapped up in a bun or ponytail. Her brown eyes sparkle with a youthful innocence and she flashes a warm smile to everyone who happens to walk past.

On Monday, she walked right up to me and started waving. I had never seen her before, but I was familiar with her instant friendliness. I took my headphones out of my ears to hear what she had to say. She told me the bus was 4 minutes late. I was surprised that anyone bothered to keep a watch on the transit schedule, but Sandra had a printed copy of their online timetable. We chatted about how cold the weather was and that she hoped there would be enough seats on the bus because she hurt her leg at workshop last week. Someone named Curtis told her to rest and that her leg would heal very quickly. As soon as the bus turned the corner, she stopped talking to me and zoomed to the front of the line. Once seated, she started talking to other people. Some ignored her. Others smiled and nodded while she talked. Some shot her dirty looks and scooted in the other direction.

Once Tuesday morning came along, so did Sandra. She was already at the bus stop when I walked up. She was in the middle of talking to an older Latino guy who wasn’t paying much attention to her. The bus came almost immediately and we all piled on, Sandra leading the pack. I didn’t say anything to her on the bus. She was busy looking through pages that had been torn out of magazines and saved in a giant manilla envelope. Once she inspected the contents and put everything in the order she wanted them in, she closed the envelope, kissed it gently, and hugged it close to her chest. As I walked down the aisle to exit the bus, Sandra poked me in the leg with her finger. She laughed and I told her to have a good day. On my way out the door, I heard her yell, “I ALWAYS HAVE A GOOD DAY!”

I was running late this morning. I had forgotten that I would most likely see Sandra. I was jamming out to Rihanna, tapping my feet to the beat to stay warm, when Sandra appeared right in front of me. She was carrying two very big jugs of Apple Cider.

“Wow, you must be thirsty!”
“It’s not for me!”
“Who is is for?”
“We are having a Thanksgiving party at my workshop today.”
“But it’s not until next week! Why so early?”
“Because we’re really excited to be thankful!”

You know when The Grinch’s heart gets so big that it doesn’t fit in his little, green chest anymore? I sort of felt like that. A tiny tear formed in my eye, but didn’t go anywhere. The frosty, bitter wind dried it out. Sandra and I kept chatting.

“What are you thankful for?”
“I’m getting an award tonight!”
“What kind of an award?”
“I’m getting a certificate for attendance and for punctuality!”
“That’s great! I don’t think I would be able to get those.”
“Yes you can! You only have to try harder!”

I love Sandra. I hope she is on my bus every day. Forever.

I miss working as a job coach or a camp counselor for people with developmental disabilities. There’s something about my special friends that always made my day. I cherish my experiences with them. I think about them often while I am at my desk answering phones for rich people. The friends that I have made through my life, who work in workshops and are worried about magazine clippings, possess something that those on the other side of “normal” struggle to have – unconditional love.

Who are the normal ones. Who has the disability.

Another example of why I am glad to be gay…

I went to a friend’s birthday dinner this weekend. One side of the table was hot, black gay guys. The other side of the table was hot, white straight chicks. I was there to bridge the two groups together seeing as how I am a hot, white gay guy. Everyone got along really well. The guys and I talked about music. The girls and I gossiped about ‘The Hills’. Nothing bonds bratty girls and catty gays quicker than talking about reality TV. The ladies confessed that they love watching “lame girls make fools of themselves on national TV”. We all agreed Audrina had turned into a “dumb girl” and that Heidi was a “total idiot”.

When the check came, my end of the table decided to each pay for our own meal, tax, tip and an additional 3 bucks for the birthday boy’s meal. I became team captain of the bill and gave everyone change as the bill made it’s way around the table. When the bill arrived at the blonde section of the table, they each gave me a twenty and then asked for a ten in return.

“Wait. What did you get again?”

“My entree was 9 bucks and I gave you ten.”

“Oh. Well, OK, So why don’t you give me two more bucks so that you are covered with tax and tip for yourself, then I need another 3 bucks to chip in for the birthday boy.”

Every single one of those bitches suddenly went deaf. They started talking amongst themselves and posing for pictures they were taking with each other’s digital cameras. I gave them the benefit of the doubt that they didn’t hear me, since I was sitting at the other end of the long table. I decided to repeat myself, only this time, I would say it embarrassingly loud.

“HEY AUDRINA! I NEED MORE MONEY FROM YOU GIRLS DOWN THERE!”

“What?”

“You didn’t pay enough for yourself, let alone pitching in for the birthday boy! Wanna throw me some cash?”

“My name isn’t Audrina.”

“My name isn’t Daddy Warbucks.”

The bitches ignored me again. Our reality TV bond was officially over. My end of the table was laughing at them… and with me for actually calling them out. One guest near me said that he couldn’t believe they were being such cheapskates. This was a situation where most people would awkwardly put in more money and not say anything to the evil doers. Well, my end of the table ended up awkwardly putting in more money to cover their blonde assholes, but I ended up saying way more than their sun-kissed highlights bargained for. Out side on the sidewalk, our dinner group split into two – white chicks in one circle, the rest circled in a group next to them.

The birthday boy asked, “Are you ladies going bowling with us?”

“No, we’re going to a bar in SoHo.”

“I hope there are lots of boys there to buy you drinks!” I smiled and waved. They did not wave back.

Everyone said ‘goodbye’ to each other, some hugs were exchanged. I stood to the side waiting for it all to be over. I knew I wouldn’t see many of these people ever again, especially these broke-ass vaginas. Our group walked away from the girls and one of them tried to be all sassy and holler “Goodnight, Jeff! We’ll miss you!”.

I smiled and waved again wishing each one of them a goodnight.

“Goodnight, Audrina! Goodnight Heidi! Have fun tonight with Audrina and Heidi, Heidi!”

I could see the steam escaping through their ears. Fuck you, cheap bitches. Fuck you. Thank God I don’t have to put up with your bullshit to get my dick wet.

Fred Runs for President!!!

I wouldn’t vote for Fred, but I’d vote for the kid who does these videos.

He is hilarious.

Just Another Day at the Apple Store

After my doctor’s appointment yesterday, I treated myself to an ice cream cone. Pralines & Cream is the best flavor ever! The ice cream man misheard me and started to scoop some Chocolate. I’m not a huge chocolate fan, most people think that’s weird, especially chicks on their periods.

I also was thinking of treating myself to a new Macbook computer so I went to visit the Apple Store in the Meatpacking District. There were all sorts of faggots up in this fantasy world of electronics. I was in the middle of texting Eric to see what kind of computer I should get, when a hot, black dude axed me, “What time is it?”

“It’s 4:20.” I choked back a chuckle. It was exactly 4:20.

I started to check my email at the computer next to where this dude was surfing the internet. He axed me, “How are you today?” Before I responded, I noticed that all the computers had digital clocks at the bottom of the screen.

“I’m doing well, thanks. How are you?”

“Just chillin’. You gonna buy a computer?”

“Thinking about it. You?”

“No, I already gots a lapbook at home.”

“Cool.”

“I want to let you know that you are very attractive.” Black guys love big, white dudes. This is a proven fact. I have neither fully embraced or refused this phenomenon.

“Pardon me?”

“I think you’re hot. You bottom? Top? You versatile? What?”

“..um, thanks… I’m versatile.” I was so shocked, I felt like I had to answer the question.

“Yeah? That’s good. Don’t wanna put yourself in a box.”

“Yup.”

“So, would you say that I’m your type?”

“You would fall under that umbrella, sure.”

He started singing that ‘Umbrella’ song and did a little dance. He was adorable. I wouldn’t consider him boyfriend material, but he would be fun to play wieners with. He moved a little closer to me and said, “Well, you’re my flavor too. My name is Troy. What are you doing the rest of the day?”

I excused myself to go “call a friend about what kind of computer he has.” I went upstairs to call my friend, Jeff, to gush about how I was totally being scooped up like a sweet piece of meat. We decided that it would be appropriate for me to invite this guy out for an afternoon cocktail. He was cute, masculine, funny, and he made me feel good about myself. I never get picked up anywhere, let alone in a fucking Apple Store. How gay is that? I hung up the phone and turned towards the spiral staircase. Troy was bounding up the stairs.

“Hey there, handsome. I thought you left.” He smiled.

“Oh no, just chatting with my friend. He got stuck at work and can’t be here for another hour. You wanna go kill an hour with me?”

“Let’s go murder that mutherfuckin’ hour!” He laughed. I felt alive with flirty electricity. Black guys love to lay the flirt down really hard and it was a rush to return the vibe. What a delightful turn of events. This is not how I thought my afternoon would end up. How fun! We ended up going to Rawhide, a dark, windowless gay bar. I ordered a Absolut Peach & Tonic and Troy wanted an Appletini. How lovely. I always enjoy a good theme and it appeared that “apple” was today’s buzzword.

Troy and I chatted about movies and politics and favorite sexual positions. He drank his Appletini pretty fast. We tapped each other’s feet and rested our hands on each other’s thighs. He went on a small tirade about a tranny that he knew who got in a fight with a friend of his. Troy cussed a little and badmouthed trannies in general. Afterwards, he said, “Pardon my ghetto-ness.”

I told him how I was writing a play and he discussed how he wanted to be a writer and tell his life story. He gave me a brief account of growing up in foster homes in South Carolina and how he ran away to New York when he was seventeen.

“How old are you now?”

“Nineteen.”

HOLY FUCKING SHIT!

“Hope that’s not too young for you. How old are you?”

“… I’m 25.” I had to lie! I wasn’t about to tell this child I was 31. This boy, who looked like a man, had pounded an Appletini like a pro.

How the hell did I just find myself in a shady bar with a teenager? We chatted some more about who knows what while I flipped through my brain rolodex on ways to get out of this situation. We laughed about something, I forget what, and he leaned into me and cooed, “So you wanna go to the bathroom and I’ll suck your dick for 40 bucks?”

“Huh?”

“40 bucks and I’ll suck your dick. I’ll swallow for 50.”

“Um, no thanks. I assume these drinks are gonna be on me.”

“I was hoping so. I hope I didn’t throw you off guard.” He smiled that smile that seemed so genuine a half hour ago. Now, even with his perfectly clean and straight teeth, the smile made me feel gross, used, and sad.

“No, it’s fine. I didn’t realize I was being reeled in for a hustle.”

“It’s only a hustle if I get money from you, sexy.”

“Well, you got an 8 dollar Appletini. It might be small, but it’s still a hustle.”

“There ain’t nothing small about either one of us. I bet you have a big dick.”

“I do. My dick is amazing, but he doesn’t pay to play.” A surge of testosterone swelled inside me. All this tough-guy talk was turning me on, but also had me filled with rage. Where were the hidden cameras? What character am I living?

“That’s too bad. I think we could have a good time. I hope I didn’t make you angry. I really do think you’re cute.” I almost felt better, but then I realized it was just another line. He was good at his game. Very slick. Very clean. He leaned in close and put his hand on my junk. I slid my palm over my pants pocket where my wallet was located. “So what do I owe you for the Appletini?”

I wanted to say “nothing”. I wanted to throw the rest of my drink in his face. I wanted to tell the bartender that he was fucking 19 years old and to get the fucking cops cuz I was about to punch out a nigger whore. Instead, I pulled him closer and said, “You better kiss me”.

His eyes lit up with my abrasive tone and we kissed. Actually, “kissed” is too sweet of a term. We tore into each other’s lips. I bit into Eve’s apple. It was dangerously passionate, full of spite, anger, and dirty, animal attraction. I ended the kiss before he did and drank the rest of the alcohol to burn off any potential ghetto cooties. At the end of the day, he smelled nice and had good teeth, so I wasn’t too worried about where his dumb ass lips had been. I paid the tab in cash and told him I had to go meet my friend.

He followed me out into the street. We walked by a Starbucks and he axed me, “You wanna get me a frappucino?” You have to be fucking kidding me. I told him ‘no’ and we went our separate ways.

I will never order chocolate ice cream. Give me Pralines & Cream any day.

Fred on the News!!!

I really think this kid is genuinely talented. So hilarious. You should check out all his videos on youtube. His comic timing is right on spot. Simple, fun, and well executed. Give this kid money!

Southern Memories

This is a great video from some girls I’m obsessed with right now (when do I ever say that?). Their group is called Kape and you should check out their other videos on youtube! Because I said so.

April Fool’s Blog

First of all, I want to say that I have 7 April Fools that I did so far today and it’s only noon. I am going to set a new record for all my hilarious and mean jokes I am playing on people. The key is to know they’re desires or fears and play the joke small and subtle, letting their reaction boil up. I let everyone off the hook pretty quickly, so I am not “pure evil” like someone indicated after they thought I was taking them to a live taping of Saturday Night Live.

I would like to showcase three blogs that I have some sort of hand in… by ‘hand’, I mean that I am writing them. Ghost writing. Recently, my job has been paying me to write in the voice of different characters in different blogs. By “paying me”, I mean that I have so much down time at work, this is what I have resorted to fill my time.

Slam Book – She is a bratty 16 year-old high school sophmore.

M’Agenta Brown – Street poet of filth, raw sexuality, and urban erotica.

Cody Melton – NYC comedian who is documenting his weight loss journey.

Please click the links and enjoy reading my new blogs that I am writing! Feel free to tell me which one is your favorite character – Bratty Girl, Urban Erotica Girl, or Cody Melton.

20 to 31: Pompous

“We drove around and around and the driver just couldn’t understand that you couldn’t drive through the people. It’s Chinese New Year for chrissakes alive, so we drove around and around some more like chickens with our heads cut off until I found a weak link in the armor of your security guards who finally let us in because I cant walk so well. I’m nearly 80 and I need to save my feet for parades and other social gatherings.

Can you put my hat somewhere nice? I don’t like it in the closet. It’s a spring hat and I really shouldn’t be wearing it yet, but I keep hoping it becomes spring soon. Please make sure that my hat is not crushed or otherwise distressed. It’s very pricey.

I assume these paintings are students work. Very good for a student. I was at the top of my class back in the day. My father sent me to live with relatives in France after graduation. The culture there was divine. The culture here in New York is a little to edgy, as the kids call it these days. I would just say ‘trashy’. One big trash heap. I’m surprised that I still own my buildings in Manhattan. I should just sell them off and move back to France. The east side isn’t what it used to be. If everyone acted a touch classier, this world would be a better place.

I’ll have a medium temperature espresso, if you have it, otherwise, nothing.”

iTunes Customer Reviews

Tonight, as I was snorting up more downloads on iTunes, my favorite addiction, I stumbled upon the greatest customer review ever. It was the first review posted to the album “Black Sheep Boy” by Okkervil River – a sad sounding, but melodic indie band that might have been on the Garden State soundtrack had it been released a few years earlier.

“So egotistical (five stars)
by Boujey

I am a self-important hedge fund administrator who is way too busy to write at length about what a fantastic album this is…but I thought I should write a few words, then shift focus back onto how awesome my life is. Out of the 17,000 songs that I own, at least 8 of these are in my top 1,500, which is utterly impressive statistically. I enjoy listening to it with a nice ‘57 scotch, overlooking the ocean from my vacation home in St. Tropez.”

I downloaded all three of Okkervil River’s albums.

No Blood Yet…

There’s nothing worse that I hate than flying during the holidays.

I was out the door at 4:30am. The first flight, NYC to Washington D.C., was delayed, but I didn’t notice too much since I was zombified. The second flight, Wahington D.C. to motherfucking ATLANTA, had two of the sauciest little sky queens I have ever seen. The two Mary’s took turns servicing me with headphones and keeping me stocked up with bloody mary’s. I decided against the pot cookies because I didn’t want to be tired upon arrival. I wanted to be drunk.

The Atlanta airport was a brand new experience for me. What a pit-hole – crowded trams, switched gates, broken escalators, duty free kiosks, and an overwhelming amount of nicely dressed Mexicans drinking Starbucks. My flight had a “change of equipment” and had to have their “seating charts re-arranged”. I knew this meant there could be a danger of having to fight for my aisle seat. Sure enough, when I presented my boarding pass, which said I had an aisle seat, the computer re-issued me a ticket for a middle seat.

In times like these, I have to rely on my powers of improvisation.

ME: I need to mention that I have severe claustrophobia and I cannot sit in the middle seat on a plane. How can we fix my seating assignment?
THEM: There are no more seats.
ME: I had booked an aisle seat five months ago due to my condition.
THEM: Ask someone to switch with you.
ME: And if that doesn’t work?
THEM: Talk to the flight attendant on duty.

The first flight attendant I saw on the plane was a 46 year old-ish, chemically treated blonde. By sight, I could tell that her favorite hobbies included voting Republican and applying eyeliner. I went through the whole routine with her. She sighed and, in a well polished, fake caring tone, she said, “I’m surprised you fly at all!” Bitch! Kudos for sounding like your being professional and interested in my well being, but actually cutting me down. I hate you, but congratulations. She recommended that I speak to Marny, “the large woman with a big personality” who is “taking care of the guests who are seated where you will be sitting.” Wow, a casual mention of how I will be sitting there – a decent attempt at a Jedi mind trick. Bitch was gooood!

I met Marny and put on another consistently brilliant performance, making sure it seemed I was trying to be discreet about my “medically diagnosed claustrophobia” while I was just loud enough so everyone could hear me. The only only seat open was a window next to a 6 year-old boy and his rigid looking mother. Marny asked her to slide over. Miss Rigid had the nerve to say SHE had claustrophobia! She said if she sat by the window, the ceiling “would be too close” and make her feel “closed in”.

ME: I am a foot taller than you and weigh 300 pounds. You think it’s going to be less severely claustrophobic for me?
HER: I just can’t physically do it.
ME: I just can’t physically or emotionally do it.
HER: I can have my son move over to the window seat. You can have the middle.
ME: The middle seat definitely won’t work.
HER: Well, I don’t know what to tell you.
ME: I know what to tell YOU!
MARNY: Do you think you can handle the window seat?
ME: I can try. I just took my paxil, so maybe it will be OK. I hope this compromise works…. it didn’t last time I tried.

I then made a big deal about squeezing by the mother and son. I expanded my body to seem fatter and purposely bumped my elbows and forehead all over the place. Once seated, I made a big show of unzipping my jacket and taking it off. After struggling with the seatbelt and breathing irregularly, I felt satisfied that I made a valiant effort to reclaim my aisle seat. I hadn’t sat next to the window in forever, and with the small size of the kid, I actually had plenty of room.

A young hippie couple seated in front of me smiled and offered me a Valium. They were my new best friends! The had a little hippie baby whose name was Parker and we chatted about out favorite flavor of cocktails (they are whiskey fans, I am a rum guy). They were delightful and cared about my unfair predicament… not enough to give me their aisle seat of course. But hey, free prescription meds!

Ms. Rigid was eagerly looking out the window as we prepared for take off. I closed the shutter on the window, blocking her view, and started watching season two of ‘Weeds’ on my ipod. If she was in charge of the aisle in the aisle seat, I am in charge of the windows in the window seat. She was bugged and didn’t speak to me the rest of the flight. Marny made a big tah-do on checking on me and gave me free booze the rest of the flight. She was a stern but gentle-hearted southerner. We chatted by the restroom while I took a stretch break. We talked about reality TV, airplane technology and the cunt with the sparkly attitude I encountered when I first started my plea for an aisle seat.

ME: She wasn’t too helpful.
MARNY: I bet. She’s new with this crew.
ME: She told me to speak to Marny, the large lady with a big personality.
MARNY: Oh did she?
ME: Yeah, I mean, you’re tall, but I wouldn’t use the word ‘large’.
MARNY: Very interesting.
ME: And your personality is aces to me. Thanks for helping me.
MARNY: You’re welcome. Another rum and coke?

I hope I laid the foundation for a bitch fight on board the next flight between the two of them. That red state, aging beauty queen needs to have her teeth knocked in a little bit and I think Marny was just the lady to do it.

Anyway, I made it to The OC and went to my friend’s restaurant and drank a bunch. I spent the evening with some buddies from my old theatre company and two fo my best friends in The OC, Keith and Justin. So far, not too bad of a trip. No blood. No police. No crying.

Right On Target!

When I discovered that Target was sold out of my favorite flavor of Crystal Light (Raspberry Ice), I cried. Literally. I thought perhaps it was a ghost pain from ex-friend-crush-person, but after peeling back the layers of my tears in the soft drink aisle and examining deeper, I am not convinced that was the sole reason. I really had my hopes set on enjoying that particular beverage!

I always am able to cheer myself up at The Worst Target In The Universe by going to their men’s department and finding a shirt that surprisingly fits me. This time, I thought I found great pajamas! Dr. Pepper t-shirt with flannel Dr. Pepper drawstring pants. I wasn’t sure if they would fit me by looking at them, so I took them to the ladies department where the only functional dressing room was located. I asked the fat, black lady behind the counter for a room. She told me, without looking up from her issue of Ebony Magazine, that I wasn’t allowed to use the dressing room on account that it was the women’s dressing room.

“Where’s the men’s room?”
“Upstairs.”
“They sent me down here because that one wasn’t working.”
“Well, they were wrong.”
“If that one is broken and I am can’t use this one, how do I try these on?”
“You can’t.”
“That is the silliest thing I have ever heard.”
“I’ll be here all night.”

Just then, an Angel of the Lord was sent from above and shielded this dumb, lazy bitch against my daggers of faggy wit. She just about got punched. Not missing the fact that this would indeed hilarious after the fact, I couldn’t help but be overcome with rage. I was about to spit in her face, but then something amazing caught my eye – a body pillow! They had all different designs of covers too! I put my hateful energy into deciding what color to purchase.

Two motherly Jewish women and their 17 children swarmed the body pillows. I heard one of them say something in Yiddish (or something) which I am confidant translated into “Body Pillows for everyone!” The kids went aggressively insane, grabbing at all of the body pillows. One of them got a ketchup stain on a pillow, maybe it was blood, I couldn’t be sure. I reached over there obnoxious little heads and grabbed a pillow. All I needed was the cover of my dreams! Well, the moms already had the market cornered on that one, having taken the last of the design I wanted. Motherfucking bitches. It’s the seventh night of Hanukkah for christsakes, shouldn’t you be somewhere NOT AT TARGET!!??!?!?!?? And why do I have the same taste in body pillow covers as you do!!??!!??!?!?! Fuck!

After dusting myself off and convincing myself that second best is actually best (I’m familiar with this concept all too well), I decided what I really needed was a new DVD player and a bag of Cheddar Baked Lays. Pink DVD players were on sale for 40 bucks. Sold! Cheddar Baked Lays we on sale for 2 bucks. Sold! I felt the happiness wash over me. I opened the bag of chips and ate a few handfuls of lower fat, crunchy goodness. Two minutes later, while I was letting myself get lost in the shampoo department, a security guard approached me. I was too engrossed in selecting which type of Head & Shoulders I wished to buy that I couldn’t be bothered to look up at him.

“Did you pay for that?”
“Not yet.”
“You know, that’s stealing.”
“No it’s not. I’ll pay for it.”
“You have to pay for it before you eat it.”
“I don’t have to. See, I’m eating it.”
“Oh, you’re a comedian.”
“I’ll be here all night.”

I went home with my fake boyfriend, ate my chips, slipped into my new pajamas that ended up fitting perfectly, and unpacked my cute, little, pink DVD player and curled up on the couch. Everything was perfect except that I was drinking stupid lemonade instead of raspberry ice Crystal Light.

Fill My Holes!

Our heat has not been on all season as of yet. I go to sleep shivering and wake up dead. Layered in thermals, sweatpants, socks, long sleeved t-shirt and a hooded sweater, I am still at the edge of certain doom. Luckily, this past Sunday, our landlord sent Tracy, The Heater Guy, to “fix” the heat.

After several hours of clanging and banging on Sunday morning, the heat finally was brought to life. It was so alive that one of the radiators in my room started hissing and smoking! Tracy, a jovial black guy, came in to assess the situation. He got on his hands and knees in my room – smoke and steam hissing uncontrollably. His cell phone rang. He answered it before continuing to work on the radiator. His happy demeanor vanished….

“Tracy…shit, what the hell do you want?…no, damn it….I told you no, motherfucker!…Look, I am at a persons house right now and i can’t talk to you about this shitty bullshit!….I turned around and you were gone, motherfucker!…Your bag was gone, how do I know?….I can’t talk to you anymore, I got people to service and you are hindering me from my goddamn business…..got it?…no, fuck you!….Fuck you!….OK, I’ll be home later….Peace.”

To turn the radiator off, he had to find a valve. It appeared that the valve was linked to the hose to the radiator. Unfortunately, it also appeared that the hose ran into and behind the wall. In a flash, Tracy punched three holes into my wall.

Dear Pests and Rodents of the Brooklyn Area,

Greetings! I hope this letter finds you happy and well! My name is Jeffrey Marx and I live on 947 Bedford Avenue in Brooklyn. With the holiday season approaching, I know not every rodent or pest has a warm home. I would like to invite you into my room. I have three easily accessible entries in the southeast corner of my adorable room.

I know that the city is hard on a rodent or pest, but I pride my room in being able to provide comfort and warmth this time of year. There will always be room in my room! You can find space in my shoes, my work pants from the day before, or even in my CD storage bin. Please call 917-645-8018 for reservations. Hell, nevermind – the door is always open! Just crawl on in!

Love,
Jeffrey Marx

As you can see, I have three different sized holes. Poppa Hole, Mamma Hole, and Baby Hole! Now you can fit all sort of things in my room! A baby mouse, a giant sewer rat, or even a zombie baby!

Ram Dass

Sooo, I signed up for a one on one phone call with Ram Dass. His energy was intensely calm and bright – even through the webcam! I entered the phone call pretty much a blank slate as to what to expect. I read his book Be. Here. Now. awhile ago and have been a semi-regular on his website for a month or two. Upon my friend, Craig’s, suggestion, I booked a “Heart 2 Heart” conversation.

The first 6 minutes were your basic questions – “Where are you calling from?”, “How long have you lived there?”, “What has your spiritual journey been like?” Wow, just cut to the chase, Ram Dass! A flurry of topics were discussed – my involvement in Re-Creation Summer Camp, Catholic High School, and the soul awakening car crash from two years ago. He asked me about love in my life. I explained that only twice in my life have I ever had feelings of overwhelming love for another person, to the point where I thought there could be a deeper relationship. I told him about my wonderful group of friends and how their love is so great. Lastly, I let him in on the love that is shared at summer camp. He simply replied, “You have so much love to give, why not give some to yourself?” That struck me.

He went on to say how he can love a tree and become the tree.

He spoke of everyone being connected to everyone and everything, how looking outside yourself for love can delay happiness, and how everyone is loving awareness. I commented on how that concept sounds warm and easy enough, but is so hard to maintain. “Getting lost in our own human thoughts and desires feeds the ego and keeps us from true and harmonious love” was his response. We talked about how being human is so complex. I told him about a quote I made up – “Being human is a science experiment for angels” – and he flipped! He loved it! He told me how right I was and asked if he could use that quote. I said, “sure”!

He said something about swimming in a pool of love. My mind wandered for a moment and recalled that I needed to go grocery shopping and forgive my dad soon.

We wrapped up the convo and he ended with saying “I am loving awareness” several times. I got the sense that I was supposed to either repeat after him or breakdown, like Matt Damon to Robin Williams in ‘Good Will Hunting‘. I was moved to repeat the mantra at one point and felt a small push of love on myself from within. It was a good feeling. He bowed a little and said, “namaste” and we waved goodbye.

Then, I dropped another hit of acid.