Friday, October 31, 2008


Yesterday was my birthday. We ended up going out to dinner after all at one of my favorite spots, Noodle Pudding. there were 8 of us in all and we had a great time. I am nursing a bit of a hangover today resulting from the mandatory 19 bottles of birthday dinner wine. But...

Today is Halloween.

Or as I like to call it "everyone gets drunk and chicks dress up really slutty" night.

I love this night. A whole night where women dress up as slutty everythings - slutty nurses, slutty teachers, slutty ghostbusters (yes, I've seen it), whatever - well that just rules. Which leads me to point out something I feel obligated to address that bothers me to no end.

Why on earth does it happen every year that, around this time, when girls are getting geared up to get dressed up even sluttier than normal and go out and actually act slutty, people start asking, "how come all the girls dress up so slutty every year? What's that about?"

Dude, what in the Fucking Christ is wrong with you people? Why in the name of all that is holy would you want to send some girl, who is planning to show me her tatas all night, questioning why she would do such a thing? I mean, what if when you ask, she starts to think about it? (we all know how dangerous women who think can be) And what if, god forbid, she thinks about it hard enough to decide she doesn't want to dress up slutty because the urge to dress slutty is only really about an issue with her low self-esteem related to her childhood issues with her dad and also that one time in college with that one guy and that maybe now she doesn't even think she wants to come home with me and listen to Air Supply or Lionel Richie (seriously baby, I have scented candles too) after the Halloween party?


Why would you do that?

Can't you leave well enough alone and just go with it?

We are talking about potentially seeing boobies and short skirts here. Those things are good. There is a (slutty) balance in the force. Do not upset this balance or you will suffer the furious wrath of my ninja fists to your neck. You've been warned. Enough with the questions.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Is my bathroom on planet Jewpiter or something?

The bathroom in my office is shared by the whole floor. As I was leaving a minute ago, I opened the door and standing right in front of the door - not in the hallway near the door, but right in front of the freaking door, like less than a foot from the doorway - was a whole family of Orthodox Jews facing me. I mean yamikas, curly sideburns and all. Jewbacca beard with his wife and kids... the whole dang tribe.

Just standing in front of the door.

Nobody was reaching for the knob, nobody tried to walk in when I opened the door, they clearly weren't waiting to go in (which would've been weird too, a wife and daughter heading into a filthy men's room). They were just standing there looking at me like I did something (which I did, it was gross but made me feel better thank you very much). I didn't know how to react, so I kind of flinched.


I don't want you to think I have anything against the Jews. I am, in fact, one of the chosen ones myself (so maybe I do...). But I just thought the whole scene was so odd. 

Monday, October 27, 2008

Birthday Asshole

My birthday is this Thursday (I know, I know, I'm excited too). I was planning to have some friends join me for dinner at one my favorite restaurants in the city. Most of the friends I invited bailed for one reason or another, which is lame, but I understand that some people have to work late or have things they can't miss and that some people are strapped for cash (apparently there is some issue with the economy or something. Fucking cheapskates). But in our group of friends we do that for birthdays. We all go out to eat somewhere nice. Not extremely fancy or crazy expensive, but somewhere fun and with good food. Today, after having almost none of the people I invited by email over a week ago respond, I wrote to the non-responders and they all said they couldn't make it. No one wrote back to say that they couldn't make it when the initial email went out a week ago though.

Today I was texting with one of my close friends about my plans for my birthday and about how we haven't seen one another in a couple of weeks. I told her I had been having a rough go at life lately, and have been kind of down in general (probably more on this at some point, long story). Then I jokingly ended one text by saying that everyone bailed on dinner (including her). She suggested I host a pot luck dinner at my apartment for the night. She wrote, "why don't we potluck at your place. I'm off all day Thursday, I'll prep your place and have it ready for when you get home... It's easy for everyone to meet and there is no financial pressure."

Actually not a bad idea. Which is what I wrote back and said I would get back and let her know what was going on.

And I'll be the first one to say that it was nice of her to offer to prep my place for it. I appreciate that for sure. But I have had an expectation of what I want to do that night for a few weeks - where I want to go and who I want to be there with me to celebrate.

Then I got this text back:

"And how do you say no to a potluck, that just makes you an asshole"


Um, first of all, I didn't say no, I said it wasn't a bad idea. As in, that's a good idea. A fine job of idea-ing you've done there. And while the thought of cleaning my apartment before and after I have a bunch of people over sounds great and all, I honestly just didn't feel like planning a pot luck on a Monday night after a really long and very busy day at work. I didn't feel like putting effort into writing another email to all the people who never responded to the first one and see if they wanted to come to a pot luck. I needed to think about it. I needed to think about whether or not for my birthday I was willing to change what I have been expecting to do and looking forward to doing. Yes, I would rather see more of my friends that night. But a lot of people said they couldn't make it because of work or other unmissable miscellanea - she was actually the only one to say she was too poor to make it to dinner. I understand being too poor to make it to a dinner that might end up costing more money than you can afford to spend. I have been there. Fine, I get it, come have a drink afterwards then.

I really want to have dinner out somewhere. I haven't been out to eat at a nice place for a while and it's my fucking birthday. So what if I want to go out to eat and NOT sit in my apartment?

Second of all, now I'm an asshole?

Hey, thanks a lot for calling me an asshole right after I got done telling you I've had really rough couple of months. Thanks for letting me know that because you're broke and I have had an idea of what I want to do on my birthday for quite a while, that when I don't jump on the pot luck idea right away I'm an "asshole."


Thanks for making me feel better. Really, thanks for that one. On the day when all my close friends (pretty much, but not everyone) decide it's not worth it to go out to eat for my birthday, I find out that I'm an asshole for not doing what you want to do that night. You're really sweet, thanks.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

A little update

Okay, so I made it outside today for a bit. I took Macy (the dog I'm watching this weekend) to the dog run in Washington Square Park for about a half hour or so. In combination with the walk around the village on the way to the park, I was out for nearly an hour today in between the first and second football games. So I guess I'm working with the weather this weekend. And seriously, it is a BEAUTIFUL October day here.

Also, hey Brett Favre could you throw ANOTHER interception today? I mean, the Chiefs had three picks all year coming into the game today in NY. They picked off Favre three times today. I realize the Jets won the game, but three picks against one of the worst defenses in the league? Really? Two of them looked like they were thrown to Chiefs players intentionally. Ugly, ugly stuff.

And just so we're clear - I am not a Jets fan. I am a Vikings fan, but the Jets were on TV today and it actually was a close game.

This may be a good opportunity to explain a little bit about myself and tell you about how I'm from Minnesota, and the path I took from there to here. But there is still football on, so I'll post more about me later on when I can do justice to the incredible story that is my life. I know, I know, the anticipation must be killing you (and by you, I mean no one, since no one reads this... yet). Hold your breath and wait for it.

Weekend Weather

I have a pretty busy week coming up at work. I really want to enjoy the weekend, to savor it, to genuinely feel like I got the most out of it when I get back to work on Monday, you know? Not just this weekend, but weekends in general. Ideally, I would like one day to veg out, and do nothing but sleep, watch sports and be disgustingly, embarrassingly lazy (like I have to try...)while I get less intelligent and more fat. The other day I would like to get out and do something to make me feel like I am actually "enjoying" the weekend, since apparently doing nothing makes me feel like I didn't enjoy it. Stupid socialization.

Sunday is clearly the best day for laying around and soaking in all the extra calories along with the laziness and sports; obviously because of football, which I don't much like to miss anymore. This leaves Saturday as the day for getting out and doing something outside, or at least getting out of the house in some capacity.

This weekend the weather is just not cooperating.

Yesterday (Saturday) it was so nasty outside that the dog I am babysitting (dogsitting?) this weekend didn't even want to go for a walk (actually we went outside for a walk and the look she gave me as soon as we hit the pavement was hilarious. She may as well have said in English, "Um, are you fucking kidding me? I am not hanging out out here in this weather. Get real dude."). It was ultra-windy and wet; it was raining so hard I had to change clothes and dry my shoes out after making it only to the corner and back. Just like the time I wet my pants on the ski lift. Or the time I wet my pants after I had passed out sitting up on my couch with a beer in my hand... A few months ago. And the time I wet my pants at my college graduation. On stage. I made that one up.

Today, Sunday, is beautiful though. It's about 65 degrees and sunny, no wind to speak of and all around just a wonderfully nice fall day in NYC. But there is football on TV today - good football too (I mean Giants vs Steelers, Indy vs Tennessee, Arizona vs Carolina, SD vs NO. C'mon!). Now, all day yesterday there were really only a few college football games on that I was particularly interested in watching, except for the Ohio State/Penn State game which, along with the World Series, didn't even start until relatively late. So all day I was stuck inside and bored off my ass with really no sports to watch (although the Golden Gophers did beat Purdue yesterday morning!) or anything to do all by my lonesome, since I don't actually have any friends. And going outside wasn't even an option.

All I ask is for the forces that be to correct this weather issue in the future, so that if it is going to be really nice one day and so shitty as to keep me prisoner inside on the other day, that the nice day be Saturday and the shitty day be Sunday. That way I can get out and enjoy the day on Saturday and sit inside watching TV all day Sunday without feeling guilty and without missing any football. Is that too much to ask?

Actually, yes, it is. I know. But let me kvetch about it this one time, okay?

Saturday, October 25, 2008


My blog was recently locked because it was flagged as a potential spam blog. Now, I really dislike spam and I understand the need for real person to filter out spam from the world in general (and actually I rather appreciate that they have a real person, so they say, going over it to help filter the spam thereby lessening the amount of spam out there) but what does it say about how I write, or what I wrote, that it got noticed and flagged as spam?

Is it possible that I am as ubiquitously generic and frightening as actual SPAM?

(Did you follow that link? How creepy is their website?)

Other people are afraid of that stuff right? I've personally never been able to bring myself to try it - and I will try just about anything. There is something about that gelatinous, fleshy colored, gooey, semi-meat product that makes me afraid. Not disgusted. Not grossed out. Afraid. I'm scared of it.


Back to the spam, spam though. Like I wrote before, part of the point of this blog jammy is to find (or to develop) a better writing style. But damn dude, I am off to a pretty rough start when a website flags my only post as seemingly generated by a robot. I have to assume that in order to filter those spam blogs out of the system they have a program or something that scans the new blogs and looks for the most common patterns of spammers or writings generated by either scammers, spammers or computers. And, um, yeah mine got noticed in that filtering program right out of the starting gate. How generic is the shit I wrote? I mean, really? I officially got my mellow harshed.

(On the bright side, I guess it can only get better from here)

Oh, and not that anybody reads this (except for me and maybe the person who has to review this and determine if it's spam or real. Hi there!), but today is my brother's birthday. Happy birthday Sam.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

The First One...

So, I’ve decided to start a blog. I am doing it for a few reasons. First, I think it’ll help me to sort out and organize my incredibly disconnected thoughts, ideas and nonsensical ramblings inside my own head. It’ll help me to develop a better writing style (I hope). Since I like to write, this could prove useful in some career capacity (doubtful). Also, when you learn how to read and write at age 27, you any way to practice is good. But most useful could be the chronological log of these writings for the eventual use in my criminal trial and or committal to an asylum or some sort of institution.

You should know that I am unorganized, immature, and incredibly indecisive. And I love you.