I have discovered a magic coffee shop. It’s about seven miles from my house, so I don’t go there as often as I wished I could. This morning I walked in and immediately noticed there was a bright woman with a medium sized dog. Bright woman had some sort of scrubbed face thing going, it’s a chemical peal or organic fire wash or some other new fangled facial demolition thing that women have been told they need after a certain age.
I stared for a second and got in line for a coffee. A sad man was seated alone and our eyes met and we nodded to one another. I am not a sad man and maybe he spotted the hope that seems to emanate from every pore of my body. I am an eternal optimist, even on bad days, and this was most certainly not a bad day. I nodded again, broke the stare and smiled, turned toward the coffee shops blackboard and pretended to read the varieties of coffee, but I already knew what I wanted.
It’s a slow evolution when you are seeking some sort of peace and truth, even when slowly marching to just order coffee. I made it to the front, ordered a medium drip, added some half and half and sat across from the sad man. His hand laid across the table and I sat my coffee down near it and with my warm free hand I reached out and held his pale hand. He pulled back in an instant, but I held and he quickly gave up.
He looked at me. “What do you want?” I said I wanted nothing, that he looked sad. “No one just looks sad.”
I just stared at him, a big puppy dog, a sad puppy dog stare and he smiled. “OK, but I don’t think I’m sad. Maybe I was just thinking.”
“Were you thinking sad thoughts?” I let go of his hand.
“No. You let go of my hand.”
“I did.”
“Why.”
“I wanted to see if it would make you sad again.” I reached out and held his hand and said nothing, picked up my coffee with my free hand and took a sip. He smiled.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Scary headlines
John McCain: Obama Playing Politics With Anniversary Of Bin Laden’s Death – GOP Reluctantly Taking Cues From Romney – Mitt Romney Tells Otterbein University Students To Borrow Money From Their Parents – House Passes Student Loan Bill That Cuts Women’s Health Program – Newspaper Scolds Readers For Caring Too Much About Burritos…
Friday, April 27, 2012
Marta, the Snickers is gone
This woman I’ve been dating, Marta. Jesus, I don’t even remember how we met. I think it was in a casino. I was shit faced drunk, playing poker and I don’t even know how to play poker, but I’m damn good at it, especially the drunker I get. Marta was sitting next to me, amazed at my winnings and she was maybe as drunk as I was and at some point she said some witty shit like, “a guy like you ain’t married?” and I said, “no woman will have me.”
That was it.
A couple weeks later I found out she was crazy as hell, self medicating on pharmaceuticals she was legally getting from a gay Jew doctor named Klein. He said she was skitzo, but to me, she was just fucked up on the drugs he was giving her. Anyway, I rode over to her house on my bike a few weeks after we met, we had planned to go to dinner, but because I rode my bike up to her front door, she did not hear me arrive, so I opened the unlocked front door and she had a lighter under some aluminum foil and was burning a pill and inhaling the smoke. Smoking some pill. That’s what she was doing, trying to get high.
“What’re you doing?”
“Tryin’ to get high, smoking a pill, ya’ dumbass,” she said.
That was enough to make me start thinking Marta might not be the type of broad I really should be hanging out with. Then, about a month ago, we go out to dinner, me Marta and the doctor Klein and his gay boyfriend, some skinny spic named Johnny. Johnny is all skin and bones and sick looking and at some point while we are waiting for the fajitas in the shittiest Mexican restaurant I’d ever been in, Johnny gets up to use the little boys room and a minute later, Marta has to use to little boys room too, only she says, little girls room, but Johnny has the blurry eyed look like he doesn’t spend a lot of time pissing when he uses the little boys rooms, so I know what’s up.
So when they are both gone, I lean over to gay doctor Klein and I say, what the fuck? He is all fat and shit and he looks at me and says, “what?”
“Those two, they ain’t pissing, they go there to do drugs.”
“So?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s boring waiting for fajitas.”
He was right and all, but there was a moral point to be made, but the fajitas arrived and I was hungry. I did realize later, after we crashed Kleins car into a Blow and Go Donut Shop window that hanging out with Marta had to end.
A few weeks later Marta was in her living room lighting a fire under another piece of aluminum foil and I was in her bedroom, looking at the squalor, food products, skanky clothing, dirty underwear, one pair in the corner being chewed by an obese mouse and I thought to myself “how did I get here?” and I answered that in my head, a bike. That’s when I realized that I could put my shoes on, grab my bike bag and slip out the back door and be done with all this bullshit. Before leaving I needed to steal something, because that is my twisted little kink, I always steal something from my ending relationship, so I looked around. On the dresser, an unopened Snickers bar, I grabbed it, put it in my bike bag and opened the back screen door, which had one of those squeaky springs on it, so I slowly pushed it so it would not get the attention of the Marta, who was still busy burning her pill into smoke form. Soon enough I was on my bike, in the gravel of her driveway and that must of got her moving, because she was pushing open the back screen door, then running out of it, onto the gravel and chasing after me, throwing bottles of various unused pharmaceuticals. I started to pedal as fast as I could while these bottles were starting to land near me, one hit my bag but slid off, and as I distanced myself, I could hear Marta’s last words, “bring back my fuckin’ Snicker’s you douche bag.”
That was it.
A couple weeks later I found out she was crazy as hell, self medicating on pharmaceuticals she was legally getting from a gay Jew doctor named Klein. He said she was skitzo, but to me, she was just fucked up on the drugs he was giving her. Anyway, I rode over to her house on my bike a few weeks after we met, we had planned to go to dinner, but because I rode my bike up to her front door, she did not hear me arrive, so I opened the unlocked front door and she had a lighter under some aluminum foil and was burning a pill and inhaling the smoke. Smoking some pill. That’s what she was doing, trying to get high.
“What’re you doing?”
“Tryin’ to get high, smoking a pill, ya’ dumbass,” she said.
That was enough to make me start thinking Marta might not be the type of broad I really should be hanging out with. Then, about a month ago, we go out to dinner, me Marta and the doctor Klein and his gay boyfriend, some skinny spic named Johnny. Johnny is all skin and bones and sick looking and at some point while we are waiting for the fajitas in the shittiest Mexican restaurant I’d ever been in, Johnny gets up to use the little boys room and a minute later, Marta has to use to little boys room too, only she says, little girls room, but Johnny has the blurry eyed look like he doesn’t spend a lot of time pissing when he uses the little boys rooms, so I know what’s up.
So when they are both gone, I lean over to gay doctor Klein and I say, what the fuck? He is all fat and shit and he looks at me and says, “what?”
“Those two, they ain’t pissing, they go there to do drugs.”
“So?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s boring waiting for fajitas.”
He was right and all, but there was a moral point to be made, but the fajitas arrived and I was hungry. I did realize later, after we crashed Kleins car into a Blow and Go Donut Shop window that hanging out with Marta had to end.
A few weeks later Marta was in her living room lighting a fire under another piece of aluminum foil and I was in her bedroom, looking at the squalor, food products, skanky clothing, dirty underwear, one pair in the corner being chewed by an obese mouse and I thought to myself “how did I get here?” and I answered that in my head, a bike. That’s when I realized that I could put my shoes on, grab my bike bag and slip out the back door and be done with all this bullshit. Before leaving I needed to steal something, because that is my twisted little kink, I always steal something from my ending relationship, so I looked around. On the dresser, an unopened Snickers bar, I grabbed it, put it in my bike bag and opened the back screen door, which had one of those squeaky springs on it, so I slowly pushed it so it would not get the attention of the Marta, who was still busy burning her pill into smoke form. Soon enough I was on my bike, in the gravel of her driveway and that must of got her moving, because she was pushing open the back screen door, then running out of it, onto the gravel and chasing after me, throwing bottles of various unused pharmaceuticals. I started to pedal as fast as I could while these bottles were starting to land near me, one hit my bag but slid off, and as I distanced myself, I could hear Marta’s last words, “bring back my fuckin’ Snicker’s you douche bag.”
Monday, April 23, 2012
Gay fish
We have one of those fish that eats other fish, I am not sure what the official name is, I believe it is something like Chewbacha, but I may be wrong. I get confused a lot lately because I accidentally watched a Tom Cruise movie recently and now I want to kill myself.
The point being, this Chewbacha fish is a natural killer and for years we have motored up to our local pet store and purchased ten to fifteen perfectly healthy goldfish and one by one we would offer it up to the Chewbacha fish in a morning ritual that was both sadistic and entertaining. The ever growing Chewbacha fish would pretend to not be interested at first, for about a second, allowing the neurotic and distant goldfish to at once realize it was in a much larger home and also a pretty nice place and then, without warning or provocation, it would be eaten.
Just like that.
This went on daily for the better part of 3 years. The Chewbacha fish, again, I am not clear on that being its official, you know, biological name, has grown from fairly meaningless kind of small awkward killer, to a more sublime, rather larger and dominating presence in my daughters bedroom. Of course, this would be the daughter who has moved thousands of miles away for fear of her very life from the now completely threatening Chewbacha fish, leaving me, a self proclaimed sissy to feed and care for this grumpy bully.
Which has made the giant Chewbacha fishes recent change all the more dramatic. In the last month or so, I have introduced not one and not 10, but maybe 7 medium sized gold fish into the deadly Chewbacha fish’s aquarium. He has befriended most of them, one committed suicide once it realized it was in an aquarium with a giant gold fish eating Chewbacha fish and another seemed to die from either early onset Alzheimers or just plain stupidity because he drowned.
Anyway, the dreaded Chewbacha fish is now shockingly an avowed vegetarian. I know, who would have seen that coming, right?
So, here is my dilemma. I have never really much enjoyed the Giant and deadly exploits of the Chewbacha fish, although watching it slither up behind a completely compliant goldfish, open its wildly flexible mouth and engulf it in one quick gulp is always fun, since the Chewbacha has stopped doing that, he is boring. Although, to be honest, he is not half as boring as the goldfish. I don’t want to insult anyone, but goldfish are gay. There, I said it.
So, if the giant Chewbacha does not soon leave vegetarianism behind and go one some sort of cannibalistic rampage, or the idiotic gay goldfish can’t find it amongst themselves to put together a plan to both capture, kill and eat the giant Chewbacha fish in a very entertaining manner, I am going to have to find a way to get rid of all of these fish myself.
I guess that’s my true dilemma. Then again, Sushi is not a complicated meal.
The point being, this Chewbacha fish is a natural killer and for years we have motored up to our local pet store and purchased ten to fifteen perfectly healthy goldfish and one by one we would offer it up to the Chewbacha fish in a morning ritual that was both sadistic and entertaining. The ever growing Chewbacha fish would pretend to not be interested at first, for about a second, allowing the neurotic and distant goldfish to at once realize it was in a much larger home and also a pretty nice place and then, without warning or provocation, it would be eaten.
Just like that.
This went on daily for the better part of 3 years. The Chewbacha fish, again, I am not clear on that being its official, you know, biological name, has grown from fairly meaningless kind of small awkward killer, to a more sublime, rather larger and dominating presence in my daughters bedroom. Of course, this would be the daughter who has moved thousands of miles away for fear of her very life from the now completely threatening Chewbacha fish, leaving me, a self proclaimed sissy to feed and care for this grumpy bully.
Which has made the giant Chewbacha fishes recent change all the more dramatic. In the last month or so, I have introduced not one and not 10, but maybe 7 medium sized gold fish into the deadly Chewbacha fish’s aquarium. He has befriended most of them, one committed suicide once it realized it was in an aquarium with a giant gold fish eating Chewbacha fish and another seemed to die from either early onset Alzheimers or just plain stupidity because he drowned.
Anyway, the dreaded Chewbacha fish is now shockingly an avowed vegetarian. I know, who would have seen that coming, right?
So, here is my dilemma. I have never really much enjoyed the Giant and deadly exploits of the Chewbacha fish, although watching it slither up behind a completely compliant goldfish, open its wildly flexible mouth and engulf it in one quick gulp is always fun, since the Chewbacha has stopped doing that, he is boring. Although, to be honest, he is not half as boring as the goldfish. I don’t want to insult anyone, but goldfish are gay. There, I said it.
So, if the giant Chewbacha does not soon leave vegetarianism behind and go one some sort of cannibalistic rampage, or the idiotic gay goldfish can’t find it amongst themselves to put together a plan to both capture, kill and eat the giant Chewbacha fish in a very entertaining manner, I am going to have to find a way to get rid of all of these fish myself.
I guess that’s my true dilemma. Then again, Sushi is not a complicated meal.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Sticker in Italy
You could/should be part of the world wide sticking fun-fest, but of course, that would require clicking here and then actually ordering some free stickers, stickering them around your city, town or prison cell and then waiting and waiting and waiting all in the hopes of winning a life changing iPad or a date with world super model and lesbian Beth Libitard, I know, that's a new one. It's all true, some lucky schmuck will with a night in heaven, or at least a flea dip, with Harvard educated lawyer and all around bitch Beth Libitard, she of The Tails of Beth Libitard, which according to Fox News is a book.
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