So…I’m chatting it up with one of my New York bestests and top five, my “bunny,” as I love to call her, about a conversation she overheard two guys having the previous night. Something along the lines of how in every crew of girls on a night out there is an anchor among them; the one who is probably packing 150 plus and wearing something she shouldn’t be, the one who no amounts of make-up can salvage, the one with insecurities and low self-esteem that tries to bring the group down and cock-blocks at any chance of an incoming male threatening to swoon away one of the flock…that isn’t herself. My bunny’s interpretation of the term, I quote, “A Broad-Back Brute.”
Ironically that same night I had an old, lost-touch-with-over-the-years-but-now-you-live-in-NY-lets-reconnect
can-I-visit-you-and make-you-baby-sit-me friend coming into town to stay with me for two nights. The kind of stingy ass girl from the woods who still tries to pass off glitter as makeup and thinks wearing a black t-shirt, army green cargo Capri pants, a neon green headband and platform flip-flops is dressing up for a New York club night. The girl who expects you to show her around and makes no plans of her own; she has no inkling to try and look presentable on a night out, yet expects you to manage getting her, her two out-of-town friends and their boyfriends into nightclubs all night because they want to go dancing! Needy leeches off your time; regardless of anything else you might have planned and talks to no one when I introduce her to my NY friends. Needy tries to make you feel guilty and brings down the group when you suggest things to do, because she doesn’t want to pay for liquor!
Now I’m usually pretty nice and try to work out these situations as sweetly as possible, but I realize there is no way I am getting Needy into a club, there is no way Needy will want to spend money on anything and you know…there is a time when a girl reaches her breaking point and That Girl comes out of me.
Needy…Get your self-in, buy your own drinks, or go sit on the pier with the other bums sipping a cheap-ass can of PBR that you might be able to afford! Who comes to NY on vacation with no money to spend!! Buy some heels!! Do your hair!! Whale back, broad back...Anchor!!
Maybe those boys had a point.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
My Cat Shits Boo
So…I’m kind of a cat lady. No, not one of those old hags with a hump, cobweb hair, a crochet addiction and a full mantle display of dusty kitten china plates, who smells of stale urine and hobbles around a mess of seventeen cats, only eventually to get the ASPCA called on her. I’ve still got a few years to go for that status, but I get cats.
Really, I’m down with most fuzzy creatures and enjoy their company, until they become needy, attention whores that need frequent care. Hence, why I enjoy an animal that is self-sustainable, self-entertained, mysterious, kind of weird, gives you love when it feels like it, needs only good food, fresh water and a clean toilet; a laid back, low maintenance animal that behaves…like me.
I have a cat. I found him as a tiny wad of black fluff with a broken tail and spooky eyes, one blue, one green, underneath a car in an AMC movie theatre parking lot four years ago. Tiny, malnourished and covered in fleas, I took him home and named him Boo. It was a week before Halloween; I thought the name suited him.
Flash forward to present day NY and his four year old fat-ass is sprawled across the foot of my bed while I’m typing and he is giving me a look of “what’s your problem?” This is a common look from him. Most days Boo is a strange, normal cat that does normal cat things like shed black fur all over my white clothes, stick his butt in peoples faces, claw my couch into ornate shreds, and make all my friends sick with wonderful allergens, but there are days when his oddities are so hilarious and human-like that I realize I couldn’t miss a day without him, like the day I heard Boo grunting as he pooped.
Now, I have heard and read many funny man stories about public bathrooms with raging man grunts coming from next stall and about men reading the newspaper while dropping the kids off at the pool, but reality for me is, I’m not a grunter and I was under the impression that most females, in general, aren’t. So leaving the ideas of men and their heave-ho poos to be urban legend, I have happily proceeded in my life grunt-free…never to believe my cat would shatter my blissful ignorance completely.
I have a cat. I found him as a tiny wad of black fluff with a broken tail and spooky eyes, one blue, one green, underneath a car in an AMC movie theatre parking lot four years ago. Tiny, malnourished and covered in fleas, I took him home and named him Boo. It was a week before Halloween; I thought the name suited him.
Flash forward to present day NY and his four year old fat-ass is sprawled across the foot of my bed while I’m typing and he is giving me a look of “what’s your problem?” This is a common look from him. Most days Boo is a strange, normal cat that does normal cat things like shed black fur all over my white clothes, stick his butt in peoples faces, claw my couch into ornate shreds, and make all my friends sick with wonderful allergens, but there are days when his oddities are so hilarious and human-like that I realize I couldn’t miss a day without him, like the day I heard Boo grunting as he pooped.
Now, I have heard and read many funny man stories about public bathrooms with raging man grunts coming from next stall and about men reading the newspaper while dropping the kids off at the pool, but reality for me is, I’m not a grunter and I was under the impression that most females, in general, aren’t. So leaving the ideas of men and their heave-ho poos to be urban legend, I have happily proceeded in my life grunt-free…never to believe my cat would shatter my blissful ignorance completely.
Whilst getting ready for work one day in my bathroom, doing girly things, putting on make-up,smelling nice…I heard a faint exhale and then a…”eeeeeeeeehhhhhhhehhhhhh
Now I know the man-grunt myth to be true not only for man, but also for his animal counterpart and since then, I line Boo’s box with newspaper and give him all the privacy he needs. So get down with your bad self Boo…you rock…you and your poo.
1st day off the streets
It's My BOO in a BOX!Monday, June 9, 2008
Please Fuck at a Decent Hour
To my upstairs neighbor and tenant of apartment 3A…please, please I beg you…cease the continual six a.m. sexual escapades that drive your lady friend into an orgasmic frenzy of screaming as if you are killing her every morning! Chances are, she is faking you into a state of bliss that causes you to make this a morning ritual and perform the same act EVERY MORNING!!
Maybe, you could even go one step further and nail your bed into the wall! You must be aware of the fact that below your bedroom another type of living space exists and is inhabited; this space would be where I in fact, sleep and am awoken night after night by the terrifying pleasure screams of your significant lay! Let me tell you, nothing is better than jolting out of a peaceful slumber to the hi-def sounds of you jack hammering your girlfriend’s head and bed frame into the wall! I would like to send her a sympathy helmet to protect her brain from the irreparable damage you are implementing on her skull!
Kudos to you neighbor for your repetitive ability to get your jollies off and attempt at hers…but just so you know my wailing six a.m. wake-up call is less than appreciated and I will be more than happy to return the favor in the near future! Shall we say 4:30 a.m.?
Maybe, you could even go one step further and nail your bed into the wall! You must be aware of the fact that below your bedroom another type of living space exists and is inhabited; this space would be where I in fact, sleep and am awoken night after night by the terrifying pleasure screams of your significant lay! Let me tell you, nothing is better than jolting out of a peaceful slumber to the hi-def sounds of you jack hammering your girlfriend’s head and bed frame into the wall! I would like to send her a sympathy helmet to protect her brain from the irreparable damage you are implementing on her skull!
Kudos to you neighbor for your repetitive ability to get your jollies off and attempt at hers…but just so you know my wailing six a.m. wake-up call is less than appreciated and I will be more than happy to return the favor in the near future! Shall we say 4:30 a.m.?
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