I Don’t Want a Stupid Title

i would call it a paper weight, but it does have that ipod function, so….

maureen and i were just discussing that “missed encounter” section on craigslist and how stupid it is today, or anyway, that was all BEFOFE my ride home on the subway.

so, usually the missed enounter is about some moron who saw a hot girl at Whole Foods buying a loaf of bread, but the problem is he didn’t have the nads to actually talk to her.  he thinks if he posts something on craigslist referencing the encounter, that he’ll have a pretty decent shot of finding this girl.  like, i don’t know, it wouldn’t have made sense to go up and say hello, because the odds are much better she might be cruising CL, and after she’s done looking at the men for men section and has had her fill of amateur weiner shots, that maybe she’ll just “sneak a peek” at the missed enounter sections. 

anyway, this is the post i just put on CL under missed encounters:

this is to you girl on the 2 who stood in front of the seat i was sitting in, your camel toe literally inches from my face.  i don’t know why you think you need to wear your pants hiked that far up your ass, and truly, i wanted to say something to you; intervene in some small way, but somehow, the setting just didn’t seem right.  if you read this, please, email me back and we can possibly meet up; discuss over a cup of tea and a scone, how we can tackle the possibly daunting task of extracting your pants from your ass.  p.s. i don’t know why you think you needed to wear a belt, by the way.  those pants aren’t going anywhere.

yeah, you heard me right. many of you didn’t know i had that sort of skillz.  yeah, you heard the z at the end of that word right.

anywayz (boy, that Z just FEELZ right, ya know?), this is a kinda strange story about my weird friend who is apparently using my identity to string alone his world of warcraft buddies who think he is female (you know who you are).  naturally, when he asked me whether or not this would be cool, i was totally on board.  i don’t know why, except, life doesn’t make sense.  who am i to get into the way of this dynamic?

in other news, i am becoming the character in my book and it is scaring me.  i think this is a chicken or the egg situation, because we are basically the same person i guess, but i thought it was more of a carricature of me, and not just, actually me.  but when i first started writing her, i was way different.  i didn’t ride a commuter’s train to work.  i didn’t go to work hung over almost every day.  i didn’t make prank phone calls.  now i do.  it’s weird.  i mean, i don’t actually make prank phone calls, but i want to. 

i have nothing else to say, except, man, Doritos are breakfast, lunch, AND dinner.

i am finally fed up with the scuff marks in the bathroom and kitchen.  i tried to explain them to sarah on the phone, but she is never sympathetic to my plights because she is a jerk and she sucks.  i don’t care about little scuffs and stuff (okay, my idea of a fun saturday night is attacking the walls with a Mr. Clean Magic eraser.  one day i want to be like danny tanner, forcing her children to clean under the guise of family bonding.  i don’t know why a person would “rotate the closets,” but i want to, damnit).  anyway, to call them scuffs would actually be a gross understatement, they’re more like big footprints all over the place, meaning i mop daily.  so, after two months of bottling it all in i have put a friendly little sign on the bathroom door reading: “scuff marks give a mopper blues, so please remove your black soled shoes…love, the bathroom and kitchen.”  is this bad?  i don’t know, i’ve been trying to bring it up, but the time never seems right.  it’s not like i’m trying to implement a no shoes in the house rule.  though, that would be HEAVEN.

okay, i have to go scrub the bathtub out with bleach now. 

if you have your eye on a new ergonomic chair for the office, don’t use the words “lazy boy” to describe it to HR.  because, in that case, trust me, it ain’t gonna happen.

okay, so laura was on the subway and this guy was creepily hitting on her.  then, he started to have some fight with the conductor guy (do they call them conductors on subways?  anyway….) and he shouted “If we was back in the PENITENTIARY, I’d fuck yo ass!”  (Laura and I both enjoyed that he called it the “penitentiary” for some reason.  i think it brings an element of class to an otherwise drab and tasteless sentence). 

so picture yourself in a screaming brawl with some chick ladies.  would you ever find yourself so pissed off that you would shout something like, “If we was in the PENITENTIARY right now, I would lick yo pussy!”

No, because that’s not how we operate.  The weiner is not a sword gentleman. Use it for good, not evil. If you guys could learn just this one lesson, then maybe we’d finally be getting somewhere…

why men shouldn’t cat call reason 438:

because, you might make the homely friend of the girl you’re cat calling feel bad.  at least if you’re going to do it, be a gentleman and throw a few perversions my - i mean her way.

i was buying some .99 miller lite’s at the store today.  this diminutive dominican woman caught me at the check out and said “dollar?” I said, “what?”  pretending like i couldn’t understand her, though her accent wasn’t all that thick, and it was obvious what she was saying.  so, i pretended like i didn’t have any cash.  i pantomimed a credit card swipe, and shrugged all “soorrrry.”  so, she spoke in spanish to the clerk, who opened up the register and handed her a dollar, looking at me for approval.  apparently, those words i could not understand in spanish set the whole neat and tidy little transaction up.  i would charge and extra buck to my card, they would give her the dollar.  huh? did i ever agree to this?  i guess, but only technically. 

not quite duped, but, ya know.

when i see a motorcycle parked somewhere, i want to get on it and pretend to ride.  i’d wait around until the owner came for it, just to see what he’d do.  i don’t know about him, but i’d be annoyed to see someone pretending to ride my motorcycle. 

gus tries to convince me that everything is his “busy season.”  i’m like, “Gus, wasn’t Christmas your “busy season?”  and while we’re on the topic, what exactly is it that you do???”

then he just kind of gets quiet.

p.s. this is one of those nights in which i’d blog away any little thought that pops into my head.  sorry. nothin’s on tv.