Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Here Comes The New Year

Oh damn, it’s the end of the year when everyone’s gonna make new year resolutions we all know they’ll never keep. As the clock strikes midnight people will stumble tall and proud and loudly slur their new year intentions for everyone to hear.
For those who promise to do physical transformations I think we should do photos at the beginning of the year and then at the end of the year to document if they really do do what they say they will do. And next year the before and after photos can be their Holiday Greeting Card.

For those who promise behavior changes I think we should follow them with webcams throughout the year and record them in action, and then post their progress, or disgrace, all over the Internet.

I don’t know about you but I’m tired of hearing my friends say:

I’m gonna hit the gym at least three times a week.

I’m gonna finally lose the weight I gained over the holidays.

I’m gonna stop swearing.

I’m gonna be more tolerant to idiots.

I’m gonna stop being a whore.

I’m gonna only drink on the weekends.

I’m gonna give up eating junk food.

I’m gonna do monthly colonics.

I’m gonna have that tattoo removed.

I’m gonna learn how to swim.

Blah, blah, blah...

Last night I was lying in bed laughing about silly resolutions when I looked up into the mirror and thought, “Oh fuck, this holiday season I’ve gained another inch on my waist and my gym membership’s about to expire and oh hell, I can’t believe that idiot Sarah Palin has a best selling book and that Tiger Woods is a fucking whore hound, and oooh those vodka martinis Monday night were too damn good, and that KFC extra crispy chicken tonight made me gassy and constipated, and why did I ever get that mistletoe tattoo around my johnson, and now it’s way late and I’d better turn off the porn and try to get some sleep, and I hope I don’t have that nightmare tonight where I’m drowning in a sea of doom."

Happy New Year.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Ooh Ooh Aah Aah

News stories of the “strange but true” never cease to amaze me. I get a total kick reading them, and sometimes they bring back a memory or two.

This past week I read with piqued interest about the married British couple who’s been issued a court-ordered ban on their noisy lovemaking sessions. Catherine Cartwright and her husband Steve are so loud when they succumb to the passions of the flesh that neighbors describe the noises as “murder” and “unnatural,” with the city council saying the noise registered 47 decibels. Wow.

Okay... either Steve has special talents that belong in the Guinness Book of World Records, or Catherine has an overly active and overly sensitive kitty cat, or they both love putting on a show.

I remember a few year ago having the same problem with neighbors who lived above me. They were like clockwork; every morning at 3:50 AM she would start moaning, actually gasping for air, and then her voice when get higher and higher and louder and louder. She was a chorus of “ooh, ooh, aah, aah” until she reached that moment of surrender with ear piercing glassing shattering noise. Not even the Tabernacle Choir could reach such high notes.

The first night I woke up thinking the fire alarm had gone off.

The second night I got... well... I... enjoyed the rhythm... Aaah.

The third night I was really tired and cursed their overactive loins.

The fourth night I was still tired from the night before and had had enough. When Marcy finally screeched her orgasmic shrill cry of freedom, and Johnny grunted and groaned and finished bouncing on top of her, I opened my bedroom window and applauded them; not once; not twice; but a standing ovation kind of applause.

Marcy laughed. Johnny grunted, “What the fuck, man?”

I slammed my window shut.

The next day in the hallway they avoided eye contact.

They moved shortly thereafter.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

He's the Pimple on the Ass of Life

Joe Lieberman: The Pimple on the Ass of Life.

Senate leaders need to strip him of his chairmanship and seniority, and the people of Connecticut need to make sure he never wins another election.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

Murder I Thought...

It’s the holiday season and during this time of forced gaiety we try our best to spread good will and good tidings to all. Sometimes it takes a few glasses of spiked eggnog to get us in that holiday mood and sometimes all the spiked eggnog in the world cannot remove the evil thoughts that lurk inside our otherwise sane minds when someone truly pisses us off.

This week I read with disbelief about the 98 year old woman who murdered her 100 year old Nursing Home roommate. The murderer used the plastic bag over the head technique to strangle, suffocate, and end her roommate’s life. Why did she do this? Something about a table at the foot of a bed blocking a direct path to the bathroom.

This got me thinking about some of the things that have really pissed me off... that made me think, momentarily, about inflicting serious and deadly pain. Luckily for the person bothering me that small wee little voice in the far corner of my mind shouted in the nick of time, “Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Death is not the answer. You’re too cute for prison!”

Here are some of those situations that could’ve ended badly, but didn’t.

When the girl behind the counter at the coffee cafe chose the smallest scone for me when it was clearly the smallest on the tray.

When the Chinese restaurant sent white rice in my delivery order when I specifically asked for brown rice.

When that D-list bitch actress re-gifted me a gift she received from a goodie bag she got at a fundraising event I produced. (Merry Christmas!)

When my friend was so late picking me up that we missed seeing the previews and got in our seats just as the movie was beginning.

When the security guard at the airport threw out my new tube of toothpaste (cinnamon flavored!) because it was more than the allowed amount.

When the mailman put my mail in my neighbor’s mailbox and my neighbor opened my personal letter and saw the “photograph.”

When that old geezer with the pot belly at the gym didn’t wipe his smelly sweat from the Nautilus machine.

When the fat man in the red suit and white beard shouted the weakest most pathetic high-pitched “Ho, ho, ho.”

All I can say is, “Funny the people you meet when you don’t have a gun.”

Sunday, December 06, 2009

Oh Jesus

This week I read an interesting tidbit about a Massachusetts woman who had a divine revelation. No, a bright light didn’t shine before her and speak in a deep voice telling her the winning lottery numbers. What she did see was the image of Jesus on the bottom of her iron. She interpreted this as a sign that “life is going to be good.”

Here’s the photo of the iron with Jesus on the bottom looking rather rusty, but still divine: This has gotten me thinking about the time that I too saw the face of Jesus staring right out at me from the most unexpected place. It sent shivers through my body and has remained a life-changing moment in my life. Father O’Brien would be so happy to hear this.

It happened one morning not too long ago when I took a hike in the park and stopped by the small cafe for a coffee and scone, a blueberry almond oat scone to be exact. I was sipping the organic brew and enjoying the beauty of nature that surrounded me when a bee flew too close for comfort. I swatted it with all my might but the little buzzer flew away.

I then grabbed my half-eaten scone and that’s when I noticed something... something that seemed to be looking back at me... was it the bee I just tried killing... no, it wasn’t... was it something the baker accidentally baked into the scone?.... no, it wasn’t... it was something that had a power, an energy... it mesmerized me, pulling me to it... I leaned closer and closer into that blueberry almond oat scone...

I looked. I blinked. I looked again. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

There in the nooks and crannies of my chewed scone was the face of Jesus.

Aaah... I heard a choir of angels singing as sweet as a flock of pigeons.

I don’t know how long I sat there staring at Jesus in my scone, but it was a feeling I will never forget.

Then that goddamn bee came back and knocked my out of my Jesus trance. Buzz, buzz, buzz... I knocked that thing senseless. Dead.

Then I heard my stomach growl, and without thinking I grabbed the scone and ate Jesus. I swallowed him and washed him down with gulp of coffee.

I took this as a profound sign that next time I need to sit inside the cafe.