Surviving a Blizzard
So, these blizzard things keep coming down the pipeline. Has somebody angered Jack Frost? Was it me stealing his nose? I showed him it was just my thumb. [sigh] That guy.
Here are a few tips for surviving a blizzard:
– Stock up on essentials. Toilet paper, peanut butter, seasons one through three of Deadwood on Blu-Ray.
– Set aside at least two gallons of drinking water, in case you wanna have a water-drinking contest.
– Stockpile blankets. For building forts.
– DON'T PANIC! The walls only seem like they're closing in, because the room's oxygen is running out.
– Pay close attention to your local newscast's weather report. Also, after the break, they’ll answer whether or not your kids are safe from Chinese toys.
– Stay low and breath through a damp towel … Wait, that might be for fires. Meh, couldn’t hurt.
– If you can manage it, don’t drive your car. And, not just in an “I bike for the environment” kind of way. Seriously, you need to shut up about Critical Mass. We get it; cars are immoral. [Wanking motion followed by pretending to wax a handlebar mustache and then honking an imaginary bike horn.]
– Avoid Jack Nicholson impressions. It’s been done.
– Your landlord was probably lying to you about that fireplace not working. I say give it a go.
– Do not place a space heater next to curtains or your Victorian Oil Rag collection.
– Soup it up.
– Wear appropriate clothing. Are those last year’s jeggings? OMG, how embarrassing.
– I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again; busting out old board games is a great way to spend the day trapped indoors. Because, one of the boxes might have weed hidden inside.
– Try to fly to Hawaii a few days before the blizzard starts.
– If the electricity goes out, somebody’s getting pregnant. I’m looking at you, anyone in the room with me.
– Keep candles or a hand-crank flashlight handy. [I’m still talking about getting you pregnant.]
– Hot cocoa bath.
– If you are one of my many bear or ground squirrel readers, try hibernating.
– According to romantic comedies, the fastest way to avoid hypothermia is to share naked body warmth with someone whom you outwardly hate though are secretly attracted to. [Still talking about getting you pregnant.]
That’s it. Good luck out there. It’s a real Snowmageddonpocalypse.
Your Daughter’s Hand
Mister Kelly, thank you for meeting with me today. You’ve probably guessed that I invited you here to ask for your daughter Jessica’s hand in marriage. Jessica means the world to me. We’ve been dating seriously for three years, and we’ve been having full, penetrative intercourse for awhile now.
I can’t be sure of any one moment when I knew Jessica and I were destined to get married. It could have been our time together in AmeriCorps or our hiking trip to the Adirondacks. One particular bout of highly-active sexual congress comes to mind. But, then again, it could have been any of a thousand times we were pleasuring each other carnally.
Now just feels like the right time to ask Jessica to marry me. I mean, after everything we’ve been through and done together and done to each other—the next logical step seems to be marriage and starting a family. We’re certainly well-practiced at the mechanics of making a baby.
I can’t describe to you the joy it has been getting to know your daughter—her warm laugh, her kind heart, her surprisingly flexible hips. Every day is a new surprise with Jessica. She’s very inventive.
They say that when you meet the right girl, something clicks. Like the way her and my genitals interlock—it just feels right. God, it feels right.
I guess what I’m saying is this: With your blessing, it would be my honor to ask your daughter to be my bride. She’s my sunshine and my hope, my inspiration and my naughty minx. I can’t imagine my life without her. Though one time we did do this roll-playing thing where I imagined her as a Spanish maid, but that’s not really applicable.
Anyway, what do you say, Greg? Can I call you Greg? How about Pops?
Missed Connections
6 Train at 14th Street
You: Pretty blonde wearing a red coat and carrying shopping bags.
Me: Pea coat and messenger bag. Glasses.
We got on at the same time, and I kinda stole the seat you were going for. You rolled your eyes and mumbled the word “asshole.” I pretended to read on my phone. Thought we had a real “Sam & Diane thing” happening. Didn’t get your name. What if it’s Diane? That’d be weird.
Contact me below if you felt it too.
Equinox Gym
You: Personal trainer with brown hair and big biceps.
Me: Woman who fell on the elliptical machine.
You helped me up and offered me a towel to staunch the blood flowing from my nose. I had split my yoga pants, so I didn’t have time to thank you. On my way out, I saw you holding hands with the girl at the front desk. Hope that’s not a thing.
If you like “fixer-uppers,” call me.
Waitress at Chi Chi’s in 2002
Took me awhile to get up the nerve to write this.
You: Waitress at the Chi Chi’s in Scottsdale.
Me: Came in once for nachos.
You smiled at me and I sensed a bond. Hepatitis A outbreak shut down the restaurant chain in 2004, so I never came back. Good nachos, though.
If you think of me as often as I think of you, write me.
Mermot-Kline Gallery (Chelsea)
At an art opening.
You: Man in black t-shirt and black blazer.
Me: Human statue hired for the event.
Thought we had a real connection, but I couldn’t turn to make eye contact. I was the one painted silver.
You can find me through Human Statue and Party Clowns Booking, Inc.
M86 Bus Saturday
You: Lady reading romance novel.
Me: Man screaming about the CIA.
I kept staring at you aggressively and tugging at my own hair. You shifted uncomfortably. I felt a connection I haven’t since my abduction by the Masons. Know you felt it, too.
Don’t contact me through electronic means. (They’re watching.)
Downtown 6 Train
You: Guy in a pea coat.
Me: Lady in red coat.
You thought fast and nabbed a seat I was going for. I thought it showed a lot of initiative and drive. I mumbled “Bravo,” but don’t think you heard. I’d love to know if you’re such a go-getter in the rest of your life.
Contact me ASAP. I don’t have time for lollygaggers.
Wendy’s Spokesman
Five reasons why I should be the spokesman for the Wendy's fast food chain:
1) I FUCKING LOVE WENDY'S!!! Oh my god, sometimes I catch myself just thinking about a Number Seven with a Frosty™. Just staring off into space and smiling to myself about it. I'm smiling right now.
2) I'm super honest. I'll admit freely that sometimes Wendy's can be disgusting. Like, twice we've accidentally stopped at the same Wendy's off the Interstate in eastern Pennsylvania, and both times the fries were raw. And, the burgers had a funny, metallic flavor. Plus, all of the employees looked like R. Crumb had a nightmare about adult onset acne.
See? Honesty. I think the public would appreciate that and put their trust in me when I say that many other Wendy's franchises do not smell like dirty mop heads.
3) Have I mentioned my rakish smile and amazing dancing abilities? I'm sure we can work those into ad campaigns.
4) My wife only lets me eat Wendy's on road trips, because it's so unhealthy. (Honesty!) So, I'll probably never get sick of eating it, even as its spokesman.
5) Unlike Jared Fogle, I've never been caught up in a salacious, autoerotic asphyxiation manslaughter trial and ensuing media frenzy. Always use a safe word, folks. Always use a safe word.
Lack of Sleep
This might be the lack of sleep talking, but I'm very grumpy and cold. There's not enough sunshine out. Also, my eyelids are heavy, and everything is stupid, and I hate everything. Again, that might be the lack of sleep talking.
Why did you let me stay up so late reading celebrity gossip blogs? I thought we talked about this. If you let me stay up late, I'm going to be grumpy in the morning, and that'll make you grumpy. Why would you want to make yourself grumpy? I'm so mad at you for doing that.
I'm sorry. I shouldn't take it out on you. It's not your fault that I'm upset; it's my lack of sleep. Also this lady walking ahead of us. Why is she walking so slowly?!! JESUS CHRIST, LADY!
Whoa, short fuse. I've got a short fuse this morning. I apologize. I'm sure everything will be better once I get some coffee and once I shove this old lady out of the way. What? Whad'ya mean I can't push an old lady? Why are you being so difficult?
I swear, if I had gotten more sleep or if I was in a better mood, you would let me push that old woman into a snow bank. You're so mean to me when I'm tired---never letting me push old ladies or yell at cars. I don't know why you have to be so cruel. When I'm fully rested, you never seem cruel at all. But, when I'm sleepy and grumpy---that's when you become a mean jerkpants.
Goddamnit I'm so tired.
You know what? That was out of line. I should never have called you a poopy-face jerkpants. Let's go back to bed for a few hours, and when we wake up, I can make it up to you. Also, let's quit our jobs so that we don't have to get up early anymore.
I think this is a good plan. I think this plan is gonna work out great. The first step, though, is turning around and going back to our nice warm bed---
Owww, stop pulling my arm towards the subway! You're being unreasonable!
Our Bodies
Our bodies are amazing things, don't you think? We're each made up of thousands of intricate individual mechanisms that all add up to a whole. A person. A self.
Our eyes bring in light and information. Our hands reshape the world. Our mouths get us into bar fights with Republicans.
Our ears capture the sound of distant screaming. Our noses detect garbage water. Our nice hair and above-average height gets us higher paying jobs. Our breasts fill the Internet.
Every part of the human body works in unison. Resilient and adaptive, we grow and re-grow, survive and procreate.
Our hearts pump cholesterol. Our lungs pull in marijuana smoke. Our tongues taste rice pudding and cinnamon pita chips, which are bonkers tasty together. Especially after smoking up.
Our bellybuttons find and collect our loose lint. Our armpits tell us when it's hot out. Our gall bladders do whatever gall bladders do. Our feet and vaginas also fill the Internet.
Our legs twitch restlessly. Our arms carry our bratty children. Our pinky toenails are kinda small and gross. Our nipple hairs keep us warm.
Without our bodies, what would we be? Floating waves of nothingness? Bags of primordial ooze? Whatever it is, it would be some crazy shit. Oh my god, these pita chips and rice pudding are amazing! I can't stop eating … Whoa, my hands are so weird right now.
My Vices
So, I recently joined a cult. (They don't like it when I call it a "cult." but I figure life's too short to nitpick, y'know?) And, part of my indoctrination is that I'm supposed to list off all my vices in order to overcome them.
I don't know, it seems kinda silly. Or, worse, they could be fishing for blackmail material. But, the robes are so comfy, and I have my eye on a few cute cult ladies for the group marriage. One of them is named Blueberry Rainbow, and she said overcoming your vices is sexy. Then, she touched my upper arm. So, here we go; these are my vices:
1) I care too much.
2) I might be a little addicted to my Google Reader. Maybe.
3) Occasionally, I drink to just past moderation.
4) I'll eat red meat if no chicken or fish is available.
5) I talk about people behind their backs. All positive compliments, but that's still ethically shaky.
6) Once, I downloaded an album illegally to see if I liked it before I bought it.
7) I don't always shower before noon on weekends.
8) I shit in library books and then return them.
9) I chew sugary gum.
10) I've told my wife I enjoyed her tomato bisque even though I didn't quite care for it.
11) My eye sometimes lingers on Victoria's Secret commercials.
12) I regularly kill and hide the bodies of hitchhikers.
13) I'm somewhat superstitious when it comes to athletic matches.
14) It took me two days to redeliver my neighbor's cable bill when it was accidentally placed in my mailbox.
That's it. Those are my vices. I'm a little embarrassed to put the sugary gum thing out there, since it's a big taboo. But, if there's one thing I tell the hitchhikers I torture and eat, it's that honesty is a virtue.
Hawaiian Words
A lot of people know that the Hawaiian word "aloha" has two meanings. But, did you know that every word in Hawaiian has two, sometimes contradictory meanings? Here's a helpful starter list of Hawaiian words:
Aloha - means both "hello" and "goodbye."
Mahalo - means both "thank you" and "tomorrow's the day I start my low carb diet."
Ohana - means both "family" and "the act of looking at a Q-tip after you use it."
Hale - means both "house" and "a random, desperate question meant to steer the conversation away from listening to the other person complain about work."
Mana - means both "spiritual power" and "finding that a dollar bill has gone through the wash and now looks like the fetus version of a dollar bill."
Hula - means both "a dance" and "a light switch that doesn't seem to be connected to a light. Maybe one of the outlets behind the couch used to be for a side table lamp? Am I supposed to try every outlet and then turn this switch on and off? It's not worth it."
Pupu - means both “appetizers” and “holding back a culturally offensive snicker.”
Keiki - means both "a child" and "the ways local newscasters smile in promotional pictures that makes them look dead inside."
Lanai - means both “a patio or balcony” and “the jealousy non-smokers feel towards smokers who are allowed smoke breaks.”
Ono – means both “tasty” and “a large type of mackerel.” It can also mean “the act of getting your groove back.”
Kai - means both “the sea” and “the rise in e-book sales compared to traditional paperbound book sales.”
Mauka - means both “toward the mountains” and “a person wearing multiple pieces of Burberry plaid, which still happens even though that was a trend from what, seven years ago? Eight?”
Wahini - means “a woman” and “tea which is neither hot tea nor iced tea but somewhere in between. Tea which is lost and unsure of itself. Tea which has no place to call its own in our society.”
Haole - means both “a Caucasian person” and “someone who makes you roll your eyes.”
Blowing Raspberries
I've said it before, and I'll say it again; there is nothing gay about two men hanging out and giving each other raspberries on their bellies.
It's just two dudes, being dudes. And, if they wanna place their mouths on each other's tummies and blow, how is that gay? That's just guys doing what guys do.
It's like watching football or playing poker. It's guy stuff. Men need a space to be men, unapologetically. You wouldn't understand unless you're a real manly guy like me. A guy who enjoys man-on-man zerberts.
Listen, I do not mean in any way to imply that homosexuality is wrong or shameful. And, when I say zerberts between two men isn't gay, it's not at all about homophobic fear or shame. I have many gay friends, a few of whom I count as my favorite people. (Hi, Nick & Adam!) I'm just saying that on the spectrum of sexual identities, a guy blowing raspberries on the exposed belly of the other isn't gay. Nor vice versa.
What on Earth could be gay about best friends lying down in the 69 position, nose-to-bellybutton, making funny fart sounds with their mouths on their stomachs? Is it the giggling and squirming you think is gay? Well, I have something to tell you, Mr. Homophobe, straight men giggle and squirm around, too. Especially when there's a beard brushing against their love handles.
I know for a fact it isn't gay, because I was taught this game by my Mormon college roommate, Terrance. And, Terrance didn't become gay until after he divorced his wife last year. So there. Shows what you know.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go blow zerberts into my new heterosexual friend Tom's belly. We met in a rest stop bathroom off of I-95, and we couldn't be straighter.
Good day, sir. I said, good day.