Family Secrets

It's always fun to attend a family gathering during the holidays, and walk away afterwards with jaw-dropping information about various family members that you never needed or wanted to know. Such as-

-One of my cousins was pissed off that her boyfriend either cheated on her or was already married to someone else while they were dating...and so she hired a hit-man to kill him. Although the murder was never carried through, my cousin was indeed found out, and her father took the heat so that she wouldn't have to go to jail.

-Same cousin's grandparents had a suicide pact, but when it came time to execute it, the grandmother backed out, leaving the grandfather to die. Apparently, general belief throughout the family is that the grandmother was planning on watching her husband die all along.

-Another cousin, who mysteriously "moved to Atlanta" suddenly back in the 9O's, in actual fact had become pregnant out of wedlock and given birth in secret, giving the baby up for adoption.

{that one put me in near coronary failure, as I have been close to said cousin as adults and I never would have even guessed that that had taken place...}

-The most horrifying of all of my family secrets would be this--my mother is obsessed with dolls and stuffed animals, which is pretty obvious if you enter her living room on any given holiday, as she has a bunny that she dresses up in seasonal clothing, as well as bears, cats, and crazy dolls of all sorts of shapes and sizes. One of my biggest fears in life is one day I'm going to inherit these hideous creatures, every last bear, cat, doll, and the freakin' holiday bunny.

At any rate, I hang my head in shame while I disclose this last family secret...yesterday I found out that each of these creatures has a name, and my mother proceeded to introduce me to each and every last one by their "proper" name, even going as far as to point out that one of the bears has a giant ass, and therefore fits right into our family.

Oy vey.

So there you have it, a treasure trove of family jewels that I didn't even know existed. Anyone else got some gems they want to share?

Tis the Season to be an Asshole

I was wandering home from my company holiday party last night in search of a cab. Well, let's be honest, I was in search of munchies, and then a cab, but I certainly did not want to embark on the long ride home without some sort of sustenance. I mean I live in Brooklyn for God's sake. It's like traveling to a foreign, faraway land.

I was sort of hoping Tisserie on 17th Street was still open, but no such luck..as I just about gave up on both the food AND the cab, I found myself eyeing Maoz.

I've seen this place a bunch of times, but never gone in. From what I could tell, its a Felafel joint that is sort of like Quiznos, with a fixin's bar that rivals the salad bar at Outback Steakhouse..not that I have ever been in an Outback Steakhouse, but I imagine that is has a kickass salad bar. You know what I mean.

I waited on line, completely oblivious to who or what was around me. I had a gym bag and my usual giant work bag slung over my shoulder. I hummed to myself, drunk as can be, I might have even been swaying a little, who the hell knows. I felt my gym bag jiggle. Then again. And yet again.

It finally dawned on me that my gym bag was being punched. I followed the movement and found myself staring into the eyes of a very unattractive, probably lonely, angry woman, who looked about 5O due to her pinched up constipation face, but was probably closer to my age.

I asked her why she was punching my bag, and she told me it was because I kept banging her with it.

Now, mind you, I probably was being a little unaware of my surroundings, and I don't doubt that my bag hit her, but A} all she had to do was step back a foot and saved herself a lot of aggravation or B} tap me on the shoulder politely and ask me to please chill out.

So I told her that. Very nicely, probably slurring my words, maybe I swayed a little, maybe I didn't. Again, who the hell knows. She looked at me as if I were insane, and kept repeating over and over, that I was banging into her with my bag, and I needed to stop. I finally couldn't listen to her anymore, and I started yelling "shut the fuck up! shut the fuck up!" {I am the QUEEN of snappy comebacks, let me tell you}. She replied, "You NEED to control your BODY" and to that, I shrieked "YOU NEED TO CONTROL YOUR EMOTIONS. ASSHOLE!"

At this point, there was a line behind us, and people were starting to snicker. I turned to the front of the store and waited patiently for my felafel. I could hear the asshole muttering to herself. She just wouldn't let it go.

Seconds later, I got my food, twirled around on my heel, and managed to whack the bitch with my bag. Hard.

I ran like hell and didn't look back. This girl ain't stupid!

Just Another Night on the A Train

Riding the A train downtown, on the way to tennis class, I found myself standing next to a well-dressed, good looking businessman. We made eye contact, and he told me that I had beautiful eyes.

"They are the exact same color as my daughter's eyes," he said.

I smiled, thanked him, and started to turn away. Yet he continued to yammer on about my eyes, his daughter, his daughter's eyes. He yammered until he abruptly stopped himself mid-sentence.

"Oh my. I must go" he suddenly stammered and stumbled off the train, without so much as a goodbye.

I looked down and saw my coat half open, boobs straining against my usual cleavage bearing attire.

I'm guessing that he eventually creeped even himself out by comparing my eyes to his innocent daughter's, all the while never taking his eyes away from my chest.

Oh. Ew.

LOL TV

Best scene in a sitcom EVER.

"How I Met Your Mother". Marshall is being wooed by an evil, corporate law firm. He gets taken out for a swank dinner, gets super loaded, and has to spend the night on the couch of the lawyer doing the wooing.

Next morning, he's doing a walk of shame. All around him are women with messed up hair, runny eyeliner, and fancy clothes, slinking through the street. The lawyer yells out to Marshall, "I'll call you."

Cut to messy lady with ratty fucked up hair, black eyeliner caking her face, holding a pair of sandals in her hand.

"No, he won't", she says bitterly.

LOVE IT.

Clowning Around After Work

As I headed towards the west side last night to catch the train uptown, I took some time to stop along the way to enjoy the decorations that can be found all along 6th Avenue adorning the otherwise drab office buildings that pepper the avenue.





As I approached Fidelity on 5Oth and 6th, in the Time Life building, something didn't seem right.

For years, what one would see in this spot was a tangle of giant Christmas lights sitting atop the pool


This year, you will find the most heinous, evil of clowns rocking back and forth in a Jack in the Box.

I stood in front of this vision and couldn't help myself, I started to cackle like a madwoman in front of the Time Life building, staring in disbelief. I think the sight of this awful, leering clown gave me a fit of the nervous giggles. But I mean, just look at him! He's clearly mocking me. Fucking clown.

I hate clowns so much that I realized that, had I been an employee at the TIme Life building, I might have had to quit due to the fact that I would not be able to walk past that thing every day for a month without skeeving. This is serious stuff!

Time Life, do us all a favor. Bring back the Christmas lights!

Never Mind

Mind, we need to have a word.

I was overcome with exhaustion when I came home tonight, and readied myself for an early bedtime. I even washed my face and called my boyfriend to say goodnight at what seemed to be way too early in the evening.

I dragged myself to bed, kicked the cat out, read a page of "The Namesake" until my eyes felt heavy, and let myself fall asleep, the book falling from my hand to the pillow.

An hour later, I found myself jolted awake, by you, dear mind. You who are destined to drive me insane.

I tried to quiet you and will myself to fall back asleep, but you wouldn't shut the fuck up. For God's sake, why is it necessary to remind me of all the people who's lives are *probably* so much better than mine? Do you get off on when I start obsessing about my job and how I hate it so? At the anxiety I suffer from the mere thought of being there? I thought I heard you laughing at me under your breath about the fact that I ate that stupid cookie when I'm supposed to be trying to diet. You're taunting me with the fact that I haven't figured out my Christmas shopping yet, that I need to vacuum, that I'll never be as good of a writer as I want to be. That maybe no one loves me after all, and I'm all alone in my apartment, and its awfully quiet in here and why are my ears ringing?

Mind, you got me to get out of bed and turn on the tv to drown out the sound of you until, hopefully, I can make my way back to slumber again, to the dulcet tones of Everybody Loves Raymond.

And I was SO looking forward to a good's night sleep tonight!!!!

Le Weekend

.....I'm such an activity nerd.....

Now that triathlon season is over, I have had to come up with a suitable replacement for the 5-day a week, sometimes twice a day training that I endured. It's friggin cold outside, and even I am not crazy enough to hop on my bike for an icy mid-winter gallivant around prospect park.

Therefore, on Friday nights I am now taking tennis lessons at the Midtown Tennis Club. Not that this is exactly strenuous, being that I am a serious beginner, with little to none tennis skills whatsoever. But it's a good way to start my Friday night, and it gives me, and others, the impression that I'm not a completely uncoordinated freak of nature.

My new favorite Friday night activity has become tennis, then a stopover at Zaytoons, where I pick up my dinner, head home, and stuff my face, to be chased with a bottle of wine.

I know how to live, man!

Saturday morning, I continue with the activity nerdiness by heading over to NYSC for a 1O45 Spin class. I need to get my fill of vag discomfort due to over-cycling SOMEWHERE! It's only 45 minutes to boot, and indoors. The instructor makes me want to kill myself, she of the six pack abs after having a child--although she is rather motivating as well. So I kick ass in my Spin class. But then...



.....I like brunch.....

Spin class is also good for getting myself ready for big, giant, carby brunch. This Saturday's was no exception. I met my sister and friend UK at Cafe Henri for some Tartine


and Oeufs.


While sipping my mimosa I noticed a black clad, very preggo Juliana Margulies walk in and sit across from us. I was suave as can be..I very inconspicuously snuck a peek from behind my stealthy sunglasses...oh who am I kidding, I practically SHOUTED for the entire restaurant to hear "JULIANA MARGULIES JUST WALKED IN" and then we proceeded to discuss her as if she wasn't just sitting literally 2 feet from my fat ass. She was accompanied by her hipster, homo-y husband {just the type of guy that Roopa and I would go for, as we discussed earlier today} and looked pretty fuckin awesome for a preggo chick in the middle of winter. Great skin.

2 mimosas later, I was stuffed and ready to move on with my day, until UK said "Let's get more drinks."

I was appalled. More drinks? In the middle of the afternoon? Well fuck me and call me Mabel, I am so there!

We swooped down on a bar down the street, and continued to imbibe our weight in wine, which was as delicious as it sounds, and just as much fun..until I realized I was supposed to be back in Brooklyn, visiting my friends and their new baby.

Oops. Ha, well, the baby wouldn't know the difference.



.....And then I molested a Beehive.....

When I finally had enough booze to sedate a medium sized elephant, I decided to make my way back to my place, where I met up with my boyfriend. Where we once again performed unspeakable acts for the neighbors, who may or may not have been spectating from across the way. Yea, I still haven't gotten blinds...oh well.



.....But the neighbors got revenge.....

After all the moaning and boning that took place, and then a hefty amount of Mexican takeout, Beehive and I fell into a deep, satisfied slumber. Only to be awakened at 43O am by some very, very loud music coming from across the way. We both sat up with a start and looked at each other. "WTF?" He bolted out of bed, with me not far behind, and peeked out the window to find a party going on across the way, still in full swing at the ungodly hour of 43O am. Music blasting, someone was doing cartwheels, and was that a BLOW up doll???

We lay back down--I was kinda hoping for a nice middle of the night bang session, but no such luck {What can I say, I'm a woman in my prime. Deal with it}-but instead we talked about what douches I live across from, and what we thought they were going to do with that blow up doll when the guests went home. IF they ever friggin went home. Grrr.



.....But paybacks a bitch.....

Somewhere down the road, we were able to fall asleep again, and I guess the party dissipated eventually. Around 9am or so, Beehive checked out my CD collection, and decided that The Used would be the most obnoxious thing we could play, very loudly, to wake up the neighbors {yea, I just admitted that I have The Used in my CD collection. Whatevs. Kill me then, why don't you!} so that we did, and lo and behold, I saw a sleepy and confused looking fratty dude walking past the window. Take THAT, you cartwheel turning douche meister! You think you're gonna get away with waking ME up at the crack of dawn with your shenanigans and your Marlboro Reds wafting into my open window? Guess again Mister!

.....And then I got my morning sex.....

and a Happy Sunday morning it became.

Another Lovely Monday Night

Dear MTA,
 
I'm not sure what the hell is going on over there at MTA Headquarters, but you sure are pissing me off, misters.
 
The last couple of days has been a commuter's nightmare. Take the D for Dis Train Ain't Goin' Nowhere train.  The other morning, it was moving at the speed of a pregnant snail.  When it actually deigned to move.  It was packed to the gills with unsavory people, all of whom I had to stand very close to, and witness their unsavory behaviors. Such as the very fat woman with bright red hair and clown colored clothes with clown-like makeup.  Or the horrid Chloe Sevigny wannabe wearing blue patent leather boat shoes (oh how I wish I had taken the time to snap a cameraphone picture, so you can see how distressing this truly, truly was).
 
The B for Be prepared to Never Get Home train, as well was quite the conundrum the other night.  I spent 25 precious minutes pinned up against a doorway, as the train stood still on the Manhattan Bridge due to "a sick passenger at Dekalb", then "signal problems", then "police activity at Dekalb".  I'm willing to bet that the actual issue at hand was "train operator takes Heroin and keeps nodding off at the wheel", because every 10 feet or so, the train would jump into motion, and then suddenly slam to a complete stop, for no reason at all.  This was especially enjoyable when I was repeatedly molested by my fellow passengers messenger bag. I'm sure he didn't mind when I stuck my knitting needle in his eye to get him to stop his bag from feeling up my spandexed ass. 
 
MTA, you owe me $10 for the cab ride I ended up taking when I finally arrived at Dekalb avenue, which is a mere 2 stops from my house-and refused to stay on the train one moment longer, for fear of sitting underground for another hour, to go 10 blocks. I would also like to seek damages for the psychological distress I experienced as I stood on the corner of Dekalb and Flatbush, in the cold, and watched cab after cab pass me by, without the slightest bit of empathy, because they were anxious to get back to civilization-aka Manhattan-and for the one lone man, with no teeth, who yelled out "How much to fuck you in the ass?" from his 1979 Chevy Nova.

You'll be hearing from my lawyer.

Signed, sincerely,

Cheese

They Don't Call Me Cheese for Nothin'

I'm sitting on my couch, furiously knitting away at a hat that I have been obsessing about for weeks. It's after midnite, and I've just gotten home after a long day of work and a not so long night of booze n yarn {by the way people, knitting and booze do NOT mix. Another blog for another time. I know I know, you're counting the minutes...}

When I got home, I pulled off my boots and many layers of tights, sweaters, etc. Threw on a tshirt and little else and flopped down on my couch, as previously mentioned, to knit til I can't see straight.

I notice a very unsavory smell wafting up from my lap. Jesus Christ, I need to shower.

I guess all that knitting and fretting over the knitting, plus the layers of clothing that have been worn since 7am are taking their toll on my sweat glands. By God do I smell like sour milk.

I found it very curious, however, as I have never quite smelt like that before. I've smelt myself sans shower, post sex, post workout, post swimming in the Hudson even, and never in my life have I given off the odor of sour milk. Damn, I'm getting nasty in my old age I guess...

I noticed a small stain on the ultrasuede sofa, it had just appeared out of nowhere. I wiped it up with one of the many blankets that are strewn about the couch {cuz I'm classy like that} and realized it had a very familiar stench.

Sour milk.

The culprit, it seemed, was a tupperware bowl I brought home from work and stuffed into a backpack, which also happened to contain my knitting. The bowl still had droplets of milk from my cereal several days prior, and it was becoming rancid and leaking.

Thank the fucking Lord! I may be Old Cheese, but damn if I want to smell like it!