Monday, August 29, 2005
Summa Ova!
The end of the summer always reminds me of what I used to do.
Summers as a kid meant 3-4 weeks spent at the Beach. My maternal grandparents lived down at the shore. They had a kick ass house on the bay in Mantoloking, NJ. We would visit the edifice of fun for 2 weeks every summer. (The other 1-2 weeks were speant at a rented house my paternal grandparents rented on LBI.) Everyday we had choices - Walk to the beach, swim in the pool out back, swim or go crabbing in the bay, sailing, waterski, fly a kite in an empty sand lot next store, play billiards in the game room, throw darts in the game room or throw darts at each other as we ran down the long carpeted hallways. One of my fondest memories was eating melted american cheese on saltines. Because my grandparents had a microwave and my mom and I didn't. It was a pretty good life down there. But pretty good lives end.
My grandmother got sick, the house was sold because it was too big for the 9 months nobody was visiting. They moved to a townhouse away from the beach, and started spending their winters in Florida. My Grandmother passed away when I was in theh 6th grade. I hated it. She was a wonderful woman, and i am pretty sure I still need her influence on me to keep me in check.
She was also Miss Subway when being Miss Subway meant something. This is her Miss Subway photo.
Please don't Jerk off to it.
Summers as a kid meant 3-4 weeks spent at the Beach. My maternal grandparents lived down at the shore. They had a kick ass house on the bay in Mantoloking, NJ. We would visit the edifice of fun for 2 weeks every summer. (The other 1-2 weeks were speant at a rented house my paternal grandparents rented on LBI.) Everyday we had choices - Walk to the beach, swim in the pool out back, swim or go crabbing in the bay, sailing, waterski, fly a kite in an empty sand lot next store, play billiards in the game room, throw darts in the game room or throw darts at each other as we ran down the long carpeted hallways. One of my fondest memories was eating melted american cheese on saltines. Because my grandparents had a microwave and my mom and I didn't. It was a pretty good life down there. But pretty good lives end.
My grandmother got sick, the house was sold because it was too big for the 9 months nobody was visiting. They moved to a townhouse away from the beach, and started spending their winters in Florida. My Grandmother passed away when I was in theh 6th grade. I hated it. She was a wonderful woman, and i am pretty sure I still need her influence on me to keep me in check.
She was also Miss Subway when being Miss Subway meant something. This is her Miss Subway photo.
Please don't Jerk off to it.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Seriously NYC, Are you F-en Serious?
Tonight I had the WORST commuting experience in my 5 plus years of living in NY. Worse than the blizzard that shut down the city transit system a couple years back causing me to bribe a cabbie with 50 bucks for a 3 mile trip.
After MD rehearsal, I headed to the E train at 9:15pm. I stood on the platform watching my arms glisten from sweat, because as we all know – it was hot as balls today, which means that subway platforms are as hot as balls tucked inside a moist dirty sock. Fifteen minutes pass and I notice an MTA employee telling people the E train is not running because of flooding. I walk up the stairs trying to figure a way to get to the F train. The 7 train was not running in Manhattan so I decide to take the Shuttle to Bryant Park/5th Ave. Yes I know the shuttle does not go to Bryant Park, but at that point for some reason I thought it did. I realize my mistake at Grand Central. At this point I decide to take the 4/5/6 to Lexington/59th – and from there, according to the subway map there is a passageway to walk to the F on 63rd Street. Well there wasn’t, so I exit the station, walk 4 blocks, stopping for a Grape Gatorade, and descend, what seems like 3 miles, down to the F train. I sit there for about 20 minutes and hear an announcement that the F train is not going into Queens. Balls! So now I must take the F downtown to 34th so I can grab the R train to Roosevelt/Jackson Heights, where I can transfer to the E or F.
I get down to 34th street, purple sweat dripping from my brow, and wait for the R train. Another announcement is made, the R train is will not be going into Queens. Now I must take the N train to Queensboro Plaza, transfer for onto the 7, take that to Roosevelt/Jackson Heights where I can transfer for the E or F and get home.
The N train arrives; I find a seat and start reading a book on dog training. I am really into the book, learning things, feeding the well, excited to get home to Satch so I can tell him how wonderful our relationship is going to be, due to the training techniques and knowledge I am acquiring about ‘pack life.’
Something breaks my concentration.
Hey – the guy sitting adjacent to me, and also FACING me has a Jean Jacket over his lap. Uhm, is his jean jacket moving? I look down and I see a LARGE BLACK COCK, and LARGE BLACK HANDS rubbing the LARGE BLACK COCK.
I leap out of my seat and walk to the end of the car, wanting to vomit. I wish I had called him out on it. If I had it my way the following would have happened.
******************
SPO NOTICES THE COCK, STANDS UP WITH CONFIDENCE AND FACES THE MASTURBATOR.
SPO
Are you seriously masturbating on the N train? Is that what gets you off? A chubby white chick reading a book on Dog Training? You are a SICK FUCKING FUCK. If there was a pasta named after you it would be Sick Fucking Fuckeroni. If you were to have a street named after you it would be Gross Public Cock Rubber Avenue. If there was a national tragedy named after you it would be COCK/11.
GROSS FUCK
Is that a compliment?
SPO
What? No that is not a compliment. I was making a point that your cock has caused a feeling of violation about as powerful as 2 planes crashi...AHHHH, I hate you - you dirty gross fuck. Why do you have a Jean Jacket anyway? It’s 2005 AND 125 degree’s outside.
GROSS FUCK
I use it to cover my cock when I masturbate on the Train.
SPO
Well that makes sense.
SFX – BING BONG (Subway doors opening)
CONDUCTOR
This is Queensboro Plaza, Transfer for the 7 train on the lower level.
SPO
Okay, I gotta go now. Nice meeting you. Wait, no I mean…
SHANNON PULLS OUT A KNIFE AND CARVES A GIANT M ON GROSS FUCK'S FACE.
SPO
That stands for Masturbator, I have labeled you for life.
SHANNON EXITS, BUT TURNS TO LOOK AT GROSS FUCK AND SEES HIM TUG AT HIS FACE, REVEALING HE HAS BEEN WEARING A MASK. HE LIFTS HIS HAT SO HE CAN REMOVE THE MASK, REVEALING HIMSELF AS RICKY SHRODER CIRCA 1985, BUT NOW WITH A BLOODY M ON HIS FOREHEAD.
RICKY SCHRODER
I love you.
THE DOORS CLOSE. SHANNON POUNDS ON THE GLASS. A TEAR FALLS FROM HER EYE.
SPO
I never meant to hurt you.
THE TRAIN STARTS TO PULL OUT OF THE STATION. SPO RUNS ALONG SIDE.
SPO
No! Why? Ricky Why?!?
RICKY SHRODER WINKS. SPO SLOWS DOWN TO A WALK, STOPPING AT THE END OF THE PLATFORM, HER HAND STILL REACHING TOWARD RICKY'S DEPARTED TRAIN.
SPO
Why?
SPO FACES THE CAMERA
SPO
Why is his cock huge and black?
(END)
******************
Well that’s not how it happened. I scurried to the end of the car on the N train, and stood in the doorway, I glanced down at the dude a couple of times to see if anyone else noticed. Then my hand discovered a few wet marks right around the spot that his cock was directly across from. I am hoping I am wrong, dear fucking lord I am hoping my shirt was not touched with pre-ejaculate juice. FOWL, oh my god the sentence previous to the one you are reading now is FOWL. Unfortunately for my own piece of mind I am throwing the shirt out. It was a great shirt too. The front said “Be Bert, Be Ernie. Just Be.” And on the back was a black and white picture of Bert and Ernie posing as if they were in a CK One advertisement, really funny, really 1995.
To make matter worse, as I held back more vomit from the wet spots, a couple gets on the train at the next stop and stands right next to me. The man is wearing a short sleeve button down shirt, the top few buttons are undone, due to the heat, and no undershirt. I get this, its hot – you gotta do what you gotta do. But why did his girlfriend decide to start sucking and nibbling on his sweaty chest hair? Are you fucking Serious NYC? Come the Fuck on!
I’ll wrap this up now because I want to puke. I get to Queensboro Plaza – transfer to the 7 train. I get off at Roosevelt, walk down to the E/F platform. Stand there for about 30 minutes with 100’s of other folks. I walk up a flight to find an MTA guy to see when the trains will be coming, he says they aren’t. No trains are running in or out of that station except the 7 train, which does me no good. I go to the street, call AVM and ask him to pick me up. I grab a slice of pizza that looked worse heated up than it did sitting out.
I finally got home at 1am.
After MD rehearsal, I headed to the E train at 9:15pm. I stood on the platform watching my arms glisten from sweat, because as we all know – it was hot as balls today, which means that subway platforms are as hot as balls tucked inside a moist dirty sock. Fifteen minutes pass and I notice an MTA employee telling people the E train is not running because of flooding. I walk up the stairs trying to figure a way to get to the F train. The 7 train was not running in Manhattan so I decide to take the Shuttle to Bryant Park/5th Ave. Yes I know the shuttle does not go to Bryant Park, but at that point for some reason I thought it did. I realize my mistake at Grand Central. At this point I decide to take the 4/5/6 to Lexington/59th – and from there, according to the subway map there is a passageway to walk to the F on 63rd Street. Well there wasn’t, so I exit the station, walk 4 blocks, stopping for a Grape Gatorade, and descend, what seems like 3 miles, down to the F train. I sit there for about 20 minutes and hear an announcement that the F train is not going into Queens. Balls! So now I must take the F downtown to 34th so I can grab the R train to Roosevelt/Jackson Heights, where I can transfer to the E or F.
I get down to 34th street, purple sweat dripping from my brow, and wait for the R train. Another announcement is made, the R train is will not be going into Queens. Now I must take the N train to Queensboro Plaza, transfer for onto the 7, take that to Roosevelt/Jackson Heights where I can transfer for the E or F and get home.
The N train arrives; I find a seat and start reading a book on dog training. I am really into the book, learning things, feeding the well, excited to get home to Satch so I can tell him how wonderful our relationship is going to be, due to the training techniques and knowledge I am acquiring about ‘pack life.’
Something breaks my concentration.
Hey – the guy sitting adjacent to me, and also FACING me has a Jean Jacket over his lap. Uhm, is his jean jacket moving? I look down and I see a LARGE BLACK COCK, and LARGE BLACK HANDS rubbing the LARGE BLACK COCK.
I leap out of my seat and walk to the end of the car, wanting to vomit. I wish I had called him out on it. If I had it my way the following would have happened.
******************
SPO NOTICES THE COCK, STANDS UP WITH CONFIDENCE AND FACES THE MASTURBATOR.
SPO
Are you seriously masturbating on the N train? Is that what gets you off? A chubby white chick reading a book on Dog Training? You are a SICK FUCKING FUCK. If there was a pasta named after you it would be Sick Fucking Fuckeroni. If you were to have a street named after you it would be Gross Public Cock Rubber Avenue. If there was a national tragedy named after you it would be COCK/11.
GROSS FUCK
Is that a compliment?
SPO
What? No that is not a compliment. I was making a point that your cock has caused a feeling of violation about as powerful as 2 planes crashi...AHHHH, I hate you - you dirty gross fuck. Why do you have a Jean Jacket anyway? It’s 2005 AND 125 degree’s outside.
GROSS FUCK
I use it to cover my cock when I masturbate on the Train.
SPO
Well that makes sense.
SFX – BING BONG (Subway doors opening)
CONDUCTOR
This is Queensboro Plaza, Transfer for the 7 train on the lower level.
SPO
Okay, I gotta go now. Nice meeting you. Wait, no I mean…
SHANNON PULLS OUT A KNIFE AND CARVES A GIANT M ON GROSS FUCK'S FACE.
SPO
That stands for Masturbator, I have labeled you for life.
SHANNON EXITS, BUT TURNS TO LOOK AT GROSS FUCK AND SEES HIM TUG AT HIS FACE, REVEALING HE HAS BEEN WEARING A MASK. HE LIFTS HIS HAT SO HE CAN REMOVE THE MASK, REVEALING HIMSELF AS RICKY SHRODER CIRCA 1985, BUT NOW WITH A BLOODY M ON HIS FOREHEAD.
RICKY SCHRODER
I love you.
THE DOORS CLOSE. SHANNON POUNDS ON THE GLASS. A TEAR FALLS FROM HER EYE.
SPO
I never meant to hurt you.
THE TRAIN STARTS TO PULL OUT OF THE STATION. SPO RUNS ALONG SIDE.
SPO
No! Why? Ricky Why?!?
RICKY SHRODER WINKS. SPO SLOWS DOWN TO A WALK, STOPPING AT THE END OF THE PLATFORM, HER HAND STILL REACHING TOWARD RICKY'S DEPARTED TRAIN.
SPO
Why?
SPO FACES THE CAMERA
SPO
Why is his cock huge and black?
(END)
******************
Well that’s not how it happened. I scurried to the end of the car on the N train, and stood in the doorway, I glanced down at the dude a couple of times to see if anyone else noticed. Then my hand discovered a few wet marks right around the spot that his cock was directly across from. I am hoping I am wrong, dear fucking lord I am hoping my shirt was not touched with pre-ejaculate juice. FOWL, oh my god the sentence previous to the one you are reading now is FOWL. Unfortunately for my own piece of mind I am throwing the shirt out. It was a great shirt too. The front said “Be Bert, Be Ernie. Just Be.” And on the back was a black and white picture of Bert and Ernie posing as if they were in a CK One advertisement, really funny, really 1995.
To make matter worse, as I held back more vomit from the wet spots, a couple gets on the train at the next stop and stands right next to me. The man is wearing a short sleeve button down shirt, the top few buttons are undone, due to the heat, and no undershirt. I get this, its hot – you gotta do what you gotta do. But why did his girlfriend decide to start sucking and nibbling on his sweaty chest hair? Are you fucking Serious NYC? Come the Fuck on!
I’ll wrap this up now because I want to puke. I get to Queensboro Plaza – transfer to the 7 train. I get off at Roosevelt, walk down to the E/F platform. Stand there for about 30 minutes with 100’s of other folks. I walk up a flight to find an MTA guy to see when the trains will be coming, he says they aren’t. No trains are running in or out of that station except the 7 train, which does me no good. I go to the street, call AVM and ask him to pick me up. I grab a slice of pizza that looked worse heated up than it did sitting out.
I finally got home at 1am.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Mr. Crispy
Khosraw Basheri pumped iron for years, preparing his body for a dream. A dream where veins are meant to look like they are on the outside of your skin. A dream where every muscle in your body is toned to a point of potential combustion. The iron pumping paid off, because Mr. Basheri is the newly crowned Mr. Afghnistan.
More like-
Mr. Afghaniweirdtan
Or
Mr. Anorexic THING
Or
Mr. I pumped iron while on fire inside of a caramel factory.
More like-
Mr. Afghaniweirdtan
Or
Mr. Anorexic THING
Or
Mr. I pumped iron while on fire inside of a caramel factory.
Monday, August 08, 2005
Cry Sad Dry
Dear Kate Robin & Adam Davidson,
Tonight I watched episode 61 of Six Feet Under. According to the opening titles I have both of you to thank for soaking my tank top with tears. (Kate as the writer, Adam as the director). From the moment Ruth appeared hugging a pillow crying till the end when she pulls a blanket over her orphaned granddaughter, a steady river of salty liquid flowed down my cheeks. My throat was closed up & my nose running. You dudes made death really sad, and a husbands death even sadder. Who knew! You guys obviously did. As soon as it was over, I grabbed my husband and sobbed in his arms. I went from thinking about the fudge in my refrigerator, to thinking about how fucking impossible life would be without AVM. I had to watch the Surreal Life so I could think about mentally handicapped people bowling against unwanted celebrities, and less about death.
What will you and your colleagues do to me the next two weeks? Please be gentle, I need strength to survive without you.
SPO
Tonight I watched episode 61 of Six Feet Under. According to the opening titles I have both of you to thank for soaking my tank top with tears. (Kate as the writer, Adam as the director). From the moment Ruth appeared hugging a pillow crying till the end when she pulls a blanket over her orphaned granddaughter, a steady river of salty liquid flowed down my cheeks. My throat was closed up & my nose running. You dudes made death really sad, and a husbands death even sadder. Who knew! You guys obviously did. As soon as it was over, I grabbed my husband and sobbed in his arms. I went from thinking about the fudge in my refrigerator, to thinking about how fucking impossible life would be without AVM. I had to watch the Surreal Life so I could think about mentally handicapped people bowling against unwanted celebrities, and less about death.
What will you and your colleagues do to me the next two weeks? Please be gentle, I need strength to survive without you.
SPO
Friday, August 05, 2005
Dog Days of Summer
Bailey the Chesapeake Bay Retriever and Casey the Golden Retriever lived at my Dad's house while I lived at my mom's. They made visiting my Dad's house easier. My brother Kevin would call me a porker, tears would stream and Casey would come up and comfort me. (He was a fat puppy). I'd go into the backyard upset after Shane teased me and watch Bailey wrestle rocks to pass the time as my tears dried. Dogs are wonderful creatures, truly man's best friend. I always wanted my own dog since I was a kid. My mother never allowed it. Another mouth to feed would be too much. I came close once. I always asked to go into pet stores just to look. And one time my mom started asking the store clerk about a cock-a-poo. "Oh they don't shed?" "Below average exercise? One meal a day?" My mom said she'd think about it. I'm still waiting for her answer.
But that chapter is over. Now I’m an unemployed adult who can make her own decisions. So last weekend AVM & I went to adopt a dog. First stop was the ASPCA. They didn't have any that would work for me. They only had about 10-15 even available for adoption. They said to try back in a week.
We then headed up to the CACC on 110th street. This is a kill shelter. It was awful. A skinny old toothless man was in charge of taking the dogs out of their cages for you. The cages were full, and the barking was loud. Sad eyes gazed at me. Tears started rolling. I took one 7-year-old Terrier out of his cage. He went nuts. They didn't have any quiet areas to get to know the dogs. The terrier was skin and bones, but full of piss. He splashed it all over the floor. I imagine it still hasn't been cleaned up. I put the terrier back, walked out of the building sobbing.
Too many unwanted animals. People are more than welcome to be irresponsible with their own lives. Leave the animals alone.
I checked the ASPCA website the next few days. Nobody new was popping up. Last night I decided to check out the North Shore Animal League. AVM was at work, and was not going to be able to go with me, I said I'd just check it out.
He caught my eyes immediately. Curled up, smooth black coat & my new best friend. I didn't want to jump the gun, so I walked around. I took a collie named Chester into the meeting room. He was too much for me. Just out of puppyhood and I don't have a backyard which a collie deserves. So I took Satch out of his cage. Satch is a 6 year old Rat Terrier Mix. He was adopted out once and returned because he did not get along with another dog at the home. As soon as I took the leash I knew he would come home with me that night.
And he did. I got him home around 10pm. As I put his crate together he found his spot on the couch. We've bonded.
I'm starting to learn some of his quirks. Today we went for a few walks. He covers up his shit and piss like a cat. He kicks back dirt/grass/dust with his adorable paws. He also likes to poop on trees. I thought he was lifting his leg to pee on a small tree/shrub when next thing I knew he was backing up and shitting on top of the tree. He tried it again on some overgrown ivy. Satch is weird just like me!
But that chapter is over. Now I’m an unemployed adult who can make her own decisions. So last weekend AVM & I went to adopt a dog. First stop was the ASPCA. They didn't have any that would work for me. They only had about 10-15 even available for adoption. They said to try back in a week.
We then headed up to the CACC on 110th street. This is a kill shelter. It was awful. A skinny old toothless man was in charge of taking the dogs out of their cages for you. The cages were full, and the barking was loud. Sad eyes gazed at me. Tears started rolling. I took one 7-year-old Terrier out of his cage. He went nuts. They didn't have any quiet areas to get to know the dogs. The terrier was skin and bones, but full of piss. He splashed it all over the floor. I imagine it still hasn't been cleaned up. I put the terrier back, walked out of the building sobbing.
Too many unwanted animals. People are more than welcome to be irresponsible with their own lives. Leave the animals alone.
I checked the ASPCA website the next few days. Nobody new was popping up. Last night I decided to check out the North Shore Animal League. AVM was at work, and was not going to be able to go with me, I said I'd just check it out.
He caught my eyes immediately. Curled up, smooth black coat & my new best friend. I didn't want to jump the gun, so I walked around. I took a collie named Chester into the meeting room. He was too much for me. Just out of puppyhood and I don't have a backyard which a collie deserves. So I took Satch out of his cage. Satch is a 6 year old Rat Terrier Mix. He was adopted out once and returned because he did not get along with another dog at the home. As soon as I took the leash I knew he would come home with me that night.
And he did. I got him home around 10pm. As I put his crate together he found his spot on the couch. We've bonded.
I'm starting to learn some of his quirks. Today we went for a few walks. He covers up his shit and piss like a cat. He kicks back dirt/grass/dust with his adorable paws. He also likes to poop on trees. I thought he was lifting his leg to pee on a small tree/shrub when next thing I knew he was backing up and shitting on top of the tree. He tried it again on some overgrown ivy. Satch is weird just like me!
