Gone With The Wind

My time as a Yankee visitor in the South has come to an end. I am leaving on a jet plane back to New York City today. I must say that I find the South to truly be a different world. I will not pass any judgement on whether it is a better world or not, but it is definitely its own distinct place! And when I don't feel like I have been on a different planet, I have felt like I've stepped back in time in some instances, finding confederate flags in shops and Civil War magazines. I assumed that we were all past this plot point in American history - guess not.

I love that folks  are wearing their NRA Members coats. To be clear, I don't begrudge anyone their right to be a part of any group they choose (even if I don't agree with all of their positions), but I do think it's in bad taste for anyone to wear any "club coat" if you will. I have lots of love for Madonna, but you don't see me wearing my fan club jacket do you? Also, to be clear, I am not actually part of a Madonna fan club - this is just an example.  I also love  having people say out loud that Hillary Clinton is faking her blood clot and then being forced to respond that this is more Fox News foolishness. I am proud of myself for not allowing my head to do a complete 360. Anyway, it is  just a great and entertaining place. But now it's time to say goodbye - back to the land above the Mason Dixon Line and East of the Hudson River - back to my liberal bubble.

Oh and before I go, I must post my favorite discovery from the South. The Just Busted News - Lumps of Coal on the Way. It's just toooo good. I have saved the issue. Here are some pics...

I mean you just can't make this stuff up! It's just too good to not document - absolute insanity. Oh, for the record, I enjoy Gone With the Wind. I am not sure why exactly, besides all the drama and the fact that Scarlett O'Hara was basically a slut. Gotta love the South! 

Wake Me Up When We've Gone Over The Cliff

I should start a drinking game for every time I hear the phrase "going over the fiscal cliff" in the national media. I would find myself more inebriated than I did at the holiday party and that's saying something. Actually, if that were the case, I'd probably find myself dead as I don't think I could be any more drunk than I was at the holiday party - just ask my boyfriend's Jack Spade bag!

Anyway, I know that I am breaking another self imposed blog rule. I try to stay clear of politics due to the divisiveness it causes and because there usually folks find nothing humorous about the dysfunction of our government (I personally find it to be QUITE entertaining), but this fiscal cliff nonsense is just too good to pass up. I also know that the entire point of this blog is for my "notes on the every day insanity of life." Usually that consists of me writing about  embarrassing myself at the holiday party with co-workers, witnessing a shake down of the unsuspecting public by a homeless criminal, or my Grandmother's propensity to wash dishes in her panties. With that being said, this fiscal cliff thing still technically fits into the definition of every day insanity - so I have decided it deserves a post. 

So everyone in Washington, D.C. has worked themselves up into a lather about this fiscal cliff. So to make sure I understand this correctly - Congress and The White House are having heart palpitations over a fiscal cliff that Congress created over a year ago and that the President signed into law in the hope that when we arrived here in 2012, it would force them to negotiate on the big drivers of our deficit. Right? That's what's happened or am I missing something? Our politicians are acting like Armageddon will arrive in 2013 due to something that they themselves created. If that's not the definition of insanity, I don't know what is. 

I will not get into who I believe is more at fault for this nonsense, other then to say they all share blame and should all find themselves unemployed, which of course will not happen. For all the hysteria, whatever happens when we fly off the cliff, Americans will get through this as well. I believe the American public has pretty much become used to their government shoving rods up their ass with no lube. I suppose we will bend over and take this as well. Actually, sadly, some Americans probably have huge assholes because they don't even seem to notice or feel it when Uncle Sam comes tickling their backdoor with a big un-lubed rod - but thats another post. I will not get on my soapbox about apathetic Americans when it comes to politics or folks who don't take notice. 

A good friend of mine always told me that all politics could be explained by talking about everyday things - like toys and candy. If folks followed that logic it also might help more people remain interested in the process. I would go on and on rambling my opinion on these subjects, but she would always simply say - simplify it. So, I am going to do that with this issue - maybe people will find this more interesting, so here it goes. Simply put, whatever your opinion on the fiscal cliff, someone will need to pay more or someone will have their candies taken away. Think of Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, etc as candies. I prefer Starbursts myself. Someone, and that would be the American people, will need to pay more for their Starbursts. Of course, who pays and how much is the question. But to be clear, Americans of ALL colors and stripes like their candy. Seniors especially like their candies. One could argue that they have earned it, but regardless they certainly like it. Some people you could argue need their candy more than others. You cannot go to the local Duane Reade and receive a bag of Starbursts for free. Now we can choose not to purchase candies, or not purchase your candies for as many people as we do now, and some people will go without candies.  Who wants to be the Big Bad Wolf and not pay for candies for the masses or take candies from one group in order to pay for candies for another group? Probably no one, but folks either need to pay or not pay for the candies that they want - that's what all of this is about. 

So the United States of America, our politicians, cannot decide who is going to pay for all the candies we have become accustomed to having or decide how much candy we are going to have, or not have, in the future. I do not mean to belittle the importance of tax rates or our social safety net, but that's what the problem is and when you put it in context of candy, or something a child could understand, it seems rather silly and pathetic. My friend, we will call her A, was right - it's a simple concept.

So since this problem still has not been solved as of the writing of this post, I have resigned myself to the fact that my taxes will go up and nothing ultimately will be solved. As a society, we still have not come to a consensus as to whether or not we truly believe in a social safety net and, if so, how much net are we willing to pay for - how much money should Uncle Sam take out of our pockets? Should people who earn more pay more? Are too many people sucking on what some would say is the worn out breast of America? I don't have all the answers to these questions - you decide. However, I do know that our politicians will most likely screw us. I will keep my more detailed feelings to myself, but I will take this time to say they all bear responsibility and all have failed - the President, Congress, all of them. If they can't slam on the brakes and prevent us from flying over a fiscal cliff they created, they have failed. So with that being said, wake me up when we've either gone over the cliff or slammed on the brakes at the last minute. All of this cliff talk is giving me agita and all of the hullabaloo, while serious, is also laughable - since IT IS A MANUFACTURED CRISIS. It's like being shocked that the Con Edison bill or the rent is due on the first of the month. They created the bill and gave it a due date. The bill is due folks. The bill is due. Now pay up bitches! Pay up! 

WORD OF THE DAY: PAY!!!

Off topic, the entire time I've been writing this post I have had this song in my head. This should lighten things up significantly. Here you go...

NYC Crazy - Beware the Broken Booze Bottle Scam

Folks, be alert. Be alert! You just cannot trust any hobo or homeless vagabond that bumps into you on the street! They will rob you half blind if you're not careful. I don't know how pervasive this particular scam is, but I have seen it happen several times. 

If you're walking the streets of Manhattan and a bum looking person bumps into you and then drops his bottle of "liquor "and it breaks on the street - it is a scam! Don't go off and give the man money. Don't He bumped into you on purpose and since his "liquor" was in a black bag, it probably was just a glass bottle filled with water. Do not feel guilty! Do not argue with the man! Do not feel pressured! Do not feel manipulated! Do not give in!  Do not be afraid! Look the bum in the eye, tell him to scram, and that he shouldn't be drinking anyway! Then walk away folks, walk away! I am sure there are many honest bums on the street, but we've got some sneaky ones here in Manhattan! I almost said honest and hard working, but...yeah...I guess that wouldn't exactly add up. 

Last week, it happened in Midtown and the bum was screaming, cursing, and creating a scene. It looked as though he had chosen a group of unsuspecting tourists to prey upon. After some arguing, they moved to the side of the street where I can only assume they gave the bum money for his supposedly broken bottle of alcohol. Many months ago, a friend of mine experienced this same scenario in Harlem. A man bumped into her and a friend. His supposed bottle of alcohol, which was in a black plastic bag and of course could not actually be seen, dropped on the ground. He then demanded to be compensated. When they said no, he followed them and screamed at them. I believe he even threatened to go to the police. They eventually caved and gave the man money. 

The moral of the story is that real bums shouldn't even have any money to purchase booze and if they are it is a misappropriation of their funds that were probably given to them by some member of the generous working public. With that being said, all funds given to hobos and bums and homeless  should go to Egg McMuffins or some sort of food, not booze. So, in the event that they actually have a  liquor bottle and it actually gets broken - so be it. Just think of it as a sort of less expensive Promises rehab on the fly and the cheap for the homeless. Do not be fooled people! Do not be fooled! I have done my public service and have warned the public!

Greetings from the Volunteer State

The Volunteer State would be Tennessee for those of you who did not know that. I am glad I double checked that fact before I made this post public, as I thought Tennessee was the Show Me state - but that's Missouri. At either rate, they are both west of the Hudson River and are places that often illicit a raised brow of suspicion from me. I am generally wary of parts of America that don't touch an ocean or Great Lake. Although, Nashville has grown on me and not because of that television show Nashville that I refuse to watch. Sorry Connie Briton, loved you on American Horror Story, but just can't with this. A little too much twang for my blood.

But in traveling to the Volunteer State today a few things occured that made me chuckle. Clearly, someone forgot to pay the heating bill at LaGuarida Aiprort this month! Sheesh! What are they storing - dead bodies? Well, it is located in Queens - so you never know what's going on. KIDDING. Queens is cool, I like Astoria. What else. The TSA decided to give me a quick pat down and inspect my HAIR - my dreadlocks - for weapons I assume. First the shoe bomber, then the underwear bomber, and now me - the hair bomber. I am not kidding! The TSA workers can see your naked ass on a screen  in the name of national security scanner thing apparently detected something. I was then asked to turn around so I can "inspect your hair." I suppose that was the next rational place to check for box cutters and dirty bombs. I cannot be bothered. 

The Boy and I later made a friend on the plane. I don't like making friends when it is not on my iteniary for the day. "What are you guys, artists or something? Are you two in the arts or the sciences?  What do you do?" Insert awkward silenece. "Education and Property Management" I responded with a laugh.  "Shows how much I know!" she responded. Right, because lady you don't KNOW US and you shouldn't be yappping about things you don't know. You might look at me and The Boy and think a lot of things - but that was a new one.Next thing I know she'll be asking who is the top and who is the bottom! People should just mind their own business. Clearly, all of my Christmas cheer escaped my body on the evening of the 25th.

We left the plane and entered the airport to find someone singing a live rendition of Sweet Caroline! The guy was not half bad and was a plesant sign that I was definitely in the South. 

Hopefully, I can get back on my normal routine of posting in the morning. However, this may be difficult with The Boy's family as they actually are into doing family things together - for like big chunks of time. My family always missed that memo. Anyway, until next time!

My iShower

Merry Christmas everyone! I hope everyone is having a safe, fun, and relaxing holiday with their families and loved ones. 2012 has been an exceptionally good year for me overall. I have felt very fortunate.  With that being said, The Boy and I decided that we should limit the number of gifts we purchased for one another this year. I don't know, it just didn't seem right with so many people strugglig in various was this year to go on some ridiculous shopping spree. And besides, in my mind I have everything I need or want - at least that's what I've been saying. Of course, The Boy always finds a way to prove me wrong as I was SUPER excited and giddy when I unwrapped my iShower this morning. 

This may be the coolest device ever. First of all, I must explain my love of singing and performance. In my past life I was a famous singer - I am serious. I just know it! In my mind I have talent, but I am smart enough to know that it is best that it only be displayed for my eyes - so the best place would be the shower. So the shower is my stage. We've always had a speaker dock in the bathroom where we could play music, but my iShower is bluetooth streaming and connects to multiple devices - up to five! So, just in case my music library isn't enough, I can connect to The Boys library or whoever else decides to come over and shower at our apartment - not that we usually have a bunch of shower guests. Just clarifying as that line sounded odd to me. The point is...this is totally cool. I can turn on music in my bathroom from my phone while sitting in the living room! Just totally awesome.

I am especially excited to go shower today. I can do my best Celine Dion fist to chest slap while I lather myself up with soap. I can do the Mariah Carey ear hold as I hit those high notes. All I Want For Christmas Is YOOOOOOOOOU! I can strike my best pose and Vogue. Of course, that's a hard one to do as you don't want your arms to slap the shower liner - creates problems. I can attempt to Moonwalk! Anyway, I've got plans for this afternoon! Now, technically, none of this is really new from my normal showering routine, but I have a new toy and new toys makes everything more fun.

Have a Merry Christmas Everyone!

My Jehovah's Witness Subway Friend

EVERY. SINGLE. MORNING during my work week, there is a man at the subway station - without fail. Usually he is alone, sometimes he has friends. I won't lie, at first I have thought of him as some annoying Bible Thumper.  However, as time has passed, his presence has assured me that all is right with the world. As sure as the Empire State Building stands in the distance, or Lindsay Lohan making another  appearance in court, this man and his pamphlets make me feel good - give me some certainty about the world.

Some mornings I have simply returned his smile with a head nod. Some days he does not see me as he tends to his subway congregation - he is quite popular it seems. I know that he's a Jehovah's Witness because of the literature I see him holding and he seems nice enough, but we have never spoken. I have no time for subway prophets as we have a lot of those in New York City. Again, nice enough man, but I have no time - even if you appear to be nice. 

But this all changed when I saw him today - on a weekend - outside of the subway. I was beginning to think he had a room somewhere within the station and that he was being punished for life by never being allowed to leave.  He got out of a car and stepped directly in front of me. I stopped, somewhat surprised. "Hello," he said. I replied with a "Good Morning." I realized it was actually 3 o'clock in the afternoon and corrected my statement. I was flustered. I suddenly felt bad because of the randomness of my greetings to this man when I see him everyday. I also felt like I was in for a sermon that I had avoided for months. 

"Will I see you tomorrow morning?" he asked. I responded that he would, smiled, and walked on by. As I continued my walk home I wondered to myself what had happened? Had the wrapping paper I was holding in my hand brought out the holiday spirit within me? Had too much Christmas cheer crawled up my butt and died? I am a good New Yorker and therefore do not talk to strangers, I am leery of street folks and street prophets - even if you are an impeccable dressed and well spoken street prophet like this man. When I have broken these rules unfortunate things have happened to me. I mean in my head it's just too cold to be outside preaching, I am just saying.

So tomorrow morning I will be speaking with my friend. It would be rude to not do so at this point, right? Also, isn't it just a little creepy that he knows my schedule? I guess not. I would just think so many people pass him by in the morning - why would he know me? I expect to see him in the mornings after all - so I suppose it isn't weird.

Oh, I know everyone is over the world is ending thing now, but that's how I OFFICIALLY knew everything would be fine on the 21st - if he was in the subway station. If the Jehovah is in the station - all is right with the world. Yep, that's where I placed my bets. Of course, I was too hung over to walk to work and had to take a cab, so at 8:30am on Friday morning there still was a shred of doubt we'd make it to the 22nd.

If tomorrow's post is about my conversion to being a witness - you will all know why. 

The Past 36 Hours...

Oh boy! The past 36 hours or so have been something else and not because I was doing any end of the world preparation. I had every intention on the evening of the 20th to come home and to finish the draft I intended for that day. Instead, I went to a holiday party where I became plastered! I was that guy. I have always been afraid of being that guy, but alas it finally happened. Good news is that there were a few that guys and that girls this party - so no one person stood out too much. We all blended in as a blob of drunken hot mess. A little too much fun and a lot of too much to drink, but everyone seemed entertained. 

I apparently dug deep within my internal closet and dusted off whatever piece of heterosexual that remains deep within my soul. Apparently, there may be hope after all for me - the Rock's thighs be damned. I told someone  that she was a spicy Latina and told her to take a twirl. Thank God we don't see one another often. See, I always go down the wrong path because people entertain me. Had she just walked away or scoffed I would have gotten the message. Nope, she twirled and danced and giggled. "Damn gurl you look good. Go on Marisol. Go on gurl, spin for me!" When girl becomes gurl, someone needs to take the margarita away from me. Also, in my mind at the time it was acceptable to sexually harass her because I prefaced my behavior by announcing that I was a homosexual and getting married to a man ...and that's when I said, "But damn gurl you look good!" Yes, yes, that's how that happened - still coming back to me. 

Someone was kind enough to whisper in my ear, "that's not her name." I apparently shrugged that off called her a series of names starting with the letters M before finally getting it right - I think. "Marisol" didn't seem to care. As she continued to remind my me, "Mother of adult kids! Two!" Insert twirl. After reflecting upon the night, I believe "Marisol" was a believer in spanx - and she looked damn good.

I MAY have picked up a woman, but that is debatable as I don't exactly recall that incident and am simply being told I did. I am a big believer in proof. Until there is proof - it falls into the MAY column. I MAY have chastised some folks who I deemed to be leaving the party to early (no they were smart and were trying to maintain dignity). I MAY have given my boss a bear hug in the corner and thanked him for hiring me and informed him how much I hated my old job. I MAY have said and done a lot.

I was dragged out of the party before I really got sloppy - thank God. I MAY have cursed at a taxi cab for taking too long to drive up Madison Avenue in Friday rush hour traffic. I MAY have warned the cab driver that I felt sick and had to pee and that my co-workers would never forgive me if I urinated on them. I MAY have finally become sick and vomited in The Boy's Jack Spade bag. I have secretly always wanted that bag for myself. I believe it is now finally mine. I MAY have done some other things that MAY be deemed slightly questionable and regrettable. 

I don't know what else really happened on December 20th because I came home, passed out. I woke up briefly at some points and was fed chicken fingers by The Boy. Next time I woke up it was December 21st. It seemed as though the world did not end and that by that point most of Asia had already completed the majority of the day without incident - imagine that! Of course, this now meant that I had to show my face to various co-workers. Oh, the shame! Suddenly I was secretly hoping the world had ended just to preserve whatever dignity I had on the morning of the 20th. On the morning of the 20th, I was seen as responsible and fairly buttoned up. I had intended to come home and post an entry on to the blog.  It was not to be. It was a new world for me on the morning of the 21st. 

I called several people for business related matters on the 21st. All the conversations started the same way.  I received a few "Someone had fun last night!" or  a "how are you feeling" followed by giggles and a few "we love you's" Ugh, I just bet they do! DIGNITY! DIGNITY! MY REPUTATION! D'oh!

One staff member came to me, cracking up laughing, and said..."you were pretty straight man! Pretty straight! What happened?"

I don't know. I don't know.  

I planned to post these events yesterday, but I received the pleasant surprise from my sister and brother-in-law, as her birthday fell on the doomsday that wasn't. I spent the evening with her, my brother-in-law, and The Boy. It was a great way to end the day. I feel as though I am shaming her with this tale. I will find a way to redeem myself.

So folks forgive me for my delayed posts. I made it through the end of the world, am now sober, and back in the blogging saddle.

Sharing Internet Nonsense...

I will return later today with my normal post. In the meantime, enjoy some of these ridiculous people.

43 People You Won't Believe Actually Exist

Forty, Horny, and Pissing Spanxs

Can I pull this off? Should I even want to?

I don't want this blog to give anyone the wrong impression of me. I am normal and only somewhat ridiculous. I have a good job and am part of the 53% of hardworking Americans that pay their income taxes, so Mitt Romney would be proud of me.  I am in a good old fashioned gay relationship. I am not sure how to describe that for the masses, but it sounds right and I enjoy adding the words old fashioned to things and it is true. You know an old fashioned gay when you see one. I also enjoy an Old Fashioned for the record. Anyway, what else...I come home and run the dishwasher at night like a good adult (that is one chore I can somewhat handle). I don't wear hipster clothes or meggings. I have included a link at the bottom of the post if anyone thinks I am making up this trend of men wearing tights. Of course, if Lenny Kravitz does it - I can at least think about it, right? Maybe we can come back to this later.The point is...I am normal, and no more ridiculous than the average person or at least no more ridiculous than the people around me!

Case and point, my friends. They say and do ridiculous things. I have never screamed out "I almost pissed my spanx!" in a fancy smancy restaurant like my friend did the other day. Nope, not I. Now, to be fair and honest, that was in response to something I said and I am not quite sure others heard her say this with the exception of the folks at our table. I cannot say the same for what I said that warranted that response.

We were out with a group friends when one friend announced she was horny, which isn't necessarily a problem when you use your indoor voice. And I must say she did in fact use her indoor voice, which may have caused me to become confused and think she said she was forty. The possibility of this other friend being forty was news to me. She didn't look forty and there was never any news of a big fortieth  birthday bash. I exclaimed "forty" in surprise and sought out an explanation. You see I was already starting off wrong, because I was not using my indoor voice. This was the type of establishment where one must place a napkin in their lap, it's not optional like maybe at Applebee's. And one should remove their elbows from the table unless he or she be judged. I was good on the napkin, but the elbows - eh. Maybe for some of the dinner. Let's not discuss it - I am not proud. Anyway, I was informed by my friend who apparently wears spanx that I had misheard. In a hushed tone, she said "No, no, she said she's horny. She's horny" Now understanding, I then announced "Ooooooooh horny!" with the excitement of a student who finally comprehended a difficult math problem. The restaurant went quiet and the waiter may have chosen that exact moment to check on our table, because that's just how things seem to happen for me. My friend then responded, "Oh God, I almost pissed my spanxs" in laughter. I was playfully chastised for being louder than I needed to be at this sort of establishment and creating a ruckus.

I say all of this to say that I am not the silliest person in my pack of friends or of the people I know. I want to go on record to say that some of my zaniness may purely be in response to what happens around me. It is not my fault. I just happen to be sharing certain stories - just saying.

Guess it's a good thing it's not like this.

Off topic, the discussion of spanx intrigues me. Is that like mummifying oneself? I wonder what it feels like? Mummifying oneself is probably so far away from what it is actually like. It's like how at the same dinner I described the vagina as being like the Holland Tunnel - some never ending deep dark hole that can consume someone, swallow and gobble them up never to be seen again. Ahh - nightmares. Yikes! The women at the table explained that it was not like the Holland Tunnel - that there were major issues for that woman if it were anything like the Holland Tunnel. Glad that was cleared up. There was also discussion of it being like a venus flytrap, but that's just ridiculous so I will move on. Anyway, they make spanx like garments for men, right? I suppose I could get a man girdle and see what that feels like. But is a girdle comparable to spanx? Maybe one day I'll find out. I've always been a curious bumblebee.

In a lesson for the day, my spanx wearing friend always told me that many women should slap on a "foundational garment." Too many women slick themselves up with baby oil or Crisco and slide, shimmy, and slither  into pants, that they are can't fit into, or they may look a little better in the outfit they have on and will be devoid of canyons and craters and other sorts of lumps and bumps. From what I've seen, I must agree.

Can we now go back to meggings? Maybe I should be a little more hip. If the Biebs (did I just say that?) and Lenny Kravitz are rocking them, why can't I? I mean there are articles all about these tights all over the internet! And when I was watching the American Music Awards a few weeks ago and Chris Brown was "performing" in what I thought were thermal underwear, I now know were meggings! Oh boy, I think the entire point of my post, my entire point, may have just been lost.

Here is an article below about meggings. Anderson Cooper also gives his opinion in a video. Gotta love the silver fox!

MEGGINGS

I Hate These Underwears!

Hmm, I am going to need to stop having a doughnut everyday with my coffee.

For some reason I feel like I often find myself explaining ridiculous and odd things to people. Case in point, a situation that recently happened with The Boy. Because I have a general aversion to household chores, "The Boy" was folding laundry, at which point I was scolded because of a pair of underwear that I have had seemingly forever, but not to the point where holes have developed. I am guilty of that sometimes. To be clear, these are a respectable enough pair of boxer briefs but are not the most fashion forward or trendy pair of skivvies I own. I mean they are not a pair of sexy Calvin's or anything, but they do the job on a dreary let me slap something on and simply go to work because I have to type Monday morning.

I hate these "underwears!" he exclaimed. He says underwears just to annoy me as we have often had the discussion that I believe the word underwear is plural - as in put these in the underwear drawer. There is no "underwears" drawer, right? Ahh! I mean come on! The Boy's disdain for this pair of underwear has been discussed before. "Throw them out," I responded. I had hoped that he would now sleep better tonight, I had conceded. "Or use them as a rag." Ok, before I am judged sometimes clothes that I plan to discard, particularly unmentionables, get used a rag for cleaning. A dust cloth or a temporary sponge. Is that odd? They are clean when they are used! I don't do it all the time! Anyway, back to the story. "No, no...I am sure they were given to you by someone special or something." Insert eye roll. I am not sure why such things are said. In his defense, I am known to accidentally keep clothing from men and females alike, siblings of friends, etc. I am practically a step away from borrowing clothes from hobos off the street, it has been that bad at times. Sweat pants, t-shirts, hoodies, basketball shorts (as I don't do sports that is another story as to why I have those), etc of others have ended up in my possession. My closet over the years has turned into a hodgepodge of materials gathered from friends past and present. I also would like to take the time to go on record and say that I don't steal these things. Somehow they are borrowed and simply not returned. Anyway, I was never the hot piece of gay ass that some boy lusted after and envisioned in some pair of sexy underwear, at which point he bought them for me, just saying! No need for the "someone special or something" comment. 

I have, however, been given underwear by a staff member at my old place of employment. "Babe, remember those were given to me by someone at work - a female." My justification for why I had them was no less ridiculous then his sarcastic comment as to why he imagined I kept them for so long. The Boy didn't say anything else. I think he has adjusted to my ridiculous tales to otherwise everyday normal questions or comments. The underwear were folded and placed in the drawer. 

I wonder how many other folks were given underwear by their co-workers? Well, maybe those folks who were having affairs, but I was not having an affair with this woman and she certainly knew of my homosexuality. I like to tell myself that she gave them to me in a maternal way, the way your mother or grandmother might always want to know whether you have enough socks and t-shirts in your wardrobe when you're younger. My grandmother and mother were very big on making sure I had thermal underwear when I was younger. Anyone else have that problem? Anyway, it was just one of those odd and ridiculous moments as I am opening a Christmas present in my office, expecting to see a book or a gift card, but out come three pair of underwear - now sitting on your desk. She stayed and watched me open them by the way as if to ensure I was satisfied. Awkward. You wonder how many other people this happens to, but in my instance you look around for confirmation that it isn't just you, people turn away as if they cannot relate. Ridiculous. Is it me? Do I attract the ridiculousness? I must say though, two out of the three pairs are some of my favorite underwear. Comfortable, fit nicely in the right places. Good colors. I especially enjoy the holiday pair with the little reindeer, I won't lie. Sometimes I wear those out of season and have been chastised for that as well. Eh, what are you going to do. She did a good job. Maybe more co-workers should randomly buy me underwear. And besides, you can never have too many pairs of underwear, right? 

"Life Is Too Short"

I am going to break a self imposed rule of this blog today and then I am going to vow to never do it again, because "life is too short." No truer words have been spoken, especially in light of everything that occurred this past Friday.

I have always enjoyed writing, ever since I was kid, and in my dream world I would somehow make a living writing - something. A book, a blog, Hallmark cards, amazing Madonna fan mail- something. I am kidding about the Madonna fan mail. Fortunately for me I had an "interesting" upbringing and so I always had a need to express various emotions, or to escape in some fantasy world I created. 

If I learned nothing else from my upbringing, it would be that life will inevitably knock you down. People will betray you. Family members can inflict pain upon you and each other worse then an enemy ever could. Lastly, those who claim to love you, while they certainly may in their own minds, can often have a funny way of showing it. But I also learned that things often do get better and that you don't have to be defined by your past. It's a struggle and you sometimes have to fight to do it, but no one has to be defined by their past. I have learned that blood is certainly not always thicker than water and most of all, I have learned to laugh. I learned long ago as a kid to laugh, to laugh at my family, myself, my upbringing, the world in general. Sometimes the laughter is genuine at a comical moment, sometimes to simply keep from crying or to wallow in pain.

So when I decided to start this blog, I thought it would be a good thing because I often feel like I have something to say. It sounds simple enough, but I like to laugh and see people happy. I have always wanted to please people. And so what better title than Gay in a Straight Jacket, Notes on the Everyday Insanity of Life? I have often felt like I was just a step away from being crazed, or because of different things that happened in my life or that I witnessed, I should be insane. I have no other choice then to laugh at those things. Despite it all, I am fairly sane, rational, a responsible adult. Fortunately, the longer I am on this planet the more I realize everyone has just a pinch of crazy within them. I suppose this is all a good thing, I've got plenty of tales from my past and the crazies in my present! And since I have a lot of gay in me, Gay in a Straight Jacket fits! 

So my self imposed blogging rule is to tell stories that make people grin, maybe smile. If I am really doing my job, you will laugh out loud at least once. I know that today I have failed in that mission with this post and I will not allow myself to post entries such as this in this future. I don't like to break rules after all. I am also breaking a self imposed length rule with this post! Forgive me folks!

I had no intention on posting any commentary about the shooting at the Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut. This blog has not indicated it, but I actually can be very serious, quite political, and I can annoyingly get on my soap box about things (I was a Political Science major after all, so the interest is there). I have made a conscious decision not to post about anything too serious that one cant walk away happy or to allow any of my political beliefs to escape other then in a quick quip here or there. So, in keeping with that I am not going to give any personal opinions on gun control or mental health or what the next steps, if any, we should take as a nation. 

Yes, I had no intention of posting anything about Newton, Connecticut on my blog, until I received several phone calls from my father this weekend. We still have not spoken, but I have listened to his  messages. Friday's message was not apologetic or particularly conciliatory, but he did want me to know that he loved me, wanted to ensure I was safe as he was sure I heard about the shooting, and to inform me that he felt "life was too short" to never speak again. With the backdrop of such a heinous act, it is hard for me to disagree with his sentiment and makes our issues over my sexuality seem trivial at best. On Friday, I took the time to inform my father that I loved him, hoped he was well, and then admonished him for giving me lectures on "life being too short." Life, before and after the events in Newtown, has always been too short. I continued by telling him that he would have been most concerned with my being happy, healthy, and successful and to have found love - all things I have if he really believed that. Instead, I said, you're still ashamed and wishing and hoping I'm not gay. I concluded that I didn't need any lectures from him about the principle of "life being too short," when he clearly has had other priorities.

Maybe I should not have taken the time to say that at that moment, maybe it was low of me. Maybe I should have simply thanked my father for the concern, left him with the news that I indeed loved him too and moved on. In subsequent messages, I apparently have hurt him even more with the text message I sent him. I remain amazed at how my father is always the victim. I also am confused as to how this entire situation has been turned around to be about him being "hurt." I was told to be a man and say what I needed to say. So, on Sunday I called his cell and the house, to be a man, and to tell him how I felt - he has not responded. I have to laugh that this man is still lecturing me on being a man. See, the learning to laugh thing comes in handy. 

But I agree that "life is too short." It  is too short to be around people who don't fully support or accept my life. Who are still regretting aspects of my life. I am sure it was not his intention, but I feel as though he was trying to manipulate or guilt me into behaving a certain way because something horrific happened. What was I supposed to say, life is too short and so it's ok that you don't accept me and that you have disrespected my relationship and that you stand in judgment of me? 

My father and I agree with the sentiment that "life is too short," but we may have different ideas of what to do with that belief. For me, it is too short for me to break my self-imposed blog rule of writing posts that make people smile (I hope) because I am still dealing and reliving this drama, that is over a decade old, with my father. Seriously folks, I was drooling about The Rock when I was 13. My father has known I was gay since I was 15. This is old. It's too short to continue to talk with a man, who has left many a messages in the last couple of weeks, said many things, but has failed to simply say I AM SORRY for how I spoke to you before Thanksgiving, how I may have unintentionally treated your partner,  SORRY for opening old wounds. Can we talk? 

So on Tuesday, I will go back to my self-imposed blog rule of writing things that find a way to make people smile or laugh about the crazy things and moments in our lives. Unlike those poor kids and families in Newtown, Connecticut, I still have my life to lead - untouched by such horror. That is a sort of event that someone cannot get past. This thing with my father, is stupid, ultimately his lost, and I can get past. It seems silly  not to surround myself around people and things that make me happy and feel fulfilled. It seems silly and trivial to continue to dwell on fights with people that obviously cannot be resolved. Prior to this weekend and the various messages, I thought that somehow this can be resolved. Because my being gay is still about him and it's still about his hurt, I have learned, I don't see how that happens. It is time to move on. 

Because life is too short, it may be too short to have my father in it.

O Christmas Tree

Our live Christmas tree was delivered by a Grinch this morning. I will discuss later why on Earth a live Christmas Tree was delivered to our home. But yes, a Christmas tree was delivered this morning by someone who looked like his name would be "Lou" and owns a seedy bar in Brooklyn. First of all, Lou was lost. When "Lou" called for additional directions, The Boy explained that he was on the wrong block of our street. The response to that was, "son of a bitch!"Not the most professional, but ok, I don't like being lost either.

When "Lou" finally arrived at our apartment, I attempted to buzz him in. We have a video monitor so you can see and talk to whomever is downstairs. Of course, just because we were dealing with poor Lou, I couldn't seem to buzz in. I told him to push the door. I don't think "Lou" ever really pushed, but I can hear and see him barking rudely on the video. "COME DOWN AND OPEN DA DOOR! OPEN DA DOOR! IT WON'T OPEN." I hadn't had my morning coffee yet and I don't deal well with hostility before at least one cup of coffee has been consumed. The worst of the Borough of Brooklyn had thrown up all over this man. I walked away from the video monitor in a huff and yelled to The Boy. "Go let him in, I can't be bothered and I don't like his energy." Yes, suddenly I was interested in energy - who knew. 

"Lou" was now allowed in the house, dragging our Christmas Tree with him. I hid in the office so I could go unseen by the man who looked as if his diet consisted of hoagies with lots of onions on a daily basis. Uh oh, I think I am showing my roots! I believe in New York, these sandwiches are called heroes, but in my native Philadelphia those sandwiches are called hoagies and I believe in the rest of the country they are called subs. I digress, the point is, "Lou" made me very uncomfortable for some reason. Suddenly a series of orders were being given, but not by the renter's of the apartment.

"I need two quarts of warm wadah!" 

"You got the wadah?" 

"Hey, hey, hold da tree. A little more to da right."
"Da right!"

Better The Boy than me, I hid in the office and straightened up stuff. It was like Scruff McGruff the crime dog was in the apartment, just more than I could handle before 10:30am on a Sunday. 

"Hey, it's still crooked! You gotta move it towards ya! No, the other way!"

"Son of a bitch!"

"I need scissors." 

I decided to come out of the of office then and pop up behind "Lou" with a simple hello after the latest son of a bitch. "Lou" nodded and fortunately it seemed as though The Boy and "Lou" worked out the straightening up of the Christmas tree. Before "Lou" left, he let out one more little gem.

"Um, you know, tax and gratuity were not included on your bill."

Hehe - gotta love "Lou." Once he left, I complained a little more about the energy that he brought into the apartment and that this is what happens when you order a Christmas tree off the internet. I am really into good energy today - who knew! I've picked with The Boy about this tree ordering thing all week, but I must admit on paper the idea of ordering a live Christmas tree off the internet and having someone bring the stand, place it in the stand and set it up, etc - seems appealing. But I always make fun of The Boy for taking very simple things like picking out a Christmas tree and feeling the need to unnecessarily launch them into the 21st Century, making productions out of otherwise ordinary events. But I must say, even though "Lou" was Grinch like and an ass, I am glad the tree is upright. I can't say the same happened last year when I purchased a tree, but that is another story for a different day. 

What? You Don't Want To Be Gay In Newark?

This picture will make sense after you read the story

Woohoo! This is a Gay in a Straight Jacket first - my first drunk post! Ok, I am not drunk because I can support my own head, but I feel goooood. For those of you who live in the New York/New Jersey area, you know of the wonders and joy of Dinosaur BBQ and their Donkey Punch. It is a wondrous mixture of rums and multiple liquors and overall goodness that will get someone f*cked up quickly! It's MMM MMM good! Anyway, The Boy and I traveled to New Jersey to visit some friends. We will call them "M," "B," "SB" and "C" in order to protect their innocence and to ensure they are not embarrassed to know me after this post. 

So being New Yorkers, The Boy and I do not have automobiles, so the subway and mass transit are our friends. We met "M," "B," "SB," and "C" at the Dinosaur BBQ in Newark, NJ (who knew they had one), but at the end of the night had to travel back to NYC. I had a blast and felt happy, free, and felt looooove. Donkey Punch will make one feel lots and lots of looooove! I let my hand reach over towards The Boy's. I didn't receive the love and affection I had imagined. Let's play a little theater. "THE BOY" will of course be The Boy as he always is and, I don't know,  I'll be "THE BLOGGER"

THE BLOGGER: Hold my hand!

THE BOY: Why? We're in Newark!

THE BLOGGER: (I scoffed) What? You don't want to be gay in Newark?

THE BOY: Isn't this the most dangerous city in America?

THE BLOGGER: No, that's Baltimore!

I suddenly didn't feel so safe and thought about HBO's The Wire. 

When I was sober and walking towards the restaurant at the beginning of the night, I had imagined a cracked out 1980s Bronx New York scene, fires burning on the corner type scene. Newark, NJ was nothing of what I imagined. The Boy informed me that I had simply walked in the wrong direction. Now that it was ten o'clock at night, The Boy had suddenly become the one who behaved as if we stepped into a scene from The Wire. 

As we walked to the train station, our ridiculous conversation continued.

THE BLOGGER: I can't believe you won't hold my hand or give me affection, you're always up for that.

THE BOY: Yeah, on the Upper West Side of NYC. 

THE BLOGGER: Come on, let me ball tickle you! 

THE BOY: Stop it!

THE BLOGGER: (I may have pouted) Ok!

My hands reached over anyway. The Boy was not amused. I am usually allowed some lattitude to behave a mess, but when The Boy put his foot down - he slammed it down. I was annoyed. For the almost three years of knowing one another, The Boy was always seeking out some sort of public display of affection - I thought he'd be happy. Apparently, no one wants to be too gay in Newark, New Jersey. Maybe he was afraid that Chris Christie would come out and sit on us in protest! Too much? Don't be so sensitive, I actually like Chris Christie, but that is a BIG FUCKING MAN! Did anyone else watch the Barbara Walters special The Ten Most Fascinating People on Thursday? She asked the "Are you too fat to be President question?"Governor Christie of course said no and that it was a ridiculous question, but yeah...how much you wanna bet he'd pull a Precious and lose some weight before 2016? Has anyone seen Gaboruey Sidibe lately - she looks great! Anyway, I digress. I'll probably regret all of this in the morning, but what are you going to do? You only live once and you've got to post daily!!! I'll blame the Donkey Punch!

We made it back to NYC. By this time, I was listening to my iPod. I've been in a Cher phase lately Tonight, it was "Strong Enough." I came out of the subway and sang a verse or two to The Boy. Still wasn't having it. Turns out he didn't want to be gay in Newark or Harlem.

As someone who soberly isn't into public display's of affection, I will remind him of this in the morning. I don't care if it's a boy, a girl, or a goat's hoof...I don't like holding hands under normal circumstances. My hand sweats. So, my lovey dovey attitude was a one time Donkey Punch fueled moment. 

Tomorrow I will need to redeem myself with a sober post - I swear. It might even be somewhat somber in light of recent events and my father deciding to reach out to me!

NYC Crazy - For The Love of Starbucks

Apparently I am a fan of ridiculously priced and pretentiously named coffee beverages - so I frequent Starbucks, especially on the days where I have work meetings in Midtown. I have developed an entire routine. I leave my office earlier then necessary for fear of being late and hop on the subway, but always act surprised and bummed out that I am too early, which then gives me time and an excuse to go into Starbucks. Then I tell my self, "this money really could be going towards something else, but since it's just this one time it's ok." This line has not changed over the course of a year. So, in following with my routine I ended up in the Starbucks beside the corporate office this afternoon and decided I'd get a drink just this one time because I was early. 

Now one can expect a Starbucks to be crowded on a good day, but someone should have warned me about the buy one holiday drink and get a second one free promo. Sheesh - there practically was a small town in that place!

Once in the line, I noticed that the gentleman ahead of me was very intrigued by the entire promotion, so much so that he was mired in indecision and ridiculous questions. "Can I come back for my second drink later?" No he was quickly told. "Does it apply to all drinks?" No, just the holiday beverages he was quickly informed. "And I cannot come back for it later," he asked just to be sure. No, he was informed once more. The cashier seemed willing to help by asking if he was going to stay and drink his first beverage in the Starbucks. His interest seemed to peak. Unfortunately she said "lobby" as opposed to store or here or in the coffee shop. Two more rounds of questioning occurred starting with the words "where" and "what" before both parties were on the same page that  "lobby" meant "in the store" or "the coffee shop." I blame the otherwise wonderful cashier for this mishap. Eh, maybe I should blame Mr. Can I Come Back Later. I mean, how dense can you be? Where? Where do you think she means - Mars? I mean, really. AHHH! Come on folks! 

But was she so wonderful (cue dramatic music and soap opera ending scene close-up!!!)? Maybe she had fooled me. It was now my turn to order and there are only two drinks I ever really purchase. A Venti Carmel Macchiato or a Venti Vanilla Chai Latte, for those of you who are interested in knowing my favorite Starbucks drinks. I'm a man who sticks to the rivers and the lakes he's used to, so I rarely deviate from those two beverages - even in the summer (drinks are still hot) or during holiday drink season. I seemingly committed a cardinal sin on what was buy one beverage get one free day. "Would you like one of our holiday beverages instead, buy one get one free." I quickly declined, I ordered a Venti Vanilla Chai Latte and was comfortable and confident in my choice. "Would you like to buy one for a co-worker?" I declined once more. "You sure, it's buy one get one free!" Awkward silence. Insert heavy sigh. 3, 2, 1...1, 2, 3!  Like lady...no means no! I want my ONE drink that is NOT on the HOLIDAY drink list and I want to be left alone. No guilt, no guilt!!! I was tempted to throw up the Cross - it was like a cult that I didn't want to join. Can't a man just get one drink? I shuffled off to the side with the other waiting patrons. Cashier woman totally lost cool points from three minutes ago when she patiently dealt with Mr. Can I Come Back Later Guy. I envied her patience and now she was testing mine. Maybe his annoying qualities had suddenly possessed her soul.

In her defense though, the folks after me took the deal and I think the person behind them did as well. I suppose I was just that odd. As the father of a very good friend of mine used to say. "There is no such thing as a free lunch, but if someone offers you one - you take it!"

As I continued to wait and the Starbucks became even more packed, I continued to shuffle around for free space. Inevitably, there truly was no more space and I walked right into the way of a woman approaching me. We exchanged a pleasant excuse me to one another. I put my head down and slid to the left. She followed that path. She slid to the right and I followed that path. Maybe it was time to look up. I apologized for my seeming inability to get out of the freakin' way. She laughed and then I laughed. Maybe she was flirting. Was I flirting? Sometimes my signals get crossed. But it was in this moment of friendliness that it happened - something that should never happen in public. "We're like dancing," she said. I laughed again as she stood in front of me before she then decided to SHIMMY. Yes, apparently because we were "like dancing," she decided to demonstrate for me with a SHIMMY. I laughed again, this time displaying my level of discomfort a little more freely. I was embarrassed that I was sucked into this little midday performance. This time I was capable of sliding the right way, away from my new friend. I hope no one thought I had condoned her shimming - in public at least. I am all for a private shimmy or a drunken public shimmy, but not a midday workday sober shimmy. I have too much self respect for shimming under any other circumstance then the acceptable ones I have just outlined. 

Maybe this was all punishment for making lame ass excuses to buy ridiculously priced beverages. 

Daddy Drama

Do you know that my father still has not apologized for his I can't believe my son is still a homo routine before Thanksgiving? Still has not apologized. So, we still haven't spoken - nope. Think it's good to keep him on ice for a bit. It's all or nothing. Uh oh, Cher song popped in my head...BABY IT'S ALL OR NOTHING NOW! OOOOO! Of course it's a love song so it only somewhat applies, but I digress. Anyway,  seriously - it's all or nothing on this topic. For now, it is clearly nothing.

You see this is why my father is going to have to be put in Shady Pines, with no Polident or Depends. packed in his little duffel bag. He can just sit there all day and shit himself staring out the window. It will give him plenty of time to think about his decision to be a jerk. On a good day I have joked about sending my parents to Shady Pines, but if they want to be assholes I'll start picking up brochures to review now. And unlike on The Golden Girls when Shady Pines burns down and Sophia goes to live with her daughter Dorothy, in my show titled Daddy's a Dick To Only Son, we just throw the old bastard out on the street if the retirement village burns down. I'm just saying. 

I don't like old folks as it is - well most. They think just because they've made it to 65 and receive Medicare they can say and do anything they want. For all of the much ballyhooed "death panels" in Obamacare that really didn't exist, if I had written the bill there would have been death panels that would decide to snuff out the most miserable and bitchy of old folks.

It reminds me of the time a few years back when I was ill and had to stand in the pharmacy line at Duane Reade. Some old goat decided to jump the line with his rum raisin ice cream. I wasn't having it. I told him to get to the back of the line or to take his damn ice cream to the front - at the regular check-out. He called me "rude" and chastised me by peppering his sentences with "young man." I dropped an f-bomb or two and told him to take his ass to the front of the store. In my defense, I was under the weather and in no mood. I seem to have bad luck with Duane Reade's and lines. But unlike my yelling at the poor German girl erroneously, I maintain that the Bob Barker look-a-like deserved it. My friend who we will simply call "M" was present to witness the scene.

Oh, I know I am going to hell. I'm a terrible person. I'm not speaking to my father and I want to snuff out old people in general (most) yada yada yada! No worries, I have already taken the preemptive step of submitting my application for hell, passed a credit check, and put down a deposit. They seem to really like me down there - so no issues there. I should fit in perfectly. Now all I need to do is find the right recliner that can hold up for eternity.

And because I loved this show! Go to 2:44. How did my father not know I was gay again?

NYC Crazy - He's Homeless Asshole

Let me just say I don't need any help being an asshole to the homeless. I don't need any helpers or support, I can decide not to give money to the supposedly homeless or legitimately homeless all on my own. All though, to be clear, this gentleman looked fairly homeless, but I just couldn't be bothered. And this is not to say that I have never given any money to the homeless, but you can't do it all the time - no Uncle Moneybags here.

But while I may have my conflicted emotions on homelessness, I never share these thoughts with the  homeless I may see on a given day. I imagine they have their own problems and don't need my opinion. Nope, I either give or walk by silently and go about my day bopping on my iPod.

For some reason, today, as I declined to give a handout when asked, a member from the peanut gallery of non-homeless people seemingly approved of my behavior. Out of the blue, a man shouted...

"YEAH, YEAH, CAUSE YOU KNOW HE IS THE ONLY MAN IN NEW YORK CITY WHO IS HOMELESS!"

I was shocked. I couldn't believe it. Did he actually just say that? Sure, you may think that and you sometimes feel that way, but you don't actually say it. Dude, you're not homeless and you're supposedly a sane citizen. We keep those thoughts to ourselves. I felt like he had broken the homeless to non-homeless person interaction etiquette!

He was well dressed and standing beside a car with his girlfriend before getting ready to go into some posh Meatpacking District restaurant. He was so smug. He was proud of himself. I was witnessing a modern day version of Scrooge! Hey - he's homeless asshole! Of course, I didn't shout that.

I suddenly felt more and more like an ass too. Maybe I should have given the man something? Yes, my proud onlooker was right, he certainly was not the only homeless person in NYC. The homeless are as much a part of NYC as say - rats. And before I am chastised for that statement, I am NOT comparing the homeless to rats. Maybe comparing the quantity but not the quality or there worth as people, just saying.  ANYWAY, but did he really have to say that? Did he have to, essentially, sarcastically chastise the homeless man for daring to ask me for a few pennies? There was no doubt that the poor man heard.

I can be an asshole all on my own. Like the time I unknowingly yelled at a German woman who jumped the line at Duane Reade and thought it necessary to bang the counter to get her attention. It was only then I learned she was German and her line jumping was probably more a product of being foreign and not knowing where the line started than wanting to be rude. The point is I can be an asshole all by myself. I don't need encouragement to turn my nose up in disgust at the people in the street who are smelly, begging, and generally unpleasant. As a New Yorker, hell as an American, I think it is easy to become jaded with these sorts of things. I fortunately have not become so jaded where feel the need to give verbal slap downs to those who ask for any spare change.

But maybe the guy just had more balls than me. I mean, why didn't I give the homeless man anything if I felt so bad? Who is worse, the man who says what he really thinks or the man who hides what he really thinks because it isn't proper? 

"YEAH, YEAH, CAUSE YOU KNOW HE IS THE ONLY MAN IN NEW YORK CITY WHO IS HOMELESS!" That line has stuck with me over these last couple of days. I don't really have an answer to this problem, but I have decided that I will try to think about it more, at which point I am probably more apt to dig in my pocket. Of course, if I think about it too much, I may think I am getting scammed. Makes me think about the time my friend saw a panhandler on the subway, seeking funds for the burial of her son. Five years later, my friend ran into that same panhandler burying that same son. It's easy to become jaded in this town! Who knows. I guess I'll stick with my policy of randomly giving as the mood strikes me. I can't save the world, but maybe can help a person here or there.

Crumb Snatchers

She was so precious at 96th Street, bouncing in her stroller, laughing and giggling as the train rocked back and forth, eating some of her father's potato chips. Her parents seemed happy and content - everything was ideal. I wondered why they were not feeding the baby something more healthy, but who the hell am I to judge. More importantly, it made me want a little one at the moment. I wonder what our child would call The Boy and I. Daddy and Daddy #2 , perhaps? Who would be Daddy #1 and Daddy #2. How did the gays decide these things? Draw straws perhaps? I am sure there is a book out there or something - I'll check later. Maybe Daddy and Papa. Daddy and Papa Bear. That last one sounded slightly sexual to me so maybe not. Maybe it would be Vanilla Daddy and Chocolate Daddy - should be easy enough for her to follow that way. She could get a diversity lesson early that way and be the most diverse child in daycare! Whoa, solitary subway rides gave me lots of time to think! Stop thinking! And yes, I have already determined it would have to be a her, no boys allowed. I've got no time for catch, any other sports that involve being roughed up, or G.I. Joe's. I do rather enjoy tennis though. Of course, when the girl got older I don't know how I'd deal with "Aunt Flow" and pads, tampons, pearls, rags, or whatever the hell are being used these days. Haven't they figured out a way to permanently stop that? I guess not. Eh, I guess I could handle that. It can't be that bad. I suppose I have enough female friends that they could discuss all those details with her. We could call her Lily. No, The Boy is still against that name because Cameron and Mitchell named their daughter Lily on Modern Family, but I swear I liked the name first. By 72nd Street, as the D Train rocked and bounced about, my little precious had suddenly become possessed by the devil. Could I do this? If she shuts up in 3, 2,...nope she's still crying. Can someone open the subway doors and throw it out? Oh, did I just say that in my head? She's whining for daddy's iPod. Why the f*ck is Daddy listening to an iPod when the rest of us have to listen to his little screamer?! Ugh, she's spilling those chips all over the floor. Isn't anyone going to stop her? Don't just say stop - she's a baby she doesn't understand that you tool! Grab her hand! Take the bag! Oh, that's great now she's pawing towards the floor trying to get the chips she spilled - yep that's sanitary. Ugh, goddamn crumb snatcher! All they do is eat, make messes, and shit. And who the hell is going to change diapers if I have a child? Maybe The Boy and I draw straws again. Someone is going to have to clean that up! Yeah, keep grabbing at that iPod cord baby girl! Annoy the hell out of him until the asshole responds. Are we at 42nd Street yet? Ugh, 59th! Why the hell is the D on the local track! Maybe wanting to throw her out of the subway is harsh. Maybe the parents are doing something wrong. I should want to throw them on the tracks instead, but then I'd be left with the baby. I could always shove a finger in it's mouth, right? Why the hell haven't they slapped a pacifier in her mouth? Yes, she'd have to go to - I feel no guilt. Oh, God I love to sleep. I'd want to kill it if it woke me up in my sleep. Maybe I'm not ready for kids. She's still crying. Lady whip out your boob or something, wipe it's ass, burp it - do something for God's sake! Yes, I could be forgiven for wanting to throw the entire nosy lot out of the train. The public would understand. Ugh, 42nd Street - I made it. I'm late. Why the hell was the D train running local! If I had a baby, I'd have to lug that thing and a stroller up the damn stairs. What the hell was that about having a child again?

NYC Crazy - Tales of the Subway

The amazing thing about New York City is that there is no shortage of crazy or odd sightings. This rule was especially true when taking the subway after hours. Nothing good ever happens when taking the subway after midnight, at least to me. It reminds me of that scene from Home Alone 2 when Kevin hops in a cab in an attempt to get away from the horrors of the nighttime weirdos in Central Park. Of course, upon jumping in the cab, the cabbie turns to him and informs him, "ain't much better in here kid." The same held true for The Boy and I this evening, it wasn't getting any better once we stepped onto that train. 

There were four crazies on my subway journey this evening and we will tell each of their stories in order of their appearance...

Mr. Karate Crazy  - A Stevie Wonder lookalike, so that includes the dreads and the extremely receding hairline. Seriously, I love you Stevie, but when are we going to do something about that? Karate Crazy talked to himself, paced back in forth, smiled at the subway map like he saw a naked  tit, talked AT others and asked questions, and received no responses. Randomly he would do karate kicks around people's faces, causing people to flee to other areas of the train.  Again, he was big on the smiling, which was nice - if not a little disconcerting. He also played a game I like to call, will the subway doors eventually chop off my head? At each stop, he stuck his head out the subway doors as they opened. You see the NYC Subway (MTA) has devised this really neat door bell like buzzer that sounds before the subway doors close. Mr. Karate Crazy chose that time to stick his head in the door, at each stop. 

Mr. Hurricane Sandy Crazy - There is nothing funny about the devastation Hurricane Sandy brought to the region, or any of the REAL victims of the storm and according to this man, he was a victim of the storm too.  However, I have been around this city long enough to know a scammer when I see him and Hurricane Sandy Crazy, as I like to call him, was only a victim of a crack pipe - nothing more, nothing less. Not wind, not rain, not storm surge, but good ole fashioned crack. As the late great Whitney Houston said, crack is indeed whack - but this man missed the memo. I guess she did too - technically. Uh oh, too soon? Too soon? I'm just saying. Anyway, This man stepped onto the train singing his ballad of poverty and sadness, which one might have bought into if he weren't dressed in his best 70's gear! Bell bottoms, an Afro, a brown leather jacket. He looked good for being so down and out. I guess the hurricane washed everything but his 70s wardrobe out sea. If I was too jaded to buy into his woe is me poverty routine, someone on the train did - Mr. Karate Crazy. "I don't got much, but I've got 23 cents," he said walking up to Mr. Hurricane Sandy Crazy with a smile and dance like gait. Mr. Hurricane Sandy Crazy gladly took the 23 cents from his homeless brethren, although it was more believable that Mr. Karate Crazy really needed that change. After providing his charity, he then went on with his will the subway doors chop my head off game. The homeless donating funds to the homeless - thought I had seen everything in NYC.

Mr. Gay Crazy - This gentleman missed the memo that the midnight A Train was not a platform for one to get on The Voice. After making friends with Karate Crazy, who finally left us at 116th Street, Gay Crazy began to sing Lady Gaga tunes and slap his friend's ass - who clearly was not amused. RA-RAH-AH-AH-AH, ROMA-ROMA-MAMAA, GA-GA-OOH-LA-LA want your Bad Romance! Shut up already! Before he made his exit at 135th Street, he waved to all of the riders of the train - pageant style - and departed. Some riders said goodbye in return, you see the crazy eventually wears off onto other and just continues to spread like a nasty little virus. Now in fairness to Karate Crazy and Hurricane Sandy Crazy, one legitimately needed to spend some time at a mental facility while the other was just a con artist who looked too good to be homeless, even if the clothes were dated, but probably had some sort of mental malfunction as well. Gay Crazy was just a drunken fool who may wake up in the morning and regret his make believe stint on a singing competition. Since I had no choice in the matter but to serve as a judge, I voted to send him home.

As for The Boy's part in all of this, he was on this journey to hell with me after all, he doesn't miss out on his sleep for anything. It doesn't matter if he might get kicked in the face by a homeless Stevie Wonder look alike. Nope, he's knocked out, head down, and might even let out a snore. Maybe he is a true New Yorker and I'll never be anything but a transplant, because at the end of the day, he is unfazed. I on the other hand have my eyes glued on the freak show playing out before my very eyes, comment in my mind, and then blog about it! But even The Boy could not miss out all of the crazy...

Ms. Lullaby Crazy - Because The Boy missed out on all the shenanigans, the powers that be were going to make sure he got a brief show as we made our way above ground. It's not unheard of to sing a lullaby to a child, but then there needs to be a child with you and usually this happens in the privacy of your home - at bedtime perhaps. But in NYC, all one needs is the desire to sing, a bench to sit on, some unsuspecting passersby, and a voice. And since she had a decent voice  - she sang, in sweet tones inaudibly and creepily. I feel like she was there to simply remind The Boy and I that we can never truly escape the long reach of NYC crazy, until you're in your house. Of course, at that point, we've got one another to document! We walked by her, at which point I ran into the turnstiles on my way attempting to exit the underground. It hurt a little, I won't lie. Maybe I too was a little crazy, or just being punished by God for not giving Mr. Hurricane Sandy Crazy a dollar. Hard to miss those turnstiles. 

The truth is a part of my enjoys leaving my home and knowing that I virtually guaranteed to see someone doing something crazy, odd, or attention seeking in nature. Makes for eventful days and something to write about. Gotta love NYC. 

And since it is a catchy tune...

And because Whitney Houston was indeed a great vocalist...