Thursday, July 22, 2004
One time at band camp… well, I think I've told you that story.
There was this other time when my boy Vic got so drunk he ran around wearing a bike helmet and let me throw peaches at him. That was great.
In fact, I think a good way to feel better is by remembering all the good times I've had. And boy, are they many.
Once the cops caught some kids trying to steal my car. They caught these kids inside the car. How crazy is that? They came to wake me up in the middle of the night so that I could go and see what was missing. That doesn't seem like much fun to you, I know. But this is about me feeling better and this particular incident gave me a chance to act very Magnum P.I. as I looked through the car and yelled at the perps in the back of the squad car. Plus, after the fact, as a friend of mine was glancing through the police report she asked me, "Why does it say that the kids were screaming, 'Fifty, fifty'?" Uh, that's five-oh, five-oh.
Good times, good times.
And there's the time we ran from the cops. Well, we didn't actually run. I was in the back seat of a Lexus kissing on some chick's shoulder while the driver is shifting on an automatic, the passenger is yelling at him to stop, the other kid in the back seat is telling the driver to speed up, and the chick I'm trying to hook up with is asking her friend, "Why are we running away? We didn't do anything wrong."
Good times, good times.
And what about the time when I got head in the high school library. I, of course, was look-out because I was standing up. But I had my eyes closed through most of it and even when they were open they were looking at her. Holy Jehovah, she had a mouth like a Hoover!
There, there. I feel better already. I still don't have the izm, but I gather I'll find it shortly. It's probably in my messenger bag. I should look there.
Monday, July 12, 2004
If you look into a baby’s eyes, it will steal your heart. Honest to Buddha. I shit you not.
There’s something about being around a baby that makes me act like one. I start talking all "Ugu Gaga" and, "Hey baby, hey baby, who’s the baby? You’re the baby. Yes you are. You’re a pretty baby. A gorgeous baby. And who loves the baby? I love the baby. I love you. Ugu Gaga."
Babies just bring that out in people... and it’s crazy creepy. Crazy!
And babies are also responsible for thousands of physical assaults every year. It’s happened to you. You’re around a baby and they’re SO CUTE. So cute. You just want to lean over and bite their cheek. But then they cry, don’t they, and everyone comes to look and you’re like Fat Bastard at a baby buffet. And they call you "baby biter" and shit like that. How could you have bitten a baby in the face? You didn’t mean to do it, but they’re so cute you couldn’t resist.
And they have that smell. That smell that makes you say stupid shit like, "They should make air freshener that smells like baby."
I apologize for going on and on, but this all stems from the fact that my sister gave birth yesterday. And this baby is a slew-of-good-things in a diaper. I’m gonna have to try hard not to bite her in the face. And I’m gonna have to work on my vocabulary because I don’t want to talk like a baby. I just want to smell like one. Because it's nice to trick myself into thinking that the people that matter can go on forever.
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
This past 4th of July was destined to be a disaster. Instead of celebrating properly by eating 53 hotdogs, downing a 12 pack of fine, American Budweiser, and driving down Main Street in my Ford F-150, while honking wildly, and blowing up inexpensive Chinese firecrackers made by small hands, I had to be at a wedding. I had to put on a suit and necktie, and I had to miss an important sporting event on the television. Who the fuck gets married on the 4th of July? My cousin does and I thank him for it…… now…… in retrospect.
Be it knowingly, or unknowingly the bastard had ruined my July 4th. The wedding reception was 150 miles away, on the road from Hell, or to Hell depending on which direction you are going (I-495), $13 dollars in tolls later, I was a miserable prick, in a hot suit, wishing to die by driving off a marina dock in the middle of fucking nowhere, Long Island.
Low and behold the place was actually beautiful, and fancy. So fancy, that whenever you walked away from your table someone would immediately come over and fold your napkin. I found this a bit anal retentive and unnecessary if you ask me, but what the hell? My day got slightly better, when a cute Polish girl, wearing a tuxedo came around with drinks. The next time she came around, she had something wrapped in bacon, and a wink of the eye, for me. My day was suddenly a whole lot better. We struck up an awkward conversation, between setting plates, a taking away empty plates. I hardly understood her, but I understood clearly when she said to meet her, by the gazebo in the garden, near the waterfall, “by the boat dock in 15 minutes, that’s when I go on break”.
Random things, like this never happen to me. So much so, that I’m not in the habit of carrying condoms with me, unless I’m fucking someone, but I wish I did. I was waiting at the pre-determined location, when I see a tall penguin walking towards me. It was her. Her break must have been short, because soon after she got there I had my hands and mouth full. Her pants came partly off, and I with no condoms, had to settle for dry humping this fine Polish blond, while fireworks lit up the Long Island night.
This little encounter made me realize that indeed America is the land of opportunity, for me, for that Polish chick, for everyone, where dreams do come true. If only you work hard, and talk a good game, you can get any girls to let you fondle her most intimate of places, in a gazebo, in the garden near the waterfall, by the boat dock, while she’s on her work break.
God Bless America and goodnight.