Eeeeww, Cheap

So Anne's broke, been eating the same salad for three days, and can't look at it anymore. Hungry for some lunch on the cheap, where's she gonna go? Across the street to Gray's Papaya, for a 99 cent grilled dog with relish, and that onion stuff, duh.

So there I am, and this 40s-50s looking grayish forgettable-looking dude who seems rather employed for the most part with his leather jacket and Dockers and all shouts over everyone, ignoring the line, "How much is a knish?"
The dude behind the counter "Two dollars."
Silence.
Other people order, pay, and leave. As I leave, I hear him again shout, "How much are the fries?"
"One dollar."
"Ok. Lemme have the fries."

Um, this is a 99 cent restaurant, pal. You're asking how much shit costs? Are you that friggin' cheap? They say if you ask how much something is, you can't afford it. I say that the only people allowed to ask how much menu items are at Gray's Papaya are the homeless so they can pick out enough change from the cup. Otherwise? Shut your friggin' hole. Thanks. Bye. Eeewww.

The Office Geyser Pisser Just Walked By

Heh heh.

Me = totally immature and inappropriate. But, whatevs. You sit next to a woman in a bathroom stall who pisses like 10 racehorces in a Ten Race Horse Piss Race and you're going to be able to forget that it happened? I don't think so.

It Could Be Worse

Last night when I was walking home from Hell, I saw a woman with open toed sandals on, and I marveled at the size of her big toe compared to the rest of her toes. All ten were neatly manicured, but her big toe was so enormous, it sort of didn't matter. The bright red paint may have brought more attention to the fact that her big toes were the size of skate boards, and the rest were pretty much normal-sized.

As I crossed the street I thought to myself, Boy. My life is really sucking hard these days, but at least I don't have a big toes like that. On a lady no less! At the end of the day, if I were she, and I had those toes, even if my life was great because I had a great job and a great husband--even Big Toe got married--people could say, "Whatever, Big Toe. And hey, Big Toe! What's up? Double A Big Toe, what's goin' on?" Sure, maybe I wouldn't care. Wouldn't care because I could twirl basketballs on each big toe if I practiced hard enough. Or whatever. But for as much as I'm down in the dumps, I think I'd prefer to have a shitty job, no man, and regular-sized big toes than the alternative.

Today, I'm not so sure.

Hey, You, Get Off of My Vag

For as "religious" and "holy" and "full of family values" and "pious" and "prim and proper" and judgemental of everyone else's sexual behavior as these folks are, they sure do like to bang. And full-on bang, to the point of...well, 7 thousand kids. Gross.

Snakes on a Plane? Nah, Sex on a Plane, Please

Hmmm. Were they? Or weren't they?

I Could Be a Model Making $4,000 an Hour

According to the friendly neighborhood cuckoo with whom I was in line at Dunkin' Donuts this morning, I need to get my ass on the runway. Now, I don't know this cat personally, but I "know" him from seeing him out my window and in the hood walking, smoking. The nickname we have for him is Puff Puff Step. Or Puff Step Puff. He looks a lot like a 60+ year old Humpty Dumpty with flood pants belted way up high, greyish white hair, blue eyes, and zipper teeth. He's very friendly, and I've seen him talking to the ladies before whether or not they cared for it.

Today as he was waiting for his change, I looked at him and smiled. With a wide grin he said immediately and matter of factly:

"You could be a model making $4,000 and hour."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah four thousand."
"Wow. Thanks. Guess I'm in the wrong line of work."
"Yeah Jackie Six Four Two Forty, Six Four Two Forty."

Um...right. I don't know what he meant by that last line, and then I remembered he's a crazy person. Receiving a compliment from a crazy person I suppose should be taken with a grain of salt, but considering that I had wet hair and no make up --because my boss wears wrinkled gym shirts to work, and I've simply given up on life in general--it was a compliment nonetheless.

As I walked out of Dunkin Donuts, he had seated himself by the door. "Be a good model," he said.
"Ok, I will. Bye."
"Jackie Six Four Two Forty."
"Ok."

If I Don't Come Home With Cat Food, Doodle's Gonna Kick My Ass

1. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass
2. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass
3. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass
4. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass
5. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass
6. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass
7. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass
8. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass
9. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass
10. If I don't come home with cat food, Doodle's gonna kick my ass

Immature is My Middle Name

Terror Level at the Office Today is: Bat Shit (Orange)

Ghetto
Strange
Crazy
Bat Shit
Run For Your Life It Could Get On You

Wow. How quickly things went from Blue Alert to Orange. I'm terrified.

Have time for a quick story? Great. So I told you guys that there are old timey bathrooms down the hall. It's a three staller, nice ceramic tiles, black and white, quality doors and fixtures and the whole bit. I'm about to come out of one of the stalls as someone comes in. She unleashes such a voluminous stream of piss that sounds like she's got a pizza pie-sized cooch for chrissakes. I'm talking Niagara Falls, I'm talking Hurricane Katrina, I'm talking one of those showers at the beach where you pull the cord and you get dumped with water.

So, I need to stay a second and find out who it is, right? Of course, I do. I'm standing at the sink washing my hands and who walks out? The hottest broad in the office, a tall and lanky 22 year old who looks a lot like Paulina Poriskova. Ha! The whole time I'm thinking, this must be some broken down old broad with no control over her anything. Wrong!

Kegels, Paulina, practice your kegel exercises. You're this loose now, you're in trouble.

The upside: You can give birth to a giraffe vaginally.

Yay! Surrogate Giraffe Mother!

Annoying Girl Names

1. Sloan
2. Taylor
3. Madison

Have I Told You Lately How Much I Love Carol Burnett?

Well, I do. She's friggin' hilarious, and I've loved Carol Burnett in the Carol Burnett Show and Mama's Family ever since way back whennity when when when I was a little bitty bit thing.

What reminded me of the Great Carol Burnett was the fact that we've got ourselves a Puerto Rican version of Mrs. Wiggins over here at my new job, folks. She ain't a characature, she's our recpetionist. If she's not chewing gum, filing her nails, walking around, fiddling with her radio, acting stupid, coming in late, and leaving early, then I don't recognize Busy. Our receptionist.

Haven't I Told You Guys How Much I Friggin' Love Pie?

Well, this is what I'd do for a humble piece of cherry.

The Smoke in the Smoke n' Mirrors: Sarah Graalman

Guess who is featured-- 3 times --on artiste de makeup Sarah Graalman's new website? Oh, I don't know...

ME perhaps?

I'm hot, and I knows it, and I really had to shows it.

Without Sarah, I'd be just another dog at the pound. And without my dear Dale May, I'd just be another flabby painted up doggy whore. Let me tell you something (and he would concur): No broad looks this damn good by her own damn self. Puhhlease. Even if you be touchin' it, it still may not be real. Crazy. Woof. Wooooooooof!

How Many More Days Until The End of Everything?

Like a Rhinestone Doodle, 11/12/06

Just tell me already. I'd like to know. So I can check it off? Thanks.

Today was my 6th day of work in Real Life, but in Crazy Land? It's been 6 weeks. Yes, kids, each glorious day feels like a week. Now, this would be great math if you were in love, on vacation, counting your piles of money, taking a nap, having sex, doing drugs, or whatever the heck makes you happy, but alas, none of this is the case. What's the case? The terrible reality of the way time moves when you're playing defense with a crazy person.

I was benched a lot in Varsity basketball in high school because of my attitude. For those of you who are surprised, I am pointing to the door. There it is. Now, riding the bench came with an added punishment in the form of playing a lot of defense in practice. For those of you who don't follow sports: Defense is way more exhausting than offense. Coach knows this. Even if he is a dick with a terrible perm/fro, and he won't let you wear white shoelaces with blue hearts, and his wife has a brown mole the size of a large green grape wedged between her cheek and her nose. But, the upside of the mole is that at breakfast, your Dad will take a raisin out of his Raisin Bran, stick it between his cheek and nose, run around the kitchen, and imitate this shit out Coach's Wife, and you will laugh your fucking ass off.

Where was I? Oh, yes. Defense. Defense especially bites if you lost the toin coss or "paper, rock, scissors" duel for whichever side would have to wear the pinnies--polyester loose fitting vest (the broads' version of "shirts" vs skins at practice) --because then you're working not only extra hard with no glory (no glory on defense) in a hot skanky ass gymnasium but with the added heat of polyester.

And that's how I feel at this job. From ten to six everyday, all day, I am playing zone defense with a crazy person, setting picks, wearing a red polyester wife beater in 90 degree heat, and I don't get to wear my preppie blue heart shoe laces.

We've all had our moments like these. You know the moment, the one where you are so mad you want to spit, you throw up your hands, frustrated and red in the face and say either to yourself or under your breath or in my case completely out loud, "OH, HOLY FUCKING HELL! I AM NOT PAID ENOUGH FOR THIS FUCKING BULLSHIT!"

Needless to say, I'm exhausted.

Other jobs --which I've never had--I imagine feel may feel similar to this in pay, responsibility, and reward factor:

Bathroom Attendant
Fry Cook
Developmentally Disabled Assistant/Handler
Martha Stewart Assistant/Handler
TSA Agent / Metal Detector Machine Dude/Dudette

Thoughts?

Anyway, duh: rough Monday.

But I did learn one good thing today: If you shout, "Like a Rhinestone Doodle! ...Dooo... Dooo!" really loud in Doodle's face, she'll leave you alone for awhile.

What a Tall Drink of Water

The Poland Springs bottle in the water cooler has been empty since late Friday afternoon. People are now drinking their own urine. Things are going to get interesting around here. And when I say interesting, I mean more horrible.

Funny, I Don't Get that Fuzzy Feeling

I recycle and don't like to create unecessary waste. But peeling the labels off of folders and re-using them, collecting paper clips of the floor, and cutting my own scrap paper does not fill me with euphoria nor does it make me feel like by doing these things one day I will save my company thousands of dollars and one day become a millionaire. Instead, I get more of a gross creepy feeling.

"Good" Morning, "Good" Morning...

Terrible. Imagine this photo above. It more or less like my boss's office, except the papers pictured here are at least neatly swept to one side of the room. Now, imagine that your boss asks you first thing in the morning to find a few pieces of paper that have been "misfiled." As if anything in a pile of crap like this could possibly be considered "filed." Then as you're looking for the stuff, she asks you to move your coffee away from the chair, because you might spill it. Then she asks you to move it away from your foot, because you might spill it. Then she spills Diet Coke all over her desk. Then she pulls some files out of a folder and asks you to throw them out for her by your desk because her trash can is full. You are excited about the fact that you'll be leaving her office for a second and you enjoy the journey. Only to find out that she's followed you out there to pull the papers out of your garbage because she's given you the wrong ones. On her way back up from the trash can she smacks the back of her head so hard on the bottom of the wall- mounted cabinet that you can feel it too, but not hard enough to knock her out cold. It's just about this time when you look at the clock and realize it's not quite 10:30. "What's wrong?" she asks.

I Swam With the Coney Island Polar Bears Today, What'd You Do?

The Coney Island Polar Bear Club has been around for at least a hundred years. At any rate, it's a wicked long time. I'd be more specific about it, but I've given you a link for the interesting information because I'm tired; I swam in the 45-50 degree Atlantic today for cryin' out loud. In November. But, I was lucky for my first swim: it's been 50s/60s out, so not too bad. Try icy and snowy January, says my friend Mike, a Polar Bear. I don't know about that just yet, I'm still patting myself on the back from today's accomplishment. So, shove it.

Pre-Dip Nerves

11/12/06, Coney Island, Brooklyn

Anne's Debut Dip with the Coney Island Polar Bear Freaks

11/12/06 ~ Coney Island, Brooklyn

I'm front and center, not paying attention to the cameras and chatting with Danny
11/12/06~Coney Island, Brooklyn

Exhuasted from the swim and the excitement, but satiated after real Brooklyn pizza at historic Totonno's on Neptune Avenue with Mike.

11/12/06 Coney Island, Brooklyn

I dare you to ask "Mrs. Totonno" for some icing or fudge'ems dipping sauce for your crust.

11/12/06 ~ Coney Island, Brooklyn

No One's in the Kitchen With Doodle

Doodle, The Affinia Hotel, 9/06

Flat cat.

Things I've Never Done Before

View of the Manhattan Bridge from 135 Plymouth Street in Brooklyn

I decided yesterday that in order to celebrate fully the shift in power in Washington that it was high time that I attend a party--in this case a MoveOn.org party-- by myself. Why? So that I might be able to meet some new people. And force myself out of the house and do new crap I don't want to do. This gig happened to be in a spacious and strange loft in DUMBO, Brooklyn with an amazing view of the Manhattan Bridge. Having never been to DUMBO or gone to a MoveOn.org party by myself or a MoveOn.org activity anytime, the stage certainly was set for some serious unknown. I brought my camera, brought some beer and hoped for the best.

135 Plymouth Street, Brooklyn

Garbage (paper recycling?) next to 135 Plymouth Street

On my way up to the loft I met Randy a fine fellow and jazz musician who had just parked his car outside. This was his second MoveOn party of the night, the first having been at some bar and full of militant lesbians who talked nothing but about the closeted gays in the Repubican party. Not his scene.

Here there were about 50 people of all shapes, sizes and ages milling about the space with one thing in common: weary of Bush and excited about the Senate and the House. Beverages went in the jacuzzi tub which was prominently featured in the main room and filled with icy water. It was by the beverages that I met another couple of cool cats. Ashley, an animal rights activist, and her husband Dan, a cartoonist.

Ashley and Dan

Well, an interesting evening was had. I met some nice peeps, talked about some crap, had a few drinks, and saw some new junk. I ended the night by going to moby's MoveOn party with Dan and Ashley in the meat packing district. It was one of those things were you say to the bouncer at the velvet ropes, "We're here for moby" and either everybody either thinks that you're so great, or that you're an asshole.

Anyway, cheers to change in Washington, things can only get better from here. And cheers for me doing new stuff too: Tomorrow I'm swimming for the very first time with the Coney Island Polar Bear Club.

"Swimming." That's funny. Yeah, uh, less swimming and more standing and shrieking is more like it. I will shave my legs because there will be boys there, but I'm not trimming any weeds or bushes beyond the general maintenance. I need all the warmth I can get down there, for chrissakes.

Totonnos Pizza of Coney Island afterwards! Yay. Suck it, Dominos with your "Brooklyn Style Pizza"!

Meowzer

Doodle. 8/06