My house shares a yard with a couple of other units, and one of these neighbors recently got a new puppy. I think when she got the puppy she thought mainly of the cuteness and less about the responsibility because things haven't been going so well on that front. The dog is left in the yard barking and whining for hours at a time, and while I'm not wild about that, I'm even less in love with the shit all over the yard. Dogs poop, so I don't object to that, but I don't like that our shared yard is now a literal minefield of crap. Like, clean it up every so often!
I meant to address this issue with my neighbor like an adult, but before I got around to that, I had a friend over one day and she shouted, "WHY IS THERE DOG SHIT ALL OVER YOUR YARD?" Right after, I realized that the neighbor was standing at the adjacent and open window and must have heard the comment. That's not how I wanted her to hear that message, but I wasn't upset that it happened because at least she'd take the hint.
Except that the "hint" was ignored. A month worth's of poop amassed in the yard including several piles right outside my own front door. I decided my best course of action was just to just wait for the landlady to show up on the first of the month to pick up rent because she'd definitely say something about the mess.
On the 30th, however, my neighbor went around and picked up the poop. That meant she knew she was about to get and trouble, yet waited until the last moment to get rid of the problem. Of course, she didn't bother with the poop around my door, which would not be visible to my landlady.
So I devised a plan: I would move some of the remaining poop closer to the front so that the landlady would see it. It's silly, it's gross, and it's passive aggressive, but I genuinely thought it was a good plan.
I waited until 1:30 am so that I could do it secretly. With a couple of napkins, I scooped up dried out poop using both hands and made my way to the front yard. It was only as I was in the process of relocating the poop in a new spot on the ground that I realized that my neighbor was sitting silently in the dark on the porch. Panicked, I picked the poop back up and shoved it in my pocket and ran back into my house as my neighbor watched.
I can't be sure of what she saw or more importantly what she thinks she saw, but since the motion sensor light next to me had turned on, I have to assume she did see me doing something with her's dog poop. In retrospect, I should have put it in the trashcan rather than my pockets as if to indicate, "See, I have to pick up your dog's poop!" but I was caught off guard.
I don't even know whether it'd be better if my neighbors thought I was being conniving by recreating the poop mess or that I'm plain crazy and randomly playing with dog poop super late at night. Either way, I'm super embarrassed and feel like an idiot for not realizing this "good plan" was bound to backfire on me.
Showing posts with label gross. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gross. Show all posts
2014-02-03
Too Soon!
This is why I blog. I realize that I shouldn't take pleasure in intentionally baiting people into getting indignant about a Hunger Games pun I made yesterday, but they make it so fun.
As for the joke being "too soon" - of course it's too soon, it's not even worth saying a day later. Plus, I'm a proud member of Team Too Soon, so I take it as a compliment.
Speaking of which, that's another reason I blog. That previously linked post about the Urban Iditarod from 2010 has subsequently provided even more laughs than the event itself thanks to Google's algorithm. A fairly raunchy photo of a friend included that blog entry has been, for quite some time, the #1 google image search for both girl touching dick and girl touching penis.
Should she/we be more embarrassed about this distinction? Maybe! But like my good-humored friend's mom pointed out, she wishes she were #1 on Google for something, so it's really kind of an honor.
And if it's not porn, it's probably not getting searched for at all, truthfully. The #1 search result that leads to my blog is some variation on "porn on hulu". Indeed, I did recount how I accidentally found soft core content on Hulu five years ago, but it's not that exciting. With the whole sick internet available to you, you want to know where there's a flash of a boob on Hulu? Whatever floats your boat… but hopefully it's a trench-coated man stroking a doll arm attached to a woman dressed like David Carradine that does it for you, 'cause we actually got that here!
2014-01-09
Obnoxious
While attending a wedding, I decided to be polite and reintroduce myself to an older woman I've only met once or twice and haven't seen in about 20 years.
"Hello, I'm Kev…"
She cut in immediately. "I remember you, you were such an obnoxious kid."
I froze in panic and checked her face to see if there was a hint of humor in this accusation, but it was genuine contempt. "Uh," I stammered. She either didn't pick up on my discomfort or didn't care.
"You were the most obnoxious kid. I was just thinking about you the other day and how obnoxious you were."
I didn't even know how to respond to this woman. Did she want me to apologize for some unspecified "obnoxious" thing I did in my early childhood? Her adult children seemed mortified but didn't come to my defense, so I just stared back at the woman, my mouth slightly agape, long enough for her to add one more, "Just so obnoxious!" I couldn't decide whether I was more disgusted with the words she was saying, or the fact that she spit when she spoke.
At this point, the woman had called me obnoxious four times in just fifteen seconds. As tempted as I was to call her out, I wasn't about to get in a fight at my friend's wedding.
Instead, I simply said, "I have to go" and walked away. Granted, it was pretty dumb because I obviously had nowhere else in particular to go at a wedding reception that had only just begun, but how much longer did I have to put up with a woman who was insulting my youthful former self? And "obnoxious" four times? Bitch, get a thesaurus.
Whatever, her unpleasantness spared me the trouble of having to make pleasantries with her. I may have been obnoxious as a kid, but at least I'm not an obnoxious adult.
"Hello, I'm Kev…"
She cut in immediately. "I remember you, you were such an obnoxious kid."
I froze in panic and checked her face to see if there was a hint of humor in this accusation, but it was genuine contempt. "Uh," I stammered. She either didn't pick up on my discomfort or didn't care.
"You were the most obnoxious kid. I was just thinking about you the other day and how obnoxious you were."
I didn't even know how to respond to this woman. Did she want me to apologize for some unspecified "obnoxious" thing I did in my early childhood? Her adult children seemed mortified but didn't come to my defense, so I just stared back at the woman, my mouth slightly agape, long enough for her to add one more, "Just so obnoxious!" I couldn't decide whether I was more disgusted with the words she was saying, or the fact that she spit when she spoke.
At this point, the woman had called me obnoxious four times in just fifteen seconds. As tempted as I was to call her out, I wasn't about to get in a fight at my friend's wedding.
Instead, I simply said, "I have to go" and walked away. Granted, it was pretty dumb because I obviously had nowhere else in particular to go at a wedding reception that had only just begun, but how much longer did I have to put up with a woman who was insulting my youthful former self? And "obnoxious" four times? Bitch, get a thesaurus.
Whatever, her unpleasantness spared me the trouble of having to make pleasantries with her. I may have been obnoxious as a kid, but at least I'm not an obnoxious adult.
2013-12-28
Bag of Butts
Huh? I refuse to click on the link on principle because I'm committed to whatever the opposite of "keeping up" with the Kardashians is, but I'm really curious about what a "bag of butts"is. It sounds like the punchline to a joke my sister would tell when she was ten.
"What'd you get me for Christmas?"
"A bag of butts!"
2013-09-30
Cashews
I know you've been waiting for an update on which things give me itchy hives, so allow me to finally put the speculation to rest:
I got the results of the test back: I definitely am allergic to cashews. (If you're not hearing me deliver that line like the breast cancer revelation from The Room, then you know me even less well than I knew I have a nut allergy.)
If you'll recall, at the beginning of the year, I had a horrible allergic reaction, which I suspected might be related to cashews but I was too afraid to confirm because a) I didn't want to test it and break out into a useless mess again and b) cashews are my favorite nut and I am not keen on the idea of giving them up. Well, this week I threw caution to the wind and bought a can of cashews and WABOOM, itchy red blotches on various parts of my body… but mainly around my crotch.
The damn thing is that I like cashews so much that I can't even promise I will never eat them again. Food allergies are new to me (other than the fact that maybe just about every food gives me diarrhea, but I digress), but I always thought people were repelled from foods they're allergic to. Is there some kind of bargain I can make where I give up almonds and pistachios and macadamias so that I can keep eating cashews safely? It might seem drastic, but I'll do it.
For now, though, no cashews for me, if only because they make the area around my butt hole itch. You don't know how difficult it is to be in public when all you really want to do is scratch vigorously in the vicinity of your butt crack.
I got the results of the test back: I definitely am allergic to cashews. (If you're not hearing me deliver that line like the breast cancer revelation from The Room, then you know me even less well than I knew I have a nut allergy.)
If you'll recall, at the beginning of the year, I had a horrible allergic reaction, which I suspected might be related to cashews but I was too afraid to confirm because a) I didn't want to test it and break out into a useless mess again and b) cashews are my favorite nut and I am not keen on the idea of giving them up. Well, this week I threw caution to the wind and bought a can of cashews and WABOOM, itchy red blotches on various parts of my body… but mainly around my crotch.
The damn thing is that I like cashews so much that I can't even promise I will never eat them again. Food allergies are new to me (other than the fact that maybe just about every food gives me diarrhea, but I digress), but I always thought people were repelled from foods they're allergic to. Is there some kind of bargain I can make where I give up almonds and pistachios and macadamias so that I can keep eating cashews safely? It might seem drastic, but I'll do it.
For now, though, no cashews for me, if only because they make the area around my butt hole itch. You don't know how difficult it is to be in public when all you really want to do is scratch vigorously in the vicinity of your butt crack.
2013-08-21
Stop and Smell the Flowers
I see an acquaintance of mine bending over in front of a giant flower pot twenty feet away from me, so I wave.
Her: I'm so embarrassed, I was hoping nobody would see me.
Me: Don't worry.
Her: I've been kind of sick lately with a cold...
Me: So your nose is clogged up?
Her: I guess?
Me: Well I thought it was cute.
Her: You thought it was cute? That I hawked a loogey?
Me: Uh, no, I thought you stopped to smell the flowers.
Her: Nope, I was spitting.
Me: Well, I can still pretend it was cute.
It's a wonder we haven't made the full jump to friends.
2013-07-29
Wannabe VS. Ain't No Fun (If the Homies Can't Have None)
After my friend Adam made the genius observation that "Wannabe" might be a feminist take on "Ain't No Fun (If the Homies Can't Have None)", I have to pose the question - Which is the better "Okay, now you have to have sex with my friends" 90s song:
The Spice Girls's classic
or the song off Snoop Dogg's debut album?
I don't know how often the average person needs to express, "yeah, let's bone, but you better also put out for my besties," but in case it's a common sentiment in your life, at least you have two songs for the occasion.
The Spice Girls just put it out there: "If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends." They then proceed to explain how each of the Girls prefers to get freaky. In the end, it seems like more of a daunting task than a pleasurable one.
Meanwhile, Snoop Dogg and his crew take a different approach: "I know the pussy's mines, I'mma fuck a couple more times/And when I'm through with it, there's nothing else to do with it/Pass it to a homie, now you hit it/'Cause she ain't nothing but a bitch to me." These dudes are past the point of jealousy and concerns about "sloppy seconds."
It is interesting how "Wannabe" is considered as a sex-positive feminist anthem while Snoop Dogg's song just seems pretty chauvinistic and sleazy with the gender roles reversed. Then again, it might have something to do with the fact that Snoop's lyrics are significantly more graphic ("slaps you across your fat ass with a fat dick" and "starts juggling these motherfucking nuts in your mouth"). The Spice Girls leave a bit more to the imagination with "slam your body down and zigazig ahhh."
For all I know, zigazig ahh is code for testicle juggling, but at least I could play the song in front of my mother as a kid without being mortified, so I'm giving the edge to the Spice Girls.
Which do you prefer?
The Spice Girls's classic
or the song off Snoop Dogg's debut album?
I don't know how often the average person needs to express, "yeah, let's bone, but you better also put out for my besties," but in case it's a common sentiment in your life, at least you have two songs for the occasion.
The Spice Girls just put it out there: "If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends." They then proceed to explain how each of the Girls prefers to get freaky. In the end, it seems like more of a daunting task than a pleasurable one.
Meanwhile, Snoop Dogg and his crew take a different approach: "I know the pussy's mines, I'mma fuck a couple more times/And when I'm through with it, there's nothing else to do with it/Pass it to a homie, now you hit it/'Cause she ain't nothing but a bitch to me." These dudes are past the point of jealousy and concerns about "sloppy seconds."
It is interesting how "Wannabe" is considered as a sex-positive feminist anthem while Snoop Dogg's song just seems pretty chauvinistic and sleazy with the gender roles reversed. Then again, it might have something to do with the fact that Snoop's lyrics are significantly more graphic ("slaps you across your fat ass with a fat dick" and "starts juggling these motherfucking nuts in your mouth"). The Spice Girls leave a bit more to the imagination with "slam your body down and zigazig ahhh."
For all I know, zigazig ahh is code for testicle juggling, but at least I could play the song in front of my mother as a kid without being mortified, so I'm giving the edge to the Spice Girls.
Which do you prefer?
2013-07-22
Pee-p Show
The bar we hung out at this weekend has a major structural flaw: from a certain angle, you can see right into the men's room. Since it's not a single occupancy rest room, each time another guy enters, it affords an unobstructed view of a urinal.
How do I know this? I found myself sitting in just the right spot. Even though my focus remained on the band playing in the front, I still got plenty of incidental glances at the urinal 10-15 feet behind them in the background. It wouldn't be a big deal except that often times you could see dudes mid-piss, oblivious to the fact that there were spectators.
When more of my friends arrived, I ended up scooting my chair closer to the end of the table to make room. While the polite thing to do would have been not to draw attention to the fact that people were unwittingly urinating more or less publicly, I didn't do that. I don't know, it seemed like a waste of a view. So instead I announced, "Yo, you ladies can see a lot of dick tonight if you want!"
Naturally, that warranted an explanation, but once they understood the situation, they were pretty into it. They informed our whole party each time they spied a bro's penis in the distance.
It seemed funny until, as happens when you drink a bunch of beer, I had to pee. I had to pee so badly that it trumped the my self-consciousness about doing it in front of my friends. I entered, and was disappointed to find that the urinal - the magical, visible urinal - was the only toilet available. I hope that if I just peed at more of a sideways angle rather than straight on, my friends wouldn't be able to see my dick.
No dice, though. "We could see you peeing!" they shouted when I returned to my seat. I guess that's what you call karma? Look, ladies, some of us are just trying to tinkle, not put on a show. Have some respect!
P.S. Oddly, this is the second time I've unintentionally found myself in the bar seat with a view of cock.
How do I know this? I found myself sitting in just the right spot. Even though my focus remained on the band playing in the front, I still got plenty of incidental glances at the urinal 10-15 feet behind them in the background. It wouldn't be a big deal except that often times you could see dudes mid-piss, oblivious to the fact that there were spectators.
When more of my friends arrived, I ended up scooting my chair closer to the end of the table to make room. While the polite thing to do would have been not to draw attention to the fact that people were unwittingly urinating more or less publicly, I didn't do that. I don't know, it seemed like a waste of a view. So instead I announced, "Yo, you ladies can see a lot of dick tonight if you want!"
Naturally, that warranted an explanation, but once they understood the situation, they were pretty into it. They informed our whole party each time they spied a bro's penis in the distance.
It seemed funny until, as happens when you drink a bunch of beer, I had to pee. I had to pee so badly that it trumped the my self-consciousness about doing it in front of my friends. I entered, and was disappointed to find that the urinal - the magical, visible urinal - was the only toilet available. I hope that if I just peed at more of a sideways angle rather than straight on, my friends wouldn't be able to see my dick.
No dice, though. "We could see you peeing!" they shouted when I returned to my seat. I guess that's what you call karma? Look, ladies, some of us are just trying to tinkle, not put on a show. Have some respect!
P.S. Oddly, this is the second time I've unintentionally found myself in the bar seat with a view of cock.
2013-07-16
Eating with Cannibals
I'm currently watching a documentary called Eating with Cannibals on a friend's Netflix account because I apparently have little shame. In truth, I'm probably less embarrassed that I've given into morbid bloodlust-y curiosity than I am about the fact that the people who share the account are going to see that title as recently watched and exclaim "Kevin!" I can only imagine what Netflix will see fit to recommend to us after my interest in this flick.
The National Geographic host/narrator who is venturing into remote Papua New Guinea villages where cannibalism has occurred is so fucking smug. He can't help but be condescending and a little grossed out by it all. Like, dude, you came to these people specifically because you knew they'd tell you about incidents of cannibalism - don't act so shocked when they tell you exactly what you expected to hear. Also, would it kill him to spend some time asking them other questions about their culture before getting right into "So, how do humans taste?" It just seems a little rude.
Best fact I've learned so far: men and women taste the same.
Apparently, they only eat people they suspect to be sorcerers… and occasionally for revenge. But pretty much everyone says they haven't eaten a person in a long time. The host, meanwhile, is like LOL, yeah right, liars, I can smell it on your breath.
Oh great, now he's speculating that if missionaries hadn't come to the villages and spread Christian values, they'd probably just be eating each other left and right. If I had swallowed any human recently (and I've pretty much copped to the fact that I'd try it not too long ago), I'd be gagging on it right now.
The only way this documentary ends well is if these Papua New Guineans eat this nosy, judgmental host guy. It's not every day a hunk of white meat wanders into town and asks mouth-watering questions about how you would cook him, so seize the opportunity!
The National Geographic host/narrator who is venturing into remote Papua New Guinea villages where cannibalism has occurred is so fucking smug. He can't help but be condescending and a little grossed out by it all. Like, dude, you came to these people specifically because you knew they'd tell you about incidents of cannibalism - don't act so shocked when they tell you exactly what you expected to hear. Also, would it kill him to spend some time asking them other questions about their culture before getting right into "So, how do humans taste?" It just seems a little rude.
Best fact I've learned so far: men and women taste the same.
Apparently, they only eat people they suspect to be sorcerers… and occasionally for revenge. But pretty much everyone says they haven't eaten a person in a long time. The host, meanwhile, is like LOL, yeah right, liars, I can smell it on your breath.
Oh great, now he's speculating that if missionaries hadn't come to the villages and spread Christian values, they'd probably just be eating each other left and right. If I had swallowed any human recently (and I've pretty much copped to the fact that I'd try it not too long ago), I'd be gagging on it right now.
The only way this documentary ends well is if these Papua New Guineans eat this nosy, judgmental host guy. It's not every day a hunk of white meat wanders into town and asks mouth-watering questions about how you would cook him, so seize the opportunity!
2013-06-27
2013-06-18
R. Kelly Party
Look, I'm not advocating turning 30… but if you HAVE to do it for whatever reason, do it with an R. Kelly party, 'cause the other night was a lot of fun.
I basically forgot it was my birthday. It was all about Kells, and that's how I wanted it. We projected his music videos on the walls: Trapped in the Closet, the religious tunes, sex jams, the radio hits, more sex jams, sing-alongs, his step dancing tracks, and still more sex jams, obviously.
Everyone should get laid off just before their birthday, because that gave me a lot of free time to prepare for the bash. For example, I homemade made a 6-foot tall R. Kelly cutout. I emptied a color ink cartridge on my home printer and butchered a piece of foam insulation in the process, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. People thought I had it professionally done, which is too kind of a compliment for how it looked, but I will accept the compliment considering how many hours I put into the damn thing.
With my sudden free time, I also made a bunch of "lyric hats" for everyone to wear. It was construction paper headwear that included some of the most absurd and raunchiest R. Kelly song lines, and I think it helped set the tone.
Then again, the tone was probably mostly set by everyone "sippin' on coke and rum". Thankfully, it got wild without turning into a shit-show… I'm going to chalk that up to the maturity that comes with 30!
There were water guns - some filled with water, some with rum - so that people could squirt on each other freely. Yellow streamers accentuated the doorways. And just when you thought all the urination jokes were complete, a sign on the restroom door restricted where (read: who) you could pee on.
My highlight of the night was when people brought out the cake and 40 people sang "Ignition" instead of "Happy Birthday." That transitioned into "Echo" "Real Talk" "Bump n Grind" "I Believe I Can Fly" and some step dancing. I barely dance at this stage of my life, but many of us were going for it. For as ridiculous as the man is, R. Kelly also makes some great music.
Fuck losing my job, I think I found my next career: party planning. I mean, I'd prefer it if people just hired me to do R. Kelly parties for them because I've got that one down and it's better than any other theme you'd dream up, but I suppose I could learn to make life-size cutouts of other things, too. THINK ABOUT IT.
I basically forgot it was my birthday. It was all about Kells, and that's how I wanted it. We projected his music videos on the walls: Trapped in the Closet, the religious tunes, sex jams, the radio hits, more sex jams, sing-alongs, his step dancing tracks, and still more sex jams, obviously.
Everyone should get laid off just before their birthday, because that gave me a lot of free time to prepare for the bash. For example, I homemade made a 6-foot tall R. Kelly cutout. I emptied a color ink cartridge on my home printer and butchered a piece of foam insulation in the process, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. People thought I had it professionally done, which is too kind of a compliment for how it looked, but I will accept the compliment considering how many hours I put into the damn thing.
With my sudden free time, I also made a bunch of "lyric hats" for everyone to wear. It was construction paper headwear that included some of the most absurd and raunchiest R. Kelly song lines, and I think it helped set the tone.
Then again, the tone was probably mostly set by everyone "sippin' on coke and rum". Thankfully, it got wild without turning into a shit-show… I'm going to chalk that up to the maturity that comes with 30!
There were water guns - some filled with water, some with rum - so that people could squirt on each other freely. Yellow streamers accentuated the doorways. And just when you thought all the urination jokes were complete, a sign on the restroom door restricted where (read: who) you could pee on.
My highlight of the night was when people brought out the cake and 40 people sang "Ignition" instead of "Happy Birthday." That transitioned into "Echo" "Real Talk" "Bump n Grind" "I Believe I Can Fly" and some step dancing. I barely dance at this stage of my life, but many of us were going for it. For as ridiculous as the man is, R. Kelly also makes some great music.
Fuck losing my job, I think I found my next career: party planning. I mean, I'd prefer it if people just hired me to do R. Kelly parties for them because I've got that one down and it's better than any other theme you'd dream up, but I suppose I could learn to make life-size cutouts of other things, too. THINK ABOUT IT.
2013-05-07
A Homeless Man Peed in My Car Last Night
As I exited a bar in Pasadena, a handicapped homeless man approached me for help. He said he was sick and needed money for a place to stay the night. He sure picked the right mark because not only has my white guilt been working in overdrive lately, I made a promise to myself to start seeing homeless people as people recently and hadn't had a chance to put that into practice yet.
You can do only so much research about the criminalization of the homeless before you try to adjust your attitude. We're trained to look at society's least fortunate citizens as "lesser." I can't remember the last time I went to a comedy show where a homeless man wasn't the butt of someone's joke. (Heck, I keep contemplating leaving out the word "homeless" of this post's title, but I also know it'll be pivotal in convincing people to read… a homeless man was IN your car?) We purposely try not to see the humanity in homeless people because it is too awful to see a human suffering in that manner.
While I don't have the resources to help all of them, I do have the compassion to assist more such people in need rather than my using my standby inclination of avoiding eye contact and saying sorry to all of them. I knew I had exactly three dollars in my wallet, so I opened it and gave it all to him. He saw that I literally emptied my wallet and still asked for more. "There's an ATM over there," he told me. "I need $20 to stay overnight at the Y." My rent comes to just under $20 a day, so that seemed a little steep, and I informed him I would not be giving him any more money.
"Don't be scared of me, I need help," he begged. He then asked me if I could drop him off at a shelter a few blocks down the road. It seemed walkable, but admittedly not for a man who was hobbling slowly on a cane. I was conflicted as to whether I should let a stranger into my car, but I agreed. As we very slowly hobbled toward my parked car, he told me that he was dying from prostate cancer. That, until recently, he had been in jail for twelve years and didn't want to be released because at least they took care of him. Sadly, a desire/need to stay in prison for free health care/food/lodging is not uncommon and such a despicable commentary about our country. He was having trouble moving and I had parked far away, so I finally offered to come back for him. He didn't believe I would actually come back for him, so I looked him in the eye and shook his hand promising to give him the ride.
I shook his hand not only to reassure him, but to reassure myself. I'd be lying if I said I didn't consider getting in my car and driving away. That would be the easier thing to do. That would be the safer thing to do. But what I saw in this man was someone who needed someone to acknowledge and help him, so I came back for him. I can't promise if he were a younger, able-bodied man that I would have done the same. Knowing he didn't have the strength to physically overpower me certainly made it easier to let him in my car.
As we rode, he kept repeating that he wasn't going to rob me. I wasn't that concerned about that previously because he already knew I didn't have any more money, but the fact that he was bringing it up made me worry. Like, stop trying to make me nervous, dude. "If I thought you were going to rob me, I wouldn't let you in my car," I told him. He started talking about how the world is scared of black people. And now gay people, too! "Yeah, society's pretty fucked up," I told him matter-of-factly. He liked that.
Although we weren't in the car more than a few minutes, he managed to urinate himself during the short trip. He started crying out of embarrassment, explaining he couldn't control it because of the cancer. I started tear up, too, but I didn't let him see that. We soon arrived, and as he struggled out of my car, he thanked me. "I know you were scared, I know you ain't never had a negro in your car before, but you're a good person." None of those three statements were entirely true, but I wished him well.
Driving off is when my tears really kicked in. I wasn't crying because he peed his pants in my car or because no good deed goes unpunished. I cried because of LIFE, man. The world and reality became were far too intense, and I felt overwhelmed and confused. I left a dying, destitute man no better than I found him... I just moved him a mile closer to temporarily relief.
I know that a lot of my friends and family are going to say I never should have put myself in that situation. I don't know that I did the right thing, but I'm tired of doing nothing.
You can do only so much research about the criminalization of the homeless before you try to adjust your attitude. We're trained to look at society's least fortunate citizens as "lesser." I can't remember the last time I went to a comedy show where a homeless man wasn't the butt of someone's joke. (Heck, I keep contemplating leaving out the word "homeless" of this post's title, but I also know it'll be pivotal in convincing people to read… a homeless man was IN your car?) We purposely try not to see the humanity in homeless people because it is too awful to see a human suffering in that manner.
While I don't have the resources to help all of them, I do have the compassion to assist more such people in need rather than my using my standby inclination of avoiding eye contact and saying sorry to all of them. I knew I had exactly three dollars in my wallet, so I opened it and gave it all to him. He saw that I literally emptied my wallet and still asked for more. "There's an ATM over there," he told me. "I need $20 to stay overnight at the Y." My rent comes to just under $20 a day, so that seemed a little steep, and I informed him I would not be giving him any more money.
"Don't be scared of me, I need help," he begged. He then asked me if I could drop him off at a shelter a few blocks down the road. It seemed walkable, but admittedly not for a man who was hobbling slowly on a cane. I was conflicted as to whether I should let a stranger into my car, but I agreed. As we very slowly hobbled toward my parked car, he told me that he was dying from prostate cancer. That, until recently, he had been in jail for twelve years and didn't want to be released because at least they took care of him. Sadly, a desire/need to stay in prison for free health care/food/lodging is not uncommon and such a despicable commentary about our country. He was having trouble moving and I had parked far away, so I finally offered to come back for him. He didn't believe I would actually come back for him, so I looked him in the eye and shook his hand promising to give him the ride.
I shook his hand not only to reassure him, but to reassure myself. I'd be lying if I said I didn't consider getting in my car and driving away. That would be the easier thing to do. That would be the safer thing to do. But what I saw in this man was someone who needed someone to acknowledge and help him, so I came back for him. I can't promise if he were a younger, able-bodied man that I would have done the same. Knowing he didn't have the strength to physically overpower me certainly made it easier to let him in my car.
As we rode, he kept repeating that he wasn't going to rob me. I wasn't that concerned about that previously because he already knew I didn't have any more money, but the fact that he was bringing it up made me worry. Like, stop trying to make me nervous, dude. "If I thought you were going to rob me, I wouldn't let you in my car," I told him. He started talking about how the world is scared of black people. And now gay people, too! "Yeah, society's pretty fucked up," I told him matter-of-factly. He liked that.
Although we weren't in the car more than a few minutes, he managed to urinate himself during the short trip. He started crying out of embarrassment, explaining he couldn't control it because of the cancer. I started tear up, too, but I didn't let him see that. We soon arrived, and as he struggled out of my car, he thanked me. "I know you were scared, I know you ain't never had a negro in your car before, but you're a good person." None of those three statements were entirely true, but I wished him well.
Driving off is when my tears really kicked in. I wasn't crying because he peed his pants in my car or because no good deed goes unpunished. I cried because of LIFE, man. The world and reality became were far too intense, and I felt overwhelmed and confused. I left a dying, destitute man no better than I found him... I just moved him a mile closer to temporarily relief.
I know that a lot of my friends and family are going to say I never should have put myself in that situation. I don't know that I did the right thing, but I'm tired of doing nothing.
2013-04-24
The Bombers Are Going to Get Away with It
Oh right. The news pretty quickly forgot about the West, Texas fertilizer plant explosion. I mean, it was reported initially because there was a chance that it was another "terrorist" attack, but then once everyone realized it was just a case of corporate irresponsibility, the mentality was, "Fuck that, we have some dangerous sorta brown men to catch!"
I'm not about to directly equate a terrorist bombing and an accidental explosion because there is obviously a difference in intentionality. But here is a fertilizer plant with over 1,000 times the legal limit of explosives on site that didn't pony up for sprinklers or fire safety precautions. Not only were they maximizing profits by exceeding the allowed output, but they were cutting corners on minor expenses that would keep their own employees - and the whole town, as it turns out - safe.
And then there's the government's role in the ordeal. No inspections had been performed on the plant in 6 years. In fact, on that last visit, the company was found to not have safety procedures in place. As a result, the plant was fined $2,300. That's a laughable business expense, not a punishment, for a company that rakes in millions.
This is GROSS NEGLIGENCE. Although they weren't purposely trying to blow up a whole town, they knew they were running that risk for a long time and chose to value extra profits over attempting to prevent a catastrophe.
For months to come, however, we're going to hear about what we need to do, who we need to kill, and which Constitutional liberties we need to sacrifice in order to keep us safe. Safe from terrorism, that is. No one is going to try to hold this company accountable or vilify it in the media. No lawmakers are going to cry for sweeping corporate safety reforms in order to protect Americans, even though more people were killed/harmed in West.
So when the state starts justifying racial profiling/immigration reform, adds even more invasive forms of airport and event security, and decides its in the nation's best interest to read your emails without a warrant all in the name of "SAFETY", don't believe that bullshit. It's part of a preexisting agenda. If they actually cared about your safety, they'd, you know, pass gun control (which kills an exponential amount of people compared to terrorism) or enact meaningful safety regulations in the workplace.
For the record, the government's excuse is that we are in a deficit and because of budget cuts, we can't afford to conduct safety inspections. Still, they'll find hundreds of billions to spend on a war against a country to get "revenge" for a terrorist attack it had no part in. (Don't act like it's never happened before.)
Oh, and before I'm done, I also want to say "Fuck a terrorist!" Ugh. Dudes, you got gripes about America? You and me both. But violence is not only reprehensible morally, but also, dare I say, counterproductive. If the intention of the bombing was to somehow undermine the United States, all it did was make its population fall more in love with the state and law enforcement, and that renewed trust and loyalty will ultimately contribute to more corruption.
In that sense, terrorists are as dumb as they are evil. Corporations, meanwhile, are as smart as they are evil… after all, they know they can get away with it.
2013-04-16
Fried Chicken
On my commute home today, I was starving. I hadn't eaten any solid food all day, but I had groceries in the car, so I was looking forward to having an early dinner. Then, as is usually the case in LA, there was a traffic jam. The cars were barely moving, inching forward at best, and my stomach wouldn't stop growling. So I reached over to the nearest grocery bag and grabbed hold of some fried chicken.
Can I eat fried chicken in the car? I wondered. It seemed a little unconventional, but my hunger pangs won out and I started gnawing on a drumstick. I was so caught up in finally eating food, I was initially oblivious to the fact that passengers in both the cars to my left and right were watching me. And it wasn't just like, "Oh, look at that guy eating fried chicken in his car." Their stares conveyed more of a "Oh my goodness, there is a guy eating fried chicken in his car!" I was suddenly the poster child of American obesity.
If I weren't so hungry, I probably would have felt too self-conscious to grab a wing and continue snacking. I wanted to roll down my window and ask, "Jealoussss?" but my mouth was full.
I felt intensely judged, but in that moment, I mostly felt relieved that I'm not a black person. As disgusting as they thought I was, you know that old white couple next to me would be calling their friends to say, "They can't even sit in traffic without eating fried chicken!"
Eating chicken on the freeway might be a trite example of my white privilege, but it is an example nonetheless.
Can I eat fried chicken in the car? I wondered. It seemed a little unconventional, but my hunger pangs won out and I started gnawing on a drumstick. I was so caught up in finally eating food, I was initially oblivious to the fact that passengers in both the cars to my left and right were watching me. And it wasn't just like, "Oh, look at that guy eating fried chicken in his car." Their stares conveyed more of a "Oh my goodness, there is a guy eating fried chicken in his car!" I was suddenly the poster child of American obesity.
If I weren't so hungry, I probably would have felt too self-conscious to grab a wing and continue snacking. I wanted to roll down my window and ask, "Jealoussss?" but my mouth was full.
I felt intensely judged, but in that moment, I mostly felt relieved that I'm not a black person. As disgusting as they thought I was, you know that old white couple next to me would be calling their friends to say, "They can't even sit in traffic without eating fried chicken!"
Eating chicken on the freeway might be a trite example of my white privilege, but it is an example nonetheless.
2013-03-21
The Beacontown Beavers
This season, each of the dodgeball teams in our league named itself after an 80s movie reference. I had two stellar suggestions if I say so myself.
In fact, I did say so myself with St. Elmo's Fire Crotch. Apparently, my teammates weren't ready to do more than shake their heads at the thought of portraying an alleged pedophile as angelic. Plus the team's redhead wasn't wild about it. Fair enough. But Elmo is a fire crotch if I've ever seen one, so it wasn't entirely inappropriate.
When Harry Met Sally Jessy Raphael was much better received. That's three 80s references in one! Despite getting the most support from my teammates, our captain overruled (booooo).
So instead, we're the Beacontown Beavers. That's a reference to the basketball team in the Michael J. Fox movie Teen Wolf. It's not so bad being a beaver:
I had on my full yellow garb and short athletic shorts in honor of dodgeball playoffs last night. The Beacontown Beavers did pretty well last night, no thanks to me. I couldn't catch for shit last night, gosh dam it, but hopefully my sexy legs at least distracted the other team.
I'm optimistic about our team's chances in the finals next week because it's basically been foretold. Not just because our shirts already read "Champions" (boy, wouldn't that be embarrassing if we were wrong?) but because Teen Wolf's theme song is "Win in the End." With a boring tune and lyrics that a second grader could have written, I've really come to like how awful and 80s that song is:
"Win in the end. I'm gonna win in the end."
In fact, I did say so myself with St. Elmo's Fire Crotch. Apparently, my teammates weren't ready to do more than shake their heads at the thought of portraying an alleged pedophile as angelic. Plus the team's redhead wasn't wild about it. Fair enough. But Elmo is a fire crotch if I've ever seen one, so it wasn't entirely inappropriate.
So instead, we're the Beacontown Beavers. That's a reference to the basketball team in the Michael J. Fox movie Teen Wolf. It's not so bad being a beaver:
I had on my full yellow garb and short athletic shorts in honor of dodgeball playoffs last night. The Beacontown Beavers did pretty well last night, no thanks to me. I couldn't catch for shit last night, gosh dam it, but hopefully my sexy legs at least distracted the other team.
I'm optimistic about our team's chances in the finals next week because it's basically been foretold. Not just because our shirts already read "Champions" (boy, wouldn't that be embarrassing if we were wrong?) but because Teen Wolf's theme song is "Win in the End." With a boring tune and lyrics that a second grader could have written, I've really come to like how awful and 80s that song is:
"Win in the end. I'm gonna win in the end."
2013-03-06
Human Meat
When you have a conversation about cannibalism, someone inevitably poses the hypothetical: Would you eat human meat?
- Everyone (initially): No! No! That'd be wrong. No.
- Everyone (a moment later): Although… I can't say I'm not curious. Like, if someone were to offer it to me now, then definitely no, but I can't honestly say never ever.
- Everyone (after another minute of deliberation): Fuck it, if someone had some right now, I would try it. I want to try it!
2013-02-28
My Favorite Films of the Last-ish Year
Okay, now that I've poked fun at, rehashed, and debated the Oscars, I want to make one more post before leaving the subject of film for a good long while: quality movies. I realize I generally just ridicule stuff, but once in a while I genuinely like things. Just promise not to tell everyone, it'll ruin my cred. Here are a dozen of my favorite flicks from the past year:
I'd also like to mention 3 more movies that I have trouble saying are "good", but might still be worth watching:
- Moonrise Kingdom - It's quirky in the way you expect from Wes Anderson at this point, but it's the visuals that make it a masterpiece. The scenery, the costumes, the stylistic way every single damn scene is perfectly centered. LOVE it.
- This Is 40 - Reviews have been pretty middling for this Apatow flick, but I found the dialogue laugh-out-loud funny and the dynamic between the married characters frustratingly relatable. It could definitely stand to have 20-30 minutes shaved off, but I was still surprised at how much I enjoyed it.
- Beasts of the Southern Wild - The emotions that first-time actors Quvenzhane Wallis and Dwight Henry bring to the screen (and, in turn, you), paired with the fantastic cinematography make this a must-see fantasy tale.
- Searching for Sugar Man - It might be the first documentary to ever make me shed tears of joy rather than frustration (like most good documentaries will.) See my review of that and the other Oscar nominated documentaries here.
- Bernie - Jack Black plays against type as a southern man that is so adored by his community that no one wants to believe he murdered a woman. It's the mockumentary-style interviews that bring a sense of authenticity and humor to the tale. [on Netflix Instant]
- Flight - If you miss Lost (the first episode, not all six seasons), the plane crash scene is one of the most suspenseful things I watched all year: my heart was pounding. Per usual, Denzel Washington's acting is enough to overcome any time the screenplay strays off course.
- The Perks of Being a Wallflower - I haven't read the book, but I'm a sucker for well-made films about angsty teens. By the end, I wasn't ready to let go of these characters.
- The Impossible - Like I wouldn't enjoy a tsunami movie. I hate watching violence, but when human destruction is the result of a natural disaster, I'm captivated. Sorry, but nature isn't senseless. Some might think it overdoes the sentimentality, but I bought it all, particularly because Tom Holland really sold it. That kid is gonna be a star.
- Lincoln - I can't argue with the criticisms (too long, too self-important, subpar acting aside from Daniel Day-Lewis), but I still enjoyed it.
- The Queen of Versailles - I already sang this film's praises. Read it/watch it. [on Netflix Instant]
- Amour - I get that it's "boring", but why complicate a film with a needless plot when you have such strong characters, themes, and symbolism?
- The Sessions - A paralyzed man hires a "sex surrogate" so he can lose his virginity. Based on its premise, I was pretty sure I was going to hate this film for trying to hard, but its approach and conclusion took me by surprise.
I'd also like to mention 3 more movies that I have trouble saying are "good", but might still be worth watching:
- The Paperboy - I'm going to be honest - this film is a mess and needed a few more drafts and much better direction for it to be of any substantial quality. But for all of its failed ambitions, it's still an enjoyable film. Nicole Kidman has never been more ridiculous, but somehow the performance just works. Maybe see it just to be surprised at the fact that Macy Gray can actually act.
- Compliance - A true story of a prank caller who calls a fast food restaurant, pretends to be a police officer, and instructs the employees to do some pretty awful, illegal things. You won't believe how far this prank goes. It made me feel SO uncomfortable that I actually paused it to try to find that they had exaggerated or fictionalized this account, but from all of my research, it seems like they adhered pretty strictly to the real events. You're going to scream and hate the world after this one. [on Netflix Instant]
- Killer Joe - This is another film that was horribly uncomfortable to watch. It was so gross, I honestly I didn't even enjoy it until literally the last three seconds when I had an epiphany of what the film was trying to do. It's a critique of audience's thirst for sex and violence. It depicts these things so graphically that it basically shouts at you, "Is THIS what you wanted to see? Do you like it now? Huh? Is this really what you like, you sick fuck?" I can't decide whether the brilliant conclusion is enough to justify all of the hard-to-stomach scenes that lead up to it, but if you're up for being shamed and needing a shower afterward, give it a shot.
2013-02-25
Sexism, Racism, and the Academy Awards
There are two things everyone's talking about the day after the Oscars, the first being Seth MacFarlane's bigoted approach to hosting. I thought it was kind of "genius" (in a warped sense of the word) to play off his jokes in a hypothetical setup. On one level it was like, "Wouldn't it be silly if I did this sophomoric shit at the Oscars?!" But in actuality, he was literally playing off that same material as his main material and actually succeeding. Some of the same people who wouldn't laugh at a topless actress song and dance were fooled enough by the premise to say chuckle "yes, such a thing at the Oscars would be absurd!"
I can't comment on too many specific jokes SINCE MY DRUNK FRIENDS KEPT TALKING DURING THE CEREMONY, but I remember when he intentionally "mixed up" two black actors who look nothing alike. It wasn't a commentary on how ridiculous society is in that respect, "black people look alike" was essentially the punchline. Blegh.
But as my friend Melinda pointed out this morning, let's not single out MacFarlane for an attitude that typifies the Academy on the whole. The Academy itself is predominately white senior citizen men. They represent an industry that is dominated - like most others - by a wealthy patriarchy. In that respect, MacFarlane didn't disgrace the Academy with his racist/sexist humor, he embodied it.
You know what's a sexist joke? Out of 100s of Best Director nominees over the decades, only four have ever been women. Want to know another sexist joke? Picking a hot, blonde 22-year-old who played a nymphomaniac as a Best Actress over the 86-year-old who movingly portrayed a real struggle or the woman who played a brash CIA agent/hero. Okay, one more: Amy Adams got a nomination for a minor, unremarkable role where her big scene involves her giving her husband a hand job while telling him it's okay to cheat on her.
How about a racist joke? There have only been TWO African American Best Director nominees ever. The last two African American actresses to win Oscars did so for playing either an abusive monster or a domestic maid who shits in a pie. Ultimately, even if the Academy started recognizing more actors of colors, it wouldn't change that it's still white patriarchy who get to tell the stories and - more importantly - profit from them.
A lot of us already recognize the farce, but we still engage with it anyway. We see the films, we have Oscar parties, and we pretend to care about the outcomes (I won my party's pool again, BTW, because I'm awesome at predicting other peoples' poor decisions). That's just being a member of this fucked up society. For crying aloud, I watched the ceremony in a room full of self-identified feminists, and there was STILL plenty of nitpicking about actresses' looks and outfits. I tried to spoof that when I saw Quvenzhane Wallis showing off her dress on the red carpet and remarked that she wasn't showing off enough skin.
Which brings me to the other topic everyone's talking about: The Onion's infamously deleted tweet: "Everyone seems afraid to say it, but that Quvenzhane Wallis is kind of a cunt, right? #Oscars2013"
It's not my favorite joke, but people need to cool their britches and stop appointing themselves satire police. Since when are smart people taking The Onion at face value? If someone had called Wallis a c-word for real, I would have thrown down. I don't generally like child actors, but Wallis gave one of the most amazing performances I've seen in years. In her public appearances, she has done nothing but come across as sweet, humble, and grounded. The joke is only a joke because she's universally adored. Matt Kirshen is saying some smart things on this topic that I would cosign.
Just like the comment I made about how Wallis should show more skin earlier in the evening, it wasn't actually a comment about Wallis. It was meant to poke fun at how Hollywood starlets are all but required to show a lot of cleavage or leg and dress up like sex objects. And how the viewers are socialized to dissect these women's looks and make nasty comments as they prance down a red carpet. Of course you don't start criticizing a nine-year-old's cute, age-appropriate dress for not being sexy enough.
In The Onion's case, I read the cunt joke as commentary on society's tendency to bash women. We so freely toss derogatory terms about females around that we need to be THAT shocked to even register that we do it. How many times have we heard Anne Hathaway called a "bitch" recently because she comes across as too polished? Or that Sally Field is a nightmare? It doesn't take much of anything to get us to turn on once cherished celebrities. In fact, I dare say that The Onion could not have called ANY other person in attendance at the Oscars for the joke to make sense. Once women reach a certain age, a number of people are bound to hate them, often irrationally.
Which is why it's sad that it's only a matter of years before someone will call Wallis the c-word and mean it. If you don't find The Onion's joke funny, or you don't approve of calling a child a name even in jest, then fine… but I'd suggesting saving your rage for the legitimate misogyny in the world and not the humor website with a proven track record that's trying to shed light on the same issues that irk you.
I can't comment on too many specific jokes SINCE MY DRUNK FRIENDS KEPT TALKING DURING THE CEREMONY, but I remember when he intentionally "mixed up" two black actors who look nothing alike. It wasn't a commentary on how ridiculous society is in that respect, "black people look alike" was essentially the punchline. Blegh.
But as my friend Melinda pointed out this morning, let's not single out MacFarlane for an attitude that typifies the Academy on the whole. The Academy itself is predominately white senior citizen men. They represent an industry that is dominated - like most others - by a wealthy patriarchy. In that respect, MacFarlane didn't disgrace the Academy with his racist/sexist humor, he embodied it.
You know what's a sexist joke? Out of 100s of Best Director nominees over the decades, only four have ever been women. Want to know another sexist joke? Picking a hot, blonde 22-year-old who played a nymphomaniac as a Best Actress over the 86-year-old who movingly portrayed a real struggle or the woman who played a brash CIA agent/hero. Okay, one more: Amy Adams got a nomination for a minor, unremarkable role where her big scene involves her giving her husband a hand job while telling him it's okay to cheat on her.
How about a racist joke? There have only been TWO African American Best Director nominees ever. The last two African American actresses to win Oscars did so for playing either an abusive monster or a domestic maid who shits in a pie. Ultimately, even if the Academy started recognizing more actors of colors, it wouldn't change that it's still white patriarchy who get to tell the stories and - more importantly - profit from them.
A lot of us already recognize the farce, but we still engage with it anyway. We see the films, we have Oscar parties, and we pretend to care about the outcomes (I won my party's pool again, BTW, because I'm awesome at predicting other peoples' poor decisions). That's just being a member of this fucked up society. For crying aloud, I watched the ceremony in a room full of self-identified feminists, and there was STILL plenty of nitpicking about actresses' looks and outfits. I tried to spoof that when I saw Quvenzhane Wallis showing off her dress on the red carpet and remarked that she wasn't showing off enough skin.
Which brings me to the other topic everyone's talking about: The Onion's infamously deleted tweet: "Everyone seems afraid to say it, but that Quvenzhane Wallis is kind of a cunt, right? #Oscars2013"
It's not my favorite joke, but people need to cool their britches and stop appointing themselves satire police. Since when are smart people taking The Onion at face value? If someone had called Wallis a c-word for real, I would have thrown down. I don't generally like child actors, but Wallis gave one of the most amazing performances I've seen in years. In her public appearances, she has done nothing but come across as sweet, humble, and grounded. The joke is only a joke because she's universally adored. Matt Kirshen is saying some smart things on this topic that I would cosign.
Just like the comment I made about how Wallis should show more skin earlier in the evening, it wasn't actually a comment about Wallis. It was meant to poke fun at how Hollywood starlets are all but required to show a lot of cleavage or leg and dress up like sex objects. And how the viewers are socialized to dissect these women's looks and make nasty comments as they prance down a red carpet. Of course you don't start criticizing a nine-year-old's cute, age-appropriate dress for not being sexy enough.
In The Onion's case, I read the cunt joke as commentary on society's tendency to bash women. We so freely toss derogatory terms about females around that we need to be THAT shocked to even register that we do it. How many times have we heard Anne Hathaway called a "bitch" recently because she comes across as too polished? Or that Sally Field is a nightmare? It doesn't take much of anything to get us to turn on once cherished celebrities. In fact, I dare say that The Onion could not have called ANY other person in attendance at the Oscars for the joke to make sense. Once women reach a certain age, a number of people are bound to hate them, often irrationally.
Which is why it's sad that it's only a matter of years before someone will call Wallis the c-word and mean it. If you don't find The Onion's joke funny, or you don't approve of calling a child a name even in jest, then fine… but I'd suggesting saving your rage for the legitimate misogyny in the world and not the humor website with a proven track record that's trying to shed light on the same issues that irk you.
2013-01-13
Nuts!
Hey, guess what! I appear to be allergic to tree nuts! Or, you know, so say the painful red hives covering half my body for the past week.
If you've noticed I haven't blogged more than a couple of sentences this past week, for once it's not because I'm lazy. My hands were swollen and covered in tiny bumps. I wasn't even aware that hands could become incapacitated in such a way. For a while, it gave me great discomfort to type. I even had to call in to work to say, "Uh, I can't type those articles for you because my hands really hurt." I'm just assuming my bosses believed my story because who would be dumb enough to try to pass that off as an excuse unless it were true?
It started with itchy hands. The bumps hadn't even formed yet and I couldn't figure out why I had an unceasing urge to scratch my palms and fingers - parts of my body that I don't usually need to itch. Then a rash appeared on my arm. Then my thighs. Then all over the place. The only experience I could compare it to was when I went for that dream vacation in Hawaii and then got intense heat rash and had to hide from the sun the whole week. Yup, I live a cool life, bros.
In this new case, my best guess was that I had gotten poison ivy on my hands and it spread as I had incidentally touched other parts of my body. Meanwhile, my friends said it looked more like I was experiencing an allergic reaction, a notion I loudly dismissed. I'm not allergic to things! That seems so wimpy!
All the while, as the hives kept mysteriously intensifying long after most rashes would subside, I kept eating this new brand of pesto sauce I had just bought. It was yummy and I ate a generous portion of it every day. As I researched what could aggravate my condition, I was oblivious to the obvious: had I recently changed soaps? Detergent? No, no. Had I introduced a new food to my system? No… well except for that jar of pesto, but… NOOOOO, NOT THAT YUMMY PESTO!
I really hope this is a mistaken diagnosis. Down the road, I'm going to have to test it to be sure because I'm not giving up mixed nuts "just to be safe". For real, you're going to have to pry cashews from my red hive-y hands because I love me some cashews. I mean, they're hella expensive and I still buy them, which should say something.
In addition to being painful, it's been a boring week. Given that I can't help but itch vigorously at my crotch all day, I've had to back out of most social interactions. Plus, when you can't use your hands, you really can't do much of anything. Quick, name three hobbies you can think of that don't involve gripping things with your hands.
It's also been a naked week. Though my penis avoided getting hives, the groin area at large was covered in red splotches. Merely wearing pants further aggravated the already irritated skin around my waist, as did underwear. In an effort to not sit bare-ass on the communal couch, I sometimes wore a loosely tied sarong that Andrew got me in Indonesia years ago. It's been the only good thing to come out of the experience. If societal homophobic masculinity is the only thing keeping men from wearing skirts, it's time guys fight against that because it feels really nice to let your balls dangle free like that.
Moral of the story? Don't eat nuts, just liberate them.
This has been yet another chapter in "Kevin Babbles: A Pathetic Life." Please don't tell your friends.
If you've noticed I haven't blogged more than a couple of sentences this past week, for once it's not because I'm lazy. My hands were swollen and covered in tiny bumps. I wasn't even aware that hands could become incapacitated in such a way. For a while, it gave me great discomfort to type. I even had to call in to work to say, "Uh, I can't type those articles for you because my hands really hurt." I'm just assuming my bosses believed my story because who would be dumb enough to try to pass that off as an excuse unless it were true?
It started with itchy hands. The bumps hadn't even formed yet and I couldn't figure out why I had an unceasing urge to scratch my palms and fingers - parts of my body that I don't usually need to itch. Then a rash appeared on my arm. Then my thighs. Then all over the place. The only experience I could compare it to was when I went for that dream vacation in Hawaii and then got intense heat rash and had to hide from the sun the whole week. Yup, I live a cool life, bros.
In this new case, my best guess was that I had gotten poison ivy on my hands and it spread as I had incidentally touched other parts of my body. Meanwhile, my friends said it looked more like I was experiencing an allergic reaction, a notion I loudly dismissed. I'm not allergic to things! That seems so wimpy!
All the while, as the hives kept mysteriously intensifying long after most rashes would subside, I kept eating this new brand of pesto sauce I had just bought. It was yummy and I ate a generous portion of it every day. As I researched what could aggravate my condition, I was oblivious to the obvious: had I recently changed soaps? Detergent? No, no. Had I introduced a new food to my system? No… well except for that jar of pesto, but… NOOOOO, NOT THAT YUMMY PESTO!
I really hope this is a mistaken diagnosis. Down the road, I'm going to have to test it to be sure because I'm not giving up mixed nuts "just to be safe". For real, you're going to have to pry cashews from my red hive-y hands because I love me some cashews. I mean, they're hella expensive and I still buy them, which should say something.
In addition to being painful, it's been a boring week. Given that I can't help but itch vigorously at my crotch all day, I've had to back out of most social interactions. Plus, when you can't use your hands, you really can't do much of anything. Quick, name three hobbies you can think of that don't involve gripping things with your hands.
It's also been a naked week. Though my penis avoided getting hives, the groin area at large was covered in red splotches. Merely wearing pants further aggravated the already irritated skin around my waist, as did underwear. In an effort to not sit bare-ass on the communal couch, I sometimes wore a loosely tied sarong that Andrew got me in Indonesia years ago. It's been the only good thing to come out of the experience. If societal homophobic masculinity is the only thing keeping men from wearing skirts, it's time guys fight against that because it feels really nice to let your balls dangle free like that.
Moral of the story? Don't eat nuts, just liberate them.
This has been yet another chapter in "Kevin Babbles: A Pathetic Life." Please don't tell your friends.
2012-12-13
Murder in the Shower
I got bored in the shower this week (what are you supposed to do in there anyway?!) and I decided to use my roommate's stray hairs to write the word "MURDER" on the shower wall. I thought it would be funny, but I worried that it might come across as passive aggressive, like I was really upset that she left her hair in the shower.
More than worrying about being perceived as passive aggressive, I suppose I should have considered how creepy that would be. When she saw "MURDER", she took a photo of it to show her coworkers to ask if they thought it indicated some crazy guy had snuck into the house. Nope, just a crazy guy who happens to pay to live there with her.
I assured her that it was a joke and I probably was not actually going to murder her. She seemed to buy it, which might be dumb given that years ago I accidentally threatened her grandmother with a knife.
Today she "retaliated" by rearranging her hair into a tic-tac-toe board. That seems like a much nicer way to communicate with your roommate. I, of course, put my X in the middle square; it may be a gross game of shower hair tic-tac-toe, but I'm playing to win!
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