The man in slush-dirtied Kenneth Cole knock-offs trudged through the industrial park. The Cup O’ Noodles clutched in his angry, defeated, ashamed, rueful hand followed. Or something to that Stephen King’s The Gunslinger series effect.
Archive for the ‘WHY?’ Category
“GGGFAAOWWNNUUHHH!” is roughly the sound that issued from me before my face smacked directly on to the sidewalk.
I went DOWN. DOWN DOWN. As if poleaxed! If you translated that sound, it would come out to be:
“WHY THE FUCK ARE MY ARMS NOT COMING UP TO PROTECT MY FACE? THIS IS GOING TO HURT! I AM GOING TO HURT MY FACE! THIS IS TERRIFYING! TERRIFYING!”
As I lay there stunned, not even in pain yet, I heard two cars pass me. Two cars. Neither of them slowing. There’s a man lying facedown on a sidewalk in broad daylight. And not in the sort of area where people lying facedown on the sidewalk (whether dead, dying, high, drunk, lazy, or just plain fatigued) is a common occurrence. And he’s hoping to hear someone’s power window slide down and a tentative, hoping-to-hell-he-answers-in-the-affirmative-because-we’ve-got-little-Shenandoah’s-soccer banquet-to-go-to voice ask if he’s alright. Nope. Two cars drove by. “What’s that man doing?” “Bleeding dear. Take a pic and Facebook it.”
When I took my face off the cement and noted the pretty drops of blood that were starting to pepper the sidewalk, I was pretty scared. I didn’t have a compact in my purse, so I had no idea of just how bad the damage was. Had my nose been reconfigured and pushed to the side? Was my eye hanging out? I could have answered that one for myself because my vision was fine. What little deductive reason I possess tends to fly away in the face of sheer panic. And my teeth – were my teeth all there? I know people with gaps in their teeth. People automatically assume you watch Duck Dynasty when you have one of those.
The worst part of it, after all was said and done, was that my husband was at the movies. With the car. And I was two blocks from our apartment. And I looked like Bloody Face, I assumed. I was able to deduce that from the pain and the blood. From my face.
Alone. I was utterly alone. No cars had stopped and I probably had a skull fracture and part of my brain was probably leaving (I hadn’t seen it on the sidewalk yet, but who knows – maybe it had fallen into a shrub or something) and I had to walk home alone.
I took my hoodie off, and held it to my face like people do when they’re trying to prevent smoke inhalation. I was trying to prevent unnerving people. Which is odd seeing as I was still resentful about the TWO CARS THAT DROVE BY, PROBABLY SAW A MAN LYING FACEDOWN ON A SIDEWALK, AND KEPT DRIVING TO SHENANDOAH’S SOCCER BANQUET.
It was a long two blocks. I passed three people. One was a small Asian woman. One was a young white man getting into a car that had been idling waiting for him. And one was an older white gentleman walking a dog. Apparently they had been invited to Shenandoah’s soccer banquet as well. Cuz’ not one of those assholes asked me if I was ok. And the sweatshirt wasn’t covering all the damage. That patch on my forehead you see is post-initial clean-up. It was bleeding pretty heavily at first. So the three people who saw me would have been able to see THE BLOOD STREAMING DOWN MY FOREHEAD. Wow, that must have been some fucking soccer banquet. Maybe they had a DJ.
What did people think I was doing? Converting to Muslim but had gotten confused about which gender wears the niqab? A stupid Muslim who was gender transitioning and couldn’t work her niqab correctly? Concerned about the smog levels in Quincy, MA? Really?
Now that I look back, I honestly think the general public’s apathy towards my plight had something to do with the marathon bombing. It was probably a case of “Look, guy. We’ve all had enough of the death and maiming and we’re trying to get back to normal. Can you swing this one on your own? KTHANKSBAI.” So the One Fund won’t be supporting my recovery. I’m ok with that.
The only damage I really did was give myself a non-displacing fracture in my nose. Which means I broke it but not in the way where you need surgery to point it back in the right direction. This is good news, because I have that modeling career to get back to and Ford Models demands that your nose go in the right direction or you can kiss that Marie Claire cover goodbye, darling.
My face hurts.
I’m toying with blogging again. I’ve had lots of therapy. Hopefully my block is cleared. I’m just not sure what to write about. Little vignettes about my day? Even typing that made me want to shear off my face with something sharp. Posts about my hatred of things? I could write about celebrity bullshit, but did you guys know Michael K. at DListed hired me out of the blue to cover for him when he’s got the clap and it’s affecting his laptop? How fucking huge was that for my ass? So whenever there’s a holiday or he has a flare-up, it looks like I’ll be over there handling famous douche. I hope. FUCK, what if he decides I suck? That last thought was why I see a therapist once a week. Anyway, thay was a fucking dream come true. And ironic, seeing as in the post where I closed this blog, I noted that he was a way better writer than I am. Still true, but if you can’t beat em – beat them off.
I could post secrets people told me, but thinly veil them. SHROUD THEM. So “fucked his husband” becomes “got that used on Craigslist.”
The posts about what I saw on the T were pretty popular. But now I pay for parking. Did you guys know I work with my future husband…
OH SHIT, THIS COULD BE A TOTALLY BORING BLOG ABOUT HOW I’M GETTING MARRIED IN OCTOBER. It could be like one of those bride blogs where I tell you about how the sand in that centerpiece was imported from Revere Beach. Smokin’ butts. Tannin’.
I need to keep my peabrain busy, so I guess I’ll just post about whatever strikes my fancy. Here’s where I make a promise to myself (I PROMISE TO TRY, BUT IT FEELS LIKE A LIE. I still think Like A Prayer is her best album.) to post once a week. HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH. That’ll happen.
Has anyone had Mrs. Fields cookies that come individually wrapped in a box. Shit, those are good.
I need a new banner. I am taking submissions.
Sigh, next question.
QUESTION: You go to put your watch on after taking a dump and it falls in the hopper. Unfortunately, you didn’t flush yet. How much poo is too much to stop you from reaching in and grabbing your watch?
If a watch doesn’t mean that much to you, we can swap it out for a sandwich.
Also, do you think Annette Benning is pretty?
That was from long time commentator Bill Cosby. Count on Bill to shove a Pudding Pop made of a brown, oogy substance that ain’t pudding into your face.
Honestly, it depends on the watch. If it was like Tag Heuer, I’d use something to fetch it out and wash the damn thing. As you learn throughout life, shit (both literal and metaphorical) washes off. If it was like a Swatch or something gumball machine-ish…well, I’d take it out anyways. You can’t flush a watch.
I hate shit questions. This was an exercise in begrudgingly. I’m glad I don’t wear a watch. I get the time from my phone. I dropped a cell phone in a Port-A-Potty once. I don’t tell that story.
Yes, I think Annette Bening is pretty. Although I didn’t like the part in The Kids Are Alright when she told Mark Ruffalo that she needed whatever like she needed “a dick in my ass.” It seemed very tough guy crude. But I think that was what she was going for as an acting choice. Oh, and she was so dementedly awesome in Running With Scissors as the crazy bitch with the shag. She’d fish a poop watch out of a toilet. She has no fear.
E! has the speculation this morning. Did wall-eyed fuck pony Hilton get so jealous of her former friend Leggins McEffYouNail’s recent infamy that she got pulled over on the Vegas strip on purpose? Her and the gentleman she is currently allowing in her nethers were rollin’ down the street, with weed smoke BILLOWING out of their car. After being yanked, Hilton asked the cop if she could go use the bathroom at the Wynn. He escorted her, at which time she asked for her bag back to get some lip chap (herpes sores need soothing) and she let a Ziplock fulla .8 grams of disco dust fly outta there.
Paris dialed up the obvious and said it was someone else’s bag, despite the presence of her credit cards in said bag. You know, the ones that had her name printed on them.
And I can see it. It’s not far-fetched. She and her dude were probably frantically sucking on joints to create enough of a smoke signal to attract law enforcement. How much weed do you have to smoke so that people can VISIBLY SEE THE CLOUD AS YOU ARE DRIVING PAST THEM? Did she step out of the car with dreds in?
So far, she’s free and clear because celebrities can sink an axe into the heads of babies and MAYBE get a ticket. They really are a class of people valued higher than the rest of us by the dreck that runs this world. Then again, E! and I propagate the mess by reporting on these people. I mean this E! report is basically just me speculating on that skank’s motivation, but with a nicer looking blog and better pay. It wasn’t a news story. So we’re actually worse than she is. If it makes everyone feel better, my life is a pit of shadows.
Hopefully this will backfire on her caricature ass and she ends up in jail for a long time. Actually eff that, hopefully she ends up in some serial killer’s dungeon and experiencing the table saw. Serial killers need to leave off killing innocent people and going for the ones no one likes. Like her.
In other news, I saw a man today wearing a livestrong bracelet and carrying a copy of the The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. And I wanted to behead him. Is that bad? Where was your The North Face backpack? Can we talk about The Office?
This Is What I Took Away From A Visit To A Beat Amusement Park In Agawam, Massachusetts aka Screw Your Phone Socks!July 5, 2010
Ok, so Scotty and I decided we wanted to go take a day trip together a couple of weeks back. Because most of our time is spent catering to the whims of our fucking dog (and I mean “fucking” in the most loving way possible, like a gentle blossom falling onto a placid lake) and we don’t actually have any time when we’re really alone. So of course, being the mature adults we are we decide to go to Six Flags New England.
See, when you’re a gay guy you don’t really have that much responsibility to handle all the time and there can be a certain lack of maturity for some of us who are…I guess…fun-loving? Unwilling to hang up our Chuck Taylors? So, whereas most couples would elect to maybe journey to a darling little seaport for a day of shopping punctuated with lunch and cocktails, we decided to go tempt a miscarriage by riding the Superman coaster and tracking just how redneck the teens in western Mass have become (we are talking tramp stamped butterflys, the smoking habits of 1970s Vegas strippers, and mullets galore. Throw in a Slipknot tee, some messy French kissing and dry humping in public and puree. I thought I was at a biker rally in Laconia, NH.)
Anyway, the trip was a wash (except for when we found out that their water park has a tiki bar…getting slightly drunk and critiquing the scary people in unflattering swimwear in the smoking area wasn’t bad). Roller coasters…hurt now. Isn’t that sad to admit? And they’re scary because when you get older, you know what pain and loss is like.
And we also discovered that there is a grave injustice going on in the world of phone socks! Keep reading.
I hope this picture makes mothers re-think their approval of their elementary age and tween daughters screaming in delight over 12-year-old lesbian Justin Bieber. Because that’s him frolicking in the surf with….Kim Kardashian. Gross.
People reports that Justin and that ass were taking part in a photoshoot at the Atlantis resort in the Bahamas. Hopefully it was some sort of PSA campaign warning kids about the dangers of associating with trampy uselessness.
In shocking news, Justin has been linked with Kim in the past, leading her to RECEIVE DEATH THREATS from enraged Bieber Babies. HAHAHAH!
Some Bieber fans will surely get riled up by the images, having already strongly objected to Bieber’s friendship with Kardashian after they met at the White House Correspondents’ dinner in May.
Kardashian, who admitted to having “Bieber Fever” at the time, said she even received death threats. Bieber tried to calm things down, calling Kardashian “a very sexy friend but a friend. No need 4 threats. Let’s all be friends and hang out often.”
A sexy friend. Sexy like scabies. Which you know she’s giving to the poor fish in that surf. But honestly, though, how were the Beiber Babies going to kill her? Suffocate her with Lisa Frank stickers? Roll over her while wearing those wheelie sneakers that always freak me out when a child starts GLIDING in the mall?
Anyway, I don’t get the Bieber thing. I understand teen idols but he’s an ovum. What’s next? Crying girls holding homemade signs outside of pregnant women?
Ok, so earlier today I filled you in on Gary Coleman‘s ex-wife (BUT THEY WERE PLANNING ON RE-MARRYING, GOD I THINK I FEEL A SEIZURE COMING ON, SOMEONE FETCH ME SOME SORT OF OXYGEN DEVICE WITH MASK) taking his unfortunate death on the road to get herself some coin. And now, TMZ is reporting that this bitch might be saving herself a seat on the hell barge right next to your average Al Qaeda member, that Ugandan eat da poo poo guy, and a former manager of mine who shall remain nameless.
Gary Coleman’s ex-wife is the mastermind behind the photos which show the actor in the hospital, bloodied, with tubes sticking out of his body … and there’s also a photo taken after he died. We’re told Shannon Price had a production company shoot the photos. Our sources say Shannon is featured in one of the photos.
It would have been enough if this soulless whore had whipped out her phone or some shit, BUT SHE HIRED A PRODUCTION COMPANY?!? Which means she planned all along to make these photos look as clear and gory as possible to fetch a good sum. Which she did. A tabloid has purchased three of the pictures (even they didn’t want to buy THE POST-MORTEM ONE SHE HAD TAKEN).
I could write more about how cold this trick is, but then I thought to myself…what if this was all planned? Gary had heart issues. Ronald McDrummond said they were having money troubles. Maybe this was his way of making sure she was sorta taken care of for at least a little while after he kicked? Kind of a sad showbiz O. Henry story?
Nah. She’s seriously evil. I wouldn’t stand near her. Nature is bound to take care of this.
As you may have heard by now, Sandra Bullock has passed on attending the international premieres of her Oscar-winning (I’m trying to get over that one, although I’m happy Sandy won that jam, she’s Sandy and you can’t not like her despite some of her shitty movie choices…) flick The Blind Side. And you know the reason why, too. Her husband, West Coast Choppers reality dude Jesse James, has been fucking everyone under the sun including Nazis (no joke) and various stripper freaks. Why you gotta do Sandy like that, Jess?
Sandy Bullock is one of those celebrities who I can’t help liking. I don’t know, she just never triggered my celebrity gag reflex. She seems like your cool aunt or the chick at work that you can go for a pint with and tell her about the time the plumber caught you whacking off. She’s been in several thousand middle of the road movies (God, I could watch 28 Days every weekend for the rest of my life…it’s that bad/good, like a cinematic Hershey’s kiss, plus I think I want to be Jasper when I grow up despite him being a total wanker – “I’m sorry I make it so hard to love me!” WAH!) and just made America feel content. She’s attractive but non-threatening. Angelina seems like the kind of girl who you would find having sex with your hot mom, Nicole Kidman looks like candle wax, Jennifer Aniston is completely boring and pathetic and no one’s sure why she keeps making movie after movie because no one goes to them but Sandy is just..nice. She does her job and lives her life.
When she ended up married to the scary (but sorta hot before he ended up being a prick fiend) Jesse James, it was kind of a huh? But hey, stranger things have happened (did ya see Britanny Murphy’s husband? Tell me drugs didn’t kill her ass.) A Beauty and the Beast sitch, one can see Jesse wiping grease off his mitts on his jeans as Sandy brings a couple of beers out to the garage and he sweeps her in her arms and she laughs and hey..cool relationship.
Then THIS strumpet with the Nazi fetish and this other slattern came forward to snatch that cash with tales of Jesse lubing up his crank shaft and inserting it into their retread caverns. Sigh. That’s a real downer. Best Actress Oscar curse aside (Kate Winslet took awhile to dump her hubby, btw, so not sure it’s a curse up there with the cast of Poltergeist dying horribly), it really puts a damper on this non-Hollywoodish Hollywood couple love story.
I feel for Sandy. The girl showed up to collect her Razzie in person the same week she won the Oscar. She’s a class act. So she makes movies about FBI agents who become beauty queens, and stalkers who comedically fall down wells. She’s nice. Sandy, if you need a friend, you know how to find me.
By the looks of things, this one has kids. You can just tell by the tired ponytail AND THE “DICKEATER” GAME JERSEY. In twelve years, there’s going to be a whirly-eyed little purse snatcher cooking something up in a spoon and laughing with his “I just needed the money, it was only one time”-talking sister about “Ma’s ‘Dick Eater’ shirt.”
As noted, this is from People of Wal-Mart. It was so appalling that I had to comment. I’m more of a Tarjhay lad myself, but it’s always good to see what’s happening across town. Apparently what’s happening is that dignity is a foreign land. Unless this is Photoshopped, and my hat’s off to you if so.
This also reminds me of something that happened in those halcyon days when I eschewed higher learning for a life less ordinary – namely working shitty jobs and trying to achieve coma status through drinking and pills. I worked at an auto auction and Monday was the big auction day when we would hire temps to assist in the office while we tried to get titles off of incredibly shifty sellers who would trade in cars with fresh hemoglobin stains in their trunks. One of these temporary ladies, we’ll call her Rosario, was very friendly and perky and quick to lend a hand. Her grasp of English wasn’t that great (she still sounded more intelligible than Penelope Cruz) but she got along. She also gave one of the most nonsensical, yet greatest responses to a coworker’s problem that I have ever heard.
Coworker 1 is complaining of chest pains and rubbing her breastbone. She is standing beside the mammoth copier while Rosario is loading paper into it and I am probably avoiding work and just hanging around being a nuisance.
Coworker 1: Ow, my chest hurts. Like in the bone.
Me: You ok? Indigestion?
Coworker 1: No, it’s in the muscle or something…
Me: Oh, that’s weird, maybe you’re getting a cold…(ed. note – cause I’m a doctor…)
Rosario looks up at this point.
Coworker 1: Do you ever get chest pains like that, Rosario?
Rosario (cheerfully): Oh, no! All I ever do is suck dick!
Yeah, I don’t know either, but she totally won that day.