I think the Swine flu has officially taken over the World.
Our office has officially been raised to 'level 3,' which consists of additional daytime cleaners who do a sweep of the office around lunchtime to address any 'hot stops' that may need attention, new antibacterial soap in the bathroom (umm not sure what the soap in there was before) and automatic sanitizer dispensers every 15 feet. It always baffles me when I see someone bypass the sink in the bathroom after using the toilet and reach their hands under the dispenser. Isn't this type of waterless-sanitizer for those times when you get get to a sink and soap? I really just don't get it.
This is all in the midst of my co-workers being 'diagnosed' with the Swiney. Seeing as she was due to a party of mine in a couple of days, I was rather happy to have her quarantined to her apartment, though the level of alert and anxiety seemed to grow knowing that she had been swaggering around with the Swine only a few days prior. Those in the immediate vacinity of her desk seemed especially agitated.
The first few weeks of the outbreak, the gym was a ghost town. I really came to appreciate it because you didn't have to wait for machines and the level of stench was down a notch or two given less sweaty-ass people in the small space (see ymca post for additional clarity on this subject). Then today I'm working out when I see a man coming through inspecting the 'cleanliness' of the cardio room followed by an old woman with a bucket of soapy water, sopping down each machine down. Apparently this isn't good enough for some of the members, as I am working out behind a woman who is on the stairmaster with 20 strips of paper towels hanging over the handle. Every time she changes her position on the handles, she grabs a new piece and places it between her hands and the machine. After 20 minutes she had a pile of sweaty paper towels piled up on either side of her. I was half expecting her to bust out a mask. She wasn't Asian though.
Recently they updated Swiney from an epidemic to a pandemic? Is that right? I don't feel like Googling it but I think that's right. At any rate -- it seems to really be sweeping the World. So watch out folks -- and don't forget to sanitize. Though if you're near a sink with soap, do yourself a favor and just WASH YOUR GODDAMN HANDS!
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
ymca
Starting 2009 off right, I finally decided to break down and join the gym. Generally I enjoy running outside for exercise, but the end 2008 was a rather cold and windy one in Brooklyn and I found myself skipping multiple days in a row and really lacking in the exercise department. I knew it was official when Stephen agreed that I used to have a nice body. The jig was up.
Given the fact that my roommates already belonged to the local Y, it was close and is the cheapest thing around, I decided it was my best bet. I live in a very diverse area of the country so it takes a lot to shock me, but the crowd at this Y is quite a sight.
The first week I worked out, I found myself next to a man who looked to be 110 years old, barely any meat on his bones, cycling on the bike with all his might. I literally thought he'd have a heart attack right on the spot. He was cycling when I get on the treadmill going full speed and was still going strong when I got off 30 minutes later.
Over to my left is another anorexic member, this time it's a woman on the Eliptical having a similar affair with her exercise machine. She was soaked in sweat and her eyes were rolling back into her head. Between the two of them, I was scanning the area for the closest payphone in case I had to call 911 should one of them collapse. At this point I am starting to think that everyone that goes to the Y is pretty die hard. Then this bitch strolls into the cardio room in jeans, a big jacket, bright sneakers and about 100 more layers under her jacket. She also has on thick brown glasses and a winter hat. I thought maybe she made a wrong turn and was looking for a local hipster bar. No such luck.
After finding an open treadmill, she proceeded to begin stripping down in front of the machine and piling her clothes in the corner. No need for a locker room or locker I thought to myself. After successfully stripping off half of her layers, she pulled out a small paperback book and began walking on the treadmill at a snail's pace. Bitch was reading small print Jane Austin while working out! This is particularly annoying considering it was January and everyone and their brother (including myself) starts or gets back into going to the gym. Therefore, the place is packed and there is always a line to get a machine around dinner time. Doesn't bother this one in the least, she is going to trot her ass slow as molasses on that treadmill for her allotted 30 minutes.
On my way out the door, I pass two bearded gingers on the stair masters and a jacked blond guy doing a couple free weights. I guess I'll have to learn to take the good with the bad.
Given the fact that my roommates already belonged to the local Y, it was close and is the cheapest thing around, I decided it was my best bet. I live in a very diverse area of the country so it takes a lot to shock me, but the crowd at this Y is quite a sight.
The first week I worked out, I found myself next to a man who looked to be 110 years old, barely any meat on his bones, cycling on the bike with all his might. I literally thought he'd have a heart attack right on the spot. He was cycling when I get on the treadmill going full speed and was still going strong when I got off 30 minutes later.
Over to my left is another anorexic member, this time it's a woman on the Eliptical having a similar affair with her exercise machine. She was soaked in sweat and her eyes were rolling back into her head. Between the two of them, I was scanning the area for the closest payphone in case I had to call 911 should one of them collapse. At this point I am starting to think that everyone that goes to the Y is pretty die hard. Then this bitch strolls into the cardio room in jeans, a big jacket, bright sneakers and about 100 more layers under her jacket. She also has on thick brown glasses and a winter hat. I thought maybe she made a wrong turn and was looking for a local hipster bar. No such luck.
After finding an open treadmill, she proceeded to begin stripping down in front of the machine and piling her clothes in the corner. No need for a locker room or locker I thought to myself. After successfully stripping off half of her layers, she pulled out a small paperback book and began walking on the treadmill at a snail's pace. Bitch was reading small print Jane Austin while working out! This is particularly annoying considering it was January and everyone and their brother (including myself) starts or gets back into going to the gym. Therefore, the place is packed and there is always a line to get a machine around dinner time. Doesn't bother this one in the least, she is going to trot her ass slow as molasses on that treadmill for her allotted 30 minutes.
On my way out the door, I pass two bearded gingers on the stair masters and a jacked blond guy doing a couple free weights. I guess I'll have to learn to take the good with the bad.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
cow for sale
Well, I'd have to admit that I've participated in my share of sexual escapades. I'm definitely no angel. Over the years I've woken up on the West side, the East side, Brooklyn, Queens, Fire Island, the suburbs of Rochester and even random places in Europe (let's not go there). But I think a lot of the time I've been looking for something more than a one-night-stand. Sure, there are those times that you know what's about to happen isn't going anywhere. But, many times you can tell it is mutual and you don't feel guilty parting your ways in the morning (or before that if the apartment warrants an early escape). There are even those times when you're out with friends, pretty lit-up, or on holiday, and you feel like a little random rubbing. We've all been there.
But I can honestly say that a majority of the time I am hoping that this is going to be the one. Sounds pathetic right? I guess it is a bit. But I am serious! Is that asking too much? Is dating really that horrible? Am I really not the marrying kind? Not even the kind for a second date? Do people ever 'hit it off' anymore? In the past three months I've been down the same road over and over again. One night with someone special turns out to be just that, one night. Are we all so desperate to spread our seed around that we won't even consider something more? And just to note, all of these experiences are not the result of drunken nights in bars, so save that comment!
Now, I know it's not that easy. I've broken some hearts in my day too. But, I have a two date rule. I'm at least willing to give it a bit of a go. If still nothing jumps out at me after those two dates, it is usually safe to call it quits. I think it is a nice rule. How can you really tell after just one night? (of course there are exceptions, e.g. the person already has a picture of you in their apartment and you've never met)
I guess the worst part of all of it is that these experiences are rarely ever completely random or cold feeling at the time. Many times I can tell if someone isn't interested in anything more than sex. I can gauge those cold touches and that early morning scrambling. But those chronic cuddlers? (damn the cuddlers) Those ones who want to get breakfast? The ones who want to flirt in the morning and tell you their life story. The ones who want to tickle you? THOSE my friend, I do not get. What the f*ck is up with that seriously? I don't cuddle with my one-night-stands! It's poor practice.
Well, girl has had it. I may not be with best candidate to be someones boyfriend but I'm willing to give it a go, with the right person. Breeze buys need not apply, because I'm done. This milk is no longer free.
But I can honestly say that a majority of the time I am hoping that this is going to be the one. Sounds pathetic right? I guess it is a bit. But I am serious! Is that asking too much? Is dating really that horrible? Am I really not the marrying kind? Not even the kind for a second date? Do people ever 'hit it off' anymore? In the past three months I've been down the same road over and over again. One night with someone special turns out to be just that, one night. Are we all so desperate to spread our seed around that we won't even consider something more? And just to note, all of these experiences are not the result of drunken nights in bars, so save that comment!
Now, I know it's not that easy. I've broken some hearts in my day too. But, I have a two date rule. I'm at least willing to give it a bit of a go. If still nothing jumps out at me after those two dates, it is usually safe to call it quits. I think it is a nice rule. How can you really tell after just one night? (of course there are exceptions, e.g. the person already has a picture of you in their apartment and you've never met)
I guess the worst part of all of it is that these experiences are rarely ever completely random or cold feeling at the time. Many times I can tell if someone isn't interested in anything more than sex. I can gauge those cold touches and that early morning scrambling. But those chronic cuddlers? (damn the cuddlers) Those ones who want to get breakfast? The ones who want to flirt in the morning and tell you their life story. The ones who want to tickle you? THOSE my friend, I do not get. What the f*ck is up with that seriously? I don't cuddle with my one-night-stands! It's poor practice.
Well, girl has had it. I may not be with best candidate to be someones boyfriend but I'm willing to give it a go, with the right person. Breeze buys need not apply, because I'm done. This milk is no longer free.
Monday, August 18, 2008
I can't, i just can't
They say bad things happen in sets of three. After this past week I'm beginning to think maybe three in a row just isn't enough for those in charge of the Universe.
It all started when my friend's bike got jacked in Williamsburg while another friend was borrowing it. Now, I've seen the chains that he has on this thing and how he removes the seat when he locks it up, so I was pretty surprised to say the least. Less than two days later while on the hunt for the missing bike, said friend bought a shiny new bike, pretty sweet. Well, after a solid 24 hours worth of riding, that too went to way the of the former, jacked!
Stolen bikes aside but keeping with the bike theme, two of my friends were double riding on a bike from the bar on Saturday. Lord knows they had to share the bike because the other friend already has his bike stolen. It was quite late and they had stopped to get falafel and were headed home when they rolled too far into an intersection and were hit by a car! Hit and run no less! Luckily they were not hurt and the bike's basket only received minor damage. As an act of good faith, a cab-driver who witnessed the events chased down the driver of the other car and escorted him back to my friends who were assessing all that had happened. In response to being handed over the culprit, my friend Mark's main concern was the falafel he had yet to eat that now lay all over the street. They decided that a crisp $20 bill would suffice as payment and would keep them from calling the Police. But don't worry, Mark managed to swipe another $5 that fell out the man's wallet. He informed me that he "put his foot over the $5 bill" when he saw it drop and waited for the man to look away before picking it up. This was right before they scraped the falafel off the street and took it home and ate it!
Meanwhile, on the other side of town my other friend Justin is walking home from the same bar when he is accosted by three random guys who push him down and steal his wallet and house/car keys! Who the f**k steals someones keys? Were they planning on walking up and down the street trying to find his apartment by trying every door and then rob the place? Were they going to walk up and down the street until they found a Lincoln that lit up when they pressed the unlock button and steal it?
And on yet another side of town there is me. I have decided to avert disaster by TAKING a cab home, rather than become victim to the tragedy of the night. As a reoccurring problem, after a drink or two, I forget where I live. My roommates can attest to this as I always argue with cab drivers when they tell me there isn't any 720 Calyer Street. "Oh really, because that's where I live!" I always tell them. But actually, I don't live at 720 Calyer Street, in fact that isn't even the name of my street! This in mind, how I ended up four blocks from my house, but not on Calyer or my street is beyond me. So there I am, running like a tranny down a busy street at 4:00 AM trying to find my damn apartment.
I can't, I really, truly, just can't!
It all started when my friend's bike got jacked in Williamsburg while another friend was borrowing it. Now, I've seen the chains that he has on this thing and how he removes the seat when he locks it up, so I was pretty surprised to say the least. Less than two days later while on the hunt for the missing bike, said friend bought a shiny new bike, pretty sweet. Well, after a solid 24 hours worth of riding, that too went to way the of the former, jacked!
Stolen bikes aside but keeping with the bike theme, two of my friends were double riding on a bike from the bar on Saturday. Lord knows they had to share the bike because the other friend already has his bike stolen. It was quite late and they had stopped to get falafel and were headed home when they rolled too far into an intersection and were hit by a car! Hit and run no less! Luckily they were not hurt and the bike's basket only received minor damage. As an act of good faith, a cab-driver who witnessed the events chased down the driver of the other car and escorted him back to my friends who were assessing all that had happened. In response to being handed over the culprit, my friend Mark's main concern was the falafel he had yet to eat that now lay all over the street. They decided that a crisp $20 bill would suffice as payment and would keep them from calling the Police. But don't worry, Mark managed to swipe another $5 that fell out the man's wallet. He informed me that he "put his foot over the $5 bill" when he saw it drop and waited for the man to look away before picking it up. This was right before they scraped the falafel off the street and took it home and ate it!
Meanwhile, on the other side of town my other friend Justin is walking home from the same bar when he is accosted by three random guys who push him down and steal his wallet and house/car keys! Who the f**k steals someones keys? Were they planning on walking up and down the street trying to find his apartment by trying every door and then rob the place? Were they going to walk up and down the street until they found a Lincoln that lit up when they pressed the unlock button and steal it?
And on yet another side of town there is me. I have decided to avert disaster by TAKING a cab home, rather than become victim to the tragedy of the night. As a reoccurring problem, after a drink or two, I forget where I live. My roommates can attest to this as I always argue with cab drivers when they tell me there isn't any 720 Calyer Street. "Oh really, because that's where I live!" I always tell them. But actually, I don't live at 720 Calyer Street, in fact that isn't even the name of my street! This in mind, how I ended up four blocks from my house, but not on Calyer or my street is beyond me. So there I am, running like a tranny down a busy street at 4:00 AM trying to find my damn apartment.
I can't, I really, truly, just can't!
Saturday, April 26, 2008
ev heel hunt
Last week I went out with everyone from work to welcome a new hire. I definitely wasn't expecting to end up in the EV at a gay bar with about five of them. Nonetheless, there we were, guys and girls, straight and gay. It was a great time, and I was definitely out past my bedtime for a weekday.
One of my colleagues, a woman named 'Vanessa,' decided it wasn't necessary to keep up her stiletto look, seeing that she was a straight woman in a gay bar, and changed into her flip flops. Fairly appropriate look for the dive bar that we were at I would say.
The next morning at work, she came barreling in the office exclaiming that during this foot attire switch she somehow managed to lose sight of one of her black high heels. She had already scoured her building lobby, called the cab company to report the missing stiletto and called two local precincts to see if it had showed up! I was in stitches as she me told me of all the trouble she was going to in order to track down the missing heel. You can imagine how the conversation with the people on the other end of the line went: "I am calling to see if anyone has turned in one black high heel shoe." "No ma'am, sorry to hear about your loss, we'll keep an ear to the ground should anything show up." [snickering] I think the best was trying to imagine what the guy at the gay bar was going to say when she was planning to call "Yes ma'am, we have a pile of about fifty heels in the back room if you would like to come take a look."
With no luck after all of her efforts, I am now switching my thoughts to a twinky East Village boy, who stumbled across the size ten heel on the street and is now limping around trying to be the best tranny she can be.
One of my colleagues, a woman named 'Vanessa,' decided it wasn't necessary to keep up her stiletto look, seeing that she was a straight woman in a gay bar, and changed into her flip flops. Fairly appropriate look for the dive bar that we were at I would say.
The next morning at work, she came barreling in the office exclaiming that during this foot attire switch she somehow managed to lose sight of one of her black high heels. She had already scoured her building lobby, called the cab company to report the missing stiletto and called two local precincts to see if it had showed up! I was in stitches as she me told me of all the trouble she was going to in order to track down the missing heel. You can imagine how the conversation with the people on the other end of the line went: "I am calling to see if anyone has turned in one black high heel shoe." "No ma'am, sorry to hear about your loss, we'll keep an ear to the ground should anything show up." [snickering] I think the best was trying to imagine what the guy at the gay bar was going to say when she was planning to call "Yes ma'am, we have a pile of about fifty heels in the back room if you would like to come take a look."
With no luck after all of her efforts, I am now switching my thoughts to a twinky East Village boy, who stumbled across the size ten heel on the street and is now limping around trying to be the best tranny she can be.
Monday, April 7, 2008
tranny ferocia
Spring is here and the weather is really starting to turn around. It's my favorite season and I really do get excited about budding trees, flowers popping up and sleeping with my window open at night.
A couple friends and I decided to take advantage of this great weather this past weekend. Saturday was sunny and beautiful so we headed into the city to do the walk over the Brooklyn Bridge. It really couldn't have been a nicer day for it, blue skies, sun at your back and a warm breeze.
After we crossed over the bridge and got into Brooklyn, we had a little lunch and decided to plant ourselves on a bench by the docks to people watch for a couple of hours. What a cast of characters.
Apparently half of New York was getting married on Saturday and all of the wedding parties wanted to take their pictures down by the water. There were some interesting brides and wedding parties, including my favorite, Karmen. Karmen was this four foot ten bleach blonde Hispanic woman in a bright purple dress and silver heels. She was walking around like it was her first time in a pair of pumps and she was ferociously out of control. She rallied up her party and commanded control at every second. Whether it was setting up the best poses along the rail or fixing the brides dress, she had it covered. She also had the picture taking covered, with her camera phone and corresponding disposable camera. She really had us cracking up. I didn't want to see her trot out of my life, but the El Camino was fueled up and ready to go and off they went!
Between her and the"pimps and hoes" convention that was taking place to the right of us, it felt like we were at the circus. So thanks Karmen, for being the hot mess that you are.
A couple friends and I decided to take advantage of this great weather this past weekend. Saturday was sunny and beautiful so we headed into the city to do the walk over the Brooklyn Bridge. It really couldn't have been a nicer day for it, blue skies, sun at your back and a warm breeze.
After we crossed over the bridge and got into Brooklyn, we had a little lunch and decided to plant ourselves on a bench by the docks to people watch for a couple of hours. What a cast of characters.
Apparently half of New York was getting married on Saturday and all of the wedding parties wanted to take their pictures down by the water. There were some interesting brides and wedding parties, including my favorite, Karmen. Karmen was this four foot ten bleach blonde Hispanic woman in a bright purple dress and silver heels. She was walking around like it was her first time in a pair of pumps and she was ferociously out of control. She rallied up her party and commanded control at every second. Whether it was setting up the best poses along the rail or fixing the brides dress, she had it covered. She also had the picture taking covered, with her camera phone and corresponding disposable camera. She really had us cracking up. I didn't want to see her trot out of my life, but the El Camino was fueled up and ready to go and off they went!
Between her and the"pimps and hoes" convention that was taking place to the right of us, it felt like we were at the circus. So thanks Karmen, for being the hot mess that you are.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
signs of ghetto
This weekend I was out with a couple friends at a bar in my neighborhood when I had a realization. I am extremely ghetto.
I sat with my friend "Simon" and poured the vodka from my pocket flask into my club soda and started to think about many things in my life that are equally as ghetto.
I looked up from my bartending only to see that there was a male go-go dancer preparing for a night of "doing his thing" on the old wooden bar. There he was, stretching out his arms and legs on the DJ booth. In between stretches, some friends helped him to draw a tattoo of an anchor (apparently he was going with a sailor theme on this particular night) on his bicep.
At the end of night, my friends and I were waiting to hail a cab when we came across five young males also looking to do the same. As we watched them split up their group because the cabby wouldn't allow five people, we all began commenting on what dumbasses they were for not doing the "5th person hide behind the car and dive in unnoticed" maneuver that we are all too familiar with.
Piggy backing on this theme, the other day I was running late for work (okay, everyday), when I passed the usual entourage of homeless men huddled near the entrance of the subway, where one of them was peeing on the steps of the bank. How lovely I thought, as I rushed down the stairs to catch the train. After realizing that my metro card was expired (what great timing!) I attempted to buy a new monthly pass. Adding insult to injury was the fact that the machines were not excepting credit or debit cards. Just great I thought, I usually only have about $1 in cash on me at any given time. To my surprise I actually found a $20 dollar bill in my wallet, not sure where that came from? With another twist of luck the subway attendant even had change to offer me so I wouldn't receive $18 in Susan B. Anthony coins to toss in my bag.
After this debacle was over, I run down another flight of stairs to find a train approaching and what looks to be about twenty minutes worth of angry commuters ready to aggressively pile on. As I am left standing on the platform, unable to weasel my way aboard, some bitch who got on looks at me with her most insincere puppy dog eyes and says "sorry." At this point I take a step back and think Oh, now I'm getting on this train, and then proceed to jump towards the open doors and crowd surf my way onto the packed car. I am pretty sure that I spent the entire trip without my feet touching the floor and my head in the crotch of the old polish woman who works at the corner deli. Joy. She looked and smelled of cured meats. Who needs perfume when you are basting in pastrami all day?
At work, I polish off my daily peanut butter sandwich, peruse the halls for leftover meeting food and make my third cup of work coffee. At the end of the day I head home and hit up the local grocery story which sells milk that expires in four days, sour yogurt and no longer carries my Skippy natural peanut butter (Bastards!). As I lug my groceries home to my five roommates, I have to quickly stop at the ATM to withdrawal several hundreds of dollars to pay rent, as it needs to be paid in cash. Safety comes to mind as I step over the sleeping homeless people inside the bank, kudos to you Bank of America for maintaining such high standards! I get home, pop in some microwave vegetables, tally up the rent and head up to my shoe box sized bedroom.
There, I put away the iron, which has now completely separated into 2 pieces after being dropped so many times, pull the towel off my bed where I had done the ironing, and gently re-fold the clothes from the previous day. The pits didn't smell like sweat after all, so I can definitely get another wear out of them! I gently fall asleep to the sound of water bong hits and Nintendo Wii.
Ghet-to. What has this city done to me?
I sat with my friend "Simon" and poured the vodka from my pocket flask into my club soda and started to think about many things in my life that are equally as ghetto.
I looked up from my bartending only to see that there was a male go-go dancer preparing for a night of "doing his thing" on the old wooden bar. There he was, stretching out his arms and legs on the DJ booth. In between stretches, some friends helped him to draw a tattoo of an anchor (apparently he was going with a sailor theme on this particular night) on his bicep.
At the end of night, my friends and I were waiting to hail a cab when we came across five young males also looking to do the same. As we watched them split up their group because the cabby wouldn't allow five people, we all began commenting on what dumbasses they were for not doing the "5th person hide behind the car and dive in unnoticed" maneuver that we are all too familiar with.
Piggy backing on this theme, the other day I was running late for work (okay, everyday), when I passed the usual entourage of homeless men huddled near the entrance of the subway, where one of them was peeing on the steps of the bank. How lovely I thought, as I rushed down the stairs to catch the train. After realizing that my metro card was expired (what great timing!) I attempted to buy a new monthly pass. Adding insult to injury was the fact that the machines were not excepting credit or debit cards. Just great I thought, I usually only have about $1 in cash on me at any given time. To my surprise I actually found a $20 dollar bill in my wallet, not sure where that came from? With another twist of luck the subway attendant even had change to offer me so I wouldn't receive $18 in Susan B. Anthony coins to toss in my bag.
After this debacle was over, I run down another flight of stairs to find a train approaching and what looks to be about twenty minutes worth of angry commuters ready to aggressively pile on. As I am left standing on the platform, unable to weasel my way aboard, some bitch who got on looks at me with her most insincere puppy dog eyes and says "sorry." At this point I take a step back and think Oh, now I'm getting on this train, and then proceed to jump towards the open doors and crowd surf my way onto the packed car. I am pretty sure that I spent the entire trip without my feet touching the floor and my head in the crotch of the old polish woman who works at the corner deli. Joy. She looked and smelled of cured meats. Who needs perfume when you are basting in pastrami all day?
At work, I polish off my daily peanut butter sandwich, peruse the halls for leftover meeting food and make my third cup of work coffee. At the end of the day I head home and hit up the local grocery story which sells milk that expires in four days, sour yogurt and no longer carries my Skippy natural peanut butter (Bastards!). As I lug my groceries home to my five roommates, I have to quickly stop at the ATM to withdrawal several hundreds of dollars to pay rent, as it needs to be paid in cash. Safety comes to mind as I step over the sleeping homeless people inside the bank, kudos to you Bank of America for maintaining such high standards! I get home, pop in some microwave vegetables, tally up the rent and head up to my shoe box sized bedroom.
There, I put away the iron, which has now completely separated into 2 pieces after being dropped so many times, pull the towel off my bed where I had done the ironing, and gently re-fold the clothes from the previous day. The pits didn't smell like sweat after all, so I can definitely get another wear out of them! I gently fall asleep to the sound of water bong hits and Nintendo Wii.
Ghet-to. What has this city done to me?
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