The Beckys

Ninth grade was a miserable time to exist.

To start off, I really hated gym class. The entire high school was mixed up and divided for the class throughout the day, so I had to deal with more annoying seniors than usual. I was a little shorter, a lot fatter, and had absolutely no enthusiasm for where I was. A few weeks into the semester, these two senior girls, Becky & Rebecca, began to…interact (for lack of a better word) with me in the class. They were friendly to me. For forty minutes, two or three times a week, the Beckys pretended to be my friends, and for quite some time, I believed them. Once, I was out of school for a week with the flu. When I returned, they had made a little "get well soon" card for me. The way they talked to me, their voices sounded a little condescending, but I appreciated the sentiment. A month later, as we were leaving the class, I overheard them talking. “Score another point for the ego-boosters!” They weren’t interested in me. I was just an experiment, a lab rat to them.

Thanks for making a guy feel wanted!

I saw Becky once, just after she had graduated. She didn't recognize me, and I didn't say anything. I didn't see the point.

Progress.

Today I unofficially joined the local gym. I've ordered some decent, non-leather sneakers, and should have them by Tuesday. Then I can start. They have a kick-ass promotion going on, which means I'm going to save a bit of money. Right now, I'm reviewing all of the classes they have to offer. Say it with me: beefcake. BEEFCAAAAAAAKE!



Last weekend I went out and spent a giant wad of cash on clothes.

Clothes that...aren't black.

*dun dun dunnnnnnnnn*



Remember, ladies: red shirts are always the first to go down.

Yep, I just combined a Star Trek cliche with cunnilingual innuendo. Such is the power of my geekitude.

"Oh great, I'm awake!"

"What next, the sun and the rest of the day?"

- commedian Dana Gould.

Lynne and I were IMing the other day about job woes and a recent interview. She mentioned Bowie's happiness with his new job, that he 'looked forward to getting up in the morning.'

I wonder what that's like. For me, I've always looked forward to going to bed. Sleep has always been my sanctuary; too bad I have to be unconscious to attain it.

Early Memories

I only have three memories from kindergarten.

During naptime at the end of the day, I could never sleep. This cute girl, Sarah, was in the cot in front of me, and she couldn’t sleep either. So, very quietly, we’d pass one of my Hotwheels cars back and forth.

My teacher went obsessive-compulsive one day. The toilet paper didn’t seem to have any perforations, so she went through half of the roll, one “sheet” at a time, before she finally gave up. This also happened during naptime; Sarah and I passed the car to each other and watched Mrs. B. flip out while everyone else slept.

One day, another class had made this mini-volcano thing. They had the whole kindergarten class gather around this two-foot-tall clay mountain rigged with baking soda, vinegar, and some sparklers. When the bubbles started flowing, all I could see in my head was a real volcano in Hawaii wiping out houses, palm trees and…people. I could see people dying, burning to death, melting from the lava. I remember that the sky was a reddish orange haze, and I was so horrified that I started to cry. One of the teachers escorted me from the room, and I just couldn’t stop. My tears were flowing as fast as the “lava.” She asked me what was wrong, but I couldn’t find the words to tell her. I couldn’t make any sense of what I imagined. I still can’t. Can ANYONE explain how a five-year-old kid who knows absolutely NOTHING about the world outside his own backyard imagine such a terrifying image?

Lame-ass joke.

For those of you not paying attention, I work at a print shop. Printing is the ass-end of design; we produce the final product. (Note: distribution would be...flushing.)

On a particularly slow day, I put on some jazz. Jack, one of my co-workers (who has since left for greener pastures) had asked what album was playing.

"Kind of Blue by Miles Davis."

"Oh? What kind of blue is it, greenish blue?" Jack is a smart-ass of high caliber.

"More like...Pantone 281."

We both groaned, then laughed at how awful that was.

"Only a designer would find that funny."

The Tribulations of Transportation

(I'm not usually a fan of alliteration.)

I boarded the N train this afternoon to get to work. In the car was an orgy of teenage snogging and dry humping.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I thought to myself.

"Of course it's for fuck's sake. Why else would anyone be dry humping?" I chided myself.

Thanks for reminding me how lonely I was at that age, and how lonely I still am.

By the time I opened up the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, they all had the decency to disappear.

-------------

The bi-weekly train service fuckup also happened today. I have to switch at Times Square to the downtown 1 train to get to the office. Once I got to Times Square, there were no local downtown trains on the red line. I took the 2 express down to Chambers street to catch the uptown local. And once I got there, the downtown locals had started up again. Thanks for wasting another half-hour of my day, MTA. Just once, I'd like to be the 'Rick James' to their 'Eddie Murphy's couch.'

Without the reprisal of getting my legs beaten by Eddie & Charlie, that is.

Zing!

Gennessee, another high school classmate, has contacted me through Myspace (they're coming out of the woodwork!). In our conversation, she reminded me of one of her ex-boyfriends.

In my senior year of high school, I had begun to come out of my shell (something I'm still 2/3 in). I'm not exactly the smartest person in the world, and I'm horrible at thinking on my feet. But somehow, I managed to get a good line in occasionally.

In Mr. Wagner's first period economics class, we usually didn't have much to cover. Half of the time was a free-for-all study hall. Conversations erupted. Kris, a guy I went to the Vo-Tec school with (and occasional bully/class clown), went on about how quickly he could reassemble a carburetor. Lisa was listening in and provided the perfect setup:

"Gee, Kris, it sounds like you got a lot of time on your hands."

I took the bait:

"More like all over his hands."

Yeah, nothing beats a masturbation joke first thing in the morning. Mr. Wagner buried his face in his hands, trying not to show how red his face got with laughter. The rest of the class went "Oohhh!" Seated behind me, my friend & fellow smart ass Jennifer slapped me in the back of the head. I turned around, puzzled, and asked her "what did you do that for?"

"I was going to say that!"

This all sent Kris into a fit of rage. I've unfortunately forgotten his responses, but they were even better setups. Each time he opened his mouth, I responded with more quips. He got so pissed, he had to leave the room to cool off. Kris was frothing at the mouth. I left him alone for the rest of the day. I didn't want to break the camel's back.

Why?

May Nixzmary Brown rest in peace.

Best Man? Me? REALLY?

Okay, Carlos, I'll do what I can. Unfortunately, the Playboy Mansion is booked solid until nine years after Hef kicks it.

(I checked. The seven Bunnies he sleeps with have it all planned out.)

(Yep, still a little shocked, still very honored.)

Bork Bork Bork!

I'd like to thank Firefox for being open source, and Anthony C. Howe for sharing his masterwork with all of us.

He created a Firefox extension that turns all the text into the Swedish Chef's language. Yes, it may be a waste of time, but DAMN, it's a funny one.

Bork bork bork!