Movie Moment

We all have them at some point. It’s the kind of thing that happens, that feels surreal–and it only feels surreal because you spend entirely too much time streaming movies on your Netflix (that’s a whole other post entirely people). I’ve had a few memorable movie moments and really they are only memorable, because they are slightly embarrassing or ended up with some kid trying to grind his knee up in my groin at a high school dance–more on that later. Maybe some of you out there have had them, you might be the lucky kind of people that make a connection with someone on; lets say an airplane; and you never think you are going to see them again, but lo-and-behold, they turn out to be your new coworker or something equally romantic comedy worthy.

I do not have this kind of luck. I never have and I am going to go out on a very short limb here, and say that I probably never will.

Since I am female and this is what females do (or so I’ve been told, by the media), I spend a lot of time romanticizing real life, trying to make it resemble  fairy tales, rom coms, and 80’s teen movies. It’s possible that I have an overactive imagination and just like to make up the occasional story of what it would be like to have a man sweep me off my feet–or it could be the fact that the entertainment industry has ruined me. It’s not fair to blame it all on them, but I will, because not taking responsibility for one’s self is a true American trait, and I am nothing, if not a true-blue American.

The first of my movie moments that I can remember was back in high school. And it went a little something like this….

Except it went nothing like that, because Jake Ryan does not exist, and he does not speak Spanish. Although, how great is it that that clip is in Spanish? It’s almost better in Spanish. But as I was saying, that isn’t really how my movie moment went down. I was at a homecoming dance and I was standing by myself–a slow song had just started. I don’t know if it was the same where you people went to high school, but good lord, our dances were not complete without a handful of slow songs. Now, I think they just play some ‘Lil Wayne song and guys bend girls over and pretend to have sex with them, or actually have sex with them….kids grow up so fast these days. But I digress. So I was standing by myself, twiddling my thumbs or something, and I look up and I see a boy in front of me, clearly asking me to dance, because he has his hand outstretched in front of me and he said, “Would you like to dance?” My immediate reaction in my mind was obviously, “huh?” which translated into me looking behind me and to both sides to make sure there wasn’t some crafty bitch behind me waiting to pop out  and steal my glory. It gets better, because then I POINTED TO MYSELF saying, “me?” I wish I were kidding. But I’m not. So it turns out, he was asking me to dance. As we were dancing, it felt like something was missing…magic? romance? A finger and a half, perchance?! He was missing some fingers.

 

At least he wasn't able to grab my ass?

 

 

JAKE RYAN HE WAS NOT. But for all those fingers he was missing, he sure made up for it in the thigh area, because it was trying desperately to rub up in my groinage area…which I did not appreciate. And the song was like a  year long, I swear it was like were dancing to some extended version of Shai’s “If I Ever Fall in Love”.

 

So lets move ahead 8ish or so years (editor’s note: I am getting old) and I am still reliving scenes from movies. This time it’s from a movie that I’m ashamed to even admit that I saw…I actually rented it on Itunes. Who does that? Me, that’s who. But not now, now that I have NetFlix–dependable, comforting, NetFlix. The movie: He’s Just Not that Into You. Seriously, I actually watched it. In my defense, Bradley Cooper is really hot, okay?

 

Am I right, or am I right?

 

 

For those of you who have better sense than I do and avoid watching such filth, there is a scene in the movie where Justin Long’s character; Alex; invites Ginnifer Goodwin’s character; Gigi; to a party he is throwing at his apartment. I’m not going to lie, I looked for a clip of this, but couldn’t find it anywhere, and that’s why I am going to have to explain this shit. So Gigi is basically in love with Alex because, well she is a woman in a romantic comedy, and is desperate; needy, naïve;  sort of like a real woman, I guess? The line between art and reality is so blurry. So there are tons of other women at this party because Alex is one of those guys that has lots of women friends (annoying) and doesn’t realize when he is leading a girl on–and then blames the girl for reading too much into the things he has said/done (double annoying). All of these factors do not deter Gigi from basically becoming the party hostess (i.e., pretending to be his girlfriend). She starts refilling chip bowls, going around making sure everyone is having a good time–all while Alex is ignoring her because he is playing video games with some hot model looking chick. She even cleans up the entire apartment for him at the end! Sad, I know. Plus, Alex doesn’t even care.

Where is this all going, you may now be asking yourselves. About a week ago, I was invited to a an apartment warming of a cute friend. I wouldn’t even really say that close of a friend, because I’m not even sure my name was spelled right in his phone at this point, but he’s cute, so whatever. I received the invitation via Facebook (editor’s note: of course.) and it said that the party was from “8pm to 11pm”. So me being me, I have to work extra hard not to show up right on time, because only losers do that–sigh–and show up at a fashionably late time of 8:20pm. Or so I thought. I get there and I AM THE FIRST PERSON THERE. His roommate, was still in the shower at this point! Turns out he had been telling everyone that the party started at 9pm. So there I am, 40-fucking-minutes early to a party of some cute guy I hardly know. So then he asks me to help him take apart some frames so he can put some of his photos in them, so they can be hung up for the party…of course I help, because I am a decent person, and that is what decent people do. The his roommate gets out of the shower ( a girl, natch) and is asking me to light candles and put them around the apartment. What am I supposed to say? So of course I start lighting candles and placing them around, alternating colors, and such…and that’s when I realized this seemed all too familiar. My life had officially become a lame movie inspired by a horrible, horrible, book. He kept thanking me and was like, “I’m so glad you’re here.” You’re only glad I showed up unreasonably early, so you could get free labor out of me. I know how this game works. I’ve seen my fair share of movies!

I’m smart enough to know that while I may be experiencing a movie moment, those around me are not. I will not have a movie ending…Jake Ryan will not show up outside the church of my sister’s wedding (maybe because I don’t have a sister?) looking for me. Do you want to know why?  Because Jake Ryan is like 50 years old now.

I’m back.

Hey folks. I took a hiatus from the blog, but I want you to know that I will be posting some stuff within the next couple of days, hopefully on the regular.

It was a long summer, and now it’s pretty much winter, and I need to get on top of things and share my insight on the hideousness and hilarity that can be every day life.

I’m looking forward to entertaining you all…but mostly myself, because I might be the only one that reads this.

Comfort Wipe

Okay, this blog post might be a little late, but there is no time like the present to share with those, who haven’t seen the best informecial the is currently sweeping/wiping the nation! I first saw this infomersh on the blog DListed.com–which is one of my favorites. I love Michael K., the male gay that writes the blog; I feel like if we were to meet, we would get along. Anyways, he posted this video and once I saw it, I was basically sharing with everyone that I know. Here it is:

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! That is really my only response for this, because it is real. SO real. Here is  the website: Comfort Wipe.

There are so many classic lines to come from this one, 1 minute, 56 second commercial. Whoever wrote the script for this, is honestly one of the funniest people alive. Let’s go over my all of my favorites.

1. “For over 100 years, we have be scrunching and folding toilet paper.” Only 100 years? It feels more like a thousand! Why couldn’t anyone think of this sooner! Folding toilet paper is so tideous! It’s not like comes right of f of the roll pretty much folded for you!

2. “The first improvement to toilet paper as we know it, since the 1880’s!” What was the first improvement? No really? Because, now I had to go on Wikipedia for this, it seems like the first improvement would have been around 1857, when toilet paper became commercially avialable, before that it was hemp, lace (kinky!) , and wool for the weathly;  and leaves, hay, and stones (ow.) for the poor folk. It was first sold in packages of flat sheets–so maybe they are talking about a toilet paper roll as the first improvement. Me thinks I would rather have flat sheets than a stone to use. Their research needs some work!

3.  ”Think about it: Toilet paper is really archaic and disgusting!” You know what else is archaic? That hairstyle! Kidding! Of all the words to describe toilet paper, ‘archaic’ was never really on the top of that list. Comfort Wipe loves the melodrama!

4. “Being a big guy certainly has it’s advantages; and it’s disadvantages.” That sentence should have ended with, “Thanks Comfort Wipe!” Apparently the main disadvantage to being a big guy is not being able to wipe yourself without the help of a stick. The advantage is being able to beat the shit out of someone for making fun of you for using Comfort Wipe.

5. “It’s embarrassing to have someone help you with your personal matters.” Like banking?

6. “Comfort Wipe allows you to maintain your dignity.” HA! I think your dignity flew out the window once you started endorsing a stick that helps you wipe yourself! Honestly one of the best lines ever. The way she flaps her hands about:

embarrassing!

and looks so confident:

dignity!

now that she can wipe herself, f-ing priceless.

I can’t wait until the extended, director’s cut version of this infomersh. Seriously, that will be some quality 2:30 am programming. Testimonials, demonstrations—I can only imagine the people that they would scrounge up. I hope they bring back the “dignity” biddy, she needs more airtime.  Also, they need a celebrity endorsement. I can picture Lindsay Lohan doing it. She seems pretty hard up for cash and a comeback!.

The whole idea of Comfort Wipe is so ridiculous, because it’s not really an improvement on toilet paper, because you still have to use toilet paper! In fact, I think it makes it a whole lot more complicated. And you still have to fold it or scrunch it to attach it to the comfort wipe, which is one of the things you were trying to avoid doing in the first place. What happens if the release button doesn’t work? Looks like someone is going to have to touch “dirty toilet tissue”. I feel like there are going to be a lot of people who buy the Comfort Wipe and end up the in emergency room with “accidents” hanging out of their ass.

Comfort Wipe is lies!  We should all be focusing on tiny, portable bidets. Comfort Mist!

No Whistling Zone

File this under “pet peeve” if you must, but hearing people whistle, aggravates me. I don’t mean a whistle to get someone’s attention, or whistling to hail a cab; I am talking about whistling a tune while on a train or a bus, whistling while you work, or WHISTLING FOR NO REASON AT ALL. Those caps indicated me shouting–that is how much I hate whistling! Don’t people understand that not everyone is interested in hearing them butcher innocent music notes with their inability to string them together into something decent? It doesn’t help they are always whistling at the worst possible time. No one wants to hear it in the morning before they have to go to their job they hate or in the evening after a long day at their job they can’t stand. Why are they whistling in the first place? Do they not have a job? Because if they had a job, they wouldn’t be so f’ing happy to the point that they are whistling like it is the best day in their whole g.d. life. 

I always think about telling them to shut up. Maybe saying something like, “Are you serious? Are you seriously whistling? When there are about 40 people in this subway car, who probably don’t want to hear it? Can it my friend, just f’ing can it.” Do they not realize how annoying it is to everyone? There should be “no whistling” zones, subways being the main one–or any public place, especially if it is a public place that I am likely to be at. Am I the only person who is bothered by whistling? Because if I am, I really need to rethink Earth as my planet of choice; because I’m not sure if I want to live in a world where people love whistling, it is just so, so annoying. I am normal and this is a normal feeling. End. of. story.

It’s the little things

At work today, I had the wonderful task of working behind our donations counter, which also serves as our bag check area. I really don’t like working there. Mostly because people donate garbage and I have to sort through it. They are also liars when they are filling out their donor forms for their taxes. Five used bras, a torn book, and a dirty plate do not equal: Five Designer tops, autographed Stephen King Novel (Hardcover), and Tiffany’s Vase; all to be valued at $1800. Assholes. They are all assholes. I hope they get audited. I also don’t like working donations/bag check because I hate having to making people check their bags. Sometimes I don’t want to touch their grimy personal belongings. It’s bad enough I’m sorting through trash, but now I have to guard someone’s dog carrier that has no dog, but a syringe (true story).

However, the main reason I don’t like working donations/bag check is because when someone comes over to the counter with an item I always have to ask, “Checking your bag? Or is it a donation?” Because the fury that would come down on me if I donated their tattered bath and body works bag with a week old newspaper and VHS copy of Kiss Me Guido (sort of true story, details have been changed) is not worth it, trust me. So, I would say that 95% of the time that I ask this question, “Bag check or donation”, I get the response: “Yes”.  I hope the people that are reading this blog, are the kind of people that see something wrong with that answer. They are two. separate. questions. Saying “yes” to both of them, doesn’t specify to me, the person who is working this shit job, what you want me to do with your g.d. items. You either want to donate them, or you want to check them, so I can guard them with my life. All I’m asking is for a little specification, which really isn’t asking all that much. It would take them literally almost no effort at all to say, “Yes, donations” or “Yes, bag check”. NO EFFORT.

I think this is somewhat similar to the the “Paper or Plastic” post, but I wouldn’t need to reiterate this problem, if people weren’t such morons. The assistant manager was at donations a few minutes after this whole ordeal happened for the millionth time, and I brought it up and she said, “You let the little things get to you.”  I don’t. This is not a little thing. This is a major problem facing America; the world, right now. People have stopped f’ing listening. You ask two different questions and they just say “Yes.” The people that I deal with on a daily basis are incredible idiots. INCREDIBLE. “This tag says, ‘not for sale’, does that mean that it’s not for sale?” Really? “It says furniture is 25% off, does that include clothes?” Really? I am not even exaggerating. These stop being little things when it happens every day, countless times a day. It turns in to one giant problem that is not going to be resolved unless these people magically stop being idiots. Which I doubt. Because the world doesn’t work like that. 

I am counting the days until I blow that popsicle stand! Only 3 months left!

Playing Hooky

I called out of work today. I was supposed to go to the Processing and Distribution Center (it’s where they sort all the clothes that get sent to all the different thrift stores) in Long Island City today; but I called out. Problem one with going there is that I have to get up at 6am, in order to be there at 8. It’s not fun. I don’t like 6am, and 6am doesn’t like me. Anyways, I woke up around 5:30 with some sharp pains in my stomach and decided, “Hey! Fuck this! I’m callin’ out!” Turns out it was just gas (ha! so lady like) so I was basically fine by 10 and had the rest of the day to myself. I went for a 2 hour walk up and around my neighborhood. I ended up at the Cloisters. It was beautiful up there. Being up there made glad that I called out of work. Call out work if you can, that is my advice.

I’m having a hard time keeping a steady update schedule for this blog. I really want too, but like most things in my life, I lack the motivation. This is a problem.

West Beverly Hills High School

I’m back again, this time to elaborate on my love for Beverly Hills, 90210; the original. It is safe to say that I am addicted to this show. It all started with me watching reruns of later episodes (much later, like the last few seasons) on SOAPnet before I would go to work or when I got home for work–and I got sucked in. Mostly because I have become disturbingly fixated on Luke Perry’s character Dylan. He’s so brooding, guarded, deep, but somehow manages to be warm. The writers sure did me a solid with this Dylan character! So someone donated the first season of 90210 where I work and I seized my opportunity and I haven’t looked back since. Literally, because I am so mesmerized by this show, I have no time or interest for anything else. 

Last post I included the opening credits to Season one, which are frankly, classic. I watched it along with every episode–normally I’ll fast forward right through it. My favorite part is when Dylan is on his surfboard shouting something–it’s hot. I LOVE IT. I shout out, “oh my god, I love it!” at least twice an episode. The first season is amazing, if you want to see television at it’s finest, I am recommending the first season of 90210. They managed to cram so many issues in to it and also have it wrapped up in a nice little package in 45 minutes.

They were able to cover both drug use and alcoholism in one episode with Kelly’s mom–by the end of the episode she was off to rehab and practically clean. They also hit on teenage alcoholism with Dylan’s character–who struggles with this problem for a couple of episodes–especially in the second season when his mom moves back to town. Also dealing with teen alcoholism is Brandon, who apparently gets drunk and addicted after one drink and then goes out and drives, totals his car, gets arrested, swears off drinking, and at the end of the episode, Dylan takes him to an AA meeting, which oddly enough is held on their high school campus and is full of teenage alcoholics. We can’t forget date rape! This is covered in both season one and season two. In season one, there is a teen hotline that kids can call to talk about their problems and this girl keeps calling and talking to Brenda about how she is basically being raped by football players after every game. Brenda tells her it’s not her fault, but that’s not enough, she has to find the girl! Which is against probably any anonymous hotline policies, but she finds her and freaks the girl out from calling again, but Brenda knows what is up and calls the police and has them hide in the bushes near the parking lot because she knows that these football rapists are going to strike again at the same time and same place and they do! And they are arrested. Sweet justice! In the second season, it is Kelly who accidently gets herself into a sticky situation at a Halloween party by wearing a provocative costume. Some low class a-hole dressed as a cowboy thinks that just because she is dressed seductively, she is asking to be sexually assaulted; we the viewers learn a valuable lesson that this is not the case–you have the right not to be attacked no matter how slutty your Halloween costume is.  

Losing your virginity to Dylan McKay is also covered in the first season. I took notes; because if I had a time machine you can bet that I’d be setting that thing for 1990 and getting myself on that show! 

Season two brings us new opening credits. I love this one almost as much as I love the first season opening. I especially love the part where they are trying to pass off some surfer who looks nothing like Luke Perry as Dylan surfing; it is so obviously not.

In season two Brenda breaks up with Dylan–because she got all scared when she thought she was pregnant she needed to slow things down. I can tell you one thing, I would not be slowing things down with Dylan McKay! Boy is fine! So up until episode 8, there is this back and forth thing with them–it’s only ’til Emily Valentine goes on a date with Dylan that Brenda realizes what a moron she is letting a piece of man like that wander free! Brandon eventually starts dating Emily, but she is all cray-cray and slips E into his drink at a club to get him to dance or some shit. Then he freaks out and breaks up with her, but she calls all psycho on him and stalks him and ruins their homecoming float that they built, but Brenda talks her out of setting the thing on fire and she goes to a mental hospital for a while. Brandon’s cute, but he’s no Dylan, come on now! 

We also see David Silver’s friend Scott bites the dust and  learn and important lesson on locking up fire arms in an out of the way places in our homes. Homeslice Scott wasn’t too bright and liked playing with guns and he accidently shot himself. It was a little bit sad because not only did he die, so did his career. We also learned that sometimes it’s not a good idea to set out and try to find our birth mother like Steve tried to do. You’ll most likely find out you went to Albuquerque for no reason, because your birth mother died a few years back in an auto accident. The Christmas episode touched me a little bit–I love Christmas and I love 90210 so it was like double fun. There is a magic santa who brings everyone together–including Dylan and his father. Dylan’s emotions are so real! I LOVE IT!

I haven’t finished season two yet, I only have six more episodes left and I am trying to save them, because I’m not sure when my season three dvd that I ordered is going to be here. It is killing me that I am not watching it right now! I have no idea what is making me so cray-cray about this show (besides Luke Perry)–but in some weird, pathetic way, I am really relating to it. Well, I don’t know if relating is the right word, but I am connecting to it. Watching it makes my life feel a little less shitty–if work sucks, which it most always does, I just come home and watch some 90210 and I’m in the early 90’s where people can’t get a hold of each other very easily because they don’t have cell phones and they have to make and effort to talk to one another instead of sending text messages and emails and all that. 

It makes me wonder what it would have been like to be a teen in the 90’s. I’m guessing pretty awesome, especially if I went to West Beverly. I also like the fact that the majority of the actors and actresses looked like real people. It’s hard to imagine those same teenagers (or 30 year olds playing teenagers) being able to be cast in a show like this today. Just look at Ian Zeiring:

This is what passed for a goodlooking, jock, ladies man, in the early 90s. Also, Shannen Doherty (love her!), today would not be considered your conventional teen t.v. beauty:And who could forget Gabrielle Carteris who played Andrea Zuckerman, the resident brain of West Beverly. If this same woman (I say woman, because she was 29 years old when she started on 90210) walked into a casting today, I seriously doubt she would be given even the role of the nerd; we don’t even want our nerds to be believable anymore!

Now I’m going to post a picture of Luke Perry just for fun:

And now, Sideshow Luke Perry:

And for some reason, when I watch the opening credits to season two, whenever this part comes on:

I am reminded of this part from the Schmitt’s Gay beer commercial with Chris Farley on Saturday Night Live:I’ve had 22 episodes to make me think about this. Don’t judge me!

I don’t want it to end!!

 

9021-uh-OH

This post will be short, but I feel that I must inform all 3 of my readers, that I have embarked on a quest that is currently clouding all rational thought. The quest: watching the complete 90210 (original) series. I’m already on season two and I have to say that this shit is amazing. I was too young to watch it in it’s hey-day, seeing as I was five when it first began airing, but honestly, I think that watching it now is giving me a much deeper appreciation and understanding of it’s greatness. 

I want to go further in to this, but honestly, I need sleep…I have to work tomorrow and I was up late yesterday because I was finishing up the first seasons–the season end cliff hanger?? Brenda’s period is late! And when she tells Dylan, he says, “late for what? You’re right here.” OH GOD! I laughed out loud. Perhaps on my next days off, I can elaborate more on my love for 90210 (especially Dylan!), but for now, I leave you with this, because honestly, this opening credits sequence, never gets old. 

TLC Sundays

And I’m not talking about T-boz, Left-eye, or Chili. This is strictly about The Learning Channel and their Sunday evening programming. I’ve had this blog floating around in my head for awhile and finally decided that it needed to be let out. When I say “a while” I’m not talking two weeks, I’m talking two years at least. Two years I’ve held this belief, and I’m finally sharing it with all three of you.

The Learning Channel, most commonly referred to as TLC, shows the weirdest, most depressing programming on Sunday evening. Seriously. It’s usually about people with birth defects, people who are severely over weight, people with odd conditions, etc. One time they had a show about David Reimer, called “Born a boy, Raised a Girl“, it was about how but they botched the circumcision at birth, so the doctors thought it would be best if he lived his life as a girl. That plan didn’t really work out as nicely as they thought it was going to. They sent him to therapy when (s)he was a child and the therapist pretty much molested him and his brother by making them touch each other. The therapist even brings in a trans to try and show how the situation is okay, but the girl always felt like a boy. Finally at whatever age, she gets to be a he, but ends up killing himself later on down the road. On Sunday Feb 8th, the line-up wasn’t as grim, but included The Pregnant Man , Mermaid Girl, and The Woman With Giant Legs.

We all know about the Pregnant Man–TLC was just reminding us. You don’t really want to get me started on this. I mean, yes, this is a step in the right direction for the acceptance of transgendered people and I believe that people should be allowed to live their lives how they want as long as it isn’t harmful to themselves or others…HOWEVER, this is not some miracle. This is a man who was biologically a female and kept those baby making parts, enabling him to have children. This is not a man who was biologically a man with man parts that squeezed a baby out of his peen. This is one reason that I am not so fascinated with the Pregnant Man.

Mermaid Girl–this one was depressing. This girl was born with her legs fused together, so that she sort of only has one leg and it looks like a mermaid tail. It’s hard for her to support her upper body and because she can’t be as active as she needs to be, she puts on weight easily. The surgery is dangerous because all of the nerves are tangled up and stuff. She’s probably going to be a mermaid for a while. But she’s pretty positive…I’m not so sure how happy I’d be if I didn’t have any genitalia. Here’s a clip I found on YouTube, it’s not from the TLC documentary, but it’s kind of equally depressing.

The Woman With Giant Legs was a little unsettling. Mandy Sellers is from England and has something called Proteus syndrome, which is most commonly associated with this dude:

Mandy also seemed upbeat, which is amazing considering the shear amount of energy she has to put forward to just put on her shoes (which are unfortunate, I wish the shoe guy she had could make her a cuter pair). One of her feet is turned completely around, which makes it even more difficult for her to walk. She weighs 20 stone which is roughly 280 pounds…and 210 of that are her legs. This is all putting strain on her heart. She wants to have her legs amputated, but if they do that, she will only have her top half…and they aren’t able to make prosthetics that would enable her to walk, so she is going to wait until the last minute to have her legs amputated. She was kind of funny because she was getting her hair done and going shopping for a new top and basically said if her legs are going to look like this and people are going to be staring at her, she’s not going to look like a hot mess up top. Those are my words, though, not hers. She also kind of looked like Stephen Merchant.

This coming Sunday the line up includes; Extreme Aging: Hayley’s Story and Joined For life: Abby and Brittany Turn 16. Also on the following Sunday, TLC will be airing; Half Ton Mom, followed by Half Ton Dad, concluded by, not surprisingly, Half Ton Teen. If there is one thing that I have learned, it is that TLC LOVES a fatty! Case and point Manuel Uribe. TLC was good for him..he lost some weight, got married, and some company even made him a sex ramp so that he could do the dirty with this wife.

It’s as if TLC is saying, “Hey guys, it’s Sunday. If you weren’t feeling shitty already about the beginning of yet another terrible week, here are some stories that are sure to cheer you up, because you know what, at least you aren’t 1000lbs, don’t have giant limbs, and have genitalia.” That kind of nonsense doesn’t work for me…and I’ll tell you why. One Sunday evening a few summers ago, I was watching at TLC documentary on a supercalifragilisticexpialidociously fat man in England somewhere. He was basically bedridden and had home health aides who he made sign a contract not to allow him to stuff his face with crisps or mayonnaise or crisps dipped in mayonnaise no matter how many horrible things he said to them. He was lying in his bed, his head peering above his ginormous body and his hands folded over his mountain of a stomach, telling us his story. As I was watching this, I realized that I WAS LAYING IN THE SAME EXACT POSITION AS HIM watching him talk about how fat he is and how much he likes his crisps. That is depressing and I immediately turned on my side.

Subway Gross Out

I’m back after my hiatus. I got a little distracted, but I am back for the New Year, hopefully more often, hoping that this blog will really take off and have more than 3 readers. I moved to a new apartment before Christmas. I now live in Manhattan proper…well, I don’t know how proper Washington Heights is, but it’s a Manhattan address. I miss Brooklyn and my bodega, but I’m sure that I will soon fine something comparable here.

Now, on to the subject at hand. The subway. Now, I’ve ridden my few share of subway lines. When I was up in the Bronx, I took the 2 or the 5 train–bright and usually clean. When I lived in Brooklyn, I either took the D or the R train. They weren’t overly bright or all that clean. The D train was always packed during rush hour, but the R train I could always find a seat–plus the people that lived along where the R-train stopped, seemed to be more attractive. Now I take the A train every day. The A train is dingy like the D and the R and it has a diverse ridership.

The cleanliness of the train really isn’t the issue here–it’s the people riding the subway that are grossing me out. You know how sometimes you are in a place that has lots of people and you focus on one or two people because they have some sort of nervous tick, crossed eyes, or hair plugs? Well this is how I feel on the subway every day. I feel like there is always some on there, that my attention gets focused on. Sometimes it’s funny/uncomfortable; like the lady on Christmas eve, who was taking off her close while singing Alanis Morrisette’s “You Oughta Know“. It was actually more uncomfortable because she was obviously cray-cray, and that meant that I had to stifle my laughter and not look at her for fear that she would cut me. Other times you can make a connection with another subway rider who recognizes the ridiculousness that is taking place–like the time there were two voguing gay t’weens being obnoxious on the train. I love my gays and I love the voguing, but those two were dressed so brightly and screeching so loud it was harming my senses. But if you ever get the chance, go to the Christopher Street Piers and check out the voguing…occasionally there is a battle, and it’s awesome.

I’m getting sidetracked again. I’ve been on plenty of trains with gross people. It’s always gag-inducing when someone is clearing their throat and hocking up phlegm while they are sitting next to you, or picking their nose, or clipping their nails. Yes, clipping their nails. Why someone would do that on the train, is really beyond me. I should not be subjected to a stranger’s dirty nail clippings flying in my direction. It’s almost as if people don’t know any better.

Yesterday’s train ride home is really what triggered this post. So the train was packed because it was rush hour and a few stops into the ride this girl, who was probably around my age, or slightly younger got on the train. She was reading The Alchemist–that point really has nothing to do with anything, just so you know. She looked like your typical winter hipster; boots, stupid winter hat, wool coat, etc. She had to stand and hold on to one of the bars because there was no place to sit. She looked fairly normal, except that her hands were a little dirty. Which is fine, it happens–but she kept touching her face. Every few minutes she would keep touching her face in the same pattern–the forehead, the cheeks, the nostrils, and then the chin. EVERY FEW MINUTES. Then she would go back to holding on to the bar. Thousands of people touch that bar…and your hands are already dirty…and you’re rubbing them all over your face. She probably had some form of OCD, but it was seriously making throw-up a little in my mouth.

On top of being transfixed on this hipster girl’s gross OCD, there was this little girl who was standing next to me, holding on to the bar that I was holding on to. Her hand kept slipping and touching mine, which I could have overlooked, had she NOT BEEN STICKING HER FINGERS IN HER MOUTH! That is disgusting. You are basically sticking like 100o other fingers in your mouth too. I hope her parents get her tested. I’m surprised I didn’t throw up on that little girl, she was grossing me out so much. Her parent’s didn’t even tell her to get her fingers out of her mouth or anything. They should probably be reported to child protective services.  It sort of reminded me of the episode of the Simpson’s where Homer has to go to NYC to get his car back and Bart is on the subway panhandling and licks the subway pole. I would link you to a clip, but YouTube is lacking.

I hope I don’t do anything gross on the subway that makes people want to throw up. I know I do some stuff that turns guys on and makes them follow me off the train in the dead of night. Chapstick really gets a guy worked up. Too bad he wasn’t cute. Ha! I laugh about it now, but at the time it was frightening and also shows that I sort of have no regard for my personal safety by allowing him to actually talk to me. I need help.