The one with a lady intruder

March 18, 2011

St. Patrick’s Day.

Not like I need an excuse to drink but any reason to get together with friends and be around Cleveland is good enough for me. This year the 216 was beautiful. The sun was shining. The temperature was nicely in the 60’s. There was the parade. Downtown was filled with people. I was with good friends. I got fondled on the bus—

Wait what?

You read that right. We decided the best way to tackle getting to the parade was the RTA. Of course we weren’t the only ones to think of this—nor did we think we were. We boarded the first bus. It was a tight fit.

(Understatement.)

The middle doors opened and there was just one mass of arms, legs everywhere. The front was better and we at least were able to walk in without pushing people. This wouldn’t be the case with other passengers and other buses.

One stop (maybe 2?) people looking to get on included 2 people in wheelchairs. The whole front was filled. Those in the seats where the wheelchairs would need to get up. They did so with no fuss. Those of us in the front got off the bus so the driver would have room to work. As we waited we decided it might be best to catch the next bus.

And then that bus came and it was way worse. We managed to get on without pushing or hitting or making too many uncomfortable. The next stops people didn’t just pile on, they torpedoed their way on. These new riders shoved bodies every which way to get on. They of course than proceeded to complain the rest of the way that it was too packed.

We were crushed against everyone. It slowly began to get hot and stinky. Somewhere along the way a hand shot out from the crowd and fondled me. This hand didn’t just grab my chest but rubbed it before vanishing.

I won’t spend time on the parade. Just a brief list:

Floats.
Old people waving.
Old people not waving.
Kids.
Kids looking bored.
Dogs.
Bands.
Idiots in the crowd.
Drunk girl needing two people to help her walk at 4pm.
Baby getting beer spilled on it.

We did make a stop at Erie Island Coffee Co. over on East 4th. It was my first time there. I was thoroughly amused how strict they were about making sure you only used the restroom after purchasing something. I get why. I do. I don’t even have a problem with the thought (especially on a day where so many people would be out there) but still thought it was funny. They were barking it at anyone who even seemed remotely to be headed that way.

I got a chai frappe and it was delicious.

Back on the bus—this time a bit less packed. We made our way to Parnell’s Pub, because there really is nowhere else you should celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. I mean you should go there year round but they are authentic Irish. Good times as always.

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After I got a real nice buzz (bordering on nicely drunk) this happened:

I walked on over to the men’s room and opened it to find a very short haired woman wiping her hands. I said “oh” and closed the door. In my head I was thinking damn am I so drunk that I just tried to go in the ladies room? They are directly opposite from one another. As I contemplated this she opened the door.

Intruder: No you were right this is the men’s room.
Me (said with a curious ah ha tone): You’re a (came out more Youra) woman, woman.
Intruder: Yeah. I just used the men’s room—
Me: A woman!
Intruder: Oh and I kinda stopped up the toilet so I hope you don’t have to sit down.
Me: Because youra woman.

She leaves and I enter. I of course look down at the toilet before heading over to the urinal. The water was swirling closer to the edge and what was floating in there but a tampon.

Me (to the empty room in a Seinfeld voice): Woman!

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The one with the lettuce

October 28, 2010

Hello kiddies. It’s time once again for us to delve back into the gross and disgusting. This TMI Thursday happened last night. It usurped the TMI post I had planned to write about. Today would have chronicled the making of Brownaconda: Dead Duck but that can come next week.

No today’s post is by special request by the wife.

It's A Trap Pictures, Images and Photos

I know this. I know it’s a trap. How? Well the reason she wants me to post this is she wants it to shine a bad light on me. She wants all of you to be on her side. It also proves how funny she actually feels it was, and it really was.

Last night was the Cavs home opener. It was a blast. I of course went with (and thanks to) the rizza. We pre-gamed at Cleats because the beers at the Q are 7.25. There we had 2 miller lights and a shot. I guess the blood work that was done earlier helped the buzz because my head was nice and warm when we left. From there we cheered our asses off for our Cavs. They won! This is not the point though. We shared 2 beers. To celebrate we all went to get a drink after the game.

The wifey and I headed home and to our chipotle salad bowl dinner. We watched an episode of HIMYM as we ate. Then we just sort hung around with the tv on. She of course was staying up too late yet again. When she finally decided to head off to slumberland I was still enjoying the remnants of my buzz. I sat on the couch and she straddled me. That’s right.

BOW CHIKA BOW BOW

Finally another TMI sex post. No I’m just kidding. It was just time for a kiss or two, or so I thought. Instead she started to shake my head and face whilst talking to me like I was the cat. She flipped her fingers on my lips to cause the blub blub blub sound. Then a kiss on the cheek and lips and a hug. Soon it was back to the above face shaking.

She is a weird one.

Then one big kiss right on the lips. Hold it. Hold it. And then she opened her eyes wide and held the kiss. Staring creepily into my eyes with her lips on mine. At this point I could feel a piece of lettuce in my mouth so as pay back I pushed it out of my mouth and onto/into hers.

I then said “did it..” when she freaked.
“Yeah it worked! I was hoping that would happen!” But she flipped!

I mean FLIPPED (Probably rightfully so but still it was funny.) Now to be fair I was not attempting to put it in her mouth but you know hey that happens right? She like jumped off and ran off. She ran off through the hallway yelling gross the whole way. Right into the bathroom she went. She started putting water in her mouth and spitting out.

She started to brush her teeth furiously and then even gargled. The whole time she was telling me I was gross and that I was sleeping on the couch. Which only made it seem funnier. I was going to say sorry but she was making me laugh. Then for a second she cracked a smile but then in an ultimate actress stunt began to over exaggeratedly gag.

Exaggerated gag.
Exaggerated gag.

And you guessed it exaggerated gag. We got in bed and she claimed she’d never ever get the thought of it out of her head. It would haunt her for the rest of her life.

Over exaggerated bed gag. (bow chikka bow bow)

Finally she calmed down as she lay in bed. I told her this was too funny not to TMI. She said that I should because then you all could see how disgusting I was, and be mad at me too. This morning I decided I’d rather do the Brownaconda post but she insisted I do this one.

I still maintain it was funny.

*Ackbar photo from Utepeis


The one with Vodka and hate

October 18, 2010

The night progressed as every other night fueled by free vodka would. This is to say much quicker than normal. It started with me not going and then somehow ending up on a bar stool drinking Finlandia next to the two people I’m always drinking with.

On my left there was an open seat and the bar was occupied by my star wars bag which I instinctively held anytime someone, not refilling my empty glass came near. The bartenders were nice, attentive and generous with the vodka. I made two new friends that evening.

Finlandia Tangerine and Finlandia Mango.

Mr. Grapefruit wasn’t too bad either. We only met through other acquaintances though.

There were shots. Plenty of them actually. I know that the number of shots I had was plenty because the guy in the bathroom told me so. Me and the nice warmth slowly filling my head made our way to the bathroom. I pushed the door open with what felt an inappropriate amount of surrealism. It swung open too easily and with a force that bolstered my ego. The music the DJ refused to let die faded just a bit. My thoughts were once again free.

“I am superman” I thought! Shook my head strongly no, not superman he is a douche nozzle.

“Why would you choose Superman?” damn you thoughts and your warm blanket of vodka. First you choose my arch enemy and then you try to overthrow my mind and accuse me of the horrible crime you in fact committed.

“Did I ask that out loud?” Damn.

Oh man did I ask the Superman question out loud? No I couldn’t have, because surely if I had there would be someone in here to hear it. Of course there was nobody in there with me. It was just me, my rebellious thoughts, the Finlandia and the sticker of someone’s face inside the urinal.

The room was one step from the bathrooms with one weak light bulb swinging from a chain you see in horror movies. The walls sported the typical bar restroom graffiti. What would we do if there weren’t any drunken sentences scrawled on the walls? The thing that always gives me pause (and did yet again that night) is the words carved into the mirrors. This act would involve effort. Said “artist” would have to crawl up in some instances and at the very least leaning over an endlessly wet sink. Plus the work it has to take to cut into it.
I stood in there soaking the entire room up. Not that there was much. Said mirror with all sorts of meaningless things etched into it. A pink flyer leaned on the side wall like a drunk. I kicked open the stall door and I’m still not sure why.

Nothing of note.

Just a bit of toilet paper looped lovingly over the handle. Suddenly the stall was filled with sex. I could see the shoed foot pushing up against where the stall and its door connected. It pumped. The leg bent and lengthened. Her dress pulled up and tucked with a neatness not matching what was happening.
I was writing a poem starring into the stall at bar on Coventry. Was this actually happening? My notebook was out and I was scribbling away. I heard the music start to get loud and turned. The poem would have to wait. I stepped up to the sink and slid my notebook into my bag. It thumped in against my leg and a line screamed out.

“Hey buddy nice night huh?” That was the dumbest line I ever heard.

“Deep in thought?” the intruder continued. He was wearing skinny jeans and a “Killers” shirt. Over this he wore a button up shirt, unbuttoned and yet somehow still tucked in. I explained off that I was lost in a poem. He nodded and grunted an approving-esque sound.

“Hey we shared a shot together didn’t we?”As I dried my hands he made his way over. His eyes were brown and he wore beat up Adidas. I knew he’d be the guy banging the girl in my poem. He’d let her pay for the shots and then fuck her talentlessly in the one dirty bathroom stall of a men’s room. She’d have to finish herself in the parking lot after the two minute warrior was long gone. I hated him. I wanted him to shut up. I wanted out of here. I wanted my glass refilled, and the warmth in my head to burn brightly instead.
The free vodka hour was over though.

“Uhm yeah I think the whole bar got shots.” I said.

“Right. Who was the girl that did it?” He shifted. I really hoped he wasn’t getting any that night.

“The bartender?”

“She bought them?” It was a gargley voice. It was as if each letter poured out of his throat. Did he whisper wet nothings into her ear as he used her? Surely she’d vomit all over his checkered shirt?

“Well the bar bought them.” I hate you. “The girls on the other side of the bar asked for them and the bartender included us all.” I hope yours was poisoned!

“Oh.” He washed his hands with a violence that was almost pretty. Water splashed the floor, the mirror and him. “I only got one shot. What about you?”

“4.” I felt the warmth being taken over by the coldness in my chest. I would not write the poem if he was portrayed in a good light. Muse be damned.

“That’s plenty.” He wiped his fucking hands on his jeans. “Don’t you think?”

“I could always use more.”

I pulled my ninja turtle stocking cap down tight around my head. I’d trap the disdain inside there if I could.


It’s a RECAP! or My first week unemployed

March 22, 2010

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Run! Gooo. Get to the choppa! ( I use this so much that I finally added “choppa” to the Microsoft word dictionary.)

I’m sorry I’m mixing my movie jokes again.

So my time as unemployed has begun. Like you couldn’t tell, but I digress. It’s been a weird week. I did some writing which was important. Did I make an all out breakthrough with anything? No, not really. I did do a good chunk of writing though and I managed to make some headway in the mess that is the currently play.

Organization is apparently an important thing.

I’ve made some goals. Goals are good right? I mean in soccer they are so they gotta be for me right? Cleveland Public Theatre (A local theatre here) will be receiving lots of scripts and etc from me in the near future. Also I need to be smart and take part in their ‘Dark Room’. It is held on the second Tuesday of every month and I think will be a great tool for any writer and/or actor. Actors and writers show up to a place where there is free Magic Hat beer (!) and writers bring 10 pages of writing to be read. Everyone gets together and bam just like that writers get to hear what their words sound like. Inconceivable!

You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.

Sorry I did that whole random quote thing again. It does bring me to the next thing I did which was go see The Princess Bride at the @capitolw65th. It is part of their late shift that shows cult classic movies twice a month. It was a good time and provided some nice ‘Put my arm around my wife and laugh time’ that can be hard to come by sometimes. The late shift is a good time and cheap. You get some good times (either because you enjoy the movie or because it’s so bad you enjoy laughing at it) and it only cost 5 bucks. They do a good job of making it a fun time. They’ve had cake, ice cream, candy, dress ups and giveaways.

Most of the week has been sitting on my ass. Which yes has been a good thing but it’s also sucked a bit. The main problem was that the unemployment started right as March Madness did. I’ve not been able to watch all of the games in a long time and did not plan accordingly. The weather was nice enough to take walks but since I went about my routine of writing when I wake up I’d miss the chance. I’d write till it was time for the games to begin and by then it was too late to take a walk. My ass rapidly became sore (That’s what she said!) from sitting so damn much.

St. Patrick’s Day has always been fun for me. This year was one where I didn’t have to take it off to have the fun. The wife made cupcakes that are clear proof of Gods existence.
Or that she makes tasty things. Anycupcake. What she made was chocolate Guinness cupcakes with Irish whiskey Ganache filling and bailey’s butter cream frosting. Defuckinglightful! Dinner consisted of Beef and Guinness stew also defuckinglightful. The night consisted of spending time with Julie, Brandon Lindsay and my lovely wifey at Parnell’s Pub. A real fricking Irish Pub! You don’t get no car bombs or green fricking beer at this place. What do you get? Well I got a shirt that says it has the best head in Cleveland. Yeah!

Oh yeah filed for unemployment.

Beachland Brunch on Sunday with Julie, Marc, Brandon, and the wifey was tasty as ever. The wife and I shared a Bloody Ninja bloody Mary there. Yeah I k now the name is awesome! I’m happy that I’m mixing it up with new people. I don’t have many people I let it and I sort of make it hard to get to know me, but I think my group is expanding.

Yeah Progress!

So to sum up: Filing, Sitting, writing, sitting, sitting, sitting, Drinking, shirt buying, cupcakes, stew, sitting, friends, sitting, reading, writing, basketball, basketball, basketball, soccer, sitting, The Princess Bride, sitting, Brunch, sitting,


What I learned from last week

December 7, 2009

That coughing for well over a month really sucks. (Technically I already knew this.)
That whether or not I work Mondays still suck.

This probably has a lot to do with negativity and our attitudes but then so many people hate Mondays perhaps it’s for a good reason.

That certain coworkers consider themselves members of the “superstar team” and from said conversation probably see’s me as the “C or D team”.

I can live with that because the Produce Department at a lame grocery store does not define who I am.

That I’ve become a little too comfortable with seeing blood after coughing.

Fuck coughing may be what defines…is it too late to take back the Produce Dept comment?

Working most Sundays means I miss a majority of the Browns “games” and this has meant when I don’t I’m
more likely to turn it off and spend time with my wife.

The fact that they suck doesn’t help either.

That I haven’t written a poem in about two months.

That making an effort to be a better husband can be as easy adding an extra hug to your day.

Assuming it’s your wife you are hugging.

That Cavs games just aren’t the same without the Rizza pulling and hitting me.

For an entire week I didn’t even have a notebook in my bag.

Isn’t that some sort of sin as a writer?

That drinking alcohol while taking antibiotics will flush the antibiotics from your system. Why my store manager felt the need to tell me this is beyond me. I think he thinks I’m a hardcore alcoholic.

That the phrase “Piss off” is often on the tip of my tongue.

My cat will steal an entire cookie from my hand and then eat it all.

The Big Lebowski soundtrack is a great soundtrack.

I can be way too amused by myself.

That I like it better when my wife enjoys Star Wars.

And that this will forever be one of my favorite things to watch:


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