i’m with stupid

Yesterday Ari and I decided to take Jack, our resident nut case of a puppy to the dog run so he could release some energy and maybe make us look like Good Dog Parents.

Upon hearing the idea, Jack showed interest.

This meant that he stopped biting my leg long enough to look up at me.

I thought that was nice of him.

So off we all went, onward to a dog run that is about three miles away from our apartment. I wasn’t sure I could make it, seeing as my usual Sundays consist of Sitting Down and Watching Sports While Nursing A Hangover, but I thought it was worth a shot.

Being a city dog, Jack has developed the odd behavior of every time that he sees a patch of grass, he immediately throws himself down and rolls around.

I think he does this to remind Ari and I that despite the fact that he loves eating discarded chicken bones off the concrete sidewalks of Brooklyn, he’d much rather roll in the grass of Country Town USA.

Once Jack was done making us feel guilty for living where we do, we continued on.

We walked past the Brooklyn Promenade, with its great views of the city and the Brooklyn Bridge.

Ari and I love Brooklyn Heights, where the Promenade is located.

We always gaze longingly at the nice brownstones and imagine that if we had just four million more dollars, we’d live there too.

Then we stop because the people who do actually live there see us staring and think that we are Crazy Poor People.

The dog run is about four blocks from the Promenade, so we were there in a few minutes.

Now you’re asking yourself, “Well Chris, where are the pictures of Jack at the dog run?”

There are none.

This is because I lost track of time and forgot. Also, there was a crazy woman yelling at me about Jack and I, being a Mature Adult, was yelling back.

Ari loves it when I do this.

After the incident and on our way home, she yelled at me about my behavior.

She explained to me that even though the woman was wrong and was being insane, it is never okay for me to say to someone who qualifies for retirement, “Dude! Shut up!”

Jack was okay with everything that happened though.

He’s a bit of a bastard, and I guess so am I. Poor Ari is surrounded by bastards.

When we finally got back to the apartment, Jack decided that it was nap time.

It was a good day, so I rubbed his belly, thanked him for being immature with me, and nodded off shortly after him.

overrated

Yup, I see you.

On the treadmill looking like the best thing that ever happened to a gym.

Got the sports bra and the tiny shorts on again, huh?

Okay, I guess I have to be the one to tell you - you are not as amazing as you think you are.

I know!  How can this be???  You are thin, yes.  But understand something, this does not mean you are hot.

Nope.

No, really, it doesn’t.

See, men like women who - oh I don’t know - look like women, not little boys.  Well, yes, some men do like little boys but that guy on NBC takes care of those creeps.  I never understood why they’d just stand around and talk to the guy after he busted them.  Run!  The gig is up!  Go damnit!  Oh well.

Oh, what are those?  Gloves?  Yes, that’s a nice touch for sure.  There’s nothing I like more than a woman who wears weight lifting gloves to the gym.

It only scares me a little.

Also, maybe you could take some time and address the fact that I can see your fucking ribs and it makes me want to vomit.  Eat a fucking burger for god’s sake.  Not even for his sake, do it for me because I’m the one who sees you in the gym everyday and despite what they say, God does not see everything, he takes naps more than he should.

I know, this is a lot to hear at once.

Maybe if you didn’t walk around the gym half-naked and had some more curves, I would not have to be so hard on you.

What’s that?  No, your shoes are ugly too.

Sorry.

cover letter

Sometimes I sit at my desk and think to myself, “How is this what I ended up becoming?”

When I was young I had much more exciting things in mind for myself when I got Old.

Not once do I recall imagining myself as a pseudo-writer who obsesses about his blog and sometimes wishes he could drink whiskey at his desk.

No, I had much more planned for myself when I was a kid.

First I wanted to be a firefighter. This dream fizzled out when I realized that firemen had to actually fight fires - which are hot - and not just push around a toy fire engine and say, “Vrooommm!” all day long.

Though I think some of them still do that.

After that, I thought maybe I could be a Sound Effects Man for the movies. I could make really good sound effects, like the sound of a gun or something blowing up, so I thought that would be A Good Career. I had no idea that sound effects are made by a machine and not a kid who wears green corduroys, so that idea died.

Then I wanted to be a member of the A-Team. Sadly, this idea disappeared when I was playing A-Team with some friends and I thought some girl was A Bad Guy, so I punched her like any good A-Team member would do. She was not playing A-Team with us, so I had to sit in the corner.

I got the teacher back by crawling under the desks whenever she turned her back to the class. I was a Good Student.

After The A-Team Incident, I saw Raiders of the Lost Ark, and wanted to become an archaeologist. Somehow I failed to realize that they do not actually get to kiss pretty women, defeat the Nazis and dodge boulders all day long, so that career faded for me as well.

Now, after all that, here I am.

Not fighting fires, not making cool stuff with B.A. Baracus and definitely not defeating the Nazis.

Sometimes though, when my boss edits an article of mine entirely too much, I wait for her to turn around and bam! I’m crawling around under the desks.

I guess things turned out okay after all.

deal

I saw Jay-Z and Mary J. Blige last night at the Garden.

To a hip-hop fan like me, this is basically what I imagine heaven is like, only in heaven they wouldn’t charge you eight dollars for a beer. It would be free. And it would be handed to me by Vida Guerra.

I got goose bumps no less than 43 times during the show - and that was before Beyonce came out.

Oh yes.

She stormed out onto the stage looking all sassy and danced for a couple minutes, but then walked back off just as quickly.

It was odd, but I think it was enough time for her to see me waving at her.

In fact, I’m pretty sure she winked at me, but I didn’t want to tell Ari because sometimes she can get jealous about how many Famous Women With Large Asses love me.

It’s a sore spot in our relationship.

I try and reason with her, I really do. I tell her, “But Ari, they only want me for my body!”

She doesn’t listen though.

She sees the way Kim looks at me and it drives her crazy.

Somehow, through all the fights and me promising to buy her Expensive Things, we have reached a compromise. She can’t get too mad about these women because I don’t get mad about Ryan Gosling being obsessed with her.

I don’t get upset about Ryan, because look at him.

I could totally kick his ass.

another time, another place

Last night I went out to meet up with some bloggers (Lacey, Arielle and The Brooklyn Boy) for trivia night at a bar in the East Village.

It was fun, but we finished third.

Which means we lost.

That will not happen again because I plan on doing A Lot Of Research beforehand to make sure I’m prepared. Or maybe I’ll just cheat.

Before I met up with them I met J.P. for a drink or five.

After some time discussing the finer points of quantum physics and how the Bullets never should have changed their name to the Wizards even though Bullets is not that great of a name for a city with a high murder rate, I had to take a piss.

I walked into the bathroom and was assaulted by Someone’s Mistake.

Some dude or girl had shit in the only bathroom. And it was a bad shit too. One of those that you can tell the person was not the same after it happened.

I don’t understand people who do this.

If you’re at a bar, and you feel A Little Uneasy Down There, it is time to go home.

No more shots for you friend - that is your stomach telling you it is not happy with your decisions.

The bar will be there tomorrow, I promise.

Lets be nice to others and go to our respective apartments when we feel like we might make A Bad Thing Happen In Public.

It will make the world a better place.

it was fun while it lasted

I can’t fucking take The Real World anymore.

I have been with the show from the beginning too. I laughed when poor Julie asked Heather B. (raise your hand if you had her CD) if she wore a pager because she was a drug dealer and let out a “Oh snap!” when I watched Stephen address his issues with Irene.

This new season in Hollywood has broken me though.

All I do is sit and scream at the TV when it’s on.

The new cast doesn’t have to work - instead they’re all taking acting classes.

Then there’s a dude who looks like this.

And no one has said anything yet.

How the fuck can you look at someone with hair like that and not say something???

The first thing I would’ve said to this guy was, “Hey, what’s up man? I’m Chris, and your hair is making me uncomfortable.”

The new season also has a guy and a girl who say they don’t believe in labeling themselves “boyfriend” or “girlfriend” even though they’re cuddling and holding hands by the second episode.

Listen to me: If you’re cuddling, hooking up, and constantly hanging out with someone - that’s your girlfriend.

Shut the fuck up about labels.

I label you a Fucking Dumbass - how about that?

I guess this means that I’m old now or something, because I refuse to watch the show again.

From now on, if I want to watch a bunch of stupid, annoying people talk about Things That Are Not As Important As They Think They Are - I’ll just step out of my building’s lobby.

That should do the trick.

don’t be jealous scorsese

I’m about to head out of the city for the weekend, so I leave you with this.

The moment you all have been waiting for - my first video post.

It is moving.

It is inspiring.

It is a movie of epic proportions.

Or maybe just two bored people sitting in an apartment in Brooklyn, New York.

real recognize real

I think we can all agree that George Michael is a little weird.

He once thought it was okay to do this.

He’s the one on the left.  

Obviously George felt that his mesh shirt was in fact not casual wear, therefore it needed to be tucked into his stone washed jeans.

I’m sure the gay community was very pleased with this.  

Random Gay Man in 1985: “Great George!  Just fucking great.  Really, thanks for that.  We have a hard enough time as it is without you prancing around like a fucking idiot in mesh shirts. Do us a favor and keep denying that you’re gay.  Please.”

George has also been involved in many Unpleasant Situations over the years.

But one thing that George has done, which makes me forever have love for him, is grace us with the song “Freedom! ‘90.” 

This song is pure genius.  And it’s time we give George some dap.

It’s all about his struggles with being in the closet as well as his desire to break free from the shackles that his record label had put on his career.

That’s right - shackles.  I only use that word when I’m Being Smart.

George does it right in this song.

“I think there’s something you should know
I think it’s time I stopped the show
There’s something deep inside of me
There’s someone I forgot to be!
Take back your picture in a frame
Don’t think that I’ll be back again
I just hope you understand 
Sometimes the clothes do not make the man!”

Get off him!

George is telling you to take your preconcieved thoughts and toss them in the trash!

He doesn’t need you anymore!  It’s time to stop the damn show - he’s done with it!

Oh, and that picture in the frame?

You better be taking that back to where you got it, because George is not that person anymore.

Now that I’ve enlightned you to just how awesome this song is, George doesn’t seem that weird at all, does he?

Sure, some of us may think that mesh shirts are Not Okay, but I think we can all agree that this song is bad ass.

And for that, George, I thank you. 

full windsor

This morning, while trying to figure out which movie theme song is superior - Superman or Indiana Jones - I noticed a tiny little tag on my tie.

It read: “100% Silk. Hand Made.”

And at first I thought that this was Something To Be Happy About. If something is 100% it usually means it is The Best, unless you’re talking to a high school wrestling coach who would argue that 110% is really what’s required.

Hand made is good too - because machines are evil. Aside from my Playstation. He is nice.

But then I got to thinking that maybe this is not such a good thing.

Hand made? Hand made by whom?

I’d rather not think about the little boy who is sitting in his wheelchair in China or somewhere exotic and weird like that piecing my tie together with his bony hands so I can look like a pseudo-professional.

The poor kid is probably hungry too, because I’m sure the porridge that they feed him doesn’t have raisins or bananas in it. You know, to give it some flavor.

He just wheels his chair around all day, refusing porridge, planning his escape and making ties for me.

If you’re reading this Tie Making Boy, come to New York and I’ll take you in like the son I never had.

No longer will you be making ties, you will be seeing the sights and living the good life!

You heard me - nothing but the best hot dogs for my new son!

But until then, could you do something about the stitching on the back of these? Sometimes it comes unraveled in this one little spot.

Also, you should really eat your porridge.

No one likes a skinny minny!

silence is golden

I’m a man of few words.  If you don’t know me in real life, you can tell this because my posts are never much more than 350 words.  And no, that’s not because I’m not smart enough to come up with more to write about.  Stop thinking that.  Stop it!

It’s because there isn’t a lot to say.

Things About Life can be summed up a lot quicker than most people think.

Person: “How do you feel about the continuing war in Iraq?”

Me: “Bad idea.”

Person: “Tell me about your childhood, what was your relationship with your father like?”

Me: “I drink a lot.”

See?

There is no need for lots of words.

Life is really not that complicated.  Sometimes it sucks and sometimes it doesn’t.  That’s really it folks!

Because I’m a man of few words, I cannot stand people who talk a lot.

It drives me fucking crazy - especially in the morning.

Just a couple minutes ago this guy came into the office just blabbing about complete nonsense.  Well, it wasn’t really nonsense - it was just stuff that I didn’t want to hear about - which to me meant it sucked.

He started talking and all I could think was this:

Shut the fuck up!  No one cares about your wild experience at Starbucks on your way here!  No one!

I didn’t say that, but I did say, “Wow!  Someone took some fucking energy pills this morning!  Let’s take it down a notch, okay?”

It got my point across because the room got silent right after I said that.

This moment illustrates my point - there is usually no need to talk.

When you think you have something to say, think about it for twenty seconds and you’ll probably realize it’s dumb or you can say it with a lot less words.

Now let’s all play the quiet game.

First one to speak gets a fist in the eye.