Tag Archives: people are odd

right now

After work yesterday I was walking my dog Jack and I stumbled upon something odd, even by Brooklyn standards.

I turned onto a street that I typically walk down, and noticed that up ahead a woman was standing with her back to me, near a tree. As I got closer I saw a stroller next to her with a baby inside, and in front of her, a small child with his pants around his ankles, pissing on the tree.

At first I thought this couldn’t be what I thought it was, but sure enough, there was a tiny stream of pee hitting the tree. Of course the woman was just standing there like this was part of her family’s normal Wednesday.

It’s not like the peeing kid was really young either, he was about four years-old. But there he was, hanging out with his wang out, peeing all over a tree like he was a college kid who just did an a keg stand.

As I passed by, I gave the lady a look of “Well, you shocked me. And I’ve had a crackhead try to sell a tent to me.” But she didn’t seem to mind, she was calmly standing there like this type of thing is Okay.

Which makes me wonder if it really is. Maybe her husband just pisses wherever he wants? Maybe when she has to go number two, she pops a squat right then there. You know, live in the moment and all that.

I’d love to go to one of their family reunions.


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the best way

Most people, when presented with a problem, don’t feel like they know the absolute best way to solve it.

Just ask Vanilla Ice.  He was convinced that he could solve the problem (if, in fact, there was one). Yet the only thing he could come up with was to tell us all to listen to more of his songs, which really only called our musical tastes into question.

Somehow though, when you get the hiccups, every single person within earshot of you is a Tactical Hiccup Annihilation Expert.

They always like to wait, though. They never start with their “can’t lose plan” right away.  They like to have you come to them.

You’re sitting there, hiccuping like some kind of idiot, and eventually one of them can no longer contain themselves, and before you know it, ideas are flying at you faster than Sister Hazel‘s career peaked.

“Here’s what you do: grab your left wrist, recite the Constitution and then, only after all of this dude, drink two sips of water while thinking of your favorite pet.”

“Oh, no way man, this always works for me: Turn upside down, spin in three circles and hold your breath until you pass out.”

“What I do is stomp on the right foot of the first person I see wearing a blue shirt, yawn twice and then draw the best picture of a cat I can.”

The worst part about it is that you’re in no position to argue, because your entire life is now centered on the hiccups, which are arguably the worst thing that can ever happen to you, aside from having to meet new people when you’re sober.

So eventually, there you are jumping on one leg, yodeling and getting ready to drink water while sitting on top of your refrigerator, all because suddenly everyone knows the best way to solve this crisis.

It’s unbelievable.

Now, if you want to know what really works, here’s the deal: first, you’ll need two argyle socks and a poster of Gary Coleman…


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what’s really going on

Ever hear of the magazine The Economist?


I wish I could make explosions with my hands too.  It's kinda cool.

I wish I could make explosions with my hands too. It's kinda cool.

It’s a weekly news and international affairs magazine and it is probably the most boring thing to read of all time.  Aside from the Bible.  But at least the Bible’s full of fairy tales and burning bushes and fun stuff like that.

The Economist is Time on crack. It’s Newsweek on PCP and it’s Maxim, well, it doesn’t have anything in common with Maxim because I firmly believe that Maxim is actually one big joke; that none of the editors actually meant for anyone to read it.

What The Economist is most of all though, is a magazine that people read to show other people how smart they are.  It’s like a portable show and tell for adults. They want everyone to see the cool thing that they have be jealous.  But don’t be.

Because whenever you see a person reading this magazine, trust me, they are not enjoying themselves. They just want people to think that they Know Things about places, places that they actually cannot even pronounce.

I know because I tried.  About a year ago I thought to myself, “I would really like to keep up on Issues.”  So I tried reading it for about a month straight.

It was horrible.

I felt like punching my own eyes.  My own eyes!

Every single time I started reading an article in The Economist I would get bored within the first three paragraphs.  I felt, like my friend J.P. says about watching Jeopardy, that I was doing homework.  And the only thing good about being an adult is not having to do homework, so I stopped trying to act like it was a good magazine.

Now it’s just me and my Ranger Rick.  Just try and get bored with all those articles about baby alligators – I dare you!


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There’s a lot to be scared of in the world today.  We’ve got terrorism, there’s salmonella-infected peanut products and House continues to be viewed by thousands of otherwise normal functioning people across the United States.

I’ll tell you what really scares me though. Teenagers.

Right around the corner from my office is a high school, and every day, I have to walk by and hope that none of them go berserk and kill me for no reason at all.  Because that is something teenagers do.

They do things for no reason, and that makes them the scariest thing ever.

Have you seen a teenager lately?  Tell me they don’t scare you.

If their hair isn’t bad enough, at any moment two teenagers could spontaneously start making out with each other, with no regard to the fact that 1) they are both ugly and 2) other people don’t want to see their zits rubbing against each other.

Then there are the teenagers who like to start fights.

Years ago, when I was working as a Social Worker (I know, weird, right?) part of my job was to visit the families on my case load once a month at their homes.  Because I worked with low income people, this meant I spent a lot of time in the projects.

The projects can be a scary place for a White Guy In Slacks, but the only trouble I ever experienced was from teenagers.  I saw bullet holes in the apartments I was going to visit and had one lady tell me that I “shouldn’t be here,” but the worst was from the teens.

One day on my way out of a building, I passed by a group.  One of them, I suspect the Brains Of The Operation, called out, “What the fuck you doing here white boy???”

Of course I kept walking and ignored them because there were ten of them and I was wearing slacks and I was white (but not a boy) and a response that  “Oh, I was just helping a family here and getting seriously underpaid while doing it” wouldn’t have been the answer he was looking for.

Naturally they laughed at me because who works for less than they should, and maybe also because my slacks were pretty ugly.

But the point is that those teens, and teens everywhere around us, will do anything at any moment for no reason at all – which makes them scary as hell.

Come to think of it, my boss is like that too.  I think I should get a new job.


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some relaxation, aside from the impending death

Last night I watched a TV show called “I’m Not Supposed To Be Alive” on Animal Planet.  

It’s about people who get attacked by animals and somehow make it out alive (awesome), and last night’s episode detailed the story of some vacationers in Africa who get stranded in the middle of a river once their boat capsizes.

One of the guys decides to attempt to swim to shore to go get help, even though at the moment, there are about 458 crocodiles in the river.

Of course the others with him question whether this is a good idea, saying that he’ll be sure to get killed.  This struck me as odd, because my questions revolving around this trip would’ve started when my friend brought up the very idea of “vacationing” on a river infested with crocodiles, not when someone was about to die.

The guy finally convinces them their only hope is for him to swim, so he does.  And he almost makes it – until he does something that is not very bright.

He arrives at the shore, only to spot a crocodile about ten feet away from him.  So instead of running away from the crocodile, which I think is probably Rule Number One in the How To Not Get Eaten By A Crocodile Guide, the man goes back into the water and approaches the big lizard thing.

The crocodile, realizing that this man is not as smart as the zebra that evaded him during brunch earlier, promptly chomps the man’s arm and tries to eat him.

Eventually the man gets away by puncturing some sort of hole in the crocodiles mouth, and everyone gets rescued by some random people who happen to pass by on the river, meaning the guy did all of that for nothing.

Now everyone is happy to be alive, and I was happy to have heard about a crocodile attack, but the issue still remains – what the hell was wrong with that guy who went after the crocodile?

I guarantee that when everything settled down and that group of friends hung out again – that guy was not making any decisions.

When he suggested a bar – they went to a different one.

When he told everyone he knew about a party – they decided to go home instead.

That guy has officially given up all merit as a decision maker.  If he couldn’t figure out that attacking a crocodile is worse than running from a crocodile, there is no way he can be allowed to influence others ever again.

In fact, I bet he’s the one who suggested vacationing on a death river in the first place.


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watch your mouth

People say lots of stupid things.  It can be quite frustrating.

At any moment in your life, you could hear something like “I think Vin Diesel is a great actor,” or even “I’m going to wear two polo shirts, one on top of the other, and pop both collars!” 

And then there’s this one:  “Get dropped like a bad habit.”

I don’t really understand this.  Aren’t bad habits, by definition, difficult to drop?

If the habit is bad, then really the only reason you’re doing it is because you can’t stop.

You never hear someone say, “Oh man, quitting smoking was so easy!  I just ate more pancakes, and poof! Cravings were gone.”

Smoking is an addiction and a bad habit wrapped into one tiny package that may or may not appeal to a camel named Joe who wears sunglasses all the time, and is therefore obviously cool.

The point is, dropping a bad habit is not easy.  If it were, it wouldn’t be bad.

No one wants to drop a good habit.

I don’t think I’ll ever hear someone say, “I always keep my finances in such good order, seems like a good time to start doing smack and not look at the check book for three months.”  Though I guess if I do, I will be the first person to know a fiscally responsible heroin addict.

Trying to filter through all the stupid things people say can be hard, and it’ll never stop, so really there’s no point in even trying.

You just have to smile when they say it, and probably maybe stop hanging out with the two polo shirts guy.

(Okay, serious time people.  I’ve been nominated for several awards over at the 20 Something Blogger Network – I joined when I was still in my 20’s dammit – and I just wanted to say thanks to anyone who nominated me.  I really appreciate anyone who reads this blog, it honestly humbles me.  With that said, I want to win Funniest Blog because I am insanely competitive.  So if you’re a member, please vote for me, and if you do, I promise you a goat, a chicken and a virgin. Now that’s incentive.)


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tall tale

A friend of a friend of a friend of a friend has a story and it goes like this:

This girl owns a big ass snake and loves it.  She even lets it sleep with her at night, curled up at the end of her bed.  One day she notices that it stops eating like it normally does, so she starts to get worried.  She also notices around this time that the snake stops sleeping normally and begins to sleep completely stretched out alongside her at night, instead of curled up at her feet.  So the girl takes the snake to the vet and explains everything that has been happening.  The vet looks at the girl in complete shock and tells her, “The reason why your snake has stopped eating and is stretching out alongside you at night is because it’s preparing itself to eat you.  It stopped eating to make room for you, and is stretched out to see if you will fit inside it.”

Now, after hearing that story certain concerns arise.

For one, what exactly is going on in this woman’s life that she lets her snake sleep with her?  I think the woman needed someone to talk to.  You know, about being fucking crazy.

Another issue is that if a snake that big decided to stretch out alongside you, it is probably not a good sign. No one has ever called me a genius, but I’m pretty sure that after the first night this happened, she should have put it in its cage at night.

There are countless other concerns that come to mind when hearing that story (did she cuddle with it?  And if so, for how long? Did the snake snore?) but when I first heard it, I didn’t care about any of that – I was just upset because I realized that I don’t have a good story.


That friend who knows that story can enter into any situation and immediately feel comfortable, because she has that story to pull out on people.

No matter what people are talking about, she can interject with, “Yeah that’s great, but you want to hear something really crazy?”  And of course people will be interested, because everyone loves Crazy – just look at America’s obsession with Britney (Comeback my ass.  She’s still bat shit nuts, mark my words).

But me?  I’ve got nothing.

I could pull out the time when I missed the train and thought I was going to be late to work but then another train came right away! But somehow, I don’t think it’s as powerful as Snake Woman.

Something’s got to give.  Maybe I’ll try and make something remarkable happen and have a quality story all to myself, something that will always elicit ohhs and aahhs from people.

Or maybe I’ll just steal the Snake Woman story, because I think that’s much more my speed.

So I know this girl, right?  Well she has this snake…



So apparently the snake story is complete bullshit.  Maxie and Ben even wrote about the same thing in August.  Obviously this makes me feel better because now I know everyone has shitty stories just like me.


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among us

I don’t know if you realize this or not, but there are men out there at this very moment with their shirts tucked into their underwear.

You might have just talked to one, unaware that your entire conversation about how good the coffee is this morning is completely tainted because his polo was jammed into his Hanes Comfortsofts.

I was alerted to this phenomenon this morning when I was getting ready to leave the gym.  I looked up from tying my shoes and there was a guy stuffing his shirt into his underwear.

I was pretty shocked.

I wonder what exactly this person’s life entails that it made him decide that an extra layer of security was absolutely necessary to keep his shirt in line.

What does he do, walk around constantly flinging his arms in the air about everything?  He orders a donut, steps down to pay, and look out!  The arms are reaching for the sky!

Maybe this person just gives an inordinate amount of high fives. Not the lame elbow-bent ones, the official State Issued High Five, and he knows that if he’s not tucking, then his Fives will just be met with stares and questions. “C’mon Jim.  Your shirt is untucked.  You can’t expect me to return a High Five with you in that condition, can you?”

Is he in the rodeo?  Because I could see the need to tuck the shirt for one to be an effective bull rider.  Ever see one of those guys fly off a bull with his shirt untucked?  Nope.  You really can’t be taken seriously when you’re riding a wild animal if your shirt tail is waving around for the entire arena to see.

Whatever the reason, there are men doing this and they are out there walking the same streets as you and I and eating at the same restaurants.

In fact, I bet some of you reading this right now have your button down shoved deep into your Armani Bikini Cuts, and you probably think no one knows.

But I see you Underwear Boy, there’s no fooling me.


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speed kills

Living in New York, I get to experience all the terribleness that is Walking With Others.

Every day, every single moment of my life, is dominated by walking to or from somewhere.  And unfortunately, there happen to be lots of other people doing the same thing.

The worst, obviously, is tourists.  You can spot them by the way they stop in the middle of the sidewalk and the general pace of their walking, which I’ve clocked at just above the speed of a toddler.  Who has one leg. And no eyes.

Let me make a Public Service Announcement:  The sidewalk here is like the road where you live.  You do not just come to screeching halt on the highway and you do not putz along at 25 mph either.  Unless you want to get shot.  I suppose that’s your choice.

While the actions of tourists can be maddening, it’s the Close Walker who really angers me.

You know what I’m talking about.

You’re walking along, maybe listening to Tennessee and thinking about how it’s a song about how god told this guy to move there, which is really kind of weird, when you notice a person walking closely behind you.

The Close Walker never seems to know what to do, so you must become, as the brilliant George W. put it, “The Decider.”

You have two ways of dealing with the Close Walker:  You can slow down, let them pass and maybe give them a glare saying, “Yeah I heard you, just leave me alone!”  Or you can speed up and leave them in the dust, which of course is the more immature thing to do.

Which is why I do it.

Close Walkers present a certain challenge to me, a challenge that I like to meet head on and smash, smash, smash!

When I hear them approach, I tense up and prepare myself for their attack.  I like to let them gain a false sense of confidence by letting them pull up next to me too.  Then, in a flash of blazing speed, I pull away.  Often I even make a “vrrrooooommm!” sound in my head as I do it.  This, I find, makes the situation much more intense.

As the Close Walker fades behind me, I do not look back.  They know they’ve lost.  I don’t need to rub it in.

If you’re faced with a Close Walker, I beg you to not accept defeat and let them pass by.  Speed up and know that you are better than them, simply because you can walk to the bodega for a Slim Jim faster than they can.

Oh, and feel free to use the “vrrrooooommm!” sound, trust me, it’s worth it.


(Now that you’re done here, first leave a fabulously witty comment, then go and enter Stoogepies contest, in which you can win a prize worth $600!  All you have to do to enter is vote for Chrissy at the Bloggers Choice Awards as the “Hottest Mommy Blogger.”  Which she is, so just do it.  It’s that simple!  The prize is worth it! Plus, if she wins it means we took down one of the mega bloggers, Dooce.  Now go vote and stick it to the man! Er, woman!)


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door close

Working in a large office building can be odd.

You spend all this time with these people from other offices and floors, and you never actually interact with them unless the elevator is involved somehow.  You’re either waiting for the elevator or in the elevator when you see them.

You nod at some.

You scoff at others.

And still some evoke huge amounts of Internal Rage, like that lady who always breathes really loud even though you’re fucking positive she doesn’t have asthma.

My building is an especially odd one, because our elevators are terrible.  I’m pretty sure they were the third elevators ever made, because they don’t even have the up and down markers so you know which way the thing is going when it comes to your floor.

As you can imagine, this has led to me getting on the elevator going up, instead of down, plenty of times.

The latest incident happened last night.  I got on the elevator and it started going up, which immediately made me scream, “Fucking shit fuck!”  Once whoever was at the top floor got on, they would know that I am an idiot because I got on going up.  Also, we’d be stopping at my floor before we went down to the lobby.

When the elevator got to the top floor, a woman stepped on, and the following awkwardness ensued.

Me: [Smiling] “Well hello.”

Woman Who Is Smarter Than Me: [Giving me a puzzled look] “Oh, uh, hi.”

[The elevator begins to go down.  All is silent.]

[I look at the numbers because that is What I’m Supposed To Do.]

Me: “Just to let you know, we’ll be making a brief stop at the eighth floor.”

Woman Who Is Smarter Than Me: [Confused, she looks at me] “What?  Oh.  Okay.”

Me: “Yeah, I got on going up.  This isn’t the first time either.  I like to think of it as an adventure, you know, ‘oooh, will I be going up or down today?  Who can tell???’  That kind of thing.  I live life on the edge.”


[The elevator arrives at the eight floor, the door opens and no one is there.  The door closes and we continue down.]

Me: “I hear there’s some pretty good people who work on that floor.  Stunning decor too.”

Woman Who Is Smarter Than Me: [With a charity laugh] “Ha.  Yes, right.”

[We arrive at the lobby and we both exit. Her: A little more annoyed at working in our building. Me: Just glad that she didn’t notice my zipper was down.]


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