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Monthly Archives: August 2011

Let there be light…

God hates fags.

Thanks for letting me know.

They are on the corner of Rosecrans and Sepulveda. Big yellow signs.

“Sin incurs God’s wrath”. I am actually willing to go along with that one. I was raised Catholic and that is kind of how the whole system works.

“Repent, the end is upon us.” Entirely possible. However, religious fanatics throughout the ages always think THEY are the ones on the brink of it all, so while possible, its highly improbable.

“God hates fags.” Only if they are money lenders, in the temple up on the table-

Sorry, began to run off on a tangent there.

Leviticus says that gay men should be killed. However, it also says that you should not wear fabric made out of two different materials.

God hates cotton-poly blends. Not quite as catchy, is it?

Besides, if the Almighty wanted me to know this, I can’t help but think he would deliver the message in a different fashion.

If you really want my undivided attention, don’t send some back-woods, unwashed baboon of a human being to let me know. Perhaps have Pam Anderson whisper it in my ear during a slow dance.

Just saying.

Despite the somewhat loose cannon approach to this blog, I tend to have a conservative outlook, borderline Tea Party view of things. And there was a time in my life where I would maybe not be on the street with a yellow sign, but I would feel it carried a little more truth to it. I mean, you can guess that God hates fags, but there no way to know for sure, and the Almighty is suspiciously quiet about this one. When I was fresh out of high school, I was obnoxiously angry and probably would have loved the spectacle of pissing of as many as I could with the sign.

Not now.

I have kind of gotten back to the tolerance that I was taught in school.

Jesus was big on tolerance.

I go by experience in most things. The two most evil and manipulative people I have ever met were both hetero, one with a professed faith and the other an atheist.

A few of the most innocent people I have ever met were gay. I have met a few total assholes with a limp wrist, but somewhere in the constitution it says that people have the right to be assholes.
Like the people with the yellow signs. Even if I was in lock step with them, I would not be out on that street corner with them.

It’s rude.

And they show up at military funerals and make the claim that the reason that the soldier was killed, is because God is angry about the whole gay thing.

Really?

Even Visa won’t hold you responsible for charges you didn’t make. I can only assume the Almighty has a policy on this as well.

But the overdraft fees are a bitch.

Funny, but I’m still going to hell for that one.

Maybe God hates Will now.

Naw, everyone loves me.

In the end, I think the biggest truth is the one that you rarely hear:

God doesn’t hate anyone.
(See also Love)

 
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Posted by on August 22, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Rearing its ugly head…Some heads are uglier than others

There is a brisk little business going on at Starbucks, and it ain’t coffee.

There is a husky little blonde running a full scale SAT cram group. Let’s call her Blondie.

There are 5 of them, usually at the big table if its available. They are there from 7 to 8.

Blondie runs a tight ship. She barks her orders and the girls march in lock step.

I have no idea what she charges, but if she can whip these dipshits into high SAT scores, she deserves a frickin medal. There are a few girls that I honestly wonder if they attended, much less graduated from, high school.
You always hope girls this dumb either marry well or lose their looks young. Otherwise, they are just a few months away from swinging on a pole for a living.

Pretty good rule of thumb is that is that if your job involves baby oil and glitter, you’ve made a pretty serious vocational error somewhere.

Not to bash strippers. Any girl who is willing to dance for a living, just to pay for college of course, should be commended for their work ethic.

Plus its hard for a man to criticize a woman in a G-string. Its an instinct thing.

But most women hate strippers. I have never been able to understand that, and in a weird way, I don’t really want to know why.

Back to Blondie.

You have to admire the entrepreneurial spirit.

But how does it stack up against old and bitchie?

Let me explain.

The big table at a Starbucks is the only area of the store that customers often have an agenda for sitting there. Business people, students, and those that feel the need to spread out.

And then there’s the Penguins.

The Penguins are a trio of little old ladies who come in every other morning to play cards. They order their tea, bitch unmercifully about the price, and play a card game that looks suspiciously like gin rummy, but I am not sure, because they cover their cards like high stakes poker players.

They look like they are from the old country. Not my old country, but somebodies old country.

I call them Penquins they always dress in dark colors, are kind of thin in the shoulders and broad in the hip.

I first noticed them one morning while walking to work. As I have mentioned previously, I park about a quarter mile from my office and walk down. As we are the last office building before the beach, parking sucks like no place else.

I noticed the three old ladies walking in front of me. They waddled along in a line. As an obstacle got in their way, they would waddle around it, still playing follow the leader.

And then it hit me. Penguins. I would have called them Lemmings, but I was unsure about getting them to walk over a cliff.

Some people have no sense of humor.

They went right into Starbucks. By this time, I was following along, having been unable to get around them without resorting to old school hockey checking.

They got their tea and complained in their little old biddie fashion, and then sat down to play their cards.

That is when the bitching began.

What was amazing was that it almost seemed that they were having 3 separate conversations, each one complaining about different people.

It was like a bitchie support group.

Enough background.

Blondie was mid chastise with one of the girls about her lack of understand of basic algebra, when the Penguins came in.

Blondie didn’t notice, but the Penguins immediately saw that their usual spot was occupied.

The Penguins waited in line, casting ugly looks at the main table.

It was developing nicely, but I think I was the only one that was getting the situation.

I love this.

The Penguins waited until they all got their tea, properly creamed and sugared them, then marched, I say marched damn it, over to the main table.

“You can’t have the whole table.” The head Penguin’s voice was a combination of shrill and crackly. It was an perfect combo of menace and wicked old, like a witch, maybe.

“We were here first.” Blondie didn’t even look up. She was a business woman and I respect that.

“We want to play cards.” The head Penguin tossed her cards onto the table like she was throwing down a gauntlet.

Blondie looked up. “What is it you want me to do about that? We were here, and we’re not done.” She stared for a few seconds more, then looked down at her book.

The girls, the students, were looking back and forth like anxious little animals, just about to bolt at the first sign that this gets out of hand. Its the smart move. Survival, more than algebra, seems to be their skill.

The Penguins were outraged. There are several things that I can see happening.

They might trade blows. I said might, I didn’t say it was the most probable, just might. And it would be the funnest to watch.

The Penguins should leave. They could go to Coffee Bean. Besides, the crowd at Coffee Bean was much closer to their age. Hell, they may even pick up a few more players.

And then, they did the unexpected.

Without saying a word, the Penguins moved as one to an empty small round table right behind Blondie. The little round tables were way too small to play cards on.

But they had no intention of playing cards.

They started complaining.

All three of the Penguins began chastising Blondie, discussing her lack of manners, rudeness in general.

And then it got ugly.

The Penguins got nowhere attacking Blondie’s behavior. The opening salvo was harsh.

“And not a pretty girl.”

5 words was all it took. Blondie kept staring down at her book, but I could see her eyes well up.

In that moment, they broke her.

It was over.

“We’re done for today.” Blondie closed her book, gathered her stuff and got up.

I thought she was going to head straight out, but she hesitated.

Blondie took one quick step and bent, her head about 6 inches from the ear of the head Penguin.

I have no idea what she said. Whatever it was, it was quick. She straightened, then walked out.

The head Penguin sat there for several minutes, saying nothing.

And then they played cards.

But the head Penguin never lost the haunted look.

Blondie’s parting shot messed with her for awhile.

Good.

 
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Posted by on August 21, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Its a dirty subject.

I have a friend who is recently divorced and said she was shocked at how guys are just a bunch of horny dicks now.

Now?

I am shocked to find out we were something else back when. Or maybe that was just me.

She was at a local watering hole and met a guy, made an innocent comment that he took in the worst way and proceeded to stalk her for the rest of the night.

And?

I had to take a long moment to understand, or at least try.

And in the end, I had to agree with her, even though it took me a little while longer to get there.

I’m sorry, throw anything resembling dirty or a go ahead at me in a bar when I have a drink in me, and I become a vicious combination of a drink-buying Daddy Warbucks and a horny dog that will follow your around and hump your leg all night.

Just saying.

I think it all breaks down to this.

Its the same sentence for both of us.

Women love sex.

Only to men, it looks like this
Women love SEX

Women, however, see it like this:
Women LOVE sex.

AND WE HAVE NO CLUE.

And its not like we take things out of context or wrong on purpose, we take it wrong because we have no choice.

Its a difference of perspective.

Lets call it the Penis Perspective.

Having a penis is like having a best friend that your parents hate. He gets you in trouble, leaves you hanging sometimes, but every now and then, he comes up with something really cool.

But we can talk about masturbation later.

When a guy is in an environment where he thinks he might have a shot at getting laid, which pretty much means that he is awake and in the vicinity of a woman, his penis begins filtering everything he hears and understands.

Its like being drunk on a liquor called horny.

Yes, its that sad and primitive.

So taking things the wrong way is not a choice, its the only option.

The only one we have.

Guys are the epitome of what your mom use to say.

“If they didn’t care, they wouldn’t say anything.”

That’s true, but care means “Viewed as fuckable” (For the record, I wanted to leave Fuckable out. However, the friend in question loved it and declared it “Word of the Day” So it stays.)

Her other comment was that she was in a place right now that she only wanted some “Me attention”. But, all she seemed to be getting was the “Fuckable attention”.

Its about fifty-fifty in that half the men out there are capable of both types of attention. Unfortunately, the other half can only achieve the “Fuckable attention”.

And theres no way to tell ahead of time.

But, if you are hetero, it is the only game in town.

The only alternative would be to get a gay male friend for the “Me attention” and a high end marital aid with attachments in order to get your “Fuckable” on.

My advice usually sucks, so I normally keep it to myself, but I advised her to go out and play the game her way.

Because dangling the “Fuckable” carrot can get a lot of “Me attention.”

In the Texas Hold-Em game of sex, being a woman is like always having a pair of pocket aces.

For a man to have sex, he just needs to find a woman to say yes. A woman just needs to say yes.

I heard two women in Starbucks the other day, whispering.

Whispering means dirty, and I know this, so I do the discrete adjusting for better listening.

One of the women was complaining that, since her break up, she hadn’t had sex in months and missed it.

WTF?

That amazes me. All she has to do is walk up to a guy, pretty much any guy in a bar, and ask him to go home for some “No strings attached” play time.

And for those reading this that are saying “My man would never do that”. Yes he would and lets not lie to each other here.

I’m just trying to help.

A woman could walk up to 5 different men in a bar and ask them to go have sex and most likely 5 out of 5 would green light it.

However, a man could walk up to 5 different women and ask the same.

Mace is usually involved at this point.

Not that I have ever done this, but when one of the 5 does say yes?

Its like magic.

 
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Posted by on August 19, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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The sound…….of Silence.

There is a vicious, scorched-earth, fully bi-polar argument going in Starbucks right now. Shit is being thrown out there that you should never say to someone you are sleeping with, much less a loved one.

In total silence.

There is a guy at a corner table who is deaf. He has his Iphone propped up against his coffee cup, and if I casually lean over, there is a dark haired woman signing furiously and angrily into her webcam.

I have no clue whats being said other than the expressions, unlike Spanish, which I can sound out. I don’t even know how to sign what day it is.

He has been signing furiously for thirty seconds and now slowly licked several of his fingers and it has seriously pissed off the woman on the phone even more than before. Sign language seems to have newer options for going dirty.

This is absolutely fascinating.

And then its over, he gets up and leaves, in total silence.

He may be deaf, but he still has the same issues we all do. Some more than others.

I couldn’t be deaf, I would go insane. Anger demands noise, that is basic human nature.

But on the same note, being deaf would make me impossible to be around as well. Most deaf people accept it and grow to enjoy it.

Not me.

For me, it would be like having a permanent case of the shits. Always there, always annoying. I would exist in this permanent cloud of pissy that would make me even more unpleasant than I am.

And I can be pretty unpleasant.

But I started wondering why the deaf guy has an Iphone to begin with, its not like he can use it.

And then it hits me like a smack with the big “Hey dumbfuck!” stick.

He is using his phone.

Maybe not how I would, but now everyone can use a phone. The technology has now caught up with the needs of the deaf.

In other words, the people that don’t need phones? They now need phones. And not just any phone, but one of the most expensive, high end phones on the market, with one of the costliest rate plans.

Very clever, AT&T. Or shall I just call you Mr. Jobs?

I can see it all now.

This is world wide conspiracy shit. This is like an Internet grassy knoll, data plan goes back….and to the left, broadband-Da Vinci code type thing.

Chilling.

Should I suddenly meet with some sort of suspicious accident, be aware that “They” had a hand in it.
(And by “Accident” I don’t mean like a child fouling himself. I have only done that once and it involved a lot of grain alcohol.)

I have begun poring over my cell bill, looking for some sort of code. Unfortunately, I think I have a better chance to crack the Beale Cipher, (Google it), than I do of figuring out the AT&T/Apple master plan.

But at least we know there is one.

 
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Posted by on August 18, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Life happens…

“Hola, Signor.”

I stop and stare.

I am one block from Starbucks and Garrett, my favorite homeless man, is speaking Spanish.

This is unique in that Garrett is a six and a half foot tall man of obvious Nordic decent.

I Hola back and ask him why the hell he is speaking Spanish.

“I want to be able to thank Mexican people who give me money.”

I am floored.

This is a game changer. Garrett sits on the corner and talks to himself for the majority of the day about the corporate policies of the major coffee houses in the US. We’ve had this discussion before, he finds that Coffee Bean is insincere in its green policies.

The homeless have gone global.

Why the hell not?

I wrote the proceeding a day ago, planning to finish it today.

And then shit happened.

Garrett the homeless guy, my bagel friend in the morning, the corporate politically conscious patron of Starbucks, died this morning.

I was talking with a friend on the phone, no more than a block from my office, when I saw two cop cars, 1 ambulance and a paramedic, all cluster parked around the corner.

He was on a stretcher, with a paramedic working on him the whole time they were loading him into the ambulance.

I found out from the store owner who knows one of the paramedics, that Garrett died on the way to the hospital either from a heart attack, but they suspect overdose.

Harsh.

I had talked and broken bread, or at least bagels with the man. He was a fascinating mix of drugged out crazy, and intellectual.

I will miss him.

Garrett the homeless guy, RIP.

 
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Posted by on August 17, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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My Eviction Notice.

Am I being evicted?

An article on Rueters news service says that the Starbucks in New York City are taking action to get rid of “Squatters”

A squatter is a customer that comes in and stays for hours, takes up space, uses the free wifi and buys minimal.

People like, well, me.

Shit.

New Yorkers are notorious for being inhospitable, but this is a new low. The economy is tanking like Armageddon, and New York has decided that they don’t need your business? Do us all a favor, shit head and take your purchase somewhere else?

But where?

In terms of legal crack houses, I prefer Starbucks. Coffee bean is nice, but a little bland. Starbucks straddles the fence between elitist but quick and dirty coffee version of fast food quite nicely.

And something about the place. I have never been able to put my finger on it, but it almost tries to be like a modern hipster version of those folksy coffee houses from the 60’s, but with a pretentiousness that they would be ashamed of having achieved.

So, if they do kick me out, where do I go?

The mere thought of it makes me break out in a quick case of nervous swamp ass, which is never pleasant.

There are a few places I could relocate to, but they all have their set crowds.

Coffee Bean has a more sedate, older clientele. I can walk thru the front door and lower the average age by ten years. And they play muzak. Its like drinking coffee in an elevator with your grandparents.

Noah’s Bagels is across the street. Noah”s exists in this permanent stench of burnt bread as your walk thru the door and has a lot of harried people trying to get their breakfast on in the shortest amount of time. Not a lot of eye contact and little chit chat, a lot like getting coffee in a men’s bathroom. No wifi and the coffee tastes suspiciously of teabagging. (I will not explain this. You’re on your own.)

Peets coffee is right next store and unfortunately has the shared stench from the bagel shop. Also, I am not sure what they serve there, despite the name “Peet’s Coffee”. Their coffee might be good, but I will never know, because it is served in non-heated coffee urns and therefore cold.  Its like getting coffee at a gas station.

Also, every time I go in there, half of the customers are mothers with no less than 3 children in tow. Maybe it is some sort of cold coffee and fertility clinic.

Oddly enough, Jamba Juice makes a good cup of coffee, go figure. However, no wifi, no seats and no one over the age of 17 works there.

My mother’s house is always an option for a quick cup of coffee. Mom however has been a professional psychic for about 45 years, so you get coffee and some psychoanalysis. If you are not used to it a psychic picking your brain can be every bit as uncomfortably invasive as picking a total strangers nose. She doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s second nature by now. Mom is a serious force of nature in my book, not to be fucked with unless you are ready for war.

Which leaves me with only one alternative, I could just go to work early.

You can have my seat when you pry it from my cold dead ass-cheeks.

 
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Posted by on August 16, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Can you make a Ho into a Housewife?

Let me paint a picture for you, and then I have a question for you.

Lets say, for the sake of arguing, that there is a woman you work with. She is single, but living in sin with her boyfriend.

Enter the new man. He is single, he has some sort of legitimate reason to drop by the office. While there, he hits on her unmercifully. She doesn’t shut him down, in fact, she goes to lunch with him on occasion.

I’m not done. Add to this the fact that he has sent her flowers twice. At work. Twice. Not once, but twice. Just want to make sure you have that one. Also add to this the fact that she has mentioned that her boyfriend doesn’t know, because, quoting here, “He’s just a friend.”

Uh huh.

Are the flowers because he loves the way her shoes match the ceiling? (Give that one a minute, you’ll get it, its dirty.)

That, by the way, is not my question.

My question is this. I don’t want to know if they are sleeping together, I am trying to figure out how she keeps her dress wrinkle free after having sex all during lunch?

That might be a rhetorical question. However, somebody should answer it. I would, but I need more info. I tend to judge and form snap opinions on people based on all the things you are not supposed to. Sex, age, hair color, Nationality, where they grew up…etc.

For instance, and you knew this was coming, if she is a girl, blonde, under 25, grew up in Southern California, I would be willing to bet my life she is doing the dirty deed during her lunch hour. And not just missionary, but some serious venial sin stuff. That is sexist, age discriminating, and a whole lot of other stuff that basically boils down to it not being nice or things you say in polite company.

I have never really been all about the polite.

I am tired of the whole idea of being politically correct. I was married for a long time, trust me, I understand how it feels to hold your tongue. For years. With both hands.

I made the conscious decision awhile back to speak my mind. Besides, nothing makes a type A head snap around that the timely use of a descriptive obscenity. And if that gets their panties in a twist?

So be it.

Makes me sound horrible, don’t it?

Um…You may be right.

However, back to the question.

The outrage that some might have with a young girl deciding to have a lunch-time tryst, to me, is offset by the fact that, unless there is a ring on her finger, she is a free agent. If her boyfriend doesn’t notice that she comes home twice a week without her panties, bite marks on her thighs,  that is his oversight, her secret, and, other than for the sake of a heartless wager, or a personal entertainment, none of my business.

Unless I happen to be the guy biting her thighs.

 
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Posted by on August 15, 2011 in Uncategorized