Monthly Archives: November 2011

I was in a line of about 6 people when the werewolf came in.

He stood behind the vampire that was immediately behind me.

Keep reading, I promise you this will make sense in the end.

The werewolf first attacked after a brief silence.

The vampire was not having it, and stopped his moves immediately.

The werewolf didn’t hesitate, but began being more subtle in his attacks.

The Vampire almost acted like she hadn’t been attacked just a second before, and began to mildly return the attack.

It was pretty obvious to me that she didn’t have as much interest in attacking him as he was her.

A shift in the mood of the Starbucks began to make some of the others in line fidget a little.

The vampire suddenly screeched at the something the werewolf had done.

The werewolf roared in reply, and began attacking even harder.

Normally I don’t care what goes on in line, unless I find it good to blog about.

But today, this was really bugging me.

I looked over my shoulder in annoyance.

You see, this isn’t the first time I have seen this particular werewolf attacking a Vampire in line at Starbucks.

If this makes no sense to you, try the following:

Replace the word werewolf with the phrase business guy.

Replace vampire with girl in yoga pants.

Replace attacking with hitting on.

And replace the words screeched and roared with laughed.

This might seem like a stupid trick to pull, but let me ask you this.

Which one is more fun as a story?

Ok, so maybe I need to get over the Twilight movie.

Dumb premise, but I am half way thru, stay with me, I will get us thru this, I swear.

I take another look at the Vampire and the werewolf.

The werewolf is, in reality, a chubby suited guy who is thinning on top.

The vampire is kind of a mousy blonde who looks like a receptionist in a boring office.

I really think I am doing them both a favor with the whole “werewolf vs. vampire” thing.

I think we would all be something different if we could be.

The question is, can you change how you feel about your life, without destroying it in the process?

That would be interesting.

I always wanted to be a writer.

Guess what.

I am.

Now I just have to figure out how to pull it all together.

And, as usual, whenever I need inspiration, Starbucks provides like manna from heaven.

The vampire, it seems, has decided to rip the werewolves throat out.

Ok, so this translates into her saying that she doesn’t date guys a lot older than herself.

Its almost as good.

He is about 5 years older than her at best, but her comment says, quite plainly, you look like an old fart and I would NEVER sleep with you.

It is really a crappy smack down. He deserves it, but its hard to watch.

This would be the point that I would get really shitty and loud.

I can out-embarrass anyone.

But there are few things that can totally de-ball and emasculate a guy quicker than a woman who is sick of your shit.

Lesson learned.

Cranberry Bliss Bar.

Wow.

I can feel the heart attack coming.

The mix of foods in Starbucks is an interesting mix of “Hey, we’re a healthy place.” and that McDonald’s line of “You are that stupid, of course its healthy.”

99% of everything in the pastry case will send you into a diabetic coma under the right conditions.

And yet, in the open refrigerator case below, they take a wild stab at the health thing.

They have some box meals that are good for you, with chocolate and vanilla milk next to them.

It give the illusion of healthy, right up until you look at the nutritional facts and find out that the milk, if you can call it that, has an unnaturally high sugar content.

More of a non-carbonated creamy soda.

This observation made the cashier at my local Starbucks snort loudly, and then the manager got involved and we debated health food for awhile.

Then she realized that I was just debating for my own amusement and found something else to do.

And trust me, there is a fine art to walking away from someone that it talking to you without being offensive.

I have certainly never mastered it, but then, I quit worrying about offending people a long time ago.

If you want to make an omelet, you gotta break some eggs.

Or maybe just make them cry. By the way, I have nothing against eggs personally.

I decided to get some perspective on the health offerings at Starbucks from an expert of the doings at Starbucks.

Garrett the homeless guy.

(Quick recap- Garrett the homeless guy sits on the corner all day and argues with himself about the environmental policies of the major coffee coffee houses. I had thought he was dead at one point, but he was just rehabbing for a few weeks in North Dakota. I like to take him to breakfast at the bagel place simply because it really twists up the clientele there. Plus, he is a nice guy. A little crazy, but nice.)

Garrett gets his morning coffee at Starbucks. He always has a gift card, because people buy them for him. I get the feeling that its that “I want to help, but if I give you money, I am afraid you will buy drugs with it” type of thing. (They are right, he will.)

“The protein box is good.”

They all look pretty good and healthy. Hard boiled eggs, meats, cheeses, breads. All in a nice little container.

Garrett assures me that the box snaps closed tight enough to keep the food good for a day.

And he would know.

They are also expensive as hell.

If you took the money you would spend to buy 5 of them, and bought the individual items at a farmers market, you could make 20 of them.

Its the convenience and the name you pay for.

This was Garrett’s observation. He also pointed out that the Farmer’s market will not take the Starbucks card.

The old lady behind us clears her throat real loud to let us know the cashier is open and we’re next.

Garrett grabs an apple and a banana.

“Is that all guys?

Garrett surveys the menu.

“Salted Caramel Latte.”

I laugh.

Garrett is homeless, but he is a Manhattan Beach homeless.

In the homeless world, he is a 1%er.

Black Friday

Sounds ominous, doesn’t it?

I saw a black guy on the news that said it was racist.

Is it?

I don’t think its derogatory, I mean, its a day of outrageously good deals.

How can that be bad?

I think it kind of needs to get to a point where, collectively as a group, people quit bristling at the slightest hint of race.

And no, I am not saying that everyone needs to be good with a white supremest shrieking the word “Nigger” in the town square.

Just that kind of “Yeah, yeah, funny.” that a lot of groups have come to.

I am Irish, and damned proud of it. The alcoholic stereotype sometime bugs me when it gets thrown at me, usually around St. Patricks day, but, I have gotten to a point that I no longer throw empty shot glasses at whoever said it.

And thats progress.

I had meant to talk about Black Friday, and I am discussing my drinking problem, how does that happen?

People have been camping out in various places in anticipation of getting the best deals.

I thought I saw someone camped out in front of Bevmo, the alcohol warehouse, and I was wondering what could be such a great deal that you would camp out there?

Turns out it was just three homeless guys bedded down for the night and they happened to be in front of the store.

Ok then.

I saw on the news this morning that some lady in New York was in the Black Friday mob at a Walmart felt she was not getting to the area with the best deal fast enough.

So she broke out her pepper spray.

Cleared out the mob pretty damn quick.

Witnesses said she darted in, grabbed her stuff and fled.

Eventually, they shut it down, but not before, however, she got away.

So it worked.

Good idea for next year.

My kids are out of their infancy and I have never believed in huge gifts, so I can’t think of one thing on the planet that would make me camp out and shove my way thru the crowd.

Keep in mind that I love playing roller hockey and shoving a total stranger around for temporary possession of a plastic disk makes perfect sense to me.

I wonder if there are people who’s whole game on Black Friday is to show up late and gorilla their way in, shoving, elbowing, and brawl their way around the store and then leave, having bought nothing, but that was not their deal.

Full contact shopping.

Awesome.

(Note – Contact the UFC for a MMA/Black Friday crossover. Maybe pay per view)

That is a really stupid idea, but heres the cool part about stupid ideas.

You’re reading it, aren’t you?

To a certain extent, I own you, even if its just for the duration of reading this.

Nice.

I got my hits in and I didn’t even have to go shopping.

Merry Christmas.

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What happens if you can’t tell if a girl is a guy?

Everyone is allowed to be who they want to be, but dammit, pick a side.

I was at a social function recently, and there was a woman there. (We’ll stick with woman for now.)

She was tall, broad shouldered, kind of a linebacker build.

Thats ok, you see plenty of folks out there that don’t have the supermodel shape.

However, add to that Jay Leno’s lantern jaw and a forehead that is more of an eight head and you have what is known as a ruggedly handsome man.

Or a fugly woman.

Or a woman with a penis.

Maybe.

There really is no way to know, without creating a huge social faux pas.

But it is now stuck in my head.

Probably for the best that I do not give in to the temptations that pop into my head.

Because if I give in to that evil shitty voice in my head and cup check the heshe and she turns out to be a girl, (or even a heshe for that matter) I become the nightmare asshole in the horridly embarrassing episode that the poor girl did nothing to deserve.

And if you are wondering what a “Cup check” is, its a sports euphemism. When over-testosteroned individuals want to hassle each other, one will suddenly, without warning, slap the other in the testicles and loudly proclaim “CUP CHECK!”

I know, its stupid, but its a guy thing so let it go.

So, I managed not to completely destroy the festive occassion.

Like I always say, I try not to inflict myself on the public.

However, sometimes my asshole attitude is useful.

For instance, I was once at a bar with two friends. Lets call them Tom and Jerry.

Tom is one of those guys that looks like an Italian model.

And he had no clue.

So, me and Jerry were sitting at the bar, getting drunk in good fashion. The club was noisy and crowded. We had watched Tom talking to a HOT blond at a table for the better part of an hour.

And something was wrong.

No clue what it was, just something in the back of my head said warning, warning.

And then Jerry turned to me and snapped his fingers.

I got it instantly.

She has a penis.

We waved to Tom and he came over.

At first, he was pissed. So we phrased it this way.

“Just go ask her is she’s a dude. And if we’re wrong, just laugh like its a joke and tell her your friends have a sick sense of humor.”

He wasn’t happy about it, but as he walked back, you could see the hesitancy meant we had planted the seed.

Over the noise of the club we could not hear the conversation, but from the sudden rigidity in her body language told us when he asked her.

But when she nodded her head and mouthed the word “Yes” it was like a loud speaker.

Tom backed away and walked past us like a dog with his tail between his legs.

“Lets just go.”

It was one of those moments that is so awkward that it is awesome to witness, especially if you have that kind of evil side to your personality.

We’ve met, right?

I have had someone in my life tell me that I cater a little much to the “Asshole within”.

And?

Today is Thanksgiving.

A day for giving thanks.

This might seem like a simple idea, but you would be shocked at the wide variety of ideas of what today is about.

I think that being thankful is important, but you first have to understand what you are NOT thankful for.

So what are those items in my life that I am not truly thankful for?

Relatives that I don’t care for will be at Thanksgiving. I have a whole slew of these. The only solution is to wait them out until they die. I realize how harsh and shitty this sounds, but it is what it is.

Cranberrys. Like a damned Alzheimer’s patient, I will again eat cranberrys, this despite the fact that I hate them with a passion. They look nice, kind of like jello. And then I eat them and its one of those flavors I cannot get out of my mouth.

John Madden. Speaking of Alzheimers. The man has a verbal turrets syndrome that has to be heard to be believed.

I would also like to mention that, every year without fail, there will be some sort of odd dish that look odd, smells odd and that I cannot recognize one single thing in it. And no one will tell me what it is, but they will all be in favor of me tasting it.

Upon reflection, most of this stuff is whiny and kind of just bitching.

So?

Its a day off and that almost demands that I pamper myself and do my best to balance family obligation and personal luxury.

Now that I have that out of the way, here is some of the stuff I am thankful for.

Family. Weird, twisted, brutal in your face people, but they are mine. It’s like being related to a kennel of vicious dogs. A lot of fun, but don’t turn your back. Still, I find myself full of love and admiration for the entire bunch, (With just a few exceptions, but they know who they are.)

I’ll play the hand I was dealt.

Friends. Again, an odd mixed bag of humanity that should have been my choice, but I just kind of ended up with. Fun bunch, loyal to a fault and I am thankful.

Love. Love is an odd thing. I have been blessed to find love in this world, more than once. For that, I am not only thankful, I am amazed.

Trust me, I am no day at the beach.

I mean, if you have read any of these blogs, trust me, the crazy shit is not confined to the writing.

I am thankful for a number of things that I do not have a funny line for. For that reason, lets just throw a “Hey, thankful!” at it and let it go.

The Occupy bunch. I am not thankful by them. More like embarrassed, but I try not to go political here. (Tiny statement: They’re misguided, pathetic and ignorant tools. There, said my piece)

I will eat turkey today, an incredibly healthy meat, yet surrounded by many unhealthy things.

This is the holiday where gluttony is not only accepted, its the goal.

A real American holiday.

I love this country, but you can so see why other countries hate us.

We have a holiday about having plenty of food.

You have to love that.

God Bless America.

And screw all the rest.

Yeah, I said it.

Not many things can pull me away from my laptop quicker than a public scene, especially a loud embarrassing one.

But I am watching the training of a serial killer.

Picture two brothers, one is older.

And a rotten little bully.

Most older brothers are are, its just the way boys are.

But this is where mom comes in as the equalizer.

Mom keeps the balance of things from getting too out of control.

My mother was a master at this.

Currently, the little brother is on the floor, pushed there by his older brother, a beady eyed little shit that is a rotten sadist.

If I sound hard on him, it may be because I was the little brother once. It really sucked on occasion.

When the little brother tries to get off the floor, his brother palms his face and pushes him down.

He is also, in a sick twist, alternating licking each hand and wiping it across his little brother’s face as he pushes him down.

It is a brutal thing to watch. Its the type of hideous shit that this kid is going to be dealing with for the rest of his life.

And watching him deal with it now is tough.

The little guy is rapidly being driven into hysterics.

All of this, in the middle of Starbucks, with mom standing right there.

Texting.

She is either ignoring it, or is that oblivious to her surroundings.

My mother would beat the shit out of this woman.

The inevitable happens, and even goes bigger than I expected.

The little brother throws himself prone and shrieks at the top of his lungs.

And let me tell you, the kid has some lungs.

And then it gets better.

Like a ferret after a snake, the little brother spins around on the floor and launches himself at his older brothers ankle.

And mayhem ensues.

The kid must be part pit bull with the same type of jaw structure, because he is not letting go.

The older brother is now squealing like a pussy.

Serves the little bully right, hope he gets rabies.

Mom is finally involved.

Good for her, hopes she gets a lovely gift on mothers day.

Today, however, she is trying to force her index finger in between her youngest”s teeth in order to get him to unlock his jaws off of his brother’s ankle.

All while the bully screamed at the top of his lungs.

It was awesome.

There is a twitch that the entire Starbucks gets when a little kid screams.

There is an entirely different vibe when a child is losing it because he is, in effect, being eaten.

And its a lot of fun.

The business people speed up. They realize that if shit really goes down, the police might be called and if they are asked to make a statement, and that would make them late for work. So they just want to clear out.

The yoga people make a show of ignoring it. They are all mothers who’s kids are elsewhere why they are at yoga. So, since its not THEIR kid, they let it go.

The Starbucks peeps want to help, but don’t know how.

Basically, its a nice tense scene that is a lot of fun to witness.

In the end, the little bugger drew blood. Mom smacked him on the ass once, then immediately felt horrible for “STRIKING HER CHILD IN PUBLIC” and started crying.

The little brother was going to get his ass kicked by his brother eventually. That is the nature of bullies.

But for that one hysterical moment, the little kid owned him.

And he knows it.

Here is why I hate the Twilight movies.

There is a joke that goes like this:

Why are the Twilight movies like soccer?

Because there is a lot of action and everyone runs around for two hours and in the end? Nobody scores.

And I really think this is funny. Mainly because it is.

And much like a soccer game, there is a lot of people that get so much more excited than it really deserves.

Soccer has never caught fire in the US like it has in the rest of the world.

Because it sucks.

Right, Twilight.

There are some issue with Twilight.

Robert Pattinson looks dorky all pale. He looked a lot better as Cedric in the Harry Potter flick.

Oh, yes. I speak the lingo.

Ok, enough with the geek and chick flicks.

I like them both, sue me. And pray to God your lawyer is as good as mine. He is soul less to the point that he could be in Twilight as both a soul less vampire and a blood thirsty werewolf.

And besides, he’s family.

Then again, I like the film “Santa Claus conquers the Martians” so my taste is questionable. (This was my favorite movie when I was 5 and if you haven’t seen this film, its a hideous piece of shit, trust me. You should still see it though.)

And yet, part of Los Angeles has been taken over more thoroughly than if the Occupy LA bunch had hand in it.

Mainly because the Twilight fans have a stated goal.

To shriek like giddy schoolgirls at the Twilight cast.

That’s it.

Which is ok if you’re a giddy schoolgirl.

But I saw a guy on the news that was a 50 year old father of 3 that camped out for 2 days BY HIMSELF and says that he is in “Edward’s camp”.

He is probably also on the pedophile watch list somewhere.

The phrase creepy mother-fucker comes to mind.

Just saying. (And mom, if you’re reading this, sorry about the language.)

In truth, I enjoyed the movies. I will see the latest Twilight film.

But I refuse to camp out. A) I like it the movies, but I do not love the movies. B) I am aware of what age I am.

Its kind of like any current kids band. When they come on the radio, I might listen for a second.

But I am not buying a poster and I am not going to the concert. I don’t have an Edward keychain, or a Jake screensaver.

Plus, have you heard the bubble gum shit they trowel out on the radio these days?

Back to Twilight.

Why does everyone have to be so tortured and sad?

Why not a smile?

Even if you are undead?

I am back at the beginning question.

All the girls are hot, all the guys are models.

And no one is sleeping with anyone.

At least not on camera.

Maybe the crew is having sex between takes.

I hope someone is.

Jazz is a unique American musical art form.

It also sucks.

Bear with me for a moment.

I am all for making a statement, like what you like, be what your gonna be.

But Jazz sucks ass and thats a fact.

Bullshit! You are saying to your screen.

You have no taste, you say, you have no culture.

You are talking out your blog scribbling ass on this one.

And then it comes, the Jazz lovers standard go to line.

You just haven’t listened to good Jazz.

Yes, that Jazz too.

And Starbucks is smitten.

Like a dog in heat, Starbucks can’t get enough of what is called, “good” Jazz.

That is an oxymoron. (Look it up, I do not have time to ‘splain this to you.)

I spend an inordinate amount of time in Starbucks, this is known.

And it is a stone bitch to write a blog when there is a wild cacophony of noise in the background.

And just a shade too loud. (And by shade, I mean that my soul is being cut into little pieces.

I have a theory about this.

There was an article in the Wall Street Journal awhile back about Starbucks trying to keep “Squatters” out.

A “Squatter” is a patron that, yes purchased something, but was staying too long.

In other words me.

I think this is a passive aggressive method of getting me to leave.

Its also rude, but we can address that later.

As for getting rid of me?

Good luck, people. You have have my seat when you pry it from my cold, dead ass cheeks.

I am not going anywhere, I am dug in like an Alabama tick.

Pack a lunch and come early.

Insert whatever other folksy cliche you like here, I am still not leaving.

So, now we are at a stalemate. We are kind of like two old gunfighters, waiting for the other to make a move.

So what’s next?

In a way, I represent the Occupy movement in downtown Manhattan Beach.

Its my own little protest and I take it very serious, kind of.

Big business is trying to take something from me. Something they own and I feel entitled to it.

My seat. If I could grip a chisel with my ass cheeks, I would chisel my name on it.

The good one, the round by the cream and sugar kiosk.

Look at it this way.

The Constitution promises life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. I want to pursue my happiness from the cushy round table in the back with the Ginger scowling at me from the barrista station.

I hold these truths, such as they are, to be self evident.

So, my final Occupy Manhattan Beach demand is for Starbucks to quit using Jazz to deny me my Constitutional rights.

It’s anti-American.

You bastards, how could you?

Wow.

How the hell did I pull that one off?

I mean, I am good at bullshit, but damn, this is good even for me.

Its the Jazz talking.

Yeah, man. (Finger snapping ensues.)

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I think it has been several decades since I pissed my pants in public.

Got your attention, do I?

I think I may have mentioned that I like to start my day at Starbucks. Check my email, have a cup of caffeine, its my routine.

There is some promising personalities in the java house today.

There is a woman who is probably in her late 60’s, but desperately trying to be taken for her 40’s.

And she is a flirt.

A girl in her teens that flirts? Just old enough to have an inkling about sexuality?

Awwwwwww.

A woman in her 20’s that flirts? This is the warriors age, ferocity makes up for experience.

Awesome!

A woman in her 30’s that flirts? At her sexual peak and biologically designed to deliver the goods at this age.

Hey now!

A woman in her 40’s? The cougar knows what she wants and likes, and is not too shy to demand it. (Usually with your balls in her hand)

Nice!

50’s? Lets talk sweetie. You are allowed to be a sexual being, God bless and lord knows, this is an age that I find hot as hell, but the predator on the prowl mentality should be tapering off at this point.

Have your hormones checked.

60’s? Umm, really?

Sugar you have grandkids thinking about college. WTF? Its called dignity, lets look into it, shall we?

The other personality that was intriguing was the Jazz man.

Starbucks, much like a teenager that is trying new things, has horrible taste in music.

Its current phase is Jazz music.

And, as we all know, Jazz sucks.

But not to the Jazz man.

Head bobbing, fingers snapping. Eyes closing occasionally and he savors a particularly hot riff by Miles Davis.

Miles Davis may have been insane.

Jazz man had a whole groove going on.

Scruffy beard, tea shades, hipster hat at a jaunty angle.

The kind of white guy that might answer a question “Word.”

Just as I am about to pack my stuff and move closer and take notes, I make a little mistake.

And dump a Venti hot coffee dead center in my lap.

For those who are unaware, the venti is the largest hot size Starbucks offers.

Damn.

There is a split second of time right after you do something stupid like this, that you exist in this little secret bubble of anonymity.

And then reality rushes in.

And embarrassment makes itself known.

The coffee was hot enough to make my genitals wonder if we were arguing, but not hot enough to scald.

And cargo pants? While they may be baggy and comfortable, all that extra material and pockets are like a sponge.

Half the room was staring, the other half had no clue.

Including the guy sitting next to me. Even when the cashier came out with a mop and mopped under his legs, the guy next to me never stopped texting. He just lifted his legs and took a sip of his coffee.

Clueless.

I however am seeing everything goddam thing around me, every look, every stare, every whispered “What happened?”, everything.

I am even hearing things that didn’t happen in my paranoia.

In my head, I heard the guy in line say “He pissed himself.” My rational mind knows he didn’t.

But I still had to stop myself from declaring to the room that I did NOT piss myself.

So I packed up, and left.

I went home to change.

But I still stopped back in for coffee when I finally headed in to work.

After all, addiction is addiction.

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