Kaz: Can I convince you to come over for an impromptu bbq? F-train, CK and pearatty will be there!
Me: No. I hugged F-train goodbye yesterday with the understanding that I will never see him again. It’d just be too awkward.
They follow:
Had a super fun night out with the whole CLS/CK crew last night.
Dragged poor sick KJ out of his bed with my totally irresistable “I’ll drive.” I hounded him until he said he’d come and then he was like “okay, give me fifteen minutes, I just woke up.” And I said “Well, just take your time princess we have all night.” He then basically passed out in the backseat and when I was like “why didn’t you just say no?” He said “because you called me princess. It’s the nicest thing you ever said to me.” And then pearatty was all “Dude, she didn’t say it to be nice.”
And then I said “HEY! I totally said it to be nice. It’s like slang in Brooklyn for awesome guy.” So if anyone sees KJ, call him Princess, he totally digs it.
Anyway, I’ve decided that since I am evidently not taking my job search seriously at all, that I am going to follow the G-train and CK on their travels across country. Kaz will be coming with me and we’re going to co-write a blog called stalkingftrainandbwop.blogspot.com. Look for picture of Gay Train sleeping on his rolled up coat outside their hotel room on day three, shots of the couple at reststops across America and the money shot of them making out with Jade in the pool.
Tim Daquiri will then be following behind Kaz and I on a seque. Feel free to guess how much we will spend on gas money and lawyers in our journey behind The Journey.
And because it’s been way too long since I’ve given Jamie any shit:
The last two weeks has been quite the crazy whirlwind. My mom was pretty sick and was scheduled for surgery Monday, but she responded to meds well and that’s been put off – which is good because I did shake my fist at ever entering a hospital again and once I shake my fist, I shake it but good. I, of course, decided the best way to deal with said stresses was to shove as many candy bars in my mouth as possible at one time. Luckily that number was only two. At the one time. But today’s outing to Chinatown to pick out bridesmaid’s dresses has been exactly the behavior correcting tool that I needed. Back to gym on Monday. And no more eating till November. All of which, I only mention to explain the lackluster blogging of late. Karol implored me to blog about something she’d care to read about and since domesticated Karol is evidently still violent, I thought I would oblige.
Click below if you would care to read about something I think Karol would care to read about. It’s long, poorly written, even worsely edited and not all that interesting. In a nutshell, it is Karol herself. Oops, forgot, she’s still violent.
(more…)
I’m sad. Feel free to use the comment section to cheer me up. Pre blond hair pictures of Clay a plus. Or, you know, stories about how Gisele tragically disappeared never to be heard from again.
Sigh.
Pooooooooke.
HAHAHAHAHAHHAA.
Removing sharp objects now.
It is forty-six degrees, I am wearing a sweater AND a jacket and I am freezing.
I kill you May.
How long till June?
I can’t say anything specific, but I just got some really good news. And am very happy. I DON’T SUCK!!! Much.
And now Sprokets, we dance.
I was matched against this person tonight that, for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out whether the person was male or female. It’s quite distracting trying to anagram random letters under time pressure when the only thing your mind is doing is a sequence of “wait…I think it has a mustache”…”hmm…but those might be boobs…or they might be manboobs…why won’t it move its hand so I can see if it has an Adam’s apple!…oh, crap…the clock!”
And then to make things worse its name was Billy!!! What the hell am I supposed to do with that??! A grown person should not be going by a genderless nickname. It’s unseemly. Man up, be William. Or woman up and be…what is the woman’s longform for Billy? Willamena?
There is a surprisingly high incidence of this androginism on the Scrabble circuit. And it disturbs me to no end. And thus, we come to today’s audience weekend participation hypothesis or rather a request for confirmation of what I already suspect…There is no way to ask someone if they are male or female. Right?
I mean, you can ask it as politely as you please…you’re still getting punched in the face…or slapped. Right? Right?
So far I’ve only come up with:
“Um…I know you must get this a lot but um…are you a chick or a dude?”
But no…right? I CAN’T!!! I MUSN’T!! MUSN’T!!!!
I saw a garbagewoman today! Er…female sanitation worker?
Until two days ago there were only two things I knew about Passover. Number 1…um okay,
there was only one thing I knew about Passover: Kosher for Passover
Pepsi suuuuccckkkkssss. I tried it last year, declared that it tasted like I imagine licking wet tar would taste like and Fisch advised me to use the rest to clean the chrome in my kitchen.
However, in the past two days I’ve managed to pick up
all sorts of things due to Karol’s newfound Judaism.
Passover is, evidently, nineteen weeks long, during which time no bread or pasta may
be eaten. Which means the girl that was all “come on, let’s go to
DiFara’s” even after my doctors specifically cautioned me against the
eating the all-too-acidic tomato, is suddenly all “no pizza!”
The IC was all “I don’t care if you eat bread, as long as you’re not eating it around me,” as
I sneaked a spoonful of tortilla and guacamole. (Karol made the guacamole
by the way, and despite my extreme skepticism it was rather tasty.)
Anyway, so this no bread, no pasta, no beer, no shoes thing apparently goes on for the
next eight months.
I met up with KJ last week and he was like I’m starving to death, all I’ve eaten is matzoh! (This, is what happens when two-thirds of one’s girlfriends are orthodox Jews.)
“Don’t worry,” I said. “we’ll crash the dinner party kaz is throwing for
pearatty.”
Oh, and we crashed it but good…except…yeah, turns out…matzo and kugel for dinner!
I think KJ started crying.
I laughed.
Dawn 2 was also there and she was like “I am so over matzoh.” So I
skipped the matzoh, but I tried the kugel and it was pretty good. KJ and I hung out for a
while. He called me “white.”
(”Aww, I’ll take the picture of the four white girls”-KJ)
The G-train declared that he “did” both of our
moms. “Ohhhh, so she was with you,” KJ responded, soudning relieved. Ewww. He’s gay, dude. (There, I called Gtrain gay, that should earn me one comment from CK.) Oh, and pearatty earned a push in her first ever prop bet. (We’d had dinner with the G-train earlier this month and in response to my question about how is it everything works out for Beyonce, he responded “cause unlike
us, she’s hot.” Pearatty protested that she was also hot. G-train
laughed in her face. So, for the last three weeks she has developed an
eating disorder and crazy self-esteem issues…when she heard that
G-train would be coming to the Kaz shindig, pearatty wouldn’t leave
the house without a full on makeover, a ball gown and heels! “Dude,
you should just tell Gtrain that he hurt your feelings”
“Why? He’ll just laugh at me.”
“Noway, I bet you he’ll apologize.”
“Well, what are we betting? I’m not bruising my ego for free.”
I laughed and we settled on five bucks. For the record, KJ said that he thinks we are in fact, hot.)
Gtrain, of course, said he didn’t remember saying it.
He never remembers his transgressions…which is why punishment is so
important, people.
Anyway, KJ and I left the party early and as we exited the building, I
said “I’m sorry KJ, look we just need to get us some black friends. They’ll hook us up with some fried chicken.”
Forgetting who I was talking to, I then stared in horror as he ran up
to a black woman on the corner and said “Hi, I’m KJ, this is Dawn”
Seriously, I died. Dead. On the street.
She, of course, ran away screaming.
“Hey, so you are always running up to strange black women and
introducing yourself! I thought I was special.”
Turns out, no. Not so much. But he does think I’m hot, so that’s something.
A couple of months ago I had a job interview with this guy who knows Karol. At the end, we had some follow up stuff to take care of, but he worked in a random part of Manhattan and I’m lazy, so it was unclear how we would resolve it. Finally, he says “oh, you know what? I’ll just see you at Karol’s birthday party.”
“Yeah, cool.”
And we left it at that. Indeed that’s how Karol rolls; in the middle of winter two veritable strangers can pretty much bank on her throwing herself a huge shindig in early spring for her annual passing of the year party. So, I kind of laughed to myself when she said in early April that she wasn’t doing anything for her birthday this year. Of course, as the weeks went by, that became “I’m not doing much for my birthday.” “Not much” evidently meaning a trip to Florid-a and a party at some midtown Jamaican club. Then, at some point during my evening, I got a text saying the party had moved from the easily findable midtown location to some behind-god’s-back Alphabet City location. Alceste very kindly drew me a map of downtown Manhattan and some other members of the Wall Street game chipped in with suggestions to get from the totally closed off one way street hell that is Wall Street to the nightmarish pimple on the city’s buttock that Alphabet City is…Fortunately, Fred was feeling cooperative and we managed to get to the party in one piece and pretty much on time.
I was driving to Philly the next day, so I wasn’t drinking at all. I walked to the bar and followed Karol back to a teeny tiny room in the basement. It was small…like holding cell small, with benches around the perimeter. There was a disco ball on the ceiling and then, right there in the center of the room…a stripper pole.
What the —
“No, no…it’s not a strip club,” she said.
“Um…dude, I don’t know what you had in mind, but I am not getting up there!”
Not many people had arrived, so I sat there chatting with her and her boyfriend and her friend from Iraq and his wife.
The thing about Karol’s birthday parties is that it’s the one day a year I get to put faces to all the crazy Brooklyn Russian stories I hear the rest of the year and then I have to practice making sure my “ohh yeaaah, that’s that crazy guy!” face comes off as my everyday run-of-the-mill “Why yes, that anecdote was just fascinating” face.
There was, evidently, a lull in the conversation for I suddenly found myself standing on the stage and dancing around the pole, while Karol laughed and took pictures.
Later, when MR and his girlfriend arrived and asked whether Karol would be pole dancing, she was like “no The I.C. forbids it and he is trained in fourteen ways to kill a woman without leaving prints, but Dawn was up there earlier…you missed it!”
MR was all “wait, are there pictures?”
And I said “well, there are, but they are on my camera because I know if they were on Karol’s camera, pretty much every day would be “here’s a picture of Dawn dancing on a pole day” over on Alarming News. She’d be like….”yawn, today is Friday, I am lazy. The song of the day is ‘Hella Good’ by Gwen Stefani and oh, here’s a picture of Dawn dancing on the pole.”
MR laughed.
“Yeah, and for major holidays too…it’d be “Happy Fourth of July, and here’s a picture of Dawn dancing on the pole.”
“HAHAHAH and then for Yom Kippur she’d be like “on this the holy day of atonement, it is my duty as a Jew to show you a picture of Dawn dancing on a pole,” he said.
“Exactly!” I said cradling my precious, precious camera in my hands.
“You will never leave my side.”
The party started to fill up around 11:30. Ari mocked the fact that she and the pope were now on nickname bases, the cutest couple I ever did see (their initials are M&M for goodness sakes!) said “uh, you don’t know us very well,” and shattered much of my faith in the institution of marriage and then Ron Lad and half of the Entourage boys showed up with surprisingly full heads of hair. And then Pheeelepopokok showed up with a surprisingly clean shaven face!
“Heeey! They’ve got your face hair on their heads!” I said.
I bade my farewells at around midnight, as I was driving to Philly to see the Mets the next day.
“Why are you driving to Philly for a Mets game,” pheel asked.
“Mmmunno, the tickets were free.”
“Free? You know what you’re going to pay for gas getting down there? They play in Queens! Two bucks on the subway, look into it.”
Karol posted this picture of us on facebook and said it is the best either of us has ever looked.
I don’t know about that, but it explains why she was hitting on me all night, in front of everybody. It was just shameful. Someone please tell her I don’t think of her that way.
Plus, I still maintain this is the best we ever looked.
Happy Birthday, Red.