baby scabies

My favorite person never comes to Thanksgiving anymore..

2011-11-22T12:11:00.000-08:00

Well, it's Thanksgiving again. Yes, the time of year when we give thanks for all the wonderful shit that we have. This year I am thankful to be rid of the Yaris. Yup, I did it, I finally traded in that emasculating little fucker for a giant, gas-guzzling, unreliable Land Rover — and I couldn't be happier.

This year my mom is probably thankful, too. Thankful for her family that uninvited her to Thanksgiving because she stood up for her gay son. Because, unlike them, she doesn't believe that homosexuality is an addiction — like gambling or alcoholism. She believes it is a normal part of the evolutionary scale, like AIDS or a black president. Liberal. And you know, the more I think about it, I kind of think that gay could actually be an addiction too. I think I literally am addicted to gay. They are right! I mean, I want gay ALWAYS and in LARGE amounts. Once I start gay I can't stop. It affects my career, my choice of friends, my mood, my shoes. I seek it in dark alleys. I would blow someone for gay. Fuck. Paint me pink and douse me in poppers, bitch, 'cause I'm gonna sing me some Cher all night — or at least until these pills wear off!

But really, what a nice lady, my mom. I adore her. But all this good-and-evil-family-drama-hubbub has got the old wheels turning again. Why do all the good people die first and all the shitty people continue to live on and on? Example: my grandmothers. The good one is dead, of course, but the wicked one is doing just fine, more than fine, really. I mean, think about it. Most good people are dead — with a few exceptions.

So, what am I getting at? To live the longest we must be the biggest, most viciously heinous cunts the world has ever seen. We must say and do horrible things constantly. I've already got a head start on the majority of you, which means by the laws of the universe, I will be the one making snide remarks and racist comments during your funeral. You are welcome in advance.

Think about it: Use this holiday to your benefit. Take my timely advice and put it to use on your family and friends this Thanksgiving. You'll thank me when I'm shaking your martini at your 102nd birthday, you wretched cunt-face.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to run over your dog in my giant SUV.

In 1978, God changed his mind about black people.

2011-09-21T10:25:00.001-07:00

So, in case you haven't heard: I'm gay marrying Jon. If you haven't heard, you probably weren't invited to the wedding. Sorry about your luck. It doesn't mean we don't love you, we just don't love you as much. Even so, please feel free to still buy us something.

I invited my grandmother, my only living one, to the wedding. She's a devout Evangelical Christian. It's cute. She judges people for everything and feels pity for everyone because they are all going to Hell — while she is lifted up during the Rapture, next year. Meanwhile, she sits in her living room watching one-hour prime-time cop dramas and eats cookies that she stores in her oven — which she won't use because her dog is afraid of it. She has been single for fifteen years, as my grandfather died in the 90s. She doesn't date or leave the house, unless it involves going to church, bible studies, work, or McDonalds. Her house is stuffed to the gills with nick-knacks and she keeps a gun in her nightstand. When she dies, she plans to have her dog put down and buried with her. How Egyptian.

Anyway, I invited her to the wedding. I guess I knew she probably wouldn't go. She could have come up with a laundry list of excuses, really. But, her answer came in the form of a letter. Throughout the letter she refused to refer to our wedding as a wedding. She would say things like, "this ceremony you've created", or, "this ceremony you feel is important". The letter went on with statements like: "these choices you've made" and "lifestyle decisions", blah, blah. In there were also a few "love you's", sprinkled in for good measure. The bottom line: She thinks I've defied the Lord Jesus Christ with my lifestyle choices and her attendance of our ceremony (wedding) would be supporting these inappropriate decisions. Cunty. I understand where she's coming from though. She's like 800 years old. There isn't much time left here for her on earth and she is really concerned about doing anything that would impede on her chances for Eternal Salvation. Her bottom line: don't fuck it up.

I wrote her back explaining how I was glad she wasn't coming, as her presence would only sour what is to be a wonderful day. Seriously, I could imagine her sitting there, lips pursed, rifling around her purse for a half stick of clove gum, having a rotten time. So, why was I so mad she wasn't coming? I guess I'm not. I guess I'm just upset that she thinks my entire existence is a series of bad decisions. She also compared the situation of her at our wedding to me at her Bible study, as a way to relay how uncomfortable she would feel. Fuck yeah, I'd be uncomfortable at her creepy Jonestown Bible study, but its a weekly event of no real significance. A wedding is a once in a lifetime thing, one hopes, so comparing the two is absurd. My email response tried to explain that my sexuality is not a choice, although my decisions to act on it are, doesn't make it, or me, unnatural or evil. I also tried to put my relationship with Jon into perspective. Really it's all futile. She is old and close-minded and she isn't going to change. I tried my best to let her know how much she hurt me, but in the end Jesus will always win. She loves Jesus so much. So, I cancelled her hair appointment with me. I just couldn't deal.

Jon and I have been on a whirlwind of vacations: New York, San Diego, San Francisco. What a blast. It's really made me hate Ohio and all it's small town mentality and bad restaurants. San Francisco, wow, what a fantastic place. First of all, it's fucking beautiful. Like retarded beautiful. And, it's filled with gays. How great is that? So, after returning from this land of Liberalness I had to deal with Granny Full of Grace. It was a total Midwestern overload. I had to put my foot down. Why should I have to deal with someone else's shit? 50% of the world, or more, thinks I don't deserve rights. So, why should I have to listen to my old-bag grandmother tell me that too? Or my aunt or uncle? Just because we are family doesn't mean I have to like them. I mean, technically they don't really like me. Really, when you think about it, every other animal in the world doesn't hang out with their extended family, and if they were forced to, they'd probably just eat each other. This is how I can justify my situation. That, and they're a bunch of assholes. And who would even want to eat them anyway? They'd be all salty and self-righteousy.

Puke.

Gay Realness

2011-08-10T15:12:00.000-07:00

I had a realization today after walking into the disgusting Ace Hardware on the South Side. This creepy south-end-gay sales associate greeted me with a, "Can I help you find anything?" To which I replied,

"Caulk."

This hillbilly, who I might add, I could smell from a mere eight feet away, glared at me. I felt dumb. I just told some gross gay creep I was in the market for caulk AND I was wearing running shorts in public — which already makes me feel totally uncomfortable.

My realization? I am a self-loathing gay. I mean, this is clearly nothing groundbreaking. If you've read anything I've written in the last three years, or talked to me more than fifteen minutes, it is fairly obvious. I blame Ohio, not just being back here, but being born here. I guess its better that Iran. Sorry, Perry.

So, I decided I need to get over it. I need to own my gayness. I need to "werk it out". I don't mean like waxing my eyebrows or lip gloss werk, I mean just get over myself. Get over my self-loathing-ness of my sexuality. This is going to be hard.

I went to my freshman orientation for The Ohio State University. I felt elderly. Everyone there was eighteen and had both parents with them — which was totally weird. I mean, whose parents are still married?? The whole thing was so wholesome. I was hungover, of course, which I felt brought a real "grittiness" to the situation, which was much needed.

The orientation included speeches about parking, and dorms, and activities, and groups we could join — including a Quidditch club. It was queer. And to top it off, each PowerPoint presentation was sprinkled with "O-H" slides which we were required to cheer back "I-O". I think this was for the parents — something to get them jazzed about giving away half of their paychecks for the next four years. We were also given a buckeye. Which is a nut — for those of you who live in California — and the mascot of my new college, which is dumb, but not as dumb as my junior high mascot which was a specific type of plaid. Later that night, when I was drunk again, I saw the nut on the kitchen counter and for a very brief moment felt sentimental. I was pretty drunk.

I've been drinking too much this summer. It's been great. I'm really owning my drinking. I'm werkin' it, hard. That, after all, was my plan — have fun, enjoy life, etc. I've also been doing a little home remodeling. I decided to tile a few walls in the upstairs bathroom. Sounds simple enough, right?

What a fucking pain in the ass. I will never tile anything ever again. Ever. If I ever need anything tiled, I will hired a professional — or hire the Mexicans loitering around the Lowes. So, I don't know if any of you have tiled, but the process is something like: stick the tiles on the wall, grout, caulk, voila. Let me just say, after days of rage and a hole in the dining room ceiling, the job is done. Yes, somehow I managed to burst a pipe in the floor which leaked into the ceiling below which now needs replaced. This reminds me of when I tried to work for my dad one summer — well, he made me. I was paying off a debit I accrued on a credit card I stole from him. I was a good kid. Anyway, one summer I "worked" for him. Mostly I hid behind packing material and slept on forklifts, that and chain smoked, but technically I was an "employee". One day I was driving the forklift back into the warehouse at full speed, chain smoking, forks up — unknown by me — and blew through the side of the warehouse taking with me a large eight by ten piece of warehouse wall. In my defense, I was probably still sleepy from the nap I had just woken up from. Later that day my dad asked me if I was gay at a Coney Island.

So, here I am. Step one of owning my gayness. I'm not really cut out for manual labor, so why do it? Maybe my dad was right. From here on out I'm totally gonna own/werk my inability to do manual labor.

So, South Side gay sales associate, that is the last time I will come for your shitty caulk. Werk!

Oh, but on a side note: I did decide not go to women's events anymore (ie. bachelorette parties, baby showers, etc.) because I am still a man. Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I need to be all acting like a woman and be pretending to give a shit about your baby. That is your mistake and I am certainly not going to celebrate that. Maybe if you ladies start having abortion parties I'll change my mind.

The New Revolution

2011-06-07T05:44:00.000-07:00

Jon and I just got back from Puerto Vallarta — well, now its been three months ago. This was my third time and Jon's second trip. Let me tell you, if you've never been there, you're missing out. It's a land of magic — not just because every fourth block smells like garbage and someone asks you to purchase their wares — but because you can get anything you want. Anything. When a cab driver asks you for a ride and you decline, his next obvious question is if you'd like any cocaine. If this too is something you aren't in the mood for, he offers you a blow job. How nice is that?! The fact is, the people there are just friendly. The pharmacia, or pharmacy to our American friends, is open to the public and anyone with an addictive personality is left feeling like a kid in a candy store. Muscle relaxers — buy one, get one free.
The most amazing part of Puerto Vallarta though, is the food. After living in New York and Ohio — where Mexican food consists of cheese slices or "queso" (which is Midwestern for "plastic cheese sauce") — it is amazing to eat authentic Mexican food again. Even if it did first require me eating Pepto Bismol, Gas X and Immodium.

I graduated from community college. Some people asked me if I was going to walk in the graduation, I scoffed. I think it insulted them. Really? Two years of community college and I should be proud enough — and feel accomplished enough — to walk? I did get the graduation pamphlet complete with the FAQ (number one being: do the gowns come in extra large sizes?) which I promptly discarded. I was supposed to start at OSU this quarter but, alas, I remain at Columbus State, because my transcripts never made it. I say this like it was someone else's fault, but truthfully, it was mostly mine. So, I've started my hospitality management classes at Columbus State. My first class was food safety and sanitation. Our "professor" was in front of the class (which is in a 70s basement — which went well with his 70s mustache) next to him, written in yellow chalk: HOSPATALITY MANAGEMENT. It was all downhill from there. Our first major discussion was on food temperatures. The focus was then shifted to types of food.

"What is poultry?", he asks the class.

I never answer questions. It's far too much fun to hear what people say, and besides, I don't want them thinking I'm smart or they might follow me back to my car and steal my parking money.

"Poultry are things that fly.. well, with a few exceptions. Can anyone name poultry that can't fly?", said his moustache.

"Ducks", said a fat girl.

"Nooo, nope. Ducks fly."

"Chickens" , boasted the other fat girl.

"Nope, chickens do fly, not high, but they fly." This all being said while a six foot image of a winged chicken was projected onto the yellowed screen. "The ostrich and the emu, they are both ratites", his moustache explained.

"What!? You can't eat no ostrich!?", the fat girl barked.

The remainder of the class time consisted of everyone learning how and why people wash their hands. A concept that left most people bewildered. How one makes it thirty years without understanding that bacteria and germs are picked up from various things that you touch is beyond me. When you take a shit, little particles of shit can get on your hands. Then, if you're making a salad at the Applbees where you work, your shit gets in people's salads and voila, Norovirus gastroenteritis!

"I don't wanna be eatin' no people's shit!" Well, genius — wash your fucking hands!

The class ended with a debate as too which fast food restaurant was the best — there was a unanimous vote for Popeye's biscuits, which were compared to crack based on their deliciousness — and finished up with the professor trying very hard to explain that the Olive Garden is not fine dining. Everyone decided that because they put nice clothes on when they go there, it was considered fine dining. Why argue.

So, I'm taking the summer off. Mostly for my own personal sanity. I think I've reach my maximum capacity for idiocy in this lifetime. Let the summer begin!

blog post number fifty three.

2011-01-08T01:45:00.000-08:00

It seems like only yesterday that I was writing a post about how it was going to be 2009 and how much I hate writing the number 9, and now look—it's 2011! Isn't that fucked up? Two years have passed and now we have less than two more to go before we all die a horrifying death in the form of a mass destruction of the planet Earth, or as the ancient Mayans called it: the end of the calendar.

Zany.

If this ancient prediction comes to fruition, then I should graduate from college and die at just about the same time. But for serious, things just keeping dropping dead in Arkansas and Louisiana. Did you read about this? Like hoards of birds and fish and bugs are dropping from the sky or floating up to the top of the water. It's very end of times. So, maybe it's true. But isn't it funny how archaic that concept is? Like this idea of a vindictive, evil, smiting god, punishing us for 'saying his name wrong' or for having 'anal sex'. "And now I will kill all this shit because everyone is horrible!" And then we all throw a pig into a bonfire, rub mud on each other and chant. I have to agree with him though: People are horrible.. and pigs creep me out.

Still, not to point fingers or anything, but isn't this really all your fault, god?
God, god.

Of course, with my luck, the Apocalypse or whatever will totally come and you know I'll feel like a total schmuck if a giant white (Aryan) hand plunges down from the heavens on December 21st, or May 21st, or 1999, or whenever the hell it is now. And I'm sure all these people I know will be resting peacefully in the soft, giant, white hand looking down at me, mumbling amongst themselves, "He really shouldn't have been such an asshole."

On to something far more important: my car. I still haven't sold my car yet—7 months later. It's madness. While out running errands the other week, I drove passed a large store front window and caught a glimpse of myself gliding by. I was instantly embarrassed—embarrassed like when you fart in front of someone or like that feeling you get when you watch people sing on TV. It made me feel like a woman. Like more of a woman than when I used to wear tiny pants and makeup in the 90s. Why is that? It's just a car.

I started school again. My last quarter in community college! (noise of jubilation) In my geology class, as an "ice breaker", the professor made us all say our names, where we came from and something interesting about ourselves. I hate stuff like this. Everyone was like, "Uh, I'm from Lima, Ohio and I like dogs" or, "I'm from Grove City and I ride dirt bikes". I was trying really hard to think of something interesting about myself. Um, I like booze and food, laying around.. I don't know. Then he came to me:

"I'm Jacob, I'm from Toledo. I've been a hairstylist for the last decade and lived in San Diego and New York City... and now I'm here"

My professor: "Did you just make that up?"

..silence..

I then wished I could retract. (I like dogs, too.) Just saying the word 'hairstylist' to a bunch of hillbillies is like goosing a straight guy in a locker room. Needless to say, it caught them all off guard. I would have gotten a better reaction had I just said, "I'm Jacob, I'm from Toledo", then farted. Maybe I wouldn't have turned bright red.

Why do I honestly give a shit what people think? I'm thirty. But at that moment I felt just as gay as when I drove passed the beauty supply store window and saw my large head blinking back from the reflection of my little black car. My testicles felt like little pink jellybeans. I've never really been one to care of what others think and I've never been particularly masculine, so why now does my gayness make me uncomfortable? The older I get, the more aware I become.

The class turned away. My professor lifted his eyebrows and said: "So who's that one hairstylist in New York who charges like $1,500 a cut and flies in on a helicopter from the Hamptons?"

I was like, "No idea."

He was like, "C'mon, start throwin' out some names."

"Yeah, no idea."

I don't know who the coolest fucking hairdresser in the world is!? I don't even want to be a hairdresser! Why do you think I'm sitting in a geology class, learning about rocks, at 6pm instead of blow drying some bitchy old Jewish lady's hair? I was so embarrassed. I honestly have no reason to be, but I walked back to my tiny car after class, head hung low, squeezed in, and drove home listening to (insert gay song here), hunching at each traffic light just to see out.

Did anyone ever stop and think maybe the Mayans weren't predicting the end of times but rather just felt they had completed a sufficient amount of calendar? Like, "Let's just stop here. I'm tired and we're all totally going to be dead before we get to use this whole thing anyway." I mean, not that I'd mind if we all died at the same time. I'd actually prefer it. I think one of my biggest issues with death is that life would only be over for me and that everyone else would get to keep doing fun things, like drinking or going to the beach, and I'd just be dead. Like being grounded forever. So, if a giant meteor was plummeting toward the Earth, I wouldn't mind. "Oh, how's our luck, you guys? Looks like we're all going. Shoot." I'd actually find comfort in that. Does that make me selfish?

As the ball dropped on the year 2010, while standing in a dark gay bar wearing ass-less chaps, I clinked my plastic champagne glass (filled with $2 sparkling wine) with Jon's and I thought: "You know, Jacob. Being gay isn't so bad. I have the most amazing partner anyone could ever find, a great little life—complete with a cute little house—and my ass looks bangin' in these chaps. And that's more than most heterosexuals could say, right? So, bring it on 2011, you bitch!"

snap.

I'll get you my pretty, and little your brother, too!

2010-10-28T12:06:00.000-07:00

When I was a wee lad all I ever wanted to be for Halloween was a witch—complete with pantyhose and an itchy black wig. I think this was my Halloween costume three years in a row, upon my own personal request, of course. In hindsight, it was actually pretty cool of my parents to let me do that year after year. I'm sure my dad loved it. Probably just about as much as when I'd put the Christmas tree skirt on like a dress and jump and twirl around our living room at Christmastime—a proud moment for any Midwestern father. Hm, isn't that interesting? Why do gay children have an innate desire for feminine things? Maybe that's a total blanket statement, but I think I'm having a revelation, people. I didn't have any sisters, and my mom wasn't particularly girly, so why the girly desires? I wasn't really exposed to it. Maybe it was an influence of all my female friends—of which I naturally gravitated to. Maybe it was the TV? I'm reading this book right now about how body pain and skin problems are the result of suppressed rage and I'm almost to the part where the reader, me, is going to uncover their, my, secret rage. Supposedly, something is to have happened in my childhood to spawn this unconscious rage—something I'm not supposed to know about yet. This is apparently some sort defense mechanism of one's subconscious in efforts to protect the conscious mind from emotional distress. What if something wacky happened in my childhood, like my mom dressing me up as a girl, taking photos and telling everyone I was a girl? You know, one of those stories: like where some guy cries every night, "Why do I sit down to pee and can only 'get off' when I sniff high-heeled shoes!? Whhhhhhy?!" And then he finds out his aunt made him wear pink panties or something... nah, if anything I traumatized them by dressing as a girl and taking photos. I didn't technically "take photos". I made videos. It was artistic, you guys, not like porn or something. This is getting off topic. And I'm sure the real story is that my mom had to explain how the little witch was really her son, shrugging her shoulders and smiling to the perturbed neighbors. Maybe she should be reading this book. Anyway, I'm sure my secret rage is a product of being a little feminine boy who grew up in Toledo, Ohio and was called 'faggot' and 'girly-girl' everyday and would come home and cry. Pretty depressing.. kinda like those gay teen suicides. Seriously, what's up with that? It's like that movie Suicide Club.. or Heathers, sort of. It seems so silly to just go and off yourself, although, with the way the world is, maybe they just saved themselves a lot of heartache. Being gay kinda sucks. Where do you go? It's not like Jon and I could just move to some cute little town and stroll down to the general store to buy bread, or have a little potluck—the villagers would greet us with torches, not casseroles. Even New York isn't safe. Every gay person I know there has been called a faggot numerous times, plus there's all those crazy beatings, and those weirdos who tortured captive gays in their Brooklyn apartment, or whatever. The world doesn't like us—even if Ricky Martin, or Cher, or whoever, makes a viral YouTube video saying it's fine. It's not fine, Cher. So, I guess I should be happy I have parents who let me wear pantyhose, only if it was once a year, and who only slightly groaned when I was nancying about in that holiday tree dressing.

Speaking of gay Halloween costumes: Jon and I are going as Batman and Robin. Yes, I'm wearing spandex this year—in public. I don't know why I thought this was a good idea. I blame Jon. My head is way too big for spandex. I think this is because I was born c-section. I imagine my head as a Mylar balloon, all long and flat, and behind it: my body, trailing behind like a curly ribbon—more of an afterthought than anything. My Halloween costume exacerbates this misfortune. It also makes my face look all squishy and bloated. I'm not sure if this is because of the contrast of head-to-toe Lycra to the small amount of visible face flesh, or possibly the fact that my face is being squeezed through a tiny stretchy hole, or maybe it's just that my face is bloated and squishy. I, unfortunately, expect the latter. Not everyone can be Val Kilmer, you guys. Someones gotta be William Shatner.

Tonight is "beggar's night", as my grandmother calls it. As a child, I found this term ridiculously funny. Growing up in a wealthy suburb, where the concept of people begging for food was so foreign and hilarious to me, I imagined "beggar's night" to consist of smelly children in tattered clothes with soot-smudged faces plodding door-to-door for tiny, garishly wrapped, sweet morsels of sustenance. Or even worse yet: smelly children with no costumes, holding dirty pillow cases slightly a gap, frowning for candy. Now that we live in Merion Village, this all makes sense. Full circle, as they say. So, hopefully no one tries to shoot us this year, tie us to the back of their red, white and blue pickup truck, only to drive us three houses down the street—where they would then fashion our arms into a gun rack. You never know, really.
Happy Halloween, you guys!

Trick or treat! Thank you. (Although, nowadays I believe they omit the last part.)

facepage.com

2010-09-04T15:04:00.000-07:00

Ok, so the other day I was using facebook—the world's largest social networking Internet website—and I posted a status update of something I saw on my way to work—which is something I have been known to do. It's funny.

I am funny. Sort of.

On my way to work I passed a bus stop on Parsons Avenue, it was there I saw two black people sitting on the bus bench eating a busted watermelon off the ground. My jaw dropped. I love when I catch things like that. So, being the hilarious person I am, I posted my status update: "African Americans (didn't want to say black—people are still weird about it) at the bus stop eating busted watermelon off the ground. I swear I am not a racist, just merely reporting what I see."

I chuckled. I mean seriously, how often do you get to see such a ridiculously outdated stereotype being played out before your eyes? I thought for a minute, "Do I know any black people this would REALLY offend?" I honestly didn't want to hurt any one's feelings. I assumed everyone would know me well enough to know I was just out for a cheap laugh. I figured everyone would have laughed at it, too.

Sure enough, one of my facebook friends made a comment: "Why does it have to say African Americans and not some man or some woman??????????" (I hate when people use too much punctuation. Two question marks is more than sufficient, really.)

"Is this a rhetorical question?" I thought. She is black, so I was like "Dammit." and deleted the post.

From there I had to explain my situation: I make jokes about everybody. I am not just singling out one portion of the population. If it were two gay men raping a child at a bus stop I would have said: Two gay men raping a child at the fucking bus stop. The humor lies in the stereotype. Does this mean I don't like gays or blacks? No. Would it offend some people? Sure. But that's the funny part. Knock-knock jokes don't cut it anymore. People want something more in their face, like gays raping children or dirty black people eating watermelon off the ground.

After explaining to her about how sometimes making fun of stereotypes doesn't necessarily perpetuate them and how it can actually make them less threatening she calls and leaves me a voicemail: "You're are really great guy, I just think you made a bad decision... and of course this is perpetuating stereotypes, it's your original thought."

I'm not entirely sure what 'it's your original thought' meant. I saw what I saw and commented. It's not my fault she can't take a joke. So, I told her: "If you really think that I was serious and that I am a racist, like you are implying, maybe you should rethink our friendship"

I understand her point of view. No one likes to be discriminated against. I just don't think she sees it from both sides. This is the same woman who sits in my chair at the salon and makes fun of everyone, especially my gay coworkers (for being super gay). She thinks it's funny, but as soon as you say something about black people all of the sudden she's fucking Oprah. Well, listen Oprah: Welcome to the gay rights movement. Step aside black people—that's right—it's time for us gays to finally make a stand! Seriously, it's about fucking time. Gay people have been discriminated against for centuries. Long before Christianity, gays were a normal part of life and I'm sure way back when we were monkeys no one gave homosexuality a second monkey-brain-early-man thought. But, with the rise of religion came a set of hand-picked rules: no shellfish, no mixing fabrics and no lying with men. Ever since then we've been fucked (but only in private). Gays were singled out in the holocaust, you know, made to wear pink triangles on their clothes and then tortured with ass-stretching devices; but no one ever talks about that, it's gotta be all about the Jews. Today it is still acceptable to openly discriminate against gays. One could even go as far as to say it's the last great prejudice. And still, we live in a world where my college biology professor can say gay is a side effect of bad parenting and that's just fine? People can shout 'faggot' out their car windows while driving by and bystanders just laugh? People can murder gays and call it panic? Gay people can't give blood and can be fired from jobs or denied housing based solely on their sexuality and she's offended by watermelon-eaters? Get off your fucking high horse, Oprah, you condescending bitch. It is our fucking turn! Until you're little Ms. Mother Teresa yourself, keep your mouth shut. Because I think that until the world is a perfect place, the least we can do is laugh at it.

And you know what? I'm not sorry I posted that status update. She should just be thankful it wasn't her eating that watermelon.

And then you may ask: "Well, how would you feel if she posted something about gays raping children on Parsons Avenue?"

And to that I would say: "Shut up. Where? Let me grab my camera."

Dear Diary,

2010-08-10T21:01:00.000-07:00

I just realized it's been awhile since I've written anything, but not because nothing exciting has happened. Exciting things happen all the time in Ohio. Someone once referred to it as being "off the chain". Ok, so maybe that's a lie.

I have never gotten the chihuahua's teeth cleaned. They are turning six this year. Eddy's teeth have gone from slightly moldly to completely corroded in a matter of six years, but that's like (6 x 7 =) forty-two in dog years and that's a ridiculously long time to ignore one's dental hygiene. This is also a lie. Jon has brushed both Eddy and Eva's teeth a few times over the last couple years — what a nice guy. I have always joked when people would ask, "Why don't you brush their teeth? Their breath smells like trash. That's disgusting.", I would chuckle and say with a shitty smile: "I'm just waiting for them to fall out. Teeth are overrated anyway." This too is a lie, well at least the shitty smile part, as my teeth are gleaming and white. Eddy's teeth, on the other hand, have begun to fall out. It has happened. This is it: the moment I have been waiting for.. and I couldn't feel more terrible. So what does one do when they let their pet's teeth rot out of their mouth? One writes a haiku:

Her teeth are now brown
They have fallen to the ground
To the Swiffer they stick
Me=dick

Ok, so maybe it was more of a limerick — and I'm pretty sure you can't use 'equals' in a haiku anyway as it is a mathematical symbol and in that form contains no syllables. How's that for a mind-fuck? The point is I feel bad and her teeth are scratching the hardwood when I'm trying to clean.

I'm reinventing myself. I know, you're all like: You are perfect, Jacob, everyone wants to be you. I know, you guys. Thank you. No, but really. I decided to sell my car and buy a truck. Well, it was Jon's idea originally, but I stole it.. the idea, not the car. I think our household would benefit from a truck and I hate my car. I feel like a total fag driving it. It's like riding around in Adam Lambert's hair — but with wheels. The problem now is selling it. No one else wants to drive Adam Lambert's hair either. I don't blame them. It would be a perfect first car for a semi-wealthy teen girl from the suburbs — most likely a hockey cheerleader. I need to market to this niche.

So, I guess I was over-exaggerating when I said 'reinventing'.

Can you believe it's August? Me neither.

Over Hung

2010-04-18T07:07:00.000-07:00

I am so hungover. I blame this on George for buying us those ridiculously tall drinks and forcing us to drink them, what a jerk. Despite this minor setback, I have managed to muster up the brainpower and drive to write this blog while drinking my morning coffee, stomach still churning from the Taco Bell I ate at 1 am. Today I am asking myself some important questions about life. First, why am I eating Taco Bell at 1 am when I'm almost 30? It's 90% plastic and I'm not 15. Second, what am I doing with my life? Work, school and a night of something fun every third month? I have to keep in mind that I'm working toward a goal. This will all be worth it.
School is killing me. I find myself reverting back to the blasé attitude I once had in high school. This quarter I'm taking biology and statistics. Believe it or not, the biology is the worse of the evils. It's not the subject matter as much as the people in my class and the professor. Everyone in my class believes evolution is a lie because "people just want to argue"— I won't even go there today.
My professor looks like a child rapist. He's gray, his skin that is, not his hair. He doesn't have any hair, not on his head, no eyebrows, pretty sure no eyelashes either. His lips are thin and purple as he sips coffee from a pre-war thermos lid and sucks on Halls cough drops at the same time while pacing about in his JCPenney polyester navy blue suit. He wears a pair of glasses from the 70s that the lenses have yellowed to a shade of nicotine and his eyes fix on yours for just a little too long to be comfortable. Oh, and he's the most boring person in the entire world. On the first day in order to better remember us, he says, we must announce our names as he "takes our picture"— with his creepy little video camera. Everyone sort of looked at each other like, is this a joke?. The girl next to me, Juana Steal (seriously), responded with a "huh, uhhhh."
Eventually, after the torture is complete, I will graduate and become a hospitality manager and will need something to manage. Jon and I have been discussing possible locations for our bed and breakfast/inn and have come up with a few. And here they are, in random order:

A) Vermont, the least religious state in the US.

B) Puerto Vallarta, the most funniest city in MX.

C) Sonoma, where wine comes from.

D) Cape Cod, I don't know, because it sounds nice.

E) Ohio, oh my god, I'm totally joking.

F) The Adirondacks, where they make those chairs.

G) Louisiana, that place where all that water was.

What are your thoughts?

No One Wants to Sit Next to the Gay Kid

2010-02-23T11:13:00.000-08:00

My math class is full of dudes, twenty seven to be exact, and only three girls. It's a business math class, the foundation for the school of business, accounting, etc. I am the only gay one. Well, there was another gay guy, but he dropped out, leaving the seat next to me open.

Everyday I take my seat as the rest of the class slowly files in; everyone choosing a place to sit. Eventually, it gets to the point where all the seats are taken, except the one next to me—guys choosing floating chairs and the option of doing math problems in their laps, avoiding my neighboring spot. I know I don't smell. I shower twice a day, floss and brush my teeth three times a day. I'm also not a paranoid person—unless it comes to self-diagnosed Internet health issues—so I know I'm not making this up. What the hell? Is my gayness oozing out my giant pores and wafting through the air like deer pheromones? I'm gay, but am I really that gay? I mean, I stopped wearing tiny pants and foundation at the beginning of the new millennium. I don't get it.

Sometimes I think we forget how socially unaccepted gay people still are—especially in the God-fearin' Bible Belt. People just don't like gay people. I read this gay news blog every morning, Towleroad, it's pretty crazy how many gay people are beaten, murdered or prejudiced against every day. It's sad. Everyone should be ashamed. Jesus would be rolling over in his grave, if he only knew. Oh, and did I mention the guys in my class are all fucking gross? I don't know what they're so worried about. I wouldn't touch any of them with a ten foot pole. I'm pretty sure they eat McDonald's everyday and the classroom smells like a junior high locker room. Oh, and the roly-poly-neck-roll-boy in front of me smells like ham.

My theater class smells too. The kid to the left of me has the aroma of slightly soured milk. To my right, there is a girl named Chardonnay. She smells like cigarettes and Bath and Body lotion. In the class, we read plays and analyze them. Chardonnay was terribly disappointed when she came to the realization she wasn't going to be acting. She likes acting. She also likes snapping and popping her gum continuously, that and playing with her multiple gold earrings, sliding them back and forth through their holes rubbing past the callous lumps that once housed bacterial infections. She can get you free cable. She also hates Alicia Keys because she never told anyone she was biracial, so now she feels mislead and won't listen to her music anymore. For Valentines Day, her boyfriend sent her a Valentine from the state penitentiary. She doesn't like him anyway and her other boyfriend made it up to her by giving her a rose dipped in real gold. In front of me sits a young man that looks strikingly similar to Beetlejuice from the Howard Stern Show—no joke. He likes to itch his cornrows through his do-rag. His heart was broken recently and he plans to use this raw emotion in our upcoming class project. He told me only moments after gargling his Mountain Dew.

The other day I was thinking about a world without homosexuals. I really think people wouldn't know what they had until it was gone, you know? Just think of all those cute parts of town that were made cute simply because gays were the only ones brave enough to live there, redoing all the houses, opening coffee shops, opening faggy art galleries. Gays make cute parts of town. They also design clothes and make pretty hair. In fact, most beautiful and creative things are made by gays. I know that's totally stereotypical and kind of a stretch but it's still kinda true. So, if Christian Republicans had their way and all gays were exterminated, like in Uganda (which is my prediction for the next presidential campaign), just think how depressing the world would be? You heteros would have to eat at Olive Garden or Chili's every night, wearing burlap sacks, with six inch roots and you'd have nothing to talk about except what happened on Two and a Half Men the night before (because it would be the only show left on TV). Boring, and the food at Chili's is gross. And just think of what would happen to New York City? All those girls who moved there to be Carrie Bradshaw would be wandering around crying and wondering why there is no one to make their pink martinis and to design their four-hundred dollar shoes.

The Romans and the Greeks accepted gay people, back before Christianity was made up. It was normal back then. Thousands and thousands of years ago. They invented plumbing too, you know, and where would be without plumbing? Swimming in shit, that's where. And where would we be without all the gays throughout history? Leonardo DiVinci? Plato, Socrates, Michelangelo? Sir Elton John? Sir Isaac Newton?? Do you think a heterosexual would have ever noticed gravity? And I bet Alexander the Great wouldn't have been so Great if he weren't a fag and I'm sure no one was "not sitting next to" Aristotle when he set the stage for the future of physics and mathematics.

Just think about a world where all gay people, everyone in fact, could be happy and encouraged to succeed. Maybe Virginia Woolf wouldn't have walked into that river with pockets full of rocks if she had a dyke softball team to play on. And poor Eleanor Roosevelt wouldn't have been forced to have all that sex with fuddy-old-Franklin. The world could have been an even better place, a cuter place.

I'm not pointing fingers, but Christianity is a bit like the irresponsible parent who only feeds their child spaghetti-o's and tells them one side of the story. Unfortunately, until someone tells that parent that they're unfit, this whole mess perpetuates. I know it seems like I am always picking on religion, but it really is what is keeping the gays as second class citizens. Christians need to realize that we are just as normal as straight people. Gays exist throughout the animal and insect kingdom as part of the evolutionary structure and the natural world. It is fact, just as the earth is round, not flat, and the planets revolve around the sun, and that our solar system is in a galaxy that is one of millions in the universe. See what I'm saying? This is the way it is. I don't care if you think Jesus made it this way or microorganisms grew feet, but this is the world and gay people are a natural part of it. We have always been here. I know I can't prove my gayness is innate, just as you can't prove your God is real. You're "faith" is just as good as my word. So for now, we must try to live harmoniously—or at least until I figure out a way to "misplace" the 650 billion Bibles in the world.
In the meantime, I guess I'll just enjoy the elbow room.

'Tis The Season

2009-12-21T13:34:00.000-08:00

I finished my first year of college.. and it only took me ten years.

Speaking of school, I have been informing people of my new decision of not becoming a nurse. It's interesting. Some people haven't taken it so well, namely my clients. I'm all, "Oh, I'm not going to be a nurse anymore." And they're all like, "Oh...". And then I'm thinking, "Were they really that excited for me to be a nurse?".

Christmastime is just around the corner. You know what that means.. 'tis the season for giving.. or stealing if you live in the Merion Village area. Someone stole our Christmas wreath. Someone stole one of our pumpkins, too. The wreath though is far more personal, and expensive. I imagine it was some drunk headed home from the Red Brick Tavern down the street. Or maybe the guy two houses down who looks like he should be on Intervention. Or maybe it was the creepy extended family whose residence is directly across from ours, the ones who never smile/wave when we smile, wave or say hi to them. Either way, it is gone. Just like the baby Jesus after he was stolen from the manger.. or the rock cave. We bought a new wreath, well Jon bought the new wreath, and he also fastened it to the door with a series of tiny nails and six feet of wire. The other day we had 40 mph winds and the wreath stayed put, clinging to the door like baby cow clings to its mother before it is sent to a processing plant to be turned into hamburgers.

You know what else it 'tis the season for? Assholes. And I am one of those assholes. I have zero patience. I did all my Christmas shopping online this year. Wow, so much better. SO much better. I did have to go out for wrapping paper though.. to the Container Store. Usually they have a good selection. Not this year. And everyone there was totally creepy. Ohio is full of scary people. Plus, I had to take the highway to get there, which I never do.

I didn't ask for anything this year. I'm selfless. I did however make an Amazon wish list in case someone wanted to go out of their way and buy me something, so they might know where to find the $1,600 bed frame I wouldn't mind getting, if they felt so inclined. If they felt like GIVING this time of year when people GIVE things.

Over the past year I have learned a lot, partly because I'm enrolled in community college, partly because I live in Ohio again, but mostly because I'm fucking astute. Is anyone following world gay politics? Have you heard about this wacky shit in Uganda? Giving gay people the death penalty for being gay? Do you know whose idea this is? The Ugandan government, you say? No, 'tis Christianity. Many years ago missionaries came to Africa to spread the word of God and to tell people not to wear condoms. White Christian Americans came waddling into the bush. Preachers convinced Africans their culture was inferior and bribed them with Western luxuries like SUVs and Nintendo Wii. Now look what happened!? Seriously, what would Jesus do, you guys? Why would God make gay people? To be executed? What 'tis the point? It's like when Christians burnt "witches". Do you honestly ever think there were actually witches? Couldn't they think of something better to do with ugly women than to label them as witches? ("Dorcas Goode is a witch! She ate my baby!", "I did not!") It just goes to show the ridiculousness of the human race is never ending. Which brings me to my point. I have learned a lot this year, a lot about people, humans. I have learned all my life I have given them far more credit than they ever deserved. The human race gives itself far too much credit. 'Tis the season to give, everyone. Stop giving yourself so much credit and start giving it to me.

Jesus was a socialist. My religion professor said that and I think, yes, yes that is true. The funniest part was watching Christian/Catholic/Mormon people in my class face's wretch in disgust. It's funny, when you think about it.. Jesus totally would have been a socialist, if real bodies of government were established at the time, which there weren't. He stood for the people, equality and peace. In fact, he was a radical in his own time, hence nailing him to a cross. If he were alive today and was in line with the current social/political/economical state of the United States/world I bet every Christian would hate him. They would think he was a total radical and then they'd nail him to a cross. It's funny then that his teachings could be so wildly misconstrued to what they are today.

So, this Christmas let's follow the teachings of Jesus, not the words of Christians. Because this Christmas I think Jesus would really like some world peace, maybe some water to turn into wine, and perhaps some healthcare for everyone, but certainly not bigotry, a four-wheeler and a copy of Sarah Palin's 'Going Rogue'.

I cried when I had no shoes, until I met a man who had no feet. And then I laughed...really hard.

2009-10-14T08:59:00.000-07:00

I don't want to be a nurse anymore. The other day I was cutting this revolting man's hair, who had a large stain on his shirt, and I thought to myself while choking back vomit, "Could I put a catheter in this man's penis hole? Or wipe crusted poo flakes from his hairy anus?". And much to your surprise, that answer was no.

To some, changing one's mind could be seen as a weakness. To me it's a learning process of self-discovery and awareness. That and I want to do something more funner.
Jon and I have been discussing opening a business of sorts for some time now. Our original thought was a long term goal of owning a bed and breakfast somewhere in Mexico or New England. Later, we considered starting here in Ohio with a fancy booze store. Then the idea branched to a specialty foods store or a breakfast joint. So, you see, the possibilities are endless.. as long as there's funding.. and a business plan. So, that's what I'm going to get a degree in, owning something.

I will be meeting with my well-trained, randomly selected, advisor here at the Columbus State Community College and they will point this gleaming vessel of hope, me, toward yonder thar' future.

I have no idea what I'm doing.

Church Of Thine Bottle Of Wine

2009-09-18T18:30:00.000-07:00

I know everyone is probably sick of me talking about religion, but it really burns me up, no pun intended. After watching this ridiculous youtube video (and this one) I got an idea. I'm going to start my own church. I'm already a reverend, that was easy, so why not create a house of worship? I could use my church to preach hate to anyone who will listen. The best part is I won't have to pay taxes on it. I can buy those lamps I want, more pants and plenty of potato salad all tax free! In thine name.

I will be needing a large building, perhaps an airplane hanger to put my church in. The bigger the better. More people = more money = more teachings of the reverend, me.

We can all gather on Wednesday nights (because there's nothing on TV) and make wishes. We can wish for money, no war and brain cancer for Sarah Palin. Jon will make baked goods and we will sell them for my church and then I will take the money and buy that Tempur Pedic mattress I want. Afterward, we will go around the room and everyone can complement me. People will ask: "Are you in the movies?", and I will chuckle as I dump a fifth of vodka into the communal cup/bowl. We will watch scary, horror movies and drink the blood of me, wine: a Bordeaux, or claret. Then at the end of the night we will sacrifice a bratty child from the suburbs. Crucifixion is passé, so we'll have to think of something more 'current', like maybe we could tape its cell phone to its head until it forms a tumor. Time consuming. Crucifixion it is!

We will hold car washes and whilst washing we will liberate money and electronics from people's cars and sell them on eBay to raise more money to buy whiskey for "Whiskey Night", which will undoubtedly include pudding wrestling or an underwear contest.

I'm really not sure why I didn't think of this sooner.

Today the Westboro Baptist Church was out protesting with their "God Hates Jews" signs for Rosh Hashanah. Why wouldn't Jesus hate Jews? He was a Jew, and who doesn't have a little self-loathing around the holidays?

"Happy New Year, Jesus!"

"Shut up, I hate you."

Recession

2009-09-14T06:31:00.000-07:00

My hair is falling out. Well, mainly around my hairline. I tell people this and they roll their eyes. It's a very personal thing, hair loss. As in, I think I'm the only one who cares. That is until I have no hair left and then people will begin to stare. "Look at his big black eyebrows contrasting against his shiny pink forehead", they will say and "What a shame", they will say. I'm thinking about buying Rogaine. You always wonder about stuff like that, what it will do to you in the long run, other than possibly grow you some hair? I believe its original intent was to treat hypertension or heart disease. So, in all actuality, it is a side effect, like diarrhea or death. Either way, once you start using it you are stuck for life because if you were to stop all your fuzzy regrowth would disappear back down the shower drain. Commitment. I knew this day would come. Everyone in my family has always been a little short in the hair department, even the ladies.

The other day I also noticed the beginnings of a granny armpit. Does anyone else have this? Women do, older women and me. It's that delicate patch of softer skin in the front of your armpit. At the right angle it looks shapeless, wrinkly and geriatrically ladylike. It's not the whole armpit, just that spot. I've noticed it when the elderly wear tank tops.

I'm not even thirty yet. What happens in twenty more years? Superfluous ear hair? I guess we'll never know seeing as the world is ending in 2012. The Mayan calender and PBS says so.

Bitchin' in the Kitchen

2009-08-21T06:56:00.000-07:00

Politics. Something I know pretty much nothing about. The House of Representatives, Parliament, log cabin, cherry tree, Oprah.. I don't know. I know I don't have equal rights. I know I can't have Jon's health insurance in the state of Ohio without lying to insurance companies. I know that the United States likes to bully other countries, so I am forced to care about ridiculous, stupid politics. I know I would probably care more if I had a 401k or stocks or worshiped Christ. Is there a way to opt out of America? Not that I hate it, I don't. Why does Canada have to be so cold, and Mexico so dirty? Sweden isn't taking new residents. I wouldn't either if I were Sweden. I would brush my silky blond hair and point and laugh at everyone, if I were Sweden.

You wonder if we'll all blow each other up over politics. Will that be how it ends? Either that or the earth will just eat us up or wash us away. The sun is burning out, you know. I just read something on CNN.com about how the sun is losing its heat spots. It's dying. Maybe that's why it was 60 degrees all July.

Anyway.

So, I went shopping the other day at the hipster haven known as American Apparel. I didn't buy anything. I decided I didn't want to support their ever-cheapening-ill-fitting-irregular clothing business. What happened? It's awful. So, they're sweatshop free? Then who's making these clothes, one eyed, one armed immigrants? Maybe they need a little child labor in China. At least they'd beat the child if it made a shirt with one sleeve bigger than the other. So I went to Target to look at tshirts. What a joke. Why is everything made for squatty, fat men with fat, stubby arms!? I'm not looking for clothes that fit me perfectly, but kind of would be nice. It got me thinking. President Obama should enforce some sort of clothing law where all clothes are to be made for healthy active sized persons. That way people have to not be fat asses or they won't get to wear clothes. They would be shamed into wearing moo moos. I think this is a great idea. They shouldn't be making shirts that fit over small buildings, it's only encouraging people.

Today I met with an advisor to discuss my future college classes, something I hate doing, seeing how the advisors don't really seem to know much about anything. I am sitting in the waiting area when I hear the conversation behind me.

Man one: "Hey, would you still talk to yo brother if he became gay?"

Man two: "Yeah, I guess."

Man one: "What? You'd talk to a gay guy?"

Man two: "Uh, yeah dude, he's my brother."

Man two: "That's fucked up. You'd talk to him if he became gay?"

Man three: "Yeah, dude. He'd probably know tons of chicks."

Man one: "Yeah, but he'd know way more dudes than chicks and the chicks he knows could be dudes. You could be all doin' it with some chick who'd be all like, I'm a dude. Dude, you can't trust gay guys."

Man two: "You wouldn't talk to your brother?"

Man one: "What!? Dude, that's fucked up. Fuck no, he'd prolly want to rape me."

I really wanted to turn around just to see how ugly he was.

Dinner time!

blog post number forty two.

2009-07-07T12:30:00.000-07:00

Michael Jackson is being remembered today, in a stadium.

Yesterday this angry lesbian on my facebook made a comment about MJ saying, "If I molested little children, I'd rot in jail, which is exactly where he deserved to be". Hello! I mean, those little kids weren't going to molest themselves!? Anyway, child abuse makes you stronger. And I think lesbians belong in jail regardless of who they touch. I would have let Mr. Jackson put his bony, bleached fingers anywhere for a few million. Did he really even do it? Seriously. It's been so long I've forgotten. When people die others tend to forget the bad things they did in life. I've forgotten. Adolph Hitler, what?

Jon is taking it really hard. He bought the entire Michael Jackson catalog on iTunes and will occasionally have bouts of sadness. We've been listening to MJ music for weeks. It's actually really good. How depressing, I will never get to see him in concert. Jon said there was even a 3D portion in the concert for Thriller. Jon knows everything.

Oh, we bought a house. I haven't let myself get truly excited about it yet, considering our last experience of losing our home. It's super cute. It's the second one we bid on and it's way nicer than the first. Which reminds me of that old American proverb: "First is the worst, second is the best, third is the nerd with the hairy chest". I'm not exactly sure what the third would have been. Let's hope we don't find out.

Is it just me, or are you waiting for MJ to reappear? Like Peter Pan on cables, flying about in sequins or dangling more babies off balconies. I now understand why people think Elvis is still around. It's hard to believe that's it.

Death is annoying.

I'll bet Farrah Fawcett is so pissed she didn't hang in there for another week. Michael totally stole all her attention. She even went through the effort of making that whole documentary about how she was going to die. What a jerk.

Excuse Me, Are You A Homeowner?

2009-06-07T19:13:00.000-07:00

Someone actually asked me that once, only it was in reference to being a homosexual. People are so fucking creative.

Schools out, schools out, teachers let the monkeys out. My mom used to sing that to my brother and I at the end of every school year. It was cute.
I got a B in Anthropology. My teacher was a cunt. Of course it was her fault, not mine, because I do everything right. I also got a B in Math, which is fucking annoying because I had an A until the final, which is worth 40% of your grade. It flawed my pretty 4.0. I blame Jesus for not answering my prayers. Nice one, JEEZUS.

We are on the house hunt. It's kind of like House Hunters, but more real-er and more stressful. And without Susanne Wong and her bangs.
Last week we got the house of our dreams for a total steal, 30,000 bucks off the list price. We went out to Barcelona for dinner to celebrate and mid (second) martini toast our real estate agent called to tell us we didn't get our house. And to make things worse, the calamari was overdone. Lame. So we did what any sad persons would do. We went to the ghetto liquor store and bought $150 worth of booze. We picked up a fancy bottle of cognac (mostly to make the black folks at the booze store super jealous), but the time our sad asses got home, we realized we didn't have proper cognac glasses. The night was getting worse. So, a very angry Jon began violently scrubbing what was left of our wine glasses, they were our only hope. Needless to say, the glass broke and Jon's booze-thinned blood went squirting out into the sink. I put my nursing aspiration knowledge to the test. (I haven't taken any nursing classes yet, so I wrapped his finger in gauze and tape) I am a miracle worker.

It's a week later, and after the anger and sadness wore off, slightly, and we managed to polish off all the booze, we've decided to make another offer. The house is super cute. It has a balcony off one of the bedrooms. Enough said.

Cross your fingers.

The Big Top

2009-05-17T15:09:00.000-07:00

Jon took me to the circus today to see his friend Lauren perform in the trapeze act. I haven't been since 1986. It was actually quite entertaining. I left feeling pretty happy, but now I'm feeling sad. What is that you say? Did my Xanax wear off? I wish. Just watching people do something they love doing, something totally exciting and interesting, always makes me reevaluate myself and my goals. It kind of made me wish I was in the circus. I was trying to envision myself in a lycra bodysuit flipping around in the air or riding a mini motorcycle round and round in a giant metal ball. I would look super retarded in a lycra bodysuit. But how exciting!? The music would definitely get old, same with the corny clown shtick, as it got old after only two hours, but I've always loved performing. I'm just not that great at it. I don't have a true talent. Although I am pretty good at lots of things, I'm not necessarily great at anything. What a downer.
Sometimes I wonder what I would be doing if my parents really pushed me in any certain direction. If we didn't live in the United States with all its gender roles. Would I have found my true passion at a young age? Would I be a tap dancer? Or one of those creepy pageant kids? Or a pole vaulter? I guess we'll never know..
Now I'm going to be a nurse, something I'm not very passionate about. It's more of a secure career move that I thought would be interesting. But that's not a bad thing, right? Being practical? It's no flipping around on a moving horse though. Boring.
The animals at the circus made me sad, too. Not the trick dogs, they were having so much fun, but the others. Do elephants really like standing on their heads? They seemed to be enjoying themselves. It did invoke weird, dark, old Disney movie scenes, like Dumbo's mom dying. But, I guess you do what you gotta do in these though economic times. An elephants gotta eat.

BOMA

2009-05-13T10:05:00.000-07:00

So, Perry Shoar bought Jon and I tickets to see Hercules and Love Affair at BOMA, or Bar Of Modern Art. Well, it turned out to be a DJ set, which is totally gay. It wasn't Perry's fault. He can't read. So we go to this Bar Of Modern Art. It's in an old church in downtown Columbus, which sounds cool, but it wasn't, at all. If you're thinking Limelight, you're totally wrong. The inside looks like a church, with a dance floor and funeral home carpeting. There were giant fake flower arrangements everywhere, those and douche bags. It was pretty bad. We made a b-line to the bar and ordered our drink, which the bartenders didn't know how to make. While we were standing there this little fourteen year old girl walked up.

"Hey guys."

No one looked at her.

"You guys ready to dance? Party? Get crazy?"

At this point I'm pretty sure Perry grunted at her and said, "It's ten thirty."

She was ready to party, in fact she could barely stand.

"Go away." Perry mumbled.

I noticed a tattoo on her arm that said "Belle". I said, "I assume your name is Belle?".

"No. (one eye open) That's my daughter's name.."

Oh my god, she has a child and she named it after a Disney princess.

"You guys ready to party?? It's mother's day tomorrow! You gonna dance?" (stumble, stumble)

At this point I believe Perry was trying to physically push her away, but she stood her ground and ordered another beer.

"Is that a Yoda tattoo?" the bartender said.

(one eye open) "yeeah." said the fourteen year old mom.

"That's a sweet Yoda tattoo." said the bartender, "Oh my god, I love Star Trek. Are you going to see the new one?"

At this point we made a break for the patio.

The rest of the night just kind of spiralled downward. There was a fire pit, douche bags in head bands, lumpy fat girls with underwear lines in tiny dresses and even a conga line on the dance floor. In a way, the people watching was well worth the ten dollar ticket.

Shit is Growin'!

2009-05-12T08:55:00.000-07:00

Jon took lots of lovely photos of all the life going on in our yard.

Opposite Marriage is Key

2009-04-27T15:05:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry everybody, NO OFFENSE, I just feel the need to say this..

Miss California is a cunt. If I hear one more person say she was brave for standing up for her faith, I'm going to tear my ears off. She is not brave. She is an idiot.

And all this, "No offense, that's just what I believe".

Yeah, no offense, I believe I'm better than you and I don't think you deserve equal rights, no offense though.

"Why are you mad? I said no offense. I'm just saying what Jesus said".

Christianity breeds stupidity. It says, "Don't think for yourself, we'll do the thinking for you". Listening to a pastor tell you his interpretations of an ancient book and then going out in the world and hating/judging people based on someone elses interpretations is ludicrous! Religion is absurd! People only believe it because they are terrified of the truth, terrified of the "consequences". When we die, we die. That's it. No heaven full of puffy clouds, no bearded white man telling us what a great job we did on earth (for hating and ostracizing groups of people). Do we really think it could be that simple? Heaven? Puh-leease. What a joke. The world is made up of tiny atoms floating in a galaxy in space and we think a man is sitting in a cloud watching us and giving us rules to follow? Fucking dumb. So funny the human race thinks so highly of itself. That we out of ALL creatures deserve to put ourselves on a pedestal, destroy our planet and each other, all in the name of "faith". So, Miss California, I hope the next time you're at the Walmart, buying tampons for your stinky cunt, that someone pulls you out back, pops one of your eyes out and fucks your socket raw, depositing a large AIDS-filled cum wad inside. Because that's what I believe. Retard.

blog post number thirty six.

2009-04-23T12:07:00.001-07:00

Last night I dreamt I delivered a baby. I don't remember whose, someone I went to high school with, I think. It was so traumatic I woke up. I remember a few things about this dream, one being the smell. I can only describe it as "sweaty anus turd", which is what I think is what was happening when she was pushing out the baby. I was asked to deliver the baby because I was a nursing student, which is funny because technically I'm not even enrolled in a nursing program, yet. The possible ex-high-school-cohort was belly down on what looked like a folded down back seat of a car. I was pinned behind her, against the back of the car, but supposedly we were in a hospital. She was really quiet and sweaty. She pushed. I let the baby fall onto the floor, which was really close because we were in a car/hospital. I had to choke back vomit as someone else cut the cord. So, I guess all in all I didn't really deliver the baby as much as was trapped behind a shitting woman who pooed a baby. I woke up and my legs were sweaty.

My math class is the weirdest. The other day in the middle of a lecture, this zitty little boy one seat over, started nudging me. "Hey, are you a cop?", he said. I was like, "In the village people?". No, really I just sat there and stared at him. I said no. He was like, "Wanna buy some painkillers?". I thought hard for a minute, stared at his creepy prepubescent mustache, and said no. Ever since he hasn't stopped talking to me. The other day he brought in his photos he took while serving in Iraq. Pictures of dead bodies in the road smeared by tanks, random body parts strewn about. Why is he showing me these? Totes creeps. So, if you try to call me someday and I don't answer, I'm probably tied up in his basement in Whitehall.

Oh, Jon and I are opening a bed and breakfast in Puerto Vallarta, fyi.

Easter

2009-04-09T06:37:00.001-07:00

It's here again. The time of year when we celebrate Jesus rising from the dead and hiding colored eggs around town for children to find.

Some two thousand years ago, when people were created of dirt. There was a lady who gave birth to God's son through the process of immaculate conception, or sex without touching. Jesus was magical and everyone hated Him for it, so they nailed Him to a cross. He died. Jesus was then wrapped in a sheet and put in a rock cave. The next morning Jesus' friends came to rub Him with spices, but alas, His corpse was gone. Where did It go? Later that day His friend the prostitute saw Him, claiming He rose from the dead, but no one believed Her because prostitutes are often crazy. Later that day two other people saw Him on their way to town, but they didn't know it was Him, because He had taken on a new shape (more magic). Finally, magical Jesus appeared to some disciples and told them more magical things, right before He was whisked up to heaven to sit on God's right hand.

Remember this story this weekend, remember the true meaning of the holiday. It's not about money and jellybeans, or brightly colored eggs, or that claymation special where everything looks kind of fuzzy like felt or something, but it's really clay from the 60s. I love that one. The real meaning of Easter is magic... and gullibility... and zombies.

Happy Easter.

p90x

2009-03-25T13:31:00.000-07:00

After two whole months of swimming at the YMCA, I remembered that I hated it. Poor people, scrotum pool water and buzzing florescent lights is no way to spend any part of a day. So, I have decided to take the p90x challenge. The first part of the challenge was spending $100 on workout DVDs. The second part would be watching them.

Step One: Watch video entitled "Bring It". Done.

Step Two: Take "before" photo. Check.

Step Three: Get completely ripped.

Hopefully this won't just be more "magic beans", (ie: Occilococcinum, The Master Cleanse, Herbal Supplements, Perfect Push up, Dr Gillian McKeith's 24 Hour Detox) as I am know to be a sucker for that shit.

Living in Ohio again is a total trip. Sometimes, I admit, it can be a bit depressing, like, are you people living in a bubble? Why do you say expresso instead of espresso? Why do you need to add an "s" to the end of every business or restaurant? People are larger here, portions are bigger and very rarely do you need to move. In fact, this must be a huge market for those electronic scooter things. So, I'm doing the math. This+that-scooter=trouble. I don't want to be fat, so I must work out. And while I'm at it, I want to not have twiggy arms.

Update: I "brought it" this morning with the Chest and Back DVD, as well as The Ab Ripper. Look out, you guys, look out.

Logan, OH

2009-03-23T08:11:00.000-07:00

This past weekend Jon and I went an hour south to the Hocking Hills area, located in Logan, Ohio. I'm not really into camping, well that's not true, I hate camping, but staying in cabins I can do.
So, Jon took me down for a belated Valentines gift and in celebration of the end of my first quarter of school.

Our cabin was located atop a large hill accessible only by a long gravel drive, that we soon discovered was only able to be climbed by driving Yaris at full speed, with a "running start", as not to get stuck in holes.

The cabin itself was situated on its own 30 acres of land.

Everything is still dead here in the Midwest, so it looked like the set of a horror movie. Fantastic!

Jon immediately made himself comfortable on the porch.

The kitchen was very rustic. There weren't even cabinet doors. Like early settlers!

There also wasn't a television.

Or a shower! We were definitely roughing it.

There also weren't walls anywhere. Not even the bathroom. Jon brought up a good point, no walls around the toilet means the whole place is like a giant bathroom. Eva was all for this idea.

Don't flush your condoms, please.

Myspace photo!

The next morning we went hiking.

And I did the robot in the parking lot.

5'10 is really tall, Jon.

Naturally occurring rock stairs!

I said this reminded me of Fraggle Rock. Jon didn't agree.

So I made some jab about how he probably couldn't watch it because he was raised Baptist.

He said no, it was because he thought it was stupid.

I think I'm funny.

After a morning of refreshing outdoor activity, we headed to historic downtown Logan to stop at Walmart, the only grocery store, for some supplies to make dinner. We made a pit stop at The Olde Dutch Resturant and Banquet House for lunch. It was the scariest, most depressing place I've ever been in my life. I was too terrified to take pictures, or move even. The place was packed with small town, overweight Christians. Church must have just let out. I couldn't have felt more out of place if I had been wearing nothing but a hot pink thong (so luckily I kept my pants on). Needless to say, we sat very still and ate very fast.

After our midday scare, we were off to the spa for massages.

Piggy and Eddy decieded to stay at the cabin to play Little House on the Prairie.

That night we watched the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre (So much better than the Matthew McConaughey one). We didn't have any run-ins with any bears or any scary woodland creatures. Although, while we were sleeping, a wild mouse ate the white chocolate out of this box of chocolates we had, which was fine with me. I hate white chocolate anyways.

Going into the wilderness is fun. Being gay in a small town, scary.

Back to Columbus!

Tranny Panties

2009-03-04T06:59:00.000-08:00

Hi.

I would like to start out by saying, aren't you sad little Alexis Grace was kicked off American Idol last night? Why not the blind guy? Just because he's blind doesn't mean he can sing, and who likes Bruce Hornsby anyway? My mom used to. Apparently blind people do as well. Oh, American Idol. So dumb, but yet I still keep watching.

It's my spring break. Spring break '09! Yeah! It's going to be off the hook. It's already pretty crazy, I mean, here I am on the couch writing a blog, then it's off to work. Next thing you know I'll be showing my nipples for beads or doing shots of sex on the beach.

So, yesterday, as part of my spring break madness, I took photos of our house. And here they are..
This is the house. This photo was taken in the winter. It's not snowing now, in fact, yesterday it was 75, but tomorrow it could be snowing.

This is the guest room. This is where you would sleep if I ever invited you to stay over.

This is the door out of the guest room. Next to it is a photo of an old woman with some sort of cyst or something on her eye. We take it down when my mom stays over.

This is the upstairs hall.

This is our bedroom. Keep out.

These are the tiny closets that run the length of our room.

This is where you would exit in case of an emergency.

This is where you would urinate or barf.

Wipe the seat.

Here you can see our neighbors slate tile roof.

This is where Jon makes me food.

Have you noticed our soothing paint color selections?

This is where I make drinks.

This is another place to pee them out.

This is where all the state dinners and lunches are given, there were almost two a month last year.

This is where we watch American Idol.

And my decapitated deer.

Oh, and my pencil cactus! It needs a pot. Be careful, if you break it open, it will burn you. Cool.

This is where Jon makes money to feed me.

In the afternoon sun comes through these gay stained glass windows.

And little rainbows go everywhere!

Spring come here finally!

Patio.

Piggles!

So, yeah. That's the house. Our lease is up in four months and we'll probably move. We have actually been thinking about buying something. There are some affordable, cute little houses in Clintonville. Heaven forbid I live somewhere for a whole year!

blog post number thirty one.

2009-02-18T16:21:00.000-08:00

Eddy is perched on the sofa back mere feet from my ear making a licking motion in the air. Has she lost her little dog mind? Has her obsession for licking reached an all time high, or low? Or is she slowly licking away her rotten little teeth like decaying little ice cream cones? Either way, it's driving me insane. I'm trying to pick a topic for my 102nd paper this quarter. Oh, now she's licking me.

I somehow outed myself as a nonbeliever of religion in my English class today. We were in groups talking about another paper we are writing. We are always in groups at Columbus State. I don't know if this is just a community college thing. I hope, I hate working with others. I know they are trying to teach us how things really work in "the real world", but as someone who's already been in "the real world", I know that we don't get into groups with 19 year olds and talk about Anime. Whatever. I somehow mentioned religion and all the sudden was giving my opinion about it. I should know better. It was quiet. People love God.

I must say, I am so sick of winter. It's funny how I would romanticize it on the west coast. It was fun for a hot minute. The novelty of the fireplace, puffy snowflakes, twinkling Christmas lights, but for fucks sake, it's so gloomy here! I need a vacation stat or I'm asking for a Uhual for my next birthday.

Ankle Socks

2009-02-13T04:20:00.000-08:00

Have you ever noticed that straight dudes love ankle socks? I know, right? I used to wear them in grade school. I have this weird thing about the toe seam in socks, if I can feel the seam go under my toes, I freak out. It drives me insane. So as a child I only wore those little ankle socks, that and sweatsuits. I would only wear sweat suits in solid colors. I had a thing against jeans. You know how they would sometimes give you "pants penis"? For some reason that made me uncomfortable. God, I am really weird. Well, lately I've noticed dudes wearing ankle socks and now that I'm thinking about it, I see it everywhere. It seems so weird. And it's always the most dudeiest of dudes. When I say dudes I mean bros, too. In my opinion those little socks are so gay, like you could glue little tassely balls on them and be on a grade school dance team. It just isn't masculine. I mean, they were my sock of choice during my multicolored sweatsuit phase. Gay.

It's Friday the 13th. OoOoo. But really, a commuter plane just crashed into someones house killing him and all 48 people on board. That's terrifying. I'm terrified. I hate flying. This is the second plane to crash in the last month. Granted, the last plane (Miracle on the Hudson) was, in fact, a miracle on the Hudson. Like Jennifer Hudson. Remember when that person killed her whole family? Friday the 13th is so creepy. I wonder whats happening to Jennifer Hudson today? She's probably at Dunkin Donuts ordering a frozen cappuchino and an eclair. That's mean. She's probably at Starbucks ordering a donut and a Frappuchino. She's classy now. Anyway, you knows she's totally paranoid today. I would be too. You know that donut is probably going to clog her arteries.

Tomorrow is Valentines Day. Jon and I are going out for Indian food. Everywhere in the city is booked so we're going to Indian Oven. I'm actually really excited. I love Indian food. I hope it's totally delicious like my favorite Indian restaurant Bombay, in San Diego, California.

I miss California.

Join the Homosexual Intifada!

2009-01-26T06:34:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was quite pleasant. Jon and I decided to go out for brunch. We first picked the Old Mohawk after seeing the breakfast menu on the interweb. To our dismay, we got there and were told they no longer serve breakfast,which was totally annoying, so we went to the German Village Coffee Haus. It was PACKED and greasy, so we left and went to Lindey's. It was lovely. Great coffee, yummy food and we got to sit next to local TV celebrity, Andrea Cambern. The restaurant manager had her brunch comped, because she's just that famous.. and our neighbor. While we were dining big puffy snowflakes were falling out the window and by the end of brunch we were walking through about three inches of snow. It was a great morning. (Here is the only photo I could get, Nick.)

In the afternoon we went to the Drexel to see Sean Penn in the motion picture Milk. Wow, it really left a lasting impression on me. It also left me feeling really depressed. So, after we went to Betty's to drown our sorrows with cocktails and nachos. Seriously though, go see Milk. It was the first time I ever saw such a powerful gay movie. A movie that so intensely depicted the gay rights movement. It made me wish I was doing more, fighting harder. It's crazy how little has changed from 30 years ago, granted a lot HAS changed, but here we are still denying humans equal rights. It is infuriating that religious groups were donating millions of dollars to support prop 8. and that it passed! It makes me want to scream in the faces of my religious zealot family and friends. I don't feel like gay people are doing enough, myself included. We are all too comfortable to make a scene. Gay people aren't wrong. Jesus is wrong! Join the Homosexual Intifada! I'm moving to San Francisco! I'll be the only one there, standing alone with my sign and tight jeans, but we need a revolution! We need it now!

Ten Below

2009-01-16T09:22:00.000-08:00

After our mini blizzard of six plus inches of snow, the cold set in. The temperature dropped from the twenties to negative numbers and as I've learned in college math class; 0>-10. This morning it was a balmy negative ten and with the wind chill it felt like thirty below. I let the dogs out, they made it about half a minute before limping and hobbling back in. Eva didn't pee. She was overwhelmingly confused by the chill. Once inside, she proceeded to relieve her bladder on the new sofa. Thank you Eva, good dog.

After driving, hunched over with frozen nose hair, I got to work and the doors were frozen shut. They had to throw hot water on them to let clients in. The water immediately froze again.

I must say, I'm thankful I'm not in New York. Walking in this cold? No thanks!

New Year, New You!

2009-01-08T05:37:00.000-08:00

So this year is a big year. Two thousand and nine. Nine, wow. It's actually really annoying seeing as I hate writing the number nine. It is my least favorite number to write. I need to figure out how to write a nine different. I have written many nines so far this year. I'm in math class again for the first time in a decade. It sucks. Math is the stupidest thing ever. I know it's important and all and Einstein couldn't have made those theories without it. I wish he was still around. I would listen to him about math. He would be all zany and I would blow out his hair and we would laugh and drink whiskey on the rocks, my new favorite drink. He would tell me, "Jacob, math is so important and stuff. I'll talk to your professor, I'm Albert Einstein! She'll listen to me! Pass the whiskey." And then I'd go do other important things like exercise. I got a membership at the gross old YMCA downtown. I'm going to start swimming laps between classes. The new '09 Jacob is going to be sexy and fit so I've got to start somewhere. I actually had an inspiring dream about lifting weights and doing math problems at the same time. It was brilliant and is now my future goal for graduation. Actually, my real goal is to just graduate. That would be a miracle on its own. Being totally ripped would be totally awesome, too. I've never actually been physically fit. I'm not sure if I can be. I imagine doing all this exercise an then end up looking like Ann Coulter. She was on the Today Show yesterday. What a cunt. I've never actually heard her speak. Now that I have, I know that I never ever want to again. She was spouting some bullshit about how raising your child as a single mother is child abuse and how everyone in prison is the result of single parent homes. What an idiot. It made me really really angry. Anyway, I hate her and she is SO skinny. She looks like she's dying of colon cancer or something and hopefully she is. Well, time to get ready for math! Hopefully I can get through it in one piece, make a super sexy nine (like me), with or without Mr. Einstein.

They only want you when you're seventeen..

2009-01-05T14:52:00.000-08:00

So here I am ten years later, about twenty pounds heavier (thank god), and in college. I can see how I didn't really like it the first time around. It's a lot like high school or junior high even, without the uncontrollable erections and acne, WHICH I still have, the acne that is. Yeah, it's very much like high school. I walked into my English class and there was everybody, "the hippy guy", "the rock guy", "the goth kid", "the cheerleader", "the nerd", "the black person".. and they are all seventeen! It made me feel old, especially since Jon and I went tanning the day before and I got a little burnt, so I felt like George Hamilton, a gay George Hamilton with a messenger bag. The worst. My teacher seems nice. She looked like a weathered farm hand with a bad dye job in a stripey sweater and Uggs. But that's just the outside. On the inside I'm sure she's amazing. If that's one thing New York taught me it was don't judge someone by how they look, just where they live.. or something. I guess people there judge people by how they look all the time. That got me thinking how awful it would be to go to school at FIT. Ew, all that out-cooling everyone and all that fashiony fashion!?. How could you concentrate? I'm sure concentrating is not hip anyway. Well, Columbus State is sooo unhip so concentration should be a breeze!

After English was my freshman psychology class, which begins at four. At 4:10 the professor had yet to arrive and about six guys got up and yelled, "ten minute rule!!", and ran out (which was so junior high). By 4:28 all but four remained, including myself, we all sort of looked around at each other and walked out. It wasn't really the most productive of days. All in all, I don't feel much wiser. I do feel older. And my car has an ugly parking sticker on it.

Xtina

2008-12-30T15:04:00.000-08:00

Remember when Christina Aguilera crossed the Christ out of her name and became Xtina? I think it lasted all of one month. How unimportant. Someone once told me she smelled like hot dogs when she was in high school. I love that thought. Do people still really care about her anyway? She needs to shave her head or flash her snatch or something or pretty soon people will be like, "Xtina, who?". I still am a firm believer in Xing out Jesus though. Speaking of Jesus, I think it was somebody's birrrrrrrthdaaaaay!!

This year Jon and I spent Xmas in our new home in Ohio. I wanted to share a photo of our vintage Xmas tree, well the tree itself was new and real, the ornaments however were vintage. Oh, and the deer head. My first real tree in well over a decade. What fun! And my first real taxidermic beast. Merry Xmas, everyone.

I also thought I would show off our new old dining room table we just got. I eventually want to do a whole blog on our house, and will, I just need to take more pictures. But for now..

I start school on Monday. I'm terrified!

The Open Road (or Pennsylvania Is Just This State That Gets In Your Way When You're Trying To Get Somewhere Else.)

2008-12-01T13:37:00.000-08:00

I wish I got a photo of the police pulling us over and searching our Uhaul when we crossed the George Washington Bridge. That was cute. I did, however, get to see the Apollo before we left. It was a special moment. I didn't get a picture of that either.

Jon drove the whole way. It's pretty much understood that I'm not allowed to drive a Uhaul due to the time I drove one up onto a gas pump.

Pennsylvania is a tortuously long state.

Nothing too exciting. We made it in one piece. For the time being we are camping out at my Dad's until our cute little house is ready. It's weird to be back here.

There is a lot of bad hair.

Parting Thoughts

2008-11-13T08:43:00.001-08:00

On my way home from work I take the L train to the G train. The G is shitty and only runs every fifteen minutes or so. It claims to be running every 8 minutes but it never ceases to let me down. So, when I get off the L at the Lorimer stop it's a mad dash to transfer to the G. The first person out of the train has a greater chance of making it to the G, assuming it's about to come. It usually does come, when I'm power walking like a determined granny in the mall. I usually miss it, most likely because someone is in my way. Then I'm stuck waiting for the next G train delaying what time I get home. Which brings me to my point. Eventually I start to resent people. I run down the stairs of the L and there is someone practically crawling, holding hands with their lover, cooing at each other, totally slowing me down. It then causes a chain reaction of train missing which could get me home a half hour later. So now when I get stuck behind anyone I automatically hate them, it's awful. I don't know if it's just me but I don't think I should resent or hate people for existing or walking at a different pace than I, but I do, here in New York. Then I wonder how I would feel in 10 years? If I would continue to hate at the rate in which I do now, would I start attacking people with my umbrella? Like scary Britney Spears with a beard? I guess I won't know. Maybe that's a good thing.

I put in my one week notice yesterday at work. It's weird. This was the third time I have told an employer that I'm moving out of state, but this is the first time that an employer said, "Why?". It's funny how we are all bred to think things about certain places. Growing up in Ohio you think, "I've got to get out of this cow town!". In Ohio you think New York City is the coolest place ever, you think California is the coolest place ever. When you grow up in California or New York you think that they are the coolest places ever and that Ohio is a cow town. Now, yes parts of Ohio are mostly farming, but California is almost all farms. And New York is just full of people who grew up in these farm areas pretending they didn't because they were raised to think being from New York is better. Where am I going with this? Ah, one week notice. It's a strange feeling leaving a place you work. You spend so much time there. I spent more time hanging out on the couch with my coworkers than I ever did hanging out with my friends. I'll miss them, well not all of them. Some of them I'm thrilled to never see again.

It's funny how living in a certain place can change a person so much. I imagine myself staying in New York. I imagine my pores getting larger and my nose hairs getting thicker. It's like evolution at work. Like how we are supposed to eventually not have pinky fingers or red headed persons, but faster and more rat-like. I imagine my attitude changing. My back curving. It's like natural selection or whatever, creatures adapting to their surroundings, like Asians or frogs. It's just so crazy that the place you live in can change you so much, make such a big difference. Like Eskimos. They evolved to wear large furry coats. Or if you're living somewhere like LA and it makes you so crazy that you stalk Paula Abdul and you end up killing yourself in her lawn. Where you exist is important, so is addressing your mental illnesses.

I basically have one more week left in New York City. It's funny how I dreamt of this experience all my life and now it's almost over.

The Great Migration

2008-11-09T06:19:00.000-08:00

I am moving to the Midwest in two weeks.
I know, you're like, "whaaat?".

Myself and Jon have decided to leave The Big Apple, or The Skid Mark (Bushwick), to head west to the heart of it all, Ohio. After my whirlwind adventure from San Diego to New York I have decided to make the major decision of returning to college. I say "returning" because I didn't really go the first time. My parents basically paid for me lie around in a dorm room and eat cafeteria food for three months. That was my college experience. That and football players calling me a faggot. But, now that I have grown, I have decided to take initiative and start on a new career path. Nursing. I could make a good nurse, right?. I know I can't do hair forever. I don't want to. My back won't let me either. Plus, I've been dying to find a new way to accumulate more debt!

I have learned a lot in the last few years. One of those things is that Ohio really isn't as bad as I thought. It's a great place, in fact, it's a fine place. And comfortable. And I like comfortable. Another thing I learned is New York City isn't as great as I thought. Granted, I never got the chance to live in Manhattan. That would have been fun. In fact, if I was someone like Bette Midler or Sarah Jessica Parker and I was rich, living in two connected brownstones or a huge penthouse facing the park, I would NEVER leave. But the reality is, if I worked my ass off my whole life here I would never achieve that. I would be lucky if I could afford to buy a million dollar 500 square foot apartment with an eat in kitchen somewhere on Avenue C where the smell of piss and curry floats into my window every night. Not cute. And why work so hard for so little? I guess I don't care about living here enough. Don't get me wrong, I have my moments when I love it here. It was always a dream of mine to live here. There is something magic about the place. Although, I feel I came a few decades too late. New York was the real deal in the 70s and 80s. That would have been cool. Seriously, so cool. You could still be poor and live in the city. There was so much happening then. Even the 50s. Do you think anyone will look back and think, "God, living in New York in the 00s was the tops! Remember that song Umbrella? Geez. And those times we ate at Tao? That was da bomb!" Sigh. Now it's bros 'n hos and another Marc Jacobs on every corner, chain restaurants and boring people wandering back and forth, steroid gay men with lip injections... it's losing it's magic. I'm not saying Ohio is going to be cooler than New York. It won't be. It's not trying to be. Ohio will be quiet and clean and convenient. It will be a good place to relax for a few years while furthering my education. It will be full of trees (and hillbillies) and snow. But, it will be good. I will say I'm really going to miss not driving. Walking everywhere is amazing. Everyone should have to do it. Eating a large meal and walking ten blocks feels great and my ass has never looked better from all these stairs! God, I really don't want to own a car. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to get a super sexy one, like a Pontiac Sunfire.

Who knows where I'm off to after Ohio? I'm not too concerned right now. I got that out of my system. I hope. Although I would definitely come back to the east coast. I love the east coast. Maybe to some cute New England town, or France.

I really enjoyed my short time here in New York, all nine months. I could have made a baby, but instead I made a memory. One I will cherish more than any stupid baby. And you may ask, "Jacob, why not California?", and to that I would say, "Well, you, when I lived in California I had terrible scarring bacne and when I left San Diego it left my back.". So, it's time to pack the ol' Uhaul. Goodbye New York! Hello next chapter!

P.S. Please come visit us. We will have nothing to do!

blog post number twenty one.

2008-11-06T12:40:00.000-08:00

Hi,

I just wanted to take a minute to say how truly happy I am Barack Obama is the new president of the United States of America. I also feel not only can I saw this, but I should rub it in people's faces the way they did in '04. Remember those awful bumper stickers? "VIVA BUSH!" and "W our president". How fucking rude. I am going to make a Barack sticker and stick it on my back. It will say something catchy like, "Obama, that's right, asshole!" or "Obama, not who you voted for. HA. HA.". And they can all bitch and take political asylum in Texas, or wherever, because Canada won't have them. It sure is a great feeling to finally vote for a president who won the election. Maybe there is still hope for us after all.

Love,
Jacob

Halloween

2008-11-01T13:18:00.000-07:00

It's probably safe to say that Halloween is my favorite holiday, other than my birthday, which isn't really a holiday. It should be. This year Jon and I went as dead lumberjacks. We started the evening by heading to the west village for the Halloween parade. It was a sea of people. This picture is the line to get out of the subway.

We have no pictures of the parade, although a few people did ask to have their picture taken with us. Now I know how Nicole Kidman must feel. After being at the parade for all of two minutes we decided to leave. We made a pit stop at Eastern Bloc before heading to the Eagle to meet Nick after his big Bette Midler Halloween bash. Here are some photos. A warning though, we did go to the Eagle, so some of the photos may unsuitable for minors.

Little gay dancer guy.

Someone I don't know.

Cute 80s songs!

Jon with the guy I don't know.

Me with the guy I don't know.

More cute 80s songs!

Fun with little gay dancer guy and guy I don't know.

Double axe action!

Guy with tiny balls sticking something in his penis.

Oh, my.

Creepy guy jacking off to guy with tiny balls sticking something in his penis.

Hot mess.

The night ended near the corner of 8th Ave. and 14th St. where Jon barfed next to a trash can. All in all I'd say Halloween was a success. Happy Halloween!

Jesus Christ!

2008-10-31T07:47:00.000-07:00

Imagine someone you love thinking your existence was wrong? A shitty thought, isn't it?

It all has to do with religion. Religion, in my opinion, is the root of all evil. I really hate it. It's what makes my grandmother think that her grandson is going to hell. It makes her think her daughter is going to hell. Hell, a place where your soul burns for eternity. How could someone think things like that about those they love? Religion. Brainwashing. It's like a cult, really. You go and give your money, chant to your sky god and learn to judge everyone around you because they are not as good as you, not as godly as you. Although I've never agreed with it, I used to think religion was a good thing. There to help the meek get through the day to day. Now I have realized it isn't helping. Not at all. It's holding people down. Forcing them to not question things. The world has advanced the way it has because people HAVE questioned things. What if no one formed their own thoughts? Everywhere would be like Los Angeles! Awful, I know. People should question the world around them. Why should you base your whole life around something you have no concrete evidence even exists? The answer to this? Faith. That's not an answer at all. Why should a person need someone to tell them what they can or cannot do? Or even worse, that they should live in fear, of God, the very God who created them?

With the stupid election drawing to a close I, of course, am unable to ignore it. I did my best to try to. It is unavoidable. I honestly don't care who's voting for who. I don't. I don't want to hear about it. But, I really feel like people think it's a war on religion. If you're a conservative, you believe in god. And, heaven forbid, you are liberal, you support Muslims, terror and Satan. COME ON! What the fuck people? Seriously? My brain hurts when I think about this shit because it blows my mind how fucking far off course everyone is. Politics and religion are two separate things. Keep your Religion in your house of worship. It's funny then when you think about it. When you know your friends and family vote conservative, even though the whole country is crumbling, just because their church, or their parents, or God, or whomever tells them too. It makes you think. What do they really think of you? My grandmother can look me in the eyes, hug me, tell me she loves me and can think my whole life is a sin. That my soul will burn in hell for eternity. She would vote away all of my rights. Because someone else told her so. It's sad. I sleep comfortably at night knowing there is no hell. Or heaven. We are all animals on this earth and anyone who thinks they are a gift from God is a total narcissist. Religion is an outdated, archaic tool to keep uneducated townsfolk from tearing off people's heads or stealing each others gold. There is no place for it in today's society.

With that being said, go vote for whoever you want. Go pray to whoever you want. Just don't talk to me about it or I'll burn down your goddamned church and steal your gold, asshole.

Thanksgiving

2008-10-10T08:11:00.000-07:00

As Thanksgiving draws near let us take a minute to acknowledge the true meaning of the holiday, greed.

The story begins in 1614 when a band of English explorers sailed home to England with a ship full of Patuxet Indians bound for slavery. Behind them they left smallpox, which virtually wiped out all those who weren't taken as slaves. By the time the Pilgrims finally arrived in Massachusetts Bay they found only one living Patuxet Indian, a man named Squanto who had survived slavery in England and knew their language. Despite his past, he taught them to grow corn and how to fish, and negotiated a peace treaty between the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag Nation. Thus saving the Pilgrims from their failing attempt of a socialist society (which resulted in laziness, ending in starvation). At the end of their first year, the Pilgrims held a great feast honoring Squanto and the Wampanoags for saving them from death. The indians supplied most of the food.

After a while Pilgrims started telling their Indian neighbors that their Indian religion and Indian customs were wrong. The Pilgrims displayed an intolerance toward the Indian religion similar to the intolerance displayed toward the less popular religions in Europe. The relationship deteriorated and within a few years the children of the people who ate together at the first Thanksgiving were killing one another in what came to be called King Phillip's War.

The Pilgrims were not just innocent refugees from religious persecution. They were victims of bigotry in England, but some of them were themselves religious bigots by our modern standards. The Puritans and the Pilgrims saw themselves as the "Chosen Elect" mentioned in the book of Revelation. They strove to "purify" first themselves and then everyone else of everything they did not accept in their own interpretation of scripture. Later New England Puritans used any means, including deceptions, treachery, torture, war, and genocide to achieve that end. They saw themselves as fighting a holy war against Satan, and everyone who disagreed with them was the enemy. This rigid fundamentalism was transmitted to America by the Plymouth colonists, and it sheds a very different light on the "Pilgrim" image we have of them. This is best illustrated in the written text of the Thanksgiving sermon delivered at Plymouth in 1623 by "Mather the Elder." In it, Mather the Elder gave special thanks to God for the devastating plague of smallpox which wiped out the majority of the Wampanoag Indians who had been their benefactors. He praised God for destroying "chiefly young men and children, the very seeds of increase, thus clearing the forests to make way for a better growth"

In 1637 near present day Groton, Connecticut, over 700 men, women and children of the Pequot Tribe had gathered for their annual Green Corn Festival which is our Thanksgiving celebration. In the predawn hours the sleeping Indians were surrounded by English and Dutch mercenaries who ordered them to come outside. Those who came out were shot or clubbed to death while the terrified women and children who huddled inside the longhouse were burned alive. The next day the governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony declared "A Day Of Thanksgiving" because 700 unarmed men, women and children had been murdered.

Cheered by their "victory", the brave colonists and their Indian allies attacked village after village. Women and children over 14 were sold into slavery while the rest were murdered. Boats loaded with a many as 500 slaves regularly left the ports of New England. Bounties were paid for Indian scalps to encourage as many deaths as possible.

Following an especially successful raid against the Pequot in what is now Stamford, Connecticut, the churches announced a second day of "thanksgiving" to celebrate victory over the heathen savages. During the feasting, the hacked off heads of Natives were kicked through the streets like soccer balls. Even the friendly Wampanoag did not escape the madness. Their chief was beheaded, and his head impaled on a pole in Plymouth, Massachusetts where it remained on display for 24 years.

The killings became more and more frenzied, with days of thanksgiving feasts being held after each successful massacre. George Washington finally suggested that only one day of Thanksgiving a year be set aside instead of celebrating each and every massacre. Later Abraham Lincoln decreed Thanksgiving Day to be a legal national holiday during the Civil War, on the same day he ordered troops to march against the starving Sioux in Minnesota. But it wasn't until 1939, when President Franklin D. Roosevelt moved Thanksgiving forward by one week, to mark the beginning of the holiday shopping season. Leaving it were we know it today, the last Thursday in November.

The story of Thanksgiving is also the story of the birth of America. It is a story of greed and corruption, which happen to be the principals in which our nation was founded and still runs on today. Have things really changed over all these years? Maybe we are not kicking Native Americans heads around like sporting equipment, but we are still a nation of greed who continues to not learn from our mistakes. We polish the story of Thanksgiving into a homogenized version which forces us to forget our past. There may have been a moment where we sat peacefully and ate, but soon after we grew greedy and ungrateful and ruined it. It is a perfect example of the human race and America as a whole. I'm not saying I'm immune to it. I have credit card debt, not to mention a mean addiction to EBay.

So, maybe this year we should be thankful for what we do have. A crumbling economy in the middle of the biggest financial slump in history, er, I mean, pie, lots of pie.

Dirty Fag.

2008-10-02T11:29:00.000-07:00

Williamsburg Bridge

2008-10-02T11:10:00.000-07:00

On my way to work this week the L train wasn't running, so I decided instead of paying $30 to get to work to make $30 I would just walk. It wasn't nearly as thrilling as anticipated. Is anything ever?

It's finally beginning to feel like fall and I'm loving it.

blog post number fifteen.

2008-09-22T17:02:00.000-07:00

Today I woke up really missing San Diego. Well, waking up implies that I slept, which I didn't really.

I left the bed this morning really missing San Diego. I suppose it's like most things that you don't have anymore. Everyone was sad when Richard Nixon died and I'm sure someone really missed Adolph Hitler when he wasn't around. It's funny how you always want what you don't have. I guess I mean me, I want what I don't have. Which isn't entirely true. I have a lot of what I want. I consider myself a mildly lucky individual, fortunate in most ways. I have a wonderful boyfriend who I love, sort of well-behaved pets, a job (it doesn't make me money, but I have it), wonderful parents, great friends, a bangin' body and a few dollars in my bank account (like five). So, I'm lucky-ish. I mean I could be fat or short.

So, I started to miss San Diego. It's not the worst place in the world to live. It's sunny, there's a beach, little bungalow houses and TONS of white people! I miss my job there, not what I did there as much as the place. I had the best co-workers/boss ever. It was super neat. The city was so laid back, so laid back everyone was practically asleep. So, I left for New York because it was what San Diego was not. Now I live in New York and want to live on a farm.

What is a mildly lucky individual like me suppose to do?

I can't help but wonder if there's some more I'm suppose to be doing.. I mean making sure people's bangs are an appropriate length is totally vital and detrimental to life as we know it, but there are other really important things like the fact that we rely totally on oil and we're basically out of it. I just watched 'Crude Awakening' last night. WAAAAAHHH, WAAAAAAAAHHH. God, I mean, give me another reason to HATE people. After watching it and listening to Jon and Nick talk about 'Animal, Vegetable, Miracle', I want to live on a big beautiful farm. And I want to read 'Animal, Vegetable, Miracle'. I know once I finish it I will move to the middle of nowhere and start planting things. I could farm. I mean as far as changing the world and helping the greater good, farming is something I could do. Curing cancer or something involving numbers, forget it. Plants? Why not? But then would I again long for what I didn't have? A city? Or would western civilization have then crumbled leaving cities as putrid collapsing ghettos? Would New York then be much different? Or would I want to move back to the west coast? By then they will all be out of water. Or maybe by then I'll want to open a restaurant. Or a strip club... people in various states of undress are always entertaining.

The point is I don't know.

And then I think, Jacob, no one really knows. The important thing is that we all look ultra sexy and all have really white teeth.. and lots of money.

Donatin'

2008-09-12T09:06:00.000-07:00

So, I thought a lot about who I want to donate money to this month. I considered pushing it over Barack Obama's way, but Jon has been giving him money so I decided to give it to those less fortunate. This month I will donate my ten bucks to help the Humane Society help animals. I love animals. This makes me a better person.

If you would like to be a better person, like me, you can donate too. Donate to the "Jacob Has Too Much Credit Card Debt Foundation" by simply clicking the donate button located below. I accept most major credit cards.

Filth.

2008-09-11T14:05:00.000-07:00

As I was returning from my hour trek to a decent grocery store, I was standing on the subway platform and began to examine my fellow travelers around me. All colors and shapes (and sizes). Then I looked down and began to examine the rat a few feet away from me. He had enormous testicles. It got me thinking, thinking not about testicles, but of exactly how dirty New York is.

Once the train roared in, blowing an intense wind, a wind of rat feces and decades of grime, it stopped and I crammed on board with the throngs of melting pot commuters. Across from me was a Mexican man with a ponytail scratching at his arm, picking a scab. As he picked, he flicked, flicking the largest portion of scab into this girl's hair who was asleep on the bench below him. Meanwhile, the large dirty man who was pressed against me, due to the rush hour overload, began to pick under his fingernails with a scrap of cardboard, which he then discarded onto my shoe. This got me thinking again, not of how I now wanted to burn my shoes when I got home, but of how a few weeks ago I went apartment hunting with a co-worker. She and I went to the upper east side, a nice neighborhood, to find her a place to live. I was along for the ride and was very curious to see exactly how small the places were. I was surprised, not at how small they were (they were small), but at how dirty they were. Molded bathrooms, soiled kitchens.. and these people were home, standing there, smiling at us, proud of their gardens of goo. All of the places, except for one, were pretty much disgusting. It's crazy to me. Wouldn't you want your home to be a safe haven from the squalid streets of New York? I know I like things clean, sometimes a little too clean, but this is ridiculous. I started thinking about the dirty city, dirty apartments, dirty people, there is no break from it. And to make things worse returning to Bushwick is like is a stab in the face. Garbage tornadoes down Whipple Street, used condoms strewn about like deflated party balloons, and baby diapers packed tightly with rancid shit waiting curbside. It doesn't end, this filth. Here we are in this modern society but in so many ways we are a bucket-of-trash-out-the-window away from living like medieval peasants. I know I'm over exaggerating.. a little. On my way to work the other day I counted eight piles of vomit, in all colors and consistency, on various parts of the sidewalk. Then, the other day the smell of hot garbage blew into my place of employment and everyone was like, "oh, god, gross... eh... it'll blow by". WHAT?! Ew, seriously. One night last month I awoke from slumber because the air coming through my air-conditioner vent smelled so foul it made my eye lids pop open. New York is fun and all, but why does it have to be so dirty? People hawking loogies all over the sidewalk. Ethan Hawke? (He lives around the corner from my work so I see him daily. He needs a bath and a dentist appointment, seriously.) I watched this guy one afternoon toss his McDonald's cup onto 9th Avenue and keep walking. I realized it's people's lack of concern for those around them. Everyone is too selfish and too lazy to make New York not a trash can. No one cares. They don't care if their scabs are falling in people's hair or their fingernail clippings are left on a bench for someone else to sweep off. They don't care that someone else has to step in their loogie. And these are the same people who are hired to clean New York. The people in charge of cleaning the subway cars, for example, they live in my neighborhood, I'm sure. I can only imagine what their homes look like. I've watched them "clean" the train cars. They don't care. Why would they? They get nothing and do nothing. Doesn't matter to them. Sorry, I could write a whole separate blog about how fucking lazy people are, but this one is about how dirty people are. Oh, and fat people.. that's another blog, too, but it's the worst when the fatty's are dirty or littering. Ooo, that really burns me up. Anyway, New York is dirty and when I get home I blow my nose and my boogers are the color of the subway tracks.

As I examined the rat with elephantitis of the testicles, I thought, am I much different? Not because, I too have elephantitis testicles, but because I'm covered in dirt, like him, crowded in by millions, just trying to make my way. And sometimes, I too eat garbage. Maybe that's why they call it the rat race? It does amaze me how New Yorker's compromise and/or accept this as a way of life. Not only that but they pay thousands of dollars a month to live in shoe boxes surrounded by crud. The funny thing is, most of these people are from smaller, cleaner towns or cities. Shouldn't they want a cleaner life? Or do they thrive in the filth, like a chinchilla having a dust bath, or Eddy rubbing her face in dead bird remains? Remember when David Copperfield made the Statue of Liberty disappear? Maybe he could make the dirt in New York disappear.. that's something I'd like to see. Is he still alive? Or maybe that David Blaine fellow? I hate him. Regardless, I'm going to go take a shower.

CUNT.

2008-09-08T18:49:00.000-07:00

“So Sambo beat the bitch!”

This is how Republican Vice Presidential nominee Sarah Palin described Barack Obama’s win over Hillary Clinton to political colleagues in a restaurant a few days after Obama locked up the Democratic Party presidential nomination.

Oh, and this.

I really don't like to get involved in politics, it usually makes me really stressed out and it's totally not worth it (i.e. 2000, 2004). So, this time I'll keep my mouth shut and just vote for that nice Barack fellow. He seems like a nice man. But, I just wanted to say Sarah Palin is a beastly shit-bag with a heart of stone (and a brain the size of a pea) and I hope she burns in hell (if there was one, but there's not, Alise).

Oh, and nice bangs, cunt.

blog post number eleven.

2008-08-15T15:37:00.000-07:00

I wandered down to the water this afternoon and a storm was rolling across Manhattan. Of course an Iphone photo doesn't do it justice, but it was really pretty.

Tattoos

2008-08-15T13:14:00.000-07:00

So, I've been thinking about getting another tattoo, or as Nick calls them "dirty marks on your skin forever". When getting tattooed you must choose wisely because it's pretty much permanent. I mean now they have tattoo removal, but it usually just blurs what was once your tattoo into a smudgy-shit-smear.

I was looking on the world wide web at tattoos and came across some really awful ones. Just thought I'd share.

*The last one was a woman who tattooed this online casino's web address on her forehead for $15,000. What a good idea.

Grocery Shopping

2008-08-14T16:27:00.000-07:00

Just down Broadway and a left on Manhattan, lies the Food Bazaar. Nestled between the projects and the JMZ subway line like a genital wart tucked snugly between two labia, the Food Bazaar is the primary grocer serving the residents off the Flushing stop.

I can't even describe this place and pictures don't do it justice, but I felt the need to share. Misery loves company, I guess.

The smell when shopping here is always different though always stale. The rotten and/or soggy produce is consistently rotten and/or soggy. The lines are long and there is absolutely no order in which things are shelved. All and all it makes for an awful shopping trip, one you try to hold your breath through while moving as fast as possible.

Watch your step!

What does Goya have on sale this week?!

Rotten peanuts! I'll take a pound!

Fun around every corner!

Here at Food Bazaar the slogan reads, "Getting Better Than Yesterday!", this is, in fact, not true.

This is where I always hold my breath.

Look out! More locals.

There's always something new to discover at the Food Bazaar.

This gentleman was looking mighty fierce in his grey mesh tee.

The best part is at the end of this horrible experience, after your enthusiastic checkout service, they expect a tip.

Oh, who would have thought that something as simple as grocery shopping could be so... not fun?
I guess I'll have to do my shopping in Manhattan, not ON Manhattan.

No, thank you food bazaar.

blog post number eight.

2008-08-07T12:31:00.000-07:00

In response to Nick's blog I decided to make a donation, mainly out of boredom, but whatever. I donated my ten bucks to chihuahuarescue.com. Hopefully this money goes to feeding a little starving/abandonded chihuahua or at least to fixing their shitty website.

I am a better person... and still bored.

I killed the teen dream, deal with it.

2008-08-04T19:05:00.000-07:00

Today MTV was at my salon filming their show "Made". For those of you who don't know, Made is a show where they take some total loser and make them into whatever they want, be it a cheerleader or a rock star. Well, today's episode they were transforming this "academic" (to put it nicely) girl (with a large mannish head) into a "beauty queen". I'm pretty sure after she was all gussied up they popped her into a prom dress and she probably won the Miss American Pageant all through the magic of television. Which brings me to the TV, which was on when I got home. What were the options of the evening? Teen Choice Awards and some reality show where the contestants win a spot in High School Musical. Sigh. What is going on? What is happening to teenagers? I know I'm not that old, really, but I feel like the new fad is to be totally into yourself. To be a bronzed whore. Everywhere. All the girls, and guys, look like plastic teen porn. It creeps me out a little. The "academic" (newly transformed) man-faced-mini-whore was so happy with herself, after they'd finished with her, so full of confidence. She was finally teen porn. Dreams come true. I think she then was trying to hit on me. She kept staring at me, giving me her newly painted-on bedroom eyes.

I don't know what the point of this is. I just feel like in the 90s we weren't so self absorbed. Grunge was cool. Not bronzer.

I'm just saying.

Oh, Grandma..

2008-08-04T18:40:00.000-07:00

My dear grandmother sent me this "eye-opening" email. Just thought I'd share.

Here it is.

A lot of Americans have become so insulated from reality that they imagine that America can suffer defeat without any inconvenience to themselves.

Pause a moment, reflect back.

These events are actual events from history..

They really happened!!!

Do you remember?

1. 1968 Bobby Kennedy was shot and killed by Muslim male extremist between the ages of 17 and 40.

2. In 1972 at the Munich Olympics, athletes were kidnapped and massacred by Muslim male extremists between the ages of 17 and 40.

3. In 1979, the US embassy in Iran was taken over by Muslim male extremists between the ages of 17 and 40.

4. During the 1980's a number of Americans were kidnapped in Lebanon by Muslim male extremists between the ages of 17 and 40.

5. In 1983, the US Marine barracks in Beirut was blown up by Muslim male extremists between the ages of 17 and 40.

6. In 1985 the cruise ship Achille Lauro was hijacked and a 70 year old American passenger was murdered and thrown overboard in his wheelchair by Muslim male extremists between the ages of 17 and 40.

7. In 1985 TWA flight 847 was hijacked at Athens , and a US Navy diver trying to rescue passengers was murdered by Muslim male extremists between the ages of 17 and 40.

8. In 1988 , Pan Am Flight 103 was bombed by Muslim male extremists between the ages of 17 and 40.

9. In 1993 the World Trade Center was bombed the first time by Muslim male extremists between the ages of 17 and 40.

10. In 1998, the US embassies in Kenya and Tanzania were bombed by Muslim male extremists between the ages of 17 and 40.

11. On 9/11/01, four airliners were hijacked; two were used as missiles to take down the World Trade Centers and of the remaining two, one crashed into the US Pentagon and the other was diverted and crashed by the passengers. Thousands of people were killed by Muslim male extremists between the of 17 and 40.

12. In 2002 the United States fought a war in Afghanistan against Muslim male extremists between the ages of 17 and 40.

13. In 2002 reporter Daniel Pearl was kidnapped and murdered by-- you guessed it-- Muslim male extremists between the ages of 17 and 40.

No, I really don't see a pattern here to justify profiling, do you? So, to ensure we Americans never offend anyone, particularly fanatics intent on killing us, airport security screeners will no longer be allowed to profile certain people... Absolutely No Profiling!

They must conduct random searches of 80-year-old women, little kids, airline pilots with proper identification, secret agents who are members of the President's security detail, 85-year old Congressmen with metal hips, and Medal of Honor winner and former Governor Joe Foss, but leave Muslim Males between the ages 17 and 40 alone lest they be guilty of profiling.

According to The Book of Revelations:

The Anti-Christ will be a man, in his 40s, of MUSLIM descent, who will deceive the nations with persuasive language, and have a MASSIVE Christ-like appeal....the prophecy says that people will flock to him and he will promise false hope and world peace, and when he is in power, he will destroy everything.

And Now:
For the award winning Act of Stupidity Of all times the People of America want to elect, to the most Powerful position on the face of the Planet -- The Presidency of the United states of America ... A Muslim Male Extremist Between the ages of 17 and 48.

Have the American People completely lost their Minds, or just their Power of Reason ???

I'm sorry but I refuse to take a chance on the 'unknown' candidate Obama...

Let's send this to as many people as we can so that the Gloria Aldreds and other stupid attorneys along with Federal Justices that want to thwart common sense, feel ashamed of themselves -- if they have any such sense.

As the writer of the award winning story 'Forrest Gump' so aptly put it,

"Stupid Is As Stupid Does"

blog post number five.

2008-06-26T20:04:00.000-07:00

Bushwick, USA

2008-06-26T13:31:00.000-07:00

bushwick is a neighborhood in the northeastern part of the new york city borough of brooklyn. it is fifteen minutes away from manhattan by either of the two subway lines serving it.

it is my new home.

in 1638 bushwick was bought from some indians by a man named peter stuyvestant. i'm sure he didn't REALLY "buy" it, he probably just murdered them or killed their babies until they left, but anyways. in 1661 he ended up naming it "boswijck", meaning "little town in the woods" or "heavy woods" in 17th century dutch. which is now really ironic considering there are about two trees. it then became part of new netherland. isn't this all very fascinating?
when bushwick was founded, it was primarily an area for farming food and tobacco, but as brooklyn and new york city grew, factories that manufactured sugar, oil, and chemicals were built. then in the 1840s and 1850s all the germans started moving in and along with them came beer (yay) and breweries. thus bushwick was dubbed the "beer capital of the northeast".

ANYWAY. blah, blah, blah, then starting in the 1950s everything started going to shit. this continued through the seventies. things just kept getting worse for bushwick. the 80s and 90s weren't any better. in 1990 there were 77 murders, 80 rapes and 2,242 robberies. geez. throughout this time buildings that were deemed unsafe were knocked over making it more and more desolate.

blah, blah, 2000s, the years of change. am i boring you? anyway, now hipsters are staking their claim on this area mostly due to its gritty pregentrified ambiance. or it's the only place they can afford, like me.

with all that being said...

this is where i live.

this is where i sleep.

not really, but it was laying on my street. thames street.

down the street from my home are various factories and warehouses. one block down from me is a warehouse where they store and weigh garbage.

this is a "cracker patch", so to speak. it houses a coffee shop and a natural foods store. $7 eggs anyone?

bushwick has a population over 100,000. more than half the population lives below the poverty line and receives public assistance.

hey look, it's manhattan waaaay over there. hi manhattan.
so, i guess this is home for now.
sweet dreams, bushwick.

you didn't try hard enough to find shoes today.

2008-06-12T15:15:00.000-07:00

blog post number two.

2008-06-12T14:50:00.000-07:00

ha.

oh, my.

i remember it like it was yesterday. only i thought i looked way cooler.. and more scary. such a scary suburban home too.

i wonder if my mom was wondering where all her pantyhose and lip liner went?

blog post number one.

2008-06-10T19:30:00.001-07:00

so, here it is. my very own blog.

*sigh*

i love things about me.