On A Lighter Note

A list of 10 Things That Prove I Am Not A Sourpussy Old Curmudgeon (in no particular order):

1) I also coined the word sexorexic. For those of us who haven't "eaten" in so long we can't remember being hungry.

I mean, as I told Beth, our sexual ribs are poking through, and when we look in the mirror, we STILL think we look fat.

2) I get to go to the DAILY SHOW TOMORROW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHH!!

3) Since last post, became presiding KICKBALL CHAMPIONS OF THE WORLD! Also saw The Police on a psuedo-date, that was pretty sweet. And free--HA!

4) Will be published as author of FEATURE article in September issue due out in about one point five weeks.

5) Nobody can drink a Car Bomb faster than me, nobody. Yet another heavyweight title belt.

6) My sister has a faux hawk!!! At least some of the time, and I could NOT be any prouder of her coolness.

7) Lakes are fun, suntans funner, new, bigger, better, stronger belly after days of beer swigging and piggin' out, not so cool, but so worth it.

8) Only 2.5 weeks until Monolith. Where there will be great Atmosphere, nah'mean?

9) I have a savings account for the first time since I hit puberty.

10) Last month, I had an opportunity to respond to an especially dou-che (pronounced like touche) date of mine, who when I texted, totally out of courtesy, to see how his new status of self-employer was said, and keep in mind I am pretty darn sure said fellow is an ENORMOUS tool: Muy bueno, como estas? At other times he also said the following: "Dinner at 7, mon cher?" and "Sabor Latino, 7:30, bring your Tommy Gun." So, in response to the polite question, I got to say: "Non important, yo tengo papel." The only thing worth saying in Spanish if you are from my family. And I probably spelled it wrong. Yahoo!

Jabber...Wonky?

Yesterday, at kickball...our first loss of this season, sadly enough to say, and I know that I can hear the sharp intake of breath--yours with horror and shock--I was cheering on a runner, one on mine own team, of course, not one of those horrible ass-clowns from the other team. By the way, their mascot is the Jersey Monster (a player who looked eerily like a younger, slightly more natural but even creepier George Hamilton and was all over the field like a vulture on a gutwagon) and ours is me. Just me. I do kicks. It is pretty amazing.

A-N-Y-how, there I was cheering, hollering, screaming and gyrating as one does and a new guy (approximately eleven) was doing about the same--we were near scoring a run, shut out my BOOT!--when we achieved a kick and said runner was--well, running--and me and 11-year old (was his name Zack?) screached, "RUN! RUN LIKE THE DICKENS!!!" In exceptionally synchronized unison.

Better yet? He followed with:

"WHY are you stealing my SIMILE!?"

He might be 11 but, hey....nudge, nudge.

After which a few gals from the team decided to celebrate our losses with a few $4 Margs and $1 Tacos. During this dinner we somehow snagged a young man (and an old man--together) to come sit with us and chat us up. I was clearly the black, less-than-cute sheep of our femme foursome and, on top of that, was the only one with any particular tart in my conversational skills. I could feel the rejection. It was thicker than my guac.

But moving on, this may or may not have contributed to the immense anxiety I had during the night (this happens a lot these days, literally awoken--or never allowed to sleep--by nagging super-anxieties, and DAMN those fuckers are persistent). I was overcome by my normal fear that, somehow, something bad about me will be exposed, very publicly. I fear there are terrible things about me on the internet, that my medical records will leak, that people know all my darkest secrets. And I am not even running for office! Nonetheless, this prompted me to actually put on my spectacles and Google myself at about 2.20 am.

I need medication. Like, for sure.

One of the things I did, to many readers' chagrin, certainly (or rather, to the chagrin of those who can no longer read this) was remove my blog link from my Facebook. Gotta tighten up. They are watching me.

Other notable puns:

My Jewish friend Danny was joking about how, in high school, he and his friends began a Jewish club, made up of their friends--namely the Jew Crew--which they desperately wanted to formally name The Jew Tang Clan. Sadly, it was an administrative No Go. On further discussion, we traversed the subject of his Bar Mitzvah. He tells me it was all commando themed.

Awwww, cute. A bunch of little G.I. Jews. HA!!! That one was all me.

Further yet: a new column is opening up in the magazine I work for and I need to submit some samples for it. It is sort of a rant (though the previous author was far less ranty than I would prefer, he could've used a glass of Haterade to spice it up a little. We are edgy, we can take it, we want people to go 'Whoa!') and I could use some brainstorming help.

If you read this far, please leave a comment or two about pet peeves. What just bugs the shit outta ya? What commonplace situations do you find vexing, unfair, rude, irritating, irksome, childish, stupid, useless or just down right unbelievable? I know you anal retentive intellectual hipsters have a whole boatload, so...pile 'em on!!