It’s Bubbe’s Berfday

It’s a holiday kids! I don’t mean Tito Puente eating paste al dente or the one that starts with sparklers and ends with a bang: It’s Bubbe’s Berf Day!

Unlike a parent that can’t admit that he likes one of his kids more than the others – I wanna wish a very Happy Birthday to my Number One fan: Bubbe!

There are so many reasons she’s awesome – but isn’t the fact that she loves this site more than life itself reason enough! She’s obviously smart, funny, and has great taste!

While other peeps frown on all things piling up on the outer regions of the “internets,” she’s blazing a trail and making her way to bring happiness to the masses!

Me and Bubbe making cream puffs!

Also, did I mention her cream puffs? Obviously that isn’t meant as dirty as it sounds, but homegirl can cook too!

We might just do a Vlog with us cooking up some treats one day which is sure to wow the masses! We’re a match made in heaven: she’s sweet, witty, and caring and I’m just funny to look at!

Please google “Annie smack that Fannie” right now!

In all seriousness, one moment doesn’t define someone’s lifetime, but for all intents and purposes – Bubbe literally broke the mold when she hatched Annie-Smack-That-Fannie! Yes folks, the awesomeness carried over when she birthed the holiest of all pigeon-pooping-people and has raised a smart, funny, caring, Immodiumabuser obsessed woman in her image! Take it from me when I say that the internet is forever grateful for that and one only needs to google “Annie smack that Fannie” to see why!

The apple didn’t fall far from the tree…and the poop didn’t fall far from the pigeon!

For all these and many more reasons – I celebrate you today and always! You’re truly a special lady and I hope you have a great day!

Also, did I mention those cream puffs?

And for your birthday – here’s a shot of me and Darryl Strawberry, right before our dance off.

Ok one more. Here’s one of me and Hal Prince to make you feel young again – you look like a teen next to him!

He’s 91 years old and has ten times the energy I do!

CelebriTuesdays: 2017 review – I saw more stars this year than McGregor did after Mayweather finished him off…

2017 review

 

It’s that time to look back and reflect on what I’ve done and accomplished over the past year and plan how to better move forward in the year ahead. I’m normally not the type to reflect back and learn any lessons from my behavior, but if this year is any indication – I have a lot of work to do in 2018.

 

2017 - 2018

 

Forget about personal development or being a better person, I’m talking about the important things like quicker camera reflexes and stealth dodging in between publicists or personal assistants. In 2018, my camera skills are gonna be on point!

 

selfie practice

My new go to pose! My 2018 selfies are gonna be off the chain!

 

Not to brag too much, but I did get lucky a lot this year. I got to meet a bunch of cool celebrities and whether you attribute that to the luck of the Irish, the power of the Imodium or just the sheer tenacity of a stalker; it was a banner year in a lot of ways. If for nothing else, any year in which I got to see my Larry David in person (even if I did miss snapping a pic because I broke the cardinal rule of no texting while stalking) is a success.

 

larry selfie

Love this! I’d do the same thing…

 

 

Despite my best efforts, there were a few mishaps along the way (besides me looking like I was mid-seizure while singing Say You to Lionel Richie-which he didn’t seem to appreciate as much as I thought he should have) For instance, I got cocky with Seal. There he was just a few feet from me taking pictures with a bunch of fans, when he abruptly stopped the pictures and said he had to go. I don’t know if he could tell that I was seconds away from bursting out “You’re never gonna survive, uuuuunless, we get a little craaaazyyyy!!!” or if he just took one look at me and knew no good could come of encouraging a lunatic like this, but I was denied and he passed me by. He wasn’t being dickish and probably was in a rush or maybe he was hungry (even Seals need to eat too) or maybe he had to take a shit or any of the myriad reasons one doesn’t want to be bothered in public by strangers, but I wasn’t prepared for his abrupt halt to the proceedings. My phone was on selfie mode with the camera facing me so by the time I turned it to front facing, this was all I could get because I was looking at him and didn’t want to walk into the window:

 

 

Seal

Look at that jaw and jacket – who else could it be?

 

If you look at that jaw and the jacket and pants – who else could it be but Seal? He got into his car and poof – he was gone. Seals on the beach are kinda slow moving, but when Seal’s in the Sirius lobby he’s pretty damn fast.

 

 

 

I was at The Today Show one morning feeling great about the good shot I got with Pablo Pascal when I turned and Luke Wilson was right next to me about to enter the building. I could only say “Luke” and try to get my phone out for a picture, but he just smiled and walked away. Normally, the celebrities pull up and unload on the curb, but he just walked up unencumbered and casual. He was promoting the film Brad’s Status, but guess who wasn’t promoting Tony’s status that day? Luke Wilson.

 

luke wilson

 

There were a few times when my impatience or the poor timing of Metro North’s morning trains (or as I refer to it – Satan’s sleigh) get the better of me and I missed J.B. Smoove, Naomi Judd, Drew Barrymore, and Carol Burnett. I don’t get myself down about the ones I let get away, I focus on the ones I’ll see tomorrow. Like Annie sang “The stars will come out, tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar I’ll be stalking, all day long…”

 

missed it

 

When I saw Scott Ian from Anthrax, he wasn’t taking picture because he was with his son and wife, Pearl Aday (Meat Loaf’s daughter – Little Baby Loaf. No really, she is the actual daughter of the Loaf). They didn’t want to take pictures with their kid which I fully respect and believe it or not, even I have limits and never tread on that. Children are sacred and I never bother anyone with kids because it’s really not cool. When they were bringing Kelly Clarkson’s daughter into The Today Show, some people were snapping away, but seriously – who does that? A) it’s a baby leave her alone and B) that could be my baby – you can’t identify any baby from a quick snap while they’re walking past so fast…

 

Scott Ian and Pearl Aday

Scott Ian of Anthrax and Ms Loaf herself, Pearl Aday

 

Some people draw a bigger crowd than others and I’m not normally one to compare size, but there is a certain appeal when you’re rocking a huge crowd. But as my wife constantly reassures me, it’s not the size of your crowd – it’s what you do with it that matters. There was no one around when I saw Liev Schreiber and Cat Stevens and they were both awesome. Small crowds, but big personalities and I wasn’t disappointed. The opposite was true of Charlize Theron. Hot as can be and she was packing a big crowd, but no one was getting near her and she wasn’t stopping for anyone.

 

charlize selfie

 

I’m not sure if this is actually a selfie with her and I, but we are both technically in the picture together so I’m gonna say it counts.

 

charlize

 

My biggest faux pas, was my most recent. I saw one of the regular security guards from the building rush up and ask for a photo with this guy and his entourage. He happily obliged and they even got all festive-like and took it by the Lobby Christmas Tree. Seeing this occur, me and some of the other regulars went over and waited our turn to meet him, exchange pleasantries, and snap away. It wasn’t until all of us (SEVEN PEOPLE MIND YOU) had taken pictures with him and compared notes outside that we realized there wasn’t one of us that knew who he was. Seriously, we had all just bum rushed someone to take a picture with us by the Christmas Tree with no idea who it was. This isn’t a strange occurrence, as sometimes one person will recognize someone and then we will tell the others afterwards if they don’t know them (like what happened with the people from Love & Hip Hop). It has never happened where none knew who it was. When I met him, I didn’t know who it was but obviously l didn’t want to walk over and say “Hi, can I take a picture with you and then can you tell me who you are?” so I said “I’m Tony, it’s great to meet you.” I thought I was being smooth and that he’d naturally say his name as well, but he only said “Tony, it’s great to meet you – have a great Holiday!”

 

Closer

 

The security guard didn’t even know and he was the first one to get a picture so I really blame him for this – he told us that he just assumed since he was wearing shades indoors and walking with a bunch of guys that looked like his entourage, that he was probably someone famous. They got into a nice SUV like the celebrities regularly do so he actually might be someone, but my fear is that we bum rushed Jimmy from Accounting on the 23rd floor while he was on the way to his Uber. Let me know if this guy looks familiar to anyone and drop me a line if he does.

 

Very Close

 

So here I am at the end of the year looking over my pictures and working on my posts for next year as I have a bunch of celebrities waiting to have their brushes with Immodium-Abusing infamy told on these hallowed pages. Much more to come my friends – much more to come! Happy New Year and my wish for you is that your hearts be as full this Holiday Season as my stock of Imodium AD is!!!

 

happy new year

 

 

 

Think you have bad luck? My brother got ran over TWICE by the same car!

 

 

unlucky meme

With St. Patrick’s Day last week, I was thinking about sharing some stories about my lucky shamrocks, but as I was writing, I couldn’t help but think of my brother. Forget about Luck of the Irish, if it weren’t for bad luck, my brother Joey wouldn’t have any at all. Here’s a perfect example to illustrate just how unlucky he is – picture it: Merit Gas Station: Long Island: September 2000.

die peacefully

My brother pulled into the gas station one man and left in tattered pieces. Nowadays, you can pay at the pump, but for anyone of the young’uns that might be reading this – back in 2000 it was down-right prehistoric: you won’t believe it, but we had to actually walk from your car to the attendant’s booth, prepay for your gas and then walk all the way back to your car to fill it up. Simple enough for most people, but not for my brother, not that day. Joey put the pump in the gas tank, headed over to prepay, paid for his gas, and headed back over to pump it. All normal and the same thing he had done hundreds and hundreds of times when – BOOM he’s suddenly a hood ornament!

 

hit with car

 

Out of nowhere, an old man rammed into Joey, knocking him to the ground, and proceeded to drive over him like he was gas station roadkill. Seriously, he was a Merritt Muskrat flattened like a pancake! Picture a possum on I95 wriggling under the front tires trying to break free before he’s crushed to bits – that was my brother there on the pavement. As he was screaming in agony and trying to figure out what the hell was going on, the old man realized that he hit something, stopped the car, and threw it in reverse. HE THREW THE EFFING CAR IN REVERSE AND THEN PROCEEDED TO HIT HIM AGAIN!  HE RAN HIM OVER TWICE! JOEY GOT HIT BY THE SAME CAR TWICE!!!

 

hold onto your teeth.jpg

 

My brother was in pain the first go around, but the shock of the car re-running him over set him over the edge. Screaming for help, the other customers could only watch in horror until that pimped out old Caddy finally came to a resting halt. One would think that people watching this unfold or the Police on the scene might rush over to my brother to assist and try and see if this real life crash test dummy was still alive, but they instead ran to the old man, who was clutching his chest. At this point he was outside the car on the ground next to Joey because after stopping the car, he got out, took one look at my brother, turned white as a ghost, shrugged his shoulders as if to say “Shit happens” and then his feet came out from underneath him and he hit the pavement.

grumpy old men.jpg

As the police and emergency personnel were tending to the old man, my brother was screaming “What the fuck? He ran me over twice and you’re helping him? Someone pump my gas or get my fucking money back from that attendant!” It fell on deaf ears though, as the police were trying to get the old man’s information. He directed them to his dashboard – he had flash cards with his name, address, and directions back to his house. Apparently, he had suffered a stroke almost four months to the day of the accident and wasn’t supposed to be driving. Of course, they felt the old man was in critical condition and immediately got him out of there in an ambulance and then asked my brother if he wanted an ambulance as well. Who stops to ask the person that got ran over twice if they’d like an ambulance? If ever there was a clear cut need for an ambulance, I’m pretty sure that was it.  

 

steamroller blues.jpg

 

It’s like every time he gets gas, that Elvis song “Steamroller Blues” plays in the background like his very own theme song: “I’m a steamroller baby, I’m ‘bout to roll all over you…” I’d like to say that my brother is now safely crossing on the green and not in between, but when we recently followed him to my sister’s house, he pulled over to get out and switch drivers right on the highway and his wife said “Why in the world would he get out of the car on a highway instead of pulling into a parking lot? Wasn’t getting run over twice enough?” Apparently, you can take the boy out of the gas station, but you can’t take the gas station out of the boy!

mr t jimmy.jpg

This has nothing to do with my brother or him getting hit by the car TWICE, but there’s always room for Jimmy McMillan!

 

Apparently, the first sense you lose once you get struck by a car is your sense of humor – and it’s still on the fritz because almost 17 years later, he still doesn’t think it’s funny. In hindsight, he really did get seriously hurt: he had his shoulder operated on, broke two toes and messed up his knee pretty bad. I only make light of this happening because it didn’t happen to me and it’s been years since it happened so it’s OK to laugh about it now. Granted we laughed back then too, but that’s not the point. We live and we learn and since then he looks both ways twice before crossing just in case…

 

unlucky.png

 

SHE GOT DOWN TO THE NITTY GRITTY ALL OVER THAT POOR KITTY!!!

 

funny_happy_birthday_cat_meme__grumpy_cat___why_are_you_stupid_1

 

Continuing with my December kickoff tribute to my sister’s Birthday, I wanted to wish her a year ahead full of many wishes coming true including never again evacuating her bowels on a cat! Yes, Happy Birthday Carlotta, my sister is the one that shit on a cat! Read the original The pretty kitty got all shitty before you go any further:

 

The Pretty Kitty Got All Shitty

 

I originally wrote this post about my sister shitting on a cat and thought it was really funny but I showed no regard for a certain special someone’s feelings and for that, I was wrong. I want to go back now and give her a chance to clear the air, so to speak, and after all this time to finally be able to tell her side of the story. This is a first for me, but without any edits or interference at all – I present you with a very special guest post written by none other than Pretty the Kitty. I try never to get into any he said/she said battles and I’m not taking sides, but a feline with a grudge after she was covered in sludge should not be ignored.
getting-real-tired-of-your-shit-cat

 

(I transcribed the following as Pretty dictated to me. Come on, she’s a cat – did you really think she could type?)

 

It was a regular day and I was just chillaxing by my litter box when I heard a huge commotion in the next room. I had no idea why there was screaming and banging, but I jumped onto the toilet to have a better look when all of a sudden, I was abruptly thrown off my seat. Who does that? I jumped right back up determined to stand my ground when this crazy girl just started screaming and then shot off like a firework display worthy of July Fourth.

 

 cat-you-are-in-deep-shit_o_2195665

 

It was as if a confetti cannon went off in the room – all of a sudden she was like the Black Eyed Peas with that BOOM! BOOM! POW!  I was just so terrified for my life with the sheer amount of explosions going on in there and the liquid shrapnel pelting every part of my body. It was relentless like Hurricane Katrina when the levees broke; it just wouldn’t stop. All I kept thinking was, “Why doesn’t she have to use the litter box too? That doesn’t seem very fair, now does it?” I’ll have you know that I’m a Vietnam “PET“eran but even I I haven’t seen incoming like that since the Viet Cong unloaded during the TET Offensive!

 

One minute I was just minding my business like I always do and in the next, I get screamed at, physically assaulted, and dumped on by a literal dump truck! And then she yelled “PRETTY NOOOOO” as if I were doing something wrong. Hey Girlie – you did me dirty – not the other way around! Whoa Nelly did she pound me though! 


imagesRKZ19FNF

 

In all fairness, she did offer to clean me, but how could a shower make up for a chocolate prom scene reenactment from the movie Carrie? You think a cat like me wakes up and looks this fluffy and inviting by accident? I’ve been licking this left paw all afternoon to get that gentle curl you see here. And you know what else Bitch? How about a hot iron and some straight pins – You ever see a pussy look this good just using just a comb? I don’t think so!

 

images9SCOL8OU.jpg

 

So there you have it folks, two different sides and two different versions, but one thing we can all agree on: That’s a cat that won’t get shit faced and just let it go! Also, I don’t see her wishing my sister a Happy Birthday anytime soon either, but here’s another one from me: Happy Birthday Cray Cray!!!”

 

willi-wonker-cat-is-gonna-rape-your-shit_o_368649

Hasn’t New Jersey been through enough?

toll booth

Forget Sandy, Snookie, and Soprano’s Swan song, New Jersey has had another awful disaster worse than the tanning mom: A man was arrested for defecating in a New Jersey Tollbooth!

http://www.upi.com/Odd_News/2013/06/22/Man-arrested-after-exiting-car-and-defecating-in-Holland-Tunnel-booth/UPI-79161371957477/

Forget No Tresspassing - this is the sign they need to hang in there!

Forget No Tresspassing – this is the sign they need to hang in there!

I must credit my friend Ja for notifying me of this, but the first thing I thought of when hearing this is “Was he in the EZ Pass Lane?” That doesn’t sound very EZ to me? And why on earth don’t they lock those toll booths? Can anyone just enter and have your way with the booth? Who stops to go in them, but even if you live out in the boonies, you lock your doors. Not to be gross, but did this clown leave his special package on a chair or on the floor or on the desk; how big is this booth? More importantly, who has to go to work the next day and use that booth? They might clean it up and spray a little Febreeze in there, but I don’t even let people use my desk phone without cleaning it off, so there is absolutely no way that I would ever go back to work and step back into that booth. My favorite part is that he was arrested for trespassing. If someone takes a dump in the tollbooth – that’s a lot more than trespassing!

febreeze-commercials1

This of course reminded me of a story about my friend “Al”. Not many people will cop to as many embarrassing stories about themselves as I will, so he is a good sport for sharing this one. He was about eighteen at the time and was driving on the Expressway in his friend’s station wagon when his stomach started acting up. The Expressway always has traffic and can back up in a heartbeat and since Al was having the exact opposite of a backup, he made them pull that station wagon over.

He got out to squat in between the guardrails separating the two lanes and since it was summer, he wasn’t wearing a shirt, just khaki shorts and sneakers. As he was squatting and holding onto the guardrail for some semblance of support, he was crouching and doing his business while his shorts and tighty-whiteys were around his ankles. This is not an agile man by any means, nonetheless on the side of the road in a well-trafficked area and thus – his business ended up landing with a thud right into his pulled down tightie whiteys and his shorts. Now, if that wasn’t clear I cannot draw you a picture or explain it any further, so just go with me here. The way it landed, he might as well have never gotten out of the car in the first place because his clothing was ruined.

If you don't know this is Smokey from the movie Friday then I'm not sure we can continue to be friends...

If you don’t know this is Smokey from the movie Friday then I’m not sure we can continue to be friends…

Realizing he was in a bad state, Al stepped gingerly out of his underwear and shorts so as to avoid any and all contact, and then he crouched down in between the guardrails for coverage as he thought about what to do next. It was after about ten seconds that he did what anyone might have done in that position: he shot up like a rocket, jumped over the guardrail, and ran for all he was worth. Well, he then found out that his running was worth about ninety cents because his friends had been watching the whole time and once they saw him shoot up naked and start running towards them, they gunned it and sped away as he gave chase.

He was literally running on the side of the road chasing them wearing just a pair of sneakers and a gold chain around his neck with one hand giving his friends the finger and the other holding his junk. They’d slow down just til he got just close enough to almost reach the door handle and then gun it – laughing hysterically as they watched the show out the back window of that station wagon. Even if he ran like Usain Bolt, there was no way he could have caught them!

usain-bolt

About a mile down the road they finally let him in the car and agreed to take him home. Guess who didn’t think it was funny while they laughed their asses off? If you think that was the worst part of his day, then you should have seen the look on his face as they pulled off on his exit about forty minutes later. He almost lost control of himself again when he realized that his abandoned shat-on-shorts were still housing his wallet containing his fake ID and house keys in the pocket.

He made them drive him back to the scene of the earlier crime, but with traffic getting back there and actually finding the exact spot again, about two hours had passed by in that oppressive August heat. He was afraid of a repeat incident with them pulling away again (although now they had given him a towel to wrap around himself for modesty or to protect the seat from a bare ass in summer) so he took the car keys with him as he left to retrieve his wallet.

Who could predict the massive swarm of flies that would have been surrounding that awful pile of clothing laying there in the mid-day heat, but he needed his fake ID out of that wallet so he dug through and got it. He sprinted back to the car but not before throwing up on the side of the road. This was way before the days of Purell, so I’m sure he stunk to high heaven…

purell_handsoap

The moral of this story isn’t “be careful who you hang out with because friends can screw with you and this can happen to you.” The moral of the story is “Take Imodium AD and this CAN’T happen to you!
For all parties involved, thank God this was way before camera phones as no one should bear witness to that.

In all seriousness, this is the exact reason I am addicted to Imodium AD. I take toll roads, I commute on a train, I travel highways…I wouldn’t be able to leave the house because every misstep spreads like the wildfire through the internet that I’d be a viral sensation the next time I have something other than white rice for lunch.

For a smart guy, I’m actually pretty dumb at times…or why I never believe anything


I’m not sure what the major glitch in my twisted skull is, but I always think people are kidding with me. My team of therapists think that it’s obviously a result of my being part of an insane family, but should I blame everything on them? My being fat and my balding scalp – it’s because of my family genes. My being short – you guessed it. But crazy is something I never thought I could attribute to them until recently. I didn’t actually inherit the insanity – it was instilled in me. In any given situation, my go-to response is to assume that people are just kidding around with me. I get that not everyone is asinine like me and jokes around all the time, but I really say and do some dumb things in response to seemingly normal situations. I know, I know, that isn’t a shock to anyone that regularly reads my stuff, but in hindsight – I’m kind of like 92.2% asshole….

When I was younger, I was very gullible and would take everything at face value and believe it 100% only to be fooled time and again which has now twisted my adult mind. My mother would take us out to eat and then pretend she didn’t have any money to pay the check. A reasonable response to a situation is not a big deal, but me at 10 years old was not reasonable. I would sweat profusely and freak out which left me traumatized. She liked to get me and my sister riled up and then laugh at how we would get. She’d literally leave the table and pretend to call someone on a payphone because it would make me so anxious. She’d would come back and tell us to leave the restaurant quickly so they didn’t notice (even though she had already paid the bill) looking over her shoulder to play it up the whole time. My sister fell for it the first time, but got smart to the game quick. One would think after the tenth time of it happening, I might have caught on or stopped going out to eat with her, but no – I wasn’t that quick on the uptake. I didn’t realize that we hadn’t skipped out without paying until we were almost home…This bulb was never shining at 100 watts if you know what I mean.

 

Leading up to my sixth grade graduation ceremony also was a stressful time for me. In reality, all I had to do was stand there while they called my name, but in my little bubble of the world, it felt like I was playing a major role in the orchestration of this event. I had tried for a solo first and would have been happy to just have been in the chorus as they sang We are the World but the music teacher (dream crusher) and I had differing visions for what talent was and he opted out of having me perform in public…You know it’s bad when the hearing-impaired kid gets a solo and I was shut out of even a chorus role but I didn’t let it get me down.

As if that wasn’t enough drama, my mother toyed with me over the weeks leading up to the ceremony by telling me that she was going to wear a hat made entirely out of fruit. I would have looked back now and thought that it was hysterical, but to an anxious little boy that had just been told dead cats had more rhythm and harmony than him – that was the last thing that I needed. It was another event and another opportunity for me to sweat profusely through my little boy tee and dress shirts – a habit I somehow never outgrew as I got older, although now when I sweat through my shirts it looks like saran wrap around chopped meat. I fidgeted uncomfortably for that whole ceremony and ran out the door to avoid any pictures or chance of seeing my sister sitting with my mother looking like Carmen Miranda. Of course, she didn’t wear that hat and I should have caught on when she wasn’t wearing it on the car ride over, but I was picturing her opening the trunk as we arrived and me passing out right there. I’m not sure if I was just really gullible or just really stupid…

 

As a result of all these (and more) times I was fooled, I developed a knee-jerk response to never believe things that normal people do. I don’t have the sense or sensory response to tell when I should believe anyone, so now I just don’t believe anything. Here are a couple of examples:

 

I went to see my spiritual advisors one Sunday morning to seek out the guidance I so obviously need when I realized that Barbara wasn’t there and that Susan was really jammed up and busy. I don’t usually do this, but I decided to see someone other than my regulars. You might think it strange to have not one, but two spiritual advisors – but a twisted mind like this needs more than one. These aren’t your run of the mill psychics like the one on the street who said I had a spiritual parasite and I went back and paid her another $90.00 for research on the off chance that it was true. These are professionals and they’ve been on-point with me many times; if they say jump – I say how high. I never stray from them, but I went against my better judgment and thought maybe a change could be good and tried someone new. I’d never met her before and had no knowledge of her skills so I saw down and thought it would be as comforting as it regularly was.

I wasn’t even seated with her for more than a minute as she shuffled and laid out the tarot cards when she looked at me with a quizzical gaze. The first words out of her mouth were “You think they’re something medically wrong with you, but it’s nothing serious – are you in pain?” I replied “Well, it’s probably just a brain tumor, but I get headaches all the time…” She looked at me like I had two heads and said “That’s not funny to joke about – I have a brain tumor!” Knee-jerk response anyone? I replied as if it was an instinct “You’re such a liar…who has a brain tumor?”

 

She laid down the deck of cards from her hands, placed each palm slowly on the table, and said calmly “What kind of sick person would joke around about having a brain tumor if they didn’t really have one?” “I would” I said and then leaned over to the psychic seated at the table next to her and inquired “Does this lady really have a brain tumor or is she just messing with me?” Another look of puzzlement mixed with disgust as the other psychic said “Of course she does, who would make that up?” “I would” I repeated to another strange look from her. Needless to say, it was kind of hard to get a good reading after that and apparently it’s rude to fact-check an “alleged” ailment from one’s peers. We started on the wrong foot and I was terrified to say anything else to her so there was no turning back. Maybe she really did have a brain tumor but come on – I may be old-fashioned, but it’s not really considered “nice” to act like that.

 

When I was in college, I never knew anyone’s last name. Hell, I was lucky to know some of my friends’ first names. I won’t blow her spot by saying who it is, but one of my good friends used to hook up with a fraternity guy named Shit Stain. Take that in for a second. I’m not one to judge, but how exactly does a girl have sex with a guy named Shit Stain? “Give it to me Shit Stain…Me Love you long time Shit Stain…” it just doesn’t flow and imagine what those neighbors think. That’s not the point of this though – the point is that I didn’t know his real name until almost two years after Graduation when I randomly saw him and his mother at the mall by the Fat Camp. I was walking and saw them so I said “Hey Shit Stain” when I realized that I didn’t know his real name and probably shouldn’t have call him Shit Stain in front of his mother. She was like “What did you call my son? His name is John.” “It is? I had no idea” I told her. He was obviously embarrassed and then his mother was like “Why did he call you Shit Stain?” They walked away and I’m sure that car ride home was really fun. When I asked my friend if she knew that Shit Stain’s real name was John, she tried to act like she knew it all along. I’m still not convinced she knew before I told her, but like I said no judgments; some girls will let a guy named Shit Stain hit it and quit it….

So, as you can tell, not knowing people’s names was always a problem with me in college. One day I was on my way to audition for the show that the Theatre Department was putting on when I saw the Dean of the college sitting in the waiting area. “What’s that Fat Fuck Dean Marine doing here?” I said to a bunch of my friends who had shocked looks on their faces when I entered the auditorium. No one said a word; they just kept looking at each other like a deer in headlights. I asked again “No one knows what that Fat Fuck Dean Marine is doing here? Is she auditioning too” Another round of stares until Katie opened her mouth to speak. She looked kind of mad and with a nasty tone infused through her response, said “that’s my mother you’re talking about.” Of course I didn’t believe her. “That Fat Fuck is your mother? She shook her head in response, but I just couldn’t process it. “What are you talking about? That Fat Fuck is your mother? You’re such a liar!” “She is” she replied and I turned towards another friend John and said “Is that Fat Fuck Dean Marine her mother?” When he shook his head yes, not quite sure what to say “I turned back to her “That Fat Fuck is really your mother? I can’t believe it” She was pissed by this point and said “Stop saying that!” “I’m sorry I just cannot believe that Fat Fuck is your mother.” She walked away shaking her head and disgusted as the other people in the circle attacked me “What is wrong with you? You just called her mother a Fat Fuck like six times. She’s never going to forgive you – Why did you keep saying it after she said it was true?” Is that really her mother? I don’t believe it…I thought she was kidding. And she is a Fat Fuck – I can’t stand her…” Needless to say Katie and I weren’t buddies anymore after that – it’s kind of hard to get past calling someone’s mother a Fat Fuck…that cuts deep. And really, how was I supposed to know that Fat Fuck was her mother?

 

One would think I’d learn my lesson after all these years, but I am constantly opening my mouth while my foot is being strategically placed into it. Stupid is as stupid does, and I’m not that bright…

More Ah-Shit Moments: The Pretty Kitty got all Shitty!!!

 

 

Last week, I gave you some insight into my twisted brain and a little background into some really embarrassing things that have helped to shaped me. In getting some feedback from that post, I couldn’t help but think of a close friend’s experience. If you’ll indulge me that courtesy, I thought that I might share someone else’s Ah-Shit moment too!

Let me just say that talking about shitting is risky territory to enter. I purposely waited to talk about it because I wanted to ease into the shitting stories – sort of like a slow seduction…If that doesn’t paint a nasty picture in your mind – nothing will, so on with it. When you tell people about your shitting experiences their reactions tend to be one of two types: A) the mock offended who pretend that their shit “literally” doesn’t stink, and that they have never discussed shitting before and will not start now or B) the empathizer who knows exactly how you feel because they may not have shit their pants recently, but the look on their face tells me that they’ve come close. I’m not asking you to tell me which type you are below in the comments section, but in honor of spastic colons everywhere – here we go.

One important note -In keeping with my tradition of only humiliating myself here, I will not give away this person’s identity and will refer to them from here on out as Carlotta. What I can tell you is that Carlotta is a woman and that Carlotta is not a cat lover (That might seem insignificant right now, but read on.)

and there I was just minding my own business...

 

When Carlotta was on her way to court for an accident she got in, her stomach started in with that all too familiar gurgling. That’s never a welcome feeling, but more so when you’re driving – one wrong sneeze and you’ll never be able to carpool again. As she was driving, she came to the realization that she wasn’t going to make it there in one piece, so she veered off the highway and headed toward her friend Cher’s house. 

As she was pulling into the driveway, she could tell that the situation had reached Defcon Three. She threw the car into park, sprinted through the yard towards the front door and blasted in the screen door. When you enter Cher’s house, you walk through the living room and straight ahead about fifteen feet to the bathroom door. On a normal day this is no big deal, but on this particular afternoon it was like the long walk to the electric chair. Carlotta ran for all she was worth and screamed something similar to “get out of the way” to Cher upon entry into the house, but it was so fast and jumbled she couldn’t really be sure.

She made it into the bathroom, shut the door, dropped her pants and was about to park it on the porcelain when all of a sudden, there was a commotion. Cher’s cat Pretty spent most of its time in a litter box next to the toilet and had been sitting on the toilet when Carlotta burst into the room. She shooed the cat off the toilet and tried to sit down when the cat got territorial and leapt back onto the toilet. The loud screech of the cat had an unexpected effect that no one saw coming: It literally scared the shit out of Carlotta and she screamed “Pretty, NOOOO!!!

INCOMING!!!

Hearing the commotion outside the door, Cher got concerned: (although it’s unclear if she was concerned about the cat or Carlotta)

Cher: (knocking on the door) “Are you OK?”

Carlotta:  “I need you to get me a pair of sweat pants, some paper towels, and whatever it is that you use to clean Pretty with!”

Cher: “What? Pretty’s a cat – she washes herself…”

Carlotta: “Not today Cher, not today…”

 In case I haven’t made it very clear – Carlotta shit all over the cat!!! Pretty was covered, although she did tell me that it did come off of her fur very easily…(Carlotta told me that, not Pretty) She came out of the bathroom and called the court to see if she could reschedule and the lady on the phone asked what happened.

Carlotta: “I had an accident.”

Lady on the Phone: “You had an accident? Aren’t you coming here because you had an accident? Did you have another…”

Carlotta: “Not that kind of accident.”

Lady on the Phone: (realizing what she meant) “Oh my God, hold on…

They did feel bad for her and let her come back the next day. I usually don’t do this, but I actually called Carlotta to make sure that I was remembering the story correctly, not just to find out about the poop’s trajectory…When I called Cher’s husband to ask the cat’s name because I couldn’t recall it, he couldn’t remember it either. Really? How do you forget the name of your pet cat or your pet cat that someone shit on? The cat’s name was Pretty! She shit on Pretty cat but I’m pretty sure he was more like scaredy cat after that.  

A more immature person might tell you that isn’t how you treat a pussy (cat), but I’m above that. I don’t need to stoop to such levels. What I will tell you is that for this very reason, my dog has never been left unattended whenever Carlotta is around and that this isn’t the first time that Carlotta has had airborne poop. Granted, the last time it landed on a wall and not a living pet (she did that two different times, believe it or not) but it was still airborne. She was sick and mistakenly chose the wrong door when she gave the vomit priority in the toilet at the expense of her explosive posterior and the white wallpaper. Talk about a houseguest and a visit you’ll never forget. The other time she shit on a wall was at was at a softball game when she was younger, but it still seems like a pattern is developing…Thoughts?

She's coming back over???

 

The Legend of Dom and Tonna

If you are one of the very lucky ones and happen to be friends with me – you’ve definitely heard me talk about a friend of mine and his wife. If not – you’re in for quite a treat because they are both absolutely nuts. I firmly believe that crazy attracts crazy and even after being married for almost a hundred years, these two are still a perfect fit for each other. The networks are missing a HUGE opportunity by not following these two around with cameras. Forget the Real Housewives – these two are ready for their close-up and it’s all natural, 100% crazy!  

I'd definitely Tivo a show about those two...

I shall call them Dom and Tonna for the purposes of this entry and having known each other for years, even I don’t know where to begin when talking about them. Do you start with her walking right into a glass sliding door in her house? Do you describe what they look like? Does any of it matter? Tonna is short, Italian, and is always cold. Dom is not. He is much taller and wider than her and is one of the absolute funniest bastards that I know. When I say funny, I mean HYSTERICAL like last week when he had his boss’s car towed anonymously because it was parked in a handicap spot. The boss is anything but handicapped and flipped out to say the least, but who has the balls to do that to their boss?

I call this part one because if I were to tell you all of the different stories about this dynamic duo this would be the longest post in creation, so I’ll start with my favorite Tonna story ever. And I mean ever! She was driving her car one fine day when out of nowhere, a deer ran out into the road scaring the dickens out of her. She slammed on her brakes and rammed that poor deer, propelling it onto the hood.  It shot up like a rocket with all the speed and agility of my aunt’s fat farm campers after they completely lubed up their sweaty selves with gallons of baby oil and dove down the weight room hill. I mean fast!

After the impact of the car made it airborne, that poor deer was spinning out of control and yelping as it rode up the hood. In an instant, Bambi arrived at the windshield still spinning like a pinwheel when the deer’s front hoof spun directly into the driver’s side open window and connected with Tonna’s nose. It popped her right in the chops! it got her right in the kisser like this video, I tell you! Then as quickly as it shot up, it slid off the hood and ran off into the woods. That’s the exact reason I’ll never drive with my window open or pick a fight with a deer! Forget Mark Wahlberg in The Fighter, that deer was ready to take on Sylvester Stallone as Rocky Bambi-oa!

"And in this corner Rocky Bambi-oa!"

Dom and I worked together at the time, but he worked the weekend shift and had off every Monday. Tuesday morning came and the whole team assembled for our morning meeting and our boss asked Dom about the weekend. That particular boss, Larry,  was the extreme opposite of Dom or myself; he was very low key, very professional, and did not like fooling around in the workplace. (Needless to say he hated me). You would expect a man that was so orange from cheap self-tanning lotion to, at the very least, laugh at a good joke or sarcastic comment, but with Larry that wasn’t the case at all. In two years that we worked together, I never saw Larry crack a smile once until the day that I told him that I was leaving to go to another company.  

As Dom was recapping the weekend, he started to explain how he was running around like a wild man. In his dead-pan delivery, he proceeded to explain just how bad he got chub-rub on Saturday night when Larry interrupted him and mistakenly asked what Chub Rub was. Dead Silence took over the room as the twelve other people in the room and I were trying not to look at either one of them or, God forbid, laugh.  My head was about to burst from tying to hold it in and my eyes were tearing as Dom said “You know, when you’re running around all night sweating and your thighs rub together so much that the skin wears away and gets irritated from the chafing? That’s Chub Rub!” I almost peed my pants and burst out laughing but it didn’t stop Dom. “My underwear were so soaked through with sweat that when I peeled them off at home and threw them towards the hamper – they stuck to the wall. They actually stuck to the wall!”

Does this even need a caption?

Larry’s face looked like he just had bad Chinese as he picked his jaw up off the floor; he tried to tell Dom how inappropriate that was when he interjected “Imagine how I feel – they’re still stuck on the wall…” I had to leave the room or risk being fired because I couldn’t control myself any longer and I sprinted out like it was burning. No one else could get away with that kind of stuff with Larry and it was one of the funniest things I ever bore witness to.

Much more to follow about these two later – like when Tonna was screaming at the Dali Lama, her famous Bomb Squad incident, when Dom shut down his favorite restaurant in town, or the time he spit his drink right into a client’s face at dinner….