pink eye

Assaulting Tom Cruise-Part 2: Great, now Rosie O’Donnell thinks I’m a scumbag

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This has nothing to do with my post, but I just think this photo is hysterical

 

In case you didn’t read it here, I went to London and assaulted Tom Cruise while trying to meet Nicole Kidman, and then forged his signature to get the movie placard he just leaned on across the Atlantic Ocean intact so that I could give to Rosie O’Donnell – now what! Getting to Rosie O’Donnell with the placard and telling her my story seemed like such an easy thing in my head. Why wouldn’t she want to meet me? It actually turned into a little but of a  daunting task but I knew there had to be a way.          

Waiting for tickets the old-fashioned way wasn’t working, and time just kept going by. One day I was looking for the car keys on my aunt’s desk in the basement and saw a gift certificate for a pair of Rosie O’Donnell Show tickets from an auction that she had attended on her desk. I was at first shocked and then mad as hell and went to find that bitch to rip her wig off. I took that certificate and stormed up the steps like Joan Crawford into Christina’s closet when she saw that wire hanger. (My aunt actually wore wigs because she thought that they looked better than her real hair – and she was right  – not because she was sick or losing her hair. I could actually go on about her wigs and the drama with them like when she had the “Rachel” from Friends or when the sand fleas in Paris Island started claiming squatter’s rights in her new Raquel Welch glazed mocha “Tigress” wig or the Cher infomercial extensions that were weaved through your head using a series of fishing wire strings, but I will save that for another post…(As a side note, it’s amazing to me that more women don’t wear wigs. I say shave your head and get one in every color. Leave it on the dresser at night, and then wake up and shake the dust off, put it on your head and you’re ready to walk out the door. You could save so much time, sleep later, and you’d use less products…Think of it as going Green Extreme! I think it could really catch on…)        

She was on the phone, but I didn’t care – “You selfish fuck! You know that I need to talk to Rosie and you went and got tickets? What’s wrong with you? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Seriously, you don’t think that’s selfish?” She looked at me with a mix of mild annoyance and disgust and then spat back at me – “That’s your Christmas present asshole!” (If I wasn’t a mix of scitzo-madness right there, I never have been in my life and I changed my tune real quick) “Oh my God, I love you – where did you get them? I can’t believe this” I exclaimed as I now tried to hug her. Other people might have thought this an odd exchange, but in my family insanity is the norm, and really I was just so excited about going I forgot right away about thinking that she was being selfish.         

So, we got the tickets and had the date in January all set – nothing was going to stop me now! Or so I thought…         

When I got back from London, I left the placard at my father’s house which is about ninety minutes from my girlfriend’s house. On the night before the taping, we left to her house to go and get the placard at my Dad’s and in the middle of a terrible snowstorm, her car broke down. By the time we got the car towed by Triple A and then back to her mother’s house, it was almost one am. I was ready to borrow her mother’s car and get back out on the road so we could get the placard, because I had my priorities straight, but they looked at me like I just suggested that we test it out to see if you really do get pink eye from someone farting on your pillow. (Insert your favorite New Jersey Revenue Director that wears the belt of his pants so high that it could actually be confused as a dog collar here. This has already happened to him this summer when his wife farted on his pillow and he got a really bad case in both eyes!!!) Needless to say, they wouldn’t go and I couldn’t drive stick shift or I would have taken the keys and made a run for it. I wouldn’t stop complaining about it and right before I stormed off to bed I said “How am I gonna go tomorrow without the placard? What am I supposed to do,  jump up and down to get Rosie’s attention? (This is the point of the story where you would normally hear the ominous foreshadowing music in the background…)         

We ended up taking the train to NYC for the show since we could no longer drive. I complained the whole train ride and then the whole subway ride (for a real reason now, not just out of principle that I think I’m too good to ride on the filthy subway) and then the whole time while we were waiting in line to get into the theatre for the show. One might say just another day in my life with my normal routine, but I am usually a little better than that…         

Since they were bought at an auction, we had really great seats right in front next to the piano player John and I stopped complaining and quickly got hyped up again. Winona Ryder was the first guest and everyone got copies of the Girl, Interrupted book and then they went to commercial. Edie Falco came on and everyone got copies of the Soprano’s soundtrack, and then they went to commercial. Time was going by so quickly and I could just feel my opportunity slipping by me with every koosh ball she shot out at me. (For the record, I caught two and the third she shot toward me went horribly off course – one would think with all the practice she had shooting those things that she would have spot-on precision like a sniper. I didn’t realize until later why she kept shooting them my way.)         

          

They go to the next commercial and Rosie was up and out of her chair walking towards me and I could just feel the fates aligning and the stars were all in a row like this is the way it is supposed to happen. As she stopped in front of our seats and started talking, it was just her and I and we both knew it. She looked right at me (or so I thought) and said “Does anyone have anything they would like to say or have any questions?” I guess, in hindsight, I should have known that she wouldn’t be talking to me at that exact  moment; I mean how would she know that I so desperately wanted to tell her about Tom Cruise? Just as the words were just leaving her mouth it was like something out of a movie: to everyone’s (especially my girlfriend’s) surprise, I burst out of my seat like someone set me on fire  – like a roman candle exploding into the air on the Fourth of July. Most surprised of all, was the person sitting in back of me that Rosie was actually talking to and who I had jumped up in front of. I could tell that someone else got up too, but I couldn’t see who it was and didn’t dare miss my chance to talk to Rosie.        

I started screaming and talking a mile a minute about how I had assaulted Tom Cruise and screamed in his face and forged his name and smuggled the placard back by lying and tricking the airline into letting me get it onto the plane. I guess that in hindsight (there goes that hindsight thing again) I should have actually thought out what I was going to say beforehand so that it painted me in a little bit of a better light, but I just got so excited and I knew that she was going to just love me and my story and that she would probably call me a Cutie Patooty and laugh and then get Nicole to meet me and she’d end up with Tom and I’d be with Nicole and we would go on vacations together and we would most certainly be friends after this. Sadly though, that isn’t how it turned out.         

Rosie, of course, was trying to take in my incoherent ramblings and looked at me with amazement and then asked me the obvious question: “Where’s the placard?” At that moment, I felt a definite shift in my stomach and knew this wasn’t going so well and might not have been a good idea – sort of like eating McDonald’s before heading to the airport for a six hour flight. With that, I shot daggers at my girlfriend and proceeded to tell Rosie about how her car had broken down and she was so selfish for not driving me with her mother’s car to get it at one am and what was wrong with her. Once again, not painting myself in the best light. Rosie said “Send me the placard” and then tried to dismiss me and looked past me at the person still standing in back of me. “Hi there little boy, do you have something to say?” With that one short little sentence, my stomach just dropped and I felt a very bad vibe all of a sudden as I slowly turned around and gasped.         

I turned to come face to face with a sick little bald boy all of about ten years old standing up to say how he was here courtesy of the Make a Wish Foundation and that his one wish was to meet Rosie and to see her show. NO ONE WAS MORE SHOCKED THAN ME AT THAT MOMENT! People started to take what he had just said in and there were a ton of awwwwww’s, and then every set of eyes in the place started turning from his innocent smiling face towards me and shooting daggers and staring like I was an animal. I slowly tried to sit back down in my seat but it felt like everything was happening in slow motion, to say the least. I could feel the disgust directed at me and it was radiating through the air like dust and if I would have known where the exit was I might have run out the back door, but I felt like I had to explain.  I cut Rosie off as she was talking to the boy and stood back up and started explaining – first to his mother who looked like she was about to pop me right in the chops and then back to Rosie, then to my girlfriend, then to randoms in the audience and back to the little boy and then back to Rosie…”Rosie, I didn’t know…I thought you were talking to me…(as I turned back to the boy) I thought she was talking to me…I didn’t see you…(turning back to Rosie) I didn’t see him…I thought you meant me…How could I know? I thought you meant me.” Needless to say the rest of that taping wasn’t as fun-loving as the first part and I kept trying to explain to my girlfriend, who in turn was trying to pretend she wasn’t with me and just shook her head. “I didn’t know…” I just kept repeating – “I didn’t know…”            

Apparently, when Rosie kept shooting those koosh balls towards us, she was aiming for that little boy and trying to get them to him, not to me. The narcissist in me just assumed that she wanted me to have them. I never did live that day down and I really did feel terrible about that kid. but honestly, who looks behind them before they jump up and start talking? Who else would that happen to?        

I Hate Birds: Part Two – Dirty Words about Filthy Birds

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It’s a thin line between love and hate for most people, but for me and my relationship with birds – the line isn’t very thin at all. I realize that I might be crossing a line by condemning your flying friends, but I’m willing to risk it. Some of you reading this and a few of my close friends are actually bird lovers, but I don’t hold it against any of you. I am disgusted and appalled by it, but I don’t hold it against you.

People get so offended when you talk about their pets and, as a Real pet owner of a very cool dog, I totally agree when that happens – but here’s the thing: Dogs are pets. I will even concede that cats can be considered pets – even though I severely dislike them. Having a cat is like having an arrogant roommate that won’t let you touch their stuff and they shit on your stuff. Not to mention that when cats see a baby sleeping those sneaky bastards jump on the baby’s chest and try to suck the milk out of their mouth; but, like I said – birds aren’t pets! They are disgusting rats that just happen to have wings! Why in God’s name is there a rat on display in your house? Also, it is really fucking weird when a parrot asks me how I am, how my day was or do I need him to fluff my pillow! THAT IS NOT COOL IN ANY WAY – IT’S ACTUALLY VERY FREAKY AND WEIRD! 

Weezie and her surprises

My friend Weezie and I have known each other since college and she is one of my craziest friends. You’ll see a lot of stuff about her on here for one very good reason – something is seriously wrong with her! I mean to say that she’s truly nuts but that’s why we get along so well and I wouldn’t have it any other way! This is the girl that didn’t catch the bouquet at her brother’s wedding when the bride threw it so she rugby-slide-tackled the girl that caught it. That would have been OK if she let it go at that, but as they were rolling around on the dance floor tugging at the flowers – Weezie threw her legs around the girl, pincer-style and wrestled her for it. Talk about a wedding to remember! That is the very reason that my wife refused to throw the bouquet at our wedding – the last thing she wanted to see was Weezie taking out one of our friends from work with a sneak attack off of one of the banquet chairs like the Flying Karamazov Brothers! I, on the other hand, thought it would add a certain element of fun and bring the reception to another level – but marriage is about compromise and regretfully, I lost that battle.

Weezie and I were out drinking one night in Queens, so I crashed at her house since she lives nearby. Her mother Hazel has two gross tenants in their house that they call pet bids (but as I said earlier, birds are not real pets!) and after too many drinks to remember, Weezie explained to me how her mother does this “thing” when they have people sleep over their house which they think is really cute and fun. I, of course, immediately thought how great it would be to be woken up to breakfast in bed with pancakes made in the shape of the Fraggles or Luke Skywaffles, but that wasn’t the “thing.” What they think is cute is to have one of their filthy birds wake up their houseguest!

What’s wrong with her mother?

Her mother has one of those birds wake up the person staying over their house! “Wake Up, Wake Up! Good Morning!” it bellows as it literally struts across the bed and scares the shit out of (I mean, wakes up) the poor, unsuspecting visitor…I begged her to keep those birds away from me, but she just kept laughing at me and went off to her room. I told her that I didn’t want to be remembered as the guy who strangled their bird or shit the bed when the bird tried to wake him up, but she went down the hallway and ignored me. She went to bed and I couldn’t go to sleep in that house. I was up all night hiding out under the sheets terrified like that kid who saw dead people in The Sixth Sense. Literally, I got no sleep there out of sheer terror!

Luckily for that bird, she listened and didn’t bring it anywhere near me or have it try to wake me up. I am like a dead body when I’m asleep – I’m literally out cold – and I have been viciously attacked in the past by birds (see “I hate birds – part one”), so I get up ready to rumble if I’m jostled (sort of like my friend Sue who actually punched her Sorority sister Collette in the face as she tried to wake her up because she was going to be late for class – needless to say Collette didn’t try to wake her up twice!) I think Weezie realized that if I woke up and that thing was anywhere near me, I would have went all Kung Fu on that bird and beat the shit out of it!

You innocently invite someone into your home and then you turn on them and go all Man vs. Wild? I mean, what if that bird farts on the pillow as it’s casually strolling around – Do you then catch pink eye and bird flu? What’s next – are you gonna teach that bird how to talk with a Jamaican accent? Picture waking up to that filthy little thing bopping on the headboard with a little Rasta hat with dreads hanging down his neck asking if you want a Red Stripe or if want him to braid your hair. Not cool at all! This post should actually be hung at their front door and used as a public service announcement to any of Weezie’s friends about the dangers of sleeping over her house: Hazel is the cutest little thing on two wheels – but you have to beware of the cute ones!