Guillermo and his Amazing Dreamcoat

sweating meme

As I was sweating my balls off in this ungodly heat today on Metro North, I started dreaming of winter and how refreshing the cold weather can be and it made me think about a former colleague, Guillermo, and his winter wardrobe.

If you’ve never seen a hustlin’ seventies pimp in real life before, head over to Accounting to take a gander and you won’t believe your eyes. If only Ben Affleck had consulted Guillermo for wardrobe ideas before they started shooting The Accountant, the movie probably would have done a lot better. He’s short, mid-fifties, wears big glasses and looks like Super Mario’s brother Luigi. I don’t want to be mean and say he was fat, but when the police eventually draw his chalk outline, it’s going to be a circle….Now add a huge fur coat on top of this and he looked like a cartoon character. Forget Joseph’s Technicolor Dream – he wore a fur coat and matching hat that made him look like the product of a hot three-way between Luigi, Huggy Bear from Starsky & Hutch, and an actual Grizzly Bear.

accounting department outing

Our Accounting Team

As the seasons turned and the winter breeze crept into the air, it’s normal for most people to gradually work longer sleeves and sweaters into their wardrobe, but not Guillermo: he went balls out straight to the fur! The best part was his matching hat which made him look like a Yeti covered in fur head to toe. You just couldn’t look at him with a straight face. At first, I thought that he might have accidentally worn his wife’s coat, but day in and day out, he rocked it like a Hurricane. My wife has informed me that normal and mature people don’t stare or make comments in situations like this, but I’ve never been mistaken for normal or mature.

Guillermo was a nice man, but I couldn’t get past the coat. I had to know where he got it and why he wore it and how the hell he wasn’t sweating like crazy in it. I have very lite self-control in situations normally, but this was putting me over the edge. He felt like people were making fun of him (Newsflash – we were!) and didn’t like to talk about the coat, but curiosity was getting the better of me and I just knew that had to try it on. I’m OCD and the thought of being inside that pelt skeeved me out big time, but I knew I needed to step up here and that it had to be done.

joe namath

Guillermo Namath

I was leaving the company to work at another company and I knew it would be my only chance, so I casually started talking about the coat and was leading up to me trying it on for a picture. He randomly told me the story of how a homeless man attacked him on the subway trying to steal it, yet he fought him off with all of his might causing the left arm to be ripped off the coat. It took his tailor three weeks and the skins from two raccoons and a squirrel to mend it, but apparently it was good as new. I was picturing his subway Fight Club in my mind as he was telling me, but all I could think of was the Wampa cave scene with Luke Skywalker in The Empire Strikes Back. Apparently, G isn’t Star Wars fan…


At first, he was playing hard to get and didn’t want to let me try it on. “Stop it, now give me that coat” I said which forced him to explain to me what his hesitation really was: apparently, not every man can wear fur because not everyone has that certain swagger needed to pull it off. AS IF! “G, are you asking me to wear this down Fifth Avenue? OK, now it’s on!” With that I put on the coat and we headed for the elevator!


Now this is swagger!

What I failed to realize, was just how heavy the coat was actually going to be. It was literally as if I had crawled up inside a bear’s ass and then walked around carrying the bear. It was also hotter than the sun inside that coat by the way. I felt like Han Solo when he cut the Taun Taun open for him and Luke to sleep inside and keep warm. I mean, I sweat excessively in just a t shirt and shorts, but I didn’t have that coat on for a full minute before I was soaked right through. I don’t know how the hell he wore that around and didn’t pass out! It gets cold in New York, but for Christ’s sake – global warming people…you don’t need fur! Forget about mistreatment of animals and that it’s wrong to wear fur or that it’s just mean; what’s mean is making a person sweat like that from a coat!

taun taun

G looked at me and said “how does it feel?” as if I were test driving a Ferrari and I’m not sure if it was my spirit animal literally engulfing me right there in the office, but I said “it makes me feel like this!” It was at that moment that I chose to jump on the conference table and pose like Burt Reynolds in Cosmo and show him who had swagger. While the ladies in my office thought it was hysterical, Guillermo felt I was crossing line and was now being disrespectful to the coat as if that point hadn’t been passed long before. With that, I told him we’d take it to the streets and we headed for the elevator so I could prove my swagger on the streets!

Conference Room Table

Swagger to spare!

The winter Holiday scene in the lobby of our building had a nice display featuring polar bears, snow, and penguins – the perfect winter scene scape for me in the fur! I proceeded to do what every sensible person does right about then and get into the displays and frolic with the wildlife until security sent us on our way.

coat in lobby 010

I did rock that coat and prove my swagger, but he was right – not every man can pull of a fur coat. I probably could and should have gotten one of my own just to spite him, but I’d have died from heat exhaustion like I do on Metro North each day I commute, so no fur for me. I did get a few strange looks, but being that it’s NYC, no one cares about this idiot strutting around inside a carcass. The moral of the story is be careful what you wish for or you’ll end up hot and sweaty on your knees with a bunch of penguins and not the good kind of hot and sweaty either!

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

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?