Fear of Dying

I have an intense fear of dying. As a child this fear manifest itself as insomnia and I could not sleep for days on end. My parents addressed this issue with repeated therapy ginsing tea, and qualudes. My fear has recently been exacerbated by the troubling/untimely death of a b school classmate of mine, who was 30 and was in much better shape than I ever am. I wept openly for his month old son, but I did it in my room with the door closed and the shades down and told no one about it.

My insomnia is also back in full force. I was up on the phone last night till about 1am and up running the chelsea streets at 5:55am.

Seriously fearing for my health I hit the vitamin shoppe this week and stocked up on over $100 in natural madness

L-Carnitine - an all natural suppliment that has been shown in some tests to alieviate and effects of Alzheimers while at the same time speeding up the metabolism and improving heart performance

Omega-3 Fatty Acids - The natural oils found in most fresh fish. I consume 3 of these a day, because 3 years ago I had some blood work done that indicated my trygliceride count was too low. This is at least part of the genetic curse of being a member of my father's family where everyone seems to be on lipitor a hardcore cholesterol drug.

Glucosamine & Chondroitin Sulfate - I have noticed that in weeks where I run more than 8 miles my leg joints start hurting and I need to take a day or two off, the glucosamine speeds up the replenishment of my joint muscles so I can run more, faster...so i can take more glucosamine.

Smart people would just go to the doctor...me, I'm self medicating...

Sometimes I Feel Like This Guy

I adopted a cute lil' emo fetus
from Fetusmart! Hooray fetus!

Party, Baby

Anyone want to party with us this Friday?

=====
XTIAN: did you rsvp for that thing
XTIAN: on friday

EVIL: YES

XTIAN: did anyone get back to you asking for money?

EVIL: no
EVIL: i emailed that barnard email alias yesterday
EVIL: no one responded

XTIAN: right
XTIAN: i did so on friday
XTIAN: no response
XTIAN: lets just show up
XTIAN: its not like we're doig anything anyway
XTIAN: you need to pick me up in midtown in a cab
XTIAN: or a black lincoln
XTIAN: whatever works for you player

EVIL: plan later
EVIL: dude
EVIL: what if The Hose sponsors a columbia alum event?
EVIL: that would be SOOOO legit
EVIL: all we need to do is monetize our readership and then funnel that money into event sponsorships
EVIL: it's like a virtuous cycle

XTIAN: wow
XTIAN: that is a virtuous circle

EVIL: i am like some sort of business genious

XTIAN: no, not really

EVIL: i know
EVIL: thanks for bursting my bubble tho
EVIL: you didnt even want to let me have that little piece of joy, however fabricated
=====

Missed Opportunity

Dammit! We blew it. To be specific, I blew it. Turns out that Big Head was out of town this weekend, so it would have been the perfect time to throw a party at Big Head's swanky 3-bedroom apartment. It would have been great... guys + gals + irresponsible drinking + recreational drugs - Big Head = a damn good time. OK people, here is the plan. Please continue to check the (new) competitive blog. Next time I find out that Big Head will be out of time, I'll post a party announcement on the blog. WOOO!

Fascinated With Big Heads

Whoever is in charge of the photo galleries at MLB.com must be sleeping on the job, because ESPN just did a really good job with this Barry Bonds thing. Check out the progression of Barry's head size from 1988 to present.

In particular, check out 1998 and the very next year, 1999. A very noticable change -- the moustache is gone!

Roller Coaster

By the way, today has been the worst day in a long time. Really. If you want to cheer me up, please buy me something.

Am I Busted?

My super is a nice woman. She lives on the first floor. When people in the building gets packages, she gladly signs for them. She called me last night about a package and I went to pick it up, breath smelling of liquor and eyes not able to focus. She called me again tonight. Another package... and my breath smelled of liquor and my eyes not able to focus. Bad stuff. Have I been busted? I luckily, I haven't been doing coke.

Updated 2

I am sad. (And not drunk.)

Updated

I am drunk. (And oh, I am pretty happy.)

Is this Normal (Part 2 of Many)

When I was 11, I played little league. Except I was a little squat surly fuck. I played baseball because it beat getting chased down the street by the white kid across the street and his dog. Our team was great, The Perth Amboy Fire Dept sponsored us, so we were called the Firemen. We were like the bad news bears, scruffy, shaggey headed, diamonds in the rough...only add abject poverty and remove the uplifting victories at the end.

Anyway, I got put at shortstop for reasons that defy logic and reason. It was agreed that I was generally pretty slow, however I was squat and it was possible that many balls hit my way would find some part of my body to bounce off of and manage to stay on the infield where either I or our much more talented 2nd baseman could then make a play. The only problem with this strategy was that I was gun shy. A ball got hit my way and I was suddenly the fastest show on dirt, ducking, running and diving AWAY FROM THE BALL!

My mother completely exasperated with this scenario did not know what to do. My dad, you see, has always had a bad back, so with the exception of the times he showed me how to kick a soccer ball, we never really had much bonding around playing sports.

Seeing her options limited, my ever resourceful mother turned to her sister's husband, a good guy, and a former decathlete. Growing up in the DR, he was also a reasonably decent baseball player. We had always gotten along well enough, though he was in his mid twenties and I was barely 11. After observing my acrobatics on the ballfield, he decided that my limitations were not physical, but rather mental. It was clear to him that I had a fear of a baseball, and this was the only thing that kept me from being a diamond legend. A fear he, of course, committed himself wholeheartedly to eliminating.

His approach was interesting to say the least. One day, he arrived at my house and asked me to bring some baseballs. I brought out my glove, a few baseballs and a bat assuming he was going to hit them my way and maybe I would field them. Maybe I would field them or maybe I would execute a triple back flip and just barely avoid the spray of balls hit my way. It made no difference to me, I was good either way. Instead he just picked up a ball, and looked at it. He held it in his hand pensively, maybe he was trying to understand its weight and its hardness, maybe he was sort of checking it for scuff marks. I stood there examining him as he examined the ball. Suddenly, from a distance of about 5ft, he wound up and pelted me with it.
Then he started yelling

(translated from Spanish) "Its, just a ball, its just rubber. You can't be afraid of a ball"

And then he hit me with another one. Spit was now shooting from his mouth as he yelled.

"Does it hurt? No, it doesn't hurt. If someone wanted to hurt you they would use the bat not the ball."

The bumpasaurus, not sure what to do, broke for the house, lest someone decide to start screaming in Spanish and throwing baseballs at him. He did turn at the door and let out a fat grin, as he drifted safely into the moderately warm embrace of the Household on Alpine St.

This went on for a few hours and though painful, I recognize this as a moment where I turned a corner and where I found a new friend, a great friend, or possibly just a well intentioned but borderline abusive friend.

The next week, the shortstop experiment was over, I had been replaced by a small, fast kid freshly immigrated from DR and I was relegated to the outfield. But still something changed. I scored 8 runs and stole 12 bases in a 22-4 romp over a rival team. I was also hit by a pitch all 8 times I came up to bat. Rounding the bases at one point, I caught my mother's eye in the stands, I could tell she was confused (she never really understood biesbol). She was able to figure out I was doing things more or less right though, and for a second (just one) I saw a vague hint of pride wash across her face.

Does any of that seem normal?

Is This Normal? (Part 1, of many)

Evil

We came to this country when I was three and a half. My dad spoke a bit of English, but in the house, we just spoke Chinese. When I started kindergarten, I knew about 20 words in English. (One of them was "automatic.") I learned the words from my sister, who was older than me and had been in American school for a year and a half.

On my first day of kindergarten, I didn't know how to play with any of the toys. Things like blocks, puzzles -- and especially playing house -- were foreign concepts. So I mostly kept to myself.

There was this one day when I got sick and I puked all over some other kid and he started to cry. The teacher sent me to the office, where they would call my mom to come pick me up. I couldn't communicate with the ladies in the office, so I reached into my shirt and pulled out an index card. My mom always made sure I wore that index card when I left for school. The card had a hole punched in a corner and a loop of red yarn through the hole and I wore it around my neck. The index card had my name, address, and home phone number, written by my dad.

I sat on what seemed like a very large, very old bench in the office and waited for my mom. I sat for what seemed like a very long time and when I realized that school was over and students were starting to go home, it crossed my mind that maybe my mom wasn't coming to get me. Various old ladies who worked in the office were saying stuff to me that I didn't understand.

They close the office 30 minutes after school lets out. In fact, they close the entire school building. Someone shooed me outside to wait on the front steps of the school. I looked around for my mom, with renewed hopes that maybe she just didn't figure out how to get inside and that she was waiting for me all along. But no.

It was a rainy afternoon, so not only was I sick, I was being rained on. And oh, I can't find my mom. Some neighborhood people walked past me but no one said anything. I guess the Don't Talk To Strangers rule also applies to pukey little kids.

I'm not sure what happened first, the fact that I gave up hope that my mom would appear from down the block, or that I just got too cold and shivery. I went up to a passer-by. He looked like a friendly old man. I pulled out the index card from inside my shirt and showed it to him.

If I remember correctly, the friendly old man brought me home. But I can honestly say I don't remember any of the rest -- why my mom didn't come to pick me up, what I said to her when I finally saw her -- I've lost all of those memories.

Is this normal?

Rolling in Dough!

In just the past two days, my net worth has gone up by $45 and I owe it all to craigslist. Yesterady, I sold 3 stupid Central Park framed photos for $20. Today, I sold an Apple Mouse that I don't use anymore for $25. Wooo!

I actually have one more item posted on craigslist. It's a barter: I'm trying to trade 3 under-bed storage boxes for a 6 pack of beer. Someone emailed me for details, but that punk never followed up on my response! Do any of you guys need 3 under-bed boxes? Cuz I sure as heck need some beer.

Buy an xTian, He goes from Zero to Jerk in 30 Seconds

The weeks leading up to Thanksgiving were challenging enough. My mother has 3 sisters who live in the area and my father has 2. I love them all equally, an easy task since they tolerate my surlyfuckery more or less equally. Upon hearing that I was not going to the Sunshine State, each called me out of pity and invited me to their respective homes for Thanksgiving, a welcome, warm gesture. One that the socially underdeveloped fuck that is me cannot handle. Instead I treated this showering of familial love as a monumental burden, which I shared with anyone who would listen. I explained the situation to a coworker of mine, and though she didn’t judge me verbally, her eyes met mine with a mix of pity and disgust. My mother, long since retired from the responsibility of having to deal with my fuckwadery on a regular basis, called me a few times to laugh and point at the sad corner I had painted myself into. “What are you going to do?” She would ask, half mocking, half testing, her voice challenging me to a complicated game of “who do you love more?” Rather than play her game, I reacted with my typical scorched earth approach:

“Fuck it! I’m going to sit at home and sulk. How does that sound?”

I was proud of my emotional victory and felt compelled to share. Reactions were of course mixed. When relaying this story later to my sales operations manager (who I now claim as a mother figure…because I’m sad…and gay) she arched an eye brow and said “I need to get back to work”. See, just like my mom! Little did I know that my true mother, queen of constant undermining, would have the last laugh but we’ll get back to that in a minute.

My Thanksgiving weekend started ominously enough. After running out early on Tuesday to catch the motorcycle diaries I actually found myself balancing a number of different things that I needed to have teed up for Monday. Regardless, I managed to have all my ducks in a row by 3pm and broke for the door, so I could get up to the Vinegar Factory and pick up some pecan pies to barter as peace offerings for a number of family members that I have alienated in recent days.

I got a call from cousin, who rocks, by the way. She’s all like “I’m in town. I’m returning your call. What’s up” sort of vibe. In mid conversation I recalled that I failed to return any of her brother’s 4 calls in the last month. The correct approach is to stick thru the phone call and call her brother, my cousin back. My reaction is to contrive a reason to get off the phone and act very busy so as to not call anyone back. Ever non-committal, I agreed to make it to Perth Amboy later in the day, knowing full well I had no intention of ever showing up.

On Thursday, I rolled over to Ridgefield Park and hung out with my aunt and her family. All good people, with good hearts, even Monkey Boy 1 is good for a laugh. My aunt was treating me with kid gloves. Something she does not normally do. By 6pm, my youngest aunt called me just to say hi, see how I was feeling and later admitted to “wondering if you was depressed”. Ever since I was 5, there’s been a depression watch for xTian amongst the Velez Family. I can’t just be introspective and occasionally quiet, I have to be depressed and it freaking pisses me off. My mom of course, in reaction to my wise cracks, decides to bust out the “xTian is depressed” saw just to f with me. Luckily I was able to reassure her that I was not at all terribly depressed and doing just fine. My hostess aunt, also found a way to mellow out and lobbed a few fat jokes my way…family is great! By 8pm I was properly drunk and stuffed with pork (turkey is for white people…that’s what I always say). By 10pm I was passed out on the couch, by 2am I was being asked why I don’t like Latina women and being tested on the degree of my self loathing by my aunt’s husband, a man I have genuine affection for. Of course, the defining moment of our relationship includes him pelting me with baseballs for an entire afternoon. That’s a story that probably demands its own post.

On Friday, I arrived in Perth Amboy finally to call on my other aunts and wish them a good holiday. My cousin Maria, pointed out that my father had called on Thanksgiving and implied that I would be arriving late to Thanksgiving dinner, but that my arrival was imminent.

“what did he say to give you that idea?”

“He said, ‘xTian is on his way. He’ll be there shortly.’”

Thanks dad, that’s great! My response to Maria was pretty simple.

“Well, great. I guess I’m a jerk. Let’s go shopping”

Scumbag Move Of The Week

Congratulations, Dan Marino! You made a total ass of yourself on the CBS Pre-Game Show today and anytime anyone comes off looking like a bigger ass than me, it's worthy of celebration. What were you thinking, trying to chop block your interview "guest" Peyton Manning, at every opportunity? Yes, everyone knows he's going to break your single-season touchdown record, but DUDE, show some class.

For those who missed it, here's a recap of Dan Marino's interview with Peyton Manning:

-- Marino starts off by thanking Manning for all the re-newed attention he's been getting lately. Scumbag move!

-- Cuts to a clip of Marino's record 48th TD pass in 1973 or whatnot. Isn't this supposed to be a Manning interview? Scumbag move!

-- Marino pontificates that throwing TDs are easier in today's game because DB's aren't allowed to bump receivers like in the old days. Scumbag move!

-- Is Manning going to get a word in edgewise? Or sock Marino in the teeth? Cmon! Do something!

-- Marino closes by implying that offenses are built differently these days, specifically, that offenses now throw the ball when inside the 5, whereas they almost never did in his day. Then Marino whips out a stat! He turns to Manning and goes, "I had 2 TDs from inside the 5 that entire years, and this year, you ALREADY have 4!!!" Scumbag move!

Thanks and Anti-Thanks

Last word from me regarding Thanks...

Thanks to some chick named Iris, who according to this site's access logs, visits us every day! WOW! (On a side note: why does she come here? Why do *I* come here?)

Anti-Thanks to Jon-El. You suck! The fact that you took down the Anti-Life blog sucks! All you care about is yourself.

Ok, now I'm off to work on my 2004 Year In Review. It's going to be an epic.

A little less information, please

I moved apartments not too long ago, so now I have some random stuff that I don't need anymore. I went and posted in the "for sale" section on craigslist. There's this woman who wants to buy 3 framed Central Park pics from me. Great! Now all we need to do is figure out the logistics. I am home today, but today is not good for her. But ah, she can pick them up from my office building tomorrow because she'll be in the area. Specifically, she said:

"I've got a gynecologist appointment right near your office."

Eww. I didn't need to know that much detail. But anyway, we need to work out a time to meet. So then she says:

"My appointment is at 3:45pm, but it's going to take a looooong time, so we better meet beforehand."

YIPES! What the heck is going on down there?!? I'm going to ask the building doorman to conduct this transaction for me.

Giving Thanks

Evil

The calendar says it's winter, but it's 40's and 50's outside so you can still walk down the street and hold somebody's hand without bulky gloves getting in the way. The calendar says tomorrow is Thanksgiving and for the first time in years, I think I'm looking forward to seeing my family for the holidays. I used to fret about the holidays for some reason... maybe because social situations make me nervous or maybe because I come from a family of misfits and freaks. One year, I blew off the family dinner and convinced my friend Judy to take me in -- she made roast goose, glazed root vegetables, corn bread, herb rice, and what seemed like a dozen other dishes. There were eight people at Judy's dinner and at the end of the night, I counted more empty wine bottles than guests. That was a good Thanksgiving.

But this year, things somehow feel different. But I guess, in reality, much will be the same.

When I see my grandmother, she'll take my hand, feel my forearm and say that I'm either too fat or too skinny. Her assessment is utterly random I'm sure. Either that, or the woman is nearly legally blind. Probably both.

When I see my grandfather, he'll act very startled to see me. I think it's because he's lost all peripheral vision so he doesn't see anything not directly in front of him. I'll say hi to grandpa and he'll ask me if I'm working on my PhD and I'll shake my head and he'll mumble, "Oh." It's weird... the word for "Oh" in Vietnamese is actually "Oh." Go figure.

My aunts and uncles will all ask me if I'm married and I'll say no. Then they'll ask me if I have a girlfriend and I'll also say no, at which point they'll say various things to imply that I'm a loser. Sometimes, they actually call me a loser outright because in Asian families, it's OK to do that sort of thing (apparently). My third uncle will insert himself and point out that his son, who's a year younger than me, is already married. In my mind, I am always like, "FUCK THAT! Your kid might be married, but he's been working on his undergrad degree for ongoing 9 years now and he's still living in your basement, wife and all. F-ing loser."

My second uncle will be overly happy to see me. He is always overly happy to see anyone at all. We, the younger generation, suspect it had something to do with his long service during the Vietnam war. Something must have snapped because my second uncle acts pretty insane sometimes, but the older generation doesn't tell us anything about what's really going on.

Even with all the insanity though, I know there will be good food. My grandfather was a chef in his younger days, so his entire side of the family cooks up a storm for the holiday dinner.

Anyway, I just wanted to wish all 8 of you (the loyal Hose readers) a Happy Thanksgiving.

The Hosers wish you the Happy Gobble Gobble

In case you did not notice, we went on hiatus for a while and will be thru the end of the month. Figured I'd drop in a wish you and yours a happy turkey day.

We'll be back in early December, with a new look (designed by that poofter Sleeve) and a new feature. "Countdown to Personal Happiness", where Evil and I will put together a plan to actually approximate happy in 2005.

PEACE Y'ALL

xTian

Evil's Next LA Trip

Look at Evil, flaunting his wealth. Apparently, he won the eBay bid on this. When are you heading out to LA to claim your prize/drunk ho?

Something is off with Kentaro

I think Kentaro blew a fuse this weekend or something, he's talking like a 15 year old high on MDMA lately...

Here's a conversation we had recently:
xTian: hey
xTian: so someone goes
xTian: "arigato" to you
Kentaro: hey
xTian: what do you say back?
Kentaro: 'domo'
xTian: what's that mean
Kentaro: it means 'screw you'
xTian: serious?
xTian: that doesnt seem like what i want to say
xTian: who is this person, is this bruno? where's ken
xTian: i want to speak to ken
Kentaro: actually, 'domo' might not be it. let me get back to you on that
xTian: the f*ck?
Kentaro: hey
xTian: ?
Kentaro: 'domo' is 'thanks'
xTian: whats arigato mean?
Kentaro: "doitashimashite" = "you're welcome"
Kentaro: arigato also means thanks
xTian: awesome
Kentaro: i think arigato is more formal
xTian: you are japanese right?
Kentaro: i think so

Evil thinks he's caught up in in the undertow of our downward spiral...any thoughts?

Famous and Important People Read the Hose!!

Check out this dialogue from last week's episode of The O.C. (2x02- The Way We Were)

SETH : One of an outcast maybe, but at one point I was a vital part of the Harbour Club Scene...

RYAN: There's a Harbour Club scene?

SETH: Yeah...yeah...sailing club...golf club and uh...wait for it...wait for it comic book club. Check this out.
(Seth hands Ryan a flyer for the Comic Book Club, with a drawing of Seth on the front)

RYAN:who's this guy?

SETH:thats me with powers...the power to be handsome.

RYAN: I think this might explain the whole outcast thing...

SETH: No ryan it doesn't! Do you have any idea how much SpiderMan 2 made at the box office man? We're not outcasts anymore! OK! We're edgy...we're like trailblazers!

RYAN: "we"?

SETH yeah dude...why don't you get this involved, you me and possibly others...

Does this dialogue remind you of anything?

While we're on the subject, the writers of The O.C. (I mean you, Josh Schwartz!) are clearly comic book freaks, check out this character's later attempt to marginalize Superman...


SETH: Who's your favorite super hero?

ZACH: Depends who's writing him but I have to say Superman

SETH: (PHEW) (shaking his head turning to Ryan) this guy...(to Zack) He's too perfect, guy!

ZACH: No, he seems perfect but he's not...In fact, if you think about it, he's kind of messed up. I mean he's lost his parents, he's lost his whole planet...and this is a guy who could take over the world if he wanted but he doesn't. He just keeps helping people. Why would he do that, you know? Unless...he's just trying to make a connection...

SETH: Who's your favorite writer?

ZACH: Bendis

SETH: Well, hot damn! Welcome to the club!


Anyone got access to old postings from The Anti-Life. I'm pretty sure, Jon-El tried to build a similar case for himself...

Vote or Die!

My mental state has devolved to such a point that I can't even make the most mundane decisions. So I turn to you, reader(s) of The Hose. Please weigh in:

Should I purchase a Roomba?

Meeting Me Online

Evil

I wish there were some kind of online dating website where, for $24.95 a month, I can go on there and meet myself. I would hop on there, log in (username = "massivecock1976"), and read a deep and insightful profile -- of me. The profile would tell me things that I've always wanted to know about myself. For example: What kind of person am I? What kind of person am I to be around? What do I like to do in my spare time? In lieu of knowing any of this, I've spent the last 28 years making crap up.

On multiple occassions, I've had (female) friends say to me, "It's unfair that I am honest with you about what goes on in my life, but it doesn't work the other way around."

To this, I am always tempted to say, "Listen, wench, I'll be honest with you right after I learn to be honest with myself."

But instead, what I usually do is awkwardly and ungracefully change the subject. Something like this: "Huh? What? Please understand that there's a giant hole in my heart, the place where most people store their love. (*Nervous laughter*)"

This is usually followed by the rolling of eyes, but nevertheless, the subject has been changed.

It would be great if this online dating website had an email feature, so I can email myself with pointed questions. Stuff like: "Tell me about your parents and your family in general" and "Why would you be a good person to date, other than being a good lay?"

Anyone who know more about this "Internet" thing... please let me know if such a website exists.

Happy Birthday, GWOAMTSOHC!

Dear Girl Who Once Asked Me To Sit On Her Coat,

Happy Birthday! I'm sorry I didn't make it to your party last night, but then again, you probably wouldn't have remembered me. You asked me to sit on your coat about two years ago. I refused. You insisted. It was awkward. In lieu of having actual friends, I am now mentally pretending that people with whom I've had even the most insignificant conversation are now friends of some sort. Woooo!

Anyway, I hope you ended your birthday in your birthday suit.

Bye,
Evil

Evil

I am feeling like a champ! WOOOOO!

Intervention Needed

I am sort of worried about my erstwhile chum Evil, and clearly I should do something about it. But this inclination is countermanded by my own laziness. Yes, in this case my better angels are beaten by my favorite mortal sin, sloth. That sloth guy is always mucking up all my plans. Here's the situation as I described it...

I had decided earlier today that this evening would be dedicated to finishing the book I'm reading A Gentleman of Leisure by the comedic writer, PG Wodehouse. Within two minutes I was so bored I ran out in the rain to fetch a burrito.

On the way back from Taco Bandito I decided to ring up Evil, again bored by the mundaneness of walking 1.2 blocks. When he answered, I note that Evil was somewhere between stage 1 and 2 sleep. I implored him to do better, mentioning that it was not even yet 8pm. I challenged him on this

"bro, what are you up to?"

(curtly)"nothin'"

"are you alright"

"yeah"

"were you sleeping?"

"yeah"

"why?"

"i dunno"

"are you depressed?"

"yes"

After that the conversation tailed off, I chose not to press him any further. The odd part is, that if the shoe were on the other foot and he had called earlier in the day, he would have found me in a similar similar emotional state.

Evil

TAUNTING VICTIM

I just called the Chinese restaurant and ordered a General Tso's Chicken. Yes, that was very generic of me, but that's not the point of this post. The girl on the phone asked for my address and I gave it to her. You see, my address is the same as the Chinese restaurant's address. They are immediately downstairs from me. The girl on the phone was like, "Oh, same building" but the tone of her voice made it clear she really meant to say, "Oh, you lazy f-ck".

Fear and Self Loathing

You ever debate being honest with someone? I do. It's a decision I have to make every 45 seconds or so (or at least lately). It's funny because people always imagine me being brutally honest. Really what I'm doing though, is speaking in overly long winded sentences and then hiding my lies behind a wall of curt and assertive statements which thanks to to the juxtaposition come off as very "honest sounding". But I digress...the point is after all, the internal debate.

The debate is pretty simple. What's the reaction going to be to this genuine moment of honesty, this one time you decide to stand up and wave your hands in the air and are like "Here I am! This is who I am! Please care!" Romantics (and suckers) like to call it "bearing your soul". But really its just about revealing what's actually going on up there in the back corner of your head, the part with all the landmines, that place that dashboard confessional came to fear the most, in that one song, that one time. The truth of the matter is that the first time you reveal some genuine truth about yourself...that first reaction - its the first real acceptance/rejection of you as a person. Everything outside of that is false and can't be counted.

What if she giggles at you? In a cute way, because you're being cute? Is that the greatest day ever? Could be...who's to say? Never really happened to me....

What if she laughs out loud at you, revealing her molars and maybe finish off with a coughing fit? That would not feel good at all. It would feel down right shitty in fact. Not only are you being rejected, you're being rejected as completley ridiculous. Sad Clown Time...Sad Clown Time indeed

What if she starts crying? Granted its not probable, I've never made someone cry with honesty, but have with out in out lies. It's not probable but its also in the realm of the possible...

Who knows why I'm even thinking about this....

Evil

DO I EVEN EXIST?

Part 1. We're having a training event in the office this week, which means that various other people fly in from other offices for the training. Whenever we have these trainings, there is always an impromptu dinner-and-drinks thing that happens afterwards. Yesterday was no exception. By 4pm, people were buzzing around telling other people where and when to meet. Everyone was like, "Alright!" because dinner-and-drinks on the company tab is always a great thing. I guess it's great for everyone except me because no one invited me, so I just went home.

Part 2. I understand that XTIAN had lunch with Kentaro a couple of days ago. Was it a romantic lunch? If not, why wasn't I invited?

Part 3. I understand that XTIAN had dinner with Sleeve last night. Was it a romantic dinner? If not, why wasn't I invited?

Conclusion. Nobody likes me.

Evil

SCENE FROM THE SUBWAY
(this morning, R train, heading downtown)

The guy sitting across from me is reading the morning paper. He has one brown eye and one glass eye. The glass eye is horrendous and pale and bulging too much out of his head. The poor guy, he didn't get properly fitted for his glass eye.

His one good eye moves a lot when he reads the paper. It zigs and zags, back and forth. Real fast. I guess your good eye has to work harder when you only have one. Maybe it's sort of like losing a kidney... your other one grows by up to 40% to handle the extra load.

He spots me staring at him, so now he's trying to keep one eye on his paper and one eye on... Oh wait. He only has one eye total so he is visibly troubled at this point. His eye jumps betweent he paper and me and for the love of God I just can't stop myself from staring. Now he is practically staring at me and I am practically staring at him, but my eyes are fixed on his glass one, not his good one. We are both visibly uncomfortable. Now he slumps down in his subway seat. He lowers his eyelids, almost closing them. He puts the newspaper over his face and just sits there, slumped and motionless.

Evil

WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE ME

Apparently, I've been walking around all day with a sizeable, noticable coffee stain on the front of my shirt. Noticable, that is, to everyone but me. :-(

Evil

Props to this blog for being funny and making fun of those asswipes on the NYT wedding announcements pages.

Don’t touch him there!!!

Australia’s flatworm pseudoceros bifurcus is a hermaphrodite. In order to copulate, they stab each other with their penises- a practice dubbed “penis fencing” by very bored scientists. These are the critters that porn was made for! But “stabbing” does not mean “fencing”. Besides, only one out of every six of their strikes leads to successful insemination, and when it’s over, they’re both left on the bathhouse floor, severely wounded. Emotionally as well as physically. I only bring it up because the symptoms sounds awfully familiar? At least to me...

Evil

TOUGHENING UP, FOR ONCE

I spent this past Sunday lounging on my couch, I like do on most Sundays. I lounge in such a way as to suggest that there's no muscle mass in my body whatsoever. When I lounge, I am shapeless. I am structureless. There is nothing to sustain the weight of my head. Such is the state of my physical being.

On this particular Sunday, I watched the NYC Marathon on TV. Some British chick with a crazy bobbing head won on the women's side. On the men's side, some American dude was in contention and I was rooting for him not because he was American per se, but because he had these cool ass knee-high socks. I gotta get me some of those!

Watching the marathon got me thinking... it's time to toughen up! Yes, my friends. You are indeed thinking what I'm thinking:

XTIAN and Jon-El, you two are signing up for the 2005 NYC Marathon. You have exactly 1 year (umm, minus a couple of days). Start training. Just to set the example of toughness for you two, I will do it too. In fact, I started training as of Sunday night! Ran 0.25 miles on the treadmill and lemme tell you, I WAS SPENT! But last night, I did a full 1.0 mile. That's a 4x improvement!!! Let me take a moment to flex. WOOO!

Evil

MY BLOG IS IN THERAPY

Do you ever read other people's blog posts and make very personal judgements about them? Even if you don't know (or hardly know) that person in real life? I do that ALL THE TIME!

For example, everyone should check out this ass-funny post by the aforementioned Jon-El (see Dork Wannabe, below). On the surface, that post is 100% humor, but my friends, there is a much deeper meaning!

You see, Jon-El is what you'd call an Academia Lifer. You know, the kind of person who rummages around the university, "researching" one thing or another, all in pursuit of weird-ass letters to attach at the end of one's name. But Jon-El recently left the warm embrace of academia to make the big bucks in industry. But man, after I read that post, after doubling over in laughter, I thought some more and it really made me sad. It's like a guy who's thrown in jail for murder and he serves his time for several decades and then one day, his time is up -- he's paid his debt to society to so let him out. But the only life he really knew was the one behind bars. So what does he do? He commits a crime, just to be thrown back in jail.

Poor Jon-El.

Evil

Speaking of weddings, I need some advice. This is serious...

Two days ago (Nov 5th), I get a wedding invitation in the mail. It's from a High School friend of mine. We still see each other, on average once a year. Usually at someone's wedding or New Year's Eve party. He's getting married and it's taking place on Nov 20th.

Are you asking the same question that I asked myself? "So was I a third-tier invite, or a fourth-tier invite?"

There's one caveat though: The invitation was send to my old-old address, so it actually had to get re-routed by the post office twice. There wasn't a date stamp on the envelope, but still... how long can two re-routings actually take.

So here is my question: WHAT SHOULD I DO?

Ever write a wedding card for anyone?

In the past, when I have stuck to "on registry". It's pretty easy. Most of these stupid websites, only let you put in a message worth about 250 characters or something stupid. Who can communicate any real emotion in 250 characters? Certainly not I, I'm a fucking windbag. I need at least 10x that to say hello (or explain photosythisis)

For Balls and Sandy's wedding, I went "off registry" for a couple of reasons, most of which are not worth sharing with the 8 of you. So, because I went off registry, I could not pull my pattened, "order-something-20-minutes-before-I-go-to-the-wedding-and-blame-Willaims-Sonoma-dot-com" move. So I let the thing sit for 6 friggin weeks, at least part of it was their fault of course, I mean who goes on a honeymoon and doesn't pick up their cell phone? Who drinks for two weeks straight while the Red Sox were making their improbable run. However, about 3 weeks ago, I ran out of fucking excuses so now the blame is firmly mine...WAH!

Anyway, writing the card is hard, I mean dude, the 250 character limit is such a life saver, sure you can't communicate any real emotion, but you also spare yourself the internal debate of how/where to place a penis joke or whether or not to mock Manolo's faca-bruta! 250 characters
"all the best...Please still like me" is about the start/end of it.

Now I got all these decision points. It's crazy. I'm a witty guy, its expected of me. In public, I can communicate elocution and love for expletives in a single sentence. Intonation is also key. I rely on intonation heavily, does intonation come across in writing? Of course, not! I'm walking around writing and reading out loud. Now I'm calling people and subjecting them to whatever the fuck is going on in my head

"would that offend you?...Now pretend you're Balls or Sandy...Would it offend you now? Strike it? Are you off your fucking rocker...I have to be funny its expected of me. I can't let these people down...What the fuck do you know about it? That's why no one likes you anyway!"

It's just not fair to anyone, most of all me! It's really too fucking stressful, Maybe Jon-El was right all along. I started this at 4:30 its now 6:45. SOMEBODY HELP!

I won't even get into the fact that I'm too hung over to hold a pen steady...

Attack of the Dork-wannabes

Any one give this a read? I did and I have some thoughts.

First, some level setting:
I'm a big time, dork. A well cultured, well spoken and occasionally charming dork, but a dork nonetheless. I was fucking with computers when I was four, I have been reading comic books since I was 6 and I can almost word for word repeat dialogue from Star Trek the Next Generation. I was/am a mess. END OF LEVEL SETTING

Why is there such a thing as a dork-wannabe. Well, that's easy. Remember 1999? Prince thought it was going to be a party and to a degree it was, but the not kind he imagined. Instead of crushed purple velvet and hedonistic behavior we had square rimmed glasses, ironic comments and technophilia. That's right dork wannabes is what sprung up in the wake of the dot.com society.

Suddenly geek culture overran everything, to the point that when the party ended its influence remained eternally etched of the zeitgeist of modern society. Star Wars (Eps IV and V at least) were cool. The X-Men and Spider-Man were cool. Seth Cohen,the second lead on The OC, is the epitome of this phenomenon. When we meet him he is the extreme dork with no friends, spending all his time reading comics and playing 25 year old records in his house. By the end of the first season, he's dumping the hottest chick in school?? Weird. Here's a more personal example: When I got to Berkeley, everyone was given a tee-shirt to represent our membership in the class of '04. Each cluster/cohort was given a different color, but they all had some variation of this logo:



Was I the only one to notice, that I and my fellow blue cohortians, look like we fell out of a Fantastic Four Fan Club meeting? I think not...

The point is, why wouldn't someone want to be a dork? We're the coolest shit out! WOOOOO! I'm not attacking Jon-El's cred (Jon-El HEH!...go read your Superman comics to make sense of that reference). I'm just trying to make him earn it a little bit. Why does Jon only get to be a dork when its cool? Shouldn't he have to put up with the indignity of being a dork in the late 80s in order to claim some of the reward? I'm just saying you have to put in the time, to get the cred. Not that I wish such extreme marginalization on anyone, I mean look at what it did to poor Evil. The poor guy is so scarred he lashes out at everything in site.

So I'm sorry Jon-El. I'm sorry that I can't accept you into my little club with open arms. Its just not going to happen, like a short person suddenly blessed with a huge cock or the ugly girl in middle school that is the first to sprout huge mammories, I'm going to make you work for my acceptance as long as humanly possible, or at least till the "dorks are cool movement" is over. In which, case I'll let the whole thing go and/or possibly apologize.

Evil

It has been brought to me attention that some of our readers do not like me. All I have to say is, SCREW YOU!!!

Evil

Graduate schooling notwithstanding, I watched as XTIAN self-defeated and self-destructed. Although I didn't stick around for the final result. So if you wanna know, you have to ask him.

Evil

SCENE FROM A STARBUCKS
(92nd & 3rd)

Three girls at the table next to me, all mid-to-late 20's and decently normal looking. The blonde scratches the surface of "attractive" on a good day. She does most of the talking. She talks fast. Hardlyanyspacesinbetweenherwords,sortoflikethis. The two brunettes talk fast too. The sounds they make are reminiscent of clucking hens. I expect them to peck at thier lemon poppyseed muffin in between sentences. I expect the pecking to be quick and ferocious, if only to keep pace with the whole scene.

The blonde is talking about work, still talking fast. The brunettes listen intently and here and there they scatter an "Oh my God!" and sometimes a "Wow! THAT is aMAZing!" Once, they chimed "Oh my God!" in almost perfect unison.

I sort of lose track of the conversation for a bit, perhaps out of boredom or perhaps I was distracted by thoughts of putting a bullet in my head so as to not have to listen the sounds of three girls clucking. The blonde is now talking about trying to get in to grad school:

"Imean,Ijustdontknowwhathappened. Imean,me? Gettingbelowthemeanonverbal? Imean,me?"

One of the brunettes is like, "Oh my God!"

"Imean,Ijustdontknowwhathappened!" repeats the blonde.

It's weird how some people don't realize how stupid they really are. She doesn't know what happened? This girl clearly has the intellect of toothpaste. At that moment, I found myself wondering why I wasn't born as good looking as I am smart. (I would be ruling the world by now!) And then I wondered what would happen if the blonde girl suddenly became as smart as me, if only for one day. I think her had would explode. Probably by noon. Being me is not as easy and carefree as it seems, but I guess I manage...

Evil

TEAM RACHEL TAKES LONDON

Finally, I got a chance to witness Mr. Shoulders operating in his own element. Man, first of all, let me just say that I've noticed some pretty fine looking Indian coochie floating around this city. Mr. Shoulders, with his big shoulders (is that redundant?), big money, and prestigious "VP" title must be pretty busy with all that ass he's getting.

So anyway, on Wednesday night it was Mr. Shoulders, The International Man of Mystery (TIMOM), Kentaro, and me at dinner. We went for Indian food, or was that Bangladeshi, or was it Indian but owned by Bangladeshi? They are all brown people to me, but TIMOM was having none of it. He subtly exerted moral superiority by pointing out that essentially all Indian restaurants are owned by Bangladeshi, because it's the Bangladeshi who are the entrepreneurs. I thought fists were about to fly right there, but luckily, I was amply distracted by the beer in my hand and a hot piece of English ass sitting at the table next to me. (BTW- That girl nearly got bowled over my an Indian waiter, and as he shoved her, he grumbled, "Get out of my way!")

I learned a few things about Mr. Shoulders that night:

1. His rent is GBP1100/month, which in USD is something obscene, like $1.34 million, or perhaps something like $2000/month or whatnot. But still. Mr. Shoulders is rolling in money.

2. Mr. Shoulders would never (or in his own words, "NEVER!!!!!!") buy a used car. Likewise, Mr. Shoulders would "NEVER!!!!!!" have a used woman. Damn, that guy set the bar high.

3. Mr. Shoulders is returning to the States in March 2005. Get ready people. There is going to be a Welcome Back / Birthday Party in the works. This time, I'll take care of ordering the stripper, so we can actually have one that shows up on time and doesn't mention the 2 kids that she has so as to make everyone in the audience feel guilty.

I also learned one very important thing about Kentaro aka The Enigma. That guy just managed to engineer the ousting of his direct manager. As such, there's now a huge power vacuum within Ken's group and there Ken is... ready to fill the void. That guy is a genius.

OC Recap

The OC was back last night, with billboards and ads that stated "The first ten minutes will change everything!"

Well, not quite. Actually all the first ten minutes did was recap the season 1 finale and give us a chance to check out Rachel Bilson, greased up and in a bikini. Mischa Barton was also in a bikini, but her character is really annoying and as someone pointed out to me yesterday she has "cankles". Cankles can be tolerated in certain instances but on such a skinny girl, its down right freakish. There were also a bunch of greased up half naked guys fixing up Sandy and Kiki's house but who can notice that when you got Peter Galagher's eye brows stealing the show!

In other news, Seth spent all summer hanging out with Luke and his gay dad in Portland. He hates his parents for making Ryan go away but misses Summer because he loves her. A sentiment he communicated really well at the end of last season by "sailing away". Ryan embraces his inner chino-ness. Right down to a silly camera shot of him giving pounds to a bunch of junior vatos riding by on a bicycles. In the end, Ryan steps up and brings Seth back to the Cohens. And since Teresa lied to Ryan about a miscarriage he decides its more than alright to leave his wifey- miscarried (not), alone, and scared-and return to his home - which shall heretofore be referred to as The PoolHouse of Solitude.

Also, (a drunk) Marissa has the most annoying hissyfit ever (MAHE) and Josh Schwartz subjects us to more characterization by prop when Summer finally dumps Seth by returning a 12in London Calling and assorted issues of JSA.

Even a guest appearance by Mr. Oats could not restore any of this angst-ridden show's season 1 sunniness.

Gayness for the Day
About a year ago, I downloaded the Postal Service Album - Get Up. I never listened to it, but kept hearing the atari like sounds from their hit - Such Great Heights in movies and commercials. The other day while running I noticed I had put the album on my iPod and listened as I ran. One song stuck out - Brand New Colony - wherein a guy meets a girl and tries to get her to go away with him and build...you know...a brand new colony...which i suppose is a metaphor for the sappy sentiment of building a life together...

What a great song, so great a song I had to sing it on the subway this morning..I was caught singing the following verses

I want to take you far from the cynics in this town
and kiss you on the mouth.
We'll cut our bodies free from the tethers of
this scene, start a brand new colony.

Damn my iPod!

Evil

I am hurting. I mean physically, not emotionally (for once).

Evil

WILLIAM REHNQUIST DEATH POOL

Readers of The Hose: The game is on!!! Here's how it works:

1. You predict the date and time at which William Rehnquist (Chief Justice of the U.S. Supreme Court) will kick the bucket.

2. Email your official entry to thehose@gmail.com.

3. Closest prediction WITHOUT GOING OVER wins all.

Entry fee: $20 USD per entry. Multiple entries per person welcome. (Sleeve knows about multiple entries per person!)

Evil



"My name is Hillary Clinton and I'm... REPORTING FOR DUTY!"

Bizarre stuff going On

This whole presidential thing hit me harder than I anticipated. There were actually two separate times this morning when i almost cried. I need to toughen up. How can my manishness hold up if I cry everytime a decomposing presidential candidate looses.

I'd like to think that democrats could compete if they ran someone from the North East. I'd like to just blame John Kerry for being a crappy campaigner, having the charisma of a newt, and for being someone who just can't seem to make up his mind about anything.

I'd like to do this because it would be very easy. But I think its a gross over simplification. I think the end result is that I, as a north eastern elitist liberal hippie have nothing in common with a disproportionate part of this country. Too bad.

For whatever reason, the only thing that made me feel better this morning was buy a pair of pink monkey cuff links. What does that say about me?

I am going to step off towards century 21. There might be a pair of Bruno Magli's there that can keep me from crying the rest of the night.

OH,btw Watch LOST tonight and The O.C. returns tomorrow!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The Hose & the NY Times

I have gotten a lot of positive feedback regarding my post via emails and phone calls. Of course, I am way beyond that...I don't do it for the adulation of my fans. I don't let it feed my ego and take to stratospheric levels. I don't go on and say how I am probably solely responsible for taking the number of readers past the "never thought possible" number of 10.

That's just not me...At the same time, I feel a little bit let down by the Hose management. It seems that our PR department its not doing enough to get the Hose on more mainstream media. All I know its I go online to the NY Times and there are bunch of inferior blogs in their Op-Ed Page.

We need a new publicist...that's all I am saying!

Evil

Hey, Happy Election, people! Play fair. Outwit, outsmart, outlast. Oh wait, that's Survivor. The patriot that I am, I'm off to England! Gonna maybe smoke a couple of fatties on Oxford campus while you crazy Yanks sort out your election mess.

Evil

HALLOWEEN COSTUMES THAT MIGHT GET YOU AN ASS KICKING

One.I missed the company Halloween festivities this year because I was in-flight from California back to New York. But when I got in to work today, I did see the pics that people were emailing around. My favorite Halloween costume this year? Three people from the office dressed up as iPod ads, you know, like this ad:



Think about this for a sec. Their costume went like this:

1. Wear all-black clothing
2. Wear an iPod on your belt and white earbuds in ear
3. Wear blackface

DUDE! They were in blackface. Was that OK? On Halloween or otherwise? Somehow, I think if I did that, my would have been swallowing my own teeth before the day was thru. DOUBLE STANDARD!!!

Two. Had I not had to miss Halloween, I think I would have gone as a Krumper. You know, a break dancing clown. In preparation, I asked XTIAN:

"Hey, should I apply clown paint directly to my face, or should I paint my face black first and THEN apply the clown paint."

I was told -- not in a subtle way -- that I was looking for an ass kicking.

DAMN. Why me?

Evil

ELECTION PLANS

Yo people, impromptu State Recount Debacle Party, sponsored by The Hose. Party at XTIAN's pad. Bring beer and 3 gallons of water per person, in case riots break out.

We are also in the early stages of planning the followup party, tentatively named Sandra Day O'Connor Picks The President Party. Bring a likeness of Clarence Thomas to hang in effigy. Also bring pot.

[Please insert your 527 ad here]

Rewind 4 years to the year 2000. I am in NYC flipping between CNN, MSNBC, and Fox News as they called the election for Gore and then Bush and then they all took it back. I remember watching and reading about the recount fiasco…I remember the hanging chads, the pregnant chads, the swollen chads. I remember the political operatives storming the offices where the counting was being done...I remember people shouting obscenities at each other…I remember the signs…I remember the emotions…I remember wanting to be part of the chaos…

Fast forward to the year 2004…My dream has become reality…I am not in a BLUE or RED state where the election is already decided. I am not in the bleacher seats with the common folk...Oh yes, its true…I am in a swing state baby!!!

I got to tell you it feels great to be wooed…You actually feel like somebody when every one is trying to register you outside of a supermarket. I don’t think I was prouder of general Voter Registration efforts than when the strippers at Club Madonna (shout to Xtian, little big head, and ScottyPark) asked me if I had registered to vote…I like taking people down a peg or two by giving them thumbs down or the finger whenever I pass a corner with people trying to rally their base...

I have been involved in non-partisan registration drives…I tried really hard to score tickets for the first presidential debate… I have seen signs being taken down, ripped to pieces…I have seen all sorts of graffiti and obscenities on posters, banners, cars and home-made signs… I have seen all sorts of metaphors and imagery involving wolves, eagles and ostriches…I have been seen every single 527 ad out there whether it’s Swift Vets for truth, Moveon.org, the Media fund, or Porn stars for Kerry.

On Friday, I was stuck in traffic as Bette Midler, Bruce Springsteen and Kerry led a rally as I made my way in downtown Miami with a date (story to come later). Today I had George drive right in front of my house with his 50 motorcycles, 25 black and white SUVs with 2 story high antennas, and silent black helicopters flying overhead…Laura waved to me from the Presidential limo and I promptly return the gesture…I don’t know if the secret service will be paying me a visit because my gesture involved the use of the middle finger….we will see.

Anyways, Florida has had early voting going on for the past week or two but I am waiting until Election day to vote…I want to be at my polling station come Tuesday and see what sort of chaos develop. I want to stand in line for two-three hours with a copy of Maxim (if this month’s issue has been read by the time election time rolls around, Maxim will be substituted with Hustler) under the sweltering sun and yell obscenities and go on long winded tirades to any international observers or party lawyers or press that may be at my polling station and tell them that one of the primary reasons I left my third-world country was to escape communism or imperialism or terrorism or any other isms I could throw out so I could vote and have my ballot counted.

I am going to finally make it inside and then I am going to stand in front of one of those new shiny electronic voting machines. I will take as long as possible until a poll worker offers to help me. I will refuse any help he/she decides to offer saying that “no, no I got this..its just like my ATM machine” or “I don’t know who to vote for” or “sorry but I haven’t made my mind on Proposition 7”…

I am then going to stand a little bit longer with a puzzled look in my face…I will smack the machines a bit, lift them up, look on the sides, look in the back…I will then ask an inexperienced poll worker that my voting machine its not printing out a receipt for me. They will tell me that there are no receipts printed. I will ask them how are they going to do a recount if there is no record. I will tell them how my local ATM prints out a receipt and that I am not leaving until I get a receipt for my vote.

I will eventually get hungry and go home and eat some cheese. I will then relieve the year 2000 by flipping between CNN, MSNBC, and Fox News until a clear winner is firmly declared the next day around 1:00 PM or so…I think that’s the way it will turn out.

Of course, I am ardently hoping that no one obtains an absolute majority of electoral votes for president. I am crossing my fingers, salivating at the lips at the slim chance that electoral college ends up tied 269 to 269 and that our glorious House of Representatives gets to pick the next leader of the free world…

What a glorious fucking civics lesson that would be!!

Evil

Getting fired because of your blog sucks. That's why everyone should have nicknames.

Evil

WILD ON... LONDON



Impromptu Team Rachel gathering in London this week. Except that the role of Big Head will be played by Raihan (who shall henceforth by known as The International Man of Mystery -- or TIMOM). Why isn't XTIAN going to be there you ask? Well, we are all asking the same question. First of all, this guy has like 6 weeks of use-it-or-lose-it vacation to take before Dec 31. You do the math. Secondly, this guy has been employed for 6+ months now and hasn't been asked to do a lick of work. I am not sure what's keeping him away from London, but my guess is that there's some kind of tension between XTIAN and Mr. Shoulders.

This London trip is already looking dubious for me. First of all, I can't seem to find any hotel for under $400/night USD. If that's how much hotels are going for, I don't even want to think about how much hookers-with-decent-teeth are going to cost. Secondly, I have no idea where I'm supposed to be in London. It turns out that Yahoo Maps and Mapquest don't work for London. Now what? I found this other maps of London but the streets are CRAZY LOOKING, sort of like Boston, except on crack. I give myself a 25% chance of actually getting to this meeting I need to be at.

Anyway, assuming I actually get there, I might take some pics and post them for you -- my loyal readers -- next week. Laterz, suckas.

Evil

Everywhere I go, people ask me, What is The Hose? What IS The Hose? Well, it's time to set the record straight.

The Hose is low in carbs. The Hose is an American Revolution. From the creators of Shrek... The Hose. The Hose is not yet rated. The Hose starts December 1st, in theaters everywhere. Sign up now, and get a free month of The Hose. The Hose is everything you want, you got it. Prepare for the season premier... television's biggest hour... The Hose. If you're counting calories, drink The Hose. Be sure to tell The Hose what medicines you are taking. If you are taking an MAOI or pimozide, you should not take The Hose. Side effects may include upset stomach, trouble sleeping, dry mouth, and massive hard-ons. Experience the power within. The Hose. No luxury brand holds its value better than The Hose. The perfect marriage of beauty and brains. As easy as rinsing, as effective as flossing. The Hose is part of a healthy lifestyle. We want your children to live long and healthy lives. The clean crisp taste of brewery-fresh. Choosy moms -- and dads -- chose The Hose. Experience the power within.

From the NY Times, an article about Ralph Nader:

'So he spoke for nearly 90 minutes at a news conference, thrashing the "two-party electoral dictatorship of this country" and calling President Bush "a chicken hawk, draft-dodging, messianic militarist presiding over a no-fault government."'

Because I live in Chelsea, I know that a chicken hawk, in addition to being the petulant little fellow that followed around Foghorn Leghorn on the Looney Tunes cartoons is also a term in gay culture.

chicken-hawk - an older gay man who prefers the company of much younger gay men.

(all manner of bad photoshopping to follow)

Please move Boston over there, next to the Yankees...In that column there...Yes...PERFECT!

Over the past couple of year, instead of rooting for porous defense and sub-par pitching of my team, I have come to support baseball's GOOD STORIES. And nothing was a better story than the Red Sox! Here were a bunch of maniacs who seemed to revel in misery and only found peace when shooting themselves in the foot (hey! That sounds familiar...). They were a bunch of babied millionaires sure, but they did not seem to own a set of hair clippers between them. The Yankees of course, had the history and the twenty six titles and Derek Jeter is the consummate professional and blah blah! The Red Sox had Manny, who sauntered, Manny who could throw a guy out from deep left field with the same frequency he let a grounder get by him out there. Not only that but they lost, and not only did they loose, the lost SPECTACULARLY. They lost and you felt for them (assuming you were like me and you hated the Yankees). I couldn't give a crap about these guys unless they're playing the Yankees. Because when they lost it was dramatic and you felt it. Aaron Boone felt like a punch in the stomach. This is a metaphoric punch to the stomach, the punch to the stomach that Darren, Jeff and I saw a drug dealer lay on his girlfriend at the bar we in Oakland we watched the game at.

Yesterday was it for me because then they won! The hell!? I did not watch more than three pitches of the World Series (Pedro's pitches, of course) Who needs that, what about the curse? What about the Yankees? I don't show up trying to root for winners, I show up rooting for self defeat and scruffy batting helmets and crazy hair.

The worst part is, The Red Sox won, because unlike in previous years where they got out maneuvered by the Yanks. This year they beat the yanks at their own game. Getting the big name pitcher (Schilling) in the winter and picking up a bunch of guys for the stretch run ( Mankeiskzizkkqiwitz and Cabrera). So what does that make them?

The New Yankees! F*CK THAT! Stop this train I'm getting off.

I hate their f*cking fans anyway!

Evil

Dear God,

Whatup yo? How's the weather up in heaven? You think the winter will be mild this year? We've had two mild winters in a row in New York. Is it the Ozone layer, or were you just giving us a break? Anyway, dude... God, I was just watching the World Series. I take it you weren't watching. Were you distracted by something? The Red Sox won! Holy crap. Was it Mrs. God? Did she pull you away for the last 10 days? Perhaps you can undo this whole thing. A Mulligan. God gets Mulligans, no?

Be square with me, God. Who do you like better... me or Kentaro? Kentaro. Right. I figured as much. I don't get it though. Why Kentaro? Why Wilmer Valerrama? Why Michael Douglas? Why Mark Cuban? Why not me? Is it because my name is Evil? DUDE! That's just a nickname! Don't take it literally, yo.

So here's the deal... I was hoping you could help me out with a couple of things. Please. It would make a big difference. If you don't help me out, I might have to write a sad ass letter to Oprah. So anyway, here's what I'd like:

1. For my scrotum to sit nicely when I sit.

2. For this wacky open sore on my lip to go away.

3. For my mom to love me.

4. For anyone to love me, actually. (Not counting Manolo. That dude is a big fag.)

5. An all-access trip to the set of Sesame Street.

6. The phone number of a reliable drug dealer.

7. The respect, fear, and awe of young children.

8. Five golden rings.

9. The ability to fly.

10. Peace... or Reeses Pieces. Either one. I loooove Reeses Pieces.

Thanks God. You're the best!

Did the Red Sox actually Win the World Series???

Well, it finally happened...being a Yankee fan I was shocked when they beat NY in the ALCS but the fact that they just swept the Cards is an indication that the inevitable is happening.

Hell is freezing over...the world is going to end...

As a result, after some consultation via IM with a lawyer, I have taken the liberty of drafting an online last will and testament for members and readers of the Hose..

To Charles - A hug and a kiss (perhaps he will stop hating himself and white people and muslims and jews and hispanics and asians and everybody else so much. You have to start by loving yourself...I mean emotionally and not the physical way you do 4-5 times a day)

To Jweb - I leave him my 40 GB porno collection. (That man has his priorities straight...)

To Rina - Front seat at my funeral (Pretend we did it and it was good)

To Balls - To my freaking bastard irish white boy from boston I leave him a big FUCK U!

To RadicalVirgoChick - An invitation to spend our last days on Earth doing it...with me of course.

To Sleeve, Cheo, and other assorted readers - I am not giving you anything since I ran out of stuff BUT I will leave you with the admiration and respect that you already have for me...

To Xtian - I give him ALL my voting / non-voting shares of the Hose Inc. giving him majority control of the stock and full management control...

To the future Mrs. Evil - My approval and blessing in their holy union. Also, some cream to take care of that rash of his...

To Evil - I leave him Xtian (Editor's Note: Evil doesn't want him and gave him back. If no one claims him soon, he will have to be put down)

Where is everyone?


What's going on? Where's Evil at? Crumping somewhere? Sleeve is covering the beisbol for mlb.com so he's excused. But what's the story here? Can Pacey step up and write something funny. The schmoe gets on the phone and does a 5 minute bit on Real World/Road Rules-Battle of the Sexes, but can't be bothered to get off his bum and write it down?

Clownery...

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Xtian executes a PERFECT Cut and Run!

The single greatest picture from Balls' wedding, taken seconds after Xtian rips his blazer off the back of a very cold Wendy (asian girl center)..makes a number of excuses, issues a solid thumbs up and hauls ass uptown...

.

The full story is here

The Greatest Play in Bar History



What makes the play so outstanding is that no one had to call it. It just unfolded naturally. But some background first:

A few years ago, during training, Evil and I started running the "crowding play". We'd probe bars for attractive women and on the off chance one reacted well to our silly comments, we both converge (read - pounce) on her and back her into a corner under the rain of silly one liners and inside jokes only he or I would understand. Clearly a flawed idea.

But this time, we were tight and on point. I attribute it to the disciple that the Marlboro Man brought to the table. His experience in the military was incredibly helpful in this situation as he leveraged his observational techniques to (1) pick up the play I decided to run and (2) support this play by both sealing off a tooly short guy who was making a pitch and doing so in a incredibly uncharsimatic way.

Evil contributed by playing it off real evil-like. He heard the tooly short guy went to Wharton and immediately drifted into his own preposterous b school applications and how he wrote with great emotion about teaching "an incredibly obese woman with tourettes syndrome" how to use a computer but in a increasingly condesending way.

With all the downfield blockers sealed off (see the red line), I proceeded to make my move. Who are you? What's your story? where do you work? why are you so hot? Do you know this guy or that guy? Oh you do? Can I smell your hair? I know him/her too? From around here? Nice...would you marry me? I dunno, have not spoken to him a in while. Hah, yes I did see Jon Stewart on Crossfire that was great...and I love you...I do sort of think its a cop out that Jon keeps calling himself a comedian yes.

But ultimately, I failed. I failed the way xtian famously fails. The tooly fellow, broke the tackles and proceeded to pull the "lets share a cab ride back uptown" move. Which in football is the equivalent of knocking the ball loose as I'm running with it towards the sidelines in the closing minutes.

The Marlboro Man (who would be my new sideman for life after watching his deft skills in action if he weren't leaving to Germany for ever) just looked up and said "man, i was pulling for you" and Evil, much less supportively, agreed "Dude, you dropped the ball. I had that guy talking crappy b school essays for as long as humanly possible"

Evil

Please what these videos of Japanese girls bitchslapping each other and TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!?!

WWJ(S)D?

It's a good question. What would happen if Jon Stewart stepped outside the trappings of a show on Comedy Central and shared some honest insight, relatively Sarcasm free?

He would start choking the shit out of bow-tied dicks and their baggy eyed sidekicks is what.

You can watch the whole exchange here. Pay attention as he calls Tucker Carleson a Dick as they cut to commercial.

Evil

SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE THIS GUY

Evil



COLUMBUS, Ohio, Oct 17 -- President George W. Bush, campaigning in swing states and swinging The Presidential Wee-Wee.

Evil



JEFFERSONVILLE, Ohio, Oct. 16 -- While on the campaign trail, Democratic Presidential Nominee John Kerry meets The John Kerry of Pumpkins.

Evil

FOURTH TIER PHOTOSHOPPING

The Red Sox are playing like clowns out there. Is it the shoes?!?

Someone Stop Her!

Evil

I found my Halloween costume!!!

My Train Ride is Too Short.

Back in my younger days, first job in NY. I used to have this horribly long train ride. I would have to walk like 15 minutes to the subway at 86th and Lex and then take the express all the way down to Broad St. It was crazy. The whole ride (if you count the then daily stoppage somewhere between 42 and 14th ST) could take up to 1.5 hours. Some days i would leave the apt at 7 and get to work at 9:10, when pressured from my manager I would raise my fists and defiantly scream out something like

"Damn you! Dr. DOOM!! DAMN YOU AND YOUR VILE TIME ADVANCEMENT RAY!"

And then i would be left alone fists still shaking violently as security loomed in the distance.

The upside of these disasterous rides is that I could pound through a book in a week. My old roommate, Sparkes, used to be shocked at the volume of reading I did. He would say things like

"Dude, between all the stalking, binging, purging and drinking, how do you have time to read?"

A fair question, and one I would only let a brother that I love, get away with. Pacey/The Bumpasaurus is another type of brother, i.e. the one i don't love and at best tolerate (HAH! Have mom beat that, bro!)

But now, I'm in a quandry. Still drinking, still stalking...but my subway ride is 15 minutes. I have been walking around with the same 1000 pg book for two weeks. My bag has a dent in it.

Someone please help!

Next - Wanted: someone to hold me

Evil

IT'S ROUGH BEING ME...

Lately, my scrotem has decided not to cooperate with my underwear and the rest of my crotch area. Everything is rubbing the wrong way all day long and I can't figure out how to rectify this situation.

Erections I have dealt with in the last month that can't really be explained simply

(1) Walking down the street in Atlanta, while hearing someone describe her experience seeing "The School of Athens"
(2) Standing outside the drive thru of a McDonalds ordering a McFlurry
(3) Sitting in apt watching someone watch Nip/Tuck across the street
(4) While prepping a wall for painting, I saw a deer
(5) Hearing a friend of mine describe getting fit for a wedding dress
(6) Unpacking a TV that my bro shipped to me from Florida

Cowboy Up!

Is that phrase over? I didn't get a memo on it. Still the spirit of the statement rings true. I want Boston to win! And its not even this whole "F*** the Yankees" sort of vibe anymore. I mean its still at least partially that, and Derek Jeter still sucks, and Gay-Rod will never really be a Yankee, but more than rooting against the Yanks, this year I am for the Red Sox. This collection of morons and misfits have actually grown on me. Everything from The "What would Johnny Damon Do?" tee-shirts to Manny casual brilliance to Pedro's obsession with the little folk lead me to want to root for the Red Sox. The hair is the best part, the hair is what makes them the "Anti- Yankees", while wanna-be hippies like Giambi have to straighten up when the join the Yanks. The Red Sox proudly display their differences, and no one is more different than Pedro!

Last month, when Pedro called the Yanks his daddy, some people thought "wow, the Yankees finally did it! The sunk Pedro, this once proud Dominican has been laid low by the modern day incarnation of Murderers Row."

My cousin, a proud Yankee fan, had a different analysis: "That guy is crazy, what's wrong with him?"

Of course, Pedro was just messing with us, he has no genetic link to the Yankees at all, the 2004 Yankees did NOT in fact jump in a time machine and run a train on his mother 33 years ago. At least, Pedro doesn't think that. He was just messing with them, using all the guile and smarts he has to gain back even a bit of his old majesty, as his body starts to fail him. I can't watch Baseball on TV, it makes me ant to poke my eyes out, but I always want to watch Pedro pitch, petulant and angry, he comes at you with everything, his arm his back and especially his head. I was the only guy who had his back when tossed Zim around like a sack of potatoes last year, and remain in his corner.

Schilling may be the ace, but he's not the heart of the red sox that's still Pedro.

Sox in 6?

Evil

SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE THIS GUY

Now that Conan is getting 11:30 slot. I think there is a search for a host going on for the 12:30 slot. I think I got the show all worked out in my head

We could have the following line up

Evil as the Host, offending people to the point where the only guests we can get on are infant age relatives

Manolo as a co-host. Like all charismatic black holes before him, Manolo can make the host look better just being his normal self...

Sleave as the musical director/DJ/crowd motivator. Because its funny that he's a white guy with a disturbing knowledge of Hip Hop and also because he's experimented with GHB...on himself

Me doing all perverted animal characters including Triumph the Insult Comic dog and of course The Masturbating Bear.

thoughts??

It should be pointed out that my favorite blog is this one.

It should also be pointed out that I just re-read the entire blog and counted the number of instances I am referenced (6).

Finally, it should be pointed out that I finally got around to finishing a post I have been trying to finish all week. You can either scroll down to September 27th to read it or you can click here.

Evil

John Kerry can't win because he's UNPHOTOGENIC!

Midget Dreams

I had another visitor last week and her name was Jeanne. She barreled up the coast with 120 mph winds and drenching rain…

Given the lessons learned from the last time around, I decided to pass the time with my family…I get there around 2:00 PM and everyone in the family seemed to have the same idea…there are like 20 people there….my parents, my brother, my sister, uncles, aunts, some cousins, my little old grandma…

I quickly decided to establish myself as the alpha male, the leader of the pack and promptly kicked my grandma out of the family room so I could watch Keanu Reeves (aka Neo ) in “Chain Reaction.”

Around 4:30 PM, we decided to play a round of Trivial Pursuit (the 90s edition)…That was my first time playing Trivial Pursuit and I can clearly attest that I hate it…that game has nothing to do with knowledge but rather luck…I went all around the board but somehow failed to land on the Category Headquarters needed to win a token…Anyways, after 6 hours of play, a winner (myself) emerged…woooo!!

Trivial Pursuit Spoiler Ahead - By the way, there seem to be 5 or 6 answers that come up time and time again…They are Bud Selig, Janet Reno, Apple, Cheers, Kodak & Disney…

Around 11:00 PM, one of my cousins had the bright idea of playing Scrabble…It was 2:00 AM before a clear winner emerged…I was brought back down to Earth because I couldn’t do anything with my “Z” (10 points) or my “X” (8 points)…I kept holding the X because I thought I could make “Xylophone” happen...No such luck. You know what, I really hate the game…My friend JWeb expresses my feelings quite clearly in one of his diatribes.

Anyways, after a long day of eating junk food and drinking pina coladas, I woke up around 4:30 AM with a very nasty and particular dream…

In my dream, I wake up after somebody starts tapping the bedroom window. I take a peek outside but there is nobody there…Then I hear some more knocking on the front door. I get up to investigate…I look through the peep hole and nothing…I look through the glass side panel and see an unknown car parked in the front of the house…I slowly start opening the door and in front of me there is a curtain of water going left or right or upwards moving at the whim of some very strong winds…I can hardly see anything except for this midget (little person for those P.C. motherfuckers out there) wet from head to toe wearing black pants and a white shirt from Larios (popular spanish restaurant).

Midget: “Puedo entrar?” (Can I come in?)

Manolo: “Que?” (What?)

Midget: “Puedo entrar?” (Can I come in?)

Manolo: “Que? Quien eres y porque quieres entrar? (What? Who are you and why do want to come in?”)

Midget: “Mi nombre es Jose y estoy tratando de escapar los inclementos del tiempo” (My name is Jose and I am trying to escape the weather”)

Manolo: “Si, pero no entiendo…que haces por aquí?” (Yes, but I don’t understand…what are you doing around here?)

Midget: “Estaba haciendo una entrega de una comida” (I was delivering some food)

Manolo: “En este tiempo? Donde esta tu carro? Y porque no pidio amparo donde entrego la comida?” (In this weather? Where is your car? And why didn’t you ask for shelter where you made your delivery?)

Midget: “No tengo un carro…y nadie contesto en la direccion que me dieron” (I don’t have a car…and nobody answered the door)

Manolo: “Lo siento pero me lo encuentro medio raro…Adios! (I am sorry but I find all this very strange…bye bye)

I start to close the door when the midget sticks his foot in the door and in a rather bizarre tone says

“Please…”

All of a sudden, another midget (female) jumps out of a palm tree and starts running yelling at the top of her lungs “Push it in...” to her midget partner. At the same time, she is pointing at me and yelling to “open the door, you motherfucker, you…”

I am trying to close the door but I can’t…I keep pushing, trying to close the door but to no avail…that tiny foot seemed to have made out of steel or something…

The door its not budging when a Black suburban comes out of nowhere and pushes the other car out of the way….all of a sudden, another 6 midgets jump out and start running towards the door….

I grab a flower vase and break into tiny little pieces on the midget’s head………he stumbles and I am able to finally close the door…

Evil

I am watching the Presidential Debate... what is going on here? Is George W. Bush drunk!!?? (I am.)

Evil

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm just a chubby kid at heart. There are periods in my life when I'm not actually chubby, like in 8th grade where thanks to a growth spurt, I got taller much faster than I got wide, which conveniently stretched me thin. But that didn't last long. And last year, where for no good reason at all, I decided to train for and eventually run a marathon. (Hey, it was a down year.) But here I am now, 20 pound heavier in the time since. When I go pee, I sometimes lift my shirt and rub my round belly a little, just to pass the time. Once it gets a little bigger, I'll be able to rest my arms atop my belly; it'll be like a shelf of sorts. I saw this fat guy do it once and it immediately occurred to me that not having to carrying around the weight of one's arms is Very Convenient indeed!

The main reason why my steady state gravitates toward chubbiness is my inability to eat like a reasonable person. (Some have suggested that the real reason for my chubbiness is Depression, but those are Bad People!) It's especially hard for me because there's always food around the office. We have a makeshift kitchen where I work, so each day, food is brought in and today, we had the best lunch ever because it involved trays and trays of homemade cupcakes! The trays looked endless, with a dozen cupcakes to a tray, all neatly lined, looking moist and soft and overflowing with frosting. For every pair of cupcakes I saw, I had the hardly-controllable urge to go bury my face in between them.

For lunch I was reasonable and had one cupcake. At 1pm, I took a walk to the kitchen to see how many cupcakes were left. There were dozens. I hovered over them, but I didn't take any. At 4pm, I went to visit the cupcakes again. I took a slow stroll pass them and walking in the opposite direction, I noticed a chubby female co-worker doing the same thing! I flashed her a look of disdain, as if to say, Control Yourself, Woman. Show Some Self Respect! I didn't take a cupcake during that visit either, but while walking back to my desk, I did swipe three little bags of Raisinettes and boy were they good.

By 8:30, the office had nearly emptied out... just the usual crew of evening folks around. I bet those people IM the whole fucking day away because why else would they still be at work so late. I sure as hell know that's why I'm there. One guy calls me over to show me a video of him and his friends doing Karaoke this past weekend and I say "Hey, that's cool" but in a way that makes it unambiguously clear to all parties that I really meant to say, "You, sir, are a toolbox." I walk away and decide that I need to pee.

Walk. Walk. Walk. (Toward the bathroom.) Walk. Walk. Walk. DAMMIT! Cleaning lady in the bathroom. Door is blocked off. I can't go pee. Have to go to another floor. OOOOOH. But wait. What is this I see? Sitting peacefully and majestically on the table next to the bathroom is 4 cupcakes -- that is, 4 Perfect Cupcakes -- and they are calling my name. Without thinking, as if overtaken by the chubbiness instinct, a cupcake falls into my clutches and in an instant, I am devouring it. But then -- in an instant and a half, as I'm walking back to my desk with half a cupcake in paws and half a cupcake stuffed in my mouth, I have almost an out of body experience and I see the image of myself as I just described and suddenly I am burdened with Heavy Guilt. I want to cry, but in just another half instant I realized the bigger picture of what just happened...

The cleaning lady. The 4 cupcakes on a plate, right outside the bathroom (not in the kitchen). Those were HER cupcakes! This is a woman who makes $20,000 a year cleaning toilets and she's probably bringing cupcakes home to her kids for all I know, just as a little treat, you know?, because those were damn good cupcakes and there I go, stealing one of her cupcakes and for no good reason, except that I couldn't control myself. The seriousness of the situation settled in quickly. The half of that cupcake still in my paws got stuffed in my mouth, extra quick. I shuffled back to my desk. With pressed shirt sleeves, I wiped my mouth and with much urgency, at that. I sat down. I started to type. When the cleaning lady is done with the bathroom, she will at some point come over to my desk. She will empty the garbage can under my desk. She will smile at me. I will smile back, politely, as if nothing had ever happened.

Before This Conversation Proceeds Any Further, It's Important For Me To Clarify That I Am Not At All Gay.

Having to sit in coach is now a chore for me. After two first class flights, I am no longer used to the cramped seating in coach - the way one has to wait for other people to get up before you can sit, the way my knees bang against the back of another seat. It's not fun. There was nothing more depressing on Sunday than the fact that there was not a fresh vodka and soda waiting for me everytime I finished a drink. Let's not even get into how much I have to put up with just to go to the restroom. Its just not very fair at all...

I'm not sure what lottery I have to win for the online travel system at work to place me in first class consistently, but this time I had lost it. Not only was I sitting in coach, I was sitting in the 30th row. No fun at all. Not only that but when I went to the restroom there was some crazy west Indian woman screaming into her cell phone about (the now gay) Cynthia Nixon sitting in first class with her baby.

When I returned to from the rest room I was pleased to find a SMOKING blonde in the aisle seat. She was on the phone and when she noticed I was trying to get into the center seat she "graciously" slid her legs up on her chair so I could get by. THANKS!

When seated, I promptly joined my rowmates in text messaging news about Cynthia Nixon to the most appropriate party. In my case that meant texting my co worker who was seated 10 rows in front of me. I made sure to do this in plain site of the pretty blonde, hoping to paint myself as a kindred spirit. Then I went for the death blow, the Mortal Kombat finisher. I went into my bag and pulled out my copy of US Weekly.

It was unclear whether she was smitten or just happy to be sitting next to a gay fat guy. In order to set the record straight for everyone. I looked at her smiling face and stated :

"Just so we're clear...I'm not gay at all. I am just really interested in figuring out what's going on with Britney Spears wedding"

Our conversation went off rather swimmingly for a few minute. We read US Weekly concurrently and debated the relative attractiveness of Jessica vs Ashlee Simpson - I defending Ashlee and she supporting Jessica. I pointedly omitted any mention that I might prefer brunettes to blondes, as she was a tiny yet slinky blonde.

It was during this conversation that I noticed something...her breathe reeked of Vodka...That's so hot.

Our next topic covered her visit to NY. She detailed visiting various ex-boyfriends and drinking for days on end. A few days later when telling this story to Andy, a co-worker, he suggested that I should have asked if "she had a porter for all her emotional baggage", quite possibly the funniest thing I have ever heard.

Her NY odyssey ended with what seemed to be a 15 hour drinking binge. I debated proposing marriage right there.

Regrettably, her own little Mike Figgis film ended with her stumbling towards LaGuardia rather than dying in a cheap motel with Elizabeth Shue humping her.

Her story about fighting with an ex-boyfriend about whether or not he would pick her up at the airport did not do much for me. Rather than propose marriage. I downgraded her to a proposal to handle me in the airport restroom.

She asked if I was also connecting to another flight, probing me for a dinner invitation in an airport. Unfortunately, I had my coworker to worry about, as I had already promised the poor girl a ride to my hotel. She did not seem to believe me but let it go.

It disturbed me that as I got off the plane she was still committed to following me. I quickly slid up to my coworker in the terminal, praying my CW would pick up what I was trying to do and resist the compulsion to smack me in the face. Ever quick on the up take, she shot my new stalker a glare and made it a point to only address me as we walked away.

After about 200 yards my drunk stalker got the hint and walked off...

This story is just like me, all build up and no pay off....

Bizarre and Compelling

this article is both bizarre and compelling