Overheard on the Subway

Girl: "...so, like, my cat keeps attacking the kitten and, like, trying to dominate him. Seriously, he's wicked-dominal."

Memo to Men

Guys, when you have a girl running game for you, the more you speak, the greater the chance you'll fuck it up. So, please, be quiet and let the girl do the work. Women trust women, not men. The less you interfere, the better. Sounds counterintuitive, doesn't it?

Welcome to women. Enjoy your stay.

The Awkward Hilarity Continues

The following is the conversation that happened between me & my mom yesterday.

Me: Did the new people move in next door already?
Mother: Yeah. Why?
Me: Are you going to make friends with them?
Mother: I don't know. I doubt it.
Me: Why don't you talk to any of your neighbours?
Mother: What do you mean?! I know the people across the street in the white house ...... the Felcher's.
Me: The FELCHER's??? That's seriously their name?
Mother: I think so. Why?
Me: Uhhh... because it means something completely repulsive.
Mother: What?
Me: (Regretting opening my mouth) Nevermind. Something really disgusting. I can't tell you.
Mother: Come on! What does it mean??? Scrotum? Does it mean Scrotum?
Me: No! ... and never say that word again.
Mother: Well, you can't dangle this in front of me and not tell!
Me: It's something gay men do. You don't want to know. Trust me.
Mother: I already know.
Me: No you don't.
Mother: Yes, I do.... it's B.J's. (direct quote.)
Me: Oh My God... no!
Mother: Well, what else it there?
Me: Nothing, forget it.
Mother: .... Shit?? Does it mean shit?
Me: Shit mixed with .... mostly something else ... and it involves a straw.
Mother: (silence.) How could you tell me that?
Me: I warned you!
Mother: No, you're right. I pushed for it.


** The Wikpedia definition for Felching: **
Felching is a sexual practice in which semen is sucked out of another person's anus. The individual sucking the semen may swallow it or pass it, mouth to mouth, to a partner. The colloquial term for the latter act is snowballing.

That's My Kind of Rose!

So, my friend told me a story yesterday which I thought to be completely blog worthy.

He and his cousin went to the G'N'R concert with their chicks last week. Show started at 10:30pm - so they pre-drank before the show and made their way to their front row seats as the show began.

A few minutes into the first song they were all, "WTF! That's not Axel Rose!! Who the fuck is this guy? He's terrible!"

Turns out it was Sebastian Bach ... so they headed back up to the bar area where they continued to consume retarded amounts of alcohol which of course remains the gateway to smokin' a few fatties. (if I had to listen to Sebastian Bach, I would also be driven to short-term substance abuse ... it remains an international Skid Row coping mechanism).

Finally - the hour and a half opening act had finally ended and the real show began. So my friend, his cousin and their ladies head back down to their front row seats. At this point my friend and his cousin began to realize:

"Holy Shit - I'm faded."

"I can't really see."

"I'm hungry."

"I can't feel my legs."

Yes ... they were high. Very, very high.

About half way through this stellar G'N'R' performance, my friend looked over at his cousin, who - you guessed it - was sleeping like a newborn baby 10 feet away from Axel Rose's face (who, by the way, was giving what some speculate to be his best performance post his Extreme Make-Over /Bo Derek inspired hair).

For a brief moment, the cousin woke up and found himself looking directly into the eyes of Mr. Rose - who had apparently noticed his slumber. When the song ended, Axel turned to the lead guitarist and said:

"Hey, keep it down .. This guy's tryin' to sleep."

Four tickets to GNR Concert - $650

Dinner & Drinks Before the Show - $500

Falling asleep at the concert and Axel Rose calling you out on it:

FUCKING PRICELESS!!!

Bring it on, Salmonella!

In a total failure of my upbringing (wife bootcamp), I just ate two heaping spoonfuls of raw chicken. That's right. Raw, Salmonella-lovin' chicken. Loved every bite of it. Licked my lips and wished there was more.

How did this happen, you ask? (considering I don't eat meat) Well, my cousin left behind a chicken concoction that my aunt sent over. The chicken was creamed and whipped up with tasty herby goodness. It looked so much like salmon salad that my thought process was basically: Looks like salmon, must be edible right out of the container. Let's put some of that bad boy on a bagel.

Then I had a wonderful evening until my aunt called and asked me how long I cooked the chicken and I said, "what chicken?" Through the power of suggestion, I started to throw up a little in my mouth.

Based on my consultation with WebMD, and several other websites that came up when I googled "I ate raw chicken," it seems I have approximately 24 hours before my body may be totally rocked inside-out by malignant bacteria. Oh, and I may die. Though I'm hoping that years of eating food that has been on the floor longer than 10 seconds will help me on this one.

Also, as soon as I realized my error I did a shot of Jack Daniels. My Dad always said that whiskey meant death to evil bacteria.

My newfound online compatriots who also tried a little "land sushi" and reached out for help, didn't get quite as encouraging a reponse. (although, to be fair, some MySpace dude ate a whole raw chicken for $100 - which is a whole other kind of stupid.)

So, in honor of my somewhat amusing domestic failure, and because I love a good survey:

What do you think will happen to me over the next 72 hours?

a. Nothing

b. Maybe a little retching, but nothing unladylike

c. Something like eating bad Chinese. (We've all been there.)

d. My intestines will betray me, my stomach will convulse, and I'll feel like I drank a gallon of Mexican tapwater and chased it with ipecac.

e. Everything in option "d," but throw in some avian flu.

My Favorite Dude

I can’t decide who my favorite guy was yesterday:

The one on the subway who was wearing a homemade “World’s Awesomest Dad” t-shirt and dirty track pants, with a dirty yellow backpack, 1996 shoes, a broken arm in a sling, and a prison face,

OR

The guy who was wearing brown pin-stripped "slacks" with a blue & white tie-dyed, button-up Toronto Maple Leafs "dress shirt", had long PEROXIDE BLEACHED hair, straight cut at the bottom, brushed back severly on the sides, as well as wrap-around sunglasses in the subway after dark

OR

The old man in line at Taco Bell who went on a five minute rant to this body-builder guy in front of him about why he could never really be a fighter (because his legs were too skinny).


They were all white, so it’s not like I can deduct points for race .... so, I think I’m going to go with the homeless father. He just looked like he could use a win.

This Some Funny Shit

No Screws, No Nails, No Fuss

Finally, a product that even offends Courtney Love's parenting sensiblities.The Peekaboo: For when you really don't care about keeping your daughter off the pole.

Of course, as with any fantastic, incredibly empowering new product there has been a "family values backlash." (The Gap Kids baby thong - my local mall hardly even knew ya).

My favorite quote from the article: "This should only be available to the most depraved people who want to corrupt their children."

Soooooo, basically you're saying it should be available ...

To be honest, I wanted a pole in the worst way a few years ago. For some reason when I swung around on the pole in my living room, I felt like I had finally come home ... so shove some money in my pants and call me depraved.

KI** M* ASS

Dubs says:
I told him that he was basically a p**sy and an a**hole
Delish says:
haha - a pussyhole
Dubs says:
hey careful
Delish says:
what?
Dubs says:
i'm at work use astersks
Delish says:
ok
Dubs says:
be discreet
Delish says:
ok, pussyhol*

DYSFUNCTIONAL 101

NIGGA WHAT?

One of the unique characteristics of humans is social adaptability, the way in which one can adjust according to one’s environment. These adjustments can be large (hand-to-hand combat over black market coffee), or miniscule (saying “about” instead of “a-boot”), and they can happen very quickly (in a time of crisis), or very slowly (tuning out the annoying voice of your spouse over the endless, sexless years). But they happen, all the time.

So it should come as no surprise that my stare down has improved considerably since I got back to the city. It was already pretty good, but I feel like my stare down is more aggressive than it used to be.

But here’s the thing: I’ve also noticed that I’ve been staring down little kids on the subway. Little kids like to absorb the world through their eyes. They are so excited by everything because they are so retarded. They’re like, “Hello, world? What a wonderful place! Do you want to be my friend? I like ice cream!” and I’m like, “Don’t look at me, bitch. Don’t you know I will cut you?”

Obviously, my maternal instincts are kicking in.

Thank You, Baby Jesus, For All That Is Elliot

The following is an actual conversation between myself & Elliot (Snakes) which took place last night:

Me: El, check your e-mail - I sent you the most hilarious video.

Snakes: Rebecca! I already told you I can't watch videos on my computer right now!

Me: Why not?

Snakes: Because my speakers are hooked up in the living room!!

Me: Uhhhhh, why?

Snakes: Because my roommate and I are making beats !!!

Me: (ginger ale spraying out of my mouth while I choke-laughed until I almost threw-up)

Me: Oh. My. God. Thank you soooooo much for telling me that!!!