I think i'm an ASSHOLE

I think i'm a nice guy...but am I really an asshole? I mock everyone. I have no patience for anyone. I often yearn to be alone. I disagree with what 90% of my friends and family do and think, it seems. And by disagree, I mean I think they're idiots. Today, I saw a man fall on his bike into a muddy puddle in Hoboken. I mimicked THE SIMPSONS by going HA, HA! Mind you, I was in my car, not standing next to him doing nothing while he bled and convulsed. But as I K-turned and rode past him again, I felt horrible and apologized out loud to myself. And I just wondered, what the fuck is wrong with me? Listen, the guy wasn't remotely badly injured. He just skidded on the mud. But still. Why would I laugh at him falling? Also today, I noticed the downstairs tenant's car lights flashing...for 3 hours. I WANTED to go down and knock on his door and alert him to a potential battery-sapping car issue. Instead, I did nothing. "Didn't wanna get involved." Like an asshole. Last week, I finally snapped on the streets of Manhattan. On the corner of 42nd and 5th, I literally screamed out loud, "IDIOTS, MOVE! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" The crowd of dolts was just NOT moving fast enough for me when the light turned green. Surely, a mom from Iowa had to explain to her 10-year-old that ASSHOLES in New York use bad language at crosswalks. A month ago, when I saw my parents' 93-year-old neighbor fall on his ass...I didn't immediately rush to his aid. I wanted to see if he could get up on his own, so I waited, lurking in the doorway, as he frantically looked around in vain for another soul to help him up. THEN I played the hero. I just HATE getting involved. I'm ALWAYS concerned how I'LL look. I detest being analyzed. But, yeah, i'm kind of a dick. Yet not. I dunno. I should've gotten into this blog hours ago, not at 2:30am...I don't have the patience for a properly thought-out Asshole Theory. But i'm definitely one to some degree.

Concern for Dipshit!

A kind, Hungarian reader of my blog wondered if I ever thought Dipshit might have been kidnapped, hacked into pieces, and stuffed in a closet. No, i'm not concerned. I'm SURE now that he's at the shore. It IS odd, though, that no note was left. Notes are his thing. Perhaps some of my Mystery Absences are rubbing off on him? Perhaps he's finally thinking of me less as a father, husband, brother, good friend...and more so the Mere Financially Helpful Other Person In The House that I am. My CSI unit also picked up on a receipt on his desk that proves he was in NYC Monday night. So he came BACK from the shore Monday morning to go to work for ONE day? Odd. I really don't care. I'd just like to know where he is...to keep tabs and all, lol. I mean, I wasted tons of energy Tuesday getting flustered every time I heard the bus...expecting he'd be home in minutes to aggravate me.

The Hungarian also asked, almost desperately, if there wasn't ONE good thing about Dipshit? Here's what's good about him...in general, that I DO know him so well. OBSCENELY so. I can script his every move. And, maybe more so, he knows ME so well. Not well enough, obviously, that he doesn't infuriate me at every turn, but let's just say that he's well trained in the Moods and Wants of Gary. We both know how to navigate around each other. To obtain a new roommate at this point would be exhausting...like training a puppy. And so I make do. As best I can. Until I can escape. Ugh. It's so ridiculous. My life should NOT be this way. But having said that, it's really not that bad. Or is it?

The mood shifts...

So after successfully riding my "new" FREE bike for the first time (and wondering why I hadn't MONTHS ago, but that's another story...you live, you learn), putting in 2 hard hours of landscaping, enjoying four 7 oz. Heinekens while bullshitting with a good friend, making yet another financially savvy trip to ShopRite (one word: COINSTAR), finding $5 on the floor in the ice cream aisle (!!) IN said ShopRite, and relishing night TWO of Dipshit's unexpected absence...yes, after all that, I AM in a much, much better mood. Though I'm fucking exhausted. But what did I say about productivity resulting in a positive attitude shift, huh? Yes, I feel like collapsing, but it's been a VERY full day. Waiting out the thunderstorm in the car was even kinda fun. Now the trick...keep it going tomorrow!

Splinter in my cock

A big part of me (no pun intended) is saying GARY, YOU CANNOT WRITE ABOUT THE SPLINTER YOU JUST FOUND IN THE LOWER LEFT SIDE OF YOUR DICKHEAD! Because that would be, I dunno, TOO graphic or personal to have everyone read. But for the moment, I just don't give a shit. I'm a man...I have a cock...and I just found a splinter in my cock. That is LIFE. I'm recording it. And that's pretty RARE, right? I mean, I've NEVER found one in my cock before. All morning long, i've detected the most vague stinging feeling down there. But when I investigated, sure i'd find my newest medical misery, I saw nothing. The answer, dear friends, came via PROPER LIGHTING. Yes, when you're looking for a splinter in your COCK, go to the room in the house with the most abundant NATURAL lighting. A sunroom is ideal. HOW the hell did this TINIEST sliver of WOOD (?) get in my dickhead? Could it be from the thorny flowers I was cutting yesterday at my New England retreat? Hmm. I certainly NEVER imagined the source of my Cock Stinging would be a SPLINTER! So watch yourselves, men! Your prick COULD get pricked! (Was that too obvious?)

Post-trip BLAHS

I don't know that i'm ever more bipolar than when returning home from a trip. Especially lately. Despite Big Time Ass Issues (the shits, ok? I had THE SHITS) and a non-exotic destination (though perfectly lovely), I just had the BEST time being away for 4 days. It was an absolute thrill just randomly walking by myself around a strange town. Sitting in Dunkin Donuts alone, sipping coffee and scanning my USA TODAY, I felt like I was ON VACATION! Sad, but true. Ugh, and now i'm back and I just DON'T want to be here. At ALL. Not in this town, not in this apt, not with this FUCKING roommate. I don't want to enter the Port Authority EVER again. I don't want to be on a bus EVER again. And everything's irritating me. And my head's even more overtaxed than USUAL with Pressing Life Issues. I'm sure the torrid heat's not helping. A small comfort is that Dipshit is mysteriously missing. WHERE could he be? He made no mention of being off this week, yet he never came home last night. So at least i've been alone. I MUST force myself to be productive...to tend to one or all of the 47 different things that would make my life better. Productivity is the solution to depression if you ask me...along with "writing it out" in a blog for all to view.

Where were YOU at 2:06pm for the start of SUMMER?

Here's where I was...sitting on the ledge of an office building in Hackensack eating a Drake's coffee cake, before heading in to participate in what wound up being a focus group for Quizno's. I was VERY vocal about their new Gourmet Mini commercials...still in storyboard form. Let's see if they listen to the Media Master. Happy Summer '07!!

Spring's last morning

11:45am. Yup, I'm both devoid of topics AND rushed again, so my countdown to summer continues. I'M off to fetch easy $$ at a focus group (if you're keeping track of my movements). Get out and enjoy the LONGEST DAY OF THE YEAR, won't ya? ONE day out of 365 has this much daylight...it's that day you dream of in mid January when it's 8 degrees with a pile of snow on the ground...assuming you live in a cold weather climate, of course.

Last full day of SPRING

I'm bored, tired, sniffly, in a rush, can't think of anything to write...so you're stuck with THIS dull posting. I've long focused on June 20...it was TOO many years ago today that I started my "black and white notebook diaries" on this day. And it began as a summer English class project, so I've always seen this day as when summer REALLY begins...even though it's tomorrow at 2:06pm...but, oh God, who cares. I'm bored of this entry myself...

Easy like Sunday morning, my fucking ass!

So this is the first "Summer 2007 Sunday" I've spent at home, and I've already been aggravated THREE times before 10:30am. Four times if you count the simple fact that I was forced up earlier than I'd like by both a pounding bladder and a nagging dry cough.

First, I had to put up with the sound of someone tilling soil in my backyard at 9am. Yes, this is the least offensive "landscaping" sound imaginable -- merely a hoe being driven repeatedly into dirt -- yet it was a SOUND all the same. At 9AM on the Lord's Fucking Day! Shut the FUCK up! Who ARE these MOTHERFUCKERS springing into action at the crack of dawn on the Sabbath?! And for what it's worth, Soil Tilling should've been done two months ago.

Strike two came from Roving Fucking God-Lovers. My doorbell rang at 10am. I look out the window...and wait...wait...wait. Finally, I see two bible-clutching bitches descending my front steps, soon joined by about 4 others who were annoying my neighbors. They are SO lucky I was already up and not jolted awake by that doorbell. You found Jesus? Great, keep Him to your fucking self and keep your fingers away from MY doorbell. I'll google Jesus when I wanna know how to reach him.

The final insult came from Soil Tilling First Floor Tenant. Shortly after the Bible Fucks left, the sound of a VERY loud radio arrived. Yup, from MY yard. Seems she needed something to inspire her hoeing. Nerve. SUCH fucking nerve. Blaring a radio outside that loud at 10am. And it wasn't even good music. First, it was some God-referencing country shit, only to get even worse with Latino Noise. You know the music I mean...DA DA DA DA DA DA goes the beat (over and over and over...), undecipherable (to me) go the lyrics. I even had the misfortune to see Tenant Girl do a little ass shaking in between dumping dirt mounds into her Hefty bag. Extremely heavy sigh. WHERE is my cabin in the middle of the woods?!

THE PRICE IS no longer RIGHT

Happy trails, Bob Barker! It's remarkable...he's been the host of this same show my entire LIFE. I'm forever saddened I never made it to a taping. Being I so often DO know the actual retail price. Thanks, Bob...and his Beauties...and Mark Goodsen Productions. And don't forget to get your pets spayed or neutered!

I say it every year...

1) June weather is completely undependable, 2) more often than not SUCKS, and 3) you're an idiot if you rent a house at the Jersey shore in June. Aside from the "cut-off low" weather (google it, non-weather buffs), the water temp's still cool, and WHY would you want to get your vacation "over with" just as the summer's getting going? Leaves you with nothing to look forward to. AUGUST is MY month. I quite possibly wrote the same shit last year. I don't have an assistant to keep on top of things for me...yet.

Damn, I WAS drunk on white wine!

I don't even recall WRITING last night's blog. I was about to write it now. Jesus Christ! That is SO rare that I forget things done while drunk. Fucking wine...it's evil. When will I learn? On a pointless side note, it was from a box. No wine snob, I!

I killed a bird...but found $20! So what kind of luck do I have?

Hmm, what are these feathers strewn about the doormat of my parents' house? That's what I asked myself this morning as I stepped outside. It's like a bird had an "accident" nearby. Yet I only saw feathers. Was Tippi Hedren in the bushes? Flash forward a few hours to me finding a $20 bill in the Secaucus Best Buy parking lot. YAY!! Was this REALLY happening? I kept staring at the bill, expecting it to be an illusion. But it's a genuine TWENTY! Yeeeeehaaaaaaa!! As I always do when I find money, I scoured the immediate area for "companion" bills that may've blown by in the wind. No luck. THEN, I soon sailed into my drivway to see...a dead bird where my left front wheel normally resides. Guess I plowed into the poor thing last night at 11ish. Awwww. I had a devil of a time shoveling the deceased bird into a plastic bag. Never a dull moment. So, is this a good luck or bad luck day? I'm still not sure. Oh, yeah, i'm drunk on white wine now...

Precious Baby Furball

Awwww...FOUR years today since she passed to Doggy Heaven. I miss you, Baby Paws! Yes, it was quite a scene earlier when I fetched her remains and sat with her for a few minutes. No, no, don't be silly...she's not laying in the attic, a la Mrs. Bates. She IS resting comfortably in a small wooden box...her ashes, that is, which are compressed into a clear, small plastic bag. The ashes look like gray sand or something. It's all so surreal. THAT'S my doggy, resting in my hand, as I squeezed the bag like a package of cake mix. We also have a clay-imprinted pawprint, which still has some stray strands of fur attached. The Doggy Crematory does this for you. A nice idea, actually, though a bit of a perverse twist on things. I mean, you usually do the hands in cement thing while you're alive. I wonder if I can arrange for MY limbs to be manhandled into wet clay upon death? The ashbox and clay imprint are both in ANOTHER plastic bag, which is stuffed into a dining room cabinet. Christ, at least DISPLAY her paw print! And scatter some of her ashes already! But this is all up to mom and dad, who aren't exactly swift. Baby Fur's remains USED to lay under the china closet, which was perfect, as this is where she used to curl up and growl like the sweet angel she was. NOW she makes company with scratchy Irish records from the 60s. Is this just TOO macabre and bizarre? I always said we should've stuffed her head and placed it prominently in the living room. It certainly would've been a good conversation piece. Oh, well, you gave us 17-and-a-half fun, shit, and bark-filled years, Puppy Precious...more than most dogs live. I still miss you, though.

1977...1987...1991...2007

I've got a lot of strong memories of these years from Junes and summers past. Even this very day. Thirty years. Twenty years. Sixteen years. Today. Incredibly pivotal years, all of them. Just happened to pick up one of my fave pics...from the "block party of '77" (though it COULD be 1978, i'm not totally sure, but who cares)...and the youngest one in the picture -- my cousin, just months old -- is getting married today in South Carolina. My parents are down there for the affair. Crazy, all of it. Absolutely crazy. I can't even get started with 1987 and 1991...endless painfully-detailed memories. I don't know, is my obsession with time's passage obvious?