Drivin around for free or cheap food

Fresh from yesterday's free Ben & Jerry's (strawberry shortcake) cone, which, by the grace of God, I got JUST before a line of literally about 20 schoolchildren stormed in, this evening was all about taking advantage of Starbuck's and Baskin Robbins. My good Hungarian friend was kind enough to give me this card she got in her Sunday NY Times (another one hypnotized by the commercials?) for a free "tall" cup of Pike Place Roast every Wednesday through May 28. So in I went to the Nutley, NJ branch. This is quite a pleasant, all-American town to saunter through on a clear spring evening, I must say. I couldn't decide if its wholesome vibe infuriated or comforted me -- my forever mixed feelings on the suburban issue. Well, its downtown is ideal...there's no denying it, but i'm getting off point.

The atmosphere in this Starbuck's was beyond grating, though. It was crammed with irritating high schoolers, most seemingly there to cheer on the guitar-strumming young singer honing his craft by the front door. I struggled to look pleasant; it was just all too peppy for me. But I got my free coffee, and the whole experience wasn't nearly as awful as I'm sure i'm making it. By the way, "EH" to the Pike Place Roast. Yet again, i'm left unfulfilled by coffee. The best part of all of it was walking at dusk through a lush, verdant, blooming suburban oasis to and from my car on the last evening of April.

Then it was onto Baskin Robbins, where it was "31 cents for a scoop from 5-10pm" night. So I got THREE scoops...strawberry, butter pecan, and sherbet. I brought them to the car and began eating as I drove home. Mind you, it was 50 degrees out with a stiff wind. Not exactly ice cream weather. More like Thanksgiving. And yet, I opened the windows to complete the Summer Drive Theme I insisted on. Oh, yeah, and to manipulatively promote the best moments of Madonna's HARD CANDY to young thugs on street corners as I waited at lights. Damn, i'm all about promotion. The fact that I was freezing the entire time is the price I paid for my summer illusion and hopefully spurring some kind of "yo, dude, did you hear that SICK beat that guy was blasting...was that Madonna?!" youthful dialogue.

Once home, I finished my 3 cups of ice cream and coffee and was soon enjoying Madonna's Roseland concert streamed live on the internet. Quite a delightful evening. Now I'm pretty sure there's ANOTHER free ice cream thing TOMORROW...YES...for Carvel!

HARD CANDY drops!!

April 29, 2008...Another era in Gary's life begins, as another Madonna album is released...and, laugh if you must, but I've always defined my life by music. I remember very clearly the DAYS I've bought every Madonna album over the past 22 years. And they've always oddly coincided with particular Moments in my life. And by moments, I mere periods. You know what i'm saying...I won't overstate this. And I won't go into details, either. It's funny, though, merely to look back on just the past 5 years EXACTLY...to the month. Late April 2003, Madonna released AMERICAN LIFE, the worst selling and probably most CRITICALLY hated album of her career. She was 44. I was...a certain age. Now it's five years later, much has transpired, M's pushing 50 and hotter than ever...not to mention sporting the first-ever album cover CROTCH SHOT of her career. Love it. FUCKING love it. I just like the symmetry of it. Easy reference points. Holy Christ, I just realized something...well, it's too stupid to share...can't believe I didn't realize this till now. Let's just say the symmetry is even NUTTIER than I realized. Or pointless, depending on your point of view. HA, and when her 2005 CONFESSIONS ON A DANCEFLOOR album came out, I was, as I am now, enjoying a free gym membership! Same gym. Symmetry!

I'm still absorbing the album, but, yes, I LIKE IT. Of course. She's still around for a reason. As i've been saying since I was eleven...at that time to "wise," condescending adults. Idiots. Even then I was always right. I guess I'd give it 3.5 out of 4 stars? I don't know. It's hard because it's very easy to expect the earth to move and be greatly disappointed by one's favorite artist (though I have to again mention that Bruce comes in a close 2nd). The HYPE and all. But it's good. It's got some incredible fucking beats, along with the usual empowering, cocky, "i'm the best, so fuck you" lyrics. Because I need inspiration to be cockier. Simply put, the whole album is just one long, feel-good groove. And, wistfully, a bit reminiscent of her debut...all the more fitting since this is her last Warner Bros. album. Yup...full circle. Perhaps one line, spoken and not sung, best sums up the album's vibe and what I relate to..."I KNOW I CAN DO IT BETTER."

And now, I've nicely supplied a review from the Washington Post...

It is not yet time to stick a fork in Madonna. The grande dame of pop isn’t done just yet. Pop music is supposed to be a young person’s game, but Madonna, as she’s done so often throughout her quarter-century career, ignores the rules by sounding vital and relevant, even as she approaches her 50th birthday. "They say that a good thing never lasts, and then it has to fall," she sings on her new album, "Hard Candy." "Those are the people that didn’t amount to much at all."

The 11th studio set of her career -- and her last for Warner Bros. Records, the longtime label that she’s leaving for a wide-ranging deal with concert promoter Live Nation -- "Hard Candy" is a heady, frisky sugar rush of urban dance-pop come-ons in which Madge finally gets into the hip-hop groove. "See which flavor you like/And I’ll have it for you," she coos in album opener, "Candy Shop," a hooky song driven by a twitchy, syncopated drum pattern. "Come on into my store/I’ve got candy galore." Advertising herself as "your one-stop candy store," she purrs: "Sticky and sweet/My sugar is raw."

The recent Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductee has succeeded for so long, with more than 200 million records sold worldwide since 1982, in large measure because she’s always had a knack for identifying interesting trends and adopting them as her own. (Well, that, along with self-promotional genius and sheer personality.)

Though lust is hardly a new addition to the "Sex" author’s repertoire, the sound on "Hard Candy" represents a welcome new twist for Madonna: It’s dance-pop pressed through a hip-hop filter with the help of several urban-music studio heavies -- namely Pharrell Williams, Timbaland and Nate "Danja" Hills. (It’s another signature Madonna move, as she’s been collaborating with hot producers since the early days of her career, when she teamed with the likes of Jellybean Benitez and Niles Rodgers.)

Given hip-hop’s long-standing ubiquity, Madonna is arriving late to this particular party, suggesting that she might be slowing down in her advanced age. But even if she’s not starting any new trends in following the lead of Nelly Furtado, Gwen Stefani and such, Madge still manages to sound perfectly at home in the hip-hop world, where her sharp pop sensibilities -- particularly her ability to craft killer hooks -- are given a mostly fresh rhythmic framework.

If it’s not the boldest move of her career, it’s still a successful gambit from one of the great all-time shape-shifters. It works best when Madonna isn’t trying to act like she’s down with the hip-hop kids, which just sounds weird. In "Heartbeat," for instance, over a stuttering beat accented by a cowbell, we find Madonna quasi-rapping the line "see my booty get down" over and over as Pharrell eggs her on: "A little lower, baby." Awk-ward! More cowbell, less of Madonna’s booty raps, please. (She should leave that to the pros, as with Kanye West, who cameos on "Beat Goes On.")

Much better is the album’s lead single, "4 Minutes," which Madonna co-wrote with Timbaland, Hills and Justin Timberlake, who also makes a vocal cameo. It’s a busy, brassy song propelled by a detonative marching-band beat, and it’s one of the most thrilling things Madonna has done in this decade. "Give It 2 Me" is also a highlight, a thumping, super-sexualized banger in which Madonna demands "it" over lurching synth stabs and a rump-shaking rhythm. "Don’t stop me now, don’t need to catch my breath/I can go on and on and on," she sings convincingly. Maybe 50 is the new 25. And, in fact, it’s easy to forget that Madonna is just months removed from the half-century mark and that Timberlake wasn’t yet 2 years old when her first single, "Everybody," was released in 1982.

This is not the soundtrack to "The Cougar Den," though, as Madonna wears her youthful sexuality well, managing to avoid sounding creepy during her multiple come-ons. Pop music’s Everlasting Gobstopper, she keeps on ticking -- and, um, licking -- as time and trends march on.

Rachael Ray's $14.99 Trash Bowl

Hey, RACH...YUMMO idea to have a big bowl out whenever you're cooking to dump all the garbage into, so you don't have to keep walking back and forth to the actual trash can. Seriously, it's smart and saves time. But, really, did we need an actual TRASH BOWL to be designed and marketed to the masses? Apparently so. I spied it a couple weeks back at Linens-N-Things. I like its MESSY-CHIC paintjob, as if an infant went nuts on it, to signify that This Is For Garbage...and to maybe distract us from the fact that YOU CAN USE ANY FUCKING BOWL YOU HAVE LAYING AROUND THE HOUSE FOR THIS PURPOSE AND SAVE $15!!!!!!!! Most fun, though, is the marketing narrative...genius copywriters trying (hysterically) to convince us that ONLY THIS BOWL can be used for scraps of food and other waste. God forbid you use the plain white plastic one that probably cost $2.99 15 years ago at Caldor's. Rachael's Shit Bowl is "fun" and a "conversation piece." You can't have "fun" with the white plastic one. INSANITY!

ADDENDUM to the Earth Grocery Bag ADDENDUM

I came back to my computer after browsing Walmart (!) today to find the following string of IMs from...well, let's call her WiseDCJewess to protect her identity -- with apologies to anyone ACTUALLY with that screen name...

(1:37:24 PM) : i think you should use your blog to continue to expose the farce that is the Reusable Tote Shopping Bag.
(1:38:17 PM) : until the supermarkets actually provide the infrastructure to use them beyond the first purchase, it's all a bullshit scheme to get you to part with your 99 cents
(1:40:22 PM) : better to do what Aldi and Costco do -- either sell the plastic (or paper, or what have you) shopping bags at a nominal fee each time you use a new bag -- thereby providing incentive for you to re-use them -- or don't provide bags at all and let the sheep (baaaa) figure it out on their own
(1:40:40 PM) : Humans are stupid and lazy. Let's be honest.

I couldn't have said it better myself. This got me fixating on my plan to buy a bag. I 95% agree with the above IMs. But there's a part of me that says "well, it's ONLY 99 cents...and where ELSE am I gonna find a sturdy bag for groceries?" In other words, unless u already have something laying around your house, u'd NEED to part with at LEAST 99 cents to buy one. I also like the idea of a single Go-To grocery bag; it fits nicely with my super organized and structured personality, and i'm sure the marketing geniuses had people like me in mind when they hatched their "Let's throw the words EARTH FRIENDLY and GROCERY onto this regular tote bag" scheme. This actually reminds me of an even GREATER scam I'd meant to blog on from a couple weeks back...oh, this is good...deserves its own blog, which I'll write after this. But, yeah, it's all about marketing and making money. So I WILL search my life for an appropriate FREE bag to use for groceries...and I urge you to fuckbuck the system and do the same...but if I don't find one, then i'll probably bite the organic bullet and part with my dollar. In conclusion, we now have two goals...1) save the earth, 2) fuck the marketers.

Earth-friendly grocery bag ADDENDUM

How could I forget this -- that when you use the self-serve checkout lanes in any store, the electronic bitch instructs you to "place the item IN the bag" after you scan it. But what if I wanna place it in MY tree-hugger bag and not a plastic one geared to Electronic Bitch's system? I CAN'T, dammit, I CAN'T!! How the FUCK are we supposed to save the earth?! Having said that, I've decided I will seek out and buy ONE Mother Earth Grocery Bag this week and do what I can to conserve. I urge all of you to do the same. Just ONE bag can help if everyone bought one. Jesus Christ, suddenly I'm motherfucking Ed Begley.

On another environmental note, I heard some lady on Oprah saying how we should avoid ANYthing with "fragrance" or "parfum" in it. Um, ok, sure. I did an instant check and would've had to toss my fave Right Guard deodorant and Dep hair care products, cherished Bath & Body Works beaded liquid soaps, and my fantastically manly Burberry Brit aftershave lotion. Fuck that shit. Moderation, people. One bag I can deal with, but i'm not rubbing mint leaves from mom's garden on my pits in lieu of "parfum." The earth ain't THAT important.

The first balmy night!

Ahhh, every year it makes me weepy. Yeah, yeah, it was really warm last week. But here's the thing -- last week, 1) it pretty much cooled down right after sunset...damn fucking sea breeze... and 2) there was no HUMIDITY. Tonight...a little STICKINESS in the air, along with being 70 degrees still at 11pm...and even that isn't THAT balmy, but we're getting there. You didn't need a jacket tonight! It feels mildly tropical.

*P.S., I haven't killed my indoor vegetation yet. Oh, and here's another update...AS I write this in my southerly wind-whipped living room, I can hear the soothing sound of Panting 1am Jogger. I'm gonna be VERY agitated if I have to exert energy and break my Late Night Zen to dial 911 one of these nights; I mean, chances are i'll be the only one awake within sight. Like when I was the only one in the middle of the day last year to see my parents' 93ish neighbor fall backwards onto the sidewalk, and instead of racing to his rescue, waited a minute to see if he could get up himself. Hey, I try to encourage self-reliance.

EARTH DAY...so let's discuss those achingly trendy environmentally-friendly grocery bags

They're just not practical. They're always promoted in a "one bag" way..."use THIS bag for your groceries!"...as if most people only buy one bag's worth of groceries. Yeah, single people in an urban area I can see having them...who WALK to get groceries. Lonely urban spinsters. NOT families. But you'd also have to THINK to bring these bags every time you go shopping...whether on foot OR in the car. Think AHEAD. Maybe even keep them permanently in your car...as Julia Roberts does, God bless her.

Now I'M single, and I think -- most aren't and don't -- but I don't own any earth-friendly grocery bags yet. I really think I need to get one, though. Add to how great and organized a human I am. PS, i'm not a spinster...or lonely. I'm well aware of the waste of plastic bags, but at least I re-use some of them for garbage pail bags. It really IS beginning to bother me every time I go to the supermarket and get all these plastic bags. By the way, HOW has it only recently dawned on the masses that our endless water bottle usage is killing Mother Earth? Yeah, I need to stop that, too. AND get back to TAP WATER!!!

But let's get to the MAIN reason this isn't practical. When you're ON these ungodly irritating supermarket lines, do you SEE how slowly 98% of the population moves? And this is WITH the plastic bags already there, on the handy racks, ready to receive your groceries. I've seen too many fatass fucks with a cart FULL of items. Do you really think they're gonna 1) whip about 12 earth-friendly bags out of their purse and then 2) somehow steadily set up each of them to be filled? Even if they DID carry 12 bags, it would be CHAOS as people scramble to figure out where to put their bags on the tiny food-filled counter, and how to keep them open and upright without the benefit of the plastic bag rack device. CHAOS. Adding to the misery, clerks couldn't now easily speed the process by assisting in the bagging without time-wasting "ma'am, would u like me to help you?" banter. Stores would also need to totally overhaul the layout of their checkout lines to accomodate The Brought-From-Home Earth-Friendly Bags. I just do NOT see a way Americans can carry this through. They're too lazy, too slow, and don't think. And let's throw in fat for good measure. Sorry, earth.

Dipshit bottoms out

This is the story of how my Monday began. After putting feet to floor and moving toward, as always, the lifeline that is the stove and my tea kettle, I staggered to the toilet to unburden my bladder. I don't want to waste TOO much time on this, but not only do I need to vent about it, but I also need to prove, once and for all, that I'm NOT some nitpicking ninny who exaggerates the ENDLESS aggravation that IS Dipshit. And I don't know that there's a better example than this of his COMPLETE stupidity and lack of social graces, how he really MAY be retarded in some way. And here it is. I warn you...it's not pretty. Put down that chocolate chip cookie...

There was a chunk of shit on the toilet seat.

I know, I know...it CAN'T be true, Gary!? But it is. Gather yourselves. Find the strength to read on. This wasn't the tiny specs of ass/toilet paper lint I've blogged on before. This was A CHUNK OF SHIT. I was already annoyed to see the toilet seat down before I turned on the light. But light would reveal an even more awful truth...a chocolate colored chunk marring the beauty of my beige toilet seat. It was situated in the 10 O'Clock position. I couldn't believe it. It was one of those times when you KNOW what you're seeing is what you're seeing, yet you frantically seek to delude yourself into other plausible possibilities. To no avail.

Now let's define CHUNK. After I quickly shoved the hardened piece o'load into its rightful watery grave, I stared at it, instantly knowing I'd be blogging on it, and needing to define exactly how large it was. I wanted to say DIME-sized...but not quite. Finally, it dawned on me; it was EXACTLY the size of an eraser at the end of a pencil. So maybe CHUNK oversells it a bit...but maybe not. I mentioned a chocolate chip cookie earlier...yeah, it kinda looked JUST like that. And isn't CHUNK in the name of some of those cookies?

The bottom line (have you noted my usage of "bottom" puns?) is that a shard of DipSHIT was inexplicably and inexcusably lodged on my fucking toilet seat. Is his anal cavity somehow in his right buttock? Because that's where it'd have to be to dislodge a chunk of shit where it landed. I. JUST. DON'T. UNDERSTAND. But however it got there (and my mind wanders with hilarious & disturbing scenarios), it does NOT explain -- AS I HAVE STATED MANY TIMES BEFORE -- his thoroughly pathetic lack of self-awareness. It is STAGGERING. In layman's terms...HE DIDN'T FUCKING NOTICE THE CHUNK OF HIS FECES STUCK TO THE SEAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? The one I had to wipe off with a wad of toilet paper, before saturating the seat with lysol?!?!?!? Even a cursory glance would've detected the CHOCOLATE BLOB on the BEIGE seat. Is he FUCKING BLIND?!?!? I yearned to be hosed down like Karen Silkwood before I left the premises. I beg of you, readers, have ANY of you ever come upon a CHUNK OF SHIT affixed to your toilet seat? THIS is the caliber of stupidity I'm dealing with. And that is how my Monday began. I'm happy to report it didn't ruin my day. I think i'm numb...I just try to go to my Happy Place and tune him out. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. Today it somehow worked, despite this most criminal offense.

Gary buys a plant! And potted vegetables! And a plant POT! And soil!

It was so very hard for me to choose the best title line, so I just used them all. In a nutshell, on Saturday, for the first time EVER, I went to a nursery to buy something for ME. Not for a Mother's Day flower, or with a friend, or with mom and dad, or with ANYone else for THEIR lush garden. For ME. For MY apartment. Dammit, I wanna grow my OWN vegetables! And have a flower or plant...or two.

I wanted something interesting and "beachy," so I settled on fiber optic grass. YAY! It kinda looks like sea grass, and the write-up about it promises that it's "incomparable when rippling in the wind." Perfect! I also want a juniper plant, but first things first. I also spent an ungodly amount of time deciding which vegetables I wanted, ultimately deciding strawberries, tomatoes, and Thai hot peppers would be my first experiments. Again, YAY! Really, you homeowners have NO idea how exciting this was for me...and renters, too, who maybe have, I dunno, a yard or patio to play in? Or simply have always had houseplants...though i'm more excited about the vegetables. It fulfills a creative yearning to till my OWN soil!! And soil I did buy, too...today...to add to...(and I'm starting to feel like the PRICE IS RIGHT announcer) MY NEW PLANT POT!!

Yes, what fun it was to browse Walmart today for a plant pot and windowbox. I'm not joking...not remotely...about my excitement over ALL of this. Sadly, I never found my windowbox. I feel like I MUST be able to find one for under $10? Walmart only had one...for $13-something. Fuck that...more than I want to spend. Oh, Christ, how could I forget...are you ready?...wait for it...wait...my NEW WATERING CAN AND SPRAY BOTTLE!!!!!!!!!!! Both in pleasing and suitable green colors. That was today, too. Under $3 total for both! The pot was the biggest problem, but I finally found a good $5-something brown ceramic one...made in Portugal, always a plus. And off I went, giddily anticipating using my new gardening wares.

And now my fiber optic grass sways in the brown pot, my vegetables sit freshly bottle-sprayed on the windowsill, and the soil sits tightly wrapped in the utility closet. And I feel ever closer to being a Normal American...ie, a homeowner with a garden. Who goes to Lowe's on weekends, and washes his car using a hose extending out of the garage on a sun-drenched, tree-lined street, while the dog's tied by its leash to a railing on the front steps.

There's this man who jogs...

...in the middle of the night. He's probably in his 40s or maybe even 50s. He's certainly not some 22-year-old boxer in training. Now...at 1:30am, he's run past my house several times. No, i'm not sitting in the window eying the neighborhood...I HEARD him moaning. Moaning and panting endlessly. "UH...UH...UHHHHH." Seemingly on the verge of a heart attack and in fucking agony. Nothing about it looked good or seemed normal. Oh, and did I mention it's 1:30am? But, wait, it gets better. I saw him on Thursday night...at 4AM!!! Who the FUCK jogs at 4am?!?! I wanna know this guy's deal. I wanna know where he lives, what he does for a living, what his motivation is. Perhaps I'll start following him. It wouldn't be hard to keep up...my brisk natural walk would be faster than this guy's jog. And people think MY schedule's fucked up.

I wish i'd seen Pope Benedict

Would've been nice. I'm not religious, but I like Big Once In A Lifetime Events like that. Alas, his schedule just didn't fit with mine. That is, he was either too far or too early or both. If, say, his popemobile was going down 5th Ave at 5pm yesterday, I'd have been there trying to score a viewing. 1:15pm, however, was far too early...after going to bed at like 4:30am. Too bad. I saw Pope John Paul II...well, waved to his tinted-glassed limo...back in '95, so I have indeed been in the presence of a Holy Father.

It's tempting to be cynical about it all. The pope's presence here doesn't change my non-beliefs. Or my raised eyebrows about all these sobbing people, some traveling from other states and other COUNTRIES. Or my eyerolling over the saturation media coverage. I wondered if a Papal Expert was gonna come on TV and reverently discuss Papal Shitting Protocol with one of the many fawning, suddenly deeply Catholic local news anchors. I also wondered what the Jews or Protestants or Muslims thought about Catholicism taking center stage. I mean, is there a Chief Jew? Or Papa Protestant? Or Mr. Muslim? I have no damn clue, because only the Catholics' Pope is so made out to be a superhero. There certainly wouldn't be preemptions of your fave TV shows to show Rabbi Rick landing at JFK and, I don't know, smashing a glass on the ground? It's why I'm glad I'm Catholic...it's so damn easy. You're automatically with the In Crowd. It's all about US...even when we're not religious. There's no jealousy or annoyance of some other religion getting all the attention.

However he got to be The King of Religion, the Pope is about what he represents. For ALL. For the world, no matter what your faith. Peace, hope, love. Bringing us all together. It transcends religion. He's about as mythic a figure as the world has. So I get it. I put it in its proper perspective, but I get why people are drawn to him. I understand how the thousands at Yankee Stadium felt today...the feeling of everyone being one...mere fellow humans, no matter your race, age, gender, economic standing, sexual preference. All wanting the same things out of life. I certainly understand the importance of the Pope's presence at the World Trade Center site...how unspeakably comforting that must have been to the victims' families and friends. How could you NOT be moved by that footage? So i'm sorry I didn't get to share in all that firsthand. Guess i'm not THAT much of a fanatic that I'd deign to wake earlier to run around to MAYBE catch a passing few seconds of Pope Benedict. But I'm glad he came to America. And i'm glad he brought so much unification and hope...if only for a few days.

It wasn't mentioned often in all the pro-Pope media hoopla, but there's actually MANY who just didn't give a damn that he was here. Who were annoyed by the security measures. Or simply non-impressed with such reverence paid to a man in a white robe and red shoes (!?) chosen by committee to be The Voice of God. But i'm not one of those people. I'd have been as overjoyed as anyone if I got to meet him. See, i'm NOT actually that cynical. Thanks for visiting, Benny.

Operation Free Bally's Pass, Part 4

Imagine my delight at spying yet another "30 DAYS FREE!" limited time only pass in the NY Post the other day. And off I went today to redeem it! And for the 2nd time, I didn't even have to endure the hard-sell tour and "presentation." I'd say that's 60% due to my smarts and cunning...waiting till 3:30pm on a Sunday, when they close at 5, to saunter in and demand my free month. As I suspected, the staffing was pretty lax...more so than ever. The girl just briefly looked at my torn-from-the-paper advertisement and waved me through. But then I realized, hmm, I'll need to be ON FILE, though, to work out past today...and today WAS the last day of the promotion. So, naturally, I worked out till almost 4:30, THEN went back to the front desk on my way out, explaining my situation to another girl. Said Other Girl was as agreeable as the first one, merely taking my ID, typing me into the system, and I was good to go!

This was by far the easiest time i've had YET. Not ONE awkward, excruciating "here's all our payment plans..." moment! Fucking FANTASTIC!! And ideal timing...this will lead me RIGHT into Memorial Day weekend with a freshly chiseled physique! This is the 4th time since October 2005 I've worked out at Bally's for free...3 of those times for a solid month. Only last summer was I relegated to the mere 2 week deal. That reminds me...I have 3 other one-day passes left for ANOTHER gym. Open your eyes, people...there are FREE SHIT offers all around you!! Which reminds me...mark your calendars...I saw yesterday that April 29 is Free Cone Day at Ben & Jerry's!!

Listen, you ANONYMOUS FUCK!!

1) This will be the last I address you. It pains me to even acknowledge you, but what pains me more are dumbass fucks walking this earth thinking they're brighter than I am, and I have to set them straight.
2) Grow some balls and ID yourself.
3) My first blog to you was the BEST thing I've written...in more than 2 years?! Go fuck yourself. I know I'm smart, I know i'm funny, I know I write well. I also know i'm RIGHT most of the time. I don't need your fucking validation.
4) You're an idiot.
5) I'll bitch and moan whenever the fuck I want. I certainly have enough idiotic people and rules around me at any given time to induce rage. If you don't like it, don't fucking read it. I'm not writing for you. I'm writing for ME. So I don't give a flying fuck if you "continue the read," you condescending twat.
6) Insert any variation of FUCK I haven't used yet to reference your stupidity.
8) I commend you, however, for 2 comments in a row with proper grammar and spelling...so you're not a total loss.

Dear Anonymous Comment Person of this morning,

Though it's tempting to launch into a profanity-filled tirade against you, I won't. I actually THINK you meant well, albeit in an obnoxious, misguided way. You also get bonus points for perfect grammar and spelling, so you're not a total moron. Oops, there I go...sorry. Otherwise, though, your "comment" is baseless. To clue others in, you basically said 1) maybe i'm jealous of Dipshit and 2) need to get my OWN life together and 3) not spend my valuable time organizing my closet.

I can assure you with every fiber of my being i'm not REMOTELY jealous of Dipshit. And my life has actually steadily gotten better over the past year or so, not that I was homeless and in a drug-fueled spiral before then. And organizing my closet and Bigger Life Things aren't mutually exclusive. In fact, any idiot Life Coach or organizational expert will tell you that having an uncluttered existence can only fuel growth in the Bigger Issues. Last but not least, I find it ironic that you commented on the blog where I muse on Dipshit's late-weeknight phonecalls. See, Dipshit is ANNOYING. Greatly so. That's ALL my blog reflects...my FUCKING ENDLESS ANNOYANCE. It has nothing to do with jealousy or some Single White Male obsession with him. Sometimes things are JUST what they appear to be, sans no Deeper Oprah-esque Issue. And WHEN i'm annoyed by him, which is always, he's actually STUNTING any productivity or creativity of mine in other Big Important Areas. Like the other night, when I was actually trying to craft a very important email...but had to listen to his motherfucking whiny voice till 1:30am. Get it? Do you FUCKING GET IT?

So you're completely wrong on all fronts. And I just had to point that out to you...whoever the fuck you are...and I AM intrigued, as always, by who you could be. I mean, it's amusing if you're someone I know well and i'm telling you you're a fucking idiot. I'm glad your cushy little life is perfect and you strive, strive, strive every moment of your days to fulfill your potential...or perhaps you're just an empty vessel...or maybe you're someone who effortlessly has interest in a field that pays well and for which there's a clear path. Goody for you. Who the fuck knows. I just know i'm irritated when people are so completely wrong about me in any way and there's a way I can defend myself. Part of me said "let it go," but I can't. JEALOUS of DIPSHIT?!?! More outrageous fighting words were never spoken!

If you had a valid point, I'd honestly consider it; i'm not unyielding or afraid of being challenged. Fact is, though, I usually wind up back at my original opinion (this is my gentle, non-obnoxious way of saying i'm usually right). I also have enough years under my belt to know (Arrogance Alert again) -- hell, I thought this when I was 18 -- I have a bit more going on upstairs than most people around me...bigger dreams, more daily goals, deeper thoughts, MUCH less patience. And it's not easy. And it's often contradictory. And i'm often stressed. And i'm JUST trying to get through each day. And Dipshit IMPEDES that progress. And there's much more than that, but that's MORE than enough rambling about one stupid ass blog comment. I guess I should THANK you, though...for...well, you can figure that out...

I detest Billy Bush even MORE this week

This obnoxious, smarmy, talent-free motherfucker with bad hair now has a radio show of some sort. He is unbearable. Please, please, PLEASE let some shameful public meltdown ensue!!

Pants without pockets

I DO speak of the Old Navy pajama bottoms I have on now. Had them for years, but long ago switched to another pair...and i'm now reminded why. NO FUCKING POCKETS. It is infuriating beyond belief. Where to put my keys, cellphone, piece of scrap paper, and pen that I routinely walk around the house with? Infuriating to the point where I'm getting rid of them ASAP...fuck this. By week's end, they'll be in a Goodwill bin. And you know what, the same goes for shorts. ALL gym shorts should have pockets. If you hit the gym in summer, where the fuck are you supposed to stuff your keys and wallet? So I'll bid a teary farewell by week's end to THESE, too...ALSO from Old Navy! What's up with that?

Yes, my friends, it is finally that time...the week I being The Streamlining of Clothes Project, Part 2. Part 1 was January of 2006, I believe. This time i'm being even HARSHER in my elimination process. Oh, I can't wait! By the way, all DRESS SHIRTS, too, should have pockets. I demand fucking pockets!

Dipshit can't carry too many ShopRite bags

I am SURE i've discussed this before, but since I hate him more by the hour, ever more aware of the wasted minutes of my fragile life spent angered by him, it takes less and less to set me off. Even when it doesn't even remotely affect me...well, besides his mere presence. And, yes, i'm well aware of the cruel irony of my wasting MORE time writing about him...but it's cathartic. Sigh, it's a tricky tightrope.

So this stupid fuckjob NEVER comes home from the supermarket without making two trips up the stairs. FUCKING PUSSY. I, meanwhile, am a hardy urban genius...only making ONE trip...ALWAYS. Let me call him a FUCKING PUSSY one more time. Wrap 8 bags around your two fucking arms and hike it up the two flights ONCE, asswipe! How DO these suburban hicks make it in the big city?!?! Infuriating. I know, I have issues. Fuck off. I've got a lot on my mind. Big issues. Important things. Life and death even. And, yeah, I'm a moody sonofabitch. With precious little patience. And I wish I wasn't so moody around my parents...it bothers me. They're the only two I'll ever have. I wanna do things that matter...with people that matter to me. Life's too short. Now, allow me to go enjoy my first of 2 cupcakes I took home from the 40th birthday celebration of the creative genius who inspired me to start writing this blog. Props, Mark.

I fucking HATE him

Dipshit. I know...really, I do. But when I'm redundant beyond belief, just remember that this is pretty much my diary, and you're just being a voyeur. I canNOT stand a second that I am in his presence; I really don't know how I haven't just dissolved into tears, though I felt close about a half hour ago. I already established the horseshit way I've felt today, and his every move tonight has only added to my misery.

Let's recap...well, let's start with the simple fact that he hasn't gone OUT. So he's BEEN HERE. I went out for an hour to Pathmark, just to get the fuck away from him. And this is what he's done to annoy me beyond belief...watching the Phillies game on his computer, WOOTing and CLAPPING; watching lacrosse on his computer; talking out loud to himself about God knows what; uttering his patented HEHs when something's struck him funny; nauseating my already queasy stomach by making popcorn; engaging in animated work phonecalls; capping it all off with a cellphone call to his "babe"...who -- ICING on the motherFUCKING cake -- I am deeply fearful will be "coming up" tomorrow for the 2nd time in 2 weeks after overhearing him asking "what time does your train get in?"

I HATE HIM. I HATE HIM. I HATE HIM. I HATE HIM. I am teetering on the edge of fucking insanity like Jack Nicholson in THE SHINING. Oh, I can't forget engaging me in pointless conversation about hockey and Artie Lange's quitting the Howard Stern Show. Jesus fucking Christ, WHY did I ever let him move in with me?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?! Life is too short for this. He has ZERO concept of how to fucking be quiet -- to sit there in peace...to NOT talk out loud...to put on headphones...to text...to NOT make endless phonecalls. He's like a fucking wind-up doll, spinning and moving and talking and blinking. I HATE NOISE!! Deep breath. Deep breath. I am counting down the weekends till he's GONE every weekend at his beach house...including this one, 6 more to go...6 more to go, Gary...6 more to go...6...6...6...

A 6-pk of Beck's = a wasted Friday

Not to mention ever-so-narrowly averting the mortifying embarrassment of vomiting on a Metro North train. I RARELY get super drunk, and I still don't think I did last night. I didn't black out, I didn't start a fight, my head wasn't even spinning. And I never did throw up, either...or even dry heave. Charming vision, no? And yet, when I went to bed on my friend's Stamford, CT couch, I KNEW I was very drunk. Then I woke up this morning...way too early, at 8am...and knew even more that I had way too much. I could barely drink coffee and had no appetite. THEN I had to endure a train ride back to NYC. Sitting BACKWARDS. Most of the ride was OK, but toward the end, I was feelin woozy and almost got off in Harlem, afraid I may vomit. But I chanted to myself and struggled to remain calm till I got to Grand Central. And I made it! And I don't know that I've ever walked slower across Manhattan on my way to NJ. And then I couldn't eat until...3pm!?! I'm happy to report, though, that I got TWO free papers...a promotional NY POST and a USA TODAY that I stole from a pack just sitting inexplicably on a Stamford sidewalk. YAY!

So I don't know how people get drunk all the time. WHAT is the appeal? Because as I NAPPED (!?!?) today for 2 hours, I was enraged. Enraged at my 100% lack of productivity. Enraged that the TV even on low sounded like people had bullhorns. Enraged at the MOTHERFUCKING daylight streaming in, escalating the throbbing in my motherfucking head. Enraged that I let this happen. I had SIX beers in about a 2.5 hour time frame...on a VERY empty stomach. What is WRONG with me?! I had SO much on my agenda today...and I did NOTHING. Of course, it's only early evening now and i'm finally feeling better, so I WILL salvage my April 11th of 2008. But I don't know how some people get this drunk all the time. It accomplishes nothing. This is an AWFUL way to feel. And so I come out of it more of a control freak than ever, sure to fully buffer my stomach when drinking, knowing to pace myself. I must say, though, before The Crash, I had a hell of a good time. In fact, I officially christen last night as the Unofficial Start of Summer '08. Sitting in a yard drinking...delightful!

Most meaningful email EVER?

I'm still wrapping my head around an email I got tonight. I'd like to talk about it, but I'm not really sure how to approach it without sounding self-serving, being exploitative, or violating privacy. But I wanted to at least note it as having happened tonight. It meant more to me than I could ever possibly put into words. Kind gestures can alter lives, people. They don't take much time, but can mean the world to the person at the receiving end of them. Even if you're a stranger. And the gratitude you get back can be equally rewarding. But you need to be attuned to other people's hardships first. This is all obvious, but we forget it...get caught up in our own shit. This may be all I ever write on this wonderful email I got. It was incredible, though. Open your eyes to the hurt around you and let someone know that you care. That's all they may need.

Jesus led me to the oblong A&P wicker basket

And we come to another blog that only serves as an outlet for something I wouldn't DARE prattle on about in conversation, but it truly made my day. Gary (uh, oh, Third Person Alert!) had 3 missions this weekend...find sneakers, find a standing fan, and find a little something to put on my kitchen table that would hold clutter. Not a fruit bowl...that would be too big, not to mention pointless, as I rarely get fruit. Just something to throw the random tea bags, pouches of hot cocoa, granola bars, blah blah, you get the fucking point. Just so they're not CHAOTICALLY strewn about the table. Me and clutter and all. My growing need for obsessive ORDER. Oh, yeah, and finally having some excess cash to CREATE said order.

So Gary (cringe) finally got his ass up to search for these things today...and after 3 hours and too many stores, I (First Person!) had nothing in my hands. I was weary, irritated, hungry...so soothed myself with a random trip to the A&P. Barely recovered from the euphoria of seeing Entenmann's pound cakes on sale for $1.99, I nearly squealed with glee upon coming to a random table of Pyrex and variously-shaped little baskets made of wire and wicker. Initially I went for this round little thing with bluish handles and frilly cloth...and, well, yeah, I eventually deemed it a tad too girly. And the round part annoyed, too. So I went for this more neutral "bread basket" instead. It was EXACTLY what I was looking for...which I didn't know until I saw it. Like, I can't BELIEVE how perfect it is. And the best part...it was $4.99! HALF of my maximum spending limit for this thing. Thank God I walked away from the $12ish things in Target...which weren't "right" anyway. Of ALL places...the A&P!?!? God led me there...i'm TELLING you this. I had NO intention of going there. Jesus, I'm starting to believe! It's sad, but true, how much of a load off my mind finding this was.

This motherfucker SO needs to get to an Ass Doctor

I almost blogged yesterday on his penchant for shitting upon waking up -- I mean, who does that? REGULARLY...not some once-in-a-blue-moon thing. Isn't the human body generally configured to shit AFTER a meal? Now I'm not sure about first thing THIS morning, but I know he just waltzed in the bathroom, shortly after making some kinda "oh, jeez" comment to himself, quickly followed by the requisite huffing and puffing, sans air vent, and to complete The Act...wait...yes, there it is...I can hear it from the other end of the apartment...the requisite OVERspraying of the air freshener so that I'm practically gasping for fresh air. Oh, and I didn't mention that he shat about an hour ago, too. He is CONSTANTLY shitting. And I'll soon go in the bathroom to shit myself...well, not ON myself...hopefully...but you get what I mean...and I can guarantee you that the toilet seat will still be down, as I've blogged on recently. And there will likely be ass shards on the seat, which I've also blogged about. Yeah, a pretty disgusting, invasive-of-Dipshit entry this was. But I can't help it. I'm DRAWN to this blog to endlessly vent about his endless irritating habits...or in this case, potential medical ass issues.

Those SUPER agitating Macy's commercials

The ones where Martha Stewart, Donald Trump, Santana and Mariah Carey all awkwardly banter with each other. Because they, of course, all have products now sold EXCLUSIVELY at Macy's. And the premise is that they're all, like, IN a Macy's...in THEIR area...where THEIR product is being sold, hawking it to the masses themselves. They're just regular Joes and Janes like us, la di dah, Mariah with her new fucking perfume, Santana with his...his...well, I googled him and I think it's shoes, Donald with his motherfucking shirts, and Martha with, Christ, everything but the bricks that built the building.

And they "interact" with each other. Carlo's strumming his guitar to Mariah, and Mariah, naturally, has to do one of her completely unnecessary da-da-da-da riffs. Then we shift to Martha, who's got her eyes closed and is swaying to the ostensibly mellifluous sounds of Santana and Mariah. Then it's the equivalent of blunt force trauma to the head to see Donald stiffly standing amongst his ties, uttering some painfully scripted one-liner. There's also a 2nd commercial with a Calvin Klein model. And earlier ones with Jessica Simpson, Usher, Sean Combs, and other bold-faced annoyances. And every single one is JUST excruciating to watch. It's all so fake. I get it's supposed to be humorous and self-deprecating, but it's not. It just comes off as a bunch of self-important celebrities shamelessly pitching their own products, which is always a fine line to walk. Something about Mariah is particularly unbearable to digest. She's SO annoying...beyond words annoying. As are these commercials overall. A big turnoff. Bad idea. I should write for Ad Age.

Madonna's historic chart feat

Her new single 4 MINUTES skyrockets from #68 to #3 on next week's Hot 100 Billboard Singles chart. I don't know where to start with the analysis. It ties with EROTICA as her fastest-rising single; that tune debuted at an astonishing #13 and was also at #3 in its second week. It pays to note that it then began a steady plummet DOWN the chart after its initial explosion...and the '92-'94 Madonna- hating began. But back to 4 MINUTES. This is her first Top 5 single since DON'T TELL ME in February 2001...and since that song only went to #4, 4 MINUTES becomes her biggest hit since MUSIC went all the way to #1 in September 2000. Ahhh, it's so beyond comforting to have her back where she belongs...even if it's with a song that isn't remotely up with her best. I'm a fan...i'll take impressive chart action wherever I can.

But I've saved the best for last. 4 MINUTES becomes her 37th (!?!) Top 10 single...and she now surpasses Elvis as the ARTIST WITH THE MOST TOP 10 SINGLES OF THE ROCK ERA! Absolutely incredible! SHE is IT.
MOST.
TOP.
10.
SINGLES.
EVER.

Let's continue bashing Dipshit...

He just returned home. Twas a blissful first 23-and-a-half hours of April. So in one fell swoop upon returning home, he's annoyed me on two levels. Yup, the phone. THE FUCKING CELL PHONE. So the first level is that he's on the phone at all. He's rapidly become one of these excruciatingly irritating fucking assholes (and you, dear reader, are very likely one of them, too) who simply cannot return home without the cell phone glued to his ear. Wait, there's actually THREE things irritating here. The second is the TIME...11:30pm...who the FUCK is he talking to, and what the FUCK is he talking about at this hour? I BEG OF YOU, JESUS, TELL ME WHAT IS SO IMPORTANT?!?!!?!!!?!?!?!? I'LL TELL YOU...NOTHING!! NOTHING!! FUCKING NOTHING!! ALL YOU PEOPLE ARE MISERABLY INSECURE, NEEDY FUCKS WHO HAVE ZERO IDEA HOW TO BE ALONE WITH YOUR OWN THOUGHTS!!AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ok, I feel better. Just slightly. I'd feel my best if I could shove that cell phone down his fucking throat without prison time. So that third thing that pissed me off? The simple fact that Dumbass Fuckknob has ZERO idea that we live with other tenants as he proceeds to talk at the top of his lungs at 11:30pm up two flights of stairs. I CRINGE when I hear him doing this. I so yearn for another tenant to whip open their door and shame him with a tongue lashing to SHUT THE FUCK UP. No luck so far. And let's again be clear...TONS of people do this. TONS of people are so miserably devoid of respect for others as they drone on and on about NOTHING late at night as they enter their apartments where OTHERS also happen to live. Absolutely no awareness and no respect. NONE. You know, I often say how self-absorbed I am...and, well, I am. But not when it comes to manners and knowing how to act in society. NO ONE cares. I almost get teary the precious few times i'm with someone who expresses concern for the well-being of others.

So, yeah, Dipshit's home...and i'm counting the minutes till he's in bed and i'm mercifully free of his voice, giggles, movements, presence once again. To hammer home the point i'm making here, once he's in bed -- and it's very clear how much I loathe him, but I'll still do this -- I'll lower the TV, usually shut off some lights, and even TYPE SOFTER in consideration of his trying to sleep. I will be as QUIET as possible. I am AWARE he's another human in my presence and CONSIDER him. As usual, I'M the one thinking. When the FUCK do I get my award?

ONE human body, THREE bath towels cluttering my bathroom

The body in question OF COURSE being Dipshit. The irritated party OF COURSE being me. I can't fucking stand superfluous SHIT laying around. I'm ALL about order and structure. Why, why, WHY is there a need for THREE bath towels? Anyone?? I won't even get into how I keep MINE in my bedroom on a hook. I DO realize most probably keep their wet towels in the bathroom. But I long ago began keeping mine in my room once I suspected past roomies didn't seem to care whose towel they used to dry themselves. Or maybe it was that one time a past roomie (who, if you can believe it, I hated more than Dipshit, and whose very name, years later, stirs heart palpitations) just casually took my bath towel to clean up a spill on the floor. Things like that. I give these examples as evidence -- yet again -- that i'm NOT the neurotic, twitty nutcase i'm sure many who read this think I am. The reality is that i'm like a Straight Man in a comedy...Bob Newhart, if you will. Even Seinfeld. Absolutely surrounded by stupidity and lunacy at every turn. Damn, I like that analogy. Have I really never realized or written that before? It's totally on target. And it's April Fool's Day, too! IRONY!