To give you some idea...

...how much I detest talking to Him, I almost...ALMOST...fled the house for a walk somewhere when I sensed he was juuuuuuust about ready to leave for the shore, just so I wouldn't have to endure the excruciating 15 second-or-so "bye, i'm leaving" bullshit exchange. Sadly, I wasn't ambitious enough to execute this plan today in time. I was JUST about ready to do it when he left to make his first of two trips to the car...he tricked me there, though I should know by now that he's incapable of making just one un-pussyish trip to or from the car. Too much baggage for him to handle. So, of course, if I fled while he was across the street at his car, that would just look too obvious. So I was forced to wait 5 minutes while he fiddled around one last time...5 minutes of my life down the drain, as all I could concentrate on was his Impending Goodbye that I'd have to partake in. It's funny...I always fake a yawn when I talk to him like this...anything to break up what must be the worst acting on the planet, as I pretend to remotely care about his weekend and struggle to be as evasive as I can about mine. Oh, it's awful. But he's gone now. And a weight has been lifted. And FINALLY, my Thursday, July 31, 2008 can begin in earnest!

It's been a while since I stressed how much I detest Dipshit...

The hate only grows. Can you imagine? It's true, though. Exponentially by the day. Make that hour. We're both home now on a Thursday afternoon. He, naturally, is "working from home" before ridding me of his presence for another long weekend at the shore. For great relief, I must first suffer. So his infuriating voice has often been on the phone. When not, he's been talking to himself as he sits at his laptop. Oh, and for icing on the cake, I must, naturally, endure a static-filled AM radio blaring from his open-door bedroom. Despite ALL my words in this blog, NOTHING can properly express how much I hate the fact that he is in my life. Every minute I'm around him is pure torture. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm either gonna start sobbing, go for a walk, or smash his radio to pieces. I wonder which would be best for my mental health?

"Oh, my God, it's a severe thunderstorm! Let's take shelter under several large trees...we'll be safe THERE from lightning!"

If my fucking father says...

..."my father's mustache" one more FUCKING time in place of FUCK, i'm gonna scream the word FUCK until the authorities are called.

Sure, I'll go to a lesbian pool party in Trenton!

And beat three teams of them at beer pong while i'm there! Just another quiet Saturday night.

Wrapping gifts

Another activity I have zero patience for. You gotta find a gift box, then tissue paper, then wrapping paper. Ugh...totally taxing. I just wanna hand the fucking shopping bag to the recipient...with the receipts still inside. And the tissue paper never fits right. And measuring the paper, then cutting it. I've often taped tiny pieces of paper to cover up small blank spots. I hate it all. Don't even THINK about getting ribbon or a bow from me.

I found $10 on the ground today!

Right before I picked up my rather large and somewhat unjustified paycheck. At a bus stop this time. So if you're keeping track...gas stations, outside banks, and bus stops are good places to find money on the ground. At least that's where I've found cash. And also on random suburban sidewalks. No matter where, it's always a joy. And Metrocards tossed in odd areas COULD have a balance still on them. Fun shit.

God, I love maps

I could read them all day. I'd like to frame each of NJ's 21 counties on my walls, PLUS get laminated fold-out ones of each. And I YEARN for some kind of NJ-only AMAZING RACE. I'm sure I'd win. I'd like a national one, too...all except Hawaii. No planes, please. Only a car and your wits. And I gots lotsa wits.

Wow, so i'm on the New York Times Internet Filmography list...

Did I know this already? I'm not sure. I knew I was on some Yahoo television directory, but the NEW YORK TIMES?! And a FILMOGRAPHY?! Classic.

Gary goes hiking...in West Paterson

Rifle Camp Park and Garrett Mountain, to be precise. I've driven through Rifle Camp before...but it was winter and I didn't leave the car. Garrett...I'm pretty sure I ran cross country here in high school, but that was certainly a while ago. The views from Rifle are very nice...but from Garrett, it's spectacular. Grimy Paterson in the valley below you, NYC to the east, wondrous mountains of green to the north and west, all seen from a treacherous rocky perch. I've long championed NJ's varied topography. It almost seemed like Los Angeles. And DEER! SO many deer! Right up close to you, in packs. I was afraid they'd lunge at me at first, leaving me bloodied and twitching, but I soon lost any fear...taking their picture numerous times. I've found a new, pretty damn local place to "get away." Quite a wonderful evening.

Laser Vaginal Rejuvenation!

I heard today that this is becoming quite the rage in elective surgeries. A little tightening of the Magic Box, especially after childbirth. Apparently there's an epidemic of loose vaginas. Isn't that lovely?

My name is Gary, not "And Family"

I'm getting more than a little annoyed with people (that is, relatives) who send MY invites to my parents' house...with my name suddenly AND FAMILY. Tagged onto mommy and daddy. Um, excuse me, i'm not fifteen. And I haven't LIVED with my parents in more than a decade. So WHY, MOTHERFUCKERS, haven't you taken notice of these pertinent facts in all that time? As soon as you move out, you should start getting your own invites. And, by the way, there's certain friends, too, who inexplicably still mail things to my parents' house. At least they use my NAME, though.

Now I have NO doubt that if I marched down the aisle this coming weekend and moved to a tidy suburban Colonial with the lucky and proud bride, THEN you'd somehow start exercising proper etiquette. Am I not a Real Grown-Up unless i'm married? Am I not worthy of opening my own envelope for your precious spawn's Baptism? How about I say fuck the baby's officially becoming a child of God and spend my Sunday at the beach? That's where i'd rather be, certainly. And I wouldn't have to waste my money on yet another motherfucking savings bond, not to mention a criminally overpriced card that will likely be tossed into the trash as soon as they've tallied who gave what for the thank you cards...which will ALSO come in a "thank you, EVERYONE" combo deal!! UGH.

But I'm a Good Guy and dutifully go to the endless family affairs, making sure I eat and drink as much as humanly possible -- and as close to the price of the gift as possible -- within a 4-hour time period. Now can you return the favor and just respect my (long ago) passage into adulthood enough to figure out my mailing address? And THIS is why I hesitate to let too many in my life know about this blog...everyone would hate me. Even though i'm absolutely right.

Pick up that Metro Card on the ground! It could be worth $12.50!

Like mine was tonight. At first I ignored the card on the ground outside one of the Hoboken PATH entrances. But then I backtracked and picked it up. And I'm glad I did! I was so pissed at all the machines fucking up for one reason or another...but then when I plugged in the dirty trash card I picked up and saw a $12.50 balance, I was ecstatic! I often pick up cards in "odd" locations. My theory is that a sizable majority of the population wouldn't just toss a "garbage card" on the ground. They'd put it in the garbage. See how hopeful I remain about my fellow man? I've found a few cards with balances on them this way, but I think today's find is the most lucrative. Made my fucking night!

Where do you keep YOUR valuables when you go to the gym?

There's a report on the news now about arrests in a string of local gym locker room thefts. Which, of course, requires the requisite sound bites from gym members, most of whom think nothing of locking everything but their newborn in a locker. To which I say, WHY? WHY can't you keep your wallet and keys ON you? Or NEAR you...like the ONE bright person they interviewed...a young chick I'd like to meet who showed off her tiny little pouch that she carries around with her and places near her working-out person. My wallet and keys are ALWAYS on or near me. Locks mean nothing...they can be broken. I PRAY you're robbed of endless cash and valuables if you leave your shit in a locker. You deserve it. Yup, i'm a nasty prick. And smart.

During which meals he'll have white, red, or beer

The latest of Dipshit's ABSOLUTELY pointless, insipid, infuriating cell phone conversations I'm being forced to overhear. I've learned beer is only with a burger or MAYBE steak...but he doesn't order steak often. Otherwise, it's wine...because he's a Big Boy now. Oh, GREAT...now it's time for Call #2...to The Woman. As if The Friend wasn't ulcer-inducing enough. Oh, my fucking God, I HATE HIM. Have I ever mentioned that? Absolutely hate him.

So it's MIDSUMMER!!

The very middle of July. Summer's half over!?! ACTUALLY, let's see...summer "began" on May 23 and Labor Day is Sept 1, so probably July 12 was the Actual Middle. POINT IS...time to assess, people! Myself included. Oy, vey, I totally feel like the time is getting away from me, even though if my summer ended today, I'd consider it a rousing success. I always want more, of course. Much, much, MUCH more. I still need to re-read THE GREAT GATSBY while laying in a field, for instance. There's lots of things involving fields that I'd like to do. I just wanna be alone amongst wind-whipped wheat. I'm not panicked, though...half the summer left. And August IS my month.

If I see ONE more Cute Young Couple fucking making out at the supermarket...

Honestly, asswipes, do you have ANY idea how agitating you are? There you were tonight, 6:30pm-ish, stopping before you selected your tasty ice cream (that you'll surely shovel into each other's mouths) to stare into each other's eyes and slowly come in for a kiss. Slowly, carefully, no quick peck here. Like a soap opera scene, complete with foreheads together and sweet whispered nothings. But one wasn't enough. After some brief giggling, you did it again. I couldn't fucking concentrate on which frozen Swanson $1 dinner I wanted due to your flagrantly obnoxious display. I openly stared in disgust, even talking out loud, something along the lines of "are you fucking kidding me?" I long ago gave up much discretion when it comes to public eye-rolling and cursing to myself; I pretty much do it anywhere, anytime. So FAR, no one's punched me. The irony being I'M the one who should be doing the punching. Can you REALLY not contain yourselves until you're out of ShopRite? You are NOT in your house. You are in a SUPERMARKET. You unbelievably aggravating pieces of fucking shit.

*While I'm at it, does ANYONE know how to get "a few things" (ie, Express Lane-worthy) and pay for it in CASH? Instead of holding up the line with your DESTINED to be problematic credit or debit card? Do you REALLY not have a few bucks on you? It's funny how you're about to race back to your tony brownstone...yet you can't carry a twenty? Of course, there's the other Welfare Extreme, too, that deserves equal credit card sarcasm. And please, PLEASE don't even get me started on you fucknuts who pay by check. FUCKERS, all of you!!

Sara Bareilles' 2nd single...

...also sucks immense moosecock. Just like her first one. Even worse, if possible. At least I don't see this one becoming a big hit. I mean, it just can't. It's awful. GO AWAY, Sara! I'm sure you're a lovely person (or a duplicitious slut, who knows?), but I don't wanna hear you on my radio or TV ever again.

What had to be a 17-year-old pulled up next to me in the Burger King lot last night in a BMW convertible...

...and I wanted to take a golf club to both his little thug head AND his car. I'm 90% sure "his" car was actually purchased by indulgent, foolish, overly-permissive, dumbass fucking parents. I'm also 90% sure some kind of car crash is in his future. OK, back to my soothing Saturday early-afternoon tea...

WHO doesn't even have an answering machine in 2008?!

My landlords.

VERIZON SUCKS!!!!!

Have I ever said this? I haven't even had an issue with them in MONTHS, but I used to...all the time. And one of those Fight the Man! consumer reports was just on the Ch. 11 news -- concerning a woman EXASPERATED with trying to resolve an issue with Verizon -- and reminded me of my own miserable hell with these assfucks. Endless calls, no live humans, 10 different numbers, 67 different prompts, getting hung up on, repeating information, the INCREDIBLY agitating voice of the "Thank You For Calling Verizon" Automated Bitch. THE ABSOLUTE WORST CUSTOMER SERVICE ON EARTH!!!!!

People involved in accidents due to driving on the WRONG SIDE OF THE HIGHWAY

HOW drunk/stupid ARE you, exactly? Unless you're an Alzheimers-ridden European, there's just zero excuse for this.

Fucking tools who wait on line for hours or even days (!?!) for Ipods

Or ANYTHING, for that matter. I don't know what's worse, waiting for the new Ipod or waiting for a new movie. Anyone who does this is pathetic, with absolutely no appreciation for the preciousness of time. I can't express how utterly unamused I am by these dolts.

I simply can't watch/hear this Jesse Jackson soundbite often enough

FANTASTIC shit! And wouldn't it be nice if SOMEone in such a situation DIDN'T apologize for it? He's only sorry he got CAUGHT...like most of us are in any given "gotcha!" moment. HOW many times did you whine you were REALLY, REALLY sorry as a kid to get out of a punishment...when you were merely pissed you were punished? Oh, wait, we still do that as adults. I'll enjoy the Faux Apology/Clarification Tour.

11:19pm...

Who WOULDN'T be on the phone detailing their on-the-field softball prowess in tonight's game? Have I ever mentioned HOW much I detest people who HAVE to always be talking? The VOLUMES of rants I've logged on this issue still can't even BEGIN to properly express how agitating I find it. Oh, wait, now we're on to a play-by-play of his weekend. Guess what? I had a GREAT weekend, too...do you hear ME on the phone babbling about it? Or, hell, even WRITING about it? Are these people aware of the internet's invention? You can do great SILENT things like IM and email. All very discreet. Try it.

$2.75 for a slice of pizza?!

And here I was thinking I'd surely get change from the $2 I had ready in my hands. UGH. And it wasn't even in Manhattan! Or any remotely fancy pizza joint! Merely some corner dive! Might be time to finally start using that pizza maker I got in 1995...buying my own low-rent ingredients...twirling dough above my head while playing Sinatra and wearing my wife-beater. Maybe dangle a lit cigarette out of my mouth. A lot to juggle...but I love a challenge. Three bucks for a fucking slice of pizza is just insane.

The media YET again an embarrassment

Specifically the NYC media this time. That A-Rod's wife is about to file for divorce is the TOP story?! REALLY?! Are you FUCKING kidding me?! If I had that handgun I so yearn for, I'd have shot my set, Elvis-style. It's unfathomable. Bravo, news directors, for proving again you're a bunch of morons.

But let's move on to another group of morons peripherally involved in the scandal, er, story. And I do mean all the Concerned Parents who will now boycott A-Rod merchandise for their precious motherfucking spawn. Awwww, look at all you going for the Dr. Spock Award...bringing Young Mikey up right by pointing him ONLY toward MORAL big-league baseball players. DUMB. ASSHOLES. Am I in some parallel universe of reason, objectivity, and perspective?

Then there's Madonna. About whom I say...YAY! A tabloid summer sensation in her 50th year! I couldn't have scripted it better! Whatever the truth is, I don't give a shit. Because they're all grown, complicated human beings. AND IT DOESN'T CONCERN ME. But, yeah, I DO like that Madonna's still gettin' it done tabloid-wise. The mother/50/let's-save-Africa bit just ISN'T the fun of the old days. I almost tear up thinking about the glory days of the NY Post screaming WHAT A TRAMP! on the front page over her JUSTIFY MY LOVE video. Yeah, so this is kinda perversely fun.

To honor America's independence...

...I sped in the OTHER direction of the lemmings who were FLOCKING to certain vantage points throughout my little area of the world to view fireworks, both for local shows AND the Macy's NYC one. Even with some rain, it was INFUCKINGSANE. Like, I can't even express to you how insane. Have these people SEEN fireworks before? I KNEW it got bad...but I guess I just saw new aspects of it. Like how a procession of cars pulled over on Rt. 3 by the Meadowlands to take it all in. And I mean DOZENS of them. Yeah, THAT'S safe. Especially in foggy rain. My local Pathmark was mercifully still open (damn ShopRites closed early!?) for me to duck into and escape the madness...BECAUSE I COULDN'T EVEN FIND PARKING BY MY HOUSE BECAUSE OF ALL THE "TOURISTS." UGH. But I needed to fetch club soda and tonic for a shore fest tomorrow, so after the 10 fucking minutes it took for a spot to open in the Pathmark lot (yup, the "tourists" found that, too), in I went. And it was like entering Heaven's gates. SO empty. SO devoid of commotion. SO peaceful! I stayed until I knew the madness would be just about over...and got a spot right in front of my house. Happy birthday, America!!