May 2008
32 posts
On her birthday, she said I’ll go to heaven for saying she looked 23. ‘My friends ditched me,’ I explained, so the girls escorted me home.
I received a message today. One, she listed. I am invited to her birthday party tomorrow. Two. She is most definitely not gay. Not gay. Not.
The overly attractive checkout girl punched in the wrong price, causing the old cashier, sensing the mistake across the room, to have a fit.
The old man with the prosthetic arm came towards me. ‘Hey,’ he waved his hook for a hand over his lips. ‘Do I have something on my face?’
Sunbathing is best on a holiday, with The Price Is Right as background noise, and your anglo roommates watching jealously in the shade.
Outside Maritime the line went around the block, serving all Chelsea bound gays an hour wait. Except the ones stood up. Like myself.
Waking on the Q from Brooklyn, I grab at my cell phone but cop a feel of the Abercrombie lad instead. He and his girl get out the next stop.
The death of my PC heralded an increase of productivity today, as the unbridled wait for IT led to a 150% growth of my ball of rubber bands.
At the top of the stairs, Fugly Purse & leading the pack Broken Umbrella. But what’s this? Vitamin Water’s owner lets go to take the lead!
Saunas are generally not the best place to discuss your colonoscopy, but I was too enthralled in a staring contest with the hot guy to care.
I sat down as he was leaving, his cookie fortune still on the table. ‘There is,’ it read, ‘a true and sincere friendship between you both.’
Her hijaab was perfect; it left only a hint of strands on her widow’s peak. She adjusted when she saw me. We liked each other a little less.
Is a second entry tonight justified if I am suddenly roused by the sound and sight of two cats fucking on my skylight?
Even in daylight rain she manages her toy stand, proudly displaying knock off stuffed animals like Woofy, Care Hares, and Finding Chemo.
Before, when I went grocery shopping I got conscientious of bringing my own bag out of embarrassment. Nowadays I’m scared of looking trendy.
‘Americans are so obsessed about sex, death & their weight,’ he complained at the bar as I proofread his screenplay on obese necrophiliacs.
I woke up when the train jerked & saw her drop a post-it. She blushed and thanked me after I handed the note-a reminder to pick up vagisil.
The stranger broke the pen I lent him and asked if I had another. I did. ‘Hey,’ he said, interrupting my Bend Sinister. ‘One more question.’
‘You know when pride is?’ the woman asked us before she tripped. ‘Everyday! Pride is every day! Now why am I holding an empty vodka bottle?’
‘I think this hostel was once a bath house.’ He led me to a closet door and opened it to a room twice my shoulder width & no roof. I agreed.
I spent Mother’s Day with my drag mommy on Madison, walking to the Whitney Biennial, the lace ruffles of his shirt swaying in the breeze.
Outside the pop art exhibit he tells him, ‘I was just sitting down. I can do that if I want,’ His boy retorts, marital bliss further fading.
Fresh meat in the XIIth Air Command, I lean in close to some guys and snag 3 free rounds of Yuengling lager. All I gave up was some dignity.
My air mattress has been deflating. Every morning I wake up engulfed in a rubber cocoon-like an oversized condom. Pointless with a puncture.
It’s raining spring in Washington Square Park, where the sound of Jackhammers accompany the symphony of hayfever in three part harmony.
‘Take your time we’re open 24 hrs’ said our waiter. ‘Until your lease runs out in 2 months’ I said. Our nervous laughter grieve for Florent.
‘My aunt never told my uncle that he was dying,’ she said. In the echoing quiet of the library, she recounted how her uncle got his revenge.
Our line of 20 somethings in the bank was instructed to count along by the kid friendly coinchanger. ‘Can you guess the number for a prize?’
An hour into Iron Man the 8 year old behind me calls his parents to tell them, ‘I’m bored.’ He hangs up, leans in & asks, ‘What did I miss?’
They call it happy hour. In 60 minutes you are to shed that office skin and drink away the bad memories of hitting on your boss earlier.
The temptation of the soccer ball was too great, and he kicked it into oncoming traffic. After the pile up was cleared, he did it again.
Reading his Limericks in the park, I look up and said, ‘You know, most times when I review people’s work they don’t hover over me.’