Posts Tagged ‘adventures’

Oh us men! We hate asking for directions. Why is it? Because we dislike having to ask a 17-year-old boy at a convenience store or a foreign guy who speaks broken English for life advice. They know how to find the bridge you’re looking for. They are officially sexier in the eyes of your wife than you are.

I’m no different when it comes to directions. I rarely ask for them. I will though, if my life is in the balance. Still, asking for directions can be worse than death. That look they give you like you’re making up a place. They’ve never heard of I-95. I thought it ran from Maine to Florida. Did I dream up an interstate highway?

(It’s impossible to dream in color and since this map is in color, it cannot be a dream)

My sense of direction is pretty damn good in general. I could never get lost in the woods. If Heather Donahue (no clue how I still remember her name) from the Blair Witch Project had been friends with me and invited me to go along with them, I would have kicked the map into the river on the first day and said “It’s okay, I’ve got another map. It’s right here.” then tapped my temple. Nobody would have gotten killed.

I have a GPS system which I can’t really use for more than 5 minutes before it dies. My car’s cigarette lighter doesn’t work. That was never a problem because I don’t smoke. It’s only a problem because that’s where electronic devices should be plugged in. I have to rely on my own feelings to get around. Recently I was using my GPS system to try to get home and it died .2 miles away from the left turn I needed. I decided that I would turn around and sit in the parking lot of where I was and cry until someone realized I was missing. My over/under was 4 days. I think it would take me that long to go missing. Before someone actually noticed I wasn’t around. It’d be someone stupid that would realize too like the mailman. I get a lot of coupons in the mail and he’d realize something was up when they were starting to overflow out of the mail slot. I don’t think he’d do anything. Probably figure I’m on vacation. That’s why it’s imperative that I don’t get lost. Nobody will realize I’m gone.

(Is she not wearing pants or is the mailman a known Klansman and she’s scared?)

The worst times I ever got lost seem to be in Pennsylvania. This is a big problem because in New Jersey we have our gas pumped for us. I’m sure I could figure out how to do it if need be, but still it’s something new. New equals scary. One time I was driving through Pennsylvania trying to get somewhere. I won’t mention the place so let’s pretend it was a strip club for children. Not that the strippers are children, but they do things to entertain children while topless. I don’t know what those things might be. Maybe they squirt milk out of their breasts or dress up like Blue’s Clues characters. I got incredibly lost on my way there. I finally decided that after two hours of driving around I should ask for directions. I stopped at a Dairy Queen and asked them if they knew how to get to the Children’s Strip Club. They said they had never heard of it and asked what town it was in. I told them and the workers turned to each other like they had never heard of the town. The oldest and ugliest Dairy Queen worker said “You’re a long way from home sweetheart.” I didn’t have time to explain to her that I didn’t live in the area and that even if I was at the Children’s Strip Club it would be a long way away from home. Actually, is 30 miles a long way away? I don’t think so. I think she was trying to bully me into getting a Blizzard with Snickers on top.

(Those strawberries look so out-of-place in this diabetic disaster)

I continued driving hoping that I could at this point just find my way home. The problem with going from New Jersey to Pennsylvania is that there’s this cockface in between the two states called The Delaware River. You have to use a bridge at all times to get across from state to state. That really limits your options. This is the same stupid river that George Washington crossed to kill a bunch of Hessians. You know that famous painting of him in the boat with his foot up? Yeah, that’s the cockface river that I’m talking about. It’s caused me more anguish than any other body of water.

(The Delaware River isn’t nearly this rough. It mostly smells bad more than anything else from all the dead Hessians who were tossed into it)

I was still driving because that’s how I spent the last 5 hours of my life. My phone was dying, my car was running out of gas, and everything around me seemed to be closed. My dad tried finding directions for me but I don’t think he even knew who he was talking to. I found a bait shop that was closing. I frantically pounded on the screen door as it began to rain. The bait shop man took pity on me. He gave me directions without making me buy any worms. I guess he figured that it was raining now and that worms would be plentiful. Supply and demand.

Somehow I managed to follow his directions correctly. I crossed over a tiny little bridge and made my way back home to New Jersey. I was the first person to ever enter the state with a smile. Usually it’s holding your nose and going really fast hoping that you don’t get a flat tire in the process. There’s no real moral to this story other than don’t be a nag if you’re not the one driving. Eventually, we all find our ways back home. Except for old people. You should always worry about them. Sometimes they get in their station wagons and are never heard from again. Pretty nice of them. Burials and cremations are really damn expensive.

This is a story about coming of age. It was actually published in the children’s book series THE ADVENTURES OF TOOTSIE WOO!!! If you haven’t read it, you should check it out. It’s about a ghost who travels around with a carnival doing sexual favors for miners. And you thought Casper was friendly!

After reading this entry (or entrée if you figuratively eat words) you will think of me differently. I won’t be that cool guy you all aspire to be like. You’ll see me as a square. An awkward square. Such an awkward square that I’ve become a rhombus. That’s what I am. The biggest rhombus in the world.

I’ve only ever witnessed somebody do cocaine once in my life. It was scary. I was in the home of a stranger and there was a 5’4 guy there with a very round hat. A 4’10 girl that seemed to have an attitude problem came up to me and said that I didn’t have to be scared. Then a knife fell out of her pocket and I turned away, scared and scarred. How did I know how tall everyone was? There was a growth chart in the room!

What mistakes did I make in my life that led me to this place? How did I get here? (CUE: The Talking Heads)

I had been visiting a friend for the evening. The night started off normally. Girls were ignoring me, bartenders looked at me like I had no idea what I was doing (which I didn’t), and my allergies were bad. My allergies are always bad. Even in a bar filled with fag-hags. Maybe I’m allergic to a good time. Or more accurately, an over-hyped not as spectacular as I had imagined it would be time. Lets go with that second one.

I remember locking eyes with one fag-hag in particular. My eyes said “Let me come over there” and her eyes said “Is he looking at me or the window behind my face?” The answer was both, but I didn’t know how to properly respond with just eye signals. I hung out near the cigarette machine which still exist. That 4’10 girl came over and basically shoved me out-of-the-way. I was really turned on by this. She looked like she was 16 and was in a bar, pushing adults to the side, drunk and high on everything she could get. I should have married her right then and there. That way I’d know that my life would end up like crap and I would never get my hopes up.

My friend and I left the bar and found somewhere more quiet. A random woman sat in his chair and she left her cell phone there. He told me that her boyfriend was a douche bag. I continued to cock block him completely by talking to the girl in a friendly way instead of doing what I should have done, ignore her completely. I was young, I learned. If you want a girl to talk to you the last thing you should do is talk to her. Life is complicated and makes no sense like that.

We then went in search of another bar that he said was down the street. It apparently didn’t exist. I found this odd because he lived 5 minutes away and claimed that it was indeed there yesterday. This is why I don’t have trust others or believe what a GPS tells me. Buildings don’t just get up and walk away. Unless you live in Alabama where homes do it all the time. We returned to the first bar only to find that everyone was leaving. “House party!” someone shouted. So, we went.

The house party was at the home of the cocaine girl. She had a giant dog crate in the corner and a bird-cage. Both of them were empty. A tall man and a girl went into the bathroom and came out a half hour later. The fat guy there had to pee on a fence. Nobody really talked to me. One guy who seemed to also not know anyone stood near me and I asked him a few questions that strangers might ask. He lived about 10 minutes away and his favorite color was blue. I quickly ran out of questions and he left. Then a woman with a pixie haircut started talking to me. She had an overweight boyfriend who would scrunch his eyes like he was trying to shit whenever he would talk to me. He’d puff out his cheeks and nod during my responses to his questions about where I lived and what my favorite colors were. The house party stunk.

Someone informed us that the party was moving somewhere else. We all walked about 10 minutes to a bigger home, that of an overweight woman. There’s no reason to point out that she was overweight. Really, there’s no reason to write any of this. I already gave away the ending. A girl does cocaine and I get scared. But to sound smart and artistic, I will describe what was wrong with people who I encountered. The owner of this home’s problem, being a gigantic scary creature.

The “party” continued and I stood around awkwardly. Then I sat around awkwardly. Then everyone who was sitting got up and stood some more. I ran out of things to do. Sitting and standing are my go-to motions. I couldn’t lie down. That’s a real party faux pas.

I went outside and stood there for a bit. Then everyone went inside and I had to knock on the door because they had locked me outside. Hey it happens. Not the first and wasn’t the last that I was completely ignored. I came inside and saw the girl I wanted to have sex with. That’s kind of always what I do when I enter a room, leave a room, enter a car, leave a car, enter a stadium, leave a stadium, etc. She had marijuana eyes and I think it’s because she was on marijuana. She mentioned how she thought one of the guys at the party was cute and his name was Dan. I tried smiling at her and she left the room.

My awkward standing continued and that’s when I saw cocaine girl. She was sitting at a table bitching to a friend. “How am I ever going to find a guy that loves me? I can’t even drink. And that means he can’t drink because when he kisses me I’ll be able to taste it on his lips.” No. She wasn’t being a self-righteous prude. She had that medical condition where alcohol makes you sick. I think we all have that condition. She has it worse. She’ll die if she drinks a beer. We’ll put on a goofy hat and embarrass ourselves. I’m still undecided on which is worse.

Cocaine girl took a bag out from her pocket and then pulled over a magazine from the table. It was something about fishing. Or maybe it was a Playboy. I’m not sure. I couldn’t tell if the man in the picture was wearing a bucket or a cowboy hat. Cokey emptied her bag onto the magazine and without thinking twice closed up her one nostril and snorted with the other. All done! She cleaned up that cocaine like she was an anteater cleaning up whatever it is that those creatures eat.

I didn’t know what had just happened. I had seen cocaine done in movies. Never in person. This must be like when you give birth to a baby. You can know exactly what it looks like yet until it happens to you, you don’t know how to react or how it feels. I was flabbergasted. I wanted to leave. I felt uncomfortable that a woman who thinks a guy won’t date her because she can’t drink beer solves her problems by snorting cocaine. That’s a much bigger deal breaker. Cocaine involves bad tempers and Scarface references. She was a good-looking girl and I would have raised my eyebrows for her until I witnessed her commit a crime. She missed out. She broke our unsaid deal.

Now for the rest of my life I will be prepared for when I see someone snort cocaine. I hope you don’t have to go through the fear and confusion that I did. Cocaine is a dangerous drug. It blows your chances at taking a ride on the wild side with me. What’s scarier than that?

“I love the Cocaine.” – Buckcherry, a band who might have more than 2 hits if they laid off the hard stuff

Recently, I had an encounter with the unexplained. A ghost threatened me. Actually, that’s not true. It was a man who threatened me. But he said he wouldn’t hurt me until he became a ghost. At least, that’s how I took what he said. Let me explain.

I went to Atlantic City on what I thought would be a VERYNORMAL!!! evening with my girlfriend for our two-year anniversary. It’s a great place to go when you don’t drink and the person you’re with isn’t old enough to do it. The part of the city that I saw wasn’t too flashy which is why a lot of old people go there. They don’t have to worry about their retinas burning out from all of the lights. The rickshaws on the boardwalk were mobile through the driver standing behind and pushing. All of the stores sold t-shirts with bad Jersey Shore sayings. The massage parlor women were pushy and would scream out “Massage” in a blood curdling voice whenever we passed by. I didn’t feel welcomed.

(Some hot Jersey babes at Atlantic City. Our governors might be fat, gay, and corrupt; our women are Gods in India!)

The night was winding down and we took a seat on a bench. That’s when I spotted a man begging for change. I’ve mentioned before how I feel about panhandlers. They’re con artists. You live in America. The country in the world with the most opportunity. Not only that, but this particular beggar on the boardwalk was a white male, probably around 35-40 years of age. Jack-fucking-pot! A white man in America, at an age where he’s old enough to have experience, but not too old where teenagers spray paint their band names on his back. He could become the next president of the country with his age, race, and sex. Everything is going for this guy. He’s won the birth lottery.

I saw him asking other pedestrians for money. I said to myself “Please don’t come over here. Please don’t come over here.” Hating me, the Universe sent him over into my direction.

“Can you spare a dollar?” he said hiding out in the shadows of the night sky. I couldn’t see his face. All I knew was that he was wearing a black hoodie and had a shaved head. Remember that last detail for later.

“No. Sorry. I don’t have any money on me. We just came here to walk around. We haven’t eve been gambling.” I figured, and now know, not to be friendly with these fucks. I tried to be cordial, saying why I did not have money. I did have money, but still I hadn’t been gambling. It was a half lie I guess.

He took a step closer to me. “How about a dime?” Suddenly, whatever he was going to buy, had plummeted in price.

“No sorry. I don’t have anything.” Right now in my wallet, that would be true. I have no cash there. But at that time, I had a few dollars. A few dollars I got from the ATM. The ATM that has a connection with my bank. The bank that gets my paychecks from my job.

He took another step closer. “Not even a nickel?” He was pushing it. For some reason, he thought that I would suddenly discover a nickel in my pocket. I had a nickel in my pocket. I had two in fact. At this point though, why would I invite this man closer to me? He was really living up to the name of beggar.

 

(A much more adorable beggar who has begging down to a science)

“No. I don’t have anything.” I finally said. I was really close to telling him to fuck off. That’s one of my dreams. To have a mugger approach me and tell me to hand over my wallet and I’ll tell him to fuck off. It’s a silly thing to do though as they might have a gun. Getting shot in the face isn’t worth being a badass in front of a homeless guy. He probably doesn’t even know who won the last season of Survivor. Out-of-touch-with-the-world putz.

The beggar began to laugh. “Thank you. Thank you. God bless you.” That didn’t sound so bad, but then, “I will remember this. When I leave this earth from this cancer I will remember this.” Oh, now you mention that you have cancer. Come over here you creep and I’ll give you a buck.

I said something along the lines of “okay” or “yep.” It was a hard thing to take in. I was in an unfamiliar place which is always scary. Now I was being threatened by a homeless man saying that he would remember this when he dies of cancer. It would have been excusable to shit my pants at that very moment. Luckily, I had already done it an hour earlier. Now I had an excuse.

The beggar left and continued to bother others for money. I didn’t see anyone give him anything. It’s tough to give money to someone who looks like one of your friend’s dads. Your friend’s dads managed to get a job. They managed to marry a woman that they don’t like. What’s different about this guy? For one, he’s an asshole. I’m not at an age where I have exposable income. The most expensive thing I wear are my $30 shoes and they’re only that expensive because they have Dr. Scholl’s inserts. Fancy man me. Maybe I should buck up and give 40% of my earnings to lazy people almost twice my age. I know not everyone has had it easy, but Jesus Christ there has to be something better than begging for money on a New Jersey Boardwalk a week before Halloween.

I can laugh about it now, sitting in my apartment and him not having enough money for a train ticket to get here or a map to get here or the money for the Internet fees to research me and where I live. I’m safe now, until he dies.

Remember when I said he had a shaved head? That was the only inkling to him even having cancer. The funny thing about that, why does a man with cancer have to go to a boardwalk on a Friday night and beg for dimes? He clearly has good medical insurance where he can find out that he has cancer. I have no medical insurance. I could have cancer, lupus, an ass full of anal fissures and have no clue about it. If anything, I should have been asking him about his health care coverage. I’ve told people before too that I had cancer just to get sympathy. It’s an old trick. I think Houdini invented it. Then they found out he was lying and killed him by punching him in the stomach. Houdini, the most famous magician in the world died from being punched in the stomach. This beggar has cancer and is still wandering about bothering me. He’s probably taken countless punches to the stomach and survived. There is no justice.

To say that he would remember that moment when he leaves this earth from his cancer isn’t as haunting now as it was then. It wasn’t even as haunting as soon as he walked away. I did my best not to laugh as soon as he turned away. Saying what he said, he would have to think I was very gullible. I’d have to believe:

1) That he isn’t a drug addict

2) That he actually does have cancer

3) That he will remember this

4) That when he does, someone will give him information on who I am

5) That the same person that gives him the information will give him the ability to go to where I am and haunt me

6) That there is an after life at all

I would need to believe in every single one of those factors for what he said to be true. For even one to be false would negate his ability to torture me from the afterlife. I don’t know, but I would think that God would think he was a douche bag for wanting to come back and haunt a guy for not giving him money and Satan would side with me in the first place for not giving him money. I’m in a pretty good position here.

I wish that man all the best in his money capturing ventures. I would suggest that he mention his fake cancer earlier in the conversation if he wants that to affect the outcome of his begging. You know what, when a beggar has a good story, even when I know it’s bullshit, sometimes I do give them change. This guy though, I hope he has a miraculous recovery from cancer. You clearly managed to have enough money to pay for chemotherapy, as your eyebrows were still intact. Maybe it was your whiskey voice that led me onto the fact that you were bullshitting me. Or that you don’t belong to one of the money organizations that do help people with cancer. Get your story straight stupid. And when you do die and come to haunt me, be prepared to watch me dance around naked. I intend to do that, for your entertainment.

(Bring it on ghost. I’ll be waiting)