Ridicule is in Ridiculous

How do I live my best life? I lift every day. Heavy things. As heavy as possible. That means inside and outside… dumbbells, kettlebells, my own leg as much as I can to get it behind my shoulder…. as well as the emotional gunk and psychological junk that blocks the free flowing form that is me…Or else I’m a liability. That is how I get through it all.

I was taking a shower this morning at the gym. Moving super fast. Octopus arms.. I had about eight minutes to get ready from wet gym-clothes off to jacket on and walking up the stairs.

I spit in the shower. Like a back-of-the-throat-sound spit. It wasn’t a disgusting nose-clearing spit, just a little excess saliva from high intensity exercise.

And I hear, “Oh My God.” I shook it off. I was near positive that it wasn’t for me. I continue.

Soap is in my hand now, I’m lathering and I spit again and hear her talking like in full sentences.. I couldn’t make out what she said, and even though she started the moment I spit, I was sure she was talking on her phone, or having issues of her own.

I mean this is her world too.. 

Maybe she forgot her conditioner. Honest mistake. I rinse.

It’s almost getting out time now, and as usual. The steam mixed with chlorine had done it’s magic: I blow a snot rocket.

Only to hear a very aggressive, “Are you kidding me?”

Ok. This is my shower. Also, you can’t see me. I’m behind a curtain. 

Your water doesn’t touch mine, we are not at the sink side-by-side. 

She doesn’t fucking know me. 

What I’ve been through. The ridicule I’ve seen.

I used to have one fucking eyebrow. OK.

Just a fallen headband of hair, right here across my forehead. I can’t even grow it back if I tried. 

That’s how many years I have been plucking, waxing, carving out my existence in this world.

Time, I’ll never get back, Never! And all the better, as I have given my life shape.

Those hairs don’t even grow anymore. I won.

So take a fucking hint, lady. You obviously don’t know the efficiency of a snot rocket.

Trying to make me feel bad. I’m 35 – without husband, no children, not a mortgage in sight…. But you know what I have.. I’ve already got a facebook account to make me self-conscious about those details, so you’ve got no shot, lady.

Also, what is wrong with people who get grossed out by humanisms. 

These people are really crazy like truly out-of-this-world crazy. 

People who say such things like “I hate feet.”

You hate feet. Those feet carry you and your bullshit around all goddam day.

What do you think of your asshole? Or my asshole? Your mouth? And teeth?

We are all disgusting – but worse than any humanism is repression.

Follow through and the true meaning of sleep

{reminder – many of these are just jokes from a long time ago, but so is everything}

I’m from New York. That doesn’t automatically make me better than you, but it could.

Maybe I’m an asshole. The shrink I started seeing says that’s okay.

That’s how our first therapy session started, anyway.

“I don’t want to be an asshole anymore.” He responded with,

“What if you just were an asshole?”   Said Goddam Said Goddam. 

 Follow Through -is what we’re working on right now. He and I.

This sort of thing is usually developed at an early age, nurtured by the family.

How about family. Who here loves their family? Aw that’s nice. I imagine it should be swell to call up Mom and Dad and be like, Hey this and that happened. Yea, what do you think about that? Do you think I should do this?


I’d be better off asking the kids selling famous amos cookies on the 2 train for advice. They’ve got more follow through than my parents. Seriously, why doesn’t Costco sponsor these kids? We could have such a better selection if we got that partnership going.

My parents wouldn’t know where to begin if they had to demonstrate follow through. 

They got me kicked out of elementary school. My own parents. 

We were using my Aunt’s address. We were out of district, see BUT this was the best school, see. Mom’s always have to have the best for their children, and why the fuck not?

But then my Aunt moved. Not like had a fire and the house burned down- moved.. No it was not sudden like that at all. It must have taken a good couple of months to process the sale of her home alone, but messy was my Parent’s way. If it’s not about them, it’s hardly important. Even having the best school -was just so that they could talk about it as a reflection of their choices. Also, the both of them were equally skilled at putting things off until…. well what was it again they were doing?…. AND slip, just like that it was out of their minds. Delusional, sure. Both of them, Pisces. Dream-like beings that have no idea about consequences as they could always beat the system.

No one would notice…. right.. well my sister and I noticed.  I had one fucking year left. One. They could have had the mail-forwarded for a year. But, no. I was ripped right out of the classroom and made to wait in the principal’s office for the hour or so it took to get my working-parents to retrieve their out-of-district-alien children.

I mean what on earth could have been the requirements for a PO box in 1994. 

Problem-solving in addition to follow through. But, that was then and forever ago. I can’t hold their stupidity against them.. I can’t even hold their stupidity.

A note to all of you: No one can save you from your family. Follow- through to a new you and save yourself. 

Anyway, back to dating. You are perfect and whole just by your damn self.. but if in the event you find a temporary attachment…Ya know, when you start sleeping (on-purpose) with the person you’ve been shtupping.

And you find out that this person doesn’t truly understand what is meant by “sleeping.” 

They who want to wrap their entire body over yours.

Or sleep on top of you, or with you on top of them.

It is at this point that I go over the rules of engagement for the overnight. 

“After I say goodnight you don’t touch me.”

Sleep. Why do you need to touch me while you are sleeping? Sleep is way more important than love. 

Let me help you visualize my message. People hardly get offended with slideshows.

Slide 1. If I don’t sleep, I’m not a good person. (P implies Q)

Slide 2. The end. 

Seriously, how are we ever going to get along if you want to grope me while I’m sleeping. Get real. I didn’t always know I was gonna be single forever but it was this next detail that made me understand just how severe my situation is.

I was talking with Nicole. You don’t know Nicole. I don’t even know Nicole.. Yet, here she was telling me how tired she was because she didn’t get much sleep… I asked her why, just to be nice. And, that was when she described her clingy husband’s sleeping habits. 


Me, the graceful dame that I am, just lowered my headband of hair and said “Why didn’t you just push him off of you?”

Nicole, timeless beauty said, “…But, he’s my husband.” 

Thanks for the clarity, Nicole. 


Sexual Harassment # 3

This one can be given the avant-garde title, Fluorescent Lights.

It’s hard being sassy. I don’t know why I choose it every time. I’m probably a glutton for punishment. It was mild sexual harassment that somehow morphed me, the victim, into the perpetrator and got me fired from Barnes & Noble. (Note: The last S isn’t there)

This guy shows up to my counter with a playboy and some black & white NY historical photo book and at the time of paying, he decides to make it rain. 

He put his hand up and just sent bill by bill into the air and watched them fall. 

Or maybe I watched them fall.. It was only a few bills but as they scattered on the counter I’m thinking .. 

Dude, I don’t know what you do with your free time or what about dollars makes you go into a rain frenzy, but look around bud, there’s fluorescent lights on in here. You are not where you think you are, also who the fuck buys titty-mags from Barnes and Noble?

You see me – I’m in a company polo AND I’m wearing a name tag! 


Did you really think ‘making it rain’ would just go unnoticed? 

Maybe he thought I wouldn’t know what he was doing? I mean I don’t imagine he’s making it rain for Jose when he buys his bacon egg and cheese at the corner store.

I didn’t pick them up. Nothing against strippers.

In the terribly uncomfortable seconds of silence, I smiled. My bad. I was thinking of Jose’s reaction when this guy says, “Let me get that BLT. wink-wink” Or at his local bar when he orders a $2 bud light and he’s got his hands up dropping one bill at a time.

Fuck that. This guy is a prick.

I laugh but this is personal, and I’m no child. Worse if I was. I pick up the bills and ask, 

“Do you always pay for things like that?”

“Like what?”  

Like what? The fuck you mean, like what? Are you not aware of what’s going on. But instead, I say, “Like you’re paying a stripper?” 

He was shocked. Him!  – The audacity I had? Right?

Please..You should have seen his open mouth shocked-white-guy, ‘No-one-talks-to-me-like-that’ face. He walks straight to customer service and finds my manager. 

I can see his arms flailing as they talk. He’s totally irate – the manager comes over.. I’m watching them walk towards me, counting out wrong change and shit. I’m sweating. He succeeded in making me uncomfortable. A little later than he hoped for, but succeeded nevertheless. Finally, my manager comes talking into her walkie-talkie. 

A walkie-talkie. Again, we sell books. This is not a nightclub. People are pretty much reading, as that is what they they came here to do. There’s not a whole fucking lot of noise pollution that any one person needs a walkie talkie. 

So, Barnes and Noble’s finest asks me to come off the register and talk to her in the back. I walk past him as he’s waiting to see that the resolution of this ordeal is to his liking. Steam is coming off of his skin and he’s got death eyes pointed my way. 

Immediately I enter one of the stranger conversations of my life.

Did you tell him that he threw money on the counter like he was paying a stripper? 

No, I asked him if he always throws his money like that?

What is ‘like that?’

Like one would throw money if they were in a strip club.

You can’t say that to a customer? 

I gave her common sense. 

He asked me to say it. No one makes it rain by accident. 

It’s not like he’s new at paying for things, or some foreigner who doesn’t know how we do things in this country. 

This is not a misunderstanding. He’s a total pervert. 

She sat back into her seat. Closed her eyes and sort of melted into her chair a bit and then stood up abruptly to say,

“He can pay you anyway he wants to. What you can’t do is accuse a customer of paying strippers?


“I didn’t accuse him of paying strippers.”


Without further delay, she used a formality to fire me.


“You can’t use the word stripper. I am going to have to ask you leave. 

And out the door I went. #georgethorogood



Sexual Harassment #2

A couple years later, I was working in produce, Natural Grocers in Colorado. Seems fairly innocuous, right? It snowed like 3 ft before I even got to work. Total bullshit. I couldn’t call out – I really wanted to. The amazing do-ers of Colorado would not find it sensible to stay home. No, they would laugh at you and your “fear” of the snow.. Anyway, It’s a brand new location for me and a new manager to meet. Yay.

 I show up wearing two pairs of leggings, leg warmers, big waterproof boots, AND a face that says go fuck yourself FOR THE WIN when I meet the manager. 

She says, “Hi, are those the only pants you have?”

“Uh.. No?”

“Can you change your pants then?”

“Oh, like right now? Yes, right now they are definitely the only pair of pants I have.
Why do I need to change my pants?”

“Do you have a longer shirt?”

“What? What’s wrong with my pants?”

“You have to have pockets in your pants. I can see your ass.”

“What’d you just say to me?”

“I can see the shape of your butt in those pants,” said slowly for my benefit because I’m the idiot.  

“You would still be able to see the shape of my butt regardless of what pants I was wearing.” I’m thinking if I should thank her… I always wanted to be home. She gave me precisely what I was looking for. 

Side note: have any of your seen this ad for pants that put your butt into position. Pants: the ones that you wear. If you – {all of you women who have lost all sense of what it means to be attractive} took your head out of your ass, you would know YOUR BUTT is attached to your fucking spine and doesn’t have any other option. Zombies. 

She says to me, “We have a company policy that you have to have pants with pockets in case someone’s looking at your ass. We’ve had sexual harassment issues before.”

Before this moment? Well, wait till they get a load of me. I quit, but naturally I didn’t stop shopping there – because if I dared not enter where my ass caused a scene, I mean. Where would I go? Anyway, one day as a patron, I’m shopping, holding some avocados and she comes to see me at check-out. Super smiley, Colorado style. Holding no grudges whatsoever and says,

“Oh hey, did you see the new bamboo-silk underwear we got in?” 

Lady, what in the world does my ass do to you? I mean, have a little self-control? Isn’t this God’s country?

Sexual Harassment #1

I’m part of the look-better-naked group. Does anyone know about this life? I promise it’s just as real as any one of your other categorical bullshit.

I’m 5’2 and it always looks like I’m wearing children’s clothing and I am. 

The perfect size leggings for these so-called legs is boys medium. 

I’ve been the same size since 5th grade. 

12 years old fully-grown. 

Do you know how sarcastic that makes a person?

 “Lucky is more like it” People want to say, rolling their eyes or worse yell at me… but that got me thinking just how un-lucky we can all be when it comes to size. 

Originally, I started dating to have more random sex. Results were less than positive. But I gave it a valiant effort. I said goodbye to the serial monogamist in me and joined the masses in spreading disease.

Psychosis, syphilis it’s all the same really.

It’s not working, the whole plan is making me rethink the word Lucky, again. 

7 Micro-Dicks later…I mean for a while there I would wince just when a man was about to get undressed. What’s it gonna be? What’s it gonna be? Please be a real boy. 

It is such a shame too. These are very nice men. I mean incredibly nice BUT that’s when you know.

If a guy is over the top nice, he’s probably got one of those head-only penises. He’s reaching because he can’t reach. 

Oh stop it. Dicks are not built equal. I’ve already had sexual harassment claims twice in this life, both claims against women.

You guys want to hear my sexual harassment stories? 

Can you please rate this story? How happy are you with this story? Would you recommend this story to a friend? You haven’t heard the entire story? Want to unlock this story? Just log in or sign up? Sorry that login attempt in incorrect. Did you forget your password? That is what my hell would be. That and videos of people applying make-up. Seriously why is that a thing?

Story begins now.

As a PT, I was in the middle of stretching someone. He was tall, like over six feet. He had mocha skin with green eyes – a beaut for sure… and a fan of playing sports that tall people excel at, which is what I like to call LIFE

Being short is a major fucking handicap BUT there’s no box for short on any of my government forms….Some people get into a relationship for sex, love, babies, etc. Me…. I just need access to the top of the cabinet. I don’t need a step stool, Steve is my step stool. 

So, my entire 5 ft what? 5 ft strong body is positioned over his stretching his piriformis. It was my job. I’m a personal trainer. We weren’t buddies and we weren’t getting weird. When the stretch was over I walked to the bathroom to wash my hands.. Normal fucking procedures. On the way, I pass my manager. 

A tall German who really had a thing for that guy. She had just gotten back from Germany. I asked how the trip was and she cuts me off and asks if she can talk to me for a moment.
“Ok. Yea.”  We walk into a closet like office. 

She then says, “I saw you stretching Chris.”
“Yea,” my face holds back a duh.  

“I saw you look at his genitalia.”

Um WTF. Ok. How did she say that with a straight face? Right she’s German.

“What did you just say to me?” I asked her.
She repeated it! Saying the unthinkable without laughter, twice. 

I mean could you imagine being so jealous that someone else is getting near the genitalia that you want, that you accuse them of looking at it and out loud…

People: He was wearing basketball shorts people over compression leggings. I mean fucking sick, bro. Sick. That was the first time I called HR. They made her apologize and a strong recommendation that she purchase a dildo. 

And your name is Lisa

About a year ago, I was searching for a job on Indeed.com

I had my resume posted so that recruiters could contact me. Normal shit. Then, this guy Steve emails me about a job, addressing me at the top of the email as Lisa.

Dear Lisa, we would like to interest you in blah blah blah…

Who the fuck is Lisa? Lisa don’t live here no more.

The job was still relevant so he wasn’t a total loser. I emailed back questions. The only thing I got back was,

“Oh I got the names mixed up.” Nothing else.

Nothing about the job. Not one answer to any of my questions. My name is in my email address. It’s the first word. Impossible to miss. Asshole. I want to know how he got hired and how much he gets paid –  from an office where apparently Metallica’s, Nothing Else Matters plays on repeat:

Guitar intro {sing the words in melody to Nothing Else Matters, please}

So close, no matter how far

couldn’t be bothered when you start

forever trusting who you are

And, your name is Lisa…

Metallica owns all rights to their music and any reference to it, directly and indirectly.

Speaking of Dating

I’m dating. Trying. To. Date.

I don’t even know how to fucking text message. How do people do this – and by this I mean wait for a response. I mean no one has prepped me. How does one prepare for this? Is there a number I can call for between-text-message anxiety?

AND FOR FUCKS SAKE How many hours can go by for this to still be considered a conversation?

But whatever, I started dating, via App.

Just one: Bumble. Do you know what this should be renamed?

Close encounters of the neurotic man.

Where the hell do these people come from? How do they live day to day? I just wanna give a shout out to two special groups.

  1. The Stand-Out-Steve, balancing ham on his face in his profile photo. I have seen more than one man, if we can call him that, with food on his face – on purpose. Awesome.

  2. Then, the way-too-many to count: Steve(s)-In-A-Sombrero. You wanted me to see that photo, really? Why?

Look I love Mexican food just as much as the next person, and I understand when it beckons you’re not always in a neighborhood you know, or maybe someone else chose the place, and let’s say by some stroke of bad luck, timing in life, and string of strange events that surround your birthday, you get shitty. You don’t even recall getting that shitty –  They maaaaade you. I know someone else put it on you. But if ALL these things happen and someone takes a picture. Your only next move is to kill that picture. You do not put it on your dating profile. 

No, I’m not a fucking racist, Steve. This has nothing to do with Mexicans.

Recently, I got an email from Bumble about Race and Equality —

You know what I say to that. I can date whomever the fuck I want without it offending you. I don’t ever want to think about a swipe to the left with a question like, “Was that fair?” “Was that racist of me?”


Y’all love that expression too, “Fair Enough.” Do you even know what you’re saying? Teachable Moment:

Fair as in just. Like justice. Just enough for what? For whom? From whose vantage point are we seeking or facing justice? It’s ok, I know you can’t answer any of these. 

So, maybe your version of “Fair Enough” means to use fair as an adjective where it suggests something is good. So, then good enough?…. Good Enough what? LIKE WHAT IN THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING?

Someone says something to you and your response is, GOOD ENOUGH. FUCK YOU!


Fucking zombies. Ya know who doesn’t get laid, zombies, that’s who.

For my dear friend who was wondering (for another friend) what the pathway was back to virginity. I hope this helps.

Enjoy yourself, to yourself.

So my office building has two elevators. You know what they do, {they: the others that work here} take both up. Packs of idiots at normal rushing times, like clocking-in time, after midday coffee time, and post lunch time – they get into the two empty elevators and then take two elevators up at the same time, why you ask?

Just because they don’t want to be crowded. Welcome to NYC. We are a civilized building though. We form a line outside the elevators but yesterday this woman cuts the line and gets in first from the back of the line, just to press 2.

I pulled the pretenders out of my ears and said, “You blast through everyone on line to be the first one in the elevator so you can go to the second floor, all that for one flight?”

“Sorry I’m in a huge rush,” she responds.

“Not my fucking problem. You didn’t see a line for the stairs did you?”

But I get it – Social cues are hard. Getting over yourself is harder. People are so fucking righteous.

If we’re in a public space and I’m willing to kill my headphone battery so that I don’t have to hear the sound of our voice or anything you’re saying, that means you’ve already received two servings of my shut-the-fuck-up face, and I’m just not sure what you’re missing, or how. I have the read receipts.

The original read receipt. You looked at me and saw I was already looking at you and then I rolled my eyes. Is there a pill for that level of confidence that you have. The rest of us could or would be so inclined. How many do you have on you right now? We need this. We need to catch up.

For Fucks Sake, talking is not the same as having something to say.

Can we just discuss the art of silence, for a moment. Brief of course.

Whether it’s rock climbing, whiskey, your last bowel movement. Whatever the case may be, I don’t give a flying fuck about how much you love it. No one really does. What’s important is that you love it. All of it.

We are all climbing some rock. We are all just scratching at the surface of living and even this feels like it’s slipping away sometimes. You have the permission to totally and unapologetically enjoy yourself TO YOURSELF. So do it.

4/5/6 – Green line, any time of day.

Call me mean but why doesn’t everyone love brushing their teeth?

Like what ideas do you have to have about teeth that you think they don’t deserve to be brushed? You think you can just live and not brush your teeth? No. That’s fucking gross.

If you’re an adult and I have to tell you to blow your nose.                  Don’t make me tell you to blow your nose. Why would you do this?          It is mortifying for both of us. Fuck.

I’ll usually just hand off a box of tissues, but sometimes they say no. They shake me off, like they’re ok. You are not ok. You are dead behind the eyes and need me to tell you to do this very simple thing. I’ll do it. I will be the one to show you the way, and when I do.

You do not make me say it twice. Also, you’re doing life wrong. All of it, all wrong.

How do I live my best life – insulting everyone around me. The homeless, the depraved, the talented, the filthy. The guy holding his calculator staring at it like it’s his phone. Fucking casio, people. That’s real life screen addition. I know I’m a total asshole, but I took eight photos of this guy. Holding his calculator. I imagined him writing boobless because that seemed harmless at first, but no it didn’t end there. He kept checking it every ten seconds… and I improvised his internal dialogue:

“What’d she say?” “What’d she say?”

Even staring at it for some time. “Fuck..She blocked me.”

Look, I’m not proud. But it’s because I am at this lower than low. I can be honest with you, right? It doesn’t get much worse than this so I feel I have a responsibility to be honest with you – a guiding glow if you will, the light at the end of the tunnel you don’t have to go down.

Just when you’re ready to be the worst person you can think of, I show up and say in a soft whisper, “Are you sure?”

“Are you sure you want to hit this old man in the train because he hit your backpack?”

“No. Good. Shut the fuck up. Sit down like the rest of us. No one actually wants to be on the train, so get the fuck over yourself.”


Being Petty

I wish there was a superhero made from recyclable material that could clean up all these petty little shits I can’t seem to take out from my act. Some name like Plastic Bag Man 5.

We’re working the Saga Backwards, eventually we’ll go all the way back to when he was Paper Bag Man, but now as Paper is limited and not truly sustainable he’s just made from recycled poop bags of all different colors. This will help as the shit is collecting onto itself like clay. And across his chest is some mishmash of fairway or Shoprite from bags that found their way in the mix – perhaps a social project that pulled them out of trees.

Some people say that a gemini moon makes for a petty person. Yea. I have one of those. But, don’t blame it on the moon. I take full responsibility and now I will begin my unravelling:

(This was written some time ago- I don’t live in US anymore so of course I am insured)

So, I don’t have insurance anymore.

That’s why I’m here. Not a joke. I’ll take whatever you got really…anything.

You got it. I’ll take it. I don’t have a syllabus but I have a lesson, that I can’t seem to learn. So I brought it here for you. We all have one. Don’t act like you’ve got it all figured out.

“I’m vegan”

“My beer is only 40 calories”

“I started this cleanse.”


Don’t even bother clapping. My problems do not need encouragement.

So this lesson, it has to do with my mouth. I know that much. What goes in and what comes out? Other people’s feelings are definitely included in this lesson.

But it’s other people’s feelings about my feelings. It’s kind of where the two meet. The overlap of a Venn diagram. In the end, I always end it – with, “I don’t give a fuck,” but that’s reductive. It’s also misunderstood.

It DOES NOT mean, I don’t give a fuck about you. See that’s your problem. Projectionist. Gas-lighter. I need to clarify: Not giving a fuck is very different from not giving a shit. 

People who don’t give a shit have no sense of themselves. They’ve no courtesy, kindness, respect, nothing. They just don’t give a shit.

They are: People who don’t look at the paper when they’re done wiping their ass. Game over people.

On the other hand, Not-Giving-a-Fuck peeps are living their best life.


Not giving a shit is that troll standing in the doorway of the woman’s bathroom looking in, like there’s anything in there for him. Or, that bitch standing at the entrance of the train car with her back facing the platform. You have to get on, but you can’t even look at her to tell her to back up. She hasn’t moved to the side or turned her body. She’s ruining everything – everyday – an doing it behind her own back. That     – ALL OF THAT –               is, “I don’t give a shyyyyyttt”

The Don’t-Give-A-Fuck, Live-My-Best-Life-People pushes that bitch, hard. They don’t give a fuck about how stupid you are or I am, and it’s all of us, we’re all fucking dumb. Nope, nope, nope. They don’t give a fuck. Leading by example is their only option. In that moment, they push humans forward. They’re sufferers. Suffering for our sins.

Jesus-like – but without the grace. But when you’re a champion of humanity you don’t need grace. The situation does not call for grace. And I gotta big problem people.

Apparently, I’m that guy.

Not only is it exhausting but it turns out, no one likes me.

I gotta be fucking moron to continue. And I do.

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