. . .human editors are important:
. . .human editors are important:
I was watching the movie, Milk and saw this credit:
Brian Yates Sharber – Gay Man
How could they pick him out?
I visited a friend in the hospital. Nothing serious but I get there and he’s whining,
“I don’t know if I can go on living.”
It’s just a broken clavicle you fucking pussy. Alright, he’s feeling bad. I’ll give up a human moment and shore him up a little.
Okay, enough. You’re getting out tomorrow. Stop the fucking whining. I doubt anyone’s ever died from a broken clavicle. But, from his lack of will to live, you’d think it was a telethon worthy killer.
“I just don’t think I can go on.” He says again.
So I lean over to the next bed, grab a pillow, stand up while fluffing the pillow, then lean in placing the pillow near his face.
“Okay. This’ll only take a minute.”
He freaks out.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
I toss the pillow on the other bed.
“Your will to live’s back. Guess I cured ya.”
I see a customer with his family at a restaurant. The next day he comes into work. He’s telling me he’s late with payments because he’s been out of the country for the three months.
“As a matter of fact, I’m coming here directly from the airport.”
Hmmmm. Okay, this seems like a lie. Maybe he thinks that’ll be more dramatic. You know how people sometimes say they just got back for days after a trip? Maybe he’s one of those.
“Really?” I ask. “How long have you been back?”
He looks at his watch.
“Less than an hour. I was in Germany for three months.”
“Really?” I don’t doubt myself. I know I saw him, in America, the night before. “Where were you? Friends of mine live in Fuckinglair.”
“No, I ah, didn’t get there. I was mainly in Dusseldorf.”
“You must have been there. Fuckingliar’s right between Dusseldorf and Assenholen.”
“Ah, well, I did do some drinking there so, you never know.”
“Trust me, I know.”
It’s not often I spend the evening with someone who hates me. As far as I know. But this night I know I was in the presence of someone who hated me on sight.
The evening didn’t start like that. I was visited by two friends from the music days. They were passing through town. It was nice to see them and, for some reason, maybe it’s because I hadn’t seen them in a long time, maybe because they’re the ones who usually do the entertaining, but, I started telling a story and just kept going.
We were having fun. We were having laughs. I must have been saving up for this occasion because, about half hour later, I was already planning my next half hour.
Then the door bell rang. It was a friend I’d made plans with and his new girlfriend.
“Get me a beer.” He said upon entering.
“You know where the fridge is, ass ear.” He hates that. He has very fleshy ears. “Get all of us one.”
I’m quickly introduced to his new girlfriend as he walked to the kitchen. I shook her hand and went back to my set.
Although my friends were still enjoying themselves they couldn’t help but notice the distinct air of distaste the new person was having for me and my jokes.
Her date comes back, hands us beers, and I finish my story. I know I’m not going to keep going after this story. The mood is beginning to change.
Now I have three people laughing and one person staring wide-eyed. I’d been told to be on my best behavior because she wasn’t used to people like me and this was her first trip to the big city.
She’d only been to Boston once. On a school trip. She’d spent her entire life in some podunk New Hampshire town. Now why in hell, with all the people he knows down here, would he choose me to hang out with? I’ve never said I had bright friends.
I finished my story, my friends finished their beers and started to leave. One of them asked if I really was going out with those two. Sadly, I said I’d promised. They wished me luck and reminded me not to work blue.
“I’m not going to work at all. I think I talked enough for the evening.”
When they exit we chat with for a while. He’s catching me up on his doings. He tells me about her. All the while she sits there staring straight ahead with her arms crossed.
I tell them we should get a move on. We get in the car and she starts to ask me questions.
“Do you always swear so much?”
“Are those typical stories that you tell?”
“Do you really think those were funny stories?”
And those were the non-insulting questions.
I ‘good behavior’ her but I catch my friends eye in the rear view mirror and he knows I’m going to sticking a can of whoop up his ass in the very near future.
I want to fly under the radar now. Get in, get out. I have to use all my effort to not start ripping this horse-faced, sputtering, hayseed’s nose off and shove up her ass so she could, indeed, sniff that her shit also stinks.
Get in, get out. That’s all I’m looking for. And wouldn’t you know it? It’s this night where I run into everyfuckingone I’ve ever met. Hockey buddies, a tennis student, a musican, friends, neighbors, strangers who were sucked into my vortex. Every few minutes someone would stop by or wave.
“Does everyone know you?”
“Just the cool people.”
“I guess I’m not cool.”
“You’re not even lukewarm.” See? Proof I was on good behavior. My first thought was, “Don’t underestimate yourself. I heard you’re frigid.”
We finish eating and leave.
“Let’s go here!” My friend offers a club we used to go to.
Before they go back to the land of pig fuckers, he wants to show her a real big city night club.
“Well,” I think. “At least it’ll be loud and I won’t have to listen to her.” Always look on the bright side of life!
We get to the club and there’s a line and a cover. I go up to the doorman and he lets us in. I’ve known him for years.
“We’re not supposed to do that. It’s rude.”
“Then stay outside.” I say walking up to the bar where, of course, there’s a bartender I know who runs around to give me a big hug and kiss.
She orders us a round on the house and my friends date is appalled.
“How can all these people like you?”
“Because they know I don’t usually associate myself with tight-assed, fuck wads. Tonight’s just a special occasion.”
She is appalled! She is incensed! She’s about to say something else but I hold up my hand,
“Shut the fuck up, bitch. I’ve been listening to your backwoods bitching all night long and I’m fucking done.”
“Hey, Chris. . .” Her boyfriend begins. Just as quickly he rethought his decision.
“Good to see you haven’t gone all backwoods retard yet, chumbrain.” The bartender hands me the drinks. I hold one out to her. She takes it. “Enjoy your drink. Just remember to keep your mouth shut because if you say one more insulting thing I’ll tear you from your Payless knock off shoes to your Nutrasweet addled brain.”
It was amusing to watch her fade behind her boyfriend who was looking anywhere but in my general direction.
I hold my beer aloft.
“Here’s to you two!” They turn slowly towards me. “I hope you never have kids because once it found out you were it’s parents it would become the first in vitro suicide.”
The rest of the evening was perfect because no one, other than friends, spoke to me.
That’s not exactly true. When I got out of the car she rolled down the window and called me an asshole.
“That may be true but I’m not stupid enough to be fucking someone with genital herpes.”
He doesn’t (to the best of my knowledge) but I bet they had an interesting conversation all the way home.
TB has Music Monday so I guess today’s Song Sunday.
“Dude,” says the old hippie. “Music was so much better in my day.”
You gotta love kids songs about a cataclysmic event.
“The ice caps are melting, ho ho ho ho ho ho, all the world is drowning, ho ho ho ho ho ho!”
“Is this Pakky’s liquors?”
“Do you deliver?”
“Did you ever deliver?”
“What time do you close?”
“Isn’t that early for a liquor store?”
“Then why do you do it?”
“Because we’re not a liquor store.”
There was a pause.
“Did I dial the wrong number?”
End of conversation.
Thirty seconds later phone rings.
“Is this Pakky’s?”
“Do you deliver?”
“Good. The other guy said you didn’t.”
“He must be new. What would you like?”
She gives me the order.
“That’ll be $64.75 and it has to be paid in cash.”
“And the order can only be given to someone with a valid state ID.”
“Yeah, okay, yeah.”
“What’s the address?”
“Seventeen Cleveland street. How long will it take?”
“About half an hour. But if we’re late let me give you the number of our direct delivery line so you can complain.”
“Do you have a pen?”
“Let me get one.”
She goes away for a moment. I can hear 3-4 voices in the background. She comes back.
“6 1 7 5 5 5 7 1 7 1.”
“6 1 7 5 5 5 7 1 7 1.”
“Great. Make sure to call if he’s not there in half an hour. We’ve been having trouble with our delivery guy lately. They may give you a coupon or something to make up for it.”
Are you wondering what number I gave her to complain?
Business line for the local police.
Whatever you are, be that. Don’t make excuses. It is what it is. Don’t blame something else. You are what you are. If there’s something about yourself you’d like to fix, like my pals over at No Butts About It, then gawdspeed. But, until you’ve started moving toward gawdspeed, no excuses.
That may seem a harsh bunch of words and you’re right, but, if all you do is bitch about something yet do nothing to fix it, I get a little tired of hearing the same song.
There was a, to quote the great comedian Gabriel Iglesias, fluffy woman yelling while standing in front of me. She was ranting, not for the first time with me, that she couldn’t control her weight due to a thyroid problem. The irony that she was doing this while chomping on some chocolate frosted cake thing was not lost on me.
I knew she wasn’t in the mood to have me do the old Kevin Meaney about just wanting to get a really big tan so I just stood there as she ranted herself red in the face while alternating bites of her tasty snack.
I didn’t know what I was more concerned about. Her ranting so hard something internally popped or how in the world I was going to heimlich her if need be.
I knew I had to say something, even just to distract her. But I really also thought she should seek someone more qualified to speak to so said,
“If that’s true, you really should see someone because you’ve got a serious case of thyroid rage going on.”