Suckage

Today sucked.  There, I said it.   But really, it sucked a lot.   I woke up and immediately knew things were not gonna go well.  Before I went to bed I broke my kitchen light ON.  Like, the pull string snapped and now it is permanently ON.  So the morning was spent waiting for an electrician.  Finally, I grew impatient so I went to the library.  Nothing terrible occurred on my way there, but walking through the Botanic Garden on my way back was when I heard that a certain "something" was ending.  Via text message.   DOUCHENOZZLEDOM!

By the time I got home Farrah Fawcett had died.  I tried to doze and watched Chaplin.  A real pick me up.  Talk about tears of a fucking clown.  Yeesh!  That guy's life sucked.

 I cooked collard greens.

And then Michael Jackson died.

Not the best Thursday...no....

Two Tickets, Please!

and pack your bags tonight.

MTA rates have increased and nobody is happy about it.  I recommend they try to keep up with the competition when it comes to destinations.

The Stick

There are times when I really wonder about life, the whys and whatfors,  and from time to time the cosmic and nihilistic "what is the point of it all?!" crosses my mind.  During these times I rarely come to any great conclusion, but I usually think it is to create.  Whether it be for the good of mankind and progress, or simply for the grandeur of mankind.   Be it art or science, human beings need to thrive for the next best thing.  I think we can all be thankful for penicillin, modern laser surgery, and developments in cancer research.  Many can praise those who have made advancements in the realms of vision and hearing, some dole out accolades to the scientists who have brought us viagra and silicone implants.  I am thrilled to be writing this from my kitchen table while I boil eggs (this recipe is killer).  However, a new item has come into my life which has altered my existence instantaneously, and I have no idea how to thank the creator enough.  Ladies and Germs, I introduce you to the Dirt Devil StickVac.

If you live in a city apartment smaller than 800 square feet with hard wood floors, area rugs and lots of pre-war molding, this is the must have item of the season.  Make that year.  It is 4 pounds of plugged in power.  Not only can it cover rugs and bare floors, but it converts to a stick for the hard to reach crevices that some half rate contractor figured would just fill in with grime.  THEN, it can be a hand vac, which is great for small dark corners and terrifying your cat when he is trying to eat.

All this action for less than 25 bucklngs.  I had my doubts, but they were sucked up and chucked away along with the large grey wig I managed to collect in the bagless canister.  Life altering, my friends.  Life altering.

A little bit ironic...

Among the many fantastic experiences of my German wine tour was the opportunity to visit a giant bath house. The town where I stayed was a bit rough around the edges, but the BÄDERHAUS was a veritable oasis. Multiple saunas at varying temperatures and levels of humidity surround a large pool where people can just bob around and soak in the relaxing vibe. Ideal, right? But for me the record scratches at "co-ed" and "nude". I admit I am an outgoing person in most ways, but I am exceptionally shy, and the thought of lounging (and sweating) next to droves of German men did not appeal to me. Lying the in the Turkish Hamam room, I talked myself down and realized that a number of things were on my side

1) I will never see any of these people again
2) Most of these people are older-by about 30 years
3) None of these men are really attractive really, so who cares?

By the second visit I was confident that I was invisible and thought nothing of tossing off my bathrobe and running into the Ice Grotto (basically a giant Snoopy Sno-Cone machine made to look like a cave with ice shavings. Quite incredible after baking in the 90 degree Celsius dry tank). In fact, there were a few times when I thought that the robe was just a pain in the ass, and I would just wear it like a cape to the next station on my circuit. Like a boxer stepping into the ring if a boxer wore white waffled cotton robes.

So increased was my comfort in this situation, that when sitting in the whirlpool, I actually beckoned the tall young male employee in little white short shorts over to ask when the whirling would begin again. I was in the pool with my travel partner looking up at the bespectacled German youth who was quite animatedly explaining the schedule, when suddenly I realized with horror that he was actually quite handsome. Looking up into his aquamarine eyes (they could have been grey, but simply reflecting the blue of the unwhirling water I was in), I took in his perfect features-tan toned arms, smooth skin marred only by a small wispy moustache that was the same sunshiney blonde of his hair. Had I not just emerged from the lavender room (60 degrees Celsius) he would have surely seen me blush. It was the most vulnerable I had felt in at least a decade, and it was not fun. Luckily, seconds after this happened, the water started to roil and froth and we joked and laughed and he walked away so I could slowly dunk my head under the water and scream.