Tag Archives: strange

5 ways to spend your last night on earth

According to the Mayan calendar, tonight is your last night on Earth! That’s it! I’m pretty sure that I am just going to wake up tomorrow to another failed apocalypse that I’ve gotten my hopes up for.  Just like the pile of failed relationships, so many disappointments. I mean, I stock piled water, canned food for Y2K and for what! Nothing! That’s right! Nothing. But I’ll take any excuse to make poor decisions and blame them on something else. “Make out? Sure! The world’s ending tomorrow!” Pry yourself from Facebook and Twitter and take a look at the 5 ways you could spend your last night on earth.

1. Watching all of Arrested Development. You only have one more night to try to get all those inside jokes! Do you really want to die not understanding “Luchos de Muchachos?”

2. Out a bar. If you’ve only got one more night on earth, tonights the night to have filthy bar sex. Tragedy makes women wet, I thought men figured that out already.

3. Looting! If this is it, then you deserve that Louis Vuitton flat screen TV validation you’ve always craved.

4. Call your mom. No seriously. Call your mom. She brought you into this world and her disappointment should usher you out of it.

5. Praying that the Mayans got it wrong and you get to live another day regretting the poor choices you made the night before after having one too many shots of Jameson.

BONUS number 6. Listening to Fleetwood Mac. Hands down some of the best music to go out to.

Don’t fuck around. If this is it, the last night on earth, call some one you love and make sure you fully put your foot in your mouth. It’s exactly what I am going to be doing.

what does your captcha say about you


on things i blurt out first thing in the morning

I find waking up an insufferable occasion not unlike submitting to sex for a prissy Victorian lady. I have a strategy to deal with it. I just let loose with what ever profanity, nonsense or vitriol that comes up to the top of my brain out of my mouth. Makes no one but me feel better and that, really, is all that I need.

A few choice phrases and conversation snippets I’ve said over the past few weeks:

  • Waking up following the cat’s 4:30am wake up call. CAT: cagh, cagh, cagh PUKE. ME (after hitting snooze for the third time): This is total bullshit.
  • ME: How you can wake up so early so effortlessly? THE MAN: I just don’t force it. ME: Oh, there are plenty of things you should force, like pooping and relationships on people. Waking up is not one of those things.
  • ME: You know a much better way to wake up would be without an alarm and with a boner in my lower back. THE MAN: giggles
  • ME: Fuck you cats! CATS: Fuck you! Feed us!

All told, fuck mornings. Stumble, stumble, drool.

on hoping your fear doesn’t eat you alive

I think that you know what this image is. I haven’t yet got to deleting the account yet. I want to really savor that action. I want to relish finally being able to rid myself of the worry of what color my light is and what that says about me to total strangers that I care fuck all for. But that, that would take courage and trust in amount that I still need to tap my reserves for.

Let’s be clear. I am getting there. And I am thoroughly in like. And I am trying this new thing, what I like to call brutal honesty with myself and by default, that means the other person. So, get ready folks. There might be actual feelings going on.

a formal feeling comes

A better excuse never came

Now. There’s been some space. My fear has subsided, my guilt is transformed into anger and that anger dissipated into disappointment.

A man followed me into my apartment vestibule early Sunday morning. The front door had been broken and hadn’t been locking properly for months. It works now, but that makes no difference because you can’t change the future. He could have done so much worse than grab me, take my phone and all of my money. Only about $120 dollars. Coming home from a night out, he’s lucky I even had that.

I called the police from an old cell phone. This all sounds so collected now, but at the time, I almost didn’t know what was going on. The 911 operator stayed on the phone with me until I was with the police. They then put me in the back of the squad car, still in my party dress and heels, clutching this busted cell phone with out of date of numbers and my house keys.

A flock of police had descended onto my neighborhood detaining every young looking black man that was out on the street at sometime between 3:30am and 4am. The drove me around and had me look at the men that they had detained. None of them were the man that had robbed me. It was after the second man, that I finally started crying in the back of the car.

They put me in another car, unmarked, and we went around and looked a two or three more men. Still none of them were the man. I felt so guilty that these men had done nothing wrong, other than be the wrong color out on the street at the wrong time. I felt guilty and responsible and horrified and terrified.

At the precinct on Elizabeth street, one of the oldest in the city, I sat in a dingy room with a man filing reports and intermittently falling asleep with loud snores waiting to fill out the police report. I called every number that might be viable in my phone, but no one picked up. I talked to two cops and then a detective. I looked at mug shots until my head was aching, the sun was coming up and the faces all looked the same.

They brought me home and let me stand on the side walk, shivering in that stupid dress while the evidence technician took finger prints. I did not need to be standing there for that. I went upstairs finally to make some eggs with spinach. I fell into an uneasy sleep that only lasted about 3 hours. It was riddled with random dreams, irrationalities and anxieties. I was lucky to have a friend to stay with me that night. A presence that was just so welcome and such a distraction. It was so important.

The next day, Manhattan looked so much better from the outside looking at her from Liberty Island.