I'm coming for dinner...

So yesterday my girlfriend, my cousin and my little niece who is four went over to my parents' house for dinner. My little niece inspired me to behave badly. From here on out I will go to my friend's houses and re-enact her behavior exactly. I will mimic her every word verbatim and as closely as I can her movements and behavior. I will give you an example. Imagine I'm coming over to your house later this evening. This is what will happen:

To start off with I will arrive at your house and refuse to get out of the car because I am unhappy with my outfit. After you come outside and cajole me into the house with promises of cats and dogs, I will reluctantly come in. Did I mention I will be wearing a large red Paula Abdul shirt and that's it? Well that is what I will be wearing. It won’t matter what I will be wearing though because I will remove every article of clothing I have on post haste as soon as I step through the front door. Then what will I do, you ask? I will scour your house until I find an African drum. Then I will drag it into the kitchen and bang on it while doing stretches on the floor.

Then it's time for dinner. It looks good. Did you spend half a day making it? It doesn’t matter. Because all I'm really going to eat is the ice cream that goes with the dessert. I will be polite and mention many times how much I like the ice cream.

Oh, it's time for me to go in your hot tub now. Never mind that you are still eating. You need to show me how to use it now. It will be nice and I will tell you that. I will also need some toys to play with. When you find me a rubber ducky I will be happy. Then I will pick it up in both hands and scream at it “ Enough lies!” and throw it against the wall. 

After I'm done I will want some more ice cream. Be prepared for that.

An artist

Yesterday I made a claim to my girlfriend that I had never been fired. I don't know what I was thinking to have said this. It got me thinking. What was the most ridiculous thing I ever did to get fired?

Well, this is what happened. When I was in high school my friend Jimmy and I worked as sandwich artists at a Subway. This place was worse than normal Subways. This one was in a gas station. The gas station, like so many, had a walk in freezer and cooler. People would stop, get gas and pick up a quart of milk. Of course I couldn't resist messing with these people, so my friend and I would remove all of the milk and I would crawl in and make crazy eyes until some lady would eventually scream. Sometimes we would speed that process up by reaching out at them or even in rare cases by chasing them. One day we were doing this and this cop named John came in. Well, for whatever reason John felt it necessary to tell our boss. The next day we were called back to his office and forced to listen to him preach about proper conduct or some such nonsense. He played us back video from the surveillance camera and, honestly, it was just awesome. It was really funny stuff! Of course Jimmy and I started to laugh, and of course we were fired. Whatever. Everyone loved it! I feel like the manager and maybe John the cop were the only people who didn't love it. There were even a few occasions when people would go out to the car to get their kids so we could prank them.

Gym and junk

So, I'm going to write about the gym. Let's start with the guy who doesn't even go to the gym to work out. He just goes to the gym to prance around naked near the sauna. And stare at his monstrous penis in the mirror. I see him at the gym nearly every day. He is in good shape. I don't know how--? Because I've never seen him go past the towel rack. I have never seen him even pick up a towel for that matter. I have seen him in the parking lot having some heated discussion on his phone in his perfect black BMW. I imagine he is lying to his wife or firing someone. I'll tell you one thing, if he says to anyone "I'm going to go workout,"  it's a lie. He is just going to the gym to peacock his penis around. It's like therapy for him, I think. Whenever he is around everyone wears towels. Then all the other guys, because they feel emasculated, go to the showers and try to give themselves subtle semi-erections in the hopes that their penises will look bigger. The problem is that some of these guys get carried away. And an appropriate amount of semi is very important. Sometimes when that guy is around all the others come back from the showers with red dicks and what could only be described as erections. Now, you might be thinking, "that is a super gay gym!" You might also be thinking, "something similar happens at my gym." Or you might think, "guys are so weird."

Another thing about the gym: why are there always guys talking? The other day. There were two old guys talking. One guy was like "time is money." The other guy parroted him in a call and response manner. "Time is money," said the lead, then the second guy would say, "Time is money." And they would repeat their idiotic mantra over and over again until the first guy broke the pattern by yelling, "I'm the Cookie Monster." And they both started laughing. Now either those guys were laughing about some inside joke they were both in on or they were both borderline retarded people and the first guy actually thought he was the Cookie Monster, which is just stupid, because the guy who was making those claims was bald and lumbering. The Cookie Monster has a clearly defined widow's peak and is a puppet.

Downton Abbey

A friend of mine recently suggested I watch Downton Abbey. I did. And now I am presented with a  choice. A hard choice.

Do I continue to watch the series and slowly let my balls atrophy? Do I drown myself in the drama of this river of estrogen and gossip? Do I continue to watch this magical marvel and become acceptant of a world where I slowly develop mammary glands, drink tea and talk like an asshole? Will I slowly give up the fight and succumb to the romantic undertow of this heavenly stream? If I am honest with myself...yes.

I already drink tea like I'm in some sort of tea drinking contest. I have always talked like a pretentious asshole. The addition of boobs and the loss of my balls I think would be a fair price to pay for this rare jewel of entertainment. Is art in its perfect form worthy of the sacrifice it asks of me? Yes, I think it is. I will watch Downton Abbey.

I have told this story before...but I painted this picture called "Beach Cat" that I wanted to use so I will tell it again.

Once years ago I went with my friend Adrian to music class. I liked going because Adrian's music teacher had a huge cat named Ducky. To illustrate just how big Ducky was, I guess I would say he was the size of a Great Dane if a Great Dane ate something really fat like a hundred times over. This cat's name was Ducky because he couldn't even meow. He could manage a quack if his body was positioned just right. Hence the name Ducky. If Ducky had been human, he would have been one of those people who needs to be cut out of his bedroom by firemen.

He was a wonderful cat. The music teacher kept him on a diet, but I believe his problem was glandular. This particular day I went over and played with Ducky while Adrian had his music lesson. Midway through his lesson Adrian needed to go out to his car to get some sheet music. While he was out there he slammed his finger in the car door. He came back into the house acting like nothing had happened. He calmly talked to his music teacher and and acted perfectly cool. All of the sudden, he turned white and fainted. In my mind he appeared to fall slowly, dropping his sheet music and vaulting headlong into the couch that Ducky occupied. I remember being really worried about Ducky at first. Then, like a flash, I was worried about Adrian. What was going on? As it turned out, it was nothing. Adrian was just being a little bit of a puss because he hurt his finger. The good news was that Ducky got some exercise that day. I actually saw him run.

Tall girls and fruit

When I was twenty-four I dated a girl Lisa, who I truly loved. She was in fact a bitch to me, but at the time I didn't see it. Anyway, eventually Lisa broke up with me and I was as devastated as a boy could get. I resorted to only eating watermelons and mangos in the shower (which is awesome by the way). This saved time and allowed me more time to mope around. I couldn't be bothered to cook. I just wanted write letters to her, compose songs, and steep in the glory of my own magnificent sorrow. 

A few days later Lisa called me. She wanted to say goodbye in a better way, because she was moving to New York. She asked if I would meet her for a drink. I was so happy! Yes, I would meet her for a drink. Later in the evening I walked down to the bar where she wanted to meet. We met. We talked. It was nice and cathartic, until my friend Wes showed up. 

Lisa and Wes were getting along swimmingly well. So well, in fact, that I felt the need to extricate myself from the situation. I walked to another bar and drank way too much. Around 2am I started to walk home. I was in front of a stone church when my phone rang. It was Lisa. I was eager to hear her voice. On the other end I heard her and Wes mid-coitus. It had been a pocket dial. The most untimely pocket dial in the history of cellular phones. My body literally turned to a liquid and I melted into the bushes. Sporadically I remember strangers checking on me, walking by and pondering this well-dressed kid in the bushes crying and writhing around. I stayed there being cradled by those bushes until the sun came up and there was just too much foot traffic to make suffering publicly a reasonable option for me.

Story of the real wooden pig

So about seven years ago I was in the Philippines with my sweet and wonderful girlfriend at the time, Rosie. We had flown to this sliver of an island with an opalescent coastline. The island, besides being beautiful, also had what was considered to be the best restaraunt in the Philippines. We had been there about two days when I said, "Tonight, I'm taking you to the nicest restaurant in the country. Wear your fanciest dress." Now in any other country in the world I would not have said that to Rosie, because she took her dressing up dead seriously. But I thought: we are here in the middle of nowhere, right next to Borneo, she doesn't have access to her wardrobe or her hair devices, she will dress down. Oops. Apparently she had packed a beautiful yellow gown in case they moved the Academy Awards to the Philippines that night and Rosie was asked to present. Her hair and make up were perfect. She was prepared. 

When it was time to go, we walked out our hotel doors and everyone was dumbstruck by her beauty. I tried getting a motorcycle taxi, but there were none. So we decided to walk...through a what I can only describe as a trash slum. I could feel Rosie wedging her body up next to mine as if she wanted to hide in me. The attention she garnered at first quickly turned into something scary. Little men with no teeth and no shirts started to jeer and holler at her. She started to cry on my neck. I never showed it, but I was afraid there too for a little while. We got to the restaurant on time and it really was amazing. After dinner we strolled outside. This time I was getting us a taxi. Next to the restaurant was a little shop that sold wood carvings. I bought her some little boats. She bought me a wooden pig.