|This is what my job is going to be, are you as excited as I am? Don't be.|
Line of the week: "the ugly guys kept acting all queer" -a fellow "student's" example of what NOT to write in an cultural anthropology participant observation ethnography paper
An important announcement (Although not one that justifies any kind of exclamation marks or words in all caps): I'm going to try stories...and some other stuff. That's all.
I was at work last Tuesday being a "bartender" and whatnot, when something not-not-worth talking about occurred. Keep in mind that this already took place, so this is just like reading a brand new history text book written by a nerd/comedian/linguistic enthusiast instead of boring white people...you know white people, they're so boring, with all their money, power and generally greater affluence. "Poo on them" is what I say, whenever I'm at a restaurant that serves lemonade with free refills. Anyways, back to the event. I'm working at the bar and out of my left peripheral vision, I see something dark and potentially intriguing walking towards the front of the glass doors between the bar and the parking lot.
I look away to clean a glass like they do in cowboy movies, and look out to see this black shemale that looked a lot like the black alien guy from Star Trek (I don't care, so don't tell me). He/she was about 5'5", with a fivehead that lit up underneath the 1960s lights outside the building and had calves protruding from the back of his/her figure more than his/her ass...though not as much as those mammoth thighs that could kill an MMA child-support-avoider...err, "fighter."
After waving at me and me giving the standard fake-smile, he/she motions through the glass if he/she can come inside with his/her cigarette and I give him/her this look like "Umm, did you not read the City of Houston Smoking Ordinance from September 1st 2007?" and he/she's like "Ok, I'll finish this up." Now my comedian mind kicks in with the standard narcissism "This bitch is going to say some weird shit, but he/she doesn't know I've heard jokes about rape since I was in middle school. Bring it person whom I could smugly defeat in a spelling bee." He/She walks in and says "You look like you want to get your dick sucked when you get off work." (But much "blacker", I couldn't find any Ebonix Language Support in Microsoft Word)
I immediately replied with "Oh, thank you so much, but I just got two of them recently so I'm good. I appreciate it though. To be frank, I'm kind of up to my shoulders in blowjobs." However, as I was saying that, two thoughts immediately hugged my mind-grapes in reaction to what she had said. 1)....Ummm, is that what you got from all that? Because those were not the non-verbal messages I was intending to send, at all...in this interpersonal communication." 2) Are we talking about this going down, for free?...or are you looking for money? Because I m not paying for a gay blowjob. If it's free and it gets out, I can tell people I was blowjob raped. Which, I think we can all agree, is the worst possible rape of all. As in THE WORST. Out of all the rapes that could happen to you, and there are many, I can't think of a single kind, aside from the one that I'm talking about, that can even be compared with the horrific and unparalleled disgust...of a blowjob rape. Oh look...
The shemal and I end up talking, since my girlfriend denied my application to receive a blowjob at no cost to her...she never lets me do anything! He/she tells me that he/she had just caught his/her, I assume gay, boyfriend of three years with another woman in a bed and home that he/she "dances 5 days of out the week for." I'm a human being in a relationship of three monthsish. I want to help. I do what I would do in any situation like this and ask myself: What would Liz Lemon do? In true fashion to the lifestyle I've chosen for myself, at the assured yet necessary disappointment of my parents, I reply with "Three years and he cheated on you? In your bed that you pay for in the home you pay for? If that was me, that'd be a DEALBREAKER."
He/she sees the computer screen where I place orders and create contextual-based comically-named tables and asks if he/she could order something on the screen and if it would tell the kitchen to make it. I tell him/her that I could, but there's no way he/she's getting back here, and yes, all food orders go to the kitchen, liquor orders come to the bar and good luck getting a soft drink on a weekday. I turn around to make some drinks and as I look up to see what he/she's up to, two cops come in and begin asking him/her if they can talk. He/She starts protesting and they take him/her around to the side of the building to question him/her. Naturally, this takes two-and-a-half hours and with a total of FOUR different cops, because getting four identical cops would be absolutely stupid. In the end (i.e. When my food arrived), they take him/her away and as the cop leaves, he answers the only question I cared to ask: They booked her as a male.
I'm so used to being on top of replacing condoms that when I forget, I literally have to deal with stuff falling out of my wallet until I buy more. I'm unsure as to whether this is funny or weird, but it's a fact I have to live with that I don't really know what to do with. It's taking up space in my brain and something tells me that such a space could be filled with something better suited to my future, like how to most effectively bring back the word jabroni, something I've been attempting to do for almost four months now. I suppose I would be fine with how to stop writing so many fucking run-on sentences...
A friend asked me if I ever wake up to crusty hands, referring to nocturnal emissions all over your sleepy hands. I said no, because in my dreams, I actually fuck people. Not masterbate to them...in a DREAM. How sad of a life do you need to have to where even in your dreams, you can't get laid.
Whenever I'm at work and see a server close out a tab, only to receive a declined credit card slip, my favorite thing to do is to quickly jump facing them and in the most childish sing-songy way, tease them with "Ha ha! Your customers are po-or. Your customers are po-or. You're customers hit their kids because that's what they grew up with. Your customers prefer to spend money on over-priced food and a movie than be responsibly adults. Your customers don't read." The song is still being built, maybe a beta will be available soon, but that's not true.
I'm transferring to Texas State in San Marcos, TX next semester because I've definitely made the right decisions in life. A friend of mine was telling me how those morning after pills, Plan-B, are only $10 in San Marcos as opposed to $30 in Houston, and I said "Well that's because that entire town is plan-b." I'm not saying going to TX State is like getting an abortion, but lets just say they're both rarely something you plan on doing. The only place in the same category is Texas Tech. Let's be honest, Lubbock wouldn't even be on a US map if they didn't have so many Walmarts.
I'm majoring in Marketing because I don't believe in god and need something to pay the bills until I can do stand up as a "career." Did you know that 100% of immigrant parents would cry if they read that? I do.
I could never be a doctor. Not just because I get squemish around blood, but because I don't want to operate on some random ethnic person. Have you ever stood near someone from India? I would much rather operate on the white guy, I bet he washes his hands and showers on a daily basis. I suppose I could be the racist doctor, the Mel Gibson to Hawk-eye's misogyny.
Well that's about it. Until next week, how about writing that entire story with both pronouns conjugated correctly? I bet that was almost as much a bitch to write as it was to read! If you ever tell this story out loud, make sure to refer to the character as a her. She may have been born a guy, but if she went through all that trouble, discrimination and hate to identify herself in a way that takes less than a syllable to change in how you address her...do it and make her day.
Also, the trailer for Four Lions, a movie about terrorists in England who are basically just idiots like you and everyone that's not you.
Here's a bonus video.
For the record, the only reason I posted this is because I've never been able to have a bad day after hearing a child curse. It's an event that mixes shock and joy into a beautiful emotion that is similar to the one that happens when an old person says something racist or when a conservative cheats on his wife with multiple gay men. Aside from that, the video seems like it was written by an angry 9-year old with early signs of mental instability. All I'm saying is that, THAT is not how you package your message.