Thursday, November 23, 2006

Random Conversations with Family Members #5

Thanksgiving Edition:

Dad: Happy Thanksgiving!
Me: Happy Thanksgiving to you too.
Dad: So, I'm watching the Thanksgiving day parade on TV. Are you down there?
Me: Oh, hell no.
Dad: No?
Me: I cannot emphasize enough the amount of "hell no" involved in that.
Dad: Yeah, I'm watching those girls with the short skirts and I'm thinking, "are you out of your mind?"
Me: Yeah. It's like two degrees here and rainy and awful. They are not having fun.
Dad: So what are you doing today?
Me: Having dinner with friends.
Dad: Oh, that sounds good. I just talked to Andrea and wished her a happy Thanksgiving.
Me: That's nice.
Dad: Yeah, so I've done my kid duty. You can all go to hell now.
Me: ...You're a terrible parent.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Last Comic Riding

I haven't been sleeping very well lately, so when I got on the train to go to work this morning, I was tired, cranky in general, and pissed specifically at the fact that it's only fucking Tuesday. So when I got on the packed express train at 96th street and I saw a homeless guy pushing his way through the car, I was not pleased.

I was listening to my Ipod, but unlike the Dominican hood rats who insist on turning up the volume of their Now That's a Shitty Excuse for Music: Volume 47 up to "sweet Christ, how can a pair of earbuds at the other end of the car make me feel like Reggaeton lives in my brain?" I could still hear what the bum was saying.

"So, where do you all think you're going? To work? You ain't going to work!"

Fuck. I am not in the mood to hear about the Zionist conspiracies or the perils of sharing a train with a bunch of circumsized people (an actual subway rant from a few weeks ago).

"You ain't going to work. Don't lie to me. I see you here every morning. You just ride back and forth. You ain't goin' nowhere." You're just ridin' the train 'cause you're jealous."

What?

"You're jealous because you pay 18, 19 hundred dollars a month in rent, and your apartment don't go nowhere. I pay two dollars and my apartment goes all over the city."

Wait a second, is he--

"I got everything I need. I got seats, air conditioning, I even got a stove. Third rail, man. That's hot!"

Yep. He sure is. The bum on the train is doing stand up.

"Yeah, I live on the subway. I live on the subway 'cause I'm hidin' from my wife. Oh, you may say that I'm not a man because I ran away from my wife, but you've never met my wife. She is three hundred and eighty-nine pounds, man! She wears size 69 jeans. She unbuttoned her pants for me and nine stomachs fell out. She tells me, 'babe, my stomach hurts.' I say, 'which one? Number 3 or number 9?'"

At this point, we get to the 72nd street station.

"Man, look at all those people out there. They're gonna come in. I bet they won't even knock. They just gonna come in and sit down like they own the place."

After the people from 72nd street get on, he welcomes them into his home and continues his shtick. When this whole thing started, the people on the train reacted the same way I did--which was basically just pretend to ignore him, and dear God, do not make direct eye contact. About halfway to 72nd street, it morphed into about half of us giggling to ourselves, but still trying not to attract attention or look directly at him.

By the time we were approaching the Times Square station, he had most of the car laughing openly and gladly giving him money. As he left us to finish our commutes and fantasize about creative ways in which we can kill our co-workers and still have it look like an accident, he left us with one final request:

"All right, everyone. Be safe out there, and please pick up your papers and your trash when you leave. I got company coming over later."

Monday, November 06, 2006

Random Conversations with Family Members #4

These are their stories: Chung Chung!

Me: There are a lot of gay people who are moving into my neighborhood, but it's still primarily Dominican.
Kali: The Mexicans and the Dominicans don't get along.
Me: ...okay. Well, there aren't really any Mexicans around here, so we haven't really had a problem.
Kali: They rape each other.
Me: What?
Kali: With forgeign objects.
Me: Uh...
Kali: And it punctures their colon.
Me: I...
Kali: And it leaves splinters.
Me: I have no idea---
Kali: Because it's a plunger.
Me: Ohhh.
Kali: And then they bleed out on the floor three hours later. And it's awkward.
Me: Yeah. I saw that one. That was the prison one, right?
Kali: Yeah. Ashley invited some Mexican guys from her work over to my apartment. But they don't speak English very well, so they haven't found the place yet.
Me: That sucks.
Kali: Yeah. Hey--what if you brought Dominicans down with you. That would be crazy.
Me: Kali, I don't think you want people to get raped with foreign objects in your apartment.
Kali: Yeah, that would be weird.
Me: Yes...weird.
Kali: Ooh! But then I'd get to meet Benson and Stabler!
Me: Yeah, I can't talk about this anymore.