Tag Archives: drunk

Miss Me Yet?

I get it.

The dryer eats socks.

The refrigerator eats cat toys.

The couch eats change.

The bottom desk drawer eats crap I decided at some point was necessary for my life at work.

Fine.

It.

All.

Makes.

Sense.

What I don’t get are the things you see on the side of the road. Or better yet, along the sidewalk.

Forever lost to someone.

I’m not talking about wads of gum or cigarette butts. Nor am I talking about toothpicks, or more specifically those weird harp on a stick looking ones. Actually, they might be a little tiny guitar for a gnome. I didn’t think anyone actually used those. Boy, am I surprised!

Side note: I would also like to make mention, over the last two weeks, there has been an ungodly increase in the number of bandaids along my walking route to work. It doesn’t matter if I’m coming from my beloved ferry or the newly discovered train route. There are bandaids EVERYWHERE. All stuck to the sidewalk (as opposed to the lamp-posts).

They’re rubber slugs that have given up and collapsed.

Right there.

Between Congress and Seaport.

Done.

Expired.

Small ones, regular ones, circular ones and some that are large enough my cat could wear it as a bonnet. My lizards could use it as a hammock.

Johnson & Johnson must have seen an uptick in their bandaid sales in Boston.

What’s with the bandaids? There’s a hell of a lot of bloody blistered feet in town.

And don’t be telling me it’s from the Boston Marathon. That was April 20th and we’re now in June. (insert buzzer sound here)

But, if you were to look at some of the footwear….it makes sense. I was behind a girl today who was not so elegantly hobbling on 4 inch wedges. She had a swagger like Captain Jack Sparrow.

He, by the way, is adorable. Swagger…..Me Now….Meow.

She, swaggering like a squirrel, who just painted their toenails with silver glitter polish and can’t stop admiring them enough to take a step….not so adorable.

FOCUS! Christ, it’s exhausting to watch!

I’m just saying.

If you can’t walk in the shoes, don’t buy them. They make you look like you have no sense of balance and you’re trying to walk a tight rope with giant marshmallows strapped to your feet. You have no clue where your next step is going to land and you’re all over the sidewalk.

But, I digress.

Thank you for your patience.

What I can’t figure out is all the random shit left behind.

The other day. Route 3. A giant stuffed tiger was on the side of the road. I’m talking a kids toy, not a treasure hunter’s dream from Asia. It’s literally miles between exits. How did it end up out there? Then, of course, my mind begins to wander. Was some small child crying they lost their tiger?

I was sad.

Sad for the kid.

Sad for the tiger.

Will this tiger end up on the front of some trash truck? You know what I’m talking about. Will he be happy? I did once see mannequin heads on the side of a trash truck. I didn’t have a chance to snap a photo but damn…that was creepy yet surprising awesome.

Obviously, I’ve watched Toy Story too many times.

Walking you see all kinds of random things. Random enough that I have thought to myself, more times than I’d like to admit….”If I was homeless, this would be a score.”

I’ve seen baby bottles, blankets, shirts, socks, fleece pull overs and tarps. The tarp would be a score as would the fleece pull over.

But then there are the things I see where I scratch my head and just have to say….WTF?

Earlier this week…on my way to grab a sandwich for lunch I came across a shoe on the sidewalk. A perfectly decent loafer. A left one at that. IMG_1886
HOW DO YOU LOOSE A LOAFER?

I’ve seen shoes along the highway. The only thing I can think is someone gets pissed and throws the other person’s shoe out the window when they’re sleeping. Ha. Ha. Ha. So funny. Fucker. Wait till you go to sleep and I’m going to take a permanent marker to your face. Then we’ll see whose laughing.

I’ve seen a right sneaker and then a mile down the road the matching left sneaker. Okay, they obviously left them on the roof of the car and drove off.

Then there are the random flip-flops. Alright. Well, not a huge loss. It’s a flip and a flop. Meh.

But a brand new left foot loafer? You’re going to miss that. Especially if you are currently wearing the right one. Walking down the side walk. With a limp. Duh. Where’s my shoe?

What the hell is going on here? Aliens. Blame the aliens. Always blame the aliens.

The shoe didn’t even have time to get it’s white parts dirty! It makes no sense. Of course, I took a snap!

The other thing that baffles me are the people who move and randomly leave their belongings along the roadside. Are they leaving breadcrumbs to find their way back? If you don’t want to move, don’t. Shouldn’t be a newsflash.

I feel, one of two things could be happening with these cushions….

1. The owner of the couch wants a new couch. Easiest way to get a new couch. Loose a cushion.
2. It was an accident. In which case, sitting on a bunch of duct taped phone books is going to be unfortunate.

Just saying.

Today is Friday and on the way home, I stop at the grocery. I run in and then when I come out, something catches my eye. I look over one space to the left. IMG_1946

Are you kidding me?

Who looses their PILLOW?

This isn’t a fluffy, throw on the bed as decoration type of pillow vis a vis Marilyn Monroe. This isn’t a porn star’s, I need some lift and support, type of pillow. This is a regular, put your head down and go to sleep type of pillow.

First off, what are you doing with a pillow in the grocery parking lot?

Secondly, why is it in the shopping cart return?

Then I think…..ohhhhh, if I was homeless, that would be a score! (what is wrong with me?)
And next, I snap a picture.
Of course.

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Anyone Want to Go to the Disco?

I am on a cruise ship.

For work.

It’s a conference.

The upside is that I will likely sleep like a dead person in a cold moseleum as the movement of any kind of boat puts me to sleep. 

The downside is I really want to go to the “disco” but don’t know that anyone would go.  I retract that.  Yes, there are people who would go if I asked.  But the catch is this…..one of my favorite songs would come on and then….guess what…..I’m not going out there to dance by myself.   It’s one thing to go and hang out it’s another to hit the dance floor if your favorite song comes on.  This is a problem.    Anyone want to go dancing?  (The question is currently echoing up and down the vast hallways of the oceanliner.  Pinging back and forth between the Martini bar and the photo gallery…..)  I’d actually have a better chance at meeting Davey Jones and getting my hands on his locker than getting someone to go dancing with me. 

Murp.

News Flash:  I’m not Billy Idol and I’m not Dancing with Myself at the disco….thank you.

What is even more patetic is at sail away this afternoon there were two couples out on the deck snapping pictures.  Mid-30’s.  At one point the girls commented, “This is the best picture yet of you guys….your butts.”  The one guy the proceeded to go and impersonate the Incredible Hulk or his power lifting skills or how the Pillsbury Dough Boy giggles at the airport x-ray – all I know is he was leaping around like a 250 pound ballerina that should have called it quits in second grade. 

Yep, we’re on a cruise.

They were well on their way to bliss.  Which, was later confirmed at the conclusion of second seating dinner when the same two couples was stumbling out of the dining room.  Apparently after too many Long Islands and Coronas already six hours into the cruise and the one husband was counseling his wife on how to be a nicer individual.  Wow.

Two minutes behind them was a gaggle of women in their 70’s wearing flashing LED sunglasses and necklaces.  They looked like they were dangerously on the prowl for some young 60 year old’s as they swaggered from side to side out to the hallway.   Edwin, hit the alarm, here come the Nannas!

Neither gang of guests looked like anything I’d want to encounter in a disco, let alone on an elevator going to the 4th floor.  Thank you, but I’ll take the stairs.  Good grief.

So ponder me this.  What do you think it means when your cabin has….

Not ONE

Not TWO

but

THREE

count them….THREE

full length ….floor to ceiling mirrors in front of the bed?  I checked the outside of the cabin and it CLEARLY doesn’t say I have the honeymoon suite.  I looked in the closets and didn’t find any weird ass bondage shit.  I thought there was a strange hook in the ceiling over the bed – like you’d hang a trapeze  or maybe a swing from it – M E O W – but it turns out it’s only  a sprinkler.  That was a little disappointing.

Seeing myself out of the edges of my eyesight as I write this is pretty fucking creepy.

Somoeone typing on a computer.

                               Just like me.

Someone wearing pajamas.

                             Just like me.

Someone with the same crazy ass hair style – aka  “a rat’s nest”

                             Just like me.

Someone wearing the same glasses.

                            Just like me.

WTF?!

If you’re going to put these mirrors in here maybe put some frosting over them or provide a video camera to record activity, provide the kinky shit or give us something to take the edge of the creepiness.  I’m not hip on seeing myself all the time. 

Sup?  How you doin’?

Don’t fret.  I’ve solved the problem. 

1 sheet + 1 strip of duct tape = bye bye weird ass mirrors.

 

 

 

 

Note To Self: Stop Drinking

The fun part is hanging out in the bar with friends, laughing and carrying on. The suck part is hanging on to the toilet as you throw up everything but breakfast.

I mean really. When has puking ever been fun? I didn’t enjoy it when I was a little kid and I sure as hell don’t enjoy it now. So why keep doing it?

It would be one thing if the vomiting was fun, like getting a pedicure. But when you’re gripping the toilet rim because you’re pretty sure you’re going to vomit like a fire hose, that’s not fun.

Spinning room, splitting headache, rolling stomach – is it really worth it in the long run? Sleeping on the bathroom floor rather than a soft bed is crazy – who does that? Drunk people.

Bless the cotton socks of the kind people who put a blanket on you to keep you warm on the tile floor. They plug the night light in so you can find the bed when you decide the room has stopped spinning enough. These little angels will often even pull down the covers on your side just so you can flop into bed. Lastly and most importantly, they are also known to help carry your ass to the bathroom before you make a mess of the living room carpet. Bless these aspirin wielding angels.

Feeling bad the next day is miserable. Nausea, lingering headache, the poops….it’s all terrible. I definitely won’t be going to the gym in the morning and sure as hell won’t be taking my 27 vitamins. Not on the hungover stomach. It’s at this point that you swear, once again, not to drink again. Ever. Period. None.

Yet time goes by sometimes quite a lot of time and sometimes only a few days and there you are again …. one drink, two drink, three drink FLOOR!

Hit rewind and then play.