Wednesday, September 30, 2009

The Old Ladies Meeting At Coffee Shop

While stepping away from their daily block of Judge Judy, Oprah, and Bridge games, the Sexless and the City meet up to discuss their alcoholic daughter-in-law and the extravagantly overpriced coffee they’re sipping. It’s an exclusive club. The qualifications? Have a grandson to brag about, be skilled in the art of gossip, and awful with technology. The players? Old ladies. Why no, I’m not using this chair. You may borrow it. You’re quite welcome. Aren’t they so cute?

Their styles are as stubborn as their attitude toward abortion. I wonder when was the last time they got laid. Oh God, why did I put that image in my head? Megan Fox. Megan Fox. OK, I’m better. It must be nice to just sit at a café on a Wednesday afternoon. Shouldn’t you be sewing or making people wait extra longer in the grocery line while you count out your change to the exact penny? I shouldn’t be mean. I wonder if they’ll let me join in on their gossip. One of them is looking at me right now. I hope they’re not talking about me already.

Hold the presses, Janette’s niece is in the school play, Shrek. I hope she isn’t the lead. It’s this Friday at eight o’clock if anyone’s interested. She’s really talented. You should hear her sing. She got that from Janette’s side of the family. Her father isn’t very talented. He’s more of a pushover. I don’t even know why Janette’s daughter married him. She settled down way too early. But hey, at least he gave her two cute kids right? I guess you can’t complain.

There is way too much cream cheese on the bagel. Is your bagel soggy too? Rose’s bagel is really mushy. I don’t know why people eat here. No matter how many times you tell them not to over-do-it on the cream cheese – what do they do? They load it up with cream cheese. You can’t even taste the lox. Which is the only reason
to eat here in the first place. That’s one thing I’ll say; they do have fresh lox. It’s hard to get that anymore. I’m taking this coffee back. It’s way too cold.

Apparently, Loretta’s son bought her an ipod. Her nephew, Stevie, was trying to teach her how to use it the other day. Touch this. Drag that. It’s all very overwhelming if you ask me. Then they have these things called applications. Stevie was taking pictures with this thing, and then making funny faces with it. He’s aborable. Loretta has a picture of him somewhere in her purse. I think she is still looking for it though.

Anyhow, she doesn’t get the ipod. I hope her son, Ned, won’t mind that she is taking it back. She’s not going to tell him. She’d feel too bad for him. You should’ve seen the excitement he had when he showed it her. She’ll just take the store credit and buy a tea kettle with it. I mean is that wrong? She just figured out how to use her VCR. How in God’s name is she going to figure out how to use an ipod? Does it play records? She has a beautiful record of Johnny Mathis that she hasn’t been able to play since Morty passed away. I wonder if Stevie knows how to convert vinyl to mp3. Maybe she should hold onto it for a little longer. She may get the hang of it.

So can you believe Jeffrey’s still out of a job? This economy is awful. Loretta was just saying how she didn’t vote for Obama. Everyone agrees – he was a bad choice for president. Not because he’s black. Well, he’s half black right? His mother was a white woman, correct? It’s the father though. He’s out of the picture completely. I think he lives somewhere in Africa or India. He’s Muslim you know? And you know all about those Muslims. Osama Bin Laden and such. They started this whole war in Iraq. Georgie told Rose that we may be going to war with some of those other Indian countries. I don’t know which ones. The Muslims ones I guess. Janette saw this poor woman the other day, draped with a black robe – head to toe. Honest to God. How can she wear that in this humidity? Their husbands make them wear that. If Harry made Janette wear that he’d be out the door. Who are we kidding? Harry wouldn’t even ask Janette to make the bed. He’s such a sweetheart. I wonder how he’s doing.

Rose really likes that bottle of sugar. Do you think they would know if she took one home? They have so many of them. They wouldn’t notice would they? It’s not like she doesn’t buy something there several times a week. It’s not stealing. It would go perfect on her kitchen table. She shouldn’t even ask if it’s OK. They would definitely give it to her if she asked. Yea, Rose just wrap it up in a bunch of napkins and stuff it in your purse. You’ve earned it. Although, you gals should probably leave after that. Actually, I think Wheel of Fortune is coming on soon too. Bye ladies.

“Thanks for the chair. You’re such a sweetheart.”

“My pleasure.”

“Are you single? I wish my granddaughter, Stephanie, would date someone more like you. She’s gorgeous. You’d love her.”

I guess it couldn’t hurt to grab a coffee with her. At least see what she looks like.
“I’d love to meet her.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m working on a comedy book.”

“Well it was nice meeting you sweetie.”

Was I rejected by an old lady? Excuse me sir. I think that lady took off with some of your supplies. Check her purse.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

The Repeating Your Order

I’m going to make this as simple as possible for you. So, please pay attention.

“I’ll have a footlong on Herbs and Cheese bread…”

“What kind of meat?”

“Italian lunchmeat.”

“Italian bread?”

“No, the Herbs and Cheese bread please”

“Six inch or footlong?”

This is why I told you in the beginning of the order the specific flavor and size of the bread. So, I wouldn’t have to break it down for five minutes.

“Footlong please.”

“Spicy Italian or Italian B.M.T?”

“B.M.T., with Provolone.”

What the hell does B.M.T. stand for? Bowel movement testosterone? Bowling minus tits? Buying Meat Trash? I’ll stop there.


“OK, B.M.T….not BLT? Correct?”

Yes, B.M.T. That is precisely why I said BMT. I know what a BLT is. I’m from this World.

“What kind of cheese?”

You guys heard me say Provolone, right? I mean I’m not going crazy here, am I?

“Provolone. Can I have that toasted too?”

“Lettuce, tomato, onion?”

“Yes, but can you toast it first, please?”

The toasting really enhances the sandwich. If you aren’t toasting your sandwich, you’re totally missing out. How long have I been ordering by the way? It’s got to be nearing ten minutes. I’m missing the Simpsons.


“Yes, lettuce, tomato, onion…”






“What else?”

“Olives, oil, and oregano.”

“Oil and Vinegar?”

Did I say oil and vinegar you jackass? If I wanted oil and vinegar, I would say, “Oil and vinegar!”

“No, just oil please.”

“That’s it?”

“And oregano.”

Finally! Thank God. That was ridiculous. It’s a fucking sub. This guy acts like he’s building…well a sub. The underwater military kind.

“That’ll be all. Thank you sir.”

“You want soda and chips with that?”

Pretty sure “that will be all” means “that will be all.”

“That will be all. Thank you sir.”


Damnit, I have to break a twenty over this. I thought the deal was $5 for the sub. What’s this $5.42 shit?

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

The Pretentious Hipster

Did you shower today, sir? Your hair is greasy and your clothes are worn. That’s not to say you’re poor and you can’t afford clean clothes. It’s almost as if you deliberately bought those clothes at a vintage shop, just so you could have that look. Come to think of it, I’ve seen that shirt at a nearby boutique. It’s at least $70. Those sneakers you’re wearing, at least $100. Why you’re not poor at all. Aren’t you from the Upper East, with the wealthy? Wait just one minute. You’re a pretentious hipster.

They come from all over. Probably rejected in their hometown, they usually find solace somewhere in and around the city. Just like any trend, group, or cult, there are degrees of hipster. If you’ve ever been to Williamsburg, Brooklyn, it’s like you died and went to hipster hell. Like wolves they tend to travel in packs. Don’t ask me how they slipped into those jeans, or why the jeans get ever so tight around the ankles. Maybe they don’t have ankles? I’m not sure.

These are the guys who you didn’t want on your team in gym class. Don’t pass it to Timmy; he’ll turn it over. Oh great, there are two outs and Timmy is up. Can somebody grab my glove now so I can start heading onto the field? Like clockwork…strike three, you’re out! Back to the field. Thanks Timmy, at least you’re consistent in sucking.

Alright, I’m being cruel and unfair. Not everybody has to be good at sports. Take Einstein for example. He sucked at sports. I heard he couldn’t even hit a ball off the tee. Even Timmy would hit a dribbler in tee ball. But, Einstein came up with that equation and that theory. What was it called again? Oh right….Relativity!

Timmy and the other hipsters are just smoking cigarettes while I’m trying to walk to Houston St. via Ludlow. What is it about Ludlow that attracts all the hipsters? I think there’s a café and bar all in one. I know what else is around here. An American Apparel. This store has totally branded the hipster look, and sets the bar for what a hipster should look like. If you’re new to the game, and not sure how to get your foot in the door – shop here. American Apparel allows you to ease your way into the ways of a hipster. It’s like when Yoda first starts teaching the force to Luke – except with hipsters and what to wear. OK, not a great example. I’m not trying to plug the store or anything, (although I would for the right price) but I really commend you for making $1 t-shirts into $50 t-shirts by exploiting the naiveté of the common hipster. Bravo! By the way, I do like the women you choose in your ads. Simple, yet still attractive.

If there’s anything a hipster likes more than cigarettes, it’s café coffee. Ah yes, nothing like overpriced organic coffee served up by a fellow hipster with a purple scrunchie. Come to think of it, I’m surrounded by hipsters as I write. Plus, I’m drinking their coffee. Why am I getting the impression that they can read my thoughts? Are you looking at my screen right now? I hope they didn’t slip anything in here. Is this foam or…You aren’t like vampires or werewolves, are you? I mean you’re not going to bite me and turn me into one of you, will you? At the moment, I can’t really afford high priced t-shirts with ironic sayings. I’m not a big indie punk guy either. Can you hold off any attacks until my next paycheck? Don’t look at me with those Kanye West 80s sunglasses. I can’t tell if you’re mocking me or not.

I think I have you pegged. You cover up your own insecurities and mediocrity with the false notion that you are better than us. You try too hard to make yourself look “hip,” in the face of others. I don’t fault you for being different, hipster. I fault you for trying to be different. See? There is a difference. You and I aren’t so different. I hope I didn’t confuse you by using the word “different” so many times.

Perhaps we can work together someday. I see the potential in you. Let this be a lesson, not a scolding. This organic coffee isn’t so bad after all. I think I’ll have another cup Purple Scrunchie Barista. Say, are you from around here? You’re actually kind of cute. Did you get that from American Apparel?