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Yesterday I saw Obama. His motorcade was set to drive by my job, so me and my co-workers went outside to wave as he passed by. He passed by last year, but I was too busy trying to take a picture and didn’t get to see him then, although he waved at my (lucky) co-workers. This year I had the brilliant idea of videotaping the motorcade so I wouldn’t have to be distracted with trying to snap a picture. Here’s the video:

Did you see the President? No? Well I did, and it was awesome. He was in the third limo.  I got so excited when I actually saw him that I totally forgot I was videotaping. And apparently started screaming like an idiot, which I only realized afterward when watching the video. I didn’t even scream like that when I saw the cast from Lost!


This morning the following people were standing withing three feet of me on my subway car:

  • A man listening to an iPod and singing in a LOUD falsetto. The song involved lines that go something like “When we have sex, it feels so good.” and “I’m gonna buy you some jewels [Or possibly Jews. He wasn’t enunciating.].”
  • A woman who  seemed  normal (except for her Erykah Badu-meets-Wiccan attire and multiple facial piercings) until the singing man moved a step closer to her. She then pushed through the crowd to get away from him, which bought her closer to me, and began a spirited, totally coherent discussion–with herself. That lasted for the rest of the train ride.
  • A Franciscan monk wearing a robe (tied with a rope), baseball cap, and Teva sandals. I thought he was another nut job, but then I saw how scared he was of the other two people and decided against it.

I think this is the part where I’m supposed to say “Ah, New York, so kooky, that’s why I love you.” or something, but you know that ain’t true.

This was from a few days ago, at the height of the heat wave. I had just gotten off the train, was totally sweaty and miserable as I dragged ass home. And then:

“I’m sorry, I know it’s hot, but you got some cute ass toes.”

Um, thanks? People are so weird.

Not in the cool, kinky way either.

Mostly because I have spent the entire day reading about this Shirley Sherrod bullshit, and the days before reading about the NAACP/tea party bullshit.

I said before that I didn’t want this blog to be too political, but this week I feel like I’m living in the Twilight Zone. All the white racists are not racist, but any black person who talks about racism hates white people and can even be fired from their jobs, thus proving to the white racists that in fact, it is black people who have really been racist all along. It’s like they’re rewriting history and no one is doing anything to stop it.
Granted, this is not as scary as the episode of Twilight Zone with the bank teller in coke bottle glasses who is always being disturbed when he tried to read, so he goes down into the bank vault, and then a nuclear bomb goes off and he thinks he is the last person alive and he finds a gun to shoot himself with, but then he sees a library and drops the gun and runs to his dream come true, which is all the time to read in the world, and then his glasses break, and he is so blind that he can’t see well enough to read or find the gun to kill himself. It’s pretty close though.

Ta-Nehesi Coates put this video up last week in response to the initial tea party flap. It’s still damn funny today, but a bit less so in light of all the stuff going on:

I’d like for someone to invent a Flavor Flav hologram ap. With the push of a button, a virtual Flavor your favorite Flavism.

For when you’re excited: “YEAHH BOYYYY!!!”

For when you witness utter stupidity: “WOOOOOOW.”

Let’s make this happen scientists. The Large Hadron Collider can wait.

I’m not going to get into politics too much on this site, but this quote just blew my mind:

Jim Crow was Affirmative Action for hundreds of millions of white folks that lasted 3 times as long as any civil rights laws.

Holy shit, man! I never thought of  it that way!

1.) Dimples

2.) Height

3.) Propensity to sweat like a mofo while everyone else is cool as a cucumber. 😡

I got a friend request on Facebook last night.

From my dog.

Who is dead.

Yeah, that’s totally not traumatizing.


R.I.P. Max!

This is a repost from an older blog.

The majority of roommates I’ve had in my life (not all, but the majority) have been crazy in some way. While it sucked at the time, some of the events make for entertaining stories, so I’ve decided to start a series. Perhaps one every week? Let’s start with this gem:

After having moved out of a house where two of the girls had turned into crazy tyrannical dictators, raining down misery onto the lives of me and the other two girls living there (one of my fellow oppressed housemates had literally cut a bitch before, and she was still cowed by the two dictators), I jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire by moving in with my crazy (yes, clinically) boyfriend.

We (he) decided to temporarily move into a Benetton-style flop house of sorts with a few other strangers. A nice Asian girl; an Indian guy who kept to himself; a Filipino dude who was always smiling; and a white girl who liked to party hard and stay up late yelling into her cell phone–we shared a wall with this girl, of course, except the wall was actually a door and thus we could hear every part of her late night drunk dials to her boyfriend. This lead to some loud arguments between her and my boyfriend pretty quickly. At the time I was working the 6:30 shift at the faculty club and any sleep I could grab was precious, so I also had to tell her to shut it on more than one occasion. There was definitely no love lost between us and our new neighbor.

This girl ended up having another great trait: she enjoyed taking massive shits, clogging up the toilet, and then disappearing for a couple of days and leaving the other housemates to clean up the mess. Although this was new to us, it had apparently happened a few times. Even the landlord knew about it. When we called for the plumber, he gave us her number, too, and in my anger I listed her in my phone as Dirty Fucking Slob.

After being acutely embarrassed by my ex confronting her about “learning to use a goddamned plunger you piece of garbage,” the bathroom surprises stopped. She was also quieter at night (she probably feared for her life). I even had a conversation with her and she turned out to be a nice person; I’m fairly sure both the abandoned ginormous poops and the loud late night calls were linked to a little problem called drugs.

We had settled into a pretty comfortable truce when she came running into my room one day.

“I lost my phone! Can I use yours to call it please? I’m sorry!”

Without thinking, I tossed it to her; she looked so distressed I didn’t give it a second thought. I continued reading as she dialed her phone, and then a friend’s phone, and then gave me a terse “Thanks” as she practically ran from the room. As I checked the top two entries, three horrible words stared back at me: Dirty Fucking Slob.

I felt horrible. Imagine dialing your number into a virtual stranger’s phone and seeing that pop up? I apologized, which she accepted without looking at me. I guess my rambling apology, something along the lines of “Sorry, but I was mad at you for clogging the toilet and leaving for days that one time, remember?” didn’t make the situation better. I felt bad, but after she left, I couldn’t help but laugh. I would say the moral of the story is don’t write bad things in your cell phone about people who might use it, but I think the larger moral is USE A PLUNGER.