SELFABSORBED.ME

So many online profiles contain inspirational quotes that say, “Dream Big!”. Everywhere you look people are telling you to, “Dream Big!” Go out, get what you want, reach for the stars, and remember To “Dream Big!”…But you know what? I prefer to “Dream Small!” In fact sometimes I like to ‘Dream Tiny!” I think if I Dream Small, then guess what? I will have already achieved my dreams! I dream about making enough money to afford a quality plastic razor, maybe not a fancy one, maybe just one with a nice moisturizing strip, or with even a grip-like handle that has suction, just so that I can shave my legs finally! And then I look down and realize, “Look! All my dreams have come true! I DO own a razor! And it DOES have a moisture strip!” This is why I Dream Miniature. Why do I want to Dream Big and set myself up for failure? I like to dream about obtainable things like recording TLC’s A Baby Story on my DVR finally. ...DONE! Wow, life is good. I encourage you all to Dream Tiny! Because Tiny Dreams do come true!

Apparently the Jews love a good rap! Benji K is an old colleague of mine, an exceptionally good writer and outrageously good looking....I fainted when I first saw him...either that or I was really really drunk...and passed out.
http://djbenji.blogspot.com/2007/12/kims-hanukkah-rap.html#links

Last night a member of the male species emerged from our bathroom and proclaimed, “Well if I ever get shot or fatally wounded and am bleeding profusely I know there will be enough pads and tampons to save me and an entire army…” My roommates and I just stared at him.

Yes, I admit it; living with all women in a sorority style apartment is like swimming in the waters of a fallopian tube. There is enough estrogen in our place to make anyone want to curl up on the pink sofa with a nice Anne Geddes posters and cry. But the thing I have discovered is men also run in similar patterns.

Looking dapper young man, now where is Eduardo to get me another sassafrass on the rocks

There is nothing I like more then a good ol’ Thursday night happy hour….of course there is a good old fashioned spanking, but that is a whole other column altogether. Thursday may just be the perfect night to go out drinking. There is only one day left in the work week and everyone can show up and get sloshed in their suits and pantyhose. There is nothing better then a drunk person in loafers and an alligator sweater, or in my household we like to call it, ‘being Republican’. Dressing racy on a Thursday night involves unbuttoning your top two buttons and sometimes the naughtier girls even take off their tights. Saturday night you can show up half naked in a plastic bikini with tassels and it's perfectly fine, but Thursday you better show up in some slacks damnit and they better be pressed.

When I was without a job during the summer of 2004, otherwise known as ‘when life was good and suicide wasn’t an option’, I remember getting dressed up like I had a job just to go out to the bars. I would put on my khaki’s best and show up to meet my friends for drinks like I had just come from the office. I would even maybe spill a bit of coffee on the side of my knee, just for authenticity. Sometimes at the bar I would get on my cell phone and yell things like, “Yeah, those TPS reports, I need them, by tomorrow! And go fax me some…ugh, things…Eduardo! Yes boy stop questioning me and go do it now!..” And normally that was right about the time my grandpa would hang up the phone on me.

I was very insecure that summer about not having a job and when guys would ask me what I do for a living I had the whole, “a little bit of this, a little bit of that” speech down… Only later did I learn that is what most drug dealers say as well. I would also say I had “meetings” to go to with Ellen…and by “Ellen” I did mean, the actual show ‘Ellen’.

One of my good friends and I met through a love of gin and tonics in Midtown East. We bonded over Thursday night alcoholism and let me say, we have been friends ever since. And when we discovered we also shared a love for mozzarella sticks it was all I could do to not cry at the bar and give her a huge hug…but I didn’t, only because that might mess up the sweater tied around my neck...I mean hey, it was Thursday.

I was delayed on a flight out before Christmas during 2005 and then had layover in Philadelphia. When the plane finally boarded, we sat on the runway for an hour before the pilot came on with an overhead announcement “As some of you folks may be aware of, our flight crew is going to be unable to complete this trip due to overtime regulations…and ah soo ahh, you are going to have to get your bags and get off the plane...”

I sat straight up in my seat, which clearly was not erect enough. “WHAT! Are you kidding me? I don’t need a flight crew, I need a pilot! That’s all I need. I don’t need some retard to hand out pretzels ….who needs snack packs? If anyone doesn’t already know how to operate their goddamn air mask, get the fuck off the plane and let the rest of us go with the pilot!"
I was asked to get off the plane.