Tuesday, October 11, 2016

99 Problems But a Bitch Is Definitely Not One

February 27, 2012
I'm sitting at brunch with the man that I have absolutely fallen in love with and he's leaving me by myself to go be with his girlfriend. And now, I'm more determined to get drunk than I ever have been in my entire life. Shots. Beers. Whiskey. More shots. And then.. phone calls.

I've always known I was a little... different. My first memories of sex are from watching HBO's, "Real Sex". This was back during the first couple of episodes. I think they're on Real Sex 352 now, but I digress. There was one episode when this older group of people were at a sex "camp". Everyone got naked and were all touching each other and rubbing and stuff. For a preteen kid who is trying to discover himself, this was hot! Even if they were old and gross. While watching these balding, saggy, wrinkly people touching all up on each other, I notice something... why am I looking more at the men than I am the women? What does THAT mean?! In my pursuit of discovery of what my wondering eyes were doing, I started watching more soft core porn. You know - Red Shoe Diaries, the late night/early morning movies on cable that didn't show anything but the girls breasts and bad acting. Ha. Yea. Like I was paying attention to the acting...
I realized growing up that I was a very sexual guy. Any chance to "rub it" I got was taken. The bathroom, the couch, the car, the dressing room; the more chance of getting caught, the hotter it was. I guess it was much like any other kid that age. The only difference was that I was doing it to things OTHER kids weren't doing it to. I spent the rest of my preteens thinking this was a phase. "You'll grow out of it once you get to high school." And then high school hit. And then college. And then adulthood. And the only thing that grew was my belly. I spent most of the years questioning why I had to be different and hating myself for it. To the point of pulling that card and making myself not wake up in the morning.

And then I met him. We'll call him X. We met through a mutual friend and hit it off from the first day. The more time we spent together, the more I was convinced that this is what I had been waiting for my entire life. The only problem was he was straight and I didn't have a vagina. We did things (nothing like THAT), said things, talked about things that forced me to ask one night, "What is this? What is this between us?"
"More than friendship."
"Right! What is it?!"
And nothing. No response. No confirmation. Just an excuse that he was so drunk, he doesn't remember the conversation ever happening. May of that year, a good friend Jason saw there was something up. He took me outside during one of my many going-away-parties and changed my life forever. All he did was ask the question and I was in such a position and so frustrated and hurt that I had to say something. I spent the next 2 years trying to figure out how to tell anyone else - including X. Up to this point, he had no idea that the love I had in my heart was for him.

That Sunday in February 2012, after my 235 alcoholic beverage, I texted Mindee to meet me at another bar. I couldn't take this shit anymore. I had to let it out or I was going to explode. And praise the Lord she did...
For an hour, she wondered what was wrong and why I kept ordering drinks. So I told her... "I'm in love with X". Around the time of my next shot, I picked up my phone and texted him. Liquid courage, right?
"Do you know why I act so crazy??? Do you know why I get this way with you??! It's because I'm in love with you."

And the clock stopped. And my heart dropped to my knees. And it was done. I couldn't breathe. For 2 years, I thought that the moment that I told him, that would be the end. He would go away and the one shred of "me" that I saw when I was with him would die. The hate in my heart for my reflection was going to overtake the rest of me and I would just disappear into the air.
Have you ever known someone that is so "in tune" that when something goes wrong, they come around the corner like Superman? That is my  mother. My mother is so psychic, Ms Cleo called HER for advise. Her intuition is so on point that when one of her kids is doing something bad, her shoe just automatically comes off and hits us in the back of the head. It's uncanny.
At that very moment in my life when I couldn't think of anything but that moment in my life, my mother's Batman signal went off and she texted me.
"How are you?"
And that was it. I told X, why not my mother, too.
"I might be playing for the other team."



"Well. What happens in your bedroom is your business."

And I cried.

In a matter of an hour, I had told the secret that I've held in my heart for 30 years because of the shame I was afraid would come with it. The hate I held for myself. The nights I cried myself to sleep. The days I was upset because I woke up that day. The times I just wanted someone to love me the way I knew I could love. That feeling that know one really knew who I was. The times I would avoid my family because I didn't think they even understood who I was - to the point they thought I was ashamed of THEM... all exploded in those 5 minutes.

I freaked out. I walked outside and started to shake. And thank God for Mindee because without her there, I don't know what I would have done.
After more sorrow-drowning, Mindee took me home. And I went to sleep knowing that no matter who I was on Sunday, I was someone different on Monday.

The next morning, I woke up and got ready for work with this feeling that EVERYONE knew. And you know what... I didn't care. My head was higher. It hurt because of all of the alcohol on Sunday - but higher all the same. I looked in the mirror and smiled for the first time in a LONG time. It was absolutely a rebirth and I thank God every day that during all of this time, the people I was so afraid to tell didn't care.

You know. It's almost disappointing. I spent 30 years hating myself because I thought that if I told anyone, they wouldn't love me anymore. And it was the complete opposite. Ha. ALL THAT TIME, WASTED. But you know, I wouldn't be in the place I am right now if it weren't for time I spent in that dark place. All for a reason and no one can EVER make me doubt that.

Until next time...

Saturday, May 7, 2016

Big D's... HEY-O!

Hey, remember that one time I lived in New York? Ha. Oh man. That was fun.

In case you didn't know, I have moved back to Dallas as of less than a week ago. Bitter sweet, but I am where I believe I'm supposed to be - just like it was when I moved to New York. The move just fit into place and I couldn't deny it. I LOVE NEW YORK!! I absolutely do and you can't get me from visiting there - probably soon. But I gotta do what I gotta do, as far as work goes, so I'm back in the Big D, looking for a big D.... HEY-O! Haha. I'm just kidding. Or am I....

The trip down here was pretty uneventful once we got on the road. It was the getting on the road that was the problem. Uhaul wanted to schedule a pick up location near my apt but send the truck to Long Island. I called and they basically told me, "FOOLED YA!" so we had to wait until noon to pick up the truck when I wanted to start moving shit by 8am. BUT whatcanyado - we finally got on the road around 3pm and set fire to the rain.
I still don't know what that means.

This week here has been pretty fun. Went out in the Dallas area which is odd, because when I lived here before, I NEVER hung out in Dallas. It was all about Arlington and Ft Worth. Moving to Deep Ellum has been fucking amazing so far, though. I'm enjoying being able to walk everywhere still and having my choice of a $7 Uber to uptown and/or the gayborhood and/or Lower Greenville. Seven dollars!! That's ridiculous. It once cost me $75 to get home from the city to Queens. I got home and immediately bought 4 packs of ramen so I could eat the rest of the week. With my car being totaled, I guess being able to walk places is a good thing.

If you haven't heard from my mother, who apparently called the Waxahachie Daily Light and told e'rbody about it - I was in a car accident Friday. I stopped at a stop sign, looked right - saw the white truck next to me that looked like a truck my uncle used to have - looked left, looked right again and took off, not seeing the blue Ford Ranger until it was basically inside my drivers door. After my car stopped moving, I got out of my car. Stunned, I grabbed my phone and started to dial. I didn't know who I was calling and noticed my glasses weren't on my face so I went back to the car to find them. The other driver came to me and asked if I was ok and kept saying that he had insurance. "It's my dad's car so I'm trying to call him."
I finally grabbed ahold of my senses and called my mom and then the insurance company. All the while, the other driver kept telling me he's trying to call his dad.
"He's down the street at XXXX Park and XXXX. I need to go get him. Do you want to come with me?"
Naw nigga! I ain't trying to go with you to your house!! That's how episodes of 48 Hour specials start! You ain't fittin' to put ME in no hole in the backyard.
As I'm on the phone, I hear sirens and turn to see an ambulance had arrived. As I turned back around, that fool had taken off running. I didn't even see him running, I only saw a puff of smoke in the shape of a small black man like he was Bugs Bunny's homeboy.
A fire engine showed up, and 3 cop cars. The driver never came back but his father showed up with the insurance information. I came home and they basically told me that since he did flee and never came back, he would be at fault. Apparently, he had warrants out for unpaid tickets.
So, I have a small burn and an extremely sore shoulder, but otherwise I am ok. I mean, I needed another car anyway so I guess this was my sign to quit being a little bitch and go get one.

Andrew and I move into our two bedroom apt next Thursday which means I'm living in his living room on an air mattress right now. It's pretty crowded in here, but we're getting along pretty well. He is my heterosexual life partner so it works out. Ha.

I start my new position on Monday at the same place in Las Colinas. I'm pretty excited about it because it's an account I used to work on and with a lot of people that I miss dearly. Although, I did leave some pretty awesome people back in NYC too. And of course, the great friends that I made there. But... like Pac said to Biggy once (maybe - I might have made that up), "Once we homeboys, we always homeboys." So I hope they don't forget me.

The pub crawl is May 21, just in case my Facebook posts aren't telling you that enough. Ha. HOLLA!!

Until next time...

Thursday, April 30, 2015

Problem: Solved

Usually on this blog, I write about funny stuff: old drunk people I see at the bar, douche bags named Matthew, or my fat ass trying to lose weight for 5 years. Today is something different. With all that is going on in the world today, I'm feeling a little bit soap-boxish. I'm feeling like I want to get up and speak my mind on a couple of things. I'm feeling like chicken tonight, but that's a whole other story. No, today - I am going to solve the world's problems. With three easy steps. You ready for this? Are you ready to hear how, in the words of an old black man who got beat up said, we "can all just get along"? Here it is.

1. Calm the fuck down.
2. Grow the fuck up.
3. Mind your business.

That's it. Folks, with these easy steps, we can be a happy world again. Everyone can hold hands and circle the world singing Kumbaya and toasting marshmallows. I can hear you saying to yourself right now, "Roger, you big dummy. It isn't that simple. If it were that simple, we would have done that a long time ago. By the way, are you losing weight?"
Well that's awfully nice of you to notice, but it really IS that simple. Let me explain.

Starbucks has ruined us as a people. With all of this added sugar and caffeine, we've gotten way too hyper. We're like Joe-Joe, the idiot circus boy with a shiny new pet. Yes - we need to calm the fuck down. Everything has turned into a bigger deal than it is meant. Perfect example - the Chicken McNugget Lady. We've all seen the Youtube video of the lady in the McDonald's drive-thru who needed to calm the fuck down. Apparently, she didn't get her chicken nuggets. And apparently, she needs her chicken nuggets to live because this lady took it to the next level. She reaches into the window, screaming and shouting to the window person and threatens death. When the employee gets a chance to close and lock the window, The Hamburgler in the drive-thru proceeds to bang on the window until it shatters. And then calmly gets back into her car and drives away, most likely to the nearest Wendy's. Now, I worked at McDonald's for about a year and half. I've had my fair share of McNuggets. I've also had my share of the delicious french fries and quarter pounders with cheese - both very tasty and satisfying. But not even in my fattest times have I threatened someones life because of some small chunks of alleged chicken breast. Calm the fuck down. I challenge you to think about the last argument you were in. Could that have been avoided if you had calmed the fuck down? Would you still be broken up now? Would your wall still have a hole in it? Would you still be in jail for shooting an innocent person because you jumped when you should have taken a step? #face

In our microwave era, we've come accustomed to having what we want, when we want it. Like this shit was Burger King. "But don't get crazy...." Our sense of entitlement has risen through the ROOF! How could it not - it's human nature. Since the womb, our human minds are set to self-preservation mode. This sense of entitlement has led us to believe that we deserve everything we want as soon as our internal oven timers go off. Much like children who can't have the toy from Walmart or the ice cream cone from the freezer, we then begin to scream and shout until we get our way. Well, son - grow the fuck up. We don't always get our way. Sometimes you gotta ask your lady, "Do you want it in the butt? No? Ok - let's try something else." But I digress....
As a child of mexican parents, I never did the "tantrum" thing. The reason I didn't is because I knew as soon as I even thought about it, I was fittin' to get beat. Either by a belt or a shoe or a hand or a cart or a wooden spoon or a chair or whatever. They did not play. I have a theory: I think that there are some grown ass people that need to get beat with a wooden spoon. I call it my "Mexican Wooden Spoon" Theory. Maybe they wouldn't act the way they do if they would grow the fuck up and realize it AIN'T their world, squirrel if they would get hit every once and then by a sense of authority. Kind of like acting a fool out in public and getting mad when the police stop you. Don't act a fool, don't get hit with that wooden spoon. Simple as that. Grow the fuck up.

One thing I don't understand is the opinions of some dictating the progress of the masses. Just because you eat Indian food doesn't mean that I have to. Just because you wear those ridiculous white sunglasses doesn't mean that I have to. And just because your God tells you that one man can't lay with another man certainly does not mean that mine does. Mind your business. What one individual does with their life should have no impact on yours. There is an old joke - "Man goes into the doctor and says, 'Doc, it hurts when I do this.' Doctor turns and looks at him and says, 'Well then don't do that.'" There are a lot of people that need to read that again. And listen to that doctor. If you don't like it, don't do it. When you turn on your radios and a Justin Bieber song comes on, what do you do? You turn the channel - exactly. You don't like that shit! (At least I hope you don't. Although, if you do, you're probably not reading this anyway.) Why can't we do that with real life? If you don't want to see something, turn away. Why is that just because you don't like it, I can't do it? To quote one of my favorite movies, "Don't Be A Menace To South Central While Drinking Your Juice In The Hood": "You ain't my daddy. You don't pay none of my bills. Mind ya business." #realtalk

I guess what I'm trying to say is that life isn't meant to be a battle. You're born, you grow up, you have fun, and then you die. It's really not that long of ride. Why not spend it happy?

Until next time...

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Very Convincing

You know, in all my years here on this great planet we call Earf, I've learned a couple of things. Some good, some bad, a lot of them made up. But this is MY blog so it doesn't matter. Like-to-hear-it-here-it-go:

I'm convinced that if you look up "douche" in the dictionary, there will be picture of Summers Eve and Matthew McConaughey. That guy bothers me so much. "I don't do it because they pay me... I do it because I like it." The eff out of here. Ever since that guy was butt naked banging the bangos, that guy has been on my shit list. He's the only 86 year old man that still takes his shirt off in movies. With his old balls. Gross.

I'm convinced that my scale is broken. Seriously. Just yesterday I stepped on it to see my progress. It gave me a number I was not even a little pleased with. So I says out loud, "LORD, no. Please help me! I'm 'bout to fall out." Stepped on it again and I had lost .6 pounds. Now. I'm all about that faith. You can ask anyone that knows me - I BELIEVE in the Lord and all of his glory. But either my scale is broken... or God knocked off a couple of pounds in a matter of seconds. And if the latter is the case, I'm never leaving my apartment because I'm busy praying until my ass can take my shirt off in public without scaring small children and gay dudes.

I'm convinced that Middle Village, Queens is so full of old white people that after 8pm, if you're not asleep, you're condemned to hell. Today, I tried to go buy a stamp so I could mail off my taxes. Only I couldn't because the post office is only opened from 9-5pm. Because. You know. No one has a job in this neighborhood because they're all OLD AND WHITE. The same goes for the bank. Only open from 9-5. Why do you think I always stop at 7-11 at 2am. It's the only place open. It's either that or year old crackers from my pantry.

I'm convinced that black people are way funnier than white people. Just look at me.
Badoom chic.

I'm convinced that Justin Bieber's real name is Damien and he is the coming of the anti-Christ and he should be sacrificed as soon as possible. Why else would people still buy his bullshit? The only way he could be this popular still is through some voodoo shit. That fool mixed some goats blood and chicken bones somewhere. Shave his head - I get you find that mark of the beast!

I'm convinced that I'm not meant to be a skinny person. Those of you who knew me back from 1999-2002 know that I was pretty skinny... with a big ass head. I looked like a Tootsie Roll Pop. People asked if I was anorexic, no lie. And then I turned 21 and started drinking (because I never did before..... yea.... that's it) and started to gain weight. And basically never stopped. I dropped some lb's every other summer or so but I was never back to "skinny". Which, I mean, when you think about it, is good that don't look like a Tootsie Roll Pop anymore. Now, it's more like a chocolate M&M.
Notice the candy references...

I'm convinced that if the zombie apocalypse happens, there won't be any mexicans left. Seriously, look at The Walking Dead. Ain't no mexicans on that show. Know why?
Because all of our grandma's already warned us about messing with shit like that, that's why! Ask any mexican you know. Abuelita done let a nigga know! When the zombie apocalypse happens, you won't find us out there wandering with Rick and them other fools. We are at the church eating corn and potatoes, saying the Hail Mary and watching y'all from the inside. Think I'm playin'.

And I'm convinced that Kanye West is an alien. That's it.

Until next time...


Monday, February 2, 2015

Get Up Off Of That Thang

The year is 2005 and I am dying.
Ok, not really "dying" physically. But on the inside. Emotionally and mentally, I was a pasty person in a George Romero movie. Life. Just. Sucked. I hated where I was in life, the fact that I had "failed" out of school, that I worked for minimal pay, I hated that I felt alone in a crowd full of people, I hated that I couldn't look at myself in the mirror without thinking I was fatter than Jonah Hill circa 2005... but not 2011... but then again in 2014....
I hated everything about me. In that year, I was looking for something to change me. Something that would give me what I thought I needed. I wanted to get away from the people that I had hung out with for most of my life. I felt like I couldn't be anything other than that one mexican dude in high school that was nominated for homecoming king (name drop). I wasn't going to be anything better than the Hastings employee or that dude that guy that lived in Arlington. I wanted something bigger, something greater. Something so badass, I could look at myself and actually like me. I wanted New York.
The following year, a group of friends and I took the trip. One, to see the sights, and two, so I could check out a recording school and maybe see if I could get in. I was going to take the jump. So. I planned it out. The Thursday we were here, I was going to take a tour of the school and see what it had in store for me. We weren't near the ballas we are today (badoom chic) so we were staying up on 94th street and Broadway - about 5 miles away from the school. I decided to get up Thursday morning and walk the 5 miles to the school. Just so I could check out the town. HOLY MOLY, this nigga fell in love. Walking by the fruit stands, the honking cabs, the random "the fuck was that" smells... I was in heaven.
The school was so cool. I took a tour and got to see the booth with the sound boards and the recording room. Almost cried. I was set - all I had to do was sign up.
And I didn't do it.
I went back to Texas to contemplate my entire life and couldn't do it alone. I hated myself so much that I couldn't stand the thought of being alone with myself all that time. So. I didn't do it. Visited about 4 other times since then and never made the jump.

Fast forward 6 years.

One February Sunday Funday... my life changed. And I accepted myself for who I was and freaked the fuck out. Ha. If you witnessed me that day, I apologize now. Because 1) I was so drunk, I don't remember and 2) I probably left booger marks on your shoulder. Hot. Mess. But it took that drama, that hardcore slap in the face to wake me up. And to say that damnit, I deserve to be happy and stop chasing shit that wouldn't ever be. I accepted me. I was born again. Thirty motherf'ing years, it took. But damnit... I was alive. SCARED OUT OF MY MIND, but alive nonetheless.
Work shit happened and look what happens... "JFK team is looking for another member. You interested?"

Today is February 2, 2015. Close to my 3rd "birthday" and I want to click my damn heels every time I walk out of my New York apartment. Not only did I realize that I didn't New York to change my life, I needed to change my life to get to New York. But I'm here... and I couldn't be happier. Not only am I ok with being by myself, sometimes I PREFER it. On a Saturday night, sometimes I'll sit here and watch SNL instead of drinking myself into an angry texter. And again, I apologize if you've been on the other end of that...

I've also realized how freaking DIFFERENT the people up here are. I call it "rudely nice". Contrary to popular belief, these people aren't mean. They're just to the point. Like, if you don't know what you want in line somewhere, get out of the way. If you ask, "what do you have to drink" at a bar, go ahead and leave right then because as Ms. Sweet Brown told ya, ain't nobody got time for that. And driving?? Holy shit, it's liberating. It's like driving a gocart without the teenager with a whistle telling you to quit bumping people.
Some things do not change, though. I am still good friends with the local bartenders. But in my defense, they are REALLY awesome friendly people. My first friend here, Jess, is still my good friend and she doesn't even serve me drinks anymore. And Pat, my drinking buddy? Even though he moved to Virginia, we still talk at least once a week. Not to mention the numerous FANTASTIC friends that come up from Texas to visit. Hell, Andrew comes here all the time. I almost started charging him rent. I was going to have his mail forwarded as a surprise to him. But... you know white people. That's kind of frowned upon.

I'm not sure if this blog was supposed to be just an update on my life since I haven't posted something in over a year or if it was to prove to you that things happen for a reason. And through the pain and the hurt and the "what the fuck are you thinking" moments, it all leads somewhere. You will be confused as shit. Maybe even pissed. Maybe even so pissed you punch a brick wall. Or so drunk you drop your phone in front of your boss's bosses 4 times. Or cry on your way home from someone's apartment every bloody time JUST to go back over there and do it again the next day.
BUT. Ha. All for a reason. Count. On. That.

Until next time....

Saturday, March 23, 2013

Karaoke?

So today, after a week of not killing my liver, I finally had an alcoholic beverage. I say AN alcoholic beverage because my mother is probably reading.
Today is Saturday and you know how I like to day drink. I waited for noon, when Chili's opened, and had my first drink in a week. "Presedente" Margarita. Without the Presedente, by the way. Apparently, they can get away with not serving it with Presedente by noting on the menu its "tequila", not Presedente tequila. Sneaky Indians... I ordered the "chicken fried" chicken strips. Which came out looking like 5 chicken fried steaks on a plate with a corn cob and french fries. Ate about half and couldn't do it anymore. BUT I did have a couple more Presedentes. Wasn't sure how much it affected me until "Whip My Hair" by Willow Smith came on. I found myself "whipping my hair back and forth", while the bartender stared at me, and realized it's been awhile since I had a drink. Didn't help that Shakira came on next and I was bar dancing in my seat. Indians apparently don't know about "bar dancing". People were staring more than a mexican in traffic.
Had a couple and then finally went to bed. For awhile. And woke up to do some sanging. Walked into the karaoke bar next door to someone singing George Thorogood. Word? And then, Sweet Home Alabama. What the fuck this nigga know about Alabama? Couldn't stop smiling for 30 minutes cause it just kept getting better. Sweet Child of Mine, U2, Billy Ocean... I can't do 80's music. Most dudes who sang in the 80's sang higher than the females did! I can't do that shit. So I started to play a game...
If you've ever been to Passport Health, the people who tell give you your international shots, you know that they are anti-travel. These people will tell you about every disease, parasite, sickness, rash, cough and sneeze, ailment that you will ever get from any other country besides America. They will scare you into believing that as soon as you get off of the plane, you have potentially caught Malaria, Herpes, Diabetes, SARS, Swine flu, Bird, flu, Dog flu, carpel tunnel, small pox, chicken pox, and VD before you even speak to customs UNLESS you spend $345 on pills and shots to prevent it all. Apparently, you can't drink the water in any other country except the US. Which sticks to you. So when you get a mixed drink, you know it comes with ice aka frozen death. So the game begins.
You have to finish your drink before your ice melts or else you die on the spot of some made up disease that no one has heard of but EVERYONE is afraid of. Which means that you drink a lot more than anticipated just because you don't like rashes. Well let's just say I played that game. And I lost.
As I kept watching the show, I became aware that it really wasn't karaoke night. There was a dude there singing and this was his show. Oops.But wait, they just said we could sing! There's my queue.
Asked for Incubus. No luck. Asked for Michael Buble. Nope. Asked for "No Diggity" to no avail. Asked for Matchbox 20 and all they have is "Smooth" by Rob Thomas/Santana. I'll take what I can get. But singing a "spanish" song in India doesn't land so well as singing it in Texas.
Either way, there were all of 3 people singing tonight, besides the dj and his girl, and no one really cared. Man, I miss Aiyoku. Black people and being center of attention go together like drunk texts and morning regret. Ask me tomorrow about that one.
Tomorrow is brunch day, since my work network connection is STILL not working. We'll see how much brown people relate during drunk lunch. I'll keep you posted.

Until next time...

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Back In Black

It's been a minute since my last entry so I'll catch you up:
I gained about 930 pounds, I made new fantastic friends, dated some people, made fun of some people, drank some beer, became asexual, and started a Facebook war with an old white man. You know... same shit, new day. Currently, I'm sitting in a hotel room, watching a Simpsons episode from 1993 and trying to figure out what the heck I'm supposed to be doing right now.

So here I am - back in Indian for my 15th and 16th week. We're transitioning another one of my customers so I'm here doing what I do. As soon as I find out what that is, I'll let you know. The trip here was pretty uneventful. Spent 10 hours on a plan here watching some good movies. Landed in Frankfurt and sat for four hours watching the snow fall and praying to God I wouldn't have to spend the night there. It was below freezing and all I brought was close and the extra weight that I put on. Once we took off, I promised myself I would sleep the rest of the way to Mumbai. I even put on Anna Karenina, the Oscar nominated movie, to help me fall asleep, Those artsy movies usually either make me wanna smoke or put me to sleep. This one did neither. It just confused the hell out of me and pissed me off. If you've seen it, you know what a psycho bitch that chick was! Holy moly - reminded me why I quit dating girls.This chick was the definition of bipolar! She couldn't be crazier if she started talking shit on a random person's Facebook post, all the while looking like Santa Claus had an illegitimate child with a retarded cow. (I'm not saying, I'm just saying.) So I never fell asleep because she pissed me off so much. Ended up staying away for another God knows how many hours until I finally fell asleep Monday morning at 11:30am. I don't really know how long that was because I'm not even sure what time it is now. We landed at 1:15am and I've been in and out of sanity since.
I'm working nights here so that I can be on the same time as it is in the states. And I have to say it's for the birds. I'm not sure what time I'm supposed to eat or sleep or masturbate or what. Oh make time for all three... I just don't know what time it is when I do it.
Badoom chic.
My first day back was actually not bad at all. It was like I never left. Got back in the groove and now that I know I'm only here for 2 weeks, it really doesn't make me the anxious, bitter, wreck I was last time. Although, the first thing that they told me was, "hey you put on a little weight". Get off me, nigga, I got hungry. After the day ended at 6am, I came back to the hotel and did some more work until I just couldn't work anymore. Even started working out a little. I say a little because my dumbass forgot all my workout clothes so I can't really be running in khakis. So I just stay in my room and do some aerobic/dancing/hope-to-God-no-one-can-see-me-shit.Hey, I'm sweating so that's all that matters. I guess they knew I was coming with weight to lose because there is a scale in my room. Ass holes.
Went to KFC today since it's down the street and the closest thing to fast food I can find.I waited in line after looking at the menu trying to find something I recognized and low and behold, in front of me was a black chick! I was excited and then confused... what the hell would a black chick be doing in India. I'm not being racist... but lets be real. Black chicks don't even like going to the ghetto, let alone the GHETTO. So I almost thought that maybe she was just a dark Indian chick. Until I heard her order.
"I need the two piece, please.A leg and a thigh."
Complete with the neck sway, "And please make sure it's a leg and a thigh. I don't wont none of that other stuff!"
My eyes opened wide and I wanted to hug her. MY PEOPLE!! Right here in line at KFC, I found the only other "black" person in India.

Imagine that.

I have a driver from the building I'm working in that drives me to and from work. He's pretty quiet and doesn't smell like the fool from the hotel that used to drive us when we were here last. This one actually takes a shower, I think. My only complaint is that this fool keeps his car at -42 degrees. By the time I get out, my balls are like marbles and I got icicles hanging from my nose. He still drives just like all the other drivers here. We get so close to the car next to us that if my penis was hanging out the window, I could touch it. And I'm hung like a hamster! It's a big, giant, mammoth hamster, but a hamster none the less.

I am planning on attending karaoke night at a bar next door on Saturday and I cannot wait. Josh apparently has been telling this fool that I was coming so I anticipate a lot of sanging on Saturday. And a lot of dranking too. I haven't had a drink since the flight to Frankfurt and only 2 cigarettes since Friday night. Word. Let's see how healthy I can get before gorging myself at Anthony's next Sunday.
Planning to get work done and lose some pounds before my return on the 30th. Been wearing a lot of black lately cause, you know, black is "slimming". But as big as I got, I could paint my body black and it'd still look like I was pregnant.
Gotta get pumped and ready for the pub crawl on April 27th. Just throwing that out there.... Schmammered Family Reunion Part 4. Bring your drinking pants!

By the way, the Careless Whisper video just came on tv. Maybe they'll catch up to 1999 on this channel and I can see some Bone Thugs.

Until next time...