Friday, January 29, 2010

IMing with Chrissy

....
Chrissy
....
Daisy was eaten by a coyote
Ryan
What?
Chrissy
i am listened to the radio
Ryan
Jessica Simpson's dog?
Chrissy
yes
Ryan
Wow!
Scary.
and gross.
I really want a dog.
Chrissy
common around here...lots of coyotes
me too
I think I will name him Chester
Ryan
Do you guys have a fish?
Chrissy
or even a cat
Ryan
Jon wants to name our dog Buckets.
Chrissy
3 fish
cute
...

beta?
Ryan
betas don't do anything.
Chrissy
I had one that jumped out of the bowl and ended his suffereing.
gotta poop
Ryan
Nice.
Bye.
Chrissy
you have that effect on me
Ryan
I'm posting that.
Bye.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

PULL THE STRING!

Today on the bus I had a mean case of shaky giggles, the kind that could easily be mistaken for violent sobbing if you weren't careful.

A man, who I originally thought to be a loudmouth, busy-body, vagrant, shouting at us passengers, turned out to be just an off duty bus driver bellowing play-by-play commentary to the entire busload of people as we passed by bus stops and intersections:

Man: (shouting) OKAY, COMING UP IS SERRAMONTE AND 19TH AVENUE WHERE YOU CAN CATCH THE 14, 29 AND 18 BUS LINES IF YOU WANT TO GO DOWNTOWN OR TO DALY CITY. SERRAMONTE! PULL THE STRING IF YOU WANT TO STOP! (No one pulls string.) I HOPE YOU DIDN'T NEED TO GET OFF HERE AT SERRAMONTE AND 19TH AVENUE BECAUSE WE'RE GOING TO...(we pass bus stop)...MISS IT. THERE WE MISSED IT. NO ONE NEEDED THAT STOP I HOPE. (Waiting for people on bus to respond. No one does.) ALRIGHT, ON TO DALY CITY BART. NEXT STOP DALY CITY BART.

I'm not sure why this guy was on the bus to begin with, maybe because he was ending or starting a shift and was catching a ride to some sort of bus-driver-swap at the end of the line. Either way, what was even more amusing than his jarring bus-route information, were all the conversations he seemed to carry on with people--people who, fearing eye contact might actually engage and give him cause to read something on them, were unwilling to acknowledge he was talking to them. In fact, looking around, everyone had their head down and/or eyes to the sky, too afraid of being ambushed by his conversation...even if they already had been.

Man: I HAD CHINESE FOOD LAST NIGHT AND DIDN'T LIKE IT SO I FED IT TO MY DOGS WHO ALSO DIDN'T WANT IT. DO YOU KNOW THAT PLACE UP ON GEARY STREET, I THINK IT HAS BLUE WALLS OR SOMETHING INSIDE...IT'S GOOD. YOU SHOULD TRY IT.

Asian Woman: ....

Man: MY SISTER HAS FOUR KIDS, BUT THEY'RE ALL GROWN AND MOVED OUT AND DON'T VISIT MUCH, SHE TELLS ME. ONE IS IN THE ARMY AND ALMOST WENT TO WAR BUT WAS DIAGNOSED WITH NARCOLEPSY WHERE YOU JUST FALL ASLEEP, SO HE CAN'T SERVE ANYMORE. I DON'T HAVE KIDS OF MY OWN. MY WIFE HAS ONE.

Mother With Two Kids: ...

And then he turned his focus to another man directly across from me, wearing a large brown Old Navy hoodie. He had an amputated hand and there was a stub, resembling a rice paddle, where a hand should have been.

Man: YOU REMIND ME OF MY BROTHER, HE WAS AN AMPUTEE TOO. ON HIS RIGHT HAND, LIKE YOU! HE HAD TO QUICK DRIVING TRUCKS.

Amputee: (under his breath) Asshole.

Man: DALY CITY BART, NEXT STOP! DALY CITY BART!!

BLACKOUT

Gospel Dance Aerobics Break!

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Deep Down, Some People Are Just Assholes

Around the clock, Sty-Eye Steven had an indiscriminate man-sized appetite for frivolous sex. I was friends with Sty-Eye in a previous, cluby, drink-til-dawn period of my life and his stories of blowing an 80-year old paraplegic, casually pissing in a stranger's mouth because the guy happened to ask and Friday nights at the bathhouse were only believable because of the open wounds and sex-related sores that frequently covered parts of his body. In fact, we nicknamed him "Sty-Eye" because of the orgy water that splashed in his face during a particularly wild hot tub romp (and gave him styes on his eyes)...according to him, anyway.

I first met Sty-Eye and immediately saw a boy in a man's body, someone who did not keep regular hours for anything and was free from accountability. I could respect Sty-Eye though because he knew who he was and so did everyone else. But this story isn't about Sty-Eye, it's about the new guy from my work he wanted to meet, someone none of us knew.

"I want him on me!"

"Dead-tooth, Chad?"
I had to confirm.

"Oh, does he have a dead tooth?" Sty-Eye clarified.

"Well, I don't actually know that his tooth is dead, but it does look fuzzy and gray. He's cute, but squirrely."

"So. He's that tall guy."

"Totally. That's him. The tall guy."

Before long it was Saturday night and everyone was out trolling for tail. Having pestered me for days like a hungry dog wanting a bone, I was soon introducing Sty-Eye to Chad outside a Lower Haight Street bar. "Chad, this is Steven. Steven, Chad." The two were just the right amount of aloof, I realize now, to suggest sexual interest without admitting anything. I turned to snicker to some other friends, giving Sty-Eye some space to bewitch his next notch on the bedpost, "Check out Sty-Eye and Dead-Tooth Chad--" and they were gone.

"Maybe they went to get cigarettes," someone with purple bangs suggested.

"I don't know," maybe they had.

Thirty minutes later, via text messaging, we'd all gotten word that Sty-Eye had taken Chad to his house, which happened to be 4 long blocks from the bar, for a quick snog and cum facial. "I'm in for the night," his text added.

The following Monday at work I had to ask Chad, "So you disappeared on Saturday night. Did you have fun?"

"What?"

"With Steven. The little guy with the shaved head."

"Oh, that guy you were with?"

"Yeah. I turned around and you both were gone."

"I, uh, had to go."

"To his house. He was asking me to introduce you two."

"I had to leave and don't know where he went."

"Chad," I pressed, "Steven said you guys went back to his house."

"We didn't. Isn't he your boyfriend?"

"Steven!? NO, no, no, no way. Gross."

A sense of relief seemed to wash over Chad's body, like I'd just given slack to a tightrope. "Oh, thank God. I thought you two were dating. You didn't tell me who he was when you introduced us. Yeah, we fucked around. You know."

My eyes narrowed. "Why would you mess around with him if you thought he was my boyfriend? I just introduced you guys."

"But he's not your boyfriend."

"But you thought he was my boyfriend."

"Yeah, but he wasn't, and he's not now, is he?"

"No, but...."

"Ryan, it's no big deal, dude."

"Not really, but just 'cause the rules changed doesn't mean your game did. I don't think you get it."

And he never did.

Asshole.

Monday, January 4, 2010

Dummy's Guide to Finger-Fucking a Chicken

If you're not one of the baby handful of people that read this blog on a semi-occasion, here are some important tools that may or may not come in handy and may or may not be interesting background information whilst reading about the latest occurrence on my parents' farm:
  • I grew up on a farm but fled to the city when I was old enough.
  • My parents still live on a farm and by their own rules.
  • My sister has been guilty of surprising people with pets as gifts.
  • My sister gave my parents 8 full-grown chickens this Christmas. No one expected it. (see above)
  • My mother was less than happy to receive 8 full-grown chickens and is distressed that they have not laid a single egg in 2 weeks.
  • Despite exhausting online research, I cannot find any information about hoganizing.
  • Jon does not like birds and doesn't trust anything that won't stop to poop.
    _____________
Jon and I spent most of Christmas break with his family in Chesaning, Michigan and when we got back, one day with my family on the farm. Actually, we just spent an afternoon with my family as that is plenty of time to catch up and not enough time to lose your mind. While there, my mother took me aside and asked if I'd seen "those dumb no-egg-laying chickens" that my sister had bought them. "I had no idea we'd have to take care of a bunch of chickens and here comes your sister with eight of them! Eight," my mother went on before my father playfully swatted the air to quiet her complaining. "We'll just have to hoganize [the hens], I suppose," she said as blank expressions washed over me and Jon. Hoganize? Five minutes later everyone was tromping through the mud on our way to the hen house.

My sister was swift to corner a Rhode Island hen and scoop it up in her arms before the rest of us had even gotten inside the coop. Well, all of us except Jon who was a happy observer on the other side of the stretched chicken wire. Then my sister, with her rough hands, pet her caught hen for just a moment before she angled its rear in the air for my mother to shove her three fingers; index, middle and ring finger, deep into the chicken's back end, a motion that practically ensorceled Jon and I by its pure lack of hesitation and fluidity--all from a woman who had just been making a pie.

My mother then went on to explain that if a chicken is not producing eggs you have to poke your three middle fingers between its tailbones. If your fingers fit, the chicken can then lay eggs. If it doesn't fit, well, that wasn't the case with these eight chickens and I shutter to think what sorts of de-virginizing acts happen to lame fowl behind closed barn doors.

Before long, one by one--scoop, pet, shove--all eight chickens were hoganized and I have to think, a touch bewildered. My sister, wanting to make good on her gift of egg-producing hens, took it a step further by actually smothering the chickens with one hand and poking around in their tail feathers with the other to, "make them think they've been mounted." When all was said and done, I was quick to remind everyone to wash their hands before dinner.

To illustrate further, I've put together the following guide to help you impress at your next dinner party:

Step-By-Step Dummy Guide to
Finger-Fucking a Chicken

(Do not attempt with roosters.)

Step 1: Corral your chicken into a corner.

Step 2: Move slowly toward chicken. Do not raise arms or seem bigger than you are. If your chicken seems panicked; stop, crouch low and proceed again when chicken's fear seems to subside.

Step 3: Now's your chance--POUNCE and grab chicken by leg, wing, body--whatever it takes, just get that chicken! Beware of flapping and scratching.

Step 4: Pet chicken and talk to it softly. Make it think it's safe.

Step 5: Firmly grip chicken's body, holding down wings, and angle its hind-end in the air.

Step 6: Without pause, shove your three middle fingers in between chicken's tailbones. No need to actually penetrate the chicken though that is also acceptable. Farmers may refer to this step as "hoganizing" your chicken.

Step 7: If you want to ensure your chicken will lay eggs, after hoganizing, pin chicken to ground with your hand, as if mounting as a rooster would. Then with finger, make that hen a woman. Your chicken should lay eggs in 1-2 weeks. If not, wash, rinse, repeat.

Note: If you are afraid of birds, stay outside of the coop and allow the professionals to do their work.