Don’t do it old lady!

I just did some light grocery shopping at my local market, Big Deal.

This place is small old and slow. Much like the majority of the people in my neighborhood of the Bronx. Morris Park is an old Italian neighborhood, both of my parents grew up here, and until about 4yrs ago my grandparents lived here their whole lives.

So over the past 3 1/2yrs that I’ve lived here I have gained knowledge and wisdom from these people. Old people like to talk, and I don’t mind listening. There is always something that can be taken from those conversations. Today it was a blog.

Waiting on the typically slow long Big Deal line to check out, an old lady took a liking to me. I looked like her grandson/nephew/son, or something. She wasn’t sure. Anyway, she quickly became aware of the fact that I had made a grave mistake: paper-towels! The roll I was purchasing was a quarter cheaper down the road at some convenient store! I thanked her for the tip, but did not toss the roll I had because I just wanted to go home. Not on a 10min walk to the other place.

This was a big mistake.

She began to lecture me worse than my grandma did when she saw my first tattoo. About how my generation has no appreciation for money or hard work. We take it all for granted…

“Everything was handed to you, and you’re to loose with your money. This is why the Mayor should be shot!”

me- “What the holy fuck are you talking about old lady?!?!”

(you see in these Italian Roman Catholic parts you just have to bless foul language before spitting it)

old lady- “Ohh I see. You like Bloomberg, don’t you.”

me- “Look I’m not sure, but I think you can be arrested for saying that!”

By this time she was just about done and leaving. She called me a good boy and walked out.

I’m confused.

These words are my own.

Yup, Natasha Bettingfield people. On my Ipod. Right there with Kelly Clarkson, and Fergi.

Like Dianna Ross I’m comin out! I like chick music! Fuck it, I said it. It’s time for me to own it. I need to know who I am.

A couple of weeks ago I was at a bar. I hit it off with a cute girl, and it came time for the # exchange. So, I pull out my super obnoxious, I’m soo cool I can’t stand myself Iphone. And this girl gives me the whole “you can tell a lot about a person from what music they like” thing. She grabs the Icool outta my hands, opens the pod, and Donna Summer, “On the Radio” is right where I left it when I rocked into work that morning.

“Whaa-oohh-oohh-oohh on tha radio!” (god damn I love that song)

Needless to say my call two days later (standard) was ignored.

You know, nothing is better that blasting Pantera’s “Fucking Hostile“, r.i.p. Dimebag Darryl you were the best shredder of all time! That shit actually sooths my sole in some weird way.

But, sometimes I just need to hear some Feist, and lallygag up 8thAv after work. And don’t get me started on Madonna. I f we’re hanging out and “La Isla Bonita” comes on, I will shush you.

Queer right?

No! It’s just my jam session is all, and I’ll be damned if I let any nay sayer get me down!

Big Girls don’t cry god dammit!!!

How bout sellin your shirt?

On the way to happy hour with Chris yesterday we got stopped by a guy.  Now, we both usually know better than to be stopped by a stranger on the street in NYC.  Our mothers told us not to when we moved up.  But this guy was well dressed and opened with

“Im trying to get to Penn Station”…

Now this is bound to hook any NYC transplant because will will not pass up an opportunity to show how much we know about the city.  So there we are eager to impress, and he hits us with…

“Can I have some of your hard earned money?”

or that’s what it sounded like, but anyway this guy had on a very nice outfit, and a hand full of beggin’ change!?!? Now because I’m a royal ass, and Chris is even worse, we never assume this guy has a valid reason to be begging for change.  The fucker had on a nice shirt!!  No way someone with a nicely pressed shirt needs my change.  Fuck off guy!

Sell your leather shoes!

Just give me a Bud.

I like good beer.

A good pilsner, lager, I don’t like brown ale, but any pale ale makes me a happy camper.

I like good beer.

Last Saturday night I was out with my buddies Chris, of course, Wino and Neils. We went to a bar. I thought it was your regular tavern, barn stools, beer girls, patrons etc. So I did what I always do…

me: bud bottle.

At this point it was like a record scratched! The beer maiden just looks me up and down, and says to Wino (who is a regular) “Will you tell this guy the deal!”

Wino: This place prides itself on its beer selection.

Neils: It’s kinda an insult asking for a Bud here.

Are you fucking kidding me?! Look if I want a fucking Bud and you don’t have a fucking Bud just say so assbag. Don’t stand on some pedestal, and have someone else tell me what your to cool to say yourself! Up yours lady! I had to tell her she sucked, and it ended bad as it usually does when you tell someone they suck (truth hurts).

Moral: Really good things are really good. But, other stuff can be just as good. Back off!

luggage tag night.

This season me and my buddy Keith decided to fulfill childhood dreams of ours.

Knicks season tickets! Well a partial season, 18games altogether. The important thing is that we were there. With these tickets we really are a part of the team. The money we spent in a very indirect way contributes to the better of the team/organization, and we can cheer with even more vigor!

Unfortunately the Knickerbockers gave us nothing to cheer for. Inciting boos in every game we’ve seen, and almost always ending in chants of “FIRE ISIAH!!” They never tried, and it resulted in them being the worst team in the NBA. Disgraceful for a NY franchise.

To add insult to injury the staff at the garden couldn’t be more inept. At the concession stands getting a simple hot dog and a beer was like pulling teeth.

I would order-

me: Foot-long hot-dog and a big Bud. Please.

retard: Do you want a hot dog?

me: Foot-long hot-dog and a big Bud. Please!

retard: Foot-long or jumbo?

me: Foot-long hot-dog and a big Bud. Please!!

retard: Did you want something to drink with that?

by this time I’ve flashed the machete I carry on my waist…

On one Tuesday night we were playing the Charlotte fucking Bobcats and the Garden was a ghost town. Keith and I were kicked out of some nice seats that we moved to from our beat ass seats. The usher made us feel like we were some fuckin bums!

last night was the last straw.

Luggage tag night. That is my thank you for the patronage. That’s my thank you for spending my hard earned money (and lots of it), for cheering hopelessly, for watching no effort bball all season, and for getting shit on by Garden staff!! Not a cool headband, or basketball, no. FUCKING LUGGAGE TAGS!! PLASTIC TAGS!!!! Garbage.

Who decided on this?! What think-tank did this idea float to the top of?!

board-member#1- Well we’re down to luggage tag, envelope, or trash bag night. I’m at a loss.

board-member#2- Um, I all-ready got my luggage tags did you guys?

board-member#3- Yeah, and we can always use the trash bags and envelops, so lets give ‘em the leftover tags.

Perfect. Now I have plastic funny smelling Knick luggage tags.

Thanks Jim Dolan.

Assbag.

underwear.

College is a time of experimentation.

Sex, drugs, majors (well the schooling part was just an excuse for the parties), and underwear.

Yes, when I was 19 in some drug induced epiphany I decided to make a total change in my daily life.

Boxer Briefs! This will change my life! These things have the support of briefs, but I don’t look like a fucking tool!

For 9 years now the boxer briefs have ruled my life.

Until now! Upon packing for my trip I found myself with no clean undies, and 1hr till my car service arrived. Ahh! I gotta have clean underwear! What will the countless number of beautiful young ladies I bed think of my stinky skivvies?! So I turned to a bag in the corner of my closet where I have been putting the boxer shorts that my mom has bought me for X-mass for the last 9 years (don’t act like your mom doesn’t still give you underwear on X-mass). I put on a pair, and embarked on my journey.

Holy Shit!!! I feel like I was just released from prison! So free and easy! Like a cloud on a breeze in the spring, my cash n prizes were floating all over Charlotte N.C.! I was more productive, less grouchy, just good natured all around.

Long story boxer-short, the days of my miss-spent boxer-brief wearing youth have come to an end.

I am now a man.

I’m back baby!

Well. A whole week in the south, and now im back in The good o’l Boogie Down Bx.

I gotta say I really enjoyed being in Charlotte. It’s similar to NY, in one way: in the city everyone is a transplant.

Other than that not much was the same.

No corner bodegas, not much ethnicity, you have to drive everywhere. But, the one thing that really took me off guard was that everyone so so damned friendly!

The lady at the parking gate of the hotel always had a weather report for me, and some sort of friendly fact: “If your social security # starts with a 2 you get your return in the first week of May this year”…smiles.

On my way into the office, and around town in general I was greeted by everyone I crossed paths with: “Good morning/afternoon/evening!” smiles… “Great day today!”… smiles “What floor did you need?!”… smiles. Cab driver: “Where can I take you good folks tonight?” “Yes sir!”… smiles “Thank you smiles, smile smiles!… “CAN I JUMP IN FRONT OF A CAR FOR YOU SIR SMILES SMILES SMILES!!!!”

Anyone living in NY knows this to be true about our city: “Nice, but not friendly”, and a lot of the time not nice, so at first I was very put off. Almost angry.

Do I really have to say “Hiee!, smiles” to every person I see? I mean dear god even at 7:15am before my first coffee?? I did not think I was gonna make it.

But. I don’t know if it was the weather (15 degrees hotter on average) or just their general good nature, but by the time I left I was the happiest friendliest mutherfucker in Charlotte. “You first ma’am!” “Thank you kindly Sir!” “Can I help any of you good folks with anything, SMILES?!!”

Of course back in MY city when I said “Hello sir!” to my cabby on the way home, I was greeted with a gruff, “Yeah, whadda you want chief.”

“To Tha Bronx boss!!!”

Ahh, home sweet home…

expense report.

Ok, so to spite my car service not showing up, me losing my itinerary, and the extremely cute girl sitting next to me on the flight treating me like I was dripping with the Hiv the trip went relatively smooth. I’m now enjoying 4 dollar beers, and Vicodin in my hotel room. Which lead me to a question…

When my boss told me to save receipts for the expense report, what exactly can I get away with?

I mean really, they did take me outta my cozy home, put me in a strange place for 6 days, and have me giving up both this Sunday, and next Friday night!

my boss: “I’ve been looking over your expense report JP, and quite frankly this is ridiculous.”

me: “Was it the lobster dinner three times a day, cause I gotta tell ya if I was at home I could have boiled them my self, I do it all the time, much cheaper in NY.”

my boss: “Well, no. It has more to do with this!”

He angrily points to a piece of scrap paper that says in chicken scratch handwriting “8-ball, $450″

me: “Look, the guy I bought it from, his receipt machine was broken, and yeah I know that’s expensive for an 8-ball, but he could tell I was from outta town, and I didn’t know where else to get blow.”

my boss: “Blow!! We sent you down there to train new employees, not to do blow!!”

me: “Woah, calm down broseph, if I didn’t get the blow the hookers would have been full price! I thought you would be happy I saved the company some money!”

Well, in the mean time, I have the Vicodin I brought from home, and I shouldn’t be mixing uppers and downers anyway. So I guess I’ll just save cheeseburger, and parking receipts.

Awesome!!

Breakfast with no hog.

Today has to be a good day.  I’m flying to Charlotte N.C., for my first business trip.

I felt starting the day on the right foot was imperative.  But how?

Ice Cube, Today was a Good Day!!

By the way this song is exactly 4min 20 sec.  Perfect!

No bad can come when this song enters your life.  As a matter of fact even discussion of this songs brings smiles to peoples faces.

I’ll bet you’re smiling right now.

Last night me Apollo n peeps were out drinking.  We started the Good Day/Cube discussion, and there was an uproar!  Unanimous agreement across the board inspiring the pub manager to put on the song and let all of us enjoy Saturday night just a bit more.

You see, all it takes for Cube to have a good day is not using his AK…

All it takes for me is to hear that song.

…and it read JP’s a pimp…

huh?

I went to happy hour with my company a few days ago.  We had the back half of this bar reserved.  Upon walking in a frazzled looking employee of the bar ran up to us, and said- “if you don’t check your coats you wont find a place to sit!”.  What?!  Am I gonna get soo hot in my coat that my vision blurs, and I loose the ability to recognise an empty seat?!  That confused me.   Two weeks ago I was at a bar with Apollo, and we over heard some beef.  These guys were in each others faces when one guy says to the other- “I’m gonna elbow you in the face with my fist!!”  Priceless.