Just recently I told my pal Pam that I haven’t been drunk in about 15 years or so. When I think about it now, it’s hard to believe that I’ve been able to avoid this for so long. If only I could have avoided all of those cupcakes in that time, perhaps my dentist wouldn’t glare at me every time I see him.

The true reason for not getting inebriated over that time was that I don’t want to fall into the trap that most of my family had fallen into. I’d rather not get into details at this point, but let’s just say that alcohol didn’t treat any of them well.

My brother in law had suggested my autobiography should be titled: “My Nana Used To Drink Kahlua Sombreros”.

But I remember clearly that the last two times I was drunk was an omen for stopping myself from going too far.

One of those times I was out with a large group of work friends at a farewell party for one of them. It started out as a bad night getting a drink spilled in my lap. This chooch I used to work with had these enormous belt buckles that a friend & I used to make fun of. Well, wouldn’t you know it that he stood up across from me and his fucking buckle caught the table. I watched my Rum & Coke spill all over my pants! I found myself creeping past the other patrons covering my crotch to not give the illusion that I pissed myself.

I ended up in the men’s room with one leg on the sink and I was drying out my crotch under the hand dryer. That was a site to see for the other guys coming in. It looked like I was porking the dryer. I’m amazed that I wasn’t pummeled by someone.

Actually, it’s a good thing that they didn’t have those super powered Xlerators back then:

I might have become sterile.

Well, I also recall drinking a lot of V.O. straight up later in the evening, and consuming a large pizza. If you don’t want to be grossed out completely, I’d recommend skipping the next paragraph.

So, I passed out on my bed when I got home with my head hanging over the side. I remember waking up in the middle of puking. I whipped my head up to run to the bathroom. Well, that’s when the vomit started to come out of my nose! (yeech!). I was scrambling to the toilet making a trail of puke from my bedroom. When I finally finished up, I blew my nose…and a big piece of cheese came out!

I swore I’d never get drunk again.

That lasted until one night when I promised this guy that I worked with that I’d go to his house & help him beat Super Mario Bros 3 for the Nintendo system. (Sidebar: 12 years later someone actually married me, believe it or not).

I’ll call him Tom. Well Tom brought me to meet his roommate who we’ll call Jim for the story. For your mind’s eye, Jim kind of looked like a short, stocky Stephen King. And about 10 times EVERY hour, he would pump his fists up and down like this: 

And yell out “YES! … YES!… YESSSSS!”

This guy was a fucking NUT. He was a Vietnam Vet and he was telling me war stories all night. He was also ribbing Tom for his recent divorce all night. I honestly thought that there would be fisticuffs.

To start the night we went to a local liquor super store called Kappys. And we filled up a shopping cart with booze not much different than Nick Cage did in Leaving Las Vegas. ALL kinds of it.

When we got back to their house, Jim kept making me try new kinds of liquor. I’d fight him on every choice, but always give in on each drink. And every time I did he’d go: “YES!!   … YESSSS!”

I was getting sauced and still trying to show them how to beat the stupid game. That is vintage Pomeroy. I don’t know why I cared so much. Idiot.

Finally it was too late for me to catch the train to go home, so I had to sleep over! This was something I did NOT want to do, with Colonel fucking Kurtz getting crazier as the night wore on. At one point he yelled out: “YESS…. I used to cut off charlie’s ears and wear them on my belt!!! HA HA…. YES! …YESSSSS!”

I was scared shitless. He was staring at me after he said it, and I said something like: “Welll… I’mm a muh-merican….”.

I couldn’t sleep at all that night. I didn’t want to wake up to find that the guy had a machete up to my ear or something. So I forced myself to stay up all night.

The next day I saw Jim get up to jump in the shower. I heard from the shower: “YESSSSS!  YESS!” Tom came out of his room and told me that their hot water was turned off and I could only take a cold shower like Jim was taking. I politely declined. Then I swiftly left there & jumped on a train home. I looked like Nicholson at the end of The Shining. I felt like shit too. So then again I promised I wouldn’t get drunk again. 17 years and counting so far. Maybe I will again after my wife leaves me.

Oh, by the way… I STILL beat the game that night, Niiiiice.

*This blog is a retread- Read at your own risk (Of thinking I’m unoriginal) Also, If you’re easily offended, please go back to the Skittles blog. Thank you for listening my speech*

I don’t dig on wakes. 

I don’t care for the whole concept of death either, to be honest. Whatever your belief system is I’d guess the majority of us believe that our bodies are shells for our souls. Some believe when we die our soul goes somewhere… others believe our soul goes nowhere. I’m an Agnostic, so by definition I’m thinking my soul has a one way ticket to Nowheresville. But betwixt us I secretly hope the soul ends up at the Ghiradelli Chocolate factory. Now they have peanut butter squares… mmmmm…

I have a little quick trivia tidbit for you about my profile picture. I remember talking with someone I used to work with, and she asked me what I’d want my last words to be. I told her that I’d want them to be something like: “Oh my GOD! WHAT is THAT?!”

Because really, wouldn’t it be something to be killed by something that’s never been seen? That would be my preference. Unless it copulated with me to death, that is.

Anyhoo, when I made that picture I was trying to make it seem I was being attacked by aliens: 

It would be a historic death, and really funny as far as I’m concerned. 

In reality however, this is probably how I’ll be found deceased: 

(Well, at least I got rid of those accursed yellows & greens first)

But to get waked seems to make the whole thing a worse experience to me. I’ve been to sad wakes (Died too young) and happy wakes (Lived long, and happened to be Irish). But all of them have the ultimate white elephant in the room… a corpse! It’s really hard to talk to someone with a dead body in the room. It is for me, at least.

I told the wife that I do NOT want to be waked. Luckily for me she’s ok with that. If she wasn’t ok with it, I confirmed with her how I’d want to be waked. I’d want to be stood up in the corner of the room, wearing a party hat. Then I’d request that my teeth were applied with Vaseline and my arm and hand be bent up in the “Thumbs up”position. Something like this:

This way, I’d feel like I was part of the gathering. Other than one’s wedding, how else can you get all of your pals together in one night?

You could even play some games for evening, like ‘Pin the Tail on the Dead Guy’ as an example.
(Sidebar: Please…not in the tail)

I’d like to be able to fit in an ashtray after I’m gone. If people want to come look at that, have at it. I don’t want to be buried at all. I like cemeteries for nice walks and photography. That’s about it.

Another idea that I had for my sendoff was to have the wife to bring my body out on a whale watch. Put me in a wheelchair (ala: Weekend at Bernie’s), and when nobody’s looking… dump me right over the side! Thirty-eight bucks for a full funeral, that sounds perfect to me.

The best part is, that i’ll probably die before anyone reads this. See you on the high seas, Captain!

So I’ve just about wrapped up another Dallas trip. I usually come down here twice a year for a trade show, and it seems to come up too quickly every time. By the time I get to the 3^rd show, I know a year of my life has completely passed. It seems that I’

m starting to measure my life in Dallas trips. How GRIM is that?

One of the things out here that irritates me is the 6^th Floor Museum at the old Texas School Book Depository: 

Because really… what better event to reflect on historically than the successful assassination of one of our Presidents? Thank you Dallas, for fucking up the security detail on that day. I wonder how long it took for the local cowboy posse to determine that this event needed a fucking museum dedicated to it?

“Ah thank we’s can make a few bucks on nis… hyek hyek. A gun fight at the ol’ Dealey corral. Yeeeehoo!”

Thanks for that, Tex.

Perhaps they should make a “How did Lee do it?” featured exhibit in the museum. You, as the museum visitor, can lean out the window with a paintball gun & pick off cars going by on Elm st.  (3 shot maximum). Maybe if the ball hits a cars’ windshield it can spell out:  “Come visit the 6th Floor Museum (and don’t forget to visit our gift shop!)” for the driver to look at. That’s great advertising for the museum, no?

Also, if you the shooter hits the car… Congratulations! You get FREE admission for your next visit!! Woohoo!

If you miss, you can get a 2nd chance to bean cars down from the grassy knoll. You won’t get anything off of your next admission price, but you WILL get a complimentary “Actually, I Acted Alone” T-Shirt.

 I think I may pitch that to the curator if I ever visit.

I don’t hate on cowboys, by the way. Actually, I think they’re pretty funny. Not quite as funny as Satanists though. Satanists are hysterical.

So long Dallas, see you next year. I’m sure the NEXT trip will be MUCH better. 

I get a kick out of technology fucking us. Especially when it’s supposed to improve our lives. I’m still waiting for the inflatable driving dummy that can take me around town. Maybe it could have double purpose. They could make it to be a last minute date if you need it to be. And they can program it so you can get at LEAST to second base guaranteed after your date.  I’ll have to think about that some more.

Anyhoo, one of the biggest things I’ve noticed is what technology has done to communication, Other than the factors that keep you alive themselves, I can’t think of anything more important in life. (And that’s because I’m sure you’ll think it’s unreasonable of me to suggest that a warm brownie with ice cream is the most important).

Almost everything we do in this world will eventually require us to deal with other people. We have to work with other people and have to see even more people on your TV and movie screens. (Enter Pomeroy’s hate list by the by, which gets me though that BS).

So when we come up with innovations that allow us to improve our relations, shouldn’t that make communicating more prevalent and LESS annoying?

For instance, I’m not on board with text messaging. By the time I can type out a simple sentence, I’d rather call you. And doesn’t it cost a nickel or something to receive them? It’s not that it’s a lot of money, but it’s still irritating to pay 5 cents to do something I don’t want to do in the first place. My uncle never remembers this. And worst of all, I’ll get a text that reads:

“HEY DUDE! I MISS YOU I HOPE 2 SEE YOU”

First I shake my head in disgust that I got another text from him. And then I get a second one almost instantly:

“SOON”

Ugh.

I’m also mediocre on IM messaging. It doesn’t bother me as much as the texting, but I have my problems with it. I’ve been in a place where someone asks you a question, and you start typing an answer. Before you finish, you get another question. Your conversation becomes gobbledygook. You end up rushing to type “LOL” or something just to sneak a word in. I may throw the word “penis” at someone… that usually gets them to back off. Wouldn’t you?

And IM’s remind me of what it was like when I used to use a Nextel for work. It was hard to talk to someone. The first challenge you’d have is the awkward laugh-after-the-dumb-joke call. I’d call someone:

*breeep*

“What are you doing? Are you available?”

*breeep*

“No I’m not available, and I’m telling your girlfriend… ha ha ha ha”.

After this foolish exchange, I still have to laugh so I don’t seem like an a-hole. So I actually have to press the button with the only purpose to laugh at the dumb comment.

*breeep*

“Ha ha ha ha”.

The other pitfall you have is when some idiot forgets that everyone hears what they say when they call you. I’d be standing in the accounting office talking with people and some jerkoff would call up:

*breeep*

“Hey Pomeroy… are you sucking any dicks this weekend? A- HA HA HA HA HA HA HA “

*breeep*

(In front of everyone)

“Heh heh heh…. Call you later…. Heh heh”.

Myspace has it’s share of antics that rasp my ass too. I was recently telling a friend that you sometimes treat Myspace like a game, when in fact these are real people you’re dealing with. Writing doesn’t emote easily, so sometimes somebody may take something you’ve said the wrong way. That’s happened to me more than once on both sides of the problem.

Other times you lose a ‘friend’ and you don’t know why and you don’t know who it was. I had a photographer subscribe to this blog once assuming that I probably had a photography blog. I think it was the duh-z-do blog that lost them. 

And I hate the top friends thing. I compare it to a wedding invite list. At some point you have to draw the line.

“Well, if we invite Uncle Jimmy’s kids we have to invite Aunt Joanne’s kids”.

I’m supposed to choose 40 people to be on my front page, and then dismiss everyone else? I want to say to them “Well, you’re in my top 41.. hyuk hyuk hyuk”.

That’s like saying to someone “You’re in my top 16 favorite bands”.

It sucks!

And the randomization doesn’t work for me either. I don’t want friends I talk to every day to be buried away while some random band gets top billing. (I take in everyone on Myspace… I’m like a sieve in the friend acceptance category).

It actually must be tougher if you have fewer friends. What if you have 45 friends? Wow… I’m in the bottom 5, huh? Thanks for that.

I have to say though… I think Myspace helps you meet friends better than Facebook. Why would I friend up with a picture? I usually like to know who someone is before I request an add. What am I supposed to say? “Well, I enjoyed your face, hence the add request”.

Over there I don’t have to worry about a lot of requests I guess. This face won’t be in many books. That is, unless the Pepsi Cola company has thank you booklets for the stockholders with pictures of their largest consuming contributors. There you may see my smiling face. (Missing teeth, mind you… but I’ll be there).

Well, thanks for reading. I’ll continue to take your comments in the wrong context.

 Your top 41 friend on Myspace, 

 Pomeroy!

I’d like to talk to you about a friend of mine.
 
 

Nope… not him. 

THAT’S him. That’s my boy.

Some of you know already that this face belongs to Ronholdo, the Belligerent Man. I figured it might be fun to share the story of how my oblivious pal came into existence. Here is the timeline:

1993 –  The Phant-Pom Menace

My friend Jason and I were out together one day and we happened upon a sign that read “No Standing”. To be honest, I don’t understand why this sign exists. No standing? Why not? Anyhoo, since I thought this was so ridiculous, I asked Jason to stand under it and I took a picture. I’m pissed that I couldn’t find it to show you. It must be under ONE of those piles of comic books. This was the beginning.

1994 –  Attack of the Clowns

I didn’t go to college. My thinking was, if I refuse to do homework in high school, why would I EVER want to go to any kind of school again? Especially college, where the homework only ramps up! You might say I’d second-guessed that mode of thinking after working in retail for 15 years. “I’m sorry…they don’t make that in 50 watts, sir. And no, I don’t know why.” FUCK you, by the way.

Well lucky for me, my friend Ron went to college. I would go out with him and meet his friends and they became my friends as well. Sometimes I refer to these friends today as “college friends”. I always enjoy when I refer to them that way and someone asks: “Oh… where did you go to college?” And I say “Huh? I didn’t go to college”.

One night there was an open house in the girls’ dorm. Far be it from me to not join Ron that evening. In those days (other than work) the only females that I’d ever see were people that I was related to. So I made sure I was available that night. We would do a tour and stop by certain friends’ rooms. So we go into this girl’s room and there’s this guy staring at us with this look of disgust. It looked something like this:

It was obvious to us that this guy was trying to score, and we walked in on his party. After we left, we both started doing that face to eachother. And we started calling it the ‘belligerent face’. We would do this annoying habit to eachother for the next 2-3 years. Randomly here & there, we’d just give the face to the other. Hmmm. I WONDER why none of those girls ever went out with me?

1996 -  A New Hope

Ron and I were on a trip through Canada. This story could be a blog on it’s own, by the way.

While walking down a street in Toronto, I see another one of those damn ‘No Standing’ signs again. Jesus! The Canucks too? What the fuck is up with these no standing signs?!

Then just like 3 years previous, I decided to take another picture of a guy under the foolish sign. Now it had become an OCD thing for me I guess. What I didn’t expect is that he would grace me with the gift of the face, and this would be the first shot we kept for the Belligerent Man collection:

And lo, here was born to us the Belligerent Man.

Before we knew it, we started looking for signs to have BM ignore. As time went on, we only wanted to find weirder signs, like “Don’t remove beach stones” and “Keep hands off bullrail”. And sometimes we find a picture that just works well with the face. The funny thing is, the poor prick that we’re mocking has no idea that we’ve been doing this in his honor for 12 years strong now.

We haven’t gone out in a while because of conflicting schedules. But we are planning a Belligerent Man Redux hopefully soon.

I have made a special album for my WordPress pals to be able to view my belligerent friend.  Enjoy! (Or, not). You’ll find the link below!

May the Force be with you.

The Belligerent Man - A Study, by Ron & Jeff

I’ve got a food problem. The affliction that I have and can’t seem to conquer is the welfare diet. I can say this truthfully since my family was on welfare whilst I was growing up. I still remember the sugar sandwiches we’d have while waiting for check day. For some reason, I never have seemed to grow out of it. Do you know how embarrassing it is when the kids’ menu holds your favorite meals? I find myself sitting next to my 3 year old wishing I could order the hot dog with the smiling pickle.

Food is borderline irritating to me. I eat out of necessity more than anything. Maybe that’s part of my trouble. There are a lot of things that I CAN eat, but choose not to. This rule even applies to my candy selections. A lot of you know I have a thing for Skittles… but did you know that I don’t eat the yellow or green ones? When I get a bag of Skittles, I separate the purple, red & orange from the others like a shepherd separates the sheep and the goats:

Soon after I usually dispose of the yellows and greens, and replenish the bag with the rest. NOW I can rock and roll.

It took me a while to add things to my miniscule menu. I only started eating corn about 10 years ago or so. I also couldn’t identify a lot of foods. I can go through many movie directors and their work year by year and give you weird facts about the films, yet it was only 5 years ago I almost couldn’t tell the difference between garlic and an onion. I was sent to get garlic and corn syrup once and almost returned with an onion! Fortunately, I stopped myself because I remembered what garlic looked like in the vampire movies. (Sidebar: UNfortunately I came home with corn OIL. Syrup, oil… what’s the fucking difference?)

My signature meal since childhood:

I make a mean Mac n’ Cheese. And I make that mean Mac n’ Cheese at least twice a week. Each and every one of my friends make fun of me for this, yet they all admire my propensity for it. And let’s just say it doesn’t suck.

I have some other anomalies. I don’t like eggs. But I love French Toast. I don’t care for cheese, but I really like pizza. And I don’t like to mix things, even if I like both parts of the dichotomy.

I was forced to break this rule once… I was having lunch at this greasy spoon and I was trying to decide between chicken fingers or ziti. A tough choice for anyone, really. But that changed when I saw the special: Ziti w/ chicken fingers. Perfect! Well, that’s what I thought until I got my plate and realized the chicken fingers were integrated in the plate with the ziti & sauce! I don’t know how I got myself to overcome this, but I tried it… and liked it! My brother in law told me that Chicken Parmesan is next to try if I could eat that meal. And lo and behold, I’ve been eating chicken parm for 3 years now. It’s almost like meeting the love of your life on a dating site.

The wife gets annoyed often by my food issues. I think she still disagrees with my theory that there’s a difference between Vanilla ice cream and French Vanilla ice cream. (I tried to convince her that I tried a new item when I had French Vanilla).

I think she even hides the lemons and limes from me. I wonder why? 

Ask yourself this question… how many peeps do YOU know that wore a “Back off man, I’m a Ghostbuster” sweatshirt in school? I couldn’t tell if anyone else in my school would wear one, because it’s difficult to see your classmates from a gym locker. But that’s me.

I’m really lame in the fashion department. (I’m also lame in many other departments, but for the sake of this note we’ll stick to my lameness in fashion). 

If you know me well you’ll know enough that I have a consistent look. The T-Shirt/jeans look is my look. Basically I have several stacks of over 100 T-Shirts. I usually just grab my pants and the shirt from the top of a stack each morning. When I go on vacation, I count out how many days I’ll be gone, and then count down from the top of the stack how many T-Shirts I need. This way I don’t have to put any thought into what I’m wearing.

My wife is astounded by this fact. My standard reply is either a wink or a “Hey, you married in to this” comment. I wish I had a count of how many times my wife shook her head in disbelief at me. That would be a cool stat.

I’ve never been a fashionable fellow. I’m sure that might be hard for you to believe after hearing about the Ghostbuster thing, but it’s true! Even when I was a kid, I was fashionably challenged. For instance, I wonder if I REALLY liked this outfit:

I certainly hope not. I have the look of a bad comedian or real estate agent. You’d fast-forward 20 years & you’d see my face on a ‘Red Blazer Realty’ card or something.

(Sidebar: Can ANYONE tell me why Real Estate is the only business that has the requirement of having the salesperson’s fucking face on their business card? What’s up with that?)

We had no money when I was a kid. One of our favorite places to shop for clothes was a place in Quincy, Mass called the Bargain Center. It’s long gone now, but it used to be a very popular place for those who wanted to save a buck on clothing. The locals would call it “The Bah-Gee”. They’d say: “We’ah goin’ to the Bah-Gee”. The Bah-Gee was NOT known for brand names, that’s for sure.

My father took me there once to buy some clothes for school and ended up picking some items for himself. He bought some sneakers that had this enormous “M” on the side of them. Where we lived, if you had sneakers that weren’t cool, they were called “Bo-bos”. I was laughing at his Bo-bos and I asked what the ‘M’ stood for. Without missing a beat, he answered: “Macho!”

He would have gotten the last laugh, however. I remember ending up with this disco zoot suit from the Bah-Gee one year: 

But I think I may be getting better as I get older. I picked out a suit last year that I liked, and it tuned out to be designed by Michael Kors. I told my pal Steve “Hey! This was designed by the head judge of Project Runway”! And then I said to myself, ‘I hope I didn’t just say that out loud’.

I’d like to hope that this trend would continue, but methinks I am what I am by now. I’m not sure I can change my fashion awareness.

I ain’t afraid of no ghost. 

I was reminiscing today about a first date I had back in the late summer/early fall of 1991. I had only spoke to her on the phone previous to this time, until this one day she came to my work to meet me. Since I’m a chicken shit for the most part, I was loving it. I offered to take her to lunch and she accepted.

I worked in downtown Boston at that time, a few doors down from the old Boston Garden. At that time the Grateful Dead were in town, and the Deadheads had conglomerated amongst the entire area, from Canal st to Friend st. It was a wild week. The smell of incense and pot were in the air all week and permeated in your clothes.

I also had the pleasure of witnessing a couple having sex in the back of a van. There’s nothing quite like the quick glimpse of the back of a man’s ass. Why couldn’t the girl be on top for christ’s sake?? I’ll never get that view out of my head. It’s kind of like when my pal Steve & I rented Shaft in Africa. If we knew Roundtree was going to run around with a spear shaking his bare ass at us, we might have rented Coffy instead. Sheesh.

So I had to bring this girl to lunch by weaving through the crowd of tie dyes to bring her to eat. After lunch, we headed back to my place of employment. On the way, this fella named Steve stopped us. (not to be confused with the Roundtree ass-hating, friend Steve). I am NOT exaggerating when I tell you that this guy hadn’t showered in a LONG time. His hair was matted down so much it could have passed for a Speedo swim cap. He had only 2-3 teeth total that I saw when he opened his mouth. He was wearing this brown corduroy number from the 70’s. He could have passed for a shorter, dirtier hippy version of Joe Buck.

We had a interesting exchange. He had a heavy drawl and at that time I had a ‘wicked’ bad Boston accent. It went something like this:

Steve:  “Hah! Ah’m Steve…. Ah hitchhahked all da way from Virgin-yee”.

Jeff:     “Hi Steve. How ah you?”

Steve:   “Great! Can ah read yeeou a po-em?”

Jeff:      “Shu-ah” 

So, he reads the poem to us. I can only paraphrase it for you and give you a small piece. It went something like this:

“FUCK the government. FUCK the government. FUCK the government. FUCK those of you who take from society”.

I think you get the point. 

Jeff:      “Wow! That was awesome, Steve. Would you take a couple of dollahs fah reading it?” 

Steve:    “Ah would be much appreciative. Thank ye”.

I gave him a few bucks and then went to shake his hand. When I did, I was overwhelmed with horror to find that the man had NO thumb on his right hand. There was just a tiny stub there. I’m glad I didn’t do the slide-in handshake, where your hand slides in for a strong shake. Otherwise, I would have had the unpleasant encounter with the stub. Luckily I just went for the soft approach so I was able to notice the handicap. I ended up shaking the tops of his four fingers.

As we were walking away I was stupefied. I had shaken a dirty hand and I couldn’t wait to get to work to wash up. This to be no offense to good ol’ Steve, mind you. I have OCD as you now know.

Well, I wasn’t much different back then. Well, at least that girl ended up being my girlfriend… I can handle extra wash time for that.

When I tell most people this story, they ask me what I thought happened to his thumb. I never really thought about that. But I did always wonder how the guy hitchhiked. 

After I’d moved away from home, I’d always had a rule when it came to living arrangements. Basically, my rule was to not live with anyone, unless I was SLEEPING with them. I broke this rule only one time, and it was 16 of the ugliest days that I can remember.

In my early twenties, I was low on cash and I didn’t drive. (What an attractive guy, eh?) I moved down to Connecticut to work for my good friend Ric to be his night/Sundays manager at a lighting showroom. For the first month, I lived with Ric. But after that time we both were ready to part ways. I had a big challenge in front of me because I needed a place in walking distance, AND it had to be cheap. I met with Ric, his wife Rebecca, & my girlfriend at the time. This girlfriend had to drive me around and buy dinner sometimes, by the by. I’m a gem, what can I say? Anyhoo, We found a place that had a room for rent for $385.00 a month, and I could walk to work.

 Walking to work is unusual in Ct. Most people gawked at me walking home. It’s like they’d never seen a guy walk! I think it would have been funnier if they pointed at me too. It might have made it worth it for me. Or perhaps throw tomatoes at me. No imagination, these Connecticut drivers.

When we got to the address, we discovered it was a room in a trailer! (ulp).

I met the “owner,” and I’ll call her Ann Marie for sake of the story. She was from Florida, and she REALLY wanted me to take the room. I told her I’d think about it. When we got back to Ric’s house, I had all three people chide me about my rule, saying I didn’t have a choice! I HAD to take it. This included my girlfriend. Finally I conceded & moved in. Ann Marie told me that she had selected me over a Vietnam Vet! I was flattered. (I think)

The first wonderful thing I had to deal with had nothing to do with the room. My girlfriend told me a week into living there that she didn’t like me living with another woman. I’m not a cheat, but I see her point. However, WHY DIDN’T SHE FUCKING SAY THAT BEFORE I MOVED IN?!? You know, the time with her glaring at me telling me I didn’t have a choice and I HAD to take the room? Sheesh.

My living habits were quite simple, really. In the mornings I would come out to shower & grab breakfast & go to work. At night, I would either eat out, or make my beloved Kraft Mac & Cheese. Then, RIGHT into my room. In there it was VHS movies or Sega Genesis keeping me busy. (As I said.. what an attractive guy, eh?)

Basically, I didn’t want to friend up with Ann Marie. Although, I believe that she at LEAST wanted to friend up, if not more. After all, the trailer wasn’t even a doublewide! I was always a shoulder tap away if you catch my drift.

One night she got home and called me out to the kitchen, “I’ll be right out” I said in annoyance, because I had to pause my damn Genesis game. She had just gone food shopping, and started pulling out some familiar products from the bags: Pepsi (my life blood… ask my dentist, he’ll tell you), Life Cereal (ask Mikey), and that’s right… Kraft Mac & Cheese. I was befuddled at first, but soon after I pulled out some cash and gave it to her. She wasn’t thrilled when I told her I wanted to buy my own shit. (in a nice way, for the record).

About two weeks in, the first of two GRIM nights took place. She got in this awful argument with her ex-husband. The screaming match was so loud, I couldn’t hear myself think! (Think about playing the Sega Genesis, that is). I didn’t want to pry, so I let it slide for the night. The next morning I was leaving and I asked her if she was ok. She said “Oh yes… I’m fine. I’m great thanks. No worries”.

I begrudgingly told her that if she wanted to talk, I’d be there for her. I was still fearing that she wanted me to sleep on the other side of the trailer at that point. She thanked me, & off I went to work. Before I could get out of the park, I realized I forgot something. So I go back to the trailer & Ann Marie is on the phone with the police! And she said the following, verbatim: “Yes… that’s right… and THEN he said he was sending a Haitian up here to kill me and my roommate”!

Uh, did she just say “ROOMMATE”? I’M the fucking roommate!! What the fuck?!

After she got off the phone, I questioned her on this & she told me there was nothing to worry about, and that he ALWAYS does stuff like that. Really? Yikes! When I get in fights, I just leave the room, or not speak. Not ONCE have I ever wanted to employ a hitman. At this point, she and the trailer were on notice.

The final straw came on the 16^th day. I got home from work, and before I could whisk into my room she pointed at this note on the counter. “Read that” she says. I don’t remember exactly what the note said, but let me paraphrase:

 “I’m coming for my room tonight, and I won’t take no for an answer”.

This note was from the chap that was the Vietnam Vet, who she turned down to give me the room. She told me not to worry, because her friend Timmy (for the sake of the story) was coming this evening. Timmy was also a Vietnam vet. It was weird to think that I had one Vietnam vet standing in the way from another one taking his room back. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the dude looked like Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now.

That night Timmy came over and was at the kitchen table with Ann Marie. I was playing Altered Beast on the Genesis. And then… GUESS who came to dinner? That fucking guy SHOWED UP for his room!! Timmy ran out the door after the guy, and ran out of the park. I was ALL done after this.

I approached Ann Marie and told her I had to move out. My life was threatened twice in 2 weeks. She told me that it wasn’t her fault, and I agreed. However, I told her I chose not to live in Lebanon, because I didn’t want to be bombed. I don’t want to be where my life was in danger. So I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse… I would co-pay for an ad to get a new person in there. And after the person paid their security deposit, she could give me my security deposit back. She was crying happy tears after I told her I wouldn’t just walk out on her.

Later, Timmy came back and told us the police caught the other guy. He was at a cheap motel in the area hiding out. It turned out that he had a long record in Texas, including child molestation & aggravated assault. I don’t need to tell you that if this guy made it into the trailer, I would have handed him his new Sega Genesis to go with his new room.

I THOUGHT the night was over. But I woke up at 3am to a lot of voices. I peeked out the window & saw a paddy wagon out front. I said to myself “I wonder what’s going on now?” That was until I heard more voices coming from inside the trailer. So I opened the door, sporting my shorts & T-Shirt and my hair sticking straight up in the air. I saw 7 plus police officers in the kitchen, and Ann Marie swearing her ass off at them. After they carted her off, they asked me: “Do you know where she keeps her gun?” I said “GUN? GUN???? No… I didn’t even know she had one”!

Apparently, after we said nighty night she called Timmy up and told him she had a gun and was going to blow her brains out. Are you fucking kidding me?! Good god.

To be honest, I’m glad she didn’t pull the gun out on ME! I can imagine her waking me up with the gun pointed at me: “I don’t want you to leave!” Of course, I’d have responded: “Leave? Leave? Did I say ‘LEAVE’? I meant to say ‘LEASE’. LEASE! That’s what I MEANT to say… heh heh”.

The officers asked me to call them if I found a gun. I told them that would be impossible, since I’m moving out IMMEDIATELY. After they left, I called Ric 3 times until he picked up. I told him he had to come pick me up right away. He asked why, and I said “She has a gun, she’s gonna blow her brains out, blah blah, I’ll tell you later”.

The next day I came back for the rest of my stuff. I saw Ann Marie and I told her after the incident I was moving out. I asked for my security deposit back, and she told me “That’s been absorbed”. I said “What? Absorbed? What do you mean absorbed?” She said “It’s been absorbed, and it WILL stand up in court.” At that point, I was just happy to walk away with my life.

See? Always follow your instincts. This woman was a fucking kook. I had no business living with her.

Rebecca called Ann Marie a few months later to try to get my deposit back. She refused, because of all of the issues that I brought into her house. When Rebecca asked what the issues were, she responded “He made me buy him cereal! AND he left his pubic hairs out for me to see”. When Rebecca told me this, I had my first laugh about the whole thing. Specifically because I thought it was interesting that she thought the cereal thing was worse than if I left my pubic hairs out for her to see.

I’m the king of OCD. You’d think my whole body was shaved after I leave a bathroom. There was no way it was my short hairs she was finding. That is, unless she was speaking metaphorically. Because essentially she did have me by the short hairs. Oh well.

Any time after the events in this story when a friend asked me to room with them, I told them: “That’s been absorbed”. I’m close with my  friends, but not THAT close. 

I love cinema. There’s nothing quite like seeing a movie on the big screen. You get into this bizarre camaraderie with a bunch of strangers. You’ll cheer with some, and others will piss you off. I wanted to share a few emotional experiences I’ve had in theatres past.

Anger –

I went with my family in law to see “Kurosawa,” a documentary about Akira Kurosawa. The highlight of the show was an appearance by Teruyo Nogami, who was Akira’s right hand on most of his films. After the viewing of the film, she came out with a translator for a Q & A. 

I was interested to hear her discuss different stories of each film. Well, it wasn’t long before some dick decided to turn the tide for me. This guy in the row behind me to the right decides to ask a question: “Did Akira like Ingmar Bergman’s films”?

I can’t describe how fucking PISSED I was at this guy. I can tell you this, he has earned a spot on my all time hate list. My hate list hall of fame, as it were.

In case you haven’t already, allow me to translate what he said for you: “Attention everyone.. I don’t know about YOU… but ME… I KNOW MOVIES…If you have any questions about movies, I AM YOUR GUY”. She answered the question politely, by saying he liked some of his stuff. But this prick with ears decides that he’ll take a proverbial dump on the director that is being honored, just so he can let everyone know what he knows. What a piece of shit. He had an ugly ponytail too. Prick.

Fear –

 When I was 17, I remember going to see ‘Eddie Murphy Raw’ for the first time. I went with my cousin & his friend at the old Park Theatre in Dorchester. Dot was (and is) a tough part of Boston, and it happens to be where my family is from. I’m almost proud to say that my family has most likely commited every blue collar crime you can commit. That HAS to be worth something.

 My dad’s girlfriend at the time worked at the Park & got us in on the sly. I want to say this was the same momentous day when my cousin & friends made me an honorary Dot Rat.

So, we get into the cinema and the only seats available are in the back row. It was packed to the gills. And it wasn’t long when we realized that we happened to be the only 3 white guys in the building. In the late 80’s, the Boston area was at the tail end of it’s racial unrest and there was still some antipathy amongst the residents of Dorchester. As the show was going along, the theatre became active. A lot of yelling and some peeps started tossing things around. It started to get a little uncomfortable. Then came Eddie’s comment in Raw when he says “white people can’t dance”. At that moment, every set of eyes (as far as mine could see) all turned around & looked at the 3 of us. And some guys in the row in front of us stood up, saying things along the lines of “YEAH! YOU MUTHA FUCKAS CAN’T DANCE!” After a few of these, we were giggling nervously. I leaned over to my cousin and whispered “we’re dead”. It didn’t stop for a good 2-3 minutes. One guy on the right closer to me was staring at us, & I remember saying to him “Well, I sure can’t dance… heh heh.”

When Eddie moved to the next subject, we moved our asses out the door.

For the record, I STILL can’t dance.

Laughter –

My friend Chris took me to see The Bourne Identity with special passes. We were sitting in front of this guy & we started chatting with him. We were talking about different movies, and the guy brings up that he saw “Deuces Wild”. Chris says to this complete stranger, “Dude.. that movie made 8 dollars… it must have been yours!” Shit. I wish I thought of that one.

Love –

 I’ll never forget my first celebrity crush. The seventies were old, and my erections were new. There’s nothing worse than the 3^rd-4^th grade walk of shame with the text book in front of your pants, by the way. Penises are already tough to deal with when they just sit there. Then they do THAT to you. I was tempted to start wearing a poncho to school.

Anyhoo, my mom took me to see Grease. If only there was a camera on me whenever Olivia Newton-John came out & sang “Hopelessly Devoted To You”. I know my eyes were wide, and I’d imagine there were little hearts popping around my head… pop pop pop pop …

Hoo boy. I liked her for a long time. I remember shaking my fist at the TV screen when I saw her boyfriend (soon to be husband at the time). “LAT-TAN-ZIIIIIII!!!” I hated that guy. My Tutor? COME on.

Hey. I saw Xanadu in the theatre. Now THAT’S love.

The Cinema is magic. The big screen makes great movies even greater. These things can sometimes be lost without that experience. I think David Lynch summed it all up pretty nice: