Dec
Posted on 26th December 2007
The holidays- am I right? I have spent the last couple days in scenic New Haven with my brother and his family and also my parents, who made the trek from my native Cleveland for a few days. It was good times all around, full of lots of meat products, candy, presents, and- when necessary- scotch. For the most part, however, everything was in moderation, at least compared to my usual habits anyway. I am trying to “bring it down” this holiday season, you know, for the camera. Also, I don’t want to buy new pants (unless they are really cool pants, of course, in which case I am happy to pay whatever someone might be asking).
Today, of course, is Boxing Day over in England, Canada, and probably some other places too. As I once understood it, Boxing Day is the day when you take all the stuff in your house that you don’t want, put it in boxes (thus the name), and then give it to some poor bastard who could use all that stuff more than you could. A few years ago, however, a Canadian girl explained to me that Boxing Day is really just a day to hang out and “get fucked up and stuff” and that no one really puts all that much stuff in boxes anymore, even if they are bored. She then went on to tell me how she had a nasty coke hangover and she was really glad her shift at the coffee shop was not that long that day, which, of course, reminded me that there are many ways to celebrate a holiday- you just have to find the way that’s right for you.
I should mention that I am riding on the Metro-North train from New Haven to Grand Central as I type this. It is a crowded train but- in an effort to keep anyone from sitting next to me- I have whipped my dick out. No, just kidding. But it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. I really don’t like when people sit next to me on the train, especially when I’m typing on my laptop about whipping my dick out and it’s not all that hard to look at my computer if you are sitting right next to me.
As long as I’m on the topic of riding on a crowded train, I should point out that someone who just got on at the last stop, Bridgeport, seems to have a thing for wearing pee-stained clothes. As I look around for suspects, the smart money is on the old lady across the aisle to my left. I say this not to suggest that old people are always the first ones to point the finger at when the stench of pee is in the air (my experiences with small children, prom dates, and chimps has taught me not to rule out anyone). It’s just that this woman in particular has that vibe about her, that look on her face that seems to say “I don’t have any hang-ups whatsoever about wearing pee-stained clothes. In fact, I think I feel a little something coming on right now.”
Uh oh, we’re at another stop now. More people coming. Maybe I really should whip my dick out.
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