i used to read word up magazine

[side note: this photo has nothing to do with today's post. but isn't it awesome?! bone suckin baby back ribs. ::shivers::]
Well, I guess the typical person might write about how hot it is outside right now. But what can I say that hasn’t already been said? I mean, the bobsled is up on cinder blocks right now and the captain has been sent running for his AC everyday and no one (no one) looks good in all this heat and humidity. Especially not I (or me). I love doing the universal sign for, “I’m sweating balls” which basically equates to pulling the sunglasses up and running a hand down your face to wipe away the little beads of sweat. Kind of like those things at the end of a car wash that super dry your car. Except, I’m no fucking dryer after having done it. So why is it that everyone feels compelled to do this? I don’t know, I’m not about to go into the reasons and psychology behind this maneuver. In fact, I don’t think I want to think much at all today. So I’ll tell you two short stories, one presented in a theatrical performance setting and the other in a first person account.

Conversation in Newark Liberty International Airport this morning:
Spanish-speaking colleague: My friend, you can help us?
Me: Sure what’s up.
SSC: how far it is to New York? We do not usually fly to New-ARK.
Me: Um, its like a 50 dollar cab ride
SSC: oh this is it? It is not, say 100 kilometers?
Me: No no, just got outside and get a yellow cab. It should only take like 20-30 minutes or so.
SSC: (relieved) ah yes, okay okay, so they will not be, uh, fugging us?
Me: (laughing out loud) nah, you’re cool. Bobsled or die motherfucker!! (high-fives)

Okay, maybe I stretched the truth with that last line, but the rest is a true story. And shout out to the guy driving my car who had no idea how to get around Manhattan, somehow dropped a $100 worth of cash somewhere outside of Newark airport after having dropped off a passenger and who’s most favorite diner in all of Manhattan (somewhere on 43rd and 11th) recently closed so that he now doesn’t have a diner to go to where he can and get free parking while he eats his ribs and stew in a clean diner setting. To top it off, he had to drive my miserable ass home who, in my attempt to get him to my apartment, got him lost in Chinatown. All I can say is: Karma’s looking out for you man. Keep your head up and you’ll find another diner soon. And I guess that photo above is dedicated to you: get your ass to VEGAS my man!! Allez Bobsled!

sing the theme song: tired of thinking/ tired of drinking/ hot as fuck and the temps aren’t sinking/ maybe get some lemonade/ maybe get some tea/ maybe try to stop the sweat from pouring out of me/ heading to UPS to pick up the boots/ senor sexy the hombre/ and sniffling kitties in shoots/ freestyle for the love of the style ya’ll/ everybody ping-pong