The Biggest Nothing that Ever Somethinged

In recent weeks I’ve discovered an interesting phenomenon; When you posts a nice picture of their attractive female friends on Facebook, they will receive tons of notifications every time they sign on for the next few days.

However, these notifications, of course, have nothing to do with you and they begin to make you feel empty whenever they pop up. You feel inconsequential, like an actor playing the parent on a hit teen soap opera.

If you really want to fuck with someone, have a bunch of children. Then name the children all the same name as your enemy but spell it with one letter off. Continue doing so until this second spelling becomes a popular spelling.

Then, your enemy has to spend the rest of their life going, “Yeah, but I spell it with one ‘L.’”

Ha! Burn!

My roommate just texted me asking if I was having dinner at home tonight. I responded. A few seconds later, I got a text from my girlfriend. It was just a frowny face.

I thought that was pretty weird so I checked my phone. It turned out that my girlfriend had sent me a text right after my roommate and I had accidentally sent my response for him to her. Not only that, her text had been slightly dirty.

So, basically, my girlfriend wrote about sex and I responded, “Already had a burger, sorry.”

This is a fairly morbid idea but you know what would probably be super successful? A social media will app. Basically you get this app and connect it to all of your social media accounts. Then you record some kind of farewell message to your loved ones and, if you don’t update any of your accounts for a certain amount of time, it posts the message.

Again, it’s a super morbid idea, but I feel like people would pay a couple bucks for that.

Beige rehearsal went really late tonight. It was probably 12:20 when we got out of the Training Center.

On the street, everyone else went to 7th and I headed towards Herald Square. After going through the construction pathway, I heard something weird coming across the street. I looked over and saw an incredibly drunk woman in front of the police station being arrested by three male officers.

I’ve seen drunk and disorderly people get arrested tons of time (four years in a college town after all) but I stopped and watched this for some reason. Another guy across the street had was watching too and, when a man in a suit walked by, he slowed as well.

The woman had dark hair and a black dress and she was plastered. She just kept screaming at the officers. One of them was tugging on her arm (hard) to, I guess, go in the station. She tried to move but tripped and fell to the ground (hard).

She then began chucking her purse at the police and screaming “I FUCKING HATE YOU!” One of the police took off her heels do she wouldn’t trip again while she flailed around on the ground.

The whole thing was really unpleasant and I couldn’t tell if I should leave or not. The man in the suit left. I looked at the guy across the street and hoped he was with her. He said something to one of the officers. The officer said something back and, after a few seconds, the guy began to leave. Shortly after, I left too.

We were walking parallel for a bit when he called out to me.

“You see what happened?”

“No. You?”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“Well, she is really drunk. Like really drunk. And she deserves to be arrested. But one of them wasn’t, like, nice to her. I said something.”

“Huh.”

“She’s really drunk.”

“I kind of feel weird leaving, you know?”

“Yeah, right?”

I kept looking back as I walked. Eventually, he called out, “I’ll go back with you.”

So we turned around and walked back, watching from both sides of the street. Nothing much was happening. There were two police now and she was still flailing and yelling.

The guy and I watched for like five(?) minutes. Just to show someone’s there, I guess. I sure as hell didn’t know what I was doing.

I imagined what I’d say if one of the officers told me to move along.

“No disrespect, sir. I’m just…watching.”

They didn’t say anything though and eventually the guy and I both had to leave.

“You hate to see something like that,” he said.

I’m writing this on the subway. I feel really shitty about the whole thing. I mean, I saw her assault the officers at least a couple times but…something made me stop in the first place, right?

I hope that dumb drunk lady’s okay. I hope the cops are okay.

Ugh. I felt like a real swell guy earlier today and now I feel kind of like a shit bag. What do you do here?

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

I’m gonna be second guessing this all night.

Recently, I was in a fast food restaurant because I hate myself and take it out on my body.

I went to use the bathroom but there was a keypad. I walked over to the cashier and asked him what the code was. Unfortunately, he had an incredibly thick Hispanic accent. So thick that I am only semi sure he said numbers.

I asked him to repeat himself twice. In my time in New York, I’ve developed a limit of only being able to ask a person with an ethnic accent to repeat themselves twice before I start feeling really uncomfortable. So, when I still couldn’t understand him after his third answer, I thanked him as if I could and returned to the bathroom door.

I tried pushing random numbers for 30 seconds (I think he said “six” at some point…?) and then gave up.

I headed to the subway. I was going all the way to Queens. I still had to pee. I hoped I make it.

In the end, I did’t end up wetting my pants. However, if I had, I’d just chalk it up to my payment for being white.

The New York Times has this new article about what it’s like late Thursday night/early Friday morning at the Kellog’s Diner which is funny because I used to live right there.

When I first moved to New York, I lived in an apartment a block away from this diner and, every Thursday night, my roommates and I would go to the bar across the street, Union Pool. Since two of us were unemployed, one was a student, and the other just didn’t give a shit, we stayed till the bar closed most nights. That’s when we started noticing a phenomenon we started calling the 3:30 Shuffle.

It only happened there on week nights. On Fridays and Saturdays, the bar was packed with cool people just hanging out. But, on week days, there were tons of people whose only goal was to fuck a stranger. That’s it.

Around 3:30am, when they called last call, these people would suddenly go from casual drinking to having a purpose. They’d just begin walking around and making intense eye contact with anyone who came into their line of sight, willing the person to make a move. If you didn’t do anything for a few seconds, they’d move on to the next person.

This whole thing made me incredibly uncomfortable. Not only was it crazy aggressive, but I’d just started dating a new girlfriend. However, two of my three roommates took to the situation like a fish takes to water. Especially if said water is super easy to get laid in.

Over the course of a few months, I would meet one or two new hipster girls in my apartment every Friday morning.

It helped that we lived half a block from the bar. However, my two roommates would also go home with a bunch of girls. And, if you want proof of how weird this whole situation was, how about this? Both of them had a similar experience of going home with a girl and having her weird, male roommate ask if he could tape them having sex with the girl. This happened to both guys. With DIFFERENT WOMEN. Only one of them said yes.

Sadly, I don’t live with either of those guys any more. I do still live with my third roommate from that time though. Just last week, he and I were marveling just how different our lives are, two years later, now that we don’t live in Williamsburg.

Recently, I was having dinner with a female friend of mine when we both realized we knew disturbingly little about each other’s genitals. I don’t mean our, like, specific genitals (although that would be an endearingly emotionless way to propose sex; “Can I get to know your genitals?”). Instead, I mean, the genitals of the opposite sex in general. By that, I’m referring to the inner workings, the nitty gritty, the parts whose affects on our own lives aren’t instantly apparent.

Take for example, I don’t know, periods. I know everything about menstruation that I, as a man, need to know. Basically, I know “If it happens, no baby. If it doesn’t happen, baby. My girlfriend’s birth control sometimes makes her not have them. Or have them less. Or have less of them. One of those. Also, it like hurts or something.”

What if I had a daughter? What if, when there were no women around, she had her first period. How would I, a fairly well educated and fully grown adult, handle this most basic of human functions?

I imagine the conversation being fairly unimpressive on my end.

“What should I do?”

“Well, we need to get you a…uh…thing.”

“Should I use a tampon or a pad?”

“Uh, well, you should definitely use one of them…or…both of them?”

And it wasn’t just me. When the wet dreams was brought up, my friend’s response was akin to the way I talk about those fish with lights coming out of their heads; I know they exist but, like, what the fuck, right?

This is ridiculous. How could we be so pathetic? Is it possible that it isn’t entirely our fault.

My friend and I began talking about middle school and, specifically, our sex ed classes. Isn’t it fucked up the way our puritanical educational system forces boys and girls apart when we teach them this stuff. I mean, obviously you should do that for some of the lessons, but not all of them. We teach kids a bunch about their own bodies and then, for the other gender, we just give them a stick figure diagram and call it a day. We’re breeding generations of people who are completely mystified by the inner workings of half the population.

I think it’s this silliness that causes tons of our society’s problems.

If I was in charge of our nation’s schools, I’d do it differently. For my sex ed curriculum, the first thing we’d do is put the boys and girls in the same room together. We’d show them a movie. It’d be called “Just Like You.” It’d be 45 straight minutes of men and women farting…identically.

I know this sounds crazy, but I think it’d fix tons of problems. No longer would teenage boys view women as inscrutable aliens. They’d just think, “Gosh, those girls are farting human beings just like me. They’re not turning me down for dates because they’re monsters. They probably just want me to wear deodorant and work out a little.”