And the crazy shall inherit the Earth

It's that time of year where every crazy person in NYC wants to preach about Jesus. Yesterday, I got on the subway and a guy was shouting absolute gibberish about Jesus. The next thing I know he changes gears to talking about Mike Tyson; two subjects with a lot in common of course. I mean, I'm pretty sure Jesus had a face tattoo and beat the shit out of people for money. So, pretty much nothing this guy said made sense but I did almost pee myself when, in reference to Mike, he kept saying, "I love me some big ones. I love the big ones." over and over again. I guess me and this guy have something in common after all.

UHO Labeled a Scam = Duh!

For as long as I can remember, there have been homeless people in NYC collecting money on behalf of UHO, the United Homeless Organization. They're the guys with a folding table and sad water bottle with UHO taped to the front. They usually say something like "just a penny to help the homeless," and can barely get that sentence out without slurring because they're drunk or in withdrawal. If you asked them what the UHO does to help the homeless, they wouldn't be able to answer the question. One of these guys even called my then boyfriend a fag because he didn't give him money. Overall, they're a delightful bunch.

So, it comes as no surprise that UHO has been revealed as a scam. What is surprising is that it took so long to expose them!! Andrew Cuomo filed a lawsuit against UHO last year and just now received a court order requiring them to stop soliciting people for money immediately. The "non-profit" was charging homeless people $15-$25 to rent the water bottle and table for four hours and then the homeless would directly pocket any money given to them.

Bad Santa

Nothing says Christmas in New York like a department store Santa taking a piss on the street. Thanks to my friend Roger who snapped this picture.

The Winter of My Discontent

During winter in New York, every indoor space is either jungle hot or Arctic cold. What I wouldn't do to live in a home with central air! Then, I could actually control the temperature of my own home. Then, I wouldn't have to seal up my window in plastic because if I took the air conditioner out of it, there would be no place to put it. Then, I wouldn't have to deal with a radiator that bangs louder than the cast of STOMP. And, I wouldn't have to run a humidifier all the time because without it I wake up with a soar throat and bloody nose. Sometimes I feel like Audrey in Little Shop of Horrors. All I want is a house with some grass where I can sit and eat TV dinners with my nuclear family.

I escaped...for a while

It's been a few weeks since I've updated the blog, but that's because I managed to escape this cesspool for a few weeks. Good lord did I need to get out here! I was in Punta Mita, Mexico for a week on business, then Syracuse for business/pleasure for a few days, then Massachusetts for Thanksgiving with the family. Punta Mita is a total paradise, even though it was work, my trip was filled with fabulous sunset cocktails, five-star hotel service and even a whale sighting. I got to see much of the Finger Lakes region of New York with my uncle. We had a great time driving from town to town stopping at farm stands for apple butter and cider, sipping apple vodka at a distillery and browsing through charming mom and pop shops. Thanksgiving was full of family food and more food and the obligatory trip to the outlet mall for some shopping. I've put the suitcase away and am staying put for at least a month so fear not! I'll have some horrid crap to write about soon.

I love kitties

Yappy dogs. Can't live with them, can't ship them away to Abu Dhabi (shout out to Garfield!). Apartment 1B has two of them and they bark from the second their owner leaves until she comes back home, even if it's for five hours, and more than once it has been. I wrote her a polite little note letting her know about the problem, unsigned of course out of fear she might want to cut me. Now, naturally, I harbored some anger for this girl because the dogs were driving me batty, but now I can say I pitty her. I pity her because I realized the dogs are driving her crazy too. Since I left the note, I've heard her several times screaming bloody murder at the dogs to shut up and stop biting (I'm hoping it's each other and not her). I'm thinking about writing another note, breaking the news to her that dogs don't speak English. You have to actually train them to not bark or bite.

Mmmmmm, tuberculosis

The sound of a dude sucking snot up into his head and then spitting it out on the subway tracks or sidewalk totally and completely grosses me out. The fact that I hear this noise at least once a day is another reason I am so over New York. And soon, it will be winter, and the sidewalk will be dotted with puddles of frozen spit and snot. At least the cold weather means I won't smell hot garbage every morning. Sigh....

That's a whole lot of crazy

I thought I'd take a moment to honor some of my favorite crazy people in New York. Some of them are famous crazy people, as in most New Yorkers have seen them at some point, and others are just your run-of-the-mill, homeless crazy bastards that pop up out of no where. Let's see how many you know too.

I'll start with the famous guys. There's garbage bag wedding dress guy, who has constructed quite a fetching dress and a hat out of shredded garbage bags. He's usually around the Washington Square/Union Square area, and I've been seeing him for about 10 years. Then there's the guy with a cat on his head. Yes, literally a cat sitting on his head. He's a new crazy but I've spotted him twice on 23rd and other friends have seen him. Then there's the guy with the scary voice who sounds like he's eating nails that sleeps on the steps of the church on 22nd between 2nd and 3rd. He's usually mumbling something about how Jews and white people are the devil. Last but not least, there's the guy who preaches about the apocalypse on the 6 train that sounds like Mr. Garrison on South Park. "Sinners will burn for all eternity in a lake of fire, mmmmkay?".

As for the random crazy people, my favorite has to be the guy on the subway who looked me dead in the eye and told me "Satan is in my toe nail! You better be at the place tomorrow, ok? You better be at the place." I assured him I would be "at the place" tomorrow and then ran off the train. I sure do hope he fixed that whole Satan in his toe nail problem. There has to be a cream for that. I've also got to give a shout out to the homeless woman who used to hang out in front of Dag Hammerskjold Plaza, who would sing/scream and end the performance by dropping her pants and taking a piss. Thanks crazy people for making this city what it is - a loony bin!

If you are reading this and have your own favorite crazy person, share your story in the comments. Thanks!

I'm glad I got that rabies shot.

I had the pleasure of sitting next to one of New York's finest on the train this morning...one of New York's finest crazy women that is. To make a long story short, crazy was talking to her sister and just started barking - yes barking, like a dog. Since I couldn't even understand what they were talking about in their incredibly loud, profanity-laced conversation, I couldn't figure out why she started barking. But, I didn't have to because then she tells the frightened girl sitting between her and her sister that she is bipolar and forgot to take her medicine this morning. Awesome. I'm no doctor, but I think she has a bad case of smokeacrakepipeitis.

Time for a morning beat down

Being packed into the 6 train every morning like human cattle just isn't the best way to start the day. You've barely wiped the crust out of your eyes and some dude is shoving you with all his might into the people around you just to get onto the train. Oh, and he always has some extra big package or briefcase that jabs you in the ribs and manages to grab your ass. I will never understand why people shove to get on the train considering there's a train every two damn minutes during the morning rush, but I guess the manager at McDonald's gets angry if the fat vats aren't emptied by 10am.

This morning two subway riders decided to push the wrong damn people. I couldn't even see the first incident, but I heard the explosion of profanity come out a woman's mouth as she hollered at some guy who just pushed her. She did such a good job of berating him he didn't even retort. Hell, she even frightened me. Good job honey! About two stops later, I barely even heard any words exchanged before a pair of glasses flew in the air and two guys were beating each other up. I finally got a glimpse of the idiots when they spilled out of the train onto the platform at 68th Street. As far as fights go though, they were both wusses. They were just kind of locked up, hugging each other like two tired boxers. Lame! Oh, I forgot to mention these two brainiacs started to fight right next to a stroller with a baby in it and nearly tipped it over. Class acts all around.

It must have been that Baconator I ate at Wendy's.

Yom Kippur is pretty much the holiest day of the year for the Jews. You spend 24 hours fasting and atoning for your sins, and if you're like me, you've got a lot of sinning to atone for. I can't even begin to count the cheeseburgers I ate and goys I hooked up with. Anyway, as the metaphor goes, on Yom Kippur God decides whether or not he will inscribe your name in the book of life. That is to say, he decides whether or not you'll live another year. After spending 2 1/2 hours in synogogue atoning for my sins and seriously contemplating the meaning of my life, I emerged from the temple feeling renewed and optimistic. It's a euphoric feeling to be totally free of sin. But, hey, this is New York, and this city likes to shit all over anything good and pure. So I walk about a block from the temple, and as I'm crossing 3rd Ave. some cabbie, who apparently thinks my walking in the crosswalk was a crime against humanity, turns onto 3rd and slowly rolls his taxi behind me with every step I take, coming within an inch of me. I turn around, give him the death stare and flip him the bird. Damn! Well, it was nice to be without sin for five minutes.

All is fair in hailing a cab.

Let me take you back a few years to a classic "so over New York" moment. Picture it. Sicily. 1936. Oh, wait. Sorry, I was channeling Sophia of the Golden Girls. Eh hem. Picture it. Union Square. 2000 something. It's raining cats and dogs and my roommate and I are soaked to the bone. We're desperately trying to get a cab to take us home, but so is almost everyone else standing around us. The water is ankle deep in the streets, but what luck! A cab sees us and signals that he is going to pull up the block a bit so we don't have to cross an enormous lake to get into the cab. I'm about to reach out and open the door when out of no where a douche bag extraordinaire pushes in front of me and tries to get in. Oh, but bless this cab driver (and I never say that) because he sees the guy trying to steal the cab from us and locked the door! Brilliant! The D-bag keeps trying to open the door so I say curtly, "Sir, this is our cab. He pulled over for us." When he doesn't move away, I just kind of snap and say, in a somewhat civil tone, "Sir, I will punch you in the face." Apparently, he was one of those pansy douche bags because he backed away. The funny thing is I didn't even realize what I said until my roommate asked "Did you just tell that guy you were going to punch him in the face?" "Um yeah, yeah I did. And it worked!

Minefields of Poo

Dog poop is a big, smooshy problem in this city. It's simply everywhere, though especially on 22nd street between 5th and 6th, which is a veritable minefield of turds (and where my office is). See, if you live in the giant apartment building on the corner of 6th and 23rd and you take your dog for a walk on busy 23rd everyone will see it poop and you have to clean it up. But, clever residents have figured out if you walk the dog on nearly deserted 22nd St. you can let your dog poop up a storm and there is nary a person to yell at you for not scooping it up. Well, today was the cherry on the poop sundae because there were piles of road apples all over 22nd. I can only assume it was from mounted police, but there is nothing there that requires mounted police! Unless, the Home Depot loading dock becomes a rave at night, which I don't think it does.

Sorry, I'm a big old bagel eating Jew. Now get out of my building!

Being a Jehovah's Witness in New York City has to be pretty scary. You knock on strangers' doors all day hoping someone will invite you in to talk about Yussel Punderoff (that's Jesus Christ in Yiddish) and hope they don't murder you and throw you in the river. If you're wondering if Jehovah's Witnesses really exist in the city, I can attest they do because one of them just rang my bell. "Who is it?" I asked. "Hello," said a sugary sweet sounding woman, like we were old buddies and she was just paying me a visit. "WHO. IS. IT?" I asked again, highly annoyed. "Jehovah's Witness" she demurely replied. All I could think was really? Really? Wow. That's a first. I played nice though and told her, "Sorry, I'm a Jew." That was enough to send her on her merry way.

If I stuff a $20 bill in your mouth will you shut up?

When I was thinking about starting this blog, I was worried I wouldn't have enough to write about on a regular basis. So, I guess I have to thank the woman who woke me up at the ungodly hour of 3:30am today with her screams of "Give me my money! Give me my money! Give me my money! You fucking motherfucker give me my fucking money!" for proving me wrong. She repeated this for 15 minutes straight without pause! With pipes like that she should be selling OxyClean on infomercials, but I'm guessing she turns tricks in the park down the block. I didn't have the the conviction to pull myself out of bed to see this hot mess for my own eyes, but I can only imagine she looked something like this.

If you cut a New Yorker, doth he not bleed?

Today I was walking across 22nd St. and stepped right into a puddle of blood. At first, I thought the bright red liquid might be paint, but that conclusion was quickly ruled out when my eyes followed the trail of little drops from the puddle to the man on the sidewalk bleeding profusely from his face. Good times. Oh and if you care, the guy was alright, just banged up from a bike accident, and a cop came to help him.