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Steak & Eggs

We only cook at night when our tempers are mild. Otherwise things get messy. Plates get broken. Feeling's get hurt and people get poisoned.

Ruffled Feathers

Please say those magic words to me,

I wish you were never inside me.

Say them again and with some sting this time.

I regret the day you entered me. I regret our time together.

One more time so that I know that I'm alive.

I'm learning to forget you all over again.

Baby Plates

Hello and welcome to Baby Plates. Please let me take your coat. My name is O'neil and I'll be taking care of you. Is this your first time here?

The tables at Baby Plates are designed to fit a moderately sized seven year old. The silverware is even smaller and so are the plates; they are about the size of a teacup saucer. Baby Plates cuts no corners. Everything that comes out of the kitchen doors is served in micro portions. The salmon dill in a cream sauce over a bed of arugula is no larger than a silver dollar, and the lamb shank risotto is to die for but it's the size of a snow pea.

The prices per plate averages about 325 U.S.D. Baby Plates takes all Major Credit Cards and is now taking reservations for December of 2011.

Guest Check Mixtape

1. Harlem-Beautiful & Very Smart
2. The Muslims-My Flash on You
3.Wire-Three Girl Rhumba
4. Broadcast-I Found the F
5. The Vaselines-Teenage Superstars
6. The Damned-I Feel Alright
7. Harlem-Gay Human Bones

Download this mix for free:
http://www.mediafire.com/?jmnihoniyzn

Dodos

Randy is not an artist, he is an okay bartender who in between chocolatinis and Manhattans, doubles as a trapeze artist. This isn't the nineteen-twenties and circuses aren't in vogue. In fact the general impression of circuses are that they are foul, full of torture and expensive popcorn. Luckily for Randy he doesn't work at those kinds of places. Think of a less expensive Cirque De Soleil full of bartenders and waiters that are infinitely flexible.

I wonder if he can mix a Singapore Sling, while swinging mid-air?

From Underneath an Umbrella, Underneath the Rain.

It was dementia that made me make the trip. My grandmother had a stroke or two and she was in the hospital for good. My aunt is slightly slow--she needed a ride so I picked her up in my van. We had to (illegally) park far--she used a walker to keep her balance. It was also raining sort of hard and I didn't have an umbrella. My aunt couldn't afford to catch a cold so we dodged rain drops by hiding underneath the marquees of the hospital. We were both wet, but I remember I could not stop laughing. It was hilarious. The rain was relentless and we thought we'd keep dry by taking breaks in-between steps to the door.

Our visit to the hospital was short. I always made sure they were. We said hello and goodbye; we were cordial and loving. It was painful to see someone dying. Especially someone that you love.

After a handful of visits we knew what to expect. My mother knew it, I knew it and so did my aunt. So we limited our visits to a good half-hour. We rarely if ever stood a minute later. There was really no need to. She was losing her mind; forgetting who were all the time.

Times up.

After we gave back our visitor badges at the front desk, we were back outside hiding from the rain. It picked up and we were even more soaked than before. By the time we made it back into the van, we realized we were hungry. The nearest diner was two blocks up on Broadway. I didn't want to waste the gas trying to find parking on a Sunday if it were so close, so we decided to take our chances again with the rain.

This time I bought her a cheap umbrella from a deli. It was far too small to cover us both, so I carried it over her and giggled in the rain.

We didn't say much about the hospital visit at lunch: we brought our laughter from the streets and under the marquees into this tiny diner that sold Heinekens with every meal including breakfast. When I excused myself to use the restroom I found enough stuff to fill up two sides of a guest check.

Guest Check

We've worked in bars, restaurants, foofy cafe's, gay bars, pizza parlor/restaurants, Olive Garden; everywhere. It all sucks. It's all same. Trust me.

Check back on Monday for more.











Here's a sneak peak:

Fags

Instead of his phone number he wrote terrible things on bar napkins. He also drew terrible things on them as well.

One of them consisted of very few words, but did have rather on-point drawing of some young man in double breasted suit giving himself a good once over. It read, "Sorry if this gets anywhere near your meal."

Another one used only words and was addressed to an attractive woman with dimples. It read:
"Your boyfriend is a homo."

Oddly, when he handed it over she was very interested in both him and his note. This of course was before she read it.

He still writes these notes. They are a bit more toned down nowadays. For example he wrote one to his co-worker just the other night:
"I want your sex"

Lemmings

A Sandwich

-Two slices of rye
-Three slices of Cajun turkey
-Two slices of Finlandia Swiss ( thin)
-A few slices of cucumbers
-Sliced tomatoes
-Veggie humus spread ( homemade)
-Tablespoon of mustard


Spread hummus on toasted rye. Then layer the cucumbers, turkey, tomatoes, and swiss. Smear the mustard on top slice of bread and press on a panini.

Enjoy!

Short Story Sessions

It would have been okay if we had just finished that bottle of wine and said goodbye, but I insisted we dance to the Clash. I wanted it to look like that scene where Mark Ruffalo and Kirsten Dunst dance in their underwear, but I barely made it past her bedroom.

L.A. Mix Tape: Naqeeb Stevens

1. Warpaint-Beetles
2. Night Control- 20 Years Old
3. Abe Vigoda - Wild Heart
4. Nip$ey Hu$$le -Let's Talk $
5. Dum Dum Girls -Jail La La
6. Best Coast - When I'm With You
7. Nocando- Hurry Up and Wait
8. Nite Control - We Want Our Things
9. Dak - Nuckl


Download his mix for free
http://www.zshare.net/audio/712337660f106524/

or pay him a visit.
http://www.anqb.blogspot.com/

Jicama

I keep telling my mother that it's only temporary. It's inexpensive and quaint. She insists that it'll start that way, then I'll get a temporary job, and pick up an inexpensive habit. Soon I'll find a girl that's quaint and then I'll be there forever.

My mother is probably right. My roommate is recovering from fifteen years of something; I've seen two drug deals go down here: minor transactions (by bicycle of course). There was also a fight. I caught the whole thing while en route to make a fool of myself with an ex-girlfriend. With every punch the white man took the face, he lost an article of clothing. It were as if the other guy were swinging and swatting. Perhaps it was the friction caused by his punches that were enough to unbuckle the man's belt, untie his laces, and pull off his knickers. By the third punch, that poor sap's prick was out and against the pavement.

The children and dogs here are almost one in the same; unattended and unclothed. They do not fear broken glass, garbage or the cold. They are unlike anything I have ever witnessed. They are almost as brave as the addicts and street sweepers.

I don't think my mother knows about any of this. If she did, I'd have four boxes of groceries delivered to my house almost instantaneously. That's how she copes with me living in a seedy neighborhood, she buys me groceries and not necessarily the healthy ones either. It's like I turned six when I moved out. She's keeping me mum with Hawaiian Punches and Cheetos. I'm serious about this.

But if I told her that I thought these groceries were meant for a kindergartner she'd cry. I hate to see her cry over Cheetos. Plus I really do like Cheetos, it's just I'd rather have some avocado first.

Come to think of it, if I told her about my job(s) and love life, she'd really cry. Instead of groceries I'd have shit ton of homemade meals delivered to my door. My landlord would think I was on some kind of Jenny Craig deal. After he'd finish picking out which of the meals he'd like, he'd come upstairs, walk-in on me and my roommate fucking and ask for the rent.

Thank You, Jackie Du

Its my birthday
Should I smile?

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Be a friend and visit her blog.
http://www.jackiedu.blogspot.com/

Guest Blog-Alan Cano

If everyone could agree on one love/hate relationship it would have to be on public transportation. I don't really know what to say about it but I'm more on the love side of it. Granted that you have to schedule around it, it is better than scheduling around some one else. You might have to pay for tickets but it ends up being cheaper than gas. Other than delays and riding during peak hours, there does not seem to be much wrong with it.

Now I understand that because I grew up in a metropolitan area, and that of course I would love public transit, but I've seen the bad sides of it, and this case, the good always out-weights the bad. People tend to forget that there are is always something to do on public transportation. Unless you are entirely focused on the latest e-book you downloaded to your Nook, you can always get lost in what other people are doing, especially on buses. I am at the height of my people watching when I am on the bus. I can't count the number of times that I've laughed at ridiculous conversations being held, or have felt awkward for the poor girl being hit on by a group of high school boys. I've made up entire stories based on people I've seen on public transportation. I have pages and pages of a mental screen play written in my head from mass transit people watching.

Window watching is another thing to take full advantage of. When driving, we have to be focused on what's going on in the front, back and sides of us that we can't see the little things along the roads that people or nature have taken advantage of. Because many train tracks are built on the outskirts of towns, billboards, signs and walls become prime targets of graffiti artists. They can't get caught, and they know people who frequent public transportation will always see them. The story is not what their tag or image looks like, but the feats they went through to get it up there. I've seen sides of buildings along Elizabeth and Newark and thought about the great obstacles people go through just to get their name out. It's really inspiring if you think about it. Stupid, but inspiring.

As long as you plan your trips accordingly, there is nothing wrong with public transportation. You can get lost in it, but don't forget your stop. It may not be as convenient as driving, but hey it can be a lot safer and cheaper. And bosses or people you were meeting up with can always understand delays. With traffic, people won't understand, at least sometimes.


For more of Alan visit his blog
http://garbagepailkidz.blogspot.com/

Round Eyes

There is something wrong with the way Timmy folds pizza boxes at work. For some reason every box that he folds falls apart. Also when he puts wax paper in, it's always on the wrong side, which makes it a bit more cumbersome when dealing with customers. I don't mind all that much because I know Timmy has some problems . I don't know the prognosis, I'm not a doctor. I don't know anything about how the mind works or how many bones there are in an ear, but I'm pretty certain there's something wrong with Timmy. In an eight-hour day, he says almost nothing. You could say hello to him--Hello Timmy--and he almost always disregards it. In fact he's so good at not responding it's like you're not even there. You don't even exist to Timmy. And when he incorrectly folds those boxes it's as if he's not even there.

I wish I had a iota of Timmy's social grace: not having to answer questions and spending my day staring listlessly at nothing. I wonder what he thinks about. Maybe he thinks that those boxes are perfect. That everything around him doesn't really exist and that common conversation is meaningless. Words like hello and goodbye never enter his thoughts or perhaps he's just confused. I would at some point like for him to explain this all for me, but I know that he won't. I've tried.

Toro!

If he doesn't call me by Christmas, then I'll know he doesn't love me. I can't call him. I won't. Even if I did want to I couldn't--I deleted his number the day he left. I'm lying about that. I have his number stored in my brain. In fact just yesterday I tried to scramble each digit in my head, but it was anything but a success.

I need to get serious about this; I have to resist the urge to call him. It's just hard seeing every cherub faced girl in town in the arms of some guy. When I go shopping for face soap at the mall, everyone has someone. I have this dog who just drools everywhere. I don't want a drooler. I want a lover. Someone who'll put his hands up my shirt when we're in bed. Or someone who'll insist that we have sex on the train home from the city. Not a sloppy dog who leaves his hair everywhere--no thank you.

The grocery store is by far the worse. Either every girl in the store is on the phone with their guy, asking whether they'd like a rotisserie chicken or a pizza, or they're playing the part of the doting couple and picking up detergent and other boring household items. I wonder what these couples do when they get home. Do they drop their bags at the door and have at it in the hallway or are they taking turns cooking dinner? Do they play scrabble or purr at one another when they're close? I don't know anything about these people's domestic lives. All I know is that I can't call and it's killing me like cancer.

For Jordan

Checklist for Jordan's Seventh Birthday

-Jules Verne's Around the World in Eighty Days

-A smoking jacket

-A Dictionary

-3 Plays by Ibsen

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I know not to trust a wandering umbrella salesman. I know this because I've read The Umbrella Man. I also know not start a grudge with a white whale. And I know not to bargain with suspicious dwarves whose names rhyme with MumpleBiltklin.

If all goes according to plan, Jordan will come to the same logical conclusions. I just hope he doesn't change his name to 'Glass' and decide to start soaking in the tub for days on end. That would be a shame.

Splitting Seeds

I say this with the upmost certainty: I broke up the happy marriage of a lesbian couple. I know this because she keeps looking at me behind the counter of the deli. It's as if she goes out of her way to make it known that she's looking at me. For example, when she slices the boiled ham, she doesn't even look at the slicer, instead she makes sure that I'm staring at her, and I am.

Now about the part with her being married, well someone told me she was and the rings on her ring finger are evidence enough. I passed math and I can put two and two together; she's married.

In fact I think I saw her partner just yesterday. They were taking break together and I happened to walk by them and she rolled her eyes. I think she was nervous that I'd blow her cover. I didn't.

And as for their break-up, well immediately after seeing them both, her partner abruptly left and walked out. We then resumed our aggressive staring bout.

Passion Boys

I'm going to tell you a secret. It's about a boy and another boy. It's also about two girls, and a pair cats, and it's also about you.

I'd tell you in front of everyone else, but then it would be everyone's secret and I want this to be ours.

First the two boys met last week and they have secrets too, but I don't know much about those because those are their's.

That business about the girls well that's not much of a secret at all because everyone know's that they had sex in your room while you were away. The cats were witness to it too and so were a few other people. I just thought I'd be a friend and let you know.

PolarRads-2010