Never Stop Laughing

So the hubby and I were having a text-convo about him procuring the latest money suck from Apple. The line at the store has been around the corner since Friday and he’s not willing to wait in it. What follows is the rest of our convo:
me – Get it online.
him – Can’t
me – Are u a mexican or a mexican’t?
him – I’m an irish c*nt

::sigh:: Hands off ladies. He’s all mine.

M – Didn’t Sugar sing that song?
B – Naw. It was Tommy Tutone or something. Never heard of Sugar.
M – Wasn’t that the band Eric Clapton was in?
B – That was Cream!
M – Sugar. Cream. Whatever.

Ya know, I dearly love New York. The diversity and the sheer absurdity I encounter on a daily basis just makes me smile.

One of my author’s books was reviewed in Playboy, so I went to the magazine shop to pick up an issue. Maybe it’s just because I’ve gotten used to buying porn in public (strictly for work…wink wink) but I really don’t see anything embarrassing about buying it. And, let’s be real, Playboy is comparatively the Better Homes & Gardens of smut rags. When I used to work at Taschen I had to sort through some bottom-of-the-barrel magazines. Inches. Screw. ::sigh:: Those were the days…

But I digress…so I’m in the mag shop this morning asking for Playboy. And I get a look of confusion from the two gents behind the counter. So I ask again. “Do you have the May Playboy?”
In the same instant, both of their expressions switch to stern – which makes me giggle because, well, it was funny.
And one says a little tersely “We do not carry that.”

Alrighty then. A bit confused, I made my way to the exit when a customer stopped me and said in a voice barely above a whisper: “You know they’re Muslim right?”
Aaannnnd?
“Porn is forbidden.”

Okey-dokey. But I’m not asking them to look at it, I want to buy it so I can look at it. Besides have you seen Maxim lately? And they also carry UK “art” mags like Purple. Purple is nothing but nekkid people and self-important ramblings. But whatev. The dude was kind enough to point me in the direction of the shop that had a plethora of porn.

So I got my Playboy, a wink from the creepy salesclerk and a free pack of gum…and the book review was good.

Please imagine a loud bar and the following conversation between two heavily accented Irish persons:

J – I think this’ll be my last one before I’m knocked.
M – You’re knocked? Naw.
J – Well not yet. But I’m pissed.
M – Pissed? Or half-pissed.
J – Pissed.

And the rest was unintelligible. But they understood each other.

The hubby was quite amused with himself at breakfast at the Polish restaurant the other morning…”I just asked a Pole for a check.”

After spending many nights at the same pub, I’ve gotten to know some other regulars. Last night they all converged at the same time and I was in the same spot I was in when I first met them all. Collectively they bestowed upon me the nickname: Lushy McDrinkypants.

I don’t know whether to be honored or embarrassed. My first inclination is to go with honored.

So I’m going on vacation in the cuts. No computer, no cell. I’m talking to my boss about how to get a hold of me in case something comes up. I’m trying to convey him that absolutely NOTHING would come up (work-related) that he would need to contact me about. He doesn’t seem to be getting that.

C: What about email.
me: No computer.
C: Is there an internet cafe around there.
me: No. It’s the woods.
C: Your cell. We can reach you by cell.
me: Probably not. It’s the woods.
C: But you can drive somewhere to where you can get reception, yes?
me: No.
C: Maybe we should get you a Blackberry before you go so you can have access to the office at all times.
me: Hmm. Tempting – but no.

I wish he was joking, but alas no.

My bff and I are walking along when a gent walking towards us in the opposite direction stops, makes some very vulgar comments to me, I balk at a rebuttal, he hugs me then walks off.

my bff: Who was that?
me: Matt. He’s my bartender.
my bff: You hug your bartender?
me: The hug you’re surprised with but not the “protein shake” comments.
my bff: We’re in New York.
me: Touche.

Weird quirk in my email today where I couldn’t see the the sender just the subject line. I was on the phone with an author trying to figure out which of these blind emails was the “very important” one she just sent me, so I’m reading off the subject lines…

me – “Cheap Date?”
her – “no”
me – “FYI – Pickled in Provence”
her – “no”
me – “Turn your short tiny stick into something you can be proud of”
her – “No. But that sounds like an intriguing offer.”
me – “You see the lengths I go to to get your book reviewed.”
her – “Ha! Lengths.”

After nearly an hour long conversation where at the end of which nothing was solved
P: I hate Time Warner. I’m certain the devil is the CEO but I’m not sure.
J: Oh no, the devil is the CEO of Cablevision.
B: Forsake the devil. Come to Jesus. Throw away your television.
blank stares
P: The devil has HBO.