After work, I met Sheila and her dear friend Rich, Captain of a Firehouse in Long Beach, CA. Rich and his firemen crew are here in town to march in the St. Patrick’s Day Parade with Rich’s old 51st Street firehouse. They were great fun, but I left early to get home to my beloved Paquita. I walked to the Lexington Avenue Station and made my way through the maze of people and signage before I peeked out from underneath the brim of my hat to spot him staring at me just as his 6 train was pulling in to the station. Okay, it probably wasn’t him, but a slightly older dead ringer for him with a top coat and great hair. I didn’t hold his stare, just kept moving in my I’m-in-a-hurry-and-it’s-fu*king-colder-than-a-witch’s-tit-in-a-brass-bra state of mind. After all, I wasn’t waiting for that 6 train; I was headed towards another platform entirely.

So I passed him as the train pulled to a stop and walked for a moment before something made me turn around and take a second glance behind me. There he is, one foot on the platform and one in the train, and he’s holding the door open despite the conductor’s warnings and he was still looking at me. This time our eyes locked and he motioned for me to hop in the subway. It was a tilted move of his head directing me into the car and his eyes slightly pleaded for a brief second. His face and body language said, “Come with me. Why not?”

I thought, “Thanks, but I’ve got an N to catch,” and kept on walking.

And it just struck me as I got further from him and the doors of that 6 train slid between us that, metaphorically speaking, I always take the N home. I could be missing out on some serious destiny. I guess that’s why God invented Craig’s List; because, in the cold, fast-paced life of New York City, sometimes destiny needs a little helping hand.

I drove a car for the first time in 2.5 years yesterday. I love my car. I wish I didn’t have to sell it, but it’s an expensive and unnecessary luxury. Public transportation is where it’s at, but thankfully I still had my Cabrio handy to run an errand. I picked up Steven from my Mailbox Place, drove him to his new home and put him together. I love him with all the unconditional love a mother has to offer. I hope he has a long and healthy life and stays away from the pot unlike his father.

The hair behind a dog’s ears is so soft. If I could, I would skin them and make panties out of them, but that would be cruel.

Listen, I’ve lost it. I’ve been hanging around people who are far too witty, well-educated and down right talented. I need to gather a pool of friends that are dull and deficient in all areas other than alcohol consumption in order to elevate myself to a higher plateau of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs and come this much closer to self-actualization. That’s just how pathetic I am.

Seriously, I want to know, what doesn’t taste better with either a dash of lemon juice or washed down with chocolate milk?

Gospel of Jack 1:14
Regarding His Under-watered, Hence Droopy, Plant:
It looks like my di*k when I see my wife naked.

Good christ. I’m never getting married.

So this guy, late 40’s to early 50’s, also known as my Key Demographic, was slightly hitting on me the other night. It was all in good taste and harmless really, and then he learned I was taken.

Key Demographic: Oh, you have a boyfriend? I’m glad I found out before I wasted any more of my time.

Asshole.

“Imagine there’s no heaven. It’s easy if you try. No hell below us. Above us only sky.”

Speaking of Jews, I’ve been scouring the web for information on the customs of Chassidic Jews. There were several in the theater with us yesterday dressed in traditional garb, some wearing yarmulkes some streimels and all with sidecurls (tendrils to us layfolk sinner types or “payot” to P.C. folk). After the movie, they all rushed outside apparently because they were all jonesing for a cigarette and half of them started chatting on their cell phones.

I don’t get it. You aren’t allowed to cut the hair above your ears, but you can smoke cigarettes and use cell phones? Why hang on to all that white stocking and robe business from years past if you’re willing to forge into the future with modern day technology? And just how does this stuff get passed down for so many centuries without somebody standing up to ask why? I’m sure some rebellious teen has thwarted his parents wishes by cutting his hair, but then what? What’s at stake? Does he go to Hell now? Nope. Apparently Jews don’t believe in Hell. Is this true?!?! If so, I’m converting. Step aside my friend and let the sinning begin.

For the record, Derek and Drew look just like they do on television, and Amazing Race ROCKS!

Quotes Galore
Today was abundant with outrageous quotes, many of which are not suitable for print. I’m not afraid of repercussions per se, especially since I almost never identify the speakers, but I am leery of misinterpretation. My firm’s holiday party is tonight, so I think everyone is in jovial spirits and gearing up early for the party. So, here’s two so far:

Gospel of Jack:
Him: I love European milk.
Me: Why?
Him: It’s milk from a-broad!

Him to Me Regarding a Woman He Doesn’t Like: “I know! Why don’t you come in topless and beat her to death with your breasts?!”

This Google search led a user to my site. Best thing? I’m third in the results. This should get me a $100 scholarship to “Shake Your Groove Thang” college.

Real Life New York Quote of the Day:
“If my wife calls, tell her I died.”

or:

“Take off your sweater! Take off your sweater! Oh, wait, that isn’t appropriate. I’m sorry.”

See…in New York, if you apologize, it makes it all better.

This morning I had quite possibly the worst shower in the History of Showers, Part One. I can’t even fathom how water is capable of running through pipes so icy cold then so boiling hot then back again within a span of a second. I wish I were exaggerating. I stood there with conditioner dripping into my eyes waiting for the opportunity to leap into the stream and rinse. Bugger. On the brighter side, at least I didn’t have to walk to work. Brrrr!

Take This Job and Shove It!
Ben, a co-worker and former Texan, announced he will be resigning and going on a trek around the world. He asked me for my notes on spontaneity. With such a subtle sense of humor and good ol’ Texas charm, I think he’ll find his share of adventure and maybe a Russian bride or two. Good luck—I’m so jealous!

Favorite Conversation Today
Me to Pamela: I love your haircut.
Male Co-Worker: Thank you!
Me to Male Co-Worker: Not you! Pamela.
Pamela: You like it layered?
Male Co-Worker: I like to get layered all the time.

Jack: “Do you see the words ‘Charitable Contribution’ after my name? Fu*k no!”

Isn’t it weird how once your attention is drawn to something, it pops up everywhere? Like when you buy a car that no one seems to own and suddenly everyone and their brother has your exact make and model. Well, my “something” has been Little People.

Not long ago I was in tears watching a *very touching* documentary on the lives of dwarves. Later it was brought to my attention that there is an apartment building in Manhattan exclusive to little people. I was highly intrigued and envisioned shortened ceilings and narrow hallways like the entryway to John Malkovich’s mind.

Then I almost stepped on one while exiting the subway at the 49th Street stop. Hey, it’s a busy stop, man, and my peripheral vision was blocked by my monstrously sized bag from Hable Construction. Turns out this wee guy was headed towards Radio City Music Hall to audition for the annual Radio City Christmas Spectacular. I’m guessing he was out for a part as an elf because there were hundreds of other Little People swarming Rockefeller Center all day.

There was the CSI episode dedicated to the Little People’s convention. I saw one on 50th & Broadway. I see a different one, a woman, in the Concourse nearly every day now. Somebody check the Chinese calendar…it just might be the Year of the Dwarf.

Some sights and sounds and such upon my return from the Cuervo Nation:

Furniture being moved in the apartment above me as I drifted off to sleep late last night; the smell of curry mixed with the aroma of stale urine and body odor wafting through the hallway as I left for work this morning; the beads of sweat that formed on my upper lip before I had even left my building lobby; melted gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe adhering me to the pavement with every other step; the sound of donated change clinking in a coffee cup, while the owner blindly stumbled on the train silently demanding more funds; the flattened giant corpse of a cockroach stuck to the gum that is stuck to my shoe; and, finally, my desk, cluttered and demanding my attention.

Ah, there’s no place like home!