Creative Constipation

Is been two weeks since I "dropped a blog" and MAN does my tummy hurt. Thanks to a good dose of cyber-Metamucil, things are now flowing smoothly and I can continue to "fire off" some random crap to keep myself (and hopefully others) chuckling. Of course this comes at the expense of others.... so beware.

It amazes me how many people have chimed in with other "Ruth-related Atrocities" most of which I have either forgotten or blocked out thanks to the hard work of my therapist, Dr. Feelgood. Many have asked "What ever became of Ruth?" I am not quite certain but I imagine she is contributing positively to the community in some fashion either as a counselor at Big Brothers and Sisters or just giving blow jobs for money. In either case, I will not REST until I find my dear Ruth! and.... she really does exist.

Here's the latest on the work front. Seems my office may be about to implode - so the days of my illustrious career in over-priced snacks may be limited. However, I am going to hang on with every glimmer of hope that the Pretzel Nuggets will prevail and the Phosphorescent Orange Nacho Cheese will continue to flow (ever so slowly) through the veins of others so I can keep doing what I do. I mean, honestly, what else would I possibly be good at? It's either this or curing polio- and I really like those nachos! Such tough choices.

I suspect a Facebook "mole" that is fueling some crap at work - so with that, I have devised a plan to orchestrate a crazy (Ruth-like) story - complete with drama, scandal and despair with the hopes of having it spread throughout the office like a scorching case of herpes - thus flushing out the "mole." I could then spend my remaining days torturing them in subtle ways like gluing down the receiver on their office phone, removing one wheel on their chair or perhaps subscribing them to "Chicks with Dicks" magazine and having it hand-delivered by a messenger with Turrets Syndrome right to their desk. These are just a few subtleties that I have perfected over the years. If these fail, it'll be time for some hardball.

Again - LET THE GAMES BEGIN.


I have fallen off the proverbial wagon...... (no I am not hitting the sauce - it's worse than that).... I am back on the potatoes! That's right - those starchy little tidbits have lured me back into their twisted web - calling out "EAT ME" louder than a lonely Vegas hooker with Chlamydia! Lent is over and Sweet Potato Fries have replaced Tic Tacs as my #1 meal choice. One would think that a VEGETABLE! That's right a fucking VEGETABLE would not be my biggest foe. My Mom has held that position for years and is now at risk of being dethroned for some sugary brown treat and I do NOT mean Starr Jones (although I want to tear that up - lol!)!

I can honestly say that I have a problem. I would not recommend any attempt at an intervention, however, as in a moment of sheer desperation, I would secretly cook up those sinister Idaho "devils" with a crack spoon using stolen cash from an orphanage full of cancer kids.

I was reminded recently (thanks to Ilene) of my time as a bookkeeper and front end manager at a supermarket in NY. Ilene and I used to get into quite a bit of trouble making fun of customers and doing crazy things after a night of heavy drinking at the Westchester County Fair. We would run through the aisles dropping tampons and Vagisil in peoples carts and screaming loudly for a price check on Wart Cream on register 9 - just for entertainment value. There were nights when I'd be working until closing. Me and some guy (Dave??) would fling cans of food over the top of the aisle into the next - eagerly awaiting a "thud" and a scream when it knocked someone in the skull. True humanitarians. I would pack the groceries of "mean" people with the bread on the bottom and tip the dozen eggs spilling them loosely into the bag. I guess my interpretation of "mean" was a bit warped considering the chaos I was unleashing on others.

Well, it seems that one day out of sheer boredom, we decided to reprogram the registers and watch through the one-way mirrored window as guests eyeballed the display and "SHITBALLS.... $1.99/lb." appeared when they rang up Bananas. It got us both transferred or demoted or both - but it was well worth it.

The store I ended up in had some crazy girl Dolores that worked as a cashier. She was about a foot and a half tall with psoriasis, stringy hair that seemed to be falling out and she was wall-eyed. Other than that, she was hot.

I used to call her Clitoris (rhyming it with Dolores) and made her wear name tags that read just that. She'd say.... "Pat.... My name tag is misspelled again!!..." I insisted that she check the spelling on her application as there was NO way the name tag machine could be wrong.

I used to draw Satanic stick figures all over her time card - a gift from a secret admirer - and cut out magazine letters leaving delusional notes from her "stalker." I guess she was the first Ruth. Actually - I think it was some old lady Gladys at the Harrison Library and Mrs. Lumbo who lived across from the school - but that story will take some time to tell.

I am having a good time working at the comedy club on the weekends. Who woulda thunk it? Humor? Me? I am so straight-laced and serious all the time. Pardon me as I scratch my balls.... ahhhhhh..... Okay I'm back...

Like I said... Serious as the day is long.... My years of being an altar boy have paid off. Although my lingering self esteem issues still make me question.... Why didn't those priests diddle ME? Was I not cute enough? ... --- pathetic sad face inserted here :( --- Rejection at ALL levels. How rude.

I guess even back then my self image was a bit off kilter prompting me to ask... "Father, does this robe make my butt look fat?"

Issues..... Thanks Ma!

Gotta get crack-a-lackin'... Peace!

There Once Was A Girl.... Her Name Was Ruth!

Before I explain the Ruth thing, I really must preface the story by saying:



"I was really drunk one night and...."



It's not what you may be thinking - this is clearly not some hot, passionate romance story - quite the opposite, in fact. Being tortured as a kid, I was schooled in the art of taking advantage of someone's vulnerabilities and preying on those very qualities for personal amusement. Now, this may seem shallow and mean - but by the end of the story - you'll be singing right along with me.... "I once knew a girl, her name was Ruth ........"



It all starts at the Town House II - a local dive bar full of the usual suspects (many of whom are reading this right now - provided there are not too many big words). The first Town House burned to the ground. Hence the II - (the use of authentic Roman numerals was quite significant - being suburban NY and all.)



Again - my childhood was a ridiculously hateful experience. But all of the tactics those sinister neighborhood kids and terroristic schoolmates applied to torturing me, we're quickly bottled up and stored for a rainy day.



All of this mean-spirited energy was well-harnessed and under control - until I discovered tequila shooters and Budweiser. Let the games begin...



Rather than unleash a postal barrage of hate, I decided to spin the energy around and find entertaining ways to make people laugh - however, it was usually at the expense of some unsuspecting victim. Enter RUTH!



I could not start a good Ruth story without first introducing the supporting cast. There was Liz - my "sister" and the bartender from the dive bar. Liz watched nightly as I prepared to pounce on some poor victim and she quickly knew her role. She was a master of her art!



Then, there are Beulah (aka Lisa), Harriott (aka Julie) and Freeta (aka Trish - not "good Trish", the other one) - sorry Freeta - needed to paint the picture....



Beulah and Harriott were my "lesbian" friends that - on command - would spring into action trying feverishly to get Ruth to "join their team." The stories quite often surrounded Beulah and Harriot who deserve Oscars for their performances - although I would have preferred a little hot tongue action to make it "real.." Team-players, all, this cast of characters set the stage for our introduction to a "friend of a friend" who just moved to the area.



John was Liz's husband. An old high-school friend of John's was coming to the bar to be introduced to some "nice" local people who could help acclimate her to the area. John had the crazy idea that we were that bunch. In hindsight, I am sure he would choose a more compassionate group - such as White Supremacists or Animal Torturers.



The nightly stories began.... the very first - an attempted suicide. I was a bit bored and looking to prank some poor unsuspecting fool. Lightbulb! I called my E.M.S. friends to bandage up my wrists. The ambulance pulls up to the bar and they practically applied tourniquets to my arms for my first big scene. Quickly - the team springs into action and calls Ruth. Now, Ruth was an unemployed musician at the time and money was very tight as was fueling up her car. What better way to start the festivities by finding creative ways to make her leave her house, drive lots of miles for nothing and run down her gas tank. That sounded like fun.



"Ruth, come quick! Pat has tried to kill himself.....AGAIN! and he keeps calling your name." Wondering why someone she just met would single her out to rescue him from the pit of despair, she shrieks in horror and jumps into her car and drives 40 miles (I carefully time her arrival and continue to drink beers until she is about to pull up) at which time I drop to the floor and start muttering non-sensical babble from my pill overdose and subsequent wrist slashing. She asked what I took and I reach in my pockets flinging tablets all over the room (every thing I could round up including Midol, Flintstones Vitamins and Tart-N-Tiny candies; which oddly resembled a hit of mesc.)



My friends all rallied to my bedside (the booth in the back of the bar) for a death vigil. Beulah and Harriott were there - holding each other for support - of course - and (at my prompting) were singing old Negro Spirituals to help me "go into the light."



Ruth was horrified - but we quickly formed a bond the next day when I called her and told her she was the ONLY reason that I hung on....



Within weeks, Ruth was a regular at the bar. I was now "cured" from my illnesses (although I had to keep my fucking wrists bandaged for months as a prop - that was a pain in the ass). Ruth checked in on me daily and I always found a way to make her get into that car and drive..... miles.... for something totally obscure and ridiculous.



She was in constant touch with my fake "parents" Ray and Natasha. Natasha (I forget her real name, I think it was Jane) was a 60+ woman who was a cashier at the movie theatre. In a pinch, she was cast in the role as Mom - a decision that later was declared a "win."

Ruth and Natasha formed a friendship one evening when a weeping Natasha confided in Ruth that she was ill. Seems Mom had a steel plate in her head. It was not very painful, except every time she walked past the microwave, she shit in her pants and pretended to be King Lear! and .... she never read Shakespeare.

Ruth was always watching out for Natasha - including the time that we dialed Ruth from my office and Natasha started screaming wildly mid-sentence because someone turned on the microwave. Ruth was pleading on the other end "turn it off! turn it off." The call ended with Natasha, in her best Shakespearean voice, proclaiming "How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child!" Lear (Act I, Scene 4).

The call goes dead! The next day, Natasha shrugs it off by simply moaning "oh - that damn microwave, Ruth!" Ahhhh, good times.

The stories continued for months.

There was "other Liz" who was my "ex-wife" who was now married to Skip. Ruth was amazed that she and I remained friends despite our hideous breakup which included Liz getting a restraining order and throwing me out of our trailer home. Liz once even took the keys to my John Deere mower so I couldn't sneak off to the whore house when she was hard at work at the meth lab. Astounded that Ruth wasn't yet "on to us," we continued the story. Liz and Ruth fast became friends and formed a trust. Enough of a trust for Liz to confide in her why we remained so close after all we had been through. Seems that Liz had a "problem" that only I could help her with. This sparked Ruth's curiosity and she asked Liz to share. A tearful Liz explained to Ruth that the exposure to the chemicals used to cook the meth had caused her to grow an inordinate amount of hair in odd places. Liz explained that I was the only one that could help her "shave her back." She also fessed up that the cost of razors was straining her financially at which point Ruth suggested she'd pitch in and buy a few. Now that's a true friend.

Beulah and Harriott were always the stars of the show. Ruth was soooo understanding of their "lifestyle" as lesbians and confided in them one drunken night that she, too, would like to kiss Harriott. Even Meryl Streep has her theatrical limits - so imagine the answer when I asked B & H to "take care" of Ruth. Hey, a man can try, no?

Everyone - and I mean - EVERYONE called Lisa and Julie - Beulah and Harriott. Even my grandmother. In fact, she asked a few months ago "What ever happened to that nice Beulah girl."

Skip and I once stole Ruth's car from the bar and parked it blocks away - ON the sidewalk - BEHIND A FIRE HYDRANT and she got a wave of tickets when the police "recovered" her stolen vehicle.

That was the same night that Steve blew his nose on her coat.



Ruth played the flute. We once made her do a recital at the bar because we wanted to be cultured. We made sure that one-by-one, people angrily walked out during her performance - but like the band on the deck of the Titanic - she kept playing until the entire ship went down.



She wore perfume called Red Door - but we called it Barn Door. It was awful!

Ruth always wanted to be "part of the crowd." We tried to help her. Kind of like a band-geek makeover. As part of her transformation, we told her that wearing spandex was "in." The whole bar took one for the team, donning their tightest fitting clothes including Gina who was like 500 pounds. We also kept referring to ourselves as Heifers. She was curious - so we told her that a Heifer was a "party animal." Much to my surprise, she called me one morning after a night of partying hard and starts the conversation with; "Pat I was such a heifer last night." My job was done.

Months later, she looked it up in the dictionary and called me angrily. She read me the definition:

Heifer (hĕf́ər)
(n.)
A young cow, especially one that has not yet given birth to a calf..

I quickly explained that she mispelled it and our "HEFFER" was Yiddish. Oi! What a Shiksa!

Then there was the ransom video from Lake Placid. That's a blog of it's own. Ruth had to pony-up money to save me from kidnappers. Too long for today's blog. Stay tuned.

A quick preframe:

The ransom story begins on the ride to a bar-sponsored ski trip. The bus full of barflys on the 4 hour drunken drive - began a bit of a sing-a-long on the drive up - "I once knew a man whose name was...." (yada, yada, yada....) I was passed out from the hours of drinking and missed most of the limerics (until watching the video).

However, being my turn to chime in, they smacked me to a light consciousness, and I rang out in song.... "I once knew a girl, her name was Ruth - who had more gum than she had tooth." Since Ruth's teeth looked like little mini-chicklets, there was a brief silence and then laughter ensued.

Then I threw up all over the bus....

This catchy little tune will likely be trapped in your head for years to come.

There is a clear moral here - NEVER show me your vulnerable side - because you could be the next Ruth!



Peace out Heffers! Moooooooo!

A Good Fart Joke Can Always Save The Day!...

I am still laughing at the wave of email that I got about recent "micalizzi-isms." Basically, you guys seem surprised that - not only have I not grown up - I actually get more immature and infantile with every passing day.

For example, Bernie and I spent 10 minutes on the phone talking fart humor and after the ridiculous jokes subsided and we stopped giggling like school kids - we both asked "who called who and what was the point of this call?" It is clear to me that the best phone calls are ones where you can laugh hard about someone shitting their pants and then move on to more important things - like BOOBIES!

I mean, honestly, what the fuck is the point of being serious when you can simply poke fun of others and cash-in on their misfortune with tasteless humor and shallowness?

But, I digress.... a few have reminded me of drunken stories from year's past that - surprisingly - I remember. Who knew that you guys had such recall of the ridiculous crap that we orchestrated while sipping a beer (or 12.)?

Of course, all of these stories deserve a blog all their own - but a quick mention to whet your appetite.

Laura was kind enough to remind me of the crazy blow-out parties at the house on High Street in Rye. How we weren't arrested, is beyond me. Probably because half the cops were at the party and higher than I was.... The most memorable moment, of course, was the party where the entire third-story patio gave way - plummeting to the ground with my brother tumbling along with the loose railings . 3 stories - onto concrete - on his head! I was doing a beer bong in the living room when Erich comes in and says "can I have a beer? oh.... and by the way - the patio collapsed and I think Billy is dead." After finishing the beer funnel challenge (which I won, of course), I excused myself to attend to my half dead brother who just fell off the house -laying there like a bird that flew into a pane of glass. The ambulance arrives, he comes to a light consciousness just long enough to give me "the finger" and then slipped back into a mild coma.
4 weeks and 1 fractured skull later and STILL in the hospital - we were planning the next party. Ah.... the memories.... Lest we forget the crazy neighbor that used to walk right into our house in the morning snooping around. I'd chase her down the stairs, down the block and back into her house while she screamed in horror and barricaded her door. Fun times, all!

Lynn- I hope you are loving the flashbacks - that house was a train wreck!

And then, there's Beulah! I am saving an ENTIRE blog this weekend just for Beulah, Harriot and Ruth memories.... stay tuned. (sorry Beulah, you'll have to wait another day or two - need to gather all of the evidence and present a compelling case)...

So, another week has passed at work and I have survived yet again. If any of you told me that I'd still work for a freakin' movie theatre company since junior high school - I'd never believe it. Living the dream!!!!! But seriously, we are down to like 2 people and a janitor in the office. I think they may have just forgotten that I am here - and intended to cut me loose years ago...... In fact, the letterhead in my desk now has the janitor's name instead of mine... hmmmm...

My mother calls me yesterday - and - after not working for a FULL year is wondering why her unemployment benefits are running out soon. She is outraged! Career under-achiever.... Maybe Obama can stimulate her package too....

Well, I am off to start my day of Goobers-related issues, then off to the comedy club which I now affectionately call "Shits and Giggles" - then a nightcap of shit-kickin' country music at the club near my house..... All in a day's fun.......

Ciao Bellas!