Status, Pokes and Tagging...

I would conservatively estimate that I have about 10 friends.  I am talking about 10 people that I would sit at a meal with and not want to kill them, 10 people that I actually call on a regular basis and 10 people that I would expect to remember my birthday.  However, according to Facebook, I have 809 (I think some people deleted me as of Monday I was at 813.).  You know what I dont have - 809 friends, not anywhere close.

To get to this staggering number, I started with my close group of friends, from there I branched out to my friends from College, high school, then camp, then teen tours, then it kinda just spiraled out of control.  It seemed that everyone I met would request my friendship.  Lets be honest, if I met a guy on any dating website- the next step would be to quickly look him up on this stalker site, if their profile wasnt public (annoying), then a mandatory add was extended.  This now grants you access to their pictures and the people you know in common. (Its not a good sign when you have hooked up with 13 of your 21 common friends-consider that circle done.)  However then there is the situation, where you have 67 friends in common, yet you have no clue who the person is-but you add them, I mean you had to have met them at some point in a blacked out haze. 

Recently, it came to my friends attention that a particular person deleted an entire group of us. It felt like that Asian girl from Gossip Girl was leaving the cool crew- not that we are cool. However, after about 50 emails among the deleted group- it came to our attention that no one really was losing sleep over this loss (that puts us to 810).  Now, I do know one guy that deleted me because things didnt exactly turn out the way he planned (811) and the final two mysterious losses I still have yet to uncover...I'll just say they no longer own computers.  I am not sure when it is appropriate to delete someone-kinda seems a bit passive aggressive.  Dropping a Facebook friend kinda reminds me of that cervical cancer commercial- "One Less".  

I dont think I words "status" and "tagged" have ever been so popular in the English language. At first, I was not a fan of the "status" feature- no one cares if I am at the grocery store, out with my bitches, in a movie or "MIA direct to LGA".  However, this all changes if you are interested in the person- suddenly you are constantly checking his or her status.  When using the photo feature of this site, you can "tag" a photo- this feature is so annoying.  Lets be honest, as long as the one doing the tagging of pictures looks good- you are screwed- one eyed shut, armpit stain, or fat- you are tagged as well.  To be honest, I think people post pictures to brag about where they are, who they are with and how drunk they are (this is especially relevant in "Mobile Uploads").  Like we get it, you drink and you have friends.

Scrabble was never a game that I was running to play in my pre-Facebook days.  However, ever since Scrabulous hit the site, I was hooked.  I know I was not the only one that was crushed when Hasbro pulled the plug on this bootleg version of the game.  If I ever met the two Indian men who created the game- I would let them know that they were responsible for eating up at least 2 hours of my working day.  In the official version of Scrabble- half the fun is creating the name for the game.  The other half of the fun is cheating and coming up with words that you need wikipedia to understand the meaning. 

About 4 months ago, Facebook switched formats-which caused an online uprising where the weapons were our status updated "kim is not happy with the new Facebook!".  Like Kim, get a life and stop looking for single Jewish guys that went to GW, no one wants to marry you. Meanwhile, like Kim, I think I am meeting my life partner on this site- who knows, maybe a "poke" will set them over the edge.  Speaking of "pokes"- what the hell is the proper response to one?  I have an idea- write me a note (which I am sure I will ignore) or be bold and buy me a gift- I love getting virtual chocolates that cost $1.00. I mean really?  Along the lines of relationships and Facebook- it seems that as soon as you "link" a relationship, you might as well be engaged.  However when you are engaged or married and go the opposite route- well that is just embarrassing (time to update the pictures).  

I could go on and on about Facebook, but I have to update my status about me updating this blog.

Clean it up kids,

Dan

Jewish Geography...

There is a game that is more popular than Monopoly or Scrabble, its a game that requires few skills, it is the game of Jewish Geography.  From the UES to the great public universities across the U.S, jappy jews are connecting, as if to form an army of the Star of David.  I must admit, I am a big player in the game.  

The beauty of Jewish Geography, is that there is never a winner.  Here are the rules, you are introduced to a fellow Jew.  Step two, you ask background information- where they grew up, what camp they went to and college they attended.  Step three, you offer your information (even if not asked). This is done to assure the other player that you are well qualified as a worthy opponent. Step four- try to shot off as many Jews as you can and see how many people you know in common.

Sounds simple, but there are some bonus points to be had: any horrible gossip about the person (drug, abortion, family lost all of there money and engagements) are big point earners. Other point earners, mentioning teen tour (Musiker's Summer Discovery, Rein Teen Tours) or country clubs that you visit while seeing Grandma and Grandpa in Boca.  On a side note, the only thing I learned at Musiker Summer Discovery UCLA was that it is very easy to fail a college course.  In hindsight, no 16-year-old should be left alone for two-months in California unsupervised.  These key words demonstrate how well connected you are to the Murray Hill lifeline.  

You can also lose points: be wary of who you are talking about, I have been caught in the situation where its been the persons best friend/ex.  Not a comfortable predicament.  And finally, be sure you know the first and last name of the person in question- Friedman, Levine or Adam and Jessica will not help you in this game.  Chances are there are more than one "Adam" at University of Michigan.  This will most certainly end the game.

Armed with these simple rules, you too will be successful in playing Jewish Geography.  I wish you luck- so put on your trendiest outfit, your limited-edition Nike's and head to your nearest Brother Jimmy's, Games on, bitches.

Clean it up kids,

Dan

From the Faucet

Late night/early morning television is a world where informercials rule the airways.  Last night, I found myself reluctantly turning on the television at 4:30 a.m.  I must say that your programming options are limited at that time.  It seems that all anyone wants to talk about is the weather or they are trying to sell you some product that will enhance your life.

I dont pay much attention to my colon.  However in last nights gripping infomercial, "Is colon detox hype?", I was captivated with the Dateline-style reporting/selling of this product.  Now, I didnt start off watching this informercial thinking that I had any issues with my colon- however, about 10 minutes into this I too felt "bloated, heavy and lazy" (then again at 4:45 in the morning I wasnt exactly going to run a marathon).  The computer graphics were equally as convincing; it basically looked as though a child drew a picture of a colon and then scribbled with a brown crayon between the lines.  At this point I switched the channel and felt the urge to use the bathroom.

Matching Outfits...

As a child my parents forced my sister and I to wear a number of matching outfits.  I am not sure why my parents and parents around the world think this is a cute look.  Lets be honest, no one wants to see two awkward Jewish kids in matching outfits.  I remember a sweater number that said- "Sister" and "Brother", a neon look-my sister completed it with neon earrings and a t-shirt and red short combo that made its way on our family holiday card.  Luckily, by the time my sister and I were in middle school, we were free of the Brady Bunch inspired looks.

Now my parents on the other hand never did grow out of the matching looks.  I guess when you grow old, you think its cute to match your partner of 25 or so years.  Now it was no secret that my mother dressed my father.  His holidays were sprinkled with ties and shirts (complete with the tags on all articles of clothing to show how the item was originally $130 marked down to $25). Who doesnt want to see the exact price of the gift that they are getting?  

I was fortunate enough to attend sleep away camp in Maine.  For those that are not familiar, camp is a place where your basic responsibilities are waking up and going to water-skiing and pottery.  It was tough.  On Visiting Day, everyones parents came to camp to see a terrible dance performance and look at all the crappy arts and crafts that would soon make there way into the cabinets and drawers of the campers homes.  Who wouldnt want an indian tribal mask made out of clay and straw in their living room?  The camp that I went to attracted a wide variety of campers; there were the Russians who stole and put our gaming systems in a bag in the woods, the Upper East Siders whos fathers worked at Kraft ( I later found out he was the president- and fly into camp in a helicopter) to your everyday normal kids, like me.  

Waiting at the gates of the camp, the parents poured in- and then I saw my parents....Now I dont have anything against the blueberry, but I have a problem when they are on my parents matching shirts.  Oh yes, my parents choose to wear matching blueberry shirts to my camp visiting day.  My mother, like my sister had years before, completed her look with matching blueberry earrings.  I think I felt badly for my father- here was an accomplished man wearing a shirt covered in little blue fruits.

Twelve years later and my parents still did not learn their lesson.  The matching outfits returned at a University of Maryland's Parents Weekend.  As part of the weekend's festivities, my fraternity had a parents brunch.  After cleaning the beer cans, condoms and drug related items from the previous nights festivities, we were about to entertain 150 parents and convince them that we were becoming better men with their dues used to pay for cheap beer.  My parents felt it necessary to wear matching UMD Sweatshirts and black pants.  Now, I understand their school spirit- my father was paying over 100K for my education and well my mom was proud that I was in school (not that there was another option).  I was mortified.  It was like I was the first Friedman to go to college (I am not.)  

Its funny how I find myself unexpectedly  wearing matching outfits when I go out in Chelsea.  It seems as though American Apparel's deep V-neck is the new outfit for this neighborhood.  I guess this look is better than a sweater that says "Brother" on the front.

Clean it up kids,

Dan 

Class of '99...

This year marks my 10-year  high school reunion.  I couldnt be looking less forward to an event.  I along with 423 other seniors (thats a public school for you) are the proud members of Nova High School's Class of 1999.  Growing up in South Florida, my high school was a mix of wealthy Jewish japs and ESOL kids straight from Asia and Cuba.  ESOL stands for English as a second language, I have no idea with the "O" is- but what I do know is that they would come to school wearing party dresses. Kinda weird. 

I practically grew up with 50% of my graduating class, as we all attended elementary and middle school together.  I attended Eisenhower Elementary while the other half of my friends attending Blanch Forman Elementary.  It was a bit like West Side Story- those that went to Eisenhower thought those that went to Forman were trash (I mean who even knows who "Blanch Forman" is- Eisenhower...thats a president).  

In elementary school, I was taught hot to snort cocaine with breadcrumbs and a juice box straw. My mother was not thrilled when I demonstrated this act at the dinner table.  Billy Ford taught me that life tip- he also vomited on my mother while she was helping out in the classroom.  Im sure she was again less than thrilled, those Unit's numbers were not cheap. Middle school was marked by a series of brawls between the dominating girls of the 7th and 8th Grade.  It wasnt uncommon to see weave being pulled out and thrown in the air.  What an education I received.  There were also the bomb threats, the math building which was covered in asbestos (my math tutor died as a result) and those S.A.D.D presentations (Students Against Drunk Driving).  Who didnt love presentations in the auditorium, great for making plans regarding where you were going to drink that weekend.

High School meant that you were finally the big-shots at Nova.  By the time I entered high school, Nova was renamed The Nova Center for Applied Research and Professional Development, Main Campus- one would think that I was graduating from Harvard with a degree in Physics.  To be considered one of the "cool kids" you had a parking spot in the front- with crappy graffiti all over (mine read "Popular Club") and you sat on the bench outside the Science Building.  Senior year meant AP Classes, Internships and well for me- 3 totaled cars (Ill discuss later in another blog).  

One of my favorite classes was Debate, which really was a cover for an extensive money laundering scheme.  As part of our grade, we had to sell a certain number of candy bars, cheesecakes, donuts or those annoying 15 pound coupon books.  While in class one day my friend Melissa and I, in a sugar rage- raided the "candy closet"; this closet was basically the entire candy aisle of Costco.  This operation was run by our debate coach- a slim 220 pound 5'5 woman.

Other highlights of senior year- lunch.  At Nova, you were able to go out for lunch in high school.  Now all the jews went to Bagelmania- which was far enough from school that you were only able to get the bagel and egg plater if you were the first 3 in line and a bagel with cream cheese if you were anywhere after that number.  Of course it was cool to pretend that you were in the Indy 500 to get there first.  My mother, of course was totally against this "open lunch" for fear of accidents- none of my three totaled cars were during lunch. 

Every year concluded with the standard yearbook and a video yearbook.  The yearbook was boring- and no one ever looked good.  I look like an uptight reject from Gossip Girl.  The video yearbook now that was something- it basically made my school look like Dangerous Minds meets Clueless.  One moment you were watching the Step Team (very competitive) the next you were watching Seniors Painting there parking spots (with a plethora of new Acura's, Honda's and SUV's in the background).  I would still watch this video but who owns a VHS player anymore?

So 10 years later, I am sent an email asking for my help (I was on the class board) with our reunion.  Reflecting back on my fond memories of high school and prior, I have little desire to reconnect with my peers.  Lets be honest, Facebook has taken the excitement out of seeing anyone in person.  Why do I need to see anyone in person, when I can see their pictures, status and relationship status at a moments notice?  I have learned that while I dont think that I have changed, time has not been good to my peers; there is hair loss, weight gain and I think a couple of divorces.  Ill stick to being single and unemployed.  I would however, like to thank Billy Ford for his tips in elementary school...but I forgot, he didnt graduate.

Clean it up kids,

Dan

From the Faucet

Growing up I used to love the show, "The Golden Girls."  I remember running home to catch the show on Lifetime, which was also coined as Women's Television (oh, brother)  I always related to Rue McClanahan's slutty character, Blanche.  Seemed like while the rest of them were playing bridge she was hooking up with every elderly guy in Miami.  

Now that I am home during most of the day, I have come to realize a couple of flaws of the show. For starters, I think they are trying to butch up Lifetime- now I am not a network executive, but its not working.  People watch programming on the channel to see movies about cheerleaders that kill other cheerleaders and daughters who give birth at 12.  Now on to the actual show...For starters, why is Dorothy always wearing lesbian outfits with boots?  Growing up in South Florida, I can tell you first hand that it is hot and no one woman can own that many jacket-potato sack looking numbers.  Secondly, why is it that no one ever had a health issue on the show- aside from a minor heart thing, they girls were constantly eating cheesecake and italian food.  More importantly, seeing that they didnt have a dining room- shouldnt they at least have four chairs at the kitchen table?

I never did see the series finale of the show, so they will be forever in nightgowns around the table (notice that one is always standing) eating cake in my mind.  

Hollywood's Biggest Night...

Last night, like most of the country (and apparently India), I wasted four hours and watched the Oscars.  "Hollywoods Biggest Night" began with endless hours of red carpet interviews on the E! Channel.  The highlight of the "pre-show", which began at 3 pm- only 4 and half hours before the main event, was Jay Manuel's Glamaramacam (who knows), where he proceeded to draw blue lines all over everyone and anything that walked down the runway.  Jay- we can see the 45-carat emerald earrings on Angelina's neck, thats kinda the point of them being so big.  I must admit at certain points, I thought I was watching a Bridal trunk show- what was with all the long white wedding dresses?  

After watching Ryan Seacrest's awkward interview moments with Brad Pitt- who clearly wants nothing to do with him and with the kids from Slumdog Millionaire- where one of them informed Ryan that the little one doesnt speak English, it was time for the night to begin.  (At this point, I was already over the entire event.) 

The night got off to a high note, Hugh Jackman's (wearing enough bronzer to cover the front row) opening skit was funny; I mean who doesnt like a people dancing in spandex.  And then it got boring. I mean I wasnt winning an award and I certainly didnt care about who was winning the sound mixer Oscar.  (Side note: At this point of the evening, we were alerted that someone was having crazy sex down the hall by a friend who left the Oscar bash.  Hearing this, the entire part- all 4 of us, ran down the hall to proceed to listen at the door of the apt.  What fun it is living like rats in apartment buildings!  Whatever was going on in that apartment was award-winning.)

A highlight of the night for me was watching Sophia Loren present the best actress Oscar- she looked like a hot tranny mess that worked at a second-rate gay bar.  Her wig was off center and her make-up looked as though Jay Manuel drew it on with his blue pen.  I could see the terror in Kate Winslets' face as she leaned in to kiss that caked on face.  

For the winners, this night will change their lives; however it did nothing for mine.  I do hope that Brad and Angelina adopt those Slumdog Millionaire kids- doesnt seem fair to go from the Kodak Stage back to the slums.  Might be a good subject matter for the documentary winner?

I look forward to watching E!'s coverage of the red carpet for the next week- I mean lets face it, although boring, its addicting.  Who doesnt like to watch a bunch of queens pick apart the stars and what they were wearing.  Lets hope Jay leaves his Glamaramacam pen on the red carpet.

Clean it up kids,

Dan

One night only...

The one-night-stand isnt a rare occurrence in New York City.  Typically, these hook-ups happen between the late hours of the night/early morning- when you forgot that you have a credit card at the bar and your coat in coat check.  (FYI- if you leave a nice jacket at Hiro on a Sunday, dont look for it 3 weeks later, its gone.)  When I get drunk and initiate a one-night-stand I am usually found uttering the following word, "no, I really love ___, like this is the one."  More often than not I have no idea who I am in love with, but I am sure they shared a drink or two with me at the bar.

I used to have rules about leaving a bar with someone, but the problem was, when intoxicated I forget the rules and just left with the random regardless.  I never was a fan of going back to the other persons' apartment, I always feared that I would be robbed of the dollar or two that I have remaining in my wallet and cut up into little cubes and placed in their freezer.  The fun part about sleeping at a randoms apartment is actually seeing a new space in the city.  

I have been to a number of very nice apartments- lofts, two-bedrooms, classic 6; been in some of the newest properties in the city....I have seen it all and have gotten some good decorating tips in the process.  The best experience is when you walk into a building (with the sun rising in the background) and you turn to _____ and it hits you!  You have been to this building before! And I of course, think its appropriate to mention this to ____, as if this is a turn on?  Yea- its not.

Once in the apartment, it seems common to be offered a drink (as if anyone needs one), a snack or a pair of shorts ("do you want to be comfortable") when you make the awkward entrance into the apartment.  I once watched someone pour an entire glass of cheap vodka in a glass and then proceed to pour a huge glass of water for himself.  I promptly poured the glass on his carpet-Im not that easy, bitch.  Aside from being offered a drink, I have had some weird experiences: someone wanted to do a portrait of me naked (I said no); someone once played the piano for me naked (baby grand in a studio-not normal) and finally someone once asked me to put together an ikea bookshelf (no comment).  Typically, you just get down to business, this is the standard one-night-stand.  Those are the hook ups that I signed up for when I stumbled out of the bar.

In my younger years, when I did the one-night-stand a bit more frequently, I had a theory: you might not know where the hell you are in the city, but once in a taxi, you always made your way through Union Square.  Try it next time you wake up and stumble out of a random apartment...unless you are on your block (which has happened to me before).  

Logistics are a big deal in arranging a one-night-stand.  I ended up in Brooklyn once and was informed that I couldnt just catch the subway home-or catch a taxi for that matter; I had to go to a kiosk to call for a taxi.  I might as well been in Arkansas.  The litter of cats in the apartment also made a return trip to Brooklyn unlikely.  I have now established a rule, that I do not blindly go to someone's apartment- they need to either live downtown or all bets are off.

Now once a hook up has concluded, I do not want you touching me.  I cannot stand people cuddling with me throughout the night.  I get hot and you are a stranger.  Do not hold my hand, tickle my back (this isnt a spa), or spoon.  Here is another thing I cannot stand: talking.  We met at a bar and we probably spoke about Ketel, shots and Amstel Lights.  You arent interested if I am an only child, what I do or where I went to school.  Of course I will tell you all of those things and probably show you pictures on my phone- but that because I am a bit self-centered.

Finally, I do not want to sit in your apartment until 2pm the following afternoon.  I am out as soon as my eyes open up and I realize that this isnt my apartment.  Typically, I tell the random that I have a gym class that starts at 8:37 (I mean what class start at :37?) and I have to attend. Finally, please do not offer to make me breakfast (I am sure a traditional Portuguese breakfast with an organic smooth is amazing- but I want a black coffee and to get the hell out of there.)

I always appreciated my girl friends that do the one-night-stand deal.  With guys, we typically wear a t-shirt and jeans, so a walk of shame is less noticeable.  I love sitting at brunch with girls that have massive amounts of makeup smeared on their faces with a short beaded dress on, complete with 3 inch heels.  Oh and girls, when you lie and say that you didnt have sex with the guy- we all know you did.  You didnt go back to his apartment to kiss and talk about your childhood.

I dont feel guilty about hooking up, as long as you are safe and ensure that you are not going home with a serial killer, you should be good.  I have found that my desire to have a one-night stand has lessened in the recent year or so...maybe I am growing up? or maybe I have lost my touch.  To be honest, going for pizza at 3 am is a lot more satisfying.

Clean it up kids,

Dan

My Mother is Never Wrong...

Growing up, my mother was always right.  

Like the time she told me not to climb the tree in our front yard- ignoring her, I did and ended up in the hospital with a broken arm.  Or when she told my father that I needed more driving lessons and I went on to total two cars.  The only time she wasnt right was when it came to cooking.  My mother made this dish called "Mystery Meatloaf", which consisted of whatever meat is used to make meatloaf and a hidden surprise tucked inside the dish.  The winner of the dinner wouldn't end up with a prize-but with the thrill of eating a hard boiled egg and meatloaf. Vomit.

When I was about 10 my parents took my sister and I on a 2-month vacation across the country. My father loved to drive, so my sister and I were subject to 5-hour car rides in the family's Lincoln Town Car.  Now, I dont remember much of this car, but it did have some fancy electronics involving the trunk automatically lowering itself- we of course, always over-packed so it because a battle of man vs. electronic locking mechanism. Remember in the early 90's, my sister and I were not sitting in the laps of luxury watching Beverly Hills 90210 on DVD or playing Playstation in the backseat of the car- we had eachother and the game "I know you are...But what am I."  The game is very basic, it involves one person putting the other down, until my parents would interrupt and demand silent time.  The highlight of these car trips would be the occasional prision break siren that you would hear while traveling in the remote roads of Nevada (temperature over 100, which meant my father would turn off the air in the car for risk of overheating the vehicle) and thinking that the Friedman family would be the center of a "60 Minutes" special about the "Murder in the Desert."  This never happened.

After a visit to Mount Rushmore, while leaving the National Park (I have practically been to every park in the US) my sister decided to take off her seatbelt and throw the buckle in my face (to this day I am not sure if this was intentional).  As one could imagine, this split my lip and caused a great deal of pain.  Luckily for me we were low on gas, so we stopped at the finest gas station one could imagine exists in South Dakota- this would be where I would address my wound.

My mother insisted that my father take me to the restroom to make sure that I was ok and help me wash the blood that was streaming down my face.  My father and I couldnt disagree more, I was fine (as I saw 3 of my father) and my dad needed to pump the gas so we would be god-know-where by night (how can you top 4 stone men).  I dont remember much of what happened in the next 5-10 minutes, but here's how the trucker painted the story to my parents: apparently after washing my lip, I decided to use the urinal (Friedman rule: never turn up a bathroom stop) and passed out, hitting my head on the base of the fixture.  Imagine my Jewish mothers' face, seeing her son being carried out of a gas station bathroom by a trucker.  To this day I wonder if my fly was still down (maybe this is where a different type of "60 Minutes" story should play out?)

What I do know for certain, is that my mother made it very clear to my father that once again she was right, he should have taken me into the bathroom.  In all of my 27-years my mother has never been wrong...well, unless it comes to sticking eggs where eggs dont belong.

Clean it up kids,

Dan

Table for one...

I have been debating whether or not to post a negative blog about Valentines Day.  Truth of the matter, I am not sure I want to be in a relationship, but it would be nice to have some annoying guy harass me for plans tonight.  My track record with Valentines' Day (or relationships, for that matter) isnt that stellar.  

Its not that I dont want a relationship, it just seems that everyone that I want a relationship with doesnt want to be in one with me.  I admit that I am terrible with first impressions, but I would rather have a point-of-view and personality over being boring and agreeable.  I dont like to "date", I think its really annoying to sit at a dinner or drinks and talk about yourself as if you are on "Inside the Actors Studio".  I love the point that you know that you are not interested in the person with whom you are dining with- at that point you need to make the decision to get wasted or to be responsible and get the hell out of there.  I typically get wasted and see what outrageous things I can get away with.  

I never get going to the movies with a date.  Doesnt seem to make sense, sitting there in complete silence next to a stranger watching a two-hour film.  What makes this experience even worse is having to hold someones hand for the entire film.  The thought of it makes me insane and gets my hands sweaty.  The dinner date is a bit more my speed, however this becomes a game, I sit there and analyze their every action.  All I know is that there are a few types of people that I will not date: vegans, people who dont drink and anyone who is ugly.

In my 27 years, I have had a series of relationships, obviously none of them have worked out. However, I believe that you grow and learn about yourself with each experience and person that you are in a relationship with.  I have learned that I hate Britney Spears and thinks that no grown man should own her calendar (let alone hang it on his wall), that I liked receiving flowers on my birthday (and then later calling the florist to find out how much the arrangement was- $225), that you should never date a psychiatrist because they are much crazier than you will ever be (and constantly being told medical terms is not a turn-on).  And finally, I have learned that it is ok to fall in love and maybe even better to have your heart broken.  

So this Valentine's Day, I am not going to be bitter, maybe I will just go see a movie and take myself out for a drink.  I wont have to worry about holding anyone's hand or telling them that I was born and raised in Florida- like I get it, your grandparents live there.

Clean it up kids,

Dan

Aqua Net...

These horrific looking people are my sister and your favorite blogger.  Aside from my sister having a corsage attached in her hair (located behind her bangs, which held the record for world's biggest at the time) there are so many things wrong with this picture.  Lets move on to me- now I have been told that I do not take insults very well, but can dish them out quite nicely.  I think I was pulling a Madonna with the lovely gap between my front two teeth and my hair- well, it appears that my mother prefers volume and height over style and sparing her only son's dignity.  I think it is revenge for all the nonsense I put my parent through that this large 

photograph still hangs in our house.

I do recall one story for this famed weekend back in late April, while we were gearing up for the big night and heading to the ballroom to enjoy the easy sounds of "Drew T" (the best band in South Florida) a racoon or a cat (probably someone's from Match.com) made its way into our garage.  My mother told me not to chase it or what not- but of course I didnt listen.  In my final act of animal control, my tux pants split right down the middle.  I laughed, the animal ran off and an emergency stop was made to Gingiss Formal Wear.

Funny thing about Bar/Bat Mitzvah's, kids get all dressed up to immediately take off their dresses and ties to change into the Bar/Bat Mitzvah Shirt (a crappy made shirt with basic graphics and 3-4 colors) that was standard at any decent over-the-top affair for obnoxious 13-year-olds.  Once this shirt was on along with huge oversized socks- the games began...

Who didnt love the awkward "tie-dance" which consisted of guys throwing a tie over a girls neck and having an awkward dance for about 30 seconds, before the girl chooses another victim.  Then there was scotch and soda a game named for alcohol-no wonder so many of us are programmed to drink.  This game involved running back and forth to sit on your partners' lap.  Last one to the other side is the loser.  It was always a big deal to be partners with the Bar/Bat Mitzvah guy/girl- because the game was rigged and you were always the winner (except at my Bar Mitzvah, where I didn't win- the prize: Mariah Carey's Hero Single).

Another tradition at these events was the making of the "Memory Glass".  This was usually fashioned out of a glass stolen from the event space filled with crap from the party- lord knows what kind of fumes we were all inhaling.  This trend was regulated after a number of small fires were set by budding Jewish-arsonists.  

My Bar Mitzvah's theme was "A Knight to Shine with Danny." (The right picture marks this event- notice the hair.) Notice the play on words that my mother came up with- the affair was a royal one.  I paraded in to "Let's Hear it for the Boy", fitting for a spoiled brat like me.  My entertainment was the Heart to Heart- a group of young college guys and girls that danced like they were on MTV's "The Grind", which seems rather inappropriate seeing that they were dancing with and in front of 12 and 13-year-olds.  The routines the did involved those big foam hands and mexican hats.  I am sure that rabbis two-thousand years ago would feel that no Bar Mitzvah wouldn't be complete without the macarena and a tie-dance.  

Clean it up kids,

Dan

It's ok to look...

Yesterday I decided to get serious about dating.  And by serious I realized that meeting guys in crowded bars that have drag queens lip syncing to Whitney Houston songs might not be the exact way I was going to find a soul mate.  

After watching a commercial for Match.com, I decided that it was indeed "ok, to look."  The man in the commercial seemed attractive enough.  Sure he came with some baggage- an ex-wife and a daughter, but I thought I could make it work.  (Plus I like Broadway shows and apparently, he takes his daughter to see one every year for her Birthday.)  There had to be hundreds of guys waiting for me online, daughters and all.

Now, joining Match.com isnt a five minute process.  After the standard questions regarding my height (6 foot- I added a quarter of an inch), body type (athletic and toned) and other personal features it was on to the description section.  I wanted to be completely honest, so when asked about my drinking habits, I clicked on regularly.  I thought I was a social drinker, but that came with the added "2-3 drinks" clause.  I dont know what types of parties or bars these "social drinkers" are attending, but 2-3 drinks wouldn't last me more than 30 minutes.  This worried me.

Then there was this very scientific section filled with various questions along with a ranking system based upon its importance to me.  The problem with this section is that to be honest, if James Franco was messaging me on this site, I wouldnt care if he wasnt Jewish or a smoker. However, I hardly doubted celebrities used this site as a dating service, so I had to take this section serious.  I have to be honest here, its was a difficult thing to go through these questions, I mean my Jewish mother would want me to date someone Jewish, so how could I possibly put that this is "somewhat important" yet when asked about people not having cats I clicked "very important"?  Id rather pray to Jesus than sleep next to Mittens at night. 

After about 40 minutes of some deep soul searching, I was ready to browse 32 pages of eligible bachelors.  I didnt let the first 5 pages of unattractive guys get me down.  The next 15 pages didnt seem any more promising.  I figured that there had to be someone on this site that would justify the nearly hour it took to sign up for the site.  In 32 pages of ugly, unattractive guys, there was one who caught my eye.  Problem was he went to my gym and he was looking for a mature, responsible guy to share the rest of his life with.  With that I realized that maybe I belong in those bars singing along with Whitney ordering watered down Ketal and sodas.

Clean it up kids,

Dan

Food Stamps...

In an attempt to cure my boredom and break up my day (wake up, cheerios, job search, Facebook, job search, gym, drink, dinner, drink), I had the brilliant idea to see if I could qualify for food stamps. According to the website, it seemed that I would certainly be a prime candidate- bottom line is that my $405 weekly unemployment check didnt cover my rent.  So, how could NY State possibly think that I could afford to pay my Equinox Gym membership ($170 per month) AND food, ConEd and rent.

I headed over to the offices (which are conveniently located on 14th Street) and sat patiently in a waiting room with a interesting mix of people.  After waiting about 45 min, I was approached by a gentleman who told me that I should go to the 8th floor, and I could walk out today with my food stamps (which is really like a debt card) immediately.  He then proceeded to tell me that B.B. King taught him how to play the piano and trumpet and he was on tour with him when he was a young child.  I sat there terrified and wondered how he could actually eat, considering he had no teeth.

After about an hour and a half wait, I met with a man who took some basic information, and told me to come back the following day for my interview.  I asked if I needed to wear a suit- he didnt laugh.  

Escorted into a private room, I was to wait for my interviewer to come and get me.  I asked if they had wireless internet and the security guard looked at me and walked away.  While waiting for my interview, I witnessed a reunion.  Two cellmates ran into each other and proceeded to retell stories from jail.  He told his friend that him and his new wife, were going to apply separately, because "shit, you dont know when she is running out on me."  Scared for my life, my name was called at the right time....I collected my iphone, mac, Prada jacket and got the hell out of there.

Interview time.  After the standard background questions, I was asked when my last meal was (Starbucks iced venti coffee with skim milk and sugar free vanilla and one of those turkey bacon egg sandwiches) and how much money I had in my wallet ($8).  He then reviewed my list of things that I pay for each month- I mentioned the standard bills and thought it was wise to leave out the fact that I frequent restaurants, bars and Pinkberry (that can really start adding up) way too often. He sat in silence, unamused.  Then he asked me if I was getting an inheritance.  "I dont know?  I mean I hope I am- my parents are in there early 60's?  How is this relevant to my situation now?" The interviewer, "so, I'll just put no" (I hope he doesnt know something that I dont).  

With that the interview ended and I was shuffled over to get fingerprinted and my picture taken.  I asked the two ladies if I should smile and then thought that I am supposed to look hungry and depressed.  No smile.

To date, I am still waiting to see if I qualify for food stamps.  You will be happy to learn that you can use the card at Whole Foods.  Unlike, B.B. King's prodigy, I didnt qualify for the emergency card...

Clean it up kids,

Dan

The Empire Begins...

Today is a big day.  Aside from being Lincoln's 200th Birthday, it is the beginning of my new online empire.  At 11 am, I purchased dansdirtylaundry.com.  For $20.38, I was able to buy the website for two years.  I cant wait to see a hefty return on my investment.  However, at the current moment, I have no idea what the hell I am doing.  So at the current moment, the site is just an advertisement for godaddy.com and is filed with crappy ads for dishwashers and domain names.  It might take awhile for this empire to get up and running.

My online store will be up and running soon; t-shirts, mugs and tote-bags for the masses.  In no time I will be throwing the green and sipping ketal and sodas with the celebs in Vegas.  I will really find out who my true friends are when my success really sky rockets...now let me get back to reading about DNS Servers and domain nonsense.

Clean it up kids,

Dan

From the Faucet

I never understood girls that constantly complain and say that they are fat.  Truth be told, if you were fat, you would never actually say that you are fat.  When was the last time that you heard an obese individual complain about their weight?  Doesn't happen.  The real reason that they are even uttering the words "I'm fat" is to get the standard response " (Insert name here), you are NOT fat, you are SO skinny."  I however have the standard response, "Yes, you are fat."  That usually shuts the person right up.

 

Missed Connections...

In honor of my friend Sara's birthday, I have decided to write about the popular "Missed Connections" section of Craigslist.com.  For those of you who do not spend most of your days at work browsing this completely amazing/horrifying site I will give you the general gist of what goes on here: It is geared for people who feel that they have a connection with someone, but failed to get their name/number.

However, in the m4m section (thats male for male), the connections seem to go a bit further...

In the post "little west 12th street, you taught me to tie sneakers to my balls- m4m - 40 (Greenwich Village), we find a man who posts about a guy who taught him to make slip knots with his shoelaces and attach them to his testicles and jerk off.  Now, I am not a fan of that sort of thing, but here is the crazy part- the posting was today Feb. 11 2009, and the man says they met in the early 90's.  Like you aren't finding him, I am sure this guy has shared this unique fetish to hundreds of other men throughout the last 10 or so years. 

And then there are those who truly think that this site is for lovers, the man who wrote "If you'll be my bodyguard, I can be your long lost pal.. - m4m - 31 (Online); states that "we've only been talking for a couple of weeks" but wishes he "could reach out and pull you through the computer and into my open arms."  My only comment about this post is the fact that if you felt this way and have been talking for a couple of weeks, why are you posting a missed connection? Oh, and good luck opening that bar in Key West that you two discussed.  Might be hard to get financing especially if you dont have your business partners' number.

About seven months ago, my friend George was reading these missed connection's and came across one written about me.  The sad thing is, even in the post, I came off like an asshole. Unlike, the guys who got of with random strangers or who wanted to embrace their lovers through the computers, I was described as a "jerk in a black baseball hat."  Hey- at least I wasn't showing how to make boy-scout knots to strangers in the early 90's.

Clean it up kids,

Dan

In an attempt...

To cure me from boredom due to my recent (well about a month and a half) unemployment, due to the failing economy, I have decided to blog.  I figured that I have the glasses and the time and am somewhat funny... so why not give my friends and fans (to date I have none) something to look forward to while at work.  I am thinking that I will become famous and in time I will follow in the foot steps of Ruminations and Perez Hilton.  However, my blog will not have college jokes or pictures of celebrities but pictures of the random people and events that my friends and I run into in our daily lives.

But before I go on, I have to credit Melissa with the name of this blog.  Dan's Dirty Dishes will become a mecca for the bored at work.  Some of the stories will be my own and some will be from my friends and family.  I have an eclectic group of friends and I think this blog will become a collection of nonsense and funny stories. 

I figured this was a much more productive use of my time rather than looking at sites that have random nude shots and profiles that read "into fisting, group and latex" (However, when I did have a roommate, a female- we did have good times on the couch looking at these random parts of men that I would never meet).  This blog will contain some of the better stories about those who I did meet and hook-up with.  Let's face it, New Yorkers' may not use their kitchens, but there is always a dirty dish or two in their sink.

Clean it up kids,

Dan