Monday, August 20, 2007

Overheard in NYC...

...walking home from the Gym this morning, there were two "Hoochie Mama" types walking in too-tight clothes that didn't cover enough of ANYTHING, if you catch my drift... says to the other, "That girl be so mad, she gone out and got her that cow disease, oh-KAY?!"

Thank GOD, they know the perils of Mad Cow.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

"Room for Cream?"

So I go to this amazing coffee house around the corner from my office called Cafe Grumpy. They brew the most amazing single-cup brews of organic, locally-farmed coffee you'll ever have. But more on that another time, if you're interested.

Every time someone gets a cup of coffee, before they completely fill the cup, they ask, "Room for Cream?" Which is odd, considering that a) this is Chelsea- The Gay Ghetto- where everyone is low-carbing and watching the fat content of everything... everyone wants things to be low-fat or non-fat, and also b) most people (when they ask) say, "Would you like room for MILK?"

So, I'm standing there, ordering a cup of Columbian coffee this morning. Before me, a very tall, very dark-skinned Black man ordered (ironically enough) a cup of Ethiopian coffee. He kept looking at me and I couldn't tell if he was cruising me or just being a creep. When the Barista (i.e., girl who works in a coffee shop) was getting ready to pour him his coffee she said, "...and will there be any room for cream in the Ethiopian?" To which the Black man, in a very thick African accent replied, "There is always room for cream in this Ethiopian." And wth that, he turned to me, winked and flashed a pearly white smile that shocked me like a strobe-light.

I threw-up a little in my mouth.

Tuesday, May 1, 2007


So my administrative assistant, Irene, was telling me that the building where she lives in Queens was sold and she has a month to look for a new apartment. So we were talking about different neighborhoods that she would and would not consider. I mentioned an area around Bed-Stuy which is transitioning into a better neighborhood, but in some places it's still block-by-block as far as safety.

She shocked me and said (in her very endearing Queens Latina accent) "Oh, hell no! I ain't going in that neighborhood. It's full o' Chickenheads."

I was confused. I thought I misheard. I asked, "Chickenheads?"

She was quick to reply, "Yeah. Full of them. My sista was tellin' me they everywhere in that neighborhood. I ain't movin' in near a buncha Chickenheads."

Realizing that she didn't understand my lack of comprehension of this term, I spelled it out this time. "What's a Chickenhead?"

She said, "You know... Chickenhead. They're, like, those girls who'll run around and do anything with anyone, just to pass some time? Like, you know, suck them off or something??"

I was taken aback. I still had no idea why the term Chickenhead. So, confused, I pushed it. I asked her, "So they're sluts. Why call them Chickenheads?"

At that point, she smiled, looked at me as if asking for permission. Obviously, I granted it because she then grasped her hand, as if around--uh-- a microphone, and the bobbing her head front-to-back-to-front (like a pecking Chicken) began to "give head" to this fake, air-"microphone" as she said, "You know, Doc. CHICKENHEAD????"

I got it. And snorted my diet Pepsi out my nostrils.

Monday, April 30, 2007

Blogging (by Proxy)

So my husband, Michael, overheard the funniest thing on the street today. Though this is not a true "Ethanism" it happened to Michael which is the next best thing... and "Ethanism by Proxy". So I'm blogging it, by proxy.

Michael was walking down our block, just taking the pups for their evening walk. He noticed a short man dressed slovenly, and he seemed "off", to say the least. He had started the standard, "Hey Pretty..." to this tall, white, blonde, professional woman and trying to get her attention, but she just kept walking. As she passed he started muttering to himself. This is when Michael passed him and heard him say:

"...yeah, well I can go buy a magazine, open it up and see a woman as freaky as you any time I want to!"

I love New York.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

A Haiku from the Grand Jury Chamber

Of late, I find some things so disturbing, I'm moved to write them down in the form of Haiku. Like yesterday, while on Grand Jury Duty, one of the witnesses was this Police Officer who was the sterotypical Long Island (pronounced LAWN-guy-Land) macho-as-shit, all coifed up with eyebrows plucked within an inch of his life guy.

Total fag.

So I had to write a Haiku. Take a look:

"Oh, Gay Police Officer"

Your unibrow plucked
Gel-spiked hair, over-cologned,
your girlfriend MUST know!

Thursday, March 8, 2007

"Please Don't Fear the Bunnies"

I was in my local corner deli yesterday morning just grabbing a quick cup of coffee. I must have hit the rush hour because it was Jammed-packed with people scurrying through the store. Very unusual for this poorly laid out establishment.

Anyway, I was just minding my own business, making my coffee and I noticed two young 20-something women come in. Very Paris Hilton/ Nicole Ritchie esque. Anyway, one of them was clearly in shock at the number of people who were jammed into this deli, moving about. She said to her friend, "Oh-- My-- God!! I so totally cannot deal with this mad house..."

I was thinking that she was echoing my initial sentiments.

Her friend said, "Let's split this up: I'll get us cups of granola and yogurt and you go get us coffees."

Her friend started to looked panic stricken. She announces quite loudly, "No, you don't understand. I really CAN'T deal with this. I'm, like, so ANGORAphobic."

Right then and there, this sassy Chelsea-boy queen, who clearly heard the announcement like the rest of us, answered her without missing a beat, "Oh, don't be afraid of little bunny rabbits. Their wool is so soft." And he passed her to get in line to pay.

She looked shocked and rolled her eyes, turns to her friend and said, "See? I don't do well in open places."

She totally missed her faux pas and his quick quip.

I love New York.

Friday, February 23, 2007

"Yeah, That's right! That be my V'-Jay-Jay!"

So I finished with my one surgery of the day today and, having tried to grow my hair out for the past 7 weeks, decided this is nuts, I hate the long hair, and I need to just get it cut back to by usual, short cut. Happily, my barber is only 4 blocks from the surgery center where I operate over in Gramercy Park.

For those of you who don't know, New York City can be a VERY block-by-block kind of place. For example. the surgery center is on 22nd Street and 2nd Avenue. My barber is on 26th Street off of 2nd Avenue. FOUR WHOLE CITY BLOCKS. But they're worlds apart. Not that 26th and 2nd is a bad neighborhood by any stretch of the imagination. But across the street is low-income housing units and that changes the neighborhood feel, north of 23rd Street.

So it was 9:30 in the morning and I was walking in the cold wind. At 25th Street, I'm waiting to cross at the green light, and as I approach I see this Lesbian couple holding hands. They're yelling at this homeless man. Mind you, they look like they might be homeless too. Very sad.

Anyway, I get closer and notice that one of the lesbians was born a woman and the other looks as though she chose to be a woman. She had too much make-up on a face that looked more masculine than that of most men I know. The transexual lesbian is yelling at this homeless man, " I am more of a woman than you'll ever get!"

He was mumbling and yelling back at her, "You're a freak. You're not a woman. You're a man who cut his penis off. What kind of freak man cuts his penis off and dresses up in dress-up like his mommy? You're a freak."

I was getting really, really angry with him and about to step in when the transexual lesbian, taller and bigger than this ignorant homeless man defended herself. "Oh yeah???" she said to him. At that moment, on the corner of 25th and 2nd Avenue, at 9:30 this morning, she pulled up her wait-length down jacket with one hand, and with the other, she grabbed her stretch-pants and undies and pulled them down and there was what plastic surgery shows on The Learning Channel usually fuzz-out: The labia and vagina of a post-operative, transexual female. She screamed while all the people around (myself included) started to walk away) "Yeah, That's right! That be my V'-Jay-Jay!"

I have to say, professionally speaking, she had a great surgeon.

And with that, I went to get my haircut.

Sunday, February 18, 2007

"I Saw The Sign"

No, sadly this is not about the famous 90's Ace Of Base pop hit song.

Last Wednesday, while home sick with the flu, I had to get to the bank to make a take payment. So Michael was nice enough to go with me. On our way home, we ran into our Dog Walker, Jose in front of our building. A word on him:

We call him Tardo. That's because it's not politically correct to call someone "retard". But "Tardo"-- it's sweet. Because he is sweet. He is a pure soul, gentle heart, is totally in love with all the dogs he takes care of, and he also happens to be dumber than a box of rocks.

Anyway, we ran into him in front of our building. He was off last week, as I was home sick. So he asked, "Hi guys. How are you feeling?"
I said, "Pretty sick, but thanks for asking. I needed to go to the bank, so that's the only reason I came out in the cold..." hoping that he'd take the hint and let us go so I could get back into the warm apartment and lay down again.

Michael asked, "How are you doing?" being polite. This opened the floodgates.

"Oh, I'm suffering this Valentine's Day. I don't have a love, and I don't know... but... you know what? This guy-- Okay, you guys tell me what you think-- this guy, he's a doorman and I sort of have a crush on him."

I cut him off, "Not one of the doormen in our building?" Because they are a) unattractive and b) unavailable (i.e., taken or straight).

"No. Not your building." he said, "He's in one of the other buildings where I go everyday."

At this point, I was freezing and just wanted him to leave. But Tardo went on.

"I really like him and I think he likes me but, I don't know, He's giving me mixed SINE-als."

I thought to myself, "Wait, did he just say that? 'SINE-als'? Not signals? Nah... I just heard him wrong. After all, I'm in pain out here in the cold, running a fever... it must be me and my ears."

But I looked over at Michael and he was giving me that same look. We both had heard the same thing. But in that unspoken communication that couples can do, we just agreed to let it go.

Tardo went on, "I mean. I think he likes me, but I can't be sure."

I tried to wrap this puppy up, "Well, if you ever see him drinking coffee or tea, then you can bring him a cup of it one day. That way, it's a small gesture, doesn't mean too much, but it's a way of discretely letting him know you like him, you're paying attention to him, and see what he does in response."

Tardo kind of brushed off my suggestion, re-iterating himself, "But I don't know..." in that artificially whiney high-school girlish tone, "One minute I really think he likes me and the next, I don't know. I mean, I'm not stupid. This guy is sending me mixed SINE-als."

Michael and I both just bursted out laughing. There was no recovery from that second hit.

Friday, January 19, 2007

Lasagna, Anyone?

I actually had 30 minutes free yesterday to leave the office and go get lunch. I walked over to 7th avenue to the local Korean Deli for my usual shaker salad. On my way back to the office, I passed the local Pizzeria. They had a sign, prominently displayed in the front window that read, "We made a FRESH batch of Lasagna today!" As I'm approaching, there is a homeless man in his filthy, tattered shrouds staggering and swaying in front of their open door.

Suddenly, he throws his arms up into the air, holding them up in that position and screams out loud, " Yeaaaaah???? Well.... I..... made.... a.... really FRESH crap today. Wanna see it???" He then turned around, and tried to pull his pants down but they got stuck at the waist. Struggling to get them down, he then reached in towards the backside and started grabbing himself.

Thankfully, a cop was coming towards him. I didn't need to watch anymore. After all, I still had to eat my lunch.

Tuesday, January 2, 2007

Do you come here often?

So today I went back to the gym for the first time since having eye surgery the Thursday before Christmas. My surgeon didn't want me doing any exercise as it would elevate my blood pressure and could possibly cause the healing and newly formed blood vessels around the eye to burst. So it felt really great to go back to the gym and exercise after 13 days away from the gym.

Anyway, it's the beginning of the new year and, of course, there are tons of people who are hitting the gym in accordance with their new year's resolutions. So, as is always the case with the first few weeks of the new year, the gym is full of all of these new faces.

One of these faces was in the gym locker room, packing up and getting ready to leave when I was coming in. I overheard him speaking with another guy. The other guy asked him: "Did you just join here? I haven't seen you here."
The new face replied, "Yeah, I joined David Barton last year. I guess we just don't work out at the same time."
The other man, being polite, offered him the out, "Oh we probably come at different times."

They exchanged a few pleasantries and then the new face left. I was still changing out of my street clothes and a minute or so late, after running to the restroom, I headed out to go down the steps and there, standing outside the yoga studio at the doors of the old elevators that were sealed off and have NEVER been in use since the gym opened years ago, was the new face. I kept walking and then thought, "Be nice. Be helpful." After all, he hadn't noticed me listening to their conversation in the locker room.

I stepped back and spoke to him. "The elevators aren't working" I said,
"Oh, okay. I was like, 'what's going on here' and wondering what was up with that. You know, they really should put a sign up."
I smiled at him and got evil. "Do you come here often?" I asked him.
"Yes" he replied.
"Oh" I responded with a puzzled expression. "Because... those elevators... they've never worked since David Barton opened over two and a half years ago."
"Really???" He said, turning red. "Are you sure?" he pushed.
I just smiled and said, "happy new year."

And with that, I headed into the stairwell and went home.