My Aunt Is Hot

Last night I went to a drag themed party. The idea behind it was that if their was a theme, people showing up not in tune with the theme, would be turned away. The strategy here was to reduce the boy to girl ratio, and it worked nicely I think. I showed up to the party high. It worked out well, since if I were in any way sober, I probably would have gotten creeped out and left. It was fun though, the girls didn’t go as all out as the guys did, which is good, because the one girl who had drawn on facial hair was really freaking me out.

I met some cute girls at the party though. And, with any luck, when I call them today, they will still be girls. I hope. I had a lot to drink, and it really helped with being outgoing. I always curse myself for finding a corner and being sucked into it like a little boy into Neverland Ranch. But no, with the power of liquid courage, I managed to mingle and talk to people. It was glorious.

The highlight of all this debauchery is the end of the night. We left the party at 4:30am. As we were leaving two cops were driving up the street. This was just after I managed to trip and fall into somebody’s recyclables. Naturally, when they see four guys dressed as women walking down the street, they decided they should investigate. So, to my friend Andy, the officer goes:

Cop: “Hey, I gotta ask, Why the FUCK are you walking around dressed like a woman?!”

Andy: “Hey! Aren’t you the same cop that stopped me the other night and asked me (doing his cop impression) why the fuck I was carrying around a muffler at two thirty in the morning?”

Cop: “Yeah. Where are you guys coming from?”

Andy: “We went to a drag party right up the street.”

Josh <Drunkenly>: “Yeah that’s where the guys dress up like girls, and the girls dress up like girls” (I was a little bitter)

Cop: “Was it any good?”

<Group makes general good concensus nod>

Cop: “Well, You’s guys take care. Get home safe. <To Andy> Dude, you’re a weird mother fucker.”

After that we went to a diner and I totally devastated a bacon cheeseburger. I went home after that, and walked up to my house, it being fully illuminated by daylight now, whistling. It was great.

Josh

It’s been a while since I’ve made a post from this coast. However, I am excited to do so. Finally, I have something worthwhile to show the world. Since coming back to Jersey for a little hiatus, I have been pulling out all the stops. I got home two weeks to the day, and I go home two weeks to the day. Returning to Jersey was almost instant craziness. And I intend to keep it up. It’s hard to believe I’ve archived almost a year of posts from college on one page. Sure the page is massive and unwieldy, but it’s quite possibly the world’s best scrap book.

So why bother updating? Because I have fucking stories to tell. That’s why bitches. Thursday night found me in NYC drinking at a weird restaraunt called ‘Fish’. They have 1.50 happy hour draught beers, so that was clearly a winner. However, their menu doesn’t have one fucking thing on it sans seafood except for salty ass french fries. I wasn’t really there to eat as much as I was to get all liquored up cheaply. I’m 21 now, just in case anyone is wondering…My poorly grown beard and indescribeable charm add at least two years to my personna.

I don’t know why, but for some reason I find myself in the most awkward situations possible. After a few drinks, I decided I had to use the bathroom. (what might have been the only bathroom in the city I’d find out later) My brother is not a seat lifter. I feel that he is being a drain on society by refusing to lift. You have to be a seat lifter. I hate sitting in pee. Really makes me fucking mad. But, the little tiny bathroom in this restaraunt had what I’d describe as an automatically retracting toilet seat. So you put it up, and it SLAMS back down. So while I was holding this seat up and peeing, I decided to take a picture. It was precarious, but so worthwile. I’ve entitled the photo “Drunken New York Piss” I think it speaks for itself.

After leaving the Bar and going to what I think might have been the cleanest, best organized head shop I’ve ever been in … we started walking around The Village. While I was contemplating the finer points of what it is to be a methodical pot head, it became apparent that a bathroom was going to be needed immediately. After going in what felt like 200 places, we found a McDonald’s that appeared to have a bathroom. We walked down one of those long tile hallways that was reminiscent of a corridor in a shoot’em up video game. The flickering flourescent light overhead cast this yellow glow that made this situation seem a lot more serious than it was. I felt like I should have been wielding a weapon called the “Equalizer”. Walking down to the end of this hallway yielded two doors, and neither one had a stick figure on it. It was just a dead end. Actually I think it’s how the employees get in the kitchen. Anyhow, a new theory I have developed called Ziering’s Dictum of Inebriated Collusion came into play. It’s when two people manage to convince themselves, based on input from the other, that something is a good idea. Take for example this dialogue:

Person A: Fuckkk, I am have to pee really bad.

Person B: What? You’re going to pee here? I can’t be here.

Person A: I dont care if you wont pee here. You should run interference.

Person B: Ok, I’ll run the interference. Hurry.

Notice how drunken miscommunication takes that idea from concept to reality so eloquently. The whole time I was running interference all I could think about was that if someone comes down this hall way, and asks me what I am doing, I am going to start laughing right in there face. And it’s going to be big trouble for me and my friend.

We managed to slide out of the situation rather eloquently though. I am a spy. Also note, I did not partake of this pee party. I have serious public peeing problems. Just the way I was raised or something.

After this debacle, we snaked our way to the heart of the village: MacDougal St. I managed to talk our way into a booked show at The Comedy Cellar. I want to be a stand up comedian so bad I can’t stand it. It’s just such a perfect match. I’m sick, and twisted and love telling people about it, and their are people out there that want to listen. I know it.

It was a quality night.

Josh

I am 19 years old. For the majority of my 19 years of existence, I have been collecting memories. These memories aren’t of the essential kind though. Instead, they parralell survival memories such as “hot things burn you”. These memories are collected purely for posterity. They are little pieces of information about people, events, and myself that I have been carefully storing for later. As to why I have deemed some things more worthy of rememberance than others is unknown to me. The process is subjective, and subconcious.

Recently, I have been considering what it is to remember something. For me, a memory isn’t like a picture. It’s literally a place. Like my bed. Like the seat in my first period english class. In reality, it doesnt exist. However, in my head it exists because I have been there. While it may not literally exist because another person could never visit the same place, it exists in my head because I can visit that place anytime I want. Remembering for me isn’t just recalling things. I can leave wherever I am and visit these places. Sometimes I am reminded of something and instead of leaving, I am taken.

Few of my favorite memories involve just me. Frequently there are other people in these memories. An incarnation of that person lives in that ‘place’. So while this is an event that happened, it really only happened in my mind. Because on the other side of the coin, there is another person who is creating an entirely different place in their head in which they can return. Or perhaps they’re not. Something you decide is important enough to tuck away may be just another segment of monotony for that other person. Or perhaps they’re missing critical elements of the place because of intoxication, or distraction. Being high can certainly take the very couch you were sitting on 20 minutes ago and turn it into a very different place. In esscence, it turns it into a different place.

Any event that’s ever happened to you involving another person has happened twice. Once to you. Once to that other person. Conversely, it’s never happened at all. Because the other person wasn’t in the same place you were. It’s this dichotomy that helps make things like history, witnesses, testimonials, and even recollections of your life particularly frivolous.

The conclusion that I’ve drawn from all of this is that any memory you might have is a solitary creation. You’re the only person that’s ever been to that place, and while their may have been others there with you, they only exist in the sense that you’ve created liknesses of them in your mind.

All this thinking has lead me to one specific point: I’ve started to feel that it’s particularly selfish to remember. Why is it that this very instant is so important to remember? It’s one thing to live in the moment, it’s quite another to save something for the expressed purpose of returning to it later. This is the part I find the most selfish. Instead of remembering something because it had such a profound effect on your life, one starts archiving things to later feed to an ever hungry sense of nostalgia. Something that seems to be an ever increasing problem as one ages. Remembering things in this manner means that you’re expecting to be unhappy at some point. Nostalgia expressly exists for the purpose of recalling a better time. I hope to never be unhappy in that fashion. However I find myself acting selfishly every day. This very site exists for the expressed purpose of being selfish.

Even more problematic than creating ‘nostalgia fodder’ is saving memories you weren’t happy with. The mind is a fantastic machine, and very easily, the line between memory and invention can suddenly become blurred. While your place may exist, nothing stops you from changing it to something you’d have rather happened. Or, constantly changing it to something different, and optimal. This then corrupts a place you have been with a place you’d have rather been. If it changes the smallest thing, the most important part has been lost: the details.
(Writing this particularly upset me)

Josh