That's right! Back to the Motherland—via bus, naturally—to see my secret boyfriend, Bruce! I've been trying to get the Large Greek to listen to his CDs, so he won't embarrass me by not knowing the words, but he's so far refused. This weekend will be an intensive course in Springsteenology at Casa di Judy.
I need to find a young(ish) single woman who has recently moved to New York City from another land. She needs to be willing to talk about dating and get her photo taken for a local magazine. It'll be fun! Please have her email me at judy.mcguire (at) gmail.com!
Have you ever worked for a sociopath? I have. His named is Steve Hager and he was my boss at High Times.
The summer that my mom was dying was his most hideous hour as far as I was concerned. Every month or so Steve would cast a different staffer in the role of his mortal enemy. He would alternately shun them, then scream at them. Then he'd go to the owners of the company and try to get them fired and talk shit about them to anyone willing to listen. This particular summer was my turn.
So basically I'd get up in the morning, go to work, attempt to discuss job-related issues with Steve, who would look me up and down and march off without saying a word. (I was the managing editor, so it was vital I be in communication with the editor-in-chief). Then at lunchtime I'd walk over to the hospital and see if I could get my mom to eat something. Often in tears from our visit, I'd return to work for more abuse.
When my mom finally died, Steve signed the group sympathy card, "I hope I never go through what you're going through." Narcissist much?
I was fired shortly thereafter and have pretty much loathed that vile piece of shit ever since. Which is why I was so excited to read Mike Edison's new book, I Have Fun Everywhere I Go. Mike worked at High Times a few years after I left and quite possibly despises Hager more than I do. Only Mike had the good sense to take notes on Steve's hilariously deranged behavior and make a book out of it. After the jump, some highlights:
Continue reading "Revenge is sometimes a dish best served by someone else. " »
Yesterday, I heard the most disgusting tale of depravity and degradation. I don't want to say anymore than that until we get this little puppy adopted, but suffice to say, this little guy well deserves a good home. No living creature should've witnessed what he's seen and despite his sad circumstances, he's a happy little fellow. If you're interested, you can find out more on adopting little Marco here.
I'm not going to lie, Mexico was kind of a bummer. It started off horribly (boyfriend couldn't come with and then my identity was stolen and bank account drained) and definitely improved once the bank refunded my dough (which they sure took their sweet time doing), but overall, not one of my fave vacations. I was kind of depressed throughout my stay and I'm afraid I cast a dark cloud over my friends' good time. Especially after I forbade the usage of baby talk and pet-names in my presence.
But San Miguel de Allende, the town we stayed in, was really beautiful and it was great to see Julie. We took a day trip to Guanajuato, which was gorgeous. But even cooler than that, it's the home to Museo de las Mumias—a mummy museum! I was a little disappointed in the souvenir options outside the museum, but I bought loads of new jesus paraphernalia and enjoyed muchas cervezas. Jules patiently translated for me, which, despite the fact that the town has a serious gringo overload, was very necessary. (Note to self: learn a second language, dumbass.)
Her boyfriend survived the various tortures we inflicted on him and we lived like kings and queens at Costco prices. Now I've got a ton of work to slog through, but if you want to see more photos, check out my Flickr page, now complete with commentary. Muchas gracias!
You know what you shouldn't do the night before you leave Mexico? You really shouldn't kill a bottle of wine with your friend who's drinking tequila and then expect to get through an hour and a half drive to the airport—speeding through the mountains in the rain—without vomiting. The fact that I didn't actually throw up is a minor miracle due only to my hearty McHeritage. I still got the cold sweats, excessive salivation, and lurching stomach though. Maybe I should've barfed. . .
Of all the identities in all the world, why would anyone steal mine? Wouldn't you think a thief would do a little research and decide to impersonate, oh, I don't know—someone with a good credit rating? Someone who didn't owe the IRS a bunch of money? Someone who actually owned something—anything—of some kind of value? But no, someone stole mine and promptly drained my bank account.
To add insult to brokeness, once he was all dressed up in my identity, he went shopping at Costco. Not Barney's or Bendels or anywhere I'd shop if money weren't an object. No, I get the white-trash ID thief, who spends my dough in the land of ten-gallon Cheese-Coodle barrels and thousand-roll packs of Charmin. To his credit, he did buy a computer, but still—a crappy Costco computer.
While my bank has—so far—been pretty accommodating about the whole thing, Costco is on my nerves. The first rep I spoke with actually hung up on me after I demanded her last name and a direct phone number for the fraud department. "We're not allowed to give that information out," was Evelyn's robotic response. Great. They're allowed to send an $800 computer to a fictitious person on someone else's dime, but not allowed to give me a phone number that will save me from hours on hold. Nice. Remind me never to shop there again—oh wait, I never have.
The second rep confirmed that yep, I'd been ripped off, but refused to tell me what name the thief used (though he did confirm it wasn't mine) or where my computer had been delivered. Oh yeah—it was bought online, so they must have this skell's address! But they won't tell me for "liability reasons." I asked the fraud guy if that meant they were afraid I'd track the scumbag down and exact revenge. He laughed nervously and I got the impression that's absolutely why they won't release that information.
So in exactly 24 hours, I'll be flying solo to Mexico (oh, and a big go-fuck-yourself to the Greek consulate for that one), for a vacation I may no longer be able to afford. Good times. Posting will be light during the next week, but who knows—maybe the identity thief will steal my Typepad log-in info too.
The normally hilarious, always delightful and insightful, Rich Juzwiak from FourFour posted a seriously moving video this week. In case you didn't watch it there, please do here. I'm missing the parade tomorrow in favor of going to my friend's graduation from fireman school (is anyone seriously going to deny me hot newbie firemen???), but it's things like this that make you realize how fucked up this country still is.
I've written more in the past week than I have in the past year, so I'm kind of out of words (plus, Dan Savage really disappointed and disturbed me, so I'm not feeling very chatty). But I wanted to share this because I think it's important.
My friend and neighbor Rose, had Santino, her beautiful red scooter, stolen from right outside our building. You can find details here or here. If anyone has any information, please contact either Rose through the info listed in the links or write me c/o this blog.
UPDATE: Santino has been found! Apparently the clowns who stole him were unfamiliar with how to drive him and so wedged him between two cars across the street.
This week's issue of The Stranger!
My book—coincidence or no that I write for their competition? They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so this can only mean one thing—Dan Savage is feeling threatened by my incisive and witty take on relationships! It's only a matter of time until I achieve world domination! Why look—here's a dating piece I did for Time Out this week! What's next? CNN? Oh, yes! Bwah ha ha!!!
UPDATE: Turns out, Dan Savage is actually kind of humor-impaired. Who knew? (Or maybe I'm just not that funny . . . he's certainly given me some food for thought!)
