Archive for the ‘fuck’ Category

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Why I Love the F Word*

December 6th, 2011 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in fuck, I am a bad person sometimes, random

I love the f word, and I don’t mean feminism, although I love that, too. It’s so fucking versatile. I can use it as a verb, as in, “Fuck off.” I can use it as a noun, as in, “Fuck off, you stupid fuck.” I can use it as an adjective, as in “Fuck off, you fucking stupid fuck.” I can try to use it as an adverb, as in, “Fuckingly fuck off, you fucking stupid fuck,” but it doesn’t work quite as well. Still, it’s fun to try.

I’m fairly certain that I use the f word about as often as I use the word “the.” When I’m super happy, I love swearing. When I’m super angry, I blow off steam by swearing. My current colleagues think this is hilarious, which was pretty much the reaction of all of my various co-workers from every place I’ve ever worked, because I look like a very nice, sweet, mild person. Then I open my mouth, and the image goes to fucking shit.

My writing used to contain a lot of swearing. This was, I thought (and still often do), the crux of my ability to be hilarious. What’s really interesting, though, is that I haven’t used blue language at all in the book that I am writing. I’m sure it will get salty near the end, when the main character’s granddaughter is a teenager, but maybe not. Maybe I can write an entire document without indulging my love for the f bomb. If it works out well, then great. If not, well, fuck that.

*I have a sneaking suspicion that I have written something like this before, but I was thinking about it today and so if it is redundant, well, that’s where I am at in life right now.

Irene, You Ruined My Weekend, Damn You*

August 26th, 2011 by Suzanne | 2 Comments | Filed in Damn, fuck, I love New York, mortification

My friend Dr. P’s birthday is today. (Happy birthday!) My friend Caitlin’s birthday is tomorrow. We had parties planned up the wazoo for both days. We had brunch plans with some friends from London. Now, I am stuck spending the weekend holed up with Husband. (Terrible, I know. When I “complained” to him about this, e told me that I better stock up on books. If the power doesn’t go out, I’m going to submit short works to lit magazines. If it does go out, I will work on writing until the battery on my laptop dies.)

I’m very curious to see if this turns out to be an insane storm or if elected officials are overreacting because they massively fucked up during a snowstorm in December that paralyzed the city. Coney Island, Brighton Beach, the Rockaways, and other beach areas in Brooklyn and Queens are being completely evacuated. The entire public transportation system is being shut down at noon on Sat. (Never has that been done before.) This means that no one will be able to get to work on Saturday unless they live within walking distance, which means no stores or restaurants or anything will be open. It’s going to be interesting.

In 1999, the city freaked out when Hurricane Floyd headed our way. Then nothing happened. part of me hopes nothing will happen, but then I’ll be mad that we spent all this money preparing for the storm and disrupted so many businesses and people’s work schedules. I can only imagine how much this is going to hurt them in an economic environment that already is causing so much hardship.

Unrelated to Irene, but equally horrifying, I realized that the woman who cleans our apartment must think we are total sickos. First there was the veiny dildo on my nightstand. Then last night, I realized that she folded a blanket we keep in the living room (for watching TV or when guests sleep over) and placed it dead center on the giant stuffed penis, which she placed on top of a folded up pack and play. I will not be surprised if she demands a raise.

*No cheesy jokes about rocking like a hurricane or coming on Irene!

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There Goes the Neighborhood

June 24th, 2011 by Suzanne | 1 Comment | Filed in Damn, fuck, I love New York

As I passed by the local sex shop on my way home from work yesterday, I looked over to see what interesting little costume they had in the window. It was empty. The store was gone. I was devastated.

I rarely went into this store, and the two or three times I did, once I couldn’t find what I wanted. I still thought it served a valuable need in the neighborhood. It was a reminder that people of all classes have sexual urges.

Like when my diner closed a few weeks ago because the building was being torn down for luxury condos, I feel sad that this neighborhood has gone from gentrified to luxurified to the point where there’s only super expensive shit or chain stores. I am certain that the local sex shop will be replaced with some hideous children’s clothing boutique or a yoga studio or something like that since that is what has come into basically every empty store (or it will just sit empty, which is another problem). Bah.

Tattling

June 6th, 2011 by Suzanne | 1 Comment | Filed in Asshole idiots, evil, fuck, I love New York, other rants, What is wrong with people?

Dr. H and I were walking up 8th Avenue, chatting about the high and low points of “The Hangover Part II,” which we had just seen. As we crossed 42nd Street, a bus shot in front of us. It had made a reckless left turn and almost plowed through a crowd of people.

“HEY! WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?” I yelled.

“What are you fucking doing?” screamed the guy next to me.

All five of the people who were nearly mowed down made similar comments. The bus driver never even looked at us. It was scary.

As he sped west on 42nd, I made a mental note of the phone number written on the back door. (It’s 201.945.0556, in case anyone is interested.) Once I was safely on the sidewalk, I fished out my phone and tried calling the bus company to complain about their lunatic employee, but – shocking! – no one answered. Dr. H and I discussed how upsetting it was to nearly be run over and how little the driver cared.

A block later, I noticed two cops standing on the sidewalk.

“Maybe I should mention it to them,” I said to Dr. H.

“What good would that do?” she replied.

“None, but I want to anyway.” I thought I would feel better if I vented. And these happened to be super cute po-po. I felt that it might soothe my raw nerves to chat up some nice looking dudes. As expected, there was nothing they could do, but they weren’t surprised. They knew exactly what I meant.

When we walked away from the cops, Dr. H and I chatted about how hot they were. It made us giggle a lot and feel better.

Sad, I know.

Repenting

April 21st, 2011 by Suzanne | 3 Comments | Filed in Damn, evil, fuck, hilarity, I love New York, Jewishness, mortification

That little joke I made yesterday (but somehow did not publish to my blog until a few minutes ago) about eating lobster rolls over Passover? I am definitely sorry. It was not funny to joke about endangering my soul, although I am not going to lie: I really, really wanted a lobster roll for dinner. (Instead, I ate a crisp bread sandwich of herbed turkey and cheddar – not exactly kosher for Passover, either, I know – and plain microwave popcorn.)

Now that I have semi-repented for my sacrilegious ways, I hope that the plagues will stop raining down on me. Last week I developed an annoying rash which continues to annoy me (the allergist thought it was a mild case of hives). Husband and I were forced to kill to water bugs/roaches on Sunday. This morning the third plague revealed itself.

I swore that I saw something dash from the kitchen pantry under the stove while I made breakfast, but was not sure if it was a shadow, a figment of my imagination, or something small with multiple legs. Regardless, it would not hurt to put out more MaxForce insect killer, I decided. When I opened the pantry door, I was surprised to see shredded parts of a bag of pita chips on the ground.

“That’s odd,” I thought as Maurice the Brain Hamster began running faster on the wheel that powers my brain. “Roaches don’t tear things up…”

Right. As I picked up the bag of pita chips (something that does not belong in my home over Passover anyway), I surprised the little gray mouse nibbling on a chip behind it. We both screamed (OK, I screamed loud enough for both of us), and he/she ran out of the pantry under the stove while I stood in place screaming.

The irony of this Passover plague saga is two-fold. First, if I had cleaned out the chametz, the mouse would not be eating it. I suspect the mouse would starve to death because matzah and other pre-packaged Passover foods are gross. Second, when Husband and I attended a lovely Seder on Monday night, someone shared a story of finding a mouse stuck on a glue trap in her apartment and how awful it was. Of course I thought that I was glad that I never had had to deal with mice. Of course.

I don’t even want to know what comes next.

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Plagues

April 17th, 2011 by Suzanne | 4 Comments | Filed in Damn, evil, fuck, hilarity, I love New York, Jewishness, mortification

Passover begins Monday night at sundown. During Passover, Jews celebrate our liberation from slavery in Egypt. Last year, I wrote about how my family observed Passover when I was growing up, and I spent some time exploring the ten plagues: (blood; frogs and lice; flies and dead livestock; boils and hail; locusts and darkness; and the death of the first born. After the tenth plague, Pharaoh more or less really let the Jews free, except that he changed his mind, had his troops chase them to the Red Sea, and they wound up drowning.

Today, however, two plagues seem to have struck my home. First, I broke out in an insane heat rash a few days ago. The itchiness is killing me. I’ve been using generic Benadryl, which helps, and smearing cortisone cream over my body as though it were sunscreen. While I’ll gladly take the rash over lice and/or boils, it is still really unpleasant. Nothing but cold showers for me in the foreseeable future. Ugh.

Then Husband and I were visited by the six-legged plague of many a New York apartment, and I am not talking about locusts or flies. As I rubbed cortisone onto my back, I heard Husband scream, then seem to stumble. I ran out of the bathroom and found him pressing his shoe into the ground? “Did you trip? Are you OK?” I asked. “No, there’s a roach!” he yelled. A ginormous waterbug had run across the hallway. “Get a paper towel!”

The problem with one roach is that there is never one roach. We sprayed raid, I spread more Maxforce gel, and replaced old bait stations with new ones. Then I scratched my itchy skin a lot. We didn’t have to wait long. Husband yelled and I smashed the vile critter with an empty Kleenex box.

Whatever I need to do, I will do it. Just end these plagues and don’t send more my way!

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Louise Was Right

March 9th, 2011 by Suzanne | 10 Comments | Filed in Asshole idiots, evil, fuck, mortification, other rants, sadness, What is wrong with people?

Again, this is why I should not read the newspaper while eating breakfast. Vicious Assault Shakes Texas Town read the headline in The New York Times. “Students Among 18 Arrested in Gang Rape of 11-Year-Old.”

What’s enraging is that the headline is not the worst part of this story. The suspects range in age from middle school students to 27 years old. According to The Times:

Five suspects are students at Cleveland High School, including two members of the basketball team. Another is the 21-year-old son of a school board member. A few of the others have criminal records, from selling drugs to robbery and, in one case, manslaughter.

Of course, they made at least one video while raping the girl. Another student received a copy on her cellphone and showed it to her teacher. That’s when the town was shaken. As one woman told The Times, “It’s just destroyed our community. These boys have to live with this the rest of their lives.” (Emphasis mine.) Yes, her sympathy lies with the rapists. Oh those poor boys who hung out with grown men with criminal records and raped someone! They can’t go to school now.

Really, it isn’t their fault, others said. The girl was asking for it. She “dressed older than her age, wearing makeup and fashions more appropriate to a woman in her 20s. She would hang out with teenage boys at a playground.” The same woman wringing her hands about the boys’ future reminded readers that it was as much the girl’s mother’s fault as anyone’s. “Where was her mother? What was her mother thinking?”

What I would like to know is this: who the fuck raised these boys to think it is OK to hang out with older men, kidnap girls (or women, for that matter), and rape them? If the girl’s mother is a bad parent, what about the member of the school board whose 21 year old son participated in raping and videotaping? What about the parents of the middle school students who let their sons hang out with men in the same age group the girl seems to have spent time with?

Another woman said, “I really wish that this could end in a better light.” A BETTER LIGHT? Really? A person was fucking gang raped and she is worried that the incident end in a “better light?” What kind of light would be better? That we find out the girl actually hypnotized the boys and men and tricked them into raped her and videotaping it? WHAT THE FUCK?

I’m so angry I can’t sit still. Twenty years ago, the movie “Thelma and Louise” came out. In it, one woman is about to be raped outside a bar after dancing with a male patron and drinking with him. Her friend tells him to leave the woman alone, and when he tells her to fuck off, she shoots him. The movie hints that she was raped a long time ago in Texas and nothing happened to her rapist because “she asked for it.” I guess things still roll that way in Texas. Even if you are eleven.

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The Stupidest Thing I’ve Ever Done

March 3rd, 2011 by Suzanne | 3 Comments | Filed in Asshole idiots, Damn, fuck, mortification, What is wrong with people?

Last Thursday, I agreed to help my friend Dr. H move a few things into her new apartment. My role was to sit in her car to ensure that it was not towed while she ran upstairs to drop off various items. She is well aware of my utter hatred of driving in general, and my specific terror at the very idea of driving in Manhattan. Oh, and it was rush hour. And we were in Midtown. However, she assured me that it was unlikely that I would have to move. I told her that I would rather ferry her stuff from the car to the apartment, but she insisted on doing it herself, so I sighed, sat in the driver’s seat, and hoped to hell that I would not be required to actually move the car. (In fact, I decided that should I be approached by a policeperson and asked to move, I would consider taking the ticket ($150) and paying it rather than drive in rush hour traffic. I kept this to myself, though.)

As I waited, I thought about the last time someone asked me to sit in a car and move it if the cops came. It was in 2000 or 2001. I can’t remember what led me to run errands with my friend after work one night, but he had to stop at a software store on 23rd Street, which is a pretty busy street. (At least Dr. H was on a side street.) I said OK, and remained in the passenger seat. He left the keys in the ignition and ran inside.

Before I knew it, a policewoman was peering into the window of the driver’s side. “Um, he’ll be back any second,” I told her. “That’s nice,” she replied and pulled out her pad to write a ticket. I debated what to do. As the wheel turned slowly in my head (Maurice, the hamster in charge of running on the wheel that powers my brain, was frozen with fear – he is scared of driving in Manhattan, too), a man approached the car.

“Do you need help? I could drive it for you,” he offered.

“Oh, OK,” I said.

Yes. That is what I did. I told a strange man that he could get into my friend’s car and drive away with it – and me.

As the man opened the door, my friend emerged from the store. “What the fuck is going on here?” he said.

“Well, I didn’t want to drive, so he offered to move the car,” I told him. The guy had already begun walking away, muttering “Just trying to help.” The po-po stood there, watching everything. My friend got in the car and asked me what the hell was wrong with me. Now that the situation was passed, I wanted to cry. Did I seriously almost let that happen? Yeah, I did. I wanted to puke.

In the ensuing years, I’ve thought about that incident once in a while, and I still want to puke. How could I have been so stupid? I am so lucky that my friend showed up when he did. Maybe the stranger really was just a good Samaritan who would have driven me around the block and returned to get my pal. I’m glad I never found out.

The Condom Quest

February 9th, 2011 by Suzanne | 11 Comments | Filed in fuck, hilarity, other rants, random

Dear family members: Some of you may not want to read this post, although really that would be silly because I am 35 years old and married, so you likely know that I have sex. But I’m just saying…

Because I have polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS), I have all sorts of reproductive snafus. One of them is that I don’t get my period. Not having a period at least four times a year increases my chances of developing various uterine-related cancers, so I have been taking medication since I was 18 years old to bring on the blood every month or so. When I started dating Husband almost 16 years ago (Feb. 23!), it made sense to just get on the Pill.

Of course, being on the Pill for decades has side effects, too. While for a long time, it gave me a reliable period, in the past year or so, my uterine lining has gotten so light due to the Pill that I don’t even wear a pad or tampon. Then it stopped. After freaking out multiple times that I might be pregnant (unlikely, given the PCOS and the Pill), I saw my doctor. He said that I should skip the Pill for a month to give my body a little rest and relaxation.

That meant I needed another form of birth control, just in case. Although I hated the horrendous ad campaign that came with Elexa, the low latex odor, high lube condom introduced by Trojan a few years ago, I used them the last time I had to be off the Pill (medical testing) and LOVED them. However, since they had a shitty and stupid ad campaign (why doesn’t anyone ever ask me?), Elexa bombed and is no longer available.

I bought good old regular Trojan-ENZ, hoping that the goodness of Elexa magically transferred over to the blue box. It didn’t. These puppies are drier than the Mojave Desert in July and smell like a latex factory. I’m not too keen on smelling like I was just fucked by a rubber band. The quest for a good condom was on.

After some internet research, I identified four potential dick socks: Crown Skinless Skins (seriously, that name creeps me out – and it does not help that it is a weird fleshy pink, making me think about my crazy virgin college roommate who insisted that she would never use condoms because only raw dick was what felt good – but it was highly rated for low odor, slipperiness, and design); Kimono MicroThins (not smelly, very thin), and two kinds of Trojans, Ultra Thin and Thinsation (both low on the latex emissions). It seems, though, that consumers have some issues with the Trojans breaking. I need that concern like I need another hole, so I focused my shopping on the first two brands.

I stopped at a Duane Reade pharmacy on my way to my writing group. The Kimono MicroThins were available at a price: $18 for 12! I hesitated. Not that I felt the Crown ones would be cheaper, but because if I am going to pay for sex, I want the best. I decided to try my luck elsewhere. On the way home from writing group, I stopped in the neighborhood sex shop on Amsterdam Ave. and 73rd. The clerk eyed me suspiciously as he continued chatting in another language on his mobile’s speaker phone with a woman. (I wondered if it was his mother.) They had plenty of paddles, lubes, dildos, videos, and costumes, but their selection of condoms was worse than Duane Reade. I stormed out in disgust.

This afternoon I will try the infamous Babes in Toyland Toys in Babeland sex shop. (They are the people who gave out free vibrators on election day in 2008 if you came in and said you voted. Love it!) If I can’t get what I need there, then I ain’t gonna get it anywhere.

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The Explosion

February 8th, 2011 by Suzanne | 3 Comments | Filed in Damn, fuck, random

The good news is that the refrigerator has been cleaned for the first time in five or six years. That’s always positive. The bad news is that it required an immediate wipe down because a can of Coke Zero had been pushed to the back of the refrigerator where some sort of coolant runs to the freezer. Things back there have a tendency to freeze. Things that freeze have a tendency to expand. Things that expand have a tendency to grow beyond the size of their containers. Thus, science ran its course and the can burst.

I didn’t realize this at first. When I opened the refrigerator door to put away some groceries, I stood for a few seconds in confusion. Why was there brown liquid on the solid bottom shelf? My eyes traveled up. Brown droplets dotted various packages of food. “What the fuck?” I articulately muttered. Quick to accuse, I blamed the mess on a Snapple iced tea bottle, thinking it must have a crack in the glass, but when I picked it up, it was intact and dry.

What I really wanted to do when I got home was to throw the groceries in the refrigerator and then run in Central Park while it was still warm-ish and light out. What I did instead was take out every item in the refrigerator and inspect it. Items on the left side were soaked or sprayed. Items on the right were dry. As the refrigerator became an empty shell of (mostly) white plastic, I spotted the deformed can of Coke Zero.

Thirty minutes after the initial discovery of the natural semi-disaster, the fridge was cleaned, its contents wiped off, and everything was back in its rightful place (except a vat of hummus, which I discovered in the dish bin two hours later). It was later in the afternoon, but I had enough light left in the day for my long run. All’s well that ends well.

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