Greenpoint
Cafe Cito Bogota
LAST GASP: V Is For Value-Added
Yours truly has a fair number of bad Valentine’s Days under her belt. The source of said badness never had anything to do with matters romantic. Quite to the contrary: frailties of the flesh were to blame. For this reason I will forever associate a day dedicated to lovers (of all stripes) with vomiting and getting stitches. But I digress.
When I read this*, a tome by my buddy at Bad Advice today I busted a gut. My favorite passages are as follows:
…Then it got bad. The pain from the night before returned, only about a billion times more intense. I lay in bed, holding my belly, and praying it would stop making all those weird noises. It was like there were a dozen drunk elves running around in my intestines. I started to sweat as the rumbles and gurgles grew louder….
…Our bathroom is about three feet from our bed and when I heard Spyro let out what I will describe as “a bathroom noise,” it triggered my gag reflex. At the same time I felt a little gas wanting to sneak out downstairs. I rolled out of bed and discovered that it was actually a value-added fart. (Emphasis mine — Ed. Note) I threw my butt cheeks into lockdown, jammed my palm against my mouth and made a mad dash for the kitchen sink…
I would like to take this moment to thank the proprietress of Bad Advice for one of the most disgusting (and therefore funniest) accounts of a Valentine’s Day gone awry I have ever read. Then again I have grown to expect this kind of gritty, unflinching “in the trenches” view from the battlefield that is love (and occasionally war) from her. She is after all the woman responsible for raising my awareness about Smegmen. And for this I am eternally grateful.
Get well Dategirl— and thanks!
Miss Heather
*CAVEAT: this is not for the feint at heart.
Happy Valentine’s Day From New York Shitty!
Filed under: Area 51
This one goes out to the Mister. The man for whom my loving cup of a heart overfloweth on a daily (or at least fort-nightly) basis. Put on your Lectra socks because— shuttle buses be damned— we’re going out on the town!
Miss Heather
Greenpoint Photo Du Jour: Love Is In The Air!
From Lorimer Street.
Miss Heather
P.S.: I will be assembling a slide show of shots from today’s sojourn around north Brooklyn in a little bit. Need to defrost first!
Greenpoint Video Du Jour: More Fun At The Production Lounge
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
After a shooting and a rather contentious Community Council meeting last week The Production Lounge keeps on trucking with this video shot Friday night. Angry Grandma with a Bullet Hole in her grand baby’s bedroom writes:
I don’t know if my son-in-law sent you this, but I want to be sure you have it. RE: Ongoing Saga of The Production Lounge Lizards. This is a video of owner Joe losing it with the cops on Friday, Feb 20, as they have been at him non-stop and put a spot light on his front door so the poor guy can’t even let in all those underage thuglets.
Yes sir, nothing says “I want to be positive force in the community” like screaming at its constabulary! How can I not shake the feeling this establishment is going to be Studio B: Part II? On that note I like to point out that if I didn’t have all my paper work in order (which I can assure you this gentleman doesn’t: The Production Lounge has neither a cabaret license nor a place of assembly permit—the latter most is a must for establishments that hold more than 75 people and this joint falls under that category) I’d be a little more low key when dealing with the authorities.
But what would I know?
Miss Heather
Express Yourself!
Earlier this week the Mister asked me what I want to do for Valentine’s Day. I told him (in all seriousness) I wanted to go bowling— and so we are. I have told my friends about this and they think it is hilarious. I, on the other hand, fail to see what the big deal is and therein lies the rub.
For wont of another way of putting it I am not the most warm, fuzzy and sentimental gal to be found. Sloppy protestations of love and bouquets of flowers— at the very best— will confuse me. More likely than not I’ll get very suspicious and think you trying to pull something over on me. That’s just the way I am and at this point I seriously doubt I am going to change. So be it. After a few misfires the Mister has learned this.
No mushy stuff necessary or cheesy cards, thanks. I not only don’t want ‘em but I don’t need ‘em: reading someone else’s billets doux is a hell of a lot more fun. Some of you might remember (and if you do are probably doing your utmost to forget) the recent cache of naughty foot fetish goodness I found at the junk shop a couple weeks ago. Well, I have some very good new (for me, anyway): now I have a some letters to go with them! Having trouble expressing yourself to your lady love this Valentine’s Day? Why not take a few tips from these guys? You’ll be certain to get her attention— and possibly a restraining order too!
EXHIBIT A
V-Day Tip #1: Always make sure your letter is neat and legible.
V-Day Tip #2: Use the phrase ROYAL TOE JAM.
If you follow these directions you might get a doggy biscuit!
EXHIBIT B
Remember the movie Sleepless In Seattle? God, I hated that film. Well, here’s its little known (and infinitely more fun) sequel. It is called Naked On My Knees In Queens.
After reading this a few questions come to mind:
- Why don’t I get mail like this?
- Why does every man who comes a courtin’ claim he is “very good looking”? God has made plenty of room in this world for dog shit ugly. Oh has he ever. Don’t believe me? Then I would like to humbly suggestion you take a long hard look at Aerosmith nowadays. Any questions?
EXHIBIT C
I know at least one person out there reading this is a musician. Would you please start a bad (or at the very least write a song) called “White Trash Doormat”? PLEEEEEEEEEEEEZE.
EXHIBIT D
Of course there is something to be said about just being upfront and to the point.
Miss Heather
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