Cottonelle for Kleenex

This morning on the bus, I overheard a conversation.  I did not have a newspaper to read or a Blackberry to keep me busy, so I kept busy on the personal lives of all the other passengers.  Unfortunately, I wish I hadn’t heard it.

A man and a woman to my left, further back in the bus, sat in silence until the man broke it with “My ass hurts.”

The woman was probably at least a friend of his, and asked, “Did you hurt it by sitting on your fat ass too much?”

“No, but I’m pretty sure how.  It kind of sucks.”

The woman was amused at his pain.  She asked, “What did you do?”

“Well, a week ago I didn’t see that there was only one sheet of toilet paper on the roll.  When I used it, I was stuck on the toilet.  I leaned over to get another roll from under the sink, but when I looked, there wasn’t one there either.  I thought for a few minutes, and then I grabbed something else from the bathroom.”

“Eww! A Towel?” She was horrified.  So was the woman next to her.

“No! No, I tried a tissue.”

She looked at him, and he looked back with sincerity.

“It was actually kind of comfortable.  Much softer than toilet paper, but– I don’t know, I guess I must have had a reaction, because I’ve had a rash off and on for the last week.”

Everyone within earshot was wiggling in their seats.

Comic Anxiety: I Stand Corrected

So, maybe sometimes weird things do happen to me in New Jersey. Hoboken is just north of Jersey City, and a truer tale of two cities could not be found in all of NJ. Hoboken is a college town, with shops and eateries all over the place. It kind of looks old and decrepit, but it could not be any nicer. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for Jersey City.

Anyway, my old high school friend, whom I’m still friends with after all these years, invited me to a party in Hoboken. We have already graduated now, but back in college I was more of the studious type who wished for my six years to be over quickly, while he was apparently pretty popular in his school. Given my inexperience, I was not so sure what to expect from this party.

Obviously, a lot of college dudes were there. I tried to strike up a conversation with someone, thinking it to be safe given my current normal streak. I was wrong.

“What do you do for a living?”

“I still go to school, dude.“

“You go to (name of close university)?”

“No, it’s not around here.”

“What’s it’s name?”

“Paramus.”

That’s when I realized that I was talking to a high school kid. He figured that he could slide in unnoticed to a college party. That might have worked if the guy next to us had not listened in on our conversation.

“Hey, we have a couple pubes over here!” (I’m not familiar with this new age slang, but I take it that he meant teens)

He must have misheard something, but it did not matter because there was no talking to the five or six tough guys that had decided to make a circle around us. The kid split, leaving me to deal with the mess. I’d love to say I made quick work of them, using my keen martial arts skills to knock each of them down in a heartbeat. Instead, my friend came to cool their jets and convince them that I’m long past 17.

Did I honestly say “cool their jets.” Damn, I feel like an a-hole frat dude