An Open Letter to MAMA Instant Noodles

Dear MAMA:

I found your product earlier this week next to the Cock Flavored Soup.

The “Instant Bowl Noodles Shrimp (Tom Yum) Flavour Base,” aside from breaking more sentence structure rules than I care to count, actually looked tasty.

Wow!  Look at those shrimp.  They’re almost big enough to give individual names to.  Hell, I didn’t even know they had shrimp in Vietnam.  I mean, I never saw Marg Helgenberger eating shrimp on China Beach.

The curiosity got to me.  While I was cooking the water to pour in the bowl, I decided to research shrimp in Vietnam. As it turns out, Vietnam sends us 100 million pounds of shrimp a year—roughly 10% of our supply.

The water is boiling now. I don’t immediately see the shrimp when I pour the water over the noodles, but I figured they were nestled up inside somewhere, perhaps hiding from the inevitable.  Shrimp are shy like that.

While I’m waiting the prescribed three minutes, my curiosity peaks. I keep reading about shrimp in Vietnam and the headlines go from informative to horrifying.

Out of curiosity, I decide to inspect the shrimp in the soup.  I don’t know what I was looking for.  Eating was out of the question. Somehow, though, I felt like I owed the shrimp at least a passing glance before I throw them away.

Here’s what I found:

You’re kidding, right?  This isn’t a fragment of the shrimp—it’s the whole thing.  Having grown up in a fast food nation, I know things are not always as they appear on the menu.  Hell, one look at Grindr is a reminder that people always advertise with the best possible image, even if it’s not an accurate representation.

That having been said, size matters.  Your representation is hundreds of times the size of the actual product.  If you pulled something like that on Grindr, the gay community would exile you to Sue Ellen’s for the remainder of your days.

Regardless, I guess it means that the shrimp in the photo got a larger helping of pig feces than the ones in my bowl.  What happened?!  Did a factory worker go out to the stockyard and say, “That’ll do pig, that’ll do,” while the remaining shrimp were left to starve in isolation?

I don’t know if you did me a favor or if you’ve defrauded me, but at the end of the day I am both dissatisfied and disgusted.  If we were Facebook friends, I’d block you.

Sincerely,

Ty

More Mishaps in New York

Day 4
It’s Thursday and Amy has finally come up with an itinerary.

When she told me we were going to see a musical on Broadway tonight, my first thought was, “This is going to be like a very special episode of 16 and Pregnant, and can only end one of two ways.”

The show was great, although I was horrified when Amy asked a one-armed lady to take our photo.  She really needs to be better at disclosing the fact that “a photo” usually consists of about 15 retakes per pose.

If you are ever in New York, End of the Rainbow is an entertaining, if not sobering, musical on the final months of Judy Garland’s life.

Day 5
We are going to Costco today and I am rabid with dread.

UPDATE: My dread was justified.  New Jersey is one of the most unpleasant places I’ve ever been.

Almost immediately after we walked in, a lady in a scooter clipped Amy’s leg as she sped past us toward the deli.  I’m sure it was an accident.

UPDATE: It wasn’t an accident.  That woman is a terrorist.

UPDATE:  Everyone here is awful.  The people in this Costco are completely unwilling to yield to other shopping carts.  You would think their version of “Stand your ground,” included never moving an inch for anyone for anything.

We had to navigate through a particularly cumbersome corridor and at the end, about thirty feet later, a lady appeared with her shopping cart and gave me this look that said, “I’m not moving.  I’m going forward, exactly in the path you are in.  Your only alternative is to move your cart back thirty feet, and then, if you are lucky, you can come back the same way and move to the next aisle.”

I rammed her cart.  Nothing too extravagant—though I was tempted to go for a full on cart-tipping collision—but I realized that this bitch was playing chicken in flip-flops.  I had nothing to lose.

I went around the corner to watch Amy contemplate which ridiculous size container of coffee creamer she was going to purchase.

The lady in the scooter returned.  It was so good to see her.  I felt like we had gotten off on the wrong- um, foot.  She tapped our cart as she passed by.  Bitch.

After being hit or refused aisle space by every asshole in the tri-state area, I had finally had it.  The cart was going to go at a steady 5 mph and I wasn’t stopping, slowing down, or yielding for anyone.  I immediately ran into Amy.  (Sorry!)

After I adopted my new strategy, things got easier.  Even the children were getting out of my way, which was impressive because not one of them had previously shown any hint of self-preservation.

The meat department was a bust, and we slowly made our way to the front, where I would have a final showdown with the lady in the scooter.  She sure does get around.

It would be lovely to report that the bitter old spinster perished to “Duel of the Fates,” playing in the background as I triumphantly totaled her scooter with our shopping cart; however, the best I could do was hit the side of her basket and cut in front of her in line.  God may get me for it, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to.

One hour, six or eight wrong turns, and lots of profanity later, we arrived at the Wal-Mart six miles away.  From there, it took us two hours to make it back across the Hudson.  In the span of an hour, we managed to go a grand total of four miles.

There was a point that I was so certain we wouldn’t be returning home that I started mentally updating my Last Will and Testament, dividing up all my worldly possessions (to wit: one Chihuahua).

Anyway, the whole Costco trip was so time-consuming, so exhausting, and so absolutely ridiculous, that we had a movie night at home.

TGI Friday my ass,
Ty

Mishaps in New York… Pt. 1

It’s been a while since my last blog.  Why does it seem like I’m always starting like that?

Anyway, Amy suggested/insisted that I chronicle my vacation in New York via the blog.  No one wants to read about someone else’s vacation.  It’s like looking through someone else’s yearbook.  Seriously.

However, after three days here, there’s definitely some amusing stories to tell.  Read if you want, or print it out and set it on fire if you’d rather.  I’m doing it in two parts—maybe three—cause reading is hard.

Day 1
The day was somewhat uneventful, so let’s keep it short.  Day two is when the fun starts.

Amy arrived and we went to pick up her case of organic toilet paper.  I’m no marketing major, but if I were going to advertise a paper product as recycled, toilet paper wouldn’t be it.  Especially not “Seventh Generation” toilet paper.

Later that same day, I had my first experience on the Metro, a clusterfuck of people watching at its finest.  I watched two ladies argue over how to pronounce, “shish kabob,” and almost lost it.  Neither one of them came close.

Since no trip to NYC would be complete without street meat—which at first I thought had an entirely different meaning—we ended the night at a gyro stand.

Day 2
Fuck,

Never go into a McDonald’s.  NYC has this thing about posting the calorie count next to the prices, which is ironic since the prices are so inflated you’re not sure which is which.

I held the door open for a gaggle of unruly children who flooded the restaurant.  Kids.  Can’t live with them; can’t shove them back in the womb.

Apparently, every one of them was with a second chance program trying to teach children how to function in society.  As such, the chaperones were unwilling or unable to assist in the ordering process.

Don’t get me wrong.  I applaud the effort.  Ordering at McDonald’s is a life skill everyone needs to have.  But at what cost??  Twenty minutes to get a $5 order of Chicken McBites that would have been $1 in Dallas.  They forgot the ranch.  I’ll dip them in sorrow instead.

Fast forward to Amy’s untimely arrival home.  We scoured the city looking for peach ice cream (are impossible cravings part of that time of the month?) and managed to find only mango.

We saw Magic Mike, which was a let down in some regards.  Sex and the City has managed to recognize audience expectations and exceed them.  Why Channing Tatum had to reserve a spark of mystery is beyond me.

It was almost midnight when we got out of the movie, and we decided to be spontaneous and take the midnight train going anywhere, a la “Don’t Stop Believin’”.

For whatever reason, Steve Perry neglected to mention the singing crack head on the midnight train.  Nevertheless, we found him.  We even tried to move to the next car on the train but I’ll be damned if he didn’t follow right behind us.

He was showing off his recent (favorable) HIV test results and offering fashion advice for people who seemed to be contemplating departing the train prior to it stopping.  Amy deserves a gold star for not interacting with him or encouraging him… thank Gaga we didn’t have alcohol first.

Day 3
It’s July 4!  Naturally my ADHD was in overtime when the fireworks started, but there were a few semi-functional hours until then.

Now, I need a slice of authentic NYC pizza like a Republican needs a reason to hate Obamacare.  But, alas, I was hungry.  My Adderall may as well be at the bottom of the Hudson, so my appetite is raging lately.

I found a review online for best places to eat pizza in NYC, and we ventured to the other side of Middle Earth.  The subway was another people watching goldmine.  As soon as the doors shut, a quartet of vagrants burst into a glee-like performance of “Stand by Me.”

After some poor map reading, we finally got to Sal’s and Amy paid dearly for a terrible slice of culinary incest.  To add insult to injury, as we abandoned the joint in favor of cooler air outside, I couldn’t help but notice people walking by with pizza that looked amazing.  Bastards.

Back to the subway.  This time, a homeless man fell asleep on Amy.  I was pretty amused until she woke him up and told him he couldn’t sleep on her.  He decided he didn’t have a fair allotment of floor space and began kicking out like a seizure victim.  I moved the first two times he kicked my feet.  The third time I kicked back.

As part of my sightseeing itinerary, we walked aimlessly through the city trying to find 3 Beekman Place, the movie residence of Auntie Mame.  After about a mile walk in sweltering heat, it occurred to me that she wasn’t real, and if she was, she’d be dead.  We got there, I took a poorly focused photo, and we went back to the subway.

At this point, I’m considering starting an entire new blog website dedicated to subway mishaps.  I’m not sensationalizing any of this- we have photos, videos, and Amy’s endorsement.  This is real.

In polite society, when a full elevator arrives at your floor, most people recognize that possible penetration of other passengers is inconsiderate, and as such, you gracefully wait for the next elevator.

This is not how the subway works.  We were crammed in like forged ballots in the Russian election.

Not surprisingly, as soon as the door closed, a man cleared his throat and quieted the car with, “Ladies and gentlemen: 50,000 American troops are coming home with no jobs and nowhere to work.  Hire American.  Don’t hire foreigners.  No offense to any of you foreigners, but I’m tired of not getting work because of you people.”

Of course, I speculate the majority of the car was filled with people that could, in all political correctness I can muster, be considered foreign.  You could have heard a pin drop.  It was the first time since I got to New York that the subway car was quiet enough to hear the whisper of the train conductor to mercifully inform us the next stop was just ahead.

The night ended on Amy’s balcony.  The first fireworks show was behind a building in our direct line of sight, so all we could see was the outline of the fireworks behind the building.  Which is a lot like listening to your neighbor have incredible sex as opposed to being the one having incredible sex.

But just as the Cabernet bottle started to near empty, the greatest, biggest, brightest fireworks show I have ever seen lit up the skyline for 30 minutes of uninterrupted awe.  There was a pretty big singalong of the national anthem… they weren’t quite sure on the timing of the big finale, so they kept singing the last refrain over and over again.  Priceless.

From the city that never sleeps,
Ty

An Open Letter to Caven

Dear Caven:

It is time to do something about the bridezillas.

S4 has long been a beacon of tolerance in the community.

We’ve got our ancient drag queens that look like Ann Richards in a fur prom dress.

We suffer through the occasional invasion of the plushies, who make the dance floor look like the music video for “The Bad Touch” by the Bloodhound Gang.

At times, we even have the occasional gay person coming in to see a dragshow.

There is, however, one consistent plague infesting the Rose Room: Bachelorette. parties.

They reserve the best seats in the house and their friends spill over into the general seating.  Their costumes are distracting, obnoxious, and at times, their hair and accessories are visually obstructive.

Frankly, the gay population is tired of being condemned to the back of the bar so hoards of women we will only ever see once (thank gawd) can celebrate a social rite of passage that nary a one of your gay customers can truly benefit from.

Last night was the breaking point for me.  The carpeted area of the Rose Room was equivalent to that area at Chuck E. Cheese that is reserved for children whose parents shelled out $300 for cheap pizza served by a pedophile in a rat costume.

Chuck E. Cheese snorting a line of coke

They were everywhere.  The one in front of me was probably 5’2” but she had on 4” heels.  Her hair, which may or may not have been smuggling illegal aliens, was at least four inches above her head, topped with a tiara that, had it been any taller, could have been declared a skyscraper.

I’d say let’s toss them into the river, but the Trinity is such a cumbersome trip.  So, with compromise and tolerance in mind, I have come up with a better solution.

If they want reserved seating, let them have the back of the Rose Room.  There’s seating, and TV monitors that they can watch the show on.

This removes them as a distraction to the show, keeps us from looking like we are discriminating against them, and puts your primary customers back in viewing range of Cassie Nova’s terrible (yet endearing) lip synching.

Cheers,

The Gays

Santa Claus Confirmed Dead

(AP) NORTH POLE – Officials confirmed this morning that Santa Claus, also known as jolly Saint Nick, was found dead early today in the home of little Timmy and Lizzy Morris of Boulder, Colorado.

At approximately 3:13 a.m. local time, Santa descended into the chimney of the Morris residence with the aid of a strand of Christmas lights attached to long-time reindeer cohort Vixen.  Initial reports indicate that Vixen was also killed in the grizzly fire, which left three reindeer in critical condition before the fire department was able to contain the scene.

A spokesperson for the North Pole confirmed the sad news this morning amidst a crowd of grieving elves.  “The world mourns today at the death of Santa.  Vouchers for children on the Nice List who Santa was unable to reach are being mailed out as quickly as possible.”

Although the official cause of the fire is still under investigation, preliminary speculation points to an overstuffed toy bag.  Lizzy Morris, who found Santa’s charred remains, commented on her wish list: “I really wanted everything from American Girl and the new Katy Perry CD, and a new guitar, a pair of Manolo Blahniks, a new balancing beam for gymnastics… I’ll post a complete list on my blog later in case anyone wants to contribute.  I really hope this incident doesn’t affect my standing on the Nice List,” the future sociopath added.

Frosty the Snowman, a long-time friend of Santa, could not immediately be reached for comment on whether or not he’d be back again some day.

Fixing Craigslist – October 2011

So it’s been brought to my attention by a few loyal—albeit not so subtle—fans that it’s been a while since the last time I posted a blog…

Don’t get me wrong, Arkansas is a very stimulating state.  And I mean that in the nicest possible way.  But there wasn’t anything I could write about there without ostracizing myself from the entire community of 5,000 closely related people.

I felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz—a broken record of telling people, “all I want to do is go home.”

Now I’m back.  From outer space.  I just walked in to find you here with that sad- wait, I think I may be hijacking lyrics from a Gloria Gaynor song.  Jesus H, please help my muse guide me to original content.

I can see I’m losing your attention.  Let’s see if I can fix that…

You left your cell phone at my gangbang – m4w – 48 (Dallas)
Charlene, You were awesome, and the guys loved you. I have your cell phone. Respond through here or call me. You have my number.

It’s the old “accidentally” leave your cell phone at the gangbang ploy.  That’s so two-thousand-and-late.  Charlene, you’re coming on too strong.  But I think he, along with three or more other guys in a short period of time, might be in to you.  Work it out, girl!  And then get tested.  Slut.

Hello Kitty – w4w – 43 (Dallas)
I realize my chances of finding you here are slim but maybe, just maybe, you’re the kind of girl who frequents these pages for kicks.

My body stood frozen like the soft, cold yogurt you so eagerly piled into the two monstrous containers at Yogurtland on Sunday. It’s the sparkle I saw in your eyes as you scooped up Cap’n Crunch that rendered me speechless, though. I wanted so desperately say something, anything to you as you asked for three spoons before leaving.

I’ve never seen such a beautiful vision in my life. If only I could be that sweet cream you licked with such pleasure.

It could have been the rain that morning but I felt a trickle of moisture run down my cheek as I watched you walk away and climb into that big, butch Hummer.

If there is a heaven then you saw me, and noticed. I’m the dark girl with long legs and a big heart. If you give me a chance, I know I can make you as happy as Tart.

Let me know it’s you by telling me the flavors you got-

My sun won’t shine until you reply.

My. sun. won’t. shine. It really writes its own joke.  Ugh, now I’m craving Cap’n Crunch.

Wanted: One none cheating whore of a girlfriend – m4w (Denton)
You…you, may or may not exist but hey there’s hope. Cause not every women is willing to run behind your back with someone else despite living with you and having a multi-year relationship…right?

I think this ad is part fantasy, part projection.  And you’re looking for this monogamous relationship on a site where people routinely go for extramarital soul-searching with anonymous concubines?

Your my sister in law – m4w
We get along really well and I’ve always wanted to go alittle further with you. I don’t know howd you react if I came up to you so here I am, maybe by some chance you read this and I get an email back

I worked so hard to get away from Arkansas.  So hard.  And now you want to turn a perfectly dysfunctional family reunion into a Jerry Springer-style whodunit, complete with matching divorce decrees and paternity tests?

I know, I know.  You’re thinking, “That’s all we get?!”

This is what the half-life of an Adderall and a Venti Mocha Frappacino gets you.  Sorry you had to find out this way.

On the bright side, I have a new iPhone app that will help me skim through Craigslist much faster than the research invested into blogs past, so if I don’t drink myself to death with cooking wine, you can expect to see a reinstatement of my monthly rants.

Until then… don’t close your eyes, don’t hold your breath, and don’t make yourself a target on Craigslist.

Fixing Craigslist – April 2011

I’ll take this opportunity to announce to those of you who may not know: I’m now a manager at a dick-dancer bar.  And being that I work in the lower echelon of bars—we’re lower than titty—I have a more warped unique perspective than in blogs past.

Pay to Paddle You – m4m – 41 (North Dallas)
Looking to spank a cool in shape guy.  Limits respected, nothing crazy or extreme.  I can host.  GL professional, cleancut, ddf, discreet and expect the same.  If you have a great butt you go to the front of the line.  Email me stats and body pic and let me know when you are available to go over your big brother’s lap!

You want to pay someone for this?!  Bitch get your riding crop and go home.  Donate to Ty’s Bar Tab Relief Effort instead.

You cut me off – m4m – 32 (City Place)
I drive an 18 wheeler. Friday morning I was turning right to get onto the entrance ramp lane. I was about 90% into my turn, then suddenly there you were. Coming from the U turn lane. You just cut me off. I had to break and my breakfast went everywhere. Dude…you owe me either breakfast or a drink. You were white, dark hair, and drove a Toyota Cruiser. What color was it?

As it happens, it was a Toyota Yaris.  And it was blue.  There’s a better chance of me complying with the speed limit in a school zone than buying you breakfast or a drink.  Next time I lay into the horn as you’re taking five painfully slow minutes to maneuver your enormous ass out of the three lanes of traffic you’re blocking, you’ll know to move. out. of. my. way.

Looking for guy who answered Looking 4 Unattractive BB Tops – m4m – 35 (dallas)
looking for the big uncut daddy who came to me while i was blindfolded. Sorry didn’t get to finish. lets reschedule

FAIL! I can’t help but wonder how many times your mother dropped you on your head before you lost all standards and judgment.  This is even more sad and desperate than when I run out of vodka when the liquor store is closed.

Tapelenders – m4m – 35 (Dallas/Cedar Springs)
You really helped me in my small amount of fickleness, to decide which product to purchase. We actually talked a lot. Where am I from? Would be nice to make a friend or two more here in Dallas. Maybe coffee/dinner before I leave, as friends of course!

I never get tired of reading about Chance on Craigslist.  I’m sure he’d love to hear someone is looking for him… I’ll pass it along to him!

Hitler and Bondage – m4m – 40 (Arlington)
You mentioned that Hitler and his neice were really into S&M. I hope that you read this, although I think it is a long shot! Regardless, it is worth a go!

I am judging this worse than Judge Judy ruling on an urban civil dispute.  Although I guess there is a warped sense of talent in successfully referencing Hitler in a pickup line.

Well, I gotta get back to work!  There’s dancers to chase back to the poles… cocktails to be poured… and dreams to be made and shattered one lap dance at a time.