PR guru Ms. R directed me to a brilliant article in NYMag (i.e. the Holy Bible) about the city's new proposal to share cabs and split fares. The author describes an encounter a Newark airport in which he narrowly missed the opportunity to split a cab with his Prince Charming. After reading the article I began to strongly support this cab sharing proposal. I was ready to march on city hall demanding that cab sharing become mandatory immediately. However, after some thinking I realized that the chances of me getting into a cab with a handsome, intelligent stranger who wants to date me are about the same as me owning a zebra as a house pet.
At the end of a hard night (either working or drinking) I enjoy being able to sit in the back of a cab and pseudo-doze off or send a text message about how much fun I had to my fellow drinking buddy or document reviewer. This task will become immeasurably more difficult when I'm sitting inbetween a gaggle of tipsy tourists talking about how "magical" it was to visit ground zero (editor's note: I truly did once hear a tourist refer to ground zero as magical...someone should have clued her in that Chris Angel had nothing to do with making the WTC disappear).
Besides we all know that Prince Charming would turn out to be married, a serial killer, or NYC's first carrier of a new strain of syphilis. Either way unless the cab is taking you to the free clinic or divorce court, your ride with Prince Charming is not going far.
We all know that Prop 8 recently passed to protect "the sancity of marriage" (don't get me started on this one). Well I propose NY Prop 1 to protect the sancity of my cab ride. One man (or lady) one cabbie.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Too Sexy
Work, life and other useless distractions had kept me from blogging. Luckily I've stopped caring about working, so that's really opened up a lot of free time.
There are many wonderful things that come along with gay dating, however, body consciousness is not one of them. When you're dating another guy he always has a fully accessible frame of reference with which he can compare body types. He can look at my skinny, nondefined upper arm then back at his toned muscular bicep and then rest assured that all our mutual friends are saying "How did TDS manage that?!?". Furthermore, so many gay men spend hours upon hours in the gym and have amazing bodies. For a short time I thought I could become one of these men. I vowed to give up bread and booze (two of my favorite food groups), spend hours in the gym each day and drink more water (I feel as if drinking more water is the panacea to almost any problem). After about a month I realized this was a lost cause. It's like when you walk past a Honda Civic with a Mercedes Benz emblem on the hood. Nice try. You're not fooling anyone. At best I became a used Audi with one of the hub caps missing.
I bring this up because I am faced with this problem once again. Now before you throw your ashtray at my head and tell me to "fuck off" for boo-hooing about having to date someone who's attractive: hear me out. It's not the attractive factor, it's the fitness factor that worries me. This dude, only days into knowing me, is already suggesting we bike, hike, run and do other strenuous activities together. Doesn't he know it's summer?!? Summer is a time for sangria and suntan lotion and beach blankets. The most physical activity I should be doing is turning the pages of US Weekly pool side while I try to decide whether Kate Gosslin is a "mom turned monster" or "greedy bitch". Personally I'm leaning towards greedy bitch but I will reserve judgment.
When you're single or dating someone who's favorite sport is Foosball at the bar, you are blissfully unaware of how out of shape you are. As soon as you invite some fitness loony into your life you start to feel bad about how "unhealthy you are". I'll start to feel guilty turning down his invites to bike up bear mountain in favor sitting at home with dark chocolate a glass of Merlot and the real housemafia of new jersey. I'll feel shamed when I tell him I don't feel like running because I'm too busy concocting a plan to gain access to the neighboring building's sun deck.
The point of this rant is summer is for tanning, gossiping and drinking. An occasional visit to the gym under the guise of "wanting to look better in my bathing suit" is admirable anything more than that is best kept for winter when you can use the excuse "I would go for that hike if only it were warmer."
There are many wonderful things that come along with gay dating, however, body consciousness is not one of them. When you're dating another guy he always has a fully accessible frame of reference with which he can compare body types. He can look at my skinny, nondefined upper arm then back at his toned muscular bicep and then rest assured that all our mutual friends are saying "How did TDS manage that?!?". Furthermore, so many gay men spend hours upon hours in the gym and have amazing bodies. For a short time I thought I could become one of these men. I vowed to give up bread and booze (two of my favorite food groups), spend hours in the gym each day and drink more water (I feel as if drinking more water is the panacea to almost any problem). After about a month I realized this was a lost cause. It's like when you walk past a Honda Civic with a Mercedes Benz emblem on the hood. Nice try. You're not fooling anyone. At best I became a used Audi with one of the hub caps missing.
I bring this up because I am faced with this problem once again. Now before you throw your ashtray at my head and tell me to "fuck off" for boo-hooing about having to date someone who's attractive: hear me out. It's not the attractive factor, it's the fitness factor that worries me. This dude, only days into knowing me, is already suggesting we bike, hike, run and do other strenuous activities together. Doesn't he know it's summer?!? Summer is a time for sangria and suntan lotion and beach blankets. The most physical activity I should be doing is turning the pages of US Weekly pool side while I try to decide whether Kate Gosslin is a "mom turned monster" or "greedy bitch". Personally I'm leaning towards greedy bitch but I will reserve judgment.
When you're single or dating someone who's favorite sport is Foosball at the bar, you are blissfully unaware of how out of shape you are. As soon as you invite some fitness loony into your life you start to feel bad about how "unhealthy you are". I'll start to feel guilty turning down his invites to bike up bear mountain in favor sitting at home with dark chocolate a glass of Merlot and the real housemafia of new jersey. I'll feel shamed when I tell him I don't feel like running because I'm too busy concocting a plan to gain access to the neighboring building's sun deck.
The point of this rant is summer is for tanning, gossiping and drinking. An occasional visit to the gym under the guise of "wanting to look better in my bathing suit" is admirable anything more than that is best kept for winter when you can use the excuse "I would go for that hike if only it were warmer."
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Let's Reenact the Ides of March on the 7th
Et tu Chris 1.0?
As most Smack readers know, last year I had a real thing for Bellevue escapees named Chris. If you made ear chopping, turpentine drinkin' Vincent Van Gogh look well adjusted and your name was Chris chances are we had a romantic encounter in 2008. Having decided that a turpentintini wasn't my drink and broke ass bitches were not really a treat, I vowed to end this streak in 2009. So far: success. However, crazy like a diamond and that scar I got when I decided I could do a drunk handstand, are forever. Recently, Chris 1.0 and 2.0 have contacted me both posturing for a room and sex. Now I know that Chris 1.0 just came back from Las Vegas so perhaps he crossed my line with a local Las Vegas bordello, but last time I checked I don't rent rooms or myself. As noted in an earlier post for anything less than a million dollars (read 20,000) I am going to pretend that I am morally above prostitution. And although I am rather proud of my scone recipe and I do remind people not to flush condoms down my toilet, that is where the similarities between myself and a Bed and Breakfast end.
First, a few weeks ago a text message from Chris 2.0:
C2.0: "Hey I was thinking I would come over"
TDS: "I don't really think so, is something going on at your apartment?"
C2.0: "No, I just want to have sex with you."
Wow. I've never experienced romance quite like that before. Light the candles and pull down the shades I'm powerless against your charm. One Smack reader applauded Chris 2.0 for "being upfront." I can understand how this dear reader might have interpreted that text as an attempt to put aside the small talk and get to the point. Or an honest request. However, having dated Chris 2.0 I can assure all readers that the pretext was left out only because he was too lazy to type up four more texts. Frankly I was surprised the message didn't read "f.u. 2nite?" I think the use of capital letters and a period was an attempt to butter me up.
The same smack reader who applauded this "upfront" tactic was surprised (for serious) to learn that I turned Chris 2.0 down. Stating "it could be fun if you had an understanding." Yes I think the understanding would go something like this: I, the TDS, agree to let you have my last tiny shread of dignity (read that bitch left years ago) so long as you agree to come over here with plenty of booze and leave my apartment before I wake up the next day so I can assure myself that you coming over was nothing more than a very realistic night terror.
Second, a BlackBerry message today from Chris 1.0:
C1.0: I'm sleeping at your place on the 7th
TDS: Are you kidding?
C1.0: No
TDS: I doubt I'll be home
C1.0: Look just be there, OK?
TDS: (stunned radio silence)
My BlackBerry has been very slow recently, so at first I assumed that perhaps this conversation was stored from 9 months ago and was just now being relayed to my Berry. This type of snippy conversation about spending the night could have taken place while we were together. That's it BlackBerry dealy. However, within seconds I was snapped back into reality, 9 months ago I didn't have a BlackBerry. And perhaps more importantly I was answering in real time. So unless I was speaking with the memory of Chris 1.0 (in which case someone should contact A&E's ghost hunters or at least Vivica A Fox and her psychic friends) this insane conversation was actually happening TODAY, months after we broke up. I am not sure which surprises me more: the request itself OR the annoyed tone of BBM with which I'm being addressed.
"Just be there." Yes I will thank you, I live there, you however, do not and consequently will not be there. I considered making an excuse "oh I have a party that night", "oh I'll probably be working", "oh I'm going in for my gender reassignment surgery that night". But then I decided I don't have to make an excuse for why I do not feel the need to house and/or sleep with my exboyfriend (and really I mean AND because let's face it, if he's in the same place as my wine rack I'm bound to do something I'll live to regret). I decided to just say no and so that's the last message I sent him. Now most Smack readers may assume that means case closed. But I know Chris 1.0, there is a 50/50 chance he shows up on March 7th. If you find yourself in the Hoboken area with nothing to do on March 7th and you've always wanted to see me hurl an overnight bag at another human being then please feel free to head over to my place. Afterwards we can toast to Caesar, exboyfriends, leprechauns and light weight carry on bags. And if all else fails bring your toga, a butter knife and your lawyer's telephone number.
xoxo
tds
As most Smack readers know, last year I had a real thing for Bellevue escapees named Chris. If you made ear chopping, turpentine drinkin' Vincent Van Gogh look well adjusted and your name was Chris chances are we had a romantic encounter in 2008. Having decided that a turpentintini wasn't my drink and broke ass bitches were not really a treat, I vowed to end this streak in 2009. So far: success. However, crazy like a diamond and that scar I got when I decided I could do a drunk handstand, are forever. Recently, Chris 1.0 and 2.0 have contacted me both posturing for a room and sex. Now I know that Chris 1.0 just came back from Las Vegas so perhaps he crossed my line with a local Las Vegas bordello, but last time I checked I don't rent rooms or myself. As noted in an earlier post for anything less than a million dollars (read 20,000) I am going to pretend that I am morally above prostitution. And although I am rather proud of my scone recipe and I do remind people not to flush condoms down my toilet, that is where the similarities between myself and a Bed and Breakfast end.
First, a few weeks ago a text message from Chris 2.0:
C2.0: "Hey I was thinking I would come over"
TDS: "I don't really think so, is something going on at your apartment?"
C2.0: "No, I just want to have sex with you."
Wow. I've never experienced romance quite like that before. Light the candles and pull down the shades I'm powerless against your charm. One Smack reader applauded Chris 2.0 for "being upfront." I can understand how this dear reader might have interpreted that text as an attempt to put aside the small talk and get to the point. Or an honest request. However, having dated Chris 2.0 I can assure all readers that the pretext was left out only because he was too lazy to type up four more texts. Frankly I was surprised the message didn't read "f.u. 2nite?" I think the use of capital letters and a period was an attempt to butter me up.
The same smack reader who applauded this "upfront" tactic was surprised (for serious) to learn that I turned Chris 2.0 down. Stating "it could be fun if you had an understanding." Yes I think the understanding would go something like this: I, the TDS, agree to let you have my last tiny shread of dignity (read that bitch left years ago) so long as you agree to come over here with plenty of booze and leave my apartment before I wake up the next day so I can assure myself that you coming over was nothing more than a very realistic night terror.
Second, a BlackBerry message today from Chris 1.0:
C1.0: I'm sleeping at your place on the 7th
TDS: Are you kidding?
C1.0: No
TDS: I doubt I'll be home
C1.0: Look just be there, OK?
TDS: (stunned radio silence)
My BlackBerry has been very slow recently, so at first I assumed that perhaps this conversation was stored from 9 months ago and was just now being relayed to my Berry. This type of snippy conversation about spending the night could have taken place while we were together. That's it BlackBerry dealy. However, within seconds I was snapped back into reality, 9 months ago I didn't have a BlackBerry. And perhaps more importantly I was answering in real time. So unless I was speaking with the memory of Chris 1.0 (in which case someone should contact A&E's ghost hunters or at least Vivica A Fox and her psychic friends) this insane conversation was actually happening TODAY, months after we broke up. I am not sure which surprises me more: the request itself OR the annoyed tone of BBM with which I'm being addressed.
"Just be there." Yes I will thank you, I live there, you however, do not and consequently will not be there. I considered making an excuse "oh I have a party that night", "oh I'll probably be working", "oh I'm going in for my gender reassignment surgery that night". But then I decided I don't have to make an excuse for why I do not feel the need to house and/or sleep with my exboyfriend (and really I mean AND because let's face it, if he's in the same place as my wine rack I'm bound to do something I'll live to regret). I decided to just say no and so that's the last message I sent him. Now most Smack readers may assume that means case closed. But I know Chris 1.0, there is a 50/50 chance he shows up on March 7th. If you find yourself in the Hoboken area with nothing to do on March 7th and you've always wanted to see me hurl an overnight bag at another human being then please feel free to head over to my place. Afterwards we can toast to Caesar, exboyfriends, leprechauns and light weight carry on bags. And if all else fails bring your toga, a butter knife and your lawyer's telephone number.
xoxo
tds
"It's Been A While But I'm Glad You Came"--Brit Spears Post Crazy Pre Circus
I apologize for my extended absence, recently my job has really cut into my personal/blogging time. This is compounded by the fact that last week the universe gave me the beautiful gift of the flu. To repay the universe I am busily researching organizations that contribute to space debris and hope to make a large donation to the largest space polluter.
In a last ditch effort to make it up to me the universe passed along this beautiful creation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iM0jswbZhIM&feature=related. A Brit Spears song, written by Lady Gaga and sung in the style of Gwen Steffani. My gayness is blowin' up.
Downtown Editor Ms. H suggested making a list of events that blow up my gayness.
List of Things that Blow up My Gayness
1) Amnesia by Brit Brit
2) Puppy Cams
3) Giraffes, obviously
The Smack is interested in knowing what blows up your gayness???
In a last ditch effort to make it up to me the universe passed along this beautiful creation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iM0jswbZhIM&feature=related. A Brit Spears song, written by Lady Gaga and sung in the style of Gwen Steffani. My gayness is blowin' up.
Downtown Editor Ms. H suggested making a list of events that blow up my gayness.
List of Things that Blow up My Gayness
1) Amnesia by Brit Brit
2) Puppy Cams
3) Giraffes, obviously
The Smack is interested in knowing what blows up your gayness???
Friday, January 30, 2009
Friends without Benefits
Now as many Smack readers may know, I like to get involved in the craziest relationships. But it's 2009 and I have decided to STOP getting into crazy relationships and instead get involved in really unworkable ones. Much Better. Quick back story I have been chatting with someone from LA for the last two months, let's call him Mr. LA (more clever nicknames welcomed). Now Mr. LA and I spend a lot of time talking on the phone (about 1 1/2 each night) and from what I can tell he's smart, funny and sweet (obvi not my type) with an incredibly anxious streak and a touch of OCD (there we go--there's my guy). I am actually quite enamoured with him despite the fact that this seems like a bad idea (read I do not live anywhere near LA--at all. The closest I am to an LA recently was when I went to visit stylista Ms. W on Lexington Avenue).
Anywho, Mr. LA told me that his best friend recently moved to NYC and that he really wanted us to meet. Now impressing friends is always one of those tasks that are dreaded relationship obligations bested only by meeting family. Not only is this impressing a friend but a best friend. NOT GOOD. Best friends have the most sway. If my date met my two best friends and either of them had anything negative to say that would be a major disappointment. To make matters worse Mr. LA will obviously not be there to supervise. Usually you can rely on your date to steer your towards pleasant topics and away from negative ones. For example your date can indicate to you jokes about Shark Week will not be well received by their peg legged friend. Also what is the expectation here, will we have to make regular dates with one anohter? Worse yet what if at the end of our friend evaluation I get the "don't call me I'll call you"? Obviously I will need to conduct this meeting at a bar so that if things start going sour I can have a few drinks. After about 2 martinis no matter how the evaluation is going, in my mind it will be AH-mazing. I will think to myself "you are being so funny and I bet you look amazing" never mind that I am really sweating bullets and am barely speaking English.
Frankly I am also bothered by the fact that things are getting so serious without other benefits. Who meets people's friends without first having had sex? I feel cheated. I haven't even got a kiss out of this and I have to meet your friends? Not right. I don't see a hall of mirrors or a Pennsylvania horse, this isn't 18th Century France or Amish country, if I'm meeting friends I better at least get some encouraging kisses beforehand and listening to smooching noises over the phone so does NOT count. Ali G. Bell is giving you some major side eye. On the other hand not knowing anything about this skill set opens up a whole new line of dialogue with the friend:
Me: (uggg look at this mess) Oh hi nice to meet you!
Ms. NYC by way of LA: (gross...check out this trick) Hi!
Me: So I don't want to waste your time, I'll get right to it. On a scale from 1 to 10. 1 being John Wayne Bobbit circa 1994 and 10 being I thought they could only do that in the movies, how's Mr. LA in bed. You're the bff I'm sure you've heard stories
Ms. NYC by way of LA: ...
Oh the other hand this might be a topic best left with Shark Week. Any friend meeting tips from sexy Smack readers would be greatly appreciated!
xoxo
tds
Anywho, Mr. LA told me that his best friend recently moved to NYC and that he really wanted us to meet. Now impressing friends is always one of those tasks that are dreaded relationship obligations bested only by meeting family. Not only is this impressing a friend but a best friend. NOT GOOD. Best friends have the most sway. If my date met my two best friends and either of them had anything negative to say that would be a major disappointment. To make matters worse Mr. LA will obviously not be there to supervise. Usually you can rely on your date to steer your towards pleasant topics and away from negative ones. For example your date can indicate to you jokes about Shark Week will not be well received by their peg legged friend. Also what is the expectation here, will we have to make regular dates with one anohter? Worse yet what if at the end of our friend evaluation I get the "don't call me I'll call you"? Obviously I will need to conduct this meeting at a bar so that if things start going sour I can have a few drinks. After about 2 martinis no matter how the evaluation is going, in my mind it will be AH-mazing. I will think to myself "you are being so funny and I bet you look amazing" never mind that I am really sweating bullets and am barely speaking English.
Frankly I am also bothered by the fact that things are getting so serious without other benefits. Who meets people's friends without first having had sex? I feel cheated. I haven't even got a kiss out of this and I have to meet your friends? Not right. I don't see a hall of mirrors or a Pennsylvania horse, this isn't 18th Century France or Amish country, if I'm meeting friends I better at least get some encouraging kisses beforehand and listening to smooching noises over the phone so does NOT count. Ali G. Bell is giving you some major side eye. On the other hand not knowing anything about this skill set opens up a whole new line of dialogue with the friend:
Me: (uggg look at this mess) Oh hi nice to meet you!
Ms. NYC by way of LA: (gross...check out this trick) Hi!
Me: So I don't want to waste your time, I'll get right to it. On a scale from 1 to 10. 1 being John Wayne Bobbit circa 1994 and 10 being I thought they could only do that in the movies, how's Mr. LA in bed. You're the bff I'm sure you've heard stories
Ms. NYC by way of LA: ...
Oh the other hand this might be a topic best left with Shark Week. Any friend meeting tips from sexy Smack readers would be greatly appreciated!
xoxo
tds
A Ho By Any Other Name
First of I apologize for being MIA for so long, first I was actually in MIA and then I arrived home to find myself staffed on five projects...RUDE. That really cuts into my posting time, luckily because it is Friday and 1/2 the office is phoning it in, I feel that it's safe to take a posting break.
Food and Wine (Read Margarita) Editor Ms. P and Beauty Editor/Law Enforcer Ms. H recently brought this lovely blog http://www.dabagirls.com/ to my attention. I assume that most sexy Smack readers have already read the NY Times article, spent about 25 mins reading the blog itself (during work obvi) and then hating on these hos for getting a book deal. So I won't waste too much time on these "ladies" or as practitioner of senseless acts of beauty Mr. S called them "busted bitches", other than to point out that they really are high class whores (economically speaking only, in terms of actual class these busted bitches have less class than I do, and I'm a used up Jersey hobag). Move over Ashlee Dupree (add on the last e for elegant) there's competition in town (albeit it a different borough). The real trouble is that in an attempt to fight the whore, they tell the NYTimes that "it's all done in tongue and cheek".
Well sorry "ladies" but I don't believe that for one second. What I do believe is that you are a bunch of sorry gold diggers. And look I have nothing against gold diggers, I often wish I was more attractive so that I could work that angle . And frankly, gold diggers DO NOT have it easy; you really have to work for that money. J. Howard Marshall. Case closed. My problem with the "ladies" is two fold. First and foremost gold digging is difficult complaining about having to listen to your depressed boyfriend is pathetic. A true gold digger knows that's just the tip of the iceberg. When you're dressed up in a sexy bear costume dancing on a stripper pole for your 104 year old partner then feel free to start a support group. Listening to someone whine hardly qualifies as difficult gold digging ; call up either Donald or Ivana Trump's current 20-something lover and ask them about needing support (in every sense of the word). Two I am a firm believer in working with what you got. From what I can tell these "ladies" are actually intelligent people. ANS (Poseidon rest her soul) was working with big boobs and a VIP card at the CVS prescription window and not much else. She had two choices Roy Rogers in TX or 104 year old sex. She worked with what she had. These "ladies" need to drop the Scarlett O'Hara act and get a J-O-B. And while we're on the subject, these "ladies" need to get in touch with a mirror. As I said earlier I am not in the gold digging market because what I got is not going to pull in much cash; a reverse self esteem class is in order for the DABA girls. They are not cute enough to be getting by on their looks. They're trying to pull in the Bentleys they are Volkswagen Cabriolets cute. Alright I'm over these brass diggers.
xoxo
tds
Food and Wine (Read Margarita) Editor Ms. P and Beauty Editor/Law Enforcer Ms. H recently brought this lovely blog http://www.dabagirls.com/ to my attention. I assume that most sexy Smack readers have already read the NY Times article, spent about 25 mins reading the blog itself (during work obvi) and then hating on these hos for getting a book deal. So I won't waste too much time on these "ladies" or as practitioner of senseless acts of beauty Mr. S called them "busted bitches", other than to point out that they really are high class whores (economically speaking only, in terms of actual class these busted bitches have less class than I do, and I'm a used up Jersey hobag). Move over Ashlee Dupree (add on the last e for elegant) there's competition in town (albeit it a different borough). The real trouble is that in an attempt to fight the whore, they tell the NYTimes that "it's all done in tongue and cheek".
Well sorry "ladies" but I don't believe that for one second. What I do believe is that you are a bunch of sorry gold diggers. And look I have nothing against gold diggers, I often wish I was more attractive so that I could work that angle . And frankly, gold diggers DO NOT have it easy; you really have to work for that money. J. Howard Marshall. Case closed. My problem with the "ladies" is two fold. First and foremost gold digging is difficult complaining about having to listen to your depressed boyfriend is pathetic. A true gold digger knows that's just the tip of the iceberg. When you're dressed up in a sexy bear costume dancing on a stripper pole for your 104 year old partner then feel free to start a support group. Listening to someone whine hardly qualifies as difficult gold digging ; call up either Donald or Ivana Trump's current 20-something lover and ask them about needing support (in every sense of the word). Two I am a firm believer in working with what you got. From what I can tell these "ladies" are actually intelligent people. ANS (Poseidon rest her soul) was working with big boobs and a VIP card at the CVS prescription window and not much else. She had two choices Roy Rogers in TX or 104 year old sex. She worked with what she had. These "ladies" need to drop the Scarlett O'Hara act and get a J-O-B. And while we're on the subject, these "ladies" need to get in touch with a mirror. As I said earlier I am not in the gold digging market because what I got is not going to pull in much cash; a reverse self esteem class is in order for the DABA girls. They are not cute enough to be getting by on their looks. They're trying to pull in the Bentleys they are Volkswagen Cabriolets cute. Alright I'm over these brass diggers.
xoxo
tds
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
New Section: Start Using It
This section will present readers with great new sayings to spice up their everyday vocabulary.
Today's "start using it" comes from Boozebreath survivor and all American hero, Ms. A: Poseidon's Ghost.
First of all using the names of Greek and Roman gods is always in good taste. Jesus is tired. His name gets flung around all the damned time. Using other religious figures such as Moses or Holy Spirit sounds like you're dubbing over an episode of the Sopranos so that it can be shown on A&E (e.g. "oh Holy Moses you shot me!"). Therefore, let's reach into the way back machine and pull out some gods that haven't had any action for 1000s of years! Hera, Zeus, Apollo and Poseidon are waiting to hear your hopes, prayers and curses for mortal enemies. It's like when you're at Target and you find yourself in the longest line. You see that other cashier and no one is in line, but you can't tell if her light is switched on or off and if you move you're going to lose your spot! Well life's about taking chances and guess what Zeus' light is on and Cashier Jesus has 10 people in front of you and the old lady's got coupons! So come on down to register four.
Sloganaire: Ms. A
Usage: to express shock, dismay
Example: You're not drinking tonight!?!? Poseidon's ghost!
Today's "start using it" comes from Boozebreath survivor and all American hero, Ms. A: Poseidon's Ghost.
First of all using the names of Greek and Roman gods is always in good taste. Jesus is tired. His name gets flung around all the damned time. Using other religious figures such as Moses or Holy Spirit sounds like you're dubbing over an episode of the Sopranos so that it can be shown on A&E (e.g. "oh Holy Moses you shot me!"). Therefore, let's reach into the way back machine and pull out some gods that haven't had any action for 1000s of years! Hera, Zeus, Apollo and Poseidon are waiting to hear your hopes, prayers and curses for mortal enemies. It's like when you're at Target and you find yourself in the longest line. You see that other cashier and no one is in line, but you can't tell if her light is switched on or off and if you move you're going to lose your spot! Well life's about taking chances and guess what Zeus' light is on and Cashier Jesus has 10 people in front of you and the old lady's got coupons! So come on down to register four.
Sloganaire: Ms. A
Usage: to express shock, dismay
Example: You're not drinking tonight!?!? Poseidon's ghost!
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