Hi, everyone. I am a semi-established writer of fiction and non-fiction. I live in Rockland County, NY, where I ply my trade and occasionally get paid for it. You can see my full website, with links to published work and my blog, at www.casanders.net
I went on a date with a girl that I had been talking to online. We met at an Italian resturant named Capri. As I pulled up in my car, I saw a girl leaning against a pillar, smoking a cigarette. I though Hey, if this date doesn’t work out, I can go hit on her.
It turned out that she was my date. We went inside. I ordered chicken marsala, she ordered chicken francaise. I’m not sure, but that may have triggered the infamous “French Style” story (I might have saved that for another date. I hope so, that is not a first date story).
I will never, ever, share the “french style” story on this blog. You’ll just have to ask me in person . . . if you dare
Afterwards, we went to get Starbucks because neither of us wanted the date to end. The barrister had a giant beard, and I complimented him on it. I called him my “brother of the beard.” I was trying to impress her by being all friendly and social (which I am decidedly not)
Not quite this epic
We talked for a long time, and when the date was over, I gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
the pasta was delicious, by the way
It was the best date that I had ever gone on where I didn’t get laid.
One year later, Valerie and I are still together. I can’t believe that she puts up with me; lord knows I wouldn’t.
Baby, I love you so much that it makes me nauseous. Here’s to forever!
Last year, me and Val took a class on humor writing at the Hudson Valley Writer’s Center. I had no intention of ever doing stand up (I would literally pee myself on stage, which would actually be hilarious and probably make me a star.) but one of the assignments was to write a comedy routine.
So I did it, and I thought nothing of it until I found my notebook from the class. I thought “what the hell, I’ve got nothing else to write about today, let me humiliate myself online with my hack comedy. Waka waka, muthafukka!”
Put some pants on, goddammit!!
So the world is going to shit, but I’ve got the cure for it . . . Cannibalism. What better way to solve the hunger problem than to eat the fat bastards that are causing it?
The average American could feed a villiage. Me? I can feed a city.
You know where that would go over great? New York. It doesn’t matter what kind of meat it is, if you sell it from a cart, we’ll eat it.
Seriously, I think that “schwarma” is Arab for “subway rat.”
I’m from NYC, and I love it. It’s the only place where you know your neighborhood by the unique scent of its homeless pee.
*sniff* ahh, that’s “Rusty Shiv Tony,” I must be in Fort Greene.
New Yorkers have a reputation for being rude. We’re not rude, you’re in the way.
I’m a pretty nice guy, but if you stop in front of me to look at the pretty buildings, I will dropkick your ass into oncoming traffic
I hate reality TV. I get all the reality I need from realy life.
I never even knew what a kardashian was until last year. Now my penis runs their fan club
It has a “Kourtney and Scott 4eva” tatoo down the shaft.
I used to love Survivor, but they need to up the tension. How about a special “Hunger Games” edition?
The winner gets to eat the loser. Cannibalism wins again!!
So yeah, that happened. I also wrote a short story for the class called “The Kid and the Casserole,” but I am having a lot of trouble selling it. And let’s face it, a story doesn’t exist until an editor arbitrarily chooses it and pays you nothing for it.
Remember, you can check out some of my short stories and articles right here. Make it so.
I decided that I will go back to keeping a journal with me to write down my random thoughts. I have done this in the past and it helped me come up with all sorts of writing ideas. Mostly it is crap, but there are a few gems in there. I thought that I might share some of my favorites with you.
3:50 pm — I like Chock Full of Nuts. My roommate likes Folgers. Now we must Kung Fu fight.
3:55 pm — Bacon has been co-opted by hipsters. How can you like pig meat and Whole Foods at the same time?
9AM — I am eating slices of corned beef for breakfast and nothing else. I am such a healthy dude.
2:30 — I walked into the gas station and lost my underwear. I wore an old pair with the elastic stretched out. With each step, i felt the fabric inching downward. By the time I got back home, it was hanging from the crotch of my shorts for dear life. Have you ever had a conversation while losing your pants . . . I mean, without alcohol?
1PM — I really need to get some work done. Stupid internet.
9:30 AM — I had a dream last night where Taco Bell banned me from sitting in one of their seats. There are some dreams that only fat people have.
6PM — That first bite of pizza melted my face like the Nazis from Raiders of the Lost Ark.
and from today, 6PM — Feeling lazy. have to pee. Considering pissing myself.
I am suffering from a bad case of Writer’s Angst. This is the feeling of depression and anxiety that only an arrogant douchebag that thinks that anything that he creates is worthwhile and can somehow contribute to society can have. I am an arrogant douchebag. I am also full of self-loathing. I suppose it is these contradictions that make me a writer (see? it’s comments like this that makes me a douchebag!).
So the reason I am full of angst right now is because I ended the year:
with stories left unsold (and by ‘unsold’ I mean ‘given to magazines for free because it is such a ridiculous buyer’s market that writer’s are grateful just to see their work in print)
by finishing up an unsellable story (a novellette! who buys novellettes?) and having too many ideas for projects to start next
realizing that I am getting old and I am still relatively unknown, and that I will probably die unknown, with all my dreams unfufilled. The downside of having dreams is that they almost never come true.
Also, my girlfriend has moved away to go back to school, and I miss her very much.
Re: my New Year’s Eve party: 3 people came, they left by 11pm. Another rager. I swear that I am fun. Fun fun fucking fun!
This has been another whiny post. I promise that my next two will be funny, even if I have to quote people funnier than me.
I am currently waiting for guests to get here for my big giant hugemoungous NYE party, that really isnt that hugemoungous. I am expecting 6 people, including myself, but that is about the maximum capacity of my tiny studio apartment.
I love to entertain, and I spent far more money getting ready for this than I should’ve. I’m a writer, which means that I am painfully poor (more writer’s angst in a later post). I wanted one of those giant subs, so I ordered one.
Myyyyy hero *swoon*
It came at 1pm.
That means that I had to find a way to fit 4 feet of American Hero (half without cheese) into my fridge to keep it fresh until guests get here. That’s a lot of sub for 6 people . . . or not enough.
I also put out a dish of my precious Starbursts (they are a contradiction, just like me). I hope that somebody brings booze. I only have one bottle of Bacardi.
I really love entertaining, but I always expect that something will go wrong. Mostly, I’m afraid that no one will show. This comes from experiences in my childhood. I was unpopular and only a few kids would come to my birthday parties, even if they were at someplace fun, like at a bowling alley or an arcade.
12 year olds all bowl with blue balls . . .
the kicker was that none of my school friends came to my bar mitzvah. 3 Friends came, and I knew them from outside of school. Instead, of all my “friends” went to another kid’s party because they liked him better. A couple did come to the service, and for that, I am grateful, but there is nothing like being the center of a party where the only people there are relatives that you hardly know.
When I was a teen, i always tried to have people over at my place and I would supply the beer or weed. I wanted them to like me. I think that they did, but they certainly liked my beer. The fact that none of them talk to me anymore is probably for the best. Sure, people drift away, but that little kid standing alone at his bar mitzvah still feels like he’s up there on stage alone, in an awful brown suit, with terrible hair that my mom cut and big ugly glasses.
This turned into a very whiny post. I am sorry for that. I will end with 5 things I like about throwing parties:
5 — I don’t have to drive home — I can get as drunk as I want and don’t have to drive drunk. (BTW: AAA will drive you home for free tonight)
4 — No passing out on a strange couch — There is always the danger of waking up with a penis drawn on your forehead. Once I woke up covered in vomit and girlfriend (Not the current one)
3 — People bring you beer — alcohol delivery system 🙂 Remember, in fiction, all writers, priests, and wizards are alcohol dependent
2 — The antici . . . pation — I love the feeling of right now, waiting for people to show. It’s all very exciting
1 — Validation — I am weak and I need to believe that people love me. More whininess. I am such a douche.
Oy vey! I went to Valerie’s mom’s place for Christian Christmas (as opposed to Jewish Christmas). So much food! So many presents! I’m in shock.
This is only the second time that I have celebrated Christmas with real live Christians. I have to admit, it is a fun holiday. The traditions, the egg nogg . . . ohhhh the egg nogg. Yesterday I was craving egg nogg so bad that I went out in the snow storm to get some.
Egg Nogg — what makes family bearable
I was shocked at the huge number of presents that I got. Stocking stuffers are a concept that doesn’t exist in Hannukah. They’re awesome, because you have more things to open up, and the surprise of unwrapping is the best part of any present.
This is my haul:
A box of Spree
2 bags of Skittles
a Jets scarf
a Jets blanket (already draped over my couch)
The Muppets Take Manhattan DVD (My woman knows me so well)
Kermit’s Swamp Years DVD (more muppets!)
Jay and Silent Bob action figures
I am such a man-child.
So what I have to say is: If Christians want to convert people from other religions, just expose us to Christmas . . . I ate ham! A big baked ham, and while I never kept kosher as a kid, we never had baked ham for dinner either. A couple of egg noggs and some “A Christmas Story” and you can convert the Ayotolla.
Have I mentioned that my girlfriend has a novel out? It’s called “The Epic Love Story of Doug and Stephen,” and it is hilarious. The greatest gay romantic stoner comedy ever (but it’s funny for straight people too). You can buy it here for only 99 cents!
I haven’t updated in a while, because I have been so stunned by the massacre in Sandy Hook (about an hour’s drive from here) that I have been afraid that if I posted, it would just turn into a massive butt ripping of the NRA and their culture of stonewalling gun regulation laws while mass shootings increase (Aurora happened only 6 months ago).
I don’t want to talk about that. I want to talk about Jewish Christmas (no, not Hannukah).
My family usually could not get together for Hannukah. Everyone had to work or go to school, and to tell the truth, Hannukah isn’t that important a holiday. But we always got together for Christmas.
Jewish Christmas!!!
We did what the goyim did, exchanged our Hannukah presents, got drunk, you know, the important stuff. It’s a cliche, but we ordered Chinese food, and it was always extra delicious. In fact, I am thinking of ordering Chinese food right now.
It always seemed strange that the Christians effectively got to tell us when and where we could celebrate our holiday, but it’s a small price to pay considering that 70 years ago we were almost exterminated. I should be grateful that I’m not getting Zyklon-B in my stocking.
That’s in bad taste. I apologize in advance.
But anyway, I will now bless you with my Top Five Favorite Things About Jewish Christmas
5. Chinese Food — Like I mentioned above, chinese food is extra delicious on Christmas. But it’s also the company. Usually, when I eat chinese, I am sitting in my underwear and watching the Jets lose. It’s nice to sit around the table with my family and pass around the dishes, family style. As long as I get an egg roll.
4. Booze — My parents were never fond of me drinking(my mom didn’t drink, and my dad does rarely), but on holidays, I get a pass. My aunt always had a couple of bottles of wine at her house, and I got to be drunk in front of Gramma.
3. Obscure Christmas Music — popular Christmas music is boring, but there are some great Christmas songs out there. Like this one.
and this one:
2. The End of Christmas Music — By the time it’s Christmas, I’m done. No more Noels, no more Silent Nights.
and the number 1 reason . . .
1. My Family — Sometimes I can’t stand them, but now that I am losing them, I miss and appreciate them more. I wish I had the chance to spend 20 more Jewish Christmases with my Mom. Merry Jewish Christmas in Heaven, Mom. I miss you so much.
I went to get a haircut today, as I was starting to look like a sheepdog. The woman that cut my hair was very nice and very pretty. As she was cutting my hair, I became intensely aware of how intimate the barber/barbee relationship really is.
The barber is not only right in your face, she is on it. How many people do you allow to touch your head, not to mention that she has sharp scissors while doing so. This woman was running her fingers through my hair, pushing my head up and down . . . who the hell does that?
Perhaps the most awkward part is that for at least half of the haircut, the barber’s breasts are right in your face. I–as I’m sure you can tell–am a gentleman, and I do my best to look away, lest the kind lady think that I am some leering pervert. But it’s hard, people. It’s hard (no pun intended).
I don’t think that women truly understand the power that breasts have over us men. There is a small gap of influence–from age 2 to age 11 or so–where breasts have no effect on us. For the rest of our lives, they are the Sun that our world orbits around. They either mean food, or they mean sex. As many a hack comedian will tell you, all men need to survive is food and sex. That’s all we want. to tell the truth, it’s pretty damn accurate.
Of course I like other things. I like writing, I like sports. I like the comforter when it’s fresh from the dryer. I like chinese buffets. But none of these things have such a grip on me as food and sex.
I don’t think that this makes me misogynistic, I certainly have never seen myself as so. It’s just a fact of life, and this is why I avoid getting haircuts.
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