Archive | 2:25 am

Random Lafayette HS notes.

15 Nov

from June 28, 2008

LHS this and that, random stuff, odd stuff, stuff that didn’t go anywhere else.

In no particular order, some unblogged oddities from the last few days at Lafayette.

REGENTS WEEK  

Where to begin? I’ll start with “A” for “Argano. Maria has a secret dream to be a backup dancer. You know, like a Supreme, or a Ronnette, or maybe one of the hoes thrusting her vagina around behind 50 Cent in any of his videos. Now most people would like to be in the spotlight. Not her. She wants to be one of the three people in the little spotlight behind the big spotlight. You know the song Midnight Train to Georgia by Gladys Knight? Well, Gladys would sing the line leavin’ on the midnight train, and behind her the Pips would sing woo woo! Maria would be behind them pulling an imaginary train whistle. And she demonstrated it for us. I must admit she was pretty good. And at some point, somehow, for some reason, she thrust her boobs toward Liz, who doesn’t swing that way (despite the fact that the name Liz Bommarito could easily turn into the nickname Lizbo. NOTE- if that name sticks, I am so dead.) Liz then commented something about her boobs being bigger than Maria’s, and me, sitting a few scant inches away from Liz and just a couple of feet from Argano’s thrust, came to a couple, or should I say pair, of conclusions that I will not share here. Suffice it to say that we didn’t mark many exams that day.

Janice fell in love with Liz’s stapler, I was often found in conversation with a Happy Meal toy, and Jane struggled to prove that she did not have a sheltered life by cursing more than she usually does, which was none.

To my credit I did not flip out this time, which was the highlight of the January week when I screamed at Maria. This week I sang, a lot, to Liz’s iTunes. It was all so surreal, especially when the Italian songs came on. Other than Lazy Mary by Lou Monte I was stumped.

GRADUATION  

Yafo again asked me to lunch. Since she graduated it is no longer unethical for me to go to lunch with her, just creepy.

For some of you this will be the first time you hear this but it is very very true. Debbie Y was there (Don’t know her? Don’t worry. Know a middle aged woman from Bensonhurst? That’s her.) She wore a t-shirt to help set up but wanted to change her top for the ceremony. The bathroom was too far away for her so she decided that she’d change her top in a little dark alcove off to the left of the screen. I assumed she’d walk a bit down the short stairs and into the darkness, away from the door. I was wrong. She stood six inches into the doorway and in full view of a half-dozen kids, and even worse, me, took off her top, stood there in her bra, and changed tops.

Here’s a comparison. On the way home (on “the party bus”) we drove through Times Square and saw the Naked Cowgirl. Or more accurately, the Nearly Naked but for a Thong and Bra Elderly Cowwoman. I will not describe how she looked because I already feel the bile rising in my throat. Debbie Y did not make me vomit, but she did make me want to look away fast.

I sang more songs on the bus. If Liz and I ever start a Sonny and Cher act we will get Maria to back us up.

RANDOM  

I inadvertently aided and abetted a theft and then stole back the stolen goods.

AToRloff showed up wherever there was free food.

Janice turned out to be as bad as we are, and I’m sorry for her.

We bought Jane flowers and she vanished without a trace two seconds before we were to give them to her.

I cleaned my car about a week and a half ago specifically because I was going to give Liz a lift and then had to keep it clean for days until she actually got in it.

I said goodbye to various people and got hugs from people I knew and well wishes from friends, and a big warm “OK” from Kathy, that old softy.

Summer did not come fast enough.

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More Dirty Laundry

15 Nov

from June 25, 2008

After a long day at work (where I recalled my days unloading trucks at Kids-R-Us by moving heavy boxes) I had some errands to run. First, I drove out to Valley Stream to pick up a new sport coat and slacks at Men’s Wearhouse. Then I came back to Brooklyn to do my laundry. If somehow my car disappeared I would have lost a significant portion of my wardrobe and would have had to go the LHS graduation tomorrow in my sweat pants and Superman T-shirt. And say, now that I think about it, that’s not such a bad idea, maybe………… nah.

The laundromat is a place that, you would think, wouldn’t be worthy of a blog. And usually you’d be right. But you all read my last blog about my haircuts and if I’ll write about that then you know I’ll write about anything, no matter how stupid, boring, or interesting only to me. (Sorry, Liz and Michelle.)

But occasionally the laundromat can be interesting. There was that time on The Brady Bunch when Bobby got his pants filthy rescuing a cat from a condemned house. He put an entre box of soap in the washing machine. It overflowed and Alice nearly drowned, until Marsha gave her mouth to mouth. For years the networks refused to air that part, fearing it came just a smidge too close to a lesbian kiss. Sometimes it pops up late at night on Cinemax. Did The Partridge Family do a laundry episode? I’ll bet it involved Ruben Kincaid and Danny.

I’ve written about my past laundry escapades. There was the time I hit on (or was hit on by- I still am not sure what I said) by an old, wrinkly, tattooed lady. There was the very memorable time when, simply by answering Jeopardy! questions, I was nearly attacked by a guy dressed all in red who was just jealous that I was so much more brilliant than he is. But it was obvious even if I never opened my mouth- he was dressed, head to toe, in red, from red hat to red sneakers, with red red red in between. No one EVER looks good that way, unless you’re Satan. You’ve got to admit, love him or hate him, Satan has style. (And now I’ll sit back and wait for the comments.)

Then there was today.

Everyone, I would like you ask yourself this question: “Self? Hello, are you listening? Pay attention, please. Who is the least likely person to walk into the laundromat while Barry is doing his laundry?” (If you got my 7:06 text message you already know. But play along anyway. And also ignore all the sentences I am starting with conjunctions.)

Was it:
Aaron Carter, one-time teen heartthrob and current MIA?
Former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher?
Ruben Studdard, with mustard stains on his pants?
The Iron Sheik, 1970s WWF champion?

No, it was none of those.

Was it:
Frank Sinatra Junior?
Kathy Kong?
Abraham Lincoln?
Marc’s daughter Liana?

No.

Was it: (Is this annoying? I like it. It pads the blog.)
Edward D. Wood Junior?
All the original members of The Temptations?
Fictional character Charlie Gordon?
Adolph Hitler?

Yes.

It was Hitler.

I was folding my laundry, fresh from the dryer, when I looked up and, standing less than twelve feet away, close enough to give me the crawling heebie-jeebies, was JOLANTA ROHLOFF.

You may have heard of her.

For those of you who do not know her, I envy you. She is the person whom I hold (along with Rick Mangone) personally responsible for the destruction of Lafayette High School. And since I was just excessed from that school, well, let’s just say that Jolanta was not a person whom I particularly want to see. (And before I go on, I would like to apologize to Michelle for passing up this opportunity to stuff her head in the spin cycle. I know that’s what you would have done.)

I look up and see her standing at the machine that dispenses those debit-style laundry cards. Right away I knew she was in trouble- the machine only displays words in English, not semi-illiterate Polish. She looked confused, and her face was not at all helped by her hairstyle, which is still the same one you saw in that great picture of her from the newspaper when the students staged a walkout, a sort-of semi Moe Howard cut.

After the initial shock wore off, I realized that she had glanced over at me a couple of times. Perhaps she recognized a former “titcher” but was too embarrassed to say hi. Maybe she realized that she destroyed the damn school and maybe I would not have much to say to her. Maybe she didn’t know who I was and thought maybe I was her old next-door neighbor from Warsaw. Or maybe she didn’t say anything to me because I was busy snubbing her.

So began a few minutes where I pretend that I didn’t see her, despite her being almost right across from me, and her staring at me, only to quickly turn away when I looked at her.

It was odd.

(BTW- she had a small tote bag of laundry, which she put in a small machine and filled with All. I didn’t see what she was washing, but I think I maybe saw a swastika in the rinse cycle.)

She must have grown uncomfortable because she went to the bathroom and stayed there for, I am not kidding, almost 20 minutes. And when she came out she sat in the front seat of her car with her head down. Now I am not implying that she was hiding from me- I am outright stating that she was hiding from me. (This is MY neighborhood, bitch- GET OUT.)

Eventually her machine ended and she came in, about the time I was done folding. And a good thing too, as there is something unwholesome about the thought of Jolanta staring at my underwear.

Well, she put her foul things in the dryer and I started pushing my basket out to my car, and she almost walked right in front of me (and I would have knocked her over, have no doubt) until she remembered that she was not supposed to see me and turned around and pretended that she dropped something. Which she had not.

I have now seen her at my dry cleaner, at my local Rite Aid, and now at my laundromat. If I see her buying a slice at Mike’s I’ll have to move.

Well, that’s about it. The whole thing lasted only around half an hour, but those few minutes lasted as long as Monday night’s Mets-Mariners game, which I was at and trust me, seven innings (that’s when I left) lasted a freakin’ eternity.

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