I have this blog that I never use. Basically, I’m not a creative guy. I’m not “deep”. I don’t think about “things”. My writing skills aren’t on par with a “5th grader”. But I want this blog to flourish.
I’m not though, sooooooo I’m whoring myself out to you. I only want to write about what you want to read about.
So here’s the deal, leave a comment, or send me an email, or a tweet, or a facebook message, or call me or text me and tell me what you want me to write about, and I’ll write about it!
So I’ve neglected this blog for a long time. Oops. I literally get 5′s of people wanting me to update it more often, but I just haven’t been feeling creative. There have been two people who have been especially persistent about it; lovely kiwi Bebe and the also lovely and always masturbating Marina. These two are always pushing me to update.
So last night I sent a tweet to the both of them:
@bebe33 @Marinaisgo You must each pick one topic for me to blog about. Aaaaand go!
Bebe responded first with
@noarmsjames Something about your experience of NYC
And what Bebe wants, Bebe gets.
April 15th is a very important day, it’s my birthday! It’s also the birthday of the host of a little podcast known as Keith and The Girl. Like 5 people listen to it so you probably haven’t heard of it. So anyways, Keith (the host) is a huge fan of mine; I’m probably his favorite person in the world. So Keith learns about my birthday and decides that they should throw a huge party in my honor in NYC. Being modest I at first declined, but he is very persistent.
Now when I say huge party I mean huge! Two venues, 3 stand-up comics and a band. Somehow Keith got his 5 listeners to get a huge group of people to come to NYC for the party. It was huge!
I’m not going to go through a play-by-play of the whole night, but I’ll share some observations.
I’ve been to NYC many times. It has a special feel to it, one I can’t describe, but it’s unique to NYC; no other city big or small has that feeling.
Being a very old city, NYC is extremely wheelchair inaccessible. Everywhere we went that night had stairs, big flights of them. Thanks to extremely helpful KATG fan (and a good friend to boot) Kale and my best friend Bean we managed to navigate the stairs with minimal difficulty. Usually a non-accessible place doesn’t bug me, but with almost everywhere in the city being that way you can’t help but feel a little unwelcome.
NYC is also the only place I’ve been where people will literally stop in the middle of the sidewalk just to stare at me. They don’t care how blatant they are about it.
Pat Dixon is the worst comedian in the world. FUCK PAT DIXON!
KATG fans on the other hand are amazing. I’ve never felt so welcomed by a community. Everyone I met and talked to were great, and I can’t wait to hang out with everyone again.
All in all it was a great trip and a great way to spend my birthday. I wish I had one really great stand-out story from the trip, but the whole thing was amazing, and it went too fast.
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I truly hate writing shit like this, but holding it all inside has not helped me at all.
I’m depressed, I have been for a while. I just feel like I can’t win. I’m lonely. I haven’t so much as been on a date in nearly 2 years. I go out, I meet girls, we can flirt, but at the end of the day I’m always just “A great guy”. I’m the friend to her, the “brother” she never had, etc… but never more. I’m never the crush (do people still crush?), I’m never the friend with benefits, never the hookup, and certainly never the person she loves. This happens to me all the time, and I’m just so tired of it.
I’ve had two serious relationships in my life. Both girls said they loved me. I truly believe girl #1 loved me. I’m not so sure about girl #2. I met girl # 1 before I moved to AZ. She was very upset when I told her I was moving. I asked her to come with me, but she wasn’t ready to make such a drastic move, and after the move we lost contact. 4 or 5 years ago we spoke for the first time in years and at some point she said something along the lines of “if you asked me now to move out there and marry you I would”. I don’t know how serious she was, if she was at all; but I said nothing. She’s married now and has a child. I’m really happy for her.
Girl #2…that relationship fucked me up and I don’t think we’ll talk again, and I’m very ok with that.
But here I am now…I’m lonely, very lonely. I have family & friends who love and care for me very much, and I appreciate it so much, but the love they give me is not the love that I need.
I think if I just went out and got laid it could alleviate at least some of this, but then we go back to the fact that I’m always just the friend. As much as people will try to tell me differently I know that my disability plays a large role in this. Girls in general can’t see past it. I hate this fact, but I accept it.
I thought I could pull some money together and see a hooker, but that would just make me feel worse in the end because she would just see me as a customer, and I would be out of money that I need. Right now I need more. I just need more than what I have, but I can’t get it. This just makes me more depressed. I just can’t win.
Jessica Alba, Jessica Biel and I had just gotten into the hot tub. Jessica Alba thought it might be a good idea if we had a contest to see who the best kisser was. She leaned in to kiss me, I closed my eyes as we move closer and… BANG BANG BANG! I was jolted awake; it was 9:30 AM and that banging scared the shit out of me, but what was it? BANG BANG BANG again, someone at my door. Then I hear a key slipping in the keyhole and turning. Now I’m freaking out. “Hello James, it’s Paul from maintenance”. I’m no longer freaked out, Paul is a nice guy, and brings any notices from the management into my apartment, instead of just leaving it on the door. He has a woman with him, the new apartment manager. He informs me that on Friday the entire building is being fogged for bugs. “But I don’t have bugs” I told him smugly, obviously I just won this little encounter. Then the new manager stepped in; “yes, but if we fog every apartment except yours then all the bugs will just make their way in here.” Well played manager lady, well played. So I begin to ask some questions such as; how long will I have to be out of the apartment for? Will it affect my electronics? Can you hold off until the afternoon so that my attendant can get me in my chair and outside?
These seem like coherent, intelligent questions to me, but apparently not to manager lady. She asks me if I have a “social worker” she can talk to so that they can explain these things to me. It took everything I had not to spit in her face and call her a dirty fucking whore for that comment. I maintain my composure and explain to her that I will explain everything to my attendant and the apartment will be ready on Friday. They leave, I calmed down and read through the list I was given of things to do to prepare the apartment for fogging. The day progresses, my attendant has arrived, I’m calm everything is good. I have my daily shower, I’m in my bedroom, not dressed yet, hair still wet, fucking sexy as hell. My attendant is getting my clothes when BANG BANG BANG at the door again. What the fuck? My attendant goes to the door and answers. It’s Paul again. I don’t go out there because I’m naked but I hear everything. Manager lady has sent Paul to ask my attendant how to get in touch with my social worker, so that they can make sure I understand what’s going on. Are you fucking kidding me? I was fuming, I almost rolled out there butt ass naked to tell this guy what is up. My attendant attempts to explain that I am competent, and that there is no social worker, or anyone else. I handle my own affairs. So he says okay. I was furious for the rest of the day and into the night. If I had gone down there right then, I would probably have been evicted for calling her a cunt and spitting in her face. Today my other attendant was here, she’s a very timid, soft-spoken woman. She spent a good part of the day getting the apartment ready for tomorrow’s fogging. At one point she went to go check my mail, which happens to be right next to the manager’s office. Manager lady approaches her and asks again for my social worker. I told earlier in the day what happened the day before and how angry it made me, she completely understood. So my timid attendant explains to manager lady how angry I was about this, that there is nothing wrong with my mind, and that it is rude for her to assume that because I have a physical disability, I also have a mental disability, and that she needs to stop stereotyping me. Manager lady says that she senses I was angry and she feels bad about that. Before the conversation ends though, she asks one more time if there’s someone she can call to make sure that I understand what is going on… My attendant, is now just as angry as I am, and is seriously wondering if perhaps manager lady needs a social worker of her own.
The stereotype of every disabled person having a mental disability as well has always bothered me. It’s silly, old world thinking, and if you believe it then you are just an ignorant fuck, and you deserve to be ass raped by a tiger.
Usually when confronted with someone who assumes that I’m a retard, I just set them straight and can quickly laugh it off. This time though, being insulted like that in my own home has really angered me, and beyond anger it hurt me. I don’t know why I’m so much more bothered by this incident, but I am. I don’t know how I’ll deal with this lady the next time I see her; I can’t just put on a fake smile and pretend everything is okay, and I can’t let my anger take control because if I do and I cross the line I could be evicted. Normally, finding the middle ground is easy for me but not this time. Any suggestions?
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I’m mentally constipated. I haven’t been able to think of anything to write since Thanksgiving. Even now, as I write this I’m having trouble. I have no idea what to write. Since nothing is going on in my life right now worth noting, I figured I’d entertain you all with a few stories of little NoArmsJames. Whenever I’m with my mother she loves telling stories about my childhood, and since Christmas just passed and I was with her they’re fresh in my memory.
Having no arms or legs means that I have a smaller body and can fit into smaller places. When I was very young, maybe two or three I used to love hiding and playing in the kitchen cabinets. Apparently one day while I was playing in there I thought it would be a good idea to throw all my mother’s Tupperware out of the cabinet. I don’t know why, I guess I wanted more room. So I grabbed all the Tupperware, one piece at a time and literally threw each piece out into the kitchen with my little foot. When I came out my mother told me now I had to put all the Tupperware away again. Apparently I looked right at her and said “but mommy, I don’t have any arms or legs” she countered with something to the effect that, if I was able to throw everything out of the cabinet, then I was quite capable of putting everything back in. I refused, and she took one of my favorite toys away for me. I never saw that toy again. My mother has no pity for the disabled.
When I was about a year and a half old my parents had another child, Stephen. Unfortunately Stephen had severe health problems and only lived about a month. Even though I had no brother that I could remember, I had my little cousin Craig. Craig was like my brother, and just like a little brother would do whatever I said.
So one day when I was about five, while Craig and his mother were visiting we got into a little mischief. Craig and I were upstairs in my bedroom, my mother and his were downstairs doing whatever it is mother do when they’re together. So Craig and I went exploring my mother’s bedroom and bathroom. We found where she kept the perfume and brought a bottle back to my room. We then proceeded to dump the entire bottle all over my room. My mother, becoming uneasy by how quiet we were being made her way upstairs to check on us. As she tells it, she knew it was bad about halfway up the stairs as the smell hit her. I don’t remember the conversation that took place, but I do remember knowing that I was in a lot of trouble because she didn’t yell. Even at five I could sense this was some serious shit I was in. I can still remember looking at her, seeing her outwardly calm demeanor, which I had never seen after doing something bad. I remember that sense of dread… I was fucked. I don’t remember what my punishment was, but to this day I still get uneasy when I think about that calm anger.
Throughout my childhood, I got spanked maybe three times. I only remember once, right after I called my father a mean old bastard.
I don’t remember this next story at all, so I must’ve been very young. I was with my mother at the grocery store and saw some little treat or something that I wanted, so she got it for me. A little while later I saw another treat that I wanted and asked for that as well. She told me that we didn’t have enough money for two treats and I could only have one. I protested just a little bit, and she told me sharply no, apparently I put my head down, closed my eyes and said “please don’t hit me”. My mother says that everyone around us had a mortified look on their face, wondering how she could hit this poor defenseless handicapped child. The funniest part about this story is, that she’s pretty sure that I had never even been spanked at this point in my life. I would go back in time just to see the look on the people’s faces. Man I ruled.
Those are the three stories she told me this Christmas, I’ll get more the next time I see her.
In the meantime I’ll try to find more things to write about. Maybe she sent me pictures of your tits, it would get my creative juices flowing… Just a thought.
I don’t really like Thanksgiving. I’m not a big turkey fan, and it’s just too close to Christmas. We don’t need two major holidays in one month. I try to make the most of it though, and be a team player since I know lots of people do like Thanksgiving.
This Thanksgiving like most, I spent with my mother. My mother lives in the same city as me, and we live pretty close to each other. Even though we live so close, I usually go stay with her for a night or two on holidays that we’re in the same city for. This Thanksgiving was no different. It’s usually just me, her roommate, and her. This year however, were joined by my grandmother from New York, and her sister, my second aunt. I love them all, and I usually like spending time with them. The only thing I don’t like about it is that when I’m at her house, I have no access to a computer, Internet, or TV shows that I want to watch. I feel cut off from my world. It usually doesn’t bother me that much because I enjoy the time I’m spending with my family and my favorite bar is right down the street from her house.
This year was a little different…
As usual, I left my apartment in the afternoon the day before Thanksgiving and hopped a bus to get to her side of town. It had been raining on and off all day but thankfully stopped long enough for me to get there. As soon as I arrived I could feel the tension in the air, but everyone had their happy face on so I tried to ignore it. I said my hellos, got my obligatory hugs and kisses from grandma and settled in, still not knowing where the tension was coming from. I figured it out very quickly though. Every time I mother’s roommate was out of earshot, my grandmother started badmouthing her. I found her criticisms to be quite silly; for instance, she was upset the roommate had decided to bake her delicious homemade bread at around 4 PM, as this was supposedly dinnertime (we eat much later). This went on all evening, friendly in front of her, talking shit when she walked away. I ignored it, ate some dinner, and headed out my favorite bar. I haven’t been there in quite some time, and ran into quite a few people I haven’t seen in a while. It was great. I haven’t had alcohol in months, so I only had 4 pints but was quite drunk by the time I left. I got back to my mother’s place at about 1 AM and she was still awake which is very rare for her. So we sat outside and talked for a little while. She told me what I had already known, my grandmother hates her roommate. But there was more. Apparently my grandmother had been quite negative the entire trip (she’s already been in town for almost a month). She was talking shit about everyone, getting in the way, making messes (she somehow broke my mother’s coffeepot while I was there) etc. and she was driving my mother crazy. There was nothing I could do, so I laid my drunk ass down and went to sleep, knowing that tomorrow I would not be going to the bar and would have to deal with all this sober.
I woke up about 10:30 AM Thanksgiving day. Thankfully I was not hung over, and with the sweet smell of turkey roasting in the oven I thought maybe it would be a better day. Seriously, how can you be in a bad mood with all that good smelling food in the air? That tension was still in the air though, and did not get any better throughout the day. Thanksgiving dinner came and went without any real issues, it was quite delicious. My mother hasn’t done a traditional Thanksgiving dinner in a while since she and I and her roommate are not huge fans of turkey, but as I said it was quite good. After dinner my mother informed me that she was going to be driving my aunt home, I guess she had enough as well. My mother asked her roommate to go with her to help her stay awake on the way home. When my grandmother found this out she was infuriated and talked shit the entire time they were gone. As soon as my aunt got dropped off, she called my grandmother, and my grandmother bitched for about half an hour until my mother got home. When she got home my grandmother just exploded on them. She was letting obscenities fly, called the roommate a bitch and told my mother she was going to be going home early. My mother tried to defend herself but looked pretty stunned and started crying after a minute. This broke my heart; she had worked so hard to have a good Thanksgiving dinner with her mother and instead got stress and tears. She recovered pretty quickly and seemed fine for the rest of the night but didn’t talk about the fight with me at all. I have to give her roommate credit, because she could’ve just ignored my grandmother for the rest of the trip, or just in civil to her when necessary but she still tried to make conversation was quite friendly with her, which is more than I would have done in her position.
Today (Friday) was calmer, but that tension still hung in the air. I was grateful to come home. After I got home, mother and her mother had to stop by and drop off a few things that I couldn’t carry with me on my wheelchair and my grandmother was still making snide remarks under breath. Apparently she’s going to return the rental car she paid for tomorrow, and use that money to buy an early plane ticket home. I know it’s tough for my mom to see the trip and this way, but I have no doubt she’s quite relieved. She’s had enough; you could see it in her eyes and her face, and you could hear in her voice. Before I left she asked me if I would be joining her for Christmas, and made it quite clear that grandmother would not be there
On Thanksgiving three years ago I made my mother cry and I still feel terrible about it to this day. Although I was quite sad to see her crying last night, the selfish part of me thinks “at least it wasn’t me this time”… I’m a good son
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