thisisnotreallyablogforreal

It’s finally happened. The mean streets of New York have finally gotten to me. The cruel, dirty, expensive, cold streets of Manhattan have tainted my optimistic, sunny, and amicable disposition. Fellow readers and stalkers, I have done something that brings me both shame and pleasure: I stole a taxicab from an old lady!I was running late. It was raining. I was tired, wet, cold, and hungry. I had been standing on the corner for 10 minutes, and every yellow vehicle that went by was already filled with paying customers. My umbrella had blown inside out, and the people in the café on the corner laughed at me through the window as they ate their overpriced omelets. Then I saw a yellow light in the distance. I spastically waved my hands, I forcefully thrust my breasts forward hoping their powers would literally stop traffic, and I tried to look like a pathetic, needy woman in need of a lift who happens to be a great tipper. The cab was approaching and as it got closer I cried out in agony, “Noooooo!!” The words, “off duty” seemed to mock me as they passed me by. I thought about taking the subway, but it was too late. I had wasted too much time on the corner and I knew thatI needed to get a cab in the next 5 minutes or I would be very, very late. Warning: the following parts of the this story may not be suitable for young children, or those who get upset or take offense at violence directed at old ladies. So there I was on the South East corner of the street facing west. I spot another yellow light coming towards me across the street and it is on duty. I wave my hands, and the cab stops. I am now sweating profusely as I wait for the cross walk to tell me I can go. I then giggle like a schoolgirl at a dance recital when I see the little white man appear across the way. I run across the street. I have made eye contact with the driver, and he is pulling the cab closer to me so I will not have to step in a puddle. I am so happy. I love New York. I love cab drivers. Heck, I even love the rain. I am about 2 feet away from the vehicle when I start to panic. Someone is coming towards MY cab. My arch nemesis is decked out in a floral dress and a brown rain slicker. Her gray hair is kept dry by a plastic cap that ties around her neck. She firmly holds her walker with both hands. She has spotted my cab and is hobbling towards it at an astonishing pace. Maybe some of you would have let it go; perhaps even opened the door for her and wished her well. I just picked up the pace. There was no way this bitch was getting my cab. Who does she think she is? Does she think she can stand there, not doing anything, and then steal other people’s hard earned taxicabs? I don’t think so! The next 30 seconds were a blur. I do not remember exactly what happened, but I was inside a cab and she was still on the corner. I wanted to look out the window, but I feared I would see a gray, plastic covered head floating in a sea of floral fabric next to an upside walker. I began to feel remorse. “Oh my god, I’ve killed her” I began to reprimand myself with harsh words and light slaps—which, to my surprise, I enjoyed—. I told myself that I would try to be less selfish,that I would volunteer more at shelters, and that tomorrow I would adopt a small baby from an underdeveloped country. I suddenly felt at peace with myself. Maybe when the man on the subway yesterday quoted the bible and told me I was going to burn in hell, he meant that I was going to find g-d in a taxicab. I looked out the window as we pulled away hoping to catch a glimpse of the old woman who changed my life and started me on a spiritual path of good. There she was, all wet, and all bundled up. She looked like an angel. Oh, look! She’s waving at me. She’s waving at me . . .with her middle finger! She’s mouthing something. I can’t quite make it out. “eww. . . purty …. kunt? I think that now I am a true New Yorker. I have had a religious experience in a taxicab, and an old lady called me a dirty cunt.

I had a dream last night that I was back in middle school and that Tom Hanks was my science teacher. I went to middle school in Michigan, yet in my dream I was in NYC, and Tom took our class on afield trip to the Museum of Natural History. Then, all of the sudden, I was on Tom Hanks’ private jet except it wasn’t Tom Hanks it was this dude who resembled Tom Hanks but was really, really hairy and really, really fat and he was like, “Mindy, make out with me!” and I was like, “No, hairy, fat, dude who kind of resembles Tom Hanks” and he was like, “I am Tom Hanks you whore” and I was like, “I hate you Tom Hanks” and he was like, “I’m going to crash the plane” and I was like, “I’m never going to watch another one of your movies again!” and then I made out with him and all the sudden we’re back at my apt except I now have the body of my 13 year old self, which means I am 4 inches shorter, 1 cup size smaller, and have really long armpit hair. So, I’m making out with a fat, hairy Tom Hanks in my apartment when, all of the sudden, Oprah comes in and starts singing “oops I did it again” with complete choreography. Tom is so entertained that he stops trying to unhook my bra, and we both applaud, and suddenly there is a whole studio audience in my room clapping for Oprah, and I’m wearing my bra, and a pair of stretch, tapered blue jeans circa 1992. Then, Oprah comes over to meand whispers in my ear, “I love your scrunchie! Where did t you get it?” and I bring my hand up to my hair and in my hair is a giant, ugly, blue velvet scrunchie! I scream, the studio audience screams, and Tom screams except now it looks more like Tom Hanks back when he did the movie Big and I’m really attracted to him, yet I know in my heart, that I cannot hook up with a man who is merely a subconscious symbol representing my desire to make out with famous, fat, hairy men who pilot planes, especially not while I’m wearing a giant, ugly, blue velvet scrunchie.