Resting On His (Spicy) Laurels

Spotted in Manhattan, a gyro cart that features a laminated, horribly Photoshopped photo of the proprietor next to Bobby Flay.

"Excellent LAMB!! Rahman"

Meanwhile, I can't order one of these excellent lamb gyros because Rahman's asleep. HELLO?!

I Promise Not Every Entry Will Be About Babies From Now On, But Allow Me This One

Now, since having the baby a few weeks ago, the nursery has been filled with Bumbos, Boppies, Nuks, and other baby equipment you've never heard of. But there's one item that still kind of baffles the shit out of me. This hanging diaper holder.


What the cock? It holds your diapers and hangs on a closet doorknob out of your way, because apparently diapers stacked on a dresser is unsightly? Or are diapers considered "clothing," and that's why it holds them there? What if your changing table isn't near the closet or a doorknob? Fuck, Jamal.


Is it easy? Not really. Because you have to open it like a vagina to grab a diaper and pull it out sideways, and I KNOW you are sick of having just done that action. Also, if the thing is filled with too many diapers, you can't grab any of them easily. It's a design student project which I would grade a solid D. Somebody saw an adult's garment bag and decided to make a small inconvenient girlie one that holds shitbags.


Oh, and the white frilly ruffles. Fuck them, too. What an embarrassment.

Salad Problems.

I go to this place on 42nd St. and 3rd Avenue for salads. It's a good place because they mix it in for you then toss it with whatever dressing you want. But the last few times I've gone over there, the dressing guy has called me "Ma'am." Yeah.


I thought at first that maybe he's calling me "Man," but he's called other men in line "Sir." And I've heard him use "Ma'am" for all the women. So what the fuck, dude? Do I really look like a woman?


After like the third time he called me that, I started speaking really loudly in a manly voice to the ingredients guy (who calls me "Sir") so dressing guy could pick up on it. I'd say things like "I WANT CUCUMBERS, BLUE CHEESE, AND BEAN SPROUTS," in the deepest voice I could muster. And that still didn't work. I still got "Ma'am" from dressing guy.

So I took a photo of myself at that place to see what dressing guy sees. Turns out, I do look like an Asian lesbian in the right light. Or maybe all the time. Or maybe dressing guy thinks I'm a woman because I've been loading up on salads so much, and my choice of ingredients emphasizes my owning a vagina. Whatever.


If you or some dude you know keeps getting mistaken for a lesbian, maybe it's time you took a good look at yourself and changed your haircut or stopped going to lesbian marches with your arm around your girlfriend. Or maybe you could parlay that mistaken identity into a wacky comedy starring Kal Penn and Margaret Cho.