Social Tip #219 - Won't You KGB My Neighbor?

So I'm going up the stairs and my angry Russian neighbor lunges out and screams "You walk like a pedophile!"

And I'm like, "What the fuck does that mean?"

I went around asking anyone who might know Russian about it, "Walking like a pedophile, is that like a thing you say? Does it mean anything?"

Because, to me, I would think a pedophile walks really quietly to not get caught.

It turned out nobody had ever heard of the phrase, so all I can think is that maybe my angry neighbor is angry because he was molested by somoene who wore high-heeled boots.

Social Tip #182 - Turn That Frown Upside-Down

On "Sex Rehab with Dr. Drew" the doctor told this girl that she smiled all the time because she didn't want to show others how hurt she was on the inside, so now I try not to smile because I don't want people thinking I'm molested.

Social Tip #171 - No Moleste

Did you hear about that drive-by molestation? It was really touch and go there.

Social Tip #154 - Learn Quantum Theory (Part Two)

I don't understand why the Catholic Church isn't more progressive about science. According to the laws of quantum physics, atoms never actually touch. It's the perfect defense:

"I never even touched that little boy."

Social Tip #144 - Get Out Of My Space

Now that Facebook has rendered it obsolete, I am disgusted by Myspace. The top friends, the sparkly sticker comments, the shitty bands. Whenever I go back to check up on my old Myspace account, I feel like I am being molested by a former version of myself.

Social Tip #106 - YOU CAN'T HAVE "JEW" WITHOUT "EW"

A few years ago I was approached by a homeless-scented man with long, curly sideburns and a pilgrim's hat as I was walking down St. Marks. A Hasidic Jew.

"Kosher food?" he asked me.

"What?" Gross.

"You are a Jew?"

"No. I'm not," I said. I am, but only culturally. I had a bat-mitzvah but only because my parents made me. I never believed.

"Yes, Jew," the Hasid said, convinced. "Please," he begged, and wiggled his index finger towards himself and leaning in, indicating that he needed to tell me a secret. I leaned in to hear it. He opened his mouth to say "Kosher food," and then grabbed me by the back of the head and forced my mouth onto his. His starchy beard hairs mashed against my face and filled my nose with sebum and tooth rot, the scent of asceticism smelling unsurprisingly like a retirement home.

"Jesus, what are you doing?" I screamed.

"Where is kosher food?" he asked, as though he hadn't just violated my body and his religion. Hasidic men aren't even allowed to shake hands with a woman, but this one was attacking me in full view on the street. The only secret he had to tell me was that he was a pervert; the horrifying result of internal religious oppression. He came toward me again.

"Get away from me," I screamed as I ran into the street, "I am not a Jew!"

That's what happens when you turn your back on god, he sends his most devout to molest you.

Social Tip #78 - SEXUAL MOLESTATION

When I was young I heard about how some adults had to go the therapy because they had repressed memories of being sexually molested as children. I spent the rest of my childhood paying close attention to every encounter to make sure that I would repress nothing.

When I look back on my childhood I have no memory of being molested. I can't believe I missed it.

S

Social Tip #33 - Living with Jews

I wrote a few posts back about living with an orthodox Jew. Here is an old diary entry I found that can illuminate his character in more detail:

(Originally written 4/22/06)

Oh. My. God. My creepy roommate. His name is Jerry. He is a balding, pudgy, sworn to dorkdom, totally in love with me, super Jew. He stares at my breasts unapologetically when he talks to me.

Jerry teaches physics at NYU, those poor students. I had a biology teacher in high school, Mr. Spaulding, who Sequester girls in his back office for constructive criticism while massaging their hand and staring at their tits. I actually had a couple teachers like that, but Mr. Spaulding was the only one that got caught. One day he didn't show up to school and never came back. I came to learn that he tried to molest his adopted daughter and she bit his thumb off in self defense. Could Jerry become this guy?

Jerry told me he was going out of town for the night, a big bachelor party in Atlantic City. He poeticised about eating steaks, which lead to bragging about how he was a professional chef in the spare time he found when he was not professing or researching. Stop trying to impress me with your hobbies, it won't make me sleep with you.

He offered me a massage (for my back, not my hand like Mr. Spaulding did, but still), and, right or wrong, I never turn down a massage. Wrong. He wasn't missing any thumbs, but it still violated my soul all the way down to its dark dead core. I will turn the massage down next time.

Later that night I invited friends over so that we could rummage through his room to see what incriminating shit we could find. I hadn't been in there, just smelled it from the outside.

I expected it to take a while searching in his room to find something disgusting, but I found something in the first five seconds. Right in front of his couch, next to the lotion and tissues (ew), was a 2 liter bottle of Coke. Only. The Coke didn't look like coke. It looked like piss. I looked closely but could not be certain. Maybe a bit too orangey. And was there some foam on top? Is piss foamy?

I had to be sure. My best friend (thanks to that moment), Jaquelyn, volunteered to open the bottle and smell. Me and my uber-gay Broadway boyfriend, Bradly, shrieked and gagged wihle she put her nose right in there and took a whiff. And then another whiff. She held her nose in it for a while.

Well? She said she couldn't tell. We needed a second opinion. I ran out to the kitchen to barf, but, of course, I couldn't. Bradly leaned down to smell the fluid, and the second he got his nose near the opening of the bottle he jumped away and screamed "It is! It is!"

Jerry keeps a 2-liter bottle of piss in his room. Wow. I want to think it is because it is such a pain in the ass to go to the bathroom in the hallway, but man. Piss in the shower like a decent person. Don't live a life where you return after a long weekend to a bottle of your own waste.

Also in Jerry's room were about thirty ballroom dancing trophies.