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Last night I realized, you can’t out run shame. I was putting my girlfriend into a cab and that’s when I saw it. Lying there by the curb. Turning to kiss Gwen goodnight I tried to ignore it. But as her cab drove away my mind traveled in the opposite direction, back to when I was a boy.

I was the most anxious prepubescent on the face of the earth. The state of my sexuality was all consuming for me. I’d seen Gary Kligmann in the locker room during gym. At 13 he had the penis of a 33 year old – with a full bush and dangling shlong to match. As soon as my eyes detected it, I was traumatized. Me, I was a late bloomer, with the pea sized balls of a rabbit. As a result anything could make me feel inadequate.

Take for example, Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. On one particular Sunday night I remember sitting with my mom and dad on the sofa watching nature’s drama unfold. Cameramen and biologists were exploring seal colonies off the coast of California. Horrific battles between half-ton males were taking place on the beaches. Fueled by testosterone and driven by the desire to mate, these bulls as the narrator referred to them, bloodied themselves for the chance to mount a prized female. There was not a coward among them. Except for the small group of young male outcasts that lacked the brawn to vie for a female and continue their bloodlines. Their failure struck deep into my heart. It was obvious to me that my future held the same fate. I was to live out my life as a useless male, weak and cowardly, doomed to spend my days on “Bachelor Rock” with the rest of the effeminate seals.

Things only got worse when I convinced myself that I was growing a cunt. Back then I’d spend countless hours locked in the bathroom soaking in the tub waiting to go through puberty. Beneath the suds and water my hands, with great anticipation, would explore the impending arrival of my genitalia. “When, when, when would I start to become a man?” It was within the moment of one of these deep dream states that my fingers slipped just due south of my scrotum to the area commonly referred to as the taint. T’ain’t your ass, t’ain’t your balls. And while I know this now - back then the mystery was far from being solved. It was there that I discovered a small patch of hair. And through closer inspection a slight ridge of skin, that ran from my asshole to my balls. Now I didn’t know much about female anatomy at this point but I was pretty sure this was where their business took place. Devastated I sprang from the water. Hair first, lips next. It was only a matter of time before it all developed into a full-blown vagina and I would begin to live my life as a freak

Soon enough everyone I knew had been asked by Mother Nature to join the young adults club. They got the inside joke about why elephants come in quarts, they became bored with Judy Bloom books, and they were jaded to the clinical diagrams of bisected genitalia in our science books. Alas I remained 13, boyish, and alone to draw my own conclusions about whether or not I was ever going to grow up to be a man. Or a woman. Then as a finally mockery even the year transformed.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1 – Happy New Year!!!! 1978 became 1979. My parents were out celebrating. I’d been left at home, free to order the pizza of my choice, to stay up late for the first time ever without a sitter, and to watch Dick Clark’s Rock’in New Years Eve. Back in those days I’d entertain myself by snooping through my parent’s belongings. I’d go through their closets, shoeboxes, and desk drawers. I’d found a bag of pot in my dad’s nightstand. In my mother’s vanity I discovered a small, velvet, drawstring pouch that contained an extra set of false teeth she used to replace of the real ones she’d lost thanks to a field hockey accident in college.

It was while I was rummaging through her stuff and spraying her perfume into the air that I became curiously aroused. Staring down into her panty drawer I lifted a pair of stockings from the dresser. Without thinking I pulled off my pajamas and pulled on the stockings. I looked like a dancer from the New York City Ballet. Impressed by my package I began to finally believe in my own manhood. My erection seemed to agree and stretched out beneath the navy blue nylons. I turned around and stuck my ass out towards her vanity mirror. “Take that bitch.” I’d said aloud. What if I added pearls? I pulled a strand from her jewelry box and wrapped them around my neck. “Would you fuck me?” I thought to myself. “Who’s the woman now?” My penis grew rock hard and ached. I uncapped one of my mother’s lipsticks, smeared a gruesome shade of red across my lips and continued to talk into the mirror. “You know you want to do her.” I told my quasi-female reflection. “I need shoes.” I was being driven by some strange hormonal imbalance. The thoughts that racing through my mind seemed to come from nowhere. My heart was beating in my ears. I opened her closet door and spied a pair of metallic gold pumps and slipped them on. I began to strut around the house. Passing by the mirror in the front hallway I caught a glimpse of my dick pitching a tent beneath the nylons. That was all it took to drive me, at super sonic speed, headlong into my first orgasm. Within minutes of my hand touching my dick, it exploded. I shook. Jisum filled the inside of my mother’s stockings. My chest heaved up and down. Sweat beaded across my brow. My skin was flushed. Then the front door opened and my parents walked in happy to be back from their party.

I’m sure they looked at me and I looked at them. But to this day all I can remember is pushing past them and running out into the street. I lost one gold shoe as I hit the sidewalk and turned to run up the driveway and hide behind the garage. And that is how I - Andre Stephen Miller, became a man.

By guest contributing writer, Nathan Walker.

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Only 15% of Americans rate economic conditions as either “excellent” or “good,” matching the low for the year. Forty-four percent describe the economy as poor, only three percentage points better than the worst rating thus far in 2008. Meanwhile, 87% of Americans say economic conditions are getting worse.

Based on polling conducted May 10-12, 2008 at Gallup.

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Garbage is one of New York City’s largest exports. More than 4,000 tons of city trash — about 400 truckloads — are shipped every day to out-of-state landfills. New York spends more than $71 million a year to get rid of its garbage.

From CNN.com

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Hank knew it had gotten bad when he would pretend to go to the printer, just to make sure they weren’t having a meeting without him. It is said that criminals never get a good night sleep, and Hank hasn’t slept since January. He’s been working for the man long enough. Crunching numbers so detailed only his gifted mind could unravel such a labyrinth of data and computations. He’s seen the loophole for years. Lazy IT workers and tunnel vision accountants paved a comfy path to the other side. Any other man would do the same.

But Hank was no criminal. He was a Yale man. Like his father and his father before him.

Sweating through his thin button down shirt, the cleaning women have already come and gone. Sucking energy through the paper shredder, with each flick of the wrist, one more year in prison averted. As the sun comes up, Hank is still one step ahead of the consultants. But Hank knows that what today will bring, is still in the hands of the auditors.

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“Mommy, where’s my Mindy?”

“Honey, Mindy had to find a new home.”

“But why, Mommy?”

“Because Mindy contracted Bed Bugs.”

“But why did Mindy get bugs?”

“Because when a little girl, like Mindy, sleeps in a lot of different beds with a lot of different people, Jesus finds out and gives her Bed Bugs to teach her a lesson.”

“So Mindy was a slut?”

“Honey! We don’t use words like that, but to answer your question, yes.”

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Serving Size: 1oz (28g)
Calories: 150
Calories from Fat: 90
Saturated Fat: 2.5g
Sodium: 190mg
Total Carbohydrates: 15g

From Wise Foods

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Janine:

“I just received my order and was really disturbed by the fact that one large box contained only one 1/2 gallon of milk, and another small box only contained a bag of rice. This is really wasteful packaging and hardly see a need for it. I know I’m not obligated to tip, but i do. so as a way of saying “thank you” to your workers for politely carrying my boxes up three flights of stairs…but now it really just seems ridiculous to have two guys carry four boxes up three flights of stairs when two of the boxes are practically empty. i’d really appreciate some better planning on the packing end of your process.thanks for your consideration,”

Fresh Direct:

“Thank you for contacting FreshDirect. I appreciate your feedback regarding our packaging. I’m sorry about the inefficient packaging of your order. This issue occurs from time to time because items repackaged according to the department they originate from. Due to the volume and variety of the products and orders we handle each day, it is difficult to set up a system that eliminates all waste and allows for the most efficient and economical packaging possible without some experimentation to reach that state. Going forward, we will continue to try to minimize packaging and find more efficient ways to package orders that are also economical for our customers.If you have any other questions or concerns, kindly respond to this e-mail. To reach us via phone, please review the ‘Get Help’ section of our website. Sincerely,”

From “FreshDirect Packaging Is Extremely Wasteful” posted on The Consumerist.

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Bring your unwanted working and non-working electronics to our three day collection drive. We will accept working and non-working computers, monitors and peripherals (keyboards, mice, etc.) as well as audio-visual equipment.

Event sponsored by the West 102 & 103 Streets Block Association, the West 104 Street Block Association, and the Upper West Side Recycling Center.

Location: Broadway, between 102 and 103 Streets, west side of Broadway
Dates and Times: Saturday May 17, 10am-4pm, Sunday May 18, 10am-4pm, Monday May 19, 4pm-7pm

From NYC.gov

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I wake up at about 7:30 sitting upright in a plush chair. Through the window, a small sliver of sun, lay across my arm, generating enough heat for me to sweat and have the morning chills at the same time. I remember a few hours ago when I sat in this chair, imagining myself in my own bed. A wave of depression hit when I realize that there was no physical way I could get home. My soft pillow and the smell of my sheets are going to be replaced by cigarette smoke and an Italian guy incessantly talking in the kitchen. I hate myself for a second but luckily my mind can’t concentrate on much right now. The next few hours I spend sleeping and awake, but at the same time.

Nausea subsides and my nasal passages feel hollowed out from last night’s indulgences. In the morning, the loft apartment is finally quiet and I wonder where the Italian went. I know there were a few good looking girls here last night. I wonder if they left together.

Walking through the apartment as if I had just gotten there, I cannot locate the host, nor would I know who it was if I saw them. I feel bad for crashing, so I gather some beer bottles into a carton to bring downstairs. A guy walks to the bathroom as I head for the door. We awkwardly acknowledge each others presence while desperately trying to bury our individual shame.

“Hey man, great meeting you,” he says through a groggy scratch on the head, “What was your name again?”

“Friedlander,” I say as I walk out.

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New figures released Friday show the number of summonses handed out to dog walkers who do not pick up after their pets has more than doubled this year. This, after sanitation officials stepped up enforcement of scooping laws.

Since last July, the city has taken in nearly $29,000 in fines for uncollected pet waste. The Parks Department also hands out tickets to those who do not curb their pets in city parks. Some New Yorkers say they feel the fines are well deserved.

“I think that all dog owners have the responsibility to clean up after their dog so that no one has to deal with the mess,” said one dog owner. “If you want to own a dog, then you should take of your dog. You should take care of your city to keep a nice, clean city.”

Dog owners who like to let their pets run free should think twice. Between July of last year and this April, more than $100,000 in fines was handed out for unleashed dogs.

From “More Pet Owners Not Picking Up After Their Pooches” at NY 1.

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