What is this New Jersey you hu-mans speak of?

Ladies! Stop doing this to yourselves! (Watch the auto-load video!)

Seriously! If I wanted to look at Worf from Star Trek I’d pop in a DVD, not sit beside you on the subway.

I’m afraid this rant is going to sound a lot like “Hey you kids, get out of that Jello Tree” but I can not keep silent any more.

Jeans these days are fucking ugly.

I said it. I meant it. I prove it.

This morning I witnessed a feckless metrosexual in front of me on the subway wearing jeans that defied description, but here I go anyway:

• Appliques: on his outer left thigh was an embroidered final scroll sewn into and across the seam. A finial on a guy’s jean. If you had asked the cowboys from Brokeback Mountain to try these jaunty foppish leg pantaloons on they would have said “GaaaaaAAAAAaay!”
• Flappy back pockets: I don’t mind these so much but if you’re going to choose this kind of fashion statement then you HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF THEM. By that I mean IRON them DOWN when you take them out of the wash. Especially if the flaps are longer than 2 inches. Otherwise you look sloppy. SLOPPY!
• Buckles: This dude had a jean strap and buckle horizontally across the top of his ass, just under the waistband. What the fuck, dude? Are we a pirate now? A swashbuckling denim dragoon that over accessorizes? Or did you think it looked like something from Hellraiser? Like a Village People version of Hellraiser?
• And the last: One inch leather cuffs. Serious. Leather cuffs on the bottom of his jeans. Someone took the time to sit at a machine and add one inch leather cuffs onto a pair of perfectly good jeans. Can we get the Brokeback cowboys in here again for a moment? “GaaaaAAAAaay!” In hindsight, these jeans were so hideous that the leather was probably “pleather”. Or vinyl. Or tanned seal hide. Who knows. Who cares. STOP IT.

Thankfully he was wearing these jeans up around his waist, no underwear showing above the rim (Whale Tail – for ladies, Jailin’ for the men). The other day I saw a guy with his jeans just covering his pelvic bone and NO JEANS AT ALL covering his wicked ugly Giant Tiger cheap as fuck underwear covered ass.  Why? WHY? WHY!?! Oh I know it’s origins are from making a gangsta statement but come on. Public, dude! Oh look at me! I’m all naughty! Look at my undies!

I bet this is the same kind of guy that wears his underwear into the showers at the gym.

I didn’t want to rant about that stupid trend but I did. See what you made me do?

When I was a kid (oh here we go), the worst I did was rip the knees out of some (popular again, I see) and in some cases I painted Warner Bros cartoon characters in acrylic paint on the thigh of a couple jeans. Last month, when I was in NYC, I noted that jeans are still distressed in style but have sparse sprays of paint on them, like you just came from your studio after working on a 10×24 foot canvas and had 5 Red Bulls to get you through.

My point is that jean fashion is cyclic. Like Battlestar says “All this has happened before and will happen again”

I can’t wait until we get back into the really tight sprayed on Mamel-toe jeans for guys. That rocked.

“Dead Robot? Hi! I don’t think we’ve had each other yet. I’m Dirtygreasyhair.”

That’s not her name but if we lived in an alternate universe where our names constantly changed to the first thing someone else notices about you, I would have to bestow her that moniker.

She’s my new dental hygienist. Apparently the lady I’ve had for 8 years now has been assimilated by the Borg or has been drinking Jonestown KoolAid or has just gone on holiday early – nobody bothered to tell me. She’s not available. Instead I’m left to the designs of Dirtygreasyhair.

2 minutes into the cleaning, I knew it wasn’t going to be a pleasant visit when she let the spit and spray from her sonic descale tool build up in my mouth. I’m what CSI professionals would call a “Secreeter” – get anything near my mouth and I generate so much spit I can drown a rat. I think there’s a super hero power in there somewhere (“Drop the atomic bomb, Villain! Or I, El Spitto will stop you!”). So with her tool and her multitude of fingers clumsily pushing back my lips AND her inability to see that I was drowning in my own spit, I let loose with a colossal gag.

She gets the message and turns on the suction. But places the nozzle on my tongue. So useful!

She’s so fidgety that she jumps from one tooth to a tooth opposite, not bothering to go in any real discernible patter, like oh… ONE TOOTH AT A TIME.

Then the talking started. “Finished your gift buying?” or “Are you going away for the holidays?” Yes. Questions. Questions you can’t hope to answer because your mouth is full of rubber covered digits. Why is this cliche happening to me?

And so it goes. In my head I’m thinking she’s not been doing this long. Her manner of tool jockeying and bizarre head angles suggests she’s not comfortable with looking into someone’s head. My previous hygienist would use the mirror constantly to avoid having her fingers in my mouth and kept the chatter to a minimum (Never asked questions, at least). But this one was so far into my mouth she made me feel like she was a gold reseller on a slow day.

Then she made me gag again. Without warning she started into the polishing (no choice of cherry, orange or mint!), slapped the gritty paste onto my teeth and started up the polisher, brushing it up against my top molars. Surprised, I felt a chunk of the polish fly off and land on the back of my tongue. I involuntarily react and hoark out spit as I bolt upright.

“Did I do that?”

Did. You. Do. That.

Seriously.

No the TV just announced a sale at Old Navy. Holy crap what a thing to say.

I guess I went to my “laughing place” after that because I don’t remember much else. I closed down to get through it.

The dentist walks in and asks if I’m ready for the holidays. Without waiting for a response he whirls around and looks at my x-ray.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“Nothing. Probably the X-ray. When you’re in there you can’t see anything on the tooth,” Dirtygreasyhair responds as she wipes down her station. “In there”, like I was some mystical Chinese puzzle box.

My dentist dives in. “It’s a cavity. We’ll be seeing you again soon, Dead Robot.”

After, I take the free goody bag of teeth torture implements offered from Dirtygreasyhair. “You have a great holiday,” I seeth.

“Oh and you too! Go easy on the sweets!”