Friday, April 30, 2004

life lesson #2349823974

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I was all set to write an ode to the cheese curd in honor of my upcoming trip to Montreal, where, I was a little too excited to learn, cheese curds are a key component of the signature food. But then yesterday some lowlife piece of donkey shit had to go and burglarize my apartment, and now it's all I can think about.

Some money was stolen from me when I was at a waterpark in eighth grade, but since then it's been pretty much smooth sailing. I've never even lost my wallet. Last night, however, I returned home from work to find an empty space where my mp3-filled computer used to be, my brand new digital camera missing, and a wide open window. Post-shower this morning I threw some clothes at my laundry bag, but they hit the floor because that's gone too. I do hope the motherfucker enjoys my dirty underwear.

I was going to buy a new computer soon anyway, my parents generously offered to replace the camera, and shopping for cute undies is fun. But now I know that someone has been in my apartment, and based on a rudimentary understanding of criminals, it's pretty much a guarantee that he or she (who am I kidding--he) will be back. My neighbor, who once shared my false sense of security, has been robbed twice and now keeps his door to the roof locked. Thanks for warning me, dude. So now all I can do I guess is keep the roof door locked, lock my windows, close the shades, and pray to god I'm not home sick the day a face appears in the window causing me to have a heart attack and die. Oh, and apparently there's this nifty thing called renter's insurance. My mom's been telling me to get it since I moved in, and she erroneously assumed I was responsible enough to follow through. Silly, silly parents.

All in all, I guess there are some things you just have to learn the hard way. Like how it took me about ten blistering burns to accept the fact that whities like me do need to wear sunscreen. Hopefully I'll only have to learn this the hard way once.

Thursday, April 29, 2004

extra! extra! wisconsin third-graders eaten by t-rex skeleton!

Ah, I love when the Local Paper gets all arty with its photos:

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Based on the caption, I don't think this front page picture was intended to be humorous. And ohmyholymotherofgod is that a BLACK child beneath the hintermost upper incisor?!?!

only in new york, kids

It is with great sadness that I inform you of the impending departure of the Fat Asian Baby. On Monday she will leave the place she has called home for the last 24 years for an indeterminate but definitely too long time. As the FAB is pretty much homeless, I hosted a farewell gathering for her on my roof terrace thingy that featured the only items befitting of this occasion: meat and beer.

Last night I met up with the FAB after work, and we went to Gristedes to buy supplies. I'm normally a Fairway kinda girl, but Gristedes is half a block closer to my place, there's never anyone there, and there are these creepy cartoon chicken and cow statues that talk to you when you take the escalator downstairs and that I am becoming strangely obsessed with. Anyway, we rounded up several cases of beer, a couple of meat products, and various grilling necessities. Upon checkout, we realized that it would be rather difficult for the two of us to carry 60 beers and four bags of groceries, even just two blocks. As we were trying in vain to distribute the bags, a kind stranger came to the rescue.

"Here, take my shopping cart," he said. I hesitate to use the pronoun "he," because said stranger had quite sizable breasts and was dressed in a silky feminine shirt and tight white pants. He reminded me of an older, more weathered RuPaul. Apparently, he was turning in aluminum cans for the deposit money, and had found a shopping cart on the street somewhere that he no longer needed. After a pause to process the fact that a homeless drag queen had just offered us a free shopping cart, the FAB and I accepted the gift graciously.

So thanks again, Homeless Gristedes Drag Queen. I will think fondly of you whenever anyone says New Yorkers are unfriendly and selfish, and, of course, whenever I use my new shopping cart to procure mass quantities of cheap beer.
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(I have spent all morning figuring out how to do this fancy picture posting technique)

Wednesday, April 28, 2004

bonds 'n cheese

Something very fishy is going on over here in my humongous midtown box o' fun. I've been solidly occupied with work (not my usual "work," but, like, real actual work) for nearly four hours and I'm still busy! This is largely due to the absences of both Fatboss and Stereotypicalboss. The former is in Brooklyn scouring the home of his deceased, senile, packrat aunt and uncle for an emerald ring that may or may not be hidden there somewhere. I keep picturing him as an over-sized Gollum calling out for his precious while pawing through stacks of Reader's Digest from the 1980s. The latter is with his wife at the doctor trying to make mini STbosses and/or Lawn Guysland JAP's. I don't think I've ever answered the telephone more times in one day in my entire life. I also had no idea where this post was going, but the inaccuracy of that last sentence brought on the realization that my current job, taking orders for bonds and things, is not at all unlike my first.

And so I bring you the website of my first place of employment, where I spent the weekends of the 1998 holiday season taking telephone orders for ceramic barns filled with cheese, Precious Moments figurines, and other extremely tasteful items. There is certainly a perfect gift for each of your loved ones, as several of the Fat Asian Baby's dearest learned the hard way this past Christmas.

Tuesday, April 27, 2004



two words--

Birth. Control.

"A daughter, Kimberly Lee, was born April 24, 2004, at Saint Joseph's Hospital to Patricia Kimberly Brunton and William Lee Brunton of Pittsville. She joins siblings, Jacob, 15, Tyler, 13, Luke and Zack, both 12, Tana and Kyle, both 10, Kayla, 7, Kody, 4, and Kortney, 2. Grandparents are Vicky Meyer, Marshfield, and Cletus and Ileen Brunton, Platteville." [via where else?]

if you want to turn into a puddle...

...check out the Dog of the Day. The owners are obviously completely and utterly insane, but goddamn, I would almost give up lunch just to hug that thing.

rock n roll and apple pie

I could get used to going to a rock show every Monday night. Such a better way to start the week than watching the most annoying people in the world argue about nothing on The Inferno. Only problem is now I'm too tired to write in complete sentences. Which is not really a problem since I'm not required to do such a thing at my job. Here are my fractured thoughts on the evening:

*there were more boys than girls at the show (which, I should probably add now that I'm awake, was Sleater-Kinney)

*the brunette guitarist rocks, and if I were a boy I'd have a crush on her

*the rockin' brunette guitarist was wearing Citizens of Humanity jeans, because even political activist indie-rockstars want their asses to look good

*the crowd's energy picked up towards the end, but Perplexa wins the award for most consistent enthusiastic dancing (although that sweaty older guy in the muscle-T takes a close second)

*when you cover the flash on your digital camera and you're someplace dark, not only does everything come out red, but people's eyes look rather freaky

*I should maybe consider, like, reading the instruction manual for my camera, because these pictures probably could have come out better

*the Around the Clock Diner should really change its name, because you cannot call yourself a diner in NYC and not serve milkshakes

Monday, April 26, 2004

allow me to have a brief violent feminist moment

I really want to track down the guy who wrote this and introduce his weenie to my new meat tenderizer tool. [via Maccers]

where did i go to school again?

Because I don't remember it being like this. Though I must admit, the scene was really officially over for me a couple years ago when they broke out a velvet rope and started charging $5 to get into fucking NACHO MAMA'S. And there was still a line down the street. Speaking of nachos, another travesty up around 116th is the loss of Westside Market. It was by far my favorite supermarket in the area. Well, my favorite was the little health food store Tamarind Seed, but that was driven out early senior year and replaced by some craptastic shiny "asian" deli thingamajig. What's happening to you, Columbia??

Friday, April 23, 2004

via gina grows some balls

I changed my mind--I love Fatboss. Annoying or not, he provides comic relief. True, Crazyboss served the same function, but he was scary. Anyway, the latest funny Fatboss story: This super jappy girl who represents one of the computer programs we use comes over to hawk the program, basically. So she sits down and flirts shamelessly with Fatboss and Stereotypicalboss. She is about my age, so there's no way she's really genuinely enjoying their company, as her constant giggles would indicate. After she leaves, Fatboss says, "I'm so in love with her." I say to him, albeit shyly, "Because she was kissing your ass. Do you really think she actually cares about you?" Fatboss says no and turns to his computer to play the Itchy and Scratchy theme song 15 times in a row.

Thursday, April 22, 2004

i'm just this bored

[via Callalillie]

1. Grab the nearest book to you, turn to page 18, line 7. Read what it says:
"Setup direct order entry by linking your Excel spreadsheet to the Autotrader Scratch Pad."

2. Stretch out your left hand as far as you can. What do you touch first?
Dipak, the skinny little Indian computer guy who only eats rice and beans.

3. What was the last thing you watched on tv?
A Discovery Channel documentary on feral children, and The OC.

4. Without looking, guess what time it is:

5. Look at the clock. What time is the actual time?

6. With the exception of the computer, what do you hear?
Dipak humming.

7. When did you last step outside? What were you doing?
7:25 am. Take a wild guess.

8. Before you did this survey, what were you looking at?
My multi-screen computer pod.

9. What are you wearing?
Reddish-brownish pants, black shirt, black shoes. I hate work clothes.

10. Did you dream last night?

11. When did you last laugh?
Just a minute ago, when Superboss decided to chat with me. Or do you mean laugh for real?

12. What are on the walls in the room you are in?
The offices of the Really Rich and Important People.

13. See anything weird lately?
See Question #3.

14. What do you think of this quiz?
Desperately trying to be clever kills time. Yay.

15. What was the last film you saw?
Threesome, starring the busted Baldwin and Lara Flynn Boyle pre-anorexia.

16. If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy first?
A diverse stock portfolio so I'd never have to work for The Man ever ever again.

17. Tell me something about you that I don't know:
My pornstar name is Spanky Columbus.

18. If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do?
Eliminate the effect of calories on body fat.

19. Do you like to dance?
Only when intoxicated enough not to remember.

20. George W. Bush:

21. Imagine your first child is a girl. What do you name her?
Eva, Eve, Ava, or something like that. And I thought of it first, Snoozle.

22. Imagine your first child is a boy. What do you name him?

who needs the onion when you've got the news herald?

Today I would like to introduce you to the writings of my darling little sis. While she specializes in short works of fiction and history research papers, I most enjoy her analyses of articles from the Local Paper. She is probably the only other person in the world who shares--nay, surpasses--my degree of love for this fine news source. Last night I received three delightful emails from her:

*Just wanted to make sure you're aware that on the front page of today's News Herald there's a picture of a child named Cinnamon Harwood. [Ed: For some reason, Cinnamon, and it's improper spelling bastardizations, is quite popular in Wisconsin's Best Small City. Though sadly not nearly as common as MacKhaeylah, Madicyn, and the like...]

*This is absolutely unbelievable. I'm still shaking. I think it's finally happened! The single worst ( = best) News Herald column in history!!! It has everything: complete inanity, horrendous syntax, lots of details that no one in their right mind would ever, ever, EVER care to hear, and a stupid, irrelevant, self-praising moral.

Please tell me you saw this: 'No horsing around tolerated at the Boy Scout camp'

*Aaaahhhh!!!! It's just too much!! Sorry I'm sure you saw most if not all of these already, but I just can't resist. The News Herald is *brilliant* today...

"Criminal damage to property:
A 39-year-old Marshfield woman reported her 42-year-old ex-boyfriend cut holes in her hooded sweatshirt, two bras, four pairs of underwear and a half T-shirt without her consent between March 6 and March 24 in the 300 block of East Fourth Street. Total damage was estimated at $100."

What a bastard. I mean I don't mind people cutting holes in my underwear if they *ask* first, but to do it without her consent is just crossing the line... [Ed: Also, I must point out that it was not just a T-shirt, but a HALF T-shirt. I imagine this is some kind of hideous neon colored cutoff type thing, no doubt worn with acid-washed, tight-rolled jeans.]


"A son, Ryan John Geiger, was born April 13, 2004, at Saint Joseph's Hospital to Katie Bader and Trampus J. Geiger of Colby. He joins sibling Shawn Tinsley, 3 1/2. Grandparents are Sheila A. Bader, Unity and Bob and Jane Geiger, Abbotsford."


Wednesday, April 21, 2004

link consolidation

*This lil' blog post on loooove is so true and excellent that if I were having a glass is half full day it would make me feel all warm and fuzzy. It really is this simple. [via Lindsayism]

*Damn, Zulkey's Diary entry today could not be more apropos.

*I'm crying at work for the second time today, but for now my tears are a result of joy and suppressed laughter. I'm still not done reading this thread "involving a pair of roommates, a couch, and a trucker hat," but it just keeps getting better and better. [many many many thanks, Catherine's Pita]

egg salad--the new prozac

So all morning I've been on the verge of tears. My once occasional waves of fecklessness have been coming with an increasing frequency and magnitude. (Don't feel sorry though--apparently this makes me trendy!) About to have to tell the bosses that someone died, I was saved by the ever-reliable lunch bell in my head. Down in the cafeteria at 11:30 on the f-ing dot, the usual choices just weren't doing it for me. Turkey sandwich--blah, sushi--had it yesterday and don't want to die of mercury poisoning or whatever, soup--too healthy. But there, glistening in all it's gelatinous glory, was the trough of egg salad. Two scoops, two pieces of wheat bread, and two nearly pointless slivers of lettuce and tomato later, I had my pacifier. Never in my life have I had an egg salad sandwich. This is too bad because with the first bite of mayonnaisey eggs it was like there was a cold dark rain cloud in my head that turned into a cozy ray from a commercial high pressure tanning bed (not that I would, err, know anything about that.) Hedonism to the temporary rescue once again.

Tuesday, April 20, 2004

i'm so good at my job it kills me

Oh my god, so a client just called and asked for a daily price quote for a certain bond. I was like, "Uh, hold on a sec," and got the quote from this kid on the other side of the desk who does my job but for different bosses. I think I should probably be able to discern this information myself by now, considering I'm liscensed to conduct securities business and all. Then the client asks, "Oh wow, ok, so how do you feel about what Greenspan just said?" I gave him an even longer "uhhhhh" and handed the phone to the other kid. I thought I was on top of things just knowing that the mighty Greenspan had spoken. Perhaps this is a sign that I should spend less time blogging and actually, like, pay attention or something. Eesh.

the only thing i like more than WATCHING non-dating reality tv shows

is actually FINISHING them. Err, rather, it is reading snarky recaps on my new favorite website. Like my addictions to Marlboro Lights, Weissbier, burritos the size of my head, the Barney's Co-op, and boys in vintage t-shirts (hey, at least no drugs or gambling!), I should feel bad about my reality television addiction, but gosh darnit it makes me happy, so I don't. The TWoP articles are quite long, so you'll need "one of those jobs" to enjoy them. If you don't trust me or don't have the time, here are a couple of snippets from the latest Real World and American Idol snarkfests, respectively:

"Cameran interviews that Jackie seems like a nice girl (which is Cameran-ese for 'I'm about to say something really mean, so I have to preface it with something insincere') but that she is 'a little on the loose side.' Because she talks to boys in bars? And allegedly drinks beer? Wow, what a whore."
“Jamie interviews that Cameran is hating on Jackie, and that she should hate the player, not the game. No, she really said that. Is it 1999 and no one told me?”

“Diana will sing 'My Heart Will Go On.' Why? Whyyyyyy? This song choice just shows how sheltered and detached she is. Anybody with any interaction with human beings anywhere on earth would know that people couldn't possibly be sicker of this song.”
"Next up is John Stevens. John's favorite movie is Disney's Aladdin. Y'all realize you're not on ABC, right? You're not going to win any points with that one. And…Aladdin? Come on. That's not even one of the top five Disney animated features. He loves it because it's fun and has great music. He likes the big parade scene in the movie. Is he on medication? Please tell me he's on some sort of medication. That somebody at the tender age of sixteen could be so dreadfully, painfully dull fills me with utter despair."

I doubt you will be shocked to learn that tonight I intend to watch both shows while smoking, drinking, eating a burrito, and wearing something overpriced with a cute boy in a vintage t-shirt, provided he's not feeling antisocial and lazy. Ahem.

well, you see, we thought at the time that a limited engagement in vietnam was necessary to prevent the rise of soviet communism...

...and other important foreign language phrases. This hilarious and somewhat useful link is for all y'all who will be doing some traveling in French, Spanish, and/or German speaking lands in the near future. And for once (ok, the third time) in my freakin' life I'm included in this category. Montreal, Barcelona, and Chile here I come! Somebody remind me to get my passport renewed. Seriously.

Monday, April 19, 2004

at long last...

...I have a digital camera. I still haven't the foggiest idea how to put photos on my blog, but I can get them onto Ofoto, no problem. Damn I'm good. Anyway, here are some random pictures of me and my best buddies (and siblings.)

one of these things is not like the others, one of these things just doesn't belong

Like many recent college grads who neglected to go straight to school and have no imminent plans to do so, I've been thinking a little too much lately about what in god's name I should do with myself. I took my current job partially because the alternative was unspeakable, and partially because I thought doing the last thing in the world I ever thought I'd do would be kind of amusing. I do, indeed, laugh to myself when I walk into the sea of blue shirts and ties at 7:30am. However, while I've actually learned quite a lot here--important skills like talking on two phones at once (still need to work on that one) and driving someone else's Benz through Midtown without hitting anything--and people seem to think I'd look good in (gooh!) a suit, I am not, and never will be, the corporate type. This is sad because, on the one hand, this job has some serious future earning potential, and having money is neat because I like to buy stuff and go to far away places, but, on the other hand, I don't give a rat's ass about finance, and I'm really bad at being fake-nice to coworkers and clients that I have no other reason to care about. (Also, I can write really long sentences of questionable grammatical accuracy.) Could there be a way to reconcile this problem? A way I could do this job well while enjoying it? The answer, surprisingly, is yes.

This weekend I may have stumbled upon the solution to my existential dilemma. On Saturday night I attended my alma mater's annual alumni crew banquet, located oh so inappropriately at the Princeton (*gagging on my plastic spoon*) Club. Note to Columbia: You're the second largest land-owner in NYC--get your own freakin' club! Anyway, there was of course an open bar, and due to the upsettingly low turnout, it was not at all difficult to maintain a nonstop influx of alcohol into my body, which was thirsty and dehydrated from the gallon or so of beer I drank the night before. I learned from this that, when drunk, I can schmooze like it's my job. Wait a second.....Eureka! Essentially, schmoozing IS my job. And hence, the answer: I need to be drunk at work.

At the banquet, for some reason I alone was appointed to sell raffle tickets to the attendees. Normally, this would scare the crap out of me, given my struggle with a moderate case of avoidant personality disorder (see below.) After a couple gin and tonics, however, I was able to chat up all these dudes that are probably quite rich and important. I especially won the favor of one of the richest and most important--his last name is all over the boathouse--when I mentioned I liked his pants, an excellent red and blue plaid, in case you were wondering.

If I could get drunk at work, I would no longer be the quiet girl in the corner who looks sad, reads blogs instead of talking to people, and wears weird things like Converse shoes and faded denim jackets with the requisite Theory pants. I would discuss the weather and baseball with the clients that call when my bosses are busy instead of putting them on hold. I would ask people about their jobs while looking genuinely interested in pursuing a similar path for myself thus displaying my deep interest in the company. I would bat my eyelashes at the traders to get a better price, and then my bosses would shower me with bonus money and make me a VP. And then soon I would get my own clients, get rich, quit, and open up a coffee shop/rock 'n roll bar/dog shelter that I would staff with cute boys so that I'd be free to travel the world and run around in the park whenever I wanted. Grad school schmad school. Getting drunk at work is the best plan ever.

Friday, April 16, 2004

quote of the day

My work philosophy in a sentence: "The most time-efficient way to say no to something is to say yes, and then never do it." -Scott Adams- The Joy of Work [via Cup of Chicha]
Nod and say yes. Just nod and say yes...

Runner up from the same source: "He gave me a look, a kind of wide-eyed, reproachful look, such as a dying newt might have given me, if I had forgotten to change its water regularly."
Can't go wrong with newt references...


There are only three paths I take to work in the morning: subway, subway, walk five blocks; subway, subway, underground tunnel into my building (needless to say, I did not see the sun much this winter); and good old fashioned walking through The Park. Oh, and when I'm really ridiculously hungover and sleep through the alarm I'll take a cab. Today, however, was different. The unfamiliar presence of sunlight this morning tricked me into thinking it would be warm enough to wear a skirt and flipflops. Unfortunately, the 40 degree air kept me underground all the way to Grand Central, where I would normally proceed to the tunnel. But it was just so purty outside that I decided to shake things up a bit and go through the Metlife building, which is two blocks from the office--short enough distance to retain the feeling in my legs, long enough to remind myself that there exists light of a non-flourescent variety.

I emerged from the building facing a tall, lanky boy with a Jewfro handing out free copies of the Financial Times. One look at his feet--grey New Balance running shoes--and I recognized him instantly. I "dated" the boy (let's call him Jacob, because that's his name) on and off for about a year in college. He was always off on some bike trip across the country or a trip to Mexico or god knows what else, so it was never a full-blown relationship. At least that's what he said until he got a real girlfriend at the end of said year.

Anywho, of all the quasi-relationships I've had (and I've had enough to swear off boys forever about eight times), this has been the one that stuck--the one that proved itself to be more than an initial physical connection that fizzled when it became clear there was nothing behind it. Nevertheless, given Jacob's free-spirited nature, I hadn't heard from him in months. So I went up to him and burst out laughing, partially because it was just so surprising and, and at the same time, not at all surprising to see him there, and partially because he was wearing a dorky Financial Times fleece baseball cap and trying unsuccessfully to get the dudes with suits and zhuzhed hair to take the paper.

As a pretty logical, scientific thinker, I don't buy into religion or spirituality or fate or any of that, and I know how to recognize a good old coincidence, but isn't it just so goddamn weird that the one day I veer from my usual path, I run into an elusive friend on a two-hour, one time temp job? And it's all just so typically Jacob. Anyway, turns out he's been accepted to grad school in NYC (yay!) and is continuing to drive a rickshaw (clearly, I'm not exactly a gold-digger) in Midtown until the fall. So if you see a skinny, pretty-eyed, fluffy-haired boy hauling some tourists around behind a bicycle, throw him a buck or two so he can buy dinner instead of stealing olives from the cart at Fairway.

everything's better with bunnies

I've been in a good mood since I got to work today (more on why in a bit), but this cartoon bunny version of The Exorcist makes me even happier. [via Blacktable] I can't get enough of the Blacktable links, and whenever I'm having a bad day, my favorite link of all time is always there to cheer me up a little. Thanks, BT.

Thursday, April 15, 2004

links for lunch

As I've done nothing of late remotely warranting being written about (unless you really wanna hear about the awesome episode of Made last night, or Fantasia's best American Idol performance ever, or how I successfully installed ink cartridges in my new printer), here are some links:

*This article explains why I was about 10 times smarter before college. Woops. [via Here I Type]

*These Bush magnets are kind of fantastic, but I wouldn't want to see his monkey-face on my fridge every day. I tend to prefer not thinking about upsetting things over which I have no control. Like my job. Or junior high school. [via The Voice]

*For the love of Jesus, can parents stop projecting their own perfectionistic tendencies on their helpless kids already? I could go on and on about this, but see the comment about upsetting things above.

*I'm not much of a cat person, but whenever Bluejake posts pictures of Thompson I get all mushy inside. Oh my god that face...

Wednesday, April 14, 2004

as long as we're bashing bushie...

...check out this website [thanks, MEH], which allows you to construct a speech for the prez that will probably be better than anything he'd "think" of himself. I, unfortunately, can't hear my speech since I don't have that fancy sound mechanism on my work computer. (Incidentally, Fatboss does have sound, and he feels the need to play the Hamsterdance song fifteen times a day at decibel levels audible by a deaf person. Must remember to bring Advil to work tomorrow...)

so so sorry, i just couldn't resist...

Oh Baby Baby
Baby One More Time - You're basically a sweet high
school girl still caught up in the world of
crushes and passing notes in third period.
Enjoy being young while you can cause it only
gets harder as an adult. Oh, and good luck with
the boob job.

Which Britney Spears single are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

[via Newyorkish]

Tuesday, April 13, 2004

"my views are one that speaks to freedom"

Thanks, Sis, for sending me this excellent page of Bushisms. The sheer length of it alone should deter anyone from voting for Bush. With this in mind, I forwarded the page to Fatboss, who is militantly right-wing. He read about two sentences, closed the page, and said nothing (he sits an arm's length away from me.) Despite my initial excitement at having a new boss--more things to do, bigger bonus, greater chance of getting a day off here and there, maybe--I am starting to wish it were just me, Mainboss, and Stereotypicalboss. Fatboss criticizes my sushi lunches for being too full of eeeevil carbohydrates while stuffing his face with meat and cheese slathered in mayonnaise, he whines incessantly about paying for his kid's impending Ivy education despite making over a million dollars a year, and, worst of all, his favorite phrase when upset (which is often) is "fuck me!" This does not conjure up a pleasant image in my head. If I were ever to think about sex at work, I would want it to be on my terms. This means either whoever I have a crush on at the moment or rockstars. Like Jim, or Michael, or Jeff, or Kurt, or even ones who haven't died tragically, like Brandon, or Pelle, or Fab... Perplexa and I played this game via email yesterday and have only scratched the surface. Who would you do? (And how did I get from Dubya to sex with rockstars?)

leave it to daily candy... solve all of my problems. As I accidentally sported inside-out undies yet again yesterday, perhaps it's time to invest in these. (Though they could pose a problem for when I forget to zip...) According to the aforementioned service website: "Behold the future: the Antipanti. Designed for lowrider enthusiasts, panty-line haters, and, well, anyone yearning for a little more freedom (who isn't?), it's a disposable patch of cotton flannel that you stick to the inside of your jeans when you're going commando, thereby protecting both the crotch of your pants and the crotch of your, um, self." While this is an interesting idea, to say the least, would the kind of girl who goes commando in the first place be anal enough to purchase and affix a camouflage disc to the inside of her pants every day? Weird.

Monday, April 12, 2004

best. weekend. ever.

Going to LA for the weekend was certainly not the most rational thing I've ever done. My thought process in purchasing the expensive last-minute ticket was pretty much as follows: "NY weather sucks. NY boys suck. LA is warm. My sister lives there, and she does not suck." Fortunately, the trip was worth every goddamn penny, down to the $34.16 tank of gas.

When I rolled into Dollar Rent-a-Car on Thursday evening, I was informed that I had a choice between a Dodge Neon and, for five dollars per day more, a Jeep Liberty. I inquired as to why the rates were so much higher than what I'd seen earlier on the internet. Turns out you need to "book in advance" to get the cheapness. Interesting concept, indeed. Since I was spending a lot regardless, and since the apparently clairvoyant Drone suggested it specifically the day before, I went all out with the cooler car. Despite having to navigate three freeways, I arrived at my sister's suburban utopia called Pomona College in a speedy 45 minutes. There, I proceeded to sleep soundly for the next 11 hours, which, as those who know me know, is no small event.

In remembrance of Jesus Christ Our Lord's death for our sins, my sis and I spent Good Friday shopping on Melrose. The first stop was a women's only sneaker store I'd read about in Nylon on the plane ride, where I finally found a suitable replacement for my poor old beloved Pumas. Next, we actually walked (apparently this is not done in LA) to the cavernous thrift store Jet Rag. We were greeted by my first LA star-sighting, who I of course stared at like an idiot, walking down the stairs. After taking the requisite photos of ourselves in silly outfits, which I'll post if I figure out how (anyone??), I bought some very Gina items (i.e., most suitable for a 10-year-old boy in 1973), and my sister found a vintage dress deemed "awesome" by the trendy checkout girl. How proud I was! Then it was down the road--in the Jeep this time, natch--to where the beautiful people are. Good little liberal arts student that she is, my sister's first reaction upon entering Fred Segal was to note, "This place is so post-modern." Before she could explain this statement for me--I have become certifiably retarded post-college--a force of heretofore unknown strength pulled me into the corner. There, gleaming like an angel sent from Above, was my holy (or hole-y, as it were) grail. The. perfect. jeans. Ever since Perplexa's thrift store Levi's became too scandalous to wear, I've been on a mission to find some faded, paint-splattered, tight ass, buttcrack-covering jeans of my own. I am now the proud owner of a replica of the 1970 Levi's 684 Big Bells, with strategically placed holes and stains and a pricetag about 40 times that of Perplexa's. Sis proclaimed these post-modern as well. And I fucking love them. We declared the day a success and returned to campus. The boyfriend-in-law joined us for a trip to Pitzer, the neighboring crunchy hippie school, where we stumbled upon a Pretty Girls Make Graves concert. If only Columbia's concert planners could be so indie... Then I took the kiddies to dinner in The Village (not anything like my The Village, as it's basically a retirement community.) After dinner, our cute-ish waiter overheard our conversation about shots, and offered us a free round of some damn good whiskey. My sister took it like a champ, and, once again, made me beam with pride.

After another 10 or 11 hours of sleep and a consultation with the internet weather gods, we determined Saturday was park day. Sis and I drove the Jeep out to the ocean and up the Pacific Coast Highway to Malibu. As it was too cold for the beach, we headed straight to the Palisades for a picnic of avocado and white cheddar on a baguette and tangerines and strawberries. We worked off the yummy fat bomb with a relatively easy hike that my measly schedule of two spinning classes a week failed to prepare me for. The ride home took us through Brentwood (OJ!) and the v. v. gated Belaire. During the many hours spent driving over the course of the trip, I learned I have a minor obsession with really old light blue cars. I want one, preferably parked in the driveway of my house in the Hollywood Hills. (Someone remind me not to quit my job.) Back at school, my sister had to go to a play for her theatre class. Pomona really hearts queers and really really hates hate, so it was not surprising that they were showing Bent, a play about the treatment of gays during the Holocaust. The actors weren't amazing, but they certainly surpassed the William Hungish kid who had to read the orgasm scene in my college creative writing class. Then I packed, said goodbye to my sis and her friends I've come to know, and drove off into the night feeling all profound listening to Modest Mouse's Moon and Antarctica, as it was just made for driving on a dark highway by yourself.

After one miserable flight and one pleasant one, on Sunday morning I was welcomed home by a panoramic view of the city from the plane, a delicious three hour nap, and an even more delicious dinner of homemade bacon-wrapped lamb and blueberry cheesecake, courtesy of two old (not old old, Z) friends. While the weather still sucks, and boys still suck, my existence here is suddenly both fresh and comforting again.


So much blog goodness today! Here are some links for now, and I'll write about my excellent trip (and consider doing some work...oh and my taxes...shit) after lunch.

*Play with the Subservient Chicken. He'll do whatever you tell him to, except anything naughty or involving bending too much at the waist.

*After winning an Ebay auction for rocks from the hometown of Avril Lavigne, Stereogum created a shrine to the punk heroine in his office. I'd love to do something similar here, but for some reason I don't think the irony would be fully appreciated.

*This story about a child prodigy is kind of disturbing. Is taking chemistry and abstract algebra at UPenn as a 12-year-old really such a good thing? And doesn't the last sentence ("a collection of four chicken pieces. In the classical style.") sound more like a KFC entree description?

*By some cruel twist of fate, the one weekend I leave NYC, America's Next Top Model herself invades my neighborhood. Yoanna House was a mere half a block from MY house!!! [many many thanks, Midwestgrrl]

Woah, I just noticed that three of these four links in some way involve chicken. And I plan on having chicken tacos for dinner tonight. Coincidence? Evidence of an impending chicken apocalypse??

Thursday, April 08, 2004

(hel)L.A. here i come!

In approximately thirty minutes I and my corporate expense account car voucher will be on the way to the airport. Because I clearly have an aversion to exhibiting any semblance of financial reponsbility, I decided on a whim to go to LA this weekend. What a fabulous excuse to buy some new (and not so new) CD's, increase my chances of skin cancer, and reminisce about the Vaterland with my sister. In my absence, I recommend amusing yourself with the following:

*From NITBC: "You know its bad when an infant is more A-List than you can ever hope to be. Check out Who is that with Jeremy for the newest trend in child exploitation. Babies aren't just for sewing clothing in third world countries anymore!"

*One of my old favorites that you've probably seen, but there are new prinsoners to write to nearly every day! This one would actually be kinda hot if he cut his hair...

*Figure out what to do with your life. According to this test, I, being Introverted, Realistic, Intellectual, and Easygoing, am supposed to be a surveyor, fire fighter, private investigator, pilot, police officer, purchasing agent, chiropractor, medical technician, securities analyst, computer repair person, race car driver, computer programmer, electrical engineer, legal secretary, coach/trainer, commercial artist, carpenter, paralegal, dental assistant, radiological technician, marine biologist, software developer. I'll take race car driver. The rest sounds like a Sally Struthers correspondence school commercial...

Wednesday, April 07, 2004

it's like a black fly in your chardonnay

According to the ABC Bizarre-chives [thanks, Fark], "the mourning dove -- the brownish and gray bird designated during the Vietnam era as Wisconsin's symbol of peace -- can be hunted like any other wild game, the state Supreme Court ruled Tuesday." As you can see here, the mourning dove bears not a small resemblance to the official bird of NYC, the beloved pigeon. "Gross! Who would want to eat a pigeon?" you may be saying to yourself. Well, after dining at Blue Ribbon, which I very highly recommend, I can attest that pigeons are absolutely delicious. And, symbol of peace or not, I have not had much sympathy for the flying vermin since one dive-bombed me in the back of the head one morning on the way home from crew practice a couple years back.

a very special episode

This season of the Real World, I gotta say, has been a little lackluster. Other than acquiring disorderly conduct arrests here and there, this cast does nothing but get trashed and bitch about having to be at work by noon. Cry me a river. However, last night's dramafest was simply hilarious. With maybe an exception and a half, these people are so vacuous that you can almost see the proverbial wheels turning while they try to comprehend a serious issue like self-mutilation, and they ain't turning very fast. In case you may have missed it (God forbid!) this episode revealed that Frankie, along with suffering from cystic fibrosis, cheating on her boyfriend, and having a crippling fear of large sea-faring vessels, is.....a cutter! I don't think the producers could have found a more animated character (and I don't just say this because she frequently resembles a Thundercat.) While I particularly enjoyed the forced display of tenderness from Randy the Meathead and the fact that Jaime sounds and looks uncannily like the Asian Fashion Club girl from Daria, the highlight for me was a quote to Frankie from Robin, whose fake boobs seem to grow larger with every passing episode: "You don't, like, wanna die do you?"

Tuesday, April 06, 2004


*This is just plain wrong: J. Lo's Mother Wins $2.4M at N.J. Casino

*Today I'm wearing a skirt, so, for once, there are no open zipper or button issues. I did, however, just discover that my undies are on inside out. It's time to join Beltless Andrew in starting a nudist colony for those who are incapable of dressing themselves.

*This Times article is kind of annoying. Is it really shocking anyone that some college kids work too much at the expense of their mental health? How do you think they got into college in the first place? Most students learn how to deal with the requisite stress and needn't be coddled. Those who do lose it would probably not have been saved by attending more massage study breaks. Though I must say, I wouldn't have minded if my school, a la Bowdoin, had provided me with a puppy to cheer me up during reading week.

*Lastly, is my apartment's terrace more Evening Serenade or Summer Island?

central wisconsin learns about them jewish people

Until frighteningly recently, all I ever knew about Judaism I learned from my favorite Judy Blume book. There were no Jews in my Catholic grade school, of course, and I recall being shocked to learn that the two Goldbergs in my public high school were Jewish. Before being enlightened by my darling college roommate (ummm, Perplexa, what's a seder?), "jew," for me, was equivalent to "hannukah." Therefore, I am delighted to see that the Local Paper is making an effort to educate the ignorant readership about Passover. I'm sure you will find this article to be as comprehensive and informative as I have. They even found one real live Jew to interview! And, I must say, that last sentence really just captures the spirit of the holiday.

Monday, April 05, 2004

aaah, nothing like a little mexican dude coming on your leg in the subway car after a miserable day at work

Yep, pretty much sums up my day. Moving on...

who reads this damn thing anyway?

Now that I've had enough blog posts to garner some Google hits, I thought I'd share them with you. Thanks, BlogPatrol! There are many many hits for both Yoanna House and Ultragrrrl, the latter of which I had the pleasure of meeting at about 3 am this Saturday night, shortly after Mike Joyce of the Smiths grabbed her ass. Then there are a couple of folks just trying to realize their life goals: "johnny depp needs 300 naked extras auditions" and "i want a famous face audition." The rest I could've seen coming from a mile away: "female viagina," "overstimulating viagina," and, my personal favorite, "what is safe to put in your viagina." Really I'm just amazed that some people have such poor spelling. (Don't worry, RJ, I love you regardless)


I'm feeling far too uninspired today to write much of anything, as work has been unusually busy (i.e., I've actually had to do more than five minutes of actual work) and I'm in one of my delightful ~24-hour depressive states. After tonight's lineup of spinning class, Burritoville chicken tacos with extra guac and no pico, and a cat fight-filled episode of The Inferno, I should be back to normal by tomorrow. In accordance with my mood, here is the only thing I've read today that's inspired any emotional reaction whatsoever. I'm not veg anymore, and I can handle that we omnivorous humans kill animals for yummy food and the best boots ever, but I can't help but wonder who the hell could club a baby seal to death?

Friday, April 02, 2004

you know you've eaten too much when...

Your 300+ pound boss proclaims "Oh my God, you ate all those fries?"

I will consume anything that ketchup can be put on until the ketchup is gone. And since Burger Heaven sent about 30 packets along with the office's Friday meat extravaganza, I was a lost cause even though I was already full post turkey burger. Apologies in advance to anyone I whine to about feeling fat this weekend.

Speaking of turkeys, I thought this blurb in the local paper was rather amusing:

* Animal problem
A 49-year-old Marshfield woman reported a wild turkey was causing damage inside her house at 3:02 p.m. Tuesday in the 800 block of West Omaha Street. The turkey apparently broke a living room window to enter the house and broke another window on the opposite side. The bird was taken to the McMillan Marsh and released.

Speaking of wild turkey, my main boss just returned from a nap downstairs in the nurse's office. Apparently he had a little too much to drink last evening at oh-so-trendy Spice Market, spent the night at the Palace Hotel because he was too trashed to make it home to Westport, and required a wakeup call from yours truly to get to work this morning. I would not be so annoyed at all of this if 1. I was fucking invited and 2. I got to take a nap in the nurse's office every other day when I'm hungover at work.