extra! extra!

Breaking news this weekend from the New York Times: teens have sexual relations outside the confines of committed relationships! Also, the earth revolves around the sun.

Speaking of crazy kids these days, I have acquired a new addiction, perhaps more detrimental than smoking, drinking, and burritos the size of my head. Yes, folks, I am a Degrassi fan. For the uninitiated, it's a Canadian kids' series, kind of like Saved By the Bell but more risque and without all the neon colors. I started watching the N Channel because it's been showing wonderful My So-Called Life episodes, and, well, one thing led to another and before you know it I'm glued to the Degrassi Every Episode Ever Marathon, and now I feel compelled to stay home this Friday to catch the premier episode of the new season. If the previews are any indication, there is going to be some DRAMA.

holiday fun

Kind of like that winter break during which I went to Europe and had to pretend Christmas did not exist, I keep telling myself that Monday is just another day and everyone will not be off frolicking on a beach somewhere. Only this time, rather than accidentally eating pats of butter in a Parisian cafe and drunkenly hiccupping through the streets of London with Drone, I will be cramming 1,000 multiple choice questions relating to "Uniform Securities Agent State Law" (whatever the hell that is) into my severly atrophied brain. Unlike school exams which are passable with minimal to no studying and a reasonable amount of intelligence, finance licensing exams actually require work to pass, because no one in their right mind would have any knowledge of this information, because no one in their right mind, including those who work in the industry, ever needs to know it. Who wants to get wasted with me next Thursday so I can erase everything I've learned to free up my limited mental space?

step aside, sofia

This make your own movie site is among the most exciting links I have ever come across. [via Number One Hit Song] What better way to kill the hours between lunch and the time your stomach is able to accomodate a snack?

Here, in my first attempt at cinematic glory, last night's raucous antics are painstakingly chronicled.

And here is what might have transpired if I'd done otherwise, based on the last several years of my life. Note: If I were a creative person, I'd certainly make these about something far more interesting than myself. But, alas, this is not the case.

girls girls girls

Though I'm typically too engrossed in my extensive blog research and analysis to pay attention to real people around here, I should mention that I am not the only youngish lady in this big testosterone cesspool of an office. In fact, there are four of us brave enough to dodge the flying footballs, resist the lunchtime steak and pizza pigouts, and not find sexist jokes and stripper talk offensive enough to sue anyone. Who are these fabulous gals? Well, I'll tell you.

*Me first!: Aversion to bullshit is almost as severe as my aversion to cilantro. Unlike the latter, this aversion cannot be tempered by gradually increasing my intake of Burritoville salsa until I can almost tolerate it. This means I will never be a good go-getting team-player. Also, even though I spend most of my income on overpriced clothing, I cannot bring myself to buy anything business casual and, therefore, wear the same five outfits every week. Can also not bring myself to shower in the morning and always wear my hair curly (gasp!) and in a ponytail.

*Really cool girl who I would be friends with if I were less shy and/or not too lazy to walk to the other side of the office: Has been here for three years, totally knows her shit, and is nice and friendly in an un-bullshitty way. Wears fairly funky, colorful outfits and once told me she really just wants to work with kids.

*Princeton girl: Is a size -2 yet somehow manages to have large, perfectly shaped boobs. Has perfect, frizz-free blonde hair and a perfect, exclusively Theory wardrobe. Flirts with trader dudes like it's her job (errr...) and eats coffee for breakfast and Diet Dr. Pepper for lunch.

*New girl: Graduated my year from Schmarvard, starred in a Broadway show when my biggest life accomplishment was getting a silver medal at the regional spelling bee, and is absurdly nice to everyone. Wears boring business suits every day even though it is completely unnecessary, reads a giant book that says "Bonds" on it when she should be reading blogs, and never lets the gumball machine run out of Peanut M&M's. Maybe it's just Fatboss' low-carb lunch, but I think I smell an overachiever.

Guess which one gets to go on all the fancypants limousined client dinner extravaganzas. Hint: it sure ain't the new girl.

Disclaimer: I know how lucky I am to have this job (oh so extremely lucky, seriously), and it's not really terrible. If it were an estrogen-filled cesspool instead of a testosterone-filled cesspool, I think I would have been committed to Bellevue after about a week. Nevertheless, I will still make fun of it at every opportunity and pray to the Holy Father that no one here ever reads this.

promise of a new day

Here's another gem from the Local Paper. Usually the weekly "Hi, My Name Is" column supplies me with a nice healthy dose of schadenfreude and humorous inanity, but this one just makes me sad. If the Metro Channel ever does a "To Live and Date in Dairyland" series, they should call this girl.


Hi, my name is

Promise Bakken
Age: 18
Home: Pittsville
Occupation: student at Pittsville High School

What was your most memorable dream?
My most memorable dream would have been when I thought I lived in Ohio, and I lived in this huge house and I had three children, and we were happy. It was a really happy dream.

What's your favorite word?
I have a favorite phrase. 'Life sucks and then you die.'

If you had one superpower, what would it be?
To make any man in the world I wanted love me.

What are you most passionate about?
I'm not really a passionate person. But if I had to pick something: Divorce. I personally believe people never should marry in their entire lives, even if they live together, because of divorce.

Who is your hero?
My hero would be my brother, Randy, because he taught me so many things about life.


Randy, what have you done??

getting drunk on "to go" margaritas with your parents at an inappropriately early time rocks. work, not so much...

So the Company Computer Nazis are back in full force. Certain pages of Craigslist have been blocked since day one (no Casual Encounters for me, sadly), but now the whole site is contraband. I will love forever the person who emails me the Best Ofs when it's updated, because, hilarious as it is, reading that shit on my precious free time would be just sad. Not that what I do with my precious free time is any less sad. Anyway.

I'm not taking the Craigs blockage too harshly because this morning I came across a new (to me) excellent website. Erin's Livejournal [via Stereogum] is hilarious--so hilarious that she's in some kind of blog contest on Nerve. Of course, I wouldn't know anything about that because the CCN blocked that one a looong time ago. Prudish bastards. Anyway, this is my favorite post of hers so far, as it so eloquently addresses one of my biggest pet peeves:

"Thursday, April 1st, 2004 11:33 am
all my paper bag ladies

when i was in 7th grade you couldn't bring your gym clothes or diorama on the history of the soybean to school in any old bag. it had to be a COOL bag.

acceptable bags: the limited, limited express, benetton, DEB, the gap, rave, banana republic
unacceptable bags: jc penney, kmart, giant eagle grocery, big lots

i remember mornings where i almost missed the bus because i was rooting through the pantry for the appropriate bag while telling my mom that a walgreens bag just wasn't going to cut it and to shut the fuck up because she doesn't know anything.

by high school i had scrapped keeping up with the joneses and carried my shit in a backpack decorated with band names written in marker because i wanted to let the world know i am a rebel and my music is important to me (not that you'd ever understand my music).

graduating from school and going into the work force i forgot about bags. when you live in a city dominated by cars people just use purses and briefcases and that's about it. bags are a makeshift solution to a temporary transportation problem. purses and briefcases are different. they're for things you bring with you every day - house keys, wallet, butt plug, etc.

in new york everyone commutes and no one has cars to put stuff in so there's a big proportion of people who bring their stuff to work in bags. most of them are still stuck in the 7th grade mode. the bag has to be from a COOL PLACE. no matter how old & tattered it is. no matter how inappropriate.

so you'll see married businessmen with lunches in little pink striped victoria's secret bags who don't seem to realize that looks weird at 8 in the morning and other people are thinking they're a pervert and really they just bought the wifey something nice for their anniversary. you'll see ghetto bird boys and girls who look like they can barely afford a Metrocard but somehow have a huge prada bag with them that's carrying anything but actual clothes.

when i see them i feel bad and weird. it instantly takes me back to the time when i used to be so caught up in that competitive bullshit. i want to shake them and scream 'WE DON'T CARE! WE'RE NOT GOING TO MAKE JUDGMENTS ABOUT YOUR ATTRACTIVENESS OR SOCIAL STANDING BECAUSE OF YOUR BAG. THROW OUT THE GUCCI BAG AND USE THE DUANE READE ONE BECAUSE IT HOLDS MORE STUFF AND ISN'T FALLING APART BECAUSE YOU BOUGHT IT THREE YEARS AGO AND IT'S BEEN HOLDING YOUR TUNA FISH ON RYE EVER SINCE'."

Amen, sister.

friday lifeblood

*Week in Craig: Craigslist is like the American Idol of the internet--so painfully bad and guilt-inducing but I just. can't. stop. And yes, yes, making fun of it...candy from a baby...but Amy Blair is just so darn good at making fun of it.

*Dooce: It took me a while to get into this apparently very popular blog, as my fear of babies and small, screaming children rivals my fear of moths and other large, winged insects. But the How To Annoy Me archive carried me through till ham 'n muenster panini time, and the rest is damn good, too.

*Wasabi peas: Why are dried lentils coated in dried horseradish paste so addictive? My stomach hates me right now. But the tingling sensation in the back of my head and the water dripping from my nose are far more effective stimulants than caffeine.

*Crowding around Fatboss' computer to watch a live, high-speed L.A. car chase. The suspect has currently disappeard somewhere inside the Beverly Center mall parking garage. Amazing driver, but I'm not sure that was such a smooth move, in the long run.

copy cat copy cat!

Either that or the Night in the Big City kids don't read my blog. (The horror!) Over a week ago I wrote my no time to blog post, which said:

"I've noticed an alarming trend in the blogosphere recently. Everyone, it seems, suddenly has better things to do...One can only hope this is just a passing sun-induced mania or something."

Today, they write:

"I've noticed a similar drop off in content at several other blogs of note, and it just has to be the return of the sun."

Is my finger on the f-in pulse or what? If only my bond sales skills came as naturally as my blog analysis talent...

don't get a job

Just don't. Ever. Today is not a good day for the younguns of Corporate America [via my overprotected email account]:

*"Well i'm kinda just feeling numb and down all at once. I can't figure this out. Let's fly away."

*"Eh. I want to be on a boat right now. Fishing and eating Trivia Pringles and drinking Snapple. And I don't ever want to stop. You know that feeling?"

*"Fuck fuckf uck fuck fuc k fuck fuck fuckf dcfuudkufj;lszdjf;lkasj dfl/kajlkf!#@$$@!#!@#!"

In other news, the Via Parents are arriving in NYC with Via Sister and Via Uncle this afternoon. Hopefully computer assistance, a gardening lesson, and free food in midwestern proportions will defunkify things around here.

kiefer <3 my friends

So it turns out that the same day Drone spied Kiefer Sutherland chatting with his agent in Midtown, Perplexa saw him wasted at a little Irish pub in Gramercy. Now where will that crazy Kiefer turn up next?

Speaking of celebs with weirdo names, I feel it is my duty as resident onomastics expert (thanks, Andrew and dictionary.com) to regurgitate the New Yorkish list of the most onomastically unfortunate celebrity offspring. All I have to say is who the hell is Paula Yates, and why did she get to have sex with Michael Hutchence?

Victoria Adams/David Beckham: Brooklyn
Woody Allen/Soon-Yi Previn: Bechet Dumaine, Manzie Tio
Forest Whitaker: Ocean, Sonnet, True
Gillian Anderson/Clyde Klotz: Piper Maru
Erykah Badu/Andre 3000: 7 (Seven)
Robby Benson/Karla DeVito: Zephyr, Lyric
Marisa Berenson: Starlite
Bruce Willis/Demi Moore: Rumer Glenn, Scout LaRue, Tallulah Belle
Bjork: Sindri
Donald Sutherland: Roeg, Rossif
David Byrne: Malu
David Carradine/Barbara Hershey: Free (he changed it to Tom)
Mia Farrow: Lark Song, Summer Song
Jerry Garcia/Manasha Matheson: Keelin
Bob Geldof/Paula Yates: Fifi Trixiebelle, Peaches Honeyblossom, Little Pixie
Michael Hutchence/Paula Yates: Heavenly Hiraani Tigerlily
Geena Davis: Kian, Kaiis
Snoop Doggy Dogg: Chordé
Nikki Sixx: Gunner, Decker, Storm
Connie Sellecca: Gib, Prima Sellechia
Shari Shattuck: Creason Carbo, Calee Maudine
Damon Wayans: Fuddy, Trixie
Frank Zappa: Moon Unit, Ahmet Emuukha Rodan, Dweezil, Diva
Robert Downey, Jr.: Indio
John Mellencamp: Hud, Speck Wildhorse

UPDATE: I just made fun of an apparent suicide victim. Now waiting patiently for my handbasket.

one lobotomy, please

If you, like me, are so bored that you find this website entertaining, please note that there is much time to be killed here. [both via The Morning News] I'm only on the 3rd of 40 "How Much is Inside?" entries and haven't even touched the rest of the site. Say yer prayers, remaining six hours of work!

is the hazing over yet?

Aaaah, life. So funny sometimes. You work so hard to get to the top of something until you finally become one of the biggest, baddest kids around, and then you graduate and get thrown back down to the bottom of a pile that is exponentially larger than the last. Yesterday in spinning class (say what you will, but it's the only way i can get my lazy ass to the gym), the chick next to me was complaining about the heat, and the mid-to-late-thirty-something instructor says, "But sweat is good for you. Look at her [referring to me and my copious perspiration, probably a result of my copious Marlboro Lights consumption] and how young she looks. Then again, she's probably, like, 12."

For me, the transition from big, bad high school senior to lowly college freshman was an easy one, as it was aided by much tea from Long Island and a new intense (i.e., masochistic) passion. The trasition from big, bad college senior to one whose skin elasticity inspires jealousy in mid-to-late-thirty-something spinning instructors has not been so easy. Somehow I'd gotten the crazy assumption that by 22 I'd have figured out some things. Some things have indeed been learned, but I feel like I knew myself better when I was a teenager. I was a granola lovin' vegan, studied foreign languages for fun, planned to go to college in my favorite city, and was going to be Very Rich and Important. Now, I eat my bagels with cream cheese and smoked fish, can barely even remember English grammar, much less Russian, have "plans" for the future that last about a week and a half, and am probably going to give up a career that provides an easy path to become Very Rich, if not also Important. In the past I'd always been working toward something and belonged somewhere, and now it's like I'm floating aimlessly in a little bubble (a fun bubble, at least) and have no fucking clue when it'll pop and where I'll land.

Okay, that's enough trite cheesiness for one day. If, by any chance, it didn't sufficiently nauseate you, I'll end with this: Yesterday I saw Fatboss, who sits an arm's length away from me, Q-TIPPING HIS EAR. The inside of his ear canal. Next to me. At his desk. During the work day. Am I just being old-fashioned, or is that not really kosher?

ignorance is not always bliss

I have no other words for this article: Childless Couple Told to Try Sex [via Ultragrrrl]

sloe gin fizz, anyone?

*The new Loretta Lynn CD is as awesome as they say, especially when combined with a dear friend, a loud spring thunderstorm, and some cans of Bud and a pack of cigarettes. If I can be 1/100th as cool as this woman is when I'm her age, I shall consider my life a success.

*The Bermuda Triangle is not a myth, and it is located at the intersection of West 72nd Street and West End Avenue. On Sunday afternoon I watched with decreasing patience as approximately eight busses headed toward said intersection, where they are supposed to turn around and pick up east-bound passengers on Broadway, never to return. At least not until the second after I'd given up and hailed a cab.

*I'm so in love with this goddamn city it's ridiculous. The feeling I get wandering around outside on a mild, sunny day in NYC is nothing less than orgasmic. However, like many lovers (not that I've had many,) it never ceases to piss me off almost as much as it makes me happy (see above.) I wouldn't trade my lime green 144 square foot box o' fun for the world. At least not for another two years, according to the lease I just signed.

*Check out my badass girls at the starting line of their final race, about to win the darn thing. I do miss rowing very much, but I absolutely do not miss making the anticipating-the-most-intense-mental-and-physical-pain-you've-ever-felt-in-your-entire-life face right before the start. Just thinking about it makes me almost need to go to the ladies' room.

i need a shower. and a hug.

Just saw my bosses' boss perusing Craigslist personals ads. (This man is referred to as a "hound" by my bosses, which is indeed an accomplishment, as one of them mentioned today that he makes up for his height deficiency below the waist while nearly hitting me in the head with a rubber football.) Also, BB just asked me to come out for drinks with work people, which I am not inclined to do, since, like Midwestgrrl, I am extremely piggy about my Fridays. I was going to suck it up, but then when I wanted to leave without getting an account number which could just as easily be gotten on Monday, Mainboss reamed me out for my poor work ethic. How I don't show enthusiasm for the business, always want to leave at 5 (god forbid!), yadda yadda yadda. He's a smart one, Mainboss. If only I could wake up tomorrow morning, loins burning with a passion for government bonds, I would be flying my helicopter to the Hamptons in no time. But I just don't think it's gonna happen. Now where did I store those dog leashes and doody bags?

some people think i'm sweet. really.

Some of these are funny, some are just plain sad, and some are both, like the singer/songwriter girl Perplexa and I saw at C-Note last night. This girl was like a watered-down, acoustic Jewel, who was such a cliche she was almost a satire of herself, but, unfortunately, she was so serious we couldn't help but mock nearly every word out of her mouth ("Umm, this next song is about my ex-boyfriend.") Perplexa's friend Chaya even made up her own ditty, singing "I have a vaginaaaaaa, I have a vaginaaaaaa" in a high-pitched voice while making a guitar-strumming motion. This is probably one of those "you had to be there" stories, but it was so hilarious I nearly wet my Diesels. Do it yourself and just try not to laugh. Anyway, after far too many minutes of this, we started feeling like bad people (after all, she seemed like a nice girl) and just had to relocate. Speaking of annoying people with vaginas, yesterday after work I found myself on a crowded Times Square subway platform, as usual. A mousy, Marie Claire subscriber type woman shuffled along slowly in front of me, and I accidentally kicked her wedge rubber flip flop such that it flew off her foot and slid about five feet in front of her. I apologized immediately, but she turned around and snapped loudly enough that I could hear over my headphones, "Thanks a LOT! I really appRECiated that!" Dude! You're walking on a Times Square subway platform on a rainy day during rush hour wearing wedge rubber flip flops. Worse things have happened. Just glare at the offender like a normal, jaded New Yorker and get on with your life. Crap like this is what causes me to walk the two miles home at every opportunity and, subsequently, consider that a workout and never go to the gym. My cellulitey thighs are all your fault, mousy Marie Claire lady!

it matches the walls of my apartment!

In lieu of a marginally substantive post, today I thought I'd get one of the fancy new templates and tweak some things. Gotta keep up with the Jonses. And waste as much time as possible.

no time to blog = the new black

I've noticed an alarming trend in the blogosphere recently. Everyone, it seems, suddenly has better things to do than distract me from thinking about the gaping hole in my life that Meaning and Purpose used to fill. One can only hope this is just a passing sun-induced mania or something. I present the following samples as evidence.

*Eurotrash: "Well, I've been a little busy, which has been a huge culture shock. I actually had to go out and buy an alarm clock on the weekend, after seeing a doctor to have my pyjamas surgically removed. On Sunday night I had to set my new alarm clock. And then I had to wake up to it's piercing yell early on Monday morning. And then I had to get dressed in grown-up clothes and commute into the city. I am still quivering from the ordeal."

*Maccers: "Now I am lucky enough to be blissfully happy in my work environment. Until I fuck up and it’s my fault and I am exposed as having an advanced case of Alzheimer’s for someone of such tender skin around the eye area. Then I exhibit symptoms of low self-esteem around the office until the boss rips 10 tons of shit out of me about my new Cruella De Ville hairdo and I can go back to websurfing all day. Yay."

*Lindsay: "Obviously, when it comes to this blog I've been phoning it in lately (in the traditional sense, not in some 'now you can update your blog through your phone' sort of way). So I've decided to get a guest blogger."

*Choire: "Oh, shit! I have a website! I totally forgot. My bad. But when the freelance comes, you say, 'Yes, please, may I have another? Ooh, yeah, you know I like it like that! Whoo! Spank it! Twerk it!'"

*Smitten: "Sometimes I fear that by posting daily, I am exchanging quantity for quality. I often say that I am going to post less, edit more, and spend more time ruminating on the bit parts, but it never works out that way because I always find some juicy gossip I am itching to share with you. However, if you were to see less of me in the coming weeks, understand that I am not trying to disentangle myself from you, Sweet Internet, I simply adore you enough that I want to give you the best."

I'm very happy for all you happy folks, but please please please don't stop! Kind of relatedly, in searching for the link to Smitten's site, I stumbled upon the most pray-to-jesus-it's-a-joke invention ever. Ladies and Gentlemen, behold......the Smitten Mitten!

vodka and spandex

This picture is a shout out to Drone, who always says he wants to pick up fat chihuahuas and sqeeze them until they squeak. In a loving way, of course. I wouldn't mind having this trio of so-ugly-they're-cute things guarding my apartment against future invasions.

Anyway, I had quite a lovely weekend--so lovely, in fact, that I'm going to blather on about it for a while and probably bore you.

On Saturday day Perplexa and I wandered around Nolita, where I failed to find a single thing I wanted to purchase--a rare phenomenon, indeed. I got to live vicariously through Perplexa by being the devil on her shoulder as she decided to buy an overpriced but insanely cute jacket/hoodie thing at the Vice store. After the requisite stop for corn and plantains at Habana, we headed to the Upper East to visit her amazing 94-year-old Austrian grandmother. She gave us cookies, a little German lesson, and stories of her drunken escapades as an 18-year-old in Paris. (I can only hope that in 70 years I'll be regaling my grandkids with the tale of Grandma making out with a hot French chef in a cab on the Westside Highway and then puking out the window.)

Anywho, after a nap and a gross but effective vodka concoction, Perplexa and I met up with our cool job-having friend Jeff for the interesting and awesome Tracy and the Plastics show at the Knitting Factory. You can read a pretentious review here. As the weather was for once not crappy, we walked up to the West Village to the Misshapes party. We danced like maniacs to our favorite music for about four hours, which is probably longer than all the times I've danced in my entire life combined. And we only fell to the floor in a tangled mess once! Just about every blogger in the world was there it seemed, and I managed to hold my drunk ass back and only accost the british brigade. The one I actually know showed up a little later and obliged my request to get drunk enough to dance with me. He took this pic of me and my future bride in civil union.


I made it home for a brief nap until I was awakened with a phone call from last year's team captain. Just like the old days, only this time my still drunk ass was hauled to Penn Station and not the bus to the river (might as well just say that the sport is rowing since almost everyone reading this already knows that.) The weather in the Jerz was beautiful, I saw lots of old friends, and didn't even catch a glimpse of PEG. This probably had something to do with the fact that she completetly avoided our school's tent. I also spoke with one of the Offended Older Alums, who was very nice and even suggested an alumni gathering in the city sometime. Awesome, but I will certainly not be sending out that invite. At least not to PEG. But most importantly, Columbia, totally not true to form, KICKED SOME ASS!!! During the race I was screaming "oh my god oh my god" so loudly that the girls heard me, and I was so happy for them I almost cried. Then I returned home to nurse my atrocious but very worth it headache.

return of the inadvertent guest blogger

I'm not awake enough yet (even though I went to bed at the geriatric time of 9:15 last night) to gush about my delightful, drunken, un-depressifying weekend, so here is another installment from my lil' sis. I think it is pretty self-explanatory.

Mr. Rogers + Bloody Grocer = Marshfield, Wisconsin

Normally I resist the urge to mass-email [Ed: be careful with those mass-emails, little one] articles from my hometown newspaper. But this one is special (special enough to give me a nervous twitch), and I really felt it needed to go to everyone I know.

I now know why I've suffered from shyness and maladjustment these twenty years. You can't grow up in Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood and be entirely stable.

For those of you lucky enough to read previous articles, know that this (almost) trumps Carol Nutter Engelhart's Encounter With Boy Scouts At Lake Okoboji.

Behold "Neighborhoods are source of neighborliness," brought to you by the editors of the Marshfield News-Herald.

PS. To my fellow Marshfieldians: Ask for me this summer, and you shall find me hiding in my basement with a candle and a shotgun.

please forgive me for what i'm about to do

I'd never posted about the Olsens at all and now twice in one week. It will never happen again, I swear. Anyway, I just have to point out that if Mary-Kate wants to major in culinary arts and open a restaurant, she might want to, i dunno, EAT once in a while. Sexy ribs, MK.

by george, i think i've got it!

There is really not enough space on this thing devoted to boys. And I certainly don't want to give anyone the wrong idea--that boys are not, in fact, what I think about 85% of the time. (The other 15% is split 14 to 1 between eating and miscellany, respectively, in case you were wondering.) So anyway, the last three years have been filled with an almost endless string of extended flings (except for that 6-month dry spell junior year, but let's just forget about that.) Generally, I'll make out with a cute guy the instant I decide I like him, and then continue to do so periodically for anywhere from one to four months until one of us (usually the guy) realizes there's really not too much there beyond the making out part. Then, to get over that one, I line up a new one, realize that I was deluded in thinking the last one ever would have gone anywhere, and the cycle continues. All of this hasn't turned me into a total pessimist, per se, but I'm definitely a little emotionally hardened. Nevertheless, what happened yesterday turned me into a big, warm 'n fuzzy bowl of mush.

The main reason Perplexa and I decided on Montreal as a weekend getaway locale was because she has a friend, who is a boy, there from her study abroad summer in Spain. They've kept in touch for the last two years, and now, after graduating from some big college in Canada, he lives in Montreal with his cousins. Basically, he is tall and cute and has the nicest sounding voice. If there's one characteristic that's an instant "turn on" (sorry, don't mean to get all Cosmo up in here) for me, it's a nice, soothing voice. And he speaks French. And some other things that I find appealing, like a love of television and the ability to spell "definitely" correctly. So obviously I really wanted to make out with him. Logistics (i.e., sleeping on the floor of his cousins' apartment, although, as FAB can attest, such inconveniences have not stopped me in the past) didn't allow for that this weekend, however, but I confessed my desire to Perplexa upon our return. Then yesterday she received the following in an email from him:

i like your friend, do you think it's reciprocal.....things were simple in 6th grade when you passed a note to your "love interest" and asked her to profess her interest by checking the "yes" box.

Genius. I like a boy, he likes me, and there's no way I can fuck anything up, because he lives in another country. Why did it take so long to figure this out?

not bad. not bad. not that good. but not bad.

Granted, most of my 10 correct answers out of 16 were lucky guesses, but I did actually identify a couple of the works on this Art or Crap quiz. [via Catherine's Pita] I attribute this knowledge to extensive TV watching, and nothing more.

doo bee doo bee dooo

Feeling too discombobulated to post anything substantial (as opposed to....), but here's what's on my mind today:

*Now that I'm in the market for a new computer, I'm thinking about joining the Cult of Mac. These are just so cute, and if I got an Ipod I could have such an extensive and organized music collection, which is really what I'd mainly use the computer for in the first place. If you have any strong opinions one way or the other, please let me know.

*I used to wear almost exclusively J.Crew, but then they started doing things like this. Well, that, and I discovered the wonders of the Barney's Co-op and independent (and almost affordable) downtown designers. Anyway, what are they smoking?

*Last night at my daily dinner supplier, a middle-aged, well-dressed white woman asked, "What's the difference between a burrito and a tortilla?" She looked perplexed when the cashier replied, "A burrito is IN a tortilla," and just ordered a burrito.

*Because I am not one to back down from a challenge, I have emailed a response to PEG. Hopefully her reaction will not be blog-worthy.

the beginning of the end?

The Company Computer Nazis have really crossed the line this time. I'm okay with not being able to use AIM. Surely if I had access to this fine program I would have been fired long ago, and rightly so. And I can kind of understand being blocked from web-based email. Actually, no, that one really doesn't make sense, and I'll be damned if I'm going to alter my emailing habits in the off-chance my work account will be screened. In any case, I can live without my hotmail during the day. But what just happened to me is so unsettling I can barely type the words. I have been blocked....from....a...............bl...blo........BLOG!

Seeking my daily dose of Olsen twin buzz, I just typed www.whatevs.org into my browser. A white screen appeared that said the following:

The site you have requested (http://www.whatevs.org/) is unavailable as a non-business related site.
Forbidden, this page (http://www.whatevs.org/) is categorized as: Chat.

I fear for the future. The day the word "chat" is replaced with "blog" is the day I say sayonara to my dreams of a lifetime of corporate servitude. Hmmm, come to think of it, perhaps this blog blockage is not such a bad omen after all.

life lesson #2349823975 -- DO NOT TALK AND DON'T NOT TALK TO CRAZY PEOPLE

What I'm about to post probably crosses some kind of ethical boundary, but I'll change the names, and gosh darnit it's my bloggy and I'll post if I want to. (Yes I just said that.)

So there's a big ol' college sporting event coming up, and seeing as how I was on said sport's college team for four years and want to support my former teammates, I thought it would be nice to round up the alumni troops to cheer on the kiddies. I found an old mass email sent out by an alum three years my senior, who shall from here onward be referred to as Psychotic Evil Girl. This was a sport-related blurb about upcoming events PEG had planned, none of which ever transpired, but that's beside the point. What follows is a series of emails, beginning with mine--The Rudest, Most Offensive Email in the History of the Internet:

Hey there, alumni (alumnas?)-

I'm just sending out this little email to remind everyone that [event] is next weekend, specifically Sunday the 9th. I know it would mean a lot to the [athletes] to have as many of us there as possible, and of course it would be awesome to see old friends and meet fellow survivors of the wrath/bad jokes of [our coach <--this is a joke (hee hee) which said coach did not find offensive]. Anyway, it will certainly be an exciting couple of [events], as they're ranked 9th going in and, in my humble opinion and results analysis, could finish significantly higher. So there are several of us in NYC planning to either take a train down or rent a car. If anyone is in the area and either needs a ride or has a ride with space for someone else, please email me and we can coordinate everything. Hope to see you next weekend!

-Gina ([College] '03) [oops, you already know where I went to college...so much for anonymity]

This was followed not five minutes later with two emails from PEG. The first used the same list of addresses to plug the team she currently coaches:

Hi all,

You can also come and see my freshman [compete] at [event]. We have won all but one [event] this season, along with being the BIG EAST Champions.

Go [lesser school]!

Coach PEG

Then an email specially written for yours truly:

Gina,

I would appreciate it if you did not mass email my friends/alumni who dont know you. They are not happy about it. Below are the email addresses that you should take off your list. If you do have some important Alumni information, I can pass it along to them for you. Please respond to this email so I know that you received it.

Thanks,

PEG

I was quite surprised by this harsh, perplexing reaction, and I replied in an equally curt tone:

Ok. [Coach] wanted me to encourage people to come, so I just replied to the old group email. Sorry that an email from a fellow alum is so offensive to people.

Gina

This viscious attack turned PEG into a fire-breathing dragon, and she sent me the following and CC-ed some of her friends, a couple of whom are also my friends:

Well there is a long history of [College sport] prior to your experience that is very negative. Before the [Coach] "era". These alumni keep in touch with me because they are my friends, not because they have fond memories of their team. I have worked too hard to get them involved for you to piss them off.
You should respect that. If your email has even one bit of attitude. You know that I will not hesitate to tell you what I think, so I sure hope that you apologize to me.

Grow up.

[PEG's full name, which I have never heard anyone refer to her as]

At this point, I was stunned, stressed from both this and being robbed the day before (i.e., near tears,) and unsure how to proceed. I forwarded the exchange to one of my best team friends who was very active on the team and knows both of us well. Then, without being asked by me, Best Team Friend sent PEG an email defending my intentions, to which PEG responded pretty much as one could expect:

Hi BTF,

Thank you for the email. I wanted to let you know that I appreciate your thoughts. I trust what you have to say and will leave it at that.

About Gina's email...
Most people, including myself, respond well to emails that start with a "hi___," and end with a signature. If Gina really does regret offending alumni, I don't believe her email would be as short as it was. I do want to let you know that I did not CC you on my email, so I know that means Gina forwarded it to you. I am fine with that. I openly CC who I want and let people know it.

I only responded harshly to Gina's email because I felt it was rude. If she wants to help with Alumni relations, she has to start with expressing herself better over email. And she has to realize that no matter who her friends/teammates may be, she has to respect other alumni especially those who are older. There are 2 reasons why we dont support the team as much as we should. 1) bitter experiences that you guys will never understand and 2) for rude people like Gina, why should we help her out? we need to feel like we are giving back, not being treated like assholes.

Please do relay this message to her and let her know that again, it is childish not to deal with me and to have to cc you to talk to me. But, I prefer to deal with you anyway. I think the both of us can have a working relationship.

About alumni, I know that there are a lot of people interested in [competing] at the [non-college event]. let me know what your ideas may be.

Thanks again,

PEG

I am seriously at a loss. This girl is crazy. I've never been the chirpiest, friendliest person on the planet as I am on the shy side, but I am certainly not planning a team relations sabotage. She's construed some kind of sinister motivation on my part, when my motivation was as simple as "alumni at event = good." All I think I'm guilty of is being ignorant to all this manufactured drama. Getting to PEG's finer points, I've re-read my initial email, and while it may be casual, I included a greeting and conclusion as PEG seems to have forgotten, and I don't see where the extreme rudeness comes in. Also, PEG is hell-bent on calling me childish, yet she uses such tactics as CC-ing her friends and signing her full name. I have not responded to her (how childish of me!) because a.) her attacks against me don't make sense, and b.) because at this point anything I say will most certainly be wildly misinterpreted and used against me. And now that I know my apartment is so break-into-able, I really don't need any enemies. Boy oh boy, I can't wait to see PEG this weekend!