cruisin'

Via super excellent blog Overheard in NY (who also has a book deal...do people still read books?):

Gawker Stalker, I Think You Missed One

Katie Holmes: He introduced me to his kids! And he's taking me to Rome on a private jet this weekend.

--Starbucks, Waverly Place

Overheard by: robinshire

I wonder how much she's getting paid for this...

note to self:

Buy groceries. While the hippie housemate's homemade chicken curry and leftover dark chocolate flourless cake from work were quite tasty, they don't make an appropriate breakfast and lunch, respectively. At least all my Dooce-ian digestive issues are momentarily more than taken care of...

the benjamins

I am a broke-ass motherfucker. I pretty much always have been, and it is all my fault, though I enjoy blaming my parents for forcing their financially responsible ways on me during the height of my teenage rebellion. Eating vegetables is probably the only thing they ever told me to do that I actually did. I still love me some broccoli, even when not smothered in cheese. Anyway, the point is, I have zero dollars, as in an overdrawn checking account, a maxed out credit card with an unreasonably high limit (thanks, greedy Shitibank enablers,) and let's not even speak of "savings" because I don't have any. Of course, this means that I haven't been able to buy myself anything in a long, long time, and now all I wanna do is look online at pretty things I can't have. So take advantage of my unfortunate masochistic tendencies and check out all the great new online shopping links to your right. More will be added shortly because I'm on a rampage that will not abate until I get my tax returns from this year and last year (woopsies, maybe I shouldn't have weasled out of Consumer Ed. class in high school.)

the ethicist by randy cohen, lite

You are a bartender at a popular collegetown bar. One evening during your shift, a friend, to whom you owe $8, sits down with friends at your establishment. In lieu of giving her the cash, you buy her an $8 blueberry mojito. With your employee discount, this only costs you $4. Discuss.

[I'm seriously torn, because on the one hand the friend is getting something for free that she would've otherwise paid $8 for, but on the other hand the lendee essentially pocketed $4. Let's ignore the questionable ethics of using one's employee discount to buy things for friends.]

In other exciting news, my mom is sending my beloved computer to my house (yes, I live in a house...weird,) so I can spend even more time avoiding real social interaction and, most importantly, start acquiring new music for the first time in six months. Anyone know anything about this hot new band called the Arcade Flame or something? Also, the Cute Canadian and his friend Pierre who works in consulting and spends a lot of money on strippers (that is all I know about him; I'm sure there are loads of other redeemable qualities) are coming to Gorge-land in less than two weeks! We are going to a Snoop Dogg concert. And hopefully not getting too drunk to get it on at least eight times.

fashion victim, epitomized. alternate title--i'd sooner wear mom-jeans.

Behold, the ugliest, most unflattering pair of jeans in the history of humanity. Don't quit your day job, Nicky. Oh, wait... [via the fugpolice]

(Speaking of jeans from celebrity clothing lines, if anyone feels like buying me a present for no reason...)

movin' on up

Some big changes have been happening throughout the blogosphere. I, of course, am stagnant as ever (though slightly less alcoholic these days,) but I'll take it.

First of all, Jason Mulgrew of www.jasonmulgrew.com, formerly www.everythingiswrongwithme.blogspot.com, is soon going to be more than an Internet Quasi-Celebrity with some sort of TV and book deal nonsense. Additionally, via gina fave and major girlcrush Erin Bradley of the Nerve Blogalog and old school Livejournal is the new Nerve sex advice columnist, which, and it may come as no surprise to many of you, is pretty much my dream profession. Go Erin. And last but not least, best bud Drone has ascended a rung at his place of employment, and I can't tell you where he works or what his title is but it's pretty fucking impressive. Congratulations, everyone, on achieving your little piece of the success pie.

there's a good LSAT question in here somewhere

Having a dear friend in the restaurant biz, I've long known it to be a ridiculous web of incestuousness. But I'd never qute appreciated the degree of ridiculousness until now. Essentially, having screwed but one of my coworkers, I am clean as a whistle compared to everyone else's dirty work laundry. Here is my attempted recreation of the current family tree, to the best of my limited knowledge:

Girl Manager S has slept with Bartender C, Bartender D, Bartender B2, Cute Married Chef L, and best friend and Regular Patron J's ex-bf two days after they broke up.

Bartender C has also slept with Waitress B, New Pornstar Waitress M (she started a week ago, also her name [I can't resist] is Misty,) Regular Patron J, and one of my roommates.

Bartender D has a long distance girlfriend so he is otherwise boring.

Bartender B2 has slept with Waitress B, made out with Female Bartender C, and was until a couple days ago in a quasi-thing with Regular Patron J, until last Sunday several hours after he had sex with her she walked in on him having sex with best friend Manager S, after which she went downstairs to be comforted by B2's best friend Bartender T only to hear the banging (literally) continue. B2 and T quit the next day.

I slept with Bartender B1, who as far as I know has only banged Fired Waitress and Regular Patron L. Sweet. And somehow, while not being a part of any of the drama, I've made myself privy to all of this wonderful information, and with no close ties to anyone I have no problems sharing it with the more clueless staff. It's like being in high school all over again! Well, or what I imagined high school to be like for the non-supernerds.

inadvertent guest blogger

My sister is awesome. It took me about eighteen years to figure that out, but I'm glad I finally did. She is currently in her second semester of a study abroad program in Santiago, Chile, and she recently got back from (another) trip to Argentina. Also, she sends great emails.

Oh my goodness the trip was so excellent. It occurred to me that the little Argentine horseman that I found so very attractive looks basically like what you would get if Luke Skywalker married a hobbit and moved to Argentina to have a kid. Which is probably why I liked him. The horseback ride was the main highlight of the weekend, but the place itself was so profoundly beautiful, and the town was so delightfully contrived to please tourists, and there were endless shops with the most amazing chocolate I've ever tasted, and we got to eat lots of yummy restaurant food and didn't have to pay for it.

While there, she managed to get bitten on the thigh by a horse. I'm sorry for her pain, but this is damn funny.

And you would seriously not believe my bruise. Literally half my left thigh (and my left thigh is not small) has turned pretty colors. It almost worries me because it's actually gotten a fair amount bigger-- as of this morning I had another threeish square inches that weren't there before. I had to call mom right after it happened to ask when my last tetanus shot was, and I swear she did not react at all when I told her I'd been bitten by a horse. She didn't even ask to know the circumstances under which I was bitten by a horse. She just kind of said "oh" as if it were something that happens fairly regularly when one walks down the street, and told me the tetanus shot stuff. I told my friends about this later on, and one of them said "Is your mom a bit of a space cadet?"

And that pretty much sums up my mother right there, bless her heart. In other news, I cannot wait for my sis to return for her last year at school in L.A., because it means I will get to crash in her new digs and have another kickass weekend.

Oh and room draw was last night, and I just got an email from Sophia saying we have "the best rooms on campus." We're living in a suite with a girl I don't know but Sophia says is cool, and a girl Sophia doesn't know but I say is cool. Apparently we have a balcony and a private bathroom and our rooms are huge. I'm so, so excited!

And last but not least, one of my sister's friends from high school, who moved to California to marry a boy she met on the internet and work at Blockbuster, had a little accident playing Dance Dance Revolution and wanted everyone to know. Heh.

Yeah I felt kind of bad laughing about the Dance Dance Revolution thing... I knew she'd hurt her knee and been out of work forever, but I had no idea that was how it happened. I think if I busted my knee playing Dance Dance Revolution I wouldn't tell everyone about it in a mass email.

Miss you, Carebear.

i'm not pregnant!

A bajillion thank you's to Cityrag for posting this. Courtesy of the Britster, it now seems that every time a female celebrity is caught on camera not sucking in her stomach, pregnancy rumors abound. Dudes (yes, I'm sure it's mostly dudes responsible for this,) sometimes a girl's stomach sticks out, for example: when she's just eaten a delicious sandwich, when she's had a few beers, the week before she's on the rag and bloated as all hell, if she has a lower spinal curvature that causes her stomach and butt to protrude pretty much all the damn time (ahem,) or if she's having a contest with a friend using their abdominal muscles to see who can make theirs the biggest (double ahem.) Even 99% fat free Cammy D has been caught in pictures with a "bump." Make it stop! Argh. Ah well, perhaps next time I'm in the city I can stick out my tummy and get a seat on a crowded subway.

Me (right) and equally unpregnant friend Maj last summer:

TMI time

One thing I've observed from my years working with dogs (and molesting every one I see on the sidewalk) is that mutts tend to live much longer and have fewer health problems than purebreds. It would make sense that this would translate over to humans, and I'm sure we all learned in grade school science class about that group of inbred Quakers or whatever who all got the same weird genetic disease. Now, coming from hearty, blue collar midwestern stock (I am a supermutt mix of Irish, Polish, Italian, Dutch, French, three strains of English, and Lord knows what else) one would imagine that I'd be pretty healthy. While I drank my farm-fresh milk three times a day as a child and have never broken a bone, through various times in my young life I've suffered from chronic strep throat, pneumonia, chronic bronchitis, sinus infections, various mystery flu-like things, infected toenails, anemia, vicious insomnia, sebacious cysts, and a litany of rowing related ailments, the most exciting of which being a torn rib muscle and permanently displaced rib bone. There's one more biggie I'm leaving off this list, because, despite my tendency to overshare (no, really?), it's just that gross. (And as I'm home from work because of it right now, it's the impetus for this entry...well, that and the fact I just took a couple very necessary Vicodins.) So anywho, now my mom's favorite thing to do is remind me of all the fun health problems that run in our family: colon cancer and hypothyroidism and high cholesterol, oh my! The good news, however, is that all the women on her side (whose genes I've definitely acquired the most of--thanks for the long eyelashes and J.Lo booty, gals!) live to be damn old, so chances are I'll get to be a biological weakling for a long, long time. Perhaps I should finally learn to pay my medical bills before the collections agencies call.

i like sandwiches

Well well well, guess who has absolutely nothing to write about! Yes, for the first time in a long time, my life is essentially drama-free and my mental functioning is almost at a level that some people might call "stable." While many of those around me are experiencing drama-tastic existences (yeah, pretty much all involving members of the opposite sex,) the most excitement I've had of late includes a long night out in which one wholly unnecessary tequila shot had me facing the bottom of a friend's toilet (hooray for unintentional calorie reduction!) and discovering the $1.00 table at the neighborhood antique store where I purchased six thin bangle bracelets of various cheap metals that look quite cool when all worn together. Now I'm mostly just working, sleeping, or drinking, and I'll let my half-assed and spotty job applying rampage decide whether I remain in Ithaca for the summer or begin Project Get My Fucking Shit Together 2005 immediately.

the name game

From the Local Paper, courtesy of my lil' sis:

A daughter, Ziranda Alexis Rachel Mason, was born April 6, 2005, at Saint Joseph's Hospital to Zalerie Mason of Colby. She joins a sister, Zabrina Mason, 6. Grandparents are Scott and LaVonne Mason, Thorp.

Not gonna lie, I'm a wee bit homesick.

real world 17

Today the Real World people are casting at my place of employment. I was supposed to work all day, but since people waiting to try out for a reality TV show aren't particularly interested in ordering up some steak and eggs or "bitchin' breakfast burritos" (which are quite amazing, I might add,) and three waitresses for eight tables is a little excessive, I was released early. But not before I got a good look at the crop of hopefuls shivering in their miniskirts and furry stiletto booties (not making that one up) in line outside. I so desperately wanted to go down the line and save people some time: "No...no...nope...oh honey no...ok you're kinda cute...nope...sorry." Oh to be a casting director and get paid to be judgmental. Or to go back in time to my job at my college's illustrious admissions office, where I got paid to make fun of people's applications with other smartass workstudiers and take four hour lunch breaks during a five hour shift.

i want my brit brit

Ithaca NY, please get your shit together and provide your cable television subscribers with the Best Channel in the Universe. If ever there were a time to start, that time is NOW.

fallen soldier

Sad news, guys. Much like what happened to me at good ol' JP Morgan Stanley Goldman Stearns Brothers and Co., Inc., the Computer Nazis at the Dronester's place of employment have taken away Blogger access. Let us all bow our heads in a moment of silence and pray to our respective supreme beings that this restriction is only temporary. Drone, you will be missed, but not forgotten. Amen.

informer, you no say daddy me snow me i'll go blame, a licky boom boom down

This morning I did something I'd always sworn I would never ever do in a million badillion years. That something starts with a "c" and sort of rhymes with "novocaine." It was fun. My worldview has changed, and I think for the better. Though staying up all night after work and then returning to work in the a.m. wasn't the most brilliant idea I've ever had, my wonderful 22-year-old boss and her rich Cornell undergrad best friend/enabler came in for a five hour champagne brunch to make me feel like I wasn't the only glass-spilling asswipe. Also, though I don't really recall, B the Bartender and I had some sort of conversation about the post-making out weirdness. I imagine it went something like this: "We're cool right? Are we cool? Because it's really not a big deal and I just want everything to be normal and I think you're great and I want to be able to just hang out and it should be ok right? We're cool ok? Awesome let's go eat old pizza crusts and drink the box of Franzia in the fridge." It was also revealed this morning that the incredibly, amazingly good-looking hippie chef, with whom I want to have sex almost as much as I crave his smoked turkey, melted cheddar, garlic mayo and bacon sandwiches, is getting divorced from his wife of eight months. Uh oh.

weenies

This very brief video clip (courtesy of Cute Canadian) is quite possibly the best thing I have ever seen. It almost makes up for my housemate's jackass fuckbuddy coming home at 2:15 a.m. (conveniently just as I've settled in after work,) complaining that we have no food in the house to give him (for free,) demanding that I give him a piece of my cookie that I was famishedly (don't care if that's not a word) eating (I most certainly did not give in--no one gets between me and my food,) and then making all kinds of racket making me never want to have sex ever again for the rest of my life. [I love ya, M, but now I truly understand why he's just a fuckbuddy.]