my blood is boiling, my brain ibm

According to the relatively brief amount of time I've spent reading stuff on the internet in the past two days, I've learned the following:

1. Women do not enjoy and consume wine like men do and should not be served equally at a restaurant. (I could go on another rant about how Christopher Hitchens and every other First World Dweller should be required to spend a year working in a restaurant before they go to college, much less get paid to write an essay about workers in a restaurant, but I have more fish to fry, and a very good book to read.) [via Midwestgrrl]

2. Women do not know the deliciousness of pork and won't buy it unless it's likened to clear nail polish and its infinite usefulness. (I don't even own clear nail polish, but I choose the pork at every opportunity.) [via Jezebel]

3. Women do not have the right to find humor in the sometimes uncontrollable bodily functions that every single person who has ever taken a breath on this earth has experienced. [via Jezebel] Also, here is John Sellers' blog. I particularly enjoyed the post from May 23rd, and I've taken a mental picture of him and cannot wait to fart loudly in his presence should we ever cross paths in Brooklyn.

I have nothing more to say about all of this other than that I find it really sad that some men (notice I sad "some" and didn't try to squeeze half the world's population into one generalization) can't handle the fact that women are human beings, with interests and needs and wants and problems just like them, and do not exist merely to stroke their fragile egos. Also, I think my nails look just fucking fine.

oregon vacation, leg one: things to do in the minneapolis airport when you're stranded there for seven hours (and trying not to spend too much money)

1. Read Jezebel! Or not.

Forbidden Keyword Sex!

Time Killed: 15 minutes

Cost: $5

2. Contemplate "The Many Moods of Loons."

Time Killed: 15 seconds

Cost: Free

3. Play with indelible eye makeup at The Body Shop, recall that time in The Basement when you were painting the vanity with silver paint and tried cleaning the brush with your hands and water and you looked like the Tin Man until you found some paint thinner.

Time Killed: 5 minutes

Cost: Eyelid cancer

4. Walk the entire length of the airport and back without using any moving walkways or escalators.

From A...

To G...

Time Killed: 2 hours, allowing for a Starbucks break and a couple phone calls

Cost: $2.79 (for an iced coffee--jesus f'ing christ)

5. Postpone your third and last flight and plan an impromptu trip to Portland!

Time Killed: The rest of it

Cost: Priceless! Or, $10 for more internet time, $129 for a deluxe double queen room, $60 to and from the airport, $85 for dinner, $10 for pre- and post-dinner drinks, $60 for a haircut. However you want to look at it. (I choose the former.)

"album cover"

That's my friend Dan on the bottom (who took this with the self-timer), and I've hung out with two of the others. I've never been so proud to be associated with someone.

discipline

As someone who received check minuses in the "displays self-control" category on many a grade school report card, I've learned that the only way to, well, control myself is by establishing strict rules, all of which have come about through years of trial and error. For example, I will not buy any clothing item--except those from Ebay, H&M, a thrift store, or Target--that isn't drastically on sale. (I actually prefer the restriction of options, and the challenge to not buy crap.) I will not smoke cigarettes "just this one time when I'm out with friends." (Still working on that one, but doing pretty good!) And I will not use the computer while drunk unless I can still spell. This one, so far, I am rocking.

Last Saturday, I went to a Kentucky Derby party with Ellen. It was sponsored by Maker's Mark, and hence totally in line with my new drinking rule--don't spend a lot of money on drinking. But apparently I need a new rule--don't drink mint juleps that are more liquid than crushed ice. My only memory between crying in the bar and falling asleep is trying to write an email to my sister. I couldn't type to save my life, and, somehow, from a force deep within, I managed to shut my computer.

Then on Friday I was feeling antsy after staying in with a nasty cold all week, and went to Terroir (verdict: ridiculous, over-the-top, expensive, and awesome wine list; food that sounds a lot more awesome than it is) after some work stuff in Manhattan. Had a few glasses of wine and two beers, got home and felt the need to eat some cake and make myself a cocktail. Also, to talk to an ex-boyfriend (not the most recent one--don't even need a rule to avoid that) on the internet. The next day I found I'd acquired some new Facebook friends, felt a fleeting sense of shame, and had the following conversation with the ex:

Ex: You again
Me: Heh, um, sorry I had a bit to drink last night. Hope I didn't say anything majorly retarded.
Ex: Really? You didn't seem drunk at all. Your grammar and spelling were impeccable.

I have no recollection of anything I said, but by golly at least I spelled it correctly.

especially adapted to cases of inverted nipple

I am so bidding on this.