Why soooo serious????

It is with true pleasure and complete irony that I bring to you this almost too perfect to be true conversation that occurred this morning between my mother and myself. If you’re a follower of the blog, you are already aware that I saw The Dark Knight with my brother last weekend which led to my reminiscing not really very fondly about my own encounter 5 years ago with a winged mammal. And then if not perfectly on cue... This happens...

Mom: the alarm went off at 6 am! got so scared...there’s another bat in the house...dad trapped it in ur room but animal control officer coouldn’t find it
Jess: OH LOVELY
Jess: btw just so we’re clear, I am SO NOT coming home on sunday if that thing isn't caught
Mom: it’s probably hanging on one of your dresses in the closet taking a nap
Jess: I love how u are finding humor in this
Jess: that was a seriously traumatic moment in my life
Jess: flying rodents are NOT FUNNY
Mom: I am so agitated to have to wait now for a pest control company
Mom: 1pm-hope they find it
Jess: are we maybe thinking it's time to have our house bat proofed??
Mom: we thought we did! closed up the attic fan from inside and out-got new attic door in the hall
Mom: it’s about the same time of year exactly each time
Jess: happy anniversary bat!
Mom: they said it is sleeping now so it’s safe for me to be in the house
Jess: u are braver than me
Jess: I’d be in the garage again
Mom: would u take a shower if u were me?
Jess: I wouldn't leave the spot I was in and I would close the door just to be sure... if I were you
Jess: being attacked by a bat and subsequently getting rabies... not really on my list of things to do
Jess: anytime soon
Mom: I can’t wait until 1pm! I won’t sleep tonight if they don’t find it!!!!!!!!!!
Jess: you better hope they find it then...

Quickies

I hate people who notice about a quarter of an inch of free space on the subway and decide that somehow because they are completely delusional (and obnoxious) they can squeeze their fat ass onto the seat. Are you people for real? I’d like to offer you some polite advice, just freaking stand. We’ve all had to do it one time or another. It’s seriously SO not the end of the world. Because I have to tell you, there is absolutely no reason that I can think of in which you need to sit on top of me. None whatsoever. I should have just ended the first sentence at I hate people.

I was at my friend Mara’s last night watching DJ, the second cutest grey cat, play with a toy on a string. What would it be like to be simple minded enough to find something so inane like that endlessly amusing? Oh right, the other day I was in Duane Reade and came across greeting cards that play music when you open them, so I proceeded to stand there for 10 minutes and open every one of them. I was mesmerized... Yet the other customers were clearly not as amused.

The trial of the century—Results

After careful planning (using the scientific method), the Phase I munchkin preference clinical trial was run today by the R&D department, which consists of really, well, just me (and no I am not wearing safety goggles). The box of 50 randomized munchkins contained 10 samples of 5 varieties (presented in no specific order: chocolate glazed, glazed, jelly, cinnamon, powdered) and was placed strategically far enough away from my chair in order to monitor the trial, but not intimidate or influence the results. The trial commenced at 9:15 am. For full Study Design details, see “The Trial of the Century” post.

10:15 – Something alarming has happened. I am shocked that people seem to not like donuts anymore. Free donuts. What the hell is wrong with this world? Is the box invisible? Are people not eating them because I am sitting here? Maybe I should hide under my desk...

11:15 – The eating has begun. People are warming up to the donuts. Lots of powdered and cinnamon are being left on the top of the pile. Until one of my co-workers parks herself right next to the box and proceeds to eat 4 powdered holes. There’s always gotta be one subject skewing the results, I’ve taken note to keep my eye on her.

12:15 – 7 cinnamon, 1 powdered left. Couple of chocolate glazed and jelly, which is quite surprising. I’m not sure if this is an adequate sampling, we may need to run a Phase II trial. But I do still contend that the last ones in the box will be cinnamon or powdered.

2:15- 5 cinnamon, 1 powdered, 2 chocolate glazed are left. The unpopularity of cinnamon has been proven, with half remaining 5 hours into the study. Surprisingly chocolate glazed has seen an unprecedented decline in popularity.

3:15 – The chocolate glazed are gone. Leaving 5 cinnamon and 1 powdered.

The original hypothesis proves true. Experiments are fun... Especially when I’m right, and they involve donut hole treats.

Disclosures: Investigator consumed 1 chocolate glazed, 1 jelly and 2 glazed, but these consumptions were not deemed statistically relevant in determining the outcome of the trial.

Posting from the RTW archives

If you haven't already seen the new Batman flick, you must. Go now. It was awesome. And I fully contend that the next movie should have the Penguin in it. Penguins are psychotic.

I have never met Batman, but I did have a really fun encounter with a bat 5 years ago...

Volume CXXVII - Who's on First, but I'm up to Bat

As if moving day wasn’t exciting enough with our white trash moving aficionados, one who looked remarkably like Jesus, another who kept asking when the first party was (um yea lemme think… not invited…) and the one who after repeatedly being told that Lisa went to college in Atlanta, kept asking me if I was from “out there” too (I’d hardly refer to Atlanta as “out there”, maybe try down there?). I get back to my parents house (how nice does that sound… parents house… …) and all I want to do is put my feet up and relax. I pop in the All My Children video and begin to sift through the remnants of the Sunday paper, am cutting out coupons for Dawn and Cascade (ok I’m either really poor or 80 years old…) when all of a sudden I see something fly into the room and back out. Now, it’s been a very long day (although I don’t recall taking any drugs, maybe I did and I forgot…). I had three cups of coffee and thought the moving man was Jesus…maybe I’m just delirious… Yes, delirious… totally hallucinating… then I see it again. (Ok NOT hallucinating there is a large thing flying around my house). Exactly on cue I freak. My parents are stuck in South Carolina because all flights were cancelled so it’s just me, Smokey, coupons and something that is definitely not supposed to be in my house… and it has wings. What to do? I’m 23, I’m a big girl (who's watching tv with a stuffed animal...), maybe it’s a bird… Don't panic, remain calm... I’ll just open the door to the garage and will it through osmosis to fly out there, shut the door, open the garage door and it’ll fly out… (fly out, fly out I say… please???). Unfortunately that doesn’t seem to be working as well as planned, so I call my Dad and start to hysterically cry (because that solves everything!). He thinks I’m joking (does this sound like someone who is JOKING???) Meanwhile I am screaming into the phone as the flying thing crashes into something in my house and ends up crawling along the floor (uh definitely not a bird)… there is a bat in my house (and my screaming has screwed up its sonar). My father’s solution is to go to Lisa’s… (itsy bitsy problem… one I have no shoes on and it’s raining out, two my car keys are upstairs and I am not leaving the spot where I am because I have no idea where the bat is but I know for sure it’s not in here anymore…) He tells me to call the police (and why he has the precinct number memorized is a question for another day…). The dispatcher calls animal control… (k, great, good, fine). I refuse to sit and wait for it to fly back in and attack me so I grab Smokey and 4 phones and proceed into the garage to sit and wait for them to rescue me…
It’s now been like 45 minutes of me (wearing no shoes), my stuffed cat and every piece of telecommunications equipment in my house trying to find stuff to amuse myself with in the garage (oooh a rake, fun). Finally the animal lady calls and informs me she can’t come unless I see the bat (make no mistake about it, I saw it) because when it’s flying around it looks huge but it’s really not (oh no lady, it was huge, it was SO big, and I wish I wasn’t talking about a bat right now…) She wants me to try and contain it in one room (yea you have a better chance of seeing God than me going back in that house and chasing around a flying rodent). If I get a neighbor though, we can go in together and close some doors to rule out where the bat could be. This seems to be my only option of returning to my house anytime soon, but I’m not wearing any shoes! My only choices in the garage are my mom’s snow boots or roller blades (yes folks, I wore shorts and snow boots… it was quite a sight). I proceed next door to the Weiner’s (funny that I’m acting like a weinee and I have to solicit help from someone named Weiner…). He gets hats and a broom and we go searching for the bat like an episode of the crocodile hunter (aw krieke I think I’ve spotted the sucker, we’ll sneak up behind it…). We stare blankly at it for a half hour while the animal lady takes her sweet time getting to my house (what are you freeing raccoons and mending fawns legs, get your ass over here!). Takes it upon herself to give me a lesson about bats, there are only two kinds, small brown bat and large brown bat, looks like mine (why is it mine? I have in no way claimed the bat…) is a large brown bat (I don’t care if it’s a bird or a plane, get it out of my house!) Michael Keaton, Val Kilmer, or George Clooney I’ll take, bat without the man… I’m gonna have to pass…

RTW © 2003

Slydial-er

Greatest news! All of those times I have called you and sat there with my fingers and toes crossed, loudly praying that you would not pick up, repeating the mantra voice mail, voice mail, voice mail... Will never have to happen again! Because now there is Slydial!

“Slydial lets you connect directly with another person's cell phone voice mail, bypassing the traditional ringing process that often results — sometimes disastrously — with someone picking up on the other end.”

Traditional ringing process? Someone picking up on the other end? Hence CALLING SOMEONE? I am so confused. You call someone and if they pick up it’s a disaster? What the hell did you think was going to happen?? If you don’t want to talk to someone, why don’t you just write them a letter? E-mail? Text? I know they say breaking up with someone over email or text message is pretty cowardly (ie, DICK), but really... Isn’t maliciously and strategically bypassing them being able to pick up the phone by using a service aptly named Slydial just a little bit worse??

I love being 12

Jess: we need to talk about how I really like the new miley album
Jess: I think I am 12
Jess: I needed to get that off my chest
Katie: ooh I like it too
Jess: you're taking 7 steps hereee...
Katie: THE 7 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU
Katie: OH YOU
Katie: YOURE A PAIN YOURE VAIN YOURE INSECURE
Katie: YOU LOVE ME YOU LIKE HER
Katie: YOU MAKE ME LAUGH
Katie: YOU MAKE ME CRY
Katie: I DONT KNOW WHICH SIDE TO BUY
Katie: YOURE FRIENDS THEYRE JERKS
Katie: WHEN YOU ACT LIKE THEM
Katie: JUST KNOW IT HURTS
Katie: I WANNA BE WITH THE ONE I KNOW
Katie: AND THE 7TH THING I HATE THE MOST THAT YOU DOOOOOOOO
Jess: you make me love you
Katie: HAHAHAH
Jess: haha had to get that one in there
Jess: oh miley

Gangster's paradise

What up yo homies? How yous doin? Word! As you can see I am practicing my ghetto fabulous, since apparently yesterday I was accused by one of my co-workers of being so un-ghetto. What? Excuse me? I am so ghetto! I am so ghetto it hurts. Like it’s really painful. Just because I don’t wear a clock around my neck, does not mean I cannot roll with my posse. Represent! I’ll take down any one of you fools. I dare you to step! I am packing serious heat. Aw shizz.

Just to prove my intense ghetto-ness, I put my name into a Gangsta name generator. Because I am a gangster. Seriously, you do not want to mess with me. I am Sherman Tank Bastard and I will mess you up, for realz yo. And I hang with my entourage of co-gangsters Heavy Jimmy Jamma and Sweet Bitch Ass (I mean, obviously I put my co-worker’s names in too). If you’d like to join our gang, put your name into the Gansta name generator...

http://gangstaname.com/index.php

Oy gavult

This was by far one of the funniest Daily Show segments in a while. Fair warning, Jon... I am coming on September 15. Watch out my funny little honey bun! Oh I didn't tell you guys Michelle and I are going to a Daily Show taping?? When she told me a couple months ago, I did a little dance at my desk at 9am... and was promptly caught doing said ridiculous little dance by some dude delivering bagels.

Top Ten

Top ten reasons why this is a great headline:

Men sentenced for setting friend’s crotch ablaze

10) All my top 10 lists so far seem to have something to do with men’s crotchal (oh yes I fully made that word up) areas... But let’s not read anything into that.

9) Gauze. Lots of gauze.

8) Was there really nothing, seriously not a single thing left in this world to light on fire?

7) I wonder what is worse, having your balls lit on fire, or having some genius try to put you out using the stomp method?

6) Don’t think these two fools will be getting very many visitors in the slammer.

5) Hopefully for all the other inmates on their cellblock those orange jumpsuits are flame retardant.

4) When I put these dude’s names into Criminalsearches.com it will say they lit someone’s balls on fire.

3) It is truly amazing to see how some people throw around the term “friend”. I’d hate to see what they do to their acquaintances...

2) I love how they had to make it all journalistic and fancy. “set crotch ablaze?” Let’s be honest about what really happened here... they lit their friend’s balls on fire... Call it like it is man.

And the number one reason why this is a great headline...

1.) This isn’t what friends are for? I could have sworn the song had that lyric...?

Weekdays on ABC, Weeknights on SoapNUT

Wow, I suck. I saw Cameron on my way out of the building after work yesterday and again I said nothing. For those of you who missed my post two weeks ago, Cameron Mathison of All My Children, Dancing with the Stars, host of this year’s Daytime Emmy’s, seems to do something or other occasionally in the same building as my office and I seem to keep seeing him, staring in silent shock and awe and being a big pussy. The first time it happened, fine, I was caught off guard... Took me a minute to realize what was going on and by that time, the moment was gone. But this is twice now, and this time was worse because I totally eyed him up as we passed each other on the street outside my office. We are like two ships passing in the night... And I am the chicken ship. What is wrong with me?? It’s like my lips are momentarily glued shut. Seriously, if I don’t say something next time, I should be euthanized...

A new kind of neighborhood watch

When they say we live in the information age, they ain’t kidding. People really have no privacy anymore. Just Friday I went to a Tasti-D-Lite by work with my co-worker and when I walked in, I saw a sign that said “smile you’re on camera.” I am being watched in Tasti-D-Lite? Is that really necessary? Doesn’t that seem a bit excessive? Merely knowing that totally scared me crapless and sincerely deterred me from sticking my hand in the candy bin and sneaking pilfered gummy worms. Next thing I knew that video would be on YouTube, I’d be fired and arrested for petty theft of fruity gummied candies in a fake ice cream establishment, and my record would be posted on CriminalSearches.com. There goes the neighborhood...

I bet you didn’t know, but on this fabulously informative site, you can put in your address and pull up all of your neighbors with criminal records. Who could resist that temptation? Certainly not I. So while I ate my Tasti-D, I put in my parent’s address to see what kind of neighborhood they chose for me to grow up in. Apparently a behavioral offender (and the site reveals his full name, which is truly helpful so when he’s behaving badly I can scold him properly?) lives at the end of my street and a couple of people who are listed as having multiple crimes live in surrounding neighborhoods. I am elated that this information is so readily available to me on the internet. I feel so much safer now that I know. I’ve always wanted a big brother...

The trial of the century

I’m thinking of running my own clinical trial. My highly scientific hypothesis?... That nobody likes the powdered or cinnamon donut munchkins and therefore they are always the ones leftover, hours later, at the bottom of the box turning into rocks. I have always had an inkling that this was the case, evidenced by my preliminary market research (n=1) on the subject which was posted back in 2004:

Jess: I really like munchkins
Nicole: me too
Nicole: I really really like them
Nicole: the glazed, those are my favorite
Jess: oooh chocolate glazed are good too
Nicole: the powdered ones make me sneeze
Nicole: and breathe funny
Jess: powdered ones are subpar
Jess: those are the ones you eat if none of the good ones are left
Nicole: agreed
Nicole: wholeheartedly agree

Per this discussion, I believe there is just cause to conduct this groundbreaking clinical trial, with the goal being to get published in the very prestigious Pastry Art and Design Magazine (don’t bother googling it, I promise you it really does exist). The proposed Phase I trial will consist of one box of 50 randomized munchkins to be placed in a controlled area near my desk. Based on the overwhelmingly true assumption (which we will consequently secondarily prove) that people will never turn down free food, our study subjects will not need to be solicited to participate in the trial. To the best of our ability, this trial will be double-blinded (I will close my eyes) and munchkin preference will be evaluated at 1 hour intervals. Now all I need is a grant to run the trial, or a sponsor, or a generous donor...

The cheesiest

Recently I have had the worst craving for macaroni and cheese so yesterday I tried Supermac on 7th avenue for lunch. I can happily report back that it was indeed super. 2 of my co-workers and I went and all landed on different levels of the unhealthy continuum. One got the small size with whole wheat pasta, I got the small size with regular pasta, and the other got the appropriately named "Mega Mac." (mega stomach ache... after eating 4 pounds of pasta.) Not surprisingly I want to eat it for lunch again today... and everyday thereafter...

When I told Katie about my delicious lunch splurge, she posed a very interesting question... when it comes to do it yourself mac and cheese, what is better? Velveeta or Kraft? Tough call... ponder amongst yourselves....

See this is what I am talking about

Today I received the link to this from 2 friends. Hayden is a singer now too?? Sigh. There really aren't any words in the dictionary to describe how utterly horrendous this is. Can't they all just be content with being skinny, blonde and rich?? They have to sing too? and not well...




Lord help us all...

(on a super note, guess who learned how to embed video on the blog!!... Rock the casbah)

Unfair consumption

There really is nothing like the joy of walking into Dunkin Donuts or Starbucks in the morning and realizing that the muffin you indulge in everyday contains almost half of the allotted calories you should consume in one day. It’s only second to the thought that by 9:30 am, you therefore would have already consumed 600 calories. Delicious!! This can pose some tough decisions. Muffin or dinner? Muffin and the always sexy muffin top. Hot! Obviously the restaurant industry wanted to keep these eye-opening, and waist-line expanding numbers either hidden or at least posted microscopically. But alas, why shouldn’t we all have to conform to the much adored and heralded rules of Pharma advertising...

“New Yorkers have been in the throes of sticker shock since this spring when the Big Apple became the first city in the country to implement a law forcing chain restaurants to post the calorie count of each food in the same size and font as the price.”

Saw this in an article and smiled. Apparently the calorie count is now considered Fair Balance!! What’s next, Rachael Ray voiceovers... “Before starting a donut regimen, be sure to talk to your doctor about your increasing artery plaque...”

Please stop the music

Holy hell. What has happened to this good and loving world?? Ali Lohan has a single. It’s on iTunes. When you stop laughing and/or crying, we can discuss this very important matter. Ali, little sister to Lindsay, you may not know her because as of now she hasn’t posed for any magazine covers not wearing clothes. Oh wait, my mistake you may know her. Ali, of that stupid Living Lohan show on E!, that lord please tell me you have no idea what I’m talking about. Please. I have just one question about this... the singing (I have many, many questions about the reality show). Why, WHY do they continue to give record contracts to these no talent noise makers? I’m sorry to have to inform you of this, but not everyone can sing. Nor should they... For the rest of our sakes. Paris Hilton should have been our first clue about this and Heidi Montag should have forced the complete destruction of all sensible people’s ear drums and maybe the entire human race.

It’s a sad fact that apparently the music industry hasn’t figured this out quite yet. Singing actually takes talent... And it’s hard work. I have a damn degree in it, for crying out loud! I know everyone used to snicker in college when I made the Dean’s List, thinking how easy it must have been to sing for your grades. It was not easy! Do you think Ali Lohan can sing intervals? Read music? Play piano? Has perfect pitch? Knows where her diaphragm is, or what it is, or that she even has one for that matter? Owns a tuning fork? Okay fine, maybe I don’t really do any of those things either... Although my tuning fork has got to be around somewhere either being used as a real fork or a fat pincher...

Rebirth of the Work Moon-o-Meter

It's baaaaack! I have really missed the work moon-o-meter. To refresh everyone’s memory, this is where we discuss and rate the dick things people do at work. Feel free to submit your own stories for future postings!





Here is the original scale:

Moon-o-meter alert scale (as developed by me and Sari):
1 - Why me?
2 - Just roll your eyes
3 - Nobody else thinks this sucks besides me
4 - E-mail a few co-workers to bitch
5 - E-mail all your friends at other companies to bitch
6 - Still talking about it a few hours later
7 - Call your mom and cry
8 - SHUT THE HELL UP! That did NOT just happen!
9 - Time to quit/moon!
10 - Burn the office down

Today, we examine a hypothetical situation. For lunch, I brought my leftover salmon from the other night. As I made my way to the fridge to retrieve it, a thought passed through my tired and Friday wired brain. I guess I am eating it cold! I certainly cannot be one of those despised people who puts fish in the office microwave!! That is bad, almost like an unforgivable sin. A couple months ago, someone did that very thing on the other floor of my office and people still talk about how the smell permeated the entire floor to this day. If I had heated up my fish, I would have at least ranked anywhere between a 4 and a 6... Easily...

Posting from the RTW archives

I have a secret to tell you. My encounter with Cameron yesterday is not the first time I've met a soap star. It's only the first time I've done it and stood there like a dumbfounded fewl. I actually met a few of them back in 2004, but as with yesterday... it didn't turn out exactly the way I had hoped.

Volume CLXXXI - Daytime Drama

I think I should be on a soap opera. Allow me to tell you why. I am overly dramatic, can cry on cue and my life is basically a soap opera already so it wouldn’t really be that much of a stretch (oh and I think I’d make a good villain, especially with my uncanny ability to raise one of my eyebrows at a time… now that would be fine drama). They get paid well, get to be on television, get their hair and makeup done everyday, and the basic job description is to hook up with beautiful guys (unless your character is supposed to be a lesbian, talk about a missed opportunity…), oh and I forgot act. I suppose I can pull off this acting thing, how hard can it actually be right? (except for the fact that in high school I had 3 speaking lines in the play “South Pacific” and every time we’d get to my part the director would yell cut and make me do it over, then I would literally shit a brick when my part was coming praying she would just let it go, I think I’m scarred for life… I’m not kidding). Added to those perks would be me getting a cool snooty soap opera name like Sydney Davenport, getting to say things like “there was something in your eyes when we first glanced at each other in the boathouse that night… (dramatic pause for effect), I know you felt it too Victor… you must tell Sloane that you love me, before she has that baby”, and of course not being able to even go to the supermarket without rabid fans screaming that I am a stupid slut and they hate me because I am taking Victor away from Sloane and she is with child (which isn’t exactly a perk, but it would be funny to see how many people are having serious trouble separating soap land from reality…)
I try very hard not to be one of those people, but after watching the same soap everyday for 8 years, it’s quite hard not to fall into that trap. I had to face this challenge a few weeks ago when my friend Mara invited me to go to a party at her friend Liz’s apartment who just happens to be on All My Children (I thought I might need an inhaler for the first time in my life… and I don’t have asthma). What if I’m a star struck idiot? What if I can’t speak? What if I say something really stupid? (like… I carried a watermelon…) What if I just pass out? What if Rebecca is there?? (Rebecca Budig, the woman I want to be and there is not a doubt in my mind I would be a lesbian for in a heartbeat…) What am I going to do!? I know that I must adhere to what I have decided are the two rules of meeting soap stars… 1) do NOT call them by their characters names (that is so ignorant and embarrassing), and 2) do NOT under any circumstance talk to them like they really are their characters… as long as I can handle those two things, I should be fine. So we get to Liz’s, I’m introduced and she says she thinks we’ve met before, I look familiar (I look familiar??? Me? I watch you everyday on tv and I somehow forgot that I’ve met you before… do I have early onset Alzheimers? Or are you just being overly nice?) We’re all chatting, me, Mara, Liz and a makeup artist who works on the show (talking about anything BUT All My Children because apparently that would be tacky, who knew) while I wait for everyone else to show up. But time is passing, Mara has somewhere to be, I can’t stay there alone and none of them have shown up yet. This is a huge emergency! I only got to meet one more actress on the way out, and just like that, there went my dreams of hooking up with a soap star… right down the old drainy drain…

RTW © 2004

I lost my balls

That fine specimen of man that you see above... Cameron Mathison from All My Children, just walked out of the elevator in my office building and 2 feet past me while I waited in the lobby. O.M.G. I honestly think I have an arrhythmia, since my heart literally stopped when the elevator door opened, my eyes got really wide and my jaw hit the floor, as I stood there in complete shock unable to speak or move. SWOON.

WHY AM I SUCH A LOSER??? I should have totally talked to him! Any of the following not at all making me look crazy conversations could have ensued:

- Wow are you Cameron Mathison?... I love you... would you mind taking your shirt off
- Hi! You're Cameron Mathison from All My Children right? I've watched since I was 17...
- Cameron Mathison... YOU ARE HOT.
- Hiiiiiii, will you take a picture with me?? My crackberry has incredible zoom.
- Cameron, wait for me... (as I chase him down the street)

I think I am still a little shell shocked from this encounter. Dood if I was drunk, I totally would have talked to him! Why wasn't I drunk at 9:30 am...

Paltrow pics

Yes, that is Gwyneth Paltrow. She was at Bloomingdales last night with Elizabeth Hurley and some other chicks signing perfume bottles. My co-worker and I went to see them.

"It was a mob scene. I wanted to kill myself because they were so beautiful," one shopper in line named Carol told NY Mag.

I wouldn't go THAT far lady. Not sure where the mob was, because we were actually pretty close. Close enough to see Gwynnie's big ole biznatch scowl face. Would it kill you to smile?? Oh wow, that's what weirdos on the street usually say to me...

I have no idea who that guy in the bottom left is, however I am seriously impressed with my crackberry's photo zoom capabilities. Next we figure out how to FOCUS...

Carbon copy convo

My friend Marisa and I were out the other night discussing the number of women in the city who were most likely having the exact same conversation we were having at that exact moment. It’s easy to think you’re the only one having a bad day, week, month, life... But apparently you are not alone. Someone probably as close as the table next to you is having a carbon copy convo. In fact, chances are she’s talking about the exact same guy! Ok well maybe not, but then again... Maybe. Stranger things have happened.

I didn’t truly believe this phenomenon to be true until I was on the bus the very next morning and the woman sitting behind me was on her cell phone. Now, I could only hear one side of the conversation and half the time she was speaking Spanish, but trust me it was pretty clear. All I heard were the phrases “I have wasted so much time”, “this is enough, enough already, enough already, enough already”, “he doesn’t see it that way”, and “so that’s the story”... And I was like yeppers, I know what you’re talkin bout sista. I sat there smiling, not at her misfortune but at the irony of the situation, thinking about how cool it would be if the next time I have that exact same conversation, I was able to speak half of it in another language! That is definitely one thing I can say I have never done before, bitched in half English/half Spanish... I need to get movin on that.

Roger and Me

Keeping up with the foundation of randomness that this blog was started on, I have decided as of yesterday that I am now in lust with Roger Federer (rer rer rer). Yes, that skank you see pictured with him, is in fact his girlfriend, but honestly... her name is Mirka. Mirka Vavrinec. Really? Mirka? Mirka Schmirka.

I think Rog should check out what I'm servin up instead. Clearly he needs a new muse to break out of his losing streak as of late. I haven't played tennis in a while, but I'm REALLY good at ping pong aka table TENNIS! We would be so cute together, don't lie. I am so stalking him at the US Open this year.

oh and by the way... if they are selling this sweater at nike.com, I will own it. It's trimmed in "winner gold" ...

Making my Ques-o (ugh I know, so cheesy...)

My old college friend and I had a very strange ritual. Almost religiously we would go to Taco Bell at the food court in Carousel Mall. We would get soft tacos (hers supreme, mine not), and carefully use our Spork (yes that's a spoon/fork combination) to remove all of the meat. Then we'd use about five mild sauces for each taco, and presto... gourmet meal for $3. I kid you not when I tell you we went like 5 times a week. Now, she started this ritual and I just followed along, so I usually let her field all of the questions that undoubtedly arose from friend's who came with us before realizing what they were getting themselves into. Questions like, "why don't you just ask for the tacos without the meat?" And she would say, "because I like the meat flavor." Hey, works for me.

Ever since I've graduated, my brother and I have tried to uphold the ritual. It'd been a while since we'd gone, so we went the other night. I ordered 2 soft tacos and 1 steak soft taco, got my Spork and 100 mild sauces, and settled in to start the de-meating spectacle. However when I got to my last taco, I saw no steak. Que el fucko? I decided to go complain, since the steak was a whole 70 cents more and I actually planned on eating it. It ran through my mind that they may not believe me, although they don’t seem to hire the sharpest tools in the shed at the Bell. How could I prove that I hadn't already eaten the steak one? And then I glanced over at my tray, which displayed the remnants of my already eaten 2 soft tacos, ie, 2 piles of chopped meat, that my brother promptly picked up and said “if it please the court, I’d like to enter into evidence exhibits A & B...” I knew that ritual would come in handy one day...

Don't scratch the itch

Sometimes it sucks working in health care. Like the fact that I know health care is two words, that’s not so bad, but knowing the intricacies and risks associated with disease states and procedures... In the case of this, often times knowledge is not power, it’s paranoia. By far the worst offender of this for everyone else who doesn’t work in health care, is the internet. If you think you have a medical issue, never go on the internet to self diagnose. It is a virtual mine field of ridiculous associations which can turn even the simplest most benign problem into some kind of rare fatal disease. For example, you have a nose bleed because you stuck your finger up there, but WebMD says you have the bubonic plague.

I remember a couple years ago, I couldn’t sleep because my skin was so itchy I wanted to rip it off. I practically used an entire bottle of moisturizer, but nothing worked. Maybe I had an allergic reaction to something? Maybe I should take an antihistamine? Maybe I have Eczema? So off to the internet I went to find out what was wrong with me. I Googled chronic skin itch and found myself at the MayoClinic.com. Causes of chronic itchy skin include: psoriasis, scabies, lice, hives, or assorted internal diseases such as liver disease, kidney failure, leukemia and lymphomas. Oh my God I have liver disease...

Coined new word of the day

Fabulosity (fb'yŏŏ-läs'ĭ-tē)
Adj.
The envied after state of being totally fabulous.

Example: If the world can't figure out how to deal with my fabulosity... I really can't see how that is my fault.

Posting from the RTW archives

My credit card bill for last month came yesterday. Let's just say it wasn't pretty. Everyone at work wondered how it was possible for me to come in everyday wearing a new dress... well, there's your answer. Based on this, I have encountered a very important decision. I either need to stop shopping, or stop eating. Let the hunger strike begin! And here's why (although at least my office has moved since then)...



Volume CCXXI - Buyer Beware

My office could not be in a worse location. I basically work in a mall. Every store you can think of is within a 5 block radius. The shopping gods just sit around all day dangling carrots in front of me and laughing hysterically, more like cackling, at how pathetic I am. But if I've told you once, I've told you a million times... when shopping is in your blood, i.e. when you're a female, there is no way to flush it out. I read the other day in Cosmo, and no I don't read it often, about Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie and how he basically emotionally cheated on Jen Aniston. Even if he didn't physically commit any kind of adultery, he at least thought about it and therefore he screwed up. Wow. If the same philosophy applies to shopping, then I'm in big trouble. Instead of adultery, I'll call it "shoppery". Making numerous purchases over a prolonged period of time, or in other words being a chronic shopper-er would be equal to having a passionate long lasting affair. However purchases here and there are more like interspersed one night stands... still wrong, but not like a full out affair. Trying something on but not making an actual purchase is equivalent to going home with someone, realizing your mistake and leaving before you consummate it. Going into a store, touching things and checking price tags is on par with excessive overt groping and flirting. And the least offensive forms of "shoppery" are window shopping or shopping off of strangers attire. This is basically emotional "shoppery"... not wrong per say, but probably not a good idea if you are weak or a prior shopper-er with mutliple "shoppery" infractions...
They say men are genetically programmed to cheat, well then women are genetically programmed to shop. I'd say on average I commit emotional "shoppery" 15-20 times a day. I don't care if you're broke, walking down the street, watching tv, or at a funeral, when you're a shopper-er, you're a shopper-er all the way from your first cigarette til your last dying day. Don't you hate when I just break into song for no reason? Your mind is always seeing things you like and therefore committing "shoppery". Even when it's for nobody in particular. Case in point: everyday I walk past Banana Republic Men on my way to work. I am not a man, yet for some reason I still find myself committing window "shoppery". Why can't I seem to control myself even around men's clothes? They had one brown button down and one maroon button down in the window that I was totally crushing on. Every time I walked past them, I couldn't help thinking how hot they looked. Is that normal!? At least that is relatively harmless though since I have no reason to be tempted to take it any further. It's way worse when it's a women's clothing store. Last week in the window of Esprit was this drool inducing, to die for white eyelet blazer. I saw it everyday. I know the way it was looking at me. It was laying it on thick. But I kept it in check and the first few times I only committed window "shoppery". Until one day I could no longer stand it. I went inside and felt it up. The second I touched the price tag I knew it was a mistake. It would be way too costly to take it any further. I'm sorry baby, but I love my bank account way too much and the statement is one unforgiving SOB... I need to curb my shopper-er ways...

RTW © 2005

Jesus, take the wheel

Honesty is the best policy, so I will have to admit to you guys that I have a HUGE girl crush on Carrie Underwood. Does she have to be so hot and blonde and such an amazing singer? I may re-think the amount of blonde I import into my hair Thursday night, if it's really true that they have more fun... Can't I just be her?

Wow I feel like Kelly Taylor's psycho stalker girl. If I start telling people I'm from Oklahoma, be scared.