Posting from the RTW archives

When I was a kid, er, until I was like 17, I went trick-or-treating with pillowcases... in multiple neighborhoods. I acquired so much candy, that I emptied out one of my desk drawers and stashed it all in there like a squirrel collecting and hiding his take for the long winter. Then I would consume it in reverse preference order. All the crappy candy went first, all the favorites (ie, kit-kat, reeses, mounds) were saved for last. It was a joyous time of year. Candy rules.

Volume CCXLVII - Don't take Pretzels from Strangers

One could argue that Halloween is the best holiday. It definitely ranks right up there in the top 5. I can see strong cases made for Chanukah/Christmas/Kwanzaa solely based on the gift platform. I'll give you that much. Presents are pretty sweet. Wait, do you get presents for Kwanzaa? If not, you're fully missing out... you should convert... And soon. I suppose if you really like starch, you could put up a fight for Thanksgiving. Mashed sweet potatoes are pretty delicious too, especially with marshmallows. And yes as usual, I've found a way to talk about food. New Years is always way too hyped up to ever be as fun as you want it to be. St. Patty's has green beer, Easter has an egg laying bunny, Sukkot has outdoor camping... But Halloween has identity avoidance and candy. How can you beat that? What other day can you be anyone you want to be and consume 400 million grams of fat in chocolate? When else is it socially acceptable to wear a French maid's costume to a bar or have a tail? These are all solid arguments. Don't try to tell me that the sweater you got for Christmas from your Great Aunt, fruit cake and 12 hours of the Yule log is better than girls wearing fishnets for fun and a Snickers. People dressed like idiots and free candy from strangers! That is quite the concept. Killer holiday idea...

There are two places you can be sure there will be candy every Halloween, besides Duane Reade. Those would be your office and your parents house. It's almost certain that some pesky co-worker is going to show up on November 1st with bags of leftover candy just to torment and torture you. I will not be that person, because I will not be getting candy this year. If it's in my apartment, I will eat it. I could tell myself that it's not for me, it's for the little kiddies... But I would no doubt convince myself that there are no little kiddies in my building and eat all of it. Therefore if there were little kiddies in my building, they would have to make do with English Muffins or whatever other surplus goods there happened to be in my apartment. I mean hey, if my mom is planning on giving out pretzels for Halloween, I can get away with some hearty nooks and crannies. Yes, I really thought there would be candy in my parents house, but I came home to find a Costco container of pretzels in orange "boo" bags. Clearly unable to hide my disappointment or fearfulness that my house will most likely be egged, I inquired as to why we were shunning actual candy this year. My mom replied that they don't get many trick or treaters so she didn't want candy left over... Hence the pretzels. Pretzels? On Halloween? Ain't no little kid that I know who wants to see pretzels being tossed into their goody sacks. If you're gonna put on a costume and walk miles around a neighborhood in the freezing cold, you're doing it for Reese's or Kit Kat... Not pretzels! What a slap in the face of everything Halloween-ey! Even doctors give out lollipops... Jesus Mom! You might as well hand out pennies...

RTW © 2005

Good Vibrations

I wish I knew why for the life of me I cannot remember to DVR Saturday Night Live. Luckily you can watch the skits online, and I encountered this one... and basically just peed my pants at my desk...




Say hi to your mother for me...

(p.s. it seems mirror blog for Facebook doesn't support the video links, if you can't see the video in the post, to watch the clip visit my blog at http://rtweb.blogspot.com/ or click the link at the top of this page...)

Tennis Camp 2: Hit me baby one more time

I was shy when I was younger. I gather that may be a little bit hard to believe at this point, but it’s true. My sorority pledge name freshman year of college was “Phantom of the Opera” because basically all anyone knew about me was that I sang. I never spoke and I never caused any trouble. Oh how far we’ve fallen. These days, it seems I have inadvertently blasted open the dam between my brain and my mouth and let the floodwaters of things I probably should have thought in my head but not said out loud... Flow. Sometimes I get myself into trouble, sometimes it’s funny... But always, it’s remotely entertaining. More so when Trouble 1 (that’s me), is accompanied by Trouble 2 (my Tennis Camp better half, Meredith “Merbear, Carebear, Naughty Bear”) and the rest of the usual suspects, LeeAnn, Dirk, Rita, and Mayor Vic. As was evident all over again this past weekend when we stormed into Saugerties, NY (well fine maybe crawled would be the correct term for Meredith and I, since I was driving and not allowed to go faster than 55 mph lest receive another speeding ticket and have my license confiscated) to take over Total Tennis with our sparkling personalities and jewels. So without further ado, I present to you, some of my favorite “Tennis Camp 2: The Reunion Special” memories...

Dude, have you seen my room?

After pulling into the parking lot and laughing about how upon our first arrival Labor Day weekend we wandered around lost and aimless, like John McCain at a town hall debate, looking for the office, this time we proudly headed straight there (since we knew where it was already, or because there happened to be two huge signs). Please, I spent 4 days here a couple of months ago, I know this place like the back of my hand... Do we know where our room, 41, is?, the lady asks, YEP of course we do! So we schlep all of our stuff toward the vicinity of where I’ve determined our room should be (keep in mind I couldn’t find our room last time either), I climb up the stairs, see room 45, and hang a right. 44, 43, 42... Uh??? Ok maybe it’s not up here, it must be that little cabin next to 42. Back down the hill we go, with Meredith insisting on accidentally dropping all of the things that are stuffed into her hands, every 10 seconds. We are literally causing a scene with our incessant dropping and subsequent cracking up, when we learn that the cabin definitely has a letter D on it (clearly not 41), and inside resides one of the cooks who is now staring out the window secretly fitting us for straightjackets. We eventually found room 41, which was apparently located somewhere in the universe between AREA 51, and Cook’s Cabin D, after Meredith dropped her stuff a couple more times and I took two more steps to the right of room 42.

Not so silent Jessica and Bob J.

Labor Day weekend, we spent our entire time with our Pro Vic. We were completely spoiled. As much as he tries to lie about it, we are the most awesome group he’s ever had and it doesn’t work any other way but “Mayor Vic and The Viclets”... with sometime special guest appearances by Guillermo. However, on Saturday it poured. Not like a drizzle or shower, more like a monsoon, causing us to play on the indoor courts which happen to come in the not so accommodating quantity of 5. In the morning, our group was paired with another group who’s Pro’s name was Bubleau (totally butchered the spelling of that, I think I just tried to make him French), but I called him Boobie. In the afternoon, we were stuck with yet another group and Bob J., who after Vic introduced our group to, said that he would let his group introduce themselves, prompting Ms. No Filter over here to blurt out “oh why, don’t you know their names?” Which he didn’t. Yep, I make friends wherever I go.

The great indoors

But we did make friends. Our Total Tennis posse grew to include Lauren and Daniel who witnessed our complete debauchery more than once and still like us (I think?). Friday night, at Vic’s weekend indoor tennis “party”... We decided to show up and bring a little life to it. If you define party as stolen cream puffs from the kitchen and experiments in the art of walking on people’s back massages. Vic, who was supposed to be watching people play, was instead on the floor with me walking all over him (in the quite literal sense). When a group of ladies went to leave, Vic said, “you had some great shots guys”... Prompting Meredith to point out the obvious after they were gone, “You weren’t watching them, you were on the floor...”

Dirty “Dancing”

And of course, no weekend at tennis camp would be complete without a dance party in the barn. Whatever composure we had attempted to keep the first time around (that would be none for me and my pole dancing), we willingly lost this time. There was drunken indoor tennis with Lauren, followed by drunken dancing to some song about a tractor, drunken foosball, drunken pool, drunken dropping my drink on the floor, drunken feeding Vic pretzels like we were at a petting zoo, and the inevitable being completely hung over. Saturday night was so much fun in fact, that it couldn’t have been more obvious judging by both of our first words Sunday morning. Mine were... “must have coffee and BACON”, Meredith’s were “I don’t think I brushed my teeth last night... (how do you know?), the taste of wine, cigarettes and half a bag of cheesey curls that is still in my mouth”

Can we go back next weekend????? :-(

Not a complete wash

New rule: Check in pockets before doing laundry. Not sure why that wasn’t an always rule, seems logical enough, but after two mishaps, I am now enacting it. A couple of weeks ago I washed a bus ticket that I had literally purchased mere hours prior. Miraculously the paper didn’t fall apart, but you couldn’t read a word printed on it. $7.10 down the drain, or more accurately, in the spin cycle. Then last week in a moment of complete moronicness (not a word), I washed and dried my iPod shuffle. {cringe}, I know. I couldn’t understand what the heck was clanging and banging around in the dryer, until surprise!, I realized it was my $70 piece of electronic equipment and favorite gym companion. Nothing could match the trauma and sheer disgust with myself evident on my face when I pulled that poor pink rectangle from the dryer and attempted to unsuccessfully turn it on. It is actually really hard being this stupid.

Since it helped me fix my crackberry, I decided that the all knowing Google may have some suggestions or potential sob stories related to my plight. I came across a posting instructing me to put my shuffle in a ziploc bag with some silica gels (the packets that come in shoe boxes and say do not eat) overnight and then charge it up. I held vigil over it for a couple of days and then mustered up the courage to plug it into my computer. After a few seconds holding my breath... The light came on and all my songs appeared! Phew... I almost had to sacrifice 7 more manicures...

Gee Officer Krupke, Krup You

It’s always hard to cope when something happens that forces you to change your perception. You’ve conditioned yourself to think one way, it’s almost impossible to imagine feeling the opposite. When this happens, it really makes you do some hard thinking. Take for example John Edwards. I volunteered for his campaign a couple of times last year, thought he was inspiring and had really great hair. I even had an autographed copy of his book “Home” on my coffee table, that I now use to kill bugs because.... I found out he cheated on his cancer-stricken wife. I want my time back.

Or the more recent example of my elicit love affair with driving. I never realized how much I would miss it when I moved to the city. The freedom, the great acoustics for belting along to the radio, the zoom zoom. I love driving. When I’m at home, sometimes, I’ll take the long way to places in order to just keep driving. And then... On my way to play tennis with Meredith this past weekend in Morristown, cruising on 287, rocking out to Ne-Yo... I got pulled over. I hate driving.

Over comes Officer Asswipe, oh I’m sorry I meant, State Police Officer Asswipe to tell me there he was driving along in the right lane while I passed him going about 70 in the posted 55 mph speed limit. Based on pace (translation: perception), he has pulled me over. Where am I going? ...To play tennis, I’m not from around here, I have my GPS, wasn’t really sure where I was going. Maybe confused and lost will get me off? Not so much. He spies my tennis racket in the back and must know I can’t get “whoosh” when I swing, so therefore I am not much of a threat to him for assault with a deadly racket. Did I know the speed limit was 55? ...No, honestly I didn’t see a sign, I just got off Rt.80 and it was 65. Maybe dumb half-blonde will get me off? Yea no, and if it was a 65, my fine would be doubled. Didn’t I see him when I passed him? ...Actually no, I only saw you when you pulled up behind me. (I was too busy pretending I was Ne-Yo to bother with other cars on the road.) Maybe Ne-Yo will get me off? Really, Ne-Yo? That’s my argument? I should have just cried.

Basically at this point, I just want to pay the fine and forget about it. The faster I pay it, the faster I erase it from my collective memory. Trust me, I would have offered to hand Officer Asswipe cash through the window right then and there if that would have made the whole thing just be over (or if I wouldn’t have spent the night in lock-up for intent to bribe an Officer of the Ass). Unfortunately I have to wait until Monday to find out what my penalty is. And it’s $105. Ugh. In my sick and twisted way, I have equated that to 10 manicures that I will be sacrificing in order to teach myself a lesson. Now when my cuticles are rotting, I will remember not to break the law and maybe try to love driving again. I seriously need to stop being so hard on myself...

Smokin the Crackberry

Emergency. Like of epic proportions. Stop the presses. I am not getting my emails to my blackberry and the hourglass of doom keeps popping up every 10 seconds. Um, panic. What is wrong with my baby berry?? Is this happening to everyone’s phone or just mine? What do I do? Help! Wait a minute here... I have “the network.” I should be able to turn around and see “the network”... You know, that guy with the hard hat and clipboard and 1,000 other people who are supposed to constantly follow me around in order to comfort and assist me? Where is the network?? Sadly this occurrence does not seem to be a simultaneous Verizon wide meltdown and apparently it is only isolated to my poor berry.

So in between the hourglasses, I send out a few panicked messages to my fellow blackberry users. Meredith instructs me to remove the battery. Um... Excuse me? You want me to disassemble my blackberry... By myself? By my very un-techy self? Ok I can do this (maybe). I take off the back, pry out the battery, wait a couple seconds and pray that reassembly goes almost as smoothly. Not gonna lie, but that whole experience was just a bit traumatic. Problem solved? Not quite.

Next up in the queue, the all knowing Google. Carefully selected keywords: Chronic hourglass (yes, it’s quite clear I work in Pharma), no email, blackberry, please someone help before I cry. I land at the blackberry forums where it becomes apparent that what is causing my issue is none other than the Facebook for Blackberry application. Seriously? Couldn’t it have been like, I don’t know, the alarm clock, or the memo pad??? Now I am at a unique crossroads. I have to choose between two opposing things that I love. If I want to resolve my issue, I must delete the Facebook application. But berry is significantly less cool without Facebook. What if I delete it and then re-install it??!! Ugh I know... What is it “they” (you know how much I love quoting they) say about being insane is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome....? I swear one of these times, that damn network will be there when I turn around...

Diggin on Diggs

Picture this... Strolling down 5th avenue in the 20’s on a beautiful Sunday afternoon with my friend Mara. Deep in conversation describing the circumstances under which myself and two of my friends would climb into a tub in the bathroom of a Japanese restaurant, when all of a sudden the most delicious man passes me on the left. He is ripped as hell, wearing a flannel shirt and hat, and looking FINE. We lock eyes, I stop breathing, and instead of speaking, I start incessantly smacking Mara’s arm as he passes. We both turn around and Mara says to me... “was that...” and I nod, “...Taye Diggs?” and we both stop walking, and watch him walk away for two blocks (secretly contemplating running after him... Because I would really like him to privately practice on me...) I need to come up with a better plan for celebrity sightings, clearly what I’m currently doing, the patented (clam up, stare, and hate yourself a minute later) is not working for me. Did you know Taye the hotness that is Diggs went to Syracuse?? Did you know that I went to Syracuse??? We could have had so much to discuss... Sigh...

Four, four, four, four

So since I have about ZERO time (or if it was possible to have negative time, I'd have that) these days to post anymore to my poor blog... I thought since Mara sent me this forward and put that I would most likely respond, I wouldn't want to let her down. Nor "spoil the fun"... cue the FWD...

Here is a fun and quick way to stay in touch. Let's see how many posts I get...

Four, Four, Four, Four...

A) Four places that I go to over and over.

Work, Gym, Home to my family in Jerz (therefore subsequently Port Authority, the worst place on Earth), Does work count again?


B) Four people who e-mail me (regularly)

Leah, Jaime, Michelle, Do work people count?


C) Four of my favorite places to eat.

LEMONGRASS, Mizu, My bed, this game would be more fun in 3's

D) Four places I would rather be right now.

On a beach, Driving a car, In Target, Anywhere but my desk...

E) Four people you think will respond.

Kevin, Ben (the only people who ever post comments on my blog!), maybe Mara because now she owes me one

F) Four TV Shows I watch.

My DVR wishes I only watched 4 shows...
All My Children, Lost, The Daily Show, Family Guy

Here's what you are supposed to do...and please don't spoil the fun...
Hit forward,' delete my answers, type in your answers and send it to a bunch of
people, including me. It's SIX questions. Take the time.

Seriously, don't spoil the fun...

The EYE

Katie: do u want to know my worst nightmare
Jess: k what
Katie: the LONDON eye
Katie: I would DIE
Katie: no way in hell could u get me on that thing
Jess: why does it look like it's going so fast???
Katie: i dont know
Katie: its like the biggest thing i have ever seen
Katie: it takes 30 min to go around
Jess: haha and when u got to the bottom and cried.... another 30 minutes before they let u off

Man oh man

I love The Daily Show so much...

that I'm not at all bothered that when I went, we saw some dood who writes for the Washington Post. The next consecutive guests were, Ricky Gervais, Charlize Theron, Tony Blair, and BILL CLINTON. God hates me.

The best f'ing fake news show ever

I love The Daily Show.
I love The Daily Show so much, that I didn’t mind waiting on 11th avenue for 2 hours just to get within 100 feet (lord I’m bad with distance estimations, but that’s what the restraining order said) of Jon Stewart.
I love The Daily Show and yes, my t-shirt, which was a gift from my brother, says Stewart/Colbert '08 and it's AWESOME.
I love The Daily Show enough that I didn’t mind following the barrage of rules that the 20 year old kid on his first day of work yelled at me, which included turning off my cell phone (ugh annoying I never do that), going to the bathroom before the show (do you need a sample as well?), not asking for autographs or photos with Jon and generally “not being weird” (umm... Yea, that might be a problem).
I love The Daily Show for September 15, 2008 that literally almost taped in one take, was funny as hell and forever will include my laughter... Yes that’s right, the sounds of my unique laughter that were captured just for Jon... CRAP I broke rule #3 again...

I drove all night

If there's a Celine song, I've sung it, or considered it at some point and therefore associate it with a very specific memory. "If that's what it takes" was what I was listening to on my Walkman while riding on a tour bus junior year of high school in England with some of my closest friends. Celine sang that Friday night in French. "My heart will go on," which we were all pretty sick of 10 years ago but is likely one of the most beautiful songs ever, was the song I performed as my first big solo at a concert senior year of high school. Celine closed the show with that Friday night. "Because you loved me" I sang at my high school graduation, "To love you more" I performed at Syracuse and recruited one of my classmates to play violin, "The prayer" I duetted with another voice student, "Alone" a Heart cover on her lastest album has always been my go-to karaoke song, "Have you ever been in love" I sang at both of my best friend's weddings, and "I'm your angel" which was also part of Celine's set list Friday night, was one of their wedding songs.

Needless to say, I will take all the jabs anyone wants to send my way about Celine, because I can admit it, she’s a cheeseball, but Friday night was incredible. The woman is an animal. Almost every one of her songs has at least one ridiculous note in it and she hits them all like it’s easy. Nothing short of amazing. Luckily for everyone surrounding me, I had somehow misplaced my voice so I had to let Celine sing most of them herself this time. Basically the concert was perfect, minus the fact that it took me 45 minutes just to get out of the parking lot and then I somehow managed to get lost in Newark thereby making what should have been a 20 minute ride home, into a 2 hour ride home. Celine is worth it though.

Five straight for Federer, straight jacket for me

I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?

Bad news is that as I was running out of work yesterday in an attempt to not miss the entire Federer championship match, Cameron Mathison was coming into my building. Basically business as usual, I stare into his eyes and try to form words, he walks by and instead of finally speaking to him like I vowed to do last time, I smack Caryn’s arm so hard that she probably has a bruise. I am now a shameful 0-3 in Cameron conversations. Embarassing, this has got to stop.

Good news? My Rogy poo won the US Open! Roger easily took care of Andy Murray who should immediately go home, find a razor and shave his gross dirty neck. The day before, Andy took care of “Rafa” (whenever I hear that I think of Raffi), who should immediately find some alternative bottoms to wear in match play because I personally am tired of watching him pick his wedgie every time he goes to serve. He could wear any pants he wants in the entire world and he chooses to wear pairs that creep up his ass? I refuse to understand.

Tropic Thunder and a Tropical Storm

A couple of months ago, Katie and I were on one of our summer adventures downtown when it started pouring. I of course had no umbrella, because the story is much funnier that way, and ended up standing in the 6 train station at 77th street for a half hour, running to 79th street and standing under a bank awning until the bus came. Not shockingly the second I got home, it stopped raining. I hate irony.

Luckily today I learned my lesson and decided to take along my umbrella on my escapades to brunch and a movie. Unluckily, even though I have the largest umbrella known to man, I somehow still ended up soaking wet. WTF? People walking next to me with much smaller inferior umbrellas weren’t half as drenched as I managed to get. My jeans were soaked up to my thigh, my bag was like a sponge, and my flip-flops were showing off their unique hydroplaning abilities. I looked like one of those lunatic Weather Channel reporters getting blown around while sprinting across 34th street in an attempt to not miss the heavenly dry bus that was pulling up. As soon as I got on, I started cracking up. Hurricane 1, Jessica 0.

T-minus 11 Days

In honor of my extreme excitedness (not a word) about going to The Daily Show taping on September 15 (yippee, yee-haw, hellllllsss yea!!!!), I have carefully chosen one of the many, many clips that made me crack up uncontrollably from last week's coverage of the DNC. Classic.

40-LOVE

I know some of us were getting a bit tired of the Phelps entries... you know who you are... so why not go back to the old standard. Oh Rog, I heart you. Now that I've perfected my form at Tennis Camp... I really think it's time for us to hit around, or whatever the kids are calling it these days...

Paris and Nicole go to Tennis Camp

In high school I was on the track team for a day. I wanted to be a sprinter. I also wanted to be Mariah Carey, and yes as you can tell, I was delusional back then as well. You can easily ascertain how well the track team went for me based on my first statement, so instead I decided to stick to my musical talents and leave sports for another day. That fateful day, was this weekend... As Meredith and I stumbled into Tennis Camp with our McDonald’s bags, large dark sunglasses, and platform heels half an hour late because we were busy shopping at Woodbury Commons. Priorities people! First we couldn’t find the office to check in, then I couldn’t find our room. Basically as we walked up to the courts for our first afternoon of instruction, late and still wearing our obnoxious sunglasses, right past all of the pros, I only wish I could properly describe to you what their faces looked like. Some kind of awesome mix of horror, amusement, curiosity, and comedy. Or maybe they’d just never seen anyone with the audacity to wear shorts, which according to my brother is against ladies tennis etiquette. I actually do own a tennis skirt, however I purchased it many years ago because I thought it was really cute as a skirt and proceeded to cut out those pesky shorts that came sewn into it. Yea, I was pretty much regretting that at this point. However after my weekend at the most awesomest place on earth, I feel like a kid again on the last day of summer camp. I miss my friends (LeeAnn, Dirk, Andrea, Rita, and the posse from Staten Island), I miss my counselor (that would be our super cool pro Vic) and I miss camp. In an effort to keep the spirit alive until we hopefully return in November, I give you my Top Five Total Tennis memories from Labor Day weekend.

5 – We desperately needed bug spray, shampoo, snacks and other assorted pharmacy merchandise. Vic offered to bring bug spray because he didn’t want to give us directions to CVS because he thought we’d get lost... Which, we did. Even though we told the people at our dinner table that we were fine because “we have GPS.” Once we finally located the CVS, because the GPS led us to an Eckerd that was no longer at that location, we decided on the fantastically healthy snacks of Pringles and Oreos to go with our McDonalds from earlier in the day. You’d think we were at Fat Camp instead of Tennis Camp. Arriving back at camp, we watched the US Open and saw a big Oreo logo on the backboards... Turning to Meredith I said “OMG look, we’re sponsored by Oreo too!”

4 – The tennis racket that can technically be called mine is metallic blue with multi-color strings and designed for a 14 year old. So naturally I decided not to show up at camp with that hot mess and bring rackets that belonged to my Mom and Dad. On the first day while learning how to serve in my private lesson, Vic noticed that the racket I was using had a huge crack in the frame. I contend that the crack was most likely already there the whole time, even though it could have happened minutes prior when Vic asked if I could swing fast and get that “whoosh” sound... And I whooshed the racket right into my left knee. I probably would have been better off with my child size racket! Luckily Vic didn’t fail sharing in kindergarten and allowed me to use his extra racket all weekend.

3 – After 5 hours of tennis a day, honestly the only thing I can say I really wanted to do more than anything else in the world was watch more tennis on TV. Or not. I missed the Obama acceptance speech because the one TV at camp was playing the US Open. Then the next night, Steve-o from Scarsdale was none too happy about missing the Mets game seeing as Beltran hit a Grand Slam in the ninth with two outs to give them the lead. However, we were once again forcibly watching the US Open. Steve-o was monitoring the game on my Blackberry... That he refused to give back to me for 20 minutes even as Meredith and I repeatedly told him we wanted to go to sleep and his wife scolded him “Steve, they want to leave.”

2 – We went there to play tennis and play we did. When I wasn’t eating net, and hearing Vic repeat my mantra of the weekend “get out that net”, both Meredith and I hit shots that went hole in one right back into the ball hopper. I hit almost every part of poor Vic’s body, including one shot that may or may not have made him sterile. But the best was when he hit a couple straight to Mer, then one off to the side that she watched go by in shock and said “I have to run? A little warning would be nice...”

1 – Saturday night we had a dance in the barn. There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say! Apparently while I was busy auditioning for The Grind and dragging along unsuspecting Vic to get low, low, low, low, low, low,... Meredith was playing pool with some guy named Mark and Winston from Jamaica, who said things to me that were vastly inappropriate and will not be repeated. Later in the night when we were introduced to Vic’s secret dance move... That should really remain a secret, I decided that maybe we could trade tennis lessons for dance lessons and that way he’d have some tips to use when he, as Meredith proclaimed “practices in front of his dolls”...

Greatest weekend ever.

The AARP hates me

In my continued effort to offend everyone and/or highlight the ridiculousness of the majority of people in our society, I’d like to focus today on the third tier of people who seem to think they can do whatever they want... Old people. Yesterday while I was waiting for the bus, I chose to sit in the last of three seats at the bus stop. Some of the newer bus stops have a bench that is designated, with partitions, into three separate seats. I was sitting near the edge of the bench with my purse next to me on the seat, when an older woman walked over, eyed my bag and said “is that your purse”? When I went to move it, she motioned like she was going to sit down. Let’s stop here and review a couple sentences back when I mentioned that the bench is partitioned into three seats. Was I supposed to let her sit basically on me, in what was designed to be ONE SEAT? Sorry Charlie. So of course, as these situations tend to go, the other person is the clear rude one, but somehow you end up being the bitch... I said to her “yes, but it’s one seat...” You can imagine to yourself what my face looked like.

Example 2. Today while in the Duane Reade downstairs with my co-worker Caryn, we were patiently waiting on line so that I could purchase my Goldfish crackers, because apparently as of recent I only eat snacks that are in the shape of fish. An older gentleman was milling around the checkout area and fully cut the entire line. He was lucky he had a cane... (not because I feel bad for him not being able to stand around and wait in line, but because I was scared he’d beat me with it if I said anything to him...)

I swear I really do like kids and animals...

This post is bound to offend someone, but hell, it surely wouldn’t be the first time...

It seems that if you have something smaller than you that is generally considered cute, for example a kid or a dog, you are somehow excused from normally acceptable courteous behavior. One would never think to get on a crowded subway or bus, find no seats available, turn to a friend and whine “I want to sit dowwwwwnnnn” and expect anyone to actually get up. However when a kid does it, that’s somehow okay? I find this so perplexing. Your kid’s rough life consists of attending preschool, finger painting all day and going to bed at 7pm, he definitely has more energy than I do, I’m pretty sure he’ll be fine standing. I’d get up for the elderly dude with the walker or the preggers lady, but that’s about it. Are we really expected to forfeit our seats and therefore teach your child that whining can get him things that he wants? Why don’t you instead politely inform your child that we do not behave like that in polite society? Oh that’s right because everything kids do is precious.

Dogs are cute too, so by this rule it’s okay when walking yours to criss-cross the entire sidewalk like you were impersonating a drunk, have the leash extended to roughly 5 feet so that if anyone wanted to actually pass you, they’d have to jump rope, and randomly just stop short. All of that ridiculous behavior is somehow okay because you have a fluffy dog? I f*&king hate people.

Putting out an APB

WANTED!!!!

Severely deranged individual (and possible accomplices) who consumed and/or stole my pregnant friend’s birthday cupcakes. Be on alert that the suspects are sneaky and apparently very hungry.

6 large cupcakes from Crumb’s bakery, last seen in my friend’s office refrigerator yesterday afternoon have thus since disappeared. This is most likely not the first time a refrigerator bandit has struck and commandeered something that belonged to someone else from a work fridge. But I thought it was pretty clear that you don’t mess with someone else’s cupcakes. I urge whomever has committed this atrocity to come forward. If you turn yourself in, and therefore avoid us having to finger print the fridge and track your trail of frosting... Oh and trust me we will find you, my friend is obsessed with CSI... Maybe, just maybe, I’ll convince the hormonal pregnant lady to go easy on you....

Let’s not speak... Let’s just gawk

Ok, now we can speak. Apparently Mikey will not be appearing on the Wheaties box. No, it will be Kellogg’s instead.

Access Hollywood reports that Kellogg’s confirmed to them that Phelps will appear on both Kellogg’s Corn Flakes and Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes.

Frosted Flakes?? Isn’t Tony the Tiger gonna be KINDA pissed off? He definitely does not think that is “gr-r-reat!”. And why must Mikey appear on Flakes boxes? Because Wheaties is flakes too? Is there some kind of athlete/flake law? Why the hell can’t he appear on Cocoa Krispies? Because I’m telling you, in a brawl between Mikey and all 3 of those cereal mascots, Snap, Crackle, and Pop are the first ones going down, followed closely by the Corn Flakes chicken. Tony is totally going to put up a decent fight.

Dreamweaver

Sat at home and laughed my ass off during this segment of the Today Show this morning. Definitely worth viewing.

More Olympics Quickies

Michael Phelps is a god. I can’t even dive without holding my nose, but I am loving this swimming. I am so in awe of these new high tech suity outfits they are wearing. My dad and I were talking about it the other night. Each suit costs about $500 and apparently they only last a couple days because they are so difficult to get in and out of. After informing me that it takes about a half hour to carefully get into that contraption without ripping it, he goes on to ask very philosophically… What happens if they have to pee? Do they pee in the Olympic pool? They so do. Doesn’t everyone pee in the pool?

Kerri Walsh and Misty May-Treanor are the coolest chicks on the beach. However, they should probably never leave the beach again. The footage that was shown last night of them on their day off touring China ruined my perception of them as cool forever. Walsh was wearing shorts and white socks LITERALLY pulled up to her calves. Are you my Grandfather or the most amazing beach volleyball player ever? Meanwhile Misty was doing some sort of chicken dance down the steps of a Chinese temple. This is not my Bat Mitzvah, it’s the Olympics. I’m not sure if they can ever be cool again after that.

Wow, scary accurate

If anyone was ever interested in what I actually do... Let’s just say... I thought up what it says on the hypothetical stop sign.

Olympic Quickies

Coca cola is running their “collectible cans” commercials. They have Olympic commemorative cans. Yippee. Who the hell cares? Who collects soda cans?… well besides the bums in my neighborhood. I'm sure they're stoked.

So much is being made of this USA vs. China rivalry. I’m gonna go out on a limb and say I’m pretty confident in our abilities. We beat them at Basketball. Although if the Olympic Committee added a new event called Dating White Guys… we’d definitely lose.

3 words. Michael Phelps’ body. Spectacular. He doesn’t even have to get in the pool to win a gold medal in my eyes, as soon as that shirt comes off... Everyone wins.

An open letter to John Edwards

Dear John,

I regret to inform you that it has come to my attention, and every other person’s since it is plastered in 20 point font as breaking news on MSNBC, that you are a cheating scumbag. Not only could you not keep it in your pants while you were attempting to run for the highest office, clearly learning nothing from those who have thought with the wrong head before you, but you also cheated on a wife who has CANCER. You are the lowest of the lowbags. You are so low, you are practically in the earth’s core. I am ashamed to admit that I donated hours of my time volunteering with your sham of a campaign. In fact, I would like my time back.

Moving forward while we all heal, I have to say, if there is anything I have learned from this situation it is that I should not doubt the truth uncovering power of The National Enquirer. There is some seriously award winning detective work being done there.

In conclusion, I hope your wife leaves you. Or better yet, I hope she kicks your scrawny ass, because she can, messes up your pretty boy hair, and then leaves you.

Good luck with the love child you claim is not yours! Clearly you are very forthcoming with the truth.

Best Regards!

Nothing funny about that

The new Fall television season is almost upon us. Every year this is like the ultimate crap shoot for me. Somehow I always end up choosing incorrectly and investing my time in shows like "The Nine", or "Kidnapped" which get canceled before they are ever resolved. Talk about TV blue balls. How am I supposed to go about living without ever knowing how it was supposed to end?? I need closure!

This summer I got sucked into Last Comic Standing. Generally I enjoyed it. Everyone can use an hour or so of lighthearted comedic attempts to brighten up the week. (Probably why half of you are reading this blog post right now). Well last night was the finale where they crowned the winner. I DVR'd it and attempted to catch part of it this morning before some dickwad news site like CNN ruined it for me. Alas, during playback I realize what I am watching is in fact not Last Comic Standing, rather America's Got Talent. Somehow the presence of the Hoff must have tipped me off. WTF??? Are you kidding??? How am I supposed to know who wins??? If I continue to use three question marks, will I ever get the answers I demand???

I think this post I found on a fansite sums it up quite nicely...

Yeah, thanks for nothing NBC.
If I wanted to watch America's Got Talent I would have set the DVR for it.
Douche Bags
NBC Sucks | Aug 8, 2008 10:36:54 AM |

Bitchtastic

In accordance with exactly how my life would go, since I made the resolute vow to talk to Cameron Mathison the next time I saw him or be struck down on the spot and forever branded as the cowardly lion, I have not run into him again. I mean who among us couldn’t have seen that one coming?? So today I choose to bring you other All My Children related fun. I have been watching this webisode series called Imaginary Bitches, starring and created by one of the actresses that used to be on my show, who (whom?) I actually met briefly at the rooftop party many years ago with my friend Mara. The show is absolutely hilarious and I firmly believe you should watch it, now. I’ve taken the liberty of posting one of my favorite episodes, the rest of the series can be viewed at imaginarybitches.com. I promise you will not want these 7 minutes of your life back.

Gone fishin...

Every two or three days the same thing happens, like clockwork. My co-worker Caryn comes over to my desk, asks if I want to take a walk and I say “yes, I ran out of fishies.” So off to Duane Reade we go, so I can spend $4.31 on two bags of assorted fish. I don’t think there’s another person on the planet who eats as many Swedish fish as I do. I’m not even sure how it happened. I used to be into the Jujy fruits, but who wants to eat fruits when you can eat fish!... By the pound. Awesomely enough, I was at a college themed party in Phili last weekend and someone brought Swedish fish soaked in vodka. WHY did I not know about this until now?? Do you know how much better my afternoons could be if I let my fish go swimming in Smirnoff?? Oh the possibilities...

Bat Update

Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight????? First off, for all the great buzz Heath Ledger is getting for his amazing performance in the new Batman movie, I have to say... Jack, when he killed the Wayne parents... I was pretty damn scared! Well I was also 9.

Anywho, the bat is officially gone from my house. Although that didn't stop me from thinking I heard weird noises in my room when I was home. Especially since it looked like my room had been ransacked. Pictures turned down, stuff everywhere, bed unmade. Apparently they found the bat hiding behind my dresser. No Mara, sadly it was not found on my prom dress. The only things on that puppy are moth balls.

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.