Things that are good vs. Things that suck. A booze infused list I will probably delete when sober

Good things:

1. Two eggs, over easy, wheat toast, hashbrowns and sausage links. Right now, I can promise you that this is the most importantly good thing ever.

2. Mr. Catface being absolutely delightful.

3. The episode of Fantasy Island I am about to watch.

4. Writing in a bar.

5. Chocolate! I hope to find some in my apartment! I should have gone to Dominicks and purchased tiramisu before they closed. Alas.

6. Closure.

7. The awesome list of ways not to get murdered I wrote today, based upon my watching far too many true crime shows. I'm pretty safe, as I do not jog, I didn't marry my highschool sweetheart or anyone with the last name Peterson, no one would describe me as the All American Girl Next Door with a charmed life who smiles all the time and goes about lighting up rooms with her zeal for life, I have no Sears Portrait Studio pictures of myself donning a floral bib dress and an 80's bouffant, and I would not describe any of my neighbors as people who are quiet and keep to themselves mostly.

8. The most amazing episode of Intervention, ever, is now on the OnDemand thing. The huffing episode with the girl who feels like she's "walkin' on sunshine!" It's so, so disturbing, and yet I cannot turn away.

Bad things:

1. Camille Paglia

2. Dudes that I used to date or see or whatever being painfully, gag me with a spoon, jaw droppingly cheeseball-esque human beings. I tell you, it's absolutely painful, and it kinda makes me feel embarassed to be alive.

3. Tucker Max

4. Having to sit still for too long. I'm not so good at it.

5. The fact that no one seemed to want to be out tonight, when I was way too hyper to go home.

6. The guy who said earlier "what's a gal like you doing in a place like this?" I really wanted to punch him. A lot. More than you could possibly know. Like, A) dude, we are not in the country, and I most certainly do not appreciate being referred to as a gal anymore than you would like being referred to as a motherfucking redneck douchenozzle, and b) Really? You actually said that? Out loud? With the intention of my hearing you? What's next? Asking me what my sign is? Or if I come here often? Oy.

7. The fact that I cannot foresee myself remembering to take off my makeup tonight. And the fact that I didn't finish hanging up my laundry today, and thus will have to remove things from my bed in order to sleep. Sigh.

I am totally being stalked by Bill Withers, and other things, varied and sundry

1. Seriously, last night Nicole and I were at Estelle's, and like, right after I told her the story about the cabbie, "Lovely Day" came on. Again. Spooky.

2. I learned, recently, that "Nucular" has been added to the dictionaries (including my beloved OED) as an alternative pronunciation of nuclear. I assure you, it is not. You can't just go about changing the correct pronunciation of things to make stupid people feel better about themselves. This is what's wrong with the world. Entirely. People want us to change science because it doesn't correlate with their idiotic, delusional religious beliefs. People want to use the term "begging the question" to mean "raising the question"- WHICH IT DOES NOT. I am wrong about things sometimes, as most people are. I'm ok with that. I don't expect the rules to change simply so that I personally don't feel stupid. People have to get used to being wrong about things. If I give you the incorrect directions to a place in Chicago, and you end up in Missouri, I do not get to say "Well, that's what I feel the directions are, and because I say it it must be true." Soon, we will have no spelling bee champions and the world will erupt into outright chaos. This, I feel, is a natural consequence of the "everyone is special and a winner" aesthetic. There ought to be no "If you do something wrong enough times it can be right" rule in grammar, pronunciation, or spelling. What's next? Changing the spelling of "realtor" to "realetor?" Are we supposed to accept that it is possible for the world to be flat just because some people happen to believe it? Everything cannot be simultaneously true- 2 + 2= 4, and god damn it, nuclear is pronounced new-klee-urr.

3. Some guy I did not know sent me a shot at the bar last night- from another table, which was delightfully old fashioned/ more like something that happens on 70's TV shows than in real life. I said thank you, but did not actually go and talk to him as he was not so much my type- but still- kinda neat.

4. But really, if he really wanted to impress me, he would have sent me the amazing hologram "Footprints in the Sand" framed picture that I saw at the LaSalle Blue Line today. I'm totally serious. It would be the second best present ever. The best present ever being the one my friend Luke got me for my 19th birthday, which consisted of a tape of Harold and Maude, a copy of "Fleur de Mal," fancy chopsticks and strawberry bubble tape- which, at the time, was something I was especially enamoured by. Yay.

The whimsical story of the cabbie who was wrong about everything in life.

It's been an interesting couple of days. For one, on Friday, I was late to work and took a cab. I get in the cab and the dude is all "I can't talk for a second, I gotta figure out what the title of this song is so I can play it when I DJ tonight." The song, by the way, was "Lovely Day" by Bill Withers, and the only words in the chorus are "Lovely Day" so I'm not sure why that was so hard to figure out. So, anyway, dude then tells me that he owns the cab company and just drives them for fun, because "No woman wants a man with no money. You know what I'm saying?"

"Sure" I say, even though I do not agree in any fashion. I have my own damned money, and very, very little interest in discussing the subject ever.

"I don't like to wake up in the morning unless I got a thousand dollars on my dresser" he says.

I couldn't resist... "So, what, are you like, a hooker?"

He then proceeds to inform me that while he was not in fact a hooker, he could be, because he's got "the good dick," and that if that were the case, he would do me for free. Because I am "sexy as hell." Which was not true at all at that point in the morning, mind you.

So then he asks me about my man at home, which I don't have (in case you didn't know), and I say he is super. It doesn't mean much, though, he says, unless he's got the good dick.

I say nothing. He then takes this opportunity to tell me about how much money he makes djing places like, um, Indiana and Miami. And how he knows The Beastie Boys and djed for Naz.

"Neat" I say. He continues the bragging until I get out of the cab. He offers his phone number and I do not take it.

I just... I don't know, I find it interesting how totally, totally wrong this dude was about everything a lady like myself might want in a fella. Or, I mean... any woman, really. I've never heard any chick I know say anything like "Yeah, he was totally dreamy. I mean, all that bragging and ostentacious name dropping and casually mentioning how much money he made and how totally important he was, was like, so hot. Who doesn't love that? Worlds of sexiness I tell you!"

To that, my friend, I say this:



But, for real, I felt kind of insulted. Like as far as this guy was concerned, women care about the following things:

1. How much money you make (I don't care because I have my own)
2. How totally important you are and how many famous people you have casually met (I don't care, because, really, that has no effect on whether or not you are a jerk. They could also be jerks for all I know, or have nothing interesting to say. How does that help me?)
3. The good dick. (You can get that shit at the porn store)

Which makes us seem pretty shallow. If he had instead focused on the following list:

1. Not being a jerk/having good manners
2. Being funny
3. Being well groomed

I bet you things would work out better for him. As of now, he's just really, really insulting.

What's the difference between the Today Show and Cosmo?

Not lipstick. Not much, actually, because an article featuring this exact same advice was featured in this month's Cosmo- along with the usual advice about new and exciting things to do to your man's taint (so not even joking about this.)

What? Like I don't have enough to do? What do you want from me, body language experts? Like, am I supposed to jump out and say "Ha! You're stressed! You're tugging your collar! I read that in Cosmo and saw it on the Today show so it must be true!" or "Oh my god! You love me! I just caught you pointing your belly button at me! I'm totally gonna go pick out bridesmaids dresses now!" or am I supposed to spend hours with my friends analyzing what some dude meant by the way he shrugged? What if the guy is just itchy because he's allergic to his fabric softener?

True story- Some dude once got all huffy at me in a bar because my pupils did not dilate while he was talking to me. He said that this meant that I was not interested in him/ attracted to him (which was true, but he probably could have also guessed that by the fact that my eyes were not only undilated, but also rolling)- and he, of course- being a weird drunk guy- demanded to know why. And I, of course, being me, excused myself to go to the ladies room and never came back. The End. The moral of the story? Analyzing people's body language makes you look like a total weirdo.

The longest of days...

Yesterday morning the streets were blocked off by my work due to the filming of Public Enemies.... and also due to the filming of Public Enemies, my store was dead and many many crazy bitches were hanging out around outside waiting for a glimpse of Johnny Depp.

I hung out with the security guard and talked about Ralph Nader, and swore up and down that I did not care to see Johnny Depp because I didn't actually have anything important to say to him (Which was a lie- I wanted to see him, and maybe touch his face. Like, just for a second, because I have had a crush on Johnny Depp ever since I was like, 7, and to this day I do believe that no human being will ever again achieve the level of sexiness he did in the movie "Crybaby."). He told me stories of more crazy bitches who climbed trees and fell on Mr. Depp's trailer, which seems excessive to me. I don't know what they thought was going to happen. Like Johnny Depp was gonna be all "Wow! I know I'm married with kids and all- but screw them! You are the woman of my dreams, crazy bitch who fell out of the tree onto my trailer!" or something. Even I am not that delusional.

I found out that Catherine, the French lady at my work, put in her two weeks notice, and I feel kind of bad, because we haven't been getting along so well lately... but I do love her a lot, and who is going to tell me I have nice ankles, and get mad at me for saying boobs instead of breasts now?

I was in Jezebel's Past Fashions: Prom Edition... looking chubby and glittery in a handmade monstrosity of pink vinyl and taffetta. I have no shame, so here you go. I promise you the dress was way cooler in my imagination than it turned out to be.

I had an awkward run in with a dingleberry, who was in fact responsible for the coining of the term dingleberry in the first place. I maybe feel bad on some level... because we hung out once... and then he kept calling me like, every day for two months, and I kept ignoring it, and saying I was busy- and I probably wouldn't have felt all that bad if he hadn't been friends with Jen... but he was... and then today he was all "Do you still go out a lot?" and I was all "I like drinkin'" and then he was all "Oh, we should hang out sometime" and I said "I hang out all the time. Mostly in my neighborhood- I'm sure I'll see you out sometime." And then I pretended I was late for something.

The day went on for at least three... and then it ended, and I got my hair cut, and then we went out drinking at places I do not normally frequent, where I received many invitations to many gun shows. One of which I would have been willing to attend (and will possibly attend tonight), had I not been feeling kind of nauseous at the time. Unfortunately, I forget the name of this gun show. Whatever it was, I think it means something like "Has biceps that are actually bigger than Robyn's head" in Serbian (I know because I measured. I am not being hyperbolic). Yes, I realize that I'm supposed to be all gooey over the manorexics and shit, but honestly they just don't do it for me- I'm kinda shallow- I like my fellas tall, dark, and handsome and muscley. Maybe because I'm kinda mouthy and I like having someone around that, well, you know, can back me up. Also, I like that it completely pisses off the hepcat establishment, by defying that "Thou shalt swoon over the homely" commandment. Anyway, Gun Show ripped my new purple tights, so now I have to go get some new ones.

And that is my story.

Yay! I'm actually working on this shit again!

I am in fact once again working on my illustrated interpretation of a piece I wrote a couple years ago called "I Never Liked You Anyway." Basically, it's like a field guide to Robyn's occasionally horrifying incidents involving the opposite sex. It totally needs to be updated to include flip phone pick-up artist. Here are a few of the ones I did before... (it sucks because I totally cannot locate the one about my gothic cookie guy stalker. Alas...)

You'll have to click on them to actually see them, and then click on the large size. Because they just won't fit on here. Sad, but true.

Cult...




Children of the Corn...



Brits...



Dreams...

Facts! And things...

1. I will not be shutting up about that whole seal shtupping a penguin thing for at least a month. I am going to write songs about it on my red ukulele, I am going to write a children's book about it, I will make pictures and diagrams, and anyone who is lucky enough to run into me will be sure to hear the glorious tale of the seal who shtupped a penguin. I am going to get this picture blown up



and I am going to hang it over my mantle. Because it is just that hilarious.

2. Another hilarious thing I cannot bring myself to shut up about- Did you know that those FLDS chicks don't cut their hair... because Jesus is going to come back and they have to use it to wash his feet? True story. The whole thing sort of breaks my mind. Especially because like, all I have to relate this to is that one weird dude who tried to convince me to let him give me a pedicure, and what a terribly awkward situation that was. Also, I don't feel like hair would be an effective foot cleaning device, pumice stones exist for a reason. Also, like, are they all going to do it at the same time, or will they take turns? That would take up a lot of time, I would imagine. There are a lot of those chicks, since they're so into having babies and all. I mean, is that all Jesus is going to do when he comes back? Sit around and have his feet washed with Mormon hair? You'd think he'd have like, other things to attend to or something. Then again, what do I know?

3. I totally got hit on by a Rick Astley look alike last night at The Continental. It was especially awkward because at first I thought he was gay... because he walked up to me and said "Hey boobs!" Which, I don't know, is just not something the straight guys tend to say, I guess. But no- he was straight, and he totally thought that he and I were going to make a love connection. Which, of course caused me to run back to my table yelling that I just had been RickRolled. Because I am mature like that. And then I sang this:



Which is, of course, my favorite Rick Astley jam.

4. Robo-squirrel. Teehee!