A very special early 90's moment...

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!

Oh, text messaging!

Oh my god... this is amazingly hilarious. Or maybe I've had too much wine. I merely thank the gods of Gawker for blessing me with this priceless gem.



Oh, 3:44... it's funny because it's true...

A wine soaked cry for help and snack foods

Dear Wise Crunchy Cheez Doodles:

Why do you not exist in Chicago? WHY? I have searched for you in every damned grocery store in the city, kept a vigilant eye out for your blue, confetti covered bag, and yet you do not appear. I will not deign to consume Cheetos, a clearly inferior product. It's just not right. Where can I find you? Why do you refuse to exist in Chicago? Seriously, I will do anything for just one bag of you! Also, please pass this desperate plea on to Drake's Cakes.

Love and Kisses,

Robyn

PS- If you can tell me where to find a bag of Wise brand Crunchy Cheese Doodles in Chicago, we can totally make out. For realz.

Antidote.

I just wrote a bunch of crap about a bunch of crap. Then I got on the phone with my dear friend Nicole, and I erased it all. Why?

See, Nicole is moving here in a few days. Which means Chicago is going to be like, 80,000 times more awesome. Anyway, she starts telling me how the guys in Rochester suck. I tell her, eh- just to warn you, they're not any better here- let me tell you some stories...

Nicole says: Eh, whatever. We're just going to do it and burn it down!

Which makes complete sense if you know her, and totally made my night. And thank god she's going to be living in the same city as me again, as she's the only known antidote to my complusive jaded-ness. I need someone who calls me at 11pm to say she's picking me up in ten minutes to go play slot machines in Canada. I need someone who shows up at my door in Chicago with her five suitcases, two dogs and a bottle of Raspberry Stoli. Because that's what friends are for.

Best idea for a remake ever...

Ok, so read this thing from the NY Daily News:

At least one fan thinks Clay Aiken is just divine in "Spamalot."

A source tells me that cast members have grown used to one woman who has seen the show more than 40 times. She often waits by the stage door for her former "American Idol" idol.

Finally, one of the other actors asked her why she was so devoted to the carrot-topped crooner.

"She said, 'He is the Savior,'" recounts the snitch.

Yes, as in Jesus Christ.

"She is at the stage door from 9:30 in the morning, waiting all day to talk to people as they come in," laughs the source. "She says talking to the other actors, she feels a step closer to Clay."

"I am not familiar with this devoted fan, but I know there are many of them," said a rep for the show.

Tell me that doesn't sound just a little bit like the beginning of All About Eve? You would not believe the things that are popping off in my head right now. All I can picture is Clay Aiken doing a Bette Davis impression, and it is rocking my world. Seriously.

New discovery!

You know how there are all those movies where John Cusack freaks out in the rain? I get it now. Totally. Getting caught in the rain makes everything appear 80,000 times more terrible than it really actually is. Because in addition to whatever minor thing that went wrong, you are also wet.

Case in point #1

Like, two weeks ago, I was running late for class so I took a cab. I get to the class, only to find that it's been canceled. When I go back outside, only to find that it is now pouring rain outside. So I called Jen to see if she could give me a ride home, because it just seemed like a waste to either spend 10 more dollars, or take an hour on public transportation. Jen suggests we go shopping. "Good idea!" I say... so I get on the red line for Monroe. At this point, I am rather disheveled looking. Some dude starts staring at me, so I give him a dirty look because I'm not in the most pleasant of moods. Then he points to my shirt. Which has somehow been arranged so that my right breast is popping out of it. Yay! So now I'm a subway flasher! Finally I get to the stop and start looking around the various stores. Unfortunately, there is like, truly, nothing I want, or like once I put it on. On the way home, it is still pouring rain, and the heel of my shoe gets caught in a subway grate, and I trip and fall and my shoes are filled with water and I have to stand in my stocking feet while Jen attempts to pry my shoe loose from said grate. Not the best time ever.

And seriously, like, since then, I have been in a constant state of hyper-irritation with life, the universe and everything in it. Which brings us to last night, when I finally had a nervous breakdown in the middle of Dominick's.

Case in point #2:

I had planned to meet some friends at the Darkroom for Panic. It was going to be a swell time. If there is any appropriate cure for being inordinately irritated by life, it is to get inordinately dressed up, go out, and dance and drink way too much. So I put on a cute dress, I do my hair and my make-up, and run downstairs. It's raining. So I go back upstairs to get an umbrella. Then I run across the street to use the ATM. The ATM tells me that my card was lost or stolen. Which was just not true- I had it in my hand! Then I go and try another ATM, and another, and another. No luck. I go back upstairs. I grab a huge ziplock bag o' change, with plans to go to Dominick's to use their Coinstar machine, and also attempt to try my card again in the check out aisle. As I walk over there, it starts pouring. The Coinstar machine, unfortunately, is closed down at 10:00. It is 10:30. I hate life. The manager will not start it back up for me. They will not cash my paycheck, and my card is still not working. Meanwhile, I figure that they probably think I'm a hooker. I am wearing a very short black dress with knee high boots and gold leggings- which is a totally cute outfit for like, going out to a bar, but generally inappropriate for the supermarket. This makes me hate them more, the stupid judgemental bastards. I am wet and I am angry. I say, and I quote:

"Oh my god! I can't have anything!"

I was that girl. I can't fucking believe it. I have never been that girl. My eyes started leaking. Leaking! And I was wearing a shitload of eye makeup, which I discovered later was not in fact waterproof. I walked home, reasonably sure that all passerby were assuming that I was a hooker who had just gotten into a fight with her pimp. So I went home, I cleaned the eye makeup off of my face, and watched Jane Eyre, and fell asleep on the couch with my shoes on.

Now, like, had it not been raining (and also if I'd have had something to eat that day other than a cookie and lots of coffee), I'm quite sure I would not have really given a crap. But rain exacerbates everything.

Today, I find it all unbelievably hilarious, but I literally cannot tell you how stupidly agitated I was last night. I'm thinking I may need some emergency Valium.

Robyn's Rules of Order...

I have a magical secret for good livin'.

I do and say exactly as I please, and as I mean, all the time... and the ceiling never falls down upon me. Other people do this, of course- I just choose to be very frank about it. It's just less complicated that way.

I like people to be well aware that where I am is where I want to be, and otherwise I would not be there (work, of course, excluded). That what I am doing is exactly what I want to be doing, and otherwise I would not be doing it. Do you have any idea how much easier and more clear life would be if everyone operated this way?

I am weirded out by the concept of people who are friendly with people they don't like. It bothers me that they think they are so damned fantastic that they must shelter others from the harsh blow of their disapproval. Or that it's still important that the person they don't like likes them and thinks they are a nice person. I do not care either way.

It just seems like a lot of work. It exhausts me to think about it.

-------------

My mom always said that we do not have a family in which we keep the crazy ones up in the attic and slide their food through the door. We sit them right down at the damn dinner table and introduce them to the neighbors. That is our way. I throw my crazy on the table. I will gladly give you a divers schedule of my personal faults and imperfections. I am of the opinion that saying things out loud takes away their power over you.

----------

On the plus side, my unusual behavior and philosophy basically guarantees that I will never cheat on anyone. Why? Because I wouldn't be in a relationship in the first place if I didn't want to be. I am not such horrible company that I am bothered by being alone, and I don't think that anyone thinks I am so fantastic and so desperate for my personal company that I would feel I had to placate them in that way. Really, like, why bother? Once again, way too much effort. I also expect the same in return. Like, I sincerely couldn't give a shit less if someone wants to date other people. I really couldn't. If you want to go, go and be well. The idea of being coddled or placated makes me feel stabby.

I don't want to leave my apartment right now

Even though I have to.

My skin hurts and I am annoyed at life. I would much prefer wasting time reading a bunch of crap about celebutantes and going through the Craigslist Missed Connections, which are always hilarious. I have not been able to write anything today.

I thought it might be fun to not straighten my hair today, which was not the best idea ever, and now I kind of look like Alla Nazimova:



Except, of course, with more normal eyebrows.

I have not ingested anything today other than coffee and Andes mints. Perhaps this explains my vile mood. But there isn't anything in particular that I feel like eating at the moment. Oh well.

I totally just cried over a Law and Order episode.

Tonight was Jesse L. Martin's last episode! So sad! And now it's going to be just like, Elton from Clueless and that douchebag guy who was Stabler's partner for one episode to teach him a lesson about being a hothead or whatever, and Stabler punched him in the face. Who the hell cares about them? They should have recruited Richard Belzer. He doesn't get nearly enough camera time on SVU.

Also- I still miss Lennie Briscoe. A lot. I loved him, I really did.

Also- Jesse L. Martin is producing and starring in a biopic about Marvin Gaye. Which makes him super awesome, and makes me love him even moreso. I would totally marry Jesse L. Martin in like, two seconds flat.

Now I have only Jack McCoy. Sigh.

I am going to go to bed now. I am going to watch my taped version of Madame Butterfly and it will be a fantastic time.

Dorothy Parker is my homegirl.

Song Of One Of The Girls

Here in my heart I am Helen;
I'm Aspasia and Hero, at least.
I'm Judith, and Jael, and Madame de Stael;
I'm Salome, moon of the East.

Here in my soul I am Sappho;
Lady Hamilton am I, as well.
In me Recamier vies with Kitty O'Shea,
With Dido, and Eve, and poor Nell.

I'm one of the glamorous ladies
At whose beckoning history shook.
But you are a man, and see only my pan,
So I stay at home with a book.

I might still be drunk.

1. Star Jones! Getting divorced! Not that I really care, but they mentioned that her real name is "Starlet" and I find that especially hilarious.

2. Dudes in Congo are freaking out because black magicians are stealing their dicks. No, really. Which is probably traumatic for them. But like, if you could have a magical power.... that might be kind of amusing one to have. I'm just saying.

3. Bush quote of the day, via Slate: "Oftentimes people ask me, 'Why is it that you're so focused on helping the hungry and diseased in strange parts of the world?' "—Washington, D.C., April 18, 2008.

4. Wow! Ok, so this is this website... that harasses your exes for you to find out why they dumped you. No, really! I don't see why it's necessary, as I would imagine that it's because, well, you are the sort of person that would enlist the services of a website to help you harass someone to find out why they dumped you. That's your damned answer. You're creepy. Then again, what do I know? That could be a totally attractive quality to some people- I've often noted that my personal insistance on things like having dignity has been troublesome in my personal life. But I'd rather stick things in my eyes. Repeatedly. I can't understand why someone would not find doing such a thing to be abjectly humiliating! Also, honestly can't imagine what I would do were I to someday receive a number of email surveys asking me why I ditched some dude. I would probably file a restraining order.

Oh Cosmo!

Man, I have to tell you- not nearly as much hilarity as expected in the "Sexy" issue! I was a bit disappointed- 'cause mostly it was like, "Hey! I'm a 31 year old chick who has invented this amazing new move which is exactly like a hand job!" and "Surprise! Guys want to do you in the ass! Did you know?" and "Act pleasantly surprised when you see his junk! Say 'Oooh!' and 'Aaaah!'" and also lots of toungue swirling and also the word panties came up like 85 times (I have a thing against that word. It really bothers me. I prefer "knickers."). Not so much fun. Until, of course, I came upon this glorious gem:

"Sprinkle a little pepper under his nose right before he climaxes. Sneezing can feel similar to an orgasm and amplify the feel-good effects."

Yup. Now, first of all- just in case you don't think these things through as deeply as I do...

WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GETTING THE PEPPER FROM?

I mean, what? Do you keep a pepper grinder handy on the bedside table for just this occasion? Or must you secretly palm the pepper inside your fist the whole time? Because I imagine that would make everything else fairly awkward. I can't figure a smooth transition either way. Like what? "Hold on! Let me lean over and grab this pepper grinder!" And really, what is one to think when confronted with someone wielding a pepper grinder in their face? And what if it got in the dude's eye and then you'd have to go to the hospital and explain that you were grinding pepper on him so he'd sneeze while you were doing it! How embarassing! What if he went blind? Also, who wants to be sneezed on? Not me, not ever. Sneezing is not sexy. Nor is being covered in snot. It is why we have Kleenex.

Oh, also! Cosmo's Man Manual has informed me that all you dudes are totally psyched for the Counting Crows comeback! Who knew?

I feel pretty, oh so pretty!

Just as I was starting to look practically transluscent, just as I was about to set my wardrobe aflame... the universe dropped this in my lap.

www.mugshotdujour.com

I am hot! And so are you! At least comparitively! I didn't even know a face could be arranged in such a manner!


(Arrested for domestic violence... think about that! Someone married this guy! And it's not even as though he has a good personality- you know, wife beatin' and all... hope for everyone?)

And even if you're thinking right now "God, Robyn is a horrible and shallow bitch"- you will have to find some amusement in this:


(arrested for cocaine)

Varied and Sundry.

1. I have eaten too many grapes today.
2. This almost made me choke on one.
3. I am going to bed soon.
4. After reading about the stray cougar in Chicago (And by the way... can I just mention that at first I totally thought they were talking about one of those older women who date 18 year old boys)- which of course reminded me of "Bringing Up Baby"- I spent an inordinate amount of time today comparing and contrasting myself with Katherine Hepburn (we are both feministy ladies from New England with considerable skills in verbal sparring- however, she looks good in wide brim hats, whereas I prefer cloches and berets, and while I find Spencer Tracey quite dreamy, I cannot say that I would have gone for Howard Hughes- I'm big on shoes and I think the Kleenex boxes would have freaked me out). There's more, but I won't bore you with it.
5. You know what's weird? When women on TV say that they've been planning their wedding since they were little girls, and that this is something all women do. In case you were wondering... no. I have thought and planned and schemed many, many things in my time, but I have never, ever once in my life planned a wedding inside my head. I have never fantasized about a wedding gown. Not once. Ever. I do not personally know anyone who has done this. I imagine such people would not have many interesting things to say. Also- can you even begin to picture me screaming "THIS IS MY SPECIAL DAY!!" with a straight face?
6. Am number one hit on Google for Bavarian Sluts! Yeah!
7. Am like number 200 on Google Croatia for Older Vagina! (someone was on a quest! But why? Is that a thing?)
8. Hate all of my clothes. Hate all clothes in all stores visited recently. Look horrifying in everything. Got stuck in a subway grate in the rain the other day and fell- still bruisy. Would like some candy, have only grapes.
9. Recently discovered! While a package of unshelled pistachios may seem like the best thing ever, it is not, as all unshelled pistachios contained within package taste like death and poison! Will go back to breaking nails and possibly teeth on shells presently. To love is to suffer. Sigh.
10. Would it be bad if, for just a moment- just a moment, I thought to myself that I would totally volunteer to be Rob Lowe's new nanny? Because I kinda did. Damn you "The Outsiders!" I watched you too many times as a kid to think of Mr. Lowe as anything other than dreamy!

Here is a very long thingy that I wrote for my experimental theatre class.

It's supposed to be somewhat based on Gertrude Stein's writing techniques (a rose is a rose is a rose!), but as a fan of commas, I don't believe I succeeded completely in that effect. I am, however, quite fond of the result. I've written about this particular incident before, but this is a little bit different.

Airport

I am a failure at planes and also at airports. I am a failure at planes and airports because being at an airport encompasses every thing I am a failure at. I am a failure at punctuality, I am a failure at being calm in enclosed spaces, I am a failure at removing my shoes in a timely manner and without falling down, I am failure at being ok with not being able to smoke.


I get on the plane and a woman complains- she can’t sit up front because she’s sensitive. The woman is sensitive to another woman’s perfume. Because the woman is sensitive, the flight attendant asks if someone in the back will switch seats with her. I do not volunteer to switch seats with the sensitive woman, because I find sensitive people hilarious. I do not volunteer, because I always like to see what happens next. I do not volunteer, because I just finally got settled in my seat and am not eager to repeat the process, nor knock any other unsuspecting passengers in the head with my bags. But someone does volunteer, and that person is probably a better person than I.

The sensitive woman comes back down the aisle. The sensitive woman comes back down the aisle sporting a Christmas sweater and a face that ought not be left around dairy products. The sensitive woman comes down the aisle and sits in front and to the left of me. The sensitive woman tells her seatmate that she requires sole use of the middle armrest.

I laugh, and the sensitive woman does not notice, no, the sensitive woman takes out a book. The sensitive woman takes out a book called “Left Behind.” The book, “Left Behind,” is about people being vacuumed up into heaven, and is read solely by people who believe they are going to be vacuumed up into heaven. I am not surprised that the sensitive woman believes she will be vacuumed into heaven, since she is wearing a Christmas sweater. A Christmas sweater with reindeer and jingle bells and rhinestones and snowmen and everything else that might be on a Christmas sweater because she is just that festive and holy and that’s why she is going to be vacuumed up into heaven.

I have read about this rapture stuff- the being vacuumed up into heaven stuff- I read it in a comic-style pamphlet by a man named Jack T. Chick. Apparently, all the really holy people get vacuumed up into heaven, and then the people who are maybe not so completely holy have to stay down here with us totally non-holy people. And then, all of us non-holy people have to like, opress them, try to make them wear “the mark of the beast” and cut off their heads. Then, after they resist our forces of oppression, and sacrifice themselves, they get to go to heaven with the people who had been vacuumed up earlier. Like I’m ever going to get around to doing that. Like I’m ever going to get around to cutting anyone’s head off when I can hardly get around to picking up my dry cleaning! How can I cut anyone’s head off when I faint at the sight of blood and am no help in emergencies whatsoever? Frankly, I think they ought to have to do it themselves.

The flight attendant comes by and asks if anyone needs a a drink. The flight attendant comes by and the sensitive woman asks for a mineral water. The flight attendant hands the sensitive woman a bottle of water, causing the sensitive woman to snarl through her teeth “I asked for mineral water. This is spring water! I can’t drink this!” She says it through her teeth, in a tone I would probably reserve for someone handing me a glass of bile, and then kicking my grandmother down the stairs and then eating a puppy. But she is sensitive and I am not and neither I nor the flight attendant are completely sure what the huge difference is between mineral water and spring water. The flight attendant tells the sensitive woman that all they have is spring water, and the sensitive woman says she will write a letter to complain about this injustice. She will write a letter and have the flight attendant fired, she says, because there should be mineral water and there is not. I have a ginger ale.

Important!!! I have seen cars with bumperstickers that say “In case of rapture this car will be unmanned.” And this sensitive woman is on a plane, believing that it is indeed possible that at any moment she will be vacuumed up into heaven. If the car were unmanned- couldn’t that cause an accident? And kill people? And if this very sensitive holy woman was suddenly vacuumed up into heaven, wouldn’t that cause the windows to break and wouldn’t that also kill a lot of people? If I were this woman, which I am not, and I am not sensitive and I am not holy- but if I really, truly believed that at any moment I could be vacuumed up into the sky, I would probably avoid doing anything such as driving and flying in planes, because I wouldn’t want to kill anyone. And maybe it’s not murder exactly, but it’s at least manslaughter. I watch a lot of Law and Order. I watch a lot of Law and Order and I’ve seen several episodes of Law and Order in which someone goes to jail for doing something that could forseeably lead to another person’s death or murder. I just saw one the other day where this guy, who was clearly supposed to be the guy from “Girls Gone Wild,” rapes this girl on a bus, and then sends his friend in, saying that the girl wants to do him next, and then the girl bashes the friends head in with a champagne bottle and kills him, and the guy who was supposed to be the guy from Girls Gone Wild went to jail for the other guys murder. And isn’t one of the major commandments “Thou shalt not kill?” So how is it ok if you kill a bunch of people in the process of being vacuumed up into heaven? Do you get sent back down to hell if that happens, or are they ok with that? Are they ok with being rude to a flight attendant over having the wrong sort of bottled water? I am not sensitive, or holy, but I have lovely manners.

One thing I have learned from the very few people who think they are going to be vacuumed up into heaven that are willing to speak to me, is that it is in fact basically fine with Jesus if you are a jerk. All you have to do to be ok with Jesus and be vacuumed up into heaven, is to accept him as your personal savior, and then you can go on about your business and be as unpleasant to as many flight attendants as you like. This, I hear, is the big difference between people who think they are going to be vacuumed up to heaven and Catholics, who do not believe such a thing will occur- which is why I never heard of people thinking such a thing until I was like, 20- because everyone where I grew up was either Catholic, Jewish or not-religious-but-would-be-a-Buddhist-if-they-were, and none of those people believe in the rapture. I have been informed by the few people who believe they are going to be vacuumed up into heaven that will talk to me that the Catholics are bad because they believe that “good works”- things like helping the poor and the diseased- will get them into heaven. The people who believe they will be vacuumed up into heaven say that Jesus would really prefer that you go ahead and be a jerk, but accept him as your personal savior, and be opposed to gay people and also abortions- and if you do that, you will be vacuumed up into heaven. It’s somewhat ironic, since, as a non-sensitive, non-holy person, the thing I actually like about the Catholics is that they do some pretty awesome things for the poor. It seems kind of icky to put someone down for that. I would think that the child molesting cover-ups, or the wars, or the crazy sexism, or the tithing might be more offensive. To me, that’s like saying “You know what the worst thing about Hitler was? The fact that he was a vegetarian! Damn him!”- but then again, I am not sensitive, or holy, and I do not believe I will be vacuumed up to the sky. And if I did, I just don’t think I’d have it in me to fly in a plane or drive a car or do anything really that would surely kill or maim other people. Which is another reason why I am not interested in beheading anyone. I also cannot picture myself going about demanding that people get “666” tattooed on their foreheads. I just don’t think that a tattoo on the forehead is an especially classy look for anyone. If anything, I’d just like to demand, or perhaps just suggest, that people not wear cargo pants, or Uggs, or those shirts with flames on them from Pacific Sunwear circa 1996, or bedazzled Christmas sweaters.

Most amazing holiday ever.

And I missed celebrating it! I'm so sad! Aparently in South Korea, on April 14th, people who are not in love wear black and eat black food! I mean, that's pretty much every day for me- I look ridiculous in colors and I subsist primarily on black coffee- so, maybe I was celebrating and I didn't even realize it! Or something!

Meh. I don't know, I'm not one of those "blah, I'm going to mope around because I'm single!" types- and on the other hand, I'm not all Larry from Three's Company about it either- frankly, that's quite creepy. I seem to attract a lot of fellas like that- I think because I seem like the sort of person one is supposed to see whilst sowing oats and whatnot. I haven't been said person lately as I haven't had much inclination or energy lately to be whimsical- which is one of the required traits of the job. I have yet to be fairly compensated for my enlightenment and un-repression services and have thus grown tired of the arrangement. I have mental fantasies of saying this to most fellas I meet:

"Let's just fast forward through this whole thing, doll, because I don't have all day. What's going to happen here is that you're going to hang out with me for a few weeks, which will be a good time because I am indeed a good time. I will remind you of June Miller, or Marla Singer, or Lauren Bacall or whomever. But, then, you'll have some epiphany in which you realize that what you really want is that Nice Girl over there. She's a little bit homely, and not quite as fun, or as smart or as clever or as interesting- but she's sweet and she's stable, and that's what you really need after all!"

It would be so much easier that way. And I wouldn't have to bother with shaving my legs for the experience.

New obsession!

Ok, so Rock of Love is over (though can I just say that "Ambre" winning is such bullshit?), and Bindi Irwin hasn't done anything exciting/horrifying in a while...

Thank goodness for Khia!

Last night I watched "Miss Rap Supreme" on VH1... and it was all I'd hoped it would be, and more... except that the awesome chick rapping about Challah bread did not make it on the show (I so want to be her BFF). But Khia did! You may recall Khia as the chick who sang that song that made you never ever want to have sex again--- My Neck, My Back!

I'm sorry... nothing anyone can ever do or say will make the term "crack" sound sexy. It is just not. Also, may I just say... my favorite part of this video is the slip n slide?

AAAAAAAANYway. Bitch is hilarious. Just watch the show... but what's even more awesome is that she writes an advice column for Hood Magazine! Check it out, it will rock your face.

I am the number one Google search term for "Ayn Rand sucks ass"

And I'm proud of that. It's something. I'm bored at work. Catherine and I are listening to opera and being cultured! And fancy!

Oh, and I signed up for that Google Ads thing, because basically I like free money. And they have decided that you, the two or three people who occasionally read this- or who are led here by searching for "Ayn Rand sucks ass" (which I hope is meant as a character assessment and not a porn. Because that would give me nightmares), are in need of potty training help. It would not surprise me.

Did you know that the word gullible is not in the dictionary?

It's hard to be surprised these days by what people will believe. Especially teenagers. I mean, in 8th grade I convinced a bunch of dudes that they could get high by smelling opium incense. And they totally did it too, and then subsequently pretended that they were in fact high. It was rather amusing. I also sold them oregano! Ok but this is way more retarded than that.

These kids in Florida think that you can prevent HIV by doing a shot of... bleach. And that Mountain Dew prevents pregnancies! Really? Really? I mean, sure, this makes it pretty obvious that comprehensive sex ed is needed- duh... but also, I wonder: You know that saying "Well! If you believe that, I've got some land in Florida I'd like to sell you!"

Are these the children of the people who bought that land? Really, because how retarded do you have to be to buy that one? I mean- I am not all that swift, and I can't imagine I would have believed that at age 10, nevermind as a teenager. And may I just say... at age 10, when my fifth grade english class "adopted" a manatee... I totally thought it was going to show up and that I'd get to take it home for the weekend. That's how much of a genius I am.

A Personal Dream

My favorite soap opera, "Passions" is officially over. I haven't seen it in a year or so, since it moved to Direct TV- but it still holds a special place in my heart. Especially Timmy.



Anyway, it reminds me of something I've always wanted... a magical booze cart. You see, on soap operas, whenever you are in a room with a magical booze cart, and you want to talk about someone else in the room without them hearing you, you go over to the booze cart, pour yourself a brandy from a tacky piece of crystal. Then, you begin some random soliloquy about how they must never know you are doing their husband/plotting to kill them/secretly your own evil twin and they will not be able to hear you. It's true.

So if you really love me, go here and get me one.

Just get on the floor and do the New Kids dance!

Oh man...



Yes, it's the New Kids. NKOTB, if you will. Except they're not "new" these days so much as they are "old." Especially the one who was always old.

It seems like just yesterday (or not really) that I was sitting in my friend Heather's living room swooning over their cartoon (which totally existed in case you were wondering) and taking turns hugging her New Kids pillow with all their faces emblazoned upon it. Seriously. Guess who was my favorite?




Oh yes. Jordan. Hey, at least it wasn't the monkey faced one, or the old one. I had this doll, which actually came complete with the rattail hanging off the back of his head. I slept with this doll at night. And to this day, I'm not actually sure if I did in fact like the New Kids or if I was just trying to fit in and have something in common with the other kids. Because at that age I mostly listened to the Oldies station. Anyway, regardless of the music, I did think Jordan was kind of a sex machine.

Fun fact: He was totally wearing a Bauhaus shirt in the video for "The Right Stuff." (See?) I actually still own the "Hangin' Tough" video collection. It's comedy gold- mostly due to the Bergman-esque documentary interludes.

I also have The NKOTB coffee table book, which I credit as being the first piece of erotica I ever owned (it totally predates my first reading of Delta of Venus). No, really- it was creepily overtly sexual for something intended to be owned by an 8 year old girl. There was this one picture of Jordan with some presumably naked chick (although you only saw her stomach and I think some sideboob) and there's this quote above it where he talks about how he has dreams where he's soaring through the air, and then he's (and I quote, it's burned into my memory) "having sex with the flyest girl." Yes, the flyest one of all! I think the old one or the monkey face one talked about doing it too, but that was just gross. Anyway, I was not so surprised later when Jordan turned out to be a total perv.



Carnival sex? Kinky! And also... eew.

Oh, and here's something you probably don't remember! The New Kids have actually tried to reinvent themselves before. Yeah, when Gangsta Rap got popular. Check this shit out, dawg. Clearly, they are rebels who will never be any good.



You know they were all like "Whatevs Snoop Dogg. We can dress up like halloween pimps and make weirdly misogynistic allusions to bestiality too, you know." You know, I don't care what kind of SuperChristian Joey is now (he's made Jesus albums, you know). Those New Kids were into some weird ass shit.

Told you I was just friendly.

Apparently (gasp!) men have a tendency to interpret "friendly" body language as "sexual interest" body language.

No, really? You must be kidding!

I have a tendency to do the opposite. I have been on more dates that I didn't know were dates than I could possibly tell you. I am oblivious. It's kind of funny, because sometimes I'll run into these dudes and they'll be all drunk and telling me about how I totally dissed them on that date I wasn't aware that we had. Then I'll feel kind of like a jerk for a minute because I had assumed it was a platonic thing... but not really, because frankly- you should TELL someone if they are on a date, not just figure they caught on somehow. Especially if said person is anything like me. I also tend to get a lot of fella's who think I am trying to seduce them in some saucy film noir type manner, which I'm not. I just kind of sound like Lauren Bacall. Or um, whatsherface... Kathleen Turner. Or Barry White. Fact is, I'm very immature. If I actually like someone, I will usually express this by throwing something at their head or picking fights. I have not progressed much since junior high.

The Pushkin Problem

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/30/books/review/Donadio-t.html?em&ex=1207108800&en=3c42341da951f2dd&ei=5087%0A

Personally, I have to say- I dump/date people for really retarded reasons. No way in hell would I date someone who thought Ayn Rand was awesome, and let me tell you- I find this to be a completely rational decision, because anyone who thinks Ayn Rand is awesome would be completely incompatible with me altogether. Ayn Rand sucks ass. And that Judy Heiblum is right- dudes who carry around copies of "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" are sooooo worth avoiding. Trust me (also, let me tell you- they haven't ever actually read it.).

On the other hand, I think dudes who like Henry Miller and Dostoevsky are ridiculously sexified. But I'll also think they're pretty dreamy if they've heard Mel Brooks and Carl Reiner's "The 2000 Year Old Man" or are way into Marx Brothers or Woody Allen movies. But it's not just about "Oh, you're this way because you like these specific things"- it's also about having a similar frame of reference for conversational purposes. That's really what I think is important.

I'd write more, but my keyboard is being a pain in the ass. Oy.

I'm on Oprah, bitches!

Guess who is totally famous? I'll give you a clue, it's me.



Ok, maybe not. I was on Oprah for all of five seconds, and for some reason they only selected all the really stupid sounding things I said.

In the "interview" I stated that I felt that the smoking ban, with the 15 feet away from the door (and, obviously, the bouncer) rule, was dangerous for women. Personally, I'd like it to be my decision to go into a bar- it's no longer my choice and I don't like that. I live by two bars, and thus must now deal with drunk people against my will. Not fun. And loud. Very loud. The other issue is that now we're going to have women leaving their drinks at bars to go smoke and getting roofied. Which is not fucking cool.

I also said that I believe that smoking bans are primarily a way for a city or state to look like they're doing something good for people, without it actually costing them any money or real effort. And then, you know, you can take people's minds off important things like the war, and the war against reproductive choice, and the homeless, and sweatshops and everything else in the world that sucks ass.

But of course, they did not include that part. Oh well.

Does This Toilet Seat Make My Ass Look Big?

I know people read, talk on the phone and spend quite a lot of time on the toilet (hell my father would spend a good two hours on there every morning and probably still does) but I can't imagine being there so long the actual toilet seat BECOMES a part of your body. Read on:

WICHITA, Kansas (AP) -- A 35-year-old woman who sat on her boyfriend's toilet for so long that her body was stuck to the seat had a phobia about leaving the bathroom, the boyfriend said.

Police say Pam Babcock apparently spent two years living in the bathroom of her boyfriend's mobile home.

"She is an adult; she made her own decision," said her boyfriend, Kory McFarren. "I should have gotten help for her sooner; I admit that. But after a while, you kind of get used to it."

The case drew nationwide attention after Ness County Sheriff Bryan Whipple said it appeared the Ness City woman's skin had grown around the seat in the two years she apparently was in the bathroom.

"We pried the toilet seat off with a pry bar and the seat went with her to the hospital," Whipple said. "The hospital removed it."

McFarren, 36, said he can't be certain how long Pam Babcock stayed in the bathroom because "time just went by so quick I can't pinpoint how long." He said beatings she received in her childhood caused her phobia.

"It just kind of happened one day; she went in and had been in there a little while, the next time it was a little longer. Then she got it in her head she was going to stay -- like it was a safe place for her," McFarren said.

But McFarren said she moved around in the bathroom during that time, bathed and changed into the clothes he brought her. He brought food and water to her. They had conversations and had an otherwise normal relationship -- except it all happened in the bathroom.

McFarren said he finally called police February 27 after he became worried because Babcock was acting groggy -- like she didn't know what was going on, except she was awake.

What emergency responders found when they went into bathroom has left residents of this small western Kansas town buzzing, and law enforcement officials incredulous.

Police found the clothed woman sitting on the toilet, her sweat pants down to mid-thigh. She was "somewhat disoriented," and her legs looked like they had atrophied, Whipple said.

"She was not glued. She was not tied. She was just physically stuck by her body," Whipple said. "It is hard to imagine. ... I still have a hard time imagining it myself."

She initially refused emergency medical services, but was finally convinced by responders and her boyfriend that she needed to be checked out at a hospital.

"She said that she didn't need any help, that she was OK and did not want to leave," he said.

Whipple said the county attorney will determine whether any charges should be filed against McFarren.

McFarren, who works at an antique store, said he has been taking care of Babcock for the 16 years they have lived together. He insisted that he tried to coax her out of the bathroom every day.

"And her reply would be, `Maybe tomorrow,"' Whipple said. "According to him, she did not want to leave the bathroom."

She was reported in fair condition Wednesday at a hospital in Wichita, about 150 miles southeast of Ness City. Whipple said she has refused to cooperate with medical providers or law enforcement investigators.

Babcock has an infection in her legs that has damaged her nerves, and there is a possibility she may wind up in a wheelchair, McFarren said.

James Ellis, a neighbor, said he had known the woman since she was a child, but that he had not seen her for at least six years.

"I don't think anybody can make any sense out of it," Ellis said.

Babcock had a tough childhood after her mother died at a young age and apparently was usually kept inside the house as she grew up, he said.

"It really doesn't surprise me," Ellis said. "What surprises me is somebody wasn't called in a bit earlier."

This is how I brighten my own day, because I'm a terrible person.

At least I'm not this chick: http://hosted.ap.org/dynamic/stories/W/WOMAN_IN_BATHROOM?SITE=FLTAM&SECTION=US

More Debbie Reynolds vs. Elizabeth Taylor

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2008/03/11/nperfect111.xml

Oy. I'm at work right now. It's unbelievably dead. I still don't have internet at my place, for the same reason I haven't gotten an eliptical machine yet- lack of time and mechanical ability.

I'm a bit PMSy anyway, so this was just the icing on the cake. Normally I'd just be thinking "This article is completely retarded." Which it is. But because I'm all mentally retarded and feeling icky today, it makes me obscenely frustrated.

I don't know. I am the exact opposite of this article, and through my hormone clouded mind, I am trying to process how I feel about that- despite my feeling that it's complete and utter bullshit. It's just kind of a surreal feeling.

I am quite tall. I have dark brown, almost black hair. I have weird eyes that change color but are usually sort of a greyish green or greyish violet. I am exceedingly cynical. I do not have a car. I smoke. I drink. Often. And I have never eaten Wonderbread nor did I grow up on a farm. That last part I just threw in there, because that's something I've always thought about when irrationally pondering what might be wrong with me.

None of my friends are short, long blonde haired, none-too-intelligent, uncynical types either. Nor are they girl-next-door types. Which is something I like about them. I hate that term, however, as it implies I don't have neighbors, which I do. In fact, I've had many neighbors in the course of my non-girl next door life. One of them was an Elvis impersonator. Which, frankly, I feel should mean that I win. Which I don't, but still.

I am supposed to die of consumption at the end of the film. This much I know. That, and I would look pretty much retarded with long blonde hair. I have a picture somewhere of me in a wig. It's quite disturbing, to say the least. I gotta tell you, this whole thing sort of makes me feel quite sensible about my recent decision to embark on another manfast. It makes more sense than cutting off half of my legs, at least.

But I feel a little bit like a bad feminist today.

Oh Save Us From Daylight "Savings"

I found this on Yahoo Tech!  Love it!  The last line is my favorite :)

It's official: Daylight Saving Time is a bust. Designed (and recently extended) as a measure to save energy in a period of inflated electricity prices, an in-depth University of California study has now shown that DST doesn't save anyone any money at all. In fact, it's costing consumers extra, to the tune of $3.19 in extra utility bills per year.

The study was made possible because of the peculiarities of the state of Indiana, which was only partially on DST until 2006. When the whole state finally went DST (to sync with the national business day), some comparisons vs. the prior method were made apparent. The study calculated that the shift costs Indiana residents an extra $8.6 million in electricity bills in total.

Why? Shouldn't they be, well, saving daylight -- and burning fewer light bulbs?

They are, said the study. But while lighting bills were reduced, air-conditioning units had to run more often, because people were home on hot afternoons when they'd otherwise be still at the office. Heaters had to be run on cool mornings, too, when people got up and it was still dark outside.

Professor Matthew Kotchen, who pioneered the study, noted, "I've never had a paper with such a clear and unambiguous finding as this."

This isn't the first time the energy-saving rationale of Daylight Saving Time has been attacked. The first was in 1976, three years after DST went into effect, when the National Bureau of Standards found that there was no significant energy savings after the switch. The recent expansion of DST to a few extra weeks was also revealed to have saved no energy during its run. And yet here we are...

In related news, it was also revealed that Daylight Saving Time actually creates no additional daylight.

I know it's been a while...

And I guess this has been something of an abandoned project for me. But I'm bringing it back. Why? For a variety of reasons, none of which are all that interesting.

To tide those of you over who still have me on your rolls or subscriptions, until I get some new things to say, here is something I posted on my myspace blog a bit ago, and then updated today. It's a full life.

List of things that Cosmo thinks are sexy but are in fact not (updated!).

1. Wigs. A big Cosmo sex tip has always been "wear a wig in bed so he feels like he's with another woman!" If this works for you, I feel like you have a lot more problems than it can possibly solve. Number one being the fact that a wig stays on your head the whole time. I had enough trouble keeping the wig on my head this Halloween just walking around bars. Obviously, you're doing something wrong. Also, you're dating someone who can keep a straight face while you're wearing one, when any normal person would not be able to. People look stupid in wigs. Frankly, if he wants to do someone else that much, he can go ahead and do so. Really, knock yourself out buddy. I'm not wearing a freakin' wig.

2. Notes. This is another big one. Once upon a time they even had these little cards that you could cut out of the magazine and put into your boyfriends pocket or whatever, that said "I'm not wearing any underwear" or "I'm totally gonna do you later" and various things to that effect. First of all, you put something like that in someones pocket, and things can go terribly wrong. Like when they pay for coffee that morning. I bet there are a lot of very confused baristas waiting on the boyfriends of Cosmo subscribers. Also, I don't see how the thing about not wearing underwear really helps anyone who is not present at the time.

3. Striptease classes. Jen and I were just discussing this yesterday. This is another issue of taking yourself waaay too seriously. I once took a burlesque class at the gym, and totally lost it when they started making us crawl around on the floor. You'd also have to figure that anyone you were doing this for has already seen you naked before (otherwise that might just be the most hilarious one-night stand story ever, next to mine about the guy who tried to slow dance with me to "Lady in Red"), which means it's not like he's going to see anything new, unless you've grown another nipple over night or something. Which would not be that sexy.

4. Edible underwear. The logic of edible underwear has long perplexed me. You can't just happen to have it on beforehand, because it would get all linty and gross, and I imagine it would not be all that comfortable walking around all day with a fruit roll-up in your pants. Either you'd have to be all "oh, let me change into something a little more comfortable" and come out wearing it, or put it on during... I don't get it. It's all too complicated and tedious. I also don't think eating a fruit roll-up is all that awesome of a time.

5. Jen reminded me about this one... This one time, Cosmo suggested you put a donut on his man parts and eat it off. I don't even know where to begin with this one, except to say that a) Donuts. Not hot. and be b) if the donut fits... I wouldn't expect a great time otherwise.

6. Naughty Jenga. Yup. Naughty...Jenga. Roll that one around your head for a moment. I bought the new issue of Cosmo last night, and this was one of the ways to become "closer to your man." By writing "naughty suggestions" on the Jenga blocks, and then playing Jenga... or something, I don't know. It's Naughty Jenga! And you lead an unbelievably sad life!

7. Ok, this is my theory. The editors of Cosmo are just really, really hungry. They are STARVING. Otherwise, there is just no viable explanation for the bad erotica in the back this month. What Cosmo calls its "red hot read." Which is about some dude who totally loves this girl that he just met five minutes for her awesome self and not her 80 bajillion dollars, who chases her out of a party in order to make sure she is ok, and then proceeds to break out.... the ice cream.

"He really is going to make me into his own personal sundae! Dani thought, and then gasped."

NO! No no no no no no no.

8. They give you a schedule of what to talk about with "your man:"

1) On Friday night, ask him how his buddies are doing
2.) Saturday, in bed, ask him to spill his "in the sack" fantasy.
3.) Sunday morning- "Lounge in bed while planning next weekend"

Oy! Ok, here is a tip. If you need a magazine to help you schedule talking to another human being, you need to be in a sheltered workshop. Seriously. In fact, if you read Cosmo for any other reason than the fact that it is totally fucking hilarious, you need to be in a sheltered workshop. It's pretty much a fact.

Gimme, gimme less, gimme less Ms. Shitney Spears.

Ok so everyone has blogged about it and more but I feel I need to at least talk about poor old '(You Drive Me) Crazy' Shitney Spears. Now to say Britney was bad is an understatement. I felt like I was at a nightclub were a Bachelorette Party had decided to come in and they made the bride-to-be strip down to her underwear and get up and "perform" with the strippers. Oh wait, I forgot to say the bride got a terrible weave before she went out AND took some Valium and drank at least three bottles of champagne.

YIKES!

As far as why would Shitney be allowed to perform? Well from a producer stand point it was win-win. If she was terrific everyone would talk about her "comeback" (even though saying "comeback" is ridiculous since she didn't go anywhere. It just seems like if you haven't done anything for the last six months you can get a "comeback") and say she was amazing and blah, blah. blah. If she was terrible, everyone would STILL be talking about her and everyone would be talking about it. Ta-dah! Press for MTV either way.

I've never liked the comparisons of Shitney to my girl Madge. Albeit there are some similarities but for good or worse (more often times worse) Madonna usually sings live and if she doesn't it's hard to tell. Shitney didn't even attempt to open her mouth for most of her performance. Again it was like someone dared her to get on stage and then she did...

Anyways, so yeah to me Shitney is more like Paula Abdul. Both known more for the looks and dancing abilities. Both have limited if no vocal abilities. They are both crazy, though we didn't learn that until later. They both had huge hits, made lots of money, were admired and imitated by little girls and... (drum roll) BOTH had HUGE bombs on the MTV Video Music Awards.

Does anyone remember Paula's Vibeology performance? YIKES! Oh and of course the be and end all to a career: a change in management. Nothing is faster, except Lindsay Lohan to a bag of coke, then changing your management team that helped make you a star. Hello? Tom Cruise jumping up and down on a couch? When they don't have the proper people reining them in, we get to see what they are really like. And no one really wants that. We say we do but we don't. We never needed to realize that Shitney is probably one generation away or maybe just a cousin from poor white trash. She did much better when we never heard her speak.

By the look of that stripper-wanna-be number she doesn't even have a career at that. Well, strike that, some podunk town will hire her to work the 2-4-1 Pabst Blue Ribbon night.

morning constitutional

Our refrigerator is broken. I did all I could last week, including attempting to defrost it with a hair dryer, but to no avail. However, I like juice of some sort in the morning, and I also like that juice to not be room temperature. Call me crazy. So I go to the Jalisco.

On my way there, I notice that the 50 year old, um, pleasantly plump lady who usually wears the "I'm Bringin' Sexy Back!" T-shirt, is now sporting the somewhat less braggy "Flirtologist" T-shirt. She has not, however, discarded the hot pink booty shorts. I feel like she's living a lie. And if she isn't, I feel frightened. If she is indeed bringing sexy back, it was not just in hiding, but buried six feet under and will eat your brains if you try to hug it. Or maybe I just watch a lot of zombie movies.

Since my last incidents at the Jalisco, the owner has talked to the morning counter guy about the whole creepy pervert thing. Are you not updated? Well, he kept trying to hug me after purchases, asking me if I'd take him to New York with me and staring at my boobs while saying "you look verrrrrrry nice today. I like your shirt veeerrrrry veeerrrry much" You know, usual pervert stuff.

He also kept showing Jen and I pictures of some 18 year old blonde model and saying it was his girlfriend in New Jersey. Totally. So anyway, the owner talked to him and he doesn't pull too much of that anymore and just takes my money and gives me my stuff like a normal counter person. But today, while I'm there purchasing my vitamin water, he starts talking about the new product they have behind the counter... "pre-paid internet porn cards" with naked lady silhouettes on the front.
Oh yes.

"These are for...(insert creepy smile)...internet. You use them on the internet... You like one? (insert creepy smile again.)"
"I'm good with this, thanks"
"Are you sure? (creepy smile, wink wink)"
"Yup. I'm good. Have a nice day."

Ok, that's it. I guess it's rather anti-climatic, but hey, it was five minutes. It's not all that often that I get offered porn cards at 9am by the guy who works at the Jalisco. It's a new experience. Oh well.

It's been a while, sure

But I've been ever so busy slaving over hot... Diane von Furstenberg wrap dresses all day to bother with this. It's important work, I tell you.

I've got a week off, however- so I've got some time, despite the fact that the family is in town. The whole lot of them- the Queen mum, my dad, my sister and my Uncle who's not really my uncle but my dad's best friend (we're italian). They actually drove down. Which is amazing, considering my mother's chronic fear of cornfields and the creepy little aryan children dwelling therein. She doesn't do well in rural areas. It's true. Back in Rochester, we'd never go to the outlet malls too late, because they were out in Penn-Yan, which is chock full of Amish people. She'd hear the "clopity clop" of their buggies in the dark and start panicking. Because, of course, they were probably transporting meth.

There have been some adventures as of late, although I'm having some trouble recalling them at this hour. Except for the one about the creepy dude who claimed to be the bass player for The Lemonheads. Which he was not. If he were in fact the bassist for the The Lemonheads, I'm quite sure he would know who The Blake Babies were, and he did not. Don't mess with a girl who had a "Sassy" subscription in the early 90's.

Question- you know how they always have those ads like "Someone has a crush on you! Find out who now!" Do you think there are people who think it's real? I mean, that's kind of sad and almost cruel. I just always picture this like, big fat balding recluse dude wearing a shirt with a dragon on it pulled up over his belly seeing that ad and thinking some hot chick wants to do him, and then having his heart broken because really someone just wants him to buy ringtones or whatever. That would be sad if it were true, which it could be. I mean, people are pretty willing to believe things that are clearly total crap if it makes them feel good about themselves- otherwise how would you even begin explain Scientology?

Oh, and I found out the other day that dudes get calf implants. No, really. It's true! That totally kills me- I mean, I'm kind of on the picky side, but I don't think I've ever in my life said to myself "Damn, that fella is super dreamy...oh, wait... nevermind. His calves are just too skinny." That's never happened. Possibly because, if I can see a dudes calves he's probably wearing shorts, and that's a dealbreaker for me. Probably my biggest one, in fact. It goes along with my other major dealbreaker, which is "If I can easily picture you on a farm with a piece of wheat or straw or whatever hanging out of your mouth, it's not ever going to happen." I guess I share my mother's fear of rubes.

I'm kind of happy about it the idea of it though though- in the same way that I'm kind of happy about manorexia. Sort of a "Ha! Now it's your turn to feel crappy about yourselves!" kind of thing. I'm big on schadenfreude.

That is all for now.

I need a cigarette.

Generally speaking, I am almost always irritated by one thing or another. Double wide strollers taking up the whole sidewalk (and the fact that really, there are a few too many babies in the city these days, don't you think?), Crocs, the "comedy stylings" of Dane Cook, overly smug business school commercials, adults who find themselves adorable... these are just a few among the myriad things that annoy me. I'm a curmudgeon, I admit it. However, I have never gone so far as to spend a major portion of my life trying to get these things outlawed. Why? Because, well- I'm sure that there are quite a few things I do that annoy the crap out of others. In fact, I'm quite sure of it: I'm a smoker.

Yesterday, Governer Blagojevitch signed the Smoking Ban- which will make it illegal, starting in December, to have a cigarette in a bar. Another thing that will annoy me. Honestly, though- the thing that really drove me up the wall- was not so much the smoking ban itself, but all the dramatic descriptions in articles of "anti-smoking activists" hugging eachother and crying. The descriptions of how they have been working for years to get this ban in place.

And why is that the thing that really annoys me?

In a country where, at this very moment, we are currently stuck in an unjustified, and unending war in Iraq (4,000 American soldiers, and 8,000 Iraqi civilians), nearly a million people are homeless (40% of them families with children source and 200,000 of them in the Chicago area each year), 50 million people are without health insurance (and 18,000 will die each year because of that), and the Government currently thinks that torture sure is a swell idea (Guantanamo, The School of The Americas)... In a world where there are 3.9 million people dying of AIDS, where 6 year old children work 12 hour days just so you can have an ugly shirt from The Gap, where young girls are working in brothels, where actual SLAVES are mining your diamond engagement ring and harvesting your cocoa and coffee beans, where there is genocide in Darfur and Tibet, and a million other places that don't happen to have a healthy supply of oil, and all the other horrible things going on that I just don't have the time to name here.... the thing that bothers these people the most is that I, a 26 year old adult, could go into a bar- a place which is not only completely optional to go to, but allows only those 21 and over to enter- and smoke a friggin' cigarette.

This is why you, my anti-smoking friends, are myopic asshats. I am literally appalled by the fact that, with all the problems in the world, this is the one you waste your time with.

I've never really quite understood why people give a shit about what other people do when they're not present. I don't understand bans on gay marriage, or on sex toys (or acts)- because, well- if the participants are willing, and you're not there when it happens, and you have the option of avoiding the circumstance entirely, I just don't see why it matters to you. I guess some people just can't sleep at night knowing that someone, somewhere, is having a good time.

Let's talk about boobs!

(I can't wait to see the search terms that will lead to this entry. Seriously. Also- this is going to be obnoxiously candid. I don't care.)

Ok- I'm a big giant hypocrite. I am such a major advocate of women going and getting sized for bras (85% of women are wearing the wrong bra size, seriously. And not wearing the right size can actually cause some health problems, in addition to not looking so swift), and yet, it's been a couple of years since I've done it myself. Why? Because, if you're me, it's terrifying. I almost don't want to know. I have weird boob issues. I know, I know- people probably want to hear me complain about my ginormous boobs as much as I want to hear people complain that "no matter how much they eat, they just can't gain weight!" But really, they suck and they're just... embarassing, really. I'd get a reduction, but, uh- considering how well I took to getting my wisdom teeth out, that's not so much of an option.

Anyhow, today, I sucked it up and went to "Intimacy" and got sized. I don't think I could possibly find the words to give that store the glowing reviews it deserves. I'm serious. It's on Michigan in that mall-ish thing with Bloomingdales and such. Honestly, every single woman who lives in Chicago (or New York City, or Atlanta, they have them there too) needs to go there, like yesterday. So I go in and do my usual "Ok, well, do you even carry 32DD's?" thing, looking a little bit like I'm dying. And the girl helping me said "oh, yeah, but that's not your size." So I go into the dressing room, and she looks at my bra, and boobs and such and dubs me a.... 30F. (yeah, it was weird, they don't even bust out the measuring tape there, it's like they're psychic!)

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck fuck. 30F? That in no way sounds normal. Clearly, I'm a freak of nature. I felt SICK. I mean- I've had enough problems trying to find the 32DD's. I usually just settle for 34DD's because- well, they actually exist in some stores. But not only do they actually have my new entirely freakish size there- they have like TONS of them! And they're all pretty! I mean, honestly- once you get above a C cup, you're usually stuck with the grandma bra's. The only thing that sucks is that none of them cost less than 50 bucks (except on sale- and the sales are great, actually). However, the awesome thing is that they are guaranteed for life, and they will alter them for you for *free* when they get stretched out (to explain- if you're bigger up top, you go through bras pretty quickly because they stretch out from the weight). So anyway, I bought two, and they are glorious! And I feel a lot less pressure on my shoulders as well, which is great. I'm so happy I could cry! Oh! And they didn't look at me like I was a freak, either! They were so nice!

So, honestly- go- even if you don't buy a bra there (if you're a normal size, you probably don't have to) and get your shit checked out!

But have they ever refused Viagra?

This happened to me.

About three years ago, when I first moved to Chicago, I thought I had strep throat. So I went to the hospital on Division (one of the Resurrection hospitals that they talk about in the article), about a block away (How convenient, I thought!) to get it checked out. Now, of course it was just a sore throat, and I'm a hypochondriac, and whatever. But while I was there I said to the doctor "Hey, since I'm here and all, do you think you could renew my birth control prescription for me?" I was told that they could not, because it was a Catholic hospital. I was pissed, and honestly, really surprised. I didn't know they could do that. You know, being that birth control is perfectly legal and all. You can bet your ass, I never went there again.

I do not think people should be allowed to become doctors (or pharmacists for that matter) if their moral religious beliefs will interfere with providing care for their patients. Women's health is not an "option." I mean, what if Christian Scientists doctors refused to give you medicine, or if Jehovah Witness doctors refused to give you a blood transfusion? Why is women's health care considered an option? PLEASE, PLEASE! Some feminist doctor or pharmacist somewhere! Refuse to dole out the Viagra! (Oh, and for god's opinion on Viagra, go here. My favorite line is:
"Throughout the Bible, having a hard and lasting erection is frequently equated with righteousness and Godliness.")

And by the way- not that it even matters, but birth control is also taken for reasons other than preventing pregnancy. I took it before I was even sexually active, because I have PMDD and debilitatingly painful cramps (seriously, I'd go fetal for the first three days and couldn't go to school. I took everything from Midol to Vicodin and nothing helped besides the pill), and another girl I know took it to regulate her period because, at 18, she only got it every four months. So, I'm just saying- there goes that argument.

Well, we must have priorities

This sounds like the lamest "Would You Rather" question ever, so I'll start out by posing it as one:

"Would you rather be the weight you are now, or five pounds thinner but be unable to control your bowel movements and have an oily discharge coming out of your ass?"

You'd think the answer would be obvious, but it seems that women are heading to drug stores in droves to buy the new FDA approved over the counter diet pill, Alli- which has just these side effects. In fact, the website reccomends that you wear black pants when taking the pill. Shudder.

Oh, and let's be honest for a second... Do they really think they're going to be Scarlett eating barbeque under the oak tree or something when they smell like shit and have stains on their asses? I'm pretty sure that most guys I know would agree that poo is hell of a lot grosser than being five pounds overweight or whatever. Most people I know, actually. Maybe I'll make a graph? Here, take my very important poll!

Which is more grossly unattractive?
	A person who shits their pants and has an "oily discharge" seeping from their ass
	A person who is five pounds heavier than that person, but is able to control their bowel movements
pollcode.com free polls

Morning snapshot

I woke up this morning looking exactly like a Victorian-era prostitute crossed with Marla Singer. I thought you should know. It's the whole wearing vintage slips to bed thing, and the whole forgetting to take my make-up off thing, and the whole hair standing up everywhere thing (my hair always makes it look like I had a way better time than I actually did), and the whole cigarette hanging out of my mouth thing. I wish I had taken a picture.

Oh, and I keep smelling Froot Loops. Does that mean anything? Like when you taste metal and it means you're going to have a heart attack? I mean, yesterday I smelled them on Wells on my way to work, and today in the kitchen it happened again. It was definitely Froot Loops and nothing else.

I should have some coffee.

Tank Girl Vibrators!

Sort of, anyway!

Oh man, when I was 13 and was like, so totally a riot grrrl... Tank Girl was seriously my hero(ine) (which, you know, explains some poor camoflauge based fashion choices back then), and now Jamie Hewlitt is designing dildo's! How fabulous is that? Well, it would be far more fabulous were they not like, $275 (Could I afford it if I sold all my old copies of the comic? Doubt it.)

Oh, and also, Alan Martin is coming out with a Tank Girl novel (Armadillo!) and two new TG graphic novels (not illustrated by Hewlitt, of course, since he's all busy with Gorillaz and stuff) this year... including one that I believe is coming out this month. Sweet.

You know... I'm thinking- the baby doll dresses are back... now if only Bikini Kill and Huggy Bear could get back together, and if Lisa Suckdog could start publishing Rollerderby again... hmmm....

For every fella who has ever told me the story...

You know the one. The one about why affirmative action is like, sooooo unjust? That I seem to hear from quite a few white men whenever the subject is broached? Well, if you haven't- it goes like this: "Once upon a time, a friend of a friend of a friend of mine, who was a white male, applied to Harvard. It was the end of the admissions process- and there was only one spot and two candidates- the friend of a friend of a friend, and (dun dun duuuuunn) a black person (often a woman). Amazingly, they had the exact same SAT scores, GPA, extra-curricular activities etc. But, when it came down to who got in, well... who did they choose? The minority!" (and usually they'll throw in that the white dude came from a poor family, you know, for dramatic effect)

Oh the horror! Oh.... yeah, and the white guys whole entire life was ruined as a result of this terrible injustice. Now, obviously, it's a ridiculous argument. First of all... how would someone even know that this occurred, it's not like they would put it in the rejection letter or something. Second, would it somehow be more fair if the white dude had gotten in instead? Third... legacies- what about the people who don't get in because they have to make room for someone who's daddy went to Harvard (or Yale) and contributed a whole shitload of money to the school? Much like our dear president? Oh, and not to mention that affirmative action has always existed- except that it's been white men hiring white men. Yeah, it's not the toughest argument to shut down.

But anyhow... read this. And then, you know- try that argument out again. According to the article- because women are out-performing men in school and on tests, the admissions are becoming tougher for them in order to keep a gender balance in the schools. I think after we hear more about this, the fella's will be complaining just a hint less about the unfairness of affirmative action.

Oh, and hopefully it will also put an end to the "The reason there is a wage gap is because men are harder workers/smarter" argument as well. Not to mention my favorite pick-up line "Gosh, you're smart for a girl!"

Gay Bomb

This is not to be confuddled with the Tom Jones hot "Sex Bomb," no sadly it's not as fun. Well, come to think of it, it is kinda fun. If you want to know more just google: gay bomb. Yes, that's right kids get to googling and you can come up with quite a few colorful articles on how our brilliant US Military was in talks to devise a kind of "gay bomb" which would make the enemy be so overcome with homosexuality that they scrumped each other faster than Whitney to a dime bag. The enemy would then be so incredible embarrassed and ashamed of there actions, it would cause chaos and the oh-so-fab US military could sweep in and set an different kind of bomb up their butt.

Oh what clever decrepit old men will think of when given millions upon millions of dollars to sit in a room eating smoked salmon and bagels. They also had briefly discussed a "bad breath" bomb so secret agents could easily be smelt. Unless of course it was Garlic Tuesday and we all know what we'd smell then. Speaking of smelling, they also have discussed since 1945 making a flatulent bomb. No not dropping a bunch of Taco Bell on a bunch of people but actually letting something rip that would cause everyone to get a major case of the toots. They nixed the idea because in some countries people actually like in shit. Like literally! Can you believe that some people actual have become accustomed to smelling feces? Gasp. I thought everyone walked around in air condition with fuzzy pink bunny slippers and a tiara. I mean that's what I'm wearing now while I write this and let out a few poofs from my gay tush.

New Playgrounds suck ass

I just have to say it. No swingsets- except for the ones made only for babies that look like diapers, no 20 foot metal slides (just these 5 foot tall plastic ones that aren't even slid-ey if you throw sand on them), no merry go-rounds, no see-saws, no jungle gyms, no monkey bars. Everything made out of plastic...


(this one has monkey bars- but look! They're only as tall as that kid standing next to them!)

If I was a kid, I'd be pissed. I mean, I get that safety is a concern and all- but they just look boring as hell. Kids should have scraped knees, they should puke from spinning around in circles, and have bruised butts from their friend jumping off the see-saw too soon. I firmly believe this. My mom didn't want me to be afraid to climb the jungle gym- she didn't want me to be afraid of anything- even getting hurt. I learned to laugh when I fell down instead of cry. I learned fearlessness, I learned to hang from my knees.

I think these things build character. If you have a bubble-wrapped childhood, I think it's possible you'll grow up to be a whiny bastard. I'm kind of grateful for every crappy thing that happened to me when I was a kid. It's why, at 26, I am such a ballsy-ass broad now!

I'm old and rickety!

Yes, today is my birthday, which should so be a national holiday.

So we're going shopping, then drinking, then more drinking.

It should be a swell time.

Child Rearing Techniques of the 80's: The Aftermath and the Male Privilege Cookie

You're remarkable, you really are
You're the only one like you!
The world is better just because you're here!
You should know that we love you!
'Cause you are special, special,
Everyone is special!
Everyone in his or her own way!

LIES!

While this Barney song wasn't around while we were growing up (Hey, I babysat a lot, give me a break! I had to watch a lot of that crap), the attitude definitely was. It's probably even worse now- I've heard they changed the lyrics of "Frere Jacques" to "I am special, I am special, Look at me! Look at me!" in Nursery Schools across the country. Parents were/are told that they have to constantly remind their kids that they are special in and of themselves without them actually doing anything. I've always felt that was pretty retarded (as I tended to be on the "existence precedes essence" side of things, even before I knew what it was)- but I'm even more annoyed with it now, as an adult.

See, I think it affected men more. Women my age were raised with that idea, but at the same time were told "You have to be ten times better to be considered half as good (as a man)" along with a lot of ideas about sisterhood- and I think that those things sort of counterbalanced the "You are special" doctrine in a lot of ways. I also think that, as a "minority," things were a bit tougher for us, which helped us build character.

See- the thing is- you've got these guys who were told they were special, precious, snowflakes. And they've got this world to deal with where there used to be this cookie of male privilege, which is being "taken away" by women who believe they should have equal rights, equal access, and equal pay. I think that this, on many levels, means that misogyny is even more poisonous than it was prior to women's liberation. And it's not necessarily that on a cognitive level that they disagree with this idea. Not most of them anyhow. But every so often you get these wafts of bitterness.

1) "It's NOT FAIR that women sometimes get free drinks by guys who are trying to get into their pants! I think *I* should get free drinks!" (such a SWEET deal, huh? We've totally got it made!)
2) "Since women are equal to men now, I think I should be able to hit a woman like I would a man."
3) "I don't see why I should have to put in any effort at all to attract a woman. It's NOT FAIR! Supermodels should just jump in my lap because they see that I am a special, precious snowflake and love me for me, and not care that I pick my nose, or that I never want to go anywhere, or that I don't have much to say." (not that they actually say this, but it's often implied.)
4) "It's NOT FAIR that women have an easier time getting laid than I do!"
5) Straight white men are the new minority! Why is it ok to hate us? (We don't hate you, we hate your privilege.)

With some exceptions (my very first straight male friend- Luke, my gays, pretty much all of the guys I know who are over 32, and a few others), I trust my female friends more than the men I know. There is more of a comradery, and you don't have any of that underlying bitterness to deal with. I know that they care if I'm safe, and I care if they are. It's a certain awareness we have, especially since, as women, we are obviously more prone to being attacked or raped. We make sure everyone has a ride, or gets into a cab at the end of the night. If I'm staying over someplace else, I let Jen know. I think maybe it's hard for men to understand that whole rigamarole, because it's not something they have to deal with? I don't know. I trust my girlfriends to have my back and stand up for me- while, honestly, most guys are a little wimpy in this area. They never get that it's not about "I need a man's protection"- but about "If I'm dating you, or if we're friends, it would be swell if you cared whether I live or die, or had my back once in a while."

(To sum up: My expectations of men are the same as my expectations of women. Unless I'm dating you, in which case there are obvious exceptions that really don't apply- that and I expect that you buy me dinner. Why? Because there's still a wage gap.)

I think it's just this... supreme self-centeredness that prevents them from seeing that. I think that sort of "sensitivity" is a lot more worthwhile than the kind where you cry all the time. I have to say- a pretty important issue for me and a lot of other girls I know is the "I've got bigger balls than any guy I know" problem. There's just not a lot of character or chutzpah going around, it seems. (Oh, also- I'm not saying *all* women are like this, just more of them than there are men, and I have an eye for finding them)

One really big thing I notice, is that almost every guy I meet freely talks shit about his mother. It's totally bizarre and offensive to me- and on a very real level, very misogynistic. I mean, extenuating circumstances aside, I do think that if a guy treats the woman who gave birth to and raised him like shit- you can get a pretty good idea of how he's going to treat you. It's also a pretty immature thing to do. I was raised, half-way, in that Italian-American culture, where there are these guys who are super tough and macho, but would never, ever say anything against their mother. Not in a million years. And they'd pretty much kill you if you ever said anything about their mother. And there is something I about that attitude that I always thought was super cool. And just think! These are the "You are a special, precious snowflake!" moms! Frankly, I think, what we're dealing with is basically, a whole crapload of spoiled brats.

It's been a weird morning...

I don't normally talk about my dreams- and I find it insanely annoying when other people talk about theirs- especially when they ask me what I think it means, and of course- seeing as how I am not Carl Jung, I have no idea. However- I have to tell you, I had a weird one:

First, Jen says to me "Have you met Cookies yet?" And no, no I haven't. She then brings out a baby leopard and says that she found him near the dumpster and that he's the same kind of cat as her cat (who is, somewhere down the line, part wildcat) so we have to keep him. I say he is a leopard and will probably kill us, and no one believes me. Then I go Christmas shopping with my mom and get kidnapped by this bizarre white trash man who says he traveled all the way up here from Arkansas to kidnap me, because I stole his favorite pair of Bermuda shorts from Old Navy. Which, by the way, I did not.

And then I woke up. And I go to get coffee at Atomix and orange juice at the... Jalisco? I don't know, the convenience store across the street. With the guy who likes to touch me. He's a weird guy. The first time he saw my ID he freaked out because I was from NY. He said his girlfriend lives in New Jersey, and then made me wait for 5 minutes while he finds her picture in his phone, and then shows me this 18 year old super hot blonde chick (he's a 50 year old highly unattractive dude, I'm not buying it. I bet you it's a picture from a catalog or something.) He always asks me to go to New York with him. Which I am, of course, not going to be doing ever. Today, however, I purchase my orange juice and he cheers "You are my first customer today!" and starts shaking my hand and refusing to let go. "I'm really late," I say... "Oh, just give me a hug" says he... and then I pull my hand away "Nope, really, gotta go- see you later"

I don't know- something about the whole thing just creeps me out. So like, if I ever go missing, check the freezer at the convenience store across the street.

But, I do get to see the fam today, and that's pretty damned awesome, I think. They're pretty much the best ever.

It will probably be a lot like pulling teeth...

This week will involve two of the things I hate most in the world- airports and the dentist. I'm going back home to Rochester to finally have my wisdom teeth out. I am not happy about this for any reason whatsoever.

Although, I don't hate the dentist as much as I hate and fear dental hygienists (and am thoroughly weirded out that all the dental hygienists at my dentist's are named Judy... it's very Twilight Zone...). I honestly can't handle it when they talk to me and expect me to respond whilst poking around my mouth with sharp objects. It makes me panic. Especially because they're always really perky. I deal poorly with perky-ness.

Dental Hygienist: So, what have you been doing in Chicago?
Robyn: Allaghsighdksidh, dhdsisdich...ewqnjklvdhi...(drool...)

I don't hate flying because I'm afraid the plane will crash. I merely fear being annoyed at the airport. EVERY time, something obnoxious happens. I swear to god, I have no luck at airports. Ugh.

But Jerry Falwell is dead, and that's pretty swell. And I'll of course be glad to see everyone. Even though I won't look very pretty what with the swollen face and all...

Robyn answers search terms!

1. "How to Pronounce Sartre/De Beauvoir"- Sart, De Bow Vwah. Easy.

2. "Betty vs. Veronica"- Veronica

3. "People with birthdays in June"- Me!

4. "The Truth About Diamonds"- They are mined by slaves and you shouldn't buy them

5. "A guy told me i'm intimidating"- Good for you! I find being intimidating to be an excellent way of separating the wheat from the chaff. I mean, I figure, if a guy can't get the cajones up to talk to me, what chance does he have of dealing with me on a regular basis? Guys with balls= less pep talks and coddling. Always a good thing.

6. "Why are beautiful women always single? intimidating" Because we don't have low enough self esteem to deal with stupid dudes.

Oh god! I am so tired of this argument!

A post over at Feministing about the health problems high heels cause has of course turned into a discussion about whether or not high heels are feminist approved, or simply the medieval torture devices of the patriarchy.

I just have to say- I'm already a pretty tall lady- 5'8". If I was out seeking male approval, I would probably never wear heels! In fact I'd probably slouch! I just happen to like shoes. I like pretty things. This doesn't make me any less of a feminist. I'll never see the difference between rad-fems who say if you wear make-up or wear heels or shave your legs you're not a feminist and the Christian freaks that say if you do so you're a damned jezebel.

Also- like I've said before- most of these "beauty standards" are created and perpetuated by women. Women primarily dress up for themselves and for other women. Don't believe me? Go out looking like crap one night, and see how much more often you get approached than when you're all dolled up and look fabulous. Men have far lower standards than we give them credit for. Seriously- like my mom always says: "Don't drive yourself crazy, haven't you read Portnoy's Complaint? They'll screw a piece of raw liver if that's what's around." Most men could not tell the difference between a pair of Manolo Blahniks and a 10 dollar pair of shoes from Target if their lives depended on it!

So there.