Yes, I had a boss who made bitchy comments about my period.
Yes, I'm all feminist and insistent that comments like that are complete bullshit, inappropriate and unwarranted.
Yes, I believe that women should never be considered slaves to their hormones, the very idea that we cannot control ourselves in any given situation just because we are women is abhorrent.
Especially when I am totally PMSing, when EVERYTHING IS PISSING ME OFF.
If it isn't pissing me off, it's probably making me cry. Like, "that time of the month" for me means the time of the month when I will inexplicably decide to voluntarily view "Extreme Home Makeover." AND CRY. Well, also, when I'm not crying, be TOTALLY ANNOYED because it's so EFFING CHEESY and also a giant SEARS AD and PS, TY EFFING PENNINGTON, you're SUCH an ASS!
ALSO!
WHY is KERMIT THE EFFING FROG on the show? It's incomprehensible.
Omigod, now that Chase credit card ad is on about the couple who is getting married and having kids and ohmigod I might cry.
Okay, I'm annoyed again, now. WHY DOES TY WEAR A HEMP NECKLACE? Dear Ty:
- are you currently attending college and living in a frat house?
- are you seventeen and a pothead?
- are you on spring break in daytona?
If you anser "no" to the above questions, it is TIME TO REMOVE THE HEMP NECKLACE!
That goes for anyone else who is reading this right now, too. SO HELP ME if I see you in a hemp necklace!
OMIGOD now they're showing teens with some kind of encephaly that leaves them drooling in wheelchairs! They have parents who are grateful for the miracle of life! Okay, tissue time.
PS: This thread on Gawker is great. . .
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Tonic Isnt always angry
I found this robotic photoset on flickr.
This one made me sad.
Robots are people, too.
This one made me sad.
Robots are people, too.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Apple Store!
We're in the Apple store! Some jam band is playing upstairs! European tourists are everywhere! I'm blogging! How cool am I? BLOGGING IN THE APPLE STORE!
Scatalogical Humor:
Overheard in Jimmy Johns, not ten minutes ago: "How stupid is he? He fell of the roof while he was trying to urinate!"
Overheard in front of McDonalds:
"Awwww, he done shit on the stool!
"In tha bathrooom?"
"yup."
Okay, got my power adapter! Now I can return to my normal at-home powerbook usage!
Scatalogical Humor:
Overheard in Jimmy Johns, not ten minutes ago: "How stupid is he? He fell of the roof while he was trying to urinate!"
Overheard in front of McDonalds:
"Awwww, he done shit on the stool!
"In tha bathrooom?"
"yup."
Okay, got my power adapter! Now I can return to my normal at-home powerbook usage!
Friday, April 07, 2006
Digits
I was looking up the number to my mani/pedi joint, and I came across this fabulous story. I wish I had six fingers on each hand. That would be awesome. But I would want my sixth finger to be a second thumb. Opposable on the other side or something, for maximum dexterity.
Also, check out the slideshow. For some reason, the last picture is of the boy offering something to a shrine? Like, Thanks for the extra fingers, but my feet look silly in thongs, Vishnu!
Also, I wonder if they would charge more for my mani/pedi. . . I'll have to ask the russian girl who does my toes.
Also, check out the slideshow. For some reason, the last picture is of the boy offering something to a shrine? Like, Thanks for the extra fingers, but my feet look silly in thongs, Vishnu!
Also, I wonder if they would charge more for my mani/pedi. . . I'll have to ask the russian girl who does my toes.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Life Before Weblogs, or, as they are more commonly known as, Blogs.
Oh, my, people.
So, when my mom moved, she did that thing moms do when you're, like, in your thirties and you've been using her attic to store crap you didn't feel like throwing away -- she put that shit in a box and made me deal with it.
I am, today, taking on the box of yearbooks, journals, etc. that she made me take home.
I found a lot of stuff, including an "underground newspaper" I published in high school. AKA -- a 'zine. But we were in Southern Indiana and it was, like, 1992, so, we called it Underground Newspaper. Actually, the thing was called "Circle Art." It was totally hott. I was the editor. We used PageMaker. And a computer. (But we did not have the Internet, back then.)
I found a couple of issues in the box, but I've yet gotten up the courage to look them over, as I am scared to face what an asshole I was at 18. But I did find something I forgot existed -- a REVIEW of our underground newspaper. I'll share that, here:
It's from a publication called "Transitions." I have no idea what this is. I cannot even remember it being published, but I did paste it into a scrapbook, so I must have been super pumped about it.
It must have been written by a fellow teen, y'all -- it doesn't have a full name. It just says, "By Wiley." Wiley is super dramatic.
The review
This is where Wiley gets super hardcore:
See? He's NOT weak of heart, FAINT OF IQ, or scared of FREE EXPRESSION. And, he's totally jaded about living in this podunk town. As soon as he can, he's breaking on out of here and heading to New York to develop his professional VOICE.
I think this means Wiley doesn't have a car.
We were super sophisticated. Not afraid to tackle the topic on everyone's mind, boning. Not afraid to use offensive pennames. Not afraid to write anonymously and then xerox the hell out of that thing. Our circulation reached all the way to the WEST SIDE, y'all.
How can we have both a 'good package' and a 'small size'?
Wrap your faint IQ around that, Wiley.
So, when my mom moved, she did that thing moms do when you're, like, in your thirties and you've been using her attic to store crap you didn't feel like throwing away -- she put that shit in a box and made me deal with it.
I am, today, taking on the box of yearbooks, journals, etc. that she made me take home.
I found a lot of stuff, including an "underground newspaper" I published in high school. AKA -- a 'zine. But we were in Southern Indiana and it was, like, 1992, so, we called it Underground Newspaper. Actually, the thing was called "Circle Art." It was totally hott. I was the editor. We used PageMaker. And a computer. (But we did not have the Internet, back then.)
I found a couple of issues in the box, but I've yet gotten up the courage to look them over, as I am scared to face what an asshole I was at 18. But I did find something I forgot existed -- a REVIEW of our underground newspaper. I'll share that, here:
It's from a publication called "Transitions." I have no idea what this is. I cannot even remember it being published, but I did paste it into a scrapbook, so I must have been super pumped about it.
It must have been written by a fellow teen, y'all -- it doesn't have a full name. It just says, "By Wiley." Wiley is super dramatic.
The review
Since this is my first writing opportunity for a "legitimate" publication, I've decided to share and review my favorite "not-quite-legitamate" publications, a format known as fanzines.
Fanzines, or as they are more commonly called, zines, are privately produced forms of literature which are primarily used as an uncensored channel for the author(s) beliefs. Personalized views of politics, society, arts and entertainment and humor are the ususal contents.
This is where Wiley gets super hardcore:
Zines are not for the weak of heart, nor the faint of IQ. They are often offensive and usually wittier than anything you'll reqad in Spin or Spy. Simply put, zines are the last form of truly free expression. Amazingly, we even have some in Evansville.
See? He's NOT weak of heart, FAINT OF IQ, or scared of FREE EXPRESSION. And, he's totally jaded about living in this podunk town. As soon as he can, he's breaking on out of here and heading to New York to develop his professional VOICE.
Circle Art originates from Castle High School in Newburgh and is thus difficult to come by all the way over here on the West Side.
I think this means Wiley doesn't have a car.
The writers, which are numerous, use offensive pen names to disguise themselves. This zine is produced via computer which gives it a very slick look -- uncommon to most zines which usually look like your third-grade collage. The issue I obtained was the Sex Issue. It was surprisingly informative while keeping an amusing outlook on the subject. Articles ranged from the myths of sex to protection.
We were super sophisticated. Not afraid to tackle the topic on everyone's mind, boning. Not afraid to use offensive pennames. Not afraid to write anonymously and then xerox the hell out of that thing. Our circulation reached all the way to the WEST SIDE, y'all.
Assets: Easy readability, good package, numerous writers that offer a wide range of viewpoints. Overall feel and attitude of zine is dead on.
Liabilities: Limited circulation and small size.
How can we have both a 'good package' and a 'small size'?
Wrap your faint IQ around that, Wiley.
Sarah, The Dinner With Wine
Sarah made me dinner last night! She doesn't do that too often, I think she thinks she isn't a great cook or she doesn't like to cook or whatever, but she is so totally wrong. So, total treat. Chad was uber sick but we made him run back and forth to the kitchen to, like, get us more wine and stuff. Like, Chad! We need more salt! You feeling okay? Cool. Please get us more wine! Snap snap!
I love Chad.
Anyway, at first we had many serious conversations about families and children and pending nuptuals and careers and Donk magazine.
But then we got a few glasses of Chad-fetched wine in us and hit the internet.
What happened was, we started mocking Myspace and making fun of Myspace users and then we had to go look at everyone's profiles and stalk people.
So, lots of people we know do not appear to be on Myspace. I think that's probably because we're, like, in our thirties.
So, we got tired of that and decided to use the Internet for more nostalgia-based persuits. Including looking up ABC afterschool specials on IMDB. So, so many actors are veterans of this fine series of educational dramas. Michelle Pfieffer and Val Kilmer, for example, starred in the compelling "One Too Many," a stark portrait of the dangers of drunk driving. Don't do it, kids. Prominent blogger and published author (not to mention, a key cast member in Star Trek: The Next Generation), Will Wheaton starred in "My Dad Can't Be Crazy. . . Can He?".
But the big drama that was an emotional lynchpin in our television-consuming childhood was the landmark cystic fibrosis film, "Alex, The Life Of A Child." Who could forget this poignant tale of an irepressable child with a terrible affliction? A child who loved root beer so much she begged her dad for it on her death bed. But her dad, Craig T. Nelson, was too late.
She never got her root beer.
When we looked up the film, we were shocked to find that the author of the book, the dad in question, was Frank DeFord! The lovable sports commentator on NPR! This is yet another way the Internet has changed the way I listen to NPR. Thanks, IMDB, for making all these connections so clear to us.
I love Chad.
Anyway, at first we had many serious conversations about families and children and pending nuptuals and careers and Donk magazine.
But then we got a few glasses of Chad-fetched wine in us and hit the internet.
What happened was, we started mocking Myspace and making fun of Myspace users and then we had to go look at everyone's profiles and stalk people.
So, lots of people we know do not appear to be on Myspace. I think that's probably because we're, like, in our thirties.
So, we got tired of that and decided to use the Internet for more nostalgia-based persuits. Including looking up ABC afterschool specials on IMDB. So, so many actors are veterans of this fine series of educational dramas. Michelle Pfieffer and Val Kilmer, for example, starred in the compelling "One Too Many," a stark portrait of the dangers of drunk driving. Don't do it, kids. Prominent blogger and published author (not to mention, a key cast member in Star Trek: The Next Generation), Will Wheaton starred in "My Dad Can't Be Crazy. . . Can He?".
But the big drama that was an emotional lynchpin in our television-consuming childhood was the landmark cystic fibrosis film, "Alex, The Life Of A Child." Who could forget this poignant tale of an irepressable child with a terrible affliction? A child who loved root beer so much she begged her dad for it on her death bed. But her dad, Craig T. Nelson, was too late.
She never got her root beer.
When we looked up the film, we were shocked to find that the author of the book, the dad in question, was Frank DeFord! The lovable sports commentator on NPR! This is yet another way the Internet has changed the way I listen to NPR. Thanks, IMDB, for making all these connections so clear to us.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Why I love this guy I'm working for
He just left a magazine called Donk Box & Bubble on my desk with a note that says "RJ - Thought you might like to see this new pub we're targeting for car wax. G"
I go over there and he says, "Yeah, I got my copy of Donk." Then shows me some pimped out cars on the center. "I love that Kelly Green Lincoln Town Car."
Totally.
I go over there and he says, "Yeah, I got my copy of Donk." Then shows me some pimped out cars on the center. "I love that Kelly Green Lincoln Town Car."
Totally.
Alert!
According to this important message just passed along to me from Sarah:
WHAT SHALL WE DO TO COMMEMORATE THIS MOMENT?
Maybe, post something? Gah.
On Wednesday of this week, at two minutes and three seconds after 1:00
in the morning, the time and date will be 01:02:03 04/05/06.
That won't ever happen again.
You may now return to your (normal ?) life.
WHAT SHALL WE DO TO COMMEMORATE THIS MOMENT?
Maybe, post something? Gah.
More pimpy likker
Plus, a secret self-portrait. Taken at my mom's house, of one of her many fancy fancy decanters with fancy fancy pimp necklaces on. I think this one looks super badass. Like, DO NOT MESS WITH THE VODKA, BITCHES!
Dear SuperNanny
I love it when you say the words, "Naughty Spot."
I love it when you explain that a naughty spot can be outside or inside. It doesn't matter. The naughty spot is all in your head.
How do you know me so well, super nanny?
How?
Say "Naughty Spot" again. Say it. C'mon. For me.
I love it when you explain that a naughty spot can be outside or inside. It doesn't matter. The naughty spot is all in your head.
How do you know me so well, super nanny?
How?
Say "Naughty Spot" again. Say it. C'mon. For me.
Monday, April 03, 2006
More on the letters to Star Jones
Hi. You can see Christopher Monks read his letters to Star Jones, here. Susan and Ellen: I think I will not be bragging to say my live reading may have been better. For us, anyway, as it was punctuated by our hysterical laughter.
AND THIS
This is Cayden, my newest nephew. How cute is he? How sweet does his head smell? How tiny are his fingers? How fascinated is he by the ceiling fan?
He loves that fan.
He loves that fan.
GAH
I have to say the one thing I miss about southern Indiana is the climate -- spring is already seriously breaking out there.
It's still winterish in Chicago.
It's still winterish in Chicago.
Recappage
This weekend in the 'ville was pretty interesting -- my sis and I helped our mom move into lovely new digs. We declared that a floorplan that combines living area and kitchen is the space of the future -- that way you can lounge around and be social on the couch while someone cooks. I prefer this to sitting in hard wooden kitchen chairs. I am lazy that way.
I got my sister to tell me tons of fascinating details about her life in New Mexico and her exotic career. I'm not kidding. I really do think being a fourth grade teacher is a super exotic career. It's so intense -- taking care of these kids all day, standing, instructing, being held accountable by ten-year-olds. Seriously, I have a hard time wrapping my citified, wine-soaked, witicism-writing brain around it. You can't bullshit a ten-year-old the way you can a marketing client. She's out there on her own, too. Anyhow, she's way into it. If I had a kid I would fully want her to educate it. (Especially if she could teach my kid about robots and rock and roll!)
My dad and Sally poured us endless glasses of wine and fawned over the dog. Dad told Rachel and I that he has decided that the world just needs to be turned into a plutocracy with a single leader -- him.
Me: Dad, do you really think you're qualified to be the leader of the world?
Dad: Yes.
Me: No, I don't think you're qualified.
Dad: Why not?? I talked to your mother about it. We could be the ruling family.
Me: Oh, in that case. . .
Dad: Don't you want to be the royal daughter?
Me: Well, if you were ruling the world, I guess I would want to be the daughter, because then I'd get more priviledges. But overall, it seems like a hassle. Opening yourself up to all these bloody coups and such.
Dad: SOMEONE needs to do it.
I got my sister to tell me tons of fascinating details about her life in New Mexico and her exotic career. I'm not kidding. I really do think being a fourth grade teacher is a super exotic career. It's so intense -- taking care of these kids all day, standing, instructing, being held accountable by ten-year-olds. Seriously, I have a hard time wrapping my citified, wine-soaked, witicism-writing brain around it. You can't bullshit a ten-year-old the way you can a marketing client. She's out there on her own, too. Anyhow, she's way into it. If I had a kid I would fully want her to educate it. (Especially if she could teach my kid about robots and rock and roll!)
My dad and Sally poured us endless glasses of wine and fawned over the dog. Dad told Rachel and I that he has decided that the world just needs to be turned into a plutocracy with a single leader -- him.
Me: Dad, do you really think you're qualified to be the leader of the world?
Dad: Yes.
Me: No, I don't think you're qualified.
Dad: Why not?? I talked to your mother about it. We could be the ruling family.
Me: Oh, in that case. . .
Dad: Don't you want to be the royal daughter?
Me: Well, if you were ruling the world, I guess I would want to be the daughter, because then I'd get more priviledges. But overall, it seems like a hassle. Opening yourself up to all these bloody coups and such.
Dad: SOMEONE needs to do it.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Saturday, April 01, 2006
snippets - overheard in southern indiana
At Buehler's Buy Low:
teen cashier: So, didn't someplace in town get caught servin' dog?
teen bagger: Naw! D'uh! It wasn't dog! It was cat!
teen cashier: Right! Didn't someplace get caught?
teen Bagger: Yah, that was Mr. Wu's. They got caught servin' cat and then they had to shut down. They're closed, now.
teen Cashier: right, that's right.
On my dad's giant sectional sofa:
Sally: I'm missing my show! My show!
Me: What show?
Dad: The Dog Whisperer. Don't worry, Sally, it's a rerun.
Sally: I love that show! How do you know it's a rerun?
Dad: I don't. But that show is so stupid. It's always the same, anyway, they put a rabbit in front of the dog, they tell the dog to stay, blah blah blah.
teen cashier: So, didn't someplace in town get caught servin' dog?
teen bagger: Naw! D'uh! It wasn't dog! It was cat!
teen cashier: Right! Didn't someplace get caught?
teen Bagger: Yah, that was Mr. Wu's. They got caught servin' cat and then they had to shut down. They're closed, now.
teen Cashier: right, that's right.
On my dad's giant sectional sofa:
Sally: I'm missing my show! My show!
Me: What show?
Dad: The Dog Whisperer. Don't worry, Sally, it's a rerun.
Sally: I love that show! How do you know it's a rerun?
Dad: I don't. But that show is so stupid. It's always the same, anyway, they put a rabbit in front of the dog, they tell the dog to stay, blah blah blah.
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