I have won Germany's affection with my stalker articles below. If you take a gander up top (I have pasted it into the body as well in case it changes), you'll notice that my Google ad is a German one. That's right, I'm international now, baby!
Germany's very concise satellite, verbalization system* picked up the words "stop" and "stalking" and decided that my blog would be an appropriate place to advertise whatever the hell this is:
DSA Amsterdam Stalking stoppen? Unieke methode! Bekend van televisie. 020-5616236
Ads by Goooooogle
I couldn't agree more. I bring business to the masses.
*I made this system up, as it turns out.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Boyfriend Exit Interviews
I received an email with the subject line: "Hey Bro, I found the coolest site..."
When I opened it, it was no more than one of those incognito flea markets of cheap viagra, penis enlargement pills, and some other girth-enhancement, hair growth, sexual substances for which I'm not currently in the market.
However, I've always thought it would be funny to forward one of these emails to a few of my ex-boyfriends with a little note; something along the lines of, "Hey M - I saw this and it immediately reminded me of you. Fancy that! So, how's life? Kisses."
But, I figure that if I do that I won't be able to get them to fill out my new ex-boyfriend exit interview. That's right. I've come up with the dating equivalent of the corporate exit interview. Well-run businesses and organizations conduct interviews with their employees when they leave the company. Essentially it's to find out how they can improve the environment for future employees, but it's too a way to find out the dirt on some of the current employees; namely management or other higher-ups.
Anyway, my boyfriend exit interview will provide similar insight. General questions such as:
Why are you leaving?
What would have made the 'working' environment more desirable?
What suggestions do you have for the person who fills your position? In terms of increasing longevity therein?
Was their a single, isolated incident that prompted the final decision? Or was this something that built up over time?
How long have you been thinking about leaving?
Had you been looking for other 'positions' while 'on the clock'?
What can this company do to ensure the happiness of future employees?
The survey would be much longer than this, of course. There would be essay questions, mulitiple-choicers, fill-in-the-blanks, etc...
The way I see it, I have so many exes that I could actually compile the information, create a database and dub it "proprietary research" in attempt to market it to self-help authors everywhere.
Really. I think the best way to pull this off is to get an account with survey monkey and send the link to all my exes. That way it will be anonymous and they will give me their most honest answers. Maybe.
Stay tuned. I really might go through with this one. It seems like it might even be lucrative. And, not that I have a bunch of free time on my hands -- wink, wink-- it might give me something to do.
Please note: This idea has been patented, trademarked, copywritten, stamped with a very pretty little wax symbol and sent to myself in a package that has yet to be opened (a poor artists' trick I picked up along the way)... So, hands off!
When I opened it, it was no more than one of those incognito flea markets of cheap viagra, penis enlargement pills, and some other girth-enhancement, hair growth, sexual substances for which I'm not currently in the market.
However, I've always thought it would be funny to forward one of these emails to a few of my ex-boyfriends with a little note; something along the lines of, "Hey M - I saw this and it immediately reminded me of you. Fancy that! So, how's life? Kisses."
But, I figure that if I do that I won't be able to get them to fill out my new ex-boyfriend exit interview. That's right. I've come up with the dating equivalent of the corporate exit interview. Well-run businesses and organizations conduct interviews with their employees when they leave the company. Essentially it's to find out how they can improve the environment for future employees, but it's too a way to find out the dirt on some of the current employees; namely management or other higher-ups.
Anyway, my boyfriend exit interview will provide similar insight. General questions such as:
Why are you leaving?
What would have made the 'working' environment more desirable?
What suggestions do you have for the person who fills your position? In terms of increasing longevity therein?
Was their a single, isolated incident that prompted the final decision? Or was this something that built up over time?
How long have you been thinking about leaving?
Had you been looking for other 'positions' while 'on the clock'?
What can this company do to ensure the happiness of future employees?
The survey would be much longer than this, of course. There would be essay questions, mulitiple-choicers, fill-in-the-blanks, etc...
The way I see it, I have so many exes that I could actually compile the information, create a database and dub it "proprietary research" in attempt to market it to self-help authors everywhere.
Really. I think the best way to pull this off is to get an account with survey monkey and send the link to all my exes. That way it will be anonymous and they will give me their most honest answers. Maybe.
Stay tuned. I really might go through with this one. It seems like it might even be lucrative. And, not that I have a bunch of free time on my hands -- wink, wink-- it might give me something to do.
Please note: This idea has been patented, trademarked, copywritten, stamped with a very pretty little wax symbol and sent to myself in a package that has yet to be opened (a poor artists' trick I picked up along the way)... So, hands off!
Thursday, March 09, 2006
I forgot all about this picture...
My cousin wrote this to me yesterday:
Ahhh...Typical sentiments of dear cousin Sara.
After having this picture taken, I emailed it over to Mama Mexicos. Seeing as how their grubby little manager decided to sneak into it, I figured they'd post it. What a little rat he was, by the way. Anyhow, I never checked back to see if they had posted it. Evidently they did.
[From left going clockwise: CAK, Shauna, scumbag manager guy, Matthew Lesko, GiGi, Cousin Sara, & Chosen's ghost]
I can't write much more today. I think I'm getting a kidney infection. I've had one before and they are so unpleasant. Last time I got one, I was living in a sorority house. I think I managed to wake up every single girl living there crying in the middle of the night. The fact that I am even aware of a sensation in my kidney right now (it is throbbing) is not a good thing. My insurance hasn't kicked in so I'm pretty screwed.
Remind me to tell you about the phone call from my sister this morning at 1:30. Pretty ridiculous. I'll write that one from the emergency room later tonight...
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Welcome Back, Superstalker!
My stalker has redeemed himself, so the bidding for a new stalker is officially closed. Thank you to all of those who applied. Evidently yesterday's post was no less effective than a Bat Signal shining over Gotham City, for I have been rescued from my stalker-less despair by none other than...my stalker! Here are the senitments that led me to reconsider his position as my official stalker:
Gigi,
I had no idea you felt that way about me. Even stalkers need some kind of sign the stalking relationship has a future. Messages on their "client's" blog that details the fear or strangeness felt from the relationship are a great joy and encouragement to read. Sending emails just isn't quite enough for me. I like the ability to leave comments on my "client's" blog. However you have removed that option. Why is that?
Do you like one sided dialogues which no one can publicly comment on? I used to disallow comments on my blog because I thought people would second guess my advice. But after many angry emails from my readers I came to realize people love to comment, and their views are quite wonderful even if they are dissenting from mine.
It's up to you if you want this relationship to continue or not. I am willing to reorganize my sidebar and add you to the category "currently stalking" if you wish.
Let me know your decision as I can only stalk so many people, spots are limited, reserve yours today!
Morris
http://askmorris.blogspot.com/
As for his question about the comments, I think we all know the answer to that one. I am so damned self-involved that I can't bare the thought of sharing the spotlight with anyone else.
And by "spotlight," I mean an audience of maybe 4 - 100 readers on any given day.
They don't clap.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
When a stalker stops stalking...
For a good amount of time, I had my very own stalker. Nothing dangerous. If anything, it was flattering. When my stalker found out about my blog he gave me a link on his blog. The link was placed under the heading, "Future Wives."
I recently visited his site to pay homage to my glorious link and, to my surprise, it had relocated to its new home under the heading, "People Who Make Me Want to Vomit."
As it turns out, a girl can become quite attached to her stalker, so I wrote to find out what happened:
I thought I was a future wife? Now, I make you want to vomit? Very interesting. Do tell...
His response:
I removed that category because I am trying to create a more family friendly atmosphere at my site. Besides you come off as too much of a bitch for my tastes.
I recently visited his site to pay homage to my glorious link and, to my surprise, it had relocated to its new home under the heading, "People Who Make Me Want to Vomit."
As it turns out, a girl can become quite attached to her stalker, so I wrote to find out what happened:
I thought I was a future wife? Now, I make you want to vomit? Very interesting. Do tell...
His response:
I removed that category because I am trying to create a more family friendly atmosphere at my site. Besides you come off as too much of a bitch for my tastes.
Well, I guess that's that.
As it turns out, I am now in the market for a new cyber stalker. The job requires you to send me an occasional random email that makes absolutely no sense to the common man, and that you provide me with a link on your blog. It's just that simple.
Applications are being accepted at all participating locations.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Carrie's Voodoo Box
Since moving from California to New York, I've kept in good contact with a friend, Carrie, who I used to work with. She's slightly older than me, wise, and, for lack of a better description, very quasi-spiritual. There's a lot of this going on in San Diego -- this self-reliant spiritualism. People there tend to be more "tuned-in" with them selves than people elsewhere, making them able to more effectively interact with their surroundings. Whatever that means. I'd say the phenomenon arose as a biproduct of not wanting to partake in a particular religion (for reasons such as services are boring and the rules are too restrictive) mixed with the guilt associated with having been raised in a religious family, but now neglecting structured practices. These things culminate into a need for established beliefs. This new spirituality is the solution. Of course, I could be completely wrong.
Either way, I like to be around her. In fact, she's the person I went to with my neverending, yet recently ended, guy crises. This is partially because she was non-judgmental, but mostly because she would say something completely brilliant, such as, "If a guy doesn't recognize how fabuluous you are, he isn't worth your time. That, and he's obviously an idiot." You know -- complete idealistic bullshit that was absolutely perfect at the moment.
I've only lived in New York for 3 months now, but within that period she has gone somewhat insane, neglecting all of the cardinal rules she established in these discussions. About a month before I left she started dating this guy Mike, who was her definitive opposite. Small town, inexperienced with all things edgy, conservative, and also, not especially smitten by her like she was him. The red flags raised at the onset, which I imagine is the reason she fell so hard.
Anyway, I started getting crazed text messages from her. Some that were to me and some that she had written to him and then forwarded to me. The tone was usually self-righteous; her telling him that she deserved more, she was too good for this treatment, etc... The obvious advice was to leave him, but to a rebellious individual like her, this type of advice is simply fodder to stay. The topics covered in her string of texts were:
- A messy episode on his bed and his simultaneous freak out
- His inability to understand her, or his lack of desire in that same vein
- Her wanting to get fake stripper boobs
- Him neglecting her feelings
- Him asking her if she could come over for dinner, then never calling.
- Him consistently showing up late night
- Him recently announcing that he's moving to L.A.
- Her making a voodoo doll of him
- Her having her own voodoo box that she consults in times of need.
The last subject is one that was broached in a text message I received from her just last night. I've been on a voodoo doll kick myself as of late - well, at least I've been trying to figure out who owns the one that has been pissing on my social life lately - so I was particularly sensitive to her concerns. The text, which followed her mention of wanting to make a doll in his likeness, read:
I actually keep a voodoo box 4 myself with special trinkets, money, lists of aspirations, treats, and yes, some of my hair. I look at it when I want to connect.
I don't know that there is a moral of this story, rather than the obvious: she needs to move on. But, all things considered, I've never met anyone who owns a voodoo box. Judging from everything that's going on, however, I'm going to guess that the thing doesn't work any real miracles. Maybe it's just the spiritual alternative to what stuctured religions call prayer.
Either way, I like to be around her. In fact, she's the person I went to with my neverending, yet recently ended, guy crises. This is partially because she was non-judgmental, but mostly because she would say something completely brilliant, such as, "If a guy doesn't recognize how fabuluous you are, he isn't worth your time. That, and he's obviously an idiot." You know -- complete idealistic bullshit that was absolutely perfect at the moment.
I've only lived in New York for 3 months now, but within that period she has gone somewhat insane, neglecting all of the cardinal rules she established in these discussions. About a month before I left she started dating this guy Mike, who was her definitive opposite. Small town, inexperienced with all things edgy, conservative, and also, not especially smitten by her like she was him. The red flags raised at the onset, which I imagine is the reason she fell so hard.
Anyway, I started getting crazed text messages from her. Some that were to me and some that she had written to him and then forwarded to me. The tone was usually self-righteous; her telling him that she deserved more, she was too good for this treatment, etc... The obvious advice was to leave him, but to a rebellious individual like her, this type of advice is simply fodder to stay. The topics covered in her string of texts were:
- A messy episode on his bed and his simultaneous freak out
- His inability to understand her, or his lack of desire in that same vein
- Her wanting to get fake stripper boobs
- Him neglecting her feelings
- Him asking her if she could come over for dinner, then never calling.
- Him consistently showing up late night
- Him recently announcing that he's moving to L.A.
- Her making a voodoo doll of him
- Her having her own voodoo box that she consults in times of need.
The last subject is one that was broached in a text message I received from her just last night. I've been on a voodoo doll kick myself as of late - well, at least I've been trying to figure out who owns the one that has been pissing on my social life lately - so I was particularly sensitive to her concerns. The text, which followed her mention of wanting to make a doll in his likeness, read:
I actually keep a voodoo box 4 myself with special trinkets, money, lists of aspirations, treats, and yes, some of my hair. I look at it when I want to connect.
I don't know that there is a moral of this story, rather than the obvious: she needs to move on. But, all things considered, I've never met anyone who owns a voodoo box. Judging from everything that's going on, however, I'm going to guess that the thing doesn't work any real miracles. Maybe it's just the spiritual alternative to what stuctured religions call prayer.
Friday, March 03, 2006
The Weekend's Double Personality
I love the weekends because I get to go out and get housed, spend time with my friends, not work, all that. I hate the weekends because no one is updating their sites.
Isn't that sick?
I have no life. Yes I do.
Isn't that sick?
I have no life. Yes I do.
"I don't think you really understand what a blog is..."
So, I work at a PR firm. Evidently some of the publicists recently discovered these nifty little things called blogs. Quite frankly, I think they discovered them about two weeks ago when NY Magazine did an expose on the topic, but it might have even been a few days later when Slate.com "outed" blogs, stating their opinion that the popularity of blogs has indeed peaked. Either way...
Since I stole the office's copy of NY Mag for my own personal use, yesterday one of the other publicists thought my punishment should be to make her a list of political blogs for her to pitch a story to. I felt horrible as I've been meaning to bring it back, so I got a hold of the article and made such a list. The article she was pitching was posted on the internet yesterday morning, meaning that it was already too late to get proper coverage. It had been up too long by the time she was going to pitch it. This morning I checked all the blogs she pitched to and informed her that none of them had picked it up.
Now, let me back up before I get to the part where she tells me that I don't really understand what a blog is.
Before pitching the article yesterday, her, me and another of our colleagues had a discussion on the effectiveness of blogs and the exposure they can or might offer.
I sided with the argument that the exposure was invaluable; that people are making millions of dollars off of blogs and that some get more eyes than many print media outlets could ever dream of.
Our colleague said that I am younger than her, so I might know better than her (true, true), but she thinks it might be a bad idea to post one of our client's articles on a blog because of what the moderator and/or readers might say about it.
The girl with the account in question opted to pitch the article last night. Again, way too late to get it attention as it was originally posted yesterday morning.
So, anyway, I went into her office and told her that none of the blogs picked it up. I told her it might be wise to give blogs the heads up the night before the article in question is posted, so that the moderators can feel that they're "breaking the news," as this is how bloggers like to do things.
She argued that she couldn't do it the night before because she just received word of her client's article yesterday and she pitched it yesterday. Then she said it: "Well, I don't think you really understand what a blog is... If you don't know how blogs work, they usually link to other articles."
"Um yeah, I understand that, but they like to do so in a timely manner..." I refuted.
She got offended, clearly thinking that I was saying she wasn't working fast enough. Nope, not my point at all. In reality, what I was trying to do was suggest a better way to tap into this medium. That? Get the article and its link the day before.
"I'm not going to argue with you on this." She added.
Okay. That's probaby in your best interest because I'm pretty much right, and, well..."
Update: She has since apologized and asked for my advice. Good girl.
Since I stole the office's copy of NY Mag for my own personal use, yesterday one of the other publicists thought my punishment should be to make her a list of political blogs for her to pitch a story to. I felt horrible as I've been meaning to bring it back, so I got a hold of the article and made such a list. The article she was pitching was posted on the internet yesterday morning, meaning that it was already too late to get proper coverage. It had been up too long by the time she was going to pitch it. This morning I checked all the blogs she pitched to and informed her that none of them had picked it up.
Now, let me back up before I get to the part where she tells me that I don't really understand what a blog is.
Before pitching the article yesterday, her, me and another of our colleagues had a discussion on the effectiveness of blogs and the exposure they can or might offer.
I sided with the argument that the exposure was invaluable; that people are making millions of dollars off of blogs and that some get more eyes than many print media outlets could ever dream of.
Our colleague said that I am younger than her, so I might know better than her (true, true), but she thinks it might be a bad idea to post one of our client's articles on a blog because of what the moderator and/or readers might say about it.
The girl with the account in question opted to pitch the article last night. Again, way too late to get it attention as it was originally posted yesterday morning.
So, anyway, I went into her office and told her that none of the blogs picked it up. I told her it might be wise to give blogs the heads up the night before the article in question is posted, so that the moderators can feel that they're "breaking the news," as this is how bloggers like to do things.
She argued that she couldn't do it the night before because she just received word of her client's article yesterday and she pitched it yesterday. Then she said it: "Well, I don't think you really understand what a blog is... If you don't know how blogs work, they usually link to other articles."
"Um yeah, I understand that, but they like to do so in a timely manner..." I refuted.
She got offended, clearly thinking that I was saying she wasn't working fast enough. Nope, not my point at all. In reality, what I was trying to do was suggest a better way to tap into this medium. That? Get the article and its link the day before.
"I'm not going to argue with you on this." She added.
Okay. That's probaby in your best interest because I'm pretty much right, and, well..."
Update: She has since apologized and asked for my advice. Good girl.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Niche Psychosis
There is only one rational explanation for the fact that people are really pissed at me lately. But, since I don't do the whole rational thing very well, I've dismissed that option in lieu of its more paranormal next of kin:
- The cosmos are seriously misaligned this month.
- I'm suddenly reaping what I sewed a few lives back.
- I am putting out some evil vibe that's getting boomeranged right back at me with sonic speed.
- Someone's got a pretty accurately crafted voodoo doll of me at their desk. It is poked often.
Truth be told, if any of my friends are ever to have this many people pissed off at them at one time, my first reaction is not sympathy. Instead, I ask 'em what the hell they did to piss everyone off? So, I tried the same tactic on myself and...nothin'. I did nothin'.
Well, maybe I did something, but nothing deservant of hatred and threats.
Here's the deal. One of my comedian friends runs a blog, which began as an Online Petition Requesting that Jennifer Love Hewitt Pose for Playboy. It has since evolved into a basic, fake celebrity, Open-Letters type blog, that still pays homage to Ms. Hewitt when relevant data is available. To describe the blog in two adjectives: innocent and hysterical.
Coincidentally, one of Cesar's friends in L.A. sent him a picture of herself with Jennifer Love Hewitt. I knew my friend would love to post the picture (where Hewitt is actually holding a dog), so I asked Cesar for permission to send it his way. He gave me the thumbs up and couldn't wait until the new post came out so that he could send it over to his supposedly good-humored L.A. connection.
Long story short, my comedian friend posted the pic alongside a compelling argument that Hewitt should pose for Playboy -- if not for her fans, then for the little doggies of the world. Cesar forwarded the post to his friend and she went nuts, writing threatening emails to Cesar, my comedian friend, and to me. For the sake of brevity, I'm just posting the one I received (it probably being least harsh of the bunch):
GiGi,
This is L***-- cesar's friend. i have to ask you to ask your friend to remove the photo of my dog and i from that blog page, which you are credited as providing*. it was taken by a [name of a L.A. based magazine] staff photographer. i will personally have some explaining to do, and i am sure legal will become involved if it gets around.
on a personal note, i'm actually kind of insulted you would pass it on to someone for this kind of thing before checking. i appreciate a good joke... but this is just kinda lame.
thanks,
l***
My intial reactions were thus:
- Your magazine has staff photographers? Wow, must be nice. We used to use students.
- In the grand scheme of things, L***, nobody knows or cares who you are, so don't worry about it. It's not that deep.
- Live a little. Laugh. Calm down.
- The cosmos are seriously misaligned this month.
- I'm suddenly reaping what I sewed a few lives back.
- I am putting out some evil vibe that's getting boomeranged right back at me with sonic speed.
- Someone's got a pretty accurately crafted voodoo doll of me at their desk. It is poked often.
Truth be told, if any of my friends are ever to have this many people pissed off at them at one time, my first reaction is not sympathy. Instead, I ask 'em what the hell they did to piss everyone off? So, I tried the same tactic on myself and...nothin'. I did nothin'.
Well, maybe I did something, but nothing deservant of hatred and threats.
Here's the deal. One of my comedian friends runs a blog, which began as an Online Petition Requesting that Jennifer Love Hewitt Pose for Playboy. It has since evolved into a basic, fake celebrity, Open-Letters type blog, that still pays homage to Ms. Hewitt when relevant data is available. To describe the blog in two adjectives: innocent and hysterical.
Coincidentally, one of Cesar's friends in L.A. sent him a picture of herself with Jennifer Love Hewitt. I knew my friend would love to post the picture (where Hewitt is actually holding a dog), so I asked Cesar for permission to send it his way. He gave me the thumbs up and couldn't wait until the new post came out so that he could send it over to his supposedly good-humored L.A. connection.
Long story short, my comedian friend posted the pic alongside a compelling argument that Hewitt should pose for Playboy -- if not for her fans, then for the little doggies of the world. Cesar forwarded the post to his friend and she went nuts, writing threatening emails to Cesar, my comedian friend, and to me. For the sake of brevity, I'm just posting the one I received (it probably being least harsh of the bunch):
GiGi,
This is L***-- cesar's friend. i have to ask you to ask your friend to remove the photo of my dog and i from that blog page, which you are credited as providing*. it was taken by a [name of a L.A. based magazine] staff photographer. i will personally have some explaining to do, and i am sure legal will become involved if it gets around.
on a personal note, i'm actually kind of insulted you would pass it on to someone for this kind of thing before checking. i appreciate a good joke... but this is just kinda lame.
thanks,
l***
My intial reactions were thus:
- Your magazine has staff photographers? Wow, must be nice. We used to use students.
- In the grand scheme of things, L***, nobody knows or cares who you are, so don't worry about it. It's not that deep.
- Live a little. Laugh. Calm down.
- Did you just call my friend's blog lame? Psycho.
- If you snort your Prozac, it will react a lot quicker than downing it with, say, water and a meal.
I wrote back to Cesar, "Your friend's a bitch. I thought I was psychotic. At least my psychosis is centralized (meaning it only affects one area of my life: dating). Hers is all over the damn place."
While I realize this is no compliment to myself, I did conclude two things:
A). There are people out there who are way more psychotic than I am.
B). I just coined a new psychosociological term: Niche Psychosis.
That said, I am available for interviews, quotes and licensing deals.
*My friend credited me for contributing the picture. Big deal.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Forced Entry
I'm a bit stressed out by the neediness of my expanding reading audience. You see, it has grown to an enviable 20-30 people a day. This is nothing to take lightly, mind you. Especially because most are return visitors. And, I might add that each of them, like you, hangs onto my every syllable and lives vicariously through my every word. Of course, I can see the appeal. I live quite the glamorous life. I dredge myself up every day at 7 a.m., write, go into the office, work out, write more, get denied by publishers, drink it off, and occassionally hang out with my long distance boyfriend. What can I say? I'm basically a rockstar.
On top of catering to my visitors, I probably provide the sites that I link to an additional 2-3 hits per day. What would they do if I chose to not write one day simply because I hadn't slept in 48 hours? If I deprived them of those expected and coveted hits? As you can see, I am a very important part of this life-granting food chain. Oh, how the pressure is mounting...
I usually sit down every morning with something clever to say; something I know will leave my loyal readers with a bounce in their collective step for the remainder of the day. But today, I am tired. I didn't sleep at all last night. I had anxiety dreams about work. I received a call from an annoying friend. I dreaded waking up early to go to the gym. I dreaded not waking up early to go to the gym. I dreaded being awake until the point that I'm supposed to either wake-up or not wake-up to go to the gym—all of this with insomniatic precision. I made the mistake of anticipating the emails I'd receive at work today. I traveled to the couch and back, hoping the new environment would provoke sleep. It didn't.
Anyway, the point is, today I have but a list of topics that, under normal circumstances, I would discuss in full detail. But, today, no.
List:
- I received my first Bastardly whore story submission last night. Within this submission lived the phrase "Plowing that Piggy." I could expand, but again, no...
- Some annoying girl on the subway yesterday—instead of simply moving out of the way so that new passengers could board—chose to get loud, voicing repeatedly her opinion that, "People need to learn to say excuse me. It works, you know?!" Look, bitch: I hate to break it to you, but they're not the ones in the way. Got it? Now, shut up.
- One of the guys who I'm starting the new site with just launched a new blog. Hilarious. Go there: Steve L Kneivel
- My roommate got a new wine key. That was the gist of our conversation this morning. I'm pretty sure he hates me.
- D comes tomorrow. Yayy!
- Cak—my friend who has serious issues with her sleezeball boyfriend—has two dates this week with people who are not said sleezeball boyfriend. Nevertheless, she'll be flying out to Houston to see her sleezeball boyfriend this weekend. One might argue here that she is, in fact, the sleezeball for dating other guys. Yeah, one might...
- My sister made me sign up for a MySpace account because she wanted to add me as a friend. You know, so that it would look like she actually has some. My other sister calls it a "MyGeek" account, yet is begging for my password so she can stalk people. She's a riot.
- My good friend and her boyfriend are moving into my building, to an apartment directly below me. This would be perfect if the whole boyfriend element of this fact was eliminated. Party? I doubt it.
On top of catering to my visitors, I probably provide the sites that I link to an additional 2-3 hits per day. What would they do if I chose to not write one day simply because I hadn't slept in 48 hours? If I deprived them of those expected and coveted hits? As you can see, I am a very important part of this life-granting food chain. Oh, how the pressure is mounting...
I usually sit down every morning with something clever to say; something I know will leave my loyal readers with a bounce in their collective step for the remainder of the day. But today, I am tired. I didn't sleep at all last night. I had anxiety dreams about work. I received a call from an annoying friend. I dreaded waking up early to go to the gym. I dreaded not waking up early to go to the gym. I dreaded being awake until the point that I'm supposed to either wake-up or not wake-up to go to the gym—all of this with insomniatic precision. I made the mistake of anticipating the emails I'd receive at work today. I traveled to the couch and back, hoping the new environment would provoke sleep. It didn't.
Anyway, the point is, today I have but a list of topics that, under normal circumstances, I would discuss in full detail. But, today, no.
List:
- I received my first Bastardly whore story submission last night. Within this submission lived the phrase "Plowing that Piggy." I could expand, but again, no...
- Some annoying girl on the subway yesterday—instead of simply moving out of the way so that new passengers could board—chose to get loud, voicing repeatedly her opinion that, "People need to learn to say excuse me. It works, you know?!" Look, bitch: I hate to break it to you, but they're not the ones in the way. Got it? Now, shut up.
- One of the guys who I'm starting the new site with just launched a new blog. Hilarious. Go there: Steve L Kneivel
- My roommate got a new wine key. That was the gist of our conversation this morning. I'm pretty sure he hates me.
- D comes tomorrow. Yayy!
- Cak—my friend who has serious issues with her sleezeball boyfriend—has two dates this week with people who are not said sleezeball boyfriend. Nevertheless, she'll be flying out to Houston to see her sleezeball boyfriend this weekend. One might argue here that she is, in fact, the sleezeball for dating other guys. Yeah, one might...
- My sister made me sign up for a MySpace account because she wanted to add me as a friend. You know, so that it would look like she actually has some. My other sister calls it a "MyGeek" account, yet is begging for my password so she can stalk people. She's a riot.
- My good friend and her boyfriend are moving into my building, to an apartment directly below me. This would be perfect if the whole boyfriend element of this fact was eliminated. Party? I doubt it.
- The receptionist where I work had this genius idea yesterday: She was going to buy a cot and put it under the table in the mail room. Then she was going to invest in a long table cloth so that we could all take turns sleeping on the cot under the table hidden by the table cloth. This idea must be adopted immediately.
As for now, I'm going to sleep at my desk. Have a good day all.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Chosen and I get dissed*. Again.
Chosen and I both submitted Open Letters to McSweeney's.
Chosen sent his in about 5 months ago and I sent mine in about 2 months ago.
Chosen brought it up several times, wondering why they hadn't contacted him.
I told him, "Yeah, that's weird. They usually diss my ass right away."
Chosen went as far as to hypothesize that McSweeney's might not even be doing open letters anymore.
I countered that, "Yes they are, silly. I just saw a new Open Letter to Rudolph the Rednose Reindeer the other day." It's true. I really did.
Well two days ago the mystery unfolded when I received the following email:
GiGi:
I apologize for the extreme tardiness of this reply. It isn’t the way I want the website to do business and I’m ashamed that I let it happen under my watch.
I’m sorry as well that I’m going to pass on these for the site. I do hope you won’t hold it against us and will submit again in the future.
Best,
John Warner
Website Editor
I promptly sent it to Chosen and he wrote back with this:
"Good to see they personalized the response. Oh, wait...."
Chosen:
I apologize for the extreme tardiness of this reply. It isn¹t the way I want
the website to do business and I¹m ashamed that I let it happen under my
watch.
I¹m sorry as well that I¹m going to pass on this for the site. I do hope you
won¹t hold it against us and will submit again in the future.
Best,
John Warner
Website Editor
Very creative those guys are over at McSweeney's. Very creative, indeed.
*A quick site search reveals that McSweeney's has indeed eliminated their open letters section. So, instead of admitting fault for once hosting a mediocre section, they opted to instead make us feel like we're not good enough (A tear departs my eye). Bastards.
Chosen sent his in about 5 months ago and I sent mine in about 2 months ago.
Chosen brought it up several times, wondering why they hadn't contacted him.
I told him, "Yeah, that's weird. They usually diss my ass right away."
Chosen went as far as to hypothesize that McSweeney's might not even be doing open letters anymore.
I countered that, "Yes they are, silly. I just saw a new Open Letter to Rudolph the Rednose Reindeer the other day." It's true. I really did.
Well two days ago the mystery unfolded when I received the following email:
GiGi:
I apologize for the extreme tardiness of this reply. It isn’t the way I want the website to do business and I’m ashamed that I let it happen under my watch.
I’m sorry as well that I’m going to pass on these for the site. I do hope you won’t hold it against us and will submit again in the future.
Best,
John Warner
Website Editor
I promptly sent it to Chosen and he wrote back with this:
"Good to see they personalized the response. Oh, wait...."
Chosen:
I apologize for the extreme tardiness of this reply. It isn¹t the way I want
the website to do business and I¹m ashamed that I let it happen under my
watch.
I¹m sorry as well that I¹m going to pass on this for the site. I do hope you
won¹t hold it against us and will submit again in the future.
Best,
John Warner
Website Editor
Very creative those guys are over at McSweeney's. Very creative, indeed.
*A quick site search reveals that McSweeney's has indeed eliminated their open letters section. So, instead of admitting fault for once hosting a mediocre section, they opted to instead make us feel like we're not good enough (A tear departs my eye). Bastards.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Memoirs of a Dirty Whore
Every time you see this image on the bastardly.com...
...you will know that another episode of Memoirs of Dirty Whore has been scripted. It's my new "column" with them. Click HERE to read my introductory post...
NY Post Update, Part II
My NY Post interview will be featured in next Sunday's issue rather than yesterday's.
Considering that this is my second update on the stupid thing, I regrettfully inform that it has just been way too hyped. On top of that, it's only going to be moderately interesting. Uh oh, that's a bad combination...
Either way, it will be featured here next Sunday...
Considering that this is my second update on the stupid thing, I regrettfully inform that it has just been way too hyped. On top of that, it's only going to be moderately interesting. Uh oh, that's a bad combination...
Either way, it will be featured here next Sunday...
Sunday, February 26, 2006
The Ghost of Hell Past
I went out with my friend Cak last night. Every time we hang out, she's pretty much a drag, but I can't help but like the girl. She's a cool chick underneath all of the drama.
All of the drama.
Cak's in a shitty long-distance relationship with a guy in Houston. He's 40, she's 25. He parties, she doesn't. He lives with an NFL player, she lives alone. Oh yeah... he also cheated on her a year ago. Being a reformed cheater myself, I imagine he still is. Nevertheless, Cak eventually took him back after he groveled, shamelessly, for 6 months. Needless to say, she's still not over it. She just can't seem to trust the bastard. Could you?
She does that chick rationalization thing whereby she analyzes everything he has said/done for the past week or month or other time period. It goes something like this: "I know the only reason he's not calling me is because he was busy this week because when I go down there he's busy. I've seen how busy he is, so I'm sure that's why he's not calling. He's a really busy guy. That's why he's not calling. Yeah. Busy."
Cak never goes out.
She got decked-out last night; her bra sticking out of her shirt, her jeans glued to her legs, and boots up to her knees. She looked hot. She thought so too, so she had me take a picture of her so she could send it to her man's cellphone. Maybe as a threat.
Cak is a one-drink max kind of lady.
Her first and last drink of the night occurred at 10:30.
I like to get shitfaced.
I don't stop until I'm sleeping.
She checks her phone (and his) constantly.
I spent the majority of the evening building up her confidence; telling her that if she's going to stay with him she's gotta drop the jealousy shit. I personally couldn't take a guy back if he cheated because I'd always be paranoid, kind of how she is...
You can see where this night was heading, and did head. We left the club at about 2 a.m. I must admit some fault however. My friend promotes there, which means I don't pay for drinks. Ever. We arrived too early and he arrived too late. The product of which was me buying a drink for myself. Can you even bare the thought? I was pissed. I'm not being serious (but, I kind of am). My thinking is that I wouldn't be at the club if it weren't for my promoter friend being there, so I shouldn't be paying for any drinks. The situation put me in a bad mood.
So, yeah, we left. I ended up spending the night at Cak's place near Times Square. When we got back, Cak got on her computer to check her boyfriend's Cingular bill. For some reason she's got his password and with it, she traces every single call he places and receives. Somehow she also knows who every phone number on his log belongs to. I have to give credit where credit's due: she's a master of her pitiable craft. She repeated this whole process when she woke up in the morning as well.
You've got to stop this.
I told her that everyone has, at one point or another, been in a similar hell. Maybe not as intense, but a hell just the same. I think I got out of mine when it was in the early stages, before it had time to consume me like so. Living in her reality for even 10-hours invoked a kind of nostalgia I could've definitely lived without.
Cak is taking baby steps.
Evidently after I left this morning she called one of her friends and had her change the password to her boyfriend's online phone log. Now she won't be able to check it even if she wants to. She'll want to. This was a good move, one that will actually save me some stress too. After all, I didn't really have a good reason as to why he was calling other chicks at 4 in the morning. Evidently Cak did though: "I know the only reason he's calling her is because he works with her. When I go down there, he calls people he works with around the clock. I've seen him do it, so I'm sure that's why he's calling her. He's a really busy guy. That's why he's calling her. It was business. Yeah. Business."
All of the drama.
Cak's in a shitty long-distance relationship with a guy in Houston. He's 40, she's 25. He parties, she doesn't. He lives with an NFL player, she lives alone. Oh yeah... he also cheated on her a year ago. Being a reformed cheater myself, I imagine he still is. Nevertheless, Cak eventually took him back after he groveled, shamelessly, for 6 months. Needless to say, she's still not over it. She just can't seem to trust the bastard. Could you?
She does that chick rationalization thing whereby she analyzes everything he has said/done for the past week or month or other time period. It goes something like this: "I know the only reason he's not calling me is because he was busy this week because when I go down there he's busy. I've seen how busy he is, so I'm sure that's why he's not calling. He's a really busy guy. That's why he's not calling. Yeah. Busy."
Cak never goes out.
She got decked-out last night; her bra sticking out of her shirt, her jeans glued to her legs, and boots up to her knees. She looked hot. She thought so too, so she had me take a picture of her so she could send it to her man's cellphone. Maybe as a threat.
Cak is a one-drink max kind of lady.
Her first and last drink of the night occurred at 10:30.
I like to get shitfaced.
I don't stop until I'm sleeping.
She checks her phone (and his) constantly.
I spent the majority of the evening building up her confidence; telling her that if she's going to stay with him she's gotta drop the jealousy shit. I personally couldn't take a guy back if he cheated because I'd always be paranoid, kind of how she is...
You can see where this night was heading, and did head. We left the club at about 2 a.m. I must admit some fault however. My friend promotes there, which means I don't pay for drinks. Ever. We arrived too early and he arrived too late. The product of which was me buying a drink for myself. Can you even bare the thought? I was pissed. I'm not being serious (but, I kind of am). My thinking is that I wouldn't be at the club if it weren't for my promoter friend being there, so I shouldn't be paying for any drinks. The situation put me in a bad mood.
So, yeah, we left. I ended up spending the night at Cak's place near Times Square. When we got back, Cak got on her computer to check her boyfriend's Cingular bill. For some reason she's got his password and with it, she traces every single call he places and receives. Somehow she also knows who every phone number on his log belongs to. I have to give credit where credit's due: she's a master of her pitiable craft. She repeated this whole process when she woke up in the morning as well.
You've got to stop this.
I told her that everyone has, at one point or another, been in a similar hell. Maybe not as intense, but a hell just the same. I think I got out of mine when it was in the early stages, before it had time to consume me like so. Living in her reality for even 10-hours invoked a kind of nostalgia I could've definitely lived without.
Cak is taking baby steps.
Evidently after I left this morning she called one of her friends and had her change the password to her boyfriend's online phone log. Now she won't be able to check it even if she wants to. She'll want to. This was a good move, one that will actually save me some stress too. After all, I didn't really have a good reason as to why he was calling other chicks at 4 in the morning. Evidently Cak did though: "I know the only reason he's calling her is because he works with her. When I go down there, he calls people he works with around the clock. I've seen him do it, so I'm sure that's why he's calling her. He's a really busy guy. That's why he's calling her. It was business. Yeah. Business."
Saturday, February 25, 2006
What to write about?
Chosen is in Toronto visiting his girlfriend.
This leaves me with an important question:
This leaves me with an important question:
What the hell am I supposed to write about if not Chosen's antics?
Friday, February 24, 2006
NY Post update
Just completed my interview with the NY Post. The article will be in the Sunday, Feb 26th issue. Like I said, I'll post it, so stay tuned...
GiGi to be quoted in the NY Post...
I'm getting interviewed by the NY Post today. Yayy!
This is clearly a publication that recognizes a good thing when it sees one.
Actually, who am I kidding? The story will not highlight my finer points (perhaps there are too many?), but I'll post the clip when it comes out.
To be continued...
This is clearly a publication that recognizes a good thing when it sees one.
Actually, who am I kidding? The story will not highlight my finer points (perhaps there are too many?), but I'll post the clip when it comes out.
To be continued...
Thursday, February 23, 2006
RE: New Reader Bio
How, one might ask*, can I become so lucky as to get my bio on your VIP** blog?
A good question indeed. And the answer is not a cryptic one. In fact, it lies in the heart of the following passage -- it having been sent to me by the owner of the displayed bio:
You are SO fucking funny!!!! And damn talented. I could read your shit all day but it is back to my monkey tasks now. I am going to put your blog on my favorites...so keep writing you ugly little whore.
Yes, it's really that easy, folks. Honesty is an endearing policy. One to which Ms. McCord clearly and rigorously abides.
*No one asked.
**This is how I explained to Chosen the phenomenon of him getting more traffic than I do. "You see, Chosen, my blog is only for VIPs. While my doorman is very strict with the list, yours will let in any old riff raff off the street." Boy, did I set him straight!
A good question indeed. And the answer is not a cryptic one. In fact, it lies in the heart of the following passage -- it having been sent to me by the owner of the displayed bio:
You are SO fucking funny!!!! And damn talented. I could read your shit all day but it is back to my monkey tasks now. I am going to put your blog on my favorites...so keep writing you ugly little whore.
Yes, it's really that easy, folks. Honesty is an endearing policy. One to which Ms. McCord clearly and rigorously abides.
*No one asked.
**This is how I explained to Chosen the phenomenon of him getting more traffic than I do. "You see, Chosen, my blog is only for VIPs. While my doorman is very strict with the list, yours will let in any old riff raff off the street." Boy, did I set him straight!
New Reader Bio
I would like to take this opportunity to welcome a new reader to my blog. Here are her vitals:
Name: Courtney McCord
Date of Birth: August 13th, 1979
Sign: Leo
Hair Color: Auburn, which is not really red, but then again, not really brown either.
Eye Color: Green-ish
Skin Type: Fair to Midland, lingering more - okay, a lot more - on the fair side.
Dogs' Names: Dakota and Cash
City/State of Residence: Carlsbad, CA
Occupation: Something dealing with real estate
Hobbies: Giving into her vices, walking her dogs, scaring cats, hanging out with her boyfriend, & much, much more!
Let's everybody give a big, warm welcome to Ms. McCord! And, if you see her in the neighborhood, don't hesitate to say hello. She's quite friendly as it turns out.
Name: Courtney McCord
Date of Birth: August 13th, 1979
Sign: Leo
Hair Color: Auburn, which is not really red, but then again, not really brown either.
Eye Color: Green-ish
Skin Type: Fair to Midland, lingering more - okay, a lot more - on the fair side.
Dogs' Names: Dakota and Cash
City/State of Residence: Carlsbad, CA
Occupation: Something dealing with real estate
Hobbies: Giving into her vices, walking her dogs, scaring cats, hanging out with her boyfriend, & much, much more!
Let's everybody give a big, warm welcome to Ms. McCord! And, if you see her in the neighborhood, don't hesitate to say hello. She's quite friendly as it turns out.
In a nutshell...
After reading my previous entry, Chosen accused me of being over-sensitive and of thinking that the world was out to get me (which is not at all a belief I entertain). I countered his accusations and explained the blog like so:
"The blog is just my way of unboring myself and in turn, boring the hell out of others. You see, boredom is not created nor destroyed, just transformed and transfered. As you know, I'm a physicist..."
I'm so darn clever.
"The blog is just my way of unboring myself and in turn, boring the hell out of others. You see, boredom is not created nor destroyed, just transformed and transfered. As you know, I'm a physicist..."
I'm so darn clever.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
A list of people who are currently pissed at me.
Sally: I wrote an email to my friend Cesar about her negligence to show her room to him (he is supposed to rent it come April), as well as her lack of foresight regarding her decision not to tell her roommates she's moving out, while, Surpise!, Cesar's moving in. I ended the email with the line: "She bugs about that kind of shit." The thing is, I accidently sent it to Sally instead of Cesar. Oops.
Chosen: So, I made some comment about how the majority of people working in corporate America have the tasks of a monkey. I think this pissed him off, because I haven't heard from him since. At the same time, I thought that since I work in corporate America and since mine are the tasks of a monkey, I was eligible to make this claim. Like if you're black you're allowed to make fun of black people, but if you're white, you better shut the hell up before I gat yo ass.
Aaron's Sister: As she was scrutinizing the wine menu the other night, I made a comment about how generally people don't really know shit about wine, yet they sit and stare at the menu hoping that they will -tada!- suddenly understand French or Italian. I elaborated by detailing accounts of the times when I worked at restaurants and people would order one wine and I would give them another. Conveniently, they had no clue. Or, when people would complain about a glass of wine and I would bring them the same glass back and they would sing its praise. Pathetic really. I think she thought I was referring to her and her present practice. No, not at all really. But, I must admit, her looking at the menu so intensely did provoke the conversation.
Misty: Related to the Sally story, plus some of her own personal issues, which she is conveniently blaming on me.
Ken: Please refer to my previous entry about how I thought my roommate was mad at me. Well, all of my guesses were right on. He's no longer mad at me, however, but since this was a recent event, he made my list.
My Cousin Sara: She overheard me saying to one of my friends that I wanted to take diet pills so that I could stay awake at work. She looked at me with disgust, saying, "You are already skinny." Right, right. But, it still takes me an elephant's worth of coffee to stay awake at my job. I'm turning to drugs. Sorry.
My mom: My mom called me the other day and told me that her new hobby was laminating things. Her old hobby, which spanned 6 years, was making jewelry. She got bored with that though. So, she sent me a story she wrote me and it was, of course, laminated. She asked me what I thought about the picture on the other side. I told her that I didn't know there was anything on the other side. I got a message yesterday letting me know that when, in the future, I receive something that is laminated, I must turn it over to see if there's something on the back!
I'm sure I'm leaving out a few people, but this is not set in stone. I keep a running tally. This is the most names I've had in a while though. I imagine this means that I am doing something wrong. I apologize.
Chosen: So, I made some comment about how the majority of people working in corporate America have the tasks of a monkey. I think this pissed him off, because I haven't heard from him since. At the same time, I thought that since I work in corporate America and since mine are the tasks of a monkey, I was eligible to make this claim. Like if you're black you're allowed to make fun of black people, but if you're white, you better shut the hell up before I gat yo ass.
Aaron's Sister: As she was scrutinizing the wine menu the other night, I made a comment about how generally people don't really know shit about wine, yet they sit and stare at the menu hoping that they will -tada!- suddenly understand French or Italian. I elaborated by detailing accounts of the times when I worked at restaurants and people would order one wine and I would give them another. Conveniently, they had no clue. Or, when people would complain about a glass of wine and I would bring them the same glass back and they would sing its praise. Pathetic really. I think she thought I was referring to her and her present practice. No, not at all really. But, I must admit, her looking at the menu so intensely did provoke the conversation.
Misty: Related to the Sally story, plus some of her own personal issues, which she is conveniently blaming on me.
Ken: Please refer to my previous entry about how I thought my roommate was mad at me. Well, all of my guesses were right on. He's no longer mad at me, however, but since this was a recent event, he made my list.
My Cousin Sara: She overheard me saying to one of my friends that I wanted to take diet pills so that I could stay awake at work. She looked at me with disgust, saying, "You are already skinny." Right, right. But, it still takes me an elephant's worth of coffee to stay awake at my job. I'm turning to drugs. Sorry.
My mom: My mom called me the other day and told me that her new hobby was laminating things. Her old hobby, which spanned 6 years, was making jewelry. She got bored with that though. So, she sent me a story she wrote me and it was, of course, laminated. She asked me what I thought about the picture on the other side. I told her that I didn't know there was anything on the other side. I got a message yesterday letting me know that when, in the future, I receive something that is laminated, I must turn it over to see if there's something on the back!
I'm sure I'm leaving out a few people, but this is not set in stone. I keep a running tally. This is the most names I've had in a while though. I imagine this means that I am doing something wrong. I apologize.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
When Armageddon comes....
I was talking to D the other day and he informed me that when Armageddon comes, I will be saved.
"Geez, now I feel safe from harm's way. Thanks for the heads up."
The conversation started when I was telling him that Brian's once-nickname, "Chosen," had since evolved to become his official name. Brian and D are both Jewish. I'm Jewish on my mom's side, but have never practiced, which to me means I'm not Jewish. Evidently this isn't the general consensus amongst my Jewish friends. And, it certainly isn't important to D. Although when I tell people I'm Puertorican, D is quick to follow with "Jewish Puertorican." I think it's cute.
D was pleased with Brian's new name and reconfirmed Chosen's status as one of the Chosen.
"Well, yeah, that's kind of what I just said," I told D.
Then D told me that I too was one of the Chosen people and followed with the Armageddon thing.
I've never heard him talk much about his beliefs, but I'm glad he's into them. I mean, I guess. I'm not religious, but I very much respect religion. I just hate people. It is usually a religion's people that turn me off of it. How they represent it, etc...
And all of this is to say, was D for real? About the Armageddon thing? Hmmmm....
I'll take it as a compliment. After all, I guess that someone saying that I'm going to be saved from global ruin is better than someone telling me I look nice tonight, did I do something different with my hair?
"Geez, now I feel safe from harm's way. Thanks for the heads up."
The conversation started when I was telling him that Brian's once-nickname, "Chosen," had since evolved to become his official name. Brian and D are both Jewish. I'm Jewish on my mom's side, but have never practiced, which to me means I'm not Jewish. Evidently this isn't the general consensus amongst my Jewish friends. And, it certainly isn't important to D. Although when I tell people I'm Puertorican, D is quick to follow with "Jewish Puertorican." I think it's cute.
D was pleased with Brian's new name and reconfirmed Chosen's status as one of the Chosen.
"Well, yeah, that's kind of what I just said," I told D.
Then D told me that I too was one of the Chosen people and followed with the Armageddon thing.
I've never heard him talk much about his beliefs, but I'm glad he's into them. I mean, I guess. I'm not religious, but I very much respect religion. I just hate people. It is usually a religion's people that turn me off of it. How they represent it, etc...
And all of this is to say, was D for real? About the Armageddon thing? Hmmmm....
I'll take it as a compliment. After all, I guess that someone saying that I'm going to be saved from global ruin is better than someone telling me I look nice tonight, did I do something different with my hair?
Saturday, February 18, 2006
My roommate is huffing around the house
...at this very moment.
I think he's mad at me, and I'm pretty sure it's because I left all my recycling by the trashcan for 3 days; because I conveniently ignored a small pile of coffee grains I spilled on the stove, or because I tend to lay on the couch like a jungle sloth after work, have Cesar over for coffee every morning before I go to work, and because I set up shop in the living room, making it more of an office than a TV den.
But, beyond this, I really don't see the need for the attitude problem.
Really. Well... in his defense, I admit that I'm downright useless during the work week. I leave the house for 10-11 hours per day, I come home, and, quite frankly, don't really feel like lugging the recycling down 4 flights of stairs; don't want to break out the paper towels to clean up the grains; don't care to get off the couch in lieu of doing something productive; enjoy having an alternative to my stuck-in-the-potty-training-stage-of-development roommate over for coffee & conversation before work; and would love to use my NYC-licious, $1,125/month room as an office, but it is so damn small that my bed doubles as a floor. Honest. Plus, there are no windows, so I can't breathe. Did I mention that I'm clastrophobic? And, that I have asthma? This is not a good combination, especially when my clastrophobia turns into hyperventilation. My asthma follows in suit, and, well, it's just a downhill, medically-unprescribed game of hell's dominoes from there. In essence, I kind of sort of have to bring my computer and papers and office supplies and phones and purse and slippers into the living room. Every night. Or. I. Will. Die.
So, go to hell, Mr. Poopie Pants.
Oh, on top of this. I don't have a problem with anything he does (except this moping problem, which clearly annoys the living bejeezus out of me). Not because he doesn't do anything annoying, but because we are paying way too much rent to not be "allowed" to do anything that we want. For $1,125/month, I will craft a couch made of Costa Rican espresso if I, for some reason, feel the need...
Um, yeah. A couch of espresso.
I think he's mad at me, and I'm pretty sure it's because I left all my recycling by the trashcan for 3 days; because I conveniently ignored a small pile of coffee grains I spilled on the stove, or because I tend to lay on the couch like a jungle sloth after work, have Cesar over for coffee every morning before I go to work, and because I set up shop in the living room, making it more of an office than a TV den.
But, beyond this, I really don't see the need for the attitude problem.
Really. Well... in his defense, I admit that I'm downright useless during the work week. I leave the house for 10-11 hours per day, I come home, and, quite frankly, don't really feel like lugging the recycling down 4 flights of stairs; don't want to break out the paper towels to clean up the grains; don't care to get off the couch in lieu of doing something productive; enjoy having an alternative to my stuck-in-the-potty-training-stage-of-development roommate over for coffee & conversation before work; and would love to use my NYC-licious, $1,125/month room as an office, but it is so damn small that my bed doubles as a floor. Honest. Plus, there are no windows, so I can't breathe. Did I mention that I'm clastrophobic? And, that I have asthma? This is not a good combination, especially when my clastrophobia turns into hyperventilation. My asthma follows in suit, and, well, it's just a downhill, medically-unprescribed game of hell's dominoes from there. In essence, I kind of sort of have to bring my computer and papers and office supplies and phones and purse and slippers into the living room. Every night. Or. I. Will. Die.
So, go to hell, Mr. Poopie Pants.
Oh, on top of this. I don't have a problem with anything he does (except this moping problem, which clearly annoys the living bejeezus out of me). Not because he doesn't do anything annoying, but because we are paying way too much rent to not be "allowed" to do anything that we want. For $1,125/month, I will craft a couch made of Costa Rican espresso if I, for some reason, feel the need...
Um, yeah. A couch of espresso.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Rosen-the-Chosen calls me a bitch (and more!)
The background on this one is short. I asked Brian Rosen-the-Chosen (from here on out, "Chosen") if he was free this weekend and he wrote back that he was, but I must've overlooked it. I asked him again and this is what he said:
Chosen: "Already said I was free this weekend. You deaf or something, bitch?"
[Editor's note: This conversation took place over email, so him asking me if I'm deaf is, like, so irrelevant.]
Since this mode of speech is about par for the course with Chosen, I failed to mention the bitch comment in my next email, but still he bantered. He was very proud of his hardcore persona and wanted to make sure I noticed that he had indeed called me a bitch.
Chosen: "And my availability was clearly stated in my prior e-mail. Right
before I made a Kobe rape joke...again....for the 100th time. Like
shooting fish in a barrel.
"Oh yeah, did I call you a bitch? Sorry! I must have spelled it wrong. Cunt.
Okay, that's better."
I think I must have laughed at this one (and a laugh over email is something like this: hahahahhahahaah. Well, for me, at least). So, Chosen ended the day's emails with the following.
Chosen: "I can't believe I used the C word. tee hee.
Still, I gave him no credit. Mostly because I knew he was trying to employ the whole shock factor theory, and I didn't want to give him that kind of satisfaction. Obviously still bothered by my aloofness about the whole thing, I received one final bitch/cunt reference from him a day later.
Chosen: "Oh...I guess now that you have a blog I should be careful what I say as EVERYTHING ends up on there!!! This quote probably will too. :) Although our bitch/cunt exchange didn't make the page. Sigh."
To this I wrote back: "One bitch/cunt entry coming up!"
And that, my friends, is this...and the end of my series of email-based entries. But, not really. Sadly, email is my life. Sigh...
Chosen: "Already said I was free this weekend. You deaf or something, bitch?"
[Editor's note: This conversation took place over email, so him asking me if I'm deaf is, like, so irrelevant.]
Since this mode of speech is about par for the course with Chosen, I failed to mention the bitch comment in my next email, but still he bantered. He was very proud of his hardcore persona and wanted to make sure I noticed that he had indeed called me a bitch.
Chosen: "And my availability was clearly stated in my prior e-mail. Right
before I made a Kobe rape joke...again....for the 100th time. Like
shooting fish in a barrel.
"Oh yeah, did I call you a bitch? Sorry! I must have spelled it wrong. Cunt.
Okay, that's better."
I think I must have laughed at this one (and a laugh over email is something like this: hahahahhahahaah. Well, for me, at least). So, Chosen ended the day's emails with the following.
Chosen: "I can't believe I used the C word. tee hee.
Still, I gave him no credit. Mostly because I knew he was trying to employ the whole shock factor theory, and I didn't want to give him that kind of satisfaction. Obviously still bothered by my aloofness about the whole thing, I received one final bitch/cunt reference from him a day later.
Chosen: "Oh...I guess now that you have a blog I should be careful what I say as EVERYTHING ends up on there!!! This quote probably will too. :) Although our bitch/cunt exchange didn't make the page. Sigh."
To this I wrote back: "One bitch/cunt entry coming up!"
And that, my friends, is this...and the end of my series of email-based entries. But, not really. Sadly, email is my life. Sigh...
Thursday, February 16, 2006
My friends are funny. Well, that or they don't have lives --> you decide
Background: My friend Dan left his 1980s skateboard at my house. I gave him a warning: "Get it soon or I will kill it." He repeatedly promised (with much passion, mind you) to come get it, yet failed to do so one too many times.
Finally, I gave him an ultimatum (get it, or it dies), followed by a relevant choice: "Death by euthanization or public hanging? You choose." Still, he did not show. So, finally, I gave it to Cesar. Today Cesar sent out this message to our list of friends on email, along with a Craigslist listing for guess what? Dan's skateboard! (Dan's reply and an interested party's reply to follow):
All you skaters,
don't be haters.
hear me now,
take a look and bow.
i only take cash,
you're not being rash.
40 bucks is all,
so come on ya'll.
check out this link,
of a skateboard, wink wink.
its dan, the man's.
Skateboard - $40
Reply to: sale-134520044@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-02-16, 6:34PM EST
Check out the picture.
No, my friends, "Skateboarding is not a crime."
Double D did not salvage this one.
It's $40 bucks.
Act now. This won't last long.
this is in or around manhatton
no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
cesar wrote:
HERE IS THE FIRST REPLY ON THE SKATEBOARD
YOUR TIME IS RUNNING OUT, DAN
___________
From : PoLo Gan
Sent : Friday, February 17, 2006 12:07 AM
To : sale-134520044@craigslist.org
Subject : Skateboard - $40
what are the dimensions?
and what type of wheels are those?
__________
Dan Drew to Cesar:
I love my baby - please don't let somebody adopt it. I promise I can pick it up Saturday - 4:45. I'll be there, in my skateboarding shoes, ready to ride her all the way home.
-Dan "Skateboarding is not a crime" Drew
__________
You see, now Dan is groveling. I tell ya, boys only want what they can't have.
________
Follow-up: Cesar has decided that the guy who replied is too dumb to take the skateboard. After all, he asked about the wheels. Is there not a huge picture of the wheels? There is, my friends. There is.
Update 2/17:
Cesar wrote:
THERE IS A SECOND INTERESTED PARTY FOR THE SKATEBOARD, DAN.
I DON'T KNOW HOW LONG I CAN HOLD THEM OFF!
From : Maxwell S Dubler
Sent : Friday, February 17, 2006 5:06 AM
To : sale-134520044@craigslist.org
Subject : Skateboard - $40
This still around?
Let me know.
Max
Finally, I gave him an ultimatum (get it, or it dies), followed by a relevant choice: "Death by euthanization or public hanging? You choose." Still, he did not show. So, finally, I gave it to Cesar. Today Cesar sent out this message to our list of friends on email, along with a Craigslist listing for guess what? Dan's skateboard! (Dan's reply and an interested party's reply to follow):
All you skaters,
don't be haters.
hear me now,
take a look and bow.
i only take cash,
you're not being rash.
40 bucks is all,
so come on ya'll.
check out this link,
of a skateboard, wink wink.
its dan, the man's.
Skateboard - $40
Reply to: sale-134520044@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-02-16, 6:34PM EST
Check out the picture.
No, my friends, "Skateboarding is not a crime."
Double D did not salvage this one.
It's $40 bucks.
Act now. This won't last long.
this is in or around manhatton
no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
cesar wrote:
HERE IS THE FIRST REPLY ON THE SKATEBOARD
YOUR TIME IS RUNNING OUT, DAN
___________
From : PoLo Gan
Sent : Friday, February 17, 2006 12:07 AM
To : sale-134520044@craigslist.org
Subject : Skateboard - $40
what are the dimensions?
and what type of wheels are those?
__________
Dan Drew to Cesar:
I love my baby - please don't let somebody adopt it. I promise I can pick it up Saturday - 4:45. I'll be there, in my skateboarding shoes, ready to ride her all the way home.
-Dan "Skateboarding is not a crime" Drew
__________
You see, now Dan is groveling. I tell ya, boys only want what they can't have.
________
Follow-up: Cesar has decided that the guy who replied is too dumb to take the skateboard. After all, he asked about the wheels. Is there not a huge picture of the wheels? There is, my friends. There is.
Update 2/17:
Cesar wrote:
THERE IS A SECOND INTERESTED PARTY FOR THE SKATEBOARD, DAN.
I DON'T KNOW HOW LONG I CAN HOLD THEM OFF!
From : Maxwell S Dubler
Sent : Friday, February 17, 2006 5:06 AM
To : sale-134520044@craigslist.org
Subject : Skateboard - $40
This still around?
Let me know.
Max
Jane Mag got back to me. No celebrating yet.
Jane Magazine got back to me regarding the following pitch. Yayy.
I loved this pitch and was actually surprised when I didn't get a response. Now I have. Justice has been served.
That is soooo only half the battle though. I'll keep y'all updated.
________________
Hi GiGi,
Sorry for the delay in responding to this—I missed this email, for some reason. Anyway, go ahead and send me your article.
Thank you,
Esther--
Esther Haynes
Features Editor
Jane magazine
"GiGi" wrote:
Dear Ms. Haynes,
Hello. I am interested in submitting a first person narrative of cheating to you for possible publication. I got your email address from the MediaBistro "How to Pitch" article.
The story I am interested in submitting is a quarky albeit intelligent account of what goes on in the female cheater's mind during the processes of cheating and seeming reformation. The narrative begins as a condensed history of the character's problem (as detailed by several arguments with herself; the opposition created when her conscience enters her reality) and concludes with her ultimately trying to, once and for all, solve her problem, i.e. "kill the beast":
Me: I've made a decision to break the chain this time around. I don't want to cheat. I want to kill the evil beast that resides within but it seems to be overpowering me.
Me: Oh yeah, blame it on something else. It's not you. It's a fire-breathing dragon.
Me: Brilliant, ain't it?
I would love to submit the above described story for your review. Please let me know if you are interested in having me send it over...
------
As a follow-up, Esther dissed me about 5 minutes after receiving the piece. It's a shame too. It was quite an article...
I loved this pitch and was actually surprised when I didn't get a response. Now I have. Justice has been served.
That is soooo only half the battle though. I'll keep y'all updated.
________________
Hi GiGi,
Sorry for the delay in responding to this—I missed this email, for some reason. Anyway, go ahead and send me your article.
Thank you,
Esther--
Esther Haynes
Features Editor
Jane magazine
"GiGi" wrote:
Dear Ms. Haynes,
Hello. I am interested in submitting a first person narrative of cheating to you for possible publication. I got your email address from the MediaBistro "How to Pitch" article.
The story I am interested in submitting is a quarky albeit intelligent account of what goes on in the female cheater's mind during the processes of cheating and seeming reformation. The narrative begins as a condensed history of the character's problem (as detailed by several arguments with herself; the opposition created when her conscience enters her reality) and concludes with her ultimately trying to, once and for all, solve her problem, i.e. "kill the beast":
Me: I've made a decision to break the chain this time around. I don't want to cheat. I want to kill the evil beast that resides within but it seems to be overpowering me.
Me: Oh yeah, blame it on something else. It's not you. It's a fire-breathing dragon.
Me: Brilliant, ain't it?
I would love to submit the above described story for your review. Please let me know if you are interested in having me send it over...
------
As a follow-up, Esther dissed me about 5 minutes after receiving the piece. It's a shame too. It was quite an article...
Dick Cheney Gets Credit for Taking Blame
The media is very impressed that Dick Cheney admitted fault at having shot his hunting partner.
Here is a headline from the New York Post: Silence Broken as Cheney Points Only to Himself
Well, no shit. Who else would he point to? The grass? The open clearing? God's will? His bro's bad karma?
"You must have done some serious damage in your past life, buddy. I'm just the universe's preferred medium for delivering punishment for that which you, quite frankly, reaped upon yourself lives ago. Hey, don't look at me. I'm just the messenger. Don't shoot the messenger. [Self-induced guffaw here when Cheney realizes he just employed a tasteless pun in the face of the recent shooting]." His hands in the air, his face to the floor, the shaking of his head. This all occurs as he does the stance. You know the stance. The guilty one...
In all fairness though, the White House evidently wanted to blame it on Cheney's hunting partner, so the headline isn't completely glorifying Cheney's *magananimous* & *earthshattering* decision to admit fault.
The White House is kind of like this though. One of those bastards trip and, hell, it was the sidewalk's fault. Poor kid in Iraq trips over a grenade and is disintegrated--> "Wrong place, wrong time." Isn't it easier to just say, "Sorry dude," "I'm a damn clutz," or, "We should seriuosly rethink our strategy..."?
Here is a headline from the New York Post: Silence Broken as Cheney Points Only to Himself
Well, no shit. Who else would he point to? The grass? The open clearing? God's will? His bro's bad karma?
"You must have done some serious damage in your past life, buddy. I'm just the universe's preferred medium for delivering punishment for that which you, quite frankly, reaped upon yourself lives ago. Hey, don't look at me. I'm just the messenger. Don't shoot the messenger. [Self-induced guffaw here when Cheney realizes he just employed a tasteless pun in the face of the recent shooting]." His hands in the air, his face to the floor, the shaking of his head. This all occurs as he does the stance. You know the stance. The guilty one...
In all fairness though, the White House evidently wanted to blame it on Cheney's hunting partner, so the headline isn't completely glorifying Cheney's *magananimous* & *earthshattering* decision to admit fault.
The White House is kind of like this though. One of those bastards trip and, hell, it was the sidewalk's fault. Poor kid in Iraq trips over a grenade and is disintegrated--> "Wrong place, wrong time." Isn't it easier to just say, "Sorry dude," "I'm a damn clutz," or, "We should seriuosly rethink our strategy..."?
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Denial Letters from Competing Mags...REVIEWED
Brian Rosen doesn't think we should advertise the fact that we both got dissed by nationally-distributed magazines. I disagree. I think that it instead advertises our confidence.
Like,
"We don't need your stinkin' magazines!"
So, there.
Yeah, that's exactly what it says.
After all, Steven King got denied several times before hitting it big, and we all know what a great writer he is. Wink, wink.
Like,
"We don't need your stinkin' magazines!"
So, there.
Yeah, that's exactly what it says.
After all, Steven King got denied several times before hitting it big, and we all know what a great writer he is. Wink, wink.
I am just a bad person.
I realized this last night when my friend Aaron and I walked his dog through Central Park. When Aaron's dog, Ruby, poo-pooed on the snowy sidewalk ("Good Job, Ruby. You're a good girl!"), Aaron instinctively pulled out a plastic bag and transformed it into a deli glove with which to pick up the shit.
Meet Ruby.
"Just cover it up with snow and freeze it," I suggested, not able to imagine wanting the warmth of dog crap to be that which keeps me heated on a cold winter night.
"GiGi, what if you stepped in this? You wouldn't be too happy about it, would you?" He said in a manner that really suggested the notion that he was - plainly and simply - a better person than I.
"No, I guess not. But, when I had a dog, she used to go in the decorative grass area right by the sidewalk, not directly on the sidewalk."
"Well, Ruby is completely liberated now."
"Really? You mean, like, she doesn't wear a bra?"
"Exactly. She has really small nipples anyway."
Meet Ruby."Just cover it up with snow and freeze it," I suggested, not able to imagine wanting the warmth of dog crap to be that which keeps me heated on a cold winter night.
"GiGi, what if you stepped in this? You wouldn't be too happy about it, would you?" He said in a manner that really suggested the notion that he was - plainly and simply - a better person than I.
"No, I guess not. But, when I had a dog, she used to go in the decorative grass area right by the sidewalk, not directly on the sidewalk."
"Well, Ruby is completely liberated now."
"Really? You mean, like, she doesn't wear a bra?"
"Exactly. She has really small nipples anyway."
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Denial Letters from Competing Mags...
The following are denial letters that Brian Rosen and I received from MAD magazine and CRACKED magazine, respectively. CRACKED dubs itself "MAD's competitor." The number 2 man must make reference to number 1 in order to gain proper recognition. Just like Chicago and Boston compare themselves to New York City, while New York City never thinks twice about its lesser counterparts.
Anyway, these letters are further proof that MAD is still the reigning champ. And that Brian Rosen and I need an in!
Letter 1*
Dear Friend,
Unlike many cold, callous editors, we at MAD believe that anyone takingthe time and trouble to submit material deserves a warm, personal noterather than a cold, indifferent e-mail. So, please consider this to be awarm, personal note rather than the cold, indifferent e-mail it actuallyis!We want you to know that we appreciate your taking the time to think ofus and send your comic brainstorms (yeah, right!) our way. Because ofthe overwhelming number of submissions we receive, we cannot respond toall those who submit material, even geniuses such as yourself.If you've tickled our funny bone and we are interested in having youdevelop what you've sent, you'll hear from us.Thanks for sharing your twisted comedic musings with us.
MAD-ly yours,
The Editors
Letter 2**
Thank you for your recent submission to CRACKED.Unfortunately, after careful review by our print and online editors, we donot think that the piece fits our current needs.Again, we greatly appreciate your interest in CRACKED and wish you the bestof luck.
Sincerely,
The CRACKED Editorial Team
*From MAD to GiGi
**From CRACKED to Brian
Anyway, these letters are further proof that MAD is still the reigning champ. And that Brian Rosen and I need an in!
Letter 1*
Dear Friend,
Unlike many cold, callous editors, we at MAD believe that anyone takingthe time and trouble to submit material deserves a warm, personal noterather than a cold, indifferent e-mail. So, please consider this to be awarm, personal note rather than the cold, indifferent e-mail it actuallyis!We want you to know that we appreciate your taking the time to think ofus and send your comic brainstorms (yeah, right!) our way. Because ofthe overwhelming number of submissions we receive, we cannot respond toall those who submit material, even geniuses such as yourself.If you've tickled our funny bone and we are interested in having youdevelop what you've sent, you'll hear from us.Thanks for sharing your twisted comedic musings with us.
MAD-ly yours,
The Editors
Letter 2**
Thank you for your recent submission to CRACKED.Unfortunately, after careful review by our print and online editors, we donot think that the piece fits our current needs.Again, we greatly appreciate your interest in CRACKED and wish you the bestof luck.
Sincerely,
The CRACKED Editorial Team
*From MAD to GiGi
**From CRACKED to Brian
Snow Day!
Yayy! I got snowed-in in Chicago and I can't go back to NYC until tomorrow.
With the receptionist as my witness, I spent the day at work Friday willing this upon myself. I knew there was a snowstorm set to hit New York on Saturday, so I thought it would be great if it caused cancellations at the airport. Now I get an extra night with D and a paid day off at work. Life is good sometimes.
On that note, all of my anxiety has passed. Last week was intolerable. I feel like I just emerged from a really bad acid trip (even though I admit, I've never experienced a really bad acid trip). I don't know where my mind went. It's like it left me and in it's place was a sub-par stand-in. A shitty substitute teacher. An unskilled temp worker who can't figure out how to transfer calls (bonus: that's her only responsibility!) Anyway, it's a bit scary to think that that level of paranoia-insecurity-anxiety lives inside me. I hope it stays away for a while. I can't handle going through that again any time soon. Hopefully, this wish will too come to pass with my dedicated two-ish readers as my witnesses.
As for my snowday, I wish I would have found out about it a bit sooner as I would have really enjoyed having a couple more bloody mary's this morning at brunch and enjoying the day fully with D. He makes me rethink my old ways, not that I need any reason to think about things anymore than I already do. Sigh.
In conclusion, snowday=good. That's all
With the receptionist as my witness, I spent the day at work Friday willing this upon myself. I knew there was a snowstorm set to hit New York on Saturday, so I thought it would be great if it caused cancellations at the airport. Now I get an extra night with D and a paid day off at work. Life is good sometimes.
On that note, all of my anxiety has passed. Last week was intolerable. I feel like I just emerged from a really bad acid trip (even though I admit, I've never experienced a really bad acid trip). I don't know where my mind went. It's like it left me and in it's place was a sub-par stand-in. A shitty substitute teacher. An unskilled temp worker who can't figure out how to transfer calls (bonus: that's her only responsibility!) Anyway, it's a bit scary to think that that level of paranoia-insecurity-anxiety lives inside me. I hope it stays away for a while. I can't handle going through that again any time soon. Hopefully, this wish will too come to pass with my dedicated two-ish readers as my witnesses.
As for my snowday, I wish I would have found out about it a bit sooner as I would have really enjoyed having a couple more bloody mary's this morning at brunch and enjoying the day fully with D. He makes me rethink my old ways, not that I need any reason to think about things anymore than I already do. Sigh.
In conclusion, snowday=good. That's all
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Gizoogle.com is really the name of a new website.
In the event that you want your site to be understood only by 14-year old, suburban, white kids, go here. Gizoogle.com allows you to "translate" your entire website into Snoop Dog lingo.
It's worth taking a look at, but like any gimmick, it becomes un-funny very quick. And by "very un-funny" I really mean "horribly gauche and not entertaining whatsoever." So, yeah, check it out.
So Very Gullible I Am
To understand the following post, you must know a few key factors:
A) I am gullible as hell
B) Jenny = Morris Ridgefield = this weird guy who has a self-righteous blog where he posts "advice," rants, and random email conversations he has with dumbass girls like me who will fall for it.
C) He must have got my email address from the Black Table masthead or from numberII magazine's contact page.
D) The absolute entire time (until the last couple entries, at least) I thought this was M and his friend messing with me.
Enjoy at my expense. Please. My stupidity amuses even me sometimes:
Jenny Lions <jennyboston@gmail.com > wrote:
Yo bitch,
stay away from my man. He is mine, just because you had sex with him, doesn't mean he is going to leave me. Grow up!
Jenny
GiGi to Jenny
Who are ya?
Jenny to GiGi
Don't take me for a fool bitch! Stay away from my Johnny! You think because your tits are bigger, he will like you more?
GiGi to M
Is this your chick? If so, tell her to leave me alone. Thanks, GiGi
GiGi to Jenny
[Now, thinking this was M and his friend messing around, I wrote back the following to "Jenny"]
Isn't it past your bedtime, M-ski? Stop thinking about me.You too, Burke. You guys need a new hobby.kisses.
Jenny to GiGi
[Going along with it, "Jenny" wrote back]
GiGi,
We are getting all hot and bothered thining about you! Care for a threesome?
GiGi to Jenny
Hmmm... Although having sex with two 35-year olds who are so bored they have to harass me via a fake email address on a Sunday night in lieu of, well, meeting a real girl, sounds enticing - I'm going to instead opt to clean the shelves in my medicine cabinet. You see, they have commenced rusting and I don't do well with rust. In any event, you can surely see my hesitancy at taking you fine lads up on this tempting proposition. But, please, don't feel obligated to cancel your plans on my account. After all, two is better than one - the latter with which I am sure you're very familiar.
M - be a dear and send me my Might mag.
Jenny Lions to GiGi
We even cut out your head and put it on the face of two lesbians...
You should take your PMS medicine more often. Your cabinet wouldn't rust out if you ever opened it. I'm sure with all the other pills you have in there (anti rage, anti constipation, laxatives) you do get confused at times.
haha, I am sure you and "Mr. Wiggles" know all about being alone.
Gigi to Jenny
Are you for real? I'm so happy it's over, lover.
I'm pretty sure I win. A reliance on laxative jokes pretty much confims this.
Morris Ridgefield to me
You've been punked!
Morris
http://askmorris.blogspot.com/ *
GiGi to Morris
[Still convinced it's M and his friend using a fake address, I continue writing...]
Cute blog. Comparing one's self to Maddox is pretty presumptious. Quoting Ashton Kutcher is ludicrous. Good night.
Oh yeah, good work on the alias.
Jenny Lions to GiGi
GiGi
As cute and intelligent as you are, I think you completly missed my point. I punked you. I have no clue who your friends are. Although I would be interested in talking to you more. You sound like a really interesting person.
Morris
http://askmorris.blogspot.com
GiGi to Jenny
Cool. Let's talk over coffee and a crumpet tomorrow (or scone, whatever you prefer, really). 7-ish? I've got a badminton game at 9:30.
Morris Ridgefield to GiGi
I think geographically we have an issue there, and I do have to work....
GiGi to Morris
Yeah, location has always been an issue with us, huh? That and personality defects.
Morris to GiGi
My dearest sweetie,
I would be more then happy to meet you some weekend, but my current parole doesn't allow me to leave Kentucky, so you can come to me, or we can just communicate virtually. What's your IM name? As for personaltiy defects, that really hurts!
GiGi to Morris
Sure, I'll come to Kentucky. I'm going to be in Boston tomorrow through wednesday, and then NYC until Friday. How 'bout Saturday or Sunday. Do they have crumpets in the big house?
Morris to GiGi
I'm under house arrest. I can get anything you want, even including some midol.
GiGi to Morris
You're boring me. Good night.
Morris to GiGi
Yeah I was just thinking the same thing. I'll talk to you tomorrow.
R to GiGi
Ha! Nope, not one of my old psychos. Who else you have sex with lately? Any guys with Boston ties? Burke and I could probably track this broad down if we had enough info. It's a small place. Now that I have her e-mail address, maybe I'll mess with her anyway...
GiGi to R
[Feeling like an imbecile at this point, I write back...]
Nah. No boston ties. Well, except my ex-boyfriend who I haven't seen since the ol' break up.As for sex, i don't kiss & tell, lover. Although I can assure you - I have no interest in any guys right now. I'm pretty focused on moving, so don't you worry your pretty little head off (I know you are). Y'all have fun with this one. I'm over it.good luck on your interview. Keep in touch.
Morris to GiGi
How did your badminton game go? Kick their ass?
GiGi to Morris
Of course. I am the badminton queen. In New Zealand they have a special name for me, but I can't remember what the hell it is.So, are you going to post my conversation with you? Do I get royalties? How does this all work out? I think you should post it, despite the fact that my replies were more skilled than yours. Yu'd have to alter your correspondence a bit to make yourself, well, seem more intelligent than me. I can help you out with this, of course
Morris to GiGi
You completely misunderstand me here. I am just trying to make a new friend! I have no intention of posting our convo. First of all, you are way too intelligent. The average person I look for is someone that would buy an extended warranty, and I know you wouldn't fall for that! People who buy an extended warranty are very gullible. If you would like to end our newly formed friendship I can understand.
GiGi to Morris
You are hilarious. I'm going to the airport. Talk to ya later!
Morris to GiGi
Hi,
Glad you aren't mad at me anymore. Saves me the $35 detective agency fee to find out who you are so I could send you flowers! But I don't need to do that anymore! I would have chose the cheap ones anyways and they usually die after a few days...I hope you have a fun trip!
*As far as I know, Morris never posted our conversation. He did ask me to talk to him on Google Talk, however. I declined. I'm bored, but not that bored.
Pattern Identified
Ha! I kill myself. And if you've read my recent posts, you might actually believe that this is a literal statement. Every month I have a nervous break down at about the same time. And every month it is for the same reason: I'm PMS'n. To a guy, this is no kind of excuse. To us chicks though, it is the difference between night and day - to use a cheap cliche, that is.
The funny thing is, I've been doing this freak out for no reason and then instantaneous revelation ("Oh shit, it was PMS...I should have known") for 13 years now and still the pattern never seems to occur to me until after the fact.
I ask myself why I'm so depressed, why I'm freaking out, why I'm so miserable. And the answer is always the same, yet I never seem to quite get it.
It would be ideal if I could pinpoint it beforehand, so I could hold my tongue the entire week. The following week is obligatory clean up week, wherein I call everyone I freaked out on to apologize. They too should start recognizing the pattern. Then maybe they would start calling me in order to collect their apologies. Or even better yet -- maybe they'll just stop picking up the phone when they see my name every second week of the month.
The funny thing is, I've been doing this freak out for no reason and then instantaneous revelation ("Oh shit, it was PMS...I should have known") for 13 years now and still the pattern never seems to occur to me until after the fact.
I ask myself why I'm so depressed, why I'm freaking out, why I'm so miserable. And the answer is always the same, yet I never seem to quite get it.
It would be ideal if I could pinpoint it beforehand, so I could hold my tongue the entire week. The following week is obligatory clean up week, wherein I call everyone I freaked out on to apologize. They too should start recognizing the pattern. Then maybe they would start calling me in order to collect their apologies. Or even better yet -- maybe they'll just stop picking up the phone when they see my name every second week of the month.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Whoa...On a much, much lighter note
I was sitting on the subway the other day, biting my nails, and I flicked the saliva-lacquered nail speck I had unhinged from the nail mainland, onto the leg of the lady sitting next to me - she, innocently reading the New York Post or Metro or something else that was free. Purely habitual. I gave myself a second before peaking out of the corner of my eye to see if she noticed. She didn't. However, I saw the girl sitting across from me chuckling because she had witnessed this little act. I discredited her opinion though. She was wearing flip-flops in February in New York.*
*Later that night, I was walking to the Rainbow Room in my new, stylish and oh so non-sensible, pointy shoes. As I felt the right one boaring a hole into my big toe, I wished I was wearing the flip flops. Cold feet are better than bloody ones. A little flap of raw toe skin haunted me for 2 days thereafter. Moral of this story? I'm pretty sure there isn't one, but there really should be.
*Later that night, I was walking to the Rainbow Room in my new, stylish and oh so non-sensible, pointy shoes. As I felt the right one boaring a hole into my big toe, I wished I was wearing the flip flops. Cold feet are better than bloody ones. A little flap of raw toe skin haunted me for 2 days thereafter. Moral of this story? I'm pretty sure there isn't one, but there really should be.
Friday, February 03, 2006
The new site...
My old partner from the mag just moved out to NYC from San Diego a few nights ago. Yeehaw! His soul has been saved from the perfect weather and gorgeous scenery characteristic of California. Get out while you can, I warn thee my former San Diego brethren! San Diego is so beautiful and so perfect and so slow that it is so easy for one to do nothing and to really, really like it. After the mag ended, I realized that I was doing nothing and not really liking it at all. . That's why I had to come to New York. If you are in San Diego, doing nothing and liking it, there really is no chance for you. You are a victim of the system.
And on that note, I would like to introduce myself as a recently joined victim of a completely different system (That sounded weird -- as if I were insinuating that victims, like members of a club, are volunteers. Well, that, in fact, is not at all what I meant... So, there). Here is my latest update and the thinking that has led to my very voluntary victimization...
Cesar, the old mag partner who just moved here, is now looking for a job. As soon as that happens, it will be time to launch the new site, which I'm pretty sure I've never before mentioned, so my referring to it now - like it is some oft-discussed mutual friend - is very innappropriate. Oh well. So, we've been planning to launch the site for months, but, with my move, Cesar's move and the corresponding job searches, there wasn't a shot in hell of getting it up earlier (Insert dirty joke here about an old man's weener). The four of us who will be actively involved in the pending site are old numberII magazine veterans: Brian Rosen, Steve Lemig, Cesar Cruz, and yours truly, GiGi. I love being the only girl involved in boy projects. I am like the Gwen Stefani of the independent publication movement. Duh.
At first, we were going to veer toward creativity and underground-ness, but who exactly are we trying to kid? Only ourselves, my friends. Only ourselves. We already did that and fell on our once-beautiful, now-scraped faces. In response to that fatal plunge, I suggested we instead try to make some money this time around. I mean, after all, why is it so bad to have money as a primary motivator? I've spouted the evils of working for money for so long, and now I step back and slap myself on the wrist. Why is it so bad to work for money? Who the fuck am I trying to impress by working for free? If everyone else is jumping off of a bridge, do I? Hmmm? Never before, but now, yes, yes, yes! Mama needs a new damn pair of shoes and she'll be damned if her poor artistic cronies are going to buy them for her.
Basically, I've never embarked upon a creative venture with money in mind, and, in related news: I'm broke. My thinking is that if we produce a somewhat mainstream site with an underground "feel," we will attract visitors who will eventually follow us to the more literary, creative sites we plan to produce as offshoots.
That having been said, the site will essentially be a regularly updated news blog with a dash of crass humor and a touch off-the-wall intelligence. If it sounds like it has been done before, well then, that's because it has! While our template might not be 100% original, our design and content will be. We will call upon our inner trivia wells to make deep-seated connections between a series of entities that have no business whatsoever sharing a deap-seated connection. For instance, Brian wrote the following as a sample the other day. He really had no reason to connect Wilson Pickett and Ashlee Simpson, but, somehow it all worked out:
Singer Wilson Pickett Dead at 64; Ashlee Simpson Still Alive.
Beloved soul singer Wilson Pickett died on Thursday at the age of64. After waiting and waiting and waiting for the midnight hour, itfinally arrived. "Wicked" Wilson, as he was known both to fans and agirlfriend whom he assaulted in 1992, was a soul pioneer. Sweet ironythat a soul is all he has left. He is survived by all the remainingpeople alive on Planet Earth, including Ashlee Simpson. This is yetanother example of The Lord working in mysterious ways, as the greatWilson Pickett was selected for expiration while Ashlee Simpson keepschugging along. Ashlee, the sister of Juggy Simpson and daughter ofPervert Simpson, is beloved by tone deaf fans across the globe. Hersongs have inspired hundreds of record sales, and hundreds moresuicides. The Pickett family declined to comment on the tragicsurvival of Ashlee Simpson at the expense of their sometimes drunkdriving and pedestrian hitting, but always raspy-voiced, "Wicked"Wison. A viewing will take place in Virginia next week. No word yeton whether Simpson songs will be played.
All of this is to say, I'm entertaining delusions of working in my pajamas (just like the good ol' days), not showering for weeks on end, and advertisers contacting me, yes me, to give me money. Why would they give me money? Not a bad question and at this point I have a decent answer, but not one which I am sure I can support creatively. My creativity has been drained. For the life of me, I can not beckon my sanctum of offensive humor and tasteless wit. At once it lied at the tip of my fingers, now it is but a mere memory. Creativity and I are sullen lovers, looking for something to spice us up our sex life.
But seriously, something about the whole 9-5 routine is severely hindering me. That and the new long distance boyfriend who consumes the majority of my thoughts (isn't that gross?). I'll be back to report on those topics soon. For now, I just wanted to blab about the new site. My new baby. My new lover. My new obsession. Yayy.
And on that note, I would like to introduce myself as a recently joined victim of a completely different system (That sounded weird -- as if I were insinuating that victims, like members of a club, are volunteers. Well, that, in fact, is not at all what I meant... So, there). Here is my latest update and the thinking that has led to my very voluntary victimization...
Cesar, the old mag partner who just moved here, is now looking for a job. As soon as that happens, it will be time to launch the new site, which I'm pretty sure I've never before mentioned, so my referring to it now - like it is some oft-discussed mutual friend - is very innappropriate. Oh well. So, we've been planning to launch the site for months, but, with my move, Cesar's move and the corresponding job searches, there wasn't a shot in hell of getting it up earlier (Insert dirty joke here about an old man's weener). The four of us who will be actively involved in the pending site are old numberII magazine veterans: Brian Rosen, Steve Lemig, Cesar Cruz, and yours truly, GiGi. I love being the only girl involved in boy projects. I am like the Gwen Stefani of the independent publication movement. Duh.
At first, we were going to veer toward creativity and underground-ness, but who exactly are we trying to kid? Only ourselves, my friends. Only ourselves. We already did that and fell on our once-beautiful, now-scraped faces. In response to that fatal plunge, I suggested we instead try to make some money this time around. I mean, after all, why is it so bad to have money as a primary motivator? I've spouted the evils of working for money for so long, and now I step back and slap myself on the wrist. Why is it so bad to work for money? Who the fuck am I trying to impress by working for free? If everyone else is jumping off of a bridge, do I? Hmmm? Never before, but now, yes, yes, yes! Mama needs a new damn pair of shoes and she'll be damned if her poor artistic cronies are going to buy them for her.
Basically, I've never embarked upon a creative venture with money in mind, and, in related news: I'm broke. My thinking is that if we produce a somewhat mainstream site with an underground "feel," we will attract visitors who will eventually follow us to the more literary, creative sites we plan to produce as offshoots.
That having been said, the site will essentially be a regularly updated news blog with a dash of crass humor and a touch off-the-wall intelligence. If it sounds like it has been done before, well then, that's because it has! While our template might not be 100% original, our design and content will be. We will call upon our inner trivia wells to make deep-seated connections between a series of entities that have no business whatsoever sharing a deap-seated connection. For instance, Brian wrote the following as a sample the other day. He really had no reason to connect Wilson Pickett and Ashlee Simpson, but, somehow it all worked out:
Singer Wilson Pickett Dead at 64; Ashlee Simpson Still Alive.
Beloved soul singer Wilson Pickett died on Thursday at the age of64. After waiting and waiting and waiting for the midnight hour, itfinally arrived. "Wicked" Wilson, as he was known both to fans and agirlfriend whom he assaulted in 1992, was a soul pioneer. Sweet ironythat a soul is all he has left. He is survived by all the remainingpeople alive on Planet Earth, including Ashlee Simpson. This is yetanother example of The Lord working in mysterious ways, as the greatWilson Pickett was selected for expiration while Ashlee Simpson keepschugging along. Ashlee, the sister of Juggy Simpson and daughter ofPervert Simpson, is beloved by tone deaf fans across the globe. Hersongs have inspired hundreds of record sales, and hundreds moresuicides. The Pickett family declined to comment on the tragicsurvival of Ashlee Simpson at the expense of their sometimes drunkdriving and pedestrian hitting, but always raspy-voiced, "Wicked"Wison. A viewing will take place in Virginia next week. No word yeton whether Simpson songs will be played.
All of this is to say, I'm entertaining delusions of working in my pajamas (just like the good ol' days), not showering for weeks on end, and advertisers contacting me, yes me, to give me money. Why would they give me money? Not a bad question and at this point I have a decent answer, but not one which I am sure I can support creatively. My creativity has been drained. For the life of me, I can not beckon my sanctum of offensive humor and tasteless wit. At once it lied at the tip of my fingers, now it is but a mere memory. Creativity and I are sullen lovers, looking for something to spice us up our sex life.
But seriously, something about the whole 9-5 routine is severely hindering me. That and the new long distance boyfriend who consumes the majority of my thoughts (isn't that gross?). I'll be back to report on those topics soon. For now, I just wanted to blab about the new site. My new baby. My new lover. My new obsession. Yayy.
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