Thursday, November 30, 2006

Like Coca-Cola stock you are inclined

Okay, so I was drinking, but I toppled over laughing when I read this from our traveling blogger:


I want you smothered, want you covered like my Waffle House hash browns.

I like mine scattered, covered, and topped, but it never occurred to me that people may not get this Bloodhound Gang lyric.

You mean there are people who didn't spend their high school and college post-drinking nights freezing their asses off at the Waffle House? I don't think I've ever been to one when it was light outside.

Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever had a waffle there either.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006

So here's the skinny

The Christmas party is this Saturday.

And I had two offers from perfectly eligible men to take me.

And I turned them both down.

Somewhere between my October freak out and the past couple of weeks, dating lost its fun. I put a lot of pressure on myself to score a date for the party, and here's the problem: you can't just take anybody when he will be introduced to the people that sign your checks every month. He can't just be a random date; he has to be someone you're dating.

All of a sudden, I found myself at the beginning stages of relationships for the wrong reasons. I have never in my life been with someone for the sake of not being alone. I think I may have been that escape for a few boyfriends, and to know that you're nothing more than a filler-- a time filler, a sex filler, an emotional filler-- is absolutely crushing to both the spirit and the self-esteem. Nothing hurts me more than to know I was never special. I have too much integrity to inflict that upon someone else.

So I have revised my plan:

James' Plan:
  • Score a date to the Christmas office party.
  • Get drunk and make out with a stranger on New Year's Eve.
I feel much better about my new plan. I am nothing if not a girl with goals.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006

I effing told you so!

I am not above "I told you sos."

Matter of fact, there is also an "I told you so" dance to accompany my finger pointing and excited shouting. With the dance, comes the "I told you so" song. I've got the marketing covered on the "I told you sos."

It's not pretty, but I thoroughly enjoy myself when the occasion arises.

It's no secret that I'm full-on obsessed with Grey's Anatomy. I've canceled dates twice so I could watch it (while recording it, there's really no excuse here). Thursdays at 9 o'clock I will not answer my phone. With Christopher, I made him raise his hand and promise not to bug me during the hour it was on after he had to sweet talk me into even coming over. After the porn fiasco, I demanded possession of his remote during my program.

So it really shouldn't surprise people that I demanded a concession when I agreed to go with my mother for Thanksgiving: at 9 o'clock I was going to watch my show come hell or high water (even though I was recording it at home).

My mother's extended family crowded into my grandparents' living room to watch the show with me. It was more of a lack of options than for family togetherness: there's not much else to do after dark on a farm in rural North Carolina. While watching the episode unfold, I kept repeating to no one in particular, "Cristina is being Lady MacBeth."

"What?"

"Cristina is Lady Macbeth in this episode. She's pushing Burke into immoral activity for him to succeed. Burke is resistant. It was Lady Macbeth who encouraged Macbeth into killing everybody to be king. Burke is a candidate for chief of surgery. How can you not see the parallels?"

"You're reading too much into it, Journalist."

"Look! Burke just pointed out that Cristina has a spot of blood on her! 'Out, damn'd spot! Out, I say!'"

"You're crazy."

So I huffed and stewed and finished my show in silence.

Upon checking my Grey's Anatomy writers' blog this morning, however, I received confirmation that I AM A FREAKING GENIUS.


I'm sorry, what does that say in the second paragraph of the blog? Let's reexamine:


It's no song and dance, but it'll have to do for the Internet. The rest will come later tonight when I make exactly three phone calls.

Put That on Your T-shirt

I received an e-mail from a fellow blogger asking me about things to do in Atlanta for an upcoming business trip. My e-mails are pretty stream-of-conscious so of course my response consists of me thinking aloud:

After giving it some thought, I gave a short yes and no list. Yes to the aquarium and the Coke museum (with recommendations on which flavors of Coke to drink while there-- I'm such a dork); no to Underground and anything else in the 5 Points/ Downtown area (post to follow explaining this).

So this is his response:

Jamie-James-- instigating misbehavior since November 2006.

That's a lie. Instigating misbehavior since as long as I can remember.

Oh, and BTW, they do have t-shirts.
Monday, November 27, 2006

Thanksgiving Recap

Number of questions asked before "Are you seeing anybody:" 1.
Coincidentally, number of minutes between walking in the door and "Are you seeing anybody:" 2.

*The first question was "How are you?" and everybody knows that one doesn't count.

**Also, if you respond by saying "Not one person in particular, but I date. A LOT," the Family will exchange a look that hollers "So she's the family whore."


***
My aunt and uncle said to me, "We don't know about dropping you off at the shopping center by yourself."

"Um, I'm 25. I pay taxes. And rent. And I've done much worse at much later hours."

"Oh, we forgot you grew up."

***

My favorite saying from the trip:
Remember to lift the handle when you flush. It's a brand new toilet, but our plumber died before he could come back and fix it.
I love old people.
Sunday, November 26, 2006

Hump

I'm home and in no more need of therapy than when I left.

Excuse me while I go dry hump my DVD player so it knows I missed it too.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006

MTV, you classy devil

I love my MTV e-mails. They cut right to the chase:

I'm Audi 5000

To Do List:
  • Load iPod with new songs and make sure all batteries are charged.
  • Purchase travelers' pint of whiskey. (thnx RHS)
  • Purchase Dramamine.
  • Purchase a drug with PM or Nighttime in its name.
  • Stop by Cracker Barrel to rent book on CD.
Nope. Not going to have to talk to my parents at all this drive.

How Not to Get Laid

  1. Wait until she's in a really bad mood. Like a "I'm about to spend 4 days with my family, 16 hours of those locked in a box on wheels" bad mood.
  2. Let her take the time to clarify with you that she's in a really bad fuggin' mood.
  3. Bring up politics.
  4. When she doesn't respond because she doesn't want to talk about it, ask her opinion.
  5. Tell her what's wrong with her dissenting opinion.
  6. Make generalized statements that really make no sense.
  7. Let her warn you to tread lightly; you're beginning to offend.
  8. Keep talking.

Traveling

"Hi Daddy."

"Hi Honey Bun. What's up?"

"Nothing. I just have a question to ask you. I'm not even really comfortable asking this of you."

(Pause.) "You want me to watch Nikita while you go with your mom for Thanksgiving."

"Yeah, and I'm sorry. I hate asking you to watch my dog while I not spend Thanksgiving with you."

"Look, don't worry about it; it's no problem. Bring her on over. (Pause.) We sure are going to miss you this year, Honey Bun."

"Me too, Daddy."

"How about we drive into the city next week and take you out to dinner to make up for it?"

"I'd like that."

I closed the phone and focused on the road again. Life just isn't fair. I turned the volume up with my rebellious rock and concentrated on the horizon. My destination will soon come into view.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006

TV Boyfriends

Because I would rather sit here and make lists than figure out what the hell I'm going to do about Thursday.

TV boyfriends... they are the boyfriends that don't exist, yet you wish they did.

There's nothing weird about TV boyfriends-- I'd bet any pile of money that none of them are chronic bathers (Wow. That's a story for another day.)

My Top Ten TV Boyfriends:

Dr. Doug Ross from ER (played by George Clooney). Like you didn't see this one coming. Better to start off with the obvious. Sure he was a bit of an ass, but he would do anything to save a child. Remember that episode when he was going to smoke a joint, but ended up saving a kid from a flooded sewer? I would have banged his brains out for that.
How I would screw this relationship up: One night after said banging, I would roll onto his shoulder and run my hand through his chest hair and say, "You realize we've been together for six months?" Not as a request for commitment, but as a marker of time. In any case the commitment-phobic Dr. Ross would dump my ass immediately.

Alex P. Keaton from Family Ties (played by Michael J. Fox). I know my life with the money-loving Alex would be financially stable. He dressed well and had a great family (well except for his fat little sister) and Mallory and I would be best friends who would often do lunch and spend the afternoon shopping. And he was misogynistic enough to demand that I quit my job to stay at home and raise the kids.
How I would screw this relationship up: No way in hell a picture of Richard Nixon is going up in my home.

Seth Cohen from The O.C. (played by Adam Brody). I've always wanted to date someone witty whose smart pop culture references would have me swooning. We would bond over our love for Breyer horses. Fine, my love when I was 10, and he still has Captain Oats on his bedside table, but whatevs. He would fall in love with me when I offered to extend Chrismukkah for 11 additional days (after all there are 12 days of Christmas).
How I would screw this relationship up: I would back over him with the Land Rover in his driveway for being a whiny bitch. I'm pretty sure he would break up with me as soon as he got out of the hospital or when I got out of jail, whichever came first.

Ben Covington from Felicity (played by Scott Speedman). I've been helping, now somebody save me. Ben, always drawn to the damsel in distress, would be more than willing to have my back. It must be nice to not have to depend on yourself all the time-- I would love to try that out. Plus he had a kick ass loft apartment that I wouldn't mind crashing at.
How I would screw this relationship up: Sorry Ben, but I would have broken up with you after you told me Lauren was going to have your baby. Good luck to you and the alcoholic mother of you child.

Noel Crane from Felicity (played by Scott Foley). It's my top ten list and I can have them both if I want. He was a geek with a hot body-- how do I order me one of those? Noel would fix my CSS problems and we would bond over our mutual hatred for IE. God he looked hot in his pea coat. Mmmm. Sometimes I would give him smart powder for shits and giggles, just to watch him freak out.
How I would screw this relationship up: I'm a teaser and Noel is a sensitive soul. I imagine one day I would tease and it would really offend him. We would argue and I wouldn't cave because, seriously, he would just have to suck it up. And then he would breakup with me.

Brian Hackett from Wings (played by Steven Weber). Brian is the male version of me, another Type B personality. Together we would laugh incessantly and take spur of the moment trips. We'd win entire crowds of people over and reign as king and queen of the party.
How I would screw this relationship up: Wow, I don't see this relationship ending without me taking a shovel to his face. There needs to be some balance and together we'd be entirely too flighty. I would end up turning into some sort of mother figure for him and ultimately resent him for it. The breakup would be ugly. UGLY.

Nat Ostertag from Mad About You (played by Hank Azaria). Over the summer I developed a thing for dog owners. Sure, he doesn't own Murray, but he takes care of him every day. He would love my dog; men who love dogs are good people. And you know they have to come home every night or otherwise deal with a mess in the morning.
How I would screw this relationship up: I would encourage Nat to do something more with his life than walk dogs. And by "encourage" I mean "give ultimatums." He would eventually choose the dogs over me.

Eric Gotts from Wonderfalls (played by Tyron Leitso). Only Will will know who I'm talking about here. He loved Jaye despite the fact she was so many things. He loved her despite the fact that she was disenchanted and he loved her despite the fact that she could be inexcusably mean at times, all while serving her alcohol. If Eric could love Jaye, he could love me.
How I would screw this relationship up: Jaye's fear and unwillingness to commit drove him away several times. Let's face it-- one of those times he isn't coming back.

Dr. Mark Sloan from Grey's Anatomy (played by Eric Danes). Mark looks and acts exactly like my ex from earlier this year. I would go over to his apartment in Midtown under the condition that there would be absolute silence during the hour of Grey's Anatomy. He would agree to anything as long as I came over. Halfway into the show he would get bored and put the split screen on his TV: my half with Grey's, his half with porn. I would have killed him had I been able to stop laughing first. Mark is also a "get under your skin" kind of guy. I forgot how hot he was, I wonder if I still have his number...
How I would screw this relationship up: I imagine it would end the same way. After 5 months of dating I would finally feel comfortable enough to pop over. He, however, would not be comfortable with it-- he freaked out and I never heard from him again.

Dr. Preston Burke from Grey's Anatomy (played by Isaiah Washington). This is what I need: smart, confident, and sturdy. He's not afraid of moving forward and he's confident enough to not freak out when Cristina does. He's a calm and collected rock which neurotic women can lean upon and not feel freaking crazy. That must be nice...
How I would screw this relationship up: He's so calm and collected that I would pick fights with him to get any sort of emotion out of him. If he fought back, I would know he cared. If he remained cool and calm, I would know he doesn't love me. I mentioned neuroses, right?
Monday, November 20, 2006

Better weird than strange, right?

I was tagged by the beautiful Momo to list five weird things about myself. Just five? HA! The people who love me the most admit that I'm a pretty weird person-- something about the beat of my own drum. The difficulty will be in narrowing the list down.

I'm a friggin' weirdo: Five weird things about me

  1. I have a fear of peepholes. I have a lot of little phobias, but this one is pretty weird. Every night I double check that the door is locked before I go to bed. However, I am so afraid of seeing someone standing outside through my peephole, that I run down the hallway, lock each lock, and run away from my door and climb into bed as quickly as I can. The idea of seeing someone standing on the other side of my door completely freaks me out. One of my biggest fears is to look out my window and see someone looking back at me; I think this is just a variation on that.

  2. If sailors rode in the car with me, they'd abandon ship screaming. I won't let someone ride in the car with me while I'm still trying to make a good impression, that is unless they are impressed by creative, wild swearing. Battling Atlanta traffic day in and day out has really unleashed my swearing capabilities. I realized I had a problem when a guy tried to cut me off and I slammed on my horn, stuck my head out the window, and just screamed the foulest things that I've ever heard in my life. He simply stared at me wide-eyed and I didn't even realize what had happened until it was over.

  3. I scratch my neck when I'm concentrating. It began sometime around calculus in high school and just never stopped. When I try to figure out how much to tip, when I'm reworking a sentence, or when I'm trying to fix the double f**king margin bug for IE6, I have my nails to my neck. This isn't a problem for most people: when they scratch an itch, the marks almost immediately disappear. However, I'm so fair skinned that the marks will stay for hours. People will ask me what's wrong, who attacked me, where the hickey came from, etc. It becomes embarrassing to tell strangers that I did it hours before. They examine my nails and see I have none. That's how sensitive my skin is.

  4. My favorite smell is clean laundry. I love doing loads of laundry. And because of my sensitive skin, I can only use detergents that are free of dyes and perfumes. Therefore my favorite smell is scentless laundry. Fresh from the dryer.

  5. I can't take a picture without licking or being licked by someone. Okay, so I can, but it happens more often than not. I could fill an entire photo album with this theme. Here is a sampling from 2006 alone:







So that's my selection. I choose not to tag anyone for this, but if you do it, be sure to let me know so I can give you a link.

I need my pills

My stomach has been in knots for three days now. That can only mean one thing: a visit with the family is forthcoming.

I've never been a believer of self-medication, or even medication for that fact. I grew up in a household where aspirin, Coca-Cola, and/or an ace bandage would fix any ailment.

For example:
Right before Thanksgiving break my freshman year of college, my RA found me passed out in the hallway in our dorm. After one look at me, she said she was going to drive me to the emergency room.

She walked me into my room and I grabbed my coat and I stopped to phone my mother to let her know where I was going. "Don't go," she says. "It'll be a waste of money. Just wait and go to the health center in the morning."

I looked at my RA, "My mom won't let me go." She gave me a disapproving look, helped me into bed, and promised to come back in the morning to drive me to the campus health center.

At the health center the doctor took my temperature and looked grim. "You have a temp of 104, how long have you been this sick?"

"A couple of days now," and I began to cry over the validation of not feeling well.

"Don't worry, you're brain doesn't start melting until it hits 106." And I began to cry harder.

He took one look at my throat and disappeared. After a few minutes he came back with a younger man and a camera. The doctor wanted to document my case because he said he's never seen tonsillitis that severely before. I remember lying on the paper-lined bed crying and he shushes me while running his hand down the back of my head. He turned to the guy with the camera and said, "I'm going to get a published off of this!"

I spent my Thanksgiving break undergoing surgery. At the children's hospital of course, because my mother said it was cheaper. I was 19 and in a room with bunny rabbits and teddy bears. All the nurses laughed at me when they saw my age. They mockingly asked me if I wanted the "goofy juice" before the surgery like they gave the 5-year-old I was sharing the room with.

After surgery, my mother refused to accept any of my pain prescriptions because she said I would get addicted. The doctors argued with her, saying that there was more damage then they had originally thought and that I would need something to help me manage the pain. She took the prescription, but refused to fill it.

However, the idea of spending four days with my family makes me want to pack my flask and a bottle of Tylenol PM. Thanksgiving 2006: my self-medication fix. Anyone know where I can score some Valium?

I've been fighting with my mother since Friday. For the past 20 years, I've always split Thanksgiving and Christmas into two, spending half a day with my mother and driving across the state and spending half with my father. My mother calls on Friday and says she wants to drive out of town for Thanksgiving to see her parents and she wants me to go with her.

"But Dad told me Thanksgiving was at six o'clock over six weeks ago."

"So?"

"So I don't feel comfortable that you're asking this of me. The day has always been split in half since I was 5. That's just how it's been. And now you're asking me to go with you. I feel like you're making me choose between my parents."

"Tough. You're grandparents are getting old, you know. Your father will understand."

I just told her how I felt and she said "Tough?" I tried again.

"I feel like you're sticking me in the middle of this and that's not fair. It's not fair for you to put me in this position and it's not fair to make me choose."

To which she said, (I'm not kidding here) "Your generation should be used to it by now."

And that's where I lost it and the hollering commenced. I don't respond well to bullying. It makes me want to do the exact opposite of what's being demanded of me. And it sure as hell doesn't make me want to spend a total of 16 hours in the car with my mother. I have no idea what I'm going to do about Thursday.

I got on-line and checked my bank account, no there weren't enough funds to blow off the family and go to Costa Rica. But sure as shit, that's the plan for next year.

Thanksgiving 2007: Costa Rica heaven.
Friday, November 17, 2006

One Day too Late

I spent the morning kicking IE6 into submission and Cubicle Neighbor spent the morning working on the newsletter. Either way, we were both going cross-eyed and gray-haired over things like margins. White space. Unnecessary line breaks.

By mid afternoon we finally pulled ourselves away from our monitors long enough to remember to eat lunch. Both of us blinking from finally seeing objects in three dimensions, we grumbled and decided to treat ourselves at our favorite place.

The sign in the Eatzi's window reads closed.

"They can't be closed, it's still lunchtime for another half hour," says Cubicle Neighbor as she walks to the door.

A lady in an Eatzi's polo stops us. "Sorry," she says, "We're closed."

"For lunch?" I ask.

"No, we're closed."

"You're remodeling?" asks CN.

"No, we're closed."

"Like, for good?" I ask.

"We're closed."

"So we should go to the one by the Perimeter?" I ask.

"No, we're closed."

"Oh," realizes CN. "You're out of business."

"Yes."

"So you're closed?"

Hunger apparently makes me borderline retarded.
Thursday, November 16, 2006

employee benefits

After spending over two and a half days working on a piece of javascript that looked beautiful in everything but IE*, I realized, Hey I work for an effing software company.

I marched over to the other side of the office. You know, the quiet side where the programmers sit, and he fixed my problem in under four minutes.

He said he has never seen anyone jump up and down and holler in elation over coding before.

I now call him my work boyfriend. I'm pretty sure this nickname will prevent him from helping me in the future, but whatevs, my javascript now works in IE.

You like?


*Seriously? There are people out there that still use that POS browser? What's wrong with you?!?!? Do you know how much harder you have made my life by viewing my pages in IE? Those are days of coding and bug fixing that I can't get back. And I do it for you. YOU. I hope you appreciate it. Oh, and IE users, click here.

PS. The new version of Firefox has a built in spell checker. Now it will correct me when I type faster than my brain functions. I will never have a typo in your comments section again. That alone is worth the transition.

PPS. I think all the IE bugs are finally worked out, unless you view in 800 x 600. If that's the case, tough shit.
Friday, November 10, 2006

If you weren't

"You should be told you're loved, and you should be told you're loved often."

The sentiment oddly reminded me of a line from a movie, but I couldn't immediately place it. I believed his motive was genuine, but his words were stolen, and somehow it lessened the intensity of the moment for me. Instead of expressing this, however, I was silent.

"If I wasn't--"

I sighed. "Please don't finish that sentence."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to hear the rest."

I've grown to resent those words: If I wasn't. If he wasn't-- what-- married, with his girlfriend, emotionally unavailable, geographically unobtainable, selfish, mean, unstable... insert whatever appropriate generic excuse here.

I understand it's meant be taken as a compliment, but I hear that a lot: If I wasn't... It feels like constantly coming in second place. Always the runner up. Always the Miss Congeniality.

If I wasn't... stringing me along. If I wasn't... annoying the crap out of me.

So please don't say those words to me. No matter how cool, intelligent, beautiful, funny, or incredible you think I am-- I've heard all those words before too-- and frankly I don't want the regard weakened with "but."

The sumbitch.

"You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how." Rhett Butler to Scarlett O'Hara in Gone with the Wind. He stole from my own favorite movie and quoted it back to me.

As a lover of words, I hate it when they are used flippantly towards me.

But I have a few of my own: impassive, apathetic, indifferent, detached...
Thursday, November 09, 2006

Top 5 Revisited

A long time ago I blogged about my Top 5: the top five celebrities I would sleep with. Almost 2 years later and the list has changed a bit.

However, while watching Shawn Hatosy tonight on ER, I found myself strangely attracted to his retarded character.

Yeah, he's going back on the list.

Dear Melissa,

I know when I pointed out the girl in the fuzzy boots, you made fun of her. You said that no one can justify fur-lined boots in Atlanta, and you are absolutely right. It will never snow here and we have crap mass transportation, meaning we will never come across a situation where we need to take extra steps to keep our feet warm.

But, Melissa, those boots are cute.

When we were walking around Atlantic Station on Saturday, I noticed the majority of the girls had on the adorable fur-lined boots. I looked down at my own jeans and saw them hang on the outside of my shoes (they were Nikes, making tucking them inside a little difficult, but that's besides the point) and I too wanted to tuck my jeans inside the furry boots. I said as much to you and you laughed at me, telling me I would look as ridiculous as those girls.

I agreed, but secretly, I don't think they look ridiculous.

When we went shoe shopping, you rolled your eyes while I pranced around the furry boots. However, you were patient and allowed me to try on one pair, and yes those boots were ridiculous. And thank you for being a friend and allowing me to entertain my obsession.

You said I've changed since moving inside the city, that the city has made me fashion conscientious. You said that if I stayed in the suburbs, I wouldn't be obsessed with furry boots. You're right, I probably wouldn't. But if the fish tank is filled with Fox Face (it's a type of fish, just go with this) then I don't want to be a goldfish anymore, even the pretty, big ones you see in those Japanese inspired ponds. (Oh god, that was a terrible metaphor.)

What I didn't tell you, Mel, was that sometimes when I feel down, I spend my lunch hour walking around Phipps or Lenox. I'll walk around until some hottie in a suit fresh from the pages of GQ checks me out. Up and down. It makes me feel great. It just happened on Tuesday with the boots I did buy with you. (Let me give you a tip: Friday and Saturday night they may be called fishnets, but wear them to work and they are called stockings. And they look hot. Hot. Especially with knee length black leather boots and a short skirt. HOT.)

Another thing I didn't tell you was I've been back to the shoe store every day this week, visiting the furry boots. I skipped lunch twice to try them on and prance around the store. I've been to three stores just to compare furry boot selections. I know you're laughing at me right now.

So tipsy from a margarita with the boys last night, I stopped at the store one last time. And I bought the furry boots. I thought of you while the sales lady was ringing them up. I heard you calling me a dumbass (but you were smiling when you said it, so I forgave you). The sales lady opened the box and saw my boots and gasped, "I LOVE these! They are so in right now! You are going to be so happy with these boots!" I too got giddy with her and two perfectly grown women were shrieking about boots at 9 o'clock on a Wednesday night.

I'm happy with my ridiculous, furry boots, Mel. I don't care what you think:



You know what would look perfect with them? A puffy vest.

I can't wait.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006

You can't sit here

We're currently hiring two more people to expand my department at work. One task (okay, we took it upon ourselves) is to sort through resumes to weed out any undesirables.

This is a hilarious process.

First we pitched the resumes with cover letters addressed to other companies. Then we sorted through ones with improper grammar or were just plain ridiculous.

For example, "I am a professional writer in search of a new gig."

A new gig? Seriously? Is this until your kick ass band takes off and you finally score that record contract? Then you plan on living life in the back of a limo banging Czech models and doing lines of blow off the minibar?

But my favorite so far was "As an avid zymurgist..."

I didn't even have to read the rest of that sentence. He couldn't make it to the fourth word of his cover letter before mentioning alcohol.

"There's a difference between BSing and laying it on so thick that you can't shake it off," says Niki as she tosses the letter onto the "no" pile.

I pick up another resume. "This person was a Communications major. That's code for 'I drank my way through college,'" I scoff.

"Oh, that's the zymurgist's resume," Niki laughs and places it into the "no" pile with the cover letter.

Point made.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Thanks for the free crap

Blockbuster has been competing with Netflix for quite some time over online movie rentals. I, for one, have been very pleased with this because I have been reaping the results.
  • First Blockbuster debuts cheaper than Netflix -- fine, sign me up.
  • Then Blockbuster gave away free used movies -- sitting on my shelf.
  • Next Blockbuster gives away coupons for one free instore rental a week in addition to the movies by mail -- a good way to wait for the next movie to arrive.
  • Now in Blockbuster's latest marketing ploy, any online DVD can be traded for any instore movie, in addition to the free instore rental movie -- oh holy god, that's a lot of movies.
Which means I can now watch double the crap. Because, let's face it, if it is independent or comes in subtitles, I've probably seen it.

For proof, let's look at my queue.

Au Revoir Les Enfants, Gaspard Manesse plays Julien, an 11-year-old Catholic boarding-school resident during the Nazi occupation of France. He is witness to the courage of his instructors, who defy the German's anti-Semitic policies and quietly enroll Jewish children into the school under assumed names. Manesse befriends Jean (Raphael Fejto), one of these "instant Catholics." The refugee children are betrayed by a hostile ex-employee of the school, forcing Julien once more to be a bystander to history as Jean and the teachers are arrested. For this return to the French film industry after several years in the US, Louis Malle purged himself of his own bitter memories of life under the thumbs of the Nazis.






Mockingbird Don't Sing, Based on the actual events of one of the most horrific cases of child abuse ever to be documented, this haunting drama tells the tale of a young girl so severely affected by her traumatic experiences that she was unable to integrate into society after being rescued from her tormenting parents. When thirteen-year-old Katie Standon (Tarra Steele) was discovered in the early days of November 1970, the nation was shocked to learn that she had been isolated by her parents for fourteen years; spending her days in a closet wearing diapers and unable to utter a word. Assigned to social worker Sandra (Melissa Errico), Katie attempts to reintegrate herself into society, though her progress is tragically hindered by abusive Dr. Judy Bingham (Sean Young).





Elephant, Director Gus Van Sant returned to the low-key style of his early independent efforts with this semi-improvised exploration of how violence makes its way into a typical American high school. Eric (Eric Deulen) and Alex (Alex Frost) are two close friends who are students in a well-to-do suburb of Portland, OR. Eric and Alex are at once ordinary and misfits; while they seem to be confined to the edges of the clique-oriented social strata of high school, little about their behavior draws attention to itself. Or at least not during a typical school day; on their own time, the two boys are fascinated by Nazi iconography, enjoy violent video games, tentatively explore homoerotic desires, and coolly begin to make plans for an armed ambush of the school, drawing up working diagrams of the lunch room during study hall and buying rifles over the Internet. Drawing an expected degree of controversy, Elephant had its world premiere when it was screened in competition at the 2003 Cannes Film Festival, where it won both Best Director for Van Sant and the Golden Palm award.



I'm probably on some government list for Nazi sympathizers and child molesters. Awesome.

It's time for another round of

CREEPY PEOPLE ON MYSPACE



I don't even know how to respond to this. So fly for... So fly for what?!?!? So fly for black tie?

And why is that a picture of you in bed??!?!


Atrocious spelling aside, I honestly don't know if this guy wants to give me his dog, or if that is a euphemism for sex. Something tells me it's the latter...
Monday, November 06, 2006

Chronicles of a Dog Owner

I came home and saw this on my floor:


Upon further inspection, I saw that it was this:


A bag of popcorn. Nikita had grabbed it out of a care package my mother sent for me. Yesterday she pulled a bag of coffee beans out and opened that up. I wasn't really concerned because a) she didn't eat the beans, just spilled them on the floor, and b) I don't own a coffee grinder, much less drink coffee at all.

This time, however, she stuck her face in the bag (which is now out of reach on the counter), pulled out the bag of popcorn, carried it into the living room, and peeled off the plastic wrapper before tearing into the bag.

As I began picking up her mess, I noticed something. I counted one, two, three, four, five of these:


She ate an entire bag of unpopped popcorn.

But doesn't she looked pleased with herself?


This story will conclude tomorrow at six when Nikita goes for her evening walk.

Ha ha, she said snarky

I know I said I wasn't going to take Internet quizzes anymore, but I thought this one was somewhat accurate.

You Are a Snarky Blogger!

You've got a razor sharp wit that bloggers are secretly scared of.
And that's why they read your posts as often as they can!


Not only are bloggers secretly afraid of me, but so are people in real life.

DATE: "So if this date blows, are you going to give me some horrible name on the Internet like The Douchebag?"
JAMIE: (Scraps evil plan) "Um, no..."
Friday, November 03, 2006

I have potty mouth

Reason #147 why I love my job:

While researching, I come across articles like these:


Come to think of it, it's pretty amazing I made it through the dual flush toilet or waterless urinal projects at all. (Two favorite posts during those periods can be found here and here.)
Thursday, November 02, 2006

Whoosh!

Whoosh!

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That whooshing noise."

"No."

Whoosh!

I heard it again, I knew I wasn't going crazy. "Is that your brakes? Sometimes anti-lock brakes make an air noise when you press them."

He hits the brakes. No noise.

Whoosh!

"Argh! What is that!?"

"Maybe it's the convertible top?"

"No, the noise isn't coming from there."

I had forgotten about the noise during dinner. Afterwards we walk back to his car. He leans in to open the door for me and--

Whoosh!

Oh. My. God. It's him breathing.

Not only am I going to the Christmas party alone, but also I am going to die alone.

Because that is what happens when you end things with someone over the way he breathes.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006

London Bridges

I receive e-mails from around the world on a daily basis through this blog and I love it. If I ever to need to leave the country, you know, "in a rush," I have contacts in 6 of the 7 continents that I'm pretty sure would take me in. (Antarctica, anyone? E-mail me!)

I received this one yesterday from London. It goes on a bit, but here's his point:


It stopped me cold. Read anyone's blog long enough, and you can make certain assumptions about the person. Having over three years of self-deprecating humor on here, you can assume certain things about me:
  • I like to laugh at myself. A lot.
  • Sometimes I drink too much.
  • Sometimes I talk too much.
  • Sometimes I drink too much and then talk too much.
But never once would I say I don't think I'm good enough for men. I know that the pain of my last serious relationship has made me absolutely terrified in a panic attack sort of way gunshy of the idea of having a boyfriend again, but has the idea that I don't think I'm good enough really come out in my writing?

Scanning through the last few entires, where the Love Life has taken a priority, certain phrases jump out at me:
  • The possibility of getting rejected by 15 men in one night could in fact be my most humbling moment. Ever.
  • (Spoken to me) I was getting worried about you.
  • I actually heard "May the best man win" over me tonight. Me. Stuff like that never ceases to surprise me.
  • I sort of assumed that I haven't had [my most romantic] moment.
Maybe if I was being completely honest with myself-- maybe I do believe that. I express doubts. I know I'm cute, but not especially pretty. I'm brilliant, but my favorite expression is "a man won't cross a room for a beautiful mind." I'm a great storyteller: I have on many occassions moved rooms of people to fits of laughter and tears, but that means little else than I'm a good performer. I've been asked to join Boys' Night Out in two different cities, and that just means I'm good at hanging with the men.

If I was being completely honest with myself-- I would admit that when he asked me out for the third time this week, I assumed he was a player who wanted to get some. I didn't entertain the possibility that maybe he could just be attracted to me and would want to spend time with me. (I'm still leaning with the former on this, we'll see.)

It's often strangers who can see you the clearest. Their perceptions aren't clouded by fear of judgment or anger. It stunned me to realize that I am viewed as that. It stunned me to realize maybe I do think like that. However, those weren't the only words he had written-- he wishes he could have someone like me and that is an e-mail I do receive on a semi-regular basis.

So thank you, Adam from London, for your kind words.
 

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