Apologies, Comrades

Um, I just wanted to take a second to apologize for Maverick. She isn't well.

But, also, it reminded me of this:

Violent Revolution

Disclaimer: Not appropriate reading for the male gender, or really anyone who is queezy at the thought of discussing "the Ute".

So here I am, at work, minding my business on a rainy day when lo and behold I get hit like a ton of bricks by my period. And this isn't your run of the mill, a little cranky a little tired a little bloated period. No, this is the kind that makes me consider a self-administered hysterectomy using the chopsticks that came with my lunchtime soup dumplings. My Ute is in full on gorilla warfare mode and is taking no prisoners. If ever there were a documented case of XX chromosomal rebellion, this is it.

Now to combat this problem, I palmed the recommend dosage of Midol in preparation -- hoping to head off homicidal tendencies at the pass. The over the counter drug has indeed done its job in that regard, with one minor side-effect.... I'm now high off my ass. This is from a girl who has never done an elicit drug but who does hallucinate off Nyquil. Laugh if you will.

"Ha ha, you talk to your teddy bear when you take Nyquil."

"Ha ha you see slow motion lines following you hand right now while you're at work."

It's all fun and games until you have to do anything productive... like focus on something other than that tingling feeling creeping up my arms.

In other news, I leave you with this old email change that always brings a laugh to my day when I hit that time of the month. It's a letter written by a very disgruntled Texas woman to the Always corporation.

Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your 'Always' maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the Leak Guard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts.

But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can’t tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from the curse'? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my time of the month is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body
will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call 'an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.’ Isn't the human body amazing?

As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers monthly visits from 'Aunt Flo'. Therefore, you must know about the
bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying, jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy!

The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants... Which brings me to the reason for my letter.

Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: 'Have a Happy
Period.'

Are you fu*ing kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned
above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James?

FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything 'happy' about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory.

For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn’t it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like 'Put down the Hammer' or 'Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong', or are you just picking on us?

Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bull sh*t. And that's a promise I will keep. Always.

Preacher takes the pulpit

I would like to welcome my self to this very INCLUSIVE* club of only the super-ist bad ass people in the world. At least that's what Dragon Slayer, formerly known as The Beloved, try to convince me of when she signed me on to this BLOG.

First of all, let me just say that although it's cool for my generation to be computer savvy and know what the fuck they're doing on the internet, I, unfortunately, have never been what the kids consider "cool". In fact, I'm typing this BLOG post in my gmail window becauseI can't figure out how to post it on the BLOG. (Is BLOG supposed to be in all caps or am I being over dramatic?) Dragon Slayer tried to text me through it, but I got frustrated and decided to type in familiar settings now and CUT AND PASTE it into the BLOG window later. That's the extent of my computer knowledge- CUT, COPY***, and PASTE.

What I'm trying to say is my first post to this BLOG is more of an apology. I'm sorry for my shitty grammar. I'm sorry for my excessive use of quotation marks and to a lesser extent my over use of commas. Lastly (and most certainly leastly), I'm sorry for offering those little trick or treaters floss and toothpaste while selfishly pouring an entire bag of M&M's down my throat even though I hate M&M's...twice.

*I see there are only 4 "followers" of this BLOG, 3 of which are "contributors".
**I save the COPY option exclusively for when I'm trying to plagiarize someone else's more intelligent/already edited work.


Preacher loves you and your whore of a mother.

SIIIIIIIIIIIIINNGLLLLLLLLLEE!!!

I'm not embarassed easily. People do a lot of things to me or around me and I try to find the humorous parts in it so that I won't hang my head and hope I never see the people around me again. I learned a long time ago that the chances are I will NOT see those people again. Also, I just don't give a damn.

That being said, I have got to tell you a story that involves an embarassment (maybe not so much MY embarassment) and hilariousness (yeah, it's a word).

It was May of 2009. One of my friends from law school was soon to be a Mrs. and I, along with the entire wedding party (all, what, 25 of us?) and friends and family of the bride and groom were pre-partying at the rehearsal dinner at a fabulous italian restaurant in downtown Austin, Texas.

Okay, let me back up for a second. You see that I wrote "law school." Yes, it is true, I was in law school. I had also withdrawn from law school before this wedding. Also, I had every intention of NOT drinking at the rehearsal dinner because I had to be up at 7am the next day and would never have a chance for a nap (as the wedding was at 2pm).

Now, back to the rehearsal dinner. It started becoming a free-for-all in terms of toasts. If you felt so compelled, you could stand up with your glass and tell a story about the bride and/or groom. Well, groomsman after groomsman continued to stand up and tell stories about the groom. I, after about 3 or 4 glasses of wine, was getting irritated that no one was standing up and saying anything about my girl. So, I took it upon myself to get up and regale my audience the diners of stories about the bride. I stood up and said: "Okay, well I was getting sick of hearing so many stories about the groom, so I felt it necessary that one of her friends say something about the bride. When I first met the groom...." And I dramatically paused awaiting the onslaught of laughs, claps and murmurs about how funny that girl is, when all I was met with were crickets. And pins dropping. And I believe I could hear "woo girls!" on 6th Street two blocks over. I was tempted to tap at my "microphone" and ask if this thing was on. Actually, I think I might have. I may have also started quoting, "Bueller? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?" But, alas, I persevered and kept going about how the groom called me a bitch and we became friends instantly. Then, I went on to tell of how I met the bride. "The bride and I went to law school together. Please note the past tense of that word. We went to law school together. I dropped out. Guys, I'm SIIIIIIINNNNNGLLLLEEE!!!!" At this point, another friend of mine from law school and fellow bride's attendant, started tapping me in the arm and whispering "Just say Congratulations and sit down." Hell, why stop there? I had to try to redeem myself. Which I did. And teared up over my own sentimentality (but, I won't bore you with that crap).

Now, let's move onto the reception. I was at the bar getting a refill on my whisky and coke, when a group of guys walked up next to me. A couple of them were groomsmen and a few others were mere mortals. One of the groomsman recognized me, looked to his friends and said, "Guys! This is her! The 'I'm Single!' girl!" Yes, my notoriety was already spreading.

Since then, I hear more and more jokes about that night - even from people who weren't even there! Apparently, even the groom, on his honeymoon, would randomly shout out "SIIIIIIIIINNGLLLEE!!"

And yes, dear readers, I am still single.

Dragon Slayer likes your status.

I love the ability I have to "like" things on Facebook. I actually feel we don't have enough of that power. Not only do I want to "like" people's statuses, activities and photos, but I want to be able to "like" comments on statuses. When will those Harvard nerds get on this??


Maybe it's because I'm unemployed and have extra time to troll the internet or maybe it is merely because I love liking, but I have gone overboard with this fun feature of Facebook. In fact, I find myself trying to figure out where the "like" feature is whenever I see someone's gchat status. I WANT TO LIKE IT! NOW!

My Facebook friends have started commenting on my lightning fast speed of liking various activities. I'm afraid they're going to come at me with an intervention and change the password to my account so that I can't get on (a la Kirstie Alley). OMG, just the thought of it has me hyperventilating a bit.

In other news, I'm required to do five job searches a week to qualify for unemployment (thanks, US Government!). But, with me not knowing what I want to do when i grow up, I've been stalking Craigslist and applying to various personal assistant jobs because I think it'll be as glamorous as it is in Entourage (I would gladly make mad love to Ari Gold). Well, someone took the bait and sent me an email in response to my resume (which is so damn impressive, I must say).

Here are some snip-pits (which, I must ask - is that the accurate spelling of that? It's what Firefox told me...) of this glorious email this guy sent me:

"This position is home-based and flexible, working with me is basically about instructions and following them, my only fear is that I may come at you impromptu sometimes, so I need someone who can be able to meet up with my irregular timings."

Okay, pause. I was a Journalism major. I've indicated as much on my resume. Journalism = grammar. But, okay, sir, please continue.

"I'm sure you'll understand I tend to have a very busy schedule at this point, as I am presently in Canada and i will be back in Three Weeks time."

Three weeks time? Who is this guy?

"I think you're the right person for this position, (Wait, what position is that?) Please note that this position is not office based for now because of my frequent travels and tight schedules, it's a part-time work from home and the flexibility means that there will be busier weeks than others, so it's a little difficult judging the exact number of hours you'll be doing per week."

Okay, seriously. Who is this guy?

"As I have said, I'd want us to get a head START with things as soon as possible. (I don't remember him saying that) I do have lots of works piled up presently and a number of unattended chores which you can immediately assist me with, I hope we can meet up with the workload eventually. Permit me to use this week to test your efficiency and diligence towards all this, also to work out your time schedule and fit it to mine.

Keep in mind, this guy still hasn't told me what it is that he does! I'm scared. Did I give this guy my address? Shit.

"I'm online most of the time as I am hard of hearing (Fuck, now I feel like an asshole) so I prefer we contact each other through E-mails, but if there is need for me to call, i will be glad to do that. I have been checking my files and what i would want you to do for me this week is to run some errands out to some of the orphanage home. I do that every month. "

What's the word for big asshole? 'Cause that's what I feel like now.

The email was much longer than this and included a "job description" which I was to sign and get back to him. How can I sign a job description when I don't even know what kind of work this guy does? And who hires someone without at least talking to them? And who works for someone without some kind of a guarantee that he/she will be compensated?!

Okay, no more Craigslist for me...

Miss me, love me, call me.

I'm too old for this shit

Tuesday night I was watching some great season 4 HIMYM and the premise of the particular episode was creating a Murtaugh list of things you're too old to do. Think Lethal Weapon and Officer Murtaugh constantly saying "I'm too old for this shit." My point for telling you this is that the episode was a fantastic foreshadowing to my Wednesday night/Thursday morning.

I spent today hungover at work. And I'm too old for this shit.

Sure, drinking a tower of beer while bowling and following it up with bottles of wine at the cheesiest place in Manhattan (Red Lobster at Time Square), was fun in the moment. The problem is that the moment passes and then you're choking back nausea sucking on a Pedialyte Popsicle trying to rehydrate. Let's face it, having your boss tell you not to puke near her because she'd give it up too... not the way to fast track your career to the executive office.

There was a time when getting too drunk for your own good on a Wednesday night was acceptable (college). There was also a time when hangovers the next day didn't suck so damn much or take so long to get over. I already feel like I'm 50 when in reality I'm only half way there.

But I'm still too for this shit... not that that's going to stop me.

My Coming Out Party

So the other one introduced herself, which makes it my go.

I'm not here to be famous or be discovered. Truth be told, I'm already pretty badass and most people know it. [poetic license anyone?]

In actuality I'm just a girl making her way through life the best she knows how, trying to make a difference, have a few laughs, and collect an awesome set of friends along the way. I live in New York City, which is quite the chuckle most days. I'm a jeans and flip flops kinda gal making it in a stiletto city. Go figure. If nothing else, the subway rides alone will be plenty of fodder for this blog.

Willkommen is to Welcome as Schlampe is to...

Welcome, welcome. Go ahead and kick your heels up (but please put them immediately down, you're scuffing up my fancy Ikea furniture). I hope you're open-minded and not easily offended. Want to know a little bit about me? I'm twenty-something, beautiful, unemployed, crazy smart and live in a shitty city that I can't wait to get the hell out of.

The main purpose of this blog is to become famous. Is there any other real reason for starting a blog? Actually, I guess there are other reasons, I'll just highlight the ones that I, personally, see far too many of.

1) The Tracking Family Blog.

This blog is started by a new mom who lives in a city not occupied by most of her family/close friends. Most entries contain pictures of the little bundles of joys in varying stages of life and very little text. They're also really peppy. And really make me want to vomit.

2) The Artist Blog.

These blogs showcase the amateur or professional artwork of those wounded souls who are merely looking for validation in their sad little lives. If you ever come across one of these blogs, you must comment. You must comment happy, encouraging things unless you want to hear that some random artist was found dead in their loft apartment.

3) The Sports Commentary Blog.

The best variation of this blog is the "all-female" cast of writers. Supposedly, this is some great spin on what ESPN and other major news networks can offer because it's females, right? Incorrect. It's actually just a couple of females who are so hardcore in proving they're not girly that it is basically just a couple of dudes talking about sports, but intervening every now and then with OMG Hawtness.

But enough of that, do you wanna see this awesome painting that my nephew drew while watching the Mavs v. Spurs game?

So, back to my becoming famous. In reality, I just need someone to come along and decide to sponsor this fun little shindig so that all I do during the day is wait for someone/thing to irritate me (HA!) and write it out into words for all of you lovelies to enjoy. I wouldn't even have to leave my my mom's couch.

Oh, and Post to the Scriptizzle, this blog is meant to be anonymous. So that potential employers who are actually interested in me won't stumbleupon it and reject my unemployed, smartass ass. That being said, if you know who I am, keep your damn mouth shut (Love you, mean it).

Miss me, love me, call me.