Monday, July 30, 2007

I’m Rambling

Hey guys, I’m just going to babble today – in other words there will be no point to this post, I’m just going to jump from thought to thought as they come to me (sort of like stream of consciousness, but – maybe – slightly more coherent). There’s every chance that none of these topics will be interesting to you, and I really do see myself petering out at the end with no goodbye statement or hint that I’m done (besides the post ending that is). Cool? OK, now that we’ve got that out of the way…

My caffeine (plus whatever the fuck is in Red Bull) addiction is now officially out of control. I mean, I never really was much good at waking up on my own anyway, but at this point I’m running on pure coffee and energy drink. No joke, I don’t even remember my alarm going off this morning, but when I finally kind of came around to consciousness, I found myself standing in my living room with not one, but two empty cans of Red Bull sitting ON TOP OF THE TV in front of me. Do I remember drinking them? Fuck no. Do I know why I was just standing there in front of my tv, blankly placing trash on top of it at 6:30 in the morning? Noper. But that’s fine – I’m accepting of all my little quirks. Plus, I’m not even sure what my name is right now I’m so tired (and I’m on my second coffee of the day AFTER those two Red Bulls), so it would take A LOT for me to give a shit. Just thought I’d share that with you.

On second thought, let’s examine the situation…you know what I think the problem is? I didn’t take any naps this weekend. And that is just NOT acceptable. I mean what am I – an animal? I need my lazy time dammit! Where the fuck is my ‘me time’? Am I asking for too fucking much? I just want to be unconscious a little bit more!

Tantrum over (took too much energy). So what did I do this weekend? Glad you asked – well, I split my time pretty evenly between ‘talking’ (fuck, I hate that touchy feely shit) with the boyfriend I have that I don’t want (and make no mistake, it appears we’re back together – don’t worry about me, I brought it on myself so I’m toughing it out like a champ) and taking abuse from my friend (Christine) who’s pissed at me over the whole situation.

Now here’s my problem with Christine (she may be one of my best friends in the world, but that doesn’t exempt her from pissing me off on a regular basis) – she fucking passes judgment on EVERYONE. What the fuck? I mean yeah, I fucked up – that much is clear – but why is SHE so pissed? Why do I have to be lectured by her? I mean, I’m manning up and accepting that I must pay the price for my post-breakup stupidity (by continuing to date NY Guy as long as he sees fit – think of it like indentured servitude, but with sex), so what does it matter to her?

In other news, I’ve decided to become a vegetarian. Since I never really ate meat all that often anyway, I didn’t think it would be hard (it’s a total guilt factor decision – cows and pigs are cute). But I’m beginning to realize I may have been wrong. You see, the thought of never having ribs, or bacon cheeseburgers, or hotdogs at the ballpark, or pepperoni pizza, for the REST OF MY LIFE, is…fuck. I like meat. (Hee hee, I wrote ‘I like meat.’ Awesome.) How long do you think it’ll take before my taste buds override my conscience?

Hey, how much of an asshole will I look like if I throw a harness and a leash on my cat and take her for a walk? I think the sheer amusement I would get at doing it – combined with just how pissed off it would make my cat – may balance out the humiliation factor. Fuck it – I’m doing it tonight. Unless I forget of course.

Oh, and I’ve kind of been having the urge to move lately. I’m sure I won’t do it (my mom would fucking kill me), but really, what’s stopping me from picking up and moving somewhere else? Plus, it would be an excellent (if passive aggressive) way of getting everyone to leave me alone, which is always nice. But where would I want to go…

Hey, no one ever answers when I ask if you’re watching Flight of the Conchords. Are you? Are you at least watching the clips I’ve been putting up? I’m fucking loving this show – yesterday’s episode with the racist fruit stand guy, the Racist Dragon cartoon, and the Leggie Blonde song (below) was epic. Couldn’t have been more random and weird – I FUCKING LOVED IT. Anyway, I’m going to keep throwing clips up here until someone at least acknowledges the show.

Friday, July 27, 2007

Still Alive

Hey everyone, I haven't forgotten about you; I've just been too damn busy to care lately. Anyway, enough slacking off - I have to entertain you people! So here's the deal: Work has been fucking crazy, but God knows I haven't been focusing on writing when I've been out of the office (this week at least) either. And last night was no exception - I had to finish Harry Potter (much as I didn't want it to end, it was time to stop slacking off and say goodbye to those characters...shut up), and I had to deal with the mess I've made of my life recently (more on that later).

So, my plan today is to slowly but surely throw down thoughts and stories as they come to me, giving you what amounts to a piecemeal post that will not suck (but no promises). Feel free to keep checking in - or just stop by at the end of the day and read it all then (I don't care). OK? Good, let's do this:

-As I said, I finished Harry Potter last night (no, I will not give anything away here - I am not that kind of an asshole), and it was...perfect. If you're not a fan of the series, you're a fucking moron. If you are a fan of the series, I hope you enjoyed (or will enjoy) the last book as much as I did. I cried like a baby when I finished it (I don't really cry in "real life," but when reading a good book or watching a good movie I can turn into a regular faucet).

My reaction wasn't really a surprise to me - I always knew when I finished the series that I would cry (I hate saying goodbye to wonderful characters - it's like losing a friend), and boy did I. Probably only people who truly love to read know what I'm talking about here, but finishing a good book can often be a painful experience; you just never want it to end I guess. Anyway, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - two thumbs up.

-Found this picture of a boxer online - totally made my day.

How do you think it fits that back in his mouth? This question is going to keep popping into my head until someone answers it - I'm concerned about him choking on it.

-I’ve been editing the book from hell for the past two days, and I need to vent a little bit : What the fuck was the author ON when she wrote this?! And can she please share it with me, because I need it right about now. The book is 10,000 words over what we asked for. Yeah, you read that right – 10,000 words. And at least half of what’s on the page doesn’t make any fucking sense.

But since we need a manuscript to send to our designers by next Monday, we don’t have time to send it back to this chick with a post-it saying something along the lines of ‘What the Fuck?’ So I’m the one who won the loser lottery and got the enviable job of cutting this fucker down to size (and making it legible). And it sucks - I'm very unhappy right now. Fuck.

-Who do you think's crazier, Britney Spears of Lindsay Lohan? And how sad is it that I even care enough to wonder?

-Sorry, I just took a 2 hour lunch - I'll hop to it and get you another entry in a little bit...

-Quick comment about the NY Guy situation before I tell a story: Let me just say right off that I didn’t really want to get into the story here, but 1) I was a little hurt (total lie) that you guys have so little faith in my abilities as a girlfriend and wanted to defend myself, and 2) I kind of have to talk about it a little bit in order to then tell my story. So…

In defense of myself as prime girlfriend material (because I fucking rock) – I’m intelligent (shut up) and am capable of discussing various topics in a knowledgeable way; I’m funny (sometimes unintentionally, but it still counts); I’m not clingy; I can be affectionate at times other than during sex (although I’m not a huge fan of cuddling); I generally tend to prefer joking around to actually getting angry/holding a grudge; and I’m not overly emotional/cry for no reason (Harry Potter IS a reason). In fact, let me refer you back to this and this.

Now having said all of that, I wasn’t actually psyched to be getting rid of NY Guy. We broke up because it was never going to work out in the long run, and it’s always better to cut ties sooner rather than later in situations like that. BUT that doesn’t mean the actual breakup didn’t suck, and it doesn’t mean that it’s been smooth sailing ever since then. The main problem? I still think NY Guy is great – he’s gorgeous with a great personality. This complicates things and makes a relatively clean break a lot harder to accomplish. More on this later…

-My story: OK, so I was out on Wednesday night after work – Christine and I were grabbing a drink so we could do a post mortem on NY Guy – when a group of guys approached us. Immediately it became clear that these guys had already enjoyed one too many drinks, but we decided to humor them for a few minutes anyway. Hell, I was newly single right?

Anyway, after about 5 minutes the ringleader of the group – who had been chatting me up – unexpectedly came out with the following gem (seriously, we were NOT in a conversation where this statement would normally belong): I have a really thick cock. It would feel really good – trust me.

Oookkkaayyy. Damn, it’s nice to be back on the bar scene.

I replied: Did you get fired today?
Drunk guy: No, why?
Redhead: That’s the only acceptable reason I can come up with for you being THIS drunk and obnoxious on a WEDNESDAY.

Christine and I left shortly thereafter, and that is when I made my fatal mistake. You see I went home, thought about all the clueless morons out there I would have to sort through in order to find another decent guy, allowed the 2 drinks I’d had at the bar to cloud my judgment just enough for me to pick up the phone, and…I called NY Guy and invited him over ‘to talk.’

Yup, I’m an asshole. I’d dumped NY Guy just a few days before (without a legitimately good reason), had been the hardass during our brief phone conversation on Sunday (cause it’s easier that way – trust me), and then (thanks to a couple of drinks and a weak moment) decided to fuck with his head just so I could fuck with his body. Not my finest moment.

Ever since then I don’t know what the fuck is going on. We spoke on the phone last night. He’s coming over tonight – he insisted and I couldn’t really say no (nothing takes your power away quite like a (sort of) drunk dial/emotionally weak moment) – and for all I know we’re back together.

What do I do now? I know I deserve anything that comes of this, but…help.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

No Update

Hey everyone - just letting you know there will be no real post today. Between the new Harry Potter coming out (I finally picked it up yesterday and am devoting my non-working time to reading it) and breaking up with NY Guy, I really haven't had time to throw something together for you. Give me a day or two and I should be feeling inspired and in need of a good vent.

In the meantime, here is another clip/song from Flight of the Conchords. (Are you guys watching that like I told you to? Are you loving it as much as I am? Anyway, this one is from a few episodes ago, but since it cracked me up I decided to share.) Enjoy.

Oops, the screen's kind of covering my links section. Ah well, sorry about that guys - I'd fix it, but I don't know how and frankly I'm too damn lazy.

Friday, July 20, 2007

Babies Are the Best

As many of you know from my last post, I have been helping take care of my youngest nephew this week – here’s a running diary of one night with him:

6:15: Just got home from work (totally skipped out earlier than I should have) – time to feed the little man dinner. Hmmm, applesauce. OK, open your mouth. No, open. Come on, what can I do to get you to open your mouth? Can I just push the spoon in? Is that child abuse?

6:17: OK, this is ridiculous. Ooh, look – it’s a plane flying in, “Zoom.” That’s it, watch the plane flying above you. Now open…yup, that worked.

6:18: No, don’t spit it out! Dude, we worked so hard to get that in you.

6:19: Open.

6:20: Please open your mouth.

6:21: Please?

6:23: Oh come on! It can’t be that bad – we’re talking applesauce here. Who doesn’t like applesauce? Sniff. It smells OK. Maybe I’ll just sneak a bite to check…wow, that stuff is good. “Seriously, if you don’t eat it I will,” I tell him. He stares at me – maybe he’s considering his options.

6:24: OK, maybe he dislikes airplane food as much as I do. Let’s try a racecar instead – “Vroom, vroom” I rumble as I race the spoon past his mouth, then turn around and come back in for the kill (Note: I feel like an idiot). Success – who cares if I’m an idiot! Wait…nope, he’s spitting half of it out again.

6:29: Sigh. This is taking a while. Half goes in, half comes out. I’ve stopped even attempting to wipe his face after each bite anymore. Apparently solids are going to take a bit more time to get used to. Good thing it’s almost bathtime.

6:32: That’s it, I give up on feeding you – the rest of your sustenance is coming from a bottle tonight. And you know what that means? Time for your bath! Let’s get you out of that high chair.

6:33: Wait, how do I get the table thingy off so I can get you out? WTF? Fucking childproof… Oh yeah, there it is. OK, up we go. Let’s get the water running.

6:34: Why is it so hard to get you in and out of clothes? I always feel like I’m going to dislocate your shoulder or something. Never mind - success! I rule.

6:35: Now, into your little reclining chair thingy in the tub. Ah, doesn’t this water feel good? There’s the smile I love; you like your bath don’t you? Thank God you’re not screaming like your brother used to.

6:36: Wait, what are you doing? Are you peeing?! In your bathwater? Agh, where the washcloth?

6:37: Apparently you need to be covered even in the bath – who knew? It must be nice to feel like you have to pee and just do it. If I did that it could get very embarrassing.

6:42: So, which towel do we want? The one with the elephant hood thingie? Yeah, I think so too. OK, off to find you something to wear to bed and to prepare your bottle.

6:44: Hmmm, why are diapers so hard for me yet everyone else makes changing them look so easy? Ah well, just another mystery of the universe.

6:46: Wait, I was supposed to rub cream all over you before putting on the diaper, wasn’t I? Shit.

6:48: No problem – I have everything under control. Now, how about the sleeveless wife beater looking onesie for bed? It’ll make you look like a badass.

6:50: Actually, you look more cold than tough. Maybe something with a short sleeve instead. Let’s see what you have…wow, you have more clothes than I do.

6:52: OK, look at us just rolling along. When I’m done with you I am going to have a large drink. Yes I am! Yes I am! God you’re cute when you laugh. Now, let’s go play for a little while before bedtime.

6:54: The dog walks over, sniffs the baby, and gives him a huge lick. Ummm….oh good, he’s laughing.

6:55: “No, no, no – we don’t grab the doggie’s ear.”

7:00: Happiest baby in the world – he won’t stop smiling. My mom’s take on the whole thing: “He almost looks like he’s on drugs.” Nice mom.

7:05: Or, maybe he’s not the happiest baby ever. Wow, babies can scream when they want to – damn. “I think he’s ready for bed.”

7:07: Trudge upstairs and sit on the couch in the baby’s room. Turn down the lights (God that’s relaxing – don’t fall asleep!), and begin to attempt to give him his bottle.

7:09: End attempt. I guess he didn’t need the bottle since he’s out cold. Nice. Place him in the crib and quietly tiptoe out of the room and go downstairs for my drink. I think I've earned this reward thank you very much.

8:05: Dad’s home and dinner’s ready – good, I’m starving. Shit, is that…”I’ve got it,” I practically whimper (so hungry) and stand up from the table. It’s all my fault, I should have gotten that bottle in him before he fell asleep.

8:11: Why doesn’t he understand he’s cranky because he’s hungry? Trust me, you want this bottle.

8:15: What’s the problem here? Is your diaper wet? I am NOT sticking my finger in there to check like my mother does. We’ll just have to take it off to check.

8:17: Jesus, how can such a little body hold that much fluid?

8:19: Ah, now you’re hungry. I’m getting it – slowly but surely. Wait, is that a rash on your face? Is that where the dog licked you? Shit. Uh…let’s not tell your parents about this.

8:20: God I’m tired. And starving. “Are you guys eating without me?” I ask the monitor. Shockingly, it doesn’t answer back – damn one-way communication. I can just picture my parents downstairs laughing over my plight as they’re eating. They’re probably down there thinking ‘Sucker!’

8:34: Nice, he’s out again. Sneak downstairs to eat a cold meal with my parents – aw, they waited for me.

9:15: Passed out in the den.

10:00: Shit, I should go up to bed. Mom gets the monitor, I get my bedroom which is near the baby’s. Guess who always hears him first?

1:48: No! If I ignore him, will he stop?

1:49: Stumble blindly into the baby’s room and pick him up. My mother stumbles in after me, mumbles something about getting a bottle ready, and leaves. I try not to breathe – “Whew, you stink buddy.”

1:50: I should change his diaper. Nah, I’ll just wait until my mom comes back – not up for that kind of horror right now. I rock him and give him kisses instead.

1:52: Mom comes back. “You change him,” I say, handing him over. I then lean back on the couch and…yup, I pass out.

1:55: “Why don’t you go back to bed, I can feed him,” my mother says, waking me. Shit, did I fall asleep? I’m crappy at this. “No,” I reply. “You had him all day – I’ve got it.” “Are you sure,” she asks? So tempted to leave it up to her, but… “No, I’ve got it.”

1:57: Mom’s goes back to bed, and I settle in to feed the little man. He kind of looks like he’s asleep while he’s eating. I’d like to try that.

2:03: This much drooling can’t be normal.

2:20: Gently place the baby back in his crib, and stumble out of the room. Those two stairs between his room and mine? Don’t see them. Take a face plant in the hallway. Fuck that hurt.

2:22: The two stairs in my bedroom? Don’t seem them. Take ANOTHER face plant. At least this time the floor is carpeted.

2:30: Blissfully asleep.

5:30: No! If I ignore him, will he stop?

5:37: Fuck! Oh wait, that’s my alarm not the baby. Thank God. Shit, this commuting into the city thing SUCKS.

6:30: Showered, dressed, ready to go. He’s not even up to say goodbye – makes sense; he must be exhausted after the night he had. Need…coffee.

UPDATE: Hey everyone, as you probably know by now I'm a little (massive understatement) upset about the recent Michael Vick situation, and when I mentioned it here it seemed that a lot of you agreed. Anyway, I just found out that the Humane Society is soliciting donations here to help the dogs that were recovered from Vick's property. I just gave, and I thought if any of you were interested in helping out I'd make it easy and provide you with a link. Thanks.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Only the Cute Survive

It is amazing how much you don’t feel like writing (or…well, doing anything) when you’re sleep deprived. And I’m seriously fucking tired right now, so no comments on how it’s taken me so long to throw up a post this week – I don’t fucking care. (Note: As my regular readers know, my REM cycle is VERY important to me.)

So why am I so tired, you ask? Well, I’ve been babysitting. Yes, babysitting – stop laughing. What? You don’t think I would be a good babysitter? You think the whole bitch thing would get in the way? Well, if you do think that you’d be wrong (suckers). I am a fucking awesome babysitter – just ask my brother and his wife.

Long story short, Brother and Sister-in-law’s (SIL for short) nanny has the week off. Both Brother and SIL work, so they needed someone to watch their kids. Knowing that both sets of grandparents would be willing to help out – but realizing that giving both their sons to ANYONE would be asking a bit much (seriously, two boys under the age of two – good luck) – they split them up. My parents got the 5-month-old. Case closed, right? This shouldn’t affect me, right? Wrong.

You see, my parents have been on vacation the last two weeks. And they weren’t getting back until Sunday (right when Brother and SIL were planning on dropping off my little nephew). Timing wise, it was going to be tight. Plus, they were flying back from Monte Carlo, so there was a good chance that jet-lag might be a factor. However, my mom was not passing up the opportunity to spend the week with one of her grandsons, so I stepped in and volunteered to drag my ass into NJ to help out for the first couple of days. I’m an angel, I know.

Anyway a quick overview, I’ve been a) getting up in the middle of the night for feedings (the only human beings in the world that I will wake up for at 2am and not utter a single complaint are my nephews – they’re too damn cute to hold it against), b) commuting into NY every day for work (fucking Penn Station), c) spending more money than is advisable on clothes and toys for my little man (I got him the cutest onesie with a baseball stitched on the butt), and d) dealing with the fact that the muscles in my arms and back are KILLING me thanks to carrying around a child who will one day (without a doubt I’ve decided) be a linebacker.

Still, it’s all worth it. I fucking love those kids, and holding my nephew makes me all warm and fuzzy inside (shut up).

So, some other shit that’s been going on:

- I kind of lost it on my Starbucks guy this morning. You see, the Starbucks near my office is a place I got to EVERY DAY. I’m there at basically the same time every morning, everyone who works there knows me and knows what I order, and we often chitchat if I’m up for it (some mornings I’m too fucking tired). Anyway, in the past week they’ve screwed up and forgotten to actually, you know, GET ME my coffee three times. They take my order and my money, they just don’t give me my fucking drink. I think this is because the tourist numbers go way up in the summertime, and the place has been a madhouse lately. Anyway, with the amount of sleep I’ve been getting, my temper is a little short nowadays. So when this shit happened again this morning, I went up to the manager (a guy I know very well and someone I am invariably VERY nice to), and we had this little exchange:

Redhead: Is there any chance I’ll be getting my coffee at some point in the near future.
Starbucks guy: Oh, uh…
Redhead: I mean it’s only an iced coffee, and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t take 10 minutes to make.
Starbucks guy: I’m sorry, someone else must have taken it.
Redhead: No, I’ve been standing here the whole time while watching crowds of people come and go with their drinks – I’m pretty sure I would have noticed if a large iced coffee had been set out. I’ve kind of been looking for it, you know?
Starbucks guy: Oh, well sure. I’ll get it for you right now.
Redhead: That would be nice.
Starbucks guy: (Handing me my drink) Sorry about that.
Redhead: Don’t apologize, just give me my drink – all I want is to get the hell out of here and get to my office. It may surprise you to hear this, but I don’t enjoy spending the better part of my morning standing here waiting for a cup of coffee.

I could not have been any ruder. I mean, HUGE BITCH. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking, but I was legitimately pissed off. He fucking saw me there waiting! I’m there every fucking day. He knows I don’t drink anything that takes 10 fucking minutes to make. I shouldn’t have had to say anything. And this is the third fucking time they’ve pulled this shit in the past week! Anyway, I’m going to have to apologize tomorrow. Dammit.

- Speaking of tourists, they’ve fucking EVERYWHERE. It’s times like this that I hate working in Soho – second only to Times Square for tourists. I mean, I’m just trying to run out and get lunch people! Stop being so clueless and get out of the way. And why do they all stop at inconvenient places like street corners and block shit? Can’t they pull off to the side and discuss what they want to do next there? I have shit to do people!

- I found myself on the elevator yesterday with a guy who looked exactly like Jeffrey Dahmer. It was…weird. Kind of funny, but weird.

- I saw A-Rod’s wife on the street a day or two ago. She was…eh. You know what my main thought was when I saw her? The fact that I even recognize who she is means I read too much Page Six.

- This is a call to arms: OK, it’s throwdown time. (And before you even try to say anything, yes, I’m evil. This is exactly why I wanted to fuck with someone else’s destiny in my last post.) So here’s the deal, Christine was wandering around yesterday and came across a profile that she immediately forwarded to me.

There I was at my desk (probably working) when my email dinged. Seeing it was from Christine, I immediately clicked on it and found myself staring at…not much actually. The subject line had not been filled in and nothing was written – there was just a link to follow. So I clicked on it. And there it was: Guy #3 and #4’s smug little face smiling out at me from a profile page. Quickly reading through what he’d written (dickhead – he filled in that he only wanted a woman with a bachelor’s degree; no advanced degrees for him, oh no), I shook my head and sent Christine a quick reply – “Oh it is on. It is on like donky kong.”

You see, I was never able to fuck with that little dickhead after he dumped Christine (epically). And since I’d been the one to set them up, I have wanted this opportunity for a long time. But I need your help – so my dear readers, does anyone out there have any ideas? How can I fuck with him using Match? I want mass humiliation. I want him to feel like the little, little man he is – and I want everyone to know it. I want to teach him a lesson (the lesson being that he’s a loser, or course). And I want it all to be anonymously done. So bring it on my friends. Let your devious little minds free and get back to me. I’m going to nail this little fucker’s ass to the wall. It’s time.

- Oh, and Gary Sheffield is a jackass.

Happy Wednesday everybody.

Update: Quick thought on Michael Vick - and yes, for once I'm being serious (something I try to avoid around here) - so bear with me. I truly, and with a completely clear conscience, hope Vick and his cohorts fucking rot in hell. I think what they're being accused* of is cruel on a level that defies comprehension. And I think that however they may potentially be punished, it will never be enough. I feel sick over this story, and I find that for once my sense of humor is incapable of kicking in. So for that reason I'm not going to be visiting most of the blogs I generally do today (most of them being sports blogs), because I guess I just don't see the joke; and the satirical tone that most of those sites take - and have taken today (something I normally enjoy but which this morning struck me as cold) - seems horribly out of place while covering this subject.
OK, I'm off my soapbox now. Sorry about that, but we seem to have stumbled across a topic I feel quite strongly about.
*Innocent until proven guilty, blah, blah, blah.

Friday, July 13, 2007

Would You Rather…

OK, it may seem like I’m taking yet another idea for a post from an unsuspecting blogger (that’s two this week if you’re keeping count), but I just want to say that that’s not true. This time my stealing of ideas was completely unintentional. You see what happened was, I was over at Hobocamp a couple of days ago when I innocently followed a link Meg had put up. It seems she had written a post for another blog – Burt Reynolds’ Mustache – and I was curious enough (and bored enough – it’s been a weird week at work) to follow it. So I moseyed on over there and read what she had posted, and it gave me a great idea.

Essentially, her post included a lot of those ‘Would you rather…’ statements, along with her answers. Since I love those (and again, I was really bored at work and trying to fill the time), I though up a few of my own and emailed them to a bunch of friends. I figured they could at least entertain me while I was bored – that’s part of a friend’s job, right? And I had NO PLANS to use any of it for my blog.

Anyway, I’m happy to say that my friends came through. Big time. Before I knew it, we were all sending each other ‘Would you rathers…’ The rules were basic – you had to answer any ‘Would you rather…’ that was sent your way, and you had to copy everyone on your answers. Then we were all free to comment (or in our case mock) the answers. It was awesome! AND surprisingly informative (I actually learned some things – scary things – about a few of my friends this past week).

Still, that was all just a lead-in to explaining today’s post. You see, when I was trying to figure out what to write about, I thought to myself: Why put in the effort of creating something totally new and original (especially when I just got a really good book that I desperately want to finish), when I can just throw together a quick intro for my readers, then simply cut and paste my ‘Would you rathers…’ to make up the bulk of the post? (You don’t get to see my friends’ – so don’t ask.) So I did it.

And with that being said, here are the ‘Would you rather…’ questions my friends chose to ask me (we all got different ones), along with my answers:

Would you rather…

…have and orgasm every five years OR have an orgasm every five minutes?
Redhead: Oh shit, what a question. Well…fuck, every five minutes? That means I would be having them at work. And (shudder) in front of my parents. I’d never be able to go home again! But Good Fucking God! FIVE YEARS?! Ugh. Alright, I’m choosing an orgasm every five years over every five minutes, but I want to point out I’m doing this under duress.

…marry an ugly billionaire OR marry a hot poor person?
Redhead: Does it have to be one or the other? Can I maybe marry the billionaire for a few years, then divorce him for a few mil and THEN marry the hot poor person? And is the poor person poor because he’s lazy or because he’s stupid – because I can't deal with stupid. Um, OK how shallow does it make me if I choose the ugly billionaire? Keep in mind he’s ugly and I’d still be willing to marry him, so I’m not completely shallow. Fuck, you guys already know the answer – I’m a spoiled brat and I’m going to choose the billionaire. But I do want to point out that nothing was mentioned in here about loving either, so it makes sense to treat this purely as a business decision.

…be trapped in cage with a lion OR be thrown in a tank with a shark?
Redhead: Wow, those both suck (but I guess that’s the point). Alright, I love the water and I think sharks are cool as hell, but Jaws fucked me up when it comes to the idea of swimming with them. And while I’m not exactly psyched at the thought of hanging out with a lion in a cage, I think I might – if I stay very still and don’t speak – have a chance of living. Am I completely delusional here?

…live in a mansion in the middle of nowhere OR live in an apartment with 10 friends?
Redhead: Oh sure, make me feel bad. Look, I love you guys (Ed. Note: Remember, I was talking to my friends), but I HATE living with people; that’s why I pay way more rent than I can afford to live alone. YOU KNOW THAT! Living in a mansion in the middle of nowhere sounds great to me – no one can do antisocial like I can. But living with 10 friends…fuck, that sounds like hell. I’d want to kill everyone within a week. And if you think about it the friendships would be screwed at that point anyway. So it’s really a no brainer. Um, forgive me?

…have the ability to read people’s thoughts OR make yourself invisible?
Redhead: Read people’s thoughts. It would make life so much easier, and I don’t get insulted easily (as you know), so the risk of finding out someone doesn’t really like me isn’t an issue. Plus, for whatever reason I don’t feel morally opposed to reading people minds, but the thought of spying on people – which I would totally do if I was invisible (wouldn’t be able to help myself) – just seems wrong.

…save a sibling OR save yourself in a fire?
Redhead: Easy, save a sibling. Next.

…control your own destiny OR control a person you hate’s destiny?
Redhead: Ooh, this one’s yummy. Do I want to guarantee only good things happening to me for the rest of my life, or embrace my inner bitch and destroy someone else? Hmmm…this shouldn’t be such a hard decision, I know. I should (of course) simply choose controlling my own destiny. BUT I would so like the opportunity to fuck with someone else on a cosmic level – even just for a little while. Especially someone I hated. Still…alright, FINE. I’d choose controlling my own destiny. Barely.

…be the most popular sports star ever but only make minimum wage OR be the most hated sports star ever but make millions of dollars a year?
Redhead: Shit, my answer is going to sound bad, but…yeah, I’d rather be hated and rich. I mean, we’re implying that it’s the general public that hates me, and what the fuck do I care about them? That doesn’t mean my family would hate me or anything, right? And I could afford bodyguards to protect me from any physical harm. So yeah, general adoration is not something I really need (although of course it would be nice). While money really does come in handy when doing things like paying bills, etc. So I’m going with that. (Does this make me a bad person?)

…have sex with a really fat person OR a really old person?
Redhead: Jesus Christ! Nice visual guys! Well…I think I’d feel like I was taking advantage of an old person. Plus, I wouldn’t want to break them (a very real possibility if they’re super old). Weird as it may seem to say this, I like old people too much to ever want to have sex with one. (Yeah, that did sound really, really, really weird.) But a really fat person, well, I wouldn’t like it, but I could handle it if I had to. (Wow, I really am going to hell now, aren’t I?)

…find your parents having sex OR have you parents find you having sex?
Redhead: …why? WHY WOULD YOU EVEN PUT THAT THOUGHT IN MY HEAD?!?! I don’t want to answer this – do I have to? (Ed. Note: Yes, I had to.) Shit, okay – we’re talking parents, plural? So my dad would also be catching me having sex? Nope, nuh uh. Not going to happen. Ever. I would die if that happened. But catching my parents…fuck, I’m going to be having nightmares for YEARS because of this question, and we’re just talking in hypotheticals. OK, shit, if I actually SAW anything…damn, I’m going with option #3 – kill myself and spare us all.

And on that lovely note, have a great weekend everyone!

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Bugging Out

So I’m innocently reading TK’s blog just a little while ago – you can find it here – when I got a bit of a shock. And it wasn’t what I would call a good shock. No, no it was a bad shock. An unsettling shock. An upsetting shock. In fact, I need to say this before I go on: If you’re going to be posting pictures of MOTHERFUCKING SNAKES on your blog, fucking WARN your readers first. Good God I’m freaking out here!

OK (deep breaths), I’m fine. I’m not upset. We’re all good. Moving on – after I got over my initial breakdown (I have serious issues with snakes – can you tell?) over the visuals TK chose to provide, I actually read his post, and it got me thinking.

Note: You may want to read the post before going on – I’m going to refer to it like you have. The gist of it (for the lazy fucks out there): TK and his wife are currently dealing with a wasp infestation. Also, they’ve stumbled upon some seriously creepy/gross animals/insects/reptiles in the past.

Now as my regular readers know, I too have faced a close encounter of the insect (sorry, arachnid) kind recently. And it sucked. But I do want to clarify – generally I don’t have a problem with bugs. Spiders (excepting the monster, mutant, twisted fucker that attacked me) normally make me think of Charlotte. I’m not afraid of them, and I certainly don’t need anyone else to deal with them for me. I simply pick them up and place them outside. It’s a live and let live strategy really.

And that’s basically what I’m trying to say – I like animals (and even most bugs), way more than people. Their minds don’t work like ours, and I honestly believe they’re never trying to hurt us (or at least torture us). Hell, even when a tiger or something attacks (sorry Roy…or was it Seigfried?), they’re doing it because that’s what they DO. They’re not doing it maliciously. But people who mistreat animals – you know what, let’s not even get into that shit here. My point is: I NEVER hurt animals if I can avoid it. But sometimes these creatures try to live with us (like in TK’s case), and that’s when everything gets complicated. You have to do things you may not want to do to get rid of them. Bad things.

Story #1: Shortly after moving into my current apartment, I had my first NY cockroach experience. Now before I go on, let me just say that my apartment is nice. Yes, I realize between this story and my spider experience, you may not believe me, but just trust me on this one. My building and apartment are beautiful. High ceilings, exposed brick walls (that’s a good thing in NY), a nice sized bedroom – just a lot of character. But they’re old. This is your classic pre-war NYC brownstone, and as with any older building, shit happens. So back the fuck off if you’re thinking of saying something in the comments about my place – I love it and will defend it mercilessly.

Anyway, back to the story. So it was a rainy Sunday in the city, and I was just lying around in bed reading. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye I sensed some movement on the floor. And, since I knew full well my cat was lying on the pillow next to me, I became concerned. You see, with both my kitty and myself out of the equation, there was (supposedly) nothing left in my apartment capable of scurrying across the floor.

Sitting up in the bed, I looked down. And there it was – the biggest fucking cockroach I’d ever seen in my life. We’re talking something roughly the size of a small mouse here. And it was IN MY HOME. Needless to say, I was not pleased. But I kept my shit together, stealthily climbed out of bed, and grabbed the nearest shoe I could find. Since it was a Sunday, the nearest shoe I could find just happened to be my stiletto from Saturday night. Fuck, this was going to get ugly.

Moving quickly (so it couldn’t…shudder…get away and hide under my bed), I brought the heel down on the bug. Hard. There was…resistance. And the first blow didn’t kill the poor thing. So I brought the heel down again. And again. And again. You get the picture – it was like I was acting out a scene from a horror movie. And it was unquestionably the first time in my life where I felt like I was in fact murdering something. I mean sure, I’ve killed bugs before, but that never really felt quite this ruthless. This took effort. This FREAKED MY SHIT OUT.

So long story short, I started shaking after I was assured the bug was officially deceased and had to call my mother (shut up). Then, when I found my cat playing with ANOTHER cockroach the next day – seriously, she had it on its back and was heartlessly batting it around – I gave in and called my super to bring in an exterminator. I felt bad destroying who knows how many bug lives, but what are you going to do? The point is, I felt bad.

Story #2: This one took place when I was running late for jury duty last summer. Now you guys don’t know me, but I’m one of those people that doesn’t like to be late – for anything. So there I was, running late and completely stressing about it, when I hopped on the subway going downtown. And it being August, it was fucking HOT out and I was sweating. But I had my iced coffee in hand, and I was finally on the fucking train. So all I could do was sit back and try to relax. Which is what I was attempting to do when I gradually became aware of a light tickling at my throat. Reaching up to brush what I thought was a stray hair off my neck, I encountered…yup, a fucking cockroach. ON MY NECK.

Um, yeah I had a bit of a breakdown on the train about then. And since no one had seen the bug before I kind of threw it off of me, I really just seemed like a totally nutty chick loosing it on the train (not all that unusual in NY – people just pretended not to see me). Oh, and then I got to spend the rest of the day in jury duty. It was AWESOME.

The point here? Well, no I didn’t kill that cockroach, but it did invade my space and I would have if I hadn’t been distracted by my relatively significant mental collapse. The moral of this story: Bugs seem to love me, and I can be willing to kill them when given the right circumstances – hell, I probably wouldn’t have even felt bad about killing that one.

Story #3: This one isn’t even my story, but it does help demonstrate that guilt over doing what has to be done runs in my family.

So, back when I was in college my brother got a job working for this guy. Essentially (my brother being fresh out of school himself), his job was to be an indentured servant to this dude for a year. It was understood that at the end of that year, my brother would then have his pick of any job he wanted in his chosen field (and that did in fact end up being the case).

Anyway, part of this indentured servitude involved living on his boss’s property, taking care of his horses (my brother knew nothing about horses), driving this guy to and from work every day, dealing with his HORRIFYING wife, and generally just being at their beck and call. His place of residence during that year? Their guest house (yes, they had a guest house). Sounds OK, right? Um, no. Not so much.

I actually went and stayed with my brother for a weekend back then. Now yes, the guest house was nice in theory – two stories, three bedrooms, blah, blah, blah. But you see, no one took care of the place. It had basically been ignored by its owners for 20 years while a series of (justifiably) unhappy college graduates lived there periodically. In other words, it was gross.

And it had mice. So my brother, being a good, kind soul (when not dealing with me), decided to humanely make the mice go away. Only he knew about as much about mice as he did horses. So when he went out and got those sticky traps (rather than the ones that snap and kill the mouse instantly), he thought he was doing the humane thing. Yeah.

One day he came home from work and heard this squealing. Concerned, he went in search of its source. And he found it – a sticky trap had done its job; it had caught a mouse. Donning rubber gloves, my brother then went to pull the mouse off and set it free. Theoretically that is. You see, those traps are sticky. Like, the mouse is never getting off sticky. And my brother soon realized this. He realized he had bought a trap that TORTURES mice, killing them slowly and horribly rather than quickly. And my brother – having been raised in my family where animals rule all – didn’t know what to do.

Yes, he could have manned up and killed the mouse himself, putting it out of its misery. Only he couldn’t do that any more than I could. So, he did what we can do in my family – he drank. And drank. And drank. Until he couldn’t hear anything. Then, he decided if he could deal with his boss and his wife for a year, he could live with mice for a year. So that’s what he did.

The point of this tale (even though it isn’t about bugs per se): I HATE these stories – so, of course, I’m sharing them with you (just as others have shared theirs). But I’m doing mine with a caveat – please, everyone out there, just get your animal/insect killing stories out there right now and then STOP. (Oh, but feel free to tell reptile cruelty stories whenever you want.) Because they’re upsetting me – and yes, I know I could just not read them, but where’s the fun in that? I mean seriously TK, I felt awful for that scorpion you wrote about – meany. Now can we call a truce?

Damn that was a long post. Alright, go about you business – I’m done.

Monday, July 9, 2007


So I went out with John this weekend. And…I think (no, I’ m sure) I wussed out. I know, I know, just come out and tell him what I’m thinking and what I want, right? It’s not that hard. But, fuck! It IS hard. And hard makes me uncomfortable (fuck, that sounded dirty and I DIDN’T mean it that way). So, I totally took the pussy’s way out.

OK, here’s how it went down: John called and asked if I wanted to go grab dinner and catch a movie. I said yes, mainly because all of you guys shamed me into it – and, of course, I wanted to do the right thing (*cough* I’m lying). Anyway, we made plans to meet up, and then I got down to preparing.

First step: I had to make sure I didn’t look good for our “date.” This proved to be surprisingly easy. I mean, I was still sunburned from my foray out on the overcast day (and I probably didn’t help the situation when I spent all day Friday outside swimming – but in my defense it was hot and I LOVE the water), so I opted against makeup – what colors go with Rudolph red anyway? Then, instead of dealing with my hair and making it look pretty (this humidity does nothing good to my long red locks), I decided to throw it all into a knot at the top of my head and forget about it. Clothing consisted of an old, worn pair of Levis, my Where the Wild Things Are t-shirt (kids freaking love that one – and so do I), and flip-flops. That was it – pretty much my early morning coffee run look.

Step two: With my look (or lack thereof) taken care of, I then called Christine to get a pre-date pep talk. This consisted of the usual ‘don’t give in and sleep with him out of pity’ advice, along with the ‘sure it’ll hurt, but he’ll appreciate your honesty in the end’ bullshit. OK, pep talk done; I was almost ready for the awfulness to begin! Yeah baby.

Step three: I made sure I was totally ready when John got to my apartment, so instead of buzzing him up and having to spend any alone time with him, I yelled that I’d be right down and ran to meet him on the street. Avoiding non-public (aka private) places – check. OK, let’s deal with this situation.

Or not.

The problem was I just…couldn’t figure out how to bring it up! I mean, how do you segue into the ‘I know you’ve been hitting on me lately, and it’s creeping me out so you need to stop’ line gracefully? Answer: Fuck if I know. He wasn’t actively hitting on me at the beginning of the night, and at the end…well, if will become clear to you guys why he didn’t make a move at the end when I get there. So how was I supposed to bring this shit up?

Where was I? Oh yeah – after he picked me up we went to the movie (where I proceeded to eat almost an entire large package of Twizzlers myself), and laughed (we saw Knocked Up). There was lots of joking and teasing – pretty much how we always are – and very little awkwardness. It was almost like how we used to be. He wasn’t trying anything, he wasn’t saying anything inappropriate, and he wasn’t bringing the subject up. So of course I wasn’t bringing the subject up. Which sucked, since I was prepared for and ready to deal with it (for once).

Anyway, when the movie ended we went to dinner. And that’s when my mouth went off (I’m taking no responsibility for myself here – it seems that when I get nervous (and have a couple of drinks to relax) I start to babble in a way that has nothing to do with my brain or my common sense). I say things. Things I wouldn’t normally say. Things that have no bearing on the discussion at hand. Things that only make sense to me and are relevant to no one and nothing EXCEPT me. Things that I mistakenly think will help me “deal” with a situation while never having to actually acknowledge it.

Some gems from the conversation (on my part – picture him just sitting there silently with his mouth hanging open and a slightly shocked look on his face): 1) How would he like for me to set him up with Christine? Sure they’ve met before and had practically nothing to talk about (besides me), but how important is conversation anyway – she’s hot, 2) He should definitely try to hook up with the cute kindergarten teacher at his school – yes, she’s legitimately insane and has a rather serious gambling problem, but is that really such a turn-off?, 3) I’m deliriously happy with NY Guy (total lie), 4) Whatever happened with the accountant he dated last year? She made a ton of money and was cute (or so I’ve been told – I never met her); in fact, that’s the kind of woman he should marry. Why doesn’t he call her?, and 5) He just needs to get laid – by anyone – and he’ll be fine; I think he’s just horny and doesn’t realize it.

It was a passive aggressive tour de force. I never once mentioned us or the awkwardness between us. Instead I just came out, guns blazing, and completely put him on the defensive while insulting him (not on purpose). I essentially told him he was desperate. I told him he just needed some action. And I implied (VERY obviously) that he should pursue that action with just about ANYONE but me. Meanwhile, I refused to make eye contact all evening. It was…painful. For both of us. I mean, I couldn’t have made the night more of a bloodbath if I tried. Because we both knew what I was saying, but like children (I can’t very well call myself an adult after THAT display) we never called each other on it. We never forced the other to acknowledge the elephant in the room. Still, I’m taking responsibility for all of it – honestly, I was in rare form; John didn't have a chance – he looked like he’d been hit by a truck at the end of the night.

But, I still think I got my point across. And that’s a positive. Right?

Thursday, July 5, 2007

It’s Dangerous Out There

-I have been driving all week, and so far, NO ACCIDENTS!!! I am a fucking machine behind the wheel - other drivers wish they were as in command as I am! Oh, but I did realize yesterday that I’ve been doing this (totally fucking awesome) driving with an expired license. So I should get right on fixing that…at some point. Soon.

-Yes, I have been drinking. This is Redhead…after a few drinks.

-Who knew you could get a sunburn on an overcast day? Well, I know…now. Yes my friends, I am burned, I am in pain, I have been self-medicating with both vodka AND scotch. And I am smarter now because of it! Some thoughts: I think that taking a shower with a sunburn sucks. I think that having your boyfriend rub lotion on your sunburn is nice. I think then fooling around with your boyfriend after he’s rubbed the lotion on you but before the sunburn has actually gone away is painful. And I KNOW that I have more freckles now than I did this morning. Fucking sunburn.

-I think that US Magazine is drastically overestimating my interest in Jessica Simpson and her weight. I JUST DON’T FUCKING CARE!!!

-Speaking of US Weekly - Nicole Richie is pregnant? Seriously? That’s…that just can’t be good.

-I think this humidity has increased the volume of my hair by at least three times; I also think NY Guy’s a liar! He told me he thinks my hair looks sexy now. I told him he’s full of shit and I now will no longer believe anything he says ever again. He just handed me another drink and said ‘Okay.’ Yum, he’s adorable.

-If you eat an entire tray of brownies, can in make your ass look fat the next day? I mean, I only have another day or two of bikini wearing here, is it possible that today’s gluttony will not come back to bite me in the - um, ass - tomorrow? Who do I have to make a deal with for this to be the case? Is the devil anywhere nearby? Yoo hoo…

-You know what’s a good cocktail that no one in America drinks? Pimms. It’s…mmmmm.

-Taking a walk in the rain feels great - relaxing, liberating, kind of childlike and playful, yet sexy. I can’t believe I don’t do that more often.

-Here’s a totally random question: Is the sex on Cinemax real? You see, I’m staying at a place that has Cinemax, and their late night programming is…yeah; I’m getting why they call in Skinimax now. Anyway, so it’s clearly soft core porn since you never see penetration (or any of the men’s goodies - which I don’t think is fair), but I’m assuming that doesn’t necessarily mean there isn’t penetration going on. Right? Because it really does look like they’re having sex there. But are they? Does anyone have the answer to this? Are they doing it and just not showing us, or are they just simulating? I find myself really needing the answer to this right now.

Yeah, so I know I’ve sucked this week, and I would feel bad if I wasn’t on vacation. I would also feel bad if you were all paying me, but you’re not so fuck it. I’ll be back next week with posts that are (hopefully) a little more thought out (no promises though). Have a great weekend - go out and have a drink and think of me.

Tuesday, July 3, 2007


In the history of half-assed posts (and I’ve been responsible for a few), this one is going to be the worst. It is going to be given the least tender loving care, the least effort - hell, consider yourself lucky if I even spell check this fucker - the least intelligence, and the least imagination that I can possibly muster. Expect at the most mediocrity, but be prepared that in all probability you’ll get complete and utter shit.

So, now that we’ve got that out of the way, you may find yourself wondering: Why am I even bothering to write anything? Well, the easy answer is I’ve gotten used to sitting down and venting for an hour or so every couple of days, and the (only slightly) harder answer is NY Guy is starting to get on my nerves; if I sit at my laptop and type, he assumes I’m working and leaves me alone.

You see, I’m on vacation this week - sort of. I guess technically it’s a working vacation, but let’s just say the word ‘working’ is being used very liberally here. Essentially, I was the only one on my team from work (we all requested off this week - yeah 4th of July!) willing to guarantee that I’d check my email on a regular basis and (here’s the real trick) respond. I’m also taking business calls on my cell when needed and conducting a couple conference calls that couldn’t be rescheduled. But um…that’s it. We’re talking at the most an hour and a half of actual work each day.

And I have to say, I’m enjoying this ‘working’ vacation thing. I could get used to it. Why just yesterday I found myself running a status meeting while wearing a bikini (not that anyone on the call knew, but it really did amuse the shit out of me). And except for a weird moment when NY Guy decided to cop a feel as he walked by, I’ve never been more relaxed during status. In fact, I suggest everyone try to take at least one meeting in their lifetime while wearing next to nothing - obviously I mean for you to do this by phone…walking into a conference room in your undies would just be weird.

Anyway, some other things that are going on or that I’ve thought of this week (so far):

-John and NY Guy finally met - John stopped by to pick up the Yanks tickets I was giving him and NY Guy was there. All in all it was…I don’t know. Fine I guess. NY Guy is oblivious to the situation so he was cool. And John knows better than to make things awkward for me. But it was uncomfortable for me, so that’s something! Anyway, I’m tentatively having dinner with John this weekend when I get back to the city, so we’ll see (if I can get out of it).

-Dogs are so much cooler than human beings. I mean, it’s not even close. Even the small yappy ones (not my personal taste) are awesome - they’re still dogs after all. And it’s not their fault they were born kind of annoying and ugly and…fluffy. It’s those big trusting dog eyes that get me - I fucking love that. But coolest kind of dog, hands down? The boxer.

-I’m still a redhead - I couldn’t go through with the whole blonde thing. So…there you go.

-Have you seen this show on HBO called Flight of the Conchords? Well, until Sunday I hadn’t. But if that episode (Episode 3: Mugged) is any indication of how funny the show normally is, I’m already a HUGE fan. I laughed my ass off! That is the kind of humor that I love - silly while being legitimately weird. Oh, and in case you need more than one opinion, NY Guy laughed too - maybe not as hard as I did, but I’m pretty sure that’s not possible anyway.

Anyway, now I need to share the show with you. Here is the song that made me fall in love - yes, they break out into song pretty regularly. Um, some background info: There are these two guys from New Zealand who are in a folk band or something…and they live together (but not in that way)…and they have a strange manager and only one fan…and here they are getting mugged! Cool.

Fuck it, I’m done. I’m too tired to write more. Later.