Me: Do you ever feel like our world is going to be swallowed by spam and junk mail and automated phone system telemarketers? I've been worried about that lately. Like one day, I'm just gonna wake up and call my mom to chat or something, but her voice will be all weird and stilted and all, "Press 1 if you're calling about a recipe. Press 2 if you're calling to vent. Press 3 for advice," and I'll end up cracking and going off the grid.
Friend: Uh? No. Can't say that I'm really worried about it. Are you... are you on meds or something?
Me: No... it just concerns me. I mean, I'm not really worried about robot overlords taking over the planet or aliens or even zombies, but I feel like I'm developing an increasingly intense fear that one day, it's all gonna be commercials and junk mail and spam emails with nauseating grammar and spelling errors.
Friend: Spam emails nauseate you?
Me: Oh God, yes. Don't they do that to everyone? You know what? That actually might be at the root of my paralyzing anxiety: the degradation of the English language at the hands of marketers, spammers, and advertisers.
Friend: Sometimes I worry that you have a type of psychological hypochondria and you just start diagnosing neuroses and it all feeds your anxiety like some kind of catch-22. I mean, are you really worried about spam taking over the world?!
Me: Of course I am. What I can't believe is that you're not worried about it. You're probably on the right track with "psychological hypochondria," though. But more importantly, at least I'm on the path to mental preparedness, (should such an event ever happen) because of this psychological hypochondria.
Friend: It is amazing how far you can go on your paranoia alone.
Me: Probably a side effect of my disease.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Friday, April 13, 2012
Tech Writing Qualifications
With the end of my internship, I've been nervously looking around for someone to hire me. Unfortunately, most of my writing experience is in the editorial realm, and I live in an area where business and tech writing abounds. In order to better compete with my competitive competitors in this particular competition for jobs, what follows is a very technical piece that I've been working on. You guys are under no obligation to read it, since the technicality of the technicalness will probably be over your heads, and I don't want to be responsible for any of you having some kind of brain aneurysm from having to think too hard. I'm a professional, after all.
1. First, locate your computer. Double check to make sure that your computer has at least one cord coming out of it somewhere, otherwise you'll want to make sure you're not trying to log onto a cardboard box. This is a common mistake.
2. Is yourcardboard box computer plugged in? That means the cord should be stuck to the wall somewhere. A good way to check is by tripping over that cord we discussed in Step 1.
3. There is probably some kind of big button that is used for turning on your computer. It's usually farther away from the other buttons, sort of like it's in a time out or something. Go ahead and push it. This is where the magic begins!
4. You may have any number of Internet icons on your desktop. Remember, an "icon" is a little picture that represents a computer "program" and your "desktop" is that background picture of the Cheezburger cat.
5. Ha ha ha, yeah, that cat is pretty effing hilarious.
6. Okay, so back to the icons. If your Internet icon is a little blue 'e,' that means you're using Internet Explorer, and your Internet will not actually work. If you are in this category of computer users, you may go back to looking at the Cheezburger cat picture on your desktop and wait.
7. If you are using Safari or perhaps Firefox, you are most likely some kind of computer wizard who understands things like string theory and how to make toast. Well done! Let's not get ahead of ourselves yet, though.
8. You may now click twice on your Internet icon. This step is called "double clicking" and it is an important skill to master.
9. When your Internet opens, you may start looking at websites or "surfing." To find a particular website, find the long, blank bar near the top of the screen and type in Google.com.
10. Using Google is as important to web surfing as marijuana is to couch surfing. With Google, you can search for everything in the universe, like "nearest Taco Bell" and "what is a tapeworm" and "cyborg pornography" and "show me more Cheezburger cats!" and "how much do new livers cost and can I remove my own?"
Thank you for taking this journey with me. By now you should be well-versed in what computers are, how to "double click" on an "icon," and how to accurately and effectively use an Internet. Congratulations on this accomplishment, savvy technology user!
Advanced Guide for Using an Internet
2. Is your
3. There is probably some kind of big button that is used for turning on your computer. It's usually farther away from the other buttons, sort of like it's in a time out or something. Go ahead and push it. This is where the magic begins!
4. You may have any number of Internet icons on your desktop. Remember, an "icon" is a little picture that represents a computer "program" and your "desktop" is that background picture of the Cheezburger cat.
5. Ha ha ha, yeah, that cat is pretty effing hilarious.
6. Okay, so back to the icons. If your Internet icon is a little blue 'e,' that means you're using Internet Explorer, and your Internet will not actually work. If you are in this category of computer users, you may go back to looking at the Cheezburger cat picture on your desktop and wait.
7. If you are using Safari or perhaps Firefox, you are most likely some kind of computer wizard who understands things like string theory and how to make toast. Well done! Let's not get ahead of ourselves yet, though.
8. You may now click twice on your Internet icon. This step is called "double clicking" and it is an important skill to master.
9. When your Internet opens, you may start looking at websites or "surfing." To find a particular website, find the long, blank bar near the top of the screen and type in Google.com.
10. Using Google is as important to web surfing as marijuana is to couch surfing. With Google, you can search for everything in the universe, like "nearest Taco Bell" and "what is a tapeworm" and "cyborg pornography" and "show me more Cheezburger cats!" and "how much do new livers cost and can I remove my own?"
Thank you for taking this journey with me. By now you should be well-versed in what computers are, how to "double click" on an "icon," and how to accurately and effectively use an Internet. Congratulations on this accomplishment, savvy technology user!
Monday, April 2, 2012
Battle of the Sexy Sexes! (In which we all just look like chumps.)
I've been reading "Bossypants" by Tina Fey (I love her more than chili cheese fries) and there are a few sections in her book about what women go through to "be pretty" and the cycle of insecurity that it perpetuates. I nearly peed in my pants when I read the first part because it's so funny, and so I went down to EM and EM's fiance's apartment to share in the hilarity, and what ensued was a rather unexpectedly heated discussion about who had it worse, men or women. Since then, I've done a lot of thinking about the subject, and the conclusion that I came to is that we all lose. Join me on this journey to discovery, won't you?
At first, I was pretty sure women had it worse than men. As a female, I consider myself to be mostly low maintenance (don't all girls, though?) but there was a period of my life when I liked to spend my time getting dolled up. Cleverly, much of this time was in college, so I figure when I die and get to the Pearly Gates, St. Peter is gonna be flipping through the book of my life and get to my college years and hopefully not see all of the shady, unpleasant things that I did while intoxicated because it's one big montage of hair curling and lip lining, and he'll just be all, "Yeah, you spent a LOT of time just getting ready to go out, so I guess I'll just skip forward here..." Because I did. Hours. Added up, probably at least 3 times more than the time that I was actually out. But damn, I looked good doing it! (For the time that I was sober, so after that first 15 minutes it was all drool and drunk eyes.) Even now, as a low maintenance gal (that is my story and I'm sticking to it), I still have entire days devoted to grooming. Seriously. I'm going to give you a look behind the veil of what the average woman goes through.
We have days that we have to pre-groom. These are days we need to: dye our roots and/or hair, pluck or wax eyebrows, shave the entirety of our bodies, exfoliate, moisturize, deep condition, anti-age, buff, polish, trim, etc. Hell, there are several steps to just WASHING your face if you're a girl. It's never just soap. It's a cleanser, then a gentle exfoliation, then a facial mask, then toner and moisturizer. Oh, the moisturizer. It is most likely something freakishly expensive, like ground up baby fetuses that we slather over our skin to hide wrinkles and blemishes and everything else that shows we are human and we are imperfect and might have wrinkles or oily T-zones. And that's just pre-grooming, you guys. That does not include what we still have to go through on a daily basis to style hair, apply makeup, and accessorize our outfits with squish-suppressing underwear usually made of the torture devices known as Lycra and Spandex.
My point is, it is exhausting. And even then, after everything that we go through, after all of the money that we spend, absolutely none of us thinks we look good naked. There are industries upon industries that market to our insecurities. I'm not even getting into plastic surgery here. If you ask the average girl what she likes about herself, she might not know how to respond. But, if you ask her what she dislikes about herself, she's got a list a mile long.
Now, I can hear you men yelling at me. "But I like a natural looking woman! I hate a woman who takes forever to get ready and wears tons of makeup! I think that's awful!" First of all, shut up, you dirty, dirty liar. You cannot honestly expect us women to believe you like women to look "natural," when "natural" to you is Megan Fox rolling around all dewy and fresh-faced in sheets in some Maxim spread. If you really believe that's what women look like in the morning, you are probably wearing a helmet and eating paste. Trust me. EM is a professional makeup artist, and it takes more makeup to look "natural" than if some stripper came in asking for a smokey eyeshadow application and body glitter all over. Natural, to women, means greasy hair in a ponytail, no makeup (but somehow always smudges of yesterday's eyeliner), weird pimple cream on our zits, baggy tee-shirts, and some kind of soft, flannel, pajama pants. We love natural, too, you see. We just don't want you to see it. I even know girls who, if staying with their boyfriend overnight, will get up early, run into the bathroom to brush their teeth and put a "natural" face on (powder, mascara, lip balm) and rush back into bed so that they can pretend that they're waking up looking that good when their man wakes up.
Not that I am maligning the beauty industry, because I play along just as much as everyone else. I don't want to leave my house without makeup on. I don't want to be seen with my hair or my clothes other than put-together, but I accept that much of it is about illusion. Do I really believe that some dreamboat is going to look at me and think, "Yeah, I bet she rolls out of bed looking like that every day! I BETTER PUT A RING ON IT!"? No, because that's unrealistic. It will not, however, stop me from wanting to at least have a face on if I have to run errands somewhere.
So yes, being a girl is tough. But EM's fiance reminded me that there are industries that market to men's insecurities, too, and while they may not be the same things as women, it's still based on being "good enough." Men are supposed to have abdominal muscles and pectoral muscles and biceps that people only get by drinking raw eggs and doing sit ups until you herniate something in your spine, and while you're at it, fight genetics with pills like Enzyte to make your junk bigger and longer lasting with Viagra and Cialis, and then smear some Rogaine on your head (because women hate balding men, didn't you know?) and hop into a car that you can't actually afford to make payments on, and then, ONLY THEN, will we with vaginas give you the time of day. If we aren't PMSing, and if we want you to buy us something, that is. All in all, I feel bad for guys. I do. Women might have more things to worry about in terms of body image, but I can at least pass for attractive without having to convince myself that I need a Mercedes to attract a mate. (Which, if you think that, I would assume are the same helmet-wearing, paste-eating person that believes porn and romcoms dictate romance. NO! NO! ::spray bottle:: NO!)
My conclusion is that it's all a fucking shitshow. A circus. "Enhancing" your appearance to look more attractive isn't a new idea, and it's not one that will go away. It isn't even exclusively human. The important thing is knowing where to draw the line, I guess. To that end, no gender really comes out on top. No one really has it harder than the other (haha, 'harder') because it's difficult in different ways. So, don't judge a book by its cover, don't think you're any worse off than anyone else, and if you meet anyone who thinks they'll find the love of their life just as soon as they get that boob job or that fancypants car, bitch slap them once for me.
At first, I was pretty sure women had it worse than men. As a female, I consider myself to be mostly low maintenance (don't all girls, though?) but there was a period of my life when I liked to spend my time getting dolled up. Cleverly, much of this time was in college, so I figure when I die and get to the Pearly Gates, St. Peter is gonna be flipping through the book of my life and get to my college years and hopefully not see all of the shady, unpleasant things that I did while intoxicated because it's one big montage of hair curling and lip lining, and he'll just be all, "Yeah, you spent a LOT of time just getting ready to go out, so I guess I'll just skip forward here..." Because I did. Hours. Added up, probably at least 3 times more than the time that I was actually out. But damn, I looked good doing it! (For the time that I was sober, so after that first 15 minutes it was all drool and drunk eyes.) Even now, as a low maintenance gal (that is my story and I'm sticking to it), I still have entire days devoted to grooming. Seriously. I'm going to give you a look behind the veil of what the average woman goes through.
We have days that we have to pre-groom. These are days we need to: dye our roots and/or hair, pluck or wax eyebrows, shave the entirety of our bodies, exfoliate, moisturize, deep condition, anti-age, buff, polish, trim, etc. Hell, there are several steps to just WASHING your face if you're a girl. It's never just soap. It's a cleanser, then a gentle exfoliation, then a facial mask, then toner and moisturizer. Oh, the moisturizer. It is most likely something freakishly expensive, like ground up baby fetuses that we slather over our skin to hide wrinkles and blemishes and everything else that shows we are human and we are imperfect and might have wrinkles or oily T-zones. And that's just pre-grooming, you guys. That does not include what we still have to go through on a daily basis to style hair, apply makeup, and accessorize our outfits with squish-suppressing underwear usually made of the torture devices known as Lycra and Spandex.
 |
| I'm made of Photoshop! |
Now, I can hear you men yelling at me. "But I like a natural looking woman! I hate a woman who takes forever to get ready and wears tons of makeup! I think that's awful!" First of all, shut up, you dirty, dirty liar. You cannot honestly expect us women to believe you like women to look "natural," when "natural" to you is Megan Fox rolling around all dewy and fresh-faced in sheets in some Maxim spread. If you really believe that's what women look like in the morning, you are probably wearing a helmet and eating paste. Trust me. EM is a professional makeup artist, and it takes more makeup to look "natural" than if some stripper came in asking for a smokey eyeshadow application and body glitter all over. Natural, to women, means greasy hair in a ponytail, no makeup (but somehow always smudges of yesterday's eyeliner), weird pimple cream on our zits, baggy tee-shirts, and some kind of soft, flannel, pajama pants. We love natural, too, you see. We just don't want you to see it. I even know girls who, if staying with their boyfriend overnight, will get up early, run into the bathroom to brush their teeth and put a "natural" face on (powder, mascara, lip balm) and rush back into bed so that they can pretend that they're waking up looking that good when their man wakes up.
Not that I am maligning the beauty industry, because I play along just as much as everyone else. I don't want to leave my house without makeup on. I don't want to be seen with my hair or my clothes other than put-together, but I accept that much of it is about illusion. Do I really believe that some dreamboat is going to look at me and think, "Yeah, I bet she rolls out of bed looking like that every day! I BETTER PUT A RING ON IT!"? No, because that's unrealistic. It will not, however, stop me from wanting to at least have a face on if I have to run errands somewhere.
So yes, being a girl is tough. But EM's fiance reminded me that there are industries that market to men's insecurities, too, and while they may not be the same things as women, it's still based on being "good enough." Men are supposed to have abdominal muscles and pectoral muscles and biceps that people only get by drinking raw eggs and doing sit ups until you herniate something in your spine, and while you're at it, fight genetics with pills like Enzyte to make your junk bigger and longer lasting with Viagra and Cialis, and then smear some Rogaine on your head (because women hate balding men, didn't you know?) and hop into a car that you can't actually afford to make payments on, and then, ONLY THEN, will we with vaginas give you the time of day. If we aren't PMSing, and if we want you to buy us something, that is. All in all, I feel bad for guys. I do. Women might have more things to worry about in terms of body image, but I can at least pass for attractive without having to convince myself that I need a Mercedes to attract a mate. (Which, if you think that, I would assume are the same helmet-wearing, paste-eating person that believes porn and romcoms dictate romance. NO! NO! ::spray bottle:: NO!)
My conclusion is that it's all a fucking shitshow. A circus. "Enhancing" your appearance to look more attractive isn't a new idea, and it's not one that will go away. It isn't even exclusively human. The important thing is knowing where to draw the line, I guess. To that end, no gender really comes out on top. No one really has it harder than the other (haha, 'harder') because it's difficult in different ways. So, don't judge a book by its cover, don't think you're any worse off than anyone else, and if you meet anyone who thinks they'll find the love of their life just as soon as they get that boob job or that fancypants car, bitch slap them once for me.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
I'm practicing the Twitter.
One of my friends is trying to convince me to start a Twitter because she keeps taking my conversational gold nuggets and passing them off as her tweets and she's getting a lot of attention for being clever and witty and I'm only okay with this because she hasn't made any money off of me yet. So, I've been thinking about starting a Twitter where I will obviously become famous and get lots of monies, and in preparation, I spent my evening practice-tweeting in my head. Here's what I came up with:
I was in the elevator on my way home today and there were exactly three people and two dogs when I stepped in. I spent the whole ride playing with the dogs and talking to them about what good dogs they were. Did not actually say anything to the people. #thatsnormalright
Watched the entire Sarah Mclaughlin (not Googling how to spell her name) ASPCA commercial and my heart broke with a squish and all this cholesterol leaked out everywhere. #maybehavesomeoatmeal
I'm considering being a sexy web chat girl because they get paid to sit around in their underwear and just *do* stuff in front of their webcams. That's like a Wednesday night around here, but with a lot more nachos and only a few stains on my wifebeater.
I can't go to my high school reunion until I learn something worthwhile. You know, other than "booze is great" and "having boobs is awesome."
Everywhere I live, it's like I'm being haunted by landscaping noise at 7 a.m. every Tuesday and Thursday.
Did anyone else freak the fuck out the first time they figured out how to chat online? Oh, AOL.
I want lickable wall paper in my house and I want it to taste like lasagna.
Dead people I would have loved to party with: Lux Interior, Hemingway, Hunter S. Thompson, Oscar Wilde, Vonnegut, maybe Jesus. (If there's room in the car.)
Sometimes I drink by myself because I feel like with everything I'm doing wrong as a writer, I can at least do one thing right. And then I feelaccomplished drunk! #drinkyourwaytosuccess
One time, I heard this girl say that the sweetest words a man could say were "I'll buy it for you." I'm pretty sure the sweetest words are actually "Let's watch Army of Darkness and make out."
True story: I silenced an entire room for making a poorly-timed joke about stapling bread to my shirt and going to a costume party as a yeast infection. #ladylikedefined
Pets I still want that I'm not allowed to have: a velociraptor, a great white shark, an octopus, a killer whale, a baby pygmy hippo (but just as a baby), a wolf, Predator, and a ghost.
Everyone contributes something to the world. I think my gift to the world is to give advice that no one asks for. You're welcome.
(I feel like I would be rejected from Twitter.)
I was in the elevator on my way home today and there were exactly three people and two dogs when I stepped in. I spent the whole ride playing with the dogs and talking to them about what good dogs they were. Did not actually say anything to the people. #thatsnormalright
Watched the entire Sarah Mclaughlin (not Googling how to spell her name) ASPCA commercial and my heart broke with a squish and all this cholesterol leaked out everywhere. #maybehavesomeoatmeal
I'm considering being a sexy web chat girl because they get paid to sit around in their underwear and just *do* stuff in front of their webcams. That's like a Wednesday night around here, but with a lot more nachos and only a few stains on my wifebeater.
I can't go to my high school reunion until I learn something worthwhile. You know, other than "booze is great" and "having boobs is awesome."
Everywhere I live, it's like I'm being haunted by landscaping noise at 7 a.m. every Tuesday and Thursday.
Did anyone else freak the fuck out the first time they figured out how to chat online? Oh, AOL.
I want lickable wall paper in my house and I want it to taste like lasagna.
Dead people I would have loved to party with: Lux Interior, Hemingway, Hunter S. Thompson, Oscar Wilde, Vonnegut, maybe Jesus. (If there's room in the car.)
Sometimes I drink by myself because I feel like with everything I'm doing wrong as a writer, I can at least do one thing right. And then I feel
One time, I heard this girl say that the sweetest words a man could say were "I'll buy it for you." I'm pretty sure the sweetest words are actually "Let's watch Army of Darkness and make out."
True story: I silenced an entire room for making a poorly-timed joke about stapling bread to my shirt and going to a costume party as a yeast infection. #ladylikedefined
Pets I still want that I'm not allowed to have: a velociraptor, a great white shark, an octopus, a killer whale, a baby pygmy hippo (but just as a baby), a wolf, Predator, and a ghost.
Everyone contributes something to the world. I think my gift to the world is to give advice that no one asks for. You're welcome.
(I feel like I would be rejected from Twitter.)
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
I need to find my panic button so I can turn it off.
Me: The end of my internship is coming up. I'm filled with an unbelievable anxiety about the exit interview, so I started making a list of good things and bad things about my internship.
Friend: That's not a bad idea. Let's hear 'em.
Me: Bad thing #1: I got paid $100 for 6 months of work, which is less than children stitching soccer balls in some sweaty Nike hangout.
Friend: Might not want to lead with that. What else?
Me: Bad thing #2: This office has awful porn shui. Our computers are RIGHT THERE FOR ALL TO SEE! And I'm not talking about like sex porn, but, you know, if I want to be looking at food blogs or something, I'm afraid they're gonna catch me when I should be fact checking.
Friend: Maybe you shouldn't be so honest during your exit interview...
Me: Good thing #1: I like the work, most of the time. Unless I have to fact check with politicians, or rich people. Good thing #2: There is usually free food somewhere in the office every couple weeks. Hence, I am not starving.
Friend: You can't starve, you eat more than anyone I know. I don't know where you put it.
Me: Thank you. Unlike Shakira, my hips DO lie. They are secretly hollow, and that is where I keep my food stores.
Friend: ...
Me: I feel like I should do something great at the end. Like, make cookies for everyone. Or bring in fireworks or something. OR... I could come in to work in a beard!
Friend: Um...?
Me: When I left my last job, EM was trying to convince me to wear this beard she had left over from a production that she worked on. I didn't end up doing it because when I tried it on, it was really uncomfortable. Uncomfortable how GOOD I looked! OHH!!! No, but seriously, it itched a lot. That's how I rate men with beards, too, you know. Based on whether or not I would let the beard in question touch me. Homeless man beard? No. Santa beard? Only if I am getting presents. Hot guy scruffy beard? Yes.
Friend: Honestly, I am not even listening to you anymore. You stopped making sense like, five minutes ago. But don't talk about beards during your exit interview. Maybe talk about what you're going to do with your life, now that you're no longer an intern.
Me: I'm... I'm supposed to know that?!
Friend: That's not a bad idea. Let's hear 'em.
Me: Bad thing #1: I got paid $100 for 6 months of work, which is less than children stitching soccer balls in some sweaty Nike hangout.
Friend: Might not want to lead with that. What else?
Me: Bad thing #2: This office has awful porn shui. Our computers are RIGHT THERE FOR ALL TO SEE! And I'm not talking about like sex porn, but, you know, if I want to be looking at food blogs or something, I'm afraid they're gonna catch me when I should be fact checking.
Friend: Maybe you shouldn't be so honest during your exit interview...
Me: Good thing #1: I like the work, most of the time. Unless I have to fact check with politicians, or rich people. Good thing #2: There is usually free food somewhere in the office every couple weeks. Hence, I am not starving.
Friend: You can't starve, you eat more than anyone I know. I don't know where you put it.
Me: Thank you. Unlike Shakira, my hips DO lie. They are secretly hollow, and that is where I keep my food stores.
Friend: ...
Me: I feel like I should do something great at the end. Like, make cookies for everyone. Or bring in fireworks or something. OR... I could come in to work in a beard!
Friend: Um...?
Me: When I left my last job, EM was trying to convince me to wear this beard she had left over from a production that she worked on. I didn't end up doing it because when I tried it on, it was really uncomfortable. Uncomfortable how GOOD I looked! OHH!!! No, but seriously, it itched a lot. That's how I rate men with beards, too, you know. Based on whether or not I would let the beard in question touch me. Homeless man beard? No. Santa beard? Only if I am getting presents. Hot guy scruffy beard? Yes.
Friend: Honestly, I am not even listening to you anymore. You stopped making sense like, five minutes ago. But don't talk about beards during your exit interview. Maybe talk about what you're going to do with your life, now that you're no longer an intern.
Me: I'm... I'm supposed to know that?!
Thursday, March 22, 2012
But other than these things, men are still a mysterious conundrum of enigmas to me.
Okay, so the other day I was talking about this particular blog with all of my super-excellent dating suggestions and my friend threw it back in my face like, "What the heck do you know about dating, perpetually single girl?"
And I was all, "Hey man, I know at least 3 things for sure about dating," and that led me to generate this spectacular list that I'm pretty much giving you guys for FREE because I want you all to learn from my mistakes, which I make on a routinely regular basis (so obviously I'm not learning from them myself, which is why you guys have to, you feel me?)!
1. It sucks. Maybe it doesn't for everyone, but dude? I am so tired of having the same conversations over and over. "Grew up in California. Love cheeseburgers, burritos and beer. Have seen almost every zombie movie ever made and yes, they are an art form. Hate Kristen Stewart and romcoms. Love Vonnegut, Moore, and comic books. UGH I AM ALREADY BORED. But! I have also learned that if you try to mix things up like, "If James Bond had Jedi powers and existed as a foil to Indiana Jones, would Indiana Jones still save the world?" people look at you weird because they think you're on drugs or don't really appreciate the intricacies of the places that ADD will take your imagination. So, you have to stick with the boring stuff, which always feels like a job interview, and you know what? I don't want to go to job interviews when I could be eating boxes of Girl Scout cookies in pajamas with EM or sitting pantsless in my apartment playing video games.
2. The job of dating is to judge the other person, which means you should tell half-truths, or keep your weirdness to yourself. Okay, hear me out on this one: recently, I went out with a nice-ish fella who was somewhat interested in the fact that I was a writer, so I enthusiastically told him that I'm having a short story published in a horror anthology. "Oh," he says, interest waning. "Horror? What's it about?" and I said, "It's about a girl who kills and eats her boyfriend." I do see how that could be a red flag, but I explained that it wasn't to be taken literally and that it was more of a metaphor for some of the types of people that I met when I lived in LA and how our culture seems to condone disposable relationships with flippant consequences... but the damage was done. In his eyes, I was already a cannibal. So! Perhaps I should have stopped while I was ahead and changed the subject, but I only really have the miraculous gift of hindsight. The point here is that every single person is weird in some way, but you're not supposed to talk about it until after you get in the other person's pants. Or until the other person understands your sense of humor. Whichever comes first, right? It's just that personally, my goal here is to find someone whose oddities are on par with my own because I'm really bad at half-truths, but I'm sure if I was more coy or mysterious, I would just be covered up with dreamboats.
3. Just try to take care of yourself. I still have no idea how women are supposed to behave. I just cannot keep up with the news, you guys. Am I supposed to let a guy pay for me? Am I supposed to offer? Does that offend his sense of masculinity? Should I be offended if he asks to go dutch? If he doesn't offer to pay and I'm left with the check, should I hate him immediately for not being a gentleman? Am I supposed to demand the check because I am a strong, independent woman and I don't need no man to pay mah bills? If he pays, does that mean I have to laugh at his jokes that aren't really funny and entitle him to sexy Business Time? DOES ANYONE EVEN KNOW THE ANSWERS TO THESE QUESTIONS?! Because I don't. Seriously. When the bill comes, I usually get really sweaty and twitchy and just try to pay for myself. My rationale lies in my upbringing, because my parents always taught EM and me to take care of ourselves and not expect anyone else to, because it isn't anyone else's job. This is why I've never been able to understand the "gold digger" philosophy. What happens if your ugly rich husband dies and changes his will on his deathbed and leaves all of his money to Save the Sea Otters or something? You can't rely on someone else to pay your bills, ladies. Those sea otters are fucking cute.
That's what it boils down to for me, you guys. Always hang out with your friends and family over dates (unless your date is Bruce Campbell). Try to find someone who matches your level of weirdness, or be good at keeping your quirks secret. Don't rely on anyone else to take care of you. Also, I guess if you're gonna be a gold digger, make sure your husband hates sea otters.
And I was all, "Hey man, I know at least 3 things for sure about dating," and that led me to generate this spectacular list that I'm pretty much giving you guys for FREE because I want you all to learn from my mistakes, which I make on a routinely regular basis (so obviously I'm not learning from them myself, which is why you guys have to, you feel me?)!
1. It sucks. Maybe it doesn't for everyone, but dude? I am so tired of having the same conversations over and over. "Grew up in California. Love cheeseburgers, burritos and beer. Have seen almost every zombie movie ever made and yes, they are an art form. Hate Kristen Stewart and romcoms. Love Vonnegut, Moore, and comic books. UGH I AM ALREADY BORED. But! I have also learned that if you try to mix things up like, "If James Bond had Jedi powers and existed as a foil to Indiana Jones, would Indiana Jones still save the world?" people look at you weird because they think you're on drugs or don't really appreciate the intricacies of the places that ADD will take your imagination. So, you have to stick with the boring stuff, which always feels like a job interview, and you know what? I don't want to go to job interviews when I could be eating boxes of Girl Scout cookies in pajamas with EM or sitting pantsless in my apartment playing video games.
2. The job of dating is to judge the other person, which means you should tell half-truths, or keep your weirdness to yourself. Okay, hear me out on this one: recently, I went out with a nice-ish fella who was somewhat interested in the fact that I was a writer, so I enthusiastically told him that I'm having a short story published in a horror anthology. "Oh," he says, interest waning. "Horror? What's it about?" and I said, "It's about a girl who kills and eats her boyfriend." I do see how that could be a red flag, but I explained that it wasn't to be taken literally and that it was more of a metaphor for some of the types of people that I met when I lived in LA and how our culture seems to condone disposable relationships with flippant consequences... but the damage was done. In his eyes, I was already a cannibal. So! Perhaps I should have stopped while I was ahead and changed the subject, but I only really have the miraculous gift of hindsight. The point here is that every single person is weird in some way, but you're not supposed to talk about it until after you get in the other person's pants. Or until the other person understands your sense of humor. Whichever comes first, right? It's just that personally, my goal here is to find someone whose oddities are on par with my own because I'm really bad at half-truths, but I'm sure if I was more coy or mysterious, I would just be covered up with dreamboats.
3. Just try to take care of yourself. I still have no idea how women are supposed to behave. I just cannot keep up with the news, you guys. Am I supposed to let a guy pay for me? Am I supposed to offer? Does that offend his sense of masculinity? Should I be offended if he asks to go dutch? If he doesn't offer to pay and I'm left with the check, should I hate him immediately for not being a gentleman? Am I supposed to demand the check because I am a strong, independent woman and I don't need no man to pay mah bills? If he pays, does that mean I have to laugh at his jokes that aren't really funny and entitle him to sexy Business Time? DOES ANYONE EVEN KNOW THE ANSWERS TO THESE QUESTIONS?! Because I don't. Seriously. When the bill comes, I usually get really sweaty and twitchy and just try to pay for myself. My rationale lies in my upbringing, because my parents always taught EM and me to take care of ourselves and not expect anyone else to, because it isn't anyone else's job. This is why I've never been able to understand the "gold digger" philosophy. What happens if your ugly rich husband dies and changes his will on his deathbed and leaves all of his money to Save the Sea Otters or something? You can't rely on someone else to pay your bills, ladies. Those sea otters are fucking cute.
 |
| OMG OF COURSE I WOULD LEAVE EVERYTHING TO YOU! |
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
I never got into drugs because this is how my mind operates sober.
I was watching the History Channel the other day because when Discovery started doing all those gold rush, hillbilly-exploiting reality shows, I turned up my nose at their programming (with the exception of Shark Week, which is a TAB-family high holiday and is celebrated every year with appropriate sharkgod religious fanfare) and there was this show on about the Pacific Northwest and how it used to be a capitol of shanghai-ing people (kidnapping them and selling them to boats bound for Shanghai) and I thought that was really, really tragic.
Now, I have actually woken up and not known where I was on a few occasions, but that was mostly in college and the worst place I remember waking up in was a gutter (true story) and even waking up in unsavory places or with various sprained or broken bones (also true, and on separate occasions), it's usually a hilarious, Ke$ha-like experience covered in glitter and somehow a mysterious Santa hat in July and what you hope is your own vomit. You march home in last night's clothes (psh, Runway Walk of Shame, mofos), order something hangover-curing and fried, and pass out on the couch, no worse for the wear.
But the thought of waking up hungover and then having someone tell you that: "Oh hey, you're a slave now, push around this wheelbarrow full of rocks," (because in my imagination that's what slaves do? I don't know.) and just having to deal with it would not sit well with me. So overall, I'm really glad I don't live in old-timey times when people in the Pacific Northwest had to worry about that every time they left their huts for pizza, or whatever people in history did when they left their huts.
Although, if I did wake up and forgot whether I was in LA or in Seattle, I figure I could just find someone on the street and be like, "Do you like Boba?" and if they were like, "Fett? Oh yeah, Star Wars for the win!" I would know I was in Seattle. If they were like, "Boba? Ugh, bubble tea was so three years ago!" I would know I was in LA, and then I'd have to find some old-timey kidnapper and tell him to drop me off in Seattle on his way to Shanghai.
The moral of this story is "don't take my effing idea because I'm actually gonna write that into a bad sci-fi episode."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
