Thursday, June 26, 2008

Adoring fans

I visit a blog called Shakesville five days a week, mostly because I think Melissa McEwan is one of the best writers on the internet. Her pieces resonate with me, because she's a whip-smart, sassy broad who slings snarky humor around like no one else. She's a chick that I'd love to share a bottle of Jameson with sometime (that's an open invitation, Liss).

She's got a post up called "Because They're From Venus" that is today's required reading. I nodded my head so hard in agreement while reading it that I had to pop an aspirin afterwards. As my longtime readers know, I'm no stranger to hate mail from the occasional angry menz. Now, I've gotten plenty of friendly and flattering emails from men as well, which I appreciate, but I'm not talking about you lovelies today. Of course, I manage to have fun with the occasional heckler, but still...that sort of thing just shouldn't be happening, should it? How very rude.

Melissa discusses this phenomenon with her usual rapier wit:
I don't know what Wolfers' hate-mailers want from him, but I suspect it isn't all that different from what my hate-mailers want from me—a reaction, a show of fear, some sort of communication that we have been suitably intimidated, and, in the best case scenario, our slinking off into the ether for fear that our hate-mailers will make their dark fantasies our reality.

Love it.

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The wonders of Craig and his list


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Hello all,
If you live in Denver and get the chance, make sure to see I'm Through With White Girls, starting tomorrow, June 27. It's an absolutely wonderful film; you'll find a review by clicking on the title.

I know a couple of people involved with its production, so I'm helping them get the word out. It's touching, hilariously funny and different than any romantic comedy I've ever seen. I usually hate rom coms, actually, but I love this one, even after seeing it four times.

The film has won awards all over the world:
NEW VISION AWARD – Bahamas International Film Festival
BEST NARRATIVE FEATURE – Norway WT Os International Film Festival
BEST NARRATIVE FEATURE – American Black Film Festival
BEST NARRATIVE FEATURE – Urban Mediamaker's Film Festival
BEST NARRATIVE FEATURE – Martha's Vineyard African American Film Festival
BEST NARRATIVE FEATURE – Roxbury Film Festival
BEST NARRATIVE FEATURE – Hollywood Black Film Festival
BEST NARRATIVE FEATURE – Pan African Cannes Film Festival
BEST ACTRESS – Atlanta International Film Festival
BEST ROMANTIC COMEDY – Houston Worldfest Film Festival

The film is only playing at Neighborhood Flix, in a limited run that will end on July 3. Help out my peeps and put your butts in the seats!

I promise, you won't regret it.

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Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Female soldiers are worth more than this, part eleventy million

The LaVena Johnson case.

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Monday, June 23, 2008

RIP George

I got to see George Carlin perform at my college during Homecoming Weekend in the early 90s, and he was a blast.
Hat tip: Jezebel.

UPDATE: This is exactly what George was talking about.

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Friday, June 20, 2008

“Of all people, you know who I am…who the world needs me to be. I’m Wonder Woman.”

I thought I'd come up as Catwoman, but the quiz don't lie.

The funny thing is, I actually had a boss back in Boston who called me Wonder Woman, because I'd saved his ass so many times. He bought me all kinds of Wonder Woman trinkets when he traveled; I still have the Wonder Woman address book he got me. 

I decided to be Wonder Woman for Halloween that year. That was fun - I rented a costume that looked a lot like this. I even went to Home Depot and bought rope and gold spray paint to make my very own Lasso of Truth.

I went to a party at my friends Robin and Joe's place that night. I was surfing the crimson wave (read: menstruating), which is horrible when you're basically wearing a spangly bathing suit and boots. Even with cramps, I was able to rock my costume until I had, um, un poquito accidente on the couch in their den.

I know you feel me, girls. You do your best to plug it, but sometimes, it escapes anyway. We are animals, after all. The human body ain't always pretty, even when you dress it up.

I couldn't move off the couch while people were still in the den. I didn't want anybody to see. I certainly didn't want anyone to sit on it! After about twenty minutes, people started to move to another room to refresh their drinks; I used the opportunity to clean myself up quickly, then snag Robin and confess my crime. She sympathized and told me not to worry - the couch was a Stainmaster and had special cleaning cloths that would get anything out. I grabbed one and set to work destroying the evidence of my wayward bodily function.

Her husband Joe came downstairs while I was scrubbing. "Did you spill some soda?"

"Yeah, but it's coming out," I lied. He's a very cool guy, but I was too mortified to 'fess up.

Your results:
You are Wonder Woman

You are a beautiful princess
with great strength of character.

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Quiz


Friday brilliance

Big props to The Navigatrix, who has a terrific post up called "The Nays Have It." An excerpt:

Men are more used to rejection because we force them to be the aggressors in relationships. Women are terrible at it because we do not let women pursue; we tell them that all men want sex all the time, so when one does not want to have sex with you, something is wrong. We tell them that men only want sex and that they do not want sex, ever; that if women want sex it makes them whores. We tell men that women do not want sex. We tell men that because women will never have sex with them, if one will, you must take it while you can. We tell women to be coy. We say no so that we can look virtuous when we want to say yes; so we will not be a whore, because he talked us into it. Sometimes we say yes because we see the hungry look in his eye and we're scared to say no.

It's great; have a read.


Thursday, June 19, 2008

Liar, liar: The Reveal, Part One

Okay, peeps, let's see how well you all did on my little quiz, starting today!

Statement: Cuba Gooding, Jr. spilled a glass of wine down my dress at a party.

Answer: TRUE.
I arrived in Los Angeles in the fall of 2003 with two suitcases, no job and only a couch to sleep on. That couch belonged to a lovely model/actress who now opens one of the cases on Deal Or No Deal. She and I had been introduced by a mutual friend; I needed a place to flop while I got on my feet, and she needed someone to help with her rent. It was a good arrangement for six months; we were the same age and got along well.

About a month after I moved in with her, M/A invited me to a CAA party that was being thrown at the Pacific Design Center. Being an entertainment newbie, I admit that it was a thrill being up to my neck in famous people that I'd only ever seen on screen. M/A had also brought a guy friend to the party, so while she was off schmoozing, he (a lawyer) and I (still jobless) stood by the bar, discreetly clocking celebrities and joking about how we were going to be thrown out of the soirée for not being fabulous enough. Here are some of the peeps we spotted that night:

Alec Baldwin - Attractive in person, very hairy though

Uma Thurman - Tall and GORGEOUS. Seriously, pictures do not do that woman justice.

Jamie King - Really pretty, with a dragon tattoo that covers almost her entire back

Kate Holmes - Poor girl, she was still 'Katie' then. Pretty, sweet, quite tall. Free Katie!

Greg Kinnear - Looks older in person. He was talking to...

Eva Mendes - ...who is stunning.

Kate Hudson - was hugely pregnant at the time, and very self-conscious about it. She kept a trenchcoat wrapped tightly around her.

Jason Biggs - surprisingly cute!

Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore - word had just gotten out about this couple, and EVERYTHING STOPPED when they walked in together.

Paris and Nicky Hilton - Pre-sex tape, Paris slouched, picked at her too-tight dress and seemed to have very low self-confidence. Nicky looked pretty together.

Rachel Weisz - Bumped into her in the bathroom. I was surprised at how petite she is. Perfect skin, very polite.

Ms. Weisz wasn't the only person that I had physical contact with that night.  As the party wound down, M/A wanted to do one last lap on the balcony. We walked through the bar area and were about to pass through the balcony door when a man slammed into M/A, dousing my blouse (and her skirt) with wine.

Well, at least it was white wine, and I wasn't wearing white! Wiping off my one-shoulder wrap, I barely looked at the very drunk dude who'd just given my breasts a shower.

"Ohhhhh! I'm ssssssssooo sorry!" He exclaimed, putting down now almost empty glass on a nearby table and wiping his hands on his suit. I looked up to see Cuba Gooding Jr. reaching for napkins to hand to M/A and myself. He did seem very contrite and, happily, did not attempt to "blot" my chest or her crotch. "Arrre you okay?" 

We were okay, of course. Apologies and okays were exchanged all around. "Now I can say that Cuba Gooding Jr. got me wet!" M/A joked. Which...ew. Clever, but ew, and slightly starfucker-y.

"AaaaaaaaahhhhhaaaahhhhAAAAAAAAAA!!!" Cuba thought it was hysterical. The two exchanged hi-fives. 

I hope he took a cab home. 

Stay tuned for Part 2 of The Reveal!

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Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Goods and services

My friend Stephanie was in Romania on business recently. Her descriptions of that country are beyond depressing; apparently, the population at large lives in near squalor while very few enjoy the country's limited wealth. Bucharest, the nation's capital and the city where she does business, has no spaying and neutering programs, resulting in a huge population of stray dogs that are often shot to death in the streets by police.

Stephanie was at my birthday party this past Saturday, and we took some time to catch up. "Every time I leave Romania, I come home with fleas," she said.

"If you lie down with dogs..." I joked.

She nodded. "I hug and kiss the dogs. I've seen a few killed in front of me, just after I hugged them. The police do roundups every month and shoot them right in the street. I give myself fleas on every business trip. I can't help it. I figure I'm giving them their last hug. I'm usually right."

Prostitutes are all over the hotels in Bucharest. "They're supermodels," Stephanie told me. "Gorgeous women. Tall, blonde, dripping with expensive jewelry. They dress like businesswomen, in suits that cost thousands of dollars."

"I guess they are businesswomen," I said, "in a way."

When she's in Bucharest, Stephanie usually dresses in jeans and t-shirts. She wears a baseball cap. She's in her early 30s, but because she's so petite and has very delicate features, she looks like a teenager when she dresses that way.

On her last trip, she had a meeting to go to and found herself in the hotel elevator with a white American man who looked to be in his 70s. She had her usual casual duds on. I'm sure it sounds strange to some of you that a corporate vice president can wear jeans to business meetings, but people who work in entertainment can get away with it. Steph described her look that day as "grubby." Now, she's so pretty that I don't think she could ever actually look grubby, but I understood that she had thrown on whatever was clean that day, and put a cap over her damp, almost waist-length hair.

Meanwhile, in the elevator...

She and the man were alone. As the elevator descended, he leaned over and asked, "Are you for sale?"

Steph was aghast. Remember, Bucharest prostitutes have a certain 'look.' "Why in the hell would he assume I was a prostitute, in my jeans and old t-shirt?" she asked, exasperated.

"Maybe he's tried all the others, and wanted a new flavor," I mused.

Anyhow, she kept her composure and turned to the man. "No," she replied. "Are you?"

He laughed. "If I was, you couldn't afford me."

"Actually," she retorted, "I could buy and sell you ten times over."

Then, just like a scene in a movie, the elevator doors opened. She walked out, leaving him stunned.


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Hat tip: Pandagon.

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Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Yes, I am one of those ANGRY WOMEN who burned her bra after Hillary lost.

No, not really. But I think this is hilarious:

Hat tip: Feministing.

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Monday, June 16, 2008

Work it out

Jezebel has this post up about horrific workplace stories. It's a hilarious read, and as many regular readers know, I've got a few of my own. Let me add a couple of others!

When I was 14 years old, I got my very first summer job in the Calvin Klein store at the local mall. I started on Memorial Day weekend. That very Saturday, I came into work to find that all of the associates had been arrested for shoplifting the night before. They'd had a racket going for a while; they would fill garbage bags full of clothes, throw them in the dumpster, then come back to the store in the middle of the night to retrieve the bags. They got caught when the store's security guard, suspicious at the unusual amount of garbage going into the bins each night, hid in his car in the store's back parking lot after hours, his eye fixed on the dumpster. Sure enough, the girls drove up around 1am, did the dumpster dive and were caught red-handed. I wound up completely stuck, working 12 hour days as the only associate on a crowded holiday weekend.

It was hell, but if I'd had any idea as to what my early corporate jobs would be like, I might have stayed there.

Ten years later, I was hired by a wholesale distributor to work in their in-house advertising department. This was my first real corporate job, about a year after I had moved to Boston. I'd spent the previous year working two jobs; one at a print shop, the other at a CVS in my neighborhood of Allston-Brighton, which is situated right between the Boston University and Boston College campuses.

I was excited to finally be a full-time paid designer with medical benefits and vacation time, but quickly learned that my new place of business was a den of iniquity. The number of sexual harrassment charges that had been quietly settled for money filled a very fat file in Personnel. Many of those charges had been (rightly) leveled at the founder of the company, a squat, vulgar man in his 70s who, fittingly, looked like a pig would if a fairy godmother waved her magic wand and made him human. Not one to age gracefully, he dyed his hair (what I referred to as) 'piss-yellow,' and his penchant for regular chemical peels kept the skin on his face a very bright pink. Instead of looking younger, he looked like a sunburned Porky Pig with a yellow toupée. He hired handicapped people to be living examples of his magnanimity, then treated them like circus animals; after hiring a young woman with Down's Syndrome to stuff envelopes, he made her a special feature when he gave tours, pointing and saying, "Look! I have this little mongoloid girl working here." Porky fancied himself a ladies' man; I guess he thought that inviting female associates into his office for 'business meetings' and then grabbing at their breasts and behinds qualified as innocent fun. One of my own coworkers, a shapely blonde with a loud, infectious laugh, came running down to the photography studio one day in tears after he'd done it to her. Even worse? He was a friend of her family's and had known her since she was a child. She had trusted him and refused to believe the rumors she'd heard about him. Worse than worse? Because of his relationship to her family, she was guilted out of filing a complaint.

El Jefe Gay Male Boss once told me, "A fish rots from the head." He was absolutely right. Porky Pig had set the standard for male behavior in our office, and that standard was pathetically low.

When I started working for Sexual Harrassment Central, I was 24, naive, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and cuter than I thought I was, as we all are at 24. Only a year out of college, I was used to being judged by the quality of my work. Cute, right? How sweet I was. Sadly, it rarely takes long for female cubicle dwellers to be disabused of the notion that corporate America is a meritocracy. Thanks to SHC, my naivete was collateral damage in less than three months.

I worked for a guy I'll call Marcus. He was creepy; he was one of Porky's closest cronies. He always looked down at you when he spoke, even if you were his same height; he'd pull his wire-rimmed glasses down to the end of his nose and tilt his chin down to look over them at you. He was incredibly homophobic, and made disparaging (and sometimes graphic) remarks to gay employees; he also referred to them as "Miss [first name]" when he wanted to be particularly condescending. He leered at female employees and made (usually physically based) comments about them when they left the room.

There's an old Irish proverb that goes like this:
May those who love us love us.
And those that don’t love us, May God turn their hearts.
And if He doesn’t turn their hearts, May he turn their ankles,
So we’ll know them by their limping.

Seems off topic, I know, but Marcus had an odd gait, as if he had a permanent limp, Richard III – style. One of the very few chuckles that I had at Marcus' expense was based in the idea that he was so odious that God had actually given him a wonky walk to warn people he was coming. Mind you, there was nothing actually wrong with him; it's not cool to laugh at the handicapped. It is, however, perfectly fine to enjoy the occasional laugh at the expense of an asshole who treats his subordinates like shit.

Every day in Marcus' presence brought something new to amaze and disgust, but I quickly learned that complaining got you nowhere at SHC unless a) somebody put their hands on you and b) you had a witness who was willing to speak up on your behalf. Needless to say, that didn't happen very often.

Marcus immediately had a problem with me. "Ginger asks so many questions," he'd whine in a faux-joking tone. "Don't get into it with her, she'll ask you a ton of questions." Asshole Extraordinaire did teach me one very important thing - you can judge a boss by how well s/he deals with questions. Marcus was a Status Quo guy, and the status quo was whatever he decided; thus, we worked in Asshole Central. Questioning him meant that other people might get ideas of their own; therefore, to him, I was trouble. He made fun of his "Little Questioner" in front of people whenever he got the chance.

My favorite Marcus moment happened one day when I accidentally dropped a Zip disk underneath a counter. I was perfectly capable of picking it up myself, but I was wearing a skirt that day, so I had to be strategic about it. In many agencies, the design/marketing department is one large room, separated into cubicles, and SHC followed that format. One runs the risk of flashing one's coworkers in such a situation. How embarrassing! I'd rather not, so whenever I had to pick something up that had fallen under a counter or desk while wearing a skirt, I utilized a tactic that I called the "triple tuck":

1. Tuck skirt between back of thighs.
2. Kneel, tuck legs under butt in side-saddle fashion, resting weight on one hip.
3. Tuck skirt between front of thighs.

Use this method and you can safely reach under anything you like without showing your undies (or punany, if you're the adventurous type who likes going commando. Personally, I'm not one who enjoys a breeze in my nethers).

I did the triple tuck, retrieved my disk and came out from under the counter... see Marcus, on his stomach at other end of the hallway, face to the floor, trying to peek up my skirt.


"Are you all right, Marcus?" I asked in my sweetest voice.

"Uh. Uh," he tried to laugh it off. "I thought you might have needed some help, there."

I'll bet he did.

When I finally quit SHC, Porky Pig called me up to his office. I'd never allowed myself to wind up alone in there; in the past, I'd always taken a coworker with me, usually male, to Porky's palpable consternation. This time, I had to go alone, for my 'exit interview.'

I made sure to leave the door open, politely refused when asked to sit, and stayed as close to the door as possible. Porky's secretary, who sat in the adjoining room, had been with him from the beginning; I knew for a fact that she was paid a hefty six figures to file, fax, answer phones - and keep her mouth shut. I wanted to make sure that she wound up involved if something went wrong.

"I'm sad to hear you're leaving." Porky came out from behind his desk and walked over to me. He took my right hand in his right hand and slowly stroked my right arm, up and down, with his left hand. "I want you to know, we'll always have a place for you if you decide to come home." I mumbled a quick "Thank you," broke away, and walked out.

Traditional wisdom dictates that you shouldn't burn your bridges; that day, I decided that I'd rather jump off a bridge before walking back across that one.

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Friday, June 13, 2008

May you live all the days of your life.

Readers, the above quote is by Jonathan Swift. Today, Friday the 13th, is my birthday! I was actually born on a Tuesday, but quite enjoy having Friday the 13th birthdays. I even turned 13 on a Friday the 13th. Personally, I've found 13 to be a very lucky number ; )

I'm taking the day off work and going to the spa for some much needed pampering. I'll resume posting this weekend.


Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Surprise, surprise...


As a 1930s wife, I am
Very Poor (Failure)

Take the test!

Poor FunnyBoy. I should have sent him the results of this test! Then he wouldn't have bothered.

Hat tip: Shakespeare's Sister.

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Monday, June 09, 2008

Putting the cart before the brood mare

Breeders - I mean, readers - I'm not sure how much longer I can tolerate this attempt at online dating. You have to admit, I've really been giving it a fair shot, but dating in LA is TEH CRAZY. Those of you who've been with me throughout this bumpy ride are already aware that most of my online experiences have been less than positive.

I have my profile up on two dating sites; one free, the other not. I've always been advised to avoid the free sites; common sense dictates that the worst men out there are going to gravitate to sites where they don't have to pay. I haven't found that at all. For the most part, the quality of men on both sites that I've tried have been about equal; believe it or not, Mr. BJ came from the paying site! Then again, Mr. Date Rape came from the free site, which puts free and paying sites neck and neck with me. Being an optimist by nature, I tell myself that hope springs eternal and keep my profiles up.

I recently made the acquaintance of FunnyGuy, a very cute, 37 year old blond with a great smile. FG and I had IMed a couple of times, and I had given him my cell number about six weeks ago. He called that Saturday around 10:30am, waking me up. I had gone to bed around 3am and had slept in that morning. I shouldn't have answered the phone at all - I am an incoherent zombie when I first wake up - but after a glance at my alarm clock, I figured I should get my ass up and start my day. I explained to FG that I'd gotten in late, and would he mind calling me back later on? He apologized for waking me, I said no worries, we both hung up and I put some tea on.

He never called back; shit happens. My morning voice would scare anyone, and I should have let his call go to voicemail. I had a few dates lined up anyway, so I forgot about FG soon enough.

Imagine my surprise when I got an IM request from FG last week. I was curious, so once again, I answered. Here's the convo:

FunnyBoy: hello
Ginger: hello there
FunnyBoy: how are you
Ginger: fine, at work. Yourself?
FunnyBoy: at work too, not much longer
Ginger: nice to hear from you
FunnyBoy: yeah, you'd better be nice to me this time
Ginger: huh?
FunnyBoy: nicer than you were on the phone

Readers, I swear to you, although I admit that I sound like Swamp Thing in the morning, my regular voice is not so bad! Anyway, even half asleep, I still manage to be polite on the phone, especially with someone I do not know, who doesn't know me and therefore cannot interpret my tone. Whatever, I figured that FG was kidding.

Ginger: I wasn't being rude, I was just asleep. Not a pretty morning voice, I know.
FunnyBoy: Do you always do that? Sleep in?
Ginger: If my body needs it, yes. I get less sleep than I need during the week.
FunnyBoy: Well, we're not compatible.
Ginger: based on that?
FunnyBoy: well, yeah
FunnyBoy: I like to live my life
FunnyBoy: and do stuff

Now who's being rude?

Ginger: Uh, I 'do stuff.' I do a lot of stuff during the week, more than most people. Resting the body is important too. What else are weekends for?
FunnyBoy: Well, I get my sleep on weekdays, because I make my own hours at work.

Let me get this straight. He gets to sleep in 5 days a week, I sleep in one or two, and I'm the lazy ass who's wasting her life?

Ginger: Gotta do what's right for you.
FunnyBoy: Well, isn't that a substantive response

'FunnyBoy' was starting to sound like 'AssHat.'

Ginger: OK, Mr. Not Right For Me, why don't we cut our losses and sign off before I disappoint you further?

FG responded by sending me a 'weepy' emoticon. Cry me a river, babe. I figured that would be it. He'd already told me that we were incompatible due to my laziness, so...

FunnyBoy: do you want children


What? He's willing to breed with a sloth like myself?! I had to give FG some credit for giving me a good laugh. I had a choice to make - get more annoyed, sign off, or have a little fun. Must you ask which one I chose after all this time? Really?

Ginger: When would we conceive? We're never in bed at the same time.

I got about 30 seconds of silence as a response.

FunnyBoy: At your parents' house during the holidays.

Cheeky! And, EW. Ok, I'll play.

Ginger: Oh, my father would LOVE that. You should know, I come from a family of lazy-ass weekend sleepers. You'll be lonely...
Ginger: anyway, aren't you putting the cart before the horse here?

I'd like to point out that FG and I had never met in person.

FunnyBoy: no
FunnyBoy: It's a direct question
FunnyBoy: Which you're not answering

A pissy response, but fair enough. It was a serious question and deserved a serious answer.

Ginger: with the right guy, I would have children
FunnyBoy: you can't sleep in when you have kids
FunnyBoy: you know that, right?

Asshattery! I should have signed off at that moment, but...the calls to! Must! Not! Respond!

Ginger: But you'll be awake! So, no problem.

I giggled as I clicked 'send.' Hey, the guy was warned; my hair color is clearly visible in my profile photo.

FunnyBoy: ok, I'm signing off
Ginger: 'Bye Dad.

We're not incompatible because I sleep in every once in a while. We're incompatible because 'FunnyBoy' has no sense of humor! The irony.

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My onion works its magic yet again

Dear twentysomething cads in Burbank Village:

Yelling "Booty booty booty booty!" at me from your car as I cross the street is my absolute favorite mating call. Really, why didn't you pull over so I could jump in? At least one of you must be marriage material. Teenage behavior in adult men does it for me like nothing else. FILL ME WITH YOUR LITTLE BABIES!!

Wait! Wait!! Where are you going?! COME BACK!

Yeah, keep driving. I noticed that there were no chicks in the car with you - I wonder why that is?

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Wednesday, June 04, 2008

Happy 89th anniversary

Whatever happens come November, I will have been able to participate. I value that privilege and the women (and men) who fought so I could have it.

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Tuesday, June 03, 2008

Liar, liar

This week, I really enjoyed Sage's game (which she picked up from Halushki), in which she listed five truths and one lie, challenging her readers to find the lie. I'd like to play. So, here goes - which one of these statements is false?

1. Cuba Gooding, Jr. spilled a glass of wine down my dress at a party.
2. I have a paralyzing fear of roller coasters.
3. I've been caught in flagrante delicto in public. Twice.
4. As a child, I was almost trampled by a huge buck on my front lawn.
5. Russell Crowe once bent over and put his ass in my face.
6. I had a past life experience while I was in Ireland.

I think this will be tough - even for some of my friends who know me well. Take a guess, and when I've gotten a decent number of comments, I'll spend a week revealing which statements are true, and which is the lie. Good luck!


A day in the Life

So last night, on my way home from work, I stopped at a drugstore/convenience store to pick up some tea, toilet paper and cinnamon Life cereal. A mumbling man brushed by me as I was putting my cereal into my basket.

He go to the end of the aisle, turned around and doubled back, looking down as he passed me.

"Mumblemumblemumble titties."

People sometimes ask why I'm so snarky. Seriously? I'd like to be able to pick up some cereal on my way home without some cretin acting a fool just because I'm wearing a V-neck. Had that dude ever seen a woman before? We've all got a pair, and since I live in LA, mine are nowhere near the biggest you'll see.

Whatever. My titties and I paid for our cereal and went home.

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Monday, June 02, 2008

God help me

Readers, it would seem that some 'men of faith' really do see women as replaceable breeder mammals. If they did not, they would not have the misguided notion to send Yours Truly the following email:

Hello Pretty,

That's Hello Kitty's cousin, in case you were wondering.

I'm Kit,

Name changed to protect the guilty, natch.

am passionate, loyal,caring and honest person,am an easy to get along with somewhat quick witted humorous man.

Well, there's a lot in there, and most of it actually sounds pretty good, if a bit form letter-y. I'm aware that dudes usually have a harder time describing themselves than women do. I actually think it's cute that he described himself as 'somewhat' quick-witted...most guys go overboard with a 'look how smart I am' routine. He sounds real. Then again, I have my doubts when somebody calls himself 'easy to get along with.' It sounds deliberately misleading, like calling yourself a gentleman when you're anything but.

I fall in love like a mad person when i have to love someone,

Uh oh, stalker alert! Firstly, when do you 'have to' love someone? Secondly, the 'mad person' description calls to mind a guy who has mastered the drunken angry 4am post-breakup call. Maybe I'm misreading?

Above all about me,am a God fearing man with a child,

And, scene.

Readers, religious people are just fine by me. I was raised in an Irish Catholic family, myself; I can quote the Bible like nobody's business. However, my family instilled a healthy skepticism within me, and a desire to find my own way spiritually. I'm afraid the term 'God fearing' is a bit too fundamentalist for my taste. It's a bit, you know, Old Testament - where men are men and women never leave the house. Fire and brimstone only appeal to me when I'm at a barbecue. FOR MY SOUL!

I kid. To each their own, but I don't like how the funamenalist faction of Christianity treats the wimmins - that includes you, Pope Rat. Females are fully fledged humans, not just baby machines and surrogate mommies...

i visited this site in search for true love and also a loving mother who would love me and my kid...

There it is.

Listen, I think it's actually a good thing that this guy is being honest about his kid. Being a single parent is really tough, and if you're going to be in a relationship, you need to make sure that your new partner cares about your child and is a good role model. It's a tough tightrope to walk once you're a parent, constantly balancing your needs with your kid's. So, maybe when you're looking for a partner, you should look for one with the right qualifications? Like, someone who says she's religious and wants an instafamily? Trust me, kids, there is nothing in my profile along those lines. It certainly doesn't say "Godless Jezebel Seeks Filthy Heathens For Endless String Of One-Night Stands," but it is, shall we say, decidedly secular and independent-minded in nature. I do love kids - I was a nanny for a few years, and because of that, I have no illusions about how much work they are. I may very well have a bambino(a) of my own someday, but am not particularly open to having one dropped in my lap.

i'm on a business trip but want to get to know you.

Twooo wuv and a babysitter for when you're out of town, coming right up!

Nah, I'm busy.

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