Last one of the year

Happy New Year's Eve!

I'm headed down to Philly today for the last wedding of the year. Literally. 2008 was the year of "A Shitload of Weddings All Out of Town." This year, I went to 10 weddings, none of which were in New York and all of which required at least one night's stay in a hotel room. I even had to reject two weddings...which were also out of town. And like, far out of town - like Cali and Mexico. Because, I'd already been to Cali and Mexico for weddings! Actually the real reason I couldn't go is because I had conflicting weddings on those same weekends, which were also - you got it - out of town. Anyway, because I was so psyched about all the weddings and all the out of townness of all of them, I decided to make a map of my 2008 wedding schedule:

(Note: The "A" is where I live. The Bells are where I don't live.)



HAPPY NEW YEAR! Make 2009 count!

Not that there's anything wrong with that

horsey: am i gay if i think this is awesome: some youtube link
me: the default answer to that question is always 'Yes'

His open letter is better than mine!

There there, Tim Robbins. Everything will be ok.

And for anyone who has ever incorrectly used the phrase "Isn't that ironic?" This is truly ironic.

An Open Letter to The Lady in My Office Who is Always Talking About Her Kid

Dear Lady in My Office Who is Always Talking About Your Kid,

I have been working here for over one year and two months now, and I have noticed that not once have you said a word to me. In fact, up until about six months ago, I don't think you ever acknowledged my existence. As a shy awkward newcomer, I would brave a smile for you knowing it would probably not be reciprocated. Even though it might have been strained and uncomfortable, it was still an attempt at the universal signal for "Greetings!" Now that I am a seasoned employee, I still throw you a nod and half-smile when we pass eachother, but with more conviction and self-assuredness. You see, I own that little patch of walkway outside my cubicle. I also own about 2 square inches of space right in front of the copier. I, my fellow coworkeress, am confident about my place here in this fine establishment, and I shall no longer be intimidated by your cold, uninterested, icy stare.

I think you feel comfortable now returning a half smile. That is fine. In fact, restricting our office relationship to that of impersonal smiles is more than fine by me, because I have noticed that there is only one thing that you ever talk about. One thing. And that thing, is your son. Yes, I know you just had a son. In fact, the whole office knows you just had a son...two years ago.

We know about what you did this weekend with your son, and even what you did to arrange for his care when you were not with your son. We know what kind of foods he likes and how he doesn't like to eat anything that is orange in color unless its name has the word "orange" in it. We know that you have your theories on how to raise your son and they're in conflict with your sister's, and how you won't let your son stay at her house because you're afraid he will come back with bad habits that will take weeks to undo. We know you find him adorable, playful, smart, and endearing. We know you find raising him fraught with emotional conflicts, between exhilaration and exasperation, between the joy in the sound of his laughter, and the heartbreak in the sound of his cries. We know that you don't see anything wrong with breastfeeding him. Still. In public.

Lady in My Office Who is Always Talking About Your Kid, since the birth of your son, did you know that seven other children in this office have been born? Seven. That's almost how many commandments there are, and the first three suck anyway, so yeah, as many relevant commandments there are, that's how many other kids were born. And that's just in our office. Britney's 16 year old sister got knocked up and had a baby, and Brangelina squeezed out some twins for the world to ogle over. Other things have happened too, like, the credit crunch, which became a mortgage crisis of a teen, and is now an adult as a full on global economic recession. The world became enthralled by the unbuttoned iPhone, and we had the Olympics which took place in China this year. Oh smack, the Olympics! 8 year olds competed as 16 year olds...and won! And some schmuck from Michigan won 8 gold medals for different versions of swimming. 8! Russia invaded Georgia - no, not the one with the giant peach, the one over in Europe - and Bush got the double smack down by Chavez and Ahmadinejad. Were you aware that we had the craziest election year ever? Do you even know who got elected president? Can you even vote?

Lots of things have happened since your kid was born, and yet, everytime I hear your voice - in the kitchen, down the hall, in the bathroom, I know it's going to be a story about your son. You talk about him 123% of the time. 123%?! How is that possible? It's possible, because I know that those times when you pass by me and you think that you might want to say hi, it's because there's something that your son recently did that you want to talk about. I can see that story rolling about in your head. But you haven't warmed to me yet; you're still suspicious of me, so you keep it to yourself. So even though you're not saying anything...I know you're talking about him.

Anyway, I don't really have a point to this except to say, jeez all you talk about is your kid. I could say, Lady, give it a rest, but I know you can't, so I won't bother. Plus, I am very understanding of first time parents. Kids - they're a big deal - I get it! I'm kind of insulated from the stories anyway, so I don't really mind. I find it amusing. I mean, I guess I don't have any kids of my own to talk about, so here's me, talking about you talking about your kid. Now excuse me, I think I'm going to go get a slice of that cake you brought in from your son's birthday this weekend.

Tim Robbins ALSO doesn't know how voting works!

I blame it on Stuyvesant High. Yeah, we both went to the same high school. That's public schooling for ya.

But maybe the fact that I got to attend classes in the new building which probably had no asbestos in it destroyed my brain a little less, and so my story ended up a little less tragic than his.

Post Election Hangover Headlines

The top ten news stories, as expected, go to Barack. Well, the top nine.

Things I suck at #3

Voting.

One of the funnest dating horror stories I like to tell involves me incanting perhaps the most atrocious thing I have ever heard come out of a contemporary's mouth. To which my audience members will gasp Wait- was he kidding?! I don't want to repeat it here because it's actually too incendiary and offensive and it actually bothers me still when I think about it, but if you want to know just ask me offline about the "Republican Canadian." Likewise, in a similarly incredulous fashion, he has probably repeated to his friends something that fell out of my mouth which he found to be completely airbrained and ludicrous (this was well before his infamous comment). Something along the lines of "...I don't know how voting works." I actually do know how voting works, I tried to recover, but having been thrown off by something he had done I was confused for a microsecond and as usual, uttered words that didn't exactly match what was in my brain. That happens fairly often.

Anyway as it turns out, I apparently don't know how voting works.

I woke up this morning early, with a resolve to go and cast my ballot. I was up at 7:15. 7:15, people!! That is EARLY! My voting center was two and a half blocks away from me and during that short walk I felt charged with excitement. Was the line going to be long? What kind of people would be on the line? Where would my Dad be? Would they let me vote? Maybe the Unregistered Voters line would be short, because most people were responsible Americans unlike me. I got to 97th and Amsterdam and saw the public school, a bake sale, and what appeared to be three orderly but very long lines. I stepped up to the middle line and asked the gentleman in front of me what this line was for, realizing too late of course, that I probably should have been more elaborate. You can imagine the look he gave me as he said very slowly so my special education addled brain could understand: "This - is - the - line- for - voting." Not to be humiliated, I gave him the dirtiest look I could muster and told him "I know that." Quickly composing himself he apologized and just said it was the line to get in. I pointed to the line to our right and asked what that was, hoping he would say it was the unregistered voters/dumbasses line, but instead he said it was still the line, it had just wound around because it was so long. I shut my mouth and stayed in my spot.

The line was generally full of yuppies. There were a few baby carriages and lots of Burberry coats, briefcases, and cellphones with people reporting how long they'd been on line and what the progress was. Every once in a while, an election worker would come by and call out a precinct number and pull whoever was in that precinct off the line to bring them into the school if its booth was empty. The line moved relatively quickly and it never actually got longer than its original ending point. We were all pretty placid, although I wished I could go get a gingerbread latte. I was too scared to get off the line though and just inched along with everyone else. I wondered what it looked like inside, and what the voting booths would be like. I hadn't voted in 8 years, and that time I was in California. I wondered what my Dad was doing, and thought about how 25 years ago, right in the parking lot of this housing complex which we were all standing next to, he had taught me to ride my bike without the training wheels.

20-30 minutes into my wait, a very middle-aged couple came up to the line and asked if this was the line to vote. We affirmed. They pondered it for a minute, and then turned around and walked away. People on the line got agitated. The gentleman in front of me groaned as another guy on the line next to us griped "How do you expect things to change??" It's like the couple was going on their daily morning walk and it randomly occurred to them that today was Election Day, and maybe they'd stop in and get a coffee if the line wasn't too long, but oh well the line was too long so maybe they should go to the shop down the block.

At about 8:30, it occurred to me that I'd probably feel really stupid if I waited out the entire line and got to the gym only to find out that I couldn't actually vote. I asked the lady behind me to hold my place while I went to ask a question, and tagged along with the next group of people who had been rounded up to go vote in their underrepresented precinct booth. I passed by about 40 minutes worth of people and breezed right through only to realize that I probably could have just walked right in from the start and no one would have asked questions. The gym looked like what you'd think a public school gym in Manhattan would look like, with a bunch of dilapidated voting booths, throngs of people. The volunteers asked me for my address and told me I was in precinct 23 and pointed me in that direction. I went the first table and gave the lady my name, and as she slowly flipped the pages I started crafting what I might say once she discovered my name wasn't there. I looked around and was comforted when I saw my father on the far side of the gym. If my wits failed me, my father would surely not! He'd get me my write-in vote. The lady told me I wasn't on the list and to talk to Norah, the stout lady next to me who was in a suit and had her back to me. When Norah turned around, I blurted "I'm not registered. Can I vote?" And she said flat out "No." I waited for the punchline. I waited for the smile. I waited for the "Just kidding, come this way, Hon!" None of which happened. "Really? Wait, really? But I have ID!" Even though I knew that was useless (someone on the line forgot her ID, and the election worker reassured her that she didn't need it). "You cannot vote if you're not registered. Maybe in another state you can make a provisional ballot, but not in New York. Where have you been this whole time, how could you not register?" As she lightly chastised me, I thought back to that morning a few weeks ago when I'd had an opportunity to register between the 2 and the Shuttle...but was already late for work and figured I'd do it later even though I had a feeling that this was something I was going to let slip. After all, I figured if dead people and fictional characters could vote, how could they turn away me, a perfectly eligible voter who had 2 forms of government ID plus a current credit card statement that had my address on it?

Dejected, I asked her if I could at least go say hi to my Dad and she said sure. I told my Dad the news and before he could say anything, a voice behind me said "Daddy, how can you let your daughter not register? I want to spank her!" Norah had followed me over. My Dad smiled and shrugged, the gesture perfected by all men his age who have been married as long as he has. "Can she write a..." "No! You much be registered! Oh, I am so sorry, but you cannot. The Board of Elections needs your name, and maybe if you went yesterday...but not on Election Day. You cannot do anything on election Day!" I think my Dad had thought that I could submit an affidavit ballot, but after opening my mouth about not being registered, it was really too late. Stupid honesty. My father pulled out some sort of notecard from a paper holder and told me to just fill it out. It wouldn't do me anything except register me for the next election, but it was the best he could do. Basically, I'd have to wait another 4 years. I left, with Norah sympathetically telling me to make sure I register, and my father feeling slightly sorry for me. I just felt stupid.

As I descended the stairs to the subway, it occured to me that I should have asked them to look me up as Mouse, Mickey. Wits under pressure! Wits under pressure! Clearly I have none.

At work, I relayed on IM my sad story to the few friends who I knew wouldn't ridicule me. To my face, anyway. nocommies98 offered me his second voting slot (yes, in America you can register twice!) but on the condition that I vote for his guy. I told him I couldn't do that, because I didn't think I'd vote for his guy (although how funny would it have been to literally cancel out his vote?) also, I probably couldn't pass for a male. And also, it was kind of voter fraud. "I had two forms of ID and even a bill with my address on it!" That doesn't matter nocommies98 said, you don't need ID - you can thank the Democrats for that. "Why can't I just automatically get registered when I file my taxes? They just need to ask me the three easy questions and boom, I'm registered!" Then that would make it too easy, said mr. poopypants. You can thank the Republicans for that!

mr. poopypants, who loves the internet, showed me a link to the NYS rules for voting. You can in fact write in an affidavit ballot! My mistake was in admitting that I had not registered. I considered going back after work and trying again. I considered it all day, as the hours passed and my feelings of dread, foolishness and being left out loomed. nocommies98 was sure that if I went later, Norah would have gone home by then and I could try my scheme. I didn't think so I said, they're there til 9, but maybe she will have forgotten me by then.

At the end of the day though, I decided that I just wasn't going to do it. It wasn't worth it - they'd probably just throw away my ballot anyway, and I didn't want to deal with lines. Besides, I consoled myself with the notion that I had pretty much almost voted. I mean, I went through 95% of the motions. I stood in line. I jeered non-voters (I didn't really, but I listened to other people do it). I talked to election workers. I stood in the stuffy gymnasium. I just didn't push the button. Or pull the lever. Sigh. I didn't even know what our voting booths looked like since I didn't actually vote.

I rode the subway, feeling slightly stupid, still. No one on the train knew about my goof this morning, and chances are they wouldn't care, they'd just think I was dumb. Did everyone vote today? Everyone must have. Everyone but me. The big dummy.

As I got out of the train station, I found myself automatically walking away from my home and towards the school. Let me just see if the line is long, I thought. Let me just say hi to my Dad, who at this point has clocked 14 hours and would probably be happy to see my face. My big dumb face. It was dark and the streets were busy. Was everyone going to get their vote in? As I turned the corner, I was surprised to see no line. NO line. As in, not a single person waiting to vote. There were a few people milling about in front of the school, and the bake sale (which was now selling curry) was still there. I rushed up the steps into the school, and saw that the people at the table had changed. "What's your address?" they asked, and I told them. "Precinct 23, over there." As I expected, Norah was still here! But she was busy helping someone else so I slipped past her and the table I was at this morning, and went over to the table next to booth number 23. Again I found myself trying to compose a story as the election worker flipped through the pages. I saw my mom's name on the list and her goofy signature. She hadn't come to vote yet. And I saw my dad's name on the list; he had voted. And then...I seriously blinked, like I was a cartoon, like a Mickey Mouse cartoon...I saw it. My own scrawl. Plus my name. Plus my address. I WAS REGISTERED, OH MY GOD, I WAS REGISTERED!!! I seriously couldn't believe my eyes and my ears and my neck and my throat, but somehow, somewhere along the lines, I had done my civic duty and registered to vote! I don't think the people at the table realized I was a lot more happy than your average voter; I doubt they cared, but I almost kissed someone.

I jumped into the voting booth, and then promptly jumped back out to read the instructions, scared to mess this up. I pulled the lever, ticked off all the non-presidential candidates, and then paused for a moment while I made my last considerations. Obama. McCain. Biden. Palin. And then I flipped a switch, and I pulled the lever, and I emerged from the booth.

I had voted.

I had voted!

I ran over to my father, who was sitting in the same spot as I had seen him 11 hours earlier, and told him I had voted, that I had been registered after all. The other election workers at his table chuckled, and one lady told a story about how Kevin Bacon had discovered he wasn't registered and thrown a fuss and had gone down to the Board of Elections to do something about it (maybe he should commiserate with Tim Robbins). I said good bye to the table and thanked them for working today, and I called out to Norah on my way out of the school. I was registered afterall, I had just gone to the wrong table this morning! I told her, and she smiled and said "I'm so happy you voted!"

So I guess I was wrong before when I thought I knew how voting worked. But now, I am sure I know how voting works.

And now...we wait.

Tomorrow, we're electing a new President

I've been feeling queasy and anxious for the last few days, with me feeling worse as each day progresses. Today, I finally realized that it has to do with the Election. This election has definitely been the most interesting (and historic blah blah blah) election I've witnessed to date, and one that I have followed more closely than any other election I can think of. Which is really not saying that much, actually. I don't even know who ran in 2002. I'm probably going to get flamed for this, but this year, I don't hate either candidate. I actually don't! During the last election, I really hated one candidate, but that wasn't compelling enough for me to vote for his opponent. I really hated both options. I refused to vote, refused to take a stand, all while getting berated by one of my friends for wasting the glorious gift ordained to me by my fair country. Anyone that knows me knows that brute force tactics do not really work on me. This time around though, I'm thinking, hey, they're both not so bad. I mean, they're not great, but they're really not so bad. And I actually think that if I don't vote, I'll really be missing out on something grand and "historic."

That said, I'm trying to nail down why I feel so nervous, and I think it's simply this: Regardless of who wins, big change is comin' 'round the bend. BIG change. And for me, anything that resembles change is stress inducing and my automatic reaction is to hate it. I hate change and new things and I resist it. It's illogical and luddish (resembling a Luddite) but I can't help it. I hated it when stamps became self-adhesive (isn't a stamp defined by the very notion that you have to lick it? Clearly not.), when we went from using tokens to metrocards, bemoaned emails and forsook cellphones. My life went on like this for a while until one day I realized my problem and resolved to tackle it head on. I decided that the minute something new is on the horizon, before my gut can even cry out, I will embrace the new thing with gusto and love it. LOVE it! Immediately! Accept it, praise it, adopt it! And before I could change my mind, there was my new mentality. Love change and love new things!

I guess that works for things like keyless cars, "Artic Freeze!" flavors, iPhones and YouTube response videos (even though I still don't get them) but a little less so for things that will potentially change the way I live for a long time to come. Anyway, I'm totally rambling here, but I just wanted to tell y'all that I'm just really nervous about tomorrow and want to vomit everytime I think about waking up on Wednesday, and it has nothing to do with wanting or not wanting Obama/McCain/Palin/Biden to be our country's next leaders, but more so just the tantamount change tomorrow represents.

AND, I still have to figure out how to vote. Because, in a complete 180 from the attitude I had 4 years ago (ha! fooled you), I decided a while ago that I actually want to participate this year and stop hiding behind the excuse of ignorance about issues. Moreso, in the last 23 minutes, I have realized too that if I miss tomorrow's voting, I will really regret it and feel like a complete dumbass, because this time around, I really want to be a part of it - wrong or right. Even though it really doesn't mean anything. And even though I'm not registered. Yeah, I'm not registered. Oops. Luckily, my Dad is working the poll center in my neighborhood tomorrow, so I think I'm going to mosey along up to him and slip him my write-in vote. Wish me luck!

I guess I am a spambot

Is it me, or are these things* now officially impossible to do?


A Twinkie goes to the first human who can figure this out.

* Internet-and-All-Things-Techie-Expert-Friend Mr. Seriousface says these things are called "captchas." ?!

Bailout vs. Base: American adulthood games might confuse me

...but I definitely know my American childhood games.

iridethej: yeah you're hoarding a cat alright
in a box
I can't believe he likes the box
me: it's so funny how he loves that thing
and how he jumps into it like it's Base
iridethej: Base?
me: when you run around and play tag, if you run to the thing all the kids designated as Base, you can't be It
if you're caught/touched
me: and when you touch the Base you go
"BASE!"
so everyone knows you're Safe
iridethej: hmmm
that doesn't seem right
but OK
Sent at 5:32 PM on Wednesday
me: me: hey
do you know what Base is
when you're playing Tag?
luckyvespa13: yah
you can't be tagged when you're touching base
iridethej: what does luckyvespa13 know?
Sent at 5:34 PM on Wednesday
me: me: hey do you know what Base is when you're playing Tag?
McKins: whatever u decide it to be... isn't it where u go to be safe from whoever is "it"
me: very good.
Sent at 5:36 PM on Wednesday
me: me: Hey do you know what Base is when you're playing Tag?
mr.poopypants: ??
me: what do you mean ??
haven't you ever played Tag?
mr.poopypants: yeah
ok then yeah when i've played tag i generally know what "base" is
but we didn't always play with a base
me: omg why do you have to be the difficult one?
ok so what is base?
mr.poopypants: it's the safe spot
where you can't be tagged
a la baseball
me: thank you
Sent at 5:39 PM on Wednesday
iridethej: I hate you all
ALL of you
Sent at 5:44 PM on Wednesday

An Open Letter to my Analyst

Dear Analyst,

I was wondering: Did you not read the headlines today? Lehman Brothers filed for bankruptcy. Lehman Brothers, which is headquartered in NYC, and which has about 25,000 employees, is shuttering its doors. I might guess that about 2,000 analysts are out of a job. There was also something in the news about Merrill getting bought out. Now, I know that they were bought for their thousand footstep strong brokerage team...but I am guessing there are a few analysts there that are out of a job too.

So I was thinking - maybe you should try to not leave before me today. Don't get me wrong, I think you're really nice, and you try very hard. You're pretty bright too, and I like the pep in your step. However, I politely asked that you complete a summary of my 8 properties for the end of today. I even explained why, so we could spend tomorrow doing revisions so that I could bring the summary with me when I travel on Wednesday. At 6:30pm, did you really come to me and ask me if you could go home and finish the last 2 properties tomorrow? Really? Did you?

Well, please don't. It makes me feel bad to say "Um...I kind of need you to finish it tonight" with the implication being, dude, you need to finish your job even if that means you have to stay later. Much later. Well, later than 6:30 at least. And for sure, if I, along with my 3 other associate cohorts, am still here.

Analyst, do your friends talk about work/life balance, adding value, and taking on meaningful strategic projects? Did you guys learn a lot in college that you feel can be applied to what we do now? Did your commencement speaker tell you that you can go out and take on the world? Rest assured, we did hire you for your brain. You are definitely a lot better than the last admin we had, who didn't know how to make an Outlook appointment even though she had been an admin here for three years. But you kind of need to do your time. Just for now, for the next oh.....5 years. At least. Honestly, my summary is really useful. I refer to it every day. My boss, who is a partner, uses it too. And I know that scanning invoices and sending them to our satellite office seems dull. But before you came along, well, I had to do it. I really love the fact that you do it now. I appreciate you!

Young analyst, I have had my share of crazy, workaholic, and sometimes mean bosses. Here is my promise to you: I will never make up a task for you to do. I will never give you fake work. I actually have too much real work to do to spend some time making up pretend assignments. Even if every time you come over, I'm on chat or email or something. And also, this election is important, so I need to stay informed. Especially since I think I'm voting this year, even though my state votes for me. And the credit meltdown on Wall Street - it affects our livelihood. That's right, yours too - we both work in real estate. But I digress...

I like that you're working on stuff whenever I pass by your desk. You also have a very nice attitude about the jobs we ask you to do. Granted, it's week 2. I think I really just want to feel like you're busting your ass for us a little (a lot) more, that you want to do all these analyses for us and we have to be like, Whoa dude, slow down a little, one spreadsheet at a time. I want to be the one to say, Dude, go home, don't stay until midnight like you did last night - after all it's Friday. I want to be the one to say, Analyst, go have dinner with your friends, even if you have to treat them because you're the only one with a job. Have you ever heard the term "First in to turn on the lights, last out to turn them off"? We were all there once, we all did it. Now it's your turn.

Do you have any questions? I mean, other than the one about if you can go to lunch right after I ask you to find out ASAP what kind of signage rights a prospective tenant currently has? No? Cool. I think you're going to like working here. We're sorta fun, but we just work kinda hard and stay kinda late. Like until 7:30 or 8. You should try it sometime, it's no big deal. It's just that summer is over, and school is now In Session.

Anyway, so before you go today, can you print up a copy of that article that wonders if NYC can absorb the job loss that has accumulated over the last 2 quarters? Thanks. Oh, and print up one for yourself too. Cool. See you tomorrow, right?

Artemis

Not to get all political or anything...

...but why is the test to become VP harder than the one to become just plain old P?

"Defending his choice and the team that helped pick her, McCain said Tuesday that "the vetting process was completely thorough." Campaign advisers at the convention in St. Paul, Minn., said Palin filled out a survey with 70 questions, including: Have you ever paid for sex? Have you been faithful in your marriage? Have you ever used or purchased drugs? Have you ever downloaded pornography?"

CSI: Vail

This Labor Day weekend I was in Colorado for my friends’ wedding. For purposes of anonymity, I will call them Ben and Michelle. Congratulations, Ben and Michelle! Ben and Michelle’s wedding makes the ninth wedding I’ve been to this year, and the ninth wedding I’ve been to that’s not in NYC. And I’m not even done! “Put up a map with dots showing where you’ve gone for weddings this year!!” you say? What a great idea – I think I shall! Ben and Michelle’s wedding was lovely and I had a great time seeing all my friends…but don’t worry, that is not this story. This story is about poop and how some people have no appreciation for forensic science.

Instead of hotelling up on the 7^th most expensive weekend of the year plus at wedding rates, a bunch of us decided to combine saving money with trying out our own version of “The Real World” and got a cabin. Not only was this cabin midway up a giant, no-oxygen supplying hill, but it had several steps going up to the front door. 16 to be precise. So schlep our asses up and down the hill and steps every day, several times a day, we did, because such are we, the dedicated friends. On our first day there, we noticed that on the 5^th step up from the bottom there was a little pile of animal droppings. Judging by its color and level of moisture it seemed to contain, I determined that it wasn’t freshly laid poop, but it was moderately dangerous enough to cause psychological damage and disgust if stepped in. The steps themselves weren’t the narrow efficient kind that you’d find inside a house; rather they were the low, wide, squarish kind, where you think you can ration one foot per step as you ascend, but they are so deep that by the 4^th step you find you can’t reach the next step with just one big leap and you end up needing to do a hop/skip to avoid missing that step. Or maybe that’s just if you’re short like me. The point is, the steps were large enough that the poop was easily avoidable, however, as Concerned House Member #5, I never neglected my duty to always and consistently remind people to not step on the poop.

By the end of day two, our cabin was designated as The Spot for all after-after parties. Needless to say, I felt quite pleased to be one of the It Crowd - nothing says I’m Really Cool more clearly than saying, well, “I’m really cool” OR, “Yeah, actually, it’s at MY house,” when someone drunkenly slurs “Are zhyou going to the after-party? There’s gonna be a hot tub and foothzball!” Of course, this did not come without a minor concern. See, as much as that hill lacked oxygen, it also lacked lighting. Newcomers would be completely ignorant of the mischievous pile of poop, which lay in quiet anticipation of innocent and clean shoes. Short of sitting out on the stoop and shining a flashlight on the fecal matter as everyone arrived, the best I could do was simply worry.

The next day, we left the house for brunch, marveling on what great hosts we were and what a fun night the previous one had been. Of course, I was giddy to find out if my anxiety had been warranted, and lo and behold, Someone Stepped in the Poop! “Someone stepped in the poop!” I yelled to no one in particular. And no one in particular seemed to care. “But guys, don’t worry, it looks like it was stepped on as someone was going out, not as someone was coming in. So, it didn’t get tracked all over our carpet. We’re safe.” That got one person’s attention. Marvin asked me how I knew. I elaborated that upon inspection of the now disturbed poop, the piece that had broken off from the original pile was positioned slightly away from the house, not towards, which due to humans being bipedal only could have happened if someone had kicked the pile upon leaving the house. I also noted that it had dried out significantly so as to pose much less bacterial harm in case it had in fact gotten tracked into the house. Marvin then commented that I would make a good detective, to which I was about to proudly attribute my Holmesian prowess to one of my favorite shows CSI (followed closely by CSI: Miami) when Spazzy Tazzy declared “Artemis, you’re a freak!” and immediately shut down the conversation.

It is still to be determined though, who left the dookie pile. It was definitely not that of a black bear’s, which, if you come across you should do this.

He may be a chickenhawk, but he ain't no sausage

horsey: I was just reading some of Toney's ideas

(one of the directors)

he keeps writing scenes where "and then Horsey walks in with his shirt off like its completely normal"

fuckers, I don't even take my shirt off, and somehow there is already the joke that I take my shirt off all the time

its so infuriating ... Toney has a picture of himself on the beach, with a surfboard, as his profile picture ... and I have a decent picture ... AND I'M THE SAUSAGE IN THE SITUATION!

me: i think it's just you

why does toney have an e in his name?

horsey: I don't know

He isn't Italian

something else

Norse or something

lol

yo, what do you mean its just me

what about me screams, omg, he takes his shirt off all the time and acts like a sausage, so it would be funny if he walked in with his shirt off

I swear to god, I lean backwards and actually keep my shirt ON all the time, when everyone takes it off.

People didn't even know I was ripped till like December of last year, because my t-shirt rode up when I was taking off my sweater.

me: well for one thing

you like to complain about it an awful lot

horsey: ?!

me: so i think if you were to have a year where you glued your shirt on

you'd complain about it

and thus everyone would go, oh yeah, horsey, the guy who always has his shirt off

horsey: no, then it'd be, Horsey the guy who complains that his shirt is on

but I wouldn't complain about it

I'm only complaining to you

I don't say anything here

I just laugh

me: hmmmm

hmmmmm

hmmmmm

ok.

also, i think it's the way you walk around

you walk around with your chest puffed out

kinda like this:

horsey:Are you serious ... do I really

omg

I can't help it, my chest is out

me:

look

he's even brown like you!!

In case you were wondering

----- Original Message ----
From: artemis
To: el grammar jefe
Sent: Tuesday 5:57:42 PM
Subject: which is the rightest?

a) of course I'd rather eat less preservatives

b) of course I'd rather eat fewer preservatives

c) of course I'd rather eat less in preservatives

what the writer is trying to convey:

it's not that I want fewer different types of presevatives

I want less preservatives by volume in my food

it's sorta like less honey

----- Response Message ----
From: el grammar jefe
To: artemis
Sent: Tuesday 6:14:02 PM
Subject: Re: which is the rightest?

you'd pretty much go with a if those are your only choices. though, as always, with something that is a little sticky like that, you'd probably just be as well off with a rewrite.

- of course i would want to cut down on preservatives

- of course, my preference is to decrease my intake of preservatives

- of course i'm hoping that preservatives make up less of my diet in the future

- in a perfect world, the grand majority of my intake would be preservative-free

- i see the future, and the future is not well preserved

- etc.

MADMEN post incurs vitriolic response

horsey: some link

this guy's neck

ugh

nightmares, will have

me: haha you mean the turkey rolls?

yummalicious!

horsey: wtf, do people's necks look like that?

I think that guy has a goiter

why did you post that picture

argh

I'm gonna have the worst nightmares tonight

me: what is wrong with you

you are an odd bird

horsey: "odd bird" hahaha

I like that

Horsey's new status message - artemis: "You are an odd bird" 3:52 PM

horsey: it's like he is a giant action figure, and some naughty titan child twisted his head around and around

or maybe just heated his neck on the stove and pushed his head in

me: you know

that is not the first thing i would notice about that photo

horsey: how do you not see that

!

me: the first thing i would notice is that there is this GIANT ASS-FACE RIGHT NEXT TO MY HEAD

horsey: its right there

me: if i had to sit there

horsey: at least the giant face doesn't have a goiter

me: you are seriously a weirdo

who is this

this isn't even horsey is it

horsey: did you see that guy!

LOOK AT HIS NECK

me: christ already

calm down about his neck

horsey: why are you acting like everything is normal when there is a horror there, right before your very eyes

me: hey horsey

the freakstore called

they're running out of you.

BRA HA!

horsey: hey, Artemis, the empathy store called in, they said they haven't shipped any of your orders for a year

my whole day is ruined

nay, not day, week

yes, my whole week is ruined

I'm gonna go look at my neck now

to see if its gonna turn into that sausage-rounds abomination

me: don't worry, it's been like that for ages

no one notices or cares any more.

Things I suck at #2

Facebook.

It's hard. Every time I do it, it goes pretty much like this:

11:01PM Log on.

11:02PM Nothing new on my "wall" and no new messages. (nobody loves me)

11:03PM Check notifications. Everyone else is getting tagged, poked and hit by sheep. (everyone but me.)

11:04PM Write on Daisy's wall "Yo, wassssssssap?!?!?!?!111 :P :P :) ??!?!?!"

11:06PM Ooo. 3 people have sent me Green Peace Patch plants. I accept them all. Now I have $50,000 in Greenpeace dollars. I rock! (these are the same 3 people who invited me to Scramble, Scrabulous, and Your Sexy Friends. the last time I talked to these 3 people, the world was bullish on Amazon.com and people still used Walkmans)

11:07PM I want to get to $100,000 in Greenpeace dollars so I find 50 people to send this application to. (none of whom will add this.)

11:29PM Brad has sexyflirted with me. Chad has sexyflirted with me. Rob has sexyflirted with me. Who are you people!? I uninstall the Your Sexy Friends crapplication. (but not before checking out those profiles.)

11:30PM I throw kimchee at soccerlover99, and then check out his profile. Ooo. He has an I [heart] Taiwan application. I add it and send it to 17 of my friends. Surely they love Taiwan too! (no one will accept this)

11:57PM Someone I haven't spoken to since 2001 sends me a crappy gif of a golden lotus. I accept it and add the Good Karma application. And send it out to 20 friends that I haven't talked to in the last 5 years, including the ones who sent me the What kind of Mummy are you? application and the Find Your LOST Soulmate quiz. Finally I am beginning to learn! (still, no one will add this)

12:13PM I notice some blinking going on at the bottom of my screen. Someone's been imming me - it's Pierre from school! I haven't talked to him since graduation. But that was half an hour ago. He's since logged off. I guess I'll talk to him next time/never. I click into Pierre's profile. Wow, he's got two kids...Wasn't he single when we graduated? Time flies. Oh and now he lives in Seychelles and has his own cupcake cafe. Cool, I guess.

1:04AM I just spent the last 51 minutes testing my IQ. Must score higher than Angelina Jolie! Wait, I have to send this thing to 127 friends and take two sponsored surveys to get my score?? Grr... tis your lucky day, Angie. Your high IQ remains unbeaten for a few more days.

1:05AM soccerlover99 has these cute things called Eyesores. I want some! To get some I have to send some. I send carefully selected Eyesores to 14 of my closest friends who will surely think these are cute and will surely send me some back. (no one will accept them, and further, no one will send me any.)

1:34AM WTF?!?! Did I really just spent two and a half hours on Facebook!?

1:35AM I check my "wall." Still, no one has written on it. Sigh.

1:36AM I check my messages. Still, no one has sent me any. Sigh.

1:37AM I log out.

Poopyface has better luck at FB than I do.

Of mice and men

caveman: ugh

i was in the bathroom and i came back and my coworkers were telling me they saw three mice in my office

me: er
were you in the bathroom this WHOLE time?

caveman: yeah
me: that's 20 minutes

caveman: i had a lot of beef this weekend
me: maybe if you spent less time in the bathroom the mice wouldn't hang out for so long.
caveman: yeah
you're probably right
i'm so on edge now
me: they won't come back now that you're here.
caveman: they were literally crawling around my desk and shit
so nasty
me: did they poop on your desk?
caveman: i dunno
me: if there are little black things on your desk, don't eat them. they are mouse poop, not pumpernickel seeds.
caveman: i know
mouse dookers
me: you know i don't know why people hate mice.
they are actually pretty cute. and they're harmless i mean they don't wear red shorts and sing or anything but they're cute
caveman: maybe because they carry germs
me: haven't you ever heard of stuart little
caveman: ugh yes
me: or ralph, the motorcycle mouse?
they were super cute
http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/11onGks1y7L._AA160_.jpg
how can you be grossed out by that?
caveman: i'm not clicking on your link
me: really?
wow you are really afraid of mice
caveman: yes
me: but you're so tall
caveman: and rats
so?
me: they are the ones that are afraid of you
ok rats are grosser.
but still didn't you ever see ratatouille?
caveman: nope
i refuse
me: rats have feelings and dreams too
all they want is a place in life
not the ones in the subway though...just the ones in restaurant kitchens.

Oh creepy huge head, I missed you.

Hmmm. So it's an ad for a TV show which I figured out not from the "Best TV Drama and Actor" banner along the entire side of the Shuttle, but because it has the requisite douchey serious-looking larger than life-sized head (which is only slightly less worse than just plain life-sized) that some sorryass commuting schlub has to sit next to and pretend to ignore.


But what is the show about??? Is it a clever tale about gangsters and crime in Grand Central, inspired by or perhaps simply a spinoff from that minor scene in M. Night Shamalayan's obscure movie Unbreakable where Bruce Willis is hanging out in Grand Central and he can pre-see all the people about to commit felonies? (I do that too you know.) And why shrink wrap the seats in banisters? Are we supposed to feel like 12 year old runaways who sit up against the railing in Grand Central, shivering and scared and hungrily eyeballing the payphones and staving off the desperate desire to call mom back in Hartford to come pick us up in her SUV? What does that have to do with men in black hats? And didn't the geniuses in advertising realize that they would thoroughly confuse even the brightest person sitting on the shuttle? "Wait. This is Grand Central? But it's a train. Or is it a train going to Grand Central? Will it come back from Grand Central? Wait. What if I want to go to Times Square? Where's Times Square?? Help! I want my mommy!!"

I watched about 8 minutes of this show one day and was completely perplexed by the activity so I can't tell you what it's about. I got to thinking though that maybe it's about advertising and MADMEN is a play on words, as in MAD AD MEN or MADISON AVENUE MEN which I guess one (not me) might consider witty. Except I really hope that's not what it is, because for all of Bravo's (not so) clever and (very much so) expensive advertising, Grand Central is actually on Lexington Avenue.


(Does anyone but me see the all encompassing irony in this campaign? OK Dowd, incongruity.)

Com Central = rerunz? Try Evening News!

DOG FLU VIRUS ATTACKS NEW JERSEY!!!

Videobites from tonight's story:

"when i walk my dog if i see another one i steer clear!"
- middle-aged guy in Rockaway

"it's out there, people should know about it"

- middle-aged dogwalker with potbelly in Dover

"if you're walking your dog and you hear another dog cough, i would leave. walk away from that."

- balding middle-aged Denville vet

"people are saying hands off, paws off, until this passes."

- skinny middle-aged guy with stained t-shirt in Middletown

Guys, this is serious. Don't joke.

No more crumbs and soup

Woohoo! I cleaned out my keyboard and got rid of all the nastiness hiding between the keys. I actually popped out each and every key from the keyboard and wiped them all down. In doing so, I found out that these are made in a way so that you actually can spill a small amount of water on your keyboard and not damage anything. Long story, hard to explain. But check it out - I have a feeling my clean and newly arranged keyboard will help me be more productive from now on.

Please. You know they loved it.

From: iridethej [mailto:xxxxxxx@gmail.com]
Sent: Thursday, 1:09 PM
To: artemis
Subject: (no subject)

I am at a loss for words.

> -----Original Message-----
> From: artemis [mailto:xxxx@gmail.com]
> Sent: Thursday, 10:48 AM
> To: j, iridethe
> Subject: (no subject)

> horsey: haha

> I dunno, I guess I just want to learn a language

> I was also thinking of German

> or Finnish

> me: do icelandic

> it's the hardest language in the world

> horsey: sure, or that

> me: either icelandic or finnish

> horsey: oh, in that case, no

> me: you may never Finnish learning finnish, is the problem though

> BRA HA!!

> horsey: what is the key combo for a punch?

> cntrl-P

> ok, that didn't work

> did you feel an impact on your nose?

> me: nose i didn't

> BRA HA!!!

> horsey: what happened to you? you used to be such a decent human being!

Life in the rich lane

This weekend I went to a super fancy resort in Santa Barbara. Yes, I love California so much I will come here twice in a row. (And yes by talking in present tense that means that I am still here - very good deductive skills!) The resort was so fancy that when we pulled into the courtyard there was this magnificent fountain spouting droplets of diamonds and gold. To our right there was a row of parked cars - 3 BMWs, a Porsche and a Bentley. The cars to our right were 2 Hummers, a couple of Mercedes and a Lexus. (The Lexus must have just belonged to one of the help.) Lucky for me, smilesy (my so-L.A. girlfriend) has an awesome Z3 beamer so when we rolled up with the top down I didn't crawl under my seat from a massive inferiority complex but instead held my head up high as I instructed the young porter boys who swarmed around us to bring in my sneakers and zip-up sweatshirt. I have high standards and to be my friend you need to have a personal liquid net worth in excess of $1.25 million. The valet ticket they gave us cracked me up and I wish that I had taken a picture of it, but basically it lists a bunch of cars on it so the valet boys can just circle which car you have and mark the color. Among some of the cars that could be circled: Aston Martin, Rolls Royce, Alfa Romeo, Ferrari. To be fair though, the ticket did have normal cars. I looked for the cheapest car I could think of and yes, the Hyundai was on it. Later that afternoon this guy pulled up in a Shelby Cobra convertible and the porters unloaded his Prada luggage and his Barbie. But for all that, I think the circle he got was Ford.

Yeah, I'm gross.

I'm eating a KitKat. It's not just any KitKat though, it's a special one. It's special because I found it at the bottom of my pocketbook and it's from the time I went to Dive 75 and won at Connect 4 and stuffed some KitKats in my purse. I won 3 games of Connect 4 in a row and was super psyched not to mention surprised because I never thought I was good at these strategy games. And then I got really stressed out at the thought of losing so I quit. That's the exact definition of quitting while you're ahead - when you stop playing Connect 4 against your drunk friends before one of them finally beats you and mercilessly shoves your head in his armpit because when you were winning you were dancing around yelling BOOYA at everyone but now it's your turn to be made fun of because you're a loser. So this KitKat has been in my purse since then and since then, everyonce in a while I'd dig around for my ID or my keys and come across the KitKat and go "Ew gross, I need to throw that out" or "Blegh, candy - I shouldn't eat this" and then of course I'd forget about it until the next time I go digging around for stuff. Anyway, so I was just looking for my phone when I came across the KitKat and thought "Ew gross, I need to throw...hmmm. Yum. Chocolate. And wafers." Chocolate and wafers and named after the cutest animal in the world (twice!), what a genius Mr. Reese who invented the KitKat!!! So yeah now I'm eating it and it's all flat and crushed and some of the chocolate is patchy and falling off because it's been squeezed between heavy stuff, and it's not exactly fresh tasting, but hey that's me, I eat crap. Gimme some week old foods or bad clams or dubious soup that moves even when you're not touching it and I'll snarf it down. I'll snarf it down and I'll like it! Because then I'm not wasting food, and I'm satisfying hunger. TWO for the price of ONE!!

Rocky's message to his Pops

Disco vroooom

If you were in SF this weekend or in Sonoma or on the Peninsula or anywhere in between and saw a limo covered with thousands of tiny mirrors and some horns and lights driving by with maybe some exhaust coming out from the bottom and two goofy asian kids up front in their super cool red and white aviator shades, you didn't see me and luckyvespa or anything. That was just your imagination. Oh yeah, happy belated birthday, US&A. (Not like you remember my birthday or anything, though.)

Things I suck at #1

Blogging.

Check out the post I just did, below. Why is that video all messed up? It's like, off to the side or something, or it doesn't fit in these little bars and it's just goofy looking overall. And I don't know how to fix it or what to do about it. So I'm just gonna leave it. As a policy, I don't want to post more than once a day, but you know I just had to point out that the previous post looks all jacked and that yes, I did notice it and I think it looks dumb and makes me look dumb and that no I'm not really going to do anything about it because on a scale of 1 to 10 about if I care that the video is all weirdified, I'm at about 1.17. As long as you can see it, that's all that matters.

OMG I am peeing in my pants (skirt)

And I haven't even gotten past two and a half minutes.



(thanks, Jeff's Site, which I won't link to because I don't want anyone linking back to me because this blog is still kind of hush hush, but thanks!)

Rocky and OPB (Other People's Blogs)

me: i want to do a blog about rocky

and this is the reason i can't get the name i would want:

http://rockytown.blogspot.com/

i hate people.
mrpoopypants: hahahah

nice blog

if you like crap

just sitting there from 2005

me: here's another one

http://rockythecat.blogspot.com/

mrpoopypants: more domain name waste

me: how about this

http://rockyontheweb.blogspot.com/

mrpoopypants: hey that's good

what about rockyweb

me: or this

http://rockymeow.blogspot.com/

ugh it's some BABY

http://rockyweb.blogspot.com/

that baby is OK

mrpoopypants: goddamnit

http://irocky.blogspot.com/

me: but nothing like the awesome rockyportrait Say Hello To My Leetle Frien

wtf

that is a really shitty website

mrpoopypants: which

me: for two reasons, #2 being, it's using simplified chinese

which i hate with a passion

mrpoopypants: http://myhairiseverywhere.blogspot.com/

me: hmm that is a good one

haha

me: sometimes i call rocky "rockyton" with a spanish accent

kind of a play on reggaeton

mrpoopypants: rockytaco

me: pooperscooper is good too

or poops for short

mrpoopypants: or poopyface

me: yeah it's also short for poopyface and poopypants

it's an all-purpose nickname nickname.

i think he actually responds to "poopy" now.
what a good kitty.

Am I gross?

I'm snacking on 3 week old salami. Actually, that is a lie. It was three weeks old when I discovered it in my fridge and I actually discovered it before today. I won't say exactly when that was because then people will be able to calculate how old it is, and I'd really be embarrassed if anyone knew I was sitting here eating month old salami. It's so tasty though. What do they put in it to make it so tasty? Crack? According to the internet, salami can keep for a long time. I figure though that in my single Manhattanite fridge, it keeps longer because I really have nothing else in there aside from Mudslide mixer, half of a half gallon of pomegranate juice, and lots of little Cruzan rum samplers. Mmmmmmm. Those are really good too. I used to have cheese but I think I ate it all. Blegh. Ok I have officially had enough salami and so I'm going to put it away and save the rest for another day.

Try this on for irony.

Notwithstanding how my friend Dowd will probably state very matter of factly "That's not irony," isn't this ironic: for work, I am making huge vinyl sticker ad thingies that shows what our office building's lobby could look like. We are having our architecture firm render a few pictures of beautiful looking lobbies, bathrooms and elevator cabs, and then we're going to print them up and stick them all over our demolitioned office building lobby covering it wall to wall. JUST LIKE what the shuttle does with it's wall to wall advertising! We had batted around a few ideas to make our empty, destroyed looking lobby look presentable short of just doing a complete renovation, period, when my boss told me this idea. I had a mixture of sinking feeling in my gut + Hey I know exactly what you're talking about, it's just like the Shuttle! and decided my boss must have ridden the shuttle that day. Unlike the shuttle though, I am going to do this right. Not only will I have the architects render a nice granite+marble floor so we can giantly sticker the entire lobby floor, and render ultra cool modern furniture to stick all over foldout chairs and temporary tables, but I am going to cover my admins with renderings of super hot chicks and have them hang out in the lobby as model receptionists for the ultimate complete experience. It's gonna be dynamite.

I talked to her!!!

And it was AWESOME.

Need some advice

OMGOMGOMG. I'm really nervous about this Saturday. It's gonna be a big night. This Saturday, I am going to go watch the band of one of my best friends. Actually, she doesn't really know me yet, but when she does she'll want to be my best friend. I love her blog and her book and I totally want to be friends with her and I've sort of triangulated where she lives by scrutinizing the clues she leaves on her blog. It's somewhere in Soho. Anyway, so I kinda want some advice on how I get her to be my friend. I mean, I'm nice and fun and not scary looking, in fact I'm very non-intimidating because people think I am 14 so I can't think of why she wouldn't want to be friends with me. Can I go up to her and be like, Hi AC, you are so funny and I really like you - not in a gay way or anything, not that there's anything wrong with that, in fact I like gays, and I think you do too right? but I just wanted to clarify that I'm not trying to come on to you or anything, but can we be friends?

Would that creep her out? Should I maybe just kind of mull around in the corner and watch her every move as she plays in her band? I actually evited her to one of my parties this year, and she totally looked at the invite. Score! She did not come though. iridethej asked me why I didn't outright ask her to come, and what was the point of sending her an evite if I wasn't going to followup, to which, at the time, I had no good answer. I mean, I knew why I did it, I had my reasons, but at that exact moment I was paralized with the knowledge and fear that I had done something weird and nonsensical that I got stage fright and forgot my reasons. Anyway, here's what they were: So at any of these given parties about 800 people are invited to them. I figured that I would evite her, and she would open it up wondering who was inviting her to some random party, and in not recognizing the organizer's name (me) scan through the list of invitees for a name she'd recognize. I guess I was hoping that she'd know someone on the evite. I think I was under the impression that she went to the same grad school as I did or this town is so small, or that she's asian and I'm asian so we should know people in common, but alas, I don't think that was the case. Anyway, she didn't come. Which, I guess, is to be expected. Anyway, so this Saturday, I am totally going to her. What should I do? Should I say hi? Should I not? Thoughts? Anyone? Anyone???