SHIRTLESS. Really? It's tacky. If I wanted meaningless sex, then I'd want to see your bare chest. Maybe that's the point. That's the message you're sending. If you want a nice girl looking for a serious relationship, then put your shirt back on. PROFESSIONAL HEADSHOT: Unless you are an actor, this screams desperate with a capital D. This guy is so needy for a date, he went to the mall and paid someone to take his picture. Or, he's an actor. Either way, next. BOY BAND POSE: You've seen these. A boy leaning against a door frame with his shirt just opened enough to tease. Standing in the rain, looking off into the distance. Again, this screams desperate and raises a flag that this man is overly-vain. BLACK & WHITE Photo: Pretentious. This guy is trying to stand out and look artistic. He's trying too hard. Yawn. The CUT-OUT: The picture with his ex-girlfriend or wife cut out of it. You can still see her cheek against his, or her hair hanging down. This is off-putting. Women think: This guy just got out of a relationship. Baggage. He's probably hung up on her since he hasn't taken a new photo. And he's bitter enough to photoshop a woman he cared for out of a nice photo. I don't want him to do that to me. Moving on. The PLAYA: He poses with his babes. Or maybe one babe. But there's a hot chick hanging around his neck. This is not good. First, a woman compares herself to the babe and may feel inferior. Then, she judges the man by the girl in the photo. Do you really want to be associated with the bleach blond bimbo? It also gives the impression that there's competition for this man and he's proud of it. No thank you. GOOFY HIPSTER: The guy with dirty hair and expensive old looking t-shirt in asilly pose, with a dumb hat, or wearing a costume or making a face. It's cute if you're under 25. Over 25, and the man looks childish and immature. HUNTING SHOT: If you're looking for a Sarah Palen type, then by all means, post a picture with your rifle. Otherwise, you look like a psychopath. DADDY: Risky, very risky. Men holding babies or playing with kids are sexy, but.... the first assumption is that those are YOUR kids. That's scary. If they're not your kids, don't put them in your profile shot. If they are your kids, then advertising that you're a father may seem like a good idea. However, you are losing a lot of clicks. I suggest moving these to your 2nd photo so at least you get a profile viewing. If she's interested enough, then she'll be okay with kids. - SPORTS CAR: Or, SUV or truck. This guy thinks standing in front of his expensive car is going to make him attractive. That fact alone is a deal-breaker.
Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts
8.17.2010
How Not to Pick Up Women Online
4.26.2010
A Baker's Dozen in Diapers
12 babies, I counted 12 babies in sacrament meeting at church today. And those were just the ones I could see from the back row. There had to be more that I couldn't see. We also have 6 openly pregnant woman, all of whom currently have babies. Church is beginning to feel like Gymboree.
I know there are distinctions between toddlers and infants, etc. But if it wears diapers, I'm calling it a baby. "Baby"= a non-verbal, non-house trained mini human being. One man told me today that he was lodging a formal complaint against the noise in sacrament, that he was fed up with the parents who chat and coo over each other, and let their babies loose. It was too noisy and he was going to change wards if something wasn't done. He was serious.
It doesn't bother me enough change wards, babies are ubiquitous in Mormonland. Still, I wish someone would tell these people that everyone does not think it's cute when their spawn goes hobbling down the aisle sputtering goldfish crumbs (because Cheerios are passe')? They let their babies wander, climb, cry... And the babies gather to pick each other's noses and throw goldfish while making primitive sounds. The only thing their parents do is look at each other over the mass of babies, and smile, as if to say, 'that's so cute, they're friends'. Yeah, except for that big one who is hitting the little one on the head with a toy.
Today, while I was trying to ponder the mysteries of the divine, a woman who has 3 babies, didn't notice one of them was crying for five minutes. Five minutes is a long time in church. She just let it wail. Maybe she thought it was one of the other dozen babies. There's so many babied young couples, that they have their own clique. They take up half our ward. I think it's made them too permissive, like they've forgotten they aren't the only people at church so it's okay to let the babies run around.
I know there are distinctions between toddlers and infants, etc. But if it wears diapers, I'm calling it a baby. "Baby"= a non-verbal, non-house trained mini human being. One man told me today that he was lodging a formal complaint against the noise in sacrament, that he was fed up with the parents who chat and coo over each other, and let their babies loose. It was too noisy and he was going to change wards if something wasn't done. He was serious.
It doesn't bother me enough change wards, babies are ubiquitous in Mormonland. Still, I wish someone would tell these people that everyone does not think it's cute when their spawn goes hobbling down the aisle sputtering goldfish crumbs (because Cheerios are passe')? They let their babies wander, climb, cry... And the babies gather to pick each other's noses and throw goldfish while making primitive sounds. The only thing their parents do is look at each other over the mass of babies, and smile, as if to say, 'that's so cute, they're friends'. Yeah, except for that big one who is hitting the little one on the head with a toy.
Today, while I was trying to ponder the mysteries of the divine, a woman who has 3 babies, didn't notice one of them was crying for five minutes. Five minutes is a long time in church. She just let it wail. Maybe she thought it was one of the other dozen babies. There's so many babied young couples, that they have their own clique. They take up half our ward. I think it's made them too permissive, like they've forgotten they aren't the only people at church so it's okay to let the babies run around.
***
On a similar note, I recently had a little run-in with a mommy in the church lobby. She gave me a baby fashion lecture when I commited the faux pas of referring to a boy as 'she'. It wasn't even hers. But I apologized and said that I couldn't tell. I was very smugly told, "He's wearing blue, isn't he? Blue, usually, means that he's a boy. So if you see a baby wearing blue, you can be pretty sure he's a boy. And when you see a baby in pink, then you know that she's a girl. That's how you can tell the difference." So I said, "But there's no baby fashion police to enforce the rules, so maybe some people don't follow them? And what about the other colors, like green, yellow, brown? What do you do then, call the baby "it"? She was not amused.
Oh, well. I'm going to start sitting in the front row, where there are zero babies.
I wonder if this might bother me more because I am single and childless, as is the complaining man. Does the church gymboree bother everyone else as much?
Collection:
Church,
Humor,
Single Living
6.16.2006
Tonight's Top Ten: Signs that you've given up on your lovelife
10. You don't bother making the obligatory scope-out visit to the singles ward in your parent's city. (It's a spanish speaking branch anyway.)
9. You have no interest whatsoever in your sibling's single friends. You don't even try to flirt with them when they call on the phone.
8. Parts of your body that used to look fine now jiggle. And you don't care.
7. Because it is so darn hot here, you actually wear tanktops and capsleeve shirts outside the house. Despite your knowledge that your forearms are so unattractive they turn off any man who isn't blind.
6. Rather than preparing to make yourself cute before going to the beach, you try to get used to the fact that no one will see you as a babe-- to prevent disappointment when all the men ignore you. (This is South Beach we're talking about, only supermodels and latinas with perfect bodies turn heads. The rest of us look like toads.)
5. On Friday night, for fun, you go to the store to return the shoes you bought that morning and exchange them for the shoes you bought last week but returned two days ago.
4. While making that trip to the store, you wear black knit stretchy pants covered in white cat fur.
3. Then you rush home from the store so you don't miss the beginning of the movie your brother checked out from the library.
2. Afterwards, you're grateful when you're newlywed sister calls to tell you about her burgeoning sexlife because it breaks up your monotonous evening.
1. You're actually shameless enough to call your ex-boyfriend at 10 pm Friday night (letting him know you have no life) AND then leave him a message!! (confirming you have no life and the call wasn't an accident).
1A. In the message you say: "I hope you're out doing groovy single guy stuff."
AND the real #1 sign that you've given up on your lovelife:
You actually meant it.
9. You have no interest whatsoever in your sibling's single friends. You don't even try to flirt with them when they call on the phone.
8. Parts of your body that used to look fine now jiggle. And you don't care.
7. Because it is so darn hot here, you actually wear tanktops and capsleeve shirts outside the house. Despite your knowledge that your forearms are so unattractive they turn off any man who isn't blind.
6. Rather than preparing to make yourself cute before going to the beach, you try to get used to the fact that no one will see you as a babe-- to prevent disappointment when all the men ignore you. (This is South Beach we're talking about, only supermodels and latinas with perfect bodies turn heads. The rest of us look like toads.)
5. On Friday night, for fun, you go to the store to return the shoes you bought that morning and exchange them for the shoes you bought last week but returned two days ago.
4. While making that trip to the store, you wear black knit stretchy pants covered in white cat fur.
3. Then you rush home from the store so you don't miss the beginning of the movie your brother checked out from the library.
2. Afterwards, you're grateful when you're newlywed sister calls to tell you about her burgeoning sexlife because it breaks up your monotonous evening.
1. You're actually shameless enough to call your ex-boyfriend at 10 pm Friday night (letting him know you have no life) AND then leave him a message!! (confirming you have no life and the call wasn't an accident).
1A. In the message you say: "I hope you're out doing groovy single guy stuff."
AND the real #1 sign that you've given up on your lovelife:
You actually meant it.
Collection:
Celibacy,
Humor,
Single Living
10.08.2005
Evidence that computers will not take over the planet
Could there be more inappropriate comment spam? The writer of comment spam programming will surely endure the tortures of hell for a long, long, time. Look what I have found on my blog:
I just had to share. Enjoy your weekend!
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I just had to share. Enjoy your weekend!
6.21.2005
To My Surrogate Boyfriends
Dearest Ben, and Sweetest Jerry,
How do I thank you for eveything? For the years of faithful devotion and service?
Perhaps I can try.
Thank you for all the pleasure you've given me over the years.
You have never disappointed with a lackluster performance,
Perfection in a package everytime: the sensual way you slide down my tongue, the cool delight of your touch on my anticipating lips, and the feeling of satisfaction you give....
You are always there when I'm blue and need to be cheered.
You never set me aside for more exciting pastures,
You wait until I'm ready for you.
You're never too busy for me.
Your whole life is about satisfying me.
You don't keep secrets from me, you wear your insides on a label that I can read.
I never have to guess what you're made of, or what you want from me.
You have a heart of the purest, creamiest, dreamiest gold. And such variety!
Sometimes with fudge brownies, or heath bars, or the raw cookie dough--you're so silly!
Always there on a lonely Friday night to make life a little sweeter.
And you never leave me--you stay beside me through thick and thick
-- on the side of my thighs you sit in ever-expanding support.
I only have to look down at my widening hips to know how much you love me.
B&J, I love you too.
Kisses! !
How do I thank you for eveything? For the years of faithful devotion and service?
Perhaps I can try.
Thank you for all the pleasure you've given me over the years.
You have never disappointed with a lackluster performance,
Perfection in a package everytime: the sensual way you slide down my tongue, the cool delight of your touch on my anticipating lips, and the feeling of satisfaction you give....
You are always there when I'm blue and need to be cheered.
You never set me aside for more exciting pastures,
You wait until I'm ready for you.
You're never too busy for me.
Your whole life is about satisfying me.
You don't keep secrets from me, you wear your insides on a label that I can read.
I never have to guess what you're made of, or what you want from me.
You have a heart of the purest, creamiest, dreamiest gold. And such variety!
Sometimes with fudge brownies, or heath bars, or the raw cookie dough--you're so silly!
Always there on a lonely Friday night to make life a little sweeter.
And you never leave me--you stay beside me through thick and thick
-- on the side of my thighs you sit in ever-expanding support.
I only have to look down at my widening hips to know how much you love me.
B&J, I love you too.
Kisses! !
12.25.2004
This is just to say
I had taken
the hint
that was in
the conversation
And which
you were probably
hoping
to discuss
Forgive me
it was obvious
so kind
even Operatic
--William Carlos Williams wrote the poem, "This is Just to Say."
I bastardized it here. So, props and apologies to the W.C.W.
the hint
that was in
the conversation
And which
you were probably
hoping
to discuss
Forgive me
it was obvious
so kind
even Operatic
--William Carlos Williams wrote the poem, "This is Just to Say."
I bastardized it here. So, props and apologies to the W.C.W.
12.24.2004
NO Christmas for YOU!!
I was supposed to be at the airport right now for my flight to Ft. Lauderdale. This makes me sad. I'm disappointed in myself for failing again. I wanted to get away from this pit I live in. Relax somewhere with clean air in a comfy house with other people. So I woke up this morning very upset that I'd have to skip Christmas because my grades weren't done and I didn't have time to finish and turned them in. When I called my family, they changed my mind. Mom convinced me I could go because my flight left Florida the 29th and not the 30th as I had thought. Great! I had some brunch at the diner then got packed. I was excited. When ready to go, I pulled up the email with the flight info. But, oh what is this? My flight doesn't leave Florida until the 30th? Huh. Well didn't that just suck?
My mother is angry that I stayed home. It's all my fault of course. I just need to grow up because I should have planned ahead. Right. She said in the email she she sent after I hung up on her that I should have found out about the school being closed on the 24th before yesterday "but that's water over the dam". If the water is so over the dam why was she too mad to talk to me on the phone? My sister is sad because she's going to be bored without me. My father is actually sympathetic that I'm missing his big Christmas Eve fiesta.
I'm still packed. I guess I'll be unpacking tonight instead of eating homemade goodies with the fam in 70 degree weather. Here's what I am missing:
The beach. Exquisite food made by my mother, or her homemade fudge and toffee. The long breakfast after we open presents and the warm-fuzzies at giving people things they like. Real Christmas tree smell. Spending the day lying out in the backyard to read a novel and get a tan. My mother's kitchen full of food. Laughing with the sibs. Watching cable TV. Watching movies on a TV that's more than 10 inches. I won't get to do any driving either! I LOVE driving the Miami freeways. No palm trees with Christmas lights on them, or tacky plastic manger scenes and Maria shrines, no balmy nights of looking up at the stars and listening to the croaking frogs, no break from bohemian housemates with their incense and loud sex and curry-stank cooking....
Here's what I do not mind missing:
The tri-lingual Christmas eve festival at Pops' house with his Brazilian wife's family. Half of them speak Spanish because they emigrated to Panama, the other speak Portuguese. My step bro and sis speak English because they grew up here, but Portugese is the house language. They usually smoke a blunt before the party and are quite boring anyway so it's no loss. The girl wears something slinky on her perfect body and always has her boyfriend around. Everyone mingles in the house waiting until midnight, not speaking English. At some point they watch the Vatican mass by satellite. Then when it hits 12 am we have a toast and a prayer from Pops' wife's mother in Portuguese that is too long and dramatic, then a Spanish one from the cousins, and lastly the English one from my father. Then we all have to hug and kiss and cheer. After that the dinner buffet begins with lots of beans and rice and meats. The food rarely tastes good. The Flan isn't bad.
Once everyone has eaten their fill, all 20 people sit around the tree and the Walmart singing and dancing Santa from Hell whom I find scarier than Chucky. We have to sit on each other's laps or the floor because there aren't enough chairs, and watch as one by one everyone opens their two presents. I always attempt to feign pleasure at the Swapmeet gift from the wife, but I suspect I'm not good at it. My bro, sis and I always try to leave after the presents before Pops busts out the Karaoke on his big-screen TV. Sometimes we aren't so lucky...
That's what I would have been doing tonight instead of sitting alone in my bedroom with my cats and bluebooks, eating cheesepuffs and cold canned soup. Listening to Portishead on repeat might seem excessive, but it's perfect. I enjoy wallowing in this kind of miserable-ness. There is an art to it. When done right, it can be cathartic. If I'm wallowing, that means I'm not depressed. Depressed people don't have the energy to wallow. However, I did go out to do something special for myself. I went to the 99 cent store scross the street and bought christmas lights, candles, chocolate and 18 agw speaker wire. And some fixings to wrap presents that I haven't bought yet.
This is my first Christmas alone.
My mother is angry that I stayed home. It's all my fault of course. I just need to grow up because I should have planned ahead. Right. She said in the email she she sent after I hung up on her that I should have found out about the school being closed on the 24th before yesterday "but that's water over the dam". If the water is so over the dam why was she too mad to talk to me on the phone? My sister is sad because she's going to be bored without me. My father is actually sympathetic that I'm missing his big Christmas Eve fiesta.
I'm still packed. I guess I'll be unpacking tonight instead of eating homemade goodies with the fam in 70 degree weather. Here's what I am missing:
The beach. Exquisite food made by my mother, or her homemade fudge and toffee. The long breakfast after we open presents and the warm-fuzzies at giving people things they like. Real Christmas tree smell. Spending the day lying out in the backyard to read a novel and get a tan. My mother's kitchen full of food. Laughing with the sibs. Watching cable TV. Watching movies on a TV that's more than 10 inches. I won't get to do any driving either! I LOVE driving the Miami freeways. No palm trees with Christmas lights on them, or tacky plastic manger scenes and Maria shrines, no balmy nights of looking up at the stars and listening to the croaking frogs, no break from bohemian housemates with their incense and loud sex and curry-stank cooking....
Here's what I do not mind missing:
The tri-lingual Christmas eve festival at Pops' house with his Brazilian wife's family. Half of them speak Spanish because they emigrated to Panama, the other speak Portuguese. My step bro and sis speak English because they grew up here, but Portugese is the house language. They usually smoke a blunt before the party and are quite boring anyway so it's no loss. The girl wears something slinky on her perfect body and always has her boyfriend around. Everyone mingles in the house waiting until midnight, not speaking English. At some point they watch the Vatican mass by satellite. Then when it hits 12 am we have a toast and a prayer from Pops' wife's mother in Portuguese that is too long and dramatic, then a Spanish one from the cousins, and lastly the English one from my father. Then we all have to hug and kiss and cheer. After that the dinner buffet begins with lots of beans and rice and meats. The food rarely tastes good. The Flan isn't bad.
Once everyone has eaten their fill, all 20 people sit around the tree and the Walmart singing and dancing Santa from Hell whom I find scarier than Chucky. We have to sit on each other's laps or the floor because there aren't enough chairs, and watch as one by one everyone opens their two presents. I always attempt to feign pleasure at the Swapmeet gift from the wife, but I suspect I'm not good at it. My bro, sis and I always try to leave after the presents before Pops busts out the Karaoke on his big-screen TV. Sometimes we aren't so lucky...
That's what I would have been doing tonight instead of sitting alone in my bedroom with my cats and bluebooks, eating cheesepuffs and cold canned soup. Listening to Portishead on repeat might seem excessive, but it's perfect. I enjoy wallowing in this kind of miserable-ness. There is an art to it. When done right, it can be cathartic. If I'm wallowing, that means I'm not depressed. Depressed people don't have the energy to wallow. However, I did go out to do something special for myself. I went to the 99 cent store scross the street and bought christmas lights, candles, chocolate and 18 agw speaker wire. And some fixings to wrap presents that I haven't bought yet.
This is my first Christmas alone.
Collection:
Adjuncting,
Dysfunction Junction,
Humor,
Single Living
12.16.2004
The Wrath of Blog II: Dating Policies
Read The Wrath of Blog I, here.
Blog Policies with respect to respecting the men I'm dating:
1. If it's over, and things ended badly then it's all fair game. Don't date me if you plan to be a jerk because you will end up eviscerated on here. Warts and all. Though pseudonymously. Not so much out of concern for the jerk's privacy but my own. Often, I don't want to publicize whom I've dated, many a men did not make me proud.
2. If it's over and you were good to me, I will be charitable in my posts about you. So most everything is still fair game though you won't come out looking bad. And I will try to respect shared intimate information by not writing about it. Also sticking to pseudonyms only rule.
3. If you dated me and find yourself discussed here and you don't like it, email me. I'll consider removing the posts from public eye. Whether or not I do and the degree of haste to which I comply depends on how much I still like you. (See rules 1 and 2).
4. I consider the foibles of initial courtship to be public information. Men aren't supposed to know about CitC at first but it seems that some do, due to the success of this beastly blog. Having become aware of that fact, then obviously if I like someone and we are in pursuit of each other I will make every effort not to humiliate him. However, I think almost everything people do is funny and I'm not sensitive so I may be unaware that I'm writing something embarassing. I am in fact shameless online so my boundaries may not coincide with most normal people's. In that case I would ask that the injured party email me and I will quickly remove the offensive material. (Use my personal addie for a more immediate response.)
5. Once a relationship develops, I promise to respect all requests for privacy. Until it's over. (See 1 and 2.) So if you're my boyfriend and you don't want to end up on here then you'll have to marry me. Yes, this is a bribe, my ovaries hate me.
*These policies are subject to revision and addition (some rules I had to learn along the way so I apologize for past indiscretions.)
Burn me and beware the Wrath of Blog.
Blog Policies with respect to respecting the men I'm dating:
1. If it's over, and things ended badly then it's all fair game. Don't date me if you plan to be a jerk because you will end up eviscerated on here. Warts and all. Though pseudonymously. Not so much out of concern for the jerk's privacy but my own. Often, I don't want to publicize whom I've dated, many a men did not make me proud.
2. If it's over and you were good to me, I will be charitable in my posts about you. So most everything is still fair game though you won't come out looking bad. And I will try to respect shared intimate information by not writing about it. Also sticking to pseudonyms only rule.
3. If you dated me and find yourself discussed here and you don't like it, email me. I'll consider removing the posts from public eye. Whether or not I do and the degree of haste to which I comply depends on how much I still like you. (See rules 1 and 2).
4. I consider the foibles of initial courtship to be public information. Men aren't supposed to know about CitC at first but it seems that some do, due to the success of this beastly blog. Having become aware of that fact, then obviously if I like someone and we are in pursuit of each other I will make every effort not to humiliate him. However, I think almost everything people do is funny and I'm not sensitive so I may be unaware that I'm writing something embarassing. I am in fact shameless online so my boundaries may not coincide with most normal people's. In that case I would ask that the injured party email me and I will quickly remove the offensive material. (Use my personal addie for a more immediate response.)
5. Once a relationship develops, I promise to respect all requests for privacy. Until it's over. (See 1 and 2.) So if you're my boyfriend and you don't want to end up on here then you'll have to marry me. Yes, this is a bribe, my ovaries hate me.
*These policies are subject to revision and addition (some rules I had to learn along the way so I apologize for past indiscretions.)
Burn me and beware the Wrath of Blog.
12.09.2004
SNL Live: Telephone Fumbles
No, sigh, I did not actually attend Saturday Night Live. But, I just had a phone conversation that could have been an SNL skit. I know I've seen variations on the theme. Remember that skit with one of the awkward women, maybe it was Sherry O'Terry, who goes to a class on dating skills? And the people have to practice flirting with each other and it's so unbelievably rehearsed and forced...yeah. That's how this phone call went. I didn't want to post this at first, I was going to save it as a draft for later, but it's too funny.
I don't know what's going on with me here. I can flirt quite a lot at times. I can pick up a suggestive comment and run with it. I did it in class yesterday! I said: "You can ask me questions, I don't bite. Well, maybe I do. But you'll never find out." (Because I've given up on maintaining control and the semester ends tomorrow.) But I can't seem to do the flirting with this guy. We got our flirt on eventually, so we communicated mutual interest in what should have been a playful way. Instead it was painful, I'm usually not this stupid.
Here is a transcript from memory. Interject loaded pauses between each sentence. Imagine them delivered in an uneasy cadence, making the fear loudly audible. I've included ellipses to indicate especially long pauses, and put my thoughts in italics:
[Because he loaned me one last weekend.]
At that point he mercifully put us out of our misery and we moved into a discussion about my losing his favorite sweatshirt on the subway. Which was a lie. Which he knew was a lie. Then the talking got easy again. Regardless of the comedic episode, we had a good conversation. Romantic (at least sexual) interest has been made unmistakably explicit.
Having typed out the words, I can see that he fared much better than I did. He could say the flirty lines--he started it! He gave me the bait over and over and I wanted to take it. But I couldn't even make the words come out. He's reduced me to moronic monosyllabilism. I don't know why, I can't explain it. Clearly, we don't grow out of that adolescent awkwardness. No matter how many dates you go on, it's always a new thing. You'd think it would get easier as one goes along, but it doesn't. It just gets harder with each person because the rejection, resentment, and fear grow with every failure.
I don't know what's going on with me here. I can flirt quite a lot at times. I can pick up a suggestive comment and run with it. I did it in class yesterday! I said: "You can ask me questions, I don't bite. Well, maybe I do. But you'll never find out." (Because I've given up on maintaining control and the semester ends tomorrow.) But I can't seem to do the flirting with this guy. We got our flirt on eventually, so we communicated mutual interest in what should have been a playful way. Instead it was painful, I'm usually not this stupid.
Here is a transcript from memory. Interject loaded pauses between each sentence. Imagine them delivered in an uneasy cadence, making the fear loudly audible. I've included ellipses to indicate especially long pauses, and put my thoughts in italics:
Me: My cat's sitting on my lap. [ Am I really this boring?]
Him: Which cat?
Me: The big one
H: Oh.
M: But she's old and crotchety and grumpy so this is--
H: That's like me-I'm crotchety and grumpy too.
M: Uh...Yeah. So this is unusual... For her to be cuddly, she must want something.
H: What does she want--How can you tell what she wants?
M: Cats only want a few things. Food, water, clean litter, sleep. So, it's not hard to guess... But she has all of those things.
H: Then what does she want?
M: I don't know. She must be cold so she wants to sit in my lap. Because when she is cold, that way she can get warm... um, She's purring too.
H: ...So I should do that when I get cold? [ Oh!? Did he just say that? He wants to sit in my lap?]
M: Uh...
H: So when I'm cold I'll come sit in your lap? [ Yeah, he's flirting. He wants to sit in my lap. This is innuendo.]
M: ... Right, like the cat
H: ...And that should warm me up? [ Now I should respond. He wants me to say yes.]
M: um...There's only one way to find out. [ That's the best I could do?.]
H: ok... So then I'll come sit in your lap when I get cold.
M: uh, yeah,. . .You can do that. [ Oh, smooth one! Kill me now. ]
H: You know when I get cold because I have no sweater.
[Because he loaned me one last weekend.]
At that point he mercifully put us out of our misery and we moved into a discussion about my losing his favorite sweatshirt on the subway. Which was a lie. Which he knew was a lie. Then the talking got easy again. Regardless of the comedic episode, we had a good conversation. Romantic (at least sexual) interest has been made unmistakably explicit.
Having typed out the words, I can see that he fared much better than I did. He could say the flirty lines--he started it! He gave me the bait over and over and I wanted to take it. But I couldn't even make the words come out. He's reduced me to moronic monosyllabilism. I don't know why, I can't explain it. Clearly, we don't grow out of that adolescent awkwardness. No matter how many dates you go on, it's always a new thing. You'd think it would get easier as one goes along, but it doesn't. It just gets harder with each person because the rejection, resentment, and fear grow with every failure.
11.19.2004
In Passing my Students
On the way into my second class today, the one with the fireman and the self proclaimed sex machine, I heard this:
"She's dressed up today!"
"Uh-oh, Fred's getting hot and turned on."
"Shut up! I'm not! I have a girlfriend."
I tried to listen to what else they said but I couldn't hear them anymore from the front of the room. I didn't know wearing my hair down and replacing my ugly old lady shoes with boots qualified as 'dressing up' but I guess they are easily impressed. They were also incredibly unruly again. I think there is a direct correlation between the style of my hair and their behavior. Last week when they graced me with such eloquence as described here, I also had my hair down. Even worse, I was wearing a long skirt and boots!! I should have known. No more boots. No more hair down. I better forget about even considering contacts instead of glasses. That would cause total mayhem.
Maybe I'll vamp it up on the last day of class--or for their final exam-- just for fun. I can wear a short skirt, high heel boots, contacts, dark lipstick and big hair, they won't even know what hit them. Heh-heh.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
"She's dressed up today!"
"Uh-oh, Fred's getting hot and turned on."
"Shut up! I'm not! I have a girlfriend."
I tried to listen to what else they said but I couldn't hear them anymore from the front of the room. I didn't know wearing my hair down and replacing my ugly old lady shoes with boots qualified as 'dressing up' but I guess they are easily impressed. They were also incredibly unruly again. I think there is a direct correlation between the style of my hair and their behavior. Last week when they graced me with such eloquence as described here, I also had my hair down. Even worse, I was wearing a long skirt and boots!! I should have known. No more boots. No more hair down. I better forget about even considering contacts instead of glasses. That would cause total mayhem.
Maybe I'll vamp it up on the last day of class--or for their final exam-- just for fun. I can wear a short skirt, high heel boots, contacts, dark lipstick and big hair, they won't even know what hit them. Heh-heh.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
Collection:
Adjuncting,
Humor
10.06.2004
!!!BLOG Advisory!!!
Quality Control Bots report Security Level Red for : MELODRAMATIC OVERLOAD. Site owner advised that blogging privileges probationary until security level drops back to orange. As the second infractionwithin one week owner put on the federal watch list for weepy bloggers. Her template editor will now be monitored by the B.I.A.
Site owner responded petulantly demanding an explanation of the security color levels. Her favorite color is red so she thinks that's a fine security level for the blog. When Bots answered that color level determinations are at their discretion, none of her beeswax, and red is bad, she threatened to file a suit with the assistance of the ACLU--blogger division. QC Bots know owner is a slacker and won't get around to suing them. So they issued a list of required actions to remove her from blog probation and to lighten the mood around here--for the love of all blog readers, cheer up!!!
1. HT wants to see her. Owner must meet him in person this week for some social fun. To facilitate this she must phone him on Wednesday as she promised when he called her on Sunday offering her a ride to church conference. The fact that she has a paper due Friday which she has yet to begin is not a good excuse considering the sad state of her well-being. Additionally, he left her 3 messages and owner only returned the last call so she can't afford to snub him anymore. Regardless of her ambiguous feelings towards HT romantically, he has a car, knows lots of interesting people and is always doing cool things. MOST IMPORTANTLY, he needs her as a friend right now. Owner should get out of her self and show concern for another person.
2. NEXT time two best buddies want to go see a movie like Shaun of the Dead with owner, she cannot use any excuses to get out of it. QC Bots do not care how tired she is, get some iron pills already. And if owner had done her grading last week when she collected the quizzes then she could have gone guilt free. Owner must stay on top of her work instead of procrastinating and thus remove any legitimate excuses for socializing and enjoying pop culture.
3. Do everyone a favor and get a date! Wah, wah, wah "I'm so frustrated, I'm so lonely, I'm crazy" QC Bots don't care because it's the owner's fault and that's why God made Xanax. Blind date boy has emailed the owner again, replying to her email of two weeks ago. No he did not ask her out--yet again. But he was out of town so MAYBE the owner should give it up and ask him out. Although QC Bots aren't sure, they don't know what that one is playing at.
4. Owner needs to go to church, it's been 2 months. She always gets gloomy when she doesn't go. There might be an interesting man or two. Then she could get busy on #3.
5. This time, when owner goes to the Morrissey concert on Saturday, she absolutely MUST get the digits from any and all Moz-men who spend 3 hours hanging out with her --but not the ones who spill beer or molest her. And next time find someone over 21. WARNING: Owner NOT ALLOWED to post about her sick infatuation with Morrissey. The world read about it ad naseum in May. That very post was linked on another blog as one of the posts that made that blogger sick. QC Bots ashamed of such links back to their blog. Don't let it happen again.
6. Lastly, or firstly, blog needs a new post about one of the stupid bad men from the past so that owner can make fun of their stupid badness.
**And put up a new poll--QC Bots bored with that one!
Excuse me? Hello?This is JL here. If you're so bored with my poll then friggin make your own d**n poll! Who do you Bots think you are? Quality Control my rectum! You can expect to see the law suit papers first thing in the...as soon as the paper gets finished and then the lectures and handouts...well, don't worry, you're getting sued soon. I won't ~~~~Feed Interrupted~~~~
QC department is not worried about getting sued. *Yawn* Site owner is a predictable human. It is suggested that JL go away to finish reading about fragmented selves because Bots find that subject curiously disturbing.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
Site owner responded petulantly demanding an explanation of the security color levels. Her favorite color is red so she thinks that's a fine security level for the blog. When Bots answered that color level determinations are at their discretion, none of her beeswax, and red is bad, she threatened to file a suit with the assistance of the ACLU--blogger division. QC Bots know owner is a slacker and won't get around to suing them. So they issued a list of required actions to remove her from blog probation and to lighten the mood around here--for the love of all blog readers, cheer up!!!
1. HT wants to see her. Owner must meet him in person this week for some social fun. To facilitate this she must phone him on Wednesday as she promised when he called her on Sunday offering her a ride to church conference. The fact that she has a paper due Friday which she has yet to begin is not a good excuse considering the sad state of her well-being. Additionally, he left her 3 messages and owner only returned the last call so she can't afford to snub him anymore. Regardless of her ambiguous feelings towards HT romantically, he has a car, knows lots of interesting people and is always doing cool things. MOST IMPORTANTLY, he needs her as a friend right now. Owner should get out of her self and show concern for another person.
2. NEXT time two best buddies want to go see a movie like Shaun of the Dead with owner, she cannot use any excuses to get out of it. QC Bots do not care how tired she is, get some iron pills already. And if owner had done her grading last week when she collected the quizzes then she could have gone guilt free. Owner must stay on top of her work instead of procrastinating and thus remove any legitimate excuses for socializing and enjoying pop culture.
3. Do everyone a favor and get a date! Wah, wah, wah "I'm so frustrated, I'm so lonely, I'm crazy" QC Bots don't care because it's the owner's fault and that's why God made Xanax. Blind date boy has emailed the owner again, replying to her email of two weeks ago. No he did not ask her out--yet again. But he was out of town so MAYBE the owner should give it up and ask him out. Although QC Bots aren't sure, they don't know what that one is playing at.
4. Owner needs to go to church, it's been 2 months. She always gets gloomy when she doesn't go. There might be an interesting man or two. Then she could get busy on #3.
5. This time, when owner goes to the Morrissey concert on Saturday, she absolutely MUST get the digits from any and all Moz-men who spend 3 hours hanging out with her --but not the ones who spill beer or molest her. And next time find someone over 21. WARNING: Owner NOT ALLOWED to post about her sick infatuation with Morrissey. The world read about it ad naseum in May. That very post was linked on another blog as one of the posts that made that blogger sick. QC Bots ashamed of such links back to their blog. Don't let it happen again.
6. Lastly, or firstly, blog needs a new post about one of the stupid bad men from the past so that owner can make fun of their stupid badness.
**And put up a new poll--QC Bots bored with that one!
Excuse me? Hello?This is JL here. If you're so bored with my poll then friggin make your own d**n poll! Who do you Bots think you are? Quality Control my rectum! You can expect to see the law suit papers first thing in the...as soon as the paper gets finished and then the lectures and handouts...well, don't worry, you're getting sued soon. I won't ~~~~Feed Interrupted~~~~
QC department is not worried about getting sued. *Yawn* Site owner is a predictable human. It is suggested that JL go away to finish reading about fragmented selves because Bots find that subject curiously disturbing.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
9.29.2004
---------------------<<<<<<<<<blog experiencing technical difficulties.
TEMPORARILY OFFLINE>>>>
error code message o49R12XT50>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
error o49R12XT50: code o49R1 Blog owner prohibited from posting due to melodramatic overload. >>>>
code 2XT: Quality Control bots blocking new entries to prevent further degredation>>>>
violation 50 owner sat in windowless office alone for 3 hours between classes>>> PROTOCOL NOT ALLOWED>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
>>>Technical support README file suggests >>>>>>>>>>>>
1.Send Owner to Beantown to mooch off her corporate sell-out friend and his expense account in luxury hotel
2. During execution of step 1, owner must be treated to fine dining and long car rides with loud music
WARNING!>>> Steps 1 &2 Aborted>>>Session follows: Owner did not complete movement from Brooklyn to Chinatown in time to catch the 10 pm Fung Wah Bus to Boston. Signage confusion occurred on subway transfer station from the A to the JMZ movement stalled. Directional Error on Center Street owner followed wrong path. Path correction towards Canal Street Manhattan Bridge Station timing off. Recommendation>>>>>Implement replacement happy fun times programming. DETAILS UNKNOWN.>>>>>>>>>>>>>
3. If problem persists after completion of Steps 1 and 2, try making owner return pastdue phone calls and emails to re-instate communications with caring persons.
>>> If steps 1-3 solve the problem, step 4 STILL REQUIRED. >>>>>>>
4. Send owner to Morrissey concert on 9 October
<<<<<WARNING If problem persists after completion of Step 4 then owner to be terminated and blog permanently shut-down>>>>>failure to recover after dose of Moz sign of terminal damage>>>>>>>>>
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>Blogging privileges to be reinstated after demonstrated recovery
errorcode o49R12XT50>>>>>>
website temporarily off-line>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>Contact site administrator for customer support <<<<<
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
TEMPORARILY OFFLINE>>>>
error code message o49R12XT50>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
error o49R12XT50: code o49R1 Blog owner prohibited from posting due to melodramatic overload. >>>>
code 2XT: Quality Control bots blocking new entries to prevent further degredation>>>>
violation 50 owner sat in windowless office alone for 3 hours between classes>>> PROTOCOL NOT ALLOWED>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
>>>Technical support README file suggests >>>>>>>>>>>>
1.Send Owner to Beantown to mooch off her corporate sell-out friend and his expense account in luxury hotel
2. During execution of step 1, owner must be treated to fine dining and long car rides with loud music
WARNING!>>> Steps 1 &2 Aborted>>>Session follows: Owner did not complete movement from Brooklyn to Chinatown in time to catch the 10 pm Fung Wah Bus to Boston. Signage confusion occurred on subway transfer station from the A to the JMZ movement stalled. Directional Error on Center Street owner followed wrong path. Path correction towards Canal Street Manhattan Bridge Station timing off. Recommendation>>>>>Implement replacement happy fun times programming. DETAILS UNKNOWN.>>>>>>>>>>>>>
3. If problem persists after completion of Steps 1 and 2, try making owner return pastdue phone calls and emails to re-instate communications with caring persons.
>>> If steps 1-3 solve the problem, step 4 STILL REQUIRED. >>>>>>>
4. Send owner to Morrissey concert on 9 October
<<<<<WARNING If problem persists after completion of Step 4 then owner to be terminated and blog permanently shut-down>>>>>failure to recover after dose of Moz sign of terminal damage>>>>>>>>>
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>Blogging privileges to be reinstated after demonstrated recovery
errorcode o49R12XT50>>>>>>
website temporarily off-line>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>Contact site administrator for customer support <<<<<
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
8.27.2004
Ode to Olympic Swimming
O, Olympic swimming! How do I love thee? Let me count the ways:
1. For the 8 luscious men lined up in a row, waiting for the starter’s mark to go.
2. For the relay race, when 64 perfect bodies gather at pool’s end. Then 56 speedo-ed, and some wet, men cheer and jump for the 8 racing in their lanes. What a glorious and beautiful spectacle, the men’s 4x100 relay!
3. For the underwater slow-mo replay. Of that I have no more to say.
4. For the arms and chests and legs moving with such power and grace.
5. For the pre-swim stretching of said arms and chests and legs.
6.For the starting dive, always given a replay.
7. For the freak of nature Phelps, who garnered enough fame that NBC aired even the qualifying heats, not just the final races.
8. For the form and elegance of movement through water.
9. For reminding me of the days when I too raced the fly and breaststroke, years and years ago.
10. For the memory of my adolescent self finding a new joy at the edge of a swimming pool. When the boys swam the heat before the girls in meets.
11. For making my arms ache for the pain again.
12. For making me remember the peaceful silence underwater, the daily baptism that drowned my teen sorrows for 2 hours.
13. Forr making my eyes and mouth water, aching for the beauty before me in the form of 8 swimming men and a cool clear chlorinated pool.
O, Olympic Swimming! Why did you have to end? Now I have to go back to swimming or wait four years to have you again.
Check out these swimming photos from Scott and Colleen Goldblatt's Olympic Journal Blog. They've got more there.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
1. For the 8 luscious men lined up in a row, waiting for the starter’s mark to go.
2. For the relay race, when 64 perfect bodies gather at pool’s end. Then 56 speedo-ed, and some wet, men cheer and jump for the 8 racing in their lanes. What a glorious and beautiful spectacle, the men’s 4x100 relay!
3. For the underwater slow-mo replay. Of that I have no more to say.
4. For the arms and chests and legs moving with such power and grace.
5. For the pre-swim stretching of said arms and chests and legs.
6.For the starting dive, always given a replay.
7. For the freak of nature Phelps, who garnered enough fame that NBC aired even the qualifying heats, not just the final races.
8. For the form and elegance of movement through water.
9. For reminding me of the days when I too raced the fly and breaststroke, years and years ago.
10. For the memory of my adolescent self finding a new joy at the edge of a swimming pool. When the boys swam the heat before the girls in meets.
11. For making my arms ache for the pain again.
12. For making me remember the peaceful silence underwater, the daily baptism that drowned my teen sorrows for 2 hours.
13. Forr making my eyes and mouth water, aching for the beauty before me in the form of 8 swimming men and a cool clear chlorinated pool.
O, Olympic Swimming! Why did you have to end? Now I have to go back to swimming or wait four years to have you again.
Check out these swimming photos from Scott and Colleen Goldblatt's Olympic Journal Blog. They've got more there.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
8.13.2004
NYC, This is why I hate you
I woke up to sunlight this morning, which was a beautiful and new thing. I love my new place, I think I'll be much happier there than in my old place. BUT--the moving was a horrific nightmare. Behold the hassel that only happens in New York:
5 times I moved my things. 1st, last week into the truck with help from a friend and a hired mover. 2nd, into an empty house way out in Queens with help from the same friend and the old man who owns the house. 3rd, out of the house in Queens (after a 3 hour drive caused by the Mets game traffic.) I had help that one time from one fried. We were able to do it in an hour and change so we left Queens at 10:30. But I went back to Manhattan the wrong way and ended up in the Bronx After paying $8 toll. Then I got caught in Yankee game traffic and had to pay another $8 to get back into Manhattan where I dropped off my friend and then tried to find safe illegal parking for the full moving truck. Parallel parking a 14' truck on the street was not fun, to say the least. I got back home about midnight, when I left at 3:30 to pick up the truck.
That morning I woke up early to move the car from that illegal spot to another illegal spot. While packing things in the house where I've been crashing, I had to go out and move the truck 3 more times because people double parked next to it and blocked traffic. Of course, I'm the one they cussed and screamed at. One creative guy stopped his car to lean out the window and tell me, "When you hear people talking about A**holes, they're talking about you!" I said, "Thanks and slapped my left cheek for him. Despite my kind moving of the truck, I still got a $45 parking ticket I have to pay. It took me awhile to find some movers to help me empty the truck into my new home. It's a brownstone so there is half a flight of stairs to the front door and then my bedroom on the second floor. I finally found some who only quoted me $70 per hour for two guys with a $100 minimum. That was the best I could do.
After I got my two cats into the cab of the truck I left Harlem and drove towards Brooklyn. Meena is trained for car rides so she just sat in my lap and behaved herself. I had to confine the little one in a carrier and put her in the other seat and listen to her howl all the way there. It took 1.5 hours. I had to take surface roads some of the time because trucks aren't allowed on parts of the highway and some bridges/tunnels. Of course I got lost because MapQuest doesn't figure in for truck detour. But I got there at 1:45. The movers came at 2 and finished about 2:15. I gave them my last 120 bucks (tip) then attempted to return the truck to midtown.
I left at 3:30. I couldn't figure out how to get out of Brooklyn. I stopped to fill the gas tank so I wouldn't get over-charged by the truck company. But I estimated wrong and only filled it half full. The truck was due at 4:30!!! Not long after the gas station fill-up which took 15 minutes because another truck parked me in, I hit an SUV that was double parked. !!!! Those freaking cars should not be allowed in this city!! They are ridiculous and insane. It was hard enough driving a truck through narrow streets with cars parked on both sides and pedestrians everywhere, without the cars having to be grossly over-sized to feed the vanity of their owners. Anyway, I scraped and dented the rear fender of the SUV and scraped up my rental truck. Of course, I turned down the truck damage insurance when I rented it. Yikes!!! At this point I gave up and went numb to it all. I imagined the thousands or so bucks Penske was going to charge me and who knows what for the dang SUV.
God blessed me that day. The guy in the car gave me his cell phone so I could talk to the owner. He told me earlier not to call the police. The woman asked me what happened and how bad it was. Then she said she'd like to just forget about it. Fine with me. Thank you God. So I headed back towards Manhattan again. I made my way to the Brooklyn Bridge where a cop turned me away, trucks aren't allowed. Then I drove around following signs and getting lost. Finally I asked a traffic cop how to get out of there. He showed me the way to Manhattan Bridge. I had $8 on me and had forgotten to bring my metrocard for the subway ride home. I prayed that the toll for this bridge was only $6 so I'd have enough cash to get home. I was blessed again because the bridge was toll free.
The guy at Penske was extremely nice to me. I arrived in his office frantic and sure I'd be charged another 70 bucks because the truck was an hour late (now 5:30). I showed him the scrapes. He wiped the paint off the scratches and told me it was only dirt so I had nothing to worry about. He was lying for me. May God bless his kind, kind heart. He also didn't charge me any late fee. But I had to pay $16 for 4 gallons of gas. And I had driven 91 miles so it all came out to about $120. Still less than UHaul. So I subwayed myself back to my new home and moved all my belongings upstairs to the third floor.
What a ridiculous ordeal-- made worse by my incompetence at planning and efficiency. While lost in Brooklyn I got very sad. I thought about how much easier this would have been if I had someone with me or someone to help me. Even just having a person in the car to make me laugh.... but I only cried for a few minutes. Being alone has gotten extremely old. I'm tired of this. I want someone with me. I can't even imagine how it'd have felt just to have someone give me a hug last night when I finished. People are not built to be alone.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
5 times I moved my things. 1st, last week into the truck with help from a friend and a hired mover. 2nd, into an empty house way out in Queens with help from the same friend and the old man who owns the house. 3rd, out of the house in Queens (after a 3 hour drive caused by the Mets game traffic.) I had help that one time from one fried. We were able to do it in an hour and change so we left Queens at 10:30. But I went back to Manhattan the wrong way and ended up in the Bronx After paying $8 toll. Then I got caught in Yankee game traffic and had to pay another $8 to get back into Manhattan where I dropped off my friend and then tried to find safe illegal parking for the full moving truck. Parallel parking a 14' truck on the street was not fun, to say the least. I got back home about midnight, when I left at 3:30 to pick up the truck.
That morning I woke up early to move the car from that illegal spot to another illegal spot. While packing things in the house where I've been crashing, I had to go out and move the truck 3 more times because people double parked next to it and blocked traffic. Of course, I'm the one they cussed and screamed at. One creative guy stopped his car to lean out the window and tell me, "When you hear people talking about A**holes, they're talking about you!" I said, "Thanks and slapped my left cheek for him. Despite my kind moving of the truck, I still got a $45 parking ticket I have to pay. It took me awhile to find some movers to help me empty the truck into my new home. It's a brownstone so there is half a flight of stairs to the front door and then my bedroom on the second floor. I finally found some who only quoted me $70 per hour for two guys with a $100 minimum. That was the best I could do.
After I got my two cats into the cab of the truck I left Harlem and drove towards Brooklyn. Meena is trained for car rides so she just sat in my lap and behaved herself. I had to confine the little one in a carrier and put her in the other seat and listen to her howl all the way there. It took 1.5 hours. I had to take surface roads some of the time because trucks aren't allowed on parts of the highway and some bridges/tunnels. Of course I got lost because MapQuest doesn't figure in for truck detour. But I got there at 1:45. The movers came at 2 and finished about 2:15. I gave them my last 120 bucks (tip) then attempted to return the truck to midtown.
I left at 3:30. I couldn't figure out how to get out of Brooklyn. I stopped to fill the gas tank so I wouldn't get over-charged by the truck company. But I estimated wrong and only filled it half full. The truck was due at 4:30!!! Not long after the gas station fill-up which took 15 minutes because another truck parked me in, I hit an SUV that was double parked. !!!! Those freaking cars should not be allowed in this city!! They are ridiculous and insane. It was hard enough driving a truck through narrow streets with cars parked on both sides and pedestrians everywhere, without the cars having to be grossly over-sized to feed the vanity of their owners. Anyway, I scraped and dented the rear fender of the SUV and scraped up my rental truck. Of course, I turned down the truck damage insurance when I rented it. Yikes!!! At this point I gave up and went numb to it all. I imagined the thousands or so bucks Penske was going to charge me and who knows what for the dang SUV.
God blessed me that day. The guy in the car gave me his cell phone so I could talk to the owner. He told me earlier not to call the police. The woman asked me what happened and how bad it was. Then she said she'd like to just forget about it. Fine with me. Thank you God. So I headed back towards Manhattan again. I made my way to the Brooklyn Bridge where a cop turned me away, trucks aren't allowed. Then I drove around following signs and getting lost. Finally I asked a traffic cop how to get out of there. He showed me the way to Manhattan Bridge. I had $8 on me and had forgotten to bring my metrocard for the subway ride home. I prayed that the toll for this bridge was only $6 so I'd have enough cash to get home. I was blessed again because the bridge was toll free.
The guy at Penske was extremely nice to me. I arrived in his office frantic and sure I'd be charged another 70 bucks because the truck was an hour late (now 5:30). I showed him the scrapes. He wiped the paint off the scratches and told me it was only dirt so I had nothing to worry about. He was lying for me. May God bless his kind, kind heart. He also didn't charge me any late fee. But I had to pay $16 for 4 gallons of gas. And I had driven 91 miles so it all came out to about $120. Still less than UHaul. So I subwayed myself back to my new home and moved all my belongings upstairs to the third floor.
What a ridiculous ordeal-- made worse by my incompetence at planning and efficiency. While lost in Brooklyn I got very sad. I thought about how much easier this would have been if I had someone with me or someone to help me. Even just having a person in the car to make me laugh.... but I only cried for a few minutes. Being alone has gotten extremely old. I'm tired of this. I want someone with me. I can't even imagine how it'd have felt just to have someone give me a hug last night when I finished. People are not built to be alone.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
4.23.2004
What kind of Mormon are you?
Moroni Plays Ska has posted a taxonomy of Mormons, from "The Five Kinds of Mormons" written by Robert Kirby. Look for his post dated April 21st. The 5 types are: Liberal, Genuine, Conservative, Orthodox, and Nazi. It's a very accurate and amusing description of each mormon sub-species.
We also learn that there are only 11 genuine Mormons out of 11 million in the whole world and as Moroni himself says, ".0001% Ain't Bad". It looks like I'm going to hell since I was raised on diet coke and rated R movies. Oh well, my conscience is clear as long as I never vote republican.
We also learn that there are only 11 genuine Mormons out of 11 million in the whole world and as Moroni himself says, ".0001% Ain't Bad". It looks like I'm going to hell since I was raised on diet coke and rated R movies. Oh well, my conscience is clear as long as I never vote republican.
Collection:
Humor
4.12.2004
Get Your Groove On, Cultural Hall Singles-Style!
I just couldn't pass this up. Every Mormon living single or who formerly lived single, understands about the 'Singles Dance': an institution instituted to benefit the 'singles', to give us a romantic place to meet each other. Bless them for trying, but a church gym with some balloons taped to the wall and a folding table of chips and punch does not make for romance.
Singles Dance traditions differ in each stake. Back home, my stake hosted a dance the third Friday of each month. The Region hosted a dance on the first Friday of each month. I had to go to my stake's because I was YSA rep forever for my ward. The 5 active reps had to rotate dance chores, like cleaning up and dj-responsibility. Ah, the singles dance dj, usually some brave LDS music-geek or dj wannabe who doesn't mind doing it for free. Our stake was lucky because we had George who owned lots of cool equipment. The DJs at our dances got to use his laptop to program the songs. I haven't been to a church dance in years. But I remember in our YSA stake meetings, the issue of song-lyric-cleanliness came up once in awhile. They tried to make us have all songs pre-approved before the dance. That didn't work. But, today as I was surfing the bloggernacle I came across a post from Number1Nun. Sorry I don't know the HTML to give you a link straight to her post. It's the one starting with, "HOLLA" dated 4/08/04. She writes about her bishop, not only asking for a preview list of songs for the next singles dance, but actually suggesting that the DJ play "I am a Child of God".
Yes. You read that correctly. Check her blog and see for yourselves. Do they want us to stay single forever?? Isn't it bad enough that the People at a dance feel humiliated and nervous, that the music is terrible, that the sweet couple missionaries are chaperoning, that the lights are too bright, that you sometimes find yourself hiding from the creepy old dude or sweaty boy, or you find out the one interesting guy there is 19 and about to go on a mission, that you sometimes get to watch ex's macking on other people, or that sometimes no one of the opposite sex wants to dance with you and then it's even worse because you find them all repulsive?.....No! That's not enough.
Now, at Nun's dance they want her to play sweet, spiritual primary songs to get everyone in the mood. ? How do you dance to that? You couldn't even do the missionary shuffle [walk around in a circle slowly holding hands]. To what end does her bishop want this song played? Here are some of my guesses:
To remind everyone to leave some room for the holy ghost.
To remind them of their awkward childhood so they feel more confident and flirty.
It's a morale booster for those whose egos are getting abused, "It's ok no one wants to talk to you because you are a child of God."
So the couples making out in the parking lot will knock it off out of guilt.
To prevent the giggling girls from gossiping about each other, "Don't say that about her hair, she's a child of God too!"
To remind the RMs that it is their Godly duty to find a wife, so they better get to it!
What do you think her bishop is thinking? He has good intentions, what are they? Leave a comment. (Thanks Nicole!)
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetically hilarious exploits of me not having sex in the city.
Singles Dance traditions differ in each stake. Back home, my stake hosted a dance the third Friday of each month. The Region hosted a dance on the first Friday of each month. I had to go to my stake's because I was YSA rep forever for my ward. The 5 active reps had to rotate dance chores, like cleaning up and dj-responsibility. Ah, the singles dance dj, usually some brave LDS music-geek or dj wannabe who doesn't mind doing it for free. Our stake was lucky because we had George who owned lots of cool equipment. The DJs at our dances got to use his laptop to program the songs. I haven't been to a church dance in years. But I remember in our YSA stake meetings, the issue of song-lyric-cleanliness came up once in awhile. They tried to make us have all songs pre-approved before the dance. That didn't work. But, today as I was surfing the bloggernacle I came across a post from Number1Nun. Sorry I don't know the HTML to give you a link straight to her post. It's the one starting with, "HOLLA" dated 4/08/04. She writes about her bishop, not only asking for a preview list of songs for the next singles dance, but actually suggesting that the DJ play "I am a Child of God".
Yes. You read that correctly. Check her blog and see for yourselves. Do they want us to stay single forever?? Isn't it bad enough that the People at a dance feel humiliated and nervous, that the music is terrible, that the sweet couple missionaries are chaperoning, that the lights are too bright, that you sometimes find yourself hiding from the creepy old dude or sweaty boy, or you find out the one interesting guy there is 19 and about to go on a mission, that you sometimes get to watch ex's macking on other people, or that sometimes no one of the opposite sex wants to dance with you and then it's even worse because you find them all repulsive?.....No! That's not enough.
Now, at Nun's dance they want her to play sweet, spiritual primary songs to get everyone in the mood. ? How do you dance to that? You couldn't even do the missionary shuffle [walk around in a circle slowly holding hands]. To what end does her bishop want this song played? Here are some of my guesses:
What do you think her bishop is thinking? He has good intentions, what are they? Leave a comment. (Thanks Nicole!)
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetically hilarious exploits of me not having sex in the city.
Collection:
Church,
Humor,
Mo'Men,
Single Living
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