One Cranky Stiff

the misanthropic writer and i are going to drive around the beltway and listen to XM laugh radio. this, in itself, could be construed as a genuine miracle.

when i sit in the same position in front of a desk all day, i start getting frankenstein neck. frankenstein neck is when you feel like there are distinct points on both sides of your neck where bolts are jutting out. frankenstein neck also makes you move your head and neck as those there were bolts in them. your brain is affected within 1 hour of developing frankenstein neck. you start opening your eyes wide when you hear a question and pausing very awkwardly before you speak and making faces of concern.


this is the week of pissy people apparently. tread lightly and speak softly for there are many who you will offend just waiting, just waiting for you to mess up. this is when i least like myself. when i am a pissy person. it's so irrational but it feels so good when you're doing it. well it does for 2 seconds anyway but how luxurious are those 2 seconds? wrap them up in a bow and give them out during the holidays. i'm sure people will appreciate it. and they will show their appreciation by snapping at you.

The Gin and Tanqueray Book Club

what a day and a night. i feel like after the 5th day or so of creation. i'm like "whoooooooooa. i could use a backrub and a high-five. fer real."

the misanthropic writer could not be better suited to my life than if he were a character written into a novel. and not a stiff static character neither. a floppy and dynamic character.

we're starting an institution. thursday night meetings. like the beatniks and the impressionists. we're going to create a circle of literati. intern chris will be the head honcho with the academic bigwig namedropping but the mr. writer and i, we will throw wisecracks and jabs. trashtalking will be done by all. nothing will be sacred. except maybe poker. and politics. ha!


i was officially named his protegee today and my number entered into his cellphone, awkward photo and all (tis a new generation). i was so excited i couldn't even look excited. i just feigned normalcy. i was also called an A-girl. apparently there are A-girls and there are Y-girls. some arbitrary characterization based on name endings, but hey, i came out of the judging process favorably so i'm not making any protest signs.

the misanthropic writer [pointing at me]: well, here's a case right here of an A-girl. she's delightful and gregarious. just lovely. and blogger-y. {said like an infomercial}

i hope our club has rules. and agendas. and free shrink sessions.

Unbridging the Gap

we're on a race to understand each other!

it's so bittersweetly sad when people finally play their true selves convincingly enough to contort into something foreign to your imagination. finally distinct from the people you want them to be in your head. once upon a time, i went on exactly 2 dates with a bouncer. as with several experiences in my life, i got the jekyll/hyde treatment.

our first date he suggested i fit the prototype of a girl he would marry. i'm gullible but i'm also hopeful. and what was an impossibility was anything but in the asylum of my fantasyworld. this first date also involved taking a lot of shots of peach schnapps. i was completely and utterly smitten with this giant teddy bear who asked me to keep the big words to a minimum and the alcohol consumption steady.

the 2nd date he was trying to score some "rolls to pop" for most of the night. and ended up drunkenly leaving me stranded to get a ride home with his friend.

after that, completely randomly, a good while later when i was out of school, he contacted me. he was in military school, completely cleaned up, his act together. he still hadn't lost his easy charm and smooth half-truths. we talked every so often. it really was a minor deal. we made vague plans to meet up, both of us knowing the other wouldn't follow through as we were more than a few states apart.

another long period of silence followed. he did call to wish me "merry xmas, beautiful" in december in the casual manner he has a way of pulling off.

i decided to give him a call the other day. half-boredom/half-curiosity. to my shock he returned my call. since we last talked, he dropped out of school. he's working for his father. his voice lacked the carefree edge it once had when he might have been somewhat out of control but at least had the potential and time to make up for it. i noted as such but he said he was just tired. a long day of work. the thing is it probably was just him being tired. but i finally fully acknowledged the obvious gap. the gap between us, that i always rationalized as ridiculous pragmatism, stretching between us for miles and miles and miles.

despite all the people i do and do not get along with famously in the world, i know that every person has some one out there who understands their silences. and i'm glad for that.

these two understand each other just fine.

Dancing with the Awkwards

yesterday evening i went salsa dancing for a friend's birthday.

it was crazy because i have never been salsa dancing before. except in high school gym class. oh and then i got charged an extra 5 dollars AT THE DOOR for WEARING JEANS. i bet if i showed up in leg warmers and a tutu, i would not have been charged an extra 5 dollars. apparently the denim THAT HOLDS THIS COUNTRY TOGETHER is an eyesore to this establishment. excuse me BUT I BELIEVE cotton is the fabric of our LIVES and when i last checked, JEANS ARE COTTON. yeah the all-caps parts means i am YELLING.

but yeah. i cut my losses, which means my friend, even though it was her birthday, spotted me an extra five (cuz i am BROKE, my children). so first, there was a lesson. and the lady spoke in a monotone so everything she said such as "GOOD JOB EVERYBODY" could just as well have been her saying "NOW I WILL TERMINATE YOU."


one guy kept dipping me. i kept feeling like an idiot.

then the actual dancing was even funnier. guys just come up and ask you. and just because you dance with them, it doesn't mean you like them, which was good. because most of the men were 30+. one of them had long flowing scraggly brown hair all the way down his back. and his head was so big it was like a japanese lantern.

i had to keep saying i was a beginner whenever i was invited to dance. and some of them used that as an excuse to "show me the moves" when in reality they had no idea what they were doing either but i had to play along because it's hard to upstage someone who does a great salsa IMPRESSION. and then the really good guys wouldn't even talk to you. they just throw you around, which is great if you have even a smidgeon of experience. but i ended up banging into every other couple on the floor. and then i would be twirled in another direction. so really i had no time to apologize to anyone for leaving footprints on their feet, hands, face, etc. one guy asked me if i preferred "1-handed or 2?" and i said "oh. two, definitely two." (whhhhaatttt) i had to wash my hands at the end of the night. i felt like they made out with all these random guys. that's what salsa dancing feels like. like making out with your hands.

today morning, this possibly mentally handicapped guy stopped me outside the train station and said "hello" and then he held out a very pretty flower and said "this is for you" and i said, "oh that's so nice. you should keep it though. it's so nice" and then he said "no i picked it for you." and then i said "no thanks" and ran away. way to be smooth, casanotaparna.

i hate it when people put you on the spot with jokes. they're like "oh you do comedy? make me laugh." and then i look really pained like i just wet myself and then my eyes bug out and i make a face of mourning. it's quite dreadful. the reaction keeps expanding though. soon, i might have to sway back and forth and cradle my head in my hands and howl. because that's how sad i feel about telling jokes on the spot.


p.s. vanilla soy lattes are GROSS. i thought replacing real milk with plant milk would cut down on my phlegm production because i have to record my voice today for a story. but the phlegm production going down has been replaced with the gag reflex going up. so it didn't quite work out. this is how a sip of vanilla soy latte goes...mmm warm vanilla....BLECH...what was that last taste? vomit? yes. it's just been confirmed. that was a dead ringer for vomit. i think i will start calling them vanilla saliva lattes. because that's possibly as gross as they are.

The Statue of Clarity

why i love america.

after posting comments from readers on our website all afternoon about the illegal immigration debate, i stumbled on this diamond of a gem:

"Illegal is illegal, and it is making our Eagle Ill!!!"

oh and if that's not clear enough for you,

"America is a melting pot, not a tossed salad."

according to Urban Dictionary,

"1. tossed salad
Noun. The act of licking the anus and the area between the sex organs and anus, which is covered in a sweet liquid or syrup.

When done in prison, the receiver is dominant; the one doing it is submissive."

so i'm going to have to go with AGREE on that last one. America is not a tossed salad.

i'm glad we cleared that up.

I Could Use a Handout

oh MAN. i almost gave this "homeless" guy change by throwing some in his cup until i realized he was DRINKING A CUP OF COFFEE. and i'm still not sure whether he was homeless. this is why i err on the side of caution in my generosity.

i saw this card lying on the street. it read: 2006 CHRISTIAN TALENT SHOWCASE. i must admit, i was curious. but i didn't want to get my hands all tainted. you know, with faith. ima just kidding. i don't mind a little faith.

on another note entirely...

i don't know what it is with me and female professionals. they don't like me. or i don't like them. men are a little bit more easy-going in the work world. the misanthropic writer and i got along fine. i was irreverent. he was irreverent. it was a little utopia of irreverence. i didn't really feel like i could connect on that level with any other women at my old workplace. women. i don't know, man. i feel like the majority of women (with a few outstanding exceptions) always feel like they have something to prove. i don't want to be a catty mcgee. but i'm a little skurred. luckily at this rate i'm not advancing beyond entry-level so the only people i'll be the boss of is me.


CATFIGHTTTTTTTTTT

Reap What You Sow, You Bitch

i just got invited into my coworker's poker buddy group for being mean!

I'm Angry but Too Lazy to Do Anything About It

i think, due to the fact, that i was teased as a child for always doing my homework and being a nerd, that i now scorn people who work hard and are extremely conscientious. sad, really. but whenever i see a fellow slacker, i feel a kindred warmth, the likes of which i am hard pressed to find among the OTHER kind of people. yes, i am aware the world would stop functioning if only my kind existed. but the thing about slackers? yeah. we don't really care. not big on caring. caring? bottom of the to-do list right after reorganize sock drawer. oh also did you guys check out how i totally blamed OTHER people for the way i am (at the top, first sentence)? yeah. that was totally intentional.



when the censors scramble motherfucker in a rap song, it comes out mufferthucker, and it sounds hella angrier than the real word. because it sounds like someone who is so mad they can't even get the word out right. and by someone, i mean eminem.

Dolls and Guys

man. i work with some music snobs. they just all got FAUX-excited because the new googoo dolls cd came in the mail. now i don't know what's what...well, most of the time...but googoo dolls got me through many a trying night in middle/early high school. so back off. incidentally, their new cd is called, "let love in." i didn't fail to point that out to our music snobs. their smirks only grew in size.

i want a boy! and the main reason is so i can buy him some cologne. and brush his hair from his face. ah well. for now, i give out freebies. cologne and hair brushings for all! you can tell who needs what.
oh of course i'll brush your hair out of your face, male model.

coming soon: summer.


also i forgot. this morning, i passed this guy with both his hands down his pants. he was just walking down the street casually. there was no need to indicate to him what he was doing. there is no way to subtly indicate something that is clearly a matter of sheer will. if we could only all be that comfortable with ourselves.

Feed a Cold

wow! my cold/sore throat/malaise lasted just over 24 hours...i mean, there are a few lingering traces. but i'm smitten with this kind of sickness. it's like i had a small fling with this virus. in and out of the system in a day. and nothing left but a slightly disgusted memory and a shrug.


a furry piece of phlegm

&&&

this was my lunch today -- annie chun's teriyaki noodle bowl.


i showed my coworker because he always brings lean cuisine to work and calls it a "flavor adventure." and he said "definitely not a flavor adventure. but annie chun is kinda hot."

and i said "ohhh man. i can't believe you said that."

then i prepared my noodle bowl and brought it back to my work station. and it smelled delicious and the aroma wafted into my coworker's nostrils, and he proclaimed:

"you're making me hungry. i'll eat some of that if you don't want all of it."

and i said, "man. you'd take sloppy seconds from annie chun?"

now that's a flavor adventure.

Moments of Silence

a lot of death everywhere recently. there always is. but i passed a police officer funeral this morning. cop cars and motorcycles and cops in full dress uniform everywhere. a whole cavalcade. i felt weird walking through the whole assembly (as it spanned a good two blocks in two directions) in my civilian scrubs so i just stood there for awhile listening to the bagpipes. cops looked at me and solemnly nodded. i think they thought i knew the person. that's when i thought i should start walking.

but also at work, we're covering this cancer diary story right now. and all these listeners and readers are writing in with their own stories of someone they knew or know with cancer. and it always seems like the people who get cancer are the go-getters, the people that are so full of life, the least associated with any kind of untimely degeneration of their bodies. but there is a respect surrounding those who pass away. a certain gravity. an acknowledgement of the privilege it is just to be here. to go through whatever life we have, to remember every moment. even the ones spent in contemplating death.


funeral dance from west africa

Cheap Solutions for Your Everyday Problems

my house is full of self-help books. my mother loves them. if i am ever feeling passive-aggressive, wonder why as a women i can't read maps as well as men or if i'm simply wondering how to make friends and influence people (wouldn't this be so much better if it were "how to influence friends and make people?"), well, i don't have to go far for a solution.

anyway, a common theme i've noticed with these books. they are always targeted towards people who have a lot or are generally well-employed, happily married and financially secure but feel empty inside or something. it just makes me confused. i mean, take the CHICKEN SOUP series. you're familiar, i'm sure. CHICKEN SOUP for the teenage soul. CHICKEN SOUP for the reg'lar ole soul parts 1-nauseous infinity. CHICKEN SOUP for the golfer's soul. are these really the demographics that are most in need of chicken soup for their souls?

GAhhhhhhhhhhhhh...does this have your very first tampon included in it/napkin to take care of your first wet dream?

on that note, i am going to start a series called RAMEN.


RAMEN to go for the homeless soul.
RAMEN for two or more for the multiple personality disordered soul.
RAMEN in a pipe or intravenously for the junkie soul.
RAMEN that won't take anything off your paycheck for the deadbeat soul.
RAMEN that will last longer than your fame did for the one-hit wonder soul.
RAMEN you heathen for the atheist soul. - eheheheheh
RAMEN of earthly temptation for the extreme fundamentalist soul.
RAMEN is your motivation for the struggling actor soul.
RAMEN that cannot be cashed in for chips for the gamblin' soul.
RAMEN make you go happysadhappysadhappyhappysadsad for the bipolar soul.
figurative RAMEN for the overeating soul.
extra hearty RAMEN supplemented with a slab of meat for the anorexic soul.
RAMEN with no kissing for the streetwalkin' soul.
RAMEN one noodle at a time for the OCD soul.
RAMEN with rage included for the steroidal soul.
RAMEN (no i didn't say RUM, man) for the alcoholic soul.
RAMEN you don't have to thank me for the passive-aggressive soul.
RAMEN off the blackmarket for the bootlegger's soul.
crotchless RAMEN for the sexually deviant soul.

anyway. you get the point. i'm not sure how much content i could get in each book. but i'm aiming for maybe pamphlets instead.

on another note, of little to no consequence to most people, i have learned something about myself within the past two days. this is that if i take myself too seriously in relation to other people, i inevitably end up throwing things at myself instead of them. namely a bucket of shit generated by angry monkeys in my brain. they are just waiting. just waiting to throw it at me. so in order to stay emotionally hygienic, i must outwit the monkeys. and never take myself too seriously. i must outmonkey the monkeys.

pointless but it needed to be said.

Some Idle JJ Worship

to hell with dignity and good judgment. i'm pulling out all the stops today.

jj redick is hot. there. i said it. i'm a fan. his only crimes as far as i can tell are being white. being a phenom athlete. and being a preppy duke kid. whatever, dudes. i like him.

redickulous


look sheldon, it's some more haters! to the batmobile!

oh jonathan clay, you are not reviled in my heart.

look at that tousled hair.


everyone just settle down. SETTLE DOWN.

the latest from the misanthropic writer:

On 3/27/06, misanthropic writer wrote:

are we pubbing again this week ?
-mw

On Mar 27, 2006, at 10:54 AM, Aparna wrote:

yup...thursday night?

On 3/27/06, misanthropic writer wrote:

ok.

On Mar 27, 2006, at 11:23 AM, Aparna wrote:

(random) pub again? i liked that place. who should we invite? is there a
game that night? wow why am i asking so many questions?

On 3/27/06, Aparna wrote:

guess what? i'm in love with jj redick.

On 3/27/06, misanthropic writer wrote:

(random) pub is my favorite.

jj called me last week to ask for your number, but I'm not giving it to
anyone.

On 3/27/06, Aparna wrote:

i can't believe you. i thought we were friends.

On 3/27/06, misanthropic writer wrote:

jealousy destroys the strongest of men.

If you don't believe me, check world literature.

See Revenge. I wouldnt want to be JJ right now.

-mw

On 3/27/06, Aparna wrote:

oh no! don't hurt jj!!!

Laughter is the Best Legal Narcotic

head hurts. heart hurts. eyes ache. nose hurts. still happy. because a comedian told me love ain't worth it. and i laughed. and i liked the way he said it. he also did a great crackhead impression. and i thought crackhead jokes had no depth left in 'em. also the rest of the audience was sitting in front of him. but i was ushering so i got to sit perpendicular to his stage and he made all his asides to me. he asked me if i found love more trouble than it's worth. and i nodded spastically. and he said "yeah, it sure is."

another comedian's joke:
my girlfriend recently told me she wanted to see other people. so i put LSD in her coffee. now she's seeing other people.

Within the Lines of Love

more motherese:

mother: is this your red thong?
me: i don't own any red thongs.
mother: why not?

and the #1 reason even though i've been a bitch to her this weekend that my mother is the best to live with:

she ate a piece of carrot cake yesterday and hates frosting but instead of discarding the white goo like a losing lotto ticket she ate the cake more carefully within the sugared lines than a coloring book ace stays legal while engaged in the craft. so this morning upon opening the fridge, a beautiful frosting skeleton met my wandering hungry gaze.


she just ate the cake parts. what a champ.

Interlude to a Weekend

for the love of celery broth, i'm already feeling the shittiness that usually hits on sunday. oh well, this is why i hate staying in at night. too unsexy, too unsexy. but i must. if we can all learn to be ok with our utter unsexiness, we'll be far better off than those who are doomed to repeat their excessive sexiness.

sketch comedy, help us all.

i'm practicing jokes to an audience of couch cushions with paper faces taped to them. wheeeeehoo. one of the faces is perpetually angry.

right now, i wish i were in a lacy frock with little shiny buckle shoes at some party being shown off by my parents. and i also wish i was five. that would be a little off if this memory had me being 23 in it. of course, if i remember my childhood correctly, this would be my body trying to merge through osmosis with my mother's leg as she tried to cajole even one peep out of me or one nanosecond of eye contact with a stranger. but i like being in other people's houses being fed. and entertained. and then being told "it was so great. we should do this again soon." even if i was an utter non-participant and trashtalked upon departure. pretense is uplifting at times.


this isn't me. but who wouldn't want to be this kid?

I Need to Hire Some New Writers

wow. you know how sitcoms have parallel themes where there are two or more running plotlines interwoven in one given episode but they all sort of circumnavigate the same key issue? yeah. i'm not explaining well, am i? like on full house there would be an episode about stephanie being afraid to wear her new glasses but then uncle jesse will also be EXTRA self-conscious of his hair in that episode...bing bing bing...so the main theme is getting over appearance.

yesterday night was totally like that. i was all wrapped up in how someone could have possibly behaved the way he/she did and been ok with it. and then i reflected on a few of my own actions throughout the evening and i had to ask myself the same question.

hmmm. yeah, i'll let you guys find the humor in that one. for now, i'm still shaking my head.

does the university of phoenix online degree program offer courses in preserving one's dignity?

Audience Participation

stupid questions i plan to ask when i go out tonight and tomorrow night, a cumulative list (please make a donation to the NUTTSACC* fund):

- what if we were all robots?
- kfc v. mister rogers. discuss. i mean, would you rather be with the colonel or the rog on a deserted island?
- would you pee on your mother for $100 dollars? i mean, just on her toe "BY ACCIDENT"?
- what is your holy book of choice (doesn't need to be related to religion)?
- live, learn, get luvs. yea or nay?
- would you wear adult diapers for a week if dared to do so?
- what was the last thing you ate?
- have i met you somewhere before? was it in my pants?
- love at first sight with inanimate objects. comment.
- what is your favorite away msg? why are you lame?
- would you go to finishing school if given a scholarship?
- who is the person you'd be most likely to marry if people weren't so judgy? (if the person tries to hit on you when answering this question, immediately pee on them.)
- do you prefer frozen or fresh peas?
- what cuisine causes your poop to smell the most?
- if you could be any piece of furniture, what would you be and why?
- if you were a tab of LSD, who would you want to get a trip off of you? a good trip or a bad trip? please describe.

OK THE FLOOR IS OPEN. i will tell you the answers i get on monday IF YOU SUBMIT A QUESTION TO ME.

*nurturing unexpected togetherness through stopping aggravating crappy conversations

Never a Boast or Brag

i love compliments. i love watching people get them, watching them tickle the back of people's throats before they give them, watching people accept them gracefully, watching people accept them poorly, and you know what i love most. when I GET THEM. i can make one tiny one last for days, years even.

yeah, that's right.

see? that was me gloating without actually rubbing any specific pompous boast or brag in your face. those are saved for those closest to me who are ok with being openly jealous behind my back.

(this is what i tell myself everyday. it gets me through life.)

Sure....Unsure Strikes Again

sometimes i feel confident


and sometimes i feel stupid


incidentally, despite doing some things that definitely would go under the stupid category in the recent past, i have felt confident about them. i have felt confident about my right to act conventionally unattractive and ridiculous.

and other things that should make me feel confident like job interviews make me feel stupid. i had a job interview yesterday, and every answer that came out of my mouth, even when it kind of sounded good, made me feel incredibly stupid.

this morning on the way to work, it was particularly manic. i felt confident a block before the coffeeshop. i smiled at a stranger openly. and then when i got to the coffeeshop, i felt stupid. i felt confident when ordering my coffee. i felt stupid when paying for my coffee. i felt confident when picking up my coffee. i felt stupid once i got to work. i really threw myself a curveball. my posture would straighten, slump, straighten, slump. my outward expression would smile, grimace, smile, grimace, smile, grimace.

it was really out of control. i felt confident. i started acting out a little and suddenly i was a cowering ball of fluff.


you know what i need right? a flask. i love the way hardened detectives on television swig their flasks when they're about to confront hardship and uncertainty in their lives.

coworker reading some blog post comment: "it's not like if someone gives you money, you call them dad."
me: "i do!"
coworker: "oh man, that's bad."

ain't nothing like the smell of ramen in the morning...

The Happiest Hour

yesterday was a dream.

that's all i can say about that.

no, just kidding, here comes my estrogenheavy-SCHPIEL.

it put all visions of twentysomething all-american genericko jocks to shame.

it quieted my doubts about where my alliances lie when it comes to sentimental sighs and mindwrenching daydreams (mindwrenching in a positive way).

thus was the "date" with the misanthropic writer, intern chris and i. another new intern joined us as well that the misanthrope invited. what can we say? the misanthropic writer likes his ladies. (sorry intern chris)

here's the rundown. i'll try to zoom in on the extra AWESOME parts because all of it was enough to make a girl srsly have an orspasm.

intern chris and i got to this pub. the writer said he'd arrive an hour early to, you know, situate himself. he was sitting in a booth all by himself reading VONNEGUT drinking a tanqueray and tonic. you say cliched. i say SHUT THE HELL UP. we walked right by him, did a double take, and then we all embraced like old friends. actually it was more like chris and i made confused faces, and then he did, and then we did, and then the writer snorted, his way of expressing humor. and then we sat down. intern chris inquired as to what the misanthropic writer got his wife for her birthday on the previous evening, and he said "crabs." HAHAHAHAHAAH. sometimes i forget the misanthropic writer is an adult because my first reaction was to say, "the good kind, i hope."

after some chitchat, the last intern showed up. and we began the proceedings for the evening. talk ran the gamut. alcohol flowed freely. march madness was played on screens above us. food was had. our waiter looked like a young jackie chan. the misanthropic writer is a funny eater. he's certainly not dainty. i had to point out a piece of chicken that was sticking to his elbow.

the misanthropic writer snorted many times. we discussed creationism, jupiter (the misanthropic writer is incidentally pro-jupiter), how to meet ladies, his levelheaded teenage daughter who once held an intervention for her 13-year-old friend who once came over after drinking an entire bottle of vodka, the south, gambling on horses, gambling at casinos, writing about gambling, podcasting, sex and the city and coach k. we were all irreverent, each one trying to outdo the other. then we started watching the duke v. lsu game and the misanthropic writer could not read the screen so he would tug on my hair every time he wanted to know the score. the misanthropic writer called a couple of people morons. we were all tipsy as those blowup boxing clowns by the time duke lost.

so i think i impressed him because after an evening that couldn't possibly have been any better, i received the following email in my inbox this morning:

From: Misanthropic Writer
To: Aparna Nancherla
Date: 3/24/06, 9:45 a.m.

we should do it again with just us !

misanthropic writer

[fin]

yeah. that one's being framed and put on my wall. goosebumps.

on another note, i think coffee makes me act out.

HOLY SHIT. I FORGOT THE BEST PART. THE MISANTHROPIC WRITER SANG "RING OF FIRE". HE SERENADED US. THIS WAS 5 DRINKS DEEP SO YOU BETCHA BUTT IT WAS AMAZING.

Aware and Informed

ways to prepare for a job interview/copyediting test (t-2 hours):

- read one of mummy's grammar books that she bought to MASTER english back in the day. yes, it was written in the 70s. no i don't care. shut up. all the sample sentences involve ms. dickerson baking cookies for her white bread boys. oh, and the cookies are laced with LSD.

- eat a small tub of frosting. without reason, i feel smarter and lumpier at the same time.

- organize my date planner. i am SO busy, i don't have time for a job.

- go to the orthodontist. and get my cheek stroked by a 60-year old man who loves sailing, as evidenced by the many yacht models strewn about his office and the tiny boats on his pants. don't laugh. i will figuratively murder you all.

- read a KID's guide to CONGRESS on the internet complete with sound effects and amazing animations. now that you mention it, i think i will write to my senator. now's as good a time as any, right?

- lick my lips and seriously consider applying chapstick. for around and about 15 minutes. i also considered forming a PAC about the issue, but the lobbyists take long lunches on thursdays. i have no idea what ZEE HELL i am talking about.

- wonder if the misanthropic writer will show up for our "date" tonight.

- look at my watch, shake my head, and realize i have inevitably screwed myself over again.


yelp.

Late Afternoon Crack Break

i just stapled myself to an important document.

also my victoria's (not-so-)secret underwear is showing. it's kind of hot.

i look very tousled. like i just woke up from bed. but in a sexy way. if i were on MySpace and had a webcam, you would totally be getting a live feed. be glad i'm not. and therefore, you're not. whoooo. be so glad.

gallery of anonymous camera mugging (work it, homeys)











and the winner of course...

Afternoon Crack Break

yo i need to stop being a waste of space today. but i can't help it. the walls are talking to me.

i need to share this song with everyone. i am moved to do so.
Police Dogs Bonfires

i got the following text msg yesterday: "You're a complicated girl ya know" at 11:03 p.m.*

understatement of the century. but i'm not bragging about my "layers" and "depth." hardly. don't make me crinkle my eyes and snort. i mean, i've got eeshues from here to lake okechobee. but on the upside, when i smile, it's not all gums. that was what my male coworker just nitpicked about this superhot girl. he said her smile was all gums. is this even a valid complaint if your titties could not be firmer if they were handpicked by hugh hefner? pick your battles, ladies and gentlemen, pick your battles. we're not all the energizer bunny. certainly not as annoying and pink anyway. like an itchy vagina. i can't stop namedropping genitalia. PEN-ARSE. WHOA.



*who can handle that shit at 11:03 p.m.? i was on the verge of slumber, my pie-eyed friends and then this text msg weighs on me like a ton of bricks so i responded the only way i knew how. i said: "hahaha lolz wuteva." yeah in case you found me intimidating before, i text msg like a 13 yr old girl. and no, i don't do it facetiously. whup? ok, what? oh, this just in: yes i do.

Sniffing Up the Wrong Alley

Epoxy on all your houses. Not really. Though the lightheadedness is mildly amusing.

~today is messy ponytail day. if your hair is nicely gathered, designated girls and boys, in an appropriate and even attractive waterfall, please redistribute your assets so that your hair looks, at best, like a natty mop. i'm trendsetting.

~my stomach is making LOUD LOUD LOUD clunky noises that are vibrating off the walls of this workspace. everytime one of these cavernous baritone groans emerges, the coworker sitting diagonal to me raises one eyebrow at his monitor in barely disguised concern, as if sharing a private pained moment with it.

~kanye is addictive. he uses levels. i have now listened to this song 12 times in a row. i suggest giving it a fair and impartial hearing.

~i was supposed to have drinks with the misanthropic writer tonight, planned more than a week in advance, but he forgot. it is his wife's birthday today. like none of us saw that coming.

~the construction workers are using excessive glue today. why. i don't ask questions. but i can no longer smell it. this is probably not the best of signs. but i love the smell of gasoline. two great things that go great together. yeah, my brain is slowly dripping down the back of my neck. not actually. i'm hyperbolizing. if it's not up to par, blame the lack of effort i'm putting into...well...everything today.

~i like people who sigh loud enough that you know they want someone to ask, "what's wrong, booboo?" because honestly, they could just sigh to themselves. but no, it's gotta be louder than that. loud enough so the world can hear. i'm going to say it next time i hear an audible sigh, "what's wrong, booboo?" they'll love it. i know they will.

Straight, No Chaser

trying to seek counseling through a male friend, take 1:

player 1: me, sitting at my home computer applying to jobs
player 2: male friend, sitting at his home computer browsing through female friendster profiles

me: so i've been feeling a bit down lately.
him: what a hot piece of ass!
me: and i think it's because...blargh blargh ahem oh gee blargh
him: holy shit. her abdomen. holllly shit. fucccccck.
me: and also, i don't know, just *sigh*
him: fuck me. this girl's sister is just OH MY GEEZ. ohhhh yeahhhhh. got those perky little breasts and those tan lines right there...shiiiiiit....
me: and i don't know, i just feel sort of...(trails off)
him: mm mm mm. what i wouldn't do to her if i had her.
me: i just feel so unappreciated.
him: GODDAMN, that's a HOT PIECE OF ASS. blonde too.
me: thanks for listening.

trying to seek counseling through a male friend, take 2:

player 1: me, sitting at home computer working on freelance article
player 2: male friend, sitting at work half-working half-counseling (*ahem*)

me: so i've been feeling a bit down lately.
him: I AM SO SURPRISED. let's YELL IT FROM THE STREETS. WOW LET's PHONE THIS IN TO THE AMAZEMENT DEPARTMENT AT THE DISCOVERY CORPORATION OF TRASH-MERICA.
me: and i think it's because...blargh blargh ahem oh gee blargh
him: YA THINK?! I THINK YA LIKE IT. I THINK you're GODDAMN pleased as punch that this happened. OTHERWISE, why would you be making such a hoohaw about it?
me: and also, i don't know, just *sigh*
him: you're making a spectacle of yourself. and a newborn could have predicted the backlash on this one. a LITTLE COOTCHIE COO PINKYFACED placenta juiced pipsqueak.
me: and i don't know, i just feel sort of...(trails off)
him: it's amazing how when a girl wants something, she'll get it, and then cover it up with insults and outrage.
me: i just feel so unappreciated.
him: he was exactly with the utmost, even supernatural or divine precision, what you wanted. he has the most successful approach in modern human history or at least in recent memory.
me: thanks for listening.

tough love wins over chauvinism.
tune in next time to "i'm saying this for your own good. you'll thank me later."

Picks, Pick-ups, and the Race Card

oh man. hahaha. some guy from these open mics i've been doing SENT ME some indian jokes he thinks i should tell because i'm indian. i told him i'm not really big into the race card, but gentleman that he was, he insisted. here are three of them:

My uncle, aunt and my 10 cousins all died from starvation last week in India, the good news is that they left me the family cow in their will.

Indian stereotypes almost got me killed. Yeah, I had a sniper stalking me for 6 months but nobody said anything because they thought the red dot on my forehead was supposed to be there.

Being an Indian comic is definitely not stereotypical. And since we got the self serve Big Gulp machine, I have more time to write jokes.

[fin]

i can't believe i have people writing jokes i should tell for me!!!

in other news, my dad forced me to make my bed and lie in it today. i kid you not. my parents made me deconstruct the bed i've had since i was 5 so i could go on to bigger better things. now i have this yellow canopy thing that looks like a banana invaded my room and made itself into a princess recliner. top notch. i feel so grown up...for a 12-year old.

and finally, a man in a plastic bag stared at me today. i wonder what's going through a guy's head when he's covered in plastic wrap that makes him think he can bag chicks. whatever it is. i want to buy some shares in it. and invest. and invest. and invest. and then sell.


also. i interviewed to be a sports writer today. i would be the only girl in a small little office with 4 other guys. most of them sports junkies. ok, all of them. the editor in chief of the paper said "hey for such an intensive position, you seem to lack the energy required to really heave-ho on things." that was because i got no sleep and didn't have any coffee but i whipped out a surefire response to that one about grace under pressure. and then i swindled them more with some other half-truths. they told me i'd have no life except for high school sports. i have to say, despite it all, i'm intrigued. the atmosphere would be sick for some anecdotes. one of the guys is named bj. muahahahh. i even commented on my march madness picks. damn, i'm good.

Disbelief is the New Same Old, Same Old

finally, i told some jokes and there were laughs. but not quite at the parts where i expected. ah well. i'll toast to that. or get toasted to that. a little butter for my bread would be nice though. i don't know what the means. i just thought i'd take the bread analogy a little farther. now i'm stuck in this analogy and i can't get out. well poo on that. i'm making an emergency exit.

ok. here's what i wanted to talk about today, honeybears. surreality. yeah. it seems to be a common-enough theme these days. but ever had one of those experiences where things just got so weird that you started to doubt that the event actually happened? like i'm talking dream-level weirdness. you might as well have been wearing a live duck on your head and had a cherry pie instead of a butt and things could not have gotten any weirder. well, when trying to process events like the following, you always have to start at that square-one of just sort of tilting your head back, squinting up at the sky, and thinking "what the woodchips was that all about?" and then laughing so hard you start choking. just a little bit. and then you get kind of delirious with hyena laughter just at the pure ridiculousness of it. all of it, and you need to hug something to prove that you exist, that the world still exists. that not everyone is going to slide off into some other parallel but sometimes diagonal dimension. but the closest thing is a door. so you hug a door. and it seems a fitting conclusion really to everything that already happened.

people are something else. you see them eat their kibbles and drink their tea just like you but you can never tell what moves them or how they'll be to anyone other than you. because you see it. but more or less, you interpret based on your own interactions and that's the only roadmap you ever have worth following.

Mad as a Hopped Up Hare/Hatter

oh fritter. i'm mad as a boiling sausage today. i just saw "snatch" last night too so all i can think of to relieve my tension is a good round of bare-knuckle boxing. i would go down within 5 seconds. in any case, getting the wind knocked out of me might distract in a good way. instead, i'll tell jokes and dance. i guess i will have to dance violently without remorse and tell jokes like lewis black.

the one and only lewis black

Minty Fresh Wasted

yahahahahahaha st. paddy's day. was. beyond. belief. here is a story to be filed away in "one time, i got really drunk and..." just so you're forewarned.

first i was at this party with some work people from my last job. and there was a guy who winked a lot. wink. wink. wink. every time he saw you, WINK. he was a walking emoticon. with about as much depth as an emoticon, anyway. at least in his drunken incarnation. he kept fulfilling our worst hopes about him. we secretly didn't want him to just be the guy who winks a lot. but he didn't really break beyond that blanket generalization so alas, that remained his name for the night.

then we went into the outer realms to a bar.

and i definitely ended up being the drunk girl who lost her friends and was wandering around the bar promising "to come back" to every new friend i made. mostly of the male persuasion. ohgeeohgee. and then i tried calling my friends. and nobody would pick up. and then i finally got through to someone and this fine specimen of belligerence started yelling at me for not being able to hear her, and then finally she was like, "fine, bitch. whatever. you know what? screw you! just shut the hell up," and hung up on me. girl was toasted. then a fight fell on me. literally. i was trying to communicate with my friend alex on the phone and a guy landed with his back squarely on my foot. and then another guy came flying through the air onto him. and then i told alex i better call her back. i've decided green beer looks too much like scope and tastes too much not like scope to jive with my palate.

and then. well, let's just say truth is much stranger than fiction. ah well. i think i sowed my wild oats. for the time being. tra la la.

Your Regularly Scheduled Program Has Been Interrupted for this Mellow Update

wow. rejection is a biotch, man.

i'm still occasionally experiencing moodswings from the most recent one.

and then i got a nice dollop of repeat bombed comedy last night. seriously, there wasn't a single laugh in the house. from 0 to negative in self-esteem, ladies and gentlemen.

and yet, i'm feeling pretty peachy keen today with a penchant for sudden sobs.

i'm the kind of person who doubts success and revels in failure.

people lose all their expectations of you.

it's great for the perfectionists among us.

nowhere to go but up

and my adopted soldier apparently already got an Ipod elsewhere. fricking fantastic.

Runoff from the Stars, No, Not the Celebrity Kind

whoops. blogger wouldn't work yesterday. so here's some nibbles from yesterday. in REVERSE chronological order to throw off your keen senses of acuity.

it's come to the point in the afternoon when i am tilting back a bag of chip remnants so all the little missed morsels and specks of cheese dust will frolic into my mouth like a stream of belligerent warriors.

and then. and then. wait. there's more. before, i was reaching down with regularity because i put the bag of chips near my feet so that i had to reach down and do sort of workplace kind of ab crunch every time i wanted a chip. it made me feel somewhat productive in this crazy world of ours. to do a crunch to receive a crunch in my mouth. tit for tat. and all that.

***

dude. i can't get enough NASA photos. they really put life in perspective when you're feeling like shit. you think to yourself, "hey. i'm really just a little shit in the scheme of things. i mean, wowwwwwww." and counterintuitively, you feel much better about your fuckups. as well as a little short of breath.

it's the freaking eta and keyhole in the carina nebula, bitches

p.s. this perfectly describes how i feel about men.

"“His face was the color of a freshly baked pork pie and as noncommittal” (Thomas Pynchon)

***

i can't stop running into amherst people. they're everywhere. it's a conspiracy. on the street. on the train. they plague my putrefying soul with goodness and camaraderie. nothing but love. especially when they say things like, "btw i'm engaged, finished up my business degree, and starting a new life in the fall after the wedding." "oh, me? not engaged with a person nor a paying job. living at home. high on life. high-five?"


if you're sick of the rigid aesthetic obsessions of society...
You're Not Alone

since i'm on the all-newsstaff email list i was fortunate enough to receive this email this morning:

subject:HELP! I'm a typewriter guy in a digital world.
sender: anon
message: Does anyone know how to get an iPod shuttle to work?

a few minutes later. same sender.
subject: Shuffle. Shuttle. Whatever. The damn thing doesn't work.

a minute later. same sender.
subject: Thanks for all your responses. I've got some help and I'm glad I can be a source of such luddite amusement...

mmmmmm. breaking news. on the minute.


I MIGHT GO INTO SPORTS WRITING. CROSS YOUR FINGERS. i've always wanted to be a balding middle-aged man with an inferiority complex masked by cockiness, vulgarity, and pure unrestrained anger.

yesssss. i can see it now.