The Party's Over...

My 2011 New Years Resolutions:

1. Spend more time at the toy store.
2. Marry Neil Lambert (subject to availability).
3. World Wide Web domination.

Stay safe, y'all!
See ya next year!!

Paper Beats Lightsaber

An e-mail exchange forwarded to me under the subject line "You're gonna love this...":

* * *
From: Awesome Engineering Guy
To: Co-worker Mikey
Subject: Final Page Proofs

My review is done. Thanks, Mike!

* * *
From: Co-worker Mikey
To: Awesome Engineering Guy
Subject: RE: Final Page Proofs

Okay, thanks. Can you send the manuscript back, please?

* * *
From: Awesome Engineering Guy
To: Co-worker Mikey
Subject: RE: Final Page Proofs

NOPE! I already made a bunch of origamis with it:
http://blog.makezine.com/archive/origami_jedi_20061202.jpg

* * *
I have a total work-crush on this guy. ♥

How You Know You Live In Park Slope 6: The "F" is for "FREEDOM!"

TODAY'S F TRAIN FRANZEN TALLY*

Total number of passengers reading books: approx. 10
Number of passengers reading Jonathan Franzen's Freedom: 3
Number of passengers reading Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections: 2

GRAND TOTAL: 5/10 = approx. 50%

*Morning commute only

Post-Snowpocalyptic Park Slope

Monstrously Compelling Reasons To Be Grateful I Don't Own A House Or A Car:

Exhibit A:

This is the scene literally right outside my door.

Exhibit B:
These are not parked cars. They have been abandoned in the street.

Exhibit C:
This man is not a city worker. He's just a neighbor.

Exhibit D:
Don't even think about trying to use the side streets.

Exhibit E:
This kid is standing in the middle of an intersection.

Exhibit F:
Thistle Hill Tavern is open for business! If you can find the door!

These photos were all taken within a single one-block radius.

Your Honor, the prosecution rests.

Trilogy

PART I:
Sister: "Have you ever been to this site ThinkGeek.com? Oh my God, you would love it! They've got the best thing ever: a Tauntaun Sleeping Bag!"

PART II:

My Twitter commentary on The Empire Strikes Back.

PART III:
Brooklyn is Hoth.

COINCIDENCE??!?

Talk Technical To Me!

Bringing you up to date on how awesome my job is:

"...must encompass the complete length of the shaft when applied by hand."

"A plug shall not enter the hole when applied by hand without using excessive force."

"The hole shall be checked from both ends, if possible."

"The body heat of the inspector shall be considered."

"It shall not be possible to erect the gage in the hole without using excessive force."

"...the straightness of long shafts that have small diameters."


"Erection And Tensioning"

"(a) Size Control For Holes
(b) Size Control For Shafts"

"(a) Shaft Shape
(b) Shaft Orientation"

"Increased friction heat affects the energy required for pumping."

"(a) slack carrier erection
(b) tower mast erection"

"Open throat hooks shall be equipped with latches to bridge the throat opening."

"Total Monthly Flow" [ewww...]

"Minimum Thickness Of Fishplates" [I'm not sure if this one's really dirty, but I have a rather active imagination...]

"...the relative skew between the two towers." [not dirty, but C'MON!! LORD OF THE RINGS!!!]

"...operating within the creep regime." [This one reminded me of my last relationship...]

"Minimum Shaft Diameter"

"Diameter Of The Small Socket Hole"

"Head Values"

"Oil Buffer Strokes"

"plunger gripper"

"Allowable Gross Loads"

"Hole Orientation"

"...lazy guy thrust track."

How You Know You Live In Park Slope 5: And Counting!

I like to play a little game every morning on my walk to the subway called: "Strollers Or Dogs: Which Will I See More Of?"

Today, Dogs beat Strollers by a respectable margin of 6 - 3.

However, the dark horse victory — coming in with an impressive final tally of 13 — goes to Bicycles.

Congratulations, Team Environmentally-Friendly-Alternate-Means-Of-Transportation!

Sibling Rivalry

I'm in my year-end rush to fulfill my self-proclaimed goal of 260 posts by the end of this year, so you're going to be hearing(reading?) a lot from me in the next few days. At least, those of you who are left — my most loyal of subjects, you hardy survivors of the Great(ly Overexaggerated) Drought Of 2010.

MAY MY KINGDOM FLOURISH AGAIN!

By the way, where the hell has Dalia been...?

So, I find it somewhat coincidental, in regard to my newly-restored resolve, that my Twitter feed this morning contained this proclamation, from my most favoritest Interwebz crush:

Oh, no he didn't...

If there is one thing you should know about me by now, it is that I can't resist a challenge, real or imagined. So whether Mr. Lambert is aware of it or not, we are now competing to the death for the Twitterverse title of Witheringly Sarcastic Web-Ranter Extraordinaire.

Neurotic Nation is en garde, sir.

May the battle begin. >:)

How You Know You Live In Park Slope, 4-Play: Shameless Self Promotion

IT'S OFFICIAL!!! I've been Fucked In Park Slope! :D

How You Know You Live In Park Slope, Part 3: This Time It's Personal

Sorry I'm late — I missed the G train because I stopped to pet some whippets wearing knit sweaters that were leashed to a bike rack outside the coffee shop.

How You Know You Live In Park Slope, The Sequel: Tastes Like Chicken

No, Mr. Deli Man, when I asked if you had any chicken pot pies, I did not mean organic vegetable pot pies with tofu. But thanks anyway.

Three Best Things I've Overheard This Week

At work:
"All you do is walk around all day. You're like Master Of The Hallway."

On the 6 train:
"But you're not a tuna fish."

Girl on the street, smoking a cigarette:
"Crap, there's no cardio tonight?"

How You Know You Live In Park Slope

Graffiti consists of "Be Kind" scrawled on fence and "GO VEGAN!" carved into sidewalk.

Top 5 Things I Love About Living Alone

#5: Decorating however the hell I want.
#4: Never closing the bathroom door.
#3.5: Drinking out of the carton.
#3: Eating whatever I want without worryng about "leaving enough for someone else."
#2: Never having to hold my stomach in.
#1: Walking around pantless.

But Wait — There's More!

More holiday cheeriness!

South Street Seaport Christmas Tree Blown Over By Heavy Winds!

On an added note, I'm so glad I chose today to straighten my hair and try out my new umbrella. I now look like I'm wearing a mangy poodle on my head.

WINDPOCALYPSE!!!

A Christmas Miracle

And now, some good news for the forthcoming holiday season...

GOP pledges to block all bills!

This part's my favorite:

"All 42 Senate Republicans signed a letter to Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, D-Nevada, vowing to prevent a vote on 'any legislative item until the Senate has acted to fund the government and we have prevented the tax increase that is currently awaiting all American taxpayers.'"

How, exactly, do these imbeciles expect to FUND THE GOVERNMENT by CUTTING taxes? Where are these "funds" supposed to come from? Jesus??

Merry Christmas, assholes!!

The Department Of Redundancy Department

There is a definition listed in the book I am proofreading right now for "Tolerant Tolerance."

Editor Cat is editing.

You Can't Handle The Truth!!

Attention Whore = Me

Sock it to me, bitches!

The Man With The Implausibly High Rate Of Sexual Activity

I think I would have enjoyed The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo trilogy more if Blomkvist didn't fuck every single female character introduced.

Amen.

For those of you who haven't read it yet, there is nothing I could say that would add anything more to this post itself. This mom is a hero:

My son is gay.

Boo.

Devastatingly, due to lack of funds and insufficient prep time, I had to forgo an elaborate Halloween costume this year. Now if you know anything about me at all, you realize just how devastating a tragedy this is to have befallen me. However, like a phoenix in a wig and fake blood, I shall rise from the ashes of this finery failure and emerge next holiday in victory and even greater splendor! You know, since I have a whole extra year to work on the thing now. LITTLE DEAD RIDING HOOD LIVES!

So anyway...since I had no other plans, I decided to go to the parade in the Village. And even though I would only be watching, I couldn't betray the spirit of my favorite day of the year by just wearing everyday clothes. I had to do something...

Everyone who knows anything about me at all: "So are you getting dressed up?"
Me: "Not really."

"Not really" = sequined top hat with feathers, old prom dress, Mardi Gras beads, striped stockings, leopard print heels; elaborate face paint.

Elderly gentleman on the street: "That's a very striking costume!"
Me: "Oh, this is just what I wear every Sunday..."

The beginning of the parade was AMAZING, but it slowly tapered off into random people simply walking by wearing costumes. Since I consider myself something of an expert on all things Halloween, and because I'm just a judgemental bitch...

Presenting:

THE BeccaGo HALLOWEEN 2010 "I WISH I HAD THOUGHT OF THAT" AWARDS!

Best Group Costume: Zombie Golden Girls
Best Family Costume: Darth Vader (dad), Princess Leia (mom), and Yoda (baby)
Best Couples Costume: Where's Waldo? and Carmen Sandiego
Best Individual Costume: Up (guy in an aviator cap holding a bunch of balloons with a dollhouse tied to the strings)

And, just to prove that the "sexy" costume craze has gone FAR too far:

Top Honors go to...

SEXY BEDBUG!

Trick or treat, bitches! :D

Subway Etiquette Is Neither Etiquette Nor Even Exists. Discuss.

My commute today was like a crash course in Subway Douchery

Example #1:
Guy in the F station playing the marimba. Not a guitar or a bucket, but a full-out xylophone about half the width of the platform.

Example #2:
Woman with a baby in a sling carrier gets on at Delancey St. No one offers her a seat.
(I finally did — she declined. But still...)

Example #3:
Woman with a little boy and what looks like a large suitcase gets on at Jay St. No one offers her a seat.
(Again, I did, and again, she declined, but like I said....)

Example #4:
Guy gets on at Astor Place with a bicycle and sits down smack in the middle of the row of seats with the bicycle perfectly centered in front of him. So not only can no one stand in the aisle in front of him because it's blocked by the bicycle, no one can sit next to him either without climbing over the bicycle to get to the empty seats. Oh, and did I mention? It is RUSH HOUR.

Which brings me to my next point: IF YOU HAVE A BICYCLE WITH YOU, WHY AREN'T YOU RIDING THE DAMN BICYCLE??

Thank you, that will be all for today.

NOH8

Get your purple on.

The Trevor Project

Fashionista

I love when I'm running late in the mornings. It forces me to be sartorially creative. For example, I'm wearing such a random assortment of garments today, I'm surprised my boss hasn't sent me home. Not for violating the dress code, but for disturbing the other employees.

I Made It.

"If Los Angeles is a woman reclining billboard model and the San Fernando Valley is her teenybopper sister, then New York is their cousin. Her hair is dyed autumn red or aubergine or Egyptian henna, depending on her mood. Her skin is pale as frost and she wears beautiful Jil Sander suits and Prada pumps on which she walks faster than a speeding taxi (when it is caught in rush hour, that is). Her lips are some unlikely shade of copper or violet, courtesy of her local MAC drag queen makeup consultant. She is always carrying bags of clothes, bouquets of roses, take-out Chinese containers, or bagels. Museum tags fill her pockets and purses, along with perfume samples and invitations to art gallery openings. When she is walking to work, to ward off bums or psychos, her face resembles the Statue of Liberty, but at home in her candlelit, dove-colored apartment, the stony look fades away and she smiles like the sterling roses she has bought for herself to make up for the fact that she is single and her feet hurt." — Francesca Lia Block.

Jersey Bore

Several months ago, there was an article in my company newsletter concerning the New Jersey Service Center. This article reported that the employees of the New Jersey Service Center had recently worn hats and jerseys representing their favorite baseball teams. A corresponding photograph of this newsworthy event was included.

Commentary ensued.

Meekey: "Also, did you read the blurb on the bottom of page 4? Why is donning baseball caps news? I think the New Jersey Service Center is starving for attention: 'Hey, don't forget about us! We work here too, y'know!'"
Me: "LOL! 'Today, the New Jersey office wore pants.'"
Meekey: "I can just picture the meeting:
'Okay guys, the next newsletter is only 2 weeks away. Let's brainstorm!'
'Well, we haven't really accomplished anything.'
'Right...'
'And we don't really do anything except ship books to the rest of the country.'
'Right...'
'I know! Baseball season is coming up! Let's wear hats and take a picture outside our building!'
'Brilliant! Who says New York has all the best ideas?'"
Me: "'We don't even have a baseball team in our state, but heck, let's do it!'"
Meekey: "I was thinking the same thing. In order to get any attention, they had to borrow something from us. They took the Giants; they took the Statue of Liberty. I remember one time a guy from the Jersey Center was in the newsletter because he wrote a poem! And the poem sucked, btw, even by my low standards."
Me: "A Haiku:
New Jersey is just
as cool as New York. Look at
us — we're wearing hats!"

Lessons Learned From Last Night's Episode Of Survivor: Nicaracgua

1. New York is full of gay people.
2. Louisiana is full of douchebags.

We Miss You, Alex

"When a fashion designer dies, how you dress to remember him is as powerful a eulogy as any spoken word or requiem." —Tom and Lorenzo

Daphne Guinness at the Alexander McQueen Memorial Service.

I can't believe foot-high platform boots are making me cry.

And He's Cute, Too!

Selections from the Spring/Summer 2011 collection of my favorite Project Runway alum Daniel Vosovic that I must incorporate into to my wardrobe immediately:







Seriously, I am so covetous of that last jacket it's almost sinful.

Fumble In The Jungle

Regarding last night's premiere of Survivor: Nicaragua: I hope the "kiddie team" falls flat on its face and self-destructs spectacularly.

Age before beauty, motherfuckers.

Lighten Up, It's Just Fashion! Again!

Last Friday, as part of Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week here in NYC, the cast of Project Runway Season 8 was appearing at the Piperlime pop-up store in Soho for Fashion's Night Out. And by incredible, heavenly, divine chance, I was there.

Some highlights:

The cast. I was standing directly behind this photographer as this picture was being taken. I yelled "Everyone say 'Make it work!'"

Conversing with A.J. Thouvenot via Twitter, prior to the event:
A.J. says...
I reply...
He writes back...
My response.
After discussing how I was sad that he didn't get to show at Fashion Week, and his reassurance that I will definitely be seeing more from him soon, we basically rehashed this conversation and I re-extended the invitation to him and April Johnston to come by and grab a beer or crash on my couch anytime. :)

Told Michael Costello that I heard he was telling everyone Ivy was the bitch of the show.

Told Michael Drummond I thought he should have won the Philip Treacy hat challenge.

Told Andy and Mondo that they far and away had the best hair of anyone in the room.

Told Casanova he wasn't getting fat. He starts laughing and says "No! You don't see me!" then almost knocks me over. I think he may have been indulging in a little more champagne than the rest of us...

Told Sarah that I thought the manner in which she was eliminated was unfair, and that I would have loved to see her show at Fashion Week. She told me, "Oh, if I had shown at Fashion Week, it woud have eaten your face."

Totally ignored Gretchen. :D

And to give you an idea of the atmosphere: Project Runway Gone Wild!

Immediately text messaged everyone I knew afterwards and burped up champagne the whole way home. 'Cause I am nothing if not a classy broad...

In Memoriam

"On 9/11 the world united in horror and despair.
Let's not wait for tragedy to be united again."

Well, There Is A Recession Going On...

Conversation I just had with a co-worker on the way to the candy store:

Me: "Could I borrow a quarter?"
Cheap Bastard: "I don't have a quarter."
Me: "You have a 20 dollar bill."
Cheap Bastard: "But that's not a quarter."
Me: "But when you get change for your 20 dollar bill, you can lend me a quarter."
Cheap Bastard: "But I don't have to give you a quarter."
Me: "But it would be nice of you to let me borrow a quarter, to help out a friend."
Cheap Bastard: "But I don't owe it to you."
Me: "But you could still lend it to me."
Cheap Bastard: "Will you pay me back?"
Me: "IT'S A QUARTER."
Cheap Bastard: "A quarter of a DOLLAR is what it is."
Me: "Jesus Christ, forget it. Twizzlers are not worth this conversation."
Cheap Bastard: "Well, you know we don't make a lot of money..."

Well, that is a persuasive argument...

Back In MY Day...

I was just having a conversation with some co-workers about elementary school recess. And seriously — what was WRONG with us back then?

I mean, did you guys play that game where you ran UP the slide and tried to PUSH the kids at the top OFF? The one where you'd STAND precariously balanced on TOP of the monkey bars and then JUMP OFF into a measly pit of sand? Or the one where you'd pile 6 kids on one end of the see-saw and then JUMP OFF and let the kid on the other end SLAM INTO THE GROUND?

What the FUCK were we THINKING??

At my school, we had one gym teacher who was also a recess monitor and he would actually PICK KIDS UP by one arm and one leg, swing them around in a circle, and then just LET GO. Swear to God. And we would LINE UP for this! Two kids got broken collarbones before the school finally did something about it. Not just one kid, but TWO. Like, oh, one might have just been an accident — carry on!

Ah, the good old days...

Late-Cum-Er

Just found a new one:

"Typically Irregular Crotch Shapes"

Quickie!

A few more illustrations of the "intangible benefits" of my job:

"Personnel shall not ride the sling."

(a) Male Handle.
(b) Female Handle.

Section II: Guide To Selection Of Flow Measurement Methods

Putzmeister America

"The finish on nuts shall be the same type as that on the bolts they are mating with."

GENERAL NOTE: Always test with full tip insertion.

Another Very Serious Question

Ok, guys — how about this one?

Dear Assholes Blasting Music On The Street Loud Enough For Me To Hear With My Windows Closed And My Television On:

SHUT.

THE.

FUCK.

UP!!!

Don't MAKE me turn this into Do The Right Thing down there, you inconsiderate fucks...

Walking With Psycho-saurs

Since when did they start letting Insane Clown Posse teach religion classes in Australia?

Some real scientific-like intellectual shit.

My favorite excerpt:

"The scripture teacher told the class that all people were descended from Adam and Eve," he said. "My daughter rightly pointed out, as I had been teaching her about DNA and science, that 'wouldn't they all be inbred?' But the teacher replied that DNA wasn't invented then."

Maybe the teacher has a point. That statement does make her sound inbred...

Very Serious Question

What do you guys think — should I make this my new avatar...?

Talkin' 'Bout My Generation

Of the following 2 choices, which do you believe most accurately applies to the recent Washington, D.C. "Restoring Honor" rally, audaciously held on the anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s historical "I Have A Dream" speech?

(A) "The Woodstock of the next generation" [excerpt courtesy of Glenn Beck]
(B) "Glenn Beck's Slob Picnic" [excerpt courtesy of Wonkette]

For those of you who chose (A) and are keeping track at home, the order now goes:

1. Original Woodstock
2. Mud Woodstock*
3. Fire Woodstock
4. Teabaggage Woodstock, aka (to fallaciously reference another generation-defining music festival), GlennBeckPalooza

*I WAS AT THAT ONE!!! HOW FUCKIN' COOL AM I?!?

For Real This Time

Park Slope studio.
October 1st.

Operation Escape From The Ghetto: SUCCESS!

Exposed brick, mothafuckas!!!

Observation

I'm so much more productive when I can wear my Converse in the office.

Zero Grounds

I'm too lazy and pissy right now to re-type all of this and lay it out in proper blog format, but if you were curious as to my strongly-held opinions regarding Park51 — the infamous "Ground Zero Mosque" — you may observe them here, on this badly-done MS Paint reproduction of the forum in which I do all my serious political debating: Facebook.

[Click to magnify to normal reading size. Selected comments unrelated to the outcome have been removed.]

The link to the original story may be found here.

(Also, in case you were wondering, that's Miss Kazakhstan during the national costume portion of the Miss Universe pageant in my avatar.)

Black Swan

Speechless.

God Damn Glam Nation

I know I have been sorely lax in writing up my Adam Lambert concert experience, and to those of you who have been waiting, I apologize for that, but there is almost no way to condense into words what spending 3 hours doing elaborately dazzling make-up and dressing like a Vegas showgirl high on peyote; 6 and a half hours standing on line in the middle of Times Square in 90 degree weather surrounded by frothing fans and curious tourists taking my picture; 2 hours lost in a crush of chubby teenaged girls who are seeing the show for the sixth time and delusional, far-too-inappropriately-dressed middle-aged women trying to push their way past said teenagers up to the front of the stage; and only one glorious and over-far-too-fast hour mesmerized by the overwhelming spectacle that is Adam Lambert was like.

I can, however, describe to you how much I hate people. I'm pretty good at that.

After stampeding our way into the theater once the doors were finally opened, everyone rushes towards the stage to claim the perfect spot. And these chicks — because they were mainly girls and women — were flat-out, claws-out prepared to defend their hard-won territory. Ok, that's understandable; after all, we had spent half the day waiting in sweltering heat precisely to obtain such a prime piece of real estate.

But this one woman...

I have no idea who she was or why she chose me, but this 40-something woman in a floral blouse, carrying a purse and a cocktail, decides to stand directly next to me and engage me in conversation. Her opening line is:

"Will you look at all these little girls? They're babies! Who wants to look out into the crowd and see them?"

My immediate reaction is to think, "Who the hell thinks he'd rather see you?" but I push the thought aside and just try to ignore her. After all, I am here to enjoy myself.

Then she asks me if I can hold her spot while she gets another drink. Hold her spot? How the hell do you hold someone a spot on the floor of a general admission show? Especially at the show of someone like Adam Lambert, who inspires The-Beatles-and-Elvis-combined-level hysteria? Yeah, sure, whatever, lady. Just go.

Sure enough, several minutes later I hear from somewhere behind me, "Excuse me...'scuse me...sorry...excuse me..." and my new best friend has pushed her way back to my side. People are giving us nasty looks and I want to explain to them that, look, I am an innocent party to this shit. I, unlike some people uncomfortably near me, have been to a concert in the last 2 decades and understand the rules of standing-room-only ettiquette.

Unfortunately, she tries to chat with me again. I'm texting my mom, who is somewhere up in the balcony, sitting down. I try looking around for her and BFF is all, "Ooh! Who are you talking to?"

"My mom."

"Your mom's here, too? Cool! Where is she?"

"Up in the seat section," I tell her. I don't add, "Where any sensible middle-aged woman who is simply here to enjoy the show and doesn't harbor fantasies of seducing a gay man 20 years her junior should be."

"That's so cool! What's she saying?"

Listen, you nosy bitch... "She says there are some boys making out right in front of her and they're the only guys she's seen here so far."

"OOH! WHERE?!?"

Jesus Christ, woman. I do not want to be privy to your perverse voyeuristic fantasies. I mumble, "I don't know," and go back to texting again so she'll leave me alone.

Me: "Crazy drunk lady down here thinks I'm her best friend."
Mom: "HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Thanks for the sympathy, Ma.

Crazy drunk lady is now telling me, all conspiratorially, that we're not gonna let ANYONE get in front of us! No way! We can take these teenagers! At this point I am now visibly ignoring her, but she ignores the cues and keeps talking. [ED. NOTE: I almost just typed "stalking" — Freudian slip.]

Meanwhile, there's a 15- or 16-year-old girl on the other side of me yelling to her friend, who is somehow a row of people behind us. "Do you guys want to stand together?" I ask, sliding aside a few inches to let the friend through. "Really? Oh my God, that is so nice of you! Thank you so much!" They are so ridiculously grateful for this small act of kindness that I feel like I just handed them both a winning Powerball ticket.

But then this bitch has to ruin it. "Hey! Why are you letting them in front of you? I thought we weren't gonna do that!"

We? Who is this "we" you speak of, you hag?

The friends are looking back at us with strange expressions now, so I lean forward and whisper, "It's ok. I don't even know who she is."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Oh my God, we thought she knew you! That's so weird."

You're telling me, kid.

The show still hasn't started yet when I notice a little Indian-looking girl with braces standing next to an older man who appears to be her father, a little behind me to the right. She looks about 13 and is about 5'3". She's standing on tiptoe to see the stage. "Can you see from there?" I ask her. "Do you want to move up?" She lights up like I just told her she's going to Disneyworld and turns to her dad, all excited, to see if it's ok. "I'll take good care of her," I promise, and move aside to let her through. She keeps repeating, "Thank you! Thank you so much!" and she looks so happy, I feel like I've been given the Nobel Peace Prize.

So of course, this witch next to me has to ruin it again. "What are you doing?" she scolds me. Then she says to the little kid, "It's a good thing you're short!" What the fuck, lady? She's like, 12! I'm practically cocooning this poor child with my own body to keep my promise to her father, and I whisper to her, too, "It's ok, just ignore her." The two friends look back at us and snicker knowingly.

And again, after all this shit, she then asks me to hold her spot for her while she goes to the ladies room.

Are you fucking kidding me?

The place has gotten much more crowded and I think, there is no way she's gonna find her way back up here if she leaves, so I say, "Sure! No problem," and wave her away.

Thank God. Problem solved.

But no.

Unbelievably, about 20 minutes later, right in the middle of Orianthi's set, I hear grumbling behind me and shouts of "Hey! What are you doing?" and I hear a familiar voice repeating, "Sorry! I'm up there with the girl in the hat!"

Oh, no. You did NOT just insinuate that I have any role in this fucking mess. "No, you are NOT!" I yell back at her. "You are NOT with me! I DO NOT FUCKING KNOW YOU!"

Amazingly, this does not deter her nor impede her determined advance. She actually gets right up next to me again, and PUTS HER FUCKING ARM AROUND ME, like we are fucking partners in crime, and says, completely fucking obliviously, "Hey! I'm back!"

Are you FUCKING kidding me?

I am furious. "Look, lady," I fume at her, "I don't know you. WE ARE NOT FRIENDS! I DO NOT KNOW YOU! And I know Adam is all about love and positivity and shit, but if you do not stop pushing me, I swear to God, I'm gonna start throwing punches."

I'm almost positive I heard someone applaud.

Thank you, Cleveland!

Ouch.

The other night I woke up at 4am, violently ill. There is nothing lonelier or more frightening than being sick in the middle of the night, all by yourself.

Fortunately (I guess), this isn't the first time this has happened to me, so I wasn't quite as panicked. This time, I was past the worst of it and back in bed — shaken, but basically ok — within a few hours.

Last time, I called 911.

I thought my appendix was bursting and I was going to die on my bathroom floor and no one would even know for days and then who was going to feed the cat? It turned out to only be either gastritis or a ruptured ovarian cyst (the doctors' certainty on this issue was really reassuring...), and I was out of the emergency room about 8 hours later. I felt like my stay had been interminably long, but a more seasoned Brooklynite friend of mine was impressed with the turnaround time: "They let you go the same day? How? Did you break out of there with the help of a rogue orderly and a weapon made out of tongue depressors?"

Earlier, though, I had spent most of the ambulance ride crying, from both the sudden, severe pain, and out of sheer self-pity for being all alone. Luckily, in a flash of momentary clarity, I had remembered to grab my cell phone on the way out of the apartment — I forgot my health insurance card, but I remembered my phone — and thankfully, my misery was lessened through an abundance of text message exchanges with my concerned family. Even from far away, they always find ways to remind me how much I love them. This missive from my brother being a prime example:

"Ms. Godan, we have your results, and there seems to be a small family of frogs inhabiting your abdominal cavity. Even stranger, the tests show that one of them is the reincarnation of the late Senator Paul Tsongas."

Just what I needed to hear. :)

Two Things No Woman Should Ever Have To Hear From A Medical Professional (Guys, You've Been Warned...)

1. From an ER physician during a manual vaginal exam: "What is that?"
2. From a comically accented Asian sonographer proffering a probe resembling a very large, lubed-up dildo: "I need you to insert this into your own vagina."

Well, thank God she specified my own and not somebody else's, 'cause that might have been embarrassing...

Signs, Signs, Everywhere There's Signs...

You know, sometimes I'm almost glad that the Westboro Baptist Church exists, purely for the comedic gold of the counter-protests. Take, for example, this priceless interaction caught on film and preserved for posterity:



Or this poetic display, eloquent in its simplicity:



The recent repeal of Prop 8 has served as a spark of inspiration for me, and so it is with great pleasure that I make my gloried return to the highly artistic medium of MS Paint...






I've got like, 9 more of these — stay tuned!

I Give Up, Too

Perhaps I'm being lazy by not actually writing anything and just posting a link, but just as Mr. Stewart lets Representative Weiner "do the screaming for" him in this video, so I will let Mr. Stewart express my utter rage and stupefaction over these actions for me — I couldn't put it any more perfectly myself.

I Give Up

You Are What You Eat

I stopped at Gristedes today on my way home from work to buy Oreos. I walked out of the store with fresh pasta, deli cheese, spinach artichoke hummus, and carrot sticks.

I have no idea how this happened.

I think it may be what they call a breakthrough.

Get Your Facts Straight/Gay/Whatever

Dear Prop 8 Supporters/Sore Losers/Bigoted Imbeciles:

Stop with your stupid "gay activist judge/government interference" arguments already. Prop 8 WAS government interference by "moral" activists and it was overturned because it was UNCONSTITUTIONAL. You know, like, against the law? Like not letting black people sit where they want on the bus?

"BUT THE PEOPLE VOTED!!!" Yeah! And you know what else happened when people voted and it got overruled? George W. Bush. The Florida Supreme Court ruled that its ballot recount was unconstitutional, and Al Gore lost the 2000 presidential election, even though he had won the popular vote. Remember that?

Try thinking of it this way: If enough people voted "yes" to take away your guns, even though it was illegal, would you be ok with it? Or would you riot?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Get over it,
BeccaGo

Cat Tales

hi. my name is boo. im a cat. im 4 and a haf yeers old and i liv in brooklin with rebecky. sumtimes wen she is buzy or asleep or at work i go on her computer or send text messajes on her fone. today i thot i wud make a blog.

i didnt alwasy liv in brooklin. i used to liv in the country house with dian and bruzza and the skinny one. sumtimes i go bak ther and visit wen im on bacation. i hav to take the trane to go ther. i am very gud and brave wen i am on the trane but i hate being in that fukken bag.

my favrite places in brooklin are the closet and the red chair. sumtimes i try to go in the tub but rebecky doesnt like that. one time wen rebecky was coming home from werk i snuck out the door and got out in the halway. it wasnt very exciting out ther and it smelled weerd. most of the time i just hang owt under the bed.

i like to chase string and skratch cardbord and push pens around on the flor and i like to run around very fast for no reeson. i like to watch survivor with rebecky to and i also watch the fier escape show. in the bacation house i used to watch the bird show and the skwirrel show during the day and the bug show at ni9te but i gess we dont get those chanels in brooklin.

i like to bet on sports games to. im usually pretty acurate with the ncaa brakets but a few yeers ago i lost three humdred bux to the rotwiler in 4J when the red bird teem lost the super bowl. that sukked.

i like to sniff shoes but im afrade of balloons. they make my tale get fat and then i hav3 to hide under the cowch. sumtimes i make rebecky sneez wen i get rite in her face. i dont no why that happenz but it usually skares me too and i hav to hide under the cowch agan. i also dont like wen rebecky puts on the fake wind wen its hot out. its noisy and i can feel it touching me but its invisible like a gost and gosts are skary so i hav to slink down verry low and run past it very fast.

my favrite food is rarbecue and my favrite moovie is Robocop. Robocop is awesum. sumtimes wen i am confused or afrade i ask myslef wat wud Robocop do? i dont alwasy no wat the anser to that wud be but its fun to pretend that im Robocop.

im gonna go take a nap in the lawndry basket now. thankx for reeding my blog.

Talent Show-Off

So, a few years ago I was working as a bank teller (you know, because I have an English degree...) along with another girl my age named Danielle. Danielle was tiny and looked like an anime character and had this great raspy, little-kid voice and crazy, juvenile sense of humor. Upon my hiring, we immediately became best friends.

"Friends" may actually be too mild a word to describe our relationship. More like "co-conspirators." At one point, we weren't even allowed to work at windows next to each other. They actually separated us, like misbehaving kindergarteners. It was awesome.

Danielle and I became friends outside of work as well. Though I am normally terrified of going out with new people, especially by myself, I bravely accepted her invitation to hang out with her and her friends one weekend at Da Funky Phish, a well-known hole-in-the-wall place right near where I lived. In fact, the only reason I agreed to this proposal may have been because I had been to this place before, so I wouldn't be on totally unfamiliar ground. "There's this band playing that I've seen there before and the lead singer is HOT!"

A girl after my own heart.

Though I spent most of the evening perched on a bar stool in the corner as everyone else played pool, it wasn't a total loss: the lead singer was hot. Also, I was introduced to Danielle's boyfriend, Andy. Andy was in a band, too. And oh my...

Stop it stop it stop it — he is TAKEN. And she is your FRIEND. And you don't have many of them to pick and choose from. You will stop this RIGHT NOW!

Oh, but he was pretty...

So hanging out with Danielle became more comfortable for me, as long as she brought along her eye c-Andy. HAHAHA!!! GET IT?!?

...sorry.

Eventually, we started inviting the other girls from the bank to come out with us, and soon it became a regular thing: every Friday night after we closed, we'd hit up the little Irish pub down the block for Karaoke Night. (This did not always bode well for those working the Saturday morning shift the next day.)

Now, you may remember from way back that I am a slave to karaoke. I can't get enough of myself. It's embarassing, really, what an attention-whore I am. But whatever, that's not gonna stop me.

So on one of these girls' nights out, we let some of the boys tag along. Of course, Danielle brought Andy, who also brought some of his friends, all of whom immediately headed for the pool table in the back room. We girls, meanwhile, zeroed straight in on the song books.

I was usually the only one in the place who sang before she got drunk, so while the bank girls were at the bar, I sauntered up to the microphone for my rendition of the Fugees' rendition of "Killing Me Softly."

As I got going onstage, Danielle made her way to the pool table with Andy's drink. Now, according to Danielle's version of events, relayed to me later in the evening, he then says to her, "They should really turn down that background music. You can't hear Becky singing."

Danielle replies, "That is Becky singing."

Andy looks up from the pool table, drops his cue, rushes up to the stage to verify this claim, turns to his girlfriend and says:

"Damn. I want to fuck her now."

Ladies and gentlemen, to this day, I still consider that statement one of the highest compliments I have ever been paid.

Thank you, Cleveland!

NERD ALERT!

Yep, this is how I spend my weekends...

"EINSTEIN'S RIDDLE"
There are 5 houses on a street, each a different color. A man of a different nationality lives in each house. The 5 owners each drink a certain type of beverage, smoke a certain brand of cigarettes, and own a certain kind of pet. No owner has the same pet, smokes the same brand of cigarettes, or drinks the same beverage.

GIVEN:
1. The British man lives in the red house.
2. The Swedish man has a dog for a pet.
3. The Danish man drinks tea.
4. The green house is to the left of the white house [NOTE: the reader's left].
5. The owner of the green house drinks coffee.
6. The man who smokes Pall Malls has a bird.
7. The owner of the yellow house smokes Dunhills.
8. The man who lives in the middle house drinks milk.
9. The Norwegian lives in the first house.
10. The man who smokes Blend lives next to the one who has a cat.
11. The man who owns the horse lives next to the one who smokes Dunhills.
12. The man who smokes Blue Master drinks beer.
13. The German smokes Prince.
14. The Norwegian lives next to the blue house.
15. The man that smokes Blend has a neighbor that drinks water.

The question is: "Who has the fish?"

Your time starts...NOW!

Good God, Someone Help Me...

This is not a "real" post but I feel the overwhelming need to share it with someone because it's like in that movie The Ring where the only way to save yourself is to get someone else to watch the video and pass it on to them and I'm pretty sure I need to do something like that because FOR THE LOVE OF GOD I CAN NOT STOP WATCHING THIS:

Something So Outrageously Hot It Has Invaded My Very Soul

Please refer to this post while I take a moment to recover...

Good luck, and Godspeed.

Dream A Little Dream...Again

Tonight, I will be seeing Christopher Nolan's Inception...for the third time in 2 weeks.

Who says I have an addictive personality?

Seriously, this movie has become an obsession. I can not stop thinking or talking about it. It's almost as if...

***SPOILERS!***

...the movie itself is an inception that someone was hired to plant in my brain. Or maybe the movie doesn't even exist and we're all just projections of Christpoher Nolan's subconscious! GOOD GOD, HELP ME! I CAN'T MAKE IT STOP!!!

If anyone who hasn't seen it yet has been reading my Twitter feed of late, despite the numerous "SPOILER!" tags I've employed, they either hate me for ruining the whole thing for them, or they REALLY have no idea what's going on. As Roger Ebert put it, you could give away the ending and it still wouldn't make any sense unless you understood how it got to that point. I tried explaining this to a friend who was adamant that I not reveal anything to him that even if I did, it would sound like: "When Leo went up the stairs, did Ellen Page's character release the chicken, or was it Valentine's Day?"

He didn't believe me, and yelled at me for mentioning the chicken, even though there really was no chicken and the chicken was completely hypothetical. Then he yelled at me for giving away that there was no chicken.

No chickens were harmed in the making of this film. Or this post.

I Am Never Eating Anything, Anywhere, Ever Again

Restaurant Inspection Information: NYC Department Of Health And Mental Hygiene

My local McDonald's has 43 violation points. 43!

I gotta get the hell out of Nogales...

Hassling Hasselbeck

According to The Daily News, Elisabeth Hasselbeck believes that "a lot of older lesbians would have turned out straight...if they could only land a man."

Well, I believe that a lot of former Survivor contestants wouldn't have become hosts of 'The View'...if they could only land a Playboy pictorial.

I also believe that stupid opinions like this wouldn't even be aired or considered...if only dim-witted, ignorant bimbos weren't hosts of a fatuous, asinine talk show.

Couldn't Have Said It Better Myself

Some of you (by which I mean — out of the whole 6 people who actually follow me — Dalia) may have noticed lately that I haven't exactly kept my promise to myself to post something every single day. And despite the fact that nothing of critical importance is dependent upon me posting something every single day, I still feel incredibly guilty for failing to live up to my own lofty self-imposed expectations. So by way of apology, redemption, and explanation, I offer you this tale from Hyperbole And A Half — by far one of the most oh-my-god-I-can't-breathe-from-laughing-so-hard hilarious blogs on the whole Interwebz — which is so precisely applicable to my life that I swear I must have somehow written it myself with my own subconscious:

This Is Why I'll Never Be An Adult.

So consider this my return from summer hiatus. I hope you enjoyed the reruns and are looking forward to the new season premiere. :)

Voice Mail Fail

My office voicemail system may be the most counterintuitive piece of technology I've ever encountered. Presented below is the process through which I have to go just to listen to a damn message:

"Welcome to [system name]. For help at any time, press *8."

First of all, what would I possibly need help for at this point? I haven't done anything yet! And "*8"? What, the traditional "0" just wasn't unneccessarily complicated enough for you?

"Please enter extension, followed by the pound sign. Please enter password, followed by the pound sign."

Ok, that's pretty universal. No complaints.

"Mailbox of Rebecca Godan."

Uh, I'm pretty sure I'm already aware of who I am...

"To record messages, press 1."

What? Why would I need to do this? This is my first option?

"To get messages, press 2."

Standard...almost.

"Voice call from [caller]. Received at 10:28, Wednesday, July 28th. 12 seconds. Extension [caller's extension]."

Gee, after all that detailed information, who needs to hear the actual message, AMIRITE?! No shit it's a voice call — this is my VOICEmail. AND WHY DO I NEED TO KNOW THE PRECISE LENGTH OF THE CALL WHEN I CAN JUST LISTEN TO IT MYSELF??

"To listen to this message, press 0. To delete, press *D."

Now you decide to go with "0"? When every single other voicemail system in the world goes with "1"? What, you just wanted to feel special? And "*D"? Are you kidding me? You've become so elaborate now that you need to use 2 keys and a letter? Plus, WHY WOULD I WANT TO DELETE THE MESSAGE IF I HAVEN'T EVEN HEARD IT YET?!?

All this superfluous junk to wade through, just to listen to "Hi Rebecca, it's Lucy. Call me."

Boys and girls, it's the accumulation of little things like this that makes people bring rifles to work...

Beccapedia

A typical conversation between me and my co-workers at lunch:

Me, apropos of nothing: "Hey, remember Gumby's sister?"
Them: "What? Holy crap — I do! Wow, what made you think of that? Oh man, what was her name?"
Me: "Shit, I should remember this. It's on the tip of my tongue..."
Them: "Seriously?"
Me: "Of course! Damn it, I know this...OH! Wait — you know who would know? My brother."
Them: "Seriously?"
Me: "Yeah, he's obsessed with Gumby."
Them: "... Seriously?"
[text to brother]: "What was Gumby's sister's name?"

Less than one minute later...

[text from brother]: "Goo."
Me: "Yes! See? I told you!"
Them: "There is something seriously wrong with you."

Apparently it runs in the family.