It's Not What You Say, It's How You Say It

Playing Catchphrase with my sister's friends makes the "BABY FISH MOUTH!" scene from When Harry Met Sally seem totally plausible.

A sampling of some actual guesses that some reasonably intelligent people actually made:

"Blind mailman!"
"Clothes laboratory!"
"When someone has a heart attack it's called...?" "A heart attack!"
"This is the name of a toothpaste and also a famous painter." "Aqua-Fresh!"

Status: Delivered

A guy in my office just had a baby (well, technically, his girlfriend had the baby) and sent this announcement via e-mail:

"Baby Causes Havoc In Brooklyn"
Stats:
Birth date: Dec. 20, 2011 (1st day of Hanukah; exactly one year before end of Mayan calendar)
Weight: 7 pounds, 1 ounce (3+ kilos)
Height: approximately the height of one baby
Eyes: very dark
Hair: too much for a baby
Feet: small
Languages: baby patois, fluent Yiddish, Yoruba, and several Cantonese dialects; restaurant Spanish
Interests: making fists with both hands and feet, looking at stuff in a confused manner, small business development, small gray cats, environmentally friendly diapers, public radio

I love my job. ♥

Alphabet City

An engineer left this comment today on the manuscript I gave him to review:

"I do not understand the symbol that looks like a big lower-case u written the size of a capital."

In other words, a capital U. He doesn't understand a capital letter U.

I love my job.

Where It's At

My great-grandfather was from Armenia. The only thing most people know about Armenia is the Kardashians. The only remotely positive thing about this is that it's a perfect example of how all Armenian surnames end in some form of "-ian." For further proof, please see the guys from System of a Down. (If you know my last name, the answer is it was shortened when my grandparents emigrated to this country.)

People ask me all the time, "Where is Armenia, anyway?" My standard answer to this query is "near Turkey." The irony of this, if one can call it that, is that between 1915 and 1923, the Turks slaughtered approximately 1.5 million Armenians in what is known as "The Great Crime." It's possibly the second worst genocide in history, behind the Holocaust. The word "genocide" was even coined to describe this particular massacre. I'm sure the Armenians don't exactly appreciate this association.

A better answer, I've found, to the question of Armenia's location is "ancient Troy." Which technically, of course, makes me a Trojan.

I prefer this explanation.

Why I Don't Drink, or, "If You See Something, Say Something"

So I decided to go out last night. Yep, you heard me — to a bar. In Williamsburg. To see this guy I only know from Twitter play a show. With his girlfriend. On a night when I had work AND school the next day.

I have no idea why I thought any of this was a good idea.

(Yes I do: I wanted an excuse to wear my awesome new boots again.)

Anyway, as you may already know, I'm on a few medications. One of these specifically states that one should not drink alcohol while taking it. Another is alternately prescribed for smoking cessation. I smoke "socially," as in, I smoke because I'm socially inept and it gives me something to do when I feel awkward in public. I think you see where this is headed.

A friend from home once said I'm like a cicada — I only come out once every 17 years. This may or may not have to do with the occasional experience of an evening ended slumped over a garbage can on a deserted subway platform moaning, "Oh God, why do I do this to myself?"

At least my boots stayed dry.

Rise Of The Dead

Little Dead Riding Hood:

Happy Halloween, bitches!

Reading Comprehension FTW!

Me: "As much as I want to support them, #OccupyWallStreet reminds me of my junior year of high school when a bunch of kids organized a walk-out to 'protest' the Iraq war just so they could get a smoke break. #Cynicism"

Me: "[To be clear, this was the 1991 Iraq war.] #DejaVu"

Random pompous douche who lives in Canada: "@BeccaGo: Yea, it's just like that. Except not at all. Outside for 4 weeks, 700+ arrests? You can tell HS wasn't very long ago for you. #exp"

Me: "@RandomDouche: High school was 23 years ago for me, if you bother to read my next post. And I live here. So you can shove your #exp."

God, I love Twitter.

Out Of The Mouths Of Babes

8-year-old cousin: "You live by yourself?"
Me: "Yep, just me."
8-year-old cousin: "You shouldn't live anywhere unless you have a husband."
Me: "Well, I've looked for one, but I haven't found any yet."
11-year-old cousin: "I know people."

NY ♥ FAGS!

I was interviewd by a cute Asian boy (I'M NOT RACIST! SOME OF MY BEST FRIENDS ARE ASIAN!) outside Brooklyn City Hall this morning at the WBC protest. This is what was said:

Him: "That's a very interesting sign [GOD HATES THE G TRAIN]. What's the message you're trying to convery here?"
Me: "Just how ridiculous these guys are. If they can presume to know what God hates, why can't I? If I hate the the G train, then God must hate the G train."
Him: "Do you hate the G train?"
Me: "Yes."
Him: "Why do you hate it?"
Me: "It's never on time."
Him: "So are you religious?"
Me: "No."
Him: "Were you ever religious?"
Me: "Yes, I was raised Catholic."
Him: "Are you gay?"
Me: "Nope. I'm straight."
Him: "You know, a lot of straight people don't care enough to be doing something like this. What made you decide to come out here?"
Me: "Well, I have a lot of gay friends, but even if I didn't, I just think it's an important issue. It's like not letting black people sit in the front of the bus. If they want to get married, let them get married. What's the problem? It's not like any gay guys are trying to marry THEM. Oh, and I love art projects."

I ♥ NY. :)

GOD HATES PHELPS!

ATTENTION:

This Sunday, July 24, the Westboro Baptist Church will be in NYC to protest marriage equality.

And I will be there to protest them. >:)

SCHEDULE:
NYC Marriage Bureau in Manhattan: 7:30 AM - 9:00 AM
NYC Marriage Bureau in Brooklyn: 9:45 AM - 10:30 AM
NYC Marriage Bureau in the Bronx: 11:15 AM - 12:00 PM
Gracie Mansion: 4:30 PM - 5:30 PM

I'll be in Brooklyn and at Gracie Mansion. Feel free to join me. And if you need a sign, I will gladly make you one. :D

NY ♥ FAGS!

Take The Train To The Train...To The Train...

This was my commute this morning:

Board F train.
Go 2 stops.
Conductor: "This train will now be running on the G line."
Get off train.
Wait for next F train.
Next F train is PACKED.
Wait for next F train.
Board F train.
Go 1 stop.
Conductor: "This train will now be running on the G line."
Get off train.
No F train transfer available at this station.
Cross platform.
Board waiting A train.
Conductor: "This train will not be going into Manhattan."
Get off train.
Wait for next A train.
Walk 6 blocks to my office ON THE HOTTEST DAY OF THE YEAR as opposed to my normal 1.5.
Arrive at work 45 minutes late.

Happy Thursday, y'all!

Freedom (1994)

There's a long pause after my request. I balance the phone between my shoulder and my ear, freeing up my hands to examine my split ends. I need a trim.

"No," he finally responds, as if he's just testing the sound of the word or asking permission to refuse.

I stop snipping at my hair. The receiver starts to tumble from its perch. I grab it before it falls completely. "Why not?" My roommate peers at me over the top of her textbook.

I hear a television switch off on his end. Another pregnant, frustrating pause. My foot starts tapping rapidly, shaking my entire bed in the process. "Because it's mine now." No beseeching this time. Stated with reproach, as if it were obvious. Well, two can play at this game.

"No," I correct him, calm and patient, in a tone usually reserved for slow children, "it's mine." My roommate puts down her book and stares pointedly at my jittery foot. I stop, mouth the word 'sorry,' and start to pace instead.

"But you gave it to me." There's a crackling noise from his end of the line, the kind you get from sudden movement with cellular phones.

"Yeah, well, I've changed my mind," I snap. "I'd like it back." My roommate throws down her book dramatically and glares up at the ceiling. I flap my arm at her in a gesture of resignation and drag the phone out into the hallway.

"You can't do that," he insists.

"Why not?" I struggle to adjust the phone and get comfortable against the wall. Neither is working.

"Because it's Indian giving."

My eyes roll. "Oh, Indian giving, right. How mature. Matt, we are college students. We are adults. Could you please act like one and return what's rightfully mine?"

"Talk about immature," he snorts, "You're kidding, right? 'Rightfully mine?' That's rich, Al, really. Make it sound as high-minded and pretentious as you want, you're still fighting with me over a stuffed animal."

"Oh yeah? Well if it's 'just a stuffed animal,' why won't you give it back to me?"

"Why are you asking for it? Look, you're the one who ended things. Why can't you just let it die?"

"Me let it die? You're the one desperately hanging on to a fucking teddy bear! Like it's some token of your starving-artist scorned love. You're the one refusing to let go of it. You probably sleep with it and everything!"

"Allie, you used to sleep with it."

"Which is probably why you still want it, you perv!" From somewhere down the hall floats, "Shut up, bitch!"

"Bite me!" I yell back, covering the mouthpiece.

"Ok, Allison." Composed and patronizing now, trying to restore a sense of dignity. "Enough. This is getting ridicu—"

"So you'll give it back?" I lean forward.

"No. Your argument is just too pathetic to surrender to. I'm not even going to dignify it with a rebuttal. If you need a damn bear so badly, go buy yourself a new one. Goodbye." Click.

I hold the dead phone about a foot away from my face and scream, "Buy yourself a new one, asshole!" before slamming it down. My roommate pokes her head out the door and stares at me, completely bewildered and plainly aggravated. "WHAT?" I explode at her. She shakes her head and walks wordlessly back inside.

My eyes squint shut. Damn. Damn, that did not go well at all. But what was I expecting? Nothing ever goes well when he's concerned. Completely irrational. We couldn't even break up well, which is why he has the bear in the first place. I open my eyes briefly to inspect the purplish-black nail marks in my palm. "Fuck," I mutter, releasing my grip, leaning back. My head connects hard with the concrete wall. "FUCK!" I clench up again, then drop my head into my hands and grab a fistful of hair. I need a cigarette. I pull one from the pack in my pocket and head towards the stairs.

* * *

I pass an open door and someone calls from inside, "The next time you want to broadcast your lovers' quarrels to the whole dorm, you should just use a bullhorn."

"Shut up, Kara."

"I'm only trying to help." She grabs the door frame and leans out into the hallway. She's wearing a leather miniskirt and a bra. Her head is wrapped in a towel. Dyeing her hair again. "I mean, it would be less of a strain on your voice."

"Whatever." I point to the towel. "What color?"

"Blue Velvet. Are you going for a smoke?"

"Yeah."

She peers around me to make sure no one is within earshot. "Do it in here. I've got the fan on." She ushers me in and shuts the door behind me. Smoking inside the building is illegal.

Kara grabs a flashy Zippo off the end table and lights the cigarette pinched between my lips. Deep drag; exhale. Finally. "Why do you want the thing back so badly, anyway?" she asks. "I mean, it's just a toy, right?"

"It's not necessarily the bear, you know? It's just that he has it. Just another loose end floating around when all I want to do is forget it all. It sounds stupid, but the space on the shelf? Where I used to keep the stupid thing? That empty space is just as blatant a reminder as a big 'MATT WAS HERE!' sign. It's just irritating."

"Well, if it meant so much to you, why did you give it to him?" She lights up one of her own cigarettes. Cloves.

"I dunno." I move towards the window where the box fan is humming belabouredly. "I didn't know how else to do it. I just kind of shoved the bear at him and walked out and hoped he'd be gone by the time I got back." I blow a smoke ring and watch it get sucked up into the fan and out the window. Destroy the evidence. "If he just accepted it was over," I grumble, "like any other normal guy, there wouldn't be a problem."

"What exactly happened with you guys, anyway?"

I flop down on the bed and stare at the ceiling, remembering. Throwing myself into him in the mosh pit, the cute stranger at the techno concert. Drunkenly frolicking in the fountain at 2 in the morning, snapping blurry pictures, until campus security chased us off. Breaking into the History department after-hours to play strip hide-and-seek. That rainy Saturday at the laundromat, sitting on a washing machine, watching him underhand wet t-shirts into the dryer and wondering, myself, what exactly had happened.

"I needed some freedom." I shake my head and turn towards the couch Kara has sprawled herself on. "And he sucked at oral," I smirk.

"Honey," she replies, wide-eyed and smiling charmingly, "that's the point of oral." She ducks to avoid the pillow I throw at her. It whales into a potted plant instead.

I stub out my cigarette. Kara unwinds the towel from her head and moves to the bathroom. A blow dryer switches on. "What are you doing tonight?" I yell over the drone.

The blow dryer switches off. She pokes her head out into the common room. "Techno night at Haze. Dave's coming to pick us up in a few minutes."

"Us?" I ask, joining her in the bathroom.

"Yeah. You had a bad day. My treat." She squeezes my shoulder and turns back to her hair. "Go get dressed!" she yells over the dryer noise. "I'll meet you downstairs!"

"Aren't you going to get dressed?"

Hair dryer still going, she looks at my reflection in the mirror beside her own and shouts, "I am dressed!"

* * *

Kara's new hair is purple under the flashing club lights. She has just given the guy at my side, who has been buying me drinks and calling me Lisa, the thumbs-up. He's cute, but I can't remember his name either. The club is loud. The smoky air stings my eyes and clings damply. Dave is lost somewhere in the dizzying crowd. I watch Kara gyrate across the floor and approach a wiry guy with matching blue hair. She puts a hand on his shoulder. He laughs, shakes her off, walks away. Brutal. I feel the guy next to me tap me on the shoulder. He mouths some words and points toward the exit. I nod. Grab my purse. Butt out my cigarette. Wait. Kara. Or Dave. Find Kara or Dave. Tell them I'm going. They've disappeared. So has what's-his-name. I'm lost and spinning when someone suddenly grabs my shoulder and yells into my hair, "Hey, isn't that your friend?"

Kara is on one of the go-go platforms, dancing alone. I watch mesmerized by the twisting and glistening. "She's out of control!" this new guy yells again, laughing.

"Control," I mumble and pull him outside by his jacket without saying goodbye to anyone. There's a blur of crunching across gravel, stumbling against a car door, contorting on sweaty bucket seats. Then nothing.

* * *

The next morning, nursing a hangover in the empty Greek diner, I can't even remember if it was any good. The whole time I had this image in my head of Kara dancing on the shelf where my bear used to be.

I Refuse

Dear Hope:

So now you're back.

You don't get to get me back.

Jar Of Hearts

I'm An Aunt!

Welcome to the world, brand new person Madelyn Grace!

10:47 am June 16, 2011
6 pounds 15 ounces, 20 inches

Congratulations Lee Anne and Tim!
my little brother
♥

Baby Fat

I'm a pretty self-conscious person. (*cough*Asperger's*cough*)

In addition, any weight I gain goes straight to my belly, which sometimes makes me worry that I look pregnant. I try to camouflage it, but I still occasionally get offered a seat on the subway, particularly when I wear a certain top of mine that "has an empire-waist and floats away from the body" (Stacey from What Not To Wear LIES!!). It doesn't bother me too much — I'll do almost anything to get a seat on the subway, and I haven't reached the stage where anybody's asked me when I'm due yet — so I just kind of tolerate it.

However, as I was standing on the subway platform the other day, I noticed a man near me who looked way more pregnant than I do. Like, gut-hanging-over-the-waist-of-his-cargo-shorts "pregnant." Shoulders back, hands on his hips, almost like he was proud of it. It was not cute. And it did not inspire in me one of those "Right on, man! This is who I am whether you like it or not!" moments. I just kind of curled my lip in disgust.

Maybe this speaks to some deep-seated self-hatred of mine, but I think it's really just an aesthetic issue. And a splash of good old feminist rage. I mean, I make an effort to dress to flatter my non-standard body. Why does this guy just get to stand there showing off his expansive midsection with impunity? And why do I have to look at it? Why is it that women, who have a built-in alibi — pregnancy — for carrying extra tummy weight, are terrified and ashamed and insulted that someone might possibly assume they are "expecting," while guys don't even have such an excuse and don't seem to give a shit? Why am I — unwavering in my confidence that I have pretty eyes and cool hair, great legs, a really great ass, and a not-that-bad rack — fixated on disguising this one "imperfect" body part when I go out in public, while this guy is balding and wearing Tevas and doesn't seem to care? And why is he in my field of view?? I MUST ONLY LOOK AT PRETTY THINGS!!

After all, I may be fat, but you're ugly and I could lose weight.

Just Destroyin' 'Em!

Oh, those wild and crazy mechanical engineers, they're such a bunch of jokesters. An early morning e-mail exchange:

From: [name redacted]
To: All Staff
Subject: Atlanta office and staff OK
As you may know, tornados ravaged the South yesterday like Sherman marching to the Sea. The good news is the Atlanta staff, William and Kate, Charlie Sheen and The Donald all survived. Although we are all still a bit groggy from watching Mother Nature's targets on SuperDuperDoppler3000 well into the wee hours of the morning.*

* This a word-for-word, actual e-mail that the whole company, worldwide, actually received. Really. And yeah, he spelled "tornadoes" wrong, too.

From: Co-worker Mikey
To: BeccaGo
Subject: FW: Atlanta office and staff OK
Is this guy a failed comedian or something? This isn't the first time he's sent a "funny" message like this.

From: BeccaGo
To: Co-worker Mikey
I know. He tries way too hard. Seems kind of unprofessional/tactless for a natural disaster e-mail, no?

From: Co-worker Mikey
To: BeccaGo
Yeah, that was the other thing. It's like if he was head of the Japan office:
"Hey guys, it's been really 'wavy' here! Har har! Well, don't worry about us Japs 'cause, to quote 'Get Smart,' that tsunami 'missed us by thaaaat much!' So things may be gloomy here, but like Annie sang, 'The sun will come out tomorrow!'"

From: BeccaGo
To: Co-worker Mikey
"As for that 'nucular' (haha!) business, don't worry, be happy! None of us here are 'down with the sickness' of the radiation variety...yet. LOL!"

From: Co-worker Mikey
To: BeccaGo
"Yep, we're all one big, happy nuclear family around here now! Haha!"

I think today's exchange deserves a blog post.

From: BeccaGo
To: Co-worker Mikey
I was just thinking the same thing. Great minds yada yada...

From: Co-worker Mikey
To: BeccaGo
"Great minds make great bedfellows! Haha! J/K! LOL! LMAO! ROTFL, etc."

Some Of My Best Pets Are Black!

hai guise its boo. im a littel confused. who iz this burt sir tiffy cat i keep heering abowt? evryones talknig abowt him being an american longhair. who cares wut breed he iz? and y does evryone think hes from kennel? dogs com from kennels not cats. wuts rong with u peeple? i meen if yor that bord y dont u just go play with sum string or somthnig n stop wastnig evrybodys time? jeez.

Dream On, Dreamer

You know when you have that dream that you're getting up and getting ready for work, and then you actually wake up and you get all pissed because you have to do it all over again?

Well, not only did I have that dream last night, in the dream it was also HALLOWEEN.

And then I woke up.

Talk about a disappointing way to start your day.

I almost wore the red feather Mardi Gras mask anyway.

Pay It Forward

"I stay within MY budget, why can't the government stay within theirs?"

Well, let's consider this: Are you caring for a sick kid? Has your house ever been robbed? Did you ever lose a job? What if there's a storm and a tree crashes through your roof?

What if your insurance didn't cover any of it? Do you have all of that factored into your budget, too?

It's kind of hard to predict when an EMERGENCY is going to happen, or its extent, or how much it's going to cost. Medicare and Medicaid, defense programs, unemployment, and natural disaster funds cost money. You pay insurance to protect yourself and your assets. You pay your taxes to protect this country and its citizens.

You pay for the house you live in; if you don't, you get kicked out. You can pay for the country you live in, or you can leave.

Good luck finding lower tax rates in Europe.

Paranormal Lack-tivity

Casual conversation with a co-worker:

Him: "[Girlfriend] is out of town so now I can catch up on my scary movies."
Me: "Scary movies?"
Him: "Yeah, her punk-ass won't watch scary movies."
Me: "Did you just call your girlfriend a punk-ass?"
Him: "Well, she doesn't like scary movies!"

Ruefully, I'm gonna have to give him that. Absolute qualification for punk-ass-ness, right there.

I Stand With Planned Parenthood

I was interviewed by Dr. Dan from In Focus on WVOX at the rally today. This is why I told him I was there:

Without affordable health care, Planned Parenthood is a crucial resource for many women — and men.

In New York state, taxpayer money only funds abortions on a voluntary basis, and only in cases of rape, incest, or a threat to the mother's life (see the Hyde Amendment).

And the GOP is supposed to be focusing on creating jobs, not restricting women's reproductive rights.



GOP = Get Out (Of My) Pants!

Care

I know I've touched on this before, but it bears repeating. And I'll try to keep it in concrete, monetary terms to avoid being immediately dismissed as a bleeding-heart liberal socialist.

My name is Rebecca. I am 36 years old and I live and work in New York City. I am a technical editor for a national engineering society and I hold a Bachelor's degree, i.e., I am a skilled laborer in a field essential to the functioning of our country's infrastructure. I am single and have no children. I live in a studio apartment in a walk-up building. I have no credit cards or outstanding loans. I make approximately $2,300 a month, and I live, quite literally, from paycheck to paycheck. My monthly rent, gas, electricity, cable, phone, grocery, laundry, and transportation expenses total approximately $2,100. I do not buy gourmet, organic, or otherwise expensive specialty food; I do my own laundry. I try to deposit $100 a month into a savings account, which leaves $100 remaining.

I also have arthritis in one toe, scoliosis, hearing loss in one ear, a family history of cancer and heart disease, and bipolar disorder. $100 per month doesn't even come close to covering the medical expenses associated with these conditions. A single routine trip to the gynecologist would wipe that sum out completely and leave me still owing more.

This is why I am grateful for my employee health benefits and support the public option.

Before going any further, let me address some of the societal stigmas surrounding my situation. Foremost, I am not lazy or looking for a handout — I went to college to improve my chances for employment; I earned a degree to remain competitive in the job market; I paid off my debts, plus interest. I work 40 hours a week doing indisputably meaningful work, meaning it produces calculable, tangible results, as opposed to what some consider subjective, such as fashion design or social work. I pay my dues. I make considerable efforts to stay healthy. My arthritis and scoliosis are hereditary. I was born with hearing loss. I have no influence over my family history. None of these things are my fault and I did not bring them on myself. I deserve a fair chance, along with those who through sheer luck have been born and remain free of disabilities.

Which brings me to bipolar disorder.

Mental illness is a divisive issue. Many are of the mindset that "it's all in your head; you're a smart person, you should be able to work this out yourself." Even I was. And then I almost failed out of college, despite being a straight-A student all through high school. I cried to professors when explaining how I couldn't finish assignments and was totally lost trying to force myself to understand the simplest concepts. I was fired from jobs for not being able to keep my anger in check or my emotions under control — I yelled at bosses, I yelled at customers; I'd lock myself in a bathroom stall several times a day to cry over the pressure of even the simplest tasks — asking a customer if they needed help, delivering a form to a supervisor, booking a hotel room for the boss's out-of-town guest. And all the while I knew this was not normal behavior, and still couldn't stop it. It took me an extra year and a half to graduate, and in the span of 5 years, I was fired from 3 jobs. This wasn't merely a depression over a few failed relationships, this was more taxpayers' money spent on my education than necessary and a liability to the businesses I worked for.

I've lived with these issues to some degree for over 2 decades. I get no pleasure or benefit out of living this way, and I believe my current position serves as evidence that I am at least a somewhat smart person, so it stands to reason that if I could help myself, I would have. Therefore, I could keep up this routine for the rest of my life, not really accomplishing anything for myself or for society, actually being a burden to society by either wasting others' time and effort failing at jobs or by collecting unemployment — a significantly greater expense than the approximately $250 per month retail value of my medications or the approximately $55 per month premium for the insurance provided by my employer — or, what it comes down to, some of the richest people in the world could chip in some relatively petty change to help me help society, instead of complaining about my drain on it.

After all, I pay my taxes. I help fund the police, the post office, public parks. I pay for roads and public schools, even though I don't drive and I'm not a student, nor do I have a child who is a student. I pay for public television, even though I don't have children, because I want my niece to have the same access to educational programming that I had, even if my brother and sister-in-law aren't able to afford it themselves. I pay Social Security, even though it's possible the fund will be depleted by the time I'm ready to collect, because my mom has worked hard all her life, and I want her to be able to support herself if she needs help and I can't afford it — she shouldn't have to suffer for my insufficiencies. I am not trying to scam anyone out of anything. My country guarantees me the same right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness as anyone else. If you want to keep our country great, you will help its people, because without us all, there is no country.

From The Mind(less Drivel) Of M. Night Shyamalan

So, yeah, I rented that M. Night Shyamalan atrocity Devil last night — don’t ask why — and I just wanted to share some of my utter disbelief at how bad it actually was...

Basic Premise: 5 people are trapped in an elevator; one of them is the devil. (They are all shameless clichés.)

Within the first 15 minutes, I had already figured it out.

***SPOILERS!***

1. Obvious choice would be the mysterious quiet guy, so it's obviously not him (unless they were counting on us to think that and were pulling a double twist, which I don't believe they were clever enough to come up with).

2. They all hate the annoying salesman, so they all automatically blame him, which automatically makes it not him. (Sure enough, he is the first one to die.)

3. The angry black security guard is both a symbol of authority and new on the job, which makes him suspicious, so it could be him, only that would be racist, so it's not him (unless, again, they were trying to be clever and controversial, which I don’t give them credit for).

4. The pretty rich girl gets mysteriously hurt early on, so it couldn't be her, which means it is her, unless...

5. ...they go the very obvious "least obvious" route, which means it's the scared, harmless old lady.

Who it was.

Moviemaking at its effing finest.

LOLZ!

Final Tally Of Tasteless/Insensitive/Offensive Groupon Super Bowl Commercials: 3

Issues Targeted For Mockery: endangered whales, Tibet, the destruction of the rain forest.

I guess they didn't have the budget this year for Darfur and cancer.

Still Smells Like Teen Spirit

Ripped stockings: Mine.
Striped knee socks: Also mine.
Doc Marten boots: Borrowed from my sister.
Baby-doll prom dress: Mine.
Baby-doll tank top: Mine.
Studded belt/choker: Mine.
Little girl hair barrettes: 18 for $3 at the drugstore.
Hair prep: None — just washed and let it frizz out naturally.
Makeup: Black eyeliner. That's it.

Reliving my youth for less than five bucks and a ticket to My So-Called Prom at the Bell House: Priceless.

GRUNGE LIVES!! RIOT GRRRL 4 EVA!!

I'm A Bitch And I'm Proud!

Guy with a bike knocking into me as he gets off the train: "You could have just stepped out, lady!"
Me: "And you could have not brought a bike on the train during rush hour, dick."

Me: "Excuse me, could I sit there?"
Woman holding a coffee and a cell phone with 3 tote bags taking up the seat next to her: "Sorry, I've got too much stuff."
Me: "Of course you do. And of course your stuff paid for that seat. Thanks a lot."

My commutes have become so much more enoyable now that I've actually started saying these things out loud...

Redefining Rape

Bruises and broken bones do not define rape — a lack of consent does. Please sign the petition to block the Smith Bill: http://tinyurl.com/4uouptq

This bill is disgusting.

What exactly is "coerced rape?" If you get roofied? If you go back to a guy's house after a date? If you "lead him on?"

What if you fall asleep after having consensual sex with a guy and wake up to his frat brother on top of you? What would you call that — a learning experience?

I don't think men fully understand what it is like to live with the threat of rape in the back of your mind ALL THE TIME.

Imagine what it would be like if every day of your life there was a chance that any woman you come across might castrate you. If you go to a bar or walk home from school alone. If you're hanging out at her house, or you just let her give you a ride home. Or if you, say, wear tight jeans or bare your abs at the gym. ANY woman, at any time, even if you already know her, even if you've already slept with her before.

And she has the power to cut off your balls.

Just try to picture that, just for a minute.

And then tell me what "rape" really is. Motherfuckers.

Interoffice Gender Confusion

I am really not enjoying my job right now, but sometimes some little thing comes along that makes me smile...

E-mail received by a female co-worker and forwarded to me under the subject line "See? I didn't make it up!":

"Hi dear! I am for a decent man.
As for me, I am a young Russian girl
Do you like Russian women?
They are not just beautiful and smart, but very tolerant too.
Russian women value family and try to be with their husbands as much as possible.
It's time to get to know each other!
See you on marriage agency. Cheerio!
Please, visit this site!"
[Ed. note: site blocked from work computer]

...and the latest from Awesome Engineering Guy, to a male co-worker, forwarded to me under the subject line "Thought this might be blog-worthy"*:

"They moved my crew to the 23rd. If you were coming out of the lady’s room (quickly) on that floor, make a right, walk, then make a left at the next aisle. My ghetto cubicle is the last one on your left.

If anyone catches you coming out of the lady’s room, don’t tell them you were looking for me.

...awkward."

* He knows me so well. :D

The Two Best Consecutive Facebook Statuses I've Ever Read

Texts From Last Night: "I just remembered that last night when we tried to walk off the spins, you said, 'Pretend I'm your pet dinosaur,' so I walked you around on an invisible leash while you made T-rex hissing noises."

Joy: "Will and I are chasing the cats around the house with remote-controlled dinosaurs. They appear to be enjoying it. Probably not as much as we are."

Unfinished Business

KILL.
BILL.

VOL.
III.

HO.
LY.
SHIT!

Runner-Up Syndrome

Adam Lambert.

Mondo Guerra.

And now, Miss Arkansas, Alyse Eady.

I refuse to believe that this woman didn't win:

The new Miss America, Teresa Scanlan of Nebraska, is allegedly only 17 years old. I'm hoping for a Vanessa Williams-style scandal in which they discover she's really underage so the yodeling ventriloquist can assume the crown.

I mean, c'mon! She's a YODELING VENTRILOQUIST! How could you possibly find a talent more suitably representative of the overwhelming ridiculousness that is the Miss America pageant?

Plus, her evening gown was WAY fiercer.

But What About Criss Angel??

A REAL Mindfreak!

God bless the Intertubes. :D

Give 'Em Hell

Today I attended a departmental procedural meeting in which these two sentences, in regard to the same topic, were spoken within minutes of each other:

"EVERYTHING has to be EXACTLY the same."
"Ignore any inconsistencies."

And it was 83 degrees in the office.

I don't believe these incidents were unrelated or coincidental. It is my belief that they pointedly serve to prove that my job is, literally, Hell.

Return Of The Jedi Guy

Awesome Engineering Guy is at it again:

***
From: Co-worker Mikey
To: Awesome Engineering Guy
Subject: Manuscript

Galleys are ready for your review. Are you in today?

***
From: Awesome Engineering Guy
To: Co-worker Mikey
Subject: RE: Manuscript

Yes, I am in today.

***
From: Co-worker Mikey
To: Awesome Engineering Guy
Subject: RE: Manuscript

Okay. Where is your desk?

***
From: Awesome Engineering Guy
To: Co-worker Mikey
Subject: RE: Manuscript

Directions:
(1) Come down the stairs to the 20th floor.
(2) Make a right through the door (card key needed).
(3) Continue walking to the end of the hall.
(4) Make a right, then take about 3-4 steps.
(5) Mother ship will shoot retractor beam down to get you.
(6) You will appear before a council of Jedi knights.
(7) I am the 4th Jedi from the left.

***
Why don't I ever get to work with this guy??

How You Know You Live In Park Slope 7: We're Lovin' It!

Even our McDonald's...

...looks like a coffeehouse.

Seriously?

Dr. Keith: Tragedy Of Mental Illness

Dear Dr. Keith,

Speaking as a legitimately crazy person myself, I can indisputably say that this tragedy is not "ultimately" a story about mental illness. It is ultimately a story about why a person with a mental illness had a gun.

Get a job,
BeccaGo

Seriously?

Perhaps it's fitting that the two words best describing my reaction to this post are "stupefied" and "dumbfounded." But then again, I am only a white girl...

Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior

Laughing Stock Photos

Women Laughing Alone With Salad

My God, cilantro is HILARIOUS!!!

Happy Ramendan, Pastafarians!

Earlier this afternoon, I was informed via The Twitter that today is National Spaghetti Day. So of course, in honor of this prestigious holiday, I helped fund a Kiva loan in the name of The Church Of The Flying Spaghetti Monster.

May you all be blessed by his noodly appendage.

Happy New Year, Bitches!

I'm so pissed I didn't come up with this myself: