Monday, July 31, 2006


The job hunt has been getting increasingly stressful as the reality of how difficult it is to get a job (even a bitch job) in publishing sets in. On top of that, I’m discovering how close to impossible it actually is to get published. But the best part is that all this elevated stress has rendered me creatively challenged. So here’s a late edition of random shit for everyone.

1) I went to the beach yesterday, and I made extra special care to cover my entire body in sunblock. Of course when I got home and showered, I noticed that one patch of my skin was itching incessantly. At first, I thought it was a mosquito bite, but upon further inspection, I realized that I had failed to sun-proof one patch of skin on my right buttock and it glowed bright red against the pale white of the rest of my skin.

2) I had no idea that Nomar Garciaparra is married to Mia Hamm.

3) Speaking of the beach, I don't know if or when the speedo became fashionable, but it was seen with alarming consistency yesterday. No matter what anyone says, no man should ever, under any circumstances wear a speedo. I don’t care if you spent the last six months toning your ass to Buns of Steel perfection, nothing says “creepy” and “too much information” like a man in a speedo.

4) Catwoman, starring Halle Berry is a horrible movie. Not that I actually wasted any time watching it or anything of course…

5) I can now predict the twist endings on CSI with approximately 85% accuracy. Hint: it’s usually one of the first people they interview.

6) I can’t believe that Tila Tequila chick from MySpace is famous now. Be sure to visit her site and check out the song “Fuck Ya Man.” The lyrics include, “I ain't tryin' to fuck ya man / lookin' at my myspace, lotion in his hand / when he look at you, he be thinkin' 'bout me / Take your Benz back bitch now I got the key.” I can definitely see 13 year-old future generation whores rocking out to this one.

7) I started and deleted three entries before this one, so I don’t care if this sucks because it’s all you’re getting.


Wednesday, July 26, 2006

MENtally Disabled

I had an epiphany last week.

Rather than engage in our usual weekend Manhattan drunken debauchery, Julia and I opted for a quiet and early night in Queens. The plan—one glass of wine at a nearby outdoor café and straight home. At least, that was my plan. Julia, newly single and horny as a toad, insisted that we head to Fratboy Central by my house afterwards to look for cute boys. Despite the fresh wounds from the tongue lashing I had gotten from my mother earlier that day thanks to one too many nights stumbling home sweating Johnnie Walker at 5AM, I finally relented.

So there we were, Saturday night, walking along Fratboy Way on the corner of Cops Hang Out Here and 7-11, makeupless in our flip flops and baggy jeans while Fratboy Groupies teetered around in stilettos and tiny tank tops, nipples a-blazin’. We made our way into a small dive bar that managed to stay relatively empty amidst the weekend rush and shuffled through our purses for IDs. I glance up to hand my ID to the bouncer and find Julia, ear-to-ear smile chiseled into her face as she hands hers to him. Puzzlement at first until my eyes fall on the specimen of male “holyshitness” that is checking IDs. Dark brown hair gelled into neat spikes, clear blue eyes set into perfectly bronzed skin, tall, toned, hummina hummina. Despite my attempts at otherwise, my face breaks into a giant toothy smile and my lips emit a girlish giggle as I smooth my hair back and rue my decision not to wear makeup.

Eyes lowered and coy, we thank him when he hands our licenses back to us and find a spot at the bar within view. We sip drinks for the next half hour, our conversation consisting entirely of the words, “Oh my God, so cute, holy shit, so hot, oh my God, seriously, holy shit.” Really scintillating stuff going on in our college-educated, generally intelligent heads. This fascinating conversation continues as we walk back to the car, sit inside smoking cigarettes, pull out, head home, change our minds and circle the block to get another look at him. He waves to us on our second pass, Julia waves back and we burst into girly tittering. Then we finally head home where the epiphany strikes.

Julia and I, two seemingly intelligent women, were reduced to complete idiots during, and in the subsequent hours following, meeting with said ridiculously attractive man. I seriously felt like someone had knocked me upside the head with a two-by-four and my brain temporarily ceased to function. Take into account that there are a significantly larger number* of women who embody the level of attractiveness achieved by Hunky ID Checker. This means that men are constantly exposed to steady doses of mentally debilitating ridiculously hot-ness thereby keeping their brain functions at a perpetually dulled level. In that moment, it became clear to me why the male mind is so muddled as opposed to a female’s. A man has to concentrate on even the most menial tasks in order to function at all amidst the marijuana-like haze that constantly halos their heads. That explains why men operate at such a primitive level as opposed to women; why sometimes their words and actions are often reminiscient of the incoherent grunts and awkward movements of gorillas. I finally understand the male's constant struggle against complete and total mental atrophy!

Therefore, due acknowledgement must be given to all the men of the world. With their brains so steadily incapacitated, it’s truly a miracle that they can manage to get out of bed in the morning. So the next time your boyfriend pisses all over the toilet seat or your husband forgets your anniversary, don’t get angry. Pat him on the back, shake your head with pity, and tell him you understand.


*The reason for this is threefold:
1) Women can wear makeup to cover their ugly faces and make them look pretty
2) Women have more ways to be hypnotically attractive (i.e. low-cut shirt that reveals large bosoms, miniskirt that shows long, thin legs, etc.)
3) Men have lower standards (this is a generalization that is generally true)

Thursday, July 20, 2006

If you don't know, now you know...

This is a beef patty.

It is greasy. It is dirty. It is delicious.

(If you didn't know what this was until now, I don't care if you lived in New York for the obligatory 10 years or whatever bullshit, you are not a New Yorker)


Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Welcome to New York Motherfucker

I read a comment someone wrote on someone’s website today that left me rather perplexed. I’m paraphrasing, but it was something along the lines of “SEA used to be cool before it was overrun by Guidos and Bridge and Tunnelers.” For those of you who might not be familiar with SEA or the term “Bridge and Tunnel,” SEA is a trendy Thai restaurant in Brooklyn (there’s another branch in Manhattan, but the Brooklyn one’s better). “Bridge and Tunnel” is a derogatory term that refers to the residents of New York City who do not inhabit the borough of Manhattan, and thus need to take a bridge or a tunnel to get to it. Hailing from Queens, I am a proud Bridge and Tunneler.

If you put two-and-two together, you’ll see that this comment makes little to no sense because SEA, as a restaurant within Brooklyn, would primarily be patronized by Brooklynites (or Bridge and Tunnelers) from the onset. Thusly, it would not become less trendy by being frequented by them. Right? So, maybe it’s the Manhattanites who caught wind of this “hotspot” within the recesses of this elusive and exotic place called Brook-linn who started to invade and ruined the ambiance of SEA.

My point: I don’t know if I’m the only New Yorker who has noticed this, but of all the people I know who live in Manhattan, I only know two who were born and raised there. And they grew up in rent-controlled closets in Chinatown, also known as “reality” so I don’t know if most trendy Manhattanites would count them. Of the remaining residents of Manhattan, most are from outside of New York entirely (a different country or state) and the remainder are from other parts of New York City (Queens, Staten Island, Brooklyn, the Bronx, Long Island). Yet, many of these Manhattanites love to throw the term “Bridge and Tunnel” around and show an enthused level of disdain for New Yorkers who do not live in Manhattan. I could really go on and on about this phenomenon, but you pretentious folk know who you are, and I would just ask that you ponder for a moment before the words, “Ugh, fucking Queens” or “I don’t leave Manhattan unless I’m taking the Jitney to the Hamptons” enter your mind or escape your lips. Ask yourself, “Was I born here? Have I ever actually been to Queens? Maybe leaving the potato farm to pursue my modeling career wasn’t such a good idea because I’ve been blowing photographers for months now and still no dice.” Manhattan is the business hub, it’s where the hipsters go to pay too much for their bad beer, it’s where you meet people who are not from New York, but if you want to understand New York, you have to understand that there’s a whole other chunk of it beyond the confines of the Hudson and East Rivers and above Central Park East/West (because Harlem and Washington Heights don’t count as Manhattan either to you freaks). So please, don’t look down on me for being from Queens, look down on me because I’m an asshole and I’m bitter and I just wasted thirty minutes talking about how much you suck.

Thank you.


A Cautionary Tale

Keeping in line with the "oh for the love of God and all that is holy" disgusting theme that B set up with his last post, here is something a friend of mine posted on his website.

From a 92.3 morning radio show (that's a radio station in NYC, and former home of Howard Stern, for those of you who aren't from around here):

A listener emails:

"I'm in my late 20s and like many of your listeners, during my early 20s, I've slept around quite a lot- unprotected. Every weekend, I'd go out to parties, get drunk, and pick up one night stands. Then I noticed a 'growth' in my [private parts] so I went to a doctor. I was told that I had contracted herpes- the doctor recommended that I also take an HIV test. I now understand what they mean by the most agonizing couple of weeks of your life. The test result was positive. I took another exam and that test result also came out positive. Now I just don't care. I go around to parties and have unprotected sex all the time. Life has dealt me a bad hand and now I'm dealing it back. I got a pretty stressful job and life so I break out all the time. So I try to spread it as much as I can- I consciously rub my sores on to gym equipments, in restaurants, public toilets, etc."

Another listener calls:

"That [censored- above emailer] should get the death penalty! I have a cousin whose husband broke down one day and confessed that he had HIV. Apparently this [censored] went to Puerto Rico before he got married to my cousin and had contracted HIV from his ex-girlfriend. And this [censored] decided to propose to her and have kids anyway. My cousin just tested HIV positive but thankfully, the kids were not."

UGH. It's enough to make me buy a containment suit.


Monday, July 17, 2006

Tape Worm Vendors


Does "Kum Gang San" mean "tape worm vendors" in Korean?

So I went to Kum Gang San yesterday for lunch and ordered their overpriced sushi lunch. When the plate arrived, I noticed that one of the pieces of sushi was moving. Upon closer inspection, there was a maggot or a worm squirming around in one of the pieces. It looked like it was trying to get free, and at one point, I think I heard the little fucker say, "Wait! Don’t bite in yet! Let me get outta here first!"

Obviously I got very upset and called over a waiter. First they tried to argue with me and tell me they couldn't see the worm. But once the waiter saw the worm, he couldn't hide the look of disgust on his face. Without apology, he ran over to the other waiters, who all proceeded in congregating around the worm and laughing at my expense. The waiter came back and told me he'd bring me a new plate. Of course I said, "Hell no" and asked for something else, but what I really should've done was storm out and report the incident to management.

They ended up avoiding my table like the plague because they knew I had more complaining in me. I’m a little angry at myself for not making a bigger deal out of it. Needless to say, they charged me full price for my meal.

So for the best tape worms in Manhattan, check out kum gang san over in Korea-town:

Kum Gang San ($$$$)
Korean, Japanese, Sushi, Barbecue

49 W 32nd St, New York 10001
btwn 5th Ave & Bway

Phone: 212-967-0909
Fax: 212-967-3999

Sunday, July 16, 2006


My cell phone rings.

"Hey L, whatcha doing?"



"Watching TV. Mythbusters. Blah."

"Wanna come to (blank)?"

"Neh...I'm just gon' stay home."

"You sure?"


"Uh, okay."


Lack of activity, brain functions becoming rusty. Hence the block.

My back hurts from lying prostrate in front of the television at strange angles. Switching positions to avoid the direct blast of the air conditioning, returning when I start to feel droplets of sweat collect on my nose. So far I've watched three Mythbusters marathons, 20+ hours of baseball (including Yankee games), five movies on HBO on Demand. My brain has become putty. Ooze. Soon it'll start to drip out of my ears in thick, grey, chunky splats like freshly mixed cement.

At least now I know that you would drift safely to the ground if you fell from a plane atop the inflatable slide, Jawbreakers can explode and burn you, it's impossible to die from your own flatus, a bullet shot into the air cannot land on your head and kill you.

Important stuff, really.

Bear with me. I have an interview next week for a job I don't want. Should be interesting.


Friday, July 14, 2006


Sorry, but I've been hit with another case of Writer's Block. While I'm at no shortage of ideas to bullshit on, I just can't get myself into the creative mode necessary to do them justice. Being unemployed, at odds with my mother, bored, and ridiculously stressed out has taken a pretty severe toll on my ability to engage people. So you're just going to have to sit on your hands and wait until I'm good and ready to write something that's going to offend you so you can leave me an anonymous comment and tell me that I suck.

I don't have another witty survey question for you, but if you can think of something you'd like to get everyone's opinion on, feel free to suggest it. If you suggest something so good that it cures my Writer's Block, I'll give you the rights to my first-born and undoubtedly ugly (damn that karma) son.

Until then, remember, "don't buy drugs. Become a pop star, and they give you them for free."


Monday, July 10, 2006

Unemployed Mondayisms

Sorry for the lack of posting, but it was my first week of freedom since I quit the soul-sucking job. And it was a hectic one at that speckled with my birthday, B’s birthday celebration, Julia entering a contest type thing of sorts, Dog getting sick and me generally engorging myself with food and alcohol and stressing out about being unemployed. Writing on the site is proving to be difficult when I’m not getting paid (read: wasting billable hours) to do it and there are delicious distractions such as cable television 24 hours a day available to keep my me occupied in a zombie-like trance.


1) Unemployment sucks a big fat one, but what’s worse? A job you hate with a steady paycheck or no job and no money? I guess the best situation would be to find a job you love that pays well, but not all of us can be Paris Hiltons and get paid to do absolutely nothing.

2) Getting paid to do nothing would be pretty awesome. I would finally have the time and money to take tap-dancing lessons and go to sniper school and learn how to stunt drive. I’d probably get a lot of massages too.

3) There is a giant mutant fly in this room, and as I am wildly afraid of insects (yes, I know they are significantly smaller than me, but I still find them terrifying as all fuck), it keeps buzzing around my head in all it’s giant mutant glory and breaking my concentration. I had to stop three times in the middle of typing that last sentence to flail blindly at it with a magazine to get it away from me.

4) Raise your hand if you think that YouTube is the best thing to happen to our society in the last five years. *raising hand*

5) Speaking of which, everyone must watch this. I’d like to speak to Don Hertzfeldt and ask him, “What the fuck?”

6) I’m going to see Superman on IMAX today. Unemployment, 1 – Employment, 0


Friday, July 07, 2006

Friday Morning Debauchery


Oh my God... I'm so drunk right now. How the hell am I at work?

So we had a group training session yesterday because we needed to learn how to navigate through a new system. Supposedly, this system would improve efficiency within the sales team. The meeting consisted of 3 team leaders, 2 managers, 1 V.P. and 20 operations managers (myself included) and to ensure that we attended, they made us sign in on a roster sheet.

Apparently, someone had signed in as "Dick Hurts".

Now they're going around the office questioning all of us and asking if we wrote "Dick Hurts" on the roster sheet. How the hell is it possible for management to keep a straight face while asking, "Are you 'Dick Hurts' ?" I've been sitting here trying hard not to shit myself from laughing. In the interim, I'm doing a great job raising suspicion.

I'm thinking that a corporate sign-in sheet isn't the best place to announce hygenic issues with your penis.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Have A Pregnant Day

This is a post I wrote while working at my other life-draining big bank corporate job at Storgan Manly (name of company has been changed to protect their reputation). If you are/were a pregnant lady, get ready to be offended.


She was so beautiful. I used to walk by her cubicle every day just to hear her voice and see her smile. She was like a Latina princess. She had the body of a goddess and the face of an angel. She smelled like flowers. She used to make my day. But one day, all that changed. She was no longer made up of sugar and spice and everything nice. Instead, she smelled like piss and shit, and acted like a bitch. At first, I couldn't figure out what was wrong with her. However, as the days progressed, I noticed that her belly began bulging. After her stomach became bulbous enough to be unmistakable, I dropped onto my knees and screamed at the skies, "Why lord, why!? Oh why did she have to get pregnant!?" She stopped wearing makeup, and every day she became louder, bitchier and uglier. After a while, she disappeared into the land of maternity leave, and the Spanish princess I once knew became but a bittersweet memory.

I frantically looked around at the cubicles surrounding my cubicle and started making a quick head count. "One, two, three, four, holy shit five! Five fucking pregnant hippos!" It was like a movie, "Attack of the Pregnant Ladies". I’d hold up a chocolate bar and they'd all charge my cube like a raging stampede of hungry hungry hippos. I wondered why there were so many pregnant ladies at the same time and my theory was that it was because it was currently winter so they probably got pregnant late fall. This would be perfect for a summer baby, a time when the baby had the least chance of getting sick, or any other complications at birth. But others told me I was wrong and told me it was because during late fall, everyone just wanted to stay indoors and fuck. It was too cold to go out and do anything else.

I made imaginary names for the pregnant hippos, and the most feared of them all was Ogre. Ogre’s upper body was twice the size of her stubbly legs, she was approximately six foot three, and she must've weighed two hundred and eighty pounds pre pregnancy. She spoke loudly on the phone all the time and whenever she got angry, her monstrously enormous head would turn red, and she would grunt loudly. The strange thing is her boyfriend. According to the pictures all over her desk, he was approximately five foot nine, and a hundred and eighty pounds. He also looked like a normal guy. The mental image of her crushing him, forcing him to impregnate her sends the most turbulent chills down my spine, and I pray for this man. I hear her yelling at him on the phone, and others who know ogre tell me that her boyfriend's a quiet nice guy. Lord have mercy on you poor sir.

The wicked witch of the west wing whispers wishes within her womb. She whispers into her belly button, "Please be a girl. I already have a boy so please be a girl." She walks around and says matter of factly to the twin blondes, "Oh I know it's going to be a girl because she's kicking a lot more than my son did. They say if it kicks more..." and yadda yadda yadda, the reasons go on and on. I secretly hex her womb and wish it to be another boy. One of the twin blondes sits right next to me so I get to hear all the baby talk I can take. They speak of how post pregnancy sex compares to pre pregnancy sex. They talk about how the baby kicks the bladder, and pee almost gushes out. I used to think a c-section was a part of a classroom reserved for only mediocre students. I pretend to ignore the extremely offensive discussions, and quietly fill my trashcan with vomit. In between these absurdly disgusting discussions, the twin blonde who sits next to me asks me questions. "Hey, I’m trying to open up this web page, but I already have another web page open. How do I do it?" I walk over to her desk and double click the internet explorer icon. Another internet explorer window opens. "Oh my God! That’s amazing B! Now I have two internet explorers open! You’re a genius!" I almost start crying at the stupidity of it all, but instead, I just say, "Thanks" and walk back to my desk.

The wicked witch of the west wing walks while waving. "Goodbye" she says to us all, and I reply, "Have a pregnant day! I mean... have a pleasant day!" She walks over to me with steam coming out of her hormone-infested ears and punts me to the other side of the room, from cube a1 to cube d8. Well, I'm exaggerating, we don't assign letters and numbers to the cubes, and I just said it to illustrate how far my body was actually projected. The ogre walks over to me and sits on me until I say, "uncle." I cry the whole way home.

All day I’d listen to these women vomiting, talking about what they can no longer eat, getting into detail about the anatomy of their own bodies, and crying out of nowhere. I’d be comforted by the fact that a few aisles down there were others who shared my suffering. I walk over to the west wing and hand the witch a water. Her head is down, so I knock on her desk. She looks up at me with tears running down her face. I freeze up, and run away. I tap the twin blonde who sits near my desk and whisper, "The witch is crying. The water might make her melt. You should help her." And so the twin blonde jumps up as bubbly as ever, and skips over to the west wing with a lollipop in her mouth. Meanwhile, I see the other hippos running as fast as their God given legs can carry them towards the bathroom, and I just know that they're holding vomit in their mouths as they run.

One by one, the hippos go to the land of maternity leave, and things quiet down in the office. The last one to go is the ogre, and she tortures everyone in her vicinity while she stays. For some reason the ogre is out to get me. I know this because when I first started working here, the ogre yelled out to me, "I’m out to get you sucka!" If I’m even a minute late to work, the ogre runs to my boss, jumps up and down and shakes the ground to get his attention. She then points towards my desk and chants, "He was late! He was late!" Then she runs to the bathroom to vomit again. She returns to her desk with a bright red smile glowering from her fangs and says, "Told ya I’d get ya sucka!" Then she grunts and runs to the bathroom once again.

The wicked witch of the west wing returns from oz and has a stupefied look on her face. "I had another boy." she says solemnly to the two twin blondes. They congratulate her regardless. Meanwhile I pretend not to hear, but lord forgive me, I crack a smile.