So I guess I’ll unplug the TV next?

A while ago, I was having a lot of electrical issues at my apartment. The lights would flicker constantly and went completely off several times, for several minutes at a time. When watching TV the screen image would dance around, and the set would shut itself off. The battery on my laptop died completely, just would not hold a charge, after there was huge power surge that popped my circuit breaker and left my apartment reeking of ozone.

I started unplugging my laptop before going to work, and told my landlady that we needed an electrician very soon. When the electrician came and fixed everything, he informed landlady that my meter must be broken as it was hardly moving. She told me this, and told me that I should probably report it, but when I thought about it, I wondered “why would my meter be moving much? The only things that were running in my apartment at that time were the fridge and my alarm clock– certainly they can’t use that much power.

So I’ve continued to unplug my computer both when I’m at work and when I go to sleep resulting in a $5 decrease in my monthly bill. I’ve started subbing in energy efficient lightbulbs whenever the others burn out, I turn off all of my fans when I leave the house, and read by daylight when I’m at home. Now that National Grid announced a 22% rate hike, I’ve started unplugging the TV and DVD player whenever I’m not using them. Frankly, there’s not much else I can shut off/unplug and I just got my electric bill yesterday, which was shocking.

For a girl who’s meter moves so slowly someone thought it was broken– my monthly charge for just electric was $53.85– an increase of almost $20. I can’t imagine what’s going to happen this winter when I can afford the natural gas to heat my place and rely instead on space heaters. I guess I’ll just limit myself to only one room.

Seriously, knock it off, Mac users

I use a PC, I’ve always used a PC. When I bought a new computer recently, one of my good friends (who uses a Mac), said “why don’t you get a Mac?”

I said, “I don’t like Macs”

She said, “They’re really better because of blah blah blah…”

I don’t like Macs; I don’t have to buy one. I don’t like shrimp either– do you want to try to make me buy that next: “it really is a delicious treat from the sea…” bah.

It seems like the Mac using community want to feel equally persecuted and superior. Yes, everyone has an Ipod, but that’s where it stops for most of us. Mac users walk around a world that is set up for PCs, complain when they can’t do homework assignments as easily or they have to use a PC in the lab, and they say things like “I don’t understand, it really is a superior machine…Life is harder for me, but I love my Mac so much…” It’s always “my Mac” rather than “my computer”, or “my laptop.” Just in case you didn’t already know that they were a Mac user.

I can usually ignore this, but then there’s the sense of community. When one Mac user meets another, they bond immediately. They talk about their machines, whether they’re running Tiger or Leopard and how excited they are for the next big thing named after an animal that’s coming their way. They say things like “Why doesn’t everyone just use Macs?” and “I agree.”

This furthers my greater theory that people only want to talk to people that they already know, or that they are exactly like.

This morning I was reading one of my guilty pleasure blogs, Main Pratap Hoon (I know), and someone actually bothered to write a blog about how Bollywood superstar Amitabh Bachchan uses a Mac– just like her (and millions of others)!

Barf.

Maybe they are a better machine, but I will stick with my PC because I don’t like Macs, I don’t want to “get used to it”, and I have plenty of other good things in my life that I can talk about besides my computer.

I’m appalled at the number of appalled mothers there are out there

Now there is a mother out there who recently realized Urban Outfitters sells racy books. This must have been her first visit to the store because I’ve seen racy books, dolls, clothing etc., in that place, ummmm, always.

“On one end of the spectrum was “Porn for Women,” a photo book showing men doing housework. On the other was “Pornogami: A Guide to the Ancient Art of Paper-Folding for Adults,” a guide for making anatomically correct artwork.

‘When I saw it, I was shocked,” Milfs said.’”

Yes, you read right, her name is Milfs. That’s the only reason that this story is worth reading. Take a moment and ponder how it is that appalled mother number 123,467,936,457,623,984,762 is named Milfs.

Every day, every damn day, I wake up and read another story about another outraged mother. I actually got into a bit of a discussion with someone at work the other day about whether or not a rather boring, PG-13 rated, horror movie is appropriate for teens. “How old are you?” she asked. “You don’t know what will scare 13-year-olds and give them nightmares.”

The obvious solution seems to be to shield them from anything potentially scary and let them grow up stunted and doomed to be completely shell-shocked when the real world doesn’t shelter them the way their parents did. I had nightmares as a kid, I have nightmares as an adult. I recently had a nightmare about Oprah– what’s my recourse on that one?

Since when is it a kid’s right to avoid nightmares?

“Milfs was so appalled that she is preparing to file a complaint with the city of Lynnwood, and has already aired her frustrations to State Rep. Norma Smith, R-Clinton, and organizations including Morality in Media, Concerned Women of America and the American Family Association.

She also called Urban Outfitters’ corporate office in Philadelphia.

‘They said they are not sex books or pornography books, but that they are art books and their goals are to support artists,’ Milfs said.

Urban Outfitters declined to comment on Milfs’ concerns.”

On a personal note, I don’t really shop at Urban Outfitters. Their clothes are designed for people who are not shaped like me, and I don’t need a lot of home kitch. I respect what they do, and admire how their clothes look on others. If I was appalled by what was in the stores– I would stop going.

If I was a mother concerned with morality and raising my kids right, I would look at the manequins in the windows and see that they are usually dressed a little bit slutty, then take my teenage daughter to Old Navy. I wouldn’t blame the store because it isn’t what I want it to be.

The logic employed by Milfs seems to that something offensive should either stop being offensive or cease to exist. I’m offended by her and people like her, but I’m probably wrong because I don’t have her kids’ best interests at heart, or maybe I do more than she does. The pornogami was anatomically correct, what the hell is wrong with that? I’m sure the Ken Doll’s smooth area confused more kids than anatomically correct paper figures ever could.

new respect for ants

I feel like when I was a kid, it was constantly impressed upon me how awesome ants are. I don’t know if it came from teachers, parents or what, but it was always stuff like “ants can carry 10x their body weight, hummingbirds can flap their wings 15-80 times per second (depending upon the species), or turtles carry their houses on their backs” etc. It was the wonder of nature conversation that happened quite frequently in state parks, science classes, or just “did you know?” kind of situations.

I would test the ant knowledge, by trying to give ants delicious bits of my lunch whenever I ate outside, just so I could see their amazing strength up close and personal. My grandmother had a hummingbird feeder, so that part of the lesson was covered, but the ants– the most amazing thing I ever saw them do was scurry when I knocked down their home (which my dad showed me how to do with almost perfect results). When I gave the ants delicious marshmallows or bits of candy, they would shun it and chose instead to just wander frantically in circles like they were late for something, but didn’t know how to get there.

I soured on the wonder of the ant.

Until this morning when I saw my cat staring intently at his food bowl. My cat staring intently at his water bowl is nothing new as he is fascinated by the way that water moves and can be manipulated, but rarely is his food ever anything to be impressed by. What he was looking at, I soon realized, was an ant carrying practically an entire chunk of catfood out of the food bowl. This piece of food was easily three times the size of the ant and it was walking on a vertical surface. It slipped occasionally, but persevered, and made a lot of progress. My cat didn’t seem angry at this thieving, he was just as fascinated as I was.

So I took it all in, years after so many people tried to convince me that ants were amazing, I finally got the proof. Unfortunately, all I could think after the amazement had passed, was that this creature had no business in my home. I interrupted his brave and harrowing journey with a quick pinch of paper towel, but that doesn’t make it any less impressive.

why I hate hipsters

SETTING: House party

AT RISE: Tall man is shoved in a corner because of a lack of chairs.

ME

You look like you’re hiding from monsters

HIP

I’m not

ME

Yeah, I know

HIP

I see you’re drinking from one of those POM glasses

ME

Oh am I?

(look at glass)

Guess so, it’s nice.

HIP

Yeah, like every house I’ve ever been to has at least one of those mumblemumblemumblemumble

(Silence)

END OF SCENE

Mommy, what ripe, full breasts you have

I suppose I shouldn’t be completely surprised by this.

If you’re a Beverly Hills mommy who wants to maintain a youthful appearance well past the age at which it is appropriate, how to you explain to your children why you sometimes go away, come back with bandages on, have to say “please don’t snap my healing girdle”, or “Mommy can’t hold you for a while, her chest is a bit tender?” Well, now there’s a book that can tell you how to handle all of these potentially awkward queries, and give your kids valid information with which to discuss your procedures on the playground. Instead of them telling their friends “she got bigger, but smaller… she doesn’t look like my Mommy!” They can say “Her skin was stretched causing it to pucker and while she was at the doctor, they just shaved off that unsightly bump.”

I’m reminded of the book Beauty Junkies by Alex Kuczynski (which I highly recommend), where the author chronicles (with delightful honesty and humility) her own experiences with plastic surgery. Initially limiting her experiences to assorted injections, the author eventually decides to go under the knife and have liposuction. Post-surgery she is feeling fit, lean, and fabulous in her bikini when a little boy approaches her and says something to the affect of “You had fat sucked out of your legs with a vacuum.” She denies this vehemently, after all, what’s the point of having work done if people, even ten-year-olds, know you have.

“No,” the boy insists, “You have those dimples in the side of your leg just like my mommy, and she says they’re from having fat sucked out with a vacuum.”

So there is one mom out there who didn’t need this manual to get through it. Unlike the mother in the article who says that she and her son have read it half a dozen times. Is the kid requesting this? It doesn’t seem like a particularly compelling read to me, but I’m no 4 to 7-year-old.

Also, the doctor who wrote the book, Michael Salzhaur, got the idea after many mommies came into his office with their children who were often frightened and confused. Really? you can afford plastic surgery, but you can’t afford a babysitter for three hours? “Parents generally tend to go into this denial thing. They just try to ignore the kids’ questions completely.” But, he adds, children “fill in the blanks in their imagination” and then feel worse when they see “mommy with bandages,” he says. “With the tummy tucks, [the mothers] can’t lift anything. They’re in bed. The kids have questions.”

The text doesn’t mention the breast augmentation, but the illustrations intentionally show Mom’s breasts to be fuller and higher. “I tried to skirt that issue in the text itself,” says Salzhauer. “The tummy lends itself to an easy explanation to the children: extra skin and can’t fit into your clothes. The breasts might be a stretch for a six-year-old.”

The book doesn’t explain exactly why the mother is redoing her nose post-pregnancy. Nonetheless, Mom reassures her little girl that the new nose won’t just look “different, my dear—prettier!”

The Clash!

JERUSALEM – Dozens of Greek and Armenian priests and worshippers exchanged blows at one of Christianity’s holiest shrines on Orthodox Palm Sunday, and used palm fronds to pummel police who tried to break up the brawl.  From Chicago Tribune.

So this is rather old news, but I want to keep talking about nothing else. It’s rare that true stories are so completely hilarious, and I almost never hear about people beating off police with palm fronds– so it’s worth mentioning again, and again.

I realize that religious strife is a centuries-old tradition, but can people not bury their animosities on this the holiest of days? I really just can’t say any more about it because, oh man.

Ok, I have to, What Would Jesus Do?

Dear Red-Headed Man

I have to say, I had more fun with you this weekend that I have had with anyone in years. When first faced with the idea of spending a long weekend at this conference, I was daunted, to say the least. Thanks to you, it flew by. And once you and I found a common enemy to savage– it was magical. Do you remember, I know you do, when the awful woman from Phoenix want on a rant about proper funding for something-or-other, and you said, “I don’t know how you can call it proper funding for such an improper idea.” Hilarious. It was a magical moment.

You are one of the wittiest, sharpest people I’ve ever met, and you make me laugh hysterically, and we have more interests in common than I do with even my best friends, but I’m sorry to say, I could never date you. You have red hair, and with that comes the pink “constantly sunburned” looking skin. I find this odd and creepy. Maybe I could get over it. The real reason I can never date you is because you don’t look enough like me. I have brown hair, and you have red hair. Even if I chose to dye my hair, or if you dyed yours (which most guys have been unwilling to do), we would still never look enough alike to satisfy me.

I need to be in a couple where people see the two of us walking down the street and say “are they brother and sister, or sleeping together… or are they both?!” I need to create intrigue without doing a thing. I thrive on it. You may be the man of my dreams in every other way, but unless we do nothing but talk on the phone, we can’t have a real relationship.

I know that a lot of people these days say personal standards have become impossible, I agree with that, that why this is my only real criteria for a significant relationship. I want to stare longingly into a face so like my own that it scares me a little. I want to have children who make people puzzle as to which of us they look like, and in old age, I want us to look like identical shriveled peanuts with brown hair.  This is what I need, and I’m sorry to say, you cannot give it to me.

Good luck with everything in the future

That much just for beaver??

I’ve got strippers on the brain.

I just finished reading Candy Girl: A Year in the Life of an Unlikely Stripper by Diablo Cody, which was a fascinating account of the author’s foray into the Minneapolis stripperdome. She explains her obsession with stripping and strippers as something that manifested out of a childhood that was too wholesome. No divorce, no drama, good grades– therefore she was looking out for the “other”. Of course, she got out after a year or so, which most girls don’t do, but most girls have different reasons for starting out in the first place.

So I learned a lot from this book, namely that (in Minnesota at least), fully nude bars cannot serve alcohol. I don’t understand this; is it an issue of sanitation or something? Maybe it’s not wanting to let the patrons have their cake and eat it too. So guys go to these places, spend $9 on cokes (2 drinks minimum), just to see girls without their pants on.

I always thought that going to a strip club for guys was like a male bonding experience: you drink some Bud, have a little conversation, and watch girls flap their boobies in your face. The boobies are kind of a bonus in my mind, but the guys would be there anyway.

This no drink thing takes it to a strange place for me because it seems like men are all too willing to have a rather uncomfortable experience just to see girls completely naked. I could see some people (creepier people) frequenting a place like this, but it seemed like it was doing brisk business when Cody worked there. Also, to put myself in the position of the stripper, it would make me more uncomfortable if everyone looking at my crotch was in full possession of their faculties.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my vagina. It’s fabulous, beautiful, it gets the job done– but it seems amazing that guys are willing to pay so much just for that extra bit. Above and beyond the 2-drink-minimum, there are tips, private dances where the guys are expected to buy the dancer a drink as well– of course this is all starting to sound like I’m just very, very cheap. That ends up being a lot of money just to see girls naked.

I guess, when I saw male strippers, I was very disappointed that it was all ass cheeks and no penis, but I don’t know if I would have paid extra.

So, now I want to know more. It’s so odd to get a glimpse of the giant world that co-exists with “everyday”, but rarely overlaps. I don’t know if it is something anyone can really understand. I haven’t gone to many strip clubs, but when I have, I tend to think of the dancers as people and imagine what they do when they get home. The whole experience is never sexy for me, rarely exciting, and winds up being an exercise in psychology.

Cody said in the afterward that there was very little redemption in the story. Obviously, she is doing well for herself, but the story was “I wanted to do this, I did it, I got tired of it.” It’s easy to forget that there are girls out there who want to be strippers; girls you don’t have to feel sorry for, who are making a killing doing what they are good at.

an open letter to 40-year-old virgins who aren’t nearly as cuddly and non-threatening as the main character in the movie of the same name

Dear Sir:

I realize that you were just trying to be friendly, but I have to tell you– you’re friendliness has a distinct air of desperation-bordering-on-scariness about it. I spoke to you because you are an acquaintance of a friend, and because we were sitting next to each other at the bar. Really I would have preferred to watch the TV.

In the spirit of self-improvement I feel I should tell you that mentioning your match.com account within 10 minutes of conversation (not even constant conversation), is not a smooth move. I am happy that you are on facebook, but you will never be a friend of mine on facebook regardless of how many times you mention it. I don’t know if you could tell, but I didn’t want to give you my last name, certainly not a phone number or email address. I could see you hovering and trying to talk to me again when I had turned away to speak with my friends, that is why I kept my back to you. Also, I wasn’t even really involved in the other conversation, I just wanted to shut you out in the hopes that you would go away.

Are you the type of man who at work eats a lot of carrot sticks and yogurt, but only in front of other people? The type who eat that particular lunch every day, never with any enthusiasm, or really lack of enthusiasm, but still everyone who sees you knows that it’s “diet food”. Everyone knows that you eat heathily during the day, but go home and binge on your fattening food of choice. That’s why, even though you consume 120 calories for lunch eat day, and say you exercise regularly, you never get any smaller.

I appreciate the fact that you like and respect old people, but I don’t really care. I’m sure that as a city councilman, it’s necessary to gladhand the seniors, but do we really need to talk about that? Especially since I never gave you any indication that I like old people, or even know any. Why can’t you re-group and think of something else to say if you insist upon talking to me. I feel like you do this often, and to many girls, perhaps you should have a ready list of topics to discuss in case she seems uninterested in hearing about how you LOVE text messaging and are CONSTANTLY getting text messages.

Was it really necessary for your friend to bring his laptop? We went to this event to watch the primary results come in, and there was a giant screen projecting that to the whole room. Also, you had some kind of hand-held device, which I’m sure has internet access, that I’m also sure would have become the topic of conversation if I hadn’t turned around when I did.  Is it that important that you see immediately what Wonkette is saying? Can’t it wait until you return to your empty bachelor pad and eat ice-cream and cheesecake until you feel slightly ill?  You know you’re just going to re-read it anyway.

The reasons you continue to fail with women are many, but very few have anything to do with anything but yourself.  Take this time to re-evaluate your strategies, or just stop trying.

sincerely,

the female population