| Sorry, this isn't about farting or sex* |
Has anyone else noticed that the Jews for Jesus are out in DROVES lately? They're handing out so much goddamned literature in the subways! It got me thinking about their cause.
Headquartered in San Francisco, California, the Jews for Jesus have embarked upon a summertime campaign (this is all according to their website) to make themselves a visible presence in New York. They will utilize the talents of about 200 missionaries and are organizing direct-marketing efforts to the Orthodox and Reformed populations, even going so far as distributing DVDs in Yiddish to people's homes. As the Js for Js like to say in their mission statement, "We exist to make the messiahship of Jesus an unavoidable issue to our Jewish people worldwide." <---- Bossy! So much for that whole no proselytizing thing! Out the window, it seems. I suppose that the argument can be (and has been) made that Judaism is both a culture and a religion, meaning that it could be possible to be both Jewish and Christian simultaneously- they wouldn't necessarily be mutually exclusive. (Disclaimer: I'm not saying that I necessarily subscribe to any camp in particular in terms of this argument, but one can't ignore the fact that Judaism as an ethnicity would be a relevant topic, especially in Israel where it could affect government monies, property laws, the legality of marriages/divorces, etc. That's all I'm saying.)
But overall, especially in this country, we tend to associate people who define themselves as Jewish as Jews- people in observance of the Jewish faith. Right? I understand that the Jews for Jesus have experienced a widely varied and convoluted spiritual path (probably) to get where they are today, but I still just find the essence of the movement so confusing. Superficially (based entirely on the group moniker), its kind of a giant oxymoron. And I won't even go into how most of the Jews For Jesus people (according to a New York Times article) weren't born in to the Jewish faith at all- they are Christians who are fond of evangelizing with this particular organization.
Regardless of how I feel about this whole thing, one can't argue with numbers. The Jews for Jesus have amassed a large membership. They have T-shirts, books, videos, jewelry, and lots of other goodies available in their online store. Their stuff isn't cheap either, and I'm nothing if not entrepreneurial, so I'd like to announce on this public forum that I have started a few groups of my own. Send me some cash and I'll send you some clothes that will tell all the world of your newfound faith.
Ahem.
Nuns for Satan: Who says you can't be a bride of Christ and the devil's mistress at the same time? As a nun for Satan, you will come to understand that though you have entered in to a committed and loving relationship with the son of god, you may need a little lovin' from Lucifer. Fallen Angels Do It In Church- that's our bumper sticker. Man does not live by bread alone...nor do ladies. Catch my drift?
Celibates for Promiscuity Whoring Around: To really "drive home" how important it is to not have bunches of sex, and to illustrate our commitment to our lifestyle, Celibates for Whoring Around believe in intense nymphomania. Perhaps through observation of our meaningless (yet deeply satisfying) lifestyle, we will gently guide potential boot knockers into our fold. On our website's store, we'll sell condoms. But they will be mostly imaginary and come with some knitting one can do.
Doctors for Christian Science: Healthcare schmealthcare. Who better to know the virtues of praying yourself well than a trained medical professional? As Doctors for Christian Science, we realize the fallacies of modern medicine and are ready to guide you to optimum health through spiritual healing. We sell tic tacs and you pretend they are pills.
Vegetarians for That Big Hot Dog Eating Contest On Coney Island or Whatever: Self-explanatory.
Hey, I'm not calling myself a "guru," or a "prophet," or anything like that. I'm just a girl who is dedicated to (fiscally) enhancing the lives of others (myself) through revamped metanarratives (selling shit online).
That's just my cross to bear.
*Sorry. I actually did end up talking about sex. Big surprise there, eh?
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| Discontented. |
1) My eyes itch.
2) Lattes are pricey.
3) My blog is too pink.
4) I'm cold.
5) I'm tired of being polite.
6) I want more money.
7) Come clean my room.
8) These shoes make one of my toes look fat.
9) Date me. |
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| Why isn't anyone sitting next to me? |
This morning on the subway, I was reading my book, texting, drinking coffee, and putting on lip gloss simultaneously. I multitask like this pretty frequently, and it explains why there are rose-colored smears and coffee stains on most of my clothes. Nevertheless, I noticed that the man to my left and the woman to the right were both eyeballing me surreptitiously, trying to get a look at my bookmarks.
I have a habit of picking up pamphlets for anything, anywhere. I like to pore over them to see if the medical malady, political party, or religious affiliation advertised is something I DESPERATELY NEED/HAVE in my life. It makes for an odd collection of reading material, which I also recycle as notepads, place holders, etc. So I shouldn't have been surprised when people were a little caught off guard by my pamphlety bookmarks today:
1) Seborrheic Dermatitis And You
This one has a person standing, all lonely-like, up against a blue-tinted brick wall. The phrases "redness and scaling," "oiliness of the skin," "cradle cap," "seborrhea," "causes," and "treatments" dance around his head like so many flaky Sugar Plum fairies. If the pamphlet happens to dangle open, enticingly, like it was today, you can also see close-up illustrations of the man's struggles with Seborrheic Dermatitis. He has face dandruff and eye dandruff and ear dandruff. (Some of the pictures are posted here.) Really, this is a good one. You learn a lot.
2) The Only Hope for Peace
This one was handed to me by a man wearing a Jews for Jesus T-shirt. I took it readily because I knew that was going to go somewhere good. This pamphlet is done cartoon-style (I guess to lure in the kiddies) and shows different examples of peace in people's lives. In one particularly disturbing drawing, people in one house are saying "Ahhh, finally I have some peace" because their younger, party-loving neighbors at long last silent. In actuality, they are silent because their house is on fire and they have been burned to crispy bits.
This sounds like a spiritual path to which I can subscribe! Who's with me?? |
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| In absentia and non sequitur |
This weekend, my roommate and I allowed ourselves to be scooped up and transported back to her homeland of Rumford, Rhode Island. It was heaven! Air, lights, refrigeration...amazing. Her family, as always, was kind and sweet and gracious and welcoming. I went for a run down the "boulevard" and everyone who was out was smiling, waving, saying good morning- it took me a minute to get used to that. I kept panicking, thinking I knew them from somewhere and their names were just on the tip of my tongue.
Now I'm back in the land of the dark. And the stinky. And the hot.
Although, it's not that warm out today at all. I was scheduled to be at the hospital at 6:00 AM because we had a study patient that I had to work with before his surgery at 7:15. When I show up, I'm told the schedule has been changed and the patient is no longer available. Meaning I carted my ass uptown at the crack of dawn for no goddamned reason.
I'm trying really hard not to be annoyed by it. I'm failing.
A little later, I went down stairs for a big bucket o' coffee to perk me up. I found my favorite roast, I added a little cinnamon and some splenda, and I began the eternal hunt for skim milk. No skim! Anywhere! My cafeteria friend, Sammy, told me that there was no skim today. (Actually, he has an accent and it comes out like "skin" which is mildly unappetizing and alarming but not at all his fault- "No skin, baby, no skin. We wake up wi' no skin today." "MY GOD! Sammy, that is awful! Get yourself to a doctor, NOW!")
Whatever, I'm not some delicate-little-latte-sipping-mince-around-in-my-Egyptian-cotton-sheets princess! I can drink black coffee! No problem!
And I did drink it, like the hardened, jaded, cynical, medical professional that I am, or that I pretend to be. It was pretty good, too. But it gave me the ole Caffeine Eye Twitch.
The first time I noticed the CET, I was in college. I had three jobs in addition to what was essentially a double major, so I was a busy gal. Fortunately, two of my three professional roles were Barista, so I got to be pretty talented at caffeine consumption. A not-so-pleasant side effect was a weird little twitch that I developed in one eye. It's usually in the top lid, but it's been known to manifest itself in the bottom one. I can always see it and it is distracting, but it's not uncomfortable or anything. I know this is not an uncommon side effect (my mom gets it when she has too little sleep) but it is annoying, none the less.
Once, during a twitch fest my eyes decided to hold, I asked that lying bitch The Suzer if my twitch was noticeable. She looked me square in the face and said "No, not at all. Is it doing it right now? I can't even see it, and I'm sitting right next to you." Relieved, I went back about my business. A little while later, in class, I accidentally and awkwardly caught the eye of a guy I didn't really know at all. At that exact moment, my eye gave a nice wiggle, just to let me know it was there. A slow grin spread across his face, and he looked right back at me and gave a very. deliberate. wink. A WINK. He thought I was giving him my come hither stare. I gasped out loud and pinched The Suzer. Because she didn't fight back, she must have known that she had it coming.
Nobody is at work yet and I'm having a hard time not eating lunch at 9:15 in the morning.
Perhaps I will post more later. You like that, baby? |
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| I'm really in the dark about this whole thing... |
So to bring those of you who don't live in my apartment up to speed, Astoria has been without power for some time now. It's gotten fairly ridiculous- some people have been without electricity for three days. THREE DAYS. The big blackout lasted, what, a day and a half, tops? This is affecting far fewer people so should theoretically be resolved much faster, and yet here we are, still sitting around in the dark.
I'm not even going to pretend that we have it rough. Hell, last night the girls and I changed into blackout dresses (party dresses that we've been needing to justify), drank all the champagne in the fridge (it was going to spoil!), paraded around Astoria taking pictures, and then went over to some friends' houses to play board games by candlelight. We had a grand old time. The most roughing it we had to do was hold the flashlight for each other while we were brushing our teeth. I'm no Ma Ingalls (as is evidenced by my inability to pee outside) but I can handle that.
However, at 25, I am the oldest occupant of our house. We're young. We don't have kids. We aren't ill, we're not delicate (I'm not even that ladylike), we're not caring for our parents or grandparents or whomever in our home, and we don't have pets- these comprise a fairly UNIQUE set of criteria in my neighborhood. My neighbors are all either quite old or they have babies. How the hell are they supposed to handle this? God forbid you have a diabetic child who needs her insulin refrigerated.
Everyone has thrown out food. Parents just keep pouring water on their kids to keep them cool. A lot of people are sleeping outside because it is cooler. It's easy to do, too, because we have no distractions from:
1) Streetlights
2) Traffic signals
3) ATMs
4) Banks
5) Anyplace that would have formerly accepted a credit card
6) Restaurants
7) Grocery stores
8) Our cell phones (the service towers have been affected- I guess they need electricity too)
9) A lot of regular house phones (we're too poor for this amenity, but some people have phone service but no electricity use the actual phone)
Whatever. Sorry to be a crank pot. Like I said, I can't even pretend that I'm struggling that much, especially since Peter Vallone (our little councilman) told me that Con Ed will reimburse us for some of our spoiled food. (Astoria Residents: Call 917.881.8757, and Peter Vallone will give you a claim form for spoiled food! You can also pick one up at 22-45 31st street, 2nd floor.) I think I'm just frustrated and going through caffeine withdrawal because I can't get any coffee anywhere in Astoria because you need electricity for that.
Also my vibrating bed doesn't work anymore.
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| What Not To Wear |
Excerpt from a memo written by my department administrator (bolding is mine):
Employees are expected to dress in a business appropriate manner while at work. Items of casual attire or style (such as shorts, bathing suits, bathing sandals, slippers, t-shirts, halter tops, tank tops, overly tight fitting clothes, spandex, low cut tops, mini skirts, jeans, denim, sneakers, hats or head coverings, etc.) are not to be worn. All tattoos or body art must be covered while at work. Jewelry worn in an uncovered, pierced body part must be removed while at work with the exception of up to two business appropriate earrings per ear lobe.
Translation:
Dear hoochie fatties and fatty hoochies,
Stop wearing swim suits to work. And your shower shoes have to go. You're not in the dorm! PS- Everyone knows that you are wearing totes toasties on your feet. Scuffies do not shoes make. Don't gain weight. Take out all of your hand piercings. Only have earrings if they are dollar signs.
Love,
The Administrator
I'm in trouble, you guys. I snapped this picture of me on my office floor so that y'all could see what I'm wearing. Do you think they'll notice that I'm not exactly in code?
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| Extra, Extra! Read All About It! I Was Right All Along! Of Course! |
So, some of my more loyal readers (mostly me) may remember me discussing my brother's upcoming "vacation." He had decided to embark upon a fool's journey, hitch hiking across the United States. Again.
He left yesterday. He delayed the start of his trip because I was coming home for the weekend and he thought we could hang out. This is mostly how we bonded the whole time:
Me: Don't do it.
Brother: Why not?
Me: It's fucking stupid.
Brother: I know you don't agree with my choices, but I fe...
Me: Choices schmoices. Why can't you go to Cancun like other idiots your age?
Brother: You know I'd hate that. I want to interact with people.
Me: Join Match.Com.
Brother: You're not being very supportive.
Me: You're fucking stupid.
So you see, he's lucky to have me around. Anyway, he left for his adventure around high noon yesterday. He had packed an army duffel and his guitar. I made him take a jar of peanut butter and a bottle of water. Other than that, he wasn't too "burdened" with things like "supplies," or "money," or "maps." He was planning on making money by playing his guitar at the on ramps of highways. Because that has been such a successful money making tool for other people. I hear that is how Maroon 5 started out.
As he promised he'd do, he called my mom around 4 pm to check in. Everything was fine and dandy, he'd gotten a ride from a nice lady who took him pretty far and now he was back on his own two feet and loving the Feel Of America's Soil Beneath His Chuck Taylor Brand Sneakers. My mom passed this little nugget of info to me via voicemail which I checked upon reaching New York. A few hours later, she calls again, with slightly less invigorating news.
Apparently, shortly after he hung up with her, he passed out on the side of the highway from HEATSTROKE. (Did I mention to you that in Missouri-the land of my youth, and the land that I was visiting this weekend-it was in the triple digits, several days in a row? I HAD suggested to my brother that starting a walking tour mid-July may not be the best idea he's ever had, but he was pretty convinced that he could seek shelter in the highway underpasses, or beneath trees.)
Highway patrol was called by some kind passer-by, and my brother was taken to the local emergency room. He was rehydrated (3 liters of saline, thank you very much), treated, and released a few hours later. He called my mom from a hotel room saying that perhaps he should rethink his trip.
At one point this weekend, I mentioned to my mother that I hoped he was arrested early on in his travels, as I thought that might scare him into coming home and being normal. Turns out this might have worked just as well. |
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| Brihtday Praty... |
So last night, Lolo, La Chanteuse, and I went out to gluttonously celebrate my birthday. It was fabulous. We started off at a little Greek restaurant in my neighborhood where we ate of the appetizers and drank of the carafes. We actually drank of three carafes. Assuming everyone was pulling her weight, which we were, that is one carafe per girl. Yum.
Things are kind of a blur from there on, but I know delicious desserts were involved, and more drinks, and...party hats? And pizza, and bonnets, shots, and light up rubber ball with tentacles, Jaeger bombs, and accidental make outs. Disgraceful.
We all also learned valuable lessons about presuming your waiter is gay and trying to set him up with your friends, and then giving him your phone number to facilitate said set-up, and then later when he calls and says "We're at the pub! Come over!" and you run over there, he decides to Make His Move and it becomes abundantly clear that maybe he isn't as gay as you thought...yet.
I will introduce you to the cast of characters.
Me:
<----- Drunk as a skunk. The waiter of ambiguous sexuality is behind me. My hat cost $1.29. Also, I look busted. Shut up, it was raining really hard all night.
Lolo: 
<---- She's really a hero. We found this mirror on our walk home, decided we couldn't live without it, and she carried it ALL BY HERSELF, like a CHAMP. In the rain, even! Note her hat and her happy happy face. The next morning we woke up to find this enormous mirror in our kitchen. Still not sure what we're going to do with it. We're thinking coffee table.
La Chanteuse: 
<--- I spoke with her the next day and she said she woke up to find that three living room lights were on, as were the kitchen and bathroom lights, her laptop was on and open ("Apparently I'd been doing some things," she said) the kitchen sink was running, her fan was on, the tv was blaring, and the blinds were open. And she wasn't wearing any pants. 
<---This is a pile of underwear. We'd reached that point in the evening where it was no longer acceptable to be wearing undergarments. They had to come off, bar or no bar.
Needless to say, we were all terribly hungover in the morning. Lolo didn't get out of bed until 1:40 PM. La Chanteuse had to stay home from work, and I went to work late and looked so bad that my boss gave me an syringe full of an anti-emetic.
How do rock stars do it? |
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| Oh no! Where will Screech live?? |
Y'all.
Apparently, Screech from Saved By The Bell (and from The Worst Stand Up Hour In The History of Illinois Wesleyan University) is flat broke in the middle of Wisconsin. And he is MAD about it!
He has no money to finish paying for the giant house that he built. His credit is really bad so nobody can save his weird, D-list little ass.
His site is so strange. He alternately refers to himself as a "famous celebrity" and as a "working man."
Plus, did you guys know that Screech is actually spelled Screeech? I thought it was a typo. But turns out, 3 e's up in that shit.
Things that make you go "Hm." |
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| Somebody here needs a Miracle Ear. |
So today I was in holding at work, which is where they keep patients who are just about to go into surgery. There was this absolutely ADORABLE young intern there. He was getting ready to give an epidural to an old guy. While he was prepping we were Flirty McFlirtersons. I was feeling as desirable as one can when wearing scrubs and an OR bonnet.
Then this happened.
Me, turning to Holding Nurse: Excuse me, but do you know in what OR they will have Mr FakeName?
Nurse: For...?
Me: Oh, sorry. He's having surgery with Dr. Madeup and Dr. Invented.
Nurse: Forrrrr...???
Me, growing concerned about protecting confidentiality: Um, I think, to...um, he needs his...
Nurse: FOR?
Me: His prostate!
Nurse: FOR!
And only when the entire unit starts laughing do I realize that Nurse Pseudonym has been screaming FOUR at me, not "for," as I'd thought. It was like an Abbott and Costello sketch, assuming those usually end with the tragic heroine blushing an alluring shade of fuschia and scooting from the room as fast as her stubby little legs will carry her.
Think he'll call? |
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| THIS IS THE GROSSEST THING I'VE EVER WRITTEN |
This is what Lolo and I decided while we were eating oreo balls, reading gossip websites, and watching Lost reruns tonight.
Joaquin Phoenix is so hot, that we would have sex with him
-in the subway
-during rush hour
-in the butt
-also there's a homeless man and he and Joaquin both jizz on you
-and there's a homeless woman. Who lolo says is crusty.
-she licks it off
-and all the while, we are eating a Grey's Papaya.
So Joaquin, if this sounds good to you, call us! You must provide your own crusty homeless people. We'll bring the fucking gross hot dog. |
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| If you are my family, don't read this one |
So a little while ago, I was seeing a very nice young man who I hope never finds this blog. He was tall, and handsome, and moderately funny, and he had a very respectable and boring job doing something with money and trades and funds and sharezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...Gah! Sorry. I dozed off for a minute there. Whatever, his job was dull. But sometimes good people have boring jobs, so I wasn't going to let that stand in the way of a beautiful, passionate affair that could have lasted for days.
However, let the record show that I was willing to give this relationship a chance. Sorta. Regardless, this gentleman and I were in bed one night having just engaged in a beautiful fifteen seconds of love. I was kind of annoyed already, so I was mostly just concentrating on falling asleep. I guess I wasn't showing him the post-coital tenderness that he needed, because he held up part of the blanket and encouraged me to take shelter under it.
Except he used baby voice. No lie.
It was this odd, squeaky, high pitched coo. It was bizarre. Certainly not the voice I imagined coming from this enormous man with virility in his veins.
The whole exchange went like this:
Him: Hey, hey! You want some blanky?
Me: Excuse me?
Him: Blanky! It's warmy! (At this point his voice is higher and cracky and softly screechy. I can't even explain it. I feel like if you tried to have phone sex through a kazoo, it would sound like this voice.)
Me: Why are you talking like that?
Him: It's a warmy blanky!
Me: You mean, it's electric? An electric blanket?
Him: Warmy! Snuggly?
And you show me a woman who can resist a come on like that and I will show you a liar.
In reality, I was so disturbed by the whole thing that I shoved myself in to the crevice between bed and wall and pretended to be asleep for a while. Then when I couldn't take it any more, I got up, got dressed, and left his apartment, claiming I had to be somewhere.
It was five AM. Almost.
Labels: babies, sex, weirdos |
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| Type II diabetes, you sexy siren! |
So this weekend, I was fortunate enough to travel to Hershey, PA to visit Dawg. We had ourselves a grand old time. She attends medical school in the Sweetest Place On Earth. I didn't believe that whole candy hype going in, but it's so true: there's fucking candy EVERYWHERE. And there are crazy chocolate confections the likes of which you've never imagined. I'd head into a gas station in the morning for my usual gallon of coffee (Dawg and her roommate don't drink coffee- I know, I don't get it either) and I'd make a beeline for the wall of java in the back but somehow, every single time, by the time I'd gotten up to the front, I'd have discovered approximately 9876523 candy treats that needed my attention. Never have I been moved to gluttony faster. Please see below:
All in all though, the weekend was great. I met all of Dawg's lovely friends, we drove out to Mill Hall PA to see JarrodBaby perform in Joseph and The Amazingly Gay and Eyeliner-y Dream Shawl, we did some shopping amongst the Amish, and we partied like rock stars. So successful!
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Name: A Lover and a Fighter
Home: New York, NY
About Me: "It is a very sad thing that nowadays there is so little useless information."
-Oscar Wilde
See my profile...
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