Sunday, January 27, 2008

Lazy Sunday

The upstairs neighbors are vacuuming. I think they should come down here and scrub out my bathtub, since they're feeling so energetic. It's unlikely it will get done otherwise.

I am in the midst of the laziest weekend I've had for some time. The last few weekends, I was either away or I had house guests, and next weekend I'm at Fashion Week, so now's my chance to indulge in sloth. Here's how slothful: I took a shower, finally, an hour ago, put on fresh pjs and my red sleeping suit, which is basically a blanket with foot and hand holes cut out, and I am now back on my couch.

I plan to drink tea and watch Most Evil all afternoon. (Since we know that I don't watch anything that doesn't feature ghosts, serial killers, or Tim Gunn. Poor Tim Gunn. I'm not sure what he did to deserve such company.)

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Like a Candle in the Wind

Coworker Dennis: Is it just me, or did Heath Ledger die completely the same way as Marilyn Monroe?

Oh my God! You're right.

Coworker Dennis: "All they could say was ... Marilyn was found in the nude."

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

RIP, Heath Ledger

Me: OMG.

Anonymous Friend:
I know. Heath Ledger is dead.

Me: No - dude, I found the apartment he died in.

A. Friend:

Me: Utilizing the power of the Internets. See?

A. Friend: WHOA.

Me: It must be right up there. Fifth floor. This is so freaky and sad.

A. Friend: I dare you to call up and ask if there are any apartments available.

Seinfeld didn't seem funny to me until I moved to New York, either. This kind of whistling past the graveyard only really works in a big mean city.

For reals, though, what a sad thing. The latest seems to be that the pills they found with the body were OTC sleep meds.

Monday, January 21, 2008

Shirts for the Fat

There's a Bowflex commercial playing now that wins my vote for the most hilariously offensive commercial since Subway promised me I'd lose my boyfriend if I ate fast food. The commercial features the usual steroid cases flexing and lifting and showing off their baby-oiled pecs. And then this guy tells us that, thanks to Bowflex, he's found a better use for his old clothes:

"I gave my old fat clothes to my fat friends!"

What a guy! One might rightfully wish bad things to happen to such a "friend." For example, a fixation with those diet supplements that make you poop oil slicks.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Totes Possible That I Am Going to Live

After sleeping much of the past two days, I am pleased to announce that I'm going to survive this cold. This is very exciting, because yesterday, when I couldn't even really haul my laundry down the stairs, I was not at all sure.

I would like to say that I think it's unfair that a person who spends as much money on vitamins and hand sanitizer as I do should ever get sick. It seems like all that crap should be Sick Insurance of a sort. But apparently no.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

The Big News

I'm going to be an auntie!

Mrs. Piddlington is expecting a Pidlet sometime in July. We're hoping it's a Cancer and not a Leo, as she's a Scorpio and Mr. P is a Sagg and that's just a whole lot of people who aren't willing to listen to reason. I'm only a little bit kidding. She lives in San Francisco, but I have no excuse.

I am way ridiculously excited about this. I put her sonogram up over my computer at work. It's a very cute baby and I plan to fill it full of candy and shake it upside down at every opportunity. Then I will give it back and race off laughing.

Not an Original Observation, But...

...if birth control pills gave 80-year-old men erections, they would be distributed for free at every clinic, doctor's office, and pharmacy across this great nation of ours. Instead, I just had to pay fifty goddamn American dollars (or 11 Euros) for my baby-go-ways, because my health insurance hates vag.

Or something like that. There was some fine print and I wasn't feeling up to arguing. Which is how they get you.

OMG, So Sick

This weekend I went on a trip to Vermont, and because such a thing is apparently not allowed, I got the worst cold I have ever had. Really: It's the worst one.

Symptoms of said cold:

1) Exhaustion, such that I had to pause whilst walking up the one flight of stairs to my apartment.
2) Sinus pain, pressure, and swelling, such that my glasses seemed to be floating over my face a wee cushion of distended nose-bridge.
3) Nose-runniness, such that I might as well cram a whole dang box of Puffs Plus up there and have done with it.

But mostly, I just feel gross. I've spent most of the day sleeping and the rest of the day complaining. The worst part is that I fought this bastard off for about a week before caving, leading me to believe that an extra vitamin C tablet at the right time might have spared me this.

Erg, blerg, back to bed.

Monday, January 7, 2008

The New Hottness on Ice

I went ice skating tonight for the first time in ... uh, I dunno how long. I think the last time I went, I had to stick a pillow in the butt of my snowpants to protect my tailbone. In fact, I should still do that, but now I am vain. Anyway, it's been awhile.

I bought myself ice skates because I decided that I want to start getting some exercise outdoors. A day after they arrived, it became unseasonably warm in NYC, which seems like it would be a problem, but actually isn't: The ice only melts a little in the outdoor rinks, for whatever scary chemical reason, and you can skate in a sweater and feel very sportive indeed.

I skated for an hour at Bryant Park tonight and every muscle in my body hurts. That was unexpected. I remembered that my ankles would hurt. My shoulders were a surprise though. I think it's because I wave my arms around in a protective manner. Also, my voice is hoarse from yelling, "Watch out! Ahhh! Be careful!" Etc.

One thing that hasn't changed: Creepy dudes still hang out at the rink trying to pick up girls. One guy tried to talk to me THREE TIMES. The third time, he said, "I don't know what I'm doing right, but I've lapped you!"

Ew. I know. I can't even.

Anyway, here's a tip if you do go skating this winter: Steer clear of the people with wet asses. They have fallen down and will do so again, most likely once they're right in front of you.

You're welcome.

Atrophy Appropriate to Age

A couple weeks ago, Ma Smash got whacked in the head with an X-ray machine at work. She's a nurse, so this isn't as strange as it would be if, say, I were whacked in the head with an X-ray machine at work. Anyhoo, she got a concussion and had to have a head CT, among other tests. The result of the CT, while not at all bad, was a bit depressing to her.

"I need some cheering up," she said today on the phone. "When they showed me my CT? The doctor said..."


"Nothing bad. Ugh ... he said my brain showed atrophy appropriate to age."

"But that's not bad?"

"No, except that I'm old."

I thought a minute. "OK, here's what it's like. Oh! Here's what it's exactly like. It's like when I asked my gyno for Gardasil and she said I couldn't get it, because I'm a super-old whore."

"Jennifer Hubley. She did not say that."

"Well, no. But she thought it. And she laughed."

Mom paused. "Atrophy appropriate to age."

"I know what. This will cheer you up: We'll go find that doctor and kick him in the balls."


"Sure. And you know you love to watch shows where people get kicked in the balls."

"I do!"

It's a very strange relationship that we have, but it works.

Sunday, January 6, 2008

Other People's Phone Conversations

A guy outside on the street is saying, "I'm an asshole. I'm an asshole. No, I'm an asshole." Over and over again. Maybe he is. Who am I to say?

Can I Get a Witness?

My neighborhood is being overrun by Jesus freaks.

I don't even know what kind they are, because Jesus freaks are so terrifying to me that I can't even engage them in conversation. We used to have a lot of Jews for Jesus in my neighborhood (or Jesus for Jews, or Jesusy Jews Who Like Candy, or Secret Squirrel Christians or whatever) but they seem to be gone now. They would mostly stand on street corners with their literature, asking everyone if they were Jewish and smiling creepily. Way easy to dodge. My feet have little wheels on the bottom, so I can maneuver around that shit. These news folks, though ... they're another story.

They come to your door, for one thing. Today I was enjoying a much-needed nap, when my doorbell rang. Figuring it must be either a) presents for me or b) Drunken Mouse, lost and drunk and confused about his address, I got up and pressed the intercom button.


"Hello, my friend and I were wondering if we could get your opinion on the Kingdom of Heaven ... hello? Hello?"

I just let them talk and got back on my couch. What a weird way to start that particular conversation, though. It seems like asking for trouble.

Thursday, January 3, 2008

Good Help

Coworker Dennis: when is your date and where?
Coworker Dennis: I want to sit with a giant menu at the next booth
Coworker Dennis: even if it's at a bar. i will bring my own giant menu
Jennie Smash: please do
Jennie Smash: where's your date tonight?
Coworker Dennis: TBD
Coworker Dennis: if it happens
Jennie Smash: it'll happen
Jennie Smash: or you can just come on mine
Jennie Smash: "this is my chaperone, dennis"
Coworker Dennis: wouldn't that be funny?
Jennie Smash: we'd have to film it
Coworker Dennis: "he's going to sit between us"
Jennie Smash: "it's important that he likes you, so do what he says"
Coworker Dennis: and then he can ask questions like "where are you from originally" and i'd whisper to you not to answer it
Jennie Smash: ha ha ha
Coworker Dennis: then i can pull you away to all the different dates you have to go on while you apologize

Tuesday, January 1, 2008

My Horoscope Is Good, Though

A dog tried to bite me last night. I really hope this is not an omen for 2008, because I've been having such positive feelings about it.

Stacey and I were coming back from the Dresden Dolls show, which was amazing, BTW, and going back to her place so that she could write me a check for the ticket. (Five bucks says I lose it. I still can't find my Christmas check from my grandparents.)

As we walked up Union, a guy came by with a little chihuahua on a leash.

"Aw, how cute!" I said, and leaned forward. Whereupon, the little bastard lunged at me snarling, and tried to bite my hand. When I drew back too quickly for that, he snapped at my calf. I could actually feel his nasty little teeth bouncing off my tights. If his owner hadn't pulled him back, I'm pretty sure I would have spent the rest of the first hours of '08 in the ER getting my calf reattached.

What would Cesar do?