Most of my friends are crazy, and this is not an accident.
As a sorta nutty person myself, I only feel really comfortable around the neurotic. If someone seems too self-confident across the board, I tend to think they're either serial killers or really, really stupid. How could you live like that, all puffed up and secure, unless you weren't really paying attention?
A few things I've heard lately from people/said myself, that underscore our (hopefully delightful) neurosis and self-absorption:
The Donut: "Is it nice outside?"
Me: "Yes! Gorgeous! I'm taking a walk through the EV right now."
The Donut: "Can't you stop pressuring me for even a second?"
And:
Mrs. Piddlington: "So what will you write about on [such-and-such a theroretical project]?"
Me: "I don't know."
Mrs. Piddlington: "You must have some ideas."
Me: "Must I? Must I really?"
Mrs. Piddington: -
Me: "Do I really have ideas, Mrs. P? Am I an 'idea-having' kind of person? I'm just not sure anymore."
Mrs. Piddlington: "Are you taking your medicine?"
The other day I was at a party and a friend I hadn't seen for a couple of weeks asked me if I was happy since moving to New York. And I said, oh, yes, delightfully so, etc. He then looked at me very seriously and said, "Are you sure? Because it's OK if you aren't."
So suggestible am I, that I actually had to take a minute to figure out if I was lying to myself. So there you go, advertisers: I am your target audience. Make of my brain what you will.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Hee!
Please peruse the latest Black List, in which Will Leitch shows that he can take a joke with the best of them.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Burn, Black Table, Burn!
Please enjoy the Black Table Roast, hosted by the comedy geniuses at Yankee Pot Roast. My section is here.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Rare Weekend of Productivity
I took this weekend off, for the most part, if you don't count Friday night. (OK, OK, if you don't count anything up til 5 a.m on Saturday morning. All-night diners are my kryptonite.) I promised myself that I'd do some writing, lie around, take naps and so on. I did all those things, but I also got an amazing amount of work done, including reorganizing my papers, selling my old TV on craigslist, cleaning my whole apartment, and returning every phonecall and email I've neglected over the past week. Kind of amazing, actually. The secret of productivity seems to be to decide not to do anything productive at all.
Because of my productive weekend, however, I have no good stories for you. Sorry about that. I haven't left my apartment in over 24 hours, unless you count opening the door for the couple that came to take my TV away, so I have no run-ins with the homeless, or funny stories about boys, or amusing anecdotes from the subway. I have, however, slept for more than 20 hours total and eaten so many vegetables that I'm practically a rabbit.
It was half past time for this. I was getting so worn out that I felt cranky all the time. Too much work and too much fun.
In fact, the other day, I was walking along the street, rethinking something from work and feeling half-awake and in need of a vitamin shot, when I realized that I was talking to myself. It was a cold day, so I was wearing a long coat and a small black hat and scarf. And then, from the opposite direction, along came a woman, just about 60 years old, wearing a long coat and a small black hat and scarf. She was elegantly dressed, but clearly a crazy person. And she was talking to herself. And I thought, "OK, that's it, I'm taking this weekend off." And, of course, then I realized that I'd said that aloud.
Hey -- I found a crazy person story for you guys, anyway! Don't say I never gave you nuthin'.
Because of my productive weekend, however, I have no good stories for you. Sorry about that. I haven't left my apartment in over 24 hours, unless you count opening the door for the couple that came to take my TV away, so I have no run-ins with the homeless, or funny stories about boys, or amusing anecdotes from the subway. I have, however, slept for more than 20 hours total and eaten so many vegetables that I'm practically a rabbit.
It was half past time for this. I was getting so worn out that I felt cranky all the time. Too much work and too much fun.
In fact, the other day, I was walking along the street, rethinking something from work and feeling half-awake and in need of a vitamin shot, when I realized that I was talking to myself. It was a cold day, so I was wearing a long coat and a small black hat and scarf. And then, from the opposite direction, along came a woman, just about 60 years old, wearing a long coat and a small black hat and scarf. She was elegantly dressed, but clearly a crazy person. And she was talking to herself. And I thought, "OK, that's it, I'm taking this weekend off." And, of course, then I realized that I'd said that aloud.
Hey -- I found a crazy person story for you guys, anyway! Don't say I never gave you nuthin'.
We Are Family
Cuz: (Somewhat drunkenly.) I just wanted to call to tell you that you're my favorite Jennie and that I love you so much.
Me: Aw, thanks, man. I love you, too. I really appreciate the call. I needed it tonight.
Cuz: Are you blue?
Me: No, not really. It's more like my face is collapsing and covered with wrinkles and fine lines and that I have no ideas and not much talent and I'm a fraud.
Cuz: (Pause.) Are you blue?
The wrinkles and fine lines obsession is a new one, or relatively so, and has gotten worse in the last day or two because I decided to go get my eyebrows threaded on Friday.
"You want your lip, too?" The lady asked.
"What? No. I don't -- do I need my lip, too?"
She looked at me with great pity. And then, because I always want fries with that, I allowed myself to be upsold.
Here is the problem with getting your whole face threaded and then going back to work: You wind up sitting at your desk with a swollen face. I informed my coworkers that I would be facing the window for the rest of the day, and not to take offense: I just didn't want them to have nightmares.
The problem with threading or plucking of any kind, of course, is that once your face is all swollen and bare, you can feel free to visualize the teensy beginnings of wrinkles that you'll probably get in about ten years. By the time I finished my makeup at the gym that afternoon, I was nearly in tears.
All this to say that I am terribly vain, but you all knew that already. However, I am fun at parties. And now I am virtually hair-free. Really, you can't ask for much more than that.
Me: Aw, thanks, man. I love you, too. I really appreciate the call. I needed it tonight.
Cuz: Are you blue?
Me: No, not really. It's more like my face is collapsing and covered with wrinkles and fine lines and that I have no ideas and not much talent and I'm a fraud.
Cuz: (Pause.) Are you blue?
The wrinkles and fine lines obsession is a new one, or relatively so, and has gotten worse in the last day or two because I decided to go get my eyebrows threaded on Friday.
"You want your lip, too?" The lady asked.
"What? No. I don't -- do I need my lip, too?"
She looked at me with great pity. And then, because I always want fries with that, I allowed myself to be upsold.
Here is the problem with getting your whole face threaded and then going back to work: You wind up sitting at your desk with a swollen face. I informed my coworkers that I would be facing the window for the rest of the day, and not to take offense: I just didn't want them to have nightmares.
The problem with threading or plucking of any kind, of course, is that once your face is all swollen and bare, you can feel free to visualize the teensy beginnings of wrinkles that you'll probably get in about ten years. By the time I finished my makeup at the gym that afternoon, I was nearly in tears.
All this to say that I am terribly vain, but you all knew that already. However, I am fun at parties. And now I am virtually hair-free. Really, you can't ask for much more than that.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Shabu Shabu: Japanese for "Expensive Egg Dish You Make Yourself"
Many of my friends are cultured individuals who grew up in New York and have traveled the world in search of ... I don't know what, because I don't understand them, but let's just say that I'm betting none of them ever spent two hours looking for pizza in Paris. Which I have. Just so you know what you're dealing with, here.
This disparity in our goals, inner make-up, etc, makes it hard to find a late night snack sometimes, especially when we're drinking. Example:
Friend: Oooh, we should get dumplings.
Me: Do they have cheese?
Friend: No, they're like ... you've never had dumplings?
Me: Is there gravy?
And so on.
Usually, I win the argument and drag them sighing into a pizza joint. But sometimes, because I grownups are expected to "compromise" and "listen to people" and "pretend to care," I have to eat something that is not primarily Wonderbread and Ragu.
As a result, I wound up in a Japanese place the other night where you cook your own food at your table in a pot of boiling water. Your "food," BTW, consists of weird-looking mushrooms, various sea creatures that might still be alive and definitely were an hour ago, scraps of unidentifiable land mammal and a big chunk of lettuce. Also an egg, which the Mouse explained to me is meant to be cracked into your sauce dish and mixed with various condiments, for dipping. I want to repeat that, so that I can be sure you understand this: You are supposed to dip your food, excuse me "food," which you have cooked yourself, for $15, into RAW EGG and then eat it. And then, when you get food poisoning and wind up in the hospital, one assumes that the nursing staff will triage you to the Room Full of Assholes Who Have Only Themselves to Blame, where you will occupy a gurney next to a late-stage alcoholic and a tourist who got shanked by a homeless dude outside Bowery Mission while examining a giant map and wearing a straw hat and holding his wallet in his teeth.
The dips themselves were confusing. There was green stuff and white stuff and a couple different bottles of red stuff. I asked the Mouse to show me the soy sauce for white people, and he gave me what looked like a pitcher of maple syrup.
"Is this maple syrup?" I asked.
He shook his head sadly.
"Cuz I like maple syrup."
No dice.
At the table, he showed us how to turn on our burners and crack our eggs and prepare the sauce. For some reason, my burner worked best, so my water started boiling before anyone else's.
"Why is hers boiling?" Madcat asked. "Why isn't mine boiling? Mine is broken. It doesn't work."
So the Mouse had to get up and adjust her burners. By this time, I'm sure he was wishing we'd just gotten pizza.
"What are you doing?" he asked me.
I was up-ending my dish of egg and soy sauce into the boiling water.
"I'm making myself a poached egg."
He paused. "That's almost brilliant."
"I have excellent coping mechanisms."
Later, I got a slice of pizza.
This disparity in our goals, inner make-up, etc, makes it hard to find a late night snack sometimes, especially when we're drinking. Example:
Friend: Oooh, we should get dumplings.
Me: Do they have cheese?
Friend: No, they're like ... you've never had dumplings?
Me: Is there gravy?
And so on.
Usually, I win the argument and drag them sighing into a pizza joint. But sometimes, because I grownups are expected to "compromise" and "listen to people" and "pretend to care," I have to eat something that is not primarily Wonderbread and Ragu.
As a result, I wound up in a Japanese place the other night where you cook your own food at your table in a pot of boiling water. Your "food," BTW, consists of weird-looking mushrooms, various sea creatures that might still be alive and definitely were an hour ago, scraps of unidentifiable land mammal and a big chunk of lettuce. Also an egg, which the Mouse explained to me is meant to be cracked into your sauce dish and mixed with various condiments, for dipping. I want to repeat that, so that I can be sure you understand this: You are supposed to dip your food, excuse me "food," which you have cooked yourself, for $15, into RAW EGG and then eat it. And then, when you get food poisoning and wind up in the hospital, one assumes that the nursing staff will triage you to the Room Full of Assholes Who Have Only Themselves to Blame, where you will occupy a gurney next to a late-stage alcoholic and a tourist who got shanked by a homeless dude outside Bowery Mission while examining a giant map and wearing a straw hat and holding his wallet in his teeth.
The dips themselves were confusing. There was green stuff and white stuff and a couple different bottles of red stuff. I asked the Mouse to show me the soy sauce for white people, and he gave me what looked like a pitcher of maple syrup.
"Is this maple syrup?" I asked.
He shook his head sadly.
"Cuz I like maple syrup."
No dice.
At the table, he showed us how to turn on our burners and crack our eggs and prepare the sauce. For some reason, my burner worked best, so my water started boiling before anyone else's.
"Why is hers boiling?" Madcat asked. "Why isn't mine boiling? Mine is broken. It doesn't work."
So the Mouse had to get up and adjust her burners. By this time, I'm sure he was wishing we'd just gotten pizza.
"What are you doing?" he asked me.
I was up-ending my dish of egg and soy sauce into the boiling water.
"I'm making myself a poached egg."
He paused. "That's almost brilliant."
"I have excellent coping mechanisms."
Later, I got a slice of pizza.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Oh Grumble, Grumble
I'm out of sorts these days, for a variety of reasons. One is that I'm on the New Hotness Diet and Exercise Plan, so I'm tired, sore, starving and pissed off. Another is that I am so over dudes, and I know you've heard that before, but this time, I mean it, I swear. Those other girls are kidding, but I have never been more serious. In the last week, I have had at least two conversations with dudes about the Dating Siesta and its implications for their behavior (or at least my reception to their behavior) and neither took it well.
Also, I'm pretty sure my friends are tired of hearing about all of this, which is why I'm bothering all of you with it. Ordinarily I try to shield you from the less entertaining aspects of my life, my little pumpkins, but it's either this or a therapist. And ever since my last therapist stalked me, well, I've been a little gunshy.
My guy friends do not understand my dilemma at all. The Mouse for example, set down his beer and glared at me.
"Now let me get this straight," he said. "You're telling me that your big problem right now is that men want to have sex with you?"
"When you put it like that, it sounds stupid," I admitted. "But listen, that's all they want."
"Honestly, most of the time, that's all any of us want. That and beer. Oh, and an Xbox 360."
And then I went and lay down in the road. No, I didn't. I just blinked twice to let the fog clear and said, "But the problem is, that's all they want."
I have many problems, but perseverance isn't one of them. (Or, depending on how you look at it, it's the only one. Hmm. Hmm.)
Later this week, I caught up with my friend Deete on IM. Most people like to start their IM conversations with a simple, "Hey, how are you?" I like to open with a poll:
Jennie SMASH!: so let me ask you a question
Deete: go
Jennie SMASH!: do i seem like a giant ho-bag?
Deete: ohyes
Deete: i've always said that about you
Jennie SMASH!: because i'm on this dating siesta, and 80% of my male friends seem to think they're going to coax me into the sack
Deete: ha
Deete: um just want what they can't have
Deete: esp. if you've made it known that you're on the siesta in the first place
Jennie SMASH!: well, that might have something to do with it
Jennie SMASH!: but it's starting to piss me off, not to put it too strongly
Deete: i could see that
Deete: it would be one thing if they were sincere
Jennie SMASH!: exactly
Deete: but you can tell they're not?
Jennie SMASH!: but it's not really a compliment
Jennie SMASH!: oh, they're sincere
Jennie SMASH!: they sincerely want me to remove my pants
Jennie SMASH!: and i'm sincerely sick of it
Deete: you should write just that in your blog
Jennie SMASH!: i think i will
Also, I'm pretty sure my friends are tired of hearing about all of this, which is why I'm bothering all of you with it. Ordinarily I try to shield you from the less entertaining aspects of my life, my little pumpkins, but it's either this or a therapist. And ever since my last therapist stalked me, well, I've been a little gunshy.
My guy friends do not understand my dilemma at all. The Mouse for example, set down his beer and glared at me.
"Now let me get this straight," he said. "You're telling me that your big problem right now is that men want to have sex with you?"
"When you put it like that, it sounds stupid," I admitted. "But listen, that's all they want."
"Honestly, most of the time, that's all any of us want. That and beer. Oh, and an Xbox 360."
And then I went and lay down in the road. No, I didn't. I just blinked twice to let the fog clear and said, "But the problem is, that's all they want."
I have many problems, but perseverance isn't one of them. (Or, depending on how you look at it, it's the only one. Hmm. Hmm.)
Later this week, I caught up with my friend Deete on IM. Most people like to start their IM conversations with a simple, "Hey, how are you?" I like to open with a poll:
Jennie SMASH!: so let me ask you a question
Deete: go
Jennie SMASH!: do i seem like a giant ho-bag?
Deete: ohyes
Deete: i've always said that about you
Jennie SMASH!: because i'm on this dating siesta, and 80% of my male friends seem to think they're going to coax me into the sack
Deete: ha
Deete: um just want what they can't have
Deete: esp. if you've made it known that you're on the siesta in the first place
Jennie SMASH!: well, that might have something to do with it
Jennie SMASH!: but it's starting to piss me off, not to put it too strongly
Deete: i could see that
Deete: it would be one thing if they were sincere
Jennie SMASH!: exactly
Deete: but you can tell they're not?
Jennie SMASH!: but it's not really a compliment
Jennie SMASH!: oh, they're sincere
Jennie SMASH!: they sincerely want me to remove my pants
Jennie SMASH!: and i'm sincerely sick of it
Deete: you should write just that in your blog
Jennie SMASH!: i think i will
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