Preeeverts of the Internets, Thinmozation, Etc.

Someone got here today by Googling "jenny 12 year old p*ssy." This person lives in Finland, and is a pervert. Nice job, Finnish pervert person. I've really never been more grossed out by a search term. (BTW, in case you're wondering why I got all prudish all of a sudden, well, let's just say I don't need to encourage the preeeverts of the Internets in their quest for kiddie porn. Yech.)

In other news, I'm on a diet. I know that listening to someone else talk about their diet is about as much fun as watching your Auntie's slideshow of her trip to the Yucatan, but listen: I'm starving over here and if you think I'm going to suffer alone, well, you obviously don't me very well. I am starving, people. My brother-in-law, who went to Ranger School and thus actually knows something about starving, likes to remind people who say that they're actually just hungry. Other than that, though, he's a really great guy.

Anyway. Ramble. Ah! Yes. I'm on a diet because I put on 20 damn pounds this year, via beer-guzzling, cheese-eating, and sitting, and I no longer fit in my pants. Therefore, I am beginning the Great Thinmozation of 2007 -- one month early, cuz I hate starting anything on New Years. So far, I've lost 4.5 pounds by doing Weight Watchers and weeping. You can be sure that I'll keep you informed of my progress, whether you're interested or not.

Help a Reader Day

Loyal Smash reader Tracey wrote to me today to ask for my advice. This is always a mistake, as I'm sure you will all agree. My advice in any case is calculated to produce the maximum entertainment for your friends, rather than solving your actual problems.

For example, if you were a pal of mine, you might call me up and ask me whether or not you should break up with your girlfriend, the annoying one who calls all the time when we're trying to have a beer, for God's sake. I would advise you to so immediately. Further, I would suggest taking out a full-page ad in your local paper. It would say something along the lines of "Hey, Hookerpants*: Guess You're Going to Have to Find a New Sucker to Drive You to New Jersey on Sunday" and it would feature a picture of her with a phone glued to her ear, looking angry, as usual.

Anyway. Fortunately, Trace didn't have a question of this nature. Here's what Trace needs to know:

Jen,

Since you are a savvy NY woman who knows the city, I'm hoping you will be able to give me some advice.

My wife turns 40 in January. I think I'm going to surprise her by packing a bag and taking her on a train trip to NYC. I understand that there are plenty of things to do and places to stay within walking distance of Grand Central Station. Maybe you can provide me a list of "must sees" that my wife would really enjoy. Also, if you have any hotel suggestions, I would love to hear them.

Hope things are going well.

Trace

God, poor Tracey. I sure have him fooled, don't I?

Anyway, trouble is that my NYC knowledge is limited to about four neighborhoods in Brooklyn and a stretch of downtown Manhattan from Delancey Street to 17th. So I'm not much help with the whole Grand Central thing. Which is why I'm turning to you, dear readers, in the hopes that you will have some advice for our pal Tracey. He's being a nice guy and all. Anyone have any ideas?

* Tm AJ Daulerio.

This Sounds Dumb, But...

...this idea might also work. Basically, you're supposed to list three things you're grateful for each day, which will make you more aware of the good stuff in your life, which will make you happier. Makes sense. You're supposed to do this at the end of the day, but I like to get started right away on my self-improvement projects, so that I can get sick of them ahead of schedule. I'm a high-achiever, you see.

So here goes. Three things I'm thankful for, this morning:

1) I have 18 POINTS (tm) for the rest of the day. (More on the Weight Watchers thing later. Let's just say that Tubby had to do something.) This is fantastic, as yesterday I'd eaten all of my allowance by 5 pm, causing me to whine and complain so much that my family is probably pretty happy to see me go back to New York today.

2) I got up at 5:30 this morning, which means that I've already caught up on my email from vacation and gotten quite a few things done. Here at the Smash, we get more done by 8 am...

3) I have coffee. I really feel sorry for those of you who don't drink it. I know I only need it because I'm addicted and all, but the thing is, addiction presents you with an easily achieved goal. And isn't that all one can ask for?

Ma Smash Has a Dirty Mouth

Ladies and gentlemen, there is no hope for me. I am sitting in my parents' livingroom, listening to Ma Smash discuss the fact that most people are not as organized as she is. How does she express this? I'm so glad you asked.

"And she can't find the paperwork! I had the paperwork in that drawer, and now it's not there. She cleaned all my stuff out, and now it's all full of her pussy powder or whatever--"

"Excuse me. What? Her what?"

"Her pussy powder! Pussy powder!"

"OK. What the hell is pussy powder?"

"Ah! OK. See, when I was in college, there was this big thing where we were all convinced that we were smelly. So there was this huge market for powders and sprays and deodorants or whatever. I mean, I didn't use them, because I had a UTI for like 6 years when I was young and was on bactrim and wearing giant cotton undies like a sail. But everyone else was crazy about it. Particularly my roommate.

"So anyway, Barbara and I kept a bottle of raspberry schnapps in the room, for special occasions, like, if it was after exams, or if it was Tuesday. And one day, I had had a little social snort, and her boyfriend -- now her husband -- called while she was out. And he was all, 'Well, do you know where she went?' And I said, 'I have no idea. She was out like a shot. She just powdered her pussy and went out the door.'

"He loved it so much that years later, when your father and I went to visit them, he said, 'You know, Barbara was so excited that you were coming that she completely forgot to powder her pussy.'"

Whereupon, my sister asked, "There's raspberry schnapps?"

And Ma Smash said, "It's so delicious!"

Sometimes, the Mouse and I Shop Online...

...by which I mean, he shops, and I offer my opinions about things he might buy. The Mouse is much more fashionable than I, and also, not as cheap about clothes. When I am a rich person, I will hire him to be my personal shopper. I will look like a million bucks then: 10 pounds thinner, ever much more elegant. In the meantime, I subsist on Prince Street earrings and Old Navy t-shirts from 5 years ago. I do enjoy our conversations, though.

Mouse: Chinos? Who the hell wears chinos?

Me: I hate the word chinos. It sounds like a pejorative word for a Mexican person.

Mouse: It does sound a bit racist.

That's at least as interesting as talking about hems.

I'm Not Really on Hiatus

Via Googlism:

Googlism for: jen

jen is a badass
jen is 34"
jen is having fun with two men
jen is in the
jen is 11
jen is cool
jen is da man
jen is getting her backbone back?
jen is making me do this"
jen is dying because you
jen is the best
jen is an exceptional person who is to be worshipped and adored at all times
jen is something one learns rather than something one is born with
jen is 34 2000
jen is finishing up driver's ed
jen is in the background
jen is at it again
jen is the coolest person ever
jen is a loser
jen is the anit
jen is
jen is all smiles
jen is keen on stopping this
jen is an original glass artist working in and around melbourne
jen is a joe moreira black belt
jen is on hiatus
jen is connected to the following things

Rosy-Fingered Dawn, Etc.

So last night, after a long evening of enforced gaiety with work folk, I got on the F train, as I do, only to discover that the F train no longer went to my home. This was a problem, because:

1) It was 1 a.m.
2) I was sorta loaded.
3) I don't have a third reason.

Anyway, supposedly the G was going to take over for the F, so no problem. You'd think that anyway: In reality, something weird happened that I still can't quite figure out and I wound up going the wrong way on the G, which was still, alas, the G and not the F. When I realized my mistake -- which was quite quickly, thanks very much, as I am a clever drinker -- I got off and asked one of the lovely and helpful MTA employees for assistance. This, as near as I can tell, is what she said:

"RAR RAR RAR! RAR RAR RAR! F TRAIN! G TRAIN! RAR RAR RAR!"

It was terrifying. I half expected her to throw a cat at me and stalk away.

At this point, I realized that the train thing was not working out, so I left the subway and went out to the street to get a cab. Great idea, right?

Um, there were no cabs.

What there was, was a 12 year old cop in a squad car, who very nicely helped me find a cab, and probably had to file a report about the whole thing:

"1.25 am. Drunken redheaded person demands cab. Find cab. Put her in it. How many years again until I make detective?"

The cab, of course, got stuck behind a garbage truck for 20 minutes on my ride home. OK, maybe not 20 minutes. But it felt like it. In fact, as near as I can tell, I pretty much just got home.

I hope you're satisfied, people. I don't enjoy making a fool out of myself, you know. I only do it to keep you entertained.