Just Cause She Dances on a Pole...

This past Saturday found me (and five friends) swinging around a pole in 6-inch heels and underwear.

No joke.

It also found us learning the finer points of the strip tease, the exotic dance, and how turn a plain old chair into something obscene. Oh right, and it taught everyone else how to pick up a $20 dollar bill with their thighs (this was the one skill that eluded me and will, I expect, until I stop going to the gym).

PhiloNYE now has the potential to turn into something very disturbing indeed.

You see, I am stupid. Very stupid. I am even more moronic when Liquid Stupidity hits my bloodstream. On top of all of this stupidity there is a distinct lack of grace and an even larger lack of shame. I am nothing if not a proud and drunken giraffe in a china shop.

Unedited pictures, I am sure, will be posted after the New Year by my compatriots and I expect more than one to include involuntary shots of my panties and/or me falling off of a street sign pole, legs in a pretzel that I won't be able to untwist on my own.

...and I expect to be smiling like a fuckin' moron when all this goes down.

Republicans don't eat soy.

...and now we know why. Clearly, it's because soy is an active ingredient in homosexuality - among other things. It also causes breast cancer and pediatric leukemia, stunts penile growth, and causes early onset menses*.

Oh, right, and soy kills babies too. Can't forget that.

This man and people like him actually believe that soy = the devil's food. Now kids, that's not to be confused with soy sauce. Soy sauce is fine because it's been fermented. Perfectly safe. High sodium content? Psh. Sodium doesn't increase your risk of heart disease at all.

Clearly, I need to rethink my dietary choices.

EDIT: I guess I'm not the only who finds the bible-totin' retard linked above annoying - even Scientific American has posted a response in it's blog.

*for all you boys out there who got to watch Fantasia in primary school when the girls had to watch a mom make the female reproductive system out of pancakes in "I Got It!" menses = period)

Who missed me???

Yes, dear readers (if there are, in fact, any of you left) I am still alive. Apologies for dropping off the face of the earth but you see, unlike Tom (http://a20261.blogspot.com) I actually have to do work at work.

So why you might ask, am I not working right now? Why instead am I updating my very neglected blog??? I'm not going to beat around the bush on this one - my work laptop died and I can pretty much do diddly squat until a new harddrive is purchased and my information is all recovered.

God bless my IT department that actually does their job.

Quick life update only as I still do have things I can hypothetically be doing at the moment without the aid of my stored files.

*Work
Work is swell. I finally found a job that treats me well, has cool people, allows me to work from home and/or create my own hours (more or less). Indentured servitude is finally over and I have reached the promise-land!

*School
I am now 24 - that is viable adulthood, my friends, and it still scares the shit out of me. What scares me even more though is the very idea of pulling together my graduate school applications and taking the accompanying STANDARDIZED TEST. Um, hi, ETS, can you please not be such douchebags this time around? Don't stand there looking shocked - I haven't forgotten the SAT Math debacle of 1999.

*Personal
I'm blonde again and, for the first time since The End of the Relationship, enjoying the single life. This may be because I finally realize what a Dave Matthews listening tool box the boy was... or it could be because I preferred a nice book to a roll around in the sheets with Mr. DMB any day. Who knows? Better yet, who cares?

You Can't Make This Up

From: IT Guy
To: Chasing Ordinary
Subject: Hi

Hi,

I hope I am not out of line, but you look like million bucks today! Not that you don’t everyday…just a little more so today. Have a good rest of today. :)

IT Guy

Celebrity Look-a-like Contest

I have a co-worker who insists that I look like Elliot from Scrubs. This is not the first time someone has told me this. Actually, I am quite frequently told I look like Elliot and/or Kirsten Dunst.

I for one, am sick of these two comparisons. Which one is it?


Kirsten Dunst?


Sarah Chalke?


...or just Lindsay?

A Conversation

Lindsay: so... elephants were definitely just walking down Main Street in Cambridge.
Christian: Elephants??
Lindsay: Yes - the circus is in town.
Christian: Ha, apparently
Lindsay: They're heading to the Garden.
Christian: But it's so cold out for the elephants!
Lindsay: They have thick skin.
Christian: Soooooooooooo saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad.
Lindsay: Stop being a baby.
Christian: I'm just kidding. Fuck the elephants! That's what I really think, obviously.
Lindsay: No its not, you felt bad.
Christian: ….they're warm-weather mammals!!

Postsecret

I don't know about the rest of you, but I love me some postsecret.

Every Monday I come into work, grab my coffee, and stall for at least a half-hour by looking through this week's secrets. Sometimes they're funny, sometimes they ring true for everyone, and sometimes... well, sometimes they give me just the kick in the ass that I need.

2006: The 3/4 point

2006 has, without a doubt, been the most emotionally turbulent year I've had. Ever. And it's not even over yet. Some highlights and lowlights from this year are:

(+) Bonye06 was a great time.
(+) Meeting my baby cousin Keegan who is cuter than your baby cousin. Or your baby.
(+) Seeing my grandmother survive open heart surgery.
(+) New job. The peace out to Pohly was well needed.
(+) Realizing that there are people in this world that I can trust completely with my whole mess and knowing they won't judge or exploit me.


(-) Losing one of the women who raised me to cancer and not being able to attend the funeral.
(-) Dan Skillz. Everything about Dan Skillz from his car to his obsession to his stalker like tendencies. This hatred actually spans back to 2005 and the biggest mistake of a tradeoff I ever made.
(-) Do You Still Hate Me? Yes, yes I do.
(-) Relinquishing control and having it blow up in my face. Big time.
(-) Repercussions of the biggest mistake of a tradeoff I ever made still slapping me in the face. This is closely tied into the above control issue.
(-) New job not being the escape that I so foolishly had hoped it would be.
(-) Losing friends to foreign countries and different corners of the globe.

Clearly, the low points are winning out right now - unfortunately, they show no signs of letting up.

Fuck you, 2006.

Sexual Harrassment and Civil Rights, too

I, like thousands of others in the world, choose to go the Planned Parenthood for my preferred method of contraception. It's cheap, it's easy, it's convenient, and it's necessary; rubbing my stomach and chanting "No baby, no baby, no baby" probably wouldn't be as effective as the pill.

This morning, I made my tri-yearly visit to the neighborhood Planned Parenthood to pick up the afore mentioned pills that I've been on since I was wee lass full of spritely spunk. In all these years, never have I ever had a problem doing this.

Today was different however, and I found myself dodging people trying to force their religion on me as I made my way inside to do nothing more than pick up a prescription. Retired women with nothing but time on their hands holding signs and their ridiculous male counterparts bee-lining towards me, propaganda clutched in their God-fearing fists, images of damnation for my harlot-like ways coming to life as they spoke.

Which brings me to my real topic: the rights and freedoms of the patient vs. the rights and freedoms of the peaceful protester.

I understand that protest is part of every American's constitutional right to free speech - I do. However, what I don't understand is how shoving propaganda in my hands, ears, and face is not harrassment. They're not just standing outside and chanting; they're not marching to get the word out - they're mentally and verbally attacking.

Granted, it's a public street and a public demonstration... but I'm a citizen and have rights too, don't I? A right to not have my personal space violated. A right to not feel threatened when going to the doctor's office. Certainly I have a right to keep my private life private.

Is the law protecting these people's rights or is it simply allowing them to violate mine?

How to Annoy Me

Play hot and cold games with me. You want me, you don't want me, which is it? Figure yourself out and then get back to me - I don't have time for indecision.

There are days when I, much like every other American worker on the planet, hate coming into work. I'm tired, I'm sluggish, and goddamnit if I don't wish I could stay in bed all day eating leftover domino's and watching 10 Things I Hate About You. These are the things that make me human.

Unfortunately, along with my humanity comes my sense of responsibility - professionalism, if you will. So, regardless of how much I hate to do it, I drag my skinny butt out of bed and into the shower.

Today was one of those days... until now. You see, I've just found out that my KICK-ASS company has been keeping butter flavored secrets from me on the 14th floor. That's right, free popcorn. And not crappy free microwave popcorn. No sir. Free, fresh, movie theater popcorn. From a cart.



My office now officially kicks your office's ass.

Always late, never early

Two weekends ago, Super Best Friend and her boyfriend came up - much merriment for sure ensued. As I am wicked busy at work today and don't have the time to properly fill anyone in on anything, below you can find a pictoral summary of events.


Bask in the glow of the jager.


Drink the jager in one hour. ALL of it.


Take drunk photos of self and Super Best Friend. Head out.


Pass out before midnight.


Some other good times about this trip in no particular order: having a hamburger thrown in my vegetarian face in Harvard Square, the BodyWorlds exhibit at the Museum of Science, stealing a ride on the commuter rail, Super Best Friend and boyfriend getting along famously with Peru, and table taps with crayons at Big City.

Super Best Friend Weekend

This weekend my very first roommate from my very first college will be visiting from NY with her boyfriend in tow. Fun filled activities for two of my favorite people in the entire world include: a Duck Tour, Ghosts and Graveyards – a Tour of Haunted Boston, and some dinner at Cheers.

Keep your eyes peeled for us this weekend.

If you see a tour guide holding the largest bottle of Jägermeister available above her head whilst adjusting a fanny pack full to the brim with nips this weekend that would be us.

A pictorial recap of our misadventures in tourist Boston and beyond will follow next week.

Astrologically Fucked

I'm sort of obsessed with my star sign - whenever I get a spare moment I am constantly reading up on all things Scorpio. These studies are often accompanied with many awed noises as well as a few light bulbs of clarity beaming over my head. Today was no exception and a new website revealed these not-so-fun-but-totally-true facts about my psyche:

If Scorpio can't tell it like it is, Scorpio prefers to keep quiet. It should be mentioned that Scorpio has quite a few secrets. Scorpio has forgiveness issues...

We could write a whole book about the looks that Scorpio gives. We'd have a chapter on staring and a chapter on x-ray vision. No doubt people say things about Scorpio's eyes: "If looks could kill," "I feel like you're mentally undressing me," etc. ~ Hotscopes.com

Why blame myself when I can pass the buck onto my star sign? Seriously, people.

How to Charm Me*

Pick me up from a horrible, 6 hour train ride and give me food that doesn't smell like a pickled foot preserved in crisco. Later on that night drive me home and help me with my bags... even though its 1 am on a work night.

*I don't know who started this "How to Charm Me" post title but it's a keeper.

Boston Transportation System

Taking the T in Boston during rush hour is what I imagine taking the subway in Hong Kong during any hour is like; overflowing with people who are all desperately trying to push and shove their body into a space the size of an American Girl doll.

Fortunate for Hong Kong, the average Chinese citizen is not the size of the mother from What's Eating Gilbert Grape?.

Unfortunate for Boston (and all U.S. public transportation systems come to that), the average American is closer in size to Mrs. Bonnie Grape than say, the average terrestrial inhabitant, making the morning commute a disgusting tangle of foreign limbs that you cannot put a piece of paper between.

Further exacerbating the spacial issues are Stair Sitters*. These are the people who, instead of standing like the rest of us that don't live in Newton or wherever else the T originates, just plop their ass down wherever they see fit. They are usually obese and reading a piece of junk food literature.

As luck would have it, this morning I was the lucky bitch** whose feet got sandwiched between two of the largest Stair Sitters around, both with noses buried in the McDonald's of literary efforts.

Once they realized their airspace was being violated by a few inches of skin and bone, the Chewbacca noises started along with a few elbow rolls purposely bumped against my jeans for good measure.

Tradtionally, this is the point where a person will try to move and end up grinding against someone else so that the Stair Sitters are appeased.

This is also the point where the only movements I make are from ballet class.



A harumph to get us started? My feet make the move from fifth position to fourth.

Another sigh? Third position.

A wookie mating call perhaps? Second position.

Silence usually follows. Sometimes they even stand, too annoyed to read anymore of their Jennifer Weiner book with Cameron Diaz on the cover.

*By nature, Stair Sitters are rude motherfuckers.

**Unfortuately, by nature New Yorkers can also be rude motherfuckers without the exaggerated exhaling (note: we are not constantly rude, despite popular opinion. Boston is much more unfriendly than NYC).

Why I Want to Move - Reason #28058453

Safety.

This morning my alarm went off at 5:30 am. I woke up but didn't move from the bed. Fleeting and vivid visions of imminent danger kept playing behind my eyes; and, because there's no way I'm going against my seldomly incorrect intuition regardless of how much I want to go to the gym, walking down the dark and deserted street by myself is not happening.

Cut to 7:45 am - I'm getting ready and drying my hair when I hear heavy footsteps in the hallway. This spooks me a bit seeing as my upstairs neighbor usually isn't making a noise until at least midnight. I shrug it off though, assuming that maybe vampires can go outside in the sunlight every once in awhile.

15 minutes later I open the front door of the house to a scene straight out of Law & Order. There are at least 5 marked and 2 unmarked police cars lining my street, each pointed in a different haphazard direction. 4 or 5 officers are outside taking statements and speaking with people about an incident. A few of them keep glancing up at the apartment building on the corner. No one is available to field my questions or placate my concerns.

Too preoccupied with my morning to work, I im'ed roommate to see if she noticed anything weird. She mentioned also waking up at around 5:30 but attributes it to a bizarre dream.

I'm not buying that we would both be uneasy at the same time for unrelated reasons... so I call up the good ole' Boston Police Department. I am told that there was a break-in on my street - the other side though, the side that is across 4 lanes of traffic.

No dice, officer. This was something else.

It's like living in a video game

Last night roommate and I were invited to a going away "party" for the friend of a friend who is moving back in with his parents at the age of 24. He's making this move for many reasons, some financial, some personal, all noble. Though, really, you'll see me busking on the street corner before you catch me living back upstate.

The going away "party" was more of a going away gathering that consisted of a bunch of people I don't know sitting around and playing Creed's version of Kumbaya... featuring the second coming of Christ himself. Clearly, I needed to get out of there before Scott Stapp walked in, blessing each ridiculously boring heathen soul as he went.

I inched my way towards the exit with my back to the wall (don't ever show Scott Stapp's followers your back), gathering up roommate as I went. It was time for Our House - a mix of equal parts BU greek life, Allston scenesters, and underage students wtih some young professionals tossed in and blended with a dimly lit room, dingy couches, board games, and alcohol.

At the bar we happened upon some friends and much merriment and hijinks ensued.

Move on to the end of the night and the walk back home where we were met with a delightful assortment of the best Allston has to offer. First up, was the ghetto lova who invited me back to his place for the rest of the evening. Having been brought up correctly I politely declined with a laugh and was on my way.

Seriously - how fucked in the head was this bag of douche to look at me in my hoodie, jeans, and vans and think, wow, that's the type of girl I want to wake up to tomorrow morning. Horror would have ensued on both our parts - mostly mine.

Next in the long line blocking my success in getting home was Gerry who I will affectionately refer to from here on out as "The Village Idiot" -- or "TVI" for short. TVI, clearly trying to get anyone to go back to his place, was pulling out all the desperate male stops, including:

"Justin Timberlake is my cousin." No he's not TVI, if he were you'd be hanging out with whores and groupies at his sweet hotel room in downtown Boston right now, helping him prepare for his show tomorrow night. Instead, you're joining the mass of suburban drunkards waiting for Store 24 to re-open.

"I'm from Ireland." Please, TVI, please. You have no accent which, granted, I could possibly forgive. After all, my friend Jo is actually from Ireland and has no accent. What she does have that TVI does not is a base knowlege of Irish geography. Galway and Cork are not "right next to each other" you stupid fuck. Go buy a globe.

"I go to business school at Boston College." ...not with that vocabulary you don't.

After extracting from the web of lies spun by TVI, we kept walking. Home was so close! I could see the finish line! ...I could also see some kid peeing in the bushes at Budget Rent-A-Car. As we walked past he looked up and attempted to chat... with his penis in his hand and urine going everywhere.

"Feeling relieved?"

His response was one of confusion; which would be fine if he wasn't still relieving himself five feet from my sneaker.

Finally, finally, we got back to the apartment, to be know from here on out as The Motel. I decompressed by eating my pizza from the man who told me I had pretty eyes and watching some Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights starting Diego Luna, a man who has pretty everything.

...and no red swingline stapler to be found

Everyone has that creepy person in their office. I know its true because Dane Cook says so and Dane Cook never lies.

This creepy person is usually a little bit off-center, maybe a close talker, always socially awkward. The creepy person in my corner of cubicle hell is all of these things with the added bonus of also being a snappy dresser.

By snappy I mean he wears tee shirts with wolves howling at the aurora borealis. And tight black jeans that look like they would be more at home on a member of White Snake.

Here's the thing about my snappily dressed creepy co-worker that most don't have - he hasn't evolved from his days as the creepy kid in high school. You know the one. You were sort of nice to the kid because he looked like he was hiding a glock in his locker and when the shooting spree came you didn't want to be on the list.

(Secretly, I'm worried that he's still got that gun hidden in his desk.)

What I want to know is, how does a socially awkward, scary kid like this get hired? What manager interviewed him and thought to himself, this is the best candidate for the job? I look at all creepy coworkers and question the sanity of employers.