:: The Rants ::
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Ever just wanted to vent? Well here's were *I* get to do it.
Eva, the girl cursed with bad luck
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
I don’t know how it happens, but she gets into the strangest situations!
Bad things just happen to her. Things that would only happen in movies or books or in the newspaper to other people. Recently, the apartment she was about to move into burned to the ground because her roommate-to-be left a candle on all night. All the furniture that Eva was to inherit from the roommate’s sister was charred to a crisp. This is just one of the many examples of unfortunate circumstances in which she has been involved.
And it doesn’t just happen to her but also to people close to her. Her old roommate actually totaled her car by running over a mattress on the freeway. TOTALED. It got stuck in the wheel well and did some amazing damage. Apparently bad luck is like a contagious disease.
In any case, Eva came to visit me recently. As was expected, finding parking around my area was difficult, but she successfully procured a spot...and celebrated the windfall by promptly locking her keys in her car.
She panicked a bit but had the presence of mind to ask people around her whether they had AAA memberships. “No!” one person replied, hopping into their corvette and driving away as quickly as NYC traffic woud allow.
Finally she resorted to asking *anyone* with or without vehicles for help. She stumbled upon two Puerto Rican guys who, after a little persuasion in Spanish, tried to help her out. They brought over this Cuban dude whom Eva could only describe as “a little slow.” His Spanish was barely intelligible, but she managed to piece together something like, “I’ll be right back,” at which point he took his leave.
He returned minutes later with a slim jim, a nifty device made for the sole purpose of unlocking car doors. They got her door open in no time flat. Eva was so thankful that she resigned herself to a kiss on the cheek from her valient hero (or potential thief). She hesitated before heading to my apartment, wondering if they would steal her car now that they knew where it was and that is was apparently very easy to get into. But she trusted in the power of the “payment” of the kiss and trusted that they wouldn’t do anything horrible.
Besides, parking again would be difficult and who’s to say that she wouldn’t lock her keys in the car again anyway?
What you see above is a “Super Slim Jim"
Faux Pas of the Week
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Kanye, Kanye, KANYE, what were you thinking?!?
I’m just referring to the televised program where celebrities used their clout to ask for donations to help hurricane Katrina victims. You can check out the full vid here on Slim’s blog. He’s got photos/captions as well.
In the middle of that relief vid, Kanye, who could not make a complete sentence to save his life, blurts out, “George Bush doesn’t care about black people!” Mike Meyers and Chris Tucker are left desperately searching for someone off camera to help them. Anyway, I understand his sentiment, but KANYE, what were you thinking? That’s what your albums are for! That’s why you have a venue that you are GOOD at to express those views. Even if it is complete truth, it was totally inappropriate in light of the relief effort at hand.
Love his music, but man, he seemed semi-retarded.
Jeepers Creepers, the Subway is full of Sneaky Geezers
Sunday, July 10, 2005
All the weird/scary people that I’ve avoided all year are all suddenly crawling out of the woodwork!
It happened yesterday on the 4 train to Brooklyn from the Upper East Side. It was going to be a long ride—at least 45 minutes. So Susan and I plopped down on a bench, grateful to have found a seat on a busy weekend during tourist season. This older guy white, maybe in his 40s, sat down next to me, sitting so close that his furry forearm kept brushing me. I tried to ignore it, telling myself it was because the train was crowded. But it didn’t take very long to confirm that it was NOT because the train was full.
He turned to stare at me intently. “What time is it?” he drawled in some kind of European accent.
“I don’t know. I don’t have a watch.”
“Oh, then what language do you speak? Chinese? Korean?” Obviously, he was trying to start a conversation.
“Neither.” Short. No smile. Turned my head away.
“What language besides English do you speak?”
“None.” I don’t even turn my head to look at him.
He let me think he was going to leave me along. I tried in vain to continue a conversation with Susan, making up ANYTHING to say, just to be talking to someone else. Silly me. Did I think that would actually work? He brushed me with his fuzzy forearms again.
“Do you like boys? Men? Or do you like girls?” He glanced at Susan.
I sat there, SHOCKED that he asked such a question. He was obviously interested in my sexual orientation for one reason, and that was NOT to start up a discussion about politics and gay/lesbian rights to marriage. He was asking because he was looking for a possible hook-up. Even if I told him I was lesbian to discourage him from trying to pursue, it might have actually excited him and encouraged him more. Ick.
My mouth was still hanging slack as all these thoughts ran through my head. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I replied icily, “I don’t think I have to dignify that question with an answer!” and turned away, but didn’t stand to leave. I was not about to give up my seat because some creep thought he could get something from me. And so I continued to sit, blocking him out with our own conversation.
Minutes later, two Chinese girls stepped on, and he offered them his seat. No, not offered, verbally cornered them into taking the seat. He then hit on them until they felt uncomfortable and got off at the next stop. Ah, yellow fever. The man had it bad.
So he sat back down and began to spread himself out so that no matter how far I scooched over, he leg was still in contact with mine. I finally made a big deal about scooting over a lot, crowding into Susan’s space and the guy next to her. He looked over, “Sorry, did I…?” I don’t even know what he said. I blocked it out.
He finally got out and I could finally let go of all the restraint that kept me from biting his head off verbally and making a scene in the car. I was trying to be good; after all, it was the Sabbath. He should be so lucky that it was God’s day and I had just come from church, so the reminder to be kind was still fresh in my head. Otherwise, I’m sure human nature would have taken over, and he would not be so happy after having to deal with me. What a struggle. No wonder people in New York are hard.
Sometimes I’d rather not know
Sunday, July 03, 2005
With my tracking application, I can find out how people got to my site--which can be nice, and not so nice at the same time.
I was checking up on the referral sites (which is always the most interesting thing out of all the metrics), when I happened upon a Comcast search that brought someone to my site.
Disturbing: Someone searched for “Olsen Twins Nude” and came up with my site. What does that mean? And did I really mention the Olson Twins? Oh yes, I was talking about how they look like trolls. But the word “nude” was never here. But apparently it wasn’t anywhere else on the search results either.
This reminds me of theBlah.net when someone found it searching for “barely legal.”
My only response is: “Oh searchers of smutty things, there is NONE OF THAT HERE! GO AWAY! SHOO! BE GONE! Find for thyself some nobler thing on which to gaze!”
PMS is the devil’s workshop
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Guys, this one is for you.
I’d like to make an official rant against menstruation and pre-/post-/present- menstrual syndrome. There is nothing quite as disconcerting as thinking one thing and having your body dictate that you act in a manner completely in opposition to your rational thoughts. I will admit that PMS hits every woman in a different way, so if you’re a woman reading this and saying, “but I *never* act irrationally!” well, honey, consider yourself fortunate and read on so you can understand what your sisters go through.
Recently, I had the strangest episode where I was sitting alone in my apartment after work, eating and listening to the Broadway musical, Rent. Granted, there are some sad parts to the story, but for some reason, I was sobbing into my bowl of rice, kimchee, tsukemono and natto (and no, it was NOT because of the food I was eating!). I didn’t even bother to wipe my nose or dry my cheeks as I continued to munch away at dinner. I was just really glad that no on else was there to witness that awful sight. It wasn’t even emotional! I sat there, observing myself in a third-person point of view, rationally saying to myself in my head, “There is no reason for crying at this moment in time. You must be PMSing.” I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t lonely. I wasn’t in pain. I was just crying.
If I were a guy, I would look at me and say, “Girl, you is CRAZY!” And that’s why I think PMS is the devil’s tool. I’m half joking, but half not. If you think about it, the symptoms of PMS totally undermine the concept of women’s rationality. Men often think women are emotional which translates as unstable and irrational. WE CAN’T HELP THE EMOTIONS! IT’S OUR HORMONES! IT DOES NOT MEAN THAT WE HAVE LOST OUR MINDS! And YES, thank you, we are fully aware that we are not making complete sense when we scream at you for not putting out the trash and then dissolving into a weepy mass.
Like I said, not everyone is like that—we each get it differently. Men, despite the fact that we *look* like we’re crazy, I swear we’re not. Our brains are still there and still working. Trust us. Give us a chance. We’re better than you think. In fact, why don’t you put one of us in the White House?
(BTW, do you think i used the word “rational” enough in this post?)
Pink—the color of my shame
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Ever since I was little, I was a tomboy.
Now that I’m older and “oh-so sophisticated,” I’m taking the time to look back on the different phases of my life. I assuming that most of you didn’t know me when I was little, but you might know me well enough to believe the story my mom often tells: “When you were young, you hated dresses and skirts so much that I had to put your church clothes up a week in advance so you’d get used to the sight of them so you wouldn’t struggle so much on Sabbath morning when I tried to dress you.”
Since then, I’ve come a long way. In fact, it was only two years ago that I started wearing skirts for non-Sabbath attire! That was 2 years after I graduated from undergrad! And then I actually started wearing makeup. Occasionally. That was another big shift for me. BUT during that entire time, I REFUSED to wear pink.
My battle with pink began at the dawn of time (well, at least time as I knew it). My whole room in my childhood was pink from head to foot. Even now, my room at my parent’s place is littered with remnants of that period of pink-ocity. The hate ran deep. All my life, I had associated pink with being prissy, girly, and generally useless. And then…and then...it happened. I bought my first pink item. I was a Reebok sports bra. It was quickly followed only minutes later by a pair of Adidas kicks with pink stripes down the sides.
Since then, it’s all been downhill. I’ve gotten ALL KINDS of pink filth. Blouses, skirts, necklaces, scarves and even shoes! So my big question is, “Does this mean that I’m grown up now?”
