a little am ranting

you know what really drives me crazy? when people misspell my name. ESPECIALLY when its in a response to an email i just sent them. a. my name is in my email address, b. my name is in my address line at the bottom of the email, and c. i even signed my name, correctly spelled, at the end of my note to them. so how is it that a mere 5 minutes later i receive a response, with a salutation to someone totally different? i understand everyone is so busy nowadays and in a rush to shoot emails off, but it only takes a nanosecond glance at the top of the page to ensure that you are addressing someone properly. its not like an entire proofread is necessary (although sometimes it should be. the fact that SO MANY people spell weird as 'wierd' absolutely appalls me. i'd have nightmares about it if i weren't so busy still having nightmares about the movie Saw, which i watched a good 7 months ago). and its not like i even have a hard name to remember/spell.

although, now i wonder if it would be easier if my name was really exotic. say you get an email from a Persephone, or a Ngudu (that's a shout out to you, aunt d) - you'd probably be more apt to stare at the name, thereby giving your brain a better chance of remembering how to spell it. i have to keep this in mind if i ever decide to spawn.

the other thing that's getting my goat today is that the 'parade of spring-inappropriate clothing' has come to town. it never fails -- every year when the first unusually warm day of march or april comes, the streets are suddenly flooded with beachcombers. ladies, i understand it's going to be a high of all of 69 today and that your feet are tired of being cooped up in high boots all winter but there is NO NEED to bust out the capri pants and flipflops already. flats are all over the place this year, and a perfect transition shoe for a day like today -- if you MUST wear summery short pants, at least wear a closed shoe. or wear long pants and an open-toe shoe...open-TOE, not toes. there's no need for bare feet today - i know you were just wearing your stupid uggs last tuesday. let's have a few weeks of evolution from the eskimo boots to the beach shoes, shall we?

whats new pussycat?

Having had to spend the night at my parents yesterday, I had the pleasure of partaking in activities that do not usually occur in my own abode. like watching the local news. the 10pm news never fails to entertain me, what with the completely ridiculous stories they choose to report on, so yesterday's broadcast did not disappoint. The highlight: The tale (heh) of Lewis the cat, who has been terrorizing his CT neighborhood to such an extent that a restraining order was issued against him. A restraining order against a cat. My highly imaginative brain couldn't have even come up with something so wonderful. so being the badass feline he is, louie violated the order, causing his owner to be arrested and him to be put on house arrest (and prozac. since god forbid some species is left out of the ol' SSRI craze). awesome. the long camera shots of louie looking pissily out the sliding doors and the exclusive interview with his distraught owner (who's life is now ruined, as she has to be careful when she enters and exits her house as to not let the cat escape) just added to the lunacy. I love that I can watch the news and not have to get depressed over the state of the world, but instead roll off the couch with laughter.

A non laughing matter is that missy and I have discovered that our extended family hates us. I know, you must be as shocked and appalled about it as we are. Who could hate us?! (well, I know offhand of 3 people who do, but that's neither here nor there) so apparently our cousins do. cousin orville (names changed to protect the innocent) is having an engagement party, and only our parents were invited! we were devastated. Isn't orville aware how much we love wearing party frocks? I told missy this sort of ex-communication would occur when she busted out with the hard liquor drinks at our aunt's brunchtime wedding reception two years ago, but did she heed my warning? Of course not.

but to end this on a happy note -- yet another aging popstar was knighted today...tom jones! i believe it must have been the song "sex bomb" that led her majesty to consider him worthy of the honorific title sir.

posting this has reminded me how much missy loves soul plane.

favorite headline of the week (yes, its only monday...but this one is too good not to win): It's Hard Out Here for a Blimp.

i'm fizzling with joy inside from that excellent play on the song title. oh stuart elliott. you just took my love for your advertising column to a whole new level.

oh yes, and since we should offer you a little more today than just pathetic stories from our weekends, your fact of the day, blimp edition, is: the Met Life blimps are named Snoopy I and Snoopy II.

i'll get over you. i know i will. cause i'm the queen of wishful drinking.

thanks chrissy, for that alcoholic shout out. sadly i cannot deny it, as i was introduced to the miraculous concoction that is boone's farm + gin this weekend. as all good discoveries do, this spun off some other new inventions, the most popular one being the mass text message. i'm sure we're all familiar with that overrated/inevitable drunk-dialing which has now merged into drunk texting (less dangerous as no one can hear you slurring plus the added bonus that you are forced to be concise, however the spelling is somewhat of an obstacle). i, of course, have managed to move the drunk-text phenomenon to the next level by discovering the beauty of the mass text. just one little message can be multiplied into hundreds by simply clicking more than one name in your phonebook to send it to! i never found this function necessary until my late night discovery that this is the perfect way to sexually harass/insult multiple people at once, insuring, at the very least, one response. and so, in conclusion, if you were one of the lucky to receive the 3am "disappointment of my life" text, take it with a grain of salt, a cup of boone's and a liter of crystal palace.. .

burgers, buses, being beastly

the shake shack is open again (thank goodness. and anyone who still hasn't been there, step away from your computer and run, no walking, to madison sq park. http://shakeshacknyc.com/index.html) and i couldn't be happier. there is nothing like stepping outside and smelling burgers. screw flowers and fresh cut grass - i want the odor of frying meat and grease to permeate my air. almost as exciting as when a guy smells really good. almost.

so although i love the shack (so much so that a friend printed me up a marriage license for the shack and i.) i had to pass it by today as i was in desperate need of wendy's. i don't know when in time this happened, but sometime during the past four years wendy's became the ONLY thing that could properly cure my hangovers. i think its psychosomatic at this point, but once i get that yellow packaging in my hand i'm able to function normally again. i know any sort of greasy food is supposed to work, but for me wendy's is the only cure. many many thanks to you, dave thomas.

so being hungover on a monday isn't all its cracked up to be, even though sundays were just made for relaxed boozing, HOWEVER, not when one is taking a few hour bus trip. sure it seems like the hours will fly by while you're wallowing in an alcohol-induced haze, but there are many hazardous situations that can arise along the way.(besides the general dizziness that comes from staring out the window whilst you're whizzing down the highway) for example, you may take too long at the rest stop (it was important. i needed those hot dog nuggets..) and almost have the bus leave without you. and the bus driver may yell at you for holding up the trip. and you might have to board the bus with everyone staring at you, knowing that you're the girl who just caused them to be stuck in their little 12"X12" seat for an extra 5 or 6 minutes. or you may continuously piss off the man next to you by not realizing that you are playing your music so loudly that he can't concentrate on his book. or you may forget that your ticket was taken at the start of the trip, and spend a good 3 hours silently congratulating yourself for scamming the bus company. then the next morning you'll discover the ticket stub in your bag and realize that yes, in fact you DID pay for the trip, silly girl. you were just too out of it to recall ever giving the driver your ticket. so i tell you this, dear readers, to warn you of the perils of traveling drunk. everyone's always worried about the drunk drivers, but maybe now its time to start a campaign to save the intoxicated passengers as well.

so an interesting postscript to this tale -- i was just informed that missy was guzzling a mixture of boone's and crystal palace gin all weekend, and managed to cause not even an 1/8 of the havoc that i did yesterday. rather bizarre. i guess sometimes two wrongs do make a right.

move bitch. get out the way.

commuting is difficult. it's inevitable. shove millions of people into small spaces (well, seemingly small, as subway cars and highways aren't necessarily tiny, but are so once filled to capacity) and you're obviously going to run into issues. humans weren't meant to be so close together. didnt our ancestors live with acres of land between them? horses weren't built to carry more than one or two cowpokes to work on the ranch.

anyhoo, i dont need to gripe about commuting - you all know what i'm talking about. as a matter of fact, on two separate occasions recently, i had two friends tell me they were thinking of writing a book about their getting to work adventures, as they both have so many of them. (if their plans do in fact pan out, i think i'll suggest that they collaborate, as i can't imagine two commuting memoirs being necessary. ooh, i said memoir. sic oprah on me!!).

so the past two mornings i've gone to work earlier than usual (well, i guess today was what some people would consider "on time"), and discovered something interesting about the batch of earlier early morning commuters. they suck. they're completely spastic. and i am now left to wonder - is it because they don't have as much sleep as the later commuters? do they subconciously know that they're spazzes and therefore automatically leave the house a little earlier than others? or are they actually aware of their walking/standing still incompetance and know that they need to leave an excessive amount of time to get to work? i will be pondering this new found discovery for the remainder of the day.

and as it just occured to me, but i'm sure you dear readers have noticed, we tend to christen our posts with song lyrics or titles. we're really into music over here. just don't ask us to sing for you. we can harmonize together, but it ends up somewhere in the realm of that pound puppy christmas record that missy was so (unfortunately) fond of.

parlor tricks to amaze your friends

oh we know, its been awhile. and we apologize. chrissy is still experiencing massive computer issues - its baffling that these machines basically run our lives, yet NO ONE CAN PROPERLY FIX THEM WHEN THINGS GO AWRY - and missy has been up to, well nothing really, but she's somehow still too busy to write. and bear, well he's been partying so hard lately that its become difficult for him to stare at the screen for more than a few minutes without losing his equilibrium.

so now its time to play catch up. some delightful and interesting new phenomenons have occurred as of late. missy's "no pants" revolution has taken off like seabiscuit, and we're quite proud about its progress. yes, that way of life may pose certain issues, but so far no one has abused it. and as the trend has yet to make it out of an apartment, we've yet to run into problems with the weather or the law. huzzah!

in further phenomenon news, chrissy discovered a fun new party trick the other evening - "how did this item get in my clothes?" first up, a peppermint candy. upon getting up from the couch, chrissy felt an odd little lump in her jeans. upon feeling around over the denim, she realized it was not something to run to webMD about, and headed off to the bathroom to investigate. lo and behold, an unwrapped peppermint had found its way into her pants leg. emerging from the bathroom, she presented the sugary evidence to the crowd, but none of her fellow couch-sitters would fess up to upwrapping the candy and subsequently shoving it down her pants - so we've yet to discover where it came from. magic! i hope david blaine is one of our regular readers.

ready for part 2? having worn a little red bike-reflector in the shape of a hand taped on her all evening, chrissy was dismayed when towards the end of the party, she found the reflective hand missing from its usual spot (stuck on her chest, above her wifebeater. classy!) on her person. after searching around on the floor and the couch to no avail, she said goodbye to her shiny new toy. upon waking up the following morning (er, afternoon), she dressed and as she slipped on her sneakers, felt something funny in the right one. eureka - there was the reflector, sitting in her shoe! again, no idea how it got in there, nor how chrissy made it home without feeling it. perhaps it has something to do with the numbing effects of alcohol.

here's a photo of the hand, as it may be hard for those less imaginative sorts to picture:

and after throwing around the p word so much earlier ("phenomenon", pervs) i hope you all have ll cool j's song stuck in your heads. i do, and its fantastic.

"oh my god, your dad looks like ron jeremy"

apparently so. its a rather scary thought so missy and i will try not to dwell on it too much.

so even more bizarre than being told your dad looks like an porn star, we had the honor of witnessing the most unique shoplifting situation ever yesterday. was the woman stealing a shirt? undergarments? a belt? money? no. no. no. no. sillies - c'mon, she was stealing the hangers! seriously. the woman was caught quick-stepping out of the store with an armful of hangers. what would possess someone to steal hangers? thankfully the eagle-eyed salesgirl spotted her, and retrieved the wiry little treasures.

Two-Four-One

Nothing caps off a fun-filled weekend of disco and impromptu project runway fashion shows quite like a trip to roll-n-roaster. For those of you who don't know, roll-n-roaster = cheese-covered-heaven (go! http://www.rollnroaster.com/). The best slow-fast-food place in our fine city. More notorious than their cheese fries, however, are their iron fist bathroom policies. Basically getting to the top of the kidney transplant list is an easier time than getting into the r-n-r lavatory without a purchase. While waiting for our food I made the mistake of telling a non-customer the bathroom code which resulted in the hostile employees yelling and attempting to kick our group out of their fine establishment. "Don't think I didn't fucking hear that. You got your food now get out." And that, my friends, is the way to end a weekend.

people all over the world. join hands.

why is times new roman always the default font for everything? does anyone else hate it as much as i do?! (apparently not, since almost everyone i correspond with on a regular basis uses it) it actually infuriates me to look at it...with so many fonts to choose from, why settle for the standard?

so i typically don't pay attention to the folks making music in the subway (yes, i am aware that some of them are talented. and that all of them are more musically inclined than i ever was with my stupid flute. but i'm usually too wrapped up in my own stuff), but i was practically standing in the midst of a performance today, so i couldnt help but tune in. and i'm so glad i did. a group of middle-aged men, with a keyboard, were performing "love train". which was entertaining on its own (as they rather sounded like the o'jays), but the platform positively glowed with joy as the 6 pulled into the station as the song during the final chorus. i don't think i've ever felt so perfectly content during a commute as i did at that moment.

its the little things, folks.

Ten More Things You Probably Wish You Didn't Hear About Missy&Chrissy

1. There are a striking number of similarities between Chrissy and Richard Lewis and we are not talking mere resemblance, entire habits and lifestyle routines are identical.

2. One of us is rumored to be emotionally inept and has recently been told by our mother after watching Hotel Rwanda and not crying, "Well maybe you actually do not have a heart."

3. It is impossible to make popcorn in our microwave without starting a fire or, at least, burning a good portion of the bag. However, this does not deter us at all (since Sissies never say die) and we go through about a pack a week, with a success rate of 1 out of every 3 attempt being nearly edible.

4. Items seem to randomly appear in our apt without explanation and then become impossible to dispose of. Try as we might, we just can not seem to get our guests to ingest/take home a large bag of sweettarts, a half-consumed bottle of soco (even when we offer kool-aid as a parting gift) and a bizarrely giant box of almond roca.

5. Mysteriously, every brand new, white hanes tee (wife-beater, Bensonhurst, thanks) that Missy puts away in her dresser reemerges with odd shaped holes in it, although everything else in the same drawer remains intact.

6. One of us has a ridiculously odd pair of (extremely large) red silk underpants with penguins in snowgear on them that she wears whenever it is time to do laundry and, more importantly, for reasons neither of us can comprehend, stick out above her pants no matter what major efforts are done to restrict these underpants.

7. A man dressed in Renaissance era minstrel garb, from bobbed wig down to pointed booties, once appeared outside our parents house and claimed to have grown up there prior to our family moving in. Said Minstrel then produced an antique camera and proceeded to randomly photograph the house and circle the grounds as Missy&Chrissy continued to unload the groceries.

8. Our mother takes a dance class once a week in which she learns ethnic dances with a partner named "Ivan."

9. One of us appears to be the kiss of death (or marriage, choose your poison) when it comes to relationships. The track record stands that four (count that, QUATTRO) ex's have married the girl they have immediately dated upon ending a relationship/courtship/open-ended-but-continual-promiscuity with one of us.

10. We refuse to use the self-service pumps at gas stations after an incident which began with two sisters struggling to get the pump to start and ended with them having to strip down in their parents foyer and deposit all articles of clothing in a bucket of lysol.

hey teacher could you ease my pain

i'm part of this program at work where we read to an elementary school student during our lunch hour. (i will refrain from getting further into it, as god forbid my identity is discovered. then my company will come after me for divulging secrets about my industry and fire my ass. scandal! although, then i will undoubtedly be granted a book deal, so it would probably pay off. actually, i'm lying, it totally wouldn't since having a book deal doesn't at all indicate that one will ever be financially secure. which is probably why authors are such neurotic sorts). anyhoo, so because of this little program i'm involved in, i have access, as an adult, to the NYC public school system. of which i am a proud, multiple time student-of-the-month graduate. but its amazing how different everything is when you're older, wiser, and have developed an appetite for things classier then little debbie snack cakes. (although i still love those nutty bars. http://www.littledebbie.com/products/NuttyBars.asp *swoon* )

so suffice to say, i had a bird's eye view of some school lunches recently. how on earth did we ever eat those things? the pizza made Elio's look positively gourmet and there was some sort of mysterious fruit on the side, which my readee kindly told me he thought tasted like peaches. i understand that its impossible to have high quality food in every school, but the least they can do is find a brand of frozen pizza where the cheese has a better consistency than hardened glue. poor kids. thank goodness i was so fussy that i brought lunches from home until junior high, when the blue-tinged (i kid you not) hotdogs that the annex served were apparently so appetizing that i wound up going over to the dark side of "hot lunch".

speaking of the dark side, aren't ones parents supposed to serve as a good example? yes, that's right, that's what i thought too. well, in recent weeks mine got me completely addicted to "skating with celebrities", to the point where i was truly excited that the championship skate was on last night. (bravo, kristy & lloyd!) what the hell?!? i remember a time when i was only allowed to watch PBS shows after-school. now they've gone and undermined all those years of hard work.

Firewalking, Dr. Phil and Other Colonial Insecurities.

I take major issue with people who require guidance from an $8.95 paperback available in drugstores (next to the DaVinci Code, to the right of the Danielle Steel's) and other fine literary distributors. Guess what. We all have issues, they are just varied. And that man doling out advice with cheesy slogans whose round face is staring at you from the back jacket, he does not have insight to your soul. He has common sense. You, self-help book reader, do not. Hark, what's that? Insecurities? Abandonment issues, you say? Big fucking deal. We're all in that boat. It's name is the Mayflower. Perhaps being marooned on an island, unchartered by everyone but Chrissy and his wild 'round-world' theories has led all the following generations to have a bit of a Kevin Arnold complex. Sure we showed them with that whole 1776 bit, but we'll always be the little brother won't we? Do not despair. Just tune in to that all knowing (can't-make-it-up-madison-avenue-with-a-backpack-on-without-almost-collapsing-into-cardiac-despair, true story) therapist, so beloved by Oprah, and buy a bigger SUV. Don't forget to vote Republican.


Lukewarm affection and anthrax,
m.