things are getting a little david lee roth around here.

so the past few days have been filled with happiness and excitement for loveandcyanide. we bought our first appliance on our own today - an air conditioner - and even managed to get it into the car all by ourselves. a friend gave me a pin that proclaimed i was "the world's best pirate" (i am.), which made my month. we discovered fake grill marks on boca burgers, thereby officially making them the grossest but funniest food we've ever dealt with. and a friend of ours was so pleased with the salad bar at Charlie Brown's that he made three trips up to it, and told us with glee about the freshness of the veggies. joy abounds.

since the universe has to keep things balanced, its clear that somewhere an angry little yang had to exist to counteract our happy yin. little did we know all the unhappiness and unrest would practically land on our doorstep. our guess is that people are getting a little crazy from the heat. Case in point:

At approximately 20:00 a disturbance was heard from the hallway in the pleasant abode we (and anyone who can read the sign above our door) like to call Purdy Court. As any sort of sound in the hall instills great fear/curiosity in both missy&chrissy's heads (a result of the overactive imaginations + the desire to find out who actually lives in this building), i rushed to the peephole. The elderly woman across the hall (notorious for her commotions involving loud shushing and attacking perpetrators with lysol) appeared to be leaning precariously over the railing shouting at someone on the lower level. What was she screaming, you ask? Well what else would a ninety-two year old woman be shouting but, 'Shut up you stupid junkie. You a junkie, shut your mouth.' The woman downstairs, clearly a class act, was retaliating at the frail, elderly woman by repeatedly shouting phrases such as, 'Your daughter is a junkie.' and the ever popular playground taunt of, 'Cuckoo, Cuckoooo.' I watched entranced at the peephole as this went on for a good fifteen minutes. Somewhere in this time span both parties decided to threaten the other with suggestions of calling in the authorities. This tactic, although not effective for scaring each other away, did manage to get me away from the peephole as sissies and the NYPD don't mesh well.

How much excitement can two girls have in one week! In addition to the pirate-being-electronic-buying-giant-salad-eating ying and the elderly-lady-junkie-screaming yang there was also a debacle at the psychoPathMark (kudo's to the big sissy for the ingenious name). Who knew that there was such fun to be had grocery shopping on a weekday morn?! Little did i know that my whole life has been spent being in the right grocery store at the wrong time (woe.is.me). Bump that shopping trip up a few hours earlier and whoa, it's a whole new ball game, kids. While taking a break from my exciting freelancing work (i.e. unemployment) sissy and i figured why not take advantage of the fact that she played hookie from work and beat the crowd at the local PM. After discovering that we had packed our 23 items onto the Express 12itemorless lane (tres rebellious.. it's the pirate in us!) we heard some sort of disturbance at the next checkout. Guiltily worrying that someone had spotted our overload at the Quickcheck, the two of us perk up our ears to hear a menopausal female whining about packing her own groceries (maybe she should have gotten on the express because they pack them for you. ha). The checkout lady was ignoring the old hag until she started complaining about buying more than she needed as a result of the store being so big:

"I spend more here because i buy things I don't need. I'm never coming back here again."

Excuse me, ma'am? Is it any one's fault but your own that you obviously have a problem saying no to frozen vegetables and individually wrapped packages of snack cakes? Hearing this woman drone on about her inability to turn down a 2-for-1 at the BigP was like listening to a sorority girl cry about sleeping with THATguy on the first date and never hearing from him again. Oh you can't turn down a buy3get1free Ben&Jerry's so you spend more? Oh you sleep with people to make them like you so they think you're a whore? Guess what, you did it to yourself.

But I digress. The major importance of this story was the shocking display of loyalty the cashiers at the Pathmark mustered up. Everyone let this aged thing drone on about not coming back until she specifically called bigP a rip-off. To this her own cashier said, "Excuse me? We have great prices." I was impressed. Does Pathmark even know they have such loyal workers for a mere $6.75 an hour? This woman's sense of right thawed my heart more than when someone discards their unwanted eggo's in the cereal aisle. The argument was starting to get a little loud when our cashier chimed in, shouting from across two registers, "You a cheapskate! We have good prices! You cheap! Pathmark not expensive, you just cheap." This was far too much for the sissies to handle as we paid and hustled out snickering and trying to avoid having an accident on the floor of the grocerystore..

best thing ever. again.

so we just got back in from taking a stroll around the park during lunch. a school band was set up, and getting ready to play when we arrived. interesting, but nothing too exciting - we've all been band geeks before. well, guess what their first song was? THE YMCA! the song is 25x more fun when there's a brass section.

these boots were not made for walking.

i'm currently padding around the office in fuzzy leopard slippers as the shoes i wore to work today utterly destroyed my feet. now, before you dismiss this posting as stupid girl whining (for a brief second while starting this topic i did feel like Carrie Bradshaw, which made me want to vomit.), i will admit it - i AM a stupid girl (when it comes to shoes) who loves her shoes more than anything and keeping her feet at their maximum cuteness level is 100% more important than comfort. HOWEVER, the current problem, and major problem here, is that today i was wearing flats. There were no 3-inch stilettos keeping my legs in a unnatural stilt-walkeresque position that i can blame for the pain. No pointy fronts where my toes would have to practically overlap each other to squeeze in the narrow opening. No crazy straps or ribbons cutting off circulation in my ankles. these are plain old leather flats, and yet they are brutally uncomfortable. whyyy???

upon inspection of the (evil!!) back of the shoe, i felt the material on the inside of it seemed somewhat like cardboard, hence the destruction of my innocent heels. why couldn't the company use a different material as the liner? would it be asking too much to make the backs of shoes a little more plushy? (as i'm not a shoemaker, this may be as ludicrous as me requesting booties made of clouds, i know.) do they use unpleasant materials since they're cheaper and keep the cost down? hell, i'd have paid an extra $20 for this pair if it meant no bloodshed.

sigh. no pain, no gain i guess. but i do have faith that some happy-shoe-medium has to exist (no offense, aerosoles. valid attempt though), and one day when missy and i get off our asses and form some sort of company, it looks like we're going to have to be the ones to make it.

be a major in manthropology

the eldest third of loveandcyanide first kissed a boy more than 20 years ago, at the tender age of three. of course it was totally innocent and most likely unwanted, as Charlie - who was my little partner in crime at the time - and I were playing with his he-man toys, and I doubt he was thrilled that I interrupted a battle with skeletor with my premature discovery of romance.

So one would think with a full two decades of experience with the opposite sex under my belt I'd at least be able to minorly figure out the male mind by this point in life. negative. i probably had more of a clue when I was wily three-year-old trying to seduce a fellow toddler in front of castle grayskull.

thankfully, some very cool guys that I know have gone and created http://manthropology.org. from terminology to male-stuff anecdotes, which they will have up shortly, i can finally attempt to decipher the male brain. or at least have some fun new nomenclature (love that word) to use for the strange things that you boys do.

superexcitedness

last night i was thrilled to pieces to learn that starting july 10th adult swim will be airing episodes of Pee-wee's Playhouse. joy! the show will air mon-thurs, at 11pm, so it looks like i am going to have to abandon my elderly person bedtime.

upon reading the press release that adult swim put out, i was surprised to read this sentence: airing all 45 original half-hour episodes of the series and the rarely-seen Pee-wee's Playhouse Christmas Special. rarely seen?! where the hell have you people been? pee-wee's christmas special is awesome -- it's one of loveandcyanide's favorites, and we've been watching it forever. so come on kids - start tuning in on july 10th. let's show pee-wee some love, so he doesn't have to sit in the back of some movie theater and show himself.

ring ring, whoreface.

the title has nothing to do with the rest of this posting, but missy just addressed me with it, and it was too good not to document somewhere. now on to more important matters.

one of the best things about leaving the country is the diversity that you find beyond our borders. now i'm not talking about people or vegetation - you can watch the discovery channel for a discourse on that. i'm referring to the massive selection of Nestle ice cream products that are found in other parts of the world.

when you think of nestle ice cream products - well, if you think of them. but really, why wouldn't you?? - i'm assuming you envision your supermarket's freezer dept and the blue boxes of drumsticks and crunch pops. pretty standard. pretty dull. those new tollhouse cookie ice cream sandwiches are rather good, but not enough to compensate for the lack of excitement in the rest of the line. however, step foot off US soil and suddenly nestle is the creme de la creme (how does one use accent marks on this thing?) of the ice cream world. from the exotic variety of flavors to the fun characters on their signs to the ridiculously snazzy and adorable toy containers some of the ice creams are held in, it's apparent that nestle is king.

while having a most serious and intellectual conversation over the abundance of nestle products in the foreign ice cream market, we came to the conclusion that it's due to their lack of ice cream chains. europe (or at least the decent amount of countries we've been to within europe) is devoid of the carvels and dairy queens that plague our streets and shopping malls, beckoning to us fat americans with promises of 400 flavors, copious amounts of candy toppings and giant sized portions. poor little nestle is squeezed out of the ice cream game. totally unfair. i'd take plain vanilla ice cream in a plastic astronaut monkey over the singing freaks at coldstone or baskin and his 31 flavors any old day.

now some of you may be sitting there saying "what can be so damn special about these products?" and "why am i bothering to read this long essay on ice cream?" well, here is some photographic evidence to persuade you/make all this reading worthwhile (everyone loves pictures).

exhibit A:




who wouldn't want to buy an ice pop from one of those adorable little cows?

exhibit B:

this is friky fresa. he is a little plastic dinosaur/mouse/monster that comes filled with strawberry ice cream. what fun!


exhibit C:


Vachy contains vanilla and chocolate ice cream. because missy is a withholder, she opted to not inform me of vachy's existence after checking out the contents of a freezer, even though she knows the cow is one of my favorite animals. typical. however, she did buy me...

exhibit D:

PUNKY!! (pronounce poon-ky by the man selling the ice cream) he actually said "you likey punky? me likey punky too". and i'm sure he knows his stuff.

so punky may have been filled with plain old vanilla ice cream, but his awesome yellow plastic eyebrows, rubber red spiky hair and odd little hole in his mouth (which i take as his ability to become a sippy-cup for alcohol, now that he's been depleted of his duty as an ice cream container) more than made him one of the best ice cream experiences of my life. me likey punky indeed. bear likes punky too. (a little too much, one might say)

One Ticket for the Bitter Express, Please.

an important thing that all of our readers must know is how love&cyanide got it's name. what some of you, okay most of you besides g-money, are completely unaware of is a simple fact about missy. similar to a beloved green seuss-ian character, there happens to be a hole where the girl's heart should be. this has always been a major source of entertainment for friends and family allowing for a slew of mean nicknames which are deemed unoffensive to me, because of the aforementioned lack of warmth in my upper left torso. contrary to popular belief, one does not need this organ to survive and can actually find a more meaningful and enjoyable existence without it. due to my handicap i am exempt from numerous activities required of the average twenty-two year old female such as picking out affectionate birthday cards and crying over frat boys.

so why should you care?

well, this is my apology for neglecting the little blog that could for the past month or so. i never knew how detrimental it could be to my humor or biting wit if someone turned all who-ville on me and made the heart grow ten sizes in one day. and so someone stole the bitter from my bus. boo hissssss.

so why am i back?

in classic m.r. style the hole has returned to its normal dormant state. what? how so? actually the story isn't that bizarre. which makes it more bizarre really. oh how i long for the good old days of having a bowl of pretzels thrown at my face, abandoned on a national holiday, left in the woods, or even my standard tossing of electronic equipment at the offenders head. but alas, being a functional human being means it's not okay to throw tantrums. [cue lyrics from coming of age blink182 song here.] i don't really find that at all appealing though, especially since it leaves me with no interesting tales for vous, so to right the situation an overdue newyearsresolution is in order.


dear loveandcyanide,

i solemnly swear to only date people with drug dependencies, anger management or multiple personalities. i promise to always write about the shenanigans of said disasters and to never let them stay the whole night or hold my hand. i will try my best to meet really unintelligent men in public places and record what they say to me before i vomit on them and ignore them. more importantly, i vow to never become overly optimistic and abandon you, my snarky little bastard child.

sincerely,
m.r.heartless

you know you were in useless knowledge withdrawal.

We're baaa-aack...

and quite happy to report that your favorite three amigas were neither arrested, deported, nor attacked by monkeys during their exciting little overseas adventure. We have some stories for you all, but will save them for another time, as our hands are lazy from spending so much time laying idly at our sides whilst we tanned all week.

But since you kids have so patiently awaited our return, we can't go to bed leaving you empty handed. errr, minded. (vacations make us so benevolent). so here is some v. important information on how to tell the difference between cozies and hardboiled mystery novels, courtesy of www.crimespreemag.com. when you find yourself at an agatha christie convention and are quizzed on this stuff, remember to thank loveandcyanide.

If the book has an elderly character that solves crimes in her spare time, it is a cozy.
If the book has an elderly character that gets shot seven times in the face and is then raped, it is hardboiled.

If a cat, dog, or other cute domestic animal helps solve the crime, it is a cozy.
If a cat, dog, or other cute domestic animal is set on fire, it is hardboiled.

If the murder weapon is a fast-acting poison, it is a cozy.
If the murder weapon is a blowtorch, it is hardboiled.

you'll be ok. we promise.

don't cry kiddies, but loveandcyanide has to disappear for a week or so.

we're off for some fun in the sun, shenanigans with a flock of barbary apes, and (finally!) some actual high seas adventures. it's also bear's first time out of the country, and renegade that he is, he's doing it sans passport. wish us luck...

love don't live here anymore.

the second album i owned that didn't involve singing cartoon characters, christmas carols, or muppets was like a virgin. (thriller was my first) i was about 4 years old and totally played it out, wanting to grow up to be just like madonna. (i often wonder what number on the creepiness scale it was for my parents to watch their kindergartner endlessly shimmy around to lyrics like "touched for the very first time...")

so considering she was one of my earliest idols, it sort of pains me to say how much i dislike madonna today. while this change in attitude mainly reflects the inverse relationship between my age and my tolerance for pop music, i'm also over her chameleonic ways. i understand that musicians want to keep up with the changing times (actually, i don't. anyone who has ever witnessed bon jovi perform the song "bounce" at a concert would feel the same way. even with my thesaurus handy, i don't have enough words to convey just how painful that was. he should have kept the long ratty mane and stayed in our memory as part of the good ol 'hair band' days instead of highlighting the locks and pumping out psuedo-pop drivel to compete with the britney spears set. but i digress), but i can't take all the reinventing. actually, i can't keep up with all the reinventing is more like it.

according to reports, on her new tour madonna - or esther, madge, rabbi ciccone, whatever she's going by these days - does some sort of "disco crucifixion" thing (which actually sounds pretty cool. put disco in front of anything and it will sound like a barrel of fun. disco suicide. disco inferno. disco homicide. party!) where she hangs from a mirrored crucifix while wearing a crown of thorns. huh? i thought she was a poster child for kabbalah...don't jewish folk not believe in jesus?

!!!!!!

holy crap. there is a CARE BEARS MUSICAL coming to town and no one bothered to tell loveandcyanide about it yet?!?!?! i'm too shocked/excited/busy singing songs from Care Bears Movie II: A New Generation to type right now, so find more info here:

http://www.carebearslive.com/default.asp

fact of the day

i really don't know how i learned anything before i had access to the internet.

today i found this fascinating nugget of info about everyone's favorite self-dispensing candy, PEZ. enjoy.

Pez candy was invented by Austrian candy executive Eduard Haas in 1927. The original little candy bricks were peppermint. In fact, the word Pez is an abbreviation of the German word for peppermint.(PfeffErminZ)

and i'll be laughing with myself.

i have problems with hiding my laughter when i find something amusing. which i suppose is normal, but unfortunately a lot of things that amuse me just randomly pop up in my mind, thereby leaving me chuckling at (seemingly) nothing to the people around me, making me either look like a super happy sort of girl, or an utter psychopath. one time i was at a hockey game with the guy i was dating, and this man got up from his seat in the row in front of us, and i saw he left behind a mess of peanut shells scattered all over the floor. of course i immediately envisioned this as the chaos left from some giant squirrel posse and got the giggles. as i wouldn't tell my suitor what was so funny, he gently informed me that people might think i was crazy, sitting there just laughing hysterically to myself. and i agreed with him. what can i do? i can totally stifle a sneeze, but i just can't keep the laughs in.

i've found this flaw of mine is most problematic when i'm reading a funny book in public. granted people can see i must be reading something humorous, but there is still no need to carry on to the extent that i seem to. a few years back i had Bridget Jones' Diary with me while taking the bus in to work. whilst being completely wrapped up in hysterics and totally carrying on in my little seat, i was unaware that i was accidentally hitting into the "push for stop" strip on the bus wall next to me (fitting that i was in the handicap seat for that ride). in the midst of all my merriment, i finally became aware of all the chiming coming from the front of the bus, and i stopped and wondered what sort of asshole was dinging for a stop in the middle of a tunnel. of course a few moments later i realized i was the asshole, and i put the book away, so as to keep my mirth from allowing me to cause anymore nonsense.

never one to learn her lesson, i found myself on the train today with the most fantastically hilarious book that i've read in awhile: Apathy and Other Small Victories by Paul Neilan. as i'm a few years older (and presumably wiser) than the bridget jones bus incident, i tried to do everything i could to contain the laughter. but sadly this just resulted in odd snorts and hiccup-like movements which were most definitely scaring the guy next to me. he put a seat in between us the moment he had a chance to. i guess i really don't blame him, as i'm sure it appeared that i was either having a seizure, or diabolically chuckling about my plan for world domination.

so i know we tell you to do a lot of things (we're sorry. we just like having the idea of someone/thing to boss around, since we're both almost 100% resistant to each other's demands), and i'm certain after the above stories you may never take advice from me again, but pick up a copy of Apathy. it's a great time, even if it doesn't motivate you to cause a spectacle during rush hour.

nice job, pretentious sony marketing team.

i was going to let this one slide, as it annoyed me yesterday but then i was over it today (there's only so long you can stay cranky over the wording of an advertisement). but as all i've been seeing today are articles about the movie who's ads bother me so very much that i need to complain to the whole internet about it, i decided to speak up.

so. the davinci code comes out this weekend. as much as i like tom hanks and audrey tautou as actors, i won't be racing to the theaters for this one. why not? well, the book wasn't that great (i know, i just pissed off the 85 bazillion people who claim it's their fave book ever. my apologies.), and i hate when things are overhyped, and if i were to race to the theater near me, it wouldn't even be there. wait, what? that's right, it wouldn't be in a theater near me. and no, its not because i live in bumblefuck, AL - it's because it's going to be in cinemas.

opening in cinemas on May 19th, read the d's code subway ads. oh please. they couldn't say in theaters like everyone else?!

the ecto cooler effect.

I’m sure you’ve all experienced this at some point in life: you express delight at something, and suddenly you’re bombarded with it until you get so tired of it, you can’t stand the sight of it anymore. The person/people plying this product/whatever have nothing but good intentions towards you, but inevitably, there’s just too much of a good thing. one might call it “overkill”. loveandcyanide calls it “the ecto cooler effect”.

and no, this posting is not about our relationships. *smirk*

let's take a quick trip back to 1990, shall we. On the shelves of the supermarket sat Hi-C’s Ecto Cooler, a citrusy concoction that we immediately grew fond of. not to belittle the merits of the Hi-C corporation, but I’m certain this instantaneous love stemmed more from the fact that we adored all things Ghostbuster (I believe this was mentioned in passing before…but before we continue you must understand the magnitude of it. we loved the movies. we still do. we were avid watchers of the cartoon The Real Ghostbusters. Missy, amongst our care bears and barbies, even had an Egon action figure. and i’ll admit it – I had (ahem, have) a major thing for Bill Murray…which probably explains current issues of mine, as I doubt he’s the sort of man a 7-year-old girl is supposed to be attracted to.) than the fact that juice gave us our daily dosing of vitamin C. and I’m sure Ecto Cooler’s awesomely unnatural neon green hue also contributed to our lust.

So since we were spoiled and given just about anything we said we liked, it wasn’t long before Ecto Cooler became the official drink of our household. Seriously, our mother bought it by the caseload – which, now thinking about it, I don’t even know where or how she found it in bulk, as we were freshly suburban at this point in time and were not yet privy to places like Costco and BJ’s. but i do recall bringing Ecto Cooler to lunch with me EVERY DAY during 5th grade, and it being the juice box of choice for us during long car rides, or afternoons playing outside, or, well, just about anything. of course, after some time came the inevitable backlash, and at some point in 1991, when my heart was probably pumping Ecto Cooler instead of blood, I decided I had had enough. NO MORE ECTO COOLER, I whined and pleaded to my mother and the remaining cans and cases were removed, by forklift, from our basement.

In the years since, we’ve had numerous food products go the way of Ecto Cooler (which will forever be our code for “although I loved this 2 months ago, I’m now sick of this shit”), including:

• Linden's Butter Crunch cookies
• Planter's Cheez Balls
• Nerd Ropes
• Chex Mix (all varieties)
• Luna Bars
• Puffins Cereal (peanut butter flavor)

reading through that list kind of makes me question our eating habits, but i guess what can you expect from two little girls whose childhood was drowned in juice that looked like it leaked out of a highlighter?

if this post has whet your appetite for more ecto coolery goodness, go here: http://www.retrojunk.com/details_commercial/119/ to watch the commercial for it. unfortunately we're not yet savvy enough to just insert the video in here...such is the drawback to having a stuffed bear as your webmaster.

next stop: success

somehow i wound up on the NYU graduation train coming home this evening. i stepped into a seemingly normal car of the W and suddenly i was surrounded by all things violet. sashes, banners, plastic beads, statue-of-liberty foam crowns - you name it, NYU spent money making grad gear out of it.

so while i was sitting there trying to process the Barney vibe in the car, i saw something dart past my eye. of course, this being the subway and it being post-happy hour and my peripheral vision sucking like it does, i assumed some sort of flying roach had come my way and i immediately ducked. after a moment i turned to the side, and saw that my floating bug was nothing more than a bubble - yes, it turns out the grads were given purple bottles of bubbles (at a kindergarten graduation this may have been cute), and had started blowing them around the train. it was kind of pretty for about a nanosecond, but then you could tell that people were starting to get annoyed that spheres of soap were drifting into their shoes and newspapers. me being one of them, i shot the little rascals a dirty look, and then a dirtier one when i realized they were all dressed in jeans. these are the children of our future, and they can't even dress appropriately for college graduation???

**postscript: i checked out the website, and apparently tonight was precommencement. this means i was on the train with all the smarties who received prizes for academic and extracurricular achievement. even better. **

Overheard in Purdy Court.

Dear reader,

yes singular, we are still unsure if anyone besides our little georgia reads this. oh, and to you g, i'm typing in your font. it's a sentimental day.

anyway, i felt it might be most appropriate to give vous a soundbite of occurrences at purdy court in order to better understand us.

On eye protection:
m: do you wear those goggles to go tanning?
c: well, i use them to tie my hair back.

On procrastination:
c: you'll have made genghis khan a myspace page before you finally blog or do your paper.

On whores tainting otherwise date-worthy men:
n: she soiled the good meat, the prime rib.. now he's like a dirty water dog, contaminated meat stuffed into intestines.
(okay okay, n does not live here, but she should)

On super tall men sleeping in our beds:
one of us to the other who shall remain nameless: i'd have to sleep with my air conditioner on in may if i had a giant sleeping in my bed too.

On cheesy horrible 90's sitcoms:
c: WE DO NOT WATCH FRIENDSSSS!

On men that are masochistic enough to speak to m while at a bar:
c: he called you the 'snappy one.'
m: ooh i like that, call me snappy.
c: his friend called you "the one with the attitude."

On men stupid enough to talk art at a bar with m:
c: why did you scare that guy away?
m: he told me edvard munch was his best friend.

On David Blaine:
c: that DB show is finally over.
m: oohh, did he drown??

On having matching toshibas:
m: we have identical laptops. we're the doublemint twins.

On polar bears officially making the 2006 endangered species list:
c: did you hear? Bear's going extinct.

On our landlord:
m: i'd go to Peter's funeral!

On Phil Leotardo:
m: i just realized why i love him.
c: because he's eating zeppole?
m: because he looks like an owl.

On our 92 year old neighbor (to our landlord):
m: she leaves her door open a lot.
p: that's not the only thing she leaves open.

On dieting:
c: what are you doing in there?
m: smashing fat.

On Bear:
m: Bear isn't speaking to you.
c: Bear never speaks to me.
m: he speaks about you.

On dying hair:
m: i dyed my hair black to match my heart.

On Matthew Barney:
m: MB is gay??
c: no.
m: but he's with beck.
c: he's with BJORK.

On m's failed attempt at being compassionate:
c: i don't like this whole being nice thing, you're going about it all wrong.

On borrowing each other's purses:
m: there's garbage in that bag.
c: there's garbage in your soul.


and so, i leave you with this quote. not from us, but from a movie we love:

i don't give a shit about the barracudas, fuck it!


happy wednesday, g.

a fascinating discovery

no, i didn't find a new planet or a cure for aids, but this is almost as impressive. it occurred to me the other day that every female friend i have that was born in the month of May has a name that begins with the letter G. pretty amazing, huh? this seems like an especially rare happenstance since names that begin with G aren't all that popular to begin with (no offense. i mean, they aren't. unless people with G-names just avoid me for some reason, and that's why i don't know too many), so what are the odds that everyone i know would have their birthdays within a mere 31 day timeframe? if anyone else out there has this G-name/born in May situation in their life, do tell.

so while we're on the subject of may birthdays, we'd like to give a shout-out to our beloved cat, Tigger, who is celebrating her super sweet 16 this week. unfortunately MTV is refusing to cover it, which is rather surprising since she's totally spoiled and is daddy's little princess (she seriously is. we get so jealous.).

to whom it may concern.

dear mismatched denim wearer,

i'm sorry to take this out on you specifically, but this disturbing phenomenon has been causing severe pain to my eyes for years, and as the (and i shudder to call it this, but can't think of another term at the moment) trend's been out of control this season, i felt it was time to take immediate action.

i felt physically ill today when you walked past me in your sand-blasted jeans and indigo-rinse jacket.

how did you leave the house thinking it was a good idea to wear jeans and a jean jacket at the same time? were you hoping to confuse everyone into thinking that the two totally different shades of denim are the same? because thats JUST AS BAD! would you wear a pair of fur pants when you go out in a fur coat? if you're not on your way to an audition as an extra for CATS, then my guess is your answer is no. so why can't you apply this elementary logic to denim as well?

what baffles me even more is, and i do not at all mean to insult your income here, but if you can only afford one jacket (which is the only excuse i'll allow; then you have no choice but to wear it when you wear your jeans. and i therefore apologize, and you can rip up this letter and chalk it up to the fact that i'm a cranky woman who hasn't got her bacon fix in over a week), why would you pick a denim one? aren't they harder to come by than other types of jackets? think ahead, what if you have to attend an interview or a funeral? denim would be inappropriate. what if there's a spring shower, wouldn't you want to own something with a hood? right, you would. which would mean you would own more than one jacket, meaning you can wear your other one when your jeans are on. wear a hooded zip-up, a poncho, a paper bag - i promise you it'll look better when paired with your jeans. your denim jacket can be matched with so many other materials - from sweat pants to gypsy skirts to dress pants - it won't go to waste. so please, save it for another day.

thanks and bests,
chrissy

you spin me round.

we read a lot over here at loveandcyanide. shocking that we find the time with all the drinking and adventuring going on, but we do - and always have. as youngsters, our mother would take us on a bi-weekly pilgrimage to the library and we'd come home with stacks, and i mean stacks, of books. the whole backseat of the ol' t-bird would be full of them.

so since the early days when disco would read dr. seuss to us to just last night when i was attempting to finish a book for work, i've done a lot of reading in bed. but never in the twenty-something years i've spent tucked in with reading paraphernalia in hand did i ever imagine this would be necessary --

http://www.bedbooks.net/

are people just that lazy nowadays that they can't just rotate the book according to the position they are lying in? as much as i'm somewhat appalled by this, i'm also curious, so i may have to test one of these books out. we'll keep you posted.

you're damn right, Al.

quote of the day:

"Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal."

-- Albert Camus, french existential writer

product review #1: beauty edition

even though its clearly stated over yonder ( <--- )that this is a chronicle of our 'adventures', even i get a little - just a little - tired of reading about myself sometimes. and although we're sure you're aware by now, dear readers, that you're not checking out our site for discourses on our current political climate (and if you are, you may find that our tales of falling pines, minstrels, and stuffed bears actually make more sense...), i'm sure even you need a little change of pace. variety is the spice of life. ("is it? i thought it was oregano. no wonder my life sucks." - found that quote in a comic in the NY Press years ago and have been waiting for a time to use it...)

that said, i figured i'd do a product review and clue you kids in to some phenomenal new goodies i've found. to enhance your lives and whatnot. i'm not one of those "product whore" girls - my face will never come off on your pillow - so for me to be swooning over beauty products means that they're pretty damn good.

so you know how sometimes you just smell so good that you want to make out with yourself? (no, i don't mean it in the Divinyls one-hit-wonder sense...if you don't know what i mean, then perhaps you should invest in some nicer smelling products. just saying.) well, Herbal Essence's Blackberry, Avocado, Mango conditioner is the sorta stuff that'll do that to ya. now, please don't think that i'm one of those woman who's fallen prey to HE's ridiculous "organic experience" campaign. as a matter of fact, i'm more inclined to NOT buy HE products, simply because they insist on making the women fake orgasm so loudly (please. there's never a need to be that loud, no matter how good he may be.) in their dumbass commercials.

so when you look at what HE has stacked against it in my book (i'm a big fan of boycotts), its really a testament to the power of their Blackberry, Avocado, Mango conditioner that i'm this much in love with it. as for the chemical components and whether or not its beneficial to my hair and/or would be good for yours, i really can't help ya (what a great critic i am) - i mean, i don't have split ends but that's just as much attributed to my wonderful haircutter as it is to the silkening agents in the conditioner. so what you want to buy this one for is the scent-sational showering experience. i swear missy may find me in the bathroom one day drinking it.

up next is the most fantastic thing to happen to lips since the invention of the kiss. now let me preface this review by saying - i AM a lip balm whore. i am. i admit it. i can't get enough. i'm addicted to it, and if a NY Chapter of BA (balm'ers anonymous) starts up, i need to join. i daresay this abusing of the balm stems from my fidgety nature, and i suppose re-applying lip gunk 100x a day keeps my hand free from more harmful hand-movement activities, like smoking, random inappropriate slapping, or sucking my thumb.

anyways. so i've tried them all: chapstick (eh), carmex (great, but non-aesthetically pleasing), kiehl's (superb), bigelow (minty-licious, but a little too tacky), etc etc. recently, a friend tipped me off to Benefit's lipscription, and i don't think i can ever turn back. lipscription is more than a mere stick of balm - its a lip experience. it comes in two-parts - one tube filled with lip exfoliator, the other with the silkiest balm ever. those little buffer beads will find dry patches you didn't even know you had, and the balm, even on its own, is fabulous. seriously, your lips won't know what hit them.

so there you have it. chrissy says run, don't walk, to the nearest drug store/makeup counter and purchase HE's blackberry, avocado, mango conditioner & benefit's lipscription. oh yea, and some mango body butter (my third obsession, but no need for a review, as those three words alone - mango. body. butter. - should do it for ya). your body will thank you. (see? and you thought we were only good for your mind and soul...)

all i wanted was a hug.

"go in your corner. and put on your pajamas."

sweet sisterly advice when one of us shows up home intoxicated and attempts to cuddle on the couch with the other.

A Tree Falls in Staten.

people always think that sissy and i make up stories. i do. a little bit. okay. a lot. but mostly just in my own head. sometimes i spread my internal rumours to bear. eventually the story will leak out to sissy who will then point out that said statement is totally false and i (and bear) are both delusional and lonely.

having said that, this story is totally true:

the other night while cheating on our aforementioned celebreality diet (with wine, natch. we don't cheat with food. liquid diet, folks) we received a phone call from Disco alerting us to the fact that our parents eighty year old pine tree ripped it's own roots out of cement and fell precariously next to our house, taking down a fence and resting in one of it's neighboring trees. granted this could have been a tragedy. but we're not in that shakespearean mode this week. so instead it's a constant source of amusement. how does an almost century old tree fall? how did our parents know it fell? well, Disco was outside bbq-ing (mmmm, meat) when he noticed that the tree was at a rather peculiar angle. always prepared, though never a boyscout, our father moved his car from the driveway just in case. about a half-hour later a noise was heard which our mother describes as "a large bucket of clothespins falling" (yes, seriously. imagine our lysol infused childhood please), our father compared to thunder, and two rando busy-bodies across the street identified as an earthquake (but they're from the house with the suburban drug problem). anyway after realizing that no laundry assistants were to be found, mother rushed to the dining room window to pull up her every perfect white and straight venetian blinds to experience the oh-so-chevy-chase scene of a giant pine tree pressed against the side of the house. the great thing about this story is that if the tree had fallen a few feet in any other direction it would have caused major havoc, but in the true style of our family, danger was narrowly avoided and hilarity ensued. the fun continued with an army of bewildered firemen and the discovery of a recently severed root on neighboring property (sabotage anyone?). all of this while sissy and i were confined to our couches in astoria. of course when we move out the island finally starts getting interesting. more when punishment is doled out to the offending neighbors.

m

being good is highly overrated.

going against everything we stand for, loveandcyanide decided to start up a diet this week. surprisingly, we've been incredibly good thus far - which is saying a lot, as this phase of the diet we've chosen involves only eating fruits and vegetables, and as much as we like rabbits, its way more fun to eat them than imitate them. except for the bunny hop, which, bizarrely, we used to do around the house a lot. a lot.

sadly, all this good-ness has brought nothing but tragedy to my Favorite Sensible Work Bag. earlier this week, the oatmeal packet i was toting around with me opened, unleashing its contents all around FSWB. a grainy mess, but at least i got a whiff of cinnamon whilst putting on my sunglasses. today, the tupperware holding salad did not open, but somehow magically leaked out oil & vinegar all over FSWB. of course i only noticed this once the oil stained my pants, so now both poor FSWB and i smell a bit like a salad bar. (a minor plus to this, as i like conducting little sociological experiments, i can test to see if i'm attracting more vegans than usual.)

so the moral of the story? sticking to a healthy diet is totally hazardous. sausage and egg on a bagel has never once caused any harm to any of my belongings. and if it did, as we all know, i'd rather smell like a sausage than a salad anyday. someone, please, go eat a bacon cheeseburger for us.

fyi

i was screamed at by a VH1 'celeb-reality' star today. its not nearly as glamorous as one would expect.

There's a wind-up man walking round and round...

Do you remember the movie Return to Oz? if you answered yes, skip down to paragraph 4. my bet is that the majority of you answered no, and i wouldn't be surprised as it seems like whenever sissy and i bring it up no one ever knows what we're talking about (with the exception of the Scissor Sisters, who actually wrote a song about the movie, which is reason #17 why we love the band so damn much!)

so RTO, as the title so nicely suggests, involves Dorothy's return to Oz where, of course, drama and hijinks ensue. as the wicked witch from the first movie (which, by the way, i never enjoyed. judy garland always bothered me, which is somewhat ironic as there's been a few instances lately where, when wasted and taking photos in a cab, i wind up coming out in the pics looking a lot like her daughter, liza minelli. which is scary, i know, and if there's anything that'll get me on the wagon, that'll be it...)is no longer around, the sequel is brimming with new villains, much scarier than the old witch in the crappy green face paint. evildoers so disturbing to children (well, children like us) that sissy and i have been scarred since our first viewing.

the main villain in RTO is Princess Mombi, who can take her head off and interchange it with one of the numerous women's heads she keeps locked up in see-through cabinets in a room in her palace. these heads are alive in the cabinets, and howl with scary banshee wails when Dorothy tries to steal one of them. (what? yea, there’s a talking chicken too…I swear it’s a good movie). although the mid-80's special effects could only make these disembodied heads look somewhat real, it always managed to freak us out.

so this morning i get on the local bus and actually get a seat - the elderly must have stayed home due to the rain - and as i'm leaning over struggling with my umbrella i look up and come face-to-face with a mannequin head. of course all i can think of is RTO and while i'm on a crowded bus, in the middle of daylight, and, as a rational human being, should know that this is not the removable head of an evil princess who doesn't exist, i can't help but get startled and jump in my seat.

turns out, there is no cause for alarm. the (inanimate. whew.) head is dangling from the hand of a girl whom i would assume to be some sort of hairdresser-in-training, as it is showing off a fancy set of cornrows. as I’ve now calmed down, I inspect the head (couldn’t she have put it in a bag?? a. it was raining, and b. the girl looked like a psycho, carrying this head around like a proud guillotine operator) and discover that it also has a nose piercing. Can mannequins come with body jewelry? Did this girl pierce the nose herself to make the head more hip? Did that mean the head was hollow, or was the stud just glued on? I was utterly amazed. Never did the thought of mannequin piercings ever cross my mind before.

Suffice to say, thanks to this creepy yet wonderfully unique experience on the Q101, I think I’m finally over one of my RTO fears. sometimes a disembodied mannequin’s head is just that. it won’t come alive and shriek at me, nor alert it’s headless master to my presence, causing it to chase me around a castle. next up, helping sissy conquer her fear of parking garages, stemming from the RTO villains, the wheelers.

because you desperately need to know more about this film -- http://imdb.com/title/tt0089908/

new and improved!

it only took a few months, but finally my digital media classes paid off and i was able to figure out how to get links on here. excitement abounds.

now its time to get some food shopping done, as our cupboards are bare. did you know shoprite sends emails? i just received one this week - must be because i'm such a loyal shopper. or else its just another perk of old age...

"1, 2, 3...hot sundae!"

i am fully aware that i abuse the adjective "best", but this time i really really mean it. (actually, i always really mean it - my mental gold medal podium is faarrrr larger than the one the olympics' uses.) so last night was the best night of television, and since this recap will be all love and no cyanide, i dedicate this post to our "number one fan". =] (and unlike most "number one fans" she is neither deranged nor socially-awkward, and i don't think she'd ever go all misery on us and tie us to a bed and beat us. then again, i think bear enjoys shit like that...)

so we're perusing through our channel guide last night and came across The Ultimate Coyote Ugly Search on CMT (Country Music Television, y'all). missy protested, but as i was a coyote one halloween (the first and last time you'll ever see me in red pleather pants) i was curious to see what this show was all about...and of course to see if any of the contestants pilfered my moves.

the show itself is your standard reality show fare, however the extreme usage of the term "badonkadonk" **see below for definition, if needed** threw it into the category of fantastic for us. i'd say the word was used about 2 or 3 times per minute in every form imaginable - sung, drawled, shouted, and lest you think it wasn't possible, in a christopher walken impersonation. yes, the song "honky tonk badonkadonk" (what? you don't know it??) was said walken-style by one of the contestants. jerky hand movements included. this does not at all capture the insanity that was coming out of our television during that glorious minute-long segment - the best i can do here is clue you in to its existence - so i highly suggest tuning into CMT and seeing it for yourselves.

so the show ended and as our howls (heh) of laughter died down, we flipped channels and lo and behold, what did Adult Swim have in store for us??? Saved By The Bell. and not just any SBTB, but everyone's favorite episode where Jessie Spano gets addicted to caffeine pills! we were overjoyed. the episode was every bit as good as i remembered it, and i wish we could say we took away an important anti-drug message from it, but it truly is impossible to take someone seriously as a drug addict when they are wearing a giant bow in their hair.

**definition of badonkadonk, courtesy of urbandictionary.com:

An ‘ebonic’ expression for an extremely curvaceous female behind. Women who possess this feature usually have a small waist that violently explodes (ed. note: !!!...thank god i only possess a mere ass) into a round and juicy posterior (e.g., 34c, 24, 38). Other characteristics would be moderately wide hips and a large amount of booty cleavage (i.e, depth of butt-crack).

Her badonkadonk made a brotha pop mad wheelies.

Tres Appropriate.

never one to miss out on a holiday, sissy has taken to being the blog nazi in honor of adolf's day of birth.


that's right. i went there.

best thing ever.

not to be confused with 'best week ever' -- frankly, i'm over VH1 and their talking head overkill. trust me, i love nostalgia just as much as the next girl (probably even moreso. i throw disco bashes, dammit) but do we really need THIS many shows featuring marginally famous people (oh, and "pop culture experts". can't forget them) making marginally humorous remarks about decades/toys/celebrity breakups/whatever other topics a producer can come up with? it worries me that recent college grads probably aspire to be regulars on one of these sort of shows. kids, i know being on tv seems supercool, but these days it doesn't mean you're talented because they let you talk on camera.

now where was i? oh yes - so the best thing ever. the other day i washed a blanket, and folded it up and threw it in a bag immediately upon its egress from the dryer. and as i didn't receive an invite, i had no idea about the little static energy party going on within the confines of that bag since then. so upon unleashing my blanket onto my bed last night, i shut off my light, hopped into bed and unfolded the blanket...and saw sparks! seriously. my room lit up like it was the fourth of july. it was fantastic. (yea, so, a burst of static electricity completely made my week. what can i say - i never tried those basic science experiments when i was a kid).

i want an adult pacifier too!

we here at loveandcyanide love the surreal. not necessarily in the dali melting-clocks fashion, but in a more subtle way, as when unexpected and illogical things get peppered into your basic daily routine. like the minstrel showing up on our doorstep while we were unpacking groceries. i daresay this love stems from the fact that we always played house with stuffed animals instead of dolls when we were children. (to think that mattel - whoever - spent all that money making cabbage patch kids that looked just like us! when there were kids out there imaginative enough to go balls out and play mother to a stuffed tiger or monkey).

so imagine my delight when i looked out the window earlier and saw a blizzard! in april. i'm in here securing the provisions i need for Operation: Summer Wardrobe and its snowing outside. so fantastic. i'd love to see how all those premature flipflop wearers are coping this afternoon. the weird greenish ghostbuster sky (does everyone think of the ghostbusters movies when the sky is a strange color, or is it just us??) should have been an indicator of bizarre weather, but it was still a thrilling surprise to see such nonsense occurring outside my window.

and as the snow brings visions of cold and ice, we’d like to say a big YAY to the rangers for winning an important game last night. of course we didn’t watch it (although i almost accidentally purchased a different hockey match from our "whatever you do don't order any" pay-per-view service) but our father dutifully gave us the update after it was over. he was rewarded with the most entertaining text message he'll probably ever receive. unfortunately we must refrain from posting it here, as we wouldn't want it to inflame anyone.

and in the most entertaining news we'll probably read all week, rumour has it that mr. tom cruise had an 'adult pacifier' specially crafted for his baby-momma katie holmes, to ensure her screams will be silenced while giving birth, thereby adhering to one of the laws of scientology. as sick as that sounds, i'm actually enthralled by the idea of an adult pacifier - it would seriously save me so many pens and straws.

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.