self analysis through fashion.

i've always had a penchant for making things difficult for myself. its like my brain completely disregards whatever the easy option is, and launches full throttle into the other one. i'll be going about things, anything - basic functions, routes, habits, relationships - and then try a new variation on it or see someone doing it in a different manner and suddenly have this smack-my-forehead-duh!-moment where i realize that i could have been saving myself hours/gray hairs. like when i learned how to more effectively dispose of soup.

so i now realize that this habit of mine transcends into my closet. i am a huge fan of big bottomed pants. as soon as those horrible tapered pants of my 80s childhood were behind me, my jeans swiftly evolved from bootcut to flares to the ones with 26-inch bases that drag about the floor like a train behind me. what i never before thought about though, was how much extra work these sort of pants really are.

my current faves - i have two pairs, as the first was ripped when my heel got tangled up in them and i tripped on 27th street and face-planted onto the sidewalk on my way to a rangers game, where i showed up bloody and crying, while missy and father laughed at me. one would think that had been my pants epiphany moment - are lovingly referred to as my "streetsweepers" as they are singlehandedly responsible for keeping the concrete of two cities (and the floors of numerous apartments and homes) free of debris. i know the bottoms of them are filthy, and they are almost impossible to wear in the rain, but i never really minded all that much.

until today. at some point between my car and the prescription counter of CVS the bottom of my pants became entangled in this giant blue piece of gum. a serious wad - i'd say it was at least 4 sticks of trident or 2 pieces of bubble yum. having been caught in the ripped off hem of my jeans, the wad apparently swished back and forth while i was walking, getting stuck against other parts of the hem as well as my sneaker and when i finally realized i was sticking to CVS' industrial grade carpet, there was quite a sticky mess going on. upon purchasing a scissor and spending a good few minutes in the parking lot cutting the gummy part of the jeans off, i realized that wearing clothing should not take this much effort. if it did, there'd be a lot more nudists.

this of course does not at all mean that i've learned my lesson for good -- my beloved streetsweepers, though slightly shorter on the left leg, will not be retired anytime soon - but i have found a new appreciation for the skinny jeans i was forced to buy. so at least for one day i will take the easy road - tomorrow i'm tucking a pair of them into boots and will boldly stomp down the sidewalk, discarded wads of gum be damned.

"I think that the seal with the yellow bow tie might be the one that I released into the sea after giving it the taste for mammal blood."

perhaps if more people had tuned into Arrested Development we could have avoided such tragedies.

http://abcnews.go.com/Technology/wireStory?id=2684918&technology=true

nautical nonsense (on land).

Solidifying my descent into oldladyhood, I now basically only take the local bus to and fro work. Although this method is sometimes slower than the subway, it is both closer to my apartment and a lot more scenic. The main street that the bus takes is a hotbed of activity, so I always have something interesting to watch. Hoards of teens acting like imbeciles on the sidewalk. The flashing lights of the fifty 99 cents stores that are lined up next to each other (shouldn't one of them drop to 98 cents to blow away the rest of the competition?). This extremely odd restaurant/bar/bakery that has chairs and baskets hanging from its awning and a pirate statue standing guard out front.

But during one ride home I happened to find something tiny that completely topped all the rest of this hoopla. I happened to be gazing out the bus window into a clothing store and saw a familiar flash of yellow. Is that Spongebob Squarepants? I asked myself. Nah. What would spongebob be doing in a men’s clothing store? I looked closer, and indeed – there was the porous little creature, emblazoned on a blue button-down fleece.

Now don’t get me wrong – I was a big fan of SBSP (nickname basis with him, that’s right) back in college. The krabby patties, his pet snail, Gary, who meowed like a cat, the little whiney sound SBSP’s nose made while he slept– I loved it all. Granted I was drunk/hungover most of the time during the viewing marathons my roommate and I had, but it was highly highly entertaining stuff, and if I were a parent right now (big laugh) I’d certainly encourage my kids to watch the show (and the movie, since kids can never be too young to start up their appreciation for David Hasselhoff) and have my husband dress up as Spongebob for their birthday parties.

But back to the point. A Spongebob fleece in a men’s clothing store. And not just any men’s clothing store – one that is also home to a leather Scarface jacket and a neon pink Baby Phat sign. What on earth is it doing there? and in the front window, on a mannequin, no less.

In the days since my first sighting, they have moved the fleece from the mannequin to a different, less prominent, part of the display - my guess is the rapid decline down the street cred ladder that SBSP could be causing - but I am still absolutely transfixed with the damn thing. The store has a help wanted sign in its window, and i just might have to take a second job just so i can see who purchases this crazy fleece. stay tuned.

"look ma, i'm a video ho."

for awhile now friends have been telling us to catch "pants off dance off" on Fuse, never exactly explaining what it was all about, just saying that we would enjoy it since it was all about dancing with pants off (something that guests must be willing to do when attending a party at loveandcyanide's place).

NO ONE INFORMED US OF THE LEVEL OF SHEER JOYOUS LUNACY OF THIS SHOW.

people, we would have tuned in months ago had you told us that this wasn't just a club full of music video extras grooving about in hot pants (which is what i was expecting). its people-who-shouldnt-be-stripping stripping/dancing to ridiculous music. some of these people are in mascot costumes, like Benny the Whale, who stripped down to his fuzzy blue gills to the milkshake song. some wear sparkly silver tights - bizarrely with socks underneath - that they can barely get out of, while revealing that they'd like to be madonna's pool boy as they "like pools and like to clean." the contestants also heckle each other's looks and moves.

and, AND

this is all hosted by jodie sweetin. yes, ex-meth addict stephanie tanner is there, making snarky comments about the half-naked dancers . oh wait, i'm sorry - they are called pancers.

such entertainment.

starchy.

so we got a new temporary boy roommate this past weekend, and as he makes his "bed" (the couch) in the mornings he's definitely the best we've had thus far.

as he's neat and clean and stuff, he inquired about whether or not we had spray starch, to which i replied that i was pretty sure we did, as i vividly visualized this blue canister of it somewhere in my apartment.

a hunt ensued, and 10 fruitless minutes later i was staring quizzically at a can of oven cleaner and he was heading out to c-town to purchase some starch so his work clothes would look presentable (unlike mine and missy's).

upon his arrival home, we discovered something amazing that completely explained all the confusion --

Easy-On is a spray starch in a medium blue cylindrical canister.
Easy-Off is an over cleaner in a medium blue cylindrical canister.

what havoc that minor difference must cause. thank goodness i figured this out before my middle-age housewifing years.

you know you're at a frat boy bar when...

there is a talking Scarface poster in the bathroom.

giant WHY of the day.

O.J. Simpson's "if i did it" campaign.

i cannot for the life of me comprehend the point of this.

doesn't this man have a publicist? and if so, how are they allowing such madness?

public service announcement.

i had a longer post planned - half drafted even - but my mind/fingers aren't up to finishing it at the moment, so i'm just leaving you kids with a little nugget of FYI for the evening --

sometimes when you hear all this clanging outside and you're convinced, absolutely convinced, that it's someone coming up the fire escape to infiltrate your apartment and chop up you, your little sister, and her dirty stuffed polar bear, it turns out to be nothing more than a man pushing a shopping cart full of empties down your street.

amazing how those two things can sound so similar.

(i know, we really shouldn't be allowed to watch Dexter right before bed).

business etiquette for the 'true life: i'm a staten island girl' set.

so i'm in this meeting the other day, and when greeting one of the clients and shaking her hand, her fake nail tip comes off in the palm of my hand.

as i pull my hand away and out of the shake, said nail tip falls onto the conference table - with a deafening roar, i may add - and we both stare at it, as the pale polished bit of acrylic glowed accusatorially at me against the dark wood of the table. i mumbled a "sorry" and she snatched the tip up and put it in her bag.

while at first mortified, i then realized i had no business being embarrassed - at least my hands are keeping it real.

i'll just save the embarrassment for when my company loses her business due to this little mishap.

"welcome to the northeast. have a mallomar."

i totally didn't give mallomars the respect they deserved as a child. i took them for granted since there was almost always a box of them residing in our cabinets. by about age 10 i grew tired of seeing that garish yellow box, got disgruntled with the fact they were dark chocolate coated, and started boycotting them, all the while wishing my mother would go buy some new exciting cookie, like those chips ahoy with the m&m's in them.

so when we recently read a fascinating article about mallomars in New York Magazine (which actually sounded a lot like the wikipedia entry for them. are there any true journalists left out there?), about how rare and special they are, i felt a tad bit guilty about my years of boycotting the 'mar and have since given them another chance. it was a wise decision.

for more information on this v. special cookie - so special, in fact, that they aren't covered in chocolate they're enrobed in chocolate.

fancy.

because one chickenbone story per week is never enough.

i know. you're wondering how in a mere 4-day span a person manages to have two stories starring a chickenbone. keep in mind i'm currently chrissy the vermin magnet - it only makes sense that such food waste finds its way around me.

so i believe i've complained about this in the past, but i just do NOT understand what compels some people to carry the food they do onto buses. and i'm not talking city buses, where the door opens every few minutes so the smell of the offending food source has the opportunity to waft outside - no, i'm talking about inter-city buses, where patrons are trapped in the airless vehicles for hours on end. where there's little to no personal space and therefore using a fork should seem out of the question.

but no. defying all laws of common sense, i've seen the most difficult to eat, stankiest food stuff brought on to these buses during my rides. this past weekend was the kicker. a group of women come parading onto the bus with paper holders full of...fried chicken. who eats fried chicken on a bus?!?!

the grease. the bones. so the ladies are munching away on their birds, and as one of them shifts, i see her little cardboard container tip to the side. a moment later a drumstick tumbles out and into the bus aisle. of course the woman is oblivious, and the leg rested there for a good 8 minutes while i glared at it in disgust. finally, her friend noticed and she leaned into the aisle and picked it up.

i truly just do not understand why someone would think that eating chicken on a bus is a good idea. do they not realize that there is reasoning behind the invention of snack packs and travel mugs?

thinking my true calling may be as an exterminator.

i swear to you dear readers that i am a clean and tidy girl. why i have suddenly found myself in a cycle where i see some form of vermin on a daily basis is beyond me. on a positive note, all these experiences with the more disgusting little creatures that inhabit the earth are making me a much stronger person.

so we all remember my run-in with that mutant roach about 2 weeks ago - that i suppose started this cycle, and thankfully, while some of the vermin-centric events of the weekend were mildly scarring, none were on the level of the incident with that super bug from outer space. i've come a long way since then.

on thurs, missy and i had the pleasure of witnessing a rat duel on the subway tracks. while chatting and waiting for the train, we saw a rat scurry by with something in his mouth, which we figured out was a chickenbone (at least we hope it was). thinking that it was kind of cute to see how it was dinnertime for all of nyc's residents both large and small, we resumed our conversation. suddenly we see another rat pounce on the first one, and go for the bone. rodentlike squeals ensued, little furs went flying, and the two rats were rolling around on the floor clawing each other for this meager bit of chicken carcass. the entire platform of people were enraptured in the battle, necks craning over the ledge to see which rat would lose an eye. who won? we'll never know, as the C train pulled in and we were off to enjoy our dinner (neither of us ordered poultry).

next morning, i arrive in my office, excited that its friday, excited to be leaving town for the weekend, excited for my cup of english breakfast tea since it was freezing out and i was of course dressed inappropriately for not one, but two cities. just as i was about to go to the kitchen to make my tea, a yelp is heard from that direction, and one of my coworkers comes quickly striding by reporting "there's a mouse chilling in the kitchen". and indeed there was - sitting near a tray of (wrapped) halloween candy on the counter near our coffee machine was a little gray mouse. just sitting there. staring at everyone who walked in, as though he though he waiting for you to ask him to pour you a cup. had this been a cartoon, and not, you know, real life, i would have thought it was all shades of adorable. but mice, along with mutant roaches, most definitely do not belong in one's workspace, and so i was disgusted and horrified, and even after the little guy was disposed of, i refused to go in the kitchen and make my tea. shudder. i hope no one minds when i start wearing a biohazard suit to work everyday.

finally, as i was about to hop into the shower on sunday, i notice something move out of the corner of my eye on the bathroom windowsill. had it been 2 months ago, i would have blamed this on the previous night's wine-filled revelry, but now i know better. there was something else in this bathroom besides me. a moment later i see a rather large waterbug come crawling down the bottle of bathroom cleaner (oh irony) that was on the sill. while my immediate reaction was to shout to the more courageous and strong male in the other room to come kill it, i also heard the voice of the new, braver chrissy saying, "come on, you can kill this thing yourself." and dammit, i did.

amazing, that just a mere two weeks ago i couldn't manage to stomp on a roach in an elevator, and now i could be naked in a bathroom with a waterbug about 10 inches away at eye level and find the power within myself to beat it senseless with a magazine.

What not to wear:

Scene: Cold/rainy/windy morning outside a building located on the Hudson River.

Outfit: Silk pleated above-the-knee dress.



Outcome: DISASTER!!!

insani-T

if you guys haven't caught an episode of Mr. T's new show "I Pity the Fool" yet, we highly suggest you tune in.

you know.

you know you've become a nuisance to your coworkers when...

- your receptionist hands you a book on illnesses. tells you to "keep it for as long as you need it". slipped inside the book is a photocopied page of the index, with "cough - pgs. 25, 26,27,28" circled and starred.

you know you're a poor keeper of your own well-being when...

- trying to pay for items in CVS, the cashier cannot ring up the eye liner because there is no bar code. he asks you to get a new one. upon bringing him the new liner, which has a wrapper/bar code on it, the cashier scans the code while commenting "you know, you probably shouldn't buy makeup that isn't sealed. that's not really safe."

you know you've had a rough night when...

- you somehow convince yourself and the random boy buying you drinks that the bar is closing too early for new york city standards as its only 2am, when in all actuality its almost 4am and you were given an extra hour at the bar as daylight savings time ended sometime during your booze-a-thon.

and

- you also convince yourself during the cab ride home that the driver is incompetent and taking you and your friends in the wrong direction home. upon politely yet insistently shouting through the partition "excuse me sir, where are we going? we're supposed to be going downtown, and you're going uptown.", the driver points out that the street numbers are in fact going down, and inquires if you are ok.

but, you know deep down you're a good person which compensates for the rest of your nonsense when...

- you stop your car (and following traffic) in the middle of the street for a good minute or so, to allow a man to chase around the yarmulke that the wind has blown off his head.

and we thought we were the only ones..

Gwen Stefani samples 'The Lonely Goatherd' (the PREMIERE song from The Sound of Music, at least according to two little girls who cared little about nazis and lots about puppets) in her new song 'Wind it Up.'


missy, chrissy + bear rejoice.



now if only the video includes marionette goats with false eyelashes!

chrissy vs. the mutant bugs

i've been wanting to report on the new job for the past few weeks now - i even came up with the ever-so-catchy title of 'dispatches from the cube' for such a feature - but every night upon dragging my tired body back from slaving over my desk all day, i just haven't found it in me to complain about the neighbor who's music i cannot tolerate, or the fact that everyone leaves their cell ringers on (vibrate, people!! common. office. courtesy.), or that my office supplies are rationed and i only have one, slightly worn, pink highlighter to my name.

however, today was just too much for me to handle. so ever since i've started, i've been treated to stories about the mice and roaches found around the building**. and not just, you know, in the stairwell or garbage room, but under people's desks and whatnot. kind of disconcerting - especially with my penchant for keeping my shoes off while sitting in my chair - but as i haven't spied a rodent yet, i assumed these were just tall tales to scare the new girl.

oh no.

so i'm leaving a bit later than usual this evening, and chatting with a fellow coworker while waiting for the elevator. elevator arrives, door opens, he gestures to let me walk in first, and as i step through the door i freeze and let out the most pathetic girly shriek to ever escape my lips. scurrying along the elevator floor is the largest cockroach i've ever seen. seriously, HUGE. like the size of those Madagascan hissing beetles that are in the zoo. actually, this thing could have eaten one of those hissing beetles. it could have eaten the guy who cleans the hissing beetles' cage.

thankfully my heroic coworker was there, and upon moving me aside and deciphering my high-pitched, panicked and breathless explanation of why i was refusing to step further into the elevator, he chased the monster around into a corner and stomped on it. and good thing heroic coworker was wearing sturdy shoes, as i'm certain the people waiting for the elevator the floor below us heard the CRUNCH of the mutant bug's shell as he met his demise.

its two hours later and my skin is still crawling. i am so never working late again.


**my new office is located in an apartment building - hence the rodent problem. i'd love to find a hi-rise apartment buidling in manhattan that is roach-free. and people wonder why loveandcyanide traipses from outer borough to borough, refusing to call the most popular one home.

modern day vampires = lab technicians?

so i was watching The Secret Life of Vampires on the History Channel (i know. we're content-less for over a week and all i can come back with is a tv report on vampires?? pathetic. yes, indeed. but we're currently stuck in a pathetic cycle, one that involves a persistant upper respiratory infection, narcotic-laced cough syrup, and many days home on the couch watching terrible daytime television, so tv vampires are the most excitement we're able to handle right now.), and i was all pumped to get scared because after the commercial break they were breaking away from the grainy video of bela lugosi and showing what modern day vampires are up to. modern day vampires - if dracula was able to wreak so much havoc in the boring old 1800s, imagine what dastardly tricks these guys must be up to nowadays?

commercial ends, and there i sit, hand conveniently held up to face level, ready to cover my eyes from the horror i would surely soon witness. and we see vampire Dan, who says he is one of the few vampires who still drinks blood, and was going to do so on camera. eeeeekk. i braced myself for some fang/neck action, ready to see one of my worst nightmares come to life...and instead he takes a needle, sticks it in a girl's arm, and draws a vial of blood like he's testing her for thyroid problems. vampire Dan then deposits the blood from the needle into a wine glass, and then drinks it. what the hell?? nosferatu is turning in his coffin.

another brief, angry, musing inspired by the telly.

"ugly betty" should really be called "stupid betty". she works at a fashion magazine. she should have picked up a teensy bit of fashion sense by the third episode.

"a friend to all is a friend to none."

why do all celebrities feel the need to reveal their secrets to Oprah?

United Porno Service.

just when i think i'm not going to have anything exciting to write about today because i sleepwalked all the way to work avoiding any situation that hinted at being entertaining, slightly maniacal or majorly disastrous my building goes and gets a new UPS delivery guy.

this is not just your average run of the mill delivery man, oh no. he is a full blown fantasy postal worker. i kid you not when he walked up to my desk i thought for a second that someone ordered a stripper.

he is wearing:
1. the uniform shorts that the delivery men wear in the summer. (note: it is 63 degrees and cloudy with 80% chance of precipitation). and they are SKIN TIGHT. painted on. bulletproof even.
2. matching shirt equally as tight with sleeves CUFFED UP almost to his shoulders.

plus i swear he was flexing when he carried the three (very light) packages that he needed to strut into our back mailroom.. .

are there any openings in the chelsea houses?

ever the good liberal, it has never been in my nature to deny or covet government housing. my route of late, however, has me seriously reconsidering my stance on economy/politics/good taste. i've even begun to wonder if i actually start paying taxes (and declaring my rent, or even letting the government know i do not in fact still live with my parents, or even on their island) if maybe the government will see what a poor bracket i'm in and offer me compensation in the form of low-income apartments in chelsea/food stamps/gold bricks. it's the least they could do considering they have pounced on the post-graduation opportunity to make me stand as a juror, calling me within only FOUR months of completing college/becoming eligible/losing any sort of fun or interesting aspects of my life.


but back to my un-pc point. every morning i wake up at 630, two hours before i need to be in my office. i leave at 730, walk one mile to the R or V train. Transfer to the E. Take the E across town to 23rd and 8th ave and walk FOUR avenues to the westside highway.

i do this for multiple reasons.

1. nyc transit decided that no one ever needed to venture further west than 8th ave thus making the E the most western subway.
2. the cross-town m23 adds an extra 30 minutes onto my commute whereas (power)walking gets me the 4 avenues in 10 minutes and a nice healthy glow.
3. working in fashion is cool.
4. working in fashion and not in the garment district but rather mixing with the chelsea art gallery scene is uber-cool. r.lauren, h.boss and prada have spoken.

so every morning when i wake myself up with my .8 mile walk i get seriously angered by the happy people frolicking in the park next to the chelsea houses on 26th between 9th and 10th. why are these people not getting ready for work? why am i spending my entire first two paychecks a month to live in an apt 1 hour by bus/train/foot from my office when the government is virtually throwing prime space at people? and my biggest question.. whyyyyyyyy do these buildings allow dogs?!

every morning as i groggily roll down 26th street i am woken up by my now routine game of skip around the dog poo. no exaggeration, it is allllllllll over the sidewalk. apparently not only do the chelsea houses condone dogs, they also do not feel the need to post sweet little 'curb your dog' signs because they figure it is common courtesy to do so. i however, beg to differ. someone OBVIOUSLY needs to notify everyone within the range of 26th-23rd between 9th and 12th avenue that dogs go in the street. or in grass. or you pick it up. but it most definitely does not get left in the middle of the walkway.

aside from this, how does government housing even ALLOW pets?
a. if you have a low income how can you afford upkeep on an animal?
b. shouldn't they be concerned about the upkeep of their buildings?

sissy and i live in a nice, quaint, 9-apartment building, yet we cannot even have a cat for fear of damaging the wood/walls/peter the landlords sanity.

what i've noticed to be even more apparent is that these are no compact to midsize dogs. these are full on suv-sized beasts. now explain to me exactly what square footage these people are packing to fit such a hound. i have come to the conclusion that the chelsea houses must have apartments of loft-sized proportions.

tres horrifying.

i am green from envy/stench of monstrous dog feces.


moral of the story: get lower paying job. gain ten minute walk to work, fabulously located spacious apt and frou-frou shiba inu named jacques.

halloween is fashion.

loveandcyanide loves halloween. we've loved it since back in the day when we were 4 and 1, dressed up as a pink my little pony and a baby bunny, hamming it up for dad's video camera with our plastic pumpkins full of treats. its all about candy and parties and getting to look a little out of the ordinary. whats not to love?

a brand new (at least we think) addition to the online halloween hoopla - seriously, you could spend an entire day perusing the craziness of the costume sites - are videos of people modeling the costumes. you know, because a photo of a man in a banana suit wasn't enough to convince you to purchase it. gee, i reealllly want to be that banana for halloween, but how will that yellow foam suit move as i walk down the street?

a very important question. thank goodness buycostumes.com has made life easier for us, and for some of their costumes, beyond just the mere photo they have enabled links to video of the costume in question. the videos feature a runway and commentary on the outfit. they are probably the funniest things i've seen all week.

since we're still not technologically savvy enough to get videos in our posts (and really, would you want us to? so many, too many, bloggers rely on a youtube video as the meat of their post, thinking their job is done. lazy fools. that's what the boob tube is for. aren't you kids happy to do some good old fashioned reading when you come to our neck of the web?), here is a link to a costume, and you'll find the video, of a large man modeling a tooth fairy getup, there. enjoy.

we miss the good old days.

i've always felt this "metrosexual" thing was a little much. all of a sudden the guys i dated used more hair products than i did. they swapped their big jeans for really tight ones. they cared more about matching their shoes to their jacket than i did.

but i was ok with it. i thought it was cute how much they cared about their appearance. that they didn't want to be grunting neanderthals in my presence. they wanted me to be pretty and groomed, and wanted to be pretty and groomed for me in return. reciprocity! it's a beautiful thing. i'm all about it.

but now its gone a bit too far. its ok for some guys - the executives in their neat little offices in their neat little pinstripe suits - to get a little prissy. but suddenly that last bastion of manliness - the construction worker - has turned a bit soft on us.

first it was sissy. she was walking eastbound on the upper east side and went under a patch of scaffolding. as she walked through she passed a pair of construction workers, and one of them said, "heyy, nice eyebrows." she couldn't ignore them like she usually does - because this exclamation was just too unique and ridiculous - so she started laughing. which must have encouraged them, as they then followed up with, "do you pluck or wax?"

a block away, after pondering the absolute insanity of that exchange, she realized that she should have retorted with "i thread" and have thrown them off completely.

then, earlier this week, it was me. i was trotting along in a flouncy skirt and my new ankle-strap zebra striped ballet flats. as i walked by a con-ed truck, i felt one of the workers following me with his eyes. as i passed by the end of the truck, he shouted, "cute shoes!" cute shoes??? what about "nice legs"? a wolf whistle? i coveted those shoes - my best friends, i expected, would covet (and compliment) those shoes as well - but a random man on the street? why wasn't he coveting my legs, not my shoes? shouldn't he have been checking out my body?

no way. boys, this is a bit too much. we're confused. please. we implore you -- go back to your vulgar, womanizing ways.

you can't say that you weren't warned.

so this morning i was toiling away at work when suddenly a loud row started up outside. it isn't unusual to hear shouting and noise outside my new office (spastic aside: i've been wondering why i hear so much more noise at the new place, and chalked it up to its location further uptown. it finally occurred to me after about two weeks that it's because my office is now on the 3rd floor instead of the 15th. sigh.), but after about five minutes of listening to men screaming profanities at each other, a few of us went to the window to see what the commotion was.

we spied a large blue van, and the driver had the door open and was half out of the car, wildly gesticulating and screaming at another man who was standing in front of the van in the street, who was doing the same. we assumed that the vehicle must have bumped into the man in the street since he didn't appear to have been hit and injured. but what transpired between the two isn't the important part, so i'll let you all draw your own conclusions.

so as the van pulls away, we noticed the name of the company printed on its side:

Aggressive Glass & Mirror Company.

indeed!

file under creepy/unnecessary.

http://www.babytoupee.com/newsite/index.htm

what are these? who the hell comes up with this stuff?

and why why WHY would anyone want their infant to have hair like donald trump or lil' kim?

waiting for dexter.

i'm not an astrology nut - when i was 12 i was "dumped" on what Teen Magazine had deemed my "lucky love day" for the month, and i gave up on the zodiac predictions right then and there - but i do believe in the traits attributed to each sign. i'm a pisces, which is symbolized by two fish swimming in the opposite direction. so along with my love of water, my life is often categorized by opposites and contradictions.

one of the major ones is that i get scared very, VERY, easily -- as a 9-year-old i was almost too afraid to go into the haunted house in disney world. i can't watch scary movies. i can't even look at the covers of the cases of horror movies at the video store lest i get nightmares from the pictures. the second the lights go off i assume something is going to come out of my closet and attack me. i'm horrible at staying home by myself. i have a super-active imagination, and the moment something minorly macabre pops into my brain, it manifests itself into a horror flick with me as its panic-stricken star. its actually pathetic. -- yet i have a huge fascination with serial killers.

i always have. its ridiculous that i can be so curious about the most disturbing members of society when i'm too afraid to watch something like "the lost boys" by myself. you know what one of my top fears is? it's not getting hit by a bus. it's not flying. it's not heights. it's getting eaten alive by rats. clearly i've spent too much time reading and watching the actions of the demented murdering set.

so suffice to say, i'm super-excited for the new series Dexter, which starts this sunday on showtime. i hope its not all gore and torture, and that they actually delve into his mind and motivations and all, but i have faith in the channel for a decent plot line. although i imagine this means i won't be getting much sleep for the next few months.

well, it starts out lovely...

the good:
rumour has it that mcdonald's is going to start serving breakfast all day long. FINALLY!! i can't even count the number of times that loveandcyanide has woken up at 11:01am on a weekend morning, hungover as all hell, wanting, craving, needing for survival, some mickey d's breakfast, knowing that we were a bit too late. 11 was entirely too early to end breakfast - for the elderly its not, but c'mon, mcgriddles weren't made with your grandma in mind. i'm glad the hamburgler and crew are coming to their senses.

the bad:
i've decided that i'm no longer going to be friendly towards the surly cashiers at our local c-town. i always go out of my way to say "thanks! have a good night" when handed my receipt, and it never fails that the sullen teen cashier just stares me down as though i insulted her diamond nameplate.

the ugly:
we suddenly realized this evening that we don't know what guys wear when they go tanning** (a scene from MTV's "Made" prompted this, but we're from staten island, so a conversation like this is to be expected) - completely clueless, never even pondered it before. so we took an impromptu poll of a few males we know, and learned that they either go naked, or with a sock covering their important bits. a sock in the tanning bed. does that thin layer of cotton really offer much protection? can a penis really get tanned anyways? what about tan lines? my mind is reeling. and i don't know what baffles me more - this whole sock factor, or that we were able to take such a poll in less than 4 minutes.

**note: only 1/2 of loveandcyanide condones fake tanning by males. it's not me.**

Fall like a drag queen day.

although tuesday was talk like a pirate day, that did not satisfy my childlike need for random celebrations and i took it upon myself to create my own holiday this friday.

armed with the prerequisite 3inch green lizard platforms i embarked on my private party to honor my personal favorite gender group, the queens.

after one failed attempt at a drag-esque heel flop (caught by unsuspecting, uncelebratory boyfriend) i regrouped and found the PERFECT opportunity.

a nice flop on the sidewalk, 2am, in Queens(natch*), while carrying a tray of McD's drinks, which in fact i did not spill, even as i hit the ground with all the weight and grace of a man in a one-piece (madonna) jumpsuit and platform heels.

thank you.

weekend realizations.

saturdays are apparently a very popular day at the local stop & shop. there was a wait for a shopping cart. seriously. have you ever been to a supermarket where a plastic/metal cart wasn't waiting in a neat row at your disposal? well today it was a few minute wait just to be able to wheel your groceries around. the impatient ladies we are, we grabbed a couple of baskets, and upon reaching the "international aisle", where we were snagging cans of black beans, we realized we were a tad too hasty in making our decision. i imagine my biceps will be protesting in the morning.

arrested development remains the best show (not! argh!) on television. having not watched our series dvd's in awhile, we forgot how much we loved/resembled the bluth family. after a short marathon this evening, we realized just how much we've been missing their unique/vaguely familiar dysfunctionality.

our family cat, tigger, is by far the favorite child. our father's parting line via instant messenger this afternoon: "i'll talk to you later. cat needs lunch."

anthony rapp (of rent and dazed & confused fame) is one of those creepy/annoying actors that you can never seem to escape.

we might have a (teensy) online shopping problem. we managed to spend missy's entire first paycheck this afternoon without ever leaving our beds. however, we'd like to point out that although we managed to purchase three pair of shoes within a 15 minute window, we also spent on a good chunk of the check on a birthday present for someone other than ourselves. such selflessness.

making the dentist proud.

having agonized all week long over which dental plan to opt for with my new insurance, and finally half-heartedly deciding on spending more money to stay with my old plan and dentist, i was quite pleased to have had a moment of divine intervention today that assured me i made the right decision.

as i was waiting on the subway platform, rocking out to some new tunes, i suddenly realized that someone was invading my 3 feet of personal space. i turned slightly to my left to see what the problem was and saw this relatively normal looking man, staring at me and apparently speaking to me. i took off my headphones (the things i wear to prevent people from speaking to me), and figuring he was asking me directions (seriously, i get stopped for directions about twice a day. something about me clearly screams "tourist information center".) asked him where he needed to go. he looked at me strangely and said "i said, can i give you a compliment?" so of course having never before been asked if i would allow a compliment - don't most men just shout them at you while you walk on by, whether you like them or not? - my brain didnt compute the sentence and i said "what?" and he repeated the question. so i said "um, sure. thanks" and he told me how attractive he thought i was. i smiled and thanked him and he then said "oh my god, and you have such great teeth."

my teeth elicited an oh my god. thank goodness i'm sticking with my dentist.

in need of noise-cancelling headphones.

so despite the rampant joy that talk like a pirate day inflicted on my life (and yours too, i hope), this week has been rather unlucky for us here in loveandcyanide land. missy almost had a 2-day job interview that included an all-expense paid trip to that fabulous land of glamour, L.A...almost. as per the usual, glitz and glory somehow morphed into chaos and the sudden dropping of a client from a recruiting service. we're still trying to comprehend it all.

i managed to start my new job this week without nearly as much turmoil - however, as luck would have it i found myself in the cube next to panic at the disco's biggest fan. now, from a previous arson-friendly posting you should know how we feel about this band, so its clear that i would rather have hannibal lecter as my cube-mate. and i can now assure our dear readers who had previously inquired about patd's full album that i indeed hate it, as i've listened to it the full way through a good four or five times by now. it finally hit me this afternoon that the lead singer sounds like he is whining for you to get out of the bathroom before he wets his pants. you know that voice? (sure i haven't heard it since the 3rd grade either, but some things just stick with you). i've actually gotten to the point where i am no longer hearing the song lyrics, just "pleaassseee i neeeedd to goooo nowwww" in the whingiest voice imaginable over and over and over again to the beat. its just that bad.

lest you think i'm exaggerating my situation with the panicky insanity, here is a daily tally of the times i've been subjected to that horrible popular song of theirs (this is not counting the other songs - just the one that makes my ears shrivel in distaste and evokes visions of tossing the fax machine at this girl's head computer):

monday: 2
tuesday: 3
wednesday: 5

i am somewhat afraid of what friday will bring.

it's my favorite day of the yarr!

happy talk like a pirate day!

http://talklikeapirate.com/piratehome.html

i should have sent you all these piratical wishes earlier in the day, but alas, the new job isn't allowing much time for daytime typing. those wretched landlubbers...

the mid-september hit list.

some of our latest obsessions:

scissor sisters' i don't feel like dancin'.
the sisters are one of our favorite bands and the first single from their latest cd (which hits stores i believe on the 26th...cannot wait) is just pure discolicious goodness. this is the sort of song that makes you want to turn cartwheels through a field of dancing tulips and shimmy around with animated puppies and kittens.

the mystery guest by gregoire bouillier.
i go through books the way tony soprano goes through bowls of ice cream, and this little gem is one of the recent best.

Snyder's hot buffalo wing pretzel pieces.
why didn't someone come up with these sooner? (or why didn't our local grocery stores start carrying them sooner..) crispy pretzel bites dusted in hot sauce. all the joy of a buffalo wing, without dealing with the bones. and now finally vegetarians can partake in the fun! in the snack food realm, these little guys are gods.


mmm.

dining out with loveandcyanide.

wasted and eating chinese food:

missy: this chicken tastes just like popcorn!
chrissy: actually, its beef.
missy: oh. hmm.

yea on the catwalk. on the catwalk yea.

a few firsts from the past few days:

first cat-warming. so you wonder what a cat-warming entails? (hee) a fair amount of alcohol, including a bottle of wine called "pink" that is in fact pink sparkling wine. a bunch of friends. and a new feline, who cares little about meeting the guests who are there to celebrate her, and instead attempts to climb up the fireplace in the living room.

first fashion show. fun times on saturday night with the fashion crowd, a hip-hop mogul, and a few tween stars. especially when, for the show's finale, models wielding fake machine guns shot blanks into the crowd, minorly injuring a few of the spectators in the front row. fake gun injuries, confetti AND an open redbull & vodka bar...it was almost too much excitement for me to handle.

first fruit-fly infestation. an aunt who doesn't eat a piece of fruit of day + a grandmother who buys fruits by the bushel = excess fruit in house = a feast for those pesky fruity flies. a swarm took up residence, harassing poor aunt all weekend. when said swarm decided to take a breather on the glass sliding doors, stealthy aunt saw an opportunity for retaliation. armed with ant spray, she wildly doused the glass doors, massacring the entire fly brigade at once. i only wish my insect-killing skills had come from this side of the family.

first time we saw ourselves on tv. well...not quite. but the scene in last night's episode of Weeds where Celia is screaming "be my friend!" at Nancy while pulling her hair is the closest anyone has ever come to capturing missy and i interacting. impressive.

vexations.

things that are perplexing me on this fine morning:

1. i heard on the radio earlier (Z100, natch. i think i'm actually enjoying the aural smut in the mornings at this point) that Kristin Cavallari will be the topic of this sunday's E! True Hollywood Story. WHY?? she hasn't even been on this earth for 20 years..how many fascinating feats could she have possibly accomplished? not that i've ever watched a whole episode of THS, but i believe in the olde days they used to focus on actual hollywood stars. upon further investigation i found out more information on the show - a. she will be sharing the episode with Mischa Barton , and b. and i quote "get the inside scoop about what it's like to lose one's virginity in the ninth grade and experiment with a lesbian." amazing! now it totally makes sense for kristin's story to be told to the world. i lost my virginity in the __th grade, i have no idea what it would've been like to have lost it in the ninth grade.

2. a client of mine who is located in virginia sent an email to us professional folk he deals with here in nyc, letting us know he survived Hurricane Ernesto. the valediction he used for this email? "love, david". i've never received a "love" in a work-related email before...do we think he'll be offended when my reply is ended with the slightly colder "best regards"?

3. children wheeling their bookbags. every school year i get all bent out of shape about this phenomenon, and this morning on my walk to the train as i passed by handfuls of kids with their bags-on-wheels i found myself becoming all shades of agitated. what the hell is a third grader carrying that he can't handle putting the sack on his back?? my generation handled backpacks (sure i was 17 and doing back exercises on my kitchen wall deemed necessary by a chiropractor who said my spine or whatever is back there was slightly leaning from always carrying a schoolbag on my left shoulder. but that was merely b/c only the 'losers' carried their bags with both straps whilst the cool kids casually flung it over one arm. as i am more mature now, i'm not advocating such schoolbag carelessness.) - these kids are going to grow up vastly weaker. plus those bags take up so much space. i wouldn't be surprised if they have to start expanding schoolyards just to accommodate all the students plus their luggage.

----------------------------------------

note: this should have been posted yesterday morning, so now we have a number 4. blogger beta is a malfunctioning beast and refuses to work in my office. what gives?

Panic! Fire and the return of the lost sister..

If i saw Panic! At the Disco walking down the street i would dowse them in gasoline and light a match, then yell Panic! on the street.

Thus marks the miraculous and long awaited return of Missy to land of cyanide (minus love, at the moment).

bought a ticket for a runaway train.

this actually happened to me yesterday, but in my worrying over the possibility of domestic violence in the homes of Z100 morning zoo listeners, i was entirely too preoccupied and forgot the incident happened. so we'll pretend it happened this morning.

so i'm on the train to work this morning and i'm leaning against the door to the little conductor chamber in the corner of the car. unless there's open seating, i prefer that little corner over standing somewhere in the middle of the car as i'd rather slump against the wall unobtrusively than jockey with other passengers over where my hand should go on the overhead pole. just let me read in the corner, people, and i'll be a happy camper.

oftentimes when i'm in the little corner, i wonder if there is in fact a conductor behind the door i'm leaning on. i wonder about what he's doing in there (in my brain, train conductors are only men. specifically ones that look like ringo starr circa shining time station), perhaps smoking a pipe, adjusting his cap, or shining the brass train pin that is affixed to his lapel. and sometimes i think about how funny it would be if he was to open the door whilst i was leaning against the door and i were to fall into his booth.

of course today i did.

so i'm wrapped up in the latest issue of NY magazine and suddenly i hear a metallic clank and i find myself tipping backwards. thankfully the booth is only a foot wide, so between the slightly ajar door and the rather large WOMAN CONDUCTOR (dreams. shattered.) wedged in the doorway, i didnt have too far to fall. she of course said "whooaaaa" and sort of shoved me forward and out of her way. i scooted away from her, apologizing profusely, and she emerged from the booth and made her way into the next car, grumbling. i personally thought the grumbling was a little unnecessary. yes, i was blocking the exit from her booth and toppled back onto her. but better me than some smelly homeless man, right?

so in my last bit of MTA news - i do realize i talk a lot about the train. one would think its because the commute is the most exciting part of my day, and probably feel pity for me. please don't. my obsession with the train is a little less sad - dad collects Lionels. a love of of all things choo-choo is clearly in our blood. - the man exiting the train in front of me today was carrying a saw. a hand saw, i believe - it wasn't a power tool. now, although i've spent a fair amount of time in the ol' Home Depot, i'm no expert on tools and/or tool transportation. but i would at least assume that the blade should have some sort of protective cover over it shouldn't it? right. well, not this one. the guy was just swinging it at his side, blade gleaming in the flourescent light of the station. amazing that the NYPD hangs around stations checking for "suspicious packages", while this guy can just openly tote around an instrument of death.

why turn to NPR for thought-provoking radio.

we apologize for not updating yet this week. well, half of us does...the other half doesn't really have a good excuse although she's creative and charming enough that when she does decide to offer one up it will be so good and you will be so enchanted that it won't matter that she currently has you cast aside like a slightly moldy peach. anyways, my excuse is that its been a very busy/exciting week involving a new job and some irish nachos. i honestly can't tell you which I was more thrilled about.

so last week, sister dearest switched the radio station on my alarm clock from a station that was passable - classic rock, only one majorly annoying morning show host. the best adjective radio stations, at least the mainstream ones here in nyc, can get from me these days is 'passable' - to one that is pretty awful. squawky cohosts, cheesy music, ridiculous bits, bathroom humor. i actually feel my brain cells start to wilt when the radio clicks on in the morning.

so its a testament to my laziness that its a week later and i still have not moved the dial back to my old station. a major feature of the morning show are the prank call segments - they have a clever little name for them, which escapes me at the moment. now, i've never been a fan of the crank call thing. crank yankers was cool simply because of the puppet factor, but other than that i could care less about the jerky boys and the nonsense they let loose on the world.

but i have been absolutely fascinated by these morning calls the past week. the unsuspecting phone targets, who seem to always be men who are being set up by their wives, all have severe anger management issues. from the minute they start getting phone-f*cked with they scream and curse and threaten lives and you can hear the blood vessels violently popping in their foreheads. the man this morning was yelling so ferociously you actually couldn't decipher between his words - it just sounded like a bellowing roar of pissiness. ok, so it makes for compelling radio. and even if these guys are acting, i'm amazed at the rage they can pull off. but say these guys are for real - what i sit there and ponder is, why do these little jokester wives play pranks on husbands who have nasty tempers? if my husband was the sort to completely flip out when things go awry, the last thing i'd want to do was set him off with something as dumb as a radio prank. i guess they think it'll make for a memorable bit and all, but what of the repercussions? do other listeners spend their commute wondering if mrs. prankster gets a black eye after mr. angry hangs up the phone? i do.

all this for a bunch of snacks.

if you were to come to our neighborhood, and you were the sort that was into drugstores - pharmacies - you would be in hog heaven. on your walk from the trains you would pass two rite-aids, two eckerds, and a duane reade. since i hate playing favorites, i have some rules that dictate which store i'll stop into. if i'm purchasing items i wouldn't want any normal person to see me with, i opt for rite-aid. that place is a mess and filled with crackheads who don't care about any mildly embarassing purchases. if i'm in a rush and want to ensure that i will find what i'm looking for in stock and in its proper aisle, i hit up duane reade. for basically any other needs, i go to eckerd. i have a special place for eckerd in my heart. not only because its the most aesthetically pleasing and enjoyable to pronouce drugstore name, but because a few summers ago a bunch of my friends took a weekend trip down to the shore and for some reason we took a liking to the massive - massive. like jurassic park sized - eckerd near our motel and literally spent about 1/3 of the weekend inside of it, purchasing snacks, drink mixers, developing the photos we took only hours earlier, and practically getting our hungover asses tossed out. so for nostalgia's sake, eckerd it typically is.

unfortunately the eckerd by me is a hellhole. the blemish on the good wholesome eckerd name. and crazy things are always happening inside. yet i still insist on giving it my business.

so i stopped into eckerd this afternoon. missy and bear were home anxiously waiting for me, in desperate need of snacks, so i made a beeline for the food area. as i was debating over which brand of sour gummy worms to purchase, i kept on having to do a little we're-in-each-other's-way shuffle with this older man who was inspecting the candy bar selection. so i decide to move over to the fridges and to do so i have to go in a circle around a shelving unit of cookies to get there. as i make my way round, the man is coming around the other way and i'm again in his way. so i sort of take a few steps backwards, snickering to myself. i suppose this made it look like i was trying to follow him, as then he about-faced and sort of came around in a circle behind me. i circled to move away, he followed again, and thus there we were doing this bizarre little dance around the maypole that was a cookie display.

after 2 rotations i realized i had to get away, and ran off to the fridges further down the aisle. he blessfully got the hint. so i got missy's diet pepsi's, and got on the entirely too long line. the woman in front of me was bickering with her daughter in another language, so i sort of spaced out and stared off at the Whitman's chocolate display. angry mother moved away from her daughter, and leaned into the display. within 30 seconds, the brightly-colored-yet-obviously-shabbily-constructed cardboard shelf she was leaning on collapsed, causing the woman to fall into the display and multiple boxes of chocolates to tumble off the shelf.

no longer angry, embarassed daughter helped mother put the boxes of whitman's back, while my eyes teared with laughter. little did i know more fun was in store during my wait to pay. now, part of the reason i think this eckerd is so insane is because its registers are poorly situated. so we were all lined up, awkwardly, along this one bank of registers. there was another shorter line at the other bank of registers, but as you had to walk around a few aisles to get there, we all just stayed put. mildly frustrating situation for the less patient. so a woman comes up behind me and inquires if this was the line, and a man a few people in front of me turns around and suggests she go around and over to the shorter line. suddenly, mother shouts "why are you saying that!" to the man. the man loudly retorts, and mother starts pointing and yelling in broken english about how he is wrong. and stupid. man yells back, mother continues shouting, frazzled manager emerges from behind register and asks everyone to please calm down or they'd have to leave. mind you, this is the SECOND yelling match i've been privy to while waiting on line at eckerd. if there are fisticuffs next time i'm in there, i'm giving up on all the other drugstores altogether.

the thursday morning mountain lion report.

I’m starting to think we should have named this blog “animal news”…what can I say, it interests me more than warfare. so the latest. did we all hear about the mountain lion who invaded a home in Colorado? crazy. He just burst through the screen door and into some guy’s house. Now, as strange as that sounds, the oddest part of the whole story is that he stayed inside the house for an hour, whilst the owner and authorities waited outside. Not that I would necessarily want to barge into a house and tussle with a predatory cat, but what was the point of calling the authorities if they were just going to stand around outside, doing nothing. “gee, deputy dave, I wonder what that lion is up to inside?”

Which brings me to the most exciting part of the story – what was the mountain lion doing inside for a whole hour? we’ll never know, but i bet he was lounging in a recliner, paws up, watching Animal Planet.

hip hip...

there are many reasons why i like canada. the european flair. toonies and loonies. a greater appreciation of hockey. eugene levy. fun province names like quebec and saskatchewan. moose. canadian bacon.

today i found a new one, one so wonderful it would possibly make me contemplate moving up north, except for the fact that i've experienced montreal in the winter and totally can't handle it. i've been on a banking research kick lately as i think i finally have to end my relationship with Chase. its been a pretty solid one now for many years, but lately i'm starting to feel taken advantage of. and i realized i'm still with Chase just for the convenience factor, and that's really a poor reason to stay with someone, isn't it? but i digress. while bank perusing for greener (heh) pastures, i somehow went a bit off-course - typical - and wound up coming across President's Choice Financial, a canadian banking company. so what makes them so wonderful, you ask? this:

a hippo bank! i love hippos and even have a hippo bank myself (not courtesy of Chase), so i was quite thrilled to see such love for our potato-shaped, water-dwelling friend. he even looks like he was plucked off a hungry hungry hippos gameboard, which obviously was one of my most favorite games EVER. so this little hippo bank was all over their website, and i couldn't find any logical explanation as to why they want the hippo representing them - a moose or a beaver i could have understood, but not this sub-saharan beast. do canadians just really love hippos? well, then i love the country even more! it's so unfortunate that the nearest President's Choice is a few hundred miles from my apartment, or else my banking switch would be infinitely easier.

the adventures of loveandcyanide and the angry ravioli: an eventful thursday night.

for some reason we haven't been causing as many hijinks as usual lately. thankfully last night changed all that and we're back to our old ridiculous ways. it all started, i assume, when i graffiti-ed in the supermarket. now just calm down. i didn't cover the Keebler display with spray paint. i merely saw a sign on a freezer case:

Angy Ravioli
.99

of course i thought it said "angry ravioli" and i was so excited by the idea of these pissy little cheese circles i almost knocked missy down as she was checking out some new brand of pita chips. when we realized the ravioli were not actually angry, i took out my trusty pen and added the R in. now they are! not the worst thing i've ever done, but we believe it set off the chain of calamitous events that followed.

we squeezed all the fun possible out of ShopRite for the evening, and were off to Dunkin Donuts. it has a drive-thru, and we never turn down the option of drive-thru, so there we were hanging out the car window figuring out what we wanted. as i begin to order, i realize my mouth felt wet. why? of course my lip has split and blood is gushing out of it. while ordering my father his sundae i frantically turn to missy and do the international sign for please-give-me-a-napkin-because-my-face-is-bleeding and she sort of stares at me in disgust and passes one over. so we order and start to bring the car around towards the window and we realize i'm still gushing blood and can't possibly face a dunkin donuts worker looking like this. it was nighttime and i assume he would have assumed i was a vampire with a hankering for a strawberry frosted donut and i'm certain working the night shift like he does he's seen a lot worse, but still. so i put the car in park, and we run out and switch places.

further embarassment averted, we drive back to my parents house, where they stare in shame and something akin to fright that their eldest can be such a bloody mess. thankfully my hemorrhaging soon ceased and we busied ourselves soaking fruit in jugs of wine, prepping for the sangria we will be serving at a party tomorrow. afterwards we settle ourselves in with the excess wine and breakfast on pluto -- an excellent movie, but unfortunately it has squelched my love for cillian murphy. i can't possibly still have a crush on a guy who looks better in a dress than i do. movie ends, we go to bed. right. easy. no. instead, as missy carries the supposedly empty glasses into the kitchen, she somehow lets go of one and sangria is flung into three different rooms. she used to play softball so we know she has a good arm, but the distance this sangria flew was actually amazing. it made it around corners, in crevices. it was dripping off of surfaces we didn't know existed. laughing hysterically at the mess we'd made, we deliriously cleaned up the wine - poorly, as we were informed this morning - and took our hapless selves to bed. an eventful evening, indeed.

thoughts on today's top stories.

i haven't been completely following this planet debate that has been going on recently, but upon reading some articles this morning i can't help but wonder, is there really a need for more planets? nine seemed like a perfect number of them - twelve is entirely too many. how are children going to fit twelve foil balls into a shoebox for their solar system dioramas? plus there are already too many sets of twelve out there - eggs, numbers on the clock, days of christmas - let the planets have their own special number that they don't have to share with the less stellar.

taking off my scientific hat for a moment, never before have i seen my exact feelings on a muppet in print before. its rather refreshing. hopefully some anti-elmo revolution rises up because of this article. i tried to start one back in h.s. - to no avail - when bizarrely, 15-year-old girls started carrying their tickle-me-elmos to school. why were teens buying t.m.e's anyway? not for nostalgia reasons - elmo was barely featured on the show when we were kids. oh wait, it gets better. tickle me elmo was the mascot of our cheerleading team. i wish i was kidding, but there he was, red fur blowing in the breeze from the rattling of the pompoms.

finally, some sad news today - RIP Bruno Kirby. you made When Harry Met Sally a classic, and if we had the familial luck of having an uncle named lenny, we know he would have looked exactly like you.

and we thought we had wild drunken tales...

abduction has been on the minds of loveandcyanide lately (more to come on that one), so my eyes immediately fell onto this headline this morning. yes, its 2-day old news...you know we're a tad slow around here.

Welshman punished for drunken goat abduction

drunken goat abduction. that sounds like the funnest idea ever and i'm totally sober. this dude carl is a total genius when it comes to alcohol induced pranks. damn city living - hindering my ability to get wasted and steal livestock for joyrides...anyways, had carl only been 1 gallon of cider deep, i'm sure this story wouldn't have made the papers and would have just remained a funny yarn told for generations amongst the youth of Wales. and we all would have missed out. but as the gluttonous lad drank a gallon and a half of cider that fateful evening, although he somehow managed to wrangle Snowy the goat into his vehicle, poor carl wound up crashing the car into a tractor (+1 for city living) and was soon apprehended by authorities.

unfortunately, this otherwise amazing tale ends on a tragic note, as poor Snowy passed away two days after the incident. apparently goats do not have as high a tolerance for drunken debauchery as the rest of us do. R.I.P Snowy - we hardly knew ye, kid.

are you lookin' at me?

you ever get the feeling that everyone is staring at you while you're walking down the street? i hate that. the whole experience sets me off into a fit of paranarcissism** since i know that a. no one is really looking at me, i'm just being paranoid and everyone has better things to do than look at me, but b. subsequent thinking leads me to hey, you know, i do look mighty fine today so maybe they are, or oh my god, i must have something so wrong going on right now that everyone feels the need to gawk at me. further thought on the matter usually leads to a temporary self-obsession, fussing with my skirt/hair/sunglasses/bag, seeking out the presumably embarassing explanation for all the stares. there usually isn't one.

but after today i will no longer fall prey to the flustered fussing around over nothing. while going to the doctor this morning to get meds for the monstrous disfigurement minor skin affliction that i'm currently blessed with on my poor little face, i learned a very important lesson - you KNOW when people are ogling you because you resemble a train wreck.


** although paranarcissism sounds like a term that should already be in use for something a little more scientific, scholarly, or at the very least, important, i've checked the dictionary and googled it to no avail. hey, if the internet doesn't know about it, then it can't exist, right? right. so its mine. when you read about it in some v. influential journal someday, remember you heard it here first, kids.

celebrate your skivvies

i love celebrating obscure holidays. why should we have to wait for the christmases and arbor days of the year, when there are spectacular reasons to celebrate every single day? like today, for example -- its National Underwear Day.

yay! i mean, who doesn't love underwear? (besides you, Bear.) we hope everyone is celebrating accordingly and are sporting their finest undergarments today.

some interesting facts to aid in your underwear-inspired merriment:

-- in the 1920s, modelling underwear was thought of as morally wrong and early advertising shots showed models in black face-masks to hide their identities.

-- married men change their underwear twice as often as single men.

-- loveandcyanide knows what underwear Sean Astin prefers.

don't ask. happy national underwear day!

hiss.

it's always nice to go in your bag and look at your cell phone and see that you have a message. you get that nice warm feeling of hey-i'm-loved-and-someone-wants-to-talk-to-me, blended with a bit of the excitement of ooh-who-can-it-be?

so imagine my surprise when i dialed my voicemail, heard the monotone voicemail robot woman telling me i had 1 new message, and then suddenly samuel l. jackson was bellowing in my ear that i had to get to a theater and see 'snakes on a plane' this weekend.

it was by far the most unexpected voicemail i've ever received. there's some celebrities i suppose i can envision calling me. sammy j. isn't one of them. nevertheless, the ridiculous message was the best minute-and-a-half of my day. the highlights - and i quote -

"go get your homeboy and go see snakes on a plane"

and

"it's the big nasty blockbuster that will take a bite outta your butt".

yes, it was complete aural insanity. i felt like brett in pulp fiction (though unfortunately sans big kahuna burger). you know, i had no intention of seeing SOAP after it was hyped to all hell over the internet earlier this year (plus i hate - HATE - snakes and can barely watch them onscreen without my skin crawling), but if there is anything that will get my ass in a seat at the nearest loews, it's definitely sammy j. leaving me threatening voicemails.

slow down, you crazy child.

with 85,000 other things going on in the world today, i think its silly that Christie Brinkley's big smiley head was plastered on the cover of the NY Daily News this morning. so her soon-to-be-ex-husband cheated on her with a teenage girl. big deal.

why so callous? I've had a long standing feud with Brinkley since I was a toddler. of course this feud is totally one-sided and has never manifested itself outside my head, but we've been bitter rivals ever since I can remember and so it will remain. so how exactly does a 5-year-old have beef with a supermodel? i was in love with Billy Joel, of course.

obsessed is more like it. i had to have been his biggest fan under 5 ft. not to delve too much into psychobabble, but I am convinced my electra complex was projected onto him and not my own father. suffice to say, I was DEVASTATED when they got married. I actually cried when I saw the headline splashed across the front page of the newspaper that fateful day in '85. tears streamed down my little face as I experienced my first heartbreak. our family, with their vast mental filing cabinet for embarrassing moments, vividly remembers this, and of course still ridicules me to this day.

pathetic as it was to have my pint-sized heart broken by someone i had never met nor could have been with if i had met them, in retrospect I don't think I was being too outrageous. have we seen the age of Billy's latest bride? he could've totally waited 20 years for me. but moving on. so I recovered from the tragic blow to my little ego and have moved on to more sensible crushes since then, but can't seem to shake the grudge i've held against Brinkley for stealing my man. so she's getting no pity from me during this scandal with her fourth (fourth! hussy!) husband.

and yes, i still skip over the song 'uptown girl' on the an innocent man cd.