friday afternoon fruit medley.

i had a tupperware disaster this morning while transporting my breakfast to work, so my bag absolutely reeks of pineapples. as do i, since i've been trying to clean the juice off/unstick my belongings for the past few hours and i've gotten juice on my sweater, and possibly in my hair. which isn't necessarily a bad thing - i've come to realize i'm never unhappy when i eat fruit. so sitting here feeling/smelling like a giant pineapple, while messy, has been rather uplifting.

*****

which is greatly needed, considering the past week. its been rough, to say the least, and i'll focus on one of the more insignificant troubling aspects of it, since words couldn't ever do justice to the actually significant part. in loveandcyanide land, overzealous humidifiers and tumbles in trannie heels are the worst things to happen to us.

so my ipod is broken. upon receiving a heap of new music two weeks ago, thing 1 (missy and i have matching ipods engraved with "thing 1" and "thing 2", named after the mischievous cat in the hat characters. the book's characters, not the movie's. the movie does not exist to us. if dr. seuss had intended for his characters to look nightmarishly frightful he would've drawn them that way, not face-painted jim carrey and mike myers to look like weird animal-esque clowns.) decided he had had enough, and shut down in the midst of a song and has yet to turn back on. i haven't yet had a chance to get him looked at due to more pressing matters, so my commutes have been tuneless.

which is basically torture. without my headphone buffer, i've been subject to all sorts of nonsense from the outside world that my books and magazines just cannot as effectively tune out. however, on the train yesterday evening i was privy to a performance that i would've completely missed had thing 1 been working.

i've seen/heard this subway car singer before - he is quite memorable as his voice is so unique, yet somehow familiar, although i can't put my finger on who exactly he sounds like. the closest thing i can come up with is a more feminine-sounding gargamel. with a voice like that you would think one would stick to, say, ad jingles, but no, his favorite song is "amazing grace".

so he appeared in my train car yesterday, and started singing his signature tune. after a few choruses, while i was bracing myself for another yodel of "saved a wretch like me", he suddenly launched into everyone's favorite sleazy disco hit, "do ya think i'm sexy?" i chuckled aloud at such a priceless mix, and for that i am grateful my pod is currently out of order.

although not so grateful that i won't be hitting up the apple store this weekend.

when banks compete, you win.

i stole that line from some commercial, but i truly experienced it today. i don't know if chase has been losing a lot of customers lately or what, but my trip to the bank just before was the most hardcore helpful customer-service experience i've ever had. i daresay if i had asked mark, the bank manager, who personally delivered my money to me (doesn't the branch manager have more important duties to attend to?), to shine my shoes, he so would have.

and keeping on the subject of ads, i've decided that the usage of the muppet's "manamanah" song in the new saturn commercials totally distresses me.

a beary good time.

not like we don't usually speak of all things ursine here at loveandcyanide, but this week our lives were even more bear-filled than usual. as if that was even possible!

to cap off our bearalicious week, last night we had the pleasure of watching the most entertaining documentary we've seen in awhile - Project Grizzly. the story of a man on a mission to build an indestructible suit of armor that would enable him to get closer to these sometime deadly bears, this film has it all - humor, pathos, insane bearsuit-testing that involved much pummeling, and of course gratuitous grizzly shots.

we give this one two thumbs - and a (stuffed) paw - wayyy up.

smells like a comeback.

first off, i'll apologize for being a slacker...its been a rough two weeks and as you can see that there is a new (old) post below that was written awhile back, that means i wasn't even able to hit the publish button let alone write anything new. considering loveandcyanide has dwindled from a trio to a solo project, its gotten a little tougher to keep up the good work. but i'm persevering. if anyone ever wanted to know the difference between missy, chrissy and bear, its that two of the three not only abandoned this little project but don't even read the site anymore, whereas the last third is holding up the fort all by herself. yes, in these ritalin-addled times, one of us still foolishly believes in loyalty.

anyhow, we're back in business. in the past few weeks a lot of good stuff has happened, a few bad things have happened, and of course a few crazy things have happened. there was a nutty religious zealot cab driver, a 5-day bacon binge (um, hello heaven), a possible OD on Sparks malt beverages, an exotic familial discovery, a mysterious raise, a viewing of the dumbest television program ever made, and a rash of new nicknames for missy and i inspired by the bachelor (if you shouted "star spangled ass muffin" into our apartment, i guarantee one of us would answer you).

but instead of talking about those things, i'm making my comeback with a tale of a rather mundane experience i had leaving my office today. you know when you catch the whiff of something and you automatically can place the scent? well, when stepping into the elevator i caught the unmistakable whiff of plumeria.

remember the body shop's plumeria? that brilliant fuchsia colored potion that at least 3/4 of your friends were sporting in high school? (it was my personal fave). well, there it was in my elevator. i actually had no idea they even still made it, but the second it hit my nose, i knew what it was. and i couldn't help but smile, since it reminded me of the most humorous perfume-related experience i've ever had:

freshman year of college, one of my close guy friends was hanging out in my room, and discovered the spray bottle of plumeria that either my roommate or i had on our shelf. after sniffing it, he went on a tirade about an ex who wore the scent and how he couldn't stand it. so enraged by the memory of this girl, he commented that i could never, ever wear it again. apparently not satisfied by my nod of appeasement, he then wound up and tossed the bottle out the window and onto the lawn behind our dorm.

i never wore plumeria again. but to this day i'll still chuckle when i smell it.

little discoveries.

from last night. obviously at the time these were wayyy more earth-shattering.

i'll start with the disturbing one first.

a lot of people i know act exactly like dane cook. this may sound like a pathetic revelation, but the thing is i've avoided dane cook for awhile now. i've honestly never watched the guy's routine, barely even heard his voice or knew what he looked like. for some reason, from the second i was made privy to his existence, just hearing his name, i knew i'd dislike him. sure, friends and acquaintances have told me otherwise, but i know better (like when people tell me i'd like certain cheeses, and i'm sorry but i just don't).

so i happened to turn on his little show when i got home last night, and to no surprise at all i thought he was a moron. what did surprise me was that i recognized in his movements and intonations about eight people i know. exact imitations - they literally must have modeled their being on this man (in the hopes of being funnier?). which means technically i've been watching dane cook's act daily for awhile now. this fact bothers me.

now the amazing one.

imagine leaving a bar and thinking you might need to hit up an atm to be able to take a cab home. (because like a mogwai, who knows what i'll turn into if i take the subway past 10pm?) as you cross the street you spy an atm -- attached to a nathan's!!

remember the scene from Ice Age II where the cute-yet-stupid squirrel temporarily dies and finds himself in heaven with a gigantic beautiful golden acorn? yep, this felt exactly like that.

molto moisture.

sometimes i think i'm above directions. i just assume i know how to handle the new product i am in possession of, with nary a thought as to whether or not i'm actually using it properly.

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

so in my apparent quest to reach the pinnacle of my old-lady dorkery before i am even 30, i requested - and received - a humidifier for my birthday. i finally decided to put it into use yesterday, having fallen ill with yet another respiratory-esque illness. (instead of the weather/shoddy air quality of my office, the blame this time falls squarely on the shoulders of recently flu-ridden Missy, and her carrier-monkey, Bear, who i'm sure collects her germs on his fuzzy little person and then lets them loose all over our couches to infect me). so deciding now was as good a time as ever to see what exactly this humidifier could do for my misbehaving sinuses, last night i filled up the canister, plugged the sucker in, and cranked it up to the highest level.

i awoke this morning to conditions similar to those found in the rainforest exhibit at your local zoo. turning off the 'difier (sounds more bad-assey that way, doesn't it?), i discovered the windowsill on which i had perched it was absolutely soaking wet. as were my blinds. and the window was all fogged up. and funny, but the floor felt sort of damp. turning on my light and taking a look around my room, i spied lines of moisture running down my walls. this was slightly disturbing. do walls sweat?

upon mopping up my room and reading the directions, i learned that maybe i shouldn't have put the 'difier on high. and if i did so, i should have left my bedroom door open. oops.

so i may have warped the floorboards, but at least i'm breathing better.

promoting world peace through pork.

i've probably in passing, at some point, made mention of how much i love bacon. and i seriously do. i adore it. as much as someone can possibly feel emotion towards an inanimate object/food product, that's how i feel about bacon.

sixpants, knowing my feelings toward the meat, sent me this article today:

http://www.startribune.com/535/story/1052945.html

besides feeling most terribly sorry for this woman and all she is missing out on in life by refusing the most marvelous pig product on earth, i couldn't help but think that perhaps there would be so much less conflict in the middle east if everyone there would just eat some bacon.

afternoon thoughts on symbols. and common sense.

i'm sure i mentioned this before, but as my office building isn't really an office building, but a sub-section of a large apartment building, my elevator only extends to two floors - ours, and one that houses a foreign consulate. so 9 times out of 10, if i'm not in the elevator with a co-worker, i'm in there with someone relatively new to our country. (or someone wielding a backpack and an air of adventure, of whom i immediately am jealous of as i know they are getting a visa for an extended stay in the consulate's country, a country i so badly want to go to myself but can't due to my current self-imposed moratorium on exotic travel to pay off credit card bills and the fact that my father would have a panic attack if i got any closer to the middle east than greece, as he panicked enough when we went there).

although i'm typically one to avoid elevator small talk, i know how it feels to be a stranger in a strange land so i usually take off my headphones in case i'm asked for assistance. so this morning a couple came into the building as i was waiting, and looked at the directory. the husband then marched over to the elevator and pressed the down button. we have a garage down there, so i assumed that's where they were heading. the elevator comes and the couple steps in and as i don't have any desire to play the 'ride the elevator game', i let the doors close and figured i'd get in when it came back to get me in the lobby. a few minutes pass, doors open, and the couple is standing there looking confused, ready to exit. i motion to them to stay in the elevator, step in, and then usher them out when we reach their floor.

but the reason why i launch into this long tale - aren't arrows universal? i don't ever recall visiting a place where i couldn't understand general pictorial directions, so why did this man press the down button? of course i suppose he misunderstood the directory, and thought he had to go to a lower floor, but then this is where common sense should step in - why would you ever attempt to go down in a building you enter at ground level?

i only obsess over this since it took me about 12 minutes to take an elevator up two floors. of course i could take the stairs and save myself all this interaction with confused foreign elevator passengers, but then i wouldn't have any questions for you guys...

batapulting into old age.

i hit my 'mid-late' 20's this past weekend, and while typically being the sort of person who gets walloped with the birthday blues no matter how much celebratory fun she may be having, i managed to get through the multiple-day festivities this year relatively unscathed -- even with the birthday kicking off last weekend with my grandmother making one of her "chrissy is old and needs to get married, pronto" sort of comments at the dinner table during my family party.

the rest of the highlights, in no particular order:

• finding a 24-hour deli a mere 2 blocks away from my apt. this deli not only carries cheap wine, but also dipsy doodles.
  
• sissy's rendition of eddie money's "take me home tonight", played on our rape whistle.
• a googly-eyed hippo card.
• a rubber bacon bracelet.
  
• hearing a cover band play a rock version of "i like to move it."
  
• a billionth - and i mean it, the dvd is now scratched and skipping being we've watched it so much - viewing of the 1966 Batman movie.
  

"they may be drinkers, Robin, but they're still human beings."

most hated workplace phrase.

"any nibbles?"

if i worked in a restaurant, or a mice breeding facility, i doubt i would have such issues with this term. but the fact that i work in a totally-unrelated-to-nibbling industry leads me to feel seriously creeped out whenever a client, or boss, or coworker inquires if there have been "any nibbles". yes, i know, they mean leads or interest....but then say those words! nibble is not a word that lends itself to the workplace.

ugh. it makes my skin crawl.

must be the season.

so this big huge ethnic spelling question has been vexing me for years, and as the holiday it pertains to is almost upon us, i think its about time i ask this important question aloud: is the holiday celebrated on march 17th st. patty's day, or st. paddy's day?

i've tried doing some research on this to little avail - all i've discovered thus far is that 'paddy' is a somewhat derogatory nickname for an irishman, leading me to believe that patty would be the nicer, more politically correct way to spell the nickname of that most holy snake banishing saint.

i myself have always spelled it st. patty's -- probably because that spelling evokes thoughts of hamburgers and peppermints -- and i would personally say it doesn't matter how one spells it, but i've had a few people tell me i was going about it all wrong. i even once had a friend respond to an email about the holiday in question with the the two d's in paddy's in bold. a little harsh, no?

so if i have in fact been making such an egregious language error all these years, i'd be most appreciative if you, dear reader, would set me straight.

i'll take allergy meds for $200.

almost every night that missy and i dine together at home we wind up watching wheel of fortune, since we're usually just sitting down at about 7:30. but we've actually been 'wheel watchers' from a very early age, since our grandmother loved the show and it was always on whenever we were over her apartment.

besides bringing back fond memories of our childhood, wheel also serves as a great confidence booster since we're excellent at the game. we know - its not hard. but it makes us feel smart nonetheless, especially when we solve the bonus round puzzles.

on the evenings when we manage to get dinner on the table a little bit earlier, we tune in to jeopardy, but unfortunately there usually aren't many bonus round victories for us then. until last night, when i discovered a category i'm an absolute master at -- "at the drugstore".

it was a clean sweep -- i actually might have broken the record in speed answering. i knew all my trips to duane reade would pay off at some point.

best. thing. ever.

we haven't done this feature in awhile...we're sure you missed it.

but notice the additional punctuation in the headline this time around - all for emphasis. we may say this a lot, but tonight we really were, really, privy to the BEST thing ever.

it was a little show called "Point Break Live!". yes, like the cinematic masterpiece. as if the movie itself wasn't enough poorly-acted, busey-filled, homoerotic fun, now there is a live-action version, featuring surfing, skydiving, meatball heroes, and ponchos for the audience members. oh, and the lead of johnny utah was played by a random audience member reading off of cue cards, ensuring the proper keanu-style delivery of the dialogue.

seriously, we haven't laughed this hard in weeks. if you're in the area, definitely check this one out.

weekend entertainment.

i'll start by apologizing for the irratic font thing we have going on - i like everything looking uniform, but lately i don't know if i'm tired of using trebuchet, or tired of the general look of our little site, or just getting old and blind and finding it harder to read what we've been posting, so i'm trying to change some things up. bear with us until we find our groove.

so a few snippets from this blissfully long and incredibly enjoyable weekend,

i knew i was being a bit of an ass on saturday when leaving the house in a pair of ballet flats, but i had a lot of roaming around to do that afternoon and evening and my feet have bored of being booted up all the time, so slush be damned, i trotted off in them. while on my way to the met (their 'glitter and doom' exhibition was awesome) i managed to find an even bigger asshole - the guy attempting to navigate his way around the snow piles on his segway. it took him about 5 minutes to find a way off the curb, as he circled around our fellow pedestrians and the mounds of snow piled up on the corners. i think segways are naturally hilarious, so spotting one in such a ridiculous situation had me in stitches for the rest of the afternoon.

----------

did you know that pharell's clothing line makes a hoodie with an all-over print of beepers and cigarette butts? i didn't either until this 12 year old (ok, he was 21 but looked 12, as missy and i learned when he approached us smirking and stating "i couldn't help but notice you lookin' at me" and missy informed him "yes, we were trying to figure out exactly how old you are. our guess is 19.") at a bar the other night was rockin one. we tried to steal it, to no avail, as it was definitely the most ghetto fabulous article of clothing we had seen in some time.
---------

i was addressed last night by a random stranger with "hey rockstar", which is definitely the most creative greeting i've gotten in awhile. and really if you're a male trying to get my attention in a bar, calling me a rockstar gives you a vastly better chance over those sheep using 'hey baby' and 'you're hot'.

---------

alternatively, what should you not say to a random stranger? while up at the bar getting us drinks my friend found this guy celebrating his bday and as we were out for a birthday as well, invited him over to our table. i somehow wound up being the one left to entertain him, which i suppose was fitting since it turns out he was in fact a 'rockstar' himself, a man in a band, wearing more eyeliner than i was and toting his drumsticks around. in the midst of chatting i noticed he had pulled out a pair of gloves and was putting them on. i could tell they were gloves for drumming, but as he wasn't going onstage and the only thing in his hand was a miller lite i thought this to be a little bizarre, and thinking it was amusing, inquired if he planned on murdering someone at the table. he gave me a short little 'no' accompanied by a scowl - not at all the reaction i was expecting considering i was laughing hysterically at this inside my head - and conversation died down shortly after. oh well. lesson learned - perhaps men in eye makeup don't take jokes as well as others.

winds are blowing southwest at 30 mph, right past the closet doors.

loveandcyanide learned an extremely important lesson about air conditioners this morning: you should cover them for the winter.

not like our wise father hasn't told us this numerous times, but of course we've ignored his warnings. didn't the man know what an eyesore all that insulation would make on our lovely bedroom walls? while we were well aware of some air blowing in from time to time, we like having our bedrooms a little on the chilly side (Bear being of the polar variety and all) so it was never too big a deal.

i awoke this morning at 5:22am to the sound of the wind. i also felt my room, although usually kept at a cool temperature to ensure a comfortable sleep in a cocoon of down comforter - even in august - was excessively chilly. and i swore that in my slight line of vision from within my pillows and blanket that i saw little particles floating around near my alarm clock. but needing more than five hours sleep, i chalked it up to a hallucination caused by last night's vino and went back to bed.

two hours later missy appeared in my room and as we stood underneath our respective air conditioners, being pelted with wind and precipitation, we realized it had indeed been sleeting into our apartment all night.

and so we spent the rest of the morning cleaning up the aftermath of our very special visit from "nor'easter 07".

bird, watching.

so i was sitting here being a busy little worker bee just before, and suddenly had the feeling that someone was staring at me. i glanced at my door, and no one was standing there. so i looked the other way out the window, and saw two pigeons sitting on the rail of the balcony that runs outside my window. the little beasts were just sitting there, staring in.

feeling slightly flustered and on display, i went back to what i was doing. a minute later i looked up, and they were still there, glaring at me with their beady little pigeon eyes. really, how did they know that i inadvertently consumed* one of their kind recently?

this went on for a good 5 minutes until the birds flew away, presumably to go peep in on a fellow coworker.


*if your dining companion tells you that a squab is merely a "small bird", and it tastes really good, you eat first, ask questions like "do you mean 'small bird' as in 'domesticated pigeon'?" later.

nothing says love like a chicken ring.

http://www.whitecastle.com/ValentinesDay/

this is awesome. i have no idea if this is old news. or if this promotion has been a yearly thing, but it clearly wasn't around when i was in college or else i would have certainly been taken to the whitey's across the street from our campus for such a spectacle.

view from the top.

i wore heels today for the first time in about two months, so i got to experience life from a few inches up. it also reminded me of an enlightening conversation a friend and i had recently, about childhood height vs. adult height.

there's no nice way to put it - it sucks to be a tall girl growing up. beyond the standard reasons - you're always in the back of the line, and then there are never enough boys to make it to the back of the line, so you're stuck being line partners - and worse, horror, dance partners! - with another girl. you will inevitably have a boyfriend who is shorter than you, prompting you forever more to only fall for guys under 5'11 (or is that just me?) it will be difficult to buy clothing. and you will be mercilessly teased with height related nicknames like 'the 6ft wiener'. oh the lengths the boys went to find something that rhymed with my first name...

but worse than any of that, what my friend and i concluded, are the expectations. we have literally fallen short of what everyone expected from us.

i suppose that when coming into contact with a 5'2 fifth grader all most adults can do is comment and coo over the fact that the girl is going to grow up to be a supermodel. or basketball player. or something equally as exotic. making the child believe, yes! who cares that i suffer at the end of the line behind you short fools. i will someday be making millions on the catwalk. but when you hit your top height midway through high school, and its a mere six inches taller than you were at the age of 10, and its not anything that extraordinary, suddenly you realize all that anticipation was over nothing. sure, you're above average, but you're not going to be rewarded with a WNBA contract anytime soon.

a super day in the sty.

figures that we turn one and get all excited on our big birthday and then blogger goes on the fritz for a few days so we can't post nor leave comments thanking everyone for the bday wishes, making us seem like those classmates who only invited you to their sweet sixteen to make it look like they had more friends and to get more money and then suddenly no longer knew your name in the locker room after the hoopla of their day died down. what the hell.

so yesterday was our first annual PIGFEST. the roots of pigfest started last week when fresh direct sent us an email announcing that with every purchase of $75 or more you would receive a free superbowl platter consisting of: pigs in a blanket, knishes, and coney island pigs in a blanket (which are apparently pib's with relish and sauerkraut tucked inside the blanket as well. who knew.)

never ones to pass by a deal, more specifically a deal that involves hotdogs, we put together our $75+ shopping cart in record time and had our very special delivery sitting on our kitchen table by saturday afternoon.

24 hours later as we were heating up the contents of our platter, opening beers and wine, ordering appropriate platter-accompanying snacks from the diner and debating whether or not vanilla milkshakes should be consumed before or after onion rings, missy deemed our disgustingly wonderful gorge-a-thon "pigfest" and we decided to make it our newest superbowl sunday tradition. not like we watched the game - unless the "puppy bowl" counts - but who needs pigskin when you have PIGFEST?

nothing says 'birthday party' like a bag of salty pea pods.

well, we made it...it was a chilly afternoon a year ago today when loveandcyanide was born out of the extreme boredom of two sisters who's cable box was being reset. or shall we say "reset", as our paranoid parents still believe our landlord was installing a surveillance camera in it. don't they realize that no one - besides maybe jim henson - would be interested in seeing what goes on inside this living room?

but thankfully we didn't have the television to turn to for entertainment that fateful day, and decided to entertain ourselves via the internet. hopefully we've managed to entertain some of you as well. and perhaps we've even taught you a thing or two - we've come a long way ourselves in the past 12 months. we managed to stop using variations of song titles for every post AND even increased our font from "small" to "normal size".

baby steps!

so eschewing the birthday party norm of cake and ice cream, loveandcyanide opted to celebrate with an even more exciting bday snack food this evening --


Snapea Crisps - or "snappy crisps", as we like to call them - are sun-dried, baked, and salted pea pods. we are aware they sound like a repulsive snack a mad vegan scientist would invent to feed to/punish her badly-behaving children, but never ones to judge a book by its cover (and feeling rather adventurous/desperate in the fruit & vegetable aisle of shoprite) we serendipitously picked up a bag and found they are ridiculously delicious and addicting.

like, in-the-kitchen-fighting-each-other-over-the-last-salty-peapod-addicting. and the kicker - they are healthy. healthy snacks on our birthday! we are older and wiser.

rock candy. and winking.

one of my friends gave me a bunch of cool home fragrance presents for christmas. since my apt naturally smells like joy and wonderfulness with missy and i residing there, i decided to bring some of the items into work so their tranquil scents can saturate my office air, opening my mind, freeing my soul, and allowing me to write fantastic press releases.

hah. so, i set up the cute little bowl of scented beige stones on my desk, thought it looked sort of zen-like and pretty, was pleased that my office no longer smells like radiator, and got to work.

a little while later, sixpants comes to visit me. while playing with my awesome pseudo-penguin stapler, he notices my bowl of stones and asks me if it was candy. being the sweetheart i am i said "no, those are rocks.", even though a second later i realized it would have been insanely entertaining to have said yes. on further inspection we discovered the rocks sort of smell like mint, and being beige and sort of tooth-shaped, they totally resemble those mints you can take when leaving the diner.

i SO cannot wait for someone to come in my office and eat rocks.

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

in further office entertainment, today we had a training class for the new phone system we're having installed. whenever we made mock phone calls to each other on the phones the 'trainer' leading the course would say how the flashing light signaling an incoming call was 'winking'. winking? is winking telecommunications speak for the word 'blinking'? i love it.

recent obsessions.

i don't think we've done one of these features in awhile - our latest obsessions, in no particular order:

netflix - sure its been around for some time now, but we only recently joined (out of a mixture of desperation and persistence) and OMG! how have we been living without this wonderful little system in our lives?? i'm seriously in love. the flix is more reliable than about 87% of the people i deal with.

absurdistan - yes, another thing that's been around for awhile. i swear i owned this book before it recently appeared on all the "best of '06" lists....finally have gotten around to reading it, and its wonderful. a tad too precious at times, but on a whole its a highly entertaining and well-written read. plus it gives loveandcyanide a chance to utilize the insane amount of knowledge about the russian language that we have tucked inside our brains.

plantain chips - isn't the old adage that whoever you kiss at midnight on new year's will be yours for the rest of the year? well i managed to consume almost an entire bag of plantain chips that evening, therefore making it my new favorite snack food for '07. thankfully our local supermarket is an 'international mart', so i can have my fill. oh, and amazing bit o' fate? my office snack machine stocks them too! what are the odds?

veronica mars - loveandcyanide is utterly distressed that we didn't discover this little gem two seasons ago when it first began. call it a teen show, or mock it because its on the CW, but its seriously one of the most entertaining and cleverly written programs on tv and we cannot get enough of it. especially when people are getting tasered, which is often. not to mention, if it weren't for our obsession with this amazing slice of television, we'd never have been introduced to netflix.

beyond balderdash - thankfully boardgames are making a reappearance in our lives. an evening of bb was one of our most entertaining lately, and if there were ever a game absolutely tailor made to loveandcyanide (make up absurd statements about fake words/people/things, and then attempt to influence others to believe your statement is true? why that is what we're best at!), its this one.

the cold - sure its fun to wear tanktops in january, but our 60 degree winter was getting a little creepy. so we're thrilled to have had a few days lately that have been below freezing. if we wanted a warm winter, we'd live in florida. and hey, if we all remember disney world circa 1989, we all know how my bangs and our father's temper get when in constant heat. not pretty. welcome back, winter.

cabbie in a box.

i went to a comedy show last night - i use the term comedy here loosely, since only about a 1/3 of the performers evoked anything resembling a laugh out of me. yes, its harsh and you can say i'm just jealous because only 3 people think i'm funny and one is a stuffed animal and the other is a sibling with the identical sense of humor. but really, it isnt that hard to make me laugh, especially when drinking. - and similarly to how they will let just about anyone on tv these days irregardless of talent, i discovered that the same holds true for the comedy circuit. i should have guessed what i was in for when i was ushered into a room the size of my living room for the show.

in any event, a few of the comics were entertaining and i did come away respecting everyone involved in the show for loving their craft so much that they will eagerly perform for a mere 15 people, all of whom are somehow connected to them. so it was a fun night that wound up turning into an AWESOME night during my cab ride home. and no, i was not in the "cash cab", a show i just learned about last night. why was i not aware that this program existed? cabs and game shows - two of my favorite things in one.

yes, i'm really into cabs - i don't know why. i guess its because in general i really, really, like car rides (i'm so easy to please. that doesnt say much for the aforementioned comedians, now does it?) and since i'm no longer chauffeured around as much as i was as a child, i take whatever i can get these days. anyhow, the regular crown victoria cabs are alright, but what really delights me are the larger cabs - mini-vans, SUVs, etc. those elusive hulking beauties, standing out in the sea of yellow. if i see one of those newer cabs coming my way i'm immediately on the curb, arm in the air.

but last night surpassed any cab experience i've had before - actually i should say solo cab experience, since when i find myself in a group setting during a cab ride home, especially after 2:30am, it usually involves popping through the drive-thru of McDonald's, which is always a ridiculous time. - in terms of car aesthetics.

while standing on the corner waiting for an open cab, i spied an SUV one coming my way - score! the cab pulled over, and when i opened the door to get inside i was pleasantly surprised to see that the driver was ensconced in a plastic popemobile*, as instead of the usual glass partition between the front and back seats, his was only around the driver's seat. perhaps these cabs are quite common - they should be, as the front passenger seat opens into the back, which is thoughtful, since no one likes to be the sucker stuck in the front while your friends are chatting in the back behind the partition, especially when the cabbie doesnt even let you play with the radio as consolation for being stuck in the front with him - but this is the first one i've been in. and it was marvelous - i was completely entranced by watching my cabbie move around inside his little box, like a hamster with a steering wheel in its cage.

*i'm not sure if other people are as into the popemobile as loveandcyanide is - as we were dragged by our mother to giants stadium in 1995 to see the pope (yes, i left school early to see the pope. thank goodness i went to a technical high school so this didnt make me any more of a loser than i already was.), in torrential rain, the only highlight that we got out of it was seeing his little plastic vehicle amble around the stadium. so we're quite partial to that little cart - so if you have no idea what i'm talking about, next time i'm in one of these cabs (hopefully, like, tomorrow) i'll take pictures.

special thoughts from today's troubled youth.

this isn't a review of the new flick freedom writers - as *inspiring* as the ads for the movie make it seem, we probably won't be catching it. loveandcyanide doesn't need hollywood's sanitized version of inner-city education - our mother is a teacher in one of the worst elementary schools in nyc, so we get to witness firsthand what is really going on in the mind's of today's youth.

when she's not too busy warding off threatening parents, scrubbing curse words that were written in white-out off her car windshield, and/or writing suspension notices, our mother is a superb teacher doing her best to try and teach children who are high on ritalin/need ritalin/too damaged from the crack they ingested in the womb/can't speak english/are abused/just don't care all they need to know. she puts a big emphasis on writing, trying to help the kids use their brains and express themselves. an arduous ordeal, for the most part.

so imagine her delight when the other day she was informed by one of her students that his friend, we'll call him timmy, was upset with the substitute teacher they had had the day before and had written down how he felt about it. mother checked in with timmy, and indeed he was quite upset about the substitute teacher, and he got all bent out of shape while telling her how much he disliked the sub, and how she wasn't nice to him, etcetc. he confirmed that he had written down how he felt about the situation, and my mother commended him on having listened to her and taken the time to write down his emotions.

she asked if she could see what he wrote. he handed over a piece of paper that read:

slap that bitch. choke that ho.

these 9-year-olds today. what will they come up with next?

rapper wrapper.

so i just read that 50 cent is launching a new condom line - first vitamin water, then books, now prophylactics. a logical evolution. - which reminded me about something i have noticed recently (no! i am not going there.) during my copious trips to the drugstore.

last week while waiting on line the young woman in front of me - with baby and toddler in tow - was purchasing a box of condoms and i couldn't help but snicker about how it was a little too late for that. but then last night the woman in front of me was buying a box, and the kid with her looked to be about 7 years old.

i couldn't help but think that was vaguely inappropriate. isn't that sort of telling your child "hey, look, i don't want any more of you?"

on pantyhose.

i'll start off by saying in general i've never really liked stockings. i have issues with clothes i consider binding (socks, gloves) and hosiery completely falls into that category. had i been around in the olden days, i am certain i would have been publicly ridiculed for refusing to wear a corset.

i also think i was somewhat turned off of stockings from a slightly scarring experience from kindergarten (yes, age 6. my ridiculously excellent memory can be a bit of a curse at times.): while in the bathroom with a classmate, i was washing my hands and she was in the stall. she opened the stall and as she was flushing the bowl and fixing her clothes i realized she was pulling on her underwear while her tights were already up.

being a little clone of my mother i was already a card-carrying member of the 'inappropriate clothing police', so i asked her why she was wearing her underwear over her tights. she told me that was the way you were supposed to wear them. i left the bathroom feeling a little skeeved and slightly confused, but confident in my mother's dresing abilities that i was indeed right on this one. poor stupid little girl.

so its taken a lot of effort - as well as a sister with a boot obsession - for me to currently own about 15 pairs of variously patterned tights and stockings. and i'm actually enjoying them. sort of. here is my big quandary/complaint to our readers who work in the hosiery biz - how come they are never long enough?

i buy the tallest ones. the pair today says they fit heights 5'8 - 6'0. now, i'm just about pushing 5'8 these days, so shouldn't these things be pooling up around my midsection? no. i can barely get them to stretch up to where they are supposed to be - so how on earth is a 6'0 woman supposed to get her amazonianly long legs into them?

stop the discrimination against us taller ones, pantyhose industry.

cat and mouse.

have we all heard about the Tigger debacle? the story has of course had loveandcyanide tickled pink the past few days, since along with our immense appreciation for the idea of plush characters rising up and rebelling against the stupid kids who bother them for photographs (Bear especially liked this tale, and has been beating up on missy and i more than usual the past two days), our most beloved pet cat is named Tigger, and since most people who meet her find her evil and abusive, its only fitting that her namesake would act in a similarly dastardly manner.

my favorite article on the incident:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/Columnists/Column/0,,1985831,00.html

________________

in breaking news, and what could possibly turn into the biggest story of my week, there has been a constant wheezing squeak noise in my office since i turned on my radiator this morning. in a parallel work environment i would blame it on the pipes. however after previous experiences here, i'm most concerned that there is a baby mouse in the heater, pleading for me to rescue it from the flames of hell.

stay tuned.

duane reade: fun bandit.

i found myself in duane reade last week - not like that should come as a surprise. if i had a financial advisor, i'm certain the first thing he'd tell me to lose is my fixation with pharmacies. i'd probably be a millionaire in no time. - on the hunt for some fun-tak, to aid in my sprucing up of the new office space. we all remember fun tak, right? that awesome blue stuff that superbly held up all our NKOTB Big Bopper posters? exactly.

in the first DR i went down the ravaged school supply aisle, and while finding a whole sleeve of duane reade brand "putty tak", there was no fun-tak to be found. i was a little disheartened, but figured they had just run out of the superior tacky substance, and i'd find it in another outpost.

so later in the day i hit up another DR and was completely dismayed to only find packages of putty tak. has the company forsaken fun-tak for their more blandly-colored, infinitely less enjoyable sounding putty tak?

i haven't had the time to investigate this matter fully yet, but trust me, i will be. i'm loathe to think that DR has taken all the fun out of my wall decorating.

now it can be officially officially over.

although we so nicely stated 12 months ago that we considered 2006 over --

10. We have declared 2006 officially over after only a month based upon a series of actions showing lack of judgment on one of our parts (who shall remain nameless) and the sale of a friends nipple via ebay. Really. We're finished with this year.

time unfortunately did not heed our plan and '06 marched right on as scheduled. there were many ups and downs throughout the year, but on a whole it wasn't too shabby.

as we all know i've had this lingering, annoying, and - most importantly - award-winning! - allergy/cold type thing the past few months, so it wasn't too shocking that on my way out for last night's year-ending festivities i found myself in 7-11 purchasing a bag of cough drops and a packet of Benadryl along with bags of ice. thinking that was not nearly enough meds to get me through the evening/next afternoon, i also popped into CVS to procure a bottle of cough syrup. anyone peering into my car yesterday evening would have assumed that a drug overdose was my celebratory new year's activity of choice.

as i'm getting on line to wait at the register, i notice the man in front of me is completely eschewing society's norm of being somewhat dolled up for the Eve, and is instead decked out in a long navy bathrobe, a pair of plaid pajama pants, and a set of woolen tan slippers. as i snicker about his outfit, i immediately fall into one of my coughing fits. as i'm hacking away behind him, the man is called over to the next register, and as he goes to walk up to it he turns around, raises his prescription pill bottle towards me as though in toast, waggles it, and says "happy new year!"

really, i couldn't have imagined a more perfect ending to '06.

goodbye panic!, hello sasquatch!

this week i was moved into my own office - a christmas miracle! - so i will no longer be tortured by panic! at the disco and their ilk.

along with your standard office perks like a door, giant window, and heating/cooling capabilities, i also received a few special bonuses from the guy who occupied this space before me:

a half-eaten box of cereal. (and we wonder why we have mutant roaches?)
a gray H&M scarf.
a book about scrabble. (score!)
3 jars of rubber cement.
a pile of magazine cutouts of pictures of madonna.
an issue of W magazine with madonna on the cover.
a pin that says "i am loved".

i'm keeping the scrabble book and the pin.

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

speaking of keepers, missy and i hit the gift-giving all-star list this year with our present to our uncle (see: fireman of monstrous proportions) - a sasquatch doll. the fuzzy brown flocked vinyl little guy has movable arms and comes wielding a chainsaw. we haven't seen our family this collectively excited over a present since our nana decorated our barbie dream house with garland. the little guy was a huge hit. within minutes after opening, squatch was named benjamin, posed for pictures, and was made an aluminum foil axe.

running a close second in the present popularity contest was nana's new deli slicer - a giant, gleaming machine that prompted our mother to have a fit of hysterics as she envisioned her mother and sister making hundreds of turkey sandwiches and selling them outside their driveway to passing motorists.

loveandcyanide wouldn't trade their family for the world.

a far cry from a membership to the jelly of the month club.

i really can't get over the whole story about the Goldman Sacks guy who is receiving a $53 million bonus. that means he made more than 900X more than me this year. not kidding - i know i sometimes (basically always) exaggerate numbers (simply for kicks, not for harm. all in good fun, kids.), but i actually took out the calculator for this one.

do we really think he did more than 900X the amount of work that i did? the poor man won't have any time left to actually play with all those millions...

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

in other mindboggling news comes my new favorite story:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/16298548/

if i myself ever spawn, i'm definitely teaching the kids that the miracle of christmas had to do with the virgin dragon and the reptilian nativity.

my fave quote of the article:“Komodo dragons seem to be able to switch ways of reproducing to deal with a shortage of suitable boyfriends."

if only it were that easy!!

must be the season.

tomorrow is my first official 'corporate-y' christmas party. i'm not quite sure what to expect, but i think i'll sort of feel like a failure if some middle-aged manager from another dept doesn't drunkenly hit on me.

which would be a far cry from my actual department's christmas party, which involved a game of pictionary (new fave boardgame obsession, sorry scrabble) and an awards ceremony, at which, as predicted, i did in fact receive an illness-related award. oh i did - that's what three months of being the cough monster will get ya. i am now officially the office sick girl, and have a light green piece of computer paper to prove it. it's all global warming's fault (who has allergies in december?! the pollen should be frozen by now!), so i'm not too embarrassed.

shockingly, i believe i was actually only the bronze medalist for the sorriest award, as the "future cat lady award" (self explanatory) and "food stamp award" (for the girl who goes out on so many dates she never has to pay for her own dinners), in my opinion, are way way worse.

headline du jour.

today's favourite:

World's Tallest Man Saves Two Dolphins


don't you totally picture him plucking them down from a tree?

safety first!

34th street is usually a pretty horrible stretch of the city but during the christmas season it becomes absolutely unbearable. i typically try to avoid it at all cost, but since i am my father's personal shopper a wonderful daughter i had to pay good old macy's a visit this evening. so i put on a brave face, called to mind as much as i could remember from my sophomore year buddhism class, and set off downtown.

while experiencing everything i was expecting from a trip to herald square - mobs of people walking at a snail's pace, copious amounts of camera flash, a near accident with a stroller, a feeling of general hatred towards the human race - i also learned something new. macy's must be solely responsible for the drop in unemployment.

why? because at every escalator on every single floor stood an employee chanting some variation of "welcome to macy's. watch your step. please hold onto the handrails." considering the number of escalators and floors in the rather large department store, that's an awful lot of people just standing around explaining to customers how to stand on an escalator.

another day, another peanut related disappointment.

so maybe i was asking too much last night when i wanted the reese's peanut butter cup cupcake to taste exactly like a reese's.

but this afternoon i went into my favorite weekday deli with few expectations. i was in the mood for peanut butter on a bagel, nothing more. i've gotten it there numerous times before and the deli guy has always done an excellent job with this simplistic-yet-satisfying lunch.

i get back to my office and bite into my bagel and feel something crunch. oh no, i think. don't tell me...oh please let that have been a burned part of the bagel. or someone's tooth. i open the bagel....

and there was crunchy peanut butter spread all about. bleh! i HATE crunchy/chunky peanut butter.

mr. peanut, why has thou forsaken me?

crummy.

Dear Crumbs,

first off, i would like to congratulate you on your business expansion. i'm certain your upper west side bakeshop must have been doing well for you to be able to open a 'flagship' crumbs store down in the village.

however, i believe if you would like to keep your current customer base, as well as gain new ones, there are a few things that you should cease doing:

1. promising free cupcakes, but then running out of free cupcakes hours before closing time and telling customers they could 'try coming back tomorrow'.

2. using plain unsalted peanut bits in your reese's peanut butter cup cupcake. reese's has nothing to do with real healthy peanut pieces, and that's what we love about it. if your cupcake is going to take reese's good name, it shouldn't deviate from its fake peanutty-ness.

3. touting your "twinkie cupcake" that supposedly tastes just like a twinkie, but then not having them in stock and having your staff act as though we are crazy for even asking for them.

4. opening your store when your seating area is not yet finished. we understand it was your first day, but there could have been a tad bit more preparation to ensure that your customers didnt have to eat their cupcakes over the garbage pails, on the ledge that held the napkin dispenser.

all best,
chrissy

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.