Archive | February, 2012

Dear College Roommate (The Creepy One)

22 Feb

Dear College Roommate (The Creepy One),

I had a terrible roommate my first year of college. You’re like, “WHATEVER! I had a roommate with a porn and cheetos addiction! My room smelled like Lindsay Lohan’s hair!”

My roommate was a very sweet round little Chinese girl who I will call Dee, who had hair hanging all the way down her back to her butt. She wore full-length flannel nightgowns with bows and ribbons around the collar and the wrists. She was a biochem major, and was out of the room from 8 am – 9 pm most days, at which point she came home, did something on her computer for exactly an hour (Problem sets? The Facebook? AIM?) (YES, it was called THE Facebook then, and yes, no one was on gchat) and then went to bed, smelling and looking like a grandmother.

You say: “She sounds like a great roommate! Out of the room all day? Perfect!”

I say: She also had one extremely long fingernail on her left index finger, that was yellow and cracked and hooked. And — did I forget to mention? Dee was a chicken enthusiast.

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Dear Valentine

10 Feb

Dear Valentine,

Valentine’s Day is Tuesday and given how my life has been going (inefficiently) I thought I’d do my Valentine’s day post today. Plus I have about twelve other things I should be doing, and procrastination by blogging is second best only to procrastination by cleaning (I’m coming for you, vacuum cleaner).

Ahhh Valentine’s. We love to hate you, don’t we. People who are single hate Valentine’s Day, people who are just starting to date hate Valentine’s Day, people in relationships hate Valentine’s Day…. in fact, at this point, the people I know in relationships might hate Valentine’s Day more vehemently than anyone else. The expectations! The cost! The impossibility of getting a reservation! The false notion of loving someone more on an arbitrary day of the year! The pressure not to fight, not to squabble, not to complain! The idea of waking up and watching the person you love as if there are flying, buzzing hearts like little tiny non-stinging bees flying about their sleep-addled, puffy, same-as-yesterday face. Plus, it’s February, so they probably have a cold and are in the process of excavating snot out of their nose.

Whereas single people everywhere have been effectively shamed out of hating Valentine’s Day. Who wants to be the girl running around in tears on February 14th bitching about how no one will ever love her? I’m pretty sure that at this point, no one ever wants to be that girl. (And sometimes it happens, I get it, look, you just want someone to come over and open every jar in your house before listening to that weird sound your car’s making and then sexing you up good). And then collectively everyone’s decided that it is a hundred times worse to be that girl on Valentine’s Day.

Look, if you’re going to watch Dear John alone on your coach with a bottle of wine and a box of tissues to yourself, you keep it to yourself at this point. Also, let me suggest Mean Girls instead and a box of Girl Scout cookies to help wash that wine down.

Personally, I find Valentine’s Day way less stressful than other major holidays— like New Year’s Eve. God, shoot me now. At least on Valentine’s Day there isn’t a DESIGNATED KISSING TIME. In which it’s acceptable to maul strangers? Potentially? Except that never happens. So then we’re all disappointed we’re not being sexually assaulted. It’s a seriously twisted holiday.

And now that we’re all adults and once we admit we like each other we can make out, or….you know….just make out kind of whenever…we sort of don’t wait for Valentine’s Day to roll around. So I’m pretty sure the idea of having a “secret” Valentine that you didn’t know about has been eliminated.

Right? Like if you’ve got a stalker, you already know. I’m pretty sure the last time I got an anonymous Valentine was in 6th grade– which, by the way, totally backfired. If it’s ANONYMOUS, how was I supposed to KNOW who it was? What did he think would happen? I would dust for his fingerprints on the cut-out letters he pasted in there? (Super sweet. Also rather assassin-y.) Nerds. Too smart for their own good.

By the end of the school day, after listening to me whisper to my girlfriends all day about who it could be, he finally walked up to me, turned a fantastic shade of red, flipped his rattail over one shoulder, and said, “It was me.”

I said, “Oh.” Then I said “Thanks” and got on the bus, trying not to throw up.

Those “valegrams” came with these terrible caramel-apple suckers and I must have eaten about 8 of them that day.

But don’t worry, guys! About 7 years later we dated for three months. V. romantic. My guess is he would say the awful, awful anxiety he must have felt all that day and the days beforehand and the days afterward totally paid off.

Basically, everyone’s agreed that having a first romantic interaction on Valentine’s Day is up there with hitting on someone / being hit on while you have food poisoning. There’s a reason classic sitcoms like to have people forget it’s Valentine’s Day and accidentally make a first date for the 14th. Because it’s ripe for comedy! Of the horrible, awful, cringe-inducing kind.

All of which means that the best-case scenario for finding “love” on Valentine’s Day is if you’re the sort of someone who will go mope about the day in a bar by yourself, and happen to find a fellow moper, and then you can have mopey, droopy sex that will result in a relationship that will last a good 3 hours longer (of sobbing together) than the 2 minutes of idle chitchat it was meant to. For god’s sakes, stay home and keep yourself STI-free instead, ok? Have a caramel-apple lollipop. It’s hard to cry around those things, because your teeth spontaneously fuse together.

All of which does not mean that we should walk around hating Valentine’s Day! It means that we should eat some good chocolate, make ourselves some good food, be sweet to people we’re sweet on, and wait for my sister’s annual homemade Valentine to show up in the mail and make me feel inadequately crafty but also loved. Plus there’s usually a pun on it, and I love puns.

Anyway, it’s much better to retroactively focus your anger on New Year’s Eve.


Hey Komen

3 Feb

Hey Komen!

I bought a pair of pink shoes the other day, but since I know you like to sue people with boobs who wear the color pink, and you like to deny health services to women, and I’m on what some might call an active campaign to stay “cancer-free” and also “educated” and also “with all parts in working order,” I thought I’d return the shoes and donate the money to Planned Parenthood instead.

Aw, guys, I just want you to know that even though you issued a statement that had a lot of words in it, I don’t believe you. I don’t believe your leadership doesn’t have a political agenda, and I don’t believe you weren’t lobbied by pro-life groups anti-women groups to defund PP in the first place. I don’t believe anything has changed, except maybe next time you’ll attempt to do things a bit more quietly. And maybe you’ll start flirting with Zuckerburg in the hopes that he “accidentally” deletes any posts about your organization on FB.

And once again– as always when I talk about PP– I’d like to point out that not only do they offer breast-cancer screenings— which is what your money, Komen, goes towards— they also offer PREGNANCY and NEONATAL care.

/sarcasm/ Those bastards over at PP are so confusing! Are they for life or against it or what! I just can’t keep track! /end sarcasm/

Also I thought I’d say here, because there seems to be some confusion in this country, that PP as well as hospitals, care clinics, and other health service organizations of all shapes and sizes offer abortion services because abortion is LEGAL and therefore people women don’t have to die in back alleys with hangers up their hoo-has.

You can call me a crazy liberal if you want, and I’ll say “thank you!” but let’s back it up for a minute and consider that WOMEN are neither Democrats nor Republicans (I was raised to believe they were human beings and as a side benefit, they got to be citizens), and therefore maybe their bodies should quit being kicked around the political arena like Mitt Romney kicks around $10,000 bets.

You hear a lot that politicians have dirtied their hands at some time or another…I just want those dirty hands out of my panties and away from my cha-chas, ok? I prefer people to have washed up before they get that close.

For closing arguments, I give you George Carlin. [NSFW] (Does that even need to be said once I say “George Carlin”?)


Speaking of comedians, about a month ago I watched whatshisdoodle– Bill O’Reilly– complain about why all the late-night shows make fun of the Republican candidates and not Obama. His expert guest had counted how many jokes on late-night were about Obama versus anyone else (which intern got that assignment?) and there were something like 3 times as many jokes about Obama.

So Bill O’Reilly said, essentially, “Those are different, those are affectionate.” Awww. So cute when he gets petulant! Doesn’t he know feelings-based arguments are the territory of the hippies? Then he made his real point, which was that only liberals are given late-night shows.

I kept waiting for the expert guest to ask him why, if they care so much, conservatives don’t try to be funnier.


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