We Are Experiencing Technical Difficulties: Please Be Patient

I know, I know, the site looks different every 15 minutes. New Blogger layout? Wordpress? GASP, TYPEPAD? Typepad makes me feel dumb. I find myself yelling at the screen a lot. And having the urge to suck my thumb. Which always helps. Blogger is like the kindergarten of the blogging world. Put the little blocks in order, press the little pictures, all done, yay! You may go outside and play now.

This is what paralyzing boredom does to a person.

Things That I Have Given Way Too Much Thought To Lately:

• What on earth did that bloody cat eat that could result in so much horror on my carpet?
• My parents are returning from Europe - What will be the prezzie situation, and will it include a sexy European man folded neatly in a garment bag? (Ventilated, people! I'm not heartless!)
• Speaking of sexy, will my confession of The Pink Shoes of Shame mean I will be forced into celibacy for eternity?
  
• "America's Got Talent?" Perhaps. "America's Got The Dangerously Insane?" For certain.
• Watching Intervention: Totally counts as a meeting, if I drink coffee and talk back at the screen, right? Plus, I can do it in my jammies.
• I'm serious, WHAT did that cat EAT? I need stock in carpet cleaner.
• HTML: Will I ever learn it? More accurately, will I ever stop pretending I WANT to learn it?
• Living across from Friendly's, which is the crack den of ice cream: Morbid obesity imminent?
• Facebook status updates: Why am I obsessed?
• Making lists on blog: Please stop, implores internet.

eHarmony Can eBite Me

I am a single woman. Free as a bird. No strings attached. Woo, feminism and hear me roar and let me burn that bra. No man for me! My bathroom is so clean!

It sucks.

It sucks, and I don't care if all the militants are getting the vapors, I am being honest. I am lonely as hell, and after over two years (YEARS) of being single, I have had just about enough of it. I'm not the random hookup kind of gal, (not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just not my bag, man) and since I don't have any friends in the area, I don't so much...leave my apartment. Ever. I have awesome, tremendous, fiercely loved friends, don't get me wrong, and I'd waltz through blazing fires for any of them, but there's not a one of them who could just randomly come over for a cup of coffee and a bad movie. Not an option. Yeah. Suck.

"So go out!" my friends wail. "Meet people! Do things! Stop spending eleventy million hours on the internet every day and go interact with actual people!" Well, this is easier said than done. For one, where the hell do I go? My whole adult life, the only social venues I have utilized are friends' houses and bars. And I am not allowed to go to bars anymore, in case you haven't heard. I have crippling social anxiety, and the concept of New People terrifies me. No new people! Only people who have read the dossier regarding Mah Crazy: Let Me Show You It! For I am vair, vair uninterested in having to carefully reveal the dramz to anyone new. I have a feeling it would end with "and then he ran away like his dick was on fire."

And to be honest, I was really destroyed by my last breakup. I'm not going to trust a new person for a really long time. There are also other factors of acursed circumstance that the internet doesn't get to hear, but yeah, going out and finding a local cat to start the awkward beginning-dating thing? Eeesh. Not really interested, thanks.

I can just picture my personal ad now:

"SWF seeks SM for possible LTR. Enjoys tv, playing on the internet, yarn, and coffee. SM must be open to mental illness, addiction recovery, arts and crafts addiction, pop-culture obsession, random goofiness, clumsiness, and cleaning up after barfy cats. Please have a job, your own apartment, a wicked sense of humor, and a bank account of your very own. No man-children, meanies, or frattys, please. Email only, the phone gives me anxiety attacks."

Woo, buddy, they'd be knocking down the door! Not that I'd ever place a personal ad. I have been on one (1) personal-ad date in my life, about five years ago. It was awful. But not in the way you probably guess. Nope, he was gorgeous, talented, funny, smart, (did I mention gorgeous?) and, drum roll...HE DIDN'T LIKE ME. Oh, that's just GRAND. So no. No personal ads.

(At this point, my friend cuparfyfe is eating his own face and screaming at the computer screen about how all I do is self-sabotage and dig my own grave re: relationships. He is...not wrong.)

So what the hell is my point, for the love of God's argyle socks? What was the reasoning for this blithering rant, when clearly I am not actually going to DO anything about this situation other than point at myself and howl "UNLOVABLE!!! MENTALLY DISEASED!!! RUN AWAY!!!"

My point is that fucking eHarmony dot com should not use a dude who resembles Zippy the Pinhead in their commercials to motivate me to "find my match." Do NOT call me, Zippy. And tell JoJo the Dogface Boy he doesn't have to bother either. I'll just play some Facebook Scrabble with my beloved, if not geographically convienient friends and knit more hats for the cats.

See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil

Things that have been greatly alarming in the past week:

My neighbors having passionate fights in their underpants.

The talking heads on Fox News.

Blogger vs. Troll Wars.

It's been quite a week. Thanks a trillion to all you lovely people who contacted me about my last post. I promise, I'm doing much better, and we can now return to our regularly scheduled silliness. Y'all are rock stars, and I love ya more than my luggage.

Git Offa Mah Lawn, You Damn Kids!!!

I was driving home the other day, and in front of me was a tween (I haaaaaate that word) girl on her bike. I knew she had to be between the ages of 11-15, because she was wearing shorts that could double as a belt, and had highlighted hair that probably cost more than the entire contents of my refrigerator. She was weaving in and out of traffic like Amy Winehouse on a particularly spectacular bender, and as I rode the brake at a whopping 5 miles an hour with visions of lawsuits dancing in my head, a thought popped into my head:

"That little bitch is texting. I bet my fucking life on it."

She finally wove over to the side long enough for me to pass her, and as I did, I looked over my shoulder to see that she WAS texting, goddammit! On a BIKE! In MOTION! On a road with AUTOMOBILES which were ALSO in motion! Without a HELMET! And I drove the rest of the way home in a rage, ranting and raving about the state of humanity today at the top of my lungs to exactly no one. Because I was alone in the car. And not texting. IN A MOVING VEHICLE.

My girls over at 30 is the New 13 and If You Believe, Clap are now (right now! Go read!) talking about pre-teen fiction they wrote/pre-teen characters they are trying to write, and how the pre-teen mind eludes all logic indeed. What the hell were we doing at that age? And more importantly, what the HELL were we WEARING? What did we DO before cell phones and MySpace and the internet in general? We were less likely to end up on "To Catch A Predator," I know that for certain, but christ on the cross, at least we TALKED. Do pre-teens...talk? Anymore? I picture withered vocal cords and super-strength thumbs becoming part of the evolutionary process.

I know I am a bitter old lady, but I swear to god, if I see one more in-motion-vehicle of any sort with an operator in the midst of texting her fucking BFF, I am going to put on my old Anthrax t-shirt and Doc Martens and start bashing their highlighted heads in.

(This post is brought to you by my upcoming 31st birthday, of which I am not obsessing about AT ALL.)

Today's Actual Conversation: Fill 'er up!

Scene: I frantically look for gas that is less than four dollars a gallon. Spotting a station that is boasting $3.89, I careen across four lanes of traffic and pull up to the pump. Being a good Jersey girl, I wait for the attendant. Jersey girls never pump their own gas. (Ok, no one in Jersey pumps their own gas. One of the myriad perks of living in the Garden State.) Enter gas attendant.

Me: Hi! Fill it with regular, please.

Gas Station Guy: Ay, mami. Habla usted Espanol?

Me: Uh...A little...Un poquito. Muy, muy poquito.

GSG: *laughs* I teach you, mami. I teach you good.

Me: Yeah...uh, here's my card.

GSG: *ignores my outstretched credit card* I teach you after we get married. You marry me, mami? Usted esta tan caliente. You so hot.

Me: *nervous laughter* Uh...gracias. Here's my card.

GSG: *takes card, starts pumping gas. From the back of the car, he's still talking.* Caliente, mami! You marry me, okay?

Me: *I do not respond, as I watch the dollar signs clang on the gas pump. Wide eyed from horror at the price tag of this tank of gas, which would be plenty for me to live on for a week in different circumstances, I finally realize he is STILL TALKING.*

Me: Huh?

GSG: *handing my wounded credit card back* We get married, mami. I take care of you. Te quiero, hermosa señora. I love you.

Me: *pauses* Would I get free gas?

Because it's too good to not repeat...

In honor of the New Kids on the Block (NKOTB if you're nasty) reunion, I just HAVE to re-post an extraordinary IM conversation from way back between K-Bat and myself, wherein a chance encounter dissolves into discussing punk rock history with Jordan Knight, inviting him to go to K-Bat's office Christmas party, and ultimately convincing him to commit suicide. So without further ado, Ladies and Gentleman: The Jordan Knight Conversation.
-------------------------------------

KristaBat: i'm drunk.
missbanshee: you are!??
KristaBat: still.
missbanshee: Heh
missbanshee: awesome
KristaBat: from last night.
missbanshee: very nice
KristaBat: guess who i made friends w/ last night?
missbanshee: who?
KristaBat: JORDAN
KristaBat: FUCKING
KristaBat: KNIGHT
missbanshee: Shut. The fuck. Right. Up.
KristaBat: ha ha hahahhhaaa!
missbanshee: HAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAA
KristaBat: i was so fucking drunk and he was at the
linwood.
KristaBat: and i pretended i didn't know who he was!
missbanshee: that is fucking AWESOME!
KristaBat: i was like, "did you go to emerson? you
look really familiar"
missbanshee:
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!
missbanshee: You fucking RULE
KristaBat: and then i talked to him about like, fugazi
and shit
KristaBat: HA!
missbanshee: oh my holy god, that is the funniest thing
of all time
KristaBat: i'm laughing SO hard right now. all by
myself. at work.
missbanshee: how gee-ross is he now?
KristaBat: fat.
KristaBat: and wearing like, swishy pants
missbanshee: Oh my GOD
missbanshee: this is the greatest story of all fucking time
KristaBat: fucking JORDAN KNIGHT!
KristaBat: HAHHHHHAAAA!@
missbanshee: Swishy pants!
missbanshee: Fat!
missbanshee: At the Linwood!
missbanshee: With YOU!!!!
missbanshee:
HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAA
missbanshee: oh nmy god, it;s so funny i might shit my
pants
missbanshee: My mouth, it hangs open
KristaBat: i'm like, crying right now.
missbanshee: That is so fucking unbelievable
KristaBat: HA!
missbanshee: Ha! You talked about Fugazi with Jordan
fucking Knight!!!!!!
KristaBat: oh god.
missbanshee: HAHAHAHAHHHHAHAHAHHA
KristaBat: yeah i was like, " NKOTB? that's so funny
that you were in that group...
missbanshee: HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
KristaBat: and i totally pretended like i DIDN'T know
every word to every song...
missbanshee: WHICH YOU DO!
KristaBat: I KNOW!
KristaBat: i swear, my sister was going to crap
herself.
missbanshee: MEEM WAS THERE?!?!?!!
missbanshee:
WAAAAAAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHA!
KristaBat: YES!
missbanshee: I'm openly weeping with the laughter
KristaBat: oh my god, i'm crying. i tried to make him
come to CHARLIE'S!
missbanshee: STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT!!!!!!!!
KristaBat: oh myh god, i'm CRYING!!!
missbanshee: Did he put those sweet sweet NKOTB
moves on you?
KristaBat: alas, no, i don't think he did.
missbanshee: I'd quote lyrics, but I honestly always
hated them
KristaBat: or he may have..
missbanshee: perhaps he's gee
KristaBat: i really don't remember,
KristaBat: could be gee.
KristaBat: HA!
missbanshee: swishy pants, after all
KristaBat: true dat.
KristaBat: i'm so not doing work right now.
missbanshee: This? Is the greatest thing ever
missbanshee: Dude. Jordan motherfucking Knight. You
should have asked him if Danny still looks like a chimp.
missbanshee: "So Jordan, do you, in the privacy of your
own home, like, still dress up in your 8-Ball leather
jacket and acid-washed jeans and try to remember all
the old choreography?"
KristaBat: oh.
KristaBat: my,
KristaBat: god.
missbanshee: "Do you call Donnie and try to get him to
hook you up with some poon?"
missbanshee: "He was really good in all those movies.
He's been in a lot of movies, Donnie has. Did you go
see them?"
KristaBat: dude. stop!
KristaBat: HA!
missbanshee: "I heard Joey's on a tv show, Jordan.
Have you seen Joey on the tv show? Like, every week
he's on it."
KristaBat: HA!
KristaBat: i'm like, laughing maniacally right now.
missbanshee: "Dude, at least you don't look like a
chimp, Jordan. That's all I'm saying."
missbanshee: "Jordan, please stop crying."
KristaBat: AHHHHH!
KristaBat: i wish i remembered more of what actually
happened.
missbanshee: I'm fine with making it up...
KristaBat: fucking JORDAN KNIGHT!!!
missbanshee: HAHAHAHAHAHAHHA
KristaBat: so SO funny.
KristaBat: oh god.
missbanshee: Utter brilliance.
KristaBat: dude.
KristaBat: must do work now.
missbanshee: Yeah, cut and paste this fucker and send
it to Joe
missbanshee: Your Joe, not Joey McIntyre
missbanshee: although with your new connection with
Jordan, I'm sure we could get it to him too
KristaBat: i definitely called him last night about it.
missbanshee: check all your pockets for the digits,
dude.
KristaBat: HA!
KristaBat: oh my GOD.
missbanshee: "Krista, it was so good to meet you.
Please don't go, girl. Love and kisses, Jordan Knight.
PS: Please call me. Please. PLEASE.
KristaBat: oh my god. please... don't go girl...
please... don't go girl...
missbanshee: I'm collapsing with laughter
KristaBat: jordan and jon.
KristaBat: yeah
KristaBat: c'mon
missbanshee: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
missbanshee: You know ALL THE LYRICS.
KristaBat: we got a funky funky christmas goin on
missbanshee: You had a denim jacket COVERED
WITH PINS
missbanshee: you kissed them EVERY DAY
KristaBat: i'm crying.
KristaBat: i liked joe the best though
missbanshee: You whispered your secrets into your
JORDAN KNIGHT PILLOWCASE
KristaBat: i'm convulsing.
missbanshee: Joey? He was a FETUS! And
GEE-ROSS
KristaBat: i can't even breathe
missbanshee: Holy shit, you should have taken Jordan
Knight back to Big House
KristaBat: oh my god.
missbanshee: casually walked into the living room in
your NKOTB pajamas
KristaBat: "what? these old things?"
missbanshee:
BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHHAHAHAHHA
missbanshee: You could take Jordan Knight to
ManRay
KristaBat: stop.
KristaBat: or my christmas party.
missbanshee: "Cusraque, this is my very dear friend
Jordan Knight"
KristaBat: oh MYGOD! the tears!
missbanshee: Cusraque goes apoplectic, cause you
know he was a closet NKOTB lover
missbanshee: Taking Jordan Knight to The Model...
missbanshee: I'm going to pee myself
KristaBat: yeah dude. that would have been too
much for the model to handle.
KristaBat: like, jordan knight and amy mann would
have been in the same room.
missbanshee: "So, Jordan Knight, since I'm assuming
your schedule is rather sparse, do you want to come to
my office Christmas party?"
KristaBat: it's at the science museum. i like science.
do you like science?
missbanshee: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
KristaBat: liking science is funny.
missbanshee: Asking Jordan Knight if he likes science is
funnier
KristaBat: sayign jordan knight over and over is the
funniest thing EVER.
missbanshee: EVER
KristaBat: dude.
KristaBat: oh god.
missbanshee: I'm going to have a heart attack
KristaBat: i must do work.
KristaBat: but i can't.
missbanshee: NO! Jordan Knight doesn't want you to
do work!
missbanshee: Please don't go, girl!"
KristaBat: but then i'll never get to leave this
godforsaken place.
KristaBat: you're my popsicle.
KristaBat: from the very first time i met you girl you
KristaBat: cap
KristaBat: tured me.
KristaBat: HA!
missbanshee: "Hey, Jordan Knight, can you make my
Christmas party a very funky one?"
KristaBat: so good!
missbanshee: I'm in danger of losing all bodily functions
missbanshee: "Hey Jordan Knight! You made me shit
myself!"
KristaBat: HA!
missbanshee: "I must say, Jordan Knight, that's pretty
punk rock"
KristaBat: he WAS at the linwood after all.
KristaBat: i
KristaBat: am
KristaBat: crying
missbanshee: "I like punk rock. Do you like punk rock,
Jordan Knight?"
KristaBat: do you like FUGA-21? i like FUGA-21.
missbanshee: "Hey, Jordan Knight, so can we talk
about how Donnie is like, hot and rugged and in tons of
tv shows and movies and has lots of tattoos and is
probably getting more poon than he knows what to do
with?"
KristaBat: hot and rugged.
KristaBat: Jordan Knight is such a loser!
KristaBat: HA!
KristaBat: oh shit.
missbanshee: "Hey! Hey, Jordan Knight, what about
that solo career? Do you remember the video with the
ferris wheel, Jordan Knight? I do."
KristaBat: You know what Jordan Knight?
KristaBat: You've got the right stuff.
KristaBat: baby.
missbanshee: BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH
KristaBat: love the way you turn me on.
missbanshee: The right stuff to make me pee myself
laughing...
KristaBat: you got the right stuff.
KristaBat: baby.
KristaBat: you're the REASON WHY I SING THIS
SONG.
KristaBat: what??!?!?!
missbanshee: "Hey, Jordan Knight, just thinking about
you made me throw up a little."
KristaBat: don't worry. i swallowed it.
missbanshee: I did that for you, Jordan Knight
missbanshee: You know what, K-Bat?
KristaBat: ?
missbanshee: You've got the right stuff, baby
KristaBat: shut.
KristaBat: up.
KristaBat: oh
KristaBat: oh
KristaBat: oh
KristaBat: oh
KristaBat: oh
KristaBat: HA!
KristaBat: dude. i know the fucking DANCE
missbanshee: "Well, look at it this way, Jordan Knight.
You could always hang yourself like Jonathan Brandis.
People would remember you then."
missbanshee: "Never forget about suicide, Jordan
Knight,"
KristaBat: it's really the only way.
missbanshee: It's really your only option, Jordan
Knight.
KristaBat: killllllll
missbanshee: Do it, Jordan Knight. Get the rope.
KristaBat: here Jordan Knight, let me kick that chair
out from under you...
missbanshee: You have nothing to live for anymore,
Jordan Knight. Go with a little dignity. On your own
terms and all
missbanshee: Do it.
KristaBat: i mean, you're already wearing swishy
pants...
KristaBat: who cares if you shit yourself...
missbanshee: there's nowhere to go now but down
missbanshee: you're already giving hummers for crank,
Jordan Knight, don't think we don't know
KristaBat: i'm in a band called hummers for crank.
KristaBat: do you want to be in my band?
missbanshee: HAHAAAAAAAAAAAAA
missbanshee: crying again...
KristaBat: here, Jordan Knight, have a tambourine.
missbanshee: BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
KristaBat: i don't think i've laughed this hard in
YEARS.
missbanshee: Shake that thang, Jordan Knight.
missbanshee: neither have I
missbanshee: I can barely see
KristaBat: me either.
KristaBat: i have so much work to do too!
KristaBat: HA!
missbanshee: SO DO I!
missbanshee: ARGH!
missbanshee: a little bit
KristaBat: JORDAN!
KristaBat: what a fucking gay-ass name!!
KristaBat: dude.
missbanshee: Well, think of it this way. Even as he's
swinging from a noose, covered in his own poo...
missbanshee: At least he didn't look like a chimp.
KristaBat: when he was in NKOTB he used to have
to go out and wear "a hat and glasses"
KristaBat: so girls wouldn't recognize him.
missbanshee: Krista, he had to travel INCOGNITO
missbanshee: Like a SPY
missbanshee: Jordan Knight, were you really a spy?
KristaBat: and last night i was totally talking to him
about like Husker Du and Bob Mould's solo career!
missbanshee: Did he have ANY idea what you were
talking about?
KristaBat: NO!
KristaBat: HA!
missbanshee: I can't believe he OUTED himself as
JORDAN KNIGHT
missbanshee: I would have been like, uh, my name's
Bob
KristaBat: i KNOW!
he was like, "i was the LEAD SINGER in new kids on
the block..."
KristaBat: HA!
missbanshee: STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
missbanshee: "Seriously, Jordan Knight, it's time to get
the gun."
KristaBat: i'm going to fall out of my chair.
KristaBat: okay.
KristaBat: work.
missbanshee: we need to stop
missbanshee: for a bit
KristaBat: more later.
missbanshee: saving conversation...now
KristaBat: yes.
KristaBat: me too!
missbanshee: HA!
KristaBat: oh god.

This just in: Hookers have feelings too

Found this on Metafilter this morning. Apparently, a college journalist wanted to end his column with a bang (horrible pun intended) and go to a brothel to request a cuddle. The experience was not what he expected.

Now, I'll be honest. I went into this skeptical, but my immediate reaction to reading it was that it was overly twee, but enjoyable. I felt it was touching and well-described. It may have intruded on my heart a little bit.

Of course, the feminist in me swelled up and whacked me upside the head soon after. I started mentally grumbling about white, middle class male privilege, and how "shocking and unexpected" finding that prostitutes are people too is, zowie my goodness, what a revelation. I became a little ashamed of myself, and figured I would immediately be banned from Jezebel, at the least.

Still, I'm not entirely full of hateration. It's an interesting topic, at least, and certainly one for discussion. And I am glad that, however blatantly obvious, this guy had his prank turn on him, and maybe made him think about societal preconceptions and how they so often differ from reality.

It's an obvious revelation, to be sure, but it was also something that caught my attention and made me shake the cobwebs from my brain early on a Sunday morning. There's something to be said for that.

I still wish he would have played Scattergories with her, though.

Today's Actual Conversation: Customer Service Edition!

Scene: CVS checkout. Feeling rather fabulous in my kick ass new t-shirt (thanks, Krista!!!) that reads: "Rehab is the New Black." All I want is to pay for my contact lens solution and a pack of cigarettes and proceed with my day. No such luck.

Wonky-Eyed Cashier: *hushed weird whisper* Your shirt...Rehab is the New Black...I don't get it.

Me: Oh, it's a joke-

WEC: Is that...like...when black people call other black people n---

Me: NO! No no no! It's like "pink is the new black" or "skinny jeans are the new black" or something - it's a joke!

WEC: So...it's a racial thing?

Me: Jesus, NO! Nothing like that!!! It's a FASHION thing, don't you watch Project RUNWAY, it's a joke, oh my GOD.

WEC: Oh...I don't get it. Do you need matches?

Me: I am so blogging about this.

You have GOT to be kidding me.

Michelle Duggar is pregnant AGAIN.

For the three people who don't know, Michelle and her extremely fertile husband already have seventeen children. SEVENTEEN. They're also Krazy Kookoo Khristians, who wear garb not unlike the (also terrifyingly fertile) polygamy sect that has so recently been inundating the news.

Now, I love kids, don't get me wrong, and people can go and do all the wackadoodle things they want, but COME ON, LADY. I've had the delightful pleasure of seeing the numerous TLC specials on the Duggars and their "parenting" "methods." Basically, the older children raise the younger ones, leaving plenty of time for Michelle and her husband (Lord help me) Jim Bob to read the bible and boink their brains out for Jesus. They have a huge compound in the sticks somewhere that they (read: the kids) built themselves, and if they are finally outed as having an arsenal of automatic weapons covered in needlepointed prayer doilies, well, you can just knock me down with a feather.

These kids don't have a life. They're homeschooled, they only interact with each other; hell, even their "church" is in their house. Someone's going to snap. Hopefully, all of them will. I'd love to see them all grow up and form an 18 member death metal group, entitled "Fuck You, Mom and Dad."

As someone more witty and astute than I once said: "It's a vagina, not a clown car." Close your legs, Michelle, before your whole reproductive tract falls the hell out. GAH.