Thursday, December 20, 2007

TMI, in which Jess proves she is half motorcycle gang half old man in an argyle sweater

JESS: look at this message exchange between me and my uncle. and by exchange i mean messages i sent to him:
JESS: my boyfriend is going to be in DC over winter break. he needs a job. do you need an assistant / know of anybody that could use some cheap labor? he likes football and he doesn't smoke weed and he will bum you cigarettes after you've sworn to yourself you've quit. in short he is awesome. please help.
JESS: nevermind he just got a job at borders. thanks for all the hard work and effort i know you were ABOUT to put into this, though. see you at christmas. bring jack daniels.
JOSH: LOL bring jack daniels
JESS: yes, because i am both a rockabilly with a shriveled liver and an old man who mixes it with peppermint schnapps
JESS: simultaneously.
JOSH: or just the cynical aunt who takes swigs from the bottle
JESS: change "aunt" to "unwanted step-grand-daughter" and you've basically got that right
JOSH: at this stage in your life you'd make an awful mother but a terrific cool aunt
JOSH: cuz we all have a cool aunt
JESS: yeah
JESS: my aunt used to be cool but then she had a kid
JOSH: aw
JOSH: that ruins it
JESS: when i was 14 i would stay with her and my uncle in san francisco and they would give me wine and then as the night went on that would progress to vodka and then i'd catch my uncle smoking a spliff in the garage while sitting on the washing machine
JESS: ah, childhood


Open Letter

Dear Crazy Woman Who Can't Do Math at Whole Foods,
Okay, you see that sign that says "Express Checkout"? And then it says five items or less? And some of the words are in italics and some are in bold and they're all written in green font because WHOLE FOODS IS GOING GREEN? Well, I guess you don't, because you just had to try to sneak your shopping cart suspiciously filled with heads of lettuce, milk cartons, and boxes of Kashi Go-Lean into the lane next to mine. And then when an employee politely informed you that you indeed had more than five items and as such had to go to the regular check-out, you flipped a shit. You are one of four things:
1) Ignorant
2) Stupid
3) Illiterate
4) Any combination of the previous three

The worst part is that I've seen you before. Every couple of weeks, usually when the store is closing down but sometimes WHENEVER THE HELL YOU WANT. You're never going to get away with it, and it just makes the rest of us uncomfortable when you start yelling back. Why not avoid the entire problem and go to Gristedes? Organic cheese isn't gonna help you lose weight anyway.


Graphtastic, and then I kind of go off on a tangent about women (again)

Now, for something semi-serious: If you were to read the news about women right now, you'd think that:
1) All women are sluts who have pre-marital sex with their statutory rape-aged boyfriends out of wedlock,
2) Old women are ugly and wrinkles are totally undesirable, and
3) Fat women are ugly and cellulite is totally undesirable.
Not a good week for women in the news, eh?
Sidenote: Josh thinks I spend too much time harping on women's issues and that that makes me some kind of feministic man-hater. I talked to my boyfriend about this last night and he thinks that my woman-loving ways are sexy (aww). My opinion is simply that patriarchy is woven into the fabric of society: we can say FUCK as many times as we want but we're still not equal to men. So we have this one tool, right? It's called our vaginas, or whatever other body part you find sexually stimulating. So why not use our sexual prowess to our advantage? Blowjobs might seem like a really degrading act, but I mean, come on, we're in COMPLETE control. So I say society is like one big blowjob: men think they have the power but it's actually the women who are controlling when and if they get off.
Sidenote 2: Today is so boring. Can we get another tween pregnancy please? I'm gonna poke some holes into Hannah Montana's bf's condoms.


Jezebel posted an article yesterday from New Scientist about the science of curse words, and the comparisons that can be drawn between the foul mouths of men and women. I just recently finished taking a course called "The Meaning of Silence." Most of the class was bullshit, but one of the books we had to read, Sociolinguistics by Peter Trudgill, was actually incredibly fascinating. Trudgill studied the differences between the way women and men speak in order to draw conclusions about their societal positions. He found that women tend to speak up, attempting to imitate upper-class language and minimize the usage of curse words. On the contrary, men tend to speak down, using lots of swear words in an attempt to sound less educated and therefore, tough. But New Scientist claims that now the amount of times women use curse words has become relatively equal to that of men. To this, I say: FUCK YEAH. But what are the social implications?

For one, I think the stigma against curse words is slowly being lifted. Not only can you say "bitch" on TV, but you can also say "fuck" in places where it previously would have been considered inappropriate. Maybe it's because I live in New York, but I can hear someone say "fuck" in almost any public space and not be offended or taken off guard in the slightest. People in my office, a professional space, often employ curse words. My professors use them. People on the subway use them. My barista at Starbucks uses them. Curse words do not necessarily make you seem uneducated anymore. They are not relegated to just the vernacular of the poor. Instead, they've seemed to cross both economic and gender lines in order to make our speech that much more fucking awesome.

I also think, as women gain more power in our society (Think: Hillary running for President, Nancy Pelosi as the Speaker of the House, Britney Spears as the most famous person in the country), we are less afraid of sounding like "men" and more afraid of sounding weak. Thus, the introduction of "fuck" and "shit" and "damn" into everyday vocabulary.

I, for one, am happy with this change. I had the foulest mouth as a little girl, and that hasn't really gone away. So if women are beginning to side with me in an attempt to say FUCK YOU to vocabulary standards, then of course, I think that's the shit.


Wednesday, December 19, 2007

A dollop of sunshine

JESS: what's your mood?
JOSH: lemme put it this way
JOSH: i found the perfect song about [insert shitty situation]
JOSH: are you looking for %s?
JESS: yes
JESS: i'd listen to it but dhani's blasting joy division
JESS: oh also i'm broke
JESS: oh also i just walked home and am now soaking wet
JESS: oh also i have a hole in my 3-week-old boots
JOSH: yeah my new frye boots are already messed up
JESS: oh also i'm inching ever closer towards suicide
JESS: :-)
hectorormano88: =D


A revolution is on the horizon, and it smells like peanut dipping sauce

My work is currently holding an office-wide holiday party in the conference room a few feet away from my cubicle. I am not invited. I must man the phones in case irate alumni call looking to make me feel (even more) bad about myself. I liken this situation to the one in Russia in the early 20th century. The masses (me) are getting angrier and angrier at the bourgeoisie. I can hear their boisterous laughter and smell the crudité as I type this. They stuff their mouths with the peanut dipping sauce I so graciously picked ceramic shards out of earlier today, and I sit here, dejected and rejected. It is time to throw off these shackles and rise up against them, those people who seek to keep me from the office holiday party. I am full of glory! I will triumph! But really, I will just sit here and bitch on my blog that almost no one reads. I bet that peanut sauce tastes so fucking good.


PS. DISCLAIMER: This is a joke pleasedontfireme.

Things to Hate: Magic 8 balls

No, not eight balls of blow, you crazy cokeheads. Actual magic eight balls:

So I'm having a bad day, again. I think it has something to do with the weather/my ugly outfit/my $20 checking account balance even though I got $175 at the beginning of this week. (Granted, 80% of that went towards Christmas presents, but still.) So, because I'm a masochist who likes to indulge in my bad moods to the furthest extent possible, I asked the magic eight ball on the front desk at my office this fateful question:

Am I ugly?

It's answer?

No doubt about it.

Well, you know what? Fuck you, "magic" eight ball. Who are you to call me ugly? You just sit on the desk all plastic and round and when people shake you and ask personal questions that greatly affect their self-worth, you give them answers that drive them further to the brink of suicide. FUCK. YOU. Because of you I'll probably develop anorexia and start using bronzer. If I'm unrecongizable due to the amount of Bare Minerals I have caked on my face by next Wednesday, everyone can blame you, Mr. Eight Ball. You bastard.


Jamie-Lynn Spears: A case study in teen pregnancy

Last week I wrote an entry about how lightly Juno took the issue of teen pregnancy, and how it was kind of, well, fucked up. The movie came on the coat tails of the NYTimes article declaring that teen pregnancy rates have risen for the first time since 2001. I argued that this has a lot to do with the ineffectiveness of absitnence-only sex education and that the federal government needs to take a very serious look at the damage these programs are doing to young girls. It seems that the Spears camp is intent on making me look like a goddamn genius. Enter, Jamie-Lynn Spears. 16 and sperminated. Yes, Britney's little sister. The media proclaimed her "the good one." She has a popular show on Nickelodeon. (Sidenote: I'm never going to be able to spell Nickelodeon without having to look it up). But just like millions of other 16 year olds around the US, she's pregnant. The paparazzi even caught her leaving a showing of Juno with her mom, Lynn, in New York. And the whole nation is now in an uproar.

But what does this say about girls today? It's hard to tell if Jamie-Lynn had an "accident," (i.e. the condom broke, she was one of the unlucky girls who get trapped by the 1% chance the Pill doesn't work, etc), she was "unknowledgable," (cue: abstinence-only sex ed), or she "just didn't give a shit" (dicks feel so much better condomless). But her decision to not get an abortion is the strangest part of this whole thing for me.

I'm not saying that I don't trust teenage girls to make the right personal decision about their bodies. I think a lot of girls are way more informed about their options than their parents/the government would like to believe. But I also think that movies like Juno, and tween celebs like Jamie-Lynn, can have an impact on the psyche of the American youth. It's hard to say how many girls, struggling with the secret of pregnancy, are going to see Jamie-Lynn and Juno and say: Well, let's have this thing then. But it's a definite option. Juno made having a baby look so easy that, for a split second, I even considered doing it; and that's saying something, because there are few things on this earth I hate more than children.

Having a baby at any age will change your life. Having a baby at 16 will most likely change your life for the worst. When Diablo Cody, screenwriter of Juno, glossed over the idea of Juno getting an abortion in order to progress the plot, something very important was lost; teen pregnancy is not easy, no matter how jaded and soaked in sarcasm you are. Little Jamie-Lynn is going to stand testament to that. She will be the real life example that disproves the Juno theory: she will probably end up a crackhead, like her sister, and mom Lynn will raise the baby in some backhome Louisiana compound, feeding it Ovaltine and teaching it sad Christian values.

So if girls take anything away from this, it should be something positive: Jamie-Lynn fucked up her life. Don't you fuck up yours.


Blue Man Group reaps outcomes both wonderful and terrifying

Last night I went to see the Blue Man Group at the Astor Place Theatre. I was so high I could barely see two feet in front of me without the whole world turning into a lovely mess of colors and shapes. I want to try to explain my experience, but I don't think I can. Suffice to say this:

Seeing the Blue Man Group stoned was the most bizarre experience of my entire life. There was lots of toilet paper. I felt like the whole audience was in on the show but me. They tried to put a spotlight on us because we were late. The blue men came INTO the audience and STARED at me. They had these holes in their chest that Captain Crunch came out of. There were drums and pipes and streamers and colors and ahh. This was my friend David's take on it:
"I felt like I was seeing my death. Actually, it was like I was seeing before I was born....... I don't want to talk about it."

I started this entry with the intention of trying to explain the power of blue. Now I see that some things simply cannot be explained. Here's a picture of Tobias:


Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Things to Hate About New York: Jess's Edition

New York Magazine released their annual issue, Reasons to Love New York. True to form, this is our cynical response.

1. Conversations like this, which I actually overheard walking home from work on Houston today:
Fat Christian Dad wearing a Cowboys hat and talking loudly in a Southern accent: Isn't it amazing? All of those stores! Wow!
Ugly Christian Daughter wearing a red knit cap from Old Navy: I know, I saw the Prada and I was just like wooooow! Prada!

2. I have a love/hate relationship with fashion in New York. Sometimes it's noon on a Saturday and I'm hungover as fuck and I just want some Starbucks. At home, I'd get in my (environmentally-friendly) Honda Civic hybrid and hit the drive thru. In New York I have to shower. And put on make-up. And do my hair. Because in New York, you cannot walk outside looking anything less than runway-ready. The few times I've been truly lazy enough to go out in sweatpants and Pumas I've run into 1) Mary-kate Olsen and 2) Sarah Jessica Parker. I shit you not. It sucks.

3. Creepy old men. Men in the suburbs may fantasize over you, but they will never bring those fantasies to life. In New York, anything goes. Last week a leering man in a truck literally PARKED his truck on the side of the road and GOT OUT to hit on me. This would never happen anywhere else. They aren't even subtle about it. Oh and by the way, if you're a truck driver, I'm probably not going to date you. It's not that I'm judgmental, but I do have standards. (Debatable)

4. Money: In New York, you need lots of it. And I just don't have it. Money for food and rent and school and drinks and drugs and cabs and subways and museums and clothes and toiletries. It's ridiculous. No matter how much you make, you'll never have enough to live the kind of life you want to. Ain't that depressing?

5. Any neighborhood above 14th street: Seriously. New York gets very midwestern above Union Square.

JOSH: lol statue of liberty
JESS: lolllllll
JESS: like i don't even think about that as part of new york
JESS: i forget that it even exists
JOSH: i know right
JOSH: like midtown
JOSH: what IS that

Things To Hate About New York: Josh's Edition

New York Magazine released their annual issue, Reasons to Love New York. True to form, this is our cynical response.

Ah, New York. I could never imagine living anywhere else, yet, like so many of the things we love, it also manages to piss me off in countless ways. Actually, not quite "countless" since this is totally a numbered list.

1. It's Gay--I live in the Village. It's really gay around here; some of the city's most (in)famous gay clubs are mere minutes away. The Cock is literally one block from my dorm. The Annex is pretty faggy on any given night, and it takes about three songs on my iPod to get there. And I'm just a short subway ride from the Meatpacking District and Chelsea. Yet I'm single! Where have all the decent men gone? When did all the sweet, good-looking guys get together and stop going out, and why didn't the inform me? I'm sweet! I'm...well, I'm not ugly. Point is, after a certain point, the homosexuality starts to piss me off, taunting me with easy one-night stands and dangling its potential boyfriends in front of me, like a very flamboyant carrot hanging from a spandex string.

2. Broadway--When did Broadway become a circle of hell? It wasn't always this packed last year. Or maybe it was. The fact remains that Broadway is where downtown's tourists and creepsters go to roam and bug you for directions to the nearest Starbucks. I hate Broadway and avoid it whenever I can, and I suggest you do the same. And if you must trek down Broadway on a Saturday, well...who says you can't drive automobiles on the sidewalk? You'd reach your destination faster and probably bump into fewer people than you would walking anyway.

3. Random construction--It seems that every week, a new intersection or stretch of sidewalk is stripped bare and loaded with equipment and wet pavement and scaffolding. Not only does this destroy my view, but it makes the daily (well, sort-of-daily) walk to class all the more treacherous. Not to mention that the sound of a bulldozer right outside my window is hardly the wake-up call my hangovers desire.

4. Homeless people who get annoyed when you ignore them--Seriously, what law was passed that requires me to throw you a couple quarters? That's right, there isn't any. So don't get pissed at me, because I'm a college student and need that money to fund the self-destructive habits that make me feel okay about myself.

5. Cars that don't stop until they're halfway through the intersection--Because in addition to the construction and the homeless people, my morning really needs a brush with death. And you know what? Fuck you, you're driving a Mazda. Hit me with a Lexus and we'll talk.

6. Students that dress like they still live in New Jersey--When you got to NYU, you should have left the Ugg boots and Abercrombie sweatshirts at home. Nothing says "I'm an obnoxious bitch who's not yet ready to live on my own" like a rugby shirt. And dude with the American Eagle hat? Bro, you totally chose the wrong college. Go back to Rutgers and enjoy your petty Greek life, then call me in ten years when you've developed alcoholism. You'll also probably be a wealthy stockbroker ready to experiment with your sexuality, so, you know...look me up.


Someone get us some lithium!

JOSH: since our area of new york is 56% gay
JESS: more like 65%
JESS: more like 100%
JOSH: which makes it all the more depressing that i'm single
JOSH: but you know what? i'm also a free spirit
JOSH: betcha didn't see that one coming
JESS: file that under why i think you're bipolar
JOSH: i'm trying a new outlook on life
JOSH: everything's gonna turn out okay
JOSH: a journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step
JESS: this is going to end in 2 days when you realize that the end of schoolwork does not mean the end of the blues
JOSH: schoolwork never equaled the blues for me
JOSH: i don't care enough.
JESS: my bad mood right now is:

JOSH: or like
JESS: yeah
JESS: what's your mood percentage right now?JOSH: this is our new hobby
JOSH: mood percentages


What I was like as a 15 year old girl

Me at my 15th birthday party

I had an online journal when I was 15 that I refuse to link to because there are some things that shall remain sacred. But I just had to share this little blurb, found in an entry from August 2004:
Here's where my teenage girlish notions of romance kick in - I've had this fantasy for awhile, because deep down I know I'm going to meet my future husband in a bookstore. He'll be drinking Chai and reading beat poetry (preferably Ginsberg or Bukowski or maybe some of Kerouac's earlier haikus) and he'll sit down in a big chair next to me. The conversation will go as follows:

Me: What band would you listen to while reading Bukowski? I can't quite figure one out.
Him: Hm, well Dave Matthews Band is not emo enough, but Coldplay's too mainstream, Jack Johnson and Beck are too upbeat and Joni Mitchell's kind of corny. So I'd say Radiohead or Elliott Smith.

I would then play Amnesiac or the My Iron Lung EP on my iPod and we'd delve into a deep conversation about our likes and dislikes (He prefers Burroughs, I prefer Kerouac. He owns more records than I do, wears Givenchy and does word searches. We both hate Bush and indulge in the Real World as our guilty pleasure). And that would be that.

And now for the collective LOL!!!! Old pretentious habits die hard, folks.


Monday, December 17, 2007

Once you go black you never go back

I'd fuck Obama even if he wasn't a presidential hopeful. Click here and see what Wonkette has to say about the fuckability of all the presidential candidates. It's really funny and probably mostly true. Though, they think Dennis Kucinich has a big cock. I'm sorry, I just can't think of him in that way. He's the kind of guy you drink wine and platonically snuggle with by the fire, and then when you wake up the next morning you say: I'm so glad I didn't get drunk enough to fuck that midget.


When did knitting and baking become badass?

In response to The Dangerous Book for Boys put out by brothers Iggulden, Andrea Buchanan and Miriam Peskowitz, reppin my hometown of Philly, have released The Daring Book for Girls, because like, GIRL POWER. Unfortunately, the book has turned out to be kind of a disappointment. Apparently, for Buchanan and Peskowitz, being "daring" constitutes pressing flowers, making cootie catchers and baking brownies, all activities that make me think of Little House on the Prairie and Martha Stewart, respectively. This is the kind of book your weird aunt buys you for Christmas, thinking that she's soo cool, in lieu of a Gap pajama set. This is also the kind of book you lose under your bed by December 27th.

This book also brings up gender issues: first of all, the boys' book uses the word "dangerous" in the title, and the girls' uses "daring." That would be because if women are termed "dangerous" in society, it reflects negatively on them, while if guys are termed "dangerous" it means they're badass and manly. The word "daring" implies that it's okay for women to break outside the box a little, but step too far outside of society's applied gender role, and you might be dangerous-- aka a prostitute or drug addict or something of the sort.

Well, naturally, I say-- FUCK THAT. Here's what I think girls should be doing to be both dangerous and daring:

1. Sneak out of your house: You will learn more things about yourself and the world if you choose to disobey your parents and capture a little freedom. I was a bad kid when I was a teenager, and not one ounce of that "badness" reflects on my character now. Breaking your parents' rules when you're a teenager is what you're supposed to do. You need to assert your independence. So don't be afraid to climb out that window! Your parents will eventually forgive you. Mine did.

2. Build a bong, and boys will come. Seriously, they'll worship you. Also bongs are fun.

3. Sneak liquor from your parents' liquor cabinet. Here are some hints:
a) If they've caught on to your antics already like mine did by the time I was 15 and have marked a line on the bottle, be sure to fill it back up with water. This means you should really only take clear liquid without having to worry that they'll find out.
b) Only siphon liquor when no one is home.
c) Put it in a water bottle and hide it somewhere your dad won't go. (Your underwear drawer)

Seriously, girls. Be brave and bold and don't let the adults get you down. High school will be over soon and you can be free to sleep with whoever you want, drink whatever you want and do as little or as much studying as you want. Fuck knitting. Go pour a drink.


Domestic Abuse: In which my boyfriend proves he's wittier than me

Here's Justin's fake Santa letter---

Dear Bruno,

I think it’s cute that you asked for a bike again this year. I guess your parents told you that if you asked again maybe this year I’d be more inclined to get it for you. Maybe you were extra good this year, I don’t know, to be honest, in a given year I see maybe half the kids of the world, and that’s on a good year. I mean, they say a lot of kids don’t celebrate Christmas, but that’s bullshit Bruno, you and I both know that everyone does.So anyway, I’m not going to get you that bike, not because you don’t deserve it, but because I don’t have any. Haven’t you ever seen a movie? We make toy things here. Nutcrackers and dolls and shit. We don’t build things you can buy in stores. That’s for your parents to do. If you’re not getting what you want, take it up with them, not me. I mean, let me tell you a little secret, there’s no such thing as elves, they’re a myth, and even if they weren’t, the idea scares the shit out of me. So every present you get from me, I made it myself. And I can’t make bikes. I can barely make wooden dolls, but I do, because I’m that kind of guy.One last point of contention, I don’t think it’s cute when you write in crayon. Have your parents write your letters from now on, I want to be able to like, actually read them. Dig?

Ok, merry Christmas.

Love Santa

Ok, so maybe he's wittier but I have prettier hair. Also, I just rhymed wittier and prettier. TAKE THAT.