REALLY BIG IN EUROPE

Idiocracy

2008-03-06T09:57:00.002-05:00

Ever see the movie? The more I think about it, the more I think it's going to happen and it's really scary. (If you haven't seen it, the premise is that only stupid people procreate---the yuppies are too busy planning when it would be convenient for them and then can't get pregnant because they're too old. Flash forward to the future and everyone's dumb as dirt. It's by Mike Judge, creator of "King of the Hill" and "Beavis and Butthead.") The movie was pretty funny, but made me really, really depressed. If you haven't seen it, I don't know if I recommend watching it. You may never look at things the same again.

My latest encounter with idiots was on the train this morning. There was an ad for Charmin Toilet Paper that read, "We shine where the sun don't." That is grammatically incorrect. If you play that little switcheroo game you learned in elementary school (a simple concept, yet I forget the correct term), you rearrange the sentence to check subject-verb agreement and it reads, "The sun don't shine." It should read, "We shine where the sun doesn't." Who wrote this ad? And why were they paid for it? I also HATE the title of that hip-hip movie called "How She Move." She moveS! Moves!!

Whereas a little slang is okay from time to time, I don't think the Charmin ad was intended for young, urban toilet paper purchasers. And if it was, it shouldn't reinforce poor grammar. I know someone that is an English teacher in middle school. She tells me there are a lot of politics involved in everything and that it's virtually impossible to fail a student or to single someone out when they are doing poorly in class. But, people need to learn these things somewhere. I can't even tell you how many well educated, college graduates confuse "their" and "they're" and commonly misuse I/me (i.e. "here is a picture of John and I"---Do the little game, would you tell someone it's a picture of "I". No! It's a picture of "me").

Where I work (which is a supposedly prestigious federal agency) I see the same things all the time: commas sprinkled into sentences like salt and pepper, people trying to sound intelligent and/or authoritative ("please be advise"), and many "supposeblies." We even had a two-day grammar workshop sponsored by some writing center and those people that went for the second time in two years returned and immediately sent out emails full of errors.

I know by writing this, I am opening myself up to criticism--I'm sure someone will find some errors in this email (especially concerning punctuation)--I'm not claiming to be perfect. I know some people are not native English speakers, have had poor education, or just don't recognize errors because they were never taught the proper way. Blogs, text messaging and IMs probably don't help either. But it really gets me worked up. Maybe too much. Maybe I should finish my morning coffee so the crankiness wears off. Maybe I should stick to writing "Celebrity Death News"?

Thanks for listening to I.

Just kidding.

Happy Leap Year (Day)--and dating tips!

2008-02-29T09:51:00.001-05:00

Today needs no introduction. It comes around only once every 4 years. I encourage all of you to do something wacky, treat yourself to something luxurious, be bold, and party like it's 1999 (no, there was no February 29th that year--Prince should have waited--but it's really hard to avoid saying "Party like it's 1999"). I, for one, am starting the day off with something really unhealthy for breakfast--a chocolate chip muffin. I will aspire to do nothing at work all day, except read the news, will eat a delicious lunch, and hopefully get drunk later tonight. I ALMOST want to throw a party, but I'm not motivated enough to clean my apartment. Maybe next leap year....

Also, I think I've discovered the secret to finding decent men. I've always had horrendously bad luck in that department (hence, why I am called "jindeh", and not "nice girl you can take home to mom"). I am always approached by freaks and usually the evening ends with them calling me a bitch or some other lovely comment. I sincerely believe if I hadn't met my beau through a friend, I would still be hopelessly and desperately alone. Well, yesterday I was on the train home and was in a really good mood. (Not entirely sure why--it doesn't happen often. I usually struggle to stay awake and read a few pages from my textbook.) So I get off at a different stop than usual and this attractive guy says to me, "I'm sorry to be so forward, but you're adorable." How cute is that, right? Made my day! Except at the same time he told me that, my man was calling me, so I awkwardly pointed to my phone and was like, "I'm so sorry, this is my fiance" and answered it. But I told him "thanks" and smiled. So, here's the secret: look approachable. Look like you are a happy person and someone people want to be around. Because scowling isn't doing the trick anymore. Just be careful not to be too happy...don't sing to yourself or skip down the road. Because the only men you will find that way will be the ones that keep your straight jacket on.

Happy February 29th!

Yay! Here we are!

2008-02-20T10:52:00.005-05:00

Yes, it's true. We're back! What could all you faithful readers possibly have done to entertain yourselves while we were away? Start up new hobbies, contract herpes, adopt a child? Well, quit that yoga class and put down that really ugly scarf you are trying to knit because we've got some fun times ahead. We (ahem, chatouille) promise to post a lot more frequently.

We started off 2007 with gusto---Men's Lady went on tour in Zurich and Milan, and Chatouille and I went to Montreal to once again remind those silly Quebecois that they are not, in fact, French, but Canadian. (we let them read our blog so they can feel a little more European--because we are REALLY big in Europe.) Chatouille also trekked though the jungle in Peru to, hmmm, bring us all alpaca handicrafts. Hopefully 2008 will bring similar milestones.

P.S. Special shot out to all the new Kosovars on the site. You are sort-of European.

Breaking News (El Newso Super-Nuevo)

2008-02-19T12:25:00.003-05:00

Yes, you heard it here second to last: Fido Castro has resigned his post as…dictator? We too were shocked (SHOCKED) to learn that Castro was still alive. In a letter published by the Communist Party’s Granny Newspaper, the man who helped the Miami Cuban community flourish for 49 years stated, “I will neither aspire to nor accept, I repeat, I will neither aspire to nor accept the positions of President of the State Council and Commander in Chief.” Castro went on to add, “don’t even try begging me to do it. I will not, I repeat, will not even consider…hey! where did everyone go?”

The 81-year-old Castro has not appeared in public for almost 19 months since he underwent breast augmentation surgery and “temporarily” ceded power to his sexily named brother, Rrrraauuuul. Still, Castro insists that, despite all evidence to the contrary, he’s still alive: "This is not my farewell to you. My only wish is to fight as a soldier in the battle of ideas. I shall continue to write under the heading of 'Reflections by comrade Fidel.'" There’s no telling if these reflections will rival those of comrade Jack Handey. Only time will tell, and as the man who is pretending to be Castro claims, he has plenty of that. In the P.S. section of the letter, under the xoxo and K.I.T., Castro added that he plans on “writing” these reflections by batting his eyelashes in what will prove to be an unprecedented and moving..,what? The Diving bell and what? Oh. That’s unfortunate.

We took this world shattering news to the streets, and into our favorite sandwich shop, in order to get a sense of how deeply it has affected our citizenry. We posed the question, “How do you feel about Castro’s news?” and received the following responses:

“What? Did he die?”

“When do we get to vacation in Cuba? I hear it’s cheap there.”

“Castro? No thanks, I only use olive oil,”

And perhaps the most significant response of all,

“Are you in line?”

We think that sums it up perfectly. Are we in line, indeed.* And if so, for what?**

*the answer was yes.

** The ham and swiss on wheat. Oh, that was a good sandwich

Really F▪ing Big, (The Remix)

2008-02-19T12:23:00.002-05:00

After what has seemed like at least four months on hiatus, RBIE is back. The Writers’ Strike of ’07 was a time in our history we’d rather forgive and forget, and in the end, the demands of those striking were met: I finally returned the purse I’d borrowed from Jendeh several months ago, and apologized to the Men’s Lady for that one drunken night when I called her a “whoritch” – an incident she apparently had no recollection of. This turned out to be a step back in the negotiations.

The important thing is that we’ve returned in time to cover some major news that our dear (except for Jim. he's just "ok")readers would otherwise never hear about. So sit back, relax, and let us massage your brain with the hot oil of ours.

So's your face

2007-10-10T14:37:00.000-05:00

Hey there, friends. It's been awhile, hasn't it?

Um, I'm bored at work. Here is what I have learned today.

1) Despite all that I initially thought, the man who generally has conversations while staring at my chest has still turned out to be a pretty good boss so far. Plus!

2) Corporate America is pretty fun. It's like being on a field trip with a bunch of people you would never think you'd like to hang out with. So, while you're at it, you can also pretend that your mom packed that PB & J for you, and wrote you a note on a napkin like the other kids' moms did, and didn't forget to pick you up that time in first grade, until all the teachers had left for the day and it was just you and that [creepy] janitor.

3) Just because you whisper "it's because you're a minority" to the girl who got passed up for a promotion, doesn't mean other people can't hear it. Try instead, "it's because you're a single mother," or the always friendly, "you're not getting more attractive as age hits you more aggressively, you know." People love honesty.

4) "Your mom" and "so's your face" are totally appropriate responses to bullying or threatening by your least favorite cubicle mate, aka bully. Just ask mine.

Obviously, our blog is in desperate need of help from chatouille. Come back! I know you're unemployed now, so you should blog.

ohmygodareyoufreakingkiddingme?!

2007-01-03T16:52:00.000-05:00

I am not a great writer. I have what my AP English teacher would've called a "gift for the accurate". Yeah, she was a bitch. That said, I do love words and will occassionally write things to myself to work through the complex maze of emotions and delicate intricacies that populate my beautiful soul. Okay, that was for me. Anyway, this writing sometimes takes the form of a very private journal, or random bits of paper that have scrawled musings on them, never, ever, ever (!) offered up for public consumption. That's what blogs are for, thank you very much.

So yesterday, on my way back to New York after a week at home for Christmas, parked at the gate and bored while I waited, I pulled out the print-out of my flight itinerary, flipped to the back, and started my usual work-through. I'd just spent a lovely week with my family, and had started "thinking" (I put it in quotes because sometimes it's actually just feeling, but writing it down asks me to articulate and intellectualize and...learn myself better, if that makes any sense). This piece of paper had some pretty personal information on it: "So-and-so is being impatient about (something)...Am I really incapable of having magic with an Indian man?" and the like. There were also some un-sayable things, things that no one would ever say out loud and I really regret having committed to paper. Then I, thankful that no one would ever read this, folded those pages into my book, and tucked my book into a shopping bag that also contained an apple thrust upon me by my mother and my digital camera in it, and promptly forgot about it.Then I left it in the backseat of the cab bringing me home from the airport. Panicked only by the loss of my camera at first, I reported the lost bag to 311, New York City's helpline or whatever.

Josh was visiting, and he assured me that some people don't suck and someone will find it and return my stuff to me. Ten minutes later, I got a phone call from a guy who found my bag. He lives in Williamsburg, and read my "diary," which he's really sorry about but it was on the flight itinerary that he looked through to find my phone number and he couldn't resist. I would've probably been too mortified to have a conversation with this person, but he has my digital camera with pictures from Chicago and California and Switzerland on it, which I haven't yet loaded onto my computer-- never has the lesson to back up your stuff ever been taught so ungenerously. So I went to Brooklyn to face this man who, as luck would have it, is a unicorn. (Hint: I call attractive Indian men "unicorns". It's not the nicest thing I do. It's not the meanest either, though, so please hold your judgement until you have all the facts.) So anyway, I finally met a unicorn! And he's already seen me naked, pretty much. #$%^*@!!!!!

In Hindsight...

2006-10-23T20:14:00.000-05:00

In light of this article from the New Zealand Herald--- because as big as we are in Europe (really big), our following with Kiwis would surprise you---

Maybe it wasn't smart to send my International Law professor that email about how I could teach him a thing or two about "international love." And it was probably a bad idea to send him the follow up email about needing extra tutoring on "human rights bodies"...or the one after that asking if he would "offer my heart amnesty."

Then again, maybe my biggest mistake was blogging about it. I guess only time will tell.

And then there were....

2006-09-17T23:52:00.000-05:00

While we're all intently focused on the one current event that affects every man, woman, and child alike...the one current event we can't get away from on CNN...something that could have dire consequences for all of mankind if not handled gently -- yes, you guessed it, the fall TV line-up, ...i would like to take this opportunity to vouch for Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip.

I'd add more, but it's almost 1am on a Sunday night, so i'm just going to rest on my laurels, trusting that our millions of fans will respect my opinion as their own. (Also, I still have a massive headache from Saturday night, when I had to leave a 'publicity' party unexpectedly, took an hour long metro ride home, and somewhere along the way lost a shoe and ten bucks.)

To the flamboyant homeless man wearing one red wedged-heel shoe and eating 10 jr. bacon cheeseburgers* (assuming you found change to account for tax), I wish you indigestion and blisters. But please, if you get your life back on track by tomorrow, watch Aaron Sorkin's new show. (We'll call it even)

* just a guess.

Mourning Chivalry

2006-09-04T00:23:00.000-05:00

I JUST got home from what was supposed to be a 4 hour bus ride, but which actually turned out to be a 7 hour bus ride. This fact is only relevant in that it explains a tiny part of my bad mood. I'm not blaming the poor people who probably died tonight on the highway, causing traffic to stand still for over 2 hours. Those 2 hours allowed me a lot of time to mull over a sort of--let's call it a proclamation--that i'd like to share with you now:
MEN, by and large, are ASSHOLES. ok. maybe that's too harsh. How about a revision: Most of the men with whom I have had the displeasure of interacting in the last 4 days of my short life have been overwhelmingly rude, obnoxious, and entirely devoid of any decency typically afforded a normal human being. Better?
What happened to chivalry?! I understand that there was a feminist movement and a sexual revolution and all the other progressional milestones that have made men and women just a little closer to equal, but at what point did we decide this meant men could treat women like inanimate objects? I mean, isn't it generally understood by men that women would like them SO much more if they made the slightest effort to be polite, maybe even at times considerate, or in the extremely rare occasion, even...dare i say, helpful? *GASP!*
To the two guys sitting in front of me on the bus who reclined their seats enough to cut the circulation in my legs, f*ck you. To the security guard at MacDonald's who wouldnt let me sit inside for two minutes without ordering food even though it was torrentially raining, f*ck you. To the guy at the metro who almost pushed me over trying to get on the escalator, f*ck you. To ALL the men on the train who sat down while two very old ladies (with canes) stood without seats, f*ck you. To all the guy friends who never offer to give a girl a ride home when she's stuck somewhere late at night, f*ck you. To all the guy friends who never think to ask, just in case, f*ck you. To every man who feels it's outdated to be a gentleman and so doesnt make the slightest effort to be a decent human being, f*ck you very much.
It's not even that i'm asking for deferential treatment based on my gender. That boat has definitely sailed, and i've come to terms with that. But looking around nowadays, everywhere i turn, women treat each other with so much more respect than men afford women. I've had people keep doors open for me as i walk into a store, apologize when they run into me, allow an older person to take their seat on the train (this one is an issue with me, you can tell) ---and they have lately ALL been women.
Certainly this doesn't include all men..some of you are intelligent and aware of your surroundings. I appreciate you. please, call me. I'm just terribly worried that there is an epidemic we're not paying attention to...like the XY is mutating into an XV--some horrible sub-human parasitic creature that is neither man nor woman, and which needs total self-involvement to survive.
But i digress. In conclusion, stop being Assholes. Thanks.
Disclaimer: first of all, f*ck you. i'm angry. secondly, before you start shouting "insults" at me like "feminist" or "man-hater," take into account that i've taken a highly scientific poll of thousands of women, and the overwhelming consensus (allowing for a margin of error) is that chivalry has gone the way of Jon Benet.

Adventures on my book tour

2006-08-27T08:26:00.000-05:00

Newly returned from Europe and still feeling a little tingly from the frisking I received at Heathrow Airport, I can't help but notice a few things about "America" have changed during my absence. For instance, that damn Snow Patrol song is EVERYWHERE. Also, I think my apartment got smaller.

So I'm back from my backpacking excursion through Eastern Europe (the correct term now is "Central Europe", but judging by the quality of toilet paper in most of my hostels, I'm going to assume that's a joke), and it's quite evident that people in other parts of the world still think Americans are stupid, despite our triumph over evil in, um...Afghanistan? Iraq? Syria? I mean, what? Who said that? Anyway, I've also learned that there are few skills that serve you as well as the ability to speak English and pretend you're not from America. For instance, since I am gifted with colored skin, when a Scottish couple approaches me and asks for directions in English in say, Bratislava, I am able to pretend that me not know Engleesh so good, but think it's this vay, thereby avoiding the awkward conversation on the American real estate bubble, and why this time, it's just not going to get any better for us.

Ok, so this post wasn't about my book tour. But sometimes, I think you just read the headlines and pretend you know what's happening in my life. And it hurts.

Free Love on the Free-Love Highway

2006-08-23T01:00:00.000-05:00

Touring Asia to promote RBIE has left this writer little time to dedicate to actual posts. Knowing that Jindeh and Men's Lady would pick up the slack provided some peace of mind, but as i'm nearing the last leg of the tour (currently in Topsail, North Carolina -- ironically, a tiny province of south-eastern China), i'll soon be able to get back to RBIE's mission statement: alerting our readers to all newsworthy issues, such as (and this is just a preview of a few suggested topics) ---

1) Third year of law school: another big mistake or the last leg of a really big past mistake?

2) Who is the better ice-dancer: Ahmadinejad or Nasrallah? (this one will be an online vote. America decides.)

3) Paris Hilton: A Mother Theresa in the making?

4) Lindsay Lohan and Anne of Green Gables: Similarities/Differences

5) 2006 Vacation Hot-Spots: Beirut on 2 limbs a day.

6) Possible explanations for why Stephen Colbert wont return my calls

7) Possible explanations for the restraining order I received today from Stephen Colbert.

8) The first in a ten series special on tapping unconventional sources of single, eligible men: Why you shouldnt overlook the local penitentiary.

and much much more!!! So stay tuned. Our faithful readers will not be disappointed. Our unfaithful readers will most likely get herpes...the strain that Valtrex can't mask.

Ruining My Potential for Public Office

2006-07-13T13:07:00.000-05:00

As those of you who keep up with my MySpace page may have heard (of course you do- why wouldn't you?), I have recently become a casual dater. This is a wonderful idea and less whorish than hedge fund dating, because with the losers I tend to date, it's important to not get too attached to any of them at all. My most recent catastrophe involved a fireman who lived with his mother and flashed me in the refrigerator at a bar on the Upper East Side. Let that be a lesson to the kids: just because he wears a hat for living, doesn't mean he's not a psycho pervert.

Anyway, I have a date tonight with a man I met in a bar, where all the winners are on weeknights, who offered me drugs. Not in a "Psst. Psst. Come here, kid."-kind of way, but in a "So, do you do anything other than drink?"-kind of way. He's not a dealer (he works in bonds and derivatives...more of a Wall Street cokehead than anything else), but gosh darnit, wouldn't that be okay as long as he's buying me dinner? What? No? You're way too uptight.

I LOVE AMERICA!

2006-06-08T16:21:00.000-05:00

Only here can you watch not one, not two, but three different Dateline specials on catching Internet Child Predators.

The most recent installment took us to a small town in Ohio, outside Cincinnati. I admit, I missed most of this one because I was out drinking Chimay and eating french fries with mayo, but I did turn it on in time to see them nab a 26 year old 6th grade teacher who looks like he could be someone I know (in contrast to the slew of fat, balding men in Ohio State T-Shirts).

Next, they devoted an entire hour to a sting in Fort Myers, FL. Times like these make me proud to be a Floridian. The star was a man from Trinidad who showed up, got NAKED(!), and starting chasing the girl's cat (the feline, not the other thing, you PERVS!) around the house. He also wanted the "13 year old girl" to perform a sex act on her cat.

But by far, the best part was that after the dude from Dateline (not Stone Philips, but the other one) told them they were free to go, there were police officers waiting outside to arrest the men. There was one officer who was-- I kid you not-- dressed up like Swamp Thing and sprung out of the bushes to tackle them. Good laugh, I'll tell you.

I don't understand how it is Dateline gets these men to sit down and talk about their deviance in the first place, then gets them to sign a release to air the conversation on national TV. It was really shocking that in 2 days, more than 20 men showed up and that the men were from all different backgrounds and age ranges. Many of them married with children. One sucker even took a BUS 4 hours across the state to get there. Talk about desperate.

A friend of mine tells me they should make this show like "American Idol" and we can vote for our favorite perverts. Not sure what the prize would be though. Maybe a new computer?

Hot for you,
Jindeh

Why MySpace Rules, An Essay by Men's Lady

2006-05-24T11:04:00.000-05:00

I've recently noticed that some of us are experiencing a little bit of hostility towards MySpace, and have used the RBIE page to vent. This is unfortunate (one should refrain from being so angry- even in New York, it's somewhat unbecoming), and I am posting to defend the institution and modern dance craze that is MySpace.

First, I would like to start by saying that MySpace is actually nothing short of amazing when it comes to bringing people together. I was recently contacted by my best friend from junior high school, who I'd lost contact with because we went different ways in high school. Plus...sexual predators. Need I say more?

Second, MySpace offers people the chance to express themselves on their page. My page has polka dots. Chatouille's page is brown and plays a slideshow of pictures of her and her friends (conspicuously absent are pictures of the RBIE staff). I have a friend who's 17-year old sister recently friend requested me, and you know what? I accepted. What do you have to say to that? Huh?

Third, um, okay, maybe I don't really have a third. I thought I'd posted because I'm bored at work today. Or every day. And MySpace really kills the time for me. Why would you want to take that from me? WHY? What kind of sick monster are you?!?

Isn't It Terrible That A Family Can Be Torn Apart By Something As Simple As A Pack of Wolves?

2006-05-14T22:48:00.000-05:00

Like a bad case of Herpes, I'm back. Back to D.C. after a long (LONG) week home, back to RBIE,...back to life, back to reality, back to the...you get the point.

Spending a week at "home"...or what I should more accurately refer to as "the residence of those people who unwillingly, and probably with the help of large quantities of alcohol, conceived me," has (as always) afforded me some new pearls of wisdom, which i would like to share with our young readers:

1) no matter how much you THINK you miss your family or how happy you THINK they will be to see you, divide the period of time you were planning on dedicating to a visit by 2, subtract by 3 days...and book your flight accordingly. Save time, money, and embarassment for all involved.

2) keep something small around (like a grape for example) to choke on when your parents look like they're about to start a serious conversation about your career and/or social aspirations. 9 times out of 10 they will be too distracted saving your life to remember what they were asking about. (guantanamo prisoners swear by this one!)

3) The argument: "At least i'm not pregnant!" worked better when you were a teenager and your mother wasn't asking you why you havent "met someone," "gotten married," or "become pregnant."

4) Access to transportation can do a lot to help your time at home go smoothly. Lack of transportation can make you feel trapped, moody, insecure, and...filled with murderous rage.

5) Ellen is a quality show. Passions, not as much.

6) Spending time with family brings you closer...to your friends, and occasional kind-faced strangers.

7) after all the bickering, and fighting, and cutting...you realize when you leave them that you will always feel somewhat guilty about not enjoying your family's company more, not cherishing the time you get to spend with them, not getting along better. This is a mistake. They want you to feel guilty..that's how they lure you back. Remember your spirit, and remember how much your spirit wanted to get the hell away from there.

8) there's no such thing as a perfectly functional family. anyone turns their nose up at you, you just remind them that their mom is an alcoholic and their dad does drag shows on the weekends (eh. it's a hit or miss, but in the least you'll make them stop and think).

Wilson Phillips says to hold on

2006-05-14T22:22:00.000-05:00

I graduated. My parents came to New York, and I wore a funny hat, and then NYU gave me a hood. I am officially a Master of the Arts. On to unemployment!

The happenings of my life recently are as follows:

1) I met/will date a man I met in a bar recently who mispronounces my name. I realize my name is not short or common. I have brought excuse-making to a new level.

2) I had a job interview recently for a position with an insurance-based financial services bank. I didn't know what it was for, and floundered helplessly.

3) My dad asked me if I wanted to move home to Florida and just hang out until I marry...someone. Whoever. Really.

4) I've been trashed almost every night since graduation, and I think, instead of some sort of a medal, I'm getting cirrhosis of the liver.

Our blog is lonely without the help of chatouille.

MySpace sux!!!!

2006-05-01T16:21:00.000-05:00

There, I said it.

Not only do I think its juvenile, but I recently discovered that it has a blog feature. I have some serious suspicions that some of the RBIE staff are posting their pearls of wisdom on their MySpace pages.

I do not approve.

The whole point of blogging is to rant anonymously. You cannot speak your mind when all of your readers are simultaneously looking at a picture of you from your last night out and trying not to laugh as you drool down the side of your face, and reading your deep insights on the world.

Come back, dammit.

When Professors Are Too Forthcoming...

2006-04-17T15:00:00.000-05:00

"What I will be going over today will not be on the exam. Please don't leave."

And so starts my last day of Evidence class. I'm not psyhic (per se) but i'm going to venture a guess as to how it ends:

me being woken up by my roommate (who also sits next to me in class), and yelling out "I object!" on instinct, thereby attracting the disdain of my professor and securing my place at the very bottom of the class.

Update: Turns out I was more productive in class than I expected: Comic strip Generator

I Hope My Divorce is Never Granted

2006-04-12T09:42:00.000-05:00

It's a sad country song by Kitty Wells, my life. Since joining myspace, I've given up men in favor of online stalking the ones I've already made out with (it's actually working out kinda well, and I very rarely have to weather a conversation with one of them). But don't worry-- this has not stopped me from doing stupid things. For instance, I made out with a guy in a bathroom during a party about 6 months ago, and he and I drunk dial each other now and then. Unfortunately, it seems we're never drunk at the same time. As those of you who have endured the loss of your first love (i.e. Chris Martin) might know, timing really is everything in a relationship. So, I've started to call my thesis my boyfriend. He's really sweet--we go to the park on sunny days and read the Sunday Times together. It's not sad. You don't need an actual man to make you happy. You need an actual man to buy you jewelry, but that's sort of it. Right? No, I am not shallow! Shut up. You don't know me.

Oh! And in European news, there's a little bit of a power struggle happening in Italy, which I looked up and am pretty sure is part of Europe. It'll probably resolve itself nicely, with Silvio Berlusconi launching a major media campaign against Romano Prodi, who will promptly do nothing. It's funny how the proactive right vs. inactive left-thing works out in Europe too. Let that be a lesson to the kids--Americanization/globalization is a real thing. That, and don't trust whitey.

Where Have You Been???!!

2006-04-06T23:49:00.000-05:00

So we havent posted in a while. Well, nothing newsworthy has really happened, has it? A lot you say? Well, shit. We'll have to read up on that and get back to you.

In the meantime, here's a random story to keep you occupied:

One time i got really drunk at my parents' annual new year's party (i emphasize the annual part to suggest that they had one every year...not because i'm dumb and dont realize that new years only comes around once a year) and had to hide it because 1) i was 20 years old, 2) i was at my parents' new year's party.
Accomplishing this became especially difficult when i was asked to dance with my dad in front of ALL the guests. Until that point, i'd been really content just sitting in a corner and smiling at everyone with a glazed look on my face. I started dancing, still not drunk enough not to be mortified, and had to hold on to my dad the entire time so i wouldnt fall. (which wouldnt be weird but for the fact that iranian dancing does not require touch...we werent supposed to be waltzing)
my mother, always the quicker of my two parents, caught on and ended the song, and while everyone was politely clapping, she led me to my bedroom, asked me if i'd been drinking (an accusation i vehemently denied...not in words so much as in the bobbing from side to side of my head), and told me to go to sleep before i embarassed myself.
the next afternoon, i woke up to find some water, aspirin, and a note from my mom next to my bed that said "i told your dad that you were feeling sick. it's the first day of the year and i didnt feel like telling him his daughter might be an alcoholic. i'd appreciate it if you could stay sober for the rest of today. love, mom"

Happy New Year, Part II

2006-03-20T19:25:00.000-05:00

To all the (non-militant) Persians around the world, RBIE says:

HAPPY NEW YEAR! 1385!!!

We'd also like to add that your Norooz (New Year), coinciding with the first day of Spring, and taking place at the same moment in time all over the world...is by far the coolest. We took an unbiased and highly scientific survey. You won. Yeah we did. Shut up.

Finally, Affirmation.

2006-03-16T12:36:00.000-05:00

Sometimes (ok, often) I wake up in the morning wondering if i'm really using my life to its fullest potential by becoming a lawyer. When I was a little, beautiful, and incredibly advanced for my years (but not in a slutty way) girl, I dreamed of one day using my intellect for good....to better the world, heal the children...and other crap like that.

But all around me there's so much negative criticism of the legal field and of how overly litigious our society has grown---on tv, in newspapers, in class, on the phone with my dad who still tells people that I got pregnant and was sent to a convent because he's too embarrassed to say the words "law school."----and despite myself, it gets to me.

Then I read this story...and my faith in the profession is instantly restored.

WILL FERRELL FOUND ALIVE!!!!

2006-03-15T01:56:00.000-05:00

Will Ferrell is not dead. I knew there was something fishy about the story when i read he was paragliding. He is and forever will be alive. He's immortal...

Furthermore, Assholes who write fake stories about people dying should be shot in the head...several times, each time missing their brain just enough so that they can feel it before they die....maybe scientists could help. Friends who call to read me fake stories of someone's death but fail to mention that its a hoax should have to watch the assholes get shot.

I'm not normally a violent person...but that story really shook me. Now to go wipe away the tears of panic....and cuddle with my "Anchorman" DVD.

Paranoia...

2006-03-14T10:07:00.000-05:00

How did I spend my weekend? Scared like a little kid watching "Are You Afraid of the Dark" or reading "Scary Stories." Remember those?! Those were the days.....

Ok, so I have been living in NY for almost two years now, not to mention that I was born here and my parents are from here as well. You can say I'm a hard-ass. I take the rush-hour subways, I brave the crowds, I yell at people when they get in my way, I walk pretty fast, I live in Queens! But this past Saturday night, I totally got freaked out and was terrified to be alone.

Unless you live under a rock, I'm sure you heard of that grad student who was brutally murdered a few weeks ago. I mean, hey, rapes happen all the time. No biggie, right? But that was quite disturbing. So as the search for the killer continues, I have been noticing a few things.... Where I live its very residential, a some-what blue-collar community. Which means its not well-lit, there aren't too many people walking around at night, and there are a helluva lot of large ass vans with tinted windows on the street. I counted the other day.. On my walk from the subway to my house--two blocks-- there are 39!!! (Actual cars: 55) 39 potential pervs hiding out just waiting to snatch me up! (We all know to stay away from vans, remember all those myths from when we were little? Every neighborhood had a perv van kids would whisper about on the bus). Plus, there aren't too many women around. Mostly men, huddling around on the corner, giving you looks as you pass.

So usually I walk home with my boyfriend, but about once a week I go out by myself and come home late at night, but I feel safe because he is just a few steps away. But his weekend he went out of town. I went out with some friends who started telling me this CRAZY story about a friend who was followed around by a guy on a bike. She was able to escape because a nice bus driver saw her looking freaked out and picked her up and took her to her house. Turns out there was a rape in her neighborhood on the news the next morning and the description of the man matched the creepy guy! So as I leave my friends at like 2 in the morning, I attempt to take the subway home and its not running. So I totally splurged and took a cab home (hey, taking a cab to Queens is pricey!). And as soon as I got inside I bolted my doors and windows.

I'm such a wuss!

Rant, rant, bo-bant....

2006-03-09T15:25:00.000-05:00

There have been some stories in the news lately that really piss me off:

(1) Roe v. Wade for Men
I wish it were a joke.... There is a group of men who are apparently trying to "stand up for Mens' Rights" by fighting legislation that requires them to pay for child support. The lawsuit was initiated by a man that was angry at having to pay for his ex-girlfriend's baby. HELLO! It takes two people to have a child. Just because the woman is the one who has to carry it does not mean the man is off the hook. I am even more concerned when it comes to the impending doom that the South Dakota anti-abortion bill will cause if it makes it to the Supreme Court. Not only will this be very detrimental to womens' rights, but if they are going to be required by law to have a child once they become impregnated, they should require men to help pay for its care. Maybe Canada isn't looking so bad, eh?

(2) Dubai Ports deal
More proof of terrorism hysteria and greed. I am honestly surprised that such an anti-terrorist President as our own is supporting this deal. If you say you want to fight those "bad folks," why would you want to invite a Middle Eastern country to oversee the ports in 9/11 town? His logic is that Middle-East = Al-Qaeda. It just doesn't mesh. Especially because all but 2 people on the Committee to approve this project seem to think its a bad idea. Bush is expected to Veto their decision. Maybe he has some sort of deal brewing so that he'll reap some sort of profits from the thing. But, more importantly, just because they are a Middle Eastern country does not mean they are terrorists. Which in a back-ass-wards way makes Bush right.

(3) Brokeback Mountain
Ok, I admit, I've never seen it. However, I don't see what the big deal is. First of all, the story does not appeal to me in the slightest and I have no plans to see it, maybe ever. And that's not because it has to do with homosexuals. Its because its a Western and a love story, and I couldn't care less what those ranch hands do in their spare time in Canada (oh, I mean Wyoming). I think its great that mainstream culture has embraced the portrayal of gay cowboys, and that it may mean people are going to be more open-minded in the future (yeah, I know, like 2098 future), but I am glad it didn't sweep all of the awards. I think it was hyped WAY too much. Which leads me to my next point: The Oscar committee has gone ape-shit. "Hard Out Here for a Pimp" won for Best Song. I felt like I was watching MTV. I think that the song from Crash was a lot better, or even the Dolly Parton one. She should've at least gotten something for being like 85 and looking like she does.

Thanks for listening.

Show Me.

2006-03-07T00:18:00.000-05:00

My recent trip to Kansas City, Missouri helped dispel some myths and stereotypes many of us on the east coast have about the lovely midwest, previously in my mind known only as "the mass grave of buffalo and injuns." Here are a few of those:

1) While I pride myself on how incredibly enlightened and open-minded I am (you'd have to be to have a hindu and a jew as friends, am I right?), I may have sorta-kinda feared a cold reception by very white midwestern farmers. No burnings at the stake or anything, but maybe a forced babtism attempt or two. Instead, I was met by the kindest and most welcoming people I have ever come across who weren't (at least perceptively) high at the time. The kind of people who not only smile when they pass you on the sidewalk, but actually say "hello" and occasionally add "nice day, isnt it?" However, if ever travelling in the midwest, please note that officers of the law are not more lenient towards you when you drive 25 mph over the speed limit. You might get pie afterwards, though. I had no such luck, but I can see how that could happen. Cuz, you know...they're nice.

2) There are streetlights and freeways in the midwest. Really caught me offguard.

3) There was no livestock roaming around anywhere I was near.

4) Midwesterners appreciate modern art...on the first friday of every month.

And some preconceptions that weren't so wrong afterall:

1) Midwesterners are white. Some are pasty, some are rosy, but (all)predominantly white. This I feel they should use as a marketing tool to attract non-white families with small children: "The Midwest. Where you will never lose track of little Leila or Hassan!" (look around. which of these is not like the others?)

2) Midwesterners love Jesus. L.O.V.E. him. This was made very evident to me at a comedy improv show where the audience was asked to offer suggestions of their favorite bible story for the skit. And then reinforced when there was a run-off vote because several stories were yelled out at once. (For all my midwest friends at the edge of their seats: "Daniel and the Lions" won.)

3) Midwesterners say "pop" instead of soda.

All in all, this trip to Missouri taught me that the best way to dispel stereotypes is to spend a few days in someone else's shoes. Then again, I wouldn't recommend following this advice to get rid of your fear of the KKK or say, Russian Mafia. Sometimes, prejudice means survival.

In Large Part Due to the Hotness of Terrence Howard....

2006-03-06T00:43:00.000-05:00

"CRASH" won the Oscar for Best Film!!!! My "friends" like to point out that I, in fact, had nothing to do with the making or marketing of this motion picture masterpiece, but that's just because they're jealous bigots. Stupid crackers.

Finally, a film is honored for highlighting the existence of stereotypes in all cultures and just how useful they can be. For those of you who haven't seen it (hopefully because you're blind or homeless, not because you chose not to), it's a story of young love and all the excitement and opportunity that L.A. has to offer.

Like I told the old lady behind me in the ticket line at the movie theater, it's just like the Disney ride "It's A Small World"....but with guns.

If Walt wasn't frozen in a factory somewhere, he would shed a tear of joy.

Pour out a little liquor....

2006-03-01T15:08:00.000-05:00

Since part of the inspiration for our blog came from a discussion of Jonathan Brandis' and "Jennifer" Midlers' deaths, I have been dubbed the Celebrity Death columnist. I'm SUPPOSED to bring you news of obscure, B-List celebrities obituaries. I apparently haven't been doing my job since another RBIE staffer had to point out a few note-worthy passings, but here goes:

DON KNOTTS died!!

REALLY? Yep, stop crying.

WHO? You know, the landlord from Three's Company!!!

AWWWW.

Also, MABEL M. SMYTHE-HAITH died!

REALLY? Yes, of Alzheimers.

WHO? She was the former US Ambassador to Equatorial Guinea (as opposed to Guinea or New Guinea? This one is in Africa, next to Sierra Leone).

AWWWW.

AND.....Bruce Hart too!

REALLY? Yeah. Poor chap.

WHO? He wrote the lyrics to "Sesame Street"!

AWWWW.

Ok, are you happy you cold-hearted bastard?! Reason #6879584 Chatouille may be heading somewhere unseasonably warm ;)

Maybe Next Valentine's Day...

2006-02-27T14:20:00.000-05:00

Don't click on the below link before, during, or immediately after food consumption:
Women of the world: rejoice!

R.I.P. Tafie

2006-02-27T13:36:00.000-05:00

One of our dedicated readers (i'd venture to say she'd be reader of the month, if we had a budget to actually get her a ribbon), sent in the following e-mail written to her by her father this morning. Read it for its emotional depth, its tragic undertones, its yoda-like grammar, or just because it's the funniest eulogy to a pet you will ever read:

bad news. tafie has killed himself. it was a few days ago when he never come back for breakfast. i find his body on U.S. 1. his head was crashed. he did not have time to suffer. he died peaceful and honorable. he fight very hard for his territory. as the matter of fact just few days ago somebody cut his face so bad that i did not think he was going to make it. but he did. he put up with Armine for almost a month. he was homless and hungry all month that i was not here. he was tired of life. he crossed the border. he wanted to see what is on the other side. he never find out. i gave him a good place to sleep. ever lasting peace. he doesn't have to fight no more. far away from civilization that eventually ended his life. he had never seen a car before and he couldn't imagine how fast is going. white crazy drunk people. when he find out it was too late, that was the end of my poor cat tafie. he is gone. for-ever.

Dermot Defies Typecasting Once Again.

2006-02-24T23:38:00.000-05:00

This friday night, I decided to forego my normal slew of endless dates to sit at home and enjoy a wholesome film about young love. Um, relatively young love. Well, not-quite-old love.

In "The Wedding Date," Debra Messing and Dermot Mulroney are not your typical romantic-comedy couple....she's a single girl dreading her sister's wedding ever since her fiance dumped her a year ago, and he's a hooker she's hired to accompany her to the wedding and fool everyone into thinking she's happy and secure.

I know. Unique, right? Yeah. I just wasted two hours I will never get back...and I'm ok with that. Dermot is hott. With two ts. What I'm not ok with is that I don't have my own hooker in shining armor. Then again, as Nick (Dermot's alter ego) says in the film, "every woman has the love life that she wants." And he's been in like 10 romantic comedies. So he would know.

Not to change the subject, but Bob Costas just asked Sasha Cohen if she would like to hook-up with some skier who looks like Carrot Top. Since when is it ok to pimp out our Olympic Athletes? It's not a bad idea...speedskater Joey Cheek has been giving me the eye all week. Yes, from Italy. Shut up. You're drunk.

What its like out here in the "real world"

2006-02-24T13:39:00.000-05:00

(CAUTION: This is really, really long)

The latest example of the ridiculousness that occurs in the workplace:

Our office has 4 floors, each floor with about 50 or so people. Each floor is equipped with a stunning (read sarcastically) kitchen, complete with a refrigerator. Nothing else. No coffee pot, no toaster, no microwave, no water cooler, Nothing! (How are we supposed to stand around and talk water cooler talk without one??? No one to discuss the latest epi of Project Runway with--which was a bunch of BS if you ask me. Instead of hyping it as a reunion special, they could've just called it the "PsychoBitch Show" for displaying how NUTS Santino, Andrae, and Zulema are.) Sorry, where was I?

Ok, so my office is a really ridiculous place. If we need to use any of these modern conveniences, we must buy them ourselves. Someone was nice enough to either buy a microwave or donate one to the cause on each and every floor (maybe the office bought them back in '82, when they had the money to spend, because these things are that old). Ok, so first the microwave on the 6th floor broke. Being too cheap to chip in a few bucks for the team, the 6th floor denizens didn't get a new one and would rather use the one on the 5th floor. But yesterday, the one on the 5th floor broke, which leaves us with (4-2=? c'mon kids, you need to practice your math. You're going to need to learn to bill people for all those hours you spend on their cases) 2! Yes, just 2 microwaves to serve an office of about 200 people.

I decided to spearhead the effort to get a new microwave because I like to TRY and save money by bringing in lunch like once a week. But there are people that use it all the time. I asked for $2 from each person, expecting people to run to their wallets and fork over the cash because its really not too much to ask. About 10 people gave me money. The other 100 people that would benefit from a microwave have expressed that either (a) they do not think its fair if they give money when they know other people won't, and they don't want those "moochers" to use it, or (b) they claim that they don't use it. Regardless, is $2 too much to ask?! If you use it once in your life, its worth it, no? What the hell is wrong with people? One woman even said that, rather than have said "moochers" use it, she would rather buy one for herself and not let anyone else use it. What is the sense in that? She'd rather pay $70 for one to be a selfish biyotch rather than give $2 to help the office out? You should see her office, she has a million little pieces of flair around-- potted plants, stuffed animals, pictures, etc. She obviously has money.

So, in the meantime, I am left begging for money from these people. If you want to contribute to the fund, let me know. I seriously feel like Sally Struthers... "Look at these poor, malnourished children. For less than a cup of coffee, you can have a microwave!!" It almost makes me want to buy one for myself.....

On another note, my office also has its very own Milton from "Office Space." I kid you not. The guy looks just like him and works in the supply room. He hoards all the office supplies. When you ask him for paperclips, he gives you like a handful. "Not my stapler!"

Because Sometimes, It's Fun to Be an Asshole/Bitch/Bitter Old Person

2006-02-23T21:53:00.000-05:00

A few quotes from last night's Olympic women's free-skate that highlight why Olympic announcers should think about careers in motivational therapy:

"she's an amazing jumper...almost too amazing...its like she hasnt even thought through her technique and is just getting lucky"

"wow. watching her fall makes me think of a rhinocerous"

"that was a very unnattractive production of spin just to get more points"

"maybe in the fifteen years she spent on the ice and at competition, she could have learned to better herself instead of just doing the same thing over and over again...obviously, it's not working for her"

"this is a waste of 4 minutes"

"Joanna is a beautiful skater...who unfortunately doesnt always believe in herself."

"Sasha has once again given into her personal demons...and disappointed not only her fans, but most of all, herself"

and my personal favorite,

"the entire souffle was unsouffled"

Because, much like the rest of life (and you little ones should take notes), the Olympics are all about honoring the winners and embarassing the losers. It's true. If you disagree, chances are you're a loser. Now go take a long look in the mirror and cry yourself to sleep. It's for the best.

BONNE ANNIVERSAIRE RBIE!!!

2006-02-21T10:05:00.000-05:00

For those of you who can't read French, that means HAPPY BIRTHDAY RBIE!!!!

We created RBIE one year ago this past President's Day weekend and I am proud (and a little surprised) that our red-headed step-child of drunken inspiration has survived.

To commemorate this year, I would like to announce the following awards:

(1) Chatouille, for continuing to keep us alive in our darkest days. Without your tales from the crypt and other pearls of wisdom, I'm not sure what we would have done.

(2) Men's Lady, for keeping it real with all the skunks in NYC. I have to live vicariously through someone.... And also for finding your keys.

(3) Jindeh, for being the most elusive of the RBIE staff. I haven't been posting as much as I should have since I am currently drafting a Treatise on the Electric Slide, complete with pictures, but I will do my best to post from time to time.

(4) For our countless fans, we love you all. However, due to an incredibly awkward misunderstanding and pending criminal charges, we will no longer be autographing peoples' body parts.

Hope you all keep it real this 2006. Watch for lots more dating advice and celebrity gossip.

How Not To Date

2006-02-19T02:19:00.000-05:00

The RBIE staff, finally together for their annual meeting, run into some trouble at a NYC bar and establish why 2/3 of them are single and alone:

Random guy: So are you guys here to talk to yourselves, or are you here to meet fun new people?

Jindeh: Ourselves.

Men's lady: That's the lamest opener i have ever heard.

Random guy: So, what should i have said?

Chatouille: Goodbye?

Random guy to very (very) white, american Jindeh: are you Indian?

Jindeh: um..no? I'm white.

Random guy: Oh. well its hard to see in the light.

Chatouille: I'm native american! (a lie)

Random guy: Have you ever been to India?

Jindeh: no...she's native american...from AMERICA!

-----awkward pause--------

Men's Lady: ok! So what's you're ethnic background?!

Random guy (now angered): HA, HA, HA (mechanical fake laughter): You're BITCHES!

Jindeh: Please move on.

Fin.

Not as pretty as your big sister? Blog about it

2006-02-15T18:37:00.000-05:00

So, recent adventures in myspace have kept me off the RBIE page lately, mostly because myspace offers the opportunity to stalk the lives of others in return for putting oneself out there. But like the prodigal son, I have returned to you. And I demand my fatted calf. And at least 40 virgins, if you can find them.

If you end all of the above sentences with the words, "on the internet," they're still true. AMAZING.

Anyway, last time we saw our superhero, the men's lady, she was teaching us about hedge funds and dating (ignore the post that came somewhere around the middle of last month about how I lost my keys). That has since ended, and she is no longer dating anyone. Danny*, the poet bartender, broke up with her on instant messenger, although he still wants to "talk" occassionally, but we don't really know that stimulating conversation is the point of dating an unemployed poet who can't spell. Rod* is still in the picture, but he travels a lot and, upon reflection, might be gay. And the French lawyer? Sleazeball with a girlfriend. So, um...hmm. What else? I met a fireman in a bar last week. Check out my myspace page. And be my friend. Tom is lonely.

Cheney is...Cupid?

2006-02-13T12:48:00.000-05:00

Dick Cheney shot his "friend" in the face. Reminds me of a few "friends" i'd like to go hunting with. Which brings us to the topic of today's post: What makes people haters?

Everyone who knows me understands that I LOVE people. All people. Well, not you. But most people. I would love everyone in the world to hold hands and sing Kumbaya till some of us get engulfed by a tsunami, earthquake, or hurricane...and even afterwards, for the rest to just keep on singing...through the tears.

But there are some people, some awfully terrible people, who don't want the rest of us to sing. Maybe it's because they're jealous of our voices, or maybe just because they're ugly. Whatever the reason, these cartoon drawing, embassy burning, country invading, bar-fight starting, humorless assholes who take themselves too seriously....spend countless hours making sure the rest of us pay for their insecurities.

Case in Point: Last friday night, I was having the best dinner party of my life. Around the dinner table were seated (counter clockwise): A romanian-dutchman who was married to an iranian-philipino, a burkinabe language scholar, a greek theatre production major, a mongolian economics scholar, and my friends (they're none too special). The conversation centered around religion, politics, and sex (everything you're not supposed to talk about at dinner)...and while there were some intense disagreements, nobody was offended and everyone laughed alot. (especially when Niamboue from Burkina Faso told us how he hunted tigers and climbed trees to get fruit.)

All this to say that I was in a good mood when later than night, I went out to a bar to meet up with some friends of friends. Suddenly, my "it's a small world" view of life was shattered by some syphilis-ridden skank (educated guess) who called me a "sarcastic bitch who thinks she's funny" and reiterated that she "wanted to punch me in the face!" Me! Sarcastic! And what really poured lemon juice in the cut was that I had made an honest effort to befriend this ho, noticing how she was just standing on the side of the group and looked bored. It's a good thing she didn't say this all to my face, because then I would have had to do something rash...like run away, hide, and weep uncontrollably.

I guess what i'm trying to say is: don't hate. celebrate! U2 won a bunch of grammies, the Olympics have started, it's snowing in DC, Valentine's Day is tomorrow, and there's a three day weekend coming up! And if you must hate, kindly leave my face out of it.

I Like Fast Men.

2006-02-04T14:58:00.000-05:00

Friday night was my law school's "Barrister's Ball", but as far as dances go, I just couldn't imagine it surpassing my experience at the senior prom in highschool: me, standing against the wall with glittery Payless heels digging into my ankles, wondering when the dance will end so I can get drunk on the beach, while I watch my date dry-hump the foreign exchange girl on the dancefloor, her lime-green tafetta dress rising to dangerous heights.

So I skipped the "ball" and instead went to my very first hockey game! I always knew that men on skates would be much more attractive than men in shoes, but I never thought I would finally find my spectator sport of choice. I am now a hockey fan. Of course, there are a couple things about the game I would change, like more flattering jerseys for fans, or less fighting and more hugging on the ice. All things considered though, hockey is way more entertaining than lame "American" sports like baseball or football.

What does this all mean? I might be Canadian-eh?

Reason # 5,135 Why I Might Be Headed Somewhere Unseasonably Warm.

2006-01-29T01:44:00.000-05:00

"I'm sorry, I can't. I'm a paraplegic."

I did some research this weekend, and I've learned a great way to let a guy down easy when you just don't care to dance with him. Now Fred (our test subject) wasn't convinced at first, but after some dramatic "evidentiary proof" (i moved my legs with my arms to show him just how lifeless they were), Freddy shook my hand with both of his, told me to "never forget" my "beautiful spirit," touched his hand to his heart, and walked away, a better man for it.

Other than that, it's been a slow news weekend. I think some Polish people died in a building or something....we're not CNN. Look it up yourself.

This Just In (Alalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalaaa!!)

2006-01-22T17:11:00.000-05:00

According to the Drudge Report and judging from the increasingly frequent phone calls i've been getting at all hours from friends who feel it their duty to keep me abreast of news regarding Iran, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that "my peeps in the homeland" (direct translation from farsi) are in deep sh*t. In Iran's defense, I would like to make clear that its (not legitimately elected) President is INSANE and most of its citizens do NOT in fact wish that all the Jews migrated to Norway. Especially Jewish Iranians, they're feeling pretty uncomfortable about the whole thing.

As to nuclear capabilities, it is a little hypocritical of nuclear nations to prohibit another country's development of what they already have. It's like when my mom told me I wasn't allowed to get pregnant on prom night even though SHE already had four kids! On the other hand, the Iranian government isn't fooling anyone when it says it only wants to use nuclear energy for peaceful purposes. Much like Kathy Hilton's breasts, its ulterior motives are pretty thinly veiled.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, I spent over a thousand bucks to go meet my family in Iran and I would be really pissed if they get blown up and my entire investment (time and money) is lost.

There's an ancient Persian saying that goes like this: When the cat and mouse agree, the grocer is ruined (yeah, persians had grocers way back when). Let's say the western powers are the "cat," and the Iranian public is the "mouse"...now if they cooperate and the cat refrains from killing the mouse, the Iranian government (aka, the "grocer"...following so far?) will surely be ruined. Afterall, its an ancient saying...that means it's true.
Harf balah (word up).

How Many Celebrity Lesbians Think You're Hot?

2006-01-19T19:17:00.000-05:00

If there is one thing that RBIE stands for, it’s “quality” (usually preceded by the words “devoid of” but let’s not split hairs.) In an effort to maintain an esteemed place in our readers’ scheduled daily skimming of “blogs,” I have taken it upon myself to go out and sample the cultural scene of our nation’s capital and report my findings in a very unbiased and professional manner.

Sunday night I “took in a play” (that’s right. we’re classy as sh*t) at the Kennedy Center. It was called “The Subject Was Roses” and it starred…wait for it, wait for it….BILL PULLMAN, Celebrity. You may remember him from such classic films as Spaceballs and Independence Day. Understandably, I was a little star-struck as the curtain went up, but once I finally stopped hyperventilating and screaming “OMG! You were amazing as Christina Ricci’s dad in Casper!!”..I found the play to be very depressing…in a good way. The plot surrounds an older married couple in the 1940’s who have become estranged from one another for the usual reasons (she got fat, he had multiple affairs). Long story short, they’ve spent the majority of their married life fighting over the love and attention of their one and only child who, as the first scene indicates, has just returned from WWII. Now I could say more, but I see you've lost interest. I highly recommend this play (students can get $10 tickets. Just hanging out in the Kennedy Center lobby is worth that much). Support the arts, and Bill Pullman, because I think he’s hungry.

Foreseeing that our readers would be wondering where to go afterwards, I made my way to The Lizard Lounge, a hip discotheque that (on special nights) caters to gays, bisexuals, their friends, and confused reptile enthusiasts. You’ll know it when you spy the bouncers with large plastic lizards hanging all over their shirts. If you’re a woman, you’ll also notice that the male bartenders can’t see you, and although you may be tempted to wait 20 minutes at the bar and then flick them off and yell “fuck you motherfucker” as your friends apologize for your behavior and drag you away, it’s probably wiser to wait until AFTER you get your drink to do so.

On this special evening, the cast of the hit Showtime show “The L Word” was at the bar, and having seen a whole two episodes, I felt that I could go up to one of the girls and yell “I KNOW YOU!” in an excited manner. She looked pretty scared until my friends again stepped in and told her I was “a fan.” Then she asked me my name and spoke the words, “You’re Hot.”

Now, unfortunately I am not a lesbian. I’m much more like a closeted gay man. I love men but I wish to God I didn't. Still, how many semi-famous lesbians have called you “hot” lately? Not enough? You see my point.

The night pretty much ended there. There was a little something about me puking in the backseat of a cab on the way home as the poor cab driver and my friend, let's call him Yim, tried to keep my head out the door or window (don't recall), but that’s not something I care to reminisce about. I DO remember being incredibly relieved that the water bottle I was carrying was NOT a Dasani.

Two celebrities in one night! How about that??!!! Fuck this is long. You haven’t read this far have you, you ungrateful bastard/bitch? Oh, you have. Well, um…look over there!

Why You Shouldn't Start Work On Friday the F*cking Thirteenth

2006-01-15T15:22:00.000-05:00

"Oh. These are all wrong. She copied the wrong reports. These are useless. Let's kill her."

Apart from that last sentence (I definitely heard it, but hopefully just in my head), the above quote is verbatim the first thing that my boss said about me as soon as I entered the office. It's not that I mind being reprimanded for misunderstanding an assignment, but it's more than a little awkward when its not directed at me.

I thought about responding with a "Wait. You think she can hear us?" or "Thank God we're not paying her!", but I wisely held back, remembering my late grandmother's advice, "Don't ever try to joke with someone who is questioning your mind or ability. You're not funny and your voice will only make them angrier. Now go get grandma her bong."

And so started my first day at my new internship, or as I shall be referring to it from now on, "that internship I had for a day."

I've heard that first days can be rough. I've only heard that, never having held a job in my life that wasn't given to me by friends who understood my "Mediterranean" work ethic and that they were paying me for my company more than anything else. (no, I was never a call girl, but you're right, I bet I'd be good at it).

Rough is one thing. Having your boss yell at you for having a Dasani water bottle, asking you to put it away before anyone else sees it, and then giving you a half hour lecture on the evils of Coca-Cola until you finally manage to cut in with a "I didn't know! I use a Brita filter at home, I swear!" is surprisingly hurtful. Especially two hours later, when you're so thirsty that you'd cry if it wasn't for fear of losing crucial life-saving water through your tear ducts,...as you eye the water bottle in your bag, wondering if you could sneak it into the bathroom under your shirt.

In fact, there is now an entire list of products I must refrain from bringing to work:

1) My new Nike sneakers. (despite my father's clever suggestion that I just cover the Nike symbol with masking tape)

2) Starbuck's coffee

3) Anything carbonated that is not generic, because I'm just not sure where they stand on Pepsi.

4) Items of clothing manufactured in Asia, South America, Mexico, some island in the Pacific, or Africa, a.k.a. my entire wardrobe.

5) My dignity and good humor.

On an entirely unrelated note, I will be accepting applications for "husbands who enjoy being the sole breadwinner" or "men who don't care to marry but like the idea of having a kept woman." Please send a resume and picture to reallybigineurope@hotmail.com. Letters should be less than 500 words. Really, just an income tax report will do.

Too Sexy For His Coffin?

2006-01-10T18:22:00.000-05:00

In a valid effort to be your #15 news source, RBIE presents some real honest-to-god news. Why? Because God gets pissed when we lie to him.

In a hilarious show of genius lawyering, another California man asks clemency from Arnold, claiming that he is "too old and sick to be executed." Luckily for Arnold, this prisoner is white, so Jamie Foxx will not likely be leaving drunken messages on the governor's answering machine (in his Ray Charles voice) at all hours of the night.

"Too old and sick to be executed." Huh. That's like being too fat to lie down or too ugly to cry. The man has diabetes, is legally blind, has had a major heart attack, and is confined to a wheelchair. Yes, I can see how injecting him with a drug that would end his life as cruel and unusual. There's so much to look forward to...maybe a stroke or incontinence! Life is full of surprises, afterall. Probably not for him though. He should expect death. Soon. With or without a little push in the right direction.

Genuinely Original Poetry

2006-01-10T13:21:00.000-05:00

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Being back in school makes me want to shoot myself
No wait, not me. You.

New heights? Almost never. But there's always a new low.

2006-01-10T11:26:00.000-05:00

Here at RBIE, it is part of our mission statement to never be genuine. (What? You haven't seen our mission statement? I'll email it to you.) You will, for instance, never see any original poetry on this site, unless of course it's dirty or would be banned by some small town in Carolina (either one, take your pick) for being somehow ungodly. We encourage that kind of poetry.

So, you'll excuse me for this, but I am experiencing a bout of unbalanced anger towards everyone in New York City and a few people in Connecticut who I haven't met yet, but I'm pretty sure would piss me off if I did bother to make their acquaintance. Why isn't James Frey a genuine badass? Why can't Hillary Swank work things out with Rob Lowe's brother? And while we're at it, why is the only actual date I've been on recently have to have been with a 45 year-old who I originally thought was gay? And who among you, loyal RBIE readers/bored law students, are willing to write my thesis for me? And where the fuck did I put my keys?!? That last question is not one that perhaps any of you can answer for me. Rant over. I'm going to go pray for forgiveness now. From one of my many gods. I'm sorry...Gods.

Have A Sexy Christmas

2005-12-27T13:29:00.000-05:00

For all your belated christmas greetings, this is the e-card our staff recommends.

They Didn't Sneak Into This Country To Make Friends

2005-12-18T00:03:00.000-05:00

Christmakahwanza is coming and some of us have yet to finish our holiday shopping. You could even say that some of us are STILL recovering from having drank too much Friday night when we barely found our way home at 6:00 am...which is seriously confusing because some of us were in a cab on our way home around 3:00 am...you could also say that some of us have been abusing the royal "we" all day because, well, the sad truth is, we're lonely. (single tear)

Although most of the time between when I left the bar and actually stepped inside my house is a blur, I do remember some key moments that may or may not have SAVED A MAN'S LIFE. (the caps mean that part is meant to be read loudly and dramatically)

Part of the conversation I remember having with my cab driver:

Apu: Why you not go home with your roommate?
Me: Because i'm not ready to go home! Have you ever been so drunk that you just can't imagine wasting it on sleep?
Apu: I muslim, so no.
Me: So are my grandparents! I respect that...totally, dude...i mean, except for the head scarf thing, that's no fun.
Apu: Where you from?
Me: Iran.
Apu: Really, I from Pakistan.
Me: We're neighbors!
Apu: um..sort of.
Me: I'm not a cartographer. Anyway, I just finished my exams and i haven't been out in about four months, so i just want to enjoy it as long as possible...because, you know what? i love people, and i love hanging out with people because people are so ...people, you know?
Apu: Ah, yes, i think so...i'm sorry, my english not so good. What do you study?
Me: Medicine (because nobody respects a lawyer and Apu's respect was important to me. I only had fifteen bucks on me and he'd already driven me all the way out to my apartment only to take me back to the city.)
Apu: Ah, really?! Well then you deserve a night out, Doctor..hehehe
Me: We really dont like to call ourselves that till fourth year...*blushing with modesty*
Apu: What year are you then?
Me: Third...doing my Radiology rotation right now actually...it's tough stuff...all these x-rays and shit..
Apu: Have you studied skin cancer?
Me: Yes. Briefly.
Apu: Could you looking at this mole I found on the back of my neck? My wife think it might be serious thing.
Me: No problem (leaning over to get a good look as Apu turns on the overhead light.) Wow, that looks a little worrisome my friend...i can't say until i look at it more closely, with my magnifying glass and..other tools...but um, you should definitely get it removed. I've seen alot like those...its not worth risking it.
Apu: Thankyou doctor! When you come from Iran?
Me: Five years ago.
Apu: 5 years! and your english this good?? I dont even hear an accent!
Me: I studied alot. My father always taught me that to be successful in America, you have to sound like an American. They're very racist here...
Apu: Ah, I wish I had that talent. You very hardworking and intelligent girl.
Me: Well, thank you greatly, sir. This is my stop. I only have fifteen dollars...can you stop at an ATM?
Apu: No, its ok. Fifteen is enough for you...you good people who take care of others. You deserve it.
Me: Thanks again! And do get that mole checked out....you owe it to yourself and your wife.

After that, the night's a blur. In fact, all of yesterday is a blur too...all I remember is Jason Bateman talking to me about the importance of family and then asking me to marry him. Still, I take great pride in the idea that maybe...just maybe, my pathological lying saved Apu from Cancer, or worse, a horribly disgusting blemish. And isn't that what Hanchriswanza is all about? No? Well, to be honest, I only celebrate Christmas. And I know Jesus is down.

THIS JUST IN??!!

2005-12-14T13:13:00.000-05:00

Showtime may rescue Arrested Development!

That's right. I might not have to go through Jason Bateman withdrawal afterall! The prospect of quitting both glue and Jason at the same time was more than I could bear.

They better not be toying with my already fragile emotions....

Live Strong

2005-12-13T16:18:00.000-05:00

Some readers have brought it to my attention that i've let this blog go, much like a mother abandoning her ugly newborn, unaware that there's a good chance that very same baby might grow up to be Faith Hill one day and then boy, will she be sorry. I don't want to be Faith Hill's biological mother, so i'm posting again although i've really no news to talk about.

Sure, Stanley "Tookie" Williams was executed despite the vigil held at my house last night, and am i upset about that? Of course. Am i gonna go set some cars on fire to express my anger at Arnold? Probably. But there's no sense in writing about it. If there's one thing Stanley's death has taught us, its that no matter how many kids' books you write, murdering numerous people execution style will still get you the death penalty in California (yes, it was a very specific lesson). Jesus might forgive, but the law holds a grudge. Some other people died too....like Richard Pryor and my next door neighbor's grandfather...but that's really where their story ends.

Instead, i'll leave you with the following conversation between my mother and the doctor at the hospital where my brother had his tonsils removed earlier today:

Mom: Oh, by the way, can you check my daughter's file while we are here? My son has never been in surgery but his sister has some allergy to general anesthesia that he might have as well.

Dr: Do you know what exactly she's allergic too? What are the symptoms?

Mom: Oh, well, i'm not sure...she just doesnt seem to make it through surgeries very well...almost lost her a couple times. (chuckle)

Dr: (looking at file) Your daughter has pseudocholinesterase deficiency. It is a rare genetic disorder that affects her breathing and muscle function when given anesthesia that contains the muscle-relaxing drug succinylcholine.. Its very important that she be aware of exactly what she's allergic to because this could cost her her life if she ever finds herself in an emergency surgery situation.

Mom: Oh, wow, I should call her. She's actually very clumsy: just broke her toe falling down the stairs this morning; second time in the last three months. It's a miracle she's made it to 24 years, ...

Dr.: How did you learn she had an allergy in the first place?

Mom: Oh, well, she had surgery when she was 3 and almost didnt wake up, and then again at 6, she had surgery on her ear and went into a little coma...

Dr.: Twice?! And you didn't think to get her bloodwork done after the first time?

Mom: Well, she woke up. So uh...I'm not sure what you're getting at.

Dr: Aren't you a nurse? And your husband is a doctor, right? You should really take something like not waking up after surgery seriously.

Mom: We have four kids...it's hard to keep track of every little thing.

Dr: (a little puzzled) Well, you should get all of your kids tested and your daughter should wear a bracelet...just in case she gets into a car accident or something.

Mom: Can't wait to tell her that part. Maybe i'll make it her christmas present: "Surprise! you're a freak!"

Dr: ...Um...I have to get back to your son now. This surgery should take about 40 minutes.

Mom: Ok. I think i might go run some errands. Tell him i'm in the waiting room in case he asks...oh, and add that i'm very worried about him.

Because Sometimes The Thought Is Worth Sh*t...

2005-11-18T00:15:00.000-05:00

This is going to be a VERY SPECIAL Christmas for the men in my life:

International Male.

"They have great side splits" AND are machine washable??!!

You read it right! Go ahead. Browse the site. Do it for Jesus.

Some items are selling out fast.

* Thanks to Hank for this hot holiday shopping tip.

If You Need Me, I'll Be In My Bunker

2005-11-15T22:19:00.000-05:00

"Did mom tell you about the WWII bomb shelter on our property?"

And so started the phone conversation I had with my sister tonight.

Here's what went down on Sunday, transcript style:

( A lazy Sunday evening in my parent's household. My sister's friend's Uncle as dinner guest--let's call him SFU...because everyone loves acronyms)

SFU: It's so strange to be here. You know, I almost bought this house in 1978 from Dr. Mona, the old owner, but I decided not to because of the old bomb shelter...wouldn't be able to build on that part of the land and all...

My Dad: The what?

SFU: You know, the WWII bomb shelter?

My Dad: You mean that shack beyond the pond?

SFU: No...the shelter...the underground shelter?? It's just beyond the shack...maybe under it.

My Dad: OH! (Flashback to 1990 when Dr. Mona tells my dad about a bomb shelter, and my father assumes he's talking about a wooden shack because 1) his english not so good, and 2) Dr. Mona is pointing towards the shack)

My Mom: What if there's treasure in there?!?!

My Dad: What if there are dead bodies in there??!

My Mom: What if the dead people were rich and are still wearing all of their jewelry?!

--At this point, my father looks over at my mother in disgust, and SFU takes his leave---

Update: My father still has not located the shelter, but (true to form) has been taking his time collecting "tools" with which to go look for it. The search is to take place tomorrow, and my mother is praying that the poor (dumb) souls who may be stuck in there had a penchant for diamonds.

Oh Bollocks...

2005-11-11T15:16:00.000-05:00

First Katrina, then the bombings in Jordan, and now this. When will the bad news stop coming?!

Unless!...'british men in established relationships'....if that's not a call for Chris Martin's sperm, i don't know what is (hmnn. that really made more sense in my head).

It's just like an epic Hollywood love story: There's a serious shortage, and only Chris can save the future of Britain. Also, my parents would like grandchildren and it looks like my older married sister of three years isn't producing the goods. That leaves me. and Chris. Together, we can salvage the future of my family and bring yet another really really ridiculously good-looking supermodel into the world.

Because in these times of hardship, we need hope to help us carry on. And pretty mixed children. Pretty children are key.

Bitter, Party of 1?

2005-11-09T13:30:00.000-05:00

My recent pursuit of First Base in the City has led me to a fascinating and enjoyable pattern: dating multiples. By dating multiples, I mean dating several people at the same time. This strategy works a lot like hedge funds. By not putting all of your stock in one man, you can only ever be half-disappointed, at the most. If you're dating three men, your level of emotional risk drops to 33.33%, and so on. This rests on the assumption that only one man can disappoint you at any one moment, which is fair, unless you conference call all of your dates from the previous weekend, or have a "team meeting" around mid-week to check on everyone's progress or something. Believe me, I learned the hard way, no one likes that.

My two main relationships at the moment are with Rod*, the 35 year-old who is terrible on paper but wonderful in person, and Danny*, the poet/bartender who I went out with last Friday and drunk dialed last Saturday. Now, I know what you're thinking. And for the record, I'm not a whore. No one, no not no one, likes to be let down. So, consider me a genius for coming up with this amazing system. And if these two fall through, there is a cute lawyer where I work who has been flirting with me heavily since his arrival from France about 2 weeks ago. Yes, that's right, he's French. And a lawyer. So, there's really no conceivable way he's not an asshole. But God help me, that's my type. In addition, I have agreed to go speed-dating with my recently-broken-up-with friend, Jane*. They apparently have some sort of special speed-dating thing for Indian people, so I can stop disappointing my parents. Love is in the air. Or is that, wait, is that brimstone?

"Maybe If You Made Your Bed More Often, Mommy and Daddy Wouldn't Be Getting A Divorce"

2005-11-02T22:26:00.000-05:00

Ever since I can remember, I've wanted to be a writer. More recently, the reality of my extreme lack of talent hit me like an abusive step-father, and I recognized that this, coupled with my short attention span and very limited vocabulary, would prove a hindrance to my lofty goal.

Then I had an epiphany. More accurately, then I had three beers and a vodka tonic. THEN I had an epiphany. Of sorts. Sitting in the children's section of Barnes and Noble, where I often go just to get away from the crowds and feel young again, I wondered about two things:

1) Has anyone ever been arrested for public drunkeness in a bookstore...in the middle of the day? and,
2) How the hell do Madonna and Jerry Seinfeld both have published children's books? and,
3) Are you kidding me? Madonna?!

I know what you're thinking. The third thought was really more of an extension of the second so it doesn't stand on its own. Oh, and I'm not sure why I go to the bookstore after drinking. That's a question only my psychiatrist and maybe God could answer (maybe God...I still have serious doubts about His so-called omniscience.)

Let's focus here. I had a point. Oh yes! I decided that I didn't have to completely give up my dream of becoming a writer...I could write Children's Books!! Maybe I'll never be in the same league as E.B. White or Shel Silverstein, but with a bit of hard work and maybe some hashish, I bet I could write something at least as educational and clever as Britney Spears' much anticipated book.

So that's where we are now. I'm writing a kid's book. I'd like to draw from my own childhood experiences, but I'm not sure if "Why Mom Keeps Telling Her Friends You Were A Mistake" or "How Chess Club Made Me An Outcast In Middle School" would really make good titles.

Any ideas would be appreciated. One helpful reader has already sent in some good potential titles. Don't let them beat you to the punch. There's a place on the dedication page with your name all over it.

A Naked American Man Stole My Balloons.

2005-10-29T21:26:00.000-05:00

It's been well established that Halloween is the official religious holiday of RBIE (if you happen to be on the staff and didnt know about this fairly new development, you missed the meeting. it was tuesday. we all voted. there was free beer.) As such, i've compiled a short list of "Dos and Don'ts" for the holiday weekend, based on my own research as resident Halloween specialist:

1. DO think of a creative costume to wear to a Halloween party. (Popular Costumes to shy away from if you want to stand out: Guys-pirate or anything involving a dress and lipstick. Girls-slutty something--chances are if your costume was inspired by a children's nursery rhyme, you are delving into slut territory.)

2. DON'T go to bed still wearing your costume just because you feel you put too much time and energy into it (goddammit!) to just discard it like some unwanted pregnancy. Chances are you'll wake up with fake wig hair in your mouth and some serious plastic bead-sized bruises on your chest. Exception to this rule: if you end up crashing at someone else's that night, keep your costume on...nobody respects a halloween gigolo.

3. DO plan on having a good time at the party.

4. DON'T plan on hooking up with the hot guy in the zorro mask and bandana: there's a high probability that he is both bald and (unfortunately for the both of you), the extreme opposite of hot.

5. DO take a cab home after you've been drinking...even if you have to steal it away from some poor guy who actually called ahead and reserved the cab.

6. DON'T pull an Odysseus and yell your name out the window as the cab is pulling away and said guy is left stranded and freezing on the side of a deserted street....especially if you recognize him from school.

7. DO watch a scary movie the night after the party to give your liver a rest. I personally recommend An American Werewolf in London for its creative combination of humor and carnage. I too was skeptical of the film that inspired Thriller, but ten minutes into it realized that it was about to change my life for the better.

8. DON'T watch House of Wax. Unless you do it as a drinking game, taking a shot every time Paris Hilton has her mouth on someone (or a part of someone) else. You'll be wasted in the first three minutes. No joke. I'm so fucking drunk right now...

Halloween Costume Ideas

2005-10-27T08:44:00.000-05:00

(courtesy of NY Metro)

Tom Cruise: Whiten teeth, walk on kness, and wear a straightjacket.

Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher: Guy must wear a ridiculous white suit with matching fedora. Girl must be hot and old. Make sure you are both wearing the requisite red string bracelet. Have a friend who doesn't know what to go as yet? Shave their head and have them follow you around as a creepy Bruce Willis.

The Burger King Man: Since those Burger King commericals are the scariest thing to hit TV cince Joan Rivers' gig on E! go to the BK website and order your own King mask. Throwing around Meatnormous breakfast sandwiches is recommended to round out the costume.

Open letter to NY straphangers:

2005-10-18T15:47:00.000-05:00

What the hell is wrong with you people? Don’t you have any manners? Or any sense of dignity? Why do you feel the need to place your sweaty bodies up against mine instead of holding onto the bar? Why do you stand DIRECTLY in front of the doors while the rest of the car is empty, refusing to let people on or off, deliberately ignore the people saying "excuse me" while trying to get by. Why is it that you feel the need to push? You don’t fucking know me, get your hands off! Take your book bags off and put your newspaper down so other people have room to stand! Throw away your coffee! And wake the hell up if you are sleeping and get a clue! Were you all deprived of affection as children and can only get some if you hump someone on the subway? Why don’t you understand the concept of personal space? Why do you insist on trying to group hug instead of embracing the real New York mind set of DeNiro in Taxi Driver: "You know me? You talking to me?" and keep your shit to yourself? All I’m trying to do is get to work, not cause a stampede. And chances are, everyone else is trying to do the same. So stop being so freaking selfish, be courteous, give the pregnant and elderly your seat, and join the human race. Thank you.

(In the meantime, I will continue cringing and giving people dirty looks, but soon I will resort to pushing back and throwing elbows.)

Honey, Are You Absolutely, Positively, 100% Sure You're Not a Crack Whore?

2005-10-16T15:35:00.000-05:00

We here at RBIE realize that our very busy everyday schedules have caused us to lag in the frequency and substance (see "An Open Letter to My Brain Gone Awry") of our normally informative posts. As one concerned reader recently put it, "have you gone off your medication?-- because i don't write those prescriptions to help pass the time."

The truth is, some of us have been drinking way too much (Id.) to dull the pain of having serious- second-thoughts (because "hate" is such a strong word) about our chosen career path, others have been busy trying to 'get busy' in NYC, and still others are...i don't know....celebrating Jewish holidays?

The point is, although our respective depressions, desperations, and celebrations don't seem to be letting up, we'd like to start reporting the news again. Not just any news...but news our readers can relate to. Thought-provoking news. News we steal from other websites.

Case in point: A High-School Student in Australia Was Made to Feel Like Paris Hilton For A Day

"The 17-year-old from northern New South Wales was stunned to discover students had copied footage from an X-rated website featuring an actress she looked like.
The 10 seconds of film was then circulated by email to dozens of other students, wrongly claiming she was the star. "

The worst (best?) part of the story is that after her parents viewed the footage, the girl so resembled the porn star that even her father was convinced:

"She was crying in her room. I asked her if she had ever been drugged at a party because the video shows the porn star with eyes rolling and acting in a possible drug-induced state. She replied, 'No, never'."

Having everyone at school think you're a porn star is one thing, but having your dad watch the video and then ask you if somehow you made a porn one night while half-conscious is beyond degrading and indicative of deep family issues that only Dr. Phil could unravel.

This actually reminds me of a trick my mother used when i was younger to coax me into admitting i stole money from her without having to actually incriminate myself. "Are you sure you didn't accidentally walk into my closet and your hand didn't accidentally pull a twenty out of my purse? I'm not saying you stole it...maybe you took it unwittingly?"

Basically, whether the girl 'starred' in the porn or not, her father thinks she's at least capable of being a drugged-up prostitute. And he's probably right. I mean, i did steal twenties from my mom. Who am i to judge?

An Open Letter to My Brain Gone Awry

2005-10-14T15:41:00.000-05:00

I am soooooo sorry for drinking five vodka tonics last night. I understand you're really hurting today...but could you just keep down the hammering? And what the fuck was that dream about this morning? A nature channel from space observing humans? I dont know where you get that shit, but i dont like you manifesting these schizophrenic tendencies everytime i have a few drinks.

What's that? I'm talking to myself? What do you mean you're making me write this crap? Way to take the credit for everything. I'm crazy? No, buddy, you're the fucking looney. You heard me. I didn't mind when you made me trip over myself last night...and i was willing to overlook that you made me spill red-bull and vodka all over a good friend (that was actually pretty funny), but i'll be damned if i let you insult me...in writing...to myself. I think we should cool it a bit...maybe spend some time apart.

That's fine with you? You're just not that into me? I can't believe you just said that...i think we're done here.

Dear Future Boyfriend, The Man You Will Never Live Up To:

2005-10-01T11:10:00.000-05:00

Chris Martin.

Fun things I learned firsthand from attending the Coldplay Concert last night:

1) Chris Martin's bodyguards are not afraid to push women.

2) Chris can really run.

3) That is most likely the closest i will ever be to a beautiful man who can play the piano, sing, be funny, socially aware, and have a sexy accent...*

*According to my mother, that's probably the closest i'll ever be to a man. Period.

I'm gonna go swallow a bottle of pills now.

Dear MacGuyver, Enclosed is a rubber band, a paper clip, and a drinking straw. Please save my dog.

2005-09-27T21:42:00.000-05:00

As I stood on the cramped metro on my way to school today, trying to avoid the stare of a homeless man (pure conjecture based on his unique scent and large collection of plastic bags) standing directly in front of me , I noticed a Public Service Announcement that called for citizen preparedness "in case of a natural disaster or terrorist attack."

Specifically the poster advised stocking up on lots of water, flashlights, batteries, and canned goods in case, say, a hurricane, or, i dont know, an outbreak of smallpox should hit sometime soon. I have only two problems with this undoubtedly well-intentioned announcement:

1) Obviously, its a clever way to get the public to accept terrorist attacks as natural and inevitable.

2) I've spent the last two hours staring at the water and flashlights in my makeshift "natural disaster or terrorist attack supply closet" and i'm still a little cloudy about how they'll keep me from blowing up.

On a side note, i've heard that the scene of a natural disaster is a great place to meet people. Unfortunately, i have not witnessed this firsthand, but i imagine it would go something like this:

Me: Oh My God. Did you see that hord of locusts sweep through town killing everyone and everything?
IHSRG*: Yes! I did. It was...devastating.
Me: It just makes you realize...
IHSRG: ...that life...
Me: ...is so...
Me and IHSRG (in perfect unison): short.

(commence makeout session).

I'm not sure if the aftermath of a terrorist attack is quite as sexy. I'd personally be a little more cautious...especially if you normally go for accents or the tall, dark, and handsome type.

*IHSRG= Incredibly Hot Single Rich Guy

Dancing in the Street. Just like Aretha.

2005-09-20T10:18:00.000-05:00

Withdrawal from our favorite capital city that doubles as a giant suburb is a real bitch. Since the end of the summer/fall meeting of RBIE's staff last weekend (or the one before?), I have found my only solace in drink. Rather than trying to "label" this new habit as some sort of "addiction", I have chosen to embrace it and its consequences like I would my illegitimate children or a friend of a friend who I talk about behind his back- uncautiously and without remorse. Unfortunately, in between blacking out and pizza at 3 am on a Monday night, I find myself hung over and dealing with the snippets of memory that now make me want to bury my face in my hands and yes, drink. Highlights from the last few nights:

-Spending $72 on God-knows-what because a bartender is cute.

-Asking a refugee from New Orleans for one of his chest hairs.

-Singing Bonnie Raitt's "Let's Give them Something to Talk About", even though the karaoke machine is broken.

-Dialing my friend Annya* at an unfashionably late hour, because I want to tell her I think she's super.

-Thinking all of a sudden that it's a completely genius idea to dance in high heels. In traffic.

Some of these are slightly stretched truths, but they're truth nonetheless. We only inform. You decide.

*She's not my friend anymore.

Awkward Conversation With My Newly Assigned Mentee

2005-09-14T09:20:00.000-05:00

me: Hi. you must be Jack*, my new mentee! Is it ok if i call you grasshopper?

mentee: Hi, i'd prefer it if you didn't. I'm sorry, i was expecting you to be a guy.

me: Um..ok. Is it a problem that i'm a girl?

mentee: No, no..that's not what i mean. its just that, your emails...they kinda threw me off i guess. You know, like the one where you said you'd help me "mack on GW girls?"

me: And i will, but first things first...tell me about yourself.

mentee: Well, i'm not sure how much you've heard about me already. i graduated Phi Beta Kappa from Harvard last spring...

me: Wow. Harvard. and did you say you were in a fraternity?--Phi Beta Kappa?

mentee: Uh..no..that just means i was in the top __** percent of my class.

me: Wow. And you came to GW?.....any serious social problems i should know about up front?

mentee: (clearly offended) Um...where did you go to school?

me: Alachua County Community College of Florida...and i graduated Alpha Delta Epsilon.

mentee: You just made that up, didn't you?

me: Hey, now. i've been nice to you so far, but you cannot expect me to stand here and be insulted by my very own protege!

mentee: Your what? Lady, i just wanted some class outlines....

me: Don't call me a lady. You barely know me. Now then, grasshopper, i think we got off on the wrong foot....

mentee: Seriously, that's not funny. Are you going to be helpful to me at all?

me: Patience, my sidekick. Now then...take this toothbrush and scrub the entire lounge floor. After you're done..and only after...i will begin the "mentoring sessions."

mentee: I gotta go. later...

me: Call me!!

*real names have been protected. everything else is verbatim and true. everything.
** wasnt really paying attention at this point.

DeadChatouilleSaysWhat?

2005-09-11T17:43:00.000-05:00

Some experiences make you wiser, stronger, (dare i say) faster-- and some just make you realize that you'd probably be of greater service to humanity as a med school cadavre than a living being.

On an entirely unrelated note, I woke up hungover today and realized that i have a five page paper due tomorrow in a class that i temporarily forgot i had and for which i haven't purchased the required textbook. I then spent 15 bucks on a cab to make it to the bookstore before it closed, realized only when i got there that i didn't know the name of the book, ran around finding internet so i could check the course syllabus, discovered that the professor apparently expected me (ME!) to hold on to the paper version handed to me over two weeks ago, ran around some more trying to find a hard copy of said syllabus, slammed my head on a glass door when it turned out that the room in which i would find it was locked, glared up at the sky and shook my fist at God while also rubbing my bruised forehead, and immediately afterwards tripped over a loose brick and twisted my already fucked up foot.

On the bright side, I don't smoke --med school kids would go ape over my lungs.

This Guy Just Won't Quit Gardening..

2005-09-05T00:49:00.000-05:00

This weekend, i was assigned the short-straw task of going to outrageously expensive movies and writing up reviews for box office openings. My original assignment was to do a one-on-one interview with Jason Statham (the ridiculously hot star of "The Transporter 2") while we rode along the beach on horseback...he shirtless and i holding a tape recorder in one hand and his chest with the other (he's just more comfortable that way).
Recent developments unfortunately "crippled" my ability to travel and i "fell" head first into this new project, determined not to "limp" through it idly, but rather keep going till i "covered enough ground." You might even say i fell down a bunch of stairs, sprained my ankle, and couldn't do anything but watch movies all weekend while my "sorry excuse for" friends went to parties where everyone stood around admiring their ability to walk and jump effortlessly. You might say that, but i personally am not nearly that bitter or petty.

Here are my short and sweet reviews of two films that opened this weekend:

The Transporter 2: Jason Statham is still the sexiest man from the UK, but much like the first Transporter, this film has no plot that a delinquent 12 year old couldn't write up in crayon while going through withdrawal from his ADHD medication. Ignoring the inconsistencies and lack of explanation for several key plot points (like how a red-head and a blond end up with a latino kid, or how the entire city of Miami is suddenly cured of an airborne virus when ten minutes earlier, it is on the brink of an epidemic), what proves most disappointing is the fact that despite several opportunities to remove his shirt, Statham keeps it on for 99.9% of the film. Meanwhile, the "villain" or "anorexic super-model with rabies" spends the entire film in her underwear. Clearly action film producers are not tapping into the right market. In short, i would NOT recommend this film to anyone but pyromaniacs and the worst of my enemies. (If you want to see Statham, rent Snatch or Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels...even "The Italian Job" is better, and hey, Marky Mark is included in that one.) That having been said, i don't mind supporting Statham's career...i know that somewhere there's a script about a half-naked hunk with his name all over it.

The Constant Gardener: Go see it. Now. If it's too early, take a flight to a better time-zone so you can catch it as soon as possible. It's worth it. You may or may not want to slit your wrists afterwards because it's not what i would call an uplifting film (use your discretion on that one), but even if you do eventually die bleeding in your bathtub, at least you will take comfort in the fact that the last movie you saw was worth the 9 or 10 bucks that theaters are charging nowadays.* Yes, Ralphe Fiennes is yet another rare and beautiful Englishman, but this film actually has so much more to offer that you will barely notice, let alone fault the fact that his clothes remain on while Rachel Weisz spends way too much time out of hers. I've heard that "March of the Penguins" is the best film of the summer...i'm willing to bet that this one can compete.

*incidently, i haven't found a connection between fuel shortage and the rise in movie ticket prices, but if you know of a country we can attack to fix this problem, please contact your representative.

Uncle Sam Wants You, Katie Couric!

2005-09-02T23:59:00.000-05:00

This week's media coverage of the devastation left by Hurricane Katrina inspired all of us here at RBIE to brainstorm solutions for getting more aid and supplies to the hurricane victims...in short, we want to do our part. Watching the news, it's clear what the next step should be. All the different news outlets must shut down their studios and send all of their employees to volunteer in the rescue efforts. Think of all the money and manpower they could provide if they just spent a little less time creating dramatic montages of the old New Orleans or paying people for clever catch-phrases like "now New Orleans is really singing the blues" or "this semester, the students have learned a hard lesson in adversity." (these were almost as painful to listen to as CNN referring to the rise in gas prices as "Gas Pains" or Katie Couric asking mothers with dehydrated babies if they would be more careful about planning their pregnancies in the future so that they wouldn't deliver during hurricane season.)

Questions like this make me want to throw sharp and heavy objects at my television, but i always stop short, struck with the utterly depressing realization that the "journalist" inside will escape unscathed while my plans of watching four back-to-back episodes of "Real World Austin On Demand" may be destroyed forever.

As long as the studios keep recycling the same video footage they've been playing for the last three days, the population's morbid curiosity will be satisfied and everyone can rest easy. It only takes one worker to operate a tape player and of course i'd leave it to the discretion of the studios to decide who should get that great responsibility. (I suggest Katie Couric, because i'm not so sure she'd be that helpful in terms of manpower. Her questions could easily get her killed.)

Here's my advice to our loyal readers: when you reach the point where you can state all the hurricane statistics before the news channel lists them, it is time to change the channel. If you really have nothing better to do and want to fry your brain, there are other more enjoyable ways of doing so. Afterall, MTV is only a few clicks away and Danny and Melinda are both pretty hot. How about this semester, you learn an easy lesson in apathy?

Genius, i know. The federal government hasn't put the entire RBIE staff through school for nothing.

In Loving Memory of Lorenzo

2005-08-28T09:56:00.000-05:00

Classes start again tomorrow, and like all kids preparing for the school year, i've been busy making sure everything is in place. My list so far:

- New L.L. Bean backpack with my initials embroidered in Verdana font-check.
- Crayola magic-erase markers so i can write secret notes to my friends in class-check.
- New back-to-school outfit ironed and layed out on dresser as if a person was wearing it and then vanished-check.
- Shoes with matching socks set at the bottom of the dresser under my slammin' outfit-check.
- Lunch money for the school bully-check.

Well, it looks as if i'm about ready...still, i can't help but be anxious about how the first day will play out. Will i have anyone to sit with at lunch? Will my teachers like me? What about that boy i have a crush on...did he get his braces out over the summer and did the doctor find a cure for his turret's? (hope not...he was dreamy)

I guess i can only hope for the best. Whatever happens, i'm confident that my school experience will be much more fulfilling than that of poor Lorenzo in the Lifetime Original Movie* I caught last night. One moment his school counselor is telling him that his future "shines so bright, i have to wear shades to even think about it" (despite the fact that his mother is a crack addict who makes Lorenzo buy her drugs in return for motherly affection)...and not five minutes later, Lorenzo gets run-over by a cadillac and then (after the driver realizes Lorenzo is a fighter and still breathing) shot in the chest twice. To be fair to the school counselor, the headlights of the cadillac were shining really brightly.

* don't knock Lifetime; it is one of the few entertainment outlets that doesn't make you feel bad about laughing when terribly dramatic things happen to people.

Moving is a Female Dog

2005-08-23T22:06:00.000-05:00

I've finally moved into my new castle. Granted i'm in the basement, and some of you more critical and bitter (most likely because you were an orphan who was seduced by a kindly whore who by an unlucky turn of events turned out to be a violent tease) readers may scoff at the idea of a castle owner living in her own basement, but i bet you'd scoff less if i told you i sleep on a mattress made entirely of rare peacock feathers covered in egyptian cotton.

Now then. To the matter at hand. Drinking half a bottle of wine while watching a Shakespeare adaptation that your more....let's say sophisticated...roommate ordered on netflix may lead to great introspection and questioning of everything you thought you knew. Who is this merchant of Venice and why is his daughter such a bitch? Would i too steal my father's jewels and run away with my lover, leading to the humiliation of my father's name and the potential loss of a man's life? I was sure i would before, but after watching this film, i'm not as confident in my ability...nay, desire...to sacrifice my family for my own selfish ambitions. In short, mixing Shakespeare and alcohol is a bad idea...unless you enjoy getting into heated discussions that cause your friends to get pissed and walk out abruptly, too put-off to take their cell-phones or wash the dishes with which they cooked you dinner.

All this revisiting of recent history has made me exhausted and as the butler has just informed me that the feathers have been ruffled to my liking and the egyptian cotton has been thrice (way better than just two times...trust me) pressed, i bid you goodnight.

My Favorite News Anchor is Dead

2005-08-12T06:31:00.000-05:00

Today being the first in over a week that I've had access to any kind of news outlet, I was devastated to learn about the untimely death of Peter Jennings, my favorite Canadian...well, one of the few I fantasized marrying and having a dozen children with...which we would then sell on ebay of course, using the extra cash flow to buy out ABC and have our own 24 hour news channel starring Peter. Sigh. Another dream deferred.

Smoking is bad and you shouldn't do it. In the words of my favorite European cigarette warning, "smoking will cause you to die a slow and painful death." Learn from Peter's mistakes. Then again, my cousins' constant bickering over the last week (and current loud snoring while i'm trying to type this heartfelt memorial post) makes me think that some people deserve to die young. I'm not so sure about the slow part, but painful shouldn't be too hastily dismissed.

Where was I? Oh yeah, the news is gonna suck now--even more so than Swedish news...which really bites by the way. My cousin tells me it's because i don't speak Swedish, but i know its because the news anchor has a faux-hawk and the beginnings of a mullet...i think i'll send him some cigarettes.

The Big Date

2005-08-08T21:49:00.000-05:00

The men's lady has returned. While chatouille has been shoring up RBIE's support in Western Europe (preaching to the choir, if you ask me), I have been spending time in America's forgotten lands. Namely, Nebraska, Iowa, and the always-depressing California. During that time, I have gained much knowledge. Did any of you, my fellow metro-centrics, know for instance, that corn is possibly one of the world's most fascinating and tittilating vegetables? And also, did anyone realize that my parents are so desperate for their 23-year old middle daughter to finally get married that they are now in Texas, showing my picture to motel owners and convenience storekeeps, promising them that I know how to cook and I've lost weight since high school? (Both lies, incidentally.)

Anyway, the men's lady should not depress you with this nonsense. I am here to inspire. Tomorrow, I have not one big hot date, but TWO. One is on the phone (I'm not a whore!), and it is with a perfectly nice indian doctor with whom my parents set me up, and would like me to marry within the next year. The second is the third in a series of dates with another perfectly nice man who buys me dinner and agrees with me that children are worse to be stuck next to on airplanes than fat people. (At least fat people are apologetic.)

In conclusion...nothing. I have no conclusion. In keeping with part of the mission of RBIE, I refuse to be genuine online, and I also refuse to have a point. Take that!

Momullets

2005-08-05T12:44:00.000-05:00

They're a cross between a mohawk and a mullet and they are slowly taking over Europe. Alert the police. All this focus on terrorists and we're letting a seriously criminal fashion trend fly under the radar. I dont have much time because ten swedish men are fighting for my time and affection as we speak, but I'd like to warn all my male American friends (a number close to the thousands now that the RBIE call-service has picked up), please, GOD, please don't let this happen to you.

That is all. I will be in touch. Don't make me take out the scissors.

Travel Diary

2005-07-25T10:04:00.000-05:00

The last leg of the "RBIE in the U.K.!" tour is fast approaching...and as much as i've enjoyed it, I can't deny the fact that my hands are cramped from all the autographs I've had to sign, my bodyguards are exhausted from having to continuously shield me from unruly fans, and even my mind is starting to stray...

In my freetime (ambitious journalist that I am) I've been participating in an intense International Human Rights Seminar...finally lawyers that don't make me want to cut myself (as much) for being associated with them. I've learned a lot and hope to put all my new knowledge to good use when I get back. For example, I can now confidently threaten my illegal Aunt with deportation because God knows she doesn't qualify for refugee status.

One thing is for certain: I will be a poor lawyer. Unless (!) one of our faithful readers can find me a sexy, rich widower* who has a thing for eye-twitching and a (newly acquired) fake British/Madonna accent, in which case I will be spared a life of poverty, as will my four illegitimate children (I'm stopping at four, because Jesus, I'm not a whore!).

My itinerary for the next week is jam packed so I apologize again to all the kids whose emails I've yet to respond to, as well as to the single fellows impatiently awaiting my autographed glamour shots (stamps in the U.K. aren't cheap, you know).

For the rest of you planning my welcome back party on the 31st, you might want to find a large freezer to store the life-size ice sculptures because plans have changed and RBIE Fan-Club Sweden has requested my appearance.

I know. You feel betrayed right? Well, as long as I have you here, I might as well tell you: Santa Claus IS real...but he's also a pedophile who occasionally enjoys wearing women's underwear...you can see the dilemma most parents face. I say most parents, because mine warned me about his pedophilic tendencies when I was a little child...kept me from leaving my bed at night to check on the milk and cookies--but that's another story for another time (namely, Christmas-time, when my parents make me babysit all the bratty kids at their annual holiday party.)

For now, all i can say is Jag är densexigaste kvinnan som du kommer att någonsin traffa.
(That's Swedish for bye.)

*sometimes, i wonder.

How to spot a terrorist

2005-07-21T08:24:00.000-05:00

Fortunately for all of us Americans living in fear of another terrorist attack, the NYPD has released a set of tips on how to spot potential bombers on subways:

1. Someone with clenched fists.

2. Someone who is nervous, jittery, or sweating profusely.

3. Someone who avoids eye contact, mumbles, or chants.

4. Someone with an unusual object protruding from his or her clothing, especially electronic devices, switches or wires.

5. Someone who repeatedly glances to their left or right, or runs in a suspicious manner.

This lists describes the entire NYC population, if not the entire world!!! I am personally guilty of no. 2 (sweating-- it has been like 105 degrees here) and no. 3 (who doesn't avoid eye contact in the train?!). Not that NYC's finest don't have good intentions-- its just that this list is just as helpful as telling you to beware of people wearing blue jeans. What I should've reported to authorities instead was a man I saw walking down the street with a hospital gown and khaki pants. He looked like an escaped mental patient, and no lie, he was jittery and talking to himself. Like a true New Yorker, I looked away and walked faster to get away from him.

There's Nothing Quite As Lovely as Halloween in July

2005-07-15T18:42:00.000-05:00

Guess who just stood in line for almost two hours...while being entertained by Hagrid, a flame throwing (and swallowing...extremely "talented" and most likely a stripper in her spare time) witch, and several owl handlers..... to get the new Harry Potter book from Blackwell's bookstore?

That's Right. My favorite part was the countdown...it caught me offguard. Panicking, I vainly scanned the room, looking for someone i could kiss when the clock struck 12---much like last New Year's Eve, my prospects were grim...do i go for the 15 year old boy dressed like Harry, or the 60 year old man dressed up as a mature and surprising Hermoine?

This has been my first experience standing in line for a book...and i'm pretty sure it's my last. There are some intensely creepy Harry Potter fundamentalists out there...its an entire world that's just asking to be bombed by G.W.

I haven't started reading yet, but here are my predictions on what happens in the new book:

Hermoine, the slightly bookish OCD heroine, matures into a promiscuous teenager who gets knocked up as a way of proving to the other kids that she's not a prude. The mystery that follows is the identity of her baby daddy: whiny Harry or goofy Ron. My money is on Ron...but only time will tell..

Questions remain to be resolved: Will Ron and Harry remain friends? Who else did Hermoine get it on with in the Quidditch field and why didn't she use protection? Will she keep the baby?

I love a good mystery.

Favorite Pastimes: Blowing Air Into A Plastic Sheep

2005-07-09T18:36:00.000-05:00

It's no secret that for the past week, i've been on location in the UK "researching" for RBIE. There's still a lot of work to be done (let's not kid ourselves about that) but there are also a few things i've already discovered that may interest some of our readers who need travel advice:

1. UK pubs, in Oxfordshire at least, close at 11pm. After that, it's off to the clubs where pasty white men with upturned noses attempt to dance to '50 cent' without dislocating their hips. A word to the wise: the techno floor is full of short men on ecstasy...if you're not into that, stay away from the techno floor. Also, for you casanova men out there, summoning a girl over by pointing at her and then pointing at the ground next to you while you show off your lackluster smile (with several missing teeth) may not work on every girl. Don't give up. One day,..perhaps distant day....someone will learn to appreciate you as your mother does.

2. If you ever make a trip to the lavatory, make sure to take enough money just in case you find the need to use the "Naughty Toys for Girls and Boys" dispenser. It's just like a tampon or pain medicine dispenser, but instead of Tylenol, you might end up with an inflatable sheep complete with batting eyelashes, red lips, and fishnet stockings. (sidenote: pooling together 7 pounds to buy said inflatable sheep may seem a good idea at the time,..and it is...because hey, when else are you going to be able to say that you bought an inflatable sheep??)

3. "Chips and Cheese" from a street vendor is really the closest you can get to actually experiencing heaven in all its glory. Prayer is not the answer. Your mother lied to you. I know, shocking.

4. If you travel in a large group, you may soon learn that each day is another person's birthday and that you will be forced into acoholism before your time. Embrace it, because it's awfully rude not to celebrate a birthday.

5. Even though you want to like everyone, there will inevitably be that one person who you keep picturing in a noose each time they open their mouth. It's not your fault...some people deserve to be lynched and it's really quite tragic that our society as a whole is unwilling to accept that fact.

6. Don't attempt to impart advice after four glasses of wine and two beers...you probably wont even finish your thought before you suddenly collapse on your keyboard and ">?km,vcf

Bloody Hell. Indeed.

2005-07-07T06:48:00.000-05:00

I haven't been in the UK a week, and some assholes decide to make a fucked up statement and blow up the London Underground and a bus full of people...FULL of people!
There go my weekend plans and...yup, that sound you hear is my mother's sanity leaving her as blind panic sets in.

Diary of An Insomniac

2005-06-29T01:25:00.000-05:00

I can't sleep. It's almost 3:00 am and i'm no where near being asleep...unless this is actually an incredibly vivid dream, in which case, i hope to never share with anyone that i actually dream about blogging. That would be a more depressing revelation than the time i dressed up in a clown costume to school and discovered when i got there that 1) no one else had participated in the Halloween costume contest, and 2) the contest was actually scheduled for the previous day. Luckily, that was also the day i discovered that creating a religion where you have to dress in a clown costume on the 29th of October is easy enough if there's really no other way to explain your idiocy. Kids LOVE to learn about new religions...it's a well known fact. Like it was yesterday, i remember the relief that washed over me when i overheard gossip about what cult i had joined instead of bets that my IQ was below 100. Unfortunately kids also have good memories. The following year when October 29th came around, i dedicated a lot of time and effort to the inspirational story of how doubt had driven me to defy my parents and community by leaving the "church." ---Needless to say, elementary school was no picnic.

Where was my point in all this?....Whoa, it's 3am! I should be asleep....adulthood sucks, and so does Tom Cruise for not believing in drugs (i could really use some ambien)...clearly, the man has not met the members of The Church of St. Hallow. I bet my cult could beat his up.

A-B-C-D, Follow Me!

2005-06-25T10:22:00.000-05:00

Putting aside the annoying fact that my brother-in-law still doesnt know my name and calls me 'dearest sis' despite my repeated warnings that his days with my family are numbered, he recently brought to my attention the proposed budget cuts for PBS...and as much as it pains me to say it, I think he's right to be worried.

I'm sure all of you already know about the budget cuts and have been standing outside the capitol protesting with your posters for hours, taking in no nourishment but water as a sign of defiance, singing Sesame Street songs in unison, and hallucinating Letter People (yeah. whatever happened to them?). For the handful of you that continue to eat and aren't singing quite as loudly, get it together, because it wont be long before you're old and no one knows what you're talking about when you ask "What kind of fucking animal was Arthur?"

Contact this guy. Now.

Holy Crap! I saw Al Sharpton!

2005-06-22T21:21:00.000-05:00

And his hair is REAL. At least, it's real-looking. I went with my friend, Ann*, to a consultation for permenant make-up. (She's a natural blonde, see, so she has albino eyebrows). Between the tattoo parlor and the subway stop, Al Sharpton crossed our paths. It was amazing, and it makes me remember why I love this city. Not only because of the random interesting people you might run into, but because I can have two different faux hair stories from only one afternoon's worth of effort. I can stay in bed all afternoon tomorrow, since I've pretty much fulfilled my quota of excitement for the week.

Being unemployed and unemploy-able in Manhattan is an expensive experiment to undertake, but I recommend it to all of you who feel that your existence is a disappointment to your parents and a drain on society. It really puts things in perspective, and if you get surly enough, Al Sharpton might just pop 'round to remind you of how ridiculous you aren't. Yet.

It's about these sisters see, and they're in some kind of cult...with pants..but not any pants, my friend...magical pants!

2005-06-20T23:44:00.000-05:00

As I sat through the life-altering movie that is "The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants," I thought about how I should start my own sisterhood.

I've been toying with some official names for my sisterhood, and these are just a few I came up with on my walk home:

1) The Sisterhood of the Never Again See a Movie With the Word "SISTERHOOD" in the Title.

ok. so i only came up with one. but i think it could be really....magical.

Drunken Blogging

2005-06-19T02:28:00.000-05:00

Generally, I'm against it. Just one thing though....

To the Muslim guy from Kosovo: I don't think it's fair that you got mad at me and stomped off just because i pointed out that "you weren't so muslim a second ago when you were dancing with me to Ludacris."

To D: I don't think its ever a good idea to call your mother at 3am to keep you company when you walk home from a drunken night of dancing, let alone mention that she is on the same line and can hear me only after i say, "hey D, glad to know you haven't died."

To C: dancing while standing up does not a lapdance make.

To K: I apologize for calling you at 3am...then calling you again to clarify my message....then calling a third time to make sure you understood that i was sorry about calling the second time (which is when you actually answered), and then calling you once more to apologize for waking you up.

To my dad: Happy Father's Day and sorry about not sending you flowers and a card like i had planned. I also apologize for your much reduced testosterone in the past few years and the fact that you want flowers for Father's Day when my friends' dads want tools and grills...but i guess that apology is misplaced.

To my fifth grade English teacher: Fuck you for that B. I've had at least 6 strong drinks tonight and i dare you to find more than 3 mispelled words in this entire post.

A Not-So-Subtle Cry For Help

2005-06-18T00:36:00.000-05:00

I apologize to all (the millions) of our fans whose letters we have yet to answer. There's a perfectly legitimate excuse that I'm sure you will find fascinating. I have been taking part in a highly controlled experiment for the past several days. So controlled in fact that I have had little time to devote to the autistic children I tutor in the mornings or the gang members I recite poetry to after school.

But I digress.
The purpose of my experiment: To assess the effects of continuous reality-tv watching on my ability to function in my own reality.

My hypothesis: By watching others (not unlike myself) go on blind dates with several people at a time or remodel houses under serious time constraints and with limited budgets, I would become a superior being...functioning at a much higher level than my less-experienced-with-reality counterparts who would merely have their own life experiences from which to draw for guidance.

Unfortunately, I was remiss to discover that the results did not support my hypothesis. While I rated my ability to function in reality at a 4 (on a scale from 1-10) prior to performing the experiment, I'm sad to report that my functioning level is now a 2 at best.
I give you a conversation I had with my bank teller earlier today:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
BT: Hello, how may i help you?
Me: Well! If you pick me, I can offer you an extremely friendly interaction and a quick and easy deposit request.
BT: Um..ma'am, you are next in line. (noticing the blank stare on my face and after an awkward 10 second silence)....uh..I pick you.
Me: (screeching)...ah! you made the right choice! (then turning to the side to face an invisible camera) "I was pretty confident he would pick me. I mean look at the competition! He knows a good thing when he sees it!"
BT: Security!
Me: (to the security guard as i'm being escorted out) I noticed that the walls in here are pink. You know, sometimes color looks better if you keep it in the fabrics and furniture and stick to a neutral shade for the walls. It's more calming and makes the space look larger...I can come back and give you some pointers...oh..ok. no I understand. public safety, yes. ok. well, this was a great experience and I wouldn't trade it for the world. (door slams behind me).
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As I sat on the curb outside the bank, wondering what was taking the goodbye limo, I thought about how I probably shouldn't have cancelled my plans to give free piano lessons to the kids at the trauma ward. My experiment had failed miserably, and poor little Franky was no doubt huddled in a corner clutching his music notes, rocking back and forth, and wondering why yet another person had abandoned him. I felt terrible. Then I looked down at my watch and realized what time it was. Another episode of "Date My Mom" would be starting in 20 minutes. Fuck the limo. I'm walking home.

Smooth Criminal

2005-06-13T16:21:00.000-05:00

Michael Jackson was found Not Guilty!* Now, I don't particularly understand the judicial system or the need for its existence, but that's probably because I was born in a corrupt dictatorship and raised with a love for public stonings (or "tough love" as my family refers to it.)

All the same, he is one lucky bastard, and I'd like to add that I, for one, always believed in his innocence. I'd like to add that, but I'd probably be lying. More than anything, like you, I'm just glad I wasn't too hasty about throwing out my rhinestone covered glove.

* the exclamation point doesn't indicate my excitement as much as it indicates my surprise. So if you think MJ was acquitted wrongfully, don't send me your hate mail....and um, stop spending so much time with your priest.

Where the F*#! Am I?

2005-06-09T22:19:00.000-05:00

"Did I do something wrong?"
"Yes, you did."
"I don't think so."
"What about the three children you have in the trunk of the car?"

This is part of what transpired when a mother in Maryland was pulled over for having three children in the trunk of her car. We'll let you read the rest over at The Smoking Gun, but while we're on the subject of "things a mother shouldn't do", I'd like to remind my mother of the time I fell asleep in the car while on a trip, and she thought it would be funny to leave me in there until I woke up, which as it turns out, wasn't till 3am---in a hotel parking lot...

Mom, if only i'd had the presence of mind to make an anonymous call to child services (and then feign sleep), you wouldn't be laughing it up at parties as you tell the story of your 12 year old daughter crouching in the back seat so criminals wouldn't see her because she was too afraid to open the door and go upstairs. I think you owe me. For one thing, you could at least add that I never knew the room number, and that staying in the car was a decision born of the will to survive rather than of cowardice. What kinds of parties are these anyway? Your friends are sick.

Are you gonna take that?!

2005-06-05T10:51:00.000-05:00

Riding alone on the metro at night is something I would recommend to anyone who wants a glimpse into humanity at its most fucked-upedness. Being an adventurer (and an alcoholic), I decided it would be a good idea to take the metro around midnight to meet some friends at a bar. My travel was going smoothly enough until I ran into three middle-eastern guys—no, men—who mistook me for their arranged virgin bride back home. At first I decided the best thing would be to ignore their admittedly smooth pick-up lines—it’s not everyday you hear a man say: “If I was your father, I would lock you in the basement to keep you safe from men like me who only want one thing.” You can see how difficult it was for me not to cave in to his advances and start making babies right there on the platform. Alas, I restrained myself and fought them off the best way I knew how….I stared at the ground, at my watch, in my purse, at the ground again and then walked away.

This harkens me back to the sixth grade, when Chiniqua Northorn punched me in the face in the girl’s locker room because I’d told on her for throwing my friend’s clothes in the shower. Most of the girls standing around were waiting for me to take action. “Hit her back!” they yelled, “Are you gonna take that?!”—No, I thought to myself, fuming…I’m NOT going to take that. Chiniqua will be sorry she ever met me. I picked up my bag, stared around for a while, felt my nose to see if it was broken (it wasn’t, I only have heredity to blame for its shape), and walked straight up to the gym coach and told on her…again.

Fast forward to ten minutes later—Ms. Burns’ English class—my nemesis Chiniqua walks up to me and bitch-slaps me in front of the entire class…all gasp, except Ms. Burns, who at that moment is conveniently standing outside the door. Again come the yells, “You gonna take that?!” and my favorite, “She hit you twice!”..by one helpful friend who maybe thought I had suffered amnesia and wanted me to fully appreciate the situation. But I hadn’t forgotten. Although Chiniqua was thoughtful enough to slap me on the opposite side of my face from which she punched me—the pain was still too real. I knew what had to be done. I mustered all my strength, raised my hand, and bellowed “MS. BURNS!”—What happened next is a blur…

All this to say that I am a coward. I am not confrontational in the least, especially when I have no friends to back me up, and as much as I looked around, there was no one on the metro platform I could go and complain to. Hussein and his two friends stumbled around after me making various lewd remarks and giggling like little girls. I remembered a trick my father taught me to tune people out—I started to recite poetry in my head…two roads diverged in a yellow wood and suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door, tis’ some visitor, he muttered as he lay in his blood on the highway...realizing that poetry was not my forte, I began to recite the alphabet instead and this worked until the train showed up.

As I sat on the train, I thought about many things… how men didn’t realize the fear they could instill in a girl by just talking to her when she didn’t want to be bothered, how my father must’ve had the shit kicked outta him as a kid, and how maybe, if there really was a God, Hussein and his posse would unwittingly run into Chiniqua Northorn that night.

Humor Jim

2005-06-03T13:34:00.000-05:00

My friend Jimbob brought something to my attention that i feel all you lovely people living in the United States should take a look at: Best Film Ever!!!

We all know i'm not one to talk about a film incessantly until everyone i know goes to see it, but i really think it would mean a lot to Jim if all of you would go see the movie "CRASH" as soon as possible. Jim's made it his personal mission to garner support and money for this "incredible piece of motion picture art" (his words, not mine), and the least we can do is support his cause (he has so little to look forward to in life as it is).

Jim says it's "quite possibly the best film" he's seen all year, and he would be willing to repay you the "full purchase price of your ticket if you do not feel the same way." That sounds like a deal that can't be beat! (in the event that the deal does prove beatable by yet another greater deal, Jim is willing to match it. As you can see, this is really important to him)

We here at RBIE have decided to do our patriotic duty (did i mention that Jim is a war veteran?) and link to movie showtimes in DC and NY for any of our local readers. So go support independent films, and write your review here. Jim's phone number and address will be released to anyone who wants to personally thank him or get their money back.

Do You Know Robby?

2005-05-30T00:34:00.000-05:00

Yeah, me neither. Apparently his friends want to make him famous though....and somehow they came to the misguided conclusion that if RBIE linked to his fan site, then they would be that much closer to achieving their goal.

Their poor marketing skills notwithstanding, Robby's friends have a lot our readers can learn from. For one thing, they can appreciate genius and charisma when they see it...a talent most of my friends unfortunately lack.

So spread the word. Afterall, now that France has rejected the EU Constitution, the world must look to a new source for inspiration. Maybe that source is Robby. Or maybe the last two sentences don't make any sense and I just wanted to mention the EU constitution without having to write an entire post about it. Whatever the case, we've all had a bit too much to drink tonight and it's important we don't criticize. And by "we," we mean you. And by "you," we mean our readers. And by "our readers," we mean Mom.

"I Am Happy, Diana...And Nothing's Going to Hold Me Back!"

2005-05-26T23:15:00.000-05:00

My favorite manic orphan, Anne Shirley* might be unaffected by this decision but where will the rest of the undoubtedly crazed and depressed citizens of Prince Edward Island turn in their moment of crisis?

A suicide hotline that's only open from 9 to 5?! That's like a pancake restaurant that's only open at night!! Ok..no. That would actually be pretty fantastic. In fact, I bet if more breakfast places were open at night, there would be less suicides. Just sayin'....

The article does bring up a good point: If you're suicidal, but conscientious and patient enough to look up the hotline number and "think it through," then can't you put off the self-killing till morning? No? Well if you MUST speak to someone, call a friend. Don't have any? Oh, that's really sad...man, your life sucks hard...Hello? You still there?....

* Seriously. You didn't get the reference? Where was PBS when you were growing up?

Diary of A Desperate Mover

2005-05-25T00:33:00.000-05:00

It's almost 2am and i'm still awake, partly because i'm thinking of all the errands and packing i have yet to accomplish, partly because i slept for almost 12 hours last night, and partly because of the coke i snorted an hour ago.

Log of Evening Activities:

10pm: Ripped out hook from closet wall I never should have put up in the first place. Removed a large chunk of wall with it.

10:15pm: Spent the last 15 minutes thinking of ways to cover up huge hole in wall and panicked about security deposit being lost forever.

10:30pm: Got a grip....stopped sobbing and shaking, and put up bigger replacement hook to cover my crime.

10:45pm: Practiced the line, "that hook was there when i moved in!" until I believed it.

11pm: Started to pack "important belongings". Almost chose to throw out heavy family album when faced with the dilemma of either fitting it or a box of teddy grahams in suitcase. Decided to eat teddy grahams instead and grudgingly fit album...

11:30pm: Faced with the ugliness of my own materialism, broke down and started to throw clothes into "Goodwill bags."

12am: Frantically searched through bags to find my black cardigan.

12:10am: Decided that Goodwill should rightfully name a branch after me for the bounty I was about to bestow upon it....changed my mind as I moved a bag from the "Goodwill" category to the "my new apartment" category.

12:30am: Silently cursed all my friends who are conveniently out of town this friday. Looked around at all the furniture I will have to move, and cursed them a second time. Out loud.

1am: Where's my coke?

Return of the Men's Lady

2005-05-22T22:31:00.000-05:00

A great many wonderful things come from being a single girl in Manhattan, and one of them, let's call it my "favorite", is that men are plentiful and easy. But, due to my recent lack of action (tired of making up euphamisms for "hard up"), I've decided to utilize the environment and do as Donald Trump would do: take matters into my own hands. And then proceed to fire people I've never hired. Wait, what?

So, last night I hit on a man in a bar. I wasn't even subtle about it. Two drinks into the night, I walked up, asked him to settle a made-up dispute between me and a friend about the best Michael Jackson song ever (Thriller wasn't an option), and let him take my number after he went through a very sweet, somewhat clumsy 30 seconds on what he does and where he's from (which is not necessary for me to make sweet, sweet love to him, but I suppose it helps). He and his friends left the bar soon after I went back to my friends, but I received a drunken text message from him on my way home, promising to get in touch with me soon. I believe the word "shortly" was used.

I think this is how love happens.

Celebrate the Trashing of Your Vows

2005-05-20T22:23:00.000-05:00

I'ts a problem that's gone unnoticed far too long. According to humanitarian Cathy Gallagher, 60 - 80% of men, and up to 65% of women have nowhere to turn when it comes to expressing their lust and admiration for that special someone they're having an affair with.

Tragic. (we request a moment of silence).

Lucky for the world, Cathy refuses to sit back and watch her fellow citizens pace the greeting card aisles in vain, searching endlessly for that unique card that will let Tammy know how much her extra-secretarial duties have meant to her boss, or thank Bill for missing his son's 5th birthday party to make that "business trip."

The idea to create a new line of greeting cards geared towards people involved in extra-marital affairs came to Cathy after a romantic discussion with her husband: "There were all these different people we knew that were involved in [affairs] and I thought that must be a really difficult situation to be in."

Difficult indeed. Affairs are hard enough to juggle alongside a family and career...it's only fair and logical that there be greeting cards to make sure they don't sour too quickly. You must never underestimate the power of a simple "At four o'clock on thursday afternoons when my wife takes the kids to piano lessons, I love you" on a pastel card with a bunny on the cover.

Being sensitive to the situation, Cathy also assures us that when the cards are in stores, they will be discreetly labeled with words like "Love Expressions" or "Intimacy," as opposed to say, "Adulterers" or "Cheating Sluts." Asked about her next line of greeting cards, Cathy wipes a tear off her cheek, clears her throat, and begins a heartfelt discussion on the plight of online sex offenders.

Look for Upcoming Story: "Man Shoots Wife Dead After Greeting Card Mix-Up."

I am NOT pregnant

2005-05-19T12:25:00.000-05:00

I went out for dinner on Monday night to a Polish restaurant in the East Village (the same one I took a certain out-of-towner to). I go there quite often. The place is always half empty, but the food is good and well-priced, in a cool neighborhood. I feel it is my duty to keep little mom and pop places like this in business. There aren't that many around anymore...

So, then why, on this particular Monday did those bastards try to poison me? I was sick as a dog all night, stayed home from work the next day, and still my illness lingers, like a thoughtful reminder to the past.

And why the heck is it that whenver I tell people I am nauseaous, the first question they ask is, "Are you pregnant"? Is this appropriate for a co-worker to ask me? I don't think so. Married, age 30 or so, this question might be understandable. But to a 22yr old living in sin with her boyfriend, its no better that saying, "Did you get knocked up?" I especially don't appreciate these types of questions coming from my mother.

To all you aspiring witches out there, please don't curse me and make this the most ironic post ever. Instead, give me your herbal remedy for overcoming my discomfort and remember that I live in a city, and I have no access to frogs and such. Thanks!

My Life Not Only Passed Me By, But Stopped On the Way to Spit In My Face.

2005-05-19T09:08:00.000-05:00

Happy Birthday to Ho Chi Minh and Malcolm X!

I know there's someone else we're missing from that list...someone tall, devastatingly gorgeous, sharp as a whip, and slightly less militant.

Someone whose daily horoscope has warned her to be suspicious of "strange happenings,"...making her wonder if the sight of her mother dancing around the kitchen to Ludacris in her pajamas, a sunhat, and heels (while holding a butter knife above her head)...qualifies as "strange." What if that happens fairly often?

Someone whose family celebrated her birthday a day early, calling it her "birthday eve," and suggesting it's a cultural tradition she missed in her first 24 years. Someone whose family is invited to a better party tonight.

Well, names aren't important I guess. We're just lucky to know of her.

Another Reason to Envy Orphan Annie

2005-05-16T13:44:00.000-05:00

Visiting parents is always a treat. But as treats go, it falls under the "candy corn with needle hidden inside" category. It's not your favorite, and it might just kill you. I've had problems with family visits in the past when I was only a college graduate with no real career goals. Dinner conversations revolving around which sibling was doomed to support me in the future were not uncommon (my mother seemed to think it was my brother's duty as the only boy, whereas my father argued that my unwed sister was a prime candidate because "what was she gonna do with all that money as an old maid?"-- I personally looked forward to living off my parents' life insurance policies). Since I've started law school however, spending time with family has become more tolerable in the sense that my parents no longer refer to me as the "other child" when introducing me to their friends, my siblings no longer drive me to the goodwill when I ask for a ride to the mall, and my brother in particular doesn't protectively grab his wallet if I happen to walk into the room (which means I am now the proud owner of a new twenty!--sucker).

The downside to all this--and there is always a downside (you saw it coming, didnt you?)--is that my education has somehow inadvertently caused my parents to suffer a mild psychotic break. Maybe it's because they're foreign or maybe it's their constant abuse of household cleaners, but whatever the reason, at some point they decided that I could help fund their most recent power trip.

This is what led me to create the following Notice, now posted in every room of my parents household:

Inappropriate occasions to invoke the phrase “My daughter is a lawyer” (or variations thereof):

1) As some sort of vague, empty threat: “Are you sure there’s no Fire Sauce left? You're aware my daughter is a lawyer?”

2) As a futile attempt to get out of trouble: “Officer, I don’t think I was technically speeding. Maybe you should address my daughter in the passenger seat…she’s a lawyer.”

3) When feeling gregarious towards a stranger at the bank: “They’re taking your house away for tax fraud? My daughter, she’s a lawyer. I’m sure she’d love to help! Hold on, let me get you her number.”

4) As “clever” social commentary at a party: “We live in a strange world. You can’t even trust your own children these days! My own daughter is a lawyer. A lawyer! I don’t even give her advice anymore, because I’m afraid she might take it and then sue me! Ha ha (unattractive snort).”

5) And finally, when your daughter is in fact NOT A LAWYER, but rather a law STUDENT, meaning that she doesn’t know shit about the law and judging from her very round grades, her chances of actually making it to year three are speculative at best.

* Now to Kinkos to see if I can print out wallet sized cards for easy reference.

I heart interviews

2005-05-13T15:43:00.000-05:00

I had yet another interview today, for a job that will likely take me nowhere, but that's okay. My interview today was with a (very attractive) web developer, who I will call B.I.L.F. That stands for Boss I'd like to flamanco. In the hopes of one day having wild sex. I have a friend in D.C. who would've liked him- he was probably gay. Anyway, this is how it went.

B.I.L.F. "So, tell me about a time when you had conflict in the workplace."

me: "One time, i worked in an office, and some guy asked me if he could have my chair. So I picked it up and beat him with it."

B.I.L.F. "Hmm. That's an interesting way to deal with it. Why did you choose that?"

me: "I didn't have a gun."

B.I.L.F. "Ok, you're hired."

And all of a sudden, we realize that people in New York will do anything to hire someone to answer their phones.

HAPPY BELATED MOTHER'S DAY

2005-05-09T19:46:00.000-05:00

Mothers are special. Truly. They feed us, nurture us, dress us in what can only be legitimately called clown costumes and tell us that we look glamorous and that kids at the fifth grade dance will be jealous...and then comfort us when we come back from the dance in tears. In short, the least we can give them in return for their years of worry and semi-conditional love is our appreciation. I decided to express mine in a letter.

My first draft:

Dear Mom,
Thanks for getting knocked up...and for having the heart to keep me alive till I could eat solids and dress myself. I've heard rumors that I was an accident but I guess that's all water under the bridge now. Where did I hear a crazy story like that? Remember dad's sentimental toast at my college graduation dinner?: "we could never have imagined on that horrifying day when we discovered that birth control was only 99.96% effective, that our lack of financial means to get an abortion would lead us to this joyous day!"

Anyway, like I said, water under the bridge. Love You.

Thinking the first draft too bitter, I sat down with my quill and ink to try again:

Dear Mom,
On this special day, I want you to know how appreciated you are. There's just one thing that's been bothering me and I was hoping you could clear things up. When I was five, Brother and Sister* told me that I was adopted...stolen actually, from a very wealthy and good-looking** couple so I could be used as cheap labor around the house. I wouldn't have believed them, but when you came home that night, you told me to stop being so gullible and then handed me the broom and asked me to go sweep the kitchen. It was a funny joke and we all laughed. But then you stopped laughing and made me sweep anyway...you are my mother, correct?

Finally, being a perfectionist, I thought it best not to end with a question:

Dear Mom,
I'm sorry I couldn't be there on your special day. I hear that Sis is sending you to Hawaii. That's wonderful. What am I getting you? Well, you are holding this letter correct? And you're aware that it IS from me? Handwritten. To be honest, I was going to send you flowers, but after spending three hours at the mall shopping for a small gift to go with the flowers, my account balance was suddenly $500 lower and none of the clothes in my shopping bag were your size. I dont know how that happened but as you can see, flowers were beyond my monetary means at that point. Anyway, this post-it note is only so big!
Love Always, your middle child.

*Not of the Berenstain bears.... Although I agree that would have been beyond awesome.
** I can only offer a guess as to their looks.

I love you. Not like a man loves a woman, but like a man loves a fine cuban cigar.

2005-05-06T19:52:00.000-05:00

Ah, it's that time of year. School is over and summer is about to begin. For gradeschool children and graduate school 20-somethings alike, it is a bittersweet moment, filled with goodbyes, see you laters, and godammit, we should have hooked ups (gradeschool kids are such whores nowadays).

A strange (fucked up, if you will) phenomenon that I’ve witnessed during this time is the unwarranted outpouring of affection from people whose existence you previously regarded as “unnecessary” at best. These are the people whom, while you weren’t wishing for their deaths in any way (nervous laughter), you knew that if you should hear about them getting run over by a milk truck, you would be shocked, sure—tell you friends and family, maybe—sit on their memorial bench, of course---but that’s probably as far as your emotional response would go. When these people come up to you at a bar and start telling you how much they’re “gonna miss you” and that “you rock,” you start to question your indifference towards their life and worry about whether they’ll make it home ok and if they’re taking all their vitamins. It’s really unfair what a drunken “I love you” can inspire in a person.

I guess in the end, there’s something beautiful about the togetherness felt at the end of the school year. I suspect it’s triggered by a sense of nostalgia for anything associated with that period of your life. If the class podium somehow showed up at a bar, there would be no less than thirty people waiting to tell the podium how amazing it is and how much they LOVE it. And you know what? I bet the podium loves you back.

Finally, I’d like to send a message to someone “special” just in case I don’t see them before August:

Dear “I think your name starts with an A,”
I’m really gonna miss all the times we said “hey” to each other outside the library on the second floor. I think I talked to you once at a bar review too. We both agreed that night that the weather was “in fact shitty.” Anyway, I just want to let you know how much your friendship has meant to me. Stay sweet. Keep in touch. And yes, I love you.

(now to go wipe off the tears).

Missed Connections

2005-05-05T10:14:00.000-05:00

For a laugh, or to convince yourself romance is not dead, check out the "missed connections" link on Craigslist.

You may even be surprised that someone is trying to find you.

(Yes, I know, I have too much free time)

Oh, and Happy Cinco de Mayo! Chin chin!

Gimme a break!!!

2005-05-04T15:20:00.000-05:00

Lynddie England's case was declared a mistrial.

For all you law-saavy types out there, how in the world does this make sense?

She plead guilty. Then the "ringleader" of the prison abuse scandal testified that he instructed her what to do, and that her actions were supposed to demonstrate the "proper" technique for handling prisoners. But, wasn't this the same guy that fathered her child? Obviously its a cover-up.

I say, if she knows what she did was wrong, and admitted it, let the trial continue and convict!