I’m Sorry, But This Is Deeply Upsetting.

25 01 2011

This is an actual shirt being sold by Wet Seal. I know this because, after seeing the post on Jezebel about it, I checked the online store. And indeed, the description of the shirt reads:

“Fun and trendy tunic features a contrast body, screen printed ‘If your single, then so am I’ on front, short sleeves and a scoop neckline.”

Uhhhhh….. Are you serious, Wet Seal? I’m actually upset over here. The tears are welling up. I feel like you just scratched your pointy, jewel-encrusted acrylic nails down the chalkboard of my tainted heart.

I mean, I know Wet Seal is not exactly a bastion of classy sportswear, but I’m pretty sure the “Your Single tunic” is actively making the youth of America dumber. AND sluttier. If I were a dude and I saw a girl approaching me on the street in this shirt, no matter how many decades it had been since I got laid, I would find the nearest Cracker Jack box, jam in my fist, pull out the plastic ring and shove it on my left hand so fast the friction would burn my flesh.

How many layers of corporate executives had to approve this POS before it made its way out of the idiot factory and into my personal shopping space? You people need to lay off the paint-chip sandwiches and invest in some Hooked on Phonics for shit’s sake. It worked for me.


Man Christmas

20 12 2010

Neck deep in holiday party season, you know I couldn’t let it slip by without a few basic observations.

First of all, I feel like Christmas becomes such a caricature of itself by the time you’re in your 20s, because you’re too old to take it as seriously as a kid does, too young (if you’re not a parent yet) to have to take it seriously for the sake of your kids, but still have some of enough Christmas excitement leftover from childhood that you can’t help but enthusiastically celebrate the season.

So we embrace all those holiday traditions– the songs, the cards, the trees, the eggnog, the presents– but we twist them into ironic, R-rated versions of themselves. Instead of a family Christmas card, we stand in front of the mantle in ugly Christmas sweaters and awkwardly grope our housemates for a photo. Instead of red and green bulb ornaments, we hang empty beer cans from the tree with fishing twine. Instead of Secret Santa, someone throws an erotic gift exchange party, where everyone competes to see whose gift can make people the most uncomfortable (i.e. used Handerpants).

I’m not really sure what all this is about. It’s like some kind of weird, quarter-life, not-a-girl-not-yet-a-woman Christmas crisis we all go through. It’s like we think that we can get away with loving/celebrating a holiday really hard while going out of our way to make it clear to the world that we recognize how arbitrary and consumer-driven and absurd Christmas has become, and in doing that we absolve ourselves from all the shame.

My second observation, along the same lines, is how amusing it is to watch men try to throw Christmas parties. As a standard for comparison, my three lady roommates and I threw a holiday party two weeks ago. We sent out an Evite weeks in advance with a specific 8 pm start time, had a series of talks about how we were going to divide up the cleaning and house decorating labor the weekend of the party, made eggnog-tinis with grated nutmeg, baked brownies (an extra batch for the neighbors!), had Christmas lights twinkling in the fireplace, pine-scented candles, Christmas carols on the iPod– the whole shebang. Of course, we also ordered a keg, took the obligatory lesbian prom mantle photo, and ended up burning our own deck furniture in the fire, but the whole time we were planning the party we were really torn between our desire to have the kind of classy Christmas party real adults throw and our desire to have a loosely-themed keg party.

Then yesterday, I went to a holiday party thrown by a house of five men. They sent out an email that said the party started at 2 pm, but when my roommate and I arrived circa 3:30 pm, the guys laughed at us and said the 2pm start time was obviously a joke, that half of them weren’t even home yet from work and various other Christmas parties, and that the actual party was probably going to start around 11. NINE hours later.  We asked them whether it occurred to them that some people, namely Women, might take the start time seriously, and they said that yes, that did occur to them, but they decided to let it roll and see what idiots showed up early.

This turned out to be great, because we got to observe first-hand the debacle that is five men preparing for a Christmas party.

I’ll paint the scene for you: every ornament on the tree was an empty beercan, some of them sliced and scrunched up to look like space ships. The “angel” at the top of the tree was an upside-down wine bottle with tin foil wings. There were five stockings on the mantle, and they were stuffed with all of the roommates’ current belongings. Two men were sitting on the couch wrapping up various household items to put under the tree, including a beer opener, the remote control, a handful of Chex mix, a pen, door handle (still attached to the door), a Smirnoff Ice, an orange and my half-empty can of Miller Lite (wrapped while I was in the bathroom)… because in addition to wanting the look of a full present pile, they thought it would be really funny and exciting to go back and open all those items later that they forgot they had wrapped.

There was no stress about having enough food or alcohol. There was no stress about music, no manic housecleaning, no brownies to the neighbors, no moving of furniture to accommodate potential dance floors. They just wrapped up their beer cans, put them under the tree, took naps, ordered themselves Chinese food and then came downstairs to join the party.

I normally don’t spend my days wishing I were a man, but every once in a while, when I get a glimpse of a phenomenon like this, I can’t help but resent my X chromosome.

Hope you guys are having a smangin’ holiday season.

I’ve got the blacklung, Pop.

14 12 2010

I haven’t forgotten about you, blog. I just have bronchitis, and when I’m sick I have trouble doing anything besides sitting on my couch watching 16 and Pregnant marathons.

New post coming soon.

I Haz Bad Dream

18 11 2010

I hate it when people try to tell you about their dreams, because it’s never as cool or interesting to you as it is to them, unless the dream happens to involve you doing something really heroic, in which case it’s fine.  But usually, it comes out something like this:

“So you and I were in this tube.  Like, one of those big tubes in the ceilings of buildings that you crawl through to get away from the cops. Wait, it might actually not have been you, because halfway through the dream you turned into a donkey.  And then we were in the woods, and my mom was there, and she was wearing this big purple tutu…”

YAWN, get on with it.  I really could not care less about all the dumb images prancing through your brain during the five minutes after your alarm went off this morning.

With that said, I’m going to tell you about the super weird dream I had last night.  I’ll keep it down to two run-on sentences:

I dreamed that this guy was trying to kiss me, but right before his face made it to mine, I told him to hold on a sec because I had to take my retainer out.  I proceeded to pull the giant, clunky retainer (which I don’t have in real life) out of my mouth, and then I realized there was another retainer in there, so I pulled it out too, and then I realized there were like layers and layers of braces and retainers, and by the time I got done through ripping them all out there were all these wires sticking out everywhere and the guy just said, “Nevermind.”

Then I woke up.  AAAAAGGGGHHHH! What a horrible, horrible nightmare!

But I feel better having made you all sit through it.

Goodbye for now, blog.

2 08 2010

Hello Readers,

I am taking an indefinite vacation from this blog to focus on my job and my other writing projects.  Thanks for tuning in and sharing all of your witty, insightful, often inappropriate comments on my posts, and I’ll let you all know when I’m back in full force!


My Favorite Poem in the Summertime

22 07 2010

This week has been crazy busy, so I’m sorry for the lapse in posts.  As a consolation prize, I will leave you with something better: One of the most beautiful, sensual, intoxicating poems in history.  You have to read it out loud to get the full effect.  I just get lost in it, every time…

Ode to a Nightingale

by John Keats

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the brains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
‘Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,–
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool’d a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster’d around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover’d up in leaves;
And mid-May’s eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain–
To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm’d magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam’d to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now ’tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:–Do I wake or sleep?

Comment of the Week

1 05 2010

In response to Is There A Worse Way To Die Than This?, Phelps wrote:

“Not a very eelegant way to go.
He wasn’t eelated about this one.
Eels in the butt are soooo eelementary school.
I guess the ambeelance wasn’t in time.
Indeed, China’s record is reely bad.
Weel they be brought to justice? WEEL THEY?!!”

Haha- you know word play gets me every time.