Hey nerdz!

Maybe this will inspire you to go back and get that advanced physics degree! Hmmm!

physics is phun. and phundamental!

Pink is the new offense.

I can't walk five feet in Manhattan without being blinded by one of these:


And there are more, more, more of them in odious shades of pink than you can even imagine.

Last week in court I saw an elderly attorney of unknown foreign provenance flanked by two young blonde women in shocking pink trench coats. I couldn't stop staring. I know they are probably smart, competent legal professionals, but all I could think was "Pink Lady and Jeff."



Why, I ask, why??

Sadness abounds. Should it?

I lost my iPod last night. It was in its dirty black case with Dale's microphone plugged into it, on top of the piano. Something told me not to leave it on top of the piano, but we did for better sound recording. Which I'll never hear.

Yes, I know it's just an object. And I think 'lost' is the wrong word. 'left' is more applicable, but that makes me seem like more of a loser.

I know I'll never get it back and I'm sad.

I tried to use it as a reason not to go to the gym today but I decided in a fit of maturity that it wouldn't be a good excuse. Still it was sad to do leg presses without my aggro comedy workout mix. There was a profusion of old people in the gym this morning, and the sound track was clearly classic rock.

I am bummed. Oh well. I'll have to go to court next week without the joy of "Savage Love" pumping into my ears.

I feel stupid whining over an object. But it was mine. My mom got it for me before I had surgery a couple of years ago. It was a nice present.

I guess that makes it a bit more of a special object. But it's still a replaceable object, I guess. I really don't have the spare cash to kick around on a blatant luxury good that I rationalize as 'necessary' (to tape things, to motivate me and such) but it's just not a necessity.

Still and all, not happy.

The way to a woman's heart.

"First of all Rat, you never let on how much you like a girl. 'Oh, Debbie. Hi.' Two, you always call the shots. 'Kiss me. You won't regret it.' Now three, act like wherever you are, that's the place to be. 'Isn't this great?' Four, when ordering food, you find out what she wants, then order for the both of you. It's a classy move. 'Now, the lady will have the linguini and white clam sauce, and a Coke with no ice.' And five, now this is the most important, Rat. When it comes down to making out, whenever possible, put on side one of Led Zeppelin IV."- Mike Damone

Work it.

In this scene a gentlemen of my acquaintance and I were discussing my body. He was caressing my shoulder and was duly impressed with my incipient toning. An overly analytical discussion followed; in that, he felt that his favorable impression was 90% due to the fact that I was becoming better, stronger and healthier, and 10% was due to the fact that deep down, he believed that somehow I was doing it for him, and that was incredibly sexy.

Oddly, we were both wearing red T-shirts. Really nice dark red T-shirts.

Apparently I'm having a series of short, intense dreams with handsome-man commentary (see "Tim Gunn" earlier).

Just keep going!

Be afraid...I got my learner's permit today. I also ripped a thin strip of fabric from the bottom of my shirt to wear fetchingly around my neck.

A ridiculous conflict

ON THE ONE HAND....Old Navy, like too many retailers, has pulled their fat clothes from their stores, because apparently fat people and size 16 pants take up too much freaking room in their stores. Or, we'd rather shop while eating pounds and pounds of chocolate chicken pot pies. Or something. At any rate, it's online or nothing.

ON THE OTHER HAND...some of that stuff is cute and super cheap, which is what I require in clothing at this moment.

What's a semi-fattie to do?

Mistress of the Obvious

"You seem a little depressed."

- my shrink

Good thing all that learnin' didn't go to waste.

Make it wo-

I had an amazing dream the other night, where Tim Gunn was standing outside a suburban home with me, in the garage (the garage door was open and we were leaning against the hood of a car, drinking a soda). He was impeccably dressed, of course. We were having a serious, thoughtful discussion about how my personal skills aligned perfectly with that of a television producer, and how he thought I would be an excellent producer. When I asked him how I would go about that (did I need to be an assistant? go to school?), he started to answer...and then I woke up.

Tim - Call me! Or, I absolutely cannot make this work!

Diesel Sweeties is the best thing ever.

Check out the site for backstory on this fabulous babe (NOT indierock pete!)

Oh, too good...too good

But where's Timmy??

Real World Awards Bash

Late night haiku

The cool air feels crisp
on my face. I would like to
smoke a cigarette.

Full moon glows brightly,
thru my window as I slice
some Brie. I like Brie.

Grape Propel is nice.
Warm or cool it matters not.
Grape Propel is nice.

Blogs are for venting(whining)? Right? Huh?

Seriously, you guys!

Yes I know there were far worse troubles in the world today, great and small. But I am having a Most Annoying Day today.

1. Woke up too late to work out.
2. Left $20 in yesterday's suit pocket.
3. Fogged out all morning before a monthly client meeting. Minor office spat woke me up.
4. Monthly client meeting [boring contentious work issues here, that I can spare you.] Browsed at tacky yet girlacious bridal gowns on the way out.
5. Purchased a disappointing big salad at Pret (really I should know better, the chicken is spongy and the greens are weedy and no amount of honey mustard dressing will cure that.) Ate the Pret popcorn for lunch.
6. I'm dehydrated.
7. Race off to an audition (aka personal appointment) that I expected to take, oh, 30 minutes on a good day. Audition snapshot without glasses causes me to look retarded/cockeyed. Enjoy banter with "Nice Female Comedy Folks #1-3" and exchange potshots with "Undefined Male Comedy Friend #1."
8. After being out of my office for 1.5 hours I have apparently advanced barely at all in line. My feet hurt in wedgie heels. I have already told UMF#1 to fuck off, because deep down in my heart I know he was acting like a dick, even if he doesn't think so, because he's a dick, see how that works? (Note that I realize that writing slightly concealed blog posts about other's immature dickery kind of makes me an immature dick as well. So?)
9. Get called in, finally, to audition. Out of the 25 or so 20-35 year old males (yes, 35, I said it), I get called inside to audition with UMF#1 (see above).
10. Fuck. Shit. Channel barely suppresed rage into okay audition reaction shots.
11. Bid a cheery goodbye to NFCF#1, ignore UMF#1, and race to the elevator before conversation occurs.
12. Wander off towards the subway while sending panicked messages to the office. Nearly get blown over by the wind. Yeah, me. That's how bad the wind was, cause I ain't skinny.
13. In foot aching despair, flag down a cab by standing in the middle of Eighth Avenue.
14. Watch the driver develop rage in the Village while the meter leaps ever upward.
15. Back at work now, where I've signed on for the long long night to avoid bossly wrath and finish reports tonight. As a result, I am missing my own weekly standup comedy show. My. own. show.
16. Seriously regret choking down half a dirty-water dog. Ignore the dubiously old Diet Snapple on desk. Drink sludgy cold coffee and dig cookie shards out of desk drawer.
17. Moan. Whimper. Feh.
18. Still dehydrated.
19. Bad hair.
20. Indigestion.

The opposite of boobies.

A neat, touching and insightful blog post by my comedy partner in crime.

Would you say that I was flat chested?

If I asked you honestly? And relatively?

I have no idea why I'm writing this. I am sniffing at a bag of chocolate chip cookies but don't feel like eating them.

Last night I almost had a 'wardrobe malfunction' because my favorite, molded-cup, formerly-pushup bra now oddly hovers over my girlish curves in the most random of manners. I had to run to the ladies' room to replace the girls back into their now-large spare rooms.

(in the interests of full disclosure, that bra is a size 44DDD.)

Sigh.

Here's a picture of a 1940s 'sweater girl' for your amusement.

Beauty Tip #377

Philosophy's "Soap and Water" perfume should really be named "Baby Wipes/Diaper Fresh."

Seriously.

(Note to people who like to sniff at me: This is not the fragrance I bought. It is the one I absentmindedly tried on while I was blocking the path of the annoying woman and her annoying dog at Sephora.)

Holy Crap, are these delicious.

I don't really feel like talking at the moment. Or working. But, damn, the world HAS TO KNOW about these snacks!

Otters!

Now back to your regularly scheduled bitching.

You know, I'm not really an inept asshole.

Seriously. I'd rant some more but there'd be no stopping me at this point.

There are about three people in the world that I do not want to tell to go fuck themselves, either directly, indirectly or rather gently. The sentiment, however, would be the same.

Here's some balloons. You know what? I fucking hate balloons. There, a concrete reason to garner disapproval. Whisper, whisper, that bitch hates pretty pretty balloons! Damn!



I really hate Florida too: (from Slashdot, which I do not hate)

"In an attempt to defy the newly approved state science standards, Florida Senator Rhonda Storms has proposed a bill that would allow teachers to contradict the teaching of evolution. Her bill states that 'Every public school teacher in the state's K-12 school system shall have the affirmative right and freedom to objectively present scientific information relevant to the full range of scientific views regarding biological and chemical evolution in connection with teaching any prescribed curriculum regarding chemical or biological origins.' The bill's main focus is on protecting teachers who want to adopt alternative teaching plans from sanction, and to allow teachers the freedom to teach whatever they wish, even if it is in opposition to current standards."

You know who else I hate? "Margaret P. Jones", the highly successful stone cold liar. If I tell colorful tales of fiction about my 'past' will I get a book deal and an interview in the Times? Fuck you.

I smellll Bacon!

I've been reading alternative food blogs lately - vegan blogs, raw blogs and the like. I find them fascinating bits of lifestyle-y navel-gazing. Have too much time on your hands? Reduce all your food to juice and then tell me how little you crap. To be fair, some have appetizing, non-tortured and tasty looking food that I would consider ingesting and enjoying. But many are just, frankly, a little nuts. Unroasted nuts, of course.

Also, vegans are cheap as hell, apparently. On most of the sites, the recipes aren't free - Real compassionate, guys! Even better, they'll chat at length about the recipes, post some shiny healthy photos, and then sweetly suggest you buy their book, over and over again. Kind of like free porn teasers. Guess all that agave nectar is 'spensive!

Here's a fabulous quote:

Cashews are stimulating, not a good choice for just before bed. I forget the precise principle involved, but I always lie awake if I eat anything with cashews too late in the day. Wish I could think of a good substitute. Mmmm... cashews.

Life's just too short, man. Eat a freaking unroasted nut.

However, I did enter a veggie "meat" stick contest! Yum-yum!

In contrast, this is what I plan on eating this weekend:



Wow! Maybe I'm Lutheran!