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Tales of a Post-Grad Nothing

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

"My own mother said I look like the devil! Can you believe that? My own mother!"

~Said March 28, 2005 at midnight in English by a man standing in the middle of my cobblestone Parisian street wearing a black cape and a giant Shakespeare collar, looking up at the moon. Seriously, wtf?

Sunday, March 27, 2005


Ladies and Gentlemen: Condoleeza Rice and the most fantastic scowl I've ever seen. Happy Easter.

Saturday, March 26, 2005

Today I took a Segway Human Transporter tour of this fine-ass city...ok, I'm just going to give you a moment to revel in what a superior nerd I am to you....go ahead...what use is your Star Trek knowledge now huh? If I had my way, all of you would have to get a crazy look on your face and raise your goblet of geek to me.

As I was saying, I took a Segway tour today and just because you asked, yes there was a cute French-American boy there, and yes, I did try to impress him with my mad Segway skillz (that's right, I said it, my mad Segway skillz, once again...crazy look...goblet of geek...in the air...raise it high...thank you), and no, shockingly, he was not impressed that I could draw the number 98 going backwards on my Segway...hey, 98 is full of curves, it's like the dead man's cliff of numbers to draw on a Segway. Yes, I did fall off showing off my mad Segway skillz and yes, the phrase, "Hey, you probably shouldn't try to jump over a curb with one of these things," was used and just so you know, jumping a curb with one of those things IS awesome and was totally worth being reprimanded for.

During our mid-tour lunch break, my Segway love drank coffee and smoked cigarettes with that irresistable Euro grace that only makes me spill more food on myself than I usually do. There's something about people with a natural ability to do things with ease that makes me more awkward, more clumsy, more sweaty and stuttery and out of place than ever. Just as I had written myself off as uncharmingly freakish, the boyfriend, the real one, came home and asked, "hey, do you want to spend some time tonight slow dancing in our tiny strip of a kitchen?" And I blushed. And I smiled. And I took his hand and hummed the first few bars of a song I heard long ago.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Sex in the City of Love

Paris truly is the city of love. You can't walk down the street without running into at least one couple doing what my 8th grade science teacher would describe as "fluid swapping." To celebrate the fact that France is officially the sexiest state in the world, I've spent months compiling enough data to construct this professionally-made, incredibly scientific chart of the distribution of sexual activity in Paris. (Note: click chart for larger view)

Chart A:


As you can see from Chart A, most people are getting tang around here. After all, I do live in a city with more than one thousand casts of penises. Chart B (also very scientific, also professionally made) will illustrate how I, current mullet and all, fit in with the sexy side of this city.

Chart B:


What is it about being in a long term relationship that kills off any hope of getting any? When exactly does it happen? You're not any less hot...they're not any less hot...if anything, you're both probably more cleaned up, more confident, more put together than you ever were when you were single. Then one day you wake up and realize that you've seen more nudity in dubbed reruns of Matlock than you have in real life for the past six months. At that point, you may as well sign up for jazzercise, buy a place in Naples, Florida, and regularly start using the word "sodey" instead of Coke because baby, you're about six steps from the emotional grave.

According to my friend David (whose personality can best be summed up by simply telling you that he once willing gave himself a haircut known as "the mullet-hawk"), beyond the age of 17, girls (particularly of the non-blonde, non-cheerleading variety) become decreasingly hot. At that rate, I figure I've got about six months to turn things around before I start looking like Bea Arthur. More to come (tee hee) later...I've got some stuff to do...in the other room...nude.

Saturday, March 19, 2005

Lonely Planet says, "In a street where each restaurant is more original than the next, Tana takes the cake. Customers are greeted by rather sexy Thai 'waitresses' and immediately plunged into a highly exotic world where the extravagant 'hostesses' are equal to the dish on offer..."

Chris says, "In a street where each restaurant is more original than the next, Tana looks surprisingly ordinary except for the wicked cool lighting inside. Don't come expecting a restaurant with a sketchy massage parlor in the back. Customers may completely stutter through the ordering process upon the realization that the rather sexy 'waitress' both has a penis and is MUCH more of a woman than the customer will ever be. Customers may sound like morons when they say things like "Me wants a thing to eat that is taken spicy. Do you have somethings with this character?" and customers may look like morons when they try to keep a straight face as the waitress with huge hoo-hoos says, "Vous preferez le boeuf?" in a timbre matched only by Ving Rhames.

Extravagant 'hostesses' may or may not grab the hips of said customers' boyfriend and boyfriend may or may not come out of the restaurant wearing a bizarrely cool smile and immediately say, "Well, I can scratch that off the list of things to do before I die." Customers may or may not feel awkward asking the Thai version of Bob Villa wearing four inch heels for a few napkins to help clean up water customers' nephew spilled on the people next to them, people who probably knew the waitresses were men when entering the restaurant instead of midway through the meal. Customers may leave Tana's highly exotic world feeling clumsy and stupid, wishing they could go back and prove their ability hang with drag queens and eat a meal with grace."

Friday, March 11, 2005

Man oh man have these blog posts sucked lately or what? When work clears up, I promise guys, there will be tales of people pushing trash cans at other people and how I found out what the word for urine is in French.

Here are some good reads to tide you over in the mean time:

Sellin It
How to Blog
The Contest is Over
Steve, Don't Eat It!
Life is a Funny Thing
James McCabe's Essay on the Spotted Owl

Saturday, March 05, 2005

I’m sitting at the computer…a loaner computer because ours melted itself in a dramatic death scene paralleled only by that of Olivia whatsherface in the Romeo and Juliet. Our computer functions as in, I can type on it, and I guess do some other stuff, but it has no internet. I know for a fact that I was born, and in fact lived many years, before Al Gore blessed us with this invention; however, I’ve become so dependent on it, all I can do now is look at the machine I’m currently typing on skeptically and think, “I guess it could hold papers down or something, you know, if it was windy.” As far as I’m concerned, a computer sans internet, no, sans high-speed internet, is an item that belongs under a glass case two stops over from the Neanderthal exhibit. I’m looking at this thing which in terms of timeline is not actually that old, and I can only imagine its place in a world where butter was churned by hand and witches were burned at stakes. “I bet a Pentium II was the kind of computer the slaves used.”

The concept that there was a time when people lived their entire lives without ever doing a single shitty office job involving staring at a computer all day long is fascinating and almost frightening to me. How did they do their banking? How did they watch DVDs? Where did they find their porn? Who was there to offer them low, low interest rate mortgages? What kind of sick, twisted society did we evolve from? The idea that you can find low-brow humor anywhere in this world outside of the internet is mind-blowing. If I ever procreate, my kids will undoubtedly ask Mommy what life was like before the flickering altar of technology existed and to that, I’ll simply have to say, “Don’t call it ‘life’ honey, it was something else entirely.”

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Well, it's 1AM...I think I'll get in bed and get lulled to sleep by the tranquil, comforting sound of a hoard of bees. The people at getrelaxed.com clearly haven't seen Candyman, or as I like to call it, "the movie that freaked me out so badly I had to call my mother to come pick me up from Lisa Levi's 12th birthday party/sleepover." Mad Respec' goes to the person who can be relaxed by the sweet melody of construction, tigers, or the creepy "sleeping baby" that actually sounds like an asthmatic geriatric. (The accompanying pictures of sleeping/potential dead children make me want to sit in fetal position, repeating the word 'redrum' for the rest of the night).

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

Has America gone nuts?