31 July 2007

It looks like this is goodbye.



Farewell, KG. I hope you'll understand that I won't be able to watch you. For a while, anyway. It'll just hurt too much. Thanks for all the good times, and for making the not-so-good times bearable.

To Kevin McHale and Glen Taylor: Fuck you. How could you screw up the only good thing that ever happened to this franchise? I hope you both contract a particularly virulent and drug resistant strain of gonorrhea. The Timberwolves are dead to me.

To Kirk Hinrich: You and your Bulls have been promoted from my second-favorite team to Favorite Team status. Congrats!

30 July 2007

With friends like these ...

A few days (or a week or two? I can't really remember) ago, I was hanging out with the World's Worst Wing Woman. She said to me, quite out of the blue, "You need to have your life fall apart so I can be there to pick up all the pieces for you."

Um, what?

"You need to have some major life crisis, like when you broke up with Whatshisfuckingface, so I can be there for you to help you through it."

Are you kidding me? Who wants something like that to happen to someone you consider one of your best friends? No matter that it was just a year ago that did happen. I don't want to go through something like that again. Certainly not now and preferably not ever.

I know she's been going through a lot of stuff recently and perhaps would welcome the distraction from what's going on in her own life. But damn. Can't you just be glad for me that my life is on a relatively even keel at the moment? God forbid I'm content with my life for a few months.

Sometimes I really have to wonder if being friends with her is worth it.

27 July 2007

Pub crawlin'.

I'm planning a pub crawl. I've had this wild hair up my ass all summer to have a pub crawl. A few months ago, I'd thought it would be cool to do one a month in different neighborhoods -- Uptown, Northeast, maybe a light rail pub crawl. I'm not sure why the mild interest I've had over the years suddenly transformed itself into something resembling an obsession this year, but it did. And I can no longer ignore it.

As it turns out, The Social Worker thought we should have an end-of-summer bash. I figured this would be the time to unleash the pub crawl idea. And it was! Actually, I'd told Christine about it a couple of weeks ago and she was totally down with the idea. This is a very good thing, because we're doing it the day before her big milestone birthday.

The Social Worker, Sweetness and I were at Lyle's last night for an impromptu happy hour and were discussing possible themes for the pub crawl. Since it's Christine's birthday and she'd talked about wanting to do a Star Wars-themed birthday, that's an option. Sweetness pointed out that 1977 was a big year for punk rock, so it could be a punk rock birthday/pub crawl. We talked about just making the theme "1977," too.

I don't really know about the need for a theme. Is it necessary? Do we need some identifying characteristic like t-shirts or buttons? I asked Brian for a bit of advice and he did mention the buttons/t-shirts. The Social Worker mentioned t-shirts, too. She had them made for The Rocker's 30th birthday, which turned out to be pretty cool. I just don't know, though.

I'm kind of anti-everyone looking the same. Plus, I fear I'm just not quite that organized. Or creative. It's not that I'm disorganized. I love putting shit into spreadsheets. I've done spreadsheets for drink specials in Uptown on given nights during the week when we're doing a mini bar crawl. I keep a spreadsheet with detailed concert information on upcoming shows in Minneapolis. I've already spent a good bit of time putting most of the Northeast bars I know into a Google map. After I did all that, I found out that you can't print the maps you create in Google. Awesome! That's so totally helpful, Google.

The big question is: which bars do we hit? Really, it isn't the end of the pub crawl that's the problem. It just makes sense to end in the Mac's Industrial/Times/Nye's/Keegan's/Whitey's/Conga/Bulldog NE area. The start of the crawl is what's vexing me. Do we start it up at Psycho Suzi's and hit Gabby's/Gasthof/Mayslack's/331 Club? Or do we start at the Vegas Lounge/Spring Street/Legends so we can hit the U Otter Stop Inn? I'm a bit more partial to the latter, I guess. I really want to include the U Otter Stop Inn and Legends reminds me of the ex-OC. Besides, we've been to Psycho Suzi's a few times this summer.

So, dear readers, do you have any advice for me? Want to join us? Am I forgetting something major?

26 July 2007

When do I get paid back for all the presents I've given?

Why is it that I keep writing about wedding-related stuff after reading about it in Jezebel? Okay, well this would mark the second time I've done it. And Christ almighty, how could I not write horrible marriage proposal ideas?

It was this piece about there not being bridal showers in England that got me to thinking. This isn't some new thought I've had, or anything. It pops up every time I'm invited to a bridal or baby shower.

A few years ago, I was on my way to a baby or bridal shower with my mom and sister, bitching and complaining about it as I usually do. My mom insists that I go to these family showers. I can often find an excuse not to go, but sometimes I have to break down and do it. So, I asked her why I had to go. She said because when I get married and have kids they'll come to my showers and give me shit.

Oh, but there's the rub! Now, I've learned that saying "I'm never going to do X," is stupid because it will invariably come back to bite me in the ass. So, I'll say it this way: I am 99.9 percent certain that I don't want kids. And I just can't see myself getting married. So, where do I get my payback? Where do I get my reimbursement for all the showers, weddings, baptisms and bachelorette parties I've gone to and for which I've given gifts? Can I have a "pimp my kitchen" party? What about an "I need new shit for my bedroom" shower? (Please note: I would totally never do that.)

Let's not gloss over the fact that attending such a momentous event (or precursor to a momentous event) solely to make sure they do the same for you is pretty shitty reason to do it in the first place. "Yeah, I'm just here giving you these dish towels and kitchen utensils so you give me shit when it's my turn to get married."

What about the person doing the inviting? I've heard many times that you invite people to your wedding hoping to get gifts/cash from them that are the equivalent of the money you spent feeding them and getting them drunk at the reception. Seriously? Does that mean I can stop going to weddings and then I don't have to give a gift because, hey! Think of all that money you're saving by me not being there and eating overpriced, crapass food and drinking free, shitty keg beer. Let's call it a wash.

Besides, I hate weddings. Should the planets align, Hell freeze over, pigs fly and all that and I find someone who would put up with my shit who also does not make me more insane than I already am and we get hitched? I'm eloping.

Worse than weddings, though, is the sheer torture of wedding and baby showers. Dear God almighty, I would rather gnaw off a limb than go to one of those. "Ooooh, a Diaper Genie!" "Good Lord, why would anyone buy towels in that color? Oh, they were on your registry? That's the color of the bathroom in your new house? Well, I'm sure it looks much different on the walls." Unless there is booze. I can fake interest if there is booze. Sometimes I might even enjoy myself. But God help you if you ask me to play a stupid game. All the booze in the world can't save you then.

24 July 2007

Back to the world.

The class reunion wasn't terrible. As I'd figured, the dreading was all for nothing. I don't know why I do that. Still, I felt kind of like an outsider (not unlike how I felt in high school). I was damn near the only person there who was single and/or childless.

And Lord knows I do not want to be married nor do I want to have kids. But that doesn't stop me from feeling like I'm doing something wrong or weird when all of these other people I've known for years and years are doing that. Then again, none of them can understand how I could not only tolerate living in Minneapolis, but actually enjoy it. Shit, I revel in it.

Going home totally fucks with my head.

I feel like I'm all kinds of messed up at the moment. On Friday, as I was on the bus on the way home from work, I saw one of my many former bus crushes with what appeared to be a girlfriend. Now, I remember that my bus crush on him ended rather abruptly -- when I heard his voice. Dear, sweet Christ. He had the most annoying voice ever. And so I don't know why seeing him with a girlfriend made me feel like the world's most undateable loser, but it did. Why it's still weighing on my brain today is beyond me. It's probably all hormonal and will pass, but that doesn't make it any less sucky.

Side note: I managed to finish Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows without anyone ruining it for me. I feel like that's an accomplishment. I don't think I'm quite as sad about it being over as I thought I'd be. Besides, I'm going to jump right back in to The Order of the Phoenix after seeing the movie on Friday. I won't say another word, lest I ruin it for someone else. And I don't want to be that asshole.

20 July 2007

Old classmates and Harry Potter.

My class reunion is tomorrow. This also happens to be the day that Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows will arrive at my doorstep. And I'll be down on the farm.

Months ago, when I learned of the book's release date, I mentally crossed the weekend off so I could spend it holed up, reading in my apartment. When our class reunion discussions started, we were talking about next weekend. Perfect! I can go home for that and Dad's birthday. I love killing two birds with one stone when it comes to going home. Sure, it kind of conflicted with the release of The Simpsons movie, but I could hit that Thursday at midnight or on Friday.

Everything was coming up Milhouse.

Oh, but no. We couldn't do it the last weekend in July for some reason I cannot recall at the moment. Fuck. I can't tell Oldest Friend and The Stylist that this weekend was a no-go for me because I wanted to read a freakin' book. That would just not do.

After tomorrow, I'm going to have to avoid all media until I get a chance to finish the book,lest some fucktard ruin it for me. And there certainly seems to be a shitload of people out there hell-bent on ruining the surprises of this book for millions of people. What the fuck is wrong with them? I mean, really. Just what kind of asshole douchefucker do you have to be to want to ruin the outcome of a book?

Don't get me wrong -- if I was one of the people who had received a copy in the mail earlier this week, I would have called in sick to work and read that fucker in a heartbeat. However, I certainly wouldn't have given anything away to anyone. I swear to God, if someone ruins the outcome of the book for me, I will kick him or her in the crotch in front of their family. And probably punch them in the throat, too.

So, I'll spend the rest of today and tomorrow dreading my class reunion. Yes, I'm a nerd for going to my class reunion. (Yes, I'm a nerd for freaking out about not being able to read Harry Potter the day it comes out, too.) I'm an even bigger nerd for helping Oldest Friend and The Stylist plan it. No, I didn't love high school. I hated it as much as anyone else. However, I'm from a really small town and went to a very small school, so I've known a lot of these people my entire life. Oddly enough, my relationship with many of these people mirrors my relationship with my siblings. When we were all younger and in school, we fought like cats and dogs. As we age, and especially after I left home, our relationships have improved dramatically. It's the same with the people I didn't get along with in school. Some of them are completely cool people now.

And for all the dreading and whining I'm doing, I know I'll end up having a blast once I get there and have a couple of drinks. I'm really, really disappointed that Best Friend Ever won't be there, though. Sure, the mix CDs I made will probably be dissed to no end; most of the same music was in high school. But guess what fuckers? I helped plan this thing, so we'll listen to the music I brought. Mwahahahahahahahaha. There are many advantages to being a super nerd.

19 July 2007

An open letter.

To the guys who use the weight machines at the Bally's in St. Louis Park:

Please bring a towel when you work out so you can wipe down your machines, you sweaty, hairy, smelly fucksticks.

The last thing I want to see when I go to use the hamstring curl machine is a greasy imprint of your face on the bench.

Thanks in advance.

Kisses,
Jess

18 July 2007

Baby, you can't drive my car. I'm not sure I can, either.

With my leaking radiator looming over my head, I've been thinking a lot about what I'm going to do when the Achieva finally dies. Okay, not a lot, really. But the matter crosses my mind from time to time. She has a lot of miles, but is apparently in decent shape. And I don't drive it a whole lot these days.

I've thought about doing Hour Car. It does work out to be cheaper. I think I've even mentioned that to my family. Being from a rural area, we all had it ingrained into us to be dependent on vehicles. God, I freaked out when I was carless my freshman year of college. Even a couple of years ago, the thought of not having my car for a day or two would send me into a mild panic. Now? It sits for days at a time.

My brother said, "What if there is some kind of emergency?" Dude, I cannot live my life or make my transportation choices based on the fact that there might be an emergency in the suburbs or at the farm at some point in time. Besides, I have friends. I'm sure someone would take pity on my situation. There are even these things called "cabs" or "taxis" one can take instead of using the bus or taking one's own vehicle. Really, it's a marvelous world in which we live.

The Sister said the same thing as The Brother did. Then she said she'd be forced to find someone else to be her emergency contact. Well, if you must. My heart will break and all that, but I'll manage to survive somehow. Five minutes later, she tells me that she actually changed her emergency contact person when I started taking the bus to work. AWESOME!

Don't get me wrong, I like being able to take my car to the gym or being able to run all my errands at once and haul bags upon bags from the grocery store, Target and whatever other places I've visited. But it's not like it's an absolute necessity. I'm driving less and less all the time. Gas is expensive. Insurance is expensive. Driving is bad for the environment. It's impossible for me to drive drunk if I'm on the bus or in a cab.

The thing that weighs on me most about the whole car issue, though, revolves around my family. Jesus H. Christ, I'm 33 years old. I shouldn't feel like I'm doing something bad by considering giving up my car once I've finally driven it into the ground. So, they'll have to work a little harder to see me. I'm okay with that.

I'm not sure what's with all my unnecessary worrying this week. I have no issues with boys because I have zero interest in them at the moment, so my silly fretting has to find a different outlet? I'm momentarily over the whole dog thing. The car thing can combine with my excitement/dread about my class reunion on Saturday. Wheeeeeeee!

16 July 2007

Rakim drives my bus.



Well, a guy who looks frighteningly like him anyway. Seriously, it's kinda creepy. Alas, he doesn't sound like Rakim. I've thus far resisted the urge to ask him what Eric B. is up to these days.

Dog-crazy.

I've wanted one for a long time. We always had dogs on the farm. Something like 13 over the 18 years I lived at home. There were strays. We took in my aunt's dog because she was moving and the dog couldn't go with her (Lady Chatterly). Some of them ran away (Snoopy, the sheep dog). At least one was stolen (Eddie?). One got pseudorabies and died. I really only remember one being hit by a car (Barkely). There were the three Irish setters we had at one time when I was a wee girl.

There was Pepper, who had to go to my grandparents' place because he would jump on my sister and I and knock us over. He would scratch us. When he was living at my grandparents', he got away one day and another farmer shot him. Pepper was the only dog who was really mine. My parents gave him to me for my fifth birthday. He was black with white spots. I remember thinking after I impulsively named him Pepper that I should have named him Salt and Pepper, what with the white spots on his black coat. Hey, I was five. I was dumb.

Yesterday, at the Bastille Day block party, I was particularly gushy about all the dogs I saw. Carrie said that I just need to go ahead and get one already. I don't think I'm ready. She thinks I'm never going to be more ready than I am now. But really, I'm gone for about nine hours a day, for one thing. I'm just not sure that I have time for a dog. The last thing I would want to do is get a dog and not be able to give it the love and attention it deserves.

Plus, I'm not even sure I could have one in my apartment. I suppose I could ask. What if they say I can have one? Can I afford it? Damn, it's like $200 to adopt a dog.

I'm terrified by the idea of being responsible for another being. Could I handle it? All those years of being around dogs and I feel like I haven't the slightest idea of what goes into dog ownership. Would I be a terrible dog owner? And even though I dealt with losing many dogs in my formative years, I'm terrified that I would get a dog and you know, one day it would die and I would be devastated.

Plus, The Social Worker would never come to my house again. I can't have that.

And let me just state again, that I DON'T EVEN KNOW IF MY APARTMENT ALLOWS DOGS. There are two next door in a very similar building, though. And I know my management company is ferret-friendly. Gross. Still, I'm spending all this time (and have spent a great deal of time already) going over and over this in my mind. Because that's the kind of girl I am. I freak out well in advance of things. I like to be prepared.

13 July 2007

eHarmony thinks I'm too picky.

No, they didn't reject me. But really, they probably should have. I've gotten two (2!) potential matches since my experiment started. One was a 46-year-old guy who mentioned exercise and physical fitness roughly a billion times in his profile. If I want a gym rat, there are plenty AT MY GYM. I can talk to them for free! The other was 30, doesn't read anything besides internet articles and shorter than me. In my experience, guys on the interweb who say they're just a smidge taller than me (5'10" or 5'11") often aren't telling the truth. If I'm wearing my Converse All-Stars and at 5'9", I'm looking down at you; honey, you are not 5'10". This guy was 5'8". I imagine I could pick him up and carry him around like a wee baby.

Anyway, eHarmony sent me an e-mail today or yesterday or sometime. They said:

If you don't have a match at this point in your eHarmony membership, this is because we haven't yet found someone who is a terrific fit for you. But take heart: our system is always automatically searching for matches for you, and over 10,000 people are joining eHarmony each day.

Newsflash! I don't think either of the people thus far would have been terrific. Mediocre might have been pushing it.

Oh, but wait. There's more!

You might want to review and reconsider your Match Settings. These are your criteria for geographical location, race, religious denomination, whether a person has children, etc. If you are open to broadening some of these criteria, especially geographical location, the likelihood increases that we can find you matches who are not only highly compatible with you, but also meet your Match Settings criteria.

Yeah, because your feelings on whether or not you'd date outside your race or whether your strict Baptist upbringing would allow you to date an atheist are things that are going to change overnight. Right.

This experiment is pretty lame. I will probably give it up soon. If only I could get someone to sponsor a membership for me so I could ... I don't know. Or not. That sounds like it could be treading dangerously close to some sort of romantic comedy plot. I think not.

I look forward to another anonymous commenter with an eHarmony success story. The Social Worker and I were talking the other night about how eHarmony and other places have employees whose job it is to troll the web to find opportunities to post blog comments or message board posts touting the service.

12 July 2007

Is it sabotage?

I have this friend. She shall remain nameless for the purposes of this entry. We've been friends for several years; probably around seven or so. I've said a million times to many people that she is the worst wing woman ever. EVER.

Sunday night, I was talking to a friend who happened to be out the night of my second "date" with Detlef. He met Detlef and the World's Worst Wing Woman. It wasn't necessarily anything specific he said that made the light bulb go off in my head, I guess. But for whatever reason, that conversation really made me think.

I know that I told someone after that night the World's Worst Wing Woman had actually been pretty good. But why did I say that? Because she left us alone in The Clown Lounge so I could engage in a public make out session? Gee thanks. You know how I love public displays of affection. And it's even better when it's drunken making out.

What I conveniently forgot was how she kept feeding me drinks (that I inexplicably paid for) after I said I couldn't get drunk because Detlef was coming. I also conveniently forgot her stomping off in a huff to the bus stop because she couldn't get a cab (she is insistent that she should be able to hail a cab in this city and therefore refuses to call for one) and wouldn't come to Detlef's place with us to call and wait for a cab. Yeah, it's better to wait for an hour alone at the bus stop on University than to drive back into Minneapolis and wait for a cab at someone's house. I also conveniently forgot that after we went back to get her, she insisted that Detlef drive us back to my house so she could get her car. Even though he didn't really want to drive all the way back to my house because he'd been drinking. She didn't really care.

So, really, she didn't do a good job being wing woman at all. Granted, it was ultimately my fault that I got kinda drunk. And there was nothing that could be done about Detlef's lackluster kissing and the disappointment I felt upon meeting Detlef Jr. for the first time. The whole thing was probably doomed anyway, but she really didn't help matters at all.

Now, I could have explained her behavior away by taking into consideration the great deal of stress under which she found herself. I'm not sure how that would explain her behavior in years previous, though.

She has literally dragged me away from a guys while I was talking to them. On more than one occasion. I remember one time, it was the night after Thanksgiving I think. We were at The Local, sitting at the bar and having some drinks. Some guy came up to talk to her. I participated in the conversation a bit at first and then fell back. During this time, a guy sat down next to me. We eventually struck up a conversation. In the meantime, the guy the World's Worst Wing Woman had be talking to had left. Now that he was gone and I was deep in conversation with someone else, she was ready to go. She announced that it was time to go and we had to go NOW. I barely had a chance to say goodbye to the guy. As we were getting on the bus to head back to her place, she asked "Did you get his number?" Yeah, because I totally had time to do that while you were pulling me toward the door. I hardly said goodbye.

She has pushed guys away from me on a dance floor. She is rude to people around us at concerts. She's been rude to guys who have talked to me or us when we're out. She's always ready to leave if I'm talking to someone and she's not getting all the attention. And when she's ready to you, brother, you'd better be ready to go as well.

Is it just part of her personality? Is she intentionally cock-blocking dudes who many want to talk to me? What's the female equivalent to cock-blocking? Is she cooter-blocking me? I don't know. I'm not sure I care.

The problem is that often I don't realize it's happening while she's doing it. The realization comes later. Or if I do realize it, I'm not going to be a bitch and make some scene because I'm not ready to leave and she is. "Sit her down and talk to her about it," you say. I could do that. Part of me thinks she'll say that I'm crazy and imagining things. The other part thinks she'll get all defensive and freak out. I'm a big fan of avoiding conflict. Thankfully, she's about to become very busy and very broke, so I doubt she'll be going out with me much. Problems sometimes resolve on their own. Still, though, she's not meeting the next guy I date until things are firmly cemented to withstand her shenanigans.

09 July 2007

Like a moth to the flame.

Freaks on the interwebs are drawn to me. I do not understand it. I don't post on any super-bizarre fetish boards or hang out in weird sex chatrooms. I comment on blogs and post on a fantasy football board and a music board.

I have a basic profile that goes along with my Yahoo username. Keep in mind this is the same username I've had since I finished undergrad 11 years ago. I did update the profile probably in 2004 when I was involved in some Yahoo groups in the run up to the election. I think I added a link to my blog when I started that, but really that's it.

So, why do I have random weirdos IMing me out of the blue? Don't get me wrong, it's not that it happens constantly. It seems to go in bursts here and there. Maybe it has something to do with the phases of the moon. It just seems that it happens a little too often.

Take for example, Cast Fetish Guy. I arrived home from yoga and errands a couple of Saturdays ago and opened the computer to find a message from some dude saying "I think you'd make a great roller girl!" Apparently, this was in response to a comment I'd made on a post from Big Blue Monkey at I Dislike Your Favorite Team.

Um, okay. Thanks, dude. I didn't want to seem super rude and be all, "Who the fuck are you?" So, I chatted with the guy for a bit before I had to make banana bread or something. I can't remember. I had shit to do, anyway. He only seemed mildly creepy at that point. I failed to block him from my messenger, unfortunately. At some point later, it came out that he has some sort of cast fetish and wanted to put me in a cast and there was something about pantyhose and crutches or a wheelchair.

What the fuck? Why would anyone think I was into something like that? How do you get into something like that? Also, I totally told Big Blue Monkey about this. But you can't fault the lads at IDYFT for having some freaks among their readers. I mean, I not only read, but comment fairly frequently.

Apparently, it says something about me doing yoga in my Yahoo profile. I think it says it in my Blogger profile. That has apparently brought a couple of crazies out. Just this weekend, some alleged yoga instructor was trying to get me to do some stomach-expanding breathing thing. I played along for a while ("Oh, yeah, I'm totally doing it"), but Jesus H. Christ, like I'm going to sit here and gulp down air so my stomach expands to the size of a basketball. I really have better things to do with my Sunday.

Then there's the "How high can you kick?" guy. I think he's IMed me more than once. Why the fuck would I know how high I can kick? High enough to kick you in your stupid face? Is that an appropriate response?

What about the guy who was stuck in the airport during a storm this winter, but wanted to go back to his hotel and strip for me on his webcam? Hahahahahahahahaha. Are you fucking kidding me?

Oh! The dude in London who IMed me and said, "I stumbled upon your LiveJournal." Really? Because I'm not sure I could even find my LiveJournal anymore. I'm not sure anyone but a few friends ever had access to it, anyway. Oh, and I've not written in it in years. Oddly enough, in checking my SiteMeter stats at the same time, I found someone in London who'd done a blog search for the term "I have huge tits" which led him to my blog. Guess where that conversation went?

Why me? Is it just that I'm in the wrong place at the wrong time like when I answered the phone one Saturday in college when I was working at Bakers Shoes and had a conversation with the Burgeoning Tranny?

The Burgeoning Tranny had some questions about heels. You see, he was just starting to cross dress and was wondering if maybe he should work into a stiletto or just go for it. I told him that I could barely walk in stilettos, so maybe he'd want to start with a two- or three-inch pump. Burgeoning Tranny was terribly thankful for my help and then ...

Burgeoning Tranny: "You seem really open-minded. Do you think I could ask you a personal question?"
Me: *red lights flashing* *sirens* "Um, I guess."
BT: "Would you be offended if you saw a cross dresser at a bar?"
Me: "Of course not."
BT: "Okay, would you be offended if you were at a bar and a man in drag sat next to you?"
Me: "Not at all."
BT: "What if he talked to you; would that offend you?"
Me: "Nope."
BT: "What if your boyfriend liked to cross dress? Would you be offended by that?"
Me: "Um, I really don't know. Probably not? I'm really sorry, but we only have one line here and we have a credit card sale, so I really have to get off the phone. Have a good day!"

I told my coworkers that if anyone came in looking for Jessica, she went home and I was now to be called Nikki. Thank God we didn't have name tags. I had another telephone with a beginning cross dresser when I worked at Dayton's a few years later, but I was such an old pro at it by that time that I can't really remember that conversation.

Maybe freaks are just drawn to me in general. Oh well.

Will eHarmony reject me, too?

I read this story in the Strib over the weekend (notice it is not actually from the Strib, but something they culled off the wire services -- that's a great commitment to local news): Even eHarmony said no. It got me to wondering whether I'd get any matches on eHarmony.

I've heard all the stories about it being full of Jebus freaks and all that. Their TV spots make me want to retch. A friend in another state used it and said it was slim pickin's. Naturally, I assumed I would be a colossal failure on the site.

Since the story was fresh in my mind and I wasn't quite ready for bed last night, seeing an eHarmony ad on the tube prompted me to give it a try. Like Rick Gershman, I was begging for a swift and painless end to the questioning. Seriously. So many questions. I can't say I answered them all that carefully and I'm not sure about the honesty level, because I'd had a few drinks at a show earlier and may have leaned a little farther to one side or the other. But still, like Gershman I rated the religious stuff very low and the sex stuff very high.

My verdict?

Our matching system was not able to find any new matches for you right now.

However, we are always automatically searching for new matches for you. Several thousand people join eHarmony each day and our matching system evaluates each one of them within 24 hours to see if they are a great match for you.

We will notify you via email when matches are found or you can check your My Matches page at eHarmony whenever you like.

Our matching criteria, based on the 29 dimensions of compatibility, are extremely strict, and are what makes eHarmony a unique and powerful tool in finding your soul mate. We will keep searching and hope to find some wonderful matches for you soon.

So, I'm not a hopeless enough case that they just outright tell me to get lost? Quite frankly, I was hoping to get the same message as Gershman. I was hoping to get rejected outright. Damn. They might find someone for me someday. I should wait to see how long it takes. Truth be told, though, I'll forget/get bored in a couple of days and not bother to check the e-mail I used.

Also, what the fuck, Blogger? I can't get into the "Title" field to create a title for this post.

05 July 2007

Obviously, I need to work a little harder.

Online Dating

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

gay (4x) zombie (3x) hell (2x) pussy (1x)

03 July 2007

777-9311

That's right bitches. Morris Day and The motherfucking Time are playing tonight at the Taste of Minnesota. I'm totally stoked. I haven't seen them since ... 2004, I think, when they played Peavey Plaza before the Twins started in the playoffs that year. Oh yeah, Tapes n' Tapes are playing later.

I don't think I've been to the Taste since it was moved to Harriet Island. I believe the last musical act I went there to see was Blondie. And we also saw Chubby Checker selling food of some nature. Then we saw him get up on stage with the band and do "The Twist." All in all, it was pretty bitchin'.

I finally busted out my "meh." flask for today. I took a picture with my phone, but my phone sucks and won't send the picture to my e-mail and I have no idea where my online photo album is. T-Mobile's website sucks big, hairy donkey balls, too, which is not helping matters any.

Oh well. Because I've not been able to find a wee funnel anywhere, I had to improvise when pouring Maker's Mark into the flask last night. Tinfoil and a spouted measuring cup did the trick, until it overflowed. I feel so bad for wasting good bourbon.

The MNspeak thing was fun last night, even if Christine wanted to leave early. It was kind of odd to meet people who read this here blog. I mean, I know people read it; I see the stats and have conversations with them in the comments. But at the same time, to meet complete strangers who know probably almost as much about my sex life (if they read that stuff) as my good friends do, is just a wee bit strange. Yet terribly cool at the same time.

So, hi to any of you reading this right now. Or whenever it is that you're reading it. I suppose you can't really be reading it right now because I'm just typing it right now and I'm the only person who can see it.

Did I mention Morris Day and The Time?

02 July 2007

No one likes a stuffy bus, right?

Seriously, who wants to ride on a non-air conditioned bus in the summer with all the windows closed? My fellow riders on the 4B in the mornings, it would seem.

Come on, people. The bus is gross enough as it is. We don't need to sit there in the still, stale, hot air and feel like we are slowly suffocating and if we don't stop and at least open the door soon I'M GOING TO SCREAM.

I love riding in a vehicle with the windows down. Yeah, it messes up my hair, but what can you do? Fresh air is awesome. My luck being what it is, I end up with a seat on on the bus by a window that doesn't open. Then comes the struggle -- do I get up and try another seat with another window to see if it will open? How hard do I try to get the window open? How many different seats can I try without looking like some kind of freak? Should I just sit here and suffer? I CAN'T BREATHE.

I'm glad I've become a major bus rider. My car is leaking antifreeze like that's its job. I knew this day was coming. Right before I started commuting to work on the bus I'd taken my car in to get some work done and I was told that I had a small hole in my manifold gasket. It was fine at the time and didn't leak enough to cause a problem other than requiring me to put antifreeze in my car a couple times a year.

But either something else is wrong, or the hole finally got big enough that I need to take care of the problem. And it ain't a cheap problem. If I remember correctly, this is going to cost $700-$800. *cries* Looks like I'm going to be grounded for July. Possibly August, as well. Just when I think I've got a little extra cash laying around, something comes along and snatches it up.

For whatever reason, I'm really not super stressed out about this. No, I'm not drunk. Not at the moment, anyway. Car issues usually have me ready to start cutting. I guess now that I know I can get around pretty damn easily on the bus it's not as much of an issue. Plus, it's summer, so walking is a very reasonable option.

I have a deck and lots of booze at my house and a TV to watch the Twins. What else do I need? Music? Check and fucking check. It's sure as hell not $3 to play 10 songs at my house. *cough*Herkimer*cough* Being grounded as an adult (especially when you ground yourself) really isn't a bad thing.

The impending grounding won't stop me from hitting up Psycho Suzi's tonight for the MNspeak gathering with Christine, though.