cubemate is working on a jingle and has yet to master the use of a private conference room and/or headphones.
it's not even a jingle, really. it's a 2 second sound attached to a particular action on a website. not sure of the technical term.
the three hundred thousand dollar auditory annoyance? around how much the client's paying for it.
lolcats + post secret = lolsecretz, the most glorious thing the internet has ever invented.
here's creature, making his debut.
i highly urge you to check it out. there is no better way to spend a monday.
I'm in love with you, Milla. I started life hating you, because you were on the cover of 17 magazine and you were only 11 years old.
At that time I wanted more than anything to be a model. Everyone said "You're too young," which is code for, "You're not so ugly that the notion is laughable, but you're no 6 foot tall 89 lb clear-skinned doe-eyed ball of sex, either."
I took their comments at face value and thought age was the only thing holding me back. Seeing miss Milla on the June 1988 covered signaled the end of a dream.
Anyway, all is forgiven.
My love for you started building with movies 3 through 1, but now.
NOW NOW NOW NOW.
Oh my God, Milla. YOU LOVE KILLING. I really believe this. You are pathological. Normally you can't act worth a fuck but in this movie you really seem like you enjoying maiming people.
Is there something going on in your personal life? A yeast infection? A divorce?
Whatever you're doing, don't change it. About 47 minutes in there was a point where I squinted my eyes and I swear I saw Scarface.
Do you understand what that means? Do you understand that for movie killings this is the highest compliment possible?
I want to work for Umbrella Corp, just to be close to you. As Official Event Coordinator, I would hire Rihanna to play Umbrella at the Fall 2007 "Up With Zombies!" sales conference.
You would like that, Milla. I know you would.
sometimes you poop and it looks like letters.
letters i have pooped:
O
I
J (can count as candy cane during the holidays)
U
H (slightly crooked)
W (almost)
i think z would have to be considered the most elusive. that's something you'd have to devote your whole life.
the TP Saver Toilet Paper Lock helps prevent toilet tissue waste by babies, toddlers, and pets. more importantly, it "reduces the risk of paper ingestion." get yours now.
attack of the klon
i'm not supposed to be looking at online personals because aaron bet me i couldn't go for 30 days without going on a date and i'm going to try to take him up on his bet.
i don't normally do stuff like that. take people up on their bets. either i do something and don't tell anybody i'm going to do it until it's done (like when i quit smoking) or i decide i won't do that thing and fuck you and your stupid bet. fuck your march madness brackets and your intermural volleyball team too.
i haven't slept more than 5 hours a night in i don't know how long and my psoriasis is coming back (how disgusting is this post? feces AND skin conditions. SOMEBODY FUCK ME!) and i've gotten sick twice in the last month. anxiety/stress manifesting itself in all this physical junk. so i went to see the psych the other day. he gave me klonopin.
one thing i've noticed about captain klon is that he makes you mellow while reading personals ads.
like i can read 'i am 49 and pock-marked and overweight and ugly and have a picture of me in a scuba diving suit and another one of me holding a bud lite and wearing a novelty foam visor but i'm looking for a 20-something female SLENDER AND PETITE ONLY!'
before i would read that and start writing a letter to the vagina governor.
now i just go huh. how 'bout that. good for that guy. and move on.
ROMAN NUMERAL NUMBER ONE
Q: Is there anyone hotter than a Convoy-era Kris Kristofferson?
A: No.
ROMAN NUMERAL NUMBER TWO
My friend Stephen and his brother Joel are competing in this batshit crazy contest sponsored by Delta.
It's down to the last two teams and they need your VOTES in order to win the grand prize of 1 MILLION FREQUENT FLYER MILES.
The final round of voting ends midnight Wednesday, which is TONIGHT.
You have to register (use BugMeNot) and watch both videos in order to vote. Kind of a drag, but the good thing is that you can minimize the screen and have it running while you're doing something else.
**ate handful of tums. actively savored the pineapple.
**warned 7 year old not to hang off tree branch sunday at central park
I know I'm an idiot. But am I racist idiot? That is the question.
Worked late today, had an article due and a dirty catbox waiting for me when I got home. Just thinking about it made me feel hopeless and tired.
I'm at the turnstiles when I hear the train approaching. Rock! I swipe my card. Insufficient fare. Fuck.
I walk toward the machine. Oh well. At least I'll get to read some of my book. It's a memoir by a blind guy and relatively funny. Not amazing funny, but good enough to take my mind off what's going on at work right now.
"Miss? Miss? I'll swipe you."
Out of the corner of my eye I see a black man hanging around by the turnstile.
Fuck that, I thought. Another homeless dude scammer.
I move forward with my plan to buy a Metrocard.
"Miss? Miss! Come here. I'll swipe you."
I take a better look. Huh. He doesn't seem that homeless. He's my age, kind of cute. Maybe he's like my friend Marc, the super gentlemen-type. Perhaps he's trying to pick me up.
Train's still coming and it's time to make a decision: Buy a Metrocard and wait another 20 minutes to a half hour when I'm in no mood to do so or believe in humanity and accept the swipe.
I accept the swipe.
"Thank you very much," I say as I push through the turnstile. I glance down at the fare reader. Unlimited ride.
Shit. Trouble.
***For anyone not from New York, there's a common scam on the subway. Con artists beg, borrow, or steal unlimited ride Metrocards, which let you get on the subway as many times as you want for a set time period. They then sell the swipes to people getting on the subway or offer to swipe them through and then start asking for money. If you buy a 7 day unlimited for $24 bucks and manage to sell 12 rides in one day, anything you make on top of that is gravy. It's a tough way to make money, since 99% of people know the scam and will turn you down, but to the persistent and desperate it's well worth it.***
Subway Guy says, "That'll be two dollars." He's all speedy, plucky and efficient, like a 1950's soda jerk.
Fuck you, you lying asshole. I didn't even want your shitty old ride. You asked me three times to take it, didn't say anything about paying you back and now you're trying to charge me?
I give money to homeless people all the time. I also donate online and volunteer. I'm all for handouts, but being tricked like that pisses me off.
I ignore him and keep walking.
"Miss! Miss! You owe me $2 dollars."
OWE you? I'm sorry, did we enter into some kind of contract or something?
"Miss! Miss! Get back here and pay me my $2 dollars."
"No. You're a scammer!" I yell as I'm descending the stairs.
The train arrives. I get on.
Oh shit. Are you serious? Subway Guy is running down the steps. He dives into the car just as the doors close.
"GIVE ME MY TWO DOLLARS BITCH!"
He's all up in my face.
I try to move to the other end of the car.
He follows.
I change direction and move to a different, more populated area.
He follows once more.
Flirt.
"YOU OWE ME! YOU TOOK MY SWIPE AND NOW YOU OWE ME TWO DOLLARS!"
"Leave me alone!" I say, over and over. I sound like a 1990's self defense video.
He uses the overhead bar for support as he leans over and puts his face inches from mine. He has nice skin, coffee with cream-colored eyes and large pores.
"I TRIED TO HELP YOU! I TRIED TO DO SOMETHING NICE!"
"No you didn't," I say. "You lied."
But did he? The whole time he's yelling I'm studying his appearance. His hair, his nails, his backpack, his clothes.
What if he's NOT a con artist? What if he's NOT a scammer? What if he really did expect to be paid back and I'm an asshole for assuming he's not some rude cheapskate and instead a thief and a hobo?
"I OUGHT TO FUCKING SMACK YOU, YOU LITTLE BITCH. I SHOULD SMACK YOU RIGHT HERE. SOMEDAY SOMEONE'S GOING TO SMACK YOU AND YOUR MAMA."
"If you don't leave me alone right now I'm going to call the police."
And I'm sure the police would have been a big help, were I able to get a signal on my cell phone, somehow convince the conductor to make the train stop moving and convince New York's Finest to stop going through people's purses in search of dirty bombs and Al-Qaeda pamphlets and locate me underground.
Subway Guy continues yelling and bitching. I do my best not to engage but it's hard.
"I OUGHT TO SMACK YOU BITCH!"
"I'm scared."
Holy mozzarella sticks, did you really just say that? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU ERIN? DO YOU WANT TO GET KILLED?
Luckily, Subway Guy and God cut me a break and he gets off at the next stop.
"Good for you!" a 50-something man with a guitar case tells me, giving me a thumbs up.
Thanks, asshole. Where were you when I had a 6'2 ball of rage swinging his fists near my nose? And it wasn't just him - the entire time this was going on no one said anything or tried to help me.
Before I moved to New York I'd always hear those stories about how people get stabbed to death on the street and regard them with suspicion. Now I realize they're all true.
Not that New Yorkers are a rude people. They're actually very nice. Carry a heavy package and 10 people will try to hold the door. Drop a quarter and you have a good chance of bumping heads with someone as they bend over and help you pick it up.
They only get selfish and self-interested when it comes to life-threatening situations. I don't totally understand, but I can't say I blame them.
Anyway, I'm home now and my brain is still churning. I keep replaying the scenario and wondering if I acted appropriately. Should I have paid him the $2 dollars? Did I cause someone to snap who's otherwise very normal? Did he just get cheated on by his girlfriend or fired from his job?
Or was he a piece of shit pissed because someone beat him at his own game?
I honestly don't know.
