mad street cred

Really REALLY organic raspberries (hey, I found all the bees!)

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Wed, 15 Jun 2011 19:11:00 +0000

I try to be a good, responsible human being. Some examples: I recycle. I support local and used book stores. I try to buy my fruit at a farmer's market, but when I do go to a grocery store, I always pick out the organic fruit.

It's this last point I'd like to discuss.

It would be easy for anyone to create a quick, common sense list of things you'd think I probably wouldn't want to find in my fruit, or really in any of my food, ever. Let's try.

1) Mold
2) Pesticides
3) Bugs of any kind

Pretty simple, pretty standard, pretty predictable. Not asking for much here.

Now let me show you how it's gone the last few times I've bought organic raspberries.

Every. Damn. Time.

I mean I guess that's a bit of a dramatization -- the bee is actually *frozen* inside the raspberry, not angrily flying out into my face. But either way, I think it's clear that the real point here is that there is always a BEE inside my raspberry. Always.

I have never found a bee inside a non-organic raspberry. I'm sure because of all the pesticides. And I appreciate that this must mean there really are no pesticides in the organic raspberries.

But why is there ALWAYS a bee? I'm not even kidding you, in every single box I buy there is one bee tucked inside a raspberry. I love you, nature, and I want my food to be organic - but all these dead bees are getting to be a bit much. Can't the raspberry companies put up a fan to shoo all the bees away from the boxes or something? Or how about luring them away from the fruit with a trojan horse made of pollen? I can keep going here, I've got a lot of great ideas that don't end with a bee floating in my cereal.

Anyway, I remember a few years ago, everyone was freaking out, like, where have all the bees gone, and it was this big national tragedy about the disappearing bees, and it was going to have all these unforeseen consequences and end up killing us all. They thought the bees were going extinct because of cell phone towers I think, or avian flu, or Justin Bieber? I don't know.

But guess what haters? You were all wrong. Apparently I've singlehandedly figured out what happened to all the fricking bees. I swear to the gods, there is a bee in my raspberry. Every. Damn. Time. And I cannot be the only person in the world buying organic raspberries.

So there you go guys, mystery solved. The bees are in the raspberries. Wow, I feel like Columbo... if Columbo had eaten a bee this morning.

I'm never buying raspberries again.

Cynicism

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Fri, 10 Jun 2011 18:34:00 +0000

"I think I know what it is. You see Stan, as you get older, things that you used to like start looking and sounding like shit. And things that seemed shitty as a child don't seem as shitty. But with you, somehow, the wires have gotten crossed and everything looks and sounds like shit to you. It's called being a cynical asshole." - South Park

I used to think I was really cynical, and I think I probably am about some things. But there is always a hope in my heart that people and things aren't as bad as they seem and that things will always work out in the end. I hope that fact alone means that I'm not a cynical asshole. I know people who are, and they aren't fun to be around. Last night's episode of South Park was so relatable to me. It's not fun to go to the movies with cynical people. They hate everything! What a bummer.

I'm taking the summer off from work to gear up for my new career in the fall (academia here I come!). I'm working this summer on trying to live in the present moment, to read more "fun" books and watch more documentaries (which I love), to play piano and guitar more often, to work on my anxiety, to write more (I promise!), to relax and enjoy my friends, and of course to pack up my apartment for my move.

But I think a worthy addition to that list is to try not to be cynical (especially about relationships, which seems to be my most cynicism-prone area). Part of the point of my summer respite is to start breaking free of the NYC mentality, which unfortunately is steeped in cynicism. It doesn't suit my personality. I need to get out of this city for a lot of reasons - it's too loud, too stressful, too fast-paced, too harsh, too competitive, too mean, too uncaring and unkind. But it's also too cynical. It's time to let go.

via

An Open Invitation

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Mon, 16 May 2011 21:05:00 +0000

In case you guys didn't know, I'm moving. Like the rest of the world, I hate moving. Because somehow even though I just moved to this apartment 2 years ago, in that period of time I have accumulated an entire mortgage-sized house worth of useless stuff I don't even like or want. And enough dust to cover all of that useless stuff and then some. I mean, really, let's be honest. My Band Hero drumset doesn't even work. Not that any of my friends ever want to play it anyway. And... uh... when have I ever in my life used a serving dish???

But... not surprisingly I'm wayyyy too lazy to sell anything on eBay. (I'm sorry, but I will say it again - have you ever BEEN to a NYC post office? Seriously, shoot me.) So my big money-losing idea was to give some of my stuff to the Salvation Army, throw some of it away, dump some of it on my sister, and reluctantly move the rest of it with me to North Carolina. I also need to get rid of a bunch of clothes, because I don't even wear half of what's in my closet, since I bought most of it in 1990. (I am serious. I hate shopping.)

Of course this involves me actually going through all of my stuff and deciding what to give away, what to keep, and what to (gulp) pack. If there's anything I'm worse at than dating, it's packing. I can't even pack a suitcase for a trip. Nevermind packing up my entire apartment. I remember my friend Matt moved to college with just one suitcase. ONE suitcase! I've always wanted to be that person, but instead I'm the girl who brings her collection of 80,000 books along on a one-week vacation.

So needless to say, this is kind of how my packing attempts have been going so far:

You never realize how much OTHER cool stuff there is to do until you have to pack for a move. Like... anything else.

Miraculously, so far I have pulled together about 3 bags of clothes to give away. But the Salvation Army is sooooo farrrrrrrr. Well, ok, 3 blocks. But clothes are heavy. And it's not like in a normal town where you can have a boy carry the bags out to your car, and then you can just drive them to Salvo and roll them like gigantic snowballs out of your trunk and into the drop-off station. This is New York City. You have to carry them, by hand, out of your building and past all the suspicious onlookers to wherever you're going. (My longtime readers remember how well this went when I had to carry a gift-wrapped child-size guitar to work.) Then you have to walk past all the crazy drunk strung-out people who loiter outside the warehouse-like building, figure out where the hell to go inside, and hope that you don't get raped or murdered while you're trying to do a good deed.

I thought it might be safer to invite all my anonymous blog readers to my apartment to rifle through my stuff and take whatever you want, free of charge. So let this serve as an open-ended invitation. If any of you really like '90s clothes, feminist books, old plates from my parents' house, really any other kitchen items (they're unused, believe me), towels and sheets from my college days (and I'll even throw in a reversible comforter!) an unused yoga mat or unused 3 lb weights, about $1000 worth of GRE study materials (what a holy waste), a lot of half-used bath and body works body spray, belts (!! what am I doing with belts?!), and other random junk like that, come on over. Also, if there are any packing experts out there who want to pack up my apartment for free, you're invited too. You can even leave with a free bag of '90s clothes!

You have two months. You're welcome.

Eternal Sunshine of the Not-So-Spotless Mind

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 16:27:00 +0000

I'm getting the sense that you guys are not understanding the different kinds of dating fails I've been having recently. I've already explained to you how everything goes horribly wrong when I meet a boy at a party. But there are many other kinds of relationship wonders that happen in my life, and I feel like I should share another category of failure with you so that you can feel better about your own romantic forays. (And also because I know you like my drawings. Yay drawings!)

See, I'm sure you have been thinking after reading my recent posts, "It's obvious what you should do, dummy! Stop trying to meet boys at parties and bars. Instead date your FRIENDS!" Wow guys, what a terrible idea. Well, no, I mean, in theory it's a good idea. In the past my "successful" relationships have indeed come from friendships, so it makes sense. It used to work. I thought it was a good idea too. But lately this is how it's been going (get ready guys!):

Step 1: Friend's ex breaks up with him 2 years ago. (Happens to the best of us.)

Step 2: Friend sleeps around immediately. (Part of the grieving process I think.)

Step 3: Friend wallows in self-despair for 2 years. (Uh... dude. It was 2 years ago. I mean, people break up. Everyone else in the world has survived breakups. Right? Come on, lil buddy.)

Step 4: Friend pours his heart out to me. (Long silences, heartfelt emotion. My specialty.)

Step 5: I resolve to show friend there's more to life than his ex. (This is New York! Concrete jungle wet dreams are made of!! ... Are those not the lyrics?... Good riddance to whatshername, make new memories to replace the old ones! Who can turn the world on with her smile?)

Step 6: Friend decides we have chemistry and a lot in common but he never noticed it before because of whatshername. (Story of my life.)

Step 7: Chemistry continues ambiguously for a long time. (Awkwarrrrd.)

Step 8: Friend starts a relationship with me in some form. (Asks me on a series of dates, sometimes goes for more. All signals are crystal clear.)

Step 9: Before things even have a chance to really get started, friend completely freaks out. (And runs away immediately with little to no action taken by me whatsoever, leaving me clueless and confused.)

Step 10: Friend comes back a week later and apologizes, telling me he realized he's not ready for this because he still isn't over his ex-girlfriend from 2 years ago. (Sigh.)

And if you think this has only happened to me once, you are sorely mistaken. Yeah, this seems to be a trend. And somehow it doesn't seem to matter that the other girl is in some way completely disinterested and unavailable (is engaged to someone else, got preggers and moved across the country with another guy... hell, came out as a lesbian -- could it get more unavailable than that?), or that she broke up with him years and years ago. For some reason I'm the one they decide to come after, and then I'm also the one they run away from because somehow amid all that carnage they're still not over their ex.

And I'm thinking:

Yay!! I'm like the girl Tom meets at the very end of 500 Days of Summer!!

...........If then they made a sequel where Tom started dating me, and then realized he wasn't over Summer, but she doesn't want him back, but he doesn't care and obsesses over it for another few years, leaving me confused!

Great movie, right? Damn, someone should send this screenplay to Hollywood!

It's really something... I seem to just have a special talent. So feel free to tell all your friends who aren't over their exes who broke up with them a couple years ago that you know the PERFECT woman for them to date. I mean, when you're good, you're good.

I should put this on my resume.

My Netflix Nemesis

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Fri, 25 Mar 2011 18:17:00 +0000

I'll say it: I think my Netflix account has been taken over by a ruthless, vengeful android. I know this sounds crazy, but hear me out.

I'm sitting there crying on my couch after a really touching film about something like childhood prostitution, an exonerated convict, or genocide in a far away land (I watch a lot of documentaries), and Netflix catches me off guard and at that moment "innocently" asks me to rate the movie, immediately. I feel like I owe it to these people to express my concern for their plight and my gratitude to the director for making such a powerful film by rating the thing 5/5 stars. "More people should watch this!," I think to myself. What an idiot.

Netflix wastes no time in using my moment of weakness against me. My account fills before my eyes with only the most depressing, horrific movies. Romantic comedy? Ha. "Our best guess for Lisa: 2/5 stars based on your previous ratings," Netflix taunts. Comedy? "Our best guess for Lisa: 1/5 stars, you cultural elitist - why don't you go watch another documentary." Netflix hates me and clearly has me pegged as some morose fatalist who gets off on watching lots of people die in movies.

So I try to beat the system. I start rating movies not based on their quality, but instead based on how I would feel about being tied down in a room and forced to watch movies like that all day, every day, for the rest of my life. I stand in my apartment with the rating prompt on the screen and point my WiiMote like a gun. "What did I think of the Holocaust movie? 1 STAR! Screw you, Netflix recommendation engine!"

Netflix responds with a quick and silent blow, filling my account with movies that are horrible in a whole new way, clearly to teach me not to trifle with the dark overlord. I gave Zoolander a decent rating one night while I was drunk, thinking that might invite more comedies instead of movies about war crimes. What follows? A queue full of "5-star" SNL movies, buddy flicks and movies directed by the ever-illustrious auteur himself: Ben Stiller. Netflix schooled me, plain and simple. Tropic Thunder, for the lose.

My last resort was to just start rating EVERYTHING 3 stars. Good, bad, amazing, horrible - 3 star rating. Neutral. Switzerland. Boom. What now, Netflix? Bring it on.

Some people never learn.

I go into my queue the other day to find that Netflix started giving high projected ratings to movies which, based purely on their description, sound kind of good, but I'm not familiar with them. Maybe they deal with headier issues than a modeling competition, but they sound enjoyable, at least films you'd want to watch without cutting yourself. Just the thing for an empty queue that needs filling. Add to queue. Add to queue. Add to queue. Emails confirming immediate shipment. I'm feeling good, triumphant even! And then I see it:

"Based on your interest in these movies, we also recommend the following similar films:

Life is Beautiful
Casualties of War
Simon Birch
Sophie's Choice
Bambi."

Dude, seriously?

Okay, I surrender. YOU WIN, Netflix! Okay?! Can you hear me in there?! You are smarter than me, I don't know anything, and trying to prove otherwise was clearly a poor life choice. I'm so over it. Go back and tell all your superhuman friends - Watson, Hal, whoeverthehell you hang out with - humans are no match for you. Okay? So please leave us alone. God, computers are seriously the worst. I'm gonna go call Ken Jennings now so we can have a good cry. Smug bastards.

The Facebook Effect

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 00:46:00 +0000

To sum up the following story, I never dreamed it would be a real-world, in-person interaction that would get me defriended online. Oh what a brave new world we weave.

Back in '06 I dated a guy for like 2 months. It wasn't a big deal, I mean, we really liked each other but I was moving. We went to Darien Lake for a day, made root beer floats, played video games, cooked dinners, watched marathons of Sports Night (my favorite) and Aqua Teen Hunger Force (his favorite), made our own matching t-shirts referencing inside jokes... basically all the things you do when you know you don't have much time. We even made each other sappy mixtapes with songs about our ill-timed romance. Of course, in an extraordinarily stupid move, we never *officially* broke up before I moved to New York. Many way-too-long phone calls ensued, but neither of us really wanted to do long distance. I had been down that road several times, and it was a miserable one. If this was a romantic comedy, he would surprise me by showing up at my door. But instead we had the inevitable dramatic night where I cried on the phone as we called the whole thing off. Ah, the pains of love.

Of course, a week later he changed his MySpace profile song (remember those?) from Nickel Creek's "This Side" to... wait for it... "A Little Less 16 Candles, A Little More Touch Me" by Fall Out Boy, and started sleeping with one of the students he was a TA for. But whatever. Bygones.

That was about it. I mean, we were friends on Facebook, and he sporadically initiated IM conversations a few times so we could catch up. He got married a little while ago (not to his student), and I left a congrats message on his Facebook wall. There hasn't been any animosity, I thought it was a friendly breakup.

I had forgotten that he is in one of the Ph.D. programs I applied to, in his final year. There really aren't that many to choose from, this was one of the best, and we have similar research interests, so it wasn't surprising. I was invited by the school to come to an open house which included a panel discussion Thursday night -- he was listed as a panelist. I checked his Facebook page, and indeed, it looked like he was the person on the docket. I was kind of looking forward to it, I mean, it's been years, and I thought it would be nice to see a familiar face, even if he would have graduated by the time I got there. This picture of me shrugging illustrates my attitude about the situation (sorry for the shadow of my hand, this is not a high-tech operation):

When the panel discussion ended, I went to talk to him, and awkwardness ensued. He was standing with his wife, and he said, "hello nice to see you again," as if we had met each other just once through a mutual friend. It was clear to me his wife had no idea we had dated or even knew each other, which was fine with me, it was not really newsworthy. I tried carrying on a conversation but it was almost physically painful, I was getting nothing in return. I ended up awkwardly walking away to eat cookies. Something like this:

As fate would have it, the school assigned us to the same dinner table the next night. Presumably they thought we might have something in common. Little did they know how much. It was awkward again, all he said was an awkward "hey"... so I busied myself talking to others. As he was rounding the table with goodbyes, he said, once again, "nice to see you again." And that was it. I thought it was all very bizarre and uncomfortable, to be honest. I left wishing I hadn't seen him at all, but knowing I made a valiant effort toward normalcy.

But then, the most awkward thing of all happened. I went to check his Facebook page the next day, with thoughts of maybe just leaving a 'nice to see you again, great job on the panel,' type of comment, just to try to resolve the awkwardness (I hate awkwardness, it seriously keeps me up at night, when it happens I HAVE to resolve it)... and get this. He was no longer on my list of friends. I searched for his profile, and there was the dreaded button:

+ADD AS FRIEND.

Add as friend?! What the hell? When did this motherf*cker DEFRIEND me? We were Facebook friends the day before I came to the school. So he went home from the panel discussion and immediately defriended me? Or after dinner? I mean was that absolutely necessary? It's not like I really am jonesing to be "friends" with this person on Facebook, we have our own separate lives, we may never see each other again (here's hoping we don't, after that awkwardness). But he didn't defriend me after we broke up, and he did defriend me now. There was something that felt just really... aggressive... in that, and I couldn't figure out why it was bothering me so much.

Then it dawned on me -- it's the REVERSE of what I thought would ever happen. I picture myself really irritating people online, warranting a severing of the online relationship, but maybe I would see them again in person and they wouldn't mind me. I think I'm more likeable -- or at least more neutral and non-bothersome -- in person than I probably am online. I'm really a rather quiet person, I try not to irritate anyone too much and just to make things as non-confrontational and non-awkward as possible. I couldn't believe that an in-person interaction with me that lasted about 5 minutes could make a person go directly home and intentionally erase every trace of me from their life by deleting the last remaining online record of association with my existence. It hurt my feelings because it seemed like an affront to my actual being rather than the shadow of myself that I had curated online.

To this moment, I still don't understand why he did it. I'm trying not to dwell on it, exes are exes, Facebook is stupid, it really has no impact on my day-to-day life whatsoever. But I have to say, I feel like I've been broken up with all over again. And after all of this, there is only one person I can possibly think of to blame for this tumult. Only one person who can possibly be held responsible for this awkward, unsettling unfolding of events. Not two people. Not even three people. Just one. And it's so obvious that I bet you can guess who the culprit is. Okay, I'll say it. Mark Zuckerberg. F*cking douchebag.

"Look at it out here, it's all falling apart. I'm erasing you and I'm happy! By morning, you'll be gone." (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind)

No mom, our house is NOT Grand Central Station

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Tue, 01 Feb 2011 22:32:00 +0000

Back in the day when I was a kid, before all this crazy technology came about, after-school activities in my suburban neighborhood were much different than I'm pretty sure they are today. Instead of broodily sitting in a corner wearing headphones, texting and updating my Facebook page, I was floating about the neighborhood, playing tag, riding bikes, swinging on swings, throwing balls, scraping my knees, refusing candy from strangers, and self-surgically removing splinters and gravel from various appendages. And kids used to invite each other over to play the old-fashioned way: 1) Calling on the family's single mustard-colored rotary landline phone which was mounted on the wall and had 18 miles of spiral cord all twisted up in a huge ball in front of it as a barricade (you had to REALLY need to use that thing to fight that pile of cord), or 2) Showing up on the stoop, throwing down their bike without even using the kickstand, and (gasp) ringing the doorbell.
Of course that also meant people frequently showed up at my door and called on the phone. By about the second phone call/doorbell ring in, my mother would start saying:

"What is this, Grand Central Station?!"

And somehow, this phrase took on a life of its own. "What is this, Grand Central Station?" became by far the most common phrase in our household, and sooner or later, she used it to really describe anything. If we left clothes lying around. If we had a friend over and we were running out to the backyard. If we were playing with our cousins and making too much noise. If we left food out on the counter. If we left our backpacks at the table. If we left the house and had to come back because we forgot something. Pretty much anything warranted a "What is this, Grand Central Station?!"

Oh, mom.

Look, I've been to Grand Central Station. Mom had NO idea how great she had it. My sister and I dancing around on the floor in our socks? Playing slip-and-slide and tracking in a few blades of grass? Leaving some Legos or a book on the floor? None of this resembles Grand Central Station in any way, shape or form. Believe you me.

Grand Central Station is easily one of the worst places in NYC, behind only Times Square, the Empire State Building, and the 6 train at rush hour. The only way that you could feasibly compare any event or experience in my childhood home to Grand Central Station would be if at some point in my youth I had invited over:

About 8,000 rats and 140,000 cockroaches
A bunch of "Jews for Jesus" who were chasing my mom around holding clipboards and trying to enlist her
A creepy old man who was "playing" the recorder at screech-level volume with horrible muzak accompaniment playing on a boombox in the background
A person who sells pins
Someone with a card table, a zillion brochures, a cooler, and 5 or 6 ominous posters which say that the rapture is approaching on May such and such 2011 and ask my mother if she is prepared to be judged
A group of rapping breakdancers who perform the same exact show over and over again in our kitchen for cash
A group of people who take out all my mom's pots and pans and then "play" them, for cash
A drummer
500 homeless people who lay around our house
1000 vendors who glare suspiciously at my mom every time she touches anything in our kitchen
A man who takes off his hat and announces, "Ladies and gentleman, may I have just a few moments of your time," proceeding to follow my mom around the house, tell her why he's destitute, and ask her for money -- anything she can give would be appreciated
A woman and her small child (wearing brand new Nikes, I should mention) who sit in our hallway with a sign and a cup and ask my mom for money every time she walks by "please to help feed child"
1 MTA employee who hides somewhere in our house and no matter how many times she's found she is still "on break"
2000 cops with guns who don't even notice she's there
A crew filming a commercial in the middle of our house, forcing my mother to have to GO OUTSIDE in order to cross from the kitchen to the living room
A flash mob
A zillion angry New Yorkers with backpacks and briefcases and suitcases and iPhones running around our house, bumping into my mother every way she turns, and then knocking her down onto the ground while muttering "I hate this f*cking city" or while screaming "Get the hell out of the way!!!!!!! F*cking tourists."

All I'm saying is, my house was really nothing like Grand Central Station, and I think in the future all mothers should really think twice before using that expression. Because it could have been a LOT worse. We barely even made a sound. We didn't even ask her for money. And we only used the pots and pans to cook. I really don't know what my mom was thinking. Man did she have it good.

F*cking tourist.

One thing to avoid on a first date

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Mon, 24 Jan 2011 19:27:00 +0000

While we're on the subject of dating, it reminded me that I wanted to give you guys a tip for something not to do on a first date. (And don't worry, this isn't another anti-texting diatribe, I promise.) Also, I decided that I will start including my infamous granola bar pictures in my blog, but only in posts about dating -- so you're in luck, because that means I've included another one here.

Okay, so here's the tip I wanted to pass along:

On a first date, do not mention date rape or roofies.

Now this seems like something I shouldn't have to tell you. You're thinking, oh come on Lisa, it is so obvious that you should not do this on a date at ALL, nevermind a first date. This is just your penchant for exaggeration, it never happened. Well, you'd be wrong. Apparently this is not as obvious as you might think.

I say that because not only have two guys mentioned drugging my drink on a first date, but also at the party last Saturday, a guy who was trying to get me to go home with him (not the guy I liked, someone else) also mentioned it. That's THREE times, fairly recently, that this has come up.

Now, this might be a funny joke that's exchanged between friends, and that's one thing. I have said in the past -- to friends I've known for years -- hey, I'm going to the bathroom, watch my drink, and don't put any GHB in it, ok? It's not the funniest joke I've ever made, but it's pretty innocuous when it's between friends.

But when you're on a first date with someone who you met at a party or a bar -- or when you're in the process of meeting a person at a party -- and you don't really know them, it is not funny at all. These were the 3 exchanges:

First date #1:
Me: "I'm going to the bathroom, I'll be right back."
Date: "Okay, don't worry, I won't drug your drink."

First date #2:
Me: "I'll be right back, I'm going to run to the bathroom."
Date: "Lucky for you I don't have my rohypnol with me tonight."

Party last Saturday:
Guy's friend: "Is he getting you a drink? I heard there's no more beer left. I'd be suspicious of where he's getting it from."
Me: "Are you saying you think he'll pee in it? Gross."
(guy returns)
Guy's friend: "She was worried you peed in her drink."
Guy: "She should be more worried that I roofied it."

Um... hey, guys??

And of course, being a person susceptible to intense levels of suspicion and with a keen talent for concocting elaborate conspiracy theories, when I come back from the bathroom, this is how the rest of the date typically plays out:

For you, the moral of my story is, do not make this "joke" on a first date with a person who doesn't know you. Because in a city like NYC, you very well could be a rapist or a serial killer or, at the very least, trying to have a one-night-stand to get laid, and if someone doesn't know you very well this might make them nervous that you're "kidding" -- and that as they say, humor reflects some semblance of truth. Like maybe you wouldn't actually drug me, but maybe you would do other weird things to get me to go home with you. Or maybe you're joking about it to make me THINK you're not the type of person who would do it... but why would you even think of it? Ultimately you just never know, and first dates are nerve-racking enough, and our mothers told us it's better to be safe than sorry. So my advice to you: play it safe on a first date -- forego the roofie jokes. I know you can hold back for just one night.

For me, on the other hand, the moral of my story is, never, ever, ever go to the bathroom on a first date. Problem solved.

Intuition

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Wed, 19 Jan 2011 17:11:00 +0000

In the Jungian/Myers-Briggs personality test, I come out every time without fail as an INFJ, known in various descriptions as either the "Protector," the "Sage" or the "Mystic." I was reading a book the other day which said that the INFJ's dominant modus operandi is Introverted iNtuition, which I could have told you without reading anything at all. But that the dominance of iNtuition means a weakness in the area of rational thinking. Which quite frankly I was insulted by.

But then the book suggested working on developing the neglected Thinking aspect in the following way:

The next time you have something that's new and you need to set it up or figure out how it works, instead of just doing what you feel is obvious, take out the directions and follow them step by step to set it up.

And I realized immediately that that is indeed the opposite of what I usually do. Weird.

A few nights ago I uploaded pictures to Facebook with my new camera. After I connected the camera to the computer, installed the software it came with, and was waiting for the pics to go live, I realized that at no time since I got the new camera did I even open the directions. I just knew how it worked, what made sense to me, and I followed that instinct. Did I learn the ins and outs of the camera? Nope. But it works and the pictures uploaded correctly.

I started thinking of other examples. I taught myself how to play the guitar. Not the way you're supposed to learn. I can't really learn that way, step by step, learning to play chords. It's too slow, it seems tedious to me, because the day I picked up the guitar I just could see how to play it. I picked up a song, quickly looked up the hand formations for the chords, and from then on just could play. Do I have a handle on barre chords, know what a hammer-on is, understand how the guitar and its chords work technically? Uh, no, not even a little bit. But can I sit around and play you songs for a night? Sure. Piano's the same way. Theory? No way man. I don't understand chords on the piano. But that's the way most people learn, that's the rational thinking way to do it. But I just know how to play the music, the feeling behind what's written, I don't know the technical names of the stuff I'm playing, and if you write chord names on a page, I couldn't play them for the life of me, I have NO idea. But I can play. When I'm the accompanist for my sister, she throws music I've never seen in front of me, and I say, "go ahead and start, I'll figure this out as I go." And when the song is over I say, "eh... something like that... ish." Close enough. It was the same way in school. I know things, without knowing much about whatever the subject is, based completely on what I think it "obviously" must be. It's not that they're actually things that are obvious, it's just that I can sense them. And the flip side of that is, I'm not an expert on anything, really, ever. It's the same with people. When I'm suspicious of a person, or question someone's motives, 100 times out of 100 I'm right, and that's not an exaggeration. I also know when there's something wrong with a friend, immediately. And I usually know what it is. Because I can just feel it. It's truly bizarre.

Please don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to compliment myself - it's not always a good thing, believe me. It's really not. I don't ever have a full grasp on subjects, on how to play the guitar, on classical chords, on how my camera works. And I hurt a lot when it comes to people - it's not always good to be able to intuit peoples' intentions, future actions, true selves, their real problems. It can be painful and lonely. You can overempathize with people. You can avoid forming relationships that might have been fun or worthwhile. And it's always really loud in my head because at the same time I'm hearing what people are saying out loud with their words, in my head I'm also hearing what they're really saying. Actually it kind of sucks.

But all in all, to get to my real point, I truly think society under-values intuition. People think it's bullshit, people think it's an old wives' tale, people look down on it, people think I'm a damn fool. But intuition can be really beneficial not just in the arts or in the soft sciences but in the hard sciences as well. Without intuition, I'm sure there are a lot of scientific discoveries that would never have been made. I just know it somehow. ;) And I'm here to tell you that for an INFJ, intuition is very very real, in a very real way. We might not know what it's called or that it's at work, but it's always dependable. And I think society as a whole should value it more, and mock it less.

In the words of Albert Einstein:

"The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind a faithful servant. We have created a society that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift."

-----

Addendum:

This is the comment my friend Ben just left here. It's so perfect and so gets at what I'm trying to say that I have to add it to the actual post:

Hey Lisa,

Ever hear the story of Clever Hans? He was a horse who could give the correct answer to any math problem. When his ability was investigated, it turned out that he was really just using his intuition and picking up on cues from the person asking the question to find the right answer. So, Clever Hans wasn't really that clever. But you have to ask yourself, would you rather have a horse who can do math correctly or a horse who is so in-tune with a person that he can pick up on things they are unaware they are even projecting? Now replace horse with friend.

I know my answer.

Why my blog isn't about dating

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Mon, 17 Jan 2011 21:08:00 +0000

I was catching up on some single girl / dating blogs today, and I thought for a hot second (don't laugh) "Hmm why isn't your blog about dating? Writing about dating is a good idea!"

Then I called my doctor for fear I might have had an aneurysm. Because then I remembered my actual life.

The entire blog would look like this (this is a pictoral representation, drawn by me -- you're welcome):

And then there would be a bunch of blank posts.

No, I'm serious.

On Saturday I went to a party with my friends from my last job, and they told me they're jealous that whenever we go out, I am usually the person who gets her number taken by a guy. Which is a) categorically untrue, and also b) not worthy of jealousy because they are not factoring in how the situation usually plays out afterward. Typically it's one of two scenarios:

1) The guy never calls, probably for one of the following reasons:

He was drunk and forgets who I am.
He decided I'm cute but not really cute enough to be worth the effort.
He was really just taking my number in hopes that I'd go home with him but I'm not a ho and so he deleted my number.
He can't keep track of all the girls named Lisa in his phone.
He's gay.
He googled me and found this blog.

Or:

2) The guy does call (ok, TEXT, let's be real, I've never gotten a call from a guy in NYC) and:

After a series of awkward and too-innuendo-laden text messages (on his part) he texts that we'll have to hang out "sometime." Then he disappears altogether.
We go on an awkward date but really all he wants to do is have a one-night-stand so he's lukewarm and semi-insulting the entire night but then tries to come home with me.

I'm not even kidding, that's always how it plays out. And this is what my friends forget.

I actually did meet a guy at the party on Saturday. (Despite what my friends say, this is a rare occurrence.) He was so nice, and funny, a good beer pong player (but not TOO good), working on his Ph.D. in some remote history topic (Byzantine Empire I think), wore glasses, hijacked the music at the party to put on Michael Jackson, complimented me, introduced me to his friends, flirted but was not inappropriate, did not argue with things I said, asked for my number, and left the party without trying to make me come home with him. Gold star, sir. He also had on a guy version of a hat like this, which was cute in a weird way, and he let me wear it for part of the night (it looked cute on me too):

He was smart, not a hipster, not a meathead, not Jersey-ish, not a douchebag, not an alcoholic (but not a non-alcoholic), not pushy (but not wimpy), and did not appear to be a stoner or a smoker. Win.

But guess what? He texted me "Night" after he left the party, but of course I haven't heard from him since.

I feel like my friends who are in couples and jealous of my "single life" or my friends who are single and envious that some guy takes my number really just forget about the reality of the situation because they have painted a pretty picture in their heads. Let's be real - me meeting someone at a party or a bar (or for that matter anywhere in NYC for the last 5 years) has never ended in a healthy relationship. At BEST, it ends with me a) blasting music in my apartment, eating an entire bag of pretzels and crying on my sofa wondering why I'm such a failure, or b) becoming really cynical, carrying around a copy of something by Simone de Beauvoir, watching violent movies and ceasing to wash my hair or go out to a bar for a week and a half. At worst it ends with me forgetting the person ever even existed.

So really the point is, you should all be glad my blog isn't about dating, because although I used to have a pretty good handle on this aspect of my life, ever since I moved to NYC it's been shit. I could write about that for hours. And maybe I will sprinkle in a few posts about it. Mostly because I know you all secretly love the schadenfreude (n: pleasure derived from the misfortune of others) that you sometimes feel after reading my tales of woe. But for now, I leave you with a hand-drawn reminder of what my dating life is really like:

I'd Rather Go To The DMV (Guest Post)

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Mon, 17 Jan 2011 16:29:00 +0000

(My friend Ryan was horrified by my use of dental metaphors in a recent post. I've asked him to write a rebuttal in the form of a guest post.)

By Dr. Ryan, D.D.S.

Me: "How are you today?"
Patient: "Better if I wasn't here!"

Me: "Hello Mrs. Smith, nice to see you."
Mrs. Smith: "Well, it's never nice to see you! No offense!"

(Nah, none taken. You just flat out looked me in the face and told me you hate me. Might as well just use the words. "I hate you.")

Me: "It looks like we're going to have to put a crown on that tooth."
Patient: "I guess SOMEone needs to pay for your fancy toys!"

(You're right, that crown gives me just enough money to buy that new BMW. Seriously?)

And so goes my day. Good Morning, you suck. That's the best way to sum it up. Seriously, what's the problem? As far back as people have had teeth (which is a pretty long way back, I think... kind of dozed that day in dental school), people have hated the dentist. Then, as society progressed the dental profession was used as a metaphor for all things painful, poisonous, unpleasant and rogue. For example - Ryan: "Do you like to watch the show 'Two and a Half Men?'" Lisa: "Uggh! I'd rather get a ROOT CANAL!" Grant you, not a real exchange, but it might as well have been ;)

I provide a required service. Sure, it may not always be a pleasant one. But I pose this question. Do you like to eat? Do you enjoy speaking? Do you think that you could do any of that without teeth? Nope. Not without teeth, and subsequently not without your dentist.

So the question I have is this. When did my chosen profession, my SERVICE to society, gain such a poor reputation as to be banished to the dark corner of unpleasant analogy? "OMG, trying to explain this to you is like pulling teeth!" Really? Is it really? I promise you it's not. Whatever difficult topic you are currently discussing with your dimwitted friend is much easier than pulling teeth. I should know - I have dim-witted friends that I attempt to explain things to (present company excluded) PLUS I've pulled teeth. I'd actually rather pull the tooth. More debris, but less frustration.

Besides, I can think of so many other things to use as examples of what I'd "rather be doing. . . ." An easy example - going to the DMV. This is, by far and without argument, the most inhumane and painful experience that a breathing human being with a soul can do with their time.

Lisa: "Hey Ryan, do you want to move to Manhattan?"
Ryan: "Uggh! I'd rather go to the DMV!"

Other great examples include: "I'd rather go to the post office on Christmas Eve." "I'd rather slam my nose with a baseball bat." Or, "Trying to explain this to you is like trying to teach a five year old the word ambidextrous!" That last one is a stretch, but you get where I'm going.

So I ask you all to do me a solid. Leave your dentist alone. What did he/she ever do to you besides fix your jacked-up grill and smile and nod when you tell them you "hate the needle" (Really? Because all the other people LOVE it! I actually have a lady who comes in just to get stuck once a day.) And next time something unpleasant presents itself remember, it could be worse. You could be at the DMV.

Birds and the Bees

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Wed, 12 Jan 2011 00:01:00 +0000

Last night's Californication episode reminded me of an anecdote my Uncle Paul shared over Christmas about "the talk." Yeah, birds, bees, whatnot. He told me about how my grandpa explained it all to him back in the day. And I laughed for the entire night.

My uncle was not exactly the model child... he was quite the hellion, to put it mildly. (It's become kind of a tradition that whenever the cousins are around my uncle, we make him tell stories about all the crazy shit he used to do. It definitely makes us feel better about minor transgressions in our past that our mothers freaked out about.) And my grandpa definitely was a no-nonsense kind of guy. He had no tolerance for bullshit. He did not like to talk in the morning. And nobody else was allowed to either, believe you me. He was old school. He ruled with an iron fist. For instance, my mom was at a family bar with her cheerleading team and their coach after a game (it was a team event), and he came in to the bar and dragged her out by her ear because "what the hell is a 16 year old doing at a place like that?!" And there was no discussion about it. That's just the kind of guy he was. He ran Endicott Johnson shoe company. He was a powerful guy. (And an awesome guy.) And he had no patience for antics. Period. So you can imagine just what the birds and the bees talk must have been like. Well imagine no more...

One day after school when my uncle was 16 (uh a little too late!), my grandpa told him to get in the basement immediately. (My uncle thought this was a godsend, because usually when he was in big trouble my grandpa would tell him to get in the car and he would drive him to somewhere REALLY far away, like the middle of Pennsylvania, and lecture him the entire time inside a car he couldn't escape.) Apparently my grandpa had gotten wind that my 16-year-old uncle was interested in some girl who was 14, which is what prompted the talk. This is how it went:

Grandpa sat Uncle Paul down at a table and slammed a HUGE book down in front of him, with a big marker inside it. He told my uncle to flip to the marked page. "And READ what it says, the ENTIRE thing. Right now."

Guess what the page was? No, not the human anatomy, not when a man loves a woman, not even a working definition of sex. This was a LAW BOOK.

And the page?...

The definition of statutory rape.

Grandpa said: "Do you understand that?" Uncle Paul: "Yes." My grandpa: "Are you sure you understand? That says that even if everyone thinks it's a good idea, even if she thinks it's great and you think it's great and oh la di da everyone's just sooo happy and it's such a great idea... YOU GO TO JAIL." And he slammed the huge book shut. "You got that? You hear me? YOU..." and pointed right in his face... "YOU! Go. To. Jail."

And he stormed upstairs.

And there you have it folks, my family's rendition of the birds and the bees. My uncle said he was scared to pee for a month because he thought the cops might show up. :)

Tough old broad

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Mon, 10 Jan 2011 17:44:00 +0000

My grandparents were as instrumental in raising me as my own parents. We even lived at their house when I was little because my mom was so sick with her pregnancies and my dad was working the night shift. I've probably spent as much time at their house as I have at my parents' house. They lived a 5 minute walk away, and right next to our elementary school. And when my sister and I were going off for the first day of school, or were coming home from college on a break, there were 4 people sitting at the kitchen table waiting, not 2. They were my two favorite people in the entire world. They're both gone now (my grandma died a few months ago), and I'm really sad about that. But I digress.

My mom noticed me starting to get sniffly (is that a word?) on the phone last night about being single and having soon-to-be-dried-up ovaries. She asked me if I've been reading articles online again. (Yep. How'd she know? Psychic mothers.) And she said something that actually made me feel so much better. She reminded me that my grandparents got married at age 30, back in 1950 when that was much less common than today and before there was any crazy technology/drugs to help you have babies. She also reminded me that they had six kids after that, the sixth one when they were just turning 40.

For better or worse (my grandma had dementia...) I seem to be most like my mom's parents. I am especially like my grandpa in almost everything in my entire life. So I can only hope I inherited these stellar reproductive genes as well. And you know what, suck it, New York Magazine. I'll get married and have babies when I'm good and ready.

Two of the Worst TV Shows

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Fri, 07 Jan 2011 20:09:00 +0000

I know I've kind of gotten away from writing TV-related stuff ever since I consolidated The Televisionista with Mad Street Cred. That's kind of sad. So, for your reading pleasure, I will write about two shows that I submit should be taken off the air immediately.

1) Two and a Half Men: I feel like I'm in the movie Groundhog Day, because every week this show tops in the Nielsen Ratings and every week I think it must be April Fool's Day. Again. It's like my worst nightmare. Seriously everyone: this show is not funny. It's so stupid, and there's such better comedy on TV. Do you really have nothing better to do than watch this? Like for instance, getting a root canal? Knitting a sweater? Watching paint dry? I can't stand it. Just like (yeah I'll say it, flame away in the comments) I hated Friends. Except at least that show was about sexy people and had a theme song by The Rembrandts, so I could understand why people liked it. This show is about CHARLIE SHEEN, DUCKIE, and a little boy, and it has the worst theme song of all time. There's nothing redeeming about it. Middle-aged women of America, take heed: please for the love of god if you absolutely must watch TV Mondays at 9, tune in to The Bachelor or Gossip Girl. Yes, I am advocating watching either of those two pieces of trash over keeping Two and a Half Men at the top of the Nielsen Ratings. And I mean it.

2) Last Call With Carson Daly/Lopez Tonight: The best thing I can say about you dear is WHYYYY??? Why is this show still on the air? I genuinely don't understand its appeal. You'll notice that I'm speaking in the singular. That's because these two late night talk shows are so equally and embarrassingly unfunny that I actually can't distinguish them in my head. Late night talk shows (even at a REALLY late time or on a cable network) are COVETED spots, and we cast this jackass in the role? The least funny human being that exists? There are no funny skits on this show, the interviews are PAINFUL to sit through, the monologue makes me want to pull out my own teeth. I actually LIKE commercials during this show because they're HILARIOUS compared to the show's content. A sweet respite from the inanity. And I hate commercials more than I hate sushi. Seriously, how does this happen? Who is this guy sleeping with? Every once in a while I think, maybe I'll try this again, clearly there's something I'm missing if this still hasn't been canceled after that last episode I saw. And I sit down in front of my TV and I swear to god I can't last more than 10 minutes. I can't do it to myself. My life is worth more than that. Dear TV viewers, WHO IS WATCHING THIS TRASH? Are there people out there who are like, wow you know, that is a really great show, I can't wait until tomorrow night so I can do it all over again? Have some self-respect. Goddamnit.

Not Knocked Up

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Tue, 04 Jan 2011 23:15:00 +0000

A constant source of anxiety for me is the fact that I am a 27 (and a half) year old single girl whose friends seem to all be married, buying houses, having babies, or at least in serious relationships that are heading that way. But hey, I am a pretty strong woman, admittedly picky when it comes to dudes, and I am doing the best I can to not put pressure on myself or to make myself feel bad about being in the place in life than I am. I think it's better for me this way than settling for someone or something that will just end up making me miserable in the end, or rushing into things to meet some arbitrary deadline. Plus, I'm not THAT old. Right?

Well, at least that's what I thought, until this article from NY Mag informed me otherwise: "Waking Up From the Pill: Fifty years ago, birth-control pills gave women control of their bodies, while making it easy to forget their basic biology—until in some cases, it’s too late."

Talk about an upper. After waiting a few hours to let my anxiety attack subside, my take is that it basically makes out women who 1) take The Pill and 2) don't pop out kids as soon as they graduate college to be selfish adolescent floozies who need to stop being so "carefree" and start taking on the more serious task of getting preggers before age 28 -- the age at which you're done for.

"The fact is that the Pill, while giving women control of their bodies for the first time in history, allowed them to forget about the biological realities of being female until it was, in some cases, too late. It changed the narrative of women’s lives, so that it was much easier to put off having children until all the fun had been had..."

Wow, cuz that's exactly what I've been doing. What a good point. I took the pill and completely lost my mind, forgetting all about my biological clock, so that I could go to more parties. But the infertility fairy will come on the night of my 28th birthday (or is it 35th? I really can't remember which is the cutoff date... I'm getting so silly now that I'm taking this pill) to take back what is rightfully hers, that which I sacrificed for all of my NYC orgies.

I'm sorry but I just don't understand this article. It's about infertility, which is something that a lot of people worry about anyway, including me, but is full of statements that make no sense. What she's saying about the link between infertility and the pill is probably true, and thinking about it is not a bad thing. But I take serious issue with the way she says what she's saying in this article and the little side comments she makes. There are big problems with this article from a feminist perspective, and I'm sure people smarter than me have noted them, I actually haven't looked for any reactions to it yet because I was so fired up after reading it I had to write something myself. I'm a feminist, and I recognize the feminist issues here, but that's not really even what I'm preoccupied with.

Honestly, it's as a single person that I'm offended by her insinuations. (Of course she's a smug married - her wedding announcement in the NYT is one of the first links when you google her.) I'd like to have a family someday, I just haven't found the right person. I'm not on the pill because I'm trying to extend my youth or whatever, or because I'm ignoring my body or don't understand it, I'm on the pill because I do understand it and I don't want to have a baby before I'm committed to someone who will help me raise it. I know the risk that might present in terms of infertility, waiting until I'm over 28 ZOMG what a travesty, but I also know the risk of not using birth control. I didn't go on the pill and forget about my period, or forget about getting pregnant. I have an anxiety disorder, I worry about getting pregnant just by brushing against a person on the subway. She's making a lot of assumptions and generalizations, and I don't appreciate her tone. The last I knew, the pill didn't give me a lobotomy. But thanks for your concern. Can't we have a valid conversation about infertility and keep your judgments about my (not that abnormal) lifestyle out of it?

Well anyway guys, I don't know why I'm wasting all this time writing a blog post - I only have 6 months left to get knocked up. Better get going!

Resolve

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Mon, 03 Jan 2011 19:24:00 +0000

I'll say it. I hate New Year's Resolutions. Mostly because, let's be honest, I either forget about them after about a month (...a week) or am just such a complete failure at them that it just destroys my already tenuous self-esteem.

But also, it's just annoying really. It reminds me of the type of people I don't like. The ones who like get up at 5am every day just for kicks and by 6am have gone to the gym, read the paper, cooked and fed their kids breakfast, ran a marathon, meditated, went to a hot yoga class and shoveled 6 driveways. The people who say everything is a "win-win." And who drink vitamin/protein/wheatgrass/fruit/vegetable/chalk/sandpaper juice concoctions instead of a nice cup of black coffee. And whose response to my horrified reaction is some sort of speech about the negative effects of caffeine -- which they're just telling me for my own good. Yes, thank you. Yeah, you know the type.

But at the same time, I also hate people who say "My new year's resolution is to stop making new year's resolutions." Oh god, get over yourself. You're just saying that to be obnoxious. Stop being a little snot, and start taking a STAND!

And so I submit to you my New Year's Anti-Resolutions:

1. Yell at someone on the street. If you've ever been to New York City, you know that it's incredibly frustrating, and now I work in Times Square and live in west midtown, so I'm around it all day and all night. I just want to push tourists, or punch them in the back of the head, cut off their ponytails, or at least scream in their faces. Well, carpe diem bitches. This is the year.

2. Cancel gym membership. Why even pretend, you know? I hate the gym and I always will. What a waste of money that I could be spending on food. Speaking of which...

3. Eat more dessert. How many times last year did I pass up a piece of pie or a delicious bowl of ice cream for the sake of some stupid new year's resolution? (Zero.) Not this year baby. Bring on the cheesecake.

4. Stop doing so many chores. They're called chores for a reason. What a drag. When I need clean clothes I'll just buy new ones with the money I saved by canceling my gym membership.

5. Watch more reality TV. I've heard it's good for the mind.

2011 is shaping up to be the best year yet.

Facebook: where every day is your high school reunion

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Tue, 28 Dec 2010 19:36:00 +0000

My 10-year high school reunion is coming up this year, and suddenly the people who constantly made fun of me amid those hallowed halls (who all won various high school elections and are therefore in charge of the reunion -- ah, the memories) are coming out of the woodwork.

I've received Facebook friend requests from several of them, one of which came in yesterday. I find it interesting that they didn't notice that we HAD been "friends" on Facebook at one time... in the good old days when Facebook first went public and was inaccurately recommending to them that I'm someone they might "like" -- oh Zuckerberg, how wrong you can be -- and I had no idea what was going on so I just accepted everyone's requests whether we were really friends or not. In turn they never realized they had been promptly de-friended once I got my wits about me and figured out that there was no reason for me to be "friends" with people I was never friends with in real life, and no repercussions for their deletion since they really didn't know me at all.

When messages are included with their requests, they usually go something like this: "Ohmigoddd how are youuu?!?! What have you been up to?!" ...In the last 10 years? Oh, not much... ??... "I miss high school, don't you?!" ...Uh... not really, thanks for that by the way... "I hope you're going to the reunion!!" There it is. "We should totally get together, OMGzzz!!!!"

... Wait, we should GET TOGETHER? Um look, I'm all about letting bygones be bygones, but if you didn't want to "hang out" with me when you sat next to me in the same classroom in high school, what on earth makes you think we should hang out now that I live hours away from you and we officially have had nothing whatsoever in common for the last 10 years? How did you picture it working out, did you want me to come to your apartment for the weekend, or were you hoping that instead of hanging out with the people who were actually nice to me in high school on my next trip home, I should spend time with you and your friends who all mocked me throughout my formative years, just for the hell of it? Do you even have my phone number? I guess I'm just having a hard time really envisioning the logistics.

There are a lot of people who were always hoping for attention from these lovelies, but unfortunately I was never one of them, so I am getting nothing out of this except irritation. Sometimes I see people who always wanted to be cool "liking" these people's posts on Facebook, and I think, YOU DO NOT EVEN LIKE EACH OTHER, what are you doing? Which leads me in a roundabout way to my point.

I'll preface this by saying Facebook is great and anyone who is friends with me on there has probably figured out by now that I am clearly addicted to it. But on that note, Facebook is seriously the worst. This is drama I wouldn't have to deal with if Facebook didn't exist. I feel like it's a John Hughes movie, and I am being set up for some elaborate scheme where these people "friend" me and then everyone laughs at me in the lunchroom. In my old age I realize that I am just being paranoid and that people's glory days ended in high school and this is a way to try to get it back. But thanks to Facebook, it's in my face. Why do we even need reunions these days anyway? I can go find, in an organized fashion (occupation, relationship status, interested in: men/women/both) what's going on in all these people's lives. And I still see/talk to the people I like. I don't really need the rest of the updates, in person or online. It used to be that your 10-year reunion was really the only time you'd have to deal with your classmates after graduation. But with Facebook, every day is a f***ing reunion. And the dynamics of our high school seem to be playing out online. The more things change the more things stay the same.

But maybe I'll be a surprise to them anyway. Because little do they know, adulthood has given me the freedom to be even more geeky and bizarre than I ever dared to be in high school. FTW. So here's a someecard for the road, I'm off to listen to the original Carousel record on my turntable, or to watch a documentary about origami, or to read the autobiography of Mark Twain. While deleting friend requests. Suckers.

No good deed...

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Wed, 22 Dec 2010 19:26:00 +0000

In yet another fit of inspiration so typical in my life, I decided despite the complete disaster of laundry sprawled about my apartment, the cleaning that needs to happen, the Christmas presents that remain unwrapped, hell, the nails that need to be repainted, that my new life project is going to be my teeth. I have fine teeth, routine dentist appointments, you know, but my sister went to the dentist and had cavities and for some reason I freaked out as if they were in my own mouth.

Evil Fluoride.

I went to the store like a good little human and bought some new floss and some better mouthwash. I didn't know they made Crest Pro-Health with FLUORIDE! And it's purple. It's like a Christmas miracle! Score. For the last several days I've been diligently mouthwashing away, what's another minute if it means no cavities or gingivitis, right? YESSS! It's Christmas, and Jesus loves fluoride! I'm free at last!

But the day after I started using it, my tongue started to feel like I drank a scalding mug of coffee. Yeah, the end of my tongue feels like it's all burned. It looks normal. But it feels burned. And I didn't burn it on anything, believe me, I'd remember, and so would you, because I'm sure I'd be on here bitching and complaining about it. Nope, didn't burn it.

I started reading forums and health websites and gave myself a self-diagnosis of either:

Tongue cancer (80% sure this was it)
Thrush (a disease I'm pretty sure only babies or horses get) (5%)
An STD born in a manger (since I have no idea how the hell I would have contracted it considering the fact that I am basically a hermit who boys hate) (5%)
A reaction to an antibiotic that someone crushed up and mixed into some other food I ate, since I haven't taken one in like a year (10%)

So I took a walk outside to get some fresh air and stop myself from fainting, and it dawned on me that the only thing I really changed in my life was that I started using that fluoride. (And that I started listening to Christmas music but that couldn't burn my tongue... could it... hey wait could it? Stupid Amy Grant...) I came back inside, turned off my Christmas music, did another quick search and found other people online who had this exact reaction from that exact mouthwash, and then I asked two friends, and they also have had this reaction from fluoride in the past.

And just as quickly as my illegitimate, ill-fated and ill-begotten love affair with dental care began, here it ends.

Here I am, trying to be conscientious and plaque-free, and it blows up right in my face. So I figure I might as well throw it all to the wind and go buy some pixy stix and a pack of Fruit Stripe gum. Goddamnit.

Think what you want about WikiLeaks but stop what you're saying about rape

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Thu, 16 Dec 2010 19:44:00 +0000

I know that I've been absent from here for a while, but I've been wanting to write something about this and have just been too busy. I was going to let it go, but I read more things today that made me realize I can't not say something. So here I am.

I have friends who have strong feelings on both sides of the WikiLeaks debate. I think it's all interesting, and I'm really not sure how I feel about it. But it's beside the point. What I do have strong feelings about, completely separate from anything related to WikiLeaks, are the things people are saying about the rape charges against Julian Assange.

Whether he raped these women or not is not the point. The things people say because of it are really destructive and seriously not okay. Making jokes about it, making fun of his accusers (Naomi Wolfe, I'm looking at you), dismissing it automatically because you're in love with Julian Assange for creating WikiLeaks... these are severely destructive reactions to a serious topic like rape. Trivializing rape itself, whether it happened at Julian Assange's hand or not, is only going to dissuade people who actually have been raped from reporting it. Yes, it's horrible and destructive when people who have not been raped say they have for fame or attention or whatever the reason they do it, and those people are just as culpable and to blame for all of this, but honestly you or I have no control over that.

What we DO have control over is our reaction to discussions about rape.

I really wish people would stop and THINK about the fact that hello, some people actually HAVE been raped, and mocking or discrediting anyone who says they have been raped, just because the person who may have raped them is someone in a position of power or a celebrity you like, is only serving to discourage people who actually have been raped from ever reporting it. You have no idea how many people around you have been raped/sexually assaulted, and guess what? It's a lot more than you think. There is already a social stigma associated with having been raped, and with reporting rape. Can you imagine what it's like to have been raped and then to be debating whether you should report it because you don't know if anyone will believe you, or if they like the rapist better than you and so they think it couldn't POSSIBLY have happened (hello I'm not just talking about celebrities, this happens on college campuses ALL THE TIME, especially when it involves athletes or frat boys), or because of what they might say about you and about what kind of person you are? It really makes me mad, I'm sorry, but it's unacceptable.

What you say about rape matters, because other people can hear you. I can't bear to read comments online about any of these Julian Assange stories or posts, because it destroys my faith in humanity, and people are saying such disgusting things that it makes me want to cry. If you think sexism is dead, read comments on an article about this and you will see that you're wrong. That's just a fact of life, and again there's not much I can do about that, but I BEG you to please stop and think next time before you say something about a rape case. When it's a celebrity, everyone always assumes it didn't happen, and maybe it did and maybe it didn't, but it DOES happen and could have happened to anyone you're talking to. And it will make them feel horrible. And it could happen in the future to the person you're talking to. Or to their sister. Or their daughter. Or their son. (!) And they will remember what you said. And they will remember other people's reactions to this. And they will probably not report what happened to them. And the person who raped them will probably walk around and, who knows, rape someone else. This happens every day.

Whether or not Julian Assange raped someone, please stop talking about it the way you're talking about it, because not everyone is a powerful celebrity and this is just going to perpetuate the already impossible situation of people you know reporting actual rape. Think you don't know anyone who has been raped? Maybe they never felt comfortable talking with you about it because they heard what you said when someone else had been raped.

People Who Agree And Have Said It Much More Eloquently:
Who Hears You When You Speak About Rape
Talking About Julian Assange Has Become Utterly Terrible
When A Feminist Trivializes Rape
Some Thoughts on 'Sex By Surprise'
Silence Around A Fraternity Sex Assault Case

Top 10 TV Ladies I wish I could be more like

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Fri, 13 Aug 2010 11:37:00 +0000

Every week my sister, two of our friends and I play a little top 10 list game. My sister picks the topic, and we all answer with our own top 10 list, usually supplemented by pictures, descriptions, and sometimes videos. I put a little time into it every week, so I thought it might as well share some of the lists with you guys. Yay, right? This week's topic was:

Top 10 TV Ladies I wish I could be a little more like

10. Bailey (Grey’s Anatomy): She’s badass, a strong person, sensitive, and always gives the best advice. If only I could manage my interns as well as Bailey manages her residents-in-training. Plus, she’s totally cool and isn’t afraid to stand up to everyone and tell them the truth, including her boss, colleagues, and even patients. I could stand to be a little more Bailey in my daily life. Need evidence?: Clip

9. Ally McBeal (Ally McBeal): Ally is a complete mess but she’s hilarious and is a tough lawyer woman who has fun friends and a great job and lots of dates and a great overactive imagination and is really really funny. She hangs out at a piano bar every night. And she is the running consciousness of so many single late-20’s women in NY. (That quote in the clip below – “And I am WOMAN.” So great.) Plus, pulling off those mini-skirts AT WORK? I mean, come on. (PS sorry, I HAD to pick a clip with RDJ because I am in love with him, but the clip is actually REALLY perfect, if you watch the entire thing you’ll see it describes exactly what I’m saying… also, I should mention how much I LOVE Renee. I also really like her ‘90s lipstick.) Clip

8. Mary Tyler Moore (Mary Tyler Moore): Come on guys, she can turn the world on with her smile! Even in a really sexist day and age, MTM worked her way up from the “secretary” job she applied for to an important news producer position at a male-centric news office… and she did it looking really really cute. (LOVE this clip.) Clip

7. Starbuck (Battlestar Galactica): She’s Galactica’s best fighter pilot and she drinks and plays cards. Need I really say more? She is a tomboy but also girly and sexy and just totally badass. She hangs out with the boys, she’s pretty deep, she speaks her mind, and she has a troubled past but a bright future. She’s quick and witty and a tough cookie. Love. (PS the clip below – the whole thing is great, but Starbuck comes in at like 1:20… uh can you say BADASS?? And she’s picturing Adama the whole time?! Ugh I love her.) Clip

6. Cristina Yang (Grey’s Anatomy): She’s the entire reason I watch Grey’s Anatomy. Yes she’s a little emotionally stunted, but she’s another tough cookie who means what she says and says what she means. She’s private and sarcastic and so overly capable and super smart and she’s not afraid to bitch-slap someone. But then she has these moments of real emotion, like in the clip below and you can tell that she’s actually a really deep really sensitive person, she just doesn’t show her cards. God I love her. In my opinion, she’s the rock of the show. Clip

5. Dana (Sports Night): She’s the executive producer of a major sports show on a major network. And she is GOOD. Seriously, she’s really really really good at what she does. She also hangs out with the boys but is a total girly girl. She tells people where it’s at and keeps the boys in line. Plus, she’s really funny and sarcastic. Really good writing on Aaron Sorkin’s part, and really great acting on Felicity Huffman’s part. (You can tell what I mean even in the first couple minutes of this clip. How much do you love me?) Clip

4. Lorelai (Gilmore Girls): She’s a tough single mom who’s just totally adorable and hilarious and addicted to caffeine and eats donuts and pancakes and pizza and French toast and doesn’t even care. She’s always quick with a perfect comeback and she hangs out at the local diner and knows everyone in town and has seen every movie ever and knows every pop culture reference in the world and does everything she can for her daughter and is the coolest mom ever. She’s definitely kind of a mess, but in a good way. I seriously want to be her. Minus the teen pregnancy aspect of course, I could live without that. (It was so hard to pick a scene because there are so many good ones, but I love this clip, this scene makes me laugh SO hard! Okay, every scene in the diner makes me laugh so hard…) Clip

3. Tami Taylor (Friday Night Lights): In the last few seasons she’s been school counselor, stay at home mom, school principal, volleyball coach, headline news, party host extraordinaire, the coach’s loyal and loving wife, and mom of a teenager and a baby all at the same time… the woman is literally a goddess and can do anything. You have to envy her relationship with Coach Taylor (god they’re so cute, I want my marriage to be like that), and as she says herself, “I am right 100% of the time. You can ask my husband.” Damn she’s good. And she makes the best decisions. And she’s so pretty!! My idol. Clip

2. Claire Huxtable (The Cosby Show): …Almost as much as Claire Huxtable. She is a professional powerhouse, raised like an entire neighborhood full of kids, she has the best husband and the most loving marriage relationship in the entire world, she’s GORGEOUS and she is seriously hilarious. All she has to do is give her kids one glance and they shut up immediately. If I could be a mom like Clarie Huxtable (not to mention her professional acumen – way-o!), I think I would be happy forever. (“Let me tell you something Elvin…”) Clip

1. Liz Lemon (30 Rock): Okay well I mean you knew this had to be my number one. I already relate too much to Liz Lemon and her complete neuroses. But I seriously love her and want to be even more like her. She runs the writing staff at 30 Rock, holds her own with Jackie D, contains Tracey and Jenna, she’s hilarious, and let’s be honest, they want to act like she’s a frumpy fran but she looks hella fabulous in her glasses and non-chic outfits. Plus she’s a total geek (like me) but she’s totally glam at the same time (not so much like me). I want to go to there. Clip

Textin' Bout My Generation

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Mon, 09 Aug 2010 12:02:00 +0000

I know this is not new news, but texting while someone is talking to you is so rude. It drives me nutty, seriously. I once got in a fight with someone I was on a date with because he sat there texting someone else practically the entire night. You can call me oversensitive, you can call me old fashioned. But if you're on a date with me, please don't sit there texting someone else, I don't care if it's another girl, your roommate, or a friend from home. Unless it's an emergency (which it wasn't) or unless it has some REALLY great explanation (you're the point man in charge of synching your latest casino heist a la Oceans 11) -- that you RELAY to me while you're texting -- it just flat-out indicates to me that you would rather be doing something else than having a conversation with me, the person you're with right now. Why are you even looking at your phone? Yoohoo, remember me? Yeah, over here. Hey, you! Yeah, look over here! See the person physically sitting across from you? Unless that's a text to ME (ha ha, aren't you clever, texting me sitting across from me!), please put the phone away.

I went out on a date with someone recently and he did not take his phone out THE ENTIRE NIGHT. Seriously, I don't even know what his phone looks like, because I didn't see it. Actually, I've been on a few subsequent dates with him, and guess what? I still don't know what his phone looks like. He literally hasn't looked at it once in my presence. Do you know how refreshing that is? In the world of rattle-y BBMing, Sidekick keyboard texting, iPhone bloop bleep swipey messaging and so much other nonsense, I felt so respected by him because he did not look at his phone. He may have snuck a peek while I was in the bathroom, but if he did, he did it really quickly, because the phone was nowhere to be found when I came out. I was ready to take him home to meet my mother, honest to Beezus.

Texting on dates is bad enough. What about texting AT WORK? Please tell me - WHY do these college-age kids think it's okay to text at work? It drives me insane. Every time I'm trying to give the interns instructions, they sit there texting while I'm talking to them. I'm not exaggerating here. They literally have told me, "hold on a second," so they could finish the word they were texting. Why didn't anyone ever teach these kids that this is not okay? It is seriously one of my pet peeves. You CANNOT be paying attention to me and really absorbing the directions I'm giving you if you are texting your boyfriend while I'm saying it. You just can't. Yes, it irritates me on dates, or when I'm talking to a friend, but nothing irritates me more than Gen-Yers texting at work, seriously. I ended up sending them a Harvard Business Review article about the dangers of multi-tasking and telling them, this means texting while I'm giving you directions too. Passive aggressive? Maybe. But something needed to be done.

I don't understand these Gen-Yers. Most of them are seriously are the most entitled people I've ever come across in my life, and I hate that word. At my internships, I did ANYTHING the company asked me to do, and yes this included brewing coffee, running errands and making copies. Internships are internships, suck it up. But they flat-out refuse to do things! Uh, hey, you're an intern. You'll do what I say you'll do. What the hell?

This goes for the recent college grads we employed at my old company. Some of them I just wanted to smack, I swear. I don't know where they get off thinking that they are entitled to a promotion because they've been at the company a year. Hey there Gossip Girl, it doesn't work that way. You have to work for what you get, just like the rest of us had to. Why don't you focus a little more on DOING YOUR JOB and a little less on applying mascara, and maybe then we can talk about a promotion.

I was talking on Twitter this morning with a few of my friends who are the same age as I am, and they agree with me when I say that I feel like I don't have a generation of my own. I know people who are definitely Gen-X, and I know people who are definitely Gen-Y. As someone in the borderline years, I don't feel like I belong to either of the generations, and it's hard to relate to the "characteristics" of either one. For example, MediaPost published this article today: "Gen Y Traits Come Honestly". I see these traits in the interns at my company, and in other college-age people I know. They are wholly and firmly Gen-Y, in all its Millennial glory. But honestly, I can't relate. I know I'm too young to technically be Gen-X, but I'm also too old to really be a Gen-Y.

My friend Stephon made an interesting point. I was the last class of students in college to not have Facebook. This stuff didn't exist when we were growing up. We aren't like the Millennials, who never knew a day without a cell phone or a relationship without Facebook. We didn't have computers when we were little. We used a card catalog at the library. Our phones had big long twisty cords, and our cell phones once we got them... well, you've seen Saved By The Bell. The defining characteristic of the Millennial generation (Gen-Y) is digital, digital, digital. But where does that leave the borderline years like mine? We are maybe a little more tech-savvy than Gen-X, but way more grounded than Gen-Y. I always feel like I am without a Gen-home. Do you agree?

"Are you going to eat that?"

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 12:35:00 +0000

I'm the worst blogger, I know. I need to start trying to post every day. Today is Chipotle Friday at work, which is always exciting. I'm looking forward to some soft tacos. Yeah, I'm a fattie who gets soft tacos instead of a carb-less "bowl" - why pretend you're eating healthy if you're AT Chipotle, I ask?

I just wanted to mention what it's like to work at an office full of health-conscious people. My boss participates in the Iron Man competition and wakes up at 5am daily to go to the gym. One coworker is a vegetarian (or vegan, I can't remember), used to write a health food blog, and weighs about 1 pound. Another coworker's computer wallpaper is a computer graphic version of herself as she is now (also about 1 pound) and the "ideal" version of herself right next to it, to remind her to not eat basically. Another coworker is also basically not eating so that he looks good for the beach - he's drinking Nutri... something... in place of eating meals, runs the stairs at work in the middle of the day, every day, and rushes home to get to the gym.

Last night we went out for drinks and the discussion not surprisingly wandered over to people working out for 3 hours at the gym. For the life of me I can't remember who did it or is supposed to do it or why we were talking about it - but what I'm saying is, this is around me all the time. Oh, and someone said: "You're getting a BEER? With all those calories?" It was a Corona Light.

It's distressing. I am by no means an unhealthy person, but I get serious anxiety when people are constantly talking about food and working out. I hate it so much. I think it's disrespectful of people who have eating disorders, first of all (you never know if the person you're talking to has one, you know, so it's never a good idea to be constantly talking about food and exercise). And some people just want to enjoy food because life is short or maybe don't want to go in a sweaty gym after work because they're tired and they don't want to be judged for it. Or maybe they were on a diet when they were a little kid and have serious anxiety issues associated with it now. You never know what's going on with people you're around.

It also drives me insane when people comment on what I am eating. Yes, I did get a Veggie Delite 6-inch sub from Subway... ON A SUB ROLL. I know this makes me the most disgusting human being you've ever met. But I guess I can't help that - why should I change what I ordered because an intern might think it's disgusting? It's a VEGGIE sub.

And no, I don't like melted cheese, and it is NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS. I know I'm the most ridiculous person you've ever encountered. But it's like sushi. You are not going to stop my gag reflex when I eat melted cheese. I think I'm allergic to some kind of chemical change that happens when cheese melts. Or maybe my body just really does not like the consistency. Either way, I don't comment on your tofu (another food with a consistency I can't take). So please leave my food selections out of it as well.

Thankfully, my friends in real life are (generally) not concerned with this kind of stuff, with one or two exceptions. They bring doritos and beer over to my apartment and never mention anything about whether what we're all eating at a pub is fattening or how they have to get home to work out. Thank GOD I have friends like this, honestly. Because seriously, if I have to hear one more time about how I should get my Chipotle or my Subway veggie sub as a SALAD (?!), I'm going to punch someone in the face.

Quote of the Day

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Tue, 06 Jul 2010 15:02:00 +0000

"The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty little unsexy ways, every day. That is real freedom. That is being educated and understanding how to think. The alternative is unconsciousness. The default setting. The rat race. The constant gnawing sense of having had and lost some infinite thing."
- David Foster Wallace

Quote of the Day & Some Thoughts

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 12:45:00 +0000

"If you seek escape for its own sake and run away from the world only because it is (as it must be) intensely unpleasant, you will not find peace and you will not find solitude." — Thomas Merton

I pilfered the above quote from CMack. It makes me think, as good old Thomas Merton usually does. I wish he'd follow this up with some directions about how to find peace and solitude. Living in NYC, this is sorely lacking in my life, especially with a new job that keeps me busy every minute of every day.

I used to read Thich Nhat Hanh and the Dalai Lama, they have a lot of suggestions for how to find peace and solitude. But I think Buddhist philosophy assumes you're starting out with a certain calmness that someone so prone to anxiety and distress as I am just flat-out lacks. I'm so super sensitive to everything in the world. Not just getting easily upset at comments other people make, or being super sensitive to other people's issues and problems, but I'm talking about literally everything in life. Thus the diagnosis that I am a HSP (Highly Sensitive Person). I was looking around my bathroom yesterday and laughing - all of my products are the "sensitive" version. Contact solution, toothpaste, shampoo, facewash, hair products, shaving cream, lotion - anything you can think of, I need the sensitive version. In order to go outside in the beautiful summer (hello summer, I'm so glad you're here!), I need to put on several coats of SPF 30 and drag along the bottle of sunscreen plus a baseball cap and a long-sleeved t-shirt just in case. Buddhist calm is a far ways away.

I realize this sounds like a complaint, but it's not. If I wasn't so sensitive, I wouldn't be the person I am, I know that this defines my life. But my question is, how does a hypersensitive person like me not only exist in the world (it's so difficult for me to be in a work environment with the freezing temperature and the loud coworkers... the chewing, good lord the chewing... and the pressure and the criticism), but how do we do that while gaining a sense of peace in the day-to-day? I need to figure this out, because instead I get overwhelmed, and it's not productive.

I know one answer is to not be working in this industry, which is why my future plans include a college classroom and a quiet office of my own, hopefully out of the city somewhere where there's nature and maybe water. But right now, this is where I am. So I need to find my peace. Beatles music gets me far, but not far enough. It's hard not to run away from the world to find it. I need to figure how to be in the midst of this world and find peace. One of my life's great quests.

No place like home

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Fri, 18 Jun 2010 02:32:00 +0000

Blogosphere!! How I've missed you. :) Have you missed me too?

I've been so busy lately with my new job that I've completely neglected Mad Street Cred. Epic fail, I know. I went to the OMMASocial conference today and got re-inspired about social media. Probably ironic, since now I'm working at a social media company. I think there's something about it being my job now that has kept me away. Also the fact that I'm working about 15 hours a day. But hey, I'm here now.

A few things are on my mind:

1. I really don't like when artists use auto tune. Usher was on So You Think You Can Dance tonight. I love love love Usher. But I found myself getting super annoyed with him tonight. And he's actually a good enough singer to sing without that! It ruins everything. Which reminds me... Yeah you know what I'm linking to...

2. I miss playing the piano. I am the "collaborative pianist" for a show my sister and her friend are doing at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum, and it's really fun to play through songs with them and have the songs just... work. My sister's friend told me that when she sings with me playing she feels like she's singing a duet with someone. That's probably the best compliment anyone could ever give a collaborative pianist. :) She also told me I should do it as my job. If only...

3. I am obsessed with Friday Night Lights. I never watched this show until a few weeks ago, when I was surfing around Netflix Instant as it was streaming to my Wii (LOVE), and I randomly picked out FNL to watch. FTW. That show seriously rocks. I know it's only got about one more season in the cards, and that makes me sad. It has quickly become one of my faves. How much do you just love Kyle Chandler? I've loved him ever since Early Edition. :) Ah, the shows of my youth. Anyway, go figure, I don't even like football.

4. Blogging isn't the only thing that has fallen by the wayside thanks to my new job. Here's what else: eating, sleeping, working out, fun, video games, reading, my mac, WoW, surfing the internet for fun, reading blogs, playing the guitar (and piano as stated earlier), going out with friends, dating, cleaning, laundry, listening to the Beatles or any music at all, making myself look presentable, watching TV, watching movies, any kind of extracurricular activities, did I mention sleep? Yeah. FTL.

5. I am going to Niagara Falls next weekend with Amanda. Yay, Maid of the Mist. I love boats. And trips.

This was not what I expected my blog post to be about, I was going to focus on something Very Important. But hey, at least I'm back right? I've missed you all! Time for bed.