It’s Funny ‘Cause It’s True

My roomate is on Match.com.

Life’s Just Not that Into Me

Last night was maybe the worst night ever.

Based on a True Email

Subject: It’s Twenty Ten Now!

In case you were wondering, I had a great time in New York.  I got to hang out with Fich (!) and see a bunch of friends who I hadn’t seen in a year.  It seriously made me question why I live so far away from them.  Added to this, was Mel and my’s Reunited and it Feels So Good Rockin’ New Year’s Eve…

Based on a True Email

To: melsanie

From: thedith

Subject: You Can’t Take it Back

 

so, um, i literally just remembered that this song featured prominently in my friday night.

the same night that saw us still drinking at 6am.  seriously, listen to that song.  then, please try to understand that i was held hostage in my own new apartment, drinking gin and 100% cranberry juice at 4 am, forced to listen to this song on loop, while a tall blond boy named pat — who you could tell thought he was like THE SHIT back in high school, but now he’s totally like jeff spicolli from dazed and confused and works in a bar — dances and sings along to this song.  please keep this in mind when listening to that song. like, of COURSE maybe the most non-nonsensical, most random night of my life would happen the weekend i give up twitter. it was killing me.

Or, How I Learned to Quit Worrying, and Love the Britney

Now that I’m not working for the Oldies (But Goodies) anymore, I have ample time to sit around searching the world (well, according to the wide web, that is) for new music.  Sometimes, I even rake through my itunes for old music that I’ve forgotten about, but still love — the Oldy But Goodies of my personal music collection, if you will.  Sometimes — okay, often — this leads me to Britney Spears.  Pre-meltdown, she was awesome.  Don’t try to argue with me, about this, you will lose.

Anyway, the more I listened to Britney, the more I realized, she’s got the entire 5-step Grieving Process in her song catalog.  Don’t believe me?  Watch this:

Live: From the Midwest, It’s Conservatism and Apple Pie

Usually I only go back to Wisconsin for the big holidays, Fourth of July and Thanksgiving, but this weekend I returned to the land of cheese because my friends Emily and Luke got married after about 8 years of dating. I was there when they started dating and at almost every step along the way, so it was really exciting to see them finally get hitched.  I’ve never been home in the fall so I also got my fill of apples, comfort food and a hefty amount of conservative talk–because nothing says Autumn like denouncing gay marriage and mashed potatoes. Hand in hand, really.

From the Mixed up Files of Saturday Night

A girl dressed as a punk rock fairy streaked past me.  Her cotton-candy-pink tutu bounced up and down with each step.  Meanwhile, across the street, a pack of 20-something dudes hollered drunken obscenities to each other.  Their Mardi Gras beads clanked against their bare chests.  One of the topless dudes had thoughtfully scrawled “DTF?” across his torso in thick black letters.  I wondered if anyone would respond affirmatively to this question.  But hey, it was LoveFest, the annual techno/rave parade through the streets of downtown San Francisco, culminating in a mass  afternoon rave at Civic Center.  So, let’s be honest, who wasn’t going to be DTF? I applauded this kid’s manners.  Very polite of him — you know, asking first if anyone was down to fuck, and all.

It was 8pm.

I had missed the techno parade, the afternoon rave, and prancing around the streets of San Franciso half naked — but damnit if working a double-shift at the restaurant all Saturday was going to ruin my Saturday night! My feet were swollen, my body tired, but my fingers were itching to text.

So, I let them go to work and inquire what everyone was up to.  Little did I know that once unleashed, upon the night, those phalanges would be unstopable — texting everyone and everything on the contacts list of my cellphone [ed note: if you got one of those texts, hey, wasn’t that funny of me?]

First up, Katie: she had been at LoveFest all day.  What was she up to now?

Fucked up at my friends in the haight.

Oh.  Next was Chris, who had also been at LoveFest:

Home w ppl.  May be heading out soon.

This didn’t sound promising. Then Caitlin called: “Matt wants to go to a warehouse party.”  You had me at “warehouse party”.

As it turned out, Matt was still at work, and wouldn’t be out until 11.  Luckily, Kathryn had some free tickets to a green energy conference summit after-party at the Academy of Sciences Museum, so we decided to pre-game there, at the science museum, with fancy cocktails and science nerds before the warehouse party.

My Fleeting Attempt at Being a Fashionista

So I’ve lived in New York for about three years now and all this time I have never taken part in any fashion activities so this year I figured I should at least see what all the hubbub is about.  I should mention that it helps that I also have a contact at IMG who got me into fashion shows.  Lesson here kids: it’s never what you know, it’s who you know. Don’t stay in school, just learn how to mingle and fake a degree from an Ivy League or at least FIT.

(90) Days of Unemployment

It has been approximately 90 days since I was laid off.  It’s 3:30 am.  I can’t sleep.  It’s hard to imagine now, but the day after I got laid off, I went to Vegas for three days.  Yep, that’s right, Vegas.  Granted, I was already planning to go to Vegas before I got laid off — bought my ticket during my lunch break the very day I got laid off, but really? I did that? Reckless? Irresponsible? Stupid? Or best decision of my life?  I vacillate between the last two.  I think it was simultaneously both.  Foolish perhaps, but at the time, I think it was what I needed to get my mojo flowing. Sometimes, you gotta do stupid things to get your groove back.

Since being laid off, I’ve temped part-time at a non-profit that organizes continuing education opportunities for Seniors;  I’ve worked (well, work, present tense) at a restaurant.  I’ve met dozens of new people — some I’ve been apathetic about, some I’ve disliked; many I’ve liked, and some I’ve really liked.  Some, I’ve regrettably fallen out of contact with because I’m bad at staying in contact with people (if you’re one of those people, and you’re reading this, hey, let’s hang out by the way?).  I’ve Networked with countless people to no avail; sent out billions more cover letters and resumes, and heard back from few.  Then, in the month of July, I all but gave up.  I knew that I needed to keep trying, but it just got to be so damn dispiriting.  This, was no funemployment.

What’s That? Speak Up. I Don’t Read Smoke Signals

An admitted Social Retard, I’ve been thinking about social cues a lot lately.  Like, how we give them off, how they’re interpreted, and what to do when what you’re throwin’ out there isn’t being picked up — or worse yet, when what you’re throwin’ out there is being picked up, but is being misconstrued.

Obviously, social cues are important.  Not just learning how to read them, and give them out, but logistically speaking as well — there just aren’t enough hours in the day to verbally communicate every thought and every idea to every person we encounter, so naturally we need to rely on non-verbal forms of communication.  Okay, understand that.  But sometimes, I wish we relied on social cues a lot less, and verbally communicated with each other more.  It would make life a lot easier for socially handicapped people like myself.

I like to call myself (okay, that’s a lie,  I’ve never called myself this, I’m just making this phrase up right now, but I’m going to start calling myself this from now on) a high functioning socially retarded person.  Outwardly, if you met me, you’d think that I’m just as capable of social interaction as the next guy, but actually, I’m really kind of hella awkward.  That is to say, if you like me, it takes me a really long time to pick up on it; if you don’t like me, it takes me a really long time to pick up on it.  Meanwhile, you might assume that I dislike you, even if I really haven’t made up my mind either way. And, if I do actually like you, you might never pick up on it.

Sound confusing? It is.  And, you know why? Because, like any symbolic form of communication, social cues are rife for misinterpretation.  So, that girl you saw outside the club? The one you smiled at because you saw her slip, and you wanted to let her know hey, these things happen, don’t be embarrassed? Yeah, well she’s acting all suspicious of you, whispering a warning to all her girl friends, because she thinks your smile means you’re trying to figure out what she’d look like without her clothes on.  You’re not meaning to hit on her, but she misread your social cue.  Now you don’t have a chance with any of her friends.  Or, what about that guy you’re crushing on? Remember him? He’s the one who’s phone calls you never answer right away (even though you really, really want to) because you don’t want to seem “too available” (i.e. desperate)? Yeah, well, he’s not calling you anymore because he thinks you never answer your phone when he calls because you don’t like him.  What’s to blame here? Really? Do I have to type it out here, for you? Miss-communicated social signals, duh.

And you know what? Fuck that.  I’m tired of all this social confusion.  Can I make a request here? Can I request that we stop being so lazy, and kind of talk to each other more? I know it’s easier, more comfortable, and less time consuming to let your actions reflect your thoughts, but actually,  it’s really pretty annoying when someone misreads your actions.  Let’s cut down on the suspicion/confusion/anxiousness/false hope here, and just talk to one another.  Mystery dramas are fun for entertainment purposes, but suck in real life.  Like, sure Ghost Writer was a really fun show, but wouldn’t you get sick of having a friend who insists on communicating by throwing random letters and words together in the hopes that you can figure out what  he means? Wouldn’t you be like, fuck you, Ghost Writer, who’s the dbag committing all the annoying pranks on the Lenni music video set?  You know the answer, why can’t you just tell me? Admit it, you would say that.  That’s how I feel about social cues.  And now, I’ll end with a poem:

So, tell me what you want, what you really, really, want/

I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want/*

*Answer: A zig-a-zig-ahhhh