Dear Tourists, school trips, and other youth field trippers,
So I admit that I do not know when commute hours start, but I can tell you exactly when they end. In the morning, 9:30 and at night, 7:00.
The other day, I get on the increasingly crowded Metro (how does this investigation on the red line mean that the blue line can't run 8 car trains?!), and there is an entire f***ing Girl Scout troop on there. And those little bitches don't even have any cookies. They don't know how to hang on and go flying every which way every time the train speeds up or slows down. They are all clustered in the doorway making it incredibly difficult for people to get on or off and they are taking up seats. I seriously don't get it. If you wait until 9:30, the Metro will be less crowded and CHEAPER! Do you really need to get to the National Mall by 9? Really? Because I actually need to get to work by 9, so I DON'T HAVE THE OPTION TO AVOID YOU. And do not get me started on the escalator factor... HOW HARD IS IT TO STAND TO THE RIGHT?!
I know I grew up in total urban sprawl, but our field trips were on rented school buses. Why is it that people think taking 40 kids on the Metro, during commute hours, is a good idea? I'll give you a hint, it isn't. Field trippers, do everyone a favor and pay the extra money to rent a bus. And tourists, just go home.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Spotted: DC Fashion Crime - The Usual Suspects, Part II
So I finally upgraded from my technologically retarded phone that was free with my wireless plan like 2 years ago and I now have my nice new Blackberry Curve. And it's a good thing I do, because it allows me to take pictures like this on the walk home...
I fear that you're not properly understanding what's going on here. Let's zoom in, shall we?
Those are f'ing zebra print platforms (circa 1994) with a seersucker suit.
I hate DC.
I fear that you're not properly understanding what's going on here. Let's zoom in, shall we?
Those are f'ing zebra print platforms (circa 1994) with a seersucker suit.I hate DC.
A Plea to Individuals Intending to Commit Suicide on the Metro...
Don't be a douche bag.
Really? We don't have enough problems with the recent crash and circuit issues? Really? You thought the best way to express your depression was to throw yourself in front of an on-coming train on a Friday afternoon when those of us who still have the will to get up and go to our jobs just want to get home or out of town? When you planned this suicide, did you actively think of how to do it so that you inconvenienced and emotionally scarred as many people as possible?
Apparently this is a thing. What's worse, it's an ineffective thing. That article cites 15 attempts since 2007, with only seven being successful. I know of two more since then, including today, and I don't know what happened with the first, but the dude today was "rescued."
If you want to off yourself, far be it from me to stop you. I have one friend who whines all the time and if you'd rather kill yourself than make someone listen to you, I call that considerate...unless you go and do it in the world's most inconsiderate way. And if you are going to be the d-bag that disrupts Friday rush hour, wouldn't you like to kill yourself in a way that actually gets the job done? I can't imagine you're in great shape after being hit by a metro train, "rescued" or not. Do you really want to wake up in a hospital bed feeling like you got run over by a train with an entire city annoyed with you? Can I offer you a shot gun?
Really? We don't have enough problems with the recent crash and circuit issues? Really? You thought the best way to express your depression was to throw yourself in front of an on-coming train on a Friday afternoon when those of us who still have the will to get up and go to our jobs just want to get home or out of town? When you planned this suicide, did you actively think of how to do it so that you inconvenienced and emotionally scarred as many people as possible?
Apparently this is a thing. What's worse, it's an ineffective thing. That article cites 15 attempts since 2007, with only seven being successful. I know of two more since then, including today, and I don't know what happened with the first, but the dude today was "rescued."
If you want to off yourself, far be it from me to stop you. I have one friend who whines all the time and if you'd rather kill yourself than make someone listen to you, I call that considerate...unless you go and do it in the world's most inconsiderate way. And if you are going to be the d-bag that disrupts Friday rush hour, wouldn't you like to kill yourself in a way that actually gets the job done? I can't imagine you're in great shape after being hit by a metro train, "rescued" or not. Do you really want to wake up in a hospital bed feeling like you got run over by a train with an entire city annoyed with you? Can I offer you a shot gun?
More Summer Fashion That Makes Me Go Bleeeghhh...
What the fuck is the point of a summer scarf? It's clearly hot. Hot enough that you don't want to cover your shoulders or arms. Why god why do you want to torture your neck?!
I Worry My Pandora is Judging Me
The makers of Pandora are geniuses. Not only is it a great and enjoyable concept, but they made that great and enjoyable concept work on my Blackberry and it's straight up replaced my iPod (in large part because I haven't been able to find my iPod charger since I moved.) Needless to say, I love Pandora and, not knowing (or bothering to find out with a simple Google search) who the makers of it are, I've transferred all of my respect for the program to Pandora itself. I think it's easier to do because it responds to my input and I vaguely believe that it knows me, but yeah, I revere a computer application at this point more than most people I encounter on a given day.
That said, every now and then I worry that it's judging me. For example, I've been in an angsty, miss-my-1990's-teenage-rebellion, post-grunge mood for a little while, so I created a Third Eye Blind station. (I now worry that my blog readers are judging me as well.) And it's great--Third Eye Blind, Incubus, Tom Petty, Green Day, Semisonic, Weezer, Vertical Horizon, Oasis, Goo Goo Dolls, Wallflowers, I've effectively convinced it that the only Everclear song I want to hear is Santa Monica--Just the throw back I wanted.
Here's the problem--it turns out, I don't like Third Eye Blind that much. I mean, I do, but I like their singles, which is maybe the only thing lamer than liking them in the first place. That's right, Semi-Charmed Kind of Life. What?! The further off the beaten track that I like (and it's not that far) is Blinded. So when Pandora gives me one of their numerous other songs (I swear to god, I thought they only had one album), I really want to give it the thumbs down and tell them never to play it again. But I worry that the almighty Pandora is like "What the fuck?! She told me she liked Third Eye Blind and I played her her stupid Third Eye Blind, but it seems she likes everything else on this station but the goddamn Third Eye Blind!" (My anthropomorphic Pandora curses a lot.)
Now that I'm truly embarrassed by this post, I feel like I should have used The Cars as my example. Except there's nothing by The Cars that I'd skip...at least nothing that I'd admit to.
That said, every now and then I worry that it's judging me. For example, I've been in an angsty, miss-my-1990's-teenage-rebellion, post-grunge mood for a little while, so I created a Third Eye Blind station. (I now worry that my blog readers are judging me as well.) And it's great--Third Eye Blind, Incubus, Tom Petty, Green Day, Semisonic, Weezer, Vertical Horizon, Oasis, Goo Goo Dolls, Wallflowers, I've effectively convinced it that the only Everclear song I want to hear is Santa Monica--Just the throw back I wanted.
Here's the problem--it turns out, I don't like Third Eye Blind that much. I mean, I do, but I like their singles, which is maybe the only thing lamer than liking them in the first place. That's right, Semi-Charmed Kind of Life. What?! The further off the beaten track that I like (and it's not that far) is Blinded. So when Pandora gives me one of their numerous other songs (I swear to god, I thought they only had one album), I really want to give it the thumbs down and tell them never to play it again. But I worry that the almighty Pandora is like "What the fuck?! She told me she liked Third Eye Blind and I played her her stupid Third Eye Blind, but it seems she likes everything else on this station but the goddamn Third Eye Blind!" (My anthropomorphic Pandora curses a lot.)
Now that I'm truly embarrassed by this post, I feel like I should have used The Cars as my example. Except there's nothing by The Cars that I'd skip...at least nothing that I'd admit to.
Spotted: DC Fashion Crime - The Usual Suspects
Since starting this little blog, my friends have turned into contributors in the form of cool hunters, fellow judgey bears and fashion police. More posts to come with more attributions, but a Friday morning short from SS's metro ride...
Apparently a "gentleman" got on at Dupont Circle, decked out in a full seersucker suit, sporting a Vineyard Vines/J. Crew type pink tie with, here's the kicker, yellow butterflies. Hey douchebag, it's seersucker Thursdays.
No, seriously, the seersucker thing needs to stop. Like it's one thing as a cute dress--my little and I both sported them this weekend, but boutique/Calvin Klein style--the kind with actual shape, not preppy gag me style. I get the seersucker shorts/skirt. But seersucker suits. To work. With complementary retarded tie. Unless you're impersonating Colonel Sanders or mocking Seersucker Thursday, retire it. I beg you. Or don't...because douchebags are easier to spot in uniform.
Apparently a "gentleman" got on at Dupont Circle, decked out in a full seersucker suit, sporting a Vineyard Vines/J. Crew type pink tie with, here's the kicker, yellow butterflies. Hey douchebag, it's seersucker Thursdays.
No, seriously, the seersucker thing needs to stop. Like it's one thing as a cute dress--my little and I both sported them this weekend, but boutique/Calvin Klein style--the kind with actual shape, not preppy gag me style. I get the seersucker shorts/skirt. But seersucker suits. To work. With complementary retarded tie. Unless you're impersonating Colonel Sanders or mocking Seersucker Thursday, retire it. I beg you. Or don't...because douchebags are easier to spot in uniform.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Should I Take Them Back?
Perhaps I was spoiled at my last gym. It was more than a gym; it was a health club. There were full size towels for both working out and showering. Staff routinely cleaned the machines, mats and equipment. The personal trainers were professional fitness instructors with degrees in kinesiology and other crap majors that made it impossible for them to do anything but be fitness instructors. The locker rooms were clean, and you didn't mind showering there - and they provided shampoo, conditioner, razors. Anything you needed was there.
Now, I belong to one of the large and crappy national chains. True, I have multiple locations to choose from and pay significantly less each month, but I wonder if even those perks make it worthwhile. Remember, this is the place that offers pizza to its members - those evil geniuses.
Last night I went to a cardio kick box class and the instructor repeatedly went "WOOHOO" throughout the class - WHILE WEARING THE F***ING MICROPHONE. I wished it were a contact class, so I could hit her in the face. Tonight, wasn't any better. I decided to attend spin class, in spite of my intense hatred of the activity. I find it a reliable way to get my heart rate up and work up a sweat.
Well, it was more horrible than normal. First of all, I personally believe that fitness instructors should be fit - or at least in better shape than I am. This girl...was not. Now, she wasn't morbidly obese or anything - just a bit round. This is not a condemnation of fat people (that might appear in another post), but I need to aspire to look like you in order to take you seriously. If you look like you work at Krispy Kreme, I just pity you. Her size showed itself when she gave us a break of a minute or more in between every track - in a 45 minute class. I swear, it was like 30 minutes of spin and another 15 of her "letting us rest our legs" and asking us how we were feeling. Really? REALLY? The first time you asked and no one answered, that should have been your clue we weren't into playing this little game. But, I guess someone in spin instructor school told her she needed to keep asking whether her class was enthusiastic or not.
The plot thickens as my old gym sent me an email this week asking me to come back. I am being offered $0 enrollment and a month free. It's like how when you're with someone else, the ex comes sniffing around. And you realize the new guy kinda sucks and the ex looks really good. What's a girl to do?
Now, I belong to one of the large and crappy national chains. True, I have multiple locations to choose from and pay significantly less each month, but I wonder if even those perks make it worthwhile. Remember, this is the place that offers pizza to its members - those evil geniuses.
Last night I went to a cardio kick box class and the instructor repeatedly went "WOOHOO" throughout the class - WHILE WEARING THE F***ING MICROPHONE. I wished it were a contact class, so I could hit her in the face. Tonight, wasn't any better. I decided to attend spin class, in spite of my intense hatred of the activity. I find it a reliable way to get my heart rate up and work up a sweat.
Well, it was more horrible than normal. First of all, I personally believe that fitness instructors should be fit - or at least in better shape than I am. This girl...was not. Now, she wasn't morbidly obese or anything - just a bit round. This is not a condemnation of fat people (that might appear in another post), but I need to aspire to look like you in order to take you seriously. If you look like you work at Krispy Kreme, I just pity you. Her size showed itself when she gave us a break of a minute or more in between every track - in a 45 minute class. I swear, it was like 30 minutes of spin and another 15 of her "letting us rest our legs" and asking us how we were feeling. Really? REALLY? The first time you asked and no one answered, that should have been your clue we weren't into playing this little game. But, I guess someone in spin instructor school told her she needed to keep asking whether her class was enthusiastic or not.
The plot thickens as my old gym sent me an email this week asking me to come back. I am being offered $0 enrollment and a month free. It's like how when you're with someone else, the ex comes sniffing around. And you realize the new guy kinda sucks and the ex looks really good. What's a girl to do?
Bright spot
I'm percolating with rants I haven't had the opportunity to write, but I will quickly share the bright spot in my day (thanks SS). I often have trouble deciding what to eat for lunch. I brainstorm what's around me, try to determine my mood, usually end up drinking a diet coke and pouting instead. But no more! I now have The Wheel of Lunch.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Dress Your Age
This may come as a shock to some of you avid CSPAN viewers, but DC is not a fashion capitol. It is in fact, the exact opposite of one. Of course there is a DC style - but it is usually pretty bad. Like any high school, there are prototypes to which most people adhere. There are the Hill folk who suit up daily. But not good suits - usually cheap ones. In fact, this guy in my complex who works on the Hill does the sport coat and pants thing. So, he either doesn't match (I swear, one day he wore a brown jacket with black pants) or he looks like a security guard. The Hill can be amusing in the summer though - it is searsucker and bowtie season (well, for the R's at least).
Then, you have the students who look like all the worst frat stereotypes. It's like there is this uniform for the boys of khaki shorts, button up shirts and brown flip flops. Consindering some of the universities in the area, it is no surprise that there is a douche dress code. There is no uniform for the girls. But, let's just say about 15% of female students in DC appear to understand what size they should be wearing. Ladies, sometimes bigger is better.
I will not even dignify the horrific wardrobe of the tourist with a description.
Then there are the downtowners. I would argue a good percentage of the people who work downtown dress relatively well. But, I am noticing an increasing number of people who seem to think they are 20 years older or younger than they are. Note: dressing from the juniors section in your 50s - not cute. Conversely, dressing like Mrs. Doubtfire in your 30s - also not cute.
Personally, I love dressing young while I am young. But I understand that Theory and BCBG are not really designed for the mature woman. I also understand that I am too young to pull off Chico's or St. John (and I am waaaay too poor for St. John). Flaunt it while you got it and hide it when time and gravity give you too much of it.
Then, you have the students who look like all the worst frat stereotypes. It's like there is this uniform for the boys of khaki shorts, button up shirts and brown flip flops. Consindering some of the universities in the area, it is no surprise that there is a douche dress code. There is no uniform for the girls. But, let's just say about 15% of female students in DC appear to understand what size they should be wearing. Ladies, sometimes bigger is better.
I will not even dignify the horrific wardrobe of the tourist with a description.
Then there are the downtowners. I would argue a good percentage of the people who work downtown dress relatively well. But, I am noticing an increasing number of people who seem to think they are 20 years older or younger than they are. Note: dressing from the juniors section in your 50s - not cute. Conversely, dressing like Mrs. Doubtfire in your 30s - also not cute.
Personally, I love dressing young while I am young. But I understand that Theory and BCBG are not really designed for the mature woman. I also understand that I am too young to pull off Chico's or St. John (and I am waaaay too poor for St. John). Flaunt it while you got it and hide it when time and gravity give you too much of it.
Can I Get a Collective Eye Roll?
Apparently it's that time again. The Hill takes a break from wonky political reporting to instead tell us who we should be hitting on at Capitol Hill bars. That's right, it's The Hill's 50 Most Beautiful. Or not yet, but it's time to vote for them.
For our dear readers who operate outside of the District bubble, The Hill spends most of it's time giving politicians the journalistic equivalent of a hand job by reporting on policy that no one cares about outside the Beltway and giving them a forum to flip each other off through anonymous quotes. But once a year, they instead turn to masturbation and definitively prove the old adage that DC is Hollywood for ugly people.
It's not so much offensive that the people are ugly...which they are. Imagine the 50 hottest workers on Wall Street. And the Wall Street crowd doesn't make the Hill workers' measly $28k, even post-recession. Or the 50 hottest in PR? You'd have to add a talent competition just to narrow the field. Truly, look at the 2008 list and tell me that there's not a pretty serious curve they're grading on over on Capitol Hill. (Note to those included last year: not that y'all aren't good looking, just that I've seen better.)
But still, that's not the main thing. The main thing is this idea that politics is a place for you to become famous. That making a Senator's copies somehow makes you special...and all the more so if you're attractive while you do it. People are plenty good (and plenty hot) at tons of other jobs, and no one feels the need to make a list like this. It's like having People Magazine...for my high school.
Which brings me to my actual point: this list is high school. And from people who should be old enough--and god knows entrusted with important enough responsibilities--to know better. Whatever, I'm probably just pissy because Hill interns (and the supervisors who sleep with them) are wicked annoying.
For our dear readers who operate outside of the District bubble, The Hill spends most of it's time giving politicians the journalistic equivalent of a hand job by reporting on policy that no one cares about outside the Beltway and giving them a forum to flip each other off through anonymous quotes. But once a year, they instead turn to masturbation and definitively prove the old adage that DC is Hollywood for ugly people.
It's not so much offensive that the people are ugly...which they are. Imagine the 50 hottest workers on Wall Street. And the Wall Street crowd doesn't make the Hill workers' measly $28k, even post-recession. Or the 50 hottest in PR? You'd have to add a talent competition just to narrow the field. Truly, look at the 2008 list and tell me that there's not a pretty serious curve they're grading on over on Capitol Hill. (Note to those included last year: not that y'all aren't good looking, just that I've seen better.)
But still, that's not the main thing. The main thing is this idea that politics is a place for you to become famous. That making a Senator's copies somehow makes you special...and all the more so if you're attractive while you do it. People are plenty good (and plenty hot) at tons of other jobs, and no one feels the need to make a list like this. It's like having People Magazine...for my high school.
Which brings me to my actual point: this list is high school. And from people who should be old enough--and god knows entrusted with important enough responsibilities--to know better. Whatever, I'm probably just pissy because Hill interns (and the supervisors who sleep with them) are wicked annoying.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Diet: Kinda Day 3 - But Really Day 1
So while I technically started the diet on Sunday, I totally cheated last night. Hence, today is officially day 1. And, I think I am going to truly hate this.
First and foremost, I love carbs and I love sugar. Hell, I love sugary carbs. Any of those are a total no-no. I have already mentioned the alcohol, but it was too painful to share this nugget before. Diet Coke is also forbidden. I live for Diet Coke. If I could hook fountain soda directly into my veins - I would. I would live in Atlanta if only never to hear a waiter say - "Diet Pepsi okay?" For the record, when asked that question, I respond, "I'll have an iced tea."
So, needless to say, the diet will be rough. But beyond giving up all these tasty treats, I have so little variety. Two meals a day will be 3 ounces of some lean meat with veggies and at least one of the remaining three involves yogurt. I am bored, and I have really only stuck to this stupid diet for 2 whole days!
Even the gym is conspiring against me! THE GYM! The place where not eating crap shouldn't be hard. But, when I dragged my grumpy (Diet Coke and carb-less) ass down there, THEY HAD PIZZA FOR THE MEMBERS! What kind of sick, twisted, sadistic shit is that?! People go there to work off pizza, not eat it. I know I won't be safe at work - there is always some sort of candy or carb-y temptation lurking. I know I am not safe at home, because the fiance is not joining me on this crazy diet. But the gym - the gym should be my sanctuary. The only smells wafting through it should be unpleasant (and believe you me, it is like a BO factory at this place).
I sometimes feel that the whole world is against me and that no one thinks I should be as thin as I want to be. To be fair, I want to be so thin as to appear almost unhealthy, but this is America, isn't it? Shouldn't I be allowed to be emaciated. Or is that only okay if I am famous? Because if so, I can get myself on a reality show and clock in for my 15 minutes.
First and foremost, I love carbs and I love sugar. Hell, I love sugary carbs. Any of those are a total no-no. I have already mentioned the alcohol, but it was too painful to share this nugget before. Diet Coke is also forbidden. I live for Diet Coke. If I could hook fountain soda directly into my veins - I would. I would live in Atlanta if only never to hear a waiter say - "Diet Pepsi okay?" For the record, when asked that question, I respond, "I'll have an iced tea."
So, needless to say, the diet will be rough. But beyond giving up all these tasty treats, I have so little variety. Two meals a day will be 3 ounces of some lean meat with veggies and at least one of the remaining three involves yogurt. I am bored, and I have really only stuck to this stupid diet for 2 whole days!
Even the gym is conspiring against me! THE GYM! The place where not eating crap shouldn't be hard. But, when I dragged my grumpy (Diet Coke and carb-less) ass down there, THEY HAD PIZZA FOR THE MEMBERS! What kind of sick, twisted, sadistic shit is that?! People go there to work off pizza, not eat it. I know I won't be safe at work - there is always some sort of candy or carb-y temptation lurking. I know I am not safe at home, because the fiance is not joining me on this crazy diet. But the gym - the gym should be my sanctuary. The only smells wafting through it should be unpleasant (and believe you me, it is like a BO factory at this place).
I sometimes feel that the whole world is against me and that no one thinks I should be as thin as I want to be. To be fair, I want to be so thin as to appear almost unhealthy, but this is America, isn't it? Shouldn't I be allowed to be emaciated. Or is that only okay if I am famous? Because if so, I can get myself on a reality show and clock in for my 15 minutes.
By the way...
You can also find us on Twitter @2Bitches1Blog because we too are oh so 3008 and refuse to be 2000 and late. Convince us of its merits with gratuitous RTs.
Universal Solutions
Interpersonal relationships are complicated, whether they be romantic, friendly, or working relationships. That being said, my best friend from college and I came up with a couple of activities that, when all else fails, act as universal solutions. I'd like to take this brief moment to advocate for them...
All romantic problems can be solved with physical violence. All interpersonal problems can be solved by throwing things at someone.
Some people would tell you that violence is never the answer. They're wrong. And kind of dumb. You should throw things at them.
In college, said best friend had a complicated relationship with one of those complicated guys who has feelings for you but doesn't want to be with you but but but but but. Finally, she got fed up (and perhaps a little drunk) and hit him in the stomach (or kicked him in the shins? I can't quite remember) and suddenly his feelings became a lot more clear and gentlemanly. (He better be single to this day or I'm going to go either kick him in the shins or punch him in the stomach, whichever fate he escaped the first time.)
Following that, I came to see examples all around me of men who deserved to be on the receiving end of physical violence, either as a reform tactic or an entirely deserved goodbye. Corporal punishment is underrated.
Similarly, when someone gets just so annoying that you can't stand them any more and really have nothing to say, I think it should be socially acceptable to throw things at them. I've given this advice to friends many times and none of them have ever taken it (it boggles the mind), but I've found it thoroughly effective every time I've tried it. I think it's the initial shock of the thing. Or the consideration that, if I'm willing to throw things at you, I'm probably also willing to straight up ruin your life. Which I am.
(Post dedicated to the great and wonderful HM, and Tami and I's rough day.)
All romantic problems can be solved with physical violence. All interpersonal problems can be solved by throwing things at someone.
Some people would tell you that violence is never the answer. They're wrong. And kind of dumb. You should throw things at them.
In college, said best friend had a complicated relationship with one of those complicated guys who has feelings for you but doesn't want to be with you but but but but but. Finally, she got fed up (and perhaps a little drunk) and hit him in the stomach (or kicked him in the shins? I can't quite remember) and suddenly his feelings became a lot more clear and gentlemanly. (He better be single to this day or I'm going to go either kick him in the shins or punch him in the stomach, whichever fate he escaped the first time.)
Following that, I came to see examples all around me of men who deserved to be on the receiving end of physical violence, either as a reform tactic or an entirely deserved goodbye. Corporal punishment is underrated.
Similarly, when someone gets just so annoying that you can't stand them any more and really have nothing to say, I think it should be socially acceptable to throw things at them. I've given this advice to friends many times and none of them have ever taken it (it boggles the mind), but I've found it thoroughly effective every time I've tried it. I think it's the initial shock of the thing. Or the consideration that, if I'm willing to throw things at you, I'm probably also willing to straight up ruin your life. Which I am.
(Post dedicated to the great and wonderful HM, and Tami and I's rough day.)
Monday, July 20, 2009
Stupid Names
I really don't understand how people come up with the names (and supposed corresponding pronunciation) for their children. No, this is not a post about kooky celebs who want to name their kids Apple or Kalel. This post is about the normal folks who perhaps think they are being clever or creative but instead put a big fat mark of "my parent is uneducated" on their kids foreheads.
Now, as a T-A-M-I Tami (as opposed to a T-A-M-M-Y Tammy), I think I have a right to cast judgment on those who get creative with spellings. Luckily, my parents didn't get too creative (e.g. Tammiey or some such hideous misuse of the alphabet), so I can cast judgment from a place of superiority :)
Let's discuss the whacked out names of the cast members on this season of Real World (yes, I still watch - so sue me). We have the normals - Derek, Joey, and an obligatory CJ (seriously, isn't this like the 18th CJ in the 22 season history of the show?!), and then we have the girl with the normal name and silly spelling: Emilee. That sort of phonetic stuff reminds me of when I was 4 or 5 and thought "my" was spelled M-I, because I hadn't learned about the magical letter Y yet. But, considering the relative normalcy of that, we can leave it alone.
Considering her age, I would assume Jasmine's mother was a big Aladdin fan. Seriously, rule number 1 of naming a girl - do NOT name her after a Disney princess. You might this is cute, but no - just no (for the record, I am not a fan of Ariels either).
Next we have Jonna. Now, you might think, hey, that name doesn't look so weird. But it is allegedly pronounced like John A. Rule number two of naming a girl - do NOT give her a name that isn't pronounced how it is spelled. We do not have accent marks in the English language, so you cannot make up accents because you feel like it makes your kid more exotic.
Next is Ayiia. Rule number three - any noise a small dog makes when it or its tail gets stepped on is not a suitable baby name.
Finally, we have Bronne. It is almost pronounced like Brawny - you know, the paper towels. Look, if you insist on giving your kid a stupid name that makes him sound like he is a super absorbent brand of paper towel, just go for broke and spell it correctly.
Unnecessary letters and "unique" spellings do not make your child seem more interesting, creative or special. And no one thinks you are famous because you insist upon a dumb naming convention. Just suck it up and buy a baby book - or be honestly creative (just check your spelling).
Now, as a T-A-M-I Tami (as opposed to a T-A-M-M-Y Tammy), I think I have a right to cast judgment on those who get creative with spellings. Luckily, my parents didn't get too creative (e.g. Tammiey or some such hideous misuse of the alphabet), so I can cast judgment from a place of superiority :)
Let's discuss the whacked out names of the cast members on this season of Real World (yes, I still watch - so sue me). We have the normals - Derek, Joey, and an obligatory CJ (seriously, isn't this like the 18th CJ in the 22 season history of the show?!), and then we have the girl with the normal name and silly spelling: Emilee. That sort of phonetic stuff reminds me of when I was 4 or 5 and thought "my" was spelled M-I, because I hadn't learned about the magical letter Y yet. But, considering the relative normalcy of that, we can leave it alone.
Considering her age, I would assume Jasmine's mother was a big Aladdin fan. Seriously, rule number 1 of naming a girl - do NOT name her after a Disney princess. You might this is cute, but no - just no (for the record, I am not a fan of Ariels either).
Next we have Jonna. Now, you might think, hey, that name doesn't look so weird. But it is allegedly pronounced like John A. Rule number two of naming a girl - do NOT give her a name that isn't pronounced how it is spelled. We do not have accent marks in the English language, so you cannot make up accents because you feel like it makes your kid more exotic.
Next is Ayiia. Rule number three - any noise a small dog makes when it or its tail gets stepped on is not a suitable baby name.
Finally, we have Bronne. It is almost pronounced like Brawny - you know, the paper towels. Look, if you insist on giving your kid a stupid name that makes him sound like he is a super absorbent brand of paper towel, just go for broke and spell it correctly.
Unnecessary letters and "unique" spellings do not make your child seem more interesting, creative or special. And no one thinks you are famous because you insist upon a dumb naming convention. Just suck it up and buy a baby book - or be honestly creative (just check your spelling).
IJM is the New FML
Look, I realize that FML is the greatest thing to happen to the internet since TFLN, which is the best thing to happen since Facebook, which is the best thing to happen since YouTube and before that AOL chat rooms were still cool.
Nonethless, I'm sick of the constant complaining that is now justified by ending the complaint with FML. "I have a pimple, FML." "Stubbed my toe, FML." "I had just mediocre sex last night, FML." Look, your life isn't fucked, you're just normal. Something ranging from a minor annoyance to an actual bad thing happened to you today...and also to everybody else.
Someone once told me that a friend of hers found out that her boyfriend was cheating on her by going through his text messages and finding one from his ex that said "I can't do anal any more, I'm getting hemroids." That's a legitimate fuck my life situation. She submitted it to FML and it got voted down--no no, the readers prefer things that couldn't make their whining pale in comparison.
So this weekend I made a commitment to myself that I would be incredibly punctual this week--no more running into the office 5 minutes late, no matter what the red line is doing. This morning, I was perfectly on time, caught a red line train just right, was going to be the last person to fit on, and my contact fell out. I had to run back to my apartment and replace it and I ended up 20 minutes late, which cost me personal time. FML? No. It's just Monday. IJM. Pass it on.
Nonethless, I'm sick of the constant complaining that is now justified by ending the complaint with FML. "I have a pimple, FML." "Stubbed my toe, FML." "I had just mediocre sex last night, FML." Look, your life isn't fucked, you're just normal. Something ranging from a minor annoyance to an actual bad thing happened to you today...and also to everybody else.
Someone once told me that a friend of hers found out that her boyfriend was cheating on her by going through his text messages and finding one from his ex that said "I can't do anal any more, I'm getting hemroids." That's a legitimate fuck my life situation. She submitted it to FML and it got voted down--no no, the readers prefer things that couldn't make their whining pale in comparison.
So this weekend I made a commitment to myself that I would be incredibly punctual this week--no more running into the office 5 minutes late, no matter what the red line is doing. This morning, I was perfectly on time, caught a red line train just right, was going to be the last person to fit on, and my contact fell out. I had to run back to my apartment and replace it and I ended up 20 minutes late, which cost me personal time. FML? No. It's just Monday. IJM. Pass it on.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Food. Damn You For Tasting So Good. Now I Can't Enjoy You Anymore
So with the wedding looming and the metabolism slowing as a result of age, I asked my sister to have her trainer design a diet for me. Let me share an excerpt:
Meal 1: I cup oatmeal cooked in water w/ 1 scoop of protein powder and a handful of mixed berries
Meal 2: 3 oz chicken, fish or turkey, 1 medium sweet potato (baked)
Meal 3: 1 VPX Protein Bar
Meal 4: 3 oz chicken, fish or turkey, 2 cups steamed veggies with 1-2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
Meal 5: Apple or pear and a handful of nuts
In addition to this stringent meal plan, I am instructed to take several vitamins and add protein powder to all kinds of stuff. When I spoke with the trainer about the diet (and address a handful of foods I refuse to eat), he explained the science behind some of this stuff to me. Apparently, I need to clear the fat from my liver (read: no alcohol) with foods like beets or artichoke extract supplements. Clearing the fat from my liver will enable my body to more efficiently burn the fat it has stored.
WHAT?!
Look, I do not profess to be a nutritionist - and I certainly don't study this stuff in my free time. But when did it get so hard not to be fat?! Our parents didn't have to weigh their food or add protein powder to yogurt to stay fit. What has become of us?
Please feel free to hazard a guess as to how long I will last on this low carb, almost zero sugar and nearly fat free (and did I mention alcohol free) diet. Maybe proving you all wrong will be just the motivation I need.
Meal 1: I cup oatmeal cooked in water w/ 1 scoop of protein powder and a handful of mixed berries
Meal 2: 3 oz chicken, fish or turkey, 1 medium sweet potato (baked)
Meal 3: 1 VPX Protein Bar
Meal 4: 3 oz chicken, fish or turkey, 2 cups steamed veggies with 1-2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
Meal 5: Apple or pear and a handful of nuts
In addition to this stringent meal plan, I am instructed to take several vitamins and add protein powder to all kinds of stuff. When I spoke with the trainer about the diet (and address a handful of foods I refuse to eat), he explained the science behind some of this stuff to me. Apparently, I need to clear the fat from my liver (read: no alcohol) with foods like beets or artichoke extract supplements. Clearing the fat from my liver will enable my body to more efficiently burn the fat it has stored.
WHAT?!
Look, I do not profess to be a nutritionist - and I certainly don't study this stuff in my free time. But when did it get so hard not to be fat?! Our parents didn't have to weigh their food or add protein powder to yogurt to stay fit. What has become of us?
Please feel free to hazard a guess as to how long I will last on this low carb, almost zero sugar and nearly fat free (and did I mention alcohol free) diet. Maybe proving you all wrong will be just the motivation I need.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Pay Close Attention, There Will Be a Test
My new favorite thing in life is people who list He's Just Not That Into You among their favorite books and are still in patently terrible relationships.
On an almost weekly basis a friend or acquaintance relates a barely believable tale of dating trespasses to me, and then asks me what (for the most part) she should do about it. My answer is always a) tell him that was fucked up and/or b) dump him.
A guy who likes you doesn't do mean stuff. That's not to say they don't make mistakes, but they don't consciously do things to hurt you. And in particular, if something is happening repeatedly, he either doesn't know it's mean (tell him) or doesn't care (dump him.)
So, having dispensed this sage advice a good 300 times over the past year or so, I've occassionally thought to myself "I should write a book." And then I remember, there already is one that, in concept (I've never read it) addresses this very topic. Thus, a plan was born: a new edition of HJNTIY with a reading comprehension test in the back. Genius!
My favorite example of this girl is my (37-year-old) brother's (22-year-old) girlfriend. She has a high school education, is unemployed, and lives with my brothers (who, yes, in their late 30's, live together.) Her entire Facebook profile (which has no privacy protection and is endlessly entertaining) is about how much she loves my brother, the purses he buys for her, and church, which he makes her attend.
Not too terribly long ago, she thought he was cheating on her because he inappropriately texts his ex-girlfriends, so she flipped out, keyed his car, told his job that he cheats on his expense reports and, for reasons passing my understanding, called my parents and told them all sorts of horrible lies about me. Crazy? Absolutely. But she was like 20. We were all dumb when we were 20. Not that dumb, but dumb. But should she damn well have left his ass? You betcha, because you don't stick with a guy whose exes are still talking sexy to him. Nope, got back together a week later.
For several months (in venues as public as Facebook) she's been saying she expects a ring on their 2 year anniversary in August. He says he can't afford one right now. Favorite Books: The Bible, Captivating, The Greatest Miracle in the World, Don't be That Girl, and of course He's Just Not That Into You.
On an almost weekly basis a friend or acquaintance relates a barely believable tale of dating trespasses to me, and then asks me what (for the most part) she should do about it. My answer is always a) tell him that was fucked up and/or b) dump him.
A guy who likes you doesn't do mean stuff. That's not to say they don't make mistakes, but they don't consciously do things to hurt you. And in particular, if something is happening repeatedly, he either doesn't know it's mean (tell him) or doesn't care (dump him.)
So, having dispensed this sage advice a good 300 times over the past year or so, I've occassionally thought to myself "I should write a book." And then I remember, there already is one that, in concept (I've never read it) addresses this very topic. Thus, a plan was born: a new edition of HJNTIY with a reading comprehension test in the back. Genius!
My favorite example of this girl is my (37-year-old) brother's (22-year-old) girlfriend. She has a high school education, is unemployed, and lives with my brothers (who, yes, in their late 30's, live together.) Her entire Facebook profile (which has no privacy protection and is endlessly entertaining) is about how much she loves my brother, the purses he buys for her, and church, which he makes her attend.
Not too terribly long ago, she thought he was cheating on her because he inappropriately texts his ex-girlfriends, so she flipped out, keyed his car, told his job that he cheats on his expense reports and, for reasons passing my understanding, called my parents and told them all sorts of horrible lies about me. Crazy? Absolutely. But she was like 20. We were all dumb when we were 20. Not that dumb, but dumb. But should she damn well have left his ass? You betcha, because you don't stick with a guy whose exes are still talking sexy to him. Nope, got back together a week later.
For several months (in venues as public as Facebook) she's been saying she expects a ring on their 2 year anniversary in August. He says he can't afford one right now. Favorite Books: The Bible, Captivating, The Greatest Miracle in the World, Don't be That Girl, and of course He's Just Not That Into You.
Potentially Shocking Discovery
I went to set up a Gmail account for this here lil' blog and I'm horrified to have potentially discovered that Google won't let you curse in an email address?! Wtf, mate? I could be wrong--after all, Google let us curse in the title of this blog, but I do find it hard to believe that 2bitches1blog@gmail.com was taken. And I find it harder still to believe that 2bitches1blog132678346122345789@gmail.com was taken.
Prove me wrong if you're out there 2bitches1blog132678346122345789@gmail.com by dropping us a line at Contact2B1B@gmail.com. (The rest of y'all are welcome to email as well.)
Prove me wrong if you're out there 2bitches1blog132678346122345789@gmail.com by dropping us a line at Contact2B1B@gmail.com. (The rest of y'all are welcome to email as well.)
Thursday, July 16, 2009
The Red Line is a Mess and, Bitch, You're Not Helping.
For those of you not from DC, the red line is very, very important. It runs through the middle of the city--including to the Senate side of the Capitol and the K Street corridor where the lobbyists work, it's one of the few lines that at no point has another line running parallel to it and, most importantly, it's where I both live and work.
There was a deadly crash on the red line recently and (this will sound callous) but it's made it really hard for me to get around. (I'm a selfish bitch. What?) Trains that once ran every 2 minutes now run every 8. When they pull up, they're often too full to get on. When you do get on a train, well, there's some cuddling going on.
As bad as this is, we're all in it together. Well, most of us. The following bitches are not helping the situation:
There was a deadly crash on the red line recently and (this will sound callous) but it's made it really hard for me to get around. (I'm a selfish bitch. What?) Trains that once ran every 2 minutes now run every 8. When they pull up, they're often too full to get on. When you do get on a train, well, there's some cuddling going on.
As bad as this is, we're all in it together. Well, most of us. The following bitches are not helping the situation:
- Purse whores. I don't know if you've noticed, but people get larger up top and are slimmer at the legs. Take your big ass bag and hold it in your hand by your knees rather than on your shoulder. Extra bitch points to chicks who are now carrying 2+ bags (what the hell do you have in there?!)
- Train readers. I get it. I like to read on a long train ride too. However, when everyone's crowded in the train, you can't spread out your full Washington Post, deal with it.
- Pole huggers. No, not strippers. I love strippers. I'm talking about the people who wrap their arms around the pole that one holds onto and press their body up against it (usually a corollary to reading the paper.) Do you not see that you're denying others a place to hold onto?! Some of us can't reach the bars on the ceiling. You're even more selfish than I am.
Some days my friends are funny...
My gchat away message: Everyone who uses all caps in business emails can bite me.
Tracie: CHOMP CHOMP
Tracie: CHOMP CHOMP
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Bad TV is So Good
Those who know me know that I love bad television - and I do not discriminate. I like bad celeb-reality TV and bad scripted television. But the worst of the worst, and the one I am almost ashamed to admit I watch, is the ABC Family "drama" The Secret Life of the American Teenager.
It is by the creator of 7th Heaven. There are tons of similarities; it is poorly written, poorly acted, way too much dialogue and paper thin plots. The main difference is that on this show people actually have sex - and they aren't all married. But, they don't get to just enjoy sex - they suffer consequences. And let me tell you, there are consequences.
The girl who got knocked up (and is SUPER annoying now that she is a 15 year old mom) got off easy. One girl actually managed to kill her father. He "died a horrible death" because she "had incredible sex." I wish I could make this shit up - I could be a writer for ABC Family if I could. But here's the thing. Do these writers feel good about themselves? Do they think they are doing a service for their young viewers by warning them about the lesser-known dangers of sex (e.g. killing a parent)?
But, it is the very qualities that make is so god-awful that make it so damned addictive. It is like the last season of the original 90210: train wreck TV. You try to look away, but you just can't. Well, I know I can't.
It is by the creator of 7th Heaven. There are tons of similarities; it is poorly written, poorly acted, way too much dialogue and paper thin plots. The main difference is that on this show people actually have sex - and they aren't all married. But, they don't get to just enjoy sex - they suffer consequences. And let me tell you, there are consequences.
The girl who got knocked up (and is SUPER annoying now that she is a 15 year old mom) got off easy. One girl actually managed to kill her father. He "died a horrible death" because she "had incredible sex." I wish I could make this shit up - I could be a writer for ABC Family if I could. But here's the thing. Do these writers feel good about themselves? Do they think they are doing a service for their young viewers by warning them about the lesser-known dangers of sex (e.g. killing a parent)?
But, it is the very qualities that make is so god-awful that make it so damned addictive. It is like the last season of the original 90210: train wreck TV. You try to look away, but you just can't. Well, I know I can't.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Decisions Made Late on a Tuesday Must be a Good Idea
You know those conversations where you say to a friend, "you should do X." Well, late on Tuesday night I had that conversation with a friend, and it was about starting a blog. She suggested we share - like 2birds1blog. So, I said, how about 2bitches1blog and voila - the rest is history.
We don't have a theme - yet. Nor am I sure either of us will actually have the follow thru to keep up the damned thing. But, we both have a lot more to say than our gchat status will let us print. So enjoy the musings, the pontifications and, of course, the rants.
We don't have a theme - yet. Nor am I sure either of us will actually have the follow thru to keep up the damned thing. But, we both have a lot more to say than our gchat status will let us print. So enjoy the musings, the pontifications and, of course, the rants.
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