jamelah.net

Okay, I was tagged to do another meme. The thing about this meme is that it had some very bossy rules. I do not like it when memes boss me around so I have decided that I’m going to ignore the rules entirely, except the one rule about rewriting questions. That rule was that I must replace any question I dislike with a new question. This seems like cheating, in a way, however I justify this by saying that a meme — which is a concept larger than just silly posts on blogs — is subject to mutation, so it’s all good. What I’m doing is mutating the hell out of this bitch. Creating a mutant. Something. Anyway, I think the meme was originally supposed to be about dating but it seems that some HR director stuck a bunch of bad job interview questions in place of several of the dating questions which was rather odd. I changed some of them. I left some of them alone. Whatever.

Onward.

If your lover betrayed you, what would your reaction be?
The answer to this question depends on about a million variables. What kind of betrayal? Did he trump my ace in a game of euchre (why am I so obsessed with euchre lately?) or was it something else? Because if it were the euchre thing then the obvious answer would be to kill him and dispose of the body in a cornfield somewhere, whereas if it were something else, then perhaps I could be more diplomatic. I’m joking.

If you could have a dream come true, what would it be?
I’d finally get a pony!

What would you do with a billion dollars?
Buy a pony. In fact, ponies for everyone! Get me a billion dollars right now and I’ll prove it. I’m a giver.

Will you fall in love with your best friend?
WILL I? Who knows? What a cliffhanger! Seriously, though: no. First of all, I don’t have a best friend. I have friends to whom I am close, and I love them dearly, but I don’t love them that way. Have I ever fallen for a good friend? Yes, of course. It never worked out though, and I’ve come to some conclusions about why. My relationships with others are defined by certain cues. I know where I stand with people. And while my relationships grow and change and become closer or more distant depending on billions of factors, I still know where I stand with people and those relationships are still defined by certain cues. And when a guy enters the picture, then yes, I have to be friends with him, absolutely. I have to like him as a human being. But there had better be something else there, pretty much entirely from the beginning, even if all it is is an open-ended question, a silent understanding of perhaps. But silent understandings only go so far, and at some point you have to talk about it, even if it’s only to acknowledge what exists. If you wait too long on this, the whole thing becomes riddled with questions and uncertainty and then it just gets too weird. Too Weird: the place where fledgling interest goes to die.

All of this to say that by the time it gets to a best friends situation, it’s already been tested, it’s already been proven. At that point, let it be what it is.

Which is more blessed: loving someone or being loved by someone?
Both at the same time is pretty damn amazing. Otherwise it’s more like unrequited pining or being stalked, both of which I’ve experienced, and I can’t really recommend either.

How long do you intend to wait for someone you love?
To what? I’m not an impatient person, but if I’m waiting for someone to get out of the bathroom or something, then I might get a little testy. Especially if I really had to pee.

If you could root for one social cause, what would it be?
Me getting a billion dollars and going on a pony-buying spree.

What takes you down the fastest?
Um? I don’t quite know what this question means. So I will guess a sniper. Or a ninja. Or a velociraptor.

Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
What is this? A job interview? Next are you going to ask me what my strengths and weaknesses are?

Do you believe you have a soulmate?
Yes. Sort of. I believe in soulmates, but I don’t believe it in the Hollywood romantic way. I believe we all have more than one. I believe that different people are soulmates in different ways. I have friends who are soulmates, absolutely, and becoming friends with them was, in a way, like coming home. I guess, not to be too big of a dork, it’s sort of like Anne of Green Gables and her concept of kindred spirits. Some people are kindred spirits and some people aren’t. Kindred spirits are essential to life. I am not a relationship expert, and the thought of being one, even for pretend in this paragraph, makes me giggle. But when it comes to relationship relationships, then yes, I think that person should be — has to be, even — a kindred spirit, but ultimately I don’t think it’s wise or even healthy to place the entire burden of soulmatehood on one person.

What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?
Not very skilled in the art of vodka watermelon-making, that’s for sure.

Would you rather be single and rich or married and poor?
I would rather be a superhero. I don’t care that this was not one of the options.

If you fall in love with two people simultaneously who would you pick?
I don’t believe it’s possible to fall in love with two people simultaneously. That is not how love works. So let’s switch things around and say that two people fell in love with me simultaneously, because that could happen. Right? Totally. What would I do in this situation? Simple: Reality show.

Would you give all in a relationship?
I’m having a really hard time not being a smartass in response to this question, but that’s because the truth cuts too close, for one thing, and I want to know what it is that I have to give all of, for another thing. All of my love? All of my Pringles? What? Anyway, I wrote a good post about this once, over on my ex-blog, but it’s gone now, so um, hey. Yes, I try. I fail. I do the best I can. I worry. I make things unnecessarily difficult. I apologize. And, perhaps, repeat.

Would you forgive and forget someone no matter how horrible a thing s/he has done?
Forgive, yes. Forgiveness is essential to my own health and sanity. Sometimes it’s easier to do this than other times, but it’s so necessary, and as I’ve learned time and again, it has less to do with the other person and more to do with me. As this one preacher once said, holding bitterness in your heart is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to die. Very true, that. As for forgetting, I don’t know how possible this truly is. Forgiveness removes the sting (and I think being able to remember something without it hurting all over again is a sign of having gotten to a place of true forgiveness) but memories have this way of lingering.

Do you prefer being single or in a relationship?
Considering my relationship history, single. Maybe someday this will change. I hope it does.

People you want to tag:
I don’t want to tag anybody. So there.

Think how you’d feel if you’d been doing something all your life and you thought it was universal behavior only to discover that that not only is it not universal behavior, but engaging in this behavior makes you kind of crazy. You’d be somewhat incredulous, right? I mean, how is that possible?

Well, I am all kinds of incredulous, people, because okay. I like oatmeal. A lot, actually. Mmm oatmeal. And you know what goes well with oatmeal? Toast. I like oatmeal and toast. And I like dry toast because, um, I put the oatmeal on the toast? I do. I put the oatmeal on the toast. Not like all of the oatmeal, but you know, I’ll eat a few bites of oatmeal, and then I’ll pick up a piece of toast and put maybe a spoonful of oatmeal on the toast and eat it, and then I’ll repeat the process until I’m done. It’s a delicious nutritious breakfast. Shut up. It is.

I had it pointed out to me last night that this was not normal. So I asked Caryn about it this morning and she also said it was weird. WHAT? I DON’T UNDERSTAND.

So, here is my question. Please answer:

Oatmeal on toast? Is that bizarre? Seriously, have you never thought of doing this, not even once? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? Ahem.

Okay, maybe that turned into several questions. What I mean is, quite simply, oatmeal on toast: yes or no?

Thank you.

Okay, let’s face it. I’m never going to be able to write a post as good as the one I wrote yesterday. There’s sexual innuendo, R. Kelly, Johnny Cash, and Moons Over My Hammy. And a dead hooker. So it’s all downhill from there, really, and I do apologize. To prove that the only course I could possibly take is one amazingly fast downward spiral, today I am going to do a meme. I can’t help it! I got tagged! And also, I cannot resist memes. There are memes and then there’s me and I am their bitch.

Anyway, here goes:

4 Things I did Today:

1. Forced myself to go for a run even though I wanted to sit around in my pajamas.

2. Took the following photograph of my post-run hair:

I will never stop being amused by the craziness sprouting from my scalp.

3. Wore a sweater and actual shoes (not sandals) and was still cold all afternoon. So cold that I had to go get coffee and all that was left was the mega-caffeine kind and so now I’m still all “Whee! Caffeine!”

4. Ate some squash. Mmm. Squash.

4 Things on my To-Do List:

1. Because I haven’t worked out how to get paid for existing, I still have to get a job. I’m perfectly fine with getting a job, and in fact I prefer working to not working because I hate that useless feeling that comes with being a no-good layabout, but [rant deleted]. To sum up: drat.

2. Finish editing those stories that I have been a slacker about.

3. Get a trim.

4. I don’t know. Read some books, or something.

4 Things that are my Guiltiest Pleasures:

1. That show on the Discovery Channel with Josh Bernstein who is such an adorable dork ohmygod.

2. America’s Next Top Model marathons. When the WB combined with whatever other station it was to form the CW, my cable company decided I didn’t need that channel, so I don’t get to watch it until it comes on in marathon form on MTV or someplace long after everyone else has already watched it and I have to spend a lot of time trying to avoid spoilers, which is hard. Not having the CW means that I also don’t get to watch Gossip Girl, which I am sure would be a wonderfully guilty pleasure, but my cable company is an asshole. Anyway, when it comes to ANTM, I miss Janice Dickinson.

3. Snickers.

4. Awful Top-40 radio.

4 Random Facts about Me:

1. Every time I notice a gray hair, I pluck it from my head. I realize that a time will come when this will no longer be feasible but for now I’m going to keep doing it.

2. I’m better about this than I used to be, I think. I’m sarcastic anyway, but when I’m mad, my sarcasm turns lethal. It almost got me fired once.

3. I’m allergic to cats. Achoo.

4. Man, I just did a list of 100 of these so I’m having a hard time thinking up new ones. Um, how many times have I told you that I had braces twice? Eleventy billion? Right-o. There really is a finite number of random facts about me, and I think I’ve covered them all.

4 Bloggers I’m Tagging:

Mmmnope. But if you’d like to do this meme, then consider yourself tagged.

The other night I was having a very important discussion. It was about cartoons. During the course of this discussion, I came to the conclusion that people don’t say “drat” enough, and I have taken it upon myself to restore this word to its former glory. Let’s just say that it’s my calling. I mean, it’s a fair calling, as far as callings go. As such, I feel it is important to tell you about the word “drat” and to give you some examples of how you might put the word to use, so that you will feel comfortable working it into your daily conversations.

History:

I did some research, because that’s what I do. I research things. Things of great importance. Like me, you may believe that “drat” is mild curse, along the lines of “Oh, darn!” or “Aw, shucks!” but in researching the word’s etymology, I discovered the following:

drat: 1815, disguised form of exclamation God rot (something or someone).

So it happens that if you say “drat!” you’re really saying “God rot you!” which gives the word a whole new sheen of awesomeness, wouldn’t you say?

Well, you ought to, if you know what’s good for you.

This is a very clever word, evidence in four letters that speakers of English have become somewhat lacking in subtlety with their swearing over the past two hundred years. I mean now, if you wanted to say “God rot you!” you’d probably just say “God rot you!” Which is fine, I suppose, but it lacks something. How could it possibly be lacking, you may wonder, considering the fact that it has several more letters than its abbreviated counterpart, but I would argue that it lacks style. It lacks panache. It lacks the complete satisfaction of uttering a four-letter word, which indeed is one of the greatest pleasures life has to offer.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Uttering four-letter words is one of the greatest pleasures life has to offer? Whatever, you potty-mouthed wench.” And I would reply, “Did you really just call me a wench? I didn’t know we were on such familiar terms.” But anyway, yes, I do believe that cursing is a pleasure. Think about it logically for a moment if you will, and you will, because you enjoy logic as I do. I’m not really talking about it when it’s every other word, but more like when you’re having a bad day, and it’s one frustration after another, all day long, and it builds and builds and builds until finally you let loose with a string of curses you didn’t even know you were capable of putting together, and suddenly, you feel better. Build up and release. It’s a very elementary principle, really. I’m sure you can think of your own examples.

The point of all of this being that “drat” is a clever word, and don’t we all love to be clever? You can say “God rot you!” and people will think you’re kind of sweet, using such a seemingly antiquated word with no bite. It’s like a code. Brilliant.

Application:

So, now that I have explained to you the true meaning and some of the merits of using the word “drat” it is time to think about ways to apply this word to situations in our daily lives. I’ve thought up several handy examples. These are just to get you started. To get the ball rolling. I have every faith that once you’ve read these examples and thought about the ways that you can put this word into action in your own life, you will be ready to drat up a storm. As it were.

Example 1:
Situation: You’re building shelves. You hit your thumb with a hammer.
Use: Drat!

Example 2:
Situation: You’re on your way to a very important [meeting, job interview, presentation, etc.] and you discover you’re having a wardrobe malfunction, like a button comes off your shirt, or the zipper in your pants has decided it suddenly doesn’t want to work anymore, or the heel breaks off your shoe, or you get a run in your stockings. Whatever.
Use: Drat!

Example 3:
Situation: You check your phone and you have two text messages. Only two? What’s up with that? I don’t know either, but anyway, you have two messages. One is from your best friend and the other is from this boy on whom you have a crush. Your friend asks you if you would like to go out for drinks after work. The boy asks you the exact same thing. You think you’re replying to your friend when you say “Can’t. Boy finally asked me out. So nervous! Drinking is good for cramps, right?” You hit send, only to realize too late that you actually just sent that message to the boy. You look in horror at the phone in your hand.
Use: Drat!

Example 4:
Situation: You’re R. Kelly, and you’re trapped in the closet.
Use: He walks in the bathroom
And looks behind the door
She says, “Baby, come back to bed”
He says, “Bitch say no more”
He pulls back the shower curtain
While she’s biting her nails
Then he walks back to the room
Right now, I’m sweating like hell
Checks under the bed
Then under the dresser
He looks at the closet
I pull out my Beretta
He walks up to the closet
He goes up to the closet
Now he’s at the closet
Damn he’s opening the closet…

Drat!

Example 5:
Situation: You’re traveling alone through the American southwest and you stop for the night in a shabby motel. Your room has an odd stench. You search for the source of the stench and find a dead hooker stuffed in the box springs under the mattress. Along with the dead hooker is a suitcase full of money. You take the suitcase and run. You are being pursued by the hitman of some angry gangsters to whom the money belongs. The hitman nearly kills you several times before you wise up, become a master of life on the lam, learning how to change your appearance, your accent, your walk, with each stop you make on the road. You run for weeks, months, years, exhausted, it no longer is about the money you stole, it’s about winning the complex game of cat-and-mouse between you and the hitman, who wants nothing more than to shoot you, perhaps in Reno, just to watch you die. One night you check into yet another shabby motel, your life has become a string of nights in shabby motels it seems, and as you lock the deadbolt you hear a sound behind you. It’s the hitman! You struggle, and you come out victorious. You spend the night carefully disposing of the body, and then you realize you are free. You take the money and go to Mexico where you live a comfortable life, though you’re lonely, oh so very lonely, and nothing can erase the horror that comes for you at night, because whenever you close your eyes, you are haunted by the dead face of the hitman, and the horrible things you did to make sure the body was never identified. And finally, one night, you wander out to the desert alone, you and a bottle of mescal, and you trip and break your leg. You know there’s no way you’ll ever make it back to civilization, and you further know that a horrible death awaits you in the coming hours. Instead of being afraid, you shrug. And drink. And remember back to that moment when you discovered the dead hooker and the money and you think if only you’d gone another direction, if only you’d left the money where you’d found it, you could have a decent life somewhere, maybe have a family, maybe have cookouts on Sunday afternoons while your children laugh and play frisbee with the family dog. As the morning light approaches and you think of your body, which will eventually be at the mercy of vultures and wolves, you decide it’s time to let go. You sigh, and utter a final word.
Use: Drat.

Conclusion:

As you can see, “drat” is very versatile and can be applied to any number of life’s wacky situations. I’m sure you’ll have no problems using it in your daily conversations, and it is my dream that you do. And that someday years from now, I will be somewhere, perhaps a Denny’s restaurant, still completely unable to order “Moons Over My Hammy” because I can never bring myself to utter the words “Moons Over My Hammy.” And as I peruse the menu, perhaps a waitress will drop a tray full of dishes, and I will hear her mutter “Drat!” and I will know that my mission has been accomplished.

It’s up to you.

Isn’t it, like, a requirement to have one of those 100 Things posts? I think so, yeah. I used to have one. Or actually, I had two. I made a list the first time the meme went around many long years ago, and then it went around again, so I did it again. Because if nothing else is true about me as a blogger, then it would be this: I am powerless against memes. Seriously. Anyway, here I am. It’s Sunday and I’m in a remarkably excellent mood, so what better time is there to inflict upon you a giant list of things about me? Can’t think of one. Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch’intrate, etc.

1. I was born on September 11, 1979.
2. I was two months premature, and probably should have died, but my mom played a game of “Let’s Make A Deal” with God and I’m alive. My middle name is Faith as a sign of this.
3. My first name, Jamelah, is Arabic for “beautiful.” All very well and good, but I think it has more to do with the fact that my mom wanted to name me after her brother James while also naming me something that reflected my ethnicity (my father is from Yemen). Very clever, my mom.
4. All my life, people have been mispronouncing my name in incredibly fascinating ways. It’s very simple. It rhymes with “tequila.”
5. While on the subject of my name, I’ll tell you that I have a vast array of nicknames. So many nicknames that it’s almost mind-boggling. I don’t mind nicknames; sometimes they’re sweet, sometimes they’re amusing, but out of everything, I still prefer being called Jamelah.
6. I first kissed a boy when I was five. I was at a wedding, dancing with one of my kindergarten classmates, and this other girl (who was about the same age and was my best friend for the day, though I never saw her again) came up to me and said “I dare you to kiss him.” So I kissed him. That meant he was my boyfriend. It would never be so simple again.
7. I really am addicted to lip gloss.
8. I was in my first play when I was four. It was a Christmas play and I was a lamb at the manger. I was supposed to be silent and adorable in my lamb costume, in awe of the Baby Jesus, and all, but I felt that my awe would be best expressed by yelling “BAA!” on repeat. Acting! Brilliant!
9. I used to get into trouble for stealing things.
10. My mother worked, so my grandparents had a large hand in raising me. I took great pleasure in driving them nuts. My grandfather died when I was 7. I was there when he died, and I still miss him. To this day, he remains the smartest man I have ever known.
11. Overall, I was a pretty good kid, but I sure did get into trouble a lot. My mother would say “Someday you’re going to have kids just like you.” This thought terrifies me. Mainly because I know what I was like when I was a teenager.
12. Speaking of kids, I love them, but I’ve always loved giving them back to their parents even more. I always thought that biological clock stuff was bullshit, but now that I’m on the cusp of 30, I realize that no, it’s totally real. Oh dear.
13. Even so, I am not in any sort of rush at all to have children. I have a dog. She’s enough.
14. I have ADD and I’m hyper. Though for the most part, you’ll never catch me bouncing off the walls, I do have an incredibly hard time sitting still, and focusing on a single task is nearly impossible. In live conversation I tend to be very scattered, and I often forget what I was talking about, mainly because by the time my mouth gets around to forming words, my brain has already moved onto something else. I have never been able to write a single paragraph without getting up at least once, even if it’s only just to walk around the room before sitting down again.
15. For the reasons listed above, I prefer text or instant messages to talking on the phone. I can keep up with the conversation better that way. I’m better in person, though. Something about having a live human being in front of me tends to help me stay on track. Sort of.
16. If I don’t write things down, I will forget them forever.
17. I lose things constantly and am in awe of people who are organized. I long to be organized and I try really hard but no matter what I do, I always seem to end up erring on the side of chaos.
18. All of my favorite memories involve looking at stars.
19. When I was a kid, and I mean a young kid, under 10, I was fascinated with medicine and I would read big heavy tomes about anatomy and physiology. I of course didn’t understand everything I read, but I did memorize the names of all the bones in the human body. This just goes to show you that I have always been this big of a nerd. I was going to be a doctor when I grew up. I totally missed that one, didn’t I?
20. It’s okay. I don’t want to be a doctor anymore.
21. I’m very strong. I mean physically. I’m a good friend to have when you need to move heavy things.
22. If you’re having a bad day, I try to be the kind of friend who will distract you and make you laugh until you have to pee.
23. The thought of physical pain or personal injury never deters me from doing things. I have the scars to prove it.
24. Though I have managed to make it through life without getting arrested, I have a very wide rebellious streak and I’m amazingly stubborn. This often tends to manifest itself as me refusing to do things that other people think would be a good idea. (I like getting advice but I very rarely follow it.) This is often very stupid and I tend to get angry at myself for it, but no matter what, it seems, I am determined to carve my own path.
25. Though I write about myself on the internet, which tends to create a strange (and somewhat false) sense of intimacy, it has been said that I am more impossible to read than Finnegans Wake. I have an excellent poker face.
26. Underneath it all, I am a total sap. Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold.
27. On one side I am descended from Arabs and on the other side I am descended from Southerners, and no offense to either, but both are storytelling cultures prone to tall tales (some would call this “bullshit”) and I am gifted in the art of making stuff up on the fly. I love gullible people.
28. Now you’re never going to believe anything I say ever again, right? So I guess I should say that even though I might mess with you a little bit from time to time (and only ever in person because I love watching people’s faces), I always come clean afterwards. It’s a lesson my mother taught me, by making me spend a week sitting at a table with a Bible and a stack of paper and some pencils, writing down every verse about lying, liars and lies, memorizing one verse a day, and reciting it to her each evening when she came home from work. Not a fun week, that. But I’ll never forget it. I was 8.
29. I talk with my hands a lot.
30. I had my tonsils out when I was 10. It was then that I learned that codeine makes me barf. Awesome!
31. How many times do I have to tell you? I am terrified of spiders.
32. I do not understand the combination of sugar and meat. That is not a euphemism.
33. I can be very argumentative. Sometimes I pick fights just because. It really is a wonder that I’m still single.
34. I like stealing boys’ t-shirts. I’m all out. It’s time to start dating.
35. I was raised to be very polite, and I am very polite, for the most part. The fact that I can swear like a sailor with Tourette’s (in more than one language!) is a natural side-effect, I think.
36. I am very very midwestern in many ways and this is always pointed out to me by people from other parts of the country. I love the midwest, as wholesome and dorky as it is, because for one thing, we have euchre.
37. Sometimes I have a southern accent. I don’t get it either.
38. I always wanted to be tall. I am a total failure at this.
39. At some point I’ve already told you all of this stuff already, haven’t I? Sigh.
40. Despite the fact that I’m an Arab, I get guessed as every ethnicity under the sun, except Arab. The only people who seem to be able to tell by looking at me are other Arabs. And those airport security guys.
41. Speaking of airport security, I have never been able to get on a plane without getting searched. I’ve developed a casual attitude about it, because what other kind of attitude can I have? If I act irritated it only makes the process longer and more annoying. And besides, if they really want to inspect my blowdryer, then have at it, I say.
42. I was once asked four times by a customs agent in Chicago O’Hare if I was bringing meat into the country. Four times! Meat! It was 3 in the morning! How was I supposed to keep a straight face?
43. I really don’t like it when people touch my ears. Don’t touch my ears. I’m getting creeped out just thinking about it.
44. Despite what it says on the packaging, I really don’t believe Miller High Life is the champagne of beers.
45. I have such a bad dating track record that I don’t trust myself when I like people anymore.
46. I am terrible at most things that involve hand-eye coordination. I guess I’ll never be a sniper.
47. I am competitive and somewhat bossy. It’s really so charming.
48. I usually don’t remember my dreams, but when I do, it’s because I’ve had a lucid dream. Do you know about lucid dreaming? Where you’re conscious of the fact that you’re dreaming as you dream? Dream, dream, dreamity dream. That word doesn’t make sense anymore. Anyway, some people think this is a cool experience but I always find it immensely frustrating.
49. I guess I talk in my sleep. It makes me nervous to fall asleep around other people because I’m always afraid of what I might say when I’m unconscious.
50. I do not like big stores, like Meijer and Wal-Mart. They make me nervous. Not really nervous. Anxious and full of hatred for humanity? Maybe that’s closer to the truth. But when it comes to Target I am a giant, big-store hypocrite because I fucking love that place. Even though if I go there to buy one thing I always end up buying a lot of things. I sincerely believe it’s impossible to get out the door for less than $100.
51. Isn’t this list so insanely fascinating? I know. But take heart, because we’re in the last half now. I’m finding this incredibly difficult because I’m almost certain I’ve written every single pointless fact about myself already, even if I did delete my blog and so all those pointless facts are gone now. What’s that? I could try sharing something deep and/or meaningful? That’s just crazy talk.
52. You know what I hate? When people talk to me after I’ve just woken up. It makes me want to punch them. Even so, sometimes I wake up with a thought or an idea that I have to talk about right then. And then I expect whoever is available to listen to me. I’m so unpredictable!
53. In many ways, I have not gotten over being an awkward teenager. In many ways, I still am an awkward teenager. Except I’m 29.
54. I’m not really a fan of yelling. I’d much rather seethe quietly.
55. Sometimes when I’m too lazy to cook, which is often, I will just eat microwave popcorn for dinner. I am a model of healthy living.
56. When I was little, my grandfather used to sing the song “Froggy Went A-Courtin’” to me. I once found a version of it sung by Paul McCartney, and I can’t remember what my grandfather’s voice sounded like so sometimes I listen to it and pretend.
57. Despite all my clumsiness, which is legendary, I have never broken a bone.
58. This one time I drove across town shirtless and covered in peanut butter. It’s more innocent than it sounds. Way more innocent. But do you know that it’s really hard to wash peanut butter out of your hair? Because it IS.
59. I can’t listen to the song “Welcome to the Jungle” without thinking of powdered donuts. I wish I could explain that, but I can’t.
60. I failed driver’s ed the first time because I got into a fight with my teacher on the last day and maybe I said “Fine, why don’t you drive?” And maybe I mumbled “Prick” under my breath except not really under my breath. It was fine, though, because for one thing, he really was a prick, and for another thing, it totally wasn’t shameful at all to have to wait a year to take the class again. Not at all. A couple of months later, my mother was doing a building inspection-type thing and tripped over some lumber on someone’s unfinished deck and broke her elbow so badly it had to be replaced. That meant I did all the driving. Illegally! That’s my favorite kind of driving, by the way. I mean, I’m just kidding.
61. I am a master of parallel parking. A MASTER!
62. When I was a senior in high school, it got to be May and I still hadn’t chosen a college. I was taking an AP exam (in English. Literature. Of course) and I had to pick a school for them to send my scores to… on the spot I chose Albion College. I’m still not entirely sure what prompted this decision, especially because I didn’t want to stay in my hometown, but whatever. I ended up being mostly happy with my pick, because had I not gone to Albion, I would not have met my wifey in the romantic atmosphere of Jim Diedrick’s newswriting class that had that weird German guy in it.
63. I am a little uptight about misuses of my beloved English. My latest annoyance is when people write phase (noun) when they mean faze (verb).
64. My mom and I lived in the projects until I was 4. The thing about having no money when you’re a kid is that you have absolutely no concept of having no money. It was great. All my friends lived close by and anyone’s mother could yell at us, because we were all weirdly fascinated with climbing this pile of dirt and glass that was on one end of the parking lot. There was this pimp named Uncle Mingo who my mom told me I was not allowed to talk to, but he was pretty nice. He would give us candy.
65. I do not believe in fate.
66. I actually enjoyed Paradise Lost. I first had to read it in a class taught by a professor who used to yell “Tequila Swirl!” (because it rhymes with my name, see) at me across the quad while I would sheepishly wave and people would stare.
67. Other than my beloved Michigan, Virginia is probably my favorite state. I’m telling you this, even though sadly I have never been further west than Tulsa, Oklahoma. Isn’t that pathetic? I know.
68. I went to Catholic school for a year. Second grade. I got sent to the principal’s office at least twice a week. He always threatened me with the paddle, but he never did it. This did not stop me from telling people he did it though, and extorting sympathy candy from my friends. So I was a little con artist. Sue me.
69. In fourth grade, I got detention for two weeks. The best part is that I didn’t even do anything, but I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, talking to the totally wrong girl. When we got sent to the principal’s office, my other innocent friend and I tried to explain what had happened but he was a very intimidating man, this principal, and he bellowed “NO EXCUSES!” at us, so we shut up and dealt with our punishment. The funny bit is that the girl who actually did something wrong sucked up to the detention lady and the detention lady bought her a Christmas present whereas my friend and I? We were scum.
70. Speaking of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I happened to be in one of the school bathrooms at a time when some other girls were vandalizing it, so I got sent to the principal’s office with them and every day after school for a week, we had to pick up garbage on the playground.
71. After that, I managed to stay out of trouble until my freshman year of high school, when I ended up in detention a few times. But I deserved it.
72. I never skipped school until the second semester of my 10th grade year, but after that I couldn’t get enough of it. Playing hooky is one of life’s true pleasures.
73. One time I accidentally set my friend’s car on fire. I am a menace.
74. I have this nervous habit of tearing up napkins and placemats when I’m in diners. Once I stuffed all of this in an ashtray and then a few minutes later, for reasons beyond my understanding, I set it on fire. I did not expect such a giant plume of flames. My friend and I put it out rather quickly and then hid the mess in a plant. When the waitress came by she asked “Do you smell something burning?” and we said “No. Burning? Are you kidding? THAT’S HILARIOUS!” (That may not be an actual quote, but it was similar.) The moral of this story is that… oh, I already told you. I am a menace.
75. I have double-jointed thumbs. I am never going to stop finding this entertaining.
76. Eating in front of strangers makes me very nervous. First dates involving dinner? Torture.
77. Sometimes I kind of laugh like Muttley.
78. This one time, I was kidnapped by pirates, and, okay I’m making that up but it would’ve been an awesome story, because there would’ve been this one pirate that looked exactly like Johnny Depp. Ah. Anyway, um, how about something true? Okay… I am a person who has seen a lot of movie musicals. Seriously. A lot.
79. I first tried drinking at the tender age of 13.
80. You know what movie always makes me cry? Roman Holiday. Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn. Oh yes. And the end, where she turns around and she has that tear in her eye? Gets me. Every. Damn. Time. Oh also in Love, Actually when the little boy says “Let’s go get the shit kicked out of us by love” my heart grows three sizes.
81. You know how sometimes you’ll be driving somewhere and there’s an abandoned car on the side of the road? Every time I drive past one of those, I always think it’s going to blow up and I’ll be able to watch it explode in my rear view mirror. To this day, not a single one has blown up, yet I keep expecting it. Yes, I have seen too many movies.
82. The third toe on my left foot is longer than my second toe, however on my right foot, my third toe is shorter than my second toe, as it should be. I have alien freak toes.
83. Speaking of digits, I have very long fingers and can reach just about an octave and a half on a piano (I can only do 11 keys, can’t quite get the 12th). I never should’ve given up piano lessons.
84. I have a scar on my knee from this time I fell down on a mountain in Sorrento, Italy. I have two other knee scars from this time I fell down in my kitchen because I wasn’t quite awake and I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing. I look great in skirts.
85. Speaking of markings (I’m really reaching now, aren’t I?) I have a chicken pox scar on the side of my nose. I have freckles. I have a tiny birthmark on my left calf. It’s sort of shaped like South Carolina.
86. Sadly, I think I would have no problem being a total hermit. As it is, I already avoid the phone. If I didn’t have to talk to people, I could go for days without speaking aloud.
87. I still haven’t decided if I like camping or not.
88. I think about Samuel Beckett a lot and get lines from his work stuck in my head the same way I get songs stuck in there. Having stuff like “Nothing is funnier than unhappiness,” play on a loop in your brain is sure to fuck you up a little bit. You figure it out.
89. I really love Pringles. A lot.
90. I hate cold weather. This winter I think I’m going to move to the equator.
91. When I was four, I think, I was in Arkansas, and I met this boy who was maybe six (I always did have a thing for older men) and I said “I am going to marry this boy.” I think I decided I was going to marry him because we both fit in a chair together and we held hands so it must’ve been love. Totally a good reason. Of course I did not marry that boy, nor do I even remember his name. Every once in awhile though my grandmother will bring him up, sort of a “HUH? REMEMBER HOW YOU WERE GOING TO GET MARRIED?” type of thing.
92. Sometimes I stare at men’s hands and don’t listen to what they’re saying. I am also a sucker for men wielding power tools.
93. As I mentioned a little further up the list, I avoid the phone. I really don’t like long phone conversations and sometimes I will fall asleep and wake up and start talking again like nothing happened.
94. Cheesy and predictable as it is, I am a sap for being sent flowers.
95. It’s weird, because I always have to be wearing a watch, but I very rarely know what time it is.
96. Once I tried to run away from home because I was in so much trouble. My mom suggested I run away to the back yard instead, so that’s what I did. So adventurous!
97. I’m not close with my dad, and at this point I don’t think I ever will be. Though for the most part I’ve made my peace with it, occasionally this still hurts.
98. I really really don’t get math.
99. My favorite place in the world is Piazza San Marco, Venice, 2 a.m.
100. My twenties have been years filled with crap and darkness: fear, depression, addiction, abuse, death. Even though I am an unrelenting cynic, it’s really like that Beatles song says. It’s getting better all the time.

I bet you didn’t read all of that.

I like multitasking. Stay tuned right here for entertainment aplenty. Because it has to be entertaining, right? Right? RIGHT?

8:38 p.m. Just so you know, I blame [name withheld to protect the totally not innocent] for this exercise in public humiliation. Totally his fault.

9:00 p.m. Here I am, me and Brian Williams, and he may be on TV, but I have bourbon. Do you have bourbon, Williams? I ask you.

9:02 p.m. No cheering, y’all.

9:04 p.m. Wall Street/Main Street. Aaaaaand drink!

9:06 p.m. Maybe it’s shallow of me to point this out, but John McCain really has no upper lip. None whatsoever. Also when he smiles it never looks like he means it. Related? Perhaps. Perhaps.

9:08 p.m. “This isn’t the beginning of the end of this crisis. It’s the end of the beginning.” — McCain. That just blew my mind.

9:11 p.m. OBAMA! I like your tie. Stop Wall Street/Main Street. Otherwise I’ll be wasted by 9:30 p.m.

9:15 p.m. McCain’s tie makes me think of candy canes. He just pulled out a pen. Of whoop-ass.

9:17 p.m. This has nothing to do with the debates but I just burped really loud. It tasted of chicken enchiladas.

9:18 p.m. John McCain never won Miss Congeniality.

9:20 p.m. Here’s the important question. Remember when people said that they would have a beer with GWB and that’s why they voted for him? This time around, let’s think about which presidential candidate we’d rather make out with. Obama or McCain? Who would you rather make out with?

9:22 I would totally make out with Obama.

9:24 They festoon bills with Christmas ornaments? Senate, you so crazy!

9:27 Bourbon, I love you.

9:29 Why the fuck is “liberal” a dirty word?

9:32 Lehrer, you so sassy!

9:34 Really really sassy!

9:37 Orgy? Where?

9:38 He said “swallow”.

9:38 continued McCain is really proud of never having been Miss Congeniality. Why must we hate on Sandra Bullock so much? Should I admit that I will watch that movie every time it’s on cable? Because I totally will. You think I’m gorgeous.

9:45 Sorry, I got distracted by [name withheld to protect the totally not innocent]. He keeps calling me a heathen. Meanie.

9:51 I bet Obama wouldn’t blame me for his typos. Unlike [name withheld to protect the totally not innocent].

10:00 Is it normal not to be able to feel your teeth? If you don’t pay attention to anything else in this post, please answer this question.

10:03 Fuck! Iran! I’m going to run out of booze at this point!

10:04 How many times are you going to say that you’ve proposed a league of democracies, McCain? Whatever, Andy.

10:05 Sorry, I bet i can’t explain what “Andy” means right now. Just trust me, that former note was HIIIIIILARIOUS.

10:08 Ahmadinejad

10:12 I’m officially drunk! Go me!

10:18 I don’t even know what’s going on right now.

10:20 I can’t feel my face.

whatever I don’t even know what I was going to write right now but aren’t you totally impressed with my total lack of typos? I am so fucking awesome. I apologize for all the swearing, really. It’s just that when I drink too much I swear a lot. And also get somewhat belligerent. Who wants to fight me? HUH>

10:25 What if crickets ate my face

10:26 John McCain makes me cackle like a crazy woman.

10:31 McCain likes to call Obama naive. Bitch.

1-33 Wha’t’s happening Im drunk. Fellow who I am anot calling out in public because he said I cant is making funof me. He is so mean. I have to pee.

1035 Obama! You and I hacve so much in common! My dad is from teh middle East and I have an Arabic name too (we shou;ld be BFF). Oh mygod thank goodness that McCain was able to get in the POW angle. Thank goodness it’s over. I AM SO DRUNKN” right now. I love you.

11:14 Okay it is over. I am so drunk. I just took my dog outside and now I am back and I am talking to [this person whose name I promised not to disclose] about stars. It’s nice. Except not we are totally talking about something else. It is the way of conversation. Was there a debate? What happened? I was distracted. Boys are trouble.

I’ve been in a lot of plays in my life. Typically never musicals, because I am against singing in public. I don’t care if you sing in public, but I’m not going to sing in public, and it’s for a good reason too, I assure you. Anyway, there are few things in life that are as awesome as performing in live theater, because it’s a great big giant rush. I have many fond memories of live performances and rehearsals and backstage hijinks. I have some less-than-fond memories too, of course, because it goes with the territory, but overall I have to say that even though it was always a lot of work, I had a lot of fun. I haven’t been in a play for a couple of years now and I do miss it sometimes, but I just keep not going on auditions. So it goes. This particular post is about a play way way way back in my high school years when I was a very dramatic teenager.

For his Eagle Scout project, my friend Matt directed a play. I was in 10th grade and Matt was in 11th grade and we were around each other all the time. Partly because we were always in a play of some sort, but also because we were both very dramatic teenagers. So when Matt said he was directing a play, of course I was going to be in the play, though I was less than excited about the whole musical aspect of it, seeing as how I did not want to sing. Matt worked it out so I did not have to audition (was I a prima donna much? perhaps) and in the spring of my 10th grade year, we started rehearsals. Oh? The play? It was called Wanna Play?!? and it’s a good play for kids, which we all were. (Though if you had called me a kid when I was 15 I might have scowled you to death.) There was a lot of singing (because it was a musical, natch) and it was divided up into short, song-length vignettes that were mostly about things that go on in the lives of children, like getting braces. And there was one about parents getting a divorce. And stuff like that. In one scene, there was a boy who was in love with his computer and the computer was dressed up like Mae West. Guess who played the computer? That’s right. Me. I had to wear a box on my head, with a hole cut out for my face. The box wouldn’t stay put, so it was actually held in place with a wad of duct tape in my hair. Ripping the box off after the scene was over? Always a very pleasant experience, to be sure.

Anyway, there was this song at the end. I think it was, in fact, the closing number though maybe there was one afterwards? My memory is a little bit hazy on this point. Anyway, the song started out as a duet between me and another girl and then the rest of the cast came out and there was some dancing and I believe that jazz hands were involved. The song was called “Say Yes” and with a title like that, you might be surprised to learn that it was a song about the benefits of saying yes instead of no. Yeah. I’ve forgotten how the song goes, though I remember bits and pieces. Mainly I remember the end. I don’t remember all the words to the end of the song, but bear with me. It kind of goes like this. I have included a drawing:

So that’s kind of what was going on onstage. And at this point, everyone is onstage and everyone is singing. Everyone is singing the following (or a reasonable facsimile thereof):

Everyone:
Don’t say no
It’s so
Darn negative
And the life you live
Will be oh
So blessed
When yessed
And I suggest it!

(And then there’s talking.)

Fellow Performer Named Lica: We said yes to this song
Me: And it’s really divine.
FPNL: Lo and behold…
Together: It’s… A CHORUS LINE! 5! 6! 7! 8!

(And then there’s a bit of dancing.)

Together: That’s enough!

(And then more singing.)

Everyone:
Say yes!
Go ahead!
Say yes!
Green not red!
Don’t get into a mess!
Don’t ya settle for less!
You’ll advance
Take a (stance? I don’t remember)
Take a chance on success!
Say yes!
…
Say yes!
…
Say yes!

Jazz hands.

Aaaaaaand scene.

I’m not telling you this so that you can be amused by the thought of a teenage me with pigtails in my hair, wearing bright colors and singing this song onstage. Though I understand it is amusing enough as it is. It was amusing back then, too. Trust me. The reason why I’m telling you this is because the song won’t get out of my head. It’s been, you know, a few years since this performance took place and I have been just fine for all of those years with no Wanna Play?!? side effects. But then I saw this movie trailer:

And now, all bets are off. The song won’t go away. I went to bed last night with the song in my head. I woke up this morning with the song in my head. Maybe a little while ago when I was in my kitchen pouring some cereal into a bowl I was dancing. Maybe I can’t stop doing jazz hands. Maybe. May. Be. Now, I understand that if you don’t know the tune of this song — and let’s face it, you probably don’t — you are unable to grasp the fullness of the bright, cheery horror that is playing manically and on repeat in my brain right now, and I apologize (okay, I don’t really apologize) because I’m not going to sing it to you.

Because if you did in fact watch that trailer did you realize that the movie doesn’t open until Christmas? That’s three months from now. I don’t think I can take this for three months. Help me. I may be going crazy. Help meeeeeee.

This morning while looking up info on the butt-dickie (mentioned here) to make sure I was understanding it correctly, I visited the site, Miss Oops. Now, don’t get me wrong. I am all in favor of a line of products aimed at preventing wardrobe malfunctions, seeing as how I am a natural wardrobe malfunction-magnet. For instance, I’ve been stapling my shirts closed for years. Staples are better than safety pins because they’re smaller and it’s easier to target exactly where you want them to go, though of course there is the issue of having people see you sticking a stapler down your shirt. But this is not about me and my boobs, for which I am sure I apologize, because it’s about something else. What else? Fake underwear, that’s what else.

Ladies, I’m sure you all know that visible panty lines are undesirable though almost an inevitability when wearing clothing items made out of certain fabrics. They could be avoided, however, by wearing a thong or going commando. Despite the fact that people have spent years trying to convince me that wearing a thong is like not wearing any underwear at all, I maintain that the only thing that feels like not wearing any underwear at all is, in fact, not wearing any underwear at all. When it comes to the thong, to put it succinctly, I am not a fan of string-up-the-butt underwear and that is all, good day. If I’m going to wear underwear, and I do wear underwear — all the time! I’m wearing underwear right now! — then, call me crazy, but I would like to feel like I am actually wearing underwear. Thongs do not feel like underwear, they feel like ass-floss. I will not be convinced otherwise.

Which means that if I want to avoid visible panty lines (I’m sorry I keep using the word “panty” because that word — also its plural variant — is ick, ick, ick… I will avoid it in the future by referring to visible panty lines as VPL) then I have to go without. The problem with going commando though is that it’s potentially dangerous. I mean, who wants to pull a Britney? Nobody. So the key to successfully employing the underwear-less option is to wear a long dress or pants. Or just not get out of cars. Or something. Confession: I have gone commando a few times, and you know that feeling you get when you’re wearing pretty underwear underneath your clothes and you spend all day feeling like you have a delightful secret? Going commando is that feeling times 1,000. That’s all I’m going to say about that.

Anyway, my point is that when I visited the Miss Oops site, I found a product: Nundies. These are adhesive pieces of fabric to be worn inside a pair of pants to avoid wearing underwear. There is another one on the market that I’m aware of — there may be more — called The Anti-Panti. These are meant to solve the VPL issue by making underwear unnecessary. You stick them in your pants, you have a barrier between lady parts and fabric, and there you go! No worries about looking like a whore because your underwear peek above the waistband of your pants! Whee!

So these are essentially adhesive fake underwear. Just the crotch!

It is perfectly obvious that this solves no problems in the dress/skirt arena of fashion, which is my favorite arena of fashion. I love skirts. Of course, I don’t really have a problem with VPL anyway, because I don’t tend to wear things that are clingy in the butt region.

And here is my main problem with this product. It involves me telling a story. It’s kind of embarrassing.

So, okay. One day while I was at work, I stuck a pantiliner in my underwear, as sometimes these things are necessary. Or I thought I stuck it in there. I don’t know. I maybe wasn’t paying attention. Anyway, a little while later, unbeknownst to me, the pantiliner escaped from my underwear. It worked its way down my leg until it got stuck on my knee. It was then that I noticed that something was amiss. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, wondering what was stuck to my knee. Upon investigating the problem, I discovered the runaway pantiliner. I removed it from my knee and threw it away. And then I thanked my knee for catching it, because what if it hadn’t gotten stuck to my knee? What if it had managed to make it all the way out of my pants? (I am not the only person this has ever happened to, am I? I am so embarrassed right now, even though this happened a really long time ago.)

I can’t imagine that there is ever a good time for that sort of thing to happen. To be walking somewhere or standing somewhere talking to people when suddenly — oops! The horror, the horror, etc. And this is why I believe that if I were ever to use adhesive fake underwear, there would be a problem. CAN YOU IMAGINE? I think it’s pretty bad to have things fall out of one’s pants in a pretty evenly general sense, but having this conversation:

A: What was that?
B: What?
A: That.
B: That what?
A: That THING that just FELL OUT OF YOUR PANTS.
B: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
A: THAT! THAT THING!!!!!!
B: Oh. Oh God. No.
A: WHAT IS IT?!?!?
B: That adhesive fake underwear I was wearing in lieu of going commando.
A: I don’t think we can be friends anymore.
B: I’ll just be going now. Please don’t tell anyone.
A: Are you kidding? I’m telling everyone.
B: Dies.

Well, let’s just say that would probably be the most unfavorable of all.

This leaves us with a few options:

1. Not wearing pants.

2. Wearing pants, but not wearing pants that promote the fashion faux pas, the VPL.

3. Wearing pants, and furthermore, wearing pants that promote the fashion faux pas the VPL, and going commando.

4. Wearing pants, and furthermore, wearing pants that promote the fashion faux pas the VPL, attempting to rectify the problem by wearing adhesive fake underwear (just the crotch!) eventual death by humiliation, becoming an urban legend.

For a product that exists to prevent wardrobe malfunction, its potential for even worse wardrobe malfunction is staggering. I therefore urge you, for the good of the order, to take care in your pants choices. Your life could depend on it.

Today, this first day of autumn, it seems appropriate to take a few moments and learn some stuff, wouldn’t you say? It’s always good to begin a new season armed with knowledge. And so, without further ado, here are some things you should know, to get your fall started right.

– What’s sexy now? Hot pants. No, really. Sure, it may be too cold to wear hot pants, and I think there’s some joke in that clause that I’m not making, but the point is that even if it is too cold for hot pants, you can just put on some tights.

– “ScientificMatch.com, a new website, uses a saliva sample to hook you up with potential mates based on your histocompatibility complex, genes that play a role in chemical attraction.” In other words, like the t-shirt says (though you have to scroll down a bit to see it), stand back! I’m going to try science!

The Man Report

– Say you just met a guy. Did you know that the way he carries money can tell you a lot about him, in a vague, useless way? It’s true. Read on:

1. Wadded-up bills means that “maybe he’s a creative type or maybe he has an uinability to conform to even basic norms.”
2. A messy wallet means that “he could be supportive…but also thrive on chaos.”
3. A money clip: “He has his life in order, but if he flashes wads of cash, he may need a lot of attention.”

– Did you also know that the way a man cries reveals everything about him, from his relationship style to what he’s going to be like in bed? Also totally true. And did you also know that for the sake of handiness and lists, there are only four different types of men? Also also totally true. So, here we go. If:

1. He cries, but not in front of you… he suppresses his emotions. It will be up to you to unlock those emotions, through trust. And pestering.

2. He’s always stoic… “This may come as a surprise, but a man who’s not in touch with his feelings will always put yours first. ‘Because he wants to come off as tough and manly, his primary concern will be protecting you and making sure you’re secure,’ says Scott Kudia, PhD, author of If This is Love, Why Am I Unhappy?” There’s more, but I have to take a moment to tell you that the model they chose to represent the stoic man has clearly-visible chest stubble. Is Cosmo saying that stoic men shave their chests but then let it grow back a little bit? Or is it just that their Photoshop budget was a little low this month?

3. He bawls out of frustration… This fellow freaks out when he doesn’t get his way. Do not be fooled: it’s not because he’s sensitive, it’s because he doesn’t know any other way to express himself. “The best way to handle him: ignore his freak-outs, but acknowledge his feelings, and couch your sexual desires as compliments. Lastly, you may suggest he see a couselor for new, healthier ways to cope with frustration.” Because nothing says I love you more than “Honey, you need therapy.”

4. He’s not shy about shedding tears… “If your guy is the type to get watery-eyed during very emotional situations — or even during the occasional sappy moment (read: while watching a sad movie) — you have a keeper.” Win!

Style Q&A

Q: How can I prevent showing my butt crack when I sit down?
A: Wear a long cami under cropped tops. Or try JAKs from Miss Oops. You hike them up over your pants until they sit on your lower back, covering your crack. Then pull your shirt down so the JAKs look like a tank peeking out.

What does that mean? I took a picture for you:

Yes. There you go. It’s like a dickie for your butt. Please don’t take that out of context.

Q: How can I get Cosmo cleavage?
A: Our cover girls often use chicken cutlets in their bras — they give amazing lift! Styles that have a clasp between the breasts and upper-cup adhesive work best.

You’re welcome.

Nice Guys Talk Dirty

I don’t know. Maybe I’ve been reading Cosmo too long and I’m jaded, but I’m pretty sure I’ve read every single of one these quotations before. Maybe not these exact quotations, but each of these are similar to ones I’ve read at sometime in the past. So, thinking about this logically, before deleting my old blog, I think I’d written about Cosmo 9 times. This is the 10th. I didn’t do this consistently, so that means I skipped several months. The original post, I remember, was written in March 2007, and it is now September 2008. So the answer is that it takes 18 months to read every possible sex tip Cosmo can give you. Does that mean I can finally stop writing about this magazine? Perhaps, perhaps. But in the meantime, let me sum up every single sex tip from Cosmo into five rules:

1. Men like sex.
2. Men like it when women like sex.
3. When you have sex, enjoy yourself. Enjoy him. Be in the moment.
4. Don’t be afraid to try something new or to say what does or doesn’t work for you. Take some responsibility for your own enjoyment.
5. Have a sense of humor. Relax. Have fun.

There. Now you know.

Oh wait, here’s another one:

6. Guys like blowjobs. A lot. Do that.

There it is!

I feel like I’ve graduated from Cosmo school.

Dear Manufacturers of Cough Syrup,

Hello. Last night I developed a terrible cough. Terrible. It came entirely out of nowhere because I was fine all day long, and then I was watching Jon Stewart interview Tony Blair on The Daily Show and I suddenly believed that maybe I had caught the consumption or something. I guess I don’t have the consumption, because this morning the cough seems to be gone, although there is a slight… scratchiness?… in my chest which leads me to believe that there may be more fun in store for me later. Also I can tell that I have a slight fever. And yay, because that’s what I need right now on top of everything else: to get sick.

Earlier in the evening I had gone out to take some photos of the moon. They did not turn out the way I’d planned, but that’s okay. I really have enough photos of the moon anyway. It’s more that I like going out at night and setting up the tripod and lining up the shots and getting stared at like I’m a crazy. There’s something oddly relaxing in the entire exercise. When I came back inside, and sat down at my desk to review the photos, I discovered that I had a spider on my arm. It was a big fuckin’ spider, too. I quickly shook it off my arm and then realized I could no longer see the spider, which meant that there was a big fuckin’ spider on the loose in my bedroom. While I reviewed my photos and my overactive imagination conjured up images of me being killed in my sleep by an army of marauding arachnids (what? like it’s unreasonable to think that the one spider wouldn’t call his friends and then they’d rendezvouz at the rendezvous point — of course they have a rendezvous point — and then when I thought I was safe in my bed they’d come in from the windows and from under the bed and come rappelling down from the ceiling and then they’d eat my face off or something? totally reasonable) I felt fine. No cough! A few minutes later, I found the spider climbing up the side of my bedspread, ostensibly to get into location, and I killed it. All by myself! Winner! Of course, the thought that the other spiders are now planning revenge for their fallen comrade has crossed my mind. More than once. It’s crossing my mind right now. I’m scared. Hold me.

Um, none of that is the point. I just thought I should mention it.

Anyway, after spider adventure, I went and watched The Daily Show and then the hacking started. I felt like I had a potato chip lodged in my windpipe. Very unpleasant feeling. I drank a lot of water and it did not help, and after a little while, I gave up and went to bed. Well, before going to bed, I swallowed two tablespoons of cough syrup. And then I made a face. It was a face that said “Dear God, that was horrible.” Because you know what? It was. Horrible. HORRIBLE!

Here’s my problem, Manufacturers of Cough Syrup. When I was a kid, my mom used to give me this orange-flavored Triaminic, and at the risk of revealing that I was indeed a strange child, I will tell you that after I’d put the spoonful of cough syrup in my mouth, my mom would often have to yell at me to swallow it, because I had a habit of just holding it there on my tongue, savoring the artificial orangey goodness. I don’t know if now I would enjoy orange Triaminic as much as I did when I was, say, four, but I will say that in my adult years I have never once encountered a cough syrup worth savoring. Not once. Not one single time. And I’ve taken a fair amount of cough syrup over the years, because, well, it happens. But instead of it being a pleasant experience, or even a passably okay experience, it’s always something so godawful that the taste actually makes me shudder as I swallow. That’s unnecessary, don’t you think?

And another thing! After shuddering my way through the swallowing of the cough syrup, I had to do something to get the taste out of my mouth. I drank some water, to no avail. It only managed to dilute the horribleness until all I was left with was the overpowering taste of salt. Salt! It was like I’d lifted the spout on one of those canisters of table salt and poured its entire contents into my mouth. I don’t really like salt. I understand its importance in cooking, but beyond that, I’m not much of a fan. It’s very rare indeed for me to add salt to my food after it’s been prepared, for instance (unless I’m premenstrual and I have a plate full of really greasy diner French fries, and then all bets are off). I know there are people who love things that are salty, but I am not one of them, so salt-flavored cough syrup? What?

Granted, the cough syrup did not initially taste of salt. It was only after I’d had some water that I was left with the salt taste. Which means that the salt is the base flavor. What do you make this stuff with? Brine? Is that necessary in some way? Like, should I retain water while I’m fighting off the cough? I’m going to throw a wild guess out there and say that I don’t think so.

Anyway, Manufacturers of Cough Syrup, let me sum up, because I’m sure you’re busy people. It makes absolutely no sense to live in a world full of such great technological innovation in which children’s cough syrup can taste pleasant in order to trick them into swallowing it (or in my case, not swallowing it) while adult varieties of cough syrup are completely wretched. I find it entirely impossible to believe that you can’t make a product that doesn’t taste horrible. It doesn’t need to taste like chocolate or anything, but does it have to be so much like… like… punishment? And… MISERY?

That’s the flavor. Right there. I’ve figured it out. Punishment and Misery. Exactly.

And really, isn’t it miserable punishment enough to get sick on a glorious day when the weather is achingly beautiful, and because I live in Michigan I know that those days are severely, severely numbered and it’s only a matter of time until I’m buried under a mountain of snow, wearing fourteen sweaters and still shivering as I weep? Do you really need to compound my pain? Do you?

DO YOU?!?!?

Fix it, you sadists. FIX IT.

Love,
Jamelah

P.S. Don’t mess with me. I’m like a deranged librarian on meth. Which I’m sure is very dangerous.