Nickelodeon Crosses the Line

Ever notice how in cartoons when the characters hit their head on something a giant penis grows out of it?

We did.

Curtain Update

I finally put that shit up.

There was a saga, obviously. I lost the charger for the power drill...so I had to buy a new power drill...but I accidentally bought a power SCREWDRIVER...so I had to manually drill holes into my wall and hammer anchors into them.

Yes, manually. Which means I twisted a really long drill bit (?) into the drywall for about seventeen minutes on each side of the window.

But my curtains are rad. Although, Mr. Tom Binoculars across the street has been forced to find some other boobies to peep. Less rad. For him, mostly.

Even better is that kilo (the cat) is completely entertained by these curtain at all times, so he doesn't run all over my face at night anymore.

Also, I'd just like to point out--because these are the most important things in the world to me--all the shows that are starting or have just started:

America's Best Dance Crew (Feat. Hok from So You Think You Can Dance!?!?)
Friday Night Lights
Celebrity Rehab: Sober House
The Tudors
Flight of the Conchords
Big Love
FUCKING LOST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
and a whole bunch of other cool shit that will keep me from going out, getting drunk, and taking expensive cabs home.

hey, really long commute to my boring/dangerous neighborhood-- suck it.

The Only Child I'll Ever Love

This is my cat, smiling with his eyes.
sj

Grits are Never a Mistake

Even if they're backwards.
-Kristen

Mistake of the Day: Never Putting Up My Curtains

When Kristen straightens her hair, she sometimes looks like Orlando Bloom in Lord of the Rings.

Anyway, listen to this thing that happened to me yesterday:

I have been expecting some boxes from FedEx and UPS and the USPS. (I get a lot of stuff, ok?) The boxes had not come, and it had been awhile. So yesterday I decided I would call these places to see what was the haps. Just as I was about to call, someone buzzed my apartment.

Let me take a moment here and just give you the heads up on what our neighborhood is
like: BAD. Someone once got shot on our doorstep.

So, I answered it with a tinge of apprehension. What ensued was perplexing and a little scary.

Some dude said into the intercom "Sarah?"
I said..."yeah...what?"
He said "Can you let me up? I have something for you."
"Uh...no."
"Well I have some packages for you"
"Are you UPS?"
"No"
"FedEx?"
"No"
"Post Office?"
"No, I live across the street."

What the fuck?!

I told him I would come down. So, I did. And there at my doorstep is this middle aged guy wearing gloves and a hat, NO boxes to be found. I asked him what the deal was and he proceeded to inform me that for the past week he had been collecting the boxes that were shipped to me and others in my building because "You girls are always in and out, and sometimes you're just not here to get your packages. So I get these things for you."

Um...ok. Are you watching me, dude? I know there are no curtains on my windows, and I know someone in your building has binoculars. Is it you?

I told him, respectfully, that he should not feel the need to pick up stuff for me. He said "Ok, well one of these boxes is really heavy so I'm going to have to bring it up to your apartment for you."

Erm...nope.


So the guy went and got FOUR HUGE BOXES from his apartment that he had for some reason decided I did not need to receive until he saw fit. EVEN THOUGH UPS tried to deliver them while I was actually at home. Which leads me to believe he was just waiting for my shit to arrive.


I'm sure he was just a good samaritan, ok? Maybe someday I will come home and he'll be waiting and say "You girls are always in and out, so I took the liberty of paying your electric bill." Or, "You girls aren't around so much, so I changed your cat's litter." "Here, I went ahead and unclogged your drain." "I got this new tux so I can answer your door for you when you are expecting guests."

Until then...could you try not to fuck with my victoria's secret boyfriend-style pajamas delivery?

Don't get stoned on a match.com date

Whatever you do, no matter how much you think you might be able to grow to like the guy, don't get stoned with a match.com date that you aren't totally into. I had been on a couple of dates with this one .com dude when we decided to go to his place, smoke and watch heroes. Instead of fun times, the weed turned me into a paranoid paula. I got all on edge because I realized how much I didn't want to be there. For the next twenty minutes I sat perched on the edge of the couch trying to think of way to escape without coming off as an asshole and also without having to touch him. it was awful. I started sweating and eyeing the door. Finally after much internal debate, I got up and said "I'm sorry I have to go. I promised my roommate i'd be home for Dexter". I hoped he wouldn't call me out and say that he already knew I have showtime on demand and therefore could watch dexter whenever I wanted. he didn't. As I tried to make a beeline to the door he stopped me just as I reached the door. Then with my eyes still on the doorknob he reached into hug as he said, "you know I really like you." The proximity of the door to the outside and my paranoia suddenly kicked my survival mode up a notch and I was completely unable to lie at this point so instead of saying something nice in return I shouted "I Know!!" and ran out the door. An hour later I was safely on the couch surrounded by SJ, kilo, and munchies. At last I was home, and I would never leave on another one of those awful dates again.

Our Favorite Mistake

Match Dot Com.

So, let me start by saying this: Finding men to sleep with who don't make you want to barf is really hard. Especially in New York City. And sleeping with men who make you want to barf kind of makes you feel a little slutty. Which is why (and also not why) last summer we joined match.com.
Now, I say "and also not why" because I sort of initiated the whole thing by pretending it was research for this play I was about to start rehearsing. Obviously it wasn't, but Internet Dating is for weenies, and my pride bruises as easily as my flesh. So profiles were created, pictures were chosen, and we put our love lives into the capable hands of the invisible workers at Match.com.

Four weeks and two rejections later, I was in. Apparently one of the criteria for a suitable match is that you do not use e-checks to pay for shit. Oops.

My very first "Wink" (for you internet virgins, this is how someone expresses interest in you without having to commit to...saying anything) came from a 24 year old guy in New Jersey who raced sedans and thought I might be "worth an email." Thanks!

I looked at his profile and decided he would be an excellent start to my online dating experience, so I responded to his wink with...a wink. He emailed me relatively quickly thereafter with a sweet one liner that went something like "I don't know what to say here...talk to me on AIM." Yeah, I'll get right on that.

So I got right on that, and soon we were chatting nightly. He came to be known as "Internet Boyfriend Number 1." We talked about movies and food and other movies and other food and sometimes racing cars. He really got me. Eventually we even exchanged numbers and he began texting me things like "You're Cute."

No, you're cute!

The simple joy of our relationship was short lived, and, long story short, as soon as I mentioned I would like to actually talk on the phone...Internet Boyfriend Number 1 went AWOL. Later speculation would indicate he might have been a 12 year old boy, a 70 year old guy, a woman, or a cannibal (I know that last one sounds out of left field, but during some of our sexier AIM chats he would say things like "You're so sweet, I could eat you up" or the slightly more provocative "Are you ready to be eaten alive?" While at the time I was smitten enough to hope he was just talking about oral sex...it may have been something more scandalous.)


I thought that after this harsh rejection I would be scarred and unable to continue my search for internet romance, but it really just served as a sort of catnip to my inner kitten. The Drama! The Anticipation! 3 new winks! 1 new email! 5 new daily matches from your friends here at match.com! I was as addicted to internet dating as I was to nicotine and celebrity gossip. Boyfriend, schmoyfriend, I had match.com

As I fell even more deeply in love with my internet dating site, it seemed to fall in love with me, too. Throwing creepy matches my way! Allowing me such incredible dating experiences as the guy who took my shoe off on our first date and asked me if he could "constrict me like a boa constrictor," or the one who, during a heated near-sexual encounter, said "You have very pretty boobies." How did you know, match.com, just EXACTLY the type of man I needed?

It was three glorious months before my bank account forced me apart from my website soulmate. But they were months well spent. Though match.com didn't make me feel less slutty (probably more, since my roommate's one match experience left her in an actual relationship for a hot minute) it did make me feel like at least I could be a bit more selective about which weirdo I threw my dignity at. Which is, I think, what every girl hopes for.