beggars need to stop being choosers....

Somehow I doubt that this is only a problem local to the Portland or other Oregon CL communities. Granted, Oregon has the distinction of having one of the highest rates of unemployment in the nation - and since wedding season is over, and unless my friend Courtney asks me to be her makeup artist for her December wedding, I'm pretty much out of business until next Spring or Summer and will continue to scroll the want ads for jobs. But, this has given me a chance to gut out my kids' play room, my room, every room actually...and put items up on Craigslist that we no longer need. You know. Trading the stuff in my house for those little green bills in your wallet.

Doing so has, however, turned into quite the adventure. In the course of trying to sell our items, and keep track of the "Wanted" sections for people seeking items we may be willing to part with, I've learned a few things. Perhaps those lessons will be of value to others.

1) If a for sale ad specifies a price, and does not include abbreviations such as OBO or phrases like price negotiable,or free to good home, then please don't send an email saying, "I really need that $1200 real maple wood desk you're selling, but... *insert sob story containing keywords such as 'single mom,' 'no child support,' 'god bless you' and the like*... so, can I have it for free?" You are wasting your time, and the seller's. I'm a single mom too. I'm not going to budge.

2) If you see an ad offering $60 or so for your broken laptop, and you figure that the broken laptop you have is little more than a doorstop at this point, resist the impulse to respond and sell your laptop. These individuals are banking on the hope that you are an idiot who does not know how to use Google to learn how to replace the LCD screen on your laptop - which, inevitably, is the biggest reason people think their laptops are broken! Stop giving away hundreds of dollars worth of property to people who are going to spend $50 to buy a new LCD screen and then sell your laptop BACK TO YOU as "refurbished" for $300+ dollars. Eff, email me - I'll replace the damn thing for cost of the part plus $20 for my time. Good lord.

3) #2 also applies to your broken iPhones, Palm Pilots, X Boxes and the like. These people are making oodles of money off of you - spend a little cash, get the thing fixed, and then sell it for what it's actually worth if you need money that bad. Don't sell it to these yahoos, they are ROBBING YOU BLIND.

4) Ok, so you're getting married, and you're broke, and you want a nice wedding. Most brides and grooms are broke because we humans tend to get married at around the same time the rest of our adult life is truly beginning - fresh out of school, still being paid little more than an intern, paying off student loans, buying a first house, etc. Perfectly understandable, and there's nothing wrong with looking for a good deal on wedding items. But there is a reason weddings are so expensive - because the shit involved IS ACTUALLY EXPENSIVE. Yeah, you know what? I'm probably not going to use those 50 miniature mirrors left over from my wedding centerpieces again for anything but maybe target practice - but I still had to lay out a whole bucket load of cash to buy them to begin with, and your greedy little "I want everything free for my wedding because it has to be perfect even though I expect to get it all for free" posts made, day in and day out, are NOT inspiring me to part with my targets so as to benefit you. I am more likely to break those mirrors and use them to gouge up all the other free wedding paraphernalia I might have to offer just to spite your greed and stupidity.

5) No, you don't need a washer and dryer. Would it be nice? Certainly. More convenient? Definitely. But a need? No - and especially not if you expect someone else to give you their expensive household appliances for free. Get off your ass, load up the laundry bags, and get over to the laundromat. I mean, hell, do you want us to wash the damn clothes for you as well? I did it in college with two toddlers trailing behind me, and so can you.

6) Which applies to #5 and, well, pretty much every thing else... if you are expecting someone to give you something for free, if you are here begging for free stuff, at least have the intelligence and wherewithal to find a way to pick the damn thing up. It's bad enough you want expensive shit given to you for free, but you want it hand delivered on a silver effing platter as well. Seriously? WTF?

7) As per the title of my post... Beggers, stop being choosers. If you are seeking free shit, you don't get to add conditions like, "must be from smoke-free home," or "cannot have any tears or stains," or "must still have box," or "must be pink with purple swirly dots, not purple with pink swirly dots," or "send me pictures and I'll see if it's good enough," or "must be real leather not pleather," or "no plastic wine glasses, it has to be real crystal" or whatever other ridiculous demands you're intending to make. It's FREE SHIT. Be grateful someone is willing to help your sorry ass out instead of expecting them to customize their shit to fit your greedy demands.

8) If you are going to respond to a "Wanted" ad, particularly if the item being asked for seems...oh, I don't know, potentially rare, expensive or otherwise raises the question "why are they looking for it on CL?" -GOOGLE IS YOUR FRIEND. Find out, before you sell, EXACTLY what that $500 bill the guy is offering you $600 is worth. Look up things like, "laptop screen stays dark," or "Xbox red light." Don't let your own greed overwhelm your common sense. If someone is willing to pay you for your item, maybe you'd better find out if someone else is willing to PAY MORE for it.

9) Be realistic. You are not going to get a 2000 or newer running car in good shape with no dents, scratches or mechanical problems for $400. Stop fucking asking. Yes, you're a single parent, life has shit on you, you're going to school, you have no money... the same is true for pretty much most of the rest of the world. If your transportation needs are that great, lower your damn expectations. "$400 for any half-way decent running car" is a good place to start. It's still not likely to get you a lot of responses, but at least it's more realistic.

10) FFS... if you are offering a service, stop posting it as a "Wanted" ad. What you want are customers, not ITEMS, so stop wasting our time with your "Wanted: Wedding Related" bullshit where you actually are looking for people to rent your stupid chair covers for more money than they're even worth.

11) If you are looking for someone to do web design or programming for you, post it in the Gigs section, and be prepared for those of us who do this for a living to laugh our fucking asses off at you when you say you're offering an "internship" or that you can't pay/can't pay much, but are "willing" to let us use your site in our portfolio. First of all, most of us write it into our contracts that we absolutely will be using any site design we do for you as part of our portfolios. You aren't doing us any favors... you're asking US to do YOU a favor because you're too lazy to take any of the multitude of online courses that teach HTML, CSS and php at such an easy level even my 98 year old grandmother could learn it. Secondly, we know damn well that if you're posting an ad on CL, you aren't in any position to make good on promises of "future payment when product takes off." We've been at this a long time, most of us make a good portion of our money off of freelance work, and we're not nearly as stupid as you think we are. Do you ask your surgeon to take out your appendix for free, too?

12) So you're going to be a mommy. Hooray! Let me offer my congratulations! It's completely understandable that new parents may not have the money for extras like a baby swing, a high-end stroller, pretty room decor, etc. Nothing wrong with asking for people to sell you their gently used items - when my kids grew out of their stuff, I sold it cheaply to other new moms, everyone was happy. If, however, you are sitting down to write an ad about how destitute you are, how you can't afford diapers, how you need a free crib and swing and port-a-crib, and stroller, and bouncy seat, and bassinet, and christening outfit, and clothes, and car seat, and they should all match and have pink bunnies with little green froggies...and...and...and... then really, the ad you SHOULD be writing is "seeking responsible family to adopt..." And that, my dears, comes from an adult adoptee who is typically pretty anti-adoption "in general." Namely, me.

13) Stop signing your begs with "god bless." Why? Because in so doing, you're screwing yourself. Those who would react positively to such a comment are the types who would offer you help even without the added "god bless." But you make some major huge assumptions about your audience when you add that little line, mainly, that they are all/mostly Christians. This is the internet - and on top of it, this is Oregon. It's a good bet "god bless" isn't viewed as positively as you might hope, and that a whole lot of people who might otherwise have responded with offers are going to click right back out of your post. Not because they are anti-god, or anti-Christian, or whatever - but because they see through your bullshit. They know damn well you've tacked that on hoping to play on the sympathies of "good Christians everywhere." They know you don't mean a word of it, that you're using it as a way to manipulate others. Knock...it...the...eff...off. The people you ARE fooling can't help you. The people who are NOT fooled, can help, but won't. They may not be Christians, but they don't like seeing Christians manipulated any more than they like seeing it happen to anyone else.

14) If you need help to not get evicted, not get your lights shut off, etc. - sure, you can post an ad asking for help. Who knows, someone might actually respond. But you have a better shot if you take matters into your own hands and start looking for other ways to get those bills paid. Put up a request on http://www.modestneeds.org - be prepared to PROVE your need. Go through your house and sell every damn thing you don't need - all those DVDs, your TV, your stereo, your MP3 player, your cell phone, your laptop - whatever it takes. None of those things will do you a damn bit of good without a roof or electricity, and you can live without all of them and so much more. Sell your shit! Stop expecting someone else to come rescue you. Oh, and here's a tip - when someone emails you and questions why you haven't sold your computer and shut off your cable/internet, don't lie and tell them you're posting from the library. When you email them back, they're going to check the headers on your email and run the IP address - they're going to know you're a Comcast customer, not posting from a library ISP. People don't help liars, particularly those who don't help themselves.

I'm sure there are other points I've forgotten, and I reserve the right to edit this as needed to include them.

But jeez, have a little dignity people.

P.S. I think I hurt the feelings of a few of the beggars... keep flagging, kids... I know the truth hurts.

pennies...

Are we done with the effing pennies yet?

Because it is time. The American public hasn't been using them for about a decade. They have become so worthless, that people give them to each other as a matter of routine. Get your change, pick out the pennies, and leave them there for the next guy. Need a penny or two? Well, there should be a few there for you, because the last guy sure as heck didn't want his. That's the game.

I hate when stores don't want to play by the game. If a store doesn't have a little tray, I am immediately annoyed. The hell if I'm fishing another dollar out of my pants because it came to $5.02. When that cash register rings up $5.02 and you look at me, we're fixing to have a long staredown. I'll return an item before I break another dollar and let you give me three more of the shiteous things in return. And that item probably had a profit margin of at least $.03 to you, so who's the loser now? Get it? As long as they're still around, you better play by the game.

When there is no tray, my normal routine has become to fish through my change and immediately pick them out and deposit them into the trash. Not only are they worthless, but they are disgusting, and I'm not carrying them around. Most have been in circulation for 20 years, and as the stepchild of your change purse, they have been given no love. They live in ashtrays, parking lots, and huge jars owned by 72 year old men who remember when they were worth something. Old copper is gross enough to start with. Add to the fact that they are covered in gum and shit and filth, and you need to wash your hands every time one touches you.

Think about this: a stamp costs $0.37. 37 pennies weigh 6 ounces. It takes about two stamps to mail 6 ounces of stuff. Therefore, if I wanted to mail someone 37 cents in pennies, it would cost me 74 cents. By my definition, it's pretty clear cut. When a monetary unit can't afford to mail itself, it's worthless. Don't get all cocky either, nickels.you aren't far behind. (I don't really know how much 37 pennies weigh, that was just a guess. I have a scale in my house, and would find out, but I can't. I threw out all my pennies. Just trust me though. I'm right on this general principal. I know by instinct that they can't mail themselves.)

Vending machines won't even take them. They hired engineers to assure that any penny which entered the slot would be immediately routed straight to the change opening. Think about the engineering involved. Dimes, which are smaller than pennies, go right into the till, but they had to create some sort of mechanism that would sort out and eliminate any penny that enters the machine, lest they get involved with the REAL money that is in there, and gross it all up.

Have you ever tried to give one to a bum? Seriously. I almost got in a fight in Seattle a few years ago over the fact that I gave a bum some pennies. The man had no home, was hungry, cold, and hopeless, yet when I gave him a handful of pennies, he tried to spit on me. Fortunately, his lack of front teeth seriously affected his aiming abilities and I easily dodged the saliva-based projectile..plus my boyfriend at the time held me back, but nonetheless.

Isn't this enough evidence for Alan Greenspan and the Fed to say enough is enough? I now summarize my case:

1. Pennies are considered worthless, even by homeless people
2. Pennies are disgusting
3. Pennies can't even mail themselves
4. Americans are actually giving them to strangers, like some nationwide game of hot potato
5. Vending machines are even too smart to take them. Their job is to take money, not pennies.

Case Closed. Please, Federal Reserve, I beg you. End the game.

I'm done with the effing pennies.

dear neighbors...

I hate to tell you this because as far as I'm concerned, you guys are the PERFECT NEIGHBORS.

Seriously.

I never hear a peep out of you! You're private, you keep to yourselves, yet you're both still friendly and willing to offer a wave and a smile. You never complain. You take great care of your house and yard. You guys are THE BEST! I love you. I really do.

But I really... really... really... HATE YOUR CHIHUAHUA.

Your Chihuahua barks constantly, all day long.

BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK!

I can't use (bark bark) my computer for very (bark bark) long because my room is (bark bark) on the (bark bark) same side of (bark bark) the house as (bark bark) the room in which (bark bark) you keep (bark bark) your Chihuahua, so (bark bark) the entire time (bark bark) I'm trying (bark bark) to type (bark bark) I get (bark bark) to hear (bark bark) your dog (bark bark) letting his (bark bark) displeasure (bark bark) be known (bark bark).

I can't (bark bark) turn the TV up (bark bark) loud enough (bark bark) to (bark bark) drowned out (bark bark) the noise (bark bark) because it leaves (bark bark) me with a splitting (BARK BARK!) headache and ringing ears. (bark bark)

I can't do ANYTHING in my own house without having to listen to;

BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause*
BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK!

Please don't get me wrong, I'm not an angry, anal retentive, complain-y, intolerant type of person. I have dogs too! I know how dogs can be and I understand that when you get a new dog, there's sometimes a period of adjustment.

But it's been THREE YEARS. For the love of GOD- ADJUST ALREADY!!!

Please (bark bark) please (bark bark) please (bark bark) do something about(bark bark) your dog. (bark bark) I'm BEGGING you. (bark bark) I'm LOSING my effing mind (bark bark) listing to it (bark bark) all day long (bark bark) for what (bark bark) seems like (bark bark) an endless (bark bark) eternal (bark bark) Hell.

I hear him when I'm making coffee, I hear him when I'm checking email, I hear him when I'm in the bathroom, I hear him when I'm trying to watch tv, I hear him even if the volume is on high.

I'm starting to twitch each morning when I wake up because I know as soon as I open my bedroom window, I'll be greeted with;

BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK! *pause* BARK BARK!

I'm grinding my teeth during the day (my dentist says I've lost some enamel) and I've developed headaches that last for hours, all thanks to your Chihuahua who I'm SURE is a lovely dog when he has all the attention that shivery, neurotic little Chihuahuas are known for needing.

It's just that you aren't there (bark bark) to give him (bark bark) the kind of attention (bark bark) necessary (bark bark) in order (bark bark) to keep (bark bark) him from developing (bark bark) obsessive (bark bark) compulsive (bark bark) barking (bark bark) syndrome (bark bark).

There's a Petsmart just down the street- please buy him some chew toys to keep him busy during the day. Hire a trainer. Get some tranquilizers from the vet. Call Dr. Dog.


Do whatever you have to do.

JUST SHUT HIM UP!

i just can't take it anymore!

File cabinets with draws, dressers with draws, desks with draws. There are ads all over Craigslist for furniture with "draws." Do you folks by any chance mean "drawers?" A drawer is a box-like thing that is housed in a piece of furniture and that rotates in and out. It's used for storage.

A "draw" is many things, but it is not a "drawer."

Are there really so many people who are confused about this? People in the professional world and all over the metro area? You don't know what a drawer is? I mean, I hate to be a stickler, but come ON. Not knowing how to spell drawer means you've never read *anything.* Not a work of classic literature, not a pulp novel, not a comic book, not a catalogue, not a magazine, not a newspaper. The word drawer is everywhere.

Literature: Madame Bovary kept things in drawers. Jo March used drawers. Franny and Zooey used drawers. Portnoy used drawers. Nancy Drew, the Hardy Boys, and the Three Investigators all solved mysteries by striking an old desk, thereby unlatching a "secret drawer."

Drawers aren't only in old literature; they are in recent, highly regarded and prize winning literature: staggering geniuses use drawers. People for whom things are illuminated use drawers.

Even in current best-sellers there are drawers. According to a millisecond-long A9.com search, on page 31 of The Story of Edgar Sawtelle (#62 in Oprah's Bookclub), "...[at] odd moments she might discover Trudy rearranging the chest of drawers..." And in Extreme Measures - a Thriller (2008), on page 271, someone opens a drawer to take out a pack of Marlboros. There are many, many, maaaaany others. It's more likely than not that any work of fiction will refer to a drawer at some point within it's pages.

In advertising: have you never heard of "top drawer service?" Even the newspaper is full of advertising references to Cost Plus World Market weekend deals on rattan wine bars with iron bottle-racks and MDP "utility drawers." Or Macy's blowout furniture "events" where bedroom sets include several items with drawers. Bed, Bath and Beyond sells things with drawers. Instructions for putting together Ikea furniture make references to these things called "drawers."

While it's possible you are confusing drawers with "draws," those flat, pull-out trays that might be on a taboret or tool chest, that's still doesn't contradict the fact that you don't read enough to know how to accurately represent that storage-box part of the furniture you are selling. You don't recognize or spell correctly the word "drawer."

Is this such a big deal? Not knowing how to spell a word? Maybe, maybe not. Though I'd perhaps be less concerned if you were having trouble spelling, say, "Czechoslovakia," or "applique," or even, "biscuit." Those words aren't as ubiquitous in our lives as the word "drawer."

But not knowing "drawer." It says something larger. Something not good.

I'm not trying to pick on anyone here. Just to say, this seems to be a disturbing trend and I hope it doesn't mean what I think it means.

Harley rider pre-ride check off list...

1. Comb baseball player goatee and mustache
2. Spend 6- hours polishing gaudy chrome pieces. Be sure people can read the Live to Ride, Ride to Live statement on gas tank lid.
3. Assure suspension can handle at least 560 pounds of rider
4. Pack cell phone and have tow service numbers programmed.
5. Look in mirror and perfect the "I'm a bad ass mofo" Harley riding scowl.
6. Affix tassels from daughters bicycle to handle bars for added "fantastical" appearance.
7. Test flashers for when bike breaks down (99% probability)
8. Put on your wrist brace to help carpal tunnel from all of the unnecessary revving
9. Leather pants
10. Gloves
11. Wrap around sunglasses
12. Skull cap (German soldier type for the real badasses). Remember to think about the SAFETY aspect/argument of loud pipes as putting that potato chip on head. The real tough guys here will wear a bandana over their face (some with a skull) to look really scary----ooooh!
13. CAT work boots (new)
14. Leather vest with some "chapter" like: North Chapter of Pig Effing Obese Attention Whore Douchebeards With Fat Ugly Loud Mouth Wives. 
15. HD t-shirt (of course). Because everyone needs to know what shop you paid $40 for a $5 hanes shirt at.
16. Remove baffles from pipes so EVERYONE can hear you going 18mph in 2nd gear at redline. Note: Most HD break down before hitting 2nd gear.
17. Starbucks gift card: This is usually your hangout--------------how tough.
18. Call friends with similar ridiculous motorcycle (WW2 outdated technology garbage) and pathetic store bought image (gay pirate from the Castro) attire. Have them ATTEMPT to meet you at the Starbucks without breaking down or crashing due to being distracted from looking at themselves in their chrome.
19. Five packs of Marlboro reds to smoke while riding to look extra cool
20. Slam a 6 pack of Zima prior to ride.
21. Saddle bags attached to pick up and store broken parts that fall off bike as you ride/push (if you can call it riding without laughing) that hunk of junk down the road.

why I'm not the perfect girl for you...

For a while now, I've been cruising on Craigslist. I get bored at night a lot, and it seems to pass the time. Usually it's in the employment sections, or I'm posting something that I will trade for money. But the personals always get me. Every guy on here seems to think that he is God's gift to mankind (not even just the women!). Joe Schmoe posts on here looking for the brilliant, model, single, virgin, wealthy etc etc girl. Do you smell that? Cause its time to wake up and take a hugeeee whiff of that Folgers.

Regardless, here's some of my commentary. (Taken directly from posts in Men Seeking Women)

I am hoping to find an athletic, fun loving white female - Ok. Athletic? So, should I like be on a team or something? Do you want me to be able to kick your ass when we wrastle? Fun loving? No. I hate fun. Fun is the worst thing ever. You try to have fun with me and the consequences will be dire.

looking for friend with beniftits - *sigh* Where do I start, young sir? There is a section dedicated solely to you getting your johnson stroked. Its called NSA! And what "beniftits" were you looking for? Perhaps some spelling/grammar lessons? I'd be happy to tutor you. Maybe I'm viewing this entirely the wrong way? Maybe you are in fact extremely clever and were using a play on words? Benef-tits? I think not.

im 6'4" 270lbs blk straight teeth - Black straight teeth? Maybe you should spend your time at the dentist rather than Craigslist. Or, use a flippin comma.

If you are fake, I have no time for you. - Sorry sugar. But honestly, you don't want to see 99% of the women out there without a little fakeness. Otherwise you'd slit your wrists. Everyone fudges the truth a little. *ahem* "No honey! You don't look fat in those jeans at all!" Would you rather me tell you what I REALLY think about you when you come up to me at *insert random bar name here*? I don't think so. BTW, you have spinach in your teeth.

I am looking for a woman who takes care of her self - I would hope that would be one of your requirements. I can't see someone asking for a woman who doesn't shower? Doesn't buy clothing that fits? Doesn't pay her bills? I'm confused.

i want to look into your eyes and tell you how much more beautiful they are than the stars. - Weed and Craigslist ads do NOT mix! Stop making me vomit. Punch me in the face or something instead! Jeez.

I am looking to meet some one special that would like to start as friends and build from there. - Really? Because I prefer marriage immediately. Eff this friends boohickey.

I also want to get to meeting without 6 mos. of useless messeges - Would 5 months be okay? I'm not sure if I'll be able to tell if you're genuinely not a serial killer until then.

im only five eight 130lbs so no big girls or bbws - I dub this the "no fatties" clause. Don't you know big girls is [sic] freaks!?!?!?! And eww, 130? I think my 85 year old grandmother weighs more than that.

I am a spontaneous person so I like to do a variety of things - I chose to spend my day doing the same thing over and over and over again. Like washing my hands. It makes me feel better. INVISIBLE BUGS! For future reference: Spontaneous: happening or arising without apparent external cause (this does not mean you like doing a variety of things, loser).

I'm 5'6'brown eyes,38 old,no child,but like. - Please press 1 for English. No child, but like. You are child-like? You like no child? You like children? Sorry, the subscription for my dumbass translator is expired.

likes to be outdoors but does not mind stayin indoors sumtimes - Is that like, breathing or not breathing? I was under the impression that indoors and outdoors were the only two options that humans had. Again, confused.

Not interested in "morally bankrupt women." - What if I'm just financially bankrupt?

Anyway, I'm ending my rant there. And, if I've pulled from your ad, and you're offended... Get the hell over it. Take some criticism and maybe you'll meet that 21 year old model virgin you're so desperately seeking.

it's me!! every girl ever!!

*knock knock*

Oh hi, how's it going? It's me! Every girl ever. I'm really looking forward to this date. I'm not nearly as attractive as you remember me being because when we met the bar was dark and you were drunk. Come on in.

Let's start off with the unavoidable tour of my incredibly typical post-college-girl apartment.

You'll notice that I went ahead and purchased everything that Ikea and Pier 1 have ever produced. There's my decorative birdcage over there even though I don't have a bird, and there's my gay wicker basket with bamboo poles in it. I don't know what the hell that's thing's all about, but I bought it.

Hey check it out, I have more candles in here than a Roman Catholic Church. Doesn't it smell like Hazelnut!? If I were to light all of my candles at once you could see my apartment from space! I effing love candles!

Come on into the living room.

Oh, I see you met my cat there. That's "Freddy Paws Jr." Why don't you pet him and act like you like cats even though you hate cats? There you go. Oh, he took a little swing at your eye there huh? Yeah, he'll do that. Hey, let's check out the kitchen.

Hey look at my refrigerator. There are pictures all over it! Look at all these pictures of me and my equally vacuous friends from college! We were so crazy! You can tell we're really good friends because our faces are all pressed up against each other like that.

And check it out, we're holding up alcoholic beverages to the camera in every single picture. That's to prove that we were partying. College was so fun! But of course I don't talk to any of these girls anymore because now they're all bitches.

Let's go back into the hallway!

Hey, before we leave I'm going to go in the bathroom for ten minutes for some mysterious reason. Why don't you sit awkwardly in my big, stupid, round papizan chair over there while you wait for me. It's like you're sitting in a hug! Be right back...

Sorry that took a half an hour, I don't know what the hell I was doing in there. Let's go!

Wow! Thanks for opening my car door for me! I'm totally going to blow that meaningless gesture out of proportion and delude myself into thinking that you're a really good guy because that's what I want to believe.

Well, here we are at the restaurant. No thanks waiter, I don't need to see a menu, just bring me some expensive things. Hey I know, while we wait, I'll tell you all about my unspeakably boring job. I hate my boss. He's a jerk! I might get another job. Maybe something in pharmaceutical sales.

Now let's talk about my family. I love my family. I want you to love my family. I want my family to love you. I want you to go golfing with my semi-retarded brother Travis. That would be so bbq damned cute!

Wow! I can't believe I ordered all this food! I have no intention of eating any of it. No thanks waiter, we don't need a box. Just throw it out.

Hey, I've got an idea, let's go to a bar and have an after dinner drink! It'll be great, it will be just like how we're drinking here, only it will be louder and we'll have to stand up. Come on!

See, isn't this better? Oh hey, what a coincidence. Look over there! It's a group of my friends that I knew was going to be here. Let's go over there so that they can judge you!

Hey, I have to go to the bathroom for a half an hour again for some reason. You can stay here and talk to my unbelievably hideous friend Christine! Christine's so ugly she scares kids! Talk to her! She has a job and a family that she wants to talk to you about too. Be right back.

I'm back! Sorry I was gone for three hours, there was a line. I want to go home now.

Well here we are at my door again. This was really fun for me and not you. You should pretend like we're going to do it again sometime! Maybe I'll see you at Target a few months from now and we can avoid eye contact because you never called me. Here, have this awkward goodnight kiss that's as empty as my soul. Good night!

it's 10 items or less, moron

I've tried to simplify it. But I just don't think they can make that message any clearer than it already is: 10 Items Or Less. It seems fairly self-explanatory, so where's the confusion? What, exactly, do some of you think that sign says?

10 Items Or Less (except for you)
10 Items Or Less (just kidding)
10 Items Or Less (unless you have deemed yourself more important than everybody else on the planet, including the seething 32-year-old cliche behind you who just wants to buy a bottle of wine and some ice cream and go home to her cat)

Okay, maybe you can't count. Well, I have a solution for that: DON'T GO TO THE GROCERY STORE ALONE. Now, I want to be perfectly clear on this point, so pay attention: If you cannot accurately count to ten you should not be allowed to leave your house without adult supervision. Got it? Good.

But you say you know how to count and how to read, you just choose to ignore the well-lit, strategically-placed 10 Items Or Less sign? Well then you belong in the same category as those imbeciles who think there should be valet parking at the dry cleaners. And those people do exist, I've seen them.

And don't tell me you don't get it. I've been to plenty of grocery stores, in plenty of states. And every last one of them had a 10 Items Or Less lane. So the wolves who raised you must have kept you under a pretty big rock if you can
t get on board with this idea: 10 Items Or Less means 10 Items Or Less. Period. End of discussion. Let someone in with 11 items and you will find yourself on a very slippery slope, my friend.

And for those of you ready to pull the language card: forget about it. 10 Items Or Less translates (more or less). En espanol: 10 articulos o menos. Auf deutsch: 10 punkte oder weniger. Pa norsk: 10 Ting Eller Mindre. Did you notice anything? A pattern perhaps?

The number 10. Not 13, not 14, not 15, and because it's not the "Divisible By 10" lane, 20 (the very concept of 20) makes my brain hurt. And don't insult my intelligence, I'm not stupid (I may have too much time on my hands, but I'm not stupid), don't even try to put one of those little dividers between items 1-10 and 11-20. That molded piece of plastic doesn't impress me and it doesn't change a damn thing.

And now for the cashiers: listen up because you have a hand in this mess too (and before anybody gets their panties in a twist, I can say this because I, too, was once a grocery store cashier). I realize that being a grocery store cashier may not afford you the same power as, say, being the Pope, but you have got to seize opportunities where you can.

The Express Lane can be a daunting and demanding mistress, I know, I've been there. But you can handle her. After all it's your deft agility and fierce commitment to getting me out of that store as fast as humanly possible that got you to the Express Lane in the first place. You don't ask how I am or how my day was, mostly because you couldn't care less, but more importantly, you don't ask because you are focused. Focused on not seeing me for one second longer than is absolutely necessary.

And I love you for that.

So dammit, grab that Express Lane by the short and curlies and don't let go. You can't let the inmates run the asylum. If you see someone coming at you with a basket so woefully overloaded that one shoulder may permanently hang lower than the other, take a stand. By God, put your foot down and end this madness. Believe me, I've got your back. I also have a nice Chardonnay and a pint of Chunky Monkey and am not afraid to use either of them.

slurring on reel: ms hannigan

Halfway through the sixth viewing of the film Annie with a couple of spellbound kids, something struck me beyond the great score,  brilliant casting and choreography: Miss Hannigan.

Spectacularly played by the great Carol Burnett, Miss Hannigan goes down as the single greatest movie drunk I’ve ever seen. Well, Lee Marvin runs a close second in his role in Cat Ballou, but Burnett plays the role with such gusto, joy and credibility that you can’t help but fall in love with her. Again and again.

From the scenes where she passionately kisses her radio, bumps into swinging light bulbs and grasps her head in pain as the orphans shout, to the decreasing sigh tones as she swallows one glass after the next of cheap booze, this is an acting feast that you want one serving of after the next.

Bathtub gin...the breakfast of champions

The hair, the make-up and costumes and her ability to imitate the voices of her little “pig-droppings” is unparalleled.

Who the hell else could pull off  the following punch-line?

Grace: What about this child?

Miss Hannigan: Annie?… Oh, you don’t want Annie.

Grace: Why not?

Miss Hannigan: Because… Because she’s a drunk!

Brilliant. And I’ve attached a clip below for your viewing pleasure.

That. That right there is made me want to be an actress. Not because  I'm a drunk in real life and art imitates reality, but because she's my dream role. So lovable despite her downfalls. However....


Ms. Hannigan was seriously misunderstood.

I get that now. She was no evil villain! What the story neglects to tell you is how Ms. Hannigan had to spend YEARS dealing with TEEN girls. They don't SHOW that part in the movie. They don't SHOW how HORRIFIC Annie would have been during puberty! I mean, she was a REDHEAD! Can you even imagine the torture she would have endured when Annie turned, say,  19!?

OF COURSE she hated little girls because she KNEW that they grow up to be money sucking, time sucking, blood sucking black holes in the universe. NO WONDER they love vampire stuff so much! It's in their NATURE.

Seriously someone needs to do the untold Ms. Hannigan story. I gotta say I am MORE than ready to take a bath of cheap imitation gin too! I totally GET HER !

well aren't you a charmer?...

Dear Driver of White Volvo Stationwagon Parked in Front of Cinetopia on Thursday Night:

I never formally introduced myself. I was so concerned with my personal safety that I wasn't able to tell you how much I wanted to punch you in the throat. I never got the chance to tell you what an embarrassment to humanity you are.

I appreciate your concerns in life. After all, I was walking on the sidewalk that your car was hovering over. Your car's presence did force me to reroute my steps. That may have entitled you to a simple, 'I'm sorry for blocking the entire sidewalk. I don't know what I was thinking.' That would have sufficed. I am pretty sure that, 'What are you looking at, bitch?' was not the appropriate response to my crossing in front of your car. I know, I know, you had a young girl in your car and you wanted to impress her. I was surprised to see your companion laughing at my expense. I can't promise that were I in a similar situation, I would laugh at my male companion harrassing a strange female and calling her a bitch. I am pretty sure I wouldn't laugh at all. You must possess some amazing charm.

That charm was further demonstrated when you continued to shout at me. 'Just keep on walking, slut!' was especially poignant. I admire your ability to pass judgement on a girl wearing jeans and a hoodie. Clever.

I think I realized the breadth of your charm when two men tried to calm you down. 'Get in the car,' they requested. "She started it!" you protested. Mmm. I started it. I did, after all, walk in front of your car. If that's not grounds for verbal assault, then hell, I don't know what is.

It was good that you drove away when you did. Obviously at the height of your inebriation, it's always a good idea to operate a vehicle when you can do the most damage. Lucky for you, you drive the world's safest car--you should be all set. Good thinking, ace.

I guess I am most disappointed in my complicity. I was too sober to think quickly. Had I consumed a drink or five, I would have had the good sense to spit on your car, tell you how ashamed for you I was, and heck--I would have even taken a black-eye for the team just to see the number of men that would have jumped into the fight to kick your ass.

What am I saying--I could have kicked your ass. Regrets, I've had a few. Perhaps we'll meet again.

Signed,

The Blonde Girl Who Walked in Front of Your Car 

an open letter to the manufacturers of Meow Mix...

To whom it may concern at the Meow Mix factory:

I take issue with your claim that Meow Mix is the cat food that "tastes so good cats ask for it by name."

And here are some alternate names for your product that may be more appropriate:
Hiss Mix
Scratch, Claw And Be Generally Disagreeable Mix
Get This Bowl The Hell Away From Me Mix

He looks more like the  Fancy Feast  sort

Any of the above would be a satisfactory replacement based on my recent experience with your product. Truth be told, I have not personally tried your product, as I am human and kibble does not appeal to me. I also do not have a cat. But I know an angry cat when she crosses my path, and I visited my friend last night who resides with the mother of all angry cats right meow. She actually rolled over and played dead in front of her bowl, which I had recently filled with your cat food (I may not be a cat person, but I understand being hungry). Since you presume to be such cat experts, what is it you think she was asking for that time? 

Of course she is only one cat, and not necessarily representative of felines everywhere. And it's true, she doesn't meow. Ever. Whether that's because she can't meow or chooses not to is still a matter of great debate. My point, meowever, is that cats are of a severely limited vocabulary and I think your assertion that anytime a cat opens its meowth and makes the one and only noise we're sure all cats (except Astro) make that they are asking for your cat food smacks of self-righteousness.

There could be a number of meows that mean different things. What if it's a meow for help? Or a feeble feline attempt to plead for IAMS? What if the very thought of another meowthful of your kibble makes cats meow in terror? Did you ever consider that Meow Mix?

Of course you didn't because you and all your animal feeding cohorts have been making bogus assertions for years and are too busy touting weirdly irrelevant product features to realize just meow ridiculous you sound. And here's one odd meowncement I saw the other day: Now in fun shapes! Is it me or your marketing people who are retarded? (Don't answer that.) I ask you, meow is that a selling point? I have never - not once - caught any cat trying to bang a round peg into a square hole with her paw. And until I do, I'm not going to worry that a lack of shape variety is somemeow stunting her emotional growth.

But my personal favorite is that from time to time you herald the arrival of your product's "new and improved taste." Says who? To be perfectly frank, that's where your whole industry lost credibility with me. I'd like to see the data. The transcripts of conversations your research and development teams had with these focus groups of Tabbies, Calicoes, German Shepherds and Poodles. Animals that not only willingly eat garbage, but actively seek it out.

Or am I realizing my greatest fear right meow as I consider the preposterous notion that you have human taste-testers? Because that opens a new universe of questions I probably don't want the answers to. Have you somemeow determined that human taste buds and animal taste buds are similar? What sort of qualifications must one possess to secure this type of position? Do you serve a sorbet between courses or just ask The Tasters to drink from the toilet to clear their palates? And in case you were wondering, yes, these questions, and others, will keep me awake at night.

But, I suppose, in all fairness, I should disclose that my friend's cat thinks she's a dog. Kristen recently got her to stop drinking from the toilet, but fetch is still a part of the daily routine. She likes to have her belly scratched and wags her tail when she's happy. She's not normal, which makes us a perfect match. And Kristen did name her Astro. Maybe she caught one too many episodes of The Jetsons and thinks she's a Great Dane who belongs to a guy named George.

So maybe I should just buy her a bag of dog food and get back to you.

<3 Me

the open toe shoe pledge...

Place your right hand over your heart and repeat after me:

As a member of the Cute Girl Sisterhood, I pledge to follow the Rules when I wear sandals and other open-toe shoes:

I promise to always wear sandals that fit. My toes will not hang over and touch the ground, nor will my heels spill over the backs. And the sides and tops of my feet will not protrude out between the straps.

I will go polish-free or vow to keep the polish fresh, intact and chip-free. I will not cheat and just touch up my big toe. I will sand down any mounds of skin before they turn hard and yellow.

I will shave the hairs off my big toe.

I won't wear pantyhose even if my misinformed girlfriend, coworker, mother, sister tells me the toe seam really will stay under my toes if I tuck it there.

If a strap breaks, I won't duct-tape, pin, glue or tuck it back into place hoping it will stay put. I will get my shoe fixed or toss it.

I will not live in corn denial; rather I will lean on my good friend Dr. Scholl's if my feet need him.

I will resist the urge to buy jelly shoes at Payless for the low, low price of $4.99 even if my feet are small enough to fit into the kids' sizes This is out of concern for my safety, and the safety of others. No one can walk properly when standing in a pool of sweat and I would hate to take someone down with me as I fall and break my ankle.

I will take my toe ring off toward the end of the day if my toes swell and begin to look like Vienna sausages. If I have been privy to the magic that is Foot Soup; I will share that knowledge and experience with the non-initiated.

I will be brutally honest with my girlfriend / sister / coworker when she asks me if her feet are too ugly to wear sandals. Someone has to tell her that her toes are as long as my fingers and no sandal makes creepy feet look good.

I will promise if I wear flip flops that I will ensure that they actually flip and flop, making the correct noise while walking and I will swear NOT to slide or drag my feet while wearing them.

I will promise to go my local beauty school at least once per season and have a real pedicure (they are about $20 and worth EVERY penny).

I will promise to throw away any white/off-white sandals that show signs of wear...nothing is tackier than dirty white sandals..

rules of the bar...

Someone once pointed out to me the fact that there seems to be a micro-economy in the service industry. Restaurant workers take their tip money out to bars and clubs at night and give it to the bartenders, who promptly return it to the waiters and waitresses the next day at lunch. The cycle is almost self-sufficient and is mutually beneficial. Knowing the pain of waiting on customers, each group tips the other well and never raises a fuss. These people do not need to be educated. The rest of you do.

Many of us have stood in a noisy, crowded bar and asked, "What's a guy got to do to get a drink around here?" Well, you're about to find out. Here are some Do's and Don'ts that will keep the relationship between the bartender and bar patron running smoothly.

Looks tasty, don't it?

DON'TS


Fail to have your money ready 
We're waiting on you. Everyone else is waiting on us. Therefore, by the Transitive Property of Equality, everyone is waiting on you. Rule #1: Have your shit together. Not only will following Rule #1 get you served quicker in a bar, it's a good general rule to adopt in life and is especially helpful in Central American border crossing scenarios.

Whistle
This is an absolute No-No. You whistle at dogs and pretty ladies, not people.

Wave money 
Oh, you've got a dollar!! I'll be right over!! Hopefully I won't break an ankle in my fevered rush to get you your "curz lite." Well, at least you're not breaking the next rule.

Yell out the bartender's first name
There's something deeply psychologically disturbing about hearing your name called out, turning around and seeing a complete stranger. That's one of the reasons strippers use stage names. Bartender's do too. Mine is Pixie.

Say "make it strong!" or "put a lot of liquor in it" 
Oh, you're one of the rare drinkers that like their drink strong! When you say this, you're assuming I make weak drinks (which is insulting) and you're assuming that I'll stiffen this one up for my new best buddy, you. This is the best way to get a weak drink.

Give the ever-expanding drink order
You want a Bud. I go get it. I come back and now you want a Margarita. Okay, no prob. I come back, and (oh yeah!) now you want a shot of Tequila, too. You really could have told us this all at once. See Rule #1.

Pull the redirect (or the bait 'n' switch)
Usually used after the money wave or the whistle, this is when the gentlemen passes his turn to the lady behind him. Yeah, um, don't do that, okay? Chances are she's not ready, and your weak attempt at chivalry just cost you your turn. See you in 30 minutes.

Try the confused, lost look
This is usually accompanied by the question "What kind of beer y'all got?" while looking at all the beers we have. You did know you were in a bar, right? You didn't just appear here, did you? Refer to Rule #1.

Order High Maintenance shooters
Example: "Lemme get an Alabama Slammer, a Red Snapper, two Kamikazes, a Buttery Nipple and a Lemon Drop." Usually followed by a small tip. People, these shooters are fine by themselves, but there are multiple steps involved with each one. Translation: Time Sink. You may get them this time, but you'll probably be waited on last the next time we see your face. Here's a clue as to whether or not you're high maintenance; if two bartenders are working and they see you, and they flip a coin and the loser comes over to take your order, pretty good chance you're high maintenance.

Assume we know you're in the band
We know, we know, you're gonna be really famous, but you're not there yet, tiger. Tell us you're in the band and which band you're in. By the way, if you are in a band and get free/reduced drink prices, feel free to tip, as most bartenders are also in bands! It's not like we don't know how it is. Oh, and our bands will smoke your band.

Assume we know you period
Unless you've followed the first "Do" rule below, we don't remember you. You are one of a thousand faces for us, and when you point at an empty glass or a beer bottle that's invariably facing away from us, your attempt at a shortcut backfires. Tell us what you want.

Apologize for sucking
Don't apologize for not tipping. Acknowledging that you suck is not the same as not sucking. Oh, and don't say "I'll get ya next time." We know all about you.

Assume sodas are free 
Are they free at McDonald's? Are they free at Wal-Mart? Are they free anywhere? I blame M.A.D.D. for this myth.

Put pennies and nickels in the tip jar
We don't want that crap in our pockets any more than you do. We don't have anything smaller than quarters. Have you ever ordered a drink that cost $3.17?

Be "The Microbrew Aficionado"
Usually a pseudo-hippy who can't tip a quarter but can't bring himself to drink "schwag," and who has to sample some new berry-wheat-harvest-ale that he heard about at Burning Man. "Do you have the new Vernal-Equinox Special Welcome-Fest?" "Does Anyone?" Here's your Hefeweizen. Go.

Be "The Daddy Warbucks"
Dressed in classic day-trader wear, this loud, boisterous guy smokes cigars and orders Martinis and generally exudes an air of money. Until the tip. We hate you.

Be a "Whiney Baby"
Under no circumstances should you ever whine to a bartender when asked to see your ID. Our jobs depend on them, and when we spot a fake/expired ID, don't argue; we've seen and heard it all a million times before, and it will get you absolutely nowhere. If you "don't have one" or "forgot it," forget it; you don't belong out on the town in the first place. That's the law, plain and simple. If we don't have the law, the terrorists win. You don't want the terrorists to win, do you? Bring your ID. Remember Rule #1, from a minute ago?

DO'S

Tip
Tip heavy right off the bat, and you're the first person we aim for every time you come up to the bar. Did you get that? Go back and read it again. The word will spread to the other bartenders and you'll be treated like a prince. It will pay off in better drinks and the occasional free one.

Be patient 
All you really need to do to get waited on is make eye contact. We see you, and we'll get to you before the guy right next to you waving money and whistling. Remember, this isn't insulin we're passing out here. If you really need the drink that bad, you've got a problem to address, Jack. The meek shall inherit the bar.

Be an attractive female/male (depending on which gender your bartender is) 
As in life, this goes far.

If this comes across as a little petty, remember: bartenders are a jaded lot.

7 out of 8 ain't bad...

Okay... So I'm hanging out with my friends, being bored while watching Titanic for the millionth time and hungry. I decided to order a pizza. I order the pizza, wait the 45 minutes and finally the pizza arrives! (Hallelujah Chorus plays in the background) I sign for the pizza and it's all mine. I take the box from the delivery person and take a deep inhalation of the aroma wafting from the box. Oh, the glorious smell of Papa John's. How I love thee. I open the box and noticed something. Hmm. Somethings missing from my pizza. The sausage? No. The pepperoni perhaps? Nope. Maybe...the cheese? What, are you silly? No. No. No. Not sausage or pepperoni or cheese. You know what's missing from my pizza? A WHOLE EFFING SLICE!!! And I know you're thinking "You've gotta be shitting me" because that's how every single person that has heard about this has reacted. No. I'm not kidding. A whole freaking slice was missing from my pizza.

And just in case you don't believe me, here's a re-creation of what I opened my pizza box to find...

So, I do what any red-blood American would do after discovering that their delectable pseudo-italian concoction had be tampered with: I call the manager of Papa John's.

Pizza Girl #1: Thank you for calling Papa John's. Just to let you know we have a special. Two large pizzas....

Me: I'm calling to complain.

Pizza Girl: Oh? What seems to be the problem.

Me: Well, my pizza got here and there's a slice missing.

Pizza Girl: Are you serious?

Me: As a heart-attack. There's a whole slice...gone.

Pizza Girl starts telling the manager about my situation.

Pizza Girl: She says there's a slice missing from here pizza.

Manager: What? Are you serious.

Pizza Girl: She says she's serious.

The manager starts laughing hysterically.

Manager: Hello, ma'am?

Me: Hi.

Manager: So, there's a slice *giggle* missing from your pizza? *laughter*

Me: Yes. I got the pizza, opened the box and there was a slice gone.

Manager: Well, how many slices does your pizza have?

Me: *pauses* You've gotta be effing kidding me...SEVEN! There are seven slices on an EIGHT slice pizza. I am NOT RETARDED.

Okay. I didn't say that, but I sure as hell thought it.

Me: There are 7 slices.

Manager: Oh. Well, umm, I don't...this has never happened before. So, it got there like that?

Me: FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY...No. I ate the slice of pizza and was like "oh, wtf. my slice of pizza is gone" Does she think I'm drunk? I don't sound drunk!!! Yes. It got here like that.

Manager: Do you want us to send you another pizza?

Now, this is where it gets tricky. What am I to do? At this point, I'm famished. I need something to eat. Should I wait another 45 minutes for another pizza? Hell no.

Me: Well, I'm sorta hungry now.

Manager: Well, how about I leave this credit on your account for a free pizza for your next order?

Me: Will it have all eight slices?

Manager: *laughs* Yes, it will have all eight.

Me: Okay. Thanks.

*CLICK*

Alright. So, the mystery of the mising slice goes unsolved, but I got a free pizza out of the deal. I'm still wondering WTF happened to the 8th slice on this one. Did some mysterious creature intercept my pizza in-transit, eat a slice, and then put it back in it's box? Did the delivery person eat my slice? Maybe it was the chef. Maybe it was Colonel Mustard in the Library with a candlestick. Damn that Colonel Mustard! Well, to whoever you are, you pizza stealing bastard: SCREW YOU!

new rules for trick or treaters this year...

So, I've always really loved Halloween. I remember being very excited about going out to get candy when I was little and I enjoy seeing the small children dressed up in cute costumes. I'm a female in my twenties- it wasn't even that long ago! Since Halloween is in only 19 days, I'd like to set up some ground rules for this year (and I direct this primarily at the older trick-or-treaters). Bring it on. I'll be waiting.

No "trick or treat" when I open the door? No candy. This is a very important part of trick or treating. It seems that the older the trick-or-treater, the slimmer the chance of being greeted with this. You see, the "trick or treat!" is just a polite way of saying, "Give me some freakin candy!" If getting dolled up in a costume at your age is still cool, then why don't you just go that extra yard and say it? I doubt it'll damage your rep any more than being 16 and standing on my doorstep in a "dead cowboy" costume.

No "thank you"? I'm reaching in your bag of treats and retrieving my candy, in addition to anything else I can grab.

No costume? Kiss my butt and get off my property or I will shoot you with a potato gun.

Dressed like a "gangster?" How stupid do you think I am? I KNOW you're in your street clothes. Shouldn't you be knocking over a candy store?

To the group of late-teenage(how old were you? 16, 17?) Paris Hilton wannabes that have pounded violently on my door AND rang the doorbell simultaneously: Did you ever see the movie "Problem Child II?" There's a scene where the doorbell is rigged to "pleasantly surprise" whoever rings it. I won't electrocute you, of course, but I promise that you won't be able to touch your STD infested boyfriends for a month without giving them an electric shock.

Ask me if you can have more than one piece? No. BUT- you can have zero.

Over 13 years of age? No candy. How about some condoms so I don't have to hand out candy to your own children over the next couple of years? I thought so. Yes, you can take more than one.


:::Sigh::: ahhh. Feels good to get that off my chest. Damn you and your idiocy, all of you trick-or-treaters from last year. I'm feeling jaded and disillusioned right now remembering last year's Halloween. I hope the Christmas carolers are serving up something good this year.

Disclaimer: To all of the small children and those rare few that were polite and in keeping with the spirit of Halloween- You can come back this year. I promise you won't be harmed, taunted, or emotionally scarred in any way.

please date my human companion...

My name's Kipper, but most of the time my friends call me Kip. I'm a native Oregonian, and have lived in Portland my whole life. I'm a little over a year old, with brown eyes, and I'm black. Not exotic, like from the Caribbean or Africa black, "Border Lab" black. Anyway, this is not about me, this is about my Human Companion.

She's really cute, about 5'6" with blonde hair. Anyway, I want to tell you about her because I think there are a lot of reasons you should date her:

1. My HC is totally not getting what she needs from girlfriends alone. I mean, of course they are invaluable, but there are obvious areas where girlfriends don't cut it, and HC's girlfriends are, well, girly. They're, like, the sort who watch The Notebook and Must Love Dogs and stuff - hello - gag. But my HC is more the if-something-isn't-blowing-up-in-the-first-fifteen-minutes-I'm-getting-bored and knows-all-the-lines-in-Super-Troopers type.

2. My HC is totally non-judgmental. I know, you're like, "this is about you being black, isn't it?" What is it with you humans and that stuff? Look, it's important if you have a sucky personality, if you're forehead-slappingly crackbrained, or if you have rather unfortunate personal hygiene habits. Anyway, can you remember where I was before I started ranting? Ah, yes-HC is non-judgmental. See, I have this personal thing. Ok, I'll say it... I'm a little paunchy in places. But, HC is totally cool with it. In fact, she calls my fatty bits "ploopy," isn't that cute? To hear her talk about it, you'd think ploopy was the solution to the world's problems. I think this is evidence that HC is a highly-evolved life-form.

3. My HC used to have this guy around that I called "dad," really only because it seemed to make her happy, but really I know he wasn't my dad. Anyway, the dude didn't like Sports Center. I mean, is that even legal? She needs dudes who are low-key and not looking for a let's talk about our feelings, kind of thing.

4. A girl's gotta eat. I mean, if she tries to pass Wheat Thins and cream cheese off as a meal one more time, I'm calling someone. I'm not kidding, people, my paw is this close- THIS CLOSE. It's not like she can't afford something better, I get high-quality stuff in my bowl, man. And she's not one of those super-lame, new-diet-every-week, afraid-to-eat girls, either; she's a healthy eater, maybe even too healthy, if you know what I mean. I think she just needs you to take her to your favorite place and show her how it's done. I've seen her annihilate ribs and buffalo wings before, but it's been awhile and I think she's forgotten how to.

5. Because God is fair. I mean look, yes she got a little too comfortable in her last relationship - what you're perfect? - and yes she isn't the uber-athlete she used to be, but seriously, man, her curves are nice. N I C E. And that's my point, God is fair. You get a big butt, you also get curves. I seem to recall such things are important to you male-types. Of course, me, I'm a virgin, something about "being a responsible pet owner," whatever that means, but I digress.

6. My HC is running out of cool hobbies to pick up and I seriously do not want this getting out of control. She already travels. She takes me hiking all the time, we watch a lot of college football and movies. She likes listening to music, and doesn't get all pretentious about what is "cool" to like and just digs the scene. She has lots of awesome friends who she hangs out with, so it's not like she's moping around longing for a man to "complete" her or something. She's an ass kicker. Really what I'm saying here is that I'd like to nip this "solo" thing she has going in the bud, before it starts down the path to crazy-town, because I hate cats, man, and she's allergic, so this is a pre-emptive attack type thing. I am stealthy like a ninja. I creep in under cover of darkness using super-spy skills... ok, off vector again.

7. Because honestly, man, I am doing you a favor here. HC is a cool chic who is doing perfectly fine without you in her life, but maybe you're cool too and just want to eat some meals and have some fun. She's not prim, so you might even get lucky, who knows. If her history is any indication, once she decides she's ready, she'll be back off the market in a snap, so this is really the best time to act, you know, while she's not really thinking about it too seriously.

So anyway, I look forward to meeting you. Don't tell her I told you all this stuff because she doesn't know anything about me using her laptop and it will make her a little creeped out. Oh, and if I sniff your ass when you come over to pick my HC up, don't be offended... it's just my way of saying hello.

to the large spider...

It's not you, it's me. Really. Now would you just listen? Don't get all pouty on me. Don't go ducking into your little nest where I can't see you. You know that freaks me out. Come out here and look at me when I'm talking to you. Dammit.

I know we've been living together for awhile now. Okay, actually I didn't know that until yesterday when I discovered your elaborate nest all throughout the mini-blinds. But obviously you are now well-established in my bonus room. Unbeknownst to me, we've shared some good times. I'll admit it does comfort me to know that when I was rolling on my futon with laughter watching the blooper reel from The Office I was not alone. And all those times I had just a tiny drink, you were there! Surely you've enjoyed my penchant for dancing around in my underwear and I hope you had fun watching me clean house to Flogging Molly. All in all, you've been a very reasonable housemate, and I thank you for that.

But I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I know, I know... this catches you off guard. I know it's a bad time for you, with the outside getting a little chilly at night. I'm sorry, I really am. But this has got to stop. Sure, I looked the other way when your little friends started coming over to stay. But when I would turn on the light in the middle of the night to find them sprawled on my kitchen floor, that's just not cool. Maybe they're fine upstanding spiders. Maybe they keep a clean web and don't mean any harm. But I don't know them. What if they start coming into my room at night? Oh my bbq. I don't even want to think about it. So I've had to put my foot down. Not literally. Don't freak out on me, now. You know I wouldn't do that. But I've been politely escorting them from the premises. For awhile I almost considered letting you stay. I don't use that window. We could co-exist peaceably, as long as you stayed away from my bedroom. But I've decided to make the bonus room more "kid friendly" and I'm pretty sure my daughter is not going to want a strange spider living in her play area. And believe me, I know the first place you'd head if she kicked you out. Don't even think about it. I'm not that kind of girl.

Argh. You men are all alike. (To be fair, I'm not really sure that you're a male. But really, in my mind all spiders are male, even the ones lugging around the egg sacks. They're just being helpful and taking the kids out to give the mythical female spider some time to herself.) I'd prefer if we can handle this like two civilized beings. Also, you are extremely large, and I'm not sure I could get you in the tupperware before you escaped into the fortress you have built for yourself. There is long list of things I would rather do than poke around in a spider nest for a huge effing spider.

I really hope that we can be friends after all this. Honestly. I care about you. (And I don't want you sending your little friends around to harass me.) But friends don't live in my mini-blinds. So please, you know where the door is. Just... go.

memo to the dudes...

Hey there, fellas. We need to chat. Because you have this untimely habit of doing/saying things to my girlfriends that are really cramping my drama free lifestyle.

I like being happy. I don't complain too often. I try to look at the bright side of things and realize that even though I might have had a rough day, it was probably better than 80% of the world population's. But I find myself surrounded by friends who are miserable as of late and it's mostly because of you.

Call them drama queens--you're right, they probably are. But when you give my friend a dubious look when she orders the Eggs Benedict over your brunch date, *I'm* the one that has to listen to an hour-long diatribe about how you think she's a pig and how she vows to never have Hollandaise sauce again, not you. So keep your judgemental looks to yourself.

When you date my friend for a month, tell her that you love her, but then leave her for a slutty 18 year old cocktail waitress a week later, *I'm* the one who has to play amateur psychologist on the phone while she details her absolute misery for the next three months. Even shrinks have a time limit for their patients--I am not so lucky.

Fellas, when you leave your stuff haphazardly lying around the floor of the apartment you co-habitate, *I'm* the one who has to listen to my friend moan about what a good-for-nothing slob you are. Not you. No, you're off playing basketball with your guy friends while I'm helplessly glued to the cell phone. Please, please call me to play basketball with you so I don't have to console my buddy over your dirty boxer shorts! I can nail a three pointer like you read about.

So, here's the deal: if must do something crappy, please do it on a Friday or Saturday evening so that I at least have a legitimate excuse to not answer the phone when the misery-hotline starts ringing (("Sorry, I was spending the evening reading to the kids in their room--I didn't even notice you called until after 2am...and I didn't want to risk waking you up! Then in the morning, we woke up around 9:30 and made breakfast, and I had Eggs Benedict--WITH the hollandaise.")). At least I can delay the inevitable...because I know my girlfriends will never stop bitching about the minutea of life. I just need a little break! I really like watching Desperate Housewives and Family Guy on Sunday nights. And I really like going for a jog every now and then if the weather permits. And I really like spending time with family, upbeat friends and the guy I go out with occasionally without my cell phone ringing every three seconds. So I beg of you, boys, please tone it down so that I might be able to live my own life rather than constantly counsel my friends on theirs.

just do it already!

Ok Dog, we need to talk.

Every time I take you out to do "your business," the exact same series of events happen:
I get the blue leash and clip it to you
we go outside
I say "go potty"
you do your thing

Every walk ever starts with the blue leash and a crap. You do not know what the outdoors is like without taking a deuce.

So why is this such a hard concept to understand right now?

You slept all afternoon (snoring, I might add) and at 8pm I noticed your eyes were at least open, so I decided it would be good to take you out for a dump. This, I assumed, would be one of those groggy potty breaks where you hobble down the driveway, squat, poop, hobble back up, and blearily settle back into your pillow to resume dreaming about the days when you still had balls.

Instead, you decided it was time for Fun Backyard Exploration. You had to smell every single clover before deciding to eat all of them. I kept hoping you were sniffing for a place to poop, but it was always just catching up on the latest "who walked by here" for every verticle surface available. Don't eat that. Put that down. Quit kicking dirt on me. Go potty. Go potty. I'm not holding this plastic bag and saying "go potty" for my own health, you know.

But nothing. So we go for a walk around the block, and you spend another 10 minutes wandering about the front yard. Seriously, you're picking a place to shit, not snuffling for truffles. More pacing, more sniffing, but no squatting, so we go back to the backyard.

Another 5 minutes goes by and it becomes apparent that pooping is not on the agenda this evening, just smelling. Fine, we go inside, you go back to your crate, and I go to bed to watch a movie.

Just as I'm crawling in, I hear a squeak. Is it my daughter getting up to get some water? Squeak squeak, no, it's the 1am "but I really do have to poop" squeak. Fine, out we go again.

Once again you spend 5 minutes interrogating every bug (no, they don't want to be your friend. You always kill them) you make it clear that oh no, you don't want to poop, you want to play! Look dog, it is one in the morning. Those times earlier today when I was waving a rope wildly while saying "get it! get it!" while you looked at me like I was retarded and sat around doing nothing? THOSE were times to play. But no, you spent the afternoon trying to take up ALL of my futon (I'm 3 times your size, why do you get 3/4ths of the bed?) and so NOW you want to play.

Unfortunately for you, I'm going to bed. Here's a stuffed animal that used to squeak (before you killed it), goodnight.

I'll see you at 4am.

Costco can be oh so zenful....

First, be sure that you are prepared. Do you have The Card? What do you Need?

Next, consider the day and time. This is simply an exercise. There is no time that you can go to Costco when it will not be crowded. Accept this.

Stage one of your journey is the parking lot. The people are not looking. Do not hit them. Drive very very slowly. First gear. Slow, deep breaths. This will prepare you for the deeper stages. Patience is key in finding a parking spot. And if you are willing to back up an entire row length at 2 mph, a spot near the door can be yours.

As you enter, do not be distracted by the flat screen tv's. These are not the droids you're looking for.

Proceed with caution. Your cart cannot be steered forcefully. A light touch is needed. And be prepared to shift directions at a moment's notice. Practice cart ju jitsu. Feint. Pause. Look out for small women moving briskly. You do not need to be in their hurried way.

Items will not be where you expect them. One brand of toilet paper will not be sitting near the others. But allow your eyes to be open, for you will discover unexpected delights, such as a 10-cup fuzzy logic rice cooker for $89.99.

Be flexible, and let go of your expectations. Knowing that the 64-oz. Johnnie Walker Black Label won't fit (or look respectable, for that matter) in your liquor cabinet, choose the 750 of Glenlivet 12. Choose a few wines that you've never had before, trusting in the wisdom of the Costco wine buyer, who purchases more wine than anyone in America.

Relax into your poses, and do not allow the needs of others to influence you. Do not line up for the schmear of canned chicken salad on white bread that is being passed out. Your hunger needs can be met later.

Allow yourself to enjoy the beauty of the flowers. They are temporary.

Pick a checkout line. It doesn't matter which one. This is an opportunity to practice patience. Be friendly to the cashier. Allow the noises and shapes to soften. It is peaceful.

Next, allow your body and brain to come back slowly to the real world as you face the geometry problem of loading up a 2-seater convertible with all your purchases. Will the toilet paper fit in the front seat? Spatial awareness is important. This exercise will prepare you for re-entry.

Reflect on your experience as you slowly exit the parking lot. Did you find what you Need? Were you pleasantly surprised? Has the Costco experience created a sense of abundance?

And where are you going to put the 10-pack of Kleenex?

15 reasons a boyfriend would be better than a border collie

Boyfriend would be more financially responsible than border collie

Won't have to follow boyfriend around city with plastic bags picking up his poop from the sidewalk (unless it's some kind of special situation, I guess)

When we go on long steep climbs in the Gorge, I won't have to worry about boyfriend seeing a bird and accidentally hurtling self over a cliff to the rocks below

Boyfriend won't slobber on pant leg (at least not in public)

Won't have to watch the Animal Channel all the time, and I can keep the television off and get some writing done

Won't have to fight constantly about border collie's drinking problem. My kitchen floor is always soaking wet.

When taking long beach walks on Oregon Coast, boyfriend won't suddenly sprint off and joyfully roll his body on top of dead sea mammal or ailing seagull

Border collies can't send nice email or phone messages when you're having a bad day at work. A text message from a border collie can be frightening.

Boyfriend won't eat slugs and puke them upon my down comforter and bare shoulder in the morning

Boyfriend won't accidentally trip me when jogging alongside me near busy street

Boyfriend practices good dental hygiene. Border collie brushes teeth with sticks

A border collie can't go to movies and doesn't appreciate college humor films, but boyfriend might

Won't have to discuss Nietzsche all the time with boyfriend.

Boyfriend won't knock glasses off my face when I hug him

Boyfriend not afraid of fireworks and other loud noises, which is important because I like to use fireworks year round.

Boyfriend does not require licensing through the City of Portland