I know there may be others. I saw Jason Schwartzman while I was on my lunch break today. He was ridiculously shaggy and wearing ridiculously huge sunglasses. Also, he's ridiculously short.

It's all part of this thrill-a-minute ride known as New York City.

'Cause I got this thing for you. I have just learned that, in Israel, orthodox women learn how to crochet so they can make kepot to attract men. I have never heard of a more ridiculous way to entice a man than by crocheting him a frigging kepah.

Orthodox Judaism: I still don't get it.

I'll show you heaven. I think Tom has mastered the art of shaking me back to reality. Either that or he's a terrible sycophant. Either way, I'm pleased.

"You are beautiful and funny and you have a lop-eared dog. These are not things the universe bestows on the despised."

That's what you do, baby. This is what I've learned after three days on the job: Working is for chumps. I am now pursuing my new career path--marrying rich.

You don't know where and you don't know when. This is my final half-hour at the Bank, and I'm a little sad to go, a little nervous about the future, but also really happy that I won't have to spend my days bored out of my mind (that's the dream, anyway). I give you an Ode to the Bank haiku:

Bank so fine and clean
No more envelopes to stuff
Thank the Lord I'm out

I wish I could look back on this whole finding-a-job process and think, "Gee, that was easy," but it wasn't. It was hard, painful, and full of extended periods of crushing self-doubt. But what's interesting to me is that there is not some amazing, sunrise-like moment of brilliancy accompanying this transition. Tomorrow I will rise early, dress, and take the train to my new job. I am hoping that it will be fantastic, but it might not be. I am open to the possibility of magic.

So this is the New Year, and I don't feel any different. Ohmgee, how much do I love Natalie?



Thiiiiiiiiiiiiis much!

I am a lyrical soul, bound to get carried away. I am officially in love with everything Roisin Murphy touches. Her new video is ridiculous. It's like she and Yves Tanguy went drinking one night, and this is the product of their hangover.

All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth. What I want for Christmas (aside from Clone High on DVD):



If anyone can make it happen, Jesus can.

Fist, a brick in my hand. I'm not sure why, but my step-mother has started sending me what are supposed to be humorous fowards, but are actually thinly-veild portraits of misanthropy. Here's today's installment:

A study recently conducted by UCLA's Department of Psychiatry has revealed that the kind of face a woman finds attractive on a man can differ depending on where she is in her menstrual cycle.

For example, if she is ovulating, she is attracted to men with rugged and masculine features. However, if she is menstruating or menopausal, she tends to be more attracted to a man with scissors lodged in his temple and tape over his mouth while he is on fire.

Basically, women are hormone-crazed, maniacal bitches who like to set men on fire? I don't know. I guess it's funny. Ha...ha... It kind of makes me want to hide all the scissors in the house and send my dad away for a week each month for his own safety.

My soul is climbing tree trunks. HOLY SHIT YES I GOT THE JOB!

*pumps fist in air*

*dances around like a crazy person*

Sweet in winter, sweet in rain. Once again, if you aren't reading The Stranger, you're missing out. This made me laugh so hard, especially this part, where the author discusses choosing a dating Web site handle:

I became "Nakedanddamned" because I have problems with intimacy and yet, ironically, look really good without my clothes on.

Can't you feel it burning. I may have my horror stories, but nothing compares to these babies. Oh ho ho thank the good Lord nothing this bad has ever transpired to, on, or near my naked flesh.

I can't get you out of my head. There is not a day that goes by when I don't miss my wombat:



Me: Is that you nibbling on my ear?
Raoul: Of course, and giving u a tender kiss
Me: Awww...am so loved
Raoul: Yes yes yes loooove loove looove

Nobody knows where they might end up. Sometimes a song comes up that encapsulates every little emotion that's working its way through my tired mind. Lately it's been Guster's "Come Downstairs and Say Hello," but as I was walking on the frigid island, Mike Doughty's "I Hear The Bells" got it right. I downloaded the song a few weeks ago in my quest for the Veronica Mars soundtrack and didn't think much of it on first listening, but it's a rather cheeky tune that sums up my current frame of mind surprisingly well. This part was especially trenchant:

You snooze, you lose
Well I have snost and lost
I'm pushing through
I'll disregard the cost
I hear the bells
So fascinating and
I'll slug it out
I'm sick of waiting

Bring it.

Stimulate my body. Hey everyone, check out my ass!

Woo! Bootylicious!

Combien de fois la fin du monde nous a frôlés. Damnit! My favorite French professor didn't get tenure! Fuck you, Swells! This is the second time in a week you've pissed me off, and I don't even attend you anymore. Nique ta mère, Swells. Nique. Ta. Mère.

There's always something to remind me. Loo has sent me the best holiday card ever. It outlines her holiday plans for us when she returns to the city from the frigid north. Basically she has descriped the anti-tourist New York holiday, and she made me laugh so hard:

I think we should be totally different...and do everything opposite of normal tourist stuff in NYC when we hang out. For instance, instead of going to the Met, we'll go to the Museum of Natural History. And instead of going skating at Roc Center, we'll go ice skating in Central Park (like in "Serendipity"). And instead of going to the tree at Roc, we'll just pick a random tree in the sidewalk and gaze at it in awe, take photos, etc. Yay!!

I can actually picture us choosing some ratty-ass NYC sidewalk tree and singing carols around it. Yay for the holidays.

To tell me what I want and what my life lacks. Every now and then, I go through my blog archives and delete my whinier posts from back in the day because, frankly, my inane brattiness does not need to be preserved for posterity. However, I have noticed a few interesting things after my most recent cleansing:

1. The amount of annoying posts (from my perspective, anyway) has dramatically decreased since my sophomore year of college. Hooray for progress!


2. The amount of people reading and responding to my blog has also dramatically increased. I owe you all a cookie.


And perhaps the most important thing I have noticed...


3. This is the first blog template I've created which does not prominently feature an artistic rendition of a nude woman. Either I have outgrown my latent bisexuality, or I'm simply suffering because the Yves Klein I had up earlier has disappeared and now I'm using artistic tarot cards to express myself. Either way, it is a credit to you male readers out there that you aren't frequenting this site just for the boobies...although I'm sure they helped.

Tell me a fable. Film critiques don't usually include critiques of other reviews, but that's just reason #576 why you should love The Stranger.

Damnit, I really want to see this movie!

Happiness and cheer. I guess Linus really is the only person who remembers the spirit of the season.

Can I get a "Hell yeah!" This guy pretty much sums up everything my father and I have been talking about ever since November 27 when the crazies started coming out of the wood work and, assuming we're all God-fearing Christians, have been coming up to us and ranting and raving about this so-called "war on Christmas." Dear Christians: You make up 80% of the population of this country. It is, by definition, impossible for us to discriminate against you! Chill the fuck out!

Best part:

Well we’ve fucking had it. You want to play bullshit games and scream about how God’s fucking judgment is gonna come raining down on us if we don't start watching our vocabulary? Go right the fuck ahead. But let me clue you in on something: fire and brimstone ain’t no deterrent for us. We’re not going to hell, assholes, we’re fucking in hell. We live with you.

I will wish you "Happy Holidays" if I damn well please. But frankly, at this point, you're lucky if I even brake for you while you're crossing the street.