Shame on Seamus

New site!

2009-12-13T19:50:00.003-06:00

First, I gave you several new posts that were really old posts. Then I gave you a legitimately new post. And now I give you...a new site and design! From now on, I'll be updating at shameonseamus.com. No pesky .blogspot.com to type in any time you want to check and see that I haven't updated.

So please change your bookmarks and feeds (there's a handy link at the new location) to shameonseamus.com.

2009-12-12T00:02:00.008-06:00

I went back to Spring Vegas as the kids are calling it these days (Yes, I have really heard kids call it that) over Thanksgiving and I had a wonderful time. I'm always amazed, though, at how much things have changed when I go back. In this most recent case, the entire airport was new and I spent the first few minutes hesitantly walking the terminal, freaking out and wondering if I had somehow gotten on the wrong plane. When I noticed that everything in the airport, including the carpets, was fishing-themed, I knew I was in the right place. There's a Springfield-Branson (Spring Vegas hasn't really caught on yet) National Airport Terminal Scrapbook if you're interested in seeing a rug that looks like a river bed.

One other vexing change is the number of national food chains that keep moving into our formerly small town. This vexes not because I don't like national food chains but because I like lording the fact that Chicago has these food chains and Springfield doesn't over my family and friends.

As an example of my big-city sophistication, I was telling my dad about this great burrito place we have in Chicago where we can make burritos to order when he says to me, "Oh, that sounds like a place we have here. Chip-pottle. Have you heard of it?" "It's pronounced Chip-oat-lay," I huffed, foiled again by the boundless greed of corporations on the neverending death march that is capitalistic expansion. Don't worry about me, guys. I'm sure I'll find some other way to be cool.

A few days after this, my mother and I were running errands when we happened to park in front of an iconic Springfield shop. To call it a sex shop would be a misnomer and to call it a sexy shop would be generous. It specializes in the kind of marital aids middle-aged women pick up after reading an issue of Cosmo and believing that there really are 101 ways they could spice up their love lives and all of them involve buying junk.

Anyway, I call the shop iconic because even ten years after last hearing their radio ad, I can still sing it from memory: ♪♫ "Priscilla's...where fun and fantasy meet!" ♫♪ (Here is a YouTube video of a couple of girls who can do the same thing). But as we pulled up in front of the store, I noticed that they had changed the name from Priscilla's to Patricia's: Where Fun and Fantasy Meet. I don't know who the hell Patricia is and why she changed the name of the store, but doesn't Patricia (Patty to her friends and sorority sisters) sound like the kind of person whose fantasies involve scrapbooking and not body stockings? If I want advice on my next PTA standoff, I'll chitty chat with Patricia. But if I need to know which flavor of edible underwear tastes best, I want to talk to Priscilla.

My mother and I didn't actually go in Priscilla's (not calling it Patricia's on principle), though there was a hilarious conversation while I was home that involved my mother detailing for her former mother-in-law/my grandmother where all of the sex shops in town were. "Oh, sure, you can find Adam and Eve right down the strip mall from Yankee Candles." In fairness, my mother is not a pervert, she is a UPS driver and thus delivers to all of these places. Or so she says. What happens in Spring Vegas stays in Spring Vegas.

Deep Thoughts with Jamie

2009-11-25T01:03:00.000-06:00

Theft is the sincerest form of flattery.

Home is where the dirty laundry is.

A messy apartment is the best birth control that slovenliness can buy.

Character is what you do when you live alone.

Always drink in moderation, unless you're on a first date.

It's not stalking if you're soulmates.

Even if the recipe doesn't call for them, pants are an essential part of any cooking endeavor.

There are other fish in the sea but they are all bottom-feeders.

2009-09-27T19:38:00.003-05:00

Have you ever lied about being about of town because you didn't have clean clothes to wear someplace? No? Me neither.

jamielee.net 8/17/04

2009-09-14T22:51:00.000-05:00

I'm the kind of person that buys something not because I need it, but because it's a really good deal. EBay and I are such a good match because it's a website full of really good deals. For example, I spent $40 on a set of knitting needles. But listen! Normally this set is $45, plus shipping, and I'll never have to buy knitting needles for a project again! That's a good deal! Right now I'm bidding on 11 skeins of recycled silk yarn from Nepal that would normally be $176. The current high bid is $26. Nevermind what I'm going to do with over 2000 yards of recycled silk. The important thing is that I can own it for such a low price.

In other news, I've been ghostwriting this thirteen year old boy's application to be the #1 St. Louis Cardinals fan and I'm going to get paid in sushi.

jamielee.net 10/29/04

2009-08-17T22:42:00.000-05:00

"Notre existence quotidienne est un mauvais feuilleton par lequel nous nous laissons envoûter." - Michel Butor

"Our existence is a bad TV show by which we allow ourselves to be bewitched."

2009-07-09T17:16:00.013-05:00

I've been gone from this blog for a little while and for part of that while, I was in Spain. This was my third trip in four years to the Iberian Peninsula and as always, I had an awesome time and a lot of salty food. Seriously, most of our meals had so much salt that it was actually visible on the food. Not only that, but they don't even put pepper on the table. In fact, they seemed a little miffed when I asked for some on behalf of my mother. Maybe that's because I asked for a bell pepper instead of the kind that comes in a shaker. I don't know. My Spanish is a little oxidized. I mean rusty.

Anyway, one of the highlights of the trip was getting to fly overseas first class. After being chosen for a surprise upgrade, I did my best to blend in by taking photos and hoarding everything they gave me.

Pictured: the lobster amuse-bouche served with butter AND margarine.

By the end of the flight, I had about as much space as I would have had in coach due to all of the blankets and "comfort kits" I had wedged into the seat and the pocket in front of me. And at the end of the flight they gave me a ceramic house filled with liquor, which I enthusiastically accepted. Mo' money, mo' weird free shit.

Speaking of weird shit, I present a peacock eating garbage:

This gorgeous creature was living on the grounds of a fabulous Moorish palace but instead of spending his days wandering the shrub maze or lounging near one of the many fountains waiting for oranges to drop from the trees, he digs through the trash. Follow your bliss, little 'cock. The name for peacock in Spanish, pavo real, is actually one of my favorite language things ever. It translates literally to "royal turkey" which makes some sense when you think about their similarities, but I really wish someone would write a cultural history of how the Spaniards decided on this poultry hierarchy. Was there any discussion, or did everyone just agree that the big, flashy asshole got to be king of the turkeys?

And that was Spain! More or less.

Subjects of E-mails I've Sent Out in the Last Six Months

2009-06-12T21:59:00.000-05:00

[Note: I was going through my draft archives and found this from nearly two years ago. So dated. I mean, is anyone even still talking about Knut?]

Death to Quilty
I'm Worried About the Structural Integrity of My Pants
Bitches Don't Know About My Zarathustra
Balloon Guy Brunch
Werewolf Bar Mitzvah
Canst I Not Hath Cheezburger?
Monsoon Porn
Monsoon Porn II: Electric Bugaloo
Love Emergency for the Backshelf Girl
Knut is Oot

A Big Hole in the Ground

Hugh G. Erection has sent you a photo
I'm not joking - you suck.

Manmeat

Gumdrop666 Misses You

Personal Information Clearinghouse

Crazy Is As Crazy Doesn't?

Pants: Can't Live With 'Em, Can't Leave the House Without 'Em

The Straight Talk Express: "I Brake for Poontang"

[Note II: Gumdrop666 was a Xanga parodying a blog of some of Greg's acquaintances. Ugh, so dated. Is anyone even still talking about Jessica Simpson?]

2009-05-16T10:01:00.000-05:00

Is it possible to get stress diabetes? Because isn't diabetes what happens when you create a sugar hurricane and your pancreas' disaster response team doesn't have enough insulin sandbags to stop it so your bloodstream floods? Your kidneys are the Superdome and the rest of your body is the rest of America in that it would rather cut off its foot than take disaster preparedness measures like insulin and I'm actually kind of proud of this diabetes as Hurricane Katrina metaphor. I mean, Louisiana even looks like a foot. Anyway, don't quote me on that because my Board Certification in Endocrinology comes from one of those schools where the admissions process involves sending them a drawing of a clown. But my question is: can the same thing happen with stress? If so, I may need to reconsider some of my appointments to the Federal Anxiety Management Agency.

2009-03-10T20:02:00.002-06:00

I think it may be time for a fresh generation of crossword writers. Every clue is either a dead person, an obsolete catch phrase, or the title of a silent movie punning on an obscure catch phrase and starring a dead person.

2009-03-05T11:14:00.000-06:00

The other day I had occasion to write to Liz about the U of C's astronomy journal. But in the process of writing to her I had to stop myself before I typed "astrology journal." Which got me thinking about how awesome it would be if the U of C had an astrology journal.

"Expect a Kafkaesque morning as your Hum class ignores your insightful commentary on Plato's Apology. It will be as if you never said anything."

"Today is an opportune day for bathing."

"It's business as unusual today as an awkward encounter in the Cobb Coffee Shop will force you to interact with other human beings."

"Today is a good day to reconnect with your body by eating your own umbilical cord."*

"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but don't let anyone on your dorm floor copy your trebuchet design."**

"Mercury's connection with Mars will be a boon for your finances, allowing you to stop eating raw onions and sour cream for dinner."*

*Incidents I've personally witnessed.

**Also, a trebuchet is NOT a catapault. Don't make the same mistake I did unless you want to be publicly berated by a man named Gerbil.

2009-02-21T18:36:00.002-06:00

I watched Star Wars for the first time this weekend and I did it for the only reason that anyone who has gone 24 years without watching it does: my boyfriend made me. I enjoyed it, even though I think Luke is a twat. Let's just say that I'm solidly Team Vader.

2009-01-08T11:25:00.008-06:00

Ordering a new coffee machine for our office has been one of the most frustrating experiences of my life. I have no real explanation for why this is, but my paranoid theory is that the coffee company hopes that the tedium of the process will drive you to caffeinate yourself into a stupor so that you can silence the voice in your head pointing out that whatever was wrong with the old coffee maker wasn't worse than this. "Brew 12 Cups With Your Own Tears!" is what it should say on the side of the box, when it finally arrives at your door.

Having no knowledge of coffee or coffee machines, I tackled this task as thoroughly as I could. Do I want white or black? How many cups is enough cups? Can I order a cappucino machine without my bosses noticing? Why would I do that if I don't drink cappucino? Are coffee pods to coffee filters what Blu-Ray is to DVD? I reached the breaking point when the coffee machines began to look like Le Corbusier homes.

Am I going to need a special filter for the modernism?

Finally, I just picked something and ordered and two weeks later it arrived. I understood why it had taken two weeks once I opened the box. The actual machine was sandwiched in between four different pieces of styrofoam and enough plastic bags to suffocate Juan Valdez's donkey. I had to wrestle with the box like an otter banging an oyster on the rocks. 20 minutes later, I determined that there was, in fact, something of value inside. Well, of value to someone else. I don't even drink coffee.

2008-12-14T15:55:00.000-06:00

When I first started working I was really excited about the commuting time because I thought to myself, "That will be an hour and a half to two hours of dedicated reading time five days a week. I will be able to read book after book and enrich myself with knowledge!"

Ha and ha. That was before I discovered Vortex on my iPod. Maybe you haven't heard of it. It's only the most awesome game ever.

It's like Brick Breaker but instead of being in a pile the bricks are in rings and you use the circular touch pad to move the bat around. I can't stress enough how revolutionary the ring arena is. It opens up a multitude of new ways for you to be skilled at breaking blocks. Here is an illustration:

There are also bonuses that have cool tools like multi-bat and multi-ball and guns. Guns! You can tell me that guns don't kill bricks, people kill bricks, but it is still a most fearsome tool.

The other day I was on level 26, the highest level I've achieved to date, with only one life when I broke open a brick that had a gun tool inside. I literally thought to myself, "All right. Don't be a hero. Move slowly over and get the gun but keep the ball safe."

I'm slightly troubled by the fact that my inner dialogue speaks about the game with an intensity that should be reserved solely for hostage situations.

2008-11-13T10:45:00.048-06:00

As a woman, I'm always interested in reading about the seduction techniques recommended to men for use on myself and others of the female persuasion. So when the wikihow article entitled "How to Touch a Girl" popped up on my Google homepage, I took advantage of the opportunity to stay up to date on what I'm supposed to like and find attractive.

Right off the bat, the author establishes his authority in this area by choosing this photo to illustrate the article:

Before we get into the "real" advice, I'll give you a free piece here: women who bring machine guns to romantic outings may be extremely sensitive about their personal space. If you're worried about being rejected, don't try to seduce a woman who can literally shoot you down.

That being said, here's a little trick you can try to test the waters as you're helping her put on her flak jacket:

If you're both about to leave and she needs to put on a coat, hold it out for her like a gentleman so that she can slip her arms into the sleeves. [...] If she responds positively and you notice that her hair is between her jacket and her back, pull it out for her carefully—pull the ends out without pulling the hair away from her scalp in any way. This is a good time to tell her that she has beautiful hair, or that it smells wonderful. Chicks really love that kind of stuff.

After you do the hair thing, tie her shoes for her and tell her she has cute feet or that they smell wonderful. Chicks eat that shit up. If she responds positively to that, start examining her face and hair for things to remove:

It's not uncommon to see a loose eyelash on someone's face, especially the cheek
area. If you see one, tell her, "Hold still; you have an eyelash on your face. Let me get it off." Some people will put an eyelash on their fingertip and make a wish before blowing it away; if you think she's the type to enjoy this, then show her the eyelash on your finger and ask her to make a wish and blow it away. If you see something in her hair (a piece of lint, a little branch, a ball of dust), do the same: ask her to stay still, and gently pull it out (but don't make a wish on it!).

If a man started picking things out of my hair on a date, I would insist on blowing whatever he found (lint, branches, dust?) off his finger and making a wish. You don't get to scour my scalp looking for excuses to touch me if I don't get the opportunity to wish that I'd never agreed to go out with you.

Since most women try to remove any large objects or detritus from their hair before a date, the author recommends that you take matters into your own hands:

You might want to take her somewhere that you know she'll probably get something in her hair (like a dusty attic or a part of the woods with low trees).

I'll never forget the first time a boy made me crawl through shrubbery. He said the leaves and twigs stuck in my hair looked just like a halo. I really love that kind of stuff.

Since not everyone has access to a forest or dusty attic, I came up with a few more great date spots:

An abandoned rock quarry: They're dusty, and no one can hear the screaming.

A laundromat: Pull a giant hunk of lint from a dryer and pretend it was in her hair.

An oil spill: Imagine how adorable your lady will look as you hose the crude petroleum off her like a baby seal.

A pile of asbestos: Playfully shove her into it and if she responds positively, wrestle with her a little. After your romp she'll have enough carcinogenic fibers in her hair to give you an excuse to touch her for hours. PLUS: If things go well and she gets leukemia, you'll have "A Walk to Remember" scenario on your hands. Very romantic. The downside of this is that the chemo will cause her to lose her hair and you'll have fewer contrived reasons to touch her.

Armed with this wisdom, I don't see how young men can go wrong. But if things get tough, remember: never be nervous or barf! But if you have to barf, do it on your date. Cleanup will provide a convenient opportunity to stroke her.

2008-10-28T14:01:00.005-06:00

I had reason to be on the Red Eye website today (WARNING: Not safe for epileptics or people who can read) and came across another delightful news story about Joe the Plumber. After clicking on the headline, Joe the Plumber endorses McCain, says that a vote for Obama 'is a vote for death of Israel', I found the following:

"When a McCain supporter asked him if he believed 'a vote for Obama is a vote for the death of Israel,' Wurzelbacher replied, 'I'll go ahead and agree with you on that.'"

Sure, why the hell not? Whatever you say, dear. Real mavericks don't just vote against their own economic self-interest -- they also make totally irrational and unfounded statements on foreign policy. Joe the Plumber: Ignorance We Can Believe In.

2008-10-20T16:17:00.009-05:00

Hello, dumplings! Don't worry, I didn't forget about this site. I couldn't possibly. If I don't update for awhile, my mother calls me to make sure that I'm not lying dead on the floor of my bachelorette pad, computer mouse clutched in my hand as I died trying to blog for help. (Christmas is coming up, Mom, and I think you and I both would sleep better at night if you put a pet that can dial 911 in my stocking this year.)

2008-10-12T18:53:00.004-05:00

I turned 24 this week and it was AWESOME. My friends and family were calling and writing and I felt so special and loved, but not at all awkward like you do when a group of people sing "Happy Birthday" to you. I think being the target of the birthday song may be the worst thing in the world. Yes, it's cute in theory, but in practice it's like having a laser ray of focused attention searing through your forehead and straight into the embarassment section of the brain.

2008-10-08T11:02:00.001-05:00

Did you know that restaurants used to give women menus without prices if they were dining with men? Just learned that today.

Vague Vagaries

2008-10-06T22:15:00.003-05:00

"If anyone asks, just tell them it's your Christmas card list."
"Some of them are Jewish."

Getting to Know You, Getting to Know All About You

2008-10-03T17:41:00.001-05:00

The Associated Press did a story entitled "25 Things You Might Not Know About McCain." Here are my five favorite things I learned about McCain today:

5. Going on vacation with him is anything but relaxing. His children call it "Camp McCain."

"All right, you c*nts, let's roll! This billionaire's resort isn't going to ethically compromise itself!"

4. He wasn't happy when Hudson, the neighbors' black lab, ate the tenderloin he'd been marinating to grill for dinner at their ranch in Sedona, Ariz.

Oh, Hudson, you scamp! But seriously, I appreciate how the AP is incredibly specific, except for reporting when this supposed Tenderloin-Gate happened. Has Hudson been indicted? No? Then I think this is all just scurrilous rumor.

3. His wife is super-rich. They have a prenuptial agreement.

Awesome, highly professional use of the word super-rich there, AP. Thank you also for your precision in hyphenating it.

2. He doesn't like to be alone.

THE CO-DEPENDENT MAVERICK: He needs no one, except when he needs someone.

1. He played Scrooge in the POWs' staging of "A Christmas Carol" at the Hanoi Hilton.

First, perhaps McCain should start worrying about the troublesome typecasting that's dogged him throughout his career. And second, they were staging "A Christmas Carol" at the Hanoi Hilton? Now I understand what he means when he says they tortured him.

2008-10-03T14:14:00.006-05:00

José Saramago wrote a book about an epidemic of blindness sweeping a city and what happens as a result. [Spoiler Alert: DYSTOPIA] It's a Serious Book that they're making into a Serious Movie. Julianne Moore, a Serious Actress, is starring in it as a citizen who is quarantined but hasn't gone blind. Newsweek had the opportunity to interview her about the film and this is what they asked:

NEWSWEEK: You have two kids. Do you think of yourself as a MILF?

MOORE: Oh my God. I hope so. Because if you're not a MILF, that makes you --I don't know, what does that make you? I don't think anybody wants to be a MINLF.

The rest of the interview is even more retarded, if you can believe it. Four-time Academy Award nominee Moore has my admiration for pointing out that everyone likes for people to like to fuck them. I think I would have told the reporter to go fuck himself.

2008-10-02T14:24:00.021-05:00

I recently signed up for an essay writing class and we had our first workshopping session this week. I love the class already, not only because I think it will improve my craft (and increase my pretentious writing vocabulary) immensely, but also because it is sometimes like being in a Christopher Guest movie. The other students are all lovely and wonderful, but things occasionally veer toward the unintentionally hilarious. I so badly want to write an essay about the writing class for the writing class, but I think that may be inappropriate.

Speaking of inappropriate, I'm the youngest person in the class by at least a decade and I fear that I may not have the life experience necessary to imbue my work with the gravitas the other writers have. One of the pieces that we workshopped this week was about death and another was about contemplating marital infidelity. I'm not sure how my treatises on things like burrito-stained shirts and penguin-humping seals will go over, but I guess we'll see next week when it's my turn to be critiqued.

Adding to my performance anxiety is the fact that the teacher is awesome and I want to be his best friend. I really have to try hard to keep myself from laughing too heartily at his jokes or talking too loudly in that way that fourth-graders and U of C students do when they want someone to like them. We kind of had a moment this week when I was giving someone feedback and made a humorous comment on the quotations she had used in the beginning of her essay. To describe the interaction would be nearly impossible, but suffice it to say that he followed up my funny comment with a funny comment that indicated that he understood exactly why my comment was funny. It made me want to shriek WE TOTALLY GET EACH OTHER AND YOU SHOULD INVITE ME OVER SO THAT WE CAN HANG OUT AND LAUGH ABOUT STUFF AND ALSO YOUR GLASSES ARE COOL but I thought that saying that out loud might make it never, ever come true. Though his glasses really are cool.

2008-09-26T12:52:00.002-05:00

Feminism tells us that we can have it all. Well, ladies, I'm here to tell you that feminism is wrong. You can't have giant burritos AND pristine white shirts. Something's gotta give, and it's probably going to be the tortilla supporting a small child's weight in beans and rice.

2008-09-20T09:37:00.002-05:00

So, I was out with this guy recently and he said something about Flannery O'Connor. I had no idea who that was so I replied with something flippant about how HE does this or that. I found out this morning that Flannery O'Connor is a WOMAN.

OMG, he must have thought I was so DUMB. I haven't been this mortified since I was informed that Haruki Murakami and Takashi Murakami are DIFFERENT PEOPLE ("I didn't know that painter guy, like, wrote books.")

I could just DIE.

2008-09-20T08:37:00.002-05:00

If pigs are wearing lipstick now, does that mean us real ladies are going to be out of jobs?

2008-09-12T12:13:00.008-05:00

One of the things I've been doing besides not blogging is taking pictures of the strange things I see when I'm out and about. Like this:

I had to be really sneaky about taking pictures in the women's underwear section of Sears (that's generally frowned upon) so I hope you enjoy this image of the weirdest pair of panties I've ever seen.

Another thing I've been doing is reading and watching everything that I can about the Republican candidate for Vice-President. Now that I've pulled out all my hair in frustration, I'm going to have to get me one of those Sarah Palin wigs that are apparently all the rage. Rage is what the repeated use of the term "hockey mom" inspires in me, though I'm not entirely sure that's not the intended effect (Do you know the difference between a pitbull and a zealot? LIPSTICK and an overwhelming sense of moral superiority!). I'll leave you with this video, which provides a hilarious answer to the question, "Can she answer that 3 a.m. phone call?" "TELL ME NONE OF THIS IS HAPPENING" indeed!

Jamie, before you date people, run them by me for approval.

2008-09-02T15:29:00.004-05:00

The subject line of an e-mail that I just received from a friend.

Vague Vagaries

2008-08-31T22:16:00.002-05:00

"I don't want to read about your death on CNN and feel like I have to buy the t-shirt with the headline."

2008-08-26T14:04:00.000-05:00

Another gem from my inbox! A response to my personal ad from a man whose answer to the question "What did you last read?" was:

An illustrated history of the Chicago Bears...its great bathroom reading!
Anything in the bathroom. I have read the back of my shampoo bottle 5 times.
Did you know my condoms have nonoxivile 9 on them. I'm not sure what that is
but I'm excited.

2008-08-26T13:07:00.013-05:00

I was checking my e-mail on my lunch break today when I found this in my inbox:

Holy crap, that's me! (Second photo from the left.) A couple of people have told me that they've seen pictures of me in various U of C promotional materials but this is the first time I've seen it for myself. Seen myself for myself? Wordplay: honed those skills at the University of Chicago CENTER IN PARIS.

Anyway, I imagine they chose this picture because they think we look studious. You're supposed to gather that I'm repeating something intelligent that I heard a professor say once and that Jessica (the girl listening) is absorbing that regurgitated knowledge for later regurgitation. Maybe this is all taking place in French because we're at the CENTER IN PARIS. Oh la la! Quelles intellectuelles!

But I think it looks like I've stopped abruptly in the middle of a sentence to stare off into the distance because the minor intellectual exertion has caused me to have a stroke. Jessica is looking at me, vaguely concerned, and trying to ascertain if she should call 911 and tell them to come to the CENTER IN PARIS.

2008-08-24T16:37:00.002-05:00

People, the only thing worse than being rejected is being rejected respectfully. No Crap E-mail should ever include the words "charm," "wit," or "shortage of women like you." And there should definitely be no follow-up e-mail wishing you luck on an exciting career prospect you mentioned during a date. What the hell is that about?

Couldn't he have at least made the effort to do something outrageous? Offensive, even? I mean, I am a special lady and your run-of-the-mill "It's not you, it's me" just doesn't cut the mustard. After a man has told you that he can't go out with you again because he thinks he needs to go into intensive therapy (therapy, you happen to discover two weeks later as you're stumbling out of a bar at closing time, that involves making out with someone who looks like she can't spell the word "psychiatrist"), you begin to expect a little bit more from the people you'll never go out with again. A man once copied me onto an e-mail screed that he sent his friends using "The Catcher in the Rye" as a literary framework (oh, how that phrase doesn't do his analysis justice) for discussing why I was an ungrateful bitch. That is the Hope Diamond of Crap E-mails right there and I'm a little insulted that anyone thinks I deserve anything less.

I'm the first to admit that I'm a bit spoiled when it comes to this kind of thing. I know that not everyone is lucky enough to need all their fingers and some toes to count the number of dates they've had cancelled via text message. But I just want to say to all of you reading this and wondering if you'll ever find a man to treat you rudely, don't worry: he'll come along eventually. You may have to kiss a lot of Prince Charmings, but I have complete faith that you'll find your frog.

2008-08-21T00:04:00.005-05:00

Speaking of great headlines, I saw this one from the BBC this evening: "For black holes, there appears to be very little room for mediocrity."

I imagine a black hole lecturing his son about how he's going to subsume the universe right or not subsume it at all. "Bobby, we're black holes. That means something. Now pick up your Hawking radiation and get back out there. Come on, champ, there's no crying in epic destruction!"

This story also reminded me of my all-time favorite science story EVER (you don't have one?) in that it's a delightful reminder that we have no fucking clue about anything. The story discusses the theory that we're products of a computer simulation by hyper-intelligent humans, or "posthumans," if you will. The scientist - I'm sorry, philosopher - who came up with this theory acknowledges, though, that even if such intelligent beings existed, they might not waste their time coming up with us:

“This kind of posthuman might have other ways of having fun, like stimulating their pleasure centers directly,” Dr. Bostrom says. “Maybe they wouldn’t need to do simulations for scientific reasons because they’d have better methodologies for understanding their past. It’s quite possible they would have moral prohibitions against simulating people, although the fact that something is immoral doesn’t mean it won’t happen.”

That last part is where you really see his philosophical training in action.

Anyway, what makes this my favorite science story EVER is the following:

"Dr. Bostrom doesn’t pretend to know which of these hypotheses is more likely, but he thinks none of them can be ruled out. 'My gut feeling, and it’s nothing more than that,' he says, 'is that there’s a 20 percent chance we’re living in a computer simulation.'"

"You guys, it's TOTALLY JUST A HUNCH, but I think I can put an exact number on the likelihood that everything we experience is the result of immoral superbeings dicking around after they got bored with stimulating their pleasure centers. I mean, I'm not exactly sure but I'm exactly sure it's 20%. Do you think I should call the New York Times or just, like, wait for them to contact me?"

UPDATE: The Discovery Channel ran the first story under the headline, "Sorry, Goldilocks: Black Holes Come in Small and Large." Get it? Because she wants a black hole that's just right? Well, suck it up, sister. This ain't the Burger King and you can't get that shit made to order. XOXO, The Discovery Channel

2008-08-20T01:36:00.002-05:00

I bought a studfinder this weekend because I needed one for a home improvement project. (Insert every joke ever made about my dating life here.) Anyway, in my search for the studliest tool on the market (ibid.) I kept coming across these incredibly sensationalistic decorating headlines: "Can This Bathroom Be Saved?" "Don't Buy Window Treatments Without Reading This First! "I Have a Secret: I Hate Your House." "My 13 Year-Old Chaise Lounge is an Out of Control Slut!" They are all real headlines except for the last one. I made it up to make a point, which is when did Architectural Digest start cribbing from the Maury Povich Show?

I wish I could take credit for this, but it comes from Married to the Sea.

2008-08-19T20:25:00.002-05:00

My debate coach once told my mother that I was a great kid, but a little high-strung. I think my response when my mother told me this was to shriek "WHAT?!? I'M NOT HIGH-STRUNG!!!" and stomp off in a huff. If it isn't clear from that little anecdote, and the fact that I was on the debate team in high school, my coach was absolutely right. My string is so highly-strung that birds get nosebleeds when they land on it.

I want to thank my loved ones for putting up with me during those times when I have the patience of a rat terrier on amphetamines. You're marvelous, all of you.

2008-08-18T10:13:00.026-05:00

I think it's a really good sign when you get up to your apartment at the end of a date and your face and palm are red from smacking yourself repeatedly in the forehead as soon as you got out of sight of your date's car because you feel like you're not as cool, smart, attractive, mature and funny as you think he was.

And it's an even better sign when you have so much nervous energy that you fly up the stairs to your apartment like it's possible to outrun your awkwardness. Except it's not, and you'll probably bite it hard and think to yourself, "This is not how I wanted to get carpet burns tonight."

And if the nervous energy extends itself into a weekend-long cleaning spree, well, you've got it bad. You may not understand why you've scrubbed your toaster until it's so spotless that your date could see his face in it (and it's plastic) but you do know that you don't deep clean your small appliances for every Tom, Dick & Harry that comes along.

2008-08-15T15:30:00.003-05:00

This is me in one hour and one half:

Get ready, weekend, because I'm going to do you right. Ohhh...

2008-08-11T11:37:00.003-05:00

Can we please, please make "My junk tastes like pumpahnickel! Call me!" a thing? Please?

2008-08-08T15:24:00.022-05:00

I recently had a rather unpleasant fight at the end of a date about going Dutch. This wasn't some "Oh, no, please, let me, it's my treat" kind of thing. He basically told me that I could pry the check from his cold, dead hands and I acquiesced because it wasn't worth getting his blood on my dress.

Though I seriously considered the idea when I reached for my purse he remarked, "Oh, no need to pretend to get your wallet. I've got this." Aaaand that's all you're getting tonight.

Dispatch From the Field

2008-08-08T14:22:00.006-05:00

I've done online dating before but thinking that that will prepare you for match.com is like thinking that driving a car will be adequate training for flying the space shuttle. There are so many features and buttons and ways to stalk and be stalked that most of the time I just log-on, click around aimlessly for awhile, log off, and hope that I don't end up like Matthew Broderick in WarGames.

2008-08-06T06:37:00.003-05:00

The Onion ran a headline last weekend that read

UPCOMING DATE ONLY THING BETWEEN AREA MAN, UTTER SELF-NEGLECT.

I came across that article while waiting at the salon to get my first haircut in six months because I had a date that night. It's a miracle that I survived such a catastrophic breach in the irony-space continuum.

A friend said to me during The Hiatus, "Don't worry, you're just like Michael Jackson. You may be retired but you'll be back." First, I made sure that the utter self-neglect had not gotten too out of hand and that he meant to say Michael Jordan. Then I pointed out that Michael Jordan was good at basketball and so maybe the comparison to my romantic life didn't really apply. Anyway, consider this post my Space Jam because there are going to be a lot more Looney Tunes in my life now that I'm dating again.

My Top 10 Favorite Search Terms That Brought People to This Site, Vol. II

2008-08-03T18:13:00.010-05:00

10. it's not going to suck itself belt buckles

9. bible bear mauled kids (That wasn't a very Christian thing to do, Bible Bear.)
8. dali uncircumcised (I understand searching for #8 more than I understand wanting to buy and wear #10.)
7. greg sweet (Are we talking about the same Greg?)
6. trollop
5. lolar cunt
4. pablo sparkles
3. sexy pictures of marshmallow peeps
2. pictures of a whale's nipple

And another unbelievable number 1:

1. swallowed a stamp

Welcome, Visitor! So glad you could stop by during your frantic search for the Poison Control website. Whenever you're not choking to death/being slowly poisoned by postal glue be sure to come back and look around!

2008-07-29T13:41:00.005-05:00

If you ever see me riding on a bicycle built for two, shoot me. No, seriously. Put me down and tell the kids I went to live on a farm.

You may believe that I would never be dumb enough to do such a thing. Well, try this on for size: I swallowed a stamp today. I was too lazy to lick it (you read that right) so I thought I would just set it on my tongue to moisten and then something went horribly wrong. Faced with the options of digging around in my throat to grab it, choking to death, or swallowing it, and being the kind of person that has put themself in a situation where they are faced with these kinds of choices, I swallowed it. The stamp had a Tiffany Lamp on it which I feel is a very elegant stamp to swallow though next time I might try some of the delectable-looking tropical fruit postage. Or if I want to continue the interior decoration of my intestines, an Eames chair.

My point, besides raising awareness about some of the amazing franking options available to us, is that friends don't let friends be stupid on bikes. And you should never ask me to mail anything for you.

El Hijo de Pablo Sparkles, or "Back in the Saddle"

2008-07-28T11:08:00.004-05:00

¡Andale, Pablito! ¡Vengue la muerte de su padre!

El honor de la familia Sparkles ahora queda con usted.

[Onward, Little Pablo! Avenge the death of your father! The honor of the Sparkles name rests now with you.]

Yeah, don't think because I can string together five words of telenovela Spanish that I'm learning anything in class. I am, how do you say in this country, a total slacker?

2008-07-24T15:57:00.003-05:00

I've been M.I.A. lately doing a bunch of stuff that is not blogging. One of those things happens to be falling in love with Zach Galifianakis.

2008-07-22T07:39:00.001-05:00

I was so flattered this morning when the Peapod (grocery delivery service) guy complimented my pajamas because you know that he sees a lot of pajamas. He's probably very difficult to impress.

2008-07-19T00:58:00.010-05:00

I don't even know. Is that a unicorn leaping out of flames? I almost want to contact him to find out the story behind this picture. He seems so unhappy to be posing so coyly.

2008-07-15T16:26:00.000-05:00

This story warmed my cold, hipster-hating heart.

2008-07-14T16:07:00.006-05:00

I'm going to be volunteering this Saturday at Pitchfork so if you're planning to attend send me an e-mail or come find me. I don't know what I'll be doing yet but I hope I'm responsible for running on stage like the ball boys at tennis matches to retrieve the bras thrown at the rock stars. However, 1) I'm pretty sure Pitchfork checks bags at the gate and confiscates any contraband enthusiasm and 2) I will probably be the only girl there wearing a bra and it would be pretty sad to keep tossing my own out from the wings just to have something to run after. But the bottom line is that if you're planning to go to Pitchfork and/or throw your bra at rock stars, give me a call because bras fly through the air in a suprisingly quick manner and if Jarvis Cocker loses an eye I don't get to keep my free t-shirt. All I'm saying is a heads-up would be nice.

UPDATE: More speculation on what I might be doing at Pitchfork from an e-mail I sent to a friend: "I'm working with a literacy group so maybe I'll be teaching hipsters how to read? We'll start with classics like 'If You Give a Mouse a PBR' and 'The Saggy Baggy Flannel Shirt.'" Oh, I crack myself up. But really, mocking hipsters is just too easy. It's like shooting apathetic neon fish in a barrell full of pretension.

And they say women send mixed signals....

2008-07-13T09:24:00.003-05:00

Found on Match.com:

Just to be clear, the hiatus isn't over. I just love coming across lines like, "Interest in news and politics a definite plus. Automotive mechanical skills not required." This is also good, too: "I like casual & semi-formal attire." Ooh, me too! Want to get kind of dressed up and go out for shrimp? Red Lobster has cheese biscuits to die for.

I Once Met Someone Colorful

2008-07-11T14:17:00.004-05:00

I was waiting for some friends outside a restaurant last month when a man in a cantalope-colored suit walked up to me and commented on my dress. "Well, you're pretty in pink tonight."

I replied, "And so are you!"

"I don't know," he said, lifting his collar and twirling around. "I'm melon-choly about it." And without saying anymore he skipped away, apparently off to do some more wacky stuff and be interviewed by the Tribune.

2008-07-09T09:18:00.003-05:00

A few weeks ago I vaguely alluded to a new writing job. Now that they've put up some of my work I can reveal that I'm a contributor to the Not For Tourists Guide to Chicago. Every week day they feature a place or thing in the city that's on their "Radar" and I'm going to be one of the people doing the featuring.

My first piece is on a grocery store and uses the word "suck" three times. Can someone call Joan Didion and let her know that I've got this whole literary non-fiction thing under control? Great. Thanks.

Your Best Life, Maybe...

2008-07-08T22:38:00.005-05:00

But definitely not Your Best Personal Ad Picture Now.

Special P.S. for those in publishing: I would love to write a book (maybe something nice for the coffee table?) that showcases horrible & hilarious pictures from personal ads. I'm willing to write it for very cheap since I already do it for free.

Special P.P.S. to idea stealers: consider this my copyright on the "Big Fat Book of Horrible Personal Ads." (Same for "1,001 Bad Personal Ads," "Chicken Soup for Bad Personal Ads," and the "Choose Your Own Awful Personal Ad Adventure" series.)

2008-07-08T22:26:00.002-05:00

"Did someone's womb accidentally stumble into a Lehman Bros. report? I just stared at the photo a little more and realized that it also looks kind of like the fetus is being shot into the air by a geyser. Or, perhaps someone went drilling for oil and accidentally hit a baby field."

2008-07-08T09:36:00.000-05:00

Does anyone even say "yo" anymore?

Vague Vagaries

2008-07-05T01:38:00.004-05:00

He can buy me a drink, but I won't be Googling his penis.

[TEMPORARILY REDACTED BUT BACK NOW]

Happy 4th of July, Everyone!

2008-07-04T10:48:00.001-05:00

It's all fun and games until someone blows a mannequin's head off.

Brilliant Invention #279

2008-07-03T20:55:00.002-05:00

Kid-sized beer.

Not for kids, of course absolutely not, but for adults who only want to drink enough to get a 10-year-old drunk. That's how I feel always, unless I'm on a first date.

2008-07-03T10:21:00.002-05:00

Elyse recommended that I check out Mary Worth and I have to say I love it already:

Get out of my head, Mary Worth! I haven't related to a comic character like this since Ziggy robotripped in 1992.

2008-07-02T10:54:00.003-05:00

So this week hasn't been completely terrible. Sure, I lost something that I not only loved but had also spent hundreds of dollars on. But this morning I found a pad of big Post-It notes under my keyboard at work! Since I thought we were out of the big Post-Its I'd been using the tiny Post-Its to write "WHY ME, GOD??" over and over again. And if you've ever tried to write anything the least bit self-pitying on a tiny Post-It you know how tedious it can be to try to get all your whining into little more than one square inch.

But the great thing about the internet is that there are infinite square inches to whine! How fun for me and especially HOW FUN FOR YOU! No, I think I'm done with the moping about the bike, which is good because Homeland Security had raised the nation's Bitch Threat Level to ORANGE due to elevated risk from the foul mood I was in on Monday. Now we're at whatever level is misplaced anger at corn.

See, I was trying to cook corn on my new cast-iron grill pan last night and it was taking forever and it was already my second dinner attempt of the night because the pizza dough I bought totally crapped out on me. So I'm standing over this corn screaming in my head, "WHY WON'T YOU COOK? YOU ARE ON A VERY NEW AND ATTRACTIVE PAN YOU UNGRATEFUL PIECE OF COBFACE $#@%" when finally I just said, "F it. My bike got stolen and I'm going to waste this corn." And then I threw it away and moved on to dinner attempt #3. Apparently getting your bike stolen is just like having a birthday in that you can use it to justify all kinds of petulant behavior.

But I will justify no more! Plans are in the works to get a new bike this weekend because seriously, if I don't have a bike I might as well not have legs. (But just think about all the food you could waste if someone stole your legs!)

MISSING

2008-06-30T09:36:00.003-05:00

My bike was stolen this morning outside of Union Station. If you see a blue Trek Hybrid that answers to the name Pablo Sparkles, please e-mail me.

2008-06-29T12:32:00.006-05:00

I also saw another person that I used to date this week. This guy is not mildy famous, just mild. Nice enough but couldn't keep up with my fast-paced lifestyle which means that he'd probably be right at home on one of those turtle colonies in the Galapogos Islands.

On our first and only date I was carrying a tote bag with the logo of the Chicago Reader, the alternative newspaper that hosts the dating site where we met.* He asked me if I got the bag because of the dating site and though I won it by throwing a beanbag through a hole in a board** at a street fair I thought it'd be more fun to say, "Oh this? You get one after you go on ten dates. I only have to meet nine more men before I can get a windbreaker." I suppose I could have gone up and said hi but I wasn't wearing the windbreaker that day.

*Many of the people that I've dated/mentioned on this blog still have ads up on the Reader. Personal Profile Scavenger Hunt! Can you find the Stander-Upper, The Shrimp Guy, Fred, and any of the other characters I've written about? Half as fun as "Where's Waldo?" but twice as awkward and hilarious!

**Throwing bean bags through boards is very popular in Chicago due to the large numbers of obnoxious people who need something to do when there isn't a Cubs game to get drunk at.

Close Encounters of the Dating Kind

2008-06-28T11:48:00.009-05:00

This week I found out that someone I had been on a date with once is mildly famous. I can't understate my interaction with this guy - we went on one date years ago and while he bragged on and on about being a published author he was very cloak and dagger about the subject of his work. Turns out that it was a book about a hyper-neurotic man and the various flaws and inadequacies of the numerous women he had dated. Completely fictional, I'm sure.

In any case, I hope that if I someday achieve whatever level of fame is just below "mild" that someone I went on a date with once will have the same reaction that I did, which was "Oh my god, I KNOW that not-famous person!" When I publish the Great American Zombie novel the man I discussed it with over dinner will sell the story to no one, because no one will care. But perhaps he'll imagine what it would be like if someone did care and for just a moment bask in the dull, flickering glow of my semi-celebrity.

We Now Return to Our Regularly Scheduled Frivolity

2008-06-27T09:25:00.001-05:00

Just to remind everyone, because the internet seems to have forgotten, this is NOT what lolcats are about:

That's crap. Now THIS is a real lolcat:

If I wanted to look at unironic depictions of cats, I Can Has Cheezburger, I'd go to the Walmart parking lot. Don't let it happen again.

2008-06-26T10:59:00.004-05:00

I don't know if you've heard or been reading about the crisis in Zimbabwe. Briefly, the incumbent President Mugabe, who has ruled the country for more than 20 years, is using violence and intimidation to prevent his opponents from coming to the polls for tomorrow's run-off election. The election results don't really matter, though, as Mugabe he says that he'll go to war to remain in power even if he loses.

It's difficult to imagine how things could get much worse for Zimbabweans - reporters are already being jailed for "committing journalism" and (this is so horrifying that it sounds like a joke) babies are getting their legs broken so their parents will give up information on the whereabouts of opposition party members. Those who aren't injured or murdered are often displaced from their homes so that they can't get to their polling places.

But things are getting worse and so here's where my Sally Struthers bit comes in. This month I resolved to donate $x to causes that I found worthwhile. The first half of that went to Obama and the second half is going to the Zimbabwe Benefit Foundation. There are many groups that deserve what little money I'm giving but this cause particularly resonated with me since no one has come to beat me to death in the two weeks since I donated to Obama's campaign fund. If a donation isn't in your budget please consider using your other political freedoms to write or call your congressperson and tell them that you want them to do more than just pass official resolutions "sympathetic" to the problem.

2008-06-25T12:02:00.011-05:00

I've been asked before to share my expertise on the art of ironic flirting. Unfortunately it's probably too late for a treatise on the subject because ironic flirting is a dying art - dying due to the fact that those who practice it can never find anyone to procreate with because flirting cannot be done ironically. I've thrown out enough sidelong glances and "don't touch me" body language to know that you catch more flies with honey than with feigned indifference. This is the best love advice you will ever find here.

But I discovered something this week that renewed my faith in the power of irony to bring people together.

This is one in a series of Glamour Shots taken by a seventeen-year-old boy in 1999 to amuse his girlfriend. I read about them on Best Week Ever and apparently so did he: he wrote the author of the post with the story behind the photos. Go read it and fall in love with (ironic) love all over again.

2008-06-22T22:42:00.005-05:00

I was just perusing match.com (would you believe it's more research? no? ok.) when I found what is perhaps the best personal ad profile picture ever:

Faces have been obscured to protect the cat-headed. Seriously, I don't know how to feel.

The fact that the cat is still making love to the camera despite being propped up on his owner's head in the most undignified way makes me want to give him my number. The cat, that is. The guy who took his cat to the portrait studio not so much.

2008-06-22T19:47:00.007-05:00

I was doing some research for a new writing gig (I don't want to say any more until my first piece gets published) when I came across this:

I didn't even pick it up to look at the price because I've been trying to teach myself the difference between a want and a need. And I think that a 70's novelty self-cloning kit is the definition of "DO NOT NEED."

But there was another part of my research today which I did get to enjoy:

I would make an exception to my want/need policy to buy a Do-It-Yourself Indian Candy Cloning Kit.

2008-06-19T09:22:00.003-05:00

I really hope that if you die in the midst of being nice to someone who deserves to get kicked in the face that you will go directly to heaven (without passing Go but still collecting $200) and that you will be greeted there by 72 Naveen Andrewses. Or whatever LOST cast member does it for you.

How is this news-worthy?

2008-06-18T14:11:00.000-05:00

A quick overview of Newsweek's trend piece on Nerd Girls: They're smart and sexy. Did we mention sexy? Don't forget sexy. SEXY sex GIRLS sexy hot smart.

Gals' Guide

2008-06-16T13:04:00.003-05:00

I'm proud to announce that I'm now a contributor to Gals' Guide, the Chicago-based website for young professional women. It has some great tips and tricks for young women just starting out and is definitely worth a browse for those of us in the demographic.

Now before you laugh at the idea of me giving advice, keep in mind that I've learned a lot of things the hard way. When you learn something from Goofus and Gallant you still gotta give it up a little bit for Goofus.

My first post for Gals' Guide is entitled "The Casual Office: What To Do When They're Not Telling You What to Wear." In this piece I compare capri pants and skorts to wine coolers and Zima, respectively. An auspicious start if ever there was one.

I'm Still Alive!

2008-06-16T09:14:00.007-05:00

This is noteworthy because today was the first day that I commuted to work on my bike. The ride got off to an ominous start when I noticed that one of the "SHARED LANE: YIELD TO BIKES" signs in my neighborhood had been mowed down by an overzealous automobile defending his turf. "My god," I thought. "Not even the signs can survive out here! I don't have a chance!"

But people are surprisingly less aggressive between the hours of 7 and 8 am than they are during the other times of the day when I normally ride my bike. Perhaps they're too sleepy to be enraged. Because believe me, rage is the key dynamic in the car-bike relationship. Basically, they hate our freedom and want to destroy our way of life.

Though after my first outing today it looks like my main problem will be the funky tan I'm going to get riding an hour and half every day in a t-shirt and shorts. Perhaps I should wear my swimsuit. Oh, be quiet, it's a one-piece. In gold lamé cut to the navel but I think that the elaborate series of strings holding it together make it technically "one piece."

No, I'm kidding! Usually when I go to the beach I wear something like this:

So you can imagine my surprise when they showed up to court dressed like that. For shame! Have some modesty and some respect.

But really, you've never enjoyed water sports until you've done them swaddled in 23 yards of teal polyester blend. For some reason, I feel like I'm not the first person to say that.

Water sports. Get it?

I wish I had the Photoshop skills to make him wink but that will have to do.

Mid-Month Progress Report

2008-06-15T13:13:00.002-05:00

Watch two classic movies every month. [The English Patient is on right now, though I have to confess that I'm watching this for more than just the Academy Award-winning cinematography.]
Read one classic book a month. [Mrs. Dalloway, please do something interesting soon.]
Make a themed music mix CD once a month. [In progress.]
Commute to work by bike at least five days a month. [Only five days to go!]
Ride for more than 30 miles once a month. [Next weekend.]
Try one new recipe a week. [Last week: Italian strata. This week: Indian mushroom, peas & paneer.]
Go out by myself for dinner somewhere I've never been before once a month. [Not yet.]
Buy nice bottle of wine and share it with someone once a month. [Not yet.]
Go someplace regular for a drink/tea once a week. [I'm a week behind.]
Submit writing/hustle for a gig somewhere new every month. [Announcement coming soon!]
Implement three ideas for advancing career goals every month. [Hrm.]
One networking event/opportunity/thing every month. [Not yet.]
Save $x00 a month. [On track.]
Put aside $x00 a month for travel. [Hrm.]
Donate $x0 to a charity every month. [Half to Obama, half to be determined.]
Do one act of volunteering every month. [Printer's Row Book Fair for Open Books.]
Send one card, letter, or package every week. [2 weeks behind!]
Strike up more conversations with strangers. [Hrm.]
Do one activity I wouldn't normally do every month. [To be determined.]

2008-06-12T22:00:00.002-05:00

I took a Spanish language placement exam this afternoon (I have recently become highly motivated to refresh my Spanish and no, it does not involve a boy) and I swear that one of the questions involved filling in blanks inserted into a Marx quotation.

First, there's no better way to test someone's language aptitude than by having them anticipate how a German philosopher working from the Hegelian dialectic would have conjugated his español. Second, communism? Really, Spanish Cultural Institute? Haven't we been over this before?

2008-06-11T10:55:00.003-05:00

Dear Fellow Chicago Public Library Patrons,

Please don't highlight text in the books that we all share and write "foreshadowing" in the margins. Similarly, please do not underline dramatic portions of dialogue and write "LIES!!!" next to it. Though it creates a perverse kind of suspense as I read on to determine whether what you've written is accurate (or if it may just be LIES!!!) I would appreciate being able to read without the commentary. Thanks.

Yours in Books,
Jamie

My Top 10 Favorite...

2008-06-09T11:49:00.008-05:00

...search terms that brought people to this site.

10. polar bear mauling
9. having cold medicine
8. seamus gland
7. great gatsby tattoos
6. sniffing the pants
5. learne fuckeeng [Not here you won't.]
4. what is 'anal brightening'
3. skit you missed while busy changing your tampon [????]
2. i had sex with destroyer and all i got was this lousy t-shirt [This might have been me.]

and number 1, which was so unbelievable that I gasped and said, "Nooo...."

"whisky sourpatch kid on roofies the hard way"

It's unbelievable because I just invented this cocktail last Monday during a conversation with James and Jared and not one day later someone was googling for it. Ask your local bartender for one next time you're out. Googlers of Shame on Seamus agree that the WSPKORTHW is the next caipirinha.

2008-06-05T14:38:00.007-05:00

The elevator music that plays in my head during idle periods sounds a lot like that organ song that they play at baseball games, the one that ends with the crowd yelling "CHARGE!", but instead of organ tones it's just the word BOYS over and over again. Duh nuh nuh nuh na na - BOYS!

For example, today I was preparing a package at work and became so discombobulated when I came across a picture of M. Night Shyamalan in the newspaper I was using to pad it that I put the FedEx box together incorrectly and had to rip it apart. [In the same section, there was a story about a political ad that is too bizarrely hilarious to be true. Please check it out here. Yes, it's real, according to the New York Times, my go-to source for hard-hitting M. Night Shyamalan news.] I'd make some kind of joke about operating heavy machinery but looking up that picture again to link to it has incapacitated my ability to operate even the lightest of humor.

But despite having the frontal lobe of a thirteen-year-old girl, I've somehow managed - through SHEER FORCE OF WILL - to keep my train of thought on the self-improvement tracks during this dating hiatus. Most of some of the time. Because ME Me me me ME Me me me is so much better than BOYS Boys boys boys BOYS Boys boys boys, am I right?

And so I've developed a list of mid-year resolutions that I'm going to publish here so that the fear of someone asking me, "So, how is X going? You still keeping up with that?" will motivate me to follow through. [I lied earlier about keeping the self-improvement train on the tracks through sheer force of will. Really, I'm scared straight by the image of myself at 80 smoothing arthritis medication on my hands before I open the first in a stack of Tiger Beat magazines.]

With that introduction and horrifying image, I present Things I'm Gonna Do:

Watch two classic movies every month.
Read one classic book a month.
Make a themed music mix CD once a month.
Commute to work by bike at least five days a month.
Ride for more than 30 miles once a month.
Try one new recipe a week.
Go out by myself for dinner somewhere I've never been before once a month.
Buy nice bottle of wine and share it with someone once a month.
Throw a drink in someone's face ~~every week~~ ~~every month~~ before I die. [Sometimes you have to be realistic.]
Go someplace regular for a drink/tea once a week.
Submit writing/hustle for a gig somewhere new every month.
Implement three ideas for advancing career goals every month.
One networking event/opportunity/thing every month.
Save $x00 a month.
Put aside $x00 a month for travel.
Donate $x0 to a charity every month.
Do one act of volunteering every month.
Send one card, letter, or package every week.
Strike up more conversations with strangers. [This is my least favorite. Does throwing a drink in someone's face count as a conversation-starter?]
Do one activity I wouldn't normally do every month. [Drinks. Normally I just drink them.]
[I bet if I tried hard enough I could find some way that throwing a drink in someone's face would fulfill all of these resolutions.]

Vague Vagaries

2008-06-03T21:42:00.001-05:00

"Hey, what are you drinking?"
"It's a Whisky Sourpatch Kid on Roofies the Hard Way."

2008-06-01T19:09:00.004-05:00

I was out and about this weekend when I saw a man wearing a shirt that said

IT'S NOT GOING TO SUCK ITSELF.

Well, son, it better learn how to do so if you're going to insist on wearing that shirt in public.

2008-05-29T09:48:00.004-05:00

I created that last post about fatal dating incidents because several people have asked me if I've been on a date since I quit the game. I'm proud to say that I'm 27 days single. I'd like to thank my friends for their vigilance in keeping me on the wagon and reminding me that even one date is too many.

Actually, I think my friends are slightly disappointed that I'm no longer as ridiculous as I used to be. I recently remarked to my Poet Laureate of Love after a long day of romantic conjecturing, "Jared, I'm out of control!" "But that's what makes you fun!" he replied. Hmmm.

I'm not struggling to do this (maybe my friends would say differently knowing how much I STILL TALK ABOUT BOYS) but I do have to confess that I miss going out four nights a week. Even the bad dates were a nice distraction from scary things like My Future. But since I aspire to do more with my life than find new and exciting places to drink I'm not sweating spending more time on my own.

[A quick note: Anyone can go out four nights a week. I am not a love goddess. There are people everywhere, and especially on the internet, who will go out with you. Seriously, dick is the Earth's biggest renewable resource. (Well, it's not really the biggest - you just have to say that it is otherwise it feels inadequate.) The point is that there truly are Lame Dudes Everywhere. Lift up a rock or dead tree trunk, catch a couple before they scurry out of the light, and hey! You just made plans for the weekend!]

But if I could be real for a second - not dating is the best thing that has happened to me since I started dating. I now actually have the time and energy to do all the cool things that I wrote about wanting to do in my online dating profile. And perhaps most importantly - I'm still being real here, this is the goddam moral of the story - I finally understand that a bad date is not better than no date.

[Sign up for our mailing list and I'll notify you when this blog stops being an after-school special.]

Safety First

2008-05-27T09:57:00.006-05:00

WE HAVE GONE

25 DAYS

WITHOUT A FATAL DATING INCIDENT

Things I Need Right Now

2008-05-22T18:33:00.002-05:00

A pair of bolt cutters. I lost my keys today, including the keys to my bike locks, and I must free my wheels before 5 am Sunday so that I can bike on LSD.
Someone to explain to me the difference between "Ivory" and "Natural." Buying a new set of sheets should not require the Pantone color chart.
A way to read all of the books and magazines piling up around me before I die. This isn't backdoor bragging - it's a cry for help.
~~A beer.~~ Check. And check.

2008-05-21T13:13:00.001-05:00

I love springtime in Chicago. It's so wonderful to be able to go for walks downtown and ride my bike along the lake and engage in general frolicking without worrying about my body parts breaking off and getting lost in a snow drift.

But I'm sad that as the mercury climbs the facial hair gradually vanishes from the local menfolk. You may have your girls in their summer dresses, but I prefer my boys in their winter beards.

Something Silly

2008-05-20T20:22:00.004-05:00

Me with the twins. My boyfriend was whichever one you think is cuter.

UPDATE: I can't believe how tan I am in this picture. It looks like the boys have put a wig on a yam and are parading it around "Weekend at Bernie's" style.

Something Apt

2008-05-20T12:16:00.001-05:00

"And the Fuegian surpasses our analytical wisdom with a sentence-word of seven syllables that literally means: "they look at each other, each waiting for the other to offer to do that which both desire but neither wishes to do."

- Martin Buber, I and Thou

2008-05-18T15:24:00.004-05:00

I've spent this weekend poking the proverbial bear. You know, doing things that you suspect (read: know) are kind of a bad idea but you do anyway because you can feel your index finger just itching to dial that phone number or send that e-mail or invite your ex-boyfriend's twin brother to be your friend on Facebook.

(Just a quick note: It was very fun having a boyfriend with an identical twin. Once when I was visiting Casa del Novio I was sitting in the living room knitting when my boyfriend's twin came in and turned on the TV. Operacion Triunfo ["Operation Triumph," Spain's American Idol] was on and I remarked, "Oh, we have something like this in America." "Yeah," he replied. "American Idol." "Wow," I said. "I'm really impressed that you know that." He just sort of shrugged.

So there we sat for an hour or so watching TV until he looked at me and said, "Well, are you ready to go to bed?" I was completely taken aback until I realized that I'd been sitting next to my boyfriend for an hour without knowing it.)

(Oh, and just one more story: one night I got up in the wee hours to go to the bathroom and saw the Twin watching TV in the living room. I walked in to chat and then noticed that on the TV there was a topless woman in the shower soaping her breasts. "Lo siento," I mumbled as I backed out of the room assuming that I had stumbled upon him watching porn. As I was about to turn around and run, the woman held a bottle of shampoo up to her face and smiled. Turns out it was not porn but rather just a very "European" commercial.)

A mere two weeks ago I was all, "Shenanigans this and shenanigans that" and now it seems that I'm stirring up trouble for myself. Well, yes and no. But let me tell you it hasn't been all dubious judgement and fond reminiscence today. I was also quite productive. Look what I made:

Jamie's Custom Frame Shop: For half the cost and twice the trouble,

we'll create something your grandchildren will be proud to throw away.

I Belong to the ACLU So Things Like This Don't Happen

2008-05-15T23:38:00.004-05:00

You know when you have a really great evening and you come home elated and happy to be alive and you think, "There's only one song I can fall asleep listening to tonight?"

And then you go to YouTube only to find out that they've taken down "Smell Yo Dick."

2008-05-15T13:20:00.002-05:00

I noticed on my way into my building last night that the landlord had filled the courtyard with cedar chips.

"Oh, goody," I thought. "I hope he greased my wheel and put some fresh water in the tube."

Despite all my rage, I'm still just a hampster in a cage.

2008-05-13T06:34:00.006-05:00

This morning I was going through my address book to find people in Chicago to e-mail about this ridiculous Event Promoters' Ordinance and I was really surprised at the number of people in my contacts that I know only because I've dated them. I ultimately left them all off the list because I felt too awkward exhorting them to contact their alderman! when they haven't contacted me in months. Which is a shame because it was enough people to really make a difference.

Maybe I need to contact them and ask how they'd feel about being part of a mobile Ex-Boyfriend ATTACK! Team. Political Protests! Natural Disasters! Other Ex-Boyfriends! No job is too big or too small for the Ex-Boyfriend ATTACK! Team.*

*The Ex-Boyfriend ATTACK! Team makes no guarantees that it can do any of the following: return phone calls/e-mails, behave respectably in public/the bedroom, and/or be as awesome/handsome as Dan Bejar.

I wish that I could say this was a very elite sqaudron, but ummm...at least it's somewhat exclusive now that I'm on a dating sabbatical. Yes, I've decided that it may be more personally enriching to stay at home, read a book, and paint my toenails. The difference between being alone and being lonely is not missing all the great conversations you used to have about shrimp.

So, things may get a little less fun around here. But don't worry too much - the really good stuff never goes up on the blog anyway.

UPDATE: The Event Promoters' Ordinance has been tabled. At ease, ATTACK! Team. High fives for everyone who wrote or called and special Tom Cruise gun fingers to my Alderman, Eugene Schulter, who decided to call the whole thing off. For now.

UPDATE the DEUCE: I'm told that I should explain what we talk about when we talk about shrimp. So one night I'm out with this fellow and he asks me what kind of food I would choose to eat for the rest of my life if I could only choose one. Of course I said sushi. At which point he made a squished-up grossed-out face. Now I realize that sushi is not for everyone but it's for everyone who wants to have anything to do with me. But, trying to be conciliatory, I said, "Well, I suppose that if you don't like seafood, you won't really like sushi."

"No, I like seafood!" he replied. "I like seafood a lot! Do you like shrimp?"

"Yes," I said.

"ME TOO!" he exclaimed and then gestured between us as if this was the definitive sign that we were soulmates. And I suppose that once you know what kind of shellfish you'll serve at your wedding, what else is there to discuss?

This Ain't Hollywood

2008-05-12T18:24:00.007-05:00

I was back in Missour-uh this weekend kissing babies and participating in photo ops. Like this woman I saw in a restaurant:

I am so sad that this picture does not adequately capture the very Far Side-ness of her hair. It was amazing. There were curls and swirls and there had to have been some kind of interior support mechanism because no one has enough hair to build something with that much structural integrity. I captured this image by pretending to take pictures of my mom, who is the large dark blur on the left side of this photo. She was disappointed when she found out later that I was really photographing the stodgy Amy Winehouse wannabe behind her.

In honor of Mothers' Day and telling my mom about this blog (hello, mumford!) I will post some other anecdotes about my time with Mommie Dearest this weekend. Mere hours after I took the above photo, we were pulling into the Target parking lot because I wanted to look for some dresses I had seen online. As we were speculating about whether I would be able to find them my mother said, "Well, this probably isn't as big as the Target you're used to," and then very pointedly added, "This ain't Hollywood." She insists this comes from a song but I think she just wanted to remind me that the type of diva behavior encouraged by Chicago's discount stores will not be tolerated in Springfield. No daughter of hers is going to act as if she's too big for her Target-bought breeches just because she's moved to the most glamourous city in the Midwest.

Springfieldians, after all, have more on their mind than shopping. Like helping the less fortunate. This weekend there was a big canned food drive going on and my mother was perusing the cabinets for donations (read: expired food) and reminiscing about her past participation in endeavors of this sort. Why, just last December she donated a can of jalepeños to her workplace food drive. The organizer of the drive, when going through the box at the end of the day, held up the can and asked, "Who gives jalepeños to the Christmas food drive?" As my mom and I were laughing at this (she didn't 'fess up, by the way) she took a deep breath and then remarked, "Oh, charity is such a joy."

So is spending time with my mother.

I've been stimulated!

2008-05-09T09:55:00.004-05:00

And it's almost enough money to make me forget how silly I think tax rebates are. Savings Account, meet Hundreds of Dollars. Aww. You two look so good together.

2008-05-07T09:47:00.017-05:00

So I was reading this interesting article on Radar about how movies become and stay popular on Netflix when I came across this passage:

Netflix also won't release any official demographic information, but according to the Hollywood Reporter, the ratio of women to men is 53 to 47 percent. However, Swasey says even that number might not be completely accurate because women tend to handle the household's Netflix account. The bottom line is that we can't determine exactly the number of single women who rented Must Love Dogs compared with that of single men. (Is that the sound of a million guys exhaling at once I hear?) It's interesting to note, however, that almost 20 percent of the most-rented films on Netflix are romantic comedies and "chick flicks," including Cold Mountain (#96), from 2003, making it one the most enduringly popular films on Netflix. Other female-oriented fare that has been surprising in its long-term resilience includes The Notebook (#10), Memoirs of a Geisha (#32), Just Like Heaven (#56), and In Her Shoes (#57). And as we mentioned, anything with Jennifer Aniston seems to perform shockingly well.

[UPDATE: Ha ha ha, so, as Mike pointed out, I confused Cold Mountain with Brokeback Mountain. Sorry, Radar writer, I'm a dunderhead. But there are articles that call Brokeback Mountain a chick flick. This one even mentions Brokeback Mountain AND Cold Mountain. If you still want to see me getting worked up, proceed with the next paragraph.]

I don't quibble with the contention that most anything starring Jennifer Aniston is a "chick flick." But ~~Cold~~ Brokeback Mountain? The leads are men. They're cowboys. Is it a chick flick because they're gay cowboys? Sure, they have sex with each other but they ride and wrangle other things (including wives) in a very traditionally masculine way. Is it because it's a lurve story? Because I would have thought that if any love story could steer clear of the giant pink CHICK FLICK label it would have been this one.

Maybe I just don't know what a chick flick is. This summer one of my bosses called "Knocked Up" a chick flick and I was all "Bescuse me?" It's a funny movie, but the women are portrayed obnoxiously and Seth Rogen and Paul Rudd treat them inconsiderately through most of the film. I wouldn't throw either of them out of bed, but Prince Charming they are not.

Also interesting is the assertion that women control household movie choices. Yet despite the fact that they're the primary consumers (at least on Netflix), women are disappearing from mainstream film. Something similar is happening in the literary world. Even though women read more than men, especially in fiction, we have the rise of the "chick lit" genre to make it appear as if women have tastes that are somehow apart from the mainstream. They are the mainstream in terms of sheer consumption. As others have pointed out, if chick lit is what women read, then Hemingway is chick lit.

The implication is that what women like (or what we're told we should like) is so divergent from the normal male-centric fare that we should be regarded as cultural deviants who require special labels. And that kind of marginalization really puts a bee in my bonnet. Oh, you haven't heard? Yeah, we wear bonnets now.

2008-05-06T20:30:00.004-05:00

So, that guy convicted of stalking Uma Thurman is apparently a graduate of the University of Chicago. My one year reunion is coming up and I wasn't planning on attending but now I'm curious to see who will be voted Most Likely To Send A Celebrity Drawings of His Stick Figure Self Walking On a Razorblade. I have a couple write-in candidates in mind.

jamielee.net 2/23/04

2008-05-04T17:02:00.000-05:00

Wouldn't life be easier with a Pocket Oscar Wilde? You know, a little wit who spouts off humorous aphorisms and eats grapes with you while you drape yourselves on chaise lounges. Question: Are you still a fag hag if the homosexual in question has been dead for 100 years?

Smarter Ladies Have Worse Sex

2008-05-03T11:43:00.000-05:00

"...because they're too busy thinking."

In other bizarre mating news, a "sex pest" seal (the BBC's term, not mine) tried to copulate with a penguin recently. Apparently this is noteworthy for all kinds of reasons dealing with the behavioral psychology of pinnipeds, but read that story and tell me if it doesn't remind of you of any other species you might know and/or be a part of.

I just hope the penguin wasn't too busy thinking to enjoy it.

2008-05-02T00:06:00.002-05:00

So, don't get the wrong idea about me. I don't just sit around all day and complain about men like some kind of foul-mouthed Cathy cartoon. I've also spent a lot of time recently obessessing about Dan Bejar.

If you're asking who Dan Bejar is, you obviously haven't spoken to me in the last three days. In addition to being my imaginary boyfriend, he is an indie rock god. A member of the New Pornographers and Swan Lake, he also records as Destroyer. DESTROYER! It's not what it sounds like - it's awesome.

This is pretty out of character for me, to be fixating on a celebrity like this. There may even be a clinical term for this kind of behavior. I have stretched this month's budget to include purchasing almost all of his albums and then I've spent most of my waking hours listening to them. There's likely not a picture of this man on the internet that I have not seen.

Oh, look, here's one!

I didn't take that photo, but I was at the show where it was taken. Here's one that better demonstrates his passion for music and looking good in sweaters:

And if you'll just indulge me one more in the Dan Bejar tribute (photo) album:

If you look up nnnn in my dictionary, there is a picture of this guy.

Aside from the fact that I am pretty much joking about all of this, any efforts to get close to him would be futile. He has a long-term girlfriend and they are the President and First Lady of Couplesville. They spent a year bumming around on the coast of Spain (Spain? Again?!) They recorded an album together. And do you know what it was called? "The Portrait Is Finished and I Have Failed to Capture Your Beauty..."

THEY EVEN WEAR MATCHING NAUTICAL OUTFITS, TAKE PICTURES, AND THEN RELEASE THEM TO MAJOR MEDIA OUTLETS.

If I had footie pajamas, they would be covered in ~~tears~~ barf. Nautical outfits. Ha. I didn't want to be ironic with Dan Bejar anyway.

2008-05-01T15:36:00.001-05:00

As you may have gathered yesterday when I explicitly said so, there are some dating shenanigans that have been occupying far too much of my time and mental energy. If I re-allocated these personal resources, I could probably cure cancer. Or better still, heartbreak.

(Don't worry about that strange smell. It's probably just a small melodrama leak. We'll have it under control in no time.)

No, really, it's nothing too spectacular. Nothing worth persisting in writing and thinking about, but I for some reason continue to throw sponge capsules of hope into the bathtub of my heart just to watch them grow into zoo animals of disappointment. (My metaphors will be as tortured as my soooul.)

Of course dating means making the occasional visit to Shenanigantown. (Unless you are most of my friends in their early 20's, who live comfortably in suburban Couplesville and spend their time cuddling to an NPR soundtrack.) And Shenanigantown is sometimes a really fun place! Sometimes things get crazy and when you go visit your friends in Couplesville you can tell them hilarious stories in between bites of the pumpkin bread they made together last weekend in their matching footie pajamas. (They don't sell footie pajamas in Shenanigantown. You have to bring them over the border like drugs from Canada. Or drugs from Mexico, depending on the kind of drugs you like and need.)

But I'm beginning to think that online dating is a one way, non-refundable ticket to Shenanigantown. It's like taking a gypsy cab to the wrong side of the tracks. It is highly likely that you will get mugged and stranded on the corner of Seriously? and WTF is WRONG with you?

I don't want to believe that this is true. Because I love me some online dating and I am not afraid to say so. I'm not even afraid to say so to my dates. I recently told a date that I don't get on the personals site at work because "I just prefer to do my man-shopping from the comfort of my own home." (Fortunately he got the joke. RIP, incipient relationship with "Fred." You were too cool for this [my] life.)

But if it's not the online dating, it must be me. Oh my goodness, I think I just teleported us all to Ridiculous City! It's the online dating. Definitely yeah...

2008-04-30T07:49:00.000-05:00

I was sending an e-mail recently in which I was doing a lot of moaning and groaning about men and making dramatic proclamations like "No more ~~WIRE HANGERS!~~ art students EVER!" and "Iberian Peninsula, I'm damn mad at you!"

Is it totally obvious that I just saw "Mommie Dearest" for the first time? Loved. It. I've decided that perhaps I need to be a little more Joan Crawford-esque in the face of all these dating shenanigans.

So don't fuck with me, fellas! This ain't my first time at the rodeo.

Tonight on Jamiepiece Theatre

2008-04-29T07:02:00.001-05:00

A little while ago Jared was kind enough to provide me with some hilarious flirting fodder. I hadn't thought to save his limericks at the time and thus believed that they were lost forever. Fortunately, however, Jared logs his chat conversations.

These poems do feature some adult content and the names have been changed to protect those I've flirted with badly. However, I have made sure that the name still rhymes. This not only protects the artistic integrity of the work but ensures that should the man in question ever read this I will be duly embarassed. Please enjoy.

Fred, I said, let's wed, then share a bed, I'll spread, have children bred, or just instead I'll give you head.

I confess that I'm liking you, Fred
Who -- I'm shocked -- aren't sick in the head
You should know you're in luck
If you're looking to fuck
And I think we'll both come out ahead.

Fred, you really do drive a girl silly
So I would like to meet your friend Willie
Let me finish these cases
Then it's off to the races
Wouldn't you like to mount this here filly?

Fred, I don't see what the flap is
About me showing you where the snap is
Until you've undressed me
You'll have ever obsessed me
My mind won't get off your priapus

2008-04-28T16:20:00.001-05:00

Tonight I will eat all the sushi I care to. Which means all the sushi that I can.