Lidbee

I was just reminded of a summer camp game that was great fun. Lidbee. Lidbee was ultimate frisbee played with a giant metal trash can lid. I can't believe we never got in trouble for playing it. There were two chants that would be, well, chanted while the game was in progress. They were:

Lidbee Lidbee it's the best
And it doesn't draw much blood.

and:

Lidbee Lidbee it's the best
And it might not kill you.

Concerning the VMAs

Britney in a white bustier wedding dress + Christina in a white teddy + Madonna in black vinyl = so, so hot.

Even if Madonna is old enough to be their moms. And even if Britney can't sing. And even if Christina is hell-bent on making herself ugly. It was still hot.

And say what you will, but I still totally want to make out with Ms. Spears.

The wisdom of Coldplay

Nobody said it was easy

No one ever said it would be so hard

Quit fucking with me

I've lived in my cozy Lower East Side apartment for four years now. I have been a good tenant. I've paid my rent on time. I haven't broken anything. I'm nice to the new super who starts every three months or so. I didn't kick anyone when there was no hot water for two months. I don't throw wild parties on the roof (well, I can't actually get on the roof without setting off alarms). All in all, my management company should be happy to have me. And they were, until my neighborhood got trendy.

Beacuse of this little thing called rent stabilization, these rentmongers can only raise my rent a little bit each year. If I left, they could double the rent. Now, I might be paranoid, but I think I might be a victim of harassment here.

Item 1: December 2002
I receive a card in the mail from the Housing Court, telling me my landlord has begun eviction proceedings and I'm required to appear in court to get a court date. I call the landlord, who claims I failed to pay rent for two months and am being evicted. I ask which months are in question, and then point out that they did, in fact, cash the checks. That is not good enough for them. I go to court. I get a court date. I sit and wait, and a lawyer for the management company shows up, takes me outside and asks me why I have not paid my rent. I show him the cancelled checks. He says he'll "look into it". The judge does not understand why we are all there, but tells me I really have nothing to worry about. Two days later, they send me a letter claiming the funds were placed in the wrong account. No apology.

Item 2: July 2003
Me: Why is there a 50 dollar late charge on my rent bill?
Them: You sent your rent in late.
Me: I sent it on the 2nd. I do not incur late charges until the 10th.
Them: We didn't receive it by the 10th.
Me: When you choose to cash the check is not my concern. Mail does not take eight days.
Them: Sometimes I send things and it takes weeks.
Me: I'm not paying this charge.
Them: If you pay your rent on time for three months, we'll take the charge off.
Me: I pay my rent on time EVERY month! And I'm sending my rent check certified mail from now on.

Item 3: August 2003
I get a bill for twice my monthly rent, and two seperate 50 dollar charges, I call the management compny and am told that 1) I did not pay July rent and 2) They have not yet received August rent. My answers, you ask? 1) You cashed the check! and 2) I sent it certfified mail! You signed for it on the 2nd! They do not believe me. I have to now send copies of the cancelled checks. The late charges are for my failure to pay July rent and my failure to pay the late charge, even though I never received anything telling me I owed any late charges or a bill for August rent.

I cannot figure out if I'm being harrassed, or if their accounting department is really THAT bad. Either way, DHCR urged me to file a complaint. I'm taking you down. And your moms too.

Life imitating art imitating sex imitating life

I want a life-sized, fully functional Jason Lewis sex toy. Is that too much to ask?

It's Friday, I'm in love

I have a fantastic ass, an even more fantastic hangover, and pink rose petals in my bed. I'm fantastically happy to be alive on my second-to-last summer Friday.

Can't beat this first thing in the morning

DISCLAIMER: I left spelling and grammar as is to preserve the integrity of the original email.

Date: Wed, August 20, 2003 7:17 am

From: colombiana@eresmas.com

To: jess@blindcavefish.com

Subject: A free girl from colombia

Name: Angelique

Age: 19

From: Columbia

Ideal Husband: Hung

Holly shitballs batman. I've banged a lot of chiks but this latina got me questioninglife itself. I think ultimate happiness can be reached now. Have a round with this sex demon once a day and you'll have a smile on your face everyday. This girl takes fucking to a whole other level. Please just watch this chik in action and get ready to have your eyeballs pop out of your head. If you haven't experienced a latina like this make the switch. i'm don dickwallis and i'm a latina slayer.

When the lights, go down, in the city…

There's that moment when your office loses power and you say, "fuck!" because you just lost all the work you've done on the online fertility planner. Then you realize it's the whole floor. Then the whole building. Then you notice the street lights are out, and people are pouring into the streets of midtown. Then someone gets through to the parents in Brooklyn, who say it's the whole city. Then you call your grandparents in Schenectady, who turn on CNN and tell you it's several cities, and some cities in Canada. Then you panic because you think it's a terrorist attack. Then you wonder what's coming next. Then you walk home in a daze. Then you realize that you only have three dollars and there are no working ATMs. Then you watch random pedestrians directing traffic, and doing a better job than the NYPD at their intersections. Then you remember that episode of Third Watch, where the lights went out in New York City and it was the most terrifying hour of television you've ever seen. Then you wonder if the power will be back before the sun goes down. Then you blame Canada, and sing the South Park song a few times.

It's hot. Really hot. The beer is warm, but your boyfriend has cash so you can keep buying it. You decide that warm beer is better than no beer. You try to sleep on the roof but the bugs devour you. You have mac 'n cheese for breakfast because you can at least light the burners. You wonder if you should hop on the PATH train and see if Jen and David have power and would like to take you in. You almost shed tears of happiness when you realize that, for some divine reason, the new Mexican place around the corner is open and serving five dollar burritos. You fight like caged rats. You have makeup sex. You watch the fireworks go off the moment power is restored to the Lower East Side. You go out for burgers and cold beer, and then spend the night watching TV in bed with the air conditioner on. You spend the entire next day singing Lights by Journey. Turns out blackouts ain't as bad as they used to be.

An open letter to Liz Phair

Dear Liz Phair,

I've spent a lot of time over the past few months trying to figure you out. More time, in fact, than I've spent trying to figure out all of my jerky ex-boyfriends. Together. I've wondered if the record label made you do the popstar thing. Or if you thought it would be funny and do not understand now how the irony is lost on everyone. Or, and this is the one I'm having the most trouble with, you actually think the songs on the new album are good.

Now, I can't see how this could be the case, although last night at Roseland, it became obvious that there are people who do actually like the songs. The show went a little something like this. You started with 6'1", an excellent choice. Half of the crowd sang, dance and breathed a collective sigh of relief. The rest looked confused. Same with Polyester Bride, which came right after. I got my hopes up, until I heard the familiar intro of Rock me, a new tune with no soul. The other half of the crowd sprang to life. I sulked. In your defense, Extraordinary is actually a good song live, without the overproduced bullshit behind it.

I bet you didn't know this, Liz, but Layna and I discovered it last night. You can actually sing the song Complicated by Avril Lavigne over the tune for your own Why Can't I? In fact, it's the only thing that got us through the song. Thank you for doing Fuck and Run, The Divorce Song and Supernova. They made me remember why I loved you in the first place.

All in all, your show was mostly enjoyable. And you look absolutely fantastic. Must be all that Hot White Cum. And if you ever let a crowd half-composed of loud kids and half-composed of loyal, devoted fans decide whether you should close with H.W.C. or Flower again, I will burn your albums, even Exile, in effigy.

Sincerely,
Jessica
Fan since '93

P.S. Favorite, the song with the utterly profound chorus Baby I know what you're like/You're like my favorite underwear is seriously the most embarrassing thing ever committed to music. Cringeworthy, really. Even worse than Give me your hot white cum, which just screams I'M TRYING TOO HARD.

On eating disorders

Me: Oh my God, I am so full. I don't think I can finish this cake.

Cousin Desiree: I know.

Me: I want to make myself throw up so I can eat more.

Cousin Desiree: What are you, bulimic?

Me: No, that's not bulimia.

Cousin Desiree: Binge? Purge?

Me: Yeah, but if I binge-purge-binge and there's no final purge, it's not bulimia. It's just making room.

Cousin Desiree: Huh. I guess you're right.

Head...hurts

Self-destructive behavior isn't nearly as satisfying as it used to be.

Burger King, on the other hand, is still every bit as satisfying.

These boots are made for walkin'

I don't know why, but whenever I hang out with my old work buddies, I wake up embarrassed, whether I made out with anyone or not. Or maybe I'm just embarrassed about singing Just like a Pill by Pink at karaoke. Solo.

Rainy days and Mondays

Wraparound skirt + g-string underwear + excessive wind = a little lunchtime embarassment in midtown.

On my gender

One of the worst things about being a girl is that you feel compelled to discuss your relationship problems with every close friend you have. Ask five girls what you should do, get five different answers. When all is said and done, you're more confused as to the right course of action then you were to begin with.

Our father who aren't in heaven

So there I am, sitting in the second row of the church where I spent the better part of my youth wishing I was somewhere else. Grams finally got us all in there, and much to my surprise, the walls did not ignite and burn to the ground. Father Buttmunch, who never molested me but was very mean to me in my youth and is therefore on my permanent shitlist, is giving a sermon about how good Catholics go to heaven and the rest of the world goes somewhere significantly warmer. He then calls my grandparents up to the alter to renew their vows in honor of their 50th wedding anniversary. (How cute is that?)

He then calls up the family, by name. Well, until he gets to my mother and I, who he rudely addresses as "some people I don't know" to the entire congregation. Now, not only has Father You'regoingtohell met my mother on several occasions, he is also quite close with my grandparents and has, no doubt, heard countless stories. To my Catholic credit, I was confirmed by FatherIloveSataneventhoughIpretendtobeaholyman, and taught catechism classes at the school which he runs. He also accused a then-non-smoking me, in front of my peers, of going outside during my confirmation classes to smoke. Father hatesyouifyou'renotCatholic knows me, quite well.

Mum and I went up, got misty as we were bathed in the cuteness of her parents and my grandparents, and then spent the rest of the mass scowling at Father Holierthanthou.

Then, the icing on the cake. Cousin Desiree pulls me outside to show me a plaque dedicated to the "unborn babies" ruthlessly slaughtered by abortion.

Is it any wonder I'm an atheist?