Someone Wants a Piece of MySpace

Me: I just got the most spectacular MySpace message. Check it out:

Subject: oh jess

Body: how would you like a wonderful massage, with a happy ending that includes expert use of my exquisite collection of rare vaginal and anal toys. what a trip, and totally safe. i need nothing in return, but i am receptive to much, although i'm cool with staying fully clothed for the kink of it. nobody need ever know but you and me. don't you deserve it?

best,
phil

Jake: Your parish priest?

Me: Funny.

Jake: I love the banal sign-off after the lurid message.

Me: Me too. Well, that's my second favorite. I like that his sex toys are "rare" and "exquisite."

Jake: "I want to sodomize you with a turnip. Best, Phil."

Haircut

Courtesy of Amy at Timothy John's Salon. I'm still trying to figure out how to wear it curly, but really, it's the best haircut I've ever had. You should go, and extra special thanks to Summer and My Sharona for going there first and looking fabulous.

Take That, Dillweed

Dear Hale & Hearty Soup in the Rockefeller Center Concourse:

Most days, I'd rather spend my lunch hour with you than anyone else, Hale & Hearty Soup in the Rockefeller Center Concourse. No matter what I select from your chalkboard, I know it will be good. I mean, there was that one time with the chili, but we won't speak of that.

Today, I was intrigued by your "Sweet Potato Chicken Chowder" selection. As I'm not much of a taster (I prefer to live on the edge when it comes to culinary adventures) I decided to go ahead and order it, even though I'd never tasted it before. When that young man who always yells at me (I suspect he's working on commission) began to ladle it out, though, I thought, "Hm, what are those specks in my soup?" But I trusted you, Hale & Hearty Soup in the Rockefeller Center Concourse. I really did.

I discovered what those flecks were when I returned to my office. Fresh dill. Tons and tons and tons of fresh dill. Whatever made you think this would be a welcome addition to an otherwise delicious soup baffles me. I don't want to point fingers, Hale & Hearty Soup in the Rockefeller Center Concourse, but I think one of your soup makers may have partaken of the marijuana before coming to work today. I know it always leads me to questionable seasoning choices.

Perhaps some drug tests are in order, Hale & Hearty Soup in the Rockefeller Center Concourse. Might I suggest starting with the young man who always yells at me? Thanks in advance.

Love,
Jess

Dancing Queen

Amanda hates smooth jazz with the fire of a thousand suns. Naturally, I spent the entire weekend switching to the AOL Music Smooth Jazz Channel on the TV. I'm an asshole like that. Anyway, here's Holly dancing to smooth jazz, while I guffaw in the background. Enjoy.

Overheard at American Apparel

Pretty Girl #1: I just can't believe I'm wearing a unitard.

Pretty Girl #2: Why? What's wrong with a unitard?

Pretty Girl #1: I just didn't want to be one of those American Apparel girls, you know?

Pretty Girl #2: Yeah, but ... you work here.

Pretty Girl #1: Yeah. I guess.

Rock Out Tomorrow Night

Due to inclement weather in Burlington, VT, I'm not going to be able to attend tomorrow evening's Slayer show at Hammerstein Ballroom. It's actually due to an entire string of unfortunate events, but the weather is what set them in motion. If anyone wants to get their rock on tomorrow night, kindly email me. I'll give them to you for face value ($40), and you'll get to see my smiling face in person when I hand them over. So really, it's a bargain. Doors open at 6. Show starts at 8. Unearthed opens. Moshing, headbanging and devil horns optional.

UPDATE: Tickets all sold to a group of Jersey boys who we are meeting outside of the theater to hand them off, and who may or may not be in love with us based on the following description I gave them:

I'm a short chick with shoulder-length red hair and a nose ring. Holly will probably be with me, and she's tall, with short dirty blond hair and a lip ring.

Yeah, we've already been invited out for post-show drinks. But I think we'll have to decline. It's flamingo weekend -- too much naked pillow fighting to do.

Happy Valentine's Day!

My Job is Funny

Sometimes, usually when it gets into the realm of celebrity astrology, my job makes me laugh. Today, for example, I was working on a celebrity birthday feature, which requires finding three famous people born on each day of the year. I'm using a few different sites to find the info, and I often put people in as placeholders and replace them later. My most recent replacement?

Osama bin Ladin Carrie Underwood

March 10th, by the way. Also, just to give you a heads up, Mercury Retrograde starts today, which if you don't know, basically means everything's going to be all sorts of fucked up for the next few weeks. Enjoy!

Bad poetry I wrote as a teenager, Volume XXXIX

Wow, y'all. Talk about embarrassing. This was when I was in my "heal the Earth" phase, which I hoped to accomplish by, well, writing hideously awful poetry about it. This phase took place the summer after 9th grade. Enjoy. I'm going to go hide under my desk for the remainder of the day in shame.

Mother Earth is still beautiful
Yet, there is sadness to her beauty
Melancholy that comes with the knowledge she is dying
Dying by the hands of her children
Those she nurtured in the early years
Gave us soft grass to lay on
Tall trees to climb
Water to splash in
Sun to light up our faces

But we are not children anymore

We have blacktopped the grass
Cut down the trees
Polluted the water
Sunlight is no longer safe
Our Mother sits and watches this destruction
Crying silent tears of acid rain
She cannot save herself

Here's Volume XXXVIII

It's Called "Art," Y'All

Last night, The Young Man, Sharona and I had a delicious dinner at Chez Summer et Kyle. Kyle was showing us his Photoshop art, which mostly consists of pasting Summer's head onto bodies not belonging to her. In the car home, TYM said he'd like to do more Photoshop art involving my head and bodies not belonging to me. And today he did. Behold:

An Open Letter to Future Commentors on My Open Letter to Rachael Ray Post

Dear Future Commentors on My Open Letter to Rachael Ray Post:

Hi, y'all! Welcome to blind cavefish! So happy you decided to stop by!

Now, as you can see by the 90 comments on that post, mostly of a venemous nature and often calling me names ranging from the laughable "jealous" to the not-at-all appropriate "cunt," this post hits a sore spot with many people who land here via The Google. And I understand -- Rachael Ray has at least one fan for every detractor. It stands to reason we'd have some debate on the subject.

Now, this particular letter I'm writing to all of you was inspired by my most recent comment. Here it is:

I'm going to take the risk here and assume that you area a free thinking, indepedent adult that can make decisions for yourself, without any sarcastic implications that you might not be. Why not just stop watching her? It's one thing to not like her- but you know when I don't like an individual or a show I don't make a website, I use this new thing called the channel changer. I'm no big Rachel fan, but I bet she's thrilled with the free pr.

Look, everyone is entitled to their own opinion, even if it's a pro-Rachael Ray one. But Future Commentors on My Open Letter to Rachael Ray Post, when you arrive at this here blog by googling "rachael ray naked in hot tub," I can actually see that, and it kind of diminishes the intensity of your argument a little, you know? Just sayin'

Love,
Jess

Invading Fashion Week

I'm not typically a girl who goes to fancy parties and hobnobs with the rich and famous. I'm more likely to be found in a dive bar talking to that old drunk guy who can't keep his forehead from smacking repeatedly against the top of his beer glass. Last night, however, was different, as Curly, AZ and I were lucky enough to attend the Marc Jacobs show. Pretty much the coolest night ever. Since we saw some Idol alums, I had to post about it on Midol, but I covered the non-Idols as well. If you want the super-sexy recap, click on over to read it, and to see Curly's photographic handiwork.

Sneaking Around

If you've ever had a workplace romance, then you know all about the morning sneak-in. For the uninitiated, it's when you wake up together, ride into work together and then when you're a block or two away from the office, try to make it look like you haven't just spent the night together. There are several ways to accomplish this: one person can walk ahead so you arrive after one another, for example. Or you can walk together but maintain enough distance between the two of you that everyone thinks you must have met on the corner or in the lobby on your way in. Really, though, it's kind of pointless, because everyone already knows you're sleeping together and they're either gossiping about you daily or worse, they couldn't care less.

This morning, I found myself walking behind two people who sit in cubicles near mine. As soon as they saw me, they went from walking close together and talking to her taking the lead, him falling behind, and the two of them acting like they didn't even know each other. Which, I mean, come on. She sits two cubicles behind him. They walked in separate doors to the building, and didn't resume eye contact or conversation until they were sure I was stepping onto a different elevator. I thought about getting onto theirs and striking up a conversation, but I hadn't had any coffee yet and wasn't confident in my speaking abilities.

I've seen them both in the kitchen and hallway today, and have been met by a fearful "please don't tell anyone" glance each time. I'm tempted to say, "Look, I'm a contractor. I don't even know your names or what group you are a part of. And if I did, I wouldn't even know who to tell. So really, don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

My life would be so much more entertaining if I actually said the stuff I think about aloud. Maybe I should try it sometime.

Regarding Valentine's Day

Me: http://whitecastle.com/ValentinesDay/

The Young Man: Let's do that!

Me: Wanna?

The Young Man: Not really!