Maybe it's just me, but why is it a million times more difficult to buy a man you're involved with a birthday present? Women are far simpler in at least this one respect. If you've been romantically involved for a long time, you're always safe with diamond earrings. If it's a relatively new relationship or she's a good friend you're hoping for more with, you can always order flowers or some gift basket of lotion and body products. Everywhere practically online delivers these things (in most cases, you can even pay extra if you wait until the actual day you need it). It requires no effort other than having an internet connection and a credit card number.
But not so much for men. Today I'm struggling because every single factor that could come into play to make gift-giving difficult has arisen. I know everyone is beyond excited for me to list all these factors, so please wait no more and allow me.
1. Confusing Ambiguous Relationship Status
I am sure at some point you've attempted to buy a gift for a person you're kinda sorta seeing but is definitely not your boyfriend/girlfriend but has seen you naked and still talks to you so you're not off the hook. Is that sentence confusing? Good, because that embodies exactly how confusing it is to buy this person something. You can't go overboard with the gift because then you look like you're reading more into things than are actually there. But if you're totally thoughtless, you may give off the vibe that you don't care. Fantastic. Does anyone know a website for thoughtful yet nonchalant and breezy gifts?
2. For The Guy/Gal Who Has Everything
It's been said time and again, but truly, what in the holy balls do you buy someone who has everything? Back in the day, it was always relatively simple to buy my broke ass part-time waiter college boyfriend something. There was always some video game or random item he desperately wanted but was too busy spending his 4 dollar paycheck on beer to buy. Not exactly romantic but always much appreciated when I picked it up for him. But as you get older and you start to date not-pothead-waiters, it's much more difficult. If you land yourself a good dude with a great job, you may have hit the life jackpot, but it's the whammy of gift giving - especially if you're anything like me and a good chunk of the American population and are broke as hell. I can see it now. "Hey rich boy, I reached into the depths of my brain and bank account and pulled out this Barnes and Noble gift card for $18.34. No need to thank me, you enjoying 2 and a half magazines is all the thanks I need." Ugh.
3. Not Knowing Someone Quite Well Enough
This actually is only a minor issue, but an issue none the less. Not knowing someone well enough eliminates gag gifts (who knows how they will react?) and tiny gifts that, while inexpensive, are something so perfect for the person that the cost is a non-issue.
4. Birthday On A Sunday
This really sets me off. Inevitably, when you wait until the last minute, you can still have something delivered. Unless, of course, the gift receiver in question's birthday lands on a Sunday. In that case, you're screwed. Nothing says "hey I hope maybe you and I turn into the real deal" better than a box of Snookie's Cookies that arrives a day too late. Outstanding, so now not only does my gift suck but it sucks belatedly.
Well, I should perhaps leave you all with that last one. It is Sunday, after all, and I still haven't bought a gift.
-stars
Showing posts with label friendship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friendship. Show all posts
4.19.2009
4.14.2009
rageful grievance: quitting... AND THEN BEING FIRED!!! (another moon and stars collaboration)
Moon/Stars: We have a little story to tell. We will tell it together.
Moon: So about seven and a half months ago, I got fired from my bartending job and was still very much in a place in my life where I NEEDED to have a bartending job to pay my bills. It was shocking and sudden and all of my connections fell through. I ended up getting a job at a smoking bar/hookah lounge on the lower east side via craigslist, whose name I will omit because this blog will indubitably be horrendous. I mean, stars, we do "do" pretty "weird" and "awful," no? Writing this together, our "doing horrendous" will be magnified, I think.
Moon: now you say something lol
Stars: lol sorry was getting a smoke
Moon: lmao that is crucial.
Moon: i'm actually going include that part lmao
Stars: We have absolutely been known to do weird, horrendous and disrespectful more often than not.
Moon: So, in any event, I spent a couple of months working at this bar. Making zero money (even when adjusting for the recession) but loving the crap out of all of my coworkers. Then my bestie, stars, moves back and needs a quick fix for money while scoping out jobs, so I brought her ass in and got her a job. What exactly did you get hired to do, stars?
Stars: Well, the bar in question started out dicey for me. I came in agreeing to do a handful of shifts checking patrons' IDs with the understanding that I would then be moved to cocktail waitress or bartend. The managers swore they just needed help for those few shifts. So despite my résumé making me qualified to have the majority of the staff there working under me, desperate for cash, I agreed.
Moon: So together we worked in this ridiculous place, making close to no money, but compensating for it by getting really ridiculously hammered and being rude to people.
Stars: Yeah, when working for little to no money (often I made barely more than what the commute to the place cost), we compensated by saving the money we would spend on a night out drinking. And were we awful to people? No question. But before anyone jumps to conclusions, the vibe of the place wasn't exactly "the customer is always right."
Moon: And you often punched people, no?
Stars: Yes, sometimes I punched people. In my defense, it was usually an accident... that does not mean I didn't find it hysterical.
Moon: I'm going to an open a bar CALLED "The Customer is Always Wrong."
Stars: I would go there every day because I am always wrong.
Moon: And I will hire you and their first exposure to the place will be you punching them at the door.
Stars: There's actually a bar in Asia where you can beat the holy hell out of the employees. This would be like that in reverse. It would get press.
Moon: I love that you know that. In any event, stars had been getting into several altercations-via-text a week with one of our managers. And he was losing them all.
Stars: Which I find laughable as the boss should never lose an argument, unless they were born without a pair. Is that too mean? Don't answer because I don't care.
Moon: You never care. In any event, they'd been kind of dicking stars around, giving her shifts, taking them back. And well... me... I have no defense. I just have no regard for rules whatsoever. We're not allowed to drink at work. I like to drink. You can see the incumbent conundrum.
Stars: Hey I found the link! http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/china/2006-08/07/content_658196.htm
Moon: You would.
Stars: No, I don't ever care nor did they give me a reason to change my usual behavior. On top of being jerked around for shifts, they also had me come in for unpaid bartending training only to inform me afterward that there were no available shifts. I don't like wasting my time nearly as much as moon likes drinking.
Moon: And I not as much as you. (That's completely extraneous for the story but felt it necessary to use that ridiculous sentence structure 'cause it's funny.)
Stars: I approve of inserting any inane sentence structure at any given moment. Approved.
Moon: Thank you for approval. Not that I care. So, getting back to what happened... a couple of months ago I got a REAL job (don't yell at me, bartenders) using my degree (Political Science) and stuck it out with the bartending for a bit to put a bit of a dent in my accrued college debt. This weekend, I decided I was far too burnt out and "over it," so I put up on Facebook that everyone should come visit me because it'd be one of my last bartending shifts. My manager saw this and pleaded with me to not quit because "everyone loves you" and offered me any shift I wanted, etc. (This is important because [well, I guess you already know due to the title of this] of what ended up happening.) But I essentially gave my "two weeks' notice." Stars, how did you handle giving in your two weeks'?
Stars: Unfortunately, in the case of dueling "notices," the Facebook status update ends up being the classier one.
Moon: Eh... what're ya gonna do?
Stars: This past weekend, I was relegated back to checking IDs after my oh-so-awesome promotion to checking coats. I know, I know, hold your applause. The bouncer I was working with was one I didn't know and a total dick from hell, let's not mince words. He seemed to want to instruct my every move, despite the fact that no one has ever needed a degree in ID Checking. I, of course, complained. My manager begged me to let him think that. I got upset and said I would do no such thing and he could consider this my notice.
Moon: So, while that was going on, I was pretty busy getting HAMMERED and hanging out with my friends... oh yes, that's right about 25 of my (our, actually) friends came in that night to celebrate our friend, Mike's, birthday. So not only was I drinking, and drinking boldly, but I was drinking on camera. And doing a lot of it. And taking a lot of breaks to give relationship counseling to (I swear to God) multiple friends.
Stars: Yes, you did have your hands full that night. I, on the other hand, was trapped in the hallway, missing my friend, Mike's, birthday despite having asked for the night off to enjoy my friend's day.
Moon: So... stars, you're really going to have to take it from here for a little while, because most of the rest of the night is a bit blurry for me. Thanks, Patron. ... and Jagermeister. ... and Jameson. Good ol' Jame-o.
Stars: Well, in all fairness, my sobriety was out the window pretty early on. But long story short, I quit more than once, then was offered moon's Saturday night "money making" shift if I would agree to stay.
Moon: "Money making." (Wry laugh.)
Stars: Seriously. Our post on the economy (raging out at... the economy) was written a day after pulling in cash during one of these big money shifts.
Moon: Touché.
Stars: Regardless, the night ended, though filled with animosity, with both moon and I both having been begged to stay and being promised all kinds of excess if we would not abandon the bar.
Stars: And with both of us having stood firm on our 2 weeks' notices.
Moon: N.B.: I walked out with less than a hundred dollars.
Stars: On a Saturday night?
Moon: On a Satur-goddamned-day night.
Stars: That's pathetic.
Moon: So, on Monday morning, while I was at work, I got a text from a friend who also happens to be one of the managers (however not the aforementioned manger with whom stars was waging war) saying essentially that I'd been FIRED due to drinking at work. FIRED. I'm sorry, but the whole "you can't fire me... I quit" aphorism? Yeah, like, that actually HAPPENED. I immediately shared this news with stars who thought, as did I, it to be the most hilarious thing that had ever happened. Especially because I had acted in no way different on that night than I had for the last seven months and by that I mean, well, ok, umm, I guess, err, I may have a mild drinking problem.
Stars: Ha! Yes, this is a point I hadn't thought of before. Despite our terrible behavior, it was no worse than anything we had done prior. I would even say, without revealing any more, that there were even certain horrible activities that I often partake in that I did not do this past weekend.
Moon: So, no one even technically "fired" me. I had to BBM (Blackberry Messenger message) my "manager" and I swear to the HOLY HEAVENS this is how the conversation went:
--
Moon: Hey, so should we get on with this?
Manager: ?
[Seriously with the question mark? C'mon.]
Moon: Aren't you supposed to, like, "fire" me?
Manager: Lol I kindof am, but I guess you already know that :)
[Seriously? A smiley face?]
--
This was all after he called you, though, no, stars?
Stars: Unbelievable. Yes, it was. The "manager" and I had a talk that went something like this:
--
Stars: Hey "manager," you called? What do you want?
Manager: Just want to let you know we are not going to be doing your shifts this week.
Stars: Great, so I am fired. Fabulous. When can I get my money?
--
I basically had to fire myself.
Moon: I got a good ol' "well, your shifts are covered from now on." I even said "DON'T YOU HAVE TO FIRE ME OR SOMETHING?" Nothing. ANNNNNND I'd already quit. You. CAN. NOT. make. this. shit. up.
Stars: I don't even think my wild imagination could have invented this. I was also told they were unhappy with "some other stuff." No mention of what said stuff was, just... stuff.
Moon: So, in conclusion... I quit and then I got fired. Is that a good summation of what happened to you? ... ON THE SAME DAY? ... FROM THE SAME PLACE?
Stars: Yep, that paragraph can be quoted VERBATIM for me. What the hell is wrong with these people?
Moon: It can't be us. We are way too awesome.
This is a picture of us from that very night with a caption (via stars) about how no one dares to say a word to us:
-moon/stars
Moon: So about seven and a half months ago, I got fired from my bartending job and was still very much in a place in my life where I NEEDED to have a bartending job to pay my bills. It was shocking and sudden and all of my connections fell through. I ended up getting a job at a smoking bar/hookah lounge on the lower east side via craigslist, whose name I will omit because this blog will indubitably be horrendous. I mean, stars, we do "do" pretty "weird" and "awful," no? Writing this together, our "doing horrendous" will be magnified, I think.
Moon: now you say something lol
Stars: lol sorry was getting a smoke
Moon: lmao that is crucial.
Moon: i'm actually going include that part lmao
Stars: We have absolutely been known to do weird, horrendous and disrespectful more often than not.
Moon: So, in any event, I spent a couple of months working at this bar. Making zero money (even when adjusting for the recession) but loving the crap out of all of my coworkers. Then my bestie, stars, moves back and needs a quick fix for money while scoping out jobs, so I brought her ass in and got her a job. What exactly did you get hired to do, stars?
Stars: Well, the bar in question started out dicey for me. I came in agreeing to do a handful of shifts checking patrons' IDs with the understanding that I would then be moved to cocktail waitress or bartend. The managers swore they just needed help for those few shifts. So despite my résumé making me qualified to have the majority of the staff there working under me, desperate for cash, I agreed.
Moon: So together we worked in this ridiculous place, making close to no money, but compensating for it by getting really ridiculously hammered and being rude to people.
Stars: Yeah, when working for little to no money (often I made barely more than what the commute to the place cost), we compensated by saving the money we would spend on a night out drinking. And were we awful to people? No question. But before anyone jumps to conclusions, the vibe of the place wasn't exactly "the customer is always right."
Moon: And you often punched people, no?
Stars: Yes, sometimes I punched people. In my defense, it was usually an accident... that does not mean I didn't find it hysterical.
Moon: I'm going to an open a bar CALLED "The Customer is Always Wrong."
Stars: I would go there every day because I am always wrong.
Moon: And I will hire you and their first exposure to the place will be you punching them at the door.
Stars: There's actually a bar in Asia where you can beat the holy hell out of the employees. This would be like that in reverse. It would get press.
Moon: I love that you know that. In any event, stars had been getting into several altercations-via-text a week with one of our managers. And he was losing them all.
Stars: Which I find laughable as the boss should never lose an argument, unless they were born without a pair. Is that too mean? Don't answer because I don't care.
Moon: You never care. In any event, they'd been kind of dicking stars around, giving her shifts, taking them back. And well... me... I have no defense. I just have no regard for rules whatsoever. We're not allowed to drink at work. I like to drink. You can see the incumbent conundrum.
Stars: Hey I found the link! http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/china/2006-08/07/content_658196.htm
Moon: You would.
Stars: No, I don't ever care nor did they give me a reason to change my usual behavior. On top of being jerked around for shifts, they also had me come in for unpaid bartending training only to inform me afterward that there were no available shifts. I don't like wasting my time nearly as much as moon likes drinking.
Moon: And I not as much as you. (That's completely extraneous for the story but felt it necessary to use that ridiculous sentence structure 'cause it's funny.)
Stars: I approve of inserting any inane sentence structure at any given moment. Approved.
Moon: Thank you for approval. Not that I care. So, getting back to what happened... a couple of months ago I got a REAL job (don't yell at me, bartenders) using my degree (Political Science) and stuck it out with the bartending for a bit to put a bit of a dent in my accrued college debt. This weekend, I decided I was far too burnt out and "over it," so I put up on Facebook that everyone should come visit me because it'd be one of my last bartending shifts. My manager saw this and pleaded with me to not quit because "everyone loves you" and offered me any shift I wanted, etc. (This is important because [well, I guess you already know due to the title of this] of what ended up happening.) But I essentially gave my "two weeks' notice." Stars, how did you handle giving in your two weeks'?
Stars: Unfortunately, in the case of dueling "notices," the Facebook status update ends up being the classier one.
Moon: Eh... what're ya gonna do?
Stars: This past weekend, I was relegated back to checking IDs after my oh-so-awesome promotion to checking coats. I know, I know, hold your applause. The bouncer I was working with was one I didn't know and a total dick from hell, let's not mince words. He seemed to want to instruct my every move, despite the fact that no one has ever needed a degree in ID Checking. I, of course, complained. My manager begged me to let him think that. I got upset and said I would do no such thing and he could consider this my notice.
Moon: So, while that was going on, I was pretty busy getting HAMMERED and hanging out with my friends... oh yes, that's right about 25 of my (our, actually) friends came in that night to celebrate our friend, Mike's, birthday. So not only was I drinking, and drinking boldly, but I was drinking on camera. And doing a lot of it. And taking a lot of breaks to give relationship counseling to (I swear to God) multiple friends.
Stars: Yes, you did have your hands full that night. I, on the other hand, was trapped in the hallway, missing my friend, Mike's, birthday despite having asked for the night off to enjoy my friend's day.
Moon: So... stars, you're really going to have to take it from here for a little while, because most of the rest of the night is a bit blurry for me. Thanks, Patron. ... and Jagermeister. ... and Jameson. Good ol' Jame-o.
Stars: Well, in all fairness, my sobriety was out the window pretty early on. But long story short, I quit more than once, then was offered moon's Saturday night "money making" shift if I would agree to stay.
Moon: "Money making." (Wry laugh.)
Stars: Seriously. Our post on the economy (raging out at... the economy) was written a day after pulling in cash during one of these big money shifts.
Moon: Touché.
Stars: Regardless, the night ended, though filled with animosity, with both moon and I both having been begged to stay and being promised all kinds of excess if we would not abandon the bar.
Stars: And with both of us having stood firm on our 2 weeks' notices.
Moon: N.B.: I walked out with less than a hundred dollars.
Stars: On a Saturday night?
Moon: On a Satur-goddamned-day night.
Stars: That's pathetic.
Moon: So, on Monday morning, while I was at work, I got a text from a friend who also happens to be one of the managers (however not the aforementioned manger with whom stars was waging war) saying essentially that I'd been FIRED due to drinking at work. FIRED. I'm sorry, but the whole "you can't fire me... I quit" aphorism? Yeah, like, that actually HAPPENED. I immediately shared this news with stars who thought, as did I, it to be the most hilarious thing that had ever happened. Especially because I had acted in no way different on that night than I had for the last seven months and by that I mean, well, ok, umm, I guess, err, I may have a mild drinking problem.
Stars: Ha! Yes, this is a point I hadn't thought of before. Despite our terrible behavior, it was no worse than anything we had done prior. I would even say, without revealing any more, that there were even certain horrible activities that I often partake in that I did not do this past weekend.
Moon: So, no one even technically "fired" me. I had to BBM (Blackberry Messenger message) my "manager" and I swear to the HOLY HEAVENS this is how the conversation went:
--
Moon: Hey, so should we get on with this?
Manager: ?
[Seriously with the question mark? C'mon.]
Moon: Aren't you supposed to, like, "fire" me?
Manager: Lol I kindof am, but I guess you already know that :)
[Seriously? A smiley face?]
--
This was all after he called you, though, no, stars?
Stars: Unbelievable. Yes, it was. The "manager" and I had a talk that went something like this:
--
Stars: Hey "manager," you called? What do you want?
Manager: Just want to let you know we are not going to be doing your shifts this week.
Stars: Great, so I am fired. Fabulous. When can I get my money?
--
I basically had to fire myself.
Moon: I got a good ol' "well, your shifts are covered from now on." I even said "DON'T YOU HAVE TO FIRE ME OR SOMETHING?" Nothing. ANNNNNND I'd already quit. You. CAN. NOT. make. this. shit. up.
Stars: I don't even think my wild imagination could have invented this. I was also told they were unhappy with "some other stuff." No mention of what said stuff was, just... stuff.
Moon: So, in conclusion... I quit and then I got fired. Is that a good summation of what happened to you? ... ON THE SAME DAY? ... FROM THE SAME PLACE?
Stars: Yep, that paragraph can be quoted VERBATIM for me. What the hell is wrong with these people?
Moon: It can't be us. We are way too awesome.
This is a picture of us from that very night with a caption (via stars) about how no one dares to say a word to us:
-moon/stars
3.10.2009
grievance: people not being able to handle daylight savings time
This is not going to be long, but it's been a full 24 hours since I became annoyed/upset by this and I'm still annoyed/upset by this. Yesterday I received an absolute INFLUX of friends messaging me about how they were "wah, so tired," and annoyed that they'd lost an hour of sleep due to setting the clocks an hour forward.
I bartended Saturday night and THAT is in fact when the clocks were turned forward. I lost an hour of work, so I know. And I also work during the days Monday-Friday, so I'm also concerned with my circadian rhythm. But I'm sorry... D.S.T. has been observed for as long as... well, I don't know, but I'm sure you can "wikipedia" it. And it IS what it freakin' IS.
The reason I'm so annoyed is because it's one hour of sleep. One night. And it's not even on Sunday night. It's technically on Saturday night/Sunday morning. So while you may be a little disconbobulated on Sunday day, there's no way that you're actually losing an hour of sleep on Sunday night. And the reason it's so abhorrent that people complain about this is because having it get dark at night at 5:00 pm is INCREDIBLY depressing. Leaving your office and not being able to see daylight is not good for the soul. It's one of the things that makes winter so damned depressing.
When this starts, it's also the sign the spring and summer are coming. And that is so WONDERFUL. Especially with the depressive states everyone has been in all year due to economic recession/depression/awfulness. Are people so far gone into depression land that they can't just deal with one hour's loss? So annoying. Be an adult, crybabies. Unless it's "your party." Then you can "cry if [you] want to." Ahhh... the 80s.
-moon
P.S. To all my friends who complained to me: if you read this, I don't care if you're offended. At all.
I bartended Saturday night and THAT is in fact when the clocks were turned forward. I lost an hour of work, so I know. And I also work during the days Monday-Friday, so I'm also concerned with my circadian rhythm. But I'm sorry... D.S.T. has been observed for as long as... well, I don't know, but I'm sure you can "wikipedia" it. And it IS what it freakin' IS.
The reason I'm so annoyed is because it's one hour of sleep. One night. And it's not even on Sunday night. It's technically on Saturday night/Sunday morning. So while you may be a little disconbobulated on Sunday day, there's no way that you're actually losing an hour of sleep on Sunday night. And the reason it's so abhorrent that people complain about this is because having it get dark at night at 5:00 pm is INCREDIBLY depressing. Leaving your office and not being able to see daylight is not good for the soul. It's one of the things that makes winter so damned depressing.
When this starts, it's also the sign the spring and summer are coming. And that is so WONDERFUL. Especially with the depressive states everyone has been in all year due to economic recession/depression/awfulness. Are people so far gone into depression land that they can't just deal with one hour's loss? So annoying. Be an adult, crybabies. Unless it's "your party." Then you can "cry if [you] want to." Ahhh... the 80s.
-moon
P.S. To all my friends who complained to me: if you read this, I don't care if you're offended. At all.
11.28.2008
grievance: 2008
What the fuck is going on with 2008? Not one fucking person I speak to claims to have had a "kickass" year by any value scale. Everyone's year seems to be plagued with job quitting, firings, hellacious break-ups, family sicknesses and deaths, financial problems, quarter- and mid-life crises and a general, lingering malaise. So, I'd like to know... what the FUCK is going on?
Okay... so we're in a recession. Well.. I'd say depression. Nonetheless, there is no way that that can procure ALL of the horrendous things that have happened. Really, that only explains the economic hardship in which some of us have been soaked.
Why is everyone I know fucking miserable? I mean, methinks I need not explain my own ennui as I have entire BLOG solely for the purpose of bitching things out: it's pretty clear that I'm pretty irritable and irritated. But I, myself, have been touched by essentially all of the tribulations I formerly enumerated.
I can't even have fucking fun anymore. "Hey friend whose face I have not seen in a year! How are you? Let's meet up for cocktails and a night of fun!" Yeah... that never happens. Instead, I end up in my apartment with a bottle of vino "bitching one out" as I so eloquently put it. Gosh! I remember the good ol' days of one of my friends having one problem and inviting them over to do that. But now it's like, ALL of my friends and the conversation's not just topic-dependent. One horrific turmoil segues to another without so much as a blink of an eye.
And oftentimes there's crying. A lot.
I hate to be so morose, but I just think it ought to be addressed at the advent of the end of the year. Even the holidays... I look at my Facebook status updates and it's all like "Magellan is Fuck off turkeys! I hope you die in hell!" "Christopher Columbus is I hate holidays!" "Amerigo Vespucci is I'd rather eat my own arm and swallow a bottle of aspirin and vodka than spend time with my family!" (I insisted on using random explorers' names so I wouldn't incriminate any of my friends to their sheer misery but felt it necessary to include the inanity of the "is" in status updates.)
My only hope is that in reading this blog, some of you saturnine messes will embrace the feeling of a synergy with all the other miserable people in the world. Smile! You are not alone! Here's to 2009 being just as horrific.
-moon
Okay... so we're in a recession. Well.. I'd say depression. Nonetheless, there is no way that that can procure ALL of the horrendous things that have happened. Really, that only explains the economic hardship in which some of us have been soaked.
Why is everyone I know fucking miserable? I mean, methinks I need not explain my own ennui as I have entire BLOG solely for the purpose of bitching things out: it's pretty clear that I'm pretty irritable and irritated. But I, myself, have been touched by essentially all of the tribulations I formerly enumerated.
I can't even have fucking fun anymore. "Hey friend whose face I have not seen in a year! How are you? Let's meet up for cocktails and a night of fun!" Yeah... that never happens. Instead, I end up in my apartment with a bottle of vino "bitching one out" as I so eloquently put it. Gosh! I remember the good ol' days of one of my friends having one problem and inviting them over to do that. But now it's like, ALL of my friends and the conversation's not just topic-dependent. One horrific turmoil segues to another without so much as a blink of an eye.
And oftentimes there's crying. A lot.
I hate to be so morose, but I just think it ought to be addressed at the advent of the end of the year. Even the holidays... I look at my Facebook status updates and it's all like "Magellan is Fuck off turkeys! I hope you die in hell!" "Christopher Columbus is I hate holidays!" "Amerigo Vespucci is I'd rather eat my own arm and swallow a bottle of aspirin and vodka than spend time with my family!" (I insisted on using random explorers' names so I wouldn't incriminate any of my friends to their sheer misery but felt it necessary to include the inanity of the "is" in status updates.)
My only hope is that in reading this blog, some of you saturnine messes will embrace the feeling of a synergy with all the other miserable people in the world. Smile! You are not alone! Here's to 2009 being just as horrific.
-moon
7.21.2008
grievance: ass-biting
I feel like this is probably something that would happen to Stars... or maybe even that Stars would do... but for what it's worth, when this happened, Stars was present. I'm assuming that her being there is the reason that this happened. It must be.
After a lovely dinner and a few pitchers of margaritas, Stars and I ventured to a bar on the Lower East Side, for the purposes of getting (more) hammered and playing Skee-Ball, because really, who doesn't love a good game of drunk Skee-Ball?
After securing BOTH of the two lanes and getting some cocktails, our drunk asses (I'd like to shout out the bartender at MaryAnn's for making the bad judgment call to think Stars and I to be good candidates for free shots) decided to have a Skee-Ball competition:
Moon: What's your best Skee-Ball score of all time?
Stars: I don't know... Probably perfect, I would imagine.
Okay, so that quotation has little-to-no significance for this story. Nothing to do with the story actually. Nothing at all. It was just funny. But what does have to do with the story which I've failed to mention is that I'd decided to wear some pretty ridiculous "pants" that evening (the word pants being in quotations because they look like they're painted on):
Thanks, Stars, by the way, for being too lazy to upload photos from a couple of months ago, so I have to pull a picture of some random bitch off of American Apparel's website. You're lucky you had a funny moment that night so I'm not so mad at you.
In any event, back to Stars and my Olivia-Newton-John-At-The-End-Of-Grease-looking self at this bar, "tell me about it, stud." I'm very intensely competing with Stars in Skee-Ball, when my ass gets slapped. I turn around and see a gentleman (a.k.a. douchebag) and ask him if he had, in fact, slapped my ass. He said "your friend made me do it," which is, let's call a spade a spade, something which I (or any reasonable person) would believe could be true of Stars. So I snarled and continued my game.
A few moments later, all of a sudden, I feel teeth on my ass.
TEETH ON MY ASS.
"I'm sorry... what did you just say?"
TEETH ON MY FUCKING ASS.
So I turn around and ask this fine, young chap if he had, in fact, BITTEN MY ASS. His response? "It had to be done." Okay... what? WHAT! I don't even know what kind of a defense that is supposed to be. I looked at him, looked at his friend, looked at Stars and then said "ummm, no it really didn't."
So, for the first time in my entire life, I went to the bouncer and actually had someone ejected from a bar. The only problem was that by the time I had explained (several times, because the concept of a stranger biting me on the ass was so outlandish that it didn't really get through to the bouncer) what had happened and brought the bouncer back to the Skee-Ball area to get him, I'd entirely forgotten what the douchebag looked like. Thank goodness for Stars who pointed him out. As a result of the whole ordeal, we got more free shots. Never a good idea.
When I asked Stars later if she had in fact told the young man to slap me on the ass, like he'd said she'd done, she said "fuck no! I told him to give you money for Skee-Ball."
I think it's pretty safe to say the message of this post is "if you're NOT already biting people on the ass in bars, keep doin' what you're doing. If you are... ummmmmmm... uhhhhhhh... you should probably be locked in a room forever."
-moon
After a lovely dinner and a few pitchers of margaritas, Stars and I ventured to a bar on the Lower East Side, for the purposes of getting (more) hammered and playing Skee-Ball, because really, who doesn't love a good game of drunk Skee-Ball?
After securing BOTH of the two lanes and getting some cocktails, our drunk asses (I'd like to shout out the bartender at MaryAnn's for making the bad judgment call to think Stars and I to be good candidates for free shots) decided to have a Skee-Ball competition:
Moon: What's your best Skee-Ball score of all time?
Stars: I don't know... Probably perfect, I would imagine.
Okay, so that quotation has little-to-no significance for this story. Nothing to do with the story actually. Nothing at all. It was just funny. But what does have to do with the story which I've failed to mention is that I'd decided to wear some pretty ridiculous "pants" that evening (the word pants being in quotations because they look like they're painted on):
Thanks, Stars, by the way, for being too lazy to upload photos from a couple of months ago, so I have to pull a picture of some random bitch off of American Apparel's website. You're lucky you had a funny moment that night so I'm not so mad at you.In any event, back to Stars and my Olivia-Newton-John-At-The-End-Of-Grease-looking self at this bar, "tell me about it, stud." I'm very intensely competing with Stars in Skee-Ball, when my ass gets slapped. I turn around and see a gentleman (a.k.a. douchebag) and ask him if he had, in fact, slapped my ass. He said "your friend made me do it," which is, let's call a spade a spade, something which I (or any reasonable person) would believe could be true of Stars. So I snarled and continued my game.
A few moments later, all of a sudden, I feel teeth on my ass.
TEETH ON MY ASS.
"I'm sorry... what did you just say?"
TEETH ON MY FUCKING ASS.
So I turn around and ask this fine, young chap if he had, in fact, BITTEN MY ASS. His response? "It had to be done." Okay... what? WHAT! I don't even know what kind of a defense that is supposed to be. I looked at him, looked at his friend, looked at Stars and then said "ummm, no it really didn't."
So, for the first time in my entire life, I went to the bouncer and actually had someone ejected from a bar. The only problem was that by the time I had explained (several times, because the concept of a stranger biting me on the ass was so outlandish that it didn't really get through to the bouncer) what had happened and brought the bouncer back to the Skee-Ball area to get him, I'd entirely forgotten what the douchebag looked like. Thank goodness for Stars who pointed him out. As a result of the whole ordeal, we got more free shots. Never a good idea.
When I asked Stars later if she had in fact told the young man to slap me on the ass, like he'd said she'd done, she said "fuck no! I told him to give you money for Skee-Ball."
I think it's pretty safe to say the message of this post is "if you're NOT already biting people on the ass in bars, keep doin' what you're doing. If you are... ummmmmmm... uhhhhhhh... you should probably be locked in a room forever."
-moon
2.02.2008
grievance: "things" disappearing into a technological abyss
I've never been one to hate on technology (Stars' domain). Nor have I ever been one to write blogs that are spurred by a hatred of something without the purpose of addressing it. This is solely me "bitching one out" because I am irrationally angry at two devices.
Okay... let me begin with the one that was completely NOT my fault (because let's face it... I am indirectly responsible for one of these):
1. My BlackBerry is an asshole. I kept getting messages that wouldn't disappear saying that I have a BlackBerry Messenger (hereto referred to as "BBM [I'm so cool]) message.") So, instead of wiping the entire device, I decided to remove BBM. Lo and behold, when trying to reinstall it, I got messages saying that my device didn't support this conduit for installation. The douchebags at the Verizon store said I had to do a hard restart, and had to back up all my shit, but would lose all of my messages... so I've been putting it off, because I had e-mails, texts, etc. that contained information I needed to record.
Then, when I'd finally found the time to do that, I tried to actually sync it back (contacts, calendar, what have you). My computer decided it didn't recognize the stupid ShitBerry. So I MANUALLY updated everything back to my computer. Yeah... 'cause I have TIME for that. (Rolls eyes.) But still hadn't extracted any kind of information from the texts, e-mails, etc.
Then, the piece of shit decided one night to just delete all my messages. Great. And then consistently did that every night... and then last night... every SINGLE time I'd sent or received a message.
So... I texted one of my very good friends on Tuesday inquiring about her birthday plans on Thursday, to which there was no response. Then I called her Thursday morning. Then an irate MySpace message regarding her non-response. Then at 1:30AM on Thursday night, I received a phone call from a mutual friend who was with her, "where the FUCK are you?" Apparently she'd texted me with ALL of the information the night before and was expecting I'd be there. Awesome. Really. Awesome.
Oh... and all that time I spent (read: fucking WASTED) manually putting shit back on my computer... was entirely futile because...
2. My MacBook is a douchebag. (Well... okay... more like I'm a douchebag.) I spilled WINE on my MacBook... AGAIN... for the SECOND TIME... in TWO MONTHS. The first time "she" in some ways rehabilitated herself and was use-able. But this time... done. So I was depending on my PictureTrail to get my photos back... and my motherfucking asshole iPod for my music. Turns out, the asshole decided that about 2000 of my 10000 songs were corrupt and while their titles showed up, there was no MP3 to extract. And it's not as if there was ANY rhyme or reason for the target of said corruption. It wasn't a whole album here or a whole folder there. No. It was arbitrarily chosen songs from all over my library.
So after throwing down some cash for some recovery program or some crap (which crashed every 10 minutes, which was AWESOME) I got back most of my stuff. But turns out... a lot of the recovered files are PORTIONS of songs. What the hell am I supposed to do with THAT? They're also named "106, 107, 108," etc. So... this has been really fun and totally awesome.
This was also after spending about a month trying to reconstruct my playlists FROM the physical lists on my iPod manually because my other MacBook (that shit the bed) decided one day to delete my iTunes library.
In a last attempt to get back full goddamned files... I went back to an external hard drive that had been created from the hard drive from my PC (which lit into flames before it froze and died) which had been working JUST fine for a year and a half. Suddenly, it's decided that it will only allow me to drag ONE folder (if that) to my computer before it freezes and makes whirly, eddy-like noises.
So... essentially... trying to contact me is completely and utterly unreliable and my iTunes gives me a seizure just looking at it:
Anyone know whom "��w7o�w0o�w____��_00C - ��w7o�w0o�w____��_00C - 17152 - ��w7o�w0o�w____��_00C 1" is by? Oh... I didn't know that was the OTHER name for two minutes and twenty-one seconds of "Found Out About You" by The Gin Blossoms. Terrific.
(Side inquiry: what about this file made iTunes think it should be genre-d as "Blues"?) Hmmmmmm. You puzzle me so, iTunes. You enigma, you.
-moon
Okay... let me begin with the one that was completely NOT my fault (because let's face it... I am indirectly responsible for one of these):
1. My BlackBerry is an asshole. I kept getting messages that wouldn't disappear saying that I have a BlackBerry Messenger (hereto referred to as "BBM [I'm so cool]) message.") So, instead of wiping the entire device, I decided to remove BBM. Lo and behold, when trying to reinstall it, I got messages saying that my device didn't support this conduit for installation. The douchebags at the Verizon store said I had to do a hard restart, and had to back up all my shit, but would lose all of my messages... so I've been putting it off, because I had e-mails, texts, etc. that contained information I needed to record.
Then, when I'd finally found the time to do that, I tried to actually sync it back (contacts, calendar, what have you). My computer decided it didn't recognize the stupid ShitBerry. So I MANUALLY updated everything back to my computer. Yeah... 'cause I have TIME for that. (Rolls eyes.) But still hadn't extracted any kind of information from the texts, e-mails, etc.
Then, the piece of shit decided one night to just delete all my messages. Great. And then consistently did that every night... and then last night... every SINGLE time I'd sent or received a message.
So... I texted one of my very good friends on Tuesday inquiring about her birthday plans on Thursday, to which there was no response. Then I called her Thursday morning. Then an irate MySpace message regarding her non-response. Then at 1:30AM on Thursday night, I received a phone call from a mutual friend who was with her, "where the FUCK are you?" Apparently she'd texted me with ALL of the information the night before and was expecting I'd be there. Awesome. Really. Awesome.
Oh... and all that time I spent (read: fucking WASTED) manually putting shit back on my computer... was entirely futile because...
2. My MacBook is a douchebag. (Well... okay... more like I'm a douchebag.) I spilled WINE on my MacBook... AGAIN... for the SECOND TIME... in TWO MONTHS. The first time "she" in some ways rehabilitated herself and was use-able. But this time... done. So I was depending on my PictureTrail to get my photos back... and my motherfucking asshole iPod for my music. Turns out, the asshole decided that about 2000 of my 10000 songs were corrupt and while their titles showed up, there was no MP3 to extract. And it's not as if there was ANY rhyme or reason for the target of said corruption. It wasn't a whole album here or a whole folder there. No. It was arbitrarily chosen songs from all over my library.
So after throwing down some cash for some recovery program or some crap (which crashed every 10 minutes, which was AWESOME) I got back most of my stuff. But turns out... a lot of the recovered files are PORTIONS of songs. What the hell am I supposed to do with THAT? They're also named "106, 107, 108," etc. So... this has been really fun and totally awesome.
This was also after spending about a month trying to reconstruct my playlists FROM the physical lists on my iPod manually because my other MacBook (that shit the bed) decided one day to delete my iTunes library.
In a last attempt to get back full goddamned files... I went back to an external hard drive that had been created from the hard drive from my PC (which lit into flames before it froze and died) which had been working JUST fine for a year and a half. Suddenly, it's decided that it will only allow me to drag ONE folder (if that) to my computer before it freezes and makes whirly, eddy-like noises.
So... essentially... trying to contact me is completely and utterly unreliable and my iTunes gives me a seizure just looking at it:
Anyone know whom "��w7o�w0o�w____��_00C - ��w7o�w0o�w____��_00C - 17152 - ��w7o�w0o�w____��_00C 1" is by? Oh... I didn't know that was the OTHER name for two minutes and twenty-one seconds of "Found Out About You" by The Gin Blossoms. Terrific.
(Side inquiry: what about this file made iTunes think it should be genre-d as "Blues"?) Hmmmmmm. You puzzle me so, iTunes. You enigma, you.
-moon
1.11.2008
raging out at... being taped to a couch during a shootout
No, that wasn't a typo. Last night I was actually covered in stickers and packing-taped to a couch while a shootout went down outside. Before the two people who love me freak out, I should clarify that one event had nothing to do with the other.
I should rewind... and also state that my memory is dim on these events so I will be presenting the story from three different sources.
Last night I was exhausted from a long week of "working hard" and "leading prayer groups," so I elected to head over to my local "Ginger"'s house and watch Arrested Development. My usual two large green goblets of wine later, I was fast asleep on Ginger's couch with a party going on around me. The next thing I remember is waking up unable to move, taped to a couch. So allow me to bring in my two very reliable (and terrible) friends to finish this post for me:
"Jen": You took me to new levels last night. New levels of appreciation. You have no idea how many one-liners you had last night.
Stars: Did I? I don't even know what I said half the time.
"Jen": When we were taping you, you kept moving and that would be so loud we would all stop, let you settle. Well, you woke up and you were like "MMM... I SEE WHAT'S GOING ON HERE... I'M JUST NOT DOING ANYTHING UNTIL THE MORNING." I DIED LAUGHING.
Stars: "Jen" just told me I woke up during the taping.
“Ginger”: You don't remember that?? You said, "I don't care... I'll deal with this in the morning."
Stars: I have zero memory of that. I'm an idiot even when I'm a zombie.
“Ginger”: Do you remember me cutting off the shit? I woke up to you moaning you were covered in blood. I was like "oh shit." Then I kept trying not to laugh, but the evil in me kept pulling the stickers on your skin, and you were like "OH GOD NO."
Stars: I just remember being like "put them on my clothes. Keep them off my skin. I'm bleeding,"
“Ginger”: And then you were like "eh, at least it's not loud anymore," when I had taken off a lot. Oh yeah... and you missed a shooting.
Stars: I miss everything when I pass out! There is no waking me up when I don't want to be.
“Ginger”: I can't believe you missed the shooting.
Stars: What happened??
“Ginger”: There was a shootout right outside. And we walked into it. And got yelled at to stay back. But we didn't stay back. I just wanted to make eye contact with the perp.
Stars: Did you do it??
“Ginger”: I might've been the perp. Just saying. There were shots between "the perp" and the cops I believe.
Stars: Did anyone emerge victorious?
“Ginger”: You didn't get shot did you? I'd say that's victorious.
Stars: You ran TO a shootout. I was safer taped to the couch. So you guys are really good friends. And I thank you.
“Ginger”: You do owe me a big thank you for that. We went through a shootout and then made it in time for last call.
Stars: You went to a bar after the shootout while I was taped to a couch??
“Ginger”: Yes. Fiesta and East/West.
Stars: I'm in love with you all.
“Ginger”: Two bars.
So, to summarize: I don't even know what to say. I'm bruised and bloody. Ginger and Jen are hungover. I need No-Doz whenever I am not alone. Oh, and my friends are a-holes.
-stars
I should rewind... and also state that my memory is dim on these events so I will be presenting the story from three different sources.
Last night I was exhausted from a long week of "working hard" and "leading prayer groups," so I elected to head over to my local "Ginger"'s house and watch Arrested Development. My usual two large green goblets of wine later, I was fast asleep on Ginger's couch with a party going on around me. The next thing I remember is waking up unable to move, taped to a couch. So allow me to bring in my two very reliable (and terrible) friends to finish this post for me:
"Jen": You took me to new levels last night. New levels of appreciation. You have no idea how many one-liners you had last night.
Stars: Did I? I don't even know what I said half the time.
"Jen": When we were taping you, you kept moving and that would be so loud we would all stop, let you settle. Well, you woke up and you were like "MMM... I SEE WHAT'S GOING ON HERE... I'M JUST NOT DOING ANYTHING UNTIL THE MORNING." I DIED LAUGHING.
Stars: "Jen" just told me I woke up during the taping.
“Ginger”: You don't remember that?? You said, "I don't care... I'll deal with this in the morning."
Stars: I have zero memory of that. I'm an idiot even when I'm a zombie.
“Ginger”: Do you remember me cutting off the shit? I woke up to you moaning you were covered in blood. I was like "oh shit." Then I kept trying not to laugh, but the evil in me kept pulling the stickers on your skin, and you were like "OH GOD NO."
Stars: I just remember being like "put them on my clothes. Keep them off my skin. I'm bleeding,"
“Ginger”: And then you were like "eh, at least it's not loud anymore," when I had taken off a lot. Oh yeah... and you missed a shooting.
Stars: I miss everything when I pass out! There is no waking me up when I don't want to be.
“Ginger”: I can't believe you missed the shooting.
Stars: What happened??
“Ginger”: There was a shootout right outside. And we walked into it. And got yelled at to stay back. But we didn't stay back. I just wanted to make eye contact with the perp.
Stars: Did you do it??
“Ginger”: I might've been the perp. Just saying. There were shots between "the perp" and the cops I believe.
Stars: Did anyone emerge victorious?
“Ginger”: You didn't get shot did you? I'd say that's victorious.
Stars: You ran TO a shootout. I was safer taped to the couch. So you guys are really good friends. And I thank you.
“Ginger”: You do owe me a big thank you for that. We went through a shootout and then made it in time for last call.
Stars: You went to a bar after the shootout while I was taped to a couch??
“Ginger”: Yes. Fiesta and East/West.
Stars: I'm in love with you all.
“Ginger”: Two bars.
So, to summarize: I don't even know what to say. I'm bruised and bloody. Ginger and Jen are hungover. I need No-Doz whenever I am not alone. Oh, and my friends are a-holes.
-stars
12.24.2007
grievance: friends and hardware
One-Question Survey:
Is it acceptable to have friends who call you at 4:15 A.M., to tell you that they are stuck on a Manhattan rooftop?
See "raging out at... unacceptable locking doors."
-moon
Is it acceptable to have friends who call you at 4:15 A.M., to tell you that they are stuck on a Manhattan rooftop?
See "raging out at... unacceptable locking doors."
-moon
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