Oh

And just in case you were wondering, the answer to your question is "yes," if your question is, in fact, "Did SlackerP kill all the other posters on this site so she could dominate the board with her surprisingly bitter observations?"

R.I.P. E3B, StrandedP, and fbomb. Sorry to have used a spatula, but it just seemed funny at the time.

Does Your Week Sound Like This?

MONDAY: "How am I doing? Well, it's Monday...*sigh*"

TUESDAY: "At least it's not Monday."

WEDNESDAY: "Mid-week! Hump day! Just gotta get through today!"

THURSDAY: "Almost there to the big F-day!"

FRIDAY: "Thank God it's Friday, huh?"

I think my goal in my professional life will be to find a job that doesn't require me to have this, or any version of this, conversation with anyone anymore. Impossible dream? Perhaps. But it's either that or gouge out my eyeballs using a spork.

Adventures in Advertising

In order to raise money for Running Strong for Indian Youth, the marathon charity that got me into the race, I've been trying to get creative. Since I can't exactly have a bake sale in the middle of Chinatown, I have been forced to think of other angles. I did the obligatory group email but, of course, most of my friends are in similar financial situations to myself [read: broke ass poor]. So today I decided to try posting on Craigslist in the community section, politely asking people to donate for a good cause.

So far, I've received one response.
"Subject: Face $it
Hi I am very interested, can u please get back with some infor, and tell me how u look, is it your b/f or husband who is going to get sat on? Please get back, I am ready now."

Took me a couple reads, but I think that my post about supporting a cause that helps tribes become more self-sufficient is actually code for "Pay me money and I'll sit on a guy's face."

I've got nothing against sitting on faces, provided there is no suffocation or muskrats involved. But who knew there was a market for this kind of thing? Correct me if I'm wrong, but it sounds like this person (we'll name her "Laura") is willing to hand over cold hard cash to watch me sit on my significant other's face (is the price more for the husband or for the "b/f," I wonder?). And not only will she pay me, but she doesn't even need to be convinced- she is "ready now."

Wow.

All this time, I was looking for money-making opportunities in the so-called "legitimate" fields while I was unknowingly sitting on a gold mine.

Chick [Sh]it

A co-worker lent me a book that she thought I would like called "The Perfect Manhattan." It's about a girl who graduates college and decides to bartend in NYC while waiting for her writing career to take off. "I know you don't like chick lit," she said "But you'll like this."

I hate chick lit. I hate the pink flowy poorly written books that focus on relationships and fashion as the center of the universe. I tried to read a chick lit book in college called Mr. Maybe. A friend lent it to me, saying it would "speak to me." It did speak to me - in a grating, high-register, sorority voice that said "like" and "omigod" every other word. I couldn't even get past chapter one.

For some reason, this kind of drivel pisses me off to a nearly irrational level. Is there a market for this kind of thing? Most of the women I know are intelligent and enjoy books with actual plots and craft. Who is buying these crap fests?

Here's an example of a passage from this latest Estrogen Stereotyping Du Jour:
"'Love your lip gloss, cutie pie...It's Nars Baby Doll, isn't it?'...'And your bronzer!' the other man exclaimed, bubbling with excitement. 'Don't tell me - Laura Mercier! I love her products. You know what they say, bronzer's all fun and games until you look like you've been hit in the head with a pumpkin!'"

Has anyone ever had a conversation like this? Ever? And with a guy? I never have and I have a fair amount of gay friends.

Or try this:
"The other line looked like the typical Spark clientele: girls in Jimmy Choo stilettos, short Chip and Pepper skirts, and brightly colored Dior tanks, guys in the standard male uniform of Hickey Freeman or Ascot Chang button-downs rolled 'casually' to the sleeves, and Cole Haan or Gucci loafers."

What? Who gives a shit? And this isn't an anomaly. In the first 10 pages, she drops the brand name of clothes or shoes 4 times. Think about that. I don't care that your shoes are Dolce and Gabbana and that your jeans are Citizens for Humanity. What type of audience does? Does this mean something to someone?

Let's not even get into the ridiculous proposition that a girl who bartends out of college can afford designer clothes, an apartment in the West Village, and yoga classes. Where is *this* Manhattan? I want to live there.

As far as I can tell, the plot is about working at a bar and then working for a summer in the Hamptons. And there are boys or something. The authors (yes, plural. It took more than one person to create a pile of shit this deep) were bartenders at a Manhattan bar called Oneils - which is obviously the bar they are basing their fictional "Finton's" joint on (they even give the same address and interior details) - and at a place in the Hamptons. Whoa! What range! But it's not autobiographical. Oh no. I'm sure the hair products are different.

I just cannot fathom that someone would write this crap, get it published, and get read by anyone. But someone must be buying these books. And as long as people pay for it, then publishers will continue to think that this is the shit that all women care about.

26.2 Craziness

In 2003, I ran the Chicago Marathon. E3B affectionately refers to it as the Marathon of Vengeance, because my motivation for training, and running, was an asshole ex-boyfriend. He was a marathon runner, and once told me that I would probably never be able to run a marathon because I didn't have a "runner's build." So after we broke up, I decided a better use of my time than crying my eyes out and listening to emo rock was to train.

Though it certainly was difficult at times (like, say, when two of my toenails fell off), the training instilled in me a real love of running, and an intimate knowledge of Central Park. In October of that year, I joined 40,000 other runners on a warm day in Chicago, and I did what I had long thought impossible - I consumed my weight in Gatorade. I also crossed the finish line at 3:59:06, which is technically less than four hours (in the same way a tomato is technically a fruit).

This year, my friend and I have decided to run the Marine Corps Marathon in DC on October 30 with the Running Strong for Indian Youth team. So training begins again. To make my transition from recreational runner to marathoner easier, God has decided to slam NYC with another oppressive heatwave and kill the air conditioning and water supply at my Ghetto Gym. He also had a conversation with the guy who likes to run on the treadmill next to me about the evils of deoderant on one's gentle underarms.

So training is going awesomely! Thanks for asking!

Provided I don't die from some sort of random heat related ailment or from my kneecaps spontaneously combusting, I'll provide occasional updates to Penguins about my progress. I will try to remember that the average person doesn't find posts on bleeding nipples and running-related intestinal distress that compelling, and thus keep it short.

In the meantime, if you feel like taking some beer money and throwing it towards some great programs, please donate to my fundraising page. I, and my blisters, thank you for your support.

North Country Visit

Pic 020
Originally uploaded by E3B.

As of last Wednesday, I’m no longer a paralegal. It feels pretty good for the most part, although I wish I could get paid to do nothing at home the same way I did at work for the last six weeks. I'm moving to DC on 8/13, so I have a lot of packing to do, but I made time this weekend for a big visit to the residence(s) of my best friend from college, aka billy d. blogger.

The above picture of the hanging moose (notice the feet coming out of the ceiling) is from one of my favorite bars in his area – I think it’s called the Pine Tree. One reason I like the place is that they used to have this little, umm, we'll call him eccentric, bartender named Walter. He was always worth a good laugh, but got fired recently when some cash came up missing from the register, possibly to feed his coke habit. It is my sincere hope that Walter gets back on the wagon and is employed up there in time for billy’s wedding in the fall of 2006.

Moving on, this is the itinerary billy left me in the comments section. With the exception of the two shots of Jager in the truck (I try to observe open container laws for some reason) and the “possible nap” from 11:30 – 4 (guess what we did instead), we were pretty faithful to his agenda.

For a small taste of the weekend, we’ll have a little trivia: which of the following vehicles did I drive during my trip?

A)

Pic 002
Originally uploaded by E3B.

B)

Pic 005
Originally uploaded by E3B.

C)

Pic 046
Originally uploaded by E3B.

D) All of the above.

If you selected D) All of the above, and are a resident of New York State outside the 5 boroughs, you just won an invite to billy's wedding. As far as I can tell, the rest of the State is invited anyway.