On This Week's Episode...

Hey-o! First things first, I have an update to share with you that I think you may find educational: Tastycake man is allergic to water. I know, right? Here's how I found out: I way down to the halls o' just-ice to deliver my very important packages and on the way back I swung by c-town to get my pastry fix--familiar story, no? Except this time is was raining and tastycakerbaker was nowhere to be seen. The only logical deduction is that rain + tastycake man = the Wicked Witch of the West. So I guess add rain to the cast of the upcoming feature film 'How to Crush My Hopes and Dreams.' Sigh. It's odd though, because rain is also a featured player in the long-running stage production 'The Best Day I Ever Had.' That guy's got serious range.

Today's going to be a jumble of sneeps and snoops because a) I've been out of the game for a little while and I need to get my mojo back, but more importantly b) it's getting to the end of the week and we all know what that means. Just like Novocain: give it time, it always works. Oh Denzel, oh inspirational sports movies, how well you know me.

Stop that! Bad Hare! No one is interested in your inarticulate grammarian ramblings! Get to the part. Okay, here goes. I know what you've all been asking yourselves lately: whatever happened to those class recaps you promised us? You're not going to go all pancakes on us, are you? No sir or madam I am not, because that would be lame to the capital oh and not at all how I roll. Wonder no longer, dear reader, because I am about to lay the updates on you like the low-fat veggie cream cheese on the sesame seed bagel of your hopes and dreams. Or the egg matzah of your hopes and dreams, for those of you Israelites out there (Chag Sameach!) I am a metaphor machine.

Okayokayokay. I'm en pointe now. As you may recall, in the last installment of our series (way, waaaaaay long ago) I introduced you to the full cast of our weekly drama, Night Class: This Time It's For Serious, so called for the following two reasons (Side note: instead of the word 'reasons' I just typed 'weekends.' What is that about? My brain works in mysterious ways, but sometimes I think I'm just trying to unnecessarily confuse myself. I guess 'reason' and 'weekend' sound vaguely similar? It's a stretch.):

1. Classes be at night, bitches. Also in my (delusional) mind my class is the physical manifestation of what would happen if you crossed Night Court and Welcome Back Kotter. Often times when I'm unsure how to proceed I simply ask myself, WWVBD? (What Would Vinnie Barbarino Do?) Then LB bangs her gavel and does some magic tricks for us. That whole scenario? Not entirely untrue.

2. Everyone (sans me) seems to be taking the material super seriously. Like, oh-my-god-if-you-don't-tell-me-the-exact-right-answer-I-will-shoot-you-in-the-face seriously. I understand if you're taking a class for a grade or credit or whateva, but this is just a voluntary course--we're not getting graded at all. Therefore I do not think it is reasonable to have an exorcist moment if I can't remember offhand why A=B in this scenario. I've made it a rule whenever possible to put at least two seats between myself and my neighbors in order to avoid being in the position of not knowing the precise answer to problem #157 from the homework two weeks ago lest I be mauled where I sit: BUT WHY IS IT A??? I DON'T UNDERSTAND. Chill, crazy lady, I have no clue what you are talking about, and you are getting your It's been a coppola weeks since then, so let's do a mid-season recap of what each of our favorite friends have been up to:

Princeton: grew a beard! I know, I know, TOTALLY UNEXPECTED. My first though though, was not 'wow, I did not expect you to grow a beard,' it was the far more logical 'wow, I did not expect that you knew how to grow a beard.' Because somewhere in the molasses swamp of my brainmatter I had squirreled away the knowledge that a) beard-growing is a time-learned skill, and b) prepsters cannot learn it. That's four quality years of grade-A college knowhow, right there folks.

Luckily he showed up to the very next class rocking the swankiest cloth belt embroidered with a pattern of--I kid you not--dancing elephants. Tastefully dancing elephants; I stand corrected. You called it, Hattie. So I decided on the basis of this couture de force to forgive his little hirsute experiment and then wham bam NO THANK YOU MA'AM he goes and shaves it all off again! I can only assume that he got tired of all his friends at the East Egg Country Club (literary reference, lolz!) inquiring about his facial growths and took a razor to it in desperation. Princeton, if I had only shared with you my secret blatant love of all things stubbly I'm sure you would have made a different decision and we could be honeymooning on your private island in the Caribbean RIGHT NOW. Alas, it was not meant to be. Poor Princeton, caught between two worlds.

Oleg: chugging along like the Trans-Siberian Railway, and by the looks of things loving it. I wish I could relate to you all of the wonderful pearls of wisdom that Oleg benevolently puts before us, undeserving though we mortals are, but it would take up too much post and probably give me carpal tunnel syndrome, so instead I'm just going to give you the following interchange between a random guy in the class and Oleg that I totally eavesdropped on overheard:

Random Guy: Oh, I see you brought gatorade, that's smart. I just brought water.

Oleg: Oh man, let me tell you. I used to bring like, so much water to every class, like SO MUCH. They used to call me Water Man.

RG: Oh, that's um...cool.

Oleg: That's not even it! I would also bring like, so many fruits, like so many fruits to every class. A whole bag of fruits. They used to call me Fruit and Water Guy!

RG: Haha...awkward...

Oleg: Oh yeah, I used to be super hydrated. But now I just drink alcohol like, all the time every day.

RG: (No response)

And..scene. If I had any doubts at that point about the street cred of my Comrade Oleg, they were firmly put to bed, tucked in, and red an extra bedtime story just in case. Any Russian who drinks 'all the time every day' can be my Russian.

Five O: Sadly, I don't have much to tell you about good ol' 5. He comes sporadically, seems lost/confused/unfocused/high most of the time he does come, and is clearly still my #1 favorite. I'm secretly waiting for the day he sits down next to me and asks me to be his lady friend. I live in hope.

Pearshape: As you can probably imagine, there's been a lot of activity in the Pearshape household, so rather than go into too much detail let me bullet point it out for you:

-Keeping the style going strong. No less than I would expect, but don't think it's easy to simultaneously dress like a toddler and an elderly woman. Pearshape brings her best game each and every day, and I respect that.

-Class romance! You heard me right, Pearshape and a certain gentleman are definitely sowing the seeds of more-than-friendship in the fertile ground of awkward classmate romance. Also known as: my favorite kind of romance. I don't know where this is going but I am 99.99% sure that it is somewhere in the vicinity of Amazazingtown, USA, and you know that is my hood.

-BUT WAIT, there's even more exciting Pearshape news! What could be more exciting than scholary hookups? Pots of gold? Alien abductions? Place a firm hold on your socks, dear reader(s) because there is a very real danger that they will be physcially rocked off because...

PEARSHAPE WORE A DIFFERENT SKIRT THE OTHER DAY

I KNOW!!!

I KNOW!!!

Phew, I got overwhelmed just thinking about it; good thing I was holding on to my socks. What kind of skirt you ask? Why the only kind befitting the shape of a pear: jean flavor. But wait, I hear you cry, that sounds suspiciously like the skirt we know and love, and to that I say MISTAKE! Because it was a FULL LENGTH JEAN SKIRT. BOOYAH. AND SCENE.

That WOULD Change My Life Forever!

Let me tell y'all a story. A few nights ago, after having my mind blown by back-to-back episodes of Whose Line Is It Anyway (I mean, is that not the best show on TV or what?) I wasn't sure that my poor little brain could handle any more awesomeness. BUT THEN, what should come on the air but a full half hour of infomercial for Shaun T's INSANITY Workout! The first thing that impressed me: these people were working out in an empty warehouse WITH NO EQUIPMENT IN SIGHT. That's right, this workout will completely transform your body without purchasing any expensive machines or weights!!! In addition, they were so motivated that they were literally working out in pools of their own sweat. By the end of the infomercial, it looked more like an industrial-sized swimming pool. I was also impressed by their high standards - they kick out anyone who isn't giving 110% to the workout! I don't know exactly how that works when you're using the videos at home, but this dude in the infomercial was totally half-assing the workout and Shaun T personally asked him to leave! That's the kind of badass fitness video I have been desperately craving. It seems especially great for girls - what lady doesn't want to build ginormous man arms and thighs? My extreme reaction to this infomercial, including my inability to turn it off for the full 30 minute timespan, just emphasized something about my personality that has been growing clearer day by day. I am a theoretical infomercial sucker.

I shall explain. A TIS is a person who A) believes everything an infomercial tells them, B) decides that each item is indispensable towards living a happy and productive life, but C) is fundamentally too lazy/cheap to purchase any of them. As a TIS, I can tell you that this leads to a deep-seated belief that my life is not everything it could be, and every flaw could be easily and amazingly solved for the low low price of 14.95 plus shipping and handling! And this is due almost completely to laziness (and also fear of mockery by my more jaded, less optimistic/naive peers). It's not like I can't afford a ShamWow; Marchie frequently tells me that I spend my money on frivolous and unnecessary things. It's inexplicable really; I just seem to be incapable of getting my booty on duty and ordering the things that will guarantee me life-long happiness. But I would like to highlight for you some of the products that could have changed my life forever.

1) The SlapChop. First of all, this is marketed by the ShamWow guy; that gives it like a bajillion bonus points. Secondly, I LOVE salads but you may have heard that I am lazy and also have no skillz kitchen-wise. The SlapChop would enable me to chop vegetables for my salad so quickly and easily, not to mention literally ANYTHING ELSE that you might want to chop!

2) Bumpits. OK, so as I am naturally gifted with voluminous hair, I don't really NEED a Bumpit, except that I might actually die of sadness if I never get to try one on. I have always wanted to make my hair look like I just walked out of a pageant or a midwestern prom, and clearly the Bumpit is the way to go. Although I am confused why they chose not to capitalize the "I" - this way it looks like Bum Pit, which sounds HORRIFYING instead of super sweet.

3)  Mighty Putty. This was advertised by the great Billy Mays, so how could it be anything but phenomenal? This sh*t is THE sh*t. I mean, it fixes table legs, hammers, cars, you name it! Especially for someone as handyman-ically challenged as myself, this would be a godsend and a half. How I have lived my life since I was first made aware of the Mighty Putty magic is beyond me.

4) The GT Xpress 101. This not-descriptively-named contraption can cook anything. You can make omelets, chocolate cake, potatoes, pretty much any delicious food you would ever want! It's promoted by a Paula Deen-esque jolly hair-permed lady, which convinces me that all the food tastes uh-mazing. And you can use all of your random leftovers to make super fancy semi-circular shaped food (scientists agree that the semi-circle is the tastiest of all geometric shapes).

The list goes on, but these are some of my faves. If you ever want to buy me a present, these would be solid bets.

Definitions of Critical Importance

Recently, Marchie and I were having a discussion about what constitutes a dork (as opposed to a geek or a nerd). I call people dorks all the time, but in a loving way. At times I even consider myself a bit of a dork. But then I realized - I don't really know what a dork is. What would make me a dork as opposed to a nerd? Or a geek? I have my own vague notions of what all those things mean, but maybe they don't match up with universal standards. In my chats with Harester, I discovered that (surprise surprise) our conceptions of what makes a dork/geek/nerd match up perfectly. But still, if two brainmates agree on something that's not necessarily proof of its being true - we also agree that all Snorps are Snoops but only some Snoops are Sneeps, and who knows what the general consensus is on THAT question of grave import? At any rate, the Hare showed me a website she found which had a Venn diagram explaining the answer to this very question. (And who doesn't love Venn diagrams? Certainly not Marchie. I also happen to enjoy a good double negative, but that's a factoid for another day...)

I happen to disagree with almost everything this diagram says. 1) I think dorks are intelligent. Because I can be pretty dorky at times but clearly I'm the smartest person on earth. WOW that website is a trip. We may have to go super in depth into that at a later time... 2) Why is "obsession" an attribute here? I mean, pretty much everyone has some kind of obsession or other. (Mine happens to be crepes, but everyone has something. I think the TARGET of the obsession should be the defining factor.) 3) Why bring dweebs into this? You're just confusing things. In summary, this is wrong. Clearly I need to set the record straight. WHY do I have to do everything? Probably because I'm just better at everything than anyone else. Ever. This is such a burden, but what can I do? The world needs my help.

In my head (and therefore also in reality), nerds are people like Bill Gates - smart and knowledgeable about obscure topics (could be programming, role-playing games, sci-fi, etc.). Dorks such as myself are also smart, but this is combined with varying levels of social ineptitude. And geeks are not necessarily smart, but are defined by being socially handicapped and knowledgeable about obscure topics. (See Freaks and Geeks, Beauty and the Geek, etc.) The intersection of all three of these attributes is not labeled, because I don't know what the crap is going on with those people. I shall call them "doneeks." See below.

Let this matter be officially resolved. You're welcome, America.

Old Crush Extinguished, New One Ignited

For many of my formative years (read: until last summer) I had a mondo crush on John Cusack. OK, I know that sounds kind of gross and pretty weird given that he's mid-40s now, and not in a Brad-Pitt (who ages like a Greek God - OK, demigod) kind of way. But in my mind John Cusack had been and always would be 1989-style Lloyd Dobler, my heart of hearts. I mean come on, he's cute and a little spazzy, plus he kickboxes and makes notes to himself/his friends on a voice recorder. What's not to love? Anyway, this adulation lasted from my first LD-exposure until last summer, when two movies completely revolutionized my worldview. Film 1: 2012. Crappity-crap movie in which JC looks so quintessentially middle-aged that I had to close my eyes every time a preview was played within a 20 yard radius. OK, so that effectively shattered my Lloyd Dobler fantasies. BUT. Enter Film 2: 500 Days of Summer, starring my future baby daddy Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Sure, JGL had blipped onto my radar as the less-hot male star next to Heath Ledger in 10TIHAY, but he was so baby-faced and young - and who can look good when Heath is next to you scowling in a manly way and wearing tight pants? Answer: no one, that's who. JGL was just the young impressionable kid of 10TIHAY, and I don't care what you've heard, I am NOT a pedophile, even in my wild celebrity fantasies. But the new, improved, vaguely scruffy, occasionally tortured but mostly optimistic and earnest JGL is like a Lloyd Dobler made for the mature woman that child Hattie became. Let's check this out, shall we?

I mean, from beginning to end, this movie makes MY dreams come true. In a big big way. I mean, where did that manly jawline come from? From whence the slightly nerdy and thus incredibly more attractive sweater vest? (He also developed a deep sexy voice somewhere along the line - adulthood did right by you, my friend.) COME TO MAMA. Seriously, JGL, whenever you want to get your French-speaking ass over here, we can get down to business.

[Side Note: While some may find it strange that both Harester and I have (potentially unhealthy) obsessions with men with hyphenated last names [SIDE NOTE: If by 'hyphenated' you mean 'comma, space'] [SIDE SIDE NOTE: Good point.], it's actually quite normal. We realized long ago that we are not only best buttons but also brainmates. No, not THAT kind of brainmates. Basically our brains hold hands, go on long walks on the beach together, and come up with inexplicable inside jokes that we discover much later on. Don't get freaked, it's just the way we be.]

Anyway, in response to Marchie's post about her Top 5 Celebs to Bang Guilt-Free, I thought I would contribute my own, infinitely superior and better/longer thought-out list.

The Mad Hatter's Top 5 List

1. JGL. Words cannot express my feelings, JoGoLev, just know I love you.

2. Christian Bale. Angry expletive-filled outbursts notwithstanding (and actually, I love a man who curses like a sailor, most especially with an accent), he is too beautiful to go anywhere except second place.

 3. James Franco. Although he is occasionally a little greasy-looking, I happen to only be two degrees of separation away from him. [SIDE NOTE: BECAUSE ZERO DEGREES IS TOO CLOSE!!] This means I actually have a legitimate shot at this one. (One may debate about the definition of "legitimate," but that's just semantics) This is aside from the fact that he is always a combination of funny and hot, and an excess of one always makes up for some insufficiencies in the other. Just watch this and you will see why I adore him.

4. Sam Worthington. Marchie disagrees with me on this one, claiming that he looks just like Channing Tatum (FALSE. Just so false.), but I can't help the way I feel. Have I mentioned I like accents? And deep voices? And half-human half-robot beings who save Christian Bale's life so he can save the world? Check check and check.

5. Clive Owen. Every good Top 5 List should have a dark horse, and Clive is mine. True, he has the accent, but he is much more manly-man than my normally boyly-man tastes tend to run. But something about this guy just rubs me the right way. I'm pretty sure out of all of the 5 I would be most intimidated by the prospect of even talking to Clive; he just seems too smooth and suave and James-Bond-y somehow. But here's hoping putting him on this list will give me the conversation starter I need...

If All Snorps Are Snoops and Most Snips Are Snops Then How Many Snoops are Sneetches?

Hey-o! First things first, I have an update to share with you that I think you may find educational: Tastycake man is allergic to water. I know, right? Here's how I found out: I way down to the halls o' just-ice to deliver my very important packages and on the way back I swung by c-town to get my fix--familiar story, no? Except this time is was raining and tastycakerbaker was nowhere to be seen! I therefore made the logical deduction that rain + tastycake man = the Wicked Witch of the West. So I guess we should add 'rain' to the list of 'How to Crush My Hopes and Dreams.' Sigh.

Today's going to be a jumble of sneeps and snoops because I'm getting to the end of the week and we all know what that means. Let's say it together: Sleep. Deprivation. Natch. So here are some things I thought you should know:

-We did not win trivia this week. Again. Normally I wouldn't care but we were in first place after the first three rounds AND we had such a power team: both our resident name-that-tuner and the new guy/random fact generator were in attendance, which means we had two out of the four rings we needed to summon Captain Trivia. Seriously, the one guy can name a song after hearing literally a single note, (and the songs aren't of your run-of-the-mill Kansas/More Than A Feeling strain either; more like Inspiral Carpets/Find Out Why flavor) and the other dude knows the most random and arcane things; I don't know why you are on a first-name basis with the Keebler Elves, sir, but you have my deepest gratitude. We've been playing for months now pretty much every week and all I can say is I cannot WAIT until the day when I get to saunter up to Trivia Dave and take the $50 bar tab that is rightfully ours. Victory will be so sweet.

-I am up to my ears in plans, and not the elaborate kind either. I am supposed to be making a mondo cake for Sunday and my initial plan, which was to 'bake a little all week,' has now turned into 'power bake for three days.' And just so we're clear, I'm not talking about making any old cakewreck here, I'm talking about some serious Cake Nouveau artistry. If you don't hear from me on Monday assume that I've been crushed under the weight of my own ambitions.

-Last Saturday I played a game of touch football, which I thoroughly enjoyed. It was my first organized football-playing experience and all in all I think I didn't completely screwed it up; we won, so at least I didn't have a net negative effect. The only problem is I was hella sore for a whole five days afterwards, which speaks to a) my football skillz and b) my out-of-shape-like-whoa skillz. Fast forward to this week when I agreed to do the same thing again this Saturday, knowing full well that I have a hellweek of cookery to perform. I don't know which part of my brain it is that directs me to wedge myself into the crawlspace of ridiculously poor planning each and every day, but sometimes I really wish I could get that excized.

-Question: do you prefer to be big spoon or little spoon?

Okay okay okay I'm done. That's all I've got for you today but Hattie and I are going to see a preview of Hot Tub Time Machine tonight FOR FREESIES (the BEST kind) and I promise to give you the bird's eye down low on that caper tomorrow. I'm so excited I can't even tell you because it would probably be embarrassing. I better go...place.

Nature or Nurture? The Sleaze Dillema

Hello my precious blueberries! How are we all feeling today? Grood. I appreciate your patience with my hormonal spazzfest yesterday; normally I keep it pretty under control but a girl's gotta let loose sometime and 2AM movie night just put me over the edge. I'll try to keep it in my pants in the future.

But hashing out yesterday's important issues reminded me of another important discussion that Hattie and I had recently, one on which I totally need your advice! You see Hattie and I had a disagreement over a fundamental scientific question, and I need you, dear reader(s) to tell us who is right. Thank you in advance.

Before I get to the meat of this debate, I have to share something with you on behalf of MH&MH Industries and I hope you won't judge us too harshly and love us in spite of it:

Hattie and I just saw The Hangover this past weekend.

I know, I KNOW. I've been hearing about it from everybody and their mother--literally, my mom was like 'you have to see this movie!' Okay, mom--but I don't get out to the movies a lot and it just kind of slipped by me, and the same with Hattie. When it got to be March 2010 and we still hadn't seen it (and we were sick of not understanding why everyone was calling each other 'ritards' and then peeing their collective pants) we decided to be a little more proactive and add it to the Netflix queue. Well we got it this past weekend and sat down and pounded that thing straight out. I don't intend to get into review territory--I reserve that for movies that I find either extremely confounding or extremely arousing., or both--I will say that while it was pretty funny I did not ever worry about soiling myself for not being able to stop laughing. Too much hype.

More importantly, it brought up a question that I feel needs to be resolved: is Bradley Cooper innately sleazy? Now anyone who has ever seen Mr. Cooper act in a movie will probably agree with us here that he is one greasy ball of cautionary tale. It's like he exists to point out to women exactly what to avoid; his career is just one elaborate, ongoing PSA for the ladies. Wedding Crashers, He's Just Not That Into You, the list goes on and it is slimy.

But all this got to wondering, was he born a douchebag or did he have douchebaggery thrust upon him? I mean, maybe he's just been unlucky in the casting department and in real life he adopts blind one-legged orphaned puppies from Africa; I don't know the guy personally, I couldn't say. It's certainly true that he's not the worst-looking man on the planet, by any means. I'd be lying right now if I said my "interest" isn't the tweensiest bit piqued by the prospect of this matchup. The problem is that I can't look at him without thinking, you sir, are a jerk, which is for the record not one of my turn-ons, for those of you keeping score at home. Snarky? Yes. Sleazy? No.

Hattie takes the position that the slime comes from within and in no universe could he ever be what one might call 'hot piss.' HOWEVER I say that in an alternate reality where he swaps movie careers with say, Ryan Gosling, and we have no knowledge of his previous transgressions, he could conceivably be considered NOT a total hoser. So what do you think, dear reader(s)? Does Brad C. deserve the benefit of the doubt? Or is he rotten to his way over gelled core? Only YOU can decide.

Kiss Kissin' and Bang Bangin'

Oh boy oh boy. I wish someone had told me before I signed up for this job how much actual work was going to be involved. I know, that sounds retardedly glib, but bear with me here; give me time to elaborate. I have no problem with going to the office and getting my biz'ness on. I welcome it. There are some circles in which I am known as Miz Biz'ness, if you must know. That is not the issue here.

The issue here (you were asking, no?) is what I'm uninformed about is whether there will be business, not what the business will be. (SIDE NOTE: I did not realize when I typed that sentence how hard it would be to find a reference link. I realize that prehaps it was not the best use of pop culture referencing out with which I ever busted ((SIDE SIDE NOTE: Please tell me you love that sentence as much as I do. I have been waiting to drop that on you for so long. I hope you appriciated it.))* but I cannot believe that there is not one single photo or video of the Whether Man in the entire interweb-o-sphere. I can't believe I'm saying this, but Google, you have FAILED ME.) If I had some sort of indicator as to the level of work I am expected to accomplish on a weekly basis, then I could calibrate my demanding schedule accordingly--maybe stretch out my DVR time, throw up some blog posts in advance (HAHA we know THAT's never going to happen. Oh Harester, you're so funny.), and whatnot. Instead what happens is I roll in on Monday all 'Psh, this week is going to be sloooow' and then come Tuesday at 11 o'am the floodgates are triggered and all the paperwork in the world comes crashing down on my dainty unprepared head and it is NOT PRETTY. A little advanced notice, that is ALL I am asking, help keep a girl sane.

*These are parintheses, which I am adding to the list of Punctuation for the Modern Day Sasser. Not to be confused with the far more pedestrian and well-known parentheses.

Anyanyanyways I have something very important and serious to discuss with you today and I need you to focus (or ficus, which is what I inititally typed. Dork) as it involves two of my favorite subjects:

1. Famous people; and

2. Banging.

Here are the facts: the other night I was up way past my bedtime (duh) watching television (duh) and eating peanut butter and saltine crackers like they cured what ailed me (duh and they do.) Since there was nothing really worthwhile on the telly (read: no showings of The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift) I figured I'd just finish up registering for my free supply of ExtenZe and then hit the sack. FALSE.

I was so close to turning that sucker off and turning in for realz this time when my eager eyes were arrested by a reminder that coming up on AMC in only half an hour was the comedy/mystery/action classic Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. OH NO. Perhaps you're confused, dear reader(s) so let me resolve your cnfusion with the three magic words: Robert, Downey, and Junior.

Now it's a well-documented phenomenon that while I possess considerable stores of snark and sass, my powers are no match for the brand of scruffy roguery and witty scallywaggery that RDJ provides. It gets me every time. And just to be clear, by 'gets me every time' I mean, 'makes me hot and bothered like Kim Cattrall in the boys' locker room.' As I write this I am most definitely breathing heavily with my legs tightly crossed. Compare Junior to this handy guide to my ideal gentleman friend:

Looks older? Check. Lots of real world experience? Check. Likes to give advice? Check. Possibly bearded?? CHECK. EXCUSE ME I NEED TO GO TO THE BATHROOM I'LL BE RIGHT BACK.

Okay. I'm calm. er.

The main point here is that even though I knew I was going to be feeling it in the morning, and even though I am in possession of a fully functional Digital Video Recording device, I sat myself firmly down in front of that movie and prepared myself for two hours of pure, uninterrupted female orgasm.

In case you were wondering,  it was so worth it. Mmm.

Back to the present. I was describing this euphoric experience to Hattie several days later later--because that's the kind of close personal friendship we have--and in response to my story she said, 'Well duh, RDJ is totally on your list,' to which I naturally responded, 'Whahuh? What list?' 'Your five people,' she said, giving me the don't-be-such-a-dumbface look. 'Um...right,' I said, giving her the hi-have-we-met-this-is-how-I-am-in-real-life look right back.

Now as you may or may not already know, depending on how well you may or may not know me, I am not exactly the dictionary definition of 'cool.' 'Sokay, because I can admit it like a man. Usually this takes the form of me not knowing about something until everyone and their cousin in Sochi knows about it, has joined the 'I knew about it before it was cool' group on Facebook, and is telling everyone that he is so over it because it was like, so 2009. Dear reader(s), this time is no different. I didn't really watch much TV as a kid, unless you count Nickelodeon, Saved By the Bell, and The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air (AND WHY WOULD ANYONE NOT COUNT THEM??), so on the whole I missed the whole Friends/Seinfeld craze and as a result I don't get a lot of the [air quote marks] "inside jokes" [air quote marks] from that era. Hattie, on the other hand, can pretty much give you the down and dirty rundown on every single episode, and apparently she was making a reference to this 'classic' scene:

So apparently your 'list' is the list of the five people you're allowed to sleep with no matter what, kind of like a 'get into bed free' card. I am already on board. HOWEVER Hattie tells me that my current list is not permissible. It reads:

1. Robert Downey Jr.

2. Robert Downey Jr.

3. Robert Downey Jr.

4. Robert Downey Jr.

5. Robert Downey Jr.

She claims that you need to have five different people, or else it's pointless. I say, that when I finally meet Mr. Downey in a run down but still classy underground establishment, I will have a 500% better chance of kiss kiss and bang bangin' him if I can demonstrate that he occupies not only one but all five of my sweet spots. With a come-on like that who WOULDN'T want to hit this? Right? Of course right! In deference to my co-blogger, co-habitator, and partner in making me do things all the time, I have constructed a 'real' list with five 'different' people. Witness, therefore,

The March Hare's Top 5 List

1. RDJ. 

The he goes and there he will stay. There is nothing further to say on the matter.

2. Zachary Levi

If RDJ is my Platonian ideal, then Zach Levi is my corner pub reality. And I am okay with that. Whenever you're ready to settle down Zach, you know who to call.

3. Jason Schwartzman

I feel like Jason is the kind of guy who would be a bad decision that I just couldn't resist but then he would never call and break my heart, so maybe it's a good thing he's Hollywood royalty.

4. T.J. Thyne

If only guys with three PHDs looked like this in real life, I would be SET 4 LYFE.

5. Matthew Bomer

I know what you're thinking: clean shaven? Strait laced? This man does not fit the profile. But I would be a liar if I said that I'm not crazy about a sharp dressed man. Plus he can shoot laser beams out of those baby blues. For. serious.

Elaborate Plans Part 1: Punctuation for the Modern Day Sasser

Before I begin today's post, I would like to start off with a good ol' fashioned gripe fest. Since moving in to my new apartment, I have had two technological problems which have plagued me like (you guessed it) THE PLAGUE. Number One: my smartphone decided to turn into a dumb-blonde-phone, and doesn't receive any signal in my apartment. As a consequence, I have to use the wireless connection, which works for email and things, but when I want to make a call I have to sit at a very precise spot on the couch and tilt my head at a 45 degree angle. Fun times, yes? Number Two: My computer has decided that it wants to disconnect and (most of the time) reconnect to the internet at precise half hour intervals. I've done everything within my limited computer-fixy range to make it stop, but so far no dice. I think it has something to do with the wireless card (this deduction due to the fact that once every other day the computer tells me that the "Wireless Network Controller stopped working and was closed" - good sleuthing on my part, eh?). As a result of Problem Two, I decided to try to bypass Problem One and call tech support. Everything was going swimmingly, until the point when Vijay-the-tech-man asked me to unplug the router and plug the ethernet cable directly into my computer. I happily complied, only to have my phone instantaneously crap out (see Problem Number One). I then realized that I cannot fix Problem Two without fixing Problem One first. Tears of rage and frustration ensue. OK, on to fix Problem One. T-Mobile has informed me that I must call them on (1) a separate phone (2) during business hours (3) from my apartment in order to assess my signal. This causes several problems as (1) I am not Mr. Moneybags with two phones on different carriers - although apparently it's useful for simultaneously taking pictures of both sides of your stupid head, John Mayer. (2) I could borrow Harester's phone, but she is at work during business hours. Fail. (3) My apartment does not get any signal for anyone with my service provider. Which includes my entire family. So I'm going to have to find an unemployed friend who doesn't mind sitting on our rickety ass futon holding my phone precisely 1/3 from the right end while I yell at customer service and eventually just switch to a different carrier anyway. My life is a fairytale, boys and girls.

OK, on to the fun stuff. Harester and I have long been discussing the necessity of adding an "Elaborate Plans" theme to the old bloggeroo. This is mostly because Harie makes LOTS of elaborate plans, which as my brother recently pointed out "involve a lot more work for you and very little actual effect on anyone else," but that's the way we like 'em. I am more of an apprentice Elaboranner/Elaboplanner (new portmanteaus WASSUP!!!), but I have my moments. Anyhoo, due to general laziness and assiduous TV-watching (on my part) combined with hard workery and snoops-and-snoobling (on the Hare's part), our dream has yet to be realized. Until today, my friends. Until today. I proudly unveil the first in what will hopefully be a long and fruitful series, inventively named "Elaborate Plans."

The plan I shall unveil today is as follows: I wish to invent and spread to the masses a series of new punctuation marks that will aid and abet any sassypants like the Hare and myself to further imbue their prose with extra layers of tone and snark. This plan first took root when I realized that when I text or email people sarcastic comments, they are frequently taken at face value because no one can tell I'm actually being mean. Let's have an example: "I looooove your new haircut!" Now the excess o's, in my head, sound overtly derogatory. However, they can also come across to the more optimistic and less sociopathically minded among us as an overflow of enthusiasm. This is unacceptable; I refuse to have people believing the best of me. Therefore, the first part of my punctuation revolution will be: "sarcastimarks." I discussed this at one point with a co-conspirator (who shall remain anonymous), and we agreed that, until the keyboard can accommodate completely new punctuation, sarcastimarks will be represented by ellipses placed on both sides of a sentence or phrase. To continue with the above example, "I looooove your new haircut" will mean "your hair looks super awesome," whereas "...I looooove your new haircut..." will mean "you look like a retarded goat has been grazing on your head."

Everyone with me so far? The next additions to the fold are "hyperstrophes" and "hypostrophes" (the latter of which is pronounced "high-POE-strow-phees" to emphasize the distinction from hyPERstrophes). This little gem of an idea came to me when in the midst of a passionate discussion of the use of apostrophes, I tried to bring up hyphens and could not for the life of me say the correct word. I settled for "hyPAWstrophes," and from there it was but a hop skip and a jump to the levels of world-changing genius that you find me at today. Hyperstrophes are to be used in order to denote "this sentence/phrase is very very important and if you do not memorize it instantly I will eat you." Hypostrophes denote the opposite - "pay no attention to the phrase to the right of this mark, I am merely having a seizure which will end once you come to the second hypostrophe." Hyperstrophes are to be superscript "+" signs, and hypostrophes will be superscript "-" signs (until the day comes when one can "overline" an entire word or phrase - the opposite of underlining, get it? The PuncRev is all about keeping the yin and yang in balance).

The final (so far) punctuation mark I am proposing is the "sociopath-slash." Unlike those pussy-footed forward and backward slashes, the sociopath-slash (called "so-slash" for short) refuses to bend in either direction to indicate its feelings or intentions. That's right, it is the straight upward line ( | ) and it simply means "I hate you." It can be interspersed freely throughout any text without heed of meaning, grammar, or beginnings or endings of words or sentences.

Let's synthesize all of this, shall we? Try this on for size: "⁺...I think kitt|ens are the cutest!...⁺" This sentence now actually means: (1) Kittens are so not cute and you are an idiot for thinking so. (2) Meaning #1 is very very important so tattoo it on your face so you don't forget. (3) I hate kittens/you/the world. Pretty neat, huh? So many layers of meaning in such a small amount of space! If the Germans get wind of this they'll never use the spacebar again. I hope your mind has been sufficiently blown (away). If not, prepare to get hypostrophed at a later date. Peace out!

W.A.G. #3

Grüezi, Jungen und Mädchen! Fangen wir an! (Translation: Swiss-dialect-Hello, boys and girls! Let's begin!) I can't believe we're already at the third installment of WAG! Hold the phone - is that all? Man I've been slacking. My bad, people, my bad. Never fear, though, this week's word is so astronomically schmecktakular (from an Austrian McDonald's ad, means über delish) that it should make up for any remissness in WAGing on my part. So put on your awesome-goggles and your super-cool-apron and get ready to be taken on a wild wild ride.

This week's Word that is Awesomely German is: geschnorkelt (ahh, naked Germans, what won't you do? Tempting death by a shark mistaking your (ding)dingdong for a tasty worm is apparently NOT a dealbreaker. What a fascinating society...).

OK, so in order to really get into this, I need to spin you a tale of hilarity. In college I was a sucker for intro language classes. My motives were twofold: first, easiest easy A I could ever hope for. All you have to do is look like you're trying really hard and the teachers get all "Aww look how cute the girl! She wants learn the language German so much, but with the grammar not always so correct! We give A, no? Nice girl gets A, so sweet with not-so-good the speaking!" The second reason, which I realize now was ridiculously ungrounded in reality, was the concept that once I learned the basics of a language, I could easily become fluent by just living in the relevant country for a year or so, and therefore I should soak up as many basics as I could. However, I now realize that it's highly unlikely that I will live in France, Italy, Korea, and Germany for a year each - I mean I can't even get Asian Babies in 3/4 of those countries, what's the point?

Anyway, my last foray into intro languages was, as I've mentioned, German class. This was by far the pinnacle of my linguistic sampling, partly-to-mostly due to my discovery that when in doubt you can just make up a word and it has a 83.94% chance of being right. Take the past tense: you take a verb, add "ge" to the beginning, and presto change-o you've got a past participle! (Examples: gegessen, gefahren, gefangen, etc - this could be a WAG on its own) So, on one of our tests, our essay assignment was to write about a vacation we took recently. I was in the middle of an awesome description of our Familienferien in den Bahamas, and I was fully demonstrating my command of the past tense and all our new vocabulary words, when I realized that I wanted to talk about how I went snorkeling and we hadn't learned the word for that! So, I took a leap and wrote in "Ich habe geschnorkelt," and figured that at least I'd get my point across and maybe would get some sympathy points for being vaguely funny. However, that test was returned to me with NO mistakes marked in my essay. Setting aside the fact that I'm awesome at German, I realized that my Hail-Mary pass, based purely on the hope that German might be as ridiculous as it is in my dreams, had succeeded marvelously.

Therefore, the word "geschnorkelt" reminds me of that day when I realized that German was going to fulfill all of my wildest expectations. (Not to mention that it is a pretty funny-sounding word in general.) I rest my case.

I will leave you with this hilarity from the land of Nacktspaß (naked fun? I made that up, but as we know that doesn't mean it's wrong). What will they think of next? You'll have to wait until next WAG to find out...

Apologies. Apologies All Round.

Hello, dearest readers! (I no longer include the parentheses around the "s" in readers because I know for a fact there are at least 2 of you) It's been a while since last we met! How are you? I apologize for my longish hiatus - I've been incredibly busy these days. I actually have to work 6-8 hours a week now, and believe you me, that ends up taking up a crapload of time. I mean, I have to get out of my jammy jams and get dressed up in my fancy-pantsy worky works. Then I have to travel to people's houses, sometimes all the way across town (I know, my life is so hard). AND to top it all off, I have to travel back! Sometimes the parents feed me, but not always, which is just ridiculous. I mean, how hard is it to bake some cookies while I'm enlightening your children? Answer: As I learned yesterday, not hard at all. Seriously moms, show some basic human decency and just feed me Seymour!

Beyond work, my time is taken up by A) watching TV B) reading my newest Henry VIII historical novel C) going to gym and trying to turn myself into one of those skinny gym bitches I hate C) getting tickled until my abs are sore (this is literally true) and D) thinking about taking naps and being too lazy to actually follow through. The March Hare recently called me the housewife of our Dynamic Duo, and I couldn't disagree - I wake up late, walk around in my bathrobe, do my laundry in the middle of the day, and contemplate buying a bunny as a pet. (That last part is actually totally the Hare's fault - she showed me this site, and since then I haven't been able to get the cuteness out of my head.)
 
(Side note: That last one is  little move that I actually used to do as a baby/kid. Somehow my parents got me to lean my head over with my arms out whenever they said "Do 'cute,' baby Hattie!" Either they were skilled baby-trainers or I was just an infant-sized attention-whore. Most likely the latter; the only difference is I've learned that before you do anything on command you should always make sure there's some sort of reward in it for you beyond coos of adoration and extended photo ops. Just another life lesson from me to you; hope you're writing these down.)
 
So, you were probably hoping for something more interesting than me bragging about my ridiculous life. PSYCH! You just got a Frank Reynolds-style Christmas fake-out. You can't just get everything you want without earning it, children. Anyway, I've got some good stuff in the works but I don't want to prematurely blow my wad so you'll just have to waiiiiiiiiiitttt. BWAHAHAHAHAHA.

TGITuesday: Because Two Is Twice as Many as One

I can't believe I'm saying this (who am I trying to kid, of course I can) but THERE'S MORE. That's right, for the exclusive price of $0.00 you get NOT ONLY three awkward anecdotes about my retarded escapades, but you will ALSO RECEIVE the following anecdote at NO ADDITIONAL CHARGE.

I know today is officially "Wednesday," but let's not get caught up in the details. It gets in the way of the magic web of fantasy I'm trying to spin for you here.

ANYWAYS after I left you last this morning, dear reader(s), I packed myself into the subway to go to the doctor's office for some tests. SIDE NOTE: I honestly do not mind going to the doctor's office. I get to travel to the East Side for a change and have a little mini-Breakfast at Tiffany's-themed vacation right in the middle of my workday. Diamonds and chicken on rice? Why, don't mind if I do! (And by that I mean, I would like a tiara and then a delicious meal, NOT a meal consisting of delicious chicken and precious gemstones. Way to be obfuscatory, English Language. SIDE SIDE NOTE: Both obfuscatory AND obfuscous are words. I <3 OED like it was my own Asian baby. In a related story, I am elected mayor of Dorkopolis.)

What I do mind is the fact that I have to go to the doctor's office in order to prepare for going to the doctor's office. Really? Really, medical establishment? You couldn't take these tests during my regularly scheduled checkup when I have to be there already? REALLY? Honestly.

Luckily I made it over to MadAve in plenty of time and got all of my bodily fluids successfully extracted. Wow, that was a truly horrifying sentence and I apologize. Please accept this video presentation as a symbol of my deep remorse:

We cool now? Good. Let's get to the part.

I leave the doctor's office, proud of myself for getting my life taken care of in a timely manner like a real-life grown-up, and I'm about to hop the express train to delicious chicken 'n' rice when I notice there's man sitting on the curb. And by sitting I mean kneeling on the ground holding his head while a steady stream of blood does its very best to escape from inside his skull. He's with another woman who's dressed like she just raided Joan Holloway's closet and looks like she just finished watching Requiem for A Dream. (SIDE NOTE: DON'T DO IT. I'm still having nightmares...shudder) My guess is, not so comfortable with blood is this one. No probs, I tell myself, I've seen this scene in the movies like a million times! I am ALL OVER IT. In case you've never seen any movie/TV show ever, this is the part where the kind stranger calls 911 and saves the day...March Hare, to the rescue!

The thing is, I've never called  911 before and...well bottom line, it's not as easy as they make it look in Hollywood. First thing when the lady picks up, I say 'I'm on Madison Avenue and 60th and there's a man bleeding from his head on the sidewalk here.' Who. What. Where. Straightforward, no? Apparently not, because the lady on the phone asks me, 'Man or woman?' Um....man. But maybe she just didn't hear that part, whatever, it's possible. Next question: 'What's your emergency?' Um...head leaking blood? Again, I feel like I just went over this, so I don't get why are we rehashing the issue. Finally: 'Where are you?' Okay look 911 operator, I get that you have a script to read but this is just silly and time-wastey. Dude is bleeding from the head and you are playing 20 questions with me over the phone. How about we make a deal: I promise I will play all the parlor games you want, and in return, you send one of those neat vans with the flashy lights and the honky sirens to pick up my new friend. Deal? Deal.

Once we've finished playing animal, vegetable or mineral, the operator transfers me to the ambulance dispatch where a different person starts asking me about the guy in trouble: age, nature of the accident, is he conscious, &c. I tell the dispatcher that I think this guy got in a bike accident, but I don't know for sure, and I'm just sitting on the sidewalk with him. 'Do you have any ice?' the dispatch man asks me. Well gee, dispatch man, I just happen to be carrying a big bag o' ice in this here pocket! What a coinkeedink! NOT.

No problem, though. I leave Joan to wait with our friend while I run around the corner to the Korean deli to get some ice for him. Joan apparently has forgotten both her wallet and her phone, which aside from the fact that this is New York lady, why are you leaving the house without your wallet and your mobile, means she can't really do anything but stand there and look daintily horrified, which she does admirably. So anyways, I get to the Korean deli, and I (somewhat frantically) ask the lady at the counter if they have any ice. 'In a cup?' She wants to know, no, I say, could I have it in a bag instead? It's for a man outside who is bleeding badly. Well now, apparently they get that one a lot because the woman takes out a plastic bag puts EXACTLY three ice cubes in it and hands it to me. 'Um,' I say, 'could I have some more? He's bleeding out there are it's an emergency.' More? MORE?? The nerve! With her most icy glare she adds precisely three more cubes to the bag, shoves it at me and says dangerously, 'We charge for ice! Next time...YOU MUST PAY!' OKAY KIM JUNG IL NEXT TIME I HAVE A TRAUMA VICTIM I WILL GIVE YOU YOUR MONEY. Look, I have nothing against Koreans in general (except for the dirty lying cheating variety. You know what you did.) In fact, I cohabitate with a Korean Arnold Palmer, and we get along juuuuust fine. But nevertheless I'd like to send a message to all you Korean deli owners out there: shape up and act right. Contrary to what you might have heard, no one is running any elaborate ice-peddling schemes in this city. If someone says they need a bag of ice for a head wound, cut 'em some slack, okay? Okay.

Next item of business. I bring back the ice and the ambulance still hasn't come. By this time there is a serious amount of blood all over this guy, and I am starting to get a TWEE bit worried. Joan and I, and a fellow bike messenger/delivery man convince the guy to use the ice pack, and while we're talking to him, two security guards come out of the building we're sitting in front of and say 'What is going on here?' WHAT DO YOU THINK IS GOING ON HERE?? We're filming a scene for my film class, geniuses. Do I really need to explain this situation to you two? Apparently the answer to that question is 'yes.' They're not getting it from the bloodstained picture, so Joan explains about the accident. 'Oh' they say, in a way that conveys not so much understanding as 'We don't like what's going on out here but if we tell you to move it will probably reflect badly on our character so we're just going to stand here awkwardly until you go away.'

Luckily the ambulance FINALLY shows up, which seems like we have come to the end of our happy tale. FALSE. It would be almost too simple if ambulances just came and picked injured people up and took them to the hospital! Let's spice it up a little! How about we make the EMT a psycho bitch? I LIKE IT. Upon exiting the ambulance, her first question to the victim is 'Sir, where is your ID?' Now I should add at this point that the gentleman does not speak a word of English. Zero. I have been communicating with him and his friend using my high school Spanish (thank you Senora Jenkes) but the EMT clearly speaks no Spanish at all. So the obvious solution to this problem is for her to repeat, in a louder and more menacing voice, 'SIR WHERE IS YOUR ID.' Problem. Solved. 'He doesn't speak English' I offer, trying to, you know, speed the process of getting his head examined. Which honestly, I'm not a doctor, but seems like it should take priority over where his f*cking ID is, lady. I don't know where you went to EMT school but I attended the University of If Your Head Is Bleeding All Over The Place It's Probably Serious. References upon request. Wrong thing to say, apparently. EMT bitch fires back with, 'Well if you would stop talking and get out of my way then I could do my job.' Hold up. What I should have said to this Sassy McRudepants was 'Apparently not! Zing!' What I actually said was nothing. My theory was that it was probably better for the bleeding guy if I just got out of her way and let her sort out her neurosis on her own rather than waste time laying the smackdown on some crazy-ass ho. So I got out of her way to let her do her 'job' which apparently consisted of her shoving her hands in all his pockets to find the mysterious ID while he bled all over her. 

Finally, when she realized she wasn't going to find a prize at the bottom of this cereal box, she gave up and grudgingly loaded him into the ambulence. Presumably to go to the hospital, but perhaps to the social security office. Who knows. Joan and I parted ways, I went back to work, and that, dear reader(s) is how my AWESOME day got EVEN BETTER.

FIN

TGITuesday

Oh em gee dear reader(s), it is only 10 in the A to the M and I am already having a what kind of day is this going to be kind of day. Oh. Em. Gee. Thank god it's Tuesday and...wait a minute, it's only Tuesday. F*ck. Oh well.

Here's what we've got so far:

Woke up late. Yeppers, I of the early morning brigade (NOT) managed to forget once again to turn my alarm clock on last night.  This happens on a fairly regular basis, which is probably a signal that I should stop using my phone as an alarm clock and get a real alarm clock like a grown-up person, but I just...don't want to. Okay fine, I hear you say, then why not leave your phone alarm on, dumbot. In my defense, I don't actually turn off the alarm itself, I just turn off the sound, and only when I have class so as not to disturb my fellow students with the frequent buzzing from all the calls/texts I get because I'm sooooo popular. Then I forget to turn it back on when I get home and...yeah.  In my mind forgetting to wake up because your alarm is on stealth mode is somehow less objectionable than forgetting to wake up because you overslept your alarm--it's basic logic.

Also, my morning sickness is back! No, I am not pregnant (although I wouldn't say no to a nice Asian baby). For a good month at the beginning of the year I had crazy morning sickness which would be totally understandable if I were gestating a fetus, but as all I have in my belly at any given time is a burning desire for special soup, makes pretty much 0.00 sense. I chalked it up to dryness in the air or dehydration or whateva and figured it would go away on its own, which is eventually (thankfully) did, but now it has returned with a vengeance! So yeah, that's just a party in a box.

Got molested. Strictly speaking, this happened last night during my class, but the dirty feeling just won't wash away...I feel so unclean...okay so I was sitting there minding my own business, munching on my little snack like the faux-diabetic/for real-obsessive compulsive that I am when the brazen hussy sitting next to me reaches out a withered claw and grabs me. Now I can be plenty touchy-touchy with people that I know but I do NOT, repeat do NOT like being groped by strangers. Take a memo:

To: Strangers

From: March Hare

Subject: Touching

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Point taken? Good. Back to our story: when we left off, Brazen Hussy had her grubby paws all up ons. Then she turned to me and with a totally creepy giggle/smile said 'can you please just, NOT do that?' Hold up, bitch. I don't know you. You don't know me. What makes you think you can play clutchy Cathy with my body parts and then tell ME to tone down the OCD? As if! And why do you think your inappropriateness behavior is going to be mitigated by leering like a serial killer? Girl you need to step. off. And I need to take another shower...shudder.

Lost my lunch. Literally, not figuratively (don't worry, I haven't gotten to the full-on upchuck stage, but it's early yet). Yesterday I was treated to a classy lunch by a family friend at a delicious restaurant, and being the little penny saver that I am I thought I would be absofruitly brilliant and bring home some leftovers for my lunch today. Good idea right? WRONG. I put said leftovers in my office fridge yesterday at 1:30PM, fully intending to partake of them at noontime today, but this morning when I got to work the were GONE. As if that wasn't bad enough--and seriously, is there anything so terrible as lunches lost?--there was a mass email in my inbox cc'd to everyone in the office, admonishing whoever left the foul-smelling item in the fridge, explaining that it was disposed of last night, and warning that unless people took better care of the common areas there were going to be some serious rules laid down. WHAT?? I put those in there yesterday afternoon! How in the hey ho did they get so rank as to be offensive a mere six hours later?? I'm not saying anyone's at fault here (although if someone were, I don't think it should be moi), but that was at least two lunches worth of leftovers that I will never see or here from again. On top of which I was basically called out as the office stinker, which I feel was totally undeserved. Sad. Face.

So to sum up, so far today I have been tardy, nauseus, defiled, and shamed. AND IT'S NOT EVEN NOON YET. Topical Tee, Take it Away!