Last night, alone in my dimly lit kitchen, I managed to put to bed one of the greatest questions plaguing man-kind today ( Read more... )

Dear New Yorkers,
Seats are for sitting, urine is not a decorative accoutrement.
And for fuck sake, if you can't get over yourself enough to either sit or master the squat (managing not to pee on the seat/floor/wall), at least have the decency to wipe down after your neo-Pollockian extravaganza.
Love,
Jen

There are so many times when I step onto a train and am greeted with the pungent smell of human urine and think (ok, exclaim), "jesus, this is the 21st century, where is the reification of civil society ( Read more... )

mother fucking terror.

My radiator has seriously smelled like a baby's diaper for nigh on two days now.

My paranoia's getting the best of me, and I fear my ruemate may have deduced my true feelings about her and her infinite barrage of questions.

In this temporal epoch of sexual perversion, I find it wholly disconcerting that three gay asian men rubbing, filing and painting my appendages like burgeoning phallices on the set of Caligula makes me a little hot.

But fuck it man, I's a sexy bitch.

These days you will find me both in the hood and up to no good.

Flatbush, represent.

Nice when life rhymes out like that.

As of today (and I [fear] hope for many many todays), it stands that I have received a compliment whose greater I cannot fathom:

"You're such a strange creature, operating in logistical modes completely outside any conception of norms."

Now I know I'm not a bastion of worldy knowledge when it comes to functional relationships, but seriously guys, if you want to get in your lady's pants, screaming, "When I think of you I don't want to think of you with cum on your face!" on a crowded subway is so NOT the way to accomplish that goal (especially if she was just relaying a funny story ( Read more... )

Why is it so often the case that I am the girl everyone wants to love but nobody wants to have?