I suddenly like NYC again because the trees are blooming and I can sit in parks. In the winter, it's so unbearable outside that you need a destination and the quickest way to get there any time you go out. But I never had anywhere to go, so I never left my apartment. Now that Mr. Blue Sky has arrived, I can still enjoy having nowhere to go but I can do it on a breezy park bench.

I'm pretty sure that when I was putzing around the NYU area, some guy took a shot while walking next to me. Like, from a shot glass.

While I was sitting on the park bench all creepy and pensive with my "idea book" resting atop a magazine, I became very conscious that everyone was staring at me as they walked by.

An excerpt from my usually off-limits notebook:

"I think this is just a rule in NYC. You're not allowed to nod, smile, or exhibit any evidence of approval, but you are required to stare. You might offend the other person if you don't. I know I would be a little remiss if passersby didn't at least glance at me. Sitting on the bench, I'm the stationary one, so I'm not required to look at them. But since I'm established in this spot before they walk by, I'm essentially part of the scenery and deserve to be at least as equally appraised as the newly-blooming greenery. And definitely as much as, if not more than, the pigeons...

...I can't believe I insist on having the magazine spread out in front of me, under the notebook. I thought this gesture would make it less obvious that I'm writing down my weird thoughts. Maybe people would think I was taking notes on this Wired article about profanity in the source code of Linux. POSER!"

Oops. Excuse me, I'm supposed to be watching for Product Presence in "48 Hours Investigates." This entry has been brought to you by RewardTV.com. Prego!

As promised, I have updated Shitty Website #1.

The Terror Bears

Shitty Website #2 will be on hiatus for the next 1.5 weeks. I'm going on a pasta-eating retreat somewhere far, far away from this couch, on which I ironically just engaged in a pasta retreat three hours ago.

Shout-out to Rebecca and her Creme Saver endeavors! Rebecca gets upset when she accidentally swallows the candies and is left wanting more. This is how I feel about pizza, without the accidental part. Hi Rebecca! Holla!

Good luck to Larry and all the esquires-in-training. Don't run out into the street wasted after your last final. I'm serious. At least walk.

Dee says turkey breast goes bad after 4-5 days. WTF? Does anyone else feel this way?

Ciao to all (chow? okay) ...

 
I want to see this movie.

http://www.supersizeme.com

During the winter-layer months, I was actually considering a three-cheeseburgers-a-day diet. I thought it would be a good fit for me because I'd only have to leave the house once, I wouldn't have to cook anything, and it would be relatively cheap.

Obviously, I'd choose Wendy's and BK over McDonald's - I'd have to work out some sort of logical rotation system. I know cheeseburgers are bad for you, but if you JUST ate cheeseburgers and nothing else, who knows? I thought it could work.

This plan was not unlike my brilliant revelation of Fall 2000, the chicken-fruit-dessert diet. The BC dining halls and their 35 types of freshly baked muffins were very conducive to this endeavor. This worked for a few days until my roommate Bridget pointed out that I was counting muffins, bread, and eventually even pasta as "dessert." I remember making a PB&J in the middle of the night and telling myself that since jelly sometimes goes well with or is included in pastry, it was a dessert. The bread and peanut butter were simply required accompaniment.

So that diet was a bust, too. I don't even recall ever eating any chicken or fruit. Ooh, except for the jelly. That could be considered fruit!

I WILL post the Care Bears story on my shitty website by Thursday. There. Now that I claimed this on my blog, it has to happen on the anti-blog. This is why I need two shitty websites.

Okay, who has other creative diet ideas? And don't do that predictable thing people do, like say "Work out more and eat less." I'm talking about ideas that could actually work.

I don't know if my last post made clear enough how funny and weird my mom can be. So I dug this up from the Dee Files for your enjoyment.

Dee often sends me choice articles from Chicago newspapers in boxes, usually with cookies and anywhere from twenty to forty dollars. I enjoy these boxes. The article shown above didn't seem that out of place - I assumed she was just concerned about the Boston College community and/or wanted me to know she still remembers the web address of The Heights. Okay.

But then I take a closer look. It turns out the reason Dee sent me this page was simply to show the discoloration produced by their printer. "Officemax.com toner," she had written. What exactly did she hope to accomplish by sending this to me in New York? Was I to discern exactly what the problem was for that model of printer based on the precise level of purplish hue? Was this a friendly warning for me not to buy toner from Officemax.com in my own printing endeavors? Neither. I truly believe my mom just wanted me to see firsthand what was currently going on with my parents' printer, and felt she should correctly cite the possible culprit.

Maybe this could turn into a regular Dee Series, new each week. I certainly could scrounge up enough material. I'll keep you posted. (Get it? Get it?)

 
Happy Mother’s Day to #1 Mawmee Dee Barrett.

Let’s take a moment to go over some of her most distinguished qualities:

--Looks hot in oversized volleyball t-shirts from the early '90s.
--Still thinks it's cool to wear multicolored boxers around the house and even while out shopping, because my friends and I did it during fifth grade softball and Friday Night Fever.
--Knows the difference between Leinenkeugel’s and Dortmunder.
--Memorizes entire guide books to foreign cities (and then quizzes people).
--Encourages me to eat loads of crap (and then asks me if I’ve gained weight).
--Insists on only buying clothing that is “classic and basic.”
--Appreciates Matisse and buys Matisse-esque greeting cards.
--Enjoys Chuckles candy.
--Considers walking on the beach a workout.
--Sends Care Bears videos and Kirschbaum’s cookies.
--Hides Fannie Mae chocolates in secret cabinets around the house and snacks on them like a mouse.
--Refrains from freaking out and asking constantly about the mice in my apartment.

One big "Holla" to Dee!

 
lgriffin99: We could go to a Brooklyn movie theater and then get coffee somewhere fun in Williamsburg after.
Banannie54: I suppose. I think I might be over my "Brooklyn is cooler than Manhattan" phase.
Banannie54: It turns out that it's just me who is cooler than everyone else.
Banannie54: I bring the fun.
lgriffin99: Can that go in your blog?
lgriffin99: Just cut and paste it.
Banannie54: Sure.

I've never met my stoner next-door neighbor, but I just encountered three of her Russian friends in the hallway.

Them: Oh, you live there?
Me: Yep. You live there?
Them: No, we just hang out here sometimes.
Me: Oh, okay. So creepy.

(huge pause)

Them: You play a lot of loud rock music!
Me: Yeah. And you smoke a lot of pot!
Them: (total silence)
Me: Too much music?
Them: No, no. Too much pot?
Me: Nope. See you later!
Them: Okay goodbye!

I wish to clear something up. Someone recently made fun of me, saying "Nice blog" in an exaggerated tone. It was online, but I'm pretty sure it was sarcastic. WTF? I don't know, but I bet you're about to tell us. Anyway, I'm doing this because one particularly cynical GSF bet me that, due to my current (basically lifelong) slacker status, I couldn't keep up a live journal for more than one week. I was even provided with the link to livejournal.com. Thanks, because I'd never heard of it.

Well, you just watch me.

By the way, can more people consider signing up for this crap, becasue I think it could be kind of fun and I am sick of IM. I M sick of IM. Yes I M. OMG!

I think Rose just Turned.

I am currently studying for my "Poetic Structure and Genre" exam. Grad students aren't supposed to take exams. We're supposed to write 20-page-long nightmares that not even our professors will read (and we won't even read twice). I feel like a college sophomore cramming for my bio quiz the next day. Incidentally, I almost failed college biology.

At this moment, I'm teaching myself the difference between authorial diegesis and auctorial mimesis. That wasn't a typo. Apparently they're really different. No offense, grad schoolers, but I'm getting an increasingly oppressive feeling that the professors teach us this crap just because they feel really embarrassed that they're the only ones who know it. It's that dorky.

Here's the dilemma: I could learn anything I get "taught" in grad school by simply reading books. It's mostly profound realizations based on acquired knowledge, with the realizations being the things that count (at least for me). But I probably wouldn't read the books unless I was paying for classes.

Oh wait.

I just ventured to the roof deck for the first time unescorted. When I say "escort," I don't mean some dashing young man who brought me on his arm up to the roof. I mean like, the super. Or my sister, or Rebecca or something. In other words, nobody important.

But now that I was by myself I was in VERY important company. I set up shop on a nice rusty plank and did the unattractive pose where I expose all of my limbs (but not the nasty middle part) at once. "This is great," I thought - or something much more creative.

But suddenly, some bitch from the building trounces upstairs and stands IN my SUN while she unfolds her totally amazing fold-out lawn chair that she got on sale at CVS. I was so jealous. "Wow, I'm so jealous," I said. " "Yeah, thanks - ten dollars at CVS!" Okay. That was basically the extent of our conversation. She was kind of boring.

However, I did manage to snap her photo. Here it is:

Isn't she pretty? She was getting maximum sun by having her toe pointed like that.

I find it really annoying that the spellchecker on this thing "doesn't recognize" the word "blog." I'm guessing this is because blogger.com and livejournal.com are competitors. But you don't have to pretend you don't recognize the term. That's just snarky.

My grad school friends (GSF) take my obsession with Ellen Degeneres as yet another indication that I am gay. Other indications have included my purple bedspread, my height (huh?) and my extensive experience in high school athletics. They are totally set on this theory. This is becasue they are miserable gay people who need everyone else to be gay with them. (I must say though, being the straight one does have its advantages. Look for "Queer Eye for the Amazon Girl," coming soon to Diminishing Returns.)

It's true: I am obsessed with Ellen. I love her. I simultaneously am totally happy for her and completely jealous. I want to have her life, but somehow be me instead. I'm guessing that wouldn't work. Ellen just stuffed a Mexican donkey figurine's face into tortilla chips on her show. See? That is funny. I love how she never sold out and relied on idiotic sexual humor to be funny. After initially flipping out after she came out, the masses actually like her now. They must have gotten the memo that queer is in. Awesome. Anyway, I love it. Go Ellen.

Also, notice that Ellen is not pitting out in the above photo. This is probably the main difference between Ellen and me. I've always wondered if celebrities or other high-powered individuals are using this elaborate contraption or secret deodorant that prevents any sweating whatsoever. I am convinced that these people use, like, 20 layers of nude-colored paint to keep the moisture locked, or wrap ace bandages or sports tape around the underarm. (There I go again with the high school athletics.) I would try either method, seriously.

Pit stains are so horrible. I know it shouldn't matter, but they are kind of universally regarded as a human weakness. You see a guy on the street with gaping wet marks. Oh GROSS, you just bumped into him, shoulder to shoulder! Nasty!

The silent interaction goes something like this.

You: Oh, sorry. (pause) Ewwwh. I'm actually starting to pit out myself. Good thing I'm wearing black.

Pit stains: (gives dirty look) What are you looking at? I know I have pit stains. Don't you think that if I had a sweater I'd cover them up? Ha. You look like you could be pitting out there yourself.

You: WHY is he looking at me like that? OMG, can he tell just by looking at my face? Am I giving it away?

Pit stains: This sucks. Maybe I should try Mitchum.

You: Mitchum doesn't work. I would know.

OH MY GOD. I just typed "pitting out" in Google image search and the very first picture to come up was one from MY college website. That is so pathetic. I seem to have labeled the photo "pitting_out," as if that was a reasonable way to distinguish that one from any of the other pictures taken that year.

Okay, this sucks. Not even "pit stain" is warranting any quality photos. I would have thought at least someone would have taken a closeup of a random person's ridiculous pit stain at some point. I will try to do it myself at some point. I could totally do a closeup from the top-secret "pit stain gallery" from senior year, but I think Sarah Kate would kill me.

5:09 am

Poll: Will I get sick of this by tomorrow?

a) Yes, definitely
b) No way, this rocks
c) Consider herbal stimulation
d) It is tomorrow, loser

3:32 am

Ha. I love this. I can select a "current mood" from a pull-down list of like 50 options. One of them is "bitchy." I shoudln't start doing this, though, because if I did, my current mood would always be "bitchy." There'd really be no reason to change it because that would be lying.

If you think about it, though, it's pretty presumptuous to assume you're in a bitchy mood if no one is around. Isn't bitchiness by nature contingent on at least some sort of human interaction? Can you be in a bitchy mood if you've been sitting by yourself for six hours straight, alternating between thinking about making cheesy noodles and actually making cheesy noodles? Sure, I FEEL bitchy right now. But I always feel like this. Maybe I'm kidding myself, and I actually feel "artistic," or "drained," or even "contemplative." (All standard Live Journal options.) In order to truthfully classify my current mood as "bitchy," I'd need to have someone call or IM me and make a proper assessment of my reaction to life beyond Annie (LBA). And I don't really fucking have time for that right now. Fucking annoying people.

I think I can select "bitchy" now.

Can I say "fuck" this often on this site? I guess I'm about to find out.

That's another thing. Despite my self-proclaimed "web-savvy" image, I am totally clueless as to this basic blog process which apparently millions of "users" have mastered by age 18. I would also like to thank Live Journal for making me feel like even more of a "user" than I already am.

The Snowman is totally staring at me. I think he is a user, too.

I'm guessing most people who read this will be on during work, or "normal" hours. Just an FYI: my posts will all occur during the abnormal realm of 1 a.m. - 7 a.m. I have a medical condition that requires I only be a productive member of society during that frame. People who write blogs supposedly "for their readers," but really for themselves, are productive members of society. I am glad I now qualify. For a minute, this one time, I was getting worried. I was sitting on my couch for six hours straight, thinking about cheesy noodles. It occurred to me that maybe my life was worthless. But suddenly, a That '70s Show rerun came on FOX and the feeling just vanished! That was close. I hope to never feel that way again.

Since I don't have any friends with blogs, I guess I won't be getting comments. If you're reading this, you can still comment. It just comes up as anonymous or something. So state your name. Or don't. See if I care. Losers.

Bitchy!

12:59 am - The anti-anti-blog

OMG, selling out is fun!

Okay, this endeavor is basically for the few people who constantly check DR and are constantly disappointed to see it hasn't been updated. I'm sorry! Obviously, a blog pales in comparison to the wonder that is DiminishingReturns.net. But maybe such obnoxious paling will inspire me to write more DR columns.

Plus, here I get to use first person. Fucking finally.