1. Wigs. A big Cosmo sex tip has always been "wear a wig in bed so he feels like he's with another woman!" If this works for you, I feel like you have a lot more problems than it can possibly solve. Number one being the fact that a wig stays on your head the whole time. I had enough trouble keeping the wig on my head this Halloween just walking around bars. Obviously, you're doing something wrong. Also, you're dating someone who can keep a straight face while you're wearing one, when any normal person would not be able to. People look stupid in wigs. Frankly, if he wants to do someone else that much, he can go ahead and do so. Really, knock yourself out buddy. I'm not wearing a freakin' wig.

2. Notes. This is another big one. Once upon a time they even had these little cards that you could cut out of the magazine and put into your boyfriends pocket or whatever, that said "I'm not wearing any underwear" or "I'm totally gonna do you later" and various things to that effect. First of all, you put something like that in someone's pocket, and things can go terribly wrong. Like when they pay for coffee that morning. I bet there are a lot of very confused baristas waiting on the boyfriends of Cosmo subscribers. Also, I don't see how the thing about not wearing underwear really helps anyone who is not present at the time.

3. Striptease classes. Jen and I were just discussing this yesterday. This is another issue of taking yourself waaay too seriously. I once took a burlesque class at the gym, and totally lost it when they started making us crawl around on the floor. You'd also have to figure that anyone you were doing this for has already seen you naked before (otherwise that might just be the most hilarious one-night stand story ever, next to mine about the guy who tried to slow dance with me to "Lady in Red"), which means it's not like he's going to see anything new, unless you've grown another nipple over night or something. Which would not be that sexy.

4. Edible underwear. The logic of edible underwear has long perplexed me. You can't just happen to have it on beforehand, because it would get all linty and gross, and I imagine it would not be all that comfortable walking around all day with a fruit roll-up in your pants. Either you'd have to be all "oh, let me change into something a little more comfortable" and come out wearing it, or put it on during...  I don't get it. It's all too complicated and tedious. I also don't think eating a fruit roll-up is all that awesome of a time.

5. Jen reminded me about this one... This one time, Cosmo suggested you put a donut on his man parts and eat it off. I don't even know where to begin with this one, except to say that a) Donuts. Not hot. and be b) if the donut fits... I wouldn't expect a great time otherwise.

6. Naughty Jenga. Yup. Naughty...Jenga. Roll that one around your head for a moment. I bought the new issue of Cosmo last night, and this was one of the ways to become "closer to your man." By writing "naughty suggestions" on the Jenga blocks, and then playing Jenga... or something, I don't know. It's Naughty Jenga! And you lead an unbelievably sad life!

7. Ok, this is my theory. The editors of Cosmo are just really, really hungry. They are STARVING. Otherwise, there is just no viable explanation for the bad erotica in the back this month. What Cosmo calls its "red hot read." Which is about some dude who totally loves this girl that he just met five minutes for her awesome self and not her 80 bajillion dollars, who chases her out of a party in order to make sure she is ok, and then proceeds to break out.... the ice cream.

"He really is going to make me into his own personal sundae! Dani thought, and then gasped."

NO! No no no no no no no.

8. They give you a schedule of what to talk about with "your man:"

1) On Friday night, ask him how his buddies are doing
2.) Saturday, in bed, ask him to spill his "in the sack" fantasy.
3.) Sunday morning- "Lounge in bed while planning next weekend"

Oy! Ok, here is a tip. If you need a magazine to help you schedule talking to another human being, you need to be in a sheltered workshop. Seriously. In fact, if you read Cosmo for any other reason than the fact that it is totally fucking hilarious, you need to be in a sheltered workshop. It's pretty much a fact.

Sigh.

I didn't have to go into work today. Which was nice. I like money, but it's awfully cold out and I was awfully hungover.

Surprised? Yeah, me too. Considering I'm well known for taking an hour or so to finish a single drink. It's the damn smoking ban. At least in NY there are places where you can bring your drink out with you. But here, you have to down it first. Smoking tempers my drinking. I'm going to have to figure out something else to do while drinking, or something. Perhaps I'll pick up whittling? I can't go on like this. I should never. The few sober inhibitions/semblances of good judgement I have, I'd prefer to hold onto. Also, I've not the desire to wear a lampshade upon my head.

I should probably do something responsible... but I think I'm going to lie in bed and watch "The Big Sleep." Oh, fuck, do you know what's really tragic? One of the Bogart movies I got the other day turned out to be a home-taped copy of the Martha Stewart show. And in the other all the characters sounded like they were speaking underwater. So disappointing. I love Bogart, he's the one fella I'd be willing to wear flats for. He was quite short, you know. Well, about my height anyway- maybe an inch or so shorter. I have a Rick Blaine action figure, which he would have been quite a bit taller than, I imagine.

Was questioned earlier today as to whether or not I practice my "femme fatale" looks in the mirror. I do not, in case anyone else was wondering- nor was I aware of my having any. If I do, it's probably due to many bad weather days spent in bed watching old film noir. But I also spend a lot of bad weather days watching Marx Brothers movies, and I've yet to pick up the harp, or a cigar for that matter. I smoked a cigar once, in 8th grade. It tasted like cherries and death. I just had a puff at the insistance of a boy who walked me home from detention. Whom I've wondered about for years, especially since last I saw him it seemed like he might have been losing his mind. I'm in a funny/foggy place right now.

1. Drink too much wine
2. Order several things off of Amazon.com, all of which are used and cost less than the shipping rate.
3. Forget that you ordered them
4. Be surprised everyday for a week!

Oh, I really do know myself. I got me two Humphrey Bogart movies, a Hitchcock film, and a "new" copy of "Tallulah: My Autobiography" by (duh) Tallulah Bankhead. The old one was in shreds. If you should ever read it, you'll understand why.

"Despite all you may have heard to the contrary, I have never had to ride in a patrol wagon."

That's the opening line. Bitch was sassy.

I'm vastly bored today. I'm at work. I'm not selling because my co-worker needs the commission more than I do for health insurance. I'm a mensch like that. I don't feel well, really, either.

What I said above though, is true. My mum does think Cat Stevens is going to make a secular comeback. We discussed it the other day. I'm not going to burst her bubble. Cat Stevens going all religion crazy was one of the three major heartbreaks of my life at the age of 19. The other two were being too old to date Holden Caulfield and finding out that Marvin Gaye and Tammy Terrell were not in fact an item. That last one totally ate my soul. I don't think I've been the same since. I'm still upset about that. And the Cat Stevens thing. Not so much the Holden Caulfield thing, because- although my preference for fictional men has not changed, my taste in fellas has. Somewhat.

Catherine, my co-worker, is a charmingly eccentric French woman- and the only way I have found to accurately describe her, is to say that she's quite a bit like a Tennessee Williams play directed by Ingmar Bergman. She desperately wants everything to be beautiful always and gets frustrated when it isn't so. I can understand that. I want everything to be interesting always and get frustrated when it isn't so. I would prefer things be absolutely terrible and horrible and miserable than boring. If I must do boring things, I must do five of them at a time.

In eleven days, I will have a super cute new Jill Stuart dress. Catherine says it looks "very smart" with my new haircut. I am expecting another present also! The Letters of Edna St. Vincent Millay. I'm excited. I've always liked letters and diaries. When I was little I used to read the letters of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browning, and I loved them inordinately so. Although, this, understand, happened before I found out Marvin and Tammy were not an item and I got all jaded and shit. I wish people still wrote real letters. I really do. I think letters are lovely. Everything now is so ephemeral. I will always prefer my words tactile.

The only song I want to hear currently is "Harpo's Blues (I wish I was a Willow)" by Phoebe Snow. In case you saw my, update thing or whatever it's called, that should explain it. I listened to it for an hour straight last night. I don't think it has anything to do with Harpo Marx. I wish I had it at work, but I do not. Catherine and I are listening to Edith Piaf. Which is also lovely.

So a bunch of douche's chanted "Iron my Shirt!" at Hillary Clinton while she was speaking in New Hampshire. Charming, no? I love people. Tell me now how sexism isn't a problem anymore?

I talk way too much. I need to stop myself. It's practically compulsive.

Catherine wonders if I'm not being a bit obtuse concerning my reluctance to try caviar. She says I should only date men who are either over 40 or not American. Because I am too refined. I like her. She is constantly appalled by everything. If something is not "exquisite" or "refined" or "charming" or "fabulous"- it is clearly the end of the world. She "likes man who like woman, you know?" And I do. I think. 

I am going to smoke a cigarette now.

OK, I'm finally home. I'm going to eat some left over Chinese (food, not people), have a glass of wine, and share the enthralling odyssey that was my trip back to Chicago today.

I am not the sort of person who ever has an easy time at the airport. The blood, the tears, the missed flights, the three hours on the runway, the screaming babies, the one guy who wanted to be my sugar daddy and sent me home in a limo... But I thought to myself- "Gee! It can't be worse than my trip up here! What could possibly top the guy sitting next to me with the Cosby sweater and Santa hat that thought that having my eyes glued to a book was a clear signal that I wanted to chat with him the whole way? Not much!" Oh, but I was wrong.

First of all, upon leaving the house, my mother hands me a tube of some Oil of Olay warming exfoliator and insists I take it, because who knows, I might run out of face wash, and then where would I be?  It's useless to argue with her on these matters. Which is why I've been known to come home with anything from 80 cans of tuna fish from BJ's Wholesale Club, to a food processor from 1974. So anyway, I stick the stuff in my purse and get in the car to go to the airport.

After all the goodbyes and such, I finally make it to the security area (once again annoyed that I wore boots) and place my bag in the bin thingy. The guy checks my bag, and takes out the tube of the Oil of Olay. He then informs me that this is three more ounces than the law allows. "Should I pour some out?" I ask. But no- it doesn't matter, he informs me, what the actual content is, if the bottle says it's more than 3.9 ounces. Honestly! What am I going to do with the Oil of Olay? Exfoliate someone to death?* Oy. And the really bizarre thing was, that they let me keep my knitting needles. I don't know about you, but I'd feel a lot safer if a terrorist had some beauty products rather than pointy sticks. But that's just me. You could, in fact, poke someones eye out with one of those things. Or a fetus- they used to do that, you know. Your choice.

Anyhow, I give up my crusade for justice and my bottle of warming exfoliator, and head to the gate and sit down. I chat with the nice gay man who complimented my boots in the security line for a minute, and then decide to go to the little store for a book of logic problems. Upon my return to the gate... I realize... I'm at the wrong gate. It says Chicago, but the airline is American. I'm on the United flight. Across the hall. Which is nearly done boarding. At least I got on, so no big whoop.

Anyhow, once I'm on the plane, and I've just cracked open the Sky Mall (more about that in a moment), the flight attendant comes over and asks if there is anyone traveling alone. I raise my hand, along with three other people near me. She explains that a woman up front is sensitive to perfume, and another woman is wearing it, and could someone switch seats. I do not volunteer- a) because I already found the seat belt and arranged my stuff, and b) I need to see this "sensitive" woman. The guy diagonally in front of me volunteers, and the woman comes walking up. She's sporting a holiday sweater, an awfully 80's butch haircut, and a copy of "Left Behind"- you know, that book about the rapture? Am I glad I stayed! 

So anyhow, I read my Sky Mall. I fucking love the Sky Mall. If I ever win the lottery, I'm going to buy everyone I know bizarre things from the Sky Mall, which they'll have to pretend they love. One of my favorites is the hot dog grill/ bun warmer. Who is this for? Who makes that many hot dogs, and at the same time has all that extra counter space? I barely have room for that food processor! That and the electric ride on scooter/cooler just fucking kill me.

Alas, by the time I make it to the Garden Yeti Sculpture section, my mind starts drifting towards the moral quandary of someone who believes in the rapture flying on a plane. It's kind of an asshole thing to do, really. I mean, if you *genuinely* think you're gonna get vacuumed up into heaven at any moment, should you really be on the plane? I mean, the windows would break and everyone else would fall to a horrible death. It doesn't seem to me like a very nice thing to be OK with happening.

Anyway- this is my favorite thing. The flight attendant comes by with the beverage cart. My sensitive friend in the holiday sweater asks for mineral water. Fine. The flight attendant pours her some water from a bottle. "I asked for mineral water, not spring water!" she says, in a horrified voice that I would probably reserve for the occasion where someone had just handed me a glass of bile, kicked my grandmother down the stairs and then eaten a puppy alive. I'm just saying. The flight attendant told her that this was the only water she had, and my sensitive holiday sweater wearing friend starts having a bit of a fit and saying she's going to call the airline and complain. I'm totally serious. I'm trying not to laugh, the guy next to me is trying not to laugh, and the flight attendant just looks confused and horrified. I'm glad the guy next to me doesn't laugh, though, because he has the most terrifying Adam's apple I've ever seen (it was HUGE. Like he had a veritable triangle poking out of his neck), and I didn't want to see it move.

Now, this next move will not get me vacuumed into heaven, but luckily, I'm an atheist. I had to do it. I just had to. I couldn't help myself. I had perfume in my bag. It was calling out to me. So I take it out of my bag, and ask the guy next to me, and the stewardess if I should do it. And they agree that I should. So I spray myself. Just a little bit. Then she starts like, gagging, and we all pretend like I didn't know about her special sensitivity. And now I generally feel a little bit guilty about the situation, but I kinda think she was faking anyway, so I don't feel that bad. Anyway, that was my trip. I love the airport.

*Oddly, I once wrote a story where this actually occurred....

From now on, myspace people, you can read all my crazy ass rantings here:

http://notesfromtheunderwhelmed.blogspot.com/

Dear Fake Lesbians at Nick's last night:

God, that is just so... 1997. Really. If you're so not enough on your own that you have to hump your girlfriend to get some attention... well, I hate to say it, but things are not going well for you. Also- I think that the majority of womankind would appreciate it if you could really lay off on the whole acting like complete morons thing for a while. 'Cause you know- we've got the Supreme Court right now trying to say that women aren't capable of making their own decisions regarding their bodies, etc. It's a dicey time. And frankly, all that "Girls Gone Wild"/ Paris Hilton crap is not really helping the cause all that much.

Also, I feel you need to know, that, while you did have a number of horrifically unattractive men watching your antics, it was not done with the admiration you may have been imagining. Sure, they were probably turned on or whatever, but they were also laughing at you. I don't know why you would want to be that.

Love and kisses,

Robyn

Dear Complete Strangers:

I'm sorry, I have no idea what you should do about that problem you think I can solve despite the fact that you don't know me at all. I'm not sure what it is about me- maybe some pheromone or something- that makes complete strangers want to tell me their deep dark secrets and ask me for advice. Do I look like an oracle or something? Oy.

Love and kisses,

Robyn

Dear Breeders:

Seriously, move to the fucking suburbs already. Your carriages are taking up sidewalk space. And your baby doesn't belong at a bar. And I can see your belly button popping out, and it's gross.

Robyn

Dear Men of the World:

Good news! I am writing a book! A self help book- for you, because, for the most part- let's face it- you kind of suck. The tentative title is "Don't be a douche: A helpful guide for fella's who don't want to be the guy we make fun of later with our girlfriends." For years, my select few platonic male friends have benefited from my expertise in this area, and now I'm taking it to the streets. While most of said friends fall into the category of well intentioned and sweet but often clueless and geeky fella's who read too many comic books and watch too many horror flicks, I do feel that my sage advice can truly benefit the whole male species.

Topics/Chapters thus far include:

- Introductions (and avoiding the word "Ladies")
- Reading people
- Your Mom Was Wrong. (or, Stop thinking you are inherantly "special"- a specific problem for men brought up in the 80's.)
- Making decisions and having opinions (Because the "I don't know, where do you want to go" game is annoying)
- Basic etiquette (You don't have to stand up when we leave the table, but it would sure be swell if you didn't pick your nose. Also, feminism doesn't mean you don't need manners anymore.)
- Actual dates (We like them. Better than hanging out at your house and watching you play video games)
- The inherant awfulness of gold chains, blousy shirts, and anything else that wreaks of "The Two Wild and Crazy Guys" from SNL
- Read The Goddamned Newspaper (Or, we appreciate it when you actually have something to say about life)
- The Sensitive/Emo thing has gone way too far (Crying in public is tacky)
- The secret list of things you don't realize we're paying attention to and analyzing (Such as: Dirty hands, your relationship with your mother, your friends, your shoes, etc.)
- What Would Paul Newman Do?

And I'm coming up with more everyday. It's pretty swell so far.

Love and kisses,

Robyn

See, the thing about me is, once I get it into my head that I want something, I will not give up until I get it. Such was my bisque dillemma today. Many of you may recall my similar quests for egg cream soda's and creme brulee.

It's just been like this today: I was late for work and of course my pockets kept getting caught on doorknobs and I barely escaped the clutches of my apartment. And then I desperately needed a cigarette, and my purse was so so full of things that were lighter shaped, but were not in fact lighters. And one of them was a cream soda dum-dum that the wrapper came off of which got my hand all sticky. And meanwhile, my face is still hurty. 

It was a bad time.

And all day at work, I thought about how I would go to Jewel and get these pints of super delicious refrigerated lobster bisque that they nearly always have. So when I get out, I walk four blocks in the rain, in heels which I have been standing on for 8 hours, over to Jewel, and to my chagrin- no bisque. So I walk three blocks over to Dominicks- and alas, no bisque. But did I give up? Did I take Division bus home? Fuck no. I wanted my fucking bisque. So, I walk all the way over (still in heels, still in the rain) to Whole Foods. And they don't have the bisque in their prepared seafood soups section (which they usually do, but apparently, today was all about busting my balls). But they have it frozen. At five dollars a pint. At that point, however, I didn't give a shit so I bought three, and a bottle of wine and grabbed a cab home.

So here I am, boiling a plastic package of frozen lobster bisque. And if it is not delicious, I swear to god, I will cry.

This was originally a post about how I cut my hair, how much I hate cutting my hair, which then dissolved into a list of things I also dislike. I've decided to scrap everything but the list, and keep an updated list of things I happen to dislike. Sure, on the MySpace there is a whole section devoted to things one likes, but being somewhat of a glass half empty (and broken, and I chipped a tooth) kind of lady, I tend to focus on the negative. So here it is, things I dislike:

- Having to explain sarcasm
- Couples who walk down the street with their hands in eachothers back pocket 
- Same side of the booth sitters 
- "Girlfriend face" (you know, the face girls make when you ask their boyfriend to pass the salt or something and they think that's some special vampish code for "do me" or something and then they get all huffy) 
- When my male friends get stupid girlfriends who refuse to understand that the reason the dudes are my friends is because I, in no way, want to do them- and then don't let them hang around with me anymore.
- When my girlfriends boyfriends don't "let them" hang out anymore
- When my friends go along with their significant others and agree not to hang out anymore. I'm sorry, it bothers me. I mean- I cannot for any reason begin to fathom anyone trying to pull that trick on me. I can't. I can't see how they would broach that subject.
- Crocs
- Commercials for Tampax, etc. that try to make it seem like we're all gonna run out and ride a horse down a beach or go kayaking just because we're wearing a damn tampon
- Inadvertantly getting caught on things when in a hurry to leave
-Nail polish that says it only takes a minute to dry, but then after five, you touch your face on accident and you get a big red smear all over yourself. 
- That whole leiderhosen fad that's going on right now (swear to god- go to any women's clothing store and you will find leiderhosen. And short-alls. I am sorry, but there is no reason, ever, for an adult to be wearing short-alls or over-alls or anything-alls, please and thank you!)
- People who cannot back up their opinions with facts.
- Joggers
-Valerie Bertinelli and any and all Lifetime movies she might be appearing in
-people with "themes" 
-adults who find themselves adorable- specifically if they speak in baby talk
-anything tie-dyed
-white people with dreadlocks
-victims
-"Nice Guys (TM)"
- Those smiley face things that yell at you on the myspace  
- Overly smug people in commercials for business schools. 
- When I go out on a date with some dude, and he accuses me of "flirting" with other fellas when I am simply talking. And I try to explain "Yes, dear, I talk a lot. And to anyone who will listen, that's just me- and if I wanted to be out with someone else, I would be- because I always do exactly as I please." and still they don't get it because they are, unfortunately, dumbasses.
- Conservatives who believe that they are "logical" while left wing people are "idealistic."
- Guys who say things along the lines of "you're really smart/funny/literate/articulate etc. for a girl" to a woman. I just think that's a whole world of hilarity. Especially since, as a rule, the guys who say such things are complete morons.
- Guys who say "ladies." As in "How are you ladies doing tonight." Ick.
- Gold chains
- Clothing/ Handbags covered in logos. Honestly, everyone knows that it's the lower end stuff that has the logo's on it, anyway- so why bother? It's so gauche.
- Perfume commercials that try to look like bad art films.
- White Chocolate
- The fact that the more you pay for food, the less you get of it
- The Chicago bus and its craziness
- Women who say they "aren't feminists, but..."
- People who cry in public.
- People who fake mental disorders to be Zelda Fitzgerald chic
- Eating disorders. I'm sorry- anorexia and bullemia are like, the only "diseases" one decides to have. No one ever says, "Huh- I think I'd look better bald, maybe I'll try having cancer!" And really- come on, they're just annoying.
- When people use the term "begging the question" to mean anything other than a logical fallacy.
- When people say "literally" when they mean "figuratively"
- Rotten pistachios.
- When people say "for all intensive purposes" (it's "for all intents and purposes"
- "irregardless"
- Purple prose
- Jebus freaks
- The fact that "pro-life" people are always for the death penalty
- People who think they have magical powers/have seen ghosts/are psychic
- People who think they are uber-deep and want to tell you all about it so as to enlighten you.
- Adults who complain about their parents like angst ridden teenagers.
- The fact that people in local Car and Furniture commercials always have a far stronger accent than the general population. (it's not that it annoys me so much as I just don't understand why)
- Rad-fems who think you can't be a feminist if you wear heels, skirts, lipstick, shave your legs, sleep with men etc.
- Men (or women) who claim they "just don't like female singers." I think it's kind of like outing yourself as a tasteless moron. What? You don't like Billie Holiday or Aretha Franklin? That's just bizarre, I'm sorry.
- Christopher Hitchens and any other men who think women aren't funny. Because, let me tell you- I know at least 50 times more funny women than I do men. In fact, I cannot recall the last time any dude said anything more interesting than "You know, I like flip phones better than non-flip phones. How about I tell you why for the next twenty minutes?" and if I did, I'd probably faint. Faint I tell you!
- People whom I suspect claim to like music that is clearly unlistenable just to feel like they're special and getting something that you, as someone who happens to enjoy some sort of rhythm or melody, are missing out on.
- The "Are you gellin'?" commercials

It's true. I'm on a grape kick. No other food interests me at the moment. I purchased 10 dollars worth of grapes today. Also, I am glad that the Red Sox have beat the Yankees twice in a row. These are the things keeping me from losing my mind this week (in addition to my goddamned uterus- yeah, I'm a bit touchy about that, thanks.) I'm not going out tonight to boystown as planned because I am tired- that, and going out specifically means not eating grapes.

In other news, the Vatican officially abolished Limbo and all unbaptized babies are officially going to heaven now. I'm not sure what this means for the ones who were in Limbo before. There was a lot of contention about this, apparently, because conservative Catholics felt that limbo a) made sure parents baptised their kids, and b) was a good way to discourage abortion (ie: your fetus won't go to heaven if you abort it). The less conservative Catholics didn't want people to be sad about still-born children not going to heaven. That's the weird thing about religion I guess. I don't know if they're really concerned with the actual "fact" of whether or not limbo exists (it does not, by the way). Mostly that it seems to me that people make things up as they go along.

Blah.

Oh, also... I've been putzing around looking for jobs on Craigslist, mostly in the usual retail/bar/restaurant vein of things- and I've noticed a couple disturbing things.

First of all- many places (including the one I posted on here recently) specifically request either a man or a woman for the job. This is pretty goddamned illegal- it's sex discrimination under Title VII.

Now- there's another thing that bothers me- and I don't think it's illegal, per say, but it's definitely shady. A lot of these places request a picture. Now- this is questionable, because- you know- there are, of course, in person interviews- a person could be hired because of the way they look, or because they are of a certain race and never know it (and vice versa) because they probably don't know who else applied. The thing is, when the employer requests a picture, it's quite obvious that they are either looking to hire someone based on looks, or looking to screen out people based on race, size, possibly religion, age etc. Anyhow- the whole thing just creeps me out. On the other hand, it would be pretty damned easy to sue these companies for discrimination, were one so inclined.