• While we’re on the subject of creepsters…


    I refer you to yesterday’s gripe about dudes. And yes, I know that not all dudes are bad. As Rahul happily pointed out, these creepsters are just making the rest of you look good! Right?

    Anyway, in light of my gripe yesterday, I thought I should let you all know (as though you’re interested) what happened TODAY:

    I went to Subway, where I ate lunch. Then as I was walking back to the office, across the parking lot, this dude behind me said, “Excuse me, ma’am?”

    So I turned around and said, “Yes?”

    And he said, “Are you single?”

    I rolled my eyes and said, “NO.”

    “Are you in a relationship?” (Because I suppose it’s possible to be both not single and not in a relationship?)

    At this point, I had just turned around and started walking away, but I was almost to my office. I said, “Yeah.”

    He said, “Excuse me?”

    I said, “YEAH.”

    He said, “Well, your husband or whatever is lucky because that is one fine ass you got on you.”

    I mean, not that I don’t appreciate the compliment to my ass, I guess. But c’mon. REALLY? And now that asshat knows where I work.

  • Seriously dudes, this is not okay.


    Dear MEN,

    No, I’m not talking to all of you. But it seemed rude to start it “Dear Creepsters.” In fact, if you’re reading this blog, you probably never do this. I hope. Well, Travis might.

    Kidding, Trav, I just know how you like to be linked.

    Anyway, some of you men clearly need to be told that it’s not okay to stop a woman in the street to tell her how sexy her neck is, while licking your lips at her as though you might just throw her down and rip her clothes off right then and there.

    It’s not cool. I won’t claim to speak for all women. I’m sure there are some who like this kind of attention, but I can tell you that most of us don’t. To be on the safe side, you should all just stop it.

    And when I keep walking, because I’m not going to stop and have a conversation with you about the sexiness of my neck and risk getting raped or murdered, don’t yell “Bitch” at my back. I’m not required to respond to your creepiness. It freaks me out, and it’s really the last thing I need at 8am, on my way to work.

    I know, you “nice guys” are out there rolling your eyes, saying, “Man, you can’t say anything to women these days.” But that’s not true. Honestly, there’s a way to compliment someone without making that person uncomfortable. I do it all the time.

    But we also need to address the issue of receptivity. If a woman is not receptive to your attention, she’s probably going to find you “creepy.” Which, at this point, is as nebulous a term as “douchebag.” I can’t define it, but I know it when I see it. And everyone’s definition is probably a little bit different.

    Yeah, it’s as much a bummer for you “nice guys” as the floating definition of “bitch” or “slut” is for us ladies. Welcome to the club.

    Obviously, sexy neck spottings are not the only thing that I believe should be off limits. It’s mostly a class thing. You know, like you should have some. It’s usually easy to tell when someone is being sincere, and “Man, I’d like to put my dick in your mouth” just ain’t it.

    So let’s all take a lesson in class and consideration for our fellow humans. That means no more honking and yelling filthy things from your vehicle, no more lewd talk to strangers on the street, and having some respect for everyone’s space bubble. It’s not so hard; more than half of us do it all day everyday. Give it a try, I’m sure you’ll like it.

    Love (around the space bubble),

  • Monday Morning DART Report: Apparently, the train is the perfect place to talk about your vagina.


    Yes, I was a bit of a lazy ass last week. Let’s move on, shall we?

    A couple of Fridays ago, I got on the train to go home from work. I was thrilled because my favorite seat was available. See, on the regular cars, there’s a place where there are two seats, and then the seat in front of them is turned sideways. It’s perfect for putting your feet up, if there aren’t a bunch of people on the train. As this was a Friday, there were a bunch of people on the train, and this wasn’t even remotely an option. I, without thinking, sat there anyway.

    What I didn’t take into account were the people sitting behind me. They were talking loudly to each other.

    Here’s the conversation that first caught my attention. They had it at THIS VOLUME.

    First Dude: “How do you know when the sex is good?”

    Woman, giggling: “I know.”

    Second Dude: “Uh…when you nut?” (Oh, the eloquence…)

    Woman: “When your pussy is still wet the next day. When you can’t walk. When you have bruises.”

    Second Dude: “What kind of sex you be havin’, girl?”

    Woman: Giggle.

    Let me reiterate: This entire conversation was at shouting level. In my ear.

    I tried valiantly to read a book, but who can concentrate with pussy talk in their ear? And then I got to hear all about their friend Kim’s* haircut. You see, Slim saw Kim at work and noticed she got a new haircut. He didn’t like it, but he told her it was “different.”

    The woman informed him that Kim was out sick that week, and she hadn’t even been at work.

    Slim just knew he had seen her, because her hair was so different! It looked like crap, he almost didn’t recognize her. But she had talked to him like she knew him!

    The woman called Kim to verify that Kim was, indeed, out sick. And she was. Whoever Slim had talked to, it wasn’t Kim! But it looked just like her! Slim was so confused. He was going to go “confront that bitch” and find out “why she pretend she knew me.”

    The woman, still on the phone with Kim (the real one, who has apparently not cut her hair) told Slim that girl “be playin’ him.”

    Slim was mightily upset about this.

    Somewhere near the halfway point of my train journey, a couple of other men got on the train. One of them started randomly yelling at strangers, to ask how tall they were. “Hey boy! Hey boy! How tall are you, boy?”

    The boy tried to ignore him, but the yelling man wouldn’t give up. The boy finally just shrugged his shoulders and the yelling man and his friend dissolved into giggles.

    Shortly after that, and let me mention that it was about 90 degrees on this train, it was packed to the gills, and more than one of its occupants was not acquainted with the shower, someone got on the train wearing so pungent a perfume or cologne that my headache (caused by a woman’s pussy and not-really-Kim’s haircut) immediately got worse.

    That person sat down right next to me.

    I managed to make it off the train without incident (and by that I mean, going postal), but it was a very close call.

    *I’m calling her Kim, because I can’t remember her name. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Kim, though.

  • It’s Friday, we should break up – ALL OTHER YOGURTS


    I’m a little late to the party, I realize, but this week, for the first time, I finally tried the whole Greek yogurt thing.

    It was on sale at the grocery store, and I found some that only had 100 calories instead of a bajillion.

    I had the lovely blueberry, pictured above, the first day. The yogurt is thick and creamy, and has more tang than regular yogurt. It comes with the yogurt in one compartment and the fruit in another. I didn’t realize that I was supposed to be dipping from one side to the other, so in typical American fashion, I just spooned the fruit over into the yogurt and stirred it up.

    Blueberry was good. Unfortunately, when I opened the blueberry side of things, it shot blueberry juice all over the boob of my white tank top. But I pressed on, determined not to hold that against it. I didn’t regret it. It was good.

    The next day I had strawberry, and I learned my lesson about opening the fruit side. No fruit-splattered boob that day!

    This morning? I TRIED HONEY!* Okay, first let me say that the honey variety has more calories, which I didn’t realize until after I’d inhaled it. It’s. Totally. Worth it. I may never eat any other yogurt again. I still didn’t realize I was supposed to be dipping things, so I spooned all the glorious honey (about two tablespoons) into the yogurt and stirred it into a creamy bit of heaven.

    From the first taste, I was hooked. I ate the whole thing in 3.5 seconds flat, and it’s a good thing I don’t have another one, or I would make it my bitch, too. How have I missed out on this for so long?

    Between this and nutella? I may not need anything else (besides sushi, let’s be real).

    “Normal” yogurt? You’re out. It’s been fun, but I have a new love.

    *The honey kind only has two ingredients. Yogurt and honey. The fruit varieties all have added sugar and such. EVEN MORE WIN!

  • Too far, Netflix. Too far.


    So I’m sure you know by now, right? For the second time in less than a year, Netflix is jacking up the price of membership.

    And you DO have a Netflix account, don’t you?

    Of course you do.

    While their stock climbs and business looks good, they’re now saying that it costs more for them to do business than it did SIX MONTHS AGO.

    Um, no.

    I’m sorry. But no. Last time, they tried to tell us it was because really, they were a company that streamed movies and televisions shows, but they also happened to rent out DVDs through the mail. Even though they started as a company who rented out DVDs through the mail. Even though almost nothing I actively WANT to watch is available for streaming.

    Now, it’s, “Oh, looks like people really want those DVDs! But we can’t mail them! Woe is the shipping!”

    The first time, I was pissed, but willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. Sort of. My three-DVDs-at-a-time subscription (with unlimited streaming, which was added at some point while I wasn’t looking) was $16.99. It jumped to $19.99.

    For those of you who aren’t good at math, that’s a $3 increase. All because now they’re a streaming company who rents the occasional DVD…which you’d think would be cheaper, since there’s no shipping of streaming content.

    I promptly went online and dropped my membership to the one-DVD-at-a-time with unlimited streaming option. It was $9.99. So by raising the price, they lost seven of my dollars. Ten, if you count what I would have been paying for the same subscription.

    Personally, I was thinking, “Online streaming? Big effing whoop.” I mean, sure, I’ll watch things streamed on Netflix, but I treat that the way I treat cable. I just surf for shit to watch, looking endlessly, and finally settling on something I never would have watched otherwise, which usually turns out to be dumb or horrifying. AKA, the entire reason I canceled my cable.

    That was in November of 2010. The new rates went into effect in January of 2011, I think. I could look it up, but this is a blog, not the news, and I’m too lazy.

    Yesterday, there was a story on HuffPo, now AOL (ugh), about Netflix pricing again. This time they’ve determined that goshdarnit, people like those DVDs after all! But it’s still really expensive to mail them. So they’re separating the DVD service from the streaming service entirely, and now you have to pay for two separate memberships, if you want both.

    Hold up just an ever-loving second.

    They’re trying to tell me that it now costs TWICE AS MUCH to operate their business as it did SIX MONTHS AGO? No, sir. That’s ass crackers.

    And what are they offering me in return for nearly twice as much money? Not a fucking thing. Damn, I at least expect a reach around when getting it in the ass that hard. They’re not even pretending to offer anything more for nearly twice the price.

    You know what would be super? If they would make it so that you could have different profiles on your account. So that married couples could each have their own queues and such. Or families…with children. But no, Netflix wants you to get two memberships. Or four! Or else have your queue look like Courtney Love’s makeup after a weekend-long bender. And now, if you try to share your membership with someone, you could go to jail! Yay! (Note: people living under the same roof and sharing an account should probably have little to fear…probably. WTF?)

    That would be what we call “a service” for which I would happily pay a little extra. Probably not twice as much, but some. Instead, I’ll be canceling my membership*, before the price increase. I’m not going to pay the same amount for one-DVD-at-a-time and unlimited streaming that I was paying for three-DVDs-at-a-time and unlimited streaming last November.

    Until I see more content I actually WANT to watch, instead of settle for watching, and an appreciable increase in some kind of service you provide? I’m out, Netflix.

    *Technically, I was canceling my membership anyway, but now at least I can go out with a fist of rage!

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