Monthly Archives: October 2008

Splendid Isolation

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Pete Yorn (Warren Zevon), you always say just what I’m thinking.

Undecided Voters Don’t Deserve the Right to Vote

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My best friend Tracey and I have been talking a lot about undecided voters lately and how we just. don’t. get. them. You either care for

1) the greater human need over your own selfish want
2) the greater human right over your own idiotic hatred

or you don’t. We don’t see how someone could possibly not have a definite opinion on, say, trade policy or women’s rights or taxation. I understand that you can be an independent or a libertarian or a member of the . . . Peace and Freedom Party(?) and not have a viable candidate who really suits your Presidential candidatey needs, but after A YEAR AND A HALF OF CAMPAIGNING, make up your damned mind already!

Tracey sent me a David Sedaris article in The New Yorker today that we think says it best:

To put [undecided voters] in perspective, I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. “Can I interest you in the chicken?” she asks. “Or would you prefer the platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it?”

To be undecided in this election is to pause for a moment and then ask how the chicken is cooked.

If I knew for sure it wasn’t illegal to post other people’s phone numbers in my blog, I would do it SO FAST right now.

Filed under good times at everyone else's expense, jobby jobby job job, my uber-confrontational personality
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In my incredibly important role as an executive assistant, I have to talk to a lot of really retarded people (none of which is my boss, I’d like to emphasize, in case he ever reads this). But none of these is more retarded than the IT telemarketer. This is the guy who never EVER bothers to look up the name of the IT manager at your location but just calls and casually tells you–obviously on speakerphone, because his legs are kicked up on his desk and he’s busy practicing his old frat’s secret handshake–to connect him to whoever happens to be the head of your IT department. Having a superiority complex and an intense desire to lose my job over something stupid like being snotty to salesmen, I make absolutely no effort to mask the loathing in my voice from these cretins.

HOWEVER, I just received a call from one at an NYC company called Axispoint and was uncharacteristically nice to him, simply because I was coming off a delicious chicken meatball lunch and had really enjoyed IMing Dr. Boyfriend about being excited to “warm up my ‘balls” all morning long. But as soon as I uncharacteristically nicely told this guy that we don’t even keep an IT department at our location–particularly ironic since we’re a software company–he just went and HUNG UP ON ME.

Can you believe it? I am the one who hangs up on people. I am underpaid one who has to talk to retards all day. I have a singsong voice that demands telemarketers to stay on the line longer. But not this guy.

I checked my call log, and of course I have his number from my caller ID. So what should I do with it?

All of the Memory Cards in the World Wouldn’t Be Enough to Hold All the Unnecessary Quotation Marks in New York City

Filed under bigtime celebrity, readin' and writin', why i'm better than everyone else
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Hey, look! Some of my amazing photography prowess is currently being displayed on the front page of The “Blog” of “Unnecessary” Quotation Marks!

Dr. Boyfriend and I were walking down Broadway on a hunt for rainbow-flavored shaved ice one weekend afternoon this summer when we spotted a store window full of the chintziest figurines imaginable. I thought the sign was pretty lame, actually, but I really wanted to give fame to the Last Supper sculpture below it:

Sadly, blog owner Bethany evidently didn’t think Jesus made the grade and just posted the sign itself.

If He Couldn’t Pick His Nose, Would You Still Love Him?

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Tell me the truth: would you date someone who was missing a finger?

Does it make a difference if, say, only a section of the finger was missing?

I spent most of my train ride this morning considering it, and I’m still not sure. On one hand, I’d really like to introduce people to my boyfriend by saying, “Barbara, this is my boyfriend Stan, and we can never get married because he’s missing his ring finger.” And whereas I call Kamran “Dr. Boyfriend” here, I could call this finger-lacking guy “Four-and-a-Half-Fingered Boyfriend”. It has a ring to it, right?

But on the other hand, I feel like we’d have to set way too many ground rules for a healthy relationship to ever develop. I’d constantly be saying things like, “Okay, you can touch me with your nub, but if it so much as comes within an inch of my mouth, I swear I’ll cut the other nine off.”