blind cavefish

Bragging

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Thu, 15 May 2008 16:43:00 +0000

AOL Television wants to make out with me

Overheard at Maine's Portland International Jetport

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Wed, 07 May 2008 15:25:00 +0000

Bag screener: M'am, we're going to have to rescreen this one.

She holds up my plastic bag containing some Maine purchases.

Me: No problem!

The bag screeners gather 'round to look at the contents of my bag. I giggle as I think about the bundt cake pan that I bought at a yard sale, and my random flea market purchases.

The bag screener hands me my bag.

Bag Screener: Your bags were fun to screen!

TYM and I go over to some chairs nearby to sit down and put our shoes back on. I recount my conversation with the bag checker.

TYM: Did you have the stuff we bought at the sex shop in that bag?

I turn red.

Me: Oh. Yeah.

Hope you enjoyed my sex toys, Portland International Jetport screeners!

What's Cooking?

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Thu, 01 May 2008 15:34:00 +0000

I am! That's right, folks. I'm officially a chef. Now, I guess I should figure out what the hell I'm doing with my life. That'll have to wait until after I get back from Maine, though. TYM and I are taking a few much-needed days to relax and enjoy nature.

A New Project

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 14:53:00 +0000

Hey, y'all! So I started a new blog. This one won't be going away, and I'll still post here with the same frequency I have been, which is not very much. It's not really funny or anything. Mostly, I talk about food and bitch about the FDA. If you're into that sort of thing, then you should check out The Food Hippie. And I'm still at American Midol, of course.

Thirst

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 19:21:00 +0000

TYM: What are you drinking?

Me: Kombucha. It tastes like ass but it's really good for you. Wanna try it?

TYM: Sure.

[He takes a sip, then makes a disgusted face.]

Me: [giggling] What do you think?

TYM: It tastes like vinegar. And death.

Tax Day

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 21:27:00 +0000

On this day in history...

Jackie Robinson stepped onto Ebbets Field for the Brooklyn Dodgers, becoming the first black player in Major League Baseball.

The Titanic sunk.

The city of San Francisco was incorporated, paving the way for Rice-a-Roni.

Andrew Johnson became the 17th president of the United States.

The bottle opener was invented.

Ray Croc opened the first McDonald's, making him partly responsible for the 10 pounds I can't ever seem to lose.

Tokyo Disneyland opened.

FOX inflicted Jim Carrey on us with its "In Living Color" premiere, and helped me make up my mind about what I wanted to be when I grew up: a Fly Girl.

Leona Helmsley was sent to the pokey for tax evasion.

Howard Stern's radio show premiered.

Jean-Paul Sartre, Greta Garbo and Pol Pot died.

Seth Rogan, Samantha Fox and Leonardo da Vinci were born, along with yours truly. I woke up this morning to a house full of friends from high school, a screaming godbaby and two very traumatized cats. There were meerkats and french fries and laughter and sunshine and a very special delivery of flowers. 33 29 is pretty kickass so far.

Regarding Rock of Love 2

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Mon, 07 Apr 2008 19:32:00 +0000

So remember that chick who got all the plastic surgery so she could look like Barbie? Well, The Former Roommate alerted me to another woman who might have gotten plastic surgery to resemble her favorite doll:

Uncanny, isn't it?

I am Damp. Very Damp.

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Thu, 03 Apr 2008 19:57:00 +0000

Hi. My name's Jess, and I have psoriasis.

I don't have it super bad, just a few patches of it here and there. It gets a wee bit better in the summer, a wee bit worse in the winter, but it never really goes away totally. After years of controlling it with steroid creams and whatnot, I decided to stop for two reasons: 1) they suppress immune functioning, and while that's really great for psoriasis, not so much in helping my body fight off other things that are potentially more harmful than a small, itchy skin rash and 2) I'm a fucking hippie.

That began my quest for a homeopathic cure for psoriasis. I have tried everything; apple cider vinegar, coconut oil and Dead Sea salts, just to name a few. Everything improves my condition with consist ant use, but nothing ever gets rid of it totally. After taking a couple of classes where we talked a lot about Chinese Medicine, I decided to visit the teaching clinic at the New York College of Traditional Chinese Medicine today.

After filling out a four-page medical history form, having my pulse taken, blood pressure checked and tongue examined, and answering deeply personal questions about the contents of my toilet bowl, I got my verdict: I have an accumulation of dampness which is affecting my spleen functioning. Then she said the words that I was hoping she wouldn't say, "Okay, let's get you some acupuncture." I had been hoping for herb tinctures and teas and crap, but alas. I'd be pricked with needles instead.

I have a giant problem with needles. They make me queasy. I'm willing to suffer through them for the sake of keeping my diabetic cat alive, or piercing something or getting a tattoo, but I still hide behind my hands every time I see a needle piercing skin. So I was not super psyched.

It wasn't so bad, actually, although when she stuck one IN MY HEAD, I nearly hyperventilated. The worst part was having to sit there and relax for 20 minutes afterward with 15 needles sticking out of my body. I don't relax well to begin with, and with the added "I have 15 needles stuck in my body right now" mantra, it was basically impossible.

I feel 2% less damp already! I'll be heading back weekly until my dampness is gone. I liked my doctor a whole lot, but she wasn't Chinese. Is it weird that I was a little disappointed by that?

Hit Me With Your Best Shot... Fire Away

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Mon, 31 Mar 2008 13:29:00 +0000

Because I'm a pretty awesome girlfriend, I got TYM a day at the West Side Pistol Range for Valentine's Day. Schedules being what they are, we couldn't make it right away, but we finally got to go yesterday. It was an absolute blast.

The way it works is, if you're a beginner, they lump you into a group with other beginners, give you a short classroom lecture, make you sign forms saying "I understand that I might die today and my family can't sue" and "I have never been arrested for stalking or threatening an intimate partner (but celebrities are okay)," and then set you loose on the range. Our group consisted of three couples and one lone guy who probably had neither expected nor wanted to be in a group with three couples. Lone Guy made the best of it, though.

When we started shooting, I immediately had two problems: my gun kept jamming up and I really, really sucked at shooting. TYM was immediately awesome, despite the fact that he hadn't fired a gun since he was a kid, at summer camp. I went to Christian summer camp as a kid. TYM went to ninja summer camp, apparently.

Shortly thereafter, I got a new gun and TYM advised me to close the other eye when lining up my shots, which improved my shooting immensely. I took my best target home to hang it up in my office to remind myself and everyone else that I'm a badass. Don't believe that I'm a badass? Check this out:

Bad. Ass. Well, not totally. (And side note -- time to freshen up that haircolor, eh?) At one point, Lone Guy and TYM swapped out their bullseye targets for ones depicting humans, and I just couldn't do it. That either makes me a pussy, or them potential serial killers -- I'm not sure.

Also, My classmate Marina was very upset when I told her about my Sunday plans, so naturally I sent her a pic of me smiling, gun in hand. She wrote back, "Oh God! What's next? Abortion clinic bombings and a vote for McCain?" Heee.

Overheard on the Upper West Side

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 20:28:00 +0000

After a two-hour drunken brunch where conversation consisted primarily of engagements, weddings and having babies.

Me: You know, we were having very different conversations at Drunk Brunch two years ago.

Summer: I know.

Sharona: Hm... should we talk about anal instead?

Jess and Summer: Yes please!

Random Thoughts

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Sat, 08 Mar 2008 18:03:00 +0000

My landlords are in Florida right now. I was told the mother of my landlady would be coming by daily to feed the cat. She's been vacuuming for two hours now. I'm guessing that probably wasn't what they had in mind.

To address the whole being laid off situation, because I had many comments about it... The company I worked for was actually great, I just didn't care for how the whole thing went down. I mean, I left there at one point for a job that turned out to be soul-destroying, and three months later, they took me back like an astrological prodigal daughter. Plus I got severence and crap. Plus, I've been SO overwhelemed with everything that it was a blessing in disguise. And people keep throwing freelance gigs at me, too, and I've wanted to try the whole freelancer thing for years but I've been a bit of a scaredy cat about it. So it's aaaaaall good, little peanuts. I do wish I'd sent in that resume to be the Senior Editor of foodandwine.com a few months back, though. Sort of.

Last night, I went over to Curly's to drink wine, and eat fish and chips, and we decided to abandon the screenplay we haven't been working on for one that is super weird and dark and just like us, and I can't wait until we start writing it, which we'll do once Idol is over, because that's very taxing. Also, on my way over there I turned a corner and crack! Something really wrong happened in my knee and I was doubled over in pain. I skipped class today because I was worried about what eight hours of running around a kitchen when I don't have health insurance yet would do to it. I watched The Former Roommate go through knee surgery hell, and that was kicked off by bowling of all things.

I'm skipping my birthday this year, as I'll be in final exam/final project hell, but I think TYM and I are going to take our jetsetting selves on a trip the first weekend in May, when I will officially be a chef! Any ideas? My parameters are within the United States and not too pricy. Also, we like nature and outdoorsy activities. And good food. He's in the Dominican Republic for work right now. I'm jealous.

I feel like I need one more item to make it an even five... hm. Oh yeah, I got an email from a publisher asking if I'd be interested in writing a book. Holy shit, right? I'm holding off on stressing out about whether or not I want to do it until I actually talk to the woman who emailed me. Well, that's a lie. I'm trying to hold off on stressing, and failing miserably.

That's all I got for now. Back next week.

Where Entertainment and Politics Meet

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Wed, 05 Mar 2008 16:59:00 +0000

Me: Great show recap on American Midol.

Curly: Thank you, but not my best. None of the contestants are sparking a real fire in me.

Me: I love that we both wanted to hate David Cook, but ended up loving it.

Curly: I know! and I KNEW you were thinking the same thing when the song got, you know, good. I was like, "FUCK!"

Me: Me too. Exactly.

Curly: It was sort of how I felt when I realized the troop surge was actually working.

Regarding Unemployment

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 16:58:00 +0000

Me: Guess who got approached about doing another freelance gig? That would be me. Looks like I might be able to make this freelance thing work after all!

TYM: Nice! Then you can go back to being my sugar mama. Being the financial backbone of this relationship is really trying, you know.

Regarding Richard Belzer

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 16:39:00 +0000

Because The Young Man is a Very Important Person in the tobacco industry, we scored an invite to the launch party for Bracco Wines, Lorraine Bracco's brand at the Hard Rock Cafe last night. It was an evening of free food, free wine and celebrity gawking.

The first celebs we saw were the Sopranos crew: Pauli Walnuts, Uncle Junior and Johnny Sack. Then we saw Joy Behar and Susie Essman, followed by Major Mike Bloomberg. As Bloomie is TYM's hero, he was quite excited about seeing him.

Shortly thereafter, I got excited about seeing someone, too. A medium-sized dark-colored, long-haired mutt, to be exact. Yes, I'm one of those girls that talks to and pets strange dogs on the street. I was preparing to launch my affectionate attack on the unsuspecting pooch when I noticed who was holding his leash -- Richard Belzer.

Now, I have no quarrel with Richard Belzer. I've always dug him on Law & Order: SVU (which is, in my opinion, the best L&O, past or present). I enjoy his dry sense of humor. He comes off a bit like a cranky conspiracy theorist on Real Time With Bill Maher, but since I don't often expect much from the entertainers on the panel, I don't much mind.

All that said, he went to a wine tasting party at the Hard Rock Cafe with two dogs on leashes. Wearing sunglasses, both indoors and at night. I briefly wondered if he'd gone blind, and if the dog I was gearing up to pet was, in fact, a seeing-eye dog. (Trust me, I've made that mistake before, usually way too late) It didn't appear to be the case, so I'm left with no explanation other than his future being really, really bright.

It's also worth mentioning that I dribbled powdered sugar from a zeppole all over the front of my sweater and managed to have a left boob-cannoli collision. I'm really fun to take as a date to fancy places. Klassy, even.

Overheard in Baltimore

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Tue, 19 Feb 2008 19:36:00 +0000

Abby: So I went to put (2 1/2 year old) Sam down for his nap and he started chomping on my head and saying, "Mommy, I'm going to eat your brains! Rawr rawr rawr!" I said, "Your Aunt Jess taught you that, didn't she?"

Yes, yes she did. Anyone need a babysitter? I have a lot of time on my hands.

A New Direction

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Fri, 15 Feb 2008 15:25:00 +0000

One of the reasons I wanted to go to cooking school is that the life of a dot-commer isn't very stable, and I have a knack for getting laid off. Like I did today.

I knew it was going to happen at some point. Big company buys little company. Little company is based in Portland, Oregon, and has two stray, random full-time workers in New York who are in a different time zone and aren't really a part of the team because of the distance.

In fact, I knew it was going to happen soon, because I caught my boss lurking around in the tools I use to do my job, trying to figure out how they work. I told TYM last night over a lovely Sri Lankan dinner that I thought I might be losing my job, and he told me I was just being paranoid. I'd hoped he was right.

When I couldn't access email or any tools this morning, I didn't even make the connection. Then I got the call. I think it was an odd way to treat an employee who'd been there for two years, happily, but business is business. In reality, they screwed themselves by doing it that way, because my to-do list isn't going to get to-done.

Now, the question is, what to do? Find another job, or chill out until I finish school? I guess I'll let the Flamingos help me figure that out this weekend.

Love Is...

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Thu, 14 Feb 2008 17:39:00 +0000

...an ecard depicting harcore porn in my inbox this morning, and a bonsai tree. Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!

Regarding Hair Color and Libido

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Tue, 12 Feb 2008 20:46:00 +0000

Me: You know, that picture makes me miss being a blond

Miss Tanya (fellow fake redhead): Is that your natural?

Me: Close to it

Miss Tanya: Different kind of attention when you're blonde

Me: Totally

Miss Tanya: Dudes think redheads are crazy and horny

Me: And they think blonds are dumb and horny

Miss Tanya: We're all horny

Me: Apparently

A Treat

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Tue, 12 Feb 2008 17:12:00 +0000

So I was looking for the Official Flamingo Mix CD® earlier this week, as the 10th Annual Flamingo Reunion® is upon us starting Friday, and I am PUMPED! I couldn't find the CD, which bummed me out, but I did find a picture of me with a large group of television news professionals circa 1998, complete with a cooking celebrity who makes me ultra-stabby. Click on the image to see who it is! (P.S. Drue! You're in there, too!)

Before I go...

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Tue, 05 Feb 2008 04:07:00 +0000

See? I knew that was going to happen. I was going to make a big dramatic "All I want is to be left fucking alooooooone" and then I would just HAVE to post something. Well, my tea hasn't kicked in yet, so here I go.

I have a history of sleepwalking. I did it ALOT when I was a little kid. Mama Cavefish would find me wandering aimlessly about the house in the wee hours of the morning, inquire as to just what, presume, I thought I was doing, and then when I answered that I was looking for the golden anvil that the unicorn left in the basement for me, well, she'd realize I was actually asleep and escort me back to bed.

In adulthood, my sleepwalking has been fewer and farther between. About every three years or so, I do it a few times in one week, and then I stop aburptly as I'd started.

Sleepwalking can be hilarious, but it can also be quite scary. Once, I woke up in the living room, fully dressed, with my roommate asking me just where I thought I was going at four in the morning wearing cutoff jeans shorts in the middle of February. Where was I going? I'll never know, because thankfully, I never got there. Once he came home and found me in his bed, and when he tried to wake me I angrily told him to get out of my room and leave me alone. He slept on the couch that night, and started locking his door the next.

Saturday morning, I woke up bright and early to go to class, and the first thing I noticed was my hamper at the foot of my bed. The thing about that is, my hamper doesn't live at the foot of my bed. It lives in the closet in my office. It never leaves the closet in my office. I live alone. TYM was not sharing a bed with me that night. The hamper was full, and therefore too heavy for the cats to have dragged it in, plus, the closet door is always closed. There was only one explanation: I was sleepwalking.

I spent most of my subway ride into Manhattan trying to figure out what I was planning to do with the hamper. It briefly crossed my mind that I may have tried to pee in it. Don't ask me why that crossed my mind, as there really isn't any explanation for that train of thought. When I arrived home later, I was happy to discover that I did not, in fact, pee in my hamper. That didn't solve the mystery, though. I don't ever actually remove the hamper from the closet when I do my laundry, so I probably wasn't trying to do laundry. If I was, than God, how boring am I?

I just had a thought as I typed this. The lightbulb in my bedroom had gone out earlier that day. Maybe I was going to try to change it by standing on my hamper? If so, I obviously abandoned that plan, and thank goodness for that.

Any theories? And no, I didn't take Ambien and I wasn't drunk and blacked out, just to answer those questions in advance. Go!

Where's Jess?

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Tue, 05 Feb 2008 02:46:00 +0000

So here's the deal, puppies. I'm currently working full-time, going to school, interning three or four mornings a week, freelancing for Cosmo, watching American Idol, eating bacon and trying to get my shit together both literally and figuaratively. I've been a shitty emailer, texter, caller and hanger-outer, and I spend a lot of my little free time sleeping. You might say I'm a little overwhelmed at the moment.

So what this means is, updates are going to be few and far between, at least until I finish school at the end of April. And then sleep for a week. I'm even skipping my birthday this year. I'll still post announcements, dumb conversations and Rear Window-esque theories about my landlords as they arise, but since I'm not interacting with the rest of the world all that often, don't expect too much.

So I'm going to go finish up crying, because I just read this, and then I'm going to take a shower, and then I'm going to drink some Yogi Bedtime tea so I can fall right to sleep (it works!) and get up at six in the morning to go bake hundreds of cookies. Good night, and I'll see you when I see you.

Smack That

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 19:05:00 +0000

I don't remember if I knew about the cast of the Real World: Seattle before I saw the first episode. (Cindy, did we?) What I do know, is that after every episode that season, I'd get a phone call:

"Holy shit! Did you see Irene?"

"Holy shit! Irene just lost her shit on national television!"

And yes, "Holy shit! Did you just see Irene get bitchslapped?" As I've mentioned before, Irene was an unofficial resident of my on-campus townhouse Junior year. Unofficial because she was a commuter who happened to know a couple of my roommates, and decided that commuting was a lot less fun than staying at our place every night for an entire semester. More often than not, one of our six beds were empty, because some of us had boyfriends and some of us were total sluts. I was the former. Cindy was the latter. (J/K! Love you, Cindy! Whore!)

Anyway, why am I telling you this, you ask? And why am I leaving out all the dirt, when you all know there's dirt? I'll answer your first imaginary question, first. As Jezebel pointed out today, it's the 10-year anniversary of the most exciting season of The Real World for me ever. Which means two things: 1) I am fucking old and 2) Jezebel posted the video of Stephen smacking her. Which I thought I'd share. Enjoy. And as for the dirt, well, this is the Internet, people, and I only talk shit about people I don't know personally, like Elliott Spitzer, or people I knew in passing who wouldn't remember me if they found my blog, like Rachael Ray.

On a completely unrelated note, if y'all could do me a favor and remind me the next time I schedule a haircut that I actually hate bangs, that would be super. Thanks!

All I Have To Do Is Dreeeeem

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Thu, 24 Jan 2008 15:41:00 +0000

Me: I had a dream last night that I was watching a movie on Lifetime starring Cybil Shephard as a serial killer.

Me (Continued): The theme song was "Cemetary Gates" and it was a version SUNG BY CYBIL SHEPHARD. I was frantically trying to get in touch with you so you could turn it on and hear it.

The Former Roommate: HA!

The Former Roommate (Continued): I had a dream last night that I was watching an episode of I Love Lucy. But Lucy and Ethel were whores and went on vacation to Cuba.

The Former Roommate (Continued): Wow, you and I had some kind of insane mind meld of weird last night.

Me: Totally

The Former Roommate: I would give anything to hear Cybil Shephard sing "Cemetary Gates."

Me: It was pretty awesome, yeah.

Gawker Commenters Are Assholes

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Tue, 22 Jan 2008 22:13:00 +0000

I'm not even going to link to it, because, well, fuck them. Seriously, everything doesn't have to be a snark-fest. Especially not the death of a talented actor and father to an 2-year-old girl. Making fun of Heath Ledger's death is NOT the same thing as making fun of Perez Hilton. Jesus Christ.

Rear Window

noreply@blogger.com (jess) — Fri, 18 Jan 2008 20:02:00 +0000

I was just telling Curly about how much I'm dying to go to a shooting range and fire off some rounds. She asked me what kind of guns they have at the range, and I suddenly remembered a funny (in a demented way) story from college.

It was my junior year, and my crew and I lived in Gartland, a set of townhouses down by the Hudson River arranged in a Melrose-place type fashion. Each had three bedrooms with two beds each, and on my side, two of the three overlooked the parking lot. I was in such a bedroom, with my roommate Michelle.

Ryan was over one night, and we were sitting in the living room arguing about politics, which mostly devolved into Irene from The Real World (our unofficial roommate) screaming at Ryan while he laughed and said things solely intended to outrage her. Suddenly, we heard screaming outside our window, and rushed into my room to see what the commotion was.

There was a standoff in the parking lot under our window. A bunch of cops had their guns pointed on a young man, who in term had a gun pointed on them. There was a lot of "Drop the gun!" and "Fuck you!"

"Whoa, that's a TEC-9," Ryan said.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Semi-automatic, but you can convert it to automatic pretty easy."

"How do you even know that?" Tara asked.

He shrugged. I called him a psycho, and Tara shushed us. Someone made popcorn, and we sat by the window, trying to figure out what had happened. Eureka, a classmate of ours, was on the scene, crying. Someone said they'd heard she was dating someone in a gang, which may have been true, but we were also a Catholic, mostly white school, so as you can probably imagine, sometimes rumors like that got a little bigger than necessary. Although, considering Eureka was in the parking lot with a bunch of cops and a guy with a semi-automatic weapon, there may have been some truth to it.

There was a knock on our door. It was a few of the guys from the soccer team who lived below us.

"Hey," Greg said. "Can we watch out your window? We're afraid we're going to get hit with a stray bullet downstairs."

We made room by the window, munched on some popcorn, and watched the standoff continue. Tara got some pans from the kitchen and handed them out, explaining that if a bullet went our way, we could use the pans as a shield, because apparently we all had ninja reflexes.

"Hey," a very obviously stoned Greg suddenly said. "Isn't that that chick, uh, what's her name? Eurethra?"

Just then, TEC-9 guy dropped his gun, the cops pounced and cuffed him, and he was led away. We were laughing so hard at Greg that we missed most of it. Usually, all we'd be treated to through the window was a certain blond sorority girl who liked to get shitfaced and walk around the parking lot in her underwear, yelling. Don't get me wrong -- she was amusing, but a standoff with firearms was way better.

Ryan's a cop now, incidentally. I wonder if that night was when everything changed for him.