Sometimes, it just works out

Your Blog Should Be Purple

You're an expressive, offbeat blogger who tends to write about anything and everything. You tend to set blogging trends, and you're the most likely to write your own meme or survey. You are a bit distant though. Your blog is all about you - not what anyone else has to say.

What Color Should Your Blog or Journal Be?

Distant? Really? Oh well, I just thought the color choice was funny. :)

Then we get to this...

Your Famous Blogger Twin is Wil Wheaton

You're a friendly, funny guy (or girl) next door With more than a touch of geekiness

Who's Your Famous Blogger Twin?

Actually, I've been hooked on Wil's blog for a few months now. Little Wesley Crusher's all grown up with a wife and teenage stepsons. It's fascinating reading in a great conversational style.

Things not to tell your first date -- especially if you want to see her again...

Another day, another bad date...

Last night, I went out with Tim*, a lovely boy I met at a BJAC event last month. We were supposed to have had our first date that week that I was so sick, but since I was spending my days talking to the television, that really wouldn't have been a good idea.

Then again, maybe the drugs would have helped...

To be fair, it wasn't like last night was gouge my eyes out, slit my wrists, dull. Tim's actually quite the interesting character. Yes, that's it, "character." It's just that he turned out to be a little more, well, open and honest than I was comfortable with on a first date.

It started when I couldn't quite remember what he looked like (clearly he couldn't remember me either because he walked past me twice before it finally clicked for me). Then, he told me all about his gambling scheme: a friend doesn't want to pay his ex-wife alimony and child support, so the buddy "hangs out on his mom's couch all day and makes bets" for the guys. I learned all about horse racing -- a subject that I really only care about 2, maybe 3, weekends a year (depending on whether or not there's a Triple Crown contender). Good news: I think I finally understand the trifecta!

But wait, his money-making schemes aren't limited to gambling. He, very loudly I might add, shared with me last summer's adventure into DRUG DEALING. And no, we're not talking a little pot here and there. Though he claims to not have actually done the dealing himself, he gave his buddy $3,000 in "start-up funds." I was appalled. I was trying to get him to shut up, but for the longest time he just wasn't getting the point.

Desperate for conversation, I moved on to Law and Order. Strangely, after the previous two tracks, it just felt "safe" to me. That prompted him to tell me all about the summer that HE spent living on his mom's couch watching L&O and the fact that he'd rather spend Christmas with "Uncle Lennie" and "Aunt Serena" than head to Philly to spend the day with his real, live family!

Speaking of family, did you know my "parents didn't raise me right?" That's right, kids. My date, ON HIS FIRST (AND LAST) ATTEMPT TO GO OUT WITH ME told me that my parents didn't raise me right. I think he thought he was joking, but that sealed his fate.

I almost had an out, but something went wrong there too. I was mid-sentence when this large, greasy (like environmental lawyer greasy, not homeless greasy) guy showed up next to me...staring. No, "excuse me." No, I-think-I-know-you gestures. Just
STARING. I stop mid-word and turn to the interloper, disappointed to find that my fantasy of being "rescued" from a bad date by George Clooney has once again fallen through.

Me: Can I help you?
GreasyGuy: Um, I um think I know you. Where did you go to school?

Normally, isn't that the preference of the recognized to ask that question, not the recognizer? Yeah, that's what I thought too -- at least to ask it in the way that it was asked (you kinda had to be there). It turns out that he doesn't know me at all. He thinks he may have known Jules. Or he may have seen my "get me out of here " expression (it was right in the middle of the drug conversation) and thought he could alpha-male my date into leaving. Either way, it didn't work, and it reinforced my opinion that you cannot...ever...meet...a...man...at...a...bar!!!!

You'd think in a city of almost a million people, I'd finally meet a normal boy. Frankly, though, I'm starting to doubt they exist at all.

* Not his real name, but you already figured that out.

Another $%^#$ Reunion Email

So, the reunion is coming up, and ticket sales are low. I mentioned the other day that I was considering sending an email to some of the kids in my class who hadn't purchased tickets and who I thought would appreciate the humor of the situation.

In deference to my publicist's advice, I didn't use the subject line I wanted to. Instead, I used "Cox High '96 Reunion: All of the Fun, None of the Botox." Probably for the best, Christy would have had a heart-attack if she caught wind of the other one...

And the letter was significantly more tame than the options I threw out earlier. See what I mean?

Hey, [Random Classmate]!

I know you’ve probably gotten about 10,000 calls/emails/texts/IMs/people jumping up at you from behind the bushes (sorry, that was my crazy ex – totally not related to this) about this already, but trust me, there’s a reason. The Class of ’96 Ten-Year Reunion is coming up fast, and it won’t be the same without you there!!

Whether you’ve spent the last ten years raising hell or raising babies; serving your community or 5 to 10 in the pen; happily married or giving those girls from Sex and the City a run for their money, I know you’ve got some great stories to tell. Why not share them in Virginia Beach this Labor Day Weekend?

There are a lot of things I could say to encourage you to attend our class reunion, but frankly, they all invoke images of Grosse Point Blank and Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion, and we all know how those movies turned out (everyone put big smiles on their faces, showed up looking fantastic, and there was relatively little bloodshed). Sadly, we don’t live in the movies; you probably need a few “real-people” reasons to book it to the beach for a long weekend:

• Spend quality time with the folks in September, and you’re free to head to Vegas this Christmas.
• Admit it…you really want to see how your prom date turned out.
• Pimp your blog, latest novel, or soon-to-be-released independent album or film.
• Spiked punch? Forget it, we’ve got a bar!
• Put those crazy hit-man rumors to rest once and for all. :)

If, despite all this, the thought of purchasing a ticket to our Ten-Year Reunion STILL makes you want to drink, check out this exciting offer from Bombay Sapphire, courtesy of their beautiful and fabulous (totally objective opinion, the fact that she’s my twin sister is completely beside the point) publicist:
If you purchase a ticket to the class reunion by July 31, you will be entered into a drawing for a bottle of Bombay Sapphire Premium Gin, a cocktail recipe book, and two martini glasses courtesy of Bombay Sapphire.

So now you’re probably thinking, “Quit rambling, girl, just give me the details.” Here they are…

• Date: Saturday, September 2, 2006
• Location: The Lesner Inn - 3319 Shore Drive, Virginia Beach, VA 23451 (http://www.lesnerinn.com/)
• Price: $60 per ticket (plus a $3 “PayPal Charge” if you purchase online)
• Ticket Sales: Make checks payable to: Cox Class of 1996. Mail to: SCHOOL ADDRESS DELETED
• All the rest: http://www.cox96alumni.org/

I know that in the movies, most of these notes sign off with something like, “Get on down to the old homestead and see how the cows are doing.” Again: Grosse Point Blank + Romy and Michelle + usually doesn’t make a whole lot of sense = not happening. Therefore, I hope the last 10 have been all you’ve ever wanted them to be, I’d love to hear an update, and, if your parole officer clears it, I’ll see you in VA Beach this Labor Day Weekend! Don’t forget, purchase your tickets by July 31, and you’re eligible for the gin drawing!

Cheers!

~Linds

Truly Bad Television

So, remember when I was out in Vegas and I told you all about this racket where CBS paid me $50 to watch spectacularly bad television and give my opinion on it?

One of the shows has actually made it to the surface (excuse the pun...you'll see what I mean).

It's called Aquaman, and it's about, well, Aquaman. He's apparently some superhero in the DC Comics Universe, but you can see how much knowledge I don't have about comic book characters. According to TPTB at UPN+WB = CW, it was supposed to be a spin-off of Smallville because, you know, it's like a super-hero show and all and keeping in mind the implied semi-racist connotations that all super-heros know each other/are related, it was supposed to make sense that a boring kid from Smallville, USA is supposed to have enough connection to this blond adonis from Mercy Reef, Florida (also USA for those playing at home).

It's actually a shame that the CW isn't putting it on their schedule this fall. Considering these are the people who brought us Britney and Kevin: Chaotic and Beauty and the Geek, I'm a little taken-aback by this choice. Occasionally, we get hit with quality television like Gilmore Girls, and the parent-net had such a great run with their last water-themed show. Shame about that Joey Potter though....

It's truly bad television, but if you've got $2, a steady stream of tequila (because, seriously, this could make an excellent drinking game), and the patience to try to figure out how a television show starring a former Miss Universe, a James van der Beek lookalike, Lou Diamond Phillips and Ving Rhames could possibly go wrong, I encourage you to check it out!

CNN makes me laugh

I know, I know, the right wing is probably screaming right now about how CNN's use of this photo is proof of their leftist agenda.

I can't tell if Condi's got a hangover or if the Lebanese spokesperson is saying "One of these days Alice..."

Either way, it's funny. Get over it.

My 10 Year Reunion

So the reunion is almost upon us and so far only 80 tickets have been

sold for a class of 493. This could be construed as a little sad, but
what's even more sad is the fact that now that I've seen the list of
people who have purchased tickets, I'm not sure if I even want to go
anymore.

It's not that I don't want to see the people that have signed up to
attend (or their wives), it's just that there were some people that I
was hoping to see there, and they haven't yet purchased tickets. I
suppose I could email them to encourage them to attend, but seriously
how is that email going to go?

Hey XXX, it's me. I know I haven't talked to you in 10 years, but I
just took a look at the list of people who have signed up for our
10-Year, and I'm seeing a serious lack of hot, single guys. I know you
were a total hottie last time I saw you and if I'm any indication, our
class is much like a fine wine -- only getting better with age. Since
the only way I'm seriously going to survive a weekend confronting almost
every insecurity that plagued me for four years while attending the damn
school the first time around is to get impossibly drunk, I was wondering
if you'd reconsider attending. At the very least (like if you're
involved with someone who is a little scary or impossibly sweet), you'll
give me something nice to look at/flirt shamelessly with and will save
me from gouging my eyes out while Erin R. lectures me on the perils of
drinking and driving.

I think not.

Maybe I should just email them and encourage them to attend without the
ulterior motives so shamelessly outlined. As we all remember, I haven't
had the best luck rekindling connections from elementary school
(different school...ScaryBen won't be there and I totally wouldn't
encourage him even if I did graduate with him). I'm hoping that this
could be different. For starters, the people I'm talking about have
actually left Va. Beach (yes I realize that ScaryBen did too, but he
returned to his parents' house when he got back from Japan) and are no
longer living with their parents. That, in my book, is always a great
first step. Secondly, the individuals in question have never projected
psychotic tendencies. They know how to use a telephone and would never
presume to call get completely high at 9 in the morning, call a girl at
her stuffy office, and NOT GET OFF THE DAMN PHONE when she asks him to;
nor would they call the same girl over 50 times in a 48 hour period --
mostly after midnight. Ok, really I don't know this to be a fact, but I
do know that each crazy-boy has his own personal MO, and while many may
attempt to copy off each other (how many door-bangers and insane callers
have I encountered since college?), they each escalate differently and
must be dealt with in different ways. Plus, the crazy-boys don't tend to
be successful and secure and if they show up to this thing, they must
be, right?

Or maybe I should just keep my mouth shut and get back to work....

If my work-life were a comic strip...

There's absolutely no doubt that it would be Dilbert.

Case in point: Lately, people have been swinging into my high-walled, music/fan insulated cube looking for Doric (who sits in front of me) or Mark (who sits behind me). When I tell them I haven't seen them as my x-ray vision hasn't been perfected, they ask me to tell them that they're looking for them when I do. One person had the balls to ask me to turn off my radio and listen for Doric. Then, I was supposed to get up and alert him to the fact that this individual wanted to speak to him.

This individual sits a mere 15 feet away....

True to form, my frustrations were highlighted in last Friday's Dilbert. I did a little editing in Photoshop, printed out a copy, and slapped it to the side of my cube. I can't wait to see how many people come by to comment (and then ask if I've seen Doric or Mark)!!

For copyright purposes, I'm not sharing that one. Here's the strip as Scott Adams meant it to be...

This is Jeopardy!

And this is Jeopardy! when Ken Jennings (you know, the super-smart guy who won tons of money after they changed the rules to not kick people off after five days) decides that he has a few suggestions.

Even if you don't watch the show regularly (like most of Baltimore because they put the smart people on at 10 in the morning to make room for the Paris Hiltons in the evening), this is pretty funny....

Darren 2.0

Earlier this week, I brought you the story of Darren Sherman, an uptight New Yorker who existed in some sort of fantasy world where the lines of business and personal relationships were more blurry than Ted Kennedy's vision after the annual Congressional Christmas party.

I mentioned in that post that there was one person in Baltimore who I believed would be capable of pulling that type of stunt. Except I didn't really think he would let it go that far. Except, well, he did.

The case I reference involves a blurred line between a personal and professional relationship, owed money, a person requesting payment of the owed funds, and another person going positively apeshit and calling out a lawyer.

Earlier today, Darren 2.0 came by to retrieve his property and actually pay me a portion of what he owes me for the care and feeding of his animal (I'm getting the rest in 30 days). This was a direct result of me sending an email calling him out on the fact that he dumped the cat with me for two months longer than expected and that I considered him abandoned. Since there were no prearranged visits with the cat during any of the four months that I had him (late night banging on the window and driving by my house to see if I'm home SOOOOOOO doesn't count!), I was confident in my assessment.

So I sent an email. I admit now that sending it to three other people (girlfriends of mine who all advised me to call him out because drastic measures seemed to be the only thing to get through to him in the past -- do you see a pattern so far?) probably wasn't such a good idea. But I had picked up on that idea during the date from hell with the lawyer and I thought it was the right thing to do.

Wrong answer, Tim. First, he emailed me to demand why three other people were copied. I told him why. Then, he called one of the people emailed FREAKING OUT over it. She talked him down (thanks, babe!). Then, he called his lawyer who demanded that I c&d my efforts to impugn his relationship with his professional contacts.

Now, I'm not sure how three of my girlfriends could be considered his "professional" contacts. Ok, maybe one of them could, but the other two definitely said that they'd never work with him LOOOONG before now because of all the lies that he told a fourth girlfriend when she had the misfortune to embark on a relationship with him. Not to mention that he steals food off of other peoples' plates and pretends not to notice that it pisses people off. But the point really is that the reputation for being an ass was already firmly in place long before I ever wrote the email in question. Practically everyone who knew I had the cat was convinced that I'd never see a dime from its owner. They were also telling me that it was a pipe-dream on my part to imagine that I'd ever get rid of the animal because he was going to find a way to saddle me with it on a permanent basis. Moreover, those same people each had three or four stories apiece about his chronic lying, stalking (I'm not the only one who's received late-night visits), or other anti-social downright creepy behaviors. So Home-Depot boy didn't really have a leg to stand on because my email didn't do anything to pull down his rep. It was already in the gutter! Reality check at table one, please!

Because our "friendship," Darren 2.0 has decided not to pursue legal action against me. Therefore, I can still look forward to late night visits, banging on the window, and food disappearing from my plate when I'm not looking. Gee, how did a girl get so lucky??

I hope

Usually, I'm not one to wish serious harm on anyone, but I can't stay quiet anymore. The behavior of the President (not the "administration" but the PRESIDENT) has become such that all I want more than anything in this world is for him to see the Golden Rule enacted towards him. This drunken frat boy act has gone on long enough, and now his pseudo-Christian sensibilities have endangered every man, woman, and child in America. Sure, we've lived with cancer, Parkinsons, Alzheimers, MS, and the hundreds of other diseases that science has PROVEN can be treated with stem cells before this, but never before have we been so incredibly close to the prospect of using stem cells to actually treat these diseases and seen our hopes dashed with the simple swish of a pen.

As the niece of a Parkinsons sufferer and the granddaughter of two women who spent years winning and losing battles with cancer, this hurts. I am comforted by the fact that this will all eventually shake out in karma, but I have a few suggestions for God on how this could happen. Please note, I am not advocating that anyone who reads this blog actually make these happen, nor am I threatening the President in any way. These are just the musings of a tired, frustrated, and hurt American citizen who is taking advantage of the free thought and free speech that this country was founded on.

I hope:

• That the President loses a daughter in a senseless act of violence...so that he may know the loss of a soldier's mother.
• That the President is prevented from voting by a "clerical error"...so that he may know the frustrations of Democratic voters.
• That a member of his family is captured, tortured, and killed in a country that hates us, then has their picture matted and framed for a press conference...so that he may know what it's like to be a "liberated Iraqi."
• That the President finds himself stranded in a dangerous situation desperate for rescue and is told, "Don't call us, we'll call you."...so that he may know the fear of the New Orleaneans and the American citizens stranded in Lebanon.

and finally...

• That the President develops Parkinson's Disease and must live with the tremors and the loss of his bodily functions...so that he may know that the lack of a cure lay squarely on his shoulders.

It'll never happen, but a girl can dream.

Looking for love in all the wrong places

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Simply Brilliant

There's your average run-of-the-mill product website, and then there's sheer brilliance all wrapped up in a not-quite-safe-for-work package. Three guesses as to what this is...

Remember: funny, but NQSFW!!

You've been warned, now enjoy.

I am in pain...

Almost two hours in the gym last night, and I am NOT a happy girl. Ok,
maybe I am. I feel like I did a lot, but I was so excited to actually
get back there for an afternoon that I totally overdid it.

Last night, the endorphins kicked in but the muscles gave out. As a
result, I laid in my bed for several hours willing, begging myself to go
to bed while cats jockeyed for position next to me. I thought Winter
had won that battle, but when I finally fell asleep and woke up, Minnie
was there. I found Winter cowering downstairs this morning, so I'm sure
that I don't want to know what happened while I was mercifully out of
it.

Either way, I am in no position to attend the Butterstick Birthday Bash
in DC tonight.

My hair

The time has come, the walrus said, to talk of many things. Of shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings.

Or we could just talk about my hair.

With my 10th reunion coming up, I feel that it's important to walk in with just the right style. Unfortunately, however, I have had terrible luck with my hair just when I need it to look just right.

It all started about two weeks before my college graduation and just after the Oscars where Hillary Swank took home the Best Actress statue for Boys Don't Cry. I remember that on that night, she had some pretty rockin hair, and so when I went to the hairdresser's to squeeze in an appointment just before graduation, I was feeling a little adventurous. I was talking to the stylist, and I thought she had understood when I asked for the style that Hillary had at the Oscars. "You know," I said, "Hillary Swank from Boys Don't Cry."

She didn't; what I got was Hillary Swank IN Boys Don't Cry.

After a little time, a lot of tears and some late night style sessions for which I don't know if I ever properly thanked my roommates (I ♥ you girls!), I entered finals week not really happy, but not truly devastated about how the hair looked. The good news was that I actually ended up having the BEST looking hair in most of the photos because mine wasn't affected by the humidity as much as everyone else's was.

So you'd think I'd have learned my lesson, and to some extent I did. The next time it happened, it was in NO POSSIBLE WAY my fault. Ok, maybe it was because I went to the Hair Cuttery. But it really shouldn't have been my fault.

It was two weeks before Christmas 2002. I was heading down to Atlanta for a New Year's Eve bash, and I had picked up a first date for that evening (you can save The Rules lectures, ladies, he ended up being a total dud). So there I was at the Hair Cuttery and I asked the stylist for a standard bob. Simple, chic, clean-up. Totally easy right?

Wrong. Three snips in, and I was in trouble. Her eyes got big, my eyes got big, and a big swatch of hair flew off the side of my head. She turned to me and said, "We no bob. I fix." And just like that, I was Hillary Swank again. Except, it was worse than the last time. I skipped work for a few days and went in to get it fixed (when another stylist turns to the first offender and says, "Did you DO THIS to her??" you know you've got a bad haircut), but nothing could be done. The world wonders why there are no photos from that Christmas....

Clearly, the two week window doesn't work for me. A trim may be successful, but then again maybe not. That's why I'm trying to make the big cut now. If it's successful, I'll trim it before the reunion; if not, I've got about two months to grow it out. It grows slow too, so whatever happens, I'll be stuck with it for a good long while.

I'm looking at a couple of possible styles (clearly influenced by what I'm seeing on Daytime TV). These also both bear a strong resemblence to what my hair looked like when it was at its strongest, so it's probably I good idea if I just got back to basics and stop fooling myself into thinking that I can grow my hair out.

It's alive!!!!

I'm a little giddy right now. You know, like Dr. Frankenstein after the
monster twitched a finger giddy. I don't know if the project is
actually correct when you compare it to the legacy system (that test
comes later), but right now, right or wrong my process is consistent!!
Which is to say that unless things go TERRIBLY WRONG in the next set of
tests, I'm DONE DONE DONE DONE DONE DONE.

Happy Girl is me!!

A Declaration of (temporary) Indepdendence...

When I finished my work at 10 PM last night and called my boss, I declared a
one-day moratorium on this stupid project. I don't know what I'm doing with
the one day (I know I said I was going to Arlington with Marcus, but he
switched the locale to Leesburg and that's too difficult of a drive), but
I'm sure someone will kindly think of something (I've also declared
independence from thinking).

I miss my girls! I miss the gym!! I miss my life!!!

But for one day, July 4, 2006, I am declaring my temporary independence and
going forth in pursuit of life, liberty, and HAPPINESS!!! Frankly, it has
come the time in Lindsay events that I must rise up and say, "Screw the
kids, I'm out for fun!!" (Ok ok, so maybe it's not quite Jeffersonian, but
it makes the point.)

I hold this truth to be self-evident: I am just as equal as the rest of my
team who didn't see this entire project hanging over them. They get the day
off, I GET THE DAY OFF!!

So, either I've flipped or I'm on to something. Only time will tell,
and if you hear something about a person tossing tea into the Inner Harbor
this afternoon, you may want to get the bail money out.