Wednesday, August 31, 2005

What's Your Point?

Has anyone seen the 1940s style poster depicting an army guy. The caption reads, "The more gas your SUV uses the more foreigners I have to kill." Apparently, only SUV users buy gasoline that is exported from foriegn shores. The rest of car driving America uses fairy oil. Yes, SUVs get awful gas mileage but cars still use gas. Should we overlook the crimes of Scott Peterson because Ted Bundy killed so many more women? And if gas mileage is the issue where is their poster reading, "The more time you spend driving in cities** the more peoples I have to annihilate?"

Basically, the makers of the poster are not angry with rural, chevy driving Americans. Which is ironic because those people are more likely to be "red state" types whose views are at odds with what I'm assuming is the political idealogy of these poster people.

Look, I'm not defending automotive oil consumption. But I do, on occassion, drive a car as do most Americans-including liberals. And hypercritically, I'm against the war in Iraq. (really, I'm a pansy tender-foot who is against most wars) I just think the poster is friggin' retarded.

**people of nyc note: cities include densely populated areas outside of new york that do not have public transit.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Oh my Pod!

I read in the NY Times yesterday that ministers, priests and other religious preachers have embraced pod casting. I guess postmodernism is still alive and kicking. Man!
The Pod cast allows the faithful to take the sermons with them, like to the gym (Which I didn't make up, that's in the article.). While burning calories on the treadmill you can ensure you won't be burning in the afterlife. Or you can keep up to date on the latest intelligent design theories. Turns out the forbidden fruit Adam and Eve ate was a Mac. I don't know if that means that Bill Gates is the devil or if he's one of the lord's messengers--Instant Messengers--rim shot, wink, ironic smile. Or maybe the lord created all computer operating systems equally. Somehow I feel the story of Job was really about Linnux.

Yeah, I don't see me writing for the tonight show anytime soon either.

Monday, August 29, 2005


Having just finished my morning ritual of reading seven separate astrological forecasts for today I'm reminded of a brief anecdote. My friends Emily and PJ have had a successful romantic relationship for over a year now and have just moved into together. I mentioned to PJ a few weeks ago at his girlfriend's birthday party how astrologically their two signs of Leo and Cancer aren't supposed to work. He said, "Yeah, I know. But I think we have alot of other planets and things in our other houses that make it work." I said, "Yeah, or perhaps astrology is bullshit."

And still I read them every day.

Friday, August 26, 2005

Wasn't born yesterday

Yesterday morning at work I discovered a piece of chocolate on my desk. It was part of a larger hunk of chocolate and the portion on my desk was wrapped in the original packaging. I asked the cube dwellers around me if someone had shared there chocolate with me, there wasn't really a response.
It occurred to me that these people don't like me and they thought it would be funny to poison a piece of chocolate and see what happens to the temp. Well, I wasn't going to die for their amusement--if I die for anyone's amusement it will be for a paying audience. So, after staring at the candy for most of the day I threw out the deadly chocolate. One more day of life for me, take that you suits!

I didn't reach 28 by luck. I'm on to all of you. My demise will not be served under flourescent lights!

Very important information. Read Carefully

I enjoy bananas. But not with strawberries--a quite popular combination--nor do I like banana flavored things. I don't like bananas chopped up or baked in things. I guess, I'm a banana purest. I simply like eating them immediately after peeling.

This is not the case for apples and oranges I find them much more versatile.

Thursday, August 25, 2005


Help! I'm trapped in a cubicle. There are former frat boys all around me. I'm being forced to wear constrictive, form-fitting clothing made from synthetic fabrics. It's so cold, here.
Can' Firewalls surround me. Sleep deprivation, no showers, I don't know how long I'll last.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

"The Man" is retarded

The investment bank I've been temping at searches my bag every morning with one of those x-ray machines found at airports. If I don't submit to this invasion of my privacy I can't go to work-which is actually fine with me, however, it is not fine with my checking account. I frequently find myself at odds with my checking account. It's so friggin needy and demanding, and hardly ever gives anything back, little Wachovia bastard.-- The bizarre thing about my morning search is that it stops at my bag. They don't have me pass through a metal detector, or drug sniffing dogs (I'm thinking being passed through a dog might take a few hours and would be most unpleasant-rimshot) nor do they wand me, pat me down, or strip search me (perhaps more pleasant). So what's the point? "Thanks for taking my bag off my hands for a second. Now, I have my hands free to adjust the anthrax and spy camera I'm clenching in my butt cheeks." Further, they only search temps and visitors. The regular, permanent employees they leave alone. But the Perms are the one's more likely to shoot up an office. They're the ones that care about there jobs and are emotionally invested in the office drama. If a temp gets pissed they just don't show-up or never return from lunch.

I know someone out there is saying, "That's right, Rachael, we need to do more to protect ourselves." Yes! Yes, we need to do more to stop companies from bullying the public into acquiescing their rights. Unfortunately, I'm too lazy to be a revolutionary or an anarchist or even a low level activist. Hell, I couldn't even be bothered to grow dreads and buy a hemp skirt. I'm lucky I get out of bed in the moring and eat food. It all makes me weep a little inside because this is what they're counting on.

But know that they are awful and that you can't beat death no matter how hard you try.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Mendacity and the mendacious mendacators that mendacate

The other day I called into work stabbed.

When I told some people the story they were horrified. "Aren't you scared that now you'll actually get stabbed?"

There is this weird belief out there that if you make up an excuse to get out of work, a babyshower, or a trip to the Amish Country, and if that excuse is a lie, and if that lie involves the death, illness or maiming of an actual person (yourself or someone you know) then you have now just jinxed that person. Basically, if you told your roommate that your grandmother has just died and that is why you can never do a dish again, never mind the ones that have been in the sink for two weeks, you have now sentenced your grandmother to death. What kind of screwed up universe do you people live in? Or worse what fucked up justice system do you choose to believe your world, or higher being ascribes to? Why would the lord or brahma or the cosmic forces choose to punish an innocent bystander because you lied about their well-being? So you'd feel guilty? I think feeling guilty feels alot better than a feeding tube, a feeding tube you just doomed your brother to, so that you wouldn't have to go to gym class.

And, if it is that simple to maim people by an utterance-uttering it convincingly and without a "gotcha!" aftwards--then wouldn't we all do that. Revenge through mendacity to others. I know that I'd be telling my employers that my arch nemisis from grade school, Lisa Nazar, was a dear dear friend of mine. I'd explain that I wouldn't be coming into work for the week because not only had she been involved in a terrible car accident, but when they removed her from the car instantly lightning struck her, which you'd think would cure her of her herpies, but it didn't. I would say all this even if i didn't want the week off just because I still hold a grudge after 15 years.

The flip side of all of this is if I lied to my employer and said, "I can't come to work for the next two weeks because my boyfriend just surprised me with a trip to Prague. We leave tomorrow." Would this statement ensure that my boyfriend would surprise me with a trip to Prague? Or would I be doomed to never to be surprised with a trip to Prague? Or worse would it jinx me on my way to Prague and my plane would explode? Or does it just mean when I go to Prague I'll be stabbed.

Monday, August 22, 2005

Friendly Advice

Do you break up with someone because they missed a spot on your back while applying sunscreen? I mean, they're obviously trying to give you cancer. It's passive agressive abuse. And that's exactly what I told my friend Anna this weekend. I told her she best dump that cute, bright achaeologist, who dotes on her. He's totally playing her. Eventually, those meals he cooks her are going to be very hot. Hot enough to scold the roof of her mouth. Soon, the evening outs will last until dawn, sleep deprivation lowers a person's resistance to virus. Yeah, he'll try to get her sick so he can take care of her and have all the control.

She thought it was just an accident and shouldn't bother getting angry. She said he felt bad and bought her ice cream and played skeet ball with her when he found out.

I said, "fine." What can I do? Abused women are so in denial.

Friday, August 19, 2005

Laughs in the Clouds

I hate Jews.
Put the phone down, stop calling the anti-defamation league. If you were related to the Jews I was related to you'd hate them too.
And please you gentile anti-semitics don't send me fan mail praising my hatred. You guys have no idea. If you see a Jew you can just cross the street and be on your way. I wish I had that option. That's why all you think you know of Jews is that they're cheap. If only! That'd be awesome if that was the problem. Boo hoo Aunt Betty doesn't want to spring for lunch--more like OUTSTANDING. Now, I don't have to listen to her nasal yapping negativity. "When are you going to get a real job? You might want to buy a house some day." Blather Blather. "I had a friend who had a daughter who wanted to be an actress. And she was very talented. The star of all her high school plays. Now, she's a teacher. Is that what you want? To stand infront of a room full of people who don't have an attention span?"
Listen, woman! I have a pipe dream and I'm not going to let you shit upon it. "I have a Pipe Dream" Martin Luther King Jr's lesser known speech. "I see a day when people of all races colors and creeds come together across this great land of ours in Theatres at $50/ ticket to see me perform. One day all of our colleges and universities will pay me to entertain their ethnically and socio-ecomincally diverse student body. Corporations like the Home Box Office Network will send lawyers with lucrative contracts so as to air my brilliance. Yes, I have a pipe dream."

Thursday, August 18, 2005

If you make it to the end of this we must be related

"Revenge of the Sith," though overall a shitty movie with even shittier dialogue, affected me. No, that doesn't make it a good movie. I'm easily affected. Example, after watching Independence Day I couldn't stop thinking about the human survivors of the alien invasion. I wondered if they would rebuild their communities to replicate the ones destroyed or would the people take the opportunity to do it all different. I thought about it for weeks. After watching Shadowlands I spent two years contemplating the purpose and meaning of pain. For my sake I hope no one makes Kabbala: The Movie. But with the Madonna and Guy Ritchie union-- I could be doomed.

Anyway this Star Wars flick. I feel that a prominent theme of the movie was patience. Every charater except the Sith lacked them. First, you've got Annikan (sp) Skywalker. Typical youth not enjoying the journey of learning the ways of the Jedi. He just wants to jump right to Master Jedi. Not realizing that it never ends. Jedi training is a forever thing, once you master one trick like moving space junk with your mind, you're given a new figurative mountain to climb. And he was all in a rush to marry. Was he even 20? What was he doing? He could have been playing the field using the Jedi mind trick to get girls to go to bed with him despite that awful haircut. How many other guys can remove a bra with their mind? Quite the party trick to impress the ladies. But noooo. He rushed to his future and evil won.

Next you have the Jedi counsel, all of whom are masters and should be full of patience. But nope. They don't think anything through either. Well, I wonder where Annikan learned it from guys (apparently they didn't have anti-drug commercials many millennia ago.) They rush to go kill some CGI robot droid thing and wind up walking right into a trap. And really people, how masterful are these Jedi that they get offed by storm troopers? Also the Jedi were expecting the prophecy of Annikan killing the Sith to happen by the end of this movie. And when it doesn't happen by the middle of the movie they all loose faith in their own religion. Don't they know their are more movies? They were made first for christ sake! You'd think these Jedi even if they hadn't seen the other films could have sensed what happens in them. Because Annikan does kill the Sith it just takes him three more movies. These guys couldn't wait six more hours.
Meanwhile, the evil Sith is patient as a Budhist Monk tripping on heroin. Hell, he served in public office for like three terms without once using his blue lightning power that he loves so much. And for his patience he is rewarded and gets to rule the galaxy.

In conclusion, George Lucas is a lame moralist. He set out to make a black and white good vs. evil movie, but instead he gives us just grey. Who does he think he is? Arthur Miller? David Lynch? We see that patience is a virtue, if you have them you win. But the only people to posses patience are evil. All the good guys are in hurray. So are we to emulate the good guys and run around like meth-heads, or should we have patience which is obviously evil?

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Revenge of my ADD

Instead of hopping on my bike at midnight to voyage to a party in Williamsburg last Saturday I caught up on my summer blockbusters. My roommate and I watched the latest Star Wars flick. The last one to be released though the third one in the Sextology. Chapter 3 as it were, as it is. Not to be confused with Neil Simon's "Chapter Two" which had much better character development. But I guess "Revenge of the Sith" is really episode 3 and not chapter three. And Neilly baby don't let two sentences ago go to your head, the comparison isn't saying much. And I know that Neil Simon is a huge fan of this blog. He reads it religiously while at his day job. Little known fact about Mr. Simon: after "Your show of shows" was cancelled in 1950 whatever Simon wound up an office monkey. Despite the Tonys he won and his hollywood successes he couldn't eek out a living. (Is Neil Simon dead?)

Anyway, Neil Simon shmeil simon, that's what I always say. OK that's a lie I hardly ever say that. Actually, I've never said that. I haven't even said it now. I've merely typed it. Does anyone out there even know who the hell, Neil Simon is? Well, I'm sure he's not relevant anymore, not that he was ever "relevant". I mean, Mathew Broderick does indies now, and Jonathan Silverman collects unemployment. And "Your Show of Shows" is late night PBS programming. What 28 year old refernces a 50 year old sketch show? And who the hell is Jonathan Silverman? And why aren't I in bed? I have to work tomorrow! As if attemping comedic blogging isn't work. OK. I'll discuss the themes or really one of the themes of the last installment of Starwars, which was really the middle installment. God damn it! I've already covered that.

God bless us everyone.

Monday, August 15, 2005

Name the blogpost yourself

If I ever I have a kid I don't think I'll name it Daryl. The name doesn't end. The "l" just rolls on into infinitium. Daryl isn't a disgusting name. It's just not for me or my off spring. It's not like the name Gary. Vleck! Gary. yuck! I should just stop typing it because every time I type the name I hear it in my head. I apologize for possible offense to any of my friends who were given this name. If you're not my friend, well, I don't have any emotional responsiblity to you, and therefore no apology.

Come to think of it I don't have any friends named, Gary. O.K. I did when I was in Portland, but we haven't really kept in touch or in touch at all, actually, since I've moved back East. I guess we weren't that tight. How tight could I be with a person with that name anyway? I wasn't much of a friend to him. Behind his back I'd refer to him as Creepy Gary. He has a bushy 1970s mustache and at age 45 would hit on 20 year old girls. The girls would get all creeped out and flee my parties. Which I guess was fine because I don't remember ever inviting 19 and 20 year old girls to my parties. Probably pissed my roommates off, though. Perhaps, if his parents hadn't ridiculously named him, he could avoided the whole creepiness thing. Who knows how one's name influences a person's personality or facial hair. My name is Rachael and like most Rachaels or Rachels I'm a brunette--crazy, huh?

I can't believe I ever had a behind the back nickname for Creepy Gary. I usually reserve those for boys I date. And though my taste in boys has been questionable over the years I'd never date a dude with an awful 1970s mustache never mind named Gary. I have however dated: "the rebound jew," "the old man, (funny, several boys could have qualified for this nickname but only one got dubbed)," "the fat, swedish fuck," "bike boy" "the bunny" "8th floor Mike" and "my rockstar boyfriend who is neither a rock star nor my boyfriend (yes, I did actually name someone this, the name was longer than our romance.)"

Funny I think I'd use the above list of epitaphs for name of a kid before Daryl or Gary.

Thursday, August 11, 2005

Learn me some of that

People are freaking out about education lately. You got folks in New York City all up in arms because the new sex education curriculum for middle schoolers omits birthcontrol as a topic of discussion as well as sexual orientation. And then you got your crazies, you know the ones who like science, having strokes because the Kansasisians are going to teach Intelligent Design** in their public schools.

You all need to chill. Why are you concerned about what teachers are vomitting on their students? Americans don't learn anything in school. Example, I received nothing but A's and B's in the subject of English throughout my public school career; and look at this blog! What a blatan disregard for grammar, and let us not get started on my spelling. And, I'll tell you when I was in 8th grade we learned all about sex and contraception, again I got an A. And I didn't loose my virginity until I was 21 (don't worry I found it). Apparently, that all went into my short term memory and then vanished.

According to John Blight in his book Yeah Right "97% of Americans don't know that Abraham Lincoln was the 16th President of the United States." (OK so I made that source up, but I don't know how to do actual research. Making up sources is the only skill I've kept from my public school education. A skill that carried me through college.)

I think we should start teaching kids that fairies created the earth in 86 days and 7 nights. And that babies are made in Indonesian factories where the workers are chained to the baby sewing machines for 18 hours a day. If we teach them this stuff by the time they're twenty they are sure not to know it. Which is perfect because it's not true. Or is it? Who the hell can remember.

What I do know is the quadratic equation: x = negative b plus or minus the square root of b squared minus 4ac all divided by 2a. And knowing that has made all the difference.
**Intelligent Design: The theory that Jesus Christ used his magical powers to create single cell organisms which he then turned into wine. The wine then evolved into a clever serpent responsible for all the vegetation on the Earth. After the world was populated by plants John Smith descended from Heaven with seven wives of all different races. Using telepathy John Smith impregnated these women and populated the Earth. (I'm paraphrasing of course.)

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

In a name

I was thinking if my friend, Emily Lefren-Brown, married my former Shakespeare Professor, Andrew Borthwick-Leslie, and they hyphenated their last names their kids' last names would be Lefren-Brown-Borthwick-Leslie. Or perhaps they could alternate Lefren-Borthwick-Brown-Leslie. Or alaphabetical Borthwick-Brown-Lefren-Leslie. Well, you get it.
I don't know that married people with children need to take the male's last name, but I think the married couple planning on children should settle on one last name. Even if it's a brand new last name. In three generations monogrammars might be out of business. And then their falls the economy.

Words to live by

Jack taught me a Nuruto proverb: "Delusions can be reality with just a little effort"

I smelled like a hippie last week do to the hot weather and my incessant bike riding (also kind of hippie.) But i'm not a fan of the hippie or their prevailing life philosophy, "just let it slide man." I don't let it slide, and hippies should stop trying to get me to convert. I have a life and pardon me for caring about what happens in it. Even if what happens is that I accidently leave my robe out of the wash which winds up costing me another 2 bucks just to clean it. (Is it two dollars these days? I don't know I do my laundry in NJ at my parents' place when I visit them.)

Yes, it can be exhausting and not necessarily happy to have the minutia of the world get me so worked up. But, is it happy to have life just pass you by as you sit around stinking? Because the flip side of all this is that I get really happy about going for ice cream with a friend, or receiving a letter in the mail. A letter in the mail: just some paper in an envelope from a friend-- a trifle really-- and yet that can make my whole day
related joke:
You know those people who are like I'm not racist I have that black friend. That doesn't make you unracist. I hate hippies, but I have hippie friends that doesn't make me pro hippie. It makes me a...shitty friend.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

Hey Jealousy

I wasn't lying about pop music inspired titles.

Last Monday when Jack returned from visiting his parents in Pittsburg he asked me if I had seen the British guy that weekend. (Jack and I had gone on a bike riding date with him a month ago.) I told him, "No," which was the truth. Jack questions me, "you're not lying are you?" Now the way he said the question I couldn't tell if he was jealous of the Brit spending time with me or of me spending time with the Brit. So then I got jealous and wanted to punch Jack, but I took a breath and I answered him, "Sweetie, I don't know that we are seeing the British guy."
"Really?" Jack said dejected.
"Yeah, we don't see him that often, and we never talk on the phone with him."
"But he pays for our food and stuff. Like last time he bought us burritos."
"Yeah, but we were both out of work, he might have just felt bad."
"But that one date he brought wine and tried to liquor us up."
"He didn't try to make out with us, honey."
"What about the books he lent us?" Jack was a mess he began to wimper, "I guess I'm just not attractive enough for him."
"Jack, don't say that you are very sexy."
"Obviously not, I mean if a British guy won't even date us."
"Maybe he's seeing another couple."
"Well, when did we say we wanted to be monogamous?"
"We are monogamous."
"Yeah, we are."
"Jack, I don't think we're really ready to branch out and date other boys. You just got back to the states three months ago, you're obviously a bit sensitive."
"Oh just forget it." and then he ran into the bedroom buried his head in the pillows and wept himself to sleep. Poor guy.

Monday, August 08, 2005

Tossin' and Turnin' a Turnin' and Tossin'

I didn't sleep at all last night. I just laid in my bed unable to sleep, mind racing. It reminded me of a funny, little, sleepless evening in Portland.

One night while hanging out after a show my friend Edie, turns to me and says, "We're going to party like rock stars tonight!"
"You got us a hotel room to trash?"--I asked
"An expensive sports car to total?"
"Hookers and some coke?"
"What do you have?"
"Mah Wang"
"What the hell is Mah Wang?"
"It's a herbal upper they sell them at the Vitamin Shop. Like Red Bull in a pill."
So when you say rockstars do you mean like the guys from Striper?"
"Who?... Listen, Rachael, we're going to stay out all night see the fire-dancing strippers at Dante's."
I took one of these Mah Wang's opened up the capsule and poured the contents into my hard- drinking, strawberry daquri. I had to empty the pill because this rock star can't swallow pills. ROCK AND ROLL!! This was about 11pm PST. We headed over to Dante's, a club my visiting father once described as a dive, but the rest of Portland thought of as hip central. After 7 minutes there we left Dante's as it was too crowded for Edie's boyfriend. You know how crowds ruin out of control partying. We took our entourage (Me, Edie and her man) over to an empty Irish pub and had a couple of drinks. It was just us and a melancholy Irish Folk singer singing his songs of woe. At about midnight Edie expressed that she was tired and had to work the next day.
"Yeah, it's getting late."-- she said matter of factly.
Getting late. How could it be late? I was wide wide WIDE awake. It felt like 3pm on a Saturday. Turns out Mah Wang isn't so much Red Bull as it is legal crack. "Didn't you take a Mah Wang?" I asked. "Yeah, how do you think I was able to stay up this late?"
"I don't know because you're not fifty!"
They got into their car and drove home. I got on my bicycle and pedale pedale pedaled to the karaoke bar I was sadly a regular at. "Hey guys, i'd love a drink. And hey do you need someone to sweep up? I totally could sweep up or, how about do your books? Math is always fun, I'll have a drink and then probably another and then i'll sweep. Or I'll sweep and drink and then do your books. Wow, I wonder if I had another arm if i could do all three at once. I wonder if i had a third arm if anyone would date me? Could I go on a date and sweep? Sweep the entire world..." and so on until they kicked me out at 3am.
Drunk and full of pep I rode my trusty steed home. I placed myself in my bed and just was. I felt myself sober up and become hungover as the morning light began to shine through my window. My alarm went off as I watched the the clock turn to 7:00 am. Ill, I fell into some clothes and headed out the door to bike to work. "Wow," I thought as I climbed the hill up Barber Blvd "I'm really flying, and on no sleep." This is what happens when a high strung, tightly wound, 103 pound neurotic takes an upper.

At about noon as I sat in my cubicle the Mah Wang betrayed me. Left me- sleep deprived and foodless. I wanted to cry, I wanted to sleep, I wanted to kill Edie. Instead I called her. "I feel like death. I just crashed and I have five more hours to be here."
"Yeah, you just got take another one."
I didn't. I didn't have any. And even if I did I didn't have a Darquiri to wash it down with and if I did, I'm not insane. And even if I am insane...there are limits.

The Mah Wang set off a chain of events and by the end of the week I was fired. I guess every cloud has a silver lining.

Friday, August 05, 2005


Three years ago this coming Tuesday I broke my ankle. The incident had me on crutches for five months. My crutches--Cocaine and Jesus.

I told that joke to a friend while I was broken. My friend said, "I don't get it. I don't think of Jesus as crutch."
"Not even when he's on the cross?" Then the lord struck me down with lightning because Jesus is wrathful like that. I said,"F ine my crutches - Budha and Crack." Then sidhartha slapped me upside the head, because he's a player hater. "OK OK Jim Jones and PCP"

This is good

Go see Brian Finkelstein's, "First Day off in Long Time, and Amy Rhodes, "Growing up Amy" at the UCB Theatre, Thursday Nights.

"First Day Off..." is a funny show that did more than just make me laugh. Brian does a great job of bringing the audience into his story so we experiene it with him as opposed him using us a free therapist. The show is kind of an homage to Spalding Gray, but you don't need to know who Spalding Gray is to enjoy the show, in fact I think most people in the audience the night I saw this show knew of Gray, but I was the only one who laughed at the set and lighting design--in a good way not a mocking way. Anyway, it's good it's five bucks if you're in chelsea on thursday looking for something to do why not go.

Same for "Growing up Amy." Funny and endearing but I didn't catch any allusions to other solo performers. She does great character work and the show was good fun. You get to see both these shows for the one low price of $5. And you're out early enough to get drunk.


People on occassion have suggested that I relax and not worry so much. Why don't they just ask me to grow 5 inches? I think that might be easier.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

Dream Lover so I dont have to alone

I think I want to entitle every post with a song lyric or title.

Perhaps showing up to work unshowered, in a wrinkled blouse, with my hair in the Lilith from "Cheers" bun, accompanied by no make-up, nor jewelry is the wrong approach to bag myself one of these cute, investment bankers. Maybe I should try some fitting skirts and mini-stilts you other ladies call heels. I figure my constant toppling onto my face will attract one of these young men. I'd be like a damsel in distress, but a dame in a dress.

"Rachael, have you gone nuts? What about Jack, the love of your life?" you might be asking.

What about him? I'm in love with him and worse than that I care about him. And I'm sick of it. It's so friggin draining. I'm tired, people. Tired of caring how he feels; caring if he's happy; if he's happy in our relationship; if he safe; if he's healthy. If he wants to watch Goonies this week. If he's willing to eat brocolli today. I'm exhausted from thinking about him all the time, wondering what he's up to; having imaginary conversations with him about the benefits of brocoli. Having fights in my head about the themes and motifs in "The Goonies." NO MORE!

I need to be a trophy wife. I need an attractive professional, who will work for the purposes of acquiring material possesions, social status, and his parents' love and approval. We can marry. I'll be his wife with that darling little comedy hobby. His friends and collegues will come out to see me do my little skits every now again. They won't get it but will smile politely and drink heavily.

He could pay the mortgage and I could accompany him to business and social functions. We'd be like very civil roommates who have competent sex a few times a week. I could politely listen to his tales of work and drinking with the boys. He could pat me on the head as I tell him how my set went or how my play is coming. It would all be so stressless. I'd go about my day without a thought of him; barely remembering we were married, until I entered our handsome home and saw him there watching the Knicks. We'd nod hello and go about our evenings. Hell, he could screw the pool boy for all I cared (as long as he used protection). Because that's just it--I wouldn't.

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

ACL Who?

My latest temp job is for an investment bank. To get this job I had to allow them to finger print me. When I asked if I could get the prints back when my assignment with the firm was done, they said, "No, we keep them for our records." What the hell do they need my prints for? I know I'm a goddess and my fingerprints are divine, but please, take my photo ID when I leave as a keep sake. It's quite the picture. Most people can't pull off being photographed under the florescents, but mine looks like a Herb Ritz corporate photo id.

As if my fingerprints weren't enough they then made me sign a paper stating I would submit to a drug test when asked. First my prints now my urine. If this is how it is while I'm an unknown I can't imagine what celebrities go through. I have no plans to pee in a cup for them. What does an investment bank need with my urine, my protiens, my dna? And who cares if I smoke crack? I sit at desk all day. Am I endangering anyone? If you're that concerned take the wheels off the chairs.

In fact, employees with drug habits would probably be supreme and more loyal. Because a drug addict needs to keep the decent paying job in order to have the money to pay for his/her habit. And a crackhead is willing to work. We see this in their willingness to get on their knees or perform other sexual acts with unsavory people in exchange for crack. What's interesting is many drug dependent people choose this way to procure their fix instead of the regular day job. What does this say about the day job? Perhaps, working at an investmant bank is worse than fellatio given outside in the dead of winter surrounded by broken glass and offensively smelling garbage.

The fingerprints and the urine are mine and I don't think they should keep them even if they want to be surrounded by my fabulousness after I depart-- and I will leave, I always do, isn't that right, boys? However, I have a sneaking suspicion that corporate America doesn't want these things because of my Grace and Charm, but rather because they plan to frame me for insider trading or some other nefarious dealings. I've seen the "Net." I know. Big corporations are always breaking the law and stealing money. Wouldn't they love to pin it on little old me the next time they get caught.

But not this cookie. Nope. Starting today I'm refraining from imbibing any liquids. I can't pee in a cup if my bladder is empty.

Showy Show Chicks and Giggles

Hysterical attempting post one stop down.

Next show: Tuesday, August 2
8:30 pm
433 East 6th Street (1st/A)

Featuring Fantastic Funnies from:

Vicky Bond (Brooklyn Comedy Co.)
Nikki Chawla (New York Comedy Club)
Claudia Cogan (Becky and Claudia's Supreme Offering)
Emily Epstein (Laugh Lounge)
Correne Kristiansen (Saturday Night Live)
Rachael Parenta ($1 Room)

And, back from her stint with the red-headed Partridge... Bex Schwartz! (VH1)

Carolyn Castiglia is hostin' it up per usual!


Question: Why do I bother to shower before I go out for the evening, when going out on the evening means getting on my steel bicycle and trecking 2-7 miles to my destination in the summer heat?

I think the only purpose my helmet, headlight, and rear flashing light serve is to ensure that when a car does hit me that I'll be quite rich and perhaps comfortable in my vegatative state.
Work Out Tips from a Thin Person.

1) break your ankle, knee, thigh, fibia, tibula or any other bone on a leg and then crutch around town. Crutch to where ever you have to go. Within in a month your abs, triceps, biceps, and muscles of one leg will be well defined if not ripped. The broken leg will atrophy but then it will be thin--and that's good too.

2) build by hand your own fall-out shelter. Do not use a shovel. Digging on your hands and knees will work your buttocks as well as your back, and the tendons that make up your fingers.

3) Ok this is a diet tip. Replace one meal a day with 2-5 liquor (not beer) drinks.

4) Surgically sow wheels to your feet and never drive again.

5) If having trouble motivating yourself to go for those marathon training runs, antagonize friends and strangers to the point that they want to beat you and then run. Spitting at people is a good way to start. Why injest the calories in saliva.

these tips might be the reason why I never really found my groove in the fitness world and am back temping.-- bitching on that tomorrow.

Monday, August 01, 2005

In-law Avoidance

Jack went to Pittsburg this weekend to visit his family. I wiggled my way out of going, I explained I'm starting a new temp job Monday and I needed to take it easy this weekend. Which is exactly what my will power did, though the rest of me took life straight on. Three days of drinking, dancing and debauchery.

Jack said I'd be missed. Which was sweet of him, but who the hell knows if my future in-laws actually like me. Jack's parents are a hard couple to read. First off, Jack's dad, Graham, is an Indian Chief by profession. And no, he is not ethnically Native American. Turns out he majored in Management with a minor in Native American Studies at Penn State and ever since then Graham has been Indian Chiefing. It's all very weird, because he doesn't have a tribe. He kind of freelances as an Indian Chief, but I don't know that actual Indians hire him except on occassion as an consultant for CT casinos. All I know is that Jack "don't run with scissors" Kundera and his brother Michael "needs another bath" Kundera never wanted for anything growing up--Graham must have be fairly good as a freelance non-indian Indain Chief.

Graham's wife, Suzanna, is your basic homemaker having literarly built there Pittsburg home with her bare two hands. Before the boys were born she and Graham lived in a tent by the river for four and half years while Suzanna built the home they still live in. Before she and Graham were married she spent her high school and college years cutting down trees and making them into lumber. Her own kind of nest egg. After their honey moon she hammered every nail in the foundation and motored every brick--kind of amazing, if not completely unnecessary.

She's a little nutty though, for the last nine years she only speaks in nouns and adjectives. She has stopped using verbs, adverbs, conjunctions, interjections, prepositions ect. So it's hard to know if she "approves" of me or "likes" me, or "cares" about me.