Saturday, April 30, 2011

English Still Doesn't Make Sense

I have this odd habit of listening when people speak and through this habit I have, once again, come in contact with odd/stupid things that people say.

Let's begin, shall we?

  • Thank you for your patience.

Living in New York City and using the subway system, this is a phrase that we inhabitants are far too familiar with.  It always follows some announcement about why the trains are all fucked up, usually when you are in the middle of a subway tunnel, under the East River, with 100 of your closest friends sweaty strangers all up in your grill.  Its the MTA equivalent of being put on hold.  My thought has always been - what other choice do we have that to be patient?  Ranting, raving, taking a shit in the middle of the train - how would any of this help us?  Of course we're  going to be patient!

  • Go suck an egg.

The origin of this phrase actually comes from an old English Easter tradition wherein you would take a raw egg, using a needle - make a tiny whole on either end of the eggshell and blow out the contents, leaving you with an empty eggshell that can be decorated and the raw egg which can be used in cake making.  Sucking on the egg yolk as opposed to blowing would indicate a very idiotic individual.

For my money, though, it just leaves me with a lot of questions.  How likely is it that the person who tells you to go suck an egg actually knows all that stuff?  So, what would you mean when it comes to sucking an egg?  Is it like the above, sucking raw egg yolk?  Or maybe sucking on an eggshell.  Perhaps a hard-boiled egg?  Sucking on scrambled eggs would be difficult, and I don't think I would enjoy the texture of that at all.  What if the egg is in a sandwich?  Would you suck on the bread/ham/cheese as well?  I guess that phrase would be "Go suck on an egg breakfast sandwich."  What about egg salad?  Sometimes people put bacon in egg salad and its really delicious.

 . . .

Moving on.

  • Sounds like a plan.

I am completely guilty of using this phrase, and using it a lot.  I was thinking about it the other day, and I realized just how condescending it sounds.  If I had an idea that I had agonized over, fleshed out,  decorated with sparkles and ribbons and presented to a person with excitement and their response is, "Sounds like a plan," I think I would be incited to homicidal tendencies.

  • A death mark's not an easy thing to live with.

This one is for my Dad.  In the most excellent film The Empire Strikes Back our intrepid heroes begin the tale on the planet Hoth.  Han Solo is still in trouble with Jaba the Hutt, so he goes to one the of commander types and tells him that he has to go and take care of the price on his head.  The commander type replies with, "A death mark's not an easy thing to live with."


  • I saw it with my own eyes.


  • That is so funny.

 As a comedian, I hate this phrase.  When people say this and don't laugh, it is one of the most annoying statements a person can make.  If its funny, then fucking laugh.  I don't get paid when you don't actually laugh.  Saying that you appreciate the form of a joke without even a chuckle is a great way to line yourself up for a comedian round house kick to the FACE!

  • No one is more frustrated than I.

What a belittling combination of words to utter.  How the crap do you know?  It is very possible that another person would be more frustrated.  People say this about opening pickle jars.  There is someone else somewhere who is wrestling with their insurance company to get them to pay for their two-year-old daughter's eye surgery.  Obviously, that person is more frustrated.

But not more frustrated than I.  I haven't been about to talk for almost 24 hours.  Damn laryngitis. 

Monday, April 25, 2011

*brushes away the dust* Now Where Where We?

Ok, I think it's time to say it.  After years of staying quiet I am going to dispell the myth and declare that all naysayers can go shit in their collective hats.

It's not easy being skinny.

Full disclosure.  I am a 5 foot 4 inches, white, mid-twenties female with brown hair, big brown eyes and the last time I went to the OB-GYN I weighed 108 lbs.  I'm not sure what I weigh now because we don't have a scale in the apartment, but all my clothes still fit.  Admittedly some have even gotten too bug and were relinquished to the Salvation Army on Steinway.

I've heard it all before.  "You can't complain, you're so thin."  "Skinny people don't have the same problems we do."  "Can I have the rest of your dinner?  You aren't going to eat it anyway."

I am here to say I CAN complain, I may not have the same problems, but problems still exist, and NO, I'M EATING THAT.

I am here to proudly proclaim that we skinny bitches don't have it as easy as you more well-endowed bitches think.

For example, fat people ALWAYS pick us to sit next too.  On subways and buses we are targets for those among the populous that have a feeding schedule that would make a hobbit blush.  Today, I was returning to New York City from visiting my family in Virginia.  A rather large female sat next to me, taking up all of her seat and half of mine.  She proceeded to sleep and snore throughout the ride, and occasionally her hand would slip from her lap and gently graze the top of my thigh, like a 14-year-old boy trying to get lucky in a movie theater. 

As I got up from my seat when the trip blessedly ended, I began searching my seat for my belongings.  Suddenly a voice in my head piped up.  It said, "Your dignity stays here, my friend.  Exit the bus."

I could not argue.

I exited the bus.

Clothes never fit.  I know you are going to say they don't fit for us either, but see, this is different.  Because most of the population is more in the middle when it comes to sizes, clothing companies don't order much in the smaller side of sizes.  So if we don't get to the store the day stuff comes in, some other skinny bitch will snag it.

And being skinny isn't exactly easy.  I don't eat anything the contains dairy, which means all manner of delicious desserts and whatnot are forbidden, no alcohol and I do Bikram Yoga - a practice wherein you burn somewhere from 600-800 calories in a single class.  Its not like I am sitting on my ass living on juice and a single slice of cucumber a day.

Sometimes I even have to watch that I don't loose too much weight.

How much am I frustrating you?

And we are always cold!  I guess if you can take solace in anything, if we were stranded on a mountain top somewhere, we would starve first, and our well-muscled haunches would probably be delicious.

So yes, remember that the thinies around you have problems when it comes to weight. 

Aren't you proud of me?  I didn't call anyone fat this entire post.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

And Peeps Season Just Started . . . .

I'm pretty sure marshmallows are evil.

I was making some incredibly unhealthy goodies for a gathering of friends (for Westlemania - don't judge) - most of which I can't eat myself due to an intolerance to diary.  One of the ingredients to these treats happened to be marshmallows, and after a cursory glance at what goes into these puffy delights I was all excited to see that there were no cow products included.

So I ate one.

This proved to be one of the greatest mistakes of my life.  The thing totally expanded to unthinkable proportions in my stomach making me completely unable to live a proper life for the rest of the evening.  

Once I had recovered I decided to take another look at the ingredients.  Here's what I found.

Corn Syrup.

Ok, that I can deal with.


I wasn't expecting these things to be healthy.  Sugar, ok, yes.


Apparently this is another type of sweetener that is commonly used in body building.  Huh.

Modified corn starch.

According to Wikipedia, this means that the corn starch was modified chemically to be used as a thickening agent.  Wait, isn't corn starch already a thickening agent?  So it was modified to make things even thicker?  I guess it makes sense, marshmallows are quite dense.  But still . . . 


Ooo, that's good!


Wait a tick - that's something else that makes things thick.  Um, so now we have two additives to thicken the outcome - one of them in mutant form.  I'm beginning to understand why I felt the way I did.

Tetrasodium Pyrophosphate.

Ok, high school Latin, let's break these words down.  Tetra.  That means four.  Sodium.  Salt.  Pyro.  We all know that one, that means fire.  Phosphate.  Now this one I looked up.  Wikipedia told me that a phosphate is 'any salt or ester'.  So basically, from the Latin, Four Salts on Fire.

Um . . . .

Artificial flavor.

But is doesn't say what!!!!!!

Artificial color (Blue 1).


Needless to say, I will be keeping away from those spongy evil pillows from a while.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

When You Can Smell Yourself, There's A Problem

Ok, homeless people, we need to have a talk.

I have had my fair share of run-ins with vagrants over the years.  How could I not, I live in New York City.  Normally I am willing to simply avert my gaze, hold my breath and wait for the crazy to pass me by.  See, I can forgive the mounds of rubbish being dragged along and the paranoid mutterings you can't quite make out, as long as they see clear to ignore me.  

You know, like bees.  

Don't bother them, they won't bother you.

My first truly scary encounter with the modern vagabond coincided with my first subway ride.  I'm from a rather sheltered existence in Virginia.  Admittedly, I was ill-equipped to dive into city living, and the idea of riding the subway scared the bejesus outta me.  I had finally gotten up the minerals to travel farther than 10 blocks from my apartment, which meant taking the subway.  As soon as I boarded the car I noticed a tattered individual sitting alone, rocking back and forth in his seat.  No one else seemed to be paying him any mind, and because I seem to enjoy feeling uncomfortable, I decided to listen to what he was muttering.  Turns out, he was having a violent conversation with himself over what subway stop he was suppose to use.  Suddenly he lurched out of his seat, bounded over to the subway map on the wall to prove to himself that he needed to get off at Broadway (which by itself isn't really the name of a stop, but never mind.)  Finally my stop came and as I scrambled to exit the train I hear him say to himself, "Ok, man, ok, don't go crazy, man, just don't go crazy!"

Since then I have endured the noisome stenches that make my eyes leak and my soul despair, the creepy stares that are occasionally accompanied  by rapid hand movement in the trouser area, off-key crooning, beseechments to God to bless me and violent outbursts at invisible catalysts.  I have seen human beings laid low from living in the wilderness that is living roofless New York.  

I understand that most of you homeless out there are fucking crazy.  You are completely free to live as your own individual insanity bids you.  Go for it.  Make friends with the rats and pigeons.  Raise your fists and curse the heavens for the injustice of the guy who kicked out out of 7-11.  Your brain doesn't work, and I don't hold that against you.

Those of you who are sane.

Listen up.

For the love of God - shower.  There's gotta be somewhere you can get that done.  I can't take the smell of week old urine and decomposing living person anymore.  

Or just stop peeing on yourself.

Guess what happened to me on the subway today?