From the Washington Post’s Dear Amy section:
Dear Amy:
I recently started seeing a guy who is a part-time musician. We really connected. I’m totally swooning over him, and I’m not someone who regularly swoons. The problem is that I’m not crazy about his music. It’s not bad; it’s just not very original.
I was a music major in college, and I’ve done freelance music reviews, so I’ve got sort of a built-in music snobbery that has very little to do with taste and more to do with being able to analyze song structure, harmonic structure and melody more than most people who haven’t studied music.
On the whole, his songs are pleasant, but it’s hard to silence that music-critic voice in my head that says: “Okay, you’ve played those two chords enough now. How about trying something different?” Of course I haven’t given him anything but positive feedback, and everything else is going so well.
Should I just silence my inner critic and not worry about it, or is this a red flag that it’s a bad match?
- Hearing Mediocre Music
Dear Mediocre:
I want you to do something for me. Extend your right hand in front of you. Now reach your right hand around your back and place it on your bottom. Slide said right hand down the back of your pants and take a firm grasp of the waistband of your underpants. Pull up as hard as you possibly can….Feel that? That was from me.
Music snobs are the worst. There are a few different kinds of music snobs, all equally irritating. The first (which Mediocre, you are not) is a Hip Music Snob. Every time you see the HMS, he’s on his way to some random show. Whatever you do, don’t ask what band is playing. That’s what he wants. Don’t let him win. Because if you do ask what band is playing, the following conversation has to happen:
You: So what are you doing later tonight?
HMS: Oh, going to see a show.
You: Cool. Who’s playing?
HMS: Blip, Blip, Bleep is opening for Pants Yell! which is cool because I missed them when they played with Bearsuit last month.
You: Oh. Never heard of them.
HMS: -pause, during with the air is filled with a tense vibe of smugness and self-satisfaction- …Oh, really?
And by “Oh, really?” they mean, “I KNOW SOMETHING YOU DON’T KNOW! NANY NANY BOO BOO!”
The second music snob is The Singer. The Singer sings along to the radio like they’re auditioning for American Idol, they’re that guy who harmonizes with everyone when singing “Happy Birthday” and always points out if you’re humming is off key. All right Singer, you were Maria in your High School production of West Side Story, but take it down a notch. Whatever you do, don’t go to a karaoke bar with The Singer, and never ever sing a duet with one. You haven’t felt real shame until you’ve been the untalented half of a duo singing a Grease medley at 2am to a packed bar.
Finally we come to your kind, Mediocre. You are a Critic. And by calling you a Critc, I don’t mean to validate your so-called music critic “career.” Writing a review of The Jonas Brother’s concert for your local Gazette does not an expert make. I’m also frustrated that you structured your letter like a review of your boyfriend’s music abilities, which was published in the Washington Post, and thereby you can technically say you’re a Washington Post published music critic. Unless that wasn’t your plan and I just gave you a great idea because I’m too tired to delete the sentence I just wrote. If that is the case, then well played Critic.
Critics are annoying by nature as they’re generally both a Hip Music Snob and a Singer, and that’s a lethal combination. Not only do they point out when your half-step key change is slightly off, they write letters like to newspaper advice columns reiterating how educated and important their musical opinions are and kvetch about what a cross it is to bear to be so musically enlightened. So to answer your question, yes, this is a red flag. A giant red flag that you don’t deserve such a swoon-worthy dreamboat if you’re considering ditching him over his Incubus cover band.
What’s worse is I’ve been trying (and failing) to think of a “decrescendo” joke for five minutes now, and I know you totally have a dozen up your sleeve.
10.08.2008
10.07.2008
Workin' 9 to 5...what a way to live
[Before today's post, I want to give a huge HAPPY BIRTHDAY shout out to quite possibly the most entertaining person I know, my BFF^max 4lyfe, Jill! You may remember Jill's work from when we got beat up together on Roosevelt Island. "Best friends who get slugged together, hug together." I love you Jaikey!]
----------------------------------
Well, my dream of an endless summer has finally come to an end. I'm a design tempstitute. Game over. Dream shattered. End of an era. Time to grow up.
Score:
Real World: 1
Meg: 0
Sigh...Bright and early Monday morning, I re-joined society as a productive, eager, young professional. I woke up freezing cold in the dark at 6 am, almost fell asleep and drown in the shower, fought rush hour traffic, belligerently shouted “SO ARE WE JUST GOING TO HAVE A CIRCLE JERK OR ARE WE GOING TO ACTUALLY FUCKING DRIVE?!” at a little old lady in a Neon, arrived at my tempstitute job 15 minutes late and cracked at least four “Hey, it’s Monday! What do you expect? LOLZ!” jokes. Ah, it feels good to be back in the real world!
The Job:
+ I face a window that overlooks a pretty sweet view directly in the Reagan flight pattern and it’s turned me into a house cat. When I'm looking at my computer screen, the second I see something shiny fly in the sky, my eyes widened, my neck dramatically snaps up and I stare out of the window like I’ve never seen an airplane before in my entire life. I’m bringing catnip and yarn tomorrow.
- NO INTERNET. I've never been stabbed in the heart before, but after hearing this, I think I have a pretty good idea of what it feels like. But on the bright side I solved the mystery of what people did all day before the Internet—they stared at airplanes like house cats.
+ I have two giant ridiculously high-tech computer monitors. There is absolutely no need for this gratuitous display of technology, but I did enjoy pretending I was the captain of a space ship in the year 2095 all day.
- My desk-mate is a born-again Christian who makes constant references to Harry Potter. Of course she is.
…Finally we come to the most exciting part of my tempstitute job…
I was sitting at my workstation this afternoon, deep in concentration, when suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up and I got the chills. I shrugged it off and went on with my work, reassuring myself it was probably nothing. Then, I heard a woman approach my desk-mate and talk about how rude it was that a co-worker took a personal day after a death in the family. A wave of anxiety and anger rushed over me as this woman droned on and on about her "irresponsible" grieving co-worker and how when someone has "cancer of the everything, what else do you expect to happen?" I finally swiveled around and came face-to-face with the culprit. Ladies and gentleman, this woman was none other than the office Meek!
I don’t know why I was so surprised to see her in all of her camel-toe hugging, khaki pants wearing, braless and abrasive glory because as I’ve discussed, every office has one. If you’re unfamiliar with Meeks and my stance on them, I recommend you read this immediately. To summarize, a “Meek” is a mean geek and they bring out the inner-jock in me. I’m the proud President of EMO (the End Meeks Offensive). If you’re not with us, you’re against us. And if you’re against us, I’ll knock the books out of your hand and shove you in a locker.
Did you ever wonder what a leather painting of horses would look like mounted on an acid-washed jean jacket from 1992? Welp, thank God the Meek owns one and it was brisk out yesterday!
I want one for Christmukkah. Thank you advance.
----------------------------------
Well, my dream of an endless summer has finally come to an end. I'm a design tempstitute. Game over. Dream shattered. End of an era. Time to grow up.
Score:
Real World: 1
Meg: 0
Sigh...Bright and early Monday morning, I re-joined society as a productive, eager, young professional. I woke up freezing cold in the dark at 6 am, almost fell asleep and drown in the shower, fought rush hour traffic, belligerently shouted “SO ARE WE JUST GOING TO HAVE A CIRCLE JERK OR ARE WE GOING TO ACTUALLY FUCKING DRIVE?!” at a little old lady in a Neon, arrived at my tempstitute job 15 minutes late and cracked at least four “Hey, it’s Monday! What do you expect? LOLZ!” jokes. Ah, it feels good to be back in the real world!
The Job:
+ I face a window that overlooks a pretty sweet view directly in the Reagan flight pattern and it’s turned me into a house cat. When I'm looking at my computer screen, the second I see something shiny fly in the sky, my eyes widened, my neck dramatically snaps up and I stare out of the window like I’ve never seen an airplane before in my entire life. I’m bringing catnip and yarn tomorrow.
- NO INTERNET. I've never been stabbed in the heart before, but after hearing this, I think I have a pretty good idea of what it feels like. But on the bright side I solved the mystery of what people did all day before the Internet—they stared at airplanes like house cats.
+ I have two giant ridiculously high-tech computer monitors. There is absolutely no need for this gratuitous display of technology, but I did enjoy pretending I was the captain of a space ship in the year 2095 all day.
- My desk-mate is a born-again Christian who makes constant references to Harry Potter. Of course she is.
…Finally we come to the most exciting part of my tempstitute job…
I was sitting at my workstation this afternoon, deep in concentration, when suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up and I got the chills. I shrugged it off and went on with my work, reassuring myself it was probably nothing. Then, I heard a woman approach my desk-mate and talk about how rude it was that a co-worker took a personal day after a death in the family. A wave of anxiety and anger rushed over me as this woman droned on and on about her "irresponsible" grieving co-worker and how when someone has "cancer of the everything, what else do you expect to happen?" I finally swiveled around and came face-to-face with the culprit. Ladies and gentleman, this woman was none other than the office Meek!
I don’t know why I was so surprised to see her in all of her camel-toe hugging, khaki pants wearing, braless and abrasive glory because as I’ve discussed, every office has one. If you’re unfamiliar with Meeks and my stance on them, I recommend you read this immediately. To summarize, a “Meek” is a mean geek and they bring out the inner-jock in me. I’m the proud President of EMO (the End Meeks Offensive). If you’re not with us, you’re against us. And if you’re against us, I’ll knock the books out of your hand and shove you in a locker.
Did you ever wonder what a leather painting of horses would look like mounted on an acid-washed jean jacket from 1992? Welp, thank God the Meek owns one and it was brisk out yesterday!
I want one for Christmukkah. Thank you advance.
10.06.2008
My boobs are Cherry Garcia!
I would like to address the following letter PETA sent to Ben Cohen and Jerry Greenfield of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream:
On behalf of PETA and our more than 2 million members and supporters, I'd like to bring your attention to an innovative new idea from Switzerland that would bring a unique twist to Ben and Jerry's. Storchen restaurant is set to unveil a menu that includes soups, stews, and sauces made with at least 75 percent breast milk procured from human donors who are paid in exchange for their milk. If Ben and Jerry's replaced the cow's milk in its ice cream with breast milk, your customers--and cows--would reap the benefits.
The breast is best! Won't you give cows and their babies a break and our health a boost by switching from cow's milk to breast milk in Ben and Jerry's ice cream? Thank you for your consideration.
When I was being publicly booed for being American in a Swiss McDonald’s one night last summer, I thought to myself, “Hmm…Switzerland might suck a little.” Well thank you PETA. I know have more conclusive evidence that yes; Switzerland indeed does suck a little. Any country where breast milk is a socially acceptable substitute for cow’s milk might actually suck a lot.
Why does life seem like a never-ending episode of Punk’d these days? I mean, this week I’m working in that architecture firm to train the person who got the job over me, Sarah Palin conceivably has a chance at becoming the President of the Free World and now breast milk is replacing cow’s milk. Ashton, isn’t there a digital camera commercial you should be shooting or a dead career you could be mourning? Get outta my life!
My first question after reading this letter was, who would consciously eat a soup, stew or sauce made with breast milk? I know you’re thinking, “But Meg, you drank breast milk when you were a baby!” Yea, I did. I also crapped my pants a lot and tried to eat my hand, but yes, I drank breast milk. And you know what? I really don’t like thinking about it. I find the entire situation a little creepy. I also don’t really remember ever being given an option at the time. Had I been given the option, I would like to think I would have gracefully declined.
Milk as a food grosses me out, whether from a human or a cow. I don’t drink milk as a beverage (and think it’s intensely creepy when other people do); I use minimal milk in my coffee and drain the excess milk off my spoon when eating cereal. I also dread thinking about when I’ll have to breast-feed my future kid. Oh dear God in heaven, my skin crawls just thinking about it. I’m not a worker bee, and accepting the fact that my body makes food for another human being is entirely disturbing. I know it’s “natural” and “beautiful,” but F that S. It’s like those people who eat a mother’s placenta after giving birth because it’s rich in protein. You know what else is rich in protein? Beans. 2 for 1 at Safeway this week. Just a thought. Giving birth to your lunch can be such a hassle for the girl on the go…
Why exactly does the switch from cow to human even need to be made in the first place? Were cows complaining they’re chaffing and tired? Is it because if we procure our milk from women we can ethically repay them with money whereas we pirate milk from dairy cows with no payment? Well here’s my argument to that—it’s a fucking cow. That’s why cows exist. Jebus made cows to give milk. It’s their job. If you want something graphically designed, come to me. If you want a tall glass of milk, go to a cow.
What would a cow do if we didn’t milk it? Would it go on to win an O. Henry award for it’s satirical short story about the current state of racism in our society aimed to make us confront our own deep hidden social phobias? No. It would stand in a field and vomit up some dinner. [This is now edging on an anti-vegan/anti-vegetarian rant and I apologize. I actually have no beef with vegans or vegetarians (pun intended!) That’s more Becca’s schtick.]
Can you imagine some sort of freaky Soylent Green society where all of the milk is procured from women? I’m sorry PETA, but I don’t want to live in a world where I could be at work in a conference room and all of a sudden my boss starts honkin’ my boob because he had PB&J for lunch and really needs something to wash it down before he makes his presentation.
On behalf of PETA and our more than 2 million members and supporters, I'd like to bring your attention to an innovative new idea from Switzerland that would bring a unique twist to Ben and Jerry's. Storchen restaurant is set to unveil a menu that includes soups, stews, and sauces made with at least 75 percent breast milk procured from human donors who are paid in exchange for their milk. If Ben and Jerry's replaced the cow's milk in its ice cream with breast milk, your customers--and cows--would reap the benefits.
The breast is best! Won't you give cows and their babies a break and our health a boost by switching from cow's milk to breast milk in Ben and Jerry's ice cream? Thank you for your consideration.
When I was being publicly booed for being American in a Swiss McDonald’s one night last summer, I thought to myself, “Hmm…Switzerland might suck a little.” Well thank you PETA. I know have more conclusive evidence that yes; Switzerland indeed does suck a little. Any country where breast milk is a socially acceptable substitute for cow’s milk might actually suck a lot.
Why does life seem like a never-ending episode of Punk’d these days? I mean, this week I’m working in that architecture firm to train the person who got the job over me, Sarah Palin conceivably has a chance at becoming the President of the Free World and now breast milk is replacing cow’s milk. Ashton, isn’t there a digital camera commercial you should be shooting or a dead career you could be mourning? Get outta my life!
My first question after reading this letter was, who would consciously eat a soup, stew or sauce made with breast milk? I know you’re thinking, “But Meg, you drank breast milk when you were a baby!” Yea, I did. I also crapped my pants a lot and tried to eat my hand, but yes, I drank breast milk. And you know what? I really don’t like thinking about it. I find the entire situation a little creepy. I also don’t really remember ever being given an option at the time. Had I been given the option, I would like to think I would have gracefully declined.
Milk as a food grosses me out, whether from a human or a cow. I don’t drink milk as a beverage (and think it’s intensely creepy when other people do); I use minimal milk in my coffee and drain the excess milk off my spoon when eating cereal. I also dread thinking about when I’ll have to breast-feed my future kid. Oh dear God in heaven, my skin crawls just thinking about it. I’m not a worker bee, and accepting the fact that my body makes food for another human being is entirely disturbing. I know it’s “natural” and “beautiful,” but F that S. It’s like those people who eat a mother’s placenta after giving birth because it’s rich in protein. You know what else is rich in protein? Beans. 2 for 1 at Safeway this week. Just a thought. Giving birth to your lunch can be such a hassle for the girl on the go…
Why exactly does the switch from cow to human even need to be made in the first place? Were cows complaining they’re chaffing and tired? Is it because if we procure our milk from women we can ethically repay them with money whereas we pirate milk from dairy cows with no payment? Well here’s my argument to that—it’s a fucking cow. That’s why cows exist. Jebus made cows to give milk. It’s their job. If you want something graphically designed, come to me. If you want a tall glass of milk, go to a cow.
What would a cow do if we didn’t milk it? Would it go on to win an O. Henry award for it’s satirical short story about the current state of racism in our society aimed to make us confront our own deep hidden social phobias? No. It would stand in a field and vomit up some dinner. [This is now edging on an anti-vegan/anti-vegetarian rant and I apologize. I actually have no beef with vegans or vegetarians (pun intended!) That’s more Becca’s schtick.]
Can you imagine some sort of freaky Soylent Green society where all of the milk is procured from women? I’m sorry PETA, but I don’t want to live in a world where I could be at work in a conference room and all of a sudden my boss starts honkin’ my boob because he had PB&J for lunch and really needs something to wash it down before he makes his presentation.
10.03.2008
A Reaction to the Vice-Presidential Debate
Considering all of the negative things I’ve said about Sarah Palin in the past few weeks, I know you came here to read a biased, lefty, bleeding-heart liberal review of last night’s Vice-Presidential debate. But I’m gonna go ahead and have ta disappoint ya. Yesterday, at about 6:45pm when I was going ta pick up a gyro for dinner, I found Jesus and got saved. I know! I’m just as surprised as ya are that Jesus was hiding in a Greek Taverna on Georgia Avenue, but Gosh darnit, there he was! He spoke ta me and said that Sarah Palin is one of his prophets and I should strive ta be more like her, and if I did, my reward would be waitin' for me in heaven.
I wasted no time and began my quest ta become more like Sarah Palin. I started by studying her appearance. She’s got some great pointers on makeup, dontcha know! I’ve already tweezed my eyebrows so they resemble a frown and really love how she paints on her own bone structure with blush that’s two shades darker than it should be. Heck, I love it so much I just took a Sharpie ta my own face and drew on the high cheekbones and nose I’ve always wanted! So much for those corporate fat cats with their Beverly Hills pricey plastic surgery!
Since I’m just a Nancy-Normal, Sally Six-Pack, Melissa-Mediocre, Community College Carissa and Diana Drop-Out, I don’t know a danged thing about the Vice-Presidential candidate’s political views. Now that I watched the debate, I honestly believe that Sarah Palin is the right decision ta lead these great United States inta the future! Now before you get your Eskimo in an igloo, hear me out!
Right off the bat, ya gotta give Sarah points for asking if she can call Senator Joe Biden, plain old “Joe.” I mean, in God’s eyes we’re all equal! So what ya spent thirty-plus years serving in government office? Big whoop! You’re just Joe ta me! That’s why I call my doctor plain old “Rick,” and my pastor “Steve,” and the judge in my underage alcohol case “Linda.” You folks, God bless ya, are no better than me, I don’t care what fancy doo-dahs come before or after your name!
After the first question and answer of the night, I knew Sarah Palin was the candidate for me. I want the people leading our government ta be opinionated, strong Mavericks! I don’t want someone who’s actually gonna answer the question asked—no thank you! She didn’t come all the way to Missoura to answer random political questions and defend herself when attacked by that mad man! Still, always the lady, she handled herself under pressure. For example when that big bully Gwen asked her what she thinks the cause of our current “climate crisis” is, she took the high road and said she "doesn’t want ta argue the causes.” Sarah Palin is no dumb moose, she’s not gonna fall inta that trap and address the issue! So you can drill, baby, drill someone else for thoughtful answers!
As someone who’s currently in a little bit-a credit card debt, I was inspired by Palin's mantra that “never again shall we be taken advantage of by the predatory money lenders!” That’s right Sarah, we’ll never be taken advantage of again! Take back the afternoon! And if we are taken advantage of, even in the case of incest, we won’t abort our money problems with a “bailout!” NEVER AGAIN!
I could barely understand Joe’s political mumbo-jumbo up there. I appreciated that Palin talked ta the audience on a personal level. Like we’re just-a couple-a neighbors at a Sunday supper, discussin’ politics over a few cold ones and huffin' some paint thinner. I don’t want the government inside Washington to be full of Washington-insiders! I want my country ta be run by a united militia of Joe-Six-Packs:
and Hockey Moms:
I mean, Sarah Palin herself admitted that she’s only been doin’ this Presidential candidacy thing for five weeks, bless her heart, and look how great she’s doin’!
For example, she’s got the answer ta our nation’s health care problems. I agree with her 100% that we need to get Gary Government’s hand outta our pockets and buy our own darn health care! Sure Blue Cross just denied my application for independent health care coverage on the grounds that I’ve been treated for depression, but government provided health care?? What is this, Communist Russia?! I’d rather be a bit of a Grumpy Gus than have Uncle Sam holdin’ my hand in the waiting room, thank ya very much!
About half way through the debate, the real hard-hittin’ issues were addressed. Of course the fancy issue of civil rights for sissies had to be brought up…Thank goodness Sarah stood her ground firmly and stated flat-out that if the question asked was to be defined as did she agree with the Senator that a question was asked regarding civil rights and not gay marriage, then an answer was given which resembles the answer given previously by the Senator regarding the civil liberties of the aforementioned parties depending not on what the definition of civil liberties, not gay marriage, is and thus agreed with him that a question was once asked. How can ya argue with such a straightforward, hard-hittin’ Maverick?
As someone who once took a boot camp work out class at the gym, ya can betcha I was payin’ close attention to the candidate’s policies on the War in Iraq. First of all, I don’t know why Joe was gettin’ so emotional about this topic. His son is only in the Coast Guard for cry-eye! If a beach party runs out of Coronas, I’m sure he’ll be the first one they call in. Quit being such a baby and put your white flag of surrender down!
Then there was a whole buncha talk on nuke-ya-lurr affairs that might as well have been in Latin, ya know? The closest I’ve ever been to Pakistan is the 7-11 around the corner and let me tell ya, they got a buncha scratch-offs and some darn good taquitos, but no nuke-ya-lurr weapons. I took a potty break here and came back just in time to hear Palin talk passionately about how John McCain knows how ta win a war! Darn tootin’ he does! Not only does John McCain know how ta win a war, he knows how ta grab a speedin’ bullet outta mid-air. And shoot webs. And jump from building ta building. And get the girl in the end (have ya seen Cindy? She’s gotta shape ta her!)
My favorite part of the election would have ta have been when Gwen asked the candidates how they would lead the country in the super unlikely event that the President died and they become Commander-in-Chief. Palin said that she would continue McCain’s good work and put the government back on the side of the people. Only a true American like her would make our government a little less "Ivy League" and a little more Wasilla Main Street! Her ticket officially had my vote when she said that she wants her government ta be a representation of how average Wasilla working-class Americans want their government ta be. Which of course is a government that advocates free beer, a 24 hour Wal-Mart superstore in every town and uncensored Larry the Cable Guy specials on Comedy Central. Get ‘er done Sarah!
At the end of the debate, I think Sarah clinched the election officially. She spoke ta me, right ta my heart y’all! She explained that the person elected ta be the leader of our country has ta talk the talk, walk the walk…and knock the knock...spock the spock, crock the crock and...frock the frock! Don’t even try to defend yourself Joe, because she’ll call ya out in an adorable way like when she said, “Say it aint so, Joe!” ...What with your afro. High on the plateau. I recently rented Semi-Pro. My favorite designer on Project Runway is Korto. I love The Hills, but hate Lo…
Yea Joe, can’t argue with that, can ya? This is real American politics. And God bless America! Wink!
I wasted no time and began my quest ta become more like Sarah Palin. I started by studying her appearance. She’s got some great pointers on makeup, dontcha know! I’ve already tweezed my eyebrows so they resemble a frown and really love how she paints on her own bone structure with blush that’s two shades darker than it should be. Heck, I love it so much I just took a Sharpie ta my own face and drew on the high cheekbones and nose I’ve always wanted! So much for those corporate fat cats with their Beverly Hills pricey plastic surgery!
Since I’m just a Nancy-Normal, Sally Six-Pack, Melissa-Mediocre, Community College Carissa and Diana Drop-Out, I don’t know a danged thing about the Vice-Presidential candidate’s political views. Now that I watched the debate, I honestly believe that Sarah Palin is the right decision ta lead these great United States inta the future! Now before you get your Eskimo in an igloo, hear me out!
Right off the bat, ya gotta give Sarah points for asking if she can call Senator Joe Biden, plain old “Joe.” I mean, in God’s eyes we’re all equal! So what ya spent thirty-plus years serving in government office? Big whoop! You’re just Joe ta me! That’s why I call my doctor plain old “Rick,” and my pastor “Steve,” and the judge in my underage alcohol case “Linda.” You folks, God bless ya, are no better than me, I don’t care what fancy doo-dahs come before or after your name!
After the first question and answer of the night, I knew Sarah Palin was the candidate for me. I want the people leading our government ta be opinionated, strong Mavericks! I don’t want someone who’s actually gonna answer the question asked—no thank you! She didn’t come all the way to Missoura to answer random political questions and defend herself when attacked by that mad man! Still, always the lady, she handled herself under pressure. For example when that big bully Gwen asked her what she thinks the cause of our current “climate crisis” is, she took the high road and said she "doesn’t want ta argue the causes.” Sarah Palin is no dumb moose, she’s not gonna fall inta that trap and address the issue! So you can drill, baby, drill someone else for thoughtful answers!
As someone who’s currently in a little bit-a credit card debt, I was inspired by Palin's mantra that “never again shall we be taken advantage of by the predatory money lenders!” That’s right Sarah, we’ll never be taken advantage of again! Take back the afternoon! And if we are taken advantage of, even in the case of incest, we won’t abort our money problems with a “bailout!” NEVER AGAIN!
I could barely understand Joe’s political mumbo-jumbo up there. I appreciated that Palin talked ta the audience on a personal level. Like we’re just-a couple-a neighbors at a Sunday supper, discussin’ politics over a few cold ones and huffin' some paint thinner. I don’t want the government inside Washington to be full of Washington-insiders! I want my country ta be run by a united militia of Joe-Six-Packs:
and Hockey Moms:
I mean, Sarah Palin herself admitted that she’s only been doin’ this Presidential candidacy thing for five weeks, bless her heart, and look how great she’s doin’!
For example, she’s got the answer ta our nation’s health care problems. I agree with her 100% that we need to get Gary Government’s hand outta our pockets and buy our own darn health care! Sure Blue Cross just denied my application for independent health care coverage on the grounds that I’ve been treated for depression, but government provided health care?? What is this, Communist Russia?! I’d rather be a bit of a Grumpy Gus than have Uncle Sam holdin’ my hand in the waiting room, thank ya very much!
About half way through the debate, the real hard-hittin’ issues were addressed. Of course the fancy issue of civil rights for sissies had to be brought up…Thank goodness Sarah stood her ground firmly and stated flat-out that if the question asked was to be defined as did she agree with the Senator that a question was asked regarding civil rights and not gay marriage, then an answer was given which resembles the answer given previously by the Senator regarding the civil liberties of the aforementioned parties depending not on what the definition of civil liberties, not gay marriage, is and thus agreed with him that a question was once asked. How can ya argue with such a straightforward, hard-hittin’ Maverick?
As someone who once took a boot camp work out class at the gym, ya can betcha I was payin’ close attention to the candidate’s policies on the War in Iraq. First of all, I don’t know why Joe was gettin’ so emotional about this topic. His son is only in the Coast Guard for cry-eye! If a beach party runs out of Coronas, I’m sure he’ll be the first one they call in. Quit being such a baby and put your white flag of surrender down!
Then there was a whole buncha talk on nuke-ya-lurr affairs that might as well have been in Latin, ya know? The closest I’ve ever been to Pakistan is the 7-11 around the corner and let me tell ya, they got a buncha scratch-offs and some darn good taquitos, but no nuke-ya-lurr weapons. I took a potty break here and came back just in time to hear Palin talk passionately about how John McCain knows how ta win a war! Darn tootin’ he does! Not only does John McCain know how ta win a war, he knows how ta grab a speedin’ bullet outta mid-air. And shoot webs. And jump from building ta building. And get the girl in the end (have ya seen Cindy? She’s gotta shape ta her!)
My favorite part of the election would have ta have been when Gwen asked the candidates how they would lead the country in the super unlikely event that the President died and they become Commander-in-Chief. Palin said that she would continue McCain’s good work and put the government back on the side of the people. Only a true American like her would make our government a little less "Ivy League" and a little more Wasilla Main Street! Her ticket officially had my vote when she said that she wants her government ta be a representation of how average Wasilla working-class Americans want their government ta be. Which of course is a government that advocates free beer, a 24 hour Wal-Mart superstore in every town and uncensored Larry the Cable Guy specials on Comedy Central. Get ‘er done Sarah!
At the end of the debate, I think Sarah clinched the election officially. She spoke ta me, right ta my heart y’all! She explained that the person elected ta be the leader of our country has ta talk the talk, walk the walk…and knock the knock...spock the spock, crock the crock and...frock the frock! Don’t even try to defend yourself Joe, because she’ll call ya out in an adorable way like when she said, “Say it aint so, Joe!” ...What with your afro. High on the plateau. I recently rented Semi-Pro. My favorite designer on Project Runway is Korto. I love The Hills, but hate Lo…
Yea Joe, can’t argue with that, can ya? This is real American politics. And God bless America! Wink!
10.02.2008
The Worm - 'Cause Even Birds Gotta Eat
Today's topic - A Review of Breadsoda
Dude, you know I’ve got ADD, make it brief: Breadsoda is located at 2233 Wisconsin Ave, NW, in Glover Park in the same office building/shopping complex as the Vespa store, downstairs. It is advertised as a deil/billiards spot (more on the deli part later) and billiards they do indeed have – pool, ping pong, a Wii, and shuffleboard. I would add and stress “bar” though, it’s a bar. There’s a big long physical bar, there’s a bouncer at the door, and there are no seating tables, just bar-type seating tables. So don’t show up on a Friday night with Uncle Moisha looking for a nosh and a game of Wii Tennis – this place will be full of people drinking and standing about.
Also of note is that the games are not all always available; shuffleboard and pool are always cool, you can ping the pong only Tuesday night long, and the Wii is supposedly available every night but either I am blind or they don’t advertise it very well. In fact that would be a gripe I have with Breadsoda in general, they say they’ve got food, lots of games, etc. but then you walk in and there is a large bar and three pool tables and that’s it. No signs, no hostess, no nothing. We definitely stood there looking confused and uncool for a few minutes.
How the fuck am I supposed to get there?: Jesus, calm down, there’s no need to swear. Apparently there is free parking in the back lot after 8, which is sweet, but didn’t do me any good since I missed that bit of info and parked on the street in the rain a few blocks up. If you do go before 8 be prepared that finding a spot along Wisconsin will suck. The D2 is a good-ish way to get there from Dupont Circle but you will have to walk a bit. The 30 buses can get you there from anywhere on Wisconsin Ave., north or south. If you are trying to get there from Cleveland Park or anywhere on Connecticut Ave. that’s not Dupont Circle you are fucked. Drive or take a cab. There is no metro.
Its like I’m walking on Sunshine!: Well, sort of. In keeping with the whole game thing Breadsoda has a ‘70s basement vibe, which is definitely what they’re going for. Wood paneling, decorative indoor stone – the whole thing was Brady Bunch-esque but not overdone in the slightest. This is a jeans and t-shirt kinda place. In fact, do you have skinny jeans, an ironic hoodie, a long scarf, and trendy sneakers? Good, wear that, regardless of your gender. Though they weren’t in view when I was there, I suspect the upper Georgetown prepster squad also hangs out there, what with its close proximity to Town Hall and all. Most likely the hipsters and the prepsters get along ok though the bar cleary seems to be vying for the hipster crowd as the music ranged from ironic musical (“Luck Be a Lady Tonight”), ‘80s (New Order), old school hip hop (De La Soul), and semi-irritating techno music (please, like I can name one artist in this genre). No DMB, no Colby Caillat, for which I thank them.
The government will not be offering me a $700 million bailout: That’s rough man, but what can you do, right? You’re still fine to go to Breadsoda. It was pleasantly well priced – my two companions and I all got a sandwich and two beers and our checks were about $20, give or take. Not bad, not bad at all. They have happy hour every night during which a few select beers are $4. The rest of the time beverages run between $5-$9. Sandwiches are no more than $10, and most hover around $7.95. The games are not free but priced per hour in the $10/hr range, check out the website for specifics.
I’ve got this date on Wednesday and I think he’s a Mormon: Then don’t go to Breadsoda. Like I said, it’s a bar. I saw some gourmet sodas in the deli case but this is not a show up and linger over dinner kinda spot, it’s a grab some beers and play pool kinda spot. So if your Mormon is cool playing pool and not drinking or eating then go for it. But I would really recommend this as a mid-week “wanna grab a drink?” place. Its always nice to have some quasi-athletic distractions while drinking and its way more low-key and less meat head than Buffalo Billiards. I also assume its cool on a weekend night as that place where you can go and mingle without having to wear uncomfortable shoes and pay $12 for a vodka tonic. They also have outdoor seating. However, for most of us it’s a touch difficult to get to and once you’re in Glover Park there really aren’t that many other places to go. A bar crawl that involves Borboun and Town Hall is not one I want to be a part of though you can get really adventurous and hit up Good Guys.
I am starvin’ like Marvin right now!: Well then unless you’re starving for lunch this might not be the best place for you. Breadsoda advertises itself as a deli. Turns out that “deli” is just a way to advertise that they serve food but its sandwiches and they’re not really committed to it. My guess is they did it to obtain a liquor license; Glover Park is exploding in terms of restaurants and bars and, in an attempt to curb the nightlife development, residents are making sure some of the more nit-picky liquor licensing rules are obeyed. One such rule specifies that a certain amount of your profits have to come from food sales. As such, Breadsoda doesn’t really have “tables” or “waiters” and you’ll find the menus up at the bar by the register. Grab a quick bite? Yes. Have dinner? No. However, the sandwiches were delish; my companions and I enjoyed a grilled cheese with bacon, a BLT, and a Veggie Sandwich, all of which were made with quality fresh ingredients and of a good size. And I am willing to let them continue calling themselves a deli because they make their own pickles and they’re damn good.
99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall: Well, not exactly. In fact I would say that the beer selection is limited but definitely of a high quality – lots of Belgian beer, Chimay (I told you it was hipster), PBR cans (no seriously, say it with me, “hip-ster”), some random UK beers, Guinness, Stella, some nice small breweries from California, and the old standby Miller Lite – no Asian beer (which is a shame, ‘cause its damn good), no Latin American beer.
Wine is also available, though in a more limited capacity and nothing that caught my eye. I noted that “sauvignon” was spelled incorrectly on their menu, as was “Peroni” – um, since the outdoor tables have huge Peroni umbrellas that should be an easy fix. They make a few specialty cocktails, two standouts being the Michelata which is essentially a Bloody Mary with beer instead of vodka, and the Dark & Stormy, a Bermudian drink made from Gosling’s dark rum and Ginger Beer.
Your Mom: liked Breadsoda but felt it was trying to be too many things. They have free WiFi, deli sandwiches, fancy beer, lots of games, outdoor seating … she wants them to maybe pick a style and stick with it. Or perhaps do the sandwiches and WiFi during the lunch hour/daytime and then switch focus to trendy gamer bar in the evening. This would enable them to get two well defined crowds: those who want to enjoy a well-priced sandwich, free wifi, and – if they’re lucky – a nice beer during the day; those who want to hit up a trendy spot with good beer and funky music that won’t break their bank or necessitate high heels at night. Of course, this could have been their plan all along and they’re achieving it quite nicely, I don’t think your Mom really asked them.
Ultimately she thinks Breadsoda is a good place to hit up if you’re in the area during the day and need a quick bite and a good beer or at night if you want to play pool and have a drink at a bar who’s idea of a microbrew is not Yeungling and thinks of the cocktail as coming from actual ingredients, not a rail bottle of liquor and a soda gun. Besides, she felt totally cool and “with it” while she was there, and she did like the 70s thing – it reminded her of her and your Dad’s first apartment.
In summation: Bar Pilar + Buffallo Billards + the relaxed vibe of Glover Park – Meatheads – the obnoxious pretention of those who frequent 14th St = Breadsoda.
Also of note is that the games are not all always available; shuffleboard and pool are always cool, you can ping the pong only Tuesday night long, and the Wii is supposedly available every night but either I am blind or they don’t advertise it very well. In fact that would be a gripe I have with Breadsoda in general, they say they’ve got food, lots of games, etc. but then you walk in and there is a large bar and three pool tables and that’s it. No signs, no hostess, no nothing. We definitely stood there looking confused and uncool for a few minutes.
How the fuck am I supposed to get there?: Jesus, calm down, there’s no need to swear. Apparently there is free parking in the back lot after 8, which is sweet, but didn’t do me any good since I missed that bit of info and parked on the street in the rain a few blocks up. If you do go before 8 be prepared that finding a spot along Wisconsin will suck. The D2 is a good-ish way to get there from Dupont Circle but you will have to walk a bit. The 30 buses can get you there from anywhere on Wisconsin Ave., north or south. If you are trying to get there from Cleveland Park or anywhere on Connecticut Ave. that’s not Dupont Circle you are fucked. Drive or take a cab. There is no metro.
Its like I’m walking on Sunshine!: Well, sort of. In keeping with the whole game thing Breadsoda has a ‘70s basement vibe, which is definitely what they’re going for. Wood paneling, decorative indoor stone – the whole thing was Brady Bunch-esque but not overdone in the slightest. This is a jeans and t-shirt kinda place. In fact, do you have skinny jeans, an ironic hoodie, a long scarf, and trendy sneakers? Good, wear that, regardless of your gender. Though they weren’t in view when I was there, I suspect the upper Georgetown prepster squad also hangs out there, what with its close proximity to Town Hall and all. Most likely the hipsters and the prepsters get along ok though the bar cleary seems to be vying for the hipster crowd as the music ranged from ironic musical (“Luck Be a Lady Tonight”), ‘80s (New Order), old school hip hop (De La Soul), and semi-irritating techno music (please, like I can name one artist in this genre). No DMB, no Colby Caillat, for which I thank them.
The government will not be offering me a $700 million bailout: That’s rough man, but what can you do, right? You’re still fine to go to Breadsoda. It was pleasantly well priced – my two companions and I all got a sandwich and two beers and our checks were about $20, give or take. Not bad, not bad at all. They have happy hour every night during which a few select beers are $4. The rest of the time beverages run between $5-$9. Sandwiches are no more than $10, and most hover around $7.95. The games are not free but priced per hour in the $10/hr range, check out the website for specifics.
I’ve got this date on Wednesday and I think he’s a Mormon: Then don’t go to Breadsoda. Like I said, it’s a bar. I saw some gourmet sodas in the deli case but this is not a show up and linger over dinner kinda spot, it’s a grab some beers and play pool kinda spot. So if your Mormon is cool playing pool and not drinking or eating then go for it. But I would really recommend this as a mid-week “wanna grab a drink?” place. Its always nice to have some quasi-athletic distractions while drinking and its way more low-key and less meat head than Buffalo Billiards. I also assume its cool on a weekend night as that place where you can go and mingle without having to wear uncomfortable shoes and pay $12 for a vodka tonic. They also have outdoor seating. However, for most of us it’s a touch difficult to get to and once you’re in Glover Park there really aren’t that many other places to go. A bar crawl that involves Borboun and Town Hall is not one I want to be a part of though you can get really adventurous and hit up Good Guys.
I am starvin’ like Marvin right now!: Well then unless you’re starving for lunch this might not be the best place for you. Breadsoda advertises itself as a deli. Turns out that “deli” is just a way to advertise that they serve food but its sandwiches and they’re not really committed to it. My guess is they did it to obtain a liquor license; Glover Park is exploding in terms of restaurants and bars and, in an attempt to curb the nightlife development, residents are making sure some of the more nit-picky liquor licensing rules are obeyed. One such rule specifies that a certain amount of your profits have to come from food sales. As such, Breadsoda doesn’t really have “tables” or “waiters” and you’ll find the menus up at the bar by the register. Grab a quick bite? Yes. Have dinner? No. However, the sandwiches were delish; my companions and I enjoyed a grilled cheese with bacon, a BLT, and a Veggie Sandwich, all of which were made with quality fresh ingredients and of a good size. And I am willing to let them continue calling themselves a deli because they make their own pickles and they’re damn good.
99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall: Well, not exactly. In fact I would say that the beer selection is limited but definitely of a high quality – lots of Belgian beer, Chimay (I told you it was hipster), PBR cans (no seriously, say it with me, “hip-ster”), some random UK beers, Guinness, Stella, some nice small breweries from California, and the old standby Miller Lite – no Asian beer (which is a shame, ‘cause its damn good), no Latin American beer.
Wine is also available, though in a more limited capacity and nothing that caught my eye. I noted that “sauvignon” was spelled incorrectly on their menu, as was “Peroni” – um, since the outdoor tables have huge Peroni umbrellas that should be an easy fix. They make a few specialty cocktails, two standouts being the Michelata which is essentially a Bloody Mary with beer instead of vodka, and the Dark & Stormy, a Bermudian drink made from Gosling’s dark rum and Ginger Beer.
Your Mom: liked Breadsoda but felt it was trying to be too many things. They have free WiFi, deli sandwiches, fancy beer, lots of games, outdoor seating … she wants them to maybe pick a style and stick with it. Or perhaps do the sandwiches and WiFi during the lunch hour/daytime and then switch focus to trendy gamer bar in the evening. This would enable them to get two well defined crowds: those who want to enjoy a well-priced sandwich, free wifi, and – if they’re lucky – a nice beer during the day; those who want to hit up a trendy spot with good beer and funky music that won’t break their bank or necessitate high heels at night. Of course, this could have been their plan all along and they’re achieving it quite nicely, I don’t think your Mom really asked them.
Ultimately she thinks Breadsoda is a good place to hit up if you’re in the area during the day and need a quick bite and a good beer or at night if you want to play pool and have a drink at a bar who’s idea of a microbrew is not Yeungling and thinks of the cocktail as coming from actual ingredients, not a rail bottle of liquor and a soda gun. Besides, she felt totally cool and “with it” while she was there, and she did like the 70s thing – it reminded her of her and your Dad’s first apartment.
In summation: Bar Pilar + Buffallo Billards + the relaxed vibe of Glover Park – Meatheads – the obnoxious pretention of those who frequent 14th St = Breadsoda.
Happy (Sort Of) Drinking Game Friday!
I got an email (meg@2birds1blog.com) from Meli, everyone’s favorite Nicaraguan spitfire, asking to move this week’s Drinking Game from Friday to Thursday in honor of tonight’s Vice-Presidential debate. Ask and you shall receive my friends. Besides, there’s no way I’m going to watch this shit show with a blood alcohol level lower than .15%.
I can’t believe Sarah Palin, the woman who fears witches, can’t think of the name of a single newspaper and doesn’t know her ass from a hole in the ground, is going to debate Senator Joe Biden on national television. Tonight. This must be what my mom felt like when the Beatles were on the Ed Sullivan Show.
From the fights of Roman gladiators, to public hangings, to Britney Spears’ 2007 VMA performance, the public has had a morbid fascination with watching a peer go down in flames. Tonight is no exception. I fully expect Sarah Palin to bust out some priceless gems in tonight’s debate and will be sorely disappointed if her last minute cramming sessions and flash card reviews actually do pay off. I keep slipping into these fantasies where she tells Biden if he doesn’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. Or asks him what he thinks Jesus would do. Or rationalizes that she conceived Trig Palin after a night of one too many Fosters at Outback Steakhouse and therefore has international relations experience with Australia.
Either way, this is going to be an interesting cocktail of hilarious, frightening and depressing. So go get an 18-pack of Labatt’s Blue, salute the Naval Observatory and pray that John McCain has more lives than a cat, because it’s time to play The Vice-Presidential Debate Drinking Game!
Hmm…I wonder if Bristol will be playing the game with rum tonight? Anyways, I decided to leave the rules of this game in the hands of the experts. Thus, the following is courtesy of Comedy Central’s InDecision 2008 blog.
Take 1 Sip:
* Every time Sarah Palin says "Gwen” or “Joe.”
* Every time Joe Biden says "malarkey.”
* Every time Palin mentions Russia (or mentions France, re: Senator Biden's underpants.)
*Every time Biden mentions his Scranton upbringing.
* Every time Palin mentions wildlife protection.
* Everytime Palin says “hockey.”
* Every time Biden mentions his father.
* Every time Palin accidentally agrees with Barack Obama.
* Every time Biden mentions taking the train to and from his Senate job.
* Every time Palin mentions small town values.
* Every time Biden drops an anachronism.
* Every time someone in the room says Palin seems like someone cool to have a beer with, stand up and yell "Goody Palin is a witch!"
* Every time Biden and Palin break into an argument, make out with the person next to you.
* Every time Biden and Palin make out, debate the person next to you.
* Every time Palin speaks in a run-on sentence, get yourself for into the position of being to drink a sip of beer and therefore on the chair on which you sit turn around and face your neighbor but you will not have had enough into which to vomit and that's good because you will be feeling in a way that is comparable to ways in which you have drunk before, at home, where they teach good drinking values.
I can’t believe Sarah Palin, the woman who fears witches, can’t think of the name of a single newspaper and doesn’t know her ass from a hole in the ground, is going to debate Senator Joe Biden on national television. Tonight. This must be what my mom felt like when the Beatles were on the Ed Sullivan Show.
From the fights of Roman gladiators, to public hangings, to Britney Spears’ 2007 VMA performance, the public has had a morbid fascination with watching a peer go down in flames. Tonight is no exception. I fully expect Sarah Palin to bust out some priceless gems in tonight’s debate and will be sorely disappointed if her last minute cramming sessions and flash card reviews actually do pay off. I keep slipping into these fantasies where she tells Biden if he doesn’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. Or asks him what he thinks Jesus would do. Or rationalizes that she conceived Trig Palin after a night of one too many Fosters at Outback Steakhouse and therefore has international relations experience with Australia.
Either way, this is going to be an interesting cocktail of hilarious, frightening and depressing. So go get an 18-pack of Labatt’s Blue, salute the Naval Observatory and pray that John McCain has more lives than a cat, because it’s time to play The Vice-Presidential Debate Drinking Game!
Hmm…I wonder if Bristol will be playing the game with rum tonight? Anyways, I decided to leave the rules of this game in the hands of the experts. Thus, the following is courtesy of Comedy Central’s InDecision 2008 blog.
Take 1 Sip:
* Every time Sarah Palin says "Gwen” or “Joe.”
* Every time Joe Biden says "malarkey.”
* Every time Palin mentions Russia (or mentions France, re: Senator Biden's underpants.)
*Every time Biden mentions his Scranton upbringing.
* Every time Palin mentions wildlife protection.
* Everytime Palin says “hockey.”
* Every time Biden mentions his father.
* Every time Palin accidentally agrees with Barack Obama.
* Every time Biden mentions taking the train to and from his Senate job.
* Every time Palin mentions small town values.
* Every time Biden drops an anachronism.
* Every time someone in the room says Palin seems like someone cool to have a beer with, stand up and yell "Goody Palin is a witch!"
* Every time Biden and Palin break into an argument, make out with the person next to you.
* Every time Biden and Palin make out, debate the person next to you.
* Every time Palin speaks in a run-on sentence, get yourself for into the position of being to drink a sip of beer and therefore on the chair on which you sit turn around and face your neighbor but you will not have had enough into which to vomit and that's good because you will be feeling in a way that is comparable to ways in which you have drunk before, at home, where they teach good drinking values.
10.01.2008
Washington Post Wednesdays
From the Washington City Paper, September 26-October 2, 2008
From the Classified Section
Thick as a dreidel
But three times as long…I’m your average jew, but I rock a thong…today is your day… ‘cause I’ll put the “oy in your “vey.” Answer me, we’ll meet…if we hit it off, you’ll see the hole in my sheet… please, no paranoia… I’m really into rockin’ the goya. (and maybe have brunch at sequoia?) if your response rocks, we’ll meet for manischewitz and lox. Oy! Extra points: what rhymes with yarmulke?
O…k…I’m not entirely sure where to start. I can’t decide if I want to marry this guy or find out who he is just to make sure I avoid him at all costs. On one hand, I have to applaud his creative approach to classified writing, but on the other hand, this seems slightly half-assed.
I genuinely want to meet this guy (but not to see the hole in his sheet…) I think this is a good start, but I’m pretty confident I can edit this rough draft into something far more effective. Boo, I’m gonna help you out.
First of all, if you’re going to commit to the “LOLZ! Call me Seth Rogen because I’m just your average funny Jewish guy with a heart of gold LMAO!!!”- schtick, you’re going to have to try a little harder than this. For example, women can do simple math. Regarding your penis size, you allude that it’s three times as long as a dreidel. The average dreidel is half an inch long with a girth of .25 inches. 3 x .5” = 1.5” No woman wants to have sex with a penis that is 1.5 inches long and 1/4 inch thick. I'm not even sure if that qualifies as vaginal intercourse.
You won me back with, “I’ll put the ‘oy’ in your ‘vey,” and the hole in my sheet joke, but overall lost me with your fragmented sentence structure and numerous grammatical errors. It’s like you washed an Ambien down with a bottle of NyQuil before writing this. I don’t care how lame I sound, but nobody is too cool for grammar and correct spelling. Any guy who uses spell check automatically gets a base farther with me on the first date. Look, you already took the time to convince yourself taking out a classified ad isn't pathetic, write this poem and buy the ad space, why not go the extra mile and make sure it reads smoothly? Too busy ironing your thong?
I’m going to guess you’re trying to find yourself a nice Jewish wife. If that’s the case, I’m not too sure how prominently I would mention the fact that you’re really into “rocking the goya.” A nice Jewish girl doesn’t want to have to worry about your slutty Shiksa ex-girlfriend even before the first date.
Aslo, you posted this in the “Wild Side” section of the Classifieds. A nice Jewish boy talking about going out for dinner or brunch at Sequoia has no place in the Wild Side section. Get a little freaky with it! There's no shame in asking for strange ass, but you have to actually ask for it.
I shouldn’t write this for you or else you’ll never learn…oh hell, fine. Take this and thank me when you get laid:
Thick as an Israeli accent
And twice as strong…I’m your average Jew, Give you Kosher meat all night long.
Call me tonight, don’t wait another day…I’ll make you cry out for Moses and put the “oy” in your “vey”
I’m into freaky sex and want a menage a trois… Just me and you, but leave the door open for Elijah.
I got latkes in the oven and a brisket in my pants…I know you’re curious girl, so just take a chance.
I’ll light your menorah and leave your stomach in knots…My dick is so hard I’m about to plotz!
So call right away, we'll chat and meet…if things go well, you’ll see the hole in my sheet.
You're welcome.
From the Classified Section
Thick as a dreidel
But three times as long…I’m your average jew, but I rock a thong…today is your day… ‘cause I’ll put the “oy in your “vey.” Answer me, we’ll meet…if we hit it off, you’ll see the hole in my sheet… please, no paranoia… I’m really into rockin’ the goya. (and maybe have brunch at sequoia?) if your response rocks, we’ll meet for manischewitz and lox. Oy! Extra points: what rhymes with yarmulke?
O…k…I’m not entirely sure where to start. I can’t decide if I want to marry this guy or find out who he is just to make sure I avoid him at all costs. On one hand, I have to applaud his creative approach to classified writing, but on the other hand, this seems slightly half-assed.
I genuinely want to meet this guy (but not to see the hole in his sheet…) I think this is a good start, but I’m pretty confident I can edit this rough draft into something far more effective. Boo, I’m gonna help you out.
First of all, if you’re going to commit to the “LOLZ! Call me Seth Rogen because I’m just your average funny Jewish guy with a heart of gold LMAO!!!”- schtick, you’re going to have to try a little harder than this. For example, women can do simple math. Regarding your penis size, you allude that it’s three times as long as a dreidel. The average dreidel is half an inch long with a girth of .25 inches. 3 x .5” = 1.5” No woman wants to have sex with a penis that is 1.5 inches long and 1/4 inch thick. I'm not even sure if that qualifies as vaginal intercourse.
You won me back with, “I’ll put the ‘oy’ in your ‘vey,” and the hole in my sheet joke, but overall lost me with your fragmented sentence structure and numerous grammatical errors. It’s like you washed an Ambien down with a bottle of NyQuil before writing this. I don’t care how lame I sound, but nobody is too cool for grammar and correct spelling. Any guy who uses spell check automatically gets a base farther with me on the first date. Look, you already took the time to convince yourself taking out a classified ad isn't pathetic, write this poem and buy the ad space, why not go the extra mile and make sure it reads smoothly? Too busy ironing your thong?
I’m going to guess you’re trying to find yourself a nice Jewish wife. If that’s the case, I’m not too sure how prominently I would mention the fact that you’re really into “rocking the goya.” A nice Jewish girl doesn’t want to have to worry about your slutty Shiksa ex-girlfriend even before the first date.
Aslo, you posted this in the “Wild Side” section of the Classifieds. A nice Jewish boy talking about going out for dinner or brunch at Sequoia has no place in the Wild Side section. Get a little freaky with it! There's no shame in asking for strange ass, but you have to actually ask for it.
I shouldn’t write this for you or else you’ll never learn…oh hell, fine. Take this and thank me when you get laid:
Thick as an Israeli accent
And twice as strong…I’m your average Jew, Give you Kosher meat all night long.
Call me tonight, don’t wait another day…I’ll make you cry out for Moses and put the “oy” in your “vey”
I’m into freaky sex and want a menage a trois… Just me and you, but leave the door open for Elijah.
I got latkes in the oven and a brisket in my pants…I know you’re curious girl, so just take a chance.
I’ll light your menorah and leave your stomach in knots…My dick is so hard I’m about to plotz!
So call right away, we'll chat and meet…if things go well, you’ll see the hole in my sheet.
You're welcome.
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