nervey nerve birds

dirty cookie here, fortune's partner in crime. she has been kind enough to share her space o' blog with moi bc i have absolutely no interest in having my own blog. none. zilch. zip. nada. but i like guest appearances. a lot.

pan fried dumplings are delicious. it has been my new favorite dinner as of late. fry up a couple a bad boys, steam up the rice, break out the seaweed. excellent meal. quick, cheap, and makes me feel like my own private chinatown.

pan frying dumplings while severely intoxicated is not a good idea. last night i got home and decided i would have a few beers (4) before cooking dinner. needless to say, today, my forearms are lacking in the hair dept. and i have several small splotchy red burns all over my face. something like a nouveau freckle. luckily most of my stuffed animal collection survived the small blaze.

sigh.

anyways, my whole point on writing this initial entry was to cut and slander the women of nerve who apparently have an absolute oligarchy (is there any other kind?) which has obviously decreed a moratorium on contacting me. sweet innocent little me!

well here i was, last night, the smell of singed hair, bottles of beer and fried dumpling gently wafting through my les bachelor pad! the smoke detector had finally succumb to my curses and life was looking better. which of course led me to try and find something to get pissed about.

(the pigeons have left and the squirrels havent figured out how to get in again)

it was during my 5th beer (completelyfuckingshitfacedhere) that i remembered my recent strike outs with nerve, (many messages written, no replies back) (its FREE ladies) and i thought it would be a "fun" thing to post about these girls and why i think, they wont go out with me! (really, actually, probably a bad thing to do)

enter the yahoo.

i was on the cusp (justrightnowiswear) of posting about the first girl, here (we shall call her soilent green) when yahoo popped up and said "you have one new message from "****** ** *** *****". she will have to remain anonymous, of course, until i see how things have panned out.

can it be? a rogue? a girl willing to strike about against the oppressive nervey bird-ness? my own personal *female* Henry David Thoreau? (reading civil disobedience, sorry). i am so excited.

and of course i will report back.














over and out - dirty

Personality disorder

Dirty was telling me about this guy last night who is one of those people who is obviously "not in control of his life". Someone who carries like five bags around at one time with stuff falling out of them, disheveled, fly open, toilet paper sticking to their shoe (note: mothers with small children and homeless people do not apply). You know the type. Thankfully, I am not this kind of person. Nor is anyone I am friends with this kind of person. But since I don't know any of these people, I am curious as to what type of person they are and why they can't just get their shit together?

I love personality tests. There is something satisfying about answering a few questions and being placed in a discrete category of person. I know some people don't like them because they think it's a bunch of bullshit ("What's the color of your aura?"), or they don't want to be categorized ("Jung's extrovert/introvert (EI), sensing/intuitive (SN), feeling/thinking (FT) and judging/perceiving (JP)"), or maybe they are scared of the results because sometimes they hit close to home--I remember when a boyfriend of mine took an EQ (emotional quotient) test and he had an extremely low score. He was a little outraged that they told him he wasn't emotionally healthy or something like that. I laughed it off (it's hard to notice those glaring red flags with flashing lights when you are in love). Needless to say, the test was RIGHT ON THE MONEY. Oops. Needless to say, that one didn't work out well. I still have a high EQ though.

On a brief side note, we revisited our usual BFF Bartender last night to celebrate Carina's birthday. She has this ingenious way of reminding us of her birthday, which is 4/26: 4+2=6. Because of this little bit of mathematics, I have never forgotten her birthday in all the years I've known her. BFF Bartender was sporting a terrible faux-mohawk/mullet combination. He had some technical difficulties with some flaming shots and essentially just set all of the glasses and part of the bar on fire. But all was forgiven when I went to close out my tab. He looks at me and says, "You don't have a tab." Um...gosh...okay...thanks. THIS is why he is BFF Bartender.

I bet he has a high EQ.

Because all you can drink sangria does not mean you have to drink all you can

I was hoping to avoid this for a while, but let's get personal. Wine is not my friend. It is evil, just plain evil. I had my usual Wednesday night happy hour, but at a different location. (I have to admit, I felt like I was cheating on our regular BFF bartender or something, but shoot, he took last Wednesday off to go to some concert so we had to pay regular price for our drinks. Hmph.) So we're up in El Barrio at ladies' night: all you can drink sangria for $10. Not a bad deal, right? And the sangria was GOOD--the bartender was good to us and kept our glasses full. I am not sure how many I had, but I am positive it was a number between 5 and 10 (definitely not 10, though). No need for an intervention or anything--the glasses were very small.

I was tucked in by midnight.

Then I woke up an hour before my alarm with a splitting headache. I don't normally get headaches from drinking. This is why wine is evil (sulfites=poison). This is why vodka is my friend and clear, colorless drinks are the way to go. I have learned my lesson.

However, I think all of the pain was worth it: that night I managed to successfully co-mingle two groups of friends. The co-mingling of friends is always an unpredictable social experiment. You always think that because you like all of these people, how could they not like each other, right? Wrong. You connect with people at different levels and for different reasons and they don't always mesh with each other. I've been guilty of greatly disliking the friends of my friends too. But the planets were aligned for this interaction. One group we'll call the Regulars, since we have a standing Wednesday night happy hour date, and the others I will call the Spillers, because they managed to spill 3 glasses of sangria that night (including in my shoe) and there was also the incident when I took them to my usual watering hole, and they spilled a flaming shot and almost burned the place down. Enough said. When we all sat at the table it was like a United Colors of Bennetton ad. Except for alcohol. I felt like I was the UN ambassador for sangria drinkers.

The bottom line is that a good time was had by all, everyone can just get along, and I hope I am not the only one with a headache.

Childhood ideals crushed

I have recently had another one of those moments when I found out that something I believed since childhood was a lie. I'm not talking about something so dramatic as finding out your older sister was right and you were actually adopted or that your puppy didn't actually get sent away to the farm and was sent to the Elmer's glue factory instead--just kidding, that's where they send ponies, not puppies. This is more along the lines of how crushed I was when I found out two years ago that the wedding cake guests get served is a sheetcake in back and not the pretty three-tiered one the bride and groom cut from. (I'm still recovering from that one, thanks.)

My almost-four year old niece MadDog has learned to play cards. No, no, nothing like Three Card Monte or anything. Although she's smart and sly enough to hustle a little--she plays a mean game of CandyLand. Currently her favorite game is Go Fish, also a favorite of mine since I never learned to play poker and I always forget how to play rummy. But I guess my sister and I grew up playing some sort of ghetto Taiwanese version or something because we played it where you only ask one person for one rank with the goal of getting a pair. The person who gets rid of all their cards first wins. Isn't this how everyone played it? Apparently not.

Here are the official rules:

1. Five cards are dealt to each player, or seven if there are only two players.
2. The player whose turn it is to play asks another player for his/her cards of a particular rank. For example, "Jill, give me your fours." (note: I would recommend asking Jill a little more politely than that) A player may only ask for a rank of which he/she already holds at least one card. The recipient of the request must then hand over all cards of that rank. If the call was successful, the same player has another turn. If the player who was asked has no cards of that rank, he/she says "Go fish" (or simply "Fish"), and the asking player draws the top card from the pack. The turn then passes to the player who was asked.
3. When one player has all four cards of a given rank, they form a book, and the cards are placed face up on the table.
4. The game ends when all thirteen books are formed, and the player who won the most books wins.
5. If the player whose turn it is has no cards left in hand, the game is not over, but he/she simply draws the top card from the pack and the turn passes.

So now I know I have been playing it wrong all these years. It's a bit of a blow, but I think I'll survive. The problem is, MadDog plays our simplified version now too. and so it has become a vicious cycle. Just wait until she learns how to play mahjong...

In the beginning...

Upon insistence from a particular friend of mine, um, let's call him Dirty, I have created a blog. I have some hesitation, since as much as I enjoy telling stories to my friends, this is one more step through the door of oversharing. Plus, I've read other blogs and sometimes I'm just embarrassed for them or I end up really liking them but upon seeing their myspace profiles, realizing they are total tools.

Perhaps I'm just a hater. I suppose this will unfold as time goes on.

Today is Good Friday. I am a born and raised heathen so this has very little significance to me except that i get to leave work at 3pm today and Christians may give me dirty looks if I eat steak tonight. Good Friday also reminds me that Easter candy will be on sale Monday morning. (aside: I turned down a mini-cadbury egg offered by my sister the other day and she looked at me as if I had just told her i was going to sell her soon-to-be-born baby to the asian slave trade. Actually, I think she was more appalled than if I had said that...)

Also, for the second year in a row, I have missed the boat for buying a Peeps Easter basket for my niece, Mad Dog. I guess it is the most popular Easter basket because I can never find one except immediately after Christmas when stores start putting out Easter stuff. Contrary to popular belief, it is not made of Peeps, but rather, is of the fuzzy, stuffed variety. SO CUTE. However, if I were to ever find this holy grail of an Easter basket, I would not fill it with Peeps.

Why, you ask? Aside from the fact that there is much better candy out there to be consumed, of course.

Per Harper's Index:
Estimated number of Marshmallow Peeps that will be consumed around Easter this month: 800,000,000

Estimated number of pigs who died to make them: 125,000

Holy crap, that is gross (and totally not kosher). I really didn't need to know that, but this just adds to the many other reasons why I do not eat Peeps. Too bad they are just so damn cute and happy. Well, they aren't necessarily happy, since they are essentially made out of pig product, but they make me happy when I look at them.

Lesson learned: Peeps are for looking at, not eating.