Suck it, French Youth

Looks like you lost the battle against precariousness. "Contre la précarité!" if you must, and surely you must.
Too bad about that. I wish I could say I was sad for you, but it's hard to have sympathy for those who get to eat more creme fraiche than me (and American creme fraiche is quite poor and awfully expensive anyway), smoke more cigarettes, and effortlessly weigh less.
But that's fine, because it looks like your waistlines are expanding since you have the most McDonalds per capita outside of the US and now you'll have to work hard to keep your lousy french jobs with your excessive vacations. You'll probably become stressed and end up eating massive quantities of cheap chocolate at your desk, which will just exacerbate your growing girths. Bummer, french youth, I really want to feel for you, but I'm not sure if it's jealousy or animosity that keeps me from doing so.
In any case, we've suspected you're worthless for a long time, so, let's see if you can cut it in the real world (ie the american one).

I cannot live without positive reinforcement

Hence, a poll! Wheeee.

My once and future tattoo

For those of you that have had the "what tattoo would you get?" conversation with me, you know that my answer has been, for that last 4 years at least, a tattoo of an umbrella (although for like, two weeks, I desperately wanted that tiger (or maybe lion) tattoo that is on the cover of a push kings album). A delinquent friend of mine once even promised to draw it for me, so I could get it. Why an umbrella? No reason, except perhaps that I like Mary Poppins and used to love Magritte. But still, Magritte is cool and umbrellas are the best. I never did get my tattoo, in part because my mom threatened to revoke college funding if I did get a tattoo (ha! joke's on me, because those loans were in my name, weren't they?), and in part, because, well, I'm not tattoo cool. Yeah, I am not the biggest of flipping losers, but I am definitely not cool enough that I ever listen to music at top volume, unless I am trying to demonstrate that I am, in fact, mad enough to listen to music so loud it hurts. And yeah, I can tolerate a bit of the punk music from time to time, but let's be honest. I would rather listen to Dolly Parton than the Sex Pistols. And yes, I do like a number of Kill Rock Stars & K Records bands that might be labeled as punk, but, well, I don't think that buys me any tattooed-hard-ass cred, although I am fairly sure tattooed hard asses don't get umbrellas inked into their flesh.
But, I think it's time. I really think I might be ready to cross the line into becoming a tattooed person. The following are nice umbrella prototypes, and I would like your opinion. I am pretty sure I just want a black outline with the 'seams' inked in, if that makes sense, although I have not 100% ruled out the use of color. Also, let it be known that I will not be adding raindrops or anything of the kind to my umbrella tattoo. Just an umbrella for me, thanks.
Also, I am pretty sure it will be diagonal on my left shoulder, with the hooked handle pointing up. I have also contemplated getting a flipping huge one that stretches across my back, like a thunderbird, but well, I will never be that badass.
Umbrella 1:

Umbrella 2:

Umbrella 3:

Umbrella 4:

Humiliated again

OK, it is bad enough that the US has elected Bush to the presidency twice, that our states continue to battle evolution, that crazy South Dakota has banned abortion, that DeLay won his stinking primary, that most Americans still think there are WMD in Iraq & that Crash won the Acadamy award. These things are humiliating. The US news section in international papers looks like the Onion or some similar mockumentary, but most shocking(!!!!): "US knocked out at World Classic."
America's pasttime? What? How can this be! I understand that similar anguish was felt during the Olympics, dream team etc & no doubt followers of Quad Rugby experienced similar devastation. But losing in our most bestest coolest sport, advancing countries with a total population less than the number of American baseball movies, this is truly humiliating.

Keeping up

Well, after all these pedophilia/myspace stories, I decided it was time to join. While doing so, though, I realized that I am no longer attractive to pedophiles, and indeed, have not been for some time. Bummer.
But really, how many of these silly networking sites is a person required to join? And myspace is really really ugly. Not mine, mine is boring, but some people's, dare I say most people's, myspace is hideous. I spent an hour or so (while watching the gilmore girls & eating popcorn, granted) finding the same friends I am already connected with on friendster & facebook or both(!) and adding them. Many of whom are using the same photos & text! It's exasperating!
On the plus side, it's no great inconvenience and does create a new time waster for work. So come on, be my myspace friend too. I feel like a big dork with only a few friends...

Los Angeles

So, my clever boyfriend has been admitted to UCLA. This is pretty exciting because it means I can focus my life planning a bit more than before, though there are still pending applications and financial aid etc etc so the move to LA is not certain by any means.
However, I now can apartment hunt in LA with greater dedication than before, but the problem with LA is the connotations. I mean, the utter horror when the 90210 or clueless crowd had to go to 'the valley' for some sort of party. So obviously, we don't want to live in 'the valley' but what valley could they mean? Simi, san fernando, sun, there are at least half a dozen areas called 'something valley' around Los Angeles, and who knows which valley (or all valleys) is so undesirable?
And then, of course Malibu and Venice Beach are off-limits, because of the Barbie connections. I don't remember where my objections come from to Venice Beach, but I am pretty sure it has something to do with rollerblades and spandex. There's that terrible movie "Laurel Canyon," the wretched "Topanga" on Boy Meets World, "The Little Old Lady From Pasedena," and well, I don't know what Santa Monica is all about but I really hate the name "Monica." And I don't even know what to say about Hollywood, Beverly Hills, or Bel Air.
It's embarassing. I couldn't say "oh, I live in Venice Beach" without feeling like a total reject.

Oh, seriously, allow me to retch

Crash? Worst movie ever. Seriously. Puketastic. Remember when movies were about subtlety & I don't know, something not boring and stupid? OK, me neither, but Crash sucked. Boo academy.

My soap dispenser at work.

It looks like this.



Always with the two inches of thicker, milkier soap on top. I noticed it my first time using the facilities here, and while the more translucent level will change, there are always two inches of grossness on top. As I have little to report of note (except that my boyfriend is handsome and brilliant, which is of course old news), I decided to illustrate the little bit of bathroom grossness that I visit every day.

what the kids are listening to...

So, the fact of the matter is, I am getting older. Indeed, I have found my first grey hairs (2 of them!) in the past week. I found that pretty damn traumatic and am now having nightmares about grey hairs and strollers and biological clocks, oh my.
But the 'arctic monkeys,' that really sets me off. What a freaking stupid band name. Now, I haven't heard them yet. I may give them a shot tonight when I am at home using a computer with sound capabilities. I guarantee you that I won't like it though. But Arctic Monkeys is an INSANELY dumb band name; it connotes nothing but socks sold at Claire's and t-shirts sold at Spencer's. Which isn't cool at all. I keep trying to think of a comparably stupid band name that I listen(ed) to during my youth, and the only thing I can think of is 'superchunk' except I never really listened to them, that was all Michael. Also I was never a foo fighters fan.
No, I feel quite certain that I never listened to any band with as stupid a name as 'arctic monkeys' and I will not start now.

Basically, I have to update my blog because the last sentence of my last post is grammatically inept, and each time I check back to see if there are any new comments, I notice my grammatic failure (brought on by a desperate desire to use the word 'imperious') I am mortified.
In other news, I am thus far the only one in my office, the parking lot to my building is almost completely empty, and the mailman just stopped by to tell me that we have no mail today. Today is going to be a strange one.

When I am taken hostage

When I am taken hostage, which is highly likely since I don't even know how to use a gun at all, thus increasing the likelihood that I'll be kidnapped and unable to escape, I hope that I am strong and resolute and say things like "Never back down! Don't give into their maniacal demands" especially if their demands are more or less reasonable, like a box of Thin Mints (although they are becoming less and less reasonable every year).
This brings me to my second point, which is, I need to learn how to use a gun. Should I ever, you know, get taken hostage or end up in a horror movie. I have nightmares about staring down Freddy Krueger, trying to blow his brains out, and falling backward, thus meeting my death.
I just hope that should I ever end up in a life or death situation, my eyes turn to steel and my manner imperious.

The military, the profane, and the profaned.

So, as I have previously mentioned, there is an army office in my building. To be honest, I'm not sure what they do, as they don't have a storefront, as it were, so I guess that means they aren't a recruiting office. Also, sometimes they are in the elevator with guns, which, I believe, are discouraged in recruitment. But here's the thing... they swear. A lot. The one I see most frequently seems to use the small hallway leading to my office for his loud phone calls. Since my job is pretty dull (see most of my previous entries), I don't really mind listening in on his typically angry and profane conversations. Why he chooses to have them in front of a door marked "REACH for Kids," I'll never know, but whatever. It passes the time. One literally lasted nearly two hours!!! One hopes these matters are not of national importance, though I could easily understand the desire to swear at full volume about the state of affairs.
Now, today, I rode the elevator with two of them, and they repeatedly referred to another person, presumably female, as a 'fucking cunt.' As most of you know, I pepper my speech frequently with profanity, but an office elevator? In the presence of another? Tres bizarre. And the c-word no less! I am pro-profanity and am quite liberal in where I believe it is acceptable to use. Indeed, I have even spoken with my colleagues about the dual issues of blow jobs and inclusion in schools (which, in middle school, I foresee as being a huge problem for parents who wish their special needs child to be fully integrated with their peers). However, I take umbrage with the near constant swearing of these army guys (and no, not even sailors!) while I fill my water glass at the communal fountain or ride the elevator.
While I recognize that the military is not known for its mild language, I must say I prefer my interactions with the military, as a civilian, to be more 'an officer and a gentleman' than 'jarhead.' I thought that with the whole desire to serve and defend came prosaic ideas about womanhood (or at least, white women...), and thus, deference to our more delicate sensibilities. I suppose that went out the window when we started using military service in lieu of a prison sentence.

Ruth ponders... predictability

So, today, as I flip through various news sites, I find myself unwilling to read the articles about our president's state of the union address or his visit to Nashville, various murders (while I do find these fascinating, they fall under the 'headline tells the story' category and thus always disappoint) and all the other boring and predictable news out there. The one exception being the president's statement that he is "educator-in-chief" which is possibly the most horrifyingly hilarious thing I have ever heard. However, it fits nicely into the underqualified theme of the past 6 years. I like imagining our president as Mrs. Honeycutt, my kindergarten teacher, and various other educators of my past. I also think it seems likely that Jack Black would have referred to himself as "educator in chief" in School of Rock, and that is totally awesome. There are many ways our president could be a lot cooler, and, I think, rocking out with kids and macking it to Joan Cusack are merely a couple of ways to start.

Hairy tits, faces, the works.

So my roommate and I instituted a new policy of meeting for drinks once a week, going to a bar we've never been to. It's part of my theory that we need to start exploring Kansas City like we did not grow up here and start thinking of Kansas City based on that "Kansas City here we come" song, that Magnetic Fields song, "your eyes are Kansas City, one in Kansas and one in Missouri" (ok, so that song isn't all too relevant, but I'm, well, so vain that I basically think that song is about me, also, GBV, Beekeeper Seeks Ruth, it totally makes me blush) and you know, who think Kansas City is awesome meat products and jazz and has one of the largest collections of Asian art outside of Asia. And there is that Altman movie, Kansas City, that I have never seen-- its tagline is "Kansas City, 1934. Anything could happen here. One night it did." for chrissakes.
So, for our first selection (Julie's, actually), we went to a bar called John's Big Deck, which, as my stud-lover points out, is totally a penis joke. In any case, we were pretty much the only women there, aside from the waitresses and one blonde lady with enormous fake and almost entirely exposed breasts. Her stomach, also enormous and exposed, seemed to be genuine. And most of the men there were a) long-bearded in baseball caps b) in overalls and c) eating the special, which was a hunk of meat, one slice of white bread, fries, and a baked potato.
Of course, I had the view of the action, which was bad, because I have a tendancy not to actually look at the person I am with, so this obviously exacerbated the problem, which escaladed when Tits went over to Longest-Beard with a pair of scissors and placed his long beard between her large and incredibly wall-eyed breasts, all the while making porn-star face, and cut his beard off, so that all the hair fell down her shirt. Then she stood up, and pulled a huge wad of hair out, still making porn-star face! To which, Formerly Longest-Beard said, huh, you've got hairy tits, and then they went home together!!! Or rather, left together. I should illustrate this for you, but I'm not really sure where the paint equivalent is on my pretty new iBook, and am too lazy to look.

Seriously, why are libertarians so crazy? I used to be a card carrying member (granted, before I could vote), but man, they are a wacky people. Superficially rational and logical beings, they insist on doing things like having excessive facial hair and loving the guns. I mean, don't get me wrong, I am relatively pro-gun, but actually touching guns and even owning them? That's a lot weird. Today I read about this guy, who, forget what he's saying, looks like Timothy McVeigh's handsome uncle.
But, what about what's he's saying? There shouldn't be secret laws requiring passengers to produce ID to fly... hmmm. Perhaps there is an argument worth making here. While I have never been troubled by this requirement, maybe I should be? I mean, I'd like to be able to read the law if I so choose (which, incidentally, I would never choose to do. Unless I go to law school, and then I might have to).
And then there is the fact that he's the co-founder of the Electronic Frontier Foundation , an organization that my boyfriend totally hearts. Which I now find creepy, because I think we all know that frontier is one of those creepy words, like legion or order that you know secretly means cults or militias.

Yeah Abortion Yeah

So, as I've been reading/listening to what our crazy president has been saying, I have begun writing my first screenplay. And when I say 'writing', I mean I just thought of it and figured, heck, I'll put it into my blog and maybe someone can steal it and that would be cool too.
I'll tell you about my thought process:

• Man, these pro-lifers are sure crazy. We shall overcome? What? Man, I bet those "yeah, it's totally shaved into a heart" Bush twins, I bet one of them has totally had an abortion.
• Oh, they so have. I mean, underage drinking is the gateway drug to unwanted pregnancy and I haven't noticed them pregnant. Although to be honest, I don't even know their names, much less the frequency of their ovulation.
• Ohmigosh, this would make the best movie about the abortion debate, way better than that crappy Citizen Ruth movie. And it goes like this:

Cool, obgyn, veteran of the women's movement. probably diane keaton, pam greer, susan sarandon, you know the type. the movie is mostly about her dilemma. The daughter of a high profile, anti-abortion activist finds herself with an unwanted fetus. Obviously, she can't turn to her parents, so instead, where does she go? Planned Parenthood of course! This in itself is an adventure as you know, she can't be spotted. I have not cast this role. but let it be known that whoever plays this part will know how to wear a scarf. In any case, she decides to have the abortion.

But the real debate is the obgyn's. She has to decide if she should leak the the girl's abortion to the press thus discrediting the politician father, or if she should go to great lengths to protect her privacy, as she would any other patient. Of course she keeps the secret, and of course the secret is found out, and of course everything works out for the greater good in the end, much like the Cheney's lesbian-child. Oh wait.

In any case, I am not predicting this movie to rock or anything like that. Rather, it would be more of an after-school special movie, although it would still play in theatres and maybe even win an academy award. This movie would go in the Step-mom, Seabiscuit, Other Sister category. You know, about how it is good to love defective things and you learn a lot about yourself when you do so.

question of the day:
should i, as my boss (who is a monster) suggested, become a lawyer?
or, does anyone have any better ideas about what should become of my life?

The OC & Cubix

Unfortunately, I can't really update my blog anymore because when I'm at home, I have to watch the OC all the time, and when I'm not busy at work, I have to play Cubix. My other free time has been devoted to scouring clearance racks, because, as every sensible shopper knows, 3 weeks after christmas is the best time to buy, as everything is now at its lowest price. Additionally, I have been listening to Jens Lekman "Oh You're So Silent Jens" rather obsessively. I love the album, but wonder if that isn't because I love Belle & Sebastian and Stephin Merritt best of pretty much all things, and he sounds remarkably similar. So I'm not sure if that's a bad thing and he should lose points because of it. Is Jens Lekman a knock-off? Is that a problem?

yawn

So, last night I woke up to Bill talking in his sleep, quite audibly, about Microsoft, Google & the Great Firewall of China. Or something like that. I swear this happened, he was in full-blown lecture mode about something to do with the above-named items. There is a chance, however, that I dreamed this and Bill is in fact innocent. I do have a history of dreaming things and then waking up, believing that they happened. I also believe that I dreamed last night that I told someone that my little brothers were both 6'4" and 220 lbs. However, that's not really true, one brother is not that tall and neither are that heavy. But anyway I feel pretty sure that I did in fact do this, except that I don't remember talking to any strangers yesterday, or really, at all over the weekend. So I have to assume that I did dream that part, but I nevertheless believe that Bill did talk in his sleep about technological stuff.
And speaking of my brothers, one has decided to move into my bedroom! I have been moved out for a week... or 6 years minus 3 months, as I prefer to look at it, and he's taking over my room of millions of years. Granted, it is the best room not occupied by my mother, but it's mine and I kinda thought I could just leave all my unneccessary stuff there for the next, oh, 10-70 years. But no, I actually have to decide whether or not I should really keep my Eleanor Roosevelt report from the 6th grade... and by this weekend too! I am not really a pack rat, but you know, I have about a half dozen boxes of various crap shoved around my room, not to mention the specific crap like all my books and photos from high school? And seriously, what on earth do people do with their jewel cases when they can't leave them at their mom's house anymore? On one hand, literally everything in my bedroom could be donated to goodwill and I would never really even notice, but to be forced to actually make these decisions... I had hoped to stretch it out over the next 8 months or so.
But really, what do people actually do with jewel cases?

New Digs & A Trip, whee.

So, I am all moved in to my lovey apartment. It is adorable, and we have all the good stuff, like beer, bourbon, a futon and a balcony. So we are totally visitor-ready. It pimps.
In other news, I am going to Chicago this weekend and will be getting down at a bar called the Hop Leaf at, umm, Clark and Foster on Saturday evening. Ms. Amy Lynn, dear friend and regular blog reader and (hopefully) super fantastic hostess, will probably comment on actual location. In any case, I would love to see my Chicagoland readers. So, go there! Or call/email me. Whee.