Friday, April 9, 2010


Its annual review time here at the office, which means right now I am supposed to be filling out my self evaluation before the end of the day. It’s been a while since I had to do one of these and I am not really feeling it today. C is not at work today since she has the wedding with the bridesmaid from hell to deal with so I don’t even have my friend to send random emails about nothingness. Super sads.

The highlight of my day today was going to my favorite burger place with my girlfriend J. Yes I realize that burgers are the enemy of Biggest Loser contests but I have had a busy week and to me eating a giant gooey burger at lunch is the equivalent of having a box of wine after work. So while J and I are catching up on her visit to NYC and my possible move to another city, I notice that I am being stared at. I look up and my eyes meet those of another girl who is about 17 and looks like the wiccan surrogate from Baby Mama and *she doesn’t look away*. I mean her seat isn’t even facing me so she literally has her head turned my direction and is staring like she means it. This is some scary shit.

Me: J, do I have food on my face or something?

J: Why? Because that girl is staring at you?

Me: YES! I thought it was all in my head but you see it too.

J: Yeah it’s weird. It’s like that movie The Crazies.

Me: What if she attacks me?

J: Here, you can use my plastic butter knife to defend yourself.

Throughout this whole exchange and my entire burger this girl continues to stare, which for some reason is really starting to anger me now. I mean, who does this chick think she is? Why is she blatantly staring with no shame? Wait a second. Wait just one second. There is another woman blatantly and purposefully staring at me from a different table. Now I am really freaking out and am certain that I have somehow wandered into Zombieland. I start looking around, seeing if anyone else sees this and if there are other zombies that I need to watch out for. I even look behind me to make sure there isn’t some kind of ninja zombie sneak attack going on.

And that’s when I notice it. Behind me there is a big digital number thingy that shows your order number when it’s ready. These chicks were staring because they were hungry and wanted their damn burger, not because they wanted to eat my brain, and here I was ready to stab them all with plasticware. I guess it’s a good thing they weren’t zombies because I am sure my brain is mostly mush at this point.

Super unprepared for zombie apocalypse sads,

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Freaks & Whores High School

By Gina

I am planning my 10-year high school reunion. I don’t quite remember exactly how I became the reunion coordinator but I know it makes me want to stab people. Not just any people. I want to stab all these bitches I went to high school with. I mentioned before that I went to an all girls catholic high school. It was awful. And since there were no boys around to impress, I frequently went to school looking like a bag of trash – no makeup, no blow-drying of the hair, no plucking. It was gross, I know. And I know I am not making this all up in my head because I actually ran into a girl from high school about a year ago and she hugged me and said “Gina! You got pretty!!!” I am not sure her level of surprise was necessary.

Anyway, back to the Freaks & Whores High School reunion. We have a FB page for our reunion, which means I had to friend these bitches so I could invite them to this stupid page. I have set up meetings, asked for suggestions, and requested songs and pictures for a fucking slideshow. Aside from 2 girls who showed up to one of my meetings, I have gotten zero responses. Zero. Finally yesterday I had enough. On Monday I sent an email to all the members of FWHS Class of 2000 asking for mailing addresses so I could send them an invitation to a reunion that I don’t even want to go to. I got 20 responses out of 120. Now I sent this email over FB and, since FB is conducive to stalking, I couldn’t help but notice all these bitches got on FB to update their statuses. Here are a few examples:

“Can’t wait to go home and play with my baby! My baby is the light of my life! I want to cuddle with my baby!!! BABYBABYBABY Aaauuuggghhhh!!!!!” (Just so you know, I am not anti-baby. This chick literally updates her status about 14 times a day talking about how much she loves her baby. Dude, we get it. You love your baby. Congrats.)

“Tonight I am making roasted rosemary ribeyes, smoked gouda macaroni & cheese, sourdough bread and chocolate mousse!” (Holy shit, you have time to make all this crap on a random Tuesday and you can't respond to a five second email???)

“Please send me cows and pigs and chickens and fertilizer!!!” (Need I elaborate?)

So, since it was obvious that these hoes were ignoring me, I tried a different tactic. I sent a follow up email yesterday.


Thanks to the 20 of you who responded. For the rest of you, if you do not respond by this weekend, then I will assume you do not want to attend and will not send you an invitation. Thanks!

I’ll let you know how it goes. In the mean time, I am having a block when it comes to music I use to listen to in high school. I mean, I remember it was music that was awesome at the time and now embarrasses me, like Creed and Christina Aguilera. So I am asking you, my internet friends, please help me remember what horrible music was cool 10 years ago. This is me begging for comments.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Internet stalkers are creepy, don't you think?

I went to college in the days of AOL Instant Messenger, Yahoo Mail, and Napster. My dorm room bed was lofted above my desk and my roommate and I strategically placed a mirror across the room so that we could determine who was trying to reach us via email or IM without leaving the comforts of our bed where we sat watching actual music videos on TRL. I set my Yahoo Mail up to *moo* while my roomie set hers up to *oink* when we got a new email. We were the shit. {Gina: Please tell me you are kidding and that you and your roomie did not have coordinating farm animal notifications.}
{Me - Dead serious. The Guy who yelled Yahooooo sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard and my only other option was a chime... The chime could be muffled by MTV, and then it was possible to go 20 minutes without knowing someone was emailing me. I mean, what if there was a *real* emergency and I missed it because I wasn't alerted instantaneously?}
I wasn’t in college when MySpace was a big deal. In fact, I knew nothing of My Space’s existence until 2007, and by then, it was a little late to join the club.
And when Facebook became all the rage with my friends, I abstained. I knew a girl at work who was distracted by it all day and never got any work done and I just couldn’t see the appeal. Then, one night after one or five glasses of wine with the girls, someone blurted out “Did you see so-and-so is married with a baby on the way, and he is still commenting on his ex’s wall?” First, I was all, “Whoa, he is married? And is expecting a spawn?!?” And then I was like, “commenting on her wall?” Is this some new sex thing I don’t understand? WTF is happening?
Then, one of my fav girlfriends grabbed her laptop and introduced me to the world of Facebook. I was enthralled. Obsessed. But not enough to have my own Facebook page.** See I am really scared of super creepy internet stalkers. Not just the crazy pedophile axe-murdered types, the ones who troll friends of friends on Facebook all day to see what kind of karma was bestowed upon the popular girl in high school who had all the boys and treated everyone else like crap. See, I know these people exist because I am one. Not the popular girl with boyfriends galore, the creepy internet stalker.
No worries, I am not preying on your children or your husband or your mom or whatever. I am merely trying to make sure that what my Momma said was true. “They may be popular now, but it will be a shame for them when they wake up after college and realize their best days are over.” And so far, my Momma is the smartest person on the planet. She is also on Facebook, which kind of scares me. But you know who else is on Facebook? The skinny B from the neighboring high school who got knocked up in college, hid the baby bump from her family and only admitted it while in labor at the hospital and on the phone, long distance, to her ex and baby daddy. And she friended me. Karma may be a bitch, but so am I. And I have access to all her pictures. It’s creepy.
Also, from here on out, I will be going by C. I am not creative and am getting tired of being referred to as NB2 when there is no longer anyone referred to as NB1.
Most importantly, if you don't already read, you are crazy. but please head over there and give them some love. One year ago today was tragic for this family, and they could all use some internet hugs!

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Warning: I Am Stabby Today

by Gina

Today is supposed to be Shoesday Tuesday but I may have to postpone it. I know you are all *super* bummed that you were not greeted this morning by pics of my cavewoman feet but I have a good excuse: I am in a terrible mood and it may or may not be PMS related.

First of all, I have to do actual work today. Instead of just emailing NB1 all day talking about nonsense such as NB1’s paranoia about bald spots and what ugly shoes Kimmy K is trying to convince me to buy, I have to do boring things like “accounting research” and “writing technical memo’s.” Dear lord, I hate my job.

Secondly, I put on my silver heels this morning to wear to work only to discover once I get to the office that my dog has chewed off all the silver and the heel of one of the stupid shoes (I was in a hurry this morning due to my wine and cheese induced coma from the night before).

Third, I have to bake and ice 3 dozen cookies for a baby shower by Thursday and then make a cake for 200 people by Saturday. This is due to my “I want to own a bakery” phase that I haven’t told you about yet, which severely conflicts with my current “I want to do nothing when I get home after my painful job” phase. I don’t even really care for cookies and cake, or any dessert actually. At the end of a meal, I’d much rather order something savory, like a plate of exotic cheeses, and when I say exotic cheeses I really mean nachos or jalapeno poppers, but that really isn’t socially acceptable. Anyway the thought of spending every night this week baking and decorating sweets is making me extremely stabby at the moment.

Lastly, I volunteered to make invitations for my high school reunion. I don’t know why I volunteer to do these things. I went to an all girls high school and hate everyone I went to high school with. I didn’t even buy a damn yearbook because I was all “I don’t ever want to see these freaks and whores again.” You know, because everyone in my class was either a freak or a whore. This is probably why Toxy and I ended up being friends, because we were the only non-freak, non-whore bitches in the school. We went to N*SYNC concerts while the other girls went to mosh pits or dirty rapey parties.

Anyway, maybe I will take a picture later of my shredded silver shoes and then we can all count it as my Shoesday Tuesday post. Deal?

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Happy Easter!

by Gina

So I know the day is practically over, but I wanted to wish all 7 of our readers a Happy Easter!

Also, I wanted to brag. See, my not-so-smooth, super-mega-cheap boyfriend N FINALLY bought a ring. No, I am not engaged yet. I know he bought it though because he ordered it online (this is me crossing my fingers that he did not buy it on eBay) and had it delivered to my house on Saturday. I was all "What's in the box?" but he oh-so-slickly replied "Noottthhiinngg...." like a 5-year-old. I begged him to let me see it so he flashed a picture of it that came with the appraisal. From the millisecond flash I think I made out a gorgeous emerald cut diamond solitaire. That'll do N. That'll do.

So even though I am not officially engaged, I am pretty sure I am now justified in all those hours spent watching Amazing Wedding Cakes, Platinum Weddings and Bridezillas, as they can now be counted as wedding research.

Also, it's amazing what a diamond ring will let a boy get away with. In fact, when we got ready to go to my parents' house for Easter and he emerged wearing this:
I just shrugged and said "Well, that's true and at least you finally have something in common with my dad."