Tag Archives: facebook

Tell me I don’t have to have sex out there.

A group of boys, who look no older than fourteen, talk on a crowded New York City subway car—loud—about bitches, and fucking, and fucking bitches.  They carry tennis racquets in zipped cases.  I assume they’re teammates.  The loudest and youngest looking one says, “I could’ve fucked two bitches the same night.  I had them both at my place.  But I didn’t, because one of the bitches was on her period.”

I look around, wanting to see if anyone else’s ears have unwittingly become victim to this conversation.  Some people have headphones on.  Some people might not know English.  I make eye contact with one woman, but her neutral expression doesn’t change.  If anything, she seems to communicate, “Are you really upset?  Are you really surprised or offended?”  Yes.  I am!  I’m upset that these boys boast and talk about female peers that way as if it’s okay.  Or, knowing it’s not okay, making it more appealing.  I don’t care if they’re insecure pubescent boys just making things up or repeating overheard things.  I’m upset that I sit with my book open on my lap, not reading it, listening to them instead, saying nothing.  If girls they have sexual feelings for (if not romantic) are called bitches, what would they call me—some 24-year-old girl scolding them?  Surely they wouldn’t politely apologize.  How would that boost their apparent status as big, sex-havin’ men?

Yesterday was one of distasteful sex-related happenings that made me question the world and the people in it.  Everyone’s entitled to say what they want, do and think what they want.  But that freedom can seriously hurt others.  It can make you think, Man.  This is how so many people approach sex, this is how the media makes sex out to be?  I don’t want any part of that. It’s scary.  Who really wants to be the subject of a nonchalant recap between buddies—“Yeah, I fucked her.  It was all right.”   

When I woke up late yesterday morning I had a notification that I’d received a Facebook message just after 8 a.m.  It started, “Hi, how’ve u been?”  But the sender’s name was one I didn’t recognize, so I assumed it was a spam message.  Someone trying to get me to attend an event, or buy a product, or support some cause.  Turned out to be something very different.  The message was from someone I did vaguely know—a security guard of all things.  You know.  Someone whose job is to make you feel more secure.  I’d forgotten that this man and I were connected on Facebook at all.  He guards a building I used to regularly enter and was someone I would say hello to and small talk with occasionally.  I stopped the small talk, though, after we bonded about our mutual interest in making music and he invited me to see the recording studio he uses—inside of his apartment. 

I hadn’t thought about this person or heard from this person, and then, all of a sudden, a message.  It’s pretty crude stuff and the only reason I’m sharing it is to make a point.  Skip it if you don’t want some graphic imagery in your head.

Hi, how’ve u been?  I don’t mean to be forward, but seriously I’ll like you to know that it’ll be a pleasure to munch on your shaven apple pie haven. If you give me a chance I promise I’ll lick and suck every drop of crease all around and inside of it like no one has ever done b4.

Now am guessing u might have a boyfriend and since I wouldn’t want to be that guy that comes between you two, for the fact that I wouldn’t want the same to happen between me and my girl, that is why I have requested for this alone and nothing else.

However if ever you turn the opposite cheek to this once in a lifetime opportunity, I’ll also like you to know that I will hold no grudge against you and I will still cherish the moments of friendship we shared at [omitted]. Take care and bye for now.

[Name omitted.]

P.S.. Let me be that very private guy in your life that turns u into that glowing mature woman every girl wants to be like…

How kind of him to not hold a grudge against me if I turn down his “once in a lifetime” proposal.  How unselfish, too, to consider my boyfriend (and his girlfriend) in this arrangement!  And how opposite of presumptuous of him to suppose how I groom my “apple pie haven” or that I need to be transformed from a girl into a “glowing mature woman.” 

Granted I probably shouldn’t have even allowed myself to be connected online to this semi-stranger.  My mistake.  I can be naive.  It just wouldn’t occur to me that people might take the time to craft such a message. I would never think of this as everyday, normal fare for a man to send a woman at 8 a.m. on a Monday. 

I’ve watched a lot of romantic comedies in my day, which, admittedly, have probably given me some skewed ideas about heterosexual sex and relationships.  But after watching Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks ride off into the sunset, or Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn, I’ve never approached a male love interest and said, “Hey, how’ve you been?  Will you meet me on top of the Empire State Building and kiss me long and passionately and marry me and raise my babies?”  Maybe some people do hold those expectations.  And maybe some people develop their own expectations after regularly watching certain porn, listening to certain music, or talking to certain people.  Just like kids playing violent video games makes them more likely to shoot people, right…?  It’s more than possible that a person would predominantly see inappropriate or unhealthy social and sexual behaviors and use those cues in their own life.  Because inappropriate and unhealthy can be relative concepts.

I told a male friend of mine about the Facebook message.  He advised me to use the block function, but to first send the guy a picture of STD-ridden female genitalia.  “Speaking of which,” he said, “there’s a guy I know who’s HIV positive.”  He went on to say that the person, before settling down with a partner, claimed to regularly have unprotected sex without broaching the subject of any risk.  And apparently, if questioned, would outright lie. 

There’s a scene in When Harry Met Sally after Harry and Sally have sex with each other for the first time.  Neither are satisfied with how it went.  They individually call their best friends, Jess and Marie, who pick up their individual phones from the nightstands of the bed they share as a couple.  Jess listens to Harry.  Marie listens to Sally.  When they hang up, after hearing their friends’ most recent dating disappointments, Marie turns to Jess and says, exhaustedly, “Tell me I never have to be out there again.”  Jess looks her in the eye and firmly responds, “You never have to be out there again.” 

Yesterday, after the things I was told and the things I overheard and the things proposed to me, I felt similarly exhausted.  Out there felt like a scary place.  A place that will compromise physical and emotional health.  A place where women are just vaginas and men are cads.  A place where very few ride off into the sunset.

In which I will finish what I sort of started…

…in This post [that] was meant to be a “rave” about the lyrics in the song “Already Gone” by The Eagles.  Here are the lyrics that especially make me wanna rave:

So often times it happens that we live our lives in chains
And we never even know we have the key

We have the key.  That’s deep.  That’s spiritual.  That makes me want to climb a precipice, look to the heavens, and chant a Buddhist mantra or sing a Creed song.  These lines get me just as much if not more:

Just remember this, my girl, when you look up in the sky
You can see the stars and still not see the light

See the light.  I like it because you can take it in a literal or metaphorical sense.  It’s kind of like the glass half full thing only taken to a cosmic level!  Yes, it’s just like that.

In other news, guess what!  It’s been one of the craziest, most epic weeks of my life.  I moved to a new apartment, I found a second job, I updated my Facebook status multiple times, AND I started another blogThis is my favorite entry so far.  It gives me an excuse to use my camera phone more than necessary.

WOOOO!: “Public health experts have long feared a new flu could appear and kill millions worldwide.”

So, I admit: My last blog post, in which I intended to find out what the deal is with Paul Mitchell, seems (a little) less important now that I sit here with my first sunburn of the 2009 season wondering what the deal is with this swine flu. 

Swine flu.  Bea Arthur dies and the world goes to complete shit. 

Photographs of people wearing medical masks and pigs gorging themselves on ominous heap piles are popping up everywhere!  And most confusing, none of my Facebook friends have written witty status updates about it.  Don’t they know what’s going on in Mexico, New Zealand, Hong Kong, Canada, Spain, and the US?!  Don’t know they know that Shia Labeouf and Harrison Ford have already signed on and are awaiting funds from the WHO and the CDC before proceeding?!

Between this and the anticipation of tomorrow night’s episode of “The Hills”…it’s shaping up to be a real doozy of a Monday.

Care to join me in my underwear shelter?

The other night I met up with this guy, and he asked me if I watch “Lost.”  And I said no.  It’s one of those shows I figure I’ll pick up on DVD and engross myself with for days on end at some point…when I’m unemployed or recovering from gastric bypass or waiting for my court date after making bail.  Some situation like that where you just need to lose yourself in another world because all hope for your own is a bit…lost.

Anyway, as a means of procrastination, I took one of those stupid quizzes on Facebook.  This one was entitled, “On which current TV show would you exist?”  And, yeah, my result was “Lost.”  Which strikes me as amazingly accurate even though I’ve never seen it:

You are suspicious of reality and not sure that time exists. You are attractive and sexy but never really bathe properly. When given the chance to re-invent yourself, you became the exact same person you already were. Some people think you are insane, but you may actually be a visionary. Despite your average background, you can kill wild boar, shoot guns, and build shelters out of underwear and luggage pieces. You think a lot but are not sure what to think. All of your friends could also be your enemies or your relatives. You know that ghosts and monsters really do exist. People are addicted to you.

As far as I know I cannot kill wild boar, but everything else is pretty spot-on.  (Especially the thing about bathing.)

How will you celebrate Kim Jong-Il’s upcoming birthday?

The first thunderstorms of 2009 are slated to hit NYC tonight, and in the mean time, it’s 68 degrees.  Thunderstorms drive me wild–if I had taken the time to write 25 Things About Me on Facebook, that just may have been my #11.  They’re boisterous and rude and they don’t give a shit, which is usually the exact opposite of how I am, so maybe that’s why I find them so appealing. 

Bad weather captures the imagination.  Reminds us that the world is a romantic place.  The local news always treks over to the grocery store and the Home Depot to interview people who have the same thing to say every time–“I need a new shovel!”  “We’re stocking up on bread and milk!”  “I’m buying these jugs of water with my last bit of credit!”

No, really.  I’m washing my clothes right now and I’m pretty sure it’s the last time I’ll be using the laundromat versus just filling up the tub and stepping on my wardrobe while I shower.  They’re closing TWO hospitals in my area next month.  Which would outrage me if I had health insurance.  Instead I lucked out and happen to live with a Registered Nurse who also has a Psych degree for all my physical and emotional health needs. 

And on top of it all, Jennifer Figge is a liar.  Sometimes it seems like people over 50 are more effed up than their younger counterparts–Bernie Madoff, 70 years; Kim Jong-Il, 68 in 6 days!!;  Dick Cheney, 68; Donald Trump, 62; Road Runner of Looney Tunes fame?, 60 years.  Both Bernie Madoff and Donald Trump grew up in Queens, yet they’re so effed up they’re allowing two hospitals in their home borough to shut down.  Unbelievable.  Un-effin-believable.  Here’s a story for the local news: I plan to be non-effed up when I reach my golden years.  I plan to be a beacon of wisdom, embodying the awe of a winter thunderstorm, the practicality of a Home Depot shovel, and the comforting odor of clothes just pulled from the dryer.

Thoughts on going to the bathroom in Post-Christian-Bale-Freak-Out America

Chris Tucker and Jackie Chan were in the women’s room at the Queens Library today–a DVD of Rush Hour 2 was leaning upright behind the toilet seat (you know, right behind where you put your butt).  I would’ve liked to use that stall, except that it was kind of a disaster.  I don’t know about you, but I am all for unisex bathrooms.  I would love unisex bathrooms.  There are so many times when I’ve opted for the men’s room.  Usually, you know, when there are long lines for the women’s room and I’ve been drinking.  But I really do think it’s the more efficient way, as well as a way to improve gender relations, accomodate for the transgendered, and just make the whole discarding of bodily waste thing more interesting.  For example, one Halloween I was waiting for the stall in a men’s room and I was able to meet a man dressed up as Bruce Wayne at the urinal.  That makes, like, three action movie stars/characters I’ve come across in close proximity to a toilet.  And I get so much satisfaction from being able to say I picked up Bruce Wayne at the urinal.  Too much satisfaction.

Speaking of Bruce Wayne, I’m pretty bummed about Christian Bale’s freak-out.  Why is he so ANGRY?  (I cannot get this remix out of my head.)  He needs to find some inner peace and fast.  Maybe he can remake Seven Years in Tibet or something.  Seven Years in TibetAgain.  Brad Pitt and Christian Bale lie restlessly in a tent as prayer flags wave passionately in the Tibetan wind.  Ang Lee will direct it. 

Speaking of faraway lands, thanks to clicking on a Facebook link asking if I’d like to live and work in New Zealand, and subsequently signing up to learn more, I now receive e-mails with subject lines like, “New Zealand needs you,” and most recently, “Free New Zealand ice cream.”

I’ve also begun learning a little of the Maori language.  Kia ora!  (Hello!)   Aotearoa. (‘Land of the long white cloud’.)  I went onto the New Zealand government’s job site and found a librarian position in a prison: responsible for the delivery of library/educational services ‘behind the wire’ to offenders.   Which sounds really exciting!  Skip that whole inmate penpal thing and just get right to the source.  So if I ever do obtain my Master’s in Library Science degree…adventures behind the wire in the land of the long white cloud await me.

Hello, February–Don’t You Love Hangovers?

Isn't it terrifying?

Oh, hey!  It’s the last day of January!!  I’m not usually awake at this hour, but my roommate got a job and to celebrate we did what all employed people do–drank, danced, debauchered.  I scored a business card from a man named Angelo who is likely not the father of my future 14 children.  Woke up to eat a waffle, determine the level of my dehydration, and add Angelo on Facebook. 

You know what else happened last night? I was pooped on by a pigeon. For the first time ever! It really wasn’t surprising because I was walking underneath the above ground subway which is where loads of them sleep at night. There’s literally a carpet of pigeon droppings on the sidewalk beneath it. It happened to this middle aged guy who me and the roommate were hanging out with last weekend, but I didn’t know him very well so I didn’t tell him. Some landed on his face and dried there. I felt a little like a jerk for not informing him, but I was also jealous so it’s okay.

Here are some search terms used to find my blog that make up for the untimely death of Mr. Coffee:

Celine Dion t-shirts

My favorite Celine song is “Taking Chances.” I also enjoy that one that starts off “The whispers in the morning. Of lovers sleeping tight. Are rolling like thunder now.” She speaks my language, you know?

milf pixar

Bespectacled Aardvarks...every girls weakness.

Aardvarks are every girl's weakness.

I’m sexually attracted to lots of animated characters.  Bob the Builder. Patti Mayonnaise. Diego.  I just don’t remember many Pixar MILFs…I guess the kid’s mom from Toy Story was hot?

 

Keanu Reeves alcoholic

People are so mean to Keanu. 😦

back scratching chihuahua

That’s stupid.

dick embarresing

I don’t know how to spell, either.  Men who are illiterate are right up there with aardvarks.

פיונה אפל

A Google Images search concludes that that’s how you write “Fiona Apple” in…a language I’m not familiar with.

Tommy Lee Jones, Tommy Lee Jone, and Tomy Lee Jones are pretty popular, too.  Thank goodness my mom likes him.