Snapple for Becky, Herpes for Otto.

It's not Valentine's day or anything, but if you've been getting a little lax in your personal relationships, I think you ought to pause, remember what it's actually like to date, and consider the alternatives:



This next video/ cautionary tale begins with an incomprehensible but innocuous photo shoot at Target and quickly escalates into the most awkward, uncomfortable, terrible thing you will ever see on the internet. Things get especially hairy around 2:19. Next time you hear a crack about white guys dancing, I want you to remember this video, ineptly "chorographed" by five soulful gentlemen in wife beaters. And mesh shorts. And socks.



You know, as the proud owner of a vagina, I think I can speak for all of us when I say that there's only one thing we appreciate more than homoerotic amateur dance-offs in studio apartments: baked goods.

Love means never having to say you're sorry (about the Herpes).

Junk/ Food

IN THIS ECONOMY, I guess I can understand why advertisers might feel the need to resort to the overt sexualization of, well, everything. For example:



Personally, I find that ad a tad ambiguous for my taste. I prefer this:



In case you missed it: unmanageable pubic hair is unsightly.

Some homophobes are, apparently, upset about this Quizno's ad -- but only because the oven is male:



Speaking of phallic sandwiches, the reigning champion of ads-that-make-everyone-regrettably-uncomfortable is still Burger King. Good-bye, homoerotic King of yore.

Wake up with the King 'just watching you sleep.'

IN THIS ECONOMY, we've decided to go a different direction -- with doe-eyed blond blowup dolls who are visibly frightened and awed by the uber-masculine, vegetable-less Super Seven Incher.

I bet you look good in the psych ward.

I think about Halloween pretty much all year.
.

In January, I'd decided on Darla from Dazed and Confused -- mostly so I could act like an asshole all night.

.

"Air raid, bitches!"

April: Margot Tenenbaum. But, really, I can't pull off a shirt-dress. And where am I going to get a wear-once fur coat that I'm actually willing to wear once? And a wooden finger? And I have to smoke for the night?

Nah.

Now I'm undecided, and experiencing great inner turmoil (brunettes are, sadly, limited), but since I'm a chick, I guess my costume has to be SEXY!

"I don't know if you noticed, but I am female."

I thought I'd seen SEXY! stretched to the limit by the sorostitutes in Morgantown, who enacted the SEXY! bumblebee; the SEXY! cop; the SEXY! bin Laden; the SEXY! food; SEXY! Stewie, SEXY! Spongebob, etc. -- but, today, I'm glad to see the return of the sexy mental patient.

I don't really understand this costume, as it renders jello shots pretty much impossible, but welcome back to 1991, you SEXY! beast.

Spawn in a box.

Album de Famiglia will sell you a crib made out of a cardboard box -- with wheels on it -- for only $255.

.

Because, until someone comes out with a better idea -- like a crib shaped like a Dumpster -- there's no better way to say, "Sleep tight, God's Little Mistake."

Blaming your parents in therapy will never go out of style.

Generation Worst.

As much as I dislike teacher kitsch, such as crafty holiday sweaters, or the keychain I found in my mailbox today ("5 Reasons Why I Became a Teacher: 1. weekends; 2. snow days; 3. Easter vacation; 4. Christmas vacation; 5. summer vacation"), two facepalm-inducing events today have forced me to consider purchasing one of those ceramic jars labelled Ashes of former students.

Colleagues: drink the pain away.

1. The huge number of female 11th graders who thought it was a good idea to turn in a final portfolio with a picture of themselves posed semi-provocatively on the cover page astounds and disturbs me. To be fair, I never said not to do this. To be fairer, it ought to go without saying that the world is not Myspace; your English teacher knows what you look like, and she would prefer not to be saddled with 90 softcore child pornfolios.

2. And then there's "Cloud 9," a haiku homage not written for Caryl Churchill:

Cloud 9

High up in the sky

Sitting on cloud 9 is fly

I am really high

This author did not include a picture of himself (because I'll see him again next year), but he did title his project "A Poem to Share is a Poem that Cares." I hesitate to even assume he used personification intentionally, but at least he gets rhyming. And it's not like the only thing he consistently excelled in this year was being a huge waste of time and space -- he also inspired me to write a haiku of my own.

Cloudy, With a Chance of FAIL

This is why you got
ninety out of two-forty.
How fly is that, bitch?

Hallmark should make a 'Thank You for Not Dating Me' card.

I've been reading -- and thoroughly enjoying -- Psychotic Letters from Men today. Not only did this glittering piece of interweb brilliance lead me to this steaming pile of fuckery, it also reminded me of the following fond memory from last October.

I made nebulous plans to do something date-like with a gentleman who was, apparently, named Jeff. The details of how this arrangement came to be are hazy, as I was dating pretty feverishly at this point. I don't remember why plans were nebulous, but there must have been one of only two possible reasons in play:
.

a) He was too lazy, ineffectual, or stupid to come up with a date idea

b) I was ambivalent and didn't care whether I saw him

.

So, the pre-plan plan was for one of us to call the other on Saturday afternoon to establish plans. Unfortunately, I woke up sick that day -- truly, audibly, sick. My phone rang at noon, while I was attempting to sleep in. It was Jeff. I politely told him I wasn't feeling well, and would have to cancel the plans we hadn't even made.
.

I didn't think much of the whole affair. Obviously, Jeff did, because shortly thereafter, I got this email [sic]:
.

On Oct 21, 2008, at 1:30 PM, Douchebag wrote:

I thought it was worth mentioning that your behavior was not respectable at all. I had a girlfriend who told me about how she had been set up on a blind date, and it was VERY akward. Apparently she got up to go the the restroom and left the guy. I think that kind of thing shows incredible lack of character and decency. The fact that you wanted to cancel on Saturday was perfectly acceptable, and I would have had total respect for it had you taken the effort to tell me. Ignoring me and making me call you to find out is just plain rude. Your bahavior was disrespectful, low character, and completely unnecessary. Best luck.

Jeff

Obviously, there's a lot going on here.

1. The latent fear of rejection.

2. The comparison to an ex-girlfriend, contingent upon some perceived insight into my character somehow obtained before our first date.

3. The creep factor required to muster the anger to send me a passive-aggressive tirade about cancelling plans that were never made in the first place.

4. The delusional revisionist history and/ or inability to listen -- I did make the effort to cancel. By answering the phone that rang, while I was sleeping, at least eight hours before any potential date could have conceivably occurred.

5. The condescension. I'm glad my refusal to go out was "acceptable," but, no, it wasn't worth mentioning. Most things Mensa here has to say probably aren't worth mentioning.

6. The lack of editing. Jesus. Christ.

I hadn't received a Psychotic Letter from a man in a while, and I was at work, so I didn't really have time to peel apart the layers of stank in this onion of manFAIL, but I did the polite thing (again) and responded -- with prepositions -- to his missive.

Date: Tue, Oct 21, 2008 at 4:28 PM

Subject: Re: hey

To: Douchebag

I might have rescheduled if you weren't so thoroughly irritating, Jeff.

Meta-licious.

A Spanish teacher/ Nice White Man at my school sent me this video today, along with a photo of four of the NWLs together in adorable white-lady clothes at last Friday's graduation.



I will find a way to work this video into a lesson plan.

Did I really just see this on a magazine cover?

Yes. Yes, I did.

"I'd love to, but you're intolerable."

Last Friday, I had a really good time with another teacher's co-workers. I never hang out with my co-workers because they are all either old, or live in Virginia. So, here's a problem: the school librarian keeps trying to hang out with me. And now, here are some reasons why that absolutely cannot happen:

1. She is a Close Talker
2. with occasionally foul breath.
3. She has something rude to say about everyone
4. which she somehow makes irritating, rather than funny.
5. Every time I've asked her a library-related question, it's "not her job" to tell me the answer, know the answer, or know who to ask for the answer.
6. Somehow, she has gotten the idea that her only job is to prevent students from ever using the library
7. and she walks around screaming at them.
8. In the library.
9. And now none of my students can do research projects,
10. effectively widening the achievement gap.
11. She has the voice of Bruce Willis's girlfriend in Pulp Fiction
12. with some sort of unidentifiable accent (Now, imagine that -- screaming. In the library).
13. She is in her 50s.
14. She is painfully stupid.

Exhibit A

15. She is already too chummy for my liking, and continues her one-sided conversations with me, even as I am plainly backing out the door, nodding silently.

I've never been good at hiding my disdain, and I'm not sure how I can be any ruder to this woman. Today, she got in my face, singing, asking me to identify the song. I said, "I have no idea. Because I was born in the 80s." I can only assume she keeps trying to hang out with me because of reason #14. Or because, despite reason #14, she has noticed my disdain and now she wants to talk to me about a close personal relationship with Jesus. I can't figure it out, but I'm running out of excuses. Today was my second successful dodge of a phone number request.

Last night, SMF told me a story about a co-worker who hangs out in the men's restroom trying to dip his elderly pe(e)n in the 20-something company ink. Is that what this is? It just occurred to me that I might have to find a diplomatic way to turn down an intolerable date with a socially retarded elderly lesbian because there is no way I can avoid the library, as it's the only place I can print or copy anything, because I don't work in a real school. If I did, I'd just give her the local Rejection Hotline number.

I have to give this some serious thought. Right now, I can't come up with anything other than, "Well, I would, but, you know, I can't stand you," or, "I'm sorry, I can't, because you remind me too much of the witch from Hansel and Gretel."