Random Musings

I’m sitting here at my computer listening to my jams, when David Bowie suddenly decides it is time for me to dance. So of course I’m all like, Check out my Fly Girl shimmy, yo.—because it’s freakin’ David Bowie, right? I’m in the process of transitioning to my most advanced moves, when all of a sudden Little White Dog—who, by the way, is a TOTAL asshole—freaks out and runs to the other room like he’s being chased by a syringe-toting veterinarian.

Then I’m all like, WTF Little White Dog? You perform your Capoeira-ass ninja moves every time I walk in the goddamn door, but once in a blue moon the dance gods speak through me, and you act like I’ve been possessed by Elaine from Seinfeld. How do you think that makes me feel? You are a cold-hearted bastard, Little White Dog, but you shall never contain my inner dancer. Never.

Mom, your dance moves are freaking me out.

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1. Cooking spray is not an effective alternative to furniture polish.
2. If you dream that Rerun from What’s Happening has a side business as a yacht captain/puppy salesman, you probably had one too many Oreos the night before.
3. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches make lousy throw pillows.
4. The gunk living up inside your electric toothbrush probably isn’t black mold, but it’s not supposed to be there.
5. Using hair as a napkin is unproductive and might attract dogs.
6. Darting outside to get the mail in your PJs and zit cream is a gamble not worth taking.
7. Chewing 17 pieces of gum in a row is surprisingly unsatisfying.
8. Pets need to be fed every day even if you don’t feel like it.
9. Moving your dead plants indoors during a freeze to alleviate your guilt won’t bring them back to life.
10. If your spouse purchases the extended warranty for your new laptop, it doesn’t mean he can’t trust you around technology. It means he can’t trust you around gravity.

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In yet another feeble stab at bettering myself, I decided to try to meditate this morning. (And by “meditate,” I mean “drink coffee without checking email.”) So I’m sitting there for about 25 seconds, when my brain starts talking to me. (My brain is a piece of crap and doesn’t support my attempts at self-improvement.) This is more or less how the conversation went:

Brain: Hey. Hey, you. Don’t pretend you can’t hear me. I know you hear me.

Me: I’m not listening, I’m not listening, la-la-la-la-la…

Brain: What’cha doin’?

Me: STFU, I’m trying to meditate here.

Brain: I’m bored. I’ll bet I can get you to think about doughnuts…right…NOW.

Me: Go to hell.

Brain: Hey, this is fun! Now we’re going to think about giraffes and their long-ass necks. Do you ever wonder what it would be like if they had to swallow pills? Like, if a giraffe had a headache and had to swallow an aspirin, how exactly would that work?*

Me: Shut up.

Brain: No, really—would he put the aspirin under his perversely long tongue? And then he’d have to bend all the way over to get some water, and the pill would fall out. Poor giraffes.

Me: Seriously, shut up.

Brain: You really suck at meditating.

Me: I hate you.

Brain: Mmm… doughnuts…

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*I spend an inordinate amount of time
wondering if animals get headaches.
Don’t ask.

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I don’t believe in god (or God), and I’m pretty down on religion too. I’m Jewish by birth, but that’s not so much a faith as it is an excuse to eat kugel and go to therapy. As far as religions go, Judaism isn’t the worst. (Although going to Hebrew school instead of participating in normal after school activities puts it in the running for “Religion Most Likely to Ensure You’re the Last One Picked for Kickball.”)

I’m a little uncomfortable with Atheism; its members are almost as devout and insufferable as their religious counterparts. I don’t understand people who have a strong belief in disbelief. (I think that’s called Occam’s Razor. Or is it St. Elmo’s Fire? I always get those confused.) I really can’t fault the atheists though—it sucks being the most reviled people on the planet. Oh wait – no – that’s the Muslims. Never mind.*

I’m not a big fan of Agnosticism—it sounds more like an excuse than an identity. As far as I can tell, it’s a lot like kissing your sister. And not in a good way. That said, I do see its merit as a way of avoiding bar fights and conversations with libertarians.

I’m far too broke and lazy for Humanism, and while Nontheism is in the running, it doesn’t have quite the razzle-dazzle of “One Who Will Eventually be Burned at the Stake.” “The Cult of Weenie” has a nice ring to it, but the double entendre might confuse people into thinking I’m a Pagan, which has its own merits but seems highly unsanitary.

I come in peace. You come in pieces.

Naturalism seems like a good fit, but if I call myself a naturalist, people might think I’m a nudist or a park ranger. (For the record, my bear knowledge is limited to the following: There are three types of bears—the type you’re supposed to confront, the type you should run from, and the type that doesn’t give a shit about your strategy and will maul you on principle alone.)

As all searches do, my quest for a name invariably led to Google (a higher power I pray to regularly). Here are a few suggestions under the heading of “Nontheism:”

• Skepticism won’t work because I drink decaf and believe my mother when she tells me I’m gifted.
• Ignosticism is out because I don’t understand the definition on Wikipedia. Also, I’m pretty sure it’s not a real word.
• Rationalism sounds good in theory, but if anyone checks my medical records or high school yearbook, I’ll be kicked out of the club.
• Secularism is too political, and if there’s anything more annoying than religion and bears, it’s politics. And Snooki.

I used to become irate when discussing religion, but I’m trying to have a calmer approach these days. Don’t get me wrong—I will Kung fu your ass if you give me that patronizing look that says, “Well bless your heart, you just don’t know what it’s like to love the lord.”  I also don’t know what it’s like to eat baby raccoons or lick the UPS man (although I’ve tried). Poor me.

Baby raccoons are not kosher.

Things I do believe in:

• Gravity
• Dinosaurs
• Cable TV
• High fructose corn syrup
• Science-y stuff
• Poodles
• Birth control
• Aliens
• Spanx

So, what’s in a name? Apparently, a lot. Until a better one comes along, I’ll just continue referring to myself as the friendly atheist with a fondness for slimming undergarments and kugel. It could be worse.

*Note: I love Muslims. Some of my close friends are Muslim, and they have a good sense of humor. Please do not declare a Fatwah on me. This post was written in the spirit of fun and goodwill toward all people. Except for Mormons.

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(NSFW) I recently read this article by Ben Reininga called “36 Terrible Sex Tips for Men.” It was both hilarious and alarming. As I waded through such gems as “According to new research, the smell of toast is a serious mood booster.” and “Ask her to get a Brazilian. But it’s for her own good!” I realized I had more to add to the article. Here’s just a taste…

5. “Your post-run sweat has androstadienone… that spikes her arousal when she smells it.” Dude, I don’t care if you sweat doughnuts and sunshine; unless you’re Brad fucking Pitt, do not come near me with that stank on.

6. “If you’re out in public but want to make your intentions clear, slowly and firmly flick your tongue against the palm of her hand…” Let me be clear here. If you flick your tongue in my general direction, I will knee you in the groin and call my dad.

7. “Her Feet Give Her Away: if she moves her feet away from her body, adopting a more open-legged stance, you’re golden. But if she crosses her legs or tucks them under her body, you may as well ask for the check and call it a night before dessert. If I cross my legs it means one of two things: (1) I have to pee, or (2) I don’t want you to see my Spanx. If I open my legs it means I’m airing myself out, so stand back.

9. “According to new research, the smell of toast is a serious mood booster.” This is actually true. I mean, who doesn’t get turned on by a nice egg salad on rye? Am I right, ladies??

12. Cook some asparagus, since “it’s packed with zinc, a key mineral needed for maintaining erections.” And I’ll bet she won’t even notice that pesky post-asparagus urine smell. Says the man standing alone in the produce aisle with an erection.

15. “The testicles of mice fed a yogurt diet were 5 percent bigger than those on a regular diet – and 15 percent bigger than mice fed a “junk food diet,” according to a new study out of MIT.” Because nothing says “I want you in my pants” like a big-balled rodent with a dairy fetish.

19. Hire a private violinist to follow you and your woman around on the street. Yes! And while you’re at it, why not invite a mime over to your place afterward for a game of charades?

23. “Try facial intercourse. This smooch mimics sex from foreplay to penetration, beginning with a tongue exploration inside the mouth. Rub your tongues together in small and large circles, then dart them in and out of your mouths as if you were having intercourse.” Unless you want to give your date post traumatic stress disorder from the 8th grade dance, do NOT do this. Ever.

24. “Women need to warm up their feet and feel comfortable before they’re in the mood for sex, a 2003 European study found.” To warm up her trotters, you could ask her to “stretch one leg out to work on [your] johnson with her toes.” Or… give her some socks and a back rub, you selfish prick.

25. “Adding a touch of danger to the day will stimulate dopamine in her brain, triggering her sex drive.” So head on down to the I-35 underpass with a water gun in your pocket and several $100 bills taped to your back. YOU WILL TOTALLY GET LAID.

25. “…When it comes to cunnilingus, be like Ali… Hit her with a series of fast vertical and diagonal tongue strokes on her clitoris. Then… Return to slow, easy strokes… Repeat until she’s out cold.” Sir, I am not a blackjack table. Hit me with anything down there, and you will be out cold. Capiche?

26. “[H]ave her kneel on the edge of the bed with her upper chest touching the mattress. This elongates the vaginal barrel, making it feel tighter… she’ll enjoy the nipple stimulation from rubbing the mattress.” Or… She will get up in the morning, slap some Vaseline on those nipples; then go have breakfast with her best friend, where she will describe in amazing detail the freak-o with the elongated vaginal barrel obsession she took home last night. So have fun with that one.

27. “81 percent of women do not want you to attempt anal sex without asking.” Here’s a little statistic for you: 100% of women do not want you to leave the toilet seat up after you pee. If you think 19% of women are okay with you attempting anal sex without asking, you should probably start researching disability insurance policies, STAT.

28. “Buy a half-inch camel-hair paintbrush at the art-supply store, dip it in chocolate sauce, and have her paint numbers on her body. Find your way in order by using your fingertips and mouth.” Be sure it’s made of camel-hair and exactly one half inch or it’ll never work.

31. “Pop your chap in a jar of Nutella, then present it to your lady. Be rewarded with a very enthusiastic blowjob.”
In the words of Dr. Seuss:
I don’t approve; that’s very wrong.
Do not put chocolate on your schlong.
I do not want that near my mouth.
Now wipe off your dick and get out of my house!

33. “Ask her to get a Brazilian. But it’s for her own good! Apparently with the mop removed, every sensation down there is heightened!” Unless you’re trying to get an infant to eat mashed up peas, you should probably never use the phrase “It’s for your own good.” In other news, if you tell me how to manage my pubic hair and/or refer to it as “the mop,” you will not be having sex with me. That’s kind of how this whole deal works.

34. “Girls like explicit texts, too. So next time you’re bored waiting in a queue for lunch, text her the rudest, naughtiest thing you can possibly think of and inform her of when exactly you plan to do it.” And while you’re at it, you might consider doing a little research on bail bondsmen. You’ll thank me later.

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If you happen to be standing behind me in line at the local caffeine peddler, you’ll notice something that sets me apart from the rest of the addicts. No, it’s not my radass Chupacabra tattoo. (Okay, I don’t really have a Chupacabra tattoo, but wouldn’t it be awesome if I did?)

I am addicted to decaf espresso. More specifically, decaf espresso with exactly two tablespoons of half and half and one teaspoon of sugar. (Yes, I measure.) I would like to posit that my love of coffee is deeper precisely because I drink decaf. I don’t drink it for the jolt of caffeine; I drink it for the flavor (and for the jolt of sugar and cream).

My morning coffee preparation is as delicate as a Japanese tea ceremony, only with more spilling. As you can see in the photo essay below, each cup is unique.

“One Girl, Seven Cups”

SUNDAY - I think of Sunday as rather dainty. And possibly British.

MONDAY - I like using this cup on Mondays because it's like the sun is apologizing for waking me up so early by serving me a cup of coffee with of one of its crazy-ass sun ray arms.

TUESDAY - A little Weenie trivia for you: Tuesday is my seventh favorite day of the week.

WEDNESDAY - Meh.

THURSDAY - This cup really speaks to me. It says, "I sure wish it were Friday so I could take off early and go sit at a cafe under an umbrella drinking another cup of coffee. In France."

FRIDAY - I call this one my Green Cup of Deception. Do I feel happy because it's a seriously bitchin' green cup, or is it because I'm taking off early today to watch The Wire on Netflix? So goes the legend of the mysterious Green Cup of Deception.

SATURDAY - is almost as awesome as the guy who invented chocolate covered espresso beans. That guy rocks. In fact, I think Saturday should change its name to Chocolatecoveredespressobeaninventorday.

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I just had a very brief and unpleasant conversation with my husband. While my business seems to have hit a plateau, Mr. W. is experiencing great success with his. Am I happy for him? Of course. Proud? Hell yeah. Seething with barely contained hostility? Absolutely.

Envy is the most opportunistic member of the emotional community. While Optimism and Confidence gossip over cappuccinos, and Introspection sits in the corner with her arms crossed, Envy stares inside longingly from the street, waiting patiently to be invited in. (Envy is also a drama queen so she’s standing in the rain, and a car just sped by, hurling a wall of water at her back.)

Envy is the most unnecessary of all emotions. At least Fear serves a purpose: Hey—Do you see that Gila monster over there? Don’t touch it. Envy serves only to make a person feel less than someone else: Hey—Do you see the $10,000 jacket that woman over there is wearing? Don’t touch it.

I hate Envious Ilene, but unfortunately she and I are conjoined twins. As much as I want to tear her off like an ugly sweater, we share some important organs I’d like to hang on to. In an attempt at compromise, I have come up with a few coping strategies to help me live in peace with this reality:

1. Try not to compare oneself to others. This is much easier said than done; especially when you’re suffering from PMS and have a giant pimple on the tip of your nose.
2. Remember that nobody’s life is perfect. Things seem to balance out over time. For example, I am envious that Mr. W. has a great new client, but I am not envious of his hairline.
3. Acknowledge how much you have. This one’s pretty easy, as well as highly scalable: I have shoes. I have socks. I have feet.*
   *Note that using the inverse of item #3 has the potential of doing more harm than good: She has Manolo Blahniks. She has weekly pedicures. She is a whore.

Although not always entirely successful, some coping mechanisms can help. Case in point: After writing this post, I’m less obsessed with my husband’s recent success. Instead, I’ve decided to focus on my new hobby—making little voodoo dolls from the hairballs Mr. W. leaves in the shower drain.

Take that, Mr. Successful.

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