Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Brain Rot.

And now, let's get into some of the head-shrinking BEHIND my jaded outlook on the dating scene.

It's actually pretty simple really- it's all a question of expectations management.
and I have failed SPECTACULARLY at this.

I have... the brainrot. In olden times it was thought women would get brainrot from reading too many novels. They would get ideas and hurt their poor little brains if they read romantic fiction.

I'm there.

The space between my ears is completely occupied with romantic and happy fluff.
(If you've met me- you know this. If you haven't- I'm slightly concerned that you would still be able to guess this about me from just seeing me from across the street.)

I could most likely recite every Disney princess movie- sing you every romantic ballad from a showtune in the 20th or 21st century, show you the poetry I wrote about my crushes from high school (mortifying.) I watch The Holiday and Enchanted on a seriously regular basis. I read romance novels for pete's sake. One of the final nails in the coffin? Twilight.

The countdown to New Moon's midnight release has begun.
I'm re-reading the books and drooling over the Vanity Fair pix of RPattz.
My tshirt is on order.

I gotta tell ya, even if it gives me the brainrot and therefore higher standards, I'm having too much fun to care.

Friday, November 6, 2009

The current dating scene is a sign of the apocalypse.

But seriously, if I ever have a chance of dating you- don't read this.

How long until I just retitle the blog that?

But I'm serious. The way that the genders are currently interacting has lead me to believe that our race could SERIOUSLY be at risk for extinction within a few generations.

think about it.

I feel like couples are waiting until later and later to get together, if they ever do, meaning that there are fewer reproductive years available for the women, that is if they go within normal windows, but women who have children older can be at higher risks for the health of the babies.

It is more common than ever before to have couples that just prefer to not have babies.

It is more common to have people that choose to just never be in a life-long committed relationship, married or otherwise.


So now, let's move on to the TYPE of guys who are getting into the few relationships left that are generatin offspring to continue the friggin' genome.

DARWINISM NO LONGER APPLIES! To continue the species, the females usually look for the strongest, most virile speciman available. Typically the biggest, most able to provide.


Look at the heart-throbs of today. Most of them are these diminuitive intellectuals who would look more at home in front of an X-BOX 360 with the casing off and a phillips head screwdriver in their hand than changing the oil in a soft-top, red, rugged Jeep. There is something to be said to be attracted to men with brains, because that is more important to survive in our world today, but these men don't necessarily look like wiry einsteins. And they are meant to be the shining examples of modern desires. Don't get me wrong, I love brains, but that's not the guy we're talking about. And for the love of God don't get me started on hipsters, indie rockers, and the fact that the male "skinny jean" even exists. **shudder**

Let's look at the everyman. Look at 'im. Go to any bar during a sporting event. They are barely evolved, stringy versions of our knuckle-dragging ancestors. There is a pecking order amongst their ranks based on levels of hygiene. Coordinating team jerseys for ease of recognizing other member's of one's tribe. Dribble down the shirt from imbibing too much beer. Glazed over look as the eyes slip out of focus trying to decide which big screen to focus on during commercials. And when their fellow warriors are on the path to victory? I dare you to distinguish the sound from that of a storming horde of gorillas. Roaring. Yelling. Maybe some more swearing. Charming.

Now for what should seperate us from the animals: romance.


Let's start with the premise of any of these neanderthals actually PURSUING a mate. Can you even picture it? yeah, me neither.

In times past, men actually WANTED women. It was considered a desirable thing to have a lady in your life, on your arm, and **gasp** even in your bed. And they worked to impress them, woo them, win them. Men held doors, gave flattering compliments, hell, paid for a beer. And this wasn't that long ago!

Go even further back. Musicians sang serenades. Gentlemen composed sonnets. Men gave flowers, trinkets, candies. Some fought wars, killed lovers in a jealous rage, cut off their own ears, (although I realize that's a slightly unreasonable expectation.)

We're sliding back into the primordial soup. This level of chase just doesn't exist anymore.

Let's go back to our gameday bar scene. Enter the female. She is coy. Also wearing the tribe's colors to camoflage into the tribe and catch the appropriate type of mate off-guard. She wears her jersey, but also her mascara; her warpaint. She is on the hunt.

No longer is her strategy that of an exotic hothouse flower. Before, women were to be approached, marveled at, and entertained if a man was given the pleasure of her company. Now, she must dirty her hands. She sheds her skirts for workpants and wades into the trenches. She must be beautiful, but also cunning. Flirtatious and deadly. Aloof, and yet utterly attainable. A lady on the street, but a freak in the bed, as it were.

In days of yore, an elaborate mating ritual of heavy-lidded eyes exchanging hot glances and stolen handclasps with whispered sighs is cast aside for the modern exchange. The stunning female must place herself within direct proximity of her target, lest he be required to leave his pod of companions to approach her across the playing field. She utterly ignored him for a solid hour, staring at his back when he's not looking, glancing away as he turns.
There may be a few meager exchanges of laughs or cheers if the team is winning, commiseration or beer swigging if they are doing poorly.
And then it happens- at the end of the game, and only at the end- the moment of truth.
Finally, there is direct eye contact. Our lioness offers a smile she hopes is inviting, but not-too-eager, just as she had practiced it.

Good sir, most kind gentleman, our modern romeo, Casanova a la 2009, receives her message.
He gives the most minute head-flip and gestures with his not-holding-a-beer-arm towards the exit.

They leave, and the rest is history.

Until the next morning.
She scrabbles into her clothes, furious with herself, pretending not to be.
He calls her a cab, which he mysteriously has on speed-dial.
She gives him that perfectly rehearsed smile, but this time it has a tremulous air to it that displeases him.
He says a few minor pleasantries, there is an exchange of information he has no intention of using, and she is whisked away by a yellow car in the rain as he looks for his professional team's jersey because now it's Sunday and the bar is almost open.

and this is on a successful venture.

Friggin poetry.

It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009


Baggage - Friday, Aug 14 2009

So I’m in Puerto Rico for my friend Luis’s wedding. And I’m so excited!

Right now, I’m lounging on the cushy bed with the balcony doors thrown open to let in the heavenly sunshine and the sound of the crashing shore, with the occasional squawk of some brightly colored bird.

In the same clothes I was in 27 hours ago.

Yes. They lost my luggage.

But somehow, that has made it more of an adventure. Sure, I can’t wear these white linen lounge pants and old navy tshirt to the wedding, so I may have to dash to PLAZAS AMERICANAS- the largest mall in the Caribbean to procure another dress to wear, but so be it.

I’m here. Not at work. And there are good people. And sand. And sunshine. and rum.

I feel like its much more piratical this way. When you were stranded on a deserted island after your crew mutinied against you, they didn’t toss you a suitcase to keep you well stocked. You had the clothes on your back and your guts to survive. And maybe a pistol with a single shot or a sword, (alas, I couldn’t carry these on. commies.)

Basically, I feel like a badass pirate because I’m surviving on the hotel’s free sample shampoos and the $7 resort deodorant I impulse bought.


that was just the bellman calling.

my suitcase is here.



Cap’n Mags

Friday, August 7, 2009

harebrained scemes

So I've been daydreaming about travel and halloween costumes for the last few days.
PyrateCon is a BEAUTIFUL combo of the two.

I mean, check out this website!!

IT LOOKS SO FRIGGIN AWESOME! In New Orleans? I love that city!

I suppose I'll have to add it to the list of events I'm currently scheming:

Puerto Rico Next WEEK! (so stoked.)
SXSW Music Festival in Austin- (CRUCIAL)
PYRATE CON in New Orleans, April (costume? got it.)
Comic Con in San Diego, July (IN COSTUME, duh. Still debating about what that'll be- SOO many options!)
World Cup in South Africa, July/Aug timeframe (with a whirlwind tour of Africa for about 2 weeks.)
Oktoberfest done properly in Germany
London Olympics.

Now all I have to do is teach myself how to save money and recruit enough friends to go with me to make these all happen!





Also, all donations are being accepted.

also, any ideas anyone would have about a job that would pay me to be an uberdork/world traveler are being considered.

It's hard out here for a pimp nerd.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009


So I'm a big fan of SYTYCD and ABDC and all of those, so I consider myself to be at least an appreciator of the dance world, if not an afficianado. (If you don't know what these are, do yourself a favor. look them up.)

That being said- you all know I have an unnatural fear of becoming a crazy cat lady. My single status, proclivity towards being crazy anyways, and recent aqcuisition of this dude:

Weasley and his "come hither" look.

all make me nervous.

That being said, I present to you the funniest thing I may have ever seen, and also my deepest fear in glassy full-photo published glory:

My dear friend Leah and I saw this bookstore at the Kennedy Center. And its real. And there are albums that go with it. And I fully recommend that if you have a free afternoon at work to do internet surfing that you dig deeper- its nuts. There is an entire underground movement and community associated with cat dancing. And these people are certifiably batshit crazy.

google that.

You may run across such chestnuts as at-your-desk purring techniques: "Now as you purrr, you'll become conscious that it's making your head vibrate. This is completely normal." **snort**

Tips and techniques about joining cat dancing classes, "After all, dancing with our cats is something we really have to do alone and you can feel rather isolated at times. " **ARE YOU SERIOUS?!**

or this.

you're welcome.

Moral of the story:
I love finding shit on the internet that makes me feel like less of a weirdo.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009


So tonight is the harry potter 6 half blood prince release at midnight.
and i can't control myself.
i'm like 7-year-old-going-to-Disneyland stoked.
I am full-fledged fantasy nerd tunnelvision headache from excitement juiced.
and needless to say, sitting a cube farm with literally not a single task to do is NOT conducive to waiting.


And I'm on stimulus OVERLOAD. I've blown through all of my distraction factors in like 3 hours when I can usually make them last all day. I've read all my blogs. I've exhausted facebook. I've look at at least 3 complete albums of people I don't even know for a single picture of an acquiantance. The crossword puzzle is complete. The sudoku, kaput. I went somewhere else to get lunch and ate it. I've moved desks and set up everything. I had a mini meeting with a boss. I printed off stuff for a craft I'm doing at home. Twitter is a precious notion of time wasting as I've read every post from the 100+ people I follow three times already. And clicked every link.




Harry Potter is going to rule.
It's paaaaainful to sit here when I should be painting the back of my tshirt. Or napping so I'm ready for the extreeeeeeeeeme lack of sleep that is as a result of a midnight showing of a 2.5 hour movie.


Work: you are ALWAYS cramping my dorkstyle.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Playing Work

On the metro, every morning, hundreds of people commute. They swim upstream and down, to and fro, walk on the left and stand on the right. People are in scrubs with Betty Boop on them, in business suits with running shoes, military uniforms with their gym bags. Packed lunches, hurried sudokus between stops, the 3's and 9's squiggled by the trains jolting brakes. What percentage of this throng is doing what they REALLY want to do?

I'd wager 3%. Tops.

I feel as though I am one of these trudging masses. I get up entirely too early every morning to the meowing of my latest alarm clock, 20 minutes before the one that beeps would go off. I take a shower, put on my grown-up costume, and make the trek in haste to sit at my desk for 8 hours before I rush home to wait a few hours so I can rinse and repeat.

It makes me miss the games we play when we're young. I can't for the life of me ever recall playing "work". Kids play all sorts of games that might turn into an occupation as adults. Playing house, doctor, teacher, explorer. They play games that may turn out to be gruesome as adults- when the surgeon needs to lop off all four limbs, when all of the GI Joe's are killed in an unforeseen microwave accident, or when Barbie jumps off the roof of her three story townhouse via the pink elevator (true story.) The games we played most are the ones that are impossible to come true. Every kid played mermaid or space alien invasion or bears. We dressed up in our mothers' dresses and ran around our fathers' garages

Not one kid played analyst or consultant.

And what about the skills we learned as children? Very few of them still come up. I would jump for joy if I got to make a diorama for a meeting. I was talking to a new friend over lunch, (we'll call her "Indignant Constitutional 11-year-old" or "IC-11" for short- it was a great lunch,) and we lamented over the lack of clay figures and construction paper usage in our everyday lives. No more finger paint or colorful blocks. The days of building cells out of styrofoam and making land masses out of papier mache are gone.

So I look around and see all of the astronauts and ballerinas, trumped up in their dressing to go to beige cubicles and concrete office buildings. The thing is though, there isn't the cloud of despair you would think there should be. People seem to be bustling intently. I wouldn't go so far to say "with great jollity", but it isn't as dismal and dreary as it certainly could be.

I can't help but feel as though this is all just another game. I think it points to my immaturity that I still feel as though I'm playing office. The steps are the same as our games of imagination when we were small. You need to build the fort, (the office,) change your costume, (for me, business casual that makes me look like a barn with hair tottering about on uncomfortable heels,) and establish the rules of the game (be there for 8 hours.)

Or maybe all of the bomber pilots and Egyptian goddesses who are running around my city incognito have something figured out that I don't yet. They hurry to and from their work so that they can rush home and play in their airplane hangars and hidden tombs.

Maybe that's the secret they all carry around. They have jungles and sunken pirate ships waiting for them. The sooner they get to work, the sooner they get to go home.

and the sooner they get to play.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009


I know it has been a while since I posted- things have been going crazy!

I have had about a month of constant activity and decision. 

Now that I have the time to breathe and actually think about it all, I wish I had taken the time to write about it more as it was happening- maybe then I might have felt less befuddled by it all.

I vacationed in Hawaii with two very dear friends and a 15 month old little girl.  I went on a week long beach-house vacation with my parents and grandfather.  I have adopted a kitten who was previously nicknamed "killer".  I have interviewed for and accepted a brand new job, with much strife at the current job and subsequently bought $700 worth of stuffy suits.  So I've been busy.

Life is amazing- how it swirls, is it not?

I have felt like I've been in a sort of free-fall  None of these major life acts have really been my decision.

And yet, in that there was a sort of comfort.  Maybe it was part shock, part excitement.  I had been wishing for change for months.  I sure got that.  gvvbbg  (<--- Sorry, that was the new cat.)

Learning to trust yourself, no matter what happens, is quite enthralling.

And now, as I wind down with my current job,  have the kitten now dubbed "Weasley" sitting around my throat like an ascot, and reminisce about my vacations, it is empowering to reflect on what has happened in one measly month.

All of those things happen and nothing drove me to write.

Tonight, there was a thunderstorm.  A good, old-fashioned knock-out-the-satellite "gully washer" as my mother would say.

I lay here, book in hand, comforting the kitten- it's his first big storm- and counted the seconds between the flashes and the bursts, the light and the noise, the lightning and thunder.

and I was driven.

I hate to use the phrase "in life", but here I feel it only fitting.

In life, like tonight, I have waited, counting the seconds between the cataclysmic bolts and the rolling booms that are sure to follow.

This month has been the lightning.  And now, we wait for the fallout.







Saturday, May 2, 2009


Should I be nervous that so many of my blog postings contain the "if I ever have a chance of dating you, please don't read the following" disclaimer?


If I ever have a chance of dating you, please don't read the following:


So.  I went to the CAPS game today with a good friend.  And it was a KILLER time.  We're talking AWESOME.  CAPS won, I rocked the red, (and managed to not get TOO much glitter on her husband's jersey,) and cheered my face off.

It was amazing.

So we were sharing a victory Chipotle burrito, in Chinatown DC, and we were doing EVERYONE'S favorite pastime- people watching.  Now, we were doing what I'll call here "honest peoplewatching."  We were noting the good as WELL as the bad.  We were looking at couples that were well paired as well as some unfortunate girls in heels that were OBVIOUSLY killing them.  Noting the happy and the miserable, the way-too-skinny and the perhaps-big-boneded.  Just generally enjoying the mass of people swirling around the fishbowl world of our chipotle windowseats.

This cute guy who was apparently sitting next to me, listening INTENTLY- unbeknownst to me- all of a sudden crumpled his burrito wrapper, turned to me and said, "say five nice things about the people passing by us."  So I started to.  He cut me off and said "Well all I heard was a lot of negativity."  Got up. Threw out his trash.  Left.  Walked in front of the window.  I gave him a stunned finger-toodle wave, he did this "well, yeah.  There you go.  You know it," head-nod and kept walking.

And I have to tell you, it ruined my day.  I embarrassed myself on the walk home from the metro because I was crying, walking in my neighborhood, in broad daylight.

HOW DARE HE.  At least none of the things I said made anyone else feel like shit!  I was talking to my friend, just having a perfectly NORMAL conversation.

He should have considered who he was talking to.  Not to toot my own horn, but I am one of the most positive people I know.  Did he ever consider that maybe half of the comments I was making were out of low self-esteem?   Of all the clearly superficial perfect bitches in this world that have vacuous conversations, I'm the person he chooses to unload on.  Everyone else on the planet gets to have those conversations, but not me.  Not on this day.  Nice positivity yourself there, asshat.  

And it's SO weird to think that one would have any negativity from being a single girl in THIS city.  Like this guy isn't one of the DC douchebags or DCDB's.  Girls, you know who I mean- one of the light blue striped button-up shirt and khaki cargo shorts wearers with flip flops and some meaningless pseudo-tropical necklaces.  They roll in packs.  They ignore girls for the first 95% of the night, then proceed to give them hope.  Then, when it's all said and done, they cut their losses and run, making the girl feel as though all of the signals were in her head.  That they had nothing to do with it, using the poor girl's insecurity as a smoke screen to cover their exit.  Each of them returning back to the pack so that they can all congratulate each other, put more gel in their hair, and head out to the bar again to rinse and repeat.  And I'm the one putting negativity out into the planet.  Whatever, bub.

It's hard because it comes on the tail of a little moment I had this morning.  I was riding the metro to meet my friend, and I had all of this happy-go-lucky music coming on my ipod.  I was just in the best of moods.  I found myself realizing that I'm often in a good mood.  I sent up a little prayer, in the middle of my metroride, thanking whoever is up there for my sunny disposition.  I know not everyone comes by genuine excitement or happiness or contentment as easily, and I'm grateful that I'm wired that way.

I don't know if it was just too ironic an opportunity to get called out for sheer negativity or if I'm just delusional about what my supposedly "sunny outlook" really is.

Either way.  If you meet that guy, have him respond to my ad.  I'd like to explain myself.
And apologize.

The worst part of all was the kernel of truth at the base of it.  I was uncharitable in my thoughts and in my words.  I even thought to censor myself, but I thought "what the heck.  They can't hear us.  I'm just laughing with my friend.  Everyone does it."  
The worst part of all was that he was right.

And Lord knows you can't forgive a man for that.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Shoe Logic

So, as some of you may know, I believe that you can learn a lot about a person according to their shoes. Judge me all you want, but you're going to start noticing from now on. And it doesn't have to be big, sweeping judgements- just little ones like how comfortable a person likes to be in their work shoes or how tightly strung their tennis-shoe laces are.

As I was scoping out all of the hot commute-home-from-work shoes on the metro yesterday evening, I noticed a pattern. I know that it has always been there, but it just kind of snapped into focus yesterday. And I can't tell if the pattern in our shoes is merely reflective of the differences between men and women, or if it even perpetuates our ingrained notions even further.

What I noticed is this: men's shoes, generally speaking, are designed to look sturdy. Go on, look around the office. The everyman's work shoe of today is probably one of those black shoes with the thicker soles that are squared off at the toes. Even if they're not this EXACT pair- although plenty of them are- they all have one thing in common: they actually look like feet.

I know it sounds nuts, but what woman's shoe is actually shaped like a woman's foot?

And mens shoes are actually largest at the bottom. When a man is standing in his shoes, he looks stable, sturdy, well planted. Do you think that this plays into what we're looking for in a man? We are usually looking for a man who, well I hate to borrow an overused phrase, but has his feet on the ground. Every pair of guy's shoes on the planet makes this easier. The can stand for hours in those Herman Munster's Tuxedo Shoes and look right at home.

Now, lets turn the lens on the ladies. Now I'll preface ALL of this with the fact that I love shoes. LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE them. Doesn't matter if they're uncomfortable or too expensive, I friggin love them. Usually, the more ridiculous the better. Hot pank shiny peeptoe stillettos with bows and lace on them? bring it.

But lets use an analytical eye to look at what we put on our feet..

They're ridiculous. And UNNATURAL. What woman has pointy toes? Heels? What a terrible and torturous idea! And it seems as though the prettiest ones are intentionally engineered to be as difficult to balance in as physically possible. Let's take all of our weight and balance it, in perfect, hip-swinging motion, on two little points that are barely bigger than pencil erasers. Awesome. EVERY woman on the planet has been crippled for a day of uncomfortable, but attractive shoes at least once in her life, (and most of us at least once a weekend.) They just seem like bad ideas all around, no matter which way you turn. And yet, we ALL do it.

And now I ask, WTF?!?!? Is this supposed to make us look like skittish does that could just as easily prance away as fall flat on our asses?

Now, I may be confused- but for the whole "thrill of the chase" mentality, shouldn't we at least be worthy opponents who won't topple over after every third step? Or are we supposed to look all wobbly so we need the support of a big stwong man to cawwy us back to the cave because we're weak wittle females??


But then, I sit here and consider the alternative. Comfortable shoes? You are, of course, referring to ugly shoes. Yeah, right.

And so each of us ladies perpetuate the status quo of the genders. Our shoe tastes are like a modern, living art homage to "Ode on a Grecian Urn." We may never get caught, but at least there will always be the chance we might.

And men sit there, looking pretty, in their practical, feet-shaped shoes. Devices that are ACTUALLY designed to be walked in.

Psh. Pansies.

Monday, April 20, 2009

A note to Brit-Brit's lyricist.

So I was watching some Jump Start this morning on VH1, (yeah I know- its still on. Weird, right?) and the video for Brit-Brit's "If You Seek Amy" was on.

First off- trashy. 'Nuff said. Y'all knew that.

Then we get to the lyrics. I have to confess that in spite of myself, I think that the title is pretty witty. Probably not original to the writer, but still witty. When I finally figured it out, about 3 weeks after I heard it for the first time, I giggled quite a lot. (It's super gay that they changed the title to "If you see Amy" for the radio edit, because now it makes even LESS sense, but whatever.) I figured "Yeah Brit-Brit, you tell the public. You pulled the wool over all of our eyes! Now we know you're making a comeback and its going to be a quippy one."

But then I felt betrayed. The song itself is completely stupid. (I know I shouldn't be that shocked/upset over a "Spears Classic", but there you go.) I feel like the lyricist used up any creative juices on the title. Brit-Brit has always overused the "ooh bab-eh, bab-eh" and this song is no exception. At one point, however- this song ACTUALLY has the words "Ha ha hee hee ha ha ho."


**heavy sigh**


I know you're all thinking to other pop MEGASUCCESS stories that used gobbledeegook lyrics too, like "You make me wanna La La" and "The Scatman", but really- Brit-Brit, is this the company you want to keep?

You can do better than that.

Friday, April 17, 2009



I just watched this with my friend/coworker Erin. We both cried. I mean, tears- down the face- cried.


The movie is just going to be so friggin awesome. And this trailer shows all KINDS of new stuff that the teasers didn't. It looks like they are totally stepping up their game. It's going to explore every aspect of the plot from the book to tie it all together- the acting looks amazing, the effects are kickass, and I mean just fppszzzzzzt....


I mean, I got goosebumps like 5 times in the 2 and a half minutes or however long it is.

It made my day. Week. Hell, probably even weekend.

It's days like these that I thank GOD I'm a nerd.

Being the type of person who is too cool to cry in her cube over a 2 minute trailer of a "kids movie"? That just doesn't sound too great.

all of you muggles out there can just bite me- I'm off to dryclean my cloak. You guys are the ones missing out.

Monday, April 6, 2009


with twitter.

Spring Fever has arrived, They called it puppy love, and I have been bitten by the bug and every other euphamism for falling in love.


It is just fast-paced enough for my super-limited attention span! Talk about your INSTANT gratification. Little spurts of adrenaline as a result of instant world-wide publication, and it still satisfies your friend AND celebrity stalking hunger with little snacks throughout the day.


Twitter, where have you been all my life.

In other news, I went to a real gay bar for the first time this weekend. And I have a question. And it DEMANDS asking. IS THAT SERIOUSLY WHERE ALL THE ATTRACTIVE MEN IN DC HAVE BEEN HIDING?!?!!?

I fear that the answer is a deafening and utterly depressing "yes."

so ladies, if you've been wondering- that's where they all are. At a gay bar called "town" on saturday nights for Madonnarama. Sometimes in a dress, sometimes with their shirts off, always not where you're looking.

unless you're me circa Sat night. Then you're just plain looking in all the wrong places.

Thursday, March 26, 2009


Just a brief little wtf.

So yesterday, as I was halfway through my commute, (which is only like 14 minutes so I have nothing to complain about,) a bus drove by with the most ridiculous ad I've ever seen.

It had a picture of a baby on it and it said "Shaking a baby shattered lives."



Then, there was a website.

Now, I don't want to sound like a dumbass, but I believe "sbs" stands for Shaken Baby Syndrome.

There is an entire website dedicated to the prevention of it.

I'll repeat that.

Apparently, there is a group of people who need explicit instructions on how to prevent shaking a baby.

They need to be told how NOT to shake a baby.

Now, I'm not saying that it's not sad. I mean, if I had a nanny shake my kid to death, I'd be at least a little annoyed. And by annoyed I mean devastated.


The people who need to be told NOT to shake the crap out of their infant probably shouldn't be procreating in the first place.

My favorite part of the website:
Shaken Baby Syndrome is100% preventable. Prevention lies in your hands.


Wednesday, March 25, 2009


I love the number of people who HATE that word.

I think its a good thing.

I am of COURSE talking about cake!

So I'm being commissioned to make a cake for a coworker's bachelorette party, and I was trying out a new yellow cake recipe. And its awesome.

I made cupcakes last night, and they are LOOKING good.

I'm quite pleased with them.

They are super... (say it with me,) moooooiiiiiisssstttt.

Sidenote: is it weird to feel like I've somewhat made it in the baking world now that I'm actually getting paid to make a penis cake?

Monday, March 16, 2009


I have a confession to make.

I, Maggie Dempsey, am a ham.

I know that this is a MAJJJJOOORR shocker, but its out there.

Last night was our improv showcase and it was a ton of fun. I made my friends and fam laugh and had a killer time doing it.

the bug has bitten again :)

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Let the games begin.


So now, crush #2 is fading into the background. If that ever goes down, its going to be a much longer campaign than we originally thought. He's still tied up elsewhere I believe.


Last night, after our last class, we had our little shindig. It went SWIMMINGLY. He said the words "romantic", "date", and "soulmates" and I didn't freak out. Not even once. And here was how all of those things were said. When our table's candle wasn't lit, I asked my friend to light it for us and made some comment about ambiance. Gollum goes, "that's much more romantic. for our date." And Maggie "The Breeze" Dempsey goes, "yeah, all 12 of us." I MEAN RIGHT?!?!

So proud. **wipes away tear of pride**

Then, later, after my friend noted that I may want to give him a nudge because boys are generally retarded about picking up vibes, I made some comment about Archie comics, and OF COURSE, he knew about them. I was like "Seriously?!?! Get out of my head. Everything dorky I love, you love. Pirates? Lord of the Rings? Star Wars? COME ON. you were reading BRISINGR?!?! SERIOUSLY?!!" and I made him name other dorky things about himself. He named some generic things at first and I was like "come on, that's not even remotely nerdy." He was like "I've got to hold SOME of it back..."


Also, he was in band. Now, I don't know if you know this, but I was like a MAJOR band geek. Major major major.

And he mentioned some other dorky things I was flabbergasted over.

Then he goes "so we're like soulmates" and I said, NOT freaking out, NOT knocking him out of his chair to make out with his face, but with TOTAL COMPOSURE, "more like NERDmates".

I KNOW. Check me out. I'm feeling PRETTY proud of myself.

And now, we have our little showcase performance on Sunday, and we're all going to go out dancing afterwards. And he mentioned that he LOVES to dance. I'm looking forward to it.

and the cutest part of all involves the whole class. There were quite a few people who were like "is anyone else taking the next level?" Shyly, we decided that we would try to all get into the same class.

We're basically precious.

I'm hoping he never gets a hold of this link because he could DEFINITELY figure out it was him, but that's what you get for gushing about crushing to the blogosphere.

Monday, March 9, 2009

Green with Envy.

I am SOOO juiced for Paddy's day.
and its great, because I get to celebrate TWICE.

Sat for SHAMROCKFEST, (before which I'm having a little shindig- lemme know if you wanna come,) and Tue for ACTUAL Paddy's day.

and yes, I'm taking Tue and Wed off of work. What about it?

So juiced.

My green gear is purchased. My friend's travel arrangements are made.

Now, I just need one good beer-and-all-of-the-ingredients-for-Irish-car-bombs run and I'll be in business.


Many good pictures to follow!

Wednesday, March 4, 2009


Gollum update:
He was reading Brisingr, (which I love. Google that $h!t if you don't know it,) and is self-proclaimed "unsentimental."

I think I'm truly over it. Like, I carried on a conversation with him, no big deal. Would love to be friends, so we can geek out together. It ain't no thang.


**blaring trumpets**

I know, right?

I, Maggie Dempsey, actually have a crush again.

Now, I'm not going to get into rhapsodizing poetic about this guy, because it's not really necessary. I'll just say that he's ADORABLE and seems thoroughly datable. And charming. **sigh**.

CRAP. No. Not daydreaming about him in blog form. What. So. Ever.

I just wanted to talk about how GREAT it feels to have a crush again! Now, dear readers, I, Maggie, USED TO BE a serial crusher. I was. I loved everyone at some point or another. But lately, its been a bit of a dry spell. And now, I feel back in the swing of it.

I gotta tell you, it feels great.
Even though it is a roller coaster of bloated ego and crippling self-consciousness, the ride is a blast. What else in life can create the same contrast of sheer elation and absolute terror without anything illegal involved? Every little thing you do takes on a different meaning. HOURS more of your day are occupied. The debate about how to wear one's hair. The excitement of those moments of eye contact that seem to linger, even if only in your own head. The thrill and temporary panic of getting tongue-tied, no matter how eloquent you normally are. The ridiculous hair flips you remember doing hours later. Reading nuance into every possible word choice and vocal inflection.

And the daydreams. OOOOOH the daydreams. It's been so nice to have a face to picture in my woolgathering. And its interesting- I must be getting slightly more mature, (read "older",) because the nature of my daydreams has shifted. I now picture not only the EXTRAVAGANT things I always have, (riding sparklie ponies, being captured at sea by his pirate ship, frolicking in fields of posies, etc.,) but now, the actually possible has filtered into my waking dreams. Giggling as we eat the cold and burned breakfast we made together. Just going to see a movie and crashing. And even the classic getting caught in the rain and guffawing, but now set in a location I might actually be at one day.


Crush, even if nothing every comes of it, thanks for giving me something new to daydream about.

And if something DOES happen, hang on to your hat baby, because I've had some AWESOME ideas. It's gonna be fun.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

More Gollum Greats

Hello there, dear readers.

For those of you who I haven't scared off yet, I have an update.

So I am still mad at the entire population of men, but I'm not as close to nuclear meltdown as I was during my last post.

and Gollum- the hot boy from improv- he loves live Irish music.


Thursday, February 12, 2009

"you're my exception" my ass.

I'm going to warn you up front: The following is going to be a man-hating, frustrated, ineloquent whiney rant about how love, romance, men, and modern society all suck. If you're currently in a good mood, someone I could have a shot with romantically, or easily bored, I recommend just moving on. Here are some other fun links you can read instead of this one.

To set the stage, I'll give you an update on my last post. My nerdmate, remember Gollum? yeah. Turns out he's a major asshole. In the course of our improv class, we had to tell bad date stories. Very cute. (For those of you who know me, I told the "Greased Lightning" story and wished I hadn't.) It comes to Gollum's turn, and he begins to turn me off more efficiently than any man ever has. He doesn't really "do" dates; he prefers casual hang-outs, (read: hookups.) He then talked about how he is the worst boyfriend ever and doesn't believe in, and I quote, "romance, dates, love, all that mushy crap." I'm amazed that the other people in the room couldn't hear the deafening fsssssssssssssst of my bubble swiftly deflating. I've heard this from lots of guys before, but Gollum somehow said it with such naked honesty and conviction that it counted for extra super-duper turn-off.

None of this is REALLY a shock, but it was still upsetting.

Also, the other cute guy from my class, we'll call him "plan B", def has a girlfriend. Yeah. Sweet. awesome. Even the way-too-short-guy-you-had-already-made-allowances-for-in-your-head has a girlfriend. I mean, he's a great person and all, but I thought he was flirting with me, but he probably wasn't and even if he was he's got a girlfriend so whatever just deal. Yes, I know that was one of the worst run-on sentences of all time. So sue me, I warned you this post would suck.

This final blow came after a trifecta of perfectly placed pieces of media that created the perfect storm of my current funk and motivated this post.

1. The movie "He's just not that into you." I saw it with my cousins because there was nothing else playing at the right time. It was pretty cute, lots of celebs in it, blah blah blah. The movie set up this whole new paradigm of rules which seemed to make sense to me. Most romcoms take place in a version of New York City that I would love to visit, but certainly have my doubts that it even exists. I kind of dug it. The main girl needed to shut her mouth sometimes, but she was much more honest than a lot of heroines. Then, after the movie spent all this time setting up the new rules, it broke them even worse than the usual tale of boy-meets-girl. Justin Long's character, after he has coached her in the ways to interact with men, lead her on, rejected her, then mooned after her once she finally calls him out, says "You're my exception." And it just pissed me off. SRSLY?!?!? This was only the beginning.

2. A couple of days later, I made the mistake of watching "The science of sexual attraction" or some such show. It was pretty interesting, and we enjoyed lobbing a few poorly timed and superficial comments at the scientists and the participants. Then, as they were doing a study to watch how just peoples' faces and voices were more or less attractive. The narrator said one sentence that stuck in my craw, "We each start with the most attractive and work our way down until we find someone who will accept us." Man, do I wish I had NEVER heard that sentence. Yeah, I know that its probably true. It's still just entirely too clinical and cavalier about the struggle of people trying to find one another in the bar jungle of our generation. Sidenote: I think the scale is tipped in the favor of men. The theories behind THAT will have to be a whole other post.

3. This was the lit fuse finally disappearing into the ACME made bomb, and its always the dumbest little things that will set us off. It was an article in Cosmo, the world's most prolific periodical, and it was in the section "to give to your guy." (It's really not that bad, but this was just the grain of rice that tipped the scale.) It said "do you want to show your girl that you care about her? Do her a favor. She's much more likely to be in the mood if she's not worrying about getting the oil changed."
ARE YOU FRIGGIN KIDDING ME?!?!?! What kind of society do we live in where an article in biggest pile of dribble of ALL TIME has to explain to anyone, male or female, that if you care about someone, you should do nice shit for them. I feel like it is a sign of the romantic apocalypse. Romance is ENTIRELY dead. And not in the sense that I'm delusional and read romance novels and there are no princes on steeds or pirates at the helm, blah blah blah. I've known that was long dead. It's even worse than all that.

Think about it. Say that you're a male between 22 and 35. Why on EARTH would you want to have a girlfriend? I feel like none of them even want one anymore. You certainly don't NEED one. There is just as much pressure about a career as there always has been, so its a viable excuse to just say you're focusing on work. (Same goes for women, but its only the beginning.) Men, from what I can gather, are innately LAZY. Girlfriends take effort. It seems as though most would choose an entire weekend of playing 38 hours of a videogame with no sleep and 5 separate pizza deliveries than a relationship. They have YEARS more of reproductive viability, so that's not an issue. They have less pressure from family and friends to settle down. And if they wanted to actually have sex, **gasp**, not a problem. There are so many attention starved BEAUTIFUL and AMAZING women that if they feel randy, they can put on a stupid button-up shirt, head out to the local bar, hook up with some woman WAY out of their league with a shot of whiskey or a long island iced tea and a minor put-down, and there's really not any expectation of calling her again.

Dating. Casual. Not committed. BIG SCARY THING, isn't it?

Don't even THINK the word "married", heavens to betsy, they all just get a runnin'.

Look. I know that this is hands-down the most psycho post of mine, but I'm really not that crazy. It was really not that long ago that it was reasonable for a girl to want to get married before she was 40. Or hell, to even want to kiss a guy without it being a deathwish for their friendship. And I'm not ready for anything major, it would just be nice to get to hold hands at the movies every once in a while.

The fact that its "trendy" to be an single, womanizing douchebag is unnerving though. We now expect this from our guys, and kind of hold it up with our barside banter and self-conscious hairflips. The standards we have all come to expect, and even perpetuate is the scariest part of all.

A wise woman once told me two words, and I hope they help me make it through this hurricane of romantic jackassery. She said "never settle."
And even though it may harder than ever, I don't intend to.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009


So hi all! It's been a while since I've posted.
Now, I have some juicy news. Well, not juicy yet, but it's kind of fun so I felt like writing about it.

So a few weeks ago, I signed up for an improv class. I did improv in high school and loved it, miss doing theatre, need more friends, yadda yadda yadda. So I signed up for a class with Washington Improv Theater, (WIT.) I've got to tell you, it's AWESOME. I'd like to end up on one of the troupes one day, but in the meantime, I get to laugh hysterically for 2 and a half hours every Tuesday. I loves it.

So, its the first class, and I was waiting for the 15 or so drop-dead-gorgeous, crazy funny, and all-about-me-guys to walk into class that I was expecting, and then HE walked in. All of the people in my class are AWESOME. There's a lot of energy, everyone is really funny and we have a great time. And I get to flirt with some of the guys so I can dust some of my flirtskillz off. They've been out of use for a while, (question mark?) When HE walked in, (we'll call him "Gollum" and you'll find out why in a minute,) I was pretty stoked. So this kid is supercute. Great jawline, pretty fit, quite funny and SO nice. Then, he started stealing my heart away.

Each week, I have gotten a little nugget from this guy about how MUCH we have in common. The first week, he made no less than 2 Lord of the Rings references. Which, you may well know, is one of my FAVES of all time. Then, via our weekly email listing thing, I found out that his email address has "Gollum" in it. So he's not just a little bit of a dork. It must be pretty serious.

Then, the next week, he made a reference to Step Up 2 the Streets. BEST MOVIE EVER. And not just like a little reference, but it was all-out and awesome. And I thought that I and my roommates I dragged to see the movie were the only fans. Nay. He is also counted among our ranks.

I then did some friendly Internet stalking, (a phrase which cracked my dad up. It's kind of cute really, the things old people giggle at,) and I found only one hit on him. A website in which he was selling off his "Magic the Gathering" cards. HUGE. CLOSET. DORK. I'm the biggest dork I know and I don't even play MtG. Although, after a friend said it had been used as a hilarious drinking game, it no longer sounds that crazy.

And then, last night, the final nail in the coffin was driven home. I found out that he, "Gollum," is... (take a huge breath,) a huge pirates fan. We're talking wants to get a parakeet and wear it like a pirate, has a picture of Johnny Depp as CAPT Jack Sparrow, skull and crossbones, and a ship in his house. I nearly choked. It must be a sitcom, I mean COME ON. WHO IS FEEDING THIS EXTREMELY HOT GUY THE LINES?!?!?!? In retrospect, its really like he's me trapped in a superhotboy's body. We are, as my best friend so adeptly coined- as she always does- nerdmates.


So now the question remains: how to proceed? Does this guy's nerddom extend to a social awkwardness around women so I should take the lead? Or has his face/body been used to his hotness, although I am not, so he's never had a problem in this department so I should continue with operation "breezy and awesome"? Sigh. Also, I fear that there are a few cons I should list. He's only 22, and 2 years isn't a lot, but he just graduated, so he's most likely looking for something different in the realm of romance than I am about now. He alluded to being a bit of a ladies' man, but again, that could be the totally truth or something any dork would say as an endearing, self-deprecating "I'm such a dork" joke, although that's probably just wishful thinking. Also, there is the bubble of the class- we all love the class and it is TOTALLY drama-free, so I feel it should stay that way.

**sigh again**

I fear that I may just have to let this one slide. It may be like being stuck in a rowboat having been stranded at sea for weeks and just letting a cruiseliner with a rock climbing wall and 24/7 buffet and open bar pass you by, but it may be the best answer.

Did I mention that he's in a similar line of work as me, wears glasses sometimes, has an adorable like duck-tail-in-front hairstyle and also made a Dumb and Dumber joke?


Friday, January 23, 2009


So if you're in DC, or traveled down here just for the occasion, you've heard about it. The dresses. The re-taking of the oath. The concert. The random guy who wrote "this land is your land" just wearing a flannel shirt like the people from the retirement home couldn't throw a coat on him. I went to the Mall on Sat, the concert on Sunday, and the big kahuna on Tuesday.
It was cold and miserable, but I'm glad I went.

I don't really feel like telling the whole ordeal, (I'm a little inaugurated OUT,) but I felt like it was something I should address. I guess. Whatever.

It happened, I'm glad, it was cold.

Although, to Barack- whom I really respect and wish all the luck in the world to:

no pressure.