Monday, February 27, 2006


Clumsy, Uncomfortable Sex

Please, deliver me a man who kisses with more than the required amount of saliva, rendering me unsure whether to wipe my mouth for fear of embarassing him. A man, perhaps, who fumbles with my breasts as though there were giant bees or land mines - oh, for a man who smells my hair for far too long a period of time as though it did not smell good but merely *interesting*, like a bloodhound attempting to track an escapee hiding in my follicles. A man who has sex with his socks on during The Weakest Link -

(Mike, why did you pick Susie" bump bump bump "Because he didn't know where the Nile river was" bump bump "Mike! You ARE the Weakest link, goodbye!" bump bump bump)

Let him have difficulty with the condom and then ask if it's ok not to use it.

Please send me a man who, somehow, manages to put it in so it feels *sideways* and pokes at my clitoris like he's trying to buzz a deaf person into his apartment. Let him say things like "I'm ramming you!" and "Fum-muma-fum-muma oh oh oh" while he does it. Let him come after three minutes and then, please, please, please let him idly fiddle with his flaccid penis while laughing at Supercuts commercials.

Friday, February 24, 2006


FREE : appox. 3000 lbs. of rotting cheese

Okay, so I was out of town on business for the last 2 months, and when I got back I discovered that the manager of my cheese factory left town, leaving weeks of cheese laying out on the factory floor without proper refrigeration. Now the cheese is moldy and unsuitable for sale. It's also preventing us from making full use of the storage area, so I need to have it out of here by the end of the weekend.

You can probably use the cheese for mulch, artwork, or maybe keep it around just in case-- I don't really care what you do with it, I just need it to go away! Please! :)

To avoid complications I ask that whoever takes the cheese take all of it. You'll probably need a pickup truck or a U-Haul to get it, and it may require multiple trips.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006


Pornography Quote

"My experience with pornography ... is once you become addicted to it, I would keep looking for more potent, more explicit, more graphic kinds of material. Like an addiction, you keep craving something that is harder, something which gives you a greater sense of excitement. Until you reach a point where the pornography only goes so far, you reach that jumping off point where you begin to wonder if maybe actually doing it would give you that which is beyond just reading or looking at it."

Quote from Ted Bundy

Monday, February 20, 2006


My Resume


High Tech Martyr


I am seeking a position that will utilize many years experience taking the blame for things that don't go as planned.


Company Name withheld (2000-Present)
  • helped deliver a project 2 months late and $149,000 over budget
  • created custom reports to accurately display the level of failure
  • generated colorful charts and graphs to compare this failed project with more successful projects of the past
  • used multiple sofware packages to incorrectly track progress
Company Name withheld (1998-2000)
  • successfully accepted blame for a large scale enterprise software soltuion that was never completed
  • blindly managed 100+ resources towards no deliverable
  • coversaw $1.2 million allocated towards no particular goal
  • documented the entire process of false information with multiple software packages
Company Name withheld (1995-1998)
  • successfully mismanaged multiple projects for clients including Hewlett Packard, Intel, Compaq, Sony, and Toshiba
  • poorly documented project status with Microsoft Project, Microsoft Excel, and Task Tracker
  • communicated false and/or useless information to top-level management with PowerPoint
  • accpeted full responsibilty to save Top level management the embarrassment of failure
Other Duties:
  • failed holiday party (2002)
  • forgot to clean office kitchen (2001)
  • alphabetized files incorreclty (2001)
  • forgot to FedEx important documents (2000)
  • insulted CEO's wife(1984)

Additional Skills:

I am also available to screw up and accept blame for private parties, family events, office parties and bar mitzvahs


For more information, please leave a comment.
No reasonable offer will be refused.

Saturday, February 18, 2006


Asians Can Be Bad Drivers

My co-worker "Angie" Chen - 3-4 parking tickets a month, and 2 fender benders (her fault) in one year.

My friend "Kym" Tan - Car got towed due to several unpaid parking tickets and license suspended after several accidents

My stepmom (she's philipino)- 2 accidents in 3 years, one of which caused $5000 of body damage to her new car and whiplash to her coworker that was the passenger.

My step sister(again, philipino) - 3 accidents in 2 years, two of which totalled the cars and 1 which caused injury to the other car's passenger.

My friend "Justin" Chung - Drove his suv off the side of the road, down a mountain and into someone's garage. Car was totalled, so was the garage.

So yeah, go ahead and say asians don't have driving problems....

Thursday, February 16, 2006


Got Monkeys?

Hello. I am a caretaker at the Zoo which basically means I clean the animals cages. Well the other day I was cleaning out one of the monkey's cages(name withheld) when he came up and started patting my crotch through my trousers. At first I thought this as harmless play, but soon I started becoming completely TURNED ON! With a visible hard-on the monkey then proceeded to run to the other side of the cage stand on top of a crate and spank his ass at me. What an incredible site! I am completeley heterosexual who loves the site of naked men, but this monkey made me feel the way no other man has. I was about to jump on top of him right then and there and have my way with him, but suddenly realized I was at the zoo. I am a fairly new employee there and am sure they have cameras plastered all over the place. In today's times, I am unwilling to sacrifice my job for a piece of monkey ass. For three days now I cannot get that monkey out of my head. I can't eat, sleep, or drink, (except alcohol which I make an exception) I have contacted several pet stores and have come to the realization that A) Good monkeys are very hard to find. B) I simply do not have the money to purchase a monkey at this time. Please help me. I am not a pervert and am a very well respected member of my community. I just need to get monkeys off my mind. Please be respectful and considerate. Send info/pix ASAP in the comments section.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006


Neurotic, angst ridden, high maintenance stress ball seeks...

...polar opposite for a long term, drama filled, co-dependant relationship fraught with extreme peaks and valleys.

Me: I'm always stressed out about friends, family, finances, parking, traffic, breakfast, lunch, dinner, world peace, Barry Bonds bobbleheads, and making a new blog entry here. I'm stressed out right now just thinking about what I'm going to wear, what we'll do, and where we'll go on our first date. And we haven't even met yet! I'm in my 30's, neat, clean, dress very well, short, and Asian. Yup, that will turn off 99.99% of women, and turn on 99.99% of gay men with Asian fetishes out there. Of course the other 0.01% of women who would be interested are already taken or institutionalized. The other 0.01% of gay men with Asian fetishes who wouldn't be interested in me are straight and would want to date my sister.

You: Calm, cool, practice and/or have training in yoga, meditation, massage, aromatherapy, feng shui, hypnosis, anger management, gestalt therapy, shamanic trancework, karma cleansing, transpersonal psychology, frontal lobotomies, etc. Anything and everything that can help me reduce my anxieties, worries, fears, doubts, frustrations, neuroses, angst, stress, and also help improve my grammar at the same time. You're a hopeless romantic, like long odds, and especially love charity work. You also have a keen, albeit morbid sense of humor.

Coffee? (decaf of course)

Monday, February 13, 2006


Bitter Party

Welcome to Chez America. Tonight's menu is an acidic tribute to the joy of indigestion and irritable bowels brought on by the constant whining, bitching and kvetching of Americans.

Today's specials

appetizer: SUV and rotten egg on the half shell

salad: california sticky greens drizzled with tasteless pseudo-intelligent artist dressing

soup du jour: crotchety local bisque seasoned with a hearty dose of entitlement stewed in haight street hippie stock

Entree: overstuffed obnoxious .com filet sauteed in yuppee scum

And for dessert ..... a big dish of SHUT THE FUCK UP

if you don't like the people who live in this country, leave. It doesn't matter how long you've lived here or how much you feel these streets and buildings belong to you, this country IS the people who populate it. Accept it. The United States today is the .com yuppies plowing down bikers with their SUV's in cow hollow; it is the starving artists painting in dank live/work lofts; it is the horn-rimmed hipsters growing cross-eyed from looking down their noses at the rest of the world; it is the souped up, lowered car-driving asians in the sunset and richmond; it is the bandwagon-jumping post-candlestick giants fans; it is the people who have been here for 50 years and can't accept that change is inevitable. We are all Americans, and if you are unable to tolerate us there are countless other countries you can sample.

Saturday, February 11, 2006


I love my new label maker! Buy one today!

I just love my new label maker and hate machine! They're both extremely cheap and easy to use, and the make my life so much simpler!

The handly label maker lets me know who's who and what's what at a moment's glance. No more complicated thinking about each individual item--just label and go! I liked it so much, I bought 200 of them and handed them out to my friends. You should, too!

As for the hate machine, it's the best thing to come along since Valium! I simply feed my anxieties in the front end and far-flung, widespread blame comes out the back. It's reduced my stress levels immeasurably and I now work more efficiently with all that darned anxiety off my mind.

I'd love to tell all of you where to pick up these incredible items, but all retailers seem to be sold out at the moment. Don't worry, though--shelves should be restocked real soon!

Unless reason prevails in the near future, that is . . .

Friday, February 10, 2006



A week ago I found a large oval shaped capsule about 5 feet by 2 feet in the field behind my house, while looking for a golf ball I had hit in the brush. It was warm to the touch and was in a six foot deep hole in the ground almost as if it had slammed into the earth. I waited until the sun went down that same day, and tied rope around the capsule and then tied the other end to the winch on the front of my truck and tried to pull it out. It kept on slipping off the capsule because the capsule was perfectly smooth except for a few notches in the side. I tried for about 3 hours before giving up and then frustrated, tired, and covered in dirt I hid the capsule as best I could and went home. The next evening I went to Orchard Supply and bought about 20 feet of chain and fashioned it into a "chain net". Again, I went out to the field about 3 hours after the sun had set and hooked up my chain net to the winch of my truck. This time I dug around enough of the capsule to get a better hold of it, and ran the net through the notches to hold it. I revved the engine and hit the winch.

The capsule didn’t even budge. This surprised me as I have a 1996 Ford with a V8 engine and 24 AMP winch. Then all of a sudden the chain snapped! I reattatched the chain where it had broken and tried again. I drove my truck around a large tree and anchored it against it. I hit the power to the winch and about 5 seconds later I hear a huge grinding noise, and my winch tears itself off my front bumper!! I At this point I am extremely pissed off and very tired. Chain is not cheap, and losing my $1500.00 winch, I am even more determined to get this sucker out of the ground, and that meant I had to try something else. I went home and thought about what I could do to bring the capsule out of the ground. I know I needed to act fast becase I didnt want anyone to find it. I had already seen a neighbor peering out behind his fence wondering what I was doing out there 1 in the morning. The next day, I called in sick from work and went back to Orchard and got the heaviest gauge of steel chain they had . I also bought double the length this time so I could double the density of my "net". I went home, and about 5 hours later I had a net that I was happy with. The chain and heavy duty hooks had cost me about $550 and my checking account balance had reached 25 bucks. Because I didnt have a winch anymore, I decided to attatch the end of the chain to my rear bumper. I tripled the amount of chain between the truck and the capsule, so there was no way it could snap again, however my bumper getting pulled off was a good possibility. I revved up my engine and dropped the transmission into first gear, and floored it. I think I felt the capsule starting to come out, but in reality what was reallly happening was that my bumper had pulled itself off!

Ok this was the final straw. I was broke, pissed, and my truck was missing its winch and rear bummper! I called one of my closest and best friends to come and see if he could help me. Before this point I had told no one about my discovery. He came over at 3am and we took flashlights and went over to the hole. The first thing he said was "holy shit", this is either a bomb that some plane had accidenlty dropped, or an alien spacecraft. We both didnt believe it was a bomb because it was too heavy. It had to have been over 5000 pounds to break the chain I had used to get it out. My friend who is a doctor, suddenly got an idea. He ran out to his car and grabbed his stethescope. He placed it against the capsule and I heard him whisper, "oh my god,". I grabbed it from him and listened for myself. I heard little clicking and popping noises coming from within the capsule. We both couldnt believe that this thing had something going on inside of it. We went to my shed to get some tools and started to dig it out. We wanted to find out exactly how big it was. Becasue I live on a hill and its pretty dark and bushy where the capsule was, we could assume that we wouldnt get bothered by anyone after 1 am. we dug for about 4 hours, and just as the sun started to come out, we had figured how large the capsule was, 5 ft, by 2 ft. We then covered the hole with as much brush we could find and no one would be able to tell it was there unless they were looking for it. The next night my friend and I rented a huge 4x4 with dual rear tires, with a v12 and a maximum of something like a ½ ton towing capacity. This was the meanest, strongest vehicle we could find, at a hefty price of $350.00 per day from a guy who told us he we would have to pay him his insurance deductible and pay him an additional $2000.00 if we damaged the truck . We took the truck along with 50 feet more of chain, along with my truck and drove them into position to pull the capsule out. Ok, we fixed up the chains to the trucks and started to pull. THE FUCKIN THING DID NOT BUDGE ONE INCH! Then I had a brainstorm. Why not use the tree above the capsule in a pulley system? So we decided to do this and looped the extra chain over a thick branch and hooked it down to the chain net that held the capsule. Again we started the trucks and floored both. They just spun their tires . Oh did I mention that my bumper didnt pull off this time? It did bend the hell out of it though. Ok so we have found out that this thing weighs well more than 10,000 pounds. It's surface can be scratched but we cannot cause any type of DEEP scratch. Even when we tried to use a diamond tipped drill bit with a high speed drill, all we could do was scratch the surface. It is non magnetic. It will not stick to a magnet. The sounds coming from inside the capsule have changed. No more pops and clicks. Now it sounds like something is revolving inside of it and making a scraping noise. (Both our trucks combined couldn’t pull the capsule out of the hole, using a total of god only knows how much horsepower.)

At this point we are at a crossroads. We have gone to an structural engineer asking if its possible for a 5 by 2 oval space to weigh that much. He said even artificially created super dense nickel steel coudlnt weigh that much in that amount of space. It just wasnt physically possible. His associate who was also present said the same thing. We both left feeling rather confused about where to go next. And this is where we are today. We cant pull the damm thing out of the ground. We are thinking about renting a diesel semi to pull it out with. We dont want to lose this discovery to the government. If you know a way that we can get this damm thing out of the ground and transport it , please let us know. Of course I cannot tell you the location of the capsule or where I live for obvious reasons. I live somewhere North in Nevada, and that is about all I can reveal. If you know where I can get access to any heavy lifting equipment please email me. I need to lift about 15,000 pounds and upward. There is solid ground near the capsule and some concrete. I need to keep this thing as discreet as possbile. A semi is going to raise a lot of suspicion and we dont want cops and neighbors going over to look at what we are doing. If you are an engineer or scientist, please lead me with a way to pull this damm thing out of the ground. You will be commenting on this blog entry. Serious people only please. I didn’t just spend the last hour typing this for kicks. This isnt a damm joke, or a prank, or some made up story. This is for real, and I need help for real.

Thursday, February 09, 2006



We both know it’s over and there is nothing more to talk about. BRAD. Which is something we need to discuss. I just hope you see this, because I never want to see you again. I love you. Why is that so hard to say? I love you. Okay, maybe it isn’t that hard to say, here in front of all these people, but it is hard to say, to you, especially when you smell of bagels. I won’t say where in the Haight you live but I hope you can tell it’s you I’m talking about, Haight & Masonic Brad Who Smells of Bagels. My haiku tattoo still hurts. But it’s over. Already. My pet name for you has 7 syllables - all of which I’ll know I’ll never use again. It will fuck up my life. Imagine going through life without using the syllables -moth, -fuck, -cock or -suck. Nevermind the -ing or the -er. Why did I have to think of that particular phrase? Oh yeah. But why do I still love you? BRAD? How’s SARA FROM THE RECORD STORE, BRAD? Or, sorry, is she just called “Blue Hair?” You know, sometimes you remind me of some club promoter scamming at bridge-and-tunnel chicks at Burning Man, some ex-dotcom guy from the Mission by way of the Marina who used to be professional tagger in New York (like ‘BRAD’ would look phat on the subway wall) then “lived all over” as a Hipster with cool glasses but is now a Yuppie Blueshirt hanging out at AquaLush. I don’t know why you remind me of all those particular things but you do. Get over it. Boo-hoo. Sometimes you are like really bad poetry - short meaningless phrases, long self-indulgent stanzas, hollow self-pity that rhymes with Fall of The City. Sisco, Disco and Frisco - this is funny to you. Tickles the irony-bone. Whereas I - I look good and I know what I want. I take care of my body. I take care of my mind. I hated my former job anyway. But I’m an SF NATIVE. I’ll be fine. I know who I am. I’m a completely whole non-redundant person, independent, thriving on my own, needing no one or no thing except a voice and the remote. I ALWAYS have my shit together, or stored nearby. Yes, lately I’m online a bit much, and right now I’m in the middle of a longing frenzy for a sick freak of a waste of a man who doesn’t deserve the love of a leprous shark, but I’ll be over this shortly and then I will survive. Or I’m a survivor. Both good songs. I’m a woman of the nineties, ten years later, bitch. I know what I want. I even have a list. I have two lists now. What I Want and What I Can’t have. You are not described by the form and you are proscribed by the latter. Right after red meat and ecstasy. But then I miss you. You’re like bacon to me. Now I’m with someone else, he’s like wonderful fluffy pancakes. But I always want to order a side of you. You get caught in my teeth. Cholesteral has four syllables. But BRAD Cholesteral has five.

Stay out of my blood - Stay out of my heart, Brad Cho - lesteral haiku.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006


Please post bail & I'll give you an Aeron Chair

If you can post bail for a friend of mine, I will give you an aeron chair for free. The bail needs to be posted by Monday at 10am. Please respond ASAP, first come, first serve.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006


A Public Service Annoucement From Your Kidney

Some people are laughing so hard from reading this blog that they are peeing, so this one is for you guys:

Hi there,

This is your kidney speaking. I know we haven't communicated in awhile, what with you being all busy at work and stuff, but I've been trying to send messages your way that I haven't been feeling too good. I'm glad that somebody finally forced you to go to the doctor to get me all fixed up, because I was thisclose to just giving up and is this the way we really wanted to go anyways? I hope you realize now that people care about you and that if you did die all alone in your apartment, it wouldn't be weeks until someone found your dessicated corpse. (More like days, I'm sure.) Please take care of me, and let me rest for awhile. Sit in bed, watch TV, let your mind rot, not your kidney. Eventually I'll get better and then I'll be back up to the task of filtering out all the crap that you put into your system. Please eat real food, not anything that costs less than a dollar and comes wrapped in a piece of paper. That's dog food, not people food. I have enough problems processing that shit when I'm well, don't make me do it while I am ailing. I realize that you may just think this is the Vicodin speaking, but I really do want you to get better cuz without you, I'm nothing but a bean-shaped piece of organ meat.


Kidney #1.

(Kidney #2 sends his regards also, and says if you ever fuck him like this, he's going to make it so that you pee like a racehorse for the rest of your miserable life. Luckily, I'm a little more forgiving than him.)

Monday, February 06, 2006


short guy/tall girl disaster

Like a lot of kids who went to high school in the 1970's, I often rode the school bus. One morning on the way to the bus stop, I saw this small poodle-mix runt humping Daisy, our neighbor's female Dalmation. The runt was on his tip toes, banging away, and Daisy's tongue was hanging out and her eyes were glazed over. I said to myself, "Way to go Little Guy!" and chuckled on to the bus stop.

I boarded the bus and sat down next to my friend, Rod, and was in the midst of telling him about Daisy's morning liason when we both heard a loud, desperate yelping that turned our attention toward the window. I don't know what you all know about dog sex, but they get turned around, butt to butt, as the male's unit swells up. It can be difficult to seperate them until the "moment" passes.

Well, apparently something had spooked Daisy and she came sprinting down the street in our direction. The poor runt was attached, butt to butt, with his hind legs now about six inches off the ground while his front paws and chin were slapping off the sidewalk every ten feet or so. He was essentially being bashed against the pavement by a freaked out bitch that had a firm grip on his penis (deja vu, anyone?). A couple minutes later the runt trotted back past, by himself, with a little spring in his step. Kinky little bastard. Asu and I thought it was the funniest thing we'd seen in our entire lives.

So, that's why I try not to have sex with big women. And when I do, I'm very careful not to spook her...

Sunday, February 05, 2006


Only 48 Hours to Live

I just came back from the doctor and he told me that I only have 48 hours to live. I have been diagnosed with a rare-condition that was caused from lead-paint. On my short list of things to do before I pass, I would like to have two girls team up and slap my ass. I am 24, 6'3 210, need a quick response as I have many things that need to get done before Tuesday.

Saturday, February 04, 2006


To Mr. Aisle-Seat Jackass

... Look, no one likes flying. Airports are havens of stressed-out, disgruntled people. So I can completely understand if you were not in the best of spirits. And I myself was not thrilled to be sitting wedged between you, Mr. Aisle-Seat Jackass, and Chatty McWindowseat on my other side. I just wanted to sleep, after having spent a weekend sharing a hotel room with my dad who snores like a friggin’ chainsaw (I could hear it right through the earplugs).

So, after sitting down, getting settled and comfy, and dozing off while the flight crew jabbered about exit rows, I was somewhat startled awake by your sharp elbow painfully jabbing my arm off of our shared armrest. That's right, shared. And I was maybe using a centimeter of the very back of my side of said shared armrest. Well, Mr. Aisle-Seat Jackass, I am not one to be elbow-jabbed so rudely and let it go. I thus reinstated my elbow, comfortably working my way so that I now occupied my fully alloted 50% of the elbow rest, much to your quite obvious frustration, and closed my eyes to doze again. Or feign dozing, as you would have it, as you continually jabbed and prodded with your elbow, to no avail - when I decide to stand fast, man, you ain't proddin' me out of that decision, no Sir. At one point I even opened my eyes, stretched my arms above my head, glanced at you and smiled pleasantly, and calmly placed my elbow back where it rightfully was allowed to reside per United Airlines decree. Frustrating, wasn't it?

But you know, when Chatty McWindowseat then got up and left to join her conference buddies in another aisle, it really only made sense for me, the center person, to take over her seat. I think most airplane patrons would agree that the person occupying the center should be the one to shift to the newly emptied window seat. However, I could tell you were pissed off about that, and felt it to be a great injustice - largely because you made a face like a troll and then glared at me and coughed so loudly and hackingly and obviously that I thought you might be trying to donate a lung, on the spot. What a Good Samaritan he must be, I tried to force myself to think! But no, you were simply expressing as eloquently as possible that you wanted the window seat. Did your Mom give in to your whining demands for candy when you did that as a child? So anyway, realizing this, I even rationalized that you were such an extremely pissy specimen of a passenger that it would be in my best interest to swallow my pride/stubbornness and just appease you as much as possible, if nothing else, to stop the hacking.

So, I then offered you the window seat, since you were clearly so attached to it - but you made that awful face again, pretended you didn't understand English (which I later realized was not the case), and turned away (after strewing your personal belongings all over my purse which I had leaned against my side of the now-shared center seat, which I am obliged to point out took up maybe four inches of the 24 or so total available inches of seat-width). Fine, I didn't mind strewing your dandruff-covered jacket aside when I need to switch CDs. I also didn't mind that your precariously-placed laptop nearly slid off about five times during the course of the flight.

Then, the movie started. Now I realize you really REALLY wanted to look out that window, but since the flight crew had specifically requested that we lower our window shades for better viewing of the film, and since I myself was in fact interested in watching said film, and lastly, since common etiquette and sense dictate that the person who sits at the window, controls the window, I shut the shade. However, you were such a whiny little fucktard about it that I even specifically caught your eye, smiled, and opened the goddamn window shade during the movie and indicated to you that you could look out the window since I’d opened it just for you. You just shot me another charming little glare, though, so I shut it in the interest of creating a NICE DARK AMBIANCE for movie-watching.

And the first two movies did suck, I admit, but the third was cute and wittily written and even had some bona-fide laugh-out-loud moments. And as such, I did titter audibly, I confess. Never mind that entire row behind us was chortling so violently that it literally shook our seats (and caused your laptop to nearly fall once again). It was still definitely justifiable for you to shoot me the most withering glare you could muster as well as doing that sigh-cough-borderline-lose-a-lung thing again to punish me for the offense of quiet laughter. Especially since you SANG OUT LOUD IN BENGALI to the fucking Bollywood flicks you were watching on your laptop, complete with head and arm motions that literally extended, if we want to get technical, across the entire 24-inch berth of the shared center seat and into my this-is-clearly-my-seat-now area. Yeah, fuck me for tittering, I should be arrested.

And THEN, and this is my personal favorite, you refused to get out of your seat to let me pass by to use the bathroom, forcing me to cram my ass in your face while passing. Seriously, you could have at least slipped a dollar in my g-string for that kind of move*. Were I a woman of a lesser caliber, I would have farted in your face. Come to think of it, I wish it had occurred to me at the time. But I reluctantly chalked it up to your apparent lack of a keen grasp on the English language. Into this category I also lumped the fact that you did not stow your personal belongings as the flight attendants insisted (and I must say at this point I actively willed your laptop to fly off the seat during the incredibly turbulent landing - and it almost did, several times, but it never quite succeeded – was karma on vacation?).

But then, as we were shuffling to get out of our seats, several people asked you to help them get their bags - and though surly and pissy as ever, you obliged. But I studied you carefully during these interactions - and noticed that these were not simple, basic, pointing requests. They were complicated sentences with multiple clauses, highly descriptive adjectives, and many unusual and/or challenging verbs, prepositions and nouns, such as "Could you please hand me the navy coat that is wedged in to the left of the green suitcases in the far left corner... yes, that one, thank you!" and "Sir, would you please hand me the red bag - no, the larger of the two, with the pom-poms, no, the one on the right, yes, thank you so much".

Now, to give you the benefit of the doubt, it could simply be the case that you are a beginning student of English and you just finished the chapter on colors. I myself have studied, let's see, six foreign languages, and they all teach you the colors somewhere near the beginning in one fell swoop, right after the chapter on "objects in the classroom" and before the one about all the various professions in today's modern world. (Well, all except Latin - they just jump right into who's slain which mortal in the name of Zeus and whatnot). So maybe that's the case - you just have a really really keen grasp of English when it comes to colors and basic requests, but not so much with the "I'm so sorry to have to wake you, but could I please exit to use the restroom", "Would you like to switch seats", or "Did you know that you are the most insufferable sexist pigfaced jackass I have ever had the displeasure of encountering?". Maybe that's it. You know, I'm a certified ESL instructor; I'd be happy to give you a hand with that if we ever cross paths again in the hopes of teaching you some BASIC FUCKING DECENCY skills as well, for the low price of FREE, in the interest of benefitting anyone who ever has to interact with you, ever, ever again. So, if you read this, drop me a line.


*Just kidding - who flies cross-country in a g-string? I mean, seriously.

Seat #22D, United flight #221, IAD to SEA,

Friday, February 03, 2006


dear fat girl on the plane to charlotte: you owe me $35

you were so, so nice. i'm not taking that away from you. you asked me about my book and where i was going, and i replied though i am ashamed to say i could not look you in the eye because i was so CRAZY PISSED.

a typical plane seat in economy class is approximately 17 inches. breaking down my 9.2-hour roundtrip journey, i paid approximately $127 for those 17 inches. by my most modest calculations, you owe me $27.70 for the four inches of comfort and privacy you robbed me of. let's round that figure up to $30 for that spot where your massive thigh was rubbing against me the whole 2.5-hour flight. add another $5 (again modest) for our shared armrest having to be up because you could not fit in the seat when it was down. if i wanted to put my seat back, i had to pretend like it wasn't embarrassing for you (yes, i was concerned about your feelings, too) for me to ask you to lean forward so i could pull out the armrest a little and push in my button. good thing i didn't want to see the in-flight movie.

i by no means hate fat people. i believe in the freedom to do or eat anything you want so long as it does not infringe on my freedom. this is purely a matter of financial injustice.

i'm just saying that if you need two seats, pay for two seats. don't hate on the skinny girl who paid just as much, if not more, for those precious 17 inches of limited plane space.

if you're out there, please mail $34.63 before january 8 or $34.61 after (i'll pay for the stamp--it's only fair).