Posts Tagged ‘Blogging’

I apologize in advance

Saturday, February 20th, 2010

Devon and I were chillin’ in the living room, Devon playing a video game and me not playing a video game, since I’ve given up World of Warcraft for Lent. (I’m a recovering Catholic, so there’s no reason I need to observe Lent except that I want to.) We flipped on the TV for Dad, who is spending the night with us, and Dad said…

Look, I’m sorry, I don’t even know how to phrase this without sounding like the biggest dick in the world. I’m sorry, really. Sorry that I think this is funny and need to blog it and sorry Dad said it.

But Dad said, “What’s up with all the negroes?  They’re all over the news.” This was in response to Gov. Paterson and Al Sharpton appearing in back-to-back segments.

My dad is 88 and has Alzheimer’s disease, but I’m pretty sure he would have said the same thing 20 years ago.

Like I said, I’m a dick because I’m still laughing. Sorry.

In other news, I finally had a movie-worthy cabbie experience going from Queens to Brooklyn. I spent last night at Dad’s, and we took a cab back to my apartment. Through the rear-view mirror, I watched the cab driver fall asleep. You heard me. I said FALL ASLEEP. He even did the deep-breathing thing people do when they are FUCKING SLEEPING.

Then his girlfriend called. To his credit, he asked her not to curse, since he had to put her on speakerphone to avoid getting nailed by the fuzz. (Yes, I just said “fuzz.” Deal with it.)

Apparently, his girlfriend was perturbed because he was sleep-working when he should have been home taking care of her sick ass. Literally. Through the speakerphone, I heard: “You motherfucker sonofabitch. I’ve got stuff coming out of everywhere, my mouth, my asshole….”

I love New York.

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Print: BP is dropping

Monday, January 25th, 2010

This is hard to write considering I earn my paycheck from the profit fumes of the newspaper industry, but there comes a time in every adult’s life when she needs to suck up an unpleasant truth: Print is dead, and it ain’t coming back.

Print doesn’t know it’s dead yet. Its zombie corpse is still flailing about, threatening to eat our brains, but I have accepted the loss and moved on. I expect my job will disappear within the next few years as newspapers take their last gasp, but you know what? I love my nook. Love it, love it, love it. (Don’t tell the Amazon ads all over this blog, but the nook was wearing a tight skirt, and well, you know how it goes.) I love having my news and books delivered straight to my nook and not having to deal with piles of dead trees. I love getting my news online instantly. I love seeing photos and reading reports from people who live where the news is happening.

I’m sorry, print. We had a good ride, but I’ve met someone else. It’s not me, it’s you.

I’ve been accused of blasphemy by my peers and friends who still love the feel of pages turning. I admit to a certain fondness for stacks and stacks of books, with all  the promise held within. When I learned to read, it was like I’d been given access to a magical language. I used it to read a lot of Choose Your Own Adventure and Encyclopedia Brown books, but still.

I’m filing my affection for paper books and periodicals into the part of my brain that longs for a return to the use of calling cards and proper handkerchief etiquette. I’ll be sad they’re gone, but it’s time.

I am less pleased about the related death of invegstigative journalism. It’s expensive and doesn’t bring in the readers, which means we get endless stories about the latest freak-show Octomom-Balloon Boy-Kid Who Got Suspended For Bringing Utensils to School. I’m clinging to the hope that we’ll figure it all out eventually.

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Homeless, briefly

Wednesday, January 6th, 2010

So last week I locked myself out of the apartment when I went downstairs to do laundry. I was stuck out in the hallway for 3-1/2 hours in my bare feet with nothing but a bucket of laundry detergent until Devon came home, because my pride wouldn’t let me use a neighbor’s phone to call him to ask him to come home and let my sorry, forgetful ass in.

My pride hates me.

When I told him the story, he was all, “You’re going to blog this, aren’t you?” And it seems like a slam dunk, what with me taking a nap in the hallway with my laundry-detergent bucket as a pillow. But the truth is, it actually wasn’t so bad. A neighbor supplemented my bucket with  some socks, a cereal bar, a jacket and some magazines. Another neighbor let me hang at her place for a bit before her daughter had to go to sleep. So instead of a series of misadventures, I have a story that renews my faith in community, and a pretty dull blog entry.

Damn you, community!

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We are nerds, hear us roar

Monday, January 4th, 2010

If you’re cruising for a new podcast, check out Tyrannosaurus Regina, where I and three other women talk about all things nerdy. You can find it on iTunes by doing a search for Tyrannosaurus Regina, or go directly to our site.

The site is a work in progress, as is the podcast, so suggestions are welcome.

Topic #1: Why aren’t there more female nerds? Topic #2, to be recorded this weekend, is about those supreme time wasters we call Facebook games. Are they really games or Facebook’s evil attempt to get us to spend real money on virtual money?

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How to score with (boy) nerds

Friday, December 11th, 2009

I qualify “nerds” because there was a terrific post about scoring with female nerds at The Park Bench, which inspired this one. After speaking* with Devon, I put together this primer on dating male nerds.

Be interested in his obsession
And he WILL be obsessed with something, whether it’s Battlestar Galactica, forensic science or making chess pieces out of recycled yak dung. Being genuinely interested makes life easier for everyone, but “fake it ’til you make it” also applies.

Be aggressive
Boy nerds have taken a lot of rejection since high school. A LOT. He may not recognize you shoving his head into your breasts as flirting, in which case you’ll need to come on stronger. Nerds are very smart and very, very dumb.

Have breasts
Nerds are still men, and men like boobs.  Anything that emphasizes your breasts (say, shoving his head into them) will let him know you are a woman and that he should consider the possibility of having sex with you at some point in the future.

Build a World of Warcraft toon now
The good news is that you won’t be trapped watching football on lazy afternoons. The bad news is that you’d better be ready to part with $15 a month for a World of Warcraft account. A toon is a WoW character you control, and you will need one if you want to spend this time together. Start building now, because your level-15 noob just won’t cut it when he’s doing level-80 raids. It’s OK. While this seems lame now, you will TOTALLY FUCKING LOVE IT BECAUSE IT’S AWESOME.

Feed him
The average nerd isn’t so dense that he will die of starvation, but he may consider Whoppers and beer a balanced meal. If you encourage him to eat real food and take care of himself, you might prove invaluable in keeping him alive.

Be prepared to make bizarre abstract arguments
Like, who would win in a fight, Caprica Six or Megatron? Q or Elminster? This is nerd philosophy. Embrace it and your nerd will embrace you.

Wooing a nerd helps if you are also a nerd. Odds are, though, that your nerdiness will have a different flavor than his, so it helps to brush up on the basics. Your learning curve will be steeper if you are not a nerd, but it can work if you are committed and persistent. Go get ’em, tiger.

* Nerds don’t speak. We IM. Even ones who live together.

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How do spoiled brats do it?

Monday, November 30th, 2009

I must be the only chick in the world that people have to scam into accepting gifts.

Don’t get me wrong: I like stuff, especially nice stuff. But there’s something about expensive presents that makes me want to give them back and tell people to save their money for the inevitable apocalypse, when the cost of sulfur-proof umbrellas will skyrocket. This isn’t a “problem” I can share with people. “Oh, your birth mother gave you a thousand dollars with instructions to spend it on something diamond-y? You poor thing. How ever will you cope?” No, people are more likely to be all, “Go die in a fire, skank.”

So the super-awesome pearl necklace I got over the weekend is a result of Devon expertly timing whipping out his credit card as I looked through my bag. He’s a gift ninja.

He objected to me spending only a fraction of the money Maureen gave me, so now I “have” to go buy something shiny. Maybe shiny new ironic quotation marks, since I’ve clearly blown through my share in this post.

My necklace is pretty sweet. I fantasize that I am Audrey Hepburn*, navigating through a sepia world where people do things like dress up for the theater and sacrifice true love so Czech resistance leaders can save their country. In reality, I spent Sunday playing World of Warcraft in shorts, a t-shirt and pearls.

Close enough.

*Ingrid Bergman co-starred in Casablanca, but Audrey Hepburn rocked pearls like no one else.

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The anti-Match.com

Tuesday, November 3rd, 2009

When I told Devon I called him a serial killer again on my blog, he said, “At least people won’t be Googling me for dating purposes anymore.”

That said, now I have to make sure he can never find another date with anyone who can use a search engine. So here goes.

Devon Jones steals from homeless children.
Devon Jones is gay, gay, super gay, Liberace gay.
Devon Jones watches “Rock of Love” while he slaughters puppies.

And this is what I do to people I LIKE.

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I am a capitalist dog

Friday, October 30th, 2009

You may have noticed the Reading List on the side of the page and the Amazon ads at the bottom or top of some pages. If you click on one of those ads or on the Reading List and buy something from Amazon, I get a small percentage of the sale price. I get the referral fee even if you click to Amazon from DirtyHooker and buy something else.

The Reading List contains books I am currently reading or have just finished and think you might like. No pressure or anything.

I decided to become an Amazon Associate when I realized that one big difference between me and actual hookers is that they make money. I didn’t want to have to rename the site AGAIN to Dirty Slut.

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A new day, a new blog

Tuesday, October 27th, 2009

Really, it’s the same old blog with a more colorful background. For now. I’ll be making improvements to include info about crafts and food, so stay tuned.

Why Dirty Hooker, you ask? According to Stitch ‘N Bitch Crochet: The Happy Hooker by  Debbie Stoller, one possible etymology of the word “hooker” dates back to the 1800s, when a lace manufacturer admitted that he expected his workers to whore themselves because he didn’t pay them a living wage.

There are other explanations, but this ain’t a blog about Civil War generals or pickpocketing.

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