Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

More Awkward Moments With My Super

Yesterday I asked my super, Stefan, to come fix my bathtub because it wasn’t draining well. When I got home from work, I found that he had replaced my bathtub drain. I also found a pair of my panties covered in dirt and soaking wet and sitting in the middle of my bathroom sink. This was not just any pair of panties, mind you. This was a pair that I never wear because I don’t like them (a relic from my ill-considered foray into the “boy briefs” trend), meaning that they always just sit in the back of my dresser drawer. Meaning that he had to have rifled through the drawer in order to reach said panties. How to proceed? I don’t even know how to broach this conversation.

“Hey Stefan! So after you fixed my bathtub the other day, did you, like, paw through my underwear drawer and extract a pair of my panties and use them to clean up the mess?”

Instead, I called one of my gays to complain.

Me: “My super used my panties to clean my bathtub drain. Who does that?"

Gay Friend: “Maybe he thought that they were a dish cloth?”

Me: “They clearly say Calvin Klein on them. Calvin doesn’t make dish cloths.”

Gay Friend: “And who would use Calvin Klein towels to clean a bathtub drain anyway? He must be straight.”

Overheard in the Office

Coworker 1: “I went out with this guy last night who doesn’t drink.”

Coworker 2: “I could never date someone who doesn’t drink. I really believe in alcohol.”

Monday, January 28, 2008

An Open Letter to the Omelette-Maker Ismael Who Works In My Local Café:

Dear Ismael,

A few months ago you happily told me, "I'm not going to be making omelettes anymore. From now on, I'm going to be at the sandwich bar!" And as disappointed as I was to lose your unparalleled ovum-frying talents (honestly, like none I’ve ever seen; you never even leave behind any of that disgusting egg juice that so many overlook), I was happy for you.

Yet the next day you were back at the omelette station where you've remained ever since. Today when I ordered my morning protein as part of this balanced breakfast, you gave a big sigh and then splashed my egg whites into the pan with a little more force than usual. My superior skills of deductive reasoning tell me that something went awry on the way to the lunch meat counter.

What happened, Ismael? You can talk to me.


PS: Between us, Bread Market Café was never made for one as beautiful as you.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Poor Heath :-(

Just spent the last few hours reporting from outside of Heath Ledger's apartment and actually overheard a passerby giving this quote to a reporter: "It's so tragic. I mean, he was so good-looking." I am going to retreat to my crying room now.

Ludicrous Debate Questions Only Getting Better

As Bill Simmons would say:

There's comedy.
There's high comedy.
Then there was the expression on Obama's face at last night's debate when CNN's Joe Johns asked him if Bill Clinton is black.

Monday, January 21, 2008

Friday, January 18, 2008

Maid in Manhattan

I never noticed before that they're actually cleaning the bathroom with their mustaches, which is pretty unsanitary when you think about it.

I’ve never thought of house cleaning as women’s work. I just consider it other people’s work. It’s a combination of laziness, general self-entitlement and being raised by a Type A mother who was so particular about the cleanliness of the house that she wouldn’t entrust the task to anyone else in the family. I was not so discriminating. My little sister was born when I was 15 and while I certainly liked her from the start, I can’t say I fully took her into my heart until she reached age 3 and could be trained to put my belongings away.

One thing I always do is make the bed every day. Mind you, I still hate the process: the leaning over, the pulling, the sheet tucking, but I also can’t stand the look of an unmade bed. I’ve finally devised a morning strategy where I wake up and make the bed around me while I’m still lying comfortably in it. Once everything is adequately in place, I just carefully slither out of it. (They ain’t no hospital corners, honey, but I ain’t sick.)

My lack of cleaning skills became problematic when I moved to New York -- the dirtiest city in the Union -- and was living alone for the first time. My first year out of college I was making $25,000 a year. There were days I could only afford to eat apples and soup but bet your ass I still managed to set aside enough money to hire a cleaning person.

Her name was Maria and all of my friends used her services. I really didn’t need a maid once a week -- there’s only so much mess that a single person can make in an alcove studio -- but she really needed the money so she insisted on coming weekly. She would call the day before and kind of moan into the phone, “Meez Noelle! I come to clean your apartment tomorrow!” After awhile it started to sound more like a threat than a heads-up.

It got to the point where I was making messes just to give her something to clean up. That’s not to say that my apartment was spotless. She was only about 4’11” and was scared to use a step ladder so while the bottom half of my apartment was pristine, anything in my studio above 65 inches had to fend for itself. We tacitly fell into a routine where I took the top and she cleaned the bottom. It worked for awhile, but soon she began taking me for granted and started to slack on her half.

Sometimes she mentally abused me, making me feel ashamed of my taste in cleaning products. “You WASTE your money on these products!” she roared. “Need Tilex Mildew ROOT! Not regular Tilex!” She once shamed me so bad that I rushed out and bought all new products at 8 in the morning and was subsequently late for work. By the end my self-esteem was shot, as is usually the case with dysfunctional relationships. I mean, I was paying someone else so I could make my own messes and help clean them up. How messed up is that?

Yet it’s hard to break up with a cleaning person, especially one as fiery as her. I was scared that if I broke it off with her I would wake up to find the head of a Swiffer mop in my bed. She still had my keys, after all. And how awkward would it be if I ran into her at my friends' apartments? Finally I went the mature route and started avoiding her calls and stopped returning her voicemails.

On the recommendation of New York magazine, I began using a professional cleaning service that sends a different person every time (they’re actually coming tomorrow, which is what prompted this rambling post). It was domestic service’s equivalent of a one-night stand: Quick and dirty. After they came I never had to see them again, which was great because I wasn’t ready for another relationship.

And that, friends, is how I solved a problem called Maria.

Overheard in the Office

Coworker 1: “I miss Katie Holmes’ side smile from Dawson’s Creek.”

Coworker 2: “I hated her side smile! I’m so glad Tom Cruise trained her out of that. It looked like she had stroked out at the age of 10!”

Just Sayin'

Britney Spears

David Gest and Liza Minnelli

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

My Greatest Contribution to the Literary Canon

A friend emails:

I was just looking at the Wikipedia page for celebrity sex tapes
(don't ask), and look who's cited as a source!

^ Hancock, N. (2007). "Kim Kardashian to Sue Over Sex Tape Release"US Weekly. Retrieved 2-8-07.

I'm celebrating this achievement by posting my current screen saver, Kim's momanager Kris Jenner, who on a very patriotic episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians, elected to drape her lady treasure in one of our national treasures.

No, No I Didn’t

A friend emails:

Did you know that when you accidentally spell Queen Latifah’s name with two ff’s (Queen Latiffa) in Microsoft Word, spell check suggests "Queen Ladyfish,” as an alternative, which actually sounds gayer than Queen Latifah.

Monday, January 14, 2008

Kate Hudson’s Son’s Birthday Cake Contains Adult Situations That May Not Be Suitable For Young Audiences

One of the best parts of being a Maxim intern in the summer of 2001 was going through all the readers’ entries for the Found Porn contest: a collection of innocent photos or advertisements that come off as unintentionally dirty.

My all-time fave was a newspaper kids clothing ad featuring a little boy riding a little girl piggyback. In the photo, the boy had this outstanding shit-eating grin on his face while the girl was grimacing under his weight. There's no way I could do justice to how hysterical it was but suffice it to say it was probably the best thing I've ever seen.

Seeing Batman and Superman double-teaming Spider-Man on Ryder Robinson’s birthday cake takes me back to the good ol' days. God bless you and yours, Anonymous Subversive Cake Decorator.

'Juno' Can’t Keep Its Non-Threatening, Oscar-Winning Black Actors Straight

I saw Juno this weekend and found another blooper for those exhaustive “movie mistakes” websites that enjoy triumphantly pointing out things like:

During the breakfast scene in Pretty Woman, Julia Roberts is eating a croissant but then a split second later she’s suddenly eating a PANCAKE instead!

At one point Juno (played by Ellen Page) calls her friend and blurts something out before introducing herself.

“Juno?” her friend asks, confused.

"No, it's Morgan Freeman,” Juno retorts. “Do you have any bones that need collecting?"

Except that Denzel Washington -- not Morgan Freeman -- was in The Bone Collector. You’d have thought that someone at the studio would’ve caught this as the film made its way down the pipeline, but apparently I was the only one who On-Demanded it in a moment of desperation because the closest viable alternative was Big Daddy. (The Bone Collector was surprisingly riveting, by the way. You will never feel the same way about the taxi ride home from the airport.)

Anyways. I wish they'd thrown Sidney Poitier into the interchangeable blacktors mix. It would’ve been that much funnier when her friend replied: "Only the one in my pants.”

Overheard in the Office

Me: “Hey, Ellen DeGeneres has topped Oprah Winfrey as America’s favorite TV personality.”

Coworker: “She should change her name to Oprah Losefrey.”

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

Recalling the New Hampshire Primary

My boyfriend writes about politics for The New York Times. He won the Livingston Award -- one of the most prestigious honors in American journalism -- for an article he wrote about K Street lobbyists. But last night as we were watching the New Hampshire primary results roll in, he offered what may have been his most salient political commentary to date:

“Huckabee's wife looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger when he wears the woman costume in Total Recall.”

Omg totally. Two weeeeeeeeks…

Personally, I always thought Mike Huckabee looked like Michael Lohan but with more hair. You can see why our relationship works.

My Second Maxim Cover Story!

I interviewed The Hills’ Heidi Montag for the February cover of Maxim. The mag should be fondling a newsstand near you any day now, but in the meantime, some excerpts have been picked up by and!

Monday, January 07, 2008

"Everything" Officially Thrown Out

Photo of a sink on my street at the corner of Cliché and Irony...

Friday, January 04, 2008

This is Me…Then

Little did I know this was the best school photo I would ever take.

Boyfriend's reaction to photo: "Wow, I've seen that expression before."

Most people want to have children to continue their family blood line, make the world a better place, or give more significance to their own lives, but not me. I want to have kids because I want to hang out with a younger version of myself. It’s that simple. My self-enrapturement cannot be overstated.

I bring this up only because my mother sent me these old pictures earlier today for a work project and they only reaffirmed my reasons for eventual procreation. Seriously, how cute is that shit? In retrospect, it’s amazing I made it through childhood unmolested.

Of course, there is the possibility that my kids will be nothing like me, in which case they will be immediately dispatched to my parents’ home where they will be instructed that their grandparents’ names have been changed to “Mom” and “Dad.”

Yeah, I peaked at age 3.