Things you need to be told.

by mara:

I'm a big fan of the Etiquette Girls. Have you heard of them? They're these two gals who write "handbooks for Polite Behavior in a tacky, rude world!" The capitals are on purpose. They use capital letters for emphasis when they're writing, which most of the time not only emphasizes what they're saying but makes the paragraph even funnier. Anyway, I'm a big fan, and although I don't put all of their advice into practice, I respect their encouragement for people to hold themselves to a higher standard. If I had the time, money, and proper place to shop, I would wear only Adorable Skirts and Cashmere Twinsets like they suggest.

I've typed one of their paragraphs from the book below. It appears in the chapter entitled "Your Personal Appearance". This material is obviously copyrighted by the Etiquette Girls, Lesley Carlin and Honore McDonough Ervin. It's one I particularly enjoy for obvious reasons:

"The See You In Hell Look and How To Create It

Dinner with Your Ex-Boyfriend. The day you hand in your resignation. A wedding at which the Bride is Younger Than You, and you're still Single. For these occasions, there is only one dress code: See You In Hell.

See You In Hell is about looking better than any other Girl in the room. Achieving this takes about as much effort and advance planning as D day, but it is well worth the pains. You will need The Perfect Outfit, preferable one that's Striking (one cannot say See You In Hell in khakis and sneakers, ever), is Exceedingly Flattering, and has a bit of an edge to it (e.g., you should wear knee-high boots with Serious Heels; you should not wear ballet flats). For example,the Etiquette Grrls have said See You In Hell in a sleek, ankle-length dress by Betsey Johnson, and for another occasion, a grey beaded skirt worn with an ever-so-slightly sheer black boatneck top, black camisole, and tall black boots.

Accessories are equally important. You cannot, for example, be truly See You In Hell if you are carrying a beat-up old L.L. Bean knapsack. You need a very angular, take-no-prisoners, Little Black Bag. If you will be Seeing Someone In Hell in public, you should take great pains to Create An Entrance. A leopard coat, an excellent vintage necklace, a burgundy cashmere sleeveless top in the Dead of Winter (not all at once, please)--these are all workable pieces. Of course, you will have Perfectly Manicured Nails in a gutsy Urban Decay color; flawless skin, courtesy of a facial (which, naturally, you've had well before SYIH Day, to give any Unfortunate Reaction time to Go Away) or at least, very carefully applied makeup; and very, very good shoes. Also, one hour before the Big Event is not the time for a last-minute Highlight Fest at home in your bathroom with the Sun-In and the Hair Dryer. Visit your Usual Hairdresser for a good blow-out and, at most, a trim. If it's really worth a new See You In Hell Haircut, you should get the haircut at least a week in advance. This way, should it be hideous, you may try to have it remedied in another salon, or, in worse cases, you may cancel.

Basically, the impression you are attempting to convey is that you are a Flawless, Impeccably Dressed, Impossibly Hip, Badass Girl avec Perfect Hair and a Very, Very Cool Life. This will surely make whoever lays eyes on you extremely intimidated by your Very Presence and sorry for whatever wrongs they have done you. Of course, the See You In Hell look is Rather Time-Consuming and, thus, difficult to maintain for extended periods. Unless you are one of the Etiquette Girls, for whom See You In Hell is second nature."

So, while I may not be able to afford the Prada shoes, I can use the See You In Hell look. We all can--and we deserve it, My Dear Reader.

Girl, you're better off without him.

another gem of an entry brought to you by colleen:

Ok, so when my friend Nadia's boyfriend broke up with her a few years back (she's dating someone else now, and will probably marry him... I'll be in the wedding), I made her this cd of cheesy (but great) "you're better off without him songs" basically a reclaim your independence and you'll be fine. I decided that I want to own such a cd so I don't suck myself into only listening to celine dion or sade for a week. It's harder to think of than I thought.

Here is the list so far:
"I will survive" -Gloria Gainer
"Survivor"- Destiny's Child
"Fighter" - Christina Augilara
"99 Problems but a bitch ain't one"- Jay-Z
"Gangster's paradise" - I don't remember who it's by, but a classic on any mix
"I found Someone"- Cher.. the title doesn't tell the real message... it's more of a "I won't be alone forever" reminder
"You're So Vain" - Carly Simon (this wouldn't work for me... it was Bowman and my song... don't ask)
"Behind These Hazel Eyes" - Kelly Clarkson... maybe not the best for the cd, but could work
"Stronger" - Britney Spears


Judge all you'd like, but I think music can really help get you through shitty times. A few breezes through Alanis Moresette's "You Oughtta Know" will get you right through the angry phase with a dude. (Which if anyone else can come up with some gems for that phase, it would also be helpful). I just want to be prepared with a mixed tape for all of my friends (and my own) needs. You know, guy breaks up with girl, girl gets sad, girl eats Ice cream and listens to the light 93.9 and is quoted "we did almost have it all Vanessa Williams, we did" or "He was meant for me, and I was meant for him Jewel" and finally end up with, "Phil Collins it is against all odds, but thats the chance I'm going to take"... that results in calling this character for another chance resulting in a more humiliating break up and pulling yourself to listening to "your song" on repeat... not changing your pajamas or getting out of bed for anything but food and bathroom breaks.

Then you have a girlfriend come by... she may have this magical cd, and you find yourself "Stronger than yesterday", maybe you'll change out of your pajamas because "you will survive" you are a "fighter"... I mean, you got "99 other problems, but a bitch ain't one" at least you haven't "been spending most your life living in a gangster's paradise". Then you will realize that you are mad at yourself for wasting your time on that f-er and you want him to pay, remember when he "told you he'd hold you until he died, but... he's still alive... he ought to know". And two days later you are "laughing and dreaming" with Boston's "More than a feeling" and you are healthier than that crazy girl on those Nokia commercials, "David who? HAHAHAHAHA [uncomfortable, desperate laugh]".

So, if you guys have any suggestions, they are appreciated. Otherwise, I can just recommend hard core rap during this devastating time.

This *** character "oughtta know" better. If you need to "scratch your nails down someone else's back so he feels it," I'm down.

Your very dear friend,

Delilah From the lite 93.8 WLIT

post-drunken ramblings

by colleen:

My boss stopped by my desk (she's oblivious to everything... she has no iron in her body... sometimes she has a grey coloring, but not now, she went for her iron iv yesterday... yea, that's right)... my boss couldn't answer my question, so she called over the office manager... she couldn't figure it out so they had me call Kristine... I asked her what they told me to, and no conclusions... Kristine and I just sat on the phone breathing at each other, while Susan and Paula thought she was coming up with some more answers... so, nothing was happening (this is I'm sure when Paula saw that I had Internet explorer open to "Alumni News" on the bottom of my screen. They had me put Kristine on speaker phone. Nothing. Then my cube neighbor came by, and she tried to figure it out. So, it's me, Susan, Paula, Hind and Kristine on speaker. Hind is all switching screens and closing them out. I almost freaked out that PCHS was goign to pop up on the screen. Then everyone retreated up to Kristine's desk, and the problem was solved.

I almost got caught again by Paula when she stopped by my desk to make sure I was attending the holiday luncheon. To divert her attention I made loud awkward jokes. Kristine says she likes me. Paula doesn't like that many people, and she gets annoyed when people wear gym shoes, and she walks around to make sure everyone is in on time and not leaving before 5. She only hires men. If Paula says something to Susan about my internet time, Susan will request a website "history" from Douglas in IT. When it becomes apparent that I check my gmail 600 times a day it may come up that I could be sending confidential information to outside people. Someone's job will be to watch what I do on my computer for a day... like actually watch the screen. They will see that my only problem is that I have no work and I am addicted to my creepy friends and gmail, and I may be a drunk. No one will see me the same (they see me as a hard worker and good student, who is awkward... they got one right).

When it comes time for bonuses, they will say, "What about Colleen"... everyone will remember the whole "Alumni News" incident, and I'll end up with coal in my bank account. I'll never get a raise... they will never approve me for MBA classes (you need approval for money)... I will be stuck at this job until I get knocked up and realize that I'm really lucky to have it because I only have to show up 2 times a week and can breast pump in the filing room of my choice. My baby will be named Oliver Stankiewicz (no comment on how he got that last name, but I'll give you a hint... Mara is NOT the father). I will be alone because I can't find a man (no comment on how/why the Stankiewicz thing didn't work out... but it is certainly fitting). I can't find a man because I spend the day on gmail, and working on the PMS reports. My life becomes Oliver... that turns him into a raging homosexual. He goes to live with his father, and I am left with lots of cats. All of them will be named after people in local comercials. The first will be named Peter Francis Geraci II (and not two, the second... it will be formal). This cat thing will end my nightly conversations with Oliver, and the baby's Daddy, well... we won't get into that. Oliver's Aunt Mara (We won't have him call you that because it sounds silly... maybe Aunt Crazy) will stop talking to me via gmail because I creeped her out with the cat stories (yes, I said I creeped out MARA with cat talk... it had nothing to do with the fact that i am obsessed with her family, in fact... she liked it). I will desperatly try to relive my fondest memories, which unfortunately since I watched to much tv and have a poor memory only try to relive reruns of the Golden Girls... this creeps out the rest of the gmail crew, all but Megan until she realized that I needed her to be Dorothy. That was the last straw. I die 15 years later and am not discovered until a coworker needs to use my computer and they need the password. Cats started to eat my face, and when they do the autopsy they see I also started to eat the cats. TV specials are made and I become famous in death. Unfortunatly, I am in hell because I made 3 people transfer schools or drop out of school completely. I never get to enjoy my life.

Lorenzo's Oil

by mara:



My building has three entrance doors (partly due to safety concerns, partly due to its vintage construction). They all require keys. I live on the third floor, and obviously, there is no elevator. You can imagine the dread that rears its ugly head when the milk starts to run out (which is always since I drink more milk than most other mammals), and I realize I need to go grocery shopping. It takes at least 20 minutes to bring everything from my car to my fridge. An ex-boyfriend with an almost too helpful nature when it came to carrying things was a real luxury at those times, let me tell you. If he lived nearby, I would consider having him help me. He'd probably come if I asked him because I'm just that awesome. Anyway, I usually make it an all or none deal--either i get the litter, the gallon of milk, the carton of O.J., and the canned coke--or i just get chips and bread and make sandwiches a la stacy snieg.(ed: inside joke).

Anyway, I have been keeping these cans of diet cherry coke in the back of my car because they are just too heavy and require a separate trip up the stairs. Plus, the cool air keeps them at a delicious temperature at which I like to drink them. I forgot they were there for a week, and then it was 5 degrees outside.

This morning, I decided to check up on them after I parked. Two of them had exploded, but no liquid remnants were visible, so it must have happened a while ago. One was on the verge. It was completely frozen, and both the top and bottom of the can were expanded to the point of bursting. I stuffed it in my jacket without thinking (because I am retarded before 9 a.m., that's right), and I walked my merry way to my office. Now that it's colder outside, I walk through the hospital instead of through the parking garage. Well, halfway down the hallway, I hear this huge explosion and realize that it's coming from me. Two people completely ducked, and three more people looked at me with fear in their eyes. Once they realized I wasn't a terrorist, they cooled down but looked to me for an explanation. I awkwardly stated, "It's just a can of pop" and walked quickly down the hallway. I hope I never see those people again.

update: I investigated the contents of the can shortly after the explosion and safely in our department's kitchen. It seems the syrup had migrated to the bottom and had frozen separately from the water. The can was completely split down the middle and opened much like a Polly Pocket playhouse. But, hey, if you're going to deal with exploding pop cans, they might as well be frozen contents and not liquid. The cleanup was beautifully simple.