Sunday, April 29, 2007

Seriously, Officer?

Tonight, while riding west on Bedford Avenue (with traffic, towards Williamsburg), as I was about to cross Willoughby--at a green light, mind you--I was nearly hit by a cop car. The headlights were turned off and the officer driving was very obviously and consciously running a red light.

Now, not only was I being a good biker and wearing a helmet and a flashing red light, I was obeying traffic laws. Yet I was still almost run down by a cop car. That's bad, right? Right. But it gets worse.

I, of course, gave the "what the hell?!" arm signal to the cops (basically just throwing my left arm up in the air). And instead of waving me on apologetically or even driving off to avoid me taking down the car number, the officer in the passenger seat hurled a paper cup out the window at me. No, s/he didn't casually toss it. S/he fucking hurled it. Just as obviously as the officer driving ran the red light, the officer in the passenger seat hurled a fucking cup at me. Hurled! Yeah...I know.

Unfortunately, after that, the car sped off and I wasn't able to get the number down. And while I believe the last two of the four digits were 77, I can't be certain. This means I can't do much about it. But I can put it out there in the blogosphere in hopes that things like this will get back to the NYPD. And yeah, I'll report it to the CCRB, but without a car number, there's not much they can do. Most likely, it will end up on the long list of unreported cop on cyclist aggression. Assholes.

Saturday, April 28, 2007

Deep Thoughts

Let's say you shed more tears while in a relationship than over the end of it...

That's all.

Help Send a Poor Girl Packing

Backpacking through Europe, that is. You see, I've booked my first trip out of the country. Ever. Like I've mentioned before, that's what happens when you grow up poor in middle America. What also happens when you grow up poor in middle America, is that you have a shopping problem. And when you book your flights and hostels, find out you don't really have enough money to feel secure in your trip because you've spent too much on shoes that will be way too uncomfortable to wear while in Europe, anyway.

Now, I'm not one to go asking strangers for money, but I've heard of people who've paid off their credit card debts by posting for help online (and believe me, I won't ask you all to help me with that mess). I figure it's almost my birthday, there are probably a few loyal readers out there, or maybe some of you just want me to go away for two weeks. Or maybe you want to read about my adventures while I'm away. Either way, what I'm saying is, if you feel like donating some non- tax- deductible fun money to eefers, you'll be doing someone, somewhere, a favor. That's all. And rest assured, it's all secure.

Donate today to eefers' European Adventure.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

I Want to be the Next Pussycat Doll

Wow. I just caught the finale of Pussycat Dolls: Search for the Next Doll. It's a shame I didn't know about this sooner, because I really believe I have what it takes to be the next Pussycat Doll.

One of the judges, who I assume is already a Doll, told the three remaining girls, "You all look like the true meaning of a Pussycat Doll." Now, I don't know what "the true meaning of a Pussycat Doll" is, but I've seen them perform "Don't Cha." And if I had to guess, the true meaning of a Pussycat Doll is a girl who can dance hot, sing pretty, and look good in Spandex.

Let's begin with dancing. I not only danced in Fort Osage High School's production of "The King and I" but I was also on the drill team. What's more, is that my fellow Indianettes called me "PT." That stands for Pelvic Thrust, yo.

Second, I can sing better than those bitches. The Dolls could really use a classically-trained vocalist. Plus, I'm a professional tambourinist. How many of them can dance, sing, and play an instrument all at the same time?

Now let's talk about the clothes. It's true that I look a little lumpy in Spandex and I'm really pale. But they're always in black, anyway, and black is very slimming. And hello ladies, I can totally get a girdle and a spray-on tan.

And for extra credit, I have something that I bet none of those girls has: I can do the entire rap from TLC's "Waterfalls" from memory.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

It's About Damn Time

I just booked my first trip out of the country. Ever. (That's what happens when you grow up poor in middle-America.)

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Calling All Boob Men

The JANE Guide to Breast Health, read: a boob slide show [via Gawker].

Juicy tidbit: My boobs once appeared on Gawker.

Monday, April 09, 2007

Freak Out: The Final Countdown

I turn 25 exactly one month from today. So, start shopping for my presents (cash is always good, too) and get the straight jacket ready.


Since the beginning of time (OK, last summer) Chris and I have argued over the goodness of Cascadian Farm's organic sweet peas. He thinks I'm crazy for calling them "the good peas" and going to as many as three stores in search of them if I'm going to include peas in a dish.

Last Tuesday, we were eating at The Good Fork in Red Hook and the first thing I said when I tasted my sweet mushroom risotto was, "Oh my god, these are the good peas!"

Massive eye roll ensues.

"No one company has the monopoly on good peas," Chris argued.

After a petulant "Uh-huh!" I explained that recently, when babysitting, I'd tasted the baby's pureed peas. I asked the father if they were "the good peas... you know, Cascadian Farm?" They were.

Massive eye roll ensues. Again.

In my ongoing effort to prove I'm right about the things I truly believe in (and god dammit, I believe in these peas), I asked the server if he knew where the restaurant got their peas. He didn't but offered to ask the chef. I heard him over at the window, "Chef, where do you get your peas?" I knew by the look on her face--the look that she was slightly embarrassed to use frozen peas in her dishes--that she could only use one kind. "Cascadian Farm?" our server yelled into the kitchen.

"Yeah, Cascadian Farm," she yelled back with a pleased smile.

Someone else had a pleased smile that night, too.

Thanks to my friend Julie Powell for the awesome title.

Sunday, April 01, 2007

Oh Those Kids at Google...

Pretty funny shit. Pun intended. I love it when the Powers That Be play April Fool's jokes on us. And I love it that Google is a Power That Be.