Hey! Hey! I'm over here!

I'm not going anywhere, but I am feeling significantly less sarcastic and more deflated. (Deflated-er?) The last 24 hours have done a number on me; blame it on my bleeding heart. I'll be back soon, so don't cry for me, Argentina.

I can always rant about traffic?

Your hostess is currently sans mostess. I've had the wind knocked out of my sails, but hopefully I'll be back soon with stronger gusts of hot air than ever. Stay tuned and don't forget about me. :)

Mouse in the House!

Hello friends. Last night while chatting on IM, I looked over to see my dear cat, Frankie, batting around a mouse. A real one and not one of those cute squeaky green and orange ones I get her at petco. I had a minor anneurism. (minor? wtf?) So I thought it was dead and I went to get the dustpan to give it an honorable burial in and around my herb garden-- a very romantic way to perish, for a mouse. Umm, so as soon as I moved Frankie "The Killer" Kat away from the mouse, it took off! Yikes! It's alive! So then it ran under the couch and I, with a little prodding from E. who was at this time being held hostage on the phone by a squeamish and teary me, swept the broom to and fro until Ralph S. Mouse disappeared. To where, who knows?

[I would like to point out that I was teary about the mouse, not because I was so terrified, which--make no mistake-- I was, but because Frankie was trying to kill it and I am not about the kill. Just ask Sour Bob what I said when he advised "KILL! KILL! KILL!"]

I'd like to say there is a funny and "aw, shucks" ending to this, but as far as I know, the little mouse could ride out on his motorcycle the next time I open the hall closet. I went to bed last night in terror, but somehow I survived until to today to relay this highly important and thrilling adventure. Stay tuned for when Ralph S. Mouse and Ramona write to Mr. Henshaw.

P.S. You MUST get the Norah Jones cd (Come Away With Me). It is the *new* crack.

Things I enjoy: Candy, Puppies, Assholes Recently, a an old and dear friend of mine (who reads this blog, so I hope she won't mind) was told by an ex-flame that she was/is overbearing and argumentative. Upon hearing this, my response to the ex-flame is: So what is your point? Of course she is. That's why we like her, okay?

From this short example, you can tell that: I love my friends for all that they are, especially those idiosyncracies that send other people running and screaming. Sure, you can love people and still think that certain things about them are kind of awful, but you can also love people, not in spite of these things, but for them, too. The way I see it is this: I can find plenty of nice people. Sure. There are plenty of nice folks out there, but the people that are my friends are very special. "Special." They're nice...and nuts in their own unique ways.

Now let's look at M2: I don't know anyone who is as mercurial or fun a drunk as he, or who blows a train whistle in your ear better at 2 am. (btw-- Happy Birthday, M2!)
And E: Sheopenly admits that she has control issues and honestly, I kind of like it when she bosses me around.
As for M1: I don't know anyone who is a sorer loser at games (especially trivial pursuit), but who wants to be friends with someone who is always gallant? That's irritating.

Some of you might be appalled at how I am showcasing my friends' "bad" traits (dirty laundry is a better analogy for you? perhaps lamb and tuna fish? spaghetti and meat ball?), but I am here to praise these things about them.

I've said many times before in this blog and it bears repeating (at the risk of sounding sickly sweet): I love my friends. There's no one as weird, stupid, retarded, bitchy, or lame as they (when they put their minds to it)-- and I like it that way.

P.S. And to the couples at the Galleria tonight, M1 and I would like you to please unglue yourselves in public. I can say with a great deal of pride that no matter how unruly my friends can get, they don't pull siamese stunts like that. Thank God.

P.P.S. Don't forget to vote in the *new* poll.

Why get paid when I can be a slave for free? Industry. Yes, it's the enemy. You know it. I know it. I was just looking at the Rice Jobs section of MonsterTrak and I have to say: what a bunch of freakin' crap! Hi, come work in New York City for 50-60 hours per week for NO PAY--you'll learn a lot. Yeah, like what? Like people want free workers with a college education? Amazing. Like New York is really freakin' expensive, especially when you have NO money? Wow! No way! Grr.

Another "internship" in Idaho offered great hands-on nature experience with compensation of $50/week. You know where the nature experience comes in? You--wiping yourself with tree bark in the woods because you won't be able to afford toilet paper. It's a harsh world, no? I mean, come on-- I am the first person to admit that life is not about the money. It's not about the money, but it is about paying your rent.

Don't be duped by the excessive usage of "internship." Everyone and their monkey has an "internship" available for you these days and frankly-- the options are less than tempting. That people have the audactiy to advertise a "great opportunity" when what they really want is to whore you for envelope-licking and your college education while you answer phones, make copies, get papercuts, and don't get paid.

Come on, Mr. Boss Man. College students (and recent college grads) are people too.

P.S. And by college education, I don't mean the University of Phoenix, okay? I have busted my ass for like 10 years or something and paid a few wheelbarrows full of money, now BE NICE TO ME! I'm on edge, damnit.

Appreciate me now and avoid the rush! I've had this blog since some time around the end of June. I had few fans then and really, I have few fans now. Mostly, I get the run-off of folks from Sour Bob's site, but I tell you this: one day when I am divorced and a belligerent alcoholic, I will be twice as bitchy as Sour Bob. Ha ha. J/k.

I took a personality test called the FIRO-B for my silly careers class. It's 54 questions of pure non-sense and basically it concluded that I am a heartless wretch who seeks to dominate in social politics while seeking (desperately) to include and be included. Okay, so maybe it's a fair assessment. Ha. Let's look at the "supporting" facts:

* I work at a magazine where I am basically the copy whore and my next article is going to be about silk (yes, fake) flowers. [That actually has nothing to do with this test, but I thought it might make you folks value your lives more.]
* My boyfriend is a Kennedy.
* I am a John Denver fan.
* I have a chicky-boom neighbor I can't stand and who never takes out his garbage.
* I really love my friends, and my dog, and my cat, not necesarily in that order.
Results: You [heart] me; you really [heart] me!

P.S. For you new readers: welcome! Also, I really was funny once. Ask all my friends.

America, the Homely

I watched Miss America last night and I thank God for my friends that kept a running commentary up throughout the entire bit. I think the highlight of the evening was when M1 proclaimed: "You should be damn pleased with 3rd runner up, as your talent was, to put it kindly, abyssmal."

I have a theory, full of holes though it is, about America. We're getting uglier. No, we are. Let's look at Miss America for example. I would say out of 51 contestants, a good...30 or better were frankly, horsey. Now here's where my theory comes in. America is getting uglier because of the growing popularity of internet dating. I mean, look at that movie Simone. The most beautiful girl in print and television was totally digital. Thanks to computers, it doesn't matter what we look like, and if it does, we can simply photoshop pictures into a better version of ourselves. Thanks, Match.com! Yahoo!

Below are the before and after pictures of my friend, G. who now gets all the ladies, thanks to photoshop and it's "svelte"ifying software.

*Hilarious images removed due to space restrictions. You snooze; you lose.*

Mount Rushmore never stops being funny. My efriend Sour Bob, posted a list of annoying blog-like items and I would like to continue in a whiney and complainey manner. People and by "people" I mean perhaps you, are always complaining that foreigners come to the US not speaking English. News flash: Americans don't seem to speak the English so well themselves, if at all. My philosophy prof, Dr. Norcross, noted by some for his German impressions, is British and once a woman in a store asked him where he was from. When he told her England, she replied-- without the slightest bit of irony-- that he speaks English very well. Oh my GOD peops!

Last night I lectured on the P.P.S.S. biz. Tonight, I would like to discuss granite. Yes, the rock. Have you ever taken something for granite? Here is the sort of instance in which someone could take something for granite. "I took Mount Rushmore for granite, but it's actually limestone." You cannot take, say your spouse, for granite. No, not unless you are Medusa, my friend. Granite, is a rock. When you take something for granted, why that is entirely different! Taking something for granted means that you took it in vain because indeed you felt it was GRANTED to you. You know? Like Jombee. Mecca lecca hi mecca hiney-ho. Granted. So don't take this advice for granite, okay? I will have to author some legends.

It's amazing what one can get done when one has a paper due. My house is ridiculously clean, my eyebrows are plucked, the litter box has been emptied, the dishes are clean, the laundry is done, and really, I can't ask Molly to do much more. Ha ha ha. (Umm, Molly is my dog for those of you who don't get the joke.) Okay, but my paper is still not done and it's due tomorrow-- yes, Saturday. My teacher is a sadist, but I want a good grade so goodbye to you and hello, foreign policy! IHOP here I come!

I love a rainy night! Since I was talking about music yesterday, I have decided to continue the theme since I have had certain songs on the brain. A couple of days ago, VH1 (God love that channel!) was playing one of its "Movies that Rock" series and this one was called "Take Me Home: the John Denver Story." It was really terrific. I know, I know. You all think I am super lame, but John Denver was an important musician of my childhood. I mean come on-- TWO specials with the Muppets, not to mention my mom has all of his music ever and used to play it when we would do puzzles in the dining room. It's amazing how some important events of your childhood seem to fade with the morning dew, but other events, seemingly inconsequential, like those of mine of putting together puzzles in the dining room and playing Memory game with my mom and my sisters while listening to John Denver and Guy Mitchell and the Kingston Trio, are indelible images on the pages of my life. Back to John Denver-- as I am a weenie, I cried at the end and several times throughout the movie because well...I love John Denver. Thank God I'm a Country Boy.

When I was 7, my sister and I went on vacation with our dad and when we came home, our grandmother had painted our formerly pink room, blue. I was really glad because one day my brother and sister got into a fight over a set of calligraphy pens and they ended up dotting the walls everywhere with the ink. Also, the pink was a really horrible shade and the blue was nice.

What little things do you remember from your childhood?

P.S. I realize it was Eddie Rabbitt that sang I Love A Rainy Night and not John Denver, but we used to listen to him, too and it's raining outside, so I felt it appropriate. It was the same general mood as John Denver, so you'll deal, won't you?

P.P.S. Is my family weird? Nevermind, don't answer.

P.P.P.S. My grandmother and I read The Rats of Nimh together when I was about 5 or 6 and it took us a year or so because I was always falling asleep. Consequently, we had some crazy library fine and ended up buying it. (Things don't change, eh? hee.) That also happened with Judy Blume's The Pain and the Great One. By the way, if you were wondering, that was another random childhood memory.

P.P.P.P.S. I realize the post scripts are getting excessive, but I need to make an important reminder. People: don't use P.P.S.S. because frankly, it doesn't make any sense. P.S. stands for Post Script. If you have another post script, that would be post-post script and hence, P.P.S. P.P.S.S. would mean post-post-script-script and really, that just makes you seem like an idiot, so remember that next time you're being excessive with your extra messages. I will remember it too and let this be my last post script of the eve.

How 'bout a revolution? Hi everyone. I have been downloading (and ahem, buying, napster critics) lately that you should definitely download too, if you get a chance! I know this isn't my usual cynical rant, but I have been a bit busy for cynicism today (gasp!) and I am about to return to "the fondren" in like two minutes. Anywho, enjoy these refreshing musical interludes.... Study by them. Live by them. Love by them. I don't care...but listen up!

Norah Jones--Come Away With Me album: Come Away With Me
Of A Revolution (OAR)--That Was A Crazy Game of Poker album: ?
Ryan Adams--To Be Young album: Heartbreaker
Cowboy Junkies--Blue Moon Revisited album: The Trinity Session
Aimee Mann--Invisible Ink album: Lost in Space

With the exception of the OAR album, which I haven't heard, these entire albums are really great! I just picked my favorite from each.

Happy listening! And P.S. You will be relieved to discover that they're not playing any of this on KTRU. ha ha ha

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA A girl in my Poli class this morning was just telling me about an article from Seventeen magazine which crowned Rice the coolest school around. I love my school; I do, but it is decidedly NOT the coolest school around. How do I know? One of the reasons Rice is so cool is that it apparently boasts a diverse population of cute boys-- Pre-Meds to English majors. As an English major myself, I would like to say that the average English major population is nothing that turns heads, but attractiveness ratios might be slightly higher than the greater Rice population. Now pre-meds-- are they serious?! People. People. Pre-Meds are the most psychotic, anal folks at Rice and believe me even if some of those folks COULD be attractive, no one would ever know because they live in their rooms or the library. Seventeen also noted a few years back that people camped out to get into the top math classes. Umm, that's neither true, nor cool. I officially return Rice back to dork status. Yahoo!

"We do it because we love it." Okay, so tonight in my "careers" class (can you believe this is my second one in college? I dropped the first one....laaaaame and ironic, really), we had some folks come and speak on careers in investments and finance. Their words of wisdom? Don't do this job for the money; do it because your heart is in it. Riiiiight. Hi. I have a passion for industrial averages and yelling: 'Sell! Sell! Sell, bitch!' into telephones. Ummm...or not at all. People who say they're in investment banking for personal satisfaction unrelated to money and for bettering the world must think the rest of us are a bunch of 'tards. Fortunately, I was not impressed by the talk of salaries, benefits packages, and the idea that the company will cater dinners during the weeks when I am doing them the great favor of working 80 hours +. Gee, sign me up! The world will be a better place, I'll become a clone in a suit, lose my personality, never get to go home, act like a drone at family gatherings...and make money at all this? Yahoo!

I'm sorry, but I'd like to hold on to my soul. I'd only consider it if they threw a pair of those assless pants into my benefits package. At least, J. would consider it; he likes that type of whimsy. (If you didn't get this, don't worry. Only J. will get it and he never reads this anyway. Hahahaha.)

P.S. I hate it when people refer to their parents as their folks. Who does that anymore? Saying folks can refer to like some peops in general, but your parents? I'm sorry; you don't live in a sit-com. Get over it. My sister agrees. Thanks.

Love is all you don't need. It seems like these days (and all days, really) everyone is looking for that special someone. Well stop it, for God's sake. No, seriously. Don't get me wrong. J. is a joy. In fact, J stands for Joy. Actually, it stands for Just kidding. Umm, J. is a treasure and I adore him and I'm not just saying that because he reads this. In fact, he doesn't read this, so if I wanted, I could be free to totally trash him. But I shan't.

Back to my original rant. Does anyone realize the havoc that these so-called "love" relationships are wreaking on the world? Just look at Romeo and Juliet and Tony and Maria for God's sake. Love makes a mess of your life. But everybody wants it right?

My suggestion: Love-o-matic: the convenient, easy to swallow candy-coated capsule. Take it in the morning with your prozac and you're set for anything that comes your way. Boyfriends/girlfriends are time-consuming pets, though rewarding in their own way. Get one if you wish and forget my love-o-matic, but don't say I didn't warn you.

The old man is snoring... I recently took this random test to see what "flavor" I am (as in, hey man-- why you tryin' to spoil my flava?). I turned out to be Marmite, which is apparently unpleasant and sharp, but has a cult following. A lot like your very own me. Umm, somehow I was gonna tie this back to how it's raining right now, but you know, I forgot. Oh well.

Like all of my past weekends, this one has turned out to be a smashing failure. I have, however, learned a lot. Oh wait. I remembered about the marmite and the rain. Okay, so one of the questions on the flavor test was: what do you do on a rainy day? The choices were things like-- stay in and watch a movie, change your plans, get depressed, and so on. My choice of course was to enjoy the day and the fact that it was making others miserable. I think we all know already that I am going to hell, but you know-- I'll be in good company. Right, so back to what I have learned over the past few weekends.

1) I'll never like Katy Mills. Not for five minutes. Definitely not for five hours. I'm never going there again.
2) I don't give a hoot about electronics. (Corrollary: I have no idea what a 3-comb filter is or why I need it. Neither does M1.)
3) The food at Ylidzar, a middle-eastern restaurant near my house, neither goes down easily, nor stays down without a fight.
4) Chuy's can occasionally have bad service (GASP!) and will break your heart on that account.
5) Everyone in the known world will be at Chuy's on Saturday night, so hide.
6) M2 cannot tell time.
7) Gay men are the next big frontier for of all my girlfriends.
8) Homework will not happen on the weekends, no matter how much I want it to.
9) LSAC.org is a pawn of satan. (Corrollary: I'll likely get a 2 on the LSAT.)
10) I love my friends. Always. I am the luckiest.

I have fans? My mom has fans? People, I hate to tell you this, but I'm not funny. Hence the little notice that shows at the top of your browser when you click on my site. "French-Roast.com: I used to be funny." That indicates I am no longer funny. See? Anywho. Apparently, I have fans and I am getting some weird fan mail. Some of you want to know my name. That's all I have to say about that. (Likewise for those (2) of you who asked my instant messenger name.)

Site traffic has really picked up in the last week and I have no idea why. As much as I like to think it's my raw ability to heckle anyone and everyone (including, but not limited to those with debilitating handicaps), I think some of these people might actually be looking to enlarge their penis or find nude photos of Britney Spears. I will try to answer fan mail as I get it. I have gotten (one) email asking if I have a boyfriend. Do ya READ the site before you send these emails? I love a good note, but people-- let's be thoughtful, or what's the point? (Further, I do not have a "pic" I am willing to share, although there is an excellent one of my dog from a few weeks ago up....) I do love hearing from you though, even if it is to mock you endlessly, so fans-- thank you. Keep coming back. It works if you work it.

And for the peanut gallery who keep this running commentary on my life possible by making it interesting-- you know who you are and I thank you. God, I'm like giving an inagural address. fame goes to one's head. I wonder if this is how M2 felt before his site started sucking?

Eat, drink, and be Mary T. I can't drink very much and I mean this quite literally. I mean, sure, my alcohol tolerance is like...none (although it is definitely better than my freshman year of college at which time being in the same room as alcoholic spirits made me a wee tipsy). BUt I can't even drink very much water. Consuming a tall glass of anything is quite a feat. Super big gulps? That's the enemy.

Recently, M1 and I attended cheap date night at the Angelika (Monday, for all you bargain hunters). Anywho, with a student ID, you get in for $5.50 AND you get a free large drink and large popcorn. Okay, so I ordered my large drink and I'm completely bowled over with the 36 ounces of pure caffeinated, carbonated, carmel-colored satisfaction. Too much of a good thing= way too much for me. At the end of this movie, M1 asked me how I did on my drink and I told him to pick it up and see. Despite my constant drinking (I feel) for the duration of the movie, I had barely made a dent in the ginormous coke. Maybe like 2-3 of the 36 ounces had vanished (in M1's estimate). I would wager at least 6. I can't drink very much. And I can't eat very much. But I like to snack all the time. I hope I haven't let you down.

Because this was boring. And I'm writing fragments. Oh well.

XOXO

Yes, I'm a "real" person! Yeah, because all "real people" are stripping live before their web cams. I don't know whose list I got on, but every time I sign on to Instant Messenger, I immediately get all of these IMs from "real women" who want me to come look at their live strip shows. Also, companies have now taken to going to my school's web site and just getting our emails out of the student directory and spamming the heck out of us. I know that this is happening b/c I don't use my school address on any web transactions or give it out to people I don't know. Also, my school friends are receiving all of this crap.

As technology advances and the web grows exponentially, it seems like all the good things about the web you now have to pay for and the free stuff that is constantly thrown at you and is overflowing your mailbox (I am sure hotmail users are familiar with this phenomenon), you don't want.

Free is out. I miss free. :( I'm sick of cell phones.

A snippet from a hilarious site:Julius Sharpe.com
"Does anyone know anywhere online where I can find out about enlarging my penis or get nude pictures of Britney Spears? I've been searching and searching and there's no information."

Does he kill you or what?

The Grinch snarled with a sneer! For a moment, I had a big heart, but like the Grinch, my heart is now two sizes too small. I volunteered for Big Brothers/Big Sisters and I was/am really excited about being a Big Sister. The problem is that the case manager who is supposed to give me an interview and match me with a kid keeps flaking out on me. In the past 48 hours, I have rescheduled (or rather they have called me to reschedule) four times. That's an average of twice a day, by the way, if you're mathematical like that. I am getting irritated but I don't want to be irritable in case they think I have anger management issues and will be like that with a kid. I dunno-- is this frustrating to other people or am I being a Grinch? I would like to point out that it's Tuesday and I have a significant amount of reading (i.e.350 pages) to read on Nixon and Kissinger before my Wednesday seminar. I think asking for a set appointment should not be SO awful. Rar!

Free...for $100. I just registered with LSDAS (Law School Data Assembly Service), which is the service that basically every law school in the country requires you to register for so they can assemble your data. It's $99 to register and with that registration you get one *free* academic report sent to a law school. It's $10 for additional copies if I order *right now*. After that, it's $12/ copy. How is $12 a worse deal than $99? Stupid world.

Hey, my comments folks are doing an overhaul at their site, but they should be back up shortly, so when they are, let me know what you think of the site's *new* aesthetics.

Old friends. New ideas. This is a cheesy billboard for one of the (two) banks in Mineolapalooza (my hometown) after they changed their name or were bought out or something. They have had old friends and new ideas since like...1993. It's time to either get someone else to RENT THIS SPACE or just take it down Anywho, all of this is to tell you that my site is going through a painful and tedious facelift. The comments are different; the poll has changed (finally-- so stop making fun of me about Runteldat), and of course, there's a new banner to greet you. Like the billboard: It's me, your old friend (sort of-- I'm not really your friend) and my page with new stuff (i.e. new ideas). Nifty how that works. Sorry that I lost the old comments for those of you who bitched about nubs. I had to get rid of those hideous smiley things that people kept commenting with that showed butts and junk. I wasn't about that.

The Miracle of Life Right, so life is a miracle. Sour Bob explains about how everyone is special in that regard. We're each a unique miracle and what not. Okay, but here's what I don't get. I'm checking my yahoo mail and there's a banner ad for some company, a ridiculous internet start-up no doubt, that let's you see what your baby looks like and stuff with like a fetal web cam. First of all, I think those crazy, new-fangled people called doctors are doing that these days. Second of all, I can tell you what your baby looks like. It looks like a fetus with a couple of nubs. I mean, no offense. Your baby could grow up to be the next Abercrombie and Fitch model-- selling sex, not clothes, but right now, s/he's just a nub. It's humbling, really. We may be big shots now, but we all began as nubs. My sister is pregnant and I am overjoyed-- really! I am going to be an aunt in May! The fact remains, however, that my niece/nephew is a nub. I am not going to pay money to see what this baby looks like because not only will I be able to see her grow through the years for free, I know what s/he looks like now. And to the nubs, I thank you.

What'd ya go get pinned for? I have decided that somehow amidst the resurrection of the casual date (mine and M2's mutual goal since last summer) or "cazh date" as it were, I am going to bring back the term of "going steady."

Think Bye, Bye Birdie. Think not?

I just found out J. was in Bye, Bye Birdie in high school. Somehow, I find this hilarious. Can you imagine Rivers Cuomo as Hugo, the Kim's steady boyfriend from Sweet Apple, Ohio? Well, then you're off to a good start. Keep fishin' if you feel it's true.

FREE ice cream for my fans! Not really. I am still a poor college student, but if I had ice cream, you could all have some. I just want to take this time to thank whoever my fan is in Hong Kong. You visit my site every day and sometimes multiple times a day and usually for quite a while. I'm not sure the reason. Maybe you like to make fun of me, but the point is: I am getting hits thanks to you.

So raise a glass or a cone to Hong Kong and hope I blog better than this in the future. Ye gods.

O-C Disorder Theater presents: The compulsion to respond. You've all experienced this. Actually, I'm probably projecting because it makes me feel less insecure (some might say: more secure). You've received an IM and your little IM blinky-window dealy-wop (that is the technical term, of course) is flashing and you want to make the flashing stop, but you have no idea what to say or you just don't want to talk to that person. Your options (my imagined options) follow:
1) make up a lame excuse about why you've got to go and then
a) block that person so it looks like you've signed off
b) if you like the person, but just don't feel like talking, actually sign off or put up an away message
c) do nothing, just remain online and hope s/he doesn't notice
2) close the window and forget the conversation ever happened
3) say something rhetorical so that you've said the last thing but won't have to hear from him/her again
4) go to therapy

I have explored all of these options and frankly, this is one of my more pointless rants. I wouldn't even call it a rant really, just an outlet for obsessive-compulsive behavior. My inbox on outlook is driving me crazy. I have all of these messages that I don't have the time/desire to respond to, yet can't delete or move because I need to either respond eventually or require information in the text of the email.

The worst is that even after all of this over-analysis and me being the travel agent for my own guilt trip, the original writing person gets all pissy towards me for not writing back in the next 30 seconds. I mean, there's getting ignored and then there's having some friggin' patience while I get my act together.

In other news, M1 and I went to see My Big Fat Greek Wedding this evening. Highly enjoyable, charming, witty, etc. See it today!

You wanna talk? Let's talk, Winky. In the last couple of years, I have observed a bizarre trend. I mean, I have made it abundantly clear in previous blogs that I don't understand men at all, but even so, read carefully and see if you don't agree. I was just having a short conversation with a boy, the artist known as [male friend] for you long-time readers, and he invoked this strange and unusual phrase: the girl I am talking to. What the hell is that? It's like the term boys use for a girl who hasn't even made it to date status.

I have been out with some serious slimeage (many of you will recall creepy stalker from The Harp earlier this summer), but I have never called those one-non-hit wonders the guy "I am talking to." They are guys that I have had the misfortune of wasting a social outing on. I talk to people every day. Everyone is the girl or guy I talk to, unless I don't talk to you at all, in which case you are of no consequence to this piece. :) A guy saying that he is talking to a girl is like screaming: Hi, I can't even commit to the fact that I'll have coffee with her!!! HELP!

The conversation these offenders fear:
Friend of Average Boy: So who is that girl I saw you with last night?
Average Boy: Oh, she's just the girl I was having fantasies of our future life with over a romantic candlelit dinner.
Friend of Average Boy: Oh, so are y'all serious?
Average Boy: NOOOO! What I mean is, well, she's just the girl I'm talking to.
Friend of Average Boy: Haven't y'all been dating for 12 years?
Average Boy: Yeah, sort of, but she's not like my girlfriend or anything. I am still on the market.
Friend of Average Boy: But she has an engagement ring?
Average Boy: Your point?
Friend of Average Boy: What a head case.

Guys, get a grip. For real.