Thursday, March 06, 2008


Ever see the movie? The more I think about it, the more I think it's going to happen and it's really scary. (If you haven't seen it, the premise is that only stupid people procreate---the yuppies are too busy planning when it would be convenient for them and then can't get pregnant because they're too old. Flash forward to the future and everyone's dumb as dirt. It's by Mike Judge, creator of "King of the Hill" and "Beavis and Butthead.") The movie was pretty funny, but made me really, really depressed. If you haven't seen it, I don't know if I recommend watching it. You may never look at things the same again.

My latest encounter with idiots was on the train this morning. There was an ad for Charmin Toilet Paper that read, "We shine where the sun don't." That is grammatically incorrect. If you play that little switcheroo game you learned in elementary school (a simple concept, yet I forget the correct term), you rearrange the sentence to check subject-verb agreement and it reads, "The sun don't shine." It should read, "We shine where the sun doesn't." Who wrote this ad? And why were they paid for it? I also HATE the title of that hip-hip movie called "How She Move." She moveS! Moves!!

Whereas a little slang is okay from time to time, I don't think the Charmin ad was intended for young, urban toilet paper purchasers. And if it was, it shouldn't reinforce poor grammar. I know someone that is an English teacher in middle school. She tells me there are a lot of politics involved in everything and that it's virtually impossible to fail a student or to single someone out when they are doing poorly in class. But, people need to learn these things somewhere. I can't even tell you how many well educated, college graduates confuse "their" and "they're" and commonly misuse I/me (i.e. "here is a picture of John and I"---Do the little game, would you tell someone it's a picture of "I". No! It's a picture of "me").

Where I work (which is a supposedly prestigious federal agency) I see the same things all the time: commas sprinkled into sentences like salt and pepper, people trying to sound intelligent and/or authoritative ("please be advise"), and many "supposeblies." We even had a two-day grammar workshop sponsored by some writing center and those people that went for the second time in two years returned and immediately sent out emails full of errors.

I know by writing this, I am opening myself up to criticism--I'm sure someone will find some errors in this email (especially concerning punctuation)--I'm not claiming to be perfect. I know some people are not native English speakers, have had poor education, or just don't recognize errors because they were never taught the proper way. Blogs, text messaging and IMs probably don't help either. But it really gets me worked up. Maybe too much. Maybe I should finish my morning coffee so the crankiness wears off. Maybe I should stick to writing "Celebrity Death News"?

Thanks for listening to I.

Just kidding.

Friday, February 29, 2008

Happy Leap Year (Day)--and dating tips!

Today needs no introduction. It comes around only once every 4 years. I encourage all of you to do something wacky, treat yourself to something luxurious, be bold, and party like it's 1999 (no, there was no February 29th that year--Prince should have waited--but it's really hard to avoid saying "Party like it's 1999"). I, for one, am starting the day off with something really unhealthy for breakfast--a chocolate chip muffin. I will aspire to do nothing at work all day, except read the news, will eat a delicious lunch, and hopefully get drunk later tonight. I ALMOST want to throw a party, but I'm not motivated enough to clean my apartment. Maybe next leap year....

Also, I think I've discovered the secret to finding decent men. I've always had horrendously bad luck in that department (hence, why I am called "jindeh", and not "nice girl you can take home to mom"). I am always approached by freaks and usually the evening ends with them calling me a bitch or some other lovely comment. I sincerely believe if I hadn't met my beau through a friend, I would still be hopelessly and desperately alone. Well, yesterday I was on the train home and was in a really good mood. (Not entirely sure why--it doesn't happen often. I usually struggle to stay awake and read a few pages from my textbook.) So I get off at a different stop than usual and this attractive guy says to me, "I'm sorry to be so forward, but you're adorable." How cute is that, right? Made my day! Except at the same time he told me that, my man was calling me, so I awkwardly pointed to my phone and was like, "I'm so sorry, this is my fiance" and answered it. But I told him "thanks" and smiled. So, here's the secret: look approachable. Look like you are a happy person and someone people want to be around. Because scowling isn't doing the trick anymore. Just be careful not to be too happy...don't sing to yourself or skip down the road. Because the only men you will find that way will be the ones that keep your straight jacket on.

Happy February 29th!

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Yay! Here we are!

Yes, it's true. We're back! What could all you faithful readers possibly have done to entertain yourselves while we were away? Start up new hobbies, contract herpes, adopt a child? Well, quit that yoga class and put down that really ugly scarf you are trying to knit because we've got some fun times ahead. We (ahem, chatouille) promise to post a lot more frequently.

We started off 2007 with gusto---Men's Lady went on tour in Zurich and Milan, and Chatouille and I went to Montreal to once again remind those silly Quebecois that they are not, in fact, French, but Canadian. (we let them read our blog so they can feel a little more European--because we are REALLY big in Europe.) Chatouille also trekked though the jungle in Peru to, hmmm, bring us all alpaca handicrafts. Hopefully 2008 will bring similar milestones.

P.S. Special shot out to all the new Kosovars on the site. You are sort-of European.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Breaking News (El Newso Super-Nuevo)

Yes, you heard it here second to last: Fido Castro has resigned his post as…dictator? We too were shocked (SHOCKED) to learn that Castro was still alive. In a letter published by the Communist Party’s Granny Newspaper, the man who helped the Miami Cuban community flourish for 49 years stated, “I will neither aspire to nor accept, I repeat, I will neither aspire to nor accept the positions of President of the State Council and Commander in Chief.” Castro went on to add, “don’t even try begging me to do it. I will not, I repeat, will not even consider…hey! where did everyone go?”

The 81-year-old Castro has not appeared in public for almost 19 months since he underwent breast augmentation surgery and “temporarily” ceded power to his sexily named brother, Rrrraauuuul. Still, Castro insists that, despite all evidence to the contrary, he’s still alive: "This is not my farewell to you. My only wish is to fight as a soldier in the battle of ideas. I shall continue to write under the heading of 'Reflections by comrade Fidel.'" There’s no telling if these reflections will rival those of comrade Jack Handey. Only time will tell, and as the man who is pretending to be Castro claims, he has plenty of that. In the P.S. section of the letter, under the xoxo and K.I.T., Castro added that he plans on “writing” these reflections by batting his eyelashes in what will prove to be an unprecedented and moving..,what? The Diving bell and what? Oh. That’s unfortunate.

We took this world shattering news to the streets, and into our favorite sandwich shop, in order to get a sense of how deeply it has affected our citizenry. We posed the question, “How do you feel about Castro’s news?” and received the following responses:

“What? Did he die?”

“When do we get to vacation in Cuba? I hear it’s cheap there.”

“Castro? No thanks, I only use olive oil,”

And perhaps the most significant response of all,

“Are you in line?”

We think that sums it up perfectly. Are we in line, indeed.* And if so, for what?**

*the answer was yes.

** The ham and swiss on wheat. Oh, that was a good sandwich

Really F▪ing Big, (The Remix)

After what has seemed like at least four months on hiatus, RBIE is back. The Writers’ Strike of ’07 was a time in our history we’d rather forgive and forget, and in the end, the demands of those striking were met: I finally returned the purse I’d borrowed from Jendeh several months ago, and apologized to the Men’s Lady for that one drunken night when I called her a “whoritch” – an incident she apparently had no recollection of. This turned out to be a step back in the negotiations.

The important thing is that we’ve returned in time to cover some major news that our dear (except for Jim. he's just "ok")readers would otherwise never hear about. So sit back, relax, and let us massage your brain with the hot oil of ours.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

So's your face

Hey there, friends. It's been awhile, hasn't it?

Um, I'm bored at work. Here is what I have learned today.

1) Despite all that I initially thought, the man who generally has conversations while staring at my chest has still turned out to be a pretty good boss so far. Plus!

2) Corporate America is pretty fun. It's like being on a field trip with a bunch of people you would never think you'd like to hang out with. So, while you're at it, you can also pretend that your mom packed that PB & J for you, and wrote you a note on a napkin like the other kids' moms did, and didn't forget to pick you up that time in first grade, until all the teachers had left for the day and it was just you and that [creepy] janitor.

3) Just because you whisper "it's because you're a minority" to the girl who got passed up for a promotion, doesn't mean other people can't hear it. Try instead, "it's because you're a single mother," or the always friendly, "you're not getting more attractive as age hits you more aggressively, you know." People love honesty.

4) "Your mom" and "so's your face" are totally appropriate responses to bullying or threatening by your least favorite cubicle mate, aka bully. Just ask mine.

Obviously, our blog is in desperate need of help from chatouille. Come back! I know you're unemployed now, so you should blog.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007


I am not a great writer. I have what my AP English teacher would've called a "gift for the accurate". Yeah, she was a bitch. That said, I do love words and will occassionally write things to myself to work through the complex maze of emotions and delicate intricacies that populate my beautiful soul. Okay, that was for me. Anyway, this writing sometimes takes the form of a very private journal, or random bits of paper that have scrawled musings on them, never, ever, ever (!) offered up for public consumption. That's what blogs are for, thank you very much.

So yesterday, on my way back to New York after a week at home for Christmas, parked at the gate and bored while I waited, I pulled out the print-out of my flight itinerary, flipped to the back, and started my usual work-through. I'd just spent a lovely week with my family, and had started "thinking" (I put it in quotes because sometimes it's actually just feeling, but writing it down asks me to articulate and intellectualize and...learn myself better, if that makes any sense). This piece of paper had some pretty personal information on it: "So-and-so is being impatient about (something)...Am I really incapable of having magic with an Indian man?" and the like. There were also some un-sayable things, things that no one would ever say out loud and I really regret having committed to paper. Then I, thankful that no one would ever read this, folded those pages into my book, and tucked my book into a shopping bag that also contained an apple thrust upon me by my mother and my digital camera in it, and promptly forgot about it.Then I left it in the backseat of the cab bringing me home from the airport. Panicked only by the loss of my camera at first, I reported the lost bag to 311, New York City's helpline or whatever.

Josh was visiting, and he assured me that some people don't suck and someone will find it and return my stuff to me. Ten minutes later, I got a phone call from a guy who found my bag. He lives in Williamsburg, and read my "diary," which he's really sorry about but it was on the flight itinerary that he looked through to find my phone number and he couldn't resist. I would've probably been too mortified to have a conversation with this person, but he has my digital camera with pictures from Chicago and California and Switzerland on it, which I haven't yet loaded onto my computer-- never has the lesson to back up your stuff ever been taught so ungenerously. So I went to Brooklyn to face this man who, as luck would have it, is a unicorn. (Hint: I call attractive Indian men "unicorns". It's not the nicest thing I do. It's not the meanest either, though, so please hold your judgement until you have all the facts.) So anyway, I finally met a unicorn! And he's already seen me naked, pretty much. #$%^*@!!!!!

Monday, October 23, 2006

In Hindsight...

In light of this article from the New Zealand Herald--- because as big as we are in Europe (really big), our following with Kiwis would surprise you---

Maybe it wasn't smart to send my International Law professor that email about how I could teach him a thing or two about "international love." And it was probably a bad idea to send him the follow up email about needing extra tutoring on "human rights bodies"...or the one after that asking if he would "offer my heart amnesty."

Then again, maybe my biggest mistake was blogging about it. I guess only time will tell.