Maybe Next Valentine's Day...

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Women of the world: rejoice!

R.I.P. Tafie

One of our dedicated readers (i'd venture to say she'd be reader of the month, if we had a budget to actually get her a ribbon), sent in the following e-mail written to her by her father this morning. Read it for its emotional depth, its tragic undertones, its yoda-like grammar, or just because it's the funniest eulogy to a pet you will ever read:

bad news. tafie has killed himself. it was a few days ago when he never come back for breakfast. i find his body on U.S. 1. his head was crashed. he did not have time to suffer. he died peaceful and honorable. he fight very hard for his territory. as the matter of fact just few days ago somebody cut his face so bad that i did not think he was going to make it. but he did. he put up with Armine for almost a month. he was homless and hungry all month that i was not here. he was tired of life. he crossed the border. he wanted to see what is on the other side. he never find out. i gave him a good place to sleep. ever lasting peace. he doesn't have to fight no more. far away from civilization that eventually ended his life. he had never seen a car before and he couldn't imagine how fast is going. white crazy drunk people. when he find out it was too late, that was the end of my poor cat tafie. he is gone. for-ever.

Dermot Defies Typecasting Once Again.

This friday night, I decided to forego my normal slew of endless dates to sit at home and enjoy a wholesome film about young love. Um, relatively young love. Well, not-quite-old love.

In "The Wedding Date," Debra Messing and Dermot Mulroney are not your typical romantic-comedy couple....she's a single girl dreading her sister's wedding ever since her fiance dumped her a year ago, and he's a hooker she's hired to accompany her to the wedding and fool everyone into thinking she's happy and secure.

I know. Unique, right? Yeah. I just wasted two hours I will never get back...and I'm ok with that. Dermot is hott. With two ts. What I'm not ok with is that I don't have my own hooker in shining armor. Then again, as Nick (Dermot's alter ego) says in the film, "every woman has the love life that she wants." And he's been in like 10 romantic comedies. So he would know.

Not to change the subject, but Bob Costas just asked Sasha Cohen if she would like to hook-up with some skier who looks like Carrot Top. Since when is it ok to pimp out our Olympic Athletes? It's not a bad idea...speedskater Joey Cheek has been giving me the eye all week. Yes, from Italy. Shut up. You're drunk.

What its like out here in the "real world"

(CAUTION: This is really, really long)

The latest example of the ridiculousness that occurs in the workplace:

Our office has 4 floors, each floor with about 50 or so people. Each floor is equipped with a stunning (read sarcastically) kitchen, complete with a refrigerator. Nothing else. No coffee pot, no toaster, no microwave, no water cooler, Nothing! (How are we supposed to stand around and talk water cooler talk without one??? No one to discuss the latest epi of Project Runway with--which was a bunch of BS if you ask me. Instead of hyping it as a reunion special, they could've just called it the "PsychoBitch Show" for displaying how NUTS Santino, Andrae, and Zulema are.) Sorry, where was I?

Ok, so my office is a really ridiculous place. If we need to use any of these modern conveniences, we must buy them ourselves. Someone was nice enough to either buy a microwave or donate one to the cause on each and every floor (maybe the office bought them back in '82, when they had the money to spend, because these things are that old). Ok, so first the microwave on the 6th floor broke. Being too cheap to chip in a few bucks for the team, the 6th floor denizens didn't get a new one and would rather use the one on the 5th floor. But yesterday, the one on the 5th floor broke, which leaves us with (4-2=? c'mon kids, you need to practice your math. You're going to need to learn to bill people for all those hours you spend on their cases) 2! Yes, just 2 microwaves to serve an office of about 200 people.

I decided to spearhead the effort to get a new microwave because I like to TRY and save money by bringing in lunch like once a week. But there are people that use it all the time. I asked for $2 from each person, expecting people to run to their wallets and fork over the cash because its really not too much to ask. About 10 people gave me money. The other 100 people that would benefit from a microwave have expressed that either (a) they do not think its fair if they give money when they know other people won't, and they don't want those "moochers" to use it, or (b) they claim that they don't use it. Regardless, is $2 too much to ask?! If you use it once in your life, its worth it, no? What the hell is wrong with people? One woman even said that, rather than have said "moochers" use it, she would rather buy one for herself and not let anyone else use it. What is the sense in that? She'd rather pay $70 for one to be a selfish biyotch rather than give $2 to help the office out? You should see her office, she has a million little pieces of flair around-- potted plants, stuffed animals, pictures, etc. She obviously has money.

So, in the meantime, I am left begging for money from these people. If you want to contribute to the fund, let me know. I seriously feel like Sally Struthers... "Look at these poor, malnourished children. For less than a cup of coffee, you can have a microwave!!" It almost makes me want to buy one for myself.....

On another note, my office also has its very own Milton from "Office Space." I kid you not. The guy looks just like him and works in the supply room. He hoards all the office supplies. When you ask him for paperclips, he gives you like a handful. "Not my stapler!"

Because Sometimes, It's Fun to Be an Asshole/Bitch/Bitter Old Person

A few quotes from last night's Olympic women's free-skate that highlight why Olympic announcers should think about careers in motivational therapy:

"she's an amazing jumper...almost too amazing...its like she hasnt even thought through her technique and is just getting lucky"

"wow. watching her fall makes me think of a rhinocerous"

"that was a very unnattractive production of spin just to get more points"

"maybe in the fifteen years she spent on the ice and at competition, she could have learned to better herself instead of just doing the same thing over and over again...obviously, it's not working for her"

"this is a waste of 4 minutes"

"Joanna is a beautiful skater...who unfortunately doesnt always believe in herself."

"Sasha has once again given into her personal demons...and disappointed not only her fans, but most of all, herself"

and my personal favorite,

"the entire souffle was unsouffled"

Because, much like the rest of life (and you little ones should take notes), the Olympics are all about honoring the winners and embarassing the losers. It's true. If you disagree, chances are you're a loser. Now go take a long look in the mirror and cry yourself to sleep. It's for the best.

BONNE ANNIVERSAIRE RBIE!!!

For those of you who can't read French, that means HAPPY BIRTHDAY RBIE!!!!

We created RBIE one year ago this past President's Day weekend and I am proud (and a little surprised) that our red-headed step-child of drunken inspiration has survived.

To commemorate this year, I would like to announce the following awards:

(1) Chatouille, for continuing to keep us alive in our darkest days. Without your tales from the crypt and other pearls of wisdom, I'm not sure what we would have done.

(2) Men's Lady, for keeping it real with all the skunks in NYC. I have to live vicariously through someone.... And also for finding your keys.

(3) Jindeh, for being the most elusive of the RBIE staff. I haven't been posting as much as I should have since I am currently drafting a Treatise on the Electric Slide, complete with pictures, but I will do my best to post from time to time.

(4) For our countless fans, we love you all. However, due to an incredibly awkward misunderstanding and pending criminal charges, we will no longer be autographing peoples' body parts.

Hope you all keep it real this 2006. Watch for lots more dating advice and celebrity gossip.

How Not To Date

The RBIE staff, finally together for their annual meeting, run into some trouble at a NYC bar and establish why 2/3 of them are single and alone:

Random guy: So are you guys here to talk to yourselves, or are you here to meet fun new people?

Jindeh: Ourselves.

Men's lady: That's the lamest opener i have ever heard.

Random guy: So, what should i have said?

Chatouille: Goodbye?

Random guy to very (very) white, american Jindeh: are you Indian?

Jindeh: um..no? I'm white.

Random guy: Oh. well its hard to see in the light.

Chatouille: I'm native american! (a lie)

Random guy: Have you ever been to India?

Jindeh: no...she's native american...from AMERICA!

-----awkward pause--------

Men's Lady: ok! So what's you're ethnic background?!

Random guy (now angered): HA, HA, HA (mechanical fake laughter): You're BITCHES!

Jindeh: Please move on.

Fin.

Not as pretty as your big sister? Blog about it

So, recent adventures in myspace have kept me off the RBIE page lately, mostly because myspace offers the opportunity to stalk the lives of others in return for putting oneself out there. But like the prodigal son, I have returned to you. And I demand my fatted calf. And at least 40 virgins, if you can find them.

If you end all of the above sentences with the words, "on the internet," they're still true. AMAZING.

Anyway, last time we saw our superhero, the men's lady, she was teaching us about hedge funds and dating (ignore the post that came somewhere around the middle of last month about how I lost my keys). That has since ended, and she is no longer dating anyone. Danny*, the poet bartender, broke up with her on instant messenger, although he still wants to "talk" occassionally, but we don't really know that stimulating conversation is the point of dating an unemployed poet who can't spell. Rod* is still in the picture, but he travels a lot and, upon reflection, might be gay. And the French lawyer? Sleazeball with a girlfriend. So, um...hmm. What else? I met a fireman in a bar last week. Check out my myspace page. And be my friend. Tom is lonely.

Cheney is...Cupid?

Dick Cheney shot his "friend" in the face. Reminds me of a few "friends" i'd like to go hunting with. Which brings us to the topic of today's post: What makes people haters?

Everyone who knows me understands that I LOVE people. All people. Well, not you. But most people. I would love everyone in the world to hold hands and sing Kumbaya till some of us get engulfed by a tsunami, earthquake, or hurricane...and even afterwards, for the rest to just keep on singing...through the tears.

But there are some people, some awfully terrible people, who don't want the rest of us to sing. Maybe it's because they're jealous of our voices, or maybe just because they're ugly. Whatever the reason, these cartoon drawing, embassy burning, country invading, bar-fight starting, humorless assholes who take themselves too seriously....spend countless hours making sure the rest of us pay for their insecurities.

Case in Point: Last friday night, I was having the best dinner party of my life. Around the dinner table were seated (counter clockwise): A romanian-dutchman who was married to an iranian-philipino, a burkinabe language scholar, a greek theatre production major, a mongolian economics scholar, and my friends (they're none too special). The conversation centered around religion, politics, and sex (everything you're not supposed to talk about at dinner)...and while there were some intense disagreements, nobody was offended and everyone laughed alot. (especially when Niamboue from Burkina Faso told us how he hunted tigers and climbed trees to get fruit.)

All this to say that I was in a good mood when later than night, I went out to a bar to meet up with some friends of friends. Suddenly, my "it's a small world" view of life was shattered by some syphilis-ridden skank (educated guess) who called me a "sarcastic bitch who thinks she's funny" and reiterated that she "wanted to punch me in the face!" Me! Sarcastic! And what really poured lemon juice in the cut was that I had made an honest effort to befriend this ho, noticing how she was just standing on the side of the group and looked bored. It's a good thing she didn't say this all to my face, because then I would have had to do something rash...like run away, hide, and weep uncontrollably.

I guess what i'm trying to say is: don't hate. celebrate! U2 won a bunch of grammies, the Olympics have started, it's snowing in DC, Valentine's Day is tomorrow, and there's a three day weekend coming up! And if you must hate, kindly leave my face out of it.

I Like Fast Men.

Friday night was my law school's "Barrister's Ball", but as far as dances go, I just couldn't imagine it surpassing my experience at the senior prom in highschool: me, standing against the wall with glittery Payless heels digging into my ankles, wondering when the dance will end so I can get drunk on the beach, while I watch my date dry-hump the foreign exchange girl on the dancefloor, her lime-green tafetta dress rising to dangerous heights.

So I skipped the "ball" and instead went to my very first hockey game! I always knew that men on skates would be much more attractive than men in shoes, but I never thought I would finally find my spectator sport of choice. I am now a hockey fan. Of course, there are a couple things about the game I would change, like more flattering jerseys for fans, or less fighting and more hugging on the ice. All things considered though, hockey is way more entertaining than lame "American" sports like baseball or football.

What does this all mean? I might be Canadian-eh?