The Daily Procrastinator

I’m fascinated and horrified by Snuggie infomercials. I can just about take grandma Snuggie-d up on the couch (and can even envision, on an evening when the damn boiler stops working again, that it might be pretty cozy.)

But then – in the name of all things holy – the snuggies are on the loose, outside, at a sporting event. WTF people – do you not realize that while you remain snug in front, your ass is freezing its…well…ass off? And just how exactly do you propose to run from the vigilante hordes who will hunt you down for stepping outside in that thing? You’ll trip; just you wait and see – because you’re probably wearing crocs too.

OK, deep breath, it’s not real. It’s advertising dreamed up by some guy who never expected this kind of a hit – it’s bigger than the Sham-Wow for pete’s sake.

Then I read this: Snuggie Pub Crawls are sweeping the nation. Snuggie. Pub. Crawls.

True confession time. As a Brit, I have taken part in a fair number of oddly dressed – intentionally and otherwise – pub crawls. It is our national sport, after all, but even I would draw the line at hordes of drunks flaunting their freezing behinds while navigating the sidewalks in fleecy hospital gowns. Think of the static–everyone for miles around would look like Russell Brand.

I am invited to ‘Spread the Warmth – One Snuggie Pub Crawl at a Time!’ I laugh scornfully and then they pull out the big guns – the Chicago crawl has sold tickets to 3,000 people and the receipts will be donated to orphanages in Tanzania. Orphanages.

Damn you Snuggie. How can I mock you mercilessly now without looking like the kind of heartless person who doesn’t care about tiny orphaned children in Africa? Sigh.

Snuggie domination is complete, resistance is futile.

I’m a writer.  I work from home.  Therefore, on those unique opportunities to get out into the world and see people, I get a little bit excited.  Yesterday was one of those days.

There was the monthly IABC social networking mixer at a bar in San Francisco.  I was dressed in my “Woohoo! I’m going out!” skirt, and very excited about it at that.

And then I got to the city and realized all the ways that this was a bad idea.

1. Anyone remember Marilyn Monroe’s iconic upskirt in The Seven-Year Itch?  Submitted for your consideration: that burst of air that precedes a subway train as it emerges from the tunnel into the open expanse of the station combined with one rather flowing, swishy skirt.  Result: the commute crowd saw more of TallGirl than I’d like to admit.

I looked considerably less pleased than Marilyn.

2. The bar that hosts the aforementioned networking event has low tables scattered about among the seating areas.  Each table contains one votive candle, for atmosphere.  As we stood in this crowded bar area, we all stood perilously close to the votives.  I was evidently seconds away from becoming a human torch when the organization’s president came running over to push me out of the way.  I’m now destined for jokes about being the hottest member of the group.

And so, kids, I have learned a valuable lesson: stick with my beloved jeans and all will be fine.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a skirt to retire to the back of my closet.

HEY!  GOOD MORNING!  BEAUTIFUL DAY TODAY, ISN’T IT?

How’s that hangover this morning, Big Red Poet?  Before you try to hunt me down and bludgeon me, I want to remind you that I come bearing supposedly tried-and-true hangover cures.  Be nice and I may share them with you.

Let’s start by explaining why you feel so lousy this morning: alcohol.  I can tell by your unintelligible grumbling that you already knew that.  Well, here are more details.  You’re dehydrated.  Thanks to curious little chemical processes that go on in your body, with each drink you actually lose more fluid than you take in.  

99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer...

Now, if you’d come looking for advice yesterday, I would have told you that you should chase each drink with a glass of water.  Too late for that now.  This is a recovery mission today, and I’ll give you some suggestions that are widely rumored to work.  As a disclaimer, I’m not a doctor, nor do I play one on a blog for procrastinators, but I will spare you the hassle of your own Google search and give you the answers that I’ve gathered from the interwebs.

Gatorade.  Sports drinks aren’t just for athletes.  In much the same way that they replenish glucose and electrolytes for marathon runners, they’ll do the same for your abused body.

Greasy Eggs and Bacon.  I personally can’t handle the eggs on a hangover morning, but there’s definitely benefit to the salt in the bacon.  And really, is there ever a bad time for bacon?

Tripe Soup.  They swear by it in Mexico.  The spices most likely give your brain and body a chance to focus on a different kind of pain.  Either that or the tripe makes you vomit what’s left of last night’s bender.  The sources I’ve seen aren’t very clear on that one.

Hair of the Dog.  Another beer, my dear?  People swear that this is a solution, but the added alcohol will continue to send you down the path of dehydration.

Vitamins.  B6 and B12 the morning after can help to replenish what drinking has taken away.

Over-the-Counter Pain Meds.  Sure, they might work on your headache, but use them wisely.  Those with ibuprofen — Tylenol or Excedrin — can wreak havoc on your liver when mixed with alcohol.

Water, Water and More Water.  Your body needs the hydration, but water alone won’t do the trick.

Water and Chips.  My personal favorite combines the hydration of water with the saltiest bag of chips I can find.  A big bottle of water and bag of BBQ chips from an airport newsstand saved me from my worst hangover in the dry desert air of Las Vegas.  I was startled to discover that I was back to normal in 30 minutes.

Here’s hoping that you’ll find a solution and be able to drag your butt out of bed before noon.  Cheers!

There comes a time in your life when you have to make tough decisions.  Today was that day for me, a day where I needed to evaluate the course that my life was taking, a day where I looked to the future instead of the past.  Why today, you ask?  Because I discovered my rollerblades in a box in the garage.

Not me. But this is proof that I have been paying attention and do know our readership demographics.

I honestly can’t tell you how long they’ve been there, or the last time I used them.  I have a sneaking suspicion that they were living in this very same box prior to the last move, nearly four years ago.  Logic would tell you that if I haven’t used them since the first four years of the W administration, there was probably a pretty good chance that I wouldn’t be using them again anytime soon.

Logic does not apply to these situations.

This strange little voice appeared in my head.  “Oooh!  Rollerblades!  That would be fun!  And it’s great exercise!”  The more rational part of my brain laughed maniacally at the thought of  me, completely out of practice, in a heap on the sidewalk.  I could see neighbor children rolling up on their Razor scooters, wondering what happened to the crazy lady on rollerblades.

But that wasn’t the only treasure in this Box of Fitness Past.  There was also the softball glove for when I played (again as the token girl) on a co-ed corporate team in 2002.  “I can’t throw this away,” I thought to myself.  “It’s in great condition and I might decide to play again.”  Of course, as I no longer work for a corporation and have no time to spend playing softball two nights a week, the odds of that happening are close to nil.

There were other goodies in there, too.  A yoga mat, some dumbbells, a Pilates ring, a deflated basketball and a knee brace that probably hasn’t fit me since I was 14.  A more rational person would have walked them directly to the garbage can, never to be seen or heard from again.  I am not that person.  Instead, I loaded all of these goodies into a large garbage bag with the intention of taking them to the garbage, but then decided to set them aside so I could think about it for a while longer.  

I realized that getting rid of these things was like kissing a part of my past goodbye; admitting that I no longer have the balance or stamina to handle rollerblades doesn’t make me feel sensible, it makes me feel old.  

So for now, all of the gear will remain in the garage, nestled out of the way.  Who know, maybe there will come a day where I wake up and decide that I desperately want to skate my way to the nearest softball field and look for a corporate co-ed slow-pitch team to join.

As a writer, a reader, and a functionally intelligent person, very few things grate on my nerves more than blatant misuses of the English language. After reading that first sentence, some people will roll their eyes and think, “Here we go again. Another English snob is about to get on his soapbox. It doesn’t matter if I speak proper English, as long as people understand me.” Wrong! Unless you’re a wallflower or a stalker, your spoken English is one of the first things a new acquaintance is likely to notice about you. Depending upon who your new acquaintance is, speaking improper English could cost you a new friendship, a date, or even a job. It could also cause you to be mocked mercilessly as soon as you’re out of earshot.

ENGLISH, MUTHAF@%#ER! DO YOU SPEAK IT?

It doesn’t take much effort to speak proper English, and the effort will pay remarkable dividends. In a world which is deeply concerned (even obsessed, I might say) with image, I’m shocked at how many people ignore the effect their spoken English has on their images.

I’m not going to point out such linguistic faux pas as “irregardless” and “a whole nother.” Doubtless, if you care about your spoken English at all, you already avoid these mistakes. Allow me to point out, though, a few other quick-fix ideas for polishing your spoken English so you can project an intelligent image.

Collective Nouns: I recently read an article about a shark attack, which is a pretty awesome topic. The following sentence, though, is not awesome.

The group were about to leave the deep waters south of the Mississippi River’s mouth, when Mr. McInnis found himself alone in the company of a tiger shark.

The problem here is that the writer’s subject, “group,” is a collective noun, which is a linguistic stumbling block for many people. Collective nouns are nouns for collections of things (obviously). Examples include words like: family, flock, team. Because these collections contain many members (a flock is made up of many birds, for example), people tend to make the mistake of using the verb conjugation that should be associated with plural nouns. This is why the above writer incorrectly chose “were.” The mistake is simple. No matter how many people are in the group, there’s still just one group. Thus, the noun “group” calls for verbs that would accompany a singular subject. After revision, the sentence should read as follows.

The group was about to leave the deep waters south of the Mississippi River’s mouth, when Mr McInnis found himself alone in the company of a tiger shark.

Before we leave this sentence, I must also point out that one cannot possibly be “alone in the company of a tiger shark.” The word “alone” implies that one is…well…alone.

Pronoun/Antecedent Agreement: Here’s another mistake I hear constantly. In general conversation, sentences like this one are not uncommon:

Whenever a co-worker gives you a gift, you should send them a thank-you note.

This speaker’s pronoun, “them,” does not agree with his antecedent, “co-worker.” The pronoun is plural, while the antecedent is clearly singular. There are two ways to fix this little blunder. One possibility is to insert singular pronouns which match the singular antecedent.

Whenever a co-worker gives you a gift, you should send him or her a thank-you note.

The other option is to change the antecedent to a plural so that it agrees with the plural pronoun.

Whenever co-workers give you gifts, you should send them thank-you notes.

Improper Uses of “You”: This is probably the most commonly occurring error on the list. Apparently, it has become impolite, inappropriate, or uncool to talk about oneself at all. For example, during a recent conversation about memorable vacations, a friend made the following statement.

When we were near the top of Mt. Fuji, the view was amazing. You could see for miles.

Instantly, I thought, “I could? I could? I most certainly could not! I wasn’t even there!” Somehow, though, my friend found it appropriate to use a second-person pronoun. Why? A friend of mine who teaches keeps a running list of her favorite misuses of “you.” Here are some of the highlights:

• When you do cocaine, your pulse races and your pupils dilate.
• There is no shock like the shock you feel when your girlfriend dumps you.
• When you kill someone, you do not deserve to live in prison.

To the best of my knowledge, my friend does not use hard narcotics, is not a lesbian, and has never killed anyone, no matter how badly she wants to. Improper uses of “you,” though, have implied that she does all of these things.

Be careful, procrastinators. Your spoken English makes a lasting impression on those around you, and you don’t want to be remembered as an ignoramus. You also don’t want Samuel L. Jackson to be angry with you.

Ah, prom night: the source of many exes.

Ah, Facebook: the place where the past meets present, sometimes with jarring results.  Childhood friends, recent colleagues and family members mingle in a “worlds collide” sort of way.  It’s a fascinating social experiment.

I was chatting with a Facebook friend/colleague recently when he asked me, “What’s your xCount?”  This was his own personal term — one that I must admit that I love — for the exes that have crawled out of the woodwork and once again made themselves part of your life.  

I scanned my list of friends.  ”I’ve got two… and a half,” I told him.  He told me that you can’t count anyone as a half, but I think that a prom date who appeared in pictures but actually spent the night sitting in the lobby outside the hotel ballroom qualifies as something less than a full xCount point.  And believe me, after that fiasco at 17, I was thoroughly shocked to see that he wanted to connect with me.

He had four full-fledged exes on his list, not including one whose request he rejected outright.  ”Sometimes, the requests are just too creepy.”  Many of my friends agree.  There was the one who was contacted by the guy who stalked her after they broke up.  Another got a request from the girlfriend who had certain… uh… shall we call them “unique” sexual proclivities?  And what about that guy you hooked up with after the frat party sophomore year?  From first loves to major heartbreaks, they’re all out there, and they just might be looking for you.

Who's in my inbox? I can't bring myself to look.

What prompts exes to want to get in touch again, especially those that you haven’t spoken to in a decade or more?  As for mine, I still have a good relationship — albeit separated by time and distance — with one of them, and accepted the second just out of a ridiculous sense of curiosity.  You know the kind.  They’re the ones whose request is met with audible talking back to the computer.  ”Oh my god, John Doe?  How the hell did he find me?”  These requests are met with a connection, a few obligatory messages back and forth, and the obligatory Googling of their name to figure out what they’ve been doing since the 90s.

His story was slightly different.  He had one with fond memories who had sent the occasional Christmas card, one who had been a complete WTF entry, and two who were clearly taking Google stalking to the next level.  ”I don’t mind connecting with them,” he said, “but it’s a little weird that they have to respond to everything I post, as though they’re spending their days just waiting for me to update my status.”  Weird, indeed.

It seems that nearly everyone has an xCount greater than zero.  An informal survey of friends reveals xCount numbers between 3 and 9, each bringing varying levels of discomfort and baggage with them.  One, however, through the benefits of a new married surname and a move to a new continent has managed to avoid the xCount concept altogether, and was stunned to learn that I had an xCount.  

“I mean it’s lovely that they want to get in touch and it speaks volumes about your effect on their lives ….and yet: eeeeek.  I always wondered if I was crazy/unfriendly for not wanting contact or if the crazies were the ones who did.”

There’s no shortage of posts about this very topic.  This one talks about being the one that’s obsessed with the ex on Facebook.  This one talks about the shock of seeing the photo of the ex appear in the inbox.  Yet another talks about why your ex should never see your Facebook account.

Should you friend exes?  Only you know for sure.  Of course, you could always accept their invitation, learn everything you need to know about them, and then stealthily “unfriend” the person, leaving them to discover your passive-aggressive acceptance and rejection at their leisure.  But does that make you more or less creepy than the creepy ex that you’re trying to avoid?

Today is a remarkable day. Not only is March 10 Chuck Norris’ birthday, but this year it’s his sixty-ninth birthday. Could any day be more worthy of celebration?

America + Chest Hair + Guns + Beard = AWESOME

Throughout his *ahem* storied career, Norris has starred in numerous movies concerning either kung fu or kicking Russian ass (oftentimes both), taken to the television airwaves as Walker, Texas Ranger, and even sold dungarees for today’s stylish but lethal casual man. One might think that such fame would be the high point of any actor’s career, but bigger things were in store.

I’m not really sure how it happened, but Chuck Norris has recently become a more talked-about celebrity than ever before. Considering that the only starring roles he’s had lately are in those Total Gym commercials, this seems rather curious. A small but cultish faction of Americans, for some odd reason, have decided that Chuck Norris is the greatest thing since the invention of kung fu, and they’re idolizing him accordingly.

A few simple clicks on the internet will reveal Chuck Norris t-shirts, Chuck Norris video clips, Chuck Norris cards for Magic: the Gathering, and hundreds of Chuck Norris one-liners. If you haven’t heard any of these, you’re missing out. Here are a few of my favorites:

• Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.
• Chuck Norris may not know where you live, but he knows where you will die.
• Jesus’ bracelet says WWCND?
• CNN was originally created as the Chuck Norris Network, to update Americans with on-the-spot ass-kicking in real time.
• There is no “ctrl” button on Chuck Norris’ computer. Chuck Norris is always in control.
• All 99 of Jay-Z’s problems are Chuck Norris.
• If you can see Chuck Norris, rest assured that he can see you. If you cannot see Chuck Norris, you may be just moments from death.
• There is no chin beneath Chuck Norris’ beard. There is only another fist. (This one was actually referenced in an episode of Family Guy. See below.)

Brian is DOOMED.

So…does all of this Chuck-Norris-mania make any kind of sense? Not really. On the other hand, who cares if it makes sense? It’s AWESOME!

Happy Birthday, Chuck.

A Sonnet for Sirius/XM

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee for the info., sports and rock
My antenna can reach, when taking stock
Of the limits of AM/FM waves.
I love that no innane commercials play
And, by doing so, my stations stay locked.
I love thee, Faction, Octane, Sirius Pops,
I love thee, Liquid Metal, long live José!
In my travels, with my children in tow,
I love thee, Kids Place and the Disney Show.
I love thee, Road House, and Classic stations.
Long trips – who cares? I jam to Hair Nation.
With my connection – I now love to go
Sirius/XM: “Best Radio on Radio.”

I spent a bit of time clearing out my spam folder tonight, and I’ve tried to piece together a little personality profile based on the emails I’ve received.

I’m rich.  Just this weekend alone, I won more than $27 million ($27,000,000) U.S. dollars through various internet lotteries and the gracious kindness of strangers who have willed me money.  This is far more profitable than my writing gig, and with far less effort.  All I have to do is contact a handful of individuals in various nations, and I’m betting that by the end of the month I’ll be set for life.

I’m cheap.  I have 27 unpaid item disputes on eBay.  How thoughtless of me.  While most just list random auction numbers without detail, some actually give insightful information.  I’ve evidently been bidding on everything from cars to — quite inexplicably — vintage Barbie dolls.

There’s irony.  Someone wants to teach me how to make millions on eBay.  Evidently they haven’t seen my track record of 27 unpaid items.  And I’m personally captivated by, “I hope you find my information helping you.”  Indeed I do.

I’m small.  It appears that in addition to everything else in my life, I have a very small penis.  Unusually small.  So small that I am unable to satisfy women.  ”Be the man she really wants.”  You mean without gender reassignment surgery?  This puts my crush on Felicia Day in a whole new light, doesn’t it?

I hope that this personality profile helps you to learn a little bit more about the person behind the TallGirl persona.