Monday, July 31, 2006

Beware the Pretzel Vendor


No matter how cute he is.

Last week a girlfriend and I ran into a very gregarious, cutie patootie hawking concessions in the parking lot after the Phillies game. He seemed pretty cool--but the pretzel-vending state in which we met him prompted my friend to ask him about his real livelihood. He proceeded to tell us about all his various money-making schemes--his legion of ATM machines (he owns a couple), selling designer jeans at discount (probably to women that wear size 0 and are battling anorexia), etc. OK, I appreciate entrepreneurs and those who are little off kilter, so I gave him my number without really thinking much about it. Oh, so very much a bad idea.

Day 0: He texts that night--good to meet you, bla bla bla. I respond in kind.
Day 1: Texts me to ask about weekend plans. Tell him I'm meeting with friends & have a wedding but to come out for happy hour (where my friends can play buffer if he turns out to be a complete meathead)
Day 3: Multiple texts to meet up. We finally talk around 10:30. He never made it to the city and is in Doylestown. Huh? Then he asks me to come out there & meet up. Doylestown? I rarely venture out of a 5 block radius of Rittenhouse--how about no?
Day 4: 10:30 call in the morning--I decide not to pick up. 10:40 call in the morning from a 215 number--looks like my friend's home phone in the city. It's not. Nope, it's pretzel boy, pretending for the first couple minutes to be my friend. But we talk for a while, and he yammers on about how nice if I was next him at the moment, that I'd enjoy being with a 6'5" guy, and so on. I tell him he sounds like he has excessive testosterone buildup. He takes that the wrong way and says I should help him out with that. This is pure entertainment. I make a mental note to never meet up with this guy alone. Even so, I "plan to make plans" to get drinks during the week. Later that night, a friend and I get home from a wedding and I text to see what he's up to--with a followup text that "this is not a booty call." He calls & my friend talks to him --he's employing his best sales skills to drum up a threesome. Oh, hell no.
Day 5: He calls from cell, then calls from his home phone at 11am on a Sunday (you already tried that trick, bubba!). Then 5:30. I ignore each call. Stop the madness! Then another text at 9:30. We are only at Day 5, remember.

Lessons learned:

  • Smooth talkers are good for just that: talking. (Unless you're bent on catching an STD.)
  • The dating scene is rife with the unstable. (Myself not excluded, mind you.)
  • A cute smile and a free pretzel are just simply not enough for the digits.
  • Stick with hot dogs at the ballgame.

UPDATE- Just got another text: "Hey cutie wanna hang out tonite?" Me: "Rough wkend, chillin tonite. Maybe happy hr Wed." Him: “Sounds good.” So I have til Wed to figure out an outrageous excuse on why we can’t hang out. Last minute secret mission out in the Middle East to snuff out the Hezbollah is my top choice for an excuse at the moment.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Mistaken Identity

My mom, a doctor, often goes to medical conventions where she gets tons of free shit from all the big pharma outfits. She has promotional chotchkes galore --pens, notepads, mousepads, stress balls, clocks, & on & on--each labeled prominently with the names of drugs the companies hawk. I used a canvas bag emblazoned with the name Diflucan every so often to carry stuff until someone told me that the drug was used to treat yeast infections. But I do admit it was great fun toting my Viagra ball point pen around. Last week she gave me a USB port and an ultra-light portable mouse, both of which are a freebie score--so much more useful than a handful pens or a paperclip holder. So I was reading a blog by one of the Philadelphia Weekly writers about how a couple was suing a pharma company because their two sons committed suicide after taking Lexapro and the company never labeled suicide as a risk of taking the drug. Take a wild guess at which drug my mouse is advertising. Everyone in the office probably thinks I'm bipolar (which I guess is not beyond the realm of possibility.) I'm gonna keep using the mouse, it's oh-so-lovely and utile, but maybe I should get rid of the Valtrex paperweight (bwa ha.)

Monday, July 24, 2006

Me, You, & Dupree: Wait for DVD (yes, I know you knew that already)

There were only front row seats left at the Bridge theater for "Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest" so we settled for "You Me and Dupree." I really wasn't expecting that much, so I guess I wasn't terribly surprised at the lame plot and I only laughed at a handful of spots. Owen Wilson's hair is a freakin mess in this movie. I wanted to pat down his mane with some hair product and tame it a little.

In need of a new blog name

As usual, my originality is sorely lacking as I discovered a few weeks back when updating Google with my blogsite & randomly did a search on "ramblings and blather." The query yielded a fair number of other sites that use that very phrase in its description, specifically, this guy's journal.
Most everyone out there with a blog incessantly rambles about things most people have not a care for, but I want to update my title (tho I'll have to keep same URL for the time being) with something a little less obvious about my penchant for mindless omphaloskepsis. Some options:

  • Lip-Glossed Lip
  • A Keyboard and a Flask
  • Flinger of Poo

But I shall think upon it a while longer...suggestions welcome.





(Image: skullcats.com)

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Netflix no longer thinks I'm gay

You may remember a few years back when an email entitled "My Tivo thinks I'm gay" circulated thru the internet circles. A guy described a time when he programmed his Tivo to faithfully record "Will and Grace" every week. He then began to receive a ton of homosexual-themed movies and shows from his Tivo in response to his prime time viewing choice. A similar thing happend to me when I queued up a movie on Netflix, "Mala Educacion" (Bad Education), by renowned Spanish director Pedro Almodovar about a guy that is avenging his transvestite/junkie brother's death (the plot thickens and it gets a little more complicated), Netflix threw out a bunch of movies it thought I would like, a few of which turned out to verge on the border of outright porn. First there was the French movie with the two pseudo-lesbians and orgy finale, then there was the "coming of age" movie about two teenage boys and their summer of exploratory straight and gay sex. But I just watched my latest movie in the queue, "All the Real Girls" starring Zooey Deschanel (of "Elf" fame) and Paul Schneider, a relative unknown who I want to seek out and stalk til I'm slapped with a restraining order. Maybe I'm just moody and feeling lovelorn, but the simplicity of their hick romance was poetic. It's not action packed and the dialogue is a little slow (c'mon, they're in the middle of Podunk-nowhere) but the simultaneous relief and bliss of first kiss in the first scene felt so real and drew me in immediately. Probably best viewed with a vat of ice cream or with a group of the female persuasion.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Dr. McDreamy


As always, I got my overdose of cable and DVD viewing whilst visiting the fam for my niece's birthday this weekend and watched a few episodes of the first season of "Grey's Anatomy." (BTW, I've decided that the only way to watch prime time television is after all the hype and on DVD's that have no commercials. Period.) I'm not really all into the main character--Ellen Pompeo (who played Luke Wilson's love interest in "Old School")--but maybe it's because I'm madly green with envy that she plays opposite Patrick Dempsey who has nicely aged all these years from the one movie I love and remember him from, "Can't Buy Me Love." In this 80's teen flick, he played a geek who "rents" the school's most popular cheerleader to pretend to go out with him so that he can get in with the in crowd. His popularity skyrockets but he gets a little too into himself and rapidly goes from "totally chic to totally geek" as one of the cheerleaders puts it. It all ends well (as teen flicks always do) and he and the cheerleader ride off into the sunset together on a riding lawnmower (literally). I for one am ecstatic that he's resurfaced and can't wait to see more of the modest, quick-witted, and ultra heart-throbby Dr. Derek Shepherd he plays on the show.

Photo credit: IMDB

Monday, July 17, 2006

Rehab Report

So I finally went for a run last Thursday after more than a month and a half break from all high impact physical activity. Was out for about an hour, but only ran about 30 mins of it. Actually, 30 mins might be generous. The first 5-6 minutes of my run were just utter respiratory torture--I felt like I was jogging with a whale on my shoulders (or maybe that was just my fat ass, haha!). I was feeling great at about minute 15, but then the shin (which is what has been troubling me since the Broad Street Run and in runs previous to that) started acting up so I started walking. I was disheartened that my leg was still not 100%, but, with my truly idiotic hardheaded nature that refuses defeat, I ended up running another 15 mins after walking for a while. The leg feels pretty pain-free today (knock wood!), so I think I will try once more today. Baby steps, baby steps.

Monday, July 10, 2006

Dishonorable Discharge--not so much...


Seems the headbutt that ZZ, Zizou, Zidane, (or even "His Futboll Hotness," if you'd like) doled out to an Italian opponent during yesterday's World Cup Final did nothing to faze the media who awarded him the Adidas Golden Ball for best player of the 2006 tournament. Cannavaro, the winning Italian captain came in a well-deserved second, taking the Silver Ball & teammate Pirlo was hailed as third best player of the WC. Ah, adieu ZZ, hopefully this honor washes out the tainted last few moments of your World Cup career.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

A rather non-patriotic weekend

Instead of staying in Philadelphia, the Cradle of Liberty, for the July 4th festivities, I ventured south to our nation's capital, a decent alternative venue for celebrating the holiday. However, we didn't end up doing a ton of July 4th activities and didn't even make the 5 minute walk to the river for a clear view of the fireworks, but we did poke around the whole city quite a bit. While I've been to DC on numerous occasions, it was a little different this time because we stayed at my sister's new apartment just outside of the city, and I experienced DC from a local's point of view. We walked or took the Metro everywhere and became acquainted with fun neighborhood bars and restaurants, of few of which will most likely become favorites. I was wholly excited for, and admittedly a tad jealous of, my sister who was about to discover the novelties and quirks of living in a new metropolitan city and who was about to start a brand new personal and professional life.

(Bonne chance, ma soeur! I'll be sure to make it down often enough to pester the hell out of you.)

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