Those Two Little Words...

It has been quite a while since I last blogged from work (oh the subversive feeling of blogging on company time...) so I thought I would get back to it. I have a particularly fiendish story to share with you fiends out there. I will preface it with just two words that should have your spines tingling in delicious anticipation of the horrible things to come... BLIND DATE!

Who among us hasn't had at least one awful experience in the realm of blind dating? (Well actually, this is the only one I've had, thank Jeebus, but it is so ridiculous, I am compelled to share)

A few months ago, at the insistence of several friends, I was compelled to put a profile up on a certain dating website devoted to fomenting and fostering (or festering?) relationships between singles of a particular religion. For the sake of anonymity, I will call the website "kDate."

After only a week or two of having my profile up on kDate, I had received many many emails and requests for instant messaging from many men. However, if you have read even one other of my posts, you might realize that I am something of a cynic, and definitely do not fall into the category of a "warm and fuzzy" person. Hey, I'm a fiend, I admit it. So for the most part, I ignored the requests for instant messaging, and responded to only a few emails. However, one day at work I gave into the type of deadly boredom that usually inspires me to write blog entries, and decided to answer an IM request from a fairly normal-sounding man whom I will call Igor, because it's a dumb-sounding name and I do not think charitable thoughts when I look back upon my time with Igor. (Apologies to all fiends reading this blog who are actually named Igor)

Igor's profile showed him to be an attractive man, 28 years old, divorced, some compatible interests and views, nothing too exciting. Our IM was fairly typical, with us chatting back and forth about what we did for a living, hobbies, places we enjoyed hanging out, etc. At the end of our unobjectionable, yet none to exciting conversation, Igor asked me if I would like to meet him for a date. I told him I had no objections and he proceeded to plan a dinner-and-drinks date at a posh seafood restaurant near my office, a few days hence.

On the evening of our date, I, dressed in my finest dinner-and-drinks at a posh restaurant garb, walked over to the restaurant and met Igor at the appointed time. Igor looked like his kDate profile pictures, which was a fairly good sign as many people tended to use old and outdated photos of themselves.

Our dinner started pleasantly enough, with us choosing our entrees and Igor ordering a $50 bottle of wine. We chatted and made small talk while waiting for our food and beginning to eat. Over the course of our meal, however, Igor consumed increasing amounts of that bottle, while I slowly sipped from my glass. After the bottle was finished Igor started ordering wine by the glass. When he finally passed the boundary of tipsiness into utter and complete drunkenness, our conversation became most interesting.

"So, about my divorce," Igor said.

"Oy vey," I thought to myself. "Here we go."

"I'm not actually quite divorced yet, but the paperwork is gonna be going through any day now. So you wanna know WHY I got a divorce?" He asked me slurringly.

"Uh, sure, why not."

"So I had to have surgery and my wife was out of town for awhile, so this friend of mine was helping to take care of me while I recovered and she was pretty hot so I started cheating on my wife with her."

"Um..."

"Yeah, so my wife decided to divorce me, and I've been seeing this other girl, the one I had the affair with. But a few weeks ago I broke up with her and she was so pissed at me that she sent me photos of her and my ex-wife [don't you mean your soon-to-be ex-wife?] making out at a bar."

"Um..."

"Yeah so that's what happened. Pretty funny, huh?"

"Um..."

To be honest, my fiends, I am almost NEVER at a loss for words. I ALWAYS have something witty or funny or sarcastic to say, whatever the circumstances, but for the first time in years I was utterly dumbstruck. I had not one idea how to respond to that most interesting story. Was this where I was supposed to make a joke about what fabulous relationship material Igor made? Should I have made vague off-color references to threesomes between ex-wives, ex-girlfriends, and ex-blind dates? Should I have politely pretended not to have heard that entire story and asked Igor if he preferred The Beatles or the Stones?

Fortunately this conversation ended around the same time as our meal, and the bill was brought to the table. And now you fiends are probably thinking "phew, at least it's over," but no, the night wasn't quite over.

Igor looked the bill over and said "Your half comes to about $70."

What?!? Huh?!?

I am a lifelong feminist, and believe that there is absolutely nothing wrong with going dutch, or even doing the treating, however, I felt my outrage was more than justifiable under the grounds that he had asked me out; he had chosen the restaurant; he knew the restaurant was out of my price range because during our IM we had talked about our respective jobs, his high-paying computer job and my low-paying nonprofit job; and he had taken it upon himself to choose a $50 bottle of wine, most of which he drank himself, in addition to several other glasses of wine.

Once again utterly dumbstruck and completely unprepared for what to do or say, I pulled out my credit card and paid for half the check, which, with tax and tip, actually came out to more than I earn in a day. Yikes!

Of course the night still wasn't quite over yet. We left the restaurant, me walking, him stumbling. Outside the restaurant I had to fend off repeated requests from Igor that he would drive me home. After making it firmly clear to him that not only did I not want a ride from him, but that in fact he should give me his keys (which I was thinking about dropping through a sewer grate) and let me flag down a taxi, he gave me a big, drunken, gropey-handed hug, and took off at a fast stumbly walk, eager to keep his keys away from me. I walked home in utter disgust.

That is the last I have seen or heard of Igor. I even checked the papers the next day looking for accident reports, but found nothing, so I assume he made it home without killing himself or anybody else.

And that, my fiends, is my scary tale of that dreaded social ritual, the blind date. And, like Jerry Springer, I would like to leave you fiends with my final thought:

Whoever invented the concept of the blind date needs a good kick in the nads.

Wha?

I have been gone for quite a while and a lot of things have happened during the interim. I hope to devote my next several entries to what has been going on in my fiendish life. (hey, you didn't think that my life had become boring and unfiendy while I wasn't writing, did you?) Just wait, my fiends, just you wait... Muahahahahaha...

Wanted: Two World Class Art Snobs

Last weekend my fiendish twin came for a visit. I had invited her up to DC for the day to view an exhibit of the works of one of our favorite artists, the nineteenth century Japanese printmaker, Hiroshige.

Since I live 10 minutes from the National Mall, I am a frequent patron at museums of all types, especially art museums. However, since the museums I generally frequent are Smithsonian museums (hence, free), I have somewhat of an attitude about paying to visit museums and galleries.

Fun Side Note: When I visited the American Museum of Natural History in New York last year, I raised such a fuss about being charged admission to the museum that they gave me the student discount just to shut me up. I was somewhere in the middle of a grandiose speech about the sacred responsibilities of guardianship of ancient and unique objects meant to be held in trust for the people of the world, when they practically threw the ticket at me and waved me into the museum.

The Hiroshige exhibit, unfortunately, was not being held at a Smithsonian museum. Rather, it was being held in one of the small, chic, self-conscious galleries that appear ten to a block in certain District neighborhoods. The cost of two tickets plus various surcharges (from a certain evil Master of Tickets, who shall remain nameless upon the advice of my attorney) came to $25. The posh look of this ritzy blog notwithstanding, my fiends, I am not made of money. However, since my sister and I both desperately wanted to see the exhibit, I forked over the money and we made our way into the gallery.

The exhibit itself was fantastic, and my sister and I were thrilled to see Hiroshige first editions up close. However, the gallery was packed, and not by the t-shirt-wearing, map-carrying, ice cream-eating tourist types who flock to the National Mall and the Smithsonians. Rather, these were Burberry-accessorized, Prada shoe-wearing, $250K per year art snobs. These are the people who spend their weekends patronizing fancy galleries, peering disdainfully at the artwork, and talking in snooty sounding artspeak. These are the kind of people who you may believe exist only on TV and in New York. But that's not true; they are real. They are really real

Now being the fiends that we are, my sister and I view such people as fair game. Therefore, we decided to go with the overused yet utterly appropriate philosophy of "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em." And since my sister and I were raised to believe that we can be the best at anything we set our minds to, we were determined to outsnob the snobs. So we raised our chins, pointed our noses upward, and became... ART FIENDS!

"Observe," I murmured, in my most blue blooded manner, while peering disdainfully at a print. "One can see the influence of eighteenth century Dutch traders in the Anglo-style rendering of the backdrop."

"True," replied my sister, in the frosty tones of a Rockefeller. "Yet the strong lines and concise proportioning of the foreground are reminiscent of early Edo-period woodcuts."

In this vein we murmured our way through the many rooms of the exhibit. We threw out artsy words and phrases that we had picked up various places, while having no idea of the actual meanings; words such as "chiaroscuro," "grisaille," "lavoro di intarsia," and "parsemage." By the time we worked our way to the end of the last room, the other art snobs in the gallery were backing away from us in confused fear and respect.

Mission accomplished! We had won! We had outsnobbed the snobs! We were fiends triumphant!

And You Thought I Didn't Care...

Hello my fiendy fiends! I would like to apologize for letting an entire week go by without a new entry. Although I was physically here, I sent my brain for a week of well deserved R&R in exotic, romantic Boise. But never fear, for I am back and working on a fiendish new entry!

The Comet Lady and Me

There are many people in this world I admire, Jonas Salk, Mohandas Gandhi, Kurt Vonnegut and Mr. T to name a few. Now I have someone new to add to that list. Her name is Marina Bai and she is my new hero.

Who the hell is Marina Bai? You fiends are probably asking. Should I know who she is?

You may remember that less than a week ago, the NASA spacecraft "Deep Impact" (yes, that name is just WAITING for porn jokes galore) crashed into the comet, Tempel 1. NASA hopes that the gas, dust and ice ejected from the comet during the crash will give scientists insight into the formation of the solar system.

Enough with the science lesson. Get to the good stuff!

Marina Bai, as you may or may not know, is the Russian astrologist who is suing NASA over the Deep Impact mission. She has claimed that the trajectory of the comet was slightly altered by the impact, which naturally will affect her horoscope for the rest of her life. Her lawsuit is asking for... wait for it... $300 million!!! What a fiend!!!

In fact, I recognized her as a fellow fiend the moment I read this wonderful quote from her claim:

"The actions of NASA infringe upon my system of spiritual and life values, in particular on the values of every element of creation, upon the unacceptability of barbarically interfering with the natural life of the universe, and the violation of the natural balance of the Universe."

Who else thinks this crazy lady rocks the house? Don't be shy! Raise your hands!

I must admit that I felt a great sense of relief when I first discovered that Marina was out there. Until then, I had thought that I was the only one concerned about the cosmic astrological effects that would befall both me and the universe at large if NASA had its way.
I am an Aries (in case that wasn't obvious) on the cusp of Seaquarius, blancmange ascending. According to my extremely accurate astrological calculations (done with a homemade crayola-and-construction-paper star chart) performed whilst walking counterclockwise around the Prime Meridian and listening to the latest hit from Yanni, the effect that the impact will have on my future is monumental!

Whereas I once had a fabulous future filled with wondrously fiendish world domination, the return of 1980s-style pop, and a shoe collection to outshine Imelda Marcos, under this new cosmotological era, my future has taken a horrifying turn.

According my new horoscope, my future is filled with... good deeds (NO!)... charity... (HELP!)... reading to orphans (WHY GOD, WHY!)... and a Nobel Peace Prize (OH, THE HUMANITY!). The cosmic ramifications of this are almost too painful to bear!

That is why it appears that our only salvation lies in the wise and capable hands of Marina Bai. She has become a voice for the cosmological voiceless, for those silenced by cruel corrupt governments, and a world that cares little for the astrological happiness of the have-nots. With the emergence of Marina, a leader has appeared who will save us from the new, unbalanced universe, and will fearlessly lead us back to the glorious dawn of a beautiful, astrologically-correct world.

Viva la revolucion!

Brain Damage Sets In...

Never fear, my fiends. I am still here despite my poor showing, blogically speaking, this weekend. In fact, I am in the middle of working on an entry as we speak. However, it is not going to be finished tonight as I spent most of the day in 90+ degree weather and I think I may have fried my brain a bit. Sun damage, meh!

Follow That... Huh???

My fiends, my friends, now that we have grown so close I thought this would be an appropriate time to share a personal story with you. A few people who read this blog have suggested that I am either weird or crazy (or both), and it has been suggested that the stories and my apparently bizarre personality couldn’t possibly be true. So to dispel any disbelief, I would like to share with you a story from my childhood. I want you to understand that for unexplainable reasons, weird things have happened to me, and odd circumstances have befallen me, throughout my entire life. This is why I have grown up to be the fiendy fiend you all so love and admire today. Back in the carefree and innocent days of the mid-1980s, when mullets were mainstream, big fluffy bangs were the height of fashion, and legwarmers were undeniably cool, I was a young lass happily engaged in the fairly recent pursuit of learning. My twin sister (yes, I have an identical fiend) and I attended an extremely small private school, and as it was nearing the end of the school year, we were preparing for an end-of-the-year field trip.

As I mentioned just a moment ago, our school was small; in fact there were only 18 students total, in grades one through six combined. So for the trip, our entire school including teachers (all two of them!), and most of the parents, headed into the mountains to spend the day at a remote cabin nestled in the mountains, by a beautiful lake. We drove for most of the trip until we reached the base of the mountain where we were going to leave the cars and hike the rest of the way. As we walked up the wide path, we naturally fell into three groups.

1. The “grown ups” (parents and teachers)
2. The “big kids” (grade 2 thorough 6)
3. The “stragglers” (me, my sister, and two boys, collectively known as the entire first grade at our school)

As the hike continued, we first graders, with our short stubby legs (as opposed to the second graders with their monstrously long ones) quickly fell far enough behind the other two groups that we lost them altogether and not one of them noticed. (Personally, I think the parents and teachers had started their end-of-the-year celebratory drinking a little early.)

Here is the place where I should probably mention that we were all considered "gifted" children, not one of us your average, ordinary, mediocre, future-disappointment of a child. So the four of us stopped to regroup and take stock of our situation. After much discussion and rationalization, we decided that the key to catching up to the group would be by taking a small disused side path that led off into the woods. We figured that since we had already lost the group, the only possible outcome of our actions would be the opposite - we would un-lose the group (i.e. find them).

So, smug in our overwhelming intellect, we set off up the abandoned path, knowing that we would soon rejoin our friends and family who would praise our cleverness by stuffing us full of candy. We walked. And walked. And walked. And... You get the point.

After about an hour of walking, with the trail growing increasingly faint, we concluded that there had been a flaw hidden somewhere in our plan and we were, in fact, lost. We called for another meeting of minds to discuss how best to resolve our situation but unfortunately could come to no consensus. Finally, one boy (let's just call him G, for genius. It has nothing to do with the fact that his name was George) said, "Look, there's a butterfly!"

He was correct, there was indeed a butterfly. However, G wasn't finished. "Let's follow the butterfly," he said. "It will lead us back to the group."

We put our heads together and could find no fault with his logic so it was decided. We would follow the butterfly, which would lead us straight to our parents. Of course, the first thing the butterfly did was fly off the path, and of course we all followed. In fact, we followed the butterfly for a good two hours, always walking up. At the end of the second hour the butterfly flew off and left us (this is why I never trust butterflies, even to this day). Before we could become worried, we noticed that the trees appeared to end a short distance ahead of us.

"See," said G. "I told we should follow that butterfly."

We headed up towards the clearing and broke through the trees. And came to a dead stop. Total silence.

We were standing on a ridge at the TOP of the mountain, looking down to the ground far below. Our parents were nowhere in sight, being that they were living it up at a lake house, and we were standing on the top of the bloody mountain.

This was not good.

So we conferred and determined that, while the plan had been a good one, at some point our butterfly must have slipped away and been replaced by an identical butterfly with a poor sense of direction. The only thing left for us to do was head back down the mountain until we reached the parking lot, where we could regroup and continue plotting.

For the most part, our trip down the mountain was unmemorable. We even managed to eventually find the main path. However, one small incident marred the general ease of our passage. While we were still on the side path, we noticed a small sign hanging from one of the trees. It read:


At the time, we all subscribed to the philosophy of literalism, so when we read that trespassers would be shot, we believed that trespassers, such as ourselves, would be shot. It didn't help that there were bullet holes in the sign either.

Aside from our short-lived panic over being shot, we eventually made our way back down to the parking lot. However, several cows from a nearby pasture had wandered into the lot, and were grazing between the cars. Although we were undoubtedly brilliant, we were still young and didn't know very much about cows. So we held an impromptu meeting and formed an ad-hoc cow committee to discuss the cows. We quickly came to the not unreasonable conclusion that cows were, in fact, quite dangerous. These deadly beasts would as soon kill you and eat your eyes, as graze on grass. Luckily, before that fate could befall us, we discovered that one of the cars was unlocked. We spent the next half hour huddled in the car, convinced we were about to die, until a group of parents emerged from the woods looking quite relieved (and a little tipsy) upon finding us.

And here the story ends, because it becomes quite boring. We made our way to the cabin and ended up having a great time swimming and playing and eating junk food. Blah blah blah.

So what was the point of this story? Oh yeah. Weird things have been happening to me for as long as I can remember. But that's not a bad thing. Imagine having a perfectly normal ordinary life. How boring. How utterly un-fiendish!

Tragedy Strikes!!! Alert FEMA!!!

My deepest apologies, my fiends, for not adding an entry to the blog last night. I had one in mind and was ready to start writing when I discovered that my BRAND NEW computer (less than 4 weeks old) appears to be broken. But not to fear, I am about to start making phone calls berating the appropriate people, and doing what it takes to get it fixed.

While I can't promise any new and exciting entries over the weekend, at work today I will secretly and stealthily be writing the entry I had in mind for last night. By the end of business hours today (EST of course) I will have a new entry for all my favorite fiends!

The Early Bird... Is Really Stupid!

No entry tonight, my beloved fiends. I am sleepy and I have to wake up extra early tomorrow. Tragic, so tragic. I am a night owl fiend, not a morning fiend.

Something Special for All You Fiends...

There has been something on my mind lately, my fiendish friends. And I'm sure it has been on your minds too. Two words: Tom. Cruise.

Huh???

Well, not Tom Cruise, per say. More like Scientology.

Huh???

Well, not Scientology, per say. More like Fiendiology.

Yes!!!

I'll admit it: I'm jealous of Scientologists. They get their own wacky fun religion and lots of wacky fun followers -- Tom Cruise, John Travolta, Isaac Hayes, can ya dig it? (Special Note to the Church of Scientology, who I allegedly hear is allegedly famously litigious, allegedly: Don't sue me!)

Anyway, if the Scientologists can have their wacky fun religion, created by a moderately bad writer with a large ego, I want to have MY own religion, created by a moderately bad writer (me) with a large ego (me me ME!).

So, I present to you, fiends and friends...

The Church of Fiendiology!!!

Like all organized religions, Fiendiology has rules and beliefs. So everyone sit down, shut up, and pay attention! (Note: this will be much funnier to those fiends who actually know a bit about Scientology and/or have been following Tom Cruise's recent wacky exploits.)

First let's start with some background (excerpted from "Fiendanetics." Crash, Snow. 2005). In the beginning (when I invented Fiendiology 15 minutes ago) there were fiends. And these fiends were brought to Earth by benevolent aliens. Over the next few million millennia some other stuff happened, some good, some bad, mostly boring. Bringing us to the present day, where we Fiendiologists, who eschew all forms of non-psychotherapeutic medicine and believe that the entire world should be on Ritalin and Prozac, with the occasional martini chaser, attempt to commune with our past fiendish lives by releasing negative "f-grams" through a fiendishly secret method that is only revealed to those high in the Church of Fiendiology. It is our profound belief that through communicating with our past fiends, we can learn how to contact our alien progenitors and one day return to the fiendish cosmic paradise from whence we came. (Note: I am pleased to announce that I can cross something off my "List of Things to Do Before I Die":#37 - Use "whence" in a sentence.)

But how does one become a member of this fabulously fiendish new religion? Don't worry, my fiends, it's not difficult. First, you must acknowledge ME as Supreme Head of the Church of Fiendiology. Next, you must purchase my book, "Fiendanetics: A Fiendish Journey to Find Your Inner Fiend." Then you must read said book (yes, it will be on the test). After that you pretty much give me all your money and worldly possessions, move into the odd communal compound I have been building in the desert, trade in your clothes for white robes and a tinfoil hat, and start ridding yourself of those nasty f-grams!

So come join the wacky fun that is Fiendiology! The Supreme Head of the Church of Fiendiology commands it!

Fiendishly Special Annoucement!

Fabulous news, my fiends! I have opened my fiendish blog to general comments! Now you no longer have to be registered to leave comments, so come one, come all and speak your mind. I know that some blogs have had problems with people leaving mean anonymous messages, but I'll just assume that if you say something mean it is because you have a fiendishly huge crush on me!

BTW, look for a fiendish new entry later tonight or early in the a.m.

Say It Ain't So!

I thought all you fiends would be happy to know that I just ate an ice cream sandwich that was almost properly frozen! What a nice change from the liquefied kind. However, and I swear to you that I am not joking about this, my roommate must have seen my box of ice cream sandwiches and thought to herself Hmm... I don't really feel like eating any of the eight flavors of ice cream I currently have. Nor do I feel like eating sorbet or strawberry shortcake ice cream bars. In fact, there is only one frozen delicious dairy treat that I currently desire...

That's right, my fiends. You guessed it! She bought a GIANT BOX OF ICE CREAM SANDWICHES!!!

Amazingly, she also managed to somehow smash the box into the freezer so the freezer door can close. However, she blocked the nice little path I made for the freezer vents. I guess I can expect to be eating melted ice cream sandwiches again in a day or two.

What's a poor fiend to do...

Two Thoughts...

Hello, my fiends. Unfortunately I have no misadventures to regale you with tonight (this fiend is strangely sleepy despite the early hour) so I wanted to leave you with two small thoughts.

First, if you really want to know what it means to be a true fiend, get your fiendish butts on over to Making Fiends. This is not a fiendish request, it is a fiendish command. Obey, my fiends!!! You won't regret it!

Second, I wanted to give a mention to a fantastic documentary that I watched last night and highly recommend: Dogtown and Z-Boys. Even if you're not a skateboarding fan (I'm not), this is a well-written documentary that makes great use of excellent of source material. It gets two fiends up!

Why Reminisce About Old Roommates When You Can Complain About New Ones...

It never hurts to be prepared; you never know when the inevitable will happen. In fact, that's why I carry a big bag full of the most random crap. But, hey, this blog isn't about me (it isn't?) so lets not dwell on the random items in my purse (last check - wallet, keys, phone, umbrella, month-old grocery list, credit card bill, two rolls black and white film, two pens, one pencil, Bill Bryson book, random lens cap, tissues, gum, granola bar, one shoe lace, lip balm, colored lip balm, small notebook, saline solution, Madonna "Immaculate Collection CD - don't ask).

I know that many of you fiends, like me, were disappointed by the weak Y2K showing. Here I was expecting chaos and disaster, with a bag full of crap that would definitely come in handy when society crumbled, and NOTHING HAPPENED! But where am I going with this? Right, roommates.

So, recently I have come to realize that I must be living with the only human on the planet who has decided that one can never be prepared too early for Y3K. In her infinite wisdom she has decided that when society collapses, the one thing that she cannot be without is frozen foods.

Frozen foods! you fiends are asking? How random can this random blog get? I guess I might as well tell you now: this blog entry isn't actually about Y3K; it's about my roommate, our freezer, and my ice cream sandwich.

Earlier this evening, after a hard day of sleeping, reading and watching TV, I decided that I deserved one of the ice cream sandwiches I have sitting in the door of the freezer waiting to be consumed on special occasions, such as days that end in "y." I went to the kitchen and got said dairy treat out of the freezer, unwrapped it, and took a bite. What happened next is almost too painful to relate. The sandwich collapsed in on itself as all the semi-liquefied ice cream fell out of the sandwich and on to the floor.

After recovering from the shock of my ice cream sandwich's tragic demise, I asked myself that fundamental question that all good fiends should ask themselves when presented with a mystery. What would Matlock do? So I put on my best seersucker suit and set out to investigate.

Upon opening the freezer and assessing the situation, the mystery was promptly solved. The freezer was packed to the gills with every inch of space crammed with one or another frozen goods. It was so tightly and solidly packed that the cold air blowing in from the back of the freezer was trapped in the back, while items at the front of the freezer (such as my beloved ice cream sandwiches) were left to the cruel fate of a slow but sure defrost. Since I only had five small items in the freezer (well, four if you don't count my late ice cream sandwiches) and our third roommate recently told me she had nothing in the freezer, the majority of the frozen foods belonged to my roommate P, generally decent roommate and frozen food hoarder extraordinaire.

Being curious about what exactly was in the freezer, and wondering if my amazing Tetris skills translated into real world ability (i.e. I wanted to repack the freezer so the vents weren't covered), I set out to remove all the items in the freezer.

Fiends and friends, for your edification and entertainment, I present a list of the frozen foods currently residing in my freezer (minus my five small items):

1. EIGHT containers of ice cream, ranging in size from Ben & Jerry's pints to Breyers' half gallons
2. Two boxes strawberry shortcake ice cream bars
   
3. One container sorbet
   
4. One package edamame
5. Three packages corn
6. Two-gallon sized Ziploc of homemade bread
7. Five lb. package chicken
8. Three steaks
9. One package peas
10. One package green beans
11. Two packages mixed veggies
12. Two packages pre-made stir fry
13. One salmon fillet
14. Three boxes veggie burgers
15. One package frozen carrots
    
16. SEVEN unidentifiable mystery containers

That is 38 separate bags, boxes, and containers of food, all belonging to one person, all residing in an average size freezer (supposedly) shared by three people.

Out of curiosity I looked in her food cabinet and at her shelf in the fridge. They both contained normal quantities of food, so I could not conclude that she is in the habit of hoarding food. That is why the one and only conclusion that any logical and rational person could come to is that she is preparing for Y3K. The only part of the mystery I couldn't Matlock an answer for is why she does it.

Any thoughts, my fiends?

Weird...

Wow! An entire 24 hour period without a single weird happenstance. That's weird...

The Friends You Love to Hate,

or, A Walk Down Memory Lane,
or, People (me) Who Hate People (you) Who Love People (me) Who Hate People (you)

Keeping with my strange track record regarding the bus (i.e. the camel) I wasn't particularly surprised to have another close encounter today. It was a pretty straightforward experience: I saw a random person on the bus who, for about two seconds, looked like an old college friend. I did a quick sneaky double-take and quickly established that it was not, in fact, my friend. It was one of those moments that can happen hundreds of times a day and generally passes without a second thought. However, with the idea that I would need interesting material for my fiendish blog stuck in the back of my mind, it got me thinking. It took me back on a sappy, syrupy trip down memory lane.

Awww... how sweet, you fiends must be thinking, but HEY! This is ME! Do you really think that my college memories are sweet? Do I seem like the type of person who embodies "sweet?"

So this girl on the bus looked like my friend "S" (my attorney, Dr. Gonzo, has informed me that using real names could either get me sued or get me a reality show). A little background on S. We met years ago in college when I was working the door at one of the crazy punk shows we held regularly in the dirty, nasty, crazy, fabulous, activist-ridden house in which I was living at the time (a blog on that at another time, my fiends!). I have no memory of this meeting, as I was probably drunk at the time, but I have been reliably informed by S and several other people that I was "very mean" to her, and didn't want to let her in (knowing myself as well as I do, I'm sure the story is true). You can see we hit it off right from the start.

Somehow this led to us becoming friends. She eventually became my roommate in another house, after my previous roommate proclaimed his undying love for me and when it was not reciprocated, stole $1200 from me. S remained one of my roommates the next year when we moved across the street to a group house. All in all, we were friends for several years until she finished school and moved away.

But this story is boring and where the hell is it going and what the hell is the point?, some fiends may be asking themselves. The point, fiends, is that all the years we were friends I couldn't stand her; at times I hated her! Huh? She was a friend but I really disliked her. End of story.

So maybe that means she wasn't really my friend. Let's get Matlock on this and examine the evidence:

1. We socialized together, including going out to bars, clubs, movies and coffee shops
2. We threw parties together
3. We lived together for two years
4. We shared gossip and secrets and girly stuff like that

Based on this evidence, the logical conclusion is that S was my friend.

However:

1. She annoyed the hell out of me
2. Every time she spoke I cringed inwardly
3. I hated the fact that she was my roommate
4. I gossiped about her with other friends

Based on this evidence, the logical conclusion is that S was not my friend.

But just so you don't think I'm more of a fiend than I really am, in my defense S was a major pain in the ass. She was a drama queen, she was loud, she was obnoxious, she had to be the center of attention at all times, she was more boy crazy that any person I have ever met, and she was self-righteous (a vegan who liked to throw her "enlightened" status in the face of everyone else - and she hated animals too!). To make matters worse, she was scarily close-minded and conservative when we first met, then later turned into somewhat of a nymphomaniac.

So while I may feel like somewhat of an evil fiend, I'm sure I'm not alone in having been in this weird situation. Maybe it's more common than I realize, and maybe everyone has one or two friends that they really don't like. Please understand that I am not referring to acquaintances here, but FRIENDS - people you spend large quantities of your free time with by choice.

Hopefully this isn't the part of the blog where you are expecting me to have learned a valuable moral lesson about the meaning of true friendship (make new friends but keep the old, one is silver and the other is SHUT THE FUCK UP!). A year ago I randomly met up with S in DC and we spent part of the day hanging out. We went out to eat, caught up, gossiped about mutual friends, had a few beers, and parted ways promising to keep in touch (riiiiiiight...). Guess what? I still can't stand her. Only now that we don't live together, socialize together, throw parties together, and gossip and share secrets together, I can move on to the relatively uncomplicated task of disliking her without being her friend. Ahhh... sweet simplicity...

One caveat: Despite the vitriolic rant you have just finished reading, I am actually quite a nice person. S is the exception rather than the rule when it comes to my friends. And my fiends. Will you be my fiend?

The Conspiracy Continues?

I saw something odd on the bus ride home from work today. I was sitting in a window seat, staring at the traffic and zoning (my usual bus activity) when a truck pulled up next to the bus with one of those long horse trailers attached to the back. The trailer was one of those open models with lots of grating and windows so you could see right inside. And what was this trailer carrying? A horse perhaps? Good guess, and normally you would probably be right, but I have been having an odd day, so, sorry, no horse. It was a camel! A big golden camel! Strange... Could this have something to do with the french toast? What would Matlock do?

The Great French Toast Conspiracy

Since I don't feel much like working at the moment, I have decided to attempt to solve the mystery of the french toast. In order to maximize my investigative and detecting skills, I have decided attune myself with the ancient philosophy know as WWMD (What Would Matlock Do).


My hypotheses so far are as follows:

1. Government-created mind control agent meant to keep the population passive by making everyone think that they should be relaxing and enjoying brunch
2. Karthik-created mind control agent meant to keep the population passive by making everyone think that they should be relaxing and enjoying brunch
3. Meltdown at the nearby french toast factory/nuclear power plant
4. Aneurysm affecting the olfactory center of my brain

I love brunch!

French Toast is in the Air...

I should begin by saying that I work in the midst of downtown DC, where Code Red refers not only to a terror alert, but also an air quality alert. As the weather gets increasingly hot and humid (you fiends are aware that DC was built on a swamp, right?) the air quality drops. Anyway... I stepped off the bus this morning to walk the short distance between the bus stop and my office. Since hot weather has arrived, the morning air downtown usually smells strangely like urine (or at least it smells like how New Orleans smelled when I went there a few years ago for the Sugar Bowl - i.e. urine!) but this morning the air was filled with the strangest smell. Can you guess? (look at the title of the post, silly fiends! look at the picture!) It smelled of french toast! Huh?

Hopefully this isn't the part of the entry where I am expected to solve the mystery of the french toast smell because, my fiends, I haven't a clue. Since as of right now there is only one fiend who reads this blog, unless he knows why (do you know why, Karthik?), I think this is either going to have to be filed under "Unsolved Mysteries" or "X-files," whichever one is less likely to get me sued for copyright infringement.

What the Hell is this Blog About?

I have been questioned by a particularly impudent fiend as to what theme or themes are going to be encompassed in my blog. Well, besides my theme of being anal about weird internet shortcut spellings, I'm pretty much going to use this blog to talk about whatever I feel like. I hope all you little fiends are happy now...

Fiendish!!!

This is my very first blog entry. Not only that, but prior to this my only experience with blogs has been to kill time at work reading washingtonpost.com blogs. From what I understand, many blogs have themes: politics, music, etc. As far as I am concerned, the only theme for Fiend is going to be correct spelling and semi-correct grammar. (wat do U mean U R going 2 use correct spelling?) Wow, my first entry and a major pet peeve already revealed!

First things first! SUPER INCREDIBLE THANKS to my super incredible friend (or fiend?) Karthik, who not only set up this blog for me, but also designed an amazing website to showcase my photography!!!