The laws of physics have NOT been suspended, therefore two people cannot occupy the same space at the same time. So please step aside to let passengers exit first. Otherwise you are simply delaying yourself.
New York is full today. Go home & come back tomorrow.
This train is delayed because I just saw a rat the size of a mule-deer and my hands are trembling too much to steer. Please pass a tranquilizer to the conductor’s car
All passengers who have not bathed in the last 48 hours must exit at the next stop.
Attention passengers! I can’t help but notice that there are two beguiling people on this train who I think would make quite an attractive couple, but both seem to be a bit shy. Won’t someone introduce them? Come on, look around — can you spot them? What a wonderful opportunity to promote true love here in New York City!
Customer service representatives exist solely to pass the buck and collect a paycheck, right? They’re just minions of the evil corporation that they work for and want nothing more than to stand by in awe as The Man ruins your life.
Wrong again. In fact, there’s a great chance that the customer service rep you’re speaking to hates that fucking company as much as you do. Customer service is a shitty job, and a big reason for that is because at most companies, customer service is maybe one ladder rung higher than the janitorial service who comes through and cleans the bathrooms after everyone leaves for the night. They’re the “losers” who can’t get the “real” jobs with offices and such, and rest assured, their co-workers and bosses treat them that way.
So, chances are, when you’ve been legitimately wronged and call to state your case, customer service is on your side. You think you hate it when your insurance or cable company raises your rates? Imagine how the people who have to take the resulting deluge of angry phone calls feel about it. Trust me, those increases aren’t going toward giving them big raises and fat bonus checks. The only thing your higher bill gives a customer service rep is a tension headache from being screamed at all day and an overwhelming urge to get blackout drunk.
This is so true. Customer service people are often getting abuse from both the customers and their employers. I think everyone should have to work at least one customer service job in their lifetime, because that shit is thankless. Working in customer service made me painfully nice to receptionists, call-center employees, and other people who have to be the front line for their companies. It is a miserable fucking existence, and many of the people who treat you the worst are ones who have never had to help anyone else.
If I have signed my name in an e-mail and you respond with it spelled totally differently you are the worst. I mean it. I know it’s a somewhat unusual spelling. I know! But that’s only an excuse if I haven’t already signed my name in the e-mail. Seriously.
Yes, I know that to healthily cope with my depression I am supposed to be doing yoga and shit but I’m just going to be here with my DVDs and cookies and beauty products and turning into a giant fucking cliche.
No one ever said the word “sex,” or even “vagina,” to me. We had no clue. We were like, “It’ll work out.” It never worked out. There is an actual rule that you learn before you get married that you are never supposed to look at genitalia. You can’t look at yours, and you can’t look at his. It’s always dark. There’s no hole in the sheet, but it’s pitch dark and there’s no looking and there’s a lot of fumbling around, and you’re wearing your nightgown rolled up to your waist. There’s no boob touching. Mine were totally wasted! There is no oral sex. After the first time, you have to call a rabbi and he asks the man questions — did this happen? And he declares you either unclean, or not yet consummated. Once you’re consummated, you’re unclean, because you bled. So after the first time, your honeymoon is a no-sex period.
For two weeks every month, he can’t touch you. He can’t hand you a glass, even if your fingers don’t touch. He has to put it down on the table and then you pick it up. Secondary contact can’t happen. If you’re sitting on a sofa, you have a divider between you. It makes you feel so gross. You feel like this animal in the room. If there’s a question about your period, you take the underwear and put it in a zip-lock bag, and give it to your husband. He takes it to the synagogue and pushes it into this special window and the rabbi looks at it and pronounces it kosher or nonkosher. It’s so disgusting.
1:03 a.m. At this point, Heigl does the impossible: handcuffed naked to her own shower pole, she’s still boring.
1:14 a.m. She’s standing in front of a hospital door, and you can’t help but long for her better days. She had more chemistry with the injured deer on Grey’s Anatomy than any of the characters in this movie.
“Cured salted pork crafted as a nasal tampon and packed within the nasal vaults successfully stopped nasal hemorrhage promptly, effectively, and without sequelae … To our knowledge, this represents the first description of nasal packing with strips of cured pork for treatment of life-threatening hemorrhage in a patient with Glanzmann thrombasthenia.”—PORK CRAFTED AS A NASAL TAMPON is the best phrase of 2012 so far.
“I know everybody says their kids are their greatest achievement, and I think my kids are wildly impressive and great, but I don’t feel like they’re my achievement, really.”—Cynthia Nixon’s Life After ‘Sex’
“I read [pop-culture blog] Dlisted.com every day—anyone can say rude things, but I find his writing to actually be very funny. He probably thinks I’m nuts because I say this constantly. He’s probably like, “She’s going to kill me and wear my skin!”—Even Tina Fey respects the brilliance that is Michael K
“Are you fluent in Italian? Is the person you’re speaking to fluent in Italian? Is the conversation actually being conducted in Italian? If the answer to any of these is “no,” then you did not go to fucking Feeerenzay, you went to Florence.”—How to Come Back from Vacation Without Being a Jerk
In a new study in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, a Harvard University team found that when your friends start liking the same indie bands as you, you’re more likely to stop liking those bands.
Researchers examined 200 college students’ Facebook pages over a four-year period and discovered that students who shared similar tastes in music bonded, instead of those students passing on tastes to each other. So while two hip dudes might strike up a conversation after noticing each other’s well-worn Fleet Foxes t-shirt, it’s much rarer that they’d actually adopt each other’s tastes.
Kevin Lewis, lead study researcher and a Ph.D. candidate in sociology at Harvard, explains the science of why you’re a hipster: “The meaning of an indie/alternative taste rests not just in the taste itself—but also in being the only one among one’s friendship circle that expresses it,” he says. “If I like The Decemberists, and suddenly my friends start liking them too, suddenly I’m no longer socially distinctive. So this taste loses much of its appeal and I will run off in search of some new band to express my ‘hip’ identity.”
“As an El Al plane landed at Ben-Gurion airport today, the voice of the captain came on: “Please remain seated with your seat belts fastened until this plane is at a complete standstill and the seat belt signs have been turned off. We also wish to remind you that using cell phones while the aircraft is still moving is strictly prohibited. To those of you who are seated, we wish you a merry Christmas, and hope that you enjoy your stay. And to those of you standing in the aisles and talking on your cell phones, we wish you a happy Chanukah, and welcome back home!”—
“As an aside: is anyone on TV bad at their jobs these days? Not if it’s a high-status gig. But feel free to be a bad waitress, or a crappy paper salesman or receptionist, or an ennui-ridden local government intern, or a lazy, crazy comic on a low-rated comedy show.”—Kera Bolonik’s review of House of Lies in New York magazine
The gay and lesbian community of Minnesota has issued a letter of apology to recently resigned Senate Majority Leader Amy Koch for ruining the institution of marriage and causing her to stray from her husband and engage in an “inappropriate relationship.”
"On behalf of all gays and lesbians living in Minnesota, I would like to wholeheartedly apologize for our community’s successful efforts to threaten your traditional marriage," reads the letter from John Medeiros. "We apologize that our selfish requests to marry those we love has cheapened and degraded traditional marriage so much that we caused you to stray from your own holy union for something more cheap and tawdry."
The Douchiest Parts from this Scarlett Johansson Profile in USA Today
"I used up all my subway tokens. It’s a privilege to not have to take the subway."
[Regarding her hate of being called “ScarJo”] “”People can’t actually say the whole name? It’s just bizarre.” She tries shorthand sobriquets on other stars. How come Daniel Day-Lewis isn’t subjected to “like, ‘DaDay’? So Cate Blanchett is not, like, ‘CaBla’? Why is that? Why do I have to get stuck with a mangled moniker?”
"Crowe, whom Johansson had auditioned for before, for Almost Famous and Elizabethtown, says it was “certainly brave” of her to consider a smallish part where she’s using none of her ‘ravishing girl skills.’”
"What does seem to be in her future: a family for when she’s older and, ideally, doing what she’s wanted to do since she was 12 — direct."
“There’s something sweet and wonderful about Christina Ricci. She’s like a lot of us. To look at her and hear her speak, you’d think she didn’t have a whole lot going on in the noggin, but under it all she’s a smart, tough cookie. Also, she’s never been caught shoplifting, taking copious amounts of illegal substances or battling a sex addiction. America loves our train wrecks, but we also love our strong, independent weirdos.”—
So is this supposed to be a compliment? Also, who the fuck uses the word “noggin”?
You seem nice and all, but I don’t really think that “You’re probably not going to eat this whole sandwich, are you?” comment was necessary. And the “It’s a COMPLIMENT” when I didn’t smile and laugh at your comment was certainly not necessary.
Here’s the thing: we could have a whole conversation about body image and women and food and all that fucked up shit, but plenty of people who are a lot smarter than I am wage those conversations every day. All you need to know about me, deli lady, is that I am exchanging my money for your sandwich. If I eat it, eat half of it, or throw it in the garbage unopened, it shouldn’t matter to you because you get to keep the money anyway. I totally get that you might have just been trying to make conversation. I’m the sort of person who talks to strangers in line at the bank, so I would have responded favorably to your attempts at chatter. Maybe next time you could try the weather? Because now I’m really having trouble enjoying this tasty sandwich. So much trouble that I might not even finish it.
The Good: My neighbor and her terrible boyfriend (who smoked in the hallway even after I told him I was allergic and liked to make passes at me when she wasn’t around) broke up, and she kicked him out.
The Bad: She’s recovering by listening to a back-and-forth assortment of sad Spanish-language love songs and “Moves Like Jagger.”