Snark Scribe

Not all of us can meet people of quality

Saturday, February 28, 2009

Stop Telling Me I'm Fat

I had my job interview a couple weeks ago and it went very well. I'm waiting to get an official offer, but the supervisor I interviewed with told my fiance (who works there) that he really liked me. I have to do a background check for this position, and I'm not sure how long that would take, but it will be nice to be employed and be able to save up money for my wedding.

Currently I'm living at home with my parents and trying to write my thesis. It's hard not to get distracted by the pretty things on the internet, or the lovely wedding books my future mother-in-law sent.

There are lots of wonderful things about the wedding industry, and they give lots of good suggestions to brides, but one thing I would like to say to them is, "STOP TELLING US WE'LL HAVE A CRAPPY WEDDING IF WE HAVE A BIG ASS."

Ever since I changed my Facebook status to "engaged" I've been getting lots of wedding-related ads, which is nice because they're mostly relevant. However, some of those ads are for "Weightloss for Brides!"

I watched a wedding show where a bride (who was not even chubby) was told by a personal trainer she needed to shed the flub as she pinched a small roll of fat between her shoulder blades.

On one wedding planning site I visited the checklist includes "Start losing weight."

For someone who wants to lose weight or start exercising for health reasons a wedding can be a good motivator. For other women who are already overspending or stressed out because the wedding industry preys on our fear of looking tacky or cheap, "You're fat" messages are not helpful.

I'm not fat and I know it. Now sell me some wedding candy and shut up.


Monday, February 16, 2009

Super Prepared

I had lunch with a classmate the other day. She is also recently engaged, as of November.

She told me she had picked out her wedding date, selected a venue and caterer, and put down a cash deposit. This busy bride had also decided on a theme, was working on her invitations, and started making her centerpieces (that will need to be stored).

Did I mention her wedding isn't for another 16 months?

Apparently she started planning before her fiance even proposed.

Run man! Run while you can!


Friday, February 13, 2009

Craziest House Party Ever

My friend had a party and his roommate invited some very volatile people - a girl with a "reputation" and her new boyfriend, who had been paroled from prison several days before they met.

At the party they were "OMG so in love" after dating for about 48 hours, and spent much of the evening joined at the hip, cooing at each other, until Jenny decided to go talk to Bob in the front yard.

The Parolee turned out to be a meth head who started tweaking. He freaked out and began interrogating everyone at the party. "Where's Jenny? Did you see where she went? The bitch must be cheating on me! Jenny! Where the hell are you!"

People tried to calm him down and told him his girlfriend was outside. Shedding all the affection he had displayed only minutes before, the Parolee charged outside with a beer bottle and hit Jenny with it.

Enraged, she hit him back, until the two of them were laying the groundwork for assault charges. Other partygoers pulled them apart and held the Parolee down while he screamed "Jenny! You fucking whore! I love you! Jenny! You bitch! I love you! Jennnnnnny!!!!!"

Unimpressed with his declarations of affection, Jenny left the party. The spurned Parolee decided to turn his aggression upon the other men at the party. To stop him from taking swings at anyone in the vicinity, 4 men held him down on the hood of the car while his meth rage boiled over. He kept roaring "Jenny I love you!" while trying to punch everyone in the vicinity.

While they were waiting for the police to arrive a carful of men stopped in front of the house. The 4 "Marauding Irish Rednecks," as my friend called them, spilled out of the car yelling, "Is there a fight going on?"

They were not invited to the party, and no one else knew who they were. They had simply driven around the town looking for a brawl to join.

The MIR launched themselves at the Parolee and tried to hit him. The other partygoers let him go so he could defend himself, and a 5-man tussle broke out on the front lawn.

The police finally showed up and pepper-sprayed the MIR. 3 of the men ran back into their car and drove away, leaving behind their friend, who was screaming in agony because of the pepper spray in his eyes. The Parolee also managed to escape.

The police questioned my friend as the pepper-spray victim staggered around in the background wailing. "Speak up son! I can't hear you over the noise."

Meanwhile, in a strange coincidence, the Parolee ran down the street to the corner store where Jenny happened to be. She had also called the police, which turned out to be a wise decision because as soon as the Parolee saw her they started arguing again.

He ran off when the police arrived but Jenny told them where he lived, which was within walking distance.

The police had her call him to make sure he was home, then went to his house and tased him in his living room.

It was the end to a very bizarre evening.

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Thursday, February 05, 2009


Many of you probably grew up with a fear of the Bogeyman.

This is because your parents didn't have enough imagination to traumatize you properly.

My grandmother made up a creature she called the "Owoopok" who stole naughty children and sold them into slavery. If we misbehaved he would show up with his sack and stuff us in it.

What made this story really terrifying was how plausible she made it. She told me that during the day the Owoopok disguised himself as a homeless man with red eyes, who panhandled on a particular street in her neighborhood, while wrapped in a blanket.

I have no doubt that she chose a real homeless man with bloodshot eyes, who carried his belongings in a bag (that looked just like it might be large enough to contain children).

All I had to do to confirm her story was go to visit the bakery where he dug in the dumpsters for breakfast, and thus add another layer of terror to my childhood.

My grandmother was a very clever woman.

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Sunday, February 01, 2009

Straight Right Through Like a Vindaloo

On my trip to Europe last summer, I had a tour guide who reminded us he liked to be called "English," not British." He was a wonderful guide, and had various fond phrases he repeated. I'm not sure whether they were particular to him, or to the English, but here are a few of my favorites:

"useful as a eunuch in a brothel"

"crumbly old coffin dodgers" (in reference to the elderly tour group he led before ours)

"hot enough to boil a monkey's bum"

"love of your life and fire of your loins"

"The English have their buttocks so firmly clenched you can't slide a credit card through."

He suggested we could pick up a hot young Londoner by saying "Hellllloooo. Ding dong! You're not wrong" with an Austin Powers-like growl.

He also informed us that he's rather shocked at how Americans use the word "shag" so casually. When his local movie theater showed "The Spy Who Shagged Me" they had to print "The Spy Who ****ed Me."

While passing out Metro or museum tickets, the tour guide would shout like an auctioneer or carnival barker. "Come one come all, get them while they're hot! Hurry hurry hurry! Come straight through like a vindaloo!"

It took me a few moments to realize he was making a diarrhea joke.

He also taught us rhyming slang. "Britneys" are beers, since they rhyme with Spears. "China" (plate) is a substitute for "mate."

The tour guide was tickled pink when I greeted him one morning with "Wotcha Joel! Thanks for the Britneys me old china!"

(By the way, there were both sodas and beers for sale on the tour bus. When the tour guide told us this he said, "Welcome to Europe!" No one bought them, but we were still amused that it was possible).

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