in which I investigate why teenage girls with pink blogs subject themselves to this kind of barbaric cartoon scrutiny

They're called blogthings and they totally size you up. As usual, I'm game.

Your IQ Is 115

Your Logical Intelligence is Below Average Your Verbal Intelligence is Genius Your Mathematical Intelligence is Above Average Your General Knowledge is Exceptional

A Quick and Dirty IQ Test

I love how they just come right out and tell me that my logical intelligence is below average. Girl, you might be able to string together a sentence, but you'll get lost driving around the block. That does sound like me, come to think of it. It's tough love, I get it. Bring me some Kleenex, I'm ready for more.

Your Personality Profile

You are dependable, popular, and observant. Deep and thoughtful, you are prone to moodiness. In fact, your emotions tend to influence everything you do. You are unique, creative, and expressive. You don't mind waving your freak flag every once and a while. And lucky for you, most people find your weird ways charming!

The World's Shortest Personality Test

While I'd really enjoy nothing more than to singularly own some of these characteristics, I have a sneaking suspicion that I maaaaay not be the only person on the planet influenced by their emotions. And I love how it's such a revelation: "In FACT, your heart even pumps BLOOD."

By the way, your right to burn your own freak flag is protected 100% by the Constitution.

The Movie Of Your Life Is A Cult Classic

Quirky, offbeat, and even a little campy - your life appeals to a select few. But if someone's obsessed with you, look out! Your fans are downright freaky. Your best movie matches: Office Space, Showgirls, The Big Lebowski

If Your Life Was a Movie, What Genre Would It Be?

Why do I have a stalker if my life appeals to few? Whatever, I'm changing the locks.

You Are Likely A Forth Born

At your darkest moments, you feel angry. At work and school, you do best when your analyzing. When you love someone, you tend to be very giving. In friendship, you don't take the initiative in reaching out. Your ideal jobs are: factory jobs, comedy, and dentistry. You will leave your mark on the world with your own personal philosophy.

The Birth Order Predictor

What a surprise, I have Little Sister Syndrome; that much I knew. Only where the hell are my siblings? And can't I spell my own position in this imaginary family correctly?

Your Career Type: Social

You are helpful, friendly, and trustworthy. Your talents lie in teaching, nursing, giving information, and solving social problems. You would make an excellent: Counselor - Dental Hygienist - Librarian Nurse - Parole Officer - Personal Trainer Physical Therapist - Social Worker - Teacher The worst career options for you are realistic careers, like truck driver or farmer.

What's Your Ideal Career?

What kind of social problems could I solve... bad manners, poor form? As a parole officer, would I get a night stick? And not a good truck driver or farmer? Your doubt only fuels me to want to succeed in that "realistic career" field.

Your Ideal Relationship is Friends with Benefits

You're not looking for anything serious... just something hot! And you're little black book (or cell phone) always hooks you up. You want nothing more than friends with benefits. No strings. You also don't mind benefits without the friendship!

What's Your Ideal Relationship?

Gosh, express a few reservations about marriage to blogthings and suddenly you're a shameless whore hitting on her friends. How do they just keep hitting the nail right on the head like that?

Your Brain's Pattern

You're a simple thinker, and this is actually a very good thing. You don't complicate matters when you don't have to. You look for the simplest explanation or solution, and you go with that. As a result, your mind is uncluttered and free of stress.

What Pattern Is Your Brain?

You're a simple girl, Red, laying in a simple field surrounded by simple flowers. Don't you remember us telling you that you have no logical intelligence? Why did you have to come back for more?!

You Are 30 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

Huh?

Your Hidden Talent

You are both very knowledgeable and creative. You tend to be full of new ideas and potential - big potential. Ideas like yours could change the world, if you build them. As long as you don't stop working on your dreams, you'll get there.

What's Your Hidden Talent?

...and in conclusion I'd just like to say, congratulations to the class of 1987! We did it! WOO! Kegger at Buffy's after sunset!

You Are Lemon Meringue Pie

You're the perfect combo of sassy and sweet Those who like you have well refined tastes

What Kind of Pie Are You?

I'm dessert and you're classy. It's a win-win, really.

what's your damage, Heather?

My theory is that you really can't get drunk at your high school reunion because everywhere you look, there's a buzzkill. And I don't even mean that in a bad way, for the most part... it's just that a reunion is kind of like work disguised as a night out. Finally, after hours, everyone is so cheek-kissed, one-arm-hugged, and "oh, hi!"ed out that when you're done, you're done. I got dressed, pre-boozed, arrived, left, analyzed, and fell asleep with two of my best childhood friends. It wasn't very stressful; for the most part my class consisted of a bunch of maladjusted rich kid hippies, with the occasional lacrosse player thrown in. Several people asked if I was still writing; two randomly asked if I had a blog. Along the way we ran into a group of people who graduated from our same school and were going to their 15 year reunion at the same bar... how delightful to know that I'll continue to be dragged back down memory lane every five years. I reconnected with the person I most wanted to see which was really worth the price of admission (which was $35, by the way). And no, no, NO DAMN IT ALL, I didn't find out if the infamous ex officially became a woman. Sigh.

So it was fun to spend a night in 1995, but better to be back to a world where I have a savings account, no curfew, and, as I learned tonight, a CVS photo guy who filed my pictures under "blond hair and glasses" instead of my name. I wasn't wearing glasses when I picked them up and I don't actually have blond hair, but a completely different employee somehow figured out they were mine. Sometimes it's not even worth asking, you know?

vroom

I'm in the market for a new set of wheels. I also just said that like the Popular Guy in any John Hughes movie, complete with a smirk and a leather jacket slung over the shoulder. Sorry about that. Please excuse me while I go make out with Molly Ringwald.

Anyway, I'm liking this particular hybrid SUV, but loving the irony of hybrid SUVs in general. This particular car won the best SUV award from some environmental agency, which is like being praised for destroying the planet only slightly less than bigger cars. Like giving Charles Manson an award for not being Hitler.

It used to be that a hybrid meant that its owner cared about the planet and conscientiously plugged in their car every night. Nowadays it doesn't mean anything quite that pure. "You know, it's just so much better for the environ...ooh, heated seats!"

gobble

Earlier tonight a complete stranger looked at me holding my bathtub-sized movie theater Diet Coke and told me that he didn't think I needed the caffeine. While the intervention meant a lot to me, sir, you must allow me my carbonation. I'm home with the family for the holiday and you should just be glad (in keeping with the spirit, perhaps even give thanks) that it's not a tub of gin.

turkey update

It's been suggested to me that perhaps I've become a little Seinfeldian of late with the tent (or, as Melissa put it, I'm in a "and WHAT is up with plane food?" phase), at the expense of talking about my actual life. So, for those of you who care, this has been what's actually happening while I'm busy pondering the inconsequential.

Much time spent at my favorite hot spot in suburbia, also known as Dorie's kitchen, dancing to Van Morrison with her kids (Bright Side of the Road, not I Wanna Roo You) and coming up with games like sock skiing that make them think I'm a creative genius. Adventures in DVR with Jen. Soup Factory with the other Jen. Movies and the pitter-pat of little embryos with Kelsey and Trent. Creepy low-voiced comedian with Steve. Getting conferenced in while Jason goes right to the source to determine the validity of the stolen penguin story (and is subsequently urged by their media person not to run the story, like he's freakin' CNN). Trying to temper Mark's overambitious gym tendencies, while spending a lot of time there myself. Continuing to nurture a union built on miscommunication and forced laughter with Supergirl. High school reunion this weekend, where I'll regale the masses with my story of inventing Post-Its and becoming a successful businesswoman, or maybe stay up late reminiscing about Stone Temple Pilots and Brian Krakow.

Now back to our regularly scheduled rambling commentary on crap that doesn't matter.

superawkward

Supergirl: I had a dream last night that you were really mad at me about something.
Me: That wasn't a dream, that was Friday.
[long pause]
Supergirl: What do you mean?
Me: I'm just kidding.
[long pause]
Me: I was completely kidding, Super. I'm not mad at you.
[long pause]
Supergirl: Oh. Okay.
[long pause]
Me: Remember that Friends episode where Rachel has a dream that she sleeps with Chandler, and Ross gets mad, and Chandler goes, "Oh, I'm sorry. I was very drunk, and it was someone else's subconscious."
[long pause]
Supergirl: I'm not sure I saw that one. What did he say?
Me: No, nothing, it just reminded me of that.
[long pause]
Supergirl: Seriously though, was there an issue on Friday, or...?
Me: No, no, no. I was totally kidding.
Supergirl: Because if there was, I'd definitely want you to tell me.
Me: So, um, what else happened in the dream?

if you read this, your crush will die

Like everyone, I hate e-mail forwards. I hate the five-alarm ones warning me not to stare at my popcorn while it's in the microwave because one time my brother's friend knew this guy who did that and the popcorn exploded in his face and then he totally DIED. And the ones frantically warning me that UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES should I open any emails containing pictures from an anonymous source... seriously, are there still people left doing this? When you get an email from Patty Fuckleberry and a subject title like "check out these kool pix" are you going, "Oh, great! Are these from my cousin, of the whole family playing bocce ball together last fourth of July?" No, idiot. Delete.

I don't like the jokes. Blonds are dumb, Bush is dumb, and here are 101 things you could do to make your coworkers inch away from you in terror. They're never really funny enough to warrant the forward, are they? Sometimes you're not sure what your otherwise sane friend was thinking, sending this waste of time to everyone in their address book when you've heard them mumble funnier things in their sleep. And I hate the ones that are like women's rules for men, which always go from bland to depressing... put the seat down, learn to ask for directions, call when you say you will, stop hitting on my girlfriends, please don't make me cry anymore.

My least favorite of all time are the ones about friendship and how friends are like stars because even though you don't always notice them, you always know they're there, watching over you. What? And it's always sent to you by some schmuck you don't even like that much, and you're like, thanks, I don't recall inviting you to be a star in my freakin' solar system.

Some of these e-mails reveal themselves to have been meant for 12-year-olds because they conclude with, "If you send this to one person, your crush will notice you. If you send this to two people, your crush will talk to you. If you send this to three people, your crush will ask you out." And if you send it to everyone on the planet, your crush will give you herpes and then start stalking your best friend. Thankfully, most of them just end with that ominous threat about how you have to send it on to fifteen people in the next twenty seconds or else your great aunt will be killed within the next seventeen minutes. It may not be comforting, but at least you know the e-mail was meant for adults and not middle schoolers. After a certain age, dismemberment is just more socially acceptable than lusting after lacrosse players.

jungle boogie

"Lost" is losing me, pun intended. Let's start with the beeping box in the hatch and how they decided that they had to hit the button every hour and a half or else the world would blow up, without any real proof except for the testimonial of a hysterical Irish guy. How about you leave the crazy underground apartment and worry about actual problems like food and water and maybe put the magic world-saving button on the back burner for now?

The someone's-gonna-DIE episode was a frantic race to make Shannon relevant so that we'd care when Scowly McMeanington shot her. And as in real life, the best way to establish your identity is to have sex with a guy in a tank top. And then suddenly they were in love and making plans for being together off the island, like they're at summer camp: "So, do you think we'll keep in touch after we go home?" Um, you guys have plenty of time together, considering you're GOING TO DIE THERE. And then Shannon counters with, "You're just going to leave me, like every guy does after we get in a plane crash and land on an island full of cannibals." But Tank Top gets all DiCaprio-on-the-iceberg about it: "I will NEVER leave you." Didn't they just meet? I guess anyone starts to look good after you've been drinking sand for awhile.

The acting career of the guy who plays Walt's dad has been distilled to one line that he yells whenever there's more than half second of silence: "They took my son!" Sometimes he tries emphasizing different words to keep it fresh, but he's even starting to sound apathetic about it now.

And they found the elusive Others, but now it turns out those Others are scared of other Others. And they were all apparently on the plane together. Would this ever happen after an actual plane crash? I'm sorry, but look around next time you're flying Delta: No one on that flight is equipped to deal with life without their carry-on, much less form tribes and immediately become hardass jungle folk. Which leads me to think that were I in this situation, I would probably be worthy of induction into the hardcore Others group, except for the walking around barefoot part, because ow. We're walking on twigs and snakes here, people. They might need me for my footwear suggestions alone.

Most disconcerting is that JJ Abrams apparently only claims Alias as his other big success. I, however, remember him when. Actually, maybe he could reincarnate Felicity and help out our new friends. She could arrive on the island and say "oh...hey" to everyone and then talk about how weird and displaced and uncomfortable it feels being away from home but that she knows it's really important to grow from this and that ultimately it will make her a stronger person. Cue a Savage Garden song, and they could all hug in slow motion.

has Canada lost its freakin' mind?

I heard a radio ad for Canada encouraging us to go there. I always wonder who benefits from these commercials... it's like those TV ads for plastic or cotton. "I have an idea, let's drop millions of dollars to advertise something totally non-specific like 'the fabric of our lives.' We're sure to show...well, absolutely no direct gains from this, but everyone should know how GREAT these materials are."

This particular Canada tourism ad was normal until about halfway through ("it's so close," "we have so much to do here") and then lost its mind and started talking about how you could come to Canada and bounce on moonbeams and such. I wish I remembered direct quotes, but it was enough to make me look down at my radio in disbelief, which is never a good sign... your brain has temporarily lost that connection that the radio voice you're hearing is actually not a person inside of your stereo, but for the moment you can only look down at it as though it's a human being that you must hold accountable for the lunacy you're hearing. (I've reacted to Jay Severin much the same way; who, by the way, has been off the air for awhile. Tell me he's not going national?)

So what's going on with Canada? I feel like it's the weird brother who lives in the attic (my map skills are very literal; Canada is "up") and keeps to himself but then every now and then you hear hysterical rambling and you go, "Crap, maybe I should go check on Canada." Then you climb halfway up the stairs and tentatively ask, "So, um, how's it going, buddy?" before getting hit in the face with a hockey puck. (I love cultural cliches... reminds me of being at Epcot.)

Never mind the fact that the last time I was in Canada, there was no one at the border telling me to stop and so I just drove across, and the strategy of the police to try and get me back was to run out of their little welcome-to-Canada hut and start frantically waving their arms. Now that's what I call border security.

sleeping with myself

A chick magazine has an article this month called "The Questions to Ask Before You Jump Into Bed." I decided to ask myself these questions to determine if I'm a suitable bed partner, or if I should be making myself sleep in the guest room until we're more serious. I mean, I don't want to rush into anything here.

1) What's the best compliment anyone could give you?
Dave's suggestion: "You have beautiful cuticles?", complete with question mark at the end. My response to that: "You just used 'beautiful' and 'cute' in a sentence about me and somehow managed to not compliment me at all."

2) What material thing will you never give up?
I'm partial to the clay larynx I made in grad school. I brought it home and baked it in the oven until it hardened. I used to keep it in my living room but I think it kind of grossed people out. Apparently a clay Yukon Cornelius is fine but a clay larynx is weird.

3) What's one thing you'll never do again?
I hope to never return to adult driver's ed.

4) What's your nickname?
Red, but only if you're a scary old man working at a drugstore.

5) What's the biggest misconception people have about you?
Probably that I like them. I'm quite polite. Or, as Mark put it in his blog: Red would be great on some reality TV dating show. She'd be the only girl who'd think that she'd go on and cut people down and tell everyone exactly what she thought of them, but when she got there she'd be on her cell phone with me telling me the truth, and then when she'd be on dates with a bunch of losers she'd be nice to them and lead them on even though she has no interest in them, and be afraid to be honest with them because of her polite social party upbringing at Dirty Dancing as a child. I'd be on my cell phone? Does he know me at all?

6) What embarrasses you?
Every time I trip and fall, it's like the first time.

7) What's your favorite curse word? Why?
Freakin', which sits in for "really," "very," and also pinch hits as an adjective. I only bring out the hard stuff for special occasions.

8) What's the best/worst quality you inherited from your parents?
Best/worst from mom - spunk/ADD
Best/worst from dad - sense of humor/the bump on my nose

9) What do you want to do before you die?
Go to sleep. Have we determined if I'm worthy to have in my bed yet?

10) Would you date yourself?
Definitely. We're really compatible.

Zach Braff wouldn't have been amused, but I was

This was the "coming up next" screen on HBO last night for a few blissful seconds:

9:00 Garden State

11:00 Atlantic City Hookers: It Ain't EZ Being a Ho

Nothing like fine cinema back-to-back. I just can't decide if I should enjoy it accompanied by a vegan soy Kabbalah latte or my baby daddy.