My Space

Trybecca made Gawker’s Blogorrhea!

Big shout-out to friend and musician (with a show Thursday night) John McGrew for telling them what’s up. I got my fifteen minutes of fame. Apparently, if a blog features a section that puns off of diarrhea, I’m the shit.

Don’t forget to enter the Rue-did-she-wash-her-McClanahands? contest. Right now, guesses are a bit on the high side. You might want to go with a breakaway answer like 30 seconds, roughly enough time for Rue to powder her nose and do a quick fennel-seed-in-the-teeth check.

And thanks for the positive feedback on Trybecca. Gosh ya’ll, I’m just a regular girl from North Carolina. Today saw a 90% rise in readership! Over 300 of you visited. It’s obvious this was due to Ash Wednesday. I sense that Catholic bloggers appreciate tasteful potty humor. Like how I refrained from writing Poo McClanahan or Golden Shower Girls. Hope you subscribe!

As many of you know, I’m Director of Human Resources for a small start-up company that runs academic summer camps. That means I’m in charge of hiring teachers. I print resumes using a benighted, slow software called Taleo, and then I pile them on the floor. There’s the “too educated” pile and the “your instead of you’re” pile and the “did I meet her at a party?” pile, and of course, the “call to interview” pile. My friends will tell you that in real life I’m the most non-judgemental person they know. While I’d like to think the same holds true in Human Resouces World, it doesn’t always. Sometimes when I’m piling resumes I hear the American Idol sliding guitar riff in my head (nnrrrr nrrrrrrrrrr!) and a British voice intoning: “That was awwwful. Wretched. If your lifeguarding duties were as good as your cover letter, a lot of people would be drowning.” There’s an applicant pool joke in there somewhere, too.

Yesterday, I interviewed a pre-med model hoping to teach Psychology at one of our camps. She got major points for effortlessly saying the word “plasticity” while dissing fake designer bags, then lost them for recommending “kid’s movies” as a preferable educational tool for high schoolers. It was up in the air, really, until I asked her to elaborate on this relevant experience:

Efficiently handled rats in an appropriate manner in accordance with NIH policy; implemented sacrifices in order to obtain data from taking blood samples of subjects via guillotine beheading

It’d been awhile since I’d gotten to ask a potential camp employee and current model about blood sacrifice and guillotine beheading. It was awesome. Basically, as part of her research at a Center for Alcohol Studies (doesn’t Lindsay Lohan take classes at one of those?) this girl would liquor up rats, observe their drunken behavior, swing them around by the tails to induce further discombobulation, and then–here it comes, the money shot–chop off their heads in the traditional french fashion. I was full of questions that had nothing to do with camp. Do you serve the rats generic or Top Shelf liquor? How do you know they’re drunk? Is it because you put them behind the wheel of a tiny car? Do you use an actual mini guillotine?

lohan.jpgrat.jpg

She walked me through the process in graphic detail. The phrase “bloated douchebag,” in reference to a particularly mean rat, was uttered. There were sweet smiles and plenty of air-guillotining, which is something like air-guitaring, only different.

Can you hear it now, too? The Idol music? (Nrrrrrrrr nrrrrrrrrrrrrr)

simon.jpg

Nah, she was a smart, qualified girl. My interview game was a little off because right before, I’d overheard my boss off-handedly mention the asteroid scheduled to strike earth in the year 2036. My co-workers responded with a casual chorus of “Oh I know” and “Has NASA tagged it yet?” while of course I was like “What the fuck?!” It’s called Apophis. It’s 1000 feet wide. Thanks to Wikipedia, I soon learned that Apophis was the snakey deification of darkness and chaos. Even if NASA is on top of averting this rock–and I hope Lisa Nowak wasn’t Project Head–was naming it after an evil demon the best way to curtail mass panic? We’ve all seen “Deep Impact.” And the asteroid in that movie was only called a non-threatening Wolf Biederman.

I spent the remainder of my afternoon fearing Apophis and contemplating a space other than My. Apparently, it’s hard to have sex there. I think this diagram helps:

spacesex.jpg

I bet Paris Hilton has it laminated. She’s packed and ready.

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2 responses to “My Space

  1. Rebecca,

    Ryan Dunlap clued me in to the existence of your hilarious blog. So now, at work (STA), whenever I’m working with bland people or students who have bad attitudes, I sit and read your blog while acting like I’m really scanning the computer to find them a good deal.

    Keep the entries coming… your (notice that it’s not spelled you’re) writing is hilarious!

  2. Where do I enter the Rue-did-she-wash-her-McClanahands contest? I have given this a great deal of thought and decided that total time in the bathroom for Rue will be 2:20. and I think she will buy a water at concessions.

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