Everything is wrong with me
Thursday, April 14, 2005
no mo' formula, taxes, EOTW, books and jealousy, music, strings, link
I'm going to have to put an end to all emailing about the astonishing scientific discovery now simply known as "the formula". The emails I got/get regarding this were/are overwhelming, especially for someone who's already pretty terrible at answering/organizing emails (lot of slashes in that sentence). I'll summarize what you all had to say about it in two points:

1) It's static: it doesn't take into account age, and only works for a women in their mid-20's. Yes, I know. Admittedly, I didn't think about this before posting it, because I know that me and my friends are in our mid-twenties and that's really I care about (well me, not my friends so much - unless they owe me money).

I don't know how to adjust this, and I don't care to. What is know is that when I put a lot of girls who I knew into it, it came back with highly accurate results. For every person who wrote in making an amendment to the formula, three people wrote in saying how amazed they were by it, including a number of female readers who said, "I put myself in the formula and it worked. Damn." So step off.

2) It's limited in scope: it's has a small sample of test cases or subjects (mid-twenties, college-educated, middle class, etc). Well, duh. I'm sure the numbers would be skewed if we took into account those living in the scary neighborhoods of the Bronx or the trailer parks of the South, because as we all know, poor people have lots of sex (I know - I was once poor) . One person emailed saying there should be a geography element, i.e. NYC/LA (and other big cities) vs. Midwest vs. Bible belt compounded with class status poor vs. middle income vs. rich.

I mean, seriously, come on. Upon reading all of these emails, one of my favorite movie quotes of all-time came to mind: "best leave it unsolved" (courtesy of Nigel Tufnel). While the formula isn't perfect, I think we can all agree that it's pretty fucking good. So please, no more of your additions, subtractions, evaluations, or simplifications on the formula. I can no longer read them without having a mini-seizure.

[The one good thing about the formula was that it deflected some criticism from me and the post I wrote the day before, in which I basically said that any woman who's slept with more than zero men is an unconscionable whore. Kat from Boulder called me out on part of that post, writing, "i'm just thinking, wouldn't it be kind of unwise to further limit the pool of girls you would sleep with? i mean, if adriana lima blew your ten best friends, your brother and your dad right in front of you, would you really turn her down?" You totally got me, Kat. Damn.]


It's my favorite time of year: tax season. While many of my friends are frantically rushing to get their taxes done and getting all kinds of stressed out, yours truly managed to get all his tax crap taken care of weeks ago.

I don't know shit about taxes and I can pretty safely say that I will never do my own taxes. It's just not gonna happen. In this spirit, I've been going to a lovely little Nigerian man named Ezekiel at my local H&R Block. And let me tell you something, this man is my hero. Sure, I have to pay him $290 to do my taxes, but he gets me back a good amount of money, which will ostensibly go straight up my nose.

The funny thing is that when you take your taxes to H&R Block, you sit there in total silence with the accountant as he types away and goes through your forms. Occasionally, he'll ask a question, and I'm always not sure how to answer. For example:

Ezekiel: "Did you donate any money this past year?"
Me: [knowing I've donated nothing] "Um, some I think."
Ezekiel: "How much?"
Me: [trying to gauge Ezekiel's reaction to a potential lie] "I don't know...maybe like $150?"
Ezekiel: [typing away, accepting it as truth] "Ok."

Another question is "Did you donate any clothes to the homeless?" I want to grab lil' Ezekiel and say, "Dude, look. I want to get back as much money as possible, ok? So just tell me how much I should tell you I've donated and that's what I'll say. I don't donate shit because I don't have shit. But if saying that I have will help me get more shit, then I'm down. So I guess the answer is 'yes - a lot.'"

Now I just have to carefully manage my bank account until that refund check comes, and then when it does, immediately spend it on something I can't afford. Nice.


A short, non-controversial "Email of the Week" from Meg in Arizona:

You know when you wake up and then go back to sleep and have one of those freaky, weird ass early morning dreams? Anywho, this morning I had a total freak show dream with you in it.

In it, I had this enormous house and it was the morning after an colossal drunken party (is there any other kind?). I am walking down my driveway when I see this huge, red furry pile. It is a Mastodon-sized red Snuffleupagus outfit. Curled up asleep (and very naked) in the trunk portion is Drew Barrymore. I wake her up and all she can remember is that she got wasted and then totally ground out by the guy in the Snuffleupagus outfit. I look over and there you are (my subconscious idea of you), looking like a gargantuan Cupid sans the bow and other weaponry.

I thought you would appreciate that you nailed Drew Barrymore although I wonder why your day job was with Sesame Street…
Ok, I'll take this. While I don't particularly like Drew Barrymore (can you stop talking out the side of your mouth already?), any action I get, whether it be in real life or in the dreams of someone I've never met, is welcome.

My only problem with this is - why don't I have dreams like this? I only have nightmares about Bell, Biv, Devoe fighting a monster in my bathroom while my sister sings the blues and yet people I don't know are having sex dreams about me and celebrities. I mean, damn.

[Editor's Note: "ground out", a term I was previously unfamiliar with, means, in Meg's words, "railed the shit out of".]


1) I have a terrible crush on a girl right now - one of those "I don't know what to say around her and I'm sweating and I feel like I'm gonna throw up when she's around and what the hell is this are we in junior high I think I'm just gonna do sit in the corner of the bar and drink by myself because I have no self-esteem and man I'm hungry" crushes. Totally incapacitating. We'll call her Lisa. Of course, this is not her real name, because I'm trying to maintain some dignity here. Not much, but some.

2) I'm reading a book right now that has a secondary character named Lisa (the character's real name isn't Lisa, but it matches the name of my crush). Of course, I think of my Lisa whenever this character is talked about, especially since they have some similar physical attributes.

3) Last night while reading in bed I got to a part in the book where the main character catches Lisa making out at a party with some guy. Upon reading this, I nearly swallowed my tongue and fell out of bed. When I got up, I started punching the book and then took a 45 minute shower, during which I convulsed with illimitable rage/jealousy.

4) This morning on the subway, I picked up reading the book and got to a part wherein Lisa and her man are being all smoochy, touchy-feely, and happy. Had it not been for the Puerto Rican sitting across from me with INCREDIBLE cleavage, I would have had the conductor stop the train, so that I could go to the nearest gun shop to purchase a firearm and shoot myself in the stomach over and over again.

5) I have to stop reading. That, or start seeing a therapist again.


Six Songs:

"I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You" Colin Hay
From the "Garden State" Soundtrack, a profoundly sad song (I have no idea why I like such sad music...maybe because I'm extremely depressed, but I'm not a psychologist). Crazy-Eye Colin saying, "Look, I'm not in love with you anymore or anything, but I'm not ever going to get over you. Oh well." Poor, poor bastard. I just wanna hug him. And maybe a little more.

"Extraordinary Machine" Fiona Apple
I have no idea what's going on with Fiona Apple's "new" album. I know that it's recorded, but it's not being released or something. I know that I love her 'cause she's crazy and I know I really dig this song. Everything else, I'm unsure of.

"Can't You Hear Me Knockin'" Rolling Stones
They just don't make songs like this anymore. It makes me want to dance and fight. Well, I wouldn't actually want to do either of these things, as they require a lot of energy, but you get what I mean.

"Kate" Ben Folds Five
Because of this song, I'm going to name my daughter Cait. Not "Kate", because about twenty people a week come to this site searching for "Kate Mulgrew naked" (you have to be a SUPER nerd to want to see a middle-aged woman who plays a Star Trek character naked). Fun, frolicky, yay!

"Mexican Cousin" Phish
When you start your song, "Oh tequila, I turn to you like a long-lost friend/I want to kiss my Mexican cousin once again", I'm all yours. Totally.

"Thunder Road" Bruce Springsteen
I had a crush on a girl my freshman year of college; we'll call her Sally. Sally was very sweet, but not very pretty, especially not in the conventional sense. But I thought she was cute, and I was desperate, so whatever. My buddy Conor (a huge Boss fan) and I were listening to this song one day when the line "You ain't a beauty but eh you're alright" came on, and he said, "Jay, it's like Sally!" I didn't think anything of it until one time Conor and Sally and I were standing around drunk at a party and "Thunder Road" started playing out of the stereo. When the line "You ain't a beauty but eh you're alright" came on, Conor, singing, pointed to Sally, who, not surprisingly, took a LOT of offense to this. Smooth Con. Smooth.

I spent the next few days doing damage control, at first trying to express to Sally that it was a sweet thing to say, that she was pretty but a different kind of pretty. As you might imagine, this failed miserably. I abandoned this approach and then told her that Conor was just wasted. This seemed to work better, but by then the damage was done. We remained friends but our relationship was strained. Then I found out one of my buddies was secretly hooking up with her, something she didn't want to tell me because she thought I had a crush on her. I then went into the basement laundry room, locked the door, and nearly beat my penis to death. For about two hours, I thought it was going to fall off. Not good.

Fortunately, it all ended well. Shortly thereafter, I started drinking more and hence started getting laid. Meanwhile, Sally gained a couple of pounds, moving from "I'm a little chubby but I can pull it off" to "I just ate a car and two babies for brunch."

And no, I'm not bitter. But thanks for asking.

Oh, and it's a good song.


I'm officially a celebrity spokesman. Well, not really, but Bart at USA Music sent me a bunch of Vinci Strings, which are excellent. While they don't make me a better guitar player (as it has been proven that 73% of all chimpanzees can play guitar better than I can), they sure sound nice. So thank you Bart, and please buy some.


Again, I'm developing a links section. So if you want your blog linked on here, please send me an email at jason@jasonmulgrew.com with "Link" in the subject line. Thank you.

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