oopsie daisy

On Pencil Sharpening. Seriously.

My friend David Jacobs is incredibly smart and even more opinionated. But the thing is: he’s one of those guys who’s has a strong viewpoint on everything, but also wants to seem nice. Which, when we’re talking about me, is totally my favorite.

For example, yesterday he was telling me – AGAIN – what a great writer I am. I know, I know. You’re not supposed to admit to stuff like that if you want people to take you seriously, but you know what? BECAUSE I want you to take me seriously, I’m going to admit to stuff like that. Because, um, hi. Writers don’t write so that we can sit at home all alone with our cats and cheap grocery store wine while perusing our journals from high school. You think I wrote those journals for ME? Please. Every single word I’ve every written was in the hopes that one day—some day—I’d have an audience who wanted to read them.

Duh.

Anyway. Back to me. (Oh right. Because we ever leave that topic.) Earlier today my smart, talented, super intelligent friend David Jacobs and I were talking about great I am. Okay FINE. We were actually talking about football, but in between that, he might have said something kind of exactly like:

“You could write about pencil sharpening and I'd read it.”

So, my awesome friend David Jacobs. This post is for you.

On Pencil Sharpening: An instructional how-to for people who don’t know how to sharpen a mother fucking pencil. In 34 easy-to-follow steps.

1. Before we can really tackle this subject, first we need to discover why it is you feel the need to write with a pencil. As far as I’m concerned, the only important difference between a pencil and a pen is that a pencil is impermanent. Erasable. Changeable. Uncertain. So maybe the bigger question here is: WHY A PENCIL?
2. I’m not a therapist, but I have one who’s outrageously expensive and would happily chitchat with you about everything except your need to use pencils. Bonus: he’ll also laugh at all of your jokes. Sometimes for, like, twenty seconds. Which you’ll later calculate cost you $1.34. But, I mean, hi: it’s kind of worth that much just to have someone laugh at your jokes, am I right?
3. Anyway, after you get validation that your childhood was pretty fucked up and that it basically makes sense why you are the way you are, hopefully you’ll have the confidence to buy a pack of goddamn pens (which pen specifically is too broad of a subject to tackle here, but when you’re ready, rest assured: I have an opinion) and end this pencil nonsense.
4. In the meantime, because, yes, the therapist’s job is to drag this out for weeks/months/years, let’s talk about your stupid pencil.
5. Am I going to set you back with your shrink if I ask why you’re not smart enough to buy a mechanical pencil?
6. Fine. I’ll pretend for the sake of this exercise that you’re taking a standardized test. Maybe the LSAT! Your parents always did hope you’d amount to more…
7. I guess I’m also now pretending that we live in the 1980s and they don’t offer these tests on magical machines called computers.
8. Honestly, if you’re going to make me go back in time, can we at least go back to a time when Huey Lewis & the News didn’t rule the airwaves?
9. PSYCH! I LOVE HUEY LEWIS & THE NEWS! (You remember “psych,” don’t you? It’s from the ‘80s. When you still had things like “hope” and “dreams.” And the confidence to write in pen. FINE, it was erasable, but still.)
10.  Anyway, no point in living in the past. Here we are. Just you and your pencil. Your unsharpened, good-for-nothing pencil.
11. Um, yeah. I just Googled “unsharpened pencil” and was assaulted with this result: “Life without God is an unsharpened pencil.” Mostly I blame myself for relying on Google for help when I’m feeling uninspired, but also? FUCK YOU. (You is YOU, not Google. Just in case that wasn’t clear.)
12.  So, just so I’m clear, we are now in total agreement that life is far better without unsharpened pencils and/or pencils in general, right?
13. I hate you.
14. Okay. Take the pencil. Now find your sharpener. OH RIGHT. This is basically impossible because pencil sharpeners aren’t an actual thing that exist! Kind of like “happy marriages” and “good parenting.”
15. You know what? Because I’m feeling so generous and because you’re basically the most demanding and insecure person I’ve ever met, I’m going to help you out. Go to my bathroom. Look on the third shelf all the way to the right. There. See that blue plastic thing? That’s my eyeliner sharpener. TAKE IT. It’s a gift. No seriously. Keep it. I can totally afford a new one.
16. Now stick your pencil in my sharpener.
17. Ew.
18. No seriously. Ew.
19. Wow. Really?
20. Still?
21. Awesome. I’ll just sit here while you….
22. Okay. Now, oh god. This is only going to get… Now turn your pencil in my—I mean—THE—sharpener.
23. Keep turning it. Like a good nine or ten solid turns.
24. Now pull your pencil out.
25. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
26. Assess the tip of your pencil. This is a personal preference. Personally, I like a pencil so sharp (not that I write with pencils because I’m not a savage, but IF I DID) that I may very easily shatter the tip with one forceful crossing of a “t.” You seem like you may like your pencils a little more, well…accessible. But hey—whatever. You can always come back and sharpen it again.
27. Speaking of. Oh my god. Did you let the pencil shavings spill all over the floor in step 23? Jesus Chris Mother of Mercy. You’re supposed to sharpen your pencil over a wastebasket. Or even the toilet. Were you raised in a barn? Oh, this is my fault because I didn’t tell you exactly how to do it? Well played. Well. Played.
28. Pick that shit up.
29. Hopefully by now your therapy is starting to resonate and you’re feeling like the things you have to write are worth inking for eternity. But just in case you have a relapse, let’s try the pencil out.
30. Here’s a single sheet of binder paper. That seems like something people who use pencils would be into.
31. Write whatever you want.
32. Oh, look at you. An “F,” a “U,” a “C”…
33. Oh! Look at that. Someone’s pencil broke already! Next time try writing with less “enthusiasm.”
34. Also, is that REALLY your handwriting? Yikes. Good luck with that.

So there you go David Jacobs. This is what happens when I can’t sleep at night and when I make a New Year’s resolution two weeks into the New Year that I’m going to post on my blog at least two times a week. What tough topic would you like me to tackle next?

Daisy promises to blog more in 2012 if you promise to be patient while she remembers how to do so.

My (MANY) Rules of Engagement

Because I'm super mature and terrified of committment (even though I've totally been going steady with Campfriend for a year tomorrow - my longest relationship EVER, which is maybe something I shouldn't brag about, but it's true, so whatever: Happy Anniversary to ME (also: us)), every time CF and I are somewhere that could potentially be viewed as romantic and "special" (Does putting it in quotes imply that it IS retarded or that it's not retarded? I don't know.), I tell him he is under NO circumstances allowed to propose there.

It's a really good strategy and so far, working amazingly well. If he even gets starry-eyed somewhere for one second, I put the kabash on any down-on-one-knee action. (Oddly (not really), he's never ruled out a single location for down-on-two-knees action, but I digress.)

To elucidate my point, I will now provide you with a list of places I've informed Campfriend he is not allowed to ask for my hand in marriage:

• Tahoe: The mountains, including, but not limited to: The summit of Alpine Meadows, the Ice Bar at Alpine Meadows, any tree runs at Alpine Meadows etc.
• Tahoe: The Lake
• The beach (just, you know: ANY beach)
• Golden Gate Park
• Twin Peaks (You can't get engaged at the same place where you used to get stoned in high school.)
• Bodega Bay Harbour
• By a campfire
• My apartment
• Any place in Menocino County
• Ditto for Humboldt County
• Perry's (Those half-pice bottles of wine nights can get rowdy. YOU NEVER KNOW, PEOPLE. YOU NEVER KNOW.)
• The Palace of Fine Arts (One time in high school, I might have gone swimming in the lagoon. I'd tell you not to judge me, except, ew. Judge me.)
• Any hike we've ever gone on (You know. All three of them.)
• Grocery Store Parking Lots (covering my bases people!)
• I think you probably get the idea...

(Don't worry; I didn't even have to rule out 49ers games. Can you imagine what would happen if he proposed during half time and then we lost the game? Thrown beer. Returned rings. Violent threats. Worst. Engagement. EVER.)

And yes, I get that it's totally obnoxious of me to 1. Rule out proposal locations when we've only been dating a year and 2. Assume that he'd be crazy enough to even want to marry me in the first place, but WHATEVER BECAUSE HE TOTALLY DOES. I think. Maybe. One day. When Hell Freezes Over.

Anyway, all of this is a super long-winded way of getting to this:

And while we're on the topic, let's also rule out Twitter, Foursquare, Facebook, and MySpace. Oh. And Friendster. DUH.

An Open Letter to Girls Who Wear Hoodies

Dear Ladies of San Francisco,

I was really hoping you'd figure this out on your own, that an open letter of this sort would not become a necessity, that you'd perhaps pick up a three-year-old issue of In Style from your yoga studio dentist's waiting room therapist's office, and realize, when flipping through the pages, that none of the women you see, nary a one!, is wearing a zip-front, cotton-blend, drawstring hood monstrosity known to you as: The Hoodie.

I was hoping one morning as you got dressed for work you'd realize, "Oh wait! This heather grey sweatshirt I'm wearing? It comes as part of a set with oversized drawstring sweatpants. That might mean that maybe I shouldn't wear it over something like, oh, I dunno: THIS DRESS."

But for whatever reason, this moment of clarity has not revealed itself to you.

Which is why it's a really good thing you read this blog.

I know what you're thinking right now. Something along the lines of, "Wow, Daisy is such a judgmental biotch," and also, "But my hoodies are so cute! And hipster-ish!" Listen. I don't give a shit if your hoodie has pink skulls, yellow stars or big black cocks all over it. It's not cute. Or hipster-ish. Well, it might be hipster-ish, but ew. Barf. You're better than that. You are. But you'll never know until you unzip the hoodie, slink out of it sheepishly and incinerate it in the garbage can where you burn your aborted fetuses. (Or, you know, um, put it in the Goodwill pile. I have issues. I know. Sometimes I even consider paying someone to help me with them. But then I just start drinking. Again.) While you're at it, this would be a good opportunity for you to throw away those witty unbearable t-shirts you wear with ironic stupid sayings plastered across your boobs. You don't need 'em! You know how I get people to look at my boobs? I take my shirt off! ... But that's another blog post for another time. And by "blog post," I probably mean "letter to Penthouse," but whatever.

So there you are... One day you're wearing your hoodie to pick up your dry cleaning (although maybe that's a bad example since you wear hoodies and therefore probably don't own garments that are Dry Clean Only), the next you're wearing it during a meeting with your CEO. And since he (it's not sexist because women CEOs only exist in places like "Make Believe Land")) doesn't seem to mind, you decide that hey! why not sport your super sweet hoodie to that fancy restaurant that dude you met at Mission Cliffs is taking you to on Friday night.

Which brings me (6 paragraphs in) to my point: There is no such thing as a date hoodie.

"The date hoodie" is a complete figment of your imagination in which you've decided guys like you for your personality and intellect. "The date hoodie" is something you made up to rationalize wearing your pajamas to an event where you're supposed to at least pretend to care what the other person thinks of you. "The date hoodie" is you admitting you don't even have to try because you live in San Francisco and guys here are used to second best. I mean, let's be honest, if you lived in L.A. or New York and had those girls to compete with, you'd be first in line to try out the hoodie's more sophsiticated and socially acceptable older sister: The Sweater.

And hey! Lucky you! The Sweater comes in all shapes and sizes. There's the crewneck, the v-neck, the turtleneck, the sweater coat, the boyfriend, and everyone's favorite because ohmygod, it's just like a hoodie only better: the cardigan.

(Also, I know right now you're eye-fucking the one sweater in your wardrobe you actually love: your "ironic" Christmas sweater, so I might as well go ahead and break your heart and tell you that it is not eligible for participation.)

So next time you're getting dressed for a day that takes you from meetings to meet-ups, try to remember that the phrase "9 to 5 and beyond" does not mean all you have to do is pull that zipper down a few inches so that your cleavage is showing.

Thank you for all that you do.

Love,

daisy

THIS IS YOU.

Present Perfect: Gift Ideas for a Very Merry Christmas

I'm super selfish and have sloth-like tendencies which is why I decided this Christmas not to buy one single soul a present, but since you like to think you're a kind, caring person (even though you've been putting off your shopping in lieu of egg nog and sugar cookies and the hope that one slutty friend you have who always insists on dressing up like a Sexy Santa will bend over and flash her ass again), I'm going to help you out with some last-minute gift suggestions... things I would've bought my friends and family if only I weren't too drunk to make out the numbers on my credit card and hit "Add to Cart."

For Your Friend You Can Just Tell Is Really Bad In Bed:

The Karmasheetra!

That's right: It's karma sutra on a sheet. It promises "no more awkward moments when you're not quite sure where to put those hands and feet!" Because that's always the issue... He puts his penis inside of me and then I'm like, "But wait! Where should my right foot go? On the bed? In the air? Behind my head? Behind his head? And what about my hand? And my butt? THIS IS SO CONFUSING; I'M NEVER GOING TO LEARN HOW TO DO IT RIGHT."

 

For Your Friend Who Likes to Drink & Leave the House Occasionally. And by "Friend Who Likes to Drink" I Clearly Mean "Me" or "You." Or something along those lines...

The Beer Belly

Sick of spending $8.50 for a warm beer in plastic bottle? Now you can sneak your drink of choice into football games, movies, the opera... work!!!!! Worried about people thinking you're fat? Just tell them you're pregnant while you get totally trashed on white wine. Best part? They'll never know! In fact, this would also make a great present for your friend who IS pregnant, but still likes to drink. Genius!

  

(Also, what I really like about this photo is the American flag in the background. I mean, what's more patriotic than secret drinking? NOTHING. THAT'S WHAT.)

For Your Flat-Chested Alcoholic Friend

A twist on The Beer Belly, only this one doesn't make her look fat. And you're totally OK with her having enormous breasts since you already know you're cuter than she is; plus, those huge boobs will deflate before the night is halfway over. She's *such* a lush.

 

(Also, um... HELLO BUTTERFACE!)

For Your Jewish Friends

Give them the gift of Christ this holiday season. Just sign the card "Your People Killed My Lord" to really drive the message home!!! This Jesus Bobblehead Doll nods his head knowingly to ensure a lifetime of guilt.

 

For Your Guy Friend Who Never Gets Laid

A Pole Dancer Alarm Clock

Now he'll have something to "think about" when he wakes up with Morning Wood. After all, this is "as sexy as an alarm clock can be. The buxom blonde dancer gyrates around her pole under the spinning disco ball." HAWT. He'll never have to wake up alone again...

 

For Your Friend Who's Obsessed with Looking Younger

Duh. Anal Bleaching Cream. "Look younger... everywhere." Enough said. Frankly, more people should care about the appearance of their assholes. Just because you can't see it doesn't mean the rest of the world should suffer...

 

And finally... my favorite.

The Gift for Everyone on Your List, including but not limited to: That one night stand who never called you back (show him what he's missing), your neighbor who complains about how loudly you have sex at 3 a.m. (a subtle explanation of what all the fuss is about), your children (so they can see how they ruined you), or even your boyfriend (make him wear it on those long business trips). I know The Boy's going to be very excited when he unwraps his Vulva Portrait Pendant...

Just sent 2-3 photos with a description of your vulva and you can have your very own vulva portrait pendant. "Never made with a mold!"

 

On second thought... maybe give the gift of vaginal reconstruction.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

The Accidental Tourist

A few weeks ago, I told you that San Francisco Convention & Visitors Bureau asked me to be a part of their Shop SF blogger campaign. Since then I've been blogging on the Shop SF site about the many amazing ways in which I blow my paycheck (news flash: it's not all on wine!). But this weekend is when the real fun starts...

That's because I'm going to play tourist in my own city, complete with two nights in a hotel. And everyone knows what hotels are good for... That's right: Hotel Sex!!! But since it can't be all Hotel Sex all the time (I mean, let's be honest, I'll need to leave the room long enough for maid service to replace the cute little soaps I plan on stealing), I'm also going to cruise around SF and do the other things I do best: eat, drink and shop.

But I can't do it without you. Well I could, but what's the fun in that?

So tell me (pretty please):

• Which one SF destination do you think every girl should visit at least once?
• What restaurants should I go to? I'll need brunch and dinner destinations. Any recommendations about what I should order?
• Since this little adventure requires that I drink in places other than my bed/closet/shower, I'd love your thoughts on fun bars and cool drinks.
• Most important: How should I blow my cash? Where do you love to shop?

You can leave a comment here or on this exact same post on the Shop in SF blog!

And stay tuned because I'll be blogging every day this weekend. I KNOW. SO EXCITING!