Friday, January 31, 2003
announcing: february internet-crush

again in cahoots with the
singular sarah b., i'd like to present to you the object of my internet affections this month:

greg.

reasons greg is my february internet crush: greg is funny. greg is witty. greg is erudite. greg's blog is named geese aplenty which is both funny and completely nonsensical, which makes life perfect in my book. greg tells funny stories about las vegas, and celebrities, and makes appropriate jokes about germans.

greg has a charming, snarky little man at the top of his blog, and even though greg looks more like harrison ford, i will always associate him with snarky header man.

greg, apparently, has a supah-smoove sexy radio voice. this is known fact because greg was on the radio. greg has a barbeque grill. he has made, in the past, witty commentary on the following topics: mandy moore. why he's burning in hell (see: mandy more). car talk. strom thurmond. christmas carolling. public relations. bond vs. lord of the rings.

greg is fantastic. he makes cocktails. he says all the right things. go read greg. and do it every day.




love, krissa .... 8:21 PM ... link!

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my own manifesto

my post two days ago, about the young soldier on the subway, definitely caused a bit of a stir - i'm glad it had an affect on people. i know how much fluff about prostitutes, elle-girls, and alchohol i smack down in these here pages, but after all, i do consider myself a writer and every now and then, i like to like the quill fly where it will.

that said. i'd like to make very clear that my personal opinion on the impending war in iraq was at no point mentioned in that post. my opinion on the validity of war in general was not mentioned. that was done on purpose. while a lot of you were just really touched, i feel like people were assuming my opinion on the matter - and you know what they say about assuming*!

so just for the record, so that i don't ever have to discuss or defend my political or socio-economic views at any later date, let me tell you some things, loud and clear, about me that aren't in the 100 things.

i am militantly pro-choice. i don't have a problem with people who are against having abortions. that is also, ironically, their personal choice i have a problem with them telling me, and everyone else in this country, that their opinion should be law. that's not pro-life. that's anti-choice.

i believe in this country, having chosen to live here over the 15 other countries i have the right to live in. that said, i hold sacred and dear my right to criticise this country at every step. because that is my constitutional right.

i believe this country has miles, miles to go before we attain any kind of equality among races, among genders, and sexual orientation. one of the reasons i want to go to law school is to fight for gay rights.

i believe that Congress's 1996
Defense of Marriage Act is one of the most blatantly unconstitutional congressional faux-pas i've ever, ever seen, because it violates congress's prescribed "regulatory" power in article IV, section 1 of the constitution - the full faith and credit clause. I will consider it an honor to see that law reversed in my lifetime, and at my hand.

i am not a communist.


and that is all you ever need to know about my politics.

normal, fluffy, witty, cosmo-swilling petit hiboux will return tomorrow.

* and the ass it makes of you and me?

love, krissa .... 1:19 AM ... link!

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Thursday, January 30, 2003
if i can't do it, someone else should.

lookit - i can't have sex with a prostitute*. at least, not a female one**. i'm never going to know what that singular and possibly very strange experience*** is like.

so does it make me weird that i'm always encouraging my guy friends**** to go out and hire a prostitute, because i want them to tell me what it was like?

does it?

* yes, i know i could hire one and have sex with her. but i don't think i'd enjoy my first lesbian experience if it was being paid for.

** and really, in terms of tradition, the female ones are the ones that interest me. i'm interested in understanding the socially prevalent and historically significant business practice of women, long held under as the "weaker sex" by male dominance, exchanging their bodies for money. male prostitutes ... they're like monster trucks competing with hondas and winning the race.

*** nota bene to any ragingly angry people that think i'm in favor the degrading sex industry and would like to flame me for considering supporting it: shut up and get off your soapboxes.

**** i would obviously never actually coerce anyone into having sex. unless it was with ME.


love, krissa .... 10:27 PM ... link!

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chicks before dicks, yo.

here's the thing. discussing the state of blogger-dom today with my fabulous, scandalous princess of pop, the
singular sarah b., we realized one very key thing:

the girls of bloggerdom rock our faces so hard.

and we said to ourselves, these girls that we chat with every day, leave comments for, share funny shoe-shopping stories with, moan over boy-travails with ... why are we not all in one place?

myself and the singular sarah b. both being women of action, decided to take some. oh yes.

ismat the smashingly engaged? dooce the splendiferous? fish, the queen of bicycles? babs, surely? ariel the electrolicious? anna the victorious? ari the magnificent? liz, the new topographically funny? tequila mockingbird? jackie-o, the wickedly witty? helenjane, the fantabulously fun?

girls - two nights. new york city. first night? we get our freak on. there will be dancing, and sexy, useless little tops, and to-die-for little shoes. there will be fruity cocktails and swooning bartenders. second night? it's a slumber party. there will be pjs, and snack foods, and tear-jerker movies, and more fruity cocktails, and pillows and more pillows.

two nights. all-girl fun.

can you dig it?

then let's do it.

revolution, baby!

love, krissa .... 12:57 AM ... link!

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Wednesday, January 29, 2003
one man's life in three phone calls

he was sitting next to me, on the subway, clutching a bundle of official looking papers and staring very, very intently at them. as if, perhaps staring would make them go away, or change into a dove or something. he was young-ish, hispanic, rather bulky, with dark eyes and pretty lips. he looked about 24. after staring at the papers for long enough to burn a hole through them, he pulled out his cell phone and made three short phone calls.

"hi, mom? hi. did i wake you up?"
"okay. i'm okay. yeah."
"well, here's the thing -"
"no, i'm fine, i just got my papers this morning."
"tomorrow. report to base. texas. and then turkey. then saudi."
"yeah, mom. it'll be fine."
"no, i haven't told her yet."
"okay, ma. i'll call you later this afternoon. got errands to run. gotta shave my head and -"
"it'll be okay."
"bye."

he put the phone away, and looked out the window for a little bit. pulling the phone out again -

"hi, honey. did i wake you?"
"yeah? how'd it go?"
"that's good. tell her i say hi."
"listen, baby, i got some bad news."
*laugh*
"no, it ain't that. we're going to have to push back the wedding."
"you know that's not - listen, okay, i want to marry you. its that i got called up."
"yeah."
"overseas."
"saudi, mainly."
"listen, don't cry, it'll be okay."
"tomorrow."
"i don't know - couple weeks? months?"
"it'll be okay."
"i love you."

visibly shaken. man doesn't put the phone away, he makes one more call.

"hey, dude."
"yeah." *laugh*
"got called up, man."
"tomorrow."
"saudi."
"no shit."
"you free after work?"
"meet me at jimmy's?"
"see you then, bro."

two stops later, man was still staring at those ominous, crisp white papers. calling him to fight. calling him to the middle east, weeks or months before this nation steps on the path towards the destruction of sadam's regime. it doesn't matter to him whether half of new york's elite sits at elaine's and debates the theoretical necessity of war. the motives. the political smoking guns.

he had to call his mother and tell her that her baby was going overseas. he had to call his girlfriend and tell her they'd have to postpone the wedding. and lastly, he called his buddy. tonight, they'll probably sit at a bar and stare at the walls and find things to say that won't break any hearts. those three phone calls - those were this man's reaction to the war.

as i got off the train, i looked at him and said, "good luck, man."

he held my eyes for a minute. he knew i'd heard, even though he'd been talking very quietly. he said, "thanks."


love, krissa .... 6:35 PM ... link!

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Tuesday, January 28, 2003
and we're all twelve years old.

the editrix would like to note that the only purpose for reprinting the following vile, not-fit-for-children IM conversation is to prove what a dirty, dirty man jw is*. she apologizes in advance to the damage the following garbage will have on your delicate, delicate ears.

*and also, to gross out
fulminous.

jw: dorkface
zuzuca: what?
jw: nothing. just thought I'd throw a little verbal abuse your way
zuzuca: dillhole.
jw: schmegmabrain
zuzuca: ? that's not even a word.
zuzuca: fuckwit.
jw: cumbubble
zuzuca: ewwww!
zuzuca: cuntface.
zuzuca: moldy coochmuncher.
jw: sketchy rasta-mike pube
zuzuca: lubed-out assblaster.
jw: assblaster!!! lol
zuzuca: you caved.
jw: no. I commented, even praised your last comment
zuzuca: yeah, pretty nice, huh?
zuzuca: god, i feel 10 points LESS SMART NOW.
jw: not caved, you bloody, puss-bubbling vaginal fart
zuzuca: oh CHRIST, i think i'm going to vomit.
jw: so you yeild?
jw: thank you. thanks very much
zuzuca: although, as a mild criticism -
zuzuca: the bloody at the beginning of that one should have been comma-less.
zuzuca: to make it a little more effective.

love, krissa .... 11:19 PM ... link!

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a night at elaine's

last night.
elaine's with cruel little man and favorite writing professor, melvin.

assorted people we met: melinda, a chirpy, smart freelance writer in her 30's. michael, her british boyfriend, works at the daily mirror in london. dave, from the times. john, a belligerently loud drunk vietnam vet. elaine herself. some westchester football coach.

things discussed: rushdie. college. cigarettes. british men. rugby vs cricket. police ride-alongs. the appeal of scottish accents. imperialism in africa. the middle east. feminism. shower curtains. war with iraq. good vs evil. fighter pilots. alcoholics. peroxide. purple wine vs yellow wine.
books. salvation. god. smoking again. books again. cab rides. sleepovers. books again.

emotions felt: so this is what it all feels like.



love, krissa .... 11:10 PM ... link!

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Monday, January 27, 2003
and the tag on her outfit said: Rejected From Sex in the City Wardrobe

check this. she gets into the elevator, skinny, pretty, blonde. she works at elle magazine.

and she's wearing, from head to toe: a cab driver style cap. a tight beige cardigan with big red buttons. a dime-sized-pearl necklace that hung all the way down her front with diamond chanel logos every ten pearls or so. pinstriped jeans, so tight i could see her thong line. they were cuffed mid-calf.

and get this: navy blue socks, with beige high-heeled mary janes.

and i thought to myself, unable to stop staring from pearls to shoes - surely, surely, this is a sign of the impending apocalypse?


love, krissa .... 10:42 PM ... link!

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this is your bitchy editrix speaking ...

do me an eensy weensy favor: if you've linked to my site:

1. thanks so much. ya'll all rock my face. but

2. please don't make petit hiboux one word. it's an obsessive thing. it's an aesthetic thing. it's two words - it means little owl.


....normal, sweet, fun-loving petit hiboux returning shortly.... but while i'm on this bitch kick...

note bene:

if you're going to jump out of the murky past to reappear in my life, either by email, or webpage, or instant messages ... please. don't take it personally if i don't leap for joy. it may be that you've hurt me and i'm not interested in making you feel better about yourself by offering absolution. it may just be that i didn't know you very well back then and haven't really sparked an interest to know you very well again.

you're more than welcome to visit this site. or pester me with IMs. or send hasty, unexpected emails, asking my belated forgiveness for travesties committed half-a-decade ago.

just don't expect me to invite you in and serve you tea and cookies.



love, krissa .... 8:09 PM ... link!

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