“You’re choosing not to pay with a bank account. Please note that both bank account and credit card payments are sent instantly, and account numbers are never exposed to the merchant.

You’ll also find that transactions paid with a bank account:

* Will not accrue credit card finance charges.
* Let you stay in control of spending and avoid credit card debt.

No matter how you pay, you get 100% protection against unauthorized payments sent from your account.

Do you want to make this payment with your bank account?”

NO, what I really want is to not be chastised for financial decrepitude by an automated message.

Case in point: the weaver in Woodstock, NY who chose to call their studio Loominous.

Bleecker Street, 9:05 AM — one imperious gentleman clad in blue-and-white striped Brooks Brother pajamas, biking.

On Saturday EG and I had a late brunch at Boerum Hill Food Company, which is perhaps the only place I’ll miss in our now-old neighborhood, high Bugaboo traffic notwithstanding.  We were both seriously dawdling, reluctant to get on with the day and the numerous, onerous, moving-related tasks it held in store.  I got a refill on my iced coffee and we stared at the stroller-bound baby gurgling a few feet away, which was stuck in the happiest possible cycle of indecision :  should I chew on this plastic buckle, or should I try to put my foot in my mouth?  Repeat!

“I wish I could be a baby,” EG said.  “Imagine being entertained for hours by a part of your own body.”

I couldn’t resist.

“You know, people say that about you,” I said.

EG laughed — not a, “Hmmpph!”, but a shoulder-shaking, open-mouthed, from-the-gut guffaw.

This is one of the many reasons why all the asshat haters should just STFU.

Dear posters to the craigslist “apartments for rent” message board,

I know where Williamsburg, Clinton Hill, and Prospect Heights are.

Please stop lying.

Regards,

Ruth

Beer – makes you fat.

Wine – makes you broke.

Cocktails – make you drunk.

What’s a girl to do?  The obvious isn’t an option, I’m afraid.

Lately I’ve been a little unnerved by how relevant someecards.com is to my life. There’s this:

followed by this:

and of course:

Let’s not forget:

I wish someone had shown the courtesy of sending this:

so I could have had the pleasure of responding like this:

PS:

alcoholic alembic aww Backlund balboa basil bedsores bergen Blech blog brunchable btw charlottesville chugged cobble cornland cornucopia Coyle cupcakes Daft dick didion Donnie doorman douchebag dunzo Edna Eiji flt fucked Gessen ghandi gonna gq Greil haight Hallelujah honeymooning hotlanta hoyt hungover Iluna Joe kara karaoke liss magnolia Malibu marcel marcus milkshake millay Modesto mozz netflixing newlywed obvs Omg Oooh Papalote Peeler pms pompadour potty probs prosecco puked Pulp pussy Quach repairman restorative Rhiannon Ringer Sanchez searingly Shrader signifiers Skipping slutty soooo sux temping theatah Thx tix totes txt uszh Vicodin vom weds wikipedia Williamsburg wtf xx yuck

I tried to add “SOS” yesterday, but I got this message:

My Words List entries are full. Please erase an old entry.

I don’t think I will, though. That list is pretty much the most perfect 100 words written about the last six months.

Am I alone in finding this new “People You May Know” feature unsettling?  Chances are,  if there’s someone on Facebook with whom I already have friends/networks in common and who is not ALREADY my friend, then there’s, um, a good reason.  For these regular reminders of embarrassing hookups, past humiliations, and professional bridges burned, Facebook, I thank you!

When I’ve got time to kill in a bar or restaurant, I like looking around and trying to guess all the stories that are unfolding at the tables around me. The first dates and business dinners are easy enough to spot, as are the family get-togethers, the birthdays, and the anniversaries. The more intriguing stories are usually the quieter pairs, the ones sharing a drink in silence, barely making eye contact or eating mechanically and exchanging what appear to be desultory remarks about the side dishes and the promptness of the service. Are they old friends, happy to spend time in one another’s company, no longer bearing the burden of providing constant entertainment and fun? A long-established couple, communicating in the code of multi-year relationships, in which a seemingly throwaway comment about the crispness of the green beans carries with it layers upon layers of meaning about sacrifices, bad choices, and disappointments past? Perhaps they are former lovers, getting together for a final drink, that necessary gesture of our modern times towards closure, moving on, and remaining “friends.” I have never been very good at identifying those, probably because until Maurice I had not had a grown-up relationship, and so all post-breakup communication had been conducted drunk and at top volume and was usually followed by some extremely regrettable behavior. So, seeing these couples, I wondered what it was they said to each other so quietly and calmly. It seems to me that there are four options:

1. The truth (version 1) — I still think about you, I still miss you. What could we have done differently? I wish things didn’t turn out this way. I hope it’s for the best.

2. Untruth (version 1) — I’m terrific! Work is great! My life is fantastic; I see my friends all the time and have tons of fun. I love dating! I do it all the time! Look at me getting all these fascinating text messages!

3. The truth (version 2) — I’m miserable; I don’t think I’ll ever get over you. Why didn’t you care about me? Why wasn’t I good enough? Whenever I hear “Atlantic City” I think of us singing along to it together in the back of that bar and I have to stop whatever I’m doing and cry.

4. Untruth (version 2) –I’m sleeping with an older married guy from work – well from work before I quit – and a 17 year-old on the side. And also your best friend. It’s alright, I guess. I don’t really care about any of them because I started doing a lot of [insert scary drug here] and it kinda takes up most of my time. Yeah, you really fucked me up! You should probably feel guilty about ruining my life! I gotta go, that’s my dealer calling. And I need that money you owe me.

I should probably do some sort of cost-benefit analysis on each of these approaches before tomorrow night, because right now I’m leaning towards #4.