Sprinkles and wrinkles

Becky and I were at a diner in Long Island, and the waiter was shamelessly hitting on Becky. First he thought she was 16, and tried to set her up with several of his sons. (He also told plenty of awesome jokes that began with "Who here is Catholic?" and ended with "'Fuck the children' ... 'How much time do we have?'") He even gave Becky a plastic condiment container full of rainbow sprinkles.

When Becky stepped away for a minute, the waiter asked me how old I was, I told him to guess, and he said, "26."

"Wait," I said. "You thought she was 16 but you think I'm 26?"

"You know how I know?" he said. "You have all those wrinkles around your eyes."

She wasn't lying

My friend Becky just said, "Well then we started playing with our love dolls."

Yeeaaahhh...

I sent my resume and clips to 35 newspapers last week, and today I was dutifully following up with a few of them. Since I'm going to be in NY anyway, I was trying to set up informational interviews with the five papers that are within an hour of the city. Now, I mostly got varying degrees of "We're not hiring again, ever," but the best was from the managing editor of the Courier-Post, a 75,000-circulation daily in Cherry Hill, NJ.

Me: Hi, my name is Erica Harbatkin, and I'm calling to follow up about a resume and clips I sent in last week. I'm going to be in the New York area next week, and was hoping we might be able to set up an informational interview.

Her: Yeeeaaaahhh, your resume and clips. Remind me of your experience again?

Me: *Reminded her of my experience*

Her: Yeeeaaahhh (think of the boss in Office Space), I think we're gonna have to pass.

Me: You're gonna have to pass on an informational interview?

Her: Yeeeaahhhh.

I mean, I've been shot down plenty. But this from a generally dinky 75,000-circ paper in Southern Jersey? Really?

How I spent my Valentine's night:

Scrubbing 6-month-old kitten poop from the walls in the pantry. Seriously.

Come here! We have coffee shops!

Sometimes I look at the postings on journalismjobs, just to see what I won't be applying for while I'm in Europe. There are plenty of crappy newspaper jobs in crappier towns around this country, but just imagine if your biggest selling point was this:

The Homer Tribune is seeking an experienced feature writer with experience using quark and photoshop for a half-time design, half-time writing position. The Homer Tribune is an award-winning weekly newspaper covering a thriving community on the Kenai Peninsula filled with outdoor opportunities, arts and entertainment and more coffee shops per capita than Seattle. Call Carey at (907) 235-3714 or send cover letter, clips and resume to cjames@homertribune.com.

Of course, we only have three people living in this town, but I mean, that puts our person to coffee shop ratio at three to one!!!

Kitties and boxes

You know kittens? They totally love boxes.



(I had some of A.M., but she's dark and the box is dark and you just can't see her. So you'll have to take my word for it.)

C'mon, don't you think he's cute?

I was at the bowling alley tonight, and when the guy I was with left for a minute, an old-ish guy approached me.

"Hey, you should talk to that boy over there," he said, gesturing toward a very young kid.

"Why?" I asked.

"He has a PS2," the old-ish man responded, in a sort of braggy way. "And he's a very sweet boy."

"I believe it," I said. "But why should I talk to him?"

"C'mon, talk to him! He's a freshman; he'd love to meet you."

And that's when I realized that a father was trying to set me up with his 13-year-old son.

I am the girl who digs through your dumpsters...

I went box-hunting again today, and was told by many people that there were "lots" of boxes behind the stores, next to the dumpsters. What they all failed to mention was that these boxes were inside the dumpsters, mixed in with all kinds of fun stuff. I am also rather short, so I couldn't reach much of anything without climbing around on the dumpster. Other people in the parking lots looked at me a little funny. But I'm OK with that... I am the girl who digs through your dumpsters.

A.M.

I think A.M. just likes to sit in her litter box and claw through the liner. Like it's her fun game.

I will not give out my number to random guys in bars...

I will not give out my number to random guys in bars... I will not give out my number to random guys in bars... I will not give out my number to random guys in bars.

You'd think I would have learned by now. Instead, last night I gave out my number to a random guy in a bar. And in the space between 2 a.m. when I left the bar, and 5:26 a.m., he called four times. The messages went from, "Hey, we met earlier in the bar; just seeing what you're doing" to "Me again, I'm bored, thought I'd give you a call to see what you were up to."

Really? At 5:26 a.m.? When he called at 5:22 a.m. and I didn't answer that time either?

I will not give out my number to random guys in bars... I will not give out my number to random guys in bars... I will not give out my number to random guys in bars.

I get bored...

So I get very bored and look at who visited my blog from where, and there's someone who regularly checks it from Middletown, New Jersey who uses AT&T Internet service... who is it?