Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.

Otherwise, hello, and welcome.
Mail Trillian here<





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Women, The Internet and You: Tips for Men Who Use Online Dating Sites
Part I, Your Profile and Email

Part II, Selecting a Potential Date

Part III, Your First Date!

Part IV, After the First Date. Now What?


"50 First Dates"






Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.

Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Find Federal Officials
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or Search by State

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Contact The Media
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Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)

Quasar
Hyperbole
Amenable
Taciturn
Ennui
Prophetic
Tawdry
Hubris
Ethereal
Syzygy
Umbrageous
Twerp
Sluice
Omnipotent
Sanctuary
Malevolent
Maelstrom
Luddite
Subterfuge
Akimbo
Hoosegow
Dodecahedron
Visceral
Soupçon
Truculent
Vitriol
Mercurial
Kerfuffle
Sangfroid




























 







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Highlights from the Archives. Some favorite Trillian moments.

Void, Of Course: Eliminating Expectations and Emotions for a Better Way of Life

200i: iPodyssey

Macs Are from Venus, Windows is from Mars Can a relationship survive across platform barriers?
Jerking Off

Get A Job

Office Church Ladies: A Fieldguide

'Cause I'm a Blonde

True? Honestly? I think not.

A Good Day AND Funyuns?

The Easter Boy

Relationship in the Dumpster

Wedding Dress 4 Sale, Never Worn

Got Friends? Are You Sure? Take This Test

What About Class? Take This Test

A Long Time Ago, in a Galaxy Far Far Away, There Was a Really Bad Movie

May Your Alchemical Process be Complete. Rob Roy Recipe

Good Thing She's Not in a Good Mood Very Often (We Knew it Wouldn't Last)

What Do I Have to Do to Put You in this Car Today?

Of Mice and Me (Killer Cat Strikes in Local Woman's Apartment)

Trillian: The Musical (The Holiday Special)

LA Woman (I Love (Hate) LA)

It is my Cultureth
...and it would suit-eth me kindly to speak-eth in such mannered tongue

Slanglish

It's a Little Bit Me, It's a Little Bit You
Blogging a Legacy for Future Generations


Parents Visiting? Use Trillian's Mantra!

Ghosts of Christmas Past: Mod Hair Ken

Caught Blogging by Mom, Boss or Other

2003 Holiday Sho-Lo/Mullet Awards

Crullers, The Beer Store and Other Saintly Places

Come on Out of that Doghouse! It's a Sunshine Day!

"...I had no idea our CEO is actually Paula Abdul in disguise."

Lap Dance of the Cripple

Of Muppets and American Idols
"I said happier place, not crappier place!"

Finally Off Crutches, Trillian is Emancipated

Payless? Trillian? Shoe Confessions

Reality Wednesday: Extremely Local Pub

Reality Wednesday: Backstage Staging Zone (The Sweater Blog)

The Night Secret Agent Man Shot My Dad

To Dream the Impossible Dream: The Office Karaoke Party

Trillian Flies Economy Class (Prisoner, Cell Block H)

Trillian Visits the Village of the Damned, Takes Drugs, Becomes Delusional and Blogs Her Brains Out

Trillian's Parents are Powerless

Striptease for Spiders: A PETA Charity Event (People for the Ethical Treatment of Arachnids)

What's Up with Trillian and the Richard Branson Worship?

"Screw the French and their politics, give me their cheese!"


















 
Mail Trillian here





Trillian's Guide to the Galaxy gives 5 stars to these places in the Universe:
So much more than fun with fonts, this is a daily dose of visual poetry set against a backdrop of historical trivia. (C'mon, how can you not love a site that notes Wolfman Jack's birthday?!)

CellStories

Alliance for the Great Lakes


Hot, so cool, so cool we're hot.

Ig Nobel Awards

And you think YOU have the worst bridesmaid dress?

Coolest Jewelry in the Universe here (trust Trillian, she knows)

Red Tango

If your boss is an idiot, click here.

Evil Cat Full of Loathing.

Wildlife Works

Detroit Cobras


The Beachwood Reporter is better than not all, but most sex.



Hey! Why not check out some great art and illustration while you're here? Please? It won't hurt and it's free.

Shag

Kii Arens

Tim Biskup

Jeff Soto

Jotto




Get Fuzzy Now!
If you're not getting fuzzy, you should be. All hail Darby Conley. Yes, he's part of the Syndicate. But he's cool.





Who or what is HWNMNBS: (He Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken) Trillian's ex-fiancé. "Issues? What issues?"







Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.


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Reading blogs at work? Click to escape to a suitable site!

Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains

Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains

A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains





























Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero

 
Tuesday, October 04, 2005  
So here’s something which doesn’t happen every day.

Boob Job quit. Well. Okay. People quit their jobs every day. Lucky them.

Here’s the unique part: She doesn’t have another job. Well. Actually. That’s not so unique. People quit their jobs without another job lined up all the time.

But this part is different: She doesn’t need another job for a while because she won a lottery.

She didn’t win millions of dollars. She didn’t even win a million dollars.

But.

She won enough money to pay off her debts, do some traveling, get a butt tuck, and well, not work for a while. Or at least take some time off to find another job she “really wants to do.”

Because apparently she hasn’t really wanted to do her job for the past five years. No new revelation there. I knew she wasn’t exactly a motivated employee. The past few years we’ve made progress, she’s actually been helpful and, well, you know, we’ve worked out a system of working together, we get along and, well, she does work. Between cigarette breaks. I knew her motivation for working began and ended with the paycheck. I know she was working to pay for those mounds of silicone. And a lifestyle she really couldn’t afford. (Hey, I know what she earns. I know where she lives. I see how she dresses. I assumed her parents were bankrolling her “habits.”)

I’m actually surprised she hasn’t quit prior to this.

I’m even more surprised she plays the lottery. I’m having a really difficult time imagining her buying lottery tickets. Maybe when she stops in for her weekly pack of cigarettes she buys lottery tickets. Still. I’m not conjuring a very clear image of that process. She seems very out of place in that image.

It doesn’t suit the image and illusion she’s worked so hard to create of herself.

Boob Job is very concerned with all things personal image. Boob Job really wants to move to LA. This would be a good move for her. She’ll fit in really well out there. Her fake boobs and fake hair and fake colored contact lenses and fake nails and, well, fake personality, should make her very popular in LA.

I have always found it ironic that this woman who is consumed with changing her physical appearance by adding fake modifications is such a snob when it comes to “real” brand names. She’s very designery. She’s the first to fire off a catty remark when someone shows up with a designer imposter handbag or sunglasses or clothes or iPod case. (seriously, she made a conspiratorial mean girl comment to me about someone’s “fake” Coach iPod case as if I would care. Now. The particulars of the actual iPod are another story…but the Coach case, fake or otherwise? Seemed odd she thought I’d care.) The hardest I ever saw her work was when she was trying to get signatures on a petition to eliminate street vendors selling designer imposter goods. “It’s copyright infringement! It’s fraud! It hurts everyone!” were her battle cries. There’s a woman in our office who, and this is very out of character for her, returned from lunch one day with a faux Louis Vuitton handbag. This was when the “new” Vuittons came out and were impossible to get and even normally status conscious women were buying the imposters out of desperation to have the latest bag. The woman was showing off how good the quality was considering the inexpensive street vendor imposter designer price. And she was right – I have to admit the quality of that cheap bag was, well, pretty darned good. Certainly worth the $20 she paid for it. Boob Job grabbed it and inspected every detail as if she were looking for a hidden clue to the mysteries of the Universe.

Wanted to say: “Let’s hope no one inspects your boobs or eyes or roots the way you’re going over that bag. The bag’s a better imitation of the real thing than your dye job or contact hue or boobs.”

Said instead: “You know, I’m not into designer labels but that is a cute style. I might get one, too.”

“Are you kidding me? You?! Trillian, you?! Of all people, you?!” she gasped at me incredulously, staring at me through fake tinted blue eyes. I wasn’t sure which of the myriad possible reasons for surprise at me buying a bag from a street vendor was outraging her.

“Yeah, sure! It is good quality and I could use something like that. I haven’t had a new handbag in ages.” Which is true on all counts. I really miss the one stolen in the mugging last year. It was my staple. I liked a lot. I haven’t found a good replacement.

“But it’s unethical! It’s wrong! And you don’t even like designer clothes! Why would you want a fake designer bag?” she hissed at me, shaking the bag in my face with her fake be-filled nailed clenched fist.

Irony and sarcasm and self awareness are lost on Boob Job.

“You’re right. If it didn’t have the logos all over it maybe I’d like it better. Walking billboard and all that.” I gave a long meaningful look from her blue tinted eyes to her Armani be-logoed top filled with D sized fake boobs with fake blonde hair falling at her shoulders, said, “It is a cute bag, great bargain.” to the woman who bought it and left it at that.

This is one of the many reasons I’m having difficulty imagining her buying lottery tickets. It just doesn’t suit her personality. I wouldn’t think she’d dare to be seen buying lottery tickets. I would think she would find this a tacky process.

But then, I’m not really hip to the whole lottery thing. I don’t play. Once or twice I’ve put a buck or two into a pool in the office. Every now and then a friend at work slips me a cute or ironic themed scratch-off instant ticket. That’s the extent of my lottery knowledge or concern. I’m not a gambler by nature. I don’t have spare money to gamble. I don’t buy the whole “funding education” propaganda. And thus concludes the reasons why I don’t buy lottery tickets.

I’ve been to Vegas. I’ve played some slots. I was ahead $38 and left $38 ahead. HWNMNBS and I once got a lot of laughs out of a cat themed slot machine (don’t ask). It was one of those “once is enough fun for me” things.

Gambling just isn’t my thing.

And I’m having a really difficult time getting my mind around the fact that Boob Job gambles in the form of lottery tickets.

And won big enough to quit her job. And pay off her debts. And travel. And get a butt tuck. (I have no idea what’s going to be tucked because she has little or no discernable butt. Maybe she meant butt implant. Butt lift? Lift what? There’s nothing there…)

Lest you think I’m jealous, let me state loudly and clearly: Yes. I am jealous.

I want to quit my job, too.

Sadie got to quit last Spring. Drunk Dolt quit two weeks ago. And now Boob Job.

All of these woman had financial “luck” situations which allowed them to quit. They’ll all have to get other jobs at some point, but they got financial windfalls which gave them some breathing space in their careers. The luxury of quitting their current jobs.

Lest you think I’m jealous, let me state loudly and clearly: Yes. I am jealous of their financial windfalls.

These are not women who are smarter, cleverer, nicer, wiser, funnier or prettier than I. (Okay, Boob Job’s a zillion times prettier than me. But I can honestly say Sadie and Drunk Dolt would be ranked below me in the looks department. Not that it matters. I’m just saying, apart from Boob Job, for a change this isn’t a case of pretty girls getting ahead because of their looks.)

And here I am still in the office. Yes. It’s all about me. Once again I’m the one left behind. Good riddance to all three, really. Universe knows I don’t miss Sadie or Drunk Dolt. In fact the tension and relief in the air in the office since their departures is palpable.

Boob Job, though, I mean, well. She’s replaceable. But. We worked out our way of working together. We worked out a system which seemed to be agreeable for both of us. A few weeks ago she even thanked me for teaching her some skills and being patient with her while she learned. (See? I’m really not a horrible shrew in the office. Really I’m not.) She understands sometimes working late isn’t required of her but will stay because she knows it is required of me. She always makes sure there are veggie friendly foods for me at our department functions. She does try to learn new skills and take on more responsibilities than are required of her job. She slated Spanglish over the flirting with the copy repair guy thing. For all the reasons I don’t respect her, there are reasons why I do.

I’m happy for her. This is going to be a big change and a big chance for her to, well, I don’t know, do whatever it is she ends up doing with herself.

It’s an end of an era here in the office. The tech guys will be nowhere to be found once she leaves. The lecherous pervs will have to move their drool pool over to that new girl in Media. What’s her name? Tawny? Fawn? Bambi? Some stripper name like that. The style magazines will arrive in my office on time and completely in tact, no pages torn out or corners dog eared or sticky notes marking pages of interest to Boob Job. There won’t be a posse of Boob Job clones parading in promptly at 5:12 on Thursday and Friday nights ready for a night on the town. The Starbucks on our corner will probably go out of business.

See? This is all trickle down economics. Boob Job wins the lottery, an entire microcosm ceases to exist.

I have to find a new job. My microcosm should have ceased a long time ago.

Lottery tickets anyone?

2:22 PM

 
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