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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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

 
Saturday, November 19, 2005  
Okay, so when did this happen? When did The Holidays arrive? No one told me it was that time of the year. That hap, hap, happiest time of the year.

Not for me.

We know this.

I wish there were some way to just leave and go away some where where there's no holiday season for the next six weeks.

Funny. I used to like the holidays. I love my family and friends. I cherish every second I get to spend with them. The Holidays, albeit forcefully, bring everyone together. I used to love that. Now Carole of the Bells is more of a death knell than a joyous call to celebration for me.

This is what happens when your life turns out worse than you thought it would.

Things like The Holidays bug you.

A lot.

It's always been difficult for me to see past the commercial hype of the season. Yes. Really. Even when I was a kid. It's always seemed incongruent to me. Sure, that never stopped me from enjoying my annual present haul, but I never really connected why all the hype and fuss over all of it. Jesus' birthday. Peace on Earth. Good will to all. What part of that includes buying presents and making everyone who doesn't have a special someone and money feel like a complete pathetic loser?

Yep. It's that special time of year.

Shopping and suicide rates are at their peak.

After The Breakup (which was just before The Holidays so yes, they're even more tainted for me because of that) I started a little tradition. The Holidays are all about traditions, right? Every family has their own special traditions which make the holidays have continuity from one generation to the next.

But there is no next generation for me. Nope. Not even a spouse or "special someone" to share a special tradition. I'm a pathetic single loser, there doesn't need to be any continuity, so there are no traditions for me. Right?

Well. Yes. Basically that's the gist of it.

Except I did start my own little tradition.

It's called: The Festival of Not Becoming a Holiday Suicide Statistic.

It begins, well, now.

A few weeks after Halloween. Before Thanksgiving. The actual date, like Jesus' birth, is a bit sketchy. I know when to start, though. Usually a few minutes after the first Christmas themed jewelry commercial featuring Santa looking over a guy (wearing a new sweater) proffering an enormous hunk of rock otherwise known as a diamond engagement ring to a lovely young lady who embraces him clearly sending the message that she will accept the proposal because Santa helped sweater boy choose a large enough ring for her.

When did marriage proposals become synonymous with Christmas? When did this happen? Why did this happen? I didn't get the memo.

Oh sure, I realize it's a warm fuzzy sentimental time of year for couples in love. I used to be one of those people. The few holidays HWNMNBS and I shared rank among my best. Even better than the Barbie Airplane year. I kind of "got it" then. I loved him. A lot. The whole time together with the person you love during the hap, hap. happiest time of the year is nice. Yes. Really. And no, he never went overboard with gifts. Actually. Now that I think of it, there weren't any actual Christmas gifts. But that was okay. Being with him was present enough for me. I mean that, really.

Right.

Until I met him I didn't get the whole couples in love at Christmas thing. I just didn't see the connection. And just when I began to "get it," he dumped me. Leaving me again wondering how and why Christmas has anything to do with couples in love.

It's really very cruel. The people who don't have a special someone, and I'm not the only one, there are other single lonely people in this world (hence the staggeringly high suicide rate during The Holidays), us people who are not happily coupled up have to endure a couple of months of having our singleness crammed down our throats. There's no escape. I dare you to spend one day between now and January 1 without seeing or hearing at least one happy couple at Christmas reminder. If you're living in the Western world, I doubt that it's possible.

Hence The Festival of Not Becoming a Holiday Suicide Statistic.

Every year since The Breakup I have started the tradition of crossing days off the calendar - the day after the day. As I mark an X through the date I make a big production of the event. I say, "Whew! I survived one more day alive! The (insert suicide inducing moment like the above mentioned jewelry commercial) didn't drive me to overdose!" Or, "Whew! I'm alive this morning because the holiday party where everyone was coupled up except me didn't make me hurl myself off the highest roof I could find!"

Every Monday morning during The Festival of Not Becoming a Holiday Suicide Statistic there are special songs to accompany the marking ceremony. Classics like "All By Myself, Again," "Alone Again, Naturally" and "One is the Loneliest Number." It is during this time we take time out to remind ourselves we made it through another week alive and off the holiday suicide statistic chart. The best way to do this is by reminding ourselves we're alive. What better way than by using our senses? Hear the music, see the cookies and booze, taste the cookies and booze. Feel the effects of the sugar and alcohol lulling you into a numb stupor.

There is also a ceremonial lighting of candles during Hanukah, The Festival of Not Becoming a Holiday Suicide Statistic is nondenominational. Singleness knows no religious or cultural bounds. And if you don't burn those holiday themed candles you get at the office gift swap they hang around all year as unlit, unused reminders of The Holidays.

On January 1, the last day of The Festival of Not Becoming a Holiday Suicide Statistic and culmination of the year's seasonal events, there is a ceremonial viewing of Thelma and Louise for girls and Better Off Dead for guys. The Festival of Not Becoming a Holiday Suicide Statistic ends with The Sacrifice of the Innocents, otherwise known as maxing out a credit card at post-holiday sales. This will ensure mortality well into the new year. Credit card bills will keep you alive and working and will give you something in common with the rest of the free world, even (and especially) those with spouses and children.

So, upon us. It's here. I've got my marker and calendar ready to mark the days I remain alive during The Holidays.

Happy Festival of Not Becoming a Holiday Suicide Statistic, everyone!

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