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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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

 
Wednesday, May 24, 2006  
Remember how over the counter in-home beautification treatments have a way of backfiring on me? Well. Let’s score another point for the marketers of over the counter in-home beautification treatments.

Some of you may remember The White Stripping Incident of 2004.

Yeah. Good times.

Actually. That didn't go so awful. The White Stripping Incident of 2003 was bad, but the next year when Nite Effects hit the market the experience was better.

So yeah, I guess, reflecting on it a bit more, OTC beautification products haven't been so bad to me.

Maybe that's why I thought it would be safe to try...oh man...this is embarrassing...we're all friends here, right? Okay, I know we're not all friends. But. Okay. Fine. Be gentle with me.

I tried a self tanning product.

There. Okay?

But in my defense it came highly recommended by a friend who tried it and it's made by Dove and the package says, "SUBTLE Self Tanners." Energy Glow, it's called.

Subtle it says. "Gradually builds a beautiful Summery glow." It doesn't say anything about turning your flesh to a lovely shade of tangerine.

I was under the impression (via the person who recommended it and the package) that it's really more of a moisturizer which will just leave a trace of, well, Summery glow. Apparently I'm confused on the meaning of Summery glow. I was thinking a deep moisturizing treatment which leaves behind soft skin with just a little hint of color, enough to smooth out the not so glowy Wintery pasty white. You know, me but not so sickly and Wintery dry looking. But apparently Summery glow actually means: Chernoble core during meltdown glow.

One application left my legs looking like I've spent the past three months in a tanning bed. All I need is to bleach my hair yellow blonde, wear frosty shimmer lipstick and blue eye shadow, don some skin tight white jean cut-off shorts and scuffed up white pumps and I'm ready for an audition for the Donna Summer “Bad Girls” video or the bad part of the Las Vegas Strip.

I trusted Dove. I trusted them. I've used Dove products and found them to be exactly as they claim to be on their packaging. I had no reason not to trust Energy Glow.

Well.

Except.

I have a bad self tanning product experience in my past and I should have known better.

Wavy flashback screen…

It was the Summer of my 15th year.

I was 5'11". Flat as a board (yes, really). Full set of braces on my teeth (with headgear). Long hair frizzy from the Summer humidity and streaked with orangey red highlights thanks to my friend's brother's be-sunroofed Firebird which we'd been riding around in all Summer because she already had her license and her brother was backpacking across Europe. And I was white. Really, really, really white. So white you could see veins under my skin. A few freckles on my cheeks and a reddish nose from that Sun roof. Yeah. I was quite the teenaged temptress. The Lolita of the neighborhood. I think it's fair to say my trouble attracting men began sometime around the age of 12. My friend, who was older, blonder, prettier and in possession of a driver's license and the keys to her brother's Firebird, was invited to a party, a pool party and she had begged an invite for me, too. Cool kids were going to be there. College kids. Boys. Young men. Who went to other schools and college and didn't know us.

Much to my astounding amazement my parents agreed to let me attend this pool party with older boys and young men from college. Looking back on it I suppose they weren't worried about me because of the braces, height, lack of any discernible female body parts, frizzy hair and translucent skin. They may have even thought this to be my one chance at garnering a date - get a boy drunk enough on a hot Summer night and he might even be attracted to me.

Fortunately I was stupid enough to say something about swimming to my friend and she, aghast, explained that swimming would not be the focus of the pool party. I was a dork. I was the girl who, had I not been fortunate enough to have an older cool friend, would have shown up in her bathing suit and sneakers with a towel wrapped around me like a terry cloth sarong and swim goggles hanging around my neck. And pool toys. I was completely out of my fashion depth. A pool party with no swimming and boys from other schools and young men from college was not exactly something I was hip to at that stage of my life. I was nervous to say the least. I worried about this event. So worried my mother even sprang for a new "cool" outfit for the party. (Don't ask. Please. Do not ask. It was very cool which means it was very awful. It involved stripes, cheap jewelry and sandals. (Actually, I wish I had those sandals, they'd be kind of cool now.))

My friend and I spent the night before the night of the party in preparation for the party. She had a lot of make-up. I actually had a fair amount thanks to my older sister who was a model with trunks full of make-up, but I never wore much because I hadn't quite gotten the hang of achieving a look other than punk. Which I actually pulled off pretty well what with the translucent skin and an already sizable “alternative” record collection thanks to my older brother and college radio stations.

But punk was not really the right look for the pool party with boys from other schools and young men from college. And my friend wasn’t punk. She was more, um, I dunno really, cover of Seventeen magazine comes to mind. So we messed around with our looks for the party. Meaning: she deftly tried several different combinations which all looked good and then tried them on me. Without the same results.

Her: Pretty 17-year-old blonde cover of Seventeen girl.

Me: Awkward 15-year-old cover of a Slits album (with a lot of effort and minus the attitude).

I vividly remember her copies of Elle and Vogue and how we tried to emulate the models' make-up looks.

And Sun-in was involved. My already blonde friend streaked in some highlights and I followed suit because it actually “worked” in her hair, added a subtle sun kissed highlight to her natural blonde locks here and there. And she convinced me it would be just as subtle in mine. Even though my hair was dark brunette and naturally streaked with red highlights. (okay, she wasn’t the brains of the operation, but she was popular, or at least well liked, had a car and for some reason that Summer she chose to hang out with me so I was willing to try just about anything she suggested) Though, to my credit, I was smart enough to dilute the stuff and applied it to what I thought were just a few strands. I stood firm when my friend tried to convince me more would be better. Looking back on this I have to wonder if she was trying to sabotage me, if maybe she had some sort of Carrie homage in mind.

However, when she insisted that with my short, um, outfit and sandals my legs would be getting a lot of attention, particularly because they were so white, I agreed and worried.

She had just the remedy.

Everyone, on the count of three: 1 - 2 - 3: Ban de Soleil! Ah yes, self tanning at it's most unnatural orangey best.

I guess we all have to learn the hard way, right? Still. That stuff should be illegal. I mean, it's just cruel to lead on young girls with that stuff. Just absolutely cruel.

You know what happened. I don't need to go into an explanation of the tangerine colored base with the dark brown streaks do I? Or the dark brown map of creases between my toes and fingers? Or the stark contrast of white in all the places I missed when applying or when I washed my hands like the instructions said to do? Or the finger print shaped brown smudges on my cheek from where I apparently touched my face with the stuff and didn't realize it until it was too late, way too late?

The term unmitigated disaster comes to mind. I mean, there I was with my new cool outfit and I was completely orange with brown streaks and finger shaped marks on my face. And orange/yellow streaks in my hair. My mother tried to stifle her laughter when I came down the morning after the application. The day of the party. She tried really hard, you know, to be supportive and encouraging. But in the end she cracked under the pressure. I think it was when I showed her pasty white hands with brown streaks and an almost perfect "cuff" where the orange and brown streaks began at my wrists. It looked like I was wearing orange sleeves and white gloves.

I mean, I can't blame her, I would laugh if it were my kid. I'd totally crack up. So, you know, I don't fault her for laughing and she did try really hard to not laugh at first. But. Well. It was funny. My big pool party with no swimming and older boys from other schools and young men from college and a new cool outfit with sandals and there I was: Orange with brown streaks and white hands. And matching bright orange/yellow streaks in my hair.

My mother took me to her salon and they dyed my hair a regular shade of brown to cover up the Sun-in. (You may recall this was not the first professional dye job I required due to a home beautifying experiment gone wrong, I already had a history of home beautifying experiments gone horribly wrong.) And we tried everything, everything to tone down the Ban de Soleil skin dye. We were moderately successful with a solution they use to correct a bad dye job, a bleaching agent of some sort. I sometimes wonder which will give me some rare form of cancer first: The Ban de Soleil or the bleaching agents we slathered on me to try to get rid of it.

In the end I wore cute slacks to the party and stacks of bracelets and my sister's cast-off super wide (and super out of style) watch to hide the line between my orange arms and white hands.

Yadda yadda yadda.

I left that party as chaste and unnoticed as I arrived. Well. The older boys from other schools and the young men from college did notice me. It's kind of hard to not notice a 5'11" tangerine wearing a striped top and lots and lots and lots of cheap jewelry and fingerprint shaped brown smudges on her face. Oh. And braces. But they weren't interested in anything from me other than pointing and laughing.

My friend met a young man from college that night and three weeks later she gave "it" up to him in her brother's Firebird. It was her Summer of love. It was my Summer of bad fake tan and striped top.

If my parents would have been Catholic everything would have been so much easier: I could have just become a nun. I mean, duh. It would have been the obvious calling from my earliest years. Oh sure, even then I had a lot of questions about the whole God concept, but I suppose once they whisk you away into the nunnery you're brainwashed into the married to God thing and just accept Him and get on with your life of duty to Him.

Right. So. Lesson learned: Tan from a bottle = very bad thing.

Never again.

Until last weekend when I was seduced by my friend's recommendation. (not the same friend, I have no idea what became of that Summer friend, she went to college and I heard she transferred to another college and I don't know after that, but, she did date that young man from college for a couple of years) My friend’s recommendation fueled by a remark made by a guy at a bar who told me I looked anemic.

I just love men. I really do. When they’re not interested in getting laid they’re so brutally honest. People say every straight woman needs a gay guy friend. I don’t know about that. I mean, I have gay guy friends and true, along with just being good friends, they’re also sometimes very helpful in terms of makeup tricks and style ideas because they happen to be in those industries. My gay guy friends are sensitive to my feelings regarding the flaws and focus on devising techniques for camouflaging them, but I think it has more to do with them being good friends than their sexual orientation.

For my money when it comes to honesty about your looks you cannot keep it more real than a random straight guy who does not want to have sex with you. He’ll tell you your butt looks huge in those jeans because your butt is huge. He’ll tell you your hair isn’t sexy. He’ll suggest a nose job or other plastic surgery. He’ll tell you you’re too tall, too short, too skinny, too fat, too chesty, not chesty enough or anemic looking. Basically, a man who has no sexual interest in you will confirm every flaw you see in the mirror.

On the other hand, a man who wants to have sex with you will lie. Or in some cases truly not see the flaws as flaws and in those cases, well, hang onto that man for dear life and never let him go.

I know I’m really white. Especially my legs. Pasty British legs. Strong and serviceable and very, very white. I know this. The anemic remark hit a little hard coming from a guy I’d just met, but, it was not without more than several bleached grains of truth.

My friend used the Dove Energy Glow moisturizer to good effect. I figured it was time to give it a try. I trusted Dove and my friend. I trusted them.

And they did me wrong.

Real wrong.

Tangerine orange glow wrong.

Okay. Part of it might be my fault. I did a little investigating and discovered there are two formulas: One for fair skin and one for medium skin. I unfortunately used the one for medium skin. Yes. I know I have fair skin and not medium skin, but they didn't have the fair skin formula. At the time I didn't know a fair skin formula existed. I thought it was medium fits all.

Besides, the shade chart on the bottle kind of matches my skin. Well okay, not so much. But it's a plastic bottle under fluorescent lights, it's difficult to match tones and predict results. Ever buy a lipstick or look at photos inside a pharmacy and think they're fine only to discover how bad and off color they are when you get outside in real light? Right. So I think we can cut me just a bit of slack over the shade chart matching.

At least this time there aren't white hands and a line of orange starting at my wrists. And the brown streaks are minimal. And there's no pool party with leg revealing outfit involved. But. Still.

There's work. And a big work thing. And skirts. I keep scrubbing and exfoliating and shaving and hoping the orange will just go away. But so far it hasn’t.

As for the moisturizer, well, it actually is a pretty good moisturizer. If the “glow” were less orange and more subtle it wouldn’t be a bad product. I can see why my friend likes it. So I gave her the bottle I bought. I won’t be using it. She’s eschewed tanning in the Sun but wants to look tan. She was surprised to see my results.

“Trill, you must have done something wrong,” she said, “it doesn’t do that to me, see?” She proffered lovely supple subtle even toned Sun kissed looking legs.

She stretched her leg next to mine. My orange and brown splotched leg.

We had a good laugh over the comparison. We looked like a commercial for good/bad self tanners: “My self tanner left my legs looking orange and brown splotched! Embarrassing! So I asked my friend how she achieved her lovely supple subtle even toned Sun kissed looking legs…” Yeah, us kooky advertising gals.

Some guys happened to walk by while we were having a laugh over my legs. They asked what happened to me. Just like that, they said, “What happened to your legs?” My friend, thinking she was doing me a favor, said, “We tried a self tanner and we’re comparing results,” she said.

“Yours look a lot better,” one of the guys said to my friend, “yours look weird,” he then said to me. Completely unsolicited. See what I mean about guys who have no interest in sex with you? They’ll just bluntly put it all out there.

The other guy said to my friend, “You’ve got great legs.” He might have been drooling. See what I mean about guys who want to have sex with you? They’ll say anything, seize any opportunity to lavish compliments and even lie if they think it will get them closer to the bedroom. (My friend has okay legs, kind of short but nice, you know, nice legs, regular legs, supple subtle even toned Sun kissed looking legs. I’m not sure they qualify as “great” but it’s all in the eye of the beholder or at least the guy who wants to have sex.)

When my friend picked up her drink and flashed her gazillion carat diamond wedding band the guys disappeared, vanished into thin air. Which is fine. Obviously I wasn’t interested in those guys. Stupid Dove Energy Glow for medium skintones. Summer's getting off to a great start.

10:38 AM

 
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