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, June 17, 2008  
When was someone going to tell me about this?!

I've been a bit preoccupied and busy lately. I'm relying on you to keep me informed of breaking developments which really matter. You eagerly fill my in box with all manner of Beatle and Beatlespawn related drivel (by the way, that joke isn't funny anymore, so it's okay to stop sending me Beatle related "news"), you send me uptotheminute reports on how bad public transportation is in Chicago, you send me reports on weird goings on with whales, dolphins and seahorses (by the way, read this and you may never wash your face again), you keep my absurdometer charged and ready for action, but do you fill me in on the news that matters most?

NO! You wanted to keep this little secret to yourselves, didn't you? Yeah, well, a story this big can't go unnoticed for long. I'm just bothered that I had to hear it on the rough and gritty back alleys of the internet.

We need them, America needs them. In a world of chaos, confusion and fear, we need the sanctity and security of something true, something pure, something real. We need something to believe in.

True love conquers all. Tommy and Pamela, I am so glad you two kids finally realize how much in love you are. Now go on, trot along, go get some new tattoos and make some sex tapes.


Speaking of true love and sex tapes, I'm being pursued by some pretty interesting men these days.

I know, I know! When was I going to tell you that bit of titillating gossip? Speaking of keeping the good stuff to myself.

I've been way to busy and preoccupied the past few months to care about romance, men or dating. And you know, what they say is true, when you're not looking for it it finds you.

For instance, one guy has been in hot email pursuit of me for a few weeks. "You're almost exactly what I'm looking for," he said in his first email. He included his phone number. When I didn't respond he sent me another email. "I'll give u another chance bcuz im looking for someone like u." That kind of charming invitation is difficult to resist! But because of my father's situation I didn't read the email until a few days after he sent it. I thought I'd lost out on my second chance at Mr. You're Right 4 Me Never Mind That I Possess No Qualities UR Looking 4. And then guess what?! He sent me another email!!! It's fate, right?! "call me (phone number) your xactle (I think he means exactly, it took me a few minutes to figure out that one) what i want in a women." Sure, he has none of the qualities clearly stated in my profile: He's not in the age range, distance range or smoking preference, for a start, those are the big three in my book. He also strikes out in the second tier issues of education, religious beliefs and employment. But none of that matters. What matters is that I'm what he's looking for in a "women." Gotta admire that kind of confidence. "I want someone like her. Her interests, her criteria, the type of man she'd like to meet, are of absolutely no concern. This is all about me and what I want." He's certainly not lacking in self assurance and, heh heh, as the cliche is uttered so many times to me: Confidence is sexy. What difference does it make that he's a 23-year-old smoker who lives 300 miles away? Who cares if he's a "self-employed" high school drop-out practicing a faith which denegrates women? I mean, come on! I'm not in a position to be picky about that sort of thing!*

Or am I?

He's not the only who's interested in me! Oh yeah, baby, ol' Trill's really hot right now.

Another persistent would-be suitor has not once, not twice, but three times sent me email wooing me with poetic compliments. "By your photos you look very gentlemanly," he coos at me. Hey, he's from Serbia. Give him a break. English is a difficult language to learn. He may not be good with the gender contextual nuances, but he's interested in me. I have to take the compliments and flirting where I can get it. I can't be particular about details like distance, weird grammar issues and internet scams.

Okay, you're right, no more long distance relationships. So, a bit closer to home, from Chicago surburbia, comes another wooer in hot and heavy pursuit. He's certain I am the one for him. I know! I know!!! Finally, a man who sees and appreciates my good qualities! Finally! Okay, sure, he claims in his profile he's a self employed poet who likes “all women, all ages, sizes, heights and hair colors,” is 5’6”, smokes, earns less than $20,000, lives with his parents and based on the photos posted has an extensive wardrobe of wife beaters. But he thinks I'm the one for him. He's certain we're made for each other. What's great about him is that he's not at all particular about looks, he likes all women. Okay, sure, that doesn't make me feel exactly special, but, I'm not looking to feel special. I'm not really looking to feel anything, so this guy could be just right. He's clearly not into looks and that's refreshing. Sure, he lives with his parents, but at least he's humble and honest enough to admit it. And on an income of less than $20,000 it's difficult to maintain a wardrobe of anything other than wife beaters. And he's a poet. A poet! I mean, how great and perfect is that?!

Sure, he smokes, but maybe for the right woman he'd quit. Maybe I'm that woman. Maybe I can turn his life around, get him on a healthier track, be his muse, inspire him to poetic heights and success. Sure, he hasn't actually displayed any of his poetic charm yet, his emails have been a few short words, but he's concise, kind of like Haiku. "We're made for each other. IM me." "I'm not going away until I hear from you. IM me." I don't care about him being five inches shorter than me. He likes women of all shapes and sizes so he wouldn't be insecure about me towering over him. I mean really, this could be perfect.

Then again, giving me pause for consideration and the poet some stiff competition is a guy who puts his words where his mouth is. In his profile he doesn't claim to be a poet, self employed or otherwise, but, after a few polite exchanges he let loose an email full of poetry on me.

I asked him about his job and what he likes to do in his spare time.

I kid you not, this is all he wrote in response, no preface, no epilogue, no “Hi, how are you,” just this:

as i take your painted landscape onto my brush of changing desires, i realize that your the mistress of my flowing hand over the canvas of lifes silken pleasures. as i follow my hand with the memory of things made to be felt, your soft thighs beckons my finger tips to reach for your warmest envelope of trust. as i pull you tpwards the light of the sun in my eyes, the sparkles in the stars that shine the way to the passion to come, im under your control as i feel your molten flesh surround my senses

Okay. Punctuation, spelling and grammar issues aside, let's talk about what he wrote, his romantic poetry of love. I've heard a lot of euphemisms and slang in my day. A LOT. But. "Warmest envelope of trust" is a new one to me. And may very well remain my all time favorite romance novel drivel. I don't read romance novels so I have no idea where he lifted this idiotic bit of metaphoric crap masquerading as romantic sensuality, but it should have stayed on the pulp page and out of my in-box.

To say I was surprised by this turn of attitude (and ridiculous prose) is an understatement. There was absolutely no hint of this sort of thing in his profile or his previous emails. At first I thought it had to be a joke, I mean, no one in possession of a sound mind would send that crap to a woman, right? At least not a woman he hoped to actually meet in person.

Or maybe there are women out there who love this kind of stuff. Maybe he gets a lot of action by throwing this at unsuspecting women the second they show any hint of interest in him.

Then again, this is also why I continue to use online dating: A great way to screen for this kind of stuff before you even go on one date. And in fairness to him, you know, maybe, months into the relationship, as a joke, it might be funny. But after a couple of short, polite emails? What the...?? I asked him about his job and he assumes that means I want badly written flea market romance novel verbal foreplay?

And let’s just say for the sake of discussion that I’m “into it,” “it” being jumping right into sex talk with a man I’ve never met. What does he mean by his "brush of changing desires?" I mean, I assume he means his penis, but the changing desires thing? Huh? Once a guy gets to the point of flowing hands over silken pleasures, warmest envelopes of trust and molten flesh isn’t the desire pretty much the same constant thing? Isn’t the paramount desire and goal firmly in sight and unwavering? I realize it's been a while since I've had sex and maybe I've forgotten a few things, but I don't get it. Is “brush of changing desires” the new “throbbing manhood?”

It's bad enough he lunged full steam into sexual metaphors, but worse is that it's really, really bad romance novel metaphoric crap. The really low budget stuff, even Fabio is too expensive for the cover of the book containing that kind of drek. His bombastic pomposity is what bugs me about this. I'm no prude, and while a bit soon and sudden, the discussion of sex doesn't offend me, it's that he just pounced it on me, and worse, he apparently thought he was packaging it in an irresistibly romantic box. He apparently thought so little of my intelligence that he threw this at me assuming I'd fall for it. And on that point he's accidentally clever. If I don't respond or respond angrily at him, he can assuage his ego by scoffing and labeling me an uptight prude. He'll just go on to the next one, launch into his ridiculously written crap, undoubtedly get rejected again and undoubtedly will label her an uptight prude, and so it will go until he either finds some stupid or desperate woman who takes the bait, or, he goes down to the pub and consoles with his mates that woman are all uptight bitches and prudes who are missing out on a piece of the finest brush of changing desires ever to pleasure a woman.

This is what you get with a guy who labels himself a “quiet, soft hearted romantic” and posts photos of himself cuddling his dog and cat. Cheap pulp romance novel metaphors haphazardly strewn together. Which is why I've finally, finally learned it's better to stick with the emotionally repressed, homophobic factory worker types who raise Iguanas. Sure, they're unable to tell you how they feel or what they want from their woman, a relationship, life in general and are too afraid of their own ego to utter anything remotely "sweet" or "romantic" and wouldn’t be caught dead cuddling anything but at least you don't have to put up with trying to decipher ridiculous, unintelligible, presumptuous "poetry" with the expectation of you dropping your pants for him the second you ask him about his job.

And so, for the bazillionth time I roll my eyes heavenward and wonder, "why didn't I just marry that buffoon I dated when I was in college? Sure, it would have been a miserable, soul sapping marriage, undoubtedly ending in divorce, but in comparison to meeting and dating the men I've met since him it would have been a Springtime picnic." Crimony. What did I do to deserve this? Maybe reincarnation is real and maybe I was a horrible womanizing bastard in another life and this lifetime is meant for me to learn lessons in humility, sensitivity, ego and compassion by way of enduring every type of crap men can dump on women.

But hey, I have men interested in me. That's an improvement. I'm getting somewhere, right? Maybe not the place I wanted to go, maybe not exactly what I had in mind, but I'm somewhere. I have men who are interested in me. Sure, they may be interested in me because they've been rejected by every other woman on the planet, but I never said I was above taking someone else's castoffs. I never said I was looking for perfection. I was kind of hoping for sane and employed, but hey, I'm a beggar, I can't be choosy.

I don't have a lot of time, or energy to devote to dating. I'm not Pamela Anderson and I don't have a Tommy Lee. (More's the pity.) I have to rely on my wits and charm to find a man. These guys have unwittingly told me more about themselves than I could learn from other men in months of dating.

Cha ching. And voila. The whole point of online dating is actualized.


* Just as an aside, for those unfamiliar with jungle of terms in online dating, "self-employed" is usually code for: Real estate agent, drug dealer or unemployed artist/writer/musician/"filmmaker" living in parents' basement or on ex-girlfriend's couch. Oh sure, there are legit consultants, business owners and such who are self employed, but typically there's some indication of that in the rest of their profile. Be wary of the ones who claim to be self-employed and give absolutely no indication as to what they do with their time, life and career.

8:25 PM

 
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