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

 
Saturday, March 14, 2015  
In an attempt to bring some levity to her mundane an depressing life area woman Tricia McMillian decided to write her blog posts in the style of the popular satire newspaper The Onion.

"I dunno. I guess maybe I need to find that childlike joy I used to have over small things," Ms. McMillian, or "Trillian" to her blog readers said of her recent decision to modify her writing style. "Somehow I think my 'voice' will still come through. I mean, I'm kinda sarcastic anyway, so this isn't exactly a big leap.Writing in Onion style isn't exactly a stretch for someone like me."

When asked if her blog readers can expect any other changes to accompany the new writing style, Ms. McMillian thoughtfully responded, "Yeah. There will be post titles. I don't usually title my blog posts. That's going to be different for me. I'm looking forward to that creative challenge. That little voice in my head already makes up Onion-esque headlines as I go about my daily life, so it seems like it will be easy to make that adjustment...but deep down I think it's probably one of those things that will end up being a lot more difficult than I thought." Ms. McMillian added, "But I think readers will adjust easily enough to blog post titles."

Trillian noted that mimicking someone else's style is kind of lame and unoriginal, but she feels that adds to the irony of her life and subject matter. Said Trillian, sighing dejectedly, "Frankly, it's taking the easy way out. Mocking my boring and sad existence is one thing, but lamely doing so by copying The Onion's format just reinforces how low my personal standards have fallen. At this point in my life pride is merely a memory and a concept. I'm just trying to find a way to see the funny side of the crap that gets dumped on me."

As of press time Ms. McMillian was seen with a downcast distant gaze into a notepad with a list of topics scrawled and smudged with the still-damp water ring from the bottom of her double vodka tonic. 

8:36 PM

Monday, March 09, 2015  
I've been unwillingly partaking in a personal experiment. One of those types experiments that's all the rage on blogs and indie books. Someone tries something "risky" or "out of their comfort level' and relays the experience as if they've discovered a cure for cancer. Except in my case I wasn't setting out to prove something or learn something about myself and society or liberate myself from anything, and what I've learned won't cure or prove anything. 

I've been going without mascara or eye makeup for the past two weeks. And what's weird is that it's weird. I thought that at this stage of my life - the stage where I have given up on men, dating and given into the undeniable fact that I am ugly - going without makeup wouldn't be that big of an issue for me. After all, while I was unemployed makeup was a precious commodity, only to be used for special occasions like interviews. So, I was accustomed to not wearing makeup.

Or so I thought.

Apart from my semi-goth years in late high school and college I've never been one to wear a lot of makeup. And even in those goth years I wasn't as heavy-handed as most goth kids. I was more a hint of goth than full-on goth. Looking back on it, and looking at photos, I wore a "normal" amount of eye liner and mascara. It was just that I used black where the other girls at my high school were sticking to the more pastel or natural hues, so by comparison I was goth. If you were to see a photo of me back then you would not automatically assume I was into Fields of Nephilim and read a lot of Edgar Allan Poe.

After undergrad I went a little lighter with the eye makeup. Since then, depending on the occasion,  my eye makeup varies from just mascara to a full on smokey eye, and a lot of variations in between. But my bare minimum "out in public" makeup requirements were mascara and some form of lip color. (I don't often wear mascara on my lower lashes because they're thick and long and I end up looking like Liza or Malcolm McDowell in A Clockwork Orange.)

It's not just that I like how my eyes look with a coating of mascara on my upper lashes. This is not a brag, it is a statement of fact: I have long eyelashes. If I don't curl them once a week or use mascara to lacquer them upward, they stick out a long way in front of my eyes and kinda get in my way. As in, impairing my vision. 

A couple weeks ago I had my glaucoma test. The past few years my left eye has not passed the preliminary tests and is "preglaucomic" with steady but slow deterioration, while my right eye has been stable. This year my right eye performed very poorly, alarmingly bad. After much thorough examination and a few more tests, it was determined I am having another issue that skewed the right eye results. Fortunately, there are eye drops that should remedy the situation. (Very expensive prescription eye drops that are not covered by my insurance.) The eye drops have to be administered three times a day. Which means I have to use them during the work day. Which means eye makeup and mascara smudge all over the place (resulting in a true goth - as in Alice Cooper Show goth - look). I also have some "exercises" to do that involve my fingers prodding all around my eyes. Also resulting in smudged and smeared eye makeup.

So, I stopped wearing mascara (and the minimal eye shadow I sometimes wear to work).

Turns out that's weird for me.

I didn't realize how much I relied on mascara to make me feel "polished." I didn't think it would matter, I didn't think I would give it much thought.

There was no sobbing in the mirror while clutching my mascara, there was no soul searching, there wasn't much of anything other than the realization that my getting ready for work regime was a few minutes shorter.

I always wear sunglasses outdoors. Always. (Me and Bono.) It's the glaucoma thing. My parents were pretty easy going about health stuff - they didn't race me to the doctor or ER unless I really needed professional medical attention - but they were always very on top of the glaucoma situation. Both my paternal grandparents, all my father's siblings and my father all had glaucoma, most of them had early onset glaucoma. As of this writing all but 2 of my 12 cousins on my father's side have glaucoma. My father's grandmother was completely blind in her later years. We presume it was glaucoma-related. My mother's family is similarly afflicted, although my mother has so far dodged that genetic bullet. So. My parents were on top of glaucoma testing for us kids and were especially careful regarding eye care. My mother outfitted me in uv-blocking sunglasses long before Babiators hit the market. (It's a real thing, Google it or go to Whole Foods on a Saturday afternoon and check out what the kids in strollers are wearing.)

So, on the first day of no mascara, I put on my sunglasses as usual and headed out to catch the bus to work. I forgot I wasn't wearing mascara. Nothing was different. No one noticed. I didn't give it any thought. I forgot about it.

I got to work and set about my day as usual. Someone in the office asked me if I was coming down with a cold. I assumed they asked me that because I sneezed. "No, just allergies acting up," I responded. "Oh, yeah, itchy eyes and all that..." my coworker said. It was then I remembered I wasn't wearing mascara or eye makeup. Before going into a meeting my boss pulled me aside and asked me if I was okay. I asked her why she asked. She said, "You look tired and your eyes are kind of weird, like maybe you were crying last night."

Oh.

Well.

There it was.

Me - mascara = sick, tired, weird, crying aftermath*.

I went to the bathroom and took a look at my unmascara-ed eyes under the harsh florescent office light and saw what she meant. I looked tired, paler than normal, and generally "dull." And she was right, there was a "kind of weird" aspect to how my eyes looked. Difficult to articulate. Just not normal. Great. Two weeks of this? As if my appearance-based self-esteem weren't already less than zero...now this. Sigh. Whatever.

I put on another coat of lipstick and thought, "Nothing I can do about it." I made a point of putting in my eye drops at my desk with an exaggerated flourish so that people could see me administering them, hoping people would understand that I have an eye thing going on and there were no crying jag nights or illnesses or narcotic reasons for my "weird" eyes.

That should have been that.

But.

The realization that I have rarely gone out in public without mascara since I was 16 started nagging at me. I thought I wear makeup by choice. I choose to wear it when I want to wear it and because I want to wear it. Not because of ideals presented in women's fashion magazines. Not because of gender-based marketing. Not because the pretty, cool, popular women wear it. Not because my peer group wears it. And certainly not because men prefer women wearing makeup. That's what I thought. But now, suddenly, that's all called into question.

I started noticing women's eyes.

I noticed that there are plenty of women who do not wear mascara.  But most of the women I speak with, and with whom I share eye contact, wear mascara. Most wear mascara and eye liner, and many also wear eye shadow. Several wear false eyelashes (I can spot 'em, just like fake boobs, women can distinguish the real from the fake immediately.)

Lashes have been a big deal over the past 10 years. There are lash bars, lash extensions, myriad "volumizing" and "lengthening" mascaras, and Brooke Shields hawks a prescription medication for something that stimulates lash growth. (And has the side-effect of changing the color of eyes...which seems a little extreme to me...I mean, that can't possibly be okay, can it? ) And apparently the women I associate with are all on board with lash accentuation.

Funny how I never really noticed that until I entered a mascara moratorium.

And funnier, still, how I realized I felt stripped of a part of my female identity.

This is a harsh reality check for me. Maybe I'm not the feminist I thought I was. Maybe I do care more about my looks that I thought I did. Maybe I am succumbing to peer pressure. Maybe I am swayed by gender-based marketing. Maybe I do kowtow to male expectations and ideas about what women "should" do to enhance their appearance.

Lots of disappointed sighs lately. I'm disappointed in myself. I didn't think it mattered. I didn't think I would care. I didn't think anyone would notice, or, if they didn't, I didn't think I would care that they noticed. I didn't think I would be counting the days until I can wave the magic wand of black pigmented wax over my eye lashes.



*Crying Aftermath is, I think, the one of the best band names I have unintentionally conjured.

9:53 PM

 
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