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If Snooki Married Bill Gates: Meet the Brogammers

9 May

Jersey Shore has invaded the last nerd standing: computer programmers.

Yo, brogrammer, two heinekens.

And while I haven’t seen any monitor tans combined with my new haircuts just yet—emphasis on the yet—I have serious concerns. About brogammers.

What exactly is a brogammer? Well, according to Urban Dictionary, a brogammer is:

A programmer who breaks the usual expectations of quiet nerdiness and opts instead for the usual trappings of a frat-boy: popped collars, bad beer, and calling everybody “bro.” Despised by everyone, especially other programmers.

Sweet Jesus, it sounds like we’re at a UVA football game.

And let’s pause while I point out the last line. DESPISED BY EVERYONE.

Brogammers are programmers’ worst enemy. Brogammers sleep with the prom queen and make FORTRAN sexy. I suspect they wear their sunglasses at night and use pick-up lines that reference the Commodore 64.

They sound terrible.

So what’s wrong with a little diversity in the programming field you say? Is it  that I am offended by job postings that say things like “want to bro down and crush some code” or mention that there is a “friendly female staff”?

No, it’s not that. And it’s not instructions on how to become a brogammer either. Or the “are you a brogammer” quiz. Or the fact that you can follow a fictional brogammer on Twitter, @brogammer.

IT’S THAT IT’S FREAKING COMPUTER PROGRAMMING. Computer programming is a sacred space reserved for quiet, nerdy types. Quiet, nerdy types who are hot because they are quiet and nerdy.

Given that I went to college and graduate school for math (yes, even Elle Woods types can do math), I knew a lot of geeky, nerdy kids. And I knew a lot of HOT, GEEKY, NERDY KIDS. The “no game” game? Gets the girl every time. Even me.

Computer programmers don’t need popped collars (vom) and Natty Light (vom plus a bad hangover) to be cool and hip. And no one refers to it as “computer programming” anymore. It’s not like we are back in 1990 and Al Gore is inventing the internet. Programmers already have sexy job titles, like digital art director and web developer and digital designer

And the guy who claims he scored his first job by talking about a calendar of “nudie pics” he made of his college girlfriends? You’re not a brogammer, YOU’RE JUST A TOOL.

So stay away brogammers. Or go work someplace where real programmers can’t be found. Like Microsoft.

Just leave my nerdy programming types alone.

No, I will not have a “Thinspo” board.

23 Apr

So the other day I was casually wasting time browsing Pinterest. Because, you know, I need more ideas for things that I can do with mason jars…

When I came across yet another skeletor-like photo labeled “thinspo.”

Seriously life? This has got to stop.

First, I’ve never quite understood the pinning of motivational quotes or photos. I mean, they’re nice to look at, but do people actually go back through and read these, like pre-workout? I’ll meet you at the gym, just as soon as I re-read my exercise motivation pins…

It would make more sense to print out said motivational quotes and put them someplace useful–like the front of the fridge.

Second, if you combine “inspiration” with “thin, ” you get “thinspiration.” I don’t quite understand how this shortens to “thinspo.” It’s not thinsporation. AND since we all know how I feel about bad grammar…this just really puts a bee in my bonnet.

And third? Photoshop works wonders. I bet half those skinny-girl thinspo photos have been retouched. So keep that in mind the next time you’re pinning some ridiculously flat-abbed skeletor who to your “thinspo” board. Even models have cellulite. So does Britney. And Kim K.

Sometime between a dress fitter calling her assistant to re-take my measurements because I’m just really big in the hips and having one of my friends tell me I’ve got a great personality which looks awesome in a v-neck, I came to the realization that I won’t ever be someone’s thinspo.

But I might be someone’s real-spo. My reality isn’t a Nike ad. I don’t have uber-flat abs, and my butt probably wouldn’t pass the pencil test. And I have embarrassing stories of my upper arm getting trapped in too-tight button-down sleeves. I’ve been known to wear spanx.

I eat cupcakes, cook with real butter, and I thoroughly enjoy carbs. I sometimes put whole milk in my coffee and I really love the way a full-calorie coke tastes. This is what my real life looks like. It involves lots of leggings.

Stupid quotes like “nothing tastes as good as being thin” make me seriously question some people’s sanity.

So no, I will not have a “thinspo” board. And you shouldn’t either.

What is this, 1990?

19 Apr

Do you ever have those moments when someone says, “Yeah, it was like 10 years ago” and you think they mean the 90’s, when really they are referring to 2002?


I received the following at my parents’ house last week.

At this point, you’re probably saying, “BFD. Someone mailed you a letter. You’re just soooooooo  popular.”

But this is not an ordinary letter. It is a gramatically incorrect, poorly punctuated, neatly typed, blast-from-the-past, super creepy LOVE LETTER.

Don’t believe me? I’ve gleefully accurately transcribed it below. Names have been changed to protect the…innocent.


Hey how are things going? I came across your address on something a little bit back and thought I’d write you and say hi. Well right after that I was out for a jog and was hit by a F150 Pick-up truck. Broke 10 ribs puntured lung few other things, Nothing really physically noticeable, incredibly lucky for getting struck at what the driver said he was going 50MPH and threw me into a tree. Going back to work today for a couple weeks then surgery on my ribs.

Anyways, how have things been? What are you doing these days? I’m still doing the police ting and own a few houses. Starting a new business I think soon. Think I’m going to build a house soon, Have a lot of plans for it just have to find the location I want it.

What is new with you? I think the last time I saw you was at Nathanial’s the summer you were working at red wings stadium. You still living in NYS. Sent this to your parents hoping they could forward it to you. How is your family? Lol I remember being over your house after class a couple times and your dad came home and I was all intimidated lol. We were young then eh?

Well Anyway If you want you should get a hold of me, still have the same #…585-XXX-XXX. Maybe we can meet up for a bit or something and catch up. Hope everything is well, and Happy Easter. : )

Okay, I know what you are all thinking. Give this guy a break, he’s just trying to be nice, etc etc.

But let’s be reasonable.

First, a letter to my parents’ house? A letter? What is this, 1990? And ten years later? There are MANY MANY ways to find my contact info…LIKE GOOGLE. Or LinkedIn, Facebook, Twitter…the list goes on.

And the fact that he still has my address memorized is just…creepy.

Second, can we discuss the punctuation? And grammar? I work in communications for a living. Good grammar is like breakfast cereal to me. I’d just like to say, the capitals after the commas…SO CONFUSED. And no question mark after the question about living in NYS is just…wrong.

Third, the phrase “LOL” should never be used outside of text message. And the “eh?” I’m all for celebrating my Canadian heritage, but wtf. And he was hit by a pickup truck??? And owns a “few” houses? Are you sh*tting me life?

Don’t even get me started on the ones who say they plan to “start a new business.” UGH times TEN.


What grown man has a stash of “Love” stamps just hanging around the house? Flag stamps, Liberty Bell stamps, even leftover Christmas or a wedding stamp would have been better. But a “LOVE” stamp? I’m pretty sure this stamp was…intentional. And therefore creepy. VOMS.

Overall, the only redeeming facet of the letter is its choice of font. A sans serif. Thank goodness for the little things in life.

A for effort. And A+ for creep factor.

The Ides of March Hate Single People

28 Mar

Beware of the ides of march.

It really should be “beware of the ides of march reminding you that you’re single and living alone and apparently turning into a totalfreakingweirdo.

First, there was the delightful NYT piece about how living alone apparently turns you into a pantless alcoholic. With a penchant for sweet potatoes.

Then, I received the following two Groupons in THE SAME WEEK.

Because I’ve always coveted a pair of weight-loss hot pants. And non-surgical lipo.

Seriously, Groupon? Why don’t you just try to sell me an ab-zapping belt, the Shake Weight, Sensa and a variety of Billy Mays products? Since, you know, you’re hawking such reputable great deals lately. 

Personally, I’ll just stick to the Paris Hilton diet of starvation and martinis. And Spanx.

Then this journalistic gem asked the life-altering question, “Will living alone make you depressed?

Citing a survey of Finnish people (because we all know Finnish people are like, totally par for the course when it comes to life), approximately 25% of people who lived alone filled a prescription for antidepressants, compared with 16% for those who lived with family, spouses, roommates, and other varieties of cling-ons. OMFG. Call Sanjay Gupta. There’s a whopping 9% difference. 

The best part? The same study points out that women living alone have a higher risk factor for depression because of their tendencies to have “lower incomes, less education and poorer housing conditions.” I’m sorry, I just hallucinated. Are we back in 1950?

Does the concept of “correlation does not equal causation” apply here at all?

Oh wait…CNN uses a lay person’s term to describe this and asks, “which came first, the chicken or the egg?”

It’s a good thing they put it in such simple terms and all, because otherwise my tiny hamster brain wouldn’t understand.

And heaven help the single woman who lives alone in West Virginia and works as either a nursing home or child care provider. Because then you have the trifecta: living alone in the most depressed state in the country with the most depressing job in the country. Or so says this piece.

I’d like to know why everyone is trying to rain on the “living alone” parade. Because I’ve always thought that those who rain on your parade are just angry that they have no parade of their own.

So parade on, solo-dwellers. You can always order some weight-loss hot pants if you get lonely.


I mustache you…

26 Feb

I know the mustache trend is a bit overused…but I can’t help it. I saw this easy DIY project on the Finley and Oliver blog and I couldn’t resist.

Plus, my Friday night consisted on running into not one, but TWO ex-boyfriends at the same bar.

With their new girlfriends.

Who I got to meet.

Because the new gfs “really wanted to meet me.” Which we all know means they wanted to check me out up close. Like I’m some sort of zoo animal. As I said: good luck chuck.

So, crafting fun and crazy-cute mustache items kept my mind off things (and my hands off the chardonnay and corkscrew). I cut out the letters for these on my Cricut Expression (chirp chirp!) using the Plantin Schoolbook font, with the “shadow” feature. The blue card letters were sliced at 2 inches and the green card letters at 2.5 inches. The glitter paper I purchased at Michaels–its pretty thick, so if you’re using a “slice and dice” machine like me, be sure to change the blade depth.

Now, the most important part. The mustache graphic. I downloaded an image of mustaches that I saw on the Cheddar Guppies blog. After some resizing, I traced this onto the back of the glitter paper and cut out VERY CAREFULLY. As we all know, because I am efficient (read: lazy), I use a stack of precut cardstock for the actual cards. It’s way easier than trying to cut out an exact rectangle and the paper comes in a rainbow of colors.

Arrange the letters how you like and glue onto the card stock. And then you’re set to mail out some mustache love.

Because nothing says “I love you” like…

14 Feb

A good ol’ fashioned celebration of VD.

Why thank you, Rick. What a splendid idea.

Good Luck Chuck?

8 Feb

I have a feeling…I’m a good luck chuck.

I know what you’re thinking. “Good luck chucks” don’t exist. They aren’t real. Fiction. Imagination. Figments of your drunken “dammit why did I call/text/sleep with” him mind.

I beg to differ.

I, cakerypapery, am a Good Luck Chuck. (minus the fact that I do not at all look like this.)

Now, like any good CSI NCIS agent profiler, you should be asking, “cakerypapery, why?”

Let’s just say that…through drunken texting not-so-flattering methods I’ve discovered that not one, not two, but FOUR ex bfs are now either happily dating or engaged. Dating, okay. But ENGAGED? ARE YOU SHI*TTING ME LIFE??

Point of reference: before you say that it’s “just a matter of time,” we are talking multiple recent exes. Within the period of “wow, that serious already?” timeframe.

Not to mention, our lovely january dirtbag is also back online dating.

(yes, I stalked.)

(and yes, that line about being “overwhelmed” was really just a crock of sh*t. since he’s already looking for a new girl ONLINE.)

(And seriously, I don’t ever want to encounter a “crock of sh*t” in real life. I bet it would smell. Bad.)

And no, aforementioned guys aren’t serial monogamists. Apparently, all it takes is a nice Catholic girl like me to break the ice. AWESOME. Glad I could help out with that.

Which just proves that all the reasons people use to break up, especially the “it’s not you, it’s me” line, are really la verdad. Because, guess what? IT’S NOT ME, IT IS YOU. and, you are just NOT THAT INTO ME.

If anyone (man or woman), needs a handy dandy powerpoint reference to help them remember that busy is the kiss of the death and you deserve a freaking phone call, shoot me an email.

til then, throw that fish back into the sea. Better yet, throw it onto dry land before some other person is tricked into hooking it.

A great post involving a sure fire way to get over someone (and not by getting under someone) to follow. Let’s just say…milk, jameo and some serious DIY.

When I’m done being bitter, maybe I’ll be slightly flattered that I have this amazing ability to make people realize what they really want. Which, as a consequence of said magical powers, usually happens to not be me. sigh…insert Bridget Jones reference here…