Sunday Top Ten: It's Not What You're Like, It's What You Like

In the old days--like whenever "Little House on the Prairie" and "Great Expectations" happened, or um, "I Know Where the Red Fern Grows"--people knew people. If I lived in the Great Plains in the 1590s or whenever, I would know all about my friends' families, religious backgrounds, vocations, relationship statuses and economic situations. Also I'd know if they were a king, queen, serf, pauper, butler, knight, etc. Now--like whenever "The Audacity of Hope" and "Shampoo Planet" happened--I'll know if someone prefers Diet Coke over Diet Pepsi before I know if they have any siblings.

During Kim's weekend in NYC, she experienced many exciting things. The most exciting thing, I'm sure, was being assaulted for topics, and, subsequently, items, for the Sunday Top Ten. I feel like it might be like that to hang out with Ira Glass. He's probably like "stories on this theme! stories on this theme!" So obvs I asked her for ideas about every 10 minutes, which means, Coley, I know where you buy your underwear. (I wish there was a better word for "underwear." Because "panties" sounds gross, like Rex Manning asking "What color are your panties?" But "underwear" sounds clinical, and "underpants" sounds like "billy, put on your underpants, stop scaring the little girls!")

Also, it's Tuesday, not Sunday. That's kinda funny, I think. Like, surprise!

SUNDAY TOP 10: IF YOU DON'T KNOW THESE TEN THINGS ABOUT YOUR FRIEND, YOU SHOULD ASK YOURSELF, "ARE WE REALLY FRIENDS? OR IS HE JUST A DUDE I FOLLOW AROUND AND TAKE PHOTOS OF?""


10. Underneath Her Clothes....Boy-Shorts, Thongs, Briefs, V-String, Bandeau?
I know which style of underthings my friends select for everyday, formal and/or gym-wear. This is because my friends and I are all beautiful, and we like to make love together in big hills of whipped cream. Sometimes I know special details, like that [redacted] prefers Conway and that [redacted] prefers boy-shorts that say silly things on them from the Victoria's Secret Pink Line, and we both heart J-Lo's line and totally stocked up in the Pennsylvania Wal-Mart on our way through town several eons ago. To the left, to the left, you can see that Lo and I are wearing matching underpants. You might also notice that her ass is somewhat perfect. But that's not really the point.

9. Mac or PC:
This is pretty easy. I don't have any friends with PCs. If you are reading this, and you think you are my friend, and you have a PC, well, then you are not really my friend. If you'd like to defend yourself, please read this: it's your side, and I found it to be dashing and witty, so much so that I posted an excerpt below. TB sent it my way. She has a PC. Which is why we aren't friends. Also? I was really surprised to discover Melaina had a PC, I totally pegged her as a Mac person. But I respect her decision.

"PCs have charm; Macs ooze pretension. When I sit down to use a Mac, the first thing I think is, "I hate Macs", and then I think, "Why has this rubbish aspirational ornament only got one mouse button?" Losing that second mouse button feels like losing a limb. If the ads were really honest, Webb would be standing there with one arm, struggling to open a packet of peanuts while Mitchell effortlessly tore his apart with both hands. But then, if the ads were really honest, Webb would be dressed in unbelievably po-faced avant-garde clothing with a gigantic glowing apple on his back. And instead of conducting a proper conversation, he would be repeatedly congratulating himself for looking so cool, and banging on about how he was going to use his new laptop to write a novel, without ever getting round to doing it, like a mediocre idiot."
-the PC guy in Britan

Still, I just don't get it. I mean, Macs are just cooler. Actually, Cameron coincidentally e-mailed me this afternoon to tell me about the first big event in her and Jay's road from engagement to marriage: the purchase of a beautiful i-mac for their cozy apartment.

8. Bag-Stock
I know I can depend on Natalie to always have 8 to 36 ounces of water in her gigantic sack of insanity (sometimes she whips a laptop out of that thing, or like, an entire outfit or a pair of shoes, she's like a magician). She's also been known to cart around a jug of water so large that I wonder if she intends to empty it into a shallow pool and do some laps. Krista usually has some sort of ecologically responsible lip gloss handy, Hav always has gum (as does Heather. They also both have TMJ) . People can depend on me for a selection of reading materials, eyeliner, a pen, and a sweaty sports bra. And a Push-Pop, if they so desire.

7. Subway Past-times
I am very serious about my battle gear. She said it like this, and I agree, I too don my :

"don't fuck with me" gear (iPod, book, journal)--tokens of hermit tendencies, alarming others to the fact I don't care to be bothered."

I got my boots on. My music: opera if I'm reading something complicated, shuffle if I'm reading something light where the words won't distract me. I've got a movie in my mind, and for y'all--yes, you too, man with the speech about the missing limbs and the starving children, etc, yes, I will give you money on the street, I will donate to places that help you, but don't fuck with me on the subway, dude, it's illegal for a reason, that reason is that it's annoying as hell---it's a silent film. The orchestra is my ipod. Krista listens to audio-books, but usually in the morning she devours "The New York Times"; she folds it into thirds, and then halves, and then reads the Opinion page first. She takes these little paddles of newsprint home with her and leaves them everywhere, and I love her. Lo reads or listens to music, but never both at the same time--the music, she says, is enough. I find that's often the case with musicians or dancers--the rest of us don't pay as much attention as we ought to.

6. Soda of Choice
The best part of waking up for Haviland is the crack and fizz of her first Diet Dr.Pepper. Krista drinks Diet Coke--although she scrunches up her face in utter repulsion when I suggest purchasing low-fat versions of things like butter ("fake butter," she calls it) or cheese ("fake cheese"=krista's definition) or when I turn down a scone. I've mentioned in various essays about body image (every young feminist writer will ink her pen for one of these suckers at some point) that I know which of my friends drink Diet Coke vs. regular Coke. I of course enjoy the latter, because I don't want to die of aspertime cancer. I am already really pushing it (it=cancer) with my lungs and skin.

5. What Medications They Take
There's a few ways to figure this out. The dead-giveaway is reading labels smacked on the plethora of orange bottles stored in the outer pockets of their messenger bag. During "when I was a kid" convos, if your friend mentions depression, eating disorders, drug addictions, abusive relationships, closeted homosexuality, voices in their head, jail time, or alcoholic parents--it's likely they're taking a pill for that now. If they aren't, they're likely to mention that pretty early on, too. The quickest way: go to the bathroom, and open the medicine cabinet. For friends who live in glorified Manhattan closets without medicine cabinets, check out the dresser: on top, or in the first drawer. Also, sometimes people are complaining about side effects like being fat and not horny, so that's a good way. You know, just go backwards. But honestly, most people would like to talk about their Lexapro. Because they're just so happy to have it!!!!

4. Online Habits
Some people are on AIM all the time, but never really ON it (like they can't actually talk, their computer just "signs them on"). Some people check myspace every 10 minutes. Some check myspace every day. I have friends who know more about MY friends than I do: they are tracking the movements of my Top 12 (relationship status, suggestive-comment count, new drunk-party photos) while I am, you know, writing this goddamn thing. I am not any of those people. I am the person who goes on AIM to proccess specific drama with Haviland and then gets irritated if anyone else attempts to contact me. Which is why I have like 10 email addresses and 5 AIM names.

3. Common Anxiety
If I've just "accidentally" spent $150.00 of non-existent money (aka "Visa money" aka "magic money") at Victoria's Secret Semi-Annual Sale when I was supposed to be doing final edits on an essay for a journal to further my hypothetical "career," I'm gonna text Krista. If I just discovered someone else is publishing a book that reminds me of the one I'm writing and I'm camped outside her door, hurling softballs coated in Neruda at her windows, I'm gonna text Haviland and if I just put a grapefruit on my credit card, that's one for Natalie.

2. Cell Phone Company
I had AT+T from the beginning of cell-phone time, until a weekend in New York City resulted in a $350 phone bill. Now I have Sprint. I got it because my boyf at the time had Sprint, now I honestly like my Sprint-using friends much better than the rest of my friends. There's a special place in my heart for y'all: Mary, Katy, Kim, Lewis, Scot (the boyf-at-the-time Sprint user), Rachael, whoever. I never pay my phone bill because they charge me for dumb shit. They keep calling me and making idle threats. I'll know right away if you have Sprint--the first option when you text me will be to call you, which I will always do accidentally but end before you notice, I think. Also people who have T-Mobile are always really smug about it, like they got invited to some secret club where Catherine Zeta Jones personally services all the customers with a lap dance while they are fed God-Nectar through gold tunnels of love by their Top 5. Cingular has bad reception in NYC, and verizon people are always on the phone with Verizon.

1. Hair-Care and Eye-Care
I think I'm the only person on earth who doesn't wear contacts and doesn't consider washing my hair to be a serious and special activity. I once believed the "tell him you have to wash your hair" joke (re: when a man you don't like asks you out) was 100% joke, but it turns out that for many women, washing their hair is, in fact, a legitimate hobby. As in "I can't go out until I wash my hair" or "Let me call you after I wash my hair" or "Before you take those naked photos of me, please let me wash my hair." I wash my hair every day, otherwise it gets greasy. Which might be because I put grease in it to counteract it's Jewish habits (frizz, fro, etc) (Biosilk, it's a miracle). But anyhow. I actually have contact solution at my house because it's um, useful. Because after we take off our thongs and roll around in giant tubs of cherry Jello and brush one another's hair, sometimes the ladies want to spend the night.