My Own Year End List

I have read so many year-end lists the last few weeks - best and worst movies of 2006, best and worst albums of 2006, most annoying celebrities, celebrities we love the most, best media moments of 2006, biggest whores of the year, the list goes on- that I decided to create one of my own.

I had to think for a minute about what I would write about. What matters so much to me that I care enough to create a list about it...and I finally settled on people I am over. People that I can't stand and people that are close to being people I can't stand.

So, without further ado, Lia's List of People She is So Over in 2006 into 2007.

1.) Jamie Foxx: At home in Boca over the break I watched a number of old In Living Color episodes and remembered why I liked Jamie Foxx. Then Jamie Foxx did the movie Ray, won the Golden Globe and the Oscar, appeared on Kanye West's Golddigger and became a giant a-hole. Whenever you see Jamie now he's talking about how talented he is and thanking his grandmother who's been dead for like two years. He is so cocky now that I wouldn't be surprised if testicles actually started growing from his neck. I hate him and will continue to do so.

2.) Britney Spears: I'm pretty sure this doesn't really require an explanation but can tell you the only capacity in which I'd like to see Britney Spears in 2007. All I can hope is that some producer does not give Britney some amazing beat that she can pant/breathe over and call it a song. I can only pray that said song does not shoot to #1 and everyone declares Britney's comeback for real. What I do hope is that she goes on some drug-and-alcohol induced binge for like a week, has sex with someone like Bubba Sparxx and gets pregnant again, thereby taking away all chances of us ever having to endure her. Or that the media gets a clue and just stops putting her on TV all together.

3.) Madonna: Such a self-important bitch. I really can't stand her anymore and haven't been able to for some time. She's trying to be Angelina, but there is only room for one Angelina in this world, and Angelina Jolie has already claimed it.

4.) Paris Hilton: I have never understood this. She has a lazy eye for god sakes! Like, a really bad lazy eye!

5.) Tom Cruise: If only we could have lived in Top Gun and Jerry McGuire forever! In 2006, all Tom Cruise did was prove he is no more than a talented, crazy, midget.

6.) Sharon Stone: Another one who thinks she is just so awesome, yet she looks like a witch in bad need of more Botox. I just can't stand her. She had one movie that was big. And only because she showed her vagina. I know she does a lot for AIDS research, that's commendable, but she's famous for showing her vagina. In a movie. A very long time ago.

7.) Sela Ward: There are probably only like five people who read this and know who she is, but for some unknown reason I just hate this woman. That's not going to change just because its 2007.

8.) Original Gym Boyfriend. With all the new Gym Boyfriends I have, I just felt the need to repeat that I don't need him anymore. In all his hotness. Even if I think he is broken up with his girlfriend. We're over!

9.) McWigger: Just because. Fuck him.

People Who Are on the Brink:

1.) Lindsay Lohan: I really want Lindsay Lohan to make it because I think she is truly talented. But she has to get her act together like ASAP. I think her mom should start acting a bit more like a mom and a lot less like a best friend. Team Lohan in 2007!

2.) Perez Hilton: For reasons previously mentioned.

3.) Gwen Stefani: Another one who just may be creeping onto the self-important side. I'll give her this year to see if we can still be friends.

The Best Bad Date Story in a While...and Not Mine

I realize my blog is totally boring in the absence of bad dates and my drunken mistakes. I mean, does anyone really care about my seeing the Nutcracker? Is the coolest thing I had to say the other day that the French toast bagel at Starbucks is amazing? I mean, it totally is, but that’s the stuff suburban moms would/should blog about. I am not there yet.

The good news is, when I enter this void, I have friends who fill it with their own adventures – drunken and otherwise – and share those stories with me so that I can post them online for the world to read.

So a friend of mine, who shall remain nameless to protect her identity among those who may read this and know her (and no she is not one of my roommates) has been semi-dating a boy who is in her circle of friends. About a month ago, they were at a birthday party of another friend and were drinking heavily. He realllllly likes her, so he didn’t leave her side the whole night and pretty soon, moves were made. He asked her, once the party had ended, if she wanted to come back to his place and she said yes.

Back at his house, things continued as they often do in those situations, I’ll let you use your imagination …but things didn’t get too far because my friend had her monthly visitor. So…at this point, the kid is very eager to please her and in his excitement scratches her pretty badly across a mole she has on her chest, right under her breast. She knew that it hurt really bad, but she was drunk and therefore, it didn’t hurt as much as she knew it would the next day.

So fast forward to the morning, he is sleeping and she sneaks off, jumps in a cab and goes home. When she is home, she goes to get the shower and sees that her entire stomach area is covered in blood. She freaks out because she has no idea where the blood came from until she looks and her mole is COMPLETELY GONE. The kid had ripped it completely off the night before!

As soon as she realizes this, she begins to freak out because now that she’s aware that its gone she realizes how painful it is. But then… she thinks back to when she was gathering her things and realizes that there were spots on his sheets. In her tiredness and in the faint light she hadn’t given it much thought but THEN, not only does she realize it was her own blood but she realizes that he is NEVER going to know that he ripped off her mole – and instead is going to think that she bled on his bed because of her period!

Now she freaks out again because this is a lose-lose situation! She can’t call him and say, hey, um I just want you to know that I didn’t bleed from my vagina all over your sheets, you actually just ripped off my mole from my body. And if she says nothing than she never addresses, one way or another, that she left blood on his bed! Awful!

So we’re sitting at brunch and she tells us this story and me and my other friend who were listening, we can’t help it, we double over. Like tears coming out of my eyes all over the place laughing. I literally cried off all of the makeup I had put on.

The worst part is that because of the holidays, I haven’t talked to her since this story so I have no idea what the resolution was…but I’ll find out. Stay tuned.

Starbucks and the Nutcracker...or Starcracker?

I think my love of combining words has been taken too far.

Anyways, this month I've been working in an office just across the street from Macy's, H&M, Forever 21 and Old Navy. It's only through Christmas miracles that I have not gone bankrupt yet. It's also worth mentioning that around the corner is also Sephora, Lush, Victoria's Secret, Steve & Barry's....and the entire remainder of the Manhattan Mall.

Interestingly enough, despite my desire to do otherwise, I have not spent my entire checking account in any of these places. Instead, I've chosen to spend on something that gives back to me mentally and physically - Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts.

Depending on line length, I have switched between these two venues for my morning cup of coffee and bagel. During this time, I've discovered the French Toast bagel at Starbucks which is nothing short of amazing. "A dancing plethora on my pallette," if you will - to combine and paraphrase two Dane Cook jokes.

The Nutcracker

If you ever have the chance to be in New York at Christmastime, this is a must! I have to say I was a little bit out of the Christmas spirit..just because it hasn't been too chilly, I still have shopping yet to do and we didn't have a Christmas tree this year. But seeing this beautiful show perked me right up and got me right into the spirit. It's so gorgeous and so amazing. Me, A. and K. realllllllllly had to restrain ourselves from doing pirohouttes out the door, which thank god we did since every little girl outside was doing that and we would have looked like a-holes.

Speaking of hilarious...

The other day I posted one of the funniest SNL skits I'd seen in a while, until I also got my hands on this from the same episode. Hilarious! Justin Timberlake is amazing....AMAZING! My new hero. I love him. I can't WAIT to see him in February in concert. I'm going to cry tears of joy again, just like I did when I saw Shaki. I can feel it.



*note, this can be even funnier if the sound is off. just watching him dance in that costume is hilarious.

Am I Over Perez?

I think I might be. Don't get me wrong, I'm still going to read his site because I think he breaks celeb news better and faster than anyone in Hollywood, but I think I'm over him.

This all kind of started back in June when I had to do a project that required me to go to a gifting suite at the MTV VMA's. This was the night I met Snoop Dogg, aka the greatest moment ever, so nothing that happened after that was going to bring me down. In any case, the last "celeb" to walk through was Perez. Now, at this point, I was a huge fan. I had referred sooo many people to his site, which I had been following since before it was perezhilton.com, when it was pagesixsixsix.com, and I just thought that they way he was making the blogosphere a credible way of getting news out there was admirable.

Anyways, he comes to our booth and I tell him that I really like his work, that I've been a follower, blah blah and how I also appreciate the South Florida references he throws in from time to time. To which he replies, oh, where in south florida are you from? and to which I say, boca raton and he says, in a suuuuuuuuuuuuper snotty voice, "that's not south florida."

First of all, I hate this. People say this all the time and its not true. The southern part of Palm Beach County is South Florida. The northern part is not, because some people have southern accents and I find that contradictory to what South Florida stands for - beaches, Cubans and people from Long Island and New Jersey in retirement.

Second, if I'm sitting here, complimenting you, letting you know that its because of people like me, that you are you, how are you going to turn around and act like a jerk? Anyways, I promptly cut our conversation off and handed him his product. Then me and my colleague went and got a martini and bitched that he was a bitch.

So, since then I've kind of cooled my adoration, but I was still a fan, but lately, Perez is putting up more news about himself than he does about celebs. I don't know, I get it, it's part of his gig, but seriously, I'm kind of getting tired of it. Maybe put up a media section, and remind people once a week that X, Y and Z mags have profiled you.

And...not that I'm saying like 20 posts a day, instead of 30-40 isn't good enough, but lately Perez has been slacking on the new news. When it was a slow gossip day, he'd put up funny photos or funny videos...now it's like his own merchandise or video of him on Geraldo at Large..and while I've heard Geraldo at Large is one of the fastest growing news magazines on air, I still dont' care. It's still Geraldo and quite frankly, I've read all the other pieces on Perez at this point, I don't think he's going to reveal anything Earth shattering. His story is pretty black-and-white, besides his whole mission of outing closeted celebs (another post entirely), he's a blogger who hit the big time. Pure and simple. Now let's get back to what made him so fun to begin with - his gossip about celebrities...not his own new brand of celebrity.

It's what I like to think of as the Oprah complex. Like Oprah, who is forever tooting her own horn on all the good works she does (and not that it takes away from the good works, I'm just saying she talks an awful lot about herself)...if Perez talks about himself, if Oprah talks about herself...is that why they are Perez and Oprah - because unless they are talking about it everyday, the chances of someone else doing so are slim to none? Is self-promotion the best kind? Should I be posting pictures of myself from my hospital opening in South Africa last year? Should I have posted the photo of me rescuing orphaned dogs and cats in Hurricane Katrina? Should I stop putting celebrities on the cover of my magazine and put my own face on there every month? Maybe so...

I'm headed off to Malawi for the holiday then, to adopt David Banda's little brother and sister, I'll make sure to have the news cameras not far behind. Stay tuned.

Another Mouse in the House, Hilarity Does NOT Ensue

A few weeks ago, I had the chance to do something that was not really fun. I was woken up at 9:30 a.m., after going to sleep/passing out at 4 a.m., by the sound of my roommate making a sound not unlike what I imagine chimpanzees having sex would sound like. Kind of a "ooooh oooh oooh" sound, interspersed with "oh no's." I guess that means the chimpanzees would have to know how to speak. Maybe they'd be special chimpanzees, the kind you can teach sign language to, for example. Anyways, I figured one of two things had happened when I woke up out of a dead sleep to hear this noise. One would be that she really got hurt or something. The other would be that the mouse that we've suspected was in the house had been caught. Actually, we didn't suspect. We knew. He'd peeked out from under the stove a couple times over the two weeks prior. When P. and A. saw him there were screams and then a phone call to me. Met by me, he received the usual greeting of "Get the fuck out of our house!" Anyways, I hear this noise and then I hear a knock on the door and P. going "Liaaaaaaaaaaa, Liaaaaaaaaaa. Please wake up. Please. Now."

So I get up and she points down and there is a teeny tiny mouse caught in a glue trap on the side of the refrigerator. It was Sunday morning. I had no contacts in. I had no idea where my glasses were and the best I could do was open one eye halfway. Having learned my lesson from the last time, I shuffle over to the dustpan, slide the mouse and trap onto the pan with the paint roller extender, and leave them there on the ground while I grab a plastic bag. I do manage to get a glance at P. who is look at me with mouth half-open since at this point, I have yet to say a word. Not because I was mad or anything but because I was so exhausted.

I grab a plastic bag, flip the mouse and trap into the bag - but not before my curiousity gets the best of me and I lean in for a closer look at our little friend. I was sad to find he was absolutely adorable. P.'s mouth is agape at this point and I finally get out the word "awwww." She is like get him out of here now. And then she calls me a freak.

So I bring him downstairs and put him in the regular garbage can to meet his fate. No beatings, no screaming, no running outside at breakneck speed. I have officially become the Mouse Queen...which is fitting since tonight I am going to see the Nutcracker and I believe there is a character called the Rat King or Mouse King or something like that. Perhaps there is a slim chance the ballet dancer in this role will call me up on stage and we can do a mouse tango together.

Andy Samberg + JT = Lia's True Loves

Ok forget James Franco. He's still hot, and he can still be my boyfriend, but the way to this girl's heart is easy...be hilarious.

That's why I love what Andy Samberg is doing to SNL. And why Justin Timberlake needs to get rid of Cameron and get with me immediately. Besides being incredibly good-looking, our kids would also be insanely awesome dancers...enough said.

This is the funniest thing I have ever seen.

Welcome Back Rockstar

Proving, if only to myself, that I still have what it takes...Saturday was officially one of the longest days of my life, going all the way from approximatelly 9:40 a.m. until 8:00 a.m. the following day.

It would only be fair to admit that I did have a one hour nap around 7:30 p.m. and then another quick nap from 5:40 a.m. to 6:00 a.m., but I am older now and I think that's only fair.

The day included driving from NJ to NYC, seeing the tree in Rock Center with my too-cute cousins (who are seriously just too cute, I can't even stand it), heading up to Central Park, going home, eating, watching a movie, nap #1, rallying, going to a comedy show, going to a cool place called the Casablanca Tea Room, telling the bouncer he was my new BFF, watching P. tell the bouncer he looks like Usher, me telling Usher that he was my BFF not P's, a bit of dancing, trying to karate kick a wooden board in half and failing, trying to do a pull-up on scaffolding and failing, kicking a plate of glass hanging out on the street and SUCCEEDING, props to PC for making that possible, watching PC attempt to dive over three trees on a dare from P. and failing, taking nap #2 and then the clincher, going to WCBS to supervise the taping of a segment at 7:15 a.m., call time was 6:30 a.m., I walked into the station in my going out clothes (which were thankfully workplace friendly), finished and was back in bed by 8 a.m. where I stayed until 1:35 p.m.

Reading this back, it sounds somewhat juvenile, but I do promise that this was a really fun, classy night and the majority of hijinks happened on the walk home. I should also note that because I knew I had a 6:30 call time that I paced accordingly.

Then I got up, went to brunch and went to see "The Holiday" where it was confirmed that:

1.) Cameron Diaz is the worst actress EVER and her life's success can only be attributed to a deal with Satan
2.) Kate Winslet is the BEST actress ever and my new favorite. She has one scene in the movie where she delivers this semi-speech and I have to say, I literally thought I was going to burst into tears because a.) She did it so well b.) She might as well have been talking to me.
3.) Jude Law is incredibly good-looking
4.) Jack Black is hilarious

This was followed by two margaritas and Mexican food, which made me one of the most tired people to be on planet Earth last night. I crashed at 10 and had one of the best sleeps ever. Maybe rock stars can go on for weeks at a time partying like this, but I suspect they use cocaine to accomplish that. I did it au naturel.

So Today I...

...went for my dream job interview. It lasted about 15 minutes during which I attempted to stay Claritin-Clear and not let my horrible cold get in the way. I think it went well, I can't be sure. It's always the interviews where you are never sure how you did that you learn you did amazing. I don't know, whatevs, I'm just glad I did it so that I can say that I tried.

Something else fun, was that I offically erased the bad taste McWigger left on my soul and went out last night on a good date. However, I'm declaring war on the word date because I think it is stupid. We're not in 1950 anymore. My brother once told me the term is hang out and I am going with that because I figure he would know. Anyone who has seen my MySpace page, and has subsequently clicked on his profile, can figure out how he knows these things. I swear to God, we are related and I also swear to God that it's not as awful as it seems. Yes, I know he is in his underwear in one photo (at least he was, I have to avoid looking at it so as not to burn my retinas)...but if you know my brother, this will make an odd sort of sense and you will understand. Beneath that Guido exterior is a good boy. But I digress...

When I hung out last night, it was with a cool, funny person and we played darts and drank beer. I think I could be really good at darts one day, if I just learn how to aim.

It's Like Ice Cube Said...

...today was a good day. Well, it was actually yesterday, but whatever.

The day was going along innocently enough. Normal, as it usually does, when all of the sudden, the whole afternoon flipped upside down.

First, I found out a friend of mine, who pretty much has my dream job, is leaving and is in charge of finding her own replacement. After a momentary (and silent, since I'm in working out of an office this month) mental flip-out, I responded with a letter, written in all capital letters, that I was interested. There were also a number of exclamation points involved. All I can say is, the job would require seeing Diane Sawyer on a daily basis. Followers of this blog will understand the magnitude of that for me.

Shortly after, the lady who runs the business for which I am currently freelancing, basically offered me a partnership in it. Helping her grow it, bringing in clients and taking a cut of what I can bring in. That could potentially mean a ton for me. Besides being super-flattering, it's also the money incentive that normally takes more years in the business to get your hands on. I'm pondering it.

So, needless to say, come 5:30 p.m., I was amped up and needed to get to the gym to run out my excitement. No sooner do I step on the treadmill, then one of my gym boyfriends, nicknamed Fro because of the curly fro he is growing out, enters. Fro and I (at least I think) have been playing the "sh** he/she caught me staring game" for several months. Fro normally comes with a partner, nicknamed Stretch because he stretches a lot, but today he was alone. Fro also cut the hair, but I'm still calling him Fro. And I decide that if opportunity allows, I'm making a move.

So I finish up running, make my way downstairs and engage in the usual game. Only today, being that I was riding high, I decide to take the bull by the horns. Taking a break from situps, Fro is just steps away, I'm pretty sure he is looking, I turn and say, "You cut your hair."

He immediately smiles and we engage in a five minute conversation that goes a little something like this:

Fro: Yes I did.

Me: Why? I've been following its progress for several months.

Fro: Well, I'm a lawyer (me on the inside: Yay!), and I got out of court, went home for lunch and had some time to kill.

Me: Oh, wow. Just like that?

Fro: Yes, just like that. Change is good. Change is inevitable. As a matter of fact, you and I are changing right now.

Me: That we are. What did your fellow lawyers think of the hair? Did it send out a weird vibe?

Fro: (laughs): Haha, I don't know.

Me: Maybe you were the "cool" laywer.

Fro: Or the pothead one.

Me: Maybe.

Fro: So anyways, yes change is good and I can always change it back.

Me: Yes you can. I'm a big fan of changing hair every six to eight weeks.

Fro: Yeah, maybe I'll grow it out again.

Me: Definitely, as a matter of fact, it's growing right now.

Fro: (laughing pretty hard): That's pretty funny.

Me: (Smile with an eyebrow raise.)

We both go back to our exercises. And then we proceed to follow each other around the gym a bit. Smiling and catching each other's eye, when I decide I'm hungry and I need to leave. I think Fro was on a bathroom break when I decided this because he didn't see me go...but I figure that's okay. It will add an aura of mystery to my existance.

New Celebrity Obsession

Have you ever watched a movie, and then immediately turned around and looked up every single bit of information you could find on one of the actors...to the point where you are like, okay, I am totally obsessed with this person and then you run to the nearest coffee shop, grab a cup of coffee and a magazine because you are SURE that if you wait long enough, they'll walk in, notice you and become obsessed with you too, because, hey, this is New York and it totally could happen? No one? Just me? Really?

I exaggerate, I did not run to the coffee shop and wait for James Franco to walk in the door after watching Tristan & Isolde this weekend, but I have googled him every which way and realized, that I just may be in love. Like seriously. Like it's probably not healthy the extent to which I have given him thought this weekend. I'm probably going to buy the movie. It's that bad.

I thought he was totally hot after seeing SpiderMan but seeing him in this movie, I just literally became obsessed. I found out he has also broken up with longtime girlfriend Marla Sokoloff and that leaves the door WIIIDE open for our love affair to begin.

I mean, forget CSI actor George Eads...who has been my celeb obsession for some time...I'm pretty sure James and I are meant to be together. He's totally an artsy guy, he paints, he's super deep, and I realized I can deal with that. Plus he's Sicilian on his dad's side JUST LIKE ME. If that doesn't spell U-N-I-V-E-R-S-E A-L-I-G-N-I-N-G I dont' know what does.

B-List Celebrity Sighting

Finally!

I've been on high alert, given that its holiday time, for all the good celebs. Last year I spotted all the good ones...Gwen, Angelina, Julianne the list goes on. Walking home from P.'s holiday party (more on that in a minute), I saw Kyle KY as Perez calls him, Matt Dallas. He was on a TV show called Kyle XY. I think three people watched it. I dont' even know if it's on anymore. He has very striking eyes and was rocking the alarmingly popular lumberjack chic look on 1st Avenue at 2nd Street. Rampant gay rumors aside, he was with a girl.

After P.'s holiday party, I was on my way home to take a shower and get in bed when my friend called and said she needed a wingman just a few blocks away. Never one to turn down a Thursday night drink, I went, until I got bored an hour later. Not because of my friend though. The place was dead and I was tired from the requisite appearance at P.'s holiday party, where I go not to mingle...but to eat the amazing food they cater. P.'s boss uses the same caterer as Anna Wintour (editor-in-chief of Vogue magazine for those not in the know, ultra-bitch, only uses the best) and he/she does not disappoint. P.'s boss did not disappoint either. Last year, my first impression was 80's power businesswoman and this year she was wearing THE EXACT SAME OUTFIT. Rocking the Cindy Adams hair (New York post gossip columnist, www.pagesix.com, click on the Cindy Adams if you aren't personally privy to how incredible Cindy Adams hair looks in person), leopard blazer, black leather skirt, way too much mascara. Think like Tammy Faye Baker too much. God I love company holiday parties.

Yoplait Commercials

The Yoplait friends are back...and I hate them still. "This is like zen, wrapped in karma, dipped in chocolate good." You know what? That doesn't even make sense.

Those commercials are "bad, wrapped in stupid, topped with ultra-gay awful."

Randomness and K-List Celeb Sightings

Last night, I wasted no time in getting back into the swing of New York life. I had an invitation to attend a party compliments of my old job, with free food and free wine and fashion people, which equals, eat for free, drink for free and watch the freak parade.

It did not disappoint. I got there around 7 when the party was in full swing. The food was not as prevalent as one would hope…but the wine was, and I was proud of myself for checking out after 2 glasses. The first K-list celeb sighting was Angie Everhart, who was the “host” of the party. You know what really sucks? To be an older, white, former supermodel. White people just do not age as gracefully as other races, and this is never more evident than in the supermodel. Angie is still really pretty, her plastic surgeon has taken care of that, but it just so happens that I was watching TV the other day and something about Iman and David Bowie came on, and I was thinking to myself, oh to be Ethiopian and look beautiful forever…and sure enough, just a few days later Angie proves me right. I guess the good lesson to gleam from seeing her is that being a supermodel may be awesome in your teens and 20s, but after that, you’re just like the rest of us. Some may call that poetic justice. I just call it awesome.

Anyways, then Am. came and we left to go meet up with some new friends on the UWS. It was kind of random because we had met a few people at a bar two weeks ago, and thought they were cool, and then one of the kids texted Am. to come meet up with him and his other friends last night. So we said, why not? And sure enough, it was really fun. I had my second K-list celeb sighting, the actress Michael Michelle having dinner with some young, gay-looking, guy. She is stunning, which just also further proves my theory above, even though Michael Michelle was not a model, it’s the same difference.

Anyways, I had a cucumber martini that deserved a standing ovation for deliciousness…and then got into a really fun conversation with a kid who knew Miami Beach, Boca and the J-Shore as much as I do…so our conversation including everything from the career hooker at the Fontainebleau Hotel that I met once (who may or may not have been his 90-year-old grandmother, at least that’s the theory I threw out there), the best Jewish delis in Boca, and guidos at the J-Shore. Good times. I then met a girl who is a forensic pathologist, and promptly engaged her in a conversation about CSI techniques, doing autopsies, how good of a Medical Examiner I would make, and other forensic items of interest. I thought I had died and gone to heaven when she told me a story on how she had ripped out a man’s balls from the inside of his body, after he was dead. Not because I want any man’s balls ripped out from the inside (only maybe a couple of guys I know deserve this), but because I need a hero.

I Heart New York

When did New York stop being a place I live and start to become home? I’m not sure I can pinpoint it exactly.

When I got back from my roadtrip in July, I did notice that upon entering the city, I breathed a sigh of relief and thought to myself, I’m home. It took me by surprise, and I kind of discounted it because I had been away for two weeks. That’s a long time to live out of a suitcase and sleep in a hotel bed every night.

But now that I’ve been in Florida for nine days, I can’t wait to get back. It kicked in around day six. Even though Boca Raton is asthetically beautiful, despite the fact that there is a neverending supply of food in my house, I miss the city. I miss walking outside and knowing that left or right provides me more choices in five steps than 500 steps could take me out my front door here. Five hundred steps out my door here would probably only get me to the front of my neighborhood where I could wave hello to the old people taking their daily walks. Some with walkers.

Before I moved to NYC, someone told me, “Be careful, after a few years in the city you will never be able to leave.” I didn’t believe them. I remember thinking, no way, I’ll be able to leave anytime. But now, I see what they mean. Even in the littlest of ways. Last night, I wanted Mexican food in the worst way…but I had to settle for Chili’s. And they didn’t even have chimichangas. I had spinach dip. Which don’t get me wrong, was delicious, but it was no chimichanga. It was no chimichanga.

In NYC, I have no less than 15 choices for Mexican within two minutes of my front door. One of which is Chipotle and another of which is Burrito San Loco, the most delicious restaurant in New York City, and a place at which I've developed the disturbing habit of stumbling toward in the hours after midnight, ordering three tacos and eating them all before I get home. Or picking them up on the way to another bar and just eating them there.

I don’t know. It’s kind of funny that I was thinking of moving back to Florida only two months ago. I already know that I’d be dead, buried and in the ground from boredom if that had happened. Somewhere in the last two years and two months I’ve become to belong in New York. It’s where my friends are. It’s my favorite place to be. Every weekend when I go out, I have a good time. I meet someone new. I give out my phone number to cute boys, some who call and some who don’t, and I don’t give a crap either way. Every weekday night I spend with a book at the new coffee shop is the best time. Every time I can get the Sunday Times and read it wherever the hell I want to makes me insanely happy.

Can I ever return back to “regular” life? Maybe. Depends where that regular life is. Depends who I’m with. But in the meantime, it’s good to know, that for the first time in a very, very long time, I know for sure, that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Great Article

Below is a link from CNN.com on how the media, particularly Fox in this case, can get away with many things we don't think about, in terms of moral consciousness.

http://www.cnn.com/2006/SHOWBIZ/TV/11/29/apontv.fox.michaelrichards.ap/index.html

It's particularly timely. In addition, Britney had another vagina slip last night. Now granted, this isn't making news on regular news outlets, only the gossip ones (which I follow like a religion!), but more and more the regular news channels are turning to bloggers to provide social commentary. So who knows what might happen with this in the next week or so.

In addition, I officially return to my original feelings about Britney. I didn't like her in 1999. I don't like her now. She's another one who should just fall off the face of the Earth. If I ever see her in New York, she gets a big punch in the face if I can break through her bodyguards and the paparazzi.

You Know What Pisses Me Off...?

That I am sitting here, trying my hardest to figure out how to make ends meet, trying to figure out what the next step in my career is (advertising, law, journalism) and I sign on to my favorite gossip site in an attempt to escape it all for a moment, only to realize that in doing so, I'm fueling the fire for a bunch of idiots to make millions more than I will ever see by doing absolutely nothing.

If I have to see one more f*ing picture of Paris or Britney's f*ing vaginas, I swear to God, I'm going to start ripping my hair out. Are we really so low as a society, that this type of behavior is not only acceptable - it's something that the media actually latches onto? It's your VAGINA! Would we stand by and just accept it if everytime Kid Rock or Eminem or (insert current media bad boy here) got up out of a car his penis and ball sack fell out? I doubt it! It would be an uproar of unbelievable proportions!

And how is it, that Janet Jackson, whose breast may or may not have accidently come out of her costume during the Super Bowl gets vilified, when in reality, that's nothing you can't find in any gas station magazine rack...yet somehow, we're not starting up the witch hunt to put the snatches of Lindsay, Paris and Britney, back where they belong - in their f*ing underwear??

I'm just SO SICK of the one-sided slant the media gives to certain people. Some people are raked across the coals, and others, like Britney, are repeatedly given free passes to lower our sense of what should/can be universally accepted as decent?

And the very fact that Spears not only gets away with this, but has built an entire multi-million dollar empire on it, makes me sick. I'm a smart girl. How is it that this podunk dumbass has more money in the bank than I can only dream of having? Maybe that just makes me the idiot. It sure seems so.

Fun Music

On November 13, I celebrated the impending end of my relative youth by attending the Panic! At the Disco concert with A. A. was a trooper and ponied up for the ticket, even though she's never heard a Panic! song and had no idea what they sang. I, of course, was ecstatic that I could go since I thought I wasn't going to see them and was sad about that. Through the joy that is Craigslist, I found tix relatively cheap and we headed out.

Because I'm crazy about being places on time and getting my full money's worth, I insisted we get there right at 7:30 so we could see the opening acts. One of them was a group named Jack's Mannequin and if you are a closet Laguna Beach fan like I am, this album is a must have for pretending you are Rocky, with your only BFF Tessa, abandoned by Alex once again, and left crying in your prom dress on the beach....you know, if you're into that sort of self-torture, imagination stuff. Not that I am. But maybe you are. Or maybe you'll just like the music.

It's also worth noting, simply because it's hilarious, that at the Panic! concert, more than half of the audience seemed to either be in high school or accompanied by their parents. Then there was A. and I. At one point, I looked left to the high schoolers on my left making out, looked right at A. who was looking to her right at the high schoolers making out, and then just proceeded to throw up the rock and roll sign and dance around. I was still 25 then. It was alright.

Thanks!

Just over a week ago, I hit the 1,000 mark for page views on this blog. Thanks to those of you who keep coming back to read about my ridiculous little adventures. Remember, don't forget to send the link to your friends, family, or even retarded brothers named Billo, so long as they check the Internet. I was just thinking today...again...that I should really be writing for a living, not calling the press for hours every day begging them to write about the various things I get paid to pitch. Not that it's not a good living to do that...it's just, I'd rather write. Or watch YouTube all day, but unfortunately, that won't pay the bills.

The Conclusion of the McWigger Chronicles…For Now At Least

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The McWigger Chronicles: Chapter 3

For those of you who thought the McWigger saga had come to an end (and that included me), it did not. For better or for worse, a Chapter 3 and 4 were recently added to the apparently never-ending cat-and-mouse game I will be forced to play with McWigger until a.) I move out of the East Village or b.) McWigger falls off the face of the earth, preferably as a result of fiery car crash. I don’t wish him dead, that’s pretty mean. Maybe just horribly disfigured as a result of his burns and injuries.

Anyways, after the in-store incident in which things were thrown at me, I realized that I hadn’t adequately stood up for myself to McWigger, but more or less, I was fine with this. A few days after the in-store run-in, I was telling one of my best guy friends the story and as it so happened, he was coming up two weeks later for a visit. We got to talking and thought it would be funny if him and I went into the store to fuck with McWigger a little bit. I knew that McWigg would think it disrespectful (or whatever) if I were to go in the store with another guy, and I knew it would effectively prove a point (at least that’s what I was hoping). I told my friend that if it worked out in our schedule to do that, that we should but that it was no big deal if we didn’t.

Well, as it turned out we did get the opportunity. On the Friday morning that my friend arrived, he didn’t feel like sightseeing or doing anything in particular, so I suggested that we go to the gym and then find a plan for the day. Once in the gym we realized that we could go pay McWigger a visit right after, so my friend, sweetheart that he is, worked out his arms for a solid hour. My friend is a pretty big guy, his muscles are pretty ridiculous, so by the time we finished, he was f*ing huge. We spent a few minutes perfecting our plan, which basically consisted of “go in and see what happens,” and then headed out to the shop.

So we walk in and McWigger is no where to be found. I was confident that he was either in his office or out on an errand and that if we waited long enough he would appear. So my friend and I grab a strategically placed table and wait. We didn’t get up to buy anything, we weren’t even talking. We just sat there. We came with no money - just hoodies, water bottles and towels from the gym. We meant business. My friend takes off his hoodie and is sitting there in a wifebeater. It was like 45 degrees out that day….so it was pretty obvious we weren’t there to grab coffee and catch up on old times.

So, we sit there in silence until finally McWigger comes up from his office. He looks at me, looks at my friend, (and I can see the look in his eye change) and goes behind the counter. I let my friend know that our target has arrived and I get up to excuse myself to go to the bathroom to give them some alone time.

This is why my friend kicks his awesomeness into high fucking gear. While I am in the bathroom, he and McWigger engage in a stare down, during which my friend drinks from his water bottle while simultaneously flexing his arm. Some girl was sweeping behind the counter as the stare down was happening and my friend said he realllllly had to resist the urge to call out, “Hey…umm…do you like porn??” Even though that would have been hysterical, I’m pretty sure McWigger would have fought him so it’s probably better that he didn’t’ call this out, but that would have been the funniest thing the world has ever seen.

So I come up to the bathroom and my friend informs me that him and McWigger have been eye-fucking (haha) for five minutes. I say perfect, the last thing to do then is just acknowledge him while I am here with you and then the job will be done.

Well sure enough, no big surprise, McWigger does the work for me. He walks past me and my friend, arranges something on the wall that I am facing, turns back around, brushes me on the arm with something between a tap and a sweeping motion and goes, in a very trying-hard-to-sound-cool-but-clearly-not-cool voice, “Whats up?” and keeps walking.

So I look at him dead in the eye, pivot as he turns and go, in a very-sarcastic-trying-hard-not-to-laugh-but-wish-I-could-punch-you-in-the-face voice, “Whats up.” Eyebrow raised for added sassiness.

He doesn’t respond. Happy with this outcome, I nod my head at my friend and we know we are finished. We get up and leave, McWigger’s eyes burning a goddamn hole in my back and once we’re a safe distance away I jump up and down with delight, pretty sure that McWigger got the point and that he now knows not to fuck with me anymore.

I wasn’t quite sure if that meant I was allowed to go into the store again but I was happy with the situation for the time being and thought that if I let enough time pass maybe the next time I went in there I would be left alone.

However, I learned just a few days later that it was not to be.

Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion of the McWigger Chronicles!

Reason Number 1,234 Why I Am Not Sexy

On my way to meet a new potential fashion client, I put on my coolest outfit and rush off into the night to meet her at a coffee shop. Feeling pretty confident, I make eye contact with some hot guy on the corner and promptly lose the ground beneath me trying to take a step onto the sidewalk. He notices, calls me out and I mumble something about snipers.

Minutes later, a Chinese thug/gangster/I don't know what in his mid-40's, possibly 50's, sticks his tongue out at me.

This is what I like to call "par for the course."

Turning 26 Has Been Fun, Thanks to Me (ok, and my friends too)

I was nervous about turning 26, as evidenced by the last few weeks’ worth of postings on getting older, fate and blah blah blah.

But I have to admit, now that the day has come and gone, it wasn’t so bad and because I had so much fun turning 26 I really can’t complain and can only hope that by starting the age off on the right foot that I am setting myself up for a good year.

It’s kind of like how my roommate once told me that if on New Years, at the stroke of midnight or right after, you should walk around the block (or whatever is handy) with a suitcase if you want to travel that year. So, on the New Year’s of 2004/2005, I did just that and sure enough, I went to like four countries and 12 cities that year. You can chalk it up to coincidence, but I didn’t do that on the 2005/2006 New Year’s and I’ve done very little traveling.

So, if I start out 26 by having fun, my batting average indicates that this should sustain itself and the year will be just fine. Until it’s time for me to turn 27 and we begin this process all over again.

However, exactly one week ago today, I headed to the Heaven on Earth that is Gainesville, Florida for a weekend reunion with my friends. None of us had been together in Gainesville since RR and I got up and out in 2003. Back then, I couldn’t wait to leave and get started with my life. I thought it would be kind of sad or bizarre to be back but in fact, it was the exact opposite. All I could do was smile. I just had so many good memories everywhere, and to be back with my friends was awesome. I snuck back into my old dorm with O-Shaw, which still smelled like a combo of Herbal Essences shampoo and ramen noodles, snapped some photos of my old dorm room, walked around campus, ate at my favorite pizza place, and generally behaved like a tourist.

However, my favorite moment was perhaps on the first night, when we went into a bar to grab a drink and no sooner had I sat down than I saw someone I knew across the bar. Just like old times! I don’t care how old you are, it’s always fun to go in some place and have to slowly make your way across because you have to stop and talk to everyone you know in there.

I think the most fun night was Friday, when the last clear thing I remember is taking my friend up on his offer of using his credit card at the bar and buying shots for everyone. Fast forward through some dancing and then I was getting a piggy back ride (which was offered to me by a hot kid and who am I to turn him down?) and eating fried chicken while in a nurse’s hat and using a stethoscope to check for heart murmurs and irregular heartbeats on people I didn’t really know.

Follow that up on Saturday with a one-point victory in the Swamp, resulting in only the absolute and sheer joy that something like that brings, getting a mild case of food poisoning but then rallying to go out again on Saturday night, which was considerably calmer than Friday but no less fun.

Then this Saturday, one final party with my friends here in NYC and my entry into 26 will be complete. And hopefully an entry that comes with the Gators getting into a national championship game. Fingers crossed.

I Just Turned 26 Years Old

More on how I feel about this later!

The Idea of Fate.

* “We make our own fortunes and we call them fate.” – Benjamin Disreali.

* “Whatever happened to anyone else could happen to you and to me. And the end of my youth was the possible truth that it all happens randomly.” - The Indigo Girls.

* “Be still, sad heart, and cease repining; Behind the clouds the sun is shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.” – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

* “It (destiny) is what you have always wanted to accomplish. Everyone, when they are young, knows what their destiny is. At that point in their lives, everything is clear and everything is possible. They are not afraid to dream, and to yearn for everything they would like to see happen to them in their lives. But, as time passes, a mysterious force begins to convince them that it will be impossible for them to realize their destiny.” – Paulo Coehlo.

With my birthday looming before me, I’ve begun to think a lot about the idea of fate. I say looming because I feel like my birthday is actually a giant shadowy figure, coming out of the horizon to eat me alive. I have no idea why I feel this way…my birthday should actually be really fun, but I am totally struggling with this one, as I mentioned a few weeks ago.

Anyways, as I get older, as life just continues to get more and more complicated, I’ve begun to really ponder the idea of fate and destiny. As the quotes above show, fate is something everyone thinks may exist, but opinions of it couldn’t differ more. How many things are we really in control of? How many things happen for a reason? Is anything pre-ordained or do we all, in some way, through small decisions everyday, make the bigger things happen ourselves?

My question, specifically, is- does this apply to people? When it comes to trying to find the right person for you – how much is up to pure fate and how much is actually up to you? Fate would be if I turn down this street corner instead of that one - will I miss my soulmate or run into him? Being in control would mean, if I had the opportunity to speak up, but just didn’t – did I miss my chance forever?

However, I don’t want to place the blame squarely on myself either. What if this mystery person didn’t turn down the street corner that I was headed down and missed ME? What if they had an opportunity to say something and clammed up instead? Are these tiny decisions really what leads us off our collision course with one person and puts us squarely in the path of another?

Part of me tends to think yes…and if that is indeed the case, then there is absolutely nothing we can do in the way of worrying about things. If my life’s happiness can actually boil down to what streets I decide to take to get to the subway, then I’ll f*ing throw a party for myself right now because there will never be anything to get depressed about ever again.

But the tiny part of me that holds out for no, the part that says one half of the equation is fate and the other half is what you decide to do with what’s placed before you, is what screws me up. How are you supposed to know if you messed up? How are you supposed to know what you could have said that would have made the difference? How are you just supposed to accept that you can only do your best and that the rest will take care of itself? That’s what I used to assume. Lately, I’m not so sure.

Which brings me back to my original point of those tiny decisions. Are those tiny decisions, although technically made by us, really just part of fate’s bigger plan? These are huge questions with no clear answers. No one can predict the future. No one knows what someone else is thinking. The best we can do is go on with our lives, hope we are doing the best thing and just continue on with the day…but really, is that all there is? Because you know what? That really f*ing blows.

And on a totally different tangent, as I’m writing this, is it a coincidence that my freaking iPod is randomly selecting the most depressing love songs that I have on here? Ninety-eight percent of my iPod is filled with hip-hop, yet the last five songs have been by Maroon Five, Selena and similarly themed artists. I find that to be quite non-coincidental.

Anyways, winter is coming and these are the thoughts on my mind. I do have to do some work now, I’m sure I’ll have more thoughts on this soon.

Winter is Here and With It, the Blues

There are a few things that I love about fall in New York. The beautiful trees. The chill in the air. The feeling of calm that takes over the city as everyone prepares for hibernation. Scarves, boots and cute sweaters make their return. I went and bought a skull cap with skulls on it that I’m wearing right now and feeling pretty damn good about. I love hats. I love this hat.

But there is one thing I hate…the phenomenon of winter blues. Daylight savings was Saturday night. In Florida, this means the sun doesn’t go down at 8 p.m., it goes down at 6:30 p.m. In New York, it means the sun doesn’t go down at 6:00 p.m. it goes down at 4:30 p.m., maybe even earlier on an overcast day.

I don’t know what it is about the idea of the sun going down, but it makes me instantly depressed. So long as the sun is shining when I wake up in the morning I feel a-okay. The minute it starts to go dark in the late afternoon, I begin getting sad. Whereas in years past I had work to occupy my time (though there was always something really weird about looking out the window at 5 p.m. and seeing its pitch black outside), things are a bit different now. I’ll go to the gym I guess, maybe spend some more time writing, try to find some new hobbies…but I don’t know. This is a tough time of year during a tough time in life. We’ll see how it goes. This blog might get downright gothic if I don’t get my act together.

The Best Halloween Costume I Saw and the Best Ones I Didn't

I think it has to be the couple I saw dressed as Jack and Kate from Lost. He had the cut off T-shirt, with the fake cut below the eye. His shirt was slightly dirty…he just looked very Jack-like. Kate had on a wig to make her hair a bit longer and she had on a wifebeater. I don’t know, it just looked really good and I thought that was creative.

However, the best costumes I saw via pictures were from a party my friend Pammie went to – a group of kids dressed up like the entire cast of Saved by the Bell. Awesome!

“If My Job Was to Wake Up, Masturbate and Go Back To Sleep, I’d Still Find A Way to Hate It”

Sadly, I can’t take credit for this TREMENDOUS quote, but I can say that I was in the conversation that prompted its delivery.

My friend J., who I met out for a drink last night, has, by any standard, a very cool job. He’s a sports radio commentator in South Florida. He works for a radio station that covers both the Marlins and the Panthers. Currently, he’s in New York, covering the Panthers/Rangers series at Madison Square Garden. He got here on a chartered plane and traveled with the team. He then got a free limo ride into the city to deliver him to his friend’s apartment. He is working for the next two days at Madison Square Garden and then he will travel to Long Island over the weekend to work at the Panthers/Islanders series. Then he will take the limo back to New Jersey and fly home, with the team, back to South Florida. This type of job is enough to make most guys I know insanely jealous. Yet, J. had reason to complain. And we got to talking. We all have reason to complain. All the time. No matter what our job is, no matter how glamorous it seems on the surface. Because let’s face it, at the end of the day, even if your job is just to wake up, masturbate and go back to sleep, so long as it carries the definition of job – something you have to do – you will find a reason not to like it. Or not like one thing about it. Or not like most things about it.

Which got me thinking about jobs in general since I have no idea what I want my next job to be. I’m trying to make my job be “writer,” but I, too, have found that by simply saying that I have to write every day, it’s much more difficult to actually do. I did so much better when I just wrote because I felt like it (which happens at least once a day.) So I think the point is effectively proven.

I really don’t have anything more to say about this, I just knew I needed to share this quote because it’s so fantastic.

X-List Celebrity Sighting

Last night at the Village Pourhouse, spotted John Norris from MTV News chatting with friends and then exiting the bar. John looks surprisingly young in person, roughly the same as he does on TV, which is odd because he’s been on MTV news since I was like 10. I say, good for him.

Smack This

I’m sitting here watching today’s Sucker Free MTV, watchingthe new Akon/Eminem video, classily titled “Smack That.” I still love it, I run to it on the treadmill – good beat people. But what’s curious is that they blank out the words “ass” and “sore” in their respective places…yet the girls asses and big fake tits are hanging out all over the placee. So let me get this straight – it’s okay to run a video named Smack That and show women as strippers being objectified by men (dressed as the glorified thugs all young men aspire to be)…yet it’s the word ass and sore that are sending the wrong message to the youth. Yes, yes…I get it now.

I Murdered Mickey

I don’t know. Up until Wednesday, I was pretty sure that human beings had the whole animal intelligence thing on lock. I use the word “was” because last Wednesday, our apartment officially became a war zone, turned upside down by a creature that can’t possibly be smarter than I am, but outfoxed me at every turn.

We were being held hostage by a mouse. The mouse had a gun and a flak jacket on, he wasn’t talking to police negotiators...the mouse knew, as did we, that there was no way he’d go alive.

Let me start where I left off.

After the discovery of the mouse and the ripping apart of the kitchen to no avail, I was working from home on Thursday when I look up to see Mickey (as we had begun to call him) on the kitchen counter behind the coffee pot, staring at me. I stared at him right back for about a minute, until he ran back across the counter and back wherever he came from. I was so grossed out. My roommates were scared of Mickey, I was more grossed out. Mice are dirty. They poop all over everything. And they smell. So there was no way that I wanted him near our beloved coffee pot, and everything else for that matter. So I jump up and I rearrange the few traps we have out to fall directly in line with where he was running to and fro from. Oh but this Mickey, he didn’t take the bait. Nope, he just ran right around the traps. Up until this point, I had hoped that Mickey was dumb and would just willingly sniff and eat the peanut butter on the traps, but Mickey wasn’t as dumb as originally thought.

So fast forward through the rest of Thursday, Friday and Saturday, where Mickey would torture us by popping up all over the apartment. If he wasn’t hanging out on the counter, he’d run all over the stove and down through the burners. Or, he’d take everyone by surprise and run out from behind the couch back to the kitchen. What was worse, is that on Friday and Saturday nights my roommates and I both had company staying at our house, so we had to explain why our house was booby-trapped for mice. And then watch everyone scream and shout (a few brave souls attempted to catch him) as he ran around the traps, through legs, at people, etc.

Finally, by Sunday we had enough. We put our heads together and devised a plan. A. and I went and brought 12 glue traps and 12 regular old-school mouse traps. P. and I did the mousetrap assembly while A. just walked around the apartment, cleaning up nothing and muttering to herself. (I definitely discovered Annette’s Achilles heel…rodents. I look forward to the day when I can use this to my advantage.) We lined up the traps across the doorway where the living room meets the kitchen. If Mickey decided he’d like to go watch TV, he’d have to run across the glue traps to do it. We lined up the mousetraps across the kitchen counter, in case Mickey decided he’d like to take a leisurely stroll by the coffee pot again. We finished by placing two traps on either side of the couch, in the back, in case he wanted to take a nap back there. I was satisfied with our Fort Knox-like line of defense. A. and P. went to their rooms to go to sleep. I stayed on in the living room, inexplicably hung up on Extreme Makeover on the Style Network. Sure enough, within minutes of it quieting down, Mickey decided to show his face from under the stove. I watched him stare at the glue traps, clearly perplexed by this new obstacle in his path. I slowly picked up the phone and told A. not to come out of her room. Mickey sensed my movement, however, and ran back under the stove. He reappared a few minutes later, stared at the glue traps again and ran back under the stove. I was pissed. He was supposed to run right at me and get stuck…only he was proving once again, that he was no one’s fool.

He reappeared a few minutes later ON TOP OF THE STOVE. This is when I started to get angry. Refusing to be held hostage by the mouse, I had cooked dinner for myself that night because freelancing doesn’t afford me the opportunity to order out with the frequency that I used to. I save money by cooking at home. So, even though I was a bit scared, I had baked a chicken in the oven; the oven that is directly below the stove Mickey was now using as his personal stairway to heaven. The very idea that he may have walked or ascended through the stove on the way to the oven, either before, during or after I had made my chicken was enough to make me want to get up to the bathroom and vomit. I made a silent vow that Mickey would die tonight for this faux pas. For the time being though, I yelled for him to “get the fuck off the stove” and then turned to my right to watch A. shriek and scream out what was he doing, as I knew she would. I told her not to worry about it, and decided that I’d have to leave the living room to force Mickey to make his move.

Several minutes later, I’m watching TV on my bed when I sense a movement to my right. I look at my door and see Mickey scampering into my room. I guess he figured that if he couldn’t go straight into the living room, he’d squeeze into the next smallest space – the slit under my door - and see if anything was up in here. The idea of the mouse in my room, only discovered because I happened to keep my light on and saw him, made me furious. I yelled at him again to “get the fuck out of my room!” I called Annette and told her to put a towel under her door and then I pulled a towel under mine and began the wait.

About an hour later, I’m caught up in an episode of CSI, when my phone rings. It’s A. She asks, “Do you hear that?” I say, “No.” She says, “The mouse is yelling.” I say, “The mouse is yelling? Hold on.” I put my ear to the door. I hear nothing. She says, “I heard him yell.” She sounds like a five year-old who just saw the boogie man for the first time. I knew I was in this alone. I said, “Hold on…I’m going out.”

I slowly opened the door. The kitchen is dark. I hear nothing. I tip-toe across to where the light is to discover Mickey, in one of the glue traps, struggling to get free. I scream bloody murder.

It was one thing to see him running across the apartment in his little brown blur, it was quite another to see his 3 inch body stuck in a trap, while he wriggled around trying to chew off his own leg to get free. I just started yelling, “Oh my god! Oh my god! I have to kill him, I don’t know how. I don’t know how! Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ! I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what to do!”

By this time, A. has gathered up the courage to peek at him. She sees him squirming, yells that he’s getting free and jumps up and onto the couch yelling “Kill him! Lia kill him! KILL HIM NOWWWWWWWW!”

This continued on for at least two minutes as the two of us just watched Mickey, trapped by his hind legs and tail, work his hardest to get free and we screamed holy hell. Finally, I bent over, put my hands over my face and was like get it together Lia. This is your job to finish.

I stared at Mickey, who looked like he may come free at any moment. I grabbed the paint roller extender we have behind our kitchen “table” and flipped another glue trap on top of him, making a little Mickey/glue trap sandwich. I begin yelling again, which begins A. yelling again. I am screaming, “What do I do now? How do I kill him? How do I kill him? I can’t pick this up! I can’t pick this up!” And A. is still on the couch yelling “I don’t know! Just get him out of here, just get him out!!!”

So, for some unknown reason, I take the stick, because Mickey is moving around like crazy, and I just begin beating the sandwich. I couldn’t do it hard, but it was hard enough for Mickey to squeak with every whack. I’m yelling, A. is yelling, Mickey is yelling…and I’m just beating down harder with every yell not knowing what the hell I’m doing.

Finally I realized that glue traps are supposed to be the humane way to kill a rodent, but that Mickey is clearly not being treated humanely and I am beating a mouse to death with a paint roller extender. I look to my right and see our dustpan. I tell A. to get a couple of plastic bags. I put the dustpan on the floor, and using the extender, push the sandwich onto the dustpan.

I ask A. for the bags, which she throws at me, but being that they are plastic, they don’t go far. I’m like A., just hand me the bag, he’s not coming loose. She darts over, gives me the bag, and darts back to the couch.

I take the dustpan and flip it, over-easy style, into the plastic bag. Mickey has ceased to move at this point, he may have succumbed to his internal bleeding, but I wasn’t taking the time to find out. I sealed the bag and ran out the door, down the five flights of stairs, onto the street, dropped the bag on the pile of trash already on the curb and ran back up the five flights of stairs in about a minute flat. Once inside the apartment, A. and I continued to get the creeps over the whole ordeal, and stood in the living room, shaking off the chills and reliving the whole five-minute ordeal.

Finally, we calm down and A. tells me that I definitely win roommate of the month and that I am officially her hero. I take a moment to bask in the glory, but then realize that I actually beat the mouse, who was kind of cute, and I begin to feel bad. But not that bad when I remembered his escapades all through the stove.

In any case, I think our mouse problems are now over. Hopefully, over for good. Let it be known in the rodent world…if you decide to visit Apt. 5C…you just might catch a beatdown....ya' heard.

L. and P. Star in: There’s a Mouse in the House

The Date: October 18, 2006.
The Place: New York, New York
Starring: Lia, as herself. P., as herself.
Narrated by: Lia.

Yesterday, after a quick happy hour with former co-workers, I was on my way home when I received a call from my roommate that bordered on hysteria.

Before I go into what the call was about, I should first recount what happened to me that morning. I was half-asleep making my morning coffee and I went to take down the sugar from the kitchen shelf where it resides. Somehow, no idea, I had no glasses on or contacts in, so I was flying blind…literally…I missed. The sugar container, and the crouton container beneath it, went flying. Sugar and croutons spilled everywhere. I’m talking all over the counter beneath the shelf, all over the floor, all over me and into the living room. I was already running late, the LAST thing I felt like dealing with was cleaning up sugar from everywhere…but because the thought of ants and bugs having a party in the sugar made me sick, I started to clean up. Three vacuum and sweeping sessions later, I believed I had gotten it all. “Thank you Dyson,” I said, and I left the house.

Fast-forward about eight hours, and my roommate P. is calling me. I’m just starting the walk home. The conversation sounded something like this.

Me: What do you want? I hate you. (This is our typical hello.)

P: Ohmygod, helphelphelp.

Me: (Very concerned.) P, slow down, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Are you ok?

P: I saw, I saw….

(My phone cuts off! Because my phone sucks!) (Phone rings again)

Me: P, are you ok? Are you hurt? What’s the matter?

P: A mouse! A mouse just ran across the kitchen! I’m standing on the couch! I don’t know what to do! Get cleaning supplies!

Me: Oh my god, oh my god, I spilled sugar everywhere this morning. I can’t believe it. Oh my god, I just threw up in my mouth, that is so gross.

P: (Calms down considerably.) You spilled sugar this morning?

Me: Yes, everywhere. That’s probably why the mouse is there.

P: Mice eat sugar?

Me: I have no idea.

P: I wonder if mice eat sugar.

Me: Hmm, I don’t know. Good question.

P: You better not tell A.

Me: I know.

P: Actually she doesn’t even use the sugar.

Me: But she uses the croutons that I spilled underneath it.

P: True.

Me: We’re off-topic. Where is the mouse now?

P: (Hysterical again). I don’t know! It ran toward the refrigerator! And then went underneath! Get something to kill it with!

Me: Hold on! I’m by Duane Reade. Give me 20 minutes and I’ll be home!

P: Hurry! (click.)

I ran through Duane Reade like a madwoman, grabbing papertowels and toilet paper…(we needed both anyways) and then of course, I stopped in the beauty aisle to grab two new shades of nail polish that I wanted. This is hardly what one should buy when you need to kill a mouse. I don’t know what I was thinking. That I would kill the mouse by rolling it up in Bounty? That maybe, once I caught the mouse, I could paint it’s nails a cute new shade of plum for fall? But in my rush, this is what I brought home.

I then speedwalked home to find P. on the couch staring at the kitchen.

Me: Where is it?

P: Still in there somewhere, I don’t know.

Me: (out of breath and sweating up a storm): Ok, I’m going to get changed and I’m going to get him.

P: You are a badass.

So I put my hair up, put my PJ pants and T-shirt on, put on flip-flops and hit the kitchen cabinets. Inside, I hear a vile, vile, scratching sound coming from deep inside. I should also note, that in the two-year duration that we’ve lived in this apartment, we have never so much as seen a mouse (except twice, on the bottom floor) nevermind have one in our house. We get the occasional cockroach, which normally involves someone yelling, someone grabbing a shoe, smashing the cockroach, doing a heebie-jeebie dance, yelling for someone else to grab the body, throwing in the trash and then a yelling/jumping combination again from being grossed out. Bugs we have down pat. Mice? No idea.

Me: Mice don’t have spines, how do you kill one?

P: Mice don’t have spines?

Me: No!

P: How the f*** are we going to get it?

Me: I think you can scare mice to death.

P: Haha, just stick your face in there then.

(laughter)

Me: (Grabbing the mop). I know, I’ll just beat him to death.

P: What if you miss?

Me: I don’t know. Dammit, I should have bought a mousetrap!

P: Do you think Joseph has mousetraps? (Joseph is our 60-something-years-old super who always tries to grab or brush up against P’s chest.)

Me: Probably. You go down there, he’s your boyfriend.

P: No! Gross! He’ll give me a mousetrap and then grab my boobs!

Me: Do you want to kill the mouse then?

P: Be right back.

So P. runs out and I’m staring at the kitchen cabinets. I hit them again. I hear the mouse inside. I take a deep breath and say out loud, “I’m going to kick your ass!”

I open the cabinet a peep, and start taking things out one by one, and then slamming the door shut in between. I figured one of two things. I’ll trap it in there. And I’ll remove every object it can use for cover.

P. comes back in, sans mousetrap.

P: Ugh, Joseph answered the door in a silk robe.

Me: A silk robe?

P: Yes, it was disgusting.

Me: Who does he think he is? Hugh fucking Hefner? Did he have a mousetrap?

P: No, he said he’d send the exterminator up tomorrow.

We both roll our eyes because that won’t happen. We haven’t seen the exterminator in months.

P. notices the stuff outside of the cabinets.

P: What are you doing?

Me: I don’t know! I don’t know how to kill a mouse!

P: You kick ass. Good luck with that.

So, I’m taking things out one by one, but after a while, I don’t hear the mouse anymore. So I turn to P. and say, “I don’t hear the mouse anymore.”

P: Is it in my room? I’ll kill you!

Me: Did you see it run past me and run into your room?

P: Hmmm…no, but I was watching Two-a-Days.

Me: I think we would have noticed.

P: Haha, it’s in your room.

Me: I hate you.

So anyways, long story short, I Swiffered the kitchen twice to remove any sugar that may have gotten on the floor. The mouse disappeared and I put the kitchen back together. Now I’m home alone, peeking to the right every so often to see if the mouse has decided to pop back in. I have no idea what to do if it does. But I have some nailpolish if he/she wants a makeover.

The Best Birthday Invitation I Have Ever Received

Everyone I know – including myself – is going to be hard-pressed to beat this one. I thought I was so clever calling my next birthday “The 5th Anniversary of My 21st Birthday.” Apparently, I’m not as clever as I thought.

Good Day Friends & Enemies,
Don't be alarmed, this e-mail is a cause for celebration. Well, to be more specific, a cause for celebration for anything connected by an ampersand. History has proven that many things, are in fact, destined to be linked together forever. Like Jews & Suffering. Wait. Okay, maybe that's a bad example. But in my defense though, the persecution has made us stronger as a people throughout five thousand some-odd years. What I'm tryin' to say though, is that some of man's best achievements are better remembered as a duo. We've got: PB & J, Internet & Porn, Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, Balki & Cousin Larry, Spring Break & GHB, Tanqueray & Chronic, which in most cases, will eventually lead to last and certainly not least, Chicken & Waffles (you thought I was gonna say Blood & Semen, didn't you???)

Taking all of this into account, we ask that you grace us with your presence to celebrate the two birthdays of another duo: Mike & Cory. To be completely honest, I (Mike) don't really consider us a duo. I hardly like Cory. Unless of course he's got a player on his fantasy football roster that I want. We are only in this together because roughly 26 years ago, by mere coincidence mind you, our respective parents either planned to conceive OR purchased faulty contraceptives. I guess we really aren't linked by fate or friendship or any of that other nonsense, but rather the ultimate duo of Penis & Vagina. Regardless though, I'd still have to say it’s only due to an & and only an &. But I digress, here are the details:

What: The 26 year, 9 month Anniversary of the Conceptions of Mike B. & Cory F.

Where: Sweet & Vicious
5 Spring Street (Between Bowery & Elizabeth)
New York, NY 10012

When: Saturday October 21st, 2006, 10:00 pm

Hope to see everyone there!

Mike (& Cory)

Please forward to anyone you feel necessary.

P.S. - I do realize that January was (and still is) a busy month for bonin' so some of you might have other prior obligations and birthdays (even your own!). Try to stop by if you can, but we won't hold it against you if you can't.

P.S.S. If anybody has a problem with the short notice, you can F off. You're just a dweeb anyways.


Genius.

Aging…and Raging…

So, I’m a little less than one month out from my 26th birthday and to be perfectly honest, I’m not really that excited for it. I remember turning 25 and I was happy to turn 25 because I always felt like people took 25 seriously. There is just a difference between saying you are 24 and saying you are 25…I noticed a drop-off in the “your still a youngster” type of comments. I could finally rent a car – yeah!

But turning 26 is different. When I was interning between my junior and senior year of college, the summer after I turned 21, most of the people for which I worked were 26 and 27 years old. I remember thinking (and this is only five short, short years ago) how old they seemed. How successful they looked and dressed. How mature they acted.

I look at the nearly 26-year-old person staring back at me in the mirror and all I can say is that you don't look at all like those people. The bed that I sleep on – I can’t get on it in the middle because the planks (it’s from IKEA) that keep it in the frame come off the frame and make the mattress sink. At the end of the day, the new game I play with myself is to see how much money I spent. If the total falls between $10 and $15, I consider the day a resounding success. Extra points if the total is less than $10. I have no health insurance and spend most of my time at the gym praying that I don’t break my leg on the treadmill. I could go on and on. Long story, short, this is a pretty far cry from what I expected from myself at this age.

On the other hand, I’ve never had better friends surrounding me. People comment to me that I look happier, more rested and more healthy. I finally started writing the book I’ve been promising myself I’d write for the last three years.

I guess my question is – what I’m currently struggling with – is what is more important to me? Success or happiness? Is it possible to acheive the very best of both? From the age of 14, I have always been pushing toward an invisible goal. I got top grades in school, I worked at night, I played sports on the weekend, I built that perfect college resume. I went to school for free, worked my butt off, but went into debt anyway and graduated right on time. I suffered for a year at my first job. I then picked up what little I had and moved to New York City to try and make it here. And I did.

Now, three years later, I look back and by all counts, things have been a success. So, I’m not making the big bucks right now, I’m just making bucks. I always thought I’d be engaged or married by the age of 28 because it seemed so old, let’s face it, that’s not even close to happening. (I now think 31 will be closer to everything for me.) But somehow, I’m weirdly calm and happy. The thing that makes me unhappy is the fact that I’m still ambitious, I just don’t know what I want to be ambitious about. Is my life's work really going to be devising marketing plans in a cubicle and then calling journalists and hoping they aren’t rude on the phone as I try to pitch them my clients’ stories? Then dealing with the clients' BS when things don't happen (or dealing with the BS even when they do?) Is this what all the late nights of studying, the sacrifice (can’t go to happy hour guys, I’ve got this press release to write!), the struggle, has been for? I just don’t think that for me, this is it. And it’s not that I don’t see the bigger picture if I continue down this path – the hard work now, earns the payoff later, but what about my youth? My happiness? My sense that I’m living the best life I can? (thank you Oprah!)

I can't help but wonder, and I wish I could ask, if the people that I watched so closely as an intern, did they go through these same feelings and thoughts when they were 26-years-old? If I had to guess, I would have to say yes...but they seemed so different from the girl (woman?) that looks back at me every day. I have no idea…and yet, reading this back over...I obviously do know some things for sure. But what is right? Is any of it even wrong?

Dreams DO Come True!

Don't ask me why, but one of my lifelong dreams has always been to get punched in the face. I'm talking full-on, hit me in my jaw and just knock me out punched. I think it's because I have a pretty high tolerance for pain, and a sick, sick part of me just wants to see if I can stay on my feet. I know this is a weird thing to want, I just can't help it.

Well...as it turns out, Mike Tyson actually announced that he would fight women on his new world tour. I don't see in this article (http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2006/more/10/16/tyson.tour.ap/index.html?cnn=yes) where they are accepting volunteers, but I'll sign up if they take them. Who better to fulfill this fantasy for me? I'm willing to put my absolute hatred for Mike Tyson on the sideline for this one...it would be worth it.

Other dreams I have are to slam dunk a basketball with no help, but I am realistic that this will probably never come true unless someone figures out how to put trampolines and/or rocket ships in my shoes...and to get tackled full-force by someone in the NFL. However, that will probably result in a broken back...whereas getting punched in the face might only result in a broken jaw. I'll take the jaw.

It Doesn't Quite Make Up for the Loss but...

The Gators lost on Saturday night and I was so sad. However, I sent the best text message ever to someone (a UM fan I might add) who attempted to talk s*** to me. Considering UM is non-ranked and considering several players had a fistfight with players from FIU…I couldn’t believe the that this person would talk smack, but this person can be an a-hole (sometimes) so I wasn’t really surprised.

The text message I received was:

“Go Gators.”

My reply: “I f***ing hate you assclown. Nice fight tonight douchebag.” Lol. The best part was that I didn’t quite remember sending this text message (I was drowning my sorrows). So when I read back my texts from the night (of which there were many and half of which I wish I didn’t write, damn you unlimited text messaging!) the next day it was a welcome surprise. I think the words assclown and douchebag are the greatest words ever. I now have all my friends using the word douchebag...assclown is next.

Little Bit of Everything

30 Rock

This show is freaking hilarious. If you love Tina Fey as much as I do (she's one of my heroes) then you will love this show. It also stars Alec Baldwin (after seeing him in this show and in The Departed, think he just took the top spot on my Favorite Actors List), Tracy Morgan (who I go back and forth on whether I think he is funny, but on this show he's hilarious) and Judah Friedlander. P. and I met Judah recently and hung out with him...so he's like totally my friend. Which also makes the show awesome. Anyways, I highly recommend watching...it's hilarious.

Gym Boyfriend

So..my gym boyfriend and I totally broke up a few months ago, and truth be told, I've actually acquired about four new gym boyfriends since. The break-up was fortuitous because I've actually seen original gym boyfriend (OGB) with his girlfriend like a million times since...you can't have an imaginary boyfriend when you know he has a real-life girlfriend. That just sucks. But anyways, both A. and I have noticed that he's been fighting with his girlfriend like right in front of everyone at the gym. The other day, she was running on the treadmill and he was talking to her and she was totally ignoring him. And then he gave one of those I-can't-believe-you laughs and stormed away. A. spotted that. I spotted her crying and asking for her keys which he reluctantly gave to her. Since I have new gym boyfriends, OGB's personal life is no longer of interest to me...however, I can't say a small part of me doesn't enjoy the fact that they are fighting. OGB is still hot and a girl can dream.

Book

Today I also finally forced myself to sit down and write for an hour and a half. Because I can no longer go to Kudo Beans (3rd St. and 1st Ave., home of McWigger - boycott it people, boycott it!!! Do it for me and woman-kind everywhere!), I took myself to Starbucks because you have to pay for Internet there...I knew I wouldn't and I wouldn't be distracted as I tried to write. And I wrote for an hour and a half and I got out four pages. I'm very pleased with them. I got out a short prologue and a pretty good outline for Chapter 1. I have no idea how to write a book, but I finally started today. And I think it went very well! Then I had to check my email so I came to my new coffee shop on 13th St. and Avenue B. It's a lot further from my house, but they have free wireless, good prices and a staff that doesn't throw spare change at my head.

Random...

Beyond Z-List Celebrity Sightings

So today I had a few "celeb" sightings, I say celeb in quotes because they are really totally beyond even a letter in the list...but I saw the Iranian comic from the first season of Last Comic Standing, who I recognized because when I went to Caroline's to see Gary Gulman, he opened. Maybe he was the second season of Last Comic Standing. It doesn't matter because no one else would recognize him but me.

The second person was slightly better, but I am pretty sure I saw one of the girls from the Road Rules that took place on the boat. Ayana maybe? I think someone stole her bra and they had a fight. That one. Yeah I know...I didn't care either.

Boring.

The Other Day, I Accidently Kicked a Baby

So a few Sundays ago, when Bmoney and RR were in town, my roommates, Bmoney and I all went out to brunch. We were all tired and full when brunch was done and as we stood on the corner deciding what to do next, I realized I needed a good stretch. Welcome Back Lia had been the night before, and as usual, Bmoney and I had torn up the dance floor so my legs were a bit sore.

So as I’m standing on the corner, I’m looking to the right and I kick my left leg out to the left, an unusual move in and of itself, as normally, I don't kick my legs straight out to the side in order to stretch them. I bend down or whatever. So anyways, I kick my leg out, only I make contact with something when really all I should have felt was air. I look left. I see nothing. I look down. I see a toddler...looking at me...slightly startled, his Tootsie Roll Pop on the ground. My hands flew to my mouth. I had kicked a goddamn baby in the face.

My roommates stared. Bmoney stared. I stared. I looked at the mom. She was staring at me…not angrily (THANK GOD), as I hadn’t injured the baby, just kicked the lollipop straight from his mouth.

We all just continued staring when I finally was able to get out, "Oh My God. I am SOOOOOO sorry! I just KICKED your son."

The mom was like "It’s ok, you didn’t mean it."

I was like, "I just kicked your baby. Now he doesn't have a lollipop."

She laughed. I looked down again and it was actually the baby giving me the dirty look.

Hands still at my mouth, friends still silent in surprise, I continued to apologize. The mom said no problem again and their party continued on.

Once they were about ten steps away, we all collapsed in laughter. Turns out, it’s kind of funny to kick a baby in the face....as long as the baby doesn't get hurt.

McWigger Strikes Again

On Grey's Anatomy, there is McDreamy. And a McSteamy. On the new TV show, Lia's Anatomy, there is McWigger.

Lately, I’ve been avoiding the coffee shop to stay away from McWigger. McWigger is the guy who asked me if I liked porn in the middle of our “date” and he manages the coffee shop that I like, which is how I came to meet him. I thought he owned it…and not that I’m one of those girls…but I’m one of those girls…and he actually manages it. This and other horrifying facts came out on our “date” and long story, short, I’ve been avoiding the coffee shop ever since.

McWigger is not very mature and I knew that he would not handle himself as a 31-year-old properly should, had I continued to frequent the store as I was. However, quite frankly, I’m tired of trekking all over town trying to find a place that was just as close and just as cheap. It’s not fair. So I took the bull by the horns and brought the paper there on Friday.

I’ve done this a few times and thankfully have not run into him, but I knew my luck would run out. As it were, Friday was the day luck was taking a vacation. I heard him before I saw him, because McWigger is the loudest f*ing person on the face of planet Earth (time has not been kind to McWigger in my mind. I'm a Scorpio. Once I decide I don't like you, I hate you. I have officially crossed over to the I-Hate-McWigger side of the Force). I knew it would only be a matter of time until he came over to bother me and I was mentally prepared. Sure enough, I’m reading the Post, pretending to be entirely and utterly engrossed in whatever it was I was reading when the chair opposite me gets kicked and comes crashing into the table. This was a McWigger version of hello. I was ready for it though and I totally pretended like I didn’t even notice. A normal person might take this as a hint – but, then again, a normal person wouldn’t have kicked the f*ing chair to begin with. Predictably, the chair gets kicked again, this time much harder. I look up with an untterly non-amused expression on my face to find McWigger staring down.

Me: Oh hey, what’s going on?

McWigger: How are you?

Me: Pretty good, how are you?

McW: You tell me.

Me: Tell you what?

McW: How I’m doing.

Me: I don’t get it.

McW: Tell me how I’m doing.

Me: What?

McW: You tell me how I’m doing.

Me: Ummm…alright. You’re doing …fine?

McW: Yes I’m doing fine.

Me: Okay. Great. Good for you.

At this point, I was hoping the conversation was over, but McWigger then whipped out his new cell phone to show it off to me. As it happens, it’s a Samsung and I was just in the Samsung store in the TimeWarner Center, looking at this very phone, which is the slimmest in the world. At the store, they told me it was only available in Korea, so I inquired about how he was able to get it. “I paid $500 for it,” was the response. “Of course you did” was mine. He then proceeded to tell me it had a camera on it that could take pictures in very rapid succession. “Cool,” I said. “Yes, it’s great for porn,” was his response. No lie. I had enough. I don't know what his stupid porn kick is about, but it's disrespectful and I was taking a stand. I was like, “What the fuck does that mean?” His answer, “Um, I don’t know.” I replied, “Well, I’m going to get back to the paper now.”

I tried to go back to the paper but McWigger refused to let the conversation die and we spent a few more minutes talking about crap. By crap, I mean McWigger was threatening to call this guy who also visits the coffee shop regularly named Eric. Eric is a cool guy, and I knew he developed a small crush on me, but I was not interested. Eric has bad teeth and is in need of a good haircut, and probably a good shower as well. However, Eric can talk about many things including art and history and politics and he’s traveled. McWigger’s conversation points consist of porn references (see above and original entry) and how much money he spends on absolute crap. I was like go ahead and call Eric then, so he starts to dial, realizes I don’t give a shit and hangs up. He finally goes back to work. I was hoping this was the end of it.

However, several minutes later he’s back by the table cleaning up some papers that were under it. The last paper he throws on top of what I’m reading. Without looking up, I take the paper, fold it, and place in somewhere deep in the back of the newspaper. I continue reading.

Several seconds later, and I cannot make this up, a fucking dime nails me in the throat. McWigger had whipped a dime at me and hit me in the fucking neck. I wanted to stand up and yell “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? GROW. THE. FUCK. UP!!!!” But I didn’t. I couldn’t give him the satisfaction. So, I took the dime, which had bounced off me and onto the table, and put it in my purse. It was about 2:40 p.m. I told myself I’d leave at 3 p.m. And find a new coffee shop. Forever.

But McWigger wasn’t done. Minutes later, he is hovering over me again. Now I’m seriously furious. A.) Get a fucking clue. B.) Grow up. C) Leave me the hell alone. All of these things I wanted to scream while kicking him repeatedly in the balls, but I restrained and just ignored him. I was doing the SuDoKu puzzle and just wanted to be left in peace to finish it because I was making record time.

No such luck. McWigger circles again and stands over my table. I am seriously filled with rage, but I keep my head down and ignore him. This is when McWigger grabs the pen out of my hand. I look up. He looks at me, looks at the puzzle and then the douchebag starts filling in numbers. I grab the pen. I’m like "What the hell are you doing?" He’s like "Revenge is a bitch." I’m like "Revenge for WHAT?" He goes to write in the puzzle again. I put my hand over it and say, "Stop it. Now." He goes to write on my hand but winds up cutting it with the pen instead. I go, "You just cut my hand you fucking asshole, STOP IT." He lets go…thinking that I was joking. I give him the dirtiest look the world has ever seen, call him a douchebag under my breath and go back to the puzzle. It’s now 2:57 and I decide I’ve had more than enough.

I pick up the paper and walk out of the shop. He watches me go and I give him a peace sign over my shoulder. As in PEACE BITCH.

I fucking hate McWigger.