Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Jessica Simpson is Dating John Mayer
YESSSSS. This means she is not dating Dane Cook, which means the coast is clear for me to do so. Unless George Eads and I meet. Then Dane and I might done. Or, if Mark Wahlberg decides he's madly in love with me, then the both of them are done.
Another Reason to Hate Clowns
In Ireland today, a hot-air balloon caught fire during a circus stunt, killing a clown acrobat as dozens of children watched.
Now this is obviously sad and I’m sorry that it happened. But it also just gives me another reason to hate clowns.
I never used to hate clowns, it was everyone else’s fear of clowns that made me take a closer look at how freakish they really are. If you are a clown and are reading this, I’m sorry…but there is something scary about the Casper face and giant blood red mouth that are the staples of most clown faces. Those huge eyes…ugh I shudder just thinking about it.
Not too long ago, I rented the David LaChapelle movie Rize about a group of people in California who krump, which is this crazy form of dancing..but they do it dressed as clowns. The movie got great reviews and I’m all for dance movies in general…but about a half hour in, I just couldn’t get over the clown thing. And crazy looking clowns doing crazy, seizure-like dances? Are you kidding me? It was terrifying. I should also note that this was the same day as St. Patrick’s Day in Hoboken, where I drank for 11 hours straight before getting a piece of pizza, stealing a Snapple, shoveling some M&M's in my mouth, running for the Path train and then collapsing on my couch with only a vague idea of how I go there. So I may have been pre-disposed to terror, but only a little bit.
Witnesses at the circus said the man, dressed in a clown outfit, was hanging from a cage suspended by ropes and a hot-air balloon inside the canvas tent. When the balloon exploded in flames, the cage fell on top of the man.
How ironic is it that this happens, but never the guys who work with the lions or bears? It’s always the f***ing clowns isn’t it?
Now this is obviously sad and I’m sorry that it happened. But it also just gives me another reason to hate clowns.
I never used to hate clowns, it was everyone else’s fear of clowns that made me take a closer look at how freakish they really are. If you are a clown and are reading this, I’m sorry…but there is something scary about the Casper face and giant blood red mouth that are the staples of most clown faces. Those huge eyes…ugh I shudder just thinking about it.
Not too long ago, I rented the David LaChapelle movie Rize about a group of people in California who krump, which is this crazy form of dancing..but they do it dressed as clowns. The movie got great reviews and I’m all for dance movies in general…but about a half hour in, I just couldn’t get over the clown thing. And crazy looking clowns doing crazy, seizure-like dances? Are you kidding me? It was terrifying. I should also note that this was the same day as St. Patrick’s Day in Hoboken, where I drank for 11 hours straight before getting a piece of pizza, stealing a Snapple, shoveling some M&M's in my mouth, running for the Path train and then collapsing on my couch with only a vague idea of how I go there. So I may have been pre-disposed to terror, but only a little bit.
Witnesses at the circus said the man, dressed in a clown outfit, was hanging from a cage suspended by ropes and a hot-air balloon inside the canvas tent. When the balloon exploded in flames, the cage fell on top of the man.
How ironic is it that this happens, but never the guys who work with the lions or bears? It’s always the f***ing clowns isn’t it?
Monday, August 28, 2006
A little pissy....
http://www.forbes.com/home/2006/08/23/Marriage-Careers-Divorce_cx_mn_land.html
Attached is the link to a disturbing article recently written by a male writer at Forbe’s magazine, as well as the rebuttal written by his female colleague.
The gist of the male writer’s article is that men should not marry career women. Her rebuttal is that men should be open to learning the things that a successful spouse brings to the table.
The person who sent me the article is the type of person who wouldn’t mind getting married, quitting work and start pumping out babies - and I don’t hold that against her, it’s her choice. But I know she also sent the article out of fear…almost a here you go ladies, I told you so. I’m not meeting anyone because I have a degree. It’s just who this girl is.
But I was offended that she sent it to me and I told her so because she knows (at least I think she does) that I am not like that. And I disagree with the female writer’s basic point of view. Though I agree that two people can both be successful AND happy, I think the underlying problem of the male writer’s article boils down to insecurity.
My rebuttal would have been simple. Grow a set and shut the fuck up. If you can’t handle that the person you are with may be more successful than you, then the issue isn’t the person, it’s you. And your ridiculous ego. There are plenty of girls out there who want to be taken care of, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. That’s a choice, and the beauty of this day and age is that the choice falls squarely on you. And from what I’ve seen, it’s pretty clear from the get-go when you meet someone what type of life that person wants to lead. Or, throughout the course of the relationship it's something that is discussed...evolved...whatever. But I highly doubt that two years into a marriage, any woman whips around one day and says you know what? All this time I've said I've been a receptionist, but actually, I hold dual masters degrees from Princeton and Yale..and surprise! I'm a CEO!
It should be no huge awakening if a woman's career takes off or if she becomes successful. After all, anyone with a degree hopes for this for at least some part of their working life and the pursuit of that success should be very plainly obvious to a spouse. So if it does happen, and if a man holds that against her, knowing full well who she is before they get married...than he is an asshole and she is better off without him. I’m so tired of men (and women) blaming women for success. Welcome to the 21st century assholes…deal with it.
Attached is the link to a disturbing article recently written by a male writer at Forbe’s magazine, as well as the rebuttal written by his female colleague.
The gist of the male writer’s article is that men should not marry career women. Her rebuttal is that men should be open to learning the things that a successful spouse brings to the table.
The person who sent me the article is the type of person who wouldn’t mind getting married, quitting work and start pumping out babies - and I don’t hold that against her, it’s her choice. But I know she also sent the article out of fear…almost a here you go ladies, I told you so. I’m not meeting anyone because I have a degree. It’s just who this girl is.
But I was offended that she sent it to me and I told her so because she knows (at least I think she does) that I am not like that. And I disagree with the female writer’s basic point of view. Though I agree that two people can both be successful AND happy, I think the underlying problem of the male writer’s article boils down to insecurity.
My rebuttal would have been simple. Grow a set and shut the fuck up. If you can’t handle that the person you are with may be more successful than you, then the issue isn’t the person, it’s you. And your ridiculous ego. There are plenty of girls out there who want to be taken care of, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. That’s a choice, and the beauty of this day and age is that the choice falls squarely on you. And from what I’ve seen, it’s pretty clear from the get-go when you meet someone what type of life that person wants to lead. Or, throughout the course of the relationship it's something that is discussed...evolved...whatever. But I highly doubt that two years into a marriage, any woman whips around one day and says you know what? All this time I've said I've been a receptionist, but actually, I hold dual masters degrees from Princeton and Yale..and surprise! I'm a CEO!
It should be no huge awakening if a woman's career takes off or if she becomes successful. After all, anyone with a degree hopes for this for at least some part of their working life and the pursuit of that success should be very plainly obvious to a spouse. So if it does happen, and if a man holds that against her, knowing full well who she is before they get married...than he is an asshole and she is better off without him. I’m so tired of men (and women) blaming women for success. Welcome to the 21st century assholes…deal with it.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
The Rules of Text Messaging – Continued
Although I don’t have any new rules to add to the list just yet, I do want to pat myself on the back for taking my own advice. I received a text message and had two options:
1.) Not respond
2.) Respond with a nothing text
Since I was just in the position of corresponding with someone who sent me nothing text messages, I decided to go with option 1. Because to receive a text message that says nothing accomplishes nothing. It doesn’t make the receiver feel any better and it doesn’t let the sender do what they really want, which is to communicate to the receiver that they are not interested. In the spirit of do unto others, the next time I see the person I am just going to let them know I am not interested and be done with it.
Congratulations to me for taking the first step to maturity… in the text messaging department at least.
1.) Not respond
2.) Respond with a nothing text
Since I was just in the position of corresponding with someone who sent me nothing text messages, I decided to go with option 1. Because to receive a text message that says nothing accomplishes nothing. It doesn’t make the receiver feel any better and it doesn’t let the sender do what they really want, which is to communicate to the receiver that they are not interested. In the spirit of do unto others, the next time I see the person I am just going to let them know I am not interested and be done with it.
Congratulations to me for taking the first step to maturity… in the text messaging department at least.
Friday, August 25, 2006
August 25
August 25
Today is a small vindication day for me of sorts. This was supposed to be the day my dad and I moved me back to Florida. Last night, we were supposed to go to dinner and a show and then load up the van and begin the two day drive.
About three weeks ago, I called that off believing it was a mistake. Last night, I went to the coffee shop to finish up a job and today, rather than leaving NYC behind, I am sitting in my room doing work on another job.
Yesterday, I made my room into a little office and it worked extremely well. Today I have done the same thing. I am not sure where this road is leading just yet, but if this week was any indication, I will be fine and I am excited.
I had such a different vision for this day for so long, it’s so interesting to realize that it’s never a good idea to try and crystal ball your future – you never know what’s coming your way.
Project Runway
Ummmm…pretty much this is the best show ever made. What really sucks though is that one of my assignments is doing work for Fashion Week and it’s not inconceivable that I could have gotten tickets to the finale through my contacts. What SUCKS ASS is that I will not be in New York on that day. What ROCKS is that I will be on a cruise ship, but when my choices are between have fun or have fun, I always get frustrated. Anyways, next season I will plan better and I will be at that show dammit. Or I will kill people trying to get there.
Anyways, my front runner is Uli. I think she makes the most beautiful things, and she does it all so quietly and without causing any drama. My second favorite is Michael – his style is so smart and sophisticated, and he’s another one who causes zero problems. Just comes in, kicks ass and leaves. I really hope these two make it to the finals. I’m trying to decide who I think should be the third. Laura has not made anything ugly yet, she’s consistent, but a bit boring and predictable. I really liked Allison and didn’t think she deserved to get kicked off last week, so that’s not a possibility. Kane can be a bit over the top but he’s always fun. Jeffrey was cool til this week…I’m not sure…think I need one more episode to see who takes that third spot, in my expert opinion.
Monday
Now that I've figured out how to earn an income while I'm figuring out what to do with the rest of my life, I am going to start writing my book in earnest on Monday. I now have the resources and time to work on it, and that's all I've been saying I've needed. And now I have it so there's no excuse. I have the whole thing written in my head, just gotta get it out on paper. Or screen, as it were.
Today is a small vindication day for me of sorts. This was supposed to be the day my dad and I moved me back to Florida. Last night, we were supposed to go to dinner and a show and then load up the van and begin the two day drive.
About three weeks ago, I called that off believing it was a mistake. Last night, I went to the coffee shop to finish up a job and today, rather than leaving NYC behind, I am sitting in my room doing work on another job.
Yesterday, I made my room into a little office and it worked extremely well. Today I have done the same thing. I am not sure where this road is leading just yet, but if this week was any indication, I will be fine and I am excited.
I had such a different vision for this day for so long, it’s so interesting to realize that it’s never a good idea to try and crystal ball your future – you never know what’s coming your way.
Project Runway
Ummmm…pretty much this is the best show ever made. What really sucks though is that one of my assignments is doing work for Fashion Week and it’s not inconceivable that I could have gotten tickets to the finale through my contacts. What SUCKS ASS is that I will not be in New York on that day. What ROCKS is that I will be on a cruise ship, but when my choices are between have fun or have fun, I always get frustrated. Anyways, next season I will plan better and I will be at that show dammit. Or I will kill people trying to get there.
Anyways, my front runner is Uli. I think she makes the most beautiful things, and she does it all so quietly and without causing any drama. My second favorite is Michael – his style is so smart and sophisticated, and he’s another one who causes zero problems. Just comes in, kicks ass and leaves. I really hope these two make it to the finals. I’m trying to decide who I think should be the third. Laura has not made anything ugly yet, she’s consistent, but a bit boring and predictable. I really liked Allison and didn’t think she deserved to get kicked off last week, so that’s not a possibility. Kane can be a bit over the top but he’s always fun. Jeffrey was cool til this week…I’m not sure…think I need one more episode to see who takes that third spot, in my expert opinion.
Monday
Now that I've figured out how to earn an income while I'm figuring out what to do with the rest of my life, I am going to start writing my book in earnest on Monday. I now have the resources and time to work on it, and that's all I've been saying I've needed. And now I have it so there's no excuse. I have the whole thing written in my head, just gotta get it out on paper. Or screen, as it were.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Ugh
New Gym Boyfriend
I am happy to report that I have a new gym boyfriend. FINALLY. I was getting sick of having to rely on my old one for distraction while I toil away on the treadmill. Because he's a douchebag. I found out he has a girlfriend for sure, so that pretty much solidified the "break-up" I imposed on our non-relationship a few months ago.
On a sidenote, I must say, not working has agreed with me in the sense that I’m definitely the skinniest since I’ve been since about 18 years old…I’m only five pounds away from my soccer weight…and although I don’t have the definition I had back then I’m still pretty happy with the way I look. Especially since I’m taking a cruise in a few weeks and I didn't want to have that pasty, fat girl look about me, which was the path I was headed down. It’s bad enough I look like Casper wearing white makeup half the time, I didn’t want the lower belly roll and cellulite to complete the look.
Anyways, last Saturday I spied a new Gym Boyfriend, but the problem is I have no idea what his workout schedule is, so seeing him will be a crapshoot at best. However, this is good because I’m not into being a stalker…not a full-fledged stalker anyways. If he walks in great, if not, staring out the window it is.
Wedding Solo
Long story short, I totally f***ed up my first wedding by myself. Thinking I would need to combat any depression that would choose to present itself from having to do my first wedding alone, I drank heavily. All was fine through dinner, when actually my friend’s date gave me his lobster and all his sushi…which made me extremely happy because that meant I had two lobsters. However, eventually the alcohol settled and I began to not feel well. I attempted to dance it out, however, the band was not playing the type of music I liked, plus I had no one to dance with. There were two other guys at the table, neither of which struck my fancy. But as it turns out, it was no matter because I had to go to the bathroom and throw up anyway. Right in the middle of the damn wedding, which is like the unclassiest thing I think I’ve ever done. The good news is, I felt better and the bathroom contained a toothbrush so my secret was safe. But still. For Christsakes I threw up at the wedding. On the upside, I consumed no calories in the end, helping me on my weight loss goal. On the downside, I believe that is called bulimia.
Dating Sucks
I knew the day would come eventually, but last week I received my first rejection. I went on a date with someone and they blew me off after. I am fine with this. It happens to everyone and I knew my day would come. However, attempting to heal my ego a bit, I accepted a date with someone who I really didn’t want to go on a date with. I told my friends that "lower standards were the new high standards." They all begged me to reconsider, but that was my new position and I was sticking to it. But as it turns out, you should always trust your instincts, or at the very least, your friends. The date in and of itself was fine…just very awkward. For example…the guy asked me out on a second date. My reply, maybe we could get through dinner first? He literally asked me out again before the main entrée came. He also asked me about ten times how he was doing. And if I was having fun. And that he couldn't believe I said yes to going out in the first place. Then, he asked like ten more times. I wanted to die. Anyways, long story short, I’ve reversed my position on lowered standards. You can have low expectations, but not low standards. If not, you wind up with someone who told you they went out and bought new shoes and new socks, because they didn’t own any that were appropriate to “go out with a girl like you.” And then he told me how much they cost. And he told me how much his TV costs, how much he pays in child support, how much he spent at brunch last week, how much he is going to tip our waitress, how much he tipped the waitress last week (that was after he told me he asked the restaurant manager to fight him outside), and long story short, I can tell you every penny that he has spent in the last two weeks...including how much he paid for the outfit he was currently wearing in order to go out with me. Yeah...I've reversed my opinion on low standards.
I am happy to report that I have a new gym boyfriend. FINALLY. I was getting sick of having to rely on my old one for distraction while I toil away on the treadmill. Because he's a douchebag. I found out he has a girlfriend for sure, so that pretty much solidified the "break-up" I imposed on our non-relationship a few months ago.
On a sidenote, I must say, not working has agreed with me in the sense that I’m definitely the skinniest since I’ve been since about 18 years old…I’m only five pounds away from my soccer weight…and although I don’t have the definition I had back then I’m still pretty happy with the way I look. Especially since I’m taking a cruise in a few weeks and I didn't want to have that pasty, fat girl look about me, which was the path I was headed down. It’s bad enough I look like Casper wearing white makeup half the time, I didn’t want the lower belly roll and cellulite to complete the look.
Anyways, last Saturday I spied a new Gym Boyfriend, but the problem is I have no idea what his workout schedule is, so seeing him will be a crapshoot at best. However, this is good because I’m not into being a stalker…not a full-fledged stalker anyways. If he walks in great, if not, staring out the window it is.
Wedding Solo
Long story short, I totally f***ed up my first wedding by myself. Thinking I would need to combat any depression that would choose to present itself from having to do my first wedding alone, I drank heavily. All was fine through dinner, when actually my friend’s date gave me his lobster and all his sushi…which made me extremely happy because that meant I had two lobsters. However, eventually the alcohol settled and I began to not feel well. I attempted to dance it out, however, the band was not playing the type of music I liked, plus I had no one to dance with. There were two other guys at the table, neither of which struck my fancy. But as it turns out, it was no matter because I had to go to the bathroom and throw up anyway. Right in the middle of the damn wedding, which is like the unclassiest thing I think I’ve ever done. The good news is, I felt better and the bathroom contained a toothbrush so my secret was safe. But still. For Christsakes I threw up at the wedding. On the upside, I consumed no calories in the end, helping me on my weight loss goal. On the downside, I believe that is called bulimia.
Dating Sucks
I knew the day would come eventually, but last week I received my first rejection. I went on a date with someone and they blew me off after. I am fine with this. It happens to everyone and I knew my day would come. However, attempting to heal my ego a bit, I accepted a date with someone who I really didn’t want to go on a date with. I told my friends that "lower standards were the new high standards." They all begged me to reconsider, but that was my new position and I was sticking to it. But as it turns out, you should always trust your instincts, or at the very least, your friends. The date in and of itself was fine…just very awkward. For example…the guy asked me out on a second date. My reply, maybe we could get through dinner first? He literally asked me out again before the main entrée came. He also asked me about ten times how he was doing. And if I was having fun. And that he couldn't believe I said yes to going out in the first place. Then, he asked like ten more times. I wanted to die. Anyways, long story short, I’ve reversed my position on lowered standards. You can have low expectations, but not low standards. If not, you wind up with someone who told you they went out and bought new shoes and new socks, because they didn’t own any that were appropriate to “go out with a girl like you.” And then he told me how much they cost. And he told me how much his TV costs, how much he pays in child support, how much he spent at brunch last week, how much he is going to tip our waitress, how much he tipped the waitress last week (that was after he told me he asked the restaurant manager to fight him outside), and long story short, I can tell you every penny that he has spent in the last two weeks...including how much he paid for the outfit he was currently wearing in order to go out with me. Yeah...I've reversed my opinion on low standards.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
I Hate To Say I Told You So But....
....I was right in regards to how I thought Kevin Federline would be received by the hip-hop community.
http://www.cnn.com/2006/SHOWBIZ/Music/08/22/music.kfeds.debut.ap/index.html
I think I will head over to any open auditions for E, Access Hollywood or VH1 have in the near future.
I won't even get into Britney, as my sentiments on her are clear. All I can say is I saw that s*** coming in 1999 when she first came out. How sweet it is to be proven right!
http://www.cnn.com/2006/SHOWBIZ/Music/08/22/music.kfeds.debut.ap/index.html
I think I will head over to any open auditions for E, Access Hollywood or VH1 have in the near future.
I won't even get into Britney, as my sentiments on her are clear. All I can say is I saw that s*** coming in 1999 when she first came out. How sweet it is to be proven right!
Monday, August 21, 2006
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Like Bill Maher, I'm Making New Rules
Post Number 100
This is my 100th post - hooray!
Rules of Engagement: Text Messaging
Over the weekend, my friend Am. broke up with her boyfriend of six years via text message, pretty much ushering in a new era for boys and girls everywhere. It is now official that there is nothing that can't be done via text message, but it begs the question, what SHOULD be done via text message?
I remember when I first started using text messaging, it was for trying to find people in crowded bars, maybe sending a phone number or directions - little tiny things. I'm not exactly sure when it escalated into an alternate means of communication - with everyone, including my mom. Everyone is doing it. And I think it's problematic. As do my friends, especially Am. who is not exactly jumping up and down about the fact that her six year relationship ended by her dialing on her telephone key pad.
So we started discussing today new rules for text messaing. Things that should be done to ensure that you don't get caught up in this phenomenon. The first few thoughts are as follows:
1.) Just pretend you don't have it when you first meet someone. That way you don't have to ever worry about it at all.
2.) If the cat's out of the bag, keep it short and simple. No making of plans, no engaging in full-blown conversations...basics only.
3.) Don't use it as a cop out. Don't use a text to say something you don't mean, don't use it to say nothing. Now we're all totally guilty of this, but I think my new thing is just not to respond if I don't feel like I really want to or if I'm trying to cut someone off. I feel like this particular bullet will need some amending because this is way easier said than done, but the intent to do the right thing will be there.
This is as far as we got, but I'm sure as more texting faux pas' are committed - against us and by us - there will be many more.
Kevin Federline
OMG I F***ING LOVED IT!!! (For anyone who didn't carve out the time to watch the Teen Choice Awards tonight, Kevin Federline closed the show, first introduced by Britney Spears..who looked horrible. Anyways, he performed, and by performed I mean sucked ass.) Kevin Federline is the biggest douchebag in the history of douchebags. Like the biggest. Ever. And I loved it. I can't WAIT to see what the entertainment industry has to say about it. But since I have my finger on the pulse of the entertainment industry, and because I am super knowledgeable on all things pop culture, as a matter of fact, I could probably be a very excellent reporter on E! News Tonight, I am predicting that K-Fed gets vilified and raked across the coals. You read it here first.
This is my 100th post - hooray!
Rules of Engagement: Text Messaging
Over the weekend, my friend Am. broke up with her boyfriend of six years via text message, pretty much ushering in a new era for boys and girls everywhere. It is now official that there is nothing that can't be done via text message, but it begs the question, what SHOULD be done via text message?
I remember when I first started using text messaging, it was for trying to find people in crowded bars, maybe sending a phone number or directions - little tiny things. I'm not exactly sure when it escalated into an alternate means of communication - with everyone, including my mom. Everyone is doing it. And I think it's problematic. As do my friends, especially Am. who is not exactly jumping up and down about the fact that her six year relationship ended by her dialing on her telephone key pad.
So we started discussing today new rules for text messaing. Things that should be done to ensure that you don't get caught up in this phenomenon. The first few thoughts are as follows:
1.) Just pretend you don't have it when you first meet someone. That way you don't have to ever worry about it at all.
2.) If the cat's out of the bag, keep it short and simple. No making of plans, no engaging in full-blown conversations...basics only.
3.) Don't use it as a cop out. Don't use a text to say something you don't mean, don't use it to say nothing. Now we're all totally guilty of this, but I think my new thing is just not to respond if I don't feel like I really want to or if I'm trying to cut someone off. I feel like this particular bullet will need some amending because this is way easier said than done, but the intent to do the right thing will be there.
This is as far as we got, but I'm sure as more texting faux pas' are committed - against us and by us - there will be many more.
Kevin Federline
OMG I F***ING LOVED IT!!! (For anyone who didn't carve out the time to watch the Teen Choice Awards tonight, Kevin Federline closed the show, first introduced by Britney Spears..who looked horrible. Anyways, he performed, and by performed I mean sucked ass.) Kevin Federline is the biggest douchebag in the history of douchebags. Like the biggest. Ever. And I loved it. I can't WAIT to see what the entertainment industry has to say about it. But since I have my finger on the pulse of the entertainment industry, and because I am super knowledgeable on all things pop culture, as a matter of fact, I could probably be a very excellent reporter on E! News Tonight, I am predicting that K-Fed gets vilified and raked across the coals. You read it here first.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
The Best Story Ever is Developing
The Day I Get to Go to the Colbert Report in a Bald Eagle Costume
In what might be the best developing story of my life...tomorrow I'm going to be making a visit to the Colbert Report...handing out nutritional bars...in a bald eagle costume. I'm getting paid to do this. I'm getting paid a lot. I'm not saying anymore until I have photos and a story to go with it. But obviously, this is going to be one of the best stories ever.
Old Men Wearing Suits
Is there anything cuter than a little old man wearing a three piece suit in the city? Whenever I see one, I get all happy inside and have to resist the urge to run over and give them a hug. If one day, a Model T happens to roll by as I'm watching an old man in a three-pieced suit walk past me, and then a milkman strolls by and says "good morning," I think I'll just die of happiness. Whenever I see one, I wish that NYC was still full of men wearing three-piece suits, top hats and pocket watches...until I realize that would mean women would probably be wearing corsets and pinafores. It may be worth it.
The thought of that reminds me of a situation I found myself in six weeks ago at the Painted Desert National Park. I found myself in a bathroom full of Amish woman adjusting their bonnets. I was wearing jeans, a wife beater and a zip-up hoodie that took that moment to decide and fall off my shoulder...giving me a disheveled look. All I could think to myself was, "Oh my god they must think you are such a slut in this outfit" even though:
a.) I totally was not and
b.) They were wearing bonnets for Christsakes
But of more importance to me at that moment was one thought - "how the f*&% did they get here in the first place??" I didn't recall seeing any horses and buggies in the parking lot, so I finished my business and left the bathroom to investigate. When I walked out, my three friends were staring in shock/wonder/amazement at the Amish man asking somewhat stupid questions of the nerdy Painted Desert employee. It was just so out of place. The Amish girls gave me another good looking-over when they realized a girl was traveling in a pack of three boys. At this point though I had bigger fish to fry - first of all, there was one man and like eight girls - no one looked old enough to be the wife and he didn't look old enough to be their father, which begged the question - are the Amish polygamists? No one knew. I also had to fight the strongest urge to yell out Ebenezer! Sarah! Rachel! Just to see if anyone would turn around.
My friends and I then cased the parking lot for any clue as to how the Amish may have arrived in ARIZONA and upon seeing nothing out of the ordinary, concluded that they must have rollerbladed there. From Pennsylvania.
Snakes on a Plane
Is anyone else totally pumped about seeing this? I am so there.
42 Hits
Yesterday was my biggest day ever for hits - 42 in all! Since pimping myself out in bald eagle costumes is not exactly the life work I had in mind, feel free to pass this link to anyone you see fit. Particularly friends who may work in publishing. That way I can get a book deal, or a Candace Bushnell-like column in the Post, and you can say you knew me when. :)
In what might be the best developing story of my life...tomorrow I'm going to be making a visit to the Colbert Report...handing out nutritional bars...in a bald eagle costume. I'm getting paid to do this. I'm getting paid a lot. I'm not saying anymore until I have photos and a story to go with it. But obviously, this is going to be one of the best stories ever.
Old Men Wearing Suits
Is there anything cuter than a little old man wearing a three piece suit in the city? Whenever I see one, I get all happy inside and have to resist the urge to run over and give them a hug. If one day, a Model T happens to roll by as I'm watching an old man in a three-pieced suit walk past me, and then a milkman strolls by and says "good morning," I think I'll just die of happiness. Whenever I see one, I wish that NYC was still full of men wearing three-piece suits, top hats and pocket watches...until I realize that would mean women would probably be wearing corsets and pinafores. It may be worth it.
The thought of that reminds me of a situation I found myself in six weeks ago at the Painted Desert National Park. I found myself in a bathroom full of Amish woman adjusting their bonnets. I was wearing jeans, a wife beater and a zip-up hoodie that took that moment to decide and fall off my shoulder...giving me a disheveled look. All I could think to myself was, "Oh my god they must think you are such a slut in this outfit" even though:
a.) I totally was not and
b.) They were wearing bonnets for Christsakes
But of more importance to me at that moment was one thought - "how the f*&% did they get here in the first place??" I didn't recall seeing any horses and buggies in the parking lot, so I finished my business and left the bathroom to investigate. When I walked out, my three friends were staring in shock/wonder/amazement at the Amish man asking somewhat stupid questions of the nerdy Painted Desert employee. It was just so out of place. The Amish girls gave me another good looking-over when they realized a girl was traveling in a pack of three boys. At this point though I had bigger fish to fry - first of all, there was one man and like eight girls - no one looked old enough to be the wife and he didn't look old enough to be their father, which begged the question - are the Amish polygamists? No one knew. I also had to fight the strongest urge to yell out Ebenezer! Sarah! Rachel! Just to see if anyone would turn around.
My friends and I then cased the parking lot for any clue as to how the Amish may have arrived in ARIZONA and upon seeing nothing out of the ordinary, concluded that they must have rollerbladed there. From Pennsylvania.
Snakes on a Plane
Is anyone else totally pumped about seeing this? I am so there.
42 Hits
Yesterday was my biggest day ever for hits - 42 in all! Since pimping myself out in bald eagle costumes is not exactly the life work I had in mind, feel free to pass this link to anyone you see fit. Particularly friends who may work in publishing. That way I can get a book deal, or a Candace Bushnell-like column in the Post, and you can say you knew me when. :)
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Bored
Not an Idiot
Not a whole lot is going on today, so this is actually kind of boring. But I think I accidently said yesterday that I wouldn't mind running into David Wright, third baseman of the Yankees. I actually realized this morning that I believe he is on the Mets. It doesn't really matter though - the point remains the same. I just didn't want everyone to think I'm an idiot.
So...I decided to take the plunge and go to my first wedding sans date. I asked three friends - one boy and two girls - all who had previous commitments. Following my three strikes and you're out rule, I will be giving it a go alone. Technically, this is nothing to worry about, I'm self-sufficient, but there is always a small part of you that wonders if you'll be the girl dressed up in her prom dress standing against the wall waiting for someone to ask her to dance. So to combat this possibility, I decided I will just get drunk and dance on my own- a plan which I've already run by the bride-to-be and gotten approved. She said she'd be doing the same. I warned her Shakira may be involved. She was okay with this. I also think some co-workers are going alone so that is good as well. However, if anyone out there is in the NY/NJ area on Saturday and has no plans, you know where to find me.
A First in Test-Taking
I took a test today to gauge my expertise in Word, Excel and Powerpoint to be able to freelance at my friends job and I was slightly disappointed to learn that I only rank in the 70th percentile of each. I found this slightly insulting, as when it comes to test-taking, I always want to be number one. I still remember the feeling of smug satisfaction when getting my standardized tests back and finding out that I technically ranked superior to 99% of my schoolmates. I even studied super hard for my driver's test when getting my permit so that would score a 100% (I missed one question.) Anyways, my weaknesses are the finer points like mail merges and charts...which made me feel a little bit better, but not really.
Morimoto
It's slightly unnatural that I'm beyond pumped for free food at Morimoto tonight. My friends and I were discussing over the weekend that its lucky we found each other because we all love food so much. Or maybe that's why we're all friends. Who knows. A. even remarked that she gets pumped to go to bed because that means breakfast is coming and I don't know anyone who gets more excited about eating dinner than I do. However, I've heard so much about the shrimp tempura at Morimoto, that I'm afraid I'm going to be disappointed unless they are dusted in gold and taste like rainbows. We'll see. I'm also super excited to debut an awesome new outfit that I have - which will hopefully make up for any disappointment the shrimp may provide. Hopefully tomorrow provides more interesting things to write about than this.
Not a whole lot is going on today, so this is actually kind of boring. But I think I accidently said yesterday that I wouldn't mind running into David Wright, third baseman of the Yankees. I actually realized this morning that I believe he is on the Mets. It doesn't really matter though - the point remains the same. I just didn't want everyone to think I'm an idiot.
So...I decided to take the plunge and go to my first wedding sans date. I asked three friends - one boy and two girls - all who had previous commitments. Following my three strikes and you're out rule, I will be giving it a go alone. Technically, this is nothing to worry about, I'm self-sufficient, but there is always a small part of you that wonders if you'll be the girl dressed up in her prom dress standing against the wall waiting for someone to ask her to dance. So to combat this possibility, I decided I will just get drunk and dance on my own- a plan which I've already run by the bride-to-be and gotten approved. She said she'd be doing the same. I warned her Shakira may be involved. She was okay with this. I also think some co-workers are going alone so that is good as well. However, if anyone out there is in the NY/NJ area on Saturday and has no plans, you know where to find me.
A First in Test-Taking
I took a test today to gauge my expertise in Word, Excel and Powerpoint to be able to freelance at my friends job and I was slightly disappointed to learn that I only rank in the 70th percentile of each. I found this slightly insulting, as when it comes to test-taking, I always want to be number one. I still remember the feeling of smug satisfaction when getting my standardized tests back and finding out that I technically ranked superior to 99% of my schoolmates. I even studied super hard for my driver's test when getting my permit so that would score a 100% (I missed one question.) Anyways, my weaknesses are the finer points like mail merges and charts...which made me feel a little bit better, but not really.
Morimoto
It's slightly unnatural that I'm beyond pumped for free food at Morimoto tonight. My friends and I were discussing over the weekend that its lucky we found each other because we all love food so much. Or maybe that's why we're all friends. Who knows. A. even remarked that she gets pumped to go to bed because that means breakfast is coming and I don't know anyone who gets more excited about eating dinner than I do. However, I've heard so much about the shrimp tempura at Morimoto, that I'm afraid I'm going to be disappointed unless they are dusted in gold and taste like rainbows. We'll see. I'm also super excited to debut an awesome new outfit that I have - which will hopefully make up for any disappointment the shrimp may provide. Hopefully tomorrow provides more interesting things to write about than this.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Dating in New York
Apparently dating in New York is done via text message and e-mail. I've only been in the game a few months, and so far this is my only observation - I'm sure many more are on the way. I can't decide if this is better and/or easier than traditional means of dating communications. My roommate had a two month dating experience in which her and her "friend" corresponded exclusively in these two ways, including their break up which we figured was done when one just didn't respond to the other. We agreed that this is indeed easier than a real break up, but it's also fake. A fake-up if you will...and there's nothing easy about that.
The problem in corresponding this way is that there is just too much time to think. Do I say "this" or do I say "that?" Do I send this out now or do I send it in an hour? My friend K. recently decided that since the guy she is texting with waited a day to respond to her, she would wait a day to respond back. This level of complexity is way to high for my liking.
And then the problem becomes, what if you don't hear back? Are you being cut off? Did you say something wrong? Should you indeed have said "that" when "this" would have been more clever?
And to make things even more complicated, what if you actually like the person? How do you proceed then? How do you manage not to seem too eager but maintain that you would like to stay in contact? Do you reach out or do you let him/her reach? It's all too much to bear! I always liked to joke that I'm a first date queen - that I never have had a good enough time with someone to go on a second date. But I recently went out with someone and I would totally go on a date again, but I haven't heard a word. And I know this happens all the time with my friends as well...what do you do then? I think in my case this may mean that I'm just getting a taste of my own medicine, but in an age of texting and IM how am I supposed to know for sure? You are always left to wonder if it was something you said or did, and second-guessing is maybe the worst thing human beings are capable of. Ok, maybe global terrorism or genocide is worse...but second guessing a text message is a very close second.
What is clear I guess is that there is no right or wrong answer to how to proceed. What works between one boy and girl may not work for another. I guess what is also clear is that I need to find something to do pronto, because I clearly have too much time on my hands.
I also think that the only logical answer to my personal dilemma is to perhaps just arrange to meet David Wright, third baseman for the Yankees. We're roughly the same age, he's hot, and he has to wear pinstripes to work...in my book this is check, check and check.
Brooke Hogan
I recently saw her video and only have two comments:
1.) I just want to make it abundantly clear that my dance off was NOTHING like the one she has in her video. The main difference being that hers is totally gay and mine was totally awesome.
2.) Why the F*$% is she wearing a grill and why does she continue to wear one? Ummm, we all watched Hogan Knows Best (and don't lie you know you totally caught at least one episode) and she hardly grew up in grill country, she grew up in like Malibu or something. She should try to wear that in the real 'hood...like where I'm from - running the streetz in the Boogie Down Boca, as we like to call it. Okay, as I like to call it. Ok I never called it that, but I digress. No matter where you're from, I think the general rule of thumb is White Kids + Grills = Grounds for an Ass Beating. White people are genetically predisposed to looking like a-holes in grills, cornrows and FuBu clothing. I don't understand why my people continue to make these very basic mistakes.
Driving in Manhattan
I have recently added "New York traffic dominator" to my bag of tricks. Last Thursday during a brief monsoon, I happened to be in control of a Toyota Corolla that was picking up people around Manhattan and navigating a flooded FDR. I was cutting off buses and cabdrivers, maneuvering around stopped and moving vehicles and just all out kicking ass. I was extremely pleased to learn that I posessed this skill...it means that if all else goes wrong, I can always be a sweet ass cab driver.
The problem in corresponding this way is that there is just too much time to think. Do I say "this" or do I say "that?" Do I send this out now or do I send it in an hour? My friend K. recently decided that since the guy she is texting with waited a day to respond to her, she would wait a day to respond back. This level of complexity is way to high for my liking.
And then the problem becomes, what if you don't hear back? Are you being cut off? Did you say something wrong? Should you indeed have said "that" when "this" would have been more clever?
And to make things even more complicated, what if you actually like the person? How do you proceed then? How do you manage not to seem too eager but maintain that you would like to stay in contact? Do you reach out or do you let him/her reach? It's all too much to bear! I always liked to joke that I'm a first date queen - that I never have had a good enough time with someone to go on a second date. But I recently went out with someone and I would totally go on a date again, but I haven't heard a word. And I know this happens all the time with my friends as well...what do you do then? I think in my case this may mean that I'm just getting a taste of my own medicine, but in an age of texting and IM how am I supposed to know for sure? You are always left to wonder if it was something you said or did, and second-guessing is maybe the worst thing human beings are capable of. Ok, maybe global terrorism or genocide is worse...but second guessing a text message is a very close second.
What is clear I guess is that there is no right or wrong answer to how to proceed. What works between one boy and girl may not work for another. I guess what is also clear is that I need to find something to do pronto, because I clearly have too much time on my hands.
I also think that the only logical answer to my personal dilemma is to perhaps just arrange to meet David Wright, third baseman for the Yankees. We're roughly the same age, he's hot, and he has to wear pinstripes to work...in my book this is check, check and check.
Brooke Hogan
I recently saw her video and only have two comments:
1.) I just want to make it abundantly clear that my dance off was NOTHING like the one she has in her video. The main difference being that hers is totally gay and mine was totally awesome.
2.) Why the F*$% is she wearing a grill and why does she continue to wear one? Ummm, we all watched Hogan Knows Best (and don't lie you know you totally caught at least one episode) and she hardly grew up in grill country, she grew up in like Malibu or something. She should try to wear that in the real 'hood...like where I'm from - running the streetz in the Boogie Down Boca, as we like to call it. Okay, as I like to call it. Ok I never called it that, but I digress. No matter where you're from, I think the general rule of thumb is White Kids + Grills = Grounds for an Ass Beating. White people are genetically predisposed to looking like a-holes in grills, cornrows and FuBu clothing. I don't understand why my people continue to make these very basic mistakes.
Driving in Manhattan
I have recently added "New York traffic dominator" to my bag of tricks. Last Thursday during a brief monsoon, I happened to be in control of a Toyota Corolla that was picking up people around Manhattan and navigating a flooded FDR. I was cutting off buses and cabdrivers, maneuvering around stopped and moving vehicles and just all out kicking ass. I was extremely pleased to learn that I posessed this skill...it means that if all else goes wrong, I can always be a sweet ass cab driver.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
People Tell Me Inappropriate Things
I have one of those faces that says "trust me." When I began driving and I needed to pick my friends up in their gated communities, the security guards hardly ever checked my name and the house I was going to. No sooner had I rolled the window a quarter of the way down, they were waving me through with hardly a second glance. I'm convinced I could have an extremely successful career in breaking and entering if I was so inclined.
I also seem to send out a vibe that says "tell me your life story, I really want to hear it." People will tell me their horrible tales of sadness or joy, ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends if I even so much as smile at them.
Yesterday, I was sitting at the coffee shop writing my marathon post from yesterday, when the owner of the coffee shop asked me what I was doing. We've become friendly over the course of the last few weeks, since I've spent an inordinate amount of time there reading the newspaper, magazines and books because I've have no job at the moment (which believe it or not, is starting to get boring, but more on that later.) Anyways, so I say "oh, nothing. just writing" and he says, "Oh, well I was hoping you'd be looking at porn."
I was kind of taken back because my first thought was, if I was looking at porn, I probably wouldn't be doing it here. But my second thought was, why would you say that to me? Out of all responses, that's what you tell me? I think a more appropriate response would have been "Writing what?" But hey, that's just me.
Thankfully I recovered quickly and said, "Well, when I'm looking at porn I'll give you the signal to come over" and then I gave him what the signal would be. He then requested a different signal and we agreed upon it. Then he left for the day, because this exchange occurred as he was leaving for the day. The whole situation was very bizarre and it got me thinking about some of the other wierd things people have said to me lately such as:
- "Great, just what I need, another woman to lie to me."
- "Yeah she is cute...too bad I don't know who her father is."
- "Your friend is a bitch."
- "Would you like me to sing you an Irish song I learned?" (To this, I actually said yes and then joined in. This took place in a cab. But that's wierd anywhere else in the world.)
- "Yes, they used to tell me, shut up you Haitian bastard! I'm not even Haitian!"
- "Hi, yes I'm a psychotherapist and I meet all my clients at coffee shops. It's hard to sit next to people who won't listen into our conversations, you wouldn't mind terribly moving over one spot?" (In truth, I didn't mind at all and offered to do it, but why would she put the thought in my head to listen in? I totally did, of course, and it was awesome.)
Yankees Hat
I can't reiterate enough that we are so over, but my Gym Boyfriend was wearing a Yankees hat today and it looked really cute. Coincidentally, I lost my Yankees hat in my room somewhere and can't find it. But then on the treadmill, I began to wonder if my Gym Boyfriend actually stole it and now wears it so that we can be closer together. I think it's totally possible. Tricky tricky, Gym Boyfriend, tricky tricky...but I'm onto you.
I also seem to send out a vibe that says "tell me your life story, I really want to hear it." People will tell me their horrible tales of sadness or joy, ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends if I even so much as smile at them.
Yesterday, I was sitting at the coffee shop writing my marathon post from yesterday, when the owner of the coffee shop asked me what I was doing. We've become friendly over the course of the last few weeks, since I've spent an inordinate amount of time there reading the newspaper, magazines and books because I've have no job at the moment (which believe it or not, is starting to get boring, but more on that later.) Anyways, so I say "oh, nothing. just writing" and he says, "Oh, well I was hoping you'd be looking at porn."
I was kind of taken back because my first thought was, if I was looking at porn, I probably wouldn't be doing it here. But my second thought was, why would you say that to me? Out of all responses, that's what you tell me? I think a more appropriate response would have been "Writing what?" But hey, that's just me.
Thankfully I recovered quickly and said, "Well, when I'm looking at porn I'll give you the signal to come over" and then I gave him what the signal would be. He then requested a different signal and we agreed upon it. Then he left for the day, because this exchange occurred as he was leaving for the day. The whole situation was very bizarre and it got me thinking about some of the other wierd things people have said to me lately such as:
- "Great, just what I need, another woman to lie to me."
- "Yeah she is cute...too bad I don't know who her father is."
- "Your friend is a bitch."
- "Would you like me to sing you an Irish song I learned?" (To this, I actually said yes and then joined in. This took place in a cab. But that's wierd anywhere else in the world.)
- "Yes, they used to tell me, shut up you Haitian bastard! I'm not even Haitian!"
- "Hi, yes I'm a psychotherapist and I meet all my clients at coffee shops. It's hard to sit next to people who won't listen into our conversations, you wouldn't mind terribly moving over one spot?" (In truth, I didn't mind at all and offered to do it, but why would she put the thought in my head to listen in? I totally did, of course, and it was awesome.)
Yankees Hat
I can't reiterate enough that we are so over, but my Gym Boyfriend was wearing a Yankees hat today and it looked really cute. Coincidentally, I lost my Yankees hat in my room somewhere and can't find it. But then on the treadmill, I began to wonder if my Gym Boyfriend actually stole it and now wears it so that we can be closer together. I think it's totally possible. Tricky tricky, Gym Boyfriend, tricky tricky...but I'm onto you.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Coincidences, Jessica Simpson, Shaki...and the Infamous Dance Off
Coincidence? I Think Not
I’ve written about it before, but it will never cease to amaze me that life’s biggest decisions are sometimes made in a matter of hours, minutes…even seconds. In my most recent case, it was made over a weekend.
As many of you know, I have long struggled with the idea of leaving New York, as I think all transplants always do. It’s hard to contemplate moving back to the suburbs when you know everything you are leaving behind to do so. As I do when I have big decisions to make, I look to the universe to give me signs if things are right or wrong…but in this case, every sign pointed in every direction and I just couldn’t tell.
However, when both the people who were going to take my room fell through (or as we were calling them “The New Lia”) and certain other things I thought would work out in Florida turned out not to be as picture-perfect as I was imagining...I knew I had my answer.
But as I alluded to before, this decision was not made without the patience, support and love of my friends and my family. Thank you to M and A who stayed up with me until the sun came up on Saturday morning (meaning all night Friday was spent in deep debate) to help me analyze EVERY AGONIZING point and counterpoint of staying, to P who refused to ever believe I was leaving in the first place and took every opportunity to remark how sad she was to see me go and just generally lay on the guilt, and of course to my mom and sister, who told me my decision was right, knowing that I always need them to confirm these things for me.
So…the good news is, I get to keep my kick ass apartment, I get to hang out with the influx of new friends I know are moving into the city, I may still get the chance to go to Newport, Rhode Island and Philadelphia, can continue eating my way across the city, add to my karaoke repertoire, and find Laura from Cellar Bar and go round two in the dance off when she doesn’t have the judge and jury in her pocket (see below for the dance off specifics)….and last but not least, I don’t have to change the point of this blog and can keep documenting the fantastic random shit I see in New York City. Cause somehow, I don’t think the crazy streets of Boca Raton and Ft. Lauderdale can really compare right now.
A Public Affair
Try as I might, even though she gets on my nerves, I still like Jessica Simpson. I admit, I was on Team Lachey for like two minutes, until I realized that I too would probably hook up with Johnny Knoxville and Adam Levine were they to hit on me. Ok…no I totally wouldn’t if I was married….Ok, ok I would totally consider it.
Anyways, today I got sucked into the Top 20 countdown on VH1 and finally caught the video for A Public Affair. I found myself wishing that I lived in Hollywood and could go rollerskating with my BFFs Eva Longoria, Christina Applegate and Christina Milian. The video is totally cheeste-tastic and gay, but I loved it enough to wish I was in it..so I guess that counts for something.
However, I still hope Joe Simpson dies in a fiery car crash.
Shakira
I also just have to point out that the countdown is officially on for me to see Shakira in Miami on September 15. Today, also during the VH1 countdown, the video for Hips Don't Lie came on, and I’m sad to say that this story is totally true, I got so excited I actually began to cry from sheer joy. Now I just need to find someone to go with me – so all interested applicants, feel free to contact me directly. Your ticket will be free!
My First, and Very Possibly Only, Dance Off
There has always been a small part of me that wanted to get in a fight. Like a real fight where I get punched in the face and I punch someone else in the face, and the end result is that I kick this person’s ass and stand over their body and yell “Take That Bitch!!!!”
The only problem is, I’m not a violent person. And chances are, the scenario above will never, ever happen. I hold out a small ray of hope, but as I get older, I realize the likelihood of this coming to fruition decreases every day. So I figure that the only way I can ever come close to being victorious over someone in a physical way is what may be my best hidden talent – no, not my cover of Bobby Brown’s “My Prerogative” (and note that I know how to spell it correctly) – but dance.
Thanks to my dad, Best Dancer of the Class of 1970, and my mom, who perfected the Hustle and the Bump at Studio 54 in the 70s…I just happen to be, through genetics, a phenomenal dancer. I think my friends would tend to agree.
And for someone of my dancing pedigree, I’ve secretly longed to be in a dance off. I can pinpoint this desire to a tabloid report circa 1999 or 2000 when it was reported Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake engaged in a dance off in a Hollywood club post break-up and pre-Kevin Federline. The desire was further fueled about two years ago when the show “So You Think You Can Dance?” began airing on TV. My answer? An enthusiastic yes, but because I never tried out for the show, I don’t watch it, because I can’t control the desire to dance around my room after it goes off, which is unbecoming of a 25-year old professional with roommates who would make fun of her if they ever caught her doing it. Nevermind a brother and sister who once found me out in 7th grade dancing full throttle in my room and made fun of me for oh, about 10 years after that.
Two Thursdays ago, I went out with three friends for dinner and after dinner, one decided it would be a good idea to go dancing. They suggested Cellar Bar, which I had never been to, so I said okay let’s do it. As with all nights that quickly spiral out of control, it started innocently enough, someone offered to order the first round. (It is helpful to note at this point that I also drank two beers with dinner, so this was my third drink of the evening and I usually have to tap out around four anyways). I love this move, because it forces the other people in the party to also order a round, meaning that you know your going to consume multiple drinks. Because I had cleared my plate at dinner, as usual, I was feeling a little sluggish so I got a Vodka and Red Bull, my drink of choice when I need to step up the energy level with the quickness. For the second round, which came around only 8 minutes later, I also ordered a Vodka Red Bull which means that upon the drink’s completion, my energy level was now roughly equivalent to the energy released when an A-Bomb explodes. The DJ was playing really fun songs and then he went for broke – he offered free bottles to the two best female dancers in the club. I was feeling lucky, but when I noticed that the first bottle went to the two girls who were making out, my friends and I decided that we weren’t going to go that far for victory. But the possibility still existed that we would win on the merits of our phenomenal dance moves so we continued dancing.
The third round came around, and I decided to switch my drink of choice to my new favorite – Stoli Raspberi and Sprite with a splash of cranberry and a lime. And this is where things started to turn around….the music was so loud that the drink came back a little wrong….I got a glass of Stoli with a splash of cranberry. The first sip was like getting punched in the stomach, I was, afterall, drinking vodka straight up. But anyone who drinks Red Bull knows what can happen when it’s coursing through your bloodstream – you are invincible. You can do anything. And so, I didn’t send the drink back…I drank it. Quickly. And I was basically having the best time ever.
So, N. and I are dancing near the front of the dance floor, hoping the DJ notices how great we are, but not hoping for much, when The Song comes on. Hips Don’t Lie. Shakira. We look at each other. We Smile. We begin to go crazy…when N. does the thing I’ve always needed someone to do – push me toward my destiny. She pushes me toward the “stage,” which is basically, the small platform in front of the DJ booth. She pushed me toward it, and I take the fateful step up…onto the platform. And I begin to shake.
At this point, I have to explain that I debuted the shake in Boston back in March, when N. and I went dancing after the taping of Dane Cook’s HBO special. I have the self-confidence to admit that I had been practicing. After watching the debut of Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie video, I decided I needed to learn how to dance as similar as possible. And so I began to practice…and because of genetics, as previously mentioned, I quickly got it down. I’m not nearly as good…but I’m good enough, and was very happy to learn that I can actually shake my hips extremely fast. And then I started to learn how to bellydance slightly, and then I learned how to combine the two. The result may be no more than an awesome party trick, but it’s awesome nonetheless.
So, now I’m up on stage in front of a packed dance floor doing the shake. And then people start watching. And they start cheering. And all I’m looking at is N. and our other two friends when I snap out of it and realize that I have an audience. And since the Red Bull and the straight vodka are in full control of me at this point, I decide I’m going to give everyone a show.
I’ve never danced so well. It was like I was Gumby. I could will my body to do whatever I thought. And when the song was done, and I swear to God that you can’t make this shit up, the audience cheered. And when I got down, people actually gave me five.
And that’s when the DJ threw it down. He said anyone who can shake faster than that wins the second bottle. I looked at N. – and very matter-of-factly stated, “No one can shake faster than that” and her very matter-of-fact reply was “No fucking way, this is OURS.”
And so a parade of wannabes went up there and tried as hard as they could, but it was very obvious, and not only by the audience boos, that there just was no chance. And then one DECENT AT BEST girl got up there and received half-hearted applause to make it a contest.
So the DJ said, let’s get the first girl back up there, and since I had regained my strength and breath at this point, I took the stage for Round Two. The audience cheered and I went for broke again, shaking and twisting. My thighs started to burn, my breath started to go, but I held it together until he called for the second girl to try again.
At this point, I have to give the girl credit. Many dance contests among girls turn into strip-offs. Someone lifts their skirt just enough, or whips their shirt off, she didn’t do that. She tried. She danced. So I appreciated that much, until the DJ called for both of us to get up on stage together and that bitch tried to booty bounce me off the stage. It’s also worth nothing at this point that I was wearing four-inch heels, in which I can barely walk normally, forget trying to hold my balance while someone tries to hip check me off the stage.
So I did the only thing I could do. I spun that bitch around, put my hand on her head and bent her over and tried to make her lose HER balance. She didn’t go, but I was able to make my point successfully.
The time period ended and now it was time for the audience vote. I was dead. My legs felt like someone had beat them with a rock, I was totally winded and worst of all, my stomach was beginning to hurt. But I was sure victory was mine. There was NO WAY she could have won. Only Shakira herself could have done better. So the DJ called for audience applause and Laura’s (we had to give our names after the music turned off) table of about 25 people turned up the volume, making it even. We went two rounds of applause, where my fans in the audience did the best they could, but Laura’s table made it impossible to gain an edge. And because they were ordering bottles left and right – the DJ called it in her favor. That asshole!
However, at that moment I had a bigger problem - I needed to use the bathroom. I had actually shaken so hard and so fast, that the pure vodka effectively milkshaked with my stomach contents, so I ran to the restroom and I had the best throw up of my life. I felt 1000 times better immediately but still exhausted, and came out of the stall to find N. waiting. Apparently she had gone over to the DJ, cursed him out and told him he sucked ass and threw the contest. I’m sure he had no idea what she was talking about, he obviously had no idea that sheer amount of lifelong dreams I had up on the stage, but N. did and it’s good to know that your friends are in your corner. While we washed our hands, I kid you not, four girls came up to me and told me they were cheering for me and asked did I give lessons?
I told them thanks, laughed out of disbelief and came out of the bathroom. Immediately, a very large black man came over and said, I just wanted to tell you that you can move. I laughed and said thanks. And he said, no seriously, you can dance, and if a black guy is telling a while girl she can dance, she can dance! And then he shook my hand and told me he was sorry the DJ cheated.
I looked at N. and we both decided that our jobs at Cellar Bar were effectively finished. And I went home, glad that I can check a dance off, even if I lost, off of my life’s to-do list.
I’ve written about it before, but it will never cease to amaze me that life’s biggest decisions are sometimes made in a matter of hours, minutes…even seconds. In my most recent case, it was made over a weekend.
As many of you know, I have long struggled with the idea of leaving New York, as I think all transplants always do. It’s hard to contemplate moving back to the suburbs when you know everything you are leaving behind to do so. As I do when I have big decisions to make, I look to the universe to give me signs if things are right or wrong…but in this case, every sign pointed in every direction and I just couldn’t tell.
However, when both the people who were going to take my room fell through (or as we were calling them “The New Lia”) and certain other things I thought would work out in Florida turned out not to be as picture-perfect as I was imagining...I knew I had my answer.
But as I alluded to before, this decision was not made without the patience, support and love of my friends and my family. Thank you to M and A who stayed up with me until the sun came up on Saturday morning (meaning all night Friday was spent in deep debate) to help me analyze EVERY AGONIZING point and counterpoint of staying, to P who refused to ever believe I was leaving in the first place and took every opportunity to remark how sad she was to see me go and just generally lay on the guilt, and of course to my mom and sister, who told me my decision was right, knowing that I always need them to confirm these things for me.
So…the good news is, I get to keep my kick ass apartment, I get to hang out with the influx of new friends I know are moving into the city, I may still get the chance to go to Newport, Rhode Island and Philadelphia, can continue eating my way across the city, add to my karaoke repertoire, and find Laura from Cellar Bar and go round two in the dance off when she doesn’t have the judge and jury in her pocket (see below for the dance off specifics)….and last but not least, I don’t have to change the point of this blog and can keep documenting the fantastic random shit I see in New York City. Cause somehow, I don’t think the crazy streets of Boca Raton and Ft. Lauderdale can really compare right now.
A Public Affair
Try as I might, even though she gets on my nerves, I still like Jessica Simpson. I admit, I was on Team Lachey for like two minutes, until I realized that I too would probably hook up with Johnny Knoxville and Adam Levine were they to hit on me. Ok…no I totally wouldn’t if I was married….Ok, ok I would totally consider it.
Anyways, today I got sucked into the Top 20 countdown on VH1 and finally caught the video for A Public Affair. I found myself wishing that I lived in Hollywood and could go rollerskating with my BFFs Eva Longoria, Christina Applegate and Christina Milian. The video is totally cheeste-tastic and gay, but I loved it enough to wish I was in it..so I guess that counts for something.
However, I still hope Joe Simpson dies in a fiery car crash.
Shakira
I also just have to point out that the countdown is officially on for me to see Shakira in Miami on September 15. Today, also during the VH1 countdown, the video for Hips Don't Lie came on, and I’m sad to say that this story is totally true, I got so excited I actually began to cry from sheer joy. Now I just need to find someone to go with me – so all interested applicants, feel free to contact me directly. Your ticket will be free!
My First, and Very Possibly Only, Dance Off
There has always been a small part of me that wanted to get in a fight. Like a real fight where I get punched in the face and I punch someone else in the face, and the end result is that I kick this person’s ass and stand over their body and yell “Take That Bitch!!!!”
The only problem is, I’m not a violent person. And chances are, the scenario above will never, ever happen. I hold out a small ray of hope, but as I get older, I realize the likelihood of this coming to fruition decreases every day. So I figure that the only way I can ever come close to being victorious over someone in a physical way is what may be my best hidden talent – no, not my cover of Bobby Brown’s “My Prerogative” (and note that I know how to spell it correctly) – but dance.
Thanks to my dad, Best Dancer of the Class of 1970, and my mom, who perfected the Hustle and the Bump at Studio 54 in the 70s…I just happen to be, through genetics, a phenomenal dancer. I think my friends would tend to agree.
And for someone of my dancing pedigree, I’ve secretly longed to be in a dance off. I can pinpoint this desire to a tabloid report circa 1999 or 2000 when it was reported Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake engaged in a dance off in a Hollywood club post break-up and pre-Kevin Federline. The desire was further fueled about two years ago when the show “So You Think You Can Dance?” began airing on TV. My answer? An enthusiastic yes, but because I never tried out for the show, I don’t watch it, because I can’t control the desire to dance around my room after it goes off, which is unbecoming of a 25-year old professional with roommates who would make fun of her if they ever caught her doing it. Nevermind a brother and sister who once found me out in 7th grade dancing full throttle in my room and made fun of me for oh, about 10 years after that.
Two Thursdays ago, I went out with three friends for dinner and after dinner, one decided it would be a good idea to go dancing. They suggested Cellar Bar, which I had never been to, so I said okay let’s do it. As with all nights that quickly spiral out of control, it started innocently enough, someone offered to order the first round. (It is helpful to note at this point that I also drank two beers with dinner, so this was my third drink of the evening and I usually have to tap out around four anyways). I love this move, because it forces the other people in the party to also order a round, meaning that you know your going to consume multiple drinks. Because I had cleared my plate at dinner, as usual, I was feeling a little sluggish so I got a Vodka and Red Bull, my drink of choice when I need to step up the energy level with the quickness. For the second round, which came around only 8 minutes later, I also ordered a Vodka Red Bull which means that upon the drink’s completion, my energy level was now roughly equivalent to the energy released when an A-Bomb explodes. The DJ was playing really fun songs and then he went for broke – he offered free bottles to the two best female dancers in the club. I was feeling lucky, but when I noticed that the first bottle went to the two girls who were making out, my friends and I decided that we weren’t going to go that far for victory. But the possibility still existed that we would win on the merits of our phenomenal dance moves so we continued dancing.
The third round came around, and I decided to switch my drink of choice to my new favorite – Stoli Raspberi and Sprite with a splash of cranberry and a lime. And this is where things started to turn around….the music was so loud that the drink came back a little wrong….I got a glass of Stoli with a splash of cranberry. The first sip was like getting punched in the stomach, I was, afterall, drinking vodka straight up. But anyone who drinks Red Bull knows what can happen when it’s coursing through your bloodstream – you are invincible. You can do anything. And so, I didn’t send the drink back…I drank it. Quickly. And I was basically having the best time ever.
So, N. and I are dancing near the front of the dance floor, hoping the DJ notices how great we are, but not hoping for much, when The Song comes on. Hips Don’t Lie. Shakira. We look at each other. We Smile. We begin to go crazy…when N. does the thing I’ve always needed someone to do – push me toward my destiny. She pushes me toward the “stage,” which is basically, the small platform in front of the DJ booth. She pushed me toward it, and I take the fateful step up…onto the platform. And I begin to shake.
At this point, I have to explain that I debuted the shake in Boston back in March, when N. and I went dancing after the taping of Dane Cook’s HBO special. I have the self-confidence to admit that I had been practicing. After watching the debut of Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie video, I decided I needed to learn how to dance as similar as possible. And so I began to practice…and because of genetics, as previously mentioned, I quickly got it down. I’m not nearly as good…but I’m good enough, and was very happy to learn that I can actually shake my hips extremely fast. And then I started to learn how to bellydance slightly, and then I learned how to combine the two. The result may be no more than an awesome party trick, but it’s awesome nonetheless.
So, now I’m up on stage in front of a packed dance floor doing the shake. And then people start watching. And they start cheering. And all I’m looking at is N. and our other two friends when I snap out of it and realize that I have an audience. And since the Red Bull and the straight vodka are in full control of me at this point, I decide I’m going to give everyone a show.
I’ve never danced so well. It was like I was Gumby. I could will my body to do whatever I thought. And when the song was done, and I swear to God that you can’t make this shit up, the audience cheered. And when I got down, people actually gave me five.
And that’s when the DJ threw it down. He said anyone who can shake faster than that wins the second bottle. I looked at N. – and very matter-of-factly stated, “No one can shake faster than that” and her very matter-of-fact reply was “No fucking way, this is OURS.”
And so a parade of wannabes went up there and tried as hard as they could, but it was very obvious, and not only by the audience boos, that there just was no chance. And then one DECENT AT BEST girl got up there and received half-hearted applause to make it a contest.
So the DJ said, let’s get the first girl back up there, and since I had regained my strength and breath at this point, I took the stage for Round Two. The audience cheered and I went for broke again, shaking and twisting. My thighs started to burn, my breath started to go, but I held it together until he called for the second girl to try again.
At this point, I have to give the girl credit. Many dance contests among girls turn into strip-offs. Someone lifts their skirt just enough, or whips their shirt off, she didn’t do that. She tried. She danced. So I appreciated that much, until the DJ called for both of us to get up on stage together and that bitch tried to booty bounce me off the stage. It’s also worth nothing at this point that I was wearing four-inch heels, in which I can barely walk normally, forget trying to hold my balance while someone tries to hip check me off the stage.
So I did the only thing I could do. I spun that bitch around, put my hand on her head and bent her over and tried to make her lose HER balance. She didn’t go, but I was able to make my point successfully.
The time period ended and now it was time for the audience vote. I was dead. My legs felt like someone had beat them with a rock, I was totally winded and worst of all, my stomach was beginning to hurt. But I was sure victory was mine. There was NO WAY she could have won. Only Shakira herself could have done better. So the DJ called for audience applause and Laura’s (we had to give our names after the music turned off) table of about 25 people turned up the volume, making it even. We went two rounds of applause, where my fans in the audience did the best they could, but Laura’s table made it impossible to gain an edge. And because they were ordering bottles left and right – the DJ called it in her favor. That asshole!
However, at that moment I had a bigger problem - I needed to use the bathroom. I had actually shaken so hard and so fast, that the pure vodka effectively milkshaked with my stomach contents, so I ran to the restroom and I had the best throw up of my life. I felt 1000 times better immediately but still exhausted, and came out of the stall to find N. waiting. Apparently she had gone over to the DJ, cursed him out and told him he sucked ass and threw the contest. I’m sure he had no idea what she was talking about, he obviously had no idea that sheer amount of lifelong dreams I had up on the stage, but N. did and it’s good to know that your friends are in your corner. While we washed our hands, I kid you not, four girls came up to me and told me they were cheering for me and asked did I give lessons?
I told them thanks, laughed out of disbelief and came out of the bathroom. Immediately, a very large black man came over and said, I just wanted to tell you that you can move. I laughed and said thanks. And he said, no seriously, you can dance, and if a black guy is telling a while girl she can dance, she can dance! And then he shook my hand and told me he was sorry the DJ cheated.
I looked at N. and we both decided that our jobs at Cellar Bar were effectively finished. And I went home, glad that I can check a dance off, even if I lost, off of my life’s to-do list.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
What A Difference A Day Makes
So...suffice to say that the last 24-36 hours have been crazy. Thank you, in no particular order to my mom, my sister, A, P and M to being the most important and smart women in my life. I don't know what I would do without you and I love you!
Stay tuned for news....
love,
lia
Stay tuned for news....
love,
lia
Thursday, August 03, 2006
I'm Sorry Peeps
So...I've been off the blogging kick for like a month, back in New York for three weeks and with a computer for two...and I've not found time to update my blog. Which is a shame really, because in the last month or so, I've had LOTS going on...and by LOTS I mean a two week vacation, starting off with what was probably the most fun weekend of my life in Las Vegas, lots of time at the coffee shop, a few celebrity spottings (of course), oh...and a real life DANCE OFF IN A CLUB. Yeah, no big deal really. Just the greatest 20 minutes of my life pretty much. You know, the usual.
Anyways, to do justice to the dance off, I can't really just slap anything down and call it a day. No this requires time and effort, editing and second drafts. Its as if I'm submitting to the New Yorker...where the New Yorker means all 50 of you or so who actually take the time to check this. Which is just as good to me.
So...I'm sorry that I haven't gotten around to updating this, I won't lie, I've been quite lazy. But trust that I'm working on it behind the scenes. And your patience will be rewarded soon enough.
Anyways, to do justice to the dance off, I can't really just slap anything down and call it a day. No this requires time and effort, editing and second drafts. Its as if I'm submitting to the New Yorker...where the New Yorker means all 50 of you or so who actually take the time to check this. Which is just as good to me.
So...I'm sorry that I haven't gotten around to updating this, I won't lie, I've been quite lazy. But trust that I'm working on it behind the scenes. And your patience will be rewarded soon enough.
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