A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE!

When I woke up Christmas morning, my mom promptly told me that my sister was in labor. By 1 pm Cutest Baby Ever (CBE) arrived in my life. My gift to her, a copy of Dr. Seuss's "Oh, the Places You'll Go!" inscribed with a message of love and support.

Here is what I didn't tell her that I am going to teach her OR Things I wish people had taught me:

1. Boys are stupid. They always will be and you can't change that. No, they don't analyze things like we ladies do, so don't waste your time. If a boy is being stupid find another one, preferably a younger one.

2. You are NEVER too young to be a cougar.

3. Girls are crazy. They always will be and you can't change that. And they are mean. And you can't change that either. So just be the meanest and make everyone fear you and you will be popular.

Source

Your new bible.

4. Here are some necessities:

• A good lip gloss




• A light perfume




• A good pair of black boots




• Being a fan of at least one sports team




• A good laugh (I'm still working on mine, someone told me I cackle)

5. Being able to sing, dance and hold your cocktail is a quality skill, work on that one while you're young.

6. Even though you will probably despise your Mom from ages 12-17, make sure you tell her you love her every day. She'll be the one you call when you get in trouble for underage drinking in college. But seriously. Moms are awesome (My sister just explained labor to me in high detail.).

7. Math beyond the 8th grade level is unnecessary and useless in the real world so don't try too hard.

8. Read books. They make you smarter and if you pick the right ones, you learn about sex really early on.

9. Our family has weird allergies to drugs. I am allergic to the ganj as is your other aunt. You can try it, but trust me, you'll be passed out or puking. I say, stick to booze and caffeine, at least they are legal.

This = puking.

10. Stack your shoes neatly in your closet. Stepping on a high heel at 8 am is agony.

11. Learn another language fluently, you will probably need it.

12. New York City is a place full of fun and late nights. Never take a cab back to Westchester alone at 4:30 am. Find the nearest diner, drink coffee to stay awake and hop the 5:35 back. And don't fall asleep. There are no cabs in Cos Cob.

13. Don't date or hook up guys with long beards.

14.The following things are scary:

• Ghosts




• Clowns (especially the sad kinds)




• Birds




• The Willy Wonka boat ride




• G'mork in The Neverending Story




• Michael Jackson's nose




• Michael Jackson




• Anything to do with Are You Afraid of the Dark on Nickelodeon




• Possibly me if I drink too much

And Finally...

15. Don't look up to Katie Holmes, she will only break your heart.

Mismatch.com

I recently logged onto my old match.com profile (which, in my defense, was created during a dry spell on a very rainy Saturday night) just to see who might be out there. I don't pay for the service so I can't really contact people but I find it fascinating how they match you up with people. If they can find my 100% match that would be awesome.



Well it finally happened. And apparently I am destined to fall in love someone we will call Troll McTrollerston. Now, I am aware that I am not Heidi Klum or even any kind of less hot version of any celebrity. I am just me, which, I think and have been told, is attractive by all reasonable standards. Actually, more than most reasonable standards. And this guy is not attractive by ANY resonable standards. If the bearded lady had sex with the Crypt Keeper which resulted in an unwanted pregnancy that led to the child having no parental love making him a sad and ugly human being it would look like this guy.



And that's really ugly. Because trust me, I've made out with some real lookers in my day, like the kind that might scare babies....and this guy, I mean seriously, match.com should institute a "NO TROLLS ALLOWED" policy STAT. So I'm officially done with them, not that I was ever really involved, but really, never logging in again. It's just depressing.



In the meantime, I will think about of what could have been.

(FYI - That isn't me. Pleated flare khaki pants? I would rather eff the troll.)

My Gift To You

If you don't think this is hysterical you suck.

7 DAYS!

I am still loving Christmas....

and yes I own this bobblehead.

OH BABY!

My sister may be popping out my little niece any day now so stay tuned....in the meantime, here is a picture of a baby that is of no relation to me.

I don't want a lot for Christmas...

My realistic Christmas list:

1. Dawson's Creek DVD's
2. New Digital Camera
3. New Clothes
4. Some fancy bath products
5. Gift Certificates
6. A new winter coat
7. My bed to finally get fixed

My unrealistic Christmas List:

1. My very own Lloyd Dobler
2. All of the NYC tourists to leave midtown
3. Bono to write a song about me
4. Bigger boobs
5. John Krasinski, Topher Grace, Zach Braff and Wentworth Miller to all propose to me at the same time. And for polygamy to be legal
6. A book deal
7. A new big girl bed

What I absolutely don't want for Christmas

1. The clap
2. To see Clay Aiken in person
3. To make out with an ugly man
4. Any more colds
5. Anything having to do with Britney Spears cooter
6. TomKat to breed anymore fake robot babies
7. Another broken bed

Sick Sucks

I've caught the plague for the third time this fall/winter. So while I would normally be out galavanting holiday style and rocking some red and green I have been reduced to something that resembles the PUS's (Poor Unfortunate Souls) in The Little Mermaid. This leaves one to wonder, why the ef do I keep getting sick? Let's evaluate my lifestyle:

1. Does weekend boozing cause illness? My answer is no. I figure that extreme amounts of vodka kill all of the bacteria/reduce infection/make me feel invicible. In no way does it leave me vulnerable to diseases (well the common cold anyway, two shots of whiskey and some poor judgement could create a whole other outcome).


2. Cigarettes? Since my illnesses have been strep throat and runny nose and only limited amount of coughing I'm gonna go with a no. But Jonesy, doesn't the FDA say that smoking causes cancer and other illnesses. I say, maybe, but they aren't causing what I have. Lighting a piece of paper mixed with dried leaves and rat poison effects me in no way. I swear. Fine, my fingers were crossed, but I really don't smoke that much anymore. Promise. Damn, caught me again! Ok, I smoke a few during the week but on the weekends it becomes a bigger habit, because you know, the booze makes me forget,

3. Boys? Ok, it's been a slow few months. With the exception of some early November cougaring. So no.

4. Being a cougar? Yes, because younger boys are less hygenic and are more prown to other hussie's cold germs. But since that was in early November I see no correlation to my sickness now.

5. Work? Offically the culprit. I spend more time with hacking, couching runny-nosed coworkers then I care to and germs spread like Britney's legs when she isn't wearing drawers. The more time I spend there the more ill I get. This blows.

O' Christmas Rules!

Only a kick ass holiday would have a drink called nog. Actually, I hate eggnog. It smells nast and I can only come to the conclusion that drinking large volume of it will make you vomit. And the color makes it look like something spoiled. Regardless of all of its obvious nastitites, it is still a popular holiday beverage. Why? Because Christmas is like the biggest kid in class. It tells all of the other holidays what to do. And if Christmas says eggnog is still part of his click than so be it. Vomit and all.

Reason 2

Depressing? Maybe. But really do they know it's Christmas time at all? Thank you Bono, for reminding me that Christmas isn't about snow or presents or food or Santa or fun or even the birth of Jesus Christ. It's about saving the starving children in Africa.

FEEEEEEEED THE WOOOOOOOOOORRRRRLD! We all get presents and they don't. So everyone be nice and donate some funds to something charitible this year.

IT'S CHRISTMASTIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now that it's officially the Holiday season, I will be posting all the reasons why this is my favorite time of year (if work doesn't kill me first).

Here is one to kick things off:

The Heat Miser

For one thing, he is a red hot version of Don King. Also, whenever I hear his jam I get all excited for a series of films on ABC Family and am reminded that 24 Hours of the best movie ever is not too far off.

AC SLATER IS RUINING MY LIFE

IS STILL RUINING MY FAITH IN HUMANITY! AC SLATER LIES!

So when Mario Lopez first started Dancing With the Stars he said head had no professional dance experience. I shook off the fact that he did some wicked moves on SBTB (ballet tights anyone? Or the epi when he entered the dance contest?). But I have proof that he is a liar from this clip from Kids Incorporated (the BEST SHOW EVER)

Umm, no professional experience? Then why is he listed in the opening credits as a DANCER? Let's get Darren Lee and Andrea Paige Wilson to go on record ok? Britney, stay away from him.

Legendary!

Why I love How I Met Your Mother-the short version.

Shot Through the Heart: The Barney Stinson Story

Here are a million reasons to watch How I Met Your Mother (or at least DVR it). NPH forever!

Two Down...oh crap, "You're next!"

Yes. The wedding was gorgeous and my sister looked amazing. Like Audrey Hepburn amazing. Fun was had by all including me, although at times, I was dodging ninja stars the family was throwing at me.

Case 1:

Aunt Judgemental: So, you're next!

Me: (chuckle) Don't hold your breath!

Aunt J: Two down, you're left. Is there a special someone here with you tonight?

Me: (fake chuckle) I hear that weddings are a great place to meet guys, too bad no one clued me in that tonight, all the single ones would be my cousins.

Aunt J: Aren't there a lot of guys in the city?

Me: (contemplating explaining my latest dry hump fiasco) Well, I just haven't met the right onw yet. But you know, your son is older than me and he's still single, so I guess, really, he's next. Oh wait, and there is our other cousin who's like over 50 and not married and etc, etc.

Aunt J: Well, make sure you keep your eyes open....

Me: Oh, I think they just called me to the danceflooooooooooooooooooo (trailed off as I ran)


Case 2:

Family Friend: You're next! Do you have a boyfriend?

Me: Nope. Really busy with work and stuff (code for I don't but I still hook up with people and you will never know about it) there's no time!

Family Friend: Well don't wait too long!

Me: (contemplating telling her that I eloped last week and that the DJ is my husband and I just didn't want to steal my sister's thunder) Oh I won't!!! Oh look, I think that's a waiter bringing dinnnnnnnnnneer (again running)

Case 3:

My mom: "You're Next Jonesy!"

Me: Umm, Mom, she hasn't even thrown the bouquet yet.

Mom: "I know! When we get to you're wedding we'll know exactly what to do!

Me: Ma, seriously, no more wedding talk.

Mom: Yes, you can't get married until 2010 anyway because your sister's weddings were so close together! And you better hope that Capital 1's stock does well so you can have a great wedding, pray I don't lose money in the market.

Me: (not even standing there anymore, hiding with large bottle on Pinot.)

Seriously.

Happy WeddingDay Eve!

Sorry I've been absent....

Sister #2 is getting married tomorrow. Maid of Honor duties have called me away but trust me I have many a funny things to report. Like the team of women who ransacked a bag full of panty hose on the subway that someone had left behind (and then exclaimed to me "Don't be frightened, that's just what we black folk do!" Another one of the women responded with "Aw Shit, look at her, She's sitting there thinking 'Damn, I wish I had taken a pair too.")

So While I do need plenty of rest tonight, not only for the wedding, but for the endless gauntlet of aunts and cousins excaliming to me "You're next!" and then asking questions about my love life (I'm the one who went to journalism school, right?). God, I already need a vodka soda.

But in my absence, I will leave you with this. Dry Humping. Back in style ('cause I received no memo)? Or still reserved for 9th graders? Discuss.

If I could I would banish this act. Not enjoyable.

Congrats!

Shoutout time....Congrats to London for finishing the NY marathon last weekend. Really, she ran a marathon. Her running skills and determination have proven 1. that she rocks and 2. that I am a lazy bastard.

Think about it, it's Friday and I'm just posting this now. I've beena t work for 1.5 hours and I haven't gotten up from my chair yet. I haven't seen my gym (or my dear friend Laverne since April. I haven't fixed my broken bed yet (which trusts me, really sucks, I think I may have a concussion...but that's another story). But, this post isn't about me....


So here's to you London, your gigiantic ponytail, your philanthropic fundraising and your marathoning ways!!!!!

I'm even to lazy to take a picture on time....

This Week In Coming Outtances....

Okay, so I totally knew about this one BUT...oh NPH, you were so my favorite part of Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle. Now it all seems like a facade...

"Yeah, I've been craving burgers, too. Furburgers. Come on, dudes, let's pick up some trim at a strip club. The Doogie line always works on strippers."

He lied. Unless he was referring to Hunkamania.

http://www.gay.com/news/article.html?2006/11/05/3

Too bad he didn't fill in his publicist:

http://www.towleroad.com/2006/11/neil_patrick_ha.html

"I made some love stains in the back. You'll see... "

I always knew about this one though. I wonder what tipped me off:

Was it the strange relatonship with Vinnie DelPino?


His penchant for theater?


His appearence on Will & Grace?


Was it this photo?



Of course not. None of those things meant he was necessarily gay. A reliable source told me like 3 years ago. And I had to let my crush on NPH go...........

The gays can have you NPH... but I will keep you as Doogie in my heat forevs. Oh yea, and I will still watch How I Met Your Mother in hysterics.

Flavor of Jones

Since it seems that the news is now completely dominated by celebrity goss, I am trying something new. Inspired by FLAVOR FLAV! I have decided to bust out a few names of my own for some famous people, so we don't have to go to the trouble of remembering (or for that matter even learning) their real names until we are sure we actually give a shit about them.

1.

From know on, thou shalt be known as Senator Tailcoatz.

2.

Why do I get the feeling these guys will be visiting your local trailer park sometime soon. It's Lyfe Ruiner and Pathetick.

3.

How you doin Plasstick? Tell ya sister Jeenyis I said hey.

4.

Look, it's everyone's favorite fake couple! Know to be known as Beerd and Clozited.

5.

Hide your diet pills and get your barf bags ready for Skynnie and Starvz.

6.

Say hello to my new friend Drugz.

7.

His name may not be on the back of his jersey, but you can call him Wayste of Doh.

8.

He sang about him and dressed like him so I now dub him: Jeezus.

9.

Oh look, it's everyone's favorite child star, Cleeshay.

10.

This one is obvious. Meet Siphiliss.

What becomes of the broken heeeeeeaaaarrrrrrrrrrted?

A day of heartbreak.


1. The Mets-we won't even go there. I still love them dearly but let's not. even. go.




2. Haley Joel Osment sees drunk people now.



3. I still have my plague on MySister'sBacheloretteParty Eve.




4. T.R. Knight (aka George O'Mally, my McDreamy) cleaned out his closet and found his McGay. Women like me all over the world die a little inside. I should have seen it coming.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

The verdict: Guilty of heartbreak in the first degree. I hope some nice guy makes a McDreamy out him.

Happy Birthday to me!

As some of you know, I turned 25 this past Monday. And karma decided a suitable gift would be strep throat, a wicked headache and an awful fever. So sorry for the lack of wit and recap of my party. Let's just say that I am paying for my sins of the weekend...

Who would I give a Volvo to? Apparently unhappily married couples with wackjob kids.

Ok, I love kids. They are cute and cuddly and say the darndest things. But if I see this little girl on TV one more time I may just have to swallow some bleach.

Let's analyze:

1. So it looks like she's being picked up a little late by Daddy. Or maybe it's a little early. Because she puked or pooped herself. And they already used her extra set of clothes that they make everyone bring in the first day of kindergarten so teacher dressed her in the rejects from the 3rd grade production of "Annie."

2. WTF is she saying? "...they're really good and they lived in the house that he likes the most but one day they wanted to change the color of him..." Umm, that sounds racist. Looks like teacher was reading "Song of the South" that day. Let's continue...

"Just a pretend stick but it really thin and it has legs and I don't know what it is..." Yea. I do. It's called a switch. Or a whip. Like the one they used to hurt Jesus like you saw in "Passion of The Christ" yesterday in your crazy teacher's class. And if you don't make this floor shine like the top of teh Chrysler building...I digress.

"And there's worms and some bugs." Yes. That's what you see when you die.

"Mom talked about it. But his head is so tiny..." Yes Daddy, mom told me your head is so tiny. But not the one on top of your neck...

This guys looks like a cross between Michael Jackson and Stephen King

3. Maybe racist teacher told this little girl that if she was creative and told Daddy stories, that maybe just maybe, he won't leave, or hit her anymore, or make her wear the Amishiest clothes I have ever seen. Maybe. I wonder what he's thinking.

"It's so easy. I just pull the car in the garage, let her out and shut all the windows. Then I'll be able to go to sleep. Forever."

OR

"Damn bitch. She said adopting would make us feel like Angelina and Brad or Madonna and Guy."

OR

He's has a commercial stuck in head all day long and can't get it out so he's gonna gop home and take it out on his blog.

Total Request ew

Hi, my name is Jonesy from New York, NY and I want to give a shout out to my girlies that live on the Upper East. And at number one today is my request for Carson Daly to go eat a sandwich today..WOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAA!

I know, I know

I've been a bad Jonesy. I've been a little crazed so I haven't had to much time to post, but here's a little weekend love for you all. In case you missed K-Fed on CSI last night...



Unfortunately, they don't have his full performance on YouTube in which he quotes the line:

"This little piggy cried wee, wee, wee all the way home."

You can't make TV gold like that up. If anyone finds it let me know!


In other news, My birthday party is this weekend, so I'm sure I will have fun tales of debauchery from this Saturday night, when I slowly drink my youth away!

I heart this soooo much!

An Open Letter to the New York Mets

Dear New York Mets (most importantly Willie, Carlos, David, Carlos2, Jose, Paul, Jose2, Endy, Tom, Steve, Orlando, Chris, and Julio):

Hi guys. Just wanted to let you know that I am a huge fan of yours. Like really huge. Not meaning that I'm fat, I just really like you guys A LOT.

It all started back in 1986. I was 5. David, you were just 3 or 4. My Dad wanted to spend more time with his daughters and since that other New York team (which he is a fan of) wasn't doing so well, he decided to take us to see baseball played at its best. I don't remember too much about Shea Stadium back then. But I remember liking the hotdogs and the name Dykstra (I still heart you Lenny). I remember the song of that year (We got the team work, to make the dream work, Let's Go! Let's go Mets!) I was too young to remember Game 6 (I bet Bill Bucker still has someone kick him in the balls every night for his mistake) of that World Series, and the Game 7 win.

This:

led to This!!!!:

As I grew up we grew apart for awhile. I didn't come to your house for many years because, well, you were in Queens, I didn't have a car, and I liked cheerleading more than baseball. I didn't sell out like some others, I just kind of forgot about you and you well, forgot how to play baseball. Let's face it, you really sucked. But deep down I still loved you and supported you.

Flashforward to me as a teen. I found you again. You got your shit together. I supported our dear friend Mike with open arms. I clapped for Rey Ordonez even though I knew that most of the time, he was going to strike out. And then you came through. In 2000, you shocked us with your Wild Card win. And then actually playing like magic to make it to the World Series. That was great! Deep down, I knew you wouldn't win but I was overjoyed! You didn't suck! No one could make fun of us! Actually, the obnoxious fans of that other New York team could but they are obnoxious and mostly ugly and probably play on dodgeball teams called The Hotness.

But then what happened? Half of you left leaving Mike to carry a torch with a fat first baseman and a team that he couldn't commuincate with because no one spoke English. It felt like the early 90's all over again. But I stayed. And I cheered. I gave you everything. I even accepted Mike's blond facial hair. Give me some credit here.

Much like Jason Giambi's weirdo 'stache, in the days of yore, Piazza rocked some odd hair.

Flash to 2005. A shining ray of hope in the form of a very very very HOT third baseman named David. He came to us. And it was good.

The tongue thing just does it for me.

I understand why Mike had to go. He was getting a little old and lets face it, no team can have that much hotness at one time. You said next year is now. And while the division was tough last year and you were all so close, next year ended up not being now.

This year you told me it was the team and the time. And I believe you. I bought tons of tickets. I even travelled to that other New York team's house to play with you. I have spent more than I can afford of $6-7 beers and $4 hotdogs (which, by the way, you should have never have gotten rid of Kahn's, they were so much better). I have invested my time in you. And it's paid off. You've been working hard. You want to do well.

So I have one small favor to ask. Please don't ef this up. Even the Red Sox fans are counting on you. You scared me last week with your nonsensical losses. So play well, be strong, and I'll see you Thursday. I'll be the one screaming in the blue and orange.


Sincerely,

Ms. Jones
(David's future wife)

P.S. Really, though, just do your best. Let's go Mets!

Example:

Please refer to around 4:05 of this clip to see what I mean:

We need Patches O'Houlihan

Dodgeball Game #1 Recap:

Last night marked game 1 of my dodgeball season this fall. I joined the team to be social ("demented and sad but sort of social") and to have fun with my friends. Apparently the teams we drew in the first round were in it for different reasons. Scary reasons.

Let me describe:

Team 1:

Name: The Hotness

Uniform: They brought their own tie-died t-shirts with nicknames on the back that included but are not limited to: The Rock, Johnny Boy, Clutch and "The Shocker" (he literally had the phrase "one in the stink" printed on his back.) Oh yea, and The Rock wore wrestling shoes and a headband.

Description: This collection of B&T guidos on came to kick ass and get rid of their roid rage while their skinny minnie girlfriends hung in the back. They not only aimed for girls more than boys, they aimed for girls in the head. One of them literally yelled "PUT HIM IN A BODY BAG JOHNNY" as if our "friendly" game was equivalent to the final battle in The Karate Kid.

Ralph Macchio I am not. Damn you Kobra Kai.

Team 2:

Name: ZS4 (ZS=Zog Sports, the peole that created the league)

Uniform: Purple zog sports t-shirt

Description: A collection of obvious dorks who didn't have enough friends to form a team of their own. One scary player, which someone dubbed the Tsunami, would wail the ball at girls with no shame. He would hide in the corner and just peg people. Then there was scary red head who I think misplaced her crazy pills before she showed up. The two combined looked like this:

Team 3: Us

Uniform: Sage Green T-shirts (could we get a weaker color?)

Description: A collection of former athletes who in the past 7 years have well, let's just say we aren't really "athletes" any more (with the exception of one or two).

We need to work out like these kids.

So yea, when only 8 of our 12 showed up I realized I would have to play. Play against the scary guidos. My strategy was to hide in a corner (which I got yelled at for). That didn't work.

So then I actively tried to throw caution to the wind, disregard everything I have ever known to be true and try to get some of these people out. And again, I proved to myself that I throw like a 4 year-old. No aim, no rhyme or reason and ever so softly. Every time I th
rew, I was out.

My teammates stayed strong, and one back injusry and 8 sore bodies later, we ended the night 1-2-1, not too bad considering we faced a Rock and a Tsunami.

We play again on 10/11 (we have a week off). Hoepfully, I won't have sit an entire day with a heating pad on my back after that one. And worse comes to worse, we will no doubt get the best drinking team award. Nothing helps a bad back like a big glass of cider.

Saved By The Bell: Still Ruining my Life

Read this from The Daily News Rush and Molloy Column:

"He may have played nerdy eighth-grader Samuel (Screech) Powers in the sitcom "Saved by the Bell." But former TV geek Dustin Diamond can now take his place with Colin Farrell, Tommy Lee and Kid Rock as the star of his very own sex tape.

Everyone who remembers Diamond as a lovable putz is in for a shock once they see a 40-minute video in which he engages in a kinky three-way with two women, sources tell us.

We can't get too graphic here, but word is that the action includes some bodily functions and an act known as a "Dirty Sanchez."

Phoenix-based agent David Hans Schmidt, who has brokered some of Hollywood's biggest celebrity-skin deals, confirms that he's acquired the rights to a tape featuring Diamond.

"Just when you think you have seen everything in this business," he tells us, "mankind has raised the bar another notch. Or lowered it."....

The sex vid's working title is "Saved by the Smell." Ewwwww."

I just hope Tori Spelling doesn't make an special guest star appearence as Violet Bickerstaff.

Effing 4G!!!!!

To the bastards down the hall:

When the delivery man came to your door with MY tacos and MY quesadilla that you obviously didn't order why did you not point out that you are 4G not 4J. You took my food. The messed up part is that I didn't pay for it yet. You paid for my food and ate it. You PAID for it. That's so weird.

I can forgive you for making me listen to your stupid conversation about the VMA's and who Jared Leto is. Oh, and the name of his band is 30 Seconds to Mars, not 20 seconds to Jupiter. Jerks.

And when Tiny Dancer (who just wanted to see if you got the food and the taco place wasn't lying) knocked on your door, you came to the door, looked outside and didn't answer the door. You sat back down and turned up the Yankee game.

So 4G this is WAR!!! I will get you back. Hard Core. I will tackle your delivery men in the hallway and take all of your orders from now on. And I'm gonna spit on your door knob and other such shenanegins. Bastards.

Now you'll never see me naked. And one of is you is fat and smells like dirty sweat.

Love,

Someone who hates you

A Fond Farewell

Last Sunday I was at my mom's house recovering from the festivities of my sister's bridal shower. I laid in her bed chatting away and flipping channels and then we stumbled on something that was at the same time both wonderful and sad.

The WB 11 was airing all of the pilots of their most popular shows. It was their wayof saying goodbye to my generation, the kids who grew up watching Buffy, Felicity and my favorite of all time Dawson's Creek.

I haven't seen the DC pilot in years. I own it, but I usually skip over it because I knew the plot line. For years I have been proclaiming that I practice Dawsonism. It's my religion of sorts, in which, whenevr faced with a life problem, I refer to DC wherein I will always find the answer.

I thought this was a completely original idea.

Nope.

As I watched the pilot, I learned that I totally stole this idea from Van Der Beek himself. Dawson and his Speilberg theory (the same as my Dawsonism) is introduced within the first hour.

While I watched the magical montage in the last few moments, I saw my teenage years flash before my eyes. And then I realized how much I suck because the one basic priciple that I always thought that I had dreamed up actually came from the place it was based on.

Really though, I suck

Crap or should I say crack.

I must have been on crack. I signed up to be on a dodgeball team. With the most athletic girls I know. Crap. Let the maiming begin.

I wasn't kidding.

She can already do blue steel. Just make sure she doesn't kill the Prime Minister of Malaysia.

I want a DNA test...that I pay for.

Vanity Fair is so nice to give us our first look at Suri Holmes-Cruise.

Yes, Suri has been hiding in Tom's jacket the ENTIRE time! And doesn't Kat(ie)e look like she's confused? She's like, who is this kid and why am I here? The baby is the only one who can look us in the eye. And that's because she's too young to lie.

She's adorable (but no Shiloh), but I can't help but be reminded of a certain really rediculously good looking person:

Whoa here she comes, watch out boys she'll chew you up

In my drunken stupor last night I texted one of my young ones (this one is actually still in college). He always writes or calls back immediately and with enthusiasm. He is adorable, but why do I do these things when he is a half a country away and let's face it, young?

It's because I have decided to become the cougar/puma/jaguar that Hall and Oates were singing about, let's see how that works out for me.

Happy Labor Day weekend...and happy end of summer.

It could have ended upon Jay Leno's headlines...

I almost posted this on a friend's myspace, as I know she will be at the beach all weekend.

"Don't let Ernesto get you too wet!"

Meaning the hurricane. I'm the worst.

Apparently my boss thinks I need a boyfriend too....

After a discussion about Valentine's Day cards and how there is nothing really new about them and how e-cards are lame he says:

"Well when was the last time you sent a Valentine?"

Do I smell like single or something???? I just thought I needed some lovin'. Go figure.

"This is why I need a boyfriend Goddammit!"

I am not handy. Not at all. I can't reach the lightbulbs in my apartment, Spike has to change them for London, Tiny Dancer and myself. When our dishwasher broke, I just stared at it. It took us over a year to fix our DVR. My closet doors were broken when I moved in. Needless to say, they still are.

So you can only imagine how I felt on Saturday, when, as I was rushing to hop in the shower for the Future Mrs. Krabbypatty's (FMK) birthday party, I heard the loud clango f metal hitting the floor. The bed that I had been so peacefully napping in not too long before, had decided to, well, dismantle itself. Oh. Dear. God.

A reeactment: Replace the smirk on his face with sheer horror.

Since I had helped my Mom assemble the thing when I moved in, I made a weak attempt at lifting the mattress and box spring and the metal bed frame to try to fix it. Nope. Then I enlisted London and our other friend to help. Nope. Useless. All of us.

London and company had to leave for an appointment at the Genius bar at the Apple Store leaving me to my own devices. So what does a single girl in New York City do when she faces a dilemma right before she has to go to a party? She starts using her resources. I called all of the Westchester folks to see if they happened to be taking the West Side Highway so one of the husbands could help me. Nope. The party was on the UES so I pretty much knew I was screwed.

So what does a single girl in New York City do when she is really screwed? She cries. Wrapped only in my towel in my hot bedroom after a half hour of trying to fix my twin bed (which has survived Jdate, Mr. Brightside and Cougar Bait) I sat down on the floor and started balling. And I shouted over the phone to London: "This is why I need a boyfriend Goddammit, to like, you know, fix stuff!" I was a sad little girl.

In the end, I stacked some books under the bed, got rediculously drunk and at the party, and came home and had it break all over again. This time I took in stride, got up, puked and then crawled into Tiny Dancer's bed. The following day, London and I took apart the bed and now I sleep on top on the mattress and box spring on the floor. My decorating style has become ghetto feng shui. Come and get it boys!

I know. I need a grow up bed.

And yes, I know I don't need a boyfriend to fix stuff. I just need vodka.

Life Is Not A Fairy Tale or Why Fantasia Barrino Owes me Two Hours of My Life Back

Yes, I DVR's Fantasia Barrino's biopic on Lifetime. In a moment of weakness and in a post-So You Think You Can Dance (VIVA BENJI) state of insanity, I ensured that I would view the life story of the Season 3 (a weak season) of American Idol. And I wish someone would have stopped me.

1. She played herself in the movie.

2. It clearly illustrates that she dresses like a hooch, skips school and makes out in the back of yellow pick-up trucks. And her boobs are so not those of 16-year-old.

I swear she wore that shirt in the movie.

3. She has a speaking role. Tiny Dancer says she sounds like a muppet. I think Elmo has more range.

4. They show too much of her sad times. Sure, she had it hard, but did I need to see the montage of people laughing (only in her head) when she returns to school after pressing rape charges? No, the Lifetime film with Candace Cameron and Mark Paul Gosslaar handled it better.

5. She looked preggers when she wasn't supposed to be.

6. They show "her first time." I would rather watch Chicken Little's first time.

Besides his sick dance moves I bet he has a gentle touch.

7. The literally show her vomit. I thought YouTube would have that video by now (like the girl on Flavor of Love who made boom on his floor). I cna only imagine the sscript looked like this:

Setting: Fantasia's friend's apartment in the Projects. It is summer in said Projects, hot and sweaty where veryone drinks Colt 45, Boone's Farm and smokes Newports.

Interior: Fantasia's friend's house. Kids running around haphazardly. Fantasia at table eating breakfast.

Friend: Fantasia, you gotta start telling your man Rodney that this ain't his house so he can't be leaing his stuff lying around.

Fantasia (or muppet, whoever can stand in): Just make a big pile and I'll do the laun bleh hack, huaaa, blech [vomit spills out of Fantasia onto table, remain with a wide shot of Fantasia so the audeience gets all the puke action, and in turn, vomit on themselves].

SCENE

Classy, real classy.

8. She confesses she can't really read at the end of the movie to relate that to her American Idol experience. Like that was her big hardship. Ummmm, Fanny, listen, I think that having Dwayne Wayne as your father, getting raped, dropping out of high school and getting knocked up by a guy who ends up beating you up is your hardship, not the fact that you're a weak reader okay?

So Fantasia, please write me a check for two hours of my life plus my good sense in television. I'm sure your American Idol dollars can pay for that. And get yourself a Phonics book while you're at it.

Sick Days

Today I took a sick day from work because I woke up with a ginormous headache. But as I sit her in my pajamas I leave you with this exciting tidbit from my weekend, more specifically at Shea Stadium Saturday night for the 1986 reunion/Mets v. Rockies:

Me as Paul Lo Duca steps up to bat during the 4-0 defecit: Hey Paulie! Hit it like it was a 19-year-old girl!

And indeed, the nasty cheater did.

Crap Fest 2006

This week sucks. For everyone I know (with the exception of Gotittogether who is sporting her new rock and is on vacation) and everyone I read. And as I wrote that I just took a sip of cold coffee that was once hot and now tastes like crap...hence the title CRAP FEST 2006!

Since I have been working way too late and am on the verge of burn out I will redirect you to some of my favorite bloggers who are also celebrating CRAP FEST 2006:


loggedhours.blogspot.com

evidiot.blogspot.com

I don't think they work for the same company as me, but seriously what is with the workload this week. It's like all of the big boss men decided to get together to crush the spirits of twenty-somethings who just want to get ahead and get a raise this week.

Damn the man. Damn him to hell.

Another B2B!

Gotittogether just became a B-2-B. Her BF, now fiance, who I like to call Krabbypatty (because he is a nasty meanie in the morning) popped the question on Friday!

So to the future Mrs. KrabbyPatty I say Congrats! And I look forward to getting wasted and trying to make out with someone at your wedding. (just kidding...sort of).

Honey, you can Lego of my hand now....

weddings make me lame.

I got rescued at The Drift and all I got was a Miller Light tank top

When I was a little girl, my mom would take me and my sister's to a friend's house in East Hampton. She also took her boss. Who happened to be a nun. I loved it because they had a pool and that's all I needed to be happy. As I got older, I stopped going on the trips because I was either working, or didn't want to go hang out with my mom and a nun. Why would I when instead, I would have parties at my house and smoke cigarettes freely on the porch?

My mom stopped asking me to join her when I went to college. Now I beg her to take me. Why? Because it's like Zoolander, only rediculously fun-looking.

This past weekend, as promised, DM invited me to her share house. We met at Penn Station (which I think is my version of what hell would be like, literally, people do not understand personal space in thhat joint). We hopped on the Long Island railroad (which is quite nice once you get on the actual train) and two hours later, I was on my way to drunken fun.

Just two hours east of Manhatty lies to land of beer, boys and sick dance parties.

Here is what happened in my typical bulleted list style which means I am being full on lazt because I am tried from work and want to watch the Hell's Kitchen finale:

Friday:

Many Beers + Shots (I think there may have been more than one) + Dance Party to Journey's Don't Stop Believing+Winning a free tank top in a beer taste test+making out with a youngin (yes, more cougar action!)+one innaproproate but HYSTERICAL joke+DM making out with a boy who looked foreign+taking and advil and some other brown pill before bed = a kick ass night with minimal hangover.

Saturday:

Perfect beach day with funny stories and beers on the beach. And I hate the beach. It was really close to the weather on what I call "THE BEST DAY EVER" but that's a story for another time.

Saturday night:

I was made friends with the 007

I got to hang out with fun people

I finally "got rescued"

I learned what Drift foot is

And that's all I can remember. I do have 97 pictures from the weekend, all photographic evidence of the following things:

1. I have sick dance moves.

2. My friends like the big pink pole.

3. We like to get drunk and dance. And when I say dance, I mean like full on Napolean Dynamite, Flashdance, with your heart and soul dancing. It's. awesome.

Are these sick moves? Indeed.

So thank you DM for a very necessary break from reality. And I'm so in for a share next summer. Better work on some new moves for next year.