Wednesday, August 29, 2007
I suck, more to come in the future. Hopefully something good will happen to me this week.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Or as the folks who made the sign like to say: Beer Olimpics.
Special Olimpics indeed.
And while I didn't really partake in too much of the days events besides the occasional round of flip cup and a the world's greatest beer soaked dance party, there were some memorable moments...that were told to me on Sunday. For example, DM's boyfriend wore a ref's jersey (in which he bore a starling resemblance to the late, great lead singer of Queen) and painted on what could be called a Hitler mustache. He is now known as Adolf Mercury. Amazing.
There were tricycles. And beer. And pinatas. Do the math. That's right, it equals awesome.
Slip 'N Slides and nudity and a moose hat all got involved somehow. This is where it gets blurry and I think I took a nap wearing nothing but a bikini. I felt that free. So free that when I did get dressed, I had my bra hanging out, wait how does Lionel say, oh yea, all night long.
Then my liver said FUCK YOU! and that's where it ends. I got nothing. So if you saw a girl running around The Drift on Saturday with her boobs hanging out like a drunk disaster, that was moi, in all of my shitfaced glory.
Until next summer, Hamptons, just you wait. I will win one of these days. I swear it.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
I also babysat the niecey this weekend and ate dinner with my 70 year old neighbors. When I realized that I was living the life of an aged person I put the call in to DM & Co. to be rescued. Thanks guys, I was a minute away from dentures, an early bird special, and listening to Wilford Brimley's 'betus speeches.
I am either going to rock at this or go down in flames...please pray it's the former.
So for now, no blogging from work. But I will say it's weird to not be working for one particular person. I've grown so accustomed to being someone's assistant that I'm not sure how I will fare for myself out here in the real world, where I actually have deadlines and have to manage my time.
On a funny note, on my last day at the old gig, my boss high-fived me goodbye. No handshake, no awkward hug...he gave me a high five and said "Good job!"
He also insulted me like 5 time in a toast he made at my farewell luncheon. Oh well...on to bigger and better things!
Thursday, August 09, 2007
So If I could be a baseball wife I would obviously do so by marrying a Met. But you are wondering...which Met would you choose Jonesy???? One would initially think I would go for one David Wright...BUT...I would have to pass on his hot ass (don't fret, more on this later). Instead, I would use my time machine and marry Keith Hernandez. First off, He had a sexy 'stache and a mullet, a combination I couldn't resist. And he was a solid Met. Also, In marrying Keith, I could get to meet the cast of Seinfeld and talk to Julia Louis-Dryfuss about her hair and prevent the Benes' from even taking over NYC. (WHY IS THE HAIRDO STILL POPULAR?!!!)
Eventually, I wouldn't love Keith anymore. There would be fights and perhaps an angry affair with Cowbell Man and he would cry and I would leave. And go straight to Mike Piazza's house. This way, all of his gaay rumours would be nipped in bud since, c'mon, Piazza can't be gay, he stole Keith's wife from him and she's smokin' hot! And I would continue to sit on my seats at Shea and stare at my boy's hot heiny. And I would still have a man with a rocking mullet and 'stache! WOOT! Oh, and you know I will dress a little trashy, like half-Anna Benson, half-First-Lady. It will be so hot!
While in the stands at Shea, I would live off the Kahn's hotdogs (it's the 90's remember-pre-Nathan's) and Carvel in plastic hats. I would attend EVERY single game, except for one week when I have my baby, Michael Jr. Who, on his birthday will be asked to throw out he 1st pitch to his Daddy. Cute right???? Also, I would beat ALyssa Milano to the punch and design my own line of lady sportswear to wear to games so most of the women don't end up wearing pink Mets crap (stupid and nonsensical unless are a baby girl) or looking like the antithesis of femininity.
At this time I would also have a brief fling with Turk Wendell. If only to get him to let me put that necklace of teeth on while we were doing it so it felt like caveman sex.
Flash forward to the end of 2005 where we get divorced as he files for free agency. And I file for divorce. By now, I need a break from the married life but I still need to inspire my boys (and get free tickets...) so I take a new route. I become Susan Sarandon in bull Durham and make every player want me, including LoDuca, who we know, only likes 18 year-old girls. I access to the locker room am required to attend all away games. After all, I have my little time machine so I am as hot as I was in the 1980s.
Finally, after a long career as a baseball wife/hussy, I decide to settle down when Mr. David Wright proposes. We get married at home plate and then, wearing number 69 (which they eventually retire for me for undisclosed reasons), I throw out the first pitch to fireworks and free hotdogs for all.
That night, The Mets beat the Yankess 100-0, and A-Rod and Jeter have gay sex on the pitchers mound for all to see.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
But let me preface this with a realization I had but three weeks ago, when watching The Babysitters Club movie (Rachel Leigh Cook as Mary Anne! Alex Mac as Dawn! ) on Showtime on Demand. The movie was circa 1995 and nothing like the short-lived TV series that I remember. It was all about the club forming their own summer camp for the kids of Stonybrook. Then it hit me...wow, that Kristy was a little lesbian stereotype. Softball! Hates dresses! Wants to hang with her girlfriends all the time!!! Nothing wrong with this mind you, but it made me understand why I never related to her in the books.
So I decided to share this theory with Carly and Rockstar (both which, I think were a little puzzled that I was watching this film at the age of 25) and it got us going on the books we read as kids. Rockstar's favorite BSCer is Claudia because she's artsy. Carly liked Stacy. I was a big Mary Anne fan, because she got to date Logan, the piece of ass. We remembered how the Stacy's diabetus was like the BIGGEST deal ever!!!!! OMG! SHE NEEDS INSULIN! SCANDAL! And how Alan became Kristy's beard.
Then we remembered our good friends in Sweet Valley, Elizabeth and Jessica, that bitch Lila and a bunch of other people. Elizabeth was the shy one, Jessica was sort of a ho. And now a personal confession:
One of the reasons I have never and will never do cocaine is because of a Sweet valley High novel (can we call them novels?). Let me set the scene. The twins are at a party, it's the '80s, it's all preppy people wearing pastel. A girl named Regina Morrow has fallen in with the wrong crowd...she does some lines...and her effing HEART EXPLODES. She had a heart murmur and did coke and died. Lesson learned, you don't need to tell me twice. Way to help out today's youth Francine Pascal.
Rockstar and Carly sort of laughed when I told them this but there are MANY, including my sister who were scared of drugs because of this book...so reading IS fundamental.
Then we started talking about how we eventually moved on from serials like the BSC and SVH (and for me, Nancy Drew 7 Encyclopedia Brown...I read...a lot.) onto those creepy scary books written by RL Stine and Christopher Pike. Did anyone ever read The Midnight Club...about the kids in hospice who tell stories and then two have sex? Or Remember Me when the girl comes back from the dead as a ghost? Biz. arre.
But it all makes sense to me now. I read enormous amounts as a kid because a lot of these books were never a challenge to me like say, Trainspotting or The Satanic Verses. They were entertaining and easy (like the HP books) and I obviously took a lot of life lessons from them. And no wonder many people (not me) stop reading as they get older. Reading becomes more challenging for some...It took me over a month to finish Salman Rushdie's book...and I didn't even like it!
There really wasn't an end to our conversation because I believe Drug Teeth interrupted it. But ever since that evening I have had the Babysitter's Club theme in my head:
Say hello to your friends (Babysitter's Club)
Say hello to the people who care
Nothing's better than friends (Babysitter's Club)
Cuz you know that your friends are always there....
Profound. I know.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Before I say anymore I am including this disclaimer: I love pop music. It makes me happy and it's fun to dance to. I have never claimed that it is anything but fun music. Especially when wasted. So all the hiptards that hate anything pop, go cut yourself again you emo freak.
All summer I've bee saying I want a boy band song and revisiting some of my faves. So I've been listening to "Pop", "The Call" (one of the most fun to sing) and some of the forgotten, like O-Town's "We Fit Together." In a cab the other night I heard LFO's craptastic song about Abercrombie and Fitch (literally, it's a pretty awful song, but it makes me want to break out some serious sick moves).
In an effort to support this boy band resurgence (even Diddy's on board with Making the Band 4--or as I call it New Edition 2) I have decided to live the last month of Summer 2007 like Summer 2000. Mind you, in Summer 2000 I was 18. And constantly drunk. The good 'ol days if you will.
So if you see a drunk girl doing the "Bye Bye Bye" dance down the street, it's probably a good bet its me.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Another one of our friend's met us and we went to grab a bite before we began what eventually turned into the great Bay Ridge drink off of 2007. I inhaled some nachos and a mini-pizza and then we went off to some bars. The evening started off pretty normal. The three of us, standing around, drinking. We ended up at a bar called The Salty Dog which is pretty funny considering there was a mix of middle aged firemen and women in walkers. We parked ourselves next to the restored model of a fire trucks and caught up on gossip, etc. The crowd wasn't exactly what we are used to (although, drinking around the elderly is more amusing than you would think) so we headed over to another place called The Pour House. I've been to this bar before and it's ok and I remember why...ladies, if you are ever suffering from any sort of low self-esteem go to this place. Odds are, you will be better looking than most of the other women. If you aren't well, sorry, you may want to look into hanging out at The Salty Dog with the elderly.
So we started buying rounds and definite buzz started creeping over us. Expletives became more prominent in conversation. I was drinking Sam's Summer like water. A few locals started to trickle in and finally the bar got a pretty good crowd. A DJ came in a Bon Jovi started blasting. I was fully enjoying myself when some weirdo with Drug Teeth (meaning the bottom row sort of looks like Corey Haim's, you know, because of the crack) and starts chatting at me, definitely not with me. Finally he gets to the point and drops his pickup line on me. Now, I've heard some nutty stuff. I've been told things like "I just want to marry you, knock you up, and divorce you," and "Your ass is as soft as two pillows," and the ever-present "PSSSSSSTTTTTTTTT." Drug Teeth literally threw me for a loop.
Here is how it went down:
Drug Teeth: "You look like a squirrel."
DT: "Like a smart squirrel."
DT: "You know... squirrels are cute."
Carly: "I think of squirrels as little rodents with diseases and stuff."
DT: "No, I mean it in a good way."
Carly: "Well, that's not a nice thing to say." To bartender: "He just called her a squirrel."
Me: "Yes. A squirrel." To the man: "I don't think i look like a squirrel and I'm really just here to hang with my girls...so......"
DT: Keeps talking
Me: "I'm really just here to hang with my friends and you called me a squirrel..."
Bartender pours free shots.
DT: Still talking.
I start thinking and decide I'm going to channel my brother-in-law who calls people "guy" whenever he gets annoyed. I slowly turn around and look at this man, my annoyance written all over my face and my hands ready to bust out all of the hand gesture I can think of.
Me: "Guy..." as Slice my hand down in the air in a move I can only describe as a karate chop.
DT: "Please do not say anything bad..." walks away, frightened, never to return.
Enter two British dudes, more shots, me blabbing about Robbie Williams to one of the British dudes, until I realized he smelled like someone who sleeps in his own ash tray and probably hasn't showered in a day or two.
Next thing I know I'm begging the DJ for some Beastie Boys and he says OK come look...in the DJ booth. Which was up really high. I stumble into it and start flipping through his books while he puts his hands on my hips is order to steer me to face the equipment--which I know think was a total pickup move--and he tells me to push a button to play the song I had requested. I guess the owner spotted me and made me get down but not before I played "No Sleep 'Til Brooklyn." Oh yes, like a loser fan wearing a t-shirt with the name of the band they are going to see (I was Gutter), I played "No Sleep 'Til Brooklyn," late at night, in a bar, in Brooklyn and started fist pumping. No one seemed to care though. I the blink of an eye it was 4 am and i had promised Future Mrs. Krabbypatty I would go with her and Spanish, to her 1st bridal dress fitting. (PS She looked amazing.)
I jumped in a cab with the other girl we were with ( she drinks like a rock star btw!) and we came back to NYC. The whole time she was begging him to stop for pizza and then he took us to the wrong neighborhood. It was nutso. By the time I got to my place I was exhausted and passed out. I made it to Future Mrs. Krabbypatty's fitting and then did what I do best, went home to Westchester to give my liver a break (although I did go out the next night...but only for a minute since I started to fall asleep!).
All in all, BK was a riot...even if the people there think I look like a rodent with diseases.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
First, I have to let you know, I love you. If I was offered a job as your personal ass pincher for the rest of my life I would glady accept. You're a hottie. Show me your peen.
Second, I have to say that I was a little hurt when your driver tried to run me over yesterday as you were leaving David Letterman. I was just trying to get home from work, not attack your car. Sure, I saw the tons of people waving at your vehicle, but I wa snot one of them because honestly, I couldn't even see you. Was it then necessary, for your black GMC truck to come barreling across 8th Avenue straight at me? I really don't think so. Was that effer Affleck driving (I assume since he has no career he is now your "Turtle" a la Entourage.)
I could have thrown myself in front of the car and sued but no, I chose to take a step back and avoid and type of mangling that your driver could provide. Since, out of the kindness of my heart, I saved you money and public embarassment, I have one request.
I would like you to sleepover. Just one night. And no sex (although I may ask you to show me the peen as noted above) because you are married and a father and I am not going the Angelina route. All my friends will come over and we'll all get wasted and maybe some people will start hooking up and me and you will be like, "Hey, isn't that weird, I never thought those two would go together." And then they will start dating and we'll still be like "Remember when they hooked up the night I had that sleepover?" And then they'll get engaged and it will be all nice and happy and then married and you'll obvs be invited because by that point you're in the click and everybody's boy. And we'll all be like "Really, who knew?" and then maybe you'll be going through a tough time in your marriage and your daughter will have just started school and Affleck's in rehab again and we'll get all deep in conversation and then make out and we won't start a whirlwind romance because you're married and you'll win your second Oscar because I inspired you and then get divorced and we'll celebrate by announcing our new relationship on Oprah and then have 3 babies and that couple who hooked up at that party will get divorced and we'll be like, "Woah! We didn't see that coming, but remember when they hooked up at that sleepover? That was weird."
Sincerely yours in all of your Bourneness,
A confession: I L-O-V-E the show So You Think You Can Dance! I became addicted to it last year. Like ADDICTED. I would religiously watch it every week and then vote. I even went to go to see the tour, amongst a bajillion tweens. Thank God my sister and a good friend of mine who we'll call, Denim (since she owns a store that sells jeans and really cool clothes), also love the show because I would have no one to discuss it with.
This year more people have caught SYTYCD fever and thank God, because between the Harry Potter obsession and the dancing, I've been looking like a big loser who has nothing better to do (sadly, sort of true :()
I think this season has been a little lackluster cosindering last year's group blew my mind...until last night. mia Michaels taught Lacey and Neil a routine that literally moved me to tears. I found the clip on YouTube to share with you, but what you don't see is them showing the backstory of the piece. It's a reunion between a father and daughter in heaven, and I truly haven't seen anything like this before.
I know not everyone with get it (I was watching it live wih London and her response was, "That's it?") but those who understand contemporary dance will agree, this is definitley something unique.
OR, I am probably just really a loser who has nothing better to do than write abou crap she sees on TV.