Taking things personally

Sorry I haven't written in a while. Apparently I have fans. Fans who complain when I don't write blogs. Granted they all went to college with me but they are still fans. And lately I've disappointed them by not writing much.

Truthfully I haven't written because I have nothing to say. I'm always tired and cranky and, truthfully, quite weepy and sensitive lately. I've been taking a lot of things very personally that really don't warrant that much attention.

Example -- a good friend of mine was here this weekend (which made me soooooooo happy) but she brought this total tool with her -- latent homo who hides this fact by screaming the word "titties" at the top of his lungs in public (long story and just as charming as it sounds) and pretending to have a girlfriend. He proceeded to get drunk and insult me (another long story that is not at all charming) and I let it get to me and it's been pissing me off ever since. I mean I didn't cry or anything but I allowed him to engage me in the stupid, nonsensical rant of insults by insulting him back. Which means I let him get to me. Which means I took it personally. When it wasn't personal at all. He's a miserable, ugly wanna-be fag -- wouldn't you be miserable if that were you? Anyway women like me should not let total tools get to her. I mean I'm not very smart but I'm smarter than some tool. Don't you agree, three fans? But I guess I'm a little mushy and icky lately -- it must be an after-effect of moving 3,000 miles away from the only home I've ever known.

I've also been letting my boss get to me. Which is even stupider. Because everyone knows you should never let work get personal. It doesn't make any sense.

I've also been taking it personally that a guy that I went on an excrutiatingly bad date with hasn't called me. Is that wacked or what?

Anyway, if I think of anything interesting to say I will totally tell you guys. And if one of these days I encounter a total tool and instead of arguing with him just punch him in the face and walk away, I will be sure to include that.

Things I learned this weekend

Uttering the phrase, "I feel a cold coming on so I think I'll have orange juice with my vodka" causes your friends to recommend you seek a twelve-step program.

Fruit juice with vodka does not make the vodka less likely to give you a hangover.

Claiming to be a straight man and then being spotted by your colleagues at a gay bar means you're gay... or at least that's what they're going to tell everyone you know.

When someone sends a picture of his penis via text message to someone else, that someone else will show his co-workers and those co-workers will meet said someone and call him "the penis" no matter how much that someone else tells them to stop.

Don't argue with Michael about any of the following -- the color of pre-cum, where Hart & Huntington is located and what makes people from Redwood, CA so damn conservative. Just pinch his cheeks and he will giggle and go back to being in a good mood.

Knowing Hot Chocolate will get you into Krave for free.

Hot Chocolate cannot get you into Girl Bar even though it's attached to Krave.

Some women will be offended if you compliment them on their "hot fuck-me boots" and then will go on to pretend they have never heard that term before.

There is nothing more depressing than waking up on Sunday afternoon and being immediately faced with the paper bracelet from the night before still attached to your wrist and the ink stamp from the night before that still on the back of your hand.

I found my people

Piercings and tattoos and guitars -- oh MY!

I found my people. Last night I decided to ask people at work if they wanted to check out First Friday. Before I moved here I heard that downtown was where the arts scene was, where there was live music and punk bars and people drinking coffee NOT produced by Starbucks. After I moved in to my apartment and checked out my neighborhood (lovely, clean, quite the picture suburbia and -- most importantly -- 2 miles from work) and my co-workers (lovely, polite, hailing from suburbia and friendly and welcoming) I thought that such a place as "downtown" could not really exist. But it does.

There are vintage shops, art galleries, large rooms with threadbare couches and half-dressed chicks singing along plaintively while a scruffy guy in a hipster t-shit plays the acoustic guitar. One look around and I realized I was home.

And Fremont Street, which for historic reasons is very interesting and is also home to Vegas Vick, the large neon cowboy, is more than just a pedestrian district with non-glam casinos. Beauty Bar is down there -- one of my favorite bars in NewYork and the official hang-out for more of my people HERE. I was so happy to see them I had five screwdrivers and paid a $5 cover.

I'm so happy.

By the way, if you are ever in the mood to learn more about Fremont Street -- or any other part of Vegas -- ask my friend Michael to walk with you. He knows EVERYTHING.

"How I Spent My Wednesday" by Louise O'Brien

My company likes us to keep a record of how we spend our time. I aim to please so here is today's run down.

7:21 am. Wake up in a panic. A slightly hungover panic. Smak self repeatedly in the head for thinking that Kahlua and milk was the appropriate response to insomnia.

7:22 am Trip over own foot on the way to the bathroom.

7:25 am Take shower and decide that washing one's hair should be optional.

7:33 am Poke self in eye while putting in left contact.

8:05 am Run madly out the front gate of apartment complex thinking I'm going to miss the bus. Notice guy who stands outside complex waiting for his ride to work everyday is laughing. Then notice that there is no bus and am running for nothing.

8:14 am Board bus behind a weird woman who doesn't seem to know what city she's in.

8:21 am Woman behind me on bus begins screaming that the driver has to let her off. Silently look up at the signal string hanging off of each bus window and wonder if she knows what they're for -- to signal your stop on the bus.

8:22 am Another woman behind me tells me my hair smells like sunshine. Debate on whether to tell her hair has not been washed since yesterday. Decide against it and try to look menacing instead.

8:29 am Arrive at work. Trip over own foot a second time.

8:31 am Smack own arm with front door to office building.

8:35 am Walk into office kitchen to be greeted by empty coffee carafe. Mutter the words "Greedy coffee drinking bastards" and slink back to cubicle.

8:36-10:05 am Various work activities too boring to mention.

10:06 am Attempt to fax producer in Century City. Realize have no knowledge of how fax machine works. Inadvertently fax Brazil. Ask coworker for help. Explain that I was dropped on the head as a child and it has forever affected my ability to use machinery.

10:07-11:00 am Search for coffee proceeds at five-minute intervals. Spend nearly an hour hoping someone else will make a fresh pot. Decide it would be sad to have to admit that I don't know how to use the coffee maker either. Suffer in silence.

11:01 am Give up on coffee in office and walk across street to Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. Trip over own foot in front of co-workers walking the other way.

11:05 am Order vanilla latte and sigh in disbelief that this stupid morning is not over.

11:06 am Try sample of iced vanilla peppermint coffee drink while waiting for coffee.

11:07 am Spit iced vanilla peppermint coffee drink in waste basket. Shoot dirty look at barista and take latte off the counter.

11:10 am Tell my mother I don't have time to talk to her when she calls/

11:11 am Call mother back and apologize.

11:12-12:00 pm Spend most of hour looking for boss. Vow to staple him to his chair the next time he sits in it.

12:02 pm Realize that no one I was planning to have lunch with remembered that we had lunch plans.

12:03 pm Think about how long I have to wait for them to remember before I can ditch them and go to Pei Wei.

1:01 pm Go to Pei Wei. Wait 10 minutes for food while sipping on soda.

1:06 pm Trip on way to get soda refill.

1:14 pm Pick pieces of chicken out of pad thai that I purposely ordered with chicken because I remember that I don't like chicken.

:00 pm Participate in brainstorming session during which Elizabeth and I decide that it is not appropriate to name a Las Vegas tourism campaign intended to promote local taxpayers confidence in the system either of the following :"Wasting your tax dollars" or "Why the freeway still isn't finished."

2:21 pm Trip over own foot while sitting down. Decide I'm mentally retarded and take candy out of Tamar's candy jar to cheer myself up.

3:01 pm Wonder how many people would like to watch me trip and crack my head open.

3:02 pm Michael walks by and calls me "poppet". Decide he would think me tripping and cracking my head open was funny.

3:30 pm Start singing "Jimmy Crack Corn" with no noticeable provocation. Hear Josh sigh in the next cube. Wonder if the two events are related.

3:31-5:00 pm Compile a media list of 1,000 journalists for a future event. Accidentally delete half my work. Call myself a "foot-tripping idiot of the first order" and decide to go home.

Danke shoen, Wayne

Did I tell you guys that not only did I MEET Wayne Newton yesterday but he hugged me and welcomed me to Las Vegas? It was SURREAL! It's a long story but basically I was in the same room with Wayne and Shawn Marion. I would have rather copped a feel on ole Shawn (my God is he hot!) but it was tooooooo tempting to make friends with Mr. Danke Shoen. But for the rest of the say I smelled like potent men's cologne and pancake makeup. I don't know what came over me but I blame my friend Stephanie who is so pretty that famous crooners and basketball players flirt with her and take her business card.

Jessica arrives on Sunday. I'm so excited!

Ed Bradley we hardly knew ya

I'm very sad about Ed Bradley. Aren't you? I always liked him. Other than the fact that he was the coolest guy on 60 Minutes (hip, older black guy with an earring) he seemed really smart and not condescending about his brilliance. I like that in a man. Who knew he was friends with Jimmy Buffett, though? Other than Margaritaville and being realllllyyyy funny at basketball games, I'm not sure how much ole Jimmy has contributed to the world at large. Well, there is "Cheeseburger in Paradise. Which is stupid but still kind of a funny song. Even more interesting than the fact that they were friends -- they were introduced to each other by Hunter S. Thompson.

What a freaking cool life! I should have been a journalist. Why didn't I do that agan? Oh, right, 'cuz I'm a lazy candyass who didn't want to go to local city council meetings for journalism class. Because I didn't want to have to take the city buses near my very suburban college. And now I take the bus everywhere because I was too much of a lazy candyass to get my license at 17 like everyone else in the free world. See the irony?

Mr. Bradley, I raise a glass to you. The glass is filled with $4.00 Chardonnay I picked up yesterday at Whole Foods. I hope you won't be offended. I'm a little broke right now.

Dear Mr. Bus Driver

Dear Mr. Bus Driver,
Thank you very much for only making me chase you half a block the other morning before you stopped and let me on. It was very smart of you to figure out that since I was the only person WALKING let alone running on Charleston Boulevard that might mean that I needed to get on the bus. I certainly enjoyed the whoosh of the doors opening and was very relieved, albeit out of breath, when I was able to join my fellow poor people on your smelly bus.
Love Louise

Dear Mr. Bus Driver,
I hope you weren't offended that I referred to your bus as smelly in my last letter. I know this is not your fault. I'm pretty sure the guy who gets off at the same stop as me at Red Rock probabaly works with fish or something because he smells to high heaven. It doesn't help that your shirt hasn't been laundered in a while but I want you to know it's not ENTIRELY your fault. It's mostly fish guy. And the guy who gets on and off the bus holding that dirty shovel. But I wouldn't suggest that we tell him that since he could hit us with that shovel. So let's just keep that info between us.
Love Louise

Dear Mr. Bus Driver,
I don't know if anyone told you this but you are expected at the stop near my house at 8:05 am. You might not have realized this but you arrived at my stop at 8:17, which is a bit later than you were expected. Making me a little later than I expected to be for work. It's not a big deal, BD, but in the future if you could give me a call and let me know you're gonna be late that would be awesome. Maybe you're getting back at me for complaining about the whole running incident the other day. Or maybe it's because of the smelly comment. I certainly hope that's not the case and that you will adhere to the schedule in the future. I certainly didn't mean to offend you. In fact, the more I think about it, the happier I am that you allowed me to get some much needed exercise.
Love Louise

Dear Mr. Bus Driver,
I am fully aware that you don't know my life story so you don't know that I am from New York and therefore well-acquainted with public transportation and the behavioral tendencies of bus drivers. So for me it's a bit weird (and I'm pretty sure forbidden in New York) when a bus driver tells a passenger she "looks very pretty today". I'm sorry that I responded to said compliment with a look of withering disdain. I'm not a bitch. I'm just from the East Coast. I promise to tell you that you look pretty the next time I see you wearing a shirt that fits you and that is properly buttoned. That has not happened yet but, rest assured, I'll be ready when it does.
Love Louise

Dear Mr. Bus Driver,
That was not a beer can I was drinking out of the other day. It was a brand new energy drink that I got for free at work. It just happens to come in a tall, silver can. No, really, that's what it was. I could tell you wanted to tell me that I was too young to drink my life away, or that it was innappropriate to be drinking at 8:00 am, or maybe that I looked pretty again. But it's not illegal to drink in public in Las Vegas. So you couldn't say anything. So instead you just quietly resented me. But I wanted you to know that it wasn't beer.
Love Louise

Cupcakes, green sake & famous chefs

It's been so long, dear readers. And I am woefully hungover but I thought I would take this quiet Sunday afternoon to catch you up on my pathetic life. You game? 'Kay here we go.

Halloween at my company is HI-LARIOUS! The first meeting I had at R&R was my Halloween team meeting. We all get split up into teams and then told to put on a skit. Our clients judge each skit, pick the winners and we get prizes. I played Al Gore in our skit -- well, I wore an Al Gore mask -- and my team won 2nd place -- 4 hours of personal time off was the prize, which I will be using to beat the Thanksgiving traffic when Jessica and I drive to L.A. next month. More importantly Thanksgiving at R&R meant free beer and orange cupcakes, two of my favorite things.

On Friday night I took a group of visiting British journalists out to dinner at Aureole which was FABULOUS and made me miss my press trips to France just a little bit. If you have a few extra bucks to spend (quite a few actually) I highly recommend it. The Charlie Palmer is American but he has perfected the modern French restaurant experience. He came out to meet the group and gave everyone chocolate and cookbooks. He has another Aureole in New York as well but it is much more buttoned-up -- it's in a beautiful townhouse in the East 60s and you're not allowed to use your cell phone if you eat there. That would never fly in Vegas so the one here is a bit more fun. There is also a huge wine collection housed in a clear column three floors-high and serviced by a "wine angel" (a young woman harnessed by very strong cables who flies up and down the rows fetching the wine for the diners.)

Yesterday, R&R bought a table to an event at Gold Coast to benefit The Gay & Lesbian Center of Southern Nevada. Penn & Teller were given an award for I'm not sure what (I think I was standing in line at the bar when they announced it) and they were supposed to sit with us but they didn't. They came in, got their award and booked out of there. (If anyone wants to hear the dirty story I heard about one of those funny fellas let me know.) A drag queen named Kenny did a few minutes of singing/stand-up and recited a very dirty limerick about a girl named Louise with pubic hair down to her knees. Tamar had to control herself from pointing at me and laughing. I thank her for that. My favorite part was during this little film about the center when they interviewed members of the seniors group who were just ADORABLE. I have no idea but lesbians that look like grandmas are just cute. Some of them were there and I had to stop myself from going over and pinching their cheeks. I also had to stop myself from bidding on a cupcake-of-the-month subscription in the silent auction. It was a struggle, let me tell you.

Afterwards I met up with Michael and the British group at Social House (very cool restaurant with a woefully small number of bathrooms) where I was tricked into buying a $222 bottle of green sake. Uh-huh. I'm a jackass.

Afterwards we went to Tangerine where we were told that in order to get a table we had to guarantee to buy THREE bottles. If any of you know anything about clubs, three bottles can run you about the same amount as a couple of pairs of Manolos which I definitely could not have convinced my boss was a legitimate business expense. I'm cute but not cute enough to get away with that. Am I? I think the management could have spared a table for us without the bottle service -- almost all the tables were empty and the only full ones had people at them that looked eerily like my mom and dad.

Needless to say I'm HUNGOVER this morning. Those Brits can drink -- not that Michael and I were exactly teetotalers. We went to brunch this afternoon and went over the dinner bill again with our mouths hanging open. $100 for Kobe beef. Did we even eat that? How much did they charge us for water? Thank God the waitress at Egg & I left the coffee carafe on the table. I definitely needed it this morning.

So now I'm going to do some laundry and attempt to get this ink stamp off my hand and look through the bag of impusle purchases I just picked up at Chez Target. I have problems.

Crazy cat lady buys chocolate eyeballs

I went out driving today. It was fun actually. I have a good instructor who seems to think that not only am I not a BAD driver but I'm actually a good driver. I think she's just happy she survived the ride and would have said anything to get me to give up the wheel. I'm exaggerating a little bit, of course.

I'm worried that I'm slowly going crazy. Having no friends means having no social life so I've been going to the gym, watching movies and taking meaningless walks up and down Charleston Boulevard. I know this will eventually change the longer I'm here and I'm normally big on alone time. HOWEVER without some social activity soon I may lose it. I've been talking to myself a lot. I bought some paper jack-o-lanterns and some bags of Laffy Taffy and chocolate eyeballs and now I'm just praying for trick-or-treaters -- so I'll have someone to talk to even if its just to say "So what are you supposed to be?"

I've already looked up adopting a cat. I found a cat adoption place that is a short bus ride away. Of course, if I get one cat I might as well get two so the little muffin has someone to play with. And then I have to find out if you're allowed to take the cat carrier on the bus. I think I'm gonna do it, though, become a cat mommy. Hopefully I won't turn into one of those crazy people and start throwing birthday parties for the little fellas and baking them little tuna cakes. The other night I caught myself talking back to the judges on Dancing with the Stars so I'm not far away from becoming that crazy cat lady as it is.

What Nevada Day means to me...

Happy Nevada Day everyone! Today is Nevada Day, otherwise known as roundabout the day that Nevada officially became a state. It actually happened on Halloween but the state legislature thought it might be a good idea to give people another three-day weekend. And I couldn't agree more. I spent Nevada Day in my jammies watching True Life and drinking tea. Because I am intrinsically a lazy person. If I had been born during the pioneer days and it had been left up to me, Nevada never would have even be discovered to become a state. The other pioneers would have found me napping in the covered wagon and kicked my lazy ass back to Utah... or wherever the Nevada pioneers came from.

I went out for my first afterwork happy hour last night. Some girl I've met three times is moving to Phoenix so some of us office folk celebrated her departure and wished her well with giant margaritas and taco chips. The three times I met her she was very nice and I don't know anyone here anyway so I went. The margaritas at Agave are HUGE. That stopped bothering me after one of the office bigwigs pulled out his credit card. Suddenly two or three of those bad boys didn't seem so hard to handle. 'Cuz they was free.

I have absolutely no other plans for the rest of the weekend other than driving lessons. Pray for my neighbors please. They have nice cars and I can just see myself hitting one of them as I pull out of the complex.

Everything sounds better with "a go go" at the end

Michael invited me to brunch at Hash House A Go Go. I highly recommend it but keep in mind two things before you go. 1) They stop serving at 2:00 pm on Sundays and don't reopen for dinner and 2) they serve portions that could choke a horse. A horse and a goat and possibly another horse. Whatever -- enough food for several farm animals. Great big bloody mary's, too, which made me very happy. One of Michael's friends is from Jackson Heights. He totally knows all the places I know -- he's even a fan of Jackson Hole. If you're in New York and you're hankering for a burger the size of your head, that is indeed the place to go. The one on Astoria Boulevard is also the same diner that was in the movie GoodFellas.

It was nice to actually leave my house on a weekend. Mostly I hang out compuslively watching the kitchen counters and watching bad movies. Not because I'm a crazy shut-in but because I don't know anyone here yet. I spend a lot of time at the gym on the premises. There's never anyone in there so it's like my own private work out room. I even sing while I'm on the treadmill. I probably just jinxed myself and the place will be packed the next time I go in. Hopefully no one will walk in the next time I'm busting a move while listening to A Tribe Called Quest on my MP3 player. That would be pretty embarassing.

Next weekend my driving lessons start so as to prepare me for my driving test in early November, after which nobody is safe. I pray I don't kill anyone. Driving seems to come so easily to everyone else.

Mace might be a good investment

The last time I purposely stayed home on a Saturday night is a distant memory for me. But I don't know anyone here yet so I'm sort of on my own. So I went to the supermarket to buy super important cupboard staples (ginger snaps and black olives) which was my only semblance of a social activity so far this weekend. It was kind of social actually because some guy followed me from aisle to aisle until I stopped, turned around and stared at him until he went slinking back to the cheese display. Maybe I should buy some mace.

I love watching the news here because every single network has the same backdrop -- the Strip -- which makes it look like the super important news from cartoon-land. Newscasters look less serious with a faux Eiffel Tower behind them.

Have I shared my bus stories with you guys yet? No? Here's one. Yesterday I thought I had a meeting first thing in the morning on the Strip so I prepared to take the three buses there. On the second bus I noticed a tugging on my hair after I sat down. I turned around, saw a seemingly harmless looking toothless woman. So I turned back around, went back to reading my book, and she proceeded to pull my hair every thirty seconds for the next ten minutes. As I disentangled myself in order to get off to catch the third bus (corner of Rainbow and Flamingo -- even the streets here sound made up) I saw I had a voicemail from my boss telling me not to come, the meeting had been cancelled. So I rode with hair puller for nothing. Well, not nothing. It's made for something to tell you people.

On a nice note, my boss and I were supposed to go and see Toni Braxton the other night. It was inexplicably cancelled but my boss took me to Sushi Roku instead. Sushi was okay but the view was incredible. I highly recommend it. When it's not propped up behind newscasters, the view of the Strip is freaking cool.

Welcome CBs

My friends went to see RHCP without me. I was supposed to go -- they were MY tickets after all -- but I had to go and move to Vegas. Jessica was nice enough to call me so I could hear the raucous "Can't Stop" along with her. She assured me that, yes, John was cute as a button and she loved him much more than she expected to before she got there. I love to be able to convert others to the religion that is Frusch Worship.

Did you guys hear that CBGB is coming here? Weird. Fun and fabulous Vegas is. Let's see if punk rock history has a role here. I hope it doesn't become like Hogs & Heifers -- used to be a legit bar in New York but in Vegas it's a tourist trap, albeit still fun. I'll let you guys know what happens. I'm kind of happy about it actually. It's like one of my old friends is moving here.

Selling organs on The Strip

I know that I'm a girl... well, last I checked anyway. But I get an awful lot of enjoyment out of Harold & Kumar go to White Castle. Funny funny funny. Even though I hate White Castle.

I'm broke as a joke. I owe the cell phone company and the cable company and I have NOOOOOOOOOO money. Not a little money. NO MONEY. There isn't even any change in my couch because it's brand spanking new.

So what shall I do for money short of selling organs? Peddle my skanky ass on The Strip? Sell my valuables? Stop eating till my paycheck clears? Any and all suggestions are welcome.

Leaving excitement behind

All of my stuff from New York arrived. YAY! I spent the whole day unwrapping bubble wrapped items, putting things away -- stuff like that. What an exciting life I do lead out here in the Wild Wild West! So Saturday night I'm sitting here watching 8 Mile (again), thinking about the exciting life I left back in New York... well, more exciting than this anyway. For instance, the first time I saw 8 Mile it was because I was invited to an advanced screening, and I sat behind Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins. Ah well. I have a nicer apartment here. That's something.

I walked to the bank and Von's and Starbucks today, proving that one's legs do work in this land of speeding autos. It's been raining a lot. RAIN IN THE SOUTHLAND! Who knew?

Anyone else been watching Survivor? I think it is sooooo wrong that Jonathan is competing, considering he probably still makes residual checks from the crappy TV shows he did over the years. He does NOT need a million dollars as much the nursing student that got kicked off this week.

Can't look away

Living alone is scary. I have no one to shake awake to tell them I think there's someone hiding in my closet. Not that I ever did that. Noooo, not me. If you know my old roommate, John, and he tells you some story about me looking for the "killer", empty handbag in hand with which to bludgeon him in case I found him under the bed... well, he's making the whole thing up. That never happened.

Work is still good. They seem to think that I'm, like, smart and know stuff about PR. WHERE did they get these crazy ideas? I spoke to my boss on the phone -- he's in Germany on a European media tour. He seems to think I'm going to catch up on all the projects we're working on in no time. But he was jet-lagged and just back from a beer hall when we spoke so let's wait and see what he thinks when he gets back to Vegas.

On a lighter note, the girl in the cube next to me is a HUGE Yankees fan and she is just as sad as I am that the playoffs were cancelled this year. They were, too, cancelled! If they weren't cancelled then explain to me how they completely ceased to exist for me as of Saturday night? Ah hah! You can't explain it. Stop trying to talk sense into me. I'm beyond help.

I just got an email from Tina about Adriana's birthday party which I will be missing YET AGAIN. I used to miss it every year because I was always on a press trip in October. Now I went and move across the country. I can't catch a break. The email made me wistful and a little homesick. I really like it here so far. But I miss New York and my friends and my family. I guess that's only normal. On Adriana's birthday, instead of being drunk with all of my friends at Croxley's Ale House , I will be listening to Stephen Baldwin speak about becoming a born-again Christian. No, seriously.

Let me explain. The chick who used to live in this apartment was apparently an uber Jesus freak and all of her mail came to me. One piece of mail was a flyer to hear Stephen Baldwin talk about the changes in his life since he chose to accept Jesus Christ as his personal savior. I cannot resist -- I must check this out! It's at the high school down the street from my office so I'm going to go and check it out. It's the same reason I always watch when I'm flipping channels and I happen upon Kirk Cameron's preachy TV show. It's like watching the alien in the movie rip his face off. You want to look away but you just CAN'T.

Transportationally impaired

I can't believe I live here. It's very cool but very odd at the same time. Today was my first day of work -- I arrived yesterday. My dad picked me up at the airport, drove me to my apartment, took me to Target to buy stuff I forgot to get last time -- like a lamp and shoes for my first day of work (long story). He took me grocery shopping and then he hung out here all day with no visible source of entertainment to wait for the cable guy to show up. He did -- I have TV. It's a lot less lonely in the apartment with the sound of canned sitcom laughter, let me tell you.

My first day was awesome, albeit overwhelming. Everything is so different in a corporate environment. First of all, I've never worked with so many people before -- this company has 166 people in the Vegas office ALONE. Everyone was so nice to me. I think I'm going to like working there. You know, until they figure out I'm a big stupid fraud and fire my ass.

I'm still on New York time so I'm a little sleepy and slightly disoriented. If anything funny happens to me on the way to and from work in the next couple of weeks I will highlight it on this thing. But being "transportationally impaired" means my social life will be pretty non-existent for a while. Thereby making me less interesting. Thereby making this blog downright boring.

Last day musings

Please send positive thoughts to the Yankees? They're killing me right now. Maybe they're sad that I'm moving. D'ya think?

So today is it. The last day. I don't live here anymore. I'm sad and excited and jumpy as hell. My mom invited my whole family to her house for pizza and beer. My kind of party. If you're in the Astoria area and you want to come for a slice, lemme know.

I am so tired of talking about leaving but that is all anyone can talk about, understandably. I'm freaking out all of my friends, also understandable. Last night was Adriana and John's wedding, which was a wonderful excuse to do two things -- 1) see all of my friends and get drunk with them one last time and 2) wear a pretty party dress. Adriana and John looked very happy and we were all ecstatically happy for them. They're such a cute couple. I've known Adriana since God was a child -- I'm happy she found John. He's ADORABLE and he loves her to bits and pieces, just like I do.

My other favorite couple, Kristin and Chris, were there. Chris gave me yet another reason to believe he is the best possible match for my Rydell. They're getting married next year and he waxed poetic about how happy he is that she is his fiancee -- it was actually genuine, though, not sappy and put on to impress her friends like some men I know have been known to do. I love when my friends meet GOOD people to settle down with. And we all know that it is VERRRRYYYY important that I approve of who you choose to marry, dear readers. Very very important.

Go Yankees!

This entire blog is dedicated to the New York Yankees because desperately need good things to happen for them before I leave New York for good and it's out of my hands. Positive thoughts, people. Positive thoughgs.

Does everyone love how I posted a blog about "What Motley Crue song are you?" No? Well, bite me!

GO YANKEES!

I saw Chloe from Project Runway in Bloomingdale's the other day while I was buying an overpriced dress for my friend's wedding. Very uncharacteristically I went up to her to tell her that I loved her and then introduced her to my mother. She looked frightened. Frightened and very, very short. I'm so cool.

GO YANKEES!

I called several of the companies I owe money to to tell them that I'm moving and give them my new address. I was told that the computer doesn't recognize my new address and, in fact, the computer said that the street I claim to live on in Las Vegas does not exist. This does not bode well.

GO YANKEES!

Jessica's boss entrusted her with his paddle at a charity art auction last night. She was allowed to bid up to $15,000. Jessica. My sister. Someone trusted her to spend $15,000 of their money. With my help. I was of no help. But the aucitioneer was John from They Might Be Giants so that was cool. She didn't get the painting.

GO YANKEES!

Afterwards, I forced her to go to The Half King, which is one of my favorite bars in New York, followed by McFadden's, one of my least favorite bars in the world. But Kathy Katherson was there so we had to go. Hi Kath!

GO YANKEES!

I can't believe I only have two days left in New York. It's freaking me out! Any advice, dear readers? If not advice, do you have any tranquilizers that I could take on the plane? Because I'm freaking out now. I can only imagine what I'm gonna do the Jet Blue crew on the way there.

The last time I drank sangria

I'm a little sad tonight. Mostly because I'm a little drunk tonight. And "drunk" almost always equals "melancholy", especially when you are leaving the only city you've ever known to move somewhere where you know no one. I had drinks with Emily and Katie at Mosto and then, after putting a very tired Em in a cab and parting ways with Katie (for probably the last time) on 2nd Avenue, I wandered into a CD/DVD store that was still open at 10:00 pm and a sense of sadness overcame me. One does not wander into late-night record stores in Vegas. My twin sister and my mom do not live in Vegas. Katie and Emily and I will not have dinner on a random Wednesday in Vegas.

I walked to the subway, then to my mom's house, and I passed the tree-lined street that leads to my grammar school and the church where I made my First Communion and I realized that something I had said to Katie earlier that night was truer than I knew it was while I was saying it. The last time is the last time whether you know it or not. When you break up with someone you don't know the last time you are having sex is the last time -- or the last time you kiss them or eat at a restaurant with them or wake up and have coffee with them -- any last time doesn't really present itself as a last time. Unless you plan it. And if you plan it, it's not really the last time. It's a version of the last time you created in order to say goodbye to something -- like breakup sex. Leaving New York -- the city I love and the city I love to hate -- is a bit like going through a breakup. A breakup I initiated.

So the last time I did all of the things that made my life in New York so great, so memorable, so comfortable, so whatever - well, they happened and I misssed it. I might not have even enjoyed them as much as I would have had I known I would never do them again. They might have even happened before I announced the big move.

Deep thoughts brought on by sangria and cold chicken cutlets. Tune in tomorrow for caustic, witty Louise. This sad sack version is going to bed now.

Turn signals are very important

My official last week in New York has officially begun. Shortly after waking up my first day back (yesterday) I went to my cousin's 40th birthday brunch at Cebu in Bay Ridge. Great restaurant if you're just willing to drag your candy ass all the way out to the next-to-last stop on the R train.

The party went on at the same time as the 3rd Avenue Festival out there during which my 7 year-old nephews saw their first drag queens. Then Nicholas, the blond one, looked up at me and said, "Aunt Lula, will I ever see you again?" All together now... awwwwwwwwwwwwww! He told me he's coming to visit me tomorrow to see the pool in my apartment complex and the Grand Canyon, in that order. (Kids and their priorities -- swimming pools trump natural geological wonders every single time.) I explained I wouldn't be living there yet tomorrow but he was not to be dissuaded. Maybe at 7 years old tomorrow means any day in the future. I certainly hope so otherwise he ran away from home today to go sit in Kennedy airport.

As we were driving to and from the party through LIC I had another,"What the fuck am I thinking?" moment. Why am I leaving here? New York annoys me sometimes but its the greatest city in the world? Every culture is represented and, even in Long Island City, there are places to get Turkish coffee, vintage clothes and pizza on like EVERY street. It's New York -- make it here and you can make it anywhere and there's a reason that traffic is so bad and apartments are hard to come by. It's the crossroads of the world and I love it.

But then I was watching a commercial for the Comedy Festival that's coming to Vegas in November and I remembered that I'm going to a city with a palpable sense of excitement in the air where events are always happening and people are loathe to go to sleep for fear of missing something. Vegas is like that. You can meet people from all over the world just by strolling down the Strip. Once you leave the Strip, a sense of normalcy pervades the city -- well, if you consider it normal to be able to play slots while you are waiting for your prescription to be filled at CVS. And, yes, we all do live in cookie-cutter condo complexes out there but the people are anything but cookie-cutter. It's the West, where there is lots of space and warm weather and people who look you in the eye. It's not New York but I think I'm gonna like it. If I could just teach them all to signal before they change lanes, life will be good. (Anyone wanna hear the story of me hitting the tire of a cement truck on Flamingo Boulevard?)

My friend Diane is making me dinner tonight which should be nice. Before that, I have to go buy a suitcase for the rest of my clothes. I brought two huge suitcases with me when I was there last week but I still have more clothes. Katherine used to say she shuddered to think of the amount of clothes that were stuffed into my closet here in New York. She will be happy to know I have a walk-in closet now. If it doesn't all fit in there I officially have a problem. I have so much to do this week but top of the list is seeing anyone who isn't sick of my ugly mug so let me know if you want to grab a coffee or lunch or a cocktail this week and I will do my best to make it happen.

Who's a muff'n?

Have you guys seen the latest issue of Guitar Player with cute little John Frusciante on the cover? I wish I still played the guitar so it wouldn't be quite so weird that I bought it. But I had to. In addition to a large photo of the Frusch (reason enough to buy any magazine) the article has the word "muff'ns" in the headline. Now is that fate or what? Everyone who knows me knows that I call people that I love "muffin". And I love JF so I would call him "muffin" if we ever met. Granted, the use of the word "muff'n" in this particular article was referencing a type of distortion pedal but whatevs. I think it means that I was meant to hug JF and make him a sandwich and call him "muffin", as I always said that I would if we ever met. And now I live much closer to him than I ever have before -- Vegas is only 4 1/2 hours from LA, I'll have you know. This sort of makes not being able to see him in concert with my friends in October not as horrible. Well, not really.

Did I mention I'm jet lagged and my ears haven't popped and I'm not making much sense right now? Yeah. My ears hurt. I love John Frusciante. I have a headache. I live in Vegas now. Short declarative sentences. That's what I can handle right now. I'm going to go watch Detroit Rock City and then go sleepy sleepy.

New teapot, new life

In the last three days I got an apartment, some towels, a new teapot and a Nevada learner's permit. I've accomplished so much. I realized that I have to take the bus until I get a license, which could take until November 6 to get -- that's when they scheduled my road test. Lucky for me, my new apartment is located on the bus line that takes me right to work. Even in Vegas I manage to take public transportation. So now I will still be able to read and listen to Elton John's greatest hits on my way to work -- just like I did in New York. I love turn-key situations. It's about a mile and a half so if worse comes to worse I could walk. Also within walking distance of my new apartment while I am transporation-impaired -- Chinese take-away, a drug store, a nail salon and Whole Foods. I'm sorry but this is all good news. At least I won't starve and I can get a pedicure.

I will be back in New York on October 1. Tonight I will be at New York New York Hotel and Casino having drinks with my mom while we play slots. We've won $100 so far. Don't ask us how much we spent to get that $100 because it's depressing.

It could happen

My "Goodbye New York" party was fun. From what I can recall. (Please hold while I scarf down cold eggs and two Advil -- surefire hangover cure or sidetrip to increased nausea?) I told a lot of people I love them. Several dozen times. And I did shots of what people told me were Patron and Blackhaus but which I suspect were actually pure gasoline. Yum.

Seriously -- people I didn't expect to see showed up (Hi Ana, Claire, Mark) and other people I haven't seen in a while (my JOE! and Anna and Kim). I chose Double Down as the location because it's also a bar in Las Vegas. What I didn't realize was that they also have TVs in every corner showing a mixture of masturbation porn and pornographic cartoons. I walked in to Chris and Kristen sitting with their mouths hanging open -- they almost didn't see me walk in. Good times. And a special shout-out to Andrea and her friends -- the only people brave enough to try the fabled "Ass juice".

Anyway, so I'm sitting here, hungover, surrounded by boxes, craving a bloody mary, watching a Tivo'd episode of Dancing with the Stars (I don't know about you but I'm rooting for Jerry) and realizing that this is my last hungover Saturday living in this apartment. Thanks to everyone who came out last night. Thanks for the shots and the hugs. Thanks for giving a fuck that I'm leaving. For some reason that makes the whole "dragging my candy ass across the country without knowing a soul in Vegas" thing a little less scary. Just promise that if I come back in a couple of months with my head hung in shame you will not make fun of me. 'Cuz it could happen.

Unopened mail and old friends

I'm pretty much all packed. Funniest thing I've put in a box? Unopened mail. I like mail better when I don't know what's in the envelope. Because usually it's from some company telling me I owe them money. And I don't have any money. Ever. So I keep them sealed and now I'm taking them with me to Vegas. Better yet I'm SHIPPING them to Vegas. I'm crazy but I amuse myself.

One of my favorite people from high school found me on Myspace. Hey Claire, hey! She was a riot when we were kids. She didn't drink but she never got tired so she would stay out until 5:00 am. After two beers I usually had to be carried home. You can see why I would want to be more like Claire then, cantcha? Also she knew everybody. Everybody. Everywhere. I used to say we could be stranded in Timbuktu and Claire would find someone she knew. It's a gift. Really.

I have to get my ass in gear and get ready for tonight. I plan to behave a bit debaucherously at Double Down tonight. Well, as debaucherously as I can without getting sick because I have to get up early tomorrow and make sure that all my moving boxes are sealed and I'm not leaving anything behind. If I start crying, I'm going to be soooooooooo mad. Because I hate crying. And between not knowing how to parallel park and thinking about how much I'm going to miss my friends and family, I've been crying more than my fair share this week. I hate liquid coming out my face. It's one of my pet peeves.

I packed all my clothes. Which begs the question -- was I planning on going out naked tonight? Now I have to unpack one of my suitcases to find an outfit. Way to think ahead, Louise

Let's just start calling it "O'Brien's Law"

Everything is going wrong. As is to be expected in my life. Let's call it O'Brien's Law. So far, aside from being broke from all the moving costs, I failed my road test so I have to take it again in Nevada. Which should be fun. Why oh why did I take so long to try to get a driver's license? Now I really need it and I don't have it. So the first few weeks that I live in Vegas I'll be keeping some random taxi company in business. Yippee.

So I leave on Sunday. My mom is coming with me to act as my chauffeur (it just keeps getting better, doesn't it?) and my dad is meeting us on Monday. Because what's more fun than hanging out with two formerly married people who haven't seen each since they were both at the same funeral nine years ago? I can't think of anything, can you? And the hits just keep on coming.
I'll be back on September 30 and I'm here until October 8. My first day of work is October 9 so I have next week to get everything set up in Vegas BEFORE my first day of work. I wouldn't be coming back to New York except for two things -- my cousin's 40th birthday party and my oldest friend's wedding, two events I am very excited about and wouldn't miss for the world. Also, I have Yankees playoff tickets which, I have a feeling, will make the whole world seem rosier even though the only seats we could get were in row V.

I hope to see all of you on Friday at Double Down. I sent an invite but a lot of people didn't get it. Its on Avenue A and 1st and I should be getting there around 6:30 pm. Come on down. They serve something called Ass Juice there and you can't beat that with a bat. With my luck,after glasses of that I'll fall off my bar stool or lose my credit card. It should be fun to watch me shitfaced and crying on my last big night out in New York.

I have to go wrap more stuff in bubble wrap and tape up boxes now. If I never see a cardboard box again in my life, it will be too soon.

Piling up memories

Today was my newest cousin Lola's christening. She's a cute baby. But at five months old I am pretty sure she is already sick of every member of our collected family singing "Copacabana" to her.

I was supposed to be at the Yankee game tonight but we left the party a little late and now I'm watching it on TV and getting nervous as I always tend to this late in the season. It's not life or death but it FEELS like it when you've become as obsessed as I have. If you think I'm bad, you should talk to my sister. She's a lunatic... I say with love.

I went to a great party last night in Harlem. It started early enough that I thought I would be able to make it to my friend Alev's birthday afterwards in the East Village but I didn't. I feel bad. I love Alev. But there were a few factors to why I missed the 2nd event and they are as follows:

1) Jungle juice (consisting of fermented fruit juice) and jello-shots

2) I was chasing Alison down the street telling her to put her shoes on because Eighth Avenue is nowhere to walk barefoot.

3) My sister wouldn't let me leave and kept asking random party guests to stop me from leaving. The aforementioned jungle juice made that a pretty easy task.

Every event that I miss I worry about because my days in New York are numbered and the number of parties with Alev in the East Village are therefore also numbered. The same can be said for dinners with Katie or baseball games with my sister. It's all slipping away. The new adventure is exciting but I'm trying to pile up memories. You know, in between packing and worrying that I'm going to develop a gambling problem. (Actually, that's something my Aunt Louise is worrying about on my behalf. I didn't even think of that to worry about until she mentioned it -- she's good like that.)

I will be in New York until September 24. I'm having my good-bye party at an as-yet undecided location on September 22 at around 6:30 to catch the after-work crowd. I will be in Vegas from September 24-30 and then I am back from September 30-October 8. October 9 is my first official day of work, at which point I am a Nevadan. Well, a New York-Nevadan. 'Cuz you can take the chick out of the city but not the city out of the girl. At least that's what I'm hoping.

You never see the last day coming

So one of the moving companies that are courting me for my business came by my apartment today. While in the process of checking out my breakables he asked me what I do. "PR," I said. "Oh, really?" he replied. "My best friend owns a PR company here in New York." Turns out his "best friend" owns a company I interviewed at last year. I got the job (as per the VP of the company) but his "best friend" was the one who said "Um... yeah, I don't think this is gonna work out." Those were his exact words, if I remember correctly. Small world, huh?

This is my next-to-last day at work. I have loved working here. For all of the headaches and the language barriers, it was one of the most fun experiences of my life. Sad as I am to go, I can't imagine staying here past tomorrow planning press trips to the Loire Valley or translating releases from broken French to perfect English. I'm ready for something new. I don't know if I'm ready for Sin City but I'm excited. And scared. Mostly excited.

When you work somewhere that you love your co-workers become your family. And my "family" is planning a little party for me (complete with cupcakes -- ah, they know me too well!) tomorrow and I know I will cry like a baby with diaper rash when it's all over. These people made me see another side of the world. Hell, they made me see another side of the city I've always lived in. I never even knew New York HAD a French population before I came here. I learned a language. I learned sixteen different ways to wear a scarf. I learned what kind of wine to serve with bleu cheese. I learned that people are people no matter where they come from. And good people come from everywhere.

You can never fully grasp the concept of a last day, even when it is approaching. In a lot of ways my last day here will be nothing like any other day I've ever had here. My office is practically bare. The collage of post cards and thank you notes that decorated the wall behind me is gone. My many cases of wine and liquor that used to sit in the corner have been packed up and sent home. So nothing is like it was. My "last day" probably happened sometime last week. When I leave here tomorrow and shut my computer down and turn off the lights I won't be coming back and it won't even look like MY office when I leave it.

Life is change. Change scares the shit out of me. But I'm making the change. Let's hope I don't screw it up.

Vincent Gallo is happy I'm moving to Vegas

Took a driving lesson today. No one died. Things are looking up.
S
o this girl who used to be my friend but currently hates me because she always wanted my job here at the French Tourist Office applied to replace me. My boss has already decided to move my former assistant up and then hire someone to assist her. But "bitchy girl who hates me and makes fun of the way I speak French" (that's my special name for her) doesn't know that. Awwwww.

Did I tell you guys that I saw Vincent Gallo on Bleecker Street over the weekend? I was standing outside Vittorio (where my friend had her bridal shower) and I screamed his name (like a lunatic) but he kept talking on his cell phone and hurried away. I used to LOVE him. Then I found out that he's slightly crazy and incredibly maladjusted. He used to complain that people accosted him in the street and follow him home. P.S. he lived on Elizabeth Street for years and years and years. And do you know how I know this? He wrote his name in the wet cement outside the building. Um... hello! Maybe this is why people knew where you lived, you big weirdo. He makes good movies, though. Well, Buffalo '66 was good. I never saw the blow job movie. He has pretty eyes, too.

Mowing down pedestrians... Vegas style!

Moving has taken over my life. Well, moving and getting my driver's license. As a lifelong New Yorker I've never had a driver's license before. It turns out I'm a sucky driver. People of Las Vegas beware -- I'm coming and I plan to finance 2 tons of steel with which to mow you down off of those big scary boulevards. Thank God they have valet parking in Sin City or I'd really be screwed. Parallel parking is for saps... and geniuses apparently, because I can't do it.

I'm so melancholy about leaving New York. It's such a huge part of who I am that I can't even fathom living anywhere else. But at the same time I'm so excited by the prospect of living out West. It's so different there. People have a much different attitude about life, it seems. And they all drive, which means they are all smarter and more agile than me. (See how it all comes full-circle in my mind. We're back to driving.)

Because of all of the fuss with getting a license, I've become mildly obsessed with driving. Driving and finding just the right-sized cardboard boxes for my teapot collection and DVDs of The L Word. It's hilarious. I had a mover come by today to give me an on-site estimate and he looked at the stuff I was moving and then at me and then back at the stuff and then back at me. Just looking at him you could tell he was thinking, "Get a big box and a Fed Ex lable and leave me out of this." That's not really fair to say -- I am moving a bed and a dresser and a TV, as well. But the rest of the stuff I'm leaving behind for Jessica and Patti. You had to see the mover's face when I told him I would need at least two boxes for my shoes.

Moving to Vegas

So I'm moving to Vegas. This has blindsided a lot of my friends but I have wanted to move out of a New York for a while now and this opportunity is too good to pass up. Will you miss me, dear readers? Well, probably not, because I will still be writing this stupid thing from Vegas. Now instead of tripping over my own shoes while drunk in the East Village I will be doing it on the Strip. Same diff, different state.

Anyway, that's why I've been so incommunicado. Now all of my "Sex and the City"-like banter will come exclusively from Gawker. I don't know if I will like living in Sin City but I think I will. If I don't I'll be back in NYC before you know it. I plan to be spending a lot of time in So.Cal as well -- this is the first time that I will be living in the same time zone as my father in like 15 years (he lives in Sherman Oaks).

So between now and the end of the September my life will be a blur of packing, haggling with moving companies and good-bye cocktails. I've been crying a lot -- mostly nerves, fear of the unknown -- but mostly I'm excited and I hope you're all excited for me. And I hope you will come visit me or at least have a drink with me if you ever you come out that way.

Let me sign off before I get sappy again.

But I digress

I was 104 degrees when I was in Vegas. It didn't really bother me. I guess I like Vegas. Well, we already knew that. I like cities that never sleep. Great slogan, huh? I should work in tourism. Oh, wait... I do.

The only hitch of the trip was my return flight. I had to take a red eye with one connection in Chicago. When I got to O'Hare the flight to LaGuardia was delayed because... wait for it, wait for it... the crew didn't show up. I have no idea how that happened but that was the excuse the gate agent gave me.

The best thing about O'Hare is that EVERYTHING is open at 5:30 in the morning so I had three cups of Starbucks and bought a stack of magazines and listened to some old skool on my MP3 player and all was well with the world. (The new issue of Elle with Lindsay Lohan on the cover has a great interview with the little brat where she acts and talks like... a little brat. Will wonders never cease.)

Airports aren't so bad. Not sleeping for 24-hours before you end up in sitting around an airport is bad. Having the bitch behind you kick your seat the whole flight back to New York is also bad. But I digress.

I don't have much planned this weekend. I'm catching up on some work and I'm going to hang out with a friend later and that's about it. Any of my New York friends who want to do something fun tonight or tomorrow let me know. I'm just sitting here, recovering from semi-jet lag, watching SFW in my PJs. Call me. You won't be disturbing me, I promise.

Hypocritical rant

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Katherine for calling me Lauren Bacall all day. When she wasn't calling me Lauren Bacall she was asking me to sing Janis Joplin songs. I lost my voice over the weekend. I normally come in on Monday with a slight rasp but it's still here today and -- apparently -- it sounds really funny. This tickled her pink. But then she went out and got me a giant iced coffee so I forgive her. At least until she has something wrong with her and then I will make fun of her until she cries. La la la!

Does anyone else think that the guy who says he killed JonBenet Ramsey is making it up to get attention? Does anyone else think it sucks that he got to fly Business Class? They should have put him in the last row of Coach next to the bathroom and bumped all the people who had purchased seats next to him up to First. Instead he got champagne and shrimp and a hot towel for his face. If you've ever flown Business Class you know about the hot face towel. It rocks! But be forewarned -- it's hot. They don't call it the hot face towel for nothin'. They mean it. It's hot.
Here's what I don't like about New York. This morning I was walking up Madison Avenue behind this pretty girl and I watched her walk over to another girl and compliment her dress. Girl #2 looked like someone had smacked her. I wanted to grab her and scream, "She complimented your dress, you nitwit. She's not going to follow you home and kill you. She didn't offer to give you the plague. She complimented your DRESS!"

I felt very sad about the state of the city I live in. What kind of world is it when people take compliments the same way they take their flu shot? And then I was at the coffee shop in my office building waiting for my caffeine fix, mindlessly scratching the mosquito bites on my ankle when the guy standing there waiting for his coffee leaned in and very sweetly said, "You wouldn't believe it but calomine lotion actually works." And I looked at him like he was nuts. Can you say hypocrite, Louise?

I'm leaving for Vegas tomorrow morning. I'll be back on Friday morning. If anyone is going to be in the vicinity of Vegas over the next two days give me a call. I have a great big hotel room that someone else is paying for and I am bound to be lonely. I'll explain why I'm going there when I get back. That ole jinx again.

And to sign off I will leave you with a line from David Sedaris: "Everyone looks retarded when you set your mind to it." I just love that.

Droolers!

So I missed Chris' show at Common Ground but I did make it to CBGBs to see District 9. (By the way, Happy Birthday Todd!) I haven't been to a NYHC show since... well, since I stopped hanging out with Todd. It was a blast from the past. The guy standing behind me at the bar broke his thumb while trying to push someone who was knocking into him by the stage. Injuries sustained at a hardcore show are fun to explain at work the next day. I say this from experience. Todd, bless his heart, used to have a proclivity for jumping into the crowd and kicking his friends in the face. Never on purpose mind you. His big ole shitkicker boots were like two friend-seeking-missiles and would always manage to clock the one person in the audience that was there to see him, which was once his girlfriend and twice yours truly. I never sustained any permanent damage but I did walk home with a big footprint on my face. Ah, to be 18 again.

I just ate a hot pepper by accident so I have to cut this short because my eyes are tearing and I'm choking a little bit. I will say one thing before I sign off, and this is in honor of my poetic and charming sister -- "Yankees Rule, Red Sox Drool!"

Smack me and I'll smack you back

We went out last night for Laura's birthday. She kept asking us if we were trying to put her in the hospital. I guess she felt she was being forced to drink too much. She was still standing when I left so all's well in the world of Laura and I believe she just texted me which she couldn't do if she was in the hospital.

My sister's friend Dave is an asshole. I feel the need to put that out there in print somewhere. He's the the kind of asshole who smacks you and then gets mad when you smack him back. Then he cries like a little bitch. Funny to watch but thoroughly annoying and quite the buzzkill.

I'm supposed to go to Common Ground tonight if anyone wants to come. Chris might be playing there around 7:00 pm. After that my old friend Todd is playing with District 9 at CBGBs. They go on at 10:00 so come meet me, muffins, because I think I'm going to have to go alone. The only person I know there will be on stage so I might get lonely.

You know what's fun to watch? The BMX Finals. How do they spin in the air and land right back on their bike? Amazing. I can't even walk up a long flight of stairs in high heels.

Double secret probation

Jessica just told Patti on the phone that she was on "double secret probation" and she didn't know what that meant and that made Jessica and I very sad for Patti, who, although she has not seen many "good" movies is more than a little familiar with Uncle Buck. And that's even sadder. ("Patti, I do not know Uncle Buck. I am a lover of film!")

Do you know what my favorite phrase in the English language is? "Three and half games out of first." I also love the phrase "double header sweep". Yankee fans know what I'm talking about. I would also like to state for the record -- never underestimate Jorge Posada. Never ever ever.

I am probably going to be at Brother Jimmy's Bait Shack on the Upper East Side tonight for my friend Laura's birthday. The venue was chosen because she lives down the block and we like alcohol served in fishbowls. (I think I've mentioned that before.) I'm not doing much till then. But if anyone is gonna be in that neck of the woods, come out!

Brave new penis

There is chocolate in my office. I forgot it was here. I'm so happy.

My birthday is really far away but will someone please remember and get this cake for me? I usually ask for cupcakes (because they are the world's most perfect dessert -- cute and sweet just like me... you know, if I was wrapped in a crinkled piece of paper and covered with icing, which, let's face it, sometimes I am.) But I will make an exception for this cake. Because I'm a big SLJ fan. Even though I get a lot of pleasure out of watching Joe Pesci shoot him in the back of the head in GoodFellas. That's not because I don't like him. It's just 'cuz I'm sick.

(NOTE TO READERS: In college, Jessica and I were often known to do a shot and then start yelling "And you will know my name is the LORD when I lay my VENGANCE upon thee." You wanna know funny? Two white girls drunk in a bar in Hempstead trying to sound like Sam Jackson is FUNNY.)

Did you guys see this story about this advice to uncircumcized men? Most Americans are circumsized anyway. French men -- not so much. It's kind of weird actually. I mean I'm kind of an equal opportunity fan of the wee-wee but it looks like it's wearing a little turtleneck if it hasn't been snipped. It would kind of make me happy if all the un-circumsized had to get cut to slow the spread of AIDS as per this article. Might make up in some small part for them never having to go through childbirth or menstrual cramps.

(NOTE TO READERS: Sometimes I read things right after I write them and I'm shocked at myself. Mandatory circumcision? What?!? Maybe in a past life I was a character in an Aldous Huxley book.)

I don't have much in the way of exciting plans tonight. I'm kind of tired. I stayed up watching Cold Case Files on A&E and scaring myself to pieces. How can anyone get married when there is always the possibility that said spouse could kill you and make it look like a foiled burglary attempt? Shit like that keeps me up at night.

Flirting four year-olds

Today's "let's avoid work and talk about anything else under the sun" convo was about kiddie beauty pagents, inspired of course by the recent onslaught of JonBenet murder mystery coverage. I told Katherine about this documentary that I have seen several times (I believe it was originally run on HBO). It's like a freaking train wreck -- I can't NOT watch it if it's on. It's so disturbing. I don't like horror movies but anything involving a true life freak show and I'm hooked.

Today's discussion led to what seemed to us to be an obvious question -- Why is this phenomenon solely found in America? We spend most of our day working with foreign people, teaching Americans about a foreign culture so it is only natural that our mind would wander in this direction.

My theory on the subject? We have become a culture that champions two things that the rest of the world doesn't seem to embrace quite as heartily -- mediocrity and quick-fixes. So why spend your money on your child's future education? She can be pretty and sweet and adored NOW if you pay thousands of dollars for her to be a living Barbie Doll. And maybe she'll win a scholarship!

And won't you feel better about yourself -- you, who are probably overweight, suffering from a lack of higher education (something that is still a luxury in this country rather than the federally funded RIGHT it is in other countries), working a dead-end job, old before your time -- won't you feel better about all of that if people are looking at your BEAUTIFUL CHILD, who is so much prettier than you will ever be? So what that you are practically putting a bullseye on her back, attracting pedophiles and child pornographers the world over. So what that she is not mature enough to understand that batting her eyelashes at three middle-aged male judges is setting her up for a lifetime of doing not much else. It feels good now and there isn't much to look forward to anyway.

At least if she had been born a boy in this country she could always hope to go to Yale, get straight Cs and still manage to get a great job someday.

Lonely level of stupid

I've reached a very high level of stupidity. I was late for work this morning because I couldn't find my keys. So I pulled up couch cushions, emptied out my bag, looked under the bed, in the refrigerator (I once left my cell phone in there so it's not as weird as it sounds). Finally I decided to retrace my steps. I went to the front door to pretend like I was walking in again and there they were, still dangling from the front door. I went to sleep last night with my keys hanging out of my front door. And I don't live in an apartment -- I live in a three-family house in Astoria and I am on STREET LEVEL. I could have been killed. After I found my keys I looked in all the closets and under the beds to make sure that whatever killer might have broken in last night wasn't still hiding out and then I went to work.

This level of stupid is pretty lonely. I think I'm the only one up here.

Katherine and I ended our day with an argument over Canadian news anchors working for American broadcast outlets. Apparently Katherine felt betrayed when she found out that Peter Jennings was Canadian. She just found out today that my boyfriend Pat Kiernan is also Canadian. For some reason this really bothers her. Somehow this led to a conversation about Molly Ringwald starring in French movies and then she went home.

In sad news, my Dad's friend Bruno Kirby died. I don't know if they were really friends but they grew up in the same neighborhood. I like almost all the movies he was in -- he was the best part of When Harry Met Sally, by far. I think the only movie that I didn't like that he was in was Sleepers, not because it was a bad movie but because my cousin Barbara went to grammar school with Lorenzo Carcaterra and she said he made the whole story up. Anyway, RIP Bruno.

What day is it?

I haven't been able to sleep very much at night. Which is causing me to oversleep for work. Which is not causing me very much distress but it is a bit confusing. I keep waking up and not knowing what day it is. And noooo, Smart Ass, it's not because I'm hungover. Well, not everyday anyway...

Anyway, as I meander around my apartment between 1:00 and 3:00 am attempting to make myself sleepy I have discovered a few diversionary activities that, while not particularly sleep-inducing are fun, such as:

1) Leaving random and slightly bitch comments on people's MySpace pages complaining that I am not in their Top 8. I think this is funny. I don't know if people know that I am kidding but it is especially funny when someone I barely knows puts me in their Top 8 just to shut me up.

2) Organizing CDs. I don't even listen to CDs anymore but it's fun to see what I used to spend money on. Like every CD Tori Amos ever made. And Super Sounds of the Seventies. And the free band CDs, of which there are plenty. Because, with few exceptions, every straight guy I know is in a freaking band.

3) Taking clothes out of the closet, putting them in shopping bags to take to Goodwill and then realizing that I can't part with any of them and putting them right back in the closet. I will too wear that crushed velvet baby doll dress from 1994 again someday. You don't know! And combat boots are totally making a comeback.

4) Googling my exes. This must stop.

5) Going through books that I read years ago to figure out why I highlighted certain things. Like I highlighted the word "jazz" in one book by Jack Kerouac. Do you have any fucking idea how many times Kerouac uses the word "jazz" in any given book? What could I possibly have been trying to accomplish by highlighting that?

So now I'm at work and not particularly awake after two coffees and a long talk with my boss. The most interesting thing I accomplished was finishing the book I have been reading on the subway all week (which was awesome and weird and macabre and I highly recommend it). I would love to be home watching Oprah and getting ready to have my third cup of coffee while nestled comfortably in the overstuffed chair in my living room. But I'm not. I'm here. Getting paid to blog.

Toxic Tylenol and changes

Here's a hint folks -- taking more than the prescribed dosage of Tylenol is toxic to your liver. If you take the prescribed dosage and it doesn't work do not take more. Suck it up and wait for it to work. Someone I love just had a nasty experience with this. I'll be happy to fill people in on an individual basis. Anyway, hospital visits have basically been taking up all of my time which is why I was MIA this weekend. Did anyone miss me?

I was supposed to go to AC to hear Tiesto spin. Didn't work out. Sucks.

I was supposed to meet Katie for dinner on Saturday. Didn't happen. Sucks.

I was supposed to go to the Yankee game, which they lost anyway. Sucks.

So what's on for this week -- besides more hospital visits -- you ask? Big change in my life. Not ready to talk about it but BIG CHANGE. So instead I will tell you Oren's "big secret": When a person -- seemingly any person, even himself -- puts their finger in his bellybutton deep enough, his wee-wee twitches. I just found out this little tidbit last Thursday while he was flirting with my sister and I've been BURSTING to share it with someone. I love ya, Oren! You are consistently good blog fodder.

Oh, and my friend Belinda saw Jon Stewart in front of her building yesterday pushing a baby stroller. Could he BE any cuter? There is just something about him. Him and John Frusciante. I think I'm beginning to like little men.

Things that don't scare me

I am scared to death. So today's blog is dedicated to things that don't scare me that are supposed to.

1) Bugs. Much smaller than me. Can be killed easily with a piece of tissue. Can be squished which, in itself, is the least scary word (say it with me "squiisshhhhhhh") in the English vernacular. Can be flushed down toilet never to be seen or heard from again. Consensus -- NOT SCARY.

2) Mice. Also much smaller than me. Cannot easily be squished because they have bones and stuff. But will most likely run away if confronted with bright lights and not smart enough NOT to eat a big piece of bread stuck to a glue pad. Consensus -- creepy and I don't want them around but NOT SCARY.

3) Dogs. People who are scared of dogs are weird. Who doesn't want to pet and hug and say cutie pie things to a doggie? I mean unless you've been attacked by a pit bull at some point in your life. Or you know someone who has. Okay, I amend my earlier statement. People who are scared of dogs who have not been attacked by a dog or know someone who has been attacked by a dog are weird. Consensus -- dogs are cute and loveable and decidely NOT SCARY.

4) Ghosts. Ghosts are freakin' awesome. Have you ever seen Ghost Hunters? I love that show! I don't really want to SEE a ghost but knowing they exist? That's pretty rockin'. Consensus -- NOT SCARY and if you are privy to a haunting you could write a book, that might get turned into a movie that might make you rich so it could be NOT SCARY and possibly profitable.

5) Motorcycles. Because secretly I wish I lived in the movie Grease. Which stars Olivia Newton-John. Who is probably the least scary actress EVER. Consensus -- NOT SCARY and you can ride along singing "Cool Rider", which is actually from Grease 2, but whatever.

I feel a little bit better now, don't you, muffins?

It's vodkay time

Things that amused me today...

Someone I just met told me he enjoyed the "vodkay time" we spent together the night we met. Since I was drinking vodka that night, I assume he meant "vodka time" OR he has just invented a phrase that I will co-opt and repeat ad nauseum until my friends tell me to stop. I am going to run with the latter. Your votes in this matter are welcome but will most likely be ignored. It's vodkay time!

Katherine and I spent a good portion of this morning trying to explain to someone we know that the excuse "I plan to be vile and bitter throughout your bridal shower but if you really want me to come I'll be there" might not be a good response to an RSVP event.

My friend Belinda and I met for drinks with some people we used to work with at Senor Swanky's. Belinda came to the conclusion that she can only Senor Swanky's while speaking with her version of a Mexican accent. She then tried to explain to our friend Mathieu, who has a fairly think French accent, how to say it the same way. It was cute. He really tried.

Just at the moment that I noticed that the umbrellas at the outdoor tables at Senor Swanky's have the words "Celebrity Hangout" written on them, Katie Couric walked by us -- not once, but twice. I think she was waiting for someone to say "Hey, that's Katie Couric." It took me a minute but eventually I was that person. That made her happy and she moved on. So not so much a "celebrity hangout" as a place that celebrities like to walk by. Interesting.

Grey feet are funny

It's my father's birthday. Happy Birthday, Dad. I got you a questionable birthday gift. For the record, I thought it was very funny.

Did you guys hear that Gene Simmons is going to have his own reality show? Would anyone like to hear the story about how my sister told him he was ugly when we were two years old? You're intrigued, you say? Well, here goes... My dad used to be a recording engineer back in the swingin' 70s for a bunch of different rock stars -- Aerosmith, Grand Funk Railroad, Talking Heads -- and one of them was Kiss. One day we were visiting him at work with my mom and one thing led to another and Jessica just decided to tell him how very ugly he was. He just loooooooooovvvvvvvvvvvved that. In fact, I think he complained to my father about it, something that still tickles my father to this day. Like what was he supposed to do? Kick the 2 year-old -- who happened to be his daughter -- out of the studio?

I saw DMB last night and remembered how very much I like them. I don't like most DMB fans and I'm not all about the hacky-sack culture, but they are an AMAZING jam band, specifically my boyfriend Boyd, who bops around like a little jumping jack. He's such a cute little alien. You can just tell they all love each other and they love to play music and they just go for it. Every song takes like 12 minutes but it's awesome. And they played "Say Goodbye", which in all the times I've seen them I've never heard live.

One tip. If you happen to go to a concert at Randall's Island anytime soon, wear sneakers and socks. Emily and I wore flip flops and we came home with GREY FEET from all the dirt and dust flying around. I made up a little song about them to the tune of "Grey Street. I have a first verse done but the chorus needs some work.

So in addition to reporting to you (all three of my readers) about gossip I hear via credible sources, I like to report on the items that I glean from my six degrees of "who knows a celebrity" network. Someone I know knows someone else who works on that Supernova show and apparently Tommy Lee is ADORABLE (as I guessed that he would be in a past blog) and Dave Navarro is an annoying pain in the ass. But he writes a blog very similar to mine -- the first line was "Airports argghh" which sounds a lot like me -- although his is full of famous people he actually KNOWS whereas mine is full of stories of me watching Paris Hilton fall off of a speaker and not helping her up.

Happy things

I had a pretty rough night last night. I went to the Liberty game, which was fun up until the point where things went to shit. I left before the end but I'm told they won. Anyway, I don't want to think about the bad night I had -- although I would like to take this opportunity to encourage basketball fans in New York to support the Liberty, and basketball fans across the country to support the WNBA. They play their little hearts out and it's really fun to watch. And the bar at the Garden serves $2 drafts on game night, which doesn't happen while the Knicks are playing, if that is an incentive for other alkies such as myself.

Anyway, as I said, I don't want to dwell on the shitty night I had and would like to think about happy things. So I have compiled a list of "10 things that make me happy" that I would like to share with you. (I usually limit my lists to "5 things that..." but I am feeling ambitious and particularly shitty so today it's 10):

1) The movie Arthur-- although real alcoholics are sad and tragic, Dudley Moore is hilarious and he falls in love with Liza Minnelli, which I find even more hilarious. (Best line: "Arthur, will you take my hand." "But that would leave you with one!")

2) The Superfly, performed entirely by Curtis Mayfield, specifically the song "Pusherman". (If this is not available, may be substituted with Hot Buttered Soul by Isaac Hayes or anything at all by Marvin Gaye.)

3) Sangria.(Recipes to be found here) I think I've extolled the virtues of this before. It's booze with fruit. Come on. It's awesome. And nutritious. (I also love mojitos. Minty and refreshing.)

4) John Frusciante. He's actually probably number one. But my friends say I am beginning to sound obsessed and I want to maintain the facade of normalcy. I don't making the Froosch number four is gonna do that but it's worth a shot.

5) Tetris. I've downloaded it to my cell phone which has inadvertently led to my missing my stop many times on the subway. But I've had fun doing it.

6) Hot chocolate. This is mostly seasonal because the idea of hot chocolate right now makes me want to cry. Unless its Frrrrozen Hot Chocolate from Serendipity. The best hot chocolate is made with chili pepper in the Mexican style and can be found at Jacques Torres. I hiiiiiiiiiiiiighly recommend it.

7) They Might Be Giants. 'Cuz they're funny.

8) Drinking coffee in my pajamas while working from home. I don't mind work when it is done in my jammies. The ones with the little socks on them are best and softest.

9) My cat. Squish.

10) The book Little Women. I haven't read it since I was 12 or so but I remember it made me happy so I may go get a paperback copy and keep it on me at all times to fight the "the mean reds"..

I feel the need to link this article as well, while I have your attention. It does not fit in with the "happy things" theme -- in fact, it could be selected for "reasons the world is pissing me off" theme -- but it is a good analysis of the rampant intolerance that has been recently exhibited by some notable public figures -- Mel Gibson, Ann Coulter, Massachusetts governor Mitt Romney. When did we become so intolerant? When did being a dedicated public servant and environmentalist become synonymous with being a "total fag"? And why is that an insult? (By the way, I used to work at a store that Ann Coulter shopped at. If anyone wants to know what she's realllly like, just ask me. A lot can be ascertained about a person's character by how he or she treats a lowly shop girl.)

Okay, I am going to go finish watching Arthur now and get ready to go see Dave Matthews with Emily. I love outdoor concerts. I probably should have put that on the list.

Burnt sienna would be cool

Do you ever watch Office Space and suddenly want to figure out a way to stop working by stealing large amounts of money from where you are working? No? Just me? Okay, whatevs. I couldn't embezzle money from my job anyway. I work in tourism for France. And someone might notice if I stole millions of Euros from the French government. Especially because I never get the conversion rate right.

Something very exciting happened to me today but I can't talk about it for fear of the almighty jinx. If it develops the way that I think it will, you best believe it will be the subject of a blog. But not now, muffins, not yet.

Welllllllllllllll so what we cannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn we talk about, you ask? How about if I read one more of these kinds of articles about what to change to bring love into your life I might kill someone? Changing the color of your interior walls will not bring love into your life. Unless you change the color of your vagina walls or something. Which might get you attention but it might not make people love you. But it would be cool if you could change it to like burnt sienna.

I work down the street from this disaster and I didn't even notice this. But I hate the American Girl Place. Hate it, hate it, hate it. I hate all the families standing online outside. I hate all the little girls who cry and whine until they get the $100 doll they just don't need. (My kids are sooooooooooo gonna hate me but they are NOT getting some $100 doll unless they promise to give half their allowance to charity and do volunteer work. Kids today suck.) I wonder how many of their parents told them about the evils of crossing a picket line? Can't imagine it was very many.

Do you know why I hate the American Girl Place? The people who stand outside American Girl are the same people who walk down Sixth Avenue in a line of five across with no consideration for the people walking behind them. They are the same people who flock to the plaza outside the freaking Today Show to hear Shania Twain's new song. They are also the same people who take six HUNDRED pictures of the freaking Rockefeller Center tree and block all the foot traffic to and from the falafel place I like.

If the exciting thing that I was alluding to earlier works out I hope it will make me less bitter. Probably not but you never can tell.

Monkeys in Ziploc bags

Did you guys hear about the people in the Bronx who slept on a city bus? Apparently the generator at a cooling station went out after the power outage and the city sent up three MTA buses for the local residents to sleep on. Can I ask why these power outages keep happening in poor and working class neighborhoods? Don't the rich people on Fifth Avenue use their air conditioners too much, too? Can't they suffer a little? They're all probably at their summer homes so they wouldn't even notice. (Just a little aside to God. Make bad things happen to rich people for once.)

I would like to commend the tough-as-nails investigative journalists at Good Morning America for the following piece on what happens while sitting in a hot car. Was Taylor Hicks (or some other insipid celebrity) not available for a heart-to-heart yesterday? Was there no family of septuplets in Des Moines to tell their uplifting story of perserverence available for a live remote? I think the point is you shouldn't sit in a hot car for too long.

This is the most interesting story I read today. Some barely known actress in L.A. befriended booby-cutting serial killer Wayne Adam Ford. He cut off women's boobies. That's right, their boobies. I mean I like boobies as much as the next person but don't they look better ATTACHED to the person then, say, in a Ziploc bag? The most ironic part is that Victoria Redstall, the actress in question (who referred to Ford as having "such a kindness to him, such a conscience") used to be a spokesperson for breast enhancement supplements! I probably found that funnier than you all did because you are probably still trying to get the image of the booby in the Ziploc bag out of your head. Think happy thoughts... puppies, kittens, cute little monkeys... No, not cute little monkeys in Ziploc bags, you freak! What the hell is the matter with you?