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?

It's just a manicure

You know you are losing your mind when you have an actual HEART ATTACK because your manicure went wrong. Sigh. At least I know I'm crazy. And knowing is half the battle.

So I am slightly ashamed to admit that I have been literally EATING UP a free copy of Scar Tissue by Anthony Kiedis. It is oddly fascinating. He talks in detail about what sex was like with each of his different girlfriends, some of whom are slightly famous (Ione Skye, Sinead O'Connor). I wonder if these women had to sign a release before he could say something like "She told me she never had an orgasm except when she was in the bathtub with the shower head." (Okay, that little nifty tidbit was about a not-famous-girl but he gives her first and last name and there are pictures of her taken WHILE SHE WAS STONED ON HEROIN throughout the book. What would you do if your now-famous but formerly-dirty-and-homeless ex-boyfriend asked you to sign off on letting him write about your relationship and give details about your naked body? I might smack him over the head with the book. Or ask him to mentally photoshop me until I looked like Heidi Klum -- coincidentally ANOTHER one of Mr. Kiedis' former girlfriends, although I haven't gotten to her section in the book, yet.

How much do you love this headline about Fidel Castro? Those Aussies. They're a regular riot.
Okay, so its so hot here that people are actually collapsing. So hopefully my fellow New Yorkers are sitting in the dark with the shades drawn and an iced coffee in their greedy little mits.
Meanwhile I am at work trying not to commit hari kariover my smudged manicure. Who else thinks I need a vacation? I'll be at Coliseum Books after work trolling the travel section if anyone wants to meet me for a literary discussion or to make fun of the grownups buying Harry Potter books. Come on, they're pretty funny.

Our lady of snuff films

Crazy Catholic Mel Gibson has always kind of rubbed me the wrong way. Now I have a reason. (Please note: I am not seeking to insult Catholics with this tirade because I was raised Catholic. I will from hereon in be making disparaging comments about CRAZY CATHOLICS, the kind who build their own church in Malibu because the local churches already in existence in their area aren't strict enough.) Never mind the fact that the man made millions making a snuff film about Jesus. Never mind the fact that his father is an established Holocaust denier and rampant anti-Semite. I realize that it is not fair to judge a person by the behavior of their parents (if it were, I would still be apologizing for my dad's screaming match with an Air France gate agent sometime in the 1980s and his debaucherous behavior from 1970 until today). However, you know what they say about apples and trees.

I would like to point out, in an attempt to be fair, the original source for this story was TMZ, which, if I am not mistaken, is not the most reliable source for entertainment news.

Of course, my favorite coverage of this whole debacle are the comments from US Weekly blog. I'm so glad that Mike from Sheboygan (which is probably spelled wrong and guess how much I give a crap?) still likes Mel "as an actor". My favorite quote -- and I'm sure you will all agree with me on this one -- is "Forget you ignorantes!" It's been a while since I took my SATs and my vocabulary isn't what it used to be so let me check the dictionary. Yep, not a word.

Completely off the topic but I am addicted to Youtube and find something new to entertain me on there EVERY SINGLE DAY. How did ANYONE, let alone Sharon Osbourne not know that Lance Bass was gay? Look at the little dog he is holding when he answers the door?

Sweet sixteen failure

The Yankees won today. Which means I was drunk by about 2:00 pm. I love Sundays at Yankee Stadium. Sunshine and 50,000 people who love baseball as much as Jess and I do. Woo hoo! We got seated next to a group from a mental institution or a halfway house or something. They were actually really sweet and entertaining. The guy next to us kept offering us a bite of his hot dog.

I don't normally read advice columns but here's an exception. I am so impressed that someone could manage to stay a virgin until they were thirty-eight. I'm kind of less-than-impressed that the advice columnist told the woman to address the guy in question and tell him how distressed she is. Yeah, that's gonna work. Why doesn't she tell her to grow a brain and stop sleeping with her co-workers? I mean you waited thirty-eight years and you give it up to the guy in the next cube? Being a virgin doesn't make you brainless, does it?

Do you guys watch Bridezillas? I freaking love this show although I think everyone on it is certifiable. I never used to be a reality TV fan but I never cease to be amazed by what people will allow themselves to be filmed while doing, like throwing a tantrum over centerpieces or calling their mother a bitch. Between Bridezillas and My Super Sweet Sixteen (another show I am ashamed to be addicted to) a new reality has been created. People think they DESERVE to be famous for doing nothing. Fifteen year-olds also think they DESERVE celebrities at their birthday parties and to get a Mercedes before they even get their learner's permit. I think the producers of these shows probably created them because they found the neuroses of their subjects to be amusing and ridiculous but the effect has been profoundly different, I imagine. If I was 16 today I would probably be depressed if I didn't look like the chicks on Laguna Beach and have Ciara performing at my birthday party because, according to television, that is what you are supposed to have. Or your parents don't love you.

Jessica and I were discussing this while being squished on the uptown 4 train this afternoon, which led to reminiscing about our Sweet Sixteen, which consisted on a limo and us and six of our friends having dinner sans parents at the newly opened Planet Hollywood. We thought that was awesome. We felt like total grown-ups because we got to be on our own in the city. And I got what I thought was the best gift, a copy of Achtung Baby, which became my favorite album for the rest of high school. I guess by today's standards I would be considered a total loser.

Hey, speaking of feeling like a loser, did you guys hear that a 25 year-old law student bought The New York Observer? When I think that I don't own anything that's worth more than $200 (with the possible exception of the computer that I am typing this on, which depreciates in value every time I download another kitten video), I realize that my Sweet Sixteen memories are the least of the reasons I am such a loser.

I can't sleep. I am going to go watch the rest of True Romance. I love this movie. Gary Oldman is just FANTASMAGORIC in it. The scene with the "Is it white boy day?" speech is freaking classic. Maybe all the murder and mayhem will make me sleepy. At least until the point where James Gandolfini beats the hell out of Alabama. Then I'll have to change the channel.

Three wishes and Vincent Gallo

Did another tornado hit New Jersey? Let me check... yep, it did. Isn't that weird? Every time one of these weird weather things happen I think the world might be ending and I start to panic. Then I watch this video of the sleepy kitten and I feel a little better.

I went out last night to FuelRay, where the cool NYU kids go. Slowest waitresses in New York. I wouldn't have chosen it but it was a friend of a friend's birthday party. Nice people. At some point the conversation filtered to what we would do if we won the $1000 a Week for Life game. The girl sitting next to me wants to be a yoga instructor. I want to be Jessica Alba but I think that will only happen if I win the ever illusive Three Wishes from a Genie game. (The other two wishes would probably involve being able to fly and the New York Yankees winning the World Series every year.)

Remember how I said that I would try to be less vapid about the news items that I choose to read and regurgitate here? Okay, I promise to do that... after I tell you about this little nifty item I read in the Post this morning. Lindsay Lohan got busted. I love that! I don't know why. She is powerful and beautiful and all of like 13 years old and I am feeling a little bitter about people like her lately. So sue me. I did really like Mean Girls though.

Katherine went to an interesting event Thursday night. (On a side note, she was hungover from hanging out with ME the night before so she was a virtual mess on Friday and wore her boyfriend's shirt to work. I love Katherine but she knows I am insanely jealous of her consistent cuteness. Yes, Winona, I love you but it's true. So I was happy to see that hangovers affect even her.)

Anyhoo, the event she went to was too funny for words. The Cocky Awards. The best part is that her friend Oliver WON in his category. And I think he beat Vincent Gallo doing it. Mr. Gallo didn't show up. He was probably busy making out with some 18-year old model -- details to be found here-- or making up new excuses to insult Anthony Kiedis. (If anyone would like a story about VG and a friend of a friend of mine I'll tell you in person. I don't want to write about it here and possibly get sued. So instead what I will write here is that I loved Buffalo 66.)

My favorite PAPER Magazine editor and all-around cutie pie in glittery mocassins Mickey Boardman, was the host. I'm kind of sorry I missed it. Maybe if I had cockier friends I would have been invited. Mickey was a guest at my friend Diane's wedding last year. He's just adorable.

So I'm going to my friend Mike's birthday party at Mr. Dennehey's if anyone wants to come meet me. If I have to work my way through a crowd of snotty college kids again tonight I might get cranky. But Mike and his wife, Jade (who I've known since college) normally live in Florida so it's kind of exciting that they're here. I'll try starting that "what would you do if you didn't have to work anymore" conversation there and see how it goes.

Learning new things

Four things that I have recently learned while taking the subway in New York City:

1) Just because I have earphones in my ears does not mean that the whole subway car can't hear me singing along to the Scissor Sisters. It just means that I probably can't hear myself.

2) No amount of clearing my throat and sighing heavily will get someone to stop leaning on the pole while I am holding onto it.

3) Certain men will not talk to me during my morning commute but they WILL read the jacket cover of the book I'm reading with their faces right up close to it, and then proceed to stare at me until I change cars. (This has happened to me twice. I wonder what my reading material says about me? Maybe it says I'm a latent serial killer or an undercover sex kitten and he can't look away for fear I will attack him while he's not paying attention. D'ya think?)

4) Certain OTHER men will also not talk to me during my morning commute but will that make that little clicking sound or, better yet, that hissing sound that either means they like what they see or they are from the Congo and never learned modern forms of communication.

I like learning new things.

Katherine has a seemingly endless supply of funny things to tell me that make it into this blog. She just found this on the internet and for that I thank her profusely. If you've got a hot twat and you're not afraid to brag about it, buy this t-shirt. Woo-hoo!

Something embarassing that I did at a party the other night just flashed in my brain this morning as I was banging on my incessantly beeping smoke detector. I have this thing where I kiss people on the nose. It all started with Jamie during some drunken night at Kemia and it has continued as part of my pathological drunk behavior. It means that I think what you just said to me is funny or cute or something like that. It is also indicative of the fact that I tend to lose my sense of reasonable physical boundaries after I have imbibed a certain amount of alcohol. Anyway, someone I had just met said something that for the life of me I cannot remember. I leaned in to kiss his nose and he moved and I kissed his mouth. And I think I scared the hell out of him. So if he is reading this (which is highly unlikely) and remembers this little incident I would like to say the following specifically to him, although it might be good for all of you to read it since it is conceivable that I will owe you a similar apology in the future. So here goes:

a) I was aiming for your nose and yes, I am aware that is very weird

b) I am so sorry that I scared you

c) I left right after that and never had the chance to apologize.

Don't you love when embarassing behavior comes back to haunt you like 3 days too late? Or does that only happen to me?

Confessions of a flawed hangover...

Remember how I told you guys vodka gets me all wired? I went out last night -- to a book party for a new book called Covergirl: Confessions of a Flawed Hedonist, which looks super cool -- and there was an open bar, which I took full advantage of and still I managed to wake up at 5:30 am. With ANOTHER EYE INFECTION,just byyyyyyy the way! Why are my eyes so pissed off at me? Second eye infection in like three weeks.

The book looks awesome -- it was written by Maura Moynihan, who used to hang out with Andy Warhol and apparently spends most of the year in Kathmandu. Those two clauses are unrelated but don't they sound funny together? (Truthfully, they probably don't sound funny at all but I am awake at an ungodly hour, I have been watching bad morning TV for the last two hours and my perception is a tad off. Mea culpa.) In actuality she has spent the last few years fighting genocide in Tibet. She's also Daniel Patrick Moynihan's daughter which, to a native New Yorker like myself, kind of makes her like royalty. She's also very sweet and friendly. I think she literally thanked every person who came to her party.

I am very embarassed to admit that I did not know that Nazareth had been bombed, which happened last Wednesday, until like three days after it happened. I also only heard about the UN observers being killed in Israel yesterday and that happened on Tuesday. BUT I did know that Lance Bass came out like the MINUTE it happened -- actually I knew that little tidbit already because someone I know saw him with an unnamed boy at a party in L.A. a few weeks ago -- and I knew about President Bush feeling up the German chancellor. I knew that last bit because Jon Stewart told me. And I pay attention when Jon Stewart talks because he is conceivably the coolest man alive and, let's face it, he's cute as a button. My point in telling you this is that apparently I have become a vapid asshole and I think I need help. I have become the kind of person who is paying more attention to Perez Hilton than to Anderson Cooper and I am smart enough to know that THIS BEHAVIOR MUST STOP. I'll work on it and report back to you on my progress.

The Yankees swept the Texas Rangers. YAY! I don't have anything else to say about that. YAY!

Oh my God, did you guys hear that Beyonce fans are circulating a petition to get her to reshoot the "Deja Vu" video? Could you die? (Yes, yes, I realize that by writing about this I have not progressed very far in my quest to become less vapid. Get off my back, it's a process.) It is a ridiculous video. At various points throughout she is standing next to what looks like a swampy pond, wading through a field of high grass and running through the woods, all the while wearing couture gowns. 'Nuff said. She's weird. But I love Jay-Z. Have any of you ever carefully listened to the lyrics to "Dirt Off Your Shoulder"? He's one funny mutha.

I don't have much else to tell you this morning. I am developing a headache and I have to methodically retrace my steps and figure out if I did anything embarassing last night. Or inadvertently insulted someone. Someone spilled red wine on my Donna Karan blouse but I don't think I reciprocated or anything. I think I was fairly pleasant and adorable last night actually. Thank God for vodka.

Just a classless fool

So a couple of weeks ago after I got back from the Hamptons I realized that I gave myself a profound eye infection with suntan lotion. Because I am certifiably retarded. Thank God for the huge Chanel sunglasses my cousin sold me a few weeks ago, which were very helpful in covering up the bunny eyes I developed as the afternoon progressed. (Important aside here: If anyone would like to buy designer sunglasses at a 25-30 % discount, let me know. Not fakes. Real, straight from the manufacturer -- Chanel, Versace, Bulgari, Coach, Dior.) Anyway, now it would appear that I have an infection in my OTHER eye. Oh woe is me. My contact is about to jump ship which means that I will be left blind and stumbling in high heels at some point this afternoon.

So I like someone. I wish I could tell you guys more about this but he falls into the "inappropriate" category that I have mentioned in previous blogs. Plus, I don't want to jinx it. It's not like he's married or anything. Just inappropriate. It doesn't mean I'm not still out there dating other people. Well, sometimes anyway. Mostly I just make out with my friends in public places. Everytime you think I might be something other than a classless fool, I revert right back to type, don't I?

People keep suggesting that I try Speed Dating but something about it smacks of desperation, even though I know perfectly wonderful, non-desperate people who have done it. Most of the people who keep suggesting that I try it are my friends who are in serious relationships. I think I make them uncomfortable. Any feedback on this would be helpful.

Guys with digits

Someone just called my sister. The girl who called asked for someone else, asked my sister for her name and then hung up. At that moment I knew. I told Jessica that whoever she was, she found Jess' number in her boyfriend's phone. I was right. The chick called back. Some guy Jessica hasn't seen in like two months is MARRIED to this girl. This leads to my rant of the moment. 1) WHY ARE MARRIED MEN picking up chicks in bars? This is a question with a lengthy answer so I won't bother. 2) Why do girls call the girls they find in their man's phone? What will this accomplish? Guess what? If you think he's cheating on you, he probably is. If you find a bunch of girls phone numbers in your husband's phone, they are girls he has picked up. I'm sorry -- use the brain God gave you beotch! WHY ELSE WOULD HE BE COLLECTING GIRLS' PHONE NUMBERS? Is there any explanation he could give you that would make sense?

Speaking of silly people in relationships, does anyone else watch the train wreck of a show My Fair Brady. Do Adrianne Curry and Christopher Knight think their marriage is actually gonna work? Are they on drugs? They met while filming The Surreal Life, for crying out loud? But no matter how ridiculous I know it is, I can't look away. I watch it every freaking time it's on. Everyone on the show is always drunk. They would fit in really well with my friends probably.

Wakey wakey

Lately the consumption of cocktails does not make me sleepy. It wakes me up. Tonight Cosmos were $5 during happy hour at Blackstone's. Maybe it's all the sugar in the fruit juice that did it, but I'm wired. So I thought I would make a list of things that are irritating me lately. Ready? OK!

1) Guys who make me feel guilty for not doing more than making out with them EVEN AFTER they know that I have found out that they have a girlfriend. A cute, nice girlfriend. WHY DO MEN DO THIS? Wouldn't it just be easier to stay single than to find a girlfriend just to cheat on her? I have absolutely no patience for this.

2) The Toronto Blue Jays. Who the fuck told them they could win baseball games while I'm watching?

3) Men who cheer for the team that is playing the Yankees just because they know that I am cheering for the Yankees and they want to see if I'll get mad. I realize that all men everywhere are insanely jealous of Derek Jeter but get a hold of yourselves.

4) Men who try to shame me into drinking more by calling me a "lightweight". Are you kidding me? When was the last time that worked? The guy who tried this last was 23. As I told him, the last time I gave a flying fuck what a 23 year-old guy thought of me I was 12.

5) People who say "that's hot" when I tell them I'm a twin. Ew. We're not the Barbie Twins. Ew.

No more plastic cups

I live in Astoria but we didn't have any power outages, thank the good lord. Well, our cable went out at about midnight. But Dog the Bounty Hunter was already over so I was cool with that. (Honestly, I have the oddest white trash crush on his son Leland. He's oddly endearing with his little head and giant arms.)

The most interesting part of the night for me was when the umpire at the Yankee game called a rain delay on the last out of the 9th inning of a tied game. Um, can you stick it out for like one more minute and see if someone wins? The Yankees won after a 2-hour delay and 11 innnings. I was probably sleeping and simultaneously getting eaten alive by mosquitos at that very moment so I missed it.

Did you guys hear that Dave Navarro and Carmen Electra are getting divorced? Isn't that sad? Didn't you think that their freak asses were in it for the long haul? My dad and I were just discussing him yesterday because we were talking about that show Rock Star on CBS where like three washed up rock stars and Dave Navarro decide who will get to be in a band that doesn't yet exist. My dad said that Dave Navarro was the only person on the panel that he respected, a comment I found extremely strange. But my dad has a personal history with one of the other people on the panel so I can see why he would have more respect for Dave Navarro than the others. If you want me to tell you about it, let me know. I'm sure it wouldn't be appropriate to write about here. I kind of like Tommy Lee myself. He's like a big doofy kid. A big doofy kid with a 12-inch penis. A big doofy kid with a 12-inch penis and a drinking problem.

Hey, speaking of Tommy Lee's penis, did you also hear that Pam Anderson and Kid Rock are getting married? Wasn't this same story on the news in 2003? I could have sworn they were engaged a couple of times before.

The only other interesting tidbit of the day is the bar that my sorority sisters and I used to hang out at college is closing. (Close your mouths, yes, I was in a sorority. It's not that surprising.) On the website, I found pictures of my sorority sisters from back in the day, drunk and bleary-eyed with plastic cups of beer in their sights. Remember how simple things were in college, when you drudged throught the week just waiting for happy hour, $5 for all the beer you could drink before you lost your plastic cup and had to pay $5 for a new one. It's so different now. Actually, sadly, it isn't. Other than the fact that most of my drinks come in real glasses now, not much as changed. Happy hour is often still my onnly reason for waking up on Fridays.

Stupid not mean

Happy day-after-Bastille Day, folks. I did not do anything even remotely French yesterday but I did get the day off. I was supposed to go to the Bastille Day Ball at the Puck Building but it was $20 to get in and that DID NOT include drinks. So I went out for beer at a bar in my neighborhood and watched the Yankee game instead. Nice way to spend the Fete Nationale, huh? At the end of the day I'm all American. Can't help it.

I have nothing exciting to talk about. It is so hot today that I may melt. There may be nothing left of me but a puddle soon. Ick.

I don't know if I told you this, but my trip to Ireland that I was supposed to go on in September got cancelled. I then found out that I have to go to Deauville for a meeting. Afterwards, I got permission from my boss to hang out in Europe a little longer so I think I am going to fly to Dublin from there. I've never been to Dublin so if anyone has any suggestions for me, or if anyone would like to MEET me there that would be awesome. I should be going there sometime after September 23.

I'm probably going out tonight. I have no idea where. I am a little out of sorts this weekend and I have no idea what plans I might have made. Lately I can't seem to remember anything unless I write it down and guess who left her datebook at work? So if I made plans with any of you and I have now forgotten about them, please don't it personally. I'm stupid, not mean.

People leaving me

My intern is moving back to France at the end of the month. People keep leaving me. It is the nature of what I do, I guess. Working for a foreign government I meet a lot of people who are just passing through. They come into my life, I love them, they leave. So anyway we are taking her to lunch today at Montparnasse. Aren't we brilliant? She's moving back to France and we're taking her out for French food in New York. They have great cocktails there but I will be with my boss so I plan to behave.

So far this year, one of my friends moved to Barcelona and another to Tuscany. Last year, one friend moved to Tokyo and another to Sydney. In a few months, a good good friend is moving to London (she doesn't know that I know that yet.) And another of my friends is threatening to move to Ireland and another to Los Angeles. Who else thinks its time for me to move?

Well, to anyone who is STILL living in New York, want to meet me for a drink tonight? I might be meeting my friend Melissa at Katwalk after work. I desperately need a drink.

Headbutting and explosions

Viva Italia! What was going through Zidane's mind when he headbutted that guy? Speculation (according to this article and this one) is that Materazzi said something pretty bad to get him so upset, possibly something racial. Zidane has a temper but he doesn't usually HEADBUTT people. Still, he's been playing professional football for a long time now. That CANNOT be the first time someone said something stupid and offensive to you on the field. The French are big on shame but it seems they are standing behind him, and he did win The Golden Ball. I rooted for Italy but I still have a soft spot for the French team. They played their freaking hearts out and I nearly cried for David Trezeguet when he missed that goal in the PK shootout at the end.

A building exploded this morning on 62nd between Park and Madison. Did you guys see all the smoke on your way to work, too? Lately, every time I'm walking to work something explodes.
Two weeks ago it was a taxi -- the driver didn't put water in his radiator and a small fender bender turned into one of those exploding attractions at Universal Studios. It was unbelievable. Maybe I'm like Drew Barrymore in Firestarter and things are going to blow up wherever I choose to get off the subway in the morning.

Mature musings

So there is a survey going around the internet that promises you free Red Hot Chili Pepper tickets. The band went on VH1 to warn people not to fill it out. I got it sent to me by email but I didn't fill it out because the picture of the band that was in the email was from like 1999 so I knew it wasn't official. Also, I'm lazy. Apparently, the survey assists people in stealing your identity so don't fill it out if you get it. I already have tickets to go see them in October so I'm all set. I will be in the vicinity of the actual cute musicial genius urchiness that is John Frusciante -- witness cute urchin here. He's little but he's fiesty.

So the plan is that I am going out to Neptunes with Shara this afternoon. She's been harassing me to do this for like YEARS so she'll be pretty happy. I will probably be the oldest person there which is troubling. Well, not really TROUBLING so much as something that SHOULD trouble me. But I have all the maturity of... well, someone not very mature. I am currently wearing jammies with little pictures of socks on them and watching The Fairly Odd Parents. Yeah, look up mature in the dictionary and you'll find a great big picture of someone else.

Jessica and I got a great movie last night on Pay-Per-View, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. It was so cute. It didn't do very well when it came out but I LOVED it. Robert Downey, Jr. and Val Kilmer (whose head has become UNUSUALLY large in the last couple of years) were both in it. It's kind of an odd story -- guy winds up in L.A., murder and mayhem ensues. But it's done in a kind of campy way. Anyway I recommend it. Although, truthfully what the hell does someone else's recommendation mean. Everyone on the face of the planet recommended A HistoryofViolence to me when it came out and I thought it was the worst piece of dreck I'd ever seen. I am STILL tempted to write the producers to get my $10 back.

Lost: One Gaydar. If Found Please Return to Owner

Bonjour friends, it's been a while. There is not much new with me. I'm very excited that France beat Portugal (Zidane is HOT and not too old, thank you very much) but now I must cut my ties with my co-workers and root for Italy because my mom is Italian. Yes, she's Italian-American but I remember my Nonna fondly and she was off the boat from the boot so I gots to show some loyalty. Anyone coming out to watch the game on Sunday? I've been invited to several different bars but I think I have chosen to be on the Upper East Side because I have been assured that not everyone there will be rooting for the same team and I won't get beat up by Gaetane (who I love but who is staunchly pro-France) when I root for my Guinea brethren. Come with me, 'kay?

I can't believe its already July. I have been meandering through the city, completely oblivious to the passing days, weeks, months. I'm always tired. I guess its the heat. Katherine's advice was that I try sleeping with the window open so as to allow the circulation of oxygen. I now have a GIANT MOSQUITO BITE ON MY UPPER LIP. Thanks Kitty. It's not ACTUALLY her fault but I like to have someone to blame. I get bit by mosquitos more than most people I know. My mom used to tell me it was because I was so sweet. But EVERYONE knows I'm a raving bitch -- so much for that theory, Mommy.

I would like to make an earnest plea to all of my gay male friends to please hang out with me. I used to be quite the fag hag but in recent years I have started hanging out with more straight guys. Due to this drastic change in my environment -- and by relation, the vernacular I am exposed to, i.e. I have recently more often been quoted as using the vulgar, straight man "muthafucka" rather than the queeny "bitch" when referring to my friends/enemies/random strangers I meet on the street -- I have lost my GAYDAR. It is very sad. Very tragic. Keeping me up at nights. I need help. I need to get back to my roots. I come from a long line of fag haggy women with a deep respect for gay culture, gay-friendly politics and men who like Madonna. I cannot lose my gaydar. It's a matter of principle.