Rock 'n' Roll Unicorns!

Spring Fever

2011-04-05T17:33:00.014-04:00

Ah, spring. I have been single every spring for the past… well, it’s not really necessary to count years here, is it? We'll just say that, for awhile now, I’ve been single in the springtime. And every year, I forget about spring fever until it rears it's kind of ugly, yet ultimately welcome, head.

Springtime: finally warm enough to let the nipples out

There is this dude, at this place. Okay, it’s the guitar shop at a music school where I take J, the child I watch, for classes. I’ve always noticed that this dude is cute, obviously, because he’s so sexy. He’s like that guy who plays Chuck on that show on TV (Chuck, that is), but if Chuck was cuter, possibly taller, and had curly hair and the most adorable smile. But like a week ago, he came up to us when we took our routine trip to the store after class and asked whether we have class twice a week (we do).

You know those people who smile at you and somehow, with just a smile, some eye contact, and a sense that they are actually paying attention to you, make you feel like the only person in the world? Yeah, when this guy talks to me, I forget that I am holding a 2 ½ year-old child. 2 ½ -year-old children are bulky and kind of heavy. So… he’s a little distracting, this guy. (Sidenote: I hate people like this. What a gift, to make people feel so special. But you just know that they make everyone feel that way, and they either have a girlfriend to whom they are very committed, or they’re using this gift to bang 10 different chicks at a time, who all began coming in to get their guitars re-strung entirely too often because… hi, cute guitar shop dude.)

And you know it’s bad when your internal reaction to this kind of thing is: “zoooooooomg this guy totally notices that I come here twice a week. Hotttttt.” Er. Maybe he notices the adorable child I bring in twice a week? Or maybe my bright red hair and big glasses are moderately memorable? Yeah, he might not want to bone me.

But whatever. I kind of forgot about that conversation (how?! HOW?!?) until today, when he said hello to us, smiled and asked if we were there for… well, I actually don’t remember at all what he said because I got total butterflies that I almost mistook for heartburn because I haven’t had a frivolous, silly crush in so long, and I was kind of dazzled by his smile. And as we walked out of the music school and I pushed the stroller, beaming, I realized that I have a major crush.

What makes it “major,” you might ask? Well, I will tell you. I totally came up with this ridiculous plan wherein I buy something and “accidentally” leave my debit card (which has my picture on it) behind, just so he can learn my name. Mind you, since I couldn’t be sure he’d be the one to end up with my card, I’d have to cancel it. I was briefly willing to do that.

I love crushes, don’t you? Acting like a fool while smiling like an idiot. So fun.

And then, on the way home, a flock of pigeons came flying crazily out of an alley and missed hitting my face by inches. Ah yes, the downside of spring: nearly getting Fabio’d.

Making a Fool of Myself All Day Long

2010-08-04T23:19:00.005-04:00

I have stories to share, but I'm lazy and they will take time to write. In the meantime, I'll share a few things that happened to me yesterday that, upon reflection, made me feel like an ass.

Yesterday, I wore a dress that is not incredibly short, but can sometimes lead to flashing if I bend over without thinking about it. I was getting the stroller out of my friend's backyard before taking J to the park and wasn't really thinking about the length of my dress while bending over. When I stood up, an older man was at the next garage smiled at me, waved and said hello. I said "hi" back. It took about five minutes for me to realize he'd probably seen my panties.

I don't think it looked quite this sexy

I had a doctor's appointment at 7:15. It was pointless to go home because I was already so far east, so I drove there straight from watching J. I was meeting friends at 8 for dinner, but that is kind of late so I had brought some almonds along. I ate them as I drove because I figured, while that's not an optimal way to eat, snacking in the waiting room is kind of gross. I randomly glanced over to the right lane and found that the man in the next car had just watched me eat an almond and brush crumbs off my chest. He continued to stare at me like I was an exotic zoo animal. I couldn't figure out whether this was more embarrassing for me or for him. Because even if eating in traffic is somehow bad manners, so is staring.

Then I arrived at the doctor's. I had about 100 big, ugly bug bites on my legs from a trip to Wisconsin this past weekend. My initial reaction was to wear full-length jeans to cover them up, but when I realized how itchy they were, I knew I had to wear the aforementioned dress and let the world see my mottled legs so that I could scratch the bites when absolutely necessary. This was a follow-up visit in part relating to my much-documented cyst removal. The doctor glanced at the upper scar on my back (visible with the dress still on) and said it looked fine. However, the lower scar is the one that had been at risk of infection. He seemed satisfied but I was not, so with no prompting I stood up and lifted my dress up over my ass and lower back and said, "So this one is okay, too? It's not infected?" After a brief pause (what, people don't just constantly jump up and reveal their underwear in your office? How boring for you), he said it looked fine, and also that he would prescribe something for the millions of nasty bug bites on my legs. Upon reflection, I kind of felt like a crazy person. I think I've been to the doctor too much lately; I've gone from "Do I really need to take my shirt off??" to unsolicited flashing.

I drove about five blocks to meet friends for dinner and managed to accidentally honk at a person on a bicycle along the way. What an asshole.

Then I had $1 fish tacos and $3 Tecates with some great ladies. I managed to avoid embarrassment during that, mostly, except for when I realized I was sitting at the loudest table in the bar and nearly shouting about hand jobs. But that's pretty much an average day for me.

The Saga is Nearly Complete

2010-07-09T13:26:00.004-04:00

No, I am not talking about the Twilight movies. Although I did go to see Eclipse with Samantha and Rachel the other night, and it was totally fantastic, and not only because Samantha and I continually made lewd comments about werewolf/vampire guy-on-guy action.

Hahaha. Yes, kiss that doggy.

Hopefully this will be the last post about it, but I'm talking about my cyst removal saga. I went to the doctor on Tuesday to get the stitches out. Surprisingly, over the past two weeks, the bigger wound in the middle of my upper back hasn't been hurting much. However, the smaller one that's more in the center of my back has been kind of annoying. Every time I bend over to tie my shoes or pet my dog, I can feel it. At first I was really worried that I was going to pop the stitches, and then I just got used to the kind of gross feel of it straining against the (apparently super strong) stitches. Yuck.

The nurse quickly got to taking out my stitches, which hurt and felt disgusting. You might be able to tell that I have never had stitches before. Sewing up a wound is a gross enough concept, but pulling out the thread later is even more disgusting. When she got to the one on the bigger upper incision, it hurt like a bitch and I squirmed a bit. She said, "That was a very long one." Then she reminded me why I love medical professionals. They just assume that you want to see EVERYTHING. That might disturb some people, but I really do want to be forced into looking at every disgusting thing that is happening with my body. So of course she brought her tweezers up by my face to demonstrate how long, exactly, this thing was. They were gripping a thick squiggly fiber about two inches long. My long stitch, fresh off two weeks stuck in my back. Yum.

Thankfully I no longer have to deal with keeping these back gashes totally covered by bandages. Because my skin is kind of sensitive, so those "tough" bandaids that would stick with you through swimming, showering, baths in sulfuric acid, etc. leave me all red and raw and hurty. However, the gentler bandaids don't really stick in the summertime when you're walking around town and perspiration is gathering on your lower back. So what I'm saying is, you should have bought stock in Band-aids a few weeks ago because I've been spending my life's savings (which was like $4 to begin with) on these things. Luckily I still have a few left for when, like today, I wear something with a low-cut back. I try to avoid making my friends vomit by proudly displaying really, really fresh scars.

Anyway. When the doctor came in, he said the top back vagina looked fine, but noted that the lower wound looked a little infected. GROSS! Also, am I dying now? Apparently not, because he and the nurse were really nonchalant about it and just wrote me a prescription for an antibiotic ointment. Which I dropped off promptly -- I like to get rid of infections, I'm weird like that -- but they didn't have it in stock at the pharmacy. My options were to go to another pharmacy or wait a day. I'm lazy, and agreed to wait. Which then sent me into a brief and mild panic. I mean, sure, the doctor acted like it was no big deal, but can you get gout of the back? Would I lose a portion of my back? Maybe they would have to amputate everything below my mid-torso! Uh-oh.

Despite my concern, I went out to dinner with friends the next night, stayed out too late and missed the pharmacy hours. Whoops. I panicked again for about 2 minutes before bed, set my alarm early and vowed to get to the pharmacy first thing in the morning. Except what I did first thing in the morning was hit the snooze button five times and miss my chance to pick up the ointment. Er... I'll just keep putting Neosporin on this, I told myself.

Finally, I picked up the ointment yesterday. I've applied it twice and it still looks infected and hurts a little. Pray that I don't have back gout.

No Lifelines Needed Yet

2010-06-29T02:11:00.000-04:00

So, despite an excessive amount of free time recently, I have successfully managed to completely ignore my duties as a co-contributor, and Rock N' Roll Unicorn once again, and I apologize. I have to say though, that this post is going to be a HELL of a lot more chipper than my last!

First off, let me report that I will be gainfully employed in about a month's time, when I start my stint as the new Contestant Production Assistant at the daily syndicated game show juggernaut, "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?" This is incredibly exciting, and really bizarre, because it tapes at ABC, who kicked me to the curb due to cutbacks this past April. I'm psyched to remain at my old stomping grounds, however, as my commute remains the same, and I know my way around, etc. Also, I know all the good places to eat in the area, including my fave, cheap sushi place, SCORE!

To celebrate my new found employment, I went to lunch with culinary goddess, and cake maker to the stars, Archana. She suggested this tiny place down in the West Village named, quite appropriately, "WestVil". Weirdly, she'd been to the one in the East Village, called.... WestVil East, um, really? Just call it EastVil! Anyway, I digress. So, the place can hold about 25 people or less, and the tables are JAMMED in there. We go in, and it's completely packed. There's a couple about to pay, and so we squish over to the side, as we wait to be seated. The waiter, who looked like a poor man's Christian Soriano (which is just sad), kept trying to get us to wait outside, where it was nearly 100 degrees, and my ass was in all black interview clothes, so that was not an option. Finally, we took our seats, and when Archana finally chose us a lovely bottle of white, to toast my glorious entry into the game show world, the waiter asked what we were celebrating. I told him about my new job, and his response was this, "Oh, I don't watch TV." Um... first of all, I DO NOT BELIEVE ANYONE WHO HAS EVER UTTERED THESE WORDS. Listen, I understand that I watch a disproportionate amount of television compared to the average Joe. Even when I held down a 9-5 and did a daily commute and all of that, I probably watch more tv than most of you, which is fine. I just have a problem the way people say this, as though it makes them better. Also, just say congratulations, did I ask for your life story? No.

Here's how I see it. If you tell me you never watch tv, I don't suddenly respect you more, or think you're smarter, cooler, or edgier than me. I think you're a socially retarded douche. I'm not only speaking of people like this because I'm scared that the industry I love to work in is slowly being overtaken by the Internet, it's more than that. Also, if this fool didn't watch tv, than it's even more pathetic how much he was trying to look like Christian Soriano, sorry. Finally, as Archana pointed out, this particular show I will now be working for was just featured in one of the most popular foreign films of our time, "Slumdog Millionaire." You didn't see that either? Liar.

Ok, so aside from that, I am actually really happy. I realized something the other night as well. I remember talking to my Mom when she would come in to say good night to me as a kid. Throughout the years our time together evolved from silliness (she would make my Potbelly Bear do situps, and it would always make me laugh), to more serious conversations about my future. My Father had always wanted me to be a lawyer, and although he never pressured me in a terribly intense way, I had gone along with it for a while, but I realized that was definitely not what I wanted. I remember telling my Mom how I hoped I would one day be able to learn about broadcasting, and work in radio, or maybe even TV. What's cool is, I've done both of those things already, and it looks like I might actually be able to maintain somewhat of a career in television. Realizing I'd achieved a childhood dream has been really surreal and awesome at the same time. Now I guess I'm going to have to expand my career dreams. I have some ideas, but we'll see how things go.

Best Place Ever

2010-06-24T00:25:00.006-04:00

Today, I came home early and had plans to meet Samantha for dinner. I decided to take a short nap first. There were thunderstorms here in the morning, but when I got home around 3 p.m. it was sunny and humid. I got in bed around 4:30 and was awakened by a text message from Sam asking whether I still wanted to have dinner due to the rain. What rain?, I thought. And then I realized it was really dark in my room at 5:45 two days after the longest day of the year, and I heard the distant rumbles of thunder. Turns out there was also a tornado warning and about 15 minutes later I heard the tornado siren, but I quickly texted back that, duh, I still wanted to have dinner.

Anyway. I lay in my bed a few minutes longer listening to the thunder and gradually realized that it reminded me of something, something incredibly pleasant. And then I remembered my favorite place on earth.

I have been to 27 states (a few of those just driving through, I guess, and Vermont we specifically drove to because they'd still be selling liquor when the tiny New York town we were in was not). I've been to seven countries on two continents, and I've been to the moon (j/k!). But my favorite place ever (well, so far) is the Milwaukee Public Museum.

Okay. Picture this: Milwaukee, 1985ish. My grandparents live in a giant house on 31st Street. It's not the best neighborhood but I have my doubts as to whether it's quite as bad as I later realized my family thought it was. I looked it up on Wikipedia because I know very little about Milwaukee geography. Apparently the neighborhood directly adjacent is currently kind of on the mend but is known for drugs, prostitution and low income and property values. It was in this neighborhood, five blocks away from my grandparents' house actually, that Jeffrey Dahmer would be arrested in his apartment of horrors. That wouldn't happen for like six years, though.

Anyway. My grandparents lived on a quieter street and had a backyard that wasn't giant but seemed huge to me. They had a sandbox and a large garden and a swingset, and for some reason my little pea-brain interpreted this all as kind of "country." We were in the middle of a low income area of Milwaukee, but the old folks and their old timey ways and the tomato plants and home cooked meals had me thinking we were nearly on a farm. The funny thing is that the neighborhood in which I grew up (in Chicago) was definitely more suburban-esque than this one. But children are basically totally dumb.

So there I was, enjoying weeks at a time over the summer and school breaks hangin' out on the 'hood farm with the grandparents. And they introduced me to the Milwaukee Public Museum, rather than forcing me to play with the tomato stakes and dirty sand all day long.

I'm sure nostalgia plays into my abiding love of this place given that I haven't been there in years and years, and both my grandparents have passed away and the house is no longer where the family gathers for the occasional reunion, etc. Overall it's your typical natural history museum, with sections devoted to Asia and Native Americans and the Rainforest, etc. But really, this place is kind of amazing, mostly for three reasons.

The first is "The Streets of Old Milwaukee" exhibit, in which you walk through a recreation of old timey Milwaukee. Who doesn't love old timey towns? I sure do. There's a candy shop, too. Candy. Fun.

If memory serves, once you follow these streets around to a certain point, it becomes a different exhibit entitled European Village. This one is genius. It consists of a bunch of tiny little houses with windows strategically positioned at the height of a child, which you are encouraged to peer into. An exhibit that encourages peeping into people's houses is obviously gold, appealing to the snoopy voyeur in each of us. Each room into which a visitor can peer represents a different European country, and of course the inhabitants and interiors are old timey. You might spy on a Belgian lady painstakingly hand-sewing lace. Or a couple of French friends wearing striped shirts, sharing a baguette and a bottle of wine, sneering and bashing America, or whatever country they hated in the 1800s.

But my favorite exhibit is actually just one big diorama thingy (are the big scenes at a museum considered a diorama, or are those just the things you make in a shoebox in 5th grade? Whatever, you know what I'm talking about). It opens another exhibit, a trek into real, real old times, like those of the dinosaurs. There are also, for some reason, a lot of gemstones involved if I remember correctly. But this particular scene is simply that of a giant Tyrannosaurus Rex (possibly built to scale, though I know little about the exact size of a real T Rex) eating a Triceratops while some little dinosaur guys look on, undoubtedly ready to scavenge when Mr. Rex loses interest/satiates himself (which seems risky; what if a Triceratops is not enough for lunch today?). And the T Rex is eating, with blood on his jaws, not just, like, knocking the other dino down or playing a game like you might see on a kid's cartoon about affable, talking dinosaurs. The side of the Triceratops's belly has been ripped open and we see the internal organs.

Here, look, I found a picture:

Except that this doesn't really capture the feel of it, first of all because it was taken with a flash and this scene is in a dark room. Plus, my favorite way to view it was to walk up to this little balcony in front of the dinosaurs, which allowed you to view it from the height of the Tyrannosaurus Rex. But most importantly, there is an ambient track on a loop that uses both sound and lighting to indicate that a thunderstorm is approaching. As the thunder grows louder, the lighting dims further and there are flashes of lightning (okay, I think there's lightning. I may be making that one up). Then the storm retreats. Then it comes back. Then it retreats. And, um, little and not-quite-so-little old me would stand on the balcony and watch the storm come in and out and in and out while a T Rex feasted on a Triceratops until my grandparents or my parents forcibly removed me. I have probably stood in front of this for 20 minutes at a time. It was Jurassic Park before Jurassic Park existed, and that is one of my favorite movies. I love dinos.

This may sound like I am an undiagnosed autistic or something, which is a possibility. I also used to watch Dumbo at least five times a day and have actually never, ever tired of that movie (I watch it maybe once a year now, though). However, my sister loves this museum just as much as I do. When she was dating her longest-of-long-term boyfriends and she brought him to Milwaukee to spend a day with my Grandma, she also felt compelled to take him here and show him one of her favorite places.

So anyway, this T Rex and his thunderstorm is what my thunderstorm today reminded me of, and it was quite pleasant, especially since we weren't whisked away in a Twister as we braved traveling for some burgers.

He's Gone! Along With Another Friend!

2010-06-21T12:34:00.008-04:00

Yes, I've decided that my cyst was a he, because only a dude could cause me so much grief and heartache.

On Saturday morning, I went to the doctor to have the cyst cut out of my back. YUM! If you know me at all, you know that I am not a morning person to begin with. And I like to sleep in until anywhere from noon to 5:00 p.m. on Saturdays. So I was already kind of pissed that I had to schedule this appointment at 10:30 a.m., and who in the holy hell is up at that time on a Saturday? Oh, apparently everyone. Traffic was terrible. And having witnessed the traffic and glaring sunshine of a Saturday morning, I have to say that I now know I haven't been missing much at all when I'm acting like a vampire.

The waiting room was full; so full, in fact, that for the first 15 minutes of my 45-minute wait (and that was to just get into a room, and then wait some more), I had to stand next to the office doorway and put my hand out every time someone entered to ensure that the door didn't swing all the way open and crush me. Then, some 30ish guy (dude A) who was there with his parents recognized a new dude (dude B) who came in and sat down, and they proceeded to have the most awkward start-and-stop conversation ever. It was really painful for all of us there, I think. Dude B was like, "Yeah... I work at Com Ed still, but I transferred to the Addison and California office from Oak Park because it's closer to home..." and Dude A would immediately say "closer to home" a beat after, pretending like actually HE had been planning to say that because he was so totally familiar with this guy's life even though they obviously hadn't seen one another for years. You know that weird, annoying conversational style where someone interrupts you with your own just-spoken words. It was horrible. Then a few minutes passed and Dude A asked, "So what do you do for Com Ed?" and Dude B said, "I work in customer service" and Dude A smugly nodded his head like, oh yeah. Of course. In my omniscience, I knew that. The best part was when Dude A and his parents were leaving; his father apparently knew Dude B as well and came over to say goodbye and Dude B said, "Bye Frank" and the dad was like, "My name is Ray." hahahaha.

Anyway. Eventually I was called and they took me to a room and I sat there for another half hour or so. The doctor came in to mark the cyst on my back with a sharpie so that the nurse would know where to inject the vicodin (yay), and he noticed this little bump I have further down on my back. "Oh, we'll have to remove that too." What?!?! That little nubbin never did nothin' to nobody! That's just my lower back bump! WTF?!?!

In reality I was just like, "um, really?" And he told me that it would probably eventually swell up like the other cyst. I find this theory suspicious, as it's been there forever and seemed to enjoy just chillin' on my lower back being all small and stuff, but whatever. He marked them both with the sharpie and there was no turning back because that shit is permanent-ish.

The nurse left so that I could put on one of those crappy-ass paper gowns with the open back. I hate those things SO MUCH. Like being half-naked in a doctor's office while all the staff get to keep their clothes on isn't humiliating enough, they give you a robe that rips open with one quick, wrong move. I would so totally be okay with a real cloth robe that had been laundered after the last use. I'm not afraid of getting HIV or scabies from a damn robe. Also, this would be much more environmentally friendly. But no, I get to put on a paper smock with a flimsy plastic tie. Awesome.

The nurse came back and told me to lay face-down on the surgery bed/table thingy so that she could inject me with that vicodin. Which was the worst part; those shots sting like hell! Then she gave me the after-care instructions. Now apparently the doctor and nurses here are Serbian (I just looked up the doctor's "languages spoken" and I can assure you they were not speaking English or Italian, his other two, to one another). However, I'm terrible at accents and they sound Polish or Russian to me. So even though I'm sure she's totally a lovely person, everything she says sounds very forceful and kind of barked. Plus I was kind of pissed at her anyway for shooting up my back so I was mad at everything she said. She told me no exercising for the next two weeks, after which I would have the stitches removed. However, when she said this she also pantomimed using a weight machine, which is something I don't do. So I was like, "um, can I run?" And she very firmly said, "Maybe after five days, but be careful with your arm movements." Then she was like, "And if you have pain, you use only extra strength Tylenol. No ibuprofen." She said this one very severely. I had kind of been hoping for a vicodin prescription but I wasn't about to argue with her. I also didn't tell her that my drinking habits -- particularly my Saturday night drinking habits -- would probably preclude any acetaminophen use. She also said they'd call me with my results, which confused me. Did she just say this out of habit? I didn't know there were any results to be expected. Hmm.

She told me the shots would kick in ten minutes later. So I lay on the bed thingy. And lay. And lay. My hands were falling asleep from propping up my head. Probably about 20 minutes later, the doctor came in and got right to work. He began to cut my back open, asking if I felt any pain, which I did, so the nurse had to give me yet another shot. He was cutting open the troublesome cyst at the time and explained that scar tissue was more difficult to numb. Then things just felt really gross because I could not see or feel what he was doing but I could feel him moving the skin on my back around and that made me want to vomit. I knew stitches were coming at some point -- and sewing up skin just creeps me the fuck out -- but I had no idea when. Oh wait, NOW you're cutting loose the final stitch... okay, I got it. Then he moved on to the smaller, inoffensive cyst on my lower back. That one went much more quickly and he... not so much asked whether I wanted to see it as he said, "Now I'm going to show you this one , see it's not so small" and he brought the tweezers up by my face and showed me a little cyst the size of, say, a single edamame. I had been kind of pouty about the waiting and the shots and the insistence that we remove an inactive cyst up until that point, but the moment I realized he intended to show me something he'd just cut out of my back, I got really cheerful really quickly. And it was everything I'd hoped for and more.

Soon I was all sewn up and ready to go. He ran out of the room (that man is BUSY) after telling me not to have TOO MUCH fun this summer (ahahahah, doctor humor). I stood awkwardly clutching my paper robe while the nurse put the cysts into little jars. She asked if I wanted to see the big one and I quickly and loudly exclaimed, "YES." It was HUGE! Ever since the last time it angrily blew up, it's felt like a pea-sized lump in the middle of my back. Honestly, the lower nub felt larger to the touch. But this guy was a super secret giant! I think he still had some flesh attached (YUCK!) but he was about the size of a superball. You know, smaller than a ping pong ball but bigger than a large marble. Maybe the size of a walnut in the shell. I am terrible at making size analogies. But it was glorious! She told me that they were most likely just cysts but they were, in fact, sending them to the lab and would let me know. Is there some kind of malignant cyst disease? I have no idea. Neither she nor the doctor told me what a bad lab result would entail, so... um, I may be dying of bumpy back. I haven't a clue.

I was finally able to remove the bandages this morning, and now I'm totally freaked out by the stitches on my back. Luckily I'm supposed to keep them covered with giant band-aids until I have them removed. Easier said than done, though, in summer. I already had one slide off due to some minor sweating. I think I'll be spending all of my money on big band-aids.

So, there ends the tale of my little cyst. Or cysts, now, I guess. Unless something goes terribly awry in the next two weeks, I'll just have two small scars as a reminder. Goodbye, guys! Have fun in the lab.

I decided to spare you guys a picture of cysts. Here is my dog in a bag. Despite the crabby look on her face, she seemed to really enjoy this.

I Heart Gossip Girl

2010-06-10T00:57:00.000-04:00

I seriously love this show. Schemes and hot dudes, what more do I want in life? I just watched the second-to-last episode of the season and here are the things I think need to happen on the season finale (which happened over two weeks ago; I'm behind) and into next season:

Serena needs to continue wearing tight mini-dresses

I love Serena. She is the best chick on the show. She also has a really hot figure, all hips and ass and tits. They are constantly putting her in ridiculous mini dresses that are way inappropriate for the occasion, but I like it. These need to continue, if only as an ode to Blake Lively's older sister, Robyn Lively, queen of late '80s B movies and early '90s failed television dramas.

Serena and Dan need to have a troubled relationship for the entire next season

Let's face it, Vanessa sucks. She's going to Haiti. This episode had this whole Serena/Dan unexpected thing at the end. WE NEED THIS REVISITED. Firstly, they are step-siblings and that is a hot situation. Secondly, Dan is only hot when he's with Serena. He briefly attempted this macho Ernest Hemingway bullshit and that was unappealing because he has way too many feelings and is essentially a PMS-ridden chick at heart. Serena, however, is fickle and kind of slutty due to daddy issues (aren't we all?). So when they're together, she's the dude and he's the lady, and I cannot express how much I love that dynamic. Plus, he's totally beneath her on paper and that is so true life.

Serena tells Dan his business, as usual

Jenny and Nate need to bang a lot

This is the only way I'll like Jenny Humphrey, who so far this season has proven to be an ungrateful, obnoxious little bitch with possibly the worst extensions since Britney and Kevin: Chaotic. They tried to redeem her character this episode by totally re-writing her, and I'm not buying it. However, Nate is boring but handsome (and also full of comic relief, like when he catches on to schemes 2 to 3 episodes after even Dan fucking Humphrey has caught on, and pats himself on the back for slow detective work). He needs something to do, and that is not Serena (his current but soon to be ex-girlfriend -- keep up here), because she's better than that and they are ridiculously snooze-worthy together. They were hot when they banged at that wedding because he was dating Blair. They are not hot, not at all, any longer. Nate needs someone new to bone, Jenny needs to accomplish something good. Two birds, one bang.

Chuck and Blair need to not get back together until at least mid-season next year

Remember, I haven't seen the final episode yet. I'm figuring they will actually Affair-To-Remember this couple and have someone injure themselves en route to the totally ridiculous Empire State Building meet-up Chuck proposed. Or something like that. The point is, Chuck and Blair both need space to separately fuck with other people's lives. Particularly Chuck. I don't know how in the holy hell this dude has gone from date rapist (ep. 1 of the series) to nearly respectable guy in love, but holy shit, writers, you really worked a miracle there, huh? Guess it's easy enough when you play the "my mother died in childbirth; j/k she's back from the dead to completely swindle me with my douchebag paternal uncle" card (a popular one, that). But he needs to be evil again for awhile. This show crashes when he's a touching little sweetheart for too long.

That said, I want more Lily/Chuck touch my cold black heart action

I really like Lily. In fact, the Van der Woodsens (or whatever the fuck this lady's name is after 5 or so marriages) are the only people I really care about here. And when she manages to convince this total degenerate to be good for a milisecond, it really melts my icy heart. This only needs to happen about twice a season, though.

Most importantly, Eric Van der Woodsen needs to become a righteous schemer again

Remember when Eric briefly became interesting because he schemed against Jenny Humphrey when she first turned into a total, horrible, irredeemable bitch from hell? This was before the bad extensions, I think, and coincidentally, right around the time he finally got rid of that awful blond dye job. Anyway, he was interesting rather than just being the token gay. Let's not do gays an injustice by pretending they can only be upstanding members of society. Let them scheme like everyone else! It's only fair.

Kill Vanessa under a landslide of rubble in Haiti

Seriously. She's going to Haiti. Is there any other reason to send her there than to kill off this killjoy? My god, she's boring.

Give Rufus back his balls

Every time I see him wearing a sweater over a button-down and taking care of UES teenage business, my soul feels sad. He's an ARTIST. A popular grunge musician, allegedly. My god, Lily, give him back his testes.

I think there was more, but I drank some cherry wine, became briefly impassioned about this, and now I've kind of lost interest.

xoxo, Amanda

Well, My Life Will Never Be The Same

2010-06-04T17:26:00.005-04:00

So, I finally found it. "It," in this case, being the one thing that actually grosses me out to my core. I know that last post, I indicated that the "sac" inside my back cyst makes me dry heave, but I was exaggerating. Its mention creates a brief, slight nausea, but then brings on a sinister smile when I think of telling other people about it and grossing them out. (What a great, strange phrase by the way. "Gross out.")

I am not easily horrified. In fact, I like to think I could weather the following scenario: Woman giving birth vaginally while someone creates a "Boston Cream Pie" on her chest. Nearby, Dirty Sanchez and Rusty Trombone are being enacted, while Saw 25: Finally, Torture Porn with No Plot! plays on a screen. Someone is cutting off the fingers of people with gambling debts, while at an adjacent station, doctors reattach said fingers. The baby is finally out of the birth canal and its eyeball falls out of the socket and dangles. The afterbirth is produced and someone eats it for the nutritional value.

I mean, this sounds like a delightful carnival to me. Additional things that I find funny/pleasant/totally whatever: farts, diarrhea, vomit, menstruation, period sex, facials, semen in general (although I'm currently eating creamy broccoli soup and taking a bite after typing "semen" was slightly strange), pulling poop out of my dog's butt when she's eaten the bush in my parents' backyard (this is, in fact, a thing that happens -- I use a plastic bag, not my bare hand), shaving people's backs, etc. etc. etc.

So what finally got to me? What actually made my vadge wince -- you know that feeling, when you KNOW it's bad?

A bloody nipple. SO GROSS.

All I can say about said nipple is that it was not mine, thank god. And it was not one of those running-related ones, which is I guess not the worst (but is still DISGUSTING). Everything else is left up to your imagination.

This is the closest thing I could allow myself to post.

Goodbye, Little Friend.

2010-05-25T00:58:00.006-04:00

So I went to the dermatologist the other day, because at 29 (ha, I typed 30 originally. I'm ready for it.) I decided to FINALLY do something about this goddamned acne. After waiting for over an hour, answering the nurse's questions and then re-answering them when the doctor quickly barked them at me as two assistants hovered around him, I was forced to reveal that I have a secret.

It must have been... I'd say 2003, because Boulos and I were living on the Upper East Side. I was in Chicago for some reason. I'd like to say it was when my brother graduated grade school and we (me and Boulos, not my 13-year-old brother) split a bottle of tequila and got in a loud fight on my parents' basement stairs at two o'clock in the morning and had to be yelled at by my mother. WE ARE CLASSY. But no, that was in 2002. I was visiting Chicago for some reason (Boulos, were you there for this? Somehow I feel like you were) and revealed to my mother the plague that had been... plaguing me for a few days: the giant cyst in the middle of my back.

My mom was concerned, but I like to ignore things like this. I mean, come on, eventually that giant, painful, I swear to god pulsating oval on my back will just GO AWAY, right? Like, what did people in the olden days do about cysts? Nothing. They just powered through. Or were stoned to death by other old timey people because the cyst was obviously the mark of the beast or something. Or, the cyst ruptured and they got infections due to unsanitary conditions (which were common in the olden days, you know) and then they died. WHATEVER. I don't have time to deal with cysts on vacation.

When the cyst reached its pinnacle, which was quite impressive -- bright red, the size of an egg, pretty firm except for this nice pokable little dime-sized area in the center (did you vomit yet? good.), my mom finally convinced me to go to the ER. This was the first of two ER visits I have made for really stupid reasons. I had a youngish, kind of good looking doctor who would not stop fretting about whether or not I was pregnant because of something he was intending to give me for the pain. We spent a LONG TIME discussing whether this was a possibility (no. I firmly stated. No, it is not). Then he'd leave. Then he'd come back, again concerned about my potential zygote. (No. There is no way I'm pregnant. Do you hear what I'm saying here doctor? NO WAY.) Sigh. I didn't have the heart to tell the cute doctor that I'd been celibate for years at this point. Eventually, after giving me a diabetes test that left me with a bloody finger, he made me take a stupid pregnancy test. I peed all over my bloody finger. Ah, well, at least that won't get infected.

I lay on my stomach while the doctor gave me shots to numb the area and then cut it open. Numb or not, it hurt like a bitch. I gritted my teeth while he... (don't vomit) squeezed all the pus out. YUM! I hope you're eating.

Then he packed it with gauze, told me he was sure he'd gotten "the sac" (this would be my first experience with that amazing term, which surprisingly is the only aspect of this whole thing that grosses me out), and revealed that he'd had a "giant man" in the other day who had cried like a baby through the exact same procedure. He assured me I'd do well in childbirth (?!) and sent me on my way. To this day, I am kind of worried about his level of interest in my offspring.

I went home to Boulos, who had to help me clean and redress the wound since it was on my back. She found the situation horrifying, but proved herself as a wife and lifelong friend by actually assisting me in this. I will be very, very lucky to ever find a man who would do the same. We nicknamed it my "back vagina," decided that "Chicago Style" referred to sex in the back vagina while both parties eat deep dish pizza, and eventually it healed, leaving only a small scar. Yay, no more cyst!

Yeah right. This thing comes back about yearly. During the first recurrence, I was again in Chicago (travel does something to the monster on my back) and visited my dad's dermatologist. He cut me back open, removed more pus, said he got the sac, but recommended I have them cut me open when it was normal again to make sure the entire sac was gone. Gross! This sac, like, divides and conquers? Ugh. I briefly discussed the surgery with my general practitioner in New York, but you know what? It's really hard to convince oneself that surgery is necessary when everything is fine. Hey, dude, my back is good. No vagina here! I'm sure that last guy got the sac.

After the threat of surgery, I started taking care of this thing myself. Oh god, that sounds so gross. No, what happened is that once I wasn't able to get to the doctor before the thing kind of de-pussed itself on its own. Exploded, kind of. This part of the story is where I venture into true TMI territory, I guess, and we all throw up together. Anyway, after I didn't die on that one, I decided to just buy some big bandages in preparation for any flare-ups, cover the thing when it became a monster, and wait it out. This method has been working pretty well for years. It's safe! I buy the large anti-bacterial band-aids.

So on Friday, my new dermatologist asked me whether I experience acne anywhere other than my face and I was like, "um, well. I kind of had this cyst on my back and it flares up sometimes." With no fanfare, he marched over, yanked the back of my shirt open, peered down for a millisecond, poked my back and said, "Oh, you'll have to have that removed; the sac is still in there." Trust me when I say that, even after years of talking about this cyst, the word "sac" still makes me dry heave a bit. As I left the office, the receptionist scheduled an appointment for sac removal.

And then I was a little sad! Mostly because I have never had surgery except for the removal of my wisdom teeth and I'm of the firm belief that the less surgery, the better. (In reality this is an outpatient procedure and I'm pretty sure it's only going to require another shot or two of local anesthesia, so I should just stop being a crybaby already.) But also... no more little harmless friend who becomes an angry red monster and then settles into back vagina before hibernating again :(

Goodbye, little sac (barf). I hardly knew ye.

I am hoping that Dr. Wilson finally closes my back vagina

(There are youtube videos of cyst removals but I cannot recommend them. The two I watched were really disgusting. I would stick to my story, which has the benefit of a first-person back cyst story, i.e. I didn't see anything.)

Mother's Day Update

2010-05-19T00:53:00.004-04:00

You know how I mentioned that, on Mother's Day, my whole family made fun of me for folding my underwear? Here's a cute little follow-up.

On Sunday, we went to my parents' house. We do this most Sundays and we call it "Family Day" and we watch America's Funniest Videos and basically make you vomit with our ability to act like Leave it to Beaver, except if you know anything else about my family, you know we are no fucking Cleavers (what a fucked up last name! God that makes me laugh, and think of murder). I'll get into that another time, though. Suffice it to say our family gatherings are characterized by too many sex jokes, and sometimes too much substance abuse, for '50s prime time TV.

So back to Sunday. My dad grilled burgers and my mom bought cupcakes; how cute is that? My grandmother came over and we watched the Blackhawks game (um, they did. I did a crossword puzzle). Lest you find this too sweet and/or nauseating, let me step in and spoil it by telling you that when I drove my grandma home, we passed a number of Korean businesses a few blocks from her house and she said, apropos of nothing, "Boy, the Asians sure love to gamble." (Maybe we'd just passed an OTB? I honestly don't know.)

My sister owns our place and we have a washer/dryer in-unit, but the dryer has been broken recently so we've been doing some laundry at my parents' house. She put in a load and then I put that in the dryer and put in my load, and promptly forgot about it. I wanted to leave by 8:30 so I could go running when I got home, but at about 8:15 my mom reminded me about my laundry. I swore and got crabby. She then kindly offered to fold my stuff and send it home with my sister the next day if I didn't want to stick around.

My sister brought it home and I just unpacked it, and found that my mother had folded all of my panties! Adorable. Except this: she had asked how I fold them, and I told her that I fold them in half and then in half again. She said, "Oh, well I'd probably fold them in thirds," one-upping me on something she doesn't even do. Guess how she sent them back?

Of course, all arguments can be settled via the internet. According to this Youtube video, she's right. Or at least closer to right.

Mother's Day

2010-05-09T23:42:00.004-04:00

I'm sure everyone has tales about how strange their family is. "Normal" doesn't really exist, does it? However, crazy family stories are fun. I thought I would describe Mother's Day at my parents' house in an effort to capture the particular strain of crazy that has infected my family.

My sister and I arrive late due to traffic and those unfeeling bastards (aka my paternal grandmother, my father, my brother and my mother) have of course begun eating without us, because they don't care. After distributing large bones to the dogs so that my dog can steal both of them and take them to the rug where she will shut up and let us eat in peace, my sister and I sit down at the table. Everyone teases Melissa (sister) because she is in the last week of training for a fitness competition and thus can only eat one dish on the table, kale. People do horrible things like loudly proclaim, "Oh, it's really too bad you cannot eat this beef, IT IS DELICIOUS. You can't have JUST ONE BITE?" (my father).

Between bites of his actual meal, my father stands up with a fork, reaches for the pineapple cake in the middle of the table, and shoves large forkfuls of it into his mouth. In my family, we generally don't do things like cut a cake into pieces and eat it off dessert plates. When he sits down, his dog jumps up on his chair and pushes her head through his free arm, panting and attempting to lick his plate. In response, he feeds her from his plate and everyone laughs. We discuss my former job at Chuck E. Cheese and I mention that a man once approached me when I was dressed as Chuckie and whispered "Are you a man or a woman? A man or a woman?" and how horrifying that was. I then determined that I'd met a furry before anyone knew what a furry was. Then I had to explain furries to my mom and grandma. They both greatly enjoyed this, and my mother later referred to them as "fluffies." I turned this particular aspect of the night into my Facebook status. My small dog eats a large piece of bone and requires assistance in order to not die. My mother helps her create a giant disgusting puddle of bone on the floor and proudly exclaims, "See, I just had to massage her throat! Now it's out!" We discuss dogs who eat things like underwear and socks and throw them up later. Probably half of us are still eating throughout this vomit portion of the evening.

After the dishes are cleared, my mother tries to redeem us from my father's lack of manners by actually cutting a different cake and distributing pieces. At my sister's request, I provide an in-depth description of the chocolate mousse cake; she cannot eat things like cake and thus gets off on looking at and hearing about food. We give my mother and grandmother their gifts. My grandmother received two books, and she expresses concern that she may not be able to read them. I ask if I should return them for large-print versions and my sister jokes, "Or should we get audio versions? Or exchange them for an aide to come and read them to you?" And my grandmother says, "I'm just sorry I won't be around to see YOU at 70, you little bitch."

My dad goes upstairs to take a nap. He takes about three a day now, I think (he is only 51). My grandmother needs someone to put an eyedrop into her eye, so I volunteer. She also needs someone to cut her bangs, which my mom does at the kitchen table while my grandma holds a newspaper ad under her face to catch the hair. My brother says, "Jesus! Eyedrops, haircuts... what the fuck do you think this is, Mother's Day?!" My mother remembers that there is cookies 'n' cream gelato in the freezer. My sister convinces me to try some, though I don't want any. I explain to her that it's not very good and they obviously used generic cookies, not oreos. She wants me to eat more and I refuse.

My sister and mother go to the Vitamin Store together (seriously. This is what they do together on Mother's Day). They say they will be gone for ten minutes and about fifteen minutes later, my grandmother proclaims that they lied and she needs to go home now and feed her dog. I drive her home. When I return, my family is watching America's Funniest Videos. I cannot lie, I fucking love that show. It's best to watch with my family, because my mother cackles loudly any time something remotely funny happens (and, um, most of the show is funny things happening) and my father only laughs audibly when someone gets injured. He is the man who appreciates all of the hits to the groin. However, he was still napping. My sister and brother like to pretend they are too cool for the show, but they always get sucked in as well.

Anytime my mother disagrees with a video -- i.e., does not think it's funny enough for the show -- she does so loudly. "That was not FUNNY. Ugh, that was just dumb. I liked the dogs who opened the gate." There is a video about a woman who continually locks her husband out of the house or car and makes him dance before she'll let him back in. My brother and I loved it and my mother rolls her eyes and says "This is so dumb. I mean, I wouldn't let her take my keys then! COME ON!"

Later on, my sister and I finish up our laundry (our dryer is currently on the fritz) and everyone laughs at me when it is revealed that I fold my underwear. Then my mother says, "You know what I'm gonna do?" And I say, "Oh, this is about wine, isn't it?" She ignores me. "Well, it's getting late and I don't work tomorrow, and the kitchen is clean, so..." And she pours herself a glass of white zinfandel and lights a cigarette.

Happy Mother's Day, mom! I don't think you read my blog, though.

Buying in Bulk

2010-05-03T21:04:00.009-04:00

I should NEVER be allowed in a Costco or Sam's Club. NEVER. My sister bought a membership a few years ago and I went with her a few times and bought the dumbest shit. Keep in mind that my sister maintains a very healthy, strict diet at all times and I eat like a frat boy, with maybe every third meal a half-hearted stab at healthful eating. I do actually try to get in my fruits and veggies, though, because my parents never made me eat them and I hated vegetables until like five years ago, and I'm relatively sure I have undiagnosed scurvy or something as a result.

Anyway. Point being, my diet and my sister's do not overlap much and we don't share much food. When we last had a Costco membership, I bought a giant canister of cashews. Because nuts never go bad, right? No really, I thought that. We moved probably six months after I bought that bad boy and it was still 3/4 of the way full and I packed that bitch and brought it to our new place. (I brought a lot of food along using the logic "Hey, we're only moving three blocks away." Except I don't own a grocery cart so that food had to be moved just like everything else.) And here it sat, very rarely tended to, until Boulos visited last May and was like, "Um, those cashews expired TWO YEARS AGO." And I was like, bullshit, nuts don't go bad. But yeah, it had an expiration date. I rebelled and kept those cashews for a few months, every once in awhile making an "omg I'm gonna die" face and eating one. Just a couple months later, I threw out a half-full canister of cashews that probably cost $20 or some shit.

My issue with Costco is that I ALWAYS FORGET who is supposed to shop there. You know, little league teams and PTAs and people with actual families. Not little ole single me, who never even has people over because her roommate goes to bed at 9:00 p.m and her friends are loud. I do not need a two-pound tub of hummus, ever.

But buying in bulk is SMART, right? I'm getting bang for my buck here, correct? Of course, if you buy a big box of weird Kashi bars that you have never seen in the grocery store and only eat 10 of them and then, three years later, start looking at the remaining 20 with shifty eyes because they have nuts in them and you just recently learned that nuts do, in fact, go bad.... well, throwing out 2/3 of a product you bought at a slight discount is not smart.

My sister had similar, if less retarded, problems last time we had a Costco membership, so she let it lapse. But now she's on this really strict diet which involves eating the same things again and again, and buying in bulk is actually a good idea for her. And she convinced me to accompany her when she renewed her card. I didn't really need much in the way of groceries, but Costco was only open for maybe another hour and I'd just pick up some wine or something. Duh. I won't get pulled into this again, I'm no fool.

She waited in line to get her card and encouraged me to go browse. I swear to god she loves to watch me act like a dumbass. But it was boring up front, so I headed straight for the liquor section, where I picked up a bottle of whiskey -- I had NO IDEA if I was saving money on it, because I don't even buy whiskey other than Jameson or Jack Daniels, really. But hey, it MUST be a good deal, right? Then I chose a giant bottle of cabarnet sauvignon. Also not sure if I saved any money on it. At this point, I looked really classy.

My sister called me and I met her by the frozen food. Then we walked toward the produce. I picked out a giant bunch of bananas, which wasn't genius, but I make banana bread with overripe bananas and I have 1/2 a loaf sitting here on my counter right now to prove to you that no bananas were wasted. I also picked up a 12-pack of apples, which I've nearly finished. So BOO YA, produce.

But. The produce, where my sister spends a large amount of time, is right next to the cheese. Giant hunks of cheese all over the place. First I picked up this bag of snack-sized Cabot hunks. Unfortunately, I did not realize until I made it home that they are low-fat, and I have to be honest, cheese is the one food that I believe should always be full-fat. The unbelievable 0ccurred and I purchased a Cabot cheddar product that is simply mediocre. Sad.

On to the giant hunks of cheese. Obviously I could only purchase one -- I know that cheese goes bad. I was looking at cheddars, and had nearly settled on a manchego when this older woman turned to me and asked, in a gorgeous accent (French? Russian? Polish? seriously I can't identify these things) whether one could freeze cheese. I was like, I have no idea. But it probably wouldn't taste as good if you froze it and thawed it. She held up a giant wedge of gruyere and said sadly, "It's so much cheese. But they so rarely have gruyere." With the accent and the sadness over fancy cheese, I was convinced this woman was a former queen fallen upon hard times or something. There was a sense of faded glamour about her. I think she bought the cheese. I KNOW that this interaction prompted me to buy the gruyere.

This was dumb. Turns out, gruyere is not tasty when eaten in chunks, which I didn't know because I've only ever eaten it on sandwiches at restaurants. A good 1/4 of that wedge is still sitting in my fridge because I am sick of slicing cheese and eating cheese sandwiches and making cheese omelets. The one thing I know is that I, for one, will never be found standing at a discount store sadly contemplating a giant wedge of gruyere.

Other things purchased? A dried fruit and nut mix, which is convenient but maybe not the best idea because holy shit that stuff is high in calories. And a big package of corned beef, and another of sliced ham, which worked well with the gruyere for croque monsieur sandwiches, but which prompted conversations with my sister like, "NO I cannot eat turkey with you tonight, I have some ham to eat" and "I'd like to get tacos for dinner, but I still have some goddamned ham to eat."

All in all, I spent about $90 on a bunch of crap that kept me fed and liquored up for awhile, but which I did not actually, technically need. I'm probably going back this weekend.

I found this when I googled "gruyere." This little guy could really help me out with all the cheese I have right now.

I Have a 401k and Other Boring Revelations

2010-05-01T18:22:00.007-04:00

As recently as yesterday, I realized that I am an adult. I realize this fairly often and am always surprised. But I think it was as I stared at a photo of Justin Bieber with a confused look on my face YET AGAIN last night that I "realized" this for the last time and, finally, completely accepted and embraced adulthood.

This is a good thing, since I'll be 30 in like 4 months or something. And I DO have a 401k! With less than $2,000 in it because I started it maybe a year before I got laid off, and I wasn't making enough money for 6% of my income to actually amount to that much. When I think about the amount that my sister has in her 401k, and how she is over two years younger than me, I get a little scared. Then I go to Youtube and watch a video of a dog pushing a ball around a room with a frisbee and I feel better.

So here are a few additional things that have led me to reluctantly admit that I am an adult.

1) Alluded to above, but bears repeating: I finally do not understand teenage pop stars at all. Now, lest you think I'm just a music snob: I attended a New Kids on the Block concert when I was 8. For whatever reason, I understood the popularity of boy bands like the Backstreet Boys and N'Sync, and I have danced to Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera while singing along. However, Miley Cyrus, Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber are beyond me. I don't begrudge today's children, tweens and (young and/or awkward) teens their heartthrobs and Tiger Beat cover stars, but I can't lie. I kind of wish they would all board a rickety puddlejumper together and let nature take its course. Mostly because Miley's voice, both speaking and singing, grates horribly and her father's "contribution" to country music should have brought a curse upon his offspring if karma worked as it should. Taylor Swift is annoyingly sweet and wholesome, and has a horribly weak singing voice, and her songs are like bad lowfat vanilla ice cream. Justin Bieber is... well, here he is. I think a picture is enough.

I guess I should just be happy that his popularity is an obvious step in the right direction in terms of widespread acceptance of gays. If the public is embracing a little lesbian boy in this way, actual lesbians can't be far behind, right?

2) The soundtrack to my high school experience is now being referred to as "Classic Alternative." At least, that is the name of the Comcast music station that plays Bjork, Nirvana, Hole, Pearl Jam, etc. Also, rock music from the '80s is "Retro Rock." I simply cannot pretend to be a teenager anymore.

3) Sigh. This one is kind of hard to admit. I am currently watching The Breakfast Club yet again, but probably for the first time in years (it's not my favorite brat pack movie; those would be Pretty in Pink, About Last Night and St. Elmo's Fire). And John Bender is no longer sexxxxxxxxy. He is an annoying asshole. He thinks he's being provocative, but he's being mean. I do not like him at all and I no longer want to make him my loveslave. And I actually don't like any of these characters, except maybe Allie Sheedy. This is, for me, the saddest of these realizations.

Still good-looking, but too annoying and self-righteous to allow in my bed.

Guest Appearance

2010-04-24T01:27:00.000-04:00

I think that the pic at the top of our blog seems to accurately represent the balance of the contribution to the blog. I suck, but what can I do. As you can see from the time stamp on this post, I am at home on a Friday night, lame. My recent unemployment status has really thrown me for a loop. I mean, when I am a normal commuter/employed person I'm often psyched to not have plans on a weekend, or at night, because I'm exhausted from the hustle and bustle of the week, however obviously this is not the case now. It really sucks when you finally have the time to do everything you would like to do, with none of the funds in which to do them.

Things I'd like to do right now if I could:
-Go to Chicago to see my wife, like I was originally planning to in June
-Head out on the cross-country road trip I've wanted to go on since High School, staying with people I know throughout the continental US, and heading up to Canada as well
-Basically anything but continuously staying at home in my apartment most of the time

Sorry to be such a downer, but both Andy and I getting laid off within one week of another really threw me for a loop! Like, are you f-ing kidding me, life? To make matters worse, our Landlord has decided to put the house on the market in July. So, basically, it's REALLY possible that I will be jobless and homeless soon (ok, not homeless, but in search of a new home, and since moving sucks just about as hard as losing your job, this does not seem appealing AT ALL). Although I'm psyched I'm approved for the highest unemployment amount per week, it's still less than half of what I was clearing before. All these other ridiculous things keep popping up as well, just making me think like I've suddenly become some sort of Biblical character being put through a series of tests. I know there are so many people all over the world going through much worse, but sometimes it's hard to think of that bigger picture. I am grateful for Andy, and my family and friends that have been helping through this shite, but I don't get to see a majority of my friends on a regular basis even when I am employed! A lot of them live in NYC, so for me to see them, I have to spend money.

Oh well, most of tonight was good times, we had our first spring time BBQ in the backyard, and I had a much needed martini. I even did some yoga today, but haven't dragged my lazy ass to the gym in like two months. It's awful, and since I can't cancel my membership, I suppose I should venture there during the day, with all of the Jersey housewives. Maybe I'll even become a Zumba freak. My gym offers tanning as well. Perhaps I should just turn myself into every Jersey stereotype now being made popular by shows like "The Real Housewives" and "Jerseylicious!" OMG, this is a fantastic idea! I can become everything that I hate about stereotypes from my home state, and then exploit it all to my advantage! Since my dream job currently lies in TV production, I really should work on making this happen.

Alright, I'm already feeling a bit more positive. At least I have a mission. Since I haven't been to the gym recently, I won't even have to spend money on acquiring a tighter wardrobe! There's the silver lining, people! Alright, it's on. Next time you'll see me, my hair will have grown larger, my skin will be a shade of orange not found in nature, and I will have developed an accent that currently only exists in movies and on TV.

Look out for me, my babies!! I'll be the one with French Tips and a HUGE Starbucks CAWFEE.

(Please blame any intense disjointed ramblings in this post on the boxed wine that has followed the martini, thanks)

Girls Girls Girls

2010-04-24T00:26:00.008-04:00

Dear Kelis, My milkshake brings all the... girls to the yard. I prefer boys. Can you help me with this? I understand that you have to charge, and I'm willing to compensate appropriately.
Love, Amanda

It's not that I never attract boys. I do okay with this. My favorite of the dudes I have attracted recently is the one who kept telling me, "Girrrrl, you're dangerous." Haha. If I were a mature woman of nearly 30, this wouldn't appeal to me, but I'm not and it does. In fact, I'd had a bit to drink and after knowing him for about ten minutes, I was like, "Damn. I am dangerous." And for the rest of the night I felt like Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct, but with panties.

However, ladies hit on me. Like, a lot. Moreso than I'd expect the average girl gets. It's piqued my interest.

One possible reason is that I stay out late, go to bars that cater to staying out late and to acting a fool/acting a bisexual. Are those the same thing? I think not, but perhaps ladies being into ladies is, for certain ladies, a late-night/crazy type thing. I don't really know.

Another thing is that this happens frequently when I'm out with my male friends. I do not have a lot of (straight) guy friends. Mostly, if you are male and heterosexual and I like you, I am not thinking of you in a "friendly" way. But sometimes, I get to that point with dudes, that point where we can hang out and be platonic.

The other night I was out with my friend Roy. Dana was talking to him when I returned from the bathroom, and I assumed she was hitting on him. Blah blah, I was looking the other way to allow him room to, you know, get her. I'm an excellent wingwoman. Or so I like to think.

Then she's introduced to me and, by no prompting of my own, it's all about me. How my hair matches my dress; did I plan that? No I did not, because my hair is red and my dress is a raspberry pinkish-purplish color. Maybe she's color blind? Then Dana told us about belly dancing and made us both feel her belly as she rolled it, telling us about her muscle control. And staring at me most of the time. And I knew it'd happened again: a chick was totally into me. Roy briefly tried to accuse me of cockblockery, but agreed that my only weapons in this regard had been my existence and my ability to listen.

I'd like to say this was an anomaly, but it wasn't. Chicks dig me, man. One other time, Roy and I were out with Ryan, another friend. This chick sat down with us and Ryan was really into her. She had giant boobs. At first I hated her (due entirely to jealousy; she was thin with giant tits and I am not-so-thin with middling tits), but all of a sudden she's talking about how much she loves me. "Blah blah, I love this girl! Blah blah blah, I really love Amanda!" God, I wish I were a lesbian. I do NOT hear this shit from men.

Let's be honest. There is probably an explanation for these particular chicks. The first option I have is that they liked the guys I was with and did not entirely understand my relationship to them. Thus, they needed to make nice while sleuthing, and attempted to in a very ridiculously overt way.

The other option, obviously, is that they were fishing for a threesome. I'd imagine that if you, a single lady, approach a heterosexual couple (assuming these ladies mistook me for half a couple in these scenarios), the woman is the one you have to convince. I mean, the popular conception of heterosexuality tells us that a woman loves attention and a man loves a chase.

However, I've been hit on by ladies a fair amount otherwise. Perhaps I'm just that awesome and sexy and blah blah blah. Or maybe they can just tell that people in high school suspected I was a lesbian because I attended Lillith Fair and listened to Tori Amos and foolishly bought a pair of gym shoes with a rainbow on them. These things + small Lutheran school = total lesbo.

Below, you will find the creepiest lesbian photo a quick google search could supply.

Goodness, Gracious

2010-04-20T03:13:00.010-04:00

Here's a ditty about another film that shaped my young self, one that I probably should not have seen as a child. And that film would be Great Balls of Fire, starring Dennis Quaid as Jerry Lee Lewis and Winona Ryder as his incestuous child bride, Myra. I loooooooved this movie as a child -- I was nine when it came out and we had cable with free pay-per-view so I was watching every recent release about 5 times a day at that point. Like Goodfellas, which was my favorite movie when I was ten. Boulos has been aware of this for some time, but what she recently found out is that my absolute favorite scene in that movie is the montage in which we discover all of the bodies of the dudes that Jimmy has killed in his paranoia over the heist. I was watching it with Boulos and I mentioned that it's always been my favorite part of the movie, and she was totally horrified. In retrospect, it's pretty upsetting. I'd like to say that it's because the epic "Layla" is played over this montage, but I also really enjoy discovering the clever ways in which Jimmy had the guys killed and disposed of. I've greatly enjoyed that for nearly 20 years now, and I'm just going to accept that I am a sick fuck.

Anyway, back to Great Balls of Fire. I loved the music, I was hot for Dennis/Jerry, Winona Ryder was in it and she got a house that she was allowed to completely furnish in the manner one might expect a 13-year-old would, and it was fantastic. I re-watched the movie last fall and I still loved it (I was drunk, too, though). Then, a few weeks ago, I was talking to a friend and he said that he hates all musician biopics. I was like, "Um, what about Great Balls of Fire?" And he said, very sarcastically, "Oh, the movie in which Jerry Lee Lewis marries his 13-year-old cousin?"And I was like, "Yes. She was his cousin twice removed, by the way." (I still do not know what the hell that means.) During this conversation, I was still totally behind this movie. I was like, when the hell did Roy become such a moralist? What the fuck? THEY WERE IN LOVE.

Upon reflection, the movie is totally fucked up. Sure, it's based on truth, but the relationship (which, finally, I do recognize as utterly disgusting) is represented in an almost comical, and certainly an inevitable, manner. Like, of COURSE he wants to fuck his 13 year old cousin, of COURSE she wants it, and of COURSE they should be married. And no, her father should not kill him. And when they first have sex and she is kind of terrified and she cries? Don't worry about it, because in like 5 minutes she will be a total nympho.

Normally I don't really believe in too harshly censoring the movies kids watch. I saw Pretty Woman as a child and I did not want to be a hooker, though I did have a crush on Richard Gere (duh). I saw Beaches, which a friend's mom wouldn't let us watch at her fourth grade sleepover (prude, there's like two tasteful sex scenes) and sure I became a redhead and maybe sometimes a loudmouth, but I didn't marry my dad's lawyer and wind up a single mother. I saw Dirty Dancing, but I didn't understand the abortion plotline and now that I consider it, I think it's awesome that when I finally understood it, I knew innately that the illegality of abortion at that time was bullshit, and also how cool is it that the girls who have sex in that movie are all nice girls, with that exception of that married hussy who wants Johnny and settles for Robbie?

This isn't to say that I became a child bride, thank god, but it's kind of fucked up that it took me 21 years to finally decide that, when they go to London and the Brits hate them and boo them offstage, it's not because the Brits are a bunch of uptight prudes. It's because Jerry Lee Lewis was a pervert. I still have a crush on Dennis Quaid, though.

These Are a Few of My Least Favorite Things

2010-04-13T20:24:00.007-04:00

This dumb Nebraska law restricting abortion due to "fetal pain." ZOMG. Seriously? Seriously? How did you find out about this fetal pain? Have your fetus call my fetus to discuss. Wait. What? Our fetuses don't have cell phones? They can't even TALK? Then who the fuck told you about this? Oh right. You made it up to further rule women's bodies with an iron fist, because you're the patriarchy. Thanks, we needed that reminder that our vaginas and other lady equipment are really YOUR vaginas and lady equipment.

Do you guys have Crazy Bread?

People who have cell phone conversations -- especially MULTIPLE cell phone conversations -- in inappropriate places, including but certainly not limited to dressing rooms, airport bathrooms, and any other large communal space in which my jeans are likely around my ankles. For an example, I will just copy and paste my Facebook status for today: Things I learned in the dressing room from a woman who had at least three cell phone conversations while I tried on jeans: 1) She tested positive for hepatitis and plans to re-test tomorrow 2) She is no longer a size 16; she is now a size 14 and a Large on top 3) She coddles her boyfriend, who sounds like a total asswipe. He will be dumping her, either if she gets fat, or if she has hepatitis. Unsure about that one.

iPhone commercials. "Oh, looky, my iPhone told me that song was She and Him, and when they are coming to town, because I'm an idiot yupster tech junkie who is too dumb/2010 to remember lyrics/carry paper to write them on and then google them when I get home like poor folk, such as Amanda. Also I have soooo much disposable income and/or I'm a total poseur/dilettante, so I just buy tickets for bands from whom I've heard one song. Teehee!" Also -- you do NOT need the ability to use the internet while talking on the phone. This is a lie.

Reggae. It's possible that reggae is too closely associated with sun and sand and surf, all of which turn me off. It's more likely that old commercials for Jamaica and jukeboxes in bars have made me hate Bob Marley's music with a passion. Since all reggae seems to have essentially the same beat, it's all ruined for me. Plus, the whole stoner association feels so junior year of high school. It's the musical equivalent of the dead horse, in my mind.

People who do not use turn signals. What the fuck? It isn't hard, it's not even a real flick of the wrist. And I am not a mind reader, so when you are slowing down in front of me to turn or park but have not turned on your turn signal, I might assume you are running out of gas, having an epileptic fit, fucking with me, or a million other random things. They need to start giving tickets for this again, it's so anger-inducing and dumb.

I feel like this will probably become an ongoing blog feature. Exciting, isn't it?

Further Musings on Ye Olden Days

2010-04-09T23:50:00.007-04:00

First, put this song on.

I just went for a run and listened to this on the way back, and it made me feel all earth mothery in a sexy way. I used to listen to Sarah Mclachlan CONSTANTLY in high school, mainly Fumbling Towards Ecstasy but also this remix (the song is off her first album, Touch), which is my favorite song maybe ever. I also read a lot of Tom Robbins; my favorite novel of his was Another Roadside Attraction because the protagonist is named Amanda. Second favorite: Still Life With Woodpecker. The protagonist has red hair and smokes Camels. p.s. guess why I smoked Camels? Guess why I'm a redhead?

His books, as well as Sarah McLachlan's music, which always sounded all mystical and British Columbia-ish to me (which is to say full of magical, lush forests, not unlike Washington State, where Another Roadside Attraction is set), appealed to the hippie in me -- I think, unless you were like a goth or an emo kid, you were probably kind of a hippie in high school. Or at least, like me, thought you were. A hippie who frequented shopping malls and wore deodorant. But hey, I had a lot of incense and these cotton summertime frocks that just screamed Haight Ashbury.

If I remember correctly, Amanda of Another Roadside Attraction was this kind of earthy goddess type, with intuition that bordered on psychic abilities and a kind of calm, unruffled demeanor. She was enigmatic and rolled with the punches. This was, obviously, the kind of woman I would become. Someone people loved but did not tend to understand. A magical, wondrous lady, really. Most likely, many men would love me and I'd break many hearts. They'd remember me fondly, though, and I'd be that old paramour they met for drinks years later, when they had kids and I was running around Europe or something, and they'd secretly still want me.

This did not happen. I am not this person and doubt I ever will be. But really this post is a shout-out to Samantha and Rachel (actually began as a Facebook message to them), because we spend a lot of time bitching about certain things (men) but I swear, when I listen to this song, I feel like I am at least a little bit the Amanda of Another Roadside Attraction. And I know she met her true love in that book, but I can't remember a goddamn thing about him.

Father Figure

2010-04-03T17:49:00.005-04:00

I was singing the song "Father Figure" in the shower the other day -- which I do a lot -- and I realized that I find the song exceptionally sexy (which makes it sound as though this is going to be a shower self-satisfaction story, but sorry, it's not). Not just sexy in a way that newer songs strike me as sexy, like the current Norah Jones single (yes, adult contemporary) or all of the Beach House album. Sexy in some kind of special way. Which raised a big question mark over my head as I rinsed my hair. What is so specially sexy about the song "Father Figure"?

After some consideration, I realized that the George Michael album Faith, on which "Father Figure" appears, had a couple of songs that became all tangled up with, let's call it my "burgeoning sexuality" at the age of seven or eight (which seems young to me because I was a perpetual late bloomer, but I just checked the dates on wikipedia). The song reminds me of that period of time during which you knew that sex was penis in vagina but you didn't know there was anything beyond that and didn't understand the big deal. The thought of kissing a cute boy, however, seemed illicit and appealing, if somewhat nausea-inducing.

The song "Father Figure" brings a distinct mental image of a woman in the backseat of a cab but not much else, so I just reviewed the video on youtube. Holy shit. I'm not really sure exactly what is going on here besides some vaguely outlined creepy stalker-controlling boyfriend crap, but this video is pretty hot. (Also, please note that George Michael smokes roughly 25 cigarettes in five and a half minutes. I feel like I'm watching a movie from the '40s.) I think this video really piqued my interest in sex when it came out; apparently I was eight at the time. Even the song alone probably gave me vague "why does Jesus have to hate sex?!" thoughts.

Alternately, the video that made me feel total shame about sex was "I Want Your Sex." See, when I was... seven, it seems, according to when the video was in heavy rotation, I was riding my bike outside when the neighborhood bad boy (whom my closest friend from childhood eventually married, and has now divorced) approached me. He kept standing in front of me to block my way, fucking with my bike riding. He wanted me to go to my backyard with him. I can't recall now if he revealed his plan at this time, or waited until we were alone. Finally, annoyed, I agreed to go with him. His little brother wanted to come along, but Ricky said we were "telling dirty jokes" and Mikey was too little to hear them. Genius alibi.

We went into my backyard and Ricky ordered me to stand at the top of the stairs that led to my basement. He stood at the bottom, pulled down his pants, and ordered me to pull up my shirt and pull down my pants. God only knows why I complied with this; I really don't remember feeling much curiosity about what lay under his clothing. We stood there for a minute or so before his mother popped in to check on our dirty jokes and literally caught us with our pants down. Boo.

My mother wasn't home at the time, but Ricky's mom made it clear she would be telling her. So I went inside, where my father was watching television. I almost feel like this next part might be some kind of made-up memory amalgam, but I swear it's true. While I sat there hating myself and dreading having to speak with my mom about my vagina and Ricky's penis, the video for "I Want Your Sex" came on. And I wanted to throw up. Here was George Michael, trying to convince me to have sex with him. COME ON. What was it with boys that day? Now God and my mother would hate me forever, all because water splashing on feet, stockings and garter belts, and lipstick messages written on white skin were so fucking tempting. Plus, ew, my dad was in the room, George Michael. Stop vaguely arousing me/confusing me/making me feel ashamed.

Luckily, my mother knew that Ricky was bad news and believed my side of the story, so I received a very minor punishment for pulling down my pants. Lesson learned, keep your pants on in public. Okay. George Michael did not learn that lesson, let me point that out. And how confusing is it that one of the men who inspired my first real thoughts of sex turned out to be gay?

Now for the very last item in Amanda's "what shaped my sexuality" list. I shared this with Samantha Irby last evening and we agreed that everyone should know about it, even though it pretty much makes me a total creep. What was your first sexual fantasy? Was it marrying the dude from "Father of the Bride" and then offering him your virginity on the honeymoon? Was it about some little hottie in your 5th grade class? Or, like me, was it about... basically a zombie?

Here is the first sexual fantasy I had, which recurred for many years: Beetlejuice climbs into my bedroom window at night and joins me in my bed. I think at the beginning, that was the extent of the fantasy, but it grew more explicit over the years.

Yes, Beetlejuice. The rude dead guy with mold on his head. I loved him and wanted to have his little undead babies. I am really pretty strange.

Hello, lover.

Donka Do Balls

2010-04-02T23:38:00.000-04:00

Thanks to "The Soup", I've made excellent discovery #1 of unemployment, the show "Over the Limit" on TruTV. Seriously, I think at this point, my dream job would be to work on this show, because it is HILARIOUS. It takes the best parts of "Cops", drunken crazos, and only features them at their absolute most hilarious and ridiculous. Weirdly, this one dude they stopped turned out to be sober, but was the originator of my new favorite phrase, "I'm sober as a whistle!". Hahaha.

I had dvred two episodes of this show after seeing this clip on "The Soup" last week, and luckily I ended up recording her whole appearance. Since today was my last day of work, I needed a good laugh, and man, did this deliver.

Random Things That Pleased Me on April Fool's Day

2010-04-01T18:54:00.004-04:00

1) Worrying that I was being an asshole by filling out a parking permit while waiting for a red light to change, I looked over at the car next to me and found a middle-aged man reading a newspaper at the red light. I hope "multitasking" is featured prominently on the Skills section of his resume.

2) Later, I was pushing J. in his swing on the front porch when a Chinese delivery car drove by with its windows open. "Sometimes When We Touch" was BLASTING. Yeah, that's the song I turn up all the way, too. Usual result: you get laid by some hottie rollerblading by.

Livin' on a Prayer

2010-03-31T23:16:00.000-04:00

So, we meet again. Unfortunately, in looking through the last five or six posts, you will get a very sad snapshot of the state of the American economy. You see the fear my wife exhibited regarding possible unemployment, followed by the eventual downsizing. Well, since I have not been blogging, you did not hear my same anguish for the past 8 or 9 months, ever since ABC announced they were moving "All My Children" to the west coast, but it happened. Oh, and guess what? After the painstaking angst of helping to move an entire soap opera across the country, and subsequent sad goodbyes to all the crew members I'd grown to know and love, I can now relate to how they were feeling.

Last Thursday, I was called into the VP's office, and albeit a scary situation, wasn't the first time. I mean, last time I was called in, it was to measure for a space so I could order him a new mini-fridge, but I walked in, and was immediately thrust into a scene straight out of "Up In The Air". Seriously, the only thing missing was Clooney. I was there, the HR lady was there, the "package" in the folder was there. So, I mean, although I wasn't surprised in the general sense. Yes, we lost a large show, yes, it has impacted workload (slightly, although I still had more than enough to keep me busy), yes, I was being closely monitored regarding spending company dollars, but still. It's one thing to be theoretically aware of the economy, and the decline of soap operas in general, but it's another be told "your position has been eliminated." I was gobsmacked. I literally felt completely blind sided. They were very nice about it, I just was in SHOCK. I don't remember a time I was literally agape, but there I was, jaw hanging open, and tears stinging my eyes, ugh.

Now, as another victim of the declining TV industry, I have been trying to get myself together. I have to say, that I'm not usually one to toot my own horn, and I certainly wouldn't say I'm a model employee, but the response I've gotten from co-workers, vendors, and even the security guards I've been working with for the past five years has been EXTRAORDINARY. Apparently, if you are looking for the most efficient, nice, and funny chick ever to work with, that chick is me. I have been overwhelmed by the outpouring of support, and the sheer magnitude of the network I've formed in the past five years is really phenomenal. I have makeup vendors, stagehands, makeup artists, and even cleaning supply sales reps trying to hook me up with job leads, and offering recommendation letters.

What's funny is that I always feel pretty consistently amazed by the response people have to my ability to get the job done, wherever I've worked. I have always been able to maintain a gchat conversation, while accomplishing all the work, and then some. Perhaps I just haven't been challenged enough, or something, who knows? So, I feel as though with the last day of my employment being this Good Friday, I will hopefully experience my own resurrection of sorts. I have a lot to look forward to, and now maybe I can figure out what I really want to do! I've got a VERY promising lead on a few weeks of P.A. work on "The Marriage Ref." So, I guess I'm going to be thrown into a world of celebrities and production mayhem! So, let's hope that Jerry Seinfeld (the creator and executive producer of the show) loves me, and wants to hire me forever!

Oh, and you know what else is AMAZING? When I got home, I was thanking Andy for all the work he's done around our apartment, in preparation for my Mom's arrival tonight, he then proceeded to tell me something else. He lost his job too. Now here is the thing, he lost his long standing job of nearly 20 years, nearly a year ago, for a ridiculous reason that I can't get into now. In October he got a great job, and although part time, was paying him really well, and it made him insanely happy. Today, because he was working for a town in NJ, and the budgets all over our state are being cut like crazy, his job was also cut. So, here we are, in Jersey, and co-unemployed. WOW. Not quite sure what we're going to do yet, but I know we're going to be ok. I realized that he and I could TOTALLY be staring in a Bon Jovi song, which awesome enough to keep me going for a while. Although I only have three weeks of work lined up, further down the line, it's alright.

So, for now, we're gonna hold on to what we got, and you know, I'll get back to blogging. Here's to an f-ing brand new life of excellence and opportunity. Cheers!

The Exception Proves the Rule

2010-03-31T15:06:00.005-04:00

Hello, I have decided to blog again! My friend Samantha has an amazing blog, Bitches Gotta Eat, which my crap entries won't come near, but which inspires me. And two of my college friends are beginning or re-starting their blogging efforts. Plus I've been writing a lot lately for the Sunday Night Sex Show, but would like to occasionally write about something other than sex. So I'm gonna try blogging yet again.

Currently, I'm nannying. My friends have an adorable almost-19-month-old son and I hang out with him all day. We have a pretty good time, and jobs that involve trips to the park and occasional naps are hard to come by.

One of the best things about being a nanny, though, is that you can constantly indulge your inner moron. You know how sometimes you are walking down the street and you see a cute dog and get really excited and have to stop yourself from idiotically pointing at it and yelling "DOGGIE!" Well guess what? When you have a toddler with you, pointing and saying, "Look at the doggie!" is totally normal behavior, provided you at least appear as though you are saying it to the kid.

In private, it's even better. Kids love ridiculous songs and silly dances, so if you feel like singing "Hey Jude," belt it out. I've sung that one a few times and he usually likes it. And any time the mood strikes -- which it does, because children's programming contains a lot of really cute, catchy little songs -- you can just start flailing around, or "dancing," and you've started a dance party. Amazing.

A fair number of people I know or have known (aka, have dated) hate children, because they're assholes and can't even fathom taking care of a dog, opting for cats instead. I now hate these people. Sure, the kid I watch is a very happy child, luckily. But I spend a fair amount of time at baby music class, baby gym, the playground, etc. And kids are, generally, really pretty likable in addition to being cute. There's the boy who is twice as old as J. (my charge, as Babysitter's Club would have called him) and sweetly offered to share his snack when we met him. There's the incredibly excited little girl in music class who is always asking, with wide eyes, "MAYBE THE DRUM?" There are children all over the playground who, when they don't immediately see their parents, look up at you in a completely trusting way, sure that as an adult you will help them.

The adult world is composed of such a large variety of assholes, and then those assholes have the audacity to "hate kids" based on what? Some screaming fit they witnessed once? Kids' bad behavior is by and large instinctual, when adults fuck with you all the time despite knowing better. Basically, I hate that dude I dated 2 summers ago, who hated children. Ha.

Anyway. Today is the first TRULY beautiful day of spring. It's like 70 degrees, sunny, breezy, all that good shit. And so we took a walk to the park, where everyone and their mother/nanny was gathered to run around without jackets, finally! On my way there, I passed several men -- most of them sexy sweating running men -- and again noticed what I notice every time I have the kid with me: they might smile at him, but they don't give me a glance. It's likely that they think the kid is mine. I mean, there's a hot dad in toddler music class and I don't even know that he's a "hot dad" at all, I just assume so and totally discard the notion that he might be a nanny. Plus J. and I are both white and blue-eyed. And unlike the hot, lithe 24-year-old Polish nannies, I'm 29 and have a body that could certainly be post-baby.

So on the way home from the park, I'm pushing the stroller and considering how the hot guy at CVS gave me a kindly "lovely child, mother lady" smile rather than an "are you wearing panties" smile, and how I'm going to restart writing here and I'm going to make it a post about using a child to deflect unwanted male attention, when some middle-aged guy drives by in an SUV, leans out the window, leers at me and shouts, "HOW ARE YOU DOING?!?"

See the title of this post, please.

We're blogging elsewhere right now

2009-12-09T00:07:00.003-05:00

Not that we have been blogging anywhere for awhile -- but Boulos, our friend Alice and I have decided to try this Couch to 5K thingy, and Boulos created a blog where we can share our feelings, both physical and emotional, concerning it:

C25K: LET'S DO THIS!!

Pull Your Little Arrows Out

2009-08-30T05:13:00.003-04:00

I am currently totally obsessed with this song. I don't love Emily Haines and actually find her voice kind of grating at times, but I Can't. Stop. Listening. I would suggest you check it out. The lyrics are rather phenomenal, imo.

Um, maybe I'll post something more soon. Going to Jersey/New York for Labor Day/My birthday, so I'm sure stories will arise ;)

Back and better than ever

2009-07-23T01:08:00.005-04:00

Well, not really. I'm briefly returning to break the news that I was laid off two weeks ago (with every intention of returning more frequently). While leaving my office of nearly 3 years with about 5 plastic grocery bags of crap (having left 1 or 2 bags behind with a co-worker who lives nearby), I decided that the worst part about getting laid off is not the uncertainty, the terror of losing medical coverage, any feeling of betrayal you may have, etc. etc.

It's the fucking walk of shame.

Of course I'm not going to spring for a cab when I've just lost my job. But seriously, I felt like every single person I encountered was wondering, "fired or laid off"? Luckily I had my mp3 player and my bitchface, which I gave to anyone who dared to look at me.

Recession/Depression Update

2009-02-04T17:28:00.005-05:00

So my update is not about people being laid off at my office -- though four have been since the New Year (well, three positions were eliminated, and one person had run their course in a position in which one is liable to totally run their course by no fault of their own). Obviously this is pretty upsetting.

That happened. But then this happened: the office building obviously cut back on the bathroom supplies budget. And now the paper towels are just... almost unusably terrible. If I didn't feel compelled on many levels to wash my hands each time I use the bathroom, I would quit doing so. They are so HARSH and PAPERY! I honestly think paper cuts are a new and horrible threat.

And it's winter! My hands already feel rough, bordering on scaly, and are liable to crack open and begin bleeding upon contact. Seriously, will I be shedding this outer layer of skin soon? Am I half reptile, somehow? Am I the Lizard Queen?

I'm being somewhat facetious, obviously, but it is pretty gross.

p.s. Seemingly out of nowhere -- why is it that boys (men?) still have the potential to make me feel about 15? Like, exactly how I felt about romance at 15 (which is to say, overwhelmingly nauseous). To be honest, it's something I both resent and relish. But sometimes I swear to god it's 1996.

Oh, Happy Day.

2009-01-20T19:47:00.003-05:00

Boulos would love that title (Sister Act II). Anyway... YAY!!!!!!!!!!

Btw, you can find the whole of Obama's speech here. I know that I, for one, need to re-read, as I have ADD or something.

Our friend is FAMOUS!

2009-01-09T09:25:00.003-05:00

So, as some of you may know, our dear friend Archana is a PHENOMENAL pastry chef, and makes some of the most gorgeous cakes you've ever seen. Well, if you'd like to see some of her work, you can check it out in the Winter 2009 issues of In Style Weddings! She's made cakes for magazines before, but never before have her name and direct quotes appeared along with them! This is a huge accomplishment, and we are so proud!!!

So, go to page 266, to check out her gorgeous cakes! 2 out of the 4 seasonal featured cakes are hers, and they are beautiful to look at, and sound delicious! Even if you don't get to buy a copy, stop in your local newstand to check them out, you won't be disappointed. She's in the process of starting her own venture, so if any of you need some cakes or cookies baked, let us know, and we can put you in contact with her. Bon Apetite!

Oh, THAT Ox!

2009-01-06T15:51:00.005-05:00

So, as is tradition in our new high tech world, over the holidays, I composed a Christmas text and New Year's text that I sent out to the majority of the people in my phone. This usually spawns mass replies from everyone in rapid succession. This year, on Christmas, I happened to receive a pretty standard, "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year" text on Christmas morning. It was from a 646 number I didn't recognize, but since it orginated in NYC, I figured perhaps someone I knew changed their number or something. I responded with a "Who is this?", and forgot about it. I never received a response, yet the story does not end there (and if it did, you could all beat me for writing the most boring story ever).

A week later, I was drunkenly sending and receiving my Happy New Year texts, and the number appeared again. Some things (like the location of my digital camera) escaped me, until late on New Year's Day, while sitting on my couch, I remembered the reappearnce of the mysterious number! I immediately responded to their bizarre, and not quite cheery text reading, Happy new year, hope this year is better than the last". So, again, I wrote back, "Who is this?", and thankfully I did, because it ended in one of the most hilarious discoveries ever, and you can't make these names or situations up. I will write it as it occurred...

Me: "Who is this?"

Response: "Ox from Magic Photo at Jersey Gardens mall"

Me: " I have no idea who you are... not sure why you've sent me all these holiday texts..."

Response: "LOL! The Photagrapher who gives you free pictures"

Me: "Who do you think I am? It sounds like you have the wrong number."

Response: "Gusty"

Me: "I am not Gusty... hahaha sorry dude."

Response: "My bad"

Um, WHO NAMED THESE PEOPLE??? Also, the fact that I was like hung over and semi-delerious made this whole situation even funnier. Is it wrong that I have a STRONG desire to head over to Jersey Gardens sometime soon, and scope out who this Ox guy is, because WTF?

I wish all of you a happy new year, btw!!! I hope your holidays were great!!!

"I've Been to Vidal Sassoon!"

2008-11-24T15:35:00.005-05:00

I decided to finally watch Rosemary's Baby on Saturday night, having never seen it. When the movie began I felt cheated because I thought this was the movie in which Mia Farrow had a pixie cut. Well, not to worry, she cut her hair off about halfway through the movie, at which point everyone -- especially her husband -- begins making fun of her hair.

What an appropriate movie to watch, as on Sunday, I cut off all my hair!

Here's Mia, post-Vidal Sassoon:

Here's me, post-Ruby Room:

Different cuts and I'm no Mia, but I'm liking the short hair. I was really tempted to proclaim, "I've been to Vidal Sassoon!" upon entering the apartment, but my sister's never seen the movie and she knew I had not, in fact, been there.

Fire Crotch!

2008-10-30T14:46:00.003-04:00

I have to say, I'd never really looked at a box of Lotrimin jock itch cream before, because I had no reason to. While at Walgreen's last night, to buy a pitchfork, and some other drug store items, I noticed the image on the Lotrimin package, which is quite possibly, the most hilarious thing I'd ever seen. You be the judge.
In case you're not sure where your crotch is, they helpfully point to it from every direction, and circle it. Thanks, Lotrimin!

'Till Death Do They Part!

2008-10-30T14:22:00.006-04:00

A couple nights ago, while hanging at home, I got a call from Chazz, my friend Bridget's new husband. He told me that he and his new bride had a wonderful time on their honeymoon, and exhanged a few pleasantires. He then asked me why I decided to ruin his car! I asked him what he was talking about. True, as a bridal party, we headed out to the parking lot, mid reception to decorate his hulking SUV in traditional fare. Streamers, condoms, and with some writing. Someone handed me a bottle with a spongey top, and I assumed it was the soap like compound used to write on cars all the time. I had used it myself, after highschool graduation to decorate my own car. So, I joined in on the fun! During our walk down the strip the day before, we'd overheard a drunk girl at a bachelorette party exclaim, "Marriage is the best thing that's ever happened!", so that's what I decided to write on the hood of the car. Little did I know, that the tube I was holding was actually WHITE SHOE POLISH. Another thing I did not know... SHOE POLISH TAKES PAINT OFF OF CARS!!!

When Chazz informed me of this, I couldn't help but laugh, and profusely appologize all at the same time. At least I was not the one who wrote "horny" on one of the doors, that was the groom's brother, I believe. Still, Chazz said that he couldn't be mad because he knew it all came out of a place of love. Thank God for his understanding. Also, Andy found out that it might be possible to buff the polish out w/ a machine, so hopefully that works! I have learned two things from this, 1) at my wedding someday, I will be sure to leave all of our cars at home, 2) NEVER drunkenly accept any automobile writing utensils, it can't end well. Now please enjoy some pictures of the car, and learn from our mistakes...

Who you callin' a loose slot?

2008-10-14T14:51:00.004-04:00

So, my Vegas trip went WAY too fast, yet awesome. My friend Bridget made a BEAUTIFUL bride, and I know that she and her new hubs will be very happy together!

I ate at Spago for the first time, and it was phenonmenal. I lost $30 on penny slots, but DEFINITELY drank more than that in free drinks! Andy won and then promptly lost $114 but had a good time doing it. I met a great dane named Sarge, and got my hair done in a Mormon's laundry room. Overall it was a randomly excellent time. One of the highlights was at the Wynn, where I saw this:

Unfortch, it was not good to me money wise, but if I'm gonna lose money, then I will gladly lose it to a Unicorn. The "loosest slots in town " were not so good to me, but I had fun!

Oh, and BTW- the sign by the elevator in my hotel read, "Fire alarm sounds like: WHOOP!"

My bed is a very, very bad place

2008-10-13T19:34:00.002-04:00

I love my bed. I’ve always loved every bed I’ve had because two of my favorite activities are sleeping and reading, and the bed is a wonderful place for both. However, this bed in particular is amazing. I’ve had it for years and I refused to get rid of it when it was pissed in (NOT me) and later when I moved from New York to Chicago. It’s kind of the best bed ever so I was willing to overlook a little urine and a hefty moving fee.

Lately, however, I’ve come to suspect that the bed is cursed. I’m not even really referring to sex, lest you think that in light of my last post. I mean, certainly, my bed is not the place of tender or thrilling lovefests at the moment, and is sometimes a little lonely, except when my dog is sleeping with me (which is about half the time). However, I would be okay if it was just me and my bed existing in peaceful, sleepy harmony. Not to say that the emptiness of the bed is not at all related to the curse, just that it’s the very least of it.

Last Wednesday night/Thursday morn, as I was getting ready for bed, my dog appeared to let me know we’d be roommates for the night. We have an open door policy on this, which goes as follows: “I will leave the door open as I get ready for bed. You, Molly, know the routine. When I turn off the lights in the apartment and go into my room, you are free to follow me, walk halfway across the room and stare at me with that look that says, ‘Bitch, I am sleepy as fuck. Put me on that bed posthaste.’”

So I put her on my bed and read a bit and turned out the light around 1:45. After about 5 minutes, she sat up and wouldn’t lie back down. When I eventually noticed that she was licking her lips a lot, I knew what was coming so I turned on the light and tried to grab her… right as she puked on my bed.

Ew. Puke on the bed. She proceeded to vomit twice more on the living room rug and I was up until about 3 doing laundry and cleaning up after her. With my quilt in the washer, I had to sleep under a blanket that smelled like her dirty butt because she drags it all over the living room and places her dirty butt on it. If you’re wondering about her, my sister took her to the vet and she is now a-ok.

So this had to be the worst thing to ever happen in my bed, right? Or at the very least, the worst thing involving me and a creature of some sort, right?

WRONG.

Last night, I came into my room and put my purse on the bed. I was about to leave the room to iron my dress when I saw a movement: THERE WAS A COCKROACH IN MY BED. My sheets were pulled back a bit and he was in my sheets. GROSS.

I was luckily able to catch him with a Kleenex and kill him within the Kleenex rather than squishing him into my bed. I refuse to wash bedding twice in 4 days.

I am pretty much not squeamish about bugs, but I checked that bed about 50 times before getting in. I really don’t care if there is a cockroach on the ground in the living room or bathroom. Honestly, it doesn’t bother me that much. But in my bed????? Oh, gross.

God I hope this is the end of the curse. If it is escalating, however, I foresee a Godfather moment in my near future.

Bright Light City Gonna Set My Soul On Fire!

2008-10-09T10:46:00.003-04:00

In the spirit of trying to be a better blogger and following my wife's candid expression of emotion, I have decided to write a lil' something as well. I am gearing up for a whirlwind weekend trip to Vegas tomorrow. Although I do love me some Vegas, it's not QUITE a voluntary trek, as I am going to participate and attend yet ANOTHER wedding. That makes about 8 or 10 weddings in the past year and a half. I am a HUGE fan of the open bar/drunken dancing that a wedding provides, however being a girl in a long term relationship with an older guy, it can be a little stressful as well.

For example, yesterday I had a bit of a freak out because the boyf and I celebrated our four year anniversary, which I am psyched about, don't get me wrong. However, the excitement also comes with the pre-requisite questions. Shouldn't I be engaged already? Why am I starting to feel like the old adage, "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride"? Then, after wondering why I would have an incredibly anti-climactic day, I got home and Andy was making dinner for us, which luckily for me, is a regular occurrence, and not just confined to anniversaries. We had a nice dinner, and drank some wine, listened to a sweet mix made by my wife a few years back, called "Sexy #3". It was low-key, but really awesome. I am REALLY going to try not to compare my relationship to others, and REALLY try not to have a timeline forever running in my head. If all these damned celebrities have their kids when they are all old, why can't I? I'm not ready for kids anyway, and I'm not really in a financial situation to be paying for a wedding at the moment either.

So, even though I am on the other end of the spectrum, in a way, than my wife is, struggles still exist. I'm happy that Andy and I are in a place to discuss the future, and just take life as it comes. The wife and I discussed yesterday that we think the big problem with a lot of our ridiculous expectations comes from unrealistic romantic comedies, that make us hold these secret hopes for incredibly grand gestures, and are disappointed when they don't happen. I have to say though, that I plan to get drunk w/ my boyf, Alice, and her hubs this weekend in Vegas, and just have a blast. It should be fun, and hopefully I will have some excellent, blogable stories upon my return!

An explanation intended to elicit your sympathy/make you forget I'm a horrid blogger

2008-10-08T17:26:00.010-04:00

To quote my wife, “Oy.”

We have been absent for awhile. It has actually, in part, been (for me) recovering from my birthday, but that’s a long and drawn-out story. I will begin it with an anecdote.

My sister returned from the gym recently and indicated she had a gross story. She said she was working out on a machine and realized that the guy using the machine next to her smelled like ass. So I said, “Well, perhaps he’d just been working out for a long time and was really sweaty?” She said that, no, that was impossible. He smelled like dirty butt in a way that can only be achieved by not washing one’s ass for at least a week or so. She said that she tried breathing through her mouth but then felt like she was eating his dirty ass smell and, all in all, it was a horrible experience. She ended the story by mentioning that he finished before her and walked over to his girlfriend…

To which I replied, “Wait a minute. GIRLFRIEND? THE MAN WITH THE STINKY DIRTY ASS HAS A GIRLFRIEND???”

Yup. She confirmed that, while she and I are both clean assed but single, the dirty smelly man who cannot bother to clean his butt has a girlfriend – who presumably embraces him, as it was obvious to my sister that she was in fact his girlfriend.

I found this horrifying and have been obsessed with it ever since. The reason for my obsession, and for the bender I embarked upon after my birthday, which subsequently caused me to catch a nasty cold I’m still kind of recovering from, is that I was unceremoniously… dumped? I’m not sure you can say “dumped” but whatever it was, it occurred a couple of days after my birthday.

I hinted on this blog that I was, like, kind of dating someone. I hinted and then removed that part of the post when I realized this blog comes up if you google my very unique name, which I kind of accidentally revealed to him (yes, I was dating someone who did not have my full name for a few months) and I got paranoid (sign #1 you are not meant for someone: it terrifies you that they might find out you actually think about them enough to blog about them). It was bumpy and at times infrequent, allegedly due to his ongoing personal and work dramas. But we got along well, I thought. There aren’t many people I really want to hang out with in a nearly empty bar for hours and hours, but he was one of them. And he liked Daria. Big selling point for me.

It must be understood that I am socially awkward, kind of a drunk, and really bad at male/female crap. So I went back and forth over inviting him out for my birthday celebration, because I’m a wuss, my friends would be there, I didn’t know if they’d like him and vice versa, my palms would be sweaty, blah blah blah. But I did, and he said he’d come… and never showed up. And never contacted me, ever again! Which resulted in me getting wasted as hell, that night and many subsequent nights. And too little sleep. And as a result, my body freaked out at me because I was treating it very badly.

And I’m posting this because I no longer give a fuck if he sees it (not that I’m flattering myself, believing that he’s checking up on me via the interwebs or anything). I’m kind of tired of pretending to be blasé about things like this, and I'm sick of wondering whether it was "serious" enough to get upset over, wondering constantly whether I'm overreacting. Fuck that. I was hurt, and angry, and I’m still kind of both, and who cares if the internets know?! And why would I want to date someone if I’m scared to reveal any kind of emotion in front of them? Oh yeah, I’m a masochist and kind of emotionally repressed. Well, I’m trying to work through that.

So anyway, there is my last month or so in a nutshell! But also I’ve had a good deal of fun. The drinking may have been a sad response to a stupid, pathetic situation but it was also good times, and not too much of it was done alone. Plus there’s pumpkin beer and red wine to be had, scary movies to watch, pumpkins to carve, and Halloween outings to plan. I fucking love fall, so I guess it’s the perfect time to get over the end of a summer fling.

And also – I’m going to be a lion for Halloween! It’s exciting. The outfit is kind of slutty (can you, as a woman, find one that isn’t?) but I’m adding leggings. Which makes it still kind of slutty, I think. Oh well!

Still – I cannot make something work with a misanthropic divorcee with a long arrest record (yes. yes.), but that smelly-assed motherfucker has a girlfriend? Oh. My. God.

YESTERDAY!

2008-09-05T15:52:00.002-04:00

I forgot to mention, that yesterday was my wife's 28th birthday! She is a year older, and perhaps not wiser, but regardless... we still love her. So... if you didn't already do it... HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMANDA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A Plague?

2008-09-03T16:25:00.004-04:00

Ok, I know that I work in NYC, home to some of the most repulsive vermin on the planet. Also, considering the TV studios in my building, we have large open loading ramps to accommodate the large props that must leave and enter the building. So, when we had some mice running rampant, I was HORRIFIED, yet, I understood that it happens. Although I am totally opposed to the glue trap that now resides in my office, I deeply hope that it will forever remain empty. However, today I was notified that one of the maintenance guys CAUGHT A BAT ON THE THIRD FLOOR! WTF? Are you kidding me? This is getting insane! Like, what next? Locusts? Frogs? Whatever the other plagues were? I have decided though, that if he stays away from me, personally, we should keep that bat! Bats eat mice! DONE DEAL.

Now, you all can understand the glamour of working for a major TV network. Apparently, it means avoiding mice, and the possibility of becoming a vampire. Please wish me luck on both fronts, thanks.

~Boulos

This seems unneccessary...

2008-09-02T01:01:00.003-04:00

Look what I found in the storage room of our condo building:

Really, asking for a demonstration might be the way to go.

Charting the not-so-gradual decline of my sanity

2008-08-14T17:29:00.004-04:00

So I am going to a roller derby on Saturday. And, on a related note, I think I might be insane.

My nearest and dearest have abandoned me this week so I’ve been left with just my little pea brain and its thoughts and I’ve decided two things today: I am a dork, and I have a very bad wardrobe.

I was in Starbucks thinking of these things, and the roller derby, and I produced the following train of thought: “What does one wear to a roller derby? Fuck, I don’t have anything to wear to a roller derby. Maybe I’ll go to Target tomorrow and buy something.”

Does this strike anyone else as exceptionally weird? But more importantly, does Isaac Mizrahi have a badass roller derby line?

p.s. “Pilot of the Airwaves” just came on my mp3 player and it is the weirdest song ever, but still really appealing.

How to avoid feeling terribly ill

2008-08-11T10:46:00.002-04:00

You could probably just NOT do the following:

Drink until midnight. Wake up at 6 a.m. when a gentleman caller leaves, realize you are starving, and eat a few pieces of leftover steak and a slice of cheese. Drink a bunch of water. Go back to bed.

Seriously, a slice of cheese? What the hell is wrong with me?

Reunited and It Feels So Good...

2008-08-04T18:05:00.002-04:00

I’m just back from a crazy weekend in New Jersey/New York. Highlights of which included:

Me losing my wallet for roughly the 7,000th time, on Thursday night. I need to get a fanny pack or something, for real. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and all. BUT: in a new twist on this old story, I GOT IT BACK. Amazingness! After spending 20 minutes on the phone with 311 (my phone died in the middle of the first call) and determining that, no, I would probably never see my lovely red leather, quite expensive, containing the license I needed for the plane ride home wallet, I was awoken by Boulos at 3 a.m. She was there to double check and make sure I was alive, since my mother was on the line and seemed quite convinced I was dead in a gutter. A wonderful New York City policeman had called her. Someone had found my wallet! All they took was the $20 in it! They found it in the street! So my mom thought I was dead!

He had also called my phone, which of course did not wake me. So I called him back and he explained that he was not going to process it because I’d need i.d. to claim it, even though obviously my license was in the damn wallet. Also, his name was Officer Joranda. Boulos and I quickly began planning a wedding that would allow me to take the name Amanda Joranda. We had a wedding to attend in Jersey on Friday, so on Saturday we finally made it to the midtown south precinct, where I collected my wallet. Alas, though I am forever grateful to him for holding my wallet for me and being so very kind, there were no sparks. I’m currently at work on a new “marry into an awesome name” plan.

The wedding (Susie’ and Ken’s) was very, very fun. Also, very Susie and Ken. When introduced as husband and wife at the reception, they walked out to “This is Why I’m Hot.” And that is why we love them. They also offered a pretty intense and hilarious performance of “Paradise by the Dashboard Light.” The guests were rather amazing themselves. There was a lot of middle-aged dancing at about 7:30. Dinner had not yet been served, the sun was still out, and 50 people were running around in a conga line. Men were tying napkins to their heads by 8:30. We were pretty impressed. After the wedding, Boulos, Archana and I engaged in a ridiculous drunken photo session in the backseat while Andy drove us to their local bar, which we closed down. We were pretty inebriated. Good times.

Then, on Saturday, we went to Winnie’s, our favorite karaoke bar. Which leads me to our Blind Item: which lead star of a defunct HBO Jersey-set mob show walked into this tiny Chinatown dive bar with an entourage of about 8 middle-aged men? A friend of ours chatted him up for a long time, which was totally surreal and very intriguing. Alas, he left alone (well, with a bunch of dudes). We then found out that he had been in Chinatown for a reason: he wanted to bang an Asian chick. He’s original, that T… dude who shall not be named. Also, he made inappropriate comments about my friend’s sexual orientation and her ass. I can’t believe I was surprised he’s something of a perv, but I was. I am endlessly naïve, I suppose.

We did not arrive home until at least 6, as we were at Winnie’s til 4 and then headed over to the legendary Wo Hop for some Chinese food. Boulos’s brother kindly drove us home. Sunday, we basically woke up and left for the airport.

Oh and of course there were the constant USFBs. Good times!

WHAT THE FUCK????

2008-07-29T20:42:00.006-04:00

Moist Towelette Museum????

Who would take the time? Why??? You can seriously find anything online, I guess.

This is more disturbing to me than most porn. Pretty much any porn involving two consenting adult humans is more relatable to me than this.

JIZUM UPDATE

2008-07-25T12:22:00.001-04:00

Here are a few details my sister left our during the gchat:

The boy in question looked about 12 and was wearing a batman costume. I will need to speak with my mother about the extent to which this was a full-on costume; all I can verify is that it definitely involved some kind of headgear resembling the ears of the batman mask.
The girl was Asian (I do not know why this is relevant) and looked significantly older than the boy.

It just gets better and better, huh?

Gchats about my mom

2008-07-23T13:12:00.004-04:00

Here is an interesting gchat between my sister and myself. It is in regards to a phone call my sister received from my mom at work. Note: my mother is inappropriate and works at Starbucks.

Sis: mom also told me about two young kids at her starbucks...
blah, blah, blah...
but basically, she went to use the bathroom and they were both in there
so when they came out she went in and then tells me
"Oh gosh and can you believe it!?! There was gizum on the floor!"
and I said, what?
and she goes, "gizum, you know like cum"

Amanda: WHAT????????
wtf
I thought she was saying gum
JIZ?

Sis: oh yeah

Amanda: is that what she was trying to say?

Sis: yeah, yeah but she calls it jizum

Amanda: omg you HAVE TO TELL THIS TO ME IN PERSON TONIGHT
bc I need you to imitate mom
hahahaha

Sis: is that an actual word?

Amanda: I think it is
but not one to be used

Sis: I am crying at my desk right now just thinking of it

Amanda: I mean, plus... she's MOM, could she just say semen please?
is that too much to ask?
If I have kids I am not going to dirty-talk them

Sis: ill, sick and she wiped it up
!

Amanda: especially when they are at work!
EWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
omg I’m laughing
and crying

Sis: she was like. "I knew it was jizum because I could tell by the consistency"
how sick!!

Amanda: oh I may have to send this entire convo to boulos
OMG MOM STOP IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sis: please do

Amanda: jizum, haha

Sis: and then when I was like, "oh sick. oh my God" more so referring to mom's story... her response? "I know, can you believe it?! In my Starbucks? I mean someone was getting a hand job or a blow job. In my Starbucks. I don't know if she just spit it on the floor..."
I suppose she was referring to the lump of "jizum" she wiped up

Amanda: ew
haha
omg mom

Picture This...

2008-07-23T10:32:00.004-04:00

Like most girls (women?) our age, the Wife and I have been nearly lifelong fans of the excellent, overly sexualized, and sometimes horrifying cult classic, The Golden Girls. We experienced a renewed appreciation for the show during college, and probably got WAY more of the jokes then, than the first time around. Of course, you all know that one of the girls was Sophia Petrillo, played by Estelle Getty. We just wanted to memorialize her, because she was one funny bitch.

Not only did she play mother to Bea Arthur, who is actually one year her junior, but she was able to steal a scene no matter WHAT other crazy shit was going on in that episode. Her ability to cut someone down, and still be sweet was what made her character so awesome. So, here's to you, Estelle, we will miss you and your crazy stories of Sicily! RIP, the Unicorns salute you!

Coming not-so-soon to a bookshelf near you...

2008-07-22T18:06:00.002-04:00

Boulos and I have been having very deep Gchat discussions re: love lately. Thank god we have each other because our repetetive whining (mine moreso than hers currently) would drive anyone else away.

In any case, we decided that neither of us knows anything about life and love and we are thus qualified to write a self-help book addressing both.

Obviously, given our inability to write simple blog posts on a semi-regular basis, this will take awhile.

So in about 2019, be on the look out for The Unicorns' Approach to Life and Love: I Will Master You, Bitch

Infrequent, I know

2008-07-21T19:24:00.001-04:00

I think I may need to stop listening to “The Pace is the Trick” by Interpol and “Gender Bombs” and “Retour a Vega” by the Stills, at least when I have my period. Goddamn I love these songs, but they really get me down.

It’s been a long time but I would like to try to keep up this blog…life is so weird, randomly super busy for a few days and then I’m bored and staring at my dog, thinking about how I should really try to read more. Also: stealing wireless internet is NOT the most reliable method of connecting oneself with the outside world.

p.s. Boulos and I started a new blog, called “Caption Obvious.” Link in blogroll, to the right. It’s possible that that one will ALSO never get updated; we’ll see.

WELCOME TO THE WORLD, BABY ZOE!!!

2008-06-13T10:29:00.004-04:00

Last night, our friend Lisa welcomed her second baby girl! Lil' Ava Grace (daughter #1) is about 2 and 1/2, and now has a little sister named Zoe Taylor. She's adorable! Both Mom and baby are doing well, we wish them our most heartfelt congratulations! We can't wait to meet her!!!!

EXTREME!!!!!!!!

2008-05-30T10:00:00.002-04:00

Ok, I watch a local newscast every morning, here in the NY Tri-State area which features a computer segment with "Kurt, the Cyber Guy." Usually this is a collection of lame tech-y news and viral videos, blah blah. This morning, hoever, good ole' Kurt OUTDID himself. This discovery is quite possibly the most excellent thing I've ever seen, and features possibly the only EXXTREME "Sport" I may EVER be able to actually participate in... EXTREME IRONING.

Whoever thought of combining "Extreme" behavior and one of the worst chores in life, ironing, should seriously be awareded some sort of award. It's amazing.

~Boulos

What can I say, she dresses like a tramp.

2008-05-03T03:49:00.002-04:00

I just took my dog out for her last pee of the night (I know it's insanely late, which is why I specify "pee" -- we walk out of the front gate, she whizzes, it's not even a walk).

I knew she had to go since she woke up and gave me the sad "why haven't you taken me out lately?" look. But she laid on the couch staring at me while I asked her several times if she'd like to go out. To get things moving, I had to walk over to her, clip on her leash, and then pick her up and put her down on the ground.

So I said to her, "I know you want it."

Honest to God, I caught myself right before I said, "You're giving me that look." I didn't want my dog to think I was about to rape her.

Gchats about tacos

2008-04-30T12:10:00.001-04:00

Amanda: omg I had so many beers last night
then I had 2 tacos

Boulos: hahaha
nice
OMG, that sounds SO GOOD

Amanda: tacos?
man the pork one was delish
god, can I just have a job that involves beer and tacos?

Boulos: YES
If I can too!

Amanda: if you could find THAT job
you should take it
haha
taco stand!
like a nacho stand

Boulos: Hahah< YES

Amanda: god, my love of tacos knows no bounds

Boulos: hahaha

OVER IT

2008-04-12T00:40:00.004-04:00

I am so, so sick of seeing this commercial. Yes, I watch too much television. No, I don't plan to stop anytime soon. So it's probably going to drive me crazy.

I hate his self-conciousness!! You just got married dude, OWN it! Or go back to kindergarten. I hate you.

And seriously, who has a futon anymore? I'm young(ish), single and broke and I would never.

They need to shelve this one and bring me a full length commercial of the hot new father in the longer version of this one that features 4 different people. That dad is hot. And omg, do I watch too much television.

Hussy

2008-03-18T12:03:00.003-04:00

Nothing like getting to work and realizing there's a giant hole in your tights.

It's on my lower thigh, the outer side, and would not be a problem if I was not wearing the shortest work-appropriate skirt I own.

I can't wait to buy drugstore tights at lunchtime! Although buying tights at the drugstore is how I got into this mess, as I'm pretty sure the Leggs tights I'm wearing just gave up after like 5 washings. I honestly think this hole formed all on its own.

I wish I had a pervy boss who would promote me for looking trashy.

p.s. Apparantly, it is L'eggs. Um, sweetie, you are not fooling anybody. You are not French, you are drugstore brand, you can't buy class with even a well-placed apostrophe.

Erotic Vagina

2008-02-26T15:58:00.004-05:00

Ok, so starting our senior year in college, the wife and I, and all of our friends frequented the Barrow St. Ale House every Thursday. We went to the bar on other days as well, and it was definitely our defacto place to go out. We started going b/c of the $15 all you can drink Happy Hour on Thursdays, and stayed for our love of the bartenders and bouncers alike. Soon before the wife moved away, we had significantly cut down on our trips to Barrow. The staff had changed so much that we barely knew the peeps that worked there anymore, and the other regulars weren't there nearly as much, and the entire place had lost it's original dive-y charm.

Now, it's like any other sports bar in the city, completely generic and lame with tons of flatscreens and mediocre food. They even gave up the unique jukebox, that had featured mixes made by bartenders and bouncers alike, for one of those terrible touchscreen ones! The stools and crappy formica-topped tables of yore have been replaced with these chain restaurant style leather booths. The creepy deer heads are no longer adorning the walls, etc, basically it's totally lame. The SADDEST thing is the bathroom rennovation. The girl's room MIRACULOUSLY still houses two stalls, but the similarity to the shit pit of yore ends there. The pearls of wisdom like, "I went to the carnival, a candy apple caught my eye. I learned to love and I learned to fly.", and my personal fave, "I have diarhea, please call an ambulance, thanks." have been PAINTED OVER! The toilet paper is no longer suspended from an old pool cue hovering above the midget-sized commodes! Alas, it's not the same. The only crowning glory of the "new" Barrow St, is this feature on their website. The "bathroom wall" has apparently been tagged with some porn spam featuring some of the most insanely ridiculous lines I've ever seen in my life. The wife just found it, and it inspired me to write this, and it's where the beautiful title of this entry came from. So, although I don't recommend heading over to Barrow for a pint, I do recommend hitting up their site for some awe-inspiring phrases that will definitely make you giggle!
~Boulos:)

Can't you smell that smell?

2008-02-25T15:20:00.006-05:00

As most of you must know by now, I don't really have a sense of smell. Aside from the occasional whiff of garlic WHILE I AM ACTUALLY CHOPPING IT, and a couple of other times in college, while under certain influences, I do not smell a thing. Today, a friend of mine at work sent me this article, which I could've written myself! I seriously am considering typing out a copy of it, and carrying it around with me, when people ask me these EXACT questions every time they hear of my condition. I would like to point out though, that my wife told me if I'd written it, it would've been much funnier, which is undoubtedly true... but oh well!

Seriously though folks, I am happy to hear that I am not alone... I share an affliction with this guy.

Cheerio, Simon! And to all those who suffer from hyposmia!

P.S. Please refrain from buying me scented candles, I really don't appreciate them, and they end up just being a gift for my boyfriend, which is really just not fair! LOL!

Happy Valentines Day

2008-02-14T23:35:00.002-05:00

And I got you a gift, too:

I LOVE THIS PICTURE. I voted for Hillary and I love her, but what the fuck??

And now I have to go, because Jay Leno just snuck onto my television again and I must change the channel before he trots out Larry the Cable Guy. What a fucking pair. They're like the anti-Hillary and mariachi boy.

Try not to get knocked up tonight! I won't have to try too hard.

Dear Lord, make it stop

2008-02-14T00:11:00.003-05:00

I have always known that the Tonight Show is terrible. Jay Leno is just about the least funny man alive. However, when I am near the television at 10:30 I inevitably wind up half-watching it because I'm too lazy to turn the channel after the news (Channel 5 news in Chicago is the only acceptable local news, for reals) and I'm usually cleaning the kitchen or something.

The past few nights I've been surfing the internets, which are lovely to have around at home finally, and Jay Leno has intruded into my living room every night. And I just realized the Tonight Show has become worse than I could ever imagine. LARRY THE CABLE GUY HAS BEEN ON EVERY NIGHT THIS WEEK.

And he was just wearing an unexplained, awful purple speedo thingy. With a camo vest, of course.

p.s. I promise to blog a bit more, maybe.

Wifetime!

2007-12-19T15:47:00.000-05:00

Ok, first off... blah blah we're bad at keeping up w/ our blog. It's the holiday season ok, RELAX! We didn't forget about you people, alright?? GOD!

Anyway, the weekend following my (gulp) 27th Birthday I hopped a flight to the frozen tundra, AKA Chicago, to see the wifey! It was drunken debauchery once again, in the cold and ice, but I loved it. My trip started off with a near repeat of my wife's solo evening of wine and Gossip Girl, however I was there to make it an evening of drunken wifetime, so it was FUN:)

The schedule for the weekend included, Faux's office X-mas party, a G-Family Xmas Bash, and finally some live band karaoke. The party schedule + wives= too much scheduling of showers and whatnot to be on time. SO... I sent the wife to the bank w/ my ATM card to faciliate faster primp time. This was a VERY stupid idea. Apparently, although I am TERRIBLE with calculations, etc... I should be the one handling finances in this marriage. That biatch was too busy checking her mug in the mini ATM mirror or something, and left my card in the ATM!!! The most RETARDED part of this whole thing is that the damn bank WOULD NOT GIVE ME THE CARD BACK! There is no possible way that I could have known all the info on the card unless it was mine! But, nonetheless, that damn Chicago institution, "La Salle Bank" can KISS MY ASS!!!

I finally got my card this weekend, and although it's absence TOTALLY screwed me out of online shopping for xmas, I suppose I will not ask for a divorce just yet. My wife showed me an ex time while in the Chi, including getting to sleep w/ lil' Molly- that crazy pooch, and introducing me to the wonders of live band karaoke and Flash Taco at 3am. If those things aren't worth saving a marriage, I don't know hat is.

Now, since, it's almost certain I will not write again before the New Year... I hope you all have a VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS and a HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Enjoy lots o' nog and prezzies, and don't forget to get something sparkly for your 2 fave unicorns!!

Luv ya!!!
~Boulos:)

oooh one more thing...

2007-11-15T19:02:00.000-05:00

My lovely Boulos sent me a wonderful picture that her friend Lauren found. OMG I love it. You know how people have pictures of a kitty hanging off a tree in their cubes? Or their children? Well this is what I now have in my cube, right next to my computer screen. It has been eliciting random giggles for about 2 days now:

WWCBD?*

2007-11-15T18:53:00.000-05:00

Man, we are bad at this blogging stuff.

To get back in the swing of it, I'll just share a short tale I call: "My Wednesday Night."

Originally, I was supposed to go for drinks with this guy I met (gasp!) on the internet. But that ended up not working out. He's forgiven, mainly because he is English, so I guess we're meeting up next week.

That doesn't mean I wasn't a little disappointed though. So I used my last $19 to buy a bottle of red wine on the way home (well, I had $5 left over after that) and I drank the whole bottle alone while watching dvr-ed episodes of Gossip Girl with my dog and smoking too much.

How hot is that? Wait, WHY are men breaking dates with me?!

*That's "what would Carrie Bradshaw do?" Not this, I'll bet -- thank god.

The Dinglehopper Rises to Popularity!!

2007-10-04T16:05:00.000-04:00

The other day, while riding in Andy's new truck, I saw a fork in his center console. I thought it was kind of an odd place for a piece of silverware, so I asked him what it was for. He said, "Well I couldn't find my brush, and I was running to the DMV to get my new license, so I used the fork! It worked really well!"

As you can imagine, my only response was hysterical laughter. The only thing I could think to say was, "Oh my God, my boyfriend is the Little Mermaid!" LOL! So, yeah... for those of you who aren't aware, in the Little Mermaid, the seagull, Scuttle tells Ariel that a fork is called a "dinglehopper", and that humans use it to style their hair. Congratulations, Andy... you are a teenaged cartoon mermaid, Cheers!

Things I Learned After Four Fruitless Hours Spent In a Jury Waiting Room

2007-09-28T18:16:00.000-04:00

The majority of people are very unattractive

The majority of people available for jury duty seem to be rather old; was there some kind of “you are young and promising: opt out” box I missed?

Living in a city, in a relatively trendy area populated mostly with people between the ages of 20 and 40, it is easy to mistrust the media regarding the nation’s “obesity epidemic.” In a county courthouse, you find out who owns those faceless bellies from stock footage.

I am really hot within the confines of a jury waiting room. Some men do not mind telling me this with their blatant stares.

Watching game shows with a roomful of people is nearly unbearable.

Crazy old men who fart loudly in a roomful of strangers and then laugh about it could loosely be considered my “peers.”

I still don’t know how to find the fastest way from the suburbs to the northwest side of Chicago.

Rock n Roll Unicorns 4 EVA!!!!

2007-09-10T11:53:00.000-04:00

Alright, last weekend was an AWESOME reunion of your fave unicorns, Tania, Vince, and all sorts of special guests from the old gang. You will hear debauched tales at a later date, and right now you can check Amanda's myspace for some sweet pics from our friend Allyson's wedding. However, without further ado I give you the most awesome tattoos ever in creation:

That's right. Rock n' Roll Unicorns will be around FOREVER!! Woo!

Tatu

2007-08-30T19:32:00.000-04:00

Yes, that's right -- Boulos and I are acquiring accents, shaving ten years off our ages and starting a pop group whose mystique will lie in our ambigous sexual relationship, which is to say, the rumors that we "are doing it."

No, actually, WE ARE GETTING ROCK N ROLL UNICORN TATTOOS THIS WEEKEND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! For reals. This has been years in the making, but somehow we just came up with this plan like a day ago. I don't know why we didn't think of it before. It's my birthday weekend (kinda -- that's what you say when your bday is the day AFTER a national holiday). So, so many of our friends are reuniting in NYC this weekend. It is just natural that we do it now.

I understand that many people probably do not know what a Rock n Roll Unicorn is. The fact is, you can't really know a Rock n Roll Unicorn. It is, by nature, enigmatic and difficult to describe. It's like obscenity, really. You know it when you see it -- don't ask me to describe it.

Luckily for you, we will take pictures of our brand new tattoos and post them here!

mmm, bac-os...

2007-08-24T18:14:00.000-04:00

Radar has a very funny list of reasons you're still single, which Alice forwarded to Boulos, who forwarded it to me.

Things that pertain to me:

6. Have written poetry inside a Starbucks

10. Are Courtney Love (replace “are” with “aspire to be”)

19. Scream out Wheel of Fortune answers (but more often, it’s Jeopardy)

31. Call October "Rocktober" (actually, it was Cocktober. Which is better)

51. Call underwear "panties" (to horrify people, because in my experience roughly 50% of the female populace cringes upon hearing that word)

75. Have a bedside stack of Sudoku books (and crossword puzzles)

98. Posted a Craigslist "Missed Connections" ad to find the kid who groped you on the subway (j/k. But I did once give my real number to a guy who hit on me in a really inappropriately close manner in the subway. I have no idea why I did that, it was like a momentary lapse of logic.)

I would argue the the following best describe middle-aged, "married-but-looking" type men I've met, rather than the single set.

7. Wink in a rakish manner each time you tell a joke

28. Refer to your PDA as a "Crackberry"

37. Prefer the "fist bump" when meeting strangers and always insist they "lock it in"

38. Refuse to remove your Bluetooth earpiece during sex

46. Feel most comfortable in Tevas and jorts

58. Have taken more than one cell phone picture of your genitals

73. Will do anything for "shits and giggles"

83. Refer to yourself as a "vagitarian"

These qualities intrigue me. I'd like to develop them.

8. Have a ferret on your shoulder

63. Have a Tasmanian Devil "tramp stamp"

76. Can only make love to the Mighty Mighty Bosstones

Gchats

2007-08-14T17:01:00.000-04:00

A discussion concerning the aging process.

(be forewarned: we are annoying)

Amanda: I WILL BE 27 IN LESS THAN A MONTH
Mothers, hide your sons, bc I will probably have a slightly-older-than-quarter-life crisis
aka the "I don't get hit on at bars very much anymore because I'm clearly not 22" blues

Boulos: oh GOD
STOP
Shane will be 29, which means I too am getting that much closer to 30
Kill me please

Amanda: ok that is a weak link.
He is your OLDER brother

Boulos: haha
A weak link
Ok, my wife is 27, which means I WILL BE TOO

Amanda: let's concentrate on being 27, which is still scary bc it is def late 20s

Boulos: or almost
That is
Ok
You are right
Just think of how much hotter you are getting right now!
You are nearing 10% [ed. note: refers to weight watchers goals], feeling better about yourself- these are good things:)
We are like wine, and will only get better w/ age!
Right?

Amanda: true. I can't wait to be a hot old lady. People will think I'm a MILF soon

Boulos: COME ON
STOP

Amanda: j/k, I just like joking about being old

Boulos: that is a lie, and you know it
You’ll be a WILF
You always have been to me though!

Amanda: haha you too

Boulos: hahaha
Dude, I have got to go!
Talk to your ass tomorrow!

Amanda: ok, good I can get to work! And you can get to work on discovering the key to halting the aging process!
GET TO IT!

Boulos: OK!
I will let you know
What if it's a daily cum shot to the face?
Will you be ok with that?
ROFLMAO!

Amanda: sure!

Boulos: I can't believe I just came up with that one

Amanda: does lady cum count?

Boulos: SURE!
WILF!

Amanda: omg I JUST SAID LADY CUM
hahahahahahaha
Yes I was thinking you could help me out then
omg I am too foul to grow up

Boulos: You'll get some SERIOUS anti-aging treatment soon from ME
Oh man, I gotta GOOOOOOOoo
Get to work
LATER!

Amanda: byeeeeeeeeee

Lollapalooza

2007-08-07T16:03:00.000-04:00

I'm sure you're all on the edge of your seats awaiting my review of Saturday 8/4 at Lollapalooza. Well, I don't like to disappoint. So here you go.

I am lazy, I sleep late, and I don't do well spending all day in crowds, so I didn't show up til 3:30 and only saw 5 bands. But it was totally worth the $80, and I'm gonna tell you about it.

Cold War Kids
Originally we'd planned to get there at about 2:30 to catch either Silverchair or Stephen Marley, though I have no idea what either is doing these days. That didn't really work out and so we got there just in time for Cold War Kids.

They sounded really good, but they were on a little side stage and this created the only "dear lord, get these people away from me!" conditions we experienced all day. A tiny bit of that reaction may have been due to my sober state, which I did not maintain after CWK, thank god. But it was packed and we were quite far from the stage. Plus we were facing west and people crossing the park were walking north/south, and thus right into us. This blew.

The lead singer had a lot of enthusiasm and I'm quite excited about seeing them open for the White Stripes in October. But we were just too far, it was too crowded, and I was too hot to really get into this.

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah

I basically just wanted to hear them live and had no desire to get near the stage. So we laid down an little blanket and sat on the grass, which was lovely after standing in the throng watching Cold War Kids. It also started to cool off and get breezy, which was nice. CYHSY sounded pretty good; I'm not a huge fan but I like what I've heard of their newer album. A lot of rather hot and slutty girls around us were dancing happily. I bet these dudes get laid a lot, by better-looking chicks than you'd suspect.

Regina Spektor

We left CYHSY early to catch Regina Spektor. We should have left my house the night before for a chance to get near the stage, because she was a helluva lot more popular than I expected. We were planning to head back across the park towards the end of her set, so we took a spot on the far left side of the stage. Unfortunately some very loud, very bad metal was being played not very far away on the left, so at first she was very difficult to hear (plus it was just her and a piano or occasionally just her and a guitar -- none of the bells and whistles heard on her albums). She was incredibly cute and endearing. She seems like one of those people you want to hate because they seem naively nice, but you have to love them for it. At one point when the bad metal was still going on, I thought she was singing about those dudes fucking up her songs. I've since discovered she has a song about neighbors fucking to her songs. I still think she might have changed the lyrics to fit the situation.

I was really impressed by her ability to keep people completely enchanted with her music despite the bare-bones set up. She doesn't have the raw punk spirit of Patti Smith or the haughty cheekiness of Tori Amos, but she killed us with kindness, and it was fun.

This, incidentally, was around the time I got drunk. Three cheers for my High School antics; were were allowed to bring 2 bottles of water into the park so I brought one of water, and one of heavily spiked vitamin water. Since I still bought about $40 worth of beer, I don't feel too badly about this.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs

I had never seen the YYYs live before, and it was awesome. Karen O is my hero and everything I aspire to be. Bitch is crazy, in the best possible sense. She had all kinds of weird accessories including something that looked like a small tent my sister had when we were little, but in black and white. She sounded damn good, though. Their new single "Down Boy" is the sexiest song this year. Download it illegally, I promise you won't regret it (J/k, I buy almost all of my music. seriously. I'm not a good for nothing, entitled piece of scum like you). They sang a bunch of stuff from Show Your Bones, too, and a few from Fever to Tell, including "Y Control" which is one of my favorite songs ever. I was very happy about that.

During their set, I left to go to the bathroom because at this point I was drinking beer and peeing frequently, like I do. We weren't very close to the stage, but a lot closer than we had been to Ms. Spektor. I absolutely forgot to take a look at where, exactly, we were standing, though. Like a total moron, I had left my bag and my phone with my friends. I spent the majority of "Maps" wandering around looking for our spot, which is kind of funny.

Spoon

We caught a couple of songs from Spoon when we were walking over to the other stage to see Interpol. I like all of the songs I've heard by Spoon, but these first 2 or 3 sounded like really, really bad classic rock. Like the Doobie Brothers -- the Michael McDonald incarnation of the Doobie Brothers. Maybe it just wasn't an appropriate buffer between YYYs and Interpol, and my head was in the wrong place. Then it started to rain and we left for beer and food.

Interpol

Oh, lovely boys who make lovely music. Interpol and the YYYs were my reasons for attending Lollapalooza. We got there about 20 minutes before the set, but didn't even try to get very close because a) there were porta potties just down a lane from where we stood, which was important for both my bladder and my bad sense of direction and b) we were never going to get incredibly close, so I decided to deal. I was pretty much drunk at this point, and then friends of my friend gave me a few shots of vodka.

I am not a dancer at shows. I'm more a watcher and listener. But I was drunk, I love Interpol, and they sounded great. So I was dancing. Not like a damn fool, but dancing. The people around us were a mix of Interpol fans, people they'd dragged along, some curious sorts, and old men smoking pot who had clearly come straight over from Patti Smith, who had played at a nearby stage. This one dude who was dancing around like a fool gave me a high five when he saw that I knew the words. It was pretty awesome. More people are into this band than I thought. Fun times.

Then we went to a bar in Wicker Park, where we always seem to end up when the night is heading toward blacked-out drunken embarrasment. We must have had a premonition of where we were headed, because we were there pretty early, by about 11:3o, and drunk off our asses and acting like fools by about 1. It was a fun night.

Pitchfork's review of Saturday is actually pretty good and not too douchey, a real first for them.

Guess where I'm going tomorrow?

2007-08-03T15:56:00.000-04:00

Create Your Own PaloozaHead - Visit Lollapalooza.com

And yeah, I finished the HP (not in 24 hours though, I had things like karaoke and a fear of The End to deal with). I've just been in a severe Harry Potter-less depression for about a week. But I've risen from that like a motherfuckin' phoenix. Fawkes the phoenix, that is.

Taking a Break

2007-07-23T13:13:00.000-04:00

I will be spending most of my free time this week with this dude and/or my dog (who, incidentally, do not get along). Boulos is finished and available; contact her if you are bored and desperate for rnrunicorn times or crazy Pottertalk.

Plop Plop

2007-07-19T12:30:00.001-04:00

While hanging out this weekend, Boulos and I were watching TV, as we are wont to do. We came across a very strange alka seltzer ad, which I will be forced to describe, as it does not yet exist on youtube:

A bunch of people are hanging out after work at a bar and the older guy shouts "Wings!" and is then seen taking a very hearty bite of what is presumably a chicken wing. Cut to two total assholes at the table who look at one another conspiratoriallybefore one says, "Wings? He won't be in tomorrow." (Maybe he doesn't repeat "wings," but whatever). Then they nod like douchebags and smile wickedly.

Then old dude is at home in the bathroom and makes a face like he has bad cramps. He takes some alka seltzer and feels better. His expressions in this scene are really horrifying.

Next morning, the young ones walk into the office uber-casually (they're HOLDING their suit jackets, not wearing them!) and boss turns a corner, smiles like the douchebuster he is, and says, "Guys, you're late!" The two lame-os look sheepish, realizing they've been outfoxed by the old gasbag. One of the two young ones is freakishly heinous.

We were perplexed by this ad -- the bad acting, the weirdness, the idea that someone's wing-eating habits would be cause to suspect they might miss work.

So, after watching Jeopardy yesterday (which I DVR 2x a day, thank you very much), I made the mistake of staying tuned for the "Jeopardy is sponsored by" ads, which are always super creepy (AARP ads, ads for life insurance you can get even if you are 104, the roll-them-out-of-bed-and-into-the-wheelchair thing that helps you take care of your invalid spouse at home -- basically, they are aimed at people who are knocking at death's door). The first was a creepy ovaltine commercial, of course. God, those people are all robots, especially whoever is offering the children the robot-juice they call ovaltine, in this case a scary-ass mom who says, "well, I guess I'll have to make more ovaltine shakes!" as though she might be saying, "well I guess I'll be eating the children's faces for dinner tonight!"

But up next: the one where the guys think their boss won't be in due to wings! I watched it 3x because I find it very amusing and I have no life. I figured out a few things we had missed upon first viewing, which I think we can be forgiven for because we didn't use the rewind feature last time, and the ad is about 15 seconds long:

1) He is actually drunk, that is why he is so cheerily ordering wings. But alkaseltzer is too subtle to come right out and say that, or advocate their product's use as a pre-hangover remedy, so they confuse and amuse us instead. His facial expression pre-alka seltzer but post-wings clued me into this -- if wings will get you that intoxicated, I'm quitting WW and heading over to Buffalo Wild Wings asap.

2) THOSE ARE NOT WINGS. They are chicken fingers/tenders, whatever you want to call them. They are blatantly fried, un-saucy, and not wing-like.

3) The white underling is SO CREEPY and ugly. He looks like Scott Thompson from Kids in the Hall, but creepier and with fish lips. I want an alternate ending in which he dies.

That is all! Pictures to come, if Boulos ever gets her ass in gear!

I <3 This.

2007-07-17T19:00:00.000-04:00

This is hilarious. I want to write "too true" in the margins, but I'd damage my monitor. Hipsters are the new trees-falling-in-the-forest. Or something.

Spent this weekend with the wife, in NYC and NJ!! Karaoke, a wedding, FUN! More will be written, but I'm pretty sure I should wait for her to send the pictures because I think this deserves an illustrated post.

A Wee Educational Moment...

2007-06-26T22:23:00.000-04:00

So, I decided to answer a random myspace survey the other day (something I hadn't done in over a year, I think) about my #2. It so turns out that your fave pair of wives are each other's myspace #2s. I thought our answers were so hilarious that you ALL deserve to see them. So... here goes!

First, here is mine about the wifey:

Can YOU answer 23 questions about YOUR #2?
: 1) What's their name? Amanda

2) What is their sexual orientation?
straight, aside from our "marriage"...

3) Where did you meet them?
We met in our dorm in sophomore year at NYU, and we've been wives ever since!

4) What was your age when you first met?
18!

5) Is this person one of your friends?
I GUESS...

6) Say something that only makes sense to you and that person.
Did we destroy the rules from the book? God, I hope so...

7) Is this person older than you?
older by 3 months exactly.

8) When was the last time you saw this person?
April on the drunkfest that was NASHVILLE!

9) Do you miss them?
I miss her sweet ass daily.

10) Are you related to this person?
She's my wife, does that count? Her sis is my faux sis.

11) Do you have nicknames for each other?
SOOO many. Oh Flapjack!

12) Is that person bringing sexy back?
You bet your ass.

13) Do you think that person will repost this?
If she know's what's good for her!

14) Why is this person #2 on your top friends?
My bro has precedent, b/c the whole blood relation, you understand, right Wife?

15) Have you seen this person cry?
Yeah, oh that Beaches! (j/k!)

16) Do you know this persons last name?
There ain't no ass in Glasbrenner, that's all I gotta say.

17) Do you tell them a lot about your life?
Probably more than she wants to hear, LOL!

18) Doing anything tonight with them?
Only in spirit... she's in Chicago.

19) If yes, What?
Uh, spiritual bonding??

20) Do you love them?
Well, she is my wife!

21) Would they date you?
She married me, what do you think?

22) What's something the person is obsessed with?
There was the tuna renaissance, but right now? A lot of things, the internets (as she calls it) in general I would have to say.

23) Does this person make you laugh?
On a daily basis!

And now, Amanda's response about me:

This works out perfectly, as boulos is my #2 (more important than my bro, it seems)

1) What's their name?
Kelly, better known as Boulos (in certain circles)

2) What is their sexual orientation?
bicurious

3) Where did you meet them?
Randomly assigned suitemates, or as I like to think of it, an NYU-arranged marriage

4) What was your age when you first met?
A few days before my 19th birthday, I would imagine

5) Is this person one of your friends?
Yes

6) Say something that only makes sense to you and that person.
omg I cannot BELIEVE you went there with yours, though that was perfect. Um... "If I drank a lot and tried real hard."

7) Is this person older than you?
Nope, younger by exactly 3 months

8) When was the last time you saw this person?
The end of April, in Nashville.

9) Do you miss them?
Yes!

10) Are you related to this person?
Not by blood.

11) Do you have nicknames for each other?
Um, yes. "wife" being #1. Also, chuckles.

12) Is that person bringing sexy back?
Duh

13) Do you think that person will repost this?
If she did, this would be a perpetual cycle

14) Why is this person #2 on your top friends?
She and my sister are actually neck and neck for "person I talk to/text/email most," but I've known my sister longer

15) Have you seen this person cry?
Yep. "Behind the Music: The Day the Music Died"

16) Do you know this person's last name?
What a ridiculous question. It's Boulos

17) Do you tell them a lot about your life?
Yes

18) Doing anything tonight with them?
Maybe accidentally watching the same thing on tv?

19) If yes, What?
America's Got Talent.
J to the mofo K! Probably Jeopardy or Law and Order!

20) Do you love them?
Duh

21) Would they date you?
I'm the kind of girl you fuck or marry, not the kind you date.

22) What's something the person is obsessed with?
WW (aren't we all?). Unicorns, kittens and rainbows.

23) Does this person make you laugh?
She lights napkins on fire in moving vehicles and insists we count Missouri 3x!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Enjoy all! Hope you pooped your pants from laughing!
~Boulos

POOP!

2007-06-20T13:42:00.000-04:00

Ok, I don't even think an appology would suffice for my neglect of our dear blog at this point, so I will just say a simple, sorry, and move on to something that you NEED to hear.

Although the wife has been updating rather dilligently, she failed to mention the incredibly unbelievable trip that was NASHVILLE '07. My faux-sis (Amanda's actual sister and roomate) ran a marathon in Nashville on April 28th. She is quite the traveller when it comes to her job, and offered us a free hotel room courtesy of her points, if we flew down in support of her run, and for lots of drunken times. The wife and I would NEVER turn down a chance to share a King sized bed, or to drink at all times of day and night, and to eat more than our weight in BBQ, so of course we went.

The weekend was a FESTIVAL of gluttony. Being a member of Weight Watchers (I've lost 30lbs since Jan, thank you very much), I hadn't drank or eaten such an unimaginable amount of food in MONTHS. The conversations we had circled around our gassiness, desire to poop, or the constant surprise at how much we'd just ingested. After the victory party hosted by Melissa's running group, the wife and I continued to drink for several hours, and then somehow stumbled up the giant hills of Nashville to get home to the hotel. A few hours later, at about 6am I awoke to the blaring television, all lights were still on, and the wife was asleep in her clothes next to me. This did not at all surprise me, so I shut everything off in my hungover haze, and proceeded to the bathroom to pee. Now, this is where the surprise occured... Immeditately after flicking on the light, and see glaring up at me from the bowl A HUGE PIECE OF POOP swimming in pee. I was confused, and then laughed for SO LONG, I could not comprehend how one drunk wife could POOP DRUNKENLY, and then FORGET TO FLUSH IT!!!! Oh God, it is one of the top 5 funniest things that has happened in my life, I'm sure. The best part of the whole story was telling the wife what she'd done, and her asking me, "Was there toilet paper in the bowl?" as, she wasn't sure she'd wiped. LOL!

Way to go, wife. The Nashville drunkfest will forever be known as the time you left me a poop present. I will treasure it always.

Pothead (Po-theed)

2007-06-19T18:21:00.000-04:00

Too bad Archana doesn't read the internets because she'd like this (and my subject, and I think she is one of two or three others who knows about potheed).

As noted previously, my company was kind enough to move us downtown to the land of the living. My monitor broke during the move, and then it was replaced with another dude's monitor, which was a similar big, bulky early '90s model, but had a nametag stuck in the middle of the screen and a rearview mirror. The rearview mirror was awesome for spying until I realized I was staring at myself in horror constantly, so I turned it around.

Long story short (too late!), the IT dudes were all, "hey, your monitors are from the stone age, technologically speaking. We are getting you all new, bright, classy flat screens!"

And we were like, awesome. Except that no one is really in charge here, per se. The person closest to being in charge is my friend and coworker Meghan, and most of the time we kinda wing it. So the old dino monitors have been sitting on the ground for about 2 weeks now.

She finally decided they needed to be removed, so just a few minutes ago, she said she was calling Amvets. She dialed, hung up the phone and turned to me.

"They close at 4:20. Who closes at 4:20??"

And of course I replied, "Stoners!"

I dunno, it made me giggle at the time. Maybe because I took a break with those amvets workers about an hour ago.

At Least It's Not That Old Lady, Dirty Pantyhose Smell

2007-06-13T16:38:00.000-04:00

I have been experiencing hygiene issues for the past week or so.

That sounded disgusting. Okay, here is the issue: I have been noticing that I have smelly armpits. Like, yeah, BO-smelly. But I use deodorant! The same one I've been using for months, except I recently bought a double-sized stick of a different scent. Maybe this is why it was on sale... maybe I will never buy sale deodorant again (it IS a brand name, in my defense).

In any case, I checked and it's anti-perspirant as well, like I always buy. I've never had a severe armpit sweat issue like, oh, about 1/2 of my female friends have. And I've never had this smell issue! It's really getting me down. I bought a new deodorant during lunch but I almost don't want to try it, for fear it won't work and I will be left smelly and friendless forever.

To top it all off, later this afternoon is the party (with booze) for my new office and I don't really know 1/2 these people. I'll probably get tipsy, throw up my arms in celebration, and promptly become the office reject.

Great.

Best Picture Ever

2007-06-11T18:16:00.000-04:00

I've seen a lot of pictures of the famous, stupid nipple incident at the Super Bowl a few years ago. How can anyone possibly avoid that nonsense? Usually, any mention of the incident makes me want to go to sleep and wake up when people have grown reasonable and, I dunno, neither idiots nor publicity whores roam the streets in the staggering numbers they do today.

However, I came across a depiction of the incident I don't' think I've ever seen before. I don't know if it's a different picture or if it's been manipulated in some way (lengthened?) but I love it. It's possible you've already seen this a million times and I just discovered it because I've been shielding my eyes from the whole thing for so long. Whatever, humor me.

I present to you Justin Timberlake, captured just as shock and awe have contorted his face into that of a old ex-con pervert who is simultaneously pooping his pants and shooting his load. While thinking of dead puppies.

OMG where have I been?

2007-06-07T18:03:00.000-04:00

Unintentional hiatus. Work has been crazy busy, and on top of that we were moving to a new office. I didn't want anyone to catch me blogging amidst that insanity, but I have no Internet access at home. I'm pretty much living in the 18th century over there, but it's a nice 18th century in our new place.

But, our move is over, and I finally work in the actual fucking city and not in the gross suburbs! IT IS THE BEST. My sister works in the same building (random coincidence) and keeps trying to tell me I'll be over the whole riding the el, working amongst normal people and not insane freaks who play accordions at work during one of their weekly birthday parties (seriously. this happened.), having a million lunch options in walking distance thing. I swear to god, I never will. I will cherish these opportunities from this day forward and never ever take city living for granted again. (cut to a few months from now, when I'm not returning Chicago's phone calls quickly enough and she slaps me in public, ending it for good).

I have been compiling a list of things I meant to post here, but the list is in my brain, which erases things without my consent. Especially considering the tequila I've been drinking every weekend.

However, here is an interesting tidbit: I visited Target Tuesday evening, looking all run down like I do after working all day and wandering aimlessly about the store like I do anytime I visit. Luckily I had my sister back by my side when I spotted a dude I'd hooked up with last August. Running into someone you knew for only one night is strange (well, THREE NIGHTS really, considering he accosted me in a bar another time, accusing me of having been a bitch the first time, and then hit on my friend another night in a failed attempt to inspire jealousy after I didn't learn my lesson and abandon that particular bar forever...). I mean, I only associate this guy with that bar and then also with the next day, when I had to work at kicking him out of my house for an hour or so. But get this: he was buying paper towels in bulk with a girl. Rather than, you know, drinking and hitting on me.

Briefly, every stereotypical chick-lit-ish knee-jerk reaction these situations conjure up ran through me. Then I thought, sucks to be her! And checked out with my sister, as people around us continued playing that "lesbian couple, roommates or sisters?" game we encourage.

Recurring Pain in my Ass

2007-04-09T15:42:00.000-04:00

We are very bad bloggers. Sorry, reader. I was laid up with a mysterious illness for a few days, plus I’m preparing to move at the end of the month (AGAIN). And, I’m lazy.

I realized recently that I have moved every year since high school except one. Ah, 2005. So beautifully cardboard box-free.

This time, my sister is buying a condo and I will essentially be renting a room from her. So there’s been more insanity than ever, with figuring out when we can move in (it’s a rehab so the dates have been tentative and frequently pushed back), finding a painter, and a whole mess of other stuff that she handles and I remain blissfully unaware of.

And an update regarding the neighborhood in which I grew up: Yesterday, as my sister and I drove to my parent’s house for Easter, we were forced to take a detour down an alley because a fire truck was blocking our way. A few hours later, our friend dropped by and told us there had been a huge drug bust less than a block away (a few houses down from where my ex-boyfriend lived!). The cops recovered $1.2 million worth of pot! How awesome. I expected to see Mary Louise Parker in handcuffs on my street.

And now, please let me share with you my favorite moments from the past few weeks:

The other 3... FINALLY!

2007-03-09T14:38:00.000-05:00

We were tagged by Brooklyn Sea Hag:The Rules : Each player of this game starts with the “6 weird things about you." People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own re: 6 weird things, as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says “you are tagged” in their comments and tell them to read your blog.

Sorry it took me SO incredibly long to write my 3 things, I am a busy lady, and I am really quite the procrastinator, so here goes.

1) I have a gap in my teeth, and never got it fixed because of many reasons...
it would require surgery (no thanks!), my Grandma always told me it was good luck, and finally, because I think it's SEXY!!! Haha. The weirdest part is that my boyfriend ALSO has one, which is super hilarious and odd, I think.

2) I have NO SENSE OF SMELL. Like, once in a blue moon I might think that I smell something, usually garlic, and only if I am cutting it myself. I am lucky though, b/c when the gassy boyf lets 'em rip, I am immune to their awful aroma (well, I'm told they are awful).

3) Finally, I am the only naturalized US citizen in my family. My bro is in the process of getting his now, and my parents were in the country for over 20 years before getting theirs. I am the only one who didn't have to go through that process because I was born smack dab in the middle of DIRTY JERZ! Woo!

Alright, Amanda has already tagged who needs to be tagged, and I appologize again for the delay in my list. Enjoy!

~Boulos

Poetry

2007-03-07T15:51:00.000-05:00

What could be better than a Saved By the Bell-themed Law and Order: Criminal Intent episode in which Dustin Diamond's character is portrayed as not simply a pathetic opportunistic horndog, but a dead one? And Mark-Paul Gosselaar is into screwing Dustin's Albanian sloppy seconds and pirating unreleased movies? I'll tell you what: Saved by the Bell poetry.

A couple of nights ago, while somewhat insomniac, I was struck with a brilliant lightening bolt of inspiration. I sat up, turned on the light, grabbed a pen and recorded a Saved By the Bell-themed haiku.

The following day, Boulos and I composed a number of Saved by the Bell haikus via email for this tribute to Mario Lopez. The one that came to me as if by magic is last, to properly heighten your anticipation.

Haikus by Boulos:

Oh Tori Spelling
Playing Nerdy Violet
9-0 Will Save You

Beach Club Days go by
Scientologist* Romance
Love lesson for Zach

I’m so Excited
I’m so scared, I’m so scared Zach!
Jessie Spano Rocks

*Leah Remini

Haikus by Amanda:

Money in a bag.
What to do? I want tickets
to sell for profit

Hey, how gay am I?
Good question, AC Slater.
You’re totally queer.

Miss Lisa Turtle:
Stop teasing my prick, you bitch
Let's fuck already

Just take off your pants
Mr. Belding. We're not at
Bayside any more.**

**To be read suggestively but with contempt by Nomi Malone, formerly known as Jessie Spano, in the back lapdance room at the Cheetah Club, a place that almost certainly allows hooking in the Champagne Room.

Love you A.C.!

Ummm... [vomits a little in mouth]... you too, Screech!

Love of my Life?!?

2007-02-16T10:53:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I found my Valentine!*

(The rasberry Zingers, which are woefully underrepresented on the Internet -- I would have photoshopped out the donuts if I knew how to do it, and wasn't lazy).

I had never tried these Zingers before – though my mom, sister and I were seriously obsessed with Zingers during my childhood – because I didn’t like coconut, wasn’t too into raspberry, and in general though they were gross. But I tried them yesterday, mostly out of curiosity and because the vending machine did not have yellow Zingers.

They are wonderful, amazing, and in the running for Love of my Life (you can enter to be in the running, too. Just use the comments). There goes my “figure.” (those are ironic quotation marks. Since my current figure is nothing to talk about, I really don’t care! By the way, I love parentheses!)

* Just to clarify, I didn't sit home last night and eat ice cream and zingers and a heart full of candy that I bought for myself at CVS because I’m single. It was actually a coincidence that I discovered my new love on Valentine's Day. If I had to make a list of things I would have liked more than a date on Valentine’s Day, it would be long. And let's just say it would probably involve booze and inappropriate behavior with one or more cohorts. I compromised and had dinner, but no booze, with a few friends, because I am old and lame.

This is just a disclaimer to let anyone who doesn’t know me personally know that I am not one of “those girls,” whoever those girls may be. Especially because if I don't marry snack foods, I'll likely marry a gay man. I'm well aware that neither will give me diamonds on February 14th.

6... er, 3... Weird Things

2007-02-14T12:02:00.000-05:00

We were tagged by Brooklyn Sea Hag:

The Rules : Each player of this game starts with the “6 weird things about you." People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own re: 6 weird things, as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says “you are tagged” in their comments and tell them to read your blog.

Since there are two of us, we’ll each be contributing three. Unfortunately we are both too boring for six.

Also, we are cyberspace losers. We don’t have enough friends with blogs to tag 6 people, so we’ll tag 3. And I bet none of them will do it!

Here are my three:

1) I had an asymmetrical haircut in fifth grade. It was cut above the ear on one side and was long enough to cover my ear on the other. I can’t remember what the hell happened in the back. This is actually a well-known fact among certain circles (for example, my fifth grade classmates, and Boulos), but really must be noted. I think it was the first time my mom let me choose my own hairstyle after forcing horrible “mushroom cuts” on me, and man, did I show her.

2) When I’m free of schedule constraints and “the man” has loosened his grip, I am pretty much nocturnal. For example, quite often on a Friday night I will stay up until 5 or 6 am and then I’ll sleep until 5 pm on a Saturday. This is probably why, during the week, I have a tendency to oversleep. It’s difficult for me to go to bed before 2 am, even on weeknights.

3) Fuck, I am way too normal. Actually, that’s not true. But this blog is not quite as anonymous as it probably should be and I have a little brother and employers, etc. My first and last names are on this thing now (thanks Boulos!), so a lot of stuff has to be skipped. But here’s a decent one: in second grade, my locker was right across the hallway from the boy’s bathroom and I found myself frequently compelled to peek in when the door swung open. Being a good Christian child at a Lutheran school, I also felt compelled to tell my mother about this. I don’t remember her reaction at the time, but I do know that we now like to laugh about what a pervy kid I was. Of course, by third grade, I was charging for hand jobs in that same bathroom. But mom doesn’t know that.

I am tagging Tania (you’d better do it, I can think of about 20 weird things about you), Alice and Dave – but theirs is a wedding blog, so maybe weird things about them as a couple, or about their wedding – and Sarah, or technically the Waves.

My Next Career Move

2007-02-13T19:34:00.000-05:00

Hello All!

This Saturday I spent about three hours doing some of the most amazing special effects makeup the world has ever seen. That's right, the Boulos siblings are involved in the production of the upcoming film, "The Unexciting Adventures of Unemployed Skeletor". The trailer can be viewed here.

So, Shane's part is that of Panthro, who has turned psychiatrist since the ending of his once popular 80's Cartoon, Thundercats.

In case you don't remember him, I will refresh your memory!

I, using my powers of ingenuity, turned a regular 28 year old musician/graphic designer into one of the most distinguished cartoon heros the world has EVER SEEN!!! That's right, my many talents continue to reveal themselves as time progresses, what can I say? I AM A CHAMELEON!

Alright... enough suspense though, I shall reveal my masterpiece...

BEHOLD!!!!!! PANTRHO LIVES!!!!!!

I'm sorry, but if that isn't one of the most awesome things you've ever seen, I don't know what is.

Enjoy! The movie is coming SPRING 2007!!!!!!!! And yes, I actually earned a credit for being a makeup artist!! I should also mention that Shane's scene with Unemployed Skeletor (or Skelly, as he's known) is so f-ing funny, keep your eyes out kids! This shit is gonna be HUGE!

~Boulos

Might As Well Face It....

2007-02-06T15:22:00.001-05:00

In an AOL article on Lindsay Lohan’s half-hearted rehab attempt, I discovered the following:

The Wonderland Center specializes in treating addictive disorders such as love addiction.

Awesome. I hope that is what she’s undergoing treatment for, please god let someone leak that information (I’m looking at you, Harry Morton). What I don’t understand, now, is the other patients and their constant bitching regarding her frequent field trips. Dudes, you people haven’t been committed – you are doing half-assed voluntary crap at a place that treats LOVE ADDICTION. Dicking around, especially by celebs, is to be expected there. You probably knew when you checked in that this place would be a waste of money. Chill out, or better yet, take a trip to the psych ward at your local hospital. A week there will straighten you out like no amount of time at Wonderland can.

Whiny rich rehab babies are not my only current obsession. This story is. How absolutely insane is it?! My favorite parts:

Hartsfield said he couldn't recall the last time an astronaut was arrested and said there were no rules against fraternizing among astronauts.

Can you even tell astronauts what to do? They are astronauts for fuck’s sake! They’re like living legends, or actually a lot like unicorns. Have you ever seen an astronaut in person? I didn’t think so. But here is the best part:

Nowak raced from Houston to Orlando wearing diapers in the car so she wouldn't have to stop to go to the bathroom, authorities said. Astronauts wear diapers during launch and re-entry.

I take back everything I said about Wonderland; this is an obvious case of love addiction. I think we all know what the judge’s sentence should be.

Thanks to Boulos for pointing out the Robert Palmer connection I so ignorantly overlooked!

Daily Log

2007-02-05T17:45:00.000-05:00

Something you may not know: Boulos and I spend a good deal of our "working" day emailing one another. We prefer this to instant message; I think we end up amusing one another more when we have to compose whole emails rather than type knee-jerk “ROTFLMAOLOLOLOL”s to each other. Anyway, this is how we KIT and continue to confide TMI in one another.

Today I decided to sum up “this day in the lives of Boulos and Amanda” in one of my final emails to Boulos. Keep in mind, we’re both a little out of it today due to the Super Bowl:

So today we have learned that data is good,* poorly written "medical" fluff articles suck, getting dirty rocks off is gross,** and we created our future euphemism for sex. Hopefully the sex won't be as mundane as the euphy!***

Oh, and you settled your debt**** (let's pretend it was mafia-related), but your teeth suck.*****

Kind of a mediocre day, but it had some highlights. Of course if it had featured Highlights, you would have loved it.******

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

* This might be more accurately worded as, “access to data is good,” as I was dealing with a non-functioning database. Having thought about it a bit, I think it’s actually a program and not a database. Oh well.

** Reference to Debbie, a woman with whom one of us works. Wanton sexual adventures are unattractive in a married middle-aged mother. Her habit of leaving early to partake in these adventures is not good form, but even worse is the TMI. The constant TMI.

*** A brief misunderstanding led to the mutual decision that we will one day, in front of our children, refer to sex as “trying to help him relax.”

**** (credit card)

***** Possibility of lower wisdom teeth causing chronic headaches

****** Boulos maintains a notorious, child-like appreciation of the magazine Highlights (also she loves books of Garfield comic strips, which is kind of irrelevant, but funny)

BEST THING EVER!!!!!!

2007-02-01T14:36:00.000-05:00

The wife commisioned one of the most excellent pieces of art of all time, it's here!

Thanks, Joe!!!

~Boulos

Events Unnerve Me***

2007-01-29T19:04:00.000-05:00

My sister received XM radio for her car as a Christmas gift. I drive her car to and from work everyday, and on Friday I was having a great time in horrible traffic, listening to XMU, the college/indie rock station. Then it all came to a grinding halt.

A song begins, and I think, “hey, I kind of recognize this…” I look down at the radio and realize it is “Ceremony,” as performed by a band called Xiu Xiu. If you are a huge Xiu Xiu fan, I apologize for the following, but I have never heard of them and will thus assume that no one else has, either (particularly none of our 5 fine readers – readership has increased!).

Immediately, I was reminded of what I think of as the Rules of Covers. They are simple, and there are only two. The first is that the cover differ somewhat significantly from the original. Not so much as to be unrecognizable, but professional musicians should not be releasing karaoke-d versions of one another’s songs.

The second rule is simple; do not completely destroy the charm of the original. Don’t change a wonderful little ditty to a crapfest, just because you can. (Here is one that, miraculously, fails on both counts).

Xiu Xiu totally took me up on the first rule. And utterly shat upon the second. The general idea I got from this song is that a bunch of slackers visited Chuck E. Cheese, and while playing arcade games created for five-year-olds, the most astute of the bunch noticed that one of the games featured a recurring audio that somewhat resembles the New Order song “Ceremony.”

They isolated the game’s audio (possibly they have a friend who works at Chuck E. Cheese and lets them in after hours), which unfortunately sounds like broken bagpipes. They played terrible industrial-type music over it. And I am referring to the noises the Sunset Island book series led me to believe constitute industrial music via the fictional band “Lord Whitehead and the Zit People” – namely, the beating of laundry room and kitchen appliances. Nothing so melodic as Nine Inch Nails.

After they settled upon this hodgepodge of garbage music, they hired a well-hung bull to violently rape the dude in the ass while he sings.

I did, however, enjoy my little fantasy that the dj at Fred (the new wave/alternative 80s station) might just give the dj at XMU a beating over this atrocity.

Update: Okay, so you can find it here. I just listened to it and the song is not as bad as I remember. I think I was a little off on the whole washer and dryer thing, but I have such fond memories of Lord Whitehead, I’m keeping it.

With this said, there is clearly no reason why this ever had to be done. Plus I think my description of they vocals was a bit too nice. Overall, my only kind thoughts were, “the drummer can keep a beat” and “hey, xylophones.” For anyone wondering: neither a respectable drummer nor the availability of xylophones constitutes a valid reason to destroy a good song. And, um, let’s mention the profile picture. The pervy dork at the local Holiday Inn is ready for the pool, guys.

I guess they're honest, though -- under "sounds like," they have listed only "Shit."

**** Totally gay to steal a borderline pretentious-sounding line from the song for the title, but I could not think of a stupid title. Sorry to be lame.

This Must Be Posted

2007-01-25T18:11:00.000-05:00

Our friend Lisa originally sent this to us when she was looking for a wedding gift for her husband. I have been able to find it twice since, but this always takes a good half hour of googling and searching my email.

Today, we were exchanging fun wedding links (Alice will be married in July!), when I remembered this.

First, a link to the suggested gift. It should be noted that I am a woman, but if a man ever bought me a crappy watercolor for any occasion, much less our wedding, I would shoot him in the face. And if I told my story and brought the painting to the court room, I am certain I would be vindicated (provided the jury was composed of peers with good taste).

Here is the best part, the page on which it is suggested that one might buy this for her groom. The responses to this are hilarious. Unfortunately, over a year ago this page started getting spammed regularly so it might take a minute to load.

Just thought I would share, but mostly I just wanted to create a permanent link for purely selfish reasons.

There's no Ass in Glasbrenner... or Boulos!

2007-01-24T16:07:00.000-05:00

Hello all!

I know that I have been quite negliegent in my posting, however I am here now, and I have a story that I haven't even yet shared with the wife, so that you could all be amused together... so here goes.

As some of you know, Vince was visiting from Reno recently, and had arranged a get together for some of us on the east side. Despite the chilly weather, I was lucky enough to get a cab immediately following my arrival into the city from good ole' dirrrty Jerz. I hop in, kind of flustered, and immediately start digging in my purse, completely oblivious to my immediate surroundings to try and find my cell to alert V that I might be a bit late. Half way through the ride across town, when I get more settled, I look up, and what name do I see staring at me but "BOULAS"!!!!!!! WHAT?? I want to scream and laugh, however as expected, the cabbie is in deep conversation with someone on his phone, and far be it for me to interrupt him. When he asks for a confirmation of my destination, I grab my chance...

Me: "Is your last name Boulas????"
Understandably suspicious cabbie...: "Yes..."
Me: "OMG! My last name is BOULOS, with an "O"!!!!!!!"
Cabbie: "REALLY???"
Me: "YES! Are you Egyptian???"
Cabbie: "Yes... blah blah blah, do you know where the name originates?"
Me: "My Dad used to tell me it was a derivative of Paul, and that it's Koptic."
Cabbie: "No, it actually comes from... (at this point the man suddenly forgets how to annunciate or traffic was loud, but I have no idea what the f he said).

We then proceed to talk about Egypt, and I tell him I've never been, etc. I was so blown away by this man's name, I could not even deal with it. I don't even know what his first name is, b/c his last one distracted me so! Upon arrival at the bar, my Teammate ventured a guess...Kallie. hahaha, my alter ego is a male cabbie. Um, it wasn't that, for sure. Holy shite though for the rest of the evening, everything bad was referred to as Boul-ASS, and we decided it was a good insult.

Please await pics from the wife's NYC baby vomit invasion, and me and Andy's Chicago escapade to be posted sometime in the next year.

Lates! ~Boulos

Family History

2007-01-22T18:14:00.000-05:00

So the Bears are going to the Super Bowl. This is a very big deal in Chicago, since their last trip was 21 years ago – Boulos and I agree that this makes us feel old, since we remember it very clearly.

My father was there to see them win, in New Orleans. It sounds like quite the time. 13 men in all drove from Chicago to New Orleans in some kind of Winnebago-type vehicle. These included my father’s two uncles and his then-stepfather. My dad was 27 and probably one of the youngest guys on the trip; he and most of these men were big drinkers. That last sentence is actually a huge understatement.

His aunt sent them off with a big batch of chili. Thirteen men, a Winnebago and a bunch of chili sounds like a fun time, huh? According to my father, the men had an agreement that whoever was driving at any given time would not drink. And this was breached about fifteen or twenty minutes into the trip, when his stepfather began drinking a large amount of whiskey at the wheel.

Someone knew a guy who lived in New Orleans, and they parked the trailer thingy at his place, using his electricity. Some of them stayed in the guy’s house and I’m guessing they all used his bathroom. According to my grandma, she “does not know how his wife dealt with this,” but the woman was reportedly “a nurse who smoked pot every night,” which might explain her general coolness and permissibility.

My father told us that he and his uncle ended up at a strip club alone one night, and they met a guy who took them to a party at a trailer park. Everyone else at this party (including their new friend) was black, and my dad and his uncle were convinced they were going to be mugged. But they just ended up partying until dawn, when the man kindly returned them home. Of course, this is the story my dad shared. You have to wonder about the other stuff they did.

Over the years, I have seen several pictures of the guys with their bad-eighties hair and glassy, drunken stares and smiles. There is one of my uncle mooning the camera – I just found out last night that Jim McMahon had mooned the press and this picture is an homage. Which is classier than a random picture of ass, you know.

Family history is important, and so very fun. Hearing this story last night made me feel very straight-laced and rather ineffective in my attempts at drunken adventures. I am only 26, though, so I guess I have another year to plan something to rival this. Maybe when Boulos, my sister and I visit Nashville in April….

By the way, my aforementioned great-uncle, Tommy, passed away rather suddenly last week. He was a really great guy and probably took good care of my father in situations like this. He took care of everyone, in fact. Um, this story really didn’t capture him. I doubt he frequented strip clubs, but they were in New Orleans – I’d be in strip clubs in that situation (not performing, though, you dirty birds).

So, yeah. This is as close to a football-themed post as you’ll get from me.

I Continue To Do Reprehensible Things

2007-01-17T18:50:00.000-05:00

Oh, I was supposed to share this story a long time ago and never quite got around to it. It is called:

“How I desecrate family values,” or “Babies? VOMIT!” or “Hi, my name is Amanda, and I’m….”

This occurred when I was visiting Miss Boulos in New Jersey. In an attempt to recapture our more recent youth, we went to Winnie’s and sang karaoke on Saturday night. We drank Hawaiian punch, as we usually do. For anyone unfamiliar with Hawaiian punch, it is basically a mixture of every liquor in the bar, grenadine, lime juice and pineapple juice. A tropical Long Island iced tea, if you will.

We drank something like 9 pitchers of it (there were other people there, but we later decided that the two of us alone consumed at least 4 or 5 pitchers ourselves). We sang many, many songs, including our Ticket to Greatness, of course. We took a livery cab back to Jersey, I passed out on the sofabed fully clothed. Boulos woke me briefly so that I could eat the Texas toast she’d so lovingly prepared. What a good wife. I passed the fuck out again and did not wake until it was nearly time to catch a train so that we could spend the afternoon with our friend Lisa, her husband, and her one-year-old baby, Ava.

While Boulos encouraged me to get the fuck out of bed, I mulled over the previous night. “Hey, it’s really a shame we never sang Love Shack.”

Boulos looked at me with incredulity. “We sang Love Shack.”

“What about Spice Up Your Life?”

“We sang that.”

“I Wanna Know What Love Is?”

“Yup.”

So, apparently I had blacked out. Keep this in mind. I almost never black out, in spite of my near-constant consumption of copious amounts of alcohol.

We ate cereal, I opted not to shower or even wash my face, but rather “touch up” my make up (yes, this is kind of appalling. I had not seen Lisa in about a year). We got on the train. We talked about food, a lot.

Lisa picked us up with el babo in the backseat. She was adorable! Seriously, the very picture of innocence and beauty. My uterus fluttered, and the baby was very polite when I sat next to her. She didn’t even hiss or spit, which would have been totally understandable.

On the ride to Lisa’s apartment, I started to feel a little carsick. We got there, had a cigarette (outside – we try not to give babies lung cancer), and I asked for a glass of water. After sitting in their living room for maybe half an hour, I just had to say it: “Guys, I think I need to throw up.”

This is possibly the best thing ever said to me: “Oh sure, just do it in Ava’s bathroom, right there.”

So about two seconds later, I kneel in an adorable bathroom full of little duckies – duckie towels, duckie shower curtain, it was so cute -- and heave my guts up. Everyone in the living room, by the way, can hear every disgusting moment of the surprisingly long and drawn-out vomitfest. And, wonderfully, my immediate thought post-barf was:

“Yum, tastes like Texas toast!”

I am totally disgusting, I know.

If anyone else has a nice story about giving the big Fuck You to decency, now is the time to share.

Psychic Trouble

2007-01-11T18:27:00.000-05:00

I clearly have issues.

This all began maybe 5 or 6 years ago, the first time I visited a psychic. Rachel, Emily and I were walking back from Magnolia Bakery when we passed a somewhat bare psychic storefront (someone PLEASE tell me how this weird psychic lady could afford that space in the west village). I think only Emily and I got our palms read, and I remember thinking this lady was right on through Emily’s reading, and then through mine… and then she told me that I needed my chakras cleansed.

I have dirty chakras! Haha, it was a funny joke. But I was a little bit worried.

Then, this weekend, I was coming home at 5 am with Meghan and our cab driver offered to read our palms. This seemed like an awesome idea, so we went for it. But during my reading, the guy could NOT stop repeating, “oh, you are very confused. You are troubled.” Every time he began to tell me something else, he’d interrupt himself with, “No, but you are very confused.”

At the time, feeling a bit emo in my drunken state, I thought to myself, “Hey, I am very confused and troubled. This dude is right on; way to go psychic cabbie!” So I kept nodding along, hoping he would find the cure to my confusion in some other line. Which, of course, did not happen. He basically gave me a warning: YOU ARE TROUBLED.

Now I’m thinking, what the fuck? Do I have some bad psychic energy? What is going on here? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME????????????

But the good news is, I just studied my palms – on one hand, a bunch of the lines don’t meet, which was his clue that I am utterly and irrevocably fucked up. However, on my left hand, all the lines meet quite neatly. So, my left side is A-Okay!

p.s. Sorry for the massive holiday break; I am lazy.

Category: Pat's Hobbies

2006-12-14T18:21:00.000-05:00

There are many, many funny stories to share from this past weekend. One in particular stands out, but I am too lazy to tell it right now. I really know how to create dramatic tension, don’t I? I will keep you enthralled by sharing a tiny little bit of hilarity that occurred almost as soon as I arrived.

We were sitting on Boulos’s couch (Boulos and I never had a couch while living together so that was in and of itself rather extraordinary) and watching Wheel of Fortune, or as I like to call it, “Fucking Retards on Parade.” Andy was doing something in the kitchen. I was rather good at the ole Wheel that evening, and when only a few letters were turned, I said the answer aloud, because I am an asshole who likes to ruin people’s fun.

This is what Boulos heard, and repeated with incredulity: “RIMMING?...”

And Andy from the kitchen: “RIMMING??? Do you two know what that is?”

(Um yes dad, we do. At this point, let me please point out that Andy and Boulos clearly do not practice this activity, because I am inappropriate like that.)

Me: “BRIMMING. With Possibilities.”

And I think it took about 5 more repetitions and several screen-checks to finally get off the tongue-ass subject (except on TV, I’m sure, there were still 28 letters unturned and someone was flopping on the ground, swallowing his own tongue). Then, we decided that one of us would become a prostitute, meet another prostitute name Possibilities and start hooking with her, and eventually write a memoir called “Rimming with Possibilities.”

Ah, what fun we had. It was just like when I used to hang out with the old deaf mutes at the VA hospital. The old, gay, anally obsessed deaf mutes who could shout.

ROTFLMAO

2006-12-07T14:18:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow I am off to New York/ New Jersey for a weekend of debauchery! I cannot wait to see everyone; I can’t believe it has been 7 months!

But before I go, I thought I would share some funny stuff Boulos and I have been discussing via email. I think we have, like, one other reader – I imagine him as a hobo who reads our blog at the public library (Hi Hobo!!). So maybe he will find this stuff amusing.

First off, we both found this exchange on Overheard in New York:

Hipster girl: On the train into the city this morning, I sat on a baby and almost crushed it.
Metal guy: There is no internet acronym for how funny that is.

In my subsequent search for an appropriate acronym, I came across one in this post on Wonkette: USFB. It stands for Under Skirt Finger Bang.

Which is truly awesome.

So, to clarify, the debauchery in New York will involve a lot of drinking and a WHOLE lot of USFB. I am packing nothing but skirts.

Later!

Molly!!!

2006-11-19T22:29:00.000-05:00

It's been alluded to in earlier posts; my sister and I recently acquired a little dog. She looks like a miniature alien gorilla and I finally have pictures to share.

She followed my brother's friend to my parents' house. My parents' dog does not like other dogs, but luckily my sister and I happened to be visiting, so we took her home. When we first found her, she weighed 12 pounds and her ribs and spine were visible, which was gross. Most of these pictures were taken before she put on the full 4 pounds the vet recommended; she looks a lot healthier now, if not a little chubby. So, here's a bunch of pictures.

Oh, and sometimes she likes to wear little ill-fitting dresses.

SUPER Scary!!!!

2006-11-10T11:55:00.000-05:00

Alright, this is a MAJOR delayed post, but procrastination has made me avoid buckling down to write this for a couple weeks. Anyway, without further ado, I give you my Halloween post.

Halloween for me involved being dressed as Supergirl! Unfortunately it also involved dealing w/ a skirt that weighs NOTIHNG, and 40MPH winds, so it led to my flashing my sweetass bike shorts to all of NYC, and the eventual loss of my favorite jacket. Aside from that tragedy, some of the highlights of the evening involved several people screaming to Andy in his Superman outfit stuff like, "Why you waitin' for a cab when you can fly, Superman???" and several girls hitting on him, and then seeing me, and being like, "Oh, you're with Supergirl..." and subsequently running away. Haha. The best was the little boy who's mom said, "Look, Superman!", and that kid was in AWE of Andy, he seriously thought he was looking at the real, live Superman, and it was the cutest thing ever.

We were accompanied by Susie and her boyfriend Ken, who were dressed as a Scarecrow, and a Sumo Wrestler respectively. Susie's costume was super cute, and Ken's was hilarious b/c it was kept inflated by a fan. This proved to be INCREDIBLY hazardous to him, b/c while outside having a smoke, he was bodychecked at full speed by some girl who had assumed his costume was solid padding. It was hilarious, and luckily the other people who tried to punch his stomach, realized there was only air in his suit before making contact.

Overall it was a fantasical Halloween full of drunken debauch, although I may have to re-upload the pic later, b/c it doesn't seem to be showing anything but a giant black square... and I'm not gonna be one of those till next year.

~Boulos

Boo!

2006-10-30T16:41:00.000-05:00

On Saturday, I dressed as Minnie Mouse. As you can see, Susan was a bee:

My sister went to the store last minute and was thus forced to buy a super slutty Old West Sheriff Lady costume. She had to modify it with personal items to make it appropriate for public appearances. In a wonderful turn of events, someone was wearing an identical costume at the first party we attended. My sister attempted to find (and offer) solace; she said, “This costume does not fit over my boobs. I just got it today; it was the only one left.” Her slutty sheriff twin replied, “I bought mine a month ago.”

Whoops!

We went to a couple of parties and a few bars. It was fun; I love Halloween and everyone is so festive and willing to actually be fun and act like total asses (well, I suppose the nay-sayers and party poopers tend to stay home). I ended up hooking up with Borat, and lived to regret it. I guess I should have known better; he’s funny, but he is clearly a total chauvinist.

I already carved my pumpkin and toasted the seeds, but tonight I plan to carve my sister’s. She packed up and left myself, Molly and her untouched pumpkin for Toronto. Molly (that would be our newly found little dog) has a little ballerina costume. She is very excited about watching scary movies with me tonight and tomorrow, and possibly giving out candy.

I really enjoyed my costume. I plan to wear nothing but dresses with puffed sleeves from now on. Also, expect to see me randomly showing up with a black nose and whiskers.

Happy Halloween!

Morality Tale

2006-10-19T12:22:00.000-04:00

Ayayay, my wife and correspondent, Boulos, is home sick today. This means that I am bored. I suppose now is the time to update re: my escapades of the past few weeks.

Sidenote: god, I love this picture. One lady is in her Sunday best, with hat, and flashing some crotch. The other is possibly a man (?), and wearing a skin-tight -- not minidress, but mini-skort type thing? I think it really captures the feel of the night I'm about to describe.

Well, in her post about being drunk and disorderly, Boulos implied that I had a rather insane night that same weekend. Yup. It was 3 weekends ago, the first in October. My sister and I went out with a crowd for her best friend’s birthday. We started out at a club on Rush Street, and this is the kind of thing that makes me really hit the bottle – I know I will not have fun at a club unless I’m drunk. Once I’m drunk, I’m a fool and I dance like a moron, but have fun. I made a very prudent decision to start out with vodka, then switch to gin martinis, and end the night with a series of tequila shots with beer chasers. Wise move; I was pole dancing with the birthday girl’s sister before long (for those unfamiliar with clubs/bars on Rush Street, they generally feature a pole on the dancefloor, specifically so that the female clientele have the option of acting slutty and ridiculous while drunk). We went to another bar, another pole, and things get hazy. We tried to go to a third bar, one that I visit pretty regularly. I got as far as the ATM – there was CLEARLY something wrong with it, as I remember my transaction taking about 15 minutes -- but I was promptly escorted out after being told I was “overserved.” My friends didn’t even get in; they’d been turned away at the door. Apparently the b-day girl’s sister was attempting to argue her sobriety as she fell into the street. We were, altogether, a class act.

But wait, it gets classier! I must preface the next part with this: I do not condone drunk driving. I am totally against it and generally take cabs everywhere when I am drinking. Yet on occasion, I find myself at the stupidly overconfident stage of drunkenness with a set of keys in my hand and a car nearby – again, this is no excuse, but it happened. On this occasion, it seemed imperative that I obtain McDonald’s for me and my sister, so off I went. I had been carrying a tiny purse, and had separated my house keys so they would fit. I entered the house to get my car key – and apparently decided to exchange it with my house key. Cut to me standing on our porch with a ripped bag of McDonald’s in hand, fully aware that my sister was passed out on the couch. I rang the bell 100 times. She had 57 missed calls from me the next day. Eventually I began pounding on the door, which woke up the man who lives below us. When he opened his door to ask me what was going on (this was about 4 am), I gave up. I walked back to the car – which was parked next to the side entrance of a church – and resigned myself to a night in the backseat. Which is a really pathetic fate, when you are alone. I left my sister one last plaintive message, and passed out (in a miniskirt with fishnets and slutty boots, I might add). Around 6 am or so, I elegantly opened the door, delicately vomited on the curb, and shut myself back in. I was the definition of a “lady.”

I woke up around noon –having slept through the part where churchgoers gawk at the drunk, sleeping hooker/gutter girl parked outside – and my sister finally let me in. We listened to my messages together; they started off angry and ended rather pathetically. I vowed to never drink to excess again. Then, the next weekend was upon us.

This is a long post, so we will keep that “to be continued.” The next weekend’s story is not as great, but still an evening of booze, fun, and adventure, and probably one that a sane person would not experience in the immediate aftermath of drunken near-homelessness.

I may also write about our new dog, if you are lucky.

P.s. In case you are wondering, mystery celebrity after whom I model my weekend activities = George Michael. Sleeping in cars and all that.