You think you know, but you have no idea...

Friday, April 21, 2006


Right, so I was waiting for my friend to IM me back and I thought it might be fun to just type whatever came out of my head/fingertips for a litte while. This was it. No spellcheck, no changing, no nothing. This is what the inside of my head really looks like, people. Time for some spring cleaning???:

C u ina cuplauz
Thanks for humoring me
Edibles are
Nd if you want my body and you think I’m sexy, come on baby let me know
Yadda yadda yadda and some soft kielbasa, yadda yadda let me know

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Color me jealous

This time, I really thought it was my turn. Lauren’s chance to walk down the aisle to the tune of Pachelbel’s Canon… White dress, bridesmaids, beautiful flowers and many tears. Alas, the tears have come early for me. Tears of sadness, because it is not to be. My future husband is now engaged… to Maggie Gyllenhaal.
Why? Why did this happen to me? Once upon a time, my heart went to Brad Pitt. He took up Aniston and we ALL know what happened next. Next was Maggie’s little brother, Jake. He was going to be my Donnie Darko, Good Girl, Lovely & Amazing indie boy. I was even ready and willing to forgive his mishaps *cough Kirsten Dunst * cough * Bubble Boy cough* but then he got all mega-famous. Mr. Hottie-Dennis-Quaid’s-Son-In-Day-After-Tomorrow-Jarhead-I-Wish-I-Knew-How-To-Quit-You-Oscar-Boy.
That’s ok. I had moved on. To Peter Sarsgaard. Dear Peter. My new “no girl is going to take you away because you’re not THAT famous” indie guy. Yeah, he’s had some bigger movies, but he was my Shattered Glass, Garden State man of love. Aww, look at him! Damn that Maggie! First, she has a hot brother. NOOWW she gets to marry my replacement indie hot-stuff and have his love child!? This is just too much to take. Yeah, she was sexy/cute and fucked up in Secretary and we all loved her, but she has gone waaay too far. Maggie boycott, anyone? Anyone…?! Sigh

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Ethan Hawke (hearts) sequined jackets.

Every now and then, I am able to do things that make me feel very "New York". By "New York" I do not mean hanging out in Times Square or viewing the hole that was the WTC... I mean doing things that are out of the ordinary or things that require money. Past examples include New Years '04 where I spent most of the night in a penthouse apartment, watching the ball drop from the insanely large terrace and a night spent having drinks followed by a poetry reading in a grandiose triplex apartment. This time it was going to the Bruce Levingston concert at Alice Tully Hall for the 2nd year in a row.
Philly is friends with Mr. Bruce, the pianist, so he basically gets as many tickets as he wants for the annual concert. Last year's show was nice, if not a little boring. This year took the concert to a different level. First of all, there were other musicians involved, including 2 other pianists, a fantastic violinist and several singers. The difference in the music kept the show moving along (although 2 pieces still had to be cut from the program due to the time). One thing that also kept me engaged was the couple sitting next to my friend, Lollion, who could not keep their hands off each other, despite being seated 3rd row, center -- NOT discreet, people. They ended up leaving early...
Another thing that helped was the fact that Ethan Hawke was performing two readings. At first, I thought it might be dumb. This was a concert - why was Ethan involved? In turns out that his reading was to music... perfectly timed and inflected. He did well... on the readings. Where Mr. Hawke failed was his choice of attire. He wore black pants and a ruffly burgundy colored shirt under a sequined jacket. Yes. Sequins. Was the entire jacket sequined, you ask? Thankfully, no. Just top half of the jacket. It was certainly, classy... er... flashy. Whatever.
The best part of the evening was the reception (which was not held the year before.) Can anyone say free unlimited champagne? And this was REAL champagne, not "sparkling wine". I was going to stay for 1 because it was a Wednesday night. Of course, I stayed for about 5. Or 6.
All of the musicians mingled about during the reception, but Ethan wasn't to be found. I really wanted to ask him what it was like fake-boinking Angelina Jolie in Taking Lives. Oh well.

Tuesday, February 28, 2006

The American (Idol) Rule

I broke my own rule tonight and watched my first episode of American Idol EVER. The reason I have stayed away from one of the country's top shows is because I can't stand bad singers. Having gone to a music college and being a singer myself, I hate the fact that all of these horrible singers are spotlighted on television. I know sooooo many talented singers from college (Leah Driscoll and Maria McNeil - check out their myspace pages) and to think that horrible and so-so musicians get all that publicity and even record contracts is disturbing.
So, why did I break my rule to never watch American Idol? I think it started with a clip of that little 16 year old kid, Kevin singing an R&B song. I was impressed with this 85 lb. white boy singing some sexy soulful music. Plus, I saw that as of this week, there are only 10 girls and 10 boys left, so they must be at least semi-good to make it this far. That said, tonight is my first American Idol night. I will probably watch the boys tomorrow (or at least DVR it for future use) and will then get sucked into the voting show on Thursday.
The only good thing to come of American Idol so far is Kelly Clarkson. I do admit that I love me some Kelly. We'll see if anything fabulous comes of this season. Speaking of - my comments so far are: 1. I would be a much happier person if that girl, Brenna, stopped smiling like a psychotic former beauty queen. I really would love to punch out a few of her teeth. 2. Paris. Paris. Paris. Stop winking like that - you look like a freak. At least you can sing. 3. I have to see the boys before I start making my predictions.
On a side note, there is way too much tv to be watched. With Project Runway ending, there will be that new show, Top Chef. Also, a new season of America's Next Top Model starts soon along with new seasons of Blow Out, Weeds and Real World, among others. Of course L Word, Real World/Road Rules Gauntlet 2, Lost and reruns of Law & Order SVU, Criminal Intent and the original CSI also light up my night life. Good god, could I be any more of a homebody American?? Don't answer that.

Friday, February 24, 2006

Just a touch of racism

I don't think it's over the top to say that I deal with racism every day. It can be the tiniest thing, but it never goes unnoticed. It can be as small as a questioning look when I'm rocking out to the jukebox at a dive bar. A lingering look when I'm hanging with my white friends or my white boyfriend. A store clerk who is just a liiiitle too "attentive" when I'm browsing the aisles. Most of the time - it doesn't bother me. It's when I'm alone and have too much time to think it over (like right now) that I get a little peeved.
I live in pretty good neighborhood on the Greenpoint/Williamsburg border of Brooklyn. On my street alone, there are families, old Italian guys, hipster twenty-somethings...and a set of Projects at one end where most of the hispanic and black people live.
Just 15 minutes ago, I went to the little Italian deli/grocery store a block away from my house to stock up on some essentials. I've been in there plenty of times, but haven't really felt like conversing with the staff. I get a bagel, some cheese, OJ, eggs and a ginger ale and I'm outta there. I call it "shopping". Usually, my purchases are small enough that I have no problem paying in cash. Until today, I didn't even know if the small store took credit cards at all. This afternoon, I was spending 3X the usual, so I asked the lady in the front if they took credit cards. Hesitantly, she said, "we dooooo, but usually only if we know you." Hmmm. "I've been in here many times and I live down the street," I replied. To assure her that the credit card was mine, I handed over my driver's license. Yes, it is a Massachusetts license, but I have had no need to get a New York one. With a couple glances and a shuffle, she told me to wait a sec while she went to the manager... Fine. She went behind the deli counter and told the manager the situation. After a minute or two of conversation, they both came to the front. He said, "we usually only take credit cards if we know you, so we're just going to take down your information until then." Sure. Whatever - take my MA address if that helps. As soon as the manager left, the counter lady said, "sorry, but you know, we've had some problems with credit cards from people we don't know. You know - they sometimes find credit cards and use them in here. The manager has problems with not getting the money." Ahh yes "they" have struck again. I said that was fine, signed for my purchases and left.
On the way back down the block, the first thing I thought was - would there have been any problem if I were a white 23 year old instead of a black 23 year old? I really don't think so. If I were some blond girl that had never set foot in that store, she would have taken my credit card without so much as a blink. Yet, I have been in that store more times than I can count. She just assumes I'm some ghetto girl from the Projects down the street. It's probably not my card and the store will get screwed.
Now, I'm a nice person. I say please and thank you. Thanks for the sandwich, a smile when I walk in and leave. Still, I'm in her "they" category. I really don't think she was talking about the hipster kids or the geezers. Because I'm black, they have problems taking my credit card.
Am I pissed off? Not really. Am I peeved? Yes. Will I think twice about giving that store any more of my money. Oh yeah. I may go in there and say hi so they will now "know me". I may not. I can definitely say that either way, I'll think twice.

Sunday, February 19, 2006

Complaining gets you everywhere

Another weekend on a budget. I have been trying to save money lately, but it's hard when your friends want to go out and drink 3 or 4 nights a week. I decided not to go out on Thursday and Friday nights this week because I knew that Saturday was my friend, Sharita's 27th birthday party. I promised that I would go meet her at The Town Tavern in the Village for her celebration. I knew that she had secured free admission as well as $3 drinks from 7 - 10 PM, so that helped.
I got there at around 8:30 after a horrific train ride and decided to jump right into the drinking. I had never been to The Town Tavern before, but I had heard good things. The tables in the front were so close together that I had to squeeze my booty in and just stay there. Fortunately, there was a waitress IF you could get her to come over... I ordered a couple of cranberry vodkas to "soothe my throat". Two of Sharita's friends ordered rounds of jello shots (with whipped cream ;-) for everyone and we got a free bottle of champagne, so that was good.
Before I got there, Sharita, her boyfriend Maurice and her two Maryland friends had ordered food, so we had a good sized bill by 10:30. We had to pay and get up because the bar was taking away the tables and chairs and making it into a VIP area. We gathered our cash and left the bill on the corner of the table for the waitress. We were about to get up and leave when the waitress came over looking for the check. Um... where was it? We told her that we had left it on the corner of the table and just assumed that she had taken it. Apparently not. She thought that we were trying to stiff her and we were like - where the fuck is our cash?! I don't know whose idea it was, but someone suggested that the busboy had thrown it away. So, Sharita's friends started going through the trash can by the door. Low and fuckin' behold the busboy had not only cleared away the food and napkins, but also a thick wad of bills. Mother fucker. Maurice was pissed. So was I. What the fuck? Who is that stupid?
I decided to take matters into my own hands and asked for the manager. We were about to leave and go barhopping, but I thought he needed to know the crack team he was running. After a minute or two, Aidan, the manager came down and I told him the situation. Thankfully, he was as appalled as I and told me that if we stayed at the bar, he would make it up to us. He went upstairs and five minutes later, showed up with some drink tickets for our group. Now, I had told him that there were 8 people in the "Sharita b-day group" and he decided to bring down 28 drink tokens and tickets. Yes, people. 20frickin8! I passed them around to the group and they applauded me, as they should! Free drinks all night - anything we wanted!!
I was excited then. Only now do I see how dangerous that was. That said, let me run down the drinks I had (yes, I'm a dork and actually kept track with a pen and paper AT the bar. Shut up):
Vodka-cranberries - 3
Irish car bombs - 2
Jello shots - 2
Glasses of champagne - 2
Jager bombs - 2
Jolly rancher shots - 1

Total dollars spent - 11

Booyah! I was drunk, happy and dancing and I only spent 11 bucks! Oh - and we didn't leave the VIP section 'cause that's how we roll...

Saturday, February 18, 2006

Lick-ah & Snow

Just because it snows 26.9 inches, it doesn't mean a fabulous weekend isn't possible. Friday before the "storm of the century," I was meeting the ol' coworkers for happy hour. I got to Under the Volcano at around 6 PM and pretty much everyone had been there for an hour. As soon as arrived, I got a $9 long island iced tea from the bar and joined the peeps.
Since it was Friday, everyone was in good spirits. A guy I worked with, Glen, said to put all drinks on his bar tab. I didn't want to be a complete asshole, so I only put 1 more long island on his tab. Glen, however, thought that some of us needed tequila shots, and proceeded to purchase them. Since I hadn't eaten since 10 AM, I stopped at 2 long islands and 2 (large) tequila shots. Yes. A smart, smart girl I am. By the time I left with Matt (old coworker/new boyfriend, yadda yadda), I was pretty swiveled.
From happy hour, Matt and I went to dinner at Sushi Samba (my fave). Since Matt is from Maryland, I am trying to culture him on all things New York, from sushi (he had never tried it) to crazy karaoke and gay-boy parties... but more on that later.
Sushi Samba was great as usual. I had one of their famous pomegranate-strawberry martinis while Matt stuck with a japanese beer. Since I was slightly toasted, I managed to miss the step I needed to take to go from our seating area to the bathrooms and managed to knock over some poor woman's wine. I apologized profusely and told her that I would buy her another drink. She and her boyfriend were very nice (they probably weren't from NY) and said that a new drink wasn't necessary. On the way back from the bathroom, I managed to interrupt their dinner again with more drunken apologies. Ug. Maybe I shouldn't dine at nice restaurants while completely drunk....
Anyway, Matt and I made it to one more bar before we met Phil, Emily, Jess and co. at the 2nd Annual Black History Month Karaoke. Yes, people. Brilliant. I got to sit there, be wasted and watch/listen to the karaoke stylings of the drunk and hilarious. Good, good times. A few other friends (Leon, Jay, etc.) came out and we went bar hopping a bit. Oh - by bar hopping, I mean that we went into 2 or 3 bars before Leon found one he could stay in. Admittedly, one of them probably was a gay bar, but c'mon - can't straight guys stay in a gay bar for 1 drink???
Matt and I didn't stay out too much longer as we had been drinking for hours and hours. Later, I was told that I kept asking if he wanted to stay or go home? Stay or go home? I think he finally got the picture and that is when we left...
Saturday was the storm of all storms. We stayed in for most of the day, but had evening commitments. The snow was RIDICULOUS. The wind was a million miles per hour, it was cold, dark and shitty. Luckily, we got a cab into Soho to meet my cousin at a bar. Though we were slightly hungover from the night before, we had about 3 beers before heading uptown to Andrew's "No, no. Don't go back to New Zealand" party in the West 60s. By this time (1:30 AM), there wasn't a cab to be found, so we took the subway up.
The two-avenue walk to Andrew's apartment was hell. There were no cars on the road and the snow was up to THERE. By the time we got there, we were soaked again. BUT Andrew's apartment was a warm heaven. There was plenty of booze, laughter and good music. Dumb people smoked on the balcony (YES - in the snow storm), while gay boys frolicked about the huge, 35th floor apartment. I made a couple of strong screwdrivers and listened to Phil and Becky's drunken tales.
It was almost 4 when we ventured back out into the cold. While Matt and I were able to get a cab, he informed us that he wouldn't take us to Brooklyn. WHAT?? Apparently, there was "traffic" yadda yadda. I didn't care if we were stuck in that car for an hour, I wanted door-to-door service. Mr. Cabby refused. I was pissed, but just told him to drop us off at the L train @ 14th and 8th. As we approached the train, I told Matt not to tip the cabby because he didn't even take us to where we wanted to go and he was rude. The cab ride was $11 and I told the cabby to give us $9 back from our twenty. We hopped out and I got this strange "you're being fucked over" vibe that I get sometimes. I quickly told Matt to count his change before I closed the door. Low and behold, the cabby had given him $7, AND in ones so it would be harder to notice right away. What a dick! As someone else hopped into the cab's open door, I stuck my head in and said "HEY - I said NINE back and you gave us 7. I want my 2 bucks NOW." Without hesitation or remark, the cab driver whipped the two dollar bills at me. Asshole.
After the train, the next 15 minutes or so were spent trying to blindly navigate the streets of Brooklyn through the snow and wind. It was fun. Really.
Sunday continued snows-R-us, so we stayed in. Not too exciting, I know, BUT I will leave you with this pic of me during snow time. I call it: Little Red Riding Hood hates f*ing snow:
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