This morning I was running a bit late. Two factors contributed to my tardiness – first, my tea was exceptionally hot and I couldn’t slug it back per the usual, and second, I was reading the new issue of O magazine and one article in particular struck my fancy. It was about a gal who, in an effort to change her life, took up Bikram yoga. I didn’t get a chance to finish the whole thing (I will be doing so this evening) but it struck me as humorous because I related to her story, for I, in a moment of stupidity, decided to take a Bikram class.
It was the summer of 2007 and I had just graduated college. I didn’t have a job and I thought to myself, why not take advantage of all this spare time and attempt to get myself into some type of shape. This was referred to as the Summer of Love, as I spent many a morning with my more physically fit family members at the gym.
One day I was persuaded to go to a ‘special class’ at a special studio with my fitness companions. It was to be a 5pm Bikram Yoga class and I was given a few guidelines - It would be hot and I should cease all eating at least 2 hours before class. No stranger to yoga, I thought no problemo … I’ll do what I can and if a maneuver is too difficult, I will just go right into child’s pose and wait for the next one.
As soon as I got there, I could start to feel the heat in the room and knew this was going to be more difficult than I had anticipated. Most of the people, including some men, were so sculpted it brought a tear to my eye and as the room heated to a stifling 105 degrees, it became very clear that I was not cut from the same cloth as all the other people. The instructor came over to me and tried to help. She corrected 95 percent of my poses, but I think she gave up on me eventually – I was truly a lost cause. Every part of my being was sweating. Knees, ankles, elbows … things that I didn’t even know could sweat were sweating.
At one point in the class, they gave out towels to put over your face to decompress. I was so thankful for this short moment and I took the opportunity to start sobbing. It must have been apparent, because my workout buddy got off her mat and kissed my sweaty forehead in an attempt to comfort me. Needless to say, it was not a pretty sight.
As the class wrapped up, I hobbled into the locker room to gather myself after the mid-class breakdown. I didn’t feel well and I looked even worse. The other women looked at me like I was a shooting victim and their faces told me I should be rushed to the hospital. I was sporting my frizz halo and my sister was bottle feeding me water.
It was a workout never to be forgotten or replicated, for that matter.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
Happy Anniversary!!
Hello Blog,
I want to say Happy One Year Anniversary. I am a few days late, but I have been in a turkey induced coma and I am just coming to on this dreary Monday. I can’t believe that we have been together a year. So much has not happened; I haven’t gotten a haircut, a cavity, or a job since we started our relationship. This will all be changing soon, I am sure of it. Also, Amy Winehouse is still kicking, plus she got a new pair of boobs, so I was really wrong with my initial predictions regarding the remainder of her life.
I hope we have another good year together. One that brings me the things I dream of … fortune, travel, and shoes, all in wild abundance. I’ve also been dreaming of a certain Gucci G Wave medium leather shoulder bag in grey, but perhaps Santa will deliver on that one.
Love ya, mean it.
I want to say Happy One Year Anniversary. I am a few days late, but I have been in a turkey induced coma and I am just coming to on this dreary Monday. I can’t believe that we have been together a year. So much has not happened; I haven’t gotten a haircut, a cavity, or a job since we started our relationship. This will all be changing soon, I am sure of it. Also, Amy Winehouse is still kicking, plus she got a new pair of boobs, so I was really wrong with my initial predictions regarding the remainder of her life.
I hope we have another good year together. One that brings me the things I dream of … fortune, travel, and shoes, all in wild abundance. I’ve also been dreaming of a certain Gucci G Wave medium leather shoulder bag in grey, but perhaps Santa will deliver on that one.
Love ya, mean it.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Me and The Babe
There are certain people that I know I could have been or could be friends with. Perhaps I have World Series fever, but I have no doubt that back in the day, me and George Herman Ruth were BFF and we were totally tearing up the town prohibition style.
Me and Babe Ruth would have hit if off famously and he would have been wowed by my extensive knowledge of Yankees baseball. And when I say extensive knowledge, I mean the Richter Scale of Hotness that I rank all the players on. Matsui? He's for the birds, I prefer a more rugged man … Swisher is definitely a 10.0. Dip, mohawk, and all.
Also, I could have totally been his wingman doing the late-night thing. He was known for being a playboy of sorts and enjoying the hooch and the love of a lady friend or two. I am sure he worried if the ladies loved him for 'George', or if they loved him for being 'The Babe.' I sympathize with the man because I know what it's like to have people throw themselves at you because you are so rich and beautiful. I do have a fur jacket and not to toot my own horn, but I was a Paul Mitchell hair model.
Come to think of it, perhaps there is more to this fictitious friendship than I originally suspected. Our lives most certainly overlap … there is our love of the good life, the rubenesque figure we both share, and of course our appreciation for the greatest baseball team ever. The House that Ruth Built is kind of like a home to me, I've spent quite a few hours there over the years. Now, I am not saying that in another life I was Babe Ruth, I'll leave that up for you to decide, but I will say that there is nothing that is making me believe otherwise. Period. End of story.
Go Yanks!
Me and Babe Ruth would have hit if off famously and he would have been wowed by my extensive knowledge of Yankees baseball. And when I say extensive knowledge, I mean the Richter Scale of Hotness that I rank all the players on. Matsui? He's for the birds, I prefer a more rugged man … Swisher is definitely a 10.0. Dip, mohawk, and all.
Also, I could have totally been his wingman doing the late-night thing. He was known for being a playboy of sorts and enjoying the hooch and the love of a lady friend or two. I am sure he worried if the ladies loved him for 'George', or if they loved him for being 'The Babe.' I sympathize with the man because I know what it's like to have people throw themselves at you because you are so rich and beautiful. I do have a fur jacket and not to toot my own horn, but I was a Paul Mitchell hair model.
Come to think of it, perhaps there is more to this fictitious friendship than I originally suspected. Our lives most certainly overlap … there is our love of the good life, the rubenesque figure we both share, and of course our appreciation for the greatest baseball team ever. The House that Ruth Built is kind of like a home to me, I've spent quite a few hours there over the years. Now, I am not saying that in another life I was Babe Ruth, I'll leave that up for you to decide, but I will say that there is nothing that is making me believe otherwise. Period. End of story.
Go Yanks!
Labels:
Babe Ruth,
Swisher,
World Series,
Yankees
Friday, August 21, 2009
Fashionably Fat
Hello blog, it has sure been a while. One of my many legions of fans called me to tell me that she was quite sad that I had not posted in while. Well, have no fear … the blog is back. So much has happened since my last post. Most importantly, I have not dropped dead due to the oppressive heat wave that has hit the city. I am sweating as I write this because I am envisioning myself walking to Grand Central and through the slums back to my house tonight. I might meet my maker on Lexington Avenue … at least I'll be fully clothed, the only appropriate way to bite the bullet.
Speaking of clothes, Project Runway was on last night! I am so happy to have this little show back in my life. I didn't watch the entire episode (I fell asleep like a loser), but there was one designer who said she makes clothes for ALL women, many who are Plus-Sexy. Well, that is a novel idea. I had to laugh at this lunatic because she is obviously going nowhere fast in the competition. Since when is it fashionable to be a chubster? As a chubster, I feel like I don't want to see Two-Ton-Tilly strutting down the runway. It must go against nature or something. A while back a bunch of designers came out and said that they didn't want to use really skinny models in their shows (I think it was in Spain … they love churros and pork, so I can kind of understand). That's a personal preference, I guess, but I think that if you make a statement like that, then you better make those leather cigarette pants fit Star Jones' pre-surgery ham hock legs. You want fatties on the runway, you have to make clothes for fatties, buster.
It's no surprise that, for the most part, clothes look good on smaller people. There are some gals who pull off crazy looks with panache. Beth Ditto, my girl from The Gossip, is quite fearless and that is commendable. However, I was reading Vanity Fair last night and the interviewer showed a picture of Beth Ditto to Oscar de la Renta and he cringed. Like shuttered when he saw her picture. It is shocking to see someone of that girth jammed into a Herve Leger bandage dress. I mean I saw Hilary Duff in one and even she wasn't looking in top form.
Bottom line is, when I scour over Vogue or W, or any fashion magazine for that matter, I don't want to see some woman who looks like me. I want to see skin and freaking bones. I want a size 00 lady to have the skirt pinned in the back to make it fit. If all of a sudden larger gals are in my beloved fashion mags, I am going to have to find other ways to hate myself … and I just don't have time for that kind of nonsense.
Beth Ditto from The Gossip
Speaking of clothes, Project Runway was on last night! I am so happy to have this little show back in my life. I didn't watch the entire episode (I fell asleep like a loser), but there was one designer who said she makes clothes for ALL women, many who are Plus-Sexy. Well, that is a novel idea. I had to laugh at this lunatic because she is obviously going nowhere fast in the competition. Since when is it fashionable to be a chubster? As a chubster, I feel like I don't want to see Two-Ton-Tilly strutting down the runway. It must go against nature or something. A while back a bunch of designers came out and said that they didn't want to use really skinny models in their shows (I think it was in Spain … they love churros and pork, so I can kind of understand). That's a personal preference, I guess, but I think that if you make a statement like that, then you better make those leather cigarette pants fit Star Jones' pre-surgery ham hock legs. You want fatties on the runway, you have to make clothes for fatties, buster.
It's no surprise that, for the most part, clothes look good on smaller people. There are some gals who pull off crazy looks with panache. Beth Ditto, my girl from The Gossip, is quite fearless and that is commendable. However, I was reading Vanity Fair last night and the interviewer showed a picture of Beth Ditto to Oscar de la Renta and he cringed. Like shuttered when he saw her picture. It is shocking to see someone of that girth jammed into a Herve Leger bandage dress. I mean I saw Hilary Duff in one and even she wasn't looking in top form.
Bottom line is, when I scour over Vogue or W, or any fashion magazine for that matter, I don't want to see some woman who looks like me. I want to see skin and freaking bones. I want a size 00 lady to have the skirt pinned in the back to make it fit. If all of a sudden larger gals are in my beloved fashion mags, I am going to have to find other ways to hate myself … and I just don't have time for that kind of nonsense.
Beth Ditto from The Gossip

Labels:
Beth Ditto,
fashion,
Project Runway,
skinny
Monday, June 29, 2009
The Unhappiest Place on Earth
I know people that love Disney World … or is it Disney Land? I don’t know and it really makes no difference, they are both terrible. Some people flock to Disney and it makes them really happy. It is supposedly ‘the happiest place on Earth.’ Well Walt, I beg to differ. I went to Disney World once and it was the worst trip of my entire life. As a matter of fact, if God ever does the opposite of blessing me and somehow I end up with a child, or gross, more than one, they will never go to any Disney park and they should consider it a gift from me to them.
Before I get into the story of why I harbor such hatred towards Disney World, I will say that I went when I was 9 or 10 under the guise of a dance trip with my mom and sister. Dance was never a really good thing for me to get involved with. Sequins and spandex never have been, and never will be, a look that works for me. Also, during a particularly heated argument at Magic Kingdom, I think my mom got so mad at me and Sissy that she left us there. That could be gross exaggeration, but in my mind, Sissy and me had to fend for ourselves and make it back to our hotel room sans any parental guidance.
There are certain things that stand out in my mind as being particularly heinous from our first (and only) trip to Orlando. First, those pre-historic looking turkey legs ... WTF. Why someone would make a spectacle out of them self and eat that thing in public is beyond my comprehension. And if you are eating said turkey leg and wearing a fanny-pack, I mean honestly, shoot yourself now. Second, I am not a fan of rides. I was too afraid to go on Space Mountain and I don’t think my family has ever fully forgiven me for ruining that magical moment. I did go on the Tower of Terror and I think my equilibrium has been askew ever since.
That being said, if for some reason I do ever go back to Disney, I don’t even know if they would even let me in the park. See we had a bit of a run in with Snow White. I didn’t know that my mom liked her so much, but when she saw her from about 200 feet away, Lynno charged her and pushed many young girls out of the way. She was reprimanded by Snow White who had to ask her to please calm down … I was scarred for life.
So if for some reason there are hungry mouths that I am legally obligated to feed and care for, they will not be hitting Disney World. They are going to experience the world the same way that I did … by watching a lot of trashy TV including General Hospital and Jerry Springer. That’s what I did and I think I turned out OK. I mean I DO have a blog.
Before I get into the story of why I harbor such hatred towards Disney World, I will say that I went when I was 9 or 10 under the guise of a dance trip with my mom and sister. Dance was never a really good thing for me to get involved with. Sequins and spandex never have been, and never will be, a look that works for me. Also, during a particularly heated argument at Magic Kingdom, I think my mom got so mad at me and Sissy that she left us there. That could be gross exaggeration, but in my mind, Sissy and me had to fend for ourselves and make it back to our hotel room sans any parental guidance.
There are certain things that stand out in my mind as being particularly heinous from our first (and only) trip to Orlando. First, those pre-historic looking turkey legs ... WTF. Why someone would make a spectacle out of them self and eat that thing in public is beyond my comprehension. And if you are eating said turkey leg and wearing a fanny-pack, I mean honestly, shoot yourself now. Second, I am not a fan of rides. I was too afraid to go on Space Mountain and I don’t think my family has ever fully forgiven me for ruining that magical moment. I did go on the Tower of Terror and I think my equilibrium has been askew ever since.
That being said, if for some reason I do ever go back to Disney, I don’t even know if they would even let me in the park. See we had a bit of a run in with Snow White. I didn’t know that my mom liked her so much, but when she saw her from about 200 feet away, Lynno charged her and pushed many young girls out of the way. She was reprimanded by Snow White who had to ask her to please calm down … I was scarred for life.
So if for some reason there are hungry mouths that I am legally obligated to feed and care for, they will not be hitting Disney World. They are going to experience the world the same way that I did … by watching a lot of trashy TV including General Hospital and Jerry Springer. That’s what I did and I think I turned out OK. I mean I DO have a blog.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
I'm one sick puppy.
I was just writing an email to a friend and I have thoroughly disgusted myself. I have a tendency to become obsessed over the smallest and most insignificant things. Below is an excerpt from said email which I am totally embarrassed by:
Case closed, I am a sicko who is not fit for this world.
What are you up to? I am getting crazy with the Internet stalking. This time it's all aimed at my latest obsession, Robert Pattinson. I watched Twilight and now I am thinking of turning vampire. Hope we can still be friends. I was thinking, they don't eat real food, so I'll definitely get skinny (maybe only because I'll be dead, but whatevs). It will suck though because I can't get tan anymore. He is in the city, and my stalking has gone to the next level. I got dressed this morning thinking, 'what should I wear if we run into each other.' My sources tell me he was in midtown yesterday ... I am sure he doesn't make it a point of trolling around these parts (Midtown is so un-hip), but you never know.
Case closed, I am a sicko who is not fit for this world.
Monday, May 18, 2009
It has to be the sushi.
Forgive me, for it has been nearly a month since my last blog. I am feeling particularly sick over this, although that could be due to the sushi that I ate for lunch or the lingering disgust I feel toward a certain person who posted the most unflattering Facebook pictures of me this past weekend. Not to worry – they were all untagged immediately, however the emotional scars will last a lifetime.
This feeling of restlessness is not a good sign. I’ve experienced this before and it almost always results in impulse shopping, travel, or other unwise choices. I am still most definitely in college-mode and the thought of spending my summer indoors, trapped like zoo animal, is causing me distress. I long for the days when I could linger over a late afternoon al fresco lunch or make it to Alive at 5 at 4pm. Those days seem to be over and this summer I will be lucky if I even make it out for 5 minutes to pick up lunch. (When you are the only one in the office, even going to the bathroom becomes a process). Actually now that I think about it, since the aforementioned FB pics have surfaced, lunch is no longer an option – crack is going to be my new hunger suppressant. I think the sweating alone (as demonstrated by Whitney Houston) will be enough to make any gal bathing suit ready.
I think I need a vacation – time to really decompress and work on a tan that, if I really try, can rival the natural skin color of a Latin American. I’m getting quite sick of the same old, same old and living the life of a vagabond. Life after graduation should not be this exhausting or disheartening, for that matter. I thought your 20s were supposed to be the time to live it up, all while figuring out what you want to do with your life. Am I a bad person because I didn't know what I wanted to do when I started college? Am I an even worse person because I still didn't know after I graduated? I don't think so, but maybe that's the way it is. They don't prepare you well enough in school. They say if you work hard, "network" (barf.), and are patient, you will find opportunity. Well I have done all of those things for literally two years and I am still here … blogging away about hard it is to find a job. I used to be quite particular, I understand that wasn’t the way to operate, but I have lowered my standards to the point where I might be dressed as a hot dog handing out flyers in Time Square.
Thanks, I am so happy I spent 100 grand (interest adds up) on college to come to this shocking realization. I guess my current job isn’t so bad, I mean it (barely) pays the bills. I just fear that if I ever get a real job, e.g., one that doesn't allow me to blog during the day, my brain will have turned into mush and I won't even know how to open an excel spreadsheet.
How did Lindsay Lohan get so lucky? Her job is as an "actress" and I haven't seen her doing anything but act a fool and jetset to Hawaii. That's the life for me, for real.
This feeling of restlessness is not a good sign. I’ve experienced this before and it almost always results in impulse shopping, travel, or other unwise choices. I am still most definitely in college-mode and the thought of spending my summer indoors, trapped like zoo animal, is causing me distress. I long for the days when I could linger over a late afternoon al fresco lunch or make it to Alive at 5 at 4pm. Those days seem to be over and this summer I will be lucky if I even make it out for 5 minutes to pick up lunch. (When you are the only one in the office, even going to the bathroom becomes a process). Actually now that I think about it, since the aforementioned FB pics have surfaced, lunch is no longer an option – crack is going to be my new hunger suppressant. I think the sweating alone (as demonstrated by Whitney Houston) will be enough to make any gal bathing suit ready.
I think I need a vacation – time to really decompress and work on a tan that, if I really try, can rival the natural skin color of a Latin American. I’m getting quite sick of the same old, same old and living the life of a vagabond. Life after graduation should not be this exhausting or disheartening, for that matter. I thought your 20s were supposed to be the time to live it up, all while figuring out what you want to do with your life. Am I a bad person because I didn't know what I wanted to do when I started college? Am I an even worse person because I still didn't know after I graduated? I don't think so, but maybe that's the way it is. They don't prepare you well enough in school. They say if you work hard, "network" (barf.), and are patient, you will find opportunity. Well I have done all of those things for literally two years and I am still here … blogging away about hard it is to find a job. I used to be quite particular, I understand that wasn’t the way to operate, but I have lowered my standards to the point where I might be dressed as a hot dog handing out flyers in Time Square.
Thanks, I am so happy I spent 100 grand (interest adds up) on college to come to this shocking realization. I guess my current job isn’t so bad, I mean it (barely) pays the bills. I just fear that if I ever get a real job, e.g., one that doesn't allow me to blog during the day, my brain will have turned into mush and I won't even know how to open an excel spreadsheet.
How did Lindsay Lohan get so lucky? Her job is as an "actress" and I haven't seen her doing anything but act a fool and jetset to Hawaii. That's the life for me, for real.
Labels:
career,
collge,
job,
Lindsay Lohan,
summer
Monday, April 20, 2009
The Big Comfy Couch
Yesterday I ventured out to take advantage of the beautiful afternoon. And when I say ventured, I mean I had to take the NYC subway and it was the most exhausting/exhilarating moment of my life. Too bad that wasn’t even going to be the highlight of my day, because on any other day it would have been blogworthy.
I was to meet up with my good friend LL and my newest city friend Theresa. I had explicit directions from my Iphone that told me that in order to get to the LES and meet up with these ladies I had to take the 6, then transfer to the F at Broadway-Lafayette to go to 2nd Avenue. Well, I was a little late because several trains went by, but they were not clearly marked F, so I refused to get on. Anyway, I digress because the real fun was right around the corner.
Me and the ladies were going to have some brunch and pick up a couch that they found on my favorite creepster hotspot, Craigslist for their new apartment. We meet these super nice gals who were selling their couch and there was an exchange of some dinero. At this time we were waiting for the professional movers that were also found on Craigslist that were supposed to maneuver the couch out of the LES and up, up town.
Well I was not prepared for what I saw come up those stairs … there was a man, who I can only describe as scrawny. Like wayyyyy scrawny. He said something about being an ex-professional skateboarder. I couldn’t really focus on him because I was too busy staring at his "business partner." She was a small person (as in short) with the biggest breasts I have ever seen in my life. She must have noticed my mouth hanging open because she said, "I’m really strong." Well these professionals were of zero help, unless you count help as knocking pictures off the wall, ripping a couch, and damaging a front door, but who am I?, obviously not a professional mover.
The movers must have gotten sick of us telling them how to do their job because we went out to check on the status of the move and they had left the giant sleeper sofa jammed in the narrow stairwell. Left, as in, fled the scene. LL called them, and the big breasted, little woman, said something like, "Wait to talk shit about us after we move your stuff, bird." I don’t understand the 'bird' reference, but will now call everyone I know bird.
We were obviously incapable of moving this behemoth anywhere. Theresa frantically called other movers off Craigslist to see what the deal was and if anyone could help. We were a real fire hazard and several people had to climb over the railing to get by. Finally 3 strong, handsome, and extremely nice young men picked up the sofa, brought it down three flights of stairs, and high-fived us girls who could do nothing but stare at them in awe.
Damsels in distress we were, and we were more than happy to be rescued.
Below is a pic of Theresa waiting for the second bunch of movers after the couch made it down the stairs.
I was to meet up with my good friend LL and my newest city friend Theresa. I had explicit directions from my Iphone that told me that in order to get to the LES and meet up with these ladies I had to take the 6, then transfer to the F at Broadway-Lafayette to go to 2nd Avenue. Well, I was a little late because several trains went by, but they were not clearly marked F, so I refused to get on. Anyway, I digress because the real fun was right around the corner.
Me and the ladies were going to have some brunch and pick up a couch that they found on my favorite creepster hotspot, Craigslist for their new apartment. We meet these super nice gals who were selling their couch and there was an exchange of some dinero. At this time we were waiting for the professional movers that were also found on Craigslist that were supposed to maneuver the couch out of the LES and up, up town.
Well I was not prepared for what I saw come up those stairs … there was a man, who I can only describe as scrawny. Like wayyyyy scrawny. He said something about being an ex-professional skateboarder. I couldn’t really focus on him because I was too busy staring at his "business partner." She was a small person (as in short) with the biggest breasts I have ever seen in my life. She must have noticed my mouth hanging open because she said, "I’m really strong." Well these professionals were of zero help, unless you count help as knocking pictures off the wall, ripping a couch, and damaging a front door, but who am I?, obviously not a professional mover.
The movers must have gotten sick of us telling them how to do their job because we went out to check on the status of the move and they had left the giant sleeper sofa jammed in the narrow stairwell. Left, as in, fled the scene. LL called them, and the big breasted, little woman, said something like, "Wait to talk shit about us after we move your stuff, bird." I don’t understand the 'bird' reference, but will now call everyone I know bird.
We were obviously incapable of moving this behemoth anywhere. Theresa frantically called other movers off Craigslist to see what the deal was and if anyone could help. We were a real fire hazard and several people had to climb over the railing to get by. Finally 3 strong, handsome, and extremely nice young men picked up the sofa, brought it down three flights of stairs, and high-fived us girls who could do nothing but stare at them in awe.
Damsels in distress we were, and we were more than happy to be rescued.
Below is a pic of Theresa waiting for the second bunch of movers after the couch made it down the stairs.

Monday, April 13, 2009
Easter Purging
Yesterday afternoon, I was at the end of my rope. I was on my knees gripping the lid of the toilet, with my finger as far down my throat as I could muster. I am ashamed to say I had been here before and it was all my doing. I don’t know what put me over the edge. Perhaps it was that last meatball or the fresh mozzarella smothered in balsamic vinegar and olive oil. No – I know what it was. It was that bowl of chocolate trifle for desert. In my defense, it was fat-free cool whip.
Oh boy, I really felt sick after Easter dinner. Between the yummy appetizers, Italian wedding soup, and pasta my dad slaved over, I was donezo. I could hardly move. I ran/crawled upstairs to the bathroom where I wasn't quite sure what would happen. After that clammy feeling came on and writhing on the floor for a few moments, it became very clear to me what had to be done.
"Pull the trigger," I heard over and over in my head. "You have done this before." Well, normally it’s done 3am and only because the room is spinning. This was not the case yesterday. Anyone who has ever had the pleasure of eating anything my dad makes knows what I am talking about. The man, if nothing else, can cook. And he wants you to eat until you drop. I've been known to give in on a few occasions, yesterday was a holiday, after all.
However, Big Mike is also a fan of the summer BBQ at our beach house in Clinton. Sissy won’t eat in a bathing suit. I think she is on to something. Nothing says sexxxxy more than a bathing suit busting at the seams and a face covered in Big Mike’s bbq sauce (I don’t know how he makes it, but it takes several days and is quite labor intensive. His ex-sister-in-law says Big Mike has made 3 good things in his life: me, sissy, and that bbq chicken). In order to avoid the busting bathing suit syndrome, this summer I vow to eat in stretch pants. Crisis averted.
Oh boy, I really felt sick after Easter dinner. Between the yummy appetizers, Italian wedding soup, and pasta my dad slaved over, I was donezo. I could hardly move. I ran/crawled upstairs to the bathroom where I wasn't quite sure what would happen. After that clammy feeling came on and writhing on the floor for a few moments, it became very clear to me what had to be done.
"Pull the trigger," I heard over and over in my head. "You have done this before." Well, normally it’s done 3am and only because the room is spinning. This was not the case yesterday. Anyone who has ever had the pleasure of eating anything my dad makes knows what I am talking about. The man, if nothing else, can cook. And he wants you to eat until you drop. I've been known to give in on a few occasions, yesterday was a holiday, after all.
However, Big Mike is also a fan of the summer BBQ at our beach house in Clinton. Sissy won’t eat in a bathing suit. I think she is on to something. Nothing says sexxxxy more than a bathing suit busting at the seams and a face covered in Big Mike’s bbq sauce (I don’t know how he makes it, but it takes several days and is quite labor intensive. His ex-sister-in-law says Big Mike has made 3 good things in his life: me, sissy, and that bbq chicken). In order to avoid the busting bathing suit syndrome, this summer I vow to eat in stretch pants. Crisis averted.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Sole Sister
I hate using the word jealous. It makes me very uncomfortable because I feel like there is a lot of anger associated with the word. I prefer envious, see … not so angry. When people say, “I’m so jealous you aren’t working today” are you mad that I’m not working or just wish you weren’t working either?
Anyway, I digress because I am going to purposefully use the word jealous because I AM jealous. I am jealous of my sister because she made the most fabulous purchase when we were in San Francisco. See Sissy was in desperate need of a pair of black boots. The ones she had been wearing were shameful. I didn’t want to be seen with her when she had them on, which was unfortunately, quite often. Sissy and I went to my favorite place on earth, Saks. And the Saks in San Fran was fab. I was beckoned by the Louboutin Gods and felt my feet take me to the display even though I did my best to resist. I was not there to shop after all, I was there to help Sissy.
She tried on pumps, I said, don’t bother with those. Try on those boots. She said no because she didn’t want to fall in love with them and then feel pressure to buy them. I said there is no such thing.
There was a bitchy patron watching our every move when Sissy tried on the boots. She made a snide comment that Sissy had the boots on the wrong feet. I thought, no way, MY sister would ever be so dumb. OMG Sissy DOES have the boots on the wrong feet, "take them off, take them off," I screamed at her in my mind. Sissy said something about them looking different when they are standing up, but I couldn’t even listen, I was too busy figuring out where I was going to die.
The salesman asked us if we needed any water. Sissy was about to pass out after the wrong foot incident so she accepted. I declined. I didn’t want this bitchy patron to think I was even close to being human.
Long story short, Sissy is the proud owner of beauteous pair of 100mm knee high Christian Louboutin boots. It was the best purchase of either of our lives and I am insanely jealous. See, even normal people aren’t able to jam their calves in those boots. Sissy almost had a bit of a problem, but we did our best to shove her legs in there anyway. If I was able to wear them and could afford them, I’d have several pairs by now. But I don’t and I am totally jel. Actually, who am I kidding ... even if I couldn’t afford them (which I can't), I’d have a least one pair.
Wear them well sissy, you deserve them.
P.S. – after this shoe debacle and with the 20% discount that day for opening up a charge, Sissy bought me a pair of sunglasses. Now she can be jealous of me.
Anyway, I digress because I am going to purposefully use the word jealous because I AM jealous. I am jealous of my sister because she made the most fabulous purchase when we were in San Francisco. See Sissy was in desperate need of a pair of black boots. The ones she had been wearing were shameful. I didn’t want to be seen with her when she had them on, which was unfortunately, quite often. Sissy and I went to my favorite place on earth, Saks. And the Saks in San Fran was fab. I was beckoned by the Louboutin Gods and felt my feet take me to the display even though I did my best to resist. I was not there to shop after all, I was there to help Sissy.
She tried on pumps, I said, don’t bother with those. Try on those boots. She said no because she didn’t want to fall in love with them and then feel pressure to buy them. I said there is no such thing.
There was a bitchy patron watching our every move when Sissy tried on the boots. She made a snide comment that Sissy had the boots on the wrong feet. I thought, no way, MY sister would ever be so dumb. OMG Sissy DOES have the boots on the wrong feet, "take them off, take them off," I screamed at her in my mind. Sissy said something about them looking different when they are standing up, but I couldn’t even listen, I was too busy figuring out where I was going to die.
The salesman asked us if we needed any water. Sissy was about to pass out after the wrong foot incident so she accepted. I declined. I didn’t want this bitchy patron to think I was even close to being human.
Long story short, Sissy is the proud owner of beauteous pair of 100mm knee high Christian Louboutin boots. It was the best purchase of either of our lives and I am insanely jealous. See, even normal people aren’t able to jam their calves in those boots. Sissy almost had a bit of a problem, but we did our best to shove her legs in there anyway. If I was able to wear them and could afford them, I’d have several pairs by now. But I don’t and I am totally jel. Actually, who am I kidding ... even if I couldn’t afford them (which I can't), I’d have a least one pair.
Wear them well sissy, you deserve them.
P.S. – after this shoe debacle and with the 20% discount that day for opening up a charge, Sissy bought me a pair of sunglasses. Now she can be jealous of me.
Labels:
Christian Louboutin,
jealous,
Saks,
San Francisco
Monday, March 23, 2009
Tales from the Spa Cave
What is better than a long weekend in California? Probably a full week in California, but I will take whatever comes my way. I just got home from a wonderful little escape to San Francisco and the Napa Valley where I wined, dined, and wined some more. I have never been a wine aficionado, I am still not, but at least now I know the techniques to look like I know what I am doing.
Oh vino, I have come to appreciate you so. So much in fact, that I decided to treat myself at our resort/spa to a little package called the “Solo Vino” that they offered in their spa caves. It was described as a real treat to the senses with a body scrub, wrap, and massage. Well how could I pass it up, especially when they were going to rub, scrub, and wrap me in grape seeds and extracts? Well this Solo Vino package was not all it was cracked up to be. In fact, instead of it being a relaxing 2 hours, I spent a majority of the time in a full blown panic attack. Please, let me explain …
It all started out harmless enough. I will say that there was a bit of a wrench thrown into the plan as I was suffering from a monthly woman problem. My therapist lady didn’t even introduce herself to me until I was practically nude in the room. I’m sorry, call me old fashioned, but I like to know a person’s name before they start rubbing oils all over me. She really didn’t explain anything about the treatments to me, so I figured no problemo, I can leave my undies on. I guess I am not only old fashioned, but incredibly modest. She said, “Are you going to leave those on?” I meekly said, “Yes,” although what I really wanted to say was, “Believe me lady, you’ll thank me later.”
So she proceeded to scrub the crap out of me. This would have been blissful if the towel she gave me to cover up with wasn’t the size of a washcloth. And wouldn’t you know when she told me she was going to cover her face with the tiny towel as I flipped over, she dropped said towel and caught me mid-flip. NOT HAPPY. So now that I am all scrubbed, she proceeds to take a hose-like thing and rinse me off. Well I could have used some warning that I’d be stuck in wet bottoms for the rest of the treatment, but she didn’t seem to care.
Now comes this cave mud. She really slathers it on, and again washcloth size towel to cover myself. Thankfully she didn’t drop the towel this time, I think she got her fill the first time. Then she wraps me in plastic wrap and leaves for 15 minutes. In my 15 minutes of what was supposed to be relaxation I wondered how am I supposed to get this mud off and what on Earth am I going to do with these underwear because there is no way they can stay on for another hour especially with the massage coming up next.
Bottom line, after 15 minutes, I had no plan. Then she comes back in and gives me my next orders, “I am going to start the shower for you. Make sure you get all the mud off, I’ll clean up the room and give you some privacy. When you are done, come back out here and lay on your back and put the (washcloth size) towel over you.” So now I am in the shower and it becomes clear that the underwear are no longer wearable. But what am I going to do with them? I came up with the bright idea to shove them into the pocket of my bathrobe that was hanging on the door. So in my quick alone time between shower and table, I found a spare towel (thank god) and stuffed the goods in the pocket of my robe. What was really going through my mind was how this woman was going to react to my now obvious missing underwear. Luckily she didn’t say a single word although, I could practically HEAR her thinking, where are the underwear? Too bad she didn’t see the puddle forming by the door where the evidence was dripping out of my robe. Or maybe she did, I can’t be sure and was too mortified to even acknowledge my missing undergarments.
The massage was next, which went off without much fanfare. I was thinking of my sissy who was in the next room getting the same treatments. Was she suffering as much as I was? More than likely she ripped all her clothes off and showed her lady all the goods before they were in the room. Actually after our debrief of the experience, sissy said she was also thinking of me. Especially when she received her little towel to cover up with. Believe me, if it wasn’t working for her, it would not be working for me.
When all was said and done, I went back to the locker room and put on my clothes, sans any underwear. As a little surprise, I broke into a certain aunt’s locker and left a wet, muddy gift. She was not amused, but then again neither was I.
Oh vino, I have come to appreciate you so. So much in fact, that I decided to treat myself at our resort/spa to a little package called the “Solo Vino” that they offered in their spa caves. It was described as a real treat to the senses with a body scrub, wrap, and massage. Well how could I pass it up, especially when they were going to rub, scrub, and wrap me in grape seeds and extracts? Well this Solo Vino package was not all it was cracked up to be. In fact, instead of it being a relaxing 2 hours, I spent a majority of the time in a full blown panic attack. Please, let me explain …
It all started out harmless enough. I will say that there was a bit of a wrench thrown into the plan as I was suffering from a monthly woman problem. My therapist lady didn’t even introduce herself to me until I was practically nude in the room. I’m sorry, call me old fashioned, but I like to know a person’s name before they start rubbing oils all over me. She really didn’t explain anything about the treatments to me, so I figured no problemo, I can leave my undies on. I guess I am not only old fashioned, but incredibly modest. She said, “Are you going to leave those on?” I meekly said, “Yes,” although what I really wanted to say was, “Believe me lady, you’ll thank me later.”
So she proceeded to scrub the crap out of me. This would have been blissful if the towel she gave me to cover up with wasn’t the size of a washcloth. And wouldn’t you know when she told me she was going to cover her face with the tiny towel as I flipped over, she dropped said towel and caught me mid-flip. NOT HAPPY. So now that I am all scrubbed, she proceeds to take a hose-like thing and rinse me off. Well I could have used some warning that I’d be stuck in wet bottoms for the rest of the treatment, but she didn’t seem to care.
Now comes this cave mud. She really slathers it on, and again washcloth size towel to cover myself. Thankfully she didn’t drop the towel this time, I think she got her fill the first time. Then she wraps me in plastic wrap and leaves for 15 minutes. In my 15 minutes of what was supposed to be relaxation I wondered how am I supposed to get this mud off and what on Earth am I going to do with these underwear because there is no way they can stay on for another hour especially with the massage coming up next.
Bottom line, after 15 minutes, I had no plan. Then she comes back in and gives me my next orders, “I am going to start the shower for you. Make sure you get all the mud off, I’ll clean up the room and give you some privacy. When you are done, come back out here and lay on your back and put the (washcloth size) towel over you.” So now I am in the shower and it becomes clear that the underwear are no longer wearable. But what am I going to do with them? I came up with the bright idea to shove them into the pocket of my bathrobe that was hanging on the door. So in my quick alone time between shower and table, I found a spare towel (thank god) and stuffed the goods in the pocket of my robe. What was really going through my mind was how this woman was going to react to my now obvious missing underwear. Luckily she didn’t say a single word although, I could practically HEAR her thinking, where are the underwear? Too bad she didn’t see the puddle forming by the door where the evidence was dripping out of my robe. Or maybe she did, I can’t be sure and was too mortified to even acknowledge my missing undergarments.
The massage was next, which went off without much fanfare. I was thinking of my sissy who was in the next room getting the same treatments. Was she suffering as much as I was? More than likely she ripped all her clothes off and showed her lady all the goods before they were in the room. Actually after our debrief of the experience, sissy said she was also thinking of me. Especially when she received her little towel to cover up with. Believe me, if it wasn’t working for her, it would not be working for me.
When all was said and done, I went back to the locker room and put on my clothes, sans any underwear. As a little surprise, I broke into a certain aunt’s locker and left a wet, muddy gift. She was not amused, but then again neither was I.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Third Eye Blind
Back in the day, as in 1996, when I was 11 years old, I was obsessed with Third Eye Blind. I mean totally obsessed, and this was really before I could submerge myself into the depths of the Internet doing my good stalking, I mean, “research.”
I had this friend who turned me on to them, and for that, I will always be thankful to her even though I have not seen/talked to her in about 10 years. So anyway, I loved 3EB. One time I went to San Francisco (where 3EB hailed from) and I made my Aunt call every Stephen Jenkins in the phonebook. We thought she found the right one and she left a weirdo message on voicemail saying something along the lines of, “Hi I hope this is the Stephen Jenkins from Third Eye Blind. I just wanted to say I love your music. We have three generations (my grandma was also on this particular trip) of fans that really love your songs. Thank you.” I know this is bizzaro, but see, I was a bit of a pain in the ass, and I think she thought it would make me happy and would stop me from being an all around miserable human being. (It did and that is why Auntie Mar continues to be one of my most favorite people ever).
Now that I have creeped myself (and everyone else) out it brings me back to my point of how much I loved this band when I was younger. I continued to like them through there last full record – “Out of the Vein” which came out when I was a junior in High School or so. The last time I saw them in concert it was at a teeny tiny club in Hartford; I might have been the only person that knew all the words to all the songs.
So 3EB have fallen off the radar a bit since then, who cares? They are still good … they are still the Semi-Charmed Life, Motorcycle Drive By boys that we love (although their lineup has changed a bit). You all can imagine my delight to find that they are playing in my very own Stamfeezy. It’s so close to me house I could walk! No more friends' parents driving us to Poughkeepsie or wherever else. This is awesome.
Needless to say, I’ll be making an appearance at this monumental show. It will be the first one where I can legally drink. I’ll be the girl wearing her Bonfire Tour t-shirt circa 1997.
I had this friend who turned me on to them, and for that, I will always be thankful to her even though I have not seen/talked to her in about 10 years. So anyway, I loved 3EB. One time I went to San Francisco (where 3EB hailed from) and I made my Aunt call every Stephen Jenkins in the phonebook. We thought she found the right one and she left a weirdo message on voicemail saying something along the lines of, “Hi I hope this is the Stephen Jenkins from Third Eye Blind. I just wanted to say I love your music. We have three generations (my grandma was also on this particular trip) of fans that really love your songs. Thank you.” I know this is bizzaro, but see, I was a bit of a pain in the ass, and I think she thought it would make me happy and would stop me from being an all around miserable human being. (It did and that is why Auntie Mar continues to be one of my most favorite people ever).
Now that I have creeped myself (and everyone else) out it brings me back to my point of how much I loved this band when I was younger. I continued to like them through there last full record – “Out of the Vein” which came out when I was a junior in High School or so. The last time I saw them in concert it was at a teeny tiny club in Hartford; I might have been the only person that knew all the words to all the songs.
So 3EB have fallen off the radar a bit since then, who cares? They are still good … they are still the Semi-Charmed Life, Motorcycle Drive By boys that we love (although their lineup has changed a bit). You all can imagine my delight to find that they are playing in my very own Stamfeezy. It’s so close to me house I could walk! No more friends' parents driving us to Poughkeepsie or wherever else. This is awesome.
Needless to say, I’ll be making an appearance at this monumental show. It will be the first one where I can legally drink. I’ll be the girl wearing her Bonfire Tour t-shirt circa 1997.
Labels:
Palace Theater,
Stephen Jenkins,
Third Eye Blind
Friday, February 27, 2009
The Life and Times of Janet
Sometimes when I think about my blog I struggle to come up with things to write about. I normally operate under the pretense that I’ll know what to write about as soon as it happens. Kind of like when I watch, “Say Yes to the Dress” and the bride knows immediately that the dress she is wearing is the one that is perfect for her wedding. I never want to rush things and I certainly don’t want to waste my time writing about nothing just to post something.
This morning I was having that icky feeling of, ‘wow, I guess nothing is going on.’ So I showered, got dressed, had my usual 2 whole wheat/fat free waffles for breakfast and was out the door. I must say that I was a bit perturbed thinking that this whole week absolutely nothing of news worthiness happened to me. I meandered down the street thinking this is one of the last times I can wear my down coat because the feathers were coming out. I can only imagine what the people behind me were thinking. In my mind I was positive they were saying to themselves, “is that girl de-feathering a chicken up there?” Perhaps they even had this conversation with other people in the street. Good thing that I listen to my Ipod extremely loud and couldn’t hear their chatter about yours truly.
So just as I am about to make my last turn onto Madison, out of nowhere Janet flies by on her bicycle. Now I don’t know Janet and I am not making up her name. I believe her name is Janet because it said so on her very authentic looking miniature Empire State license plate that she had attached to her bicycle. I’ve seen Janet on my morning walks to work before, but since I was searching for some excitement in my life, I picked up the pace and tried to keep up with her.
Janet is one of those very eccentric, yet seemingly authentic New Yorkers. Off of the mean streets of Manhattan, you would think that something was wrong with her. However, in our concrete jungle, Janet is just another person making her way around town. I started to imagine a whole life for Janet and what she is like. I already know that she has wild fashion sense and I doubt that she cares that she looks like the Wicked Witch as she speeds down the sidewalk (something I don’t agree with). Janet may or may not have several cats and eat their food as her own. Janet also had a cane that she attached to the front of her bike. I assume that she has problems walking, but I didn’t notice any impediments as she peddled. Perhaps it’s for show, although I doubt that Janet does anything for show, she is simply just being Janet. I bet she is super creative and has a studio where she makes amazing art out of trash cans, Snapple bottles, and Slim Jim wrappers. She might go to Renaissance Fairs on the weekends and drink steaming brew out of a goblet. I bet she has a boyfriend who is an old stoner that helps her with her art exhibits and they spend Friday nights sipping red wine and soaking in the hot tub he built on the fire escape.
I started to become very jealous of Janet’s carefree lifestyle. As Janet took off going west on 29th street, I was snapped back to reality. I got a twinge … Janet was certainly blog-worthy.
This morning I was having that icky feeling of, ‘wow, I guess nothing is going on.’ So I showered, got dressed, had my usual 2 whole wheat/fat free waffles for breakfast and was out the door. I must say that I was a bit perturbed thinking that this whole week absolutely nothing of news worthiness happened to me. I meandered down the street thinking this is one of the last times I can wear my down coat because the feathers were coming out. I can only imagine what the people behind me were thinking. In my mind I was positive they were saying to themselves, “is that girl de-feathering a chicken up there?” Perhaps they even had this conversation with other people in the street. Good thing that I listen to my Ipod extremely loud and couldn’t hear their chatter about yours truly.
So just as I am about to make my last turn onto Madison, out of nowhere Janet flies by on her bicycle. Now I don’t know Janet and I am not making up her name. I believe her name is Janet because it said so on her very authentic looking miniature Empire State license plate that she had attached to her bicycle. I’ve seen Janet on my morning walks to work before, but since I was searching for some excitement in my life, I picked up the pace and tried to keep up with her.
Janet is one of those very eccentric, yet seemingly authentic New Yorkers. Off of the mean streets of Manhattan, you would think that something was wrong with her. However, in our concrete jungle, Janet is just another person making her way around town. I started to imagine a whole life for Janet and what she is like. I already know that she has wild fashion sense and I doubt that she cares that she looks like the Wicked Witch as she speeds down the sidewalk (something I don’t agree with). Janet may or may not have several cats and eat their food as her own. Janet also had a cane that she attached to the front of her bike. I assume that she has problems walking, but I didn’t notice any impediments as she peddled. Perhaps it’s for show, although I doubt that Janet does anything for show, she is simply just being Janet. I bet she is super creative and has a studio where she makes amazing art out of trash cans, Snapple bottles, and Slim Jim wrappers. She might go to Renaissance Fairs on the weekends and drink steaming brew out of a goblet. I bet she has a boyfriend who is an old stoner that helps her with her art exhibits and they spend Friday nights sipping red wine and soaking in the hot tub he built on the fire escape.
I started to become very jealous of Janet’s carefree lifestyle. As Janet took off going west on 29th street, I was snapped back to reality. I got a twinge … Janet was certainly blog-worthy.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Oscar Fashion Recap
I don’t like to make predictions regarding award shows because I am normally wrong. What I like to do is wait until the awards are handed out and then tell everyone, “I knew he/she was going to win!” This way everyone thinks I am smart or wonders if I have ESP. However, my most favorite activity is dissecting everyone’s glamorous attire.
I must give give a shout out to some of my ladies who were looking good last night … Anne Hathaway (although every time I look at her she looks whiter and thinner), Penelope Cruz, and I don’t care what everyone else says, I thought Marisa Tomei looked stunning. Light colors were definitely the trend on the carpet. And of course, black, but you can’t go wrong with black.
Some ladies – not so much. What was wrong with Jessica Biel? She looked like a real mess. Also Miley Cyrus … honestly, go home, slap some braces on, wait a few years, and maybe you’ll stand a chance of looking like a normal person. I like how she said, “I have a movie coming out this year. Maybe next year I’ll be nominated,” … ugh, I think not. This is the Oscars for cripes sake, not the Nickelodeon Kid’s Choice Awards. Even my beloved SJP was looking off last night. I will say that since I saw her wearing those hoof-ish shoes last week, I’ve been a little turned off. Do you need someone to tell you to distance yourself as much as possible from anything equine-esque? And I am sorry, I might be drinking the hater-ade, but Beyonce, just because your mother is a ‘designer,’ doesn’t mean she is any good at it. We all remember HeidiWood, don’t we?
Last, but certainly not least, the gentlemen all looked quite dapper. I don’t know if they can really get it wrong, but I will say, Mickey Rourke came dangerously close. But honestly, what else should one expect from a Jean-Paul Gaultier tuxedo? I must cut the man some slack; his is the comeback of the century and he just lost his dog. Robert Downey Jr., … dang … if being a recovering heroin addict makes you look that good, well, stick a needle in my arm and give me the black tar.
I’m so sad that award season is over … I live for this stuff. And Miley, please, I implore you, take my advice and sit next year out.
I must give give a shout out to some of my ladies who were looking good last night … Anne Hathaway (although every time I look at her she looks whiter and thinner), Penelope Cruz, and I don’t care what everyone else says, I thought Marisa Tomei looked stunning. Light colors were definitely the trend on the carpet. And of course, black, but you can’t go wrong with black.
Some ladies – not so much. What was wrong with Jessica Biel? She looked like a real mess. Also Miley Cyrus … honestly, go home, slap some braces on, wait a few years, and maybe you’ll stand a chance of looking like a normal person. I like how she said, “I have a movie coming out this year. Maybe next year I’ll be nominated,” … ugh, I think not. This is the Oscars for cripes sake, not the Nickelodeon Kid’s Choice Awards. Even my beloved SJP was looking off last night. I will say that since I saw her wearing those hoof-ish shoes last week, I’ve been a little turned off. Do you need someone to tell you to distance yourself as much as possible from anything equine-esque? And I am sorry, I might be drinking the hater-ade, but Beyonce, just because your mother is a ‘designer,’ doesn’t mean she is any good at it. We all remember HeidiWood, don’t we?
Last, but certainly not least, the gentlemen all looked quite dapper. I don’t know if they can really get it wrong, but I will say, Mickey Rourke came dangerously close. But honestly, what else should one expect from a Jean-Paul Gaultier tuxedo? I must cut the man some slack; his is the comeback of the century and he just lost his dog. Robert Downey Jr., … dang … if being a recovering heroin addict makes you look that good, well, stick a needle in my arm and give me the black tar.
I’m so sad that award season is over … I live for this stuff. And Miley, please, I implore you, take my advice and sit next year out.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
(un)Happy Valentine’s Day
Valentine’s Day has never been my favorite holiday. Actually it is one of my least holidays, most likely because I’ve never had a proper valentine. One year when I was in middle school, I wore all black to show my distaste for the holiday. As you can tell, I was a real badass. Years later, after I gave up my “goth” look, I waited in anxiety to see if they would deliver those dollar carnations to me in high school. Sometimes a boy or two would send one, but I could always count on at least one girlfriend to do her perpetually single friend that nice service.
Well today there were no carnations, not even someone to talk about how terribly depressing the day was going to be. Oh no – today was the day I would meet my maker at H&R Block. Today was Tax Day and I was looking forward to it as much as the day that I wore my all black outfit to middle school. After a bit of a scheduling glitch (I say glitch, but it was really my tax lady asking if we could change my appointment from 9am to 11am because she wanted to sleep in and normally doesn’t work on Saturdays) I made my way with my $25 off coupon in hand and all the tax info she could possibly ask of me.
I knew that no matter what, I was in for bad news. I worked for almost four months as an independent contractor and had no NY taxes taken out of my check – I would certainly have to pay today (pun intended). Well slowly but surely my tax professional entered my info in and told me what was up. I now owe $749 to the State of New York and the IRS. Additionally, I had to pay H&R Block $179* because I had to file 2 states and had a 1099. Oh, I’m sorry, are my taxes too complicated for you? Thank the Lord I pay over $800 a month on my student loans (I never thought I would say that) because all the interest that accrued last year saved me close to 400 bones. The woman said there is a silver lining to everything … I said, “excuse me while I blow my brains out.”
So one hour of my time, cost me close to $1,000. I could have done a lot with that money, like buy myself a Valentine. This is just further proof that 2008 was the worst year ever. I rest my case.
*Reflects $25 credit from coupon.
Well today there were no carnations, not even someone to talk about how terribly depressing the day was going to be. Oh no – today was the day I would meet my maker at H&R Block. Today was Tax Day and I was looking forward to it as much as the day that I wore my all black outfit to middle school. After a bit of a scheduling glitch (I say glitch, but it was really my tax lady asking if we could change my appointment from 9am to 11am because she wanted to sleep in and normally doesn’t work on Saturdays) I made my way with my $25 off coupon in hand and all the tax info she could possibly ask of me.
I knew that no matter what, I was in for bad news. I worked for almost four months as an independent contractor and had no NY taxes taken out of my check – I would certainly have to pay today (pun intended). Well slowly but surely my tax professional entered my info in and told me what was up. I now owe $749 to the State of New York and the IRS. Additionally, I had to pay H&R Block $179* because I had to file 2 states and had a 1099. Oh, I’m sorry, are my taxes too complicated for you? Thank the Lord I pay over $800 a month on my student loans (I never thought I would say that) because all the interest that accrued last year saved me close to 400 bones. The woman said there is a silver lining to everything … I said, “excuse me while I blow my brains out.”
So one hour of my time, cost me close to $1,000. I could have done a lot with that money, like buy myself a Valentine. This is just further proof that 2008 was the worst year ever. I rest my case.
*Reflects $25 credit from coupon.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Are You There God, It's Me, Nina?
Dear God,
If you are there and take the time to read my blog, I need some help. You see I found this pair of shoes on Saks.com. They are available for pre-order only and I am worried that if I don't get them soon that my life might be over. I don’t know how these things usually work, but I am going to pray for them all week. So maybe we can work out a little deal … either you tell my boss to give me a nice bonus for working so hard or maybe you can send someone from your posse down here to hand deliver them from France. I’m including a picture so you don’t get confused. Size 38 please.
Thank you and please say hello to some of my peeps up there.
If you are there and take the time to read my blog, I need some help. You see I found this pair of shoes on Saks.com. They are available for pre-order only and I am worried that if I don't get them soon that my life might be over. I don’t know how these things usually work, but I am going to pray for them all week. So maybe we can work out a little deal … either you tell my boss to give me a nice bonus for working so hard or maybe you can send someone from your posse down here to hand deliver them from France. I’m including a picture so you don’t get confused. Size 38 please.
Thank you and please say hello to some of my peeps up there.

Labels:
Christian Louboutin,
pumps,
very galaxy platform
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Doing It for the Kiddies
I have taken to my blog to discuss the VERY important topic of everyone’s favorite butter face swimming champion/recently busted ding-dong, Michael Phelps.
I used to love Michael Phelps. I liked him during the 2004 Olympics when I memorized exactly what he ate everyday. During the 2008 Olympics I was like everyone else waiting to see if he would break records and win those gold medals. He’s face isn’t all that exciting, but nobody can deny that bod. Anyway, I digress, for I am VERY upset with Mikey and here is why.
I think everyone has heard about Michael’s most recent discretion, but I really don’t care if the boy wants to cut loose and smoke a little weed. I mean, it’s not like he was found in a gutter in Tulsa with a needle in his arm and meth-face. What really irks me is the fact that he must be mentally challenged and it is ruining my belief that money buys you smarts! After the 2004 Olympics our boy got his first (and I am sure, not last) DUI. After which he went on the Today Show and told Matt Lauer he does not have a drinking problem. I am sure he donated the big bucks to some charity that helps kids whose precious lives were changed due to drunken driving, yada, yada, took some pics, and it was all forgotten. Four years later he is firing up the bong at some party at some college in South Carolina. Now I am no rocket science, I am guessing that Michael Phelps isn’t either, but people sometimes, as shocking as it seems, take pictures when they are drinking, or in his case, smoking their faces off. Facebook exists because there are drunks out there that love to document that shizz – present blogger included, thank you very much. Also, you can bet, that if I was whooping it up with digital camera in hand and I saw an Olympic athlete hitting the old bong, I’d be snapping away with that thing zoomed up so close you could see his jacked up teeth. I want to see him on the Today Show (again) telling Matt, “No, I am not a drug addict.” I don’t think that he is and more importantly, I don’t care if he is. Believe me; the world will go on with or without another asshole swimmer. I just feel like he is making the big bucks and therefore he has some sort of responsibility to the peeps that look up to him.
I want to know if Michael Phelps really thinks that he is above the law or if he just really is a dumbo who overestimates other people’s (drunken) integrity. I think it is most certainly the latter. I can’t wait to see what his mother has to say about this. Will her lucrative Chico’s endorsement go out the window? I hope not, that broad is sassy. I am pretty sure that I know how this one will end though. Our boy Mikey will take to the airwaves, apologize, donate some mula to some afterschool drug program for the kidlets, and nobody will even remember this little mishap.
So Mikey – keep up the good work. Smoke it up, drink it up, drive around town and act like a madman. I am sure someone will care, just not me. I will be too busy looking at those coked out hookers you picked up on your most recent trip to Vegas. You must make your mother so proud.
I used to love Michael Phelps. I liked him during the 2004 Olympics when I memorized exactly what he ate everyday. During the 2008 Olympics I was like everyone else waiting to see if he would break records and win those gold medals. He’s face isn’t all that exciting, but nobody can deny that bod. Anyway, I digress, for I am VERY upset with Mikey and here is why.
I think everyone has heard about Michael’s most recent discretion, but I really don’t care if the boy wants to cut loose and smoke a little weed. I mean, it’s not like he was found in a gutter in Tulsa with a needle in his arm and meth-face. What really irks me is the fact that he must be mentally challenged and it is ruining my belief that money buys you smarts! After the 2004 Olympics our boy got his first (and I am sure, not last) DUI. After which he went on the Today Show and told Matt Lauer he does not have a drinking problem. I am sure he donated the big bucks to some charity that helps kids whose precious lives were changed due to drunken driving, yada, yada, took some pics, and it was all forgotten. Four years later he is firing up the bong at some party at some college in South Carolina. Now I am no rocket science, I am guessing that Michael Phelps isn’t either, but people sometimes, as shocking as it seems, take pictures when they are drinking, or in his case, smoking their faces off. Facebook exists because there are drunks out there that love to document that shizz – present blogger included, thank you very much. Also, you can bet, that if I was whooping it up with digital camera in hand and I saw an Olympic athlete hitting the old bong, I’d be snapping away with that thing zoomed up so close you could see his jacked up teeth. I want to see him on the Today Show (again) telling Matt, “No, I am not a drug addict.” I don’t think that he is and more importantly, I don’t care if he is. Believe me; the world will go on with or without another asshole swimmer. I just feel like he is making the big bucks and therefore he has some sort of responsibility to the peeps that look up to him.
I want to know if Michael Phelps really thinks that he is above the law or if he just really is a dumbo who overestimates other people’s (drunken) integrity. I think it is most certainly the latter. I can’t wait to see what his mother has to say about this. Will her lucrative Chico’s endorsement go out the window? I hope not, that broad is sassy. I am pretty sure that I know how this one will end though. Our boy Mikey will take to the airwaves, apologize, donate some mula to some afterschool drug program for the kidlets, and nobody will even remember this little mishap.
So Mikey – keep up the good work. Smoke it up, drink it up, drive around town and act like a madman. I am sure someone will care, just not me. I will be too busy looking at those coked out hookers you picked up on your most recent trip to Vegas. You must make your mother so proud.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Kings of Leon - The Southern Way
So last night I went to see Kings of Leon at MSG. Now I know that this band has been around a while, but I recently got into their music on a car ride down to Virginny with my bestest Jacob. I think the further south of the Mason Dixon Line I got, the more I began to appreciate this southern quartet. I listened to their popular tune Sex on Fire and then forget it – I became obsessed. I got home and was thrilled to find that I had 3 other albums to memorize the words to. And so began my quest to see these boys live. I heard they were playing a show at the Garden, but could not persuade anyone to go with me. The usual suspects had to work or were out of the country, and the others didn’t want to part with the 60 bones or so. I can’t blame them really, but I was bummed. Then Ms. LL walks her way into my life …
Now LL is my dearest friend. She works for MSG Entertainment as a PR maven. I knew this and had some definite work to do. I invited her over after a long day at the office. Wined and dined her with some pre-made rotisserie chicken, rice pilaf, and salad. She supplied the vino, as she is an excellent guest. So I planted the seed and told her about my appreciation for the band and how I HAD to see them. She agreed and said she would try to get tickets. In the meantime I made it my business to send her copies of all their cds. She had to learn the music if we were to have a grand old time.
So LL and I were all set to go – as were the other peeps she was able to secure tickets for. So the morning of the concert LL’s sissy goes into labor and gives birth to baby Evan Champion. Well I saw my plans crumble to the floor. I needed back up, and I needed it fast. With a backup securely in place, LL calls me and says she is making her way back into the city and we are all set for our big night out. Thank the sweet baby jesus.
Several pints later, 7 drunken fools are barreling down to MSG. Some people hate the Garden, I LOVE it. I do and I don’t care. It is not the most intimate of places, but when you have good seats (which we most certainly did), good company, and arena beers, you are good to go. We did not see one moment of the opening band, The Whigs, but I wasn’t there to see them after all, this was all about KOL.
They played a lot of songs from the new album and opened with Crawl, which was uh-mazing. People were really going nutso. Other fan favorites included, Taper Jean Girl, Milk, Four Kicks, The Bucket, Trani, and of course, Sex on Fire. I believe I started crying when they played Cold Desert, but I can’t be sure. It was really unbelievable, but I will say that Caleb the singer is a man of very few words. Not much banter with the crowd, but I can’t complain.
Great show all in all – I would see these guys a million and one times if I could. I woke up this morning hung over, with bruises and cuts, and as one happy lady. Dream fulfilled, I can move on.
Now LL is my dearest friend. She works for MSG Entertainment as a PR maven. I knew this and had some definite work to do. I invited her over after a long day at the office. Wined and dined her with some pre-made rotisserie chicken, rice pilaf, and salad. She supplied the vino, as she is an excellent guest. So I planted the seed and told her about my appreciation for the band and how I HAD to see them. She agreed and said she would try to get tickets. In the meantime I made it my business to send her copies of all their cds. She had to learn the music if we were to have a grand old time.
So LL and I were all set to go – as were the other peeps she was able to secure tickets for. So the morning of the concert LL’s sissy goes into labor and gives birth to baby Evan Champion. Well I saw my plans crumble to the floor. I needed back up, and I needed it fast. With a backup securely in place, LL calls me and says she is making her way back into the city and we are all set for our big night out. Thank the sweet baby jesus.
Several pints later, 7 drunken fools are barreling down to MSG. Some people hate the Garden, I LOVE it. I do and I don’t care. It is not the most intimate of places, but when you have good seats (which we most certainly did), good company, and arena beers, you are good to go. We did not see one moment of the opening band, The Whigs, but I wasn’t there to see them after all, this was all about KOL.
They played a lot of songs from the new album and opened with Crawl, which was uh-mazing. People were really going nutso. Other fan favorites included, Taper Jean Girl, Milk, Four Kicks, The Bucket, Trani, and of course, Sex on Fire. I believe I started crying when they played Cold Desert, but I can’t be sure. It was really unbelievable, but I will say that Caleb the singer is a man of very few words. Not much banter with the crowd, but I can’t complain.
Great show all in all – I would see these guys a million and one times if I could. I woke up this morning hung over, with bruises and cuts, and as one happy lady. Dream fulfilled, I can move on.
Labels:
concert,
Kings of Leon,
Madison Square Garden
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Book of Nina
I understand that I am a bit of an anomaly. My Nonnie used to say that I march to the beat of my own drummer. I like to think that I am particular. There are some peeps out there that like to have a little fun at my expense and laugh at my neurosis. Well you know what, that is A-OK with me friends. In an effort to get to know me (as I forwent the mandatory introduction blog) here is a brief list of what I think are some of my defining characteristics. The Book of Nina will be very helpful in trying to decipher some of my more, how you say, ah, yes, intricacies.
- I like to count. I have always liked to count. It might be OCD, but if I count something that is an odd number (chews, titles, cracks on the pavement) I get very disgruntled.
- I can spend hours in the shower taking care of my toilette. I love to scrub and lotion with nice products.
- I suffer from Friday Depression. It happens around 5pm every Friday. Don’t try to help me, I need to sleep it off and/or drink heavily.
- If I like an author, band, actor, etc., I will spend countless hours reasearching every facet of their life. I will always downplay what I know because I don’t want people thinking I am weird. I once went to Blockbuster and rented every Vince Vaughn movie, including the one in which he starred with Jennifer Lopez (the rating of that movie would be D -). Eventually these phases pass and are replaced by something new.
- I cannot sleep if my knees are touching or if I am wearing a long sleeve shirt or socks.
- I love my dog Doris more than I have probably ever loved another human. I sometimes tell her that I hope I die before she does.
- If you think I am talking smack about you, I probably am. Even if you don’t think I am talking smack about you, I might be – so wise up Kim, owner of the nail shop on Glenbrook Road and stop giving me that watered down polish!
- My sister always tries to kiss and hug me. I tell her I don’t like it, but I think I secretly do. This has been a very difficult realization.
- When I get tired, I laugh and carry on like a fool. In addition, if you make me laugh heartily I will be your friend for life. There are few people that fit into this category, so I suggest you peeps get funnier if you want to hang out.
- I love popular rap music. Lil’ Wayne is a musical genius. Actually, he’s da bomb, like tick, tick.
- I often make up my own words or throw in Italian sayings to everyday conversation. When in doubt, va cosee. That is certainly not how it is spelled.
- If I am reading a book I am particularly fond of, don’t bother talking to me or asking me to do anything. I will stay up late and wake up early to finish. This started when I was a child and read Goosebumps, “Say Cheese or Die.” Pure literary magic.
- I don’t facebook people. That may be a lie. But I try to limit it to select people.
- I don’t really like babies or children even though I used to tell people that I wanted to be a teacher.
That is all I can think of for now, however, I believe that these are the fundamentals to the Book of Nina. Others may have more to say and I encourage you to make additions, subject to my approval of course.
Happy Thursday fools. I will for sure be writing about the Kings of Leon show in my next post.
- I like to count. I have always liked to count. It might be OCD, but if I count something that is an odd number (chews, titles, cracks on the pavement) I get very disgruntled.
- I can spend hours in the shower taking care of my toilette. I love to scrub and lotion with nice products.
- I suffer from Friday Depression. It happens around 5pm every Friday. Don’t try to help me, I need to sleep it off and/or drink heavily.
- If I like an author, band, actor, etc., I will spend countless hours reasearching every facet of their life. I will always downplay what I know because I don’t want people thinking I am weird. I once went to Blockbuster and rented every Vince Vaughn movie, including the one in which he starred with Jennifer Lopez (the rating of that movie would be D -). Eventually these phases pass and are replaced by something new.
- I cannot sleep if my knees are touching or if I am wearing a long sleeve shirt or socks.
- I love my dog Doris more than I have probably ever loved another human. I sometimes tell her that I hope I die before she does.
- If you think I am talking smack about you, I probably am. Even if you don’t think I am talking smack about you, I might be – so wise up Kim, owner of the nail shop on Glenbrook Road and stop giving me that watered down polish!
- My sister always tries to kiss and hug me. I tell her I don’t like it, but I think I secretly do. This has been a very difficult realization.
- When I get tired, I laugh and carry on like a fool. In addition, if you make me laugh heartily I will be your friend for life. There are few people that fit into this category, so I suggest you peeps get funnier if you want to hang out.
- I love popular rap music. Lil’ Wayne is a musical genius. Actually, he’s da bomb, like tick, tick.
- I often make up my own words or throw in Italian sayings to everyday conversation. When in doubt, va cosee. That is certainly not how it is spelled.
- If I am reading a book I am particularly fond of, don’t bother talking to me or asking me to do anything. I will stay up late and wake up early to finish. This started when I was a child and read Goosebumps, “Say Cheese or Die.” Pure literary magic.
- I don’t facebook people. That may be a lie. But I try to limit it to select people.
- I don’t really like babies or children even though I used to tell people that I wanted to be a teacher.
That is all I can think of for now, however, I believe that these are the fundamentals to the Book of Nina. Others may have more to say and I encourage you to make additions, subject to my approval of course.
Happy Thursday fools. I will for sure be writing about the Kings of Leon show in my next post.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Slumdog Millionaire - My Official Movie Review
It’s my first official blog of 2009 and I feel like so much has happened that I should discuss. I had a wonderful 2 week trip to Aruba, thanks for asking. I cannot even begin to write about the inaugural festivities that I watched on the tv/computer. UH-mazing. I love my new prezzie, but anyway, I digress. The topic of this here blog is my new favorite movie, Slumdog Millionaire. There has been so much hype about this movie that I felt that I had to see it only because I didn’t want to be THAT girl who didn’t see it. Can you even imagine being so bourgeois? Not I friends.
I would just like it to be known, that a). I am no movie aficionado. I am not one of those people who will line up and buy tickets weeks in advance and count down the minutes until opening day. I much prefer seeing a movie once the crowds aren’t so great and when I can watch it without some annoying viewer sitting on top of me and stealing my cup holder. b). I don’t know anything about what makes a movie really good versus it being really bad or just mediocre. I know what I like and whether it’s Rookie of the Year or in this case Slumdog Millionaire, there are no specifics other than I liked it and I didn’t fall asleep, wish I was dead, or feel the need to go to the ticket counter and demand a full refund (popcorn and soda included). I won’t spoil anything, so if you didn’t see it and would still like to, feel free to continue reading, or don’t, but know that if you don’t, you are obviously a loser.
So basically the story is about these two brothers in India. They live in, you guessed it, a slum. The younger brother is a contestant on India’s Who Wants to be a Millionaire and the movie explains how he knows the answers to the questions. The movie is really about how the brothers grow up together and the different paths that they take. That really doesn’t do it any justice, but trust me, it was soooo very good.
First and foremost, the actors who play the brothers when they were younger were the cutest little people I have ever seen in my life. I want them to move in with me. I will learn how to cook Indian dishes for them – I love these children. Second, I don’t know who the broad was in the movie, but talk about a beautiful person. Maybe she can move in too. I loved her.
Like I said I know nothing about cinema, but the colors in this movie and the way it was shot were really interesting to me. I am sure there is a word for this, I obviously don’t know it, but hot dang, I found it very enjoyable. I went through a range of emotions at the movie theater this past weekend. I laughed, cried, almost vomited, but still loved it. It is one of the very few movies I wouldn’t mind seeing again in the theater.
If you haven’t yet seen Slumdog Millionaire, do yourself a favor, peel yourself away from my very captivating blog and go to the movies. Go alone if you have to, take off early from work, do whatever you have to do because you will not be sorry.
I would just like it to be known, that a). I am no movie aficionado. I am not one of those people who will line up and buy tickets weeks in advance and count down the minutes until opening day. I much prefer seeing a movie once the crowds aren’t so great and when I can watch it without some annoying viewer sitting on top of me and stealing my cup holder. b). I don’t know anything about what makes a movie really good versus it being really bad or just mediocre. I know what I like and whether it’s Rookie of the Year or in this case Slumdog Millionaire, there are no specifics other than I liked it and I didn’t fall asleep, wish I was dead, or feel the need to go to the ticket counter and demand a full refund (popcorn and soda included). I won’t spoil anything, so if you didn’t see it and would still like to, feel free to continue reading, or don’t, but know that if you don’t, you are obviously a loser.
So basically the story is about these two brothers in India. They live in, you guessed it, a slum. The younger brother is a contestant on India’s Who Wants to be a Millionaire and the movie explains how he knows the answers to the questions. The movie is really about how the brothers grow up together and the different paths that they take. That really doesn’t do it any justice, but trust me, it was soooo very good.
First and foremost, the actors who play the brothers when they were younger were the cutest little people I have ever seen in my life. I want them to move in with me. I will learn how to cook Indian dishes for them – I love these children. Second, I don’t know who the broad was in the movie, but talk about a beautiful person. Maybe she can move in too. I loved her.
Like I said I know nothing about cinema, but the colors in this movie and the way it was shot were really interesting to me. I am sure there is a word for this, I obviously don’t know it, but hot dang, I found it very enjoyable. I went through a range of emotions at the movie theater this past weekend. I laughed, cried, almost vomited, but still loved it. It is one of the very few movies I wouldn’t mind seeing again in the theater.
If you haven’t yet seen Slumdog Millionaire, do yourself a favor, peel yourself away from my very captivating blog and go to the movies. Go alone if you have to, take off early from work, do whatever you have to do because you will not be sorry.
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