Sunday, February 28, 2010

Shameless Encounters of the Drunk Kind or Liquor-Loquacity

If you've ever woken up with half a bagel on your chest, one contact in, and your spandex American Apparel dress rolled up to just under your breasts (exposing your naked bottom half)  then you've probably got some splainin' to do.  Welcome to my morning.

Last night was kind of a blast from the past.  I partied it up Purim style with C in the financial district.  Drank some wine.  Ate some triangle pastries.  Met some new people and remet some others.  And that is probably where I went wrong.  My thoughts this morning:

7:00 AM: Oh man, huuunnngg over. hair izzzza messss. tvzzz onnn...remote...wheresma remote? Where the fuck? oh there! no, cell. uhhh don't move head. can't move body. ouch. or eyes. just feel for remote. (yes, my thought were slurred)
10:00 AM: fuck! oh sat up to fast. cell phone...where is my cell phone? got it. nope. remote.  *realization*  Damn I really said that.  That was messed up.  Good thing I don't care that much.  Does that make me a sociopath?

Back to last night.  5 people who went to my high school were at this party.  SUPER random.  I know this may not seem like a big deal but 60 people a class is not a lot.  Rarely do I randomly run into people from my high school.  What's more 4 out of 5 were in my sister's class (the fine '99) and one of C's roommates was hooking up with the golden god of BC (and i mean back in the day when he entered the room time slowed and a voiceover sang 'You sexay thang, you')  Damn now that song is gonna be stuck in my head....'you sexay thaaaannnng'

Anyway I started talking to this guy who knew my sister in middle school and...then I just couldn't stop. And then things got really out of control.  Things that you shouldn't do/say to your sisters friend from middle school.  Or anyone really:

"My family is much like the Maury Show"
"Oh God. Yesh, not a huge fan of kids there all needy and drooly and nose-pickey.  I'd never be a teacher. What do you do?"  to a teacher.
"Yeah, my sister has a new bf.  He's good for her.  I think she's less crazy now."
"So...tell the truth.  Did you make out with her?" About my sister he'd last seen in 8th grade

Enter Ex Bed-Buddy who C and I have both kept warm at night.  And his friend from home...his homie one might say.  AND segway into things not to say to the homie of and EBB.

"My new BESTIEEE"
"See that guy over there...C and I both hooked up with him" to homie about EBB.
"...And then he broke up with me through email.  EMAILLL....email." about EBB
"I still think he's kind of cool but he's such a nerd.  I mean I guess you're kind of a nerd too"  (what? he was an engineer)

At which point it was really like I was playing 'in how many different ways can I offend homie' game...vs my self.   Can it really get worse?  Yes.  Yes it can.  Side note:  I'm not sure where my shame has gone.  I feel it slipping away and I can't blame it all on the the alcohol.  Ex 1.  A few weeks ago I painted my nails on the A train at rush hour.  Ex 2.  Yesterday I grabbed my breasts in a cafe because I was convinced that one had somehow become larger than the other.  So yeah. weight comparison in public.  And I didn't even realize how weird it was until I'd decided that they were the same as they had always been. (couple mins)

Once again back to the party. what else did I say to homie/my friend L (who I kind of accuse of aiding and abetting)

Me:  Whose the girl in the sweater-set?  Oh man, that's a bad choice.
L:  She is not cute.
Homie:  I think she's pretty.
Me:  I mean I'm not trying to hate.  I don't think she's ugly.  I question why she had to go all martha stewart up in this biznitch.
Homie:  You're totally hating.
Me: I know.  Look she's from LA, I'm from NYC its what we do.
Homie:  EBB is hooking up with that girl

*silence* thoughts FFFFUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKK
Me: Well then, let's go ahead and change the topic.

Talking resumes because like I said I have no shame.

I'm That Person

This post is annoying for a number of reasons.  It's
a.  random  b.  been edited to add txt   c.  it's my dog and posting a picture of her is basically an electronic "Aw that's my doggie. Whose my God Girl? Who loves you? Who loves you?"  Or "andijustwanttosquishherlittlefacebetweenmyhandsicouldjusteatyourcutelittlenose"

none of you will ever see me do this in real life.  But I mean...look at that face...

Reasons why she's the shit.
a.  She has ADHD
b.  She crosses her paws like a lady...one who occasionally smells my crotch and pees on my shoes
c.  She has aliases (The Chancellor is mine, Thena dreamed up the rap name.
d.  When I come home drunk at night she lets me big spoon her on her doggie bed...I'm not sure if thats the reason for or the result of my bizarre/complicate/turbulent/boring/icantbelievehedidnttextmebck love life.

Summation she's weird, I'm weird.  We're kind of two biatches in a pod.

Saturday, February 27, 2010

The Girl You Won't Take Home to Mama

What kind of world do we live in ?

Ma man Fiddy, Fiddy Cent is being sued for editing himself (complete with a Rick James wig) into another man's sex-tape.  I'm not sure if you saw (or ignored) this on my Buzz.  But I think it's worth revisiting.   Take a second to ponder the state of American culture when

a.  more Americans have sex-tapes than healthcare
b.  a former king pin drug dealer wears a wig (without a pimp cane and a good backhand)
c.  where a multi-millionaire-rapper edits himself into another mans sexual encounter instead of taping his own.
d.  Curtis Jackson wears a wig.

Disturbing...but it gets worse.  If you didn't read the article you don't know that Fiddy did in fact wear the wig to imitate Rick James....bitch!  (for a photo comparison see photos 1 & 2) Or that Rick James (RIP) and 50 had some sort of musical feud.  You also wouldn't know that Lastonia Levinston (the woman in the tape) is one of (yeah...one of) RJ's Baby Mama.  I think we can add the fact that Rick James gets any as e to the above list.  


In case you don't believe me?  Just look at those breast!  Really...Look.  LaLa (as her friends like to call her)  has  his initials tattooed. on. her. chest.  Front and center.  So, the co-star of this straight to laptop movie had a not-so-good view from the top or the bottom or wherever.  


Anyway LaLa is suing for defamation of character and image theft or something like that.  I have to believe she'll lose.  After sexing Rick James you can only go up.  Actually, there is worse. (see photo 3)


Yo, click on that last picture, yo.  I dare you.  

Hair Happens.

It's strange to realize that I haven't known some of you for that long.  So many of you have not actually seen me with long hair.  Sidenote: I'm close to certain that I'll be one of those old ladies who has the same haircut at 80 as she did at 13.  Anyway, I know I make my hair a hot topic on my own agenda.  But lets be honest, I have help.

Questions I've been asked:


Has your hair ever been long?  
Yeah.  Not only was I born with a natural flat top I was unable to grow hair longer than wisps on the sides of my head for the first year of my life.  8 inches of flat top in the '80's was where it was at.


Why do you keep your hair so short?  
Because if it gets long the terrorists win.


What happened?  
Genetics.


It's been a rough day? 
No.  what do you mean?


Really? 
  
Comments that have been made:


Dude, Your hair is  fucked. up.
You look like a love child between 




Al Sharpton



And Don King.



Not to mention this conversation:

A: Your hair looks really nice today.
Me: Really?  I was just thinking it's kind of fucked up right now.
A: Hmm, Well I think it looks better than usual.

My beef isn't  of the Good Hair -too curly-too kinky-back to slavery variety.  It's more of the West Side Story knife-fight-while-I-pada-beret variety.  As in, I'm almost entirely convinced that the strands are conspiring to take me down like Steven Segal takes down Curiously-White Ninja #4.  

I know most women (and some men) have a love hate relationship with their locks.  I really don't.  Mostly I just hate it.  You hear that hair?   EFF YOU.  You. Ain't Got Nothin. On Me!   


Back to the point.  Sometimes I lose my mind and I get the urge to grow it long again.  Somehow the length creeps furtively down the nape of my neck waiting for the millimeter at which it can finally strangle me....And I let it.  

If the Cheveux Cell of terrorism is all in my head.  And I'm not saying that it is.  There are other reasons why in my case less is often more.  I'll let the pictures speak for themselves...
And for anyone who hasn't seen me with long hair....

Friday, February 26, 2010

Late to Lent

A few words on Lent...

"Lent in Christian tradition, is the period of the liturgical year leading up to Easter. The traditional purpose of Lent is the preparation of the believer — through prayer, penitence, almsgiving and self-denial — for the annual commemoration duringHoly Week of the Death and Resurrection of Jesus, which recalls the events linked to the Passion of Christ and culminates in Easter, the celebration of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ." 
(courtesy of Wikipedia)

Those of you who were unfortunate enough to witness my February caffeine detoxes in 2006 and/or 2007 know that I traditionally do Lent hardcore. And I'm not Catholic but I get down and dirty with the Wednesday ash and suck it up 'til the holy week.

But caffeine can only be done so many times before it gets old. And these past few years I've struggled to find a realistic but challenging vice to abstain from. I haven't yet. So in a last ditch effort to honor jesus, my homeboy, I want to open the question to the floor. But first.  


Things I will not give up:
a.  smoking (unrealistic)
b.  spinning
c.  pilates
d.  drinking (im flexible on this but I just don't think its hard enough)


Other than that...hit me.


  

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Dear United Healthcare Insurance

I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry I graduated and you felt you had to leave me. But I never wanted to part ways with you. I need you in (and for) my life. I've been so sick, actually ill, all week. And while I would usually turn into your united-caring arms, I find myself alone. The pain has been unbearable. I want you back. I need you back.

When we first got together I had no baggage, no pre-existing conditions. But now I'm older and life has matured me and I need you more than ever.

But is the cost too high? What premium am I willing to pay for your undivided-extended coverage?

The truth is I'll pay anything. Just don't deny me. Can you resist this face?


Lots of love,

Coping with Cobra after College

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Hurling at Lunch Hour


So I had a doctor's appointment yesterday. Walking to the train I started feel a bit woozy. One of those whoa I might faint, there's something pressing on the back of my neck, i need to sit down spells. But like the trooper that I am I got on the train made it halfway to my doctors office before I vomited in my own hand and subsequently in a public trash can. During lunch hour. Next to city hall. And then again in one of those outdoor seating areas made popular by Mayor Bloomberg.

In that post throw up euphoria where you think everything is okay and you couldn't possibly throw up again (until you do) I had time to think.

My thoughts:
I've just vomited in my hand.
There are a million people around me.
Thank God I made it off the train.
Is there no one in this city who is going to ask me if I'm alright? God what is wrong with you people? Have you no heart?
Wait, I'd totally walk by too. I am NOT tryin to get swine flu

Its a strange relationship new yorkers have with one another. The people passing know they'll probably never see me again and dont know me so they dont feel obligated to help. And I'm extremely thankful that never again will I see anyone who has seen me vomit in my own hands.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

"On Losing" or "On Dating Down" or "On 'Jesus He is Not As Attractive As Her'"

I people watch. I am friends with people watchers. We watch people together. And sometimes we play games.

In parks we see if people actually match their dogs. At cafes we look at couples and decide who is the loser and who is the winner. I'll define:

The Loser: The person who is, for all shallow purposes, more attractive, probably smarter, and/or cooler. Also the one who has more friends.

The Winner: The inferior of the pair who has somehow been blessed with money or a good heart or the psychotic break/blindness of their partner.

You play this game long enough and you start to notice a trend. Girls lose so often and they lose bad. It gets so much more tragic when you move beyond the game. You begin to understand that this silly game is emblematic of life. You think of your friends who cry over losers (in this game winners). I mean guys who were, are, and will be, losers in life. And then with the slow, horrifying suspense of a nouvelle vague film you turn the glaring spotlight on your past relationship.

Flash to Adam: The harry potter look-a-like who you aren't entirely convinced didn't have a girlfriend. Who you met at the library. Who crossed his legs like a british librarian. Who broke up with you through email. Friend quote: "at least it wasn't a post-it"

Bang. Adrian: The High School Prom date "Hottie" who hooked up with that big-breasted but small-bodied girl, in a hot tub, in front of your whole class...on prom night.

Oh the loser list goes on.

More importantly, there are societal effects of losing badly. A guy, who at one point knew he could not date above a certain level, attains that level. His ego inflates. He understands that he might use and abuse the women of the afore long-shot level and he aspire for more.

You give an inch...

What does this do to all the women he will hereafter encounter? It makes him more attractive. His confidence becomes engorged with chest-beating-egocentric-testosterone and he, emboldened by girlfriends past, Tarzans his way to the top of the dating ladder throwing women down as he ascends.

Something must be done.

(to be contd....)


****Oh and Shout out to Ma Girl Megan.  Without her this article would not have been made possible****

Honk for Harassment

Do you remember that school trip game? The where you'd try and get truck drivers to honk their horn by pretending to pull down on an imaginary one ?

There. Right, there. That's where we went wrong.

While this elementary school game was unisex, for year afterward women would inspire honks the whole tri-state area over. Which brings me to my point: Why do men in cars honk at women walking?

A recent conversation:
A: honking at attractive women on th street...why do men do that we never stop... its annoys women yet it continues.  Which means that at some point in history a woman stopped for a car that honked at her, got in, and in doing so
Me: ruined it for the rest of us
A: THANK YOU


My theory is that men have devolved to a pt that some pavlovian responses are impossible. In other words, they do not cease an action because of lack of result. Which is why I have started a grassroots effort to stop the verbal and auto harassment of new york city's women. By giving negative results.

Example:
Guy in UPS Truck: Hey Mama *wink* *honk*. How are you?
Crossing the street, I give him the middle finger.
Guy in UPS Truck: That's not very nice.
Me: I'm not a nice person.

Join my efforts at honkonthisasshole.com (not a real site, more of a support system)

Thursday, February 11, 2010

In the Gladwell Style

Although I haven't kept up with my pop sociology, I am well versed in the areas of 'Tipping Point" and "Blink". My feelings on Gladwell are mixed. I'm both interested and skeptical of his books. But they do make you kind of think, right?

I was walking to a cafe (in my inappropriately leather shoes) a day after the not-actually-a-blizzard-because-the-wind-didn't- backhand-you-enough-blizzard. I avoided streets, hopped slush puddles, and hoped I didn't slip and fall on my face. But have you ever thought about how much people change their lives for weather? They take trains earlier because of snow, they don't go to school, they don't go to work...so there could actually be a correlation with crime. Bear with me.

If I'm cold do I want to rob someone? If I'm too cold to leave my house I can't be mugged. And I definitely wont be leaving at those early morning hours when crime is highest because its when the temperature is lowest.

Last note. Mounds of snow lining the streets has to cut down on jay-walking.

No, for real, last note. I think I've solved what Guiliani tried to solve for two terms. Unfortunately, seasons and global warming will make the implementation of my plan impossible. Damn you Guiliani, you win this one.

Life Without Insurance

While, in the past few months, healthcare legislation has sky-rocketed through a democratic legislative branch it appears it may be slowing down. With the death of Senator Kennedy (RIP) beloved senator of Massachusetts and the election of a candidate from the evil empire, democrats have lost their super majority and what some believe to be hope for any real change to healthcare.

Now, it is often said that politics is personal. I get that. But since older generation got a lot of the heavy lifting done on my personal issues. The ones I've taken up kind of seem a little lackluster. Anywho...with the ringing in of the new year I became one of a rather large group of Americans without healthcare. What does this mean? Essentially I need a job or the immune system of a superhero. It means my $11.00 co-pay is now $180.00 for monthly medication. It means that doctors wont take me as a patient (that's right, wont take me, not even if I pay them).

Did you know that college graduates are among the largest group of individuals uninsured? Yeah, you did. Because most likely if you're reading this you've been there or you are there or your in grad school which means your not reading this anyway so I guess....wait where was I?

Right. I'm livin' on the edge! Fortunately I can apply for Cobra so the insurance company can continue to violate my parent's livelihood for another year or until I get a job. I should get one and not tell them....that'll show 'em...yeah...stick it to the man...although apparently thats insurance fraud and a felony and would probably just 'show' me where Oz was filmed and 'stick' me in a cell with only Bernice (my rough exterior-ed roommate with a heart of gold who used to trick before she kicked rayray to the curb) for protection.

Or is insurance fraud whitecollar? Does that sentence come with different accommodations like a duvet? I wonder if Martha donates..