MyNewJersey

The Hiatus is Over

2005-10-29T12:38:00.000-05:00

Wow. Two months since I've written a word on here. Does anyone besides those stupid ad commenters even bother to stop by here anymore? Nevertheless, I started out with like zero readership, and to zero readership I will return.

To sum up my world the past two months, I broke up with Boyfriend (hereto shall be known as Ex-Boyfriend), I started Library School at Rutgers (tis a lot more work than I expected), started work at a library in Ocean County (I love it!!!), bought a car (WTF is with gas prices? I was jumping for joy the day it went under $2.50. That's stupid), and have tried to keep my sanity by going out like I'm still in college on the weekends (technically, I still am).

Things that I've been dying to blog about:

1. Public Radio Pledge Drives. I don't know who I am angrier at, WNYC for announcing every two goddamn minutes that it's the Fall Pledge Drive and interrupting All Things Considered after every f*cking story, or the cheap sonsofbitches in the city who should be contributing at a much faster rate so this can just end. I started this Pledge Drive Season angry (and still am) but then I move into guilt. They are clearly talking to people like me, "Maybe you listen to All Things Considered everyday, maybe you tune in on the weekends for Weekend Update, or Car Talk. A ten dollar a month donation is perfect for you. Think about your other bills you pay each month. Isn't WNYC programming worth at least $10 a month to you?" Yes! That's me! I do listen at least $10 a month's worth! I should call! I'll call now! I'm in the car, but I'll pull over on the side of the NJTpk to give you $120 bucks. And I'll get a subscription to the Economist! I need that subscription to the Economist! AaaahhhhH!
But then I start thinking about how broke I am. How I steal quarters from chairs at the bar that people are sitting on (it was behind his butt, and it might not have even been his, and he didn't even notice, I don't think anyone did, and I have to use a lot of quarters for meters so I don't get one more frigging New Brunswick ticket that I won't pay and get another ten bucks added on for being late), and how I have to borrow January's rent from my parents, and how I have started to live off of Wendy's at school because for three bucks I can get chilli, a salad and a soda, and how I drive an extra 1o miles on the empty light because saving 8 cents a gallon is worth the chance that I'll break down from running out of gas on the GSP. And then I get angry again at the Pledge Drive. I get angry that they're making me feel guilty. I get angry at those rich SOBs from the Upper West Side who should be contributing, but aren't and who probably aren't even feeling the guilt that I am.

And then I bought an iPod car adapter. So there.

2. The one thing I really love about living in Hoboken lately is when I'm driving home at night, past the Liberty Science Center on my way to the Holland Tunnel, and the city is all lit up and it looks so beautiful, and I realize why so many people love this city, and why it might just be the best city in the world, and it just grabs my heart and my breath and makes me never want live anywhere else.

Do Not Shake Your Polaroid Picture

2005-08-19T13:59:00.000-05:00

I'm feeling rather Friday jumpy. My conversations this afternoon reflect this. Despite what the lyrics say, you're not supposed to shake a Polaroid picture. It ruins it. Many pictures have been ruined by that song, I would venture to guess. And Alicia would assume they'd attach a disclaimer. However, you are strongly encouraged to shake your booty where ever and when ever you hear that song, whether it's in a bar, or in your head. Shake it, shake, shake it. I just had a dance party with Michelle in her cube. I recommend it. Not just in Michelle's cube, although, she is a great dance partner, but in any cube. Dance like no one's watching.

I was just in the bathroom, and there was already one other person in there. I got into my stall, she got out and walked out. Without washing her hands. Honestly. If there's someone else in there, you have to wash your hands. At least move your hands under the sensor to make me think you're washing, or at the very least rinsing your hands. You can't pull that shit with someone else in there! It's preposterous. I'm shocked.

My friend is home for 10 days from Lesotho. I have nothing else to comment on that. I just wanted to let you all know I have a friend who lives in Lesotho.

I'm bringing Monsters Ball to watch on my iBook on the train ride home. I'm really excited for Newark when the second batch of people get on the train, and I'm squished in a three person seat and the person next to me is looking at my computer, trying to figure out what I'm watching and I hope it's at some really inedecent scene with Halle Berry and Billy Bob and it makes the person next to me uncomfortable. I'm pulling for either a small Asian woman or a middle aged balding stock broker. I'd like to be thought of as The Perv of the North Jersey Coast Line train.

Why would anyone leave a pony country for a non-pony country?

ps, this is the most schitzo post i've ever written.

Random Musings of the Day

2005-08-18T09:13:00.000-05:00

I think that I'd like to get to the point in my life that I could fall in love with someone who isn't all that attractive, and it would be a love based on the aspects of a person that really matter, like a good personality, humor, mutual respect, generosity, kindness, humility, all those good things.

But then I think that that wouldn't be such a good idea, because one of my top 5 fears in life is having ugly kids. So I have to remain at least a little superficial.

Is that bad?

Another one. Sometimes I feel a little creepy for watching Laguna Beach with such adoration. These kids were born in 1988. I was rocking out to NKOTB, making my First Communion, and playing TV tag when these kids were born. I'm so old that I couldn't date Trey even if I did find him after stalking him at NYU. But then I don't feel bad for loving LB, not only because I know many mid-20s folks enjoy it as well, but also because Jason looks like he's older than me. Honestly. How old is that kid?

Me, Molly Pitcher, and the Port Authority

2005-08-15T09:01:00.000-05:00

My roommate Jamie, who was also a roommate in college, in that we lived in the same house, but at different times (I was abroad, then she was abroad) had an odd obsession with Molly Pitcher. For those of you who aren't up on your New Jersey Revolutionary War history, Mary Hays McCauly, aka Molly Pitcher was the second woman to man a gun on an American battlefield. The Battle of Monmouth was hotter than it was last week apparently, but instead of fighting off flies on the beach, they were fighting off the British. Molly's husband was firing away at a cannon, and she was running all over the battlefield bringing water to thirsty men who were yelling, "Molly! Pitcher!" which is where her name came from. Her husband was injured, and Molly stepped right up to blast those goddamn Red Coats.

Jamie isn't some crazed Revolutionary War buff or anything. In fact, more notably to Jamie, Molly Pitcher is the namesake of the rest stop on the NJ Turnpike (milepost 71.7, between Interchanges 8 and 8A, southbound) lauded as the Turnpike's showpiece, its vision of the rest stop of the future. It provides the usual Turnpike food lineup -- Nathan's, Roy Rogers, TCBY, plus newcomers Country Kitchen and Cinnabon -- but in cleaner, brighter surroundings. For more on Molly, and why people love this rest stop, click on Moll.

Back to our Molly Pitcher. Another one of our roommates had a duck lamp. The duck was about 2 feet high, white with a scruffed up yellow beak, sitting on a green, faux grass base, that lit up, illuminating any room it was in with a soft, duck-like glow. Katie, with interior design brilliance well beyond her years, brought this lamp to our townhouse junior year. It was the perfect compliment to the cigar couch (an old, comfy couch, covered with thick fabric that had pictures of different kinds of cigars all over it) and the Feral Cat poster our weird roommate Erin had brought back from Australia. It was Maurice Sendak-ish with a huge cartoon cat in the middle of this carnage, grinning and saying "No one felt like making babies anymore." Erin Jones, YOU WEIRDO. I digress. So, Katie's duck lamp was chritened Molly Pitcher in honor of the rest stop, because everyone needs a little Molly Pitcher in their life. Molly was a part of our lives. She was on the back deck, lighting up the Baltimore nights, Molly made it out for Jamie's 21st birthday party, sitting in her own seat on the yellow school bus that was rented, and she made it into the loving arms of friends who had passed out too early and deserved to be photographed mid-duck love. Molly was a fixture in our lives.

Fast forward to Thursday night. I was in the city for a friend's birthday (happy birthday Thea!) and it was decided that I needed to put on a party dress. I clearly wasn't part of the festivites without one. So Alicia, Thea and I pile into her room with a bottle of champagne in hand, alternating long pulls from the bottle as I hop into a party dress. That's when I saw her. Molly Pitcher, sitting in the corner of Thea's room, her little duck light glowing, a beacon shining through the dark city night.

"You have Molly."
"What Liz?"
"You have Molly!"
"Pass the champagne. What are you talking about?"
"The duck lamp! It's Molly! Can I have it?"
"Uh, you want my lamp? Um, you can borrow it."
"Really?? It would mean the world to me, to my roommate, to friends." As I launched into the Revolutionary War/rest stop story (see above).
"Sure, go nuts."

So on a condition that Molly must be returned I walked out of Thea's apartment and towards the Port Authority Bus Terminal. Molly tucked tightly beneath my arm, I ran through the place from one end to another and then back to the late night gate, on my cell phone laughing hysterically trying to get a hold of anyone who could share this moment with me, to no avail, leaving ridiculous messages on answering machines, only being harrassed by one person screaming "AFLAC!" in my direction and finally made it aboard the bus to standing room only (no gentlemen in this world). Molly made it home, after I tried to explain, yet again, why I needed this duck to about four people on the bus. I couldn't find Jamie in her room and called multiple people who may have known where she was and called it a night deciding that she wasn't staying at home that night. At 7:45 the next morning, she woke me up very confused as to where Molly had come from, but very excited about her presence. (She had been in our other roommate Kat's room, who was away for the weekend.) Now I have a two foot duck sitting in my kitchen. And I'm still pretty excited about it.

Me and Molly on the bus.

Ordinance 2005-20

2005-08-04T11:20:00.000-05:00

Sorry, Mark & Richard. Not in Belmar, NJ.

The ruffians of Belmar, NJ must be stopped. Not only do they bring in hundreds of thousands of dollars in income to the town, what with their spending money on rentals, dinners at Kleins, kegs from The Little Red Barn, bar tabs at the Boat House, Bar A and DJais, ice cream cones from Strollos, and season badges from the Taylor Pavilion, but they dare think that they have the right to drink outside (alcohol, no less) on the very property that they have paid money to rent.
Don't worry, the town of Belmar is putting a stop to the maddness. The Beer Pong Ordinance will do just that, starting August 17. My two favorite sections from this new piece of legislative brilliance are:

WHEREAS, municipal officials and residents have taken notice of the increasing frequency of occasions on which occupants of summer rental properties in the community have begun engaging in games and contests on their lawns and porches that involve as an element of the game or contest the consumption or use of alcoholic beverages; examples of same games are Beer Pong and chugging contests;
WHEREAS, the Mayor and Council find that the playing of such outdoor alcohol related games and contests can expose these families and their impressionable children to foul language, rowdy and disorderly behavior and to examples of the consumption of alcohol under circumstances that are detrimental and to which they ought not to be exposed, and that can adversely affect the health, safety and welfare of these children, their families and the general public.

Apparently the MeatHeads of Belmar are going to get drunk, through debacherous Beer Pong games and chugging contests and adversely affect the health, safetly and welfare of children, their families and the general public. Here and I thought they only beat up eachother. Looks like that's not enough. Get some chugging contests going and they'll be after your children too.

I'm a local. I grew up in the area, went to high school in Belmar. I dislike the traffic that the Bennys bring. I get huffy waiting in line for a bar. I don't particularly ever want to step foot in DJais and Bar A makes me cranky. I can appreciate a Noise Ordinance. Keep it down, no one wants to hear your house music going at 3 am. Fine. I can also handle the Open Container law. But last I checked, if you're 21 and you're on your own property, you can drink if you want to. And you can play games if you want to. If the two are combined, then more power to you. Drinking! and Fun! Please, let's put an end to that. Does playing horseshoes, drinking a Coors light get you a hundred dollar fine? You bet. How about Wiffle Ball? Yup. A game of cards? If there's a beer nearby, watch out. This is like something straight out of a college Student Life handbook. What's next, The Six Pack Ordinance? Only 6 beers in the fridge for every occupant in the house.

I suggest the renters of Belmar take a stand. On August 17, when this law goes into affect, everyone stand on your front lawn, side lawn or porch and start playing Rock, Paper, Scissor. Loser chugs. Wait until the cops come around and then put your hands in your pockets. It's the new thing.

Start a Rock, Paper, Scissor Revolution. And Damn the Man.

Laguna WHAT?

2005-07-28T14:55:00.000-05:00

Holy crap. Just got something today from Katie. And if you are a fan of LB, you will love this.

Lo's online photo album. Or should I say, Rayne. Oh, and LC, my girl as I once called her, Kaley.

I'm trying to decide how I feel about this. I'm a little betrayed, as I bought it hook, line, and sinker that this was real. I'm also a little confused, because The Bible (IMBD) says that their names really are Lo and LC. And if IMBD is lying to me, then this might just be too much dishonesty and treachery for one girl to handle.

Something's fake here, and it's not just the girl's hair. I'm at a loss.

Kristin and Her Heisman Winner

2005-07-28T12:40:00.000-05:00

Everyone's favorite Love to Hate You Vixen Kristin has herself a new man. The news shattered poor Stephen, causing him to partake in the most awkward run in on reality television (making everyone over the age of 17 cringe at the memories of those awful moments of high school insecurity and thank god that they are over--it's easier now to avoid those interactions by lots of shots of Cuervo), nearly cry in front of the cameras after she blew him off at the party, and run into the hot, wet arms of a hot tub immersed LC. (Wake up Stephen, she is hot and not a raging bitch.) But maybe there's a chance. They could still get back together, right?

Wrong.

Word on the street is that at the time of taping, last December, Kristin was dating Matt Leinart. Now if you're like me and don't even really know what the Heisman award is, let alone what sport it's for or what position you have to play to get one, (it's for college football and it's for the quaterback) I've provided a visual of Kristin's Slampiece. Stephen, I'm sorry, but your skinny ass has nothing on this guy, and I came of age loving skinny surfers and still do love them, but really, you're beat. Here's the results of my Googling which I count as reliable sources. It is a bit creepy though, considering that he was a senior in college when they were dating and she was a senior in high school, but I'm friends with enough guys to know that this is not a problem, but rather a cause for celebration. And as I have dated my fair share of older men, including one trist with a college kid whilst I didn't even have a license, I too give Kristin a high five.

Stephen, you're sunk.

I know, I know

2005-07-27T15:40:00.000-05:00

I've been MIA, again. And to think, there have been such interesting things going on in my life these past few days, and I haven't taken the chance to share some anecdotes. And even if Wednesday is to late to talk about last weekend, here goes a day by day recap:

Friday: I stayed in Hoboken/the city for the first time on a weekend night since Memorial Day. And let me tell you, it was well worth missing out on another night at the Norwood or 507. Went out to meet up with Katie and her friends from Upstate, aka, Westchester, for her birthday. Scored major points for making it all the whole way to the East Village (Shock, horror! It's all the way on the far side of the island!) but myself. Spent the first part of the evening drinking $45 worth of Sam Summers at Lunasa, which has the snarkiest bartender in the city, despite rave reviews on CitySearch. I walked in parched, and asked for a water.
"ID."
"I didn't know you needed an ID to get a glass of water."
"You need an ID to get into the bar. NOW. ID."
Easy tiger. This was him being polite with one in our party. He was more of an ass to others. So, I tried to lighten up the mood.
"So, you in a better mood now?"
"So, you like to get familiar quick."
Needless to say, I got no free shots. I left Katie, face first in a glass of water, eyes closed, muttering, "I need drugs...I need drugs." I skipped on over to Pyramid Club for 80s night to meet Alicia and boys in eyeliner. This is where the night gets interesting, obviously. Was grinding to Holiday or some other such predictible fare with Alicia's coworker who was freestyling his own version of the lyrics. When someone dropped a beer he started in with, "Someone dropped a beer. It must have been a queer." Shortly thereafter, he stuck his toungue in my mouth. I raised the issue that perhaps my boyfriend would not be too keen on our smooch, whereupon he said, "Hellooo, I am Way Gay." Then we laughed and I danced so much, and with such memorable sweet moves that I was the talk of Turner AdSales department the next day. I have been told that now is the time to apply for a job there.

Saturday: My seester's graduation party. We laughed, we ate, we drank two kegs of Yeungling. Big ups to Mom and Aunt Janet for playing flip cup. Also to Emily for yet again refusing to drink water despite exhibiting the Three S's, the obvious signs of being overserved, slurring, spilling and sulking. Dad said once again, "This is the last party I'm throwing." However, this will all change by the time either Em or I finish grad school. The race to the finish is on. Stars of Saturday night were Em's friends Lauren and Her Bearded Man who stole a big ol' bottle of red wine, went into the corner of the yard and drank the whole thing at 2 am, only to puke all over the bathroom, splattering red barf on the white wall and porcelin bowl, then pass out in the basement until 3 the next afternoon, waking up to find a house devoid of anyone under the age of 50. Awesome job, kids.

Sunday: A day of rest, kids. I ate roast beef and mashed potatoes and Liz saw that it was good and she rested.

Monday: I've decided that I could spend 4 hours and 32 minutes in Barnes and Noble without realizing it. I also think that I could spend an entire paycheck in there and not really regret it. I feel the same way about AC though, so I think that saves me from complete dorkdom and also makes me a bit of an enigma, although can you really say that about yourself? Prolly not. I picked up The Curious Incident of the Dog In Night-Time and I'm pretty excited about it. It's that or Potter for the ride up to Boston this weekend. Decisions, decisions.
And more importantly about Monday, Laguna Beach. LC, I love you girl, you know I do, but if I had seen what an ass Stephen had made me look like the previous season, I would not keep coming back for it. I know it's hard. We all have those crazy high school, intense crushes that grab you and don't let go, but you've got to. Keep your chin up. That slut Kristin needs to be kicked in the teeth. And the crazy one with the teased hair? And Jason, who appears to be 35 and bears a striking resemblance to Joey Fatone. **shudder** All in all, I'm pumped for the season and I promise to do a better recap than this lousy one.

Tuesday: I registered for classes. Holy crap, I'm really going to school. Like for real, I have classes on Tuesday afternoon, night, Wed night, and Thursday afternoon. Really interesting stuff like Human Information Behavior and Information, Media and the Curriculum. Sweet. What am I doing this for again? I've got to find a part time job, find a car, find a way to pay for my beer. Any and all donations are welcome.

And bringing us to today. Off to a facial. Boss has gone away for a week and a half, leaving me with much time to devote to this lovely blog. Until then, I'm out.

The World's Online Marketplace

2005-07-22T12:58:00.000-05:00

There's been a contest of sorts around the office between people in the know. (How sketchy does that sound?) We need to keep ourselves entertained; books can get boring. So, a few of us have been trying to find the weirdest items for sale on eBay.

For your reading pleasure, I submit the following:

Right Lemon

Please note that the Right Lemon is for sale, not the left lemon. While you might think this is a bad deal (Left Lemon does have a killer goatee, the right, some sort of chin pubes and acne), Right Lemon is pretty darn cool.

Below are some photos of Left Lemon doing the things he loves most. Bike riding, going to see Star Wars. Seriously people, bid on this!

The Frog Man

This dude, let's call him The Frog Man, has a slightly unsettling preoccupation with frogs. And when I say slightly unsettling, I mean absolutely, one hundred percent, disturbing and downright wrong.

Honestly?

Jesus Toast

There are currently four pieces of Jesus Toast for sale. These miraculous signs of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ are available from $12.00 all the way up to a whopping $1,000. A thousand bucks! The Lord does indeed work in mysterious ways. My favorite claims to have the date of the apocalypse written on it, but conveniently blocked out by an index card. Nostradamus, who?

Red Neck Vacation

I think this one is my favorite. A week long vacation in this man's trailer. "We have bologna and moonpies waitin'" Keep 'em waitin' 'cause I'm a'comin'. (Overuse of apostrophes, no doubt) "Podunk Redneck Trailer Vacation at our place! YEEHAW!!!" Let the bidding wars ensue!

Happy Bidding, folks.

The "Who Was Annie?" Game

2005-07-19T10:50:00.000-05:00

So my friend Annie, of Hoff fame, has told me that in her past life, she was not:

A. A Russian cosmonaut (despite her preoccupation with spacestations and launches).

B. A French whore during The Bubonic Plague.

I put it to you, my readers, to help me in guessing who Annie was in her past life. Winner gets entered into the running for the Monthly MyNewJersey contest. I'm looking for responses, guys. This isn't just a post to embarass Annie. It's a not so well disguised attempt of bribery to get you people commenting.

Good Deed of the Week

2005-07-19T10:40:00.000-05:00

I have been getting an influx of emails from websites I've gone to or ordered from or events I've taken part in where I still don't remember to give a fake email address. It's a lot of "Proposed Endangered Species Bill Rescinds Sound Science" from BushGreenWatch.org and "July 20: Mobilizing Meeting to Build Sept. 24-26" from UnitedForPeace.org which are, I'm sure, worthwhile emails, but I usually end up trashing them and then feeling guilty. (Indifference is the same as doing bad, or some other mantra that was pounded into my head in sophmore year Morality class.)

Anyway, I did get this email today and I did read it and I am going to do something about it, other than get a sever case of Catholic guilt after deleting it. (This blogging thing could be better than therapy. Cheaper at least.) The Blood Center of NJ is critically low on blood supplies. Summer is bad for them because schools are closed and community groups don't meet. I think it's pretty crappy too that as a state, only 2-3% of eligible donors are donating.

Here's a link to local blood drives. There's one in Hoboken tomorrow from 4pm-8pm. If you're my neighbor in the 'hood, stop by on your way out of the Path on the walk home. There'll be a van right there, across the street from where cabs line up. If you aren't my neighbor, look to see where you can go. It takes about 15 minutes and it guarantees good karma.

And you look really tough with that bandagey stuff wrapped around your elbows. No one will f*ck with you because you look badass. If you're a guy, chicks will flock to you because we like tough guys. If you're a girl, ask for the colored stuff and make a fashion statement, ala Punky Brewster only on your arm, not your leg.

And you get a free t shirt. Doooo it.

Your Bird's a Creep

2005-07-14T09:40:00.000-05:00

My dear friend Alicia (who afforded me the opportunity to meet David Bowie) has started her own blog.

Go there, check her out. And if you're in need of a job as a Ninja Magician, you're in luck. She's got the job for you.

"A Very Long and Odd Dream"

2005-07-14T09:26:00.000-05:00

I have some pretty crazy, vivid dreams which I usually remember. Anyone I've ever shared a room with can attest to this, as my first order of business in the morning is retelling of them, "Woah, I had the craaaaziest dream last night..." There's always some random cats in my dreams, an old high school teacher, an ex boyfriend, a cousin or two. I've often wondered if I'm ever the random in someone else's dream world.

This morning I am proud to say, I made a dream cameo last night in someone else's dream. My friend Maryl called about an hour ago with the good news. Turns out, I was in her friend Chris's dream:

"A very long and odd dream. You (Maryl) were we wearing shorts and she (me!) a little gown with a tiara and a wand. We made fun each other and Liz meditated. And laughed."

I like that. It's pretty cool to sit around dressed like a fairy princess and meditate. And laugh.

If you need me today, that's where I'll be.

Dear Hoff,

2005-07-13T22:06:00.000-05:00

Hello, Mr. Hasselhoff.

How are you? How's Germany these days? Still knockin' 'em dead over there? Good to hear it.

Well, David, to be frank, I'm kind of wondering what your deal is these days. I mean, I don't see you or hear from you in years (I don't live in Dusseldorf, afterall). Last I see you, you're patrolling the streets of Baywatch Nights, hitting up dark night clubs, looking serious and contemplative in the glow of neon lights. Then, poof! Nothing. No Lifetime movies (like your friend Alexandra Paul, aka Lt. Stephanie, aka the only flat chested chick on the show, and therefore the dullest, not fun, uninteresting female character on the show), nor have you married a rock star which seems to be a running theme among the larger chested female characters on the show. To be fair, you were in the Baywatch: Hawaiian Wedding (even Hobie was in that), but they did have to pull quite a stunt to get you there, ala Dylan McKay's dad, the whole "you think he died in an explosion but really he's had amnesia and living in LA/been living with another family to avoid the FBI" plot twist. And granted you were in Dodgeball and the Sponge Bob movie with small cameo roles (nothing comparing to the ultimate cameo of David Bowie in Zoolander, but we all know how I feel about my close personal friend David Bowie). But for sometime you've been hiding.

Yet now, Hoff, you've become something of a cult classic. As someone who is iconic because you are so ridiculous. You were so out, you've come back in with a vengance. So uncool, it makes you cool. Like purple eyeshadow (I even wear it) or those pleated front shorts that I've seen posted all over my InStyle and People worn by Nicole Richie and Mandy Moore (I will never wear them). How have you done this, Dave? And is there shame in it or are you able to laugh at yourself, not just cry while people laugh at you?

You wouldn't be in my life, and such a pressing issue of an enigma if it weren't for my friend, Annie. See Annie sends me emails periodically with little text, but big pictures of you. Like the soap dispenser I got last week. It's weird. But it's funny. What if that sticker was on the soap dispenser at work? It would bring a little joy and a little chuckle to me everytime I washed my hands. I've also gotten a calendar, with month upon month of Hoff-ness. And a sneaky little Power Point presentation that tricks me into opening a full screen picture of you in a banana hammock so any of my co-workers walking by will think I'm a weirdo who likes hairy chested men in skimpy undies. You prankster, you.

Maybe you're making a comeback. In which case, I bid you good luck. It says on IMDB that you're in production for a Knight Rider movie. Not to be rude, but you're a bit older than when you did that whole bit the first time around. But, as I said earlier this paragraph, slainte. I hope you can ride this wave of rebirth out of has been status into still is status. You seem like a nice enough guy. And, as long as we're being honest here, you're pretty good looking. For an old guy. I'd let you buy me a drink in the bar. But then I'd probably run back to my friends and call you a creepy old man.

Anyway, good luck. I wish you the best. And I'm sure if Annie has anything to do with it, we'll be there at the movies to see Knight Rider. We'll be laughing at you. Hopefully, you'll be laughing, too. Since we just spent 10 bucks a piece to see you, it only seems fitting.

Talk to you soon,

Your friend, Liz.

LoveFest for the Jerz

2005-07-13T21:53:00.000-05:00

Having grown up in the “farm country” of Howell, summer has always been a time to take advantage of straight out the dirt produce. My parents had their favorite roadside farm stand and they’d drive 20 minutes past the closer stand to get to it. At dinner tables and breakfast tables, we’d discuss the merits of the tomatoes, corn, and blueberries. “This is the sweetest corn I’ve ever had. You don’t even need butter!” “The tomatoes are almost there. Just give it another week. They’ll be perfect. So red, so sweet.” We’re produce people.
The apartment I live in now in Hoboken is above a market. They’ve got piles of great fruit and veggies, making it easy for my roommates and I to grab something fresh and tasty to add to dinners. But I’ve been missing my roadside farm stand. And yesterday I got my fix. I made my first visit to the Hoboken Farm Market, where there are a handful of stands set up with organic fruits, vegetables, herbs, flowers, and baked goods. I milled about, groping corn, poking through piles of grape tomatoes (give the big ones another two weeks), and sampling a plethora of pickled veggies—tomatoes, olives, and of course, cucumbers. I ran into my neighbor by the blueberries. It was a great way to spend a half an hour. And for about 10 bucks I walked away three bags heavier.

I ran across this article in the NY Times about NJ Bloggers. It spoke about the Carnival of NJ Bloggers, Enlighten NJ’s brainchild, showcasing some of the states’ blogging geniuses (or at least we’d like to think so). I’ve been mentioned on there three times, and while I was a bit nervous in the beginning to send the initial “Hey, show me some love!” email (this started just for my friends to keep up to date on my life, and for any randoms who accidentally found their way here—this was asking for readers) it turned out to be some worthwhile exposure (I hope). I’ve finally surpassed the 1,000 visit mark and while I’m sure at least 200 of those are me, it’s made me see this whole blog experiment as something to belong to. There’s a blog community and I’m proud to be a fledgling member of a thriving New Jersey chapter.

I’ve been thinking about what it means to be from New Jersey lately. With friends moving into the city (to get out of Hoboken) and my Big Life Decision to stay in state to get my degree or cross the river (deciding where I’ll get certified to be in a school) it’s made me think about this place I call home. I’ve come to the conclusion that I love it. I love the shore, where my parents live now; I love Hoboken, where I live now. I love the sense of unwavering pride that its residents have. I love the accents, I love the attitudes. I love the beach, I love the Parkway. I love the open spaces and I love the crowded city corners. I love Bruce, I love the Windmill, I love Great Adventure. I love the malls, I love the horse farms.

And mostly, I just love that it is my home.

I LOVE my new iBook!

2005-07-12T19:27:00.000-05:00

I am in love. With my iBook. I just got it today and it has stolen my heart. It's so portable and adorable and versatile. I'm also exceedingly fond of the new application PodWorks, which cost me 8 bucks to download and now I have all of my songs from my iPod on my hard drive and I'm so happy.

I'll tell you who I'm not in love with: Janice Dickinson. I'm simultaneously typing and watching the new Surreal Life. She's obnoxious and keeps interrupting my new favorite Surreal Life character (replacing last season's Adrienne) Pepa. Pep is down to earth, pleasant, kind, and cooked the family dinner. I'm looking forward to this season. I may recant from my hiatus of reality tv for the summer.

Big

2005-07-08T19:57:00.000-05:00

I was watching Big today on my lunch. I caught the last hour of it, picking up when Tom gets laid by his co-worker the first time. First, Susan, played by the delightful Elizabeth Perkins, is the ultimate 80s wo-man. Everything about her was Big, her hair, her shoulder pads, her career. This woman was going places. Like to bed with a 14 year old.

Anyway, maybe it's because I was hungover, but I was irked by the ending. Let's review. Tom and Elizabeth are co-workers who start banging. He's refreshing, a breath of wide-eyed innocence not regularly seen in the high profile world of 80's coporate culture. He's getting into his career, leaving old friends behind. I'm following. Just like when Molly Ringwald left Ducky behind when she got Blaine. I'll even take it at face value that he was a kid, made a wish to be big, and woke up in Tom Hanks' body. They explain that. The whole genie at the fair thing. I'm not knocking a little leap of faith for movie fantasy. But here's where you start to lose me: Tom tells his girlfriend he's 14. She, like any normal person, says, You're off your rocker. They get into a fight, they still have the big presentation, he leaves, she follows him, he makes the wish to be a kid again, she gets there, sees the genie and WHAM she believes him. Of course! The genie explains it all! Not that he's further delusional than she first expected but that he really is a teenager in a man's body.

Completely and utterly ridiculous and I'm not buying it.

I'm in a salty mood. GRRRR.

Unsolicited Bear-Knocking.

2005-07-08T08:33:00.000-05:00

Keeping with the reporting on the hottest news stories around, I submit the following for your weekend pleasure. Despite the fact that Patrick doesn't think this is news, I believe this to be the top story of the day.

I don't know what my favorite part of this article is; there's just too many to chose from. Let's start with the headline, "Unsolicited Bear-Knocking." Let's be serious. When is bear-knocking solicited? 'Oooh, there's a bear here selling girl scout cookies! Let's solicite him to come in!' Secondly, the bear knocked three times and only now after THREE times are the Loknar family refusing to answer the door any longer. Once, fair enough. Knock on the door, you answer. It's a bear, holy shit. Twice, um, after that first knock I'm running out of that goddamn house like I'm Lindsay Lohan at a Sizzler. Three times??? What a stupid bunch of Slavs! Headline should read "Dumb Croats Get Eaten by Bear. Idiocy Cited."

Pat seems to think this is not news at all. "Where's the story? Croations are easily fooled. They are too busy practicing the 2012 Olympic gymnastics to figure out these bear tricks."

Back from Blog Slacking

2005-07-07T18:33:00.000-05:00

My apologies for not having blogged in approximately a week. I took a mini vacation this past weekend and spent five days sunning myself on the sandy beaches of the Jersey Shore by day and drinking my fill at a menagerie of watering holes. All in all, I had a great weekend. Had a guest for the weekend, Work Michelle, who did wonderfully and was a hassle-free guest. Got to see Melissa, in from Boston (move here for the summer, will you??) and met my sister's new BOYFriend (red heads are the new black, apparently).

Hats off to Dana and Joe, the couple who, by self-declaration, "can't stop celebrating their wedding." Their party was the best of the summer, cementing the years old addage of "Everything happens in July." Another highlight was rocking out in Kevin's basement (nothing says high school like drinking Natty Lights in a Shark River basement while your friends play guitar) and renegging on my promise not to rap Vanilla Ice again. I just keep getting better each time. I can't help it if the masses love my lyrical slinging. Sunday night was the only night we paid for beer, heading out to 507 which has, unfortunately, been found by the bennys. I sat in a huff on the bench outside saying rather loudly, "Don't you get to cut the line if you like, went to high school in this town?" Glad there were friends inside because I would have left and missed the sleeper hit of the weekend. When you expect little there's always room to blow you away. It was also my third night of the weekend seeing Pat Roddy, and I think that qualifies me as a groupie. Perhaps also a qualifier is that I showed my tits at the back bar of 507 Sunday night.

Shoulda been there.

"Her groove turned out to be a Fag"

2005-06-29T15:46:00.000-05:00

Thanks to Patrick for hooking me up with this HUGE story.

Where's your GayDar, lady?

We've all seen How Stella Got Her Groove Back, the critically acclaimed, tour de force of 1998. Angela Basset, in her finest role to date since What's Love Got To Do With It? plays the 40 something, successful, divorced, single mother, stock broker who goes to Jamaica on vacation and kicks it with Delicious Chocolate himself, Taye Diggs, who plays the stunning, charming, ever so much younger than her, aspiring chef. It's filled with heart touching moments (Whoppi's heartbreaking cancer), humor (Digg's mom saying she's a year older than Basset--hysterical!), and steamy love scenes (anything with Taye minus a shirt). I cried, I laughed, I creamed my pants.

Apparently it was based on the real life romance of Terry McMillan, who went to Jamaica and found her own twenty three years younger lova. Who turns out, is a fairy. Life's a bitch, ain't it? Turns out lover boy was just looking for a green card. But one must wonder, They were married for SIX and a half years. Hell-ooo. How did this woman not notice her 24 year old cupcake was a cupcake?

Hit and Run

2005-06-29T15:38:00.000-05:00

I went out to dinner last night with some friends to a restaurant, Village, right across the street from the 9th St. Path station. (Very highly recommended. Go. Please.) While on my way up the fairly long walkway one of those dirty, disgusting tunnel winds picked up. Where does this wind come from? Sometimes it blows from the direction or the station, others the street. It's always hot, even in the winter, and it feels like it's depositing a film of ancient dust, dirt, and debris. So last night, the wind was blowing. And it was blowing into my face. While I'm trying to hold my skirt down and keep my hair from blowing into my eyes, all while keeping my face down so my contacts don't get blown out, out of nowhere Page Six comes hurdling down the hallway. I see it out of the corner of my eye, but it's too late. You couldn't have written it better: Its course is stopped by my face. The dirty, peed on, stepped on, spit on page of the Post hits me right in the kisser. And the troup of people walking down towards the platform (I've never seen this many people in a Path station, ever. Convenient, eh?) start laughing, snickering, "ooooh" ing. I tried to laugh it off but inside I was vom-ing.

I washed my face five times when I got home.

Not really, but I should have.

Wonderful Weekend

2005-06-28T11:38:00.000-05:00

Back in the office and thinking about how Tuesday is my least favorite day of the work week. This weekend was great, which is probably helping to make this three and a half day week crawl by. The weekend included, but was not limited to, rapping Ice Ice Baby not once, but twice (the second time being the clear winner, with both bongo accompaniment and back up vocals); drinking excessive amounts of margs with the parents and their friends; meeting my friend's new crush (what up, Pete) who was a very nice boy and a very nice departure from her usual, Seductive Hispanic pretty boy type; and getting a lot a lot of time on the beach in Manasquan.

Looking forward to the long weekend and, if I get enough practice time in, performing my next bar trick, Jesus Walks.

I've got an interview on Thursday, so wish me luck biotches. I LOVE the Library.

The Notebook Debate

2005-06-23T12:48:00.000-05:00

Few things get me as riled up as Nicholas Sparks. The man has duped America into thinking that a cheap cry, predictable plot lines, and one dimensional characters make a good movie that just happened to be a book once upon a time. And the success of the garbage that is The Notebook makes me shudder and weep for humanity.

BARF

Am I being melodramatic? If you've read anything this man has put into print, you would feel the same way. He writes for Midwest Moms who want a break from their soaps to cry for the concept of One Great Love. Danielle Steele offers more substance.

This was all brought on by an email argument that I'm still in the middle of. My friend Katie, who can be found often at Yankee Stadium getting tossed for throwing things at players/opposing fans, or making out viciously at the bar blacked out on a Tuesday night (not one who you would expect to watch, much less enjoy the movie), asked myself and our friend Maryl had we seen The Notebook. The following email arguement ensued:

Me:
I abhor Nicholas Sparks and his work. His writing and the movies that have spawned from it have degraded the world of literature and cinema. He takes emotional advantage of the masses, convincing them that a sappy love story, predictably written filled with cliches: two kids from opposite sides of the tracks conquering all odds of distance, disease, and other such obvious impediments, who come together in a passionate reunion to live happily ever after until one is struck down by disease and the other must live on with only the memories of The Greatest Love of All Time.

BARF.

Katie:
Seriously Liz? Besides the stupid back of the movie box synopsis, U didnt like it? Seriously? I kinda just got mad at you. Maryl- make sure you have at least 3 boxes of tissues with you. I almost cried once, which means your doomed. BUt watch it.

Me:
I hated it. It was a cheap cry, poorly acted, poorly written and entirely predictable. After they're on the boat in the rain, they go home, do it, her mom comes to get her, says your man is on his way, the mom says she's had a love from the wrong side of the street too (that might have been before) and then the fiance shows up. it leaves you hanging kinda not knowing what she's going to decide, she picks ryan obvi, cut to present day, the old dude is him, the lady with alzheimers is her, they have this one night where she remembers everything, and is like i love you, i don't want to forget again, they kiss, she snaps back into alzheimers, katie and all of america cries, he stays, happy to be just by her side.

again, BARF.

Katie:
DO me a favor, next time dont bother. You possibly just ruined it for me. And im pissed.

Me:
i saved you from being emotionally raped by nicholas sparks.

you should be thanking me.

there is more humanity in the little mermaid.

Katie:
"there is more humanity in the little mermaid." - I dont even know what that means.

And Im not really pissed, but i think Im more pissed you didnt like it.

Maryl, finally weighing in:
I think this conversation should be documented and sold on the black market. For some reason it is just making me laugh. I think Liz's BARFs paired with Katie Mac's heartfelt pleas for closure on this film are just delightful. I hope you two work it out.

Me:
few things in life irk me more than this man. you struck a bad chord with me. i want you to see through it bc i know you have it in you. this movie is for the likes of [my cheesy roommate from college who had anne gedes pictures framed in her bedroom].

Katie:
Ok, first of all I know nothing about this man nicholas sparks. You can hate him all youd like. But why ruin this movie for me? I understand its cheesy, probably poorly written and not up to your academic /cinematic standards but come on give a girl a break. a movie for the likes of [Anne Gedes roommate]? That hurt liz, that hurts.

I am an emotionally stunted human being and so what if a cheesy movie lets me know I still have feelings and a desire to be loved?? ooooooo...i went there

Why are we fighting about the notebook?

Really though, we did get a little fired up. Please weigh in.

Leemme alone, Godammit!

2005-06-22T23:56:00.000-05:00

It never ceases to amaze me how Loyola's phone-a-thon girls catch you at the most inopportune time. In the middle of dinner, on a date, at work. They're worse than the Mormons. (Although the Mormons did one time knock on my front door while I was performing a less than ladylike act, but that's a tale for another day my friends.)

So tonight, I'm in the subway headed towards the path after running in the JP Morgan Chase Corporate Challenge (I'm so athletic) and I get a call. I'm more than suprised that my phone even works, but I look and it says Unavailable. Unavailable is of course a send em straight to voice mail cue, but I've been applying to jobs lately and I thought it might be someone calling me, with an offer of 80 grand to shelve books at a local library. Looking back, my first clue that it wasn't should have been that it was 8:30, but I had just run, I was tired, my brain was done.

"Hi, Elizabeth, I'm SoAndSo and I'm a senior at Loyola College. We wanted to call and touch base with you. We missed your donation last year and were wondering if you might be able to contribute now."

I'm usually very friendly with these girls. My friend was the manager of Phone-a-Thon at school. But I was in the subway station, I couldn't tell if I was smelling myself or the shoeless man sitting against the wall, and I just wanted to catch my train and go home.

"I'm in the subway right now. Could you call me back?" Who was I kidding? Was I going to find 500 bucks on the path and if I did, would I give any of it to LC? "Look, don't call me back. I'm poor, I pay too much for rent, I'm underpaid, and I'm quitting my job and going back to grad school. I have nothing for you. Call me at Christmas time. Sometimes I feel nice."

I knew I was only setting myself up for worse later, feeling guilty that it's the holidays, being broke from getting presents, talking to a girl who had stayed her Christmas break to work. But I just couldn't handle it.

And come to think of it, how'd they get my cell phone number anyway?

Who Am I?

2005-06-22T14:53:00.000-05:00

I Image Googled myself to see if I exist in the world of Google. I was pleased to see that I did not make the cut.

My most memorable double, a field hockey player from Harvard, was obviously there, reminding me why I chose not to pursue the sport after college:

A fifth grade teacher with one hot ass sense of style:

I hope I'm the one with the graying mullet:

And my favorite, caption reading:

"ELEGANT DANCING - Freshmen Liz Andrews and Jon Runaas dance the night away Friday at Knight Elegance. The event took place in Knights Ballroom in the Student Center, different from last year's location in Players Theatre. A rented floor was laid down for dancing, and live music included performances by BBI."

Is that a glow stick in Jon Runaas' pocket or is he just happy to be dancing with me??

I've been trying to work on judging people lately. Obviously, not working out so well.

Computer Class circa 1990

2005-06-22T13:42:00.000-05:00

Independence, MO

Working on downloading The Greatest Game of All Time. I'm not much of a computer geek, but I'll let you know how it goes. Boss is out Thursday and Friday, so I have to keep myself occupied. What better way to do it than with this?

And if you don't know what game I'm referring to, we shouldn't be friends.

WASP-In-Training

2005-06-21T15:25:00.000-05:00

I look decidedly WASPy in pearls. Which is why I tend to not wear them to work. I look WASPy enough without them, but I think they put me over the top.

Opinions?

Tennis anyone?

Don't mind the greasy forehead. I wiped my potato chips on my face during lunch.

ps, Really excited that I figured out you can email pictures from your phone to your email. Welcome to the 90s, Mr. Banks.

Ween, Doritos, and Saddam.

2005-06-21T12:49:00.000-05:00

Work is only an 8 minute walk from my apartment, so there's not enough time to fool around with my iPod, trying to find something that fits the mood I'm in. So I leave that to the fate of the Shuffle. I've given in to a predetermination of my mood for the day based on what song gets picked for me.

So what's a girl supposed to do with Ween?

I'm preparing myself for a weird day.

To begin the weirdness of today, I was greeted with this link from my friend Annie. I couldn't help but snicker while reading about Big Bad Saddam, sitting in a teeny cell, sounding off about our presidents while noshing on Doritos. Besides the whole prison thing and deposed despot bit, one might call that an acurate description of a college kid sitting around a dorm room, taking bingers and talking about politics.

"For a time his favorite snack was Cheetos, and when that ran out, Saddam would "get grumpy," the story said. One day, guards substituted Doritos corn chips, and Saddam forgot about Cheetos. "He'd eat a family size bag of Doritos in 10 minutes," Dawson said."

So could I Saddam, so could I.

Does anyone hear that music?

2005-06-16T17:06:00.000-05:00

doh!

Just looked into my big old work bag and saw that my iPod has been playing for the last 6 and a half hours. 72 songs. My checkbook was rocking out all day. Awesome.

4 Weddings and My Bank Account's Funeral

2005-06-16T16:46:00.000-05:00

This weekend I embark on a trip to attend my fourth wedding this year. I'm only 23. This is happening way too early. I've got two more before the year is out. That I know about, at least.

This one marks the second destination wedding. Although instead of a week long jaunt to Jamaica, we're headed to Cape Cod. I'm fairly excited because I've never been there, but I'm not thrilled for the traffic that awaits us. We're trying to head it off by leaving as soon as the boyfriend gets to my apartment, with friend in tow, at 10pm. Either myself or the friend is supposed to drive. However, my friends in the city are having a roof deck Thursday night extravaganza, so I don't know how well my willpower will hold up. Looks like I might be sleeping the whole way to Boston (the destination for our first leg of the voyage). Woops.

Road sodas anyone?

Check it out

2005-06-14T16:04:00.000-05:00

My Senior Seminar professor at L.C. just sent me this link. It's cool so you should check it out. If you like to read, he's got a novel coming out soon, A Nation of Children and he also has a few collections of short stories that have gotten some wonderful reviews. I've read some of it and it is great. If you like to write, he's also got some advice and tips for getting started after the motivation and routine of school is done, on how to get people to publish your stuff, and all kinds of inspirational musings and tidbits.

So go there. RonaldTanner.com.

Just do it already.

Votin' in the 'Boken

2005-06-14T14:30:00.000-05:00

Today is the run off election for mayor in Hoboken. I only moved into town 8 months ago, and I admittedly fall into the politically lackadaisical young resident population (on a local level at least). I would not know the first thing about this election unless I bothered to read the overflow of mail that clogs my mailbox daily. Or if I didn't live nextdoor to a passionate volunteer from the Marsh camp.

Neighbor has come over a number of times in the past two months, asking if we wouldn't mind hanging up some posters in our front windows, facing Washington Street, telling us about Carol Marsh and her plan and David Roberts and his faults, and registering us to vote in Hoboken. I like what I've heard about Marsh, but I don't know that I know enough. It's hard orienting myself in this new politically charged town. I'm aware this election is important, but I don't know what's at stake here.

There's something that is intrinsically bothersome to me about voting for Marsh simply because my neighbor told me so. There's also something wrong with voting in an election which I know virtually nothing about. So I've been spending some time getting to know the candidates. Thank god for the web.

For anyone else who's feeling a bit in the dark, Hobokeni.com has a good page to with links to the candidates' web sites. And an article or two.

Don't Stop Til You Get Enough

2005-06-14T13:45:00.000-05:00

Much to the chagrin of anyone with a whit of common sense and good judgement, Michael Jackson has been acquitted of all charges. Let's review: He admits that he has little boys sleeping in his bed, they found fingerprints on porn of both Jacko and the kids, he gave them booze in Coke cans. And he was cleared of everything?

Martha gets thrown in jail for taking a stock tip and riding it a bit too early and MJ is now, as I write, prancing around Neverland hand in hand with some small boys. Where is the justice in the world?

But honestly, this is one messed up dude. I saw that special on ABC. He hangs his kids off balconies, makes them wear masks, has all these sleepovers with boys. He needs help. Not to be given immunity because of his celebrity.

Hipster Mania

2005-06-10T15:30:00.000-05:00

I'm new to the whole Blog World, and I'm sure there's got to be rules of etiquette that are unspoken and privy only to those in the know. I raise this question because I've started blog stalking some sites that are linked to my friend Pat's site. And I came across this great post about one of my favorite groups of indigenous New Yorkers, the Hipster. I don't want to be committing some sort of faux pas here, like taking three puffs before passing, or taking the first hit off someone else's shit. I just wanted to share my giggle with you. My apologies if I'm being creepy blog stalker.

That being said, whaaaat is up with those kids at the Louis XIV/Killers concert, oh excuse me, show. Um, I kind of hate them. What's the deal with this whole Hipster movement? I think because of how overpopulated the Hipster thing has become (see: Williamsburg, BK) that they're starting to verge on becoming Pop culture-y. And it's funny. Soon, if not already, your fourteen year old cousin will start wearing sunglasses indoors with her blunt bangs and overdone eye makeup and dating skinny boys who wear lifejacket looking vests. It's like the whole Alternative movement of the early to mid-90s. If my sister was wearing a Nirvana t-shirt at 12 in 1995, then soon middle schoolers will be rocking some obscure band's ringer tee under a blazer look. I mean, look at the bands that were on The OC. That's like the Peach Pit After Dark stage. And I love it.

My Boyfriend Rocks

2005-06-10T13:34:00.000-05:00

**smile**

I just got flowers. I love flowers delivered to the office.

Blogger's Anxiety

2005-06-10T12:46:00.000-05:00

My apologies for slacking off on the posting. I will do my best to provide you with daily insights into the mind and world that is Liz. Last night when I was in the bar, of all places, I was hit with a wave of Blog Anxiety. Would my readers, all two of you, stop reading if I didn’t post soon? Would I be doomed to a low tally of total hits on my SiteMeter? Then I told myself to shut up and I took a shot.

So here, for those of you who have been asking me for new material, are some things I find of interest and interesting things that have happened to me. I hope you do too.

1. Shark attack off NJ. I was completely uninterested in this breaking news, despite the fact that I grew up on the shore. Perhaps it’s because the shark only took a little bite. I mean, this Ryan Horton kid isn’t exactly on par with that Australian chick who lost her whole arm. Horton’s in a cast. His foot’s still there. But maybe I’m just unconcerned because it happened in Ocean County.

2. I got into Rutgers. It’s official: I’m going to be a librarian when I grow up. First I must grow enormous shelf boobs and a large ass. Then I must dye my hair gray and wear reading glasses on a chain that sit on my shelf boobs. Then I will be given a job as an Elementary School Librarian. Or I could break the stereotype completely and be one hot ass librarian. Can the girl in the green miniskirt in the picture from my Stache and Skirts Party really be a librarian? I’ll let you know how it goes.

3. In the ever Fabulous life I lead, Wednesday night I helped out at another of Alicia’s events. This one for the Caron Foundation, (a really great place, apparently) which is where rich NY kids and rock stars go for rehab. So, of course, everyone there was bombed. This was a really fun night, even though I was allegedly “working.” The entertainment was Foreigner (a little Cold as Ice, I Want to Know What Love Is, the classics), the food was delicious (they gave us a real table, not shoved off in the corner of a back room somewhere eating leftovers), the wine was plentiful, and the Bellinis were peachy. And the event was so well planned by my Fabulous event planning diva of a friend.

4. I had my first notable f*ck up at work. While I felt bad about it after it was first brought to my attention, I don’t really anymore. I put the wrong date on a new copyright page. And the author is an asshole (you reading this, Peter Bernstein?) so what would be a non-issue now has lawyers involved. However, since I only have two, maybe three months left here, I’m not really concerned.

5. My coffee tastes like shit, my mouth still tastes like tequilla, my head hurts and it's unclear as to whether I'm going to barf. Last night, at the best bar in Hoboken, Duffy's, which is right on the corner of my street, literally 34 steps from my stoop, I went into the bathroom and was amazed. They put up new stalls! When I came out, I told my friends, one of whom went in to check it out. Roommate Jamie came out shaking her head. No, not new. Same as they've always been. So I've been going to this bar since we moved in in October and I've either been blacked out everytime I've been in the bathroom, or I'm a complete flake. I don't know which is worse.

More Moustaches and Minis

2005-06-07T13:26:00.000-05:00

More Moustache and Miniskirt Party Pics for your viewing pleasure...

Smile if you've got a Moustache

Shake what yo mama gave you

Have another...

Oh, You Pretty Things!

2005-06-07T13:08:00.000-05:00

Last night, I was working an event for my friend Alicia's company, the CFDA Awards, (Council of Fashion Designers of America). And my job was to check people in. So I get up to the table before it's begun, all dressed up in my little black number, and I'm perusing the names on the cards. I'm A-L, so there's Clare Danes, Joan Allen, Ralph Lauren, Alan Cumming, Sean Combs, and a light from above shining down on David Bowie. So I'm freaking out. Everyone starts showing up, I'm handing out cards.

Gretchen Mol is there, we're BFF, and I was right next to the photographers who were flashing bulbs left and right at her and I said, "God, I'm practically blind from that, how do you handle it?" and she was like, "I know, it's pretty nuts." Then I asked her her name, like I didn't know already, because my job was to hand out table cards that were in little envelopes and she's like "Mol." Of course, the VIPs have someone official picking them up for them and someone else had already gotten it for her, but she was really sweet and I liked her and I think if we had had a few more minutes to chat, she would have invited me to Diddy's after party.

I also saw Mandy Moore who was sooo hot. Her legs were about as long as my whole body. Joan Allen, who was just in that movie with Kevin Costner, soooo skinny. Nicole Riche, gross skinny. Like really gross. Heidi Klum, I love you, so hot. All pregnant and shit with Seal by her side. Sarah Michelle Gellar, little and cute, with Max Azaria.

Then, I get pulled from the table even though I was supposed to stay late which I was excited for because all the cool people show up late, and now I'm crushed bc my chance to see David and Iman is gone. I get put down to hostess and bring people to their tables, since the models they have there to do that job are idiots. I think there's definitely an inverse relationship to how attractive and skinny you are to your intelligence level. So I'm doing my thing, walking Harvey Weinstein and his wife and daughter to their table, Emmy Rossum, who was looking lost and everyone else is just staring at her with open mouths. We chatted, I said, You're dress is lovely, she said Thanks, we talked some more, and then I get back in line to help some more people and who is right there but IMAN and DAVID BOWIE.

So I'm like, Can I help you find your table? And Iman's all, Sure, thanks. So we're walking, and I'm freaking out. This is David Bowie, like 2 feet behind me, so I'm apologizing because it's one big CF and she's cool, No problem. He's meanwhile saying funny things in her ear, she's laughing. So I get them to their table and I'm like, OMG my chance to talk to David Bowie is almost gone, so I say, Enjoy, and as he's walking by, he turns to me, looks me in the eye, and says, Thank you. I walked away and started hyperventilating and my knees were getting weak.

It was the highlight of my decade.

Coolest, Ever.

Here's some more pictures to gawk, much like I did last night.

Fabulous

2005-06-06T13:56:00.000-05:00

What's with the overuse of Fabulous amongst New Yorkers? There's so much Fabulousness going on it's a miracle it can all fit on such a small island without it spontaneously combusting due to too much Fabu.

At first I thought it was only the Chelsea Crowd who were swimming in Fabulous. My tres chic uncle who takes me to Fabulous restaurants, where we drink Fabulous drinks and eat Fabulous meals and meet at his Fabulous apartment and it's to the point that even the Home Depot is Fabulous. Container Store, yes, I'll give it Fab, but I don't know about Home Depot.

Last night after trekking back up to the city from the beach I met my friend Alicia at the NY Public Library for a run through of an event I'm working for her company tonight. The event is the admittedly Fabulous CFDA Awards tonight. So while the pians, Alicia's co-workers and recruited friends, like me, who are not allowed to talk to famous people, and the models, picked straight out of those boutiques whose names you can't pronounce, not like me, were being given a run through of our duties, I heard the word Fabulous about 5 times. As in "The Fabulous People will be getting here late..." "The DJ's someone so Fabulous that no one's ever heard of him..." "The models will be wearing Fabulous dresses..." In twenty minutes, I was on Fabulous overload.

I wonder if I'll make it through tonight. Will I be able to stand all the Fabulousness? Or will I break under the pressure of it all? Will Gwen Stefani, Kate Moss, and Ralph Lauren's Fabu rub off on me? Or will I remain untouched and unscathed by it? Until tomorrow...

Mustachio Bashio

2005-06-06T12:54:00.000-05:00

I love the summer. This weekend was a fantastic follow up to last weekend's Memorial Day Madness at the Jersey Shore. I believe my friends and I may have out done ourselves this weekend. Saturday afternoon/night was the Second Annual Moustache and Miniskirt party. To sum up, 40 of our closest friends donned either moustaches or miniskirts (gender appropriate, unlike last year where a few gentlemen wore skirts...scary) and between the hours of 7 and ? we kicked four kegs, got one written warning from the Manasquan police, drained one handle of Jim Beam, played 42 games of beer pong and 67 games of survivor flip cup, and had a handful of random couplings by the end of the night.

Long live the Mini!

Received this today--one friend's hopeful submission for a front page Coast Star article, which sums up the evening quite eloquently:

While summer fun can often be instigated at the Jersey Shore with events like Squan's Memorial Day fireworks or Avon's notorious A-Day, some locals from Beachfront Avenue have put there own stylish and provocative spin on kicking off the summer season with their annual Moustache and Miniskirt party,an event where those are lauded for their perverted facial hair and indecent hemlines.

Party organizer Liz A. said this year's soiree was an overwhelming success, noting she saw more debauchery than she bargained for. "It was mayhem. I have never seen so many ladies' behinds since a wild night in college with famous rock musicians Gaelic and Garlic (aka, Finn and Joe) at the Charles Village Pub where about 30 girls were dancing on the bars in skirts.""I agree with Liz," said co-organizer Annie H. " I am not sure how it started but at one point a number of young ladies were doing push ups in their miniskirts and it was like being in a strip club."

All in all there were four kegs kicked and about 23 citations written to party participants for various social infringments like urinating in public and fornicating on a public beach, according to Squan police chief Dan Scimeca. " For some reason the mayor likes this young group of hoodlums, so we let it fly," added the chief.

When reached for comment Sunday morning, Mayor Richard Dunne called attention to the fact that once again his invitation got lost in the mail. He asked in begging like fashion for Ms. H, Ms. A and Ms. S to please consider him to emcee next year's event. The mayor, who was the dean of discipline at a local Catholic school for over 20 years, said "Please, ladies I have a good eye for counting inches from the knee."

Moustaches Rule.

More pictures to follow.

Bless Me, Father

2005-06-02T14:25:00.000-05:00

The President of my Alma Mater died a few months ago. Father Ridley, or Rids, as he was affectionately called behind his back, was a good guy. Has family on the Jersey Shore, rosy cheeked Irish guy, looked like somebody's uncle, and he was, seemed more comfortable in a baseball hat than the priestly garb. We all liked him as much as anyone really likes the President of a school.

In the meantime, Loyola has been searching for a new President. And just today, we got an email sent to our lifetime email accounts (great, I know) announcing that they had chosen a successor. Meet the new President:

Hello, Father.

Father Brian Linnane is a piece. Sorry God, but he is. And since the email was sent out, the response by my friends, all good, Catholic girls, mind you, has been quite positive.

"Is it just me or s the new president of Loyola cute? You know how I feel about men in uniform."
-Roommate Jamie

"No, he's a babe."
-Me

"you guys are sick puppies...he is a priest!! but yes, he is cute."
-Hamptons Kath

"and smart...the way i like 'em, hot, smart and unavailable"
-Devine, Meghan

"I think it might be sacreligious to call a priest cute. But im with the rest of ya."
-AA Katie

"i am kind of glad that we don't go there anymore, bc i've been looking at the picture and i think i'd get all nervous around him. those eyes! he's like a hot dad, but not bc he's married to jesus."
-Me

"maybe you should go to confession."
-AA Katie

"ooh...Give me 10 minutes in the box with him."
-Me

I'll be home praying for the less than decent thoughts I've been having about Fr. Linnane if anyone needs me.

The Eternal Bridesmaid

2005-06-01T14:08:00.000-05:00

It's official: I'm going to be a bridesmaid forever. My cousin's wedding was Friday and Saturday morning I woke up feeling a lightness I hadn't felt in a year and a half. I was freed from my duties as a bridesmaid. No more shower planning! No more expensive dresses! No more bustling! Don't get me wrong, I have been honored to have been asked to be a part in these weddings. But I'm poor. And weddings, and all the events tied to them, tend to take a hit on my bank account.

My high school best friend, whom I went away to college with got engaged Friday night, and told a group of shocked friends Saturday night at the bar. While Jane told the story to a gasping, cooing crowd, Jack bought beers for us all, because, as he said, "When I get nervous, I buy drinks." Needless to say, I hung out with them for a while. A while later, Jane asked me, as we had planned out when we were 16 and sitting in her bedroom at her parents' house looking at a Bridal Magazine, would I be in her wedding. And with that, I put on my Bridesmaid hat once again and agreed, happily.

I'm looking forward to this wedding, more so than the last two. But it's still blowing my mind. I cannot get over the fact that my friend, Jane, who I obsessed over boys with and analyzed crush behavior for hours with in high school, ran down the hall of our freshman dorm to recap the first few crazy months of college dance floor make outs, was a wingman for going along for a party for late night in some guy's dorm, spent hours figuring out if three hook ups equalled dating or just hanging out, and shared countless stories of guy drama and happiness--this friend is now getting married. I feel like I'm still 16 and the hour we spent on the phone last night discussing whether she should have a band or a DJ, and that champagne colored dresses do not work with my complexion, and where should Jack's family stay, was all just make believe.

But I guess I can't put off growing up forever. In the meantime, while I try and wrap my head around this, Congratulations Jane and Jack.

"Deep Throat ID Confirmed"

2005-05-31T20:51:00.000-05:00

Christ, there's so much I could do with this one, it's best to leave it alone.

"It was you!"

But what a lead in for an article on CNN's part, huh?

I feel like the whole Watergate scandal is to those of my generation what the Clinton intern thing will be to my children. (oooh...I didn't even mean to make that connection, Deep Throat, Lewinsky, you get it...) I consider myself to be a fairly knowledgeable person, but I don't know too much more about the Nixon resignation than that he and his cronies taped some stuff they shouldn't have, got caught and lost his job, taking a few people down with him. Should I know more about this?

I'm reminded of a commercial I saw recently, in which high school kids were asked what they knew about the Holocaust. One kid replied that, No, he didn't know anything about it, but who cares about something that happened in the eighteen hundreds? I was embarassed. For the kid, for his teachers, for his family. It takes a village, so who dropped the ball?

I don't think me not knowing too much about Nixon is on the same level, but as someone out of college and going back in for graduate school to hopefully end up working in a school, I've been thinking about learning and knowledge lately. I don't think we as Americans know enough about our own history. And, in the middle of writing this and looking through cnn.com periodically, I came across someone who agrees with me. (I don't think it's a coincidence that he's a Pulitzer prize winner, either. I think it's a sign that great writing minds think alike.)

Yeah, I'm getting all serious on my blog readers here, but I agree with McCullough on this one. "History is an antidote to the hubris of the present. We think we're so terrific. We think we know so much. We think we have such genius. Well, think again." There is a lot to be learned from studying our history. And a lot to be lost if we do not.

Shout Outs

2005-05-31T15:29:00.000-05:00

Back in the office after a weekend that made me feel like I was home from college for the summer. So not fair. While walking sulkily back to work after lunch, I wondered aloud to my friend Michelle as to how do people ever get over college? She replied that I was her role model in that, since she graduated a year after I did she looked up to me as The Girl who had lost the 10 pounds of College Fat, The Girl who had landed the Boyfriend and put random hook ups aside, The Girl who moved into a Too Expensive Apartment in Yuppie Hoboken, The Girl who is happy with Her Job. I looked at her incredulously as I laid the crushing blow to her theory by telling her that I am a sham as a role model because I do not like being an adult.

This Memorial Day weekend was wonderful in that I forgot that I was one. And now, without further introductory banter, I give you my shout outs for my own personal role models who fight against being Adults:

1. My sister, who at my cousins wedding thought that D.D. stood for Drunk Driver, not Designated Driver. I found her at the ice sculpture through which her third shot of Grey Goose was being poured. Points there for shirking responsibility yet again, but not for having me stop drinking so I could drive your drunk ass home.

2. My roommate, who met a guy at the bar, went up to the room he is renting for the summer above the bar, made out, and came back downstairs to drink and dance some more. Cheers to random, bar make outs!

3. My grandfather, who ate three hot dogs and a cheeseburger on Sunday, even though the third was already marked as my mother's. You gotta eat quick around my family if you want to eat at all. From here on out, I blame my dependency on hot dogs on genetics.

4. Myself, who upon hearing my friends who were playing at the local pub play the opening rift to Under Pressure, obviously assumed it was the Vanilla Ice classic, To the Extreme, grabbed the mic and rapped the whole song to a stunned crowd of my closest friends from home. I think I have a future in the rap industry.

5. My friend's brother-in-law, who despite the fact that his wife was home with their two children, pregnant with a third, was out at the bar buying rounds of shots and doing an embarassing job of dancing. Blatant disregard for adulthood...hoorah!

Happy Memorial Day Weekend everyone and here's to a great summerof acting like adolescents!

I Love a Parade

2005-05-26T10:49:00.000-05:00

My roommate Jamie came home from work last night, walking in the door at an early 6:45. "I think something's going on on Washington Street. Maybe a watermane blew or something. They closed the whole street to cars. Weird."

She walked over to the windows, which face out to the street in question, and looked down. "Biz, there's horses. And the guys on them are waving to people. What's going on?"

I didn't believe her and I was so far away on the couch (5, maybe 6 feet from the window) so I told her, "Shut up. You're smoking crack and overworked. You're obviously hallucinating. There are no horses on Washington Street."

"Um, Liz, there's a band. I think this is a parade."

A parade was enough to get me off the couch. And so there was a parade, at 7:00 in the evening, on a Wednesday night. Now, I admit to not being very involved in Town Stuff in Hoboken. I don't know where the schools are, I don't go to town meetings, don't read a town newspaper. But you think there'd be some sort of a heads up to a parade. I mean, last time there was a parade, we had 60 people in our small, small apartment. Granted it was a St. Patrick's Day parade, but it was a parade and we knew about it. So we sat at our windows and watched police, firemen, a dozen high school bands, and various Elks Lodges walk by. We guessed it was a Memorial Day parade, but that's still four days away. Only in Hoboken, kids. Only in Hoboken.

Hot Dog!

2005-05-25T08:36:00.000-05:00

If you were a hot dog, would you eat yourself?

With Memorial Day Weekend fastly approaching, I can't help but think about the real purpose behind this holiday: Barbecue. (Weird spelling, right? I'll stick with BBQ from now on) And when I think about BBQs, I immediately think to my favorite roasted meat treat. The hot dog. There's nothing like sitting around a patio, or on the beach, or on a deck enjoying a hot dog or two or three, thrown on a plate heaping with potato salad, coleslaw and baked beans, washing it all down with a good beer in a fresh from the freezer mug. m-m-mm-mmmm-mm

The Times has a great article exploring the yummy goodness that is a hot dog, leading you, the hot dog-craving reader around the Tri-state area to the Meccas of the dog world. I sat reading it this morning, my mouth watering (gross considering the amount of food I consumed yesterday) mentally checking off the places I have been and the places I still need to go. However, there were some gross oversites. First and foremost, there can be no conversation on hot dogs without mentioning Callahans. Callahans has the best hot dogs I've ever eaten, better than The Windmill (best late night food you will ever eat. I mean ever.) and Max's.

I will agree with the article's sentiments about ball park dogs, though. There is something so magical about sitting in an uncomfortable, old seat in Yankees Stadium, balancing a beer in between your legs, and scarfing down a hot dog, with the lights of the stadium lighting up the night. A perfect, American moment. So, this weekend, enjoy a hot dog for yourself, and one for me too.

This shit is bananas

2005-05-23T11:19:00.000-05:00

This weekend, my sister graduated from college. And for this great, joyous, incredulous occassion, my family (17 of us) converged in The Middle of Nowhere, MD. While it's always wonderful to see my extended family, I'm reminded of one fact: They Are Nuts. All of them. Sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a not so good way. Throw both sides of the family into one Marriott Courtyard, add copious amounts of booze, 17 strong personalities and loud mouths, include six cups of high riding emotions, mix well, bake in the Maryland sun, and you've got yourself a Crazy Pie:

Bananas, I say.

Highlights and Lowlights include, but are not limited to:

My sister and I having an eating contest with our prime rib dinner (after soup, salad, appetizers, etc.) which was the size of my face and an inch and a half thick. Odds had Emily 3:1. (Thanks Meliss, for believing in me.) We tied. My digestive system has yet to recover. All in all, a good moment.

My aunt running around the table telling us to steal the crackers and put them in our bags so we'd have something to eat later "when you're stoned at the hotel." She took the cup that the crackers came in, too. I'd chalk that one up to a bad moment.

My family cheering and using a borrowed airhorn while Em walked across the stage and got herself that degree, great.

My uncle getting up immediately after, waving goodbye and driving back to Jersey, not so great.

My family being dressed and ready, on time (a first for us in 13 years) looking sharp, for the baccalaureate mass and graduation, good move.

My aunt telling my uncle he looked like a band leader in his $260 Italian cotton shirt, and him telling her to go to hell, bad move.

Stress and families go hand in hand. And after a long weekend of both, I'm glad to be back home, sitting in the safety of my 6x6 cubicle, drinking a coffee, and filing these moments under Memories.

Until my cousin's wedding this Friday, that is...

Give Thanks

2005-05-20T12:55:00.000-05:00

Since today marks 188 days until Thanksgiving, I decided to compile a list of things I'm especially thankful for.

1. The window in the hallway in my apartment building that looks directly into a bathroom window of an apartment in the next building over. And, dualy, to the young man who opted not to put shades up on this window. While I have not seen anything that I would rate above PG-13, therefore allowing me not to feel like a sleazy Peeping Tom, I do occasionally, on my way to work, get a good glimpse of your recently washed/soon-to-be washed torso. And it looks good. So, thank you.

2. My hair. I know you're probably angry that we haven't been to see Enrico in about a year, but he does charge a hundred bucks to cut you, which is entirely out of my budget since I moved into Hoboken. But you've been a good sport, generally looking good. But I didn't want to thank you for looking good. It's actually the days you don't look good, like today's bad hair day, that I want to thank you for. These bad hair days keep me humble. Without you, I would probably be so self-involved that I'd be unbearable to have as a friend. You keep me on my toes and from becoming too obsessed with my nearly impecable good looks. Thanks, hair.

3. My cousin, for having her wedding on the Friday of Memorial Day Weekend. Now, instead of being able to go down the shore with my friends on Friday night, I get to wait until Saturday afternoon, when everyone and their mother is on the Parkway. Oh, and thanks for the $270 dress I'll never wear again. Thanks, cous.

4. Track #3 on Ryan Adam's album, Heartbreaker. Thanks for letting me walk around town, iPod in the ears, feeling like I'm starring in a really cool indie movie, starring me! And thanks to my iPod in general. I know they're the new cellphone and everyone's got one, but I do so love you.

5. My eighth grade english teacher, Ms. Moss. You pounded grammar into my head with such force that now, I know about things like split infinitives, misplaced modifiers, dangling participles and the like. Normally, this information would just be hanging around in my brain, bouncing between things like Rise over Run and Carbon as the sixth element, but reviewing manuscripts at work it allows me to feel smart and useful and a touch of elitist scholar. So thanks, Ms. Moss.

Well, I'm about out of things to be thankful for, so feel free to add your own.

I'm out for the weekend to cheer on my sister as she graduates from college. But we've got one last weekend of pretending I'm still an undergrad, so wish me luck and talk to you on Monday...

Is it Me, Or Is

2005-05-20T00:25:00.000-05:00

Seth Cohen a wannabe hipster? Even as I stare this startling fact down, admitting that he might very well be, I can't help but still love this little witty, pained, geeky, skinny Jewish kid. Seth Cohen, will you marry me?

Tonight, as the second season of The O.C. closed out with a bang, literally, I stared at the television screen, mouth agape, hyperventillating, screaming "Ohmigod, ohmigod," over and over. As far as season finales go, this one delivered. Big time.

Poor Caleb has gone on to give Satan a run for his money (sorry Cal, was that harsher than Sandy's comment about you taking over heaven with your McMansions--insensitive, or was that me?). And poor KiKi, alive and not well, hitting up the bottle of Absolut like a drama geek at a cast party. Nothing like getting bombed at a funeral. Who knew the Nichol clan was Irish? First of all, if Rich Folks Rehab is that nice, give me a trust fund and pass the Grey Goose. Sandy, the everloving Husband and Father came through, both organizing an intervention and helping Seth through mom's bender. I'll admit it, I cried through the entire (it wasn't that long, one point I'd like to dispute--shortest intervention EVER) ordeal. Especially Ryan with his whole, I lost a mom already because she wouldn't get help, I can't lose another. Crying now. As I type. And of course, in a very predictable moment, Seth coming in to save the day. What a family.

On to everyone else's favorite family, the Coopers. Didn't see that one coming from the moment the doorbell rang at the Cooper-Nichol front door. I did expect more of a cat fight between Hailey and Julie. Hailey kind of dropped the ball on that one, but I guess that's what happens when you've switched roles with your sister and she's the one one who's run away to LA to be a coke-sniffing pole dancer in a club. Oh, wait, Kirsten just stuck a few fifths in each of her Dooney and Bourke bags. So looks like the Coopers are going to be one big happy family. Including Katlin, who now ranks among other long lost little sisters like Judy from Family Matters and Corey's little sister on Boy Meets World. Perhaps the First Vivian from Fresh Prince is there watching over them.

On to everyone's favorite Poor Little Overdosing, Nearly-Drowning, Crotch-Grabbing, Incestual Threesome-Suggesting, Sloot--Jess. And her I Just Can't Say No boyfriend, the Rat, Trey. When the crazy girl gives you a gun, say no. Even if she is a porn star in training, Trey. Asian drug dealers are bad ass. Have you never seen a Jet Li movie? Those homies were obviously ninjas. And they just stole 15 grand worth of coke from you. (I don't really know about these things, but shouldn't there have been more? Of both cash and cocaine. And can you just blow lines in clubs like that? Don't you have to go to the bathroom?) Then, the gun fight in the club. Now I know you all saw the previews. From what I saw, I totally thought Marissa took a bullet. Those tricksters at Fox. Come on, glass shards to the forehead? Her bangs even covered them. No fair. I feel cheated.

But all was made right by the last 7 minutes. And I know it was 7 minutes because I had to pee like a mofo, but as it was 8:53, I knew I had to hold out. Of course Ryan has to go stand up for his woman. Trey had pulled his shit for the last time, with the wrong girl. Great ass kicking going on. I thought Ryan was going to knock him unconsious, Jess would walk in, take his money, cut to the Worst American Idol tryouts. But then, as Trey was strangling Ryan and his poor little Chino face was turning blue, Marissa picked up that piece and shot the bitch up. Hollah at yo girl. And now, with questions still remaining unanswered...will Jimmy and Julie make it, will JuJu get to keep the house, will Kirsten and Sandy make it, will Ryan find out about his kid, is it even his kid, will Marissa be charged for killing Trey...we bid Season Two adieu and hold our breath until Season Three kicks off again in the Fall.

Californiaaaaaaaa

W.C. Etiquette

2005-05-19T12:10:00.000-05:00

There is little more relieving than walking into the work restroom and seeing all the stalls open and no one at the sink. Alone. Like having your own, huge, perfect bathroom: someone else cleans it, there's always soap and toilet paper, there's a floor to ceiling mirror, we've even got a divan in there. When I need a moment to clear my head, when the man's got me down, I'll admit it, I go and take a seat on the couch, check my hair, wash my hands.

I have a sense of ownership of the fifth floor bathroom. In fact, I think of it more or my own than I do the small, cold bathroom in my apartment. Which is why there's nothing worse than walking into the restroom, my restroom, and seeing other people in there. It's always awkward. Whether you're walking in and open the door into someone else who's on their way out, letting out a small yelp of fright, or seeing that every other stall is in use and knowing that you'll have to sit in between two people. And I always end up picking the wrong two people to sit between, the ones who are the last to leave, who are waiting you out so they can crap in peace.

It might be worse though when you see a co-worker you're friendly with, standing at the sink. You've got to go through the obligatory chatter, "Oh, how are you today, lovely lighting in here, boy, I sure do love this soap." Seriously, what do you say to someone in the bathroom? But worse than the chatters, by far, are the people who ignore you. Like they've got this CommodeVision. Must deny seeing others. Save talk for cubicle only. There's a small Asian girl who is ALWAYS in the bathroom when I'm in there. It's bizarre how frequently it happens. And she's not just going in, doing her business, and leaving. No, she's in there with a toothbrush, her makeup, hair gel--she's doing her whole beauty regiment in there. I wouldn't be suprised to walk in and find her giving herself highlights at the sink. But this girl never says Hello to me. Never. And it's not like we don't know each other. We've talked. As in real, full length conversations. But today, when she was hogging the vanity and I squeezed in to get some lotion, she didn't even look over at me, even though I was clearly smiling in her direction. Not one look, smile, word.

Do you know where you are? Get out of my bathroom lady!

Toxic

2005-05-18T10:48:00.000-05:00

Ew.

I watched Chaotic: Britney and Kevin last night. It was, without a doubt, the worst hour of television I've ever seen, and I've watched a lot of TV. The footage for the show is entirely taken from Brit's home video, which she carries around everywhere. (One wonders if she has been planning this television show all along, or merely preserving her "brilliance" for posterity's sake. Either way, no thank you.) This maddening series is devoted to the narcissistic urges of an over-indulged little girl. (Just don't ask her what "narcissistic" means.) The show opens up with her focusing on her knees, saying "They're not boobs, they're knees!" And crying out in laughther at her own comedic genius. Whaaat, Britney? I think that joke got old in fifth grade. Along with the whole pugging your nose up with your fingers so we can all see what this show fails to disguise--that there's no brain up there.

She asks us at one point whether we can handle her truth. I for one, cannot. At least without gagging and punching my couch in a fit of disbelief and rage. This girl acts like she's eleven years old. Giggling about sex, asking her friends what they think about love (you can see her doodling hearts on a binder with pink markers, dreaming about being a pretty pretty princess), and making inane jokes that her group of assistants fall over backwards to laugh at. I was reminded of the scene in Austin Powers, where Dr. Evil laughs hysterically and his henchmen continue to laugh, until no one knows when it's appropriate to stop laughing. Mike Meyers, funny. Britney, not.

My favorite part came when she tried to describe a drawing that was hanging in the dining room of her hotel room. (The suite was bigger than the whole floor of my apartment building. Seriously. It was gross.) She decides first that there are too many pictures hanging up and that it's distracting. Don't squish the pea, Brit. She then takes her wobbly video camera over to the drawing on the wall and tries to wax interpretational on us. I began to cringe immediately. The drawing was a woman, holding an olive branch, standing on top of a man weilding a sword, on top of a smaller man running in fright. They three were all on top of a globe. Now, the last art history class I took was in high school. But from where I was sitting, the woman with the olive branch=peace, the man with the sword=war, the man beneath=victim of war. Some sort of commentary on the effects of war on the world, blah blah blah. But Mrs. Federline disagreed. She saw a woman in love with the man beneath her, the other guy in love with her. And related it all back to her and how she's looking for love in all the wrong places. I screamed at the TV.

All in all, I'd like to congratulate Britney for taking the first steps towards ruining her career. And I pray for the unborn child she's about to f*ck up. Can her 15 minutes be up already???

The Ever Elusive Female Orgasm

2005-05-17T17:02:00.000-05:00

So apparently my friends and I aren't the only ones discussing orgasms, or the lack there of in some cases. There seems to be some sort of innate unfairness in the whole deal. The guy comes every time, the woman, well, not so much. So many opportunities to miss out. If you've had too much to drink, forget it. If he's not had enough to drink, forget it. If something slows down, shifts slight position, forget it. Better luck next time, with your vibrator.

Seems some scientists are also concerned about this issue. Apparently, it's just not an evolutionary need for women to come during sex. Men, well, they've got a job to get done, babies to make, grunt, me man, you have my babies. According to Dr. Elisabeth Lloyd, a philosopher of science and professor of biology at Indiana University, the female orgasm is "for fun." She argues that having an orgasm is something left over in our DNA from before the Y chromosome was definitely ruled out. An evolutionary flub. Kind of similar to men having nipples. (Who loses out on this one, hmm? They get non functional nipples, and we get non functional orgams. Seems fair.)

Another arguement goes that women are judging men based on whether they have the skills to take them to moaning wonderland. "Dr. Alcock [a professor of biology at Arizona State University] theorized that a woman might use orgasm "as an unconscious way to evaluate the quality of the male," his genetic fitness and, thus, how suitable he would be as a father for her offspring." How's that for pressure, gentlemen? Based on that, a large portion of my former partners do not add up. Sorry fellas. You know who you are. Now if they only included instructions with the article...

Freakness

2005-05-17T13:58:00.000-05:00

This Saturday, May 21, is the second leg of the Triple Crown. Having gone to school in Charm City (aka, The City that Reads, aka, The Greatest City in America, aka Baltimore) Preakness is a pretty big deal. Last year, for instance a number of interesting events occurred: On the way in, approximately 60 beers fell through the damp bottom of the cruddy cardboard issued by Anheuser-Busch, as we scurried after the Busch Lites like underfed Ethiopian children would after a newly split pinata filled with candy; The temperature reached 90 in the shade, except there was no shade, but it would have been 90 if we were blessed in the outfield with one freaking tree; I stole, then lost hours later a straw safari hat, ala Dr. Livingston, I presume; We started doing Dunkaroos to prevent ourselves from passing out (for those that don't know, it involves dunking your head under ice cold, dirty beer floating water in a huge bucket, while two friends hold your feet up and the rest shout the time and then you pull your head back up to be handed a beer which you promptly shotgun before you can take a breath. Amazing.); Saw two people having sex in a kiddie pool right next to our group; And the best, made out viciously on a cooler, until, still in an embrace, we fell on the ground and continued swapping spit. All while a large group of friends stopped conversation, record scratch, to watch the scene unfold before them. One of my better moments.

Perhaps it is better that I am unable to attend this year. If you go, enjoy a Dunkaroo for me.

Roll Down the Windows

2005-05-16T20:15:00.000-05:00

Making a Summer Mix this gorgeous May evening. Windows open, grass scented candle burning on the table, ceiling fan going. Throw this in the cd player, roll down your windows and enjoy a ride on Ocean Ave. Here's what I got:

1. You Get What You Give- New Radicals
What a great way to start a summer car mix. An instant pick-me-up to get your head bopping.

2. Divided Sky- Phish
There's something wonderful about being at a show, the warmth of the day still hanging on, the sun setting in gorgeous, vibrant colors, standing in a crowd of smiling people, and then, the first notes...

3. Don't Stop Til You Get Enough- Michael Jackson
So, he touches a few kids...eh...everybody's got a few skeletons in their closet. He does put songs that make you want to install a light up tile floor in your living room and moonwalk.

4. Friday I'm In Love- The Cure
Somthing about this song reminds me of having a high school crush. In that longing, hoping, full of promise, beautiful fragile way.

5. Rosalita- Bruce Springsteen
I'm a Jersey Girl and this one is a standard. It's one of those that I will definitely get up and jump/dance around at a bar to.

6. Surf Wax America- Weezer
A catchy chorus about the benefits of taking a board to work? Oh yes, this must be on my summer mix.

7. Good Vibrations- Beach Boys
Let's be real. Every summer mix needs a Beach Boys song. And this one reminds me of driving around with My Friend From Across the Street's mom.

8. Summertime- The Sundays
There's a tambourine in this song. I always wanted to be the tambourinist in a cool band. That or a bass player. Tambourine seems more realistic. Pop-y, refreshing, a touch of reminicense, turn this sh*t up.

9. Fee- Phish
I know it's kind of against the rules to have two songs by the same band on a mix, but this was my favorite car driving song, Summer 2001. Yes, I do love Junta.

10. Heaven- Los Lonely Boys
Reminds me of driving around Virginia, windows down, spring comes early there.

11. Fat-Bottomed Girls- Queen
I Love Queen. Love them, love them. And this song just starts out begging to be sung along to and ends with you playing the drums on your steering wheel.

12. Instant Pleasure- Rufus Wainwright
Sometimes you just want to get banged and be able to just get up and leave. This song portrays such a need in a sunny, toe tapping kind of a way.

13. Particle Man- They Might Be Giants
Throw back. Cruising around in the car in 1995 (my mom driving, obviously), windows down, listening to 106.3 when it was good. This song makes you want to laugh and read a Shel Silverstein book.

14. Waiting for the Bus- Violent Femmes
I do love this song. The simplicity reminiscent of the previous song, heightened by the voices of the bus driver and peeved rider make it oh so fun. Sing along to a pint-sized companion, if you've got one. An adult version of The Wheels on the Bus. Equally as enjoyable.

15. Super Duper Love- Joss Stone
Yeah, she's the new IT girl. And Gap girl. I wish I was as cool as her at 17. Catchy, soulful, I'm digging on her.

16. Summertime- Sublime
Is it against the rules to have two songs of the same name on one mix? Infinitely cool, makes me want to light up and ignore Ocean Ave. traffic.

Chuck T.

2005-05-16T10:20:00.000-05:00

I got my second pair of black, low top, Converse yesterday. It was between the classic or the high top kelly green ones with plaid on the inside. I decided I wasn't cool enough, nor do I live in Brooklyn (one in the same, really) to get those.

I didn't recall my first pair of Chuck Taylors until I had put them on. Looking down, I remembered suddenly the pair I had in seventh grade and drawing on the white toe part with a sharpie. Most likely I was listening to my new Dookie cd and pushing up the sleeves of my green and pink flannel at the time. I doubt I'll be as cool while wearing this new pair, but I'll give it a shot. I love these shoes and I've only had them one day.

I love them.

2005-05-13T15:08:00.000-05:00

Mrs. Twit

My next door neighbor

2005-05-13T14:50:00.000-05:00

Ok, I think this is it for today. I'm a blogging fiend! See what I've begun!

Anyway, there is this woman who has recently been moved to the empty cube beside mine, where my friend used to reside until she got promoted. This is the woman who you don't want to be caught in the elevator with. She is a walking advertisment for The Truth. She must smoke two packs a day and spends much of her work day going up and down the elevator to suck on her cancer sticks. And you think she'd stop because she coughs all day long (without covering her mouth.) Another fun fact: she speaks in a faux British accent. Although sometimes it's Scottish. Other times, Welsh. And she is sooo loud. Coughing, talking, giving directions to her inept daughters as to which subway line is the best to get to wherever. She looks like Mrs. Twit, from the Twits. With two day old washed hair and yellow teeth. And she eats chili cheese fries for lunch and proceeds to fart and burp for the remainder of the afternoon and I want to throw up. The only relief here is that her boss wants to fire her which I am pulling for whole-heartedly.

No Hablo "I will bash your winshield in"

2005-05-13T12:55:00.000-05:00

Every morning this week, I have been awoken at 6 am by sporadic bouts of caucophonous alarm from the 1992 Honda Accord that is parked on my street. The first morning, my roommates and I grumbled; the second I wrote an angry, sleepy note with lots of explitives. But when I poked my head back out the window, the devil was in the car, leaving. Yesterday I jumped out of bed and sat on the fire escape waiting for the gold-earringed man to show his face again. I was riled up.

When he finally appeared, exiting the door of the 24 hour McDonalds across the street from my apartment building, I yelled. "HEY! HONDA!" and proceeded to scream about how no one can sleep, this maddness cannot go on, you have to get that car fixed, your car is possessed. To which he replied with a shrug and shouted across the street to a co-worker in Spanish. Perfect. So this morning I called the cops. Who never showed up. Even better.

This is what I have deduced:

1. This man works the late shift at Mickey D's. There are always open spots on my street at night. He will be parking there indefinitely.

2. No matter how much I scream at him, he will continue to shrug. I speak English and pretend to be conversant in Italian when I'm drunk. We cannot communicate.

3. The likelihood of the cops showing up is slim. The likelihood of them doing something about this is slimmer.

4. I will have to grow accustomed to sleeping through this alarm unless I do something rash. You heard it here first. Feel free to turn me in to the Hoboken PD. I'm breaking his windsheild and tearing up his dragon-embroidered seats. Tell the cops they can find me sleeping peacefully in my bed.

I asked for a car I got a computer.

2005-05-13T12:31:00.000-05:00

Well, actually, I have neither. No car, no computer. I'm starting to think everyone's got a car except for me. The homeless man who runs around Hoboken with his dog, dressed in a t-shirt (the dog, not the man), I just saw him changing out of his car. And I must say, it wasn't a bad ride for a guy without a home.

I suppose I too could have a car if I didn't pay rent. Or if I had been a little less impractical with the purchase of my last car. My former car, that bitch, was a 1984 Mercedes sedan, champagne colored, sun roof, immobile leather seats, lovely tape deck. Bought it for 4 grand, doubled that fixing it from various ailments. I drove it to Virginia Beach where it died before being lovingly brought back to life by my Man. I got it home, three more things broke. So I sold it, cut my losses. The old lady around the block from my parents has it now. And it works fine. Go figure.

So here goes nothing...

2005-05-13T12:23:00.000-05:00

Welcome, dear readers (aka friends drawn here for material to use to make fun of me) to my blog. Let's be real, it was only a matter of time before I hopped on this train. I started this to throw out there into the Great Wide Open the thoughts and ramblings that come into my brain daily. I'm not really into journals, I'd rather have a conversation, even if no one is really participating.

Expect commentary on my life as a non-Yuppie in Hoboken, my future foray into grad school (if the mF*ers will tell me if I'm in or not), complaints of not being able to shop because my rent/income ratio is absurd, and honest blabbering about whatever's on my mind at the time.

So, thanks for joining me.