Friday, January 30, 2009

Almost As Clever As Mariah's 2008 Album Title

So I walked into the bathroom at Tonic one night and saw a group of girls huddled over a hot pink Blackberry:

Dumb Girl #1: "S-A-R ... then ...wait."

DG #2: "S-A-E ... no that's not right. S-A-R-G-A-N-T. Does that sound right?"

DG #3: "Yeah that is definitely it."

I couldn't help myself:

Me: "Are you girls trying to spell sergeant?"

DGs in unison: "YES!!! Do you know how?"

Me: "Yeah. It's S-E-R-G-E-A-N-T." 

I walk into a bathroom stall and repeat myself, slower, because apparently that was too fast for them.

DG #2: "Oh myyyyy gawwwwwd, you are like, a GE-NIUS! "

DG #3: "Total genius. Definitely."

DG #1: "Yeah, how did you know how to spell that? Do you know somebody in the police academy or something?"

Me: "No, I just knew how."

DG #3: "You are like, a LIFE SAVER. Like, a lifesaving genius. [turns to other DGs] So now, I can send the text right? Gawwwwd he probably reads my text messages out loud to everyone in the band and makes fun of me."

I silently agreed with her, at least the part about the boy making fun of her, but was slightly confused about the band reference. It made me think back to my marching band days, but that doesn't make sense because the person who would be the equivalent to a drill sergeant would be called a drum major. Duh. 

DG #2: "Girls, we have been in the bathroom for-freaking-ever. Maybe it's time to leave. We've already taken pictures and everything."

DG #1: "Yeah, you are right. We should leave. Bye genius!! Thanks again!"

DG #3: "P to the S Jennifer, I love your dress! Didn't you like wear that as a shirt last week?"

And then the door closed. So I never got to hear Jennifer's response to her friend's obviously backhanded compliment — I mean she simultaneously called her a slut and a fashion repeat offender in one fell swoop.


Thursday, January 29, 2009

Daddy's Little Drama Queen

Help. This picture terrifies me. Because, it may look like your standard blank Facebook profile picture, but it isn't. Because, next to this picture is a very, very scary name. Because, I thought this day would never come.

My father has friended me on Facebook.

I've heard of this happening — to friends of mine. But I never, ever, thought it would happen to me. I just thought it happened to everyone else. When Facebook first became open to the wild — or the public, rather — and parents started discovering it, it never crossed my mind that my parents would join. When other friends came to me crying, shrieking in agony that their parents had friended them, I said everything you are supposed to say in this situation: "Oh WOW, that is just so AWFUL, I am SO sorry. You know, there's always limited profile." But secretly, I was grateful that my parents would never subject me to this type of torture.

So today, when I saw that email ... you know the one... "The person who has taken care of you your whole life, who taught you to be mature, well-mannered, thoughtful and most of all DISCREET, who thinks or at least hopes you are all of these things, who treats you like the responsible eldest child you should be, has just added you as a friend." ... when I saw that, I died a little inside. They might as well stamp 'disappointing alcoholic potty-mouthed-slut' on my head and call it a day. Because when I joined Facebook I didn't Daddy-proof it. And my walls go WAY back. And I'm not just talking FB walls. I'm talking those figurative walls you put up in high school when you lie and say you just "had a sip of one beer" and "don't even have a crush on that boy, let alone stay by myself with him in the house," and you keep all the truth locked up inside your evil, evil, sinful daughter head.

Then, I saw we had 3 common friends and I thought to myself: Judas, Judas and Judas! Had my three siblings already accepted him, that effortlessly? Shit! But alas, it was just two of my cousins and a friend of mine — et tu Alana? 

So now, I don't know what to do. Do I accept defeat and limit profile? Do I ignore and feel guilty, like, forever? Do I call him up and say, politely, "Daddy, I THOUGHT WE DISCUSSED THIS!?"

I mean, his profile consists of his name, birthday (full, including year), high school and colleges (complete with their graduation dates) and this:
Oh, Daddy dear. I think I'll probably accept, and chide him about it. Gently. But the most terrifying thing is that this could be opening Pandora's Box. This could lead to... and I don't even want to jinx it so I'm knocking on wood but... this could lead to someone else adding me as a friend. 

My mother.


Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Can You See The Resemblance?

BF: "Hey! You just walked over the subway grate! Like it was a real floor!"

Me: "Whaaat are you talking about. I only avoid them when I'm wearing heels."

BF: "No, you never walk over them. You don't think of them as solid ground."

Me: "Actually, you are confusing me with Toby."

To clarify, Toby is the puppy we took care of for my friend Josh while he was away a few weekends ago. Before he left, Josh told us Toby never walks over subway grates because, and this is a direct quote "He doesn't think of them as solid ground."

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Heroin Withdrawal

Seriously? The DP referenced Mean Girls? Seriously? As if it isn't hard enough leaving college for the real world, my alma mater has to torture me with witty ads quoting The Greatest Movie of All Time. Isn't it enough that when I ran into a Penn student at a NYC bar, he asked me what year I graduated, and his response to '06 was "Oh WOW!" Isn't it enough for me to know most of the people reading this are waking up when I'm almost ending work, are probably already drunk, talking about Smokes, and OMG — it's Tuesday. Kweder. There are no words.

Monday, January 26, 2009

Working Girl

These are the instructions for the pole dancing class I signed up for with a friend of mine. Apparently I need to find three songs I can strip to and six-inch heels. I particularly like the last line "There is no judgment allowed in our classes, of others or ourselves." I wonder if I can get that as a tattoo on my body somewhere: No Judgment Allowed.

Of course, I would be exempt from following that rule. Obvi.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

The Definition of a Mixed Signal

These are the new lights popping up on crosswalks across Manhattan:

Is it just me, or does looking at this make anyone else feel like a 15-year-old boy on a first date?

My Waxer, The Sadistic Comic

The only positive thing I get out of going to get waxed every month is seeing Angela, my Russian waxer. She's friendly, easy to talk to, and in a way, less painful than going to see a therapist. (Yes, messed up, I know). She also has quite a way of making her point:

"I really enjoy my job because I get to spend time with such nice girls, and get to talk about nothing. It's so much easier than maintaining real friendships. With real friends, there is so much drama. With me and you, it's all nice and light. You don't hurt me, I don't hurt you —" she stops, smirks and YANK, "Well... emotionally."

Monday, January 19, 2009

This explains everything

"Your mother hates watching scary movies. I've never seen Silence of the Lambs because we rented it when she was pregnant with your sister and two minutes into it she said 'Turn it off! I can't watch this or I'll have a miscarriage!' And how can I argue with that?" - my Dad

See, it's not my fault — drama's in my genes.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Maybe they were both flying south for the winter...

Me: "UGHH. I've always hated birds."
Noelle: "Nooo, I love my babies! I keep thinking about that poor bird that landed in the engine. Yikes."

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Excuse me while I wipe my nose

Sooooo my new doctor thinks I'm an aneroxic cokehead.

Yeah. I know, right?

I went to my doctor's office earlier this week for my yearly check up, and was confronted with a new female doctor who was all bright and shiny with a nice peppy ponytail. I could tell from the moment I met her we weren't going to get along. 

She sat down, opened my chart and yelped. "OMG ... your body index...." she stuttered... "You can't model in France!"

HUH?! I looked at her blankly, stunned. She collected her thoughts and said "What I mean is, your body mass index is way too low! You are too skinny to model in France. They wouldn't allow it." Damn, my life goal of moving to Paris and becoming a supermodel is shot. Seriously? I mean, that can't even be true. This woman should go to South America. Her head would explode.

Then, she said, "What are you goaling at... 100?" I was still confused, but that seemed to make more sense than the model comment. I mean the word "goal" I associate with soccer, which has nothing to do with my weight unless she was telling me I couldn't play soccer in France. "I don't understand what you mean." She explained that she was asking me if I was aiming to be 100 pounds. I told her that my friend Jamie and I threw a party for me when I broke 100 in high school and that I was very proud of three digits and wasn't looking to go backward, thank you very much.

She then went into her whole schtick about eating disorders, and how important eating is — no, really? — and I let her talk for a little to make herself feel better than interrupted her. "Ma'am, I have a fast metabolism. I'm also hypoglycemic. I actually eat lots of meals several times a day because if I don't my blood sugar drops and I get really bitchy." She smiled at me and said "Honey, I doubt you are hypoglycemic, but if telling yourself that makes you eat more then I'm all for pretending." Wow. And hellllllooooo Dr. McBitch.

We moved on to the STD portion of our conversation. "Maybe we should test you for Hepatitis C just once, to make sure you don't have it." I thought that was kind of random but I was like whatever you want, go ahead. She said, "Well if you snort drugs, you are at risk for Hep C." I nodded my head and smiled politely, biting my tongue. "You know, you can get it from sharing straws."

Whaaaaaaaat!? Let me explain something. I'm a bit of a germaphobe. Yes, yes I am a huge disaster and am super messy but I really hate germs. I don't like to share forks, I hate when people ask if they can have a bite of my burger, and I am thoroughly disgusted by subway poles. "OMG really!?" I shrieked. She lit up, although I didn't understand why. "Yeah, like coke straws." I replied, "Oh well I don't drink soda but sometimes I share my water bottles." She looked at me, dumbfounded. "You can't really be that naive?" Ahh, but I can. When she realized I wasn't in fact, "messing with her" as she put it, she explained that she was talking about cocaine. "I meant straws to snort cocaine. Like rolled up dollar bills. I feel like a badass doctor explaining about drugs. Wow, you really are that innocent."

Okay, you all might think I'm really slow. And it's not like I've never seen drugs before or am Mary freakin' Poppins but I just don't pick up on drug jokes. Like Colin Farrell's sniffles joke at the Golden Globes last Sunday — totally went over my head until I read about it at work. My friend's joke when I came out of the bathroom for too long (I had been talking on the phone and hiding from the loud music), "What were you doing in the bathroom?" "I wasn't pooping I swear!" I proclaimed as he laughed and explained thats not what he was implying. But hey, I'm not the most innocent out of all my friends. At a bachelorette party in Vegas a guy offered one of my girlfriends a cigarette, said "Want a bum?" and when she nodded he stuck the cig up her nose and she gasped in surprise, simultaneously inhaling the white powder that was in the hollowed out tube. Apparently he had said "Want a bump?" and she had misunderstood, accidentally doing coke for the first time.

Anyway... the good ole doc tried to make up for all of her accusations when she found out I wrote gossip for a living and told me how she loves Perez and then said the necklace I was wearing was "soo Carrie Bradshaw". But the damage was done. And once she said I was so skinny she could easily feel my ovaries, I decided I'd had enough. I'm taking my starving sniffles elsewhere from now on.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

When sex really sucks

"Every time I put Twilight down and looked at my boyfriend,  I was so disappointed he wasn't a vampire." - My non-teenybopper friend

So basically when you tell a girl that a guy is very dangerous and has magical powers that involve draining all of their blood through his fangs, they readily offer their neck. What does that say about women? 

P.S. I'm not saying I don't get it — if True Blood were real I'd totally be a fang-banger.

Friday, January 9, 2009

A Series of Hilarious Events....

...or just an example of how hungover I am.

Last night the Gators won the National Championship and amid my 20 panic attacks during the game, I got myself nice and drunk, as usual. (P.S. I also think I scored a guest bartending job as well. More on that later.)

This morning, along with the pain of waking up, I have been laughing at almost everything anyone says to me. I thought I'd write a blog post about it, as an experiment, to see if these things are actually funny or if I'm just delirious. Note: This post may be deleted when sobriety hits.

Humorous Instance #1

My friend in Spain emailed me last night at 4 am: "Congrats! I'm sure you're blackout right now. Don't die, I want to hang out soon."

She had forwarded the news alert she had received from the Times, and as I looked at the score I was shocked that it was 24-14. I thought it was 17-14. I was elated all over again, and very amused at myself for forgetting. Although at this moment I'm starting to feel this wasn't that funny and more sad, pitiful and alcoholic.

Humorous Instance #2

Another friend emailed me, in response to me stating I felt like crap today. She said:

"Oh no!!! At least you had a good time, and you can stay in sweats all day and not be a real person."

I laughed like a hyena at the last part, sent it to the BF to question him on whether or not this was funny and he said:

"Ha. How does that feel to not be real?"

Which of course, sent me into another fit of laughter.

Then came the kicker. My friend that I drank with at the bar came online and we had the following gchat conversation:

 Kate:  did you go home after?

 me:  yes

did you

 Kate:  nope

whatd  you do

 me:  wait


im so confused

i went home

 Kate:  oooo


me:  am i hungover

 Kate:  me too

 me:  or does this conversation not make any sense

 Kate:  it makes no sense


 me:  lol you just said me too

wait did you go out

 Kate:  no i went home

 Kate:  i thought i asked you if you went out

 me:  no you didnt

 Kate:  but i asked if you went home

Which obviously was just too much for me to handle. I decided I had to share my delirium with all of you, but again, this post might not be here in a few hours. Especially because, looking back, I'm fairly positive none of this is really that funny.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Can't we all just get along?

I'm attempting to get a job guest bartending a few nights a week so I can bring in some extra cash ... and because I've always had a secret dream of being one of the Coyote Ugly girls. Yesterday, I stopped by five bars to ask if they were hiring. Four of the people I asked were female. One was male. Guess what my no:yes ratio was?

Ugh. Women.

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

As defined by Google

David: I'm a fan of your blog being the first to show up when you google panic attack bridesmaid

Between that and slutty lara croft, I think I'm set.

Monday, January 5, 2009

These sweatpants are all that fits me right now

I'm sorry I haven't written in forever. I spent Christmas in Paraguay with my entire family and it was amazing. P.S. Business class is the only way to travel. On the way home they tried to downgrade me to coach after I checked in too late, I through a fit (in true latin diva fashion — J. Lo would have been proud) and they put me on a flight direct home in business class... and then the special chair shattered my cell phone. Karma's a bitch.

Traveling wasn't so fun for the BF who was meeting the entire clan for the first time — due to a series of delays it took him 50 hours to get down to Py, and after spending two nights at various airports he was greeted with about sixty family members, all excitedly greeting him in Spanish (which he doesn't speak). Within an hour of arriving at my aunt's house he was forced to join everyone in a large circle where everyone took turns telling the person next to them how much they meant to that person and why — out loud to the entire family. He was also asked to start off a night of karaoke with a solo rendition of New York, New York. And by asked I mean my very overprotective cousins and uncles handed him a microphone and demanded "sing, child" in the voice of Ursula from The Little Mermaid. Ok not really, but I love that movie. Just so everyone knows, he passed all tests thrown at him with flying colors and was told he is now one of "los perros."

Anyways... my first day in Asuncion I went to the mall, or rather "to the shopping" as everyone down there says. Making the verb a noun — my kind of people. As we were walking in my cousin graciously noted that I am "more big boned than her" and I, a little surprised, tried not to think anything of it since she is microscopic and walked into an Argentinian based fashion shop.  I looked at a pair of jeans and asked a salesperson if I could have them in a size 25. She looked at me and apologetically said, "No tenemos esa talle aca." Translation : we don't have that size here. I looked down at the jeans I was holding and saw they were a size 22 — which doesn't even exist in the states. I looked at her and asked imploringly, "Y un 24?" She told me that they SOMETIMES carry those but they were all out since that was so rare, she threw a lot of "lo sientos" in there and and gave me pitying looks as I took my big bones and slinked out of the store.

Now, as far as I know, Latin people can be very thin, but not practically invisible. So how they didn't carry anything bigger than a 22 is beyond me. All I know is I had a serious flashback to The Greatest Movie of All Time, and thought about one positive thing that came from the experience — I'm one step closer to becoming Regina George. And I didn't even have to eat any Calteen bars to get there.