It's 2009: Do You Know Who These Children Are?

There's a lot of things about my life that changed once I entered the world of celebrity gossip. For instance, I now know how to spell names that I once had to keep on a list in front of me while I worked. Examples: Matthew McConaughey, Jake Gyllenhaal, Ryan Phillippe, Shia LaBeouf, Hayden Panettiere, Milo Ventimiglia, James Rousseau, Rafaello Follieri. Okay, I lied. That last one I had to look up again. Damnit. (He's Anne Hathaway's ex-bf who pretended to work with the Pope to steal money and is now rotting away in jail. For those of you who didn't know.) Hayden and Milo really double teamed me on the misspellings but luckily they just split up. Creepy Milo will fall off the radar and I'll only have to think about the double Ts single R in Hayden's name. Macaulay Culkin is also a tough one but he's not really around anymore. I'm so glad Tom Cruise is done promoting his movie, because Valkyrie was KILLING me. But anyway, my point is, in a celebrity spelling bee I can hold my own.

My latest problem has been conquering the world of teenyboppers. See, I have always thought of myself as a teenybopper. I love the girl power anthems and the cheesy boy bands. But then, today, I had to write about the Jonas Brothers. [insert the sound of a record screeching to a halt here]. Huh? Yeah, I was right there with you, once upon a time. I don't entirely get the appeal of these three brothers. And then I look at them and if for some reason they start to look cute, and I start to get it, I start feeling old and gross and all Mary Kay Letourneau.

 I used to pride myself on not being able to tell them apart. I mean, c'mon. Now there's a line I won't ever cross. Or so I thought. I had to write about them, and I realized that somehow — I don't know when or how or why it happened — I knew which one was Joe, which one was Nick and which one was Kevin. Luckily when I wikipedia'd I realized I was wrong on the age order. (Which in case you were wondering goes Kevin, Joe, Nick in descending age). Then, I was alarmed to find out I knew Joe's current girlfriend: Camilla Belle. (Not to be confused with Camila Alves, single L, and Matthew McConaughey's baby mama).

All of a sudden, before I could help it, a flood of information came to mind. Joe used to date Taylor Swift before he broke up with her on a 27-second phone call. She then wrote a song on her new album based on their break up and called it Forever & Always. He left her for Camilla Belle, whom he had met on the set of a Jonas Brothers video. (Confession: I heart Taylor Swift. I sing her songs to myself when I'm alone, even Teardrops on my Guitar ... and especially Love Story. I almost ALWAYS root for brunettes over blondes but I'm really disappointed in Joe's choice of Camilla). Now Nick is also quite the stud. He dated Miley Cyrus and then Selena Gomez. I'm fairly positive there was some meanness on the side of Miley —who is just, in my opinion, an entire other teenage phenomena I can't understand. Like who are you? Hannah Montana or Miley? WTF!? Stop MESSING WITH MY BRAIN PEOPLE! Isn't one personality enough? It was for Britney! Well... nevermind. The British accent. Moving on.

Kevin's the least popular of the brothers, and some might say the ugliest. But I wouldn't say that because they are teenagers and teenagers have self esteem problems. I'm all about the love and support of the next generation. Anyways, at the very, very least, I didn't know Kevin had a girlfriend. But then, there it was in the photo caption, staring me right in the face: "his girlfriend, Danielle Deleasa". SHIT!!!!!!!!!! What was I to do? I can't unlearn that now! This information is just sitting there, in my brain, permanently embedded. There's a motherfreaking LINE and I just crossed it. Next thing you know, I'll be running around malls with my Team Taylor shirt on, chasing the poor boys for their autographs and asking the BF to buy me these next Valentine's Day.

Touché

"If you go to my blog, does it work?" - me

"Yes, but it's blank. I had to click on a link." - Alpha

"Ugh, that happens to me too." - me

"Maybe its a sign, that you need to write a new post?" - Alpha

Damn. So true. It reminds me of the Albert Einstein quote I like to use against people who tell me to stop being so messy: 

"If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what then, is an empty desk a sign?"

Unfortunately, that saying never worked on my mother when she asked me to clean my room.

P.S. This post actually fixed the problem... how ironical.

MFTF Part III: Mystery Solved

I should probably just dedicate my entire blog to Facebook stories about my dad, but for now I'll just keep you all posted via my new series: My Father the Facebooker.

The latest installment brings some clarity to the confusing situation. I was speaking to my dad on the phone when the following occurred:

Father (out of nowhere, and very innocently): "So, should I friend your boyfriend?"

Me: "Daddy! You said you were never even going to friend me!"

Father: "I'm sorry! I thought it would be intrusive."

Me (confused): "Wait. What?"

Father: "You told me once it would be gross for your parents to friend you. So I'm sorry I didn't, but I wanted to give you your privacy."

Me: "But... you did friend me."

Father: "No. You friended me."

Me: "Trust me. I didn't."

Father: "Oh really? Well your cousin did and then your brother and sister did..."

I can hear my siblings in the background simultaneously yell: "NO WE DIDN'T!"

Father: "Oh? Hmm. I'm confused."

And then, it hit me. Friend Suggestion was the culprit!!! My Paraguayan cousin likes to 'friend suggest' different family members. And to be fair to my father, that is pretty damn confusing. You get a message that says, so and so has suggested them as a friend? Accept, Deny. And you click accept and it sends a request to said friend who is never the wiser on how all of this friending nonsense happened in the first place. So my wonderful, loving father was just trying to remain non-intrusive when Friend Suggestion came along and rocked both of our worlds. I should have known. I was feeling a little guilty at making it so abundantly clear that I did not want to be friends with my dad so I tried to lighten up the convo.

Me: "It's just funny to see your walls. Like with other adults."

Father: "Why? I'm a real person too you know." (Actually, you're my dad. So... no you aren't.)

Awkward pause and then....

Father: "I still haven't friended your sister in college yet."

YES! Saved by my delinquent alcoholic sister! (No offense K.)

Me: "Yeah. I think it's best you don't see her Facebook."

Father: "I agree."

Well, at least that's settled. I also had my father promise to try and keep my mother off Facebook. Bigger miracles have been known to happen.

Addendum: My delinquent alcoholic sister suggested I point out that she has made it on to the Dean's list at Duke more times than I have. (Which is easy since I never did at Penn. But she actually has, multiple times). She said "It would add depth." Depth, meet my blog.

It's the Little Things in Life

I didn't get to go pole dancing last Saturday because my party put me way out of commission. Like my friend that was staying with me over the weekend said "The last thing in the world I want to be doing right now is hanging upside down from a stripper pole." Lying down was too much motion for us, there was no way it was going to happen.

It's been rescheduled though, no worries. But I'm still nervous about the class considering how unsuccessful I am at performing anything that looks remotely sexy. But then, a miracle of miracles happened and I regained my confidence. Katelynn from The Real World Brooklyn busted out her pole dancing moves in the most recent episode. I've provided the video above for your amusement. And to celebrate Friday the 13th, because this is crazy scary. There's nothing like an awkward transgendered drunk girl humping a support beam to boost your self esteem. Like my friend said, "She needs to get her roots done. If you are going to be a girl than be a girl."

I mean, at least I'll look better than this right? Fingers crossed.

Ummm... what?

Chris Brown apparently changed his relationship status to single and put up a status message saying that Rihanna will show "her true colors" soon. Hopefully this isn't true...and I don't even have any witty retorts or comments for this but like SERIOUSLY? You beat up a girl, put her in the hospital, flee the scene and then your first public statement IS A FACEBOOK UPDATE? 

WHAAAAAAAT is going on with this world. Jay-Z is going to murder him.

P.S. I understand this is a totally random post but I had to share my dismay at the situation. I'll leave the clever banter to Noelle.

Don't Jump

A friend of mine recommended I buy a book called "The Worry Cure" because well, let's face it, I'm neurotic, and she thought of me when reading it. I went to Barnes and Noble and looked around a little before realizing I needed some assistance. I walked over to customer service and asked the lovely prim and proper lady behind the desk to please tell me where I could find the book. She looked it up, glanced at me with a judgmental glare in her eyes, and said, "The Self Improvement aisle." She also told me the name of the author, and directions on where to find The Aisle, none of which I heard because I was too stunned and embarrassed to pay attention. I quickly named another book I was looking for and she told me to go to the second floor and to the left. Flushed and anxious, I went up the escalator and found my "Bird by Bird" book. I then realized I had absolutely no idea where Self Improvement was. 

And I refused to ask anyone. 

Now, the irony is not lost on me that I wouldn't ask for help, but I was not about to shame myself like that. So instead I walked around the entire second floor of Barnes and Noble, twice, nervous, stressed out, and well— worrying — the whole time and finally made my way up to the third floor. Once there I was surrounded by fitness books and how-to beauty guides. They really know how to make you feel insecure up there on the third floor. I glanced around and then there it was. The Aisle. And by Aisle, I mean ENTIRE FREAKIN' WALL. A wall so high they have a ladder you can use in order to get to the books at the top. (Or maybe it's for launching purposes when you are feeling truly distraught). The Self Improvement section was a monstrous beast. It wasn't small and in the corner, where you could hide and scurry over to the Cookbook section next door, pretending like you were a good little chef. No, The Aisle is a huge overwhelming wall — which in NYC is like prime real estate — a wall of shame, with a bunch of crazy weirdos sitting down in front of it unabashedly. 

I scampered over and contemplated putting on the hood of my sweatshirt. What if someone saw me? I knew I shouldn't have gone to the Union Square book store. Then, I noticed that the books were sorted BY AUTHOR. Shit. I didn't remember the author's name to save my life. All I knew is it was a man because I remember being shocked that a woman didn't write the book about worrying. (Completely and utterly sexist, I know.) But what was I to do? Ask for help? I had already come so far. So I began perusing The Aisle book by book, and right when I was about to give up hope that it was at eye level or below — because there was no way in hell I was calling attention to myself by crawling up that ladder — there it was. And there was only ONE left. I grabbed it, ran past the beauty and fitness aisles, and downstairs to check out before anyone I knew could see me.

Ladies and gentleman, should you ever need to find a book in this godforsaken aisle and you live in NYC, just go to the Barnes and Noble at Union Square, go up to the third floor to your right when you got off the escalator and have your author's name in hand. And wear a wig. You're welcome.

UPDATE: My friend forwarded this post to the author of "The Worry Cure" (his name is Robert Leahy if you were wondering) and he replied: "Hilarious...I can definitely see this happening. I was at a book exhibit at a psychology conference and there was a book on "ostracism" and I asked what it was doing hanging out with the other books."

Is it weird that I find that hysterical? Think this book might have been worth the hunt.

How to Keep Friends and Alienate Bitchy Manhattan Neighbors

The bitch that lives downstairs — okay wait. Pause. I'm talking about her like you all know what I'm talking about and I've never even mentioned her before. Picture a not-so-cute, angry, bitter girl with annoying curly brown hair that you just want to wash, wearing Cornell sweats and stays in every weekend and has no friends and is jealous that you are such a social, attractive individual ... picture her. She's the girl that lives below me. She's awful. She once complained  that the BF was walking down the stairs in our apartment too loud on his way to work... and then mentioned a Rock Band incident from like a MONTH before. "You guys kept me up all night. You were playing music at midnight!" Sweetheart... that was a lovely rendition of "Maps", we were just serenading you! And to be honest, I just re-read that and it might not sound as awful as I make it seem but just take my word for it. She sucks.

Anyways, this weekend I had a birthday party for a friend of mine that started at 10PM on a Friday. One hour later I get a knock on my door and Miss Congeniality is standing there demanding to talk to whoever lives in the apartment. "You are WAY too loud. This is absurd. I'm going to call the police if you don't tone it down."

I swallowed my reply quoting one of my favorite movie quotes ever: "I'm sorry I'm not the most boring person ever okay? I'm sorry I'm not poor, I'm sorry I don't have a fat ass" and assured her we would be quiet. I went down to my friends hopping around to Madonna and told them to take off their heels and jump on the couch. (Which looking back now is probably how I ended up with chili handprint stains all over my walls.) My friends are very bouncy. 

She came up for what I thought was the second time, what I later realized was the third, and was on the phone to my super complaining and yelling about how it was 1 AM on a Friday and we didn't have any respect. I offered her a sip of my bottle of Jack to calm her down, but that only served to further upset her. I didn't understand why she refused to talk to us, so I promptly, and wastedly, called my Colombian super, explaining to him in broken, drunk Spanish that we were clearing out the apartment and I was so sorry. I thought that I would win, because hey, we are both Latin and ethnicities have to stick together right? 

Me and one friend were going to walk downstairs and yell at her for being such a party pooper, and another friend of ours offered to come down and take pictures while we did that. Out of a party of 30 people, only the BF had the sense to stop us. Looking back, that was probably a good thing. I don't know that walking downstairs and getting yelled at by two drunk girls while getting paparazzi'd would have helped the situation. I think I also said I was going to put on a Penn sweatshirt so she would know that not only was I more social than her, I was just as smart.

I didn't have the satisfaction of doing this (instead, I settled for jumping up and down loudly in my apartment like the total mature woman I am) but I later found out that a friend of mine had answered the door the second time Miss Congeniality came up. When MC complained about the noise, my friend said to her "Honey, if you don't like the noise, you shouldn't live in New York City" and then shut the door in her face.

And that is why I love my friends.

My Father, The Facebooker Part II

I know I've already had a full blown freak out about my father joining Facebook, but I thought I'd update you on his progress, and my panic attack level. 

This is what his Wall looks like. And obviously not the old version of Wall, but the newer, more stalker version that makes sure you are completely up-to-date on every activity taking place in that person's FB life.

Erik wrote: Hey! You forgot to put Married as status. You will be in big trouble when your wife finds out! (True story, my mom is as crazy and jealous as I am. Hey, it had to come from somewhere)

Janet wrote: Surprised to see you here (ha! yeah, you and me both) You have to get your wife on here, it's much easier to keep in touch. (OMFG OMFG OMFG) LOL I just read Erik's comment, get to it FAST! (kill me.. and wait how do adults know what LOL means? Seriously?) 

FATHER is listed as Married.

Comment #1: Congratulations!

Comment #2: Why wasn't I invited? (from my littlest sister)

Comment#3: It's about time you made an honest woman out of her (DUDE! That's MY MOTHER you're talking about!!)

Let me be clear, I love my father. And my mother. My entire family in fact. So hopefully, if one day they stumble upon this, I hope they are not insulted. I mean this all, with complete and total love, devotion, and full blown anxiety.

At This Rate, My Polaroid Picture Would Never Develop

Folks, I'm sorry to disappoint but I just don't know if this whole belly dancing thing is going to work. My first class was yesterday and let me tell you — it wasn't pretty. Not only did it re-confirm my fear that I will never be able to move my hips like a true Latin girl should, but it introduced even more self esteem issues with the illusive Shimmy maneuver. The teacher had us think of our pelvis region as a "salad bowl" — which may have been the first problem since I really hate salad. Then she showed us a series of moves using our hips and butt that I could fake but seriously — since when has faking it ever felt as satisfying as the real thing? Then at the end of the class when I was feeling defeated but hopeful she told us to Shimmy. Simply place our feet down, let the earth's energy move our butt, and just... you know... shake it. 

UGHHHHHHHHH. I just couldn't do it. The aneroxic cokehead doctor shouldn't have told me I need to gain weight to model in France, she should have just told me to gain weight so I COULD FREAKING SHIMMY. That would have done it.

Then the teacher showed us an "easier" version of the Shimmy. And by easy she just meant, here's another way I can show you how everyone can do something you can't.

It's too much. I can take my awkward hip movements, I can take looking like a freak show who desperately wants to be a sexy belly dancer but looks like she's having a seizure, I can take staring at other women's jiggling bodies and actually longing to have their large asses, but I CAN'T TAKE NOT BEING ABLE TO SHIMMY.

I quit. I'm sorry. Maybe I'll have more luck with pole dancing.

Between Lapdance 101 and Intro to Platform Heels

Tim: Btw, whats up with the stripper classes? You learning new things for the BF or thinking of a career change?

Me: It's a pole dancing class, not a stripper class.

Tim: Pole dancing = stripper class

Me: Haha. I'm taking it for fun. That, and a belly dancing class.

Tim: Yes.... pole dancing + belly dancing definitely = stripper curriculum

Me: Hey, we are in a recession. I've heard it pays the bills.

Tim: I love that NY Times article saying that men still pay for strippers even when the economy is in the tank.

Me: SEE! Strippers are like cockroaches. They will be the last ones standing when the world ends.