Friday, July 31, 2009

Smirnoff Ice Was a Great Choice

Jamie: "Ugh I am overwhelmed by trying to pack but omg I had the requisite evening of packing/looking through all of my old photo albums last night... I was just cracking up at pics of us all. We were such little freaks I have a lot of old high school ones here and I also busted out a collage Heather made me when we came to college that had photos of us that were HILARIOUS."

Me: "Like what?"

Jamie: "AKA one of Heather and I dancing and you in the background humping her parents TV obviously drunk off of Smirnoff Ice. I showed those all to Tim and he was like my friends and I did not do this in high school. OMG and there are some of us in NYC when I came to visit you at Penn freshman year which are also HILARIOUS because we were slightly hideous and sooo touristy."

Me: "I dont know what is more disturbing — that we were drunk off Smirnoff Ice, that I humped televisions, or that we actually took pictures in Times Square. And we were probably wearing jean skirts while doing it."

Jamie: "And tiny belly tube tops. The best pictures of us are at Key West freshman year. We literally look like the epitome of aspiring baby drunk sluts."

Me: "It's like we were gold diggers but not even looking for gold. Just trashy South Florida ghetto guys."

Jamie: "Like who were we?! Actually... I'm sure I will look back on myself now and ask the same question."

It's entirely possible but I dont know if anything will ever top looking at a picture of yourself, in badly highlighted braided pigtails wearing a wifebeater with a letter painted on it after a football game, pointing at your friend's fridge (whose parents were out of town, naturally) stocked full of a mixture of Mike's Hard Lemonade and Smirnoff Ice with a huge, beaming smile of pride.

To be honest, I'm still quite proud of myself for that moment right now.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Zeus Trumps Cupid

My friend talking about her ex: "I'm waiting for Zeus to come down, strike him with a lightening bolt and be like 'You love her, you asshole. Get your shit together.'"

Me: "ha! love it. making that my away message."

[a few minutes later]

Me: "Someone just pointed out to me... wouldn't it be Cupid with a bow and arrow?"

Friend: "Zeus's lightening bolts hurt more."

Me: "True. Why did they make Cupid a chubby little baby anyways? He should totally be a lighting-bolt-throwing, burning-down-the-house-asshole like Zeus."

Friend: "Cupid's arrow is like, cute, we have a crush. Zeus - much more appropriate for the ass-whooping that is real life relationships, especially in your 20s."

Me: "It's settled. Girls with braided pigtails tied off with pink bows who throw baking parties thought up the idea of Cupid. Blondes. No offense."

Friend: "I don't wear ribbons. Or bake."

Me: "No you don't. And that is why I'm friends with you."

Friend: "You hit girls at bars for wearing double popped collars. That is why I'm friends with you."

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

It's my sister's birthday and I'll freak out if I want to

My little sister turns 22 today. For some reason, I find that extremely more upsetting than the fact I'm turning 25 in a few months. Because, I feel like 22 was sort of an annoying birthday to celebrate. You're past all of the good milestone birthdays and all that's left ahead are the "DAMN I'm old" birthdays like 25, 30, 40, 50 etc. So it's utterly depressing that my YOUNGER sister has now reached the age where there's nothing to look forward to in life, in terms of birthday celebrations — which I narcissistically think are the best kind of celebrations. Obviously.

I'm not one of those people that's all, "Oh I just hate celebrating my birthday, let's pretend it's just like any other day." No let's not. It's the day I was born. It's obviously important, and I should be treated like a goddamn princess every second of the blessed day. And showered with gifts and praise for gracing the Earth with my presence. I've always thought those nonchalant birthday people were kind of cool, I wanted to be them. But puh-lease like I would ever pass up the chance to be in the spotlight and make it all about me.

Now... I had a point. Right, about my sister. I checked her Twitter to see what she was up to on this exciting turning point in her life and she had tweeted:

"My students got an 87% ave on the midterm, sweet bday gift!! I wish I didn't have 3 lesson plans to do..Do bdays mean nothing in real life??"

Sadly, they really don't. I remember when I started working and I was actually stunned when I realized all companies didn't automatically give you the day off on your birthday. In my defense, Lotus had always done that while I was growing up so my father never had to go into the office on his birthday.

I was sitting and feeling sorry for myself that my sister was getting so old, and the implication that this in turn, makes me old, when she gchatted me the following:

"Daddy said happy birthday through a fbook message ... devastating."

Burn. My pity quickly shifted back to my darling sibling.

Oh and one more thing: Happy Birthday Sister!! I hope you are having a delightful day! Don't worry about a thing — it only gets better from here...

Monday, July 6, 2009

Hot Wax and Adultery

I didn't mean to cheat. It just sort of ... happened. I've been faithfully going to my waxer Angela for over a year now. Usually I plan my appointments around her schedule, but last Wednesday I finished work later than expected and had to cancel. I stopped by the salon to see if she could squeeze me in, but the girl at the front desk told me my only options were to wait until this week or go with someone else. I felt like I was cheating on Angela, but my loyalty was no match for the fact July 4th weekend was about to begin, and I needed to lay out in my bikini sans shame.

While waiting for this new "Irene" chick in the front room, I heard Angela's voice coming closer. I couldn't bear the thought of her seeing me and realizing my unfaithfulness, so I ducked behind a plant until she left. I'm aware of how fully ridiculous this is, but I have guilt issues. Irene came out to escort me to a back room and as I lay down I heard a girl next to me have a mini-waxgasm. "Oh, Angela! It looks fabulous, OMG! Sooo perfect!"

Slut. She was totally faking it. Her shouting was entirely too loud to be convincing — like porn star loud.

All of a sudden, Irene, who was working on my brows, distracted me by saying "An artist should make paintings of your face." Well hello Irene! I looked up at her with new eyes and she continued in her Russian accent, "You are beautiful! I see a lot of faces, and you, you classic beauty." I blushed while secretly loving my new mistress and her praise — this whole cheating thing was turning out much better than expected. "You should model ..."(aww) "in Europe..." (too kind) "in the 19th century."

Screeeeeech. What?! I instantly ransacked my brain to remember what I learned when I took Art History. Picasso wasn't 19th century right? No he was 1900s. But maybe she's like me and gets confused with the whole "century" concept of changing the numbers, and maybe she MEANT 1900s and maybe she's inspired by Picasso and she should just STOP WAXING MY EYEBROWS before she makes my whole face look uneven!

I just smiled, tried to relax, and didn't say anything. "You are a classic beauty, not like the models that are popular now." I still didn't understand what she meant, but at this point, I was starting to think it wasn't a compliment.

"Are you Jewish?" Ughhhhhh!!! I should have seen this coming. I have recently developed a complex about my nose — I'm convinced its grown bigger than my face sometime in the past year — and this wasn't helping. I tried to tell myself it was a bad angle... after all, she had moved further south at this point. I changed the subject to get her talking about Russia. When she finished, I paid her tip right on the spot instead of leaving an envelope at the front, in the hopes I could avoid seeing Angela. It made me feel like I was paying a prostitute. A very nice prostitute, but still.

Now my only problem will be when I go back next month. Will I have to avoid Irene? She doesn't realize she's my mistress, so if I go to Angela she will think I was unsatisfied with her waxing techniques and unsuccessful attempts at compliments. But I can't just abandon Angela either. Disaster. As if it's not stressful enough getting waxed in the first place, now I have to worry about hurting someone's feelings. Well, there's always my modeling career in Europe waiting for me if anyone can find a time machine.