Are you feelin' me White Boy?!?
Monday, February 26, 2007
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Let's Hear It For FOX!
I like to dedicate one day each week to cleaning up my life. This entails at least 40 minutes on the elliptical, a date with the laundry room, general dust bunny collection and a thorough eyebrow tweezing- magnifying mirror and all!
Why don't I spread out these activities, you wonder? There's a simple answer to this really. AMERICAN IDOL.
Yes, American Idol. The perfect excuse to skip out on happy hour, and instead put on a pair of your stinkiest sweatpants and lay on your sheetless bed eating reduced-fat peanut butter straight out of the container.
While I generally feel the need to be immersed in social interaction at least 12 to 14 hours each day, when I'm watching Idol it's like i've been transported to a tropical, deserted fantasy island... except Simon's there, too. We're wearing nothing but leaves to cover our private parts and he's feeding me grapes and a delicious assortment of cheese while we gossip wildly about each of the contestants' performances.
We disagree a lot, specifically because I think Leslie the dog walker is amazing in her hybrid dog-walker-singer type ways, and I would happily hang a lifesize poster of chubby-faced Chris in my bedroom any day of the week. Simon tells me I have the taste of a mule, but I think it's rather hot when he talks dirty to me and we remove our leaves and have crazy, passionate British-Jewish lovemaking all over the island.
Sigh. Until we meet again next Tuesday at 8 o' clock.
Why don't I spread out these activities, you wonder? There's a simple answer to this really. AMERICAN IDOL.
Yes, American Idol. The perfect excuse to skip out on happy hour, and instead put on a pair of your stinkiest sweatpants and lay on your sheetless bed eating reduced-fat peanut butter straight out of the container.
While I generally feel the need to be immersed in social interaction at least 12 to 14 hours each day, when I'm watching Idol it's like i've been transported to a tropical, deserted fantasy island... except Simon's there, too. We're wearing nothing but leaves to cover our private parts and he's feeding me grapes and a delicious assortment of cheese while we gossip wildly about each of the contestants' performances.
We disagree a lot, specifically because I think Leslie the dog walker is amazing in her hybrid dog-walker-singer type ways, and I would happily hang a lifesize poster of chubby-faced Chris in my bedroom any day of the week. Simon tells me I have the taste of a mule, but I think it's rather hot when he talks dirty to me and we remove our leaves and have crazy, passionate British-Jewish lovemaking all over the island.
Sigh. Until we meet again next Tuesday at 8 o' clock.
Monday, February 19, 2007
EnGAYged and Underage
Why thank you Mr. President for letting me sleep in till 10:30am this morning, only to awake to the sound of my roommate's 30 year old boyfriend violently puking last night's Long Island wedding into the toilet bowl.
Oh yes, Presidents Day. Yet another meaningless holiday to keep me far, far away from the hells of my cubicle walls. As I lay in my bed watching Barefoot Contessa, I contemplated what exciting Presidents' Day-like activities awaited me.
Grocery shopping? mehhhh, I've still got 2 days worth of frozen eggrolls, not to mention oodles of 'oh, poor you... no valentine AGAIN' chocolates from my mom, aunt and lesbian best friends.
Laundry? I'm doing well with the pants, and I can make it until Thursday if I wear my 1996 ghetto, hole-ridden, Hanes-For-Her period panties. No one gets ass between Monday and Thursday anyway... right? hmmm.
The gym? Oh, wait. All out of sports bras! My sneakers are getting... worn? My toe hurts! I just straightened my hair... 4 days ago.
And then, just like clockwork... Sean called.
"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!!!!! OH M'GOD, that married man from Hot Or Not texted me last night... do you think I should fuck him??"
I couldn't have asked for a better wake-up call, unless of course it was from Mr. and Mrs. Hilton informing me there was a mix-up at the hospital and that I am in fact Ms. Paris and i better start packing for my brand new billion dollar apartment complete with an in-house Starbucks barista, personal trainer, sushi-roller extraordinaire and an Amex with unlimited credit. mmmmmmm.
Whoops, sorry. Getting back on track...
After discussing the pros and cons of sleeping with a secretly gay married man (Pros: big arms, hairy. Cons: Also enjoys vagina part-time), we decided that the perfect solution to a Presidents' Day activity was to embark on something cultural... something New Yorky, something NOT in Murray Hill... and most importantly, something FREE. Ohhh the joys of entry-level media jobs.
Sean suggested the Guggenheim, which sounded alcohol-free and right up my alley for a Monday afternoon cultural event. I was saving myself for Tuesday, you see. Mardi Gras open-bar, compliments of who else? Horizon Media Inc!
So I dressed myself appropriately for the lovely Antarctica we are currently experiencing, and met him outside of Grand Central. We hitched a ride via the 6 train to the beautiful Upper East Side, and I waited patiently outside the museum as Sean chugged the rest of what he has dubbed 'The Ghetto Latte' (grande coffee, shot of cinnamon dolce syrup... shortly followed by a dump the size of the Bronx)
We made our way through the revolving doors, and came across an extremely hideous line and an even more hidous admission price of $18.
18 BUCKS?! We looked at each other with a look of utter disgust. Doesn't the Guggenheim know what our broke-asses can buy for that amount? As we stood in the warmth of the lobby, we ran through a list of purchases better suited for our money.
Let's see... 3 Gin & Tonics, NINE Ghetto Lattes, a shirt from H&M....a box of Trojans AND a spicy tuna roll!!!
We re-wrapped our scarves and headed back into the cold.
I suggested painting pottery, and yes... confusingly enough the gay man vetoed.
Sean suggested assorted 5th Ave shopping. I reminded him that would most likely cost more then 18 smackers.
I suggested laying in my bed, eating more frozen eggrolls, watching The Simple Life and searching the world wide web for potential jewish lovers.
And then came the best suggestion I've heard since my sister recommended I wax my eyebrows in the eighth grade (Thanks Sar!)
CANAL STREET! Yes, it was the perfect solution. Thoughts of fake Dolce & Gabbana and skeevy, deceased chickens hanging in windows flooded my head as we made our way back to the 6.
After making it downtown, I realized my bladder needed to be relieved. I silently cursed myself for not peeing in the beautiful cleanliness of the Upper East Side, and began a wild search for a nearby toilet facility.
Burger King? 6 old ladies ahead of me. 3 of which may need to change their Depends. Takes TOO MUCH TIME away from my cheap china shopping!
McDonalds? i have to BUY SOMETHING? I scanned the menu for the addition of dumplings to the dollar menu, crossed my legs to delay any premature urination and moved on..
FINALLY, yes finally we came across a Starbucks. only 2 people to go! Lady #1- pees like a champ! she's in, she's out! Lady #2- possibly European. Hands her coat and purse to her lady-friend before entering like she's about to run the New York marathon. TAKES AT LEAST 7 minutes in the bathroom!!! Perhaps she chose the Ghetto Latte?
Boom-Shaka-Laka I say, because I managed to buy a glorious pair of green aviators that I haggled from $5 down to $4! Take THAT Guggenheim!!! I am plus 14 bucks!
Sean, on the other hand bought a $10 watch, and a $10 pair of F-Prada shades, leaving him $2 in the hole but infinitely more attractive to the gay community of Manhattan!
We basked in the thriftiness of our purchases all the way back to Murray Hill. Sean jumped into my bed, and I microwaved veggie egg rolls and edamame. We watched The Real Housewives of Orange County, feasted on Asian cuisine and said thank you to all of the political figures who made our day of culture possible!
Until next year, Mr. President...
Oh yes, Presidents Day. Yet another meaningless holiday to keep me far, far away from the hells of my cubicle walls. As I lay in my bed watching Barefoot Contessa, I contemplated what exciting Presidents' Day-like activities awaited me.
Grocery shopping? mehhhh, I've still got 2 days worth of frozen eggrolls, not to mention oodles of 'oh, poor you... no valentine AGAIN' chocolates from my mom, aunt and lesbian best friends.
Laundry? I'm doing well with the pants, and I can make it until Thursday if I wear my 1996 ghetto, hole-ridden, Hanes-For-Her period panties. No one gets ass between Monday and Thursday anyway... right? hmmm.
The gym? Oh, wait. All out of sports bras! My sneakers are getting... worn? My toe hurts! I just straightened my hair... 4 days ago.
And then, just like clockwork... Sean called.
"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!!!!! OH M'GOD, that married man from Hot Or Not texted me last night... do you think I should fuck him??"
I couldn't have asked for a better wake-up call, unless of course it was from Mr. and Mrs. Hilton informing me there was a mix-up at the hospital and that I am in fact Ms. Paris and i better start packing for my brand new billion dollar apartment complete with an in-house Starbucks barista, personal trainer, sushi-roller extraordinaire and an Amex with unlimited credit. mmmmmmm.
Whoops, sorry. Getting back on track...
After discussing the pros and cons of sleeping with a secretly gay married man (Pros: big arms, hairy. Cons: Also enjoys vagina part-time), we decided that the perfect solution to a Presidents' Day activity was to embark on something cultural... something New Yorky, something NOT in Murray Hill... and most importantly, something FREE. Ohhh the joys of entry-level media jobs.
Sean suggested the Guggenheim, which sounded alcohol-free and right up my alley for a Monday afternoon cultural event. I was saving myself for Tuesday, you see. Mardi Gras open-bar, compliments of who else? Horizon Media Inc!
So I dressed myself appropriately for the lovely Antarctica we are currently experiencing, and met him outside of Grand Central. We hitched a ride via the 6 train to the beautiful Upper East Side, and I waited patiently outside the museum as Sean chugged the rest of what he has dubbed 'The Ghetto Latte' (grande coffee, shot of cinnamon dolce syrup... shortly followed by a dump the size of the Bronx)
We made our way through the revolving doors, and came across an extremely hideous line and an even more hidous admission price of $18.
18 BUCKS?! We looked at each other with a look of utter disgust. Doesn't the Guggenheim know what our broke-asses can buy for that amount? As we stood in the warmth of the lobby, we ran through a list of purchases better suited for our money.
Let's see... 3 Gin & Tonics, NINE Ghetto Lattes, a shirt from H&M....a box of Trojans AND a spicy tuna roll!!!
We re-wrapped our scarves and headed back into the cold.
I suggested painting pottery, and yes... confusingly enough the gay man vetoed.
Sean suggested assorted 5th Ave shopping. I reminded him that would most likely cost more then 18 smackers.
I suggested laying in my bed, eating more frozen eggrolls, watching The Simple Life and searching the world wide web for potential jewish lovers.
And then came the best suggestion I've heard since my sister recommended I wax my eyebrows in the eighth grade (Thanks Sar!)
CANAL STREET! Yes, it was the perfect solution. Thoughts of fake Dolce & Gabbana and skeevy, deceased chickens hanging in windows flooded my head as we made our way back to the 6.
After making it downtown, I realized my bladder needed to be relieved. I silently cursed myself for not peeing in the beautiful cleanliness of the Upper East Side, and began a wild search for a nearby toilet facility.
Burger King? 6 old ladies ahead of me. 3 of which may need to change their Depends. Takes TOO MUCH TIME away from my cheap china shopping!
McDonalds? i have to BUY SOMETHING? I scanned the menu for the addition of dumplings to the dollar menu, crossed my legs to delay any premature urination and moved on..
FINALLY, yes finally we came across a Starbucks. only 2 people to go! Lady #1- pees like a champ! she's in, she's out! Lady #2- possibly European. Hands her coat and purse to her lady-friend before entering like she's about to run the New York marathon. TAKES AT LEAST 7 minutes in the bathroom!!! Perhaps she chose the Ghetto Latte?
Boom-Shaka-Laka I say, because I managed to buy a glorious pair of green aviators that I haggled from $5 down to $4! Take THAT Guggenheim!!! I am plus 14 bucks!
Sean, on the other hand bought a $10 watch, and a $10 pair of F-Prada shades, leaving him $2 in the hole but infinitely more attractive to the gay community of Manhattan!
We basked in the thriftiness of our purchases all the way back to Murray Hill. Sean jumped into my bed, and I microwaved veggie egg rolls and edamame. We watched The Real Housewives of Orange County, feasted on Asian cuisine and said thank you to all of the political figures who made our day of culture possible!
Until next year, Mr. President...
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Ode to Valentine's Day
Hoorah! Yet another boyfriendless Valentine's Day for the books.
Luckily, I still have my innocence, errr... my virginity? ummm... my sobriety? My hot, perfect body?!
alright, so i have none of these items! However, I do have 5 friends with whom I will be enjoying a one night spectacular 'Black Out Valentines Day' complete with sushi rolls, shrimp tempura and all-you-can-drink wine. What kind of wine, you ask?
BOXED WINE! Most likely, Franzia or something of equal horrendous quality, but I will bask in the cheapness until I vomit.
While I haven't yet found a man to shower me with cucumber flavored body lotions, chocolate dipped strawberries or multiple orgasms, I'm still reeping many of the holiday's vast array of benefits!
1. Mom gave me a $50 Starbucks card. Free lattes for 2 weeks, maybe 2 and a half? Pure glory!
2. Aunt Mara sent me a large, overfloweth box of chocolates. They arrived on February 3rd, but please... i don't discriminate. Thanks to my period the chocolates are long gone, but my fat ass remains in tact!
3. This morning as I was leaving my apartment, a single rose stood longingly next to my welcome mat. The card read "Happy Valentines Day. -The New York Tower"
I contemplated carrying my lovely, new rose through the hail storms and into work to pretend i had a secret lover who sends single roses via messenger to my cubicle. However, I quickly realized that my gym bag, coffee thermos and umbrella would make it impossible to transport and that hail and roses just might not mix. Maybe next year!
4. I won a free pizza lunch at work today!
5. Somebody clicked for me on Jdate!
6. This list is getting DEPRESSING!
I'm off to consume pizza and count down the hours until I am inhaling wine and spicy tuna rolls.
I wish you all a HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY... and for all of you single readers be thankful that you have until next February to lose those last 16 pounds!!
Friday, February 02, 2007
Sangria Gives Me 'Rhea
I work in an office composed mostly of 20-somethings who are simultanously counting down the minutes until their next alcoholic beverage. They (OK, fine... We)compose fancy e-mails dedicated to each Thursday's happy hour extravaganza, complete with bar specials, directions and photos found after typing in 'Drunk' to a gmail image search. I once tried inserting a photo of Monique, my cubicle neighbor, into the bottom of the e-mail. I took it as we were doing a photo shoot entitled 'Sexy in my Cubicle', and although it may look like she is all smiles, you can tell she is secretly thinking... 'look at my computer! my job is DEPRESSING and I am thirsty!!'
However, she threatened my life right before I sent it out, and as a result her photo was replaced with that of Buck Hunter.
Last Thursday was dedicated to everything Mexican, and as luck had it, the bar du jour El Rio Grande happened to be a mere 2 blocks from my apartment! Super convenient for a quick change out of my business casuals and even more so for the drunken commute home.
And then the Sangria happened. How many Sangrias, you ask? We may never know the answer to this question as I can't seem to find the receipt for my tab... but i can imagine it was a bountiful amount!! I am a complete sucker for Sangria, mostly because you can eat delicious little fruit tid-bits while getting wasted at the same time. No need for nachos or chicken fingers! It's kind of like 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner. Except for the fact that I HATE those. Pert Plus! ::Shudders::
While downing these delicious beverages on an empty stomach (well, except for the fruit!), I was introduced to a super sexy half-black man named Taylor, an Account Exec for something-or-other Inc. He gave me his business card, which makes me want to vomit a little bit, but I excused this move because of his overwhelming sexability factor. We took company-expensed tequila shots with his co-workers and Mr. Taylor was totaallllly digging me. He repeatedly told me how much he likes Jewish girls (WHY!?), in addition to the fact that I should quit my job and do stand-up comedy. I contemplated this idea in my head, but quickly realized I would have to immerse myself in alcoholism... which honestly, I really can't afford right now.
While I don't remember saying goodbye to Taylor, closing my tab or drunkenly crawling back to my apartment, I figured I couldn't have done anything TOO crazy as I woke up alone and fully dressed in my bed at 5am on Friday morning.
I reached for my cell phone in an attempt to figure out what happened to my post-happy hour life only to find 6 missed calls, 1 text and 1 voicemail awaiting me.
I didn't recognize the number that all 6 calls came from.
The text read "WTF?"
And when I finally mustered up enough energy to dial my voicemail
"Jess... It's Taylor. Where did you go? I went to the bathroom, and when I came back you were gone!"
Ok, so I left. I probably felt like I was going to puke. Or maybe I was just hungry? I was most likely hungry! But, did I eat?! As i tried my hardest to recall any pizza or easy mac that may or may not have entered my mouth, I fell back asleep and woke up at 8am to a dry mouth, a hideous hangover and the super-tempting thought of calling out sick.
Honestly, what better place to spend the afternoon than your cubicle, when it feels like someone has carved out your skull and replaced the insides with mashed potatos?
I struggled the 11 block walk to my office, and spent the day alternating between zoning out, scanning menupages for an inexpensive, Asian lunch and a little too much quality time sitting on the toilet. Must have been all that fruit...
Around 2 o' clock I grew some balls, and decided to give Taylor a call to let him know I was alive and well. We spoke briefly about the extent of our hangovers, and said he would be in touch over the weekend.
Amaaaaaazing, i thought! My first interracial relationship!!! I immediately called my mother to tell shock her with the news about meeting my new half-black-man friend.
"Oh, so he DOESN'T live in in Murray Hill?! Be careful, Jessie!" was her oh-so discreet response.
I didn't hear from Taylor again until around midnight on Saturday, as I was in the middle of a horrendously expensive taxi ride to Bumblefuck, Brooklyn.
Via the text, he wrote
"Hey. What R U doing?"
I excused his adolescent AOL grammar and wrote back:
"I'm heading to a party in Brooklyn. you?"
a $25 cab ride later, I arrived at the party and proceeded to pour myself a super hefty gin and tonic. As I made my way over to the crackers and hunk o' Brie that were calling my name in the corner, I felt my ass cheeks start to vibrate.
Taylor: "I'm waiting for you to get drunk and invite me over!"
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat?! Is he SERIOUS?!
I decided that maybe... just maybe, he meant invite him over to the party. That would make sense! Who doesn't like a party... in Brooklyn... at 1am... where you won't know anyone except the annoying, Jewish girl!
Me: "Well, you're welcome to come to this party, but it's pretty far away"
I couldn't figure out if that was the correct response, but I went about my beverage and cheese consumption as planned.
NOW PLEASE READ CLOSELY and prepare to GAWK!!!!
::butt vibrates::
12:53am
"Thanks. i will wait for tomorrow when u r at your place. Daytime sex?"
DAYTIME SEX?! WHAAAAAT! Does he think we met on Craigslist under the Male seeking Male personal ads? Did I mention a daytime sexual rendezvous when I was blacked out off of 4, maybe 7 Sangrias?! AND he wants to partake in this daytime sex on Super Bowl Sunday? HUH!?
Once again, looks like mom was right.
I texted one last time. I was drunk and very, very confused.
"That is very forward of you", was my only response.
I went about the rest of my evening, and made it back to Manhattan safe and sound around 4am, sans any dirty responses from Taylor.
The next morning as I lay in bed hungover watching What Not To Wear and contemplating whether my hangover was mild enough to attempt a quick visit to the New York Sports Club, my phone vibrated once again.
"Give me a time and your address :)"
While the thought of getting completely naked in the daylight after 3 solid evenings of binge drinking/eating fatty items seemed wildly appealing, I closed my phone, tossed it onto my nightstand and fell back into a delicious hungover sleep.
I guess it's back to Jews for me...
However, she threatened my life right before I sent it out, and as a result her photo was replaced with that of Buck Hunter.
Last Thursday was dedicated to everything Mexican, and as luck had it, the bar du jour El Rio Grande happened to be a mere 2 blocks from my apartment! Super convenient for a quick change out of my business casuals and even more so for the drunken commute home.
And then the Sangria happened. How many Sangrias, you ask? We may never know the answer to this question as I can't seem to find the receipt for my tab... but i can imagine it was a bountiful amount!! I am a complete sucker for Sangria, mostly because you can eat delicious little fruit tid-bits while getting wasted at the same time. No need for nachos or chicken fingers! It's kind of like 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner. Except for the fact that I HATE those. Pert Plus! ::Shudders::
While downing these delicious beverages on an empty stomach (well, except for the fruit!), I was introduced to a super sexy half-black man named Taylor, an Account Exec for something-or-other Inc. He gave me his business card, which makes me want to vomit a little bit, but I excused this move because of his overwhelming sexability factor. We took company-expensed tequila shots with his co-workers and Mr. Taylor was totaallllly digging me. He repeatedly told me how much he likes Jewish girls (WHY!?), in addition to the fact that I should quit my job and do stand-up comedy. I contemplated this idea in my head, but quickly realized I would have to immerse myself in alcoholism... which honestly, I really can't afford right now.
While I don't remember saying goodbye to Taylor, closing my tab or drunkenly crawling back to my apartment, I figured I couldn't have done anything TOO crazy as I woke up alone and fully dressed in my bed at 5am on Friday morning.
I reached for my cell phone in an attempt to figure out what happened to my post-happy hour life only to find 6 missed calls, 1 text and 1 voicemail awaiting me.
I didn't recognize the number that all 6 calls came from.
The text read "WTF?"
And when I finally mustered up enough energy to dial my voicemail
"Jess... It's Taylor. Where did you go? I went to the bathroom, and when I came back you were gone!"
Ok, so I left. I probably felt like I was going to puke. Or maybe I was just hungry? I was most likely hungry! But, did I eat?! As i tried my hardest to recall any pizza or easy mac that may or may not have entered my mouth, I fell back asleep and woke up at 8am to a dry mouth, a hideous hangover and the super-tempting thought of calling out sick.
Honestly, what better place to spend the afternoon than your cubicle, when it feels like someone has carved out your skull and replaced the insides with mashed potatos?
I struggled the 11 block walk to my office, and spent the day alternating between zoning out, scanning menupages for an inexpensive, Asian lunch and a little too much quality time sitting on the toilet. Must have been all that fruit...
Around 2 o' clock I grew some balls, and decided to give Taylor a call to let him know I was alive and well. We spoke briefly about the extent of our hangovers, and said he would be in touch over the weekend.
Amaaaaaazing, i thought! My first interracial relationship!!! I immediately called my mother to tell shock her with the news about meeting my new half-black-man friend.
"Oh, so he DOESN'T live in in Murray Hill?! Be careful, Jessie!" was her oh-so discreet response.
I didn't hear from Taylor again until around midnight on Saturday, as I was in the middle of a horrendously expensive taxi ride to Bumblefuck, Brooklyn.
Via the text, he wrote
"Hey. What R U doing?"
I excused his adolescent AOL grammar and wrote back:
"I'm heading to a party in Brooklyn. you?"
a $25 cab ride later, I arrived at the party and proceeded to pour myself a super hefty gin and tonic. As I made my way over to the crackers and hunk o' Brie that were calling my name in the corner, I felt my ass cheeks start to vibrate.
Taylor: "I'm waiting for you to get drunk and invite me over!"
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat?! Is he SERIOUS?!
I decided that maybe... just maybe, he meant invite him over to the party. That would make sense! Who doesn't like a party... in Brooklyn... at 1am... where you won't know anyone except the annoying, Jewish girl!
Me: "Well, you're welcome to come to this party, but it's pretty far away"
I couldn't figure out if that was the correct response, but I went about my beverage and cheese consumption as planned.
NOW PLEASE READ CLOSELY and prepare to GAWK!!!!
::butt vibrates::
12:53am
"Thanks. i will wait for tomorrow when u r at your place. Daytime sex?"
DAYTIME SEX?! WHAAAAAT! Does he think we met on Craigslist under the Male seeking Male personal ads? Did I mention a daytime sexual rendezvous when I was blacked out off of 4, maybe 7 Sangrias?! AND he wants to partake in this daytime sex on Super Bowl Sunday? HUH!?
Once again, looks like mom was right.
I texted one last time. I was drunk and very, very confused.
"That is very forward of you", was my only response.
I went about the rest of my evening, and made it back to Manhattan safe and sound around 4am, sans any dirty responses from Taylor.
The next morning as I lay in bed hungover watching What Not To Wear and contemplating whether my hangover was mild enough to attempt a quick visit to the New York Sports Club, my phone vibrated once again.
"Give me a time and your address :)"
While the thought of getting completely naked in the daylight after 3 solid evenings of binge drinking/eating fatty items seemed wildly appealing, I closed my phone, tossed it onto my nightstand and fell back into a delicious hungover sleep.
I guess it's back to Jews for me...
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