I'm Wearing Long Johns and it's 90 Degrees.

I did it. I got BANGED!
I really don't want to talk about it, though.

Ryan: Your hair looks great!
Me: I look like the mom from Everybody Loves Raymond!!!!!

Not my finest decision, but much MUCH better then the time I crawled home from my office christmas party and had to pee sooooo bad. So bad that I couldn't wait until my roommate got out of the shower and I umm.. emptied my bladder into a bastard Duane Reade bag in the middle of my bedroom, blinds wide open. Mmmmm, memories.

It seems this week is NYC's equivalent of fleet week... for police. I live and work right near the United Nations building. I can actually see it right now! From my bed! While watching Rachael Ray make burgers! In my awesome new thermal long johns! discounted 20% at Loehmann's!

There are seriously 30 police officers on every single corner. It's scary but comforting, except for when I went to Starbucks this afternoon and discovered the entire population of the latte line was in charge of saving my life. Sweeeeeeet.
Anyway, some are butchy ladies and some are quite awkward looking, but a decent amount are actually quite sexy. Specifically the ones located in front of the overpriced Mexi restaurant on 51st and 3rd. Laaaaadies, stop complaining about your lack of an orgasm and get yourself over to the east side NOW. These cops look mighty bored/horny.

Exciting news! I bought 2 new pairs of jeans (at previously mentioned Loehmann's!) and they were totally giving that shit away. I got 2 pairs of my first ever fancy, shmancy designer jap-jeans for super cheap which basically made me feel like the Queen of England except i'm jewish and curse a lot more. Only problem- I think they were made for the most giant woman in the universe, vertically speaking. I had to get them altered for $40!!!!! I paid $40 for one pair! I wish that was a joke.

Do you think that the dry cleaner union and the jeans-i-will-never-afford-full-price-and-sometimes-give-me-camel-toe-union have come together to completely fuck over all ladies under 6'5"?!?!?!

And if you really want to know what's on my mind right now, it's the Biggest Loser.
It's only week numero three, and holy shit, no one is losing more than 2 pounds! I want 20 pound losses and i want them now! I feel like i'm watching a super unflattering spandexy version of a Weight Watchers meeting.
PLUS, last night when the blue team lost they kicked off Jerry!! he's like 63 years old and lost more weight than all you other bitches and just wants to get fit for his grandkiddies!

By the way, I decided that the cutest thing in the whole wide world is an old man eating an ice cream cone. I don't know what it is! I just don't know...

To Bang or Not to Bang(s)

Now that i'm poor and sans Marvin's Visa, i find that i get really excited by things other than cardigans and eyebrow waxings.
Such as:

1. Running down the escalator, practically domestic-style-abusing the asian man who is standing on the WRONG side(STAY TO THE RIGHT, SIR!) and just as the radiation of the 1,000 degree subway heat hits my face, the train is-a-comin' for me!
2. That random ass deli on 45th and 3rd. The grill-man seriously wants to do me, and when i ask for my mozzarella omelette, i swear there is no less than a half pound of cheese in that biatch! PLUS, plus... he is totally hooking it up when he jots down the price on the container...
visit #1 - $3.25
visit #2 - $3 and a smiley face
visit #3 - $2.75 ... big smiley face
visit #4 - $2! and a big fat heart with his phone number/peen-size posted inside.

juuuust kidding. but seriously $2!!!!

Now, let's see. My birthday was Monday and i decided to throw myself a big karaoke orgy fest to celebrate.
I needed to be looking fiiiiiine seeing as I hadn't eaten bread or any of bread's relatives in the past 2 months and therefore had to show off my newly 7 pound thinner bod. Oohhh docta Atkins, french me now!!

Anyway, i bought a dress because there was nothing at all in my closet!! (LIE!) I got it at Banana and while i thought to myself "hmmm.. this is kind of short" i didn't care because it was flattering and wonderful and had the potential to be very forgiving just in case i drank 20 beers and 20 jumbo pretzels. Yes i know i just said drink the pretzels!! if ONLY!

The day after my dress purchase, I went home to the Jerz for one of the many Jew-Holidays that totally ruins all weekends of September.

Me: "Mom! I bought a very cute dress at Banana for my party"
Mom: "Ooh! Show me online!" (Ohhh mama loves her America Online!!)

WELCOME
YOU'VE GOT MAIL

Me: "okay... let's see" ::clicks dresses:: "It's not here! Maybe because it's so new and sooo wonderful?!"
Mom "That seems very strange"
Me: "OH! Uhhhh-ohhhh"
Mom: "What? Is that it? That's a shirt, Jess!"
Me: "Whoops!"

So, I wore a shirt with no pants to my party while simultaneously singing Natalie Imbruglia's 'Torn' on stage where i'm sure the entire bar saw my sexy yet sensible beige underwear. Ugh, and don't think i usually wear the beige undies. My dress...errr...shirt was see-through, too! OY!
But like they say, it's my party and i'll be a hooker if i want to.
Don't worry, mom. Not a real hooker. No one pays me! But a girl can dream...

Here are some pictures. I wish i had a full-bod shot so i could show you my ass hangin' out ma shirt but i promise i'll try to acquire one ASAP!

1. This is me very drunk and singing. A big thanks to Hannah for completing the ultra-ho look with that smokey black eyeliner. Yum!
In the back of me is Mel, my lovely co-worker. She is so drunk... sooo drunk... that the next morning my sis Em confessed that Mel be hittin' on her. NIIIIIIICE! <--said very Borat-like.



2. This is Sarah's Russian hubby. He seems to be... blacked out. And he puked in my dirty bathroom the next morning which confirms it. Hey mom, check out your son-in-law!



3. This is Emily bustin' a few of her early 90's rap-esque dance moves. Normally, i would make fun of her but honestly she got hit on by every man/my work lady friend in the bar! first, i see her chatting up a random canadian. Then, one of Ryan's drunk friends! JEEEEZ, Em! keep it in your pants!



4. This is Ryan's BFF Brad's crotchal region. Tadaaaaa


woo! 23 years old! the excitement!

Tomorrow i have a hair cut/color at my most favoritist japanese salon where they give 10 minute head massages! mmmmm! Luckily it's yom kippur, so i'm pullin' the jew card and getting out of work at 3:30 so i can make it to my 4 o clock appointment and then starve myself with my beautiful hair! but that is not the point....
I MIGHT GET BANGS!!!! What are your thoughts?
Not the super poofy Emily circa '92 bangs. i want them to sweep! sweep my forehead, bangs!!! like Nicole Richie but not!
i'm very scared and i might not go through with it, but if i look very ugly when this is all over i hope you will all still be my friends!

okay, iron chef is on. BYE!!!!

P.S. A big shout out to my newest reader... dundundun... Ryan's mom. Hi!!! :)
But that's another story.

Strippers, Camel Toes, Etc.

Here are some things i've been thinking about.

I walk to work every morning. 11 blocks, 2 avenues. More often then not, I end up leaving my apartment when I should be arriving at work because of a major clock discrepancy between my cable box and my microwave. Nine months later, i still haven't figured out which one is correct. But thankfully, i don't give a shit because showing up late = less time until my 2 hour lunch break. yay!

I did have a point, though.
Who are all these people jogging down 2nd avenue at 9:15 on a Tuesday morning? Don't you have a job? A family to support? How do you afford all of those designer jeans and mocha soy lattes and books you actually purchased at Barnes & Noble and not Half.com? HOOOOOW?!?

And the middle aged biatches walking their doggies and lovingly poop-scooping? You're not 16. You're not of retirement age. You look like every other large lady who works in my office, so why aren't you in an office? Puh-leeeeze, you are kind of ugly and i really don't think some sexy ass rich man is supporting you in midtown Manhattan in return for your very unhot piece of ass. Grrrrrrrrr....

But in all seriousness, HOW DO YOU DO IT?

Working sucks a fat, fat, fat one. But mama needs a paycheck cause mama can hardly afford her rent and because of this her own mama gotta help. Thanks, mommy. Specifically for last weekend's Banana Republic shopping spree. And all of those ultra supportive calvin klein bras. Oh, and the box of tissues and shaving cream I swiped from the hallway closet... errr..

I could strip, i guess. Ryan likes my boobs, but personally, I think they are kind of far apart. It runs in the family. Em showed me her boobs in the 'adult pool' in Vegas last summer and they were kinda spread out. Same complaints from Sarah.
I wonder if i get it from mom or dad or maybe uncle harold?
Sorry, this is gross.
Some people have such great cleave. Natural cleave. Hillary, you've got great cleavage. I can't believe the dorky jewish man of your dreams hasn't come along yet and gotten himself a piece of that. I would. Definitely.

Speeeeeaking of strippers and boobs:

My friend Krystal is supa cool and apparently supa horny because for her 24th birthday she demanded a party and lots of appetizers and a starbucks card AND a thong-clad stripper.
A few weeks ago, she summoned me over to the west siiiide to watch Big Brother and internet search for a sexy man stripper.

Seeing as we are all poor/spend all of our money on manicures and pedicures and overpriced frozen yogurt... we umm.... we went a tad low budg on the entertainment.

For a mere $10 per person (plus the 3 singles i shoved in Rico's fab fruit of the loom undies!), this is what we got.



LEFT: Internet-Rico
RIGHT: THIS IS WHAT SHOWED UP AND HUMPED MY LEG!!!!!!!

He was balding and love handlish and his underwear looked very... worn.

Here's some more XXX photos for your viewing pleasure.

The birthday girl, getting exactly what she paid for...


Ashley getting squashed while Rico plays with his 40 year old nipples.



Enough of that. I'm getting way too exicted.

Today i decided to skip the gym because I found a more exciting way to fit in my daily cardio. I walked to Bloomingdales and although I really wanted to shoplift everything in sight, I decided to try on 4 pairs of $200+ jeans for absolutely no reason. My jeans are all cheap and crappy and have that oh-so-comforting spandex stretch but i just wanted to know... are they worth it?

I tried on 2 pairs of Sevens, 2 pairs of Citizens of Humanity and you know what?
I HAD CAMEL TOE IN EVERY SINGLE PAIR.

SO, this is what i hoped you've learned today.

If you marry rich and find yourself walking dogs instead of going to work, i hope you either have a very tiny vag or maybe just get it removed so you can fit into all of your $200 jeans.

P.S. i love you, Rico!

A rant about things i stick in my mouth.

On my way to the subway this morning, I got into a heated conversation about office food and beverage perks.
I actually have none, because the coffee in my office is the color of a really atrocious doodie and tastes like one, too.
But GET THIS.
A certain roommate of 37-55 Woodside gets FREE vitamin water, FREE fancy iced teas and... ugh, this makes me want to kill myself...
FREE GUACAMOLE!!!!

Am I worthless? Do my taste buds not matter?

I hate my life, except for i'm listening to Kelly Clarkson right now which is mildly inspirational because I bet that at one time or another she sat in a crappy cubicle just like mine and drank stinky coffee and had to use public bathrooms and make small talk with those jappy bitches at the 25 cent M&M machine. That's right! We don't even get free M&Ms!!!!

Today is kind of exciting, though because I will be attending my first official work Pot Luck fiesta lunch.
Now, you would think my obsession with the Food Network would mean i'm the next fucking Paula Dean. WROOOONG.

I wanted to dig deep into my recipe box for this one, but turns out i don't have one. So i thought hard about all of the items I know how to make that taste moderately yummy.

Brownies? No doubt I will digest them all before I even get to work.
Tuna Salad? That is just weeeeeeird. Plus, the mercury. Eh.
Cereal?
Microwavable chicken fingers??
Rolled up deli meats?!?!?!

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

And that's when it came to me. One time, many a month ago, I made a fab guacamole for my 'hoorah my weird roommates are leaving for a week' party and it went over really well with the 8 drunken guests.

So i hit up my fruit man on the corner, but apparently... the Hass avocados are not in season right now!!!! Now, if you know anything about avocados, which i didn't until yesterday, I guess there are 2 kinds.

'Cado #1 is Hass and they are small and dark and creamy.


'Cado dos is FLORIDIAN. It's very large and breast-shaped and lighter green and FYI makes one shitty ass guacamole!!!!



Well, the tit-avocados are apparently in season according to the fruit man, so i bought a couple of those, a jar of the cheapest salsa i could find, and some lemon and garlic powder.

I got home. I peeled. I mashed. I salsad.

It looked like a dog got into my White Castle Crave Case and then puked it up into my disposable Tupperware.

Maybe it tastes good, I thought.

Nah. It tasted almost as raunchy as the office-poop-coffee so I discarded that bitch and had to buy some chips and pre-made guac this morning. Ugh. You try to save a buck and instead spend 10 more. The story of my life. If only my office had the free mother fucking guacamole, this never would've happened.

I'm done talking about this Pot Luck now because it starts in 15 minutes and I have some other exciting news.

I AM GOING TO THE RACHEL RAY SHOW!!!!!

YESSSSSSS, now i can say my life is complete!!!!

One night I was hanging out with this man who i would only hang out with because he bought me expensive sushi rolls on a regular basis. Anyway, we're watching Rachel and he has this creepy ass Rachel Ray fetish which i thought was nast because her boobs always looks so awkward in her tops and you know she is such a fluctuater and all, but he really wanted to stick it in her.
So i went online and we were like sweet, let's get on the Rachel Ray ticket waiting list.
AND FINALLY MY DAY HAS COME! Thank god I used my e-mail address!!!!!
Sarah and I will be attending September 12th... the first day of Rosh Hashanah. AMEN!!!

There is also a hilarious dress code which bans sequins, the color white, ugly track suits and promotes the wear of 'gem-tones'. Personally, I was thinking about wearing my YUM-O tee shirt, though. No rules about Rach-Ray apparal. Yeah, i actually have one. I was Rach for Halloween. Errr...maybe i'm the one with the fetish. Anywaaaaaaay.

I'm off to the Pot Luck now. Wish me luck.

Part 2... I hope you still care!

God, sorry. My liiiiiife.
i have no excuses this time. i've been lazy and sitting on couches and eating very questionable chinese food in massive quantities. Luckily, i attended happy hour tonight which has given me a medium sized buzz... just enough for a blog! hooooooorah...

NOW... where was i?

First of all... FIRST OF ALL
i have to tell you this

When you get off of the plane and enter the airport you must buy a $10 tourist card!!!
At first, i'm all "Ooooo tourist card. Maybe that's for discounts!"

No, no, no. that's not it. you buy the tourist card. and then 4 steps later, you hand in to a man. And then he lets you into the country.

no tour buses! no complimentary flan! Just entry... entry into a world of pork aaaaand... pork.

Our luggage actually arrived with our flight which was miraculous and off we went in a very mysterious taxi cab to the Ocean Bavaro Resort & Spa.

We arrived before check-in, and were welcomed to a buffet lunch. I wasn't all that hungry due to my airport hotdog, but mama be likin' the all-inclusive so we found ourselves face to face with a mighty skanky buffet... the same shit we'd be eating for the next 4 days.

I must say, they had some good broccoli. some good... umm.. cheese slices.


Ryan liked the weird beefy soup and the spagetti...look!


ew. gross. i'm having flashbacks.

BUT, in case you were wondering, i enjoyed a 'rhea-free week! I'd been very afraid for my intestines and butthole since the pad thai mishap a few months ago, but all was well in ye' old dominican republic. I even lost 20 pounds!!

gotchaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

After our gross meal, we probably did it. Sorry, the details are blurred. It's been like 3 weeks and I just had a few drinks but i'm guessing that's right. blah blah blah...

here comes the good stuff....

Day 2-
We lay by the pool. it's nice. it's hot. i'm tanning. i look sexy, yada .. yada.. yada...

There's this super gay activity board and Ryan is verrrry excited about his 10:30 archery.

I am very excited about my 11:00 massage in the cabana next to the pool.

So, we part ways. I'm getting massaged and it is heavenly and fucking cheap and my massage lady Maria is in love with me, i think. i'm getting rubbed, i love it and it's over at 11:30.

I mozy over to the pool area. No Ryan.
So I lay, I take a dip in the pool. I watch the old fat ladies do their water aerobics. I pick a wedgie. I drink a diet coke.

No Ryan.
Hmmmm.... think, jess. think.
Did he run off with a dominican lady?
Did he fall asleep somewhere?
Is he taking full advantage of our all-inclusive buffet?

Ahhhhh i know. He's in the internet cafe doing his fantasy baseball!!
hmmmm, no. not there either.

So i jump in the pool. float around. get out.
AND THEN HE'S RUNNING TOWARDS ME. with a tiny mush of a dominican man running behind him.

"Jess! Jess!"

right now i am thinking: Ryan won the archery competition and we will get a room upgrade and a free vacation and a million dollars!

"Jess!! MY HAND!!!!"

"I shot an arrow through my hand!"

That's right. Impossible, you thought? No, actually... possible!

Arrow through the hand. Arrrrroooooow throuuuuughhh theeeeeee haaaand.

We went to the hospital which was a nice experience and i even got to pee there which was cute because now i can say i've peed in a hospital in the dominican republic. He got some stitches and painkillers and a few "it's okay, it's okay, your hand is fine"

The rest of vacation was a mix of "ouuuuuch my hand", "mmmm that feels good" and "ewwww more pork!"

We had a mighty hellish flight home, which almost turned into no flight home. I made a poor decision and ate a Quizno's cobb salad on our connection flight and it gave me so much 'rhea i thought i might just die on American Airlines. Ryan had hand surgery last week to repair the nerve damage and has not left his couch in days. He even gets to wear a gigantic foam contraption at all times. hooooorah !?

Whatev. it was fun, though. seriously, it was.

American Airlines Can Suck My Brazilian. Part 1 of my trip to the Dominican Republic.

I know, I know. Where have I been? I suddenly remove all of my vag-hair and then that's it! I disappear without a word!

Shockingly enough, i was TOO busy this week at work to blog!! UNHEARD OF!
I accumulated 8 billion indecipherable emails while on my romantic getaway and finally, FINALLY it's friday, i'm mildly hungover and i've got 3 types of cheese under my belt. So, now i'm ready to tell you a tale.

Come with me back to last monday night. I arrive at the Jaslow residence around 9pm, sat in a pot-smoke-filled room while turning into a biatchy remote-hogging girlfriend, making all of the men in the room watch the latest episodes of top chef and confessions of a matchmaker (um, love it!!)

The alarm is set for 4:45am. That shit is whack, I say. But, our flight to the Dominican Republic departs at 7.

"Delta International!" Ryan proclaims to our driver
"Ooooooooh Delta!" I squealed. "I'm soo happy it's not Continental because of those skanky ass burgers I had on my flight to Vegas. They stunk up the plane like a White Castle!"

The check-in line is long and full of many Dominican-Republicans with huge suitcases stuffed with instant rice, toilet paper, large carnival stuffed animals, live gorillas, etc. We were the only white people! It was fun! DUNDUNDUN... until we got up to the counter.

"Confirmation Number?" asks bitch-mo-fo-ass-check-in-lady
"Ummmmmm" Ryan takes out papers from his man-bag. "Oh, these are just for travel insurance"

ME: "Why do you not have the flight info?!"

"Ok, well can i have your names?" -check-in-hooker

We give names.

"You're not on this flight!"

ME: KFSDGHSDKLGHSDKLGHSLGHSLKGHKGH !!!!!

Ryan: calls Expedia.
Ryan: looks at me weirdly
Ryan: might shit his pants
Ryan: "IT'S AMERICAN AIRLINES!!!"

It's 6am, i'm fungry, i need coffee, i have a giant suitcase that has wheels but honestly doesn't make it much easier cause those wheels are bullshit, and we need to find the AIR-TRAM and ride that shit to gate 8 or 9.

So we're hustling, man on the air-tram says gate 8, so we run run run to gate 8. AND THEN THEY TELL OUR ASSES TO GO TO GATE 9!

SO, we approach check-in at 6:07am.
AND YOU KNOW WHAT?

"It's too late. You need to check in an hour prior to departure"

FUCK YOU, SLUT.

So we wait stand-by and it's REALLY fun!!!!!
NOTTTTTTT.
it sucked a fat one, but luckily we were the last standbyers allowed on the flight. Hoorah!
Ryan is happy because now he knows he won't be denied my unbelievably hot, amazing sex.
I am happy because i'm hungry and mama be hopin' for some yummy plane-brunch type items.

No such luck. Mo-fuckers make you pay like $12 for a 3 Muskateers Bar and basically a ham & cheese hoagie was the equivalent of my utility bill!

Anyway, we arrive in San Juan safe and sound. Except for the fact that San Juan isn't our destination. So WE WAIT STAND-BY AGAIN!!!
Ryan looks all freaky and upset and his leg is doing that bounce around shit and while he's doing that i get up and buy a hot dog. Mainly because its $2 and also because it's funny to eat hot dogs in the littlest, ghettoist airport i have ever been to. Oh yeah, and there was no Au Bon Pain.

So, they're boarding our flight and the lady is like
"Jaslow? We may have 1 seat, but we might have 2. So get on this weird bus thing and they will drive you to the smallest, shittiest plane on planet earth and maybe you can go to the Dominican Republic!"

We get on the bus. We get on the plane. There are 2 seats. No one speaks English. I have to pee, but i'm afraid if i stand up the whole plane will come crashing to the ground, plus i dont even think there is a toilet facility! The flight attendant is sitting in this tiny chair in the front of the plane and laughing and saying crazy shit in Spanish and the plane is making these loud, grinding noises and they gave me some passport-control paper to fill in EXCEPT ITS ALL IN SPANISH and i didn't take Spanish in high school i took Italian!!! and Ryan is sitting 10 seats back and he definitely took Spanish in high school and I bet they are serving him Paella and shit back there cause all i'm getting is a nasty stench and that same loud noise and i might just die and so I ask the boy next to me how long he thinks it takes to get there and he doesn't answer because i think he does not speak english or he hates jews or he might throw up!!!!!

We're in the air for 30 minutes. And then we land. And then we hope and pray our luggage has arrived cause you know that shit was sitting stand-by, too.

Okay this the THE END OF PART 1 because work is basically over in 5 minutes and my ass isn't staying late for you sluts!!

STAY TUNED!

The Aftermath

Well, just call me Jessica Da Silva Cruz because now I am as Brazilian as they come!
ahhhhhhhhhhhh!

Right after I made my appointment yesterday, I confronted a good friend/co-worker who had also converted to Brazilianism not too long ago. I was seeking comfort, solace, a few words of wisdom before I said farewell to my lady hairs.

Mel- "Well, You'll have to get on all fours!"
Me- "Like... uhh.. on the floor?"
Mel- "No, you dumbass! On the bed!"
Me- "Ewww, Doggy Style! Is that for the ass hair region?"
Mel- "Yeah...That part doesn't hurt too much, surprisingly. But, the rest fuckin' hurts like hell!! It kind of turned me on a little, though!"
Me- "Oh."

I was officially creeped out, but there was no turning back. The Spa had my credit card number and I would be charged whether my lady hairs remained or not.

At 5:00pm I gathered my things and said farewell to my beautiful cubicle neighbor Monique.

Of course, my hair doctor wasn't ready for me.

So, I sat nervously in the waiting room skimming through US Weekly and wondering which celebs had been Brazilianized and which had not.

Lindsay-Lo? Hmm... probably.
Britney? Questionable bush.
Rihanna? There is most definitely nothing under her umbrella.

"Jessica? We're ready for you"

I followed my curly haired lady past a number of labeled doors. First there was 'Tranquility' and then 'Peace'. Finally, she led me into 'The Garden' and told me to remove my pants and undies and lay on the bed.

So I did. And then she came in. And told me to do this.



Yep, that's me. Spread eagle in front of a stranger. Yum!

"So, uhh... this is my first time. Ummmmm... Do most people leave a little somethin' somethin' or just get rid of everything?"

"Well, it depends. Some people leave a little. Do you want to?"

"Um, ok. Yeah. Leave a little. And then i'll decide, I guess"

WOW, AWKWARD.

p.s. i'm not going to tell you what I decided because uhhh, that's WAY too personal!

So she starts waxing me and i'm all
"Ouch!"
"Ahhhh!"
"OOOUUUCCCHHAAAAHH"
"Oh, that one wasn't so bad"

"You're pretty good at this" She told me. "Most people are really freaked out their first time"

"Oh, I'm a very good patient" I replied, eyes completely shut tight and holding onto the bed for dear life.

What I was really dreading was Doggy Position. How degrading! This is lady-on-lady and Doggy just didn't seem politically correct.

"We're almost done" She announced as she tweezed my remaining areas.

And running through my head is - Huh? What about the Doggy? I'm not getting Doggy?

"Ok, Now lift your legs up"

Here it is, position #2. Sooo much classier than Doggy.



Mel was right. This region was much less painful. She even waxed out some upper leg hair free of charge. Hoorah!

And then it was over and I was Brazilianized.

I pulled on my business casual slacks, paid my bill and walked home the 8 blocks to my apartment.

And then I ate my first dinner sans down-there-lady-hairs.

It was nice.

The End.

A Eulogy

To my dearest, dearest down-there-lady-hair,

I can't believe we'll only be together for another two hours and fifteen minutes. What is it now? 10 years? 11? God, time really flies, doesn't it?

I remember the first time I saw you. It was shower-time, and I had just pulled down my hot pink Umbro shorts. I guess I had forgot to put on underwear that day. There you were. Brownish. Curlyish. Just like on my head, but there was a lot less of you. I liked you immediately. I still do.

Remember that time I tried to Bic you off during my Freshman year of college? I never did say sorry. But i'm sorry. I blame it on the Jungle Juice and that guy from Writing 105. I forget his name, but I swear it was him.

You just couldn't stay away though, could you? No, you were back in no time. Friends Forever, isn't that what they say?

I haven't minded you hangin' around my Victoria Secret's. Please, don't think that is why i'm doing this. It's not you down-there-lady-hair. It's me. Or wait, it's not me. It's my boyfriend. He blacked out last week and revealed his undying scorn for you. Oh, and i'll get a lot more oral. So, uhhh, sorry!

I don't know about me, but I know you'll be strong. Just think about all those unpleasant gyno visits. The stirrups, the rubber gloves, the prodding!
Maybe it'll even feel nice. Hot and waxy! What's not to like?

Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you for being a friend.
Maybe i'll even see you again in a few weeks. It'll be just like the old days. Just like when I pulled down my Umbros on that fateful day.

The Funeral will commence at 5:15pm at The Spafumerie II on 49th and Second.
Hor'dourves will be served immediately following.

Tada!

Finally, Murray Hill. A little recognition!
A big thank you to all of the friends and fam who called last night to make sure I didn't explode all over Lexington Avenue.

I happened be enjoying yet another lo-carb-meat-fest in my kitchen when shit went down, so all is well and i'm in one piece. hoorah!

In other news, I am off from work tomorrow! GLORY! I am having a major dose of cubicle fever and am going to D.C. this weekend to see Hillary, Mike, Janna, Ash and Hannah. Lucky for me Hill's air conditioning is on the fritz so it looks like i'll be spending my drunken sleeps cuddling in between the lezzies. Just like college! Except hopefully this time they'll keep the moaning and groaning to a minimum. Yes, YOU ashley! ahhhh flashblacks!

My boyfriend no longer wants to commit suicide because he recieved a sexy job offer which basically makes him the richest man in Woodside, Queens. I bet if he wants, he can even afford a year long supply of Panda Garden mixed vegetables! Unbelievable!!

I'm still poor, though. Great.

Okay, what else.

It's Restaurant Week here in NYC, so you know I was forwarding that shit to Daddy Winston.
In one hour I will be chowing down on Filet Mignon and sipping red wine with Marvin. Ahhh, the romance.
It's amazing how often I talk about my dad at work. It's like this.

Monique- "What are you doing for lunch today?"
Me- "Marv is takin me out for steak today, biatch!"
Mo- "Yeah, he took me out for steak last night too! and then we DID IT!"

Thanks, Mo. Very cute.
Too bad your mom flew in from Georgia last night and gave me really good... uhhh... ah, i guess that's weird.

Other exciting things in my life:

-Somebody left a Duncan Sheik CD on my desk and I secretly like it.

-I've started to BYO iced coffee to work! It's genius! I'm going to be a billionaire by 2009. You'll see!

-Last weekend I went to Jerz to visit my sister Sarah. She took me to her 'ladies only' gym and it was hilaaaaarious. Everything was hot pink and purple and supa-early 90s style. Even the employees! This is what I can remember:



Wow, that took way too much time.

Bye!

Bravo for Bravo!

Did anyone else bother to watch the Charm School Reunion show last night? I felt like I was watching a tit concert! If someone were to ask me what happened, I honestly wouldn't know how to answer. All I saw were breasts! Big ones! Even innocent little Buckwild was busting out of her v-neck dress! Sean came over to watch, and the only thing he could pay attention to was the balding, mustached man cheering on Sapphyri in the front row.
"Now THAT's my type!"
"Whaaaa Whoooo? Dude, did you see those BOOBS!?"

I really like reality television, which is strange because I really hate reality. I haven't watched the news since I was forced by my 8th grade Social Studies teacher, the same bitch who dumped my desk out onto the floor and called me discombobulated in front of the whole class! What a hooker!

I also hate politics. Passionately.
Quick, name as many Presidents as you can!
Uhhhhhhhhhhh. Abraham Lincoln!?

Sports? Forget about it. The closest I ever came to sports fan was when Hillary and I decided to become scorekeepers for the boys' lacrosse team in high school. We figured this would definitely increase the chances of losing our virginity before graduation. Mission Accomplished... well at least for one of us! Sports, WOO!!!

But Reality TV... Sweet, sweet Reality TV.
I'm really into Top Chef right now, which is seriously a blessing since Bravo runs repeats at least 20 hours each day. Sometimes I like to imagine myself as a contestant, turning every challenge into a new and improved stir fry creation using only Pam cooking spray and canned baby corn.

Gail Simmons of Food & Wine Magazine will compliment me on my robust Asian flavors and Chef Colicchio will be so impressed he'll have no other choice but to throw me onto the Kenmore Kitchen counter and have his way with me. I mean, uhhhhhhhh nevermind.




I used to love the Next Food Network Star, however this season blows my ass. All of the contestants suck equally, plus they're ugly. I'm sorry, there's enough ugly Food Network Stars for my taste already. Nigella's Feast? Don't get me started. Giada the BobbleHead? C'mon, you're telling me she actually EATS?! douubttttttt it!
And worst of all.... Healthy Apetite with Ellie Kriger. One Word. WOOF!




My only true Food Network love is the Barefoot Contessa. Sometimes I wish she were my mom! "C'mon pookiebear, let's create our own pizzas and then grill them in the backyard!" ahhhhh i love you!



I am eagerly awaiting the return of Project Runway, and life is seriously wonderful again now that Extreme Makeover is back in action.
Wife Swap? Um, BRILLIANT!

Oh shit. I'm at work and it's Monday and I was a half hour late due to elevator traffic plus had to buy an iced coffee and now it's 11:30am and this is all i've accomplished.

In the words of my dear friend Heidi Klum, Auf Wiedersehen!

Banana Hairs... Revealed!

What a strange week it has been! Monday I went to work and it was gay. Tuesday, I also went to work but thankfully it was less gay due to a 2 o' clock early dismissal. This translated into 3 large and in charge frozen margaritas and a trip to Urban Outfitters to return a dress I had already worn and may or may not have had sex in. Whoops. Beware of the plaid halter dress, size large.
I thought I was doing myself a favor. I said to myself, 'Girrrrllll, you need that $50 for pedicures and iced cappucinos and general life! Return the dress. Return the DRESS!'

So, I returned it. But unfortunately, I was drunk. And so I frolicked over to Banana Republic, just for a peak. I was sure I wouldn't like anything. Positive! Just wasting some time. Just taking a looooooksyyyy....OOOOHHHHHHH there's a SALE!

And so i bought a shirt/dress contraption and a bottle of water from the upscale hot dog vendor on Lexington Ave, totaling the amount of my return. fuckshit.

Fourth of July was a giant blur of beer pong and swedish meatballs, yesterday I almost committed boredom-induced suicide in my cubicle and today has consisted of nothing more than a free, questionably whole wheat bagel, 2 visits to ye' ol' bathroom compliments of the tub of Pinkberry frozen yogurt I chugged last night and an unsuccessful 2 hour search for the hottest and sexiest bikini in all of internet land!


So basically, I have nothing to say right now. Except for something which is amazing and that I would like to share with all of you!

Alright. I love bananas. I'll say it, I love them! They are cheap and heavenly, taste good in cereal or in smoothie-form or even straight up. But i hate the peeling process, mainly because of those stringy ass banana hairs. They are GROSS! Picking them off is just plain unappealing, and GASP!! Actually swallowing a hair? Let's just say, that's a giant no-no.

BUT, did you know banana hairs actually have a scientific name?

Phloem Bundles!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(pronounced flom). They are part of the system that carries nutrition to all parts of the banana. - quote Chiquita.com

So have a lovely weekend, enjoy the weather and beware of the Phloem Bundles!
That is all. Goodbye!



check out those phloems!

P.S.

From: Winnymom@aol.com

You had sex in a dress and then returned it? Gross!! Did it still have the tags on it?

Mom

Expecting?

God, it's really fucking hot outside. So hot, i'm contemplating retiring my hair straightener. Sooo hot, wearing underwear has become a chore. Sooo fucking hot, i've started sweating underneath my boobs, and it aiiiiin't pretty.

What is one to do when waiting for the subway in the most humid, rancid, 105 degree underground heat?

I bought a dress. It cost me $22 at Forever 21 and it is the most perfect summer dress for activities including but not limited to working, churning butter, calling out sick and easy access sexual activity.

Problem: It's mighty boobalicious (2nd mention of BOOBS!) and in return forces every nasty, nasty man in Times Square and Woodside, Queens to look me up and down and throw out a "HEEEEY MAAAAMI!" or if i'm lucky, a "HEEEEY SEXY MAMI!".

It's a love/hate relationship.
On one hand, my bod must be looking mighty sexy. I'm not as grotesquely obese as I imagine! hoorah and hooray!
On the other, i feel like these stinky mexican/homeless/hallucinating admirers are touching their penises and thinking of me:The boob-sweating Jewish girl extraordinaire!

This was what happened on Saturday afternoon. I pranced all over town in my dress, being cat called and hating it but secretly loving it. No need to feel guilty about those 17 brownies I ate last night! The 39th street homeless man with half-dead dog and negative 18 teeth thinks i look great. Might as well supersize that #3! Mmmmmm

As the afternoon turned into evening, I decided to head home and prepare for my evening festivities. I stopped into my local grocer to pick up some berries and milk and such, and headed to the cash register, still feelin' hot and sexy and basically like Murray Hill's Next Top Model.

"Hey, how are you today?" asks 19 year old braided-haired register man.

"I'm really good, thanks!" - meeeee

Register Man- stares at my stomach region

Me- feeling weiiiiird. feeling reallllllly weird.

Reg-Man "Aw... so you're expecting, huh?"

Me- "Umm...no? Yeah, no i'm not pregnant."

Reg-Man "Ahhhhhhhhh shit, im so sorry"

Me- "Uhhhh, yeah it's okay. I just drink a lot of beer, I guess.

Reg-Man "Daaaaaaaaaaamn girl. How much beer do you drink?"

I paid for my fucking fat free food items and ran home and cried in my bed for seven minutes.

Then I called 3 friends, all who proceeded to tell me that they have been mistaken for preggers before, and to calm the fuck down and that it was probably just my super-in-style-pregnantesque-dress.

Anyone want to buy a dress? 10 dolla!

Five Years From Now...

At home last weekend I noticed an envelope sitting on my kitchen table. It was addressed to me care of Old Bridge High School West, and upon closer inspection I realized I had sent this letter to myself.
As I slid my finger underneath the flap, I instantly knew what my envelope contained. This wasn't going to be pretty.

Senior year Ms. Mennona, who I recently found out was caught doing the nasty mc. nasterson with a female student, asked us to write letters to ourselves outlining what we hoped to accomplish in five years time. Sighhhhhhhh.

Dear Jess,

There's about 3 months till I leave for college, and i'm kind of nervous. I'm ready to leave my parents, but not my friends. Right now, I am 5'4" with highlighted hair and in really good shape. I don't think too much will change with my looks in 5 years.

(Dear Jess,

College is much fucking better then highschool. Don't worry about leaving your friends, as you will only keep in touch with about 4 of them. Your hair is now a shade of purple, with some heinous dark brown roots coming in. You've also drank enough beer to fill up a mack truck, and in return have went up about 3 pant sizes. On a positive note- your boobs are much bigger.)

Some goals that I have for the next five years are to do really well in college, try new things (maybe karate or fencing), make a lot of new friends and become somewhat career oriented. I really hope I get a great paying job my first year out of college. My dream is to own a hotel or restaurant.

(Hahahaha... seriously? In college, you achieved the title of Winstoned, due to the excessive amounts of marijuana you smoked pre-class, post-class, pre-dinner, uhh... all the time. You definitely tried some new activites, including but not limited to gravity bongs, 10-foot bongs, frequent alcohol-induced black outs and promiscuous sex. You did well in college, mainly due to the fact you majored in Retail Management, and are now an entry level media slave, earning a mere 30 grand in the most expensive city in the country. Congrats, you dumbass biatch.)

Something that I do hope to change in 5 years are some of my qualities. These include me being a little to: impatient, emotional, jealous, self-conscious, picky and critical. Hopefully i'll be working on a little self improvement.

(No such luck, friend. You are a beast when it comes to criticizing others, specifically for their uneven/bushy/rainbow/drawn-on eyebrows.)

What I like about myself? My ability to make others laugh and to be 'just one of the guys'. I hope that in 5 years from now, I am still trying to find the humor in every situation I face. I also hope that i'll still love the thrill of meeting new people and going out to have a good time.

(God, you are one cheesy ass 17 year old. Finally, an accurate prediction. Why, i LOVE going out to have a good time. Especially, when the good time includes 7 Heinekens, 5 gin and tonics, falafel sandwiches and sexual activity. Hoorah!)

What's important to me most: My parents, even though they're irritating and ask the same question 20 times in a row. I love my sisters - in 5 years, Sarah might even be married! And Emily, well she might still be with Elinor. I'm sure they will both me really successful.

(Ohhhh Ellen. She still loves to repeat herself, after all these years. And damn, i'm good. Sarah is married, Emily's still a lesbian. Successful? Errr... not so sure. But at least they now own dogs, cats and talking birds. Didn't see that coming...)

What's going on in my life right now: Senior prom is this Friday and then off to Wildwood this weekend. I'm really excited but I don't want it to be over. Graduation is so soon, and i've been so busy trying to get things done. I should be employed by Wawa by Wednesday and I need to fill out a lot of papers for Syracuse. It's kind of stressful because i'm really used to doing nothing.

(Now there's the Jess I know and love. Bitchhh, you didn't even work at Wawa though, what the hell are you talking about? You're still used to doing nothing. Look, you're blogging at work! You cringe when given any form of work assignment, and take 2 hour lunch breaks every single day! Good job!!)

Well, I guess that's all that can be said for the moment. I'm ready to face whatever the future throws at me. Cya in 5 years!

Love, Jess

(Weed, Beer, Weed, Beer, Weed, Beer, Graduation, Work, Beer Beer Beer. Oh and you're poor.)


Love, Jess

GREAT VALUE FOR THE PRICE

This hotel is great... if you like mosquitos crawling into your asshole all night long delivering you malaria while trying to fall back asleep in your twin-sized bed after 2 hours of buffet-induced food poisoning. (the paella was DELICIOUS!)

The water is soo clear and the sand is perfect. Just make sure to show up before 7am or else it gets really crowded and you'll have to lay out by the pool instead. Speaking of the pool... WOW! It was seriously wonderful, but don't let your kids drink the water!! Little Jimmy had diarrhea for last 6 days of the trip. Poor kid, he couldn't even enjoy the breakfast buffet (he LOVED the french toast!!)without sprinting back up to our room to use the bathroom, which only backed up 9 times the entire trip!
Don't believe those other reviews, either! We had hot water the whole vacation!! We just had to take our showers between the hours of 2 and 5am. Not a problem...

The maid service was perfect. Well, the first 2 days our sheets and towels went unchanged, but a nice couple we met in the lobby told us the secret! You just need to leave the maids little trinkets each day. We gave Margarite chocolate bars, a bible and a set of ear plugs, among other things. She really loved us, and even started crying when we realized our safe had been broken into and all of our passports and my wedding ring had been stolen! She was so sympathetic. If you're reading this, Hi Margarite!!

All in all, The Punta Cana Rio Bamboo All Inclusive resort was well worth our money. You won't regret it!


DOMINICAN REPUBLIC, here I come!!!!!

The Mango Tango

Iced coffee season has arrived, and this morning I was all set to post about my passionate desire to consume the miraculous beverage on a bi-daily basis, along with the many issues that arise when choosing between Starbucks (a tad bitter but i have a gift card!) , Dunkin' (AKA "fruity diarrhea"-Ashley Connors) and the 17 assorted street coffee vendors conveniently located between my apartment and work.

Anyway, i'm sure you want to hear all about it... and if you do, feel free to write.

Right now, i'm alllllll in a huff.

Tonight, yessss tonight... I have sliced me my very own mango! No, i can do better then that. I have taken my mango's cherry! I have danced... the MANGO TANGO.

I'd been thinking about BYO-Mango for quite a few weeks now. I'd been spending $4+ per container on the fabulous little pre-cut mango babies at the local fruitery, and when translated into alcoholic beverage money I was losing out on at least 1 or 2 solidly drunken happy hours.

And so, with debit card in hard I popped into my local Morton Williams and searched for the forbidden fruit. Red mangos! Green mangos! Yellow-reddish-greenish mangos! How does one even tell what a ripe mango looks like? Is ripe mango color common knowledge??! I grabbed a hybrid-colored one, and threw in an avocado for good measure. What can i say? I was feeling adventurous!

I let my mango sit in my makeshift fruitbowl composed of a hot pink plastic appartatus i found in my roommates cabinet, possibly saved from a childhood cookie baking sesson. My fruit sat there for two full days, since I wasn't sure about ripeness or unripeness or mango expiration dates and so on.

On the way home from Brooklyn this evening, I was feeling rather inspired. As we discussed adult ass-wipes and the American Girl Theater, my writing teacher sat on her floor cushion, munching away on what I supposed was self-cut mango. It was like a sign from the heavens!

I rushed off the 6 train and straight to my fruit, awaiting me quietly and looking exactly the same as two days prior.
Not knowing wear to start, I consulted Google for a little advice: How to cut a mango



Cross-Hatching?! They think i can fucking CROSS-HATCH a mango!!!!?

I came really close to crying when I was informed i had to use something known as a paring knife, and picked something from our knife-holding unit that looked like it could possibly cut a piece of grilled chicken. Chicken... Mango... similar..sort of... mmm mango chicken.

I attempted the diagonal slicing technique displayed in step 1, but my mango halves wouldn't budge! I dug my fingers into the mango and surpriiiise... that shit is MUSHY.

After 30 seconds of failing to rip the mango halves in half, i brought out a new knife resembling something in which you may have seen in one of those killer clown movies. I proceeded to slice the shit out of that thing, fingers dripping in mango innards and praying that my roommate didn't walk into the kitchen and catch me in the act and call the fruit police!!

Whatever. Now i'm eating mango in my bed and i am seriously in love and seriously in need of some floss.

I Am The Biggest Loser... in sooo many ways

Alright. So, it's one thing to drunk text the man who slept in your bed last weekend. You might even dial and leave one of those hideous voicemails leaving a detailed account of how horny/drunk/in love you are and then want to hang yourself in the morning when you discover your call log displays 17 outgoing calls, all in the span of less than 10 minutes.
Those things I compleeeeetely understand. Hill, I know you're with me...

However, last night I made a totally different type of drunk dial. This one was made after the consumption of one Sam Adams Summer Ale (YESSSSS, it's back!!!) and approximately four vodka-sodas with lime, and went out to my boyfriend who was spending the night smoking pot and eating assorted asian cuisine on his couch in Queens. It went a little something like this... I think?

Me- Gets brilliant idea and runs into bathroom area
rinnnng rinnnng

Me: Hiiiiiii!!
Ryan: Are you drunk?
Me: Yesssss!!! I have a question for you but feel free to say no if you think it's weird!! (AKA you better not say no or ELSE!)
Ryan: Uhhhhhhh??? okay...
Me: Do you want to go out to dinner with my family tomorrow??


That's right folks!!!! I drunk dialed to see if he would get dinner in New Jersey with Sarah, Boleslav and my Super-Jew parents whom he's never met before!!

If this wasn't odd enough, I proceeded to call my mother so she could change the reservation.
When nobody picked up, I did as any good daughter would do and left a long, drunken, slurred message on my parent's answering machine, which... now when i think about it... uhh, where the hell were my parents on a Friday night at 11pm??
aaaahhhh bad thoughts, bad thoughts.

Let's see. What else?
Ah yes, The Biggest Loser Competition Part 2 is in full swing, and according to which scale I decide to use, what time of day it is, and how many quarts of "low fat" frozen yogurt I've consumed prior to weigh-in, i MAY or MAY NOT have lost 1 pound.

About 3 months back, Krystal and I were tired of our lardy selves, and made a pact to be amazing weight watchers for the next 4 weeks. Whoever lost a higher percentage of weight would be treated to a fabulous dinner by the contestant who just couldn't stay away from Taco Bell. Mmmmm chalupas... and gorditas... saaalivate.

Where was I? ohh yes, so for 1 week in February I ditched my lunch break trips to Bloomingdales and forced myself to elliptical and lift heavy objects, and to my surprise I dropped about 3 pounds.

Krystal on the other hand decided to call it quits when her life was thrown into turmoil over finding a new job, taking care of her obese yet adorable cat Timmy and interviewing crazies off of Craig's List to fill the open room in her apartment.

The competition was temporarily put on hold, but as of last Monday we're back in action!
The terms have been discussed, hmm... and they're exactly the same as the first time except we've become a bit more detailed about the reward:
The winner receives 1 free dinner of.... drumroll pleeease... 'Ridonc Sushi Rolls'
Yep, you know what i'm talkin' about. Spicy tuna on top of shrimp tempura on top of yellowtail sashimi, avocados, king crab, hot sauce, cheeseburgers, your mom, banana republic, etc... and i DON'T want brown rice, thanks!

So far i've tried consuming less than 7 alcoholic beverages on a maximum of 2... errr.. 3 nights per week, as well as making sure I don't hit up Mamoun's in the west village for the most delicious $2 falafel of my liiiife.

My pants are fitting... the same.
My love handles look... cute?

Anyway, i'll keep you posted as the competition progresses.

p.s. i wrote this very hungoverly on a saturday morning, so feel free to excuse any weirdness that may have been blogged. neeeeeed coffee.

Ok, bye!

What Not To Wear: A How-To Guide by Emily Winston

The closest Emily ever came to fashionista-status was in Vegas last summer. We decided it was about time to throw her 1992 black platforms in the Treasure Island garbage can and forced her into varying ensembles composed mostly of Sarah's extra small self-bedazzled tank tops and matching mini skirts. We did such a good job with her show-girl makeover that she even managed to look borderline-straight and was hit on several times at each of the clubs we attended. I even decided to reward her sexy efforts with a $25 lap dance courtesy of a large, hunky black man, which she later mentioned that she quite enjoyed.

Check out the Emily sandwich happening in this photo... (not for your eyes, Elinor!!)



So that's why I was pleasantly surprised when I opened up my Gmail inbox this morning to find a message from Em entitled "Blast from the Past Fashion Show"

**Please keep in mind that her jaw is currently wired shut due to a wine-induced hot tub incident and she hasn't been able to consume solids in about a month. It's POSSIBLE that these outfits might like a smidgen better once the 10 or so pounds make their big come-back. wait.... hahahahahahaha, i doubt it.

The message reads as follows--

"For your viewing pleasure!

All of the following fashion items were purchased around 1999. I tried them on today to see if there's anything I should possibly save...the rest I can try to sell on ebay or just donate.

Cast your vote for each item!

Navy pinstripe suit
Cream button-down shirt
Navy flats
Black skirt suit
White shell
Black flats
Red mock turtleneck
Black pumps



first of all Em, this pose is hilarious. Was Elinor directing you or did you just come up with that move all on your own? I must say that the 'red mock turtleneck' really accentuates your golden California tan, though.


Oh my god. This is SO fugly. Nice choice of undershirt on this one. Are you planning on wearing this to an interview?
mmmm unemployment line, here you come.


Now, one would think that you would've worn this blouse underneath suit #1. Although, this outfit doesn't completely make me want to spew my turkey sandwich all over my freshly washed sheets. Next...


Well, I can tell that Ellen Degeneres book I bought to cheer you up really rubbed off. This outfit screams 'I like the ladies', but who am I to judge?

Well... I guess you can open up your very own Ebay store entitled 'Emily's House of Fugly' and make a fortune.
Or maybe you can just construct some new chew-toys for your parrot and cockatoo.
Better yet, you should throw everything in the garbage.

A JAP's Guide to Budgeting, Dieting and Infrequent Sobriety.

I'm on a budget...and a diet... really... I am.

Monday - April 9th, 2007

My good friend Dan invited me to his comedy show at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater. Lovely, I thought! A wonderful $5 cultural event to lift my spirits after an always-so-hellish Monday afternoon spent dillydallying in my cubicle, eating a vast array of uber-fiberous vegetation, laundering, ellipticaling for 35 minutes and tending to my excessive amounts of Judaism-induced body hair via my blow dryer and a Venus razor.

On my way over to the theater, I got a call from Coleen.

"Meet us at Dino's Party House!!!"

Dino's WHAAAT?! As an unofficial member of AA, anything with the words 'Party House' makes me want to kick off my Nike high-top sneaks, funnel a beast ice and sing my finest karaoke-rendition of Paula Cole's 'Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?'

So off I went to the Party House, located about 3 blocks away from the theater.

There were a total of 6 people in the entire bar - two of which were my friends, one the bartender, two were making out passionately in the corner and the sixth... a lonesome, tan-skinned man playing a game of PhotoHunt.

As I sipped my Blue Moon, said man started hitting on Coleen. And when I say hitting on, I mean he actually told her he would like to make love to her. Yesssss, make LOVE. He then proceeded to buy us cheap vodka shots and tell Michelle and I that he would also be interested in having sex with us, but that he would only make love to Coleen.

I told him that wouldn't be necessary, and that some more shots would be just fine.

20 minutes later, we collected our coats, said farewell to our new man-friend, and made our way over to the theater. I had no intentions of drinking more beverages... that was, until I saw that magical sign.
$2 PBR.

There is a god!!!!

I sat next to Dan's parents, drank several delicious Pabsts, journeyed to a small pub called Walter's which included a drunk woman with newborn-baby, took an $8 taxi-ride home, ate microwavable dumplings and set my alarm for 8am.

Tuesday - April 10, 2007

I had really wonderful intentions on Tuesday afternoon. It was ASPCA day, and I planned on heading down to Union Square with Mel after work to look/make out with all of the puppies, raid the salad bar at Whole Foods and go home and do nice things like watch repeats of I Love New York.

Around 3pm, I got a text from my buddy Flounder -- "Happy Hour?"

Ohhhh, how I despise turning down a perfectly good happy hour.

Me: "Mel... want to grab a beer first before the puppies?"
Mel: "YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS... is he bringing his guy friends?"

We coerced Monique into joining our beverage festivities, and off we went to Local to join the Flound-Man & Co.

Flounder loves a good drinking game, and with the help of the $1 Coors Light happy hour special, I was able to get drunk all the while maintaining my allocated beverage budget for the week. And the beers were LIGHT. All 5 of them. Hence, my diet budget.

As 8 o' clock approached, I said farewell to my buddies, walked a drunken Mel to Grand Central and hurried home to watch American Idol. Not to mention, I was quite fungry at this point and couldn't wait to cook up an asian stir fry feast complete with wasabi peas, pineapple tidbits and anything else that tastes spectacular while doused in teriyaki sauce and eaten in a drunken frenzy.

On the elevator ride up to my apartment, I dug through my purse in search of my keys. I took out my disposable tupperware, my coffee thermos, my wallet, sunglasses, kashi granola bars.... UH-OH.... left them in my gym bag...which is in my cubicle... which is 11 blocks and 1 avenue away, which if i go back means i'll miss all of American Idol and I don't have TIVO... and then I won't see Sanjaya and my life will be OVER! mehhhhhhhhhh!

And this is when I realized the joys of paying over a grand in rent. DOOOOOOOORMAN.

Thankfully, I was able to get into my apartment only 20 minutes late for Idol. I watched Sanjaya flambouyantly prance around the stage all the while cooking my Asian splendor, and even found the time to convince Hillary into meeting an Italian-Turkish-Jewish JDater. And then I set my alarm for 8am.

Wednesday - April 11th, 2007.

I did not drink! I did not spend money! I even managed to smoke pot in my kitchen wearing only my underwear while simultaneously eating leftover cold pork dumplings. HOORAH!

Thursday - April 12th, 2007.

Damn you, Jon Ames. Thanks for leaving Local Radio Buying without a replacement and giving me all of your god-damn-skanky-ass-assistant-bitch work to do.

Lucky for you, I accept happy hour propositions as apologies. They BETTER have some mofo good drink specials.

As I gorged on $3 Blue Moons, $2 soco-lime shots, and assorted fried calamari bits, I felt my phone vibrate in my back pocket. I always get a little excited when I don't recognize a phone number, and hoped it could possibly be a headhunter offering me a job naming nail polish colors, or maybe even Yolanda Vega telling me I won tonight's Pick 6 and to come collect my mill.

"HELLLOOOOOOO?!" I drunkenly slurred.

"Hi Jessica. This is ldkfgjgel;trkjg"

"WHO?! Who is THIS?!" I yelped.

"Jessica. This is Dr. Faust. I was just calling to tell you I got your blood test results back"

OHHHHH DICKKKKKKKK.

"They came back negative."

Boooooom Shaka Laka, I ain't dying of any weird-stomach-pain-induced-diseases! Well, at least not this week.

Still feeling the effects of my medical buzzkill, I decided it would be best to go home, microwave turkey meatballs, call my mother and fall asleep before 10pm.

Friday - April 13th, 2007.

Ahhhhhhh Friday. FINALLY, I can enjoy my life once again!

Due to the 10+ hours of sleep I received, I was actually able to attend the gym during lunch. Yeah, I was shocked, too.
As an added bonus, I was even able to elliptical my way through 40 minutes of Save the Last Dance Part 2 (Did you know there was a PART 2?!) and then proceeded to lay on the mats and laugh at Mel who only agreed to go to the gym because she really needed to take a shower.

I was feeling particularly wonderful because it was bow-chicka-bow-wow... PAYDAY.

After work, I cheerily frolicked down third avenue and straight into French Nails, for a brown-esque manicure and a 10 minute back massage by the god-of-all-nail-salon-massueses-of-my-LIFE.

I decided to keep it a low-key night in preparation for Saturday's Sake Bombing Fiesta, and met Ashley for dinner down in the Financial District. A few innocent fish tacos turned into 2 size-of-my-head frozen margaritas, an $80 bill and a buzzed subway ride to mmmmm... Woodside, Queens.


Saturday - April 14th, 2007

I spent the next day cruising down Queens Boulevard with Ryan in his pimped-out Rav 4. I had a burning desire to go shopping at Target, and we found one located in the most inconvient sort of mall-type-thing on the side of the Boulevard from Hell.

After a lovely diner meal and some assorted discount shoe-shopping, I beached myself on his couch for as long as possible until making my way back home to prepare for the cheap sushi and many a sake bomb that would soon be taking up residence in my liver.

My evening was one giant Asian-induced blur. Hmmm... are you seeing the pattern, too?

I was about 5 sake bombs deep before the food even arrived. Same for Ashley, who desperately needed alcohol in order to shmooze her questionably homosexual yet still undeniably sexy new roommate.

I reminisced with a long lost friend who actually wanted my babies circa 10th grade and yes... even sent me the first...errr..ONLY roses I have ever recieved. To thank him, I decided I would spill three-quarters of my $12 mango mojito all over his lovely Lacoste shirt and then coerce him into purchasing my next beverage. Tadaaaa.

Sunday, April 15th

Slept till 11. Woke up. Ate leftover turkey club from Queen's diner. Fell back asleep. Woke up at 4:30pm. Facebook stalking. Canned clam chowder. Microwaved an eggroll. Blogging. VH1's Charm School Starts tonight. Set my alarm for 8am. Looking forward to Happy Hour.

New Message from Mr. Wonderful

Lately i've been wondering why people bother to pay for internet dating services when they can choose from a vast array of sketchy Staten Islanders and ambiguously gay Manhattanites completely free of charge! While I tend to use My Space for general stalking purposes, recently i've been getting a wild influx of male suitors filling up my Gmail inbox each day.
Honestly, I don't get it. My profile picture isn't slutty. I'm wearing clothes. I'm wearing tie-dye for christs sake!! My hair is skanky, i look hungover...errr... i am hungover, and my oh so un-exciting boobs are no where in sight!
See what I mean?


But yet, the men are going nuts for my hot Jewish ass.

Let's begin...

From: Mr. Wonderful
Subj: Mitzvah
happy passover!

~m :)

ps: don't worry about me...I sold my soul to the devil years ago ;)


Dear Mr. Wonderful

You sound wonderrrrrrrful. Happy Passover to you as well. Does it bother you that I accidently ate eggplant parm pizza last night? Nope, it wasn't on matzoh.
I don't get your p.s. Does that mean you want to have sex?
TTYL.

From: BiLLz
Subj: Add Me U Kno U Want 2
Add Me U Kno U Want 2

Hi BiLLz,
I really like your use of the number 2. It's so meaningful. I'm getting kind of wet just thinking about adding you to my friends list. Ahhh, I gotta go.

From: Mr. Swanky
Subj: whats up?
Hey, My name is Manny, wondering if you go out to clubs usually?

Hi Manny,
I like your name. I don't usually go clubbing, but my cubicle neighbor Monique does. Last weekend her drunk friend Shawanda got in a fight with some Spanish broad, weave pulling and all. I heard that shit was craaazaaaaay. I bet she might go to a club with you. Want me to inquire?

From: Moshe
Subj: Jessica!

OK, I am gonna be gay and say, Oh my God, you are such a doll.

I liked all your pics, u seem so vibrant, I would love to treat to
dinner coffe, hot chocolate or whatever, even a broadway. Tell me
you're single and that we can go out sometime, no strings attached.

-Moshe

Shalom Moshe,
I like your pics, too. Especially the one of you smoking a joint. Are you a gay stoner? I've never met one.
Are you gonna treat me to alllll of those things? That would be nice, considering i'm really broke right now and NYC taxes have recently decided to take away more money from my paychecks. Don't they know i'm already paying $2.99/lb for shitty ass mealy gala apples?!? Oy.

From: Edd
Subj: hi
what a poor 'about me' section... you can do better than that...

Hi Edd,
Sorry to disapoint you. I used to have a longer 'about me' section where I talked about how my bed has wheels and it moves across my floor and how the only thing i'm capable of is consuming asian food. But really, who cares?
I like that you spell your name with 2 d's though. Your mom is probably really creative.


From: Georgey
Subj: WATZZ UPP SWEETHEAT,,,,
YOO WATZ UP HOW U DOINGG DO U GOT AOL OR AIM IF U DO I WOULD LOVE TO
TALK TO YOU ALOT BETTER SWEATY

Hi Georgey,
So, you think i'm a sweetheat? That's nice. You're right about being sweaty. I went to the gym during lunch, and of course there just wasn't enough time to shower. So here I am... sweaty.
It really turns me on when you use all caps like that. MMMM GEORGEY.

From: KHRYSTYAN
Subj: No Subject
Hi there Jessica, i like your profile, especially the pictures, (the
one holding the beer is the bomb!) ... I was wondering maybe we can
chat sometime. I still don't get your headline :(
Hope to hear from you soon Jess.

Hi KHRYSTYAN.

Which picture of me holding the beer? It seems I am holding a beer in every single picture. But, thanks. I'm pretty good at holding beer.

From: Dave
Subject: No Subject
What's a sock hop?

Hiiii Dave,
You know... poodle skirts. Grease lightning. Fuckin' let's twist again like we did last summer? Wait, is that a sock hop? OK, bye.

From: Sami
Subject: Hey
hi jessica how are you u look really cute great pictures u have there
by the way ..and u seem nice too .. sorry i dont know exactely what
where to start,not that i dont mean it to be honnest i was just
browsing throu this thing and your beauticul face caught my eye :).. i
tried to read a little through your profile and i loved it :) so i
thought i d write a couple of words, and i hope i ll get a chance to
talk to you soon and get to know alittle more about you.
write back soon
sami

Hi Sami,
I wish i could take a look at your 'beauticul' face too but it seems your face has been replaced with a photo of a palm tree, and alas... your profile is private. what's a girl to do?

From: Joseph
Subj: Is that your kitten?
it's awfully cute. any chance you use AIM or anything like that?


Hi Joseph,
Yessss, that's my kitten. Her name is Sweet Potato and we bought her for $10 from a crackhead in Syracuse, New York.
Nah, i don't use AIM. I never really got into technology. I use Morse Code, though. Feel free to get in touch.

From: Hirts
Subj: Models
Wassup, I think you are gourgaeous, and I want to know if you want to
model for me?

Hirts!

I'll model for you. I've got really great feet. Size 9 and a half. Sometimes a 10. I've even got a hunter green pedicure.
What do you pay?


From: Gori
Subject: London 2 NYC
Hey steph..

(You look incredibly beautiful in the picture, is that you? I'm just
curious to know)

Well, I was just browsing through a few profiles and yours really
grabbed my attention! You seem like a pretty interesting person and
i'd love to get to know you better..

I'm originally from Kensington London but I've just moved to NYC to
work on broadway and I'm LOVING it! U guys really do know how to
party..

I know it mite seem a bit weird this, but it'd be nice to learn a bit
about you. Like what you like to get up2..what kinda music are you
in2..etc?

by the way, you're really cute in the pictures (wow!!)

hope 2 hear from you soon..

Gori

Hi Gori,

Yes, that's me in the photo. I know, I know. Some people are like WOW, you look just like Angelina. But good looks just run in the family. Thanks Marvin!

Before we go any further, you steal my heart and i give birth to our biracial babies... I just need to know one thing. Who's Steph?

From: Aaron
Subj: No Subject
You are a decent looking Jewish girl.

Dear Aaron,

You don't know shitttt. Gori from London thinks i'm damn fine, as does Mr. Wonderful, Moshe, Georgey and Hirts.
I seriously kind of hate you.

Kowloon Me To The Moon

I spent the weekend visiting my favorite pair of best-friends-turned-lesbian-lovers out in Boston. One hybrid wine-pot hangover, a faux call in sickness and a $30 Grey Hound bus ticket later, I found myself smushed in between a cold, hard window and a Wellesley College student with one of the most unappealing moles i've ever witnessed. Said mole resided right above her lip, which sounds sexy in a Cindy Crawford-esque type way, but in fact was quite the opposite. It actually had 2 little hairs poking out of it, and while we discussed our overly Jewish summer camps and the joys of Japanese food, I couldn't help but wonder if i should dig out the tweezerman I keep stored in my purse for emergency stragglers and pluck those bad boys outta there.
I resisted, but seriously almost caved the second the Teddy Graham crumbs starting collecting in her creepy little mole-bush.

I finally arrived in Boston around 8pm, lugging a hefty duffel bag filled with only the neccessities... $3 wine, my best friend and life long companion- the Chi hair iron <3, a couple of oversized black & white cookies and a loaf of challah bread. That's right, I took requests. I contemplated purchasing some lox as well, but decided i didn't want to upset or nauseate my fellow bus companions on the five hour journey through the land of ye olde Connecticut, which honestly is already depressing enough without having to bear the scent of oily fish.

John met me at South Station and we proceeded to Hannah's Jetta, conveniently parked about a mile away from the bus station. Hannah is another member of the Navigation Fan Club, yet still manages to get lost EVERY SINGLE TIME. it's actually quite fascinating. She and Ashley constantly second guess the technology, get into a gigantic lovers' quarrel and then finish it off by making out in the front seat while you close your eyes, make gagging noises and sing Wilson Phillips 'Hold On' as loud as you can to drown out the sounds.

As we approached the car, I noticed an unfamiliar display of bleach blonde hair hanging out of the backseat window.
It was Tamara, and according to some incoherent ramblings and the half empty bottle of whiskey placed neatly in her lap I could tell she was in black-out land. While secretly flattered that I was an important enough event to pre-game for, I started to worry when she attempted to steal an innocent couple's clams casino at Legal Seafood and then proceeded to run out of the restaurant in search of pizza and potential man-friends.

Rest assured we picked her up after dinner in China Town, alive and well and partially hungover.

If you really want to know what I did in Boston for 48 hours, I'm gonna go ahead and say I ate, watched LOGO - yes, the lesbian and gay network and spoke in a full fledged Indian accent the entire time. Ashley and I also made up a song with a somewhat Jamaican beat entitled "Me Knows Where Me Likes to Be Touched" dedicated to a flambouyant ex-army Irishman whom she met in a gay bar in Chelsea last time she came to visit. She inquired when it was he knew he was gay and he replied, well "Me knows where me likes to be touched!" and it goes a little something like THIS-

ME: touch me where me knows where me likes to
Ash: TOUCCCCCCCH ME WHERE YOU KNOW WHERE YOU LIKE TO BE TOUCHED
ME: touch me, touch me, tou-uhh-uhh-uchhh me

and so on and so forth.

We also made up a song dedicated to this Indian academic advisor named Nidhi Oberoi from Syracuse who I met with Senior year to discuss my future cubicle life.

This is to the tune Biggie's HYPNOTIZE-- please feel free to sing along!

Nidhi Nidhi Nidhi
Can't you see?
Sometimes your Oberois just hypnotize me
And I just love your hindu dot
I can't wait to lick curry off your bush**.

I would like to apologize in advance for the mention of Nidhi's bush. The original lyric was "i can't wait to lick curry off your SPOT", but Hannah suggested bush, and seeing as my sexual preference was the minority... we decided bush would have to do.

Over the course of the weekend, I have decidedly come across my favorite highway in the history of all the highways in my life. It's called...bumbumbummmm...ROUTE 1, and we had to drive down it several times in our journeys to and from Boston (Ash and Hannah reside in an old homosexual-run firehouse 30 minutes north of the city.)

What's so amazing about Route 1, you ask? The whole road reminds me of one giant MULLET. There's strip clubs, stinky motels, a giant restaurant named Kelly's which is dedicated to everything roast beef (it even has a drive-thru!), several obscenely Vegas-like glowing cactus-billboards and the most mysteriously statuesque Asian-inspired castle I have EVER seen!

Me- "Hey... what IS that place?!"
Hannah- "Its Kowloon!!! it's AMAAAZING! They serve every type of Asian food imaginable!"

My eyes lit up like a nun recieving her first encounter with cunnilingus.

As you know, i am a whore for asian food. that's right. a WHORE. muhahaha.

Ash and Hannah agreed that a trip to Kowloon was in order, and we decided it would be the last stop before I had to head back to the city.

When Sunday morning rolled around, I put on my ever-expanding spandex pants in preparation for the Asian feast that awaited me. We piled into the Jetta, blasted some Real McCoy and made our way down route 1 for the very last time.

When we pulled up, I couldn't contain my excitement. I hopped out of the car, and whipped out my digi camera. It was like the Eiffel Tower of Route 1, and i NEEDED evidence of my arrival!

An elder, mulleted woman who was most likely arriving just in time for the early bird volunteered to take pictures of us. Please see below.





As the hostess led to us to our table, I couldn't help but think how hilarious it would be if i perhaps... got married in Kowloon! There were lotto machines galore, old people, ladies with unibrows, an overabundance of obesity and a glorious display of ponds and waterfalls surrounded with fake, spray-painted rocks. mmmmm... heaven.

I imagined our waitress Denise definitely lives in a trailer park, but i loved her just the same. She made wonderful reccomendations and was amazed when I told her i took the Grey Hound all the way from New York City JUST to come to THEE KOWLOON!!

We ate strange fried chicken tidbits, teriyaki beef "nuggets" and an assortment of the greasiest noodle dishes i've ever encountered. Everything tasted like it was scooped straight off of a chinese buffet and we only managed to finish 1/80th of the food. We simultaneously became overwhelmed with nausea, held our stomaches and tried not to gag when Ash kept passing gas at the table. See for yourself, YO!


Denise took this.... mmm Denise


Me... dreaming of my Kowloon wedding.


Imagine Ashley farting for this one.


Laughing because I feel like my stomach is slowly dying inside of me and I know i'm about to sit on a bus for 4 hours.

Suffice it to say I haven't touched Asian food since, but i'm hoping to get back on track by this weekend. The end.