Humble Pie is for Suckers and Ugly People!

I am a beautiful person, inside and out, and sometimes I get so caught up in what other people are doing around me that I forget that I'm so special, so beyond great, so fabulously fucking fabulous!

Since June, I've lost 20lbs, on my own, without a trainer or a nutritionist- that's a whole dress size, that's half of my six-year-old, that's probably what my leg used to weigh- and that's a great accomplishment for me.

I earned a place in a graduate program for talented writers, all on my own, despite my dismal undergraduate transcripts, despite Mr. Peemoeller telling me I wasn't cut out for college because I was unfocused and hard to discipline (it's all part of my charm, Mr. P) and received a grant from this program for being the most promising student of my incoming class. Me! And my class included a published author!

After years and years of putting up with my faux marriage because I didn't think I could make it on my own and had nowhere to go, I found my courage and I left him, got my own place, and despite a few cash-flow problems am doing fine.

I am a loyal, caring friend, ride or die 100%. Someone crosses you, my friend, they cross me. You kill your lover in his sleep? "Officer, she was with me all night." You get thrown in jail? I'm the one sitting beside you saying, in between bouts of laughter, "damn that shit was FUN!"

I am wise; a unique marriage of street and book smarts that can only be appreciated by those who possess the same qualities...you know who you are my dears because we've been friends FOREVER!

I can switch hit between the arts and the sciences with a twitch of my nose (okay maybe not history, but I've seen a few historical movies...does North and South count? Patrick Swayze sure was dreamy in that uniform...) and grasp both concepts as if I'd studied them all my life. Probably because I've been in school since I was 5. But I digress...

I cook a mean chili and bake a mean carrot cake WITH homemade cream cheese frosting. I can knit you a kicking new scarf and teach myself any computer program under the sun...no manual needed.

I can appreciate Billie Holiday, James Taylor, Franki Ruiz, Metallica and 50 Cent, and what makes them so great when shuffled together on my iTunes- it's a mix you just can't beat.

I'm a good mom, raising two independent, self-sufficient, intelligent and beautiful girls who will one day rule this world...so be nice to the little one; she keeps a list...

And when some lucky guy finally convinces me that monogamy is in fact a natural thing and not invented by The Man to keep us down, barefoot and pregnant, he will be getting the best woman William and Mercedes could have ever conceived, and Miguel and Rafaela could have ever nurtured. He will thank his lucky stars every night!

I am an all-powerful, amazon warrior, not just some sniveling girl...

*smooches...sportin' a brand new deadly sin*

-----------------

...so no matter what i think i need

you know i can't possibly

have a need in this world

come and come for that sweet sweetness

i'll be your never ending vending machine

i could never need to be alone

never need to be my own

as much as you need your queen...

How Do You Say, "You Get What You Pay For" in Chinese?

I'm starting this post at almost 2AM on Sunday morning because I want to get it out before I forget what I wanted to say...

My mom, kids and I decided to spend Thanksgiving with my baby sis in her new apartment outside of D.C. Originally it was supposed to be the whole family but some couldn't make it, so what I originally thought would be a quiet car ride to our nation's capitol turned out to be a nightmare.

Instead, we took one of those super-cheap Chinese buses that leave from Chinatown and go to Philly and D.C. on the regular, and I suppose I was thinking it would be the same as the vans that take us up to Lawrence, MA. They were SOOOOO NOT!!!

First off, there's like 20 different companies leaving from the same East Broadway block, and aparently, not a one of them know what a "sign" is. Second, they over-sell every bus so it's a crapshoot as to whether or not you're getting on the bus when you think you are getting on the bus. Third, those bitches selling the tickets are rude as fuck. I'm not sure if it's a cultural thing or just a requirement from New Centry Travel's HR department. Actually it can't be a cultural thing because all the women at my local Chinese take-out places are super sweet. These women were just rude as fuck. Finally, and my personal favorite, they operate on BP time. Now I don't mind the usual delay of 10, 15 even 20 minutes; traffic can be a bitch sometimes. But the 6:00PM bus got there at 7:15...WTF?

Needless to say, even though it was only $35 RT to visit my sister via the Chinese bus, next time I'm shelling out the extra dough for Greyhound, Amtrak or even JetBlue!

*smooches...after 8 1/2 hours of traveling...*
------------------------
how can i go home
with nothing to say
i know you're going to look at me that way
and say what did you do out there
and what did you decide
you said you needed time
and you had time

That's A WHOLE Shirt!

Friday night. Just finished my first week at a cool new job with a cool new nanny taking care of my wee ones. It was my ex's turn with the kids for the weekend. You know what that means: PARTY!!!

It just so happens that my bestest guy friend in the WHOLE WORLD since high school, Jack (AKA Galaxia) was going to be in NYC, and I hadn't seen his cute face since he came to see me freshman year of college (and my roommate got busted for smoking pot LOL). I was so excited to see him, especially because I'm helping him with his own Break-up Heard Around the World, and nothing soothes the troubled soul than a night out with good friends. Plus it was his birthday earlier that week.

I let him choose the spot, and he suggested La Escuelita, this gay club in Midtown. It was perfect because remember, I've gone cold turkey after the Hoover Incident so I was definitely up for fun in a place where NO ONE would be hitting on me.

Random observations from the evening:

1. I had carefully chosen my outfit to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative, latch on to the affirmative and not mess with Mr. In-Between. In layman's terms: I've gained 5lbs while I was unemployed so I wore black. So why did I see a female in there, with at least 30lbs on me and two inches shorter, showing her stuff for all the world to see? In RED no less! I turn to Jack and say:
"If she wore her half shirt, why couldn't I?"

Jack- god bless him- turns to me and says:
"That's a whole shirt!"

I all but pissed my pants!!!

Then of course a Two-Ton Dyke passed by us and he quickly adds, "That's two shirts!"

2. Some bouncers walk by us rolling these little round pedestals to the middle of the club, and you know what that means: G-STRING DIVAS!!!! I was so stoked to see this muscled, chisled, oh-so-yummy, I-don't-care-if-he's-gay dancer up there shakin' what his momma- and Bally's Total Fitness- gave him. Jack and I tipped him so much I think we paid his rent this month! There was a girl dancer, too, and I tipped her on a dare, but her moves were wack and that male dancer had already stolen this Hag's heart. Jack and I considered propositioning him; I'd take the front, he'd take the back...and I was just smitten enough to agree to it!

At the end of night (cause you know we shut that place down at like 4AM) Mr. Gorgeous Dancer Man hugged and kissed us both goodnight. I could've died happy right then and there.

3. The ladies room was so disgustingly gross that I thought I'd walked into the men's room by mistake. Although, it wouldn't have mattered if I had, I guess...

4. The drag show was hysterical, especially when the MC sang happy birthday to some gals: "Happy Birthday you nasty, pussy-eating les-bee-enz...Happy Birthday tooooo yoooooo" that was classic!

No Worries: I've Got Two Good Livers Waiting For Me Inside K. & N.

Seeing as Jack was nursing a broken heart, I knew that some heavy duty drinking would be going on that night. But as you recall, I'm out of practice and it takes very little to get me hammered these days. Jack forced four rum and cokes down my throat (and by forced I mean he paid for them and only a dummy turns down free booze!) and then made me get up and dance (and by made me I mean he said, "wanna dance?" and I said "sure!"), and for me drinking and dancing makes my vertigo act up. I was D-R-U-N-K!!!

The ride home to my place was...well I barely remember getting home, only that Jack peed on the wall by the Foodtown and that I passed out in all my clothes with my makeup still on. I did manage to fix up the couch for him, so I wasn't too far gone.

Next morning after Jack had already stumbled on to his mother's all the way in the Boogie-Down, my stomach reminded me that I was no longer an 18 year old co-ed. That bitch was pissed! And it went a little something like this:

The last time I partied like that was Montauk for my 23rd or 24th birthday; it was so worth it!!!

Jack, I hope I was able to get your mind off Cabroncito; thank you so much for the treat!!!

*smooches...with a crush on a gay dancer...*

------------------------

here comes little naked me

padding up to the bathroom door

to find little naked you

slumped on the bathroom floor

New Job, New Nanny, New Headaches!

First, I want to apologize to all my friends out there for not keeping in touch. I’ve been so busy with the new job and trying to get my apartment settled and all that fun stuff that it’s left me with little time to socialize.

Second, I just want to point out that I am DRASTICALLY behind on my thesis…my professor actually had to contact me to ask what’s up. I try and try to get into it but am just not motivated to work on it- I think I’m burnt out. I’ve been in school since I was 5 years old…I think maybe it’s time to take a break for a while…

Lastly, did ya’ll know Doogie Howser was gay??? OMG I was totally shocked (and no, that’s not my sarcastic voice. I was TOTALLY shocked). My gaydar must be broken! He had a blurb in People Magazine about how he’s a proud gay man living a very content life. Well you go, boy!

New Job

My first week went very well, considering that the night before my first day I had horrible nightmares about my ex-boss from The Basement trying to kill me. I actually woke up in a cold sweat! I was so nervous, anxious, and a whole slew of other –ous words on the whole commute over there. Am I wearing the right clothes? Will I do a good job? How’s my hair? I was a straight mess.

But I get there and they’re all super sweet and everything…and then pile a shit-load of work on my desk. I was like: “What? Oh, you want me to WORK at work? Why didn’t anybody tell me?” My boss took us all (yeah, all FOUR of us) to lunch and I sat there eating my portabella mushroom sandwich as they went on about stuff I know very little about. I get the feeling I’m going to have to actually read the paper and keep up with the news while working here…and oh, look; it actually says so in my employee handbook…

The work itself is not difficult and I actually enjoy it. For right now I’m editing articles for three different environmental newsletters, so I get to use some of my undergraduate knowledge…nice to know that $30G I borrowed to go to Alfred is finally paying off. BTW- New England is headed for a HUGE energy crisis come 2010. You heard it here first.

New Nanny

So that bitch ass trick Jamaican whore I had hired in September left me stranded the Monday before Election Day- can you believe her? And after I kept her on even though I was not working! This is what I get for giving her a second chance; she quit before claiming she needed to find a fulltime job because she wasn’t able to make rent with only part-time work, like it was my fault. She KNEW I only needed part-time help. And she set her own rate and I agreed to it. So because she’s an idiot who can’t handle her money I get stuck without a sitter. And if I hadn’t called her on Monday, I get the feeling she was not going to tell me until right before N. needed to be picked up from school.

I said to hell that shit and just went to an agency, and now employ a very nice, sweet and nurturing Trinidadian woman who actually plays with my kids while she’s caring for them. It costs a helluva lot more, but it’s worth it, if only for peace of mind.

But you should have seen some of the other candidates: one woman came in here like she was Queen B and so I had to give her the ole, don’t-call-us-we’ll-call-you; another woman was so meek I could already envision N. eating her alive, just for kicks; this one girl was like two hours late! Yeah, I think I made the right choice.

New Headaches!

I finally had to swallow my pride and grow some balls and call my credit cards. Confession time, folks: I’ve not made a CC payment since July of this year. Needless to say they were rather peeved with me and were blowing up my phone like 20 times a day EVERY-FUCKING-DAY!!! So I sat down and called them and made payment agreements with all of them. Can I just say- I owe a LOT of money! What the hell was I thinking???

The reality of how badly I just fucked up my credit, after I worked so hard to rebuild it since The College Years, really has me down. Initially I wanted to be in a position to buy a place in two years; I’ve already been in this apartment for a year so technically next year I was going to start looking for property to purchase. Now, with all these blemishes on my credit, I may have to wait a couple of extra years and that is so depressing! How can I be this old and STILL be renting? I’m absolutely pissed with myself over the whole thing!

But I have a good job and if I manage to not fuck it up it could lead to bigger and better things…like a pre-War on the Upper West Side…

*smooches...now with direct deposit!*
-------------------
i had to leave the house of privilege
spend christmas homeless and feeling bad
to learn that privilege is a headache
that you don't know that you don't have
and i had to leave the house of television
to start noticing the clouds
it's amazing the stuff you see
when you finally shed that shroud

Everything You Own in a Box to the Left...

Heartache is a mothafucka...

Remember when you first met them and everything was new and undiscovered and you'd stay on the phone for hours on end talking about everything and nothing at the same time? How the sound of their voice and just one look into their eyes make your knees all wobbly? Remember how you'd fantasize about your future together in the shower? The summer house in Montauk? The brownstone in Fort Greene? The Mediterranean cruise?

And your first fight? Remember how stupid it seemed after you made up? And how you joked about it, how you were being so irrational? Even if deep down you still thought you were in the right and let it go in the name of...dare you think it...love? Was it love? Was it?

Remember when you knew it wasn't the same? And how you felt it unravelling, slipping from your control and there was no way to stop it? Remember THE phone call? The one that put the nail in the coffin of what you were afraid of? The one where they say, "It's not working out" or you say, "I can't go on like this" even if it's something you never thought you'd hear or say?

And the moment you hung up...the HEARTACHE! How you clung to your pillow sobbing like you haven't sobbed in so long! How you curled up into a ball and felt so vulnerable and just wanted to be held by the very person that just made you curl into a ball. And the whole world just became you and them and the heartache.

You only ate out of habit, for nutrition, because nothing tasted like anything anymore. You got out of bed and went to work only because you had to. If you could have, you would have stayed in bed for days, staring out the window in between crying fits and obligatory trips to the bathroom to blow your nose.

It's like someone died and you remember the Kübler-Ross book you read that explained the stages of grief:

1. Denial and isolation - The "This can't be real" stage.: "This is not happening to me." "There must be a mistake"

2. Anger - The "Why me?" stage.: "How dare you do this to me?!"

3. Bargaining - The "If I do this, you’ll do that" stage.: "I'll change and be what they want...they'll want me back after I make this one change..."

4. Depression - The "Defeated" stage.: "I can't bear to face going through this."

5. Acceptance - The "This is going to happen" stage.: "I'm ready, I don't want to struggle anymore."

And, if you're Hispanic from NYC, you remember the 6th stage, the "Fuck that Motherfucker" stage, where you play Beyonce's "Irreplaceable" on repeat while singing along in the mirror, fixing your hair, on your way to finally celebrate that that motherfucker is slowly but surely out of your system.

Only as you head to the club, you see a couple that reminds you of the couple you were just in and it scares you back inside, and on the radio is another sad love song reminding you that you aren't loved by the one you want to love you. But the anger comes back- FUCK THAT MOTHERFUCKER- and when "If loving you is wrong, I don't wanna be right..." pumps through your speakers you jump out of bed and yell to the radio, "NO! If loving you is wrong then I'm just going to STOP!"

And just like that you just decide, you just know, that your life is worth so much more than some person who couldn't even see your worth. Your mental health is something to cherish. And listening to Lite FM is NOT HELPING! Right there you just decide to stop chasing a pipe dream.

And just like that.

You're better.

Remember that?

*smooches, Jack...those fools don't deserve our love...*

-------------------

so fuck you

and your untouchable face

and fuck you

for existing in the first place

who am i

that i should be vying for your touch

who am i

bet you can't even tell me that much

What's Wrong With This Picture?

Observations throughout my day...

1. Tailored suit...kick ass cufflinks...polished shoes...worn by some pimply faced, wannabe trader Guido on the 2 train from Wall St. to Midtown. Buddy, here's a tip: if you were really making any kind of bank, you'd go to a dermatologist and get that shyt fixed. Like yesterday, okay, so I don't have to throw up a little in my mouth when I sit across from you on the train??

2. Job interview today for a freelance gig for a new newspaper...when I mentioned that I was fluent in Spanish, dude asked me where my folks were from. When I said DR he says: "That's what's up!" Huh? Excuse me? That's what's up? Is it, really? Actually I thought proper grammer, syntax and composure during a job interview was what was up, but apparently I was mistaken. Remember Hooked On Phonics? Learn it. Live it. Love it!

3. Tower Records, 66th and Bway, Going Out of Business Sale...DVD rentals were priced to sell at 50% off the lowest ticket price. Exciting, right? I had 28 Days, Citizen Ruth and A Few Good Men in my shopping basket. Then I flipped to the back cover and guess what I saw? 28 Days was marked at $29.99. Have you seen this movie? It is not worth no $29.99!!! Are they kidding me? So I gotta pay $15 for a sub-par flick starring Sandra-freakin-Bullock that I can get from Columbia House for $9.98 because some hotshot at Tower Records can't keep track of his money? Funk dat! Get a Job!!

4. I'm in this battle for my destiny with Karma (that bitch!), right? So why did I witness some poor construction worker unknowingly drop both his gloves on the subway platform and proceeded to do NOTHING about it? Even though I was at that station for a good 10 minutes before my or his train came- plenty of time to pick up the gloves and hand them to him? I really am cold and uncaring...who knew? The trick ass bitch counselor was right!

*smooches...*

----------------

and i ain't in the best shape

that i've ever been in

but i know where i'm going

and it ain't where i've been

Validation, Validation, Va-Li-Da-Tion!!!

I know that I shouldn't seek it outside myself but lets face it- we feel better about ourselves when others acknowledge our worth. For me, today, it came three-fold.

First, my 18 day standoff with the labor force has come to an end. Yes, it's true. You are reading the blog of the newest staff writer/account executive of a boutique PR firm in Gramercy. One of their biggest clients? The Uniformed Firefighters Association of NYC...all those yummy firemen in and out of my office...don't you just love a job with benefits? Or wait- were those NOT the kind of benefits they were talking about? Damn!

Second, a Latino cutie was taken aback with my beauty at the Dominican restaurant I've recently fallen in love with on 4th Avenue in Bay Ridge (I'm not being conceited; I was just repeating what he said to me!). We spoke for a few minutes while I waited for my morir soñando and pasteles. He was sweet and good looking, but I'm fasting from men until New Years' since my horrific Hoover incident so I left it at goodnight and we went our separate ways.

And finally, I got a response from a random craigslist shopper for the kids clothes I'm giving away. She was very grateful and said she couldn't believe that someone was generous enough to just give away clothes like that and not ask for anything in return. "God bless you, " she said. Little did she know, I was getting something in return. Something I've really been missing these past 18 days, especially since Saturday's horrific Hoover incident:


Validation.

I suppose I won't have to move to Damascus after all...

*smooches...with benefits!*
--------------------
so i walk like i'm on a mission
cuz that's the way i groove
i got more and more to do
i got less and less to prove
it took me too long to realize
that i don't take good pictures
cuz i have the kind of beauty
that moves

Don't Forget to Vote!!

You know, for that guy who knocked on your door last week, or handed you a flyer as you went into the subway. Who promises to keep local taxes at bay and increase funding for schools and keep guns off the street. The one who, when eleceted, will be stuck in his office behind a pile of papers attached to his seat by rolls and rolls of red tape, only allowed out for photo ops with babies and the elderly.

The one who grew up listening to his father talk about JFK like he was god, and became convinced he could change the world. The one who, when he entered college- valedictorian of his senior class- had his schedule mapped out to the minute, and pledged the fraternity that would get him the farthest in life. The one who, as a junior, did lines of coke in the basement of his frat house and date-raped a freshman who, till this day, cannot enjoy the touch of a man. The one who has a PhD in some BS political field and interned for his local congressman, still believing he could make a difference; so desperately wanting to make a difference to atone for past sins.

Don't forget to vote for that guy, the one who has long since forgoten the reason he got into politics in the first place. Who only wants to have a job that will keep his mortgage paid, his wife happy and his mistress in check.

That guy, that's who you need to vote for. Today.

Don't forget!

*smooches...*

-----------------

yes, the lessons are all around us and a change is waiting there

so it's time to pick through the rubble, clean the streets

and clear the air

get our government to pull its big dick out of the sand

of someone else's desert

put it back in its pants

and quit the hypocritical chants of

freedom forever...

This Mistake Brought to You By the Makers of Patrón Tequila...

I am no closer to finding a job than I was last time I posted, but am oh-so-close to rock bottom. Not money-wise so please don't worry about me- I'll be fine.

Friday I was good- I ordered my enchiladas and stayed in, watched a movie, cleaned up a bit. Saturday I shut off my phone and worked all day on some freelance assignments, emptying out more boxes (only two to go!!!) and worked on some school stuff. When the sun set, I found myself with a pretty bad case of cabin fever. I decided to get out of my apartment. Mistake No. 1.

So remember that I said I wanted to just be friends with Hoover, since a romantic relationship was out of the question? Okay, keep that thought in mind as I continue this story.

Hoover and I talk occasionally. Just a simple, "Hey what's up, how have you been, how's work," etc. General BS that you say when what you really want to say can't be said. I mentioned that I was shutting off my phone and working all day Saturday. He mentioned he was working an event in Manhattan that night, and if I wanted to meet up for a drink later. I said maybe. Mistake No. 2.

As I got ready to escape my little cave to get some fresh air and catch a flick, I looked through my phone to see who I could convince to come out with me, but it was 9:30- anybody who's anybody on my contact list most likely already had plans or was in bed (alone or otherwise occupied). Choices were limited...I was desperate...I'd spoken to maybe one person all day...I was sick of my own company...I called Hoover. Mistake No. 3.

He couldn't make the movie, but said to call him when it let out and maybe he'd be done with work by then.

I went to see Babel. Alone. On "date night." It was all a single girl could do to not slit her wrist in a movie theater full of Noah's Ark rejects: "oh sweetie, what do want to do after the move?" "oh, baby, I love you so much" *kiss* *hug*

*BARF!!*

And then the movie- although very well-acted and written and directed- was so depressing and left me feeling so sad and helpless...I, all of a sudden, was not the tough-as-nails chick I usually am. And at that moment I just didn't want to be alone.

Hoover left a message on my phone. He was nearby at a Mexican place on University Pl. I met him for drinks and we talked about nothing in particular. When my vision became blurry we decided to leave. Somewhere along the way, he mentioned and I agreed that he should come over my place. Now I KNOW this is the Patrón talking because I don't allow ANY MEN in my home. AT ALL. It's just a policy I started after The Break-Up Heard Around the World. But goddamit if Patrón didn't take over my power of speech and say, "Sure, you can come and hang out. We'll watch a movie." Mistakes No. 4, 5 and 6.

More like MAKE a movie...Mistake No. 7, 8 and 9.

Do I have to say it? Don't make me- okay? I feel bad enough. I'm not the kind of person to feel shame for anything I do. I'm a big girl and I deal with my decisions and the subsequent consequences. But this...this was...I can't even believe that I'm writing about it I'm so ashamed of it...

Needless to mention his skills in the boudoir were JUST AS BAD as the infamous make-out session that left me bruised and bitter. And that's just what I deserve, too. A friend of mine likes to tell me: Those who don't hear, must feel. I didn't listen to the little voice telling me to just be friends. And now I have to wear the scarlett "L" (for LOSER!!) for all eternity. I let the idiot touchy-feely couple sitting next to me at the movies make me feel like less of a person because I was in there by myself. Which was so stupid because I go to the movies by myself ALL THE TIME!!! Why should this time be any different?

Why? Because the person I WANTED to speak to/see on Saturday didn't even bother to take or return my call. There. That's the plain truth of it. So now you know.

I just hope Hoover doesn't think I'm his girlfriend now. Shit! Now I have to move and change my phone number. GODDAMN YOU, PATRÓN, GODDAMN YOU!!!!!!!!!

*smooches...bruised, bitter and ashamed...*
--------------------
but i've had a lack of inhibition
i've had a loss of perspective
i've had a little bit to drink
and it's making me think
that i can jump ship and swim
that the ocean will hold me
that there's got to be more
than this boat i'm in

My English Eees Not So Good...

This is the phrase that, when spoken by a potential employer, should send me running from the office at top speed. It will forever and always send red-flagged shivers up and down my spine.

Am I only talented in the eyes of Middle Eastern immigrant magazine and newspaper publishers? Can Americans not appreciate my genius? Maybe I should just move to Damascus- I'd be a freakin millionaire journalist over there! And the men, of course, would love me out there for my dreamy bedroom eyes, my long sexy legs and my beautiful...US citizenship.

As I comb want ad after don't-want ad, I wonder if it wouldn't be easier to just marry someone who needs his papers, charge him fifty grand and call it a day? How hard can it be? It's like winning a lottery that pays in cash AND penis!

Oh! Don't look at me that way! Like you're so ABOVE entertaining the idea of marrying a foreigner for papers...

It's like this, people:

I don't have the time or patience to A) surf the net for any more jobs or B) surf the WORLD for any more eligible bachelors who will fulfill my every want and need and then leave me the fuck alone to party with my girlfriends. Marrying for papers might just solve all that. All I have left to decide is: Do I want to marry a crazy Muslim- who might be Al-Qaeda- who's going to try and run my life or do I want some crazy Dominican- who may very well be my cousin- who's going to try and run my life AND cheat on me? Decisions...decisions...

You know, Toothless and Hoover are starting to look real good about now, as is The Basement I just escaped from...

*smooches...without a dime or a dick*

---------------------
i will be picturesque

i will be nice

i won't do anything

you can't tell your wife

YouTube Randomness

Day 13 of unemployment...

I spend the bulk of my morning combing the want ads but then- it's off to see what hilarity YouTube has in store for me. Usually I only find some mildly amusing stuff and then I'll move on to more job hunting and some thesis writing (ok...so there's no thesis writing...I watch DVD's and eat cereal all day- what do you want from me? I'm UNEMPLOYED!!). However today I found some rare gems and just had to share it. I hope your sense of humore is just as twisted as mine:

1) Penis Piercing. That's right. LIVE! It was so train-wreck funny that I actually watched the WHOLE 9 MINUTES of it.



2) Paxilback. A parody that is so witty I just had to share it. And the video is almost as good as Justin's.



3) We Need to Fund More After School Programs. Or more videos like this will resurface.



Okay, so...it's 12:09...back to the hunt.

*smooches...without a job or a plan*
--------------------
how much do you want
how much are you willing to do
baby, this is no business
for a sweet little girl like you

Jay Nails Popped My Pedi Cherry

I have a weird phobia: anyone touching me below the calves. No one- friend nor foe- is allowed to grab my ankles, massage my feet, touch my toes. To me it's the equivalent to nails on a chalkboard and cause me to convulse involuntarily. I can't control it. I can't explain it. Except to say that as a child, through to my adolescence, I felt my ankles were too thin to support my body and had this irrational fear that they would snap under the pressure. So just accept it as fact. Everyone who knows me knows this to be true and has heard me scream bloody murder if anyone even had an inkling of a thought to touch my feet.

Today, thanks to peer pressure (hi Irene!), I had a...pedicure! For the first time in my life I let some strange Asian woman perform the most cringe-worthy maneuvers on my tootsies and I'm still alive to tell the tale. Had it not been for the fact that I firmly believe in the superstition to appease every whim of a pregnant woman lest you be cursed, I never would have gone through with it.

















So how was it? It was not without it's traumatic moments. Twice she grabbed my ankles and I winced and grimaced so she finally got the message not to do it again. When she was filing the nails on my toes I thought I was going to die. Luckily I still remembered my Lamaze breathing and had Tara Reid's botched plastic surgery story to help distract me. When she pulled out the pumice stone I had the strongest desire to get up and run away barefoot onto Eighth Street, but I composed myself and concentrated on whether or not the Us Weekly readers really thought that Scarlett Johanson was the sexiest woman alive. By the way, 67% agree.

Would I do it again? I suppose it wasn't so bad, but I would not make a weekly ritual of it. Maybe if I'm going to a wedding or on vacation, I'll bite down on a leather strap and get it over with, but other than that I'm happy with giving myself a pedicure, thank you very much.

And this certainly does not mean that my phobia has disappeared. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT attempt to grab my ankles, massage my feet OR touch my toes (this means you, Mari). Unless of course you have a death wish...I'm just saying...

*smooches...in a sexy new shade of red*
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to all the people out there tonight
who are comforting themselves
if you should happen to see my light
you can stop and ring my bell