Sadly, she didn't win.....tear.

Its okay to make mistakes

Mel - I miss you. so much, its semi-not funny. also, a word to all: its okay to make mistakes. and i dont just say this because i'm on my fourth glass of wine...but I've recently made several - without realizing it - and have since found myself in a shitty situation.

Suffice it to say, i confused my need for a socal vacation with a desire to move back here (to southern california), and promptly started living alone. dont get me wrong - my beachfront apartment is amazing - but theres no one here to share it with (more on this later, mel). anyways, I'm trying to get back east to my friends, and thank GOD ive got this blog to lean on.

...that said: NICOLE RITCHIE WAS IN JAIL FOR ONLY 84 MINUTES? what the FUCK?!?!! its about time i started driving the wrong way on freeways.

Also: brangelina: I'm officially over them (more later). Shes so pathetically hetero-boring I want to cut myself to stay awake while reading her blog coverage...and brad's just lame.

Lastly: never underestimate the importance of friends. It's funny...I moved to Philly without knowing a soul...and when I moved away 4 months ago - I felt like I was leaving my world behind. Since then, I've spent the last 3 months of my life trying to get back. Thank god for Mel. And joey. And Mike, Nick, Kyle...screw it: thank god for Stoli. And heres to the start of a promising future of wittier, more on-point blogs for our adoring public. now excuse me, but I've got to go vomit.

.......

1. strength
2. comfort
3. beauty
4. benevolence
5. vulnerability
6. independence
7. admiration
8. self-doubt
9. rare
10. makes me want to be a better person

It just doesn't get old.

Rockstar status.

If there is anything that I would ever want to be - in the no-holds bar type of way, where the depressing limitations of reality are not an issue - it would be, hands down, a rockstar. I'm talking all-out A-list status (think: Gwen Stefani before she became annoying or Fergie but only when she was with the Black Eyed Peas) with a huge fan base, selling out shows, complete with groupies trying to flood my tour bus.

Clearly this is never going to happen, no matter how much I will it to. Of course, my mom didn't think this shit through when I was younger and force me to be something great enough that she could live vicariously through me. I don't know who signed her up for Parenting 101, but THAT'S the part she retained??
Anyway, the point is, that I love music and concerts. Definitely in the top 5 on the "Activities Worth Doing" list. More than I love the music though, I love the fantasizing about being with whichever lead singer is wearing his tight emo pants and token vintage tee crooning into the microphone. I probably even believe a little that it's possible. (Oh get off it, and let me have a little fun in my otherwise "regular" life).
It's just so fucking hot -- seriously. I don't give a fuck how lame the lyrics are...I'll make meaning of them. I don't give a fuck how many STD's the guy has....I'll pretend that I'm the best he would never know he could have. Bottom line -- musicians (and "musicians") are hot.

My first year of grad school I met a girl named Riki who was the fucking shit. We were like the two lone students that weren't totally lame. She was totally hipster punk, but more in the way of 200 dollar True Religion jeans, not in the 'Kill yourself, you're fucking emo and make me want to vomit on your 'suffering' soul' way. Anyway, her boyfriend was the merch guy for The Starting Line and was constantly on tour. When they came to Philly with Yellowcard (note: don't apply your inevitable - and warranted - despise for Yellowcard towards The Starting Line) she invited me to come to the concert and hang out while she saw her boyfriend.
Ok, seriously -- cut to fucking VIP stickers and press passes and hanging out on the tour bus and backstage with the band and their respective girlfriends (and by girlfriends, I mean groupies), trying to play it totally chill as if this shit doesn't faze me, but internally freaking out and being able to say, "I'm with the band". (I still have that VIP sticker....three years later). It was literally the highlight of my life. It was like I was thisclose. I'm seriously re-experiencing right now.

So last night, I went to the Goo Goo Dolls/Lifehouse concert. Now, I've seen Lifehouse before at the Electric Factory and am hopelessly infatuated with Jason Wade. Something about his FOB* look and husky voice. So clearly I'm willing to show up wherever he is.
But then there are the Goo Goo Dolls. I've loved Johnny Rzeznik and all his colored tattoo glory since their 1993 "Superstar Car Wash" album. Come on, the band has been around since 1987 (clearly evidenced by the 45 year old Jersey folk at the concert who are clearly still stuck in 1987) and continue to put out number one hits. I was going to be at this concert.
So PNC Bank Arts Center is amazing in the summer and the weather was perfect. Beached it for a couple of hours with my sister, grabbed some food and made our way over. Indulged Tamara in "tailgating" with a Miller Lite because she's finally 21 and then joined the hordes of teenyboppers and 45 year olds alike to make the mile hike up to the venue.
We were so 20th row. And then, due to T's expert "I don't give a shit, I'm pretty with blonde hair" attitude, we were in the 9th row against the ramp.
So first came Colbie Caillat (sweet name and sweet 13 year old fan base) and then Lifehouse. Mellow, sun's still out. I'm observing...judging...the stellar people around me.
Single 48 year old creeper eating ice cream and skulking.
Jersey pride bleached blonde fatty making friends behind me who is the loudest person I have ever heard and she came with a male co-worker who was like 27, semi-attractive and talking it up to the 19 year olds next to him. They were both teachers. Score. The guy was also wearing a shirt that said, "Awkward mornings beat a boring night". Again, score.
Two 37 year old women who were either cognitively impaired or hardcore lesbians or both. That's like a personal story....There's just not a good enough way to describe them in writing. Nor is there enough stomach power for me to do so either.
Then 9:05 and it's dark and there's Johnny in a flash of light belting out "Long Way Down". Hot. Totally, totally hot. Stage was awesome, vibe was awesome and Johnny was totally giving you sexy smirk like he knows you personally. Great combo of fast and slow. Some Black Balloon, Broadway, Name, Slide, Acoustic #3, Iris.....etc. It really couldn't get better. Amazing seats. Amazing view. Amazing music. Amazing Johnny.
Could it get better? I don't know if it was my sister's (genius) wardrobe choice of revealing dress over bathing suit or him just wanting to check out the creepy lesbians, but damn, he makes eye contact....comes down the ramp.....comes right up to me........and wait for it......reaches out his hand.
I have no words.
I just have Johnny Rzeznik's mansweat forever impaled on my left hand.
And in the few shitty months that I've named the 'Summer of Suck', this was the absolute highlight.



Please.......for your viewing pleasure:




*FOB - Fresh Off the Boat

Infuriating/Hysterical...it's a toss-up.

A personal note to all the tens of American gals out there considering joining the epidemic fad of having "partial birth" abortions.

Hello all you fertile gals out there who aren't reduced to paying fistfuls of cash for Chinese babies! If you haven't heard, my hubby's fabulous Supreme Court appointees have just taken those "partial birth" abortion things you all are so wild about off the menu at Planned Parenthood. Now, I have to be honest: After squeezing two of those messy nuisances out of my own painfully dilated lady area, I've never understood why anyone would be partial to birth. But while that procedure may only happen super-rarely to save the whining, blubbering "I'm a-scared to die!" mother's life, outlawing it is an important first step towards a glorious future where the exit to all your mischievous little hoo-hoos will be heavily patrolled by men in long black robes. So if you don't want that hairy beast Justice Scalia sticking a flashlight up your skirt, here are my tips for making the best of the burden that is (partial) free will:

1. LADY HOLES CLOSED: By far, the best way to avoid being convicted for what comes out of your vagina is being a bit more vigilant about what you stuff into it! That's why we girls in the know all practice abstinence-only even after marriage, because who wants to risk being thrown into some grungy prison that's teeming with colored gang lesbians who'd love nothing more than to ride your pretty white face like it's the mechanical bull at Gilley's honky-tonk!

2. DON'T TEMPT RAPE: While I'll be the first to admit that few things are more fun than keeping our boyfriends and husbands in a perpetual state of priapic agony by keeping all three entrances off-limits, that won't help much if you're taken forcefully, now will it? That's why with legal abortion soon to go bye-bye, it's extra important for us gals to avoid the tight cashmere sweater sets and salacious bare ankles that provoke otherwise lovely young gentlemen into dispensing vigilante penis justice to all slutty temptresses who deserve it.

3. ACCEPT YOUR LOT IN LIFE: Remember that as women, our lives are utterly meaningless up until the day we become a fertile receptacle for an energetic squirt of our man's godly sperm. Luckily for us, all three branches of America's government are packed full of kindly old skirt chasers who won't rest until we've been alleviated of the burden of co-called "choice", and can fully appreciate the fact that we must be joyously subservient to the sticky teaspoon of milky man gloop that represents the rightful limits of our aspirations.

4. THINK NICE THOUGHTS: Bad news from the ultrasound technician? Don't fret! Just because you're in imminent danger of being split in two by a hideously abnormal octopus baby that's growing out of control like an enormous, insatiable tapeworm, that's no reason to dwell morosely on the fact that the one operation which might have saved your life is now illegal. Just think about pleasant things, like how peachy it is that your handful of remaining days will be spent in FREEDOM^®!

5. GET ENTREPRENEURIAL: They say "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade." Well with Partial Birth Abortion out of the picture, I say, "If your neighbor's rapist gives her a deaf baby – make hearing aids!" America will soon be harvesting a bumper crop of little flipper children with no arms. Do you think Macy's will have cute little jumpers that accommodate a tail resulting from a prenatal pharmaceutical mishap? No! But you can! So break out your knitting needles and craft kits gals, and consider starting a home business selling hand-made deformity fashions on eBay! You didn't hear it from me, but Samuel Alito swears that vinyl onsies with the "external intestines pouch" will next year's baby shower hot ticket!

6. SECURE PROPER TRANSPORTATION: While abortion is an abomination that must be totally wiped out, we must also realize that accidents do happen, like when your darling blue-eyed trustifarian daughter sits on the wrong toilet seat and gets immaculately impregnated by a Mexi-Rican pool boy or some young fellow whose parents practice the wrong flavor of Jesus worship. In those cases, you'll need to be prepared with your own GulfStream IV jet, in order to whisk your precious Republican debutante to a Caribbean clinic for some "emergency" TLC. Ask for the "Jennappendectomy" – they'll know what you mean.

7. INVEST WISELY: Change is usually difficult, but change also offers wonderful opportunities. Rest assured this will also be the case with the now-inevitable outlawing of abortion. That's why NOW is the time to identify and invest in the coming era's emerging growth markets. And between you and me, my money's on cemetery real estate and wire coat-hanger futures!

Walk it out, Fosse

Sunday secret.

You know...

There is a time for departure

even when there's no certain place to go

#71 on the "To Do" list of an invalid.

1. Last beverage you consumed?
Orange Blossom beer from Ten Stone. My new fave. I'm such a girl.

3. What is in the backseat of your car?
What ISN'T in the backseat of my car is a better question as I am the token driver among all my friends. I like to look at it as my friends leaving little mementos of themselves [read: trash] upon leaving my car.

4. Three words to explain why you last threw up?
Joey's. Clam. Chowder.

5. What is the equation for the pythagorean theorem?
a squared + b squared = c squared. and i'm a fucking social worker.

6. Do you think Barbie is a negative role model for young girls?
Barbie is what every young girl should aspire to become. And if not Barbie, then god dammit, she better fucking take after Linz.

7. What kind of car does your father drive?
Well if I knew where the fuck my father was that would make that question a hell of a lot easier.

8. Do you like to play scrabble?
Drunk, sure. Otherwise, you better find a better way to entertain me. Chutes and Ladders, perhaps?

9. Where did you attend high school?
West Essex Regional. Fuck yeah for public school. JAPs, Mafia kids and Guidos. I came out well rounded....in stereotyping and judging.

10. Favorite scent?
Christmas, vanilla, Hanae Mori, clean laundry boy smell, Starbucks grande nonfat Caramel Macchiato with light foam, my Prada clutch.

12. Last television program you watched?
I can't even talk about all the mindless TV I have been watching since becoming a cripple.

13. Spell your name with without vowels:
Mln.

14. Does your family own any boats?
Used to. Then we crashed and sank it in the middle of a pond. At least that's what I remember.

15. Something you can't live without?
La Columbe coffee.

16. Do you wear flip flops constantly?
Constantly. And maybe if I didn't, I wouldn't be on crutches and hating my life.

17. What do you think of Adam Brody?
I don't.

18. Do you have air conditioning in your room?
A necessity. Although some of the styrofoam popped off and was hitting the fan part and scared the fucking bajeezus out of me the other night that I lept out of bed convinced there was going to be a fire and I wouldn't be able to get down the stairs on crutches.

20. Have you ever kissed your dog?
Sure, as long as her tongue/saliva/mouth is nowhere near mine. I'm not into people who make out with their dogs.

21. Where were you and what were you doing when 9/11 happened?
Heading to breakfast at college in Bethlehem, PA. At the time, I didn't know what was more depressing. The fact that everybody outside of the US hates us and attempts to mass kill us or the fact that I was at Moravian College heading to breakfast.

22. How often do you read books?
Grad school makes you stupider. I highly doubt I will ever be able to force myself to pick up a book again. Reading these questions is exhausting enough.

23. Do you like James Blunt?
Only when dressed in a fushia pink prom dress with a boxcutter crouched in a corner.

24. Describe the computer you are currently using?
IBM Thinkpad. If only those Mac commercials came out earlier so that I could feel really urban and artsy. Although I would fucking kill for that stickypad option on a Mac.

25. How long does it take you to get ready to go out?
Anywhere between ten minutes and 2 hours. Sometimes the shower becomes extended.

26. Will you donate your organs after you pass?
Of course. And I think people who don't are really fucked up. What do you need them for???

27. Have you been outside of the USA?
Many times. Traveling on your parents' dime is the shit. Traveling with them is sometimes not. But I'll take it.

28. Would you ever get your nipples pierced?
They are....

29. What are you looking forward to?
Walking. Driving. Working. You know...all the usual human stuff.

32. What song are you listening to?
VH1 - Best Songs of the '80s.

33. Last movie you watched?
Apocolypto. CRAZY!! And for the record, what would have been so bad about watching Garden State? A little Mean Girls?

34. Which of your friends lives closest to you?
The new place really amped up the neighbor count, which is totes exciting.

35. What cd is in your stereo?
What's a CD? For that matter, what's a stereo?

36. Do you have a job?
'Job' is such a funny word. I had three. One of which I'm pretty sure can't be considered a job because I'm not getting paid. The other two are dependent on me being able to walk. Which I can't right now, so it'll be interesting to see if I still have them. One of them offered a huge promotion that involves some blatant selling out, but the way i see it, I can't really go further.
"Because right now, this is a job. If I advance any higher, this would be my career. And if this were my career, I'd have to throw myself in front of a train." [Two points for naming that show].

37. What did you do last night?
Gimped into TCBY and ordered the most ridiculous concotion I could come up with. Then I threw some negative emotion in there and ate it all up.

38. Do you wish at 11:11?
No...do you?

39. Do you wear contacts or glasses?
Yes. What I wouldn't give for a little slicey-slicey action so that one day when I wake up I can actually see the time on my clock across from my bed. But scalpels on my eyes while being held down doesn't really sound like a party.

40. Last person you ditched class with?
Ohhh, the days when I had class.

41. Do you find yourself attractive?
What an obnoxious question.
"Yes" -- [unjustly pretentious] Douchebag!
"No" -- [annoyingly modest] Douchebag!

42. Who was the last person to call you?
Probably my mom.

43. What annoys you?
Bad drivers, foot sprains, torn ligaments, fro yo fro ho's, republicans, small girls, townies, in-between weather, life planners (of other people's lives), i could keep going.....

44. Are you forgetful?
Selectively.

45. Next vacation you're going on?
Vacation is a funny word too. Want to know what else is funny? When people tell you to look at your inability to work, drive, walk as vacation time. Hilarious!

46. Do you play any instruments?
Now that would be giving you too much ammunition for blackmail.

47. Last thing that made you really laugh?


48. Do you have any piercings?
Well, we already talked about my nipples. And then, just the usual...you know...ears, bellybutton, tongue, an eyebrow.

49. Can you roll your r's?
If I was trying to impress a Mexican.

50. Look out the window. What's the most interesting thing you see?
The lush landscaping of the suburbs.

Father's Day.

The war's only tangible result.

"Eric, I have a douchebag on line 3 for you"

Bud Light: Swear Jar

Posted Jun 04, 2007

The swear jar is the best f@#*ing idea I've ever seen!

Gimme my money!

bitch session.

and it's my blog. so i can if i wanna.

and so we've begun summer in philadelphia. filthadelphia. whathaveyou. I HATE THIS CITY IN THE SUMMER! like, i'm so fucking hot and cranky all the time. i don't understand those people that bask in heat. you know, being all glowy and breezy and shit. i'm just hot and fat and sweaty. it reminds me of an animal. or what an animal must feel like. there's nothing attractive about it. this is why i don't understand how people live in areas that are warm all the time. i need cold weather, sweatshirts, north face fleeces and jeans that i can fit into b/c i haven't expanded from the heat enough to not be able to zip them up. what i wouldn't give for a god damn boat. or a roofdeck pool. hell, i'll even take a ceiling fan. last summer i snuck into that Sheraton roofdeck pool on average twice a week. often with beer. they kicked us out. i'm banking on the fact that they won't remember us this year. otherwise i'm going big and hitting up a hilton in center city.

also, i went to look at my new apartment today and i decided i need to paint. but i have like 16 foot ceilings. (that's a lie. that's a completely arbitrary number b/c i'm not good with estimating things like height. in any case, they're high ceilings.) the brownstone itself is haunted too i think. it's straight out of the Adams Family. Or an abandoned church. and it tilts. heavily. and i have no furniture. and i have to pack up my entire apartment and move it.

also, some fucking talentless, self-promoting thug once again put a flyer on my car window. which was soaked by last night's thunderstorm and is now stuck to my car. thanks. i really appreciate that. i also appreciate the $100 car inspection that i had to pass today to make sure my car is environmentally sound. soooooo, south philly can have trash everywhere on the street, we can be at 98 degrees on June 1st, but let's all take really special energy to charge me $100 so that my SUV is meeting its standards in emissions. Go U.S. of A. I'm fucking moving to Canada.

and i have to work tonight. and it's hot. and i have to put on jeans and t-shirt. can someone please tell me WHY it's necessary to so heavily enforce a dress code that is so confining. it's summer. i want to wear a shirt with no sleeves. and preferably something that will not cover my legs. i'm profusely sweating as i write this. i'm the jew-iest non-jew i've ever known. i refuse to turn on the air. and i'm aware that i could stop my own bitching. it's not the point. and there's also no point to this blog. except that i'm bitching.
now i'm going to stand in the sun and wait for the bus and I swear to fucking god and every other fucking douchebag that has contributed to insane global warming, if someone rubs up against me, brushes by me or so much as looks like they're going to touch me, i'm going to vom. preferably on them.

have a good one!

What is the 'good' in goodbye?

This is documentation of Sean leaving for SoCal today. Notice my face looks ten times sadder. Sean just looks like I said, "It's sexy face time". Which wouldn't have looked sexy face anyway. Although I'll cut him a break because he did have his Queer as Folk DVD set potentially confiscated.
Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together? I guess that wouldn't work. Someone would leave. Someone always leaves and then we have to say good-bye. I hate good-byes. I know what I need. I need more hellos.


"No distance of place or lapse of time can lessen the friendship of those who are thoroughly persuaded of each other's worth."

God; anyone wanna little bit?

i'm not going to post about graduation. 1, because Sean's rant is overwhelming and mind numbing and everything i managed to avoid that weekend. Mostly because it included friends and 20 minutes of family time. And all I'm feeling is overwhelmed and anxious and sad because everything is changing and i FUCKING HATE TRANSITION.

however, on a 'lighter' note, let's talk about Part 1 of my sister's graduation (oh yes, there was more than one part) this weekend...


Villanova is a lovely school. It's academically acceptable, it's on the Main Line, there are always plenty of WASPy boys wearing salmon colored Dockers with Ralph Lauren polos (collar POP!) and complimentary matching pastel colored cashmere sweaters wrapped "casually" around said WASPy shoulders, an exceedingly large amount of New Yorkers in their SUVs who drive like assholes...you get the picture.

Villanova is also Catholic. Not just like affiliated with Catholicism, but like hardcore brothers are walking around campus. Like, for graduation they have a mass on the football field for 1000 people. And I had to go. Which not only made me seethe with discomfort and hate for organized religion, but also ruined my opportunity to see Sean before he left for SoCal for good.

Listen, I went to a religious college undergrad. Worst four years of my life. Religion, boondocks of PA, and football players wearing Old Navy jeans and shirts that say 'COLLEGE' and me don't really mix. I was hiding most of the time. Literally. I've also clearly been experiencing Posttraumatic Stress Disorder as I have managed to completely block out this experience therefore causing an averse, anxiety inducing exposure moment when on the Villanova football field.

Some highlights:

1. The wind was making the speakers pound with reverberation.
Thank you, the god fearing effect was noted.

2. The priest (minister? rabbi? reverend? who?) with arms outstretched and robe flapping in the wind.
It was like a scene out of Jesus Camp. i'm not kidding. i was scared. and uncomfortable. and getting dirty looks from the 24 year old guy behind me b/c i didn't cross myself at the signaled times. But shit, no one else was giving me a hug. I was trying to protect myself from the demons!

3. The Communion procession for 1000 people.
I kid you not. I was one of two people who did not take the wafer communion. The other person was my sister. And so, this really does beg the question, "What the fuck were we doing there??", considering the only time I set foot in a church is during Xmas and the only reason that happens is because I do it for my grandfather whose conditional love I'm afraid of along with the guilt trip he would bestow upon on me while on his deathbed.

4. There were 21 year old graduates standing in the aisle with their eyes closed and arms outstretched.
Listen. Let me do you a favor and schedule an appointment at the Evangelical church for you and your respective craziness. This is bad enough. Do we really need to take it to that level?

5. This is what a Catholic church service sounds like on a football field:
And the lord answered..swered, swered, swered....
lord the almighty, mighty, mighty...
you are a bad person, son, son, son...
the power of christ compells you, you, you...

6. Also, did you know that at these large organized masses you have to shake hands and make friends with your neighbors? Read: neighbors = people you don't know and don't really want to know b/c you know all these fuckers have a W sticker on the back of their car and are voting Republican in '08 and don't give a fuck whether or not I want to choose to get an abortion if necessary.

7. And in closing, I would like to include a direct quote from the last five minutes of the mass given by the priest/rabbi/minister/reverend:
"I know it's raining and windy. I ask you, don't leave. (Notice that's not a question). If you walk away now, you will never know what it is you missed at the end of this mass."
That Catholic guilt .. they do it to you right.


[Note: There are no exaggerations in these examples.]
All this when I could have been having drinks with Sean (who, like every other male in my life, abandoned me at 6am today) and then attended Madonnarama at Pure. And if God wasn't completely proud of me for doing those two things, he would have at least been a hell of a lot more entertained.

Graduation = Overrated

So we're done! And it feels...exactly the same? Being the third graduation for both Mel and myself (high school, "college," and grad school [I put college in quotes because I was so wasted that I'm not even really sure I was there]), I feel that we've both come to the same (2) conclusions:

1.) Graduation blows. Its lame, takes too long, and clearly is NOT geared towards the students, but is a giant, blow-hardy cluster-fuck engineered solely as a money-making craptastic shit-fest for the parents, and;

b.) NEVER again.

I used to joke and think "wow, I *never* want to leave school!" ...Who the fuck was I kidding? Lets go over it one more time. 2 of the hardest, shittiest and most stress-filled years of my life at Penn, and what do I walk away with? A $100,000 debt and herpes. I'm kidding, my debt is actually $107,000.

Maybe Mel will be able to post something to the alternative, but here was MY graduation in a nutshell:

1.) Friends, family and boyfriend all fly in at different times (read: 4 trips to the fucking airport).
b.) Friends want to party every night; boyfriend demands cuddling every night; mother demands sight-seeing every morning @ the crack of dawn; thus, Sean demands knife for wrist-slitting.
III.) Forced nightly "casual" dinners with boyfrend, mother, aunt and friends EVERY night at different, "trendy" Philadelphia restaurant, which resulted in abnormally stressful situations where I sat clutching the tablecloth, praying to jesus christ that nobody mentions scandalous events from my past in front of my god-fearing, republican family.

On a high point, I'll leave Penn with an amazing education and friendships with some of the most fantastic people I'll ever meet...so maybe it wasn't all bad. :-)

Holla!

Sean and I are graduating today from our respective programs at Penn. Masters, baby! That's right...we are masters...of many, many things. So we'll be rocking out the hot, black polyester capes today with colored hoods (that's right..because we're masters) while wearing our shades and acting like we know something.

Congratulations are in order...present(s) are expected. I'm partial to Veuve Cliquote. Sean'll take anything.

Really? Seriously? Cry about it.

In my support of Sean's first post, I bring you:



That Kathy and her fucking designer sunglasses. And her affectionate-less patting of Paris' arm as a pseudo attempt of good mothering. This almost makes you feel sorry for the privileged little girl who is entitled to what she wants, when she wants, how she wants. Not feeling so pantie dropping, "sex" tape making, backstabbing, ignorant tough, are we now?
If we could make Paris' jail time a reality series, I would fucking buy a 48 inch plasma flat screen and a DVR.
And by the way, are they really listening to Xtina's "Candyman"?? Because I think that's so something Paris and Kathy would do in times of desperation. It would make a lot of things a lot clearer.

Why Paris Hilton Getting Arrested = Gift From God

So as my first official post, I'd like to discuss a topic near and dear to all of our hears: Paris Hilton. I know, I know...like the bitch doesn't get enough media attention already. But, thanks to a very wise and possibly intelligent California judge, our favorite valtrex spokeswoman will be heading off to the slammer for 45 days. Isn't it about TIME that someone finally said "hey, not only do you lack talent but you're going to jail for being a stupid, spoiled whore?" Methinks yes. And the icing on the cake? The fact that LAST MONTH Paris was caught on camera at some party hating on queers, dykes, jews, blacks, and pretty every possible racial mix that currently resides in California state penitentiaries. I mean, yeah, it sucks that they are basically making an example out of her (for public entertainment), but in the end, I think it'll be worth it. I mean, look at lil kim?! A year in the slammer, and shes fucking found Jesus. I can't WAIT for Paris to find God. And by 'God,' i mean "an angry mexican bull dyke post-op transvestite named 'Pat' who shares Paris' affinity for serious deep dicking."

who wouldn't love my 21 year old sister?

Tamcat 09: ummm some WEIRDO in my clinical group (shes 21) was unnecessarily forthcoming with the details of her life the other day at LUNCH and tells us she and her boyfriend have been "trying" for months now
Tamcat 09: i don't even know this girl
Tamcat 09: and i go, "WAIT trying for WHAT?"
Tamcat 09: basically they aren't married and they are 21 and they are trying to have a baby
Tamcat 09: and she is moving to nj because otherwise he would 'probably break up with her' if she didn't move to be closer to him
Tamcat 09: im like, "sounds like he likes you a lot"
Tamcat 09: good thing you are trying to have his baby before you graduate college

Tamcat 09: she is so freakin dumb
Tamcat 09: and her boyfriend also has some kind of low sperm count or something so its like a PROCESS and she was talking about freezing stuff and whatever and its like, its lunch and your clinical professor is sitting next to you, and no one cares to boot. WHY ARE YOU TELLING US THIS
Tamcat 09: im like, "i don't like you"
Tamcat 09: plus , no one asked about your life plans
Tamcat 09: i'm like honestly, GOOD LUCK in life. that is the stupidest idea i have ever heard
Tamcat 09: then i go, "funny.... i've been trying to NOT get pregnant"

Addendum.

in my increasingly apparent inability to think things through which therefore leads to making extremist decisions.....i chose to ignore that running 3 miles yesterday for the first time in a year would precede a ten hour waitressing shift.

and just so you know how stupid that was, it takes a full five minutes to ease myself into the sitting position to pee.

oh mah god

it happened. it actually happened...............i worked out.
as in ran. as in sweat(sweated? whatevs.). as in couldn't breathe. as in got really unattractively red-faced.
but it's like, if i have to watch one more episode of Work Out and have suicidal ideations when my jeans don't fit week after week, it's just going to be a bad scene. it literally took me over an hour to find something to wear yesterday because i couldn't handle the muffin top action. Ew, i can't even believe i just wrote that. Seven for all Mankind doesn't make jeans that fit fat-asses and given that i've reached their biggest size, something's gotta give because i'm certainly not giving them up. and i clearly can't do the whole no eating thing, no matter how much i try. besides, been there, done that, bought the t-shirt. therapy must have worked.
anyhoo! after weeks of contemplation and pussying out, i made the run mix on my iPod, threw on the sports bra, sweatpants and sneakers (and p.s. my SNEAKERS were tight?! is that possible?) and headed out. mind you, this whole process took over an hour.
ummmm...... running outside fucking sucks. just fyi. i got about three blocks from my apartment and the pain was so intense in my chest, i literally thought i was going to die. but then there were people around and so of course i had to keep going. i had visions of ambulances and ventilators and cute boys saving me. ugh, it was awful. why is running such a good idea in theory? and then you get out there and it's like you feel like the biggest failure of life because all the 52 year olds are passing you in their spandex which displays their legs which appear frighteningly more toned than your own 24 year old ones and you're just having an inner dialogue - um, bash session - that you have to keep going if not for the weight loss, then dear god, for eliciting the hotness factor when running (read: limping, panting) past any viable male prospect.
IT'S TOO MUCH!! and now i have a perpetual cough. and feel even fatter. and work out is on. how convenient. i'm calling a friend and going to get something to eat.
but first i have to get up. i think i might be dying a little bit on my couch right now. it's like i taste blood in the back of my throat. wtf is that about? so glad i'm working at mar tonight and get to eat allllll the fro yo i want.

sista, sista.

melishka82: omg. i found our new celeb sister pair.
Tamcat 09: whoooo
melishka82: vanessa and angela simmons
melishka82: totes.
Tamcat 09: dont say totes
melishka82: whatevs. you are angela. and i am vanessa.
melishka82: i mean you're bitchier than angela
melishka82: and i'm fatter than vanessa
melishka82: but other than that, they are sooo our new celebrity sister pair
melishka82: yessss they were just screaming at each other
Tamcat 09: is it on now??
melishka82: yes
Tamcat 09: umm and breaktime from studying.
Tamcat 09: how come i have to be the fatter one
melishka82: it's not because she's fat
melishka82: it's b/c she's bratty to her sister
Tamcat 09: yayyy my food just came
melishka82: it's late to eat
Tamcat 09 : umm im hungry?
melishka82: i ran a 2 hour group and than a 40min individual session with a group member who came in suicidal and was so freaked out and had my period so i went to bassetts ice cream and ate two servings.
Tamcat 09: tell me to put down the bread. i cantttt
Tamcat 09: holy shit i cant move
Tamcat 09: i like to dip the bread into the cheese and dressing afterwards
melishka82: um
Tamcat 09: um or yum??
Tamcat 09: i went to dunkin twice today ... not normal huh
melishka82: do you like vomit your food? b/c you're like 20lbs lighter than me
Tamcat 09: omg im nauseous
Tamcat 09: and it's not my fault i have a fast metabolism. and am pretty.

YES.

There must be some sort of secret celebrity douche club I don't know about, because Kevin Federline and Paris Hilton were spotted partying together at Tao last Friday. Paris was with her boyfriend Josh Henderson though, so hopefully she and K-Fed weren't doing anything too horrifying. Can you imagine if these two actually did get together? Their kids would come out with flippers instead of arms.

Sunday Secrets.

Our Prejudices, Ourselves.

By HARVEY FIERSTEIN

Published: April 13, 2007

AMERICA is watching Don Imus’s self-immolation in a state of shock and awe. And I’m watching America with wry amusement.

Since I’m a second-class citizen — a gay man — my seats for the ballgame of American discourse are way back in the bleachers. I don’t have to wait long for a shock jock or stand-up comedian to slip up with hateful epithets aimed at me and mine. Hate speak against homosexuals is as commonplace as spam. It’s daily traffic for those who profess themselves to be regular Joes, men of God, public servants who live off my tax dollars, as well as any number of celebrities.

In fact, I get a good chuckle whenever someone refers to “the media” as an agent of “the gay agenda.” There are entire channels, like Spike TV, that couldn’t fill an hour of programming if required to remove their sexist and homophobic content. We’ve got a president and a large part of Congress willing to change the Constitution so they can deprive of us our rights because they feel we are not “normal.”

So I’m used to catching foul balls up here in the cheap seats. What I am really enjoying is watching the rest of you act as if you had no idea that prejudice was alive and well in your hearts and minds.

For the past two decades political correctness has been derided as a surrender to thin-skinned, humorless, uptight oversensitive sissies. Well, you anti-politically correct people have won the battle, and we’re all now feasting on the spoils of your victory. During the last few months alone we’ve had a few comedians spout racism, a basketball coach put forth anti-Semitism and several high-profile spoutings of anti-gay epithets.

What surprises me, I guess, is how choosy the anti-P.C. crowd is about which hate speech it will not tolerate. Sure, there were voices of protest when the TV actor Isaiah Washington called a gay colleague a “faggot.” But corporate America didn’t pull its advertising from “Grey’s Anatomy,” as it did with Mr. Imus, did it? And when Ann Coulter likewise tagged a presidential candidate last month, she paid no real price.

In fact, when Bill Maher discussed Ms. Coulter’s remarks on his HBO show, he repeated the slur no fewer than four times himself; each mention, I must note, solicited a laugh from his audience. No one called for any sort of apology from him. (Well, actually, I did, so the following week he only used it once.)

Face it, if a Pentagon general, his salary paid with my tax dollars, can label homosexual acts as “immoral” without a call for his dismissal, who are the moral high and mighty kidding?

Our nation, historically bursting with generosity toward strangers, remains remarkably unkind toward its own. Just under our gleaming patina of inclusiveness, we harbor corroding guts. America, I tell you that it doesn’t matter how many times you brush your teeth. If your insides are rotting your breath will stink. So, how do you people choose which hate to embrace, which to forgive with a wink and a week in rehab, and which to protest? Where’s my copy of that rule book?

Let me cite a non-volatile example of how prejudice can cohabit unchecked with good intentions. I am a huge fan of David Letterman’s. I watch the opening of his show a couple of times a week and have done so for decades. Without fail, in his opening monologue or skit Mr. Letterman makes a joke about someone being fat. I kid you not. Will that destroy our nation? Should he be fired or lose his sponsors? Obviously not.

But I think that there is something deeper going on at the Letterman studio than coincidence. And, as I’ve said, I cite this example simply to illustrate that all kinds of prejudice exist in the human heart. Some are harmless. Some not so harmless. But we need to understand who we are if we wish to change. (In the interest of full disclosure, I should confess to not only being a gay American, but also a fat one. Yes, I’m a double winner.)

I urge you to look around, or better yet, listen around and become aware of the prejudice in everyday life. We are so surrounded by expressions of intolerance that I am in shock and awe that anyone noticed all these recent high-profile instances. Still, I’m gladdened because our no longer being deaf to them may signal their eventual eradication.

The real point is that you cannot harbor malice toward others and then cry foul when someone displays intolerance against you. Prejudice tolerated is intolerance encouraged. Rise up in righteousness when you witness the words and deeds of hate, but only if you are willing to rise up against them all, including your own. Otherwise suffer the slings and arrows of disrespect silently.

going green.

this is some fucking shit. for the record, it is April 16th, 2007 and there is a serious snow and wind effect going on right now. snow. in april. the middle of april. with police sirens about every 15 minutes. ok, maybe that piece i'm reading into a little too much. that's just good old Philadelphia! i invite anyone who doesn't believe in global warming to take a look at the blizzard outside my window. because i'm kind of scared the way a 7 year old freaks when they see lightening and hear thunder. i think instead of being a closet tree-hugger, i'm just going to go the blatant crunchy granola route. be proud to be green. i'm off to make a snowman on my way to work. and/or be killed by a bus when 50 knot gale force winds throw me in front of a bus. nor'easter 2007...woooooooo!!

Gin gimlets and my infinitesimal complex.

So my friend Lois is in Phila for only another month before she re-joins her 'vapid, but loving it' city of Los Angeles for good. So before I pull out my "Where's Lois" t-shirt that I will wear with pride, we figured we need to make the most of this time left. 11:30pm and we head to Snack Bar, which is the greatest thing to hit Center City in a while, to situate ourselves in posh mode, drinking ten dollar drinks, talking about handbags we don't even want to afford. But this is me and Lo, and we of course, move onto other topics of conversation. Mainly boys.

The bartender is totes cute. Friendly, dark hair, funny, diesel jeans and straight. which, if you know anything about Philadelphia or read my blog, this is a rather hard thing to find. So we're chatting it up, laughing, having a good time. He tells me he makes a damn good gimlet. I tell him to hook me up, but to make mine with gin. which evidently is hardcore and i get some recognition for that which makes me slightly impressed with myself. Next thing you know, this tiny, 4 foot 11 girl comes out of nowhere and is being all snuggly sweet with the bartender, in only the way that tiny, 4 foot 11 girls can be. Lo and I simultaneously take large gulps of our gimlets and let the fun begin. This chick has short hair, which all the more contributes to her 'I'm a 12 year old boy' look. But she can still wear a size 0, and so for that she has me beat. and she can snuggle up to this guy in that perfect, 'i-fit-right-under-your-arm-beneath-your-head' way that i never seem to be able to comfortably do. But I mean, Lo and I, we're fun girls. Like Xtina says, "can't hold us back". (Then again, Xtina is a little girl.) So I mean, we do it up. We talk, we laugh, we flirt, we effectively piss this girl off.
Listen, I'm 5 foot 7. with large childbearing hips for children i don't want. i have an ass. my Seven jeans are a size 30. in a thin month. i can't wear the tiny little tanks that are oh-so-cute in the summer. when i wear heels, i don't look like i'm playing dress up in my mom's closet. i will never be a tiny girl. i'm going to be 25 and i'm still trying to reconcile that notion. God knows, my friend Liesl and I never figured it out in high school or college. And clearly, three years after that, and I'm still here.
what happened to sweating the hot amazonian look? when did that go away????
models in america are hot. curves are not. No, men in america prefer little boys. or asian girls. i'm fucked.
asian girls and little girls who look like 12 year old boys. this is my competition.
So, finally, crunk off one huge gimlet, we say we're leaving, the bartender tells us we shouldn't go. The infinitesimal girl rolls her eyes, and scene. Whatever. Our work is done. And in all our 5 foot 7, badonkadonk glory, we squeeze between the bar and the door, while the 12 year old stands on her tiptoes to kiss her bartender.

On that note, I'm off to do a one mile "fun run" in torrential downpour at the Mann Center in order to help eliminate the epidemic of youth violence in Philadelphia. And the fact that Physicians for Social Responsibility has organized it has nothing to do with it. Really.

OMG, I CAN'T HANDLE IT

Sunday Secrets.

So what you're saying is there's a chance....

Considering all I can think about lately is all the things I don't/can't/won't ever have, I decided to make a list of all things that I would love to do. These are a bunch of things I’d like to accomplish in my life. Some of them are things I fantasize about but know they’ll never happen (getting liposuction, skydiving, finding one of the kids who's been on "My Super Sweet 16" and physically assaulting them), and others are things that I feel are semi-possible – even more so when I say them out loud. So here goes. Before I die, I’d like to:

1. Live in San Francisco.
2. Consistently work out on a daily basis again.
3. Buy a house/townhouse/condo. Anything really with separate rooms that no one else owns.
   
4. Get a breakout role in a feature film and be on my way to living in the Hollywood Hills with paparazzi hiding in my bushes. But only so I can throw things at them and flash them commando style and have them really, really care.
   
5. Take gourmet cooking classes so I can cook something resembling anything other than the art that is mixing three cereals in a drinking cup.
   
6. Date a soft spoken, intelligent guy who is simultaneously cute, wears good jeans, has hot sneakers, is okay with the metro label and isn't in any way, shape or form pretentious, obnoxious, jealous or in any other way identifies with the term douchebaggery. Oh, and has dark hair and is tall.
   
7. Have someone fabulous help me decorate my apartment with antiques and garage sale treasures.
8. Visit South Africa and Australia.
9. Bust out a PhD or PsyD in the minimum amount of time required and wow everyone at the dissertation committee with my unbelievable intelligence, quick wit and innovative hypotheses.
   
10. Have a group of friends that all live in the same place at the same time and are content being there and haven't gone on to have families and babies and sell out.
    
11. Get to a point where I don't think banking on your significant other's $ and/or having kids with no semblance of another part of your life is selling out.
    
12. Sit front row at an amazing concert, an NBA finals game, the Academy Awards or any other supremely exciting event.
    
13. Get a degree in something that I would never really think of getting a job in .
    
14. Co-own a city coffee shop with a really awesome friend.
15. Be financially stable enough to get weekly manicures and monthly massages and facials.
16. Be a front runner protester in D.C. and have an excuse to go all out with crazy t-shirts and huge signs proclaiming extreme liberal and feminist ideas. Mostly because it would be hilarious, but a little bit because I would probably totally believe in it.
17. Retire with the ability to have a huge SoHo loft, a glassed in home on the beach in Pacific Heights and a lovely little villa in Capri...or Tuscany.
    

Numbers 4, 6, 9, and 11 are questionable. But one can dream..

Sia

This pretty much sums it up...

"I'm not sure about people anymore. They're responsible for some pretty nutty stuff......Individuals I'm crazy about though." --Berkeley Breathed

"If everyone else jumps off a bridge...."

To continue with the theme of me totally disagreeing with myself, I'm going to go ahead and admit that the present ain't all it's cracked up to be. When you're around people who are bored and dissatisfied with their life, their job, their other half, or whatever else, it has a funny way of rubbing off onto you. There's only so many times I can try to convince myself I shouldn't be doing something else until I finally admit that I'm lying. Why is the grass always greener?

I have all of these memories of different parts of my life; different bold moves I've made that felt scary and difficult at the time, but now are just parts of my personal history. I think I take more risks that I give myself credit for, but I've also begun to realize that I have a funny way of romanticizing certain aspects of my past. I just feel that if my urge to do something is so persistent, I should probably listen to it. I never trust my gut -- I never thought I had one. But lately, I can't help but wonder if there's something I'm supposed to be doing right now. I can always make excuses for that easier, safer more stable path, but I feel like the best and worst things that have happened to me went down when I chose to do something that everyone else found crazy.

I know there's a litte bit of misery and a little bit of wonderful in most of life's important endeavors, but what's with always wanting to be doing something else? I'm sure I've said this here before, but I don't really believe in fate. I don't believe that everything happens for a reason because I think we either makes things happen or we don't, and there's often no explanation for that at all. I do wonder if there's something we're all just supposed to do, something we have to realize and then run with it once we do. I guess I can think of one thing I might have been "made" to do, but if that's the case, why aren't I eternally happy when I'm doing it? Damn you, life, stop interfering with my destiny.

At dinner with a friend last night, I listened to him put down his fears and hopes and considerations and dreams without any abandon. (And it wasn't because of the mojitos either). I was super quiet...hoping my active listening would let him continue to spew how he really feels as this is something that doesn't happen often with him. He needed it, I think. I hope I responded, or didn't respond, in the way he needed. But within everything he was saying, there was hope and confidence in his sense of self. His willingness to just go for it..no matter how uncomfortable or scary or unstable. I really admire him for it. How many chances do you get to abandon all the rules and considerations and things that make sense and just go for something? I keep wanting to live that kind of life even though it totally isn't me. Maybe it should be.

"stolen"

Watch you spin around

In your highest heels

You are the best one

Of the best ones

Leaving on a jet plane.....

...wish I'd never have to come back again.
After counseling too many rape survivors, doing nothing but emotional eating, getting, on average, 4 hours of sleep a night, serving jappy, condescending, ugly penn bitches fat-free fro yo and writing the worst 20 page research paper i've ever written on loss/grief theory and its clinical implications.......i'm off to Florida for "Spring Break", bitches. And I swear to God, if it's not violently UV sunny every single day for seven days, I'm taking someone out. Cross your fingers that the plane doesn't crash. Then again......at least I wouldn't have to worry about configuring an appropriate resume, finding an apartment in an area where i won't die, finding a job and coming to terms that I have to be an adult when I get back......so, on second thought, just cross the fingers on one hand.

my oscar judg - - opinions.

Beyonce is no longer black.
Gwyneth is totally preggers.
Cam didn't lose as much weight as one would expect after breaking up with JT.
Anne Hathaway's experience with wearing Prada has totally succumbed her to Hollywood anorexia.
I idolize Meryl Streep. But, I mean, who doesn't?
I cursed that 8 year old from "Little Miss Sunshine" for the entire 3 hours because she's 8 and at the Oscars and up for an Academy Award and my mom ruined my life by not letting me to go to NYC and audition for commercials. See if i thank her in my speech in five years.
Kirsten Dunst is indeed a troll and I was completely validated by Jay from ANTM who blatantly called her out on such.
Loving all the political soapbox addendums to all the thank you speeches.
The grandfather from Little Miss Sunshine had a really moving speech. I had goosembumps. Not gonna lie.
Where was Jakey?????????
Oh my god, "Jesus Camp" was up for an Oscar..SAY WHAT?????
God, I want Al Gore to run for president..."It's not a political issue, it is a moral issue."
Go Clint Eastwood - he translated like a five minute thank you speech by an Italian winner all on the spur of the moment. with big words. Really? Clint Eastwood? Who would've thunk it.
Michael Arndt -the writer for the "Little Miss Sunshine script" (who quit being Matthew Broderick's assistant to do so) - totally creepy, but definitely cute. Okay....maybe just creepy.
What is the huge deal about Martin Scorsese winning an Oscar? I don't get it but I also don't really care enough to Google it. Also..does it creep anyone else out that he has a 7 year old daughter? Right.
I don't know if you've seen "Pursuit of Happyness", but if you haven't, 1) you're missing out and 2) Will Smith totally deserved that Oscar. even though Forrest Whittaker was cute as a button giving his acceptance speech.
"To my wife Tatiana..." --cue the 'get the hell of the stage' music- "No! I have to say one more thing! Tatiana! Tatiana!! I love you! I love you Tatiana!" (ok inside joke).
and, Jennifer Hudson...three words..YOU GO GIRL.
I still want Beyonce's hair.

whoa.

Um, has anyone seen that new Rembrandt commercial playing "Waterfall" by Griffin House? It has that guy and girl making out for like a full 30 seconds? Here, let me post it for you. The commercial ends and you actually have no idea what it's advertising because you're too blown away that two people have been on your screen making out up close for 30 seconds. Go ahead, try. Tell me if you remember the word 'Rembrandt' in there at all. You have to watch it about two more times before you realize it's for toothpaste. Um, so yeah. The next time someone asks me what my 'type' is, I'm just going to refer them to that ad. The guy in that commercial is so hot. I would like him to be my boyfriend. That's really all I have to say.




I'm going to watch the Oscars now and make up my own acceptance speech. God knows I've only been revising it since I was 1o. One day. In the words of Tyler Webb..."Make it happen".

I heart Philadelphia....for a hot minute, anyway.

if i do say so myself, i have a hell of a job. i think i tend to see the worst of people at most times. waking up each day and forcing yourself to operate from the fundamental principle that there is good in everyone is also a hell of a job. i think i balance these two things pretty well. but, no doubt about it, i definitely lose my balance on that nauseating soapbox every once in a while. particularly living in phila where the racial tension is so thick, i'm tempted to stop every random black person on a street corner to apologize for being white. i'm not really kidding. you live here long enough and this hypersensitivity will begin to consume you. ok, so maybe it only consumes me. which is actually okay because i'm [creepily] in love with the concept of race relations and its various implications. Ask anyone who tried talking to me about last season's Survivor that divided its teams by race. Actually, let's not revisit that topic. Let's face it, I would inevitably feel claustrophobic in any place that I could only interact with rich white people. In any case, i'm waiting for the 21 today to take me to school/work and it's a windstorm. per usual. but as i'm standing there, willing my ponds cream to do its job, i see an elderly black woman wobbling and then dropping her bag and her folder that she was carrying as she's trying to get money out for the bus. and before i can even help her, this other elderly white woman, who is basically being blown over by the wind, moves quicker than my 24 year old body ever could, and in one impressive motion, balances the black woman and grabs her stuff. and then they are wobbling together and bonding in the way that only 80 year-old women can.
I love watching the social constructs I know applied everywhere -- and remain true in ways I'd never expect. I've stigmatized unfairly plenty of times, and lately I'm so wrong. It's unreal. If only everyone could be that impressive. So basically, to make a long rant longer, being pleasantly surprised is such a welcome change from being consistently disappointed. I'm afraid to say it out loud because I don't want to ruin the moment. It is moments like these that I love living in Philadelphia.

"sure, whatever you need"

the other day i got an email from a friend that said:

"you are really always there for everyone... it seems like you are constantly doing for others. i feel like i am always THINKING of others, or about how others feel, how i wish they could be happier or healthier, but i am not DOING as of late. i have really shut down alot of that. i think it's really respectable and wonderful that you are so giving but i hope that all those people are giving back to you. and you are getting what you need."

i have to say that that comment finally gave me a little bit of what i needed. and that's pretty fucking pathetic. so bear with me for the rant, but i need to get it out. feel free to skip over it.

i would classify myself as a pretty independent, self-sufficient, not needy person. and i think most people who know me can attest to that. i tend to be the person that doesn't really care if you're busy and can't get back to me. or if you break plans right before we're supposed to hang out. or if you choose your significant other over hanging out with me. it's just a lot easier not to care about those things. and if i'm friends with you, i don't really feel it's necessary to invite the type of drama that comes from getting angry about those type of things. it results in the silent treatment, then awkwardness, and then all that emotional messiness of having to make-up. ugh...my life is way too full for that. like, we're still friends. i'm not too worried about it.
i am also the type of person that would always rather talk about you than talk about me. which is wrapped up into a bunch of things. part of which includes being a nosy person who likes to fix people, but mostly because of low self-esteem, abandonment issues and etc. ok, so maybe i invite some of this on myself, but sometimes it's just really clear how self-centered most people are. and how they do whatever works best for them in the moment. and how it's really easy to take when someone is offering and not really worry too much about having to give anything back. after a while it just gets so annoying......ok fine, and hurtful. like would it kill you to pick up the fucking phone or go out of your way just a little to do something thoughtful? and not because you think you have to. because there's not really room in this blog to swing towards the 'condescending' end of the spectrum. i mean, christ, if you still want it to be all about you, it'll make you feel good too. wow. the reciprocity of giving. what a concept. and i don't really give a shit sometimes what you think or what you would do IF. it's getting to the point where i'm asking myself how i manage to pick the wrong people as friends. i'm tired of being wrong about people. shouldn't i have some more insight than that? i'm definitely better at it when it doesn't have to do with me. or hey, maybe it's my fault. maybe when you don't ask for anything and therefore don't expect anything, you just don't get anything. but here's a newsflash: What you feel only matters to you. It's what you do for the people you say you love that counts. unless of course, you just don't. and that's fine too. but it would be nice if you got off the selfish ride and stopped taking what you need. just a thought.

and, in keeping with the selfish theme here, if you think this blog is about you....
well, it probably is.

Sunday Secrets.

freak attack.

This whole denial/avoidance thing I'm doing with transitioning into a "real adult" is starting to become overwhelming. My friend sends me an email last night asking if I would like to go with her today to a non-profit career fair in Bryn Mawr. So, of course, this forces me to look at the fact that I have no complete, or in any way decent, resume, I feel like I don't know how to actually be a clinical social worker and that I actually do not have any piece of my shit that I call my life together enough to actually attend a career fair. I even called my cousin to verify that I can't actually go to a career fair without a resume and in a polite, but disparaging/guilt inducing/incompetence suggesting way, she did confirm that, indeed, I cannot actually go to an event where people are looking to recruit me. Although, at this point, I don't really see why anyone would try to recruit me....for anything. Why can't I get it together??????? Since when am I the one who is not Type A and not ahead of everyone else in the school/career/life trajectory? And I don't even feel guilty about that! I actually feel guilty about not feeling guilty about not caring! So I call my friend and basically convince her that she doesn't actually want to go to a career fair today because it's too far, too cold, too soon. Ugh, who am I? Shit, if I'm going down, I'm dragging someone with me. Typical. I can't just be singularly self-destructive. Do you ever wish you could flash forward through the next five years? It would be nice to just wake up and be 30 tomorrow. But then I would probably have a mid-life crisis anyway. Since I don't really think there's a point in living after 60 years old. That's another blog.

This is too much. Not to mention the fact that I will definitely find at today's weigh in for Marathon's Biggest Loser Challenge that I have indeed gained weight since last week. Fucking emotional eating.

I'm going shopping. For clothes that won't fit anyway.

and in closing...

an email i got from a friend this morning...

"Why do men think it's ok to horn in on what is obviously girl time? Molly and I were having a drink (at the Feminist Working Group happy hour, which was not attended by any of the feminists, who were clearly all at home with their men. Sellouts.) and this drunk jackass kept trying to talk to us. And it's semi-acceptable if there are two men, but with one it was just sad. He sat down with us and horned in on the last 45 minutes of our ladies night. Also it was very clear from the beginning that neither of us were going to get with him. The worst part is that all of his friends left, and he stayed behind and hung out with us. He literally asked me "what's the craziest thing you've ever done" because apparently I was on an episode of Blind Date tonight. Men are lame, being single is where it's at. Good night."



------> [My follow up thought....duh, you knew that was coming]
i have no idea why men think it's okay to hone in on girl time. probably because they think they're amazing and clearly the only reason women would be out together is to meet them. I mean obviously, all girls are dying for a boyfriend and any lame ass will do...didn't you get the memo? Maybe single boys need love on valentine's day too. although i'm pretty sure there is nothing worse than groveling on valentine's day of all days. i mean, "what's the craziest thing you've ever done?" ???? come on now, save that conversation kicker for saturday night!
There should seriously be roped off sections in straight bars where women can go when they're just trying to have fun with their girlfriends and don't want to be bothered by douchebags.
This is a prime example why I truly enjoy the gay boy scene.
Being single IS where it's at. Never doubt it.

happy vday to me.

blehhhhhh. the ice storm is really making it even better. speaking of which, i'm not really sure what to do about going into work because i don't think the buses are running. i love how the weather channel writes on its website that driving this morning would be extremely dangerous and you shouldn't be doing it, but yet no one calls to close the office. like i know it's the world of non-profit, but let's get a grip. i don't even have a client until 11, but wonder how much trouble i'll get in if i don't go in. i'm just not quite sure how i'm going to get there......because i'm sure as hell not walking. i'm putting my cold (because the wind is blowing through my closed window) foot down. and there is ice coating my windows. nice.

so, happy Vday to me. i kind of want to buy myself a cupcake today. love myself a little. of course, in the end, i would end up hating myself because i shouldn't be eating anything like a cupcake. it's a vicious cycle.
to all of the three people who read this blog, i hope your day is good and ends up being a little special. you should buy yourself a cupcake. you have skinny legs, so it doesn't really matter.

hallmark is picking up what i'm putting down.

i would like to say that i have been thoroughly impressed with this recent turnaround in valentine's day attitude.
so i'm in target picking up cards for my faraway friends - because that's clearly just the amazing person that i am - and i like had the barf bag all ready for the overwhelming suffocation that is valentine's day card shopping. so there i go...throwing elbows...and pushing my way through all the girls shopping for cards for their boyfriends. don't be fooled, it's a fucking show-down...this is no joke. every year. it never gets old. so i start looking through all the cards while all the girls around me are having like conniption attacks because they can't find the perfect card for their perfect boyfriend to depict their perfect relationship. like, oh my god, the PRESSURE!
anyhoo, as i'm picking through all the cards that have a serious novel written on them - who has time to read four pages on a card? honestly. - i find a whole section that is entitled "Anti-Valentine's Day"...i kid you not...and the cards fucking rock. i pretty much got one for every single one of my girlfriends...whether they're in a relationship or not. because i mean, even the coupled off ones need a little perspective. there's a whole market here -- and it's only taken Hallmark 25 years to catch on. i applaud them. someone has finally validated me.
All this day does is torture the couple-less and fattens the pockets of flower peddlers and greeting card companies. Everywhere you look, there's disgusting mixtures of red and pink. God, I hate pink.
It's a shame that people are made to feel bad because they don't have a love in their life, and all because of FAKE holiday. People feel so much pressure that they propose on Valentine's Day, get married on Valentine's Day, etc.
Even if you're in a relationship, V-Day stresses people out, especially women. Just because there's chocolate doesn't mean it still doesn't suck. Lots of us don't have dates and have to buy our own fucking chocolate anyhow. And then we just get fatter than we already are. So it just sucks. Why do that to yourself? Ignore this fictitious day altogether, whether you're in a relationship or not. What would I recommend for a good anti-Valentine's Day?

1. Avoid any place couples go. Do something for yourself, at home.

2. Rent a good "bad" movie. Pick up Heathers or Welcome to the Dollhouse, Reservoir Dogs or anything that's a little on the wicked/angsty side.

3. If you want a laugh, go to CVS sometime in the evening and watch freaked out men try to pick out "the" card. Or, visit the nearest grocery store and watch people fight over the shriveled remains of flowers in a last-ditch effort for sex. Too fun!

get over it cupid we hate you.

JT still hot. Scarlett still [totally] not.

Here's the bootleg director's cut of JT's new song, "What Goes Around Comes Around" with that tranny whore Scarlett Johanssen. Listen, I'm not saying that Cameron Diaz is all that great -- I mean, between the joker mouth and the overplayed ADHD, she's quite possibly the most annoying human being over the age of 30-- but christ, anyone's better than Scarlett. She's so unattractive and just totally obnoxiously pretentious. That girl carries herself as if she's all that and then some. Can you actually picture her being anything other than a fat seductress? I kind of feel that she may just wake up in the morning and talk to everyone that way. Breathing heavily, speaking in some kind of faux accent which can't even be relegated to a specific region, slinking around L.A. And when you think about it that way, it's not really that hard to figure out how she's landed herself in so many movies. I guess some people can really make a living from selling themselves....literally. She's got her homewrecker routine down pat...it's quite impressive, really. There is seriously an unnecessary amount of groping/nakedness/touching in this video. She's stuck to him in ways that make me truly believe that the director is really more in the soft core porn industry. Yeah, Scarlett completely fits the, "Just don't get it" category of girls. As in, the girls who guys found attractive when every other girl finds her incredibly annoying and not at all attractive. Mind boggling...gets me everytime.

Note: JT just gets sexier and sexier. And the boy can somewhat act. Remember the sleezy, bleached, 'down-the-shore', wigger ways of justin back in the day? Now he's ultra-sex. Who doesn't love the 180 degree celebrity change?

puke.puke.vomit.puke.

i would just like to send out a personal thank you to doug and joey for allowing me into a contaminated apartment and for making superbowl food from scratch, respectively, so as to directly contribute to this lovely little stomach bug that has left me puking for over 24 hours. i now know what the "maryland twist" was in joey's homemade clam chowder.
i would also just like to mention that i have thrown up about 4 times in my entire life, so all of THIS, was just wonderful. i literally could not move...which is really a ton of fun when you continue to throw up but don't have the energy to sit up. i had my mom on speed dial to have her come down and take care of me, but had to refrain myself from doing so given that i'm 24 years old and need to start acting liking it. today was the first day i have actually made it out of my bed onto my living room floor where i have been sitting with a can of lysol and just spraying it around me. i also had "the laundry lady" (yes i realize this is disturbing on many levels) pick up every last item of clothing, including my down comforter, and wash it all. trust me, it'll be the best 50 dollars i've ever spent.
and might i add, that all of this had better lead to significant weight loss for marathon's biggest loser.

incidentally, i'm watching Semi-Homemade with Sandra Lee on the Food Network...which is make me feel even more nauseous...and I just don't understand how she's so thin. It's like Padma Lakshmi on Top Chef saying that she "lives for food". And now I have effectively made myself nauseous again.

Marathon's Biggest Loser

well, it's official. Marathon's Biggest Loser challenge has officially begun. (began? whatever.)
Yesterday, the scale was bought and we all weighed in. Some people wanted to join, but sorry, small and skinny bitches need not apply.


Rules:

1. It's five dollars a pop (somewhere in that I'm sure you can find a fat joke) every time you weigh in.
2. Weigh-ins will occur every Friday and weights will be recorded. (Which they already were for the first time yesterday and that was a horrifying experience to say the least.)
3. Certain people (and I won't mention names because I'm feeling nice today) were not allowed into the game because I don't need to be shown up by some skinny whiners who think they qualify at 131 pounds, and will look better at 115. Bitch, please. Spare me.
4. This game will last until May 5th, which gives us all approximately three months to get it together.
5. There will be monthly winners, who will be given 10% of the total money, so as to keep this so called "morale" of the team going. (Note: And may I just add, I have never been so harshly judged for eating a spoonful of fat free fro-yo in my life. Nor have I been so cruelly harassed and/or taunted with plates of cookies in front of my face. And yes. I totally ate one. What about it?
6. I instated a rule that no OTC drugs such as Hydroxycut, Stacker (I, II, or III) may be used in this game. Extracurricular activities, however, can be engaged in at your own discretion and are not off limits. This includes both cocaine addictions and eating disorders.
   

I encourage all suggestions, support and berating to make me Marathon's Biggest Loser. I've already recruited Joey to act as my bitchy, deprecating, insulting running coach. And if you know Joey, you know that says enough.
On that note, I'm off to brunch with the girls. And then off to throw it all up.