Tuesday, January 27, 2009

When I grow up I can be anything I want to be

I get an e-mail this morning notifying me of the endless career opportunities available to me when I graduate.

I can be the manager of ValueCare Pharmacies in Ohio ....I  do like pharmacies

A liberian in Chicago... finally I can put my glasses and sweater vests to good use

Or an activities assistant at a senior center in Ohio ... I always did love old people

WOW I can do anything with my bachelors. 

I've often been told I can be anything I want to when I grow up.  Which explains my anger when I discovered I could not be the pope because I am not male or catholic.  

But these job opportunities are even more upsetting to me than when my dreams of being a pope wearing that cool hat and Prada shoes crumbled.  

Where are the job listings for the jobs I actually want:

Astronaut, rock star, movie star, mermaid....

I won't grow up. 

Sunday, January 25, 2009

How to Break Up Via Mix Tape

Every time I hear Bob Dylan's "It's all over now baby blue"  I think, wouldn't it be cool to break up with someone via mix tape?

Well no it wouldn't be cool at all.  It would be mean and heartless.  But for the sake of comedy, it could be hysterical, especially if it wasn't happening to you.  

So I took on the challenge and created my break -up playlist.  The point of this mix would be to hand it to your soon to be ex in hopes of them getting the message that it's over from the track titles and songs.  Even better, if the track titles can read like a good break-up excuse, extra points.  Hey this may be mean, but it's a lot more honest than that whole "it's not you, it's me" bullcrap.   

Here's my playlist:  

1.) One of us must know (sooner or later) - Bob Dylan
2.) Hard To Explain - The Strokes
3.) Accidents will happen - Elvis Costello
4. )  It's all over now, Baby Blue - Bob Dylan
5.) Because - The Beatles
6.) You Never Give Me Your Money - The Beatles
7.) I Can't Stand It - Eric Clapton
8.) Who's Been Sleeping Here? - The Rolling Stones
9.) (You're the) Devil in Disguise- Elvis Presley
10.) I Want to Break Free- Queen
11.) Falling Out of Love - Sean Lennon
12.) Caring is Creepy - The Shins
13.) I'm N Luv (With a Stripper) - T-Pain & Mike Jones
14.) I Am Trying to Break Your Heart - Wilco
15.)  That's Life- Frank Sinatra

Which translates to:

Hey, one of us must know sooner or later.   It's hard to explain, but accidents will happen.  And It's all over now, Baby Blue.  Well, Because, you never give me your money.   And honestly, I can't stand it. Well, who's been sleeping here?  You're the Devil in disguise.  I want to break free.   Because, I'm falling out of love, caring is creepy, and I'm N Luv with a stripper.  You're right, I am trying to break your heart, but that's life.  

What would be some songs you'd put on your break-up mix?

Words and music are fun. 

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Why I hate people who go to Starbucks

It's 3:50PM.  I have precisely ten minutes to get to class an am faced with a tough choice:  Do  I go to class early to plug in my now dead laptop, or should I stay here in line at Starbucks.  

The line is long.  But I am about to crash from being under-caffeinated.  I'm all the way at the end by the door that keeps swinging open with a Boston chill.  In front of me is a balding guy with a Mohawk (bad way to hide a bald spot, Buddy) who totally just cut me.  Jerk.  There are so many people crammed into this small space.  And the line isn't moving an inch.

All I want is two shots of espresso.  Just espresso.  No sugar free vanilla, or soy, or half caf, or misto, or frap or machiatto whatever else people add to their "signature"  over ten syllable drinks.  

These people are define the true posers of society.  Just like Ashlee Simpson and Pete Wentz (pictured). They pretend to be nuts about coffee, but they're not.   Instead they are nuts about milk and sugar, which is what happens to a starbucks drink when you make your order over three syllables.   So why don't they stop wasting everyone's time and their five dollars.  These are the true weaklings of the world.  These are probably the same people who consider American Idol winners to be great music, these people most likely bathe themselves in Abercrombie and maybe blast techno music in their mom's SUV (which is totally the new minivan FYI) on the way to da club.  And I know that was just a whole lot of stereotypes, but I'm REALLY decaffeinated right now.  

Oh finally.  They can take my order.  And within seconds I am blissfully sipping my hot, frothy, rich espresso.  Ah much better.  I love Starbucks. 

Did I just say that?  Crap, I don't want to be one of those people.  I swear I've never ordered a 10 syllable drink..... except for that one time I did to fit in.   And I don't think American Idol winners are talented musicians, but I do have one of them covering Bohemian Rhapsody on my iTunes (see I just saved face by not being able to name which one).   And I don't bathe myself in Abercrombie, although I once dated a guy who did - needless to say that ended.  And I have never blasted techno music in my mom's car........ except for that one time in high school.... hey, we had to get pumped up on our way da club where everyone was "getting tipsy", while "popping it like it's hot"  and "going from da window to da wallllllllll". 

Uh oh.  I'm becoming one of them.....

This message has been brought to you by S.A.R.E.  S.A.R.E  because  Starbucks Abuse Resistance Education

and now I'm late to class

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Catching up with old "friends" in a hot second

So I spent a lot of time at the gym over winter break, and even made some new friends (hotties pictured above, we're in a work out posse, I complete the rainbow with my purple leotard)  Mainly I gymed it up to fill my day with some purpose other than writing and watching E! News (can you believe Paris Hilton has a new BFF and they go shopping and do lunch, just like us?!).  

But I have a love hate relationship with my gym back home.  I love that I can sneak in under my mothers name and work out for free.  See I can pass for a senior citizen.  Now if I can just get a copy of my moms license so I can get senior discounts.  My life would have that much more sparkle.   

But I hate the awkard and inevitable high school gym run-ins,  you know those when people you knew in school, you weren't best friends, maybe you borrowed a pencil once or would see them at parties, maybe you're even Facebook friends, but you have yet to use Facebook with them for it's intended purpose of  social networking and instead you socailly stalk them.  I know you all do it.  Look at the pictures of the "popular kids" at school and marvel at how they fat they got and or how stupid their pictures are.  Anyway, you run into them at the gym.  Your a little sweaty, you're not looking your best.  You make eye contact, and there's no way you want to sacrifice two minutes of your work out to have that  "let's catch up on the past four years in a second convo"  you know the one that goes something like this:

You: Oh Hi! How have you been?
Them:  Hi! I'm great.  Where are you at school again?
You: Some college, you?
Them: Another college.  When do you go back?
You: Next week.  You?
Them: Same!  Well it was great catching up.  Good to see you!

FYI thats not catching up.  So I think I step ahead.  I ignore them.  I pretend to be really focused on my iPhone like I was making the play list of all play lists or responding to an incredibly important bussiness email,  when really I was just hitting the refresh button on my empty inbox.  

And so, I win.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

No, I will not clap when class is over

I took a cardio kick boxing class the other day  that's me in the black with the mullet and those are my new friends.  You know, so I can learn how to kick butt and look cute while doing it. 

Group Fitness classes are never "fun" no matter how much the intructor tries to convince you otherwise.  There is nothing fun about being in a sweaty stinky room with menopausal women as jock jams blast. 

Entering class I notice fitness steps everywhere.  I have two phobias in life: cheerleaders and fittness steps.  My fittness step phobia roots back to my a step class I took with a bunch of overly peppy cheerleaders who I "accidently" smacked when I feel out of sync in class.  I was then asked to leave.  

At the site of the steps I almost ran out of the class to go on the treadmill, which translates to me walking under four miles per hour while watching and laughing out loud to Family Guy.  But, I decided to conquer my fitness step fear.   I scoped the class out.  A lot of out of shape moms, a few former cheerleaders and a hand ful of high school prositots with a fresh face of makeup and the most inappropriate dress attire (seriously who puts make-up on to go to the gym?  Please stop you make the rest of us look bad) .  Oh and there was one guy, he had to be either whipped or gay.

Oh, and this class is held in a room with big glass windows, so everyone in the gym can see you fail.  It makes me want to take the class more seriously.  But as always I trip over my feet.  I'm  the one that the  instructor is yelling at "you in the back, kick higher!"  "You in the back focus!".  Yep, that's me, I'm the one in the back.  

But I made it through class, barely.  And when the last verse of "pump it up" played, and the class is over, everyone claps.  Everyone but me.  Why are we clapping?  The instructor didn't just do a sick guitar solo, hit a high note, or preform Shakespeare.  She just yelled at our fat asses for an hour.  And the worst part is that we are all standing.  So now we are giving her  standing ovation for doing, well not a whole lot.  

So No, I will not clap at the end of a group fitness class.  It's not that I'm ungrateful or rude.  It's just that it's not my style, sorry.  

But the worst part of my cardio kick boxing catastrophe happened after class.  It was the  moment when I discovered that my newly attained kick boxing skills do not translate on the "streets", "in the hood", or anyplace where you find yourself kicking something other than air.  And  I learned this the hard way. 

Where Have all the Christmas Trees Gone?

I know I know it's well after Christmas.... but what if I wanted a Christmas tree - for purely un-holiday related decorative purposes?

I became a little ferclempted when I passed by my usual Christmas Tree stop -  to find it bare with only pine needles scattered on the ground.  It brought me back to two Christmases ago when my dad and I got our tree on Christmas Eve (holiday procrastination runs in the family).  Somehow, and I'm still not sure how, my dad got a veteran discount from our "Go Army" tree salesman.  I mean my dad was in the navy reserve.  He tied knots and traveled Europe on a ship.... I guess that makes him a veteran...

But I digress.  My issue at hand is the availability of  three to ten foot pine trees post December 25th.  Technically Christmas trees have nothing to do with Christmas.  They are purely decorative.  So why is it so difficult to find a Scotch Pine, Black Hills Spruce, or Balsam Fir post Christmas?  People buy other trees, flowers, bushes what have you, all of the time.  What if I wanted to decorate my abode with a Douglas Fir... is that such a crime?  I mean I can make it topical.  I'll put pastel eggs on it for Easter, coat it with American flags for the Forth of July,  and cover it  with spiderwebs for Halloween.  And if anyone asks me what a Christmas Tree is doing in my living room in July I will respond, "it's not a christmas tree, it's a tree for all seasons".  I mean after "Christmas trees" come from the evergreen family.  So I should be able to get and decorate pine tree whenever I want. 

Monday, January 5, 2009

Shirley Temples and STELLLAAAAAAS!

My camp friends were in town this weekend (see picture above that's us at the club).  Honestly my friends from camp are some of the best friends I have.

Interesting night we had.

Started off with a great dinner.  Only we happened to run into some younger campers... small world.  These girls are 16 and hitting up the same bars and clubs we are.  Which made us feel old for a hot second.  But then again we did the same thing.  So we thought we'd be nice.   We told the waiter to send over some virgin Shirley Temples and asked him to wish them a happy sweet 16.   Needless to say they were drinking water.  Great success!!!

So after leaving dinner we headed to my friend's friend's place.  I was bored so I started making fun of people.  I thanked a guy for bringing acid wash back into my life since he was wearing it head to toe.  I pointed out that the reason this guy couldn't put a book down was due to the large font and short sentences.  And asked another guy where her got his "less orange than usual" spray tan.  In other words when I'm tipsy and bored in a room full of people I don't know I make fun of them.  I have a feeling this may get me in trouble some day.

Then off the club.  Waiting outside in the freezing cold before getting picked up by a promoter I pointed out the many fashion faux pas to my friends, "what did she kill for that coat?  Gross."  "Yeah it's defiantly the season for a white mini dress"  "Thank god someone is wearing slut boots." 

The club was fun.  I just can't really enjoy myself at a club for more than an hour.  I mean we did it all.  Walked around, checked out all the metro/ euro trash/ possibly gay men, had some drinks, we even danced on the bar.  Then I got assaulted by a security guard.  Complained and got a free vodka tonic.  

So off to our next destination.  A bar my mom read a review for in the New York Times and insisted we check it out.  So we went and it was a lot of fun....Thanks MOM!  I also discovered how to use Shazam on my i-Phone which is too cool....until my phone died and I had to charge it in the coat check.  We met some really interesting people.  I even met a fellow writer/performer.  Only he writes and performs martial arts... not sure how that works out....

So we missed the last train.  So we went to get some food.  I picked a fight with some guys at the bar over something I am not sure of, probably their dress attire.  Ordered a stella just so I could yell, "STELLLLLLLLLLAAAAAA" at the bartender.  Then devoured a delish gaucamole burger. 

Then off to grand central.  That was closed!  Can you believe it?  We had to wait outside.  Then it opened and we hoped on the train.  Our conductor reeked of Abercrombie, which I fake complimented him on.  But there was a beautiful moment watching the blue of the sky melt to the orange and red of a sunrise.  Poetic I know.

Got off the train at 7am.  Half asleep I somehow managed to drive home.  I had to blast some classic rock to get me there.  But we did it.  Tucked into bed, eyes heavy and tummy full I decided New York is fun but the all nighters have to stop. And I should be nicer to people and their fashion choices.  Not everyone was a fashion correspondent for their college morning show. ;)

Sunday, January 4, 2009

"May By Gay"

"May by Gay!,"  I exclaimed when I got accepted into my college which has a reputation of having an overwhelming gay population.   My friends all roared with laughter.  "It's Gay by May, you idiot, are you sure you got into college?" My gay best friend told me. 

My gay best friend loves to drag me to gay bars ---- figures.

We've been doing it since we were 15.    At the time it was perfect,  our obvious fake IDs were never questions,  it's the best place to get the fruitiest and strongest drinks, compliments on your shoes,  and no creepy older guys hitting on you.  

Then there was the time I got hit on by the bi-sexual "performing artist" who best describes his style as a mix of opera/rap/hip-hop/country/rock/ and or  show-tunes if that is even possible... but that's a whole different story entirely.

Point is now that we're 21 and can get into any bar I want.....he still drags me to gay bars.  I have become a regular at the world's oldest gay bar in the heart of my home town.   I mean its pretty close by, the music is always good, and the drinks are strong.

So this weekend I wound up there again.  We use our alter egos, he's Vincent and I'm Veronica (like the Elvis Costello song).  You really meet the best characters at gay bars.  I met this guy who made his "dad jeans" into a vest and went around asking people all night if they liked his design.  It's also fun playing the "man or woman game"  with all the drag queens its actually harder then you think.  OH and you can pole dance there too... but we cut back on that since Vincent has been kicked off the pole a few times. 

But I learned a hard lesson at what may have been my last excursion at the gay bar.  Apparently dancing at a gay bar and making no eye contact "sends the wrong signal"  one lesbian informed me.  I'm a little upset over this.  It's a free country and I want to drink my vodka on ice and pretend I know how to salsa to latin music... how is that sending the wrong signal?  Well it looks like Veronica will have to take her business elsewhere.

Although the night did end on a high note..... kind of.  After running out of the "coed bathroom"  due to the discovery of a white substance on the floor,  I ran into Vincent and his squeeze for the evening who informed me that I "look just like Gisele."  See this is why I go to gay bars... the flattery.  It most likely is a lie, but nothing puts a jump in my step like a compliment no matter how far from the truth it is....

Thursday, January 1, 2009

"Oh No Oh Nine"

Frank Sinatra said it best: New Years is for amateurs.

But for some reason every December 31st like most I join them.  Envisioning a night of perfection that almost always ends up as a disaster.

After being told many times to not truck it to New York because it was below zero, its crowded and if I hate time square in the summer it will make me cry on New Years.  Guess what I did?  Yep took a bite out of the big apple.

I'm going to stop being such a Debbie.  All in all it was a fun night... despite the fact that I was New Years kissless but eh c'est la vie.

My friend and I started off drinking champagne in the train... because we're classy. 

Once in New York we went to dinner at a delicious Tapas bar -  when I told my mom this she misheard me and exclaimed "What?! You went to a TOPLESS Bar?"  To which I respond, "Yes mom, we went to the topless bar and I fell in love with the regular.  He's really sweet.  He told me with a rack like mine I should be on stage.  I think he's a keeper."

So after I got my bra stuffed with dollar dollar bills y'all my friend and I headed to meat packing.  A cherry slammer later I was swatting the light saber on my iphone.  It was at this point that my friend informed me I was drunk. She probably was right. 

Then we sneaked in to a club.  This took me  back.  Apparently you had to pay $50 for a wrist band at this club.  After being denied, my friend and I wrapped plastic lays around our wrists and snuck behind guys with bands.  And success!

After hearing the new Katy Perry song about ten times (ten more times than I can bare) and getting a little fed up dancing with no personality metro sexuals/ euro trash  it was time to leave. 

But guess what happens at New York on New Years at 2am?  All the cabs are off duty.  Because obviously when people want to go home or elsewhere is the best time to not pick up costumers.  You will find random town cars bargaining you a ride anywhere for $40 but that option seemed at little seedy.

So we stumbled into the only bar open.  A gay bar.  Just my luck.  But at this point we decided  food sounded a lot better than flirtinis and this place had no food.  We were advised to go to this placed called the corner bistro up the block.

I walked in and I was in love.  A dive bar serving up burgers and draft beer by a bartender who kind of looked like santa.  And to top it off Bob Dylan was playing on the juke box.. I couldn't have asked for a better place.

After eating what might have been the best bacon cheeseburger in my life.  My friend passed out on the bar  (she was tied)  I asked her if she wanted to go home and she said shed prefer to sleep on the bar for a little.  So I let her as I finished my beer and chatted up some Irish men behind me who were really nice until they tried to convince me to take my passed out friend with me back to their place in Queens.  Oh yeah strange men that sounds like a great idea!.....NOT!

Finally my friend woke and was ready to go home yey!  But the last train was leaving soon so we had to book it.    I dragged her out of the bar calling some trendy looking kids "Hipsters" on the way out for reasons I am unsure of.  Finally found a cab.   Got to grand central.  And for the first time all night.  I fell in my heels onto my hands cutting my thumb.  So I was like fuck it.  And took off my heels running to the track in my tights.  A Police officer told me I might want to consider putting on heels to which I responded "have you tried walking in these all night?!"

Finally on the train.  Seated next to the funniest pair.  Both red from tanning and covered in glitter, they came from Webster hall... figures.   Then I almost got into a fight with this guy on the train for wearing true religion jeans.... Still not sure why.  I like to pick fights over fashion when I'm drunk.  And that was my night.

So this is Oh Nine.  Going to be a big year.  I'm happy I rang it in with class:  champagne on the train, a topless bar, sneaking into a club and picking fights with strangers over their fashion sense.  Real classy. 

Happy New Year to all and to all a good night.