Monday, June 25, 2007

There Is Nothing Funny About Baklava

Witness me bombing on IM...guess my sense of humor does not translate very well.

"Said" says:
Have you gone to Europe yet?

Greek dude says:

actually i plan on going to greece for a week in october mostly to take care of some family business

"Said" says:
oh cool. what do you have to do there?

"Said" says:
make sure the baklava factory is up to code?

Greek dude says:
My parents want to take care of some family affairs with me there basically

"Said" says:
baklava factory was funny.

"Said" says:
come on

Greek dude says:
yeah assuming they still make baklava there greece is slowly changing within the european union

Greek dude says:
def not the place my parents left in 1970

"Said" says:

10 minutes pass

"Said" says:
Good luck with the baked goods.

Greek dude says:
What are you talking about?

Friday, June 22, 2007

Liars, And Tigers, And Bears...Oh My!

In third grade my teacher was Mrs. Hallardin. She was the worst when it came to teaching math. She taught me all of my subjects unfortunately, so let's just say it was a bad year. One time, she asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up. I said a lawyer. (Did I necessarily want to be a lawyer? No. Did it sound respectable at the time? Yes. I also thought LA LAW was a cool grown-up show...we all make mistakes.) She then said, "Lots of liars are lawyers." So basically I was dealing with a passive nightmare of a teacher at 8 years old. Was I a liar? not really. Let's just say, that at my elementary school they offered student club activities during the school my mind (and in what I thought was a brilliant attempt at avoiding schoolwork/verbal abuse) I thought I was a member of every single club and was repeatedly chased down by Mrs. Hallardin and brought back into class.

Picture me 20 some years younger jazz boxing my little heart out...


"Said" Woman is 8 years old in pig tails learning choreography for the elementary school spring production of "The Wizard of Oz". As a member of the "lollipop guild" she has just been given a solo and couldn't be happier that she doesn't have to do her times tables back in the classroom like all the other chumps.

Enter Mrs. Hallardin looking frazzled, dour, and angry because she had to walk somewhere.

Mrs. Hallardin
What do you think you are doing young lady?


I'm rehearsing my part.

Mrs. Hallardin
You should be rehearsing math with the rest of the class.


...but I thought the munchkins always rehearse on Wednesdays.

Mrs. Hallardin
They do, but you were just here at the flying monkey rehearsal on Tuesday.

(mumbles under her breath)

8 year old "Said" walks back to class with her head hung low as Mrs. Hallardin follows her closely behind. "Said" has been beaten this time, but secretly she's smiling on the inside because she knows that no matter what, she won't be like Mrs. Hallardin when she grows up with her white button down shrirts tucked into her ankle length skirts and her glasses that hang so far down on the tip of her nose that people spend more time wondering if they are going to fall off her face and be crushed by her mammoth sized feet than what she is actually trying to teach. ( OK...Maybe I got a little carried away here at the end.)


Thus began my career as an activity strong / GPA weak student. I swear all of the above really happened (except for the last line). Truth be told, I was the best damn flying monkey ever and the lollipop guild sucked without me.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Why O Why...

I'd like to take a moment to talk about my favorite baseball team "The O's". I've loved the Orioles since I was a kid. I was born in Baltimore, and no matter where the military sent us or what country we were living in, watching the Orioles on TV made me feel like I had a connection to home. My first fish was black and orange and I named him Earl Weaver. I really believed Cal Ripken, Jr. was the mayor. Seriously, the first man I ever saw in his panties was Jim Palmer in those damn Jockey ads. (Yes, I called them panties, because if I have to use that awful word, then so do you.) Singing the National Anthem was the best because every time the word "O" as in "O say does that star spangled..." came up I'd scream it at the top of my lungs just like they do at Memorial Stadium, before it became the greatest place on earth - Camden Yards. It was like you could scream for your country and your favorite baseball team at the same time. Not many teams can boast that!

So on Monday morning, I received an emergency text message from my brother, "Perlozzo got canned...the bullpen coach is the interim manager while they look for a replacement...yet another sad day in Baltimore for O's fans." I took a moment to reflect on the constant disappointment which has been my loyalty to this damn team. It's been a rough decade to say the least. The last nine seasons have been losing seasons for us, and we're currently in last place in the AL East. Who are we, the Cubs? I don't want a legacy of pity. That's right, I said it. What's going to happen? Vince Vaughn, John Cusack, and Jeremy Piven are going to start crying? Enough. I'm almost starting to believe that the Orioles are just afraid of success.

In a recent interview with our newly canned manager, he was quoted, "I'd been in the organization a long time, so I pretty much knew what I was getting into," Perlozzo said Tuesday. "I felt I could make a difference. I truly believed I was the guy that could do it." I believed it too Sam. So long buddy. You did your best. Now come on guys, get your crap together and start winning something. The best year of my life can not be 1983.

Vintage Jim Palmer just because....

Friday, June 15, 2007

Revoke My Girl Card Now...

I'm a bad girl. Not a "bad girl" in a sexy way, rather I do a bad job of being "girly". I am subjected to conversing with members of my sex all the time, but the thing is, I don't get what the heck most of my peeps are talking about. I spend most of the time smiling, nodding, and getting in one or two smart ass comments so it looks like I've been there the whole time. I'm starting to feel guilty that I could care less about "what guys are thinking" and "how many calories are in pudding pops"...seriously, these are conversations I've witnessed and/or have forced to be a part of because I physically can't pick up my desk, bar stool, or my seat on the subway and move it somewhere else. I've decided I can no longer live a lie and I need to confess a few things.

1) I have never dieted for bikini season/ wedding season/ hunting season by "starving" myself. When you confess that you are doing this, I don't think it is cute. It scares me. When I don't eat I get a headache and my hands start to shake. How can that be attractive?

2) Everything I know about sex I learned in comedy clubs and listening to girls talk. My Mom told me nothing about sex. Until college the only gyno I saw was a military doctor on an Army base. He didn't tell me anything either. In fact, I think just me being there made him nervous.

3) Pastels hurt my eyes.

4) There is no secret product that gives me thick hair or skinny legs. It's called genetics. I swear I'm not withholding information as a way to one up you with my beauty regime.

5) I hate shopping. The thought makes my stomach churn. In fact, I just learned that Pucci is not a typo for Gucci.

6) Most of the time, when someone tells me they are about to PMS I take this as a lame advance apology, warning me for the bitchy behavior that they will soon be displaying.

7) I didn't know what granny panties were until someone asked me why I wear them.

8) I have never craved chocolate or ice cream.

9) If you have to constantly tell people how amazing your boyfriend /husband/partner/fuckbuddy is, it eventually starts to sound like the only person you are trying to convince is yourself.

10) Babies are loud. I don't look at one and think, "Oh how cute"... I think, "How heavy is it?" I don't want to hurt my back if I'm expected to pick it up and coo and cuddle with it. I can barely feed myself, how am I supposed to feed a baby.

11) Apparently as I was typing this someone was talking to me. I didn't hear anything until they yelled, "You don't listen. You're like a MAN." So add that to the list then. But chances are, they were talking about some girly crap I could care less about. So I feel lucky.

Oh well.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Pusher Man

Every month I have to go to the pharmacy and deal with Abu. I don't know where he's from, how he got to NYC, or how he became my pharmacist. It wasn't my choice I assure you. One day he just showed up and he's been enraging me ever since. All I need from Abu are two things...headache medicine for my constant migraines and birth control for my constant need to not get pregnant. Instead I get thinly veiled insults and have to witness him humiliating customers left and right.

Last month when I picked up my birth control he wished me Happy Mother's Day. I mean really. He has my pharmaceutical history and my age right in front of him. He knows the deal. It would currently be impossible for me to have kids considering how long I've been taking BC (or as I like to call them, "Adult Breath Mints") but he still insists on saying Happy Mother's Day. It's like his little jab letting me know that I should be having kids by now and I should just get on with it. He also likes to tell me that for my age I shouldn't be getting these headaches. What the hell. Abu is not my mom. He also likes to tell me that I spend way too much for my prescriptions. Apparently he likes to moonlight as a middle eastern Suze Orman. What is he? Moroccan Medicaid?

The best was when he announced to all of the customers waiting for their prescriptions (because everyone waits for their prescriptions when Abu is involved - even if you call it in ahead of time) "Excuse me, but who here is waiting for the Valtrex?" Holy hell. Even more shocking was the girl who admitted Brave soul. But I guess if I was waiting for more than half an hour in the back of an overheated drug store, I'd bite the bullet too, and just do what it takes to get the prescription and run. (I'd also like to make a note that the girl who picked up the Valtrex for what I can only assume is a raging case of herpes was gorgeous. One of the prettiest girls I'd seen. I felt bad for her. She probably trusted somebody enough to let them give her the herp...then I started to get really angry. Like there should be some law punishing people who knowingly give someone an STD...that's a whole other post. I am getting off track.)

See how enraged this little guy makes me! I'm starting to think Abu knows what he's doing. He's not stupid. The smart thing would be to switch pharmacies, I know. But it's so close to my apartment and I was there before Abu ever was...

Monday, June 04, 2007

Venting and Blinking

I rarely know what the kids are into now a days. I'm a simple girl really. The fact that I can figure out how to write a post still amazes me. After a year of blog surfing, I have noticed on the margins of many blogs are these little icons that flash cutesy pie messages, appropriately called "blinkies". For your viewing pleasure, I have found 10 "blinkies" that are God-awful. If you have one of these damn things on your blog (specifically one of the top 10 worst I could find), stop it now.

1) myspace layouts, myspace codes, glitter graphics

(If you love watching Will and Grace reruns to the point where you have to have a blinking message that subtley announces your passion for bad puns and regurgitated stereotypes, then you problem isn't your flamboyance-it's your bad taste in safe comedy that considers itself "edgy".)

2) myspace layouts, myspace codes, glitter graphics

(Wow... you are sexually daring and you can write! I bet you love Sex and the City too! In fact, I bet every sentence you write ends in an exclamation point or three!!! Your blog is probably full of bad date recaps and crazy hook-ups that leave you so ashamed the only way to purge yourself is to anonymously confess your indiscretions to the entire Internet!)

3) myspace layouts, myspace codes, glitter graphics

(If you call it a live journal, you are probably too dorky to be entertaining. I'll probably be subjected to random pictures of your cats in "holiday themed"costumes if I continue reading your blog.)

4) myspace layouts, myspace codes, glitter graphics

( You my friend are a different kind of dorky if you need to put this "blinkie" on your blog. You are "convention" dorky. You probably speak Klingon and have a dusty basement full of things you collect.)

5) myspace layouts, myspace codes, glitter graphics

(How can you even be on the Internets, yo'? You aren't even allowed to have electricity. I saw the movie WITNESS - I know what's up. Stop blogging and get back to milking.)

6) myspace layouts, myspace codes, glitter graphics

(What's a matter with you? Why would you advertise sub-par fish meal that vaguely resembles sea-food for free on your blog? If the "blinkie" said "I love the cheddar biscuits at Red Lobster", then maybe I could understand. Maybe. But chances are, you probably consider White Castle fine dining, in which case you are a lost cause.)

7) myspace layouts, myspace codes, glitter graphics

(Unless you are Prince, there is no excuse for this proclamation.)

8) myspace layouts, myspace codes, glitter graphics

(This is so disturbing I don't know what to say. Even if you are NINEteen it still borders on some type of legal infringement. All it says to me is, "I went to high school, sat through sex ed., and all I got was this screaming baby." Unless of course you are an amazing time traveler who is actually writing a blog from the late 1800's and your life expectancy is only until the age of 22...then I apologize.)

9) myspace layouts, myspace codes, glitter graphics

(This is only cool if you are from New Jersey. Actually, I take that back. This is never cool.)

10) myspace layouts, myspace codes, glitter graphics

(Gross. Keep that kind of La Leche crap to yourself. Sometimes I try to eat while I'm reading blogs and this is going to make me sick on my keyboard. Fight for your right to breast feed in public all you want- but trust me, your kid does not want the world to know how long it sat on your teet.)

Friday, June 01, 2007

Secret Weapon

I joined a softball team and we had our first game this afternoon in Central Park.

The good news: fresh air and summer fun!
The bad news: the opposing team brings this guy:

After the shock and awe of trying to hit a pitch off this guy settles in, all your left with is the lingering feeling that this "amatuer, casual, pick-up game" in the park is not going to end well...let's just say that if you witness the umpire asking for an autograph for his "son" before the game even starts, any hope of receiving some fair officiating is probably out the window.

And forget about any kind of support coming from the guys on our team! You would think Jessica Alba was on the pitching mound in a bikini with the way they all kept staring and smiling at sweet little Tiki. I've never seen men make googly eyes at other men before until this afternoon. We even had a guy get tagged out at first because he was too busy staring and didn't know the batter behind him was trying to get to first. It was a bad scene.

I think the game was called due to a new rule I learned about called "the gong rule". Apparently, if you are trailing by an obscene amount of runs with no hope of catching up they call the game out of pity. Who are the umps to decide that we have no hope of catching up when the score was only 16-3. Oh ye of little faith!

And another thing, to the photographers that showed up and started taking pictures...if I end up in US Weekly in the background of some "Oh look how down to earth famous people are" photo spread, just because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time wearing black spandex and my mother's white reebok's... be afraid. there will be hell to pay.