Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Butterflies In My Stomach...

They say if you scratch a cynic you’ll find a romantic. I’m the most loving person you’ll ever meet (well one of the most, if you're reading this I bet you're pretty loving too.) but my problem is I have a hard time showing it, saying it, or acting like it. I'm pretty sure it's a problem. For me, when I get a crush on someone they are all I can think about, but if that person is standing next to me, expect the dumbest things to come out of my mouth. If I am near my “said” crush, I don’t recognize the words coming out of my mouth. Let me clarify, I actually hear the words coming out of my mouth, the disease is that at the same time the little voice inside my head is screaming, “Stop. Don’t say this. It’s not as funny as you think it is”, or my favorite, “Who is this idiot talking?” It’s like I’m a twelve year old in a grown woman’s body. Oh, and if "said" crush is wearing cologne or has that musky pheromone thing going on, forget it, I can’t even be near them. So in summation, I apparently can’t stand next to or hold a conversation with anyone I find attractive. I need to figure this out or look into joining a convent, if not, it’s going to be a lonely road my friends…

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Drunken Kitties

I have a sensitive stomach. I’m not big on drinking but I have been known to get plain drunk so for the most part I have a hard time keeping up with my compadres. I don’t know if it can be considered such a thing, but if it can, I think it’s safe to say that when I’m out I’m the least drunk of the drunks. Except for the holiday party last year. But in my defense I worked my butt off that year-hence my less than stellar amount of blog entries. Nevertheless, I apologize to all the ex-boyfriends I texted that night, my co-worker who had to continuously pull my dress back down as it rode up my hips and settled on my waist (that last description reads sexier than the reality), and my poor roommate who not only had to put me to bed but pay for the pizza I had called in the order for and had delivered to the apartment while I was still in the cab heading home.

Last night I went out with my two girlfriends Koko* and Jojo* who I hadn’t seen for a week because I was out of town visiting my family. My friends are a sentimental bunch or they can’t pass up an opportunity to have a drink. I’m leaning towards the latter. We went to see a movie then headed towards a chain restaurant for a couple of drinks and a killer appetizer special. It’s important to note that it was a chain because 6 beers and 2 appetizers set us back 150 dollars. Ridiculous. Even more ridiculous was the guy who walked up to Jojo and asked her if she was Chinese. Jojo is from Connecticut but when she drinks all bets are off. Jojo is Latina – she’s worked as Jennifer Lopez’s stand-in on music videos so she’s never mistaken for Chinese. We all were dying to know what the hell this guy was talking about so I had to ask…“Why do you want to know if she’s Chinese?”

Weird guy: “Because she’s got beautiful eyes.”

JoJo (to weird guy): “You need to not speak. Stop talking now.”

Weird guy: “Are any of you Chinese? Because you all have pretty eyes.”

Me (to anyone): “I love this guy!”

KoKo: “I’m not Chinese but I’m from Kansas.”

Me (to KoKo): “Can’t you be Chinese and from Kansas? "

JoJo (to weird guy): “Why are you still here? You need to walk away. Now.”

Weird guy walks away.

Other highlights of the bar included KoKo asking the bartender if she knew a song by Alabama about wheat farmers and if she thought she dressed like a lesbian. For the record KoKo is in fact a lesbian. KoKo also wears bandanas and shops in the men’s department at stores and is shocked when I tell her she dresses like a pre-pubescent teenage boy who’s really into surfing. In KoKo’s defense she says JoJo and I are the girliest friends she has. Now Jojo will kick anyone’s ass for looking at her sideways and I’m well, me, so it’s safe to say KoKo needs more female influences in her life. We’re trying – Koko has been wearing eyeliner lately and makes it a point to let us know when it’s on.

Later, I got into a discussion with the bartender about how there are no good places to dance in Brooklyn. KoKo who is very proud of Brooklyn said I wasn’t giving Brooklyn a fair shot. I said the only people who dance in Brooklyn that I’ve seen are the Mexicans who turn their taquerias into strobe lit discos after a certain hour. KoKo proceeded to tell the bartender that I was half Mexican so I wouldn’t come off as racist. I don’t think the bartender fell for it.

At the second bar I made out with a stranger. Ko and Jo swore he was cute. Unfortunately, I was the only one sober enough the next morning to remember the reality. But if they insist he was hot, who am I to ruin my street cred?

At the third bar KoKo got into a fight with a wall in the bathroom and came out with bloody knuckles. While I was wrapping her hand in bar towels we wisely decided to call it a night. It turns out that I am the only one that remembers this bar. My only proof that any of it happened was that Koko woke up covered in drunkenly applied band-aids.

After we crashed at my place the next morning KoKo dropped JoJo off at work and took me to lunch. JoJo puked at work and I hurled outside the front window of the car just as we passed through Columbus Circle. To the construction worker whose boots narrowly missed my bile – I’m sorry. I truly am. But chances are, at some point in your life you probably lived up to a stereotype and harassed a girl who felt so uncomfortable that she wanted to throw up. That one was for her. What can I say? I have a sensitive stomach.

*Names have been changed to protect the guilty and debaucherous.

Thursday, June 05, 2008

Swappin' and Lovin'

Dear CBS,

Don't cancel "Swingtown". I know that the first episode hasn't even aired yet, but it looks delicious. People will hate on your show. That's okay. You are summer fun. Porn-staches, wife-swapping, and bad seventies stereotypes are just what I've been waiting for. And no worries, what you can't get across in over the top obvious dialogue you can always make up for with a kick-ass 70's soundtrack. So if you can't show "swapping" you can always just film a closed door and play "Oh What A Night" in the background. We'll get what you are trying to do. I can't wait. Seriously people, Harvey Wallbangers at my place tonight. Just make sure you leave your keys in the glass bowl by the front door...



Wednesday, June 04, 2008

Newsflash: Office Work Sucks!

I know at work when you grow up they sometimes give you your own office. I know that's supposed to be exciting and something you can call home about and say, "Hey look Ma, my own office!" Well let me come clean. Having my own office sucks. You know who laughs at my jokes now? Me. That's it. I'm talking to myself alot in here and I'm starting to sound crazy. I guess I have always sounded crazy but I could never hear it over the sound of deafening laughter coming from my co-workers. By deafening laughter I mean pity laughs. I haven't gone totally delusional.

It's like they took me out of gen pop and stuck me in solitary.

Now people knock on the door and ask me if they can come in to chat. Yuch. Whatever happened to throwing paper airplanes at my head to get my attention?

I have to make decisions and stuff.

Most importantly, I have to remember not to turn into this guy...

...because he is an asshole.

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

60 Minutes Makes Me Happy

I saw a great report on 60 minutes back in February ( I know. It's a bit late), that Danes (that's people from Denmark for everyone who didn't see the report...why they don't say they are Denish instead of Danish is beyond me) are the happiest people on earth. Really,Denmark? Oh how quickly we forget about Hamlet and Ophelia, now those were some happy Danes! I'll give them Brigitte Nielson though, she seems like a bowl of laughs. But I'll take Viggo Mortenson. He's half-Dane and half-hot. I digress...

Apparently, high expectations and the pressure we put on ourselves to succeed are to blame for all the misery over here in the States, "That pressure is a result of high expectations; wanting it all is a bacterium that stays with us from youth to old age - wanting a bigger house, fancier car, more stuff. And when we get more, there’s always someone with even more stuff, who's just as unhappy. Some suggest that the unhappiest zip codes in the country are the wealthiest, like the Upper East Side of New York." Hey 60 minutes, that's my zip code. Who said this quote? Some? Who is this "Some" person who suggested this? Dammit - I am happy. Do you have any idea how happy an elevator building with a doorman makes me? I bet "Some" never lived in one of those! Pshawwwww....

Monday, June 02, 2008

You Gotta Represent.

I spent the weekend in Sunset Park helping some friends with their stoop sale. It’s the New York equivalent of a yard sale but unfortunately, yards are something of an anomaly here in the city (that’s why we have parks) so you just put all your shit on your stoop and hope for the best. Now I never venture out to Brooklyn and what little knowledge I know of Sunset Park came from this little gem of a movie. Needless to say, Rhea Perlman and Carol Kane were no shows to the bargain fest where everything was priced to move for only 25 cents an item.

But who did show up, was this crazy little Latino grandma who had a million questions. Since I spent one glorious summer as a foreign exchange student in Mexico I by default was deemed by my peers as the official translator of the stoop. My translating went like this…

Me: "Como say di say ‘quarter’?” Cinquenta?

Stranger on the street trying to help me help the Abuela who’s looking through the junk at the stoop sale: “No that’s fifty”.

Friends having the stoop sale: “I thought you could speak Spanish?”

Me (to friends having stoop sale): “No. You said I could speak Spanish. I’m here for the Bloody Mary’s. Why am I the one selling your shit?”

Friend having the stoop sale: "What do you think is paying for the Bloody Mary’s?"

Abuela trying to buy shit: “No entiendes.”

Me: “Me either- Lo siento. Take everything and give me a quarter.”

Done. Or so I thought.

It turned out that the abuela didn’t leave. She was crazy town. Every time somebody would come by the stoop to look at something she would take it out of their hands and claim it was hers. I have never seen anything like it. We kept giving each other the ‘what do we do” face, because none of us knew how to handle the situation. The final straw was when an Asian woman who was looking at a puzzle priced at (you guessed it - a quarter!) became shell-shocked when the sweet little crazy ass abuela who we thought was “no habla ingles” turns to her and says “Hey China, go away, this mine.” The stoop sale was about to go down in flames. So my friend says to me, “Hey ‘Said’, go tell that lady she can’t call Asian people Chinese!”
“What? Fine. This is ridiculous.” I said, “But then what?”
“Then tell her to leave if she’s going to say racist shit and steal from the customers.”
“But I can’t speak that much Spanish’ I said.
“Do it.” They said, and proceeded to withhold my bloody mary until they saw results.
So I approached the abuela and said very quietly to her, “That puzzle costs three dollars.”

That’s all it took. She looked at me cross eyed and slung the trash bag of clothing she had swiped from other customers over her shoulder and walked off. I went back to the stoop and my friends were staring at me. “What did you say to her?” they asked. “Nothing. Just what you told me to say,” I responded casually as I poured my self a fresh bloody mary from the pitcher. But the truth was far more nefarious, because if there are two things I know about crazy people it’s this: Don’t mess with the prices at a stoop sale, and don’t withhold a bloody mary from a woman with a bitch of a hangover.

You Gotta Represent.