Jim Morrison said it best: "If you're strange, people are strange." I am strange, but people are definitely stranger. Evidence:
WEIRD SEARCHES VOLUME I:
1. Someone from Alabama searched "Whoopi Goldberg's vagina" and ended up here. You are sick.
2. Someone searched "gay city chree" at Yahoo! and wound up here. Those three words basically sum up my entire existence. This person is my soul mate. Call me.
3. Someone from Michigan searched "Pork pig animal rights" at Blogpulse and ended up at my "All Hail The Timberlake" post. Timberlake=man meat so maybe there is a correlation?
4. I've apparently become the number one source for Shia LaBeouf-related information, because everyone who's searched the poor boy, his movie "Disturbia" or Jewish ballerinas are winding up here.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Monday, April 30, 2007
The Greatest Love Story Never Told
Immaculate realization has hit and significantly brightened my day. The Tribeca Film Festival is coming up. Normally, this fact wouldn't even cross my mind but this year the festival is premiering "Scott Walker: 30th Century Man," produced by my one and only Qaf obsession Mr. Gale Harold *insert elongated swooning here. and a thud*. Now that I've been doing all these events for UrGuide, and there's a very good chance that it will be covering the event, there is a possibility floating around the universe that I could be in the same proximity as The Gale. If this dream somehow transforms itself into reality, I am 90% sure that I will be arrested. For rape, of course. The other 10% is equally split between the possibility of me fainting at the very sight of The Gale's hotness or death [cause of death: hot flashes?]. And I am not exaggerating, I know a lot of people say if they meet so and so they will "die" but, if I even breathe the same air as The Gale, I will literally die. I will combust from overheating. I seriously didn't go see him when he was Off-Broadway for "Suddenly Last Summer" for fear of croaking or pouncing on the poor boy in the middle of his performance. I'm a wreck. Ciao.
Seriously, can we just take a moment to behold the beauty:
Guh.
Editor's Note:
Breaking News: My life is an inflamed, puss-coated sore. Omar called me to come cover Tribeca later today. And where will I be? At the prison that is my job. So all of my dreams of me and The Gale locking eyes on the red carpet, him sweeping me off my feet and then impregnating me with his flawless man juice of love after a night of ravenous rape-age has been thwarted by "The Man." And by "The Man," I mean Society? Tracey? Bob? Who cares, I'm in mourning of the greatest love story never told. Sob.
Seriously, can we just take a moment to behold the beauty:
Guh.
Editor's Note:
Breaking News: My life is an inflamed, puss-coated sore. Omar called me to come cover Tribeca later today. And where will I be? At the prison that is my job. So all of my dreams of me and The Gale locking eyes on the red carpet, him sweeping me off my feet and then impregnating me with his flawless man juice of love after a night of ravenous rape-age has been thwarted by "The Man." And by "The Man," I mean Society? Tracey? Bob? Who cares, I'm in mourning of the greatest love story never told. Sob.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Got High?
My yogurt just ejaculated on me and there is a bunny scarecrow in the corner of the office. I am not clever enough to make this crap up. As you can tell, life is great. My coworkers are the most vile beasts the free world have ever seen. Bob the Denture Sucker and Hairy Harold are facing off in a Gross-Out Contest and so far they're at a dead tie. As a result of this competition, I can no longer consume egg drop soup or sugarfree Jell-O without activating my gag reflex. Thanks guys.
Anyhoo, apparently someone has decided to segue my glorious Spring Break with a complete and utter suckfest. This weekend was a bust. The week was okay, although work was uncommonly shitty, as you can tell by my aforementioned anecdotes. Thursday, Jody let me take a mental health day from school to go prom dress shopping [I love my mother] in Hicksville Long Island ["You know your town's bogus when the coolest thing in it's a water tower"], which, surprisingly wasn't as traumatic as last year's experience. After trying on a million and one prom dresses, I finally picked my perfect one. It's lipstick red and slinky and I love it. On the way home, Jody ridded me of my giddiness when she attempted to initiate a sex talk [not as genius as The Cohens' sex talk though. Evidence:
Sandy: Hey, listen, you were lucky to be able to hang in there after all that foreplay.
Seth: Fore-what-now?
Sandy: We Cohens are sexual beings.]
which prompted me to roll down the window and take a crack at highway suicide. Gross.
Friday was 420 so after school I migrated to Bay Ridge to celebrate the stoner festivities with Janine, Brenna and Laura. We pregamed at Casa de Other Izzo, where I discovered that pasta makes a really good shot chaser, then went to Fanning's where me and Brenna couldn't even drink because we were ID-less. Then went to Peggy's where we paid $20 cover charge for approximately fifteen minutes at the bar [where I may or may not have been called a "troll"]. The bar tender, who initially foiled our plans with her preposterous "one drink per ID[It is so hard to drink illegally in this damn country], recognized the girl on Laura's fake so she kicked her out and, being the good friends we are, we willingly followed. Pouted on a bench for twenty minutes with Mike & co., passed out in car service, threw up the six shots I'd inhaled and was out like a light off before 2. Wow, great 420 guys.
I was hoping Saturday would alleviate the overall shittiness but instead it actually intensified it. Work was, as you can tell, a suckathon, although, now that tax season is over, Bob the Denture Sucker leaves early and I do get an hour of freedom at the end of my shift. Saturday night, was supposed to go to karaoke with everyone for Mike's birthday but, due to severe migraine, exhaustion and mere crappiness of life, I stayed home with the new issue of Vogue and reruns of the GLAAD awards ["Chree, you've got to stop watching LOGO!!!"- Michelle. She's probably right; when you start identifying more with homosexual males than you do straight women, you know it's time to turn off the gay cable], which I cried hysterically to [out of awe of all the gay men of course]. Thankfully, Sunday was a much-needed snoozefest, although it was halted momentarily by my dog attacking the 'gina in my sleep. I believe she's a lesbian.
The school week was, again, relatively normal. Monday, an acting group from NYU came to The Boner to perform Shakespeare [I was sleeping, therefore I have no idea which play it was. It was the very definition of zzzz], whose only interesting occurence was when me and Ana discovered Mike's long lost twin from Oklahoma. Tuesday, me and The Apes got to ditch school to see "Jane Eyre" performed at Baruch College, which was Tony-worthy compared to the NYU play-o-crap, especially as a result of the adorable dogboy and all the molestation [I really wouldn't ask]. Today was the usual, except for the penis-covered period pads, the sex sermon and the catfights during Art History. Tomorrow I'm going to Boston with Deidre for BU's accepted student open house, which hopefully will get me out of this slup. Now I'm going to go back to my cashew consumption [I've literally eaten the entire cashew compartment of the candy machine. Like the entire thing, singlehandedly. That's talent] and Youtube stalking. Ciao.
Quotes of the Day:
"I love gay, anorexic raccoons"- Victoria
"I never want to be described that way after sex...wet panties and a swollen face."- Jill
Anyhoo, apparently someone has decided to segue my glorious Spring Break with a complete and utter suckfest. This weekend was a bust. The week was okay, although work was uncommonly shitty, as you can tell by my aforementioned anecdotes. Thursday, Jody let me take a mental health day from school to go prom dress shopping [I love my mother] in Hicksville Long Island ["You know your town's bogus when the coolest thing in it's a water tower"], which, surprisingly wasn't as traumatic as last year's experience. After trying on a million and one prom dresses, I finally picked my perfect one. It's lipstick red and slinky and I love it. On the way home, Jody ridded me of my giddiness when she attempted to initiate a sex talk [not as genius as The Cohens' sex talk though. Evidence:
Sandy: Hey, listen, you were lucky to be able to hang in there after all that foreplay.
Seth: Fore-what-now?
Sandy: We Cohens are sexual beings.]
which prompted me to roll down the window and take a crack at highway suicide. Gross.
Friday was 420 so after school I migrated to Bay Ridge to celebrate the stoner festivities with Janine, Brenna and Laura. We pregamed at Casa de Other Izzo, where I discovered that pasta makes a really good shot chaser, then went to Fanning's where me and Brenna couldn't even drink because we were ID-less. Then went to Peggy's where we paid $20 cover charge for approximately fifteen minutes at the bar [where I may or may not have been called a "troll"]. The bar tender, who initially foiled our plans with her preposterous "one drink per ID[It is so hard to drink illegally in this damn country], recognized the girl on Laura's fake so she kicked her out and, being the good friends we are, we willingly followed. Pouted on a bench for twenty minutes with Mike & co., passed out in car service, threw up the six shots I'd inhaled and was out like a light off before 2. Wow, great 420 guys.
I was hoping Saturday would alleviate the overall shittiness but instead it actually intensified it. Work was, as you can tell, a suckathon, although, now that tax season is over, Bob the Denture Sucker leaves early and I do get an hour of freedom at the end of my shift. Saturday night, was supposed to go to karaoke with everyone for Mike's birthday but, due to severe migraine, exhaustion and mere crappiness of life, I stayed home with the new issue of Vogue and reruns of the GLAAD awards ["Chree, you've got to stop watching LOGO!!!"- Michelle. She's probably right; when you start identifying more with homosexual males than you do straight women, you know it's time to turn off the gay cable], which I cried hysterically to [out of awe of all the gay men of course]. Thankfully, Sunday was a much-needed snoozefest, although it was halted momentarily by my dog attacking the 'gina in my sleep. I believe she's a lesbian.
The school week was, again, relatively normal. Monday, an acting group from NYU came to The Boner to perform Shakespeare [I was sleeping, therefore I have no idea which play it was. It was the very definition of zzzz], whose only interesting occurence was when me and Ana discovered Mike's long lost twin from Oklahoma. Tuesday, me and The Apes got to ditch school to see "Jane Eyre" performed at Baruch College, which was Tony-worthy compared to the NYU play-o-crap, especially as a result of the adorable dogboy and all the molestation [I really wouldn't ask]. Today was the usual, except for the penis-covered period pads, the sex sermon and the catfights during Art History. Tomorrow I'm going to Boston with Deidre for BU's accepted student open house, which hopefully will get me out of this slup. Now I'm going to go back to my cashew consumption [I've literally eaten the entire cashew compartment of the candy machine. Like the entire thing, singlehandedly. That's talent] and Youtube stalking. Ciao.
Quotes of the Day:
"I love gay, anorexic raccoons"- Victoria
"I never want to be described that way after sex...wet panties and a swollen face."- Jill
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Go Shia Go!
Warning: Here is the delayed actual Spring Break post. It will most likely be long but it's my blog so bear with me:
I am hungry, cranky, and my family thinks I'm a lesbian. But I have a brand new deliciously orange manicure so life's not all bad. I have to go back in the time continuum. Last Friday, everyone went out for Justine's 20th. Me, Justine, Mike, Christina, Alex, Will, Zain, Gabby, Tekla and Tara went to Mars 2112 for a night of intergalactic voyeurism, and, er, dinner. Traveled in a space ship ["Oh look, hemorrhoids...I mean asteroids"- Mike], spent the night mimicking alien yoga with Tekla, and made our skin turn into rubber with the magic of the bathroom air-dryers [Videos will be added because they are stupendous]. Afterwards, we searched around Little Korea for an available karaoke bar [Apparently, the only thing outnumbering karaoke bars in Little Korea are actual little Koreans. They're like the plague]. Once we found the designated destination [unfortunately not called Ding Dong Dang, as the one I had wanted to go to was spectacularly named], we started showcasing our jaw-dropping talent to the sophisticated sounds of Britney Spears, Spice Girls and the Backstreet Boys [Mike and Will's interpretation of "I Want It That Way" was particularly spell-binding. Evidence:
Me and Tekla did bring the house down with our performance of "That Thing You Do!" [see my karaoke envy in the Kiss Me I'm Shitfaced post on March 18th], if I do say so myself. The highlight of the night was when the young Asian guy who was forced by his boss to confiscate our alcohol snuck in a few cups of vodka during our group sing-a-long of Blink 182's "All The Small Things", spurning all of the girls to simultaneously molest him. We unanimously finale'd to the Hanson classic "MmmBop" [Retreat!], which starts to sound like "Oohbomdabalabalajadoobom, Dobeedamala!!, doobom" after a group of sloshed youth sings it over and over again. Took cab home, which sparked the previous Dashboard Confessional post, which was 60 indispensable dollers out of my pocket and got me home at two, just to wake up a few hours later to go to the torture chamber that is my job [I will eventually quit...I will...stop looking at me with those furrowed brows of judgment!].
Saturday, after work, I believe I slept because I have absolutely no recollection of what I did. Sunday was, unfortunately, Easter. Easter, like Thanksgiving, is one of those holidays that make me realize how truly and utterly insane my entire family is, because I'm not clouded over by the magic of presents like on Christmas or sugar-high from candy like on Halloween, plus the turkey-coma wears off after a bit, leaving me to view, in pure sobriety, how I ended up the mess I am. It was the same as every year; spent at Uncle Lou's house [yawn] and consisted of watching a ferocious three-year-old maul his father [Is there a hotline for abused parents?], sparking an argument about what Jesus-centric event we were actually celebrating [mind you, I've been in Catholic school for fourteen years], and craving nicotine as much as Donald Trump's hair craves a makeover. Afterwards, I was actually allowed to chauffeur la familia to Aunt Rachael's house, to the chorus of Glenn and Jody's backseat breakdowns, where I was tricked into writing a letter to Oprah about Bon Jovi for Cara by means of ice cream sundaes and watched "The Sopranos", who are officially more normal than my own family.
Monday, after work and a brief meeting with the Elliptical [we're slowly making our way past the friendly acquaintance mark], Steph, Ana, Mike, Justine, and Chris came over for what was supposed to be a manhunt masquerade [Steph even came in her witch costume and I was prepared to break out the Marilyn] but what quickly morphed into turbaned hide-n-seek. After a while, we ended up just doing the Hokey Pokey in the middle of the streets with bed sheets wrapped around our heads and chasing down those annoying late night joggers. Snarfed craptastic Dominos at 11 [Diet's going really well!], watched Harry Potter and did face [and boob, Michael] painting like the mature gremlins that we are.
Tuesday was the "Perfect Stranger" premiere so I met up with Omar, John the Breathatarian [...no comment], and Catrina. The premiere was crazy; there were so many celebrities on the red carpet. We talked to American Idol's Kimberly Locke who is such a sweetheart, Daniella Van Graas who is beyond pretty, the director James Foley who was in dire need of a moist toilette [he had this gross white stuff on his mouth during the entire interview, Paula Miranda who was dangerously close to having a Janet-Jackson-exposed-moment, and, me and Catrina's favorite, Giovanni Ribisi [Phoebe's brother from Friends. I love how every actor I meet is somehow connected to the freaking show], who I could just eat with a spoon and who I laughed way too loudly at [he must think I'm insane] when Catrina asked him about "The Other Sister" [a movie he made about a decade ago. Great journalism Catrina, almost as good as when you asked Steve Martin about pedicures :) ]. Saw Christy Turlington, Martina McBride, Tim Robbins [who's son is surprisingly hot] and Pat Sajak [yes, you read that correctly]. Julia Stiles, Adrianna Lima and Ed Burns [hot!] all ran away from the press, and we only got one question each with the two main star, Halle Berry and Bruce Willis. Halle Berry is astonishingly tiny but isn't as breathtaking as rumored; I mean she's still gorgeous but I didn't pass out or anything. Bruce Willis is spoosed and wouldn't directly answer any interviewers' questions. Afterwards, we were going to check out a Mya concert in a club in the Meat-Packing District but Omar could only sneak in one underage blonde so I opted to head home early.
Wednesday and Thursday were much-needed snooze days after the hectic-ness of the premiere. Wednesday was just work and driving lessons, and Thursday I said no to interview Julianne Moore [I know, I'm a moron] for day of piano, exercise and more driving, during which I freaked out Scotty the Instructor with my fondness for Jesus statues and my diabolical plans involving midgets and tree stumps. Yesterday, met up with Jess early to get my nails done and celebrate Magazine Day, the best day ever. Talked Jess into skipping work to go see "Disturbia" [see SHIA LOVE! after the Ciao] with me, Gen and Steph, which was awesome. Journalistic tendencies are brewing so I'll write up a review of "Disturbia" in a bit. Tonight, so far plans are to head over to Bridget's for a Spring Break finale, then sleep away my, hopefully, drunkenness tomorrow all day long. Sounds ah-mazing. Ciao.
Quotes of the Day: Ode to Steph
“I got my meningitis shot. So now, in fact, I have meningitis"- Steph
Steph: so i texted u not realizing u still dont have ur phone and some random chree with a 281 area code answered me lmao.. i wonder who else
Chree: lol
Steph: fine out what area 281 is
Chree: lmaooo: 281 TX Texas: Houston Metro
Steph: lmaoooo greatttttt maybe ana know them
Chree: yes, cowboy chree!
Steph: my horoscope told me to go tonight read telstra gemini report 90% coming said it would be sentimental
Chree: see
Steph: jesus is telling me to come
Chree: you have no idea how many quotes of the day are from your mouth
Steph: chree i dont want to alrm u..but i have rubella
Chree: oh god, another one
Steph: lmaoo please dont quarantine me... blaim my doc hes the sob that diseased me.. i heard tonic water is good for my issue
SHIA LOVE!:
Steph: Shia Saide LaBeouf was born June 11, 1986 in Los Angeles, California to Jeffrey LaBeouf, a Cajun circus clown, and Shayna Saide, a Jewish American ballerina.
Chree: lmao
Steph: the best opening bio of anyone
Chree: seriously it's so genius
I am hungry, cranky, and my family thinks I'm a lesbian. But I have a brand new deliciously orange manicure so life's not all bad. I have to go back in the time continuum. Last Friday, everyone went out for Justine's 20th. Me, Justine, Mike, Christina, Alex, Will, Zain, Gabby, Tekla and Tara went to Mars 2112 for a night of intergalactic voyeurism, and, er, dinner. Traveled in a space ship ["Oh look, hemorrhoids...I mean asteroids"- Mike], spent the night mimicking alien yoga with Tekla, and made our skin turn into rubber with the magic of the bathroom air-dryers [Videos will be added because they are stupendous]. Afterwards, we searched around Little Korea for an available karaoke bar [Apparently, the only thing outnumbering karaoke bars in Little Korea are actual little Koreans. They're like the plague]. Once we found the designated destination [unfortunately not called Ding Dong Dang, as the one I had wanted to go to was spectacularly named], we started showcasing our jaw-dropping talent to the sophisticated sounds of Britney Spears, Spice Girls and the Backstreet Boys [Mike and Will's interpretation of "I Want It That Way" was particularly spell-binding. Evidence:
Me and Tekla did bring the house down with our performance of "That Thing You Do!" [see my karaoke envy in the Kiss Me I'm Shitfaced post on March 18th], if I do say so myself. The highlight of the night was when the young Asian guy who was forced by his boss to confiscate our alcohol snuck in a few cups of vodka during our group sing-a-long of Blink 182's "All The Small Things", spurning all of the girls to simultaneously molest him. We unanimously finale'd to the Hanson classic "MmmBop" [Retreat!], which starts to sound like "Oohbomdabalabalajadoobom, Dobeedamala!!, doobom" after a group of sloshed youth sings it over and over again. Took cab home, which sparked the previous Dashboard Confessional post, which was 60 indispensable dollers out of my pocket and got me home at two, just to wake up a few hours later to go to the torture chamber that is my job [I will eventually quit...I will...stop looking at me with those furrowed brows of judgment!].
Saturday, after work, I believe I slept because I have absolutely no recollection of what I did. Sunday was, unfortunately, Easter. Easter, like Thanksgiving, is one of those holidays that make me realize how truly and utterly insane my entire family is, because I'm not clouded over by the magic of presents like on Christmas or sugar-high from candy like on Halloween, plus the turkey-coma wears off after a bit, leaving me to view, in pure sobriety, how I ended up the mess I am. It was the same as every year; spent at Uncle Lou's house [yawn] and consisted of watching a ferocious three-year-old maul his father [Is there a hotline for abused parents?], sparking an argument about what Jesus-centric event we were actually celebrating [mind you, I've been in Catholic school for fourteen years], and craving nicotine as much as Donald Trump's hair craves a makeover. Afterwards, I was actually allowed to chauffeur la familia to Aunt Rachael's house, to the chorus of Glenn and Jody's backseat breakdowns, where I was tricked into writing a letter to Oprah about Bon Jovi for Cara by means of ice cream sundaes and watched "The Sopranos", who are officially more normal than my own family.
Monday, after work and a brief meeting with the Elliptical [we're slowly making our way past the friendly acquaintance mark], Steph, Ana, Mike, Justine, and Chris came over for what was supposed to be a manhunt masquerade [Steph even came in her witch costume and I was prepared to break out the Marilyn] but what quickly morphed into turbaned hide-n-seek. After a while, we ended up just doing the Hokey Pokey in the middle of the streets with bed sheets wrapped around our heads and chasing down those annoying late night joggers. Snarfed craptastic Dominos at 11 [Diet's going really well!], watched Harry Potter and did face [and boob, Michael] painting like the mature gremlins that we are.
Tuesday was the "Perfect Stranger" premiere so I met up with Omar, John the Breathatarian [...no comment], and Catrina. The premiere was crazy; there were so many celebrities on the red carpet. We talked to American Idol's Kimberly Locke who is such a sweetheart, Daniella Van Graas who is beyond pretty, the director James Foley who was in dire need of a moist toilette [he had this gross white stuff on his mouth during the entire interview, Paula Miranda who was dangerously close to having a Janet-Jackson-exposed-moment, and, me and Catrina's favorite, Giovanni Ribisi [Phoebe's brother from Friends. I love how every actor I meet is somehow connected to the freaking show], who I could just eat with a spoon and who I laughed way too loudly at [he must think I'm insane] when Catrina asked him about "The Other Sister" [a movie he made about a decade ago. Great journalism Catrina, almost as good as when you asked Steve Martin about pedicures :) ]. Saw Christy Turlington, Martina McBride, Tim Robbins [who's son is surprisingly hot] and Pat Sajak [yes, you read that correctly]. Julia Stiles, Adrianna Lima and Ed Burns [hot!] all ran away from the press, and we only got one question each with the two main star, Halle Berry and Bruce Willis. Halle Berry is astonishingly tiny but isn't as breathtaking as rumored; I mean she's still gorgeous but I didn't pass out or anything. Bruce Willis is spoosed and wouldn't directly answer any interviewers' questions. Afterwards, we were going to check out a Mya concert in a club in the Meat-Packing District but Omar could only sneak in one underage blonde so I opted to head home early.
Wednesday and Thursday were much-needed snooze days after the hectic-ness of the premiere. Wednesday was just work and driving lessons, and Thursday I said no to interview Julianne Moore [I know, I'm a moron] for day of piano, exercise and more driving, during which I freaked out Scotty the Instructor with my fondness for Jesus statues and my diabolical plans involving midgets and tree stumps. Yesterday, met up with Jess early to get my nails done and celebrate Magazine Day, the best day ever. Talked Jess into skipping work to go see "Disturbia" [see SHIA LOVE! after the Ciao] with me, Gen and Steph, which was awesome. Journalistic tendencies are brewing so I'll write up a review of "Disturbia" in a bit. Tonight, so far plans are to head over to Bridget's for a Spring Break finale, then sleep away my, hopefully, drunkenness tomorrow all day long. Sounds ah-mazing. Ciao.
Quotes of the Day: Ode to Steph
“I got my meningitis shot. So now, in fact, I have meningitis"- Steph
Steph: so i texted u not realizing u still dont have ur phone and some random chree with a 281 area code answered me lmao.. i wonder who else
Chree: lol
Steph: fine out what area 281 is
Chree: lmaooo: 281 TX Texas: Houston Metro
Steph: lmaoooo greatttttt maybe ana know them
Chree: yes, cowboy chree!
Steph: my horoscope told me to go tonight read telstra gemini report 90% coming said it would be sentimental
Chree: see
Steph: jesus is telling me to come
Chree: you have no idea how many quotes of the day are from your mouth
Steph: chree i dont want to alrm u..but i have rubella
Chree: oh god, another one
Steph: lmaoo please dont quarantine me... blaim my doc hes the sob that diseased me.. i heard tonic water is good for my issue
SHIA LOVE!:
Steph: Shia Saide LaBeouf was born June 11, 1986 in Los Angeles, California to Jeffrey LaBeouf, a Cajun circus clown, and Shayna Saide, a Jewish American ballerina.
Chree: lmao
Steph: the best opening bio of anyone
Chree: seriously it's so genius
Saturday, April 7, 2007
Dashboard Confessional
For some strange reason, cab drivers tend to pour their hearts out, let go of their inhibitions, pull a Lifetime-movie and express their feelings. To me. Now, once is odd but can be dealt with. Twice, maybe a coincidence? But three times? Maybe I should shave my head and start making everyone call me Dr. Phil because this is what it’s come down to. This string of dashboard confessionals [Oh, I am so clever. Bask in my cleverness people!] began with a Caribbean car service driver who, during the short drive from Gerritsen to mi casa, proceeded to fill me in, in detail, on his struggling love triangle relationship with his coke fiend girlfriend and her drug dealers [“The triangle is not a friendly shape, okay? It's pointy, it's got sharp edges. Triangles hurt people.”- Cohen (!) I swear, most occurrences in my life can translate back to one of Cohen’s quotes of genius-ness]. As usual, I was buzzed beyond belief and therefore cannot remember or share my brilliant advice and slurs of wisdom.
Then, there was the angry Polish driver who was unsatisfied with his present automotive existence and dreamed of being an accountant. Yes, you read that correctly; he dreamed of being an accountant. He aims high. By the time I had paid the fare, I knew how and when he came from Poland to New York, knew the name of his first American girlfriend, and knew about the joy that numbers gave him. Numbers.
Then, last night’s cab ride from Manhattan just cinched it. A sweet Muslim man drove me home during which he inquired about the difference between boyfriends and boy friends, and interrogated me about the sexual behaviors and overt promiscuity of young American girls [who, us?], revealing that such, err, openness about premarital sex, condoms, etc. made his distraught and yearn for more spiritual and moral guidance in today’s youth. I don’t know what is it about me that makes people want to rip their hearts off their sleeves and hand them over, but they consistently do it. Whether it’s drunks pouring their hearts out to me while pouring another beer, or cabbies looking for an Oprah of their own, I am always on the receiving end [that wasn’t meant to sound that dirty], always the holder of their secrets, who is now publishing them worldwide on her blog. Good job. Ciao.
Then, there was the angry Polish driver who was unsatisfied with his present automotive existence and dreamed of being an accountant. Yes, you read that correctly; he dreamed of being an accountant. He aims high. By the time I had paid the fare, I knew how and when he came from Poland to New York, knew the name of his first American girlfriend, and knew about the joy that numbers gave him. Numbers.
Then, last night’s cab ride from Manhattan just cinched it. A sweet Muslim man drove me home during which he inquired about the difference between boyfriends and boy friends, and interrogated me about the sexual behaviors and overt promiscuity of young American girls [who, us?], revealing that such, err, openness about premarital sex, condoms, etc. made his distraught and yearn for more spiritual and moral guidance in today’s youth. I don’t know what is it about me that makes people want to rip their hearts off their sleeves and hand them over, but they consistently do it. Whether it’s drunks pouring their hearts out to me while pouring another beer, or cabbies looking for an Oprah of their own, I am always on the receiving end [that wasn’t meant to sound that dirty], always the holder of their secrets, who is now publishing them worldwide on her blog. Good job. Ciao.
Friday, April 6, 2007
Random Bits
1. Sneezing with iPod headphones is very awkward. You can't hear if anyone says "God bless you", and therefore cannot say "Thank you" unless you want to look like a tard if no one actually said it. But, if someone did say "God bless you" and you don't say "Thank you" because you didn't hear it in the first place, you look like a bitch. These are the thoughts that wrack through my brain at night.
2. What genius decided to make women have their periods all at the same time? Fontbonne almost literally burst in equal parts blood and bitchiness. Fucking Eve and her fucking apple.
3. Shopping for a prom dress is worse than Brazilian bikini waxes and your favorite bra's strap snapping combined [Random side note: However, your favorite bra's strap snapping is a close second. You know the bra, the one that lifts and separates and gives you the kind of cleavage that usually means you're not paying for your own drinks that night? There has been many a time when I've tried to salvage a good bra by stapling or duck-taping the straps back on. I'm so classy.] I literally needed a machete to get through all the chiffon. Devil.
4. My friend Laura showed me this a while ago and it's the most Blog de Chree-worthy piece of Youtube Love that I've ever seen:
2. What genius decided to make women have their periods all at the same time? Fontbonne almost literally burst in equal parts blood and bitchiness. Fucking Eve and her fucking apple.
3. Shopping for a prom dress is worse than Brazilian bikini waxes and your favorite bra's strap snapping combined [Random side note: However, your favorite bra's strap snapping is a close second. You know the bra, the one that lifts and separates and gives you the kind of cleavage that usually means you're not paying for your own drinks that night? There has been many a time when I've tried to salvage a good bra by stapling or duck-taping the straps back on. I'm so classy.] I literally needed a machete to get through all the chiffon. Devil.
4. My friend Laura showed me this a while ago and it's the most Blog de Chree-worthy piece of Youtube Love that I've ever seen:
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Raw Foods and Ice Cubes
Spring Break is officially here. WOOT! Okay, so I’m not on some Caribbean island with a boy attached to my arm and a beer funnel attached to my face as hoards of coeds bond with the rally cry, “Chug!”, but so far, vacation in grey, grungy New York beats a beach bum hump fest any day. Plus, exposure to sunlight transforms me into a 5-foot-three-inch lobster. Shit happens.
Saturday after an excruciatingly long day at work [I’m about to quit. I’ve been saying that for the past two years so don’t pay any attention to me.], went to Bay Ridge to hang out with Mike, Justine, Chris, Desiree, Alex, Will, Zain and Gabby for a sober but fun evening. Partook in such dangerous events as car tag [one car is “it” and has to “chase” the other car around the neighborhood…yeah, don’t try it at home], set to an amazing soundtrack of The Transplants and Ricky Martin [Livin La Vida Loca!], hood surfing [Alex and Justine clung to the hood of the Cruiseship while Mike looked for a parking spot. Again, not recommended if you somewhat value your life], and trying to steal jello cups from senior citizens [Do not ask]. Then played the name game for a while, and had a sing-a-long to old school Good Charlotte with Desiree on the way home.
Sunday, my parents proved their already established insanity by hosting a Dinner Party Competition in my house. Aunt Carm and Uncle Steve judged as the Usuals divided themselves into five teams and each threw their own dinner party to see whose sucks least. As a direct result of this absurdity and in protection of our own dwindling mental capacities, I, Hootie and Steph escaped the mental asylum to go see a movie. Randomly ran into Mike, Justine, Zain and Gabby so I decided to be a fifth wheel and tag along with them to see the mind-exercising masterpiece, “Blades of Glory”. Um, yeah, if you didn’t realize that that last sentence was drenched in sarcasm, you will have to leave the premises immediately. Just so you understand.
Monday was a completely pointless school day; I had four frees and religion. Useless. Tuesday, decided to start vacation early and skipped school so I could do my first on-camera interview for UrGuide. Me, Omar and John the Breathatarian[who is actually just a vegetarian who really enjoys oxygen. Oh well, the name works] went to the Apollo Theater in Harlem for the premiere of “Are We Done Yet?” the sequel to “Are We There Yet?” Me walking through the streets of Harlem is definitely a sight to be believed; they probably thought I was an albino, I’m so melanin-ly challenged. But it was awesome just being on the stage of the Apollo, it’s so historic. I got to interview Ice Cube and Alicia Allen, who were both really nice and took the time to answer all of my questions, even though it was pretty clear that I had no idea what I was doing.
We didn’t stay to watch the actual movie because, frankly, the first one sucked harder than a Hoover and history tends to repeat itself. Instead, we met up with John’s friend Marcello, who is a photographer and is hilariously violent; especially towards slow pedestrians [“I WILL hit you! I will go second gear all over you ass!”]. We schlepped over to Chelsea so me and Omar could have our raw-food cherries popped at this all-raw restaurant Bonobos. We gorged ourselves on walnut pâté, sprouts and coconut chai, which, even for this butcher’s daughter, were surprisingly good. Afterwards, we parted so John and Marcello could finish a screenplay they were working on and I and Omar could finish editing UrGuide.
Yesterday, skipped school yet again because it was only a mass and apparently missed a very entertaining pony tailed Holy Roller with a guitar tortured the Bonnie congregation with Jesus-lover songs. Damn. I was enjoying my day of pistachio-inhalation and old school Will and Grace episodes [I’m talking old school, like when Karen didn’t have her whiny voice yet], when I realized I had completely forgot that I had planned to see “Curtains” with Winnie and the Broadway Bonnies so I had to cancel my plans with Jess and haul my ass to The Boner to meet up with everyone. I’m glad I did because the play was hilarious; David Hyde Pierce has exquisite comedic timing and the talent of the supporting cast more than made up for the unbearably grotesque woman sitting next to me chomping her gum like a cow and distracting me from the magnificence. Obviously, I highly recommend. Go see it. Now. Today was normal, although the morons at work were way more annoying than usual. Just finished up my way-delayed driving lesson and luckily I’m not that tragic so hopefully I’ll have my license for the summer. I think this is long enough. QAF is coming on and I need my Spunk! Fix. Ciao.
Saturday after an excruciatingly long day at work [I’m about to quit. I’ve been saying that for the past two years so don’t pay any attention to me.], went to Bay Ridge to hang out with Mike, Justine, Chris, Desiree, Alex, Will, Zain and Gabby for a sober but fun evening. Partook in such dangerous events as car tag [one car is “it” and has to “chase” the other car around the neighborhood…yeah, don’t try it at home], set to an amazing soundtrack of The Transplants and Ricky Martin [Livin La Vida Loca!], hood surfing [Alex and Justine clung to the hood of the Cruiseship while Mike looked for a parking spot. Again, not recommended if you somewhat value your life], and trying to steal jello cups from senior citizens [Do not ask]. Then played the name game for a while, and had a sing-a-long to old school Good Charlotte with Desiree on the way home.
Sunday, my parents proved their already established insanity by hosting a Dinner Party Competition in my house. Aunt Carm and Uncle Steve judged as the Usuals divided themselves into five teams and each threw their own dinner party to see whose sucks least. As a direct result of this absurdity and in protection of our own dwindling mental capacities, I, Hootie and Steph escaped the mental asylum to go see a movie. Randomly ran into Mike, Justine, Zain and Gabby so I decided to be a fifth wheel and tag along with them to see the mind-exercising masterpiece, “Blades of Glory”. Um, yeah, if you didn’t realize that that last sentence was drenched in sarcasm, you will have to leave the premises immediately. Just so you understand.
Monday was a completely pointless school day; I had four frees and religion. Useless. Tuesday, decided to start vacation early and skipped school so I could do my first on-camera interview for UrGuide. Me, Omar and John the Breathatarian[who is actually just a vegetarian who really enjoys oxygen. Oh well, the name works] went to the Apollo Theater in Harlem for the premiere of “Are We Done Yet?” the sequel to “Are We There Yet?” Me walking through the streets of Harlem is definitely a sight to be believed; they probably thought I was an albino, I’m so melanin-ly challenged. But it was awesome just being on the stage of the Apollo, it’s so historic. I got to interview Ice Cube and Alicia Allen, who were both really nice and took the time to answer all of my questions, even though it was pretty clear that I had no idea what I was doing.
We didn’t stay to watch the actual movie because, frankly, the first one sucked harder than a Hoover and history tends to repeat itself. Instead, we met up with John’s friend Marcello, who is a photographer and is hilariously violent; especially towards slow pedestrians [“I WILL hit you! I will go second gear all over you ass!”]. We schlepped over to Chelsea so me and Omar could have our raw-food cherries popped at this all-raw restaurant Bonobos. We gorged ourselves on walnut pâté, sprouts and coconut chai, which, even for this butcher’s daughter, were surprisingly good. Afterwards, we parted so John and Marcello could finish a screenplay they were working on and I and Omar could finish editing UrGuide.
Yesterday, skipped school yet again because it was only a mass and apparently missed a very entertaining pony tailed Holy Roller with a guitar tortured the Bonnie congregation with Jesus-lover songs. Damn. I was enjoying my day of pistachio-inhalation and old school Will and Grace episodes [I’m talking old school, like when Karen didn’t have her whiny voice yet], when I realized I had completely forgot that I had planned to see “Curtains” with Winnie and the Broadway Bonnies so I had to cancel my plans with Jess and haul my ass to The Boner to meet up with everyone. I’m glad I did because the play was hilarious; David Hyde Pierce has exquisite comedic timing and the talent of the supporting cast more than made up for the unbearably grotesque woman sitting next to me chomping her gum like a cow and distracting me from the magnificence. Obviously, I highly recommend. Go see it. Now. Today was normal, although the morons at work were way more annoying than usual. Just finished up my way-delayed driving lesson and luckily I’m not that tragic so hopefully I’ll have my license for the summer. I think this is long enough. QAF is coming on and I need my Spunk! Fix. Ciao.
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