fun night stand

In fact, I’m in love with Italian food

Something wonderful happened. The NBC gem, The Office, came to an end. The mockumentry that we all loved (and then hated but still watched via Hulu when nothing good was on Bravo) wrapped up. I just watched it and I am sobbing.

Signs and Cowbells Everywhere

I normally dislike mass Facebook nonsense. I didn’t change my profile picture for marriage equality not because I’m against it, but because I didn’t want to. I enjoy the picture of 15 year old me sleeping during an LD weekend meeting. I feel weird about other things on Facebook. Sonogram pictures, “we just got engaged!” updates, suggestions for Farmville… these things are not my style. But Monday changed my tune.

I spent my day between mile markers 20 and 23. The Boston Marathon really is just as cool as it sounds. Watching people that have no legs blow past you on a bike is nothing short of marvelous. Men and women in full army gear running with flags and packs. Cancer survivors, war vets, people from all over the world running for something. The crowds that form are full of encouragement. People of all ages cheering for hours for people they don’t even know. Signs and cowbells everywhere. The runners can’t ignore the love.

I was tapped out around 2:50pm. My friends and I got stuck on the inbound side of Beacon st. We walked for hours trying to get across the road. Once there was a break, I froggered myself to the T tracks and marched home. I cut through some side roads and walked past the corner store on Sutherland. A man was on his phone yelling  “What What! What the fuck? Are you sure they were bombs?” I had to stop. What bombs? Where? “What’s going on?” I asked. “2 bombs went off at Copley. At the finish line,” he said while texting. “Oh my god, no. Are you sure?” No way. I took out my phone and called my roommate. The call didn’t go through. A swarm of cop cars charged down Comm ave. I could hear sirens and helicopters. What the fuck was happening?

I ran home. None of my calls were going through. The news was making me scared. My roommates and I sat on my bed. Our phones buzzing and beeping. Where were our friends? I opened Facebook and started to scan status updates. One by one, my friends were posting “I’m safe” or “Don’t worry. I am okay”.  I kept trying to call my dad. My eyes were bouncing from Buzzfeed to CNN to Facebook. Where were my friends? What is happening? My phone rang. It was my best friend. She was in Florida and couldn’t get a hold of her boyfriend. With their apartment 2 blocks from the finish line, I began to worry. “He’s fine. He’s fine” we told ourselves. She was so far away. It made me sick. After we got off the phone, I updated my status. “I am safe” was all I had to say. Within minutes my phone receiving texts. Between Facebook and text messages, dozens of friends reached out to me. Some people hadn’t seen me in years, but that didn’t seem to matter.

My point is that I don’t usually think that Facebook improves or helps in a meaningful way. It is just surface. With all these “like” quotas and contests, it just seems so cheap. But something changed on Monday. I used it to tell people that I was safe. I typed three words on a website. That action was so simple but so powerful.

I grew up just north of Manhattan. I was in high school when the planes flew into the twin towers. I am used to living in a place that is associate with tragedy and rebuilding. It is weird and sad. Certain things get annoying. Like the constant reminding of the “tragedy” or “aftermath of the ____”. It makes me feel weird. Terrible things happen everywhere, every day. It’s shitty and awkward. When these shitty things happen close by, it’s hard not to feel insecure. Blaguch. But Monday changed that for me. On Monday I used Facebook for good. I felt secure in knowing that my silly friends were okay. I connected with people that care. People that were concerned because they knew that there was a strong possibility that I was crazy enough to hang out at the finish line.  Technology is pretty cool. You should try it.  

All those 19 year old girls and their leggings

Living in college town USA makes me think about my undergrad experience. There isn’t a single day that goes by where I’m not jealous of all those 19 year old girls and their leggings. While there are countless college memories that make me smile, there are too many that I want to control alt delete from my recollection.

My best friend does a great job at reminding me to take of myself. She makes me feel valuable, which I think is precisely what best friends are for. I have been thinking a lot about things I wish I knew back then. Back when I was a 19 year old college student.  Things that I’m certain I called her crying about. This is my list that I wish my best friend would have told me.

1.       It is okay to freak out. Really. If my professor is a dick or I misplace my flash drive it is okay to get really upset and cry. Trying to keep it together is tough. Get it all out and move on. People won’t think that I am a pathetic baby. I shouldn’t think of myself that way either.

2.       Having a relationship is not part of my coursework. Boyfriend X is not going to hand me my BA at the end.  He is also not going to reimburse me for all the money that I spent trying to fix things. It is ridiculous to stay up all night staring at my textbook waiting for a phone call. Being sad about a boy is not an excuse for barely passing a Bio-psych exam. Get a grip. School comes first.

3.       Wegman’s is the best.

4.       Managing money is a skill. The small amount of money I have now is plenty. Learn how to stretch it. If I want to be a teacher, I’m going to have to learn how to do this FOREVER.

5.       Holding on to fading friendships is not worth it. Be nice to others and honest with myself. If someone wants to be my friend, they will by my friend. It shouldn’t be that hard.

6.       Say “no” more often. People will get over it.

7.       Appreciate the opportunities that you are being offered. College is a privilege you fucking brat. My parents worked very hard to raise me in a community that values education. They have given their blood sweat and tears so that I could go off to school and study whatever I want. My father did not work countless hours to pay for me to be too stoned to go to class in the middle of the day.

8.       Embrace the bubble. Shit gets real after graduation.

In the process of navigating my adult life, I really should stop and think more. Most of this list is applicable to my life now. I have also done a considerable amount of thinking about happiness. (I have also started watching Revenge and let me tell you, I am loving all of it. It is like The OC but with better technology and New York references.) Happiness is a fresh manicure. Happiness is a work day without accident/ incident reports. Happiness is standing in Star Market with my best friend and being completely amused by her outrageous shopping list.  

XOXO

Gossip Girl might be over, but don’t fret. It lives forever on the interwebs. And while my interest has dithered, in the last week I’ve fallen for it all over again. No, it’s not SVU (because that is an impossible comparison (that isn’t fair)) or Parenthood (again, not fair); it’s really just delicious, aspiring eye candy. I’ve been hopping around Netflix, and I find myself going, “Oh, B!” and “No, Serena, not again!”

So here we go: 5 reasons why I’m all over Gossip Girl, all over again.

The Nonsense

Every episode has so much going on. And by “so much” I mean a ridiculously unbelievable web of ridiculously unbelievable events that snowball in to ridiculously unbelievable series of outcomes. I can never keep track of who is fighting, who is mending and when Jenny will be baby Jenny again? I love this thickening web of nonsense. It is better than sodoku! Now I know gossip is evil and you shouldn’t be talking about anyone, which is where Gossip Girl comes in; they do all the talking for you!

S and B

They are both not the nicest of girls, that’s a given. I love how they capitalize on opportunities to screw each other over. But Serena and Blaire (when they aren’t attacking each other) are so cute. They’re so comfortable with each other when they’re in their ”on” phases. I love their fashion talk woven in with topical insults. No other pair can blend blazer puns with New York City landmarks. It reminds me of the Dawson’s Creek kids and their SAT vernacular. It just flows so nicely.

Nate and Chuck 

Not only are their plot lines awesomely ridiculous (who gives a teenager a hotel?), but the guys are so dashing. I mean, their looks just top it off. Chuck is a great diva and Nate… oh, poor Nate. He just wants to love. And yet he can’t seem to get out of his own way. He is not right for Blaire but he doesn’t seem to go for the right girl (oh my god, I hate Vanessa. That was so stupid I want to Men in Black mind erase it from my life). Remember when he was squatting in his parents foreclosed townhouse? That was silly. (I do feel bad for almost everyone in this show though. Their home lives don’t seem very pleasant. All of their parents’ faces are weird.)

Dan

Dan is so stupid, he deserves his own reason why I love GG. My relationship with Dan is complicated. I like that he’s down-to-earth, and a writer. But he kind of just annoys me sometimes because he’s a pushover. And so confused all the time! I have never seen someone be so unsure of everything. Same with Serena. It’s like, S, Dan is perfect for you! When will you realize this and stop screwing things up every few episodes?! Ugh. But, it’s okay. Dan’s looks make up for it all. Damn, this cast is just full of good looking people.

Lilly and Rufus

Parents? I’m listing parents? Well, yeah. Rufus is pretty cool. He was in a band, he is raising his kids in Brooklyn, and he wears a sweet choker necklace. So cool. And Lily? When she’s not busy pursuing her lips or planning some social gathering, I like her. I like that her and Rufus have history. It makes things interesting. UES Lilly and BKYN Rufus… so romanical.

Stale beer and Daisy

Four years ago I was just a silly college kid living a silly college life. I was irresponsible, tired and busy avoiding certain realities. It was great! Somewhere in all of this chaos, I thought it was a great time to become a mother. No no, not like a human baby. My interest was more in the feline form.

“I want a kitten!” and I took to the internet. Naturally, Craigslist was my first stop. I entered “free kitten”. Hundreds of ads popped up. I will take all of them! Kitten Party! With my burst of energy, I started exploring. A few minutes in… my bubble was bursting. I assumed that we, as a people, decided that kitten was a term used to define a BABY cat. I was wrong. My search provided ads that for adult cats. Ew. Most of them were orange. Double ew. Why were people lying to me? Craigslist is no place for deception.

This adventure was fading. I was clicking on ads and looking at the same full grown ginger cats. Right when I was about to thrown in the towel, I clicked on one last ad. The text was brief and included a picture. The author stated that the kitten was healthy and needed a loving home right away. Attached was one, very adorable picture. And it was at that moment that I first laid eyes on my new kitten!

The picture was of a tiny kitten in a man’s hands. His eyes were crossed and his fur was a mess of fuzz. It was love at first sight. I emailed the man and within 24 hours, I was standing in the snow waiting for my kitten to be delivered. This was going to be magical.

A few cigarettes later, a mid-nineties pickup truck pulled into my driveway. A man got out of the passenger side. “Rachel?” he asked. “Yes!” I squealed with a little hop. The man approached me with arms outstretched. He handed me the kitten and got back into the car. Umm… okay. That was weird. Now what?

I brought the tiny kitten into the house and put him on the floor. He stumbled around smelling everything. He was so small next to our winter boots. His new home was full of wonderful smells like stale beer and Daisy by Marc Jacobs. My new found love was slowly turning into fear. It wasn’t long before I realized that I had no idea how to care for this creature.

I herded him into my room and put down a towel. “You can nap here” I told him while pointing to the Batman beach towel, “Go to sleep”. All of this excitement was exhausting. Motherhood was really taking it out of me. I checked on him one last time and climbed into bed.

Sometime later, I awoke to the smell of something odd. I rubbed my eyes and looked around my bedroom. What was that awful smell? Where was it coming from? The kitten was in my laundry basket sound asleep. Oh right, that thing. I tiptoed around on the cold wooden floor as to not disturb my new friend. I’m sure he had a rough day. All that traveling. And moving. I’m sure he’s beat. I noticed my closet door was open a crack. Mmmmm… I opened the door. The stench amplified. I covered my nose and started to inspect my shoes. It wasn’t long before I found it. There, inside my newish tall chocolate brown Uggs was a hot smelly collection of kitty diarrhea. I guess my new friend had an unexpected BM in the middle of investigating my wardrobe. Thanks dude. How did he get in there? He was so tiny but still, that took some commitment.

Four years later, I still won’t let him in my closet. I think that is fair. It’s not like he has a job or puts my laundry away. I have been supporting him with my own paycheck. I know, I know… I should be grateful. But being a single mother can be tough. I know things haven’t been easy for him. We have moved so much. It’s not his fault that I used to make awful choices regarding my romantic life. It’s also not his fault that his girlfriend was taken away to get knocked up by another dude. Sorry buddy. Life can be unfair.

After everything we have endured together… after all the “sick”/sick days… after all the visits to the vet… after his three day adventure on the mean streets of Brighton… after all that, I’m still so happy that I picked my handsome little monster. He’s just lucky he wasn’t a ginger cat. Gross.

Dance, Grandpa!

Hello world. Sorry for my silence these past few weeks. I’ve been busy watching football and painting my nails. I’m glad to see that you’re still here.

I turned 26 a few weeks ago. That was awful. I felt this deep sense of opposition to getting older. (That sounded silly, but you have to understand, I’ve never felt that way before.) I have a lovely life and a lot to be happy about but the thought of getting old makes me want to hide in my closet. 26 is ten years from my scary age. The fact that I can say things like, “oh my god, I haven’t seen _______ in a decade” makes me sick to my core. I just want to be 17 and float around my little world. I never thought I would be the kind of lady who thought about eye cream and droopy neck skin. But now I’m pretty sure I’m going to be that woman with too much jewelry at the Clinique counter. Aging, blaugch. It must be stopped.

I bought a pair of Frye boots. I figured it was a good investment. I also figured I deserved them for quitting smoking. (And since I operate on my own, slightly skewed reward system, I think I deserve a new record player. And an iPad.) I understand why people love their boots so much. They make you feel sassy and anything that emphasizes your feisty side should be embraced. Like tequila or Missy Elliot.

Grey nail polish is awesome. I’d like to thank my best friend for gifting me a few shades. You did good.

I’ve been listening to my iPod again. It is from 2005 and hasn’t been updated in over a year. Some of it is terrible. It should be lumped together and deleted. Most of it is okay. I definitely made sure I had a variety of mediocre albums. The rest of it is wonderful. You know, the songs that you haven’t heard in ten years but can still sing every word at the top of your longs. I’m proud of myself for still having the same iPod from 2005. If I were ever to lose it, some lucky person might think it belonged to a very hip 60 year old man. The amount of Bob Dylan is obnoxious. I don’t really love BD, like my iPod will make you believe. I’m not sure how it happened. Then there is the seemingly endless amount of Phish. Always a great idea! And then there is M.I.A, Best Coast, Roxy Music. Every 60 year olds guilty pleasure. The real humor is in the theme songs. I have quite the collection. The fact that I have 4 different versions of “Fraggle Rock” makes me feel like a pop culture champion.

I need a new television show to obsess about. I have rewatched most of Lost (but season 5 is where I must stop (because it’s an atrocity)). I watch so much Law and Order SVU it’s concerning. I watch so much Law and Order SVU Netflix should have a prompt asking me if I’m alive or clinically depressed. I watch so much Law and Order SVU my cat hides his face when it comes on. I watch so much Law and Order SVU Dr Wong plays a minor character in my dreams. So… yeah. Suggestions please.

Practical Feline

Earlier this week, my friend and I were discussing Halloween. We were thinking about work appropriate costumes. We decided to be a cat and mouse. It was easy because we based our options around yoga pants/leggings. And, like most girls, we needed to select outfits that can go from day (scoop neck with flats) to night (slutty v-neck and pumps). I can still be a sexy cat at 25, right?

Halloween has always been my favorite. The candy and shenanigans are a troublemaker’s wet dream. When I was a youngster, I drove my mother crazy. I always insisted that we go to the overpriced costume store so I could get the same “cool” costumes as my friends. Every year it was a fight. And every year my mother tried to concoct a reason as to why I wasn’t allowed to go out with my friends. I would put up such a fight that she would cave and make me a costume. That’s right. Make me a costume. How uncool. When I was 6, I wanted to be a genie. (I must have been really into Aladdin.) My mother made me genie pants and a genie belly shirt. She even made me a cool half veil. When I was 8, I was very into Grease. My mother made me a pink poodle skirt with records and glittery fabric paint. I’m sure I hated it at the time. I’m sure I was mortified. But now, when I think DYI is pretty cool, I totally appreciate my mother’s efforts.

When I got to high school, things didn’t change. My mom still hated Halloween. This made me love it even more. I wanted to stay out late, drink cheap beer and throw eggs at people’s cars. I wanted to run around town with boys and eat tiny candy. I wanted to enjoy all the silliness of Halloween without dressing up. Because dressing up is uncool when you’re 16.

College was outrageous. It seemed that the 4 days surrounding the 31^st were dedicated to sloppy party time. I was a cop, Dorothy, Tonya Harding, a ninja, a custodian… it was all very exciting. My favorite Halloween was spent in Athens Ohio. It was magical. I was a freshman at Kent State and my friend decided that we had to head to Athens. I wasn’t sure what I had signed up for but I loved Halloween madness, so it had to be a great idea. We threw together costumes from the thrift store (I was Tonya Harding and she was the Fresh Prince) and jumped in her early ‘90s minivan. Our three and a half our drive was spent snacking and singing Shin’s songs at the top of our lungs. Once we made it to Athens, we met up with friends and started drinking. The streets filled with people and before we knew it we found a deck overlooking Court St. Everything was outrageous… the costumes, the people, the cops trying to control the drunken hooligans. The city of Athens was super fun party time! The next morning we woke up to discover that the minivan had been towed. Of course. Neither of us had any money, or a change of clothes. So the Fresh Prince and Tonya Harding walked to the tow yard and attempted to sweet talk the attendant. We thought that they would love the duo, everyone’s favorite cousin and the most hated ice dancer of the 90’s. The tow yard person was not amused. We were not as adorable as we thought. We called my friend’s father and he bailed the car out. We hit the road and arrived back at school. Smelly and cranky.

After my freshman year, the rest of college Halloweens blend together. My costumes were store bought and lacked character. I wish my mother could make me something now. I don’t want to spend sixty bucks for a napkin-sized fabric swatch that transforms me into a sexy truck driver. I would rather her sew together a giant bunny costume. At least that way I would be warm. Maybe this year I will be a practical feline. I bought a fanny pack this summer. I should break it in. It will go great with my leggings and black thermal top. It will be the opposite of sexy. Purrfect.

On another note, I bought a car this weekend. I took out a loan in my name and financed myself a 2004 Corolla. I am two steps away from having the keys in my hand. One of those steps involves paying the state of Rhode Island 189 bucks for a ticket from 2005. Apparently Massachusetts keeps tabs on the Ocean State. Like some kind of obnoxious big brother. I cannot obtain a MA driver’s license until I pay for my stupidity. I think I have learned my lesson this time. The lesson is tickets don’t disappear if you ignore them… the lesson is also don’t speed on route 1 through Narragansett.

She Doesn’t Even Go Here!

So I have just returned from an outing with my best friend. We decided to try and go to the movies. Like normal people.

Our track record with the cinema is pretty inconsistent. We decided to see Eat Pray Love after exiting relationships (I sobbed the entire 135 minutes). The Help was next (great idea! Big success). Bridesmaids was good (not Babe good, but good). A documentary about Lions followed (the climax really got me). We might have seen an awful holiday themed film at the beginning of the new year (and walked out within 25 minutes).This time we saw Pitch Perfect. And it was awful.

My recent cable situation has prevented me from the outside world. So agreeing to see Pitch Perfect was taking a leap into the unknown.

I would like to address the obvious parallels between Pitch Perfect and teen movies I enjoy. There were moments where I wanted it to become Mean Girls. Sure, casting twenty somethings to play college students isn’t such a stretch but reeks of desperation (Anna Kendrick, you’re 27). The dialogue had some good quips. I enjoy when people say random things (the Asian Winnie Cooper had some ridiculous one-liners). They even did a decent job casting an Indian fellow to be in the a cappella group (think Kevin Gnapoor but with bigger hair). There was a scene where they were all confessing secrets and I wanted to yell “She doesn’t even go here!” That was hilarious (in my head).

There were some moments where I wanted it to become Bring It On. All the cheesy expressions that had “aca” woven into them (think cheerocracy, or cheertastic). There were some comparable montages of them training. It was necessary to get the story moving along. They also had some kind of singing battle in an empty swimming pool. That was weird. Is that what kids are doing in college now? Having singing battles in empty swimming pools…Why are there no movies about students who go to Wegmans at 3 am or try to have a pizza delivered to Capen Library. Why don’t these college movies include scenes were the girl gets her parking pass revoked for triple parking in the bookstore lot? Pitch Perfect forgot to include the scene where the main character can’t get to her midterm because her car is covered in five feet of snow. That is college. That, and using the “current location” on Google Maps to help you get home on a Sunday morning.

I’m still not sold on this Rebel Wilson chick. Everyone seems to love her. Like she is the second coming of Chris Farley. I need some more time to assess my feelings. I don’t think that Pitch Perfect was a good place for me to judge her. Maybe I should watch her stand up. I’m not good with accents, so it might take a while.

Overall, Pitch Perfect was bad. It could have been great. Adam DeVine from Workaholics was typecast as rival a cappella singer. It was nice to see him though. Good try. My best friend enjoyed it. So that’s a plus. I didn’t cry, or walk out. Win/win?

To add salt to my fresh wound, I waited at Kenmore for an eternity. I was filled with critical thoughts from the film and anxiety about riding the last train sober. Once the T arrived, I filed in and leaned against pole. It took me 2 stops to realize that everyone on my train appeared to have been at the Dispatch show. They smelled awful and seemed full of joy. Damn them.

Odds and Ends

Here’s what

Instagram has become so uncool. I don’t understand the comment wars that have been popping up. A super awkward/age-inappropriate photo from Ramona Singer is followed by a slew of comments about how the previous commenter is a “lazy slut”. Are these the same people that leave comments on Youtube videos? Are these the same people who have blogs? Probably. It seems like all my friends have enrolled in Culinary school or have just discovered their shadows. And we really like our feet. Feet on the subway, feet at the beach. We are taking our feet all over the world and we are pumped! Intsagram has turned us all into Annie Leibovitz and we love it.

Fall is awesome. I have been loving the rain and the cold nights. Boston has been gloomy these past couple of days. This has brought me to seriously consider buying a pair of Hunter wellies. I like to think that they will allow me to dance in the rain while looking somewhat put together. My floral wellies from Target Kids give the impression that I jumped a ten year old. I’m sure 135 bucks is worth it… you know… to not look like a child.

Ally McBeal is a really good show. I remember watching it with my mom when I was 12. She would laugh, I would laugh. She would cry, I would cry. I’m sure my mother recognized my emotional maturity. I could identify with Ally’s search for love. Georgia’s jealousy really bothered me. And it was Elaine and her pungent desperation made me love to hate her. All those sexual puns and quick banter… pshhhh… I caught it all. My recent rediscovery of the show has caused some concern. What was my mother thinking? Ally and her friends were so inappropriate. Yikes. A 12 year old has no business staying up late watching a program about sex and the single lady. I’m sure I will force my daughter/corgi to watch Law and Order SVU episodes. Because it is suitable for a kid. And then I will explain to that her namesake derives from a sex cop who ran around Manhattan kicking ass and being awesome. That will be a great day.

I really want a Corgi. I think about it all the time. I have this fantasy where I drive around in a brown Mini Cooper with a tri-colored Corgi. It is perfection.

Weeds finally ended. It was the worst thing I had ever seen. Each scene was worse than the one before. I didn’t like how they were in the future with their future phones. I didn’t like how everyone reunited for the Bar Mitzvah. I especially did not like Nancy’s hair. It was awful and I could not get past it. The best part of the finale was the scene at the end where they all sit on the steps and we get to listen to “With Arms Outstretched” in its entirety. I enjoyed singing to my boyfriend. He loved it.

Colored blazers are all the rage. I would like a teal one. With gold/copper buttons. There is a chance that it will make me look like a cross gender bellhop but my skinny mirror will lie to me. It will tell me that I look just like the girl from Cupcakes and Cashmere. Oh to be young and delusional.

Lastly, I really want a Tory Burch Amanda cross body bag in Wildberry. It would make for a fabulous birthday present. Just sayin’.

Bucket of Worms

(September 2, 2012)

I have made a new friend. Her name is Sarah and she is my new roommate. She moved in the latter half of July and she might be the nicest person I have ever met.

A few months ago I was shopping for new roommates. I was setting up appointments and making myself presentable for company. I was trying my hardest to be part of society. I was getting endless responses on Craigslist regarding the open rooms. Then Sarah responded. She was in Seattle and wanted to send her friend, Hannah, over to check out the place. Weird… I thought… but I was starting to get emails of dick pics and inquiries from men in their mid-forties… so I was desperate. I emailed with Sarah and decided that Hannah should come by and check the place out/ rob me. So she did. It was a cool 102 degrees and Hannah waltzed into my apartment. She was wearing next to nothing and I felt like a lethargic sea lion gasping for oxygen. We had a natural exchange of blunt comments and banter. I liked her. I thought… “if this is the company Sarah keeps… well Sarah can’t be that bad…” I tried so hard to be normal while my under boob sweat increased. Hannah and I had some more banter and then she left. I stripped and then took a nap.

Flash forward to July… and Sarah moves in. Let me tell you… she is the nicest person. I don’t know how this is possible. (She says “frick” instead of “fuck”. My spell check doesn’t recognize “frick”.) She doesn’t drink caffeine. She recycles. She has a sexy boyfriend. She likes my cat. She enjoys wine. She doesn’t like Seinfeld. I’m so confused. How can she be so different but so wonderful at the same time? I don’t really care to know why. I adore this lady and that is that.

I think my other roommate might be (slightly) jealous. We have lived together for two years. We have survived hell on earth and still stand side by side. She is one of the few people I would give an organ to or help move. I would even drive her to the Logan airport on September 1^st. She is one of the most consistently wonderful people in my life and I consider it an honor that she is my emergency contact in case I die at work. She is a ridiculous character. She brings home cat food and gets in my bed for “TV time”. I would not have survived September – December 2010 without her. She is the best. And our cats are in love so…

On a side note, I just cleaned my apartment in a Muumuu. It has red and white hibiscus flowers and tie thing around the neck. Like that gives it some kind of pizazz. The label says “Basic Edition: Intimates”. Right. This ensemble screams “do me!” I bet my newly popped blackheads and smudged eyeliner are the panicle of seduction.  If I ever think about just letting myself go, I should do so in this muumuu. And then make a Craigslist ad. I could be a cleaning person or lady jester. The options are endless.

On a side, side note, there is a Hills marathon on. I have been drinking in my bedroom with my cat watching episode after episode. I must say, now being a semi-real adult, that Lauren Conrad and company are lame as shit. MTV you really did us all a disservice by cutting out all the good stuff. Why is there no scene where Audrina flat lines from a coke binge? Or Lauren dies from being the most boring person on earth? Why is there no episode where Spencer straps a tracking device in Heidi’s ankle? I am watching each episode completely surprised that I haven’t blacked out from tedium. It is like visual Ambien. Of course Lauren didn’t hook up with Justin Bobby! Really?! Audrina, come on. Wake up! Justin is that sexy/mysterious/annoying dude that will make you hate yourself until you get smacked back into reality. I just Googled her tattoo (on the back of her neck) and the answer was pretty ridiculous. I thought it was a strawberry. Nope. According to her it is “the four chambers of the heart that turns into the apple with a snake around it. It symbolizes Adam and Eve… and also temptation and destiny.” … okay… but it still looks like a strawberry… I have made a point to examine it… strawberry. She really needs to get away from Justin Bobby. He might seem like a good idea, but so did that brief reality show your family did on E(exclamation point). I just find her to be so… so… in need of help. I’m not into car accidents but she might be the television equivalent. (Spencer’s Nana just told Stephanie that “life is like a bucket of worms and sometimes you don’t know what to do with it”. I’m going to use that.)

Well, that is that.

Okay bye