Monday, October 19, 2009
Today I visited the John Lennon exhibit at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Annex in NYC. I'm about to start a peace rally. No joke. I have intentions of becoming a hippie and spreading love worldwide. From now on I'll be the girl walking around with my hand up high in the air waving the peace sign chanting "make love not war!" All in the name of John Lennon.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
I feel like I've entered the world of cool. Never before have I felt so awesome. The reason? Two days ago I made what could be perhaps the most important purchase of my life. I bought an iPhone. And oh! my! God! am I in love with it. Forget guys. Forget girlfriends. Forget my family. My dog. All I need is that phone!
I'm nervous. Yes, I love the damn thing, but I'm second guessing myself. Maybe I shouldn't have bought it. Maybe I should be putting that extra $30 a month fee into a savings account, so that one day when I finally figure out where I'm going with my life, I'll have some money saved up to get there. But, oh, how I love this phone.
It's like paying $30 for a best friend. Someone to stick by your side through thick and thin. In a mere 48 hours, my entire life is inside this thing! My music, my pictures, my Facebook, my Twitter, my friends, my email, my bank, my EVERYTHING. For crying out loud, I don't need to ever take my eyes off of it. That little amazingly clear, beautiful touch screen is all I need to get by!
See, this is a problem. I don't want to become that girl. I fear I have already become her. In just a matter of two stinking days! The iPhone is all I do! It's the first thing I pick up when I wake up...it's my alarm clock...and the last/only thing I say goodnight to before I fall asleep! Oh no. I don't want to be that girl! That person who depends on her phone for everything. I don't want to be so dependent on technology! I'll never need a physical map or a book or a newspaper or a CD or a DVD or a TV or a bank! I guess I'll be helping out the environment since I won't be using paper of any form. I won't need anything anymore as long as I've got my trusty iPhone. And boy is she trusty. (Yes, it's a she.) She's amazing! And beautiful! And clear! And gorgeous! And dependable! And fun! And brilliant!
But, hold on. What's the point of all those apps? I mean, yeah, there's an app for literally EVERYTHING, but what's the point? I don't really need any apps. It just helps make me lazier and allows for less brain usage. For instance, I downloaded this app called Urban Spoon. You enter your zip code and it comes up with a list of restaurants nearby. You shake the iPod and it chooses a restaurant at random for you. You can read reviews of the restaurant, get directions, call the place. I won't even need to make decisions now! This is so awesome yet so awful!
I keep thinking about Suze Orman. What would Suze say? I don't technically watch her show. My parents do every now and again. I don't know why because they don't need her advice. They're very good at handling their finances. Anyway, on her show she takes phone calls from people who want to make a significant purchase, but don't know whether they should or not. If I were to call Suze Orman, she would say, "Jenny, do you need the iPhone or do you want the iPhone?" (Cue the Kristin Wiig impersonation.) Dammit, Suze! I don't need the iPhone. Not at all. And considering my current paycheck, I should be saving that additional $30 a month so I can move out of my parents house and on with my life. BUT IT'S SO PRETTY AND AWESOME!
I'm two days in to my 30-day trial period. If I decide during these next 28 days that I don't want the iPhone, I can bring it back to the AT&T store, get my $100 back and pick out a different phone. But, HOW could I possibly do such a thing?! Two days is ALL I need to decide I am 100% in LOVE with this incredible gadget and there's no way in the world I want to give it up! How could I ever go back to an ordinary cell phone? It's impossible!
Truth be told, I'd probably get over it eventually. But I guarantee I would miss her. I'd think about her on lonely nights when I'm sitting in the freezing cold basement checking my Yahoo! mail on my 10-year-old desktop, throwing my dumb ordinary cell phone against the wall because it's cursed and won't receive text messages from the one certain someone I want to receive text messages from. (My old phone and I did NOT get along. I think the ex-bf who bought it for me put a spell on it.) Bitch, puh-leeeease.
So, I ask you, anyone out there who reads this silly blog, what on Earth should I do?
Saturday, September 26, 2009
"Suburban living is an utter mystery. I can't believe intelligent people set themselves up for a lifetime of that kind of inertia. I got to Richmond already longing for my books and movies and favorite coffee shops, and the next thing you know I was functionally catatonic. Good coffee and meaningful conversation don't exist there. No one reads. The movies suck. Nothing is in walking distance and there aren't any sidewalks anyway...There's something soporific about the manicured lawns and pots of skunk cabbage. Sweet Williams around the mailbox posts do to me what the poppy fields did to Dorothy. In the suburbs it's so easy to live easily, and so hard to live interestingly."
New York, I miss you.
Friday, August 14, 2009
The employees we spoke to kindly checked the computer database to find out when the DVD was rented and when it was due back. Turns out whoever rented it, rented it WEEKS ago and has a MAJOR late fee coming their way when they decide to bring it back. COME ON, PEOPLE. GET WITH THE PROGRAM. HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE YOU TO WATCH THREE GODDAMN EPISODES?! I wanted to ask the employee for the address of this vampire-loving, True Blood-hogging jackass, but assumed they wouldn't give me such personal information. Perhaps I should find the time to sharpen my stake, make a visit to Blockbuster and then ask for that information. Maybe not...
If that plan doesn't work, which I don't expect it to (stake or no stake), I have another idea. One of the Blockbuster employees is a guy from my graduating high school class. He's very nice. We played the alto saxophone together in band in fourth grade. We were never friends in high school, but he knows who I am and I, likewise, recognized him when I was at Blockbuster (every day this week). He's very nice, but maybe a little bit odd. He's very tall and very lanky. His skin is very pale, I guess the kind of skin you would expect someone to have who works inside a Blockbuster all summer long. He probably rents a ton of movies to watch when he's not at work because he must get a mega discount. So, even when he's not working he's probably inside watching all these movies, so he must not see the sun very often. But, I digress.
This very nice, pale, lanky dude knows I'm on the hunt for Blood because he's been working nearly every time I've gone into the store asking about it. He's usually the employee I ask to check the return bins to see if the disc I'm searching for has recently been returned. He's also the one who suggested I stop coming in and try calling the store asking for it, so that I don't have to make a trip into town for nothing. I smiled and explained that I was already in town and decided to pop into Blockbuster on my way home, since I was passing Blockbuster anyway. I have other things to do than just watch True Blood, thank you very much. (This isn't entirely true, but we'll keep that between you and I.)
Getting back to my idea...I'm thinking about seducing said tall, pale, lanky Blockbuster employee. See, I asked him if I could put my name on a reservation list. There has to be a waiting list for disc 4, right? Nope. There's not. If you had such a list, Blockbuster, I wouldn't have to make trips into your store and then harass your employees because you DON'T HAVE IT. This would make both our lives easier. Since there is no list, I'd like to seduce the employee and get him to call/text me when the DVD is finally returned. It will be like Can't Buy Me Love...(because I'm obviously super cool and popular) I'll agree to go out with him, people will think he's cool and I will finally finish watching season one of True Blood. It's genius.
I think it's a great plan. Look where Patrick Dempsey is today. He's McDreamy. Tall, pale, lanky Blockbuster employee will totally thank me for this one day. Just you wait.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Apparently, the Blockbuster in my town is unaware that True Blood is the best/most watched show on HBO and has failed to notice that vampires are taking over pop culture because they only have one copy of each disc in the season. What are you thinking, Blockbuster?! Don't you know that there is NOTHING to do in this town?! What are we bored, unemployed, single twenty-somethings supposed to do when some jerk rents disc 4 and NEVER returns it?! Does Blockbuster think I'm going to buy the entire season from them brand new? They're selling it for $55!!! That's outrageous! Obviously, the only reason I'm living in this town is so I can bunk up with my parents because I can't afford to live on my own. And they think I can afford to buy the season?! I wasn't even sure if I could afford to rent it! I guess I never should have rented it and saved myself the $1.99 because now Blockbuster is just teasing and tormenting me because they DON'T HAVE THE NEXT DISC AVAILABLE!
I tried to go about watching the rest of season one the illegal way. Didn't work out so well. A very gracious friend sent me a link where I could download each episode. I was ecstatic! I couldn't wait to get out of work, go home and download all the episodes I had missed. To my dismay, when I clicked the download button, the page refreshed and said "that link is no longer available." You can imagine my disappointment. I know there are other ways to illegally download this show. Unfortunately I am not a computer-savvy, nerdy rebel and don't know how to go about doing this. I do, however, know one computer savvy, nerdy rebel who could help me, but he tends to tease and torment me almost as much as Blockbuster. All I want to do is get lost in Bon Temps, reunite with my girl, Sookie, AND FIND OUT WHETHER OR NOT BILL WAS BURNT TO A CRISP WITH THE REST OF THE VAMPIRES IN THE HOUSE THAT WAS SET ON FIRE BY THE ANGRY TOWNSPEOPLE!
Actually, I already know what happens because I read the books, but that's besides the point. I think I'll call Blockbuster this afternoon and ask if they have disc 4 instead of going into the store again. It's likely I'll harass the employees, should disc 4 still not be there. I wouldn't want to be thrown out of Blockbuster. I can see the headlines now...
Colchester - A woman was thrown out of Blockbuster Wednesday after threatening
to stake two employees. Witnesses say the woman, 23-year-old Colchester resident,
Jenny Erasmus, became violent when she discovered disc 4 of season one of the
popular HBO television show True Blood was not in stock. It was her fifth visit to the
store since Sunday. A Blockbuster employee said, "She came into the store with the
devil in her eyes."...
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
I applied for this position months ago (which gives me hope that maybe some of the other hundreds of jobs I applied for back in the day will eventually get around to contacting me). It's really quite thrilling. A new chapter in my life is about to begin! Hallelujah!
Before beginning this new chapter, I had to be fitted for my uniform. It's quite simple. Skirt/pants, t-shirt, suit jacket. All black. It's classy. I dig it. I'll be saving a whole lotta money on a work wardrobe. This always tends to be a problem for me, since it's not easy to find pants long enough for my body type. I have to order my jeans from a special store that makes a 37" inseam. This is no joke. The jeans issue I can deal with, but dress pants on top of the jeans issue...not cool.
Fortunately, everyone is personally fitted for a uniform at my new job. This means the clothes will be sewed just for me! How wonderful! Not. When the Asian ladies working in wardrobe saw me, their jaws hit the floor. "So tall!" they said. I've never seen a more flustered, perplexed Asian woman in my life, than the one who was assigned to fit me. She was gawking up at me, trying to decide how she could possibly make a uniform cover my long legs and long arms. Let me remind you, this is her JOB. This should not be a problem. I can't possibly be the only 6-foot-tall female to ever be fitted for a hotel guest receptionist uniform. Give me a break! After measuring my hips and waist, (which she had to reach up to do, mind you) she ran in the back room for what seemed like an hour. I could only imagine this tiny Asian woman rummaging through piles and piles of pants, searching for a pair that just might fit me.
She finally came back with two pairs. The first was too tight. The second fit just right. Around the waist, that is. All of the uniforms are un-hemmed. This way, they can hem each pair of pants to the exact length they need to be depending on who is wearing them. Unfortunately, without the hem, the pants were the perfect length for me. Great, just great. I'll be the receptionist looking like Steve Urkel in my high-waters! My baffled seamstress let out a cute, Asian giggle when she saw the length and promised to make the hem as short as her little Asian fingers would allow.
Luckily, I can wear the skirt, should the pants be too short. And luckily, the skirt is long enough for my legs. Often times, a skirt looks extra short on me even though it's not. My thighs are just longer than everyone elses! There's nothing I can do to change this! Back in high school I got yelled at by the vice principal once because she said my skirt was too short. This really pissed me off. How dare she accuse me of dressing like a skank. I really gave it to her. First off, I said it wasn't a skirt. It was a skort. There were shorts built in underneath the skirt part. (Skorts used to be cool, ok?) Secondly, I told her to find me a skirt that didn't look short on me. She threatened to give me detention if I ever wore a skirt that short again. It was a SKORT!
Monday, August 10, 2009
Hot, single female searching for hot, single female to man-hunt with. Preferably between the ages of 21 and 28. Must be SINGLE and LOOKING. Must be outgoing. Must be flirtatious. Must be willing to share hot guys with man-hunting partner. No man-hogging allowed. Previous experience in man-hunting a plus. For more information please call XXX-XXXX.
Think it will work?
Friday, August 7, 2009
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
Go see it. It's fantastic. It's not a chick flick. It's not a love story. In fact, it actually hurts. But in a good way. It's a wonderful story. It's artistic. It's realistic. Zooey Deschanel is adorable. Almost as adorable as Joseph Gordon-Levitt's dimples. If Zooey weren't engaged to the Death Cab guy, she would totally be with Joseph Gordon-Levitt and his dimples. They are irresistable. The story makes you feel good. And then it makes you feel like crap. But by the time you're walking out of the theater, you'll realize just how good it is because it's so believable. It's not perfect. That's why I loved it. It reminds you why love sucks, but at the same time, makes you want to fall in love regardless of the pain it may bring. Just go see it. You'll love it. And then you'll be super cliché and download the soundtrack just like I'm about to do right....now.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
I was enjoying the magazine until I arrived at the story about Kate Hudson and Alex Rodriguez's new found love. Um...what?! Apparently, I have been hiding in a hole because this is old news. Even my mom was aware of it. My initial reaction to the news was utter shock and dismay, which has since turned to anger and now I'm just in mourning. Kate!! What the heck is wrong with you?! How could you?! A-ROD?! REALLY?! SERIOUSLY?!
Their romance is everywhere. Google "Kate Hudson Alex Rodriguez" and you get "Kate Hudson & A-Rod Are Really a Couple!", "Romance Between Kate Hudson & A-Rod Heats Up," "Alex Rodriguez and Kate Hudson Get Cozy." You have got to be kidding me. Kate, you're dating the enemy. THE ENEMY! What happened to super cool, band-aid, Penny Lane, how to loose a guy in 10 days Kate? A-Rod is an idiot! An idiot. You're so much better than him. You could date anyone. ANYONE. And you choose him? That bubble butted, steroid-takin', thinks he's better than everyone else A-Rod? You used to date rockstars. ROCKSTARS! How do you go from rockstars to A-Rod? She can't possibly like him. Someone must be paying her big bucks to pretend. I wonder how much she got paid to kiss him in public.
I'm going to watch Almost Famous and remind myself why I love(d?) Kate Hudson.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Turns out Margaritaville isn't all it's cracked up to be. It's actually a cheesy place with bizarre characters and way too much Jimmy Buffett memorabilia. I get it that it's his restaurant, but that much Jimmy Buffett just isn't healthy. And after last night, I won't mind if I never hear another Jimmy Buffett song for as long as I live.
We started off with a round of margaritas. What else? My Desdemona Raspberry Rita was good, but too sweet. For my second drink, I opted for a Bahama Mama. Yum. And for dinner I ordered a Cheeseburger in Paradise. How could I not?!
My Cheeseburger in Paradise made me barf. No lie. I barfed it up. It's not because I was drunk. I had one margarita and was only halfway through my Bahama Mama when my meal came. The burger was DELICIOUS. I was thoroughly enjoying it until I started to feel sick. I got this awful pain in my chest like heartburn, so I tried to breathe deeply hoping it would go away. It did not. Then I started to sweat. I could feel cold drips of perspiration rolling down my cheeks and back. I had to take off my cardigan. Then I got a bit dizzy. I repeat: I was not drunk. I hadn't even finished two drinks! I had to excuse myself, went to the ladies room and puked up the burger, fries and pickle (which was the size of a canoe) that I had just eaten. Happy Birthday to me! GROSS! I felt much better after I barfed.
My sister came in to see what was taking me so long. She wasn't entirely concerned. (Mainly she was asking because our 18-year-old neighbor who tagged along wanted to know if I planned on finishing my burger because he wanted it.) She immediately noticed that my face was as green as the paint on the walls. When I told her I yakked she shrugged her shoulders, asked if I was ok and went on her way.
Upon returning to the table, I did not finish my burger, fries, or canoe-sized pickle (my 18-year-old neighbor who tagged along ate it despite the fact that it made me sick), but I did eat the complimentary birthday ice cream sundae that came later. No one even sang to me, though. The waitress brought over the desert and said "Sorry, I can't sing. You're friends will have to because I can't." WHY NOT?! Where's the rest of the wait staff? Aren't you supposed to sing to someone when it's their birthday?! Isn't that in the job description?! PLUS, we were in a VIP section because one of my friends knew someone who worked there. You're telling me they don't sing to birthday girls who sit in the VIP section?! JIMMY BUFFETT! WHAT KIND OF RESTAURANT ARE YOU RUNNING?!
No one sang me "Happy Birthday." I didn't get drunk (though at times I questioned whether or not I was simply because everything about the evening was so strange). All I got was an upset stomach and a dumb balloon hat that some guy on stilts made for me. (I told you the restaurant was filled with weirdos.) Next July 29th, I'm staying home.
Monday, July 6, 2009
To top the weekend off, Lady Gaga (yes, THE Lady Gaga) commented on one of my pictures on Facebook. This is not a joke. I thought it was a joke when the hottie in the fedora pictured above called to tell me the news. "No way," I said. "She did not. This is a joke, right?" Hottie in the fedora replied, "No! She did! I'M SERIOUS! YOU HAVE TO CHECK IT OUT!" I did check it out. Now you have to check it out. It's super awesome. Click here.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
According to urbandictionary.com "game" is:
- a measure of smoothness with the opposite sex
- lines or moves you use to get the opposite sex into bed
- pick up lines
- the ability to seduce anybody of the opposite sex...or same sex for that matter
- discourse marked by force and persuasiveness, either with women or in any situation to get what one wants; also the art or power of using such discourse
- the quality of forceful or persuasive expressiveness (ie: "Tyrone pulled that hot chocolate model last night because he got game.")
I asked my sister and half-brother (who so kindly informed me that I got no game) what that meant and how I go about changing this. They rolled their eyes and walked away. Apparently they care about me enough to let me know my game is lacking, but not enough to help me get some.
To start, maybe I should play less Bubble Spinner. That might help. Secondly, perhaps I should put myself out there more. Let's face it, I'm probably not going to meet any hot young thangs at Cocktails with the Whales (my new favorite summer event). I honestly don't have the slightest idea how to go about getting game. Should I wear my hair differently? Change my wardrobe? Take dance lessons? Topdatingtips.com says I should flirt more. The site provides a list on how to flirt by use of body language:
- Prolonged eye contact
- Dilated pupils
- Arched eyebrows
- Rapid eye movement and blinking
- Stroking or toying with hair
- Licking of lips
- Touching the lips or teeth with tongue
- Thrusting chest or breasts outward
- Mirroring or copying posture
- Crossing legs
- Leaning inward
- Open-legged posture
For now, I'm just going to watch The Pickup Artist and take notes. If anyone reading this (does anyone even know I have a blog?) has any tips for me, I'll be super duper thankful.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
These past few months I was feeling quite sorry for myself, which is not a good thing. I hate feeling that way and didn't want to feel that way, but couldn't seem to get around it. Last week, however, I miraculously discovered that I am not the only one suffering this regression thanks to the recession. (The Recession Regression?) Turns out, several of my old high school friends have also moved back in with mom and dad. I am not alone! What a relief. I have since smiled more, had actual PLANS and no longer consider myself a one girl pity party. Hooray!
My exciting new small town life began over the weekend when I was invited to happy hour with a few old friends. Yes, please! I could not have been more excited to drink cheap margaritas while catching up with my high school BFFs. We went to this cute little Mexican place near the water. One of my friends brought a couple of her grad school friends along. I was thrilled to be meeting new people.
As the afternoon turned into evening and the tequila started to kick in, I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I was in a heated conversation about Jonathan Papelbon and his ego, (I say he can be as cocky as he wants. The other person in the convo - an obvious Yankee fan - thought otherwise), when my girlfriend asked me if I knew of some guy who graduated from Manhattan College with me. I won't mention his name or any names for that matter as this story is about to get pretty freaking embarrassing. I did, in fact, know this guy, so I said I did: "Oh yeah, I know insert name here! He was in love with me freshman year!" Oh, no, Jenny. Did you really just do that? Shoulda kept your big mouth shut. Turns out one of my girlfriend's grad school friends has been dating this guy for some time now. Fail.
Could I have been more embarrassed? I don't think so. My jaw hit the floor. My face turned red. What a jerk I am! Now, if you know me well enough, you know that this is not like me. I don't often make such egotistical remarks. Comments like this don't normally come out of my mouth. It was the tequila, I swear. How was I supposed to know that guy and this girl were together!? I tried to explain myself. The thing is, this guy really was in love with me. He actually said those words. We met freshman year. He was in one of my classes and we shared mutual friends, so we hung out a few times. He decided he had a thing for me and coincidentally his roommate decided he had a thing for my best friend who lived down the hall from me. The two of them made frequent, unexpected trips to our dorm. One day he decided to tell me that he thought he was "falling in love" with me. I hardly knew him! I was freaked! After that, my best friend and I tried to keep our distance from them. That was the extent of our "relationship." Cut to five years later and I'm blabbing to his current girlfriend that he used to be in love with me. Damn you, tequila!
As soon as I finished explaining myself, (though I'm not sure his girlfriend understood/cared), she whipped out her cell phone and started texting him! "What's your name again?" she asked. I told her. "I'm asking him if he knows a Jenny from Manhattan College." Two minutes later he texted back asking, "Erasmus?" Ha! Told ya I knew him.
I can only imagine the conversation they had later that night. It doesn't really matter, though. It happened several years ago and honestly, what even happened? Regardless, I still felt kind of terrible. My attempt at making friends was an utter failure. At least I entertained one of the old high school friends in attendance. He laughed so hard margarita almost came out his nose.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
He started shredding cabbage just after breakfast. It smelled disgusting. The entire house smelled disgusting. Since I slept late, I had the pleasure of smelling the cabbage while eating my Raisin Bran Crunch. Delicious. He shredded enough cabbage to make enough coleslaw for an entire army and always does. Keep in mind, only my immediate family members would be eating dinner at the Erasmus house tonight. Just Mom, Dad, Julie and yours truly. (Didn't mean for that to rhyme.) Dad didn't seem to notice the extreme portion. I'm fairly certain that he only knows how to make enough coleslaw for an army. No less.
Six o'clock rolled around and we decided to eat. My mom asked me to take the coleslaw out of the refrigerator where it had been sitting all day. As I peeled the tin foil from the top of the enormous bowl, I gagged. Turns out my dad made coleslaw soup. Mom and I stared at the seemingly inedible mixture of cabbage and liquefied mayonnaise and wondered if we should serve it in bowls and use spoons instead of the forks that had already been set on the table. Dad did not seem to notice or care that his coleslaw-making skills were severely lacking. And what was he doing cooking on Father's Day anyway? Aren't dads supposed to sit around and be waited on and do nothing all day long? Lord, how I wish that were the case in my house this year.
In honor of the occasion, I ladled some of the 'slaw onto my dish and tried to inconspicuously drain it with my fork before bringing it to my mouth and forcing it down. I'm not a huge fan of mayo as it is. Mayo soup, therefore, did not appeal to me. I was able to swallow some of it and hid the remaining soup on my plate under the rib bones. Julie lucked out and didn't have to eat any since dad knows she doesn't like it to begin with. Lucky bitch.
When dinner was over, Julie and I offered to clean the kitchen. "What do you want me to do with the leftover coleslaw?" I asked my dad. The bowl was still pretty much full. What was left was an even soupier, repulsive mush. My dad studied the mush for a moment and said, "I guess it's pretty soupy, huh?" No, really? Julie could jump in and swim in it if she so desired! He then directed me to dump it out. Alas! The coleslaw (if that's what you want to call it) is in the garbage.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
He chose a molar on the bottom right. I'm not going to lie, I was maybe a tad nervous. I mean, I've never had a cavity. Ever. I never had braces, either. I was born with perfect, straight teeth much to my sister's dismay. She was a brace-face for several years and to this day sleeps with a retainer. Gross... The most amount of dental work I've had was getting my wisdom teeth pulled a few years ago. That didn't hurt, though. It was actually fun. I loved the laughing gas and the pain killers and the laying in bed eating nothing but pudding and ice cream for three days.
I had no idea what to expect as I sat in the dentist chair. I was prepared for the worst and the decorations in the office weren't helping. Apparently the dental hygienist is obsessed with wolves. There was a wallpapered wolf border around the entire room, stuffed wolves sitting amongst the dental gear and the hygienist was wearing wolf smocks. Those wolves were eyeing me, laughing at me, knew the pain I was about to endure.
Before I knew it, Dr. Babinski was coming at me with a giant needle. He pulled my cheek out and jammed that sucker right in. Amazingly, it didn't hurt! I didn't feel the slightest pinch! As I was revelling in the fact, my mouth and face started to tingle. Before long numbness spread from my cheek to my tongue to my lips and all over my gums. For fear of drooling all over myself, I was constantly checking the corner of my mouth, wiping away nonexistent saliva. What a strange sensation!
When my face and mouth were fully numb, Dr. B. started poking around in there with all sorts of stuff. I couldn't quite figure out what exactly he was doing. I kept my eyes shut for most of the experience. The Novocaine needle sort of freaked me out and I didn't want to see anything that scary enter my mouth again. Just moments later, Dr. B. sat up, pushed that blinding dentist light out of my eyes and told me he was all set. Really? That quick? That's it? I didn't feel a thing! And still wouldn't feel a thing for the next couple of hours. My face stayed numb longer than I thought it would. I was pulling and pinching and biting my lips and cheek and chin for what seemed like hours until finally that tingling came back.
After getting my first ever cavity filled I feel brave and tough, like I finally fit in. I finally feel like I'm part of the club, like I finally have something in common with the rest of the world. Cavities are cool, man! Everyone's got 'em! Perfect teeth are boring!
Brb, I gotta brush my teeth...
Monday, June 1, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
I think I'm going to plan a trip. Actually, wait. Scratch that. I'm not going to plan it. I'm just going to wake up one morning, jump inside Rhonda (my new car) and put the pedal to the metal. My very good friend, Michelle, who I haven't seen in forever, suggested the idea. I say, if neither of us has a full-time job in two weeks (not likely) then we'll road trip. Just me, the Michdawgz Tullmeister and the open road. Maybe we'll go to California (Californiaaaaa, Californiaaaaaa, here we cooooooooooome!). Or maybe we'll go to South Carolina and visit Grandpa and Grandma E. I don't care where we go. Anywhere, but here.
I've been living home now for six months. It's time for me to go. I'm not yet ready to move out for good (especially since I still don't have a legit job and now I have car payments...What was I thinking?) A road trip is just what I need.
It seems mom has finally hit menopause. Last night I jumped up from my seat across from her at the dinner table when I noticed a hot flash approaching. Her face turned beet red and drops of sweat immediately began dripping down her face. Without bothering to unbutton her sweater all the way, I pulled it off her arms and proceeded to fan her with my dirty dinner plate. It didn't last too long, but it was enough for my dad to suggest investing in an air conditioner for their bedroom this summer. We've lived in a house without air conditioning for 22 years, so this is obviously a big deal. She reminds me of Kitty from "That '70s Show". Short tempered, always drinking... It's quite entertaining, but semi-frightening at the same time.
Meanwhile, Dad's turning into an old Pollock, much like Grandpa Fred. My younger sister's new boyfriend came over the other night and was meeting my parents for the first time. He was supposed to arrive at 7:00, but ended up being late. While Julie stood at the window, anxiously waiting for him, my dad kept yelling about him not being "punctual." He must have said the word 25 times, if not more. "He's not very punctual, Juile!" Five minutes later: "Where is this kid? Not punctual!" Five minutes later: "Julie! Your boyfriend isn't punctual, is he?!" I couldn't help but laugh and thank my lucky stars that I wasn't the one introducing a new boyfriend. My dad isn't exactly the friendliest person. He has the tendency to scare the crap out of most males. He doesn't smile much and when he does, it doesn't quite make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. The only guy he ever truly liked was one of Julie's. When she ended the relationship, my dad might as well have been the one who was dumped. His heart was just as broken.
I think a road trip and mini-vacation away from the menopause and Pollock is just what this hunny needs.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
I spotted a house up ahead and ran faster than I thought possible. The wind in my hair, sweat dripping down my spine, darkness all around me. I prayed they couldn't see me, wherever they were. Prayed that I was faster than them. That I could reach the house before they reached me.
I entered a clearing and found myself pacing down a long driveway heading towards the house. As I was approaching my safety, I heard a voice. Loud and clear. Right behind me. He called my name. He wasn't running, didn't sound scared. I knew deep down that he was one of them. A zombie just like the rest. Why else would he stop in the middle of a clearing where they could so easily get him? I knew he wanted to attack me, wanted to steal my soul and turn me into one of them.
I knew all of this, but still I stopped running. Trying to catch my breath, I stood in the driveway ahead of him, not yet daring to turn around and face him. I knew who he was, what he was. Knew what he wanted. And there I was, ready and willing to give him all of me. I couldn't resist. That's how it has always been.
And then I woke up."
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
During my seven months as a News Fox, I did not sleep. I tried to, but it wasn't easy. My body never understood that bedtime was from noon to around 8:00pm. When I fell asleep at noon, I almost always woke up just a few hours later. My mind thought I was just taking a nap. Despite my exhaustion, I could not sleep. (Note: I will have no trouble being a mother and waking up several times a night to take care of an infant. I've had plenty of training.) Since I was always trying to sleep, I never saw anyone. My bed was my best friend/worst enemy. I also cried at least once a day.
There are some (but not many) perks to being a News Fox and living like a vampire. For one, you have the whole day free! I got out of work at 11:30am, so I had the entire afternoon open to do whatever the heck I wanted. While everyone else in Manhattan was stuck at their 9 to 5, I had the city to myself. There are some things you can do in the afternoon that you can't do later in the evening...like go to the post office! I never had a need to go to the post office after work, though, because I didn't have any friends to mail anything to because I didn't talk to anyone because all I did was try to sleep. And if I did have anything to mail, I probably wouldn't have made it to the post office because after working for eight hours in the middle of the freaking night, I walked out of Fox like a zombie. Every day I fell asleep on the subway ride back to the boogie down Bronx. I was that embarrassing person on the train with her head bobbing, falling over on other passengers. It was only noon, so I'm sure people thought I was on drugs or drunk or something. Surely they wouldn't consider that maybe I was a sad, tired News Fox desperately wishing I had chosen another profession.
Another perk was that I could swear like a mother fuckin' trucker. Everyone did. In case you're unaware, working in television news is incredibly stressful. There's a million things to do in a short amount of time. The show is live, so if something doesn't get done in time, you're screwed. While sitting at my computer, frantically working, I would occasionally hear a fellow writer or producer scream out "FUCK!" It would go unnoticed, for the most part. No concerned heads turned in the direction of the curse. It was totally normal. Bad part is, I got so used to swearing like a trucker and hearing others around me swear like a trucker that I began to constantly swear like a trucker. It's not an easy habit to break. Although, I did somehow manage to fix my dirty mouth before moving home with Mom and Dad.
Needless to say, I don't miss it.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
I'm pissed that it's gorgeous outside and I should be laying in the sun trying to get a tan as opposed to sitting inside a stinking office getting goosebumps. Not my idea of a fun time. Laying in the sun is dangerous, though, since I burn easily thanks to the medication I'm on. What medication? Oh, just the stuff to make the swelling go down in my arthritic knees. What?! Arthritis at 22? Uh huh. And the medication that's keeping me out of the sun doesn't even seem to be working anymore since I have a grapefruit-size lump sticking out behind my right knee. Sexy, right? I think not.
I applied for a few jobs this morning in hopes of getting hired and leaving Colchester and making new friends and doing something, anything with my life. I need a miracle in order for that to happen. Get hired? Yeah, right. After sending my resume and a cover letter that basically begs folks to please, dear God, hire me, I rewarded myself by playing countless games of Bubble Spinner. Bored? Have some time to kill? Sick of reading my dumb blog? Click here: http://www.deadwhale.com/play.php?game=774. Warning! Once you start, you won't be able to stop. I dare you to beat my high score of 1,889.
I need a change. I need an adventure. I need an idea. I cannot, will not spend my summer like this. Someone, please snap me out of this pathetic, miserable, feeling-sorry-for-myself mood. Kick me in the ass and get me out of this rut! I'm just like Meggie...
"Yet she was young; at times like this, staring at herself in the ashes-of-roses dress, she wanted to feel, wanted emotion to blow over her like a strong, hot wind. She didn't want to plod like an automaton for the rest of her life, she wanted change and vitality and love." - The Thorn Birds
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
2. Adam Lambert
3. Angie Tempura
4. Doc Jensen
5. Jimmy Fallon
Below are the reasons I want to eat with these particular people. See if you can match them up correctly.
a. I want to talk to him about The Variable.
b. I want to tell him the Yankees suck and he is my hero.
c. I want to know why his people haven't called my people yet to schedule an interview.
d. I want him to sing that beautiful scream of his in my face.
e. Bitch, please.
(Answers: 1. b, 2. d, 3. e, 4. a, 5. c)
Can you tell how bored I am?
Monday, April 27, 2009
The last thing I need is another guilty pleasure (currently on my list of GP's: Taylor Swift, American Idol, Twilight, ZEfron. . . the list goes on and on and on. . .), but I don't have to worry about being made fun of for liking them, right? Tinted Windows is like a cooler version of Hanson, right? So I won't be ridiculed for listening and singing along and thinking they're awesome and bragging to everyone that they're my new favorite band, right? I need to know if it's ok before I start driving around town with the windows down blasting them and singing along to every ooo-whoa, ooo-whoa-ooo, oh!
Tinted Windows is pop music at it's finest and therefore, catchy as hell. Taylor Hanson is awesome and might I say, cuter than ever. I always said he was the best Hanson. Funny, though, how his voice really hasn't changed since his prepubescent mmmboppin' years.
Watch the video for their first single "Kind of a Girl" and you'll see what I mean. And then you will spend the rest of the day trying to get it out of your head. Enjoy!
Tinted Windows "Kind of a Girl"
oh! oh, oh! oh, oh! oh, oh ooo whoa-ooo whoa-ooo whoa!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The surprising bonus just adds to my already terrific week. Yesterday I stayed home sick for the second day in a row. I had a nasty cold, but didn't mind because instead of working at the stinky law office, I watched Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2. Don't judge me! (I read the books when I was MUCH younger and was just curious to see how the movie matched up. I might have seen the first movie in theaters. Don't judge me!)
The forecast for the rest of my week looks bright, as well, and I mean that literally. The past few days have been cold, rainy and dreary (much like my nose was), but the weekend is going to change everything! Temperatures are supposed to be in the 80's Friday through Sunday. Woohoo! Bring on the sun and I'll bring on my bikini. This girl needs a tan! Yes, puh-lease!
Wonder what I'll spend my $50 on . . .
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Ten bucks says the so-called "teenagers" in this show have a better sex life than you. They do it in the back of limousines, on top of bars and in the supply closet at school. Maybe you should be taking pointers.
2. The Upper East Side.
If you're anything like me and painfully miss New York City, then the simple passing of a yellow cab in a scene of Gossip Girl will warm your heart and soul.
3. The Fashion.
Oh, to own Serena's or Blair's closet! And then there’s Chuck Bass. No one dresses like Chuck Bass. Especially not high school students.
4. The Guys.
I've never seen anything like Nate Archibald. That hair! Those eyes! That smile! He's part Ken doll, part Abercrombie & Fitch model and a whole lotta sexy.
5. The Romance.
It melts my heart. Example: In the most recent episode Blair and Nate shared their first kiss (well, not technically their first kiss, but the first kiss of their newly rekindled relationship) in Central Park... in the snow. Nate surprised Blair. She thought she was just going to feed the ducks with her trusty maid, Dorota. Little did she know, Nate had called Dorota and asked her to bring Blair there (because it's her favorite place) so he could tell her how much she means to him and that he wants to be with her. *Sigh*
6. The Music.
The Virgins? Yes, please! The Ting Tings? Even better! Can't wait for OMFGG (Original Music From Gossip Girl) Volume 2! (http://www.omfgg.com/)
7. The Void It Fills.
Since The OC went off the air in 2007, there has been a hole in my life. Gossip Girl (created by Josh Schwartz who also brought us The OC) has filled that void and thus my life is complete. There might not be a Marissa Cooper or a Ryan Attwood in Manhattan, but Serena VanDerWoodsen and Dan Humphrey do the trick.
8. The Grown-Ups.
The storylines of the Gossip Girl adults are just as romantic and exciting as the teens', maybe even more so. Rufus Humphrey has the hots for Lily VanDerWoodsen. He's been crushing on her since way back when he was a rock star. Problem is, their kids are in love, too. Oh, the drama!
9. The Ad Campaign.
Revel in the sheer genius of these raunchy ads! A big chunk of society thinks Gossip Girl is no good, tasteless garbage and therefore . . . you should should watch it!
10. The Actual Gossip Girl.
Voiced by the one and only Kristen Bell (a.k.a. Veronica Mars!), she’s the witty blogger behind the infamous Gossip Girl website. She makes the catty remarks and spreads the vicious rumors that destroy relationships. You know you love her.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Apparently, in the minds of Grandma Dolores and Grandpa Fred, a greeting card - no matter the occasion - is of the utmost importance. They expect a card for any and every holiday (especially "Grandparents Day") and in return for any sort of gift. "Thank you" cards are at the top of the list and must be mailed immediately upon receiving a gift. If you neglect to properly thank said grandparents with a card, expect a phone call from two slightly senile and very disappointed elders.
They feel they are well deserving of a proper "thank you" despite the gift, which is more often than not an insignificant amount of money. Twenty-five dollars seems to be the going rate for the following occasions:
- Birthdays (I think I was upgraded from $10 to $25 when I turned 18)
- Christmas (Once every few years they double the amount in honor of Jesus' birth)
- Graduations (Note: my mom's father gave me 40 times that amount when I graduated college since he recognizes that graduating college means starting a life in the real world and a little extra cash would be most helpful)
- Other (Sometimes they surprise me and send a random check for things like Valentines Day or Easter)
To Grandma and Grandpa Erasmus a card signifies respect, gratitude and sheer appreciation for their existence. (I should note that they have never sent me a "thank you" card for any gift I gave them.) Now, don't get me wrong. Of course I love my grandparents dearly. It's just that every once in a while, I get greedy and wish they would stop being so stingy for just a second and realize that I NEED MONEY. What do they think $25 is going to get me nowadays? With $25 I can just barely fill my car with gas, buy an item of clothing (if it's on sale), get a manicure (but not a pedicure). . .
I must sound like a brat. This is just my way of pre-releasing my frustration that I know I will feel come Sunday. Unfortunately, their "Happy Easter" card was sent out this morning and will most likely not arrive in sunny Myrtle Beach in time for the holiday. Grandma Dolores will say, "We didn't get your card...?" I will probably lie and blame it on the mailman: "WHAT?! You didn't get your card?! I don't know how that happened! Maybe it got lost in the mail! I am SO SORRY!" Meanwhile I'll be crossing my fingers and praying that God doesn't punish me for lying to my grandmother on this holiest of days.
Now please excuse me while I go mark National Grandparents Day 2009 (September 13th) on my calendar.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The weather is in NO way brightening my mood (in case you couldn't tell). I'm fed up with applying for jobs. FED. UP. I'm taking a few days off to try and calm my nerves. In the meantime I'll just close my eyes and imagine my feet in the hot sand, the sound of waves crashing in the background, my cheeks pink with sunburn . . . When that gets too painful I'll picture myself as a succesful CAREEER woman in New York City with an exciting job that makes other people jealous. Hey! A girl can dream, can't she?!
Life in Colchester is dull. The only excitement comes from episodes of American Idol. Last night my mom and I had a fit because my dad was watching some dumb show about a dumb couple building a dumb deck in their backyard. We started American Idol late because of his dumb show. (No lie, this show was worse than The Hills, which I sadly watched the premiere of Monday night. For the record, Heidi is an ass and Spencer takes shots like a pansy.)
We were DVRing Idol, but it lasted longer than one hour (because Paula Abdul takes too many drugs and cannot SHUT UP) and the DVR is not smart enough to know that, so we missed Adam Lambert's performance. If we hadn't watched the dumb show about the dumb couple building that dumb deck, we wouldn't have missed Adam Lambert give such a stellar performance that Simon Cowell gave him a standing ovation! The first Simon Cowell standing ovation in American Idol history! DAD! UGH!
He will NOT have control over the remote tonight. NO. WAY. Tonight is the Idol results show (PLEASE AMERICA, SEND THE BLIND GUY HOME.) and a new episode of LOST.
I watch too much tv. I need a new hobby. Any suggestions?
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Finally! It's back! EW.com announced (http://news-briefs.ew.com/2009/04/project-runway.html) that Project Runway will return to TV this summer on its new network, Lifetime. Lifetime might not be nearly as cool as Bravo, but whatever. Now that it's got Heidi Klum and Tim Gunn, it's gaining a whole lot of cool points in my book. I've been itchin' for season 6 since what's her name with the bangs and boring-as-hell clothes won last season. I was rooting for Kenley all season. She was a bit psycho, but had way more character. (Side note: Kenley was recently arrested for throwing a cat at her boyfriend's face.)
Apparently, the entire season is taped and ready to go...and has been...for awhile. Thus my anxiousness! The top three contestants even showed their lines in Bryant Park back in FEBRUARY(anonymously, of course)! Lifetime and Bravo have been fighting for almost a year and all the while we've been deprived, waiting impatiently to release our inner gay. Not fair.
Let's hope the new season brings more Santino's and less Leanne's...and plenty of drama and tears and homosexuals. Make it work, Lifetime! MAKE. IT. WORK.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
I feel bad for salesmen. I really do. It has to be one of the most annoying, humiliating, degrading jobs around. I understand our economy sucks and you've got to take what you can get, but I would rather flip burgers at McDonald's then run around asking people to buy dumb stuff that you know they don't want and if they do buy whatever it is you're selling, it's only because they feel bad for you. I've witnessed it first hand. I'll share with you my journey as I eat my cookies.
Back when I first moved home, I desperately searched for work in Connecticut. I found a posting online for an entry-level marketing job. It looked promising, so I applied. A day later the company called to schedule an interview. The interview went well and the woman I met with invited me to come back a few days later so I could shadow one of the employees. Great! I was thrilled.
My excitement didn't last long. Instead, it turned into a deep, ugly rage. I guess I didn't ask enough questions about the company and the position I was applying for. I assumed (Never assume. It makes an ass of u and me.) I would be learning about the company, following someone around in an office all day. NOT THE CASE. Turns out it was a salesman position and I was being tricked into becoming one! Some guy, whose name I cannot remember (probably because I've been trying to block this day from my brain), was in charge of teaching me the ropes. He and I drove to some uppity town in Massachusetts. He parked his car in a CVS parking lot and we walked around the center of the town trying to get business owners to purchase a discount spa package. It was maybe 15 degrees that day and since no one told me I'd be walking around outside for six hours, I was certainly not dressed appropriately.
The worst part about the day was the salesman I was stuck with. Every time we entered a new business he would say, "Hi! How are you?!" And the employees would say (totally unenthusiastically), "Fine, thanks. How are you?" My salesman would respond with a big smile and this clever phrase: "If I was any better, I'd be twins." WHAT THE HECK DOES THAT MEAN?! I heard it at least 20 times that day and not once did I understand it. The employees would usually chuckle, so I figured they got it, but maybe they were just being nice.
Needless to say, I am not a salesman. When I got back to the office that evening I told the woman I interviewed with that this was simply not the job for me. She said she was glad I got to see exactly what the job is, so that I could make that decision. I was not glad. I would have been glad if she had told me in the beginning that this was a salesman job because then I would have told her right away that I was not interested and I wouldn't have had the day from hell with some idiot who was so happy he could have been a twin. WHAT THE HECK DOES THAT MEAN?!
Monday, March 30, 2009
I can't lie. I'm a bit flattered that my mom thinks I have the potential to be said sexpot. As far as I'm concerned, I'm a daddy long legs with no rythym and little, if any sex appeal. It didn't take long for her to burst my bubble, though. She said my only setback to entering the wonderful world of stripping is, ahem, my chest. She thinks I would probably need breast implants since the strippers she saw on the news had "big 'ol boobies." But, let's see, when I factor in the cost for implants, which would run me about $1,200 (see: yourplasticsurgeryguide.com) the price won't really be an issue considering how much money I'll be making as a stripper. It's worth the tits, don't you think?
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
I recently left my job in New York City and moved back home with Mom and Dad. I went from an exciting, busy, grown-up life to Colchester - a town with very few streetlights and too many cows. With little to do and most of my friends miles away, my parents HD-TV quickly became the object of my affection.
Unfortunately, sometimes my addiction causes me a great deal of stress. This is unusual because I don't often get stressed out. I remain cool in hectic situations, but when Obama schedules a press conference on a Tuesday night so Fox has to air American Idol on Wednesday - the SAME TIME LOST IS ON - I freak out. The nerve of the president! Upon realizing that American Idol and LOST were overlapping tonight, I panicked. Of course I can DVR them, but which one do I watch first?! Should I watch American Idol and then LOST? Should I start American Idol, switch to LOST at 9 and then finish Idol when LOST is over? How do I work this out?!
Thankfully, my Mom shares my pain. The TV addiction must be genetic. We thoroughly discussed the matter and decided to watch American Idol first and then LOST. That way, we have enough time to cast our votes because you CANNOT watch Idol and not call in for your favorite performers. (Mom's rule.)
I'm not proud of myself for being so consumed with Season 8 of America's favorite show, but I can't help myself. You know you love it just the same. Admit it! Release your inner Paula Abdul, people.