whiskey is my girlfriend

i'm always sick. i blame this city and my dismal sex life. whatever the reason, i'm always sick. this week was no different. i had strep a few weeks ago and that apparently turned into walking pneumonia. but it took a loooooooong day for me/my doctors (yeah i had a round-the-clock team on the case.....oooorrr i went to a clinic for 4 hours but they were full of the homeless so i was shipped off to the ER for a few more hours where they were full of the real kind of homeless, not the chelsea kind, and i doubt i even saw an actual doctor. buuuuuuuut i'm getting ahead of myself).

here is my average-sized tale of my night in beth israel emergency room. (Ed. note -- for a hot second i thought of making this a poem. like iambic pentameter style. but the last poem i wrote was for my grandmother for her 90th birthday. she still has no idea what it is or who gave it to her. it collects dust on her nursing home shelf next to a statue of some saint -- we have no idea which saint or who gave it to her. full. circle.).

so mid-day wednesday, i start having chest pain upon inhale. i haven't crushed dominos in weeks and i wasn't hungover -- seriously, i wasn't. dick. so it's probably not a heart attack/the DTs...

around 5 pm, i sneak out of my office and trek to a clinic by my apartment where i wait. and wait. and wait. and wait. for over three motherfucking hours. mind you, i wrote "difficulty breathing. chest pain. painful swallowing." on the sign-in card. so when i'm finally seen and the doctor deduces that i either have pneumonia or a blood clot in my lungs (thanks birth control!) and wants to ambulance me to the hospital....those 3 hours could have made a difference...

i decide a cab is faster than an ambulance (that's a little sad, huh?) and get to the ER where they treat "can't breathe" in the same "take a seat" fashion before asking me to pee in a cup. and when i ask why i need to hand over a bottle of urine when my symptoms are lung-related, i did NOT realize miguel would just assume shank me to get to the next person in line. i'm also forgetting that holding my cup of pee was not on his christmas list. so i smiled, tried to show some cleavage as recompense but am interrupted by my own gross coughing fit. miguel's had enough and allows to lie on a bed in a secret office where my PA gives me the rundown on the happs in the ER. there's a convict loose.

i repeat.

there's a convict loose in the emergency room. i'm hoping he's the type of convict who likes to steal drugs or maybe evaded a few taxes. not the type who likes to rape asthmatic chicks hiding in PA offices. before i can ask any questions she takes a few pints of blood before throwing me to the wolves in the x-ray area. the perfect place for a convict.

i'm ray'd then am sent back out in the waiting area. i try to contain the wheezing and mingle with some cops who are kicking around. i flirt a little between coughs to find out the deal with this convict. he's most certainly on the loose, and he has stolen a polka dot tie. from whom? unknown. however it is most certainly a navy tie with white polka dots. i have another coughing fit and decide it's best to sit.

it's this moment i realize the ER is really prison. the first question asked: whatchainfor? the girl to my right has swallowed a fish bone. the boy to my left has seizures, but no one believes him. he has stopped taking his medication so as to have a seizure to prove them wrong. i admire his tenacity.

and in front of me awakens a homeless man. i almost didn't see him for he has made himself a fort (fortress really) out of personal belongings bags and paper hospital gowns. but he rises and hollers for a doctor to fix his foot. i ask him what he did to it. he says he "drank it broke." logical. i've drank my wallet and soul broke before, this guy was just worried about his foot.

epilepsy tells him to lay off the booze. to which he replies "whiskey is my girlfriend". which, thank god he realizes, is best in song, for he hops up and jigs on one foot to his new tune. and as if waiting in the wings....

cue the orthodox jews!!

homeless man: RABBI!! rabbi!
(probably not a) rabbi: hello, sir.
drunk: you're jewish! you come from israel!
jew: i come from brooklyn.
drunk: i come from brooklyn too!!
fish bone girl: small world...
whiskey's significant other: jews are very very rich! my father was a jew.
jew: so you are a jew!
me to spunky seizure kid: the plot thickens...
drunk: i am not a jew. my mother is irish.
jew: then you are certainly not rich, my friend!

laughter amongst the rest of the rabbis. and as this urban rendition of fiddler on the roof wrapped, i couldn't help but think: once again, the jews punk'd the catholics.

at this moment, i'm called back into the office, handed a bottle of dimetapp and sent on my way.

if every word i said could make you laugh...

christmas comes early!! my pal cass handed me a glorious present this morning: an announcement that i've been waiting for since 1995, perfectly wrapped up by john stamos and handed to me on a "how rude?!" platter. that's right, eager readers, full house is coming back! (for those of you who don't know...this blog is named after the show, so this is a VERY big deal for me. i bleed tanner blood.)

before i dive into how amazing this is going to be, let's all take a moment of silence for jodie sweetin's life.











ok, now that we've paid our respects -- i hope they work the meth addiction into the show. oh! this is a fun game. what else can we revive?

1. Donna Jo being fat and passing out at the gym because she's been feeding comet all her ham sandwiches trying to be anorexic for a day just so she can look hot at connie dimarco's pool party. and instead of eating ice pops (amazing), aunt becky tells her to eat "lean chicken without the skin" and other "i'm totally anorexic too and this is what my doctor told me i should eat, but i'll really teach you the best way to purge without anyone knowing as soon as these clowns leave the dinner table."
   
2. any episode with jurnee smollett.
3. colonel gladstone. we all know dave coulier will be onboard, and it will be even more classic to watch him have a fake successful comedy career the second time around when he's really not famous. having his dad show up at a vegas gig to tell him to cut. it. out. will be that much better.
4. the rippers. including all the 80's bitches with platinum blond hair, aqua net bangs, and leather mini-skirts who provided no value other than to "play" the tamborene and dance slightly better than zack morris (or a.c. slater for that matter...).
   
5. any episode with gail edwards.
6. TOMMY PAGE!! the stephanie/dj rivalry over whom he's in love with, since, you know, a celebrity of his stature would clearly make out with a 13 year old in her house with her dad two feet away. wait a minute, he's somehow less famous than the rest of the cast, so this shouldn't be a problem.
7. awkward references to dead pam. particularly in the form of 1981 home videos.
   

things i wouldn't mind cutting entirely:

1. the twins. their hijinks won't be as cute (sorry, you're right, they never were) now that they're 45. wait, are they the chubby twins on that disney channel show right now?? regardless, i hope they still have mushroom cuts wherever they are...
2. danny. UNLESS every time he enters a shot they cue the violins. in which case, i want him in every episode. otherwise, i'll take vicky solo. perhaps a widow? plus bob's got a mean comedy tour going -- i doubt he'd give up boston's comedy connection for this gig.
3. the beach boys. UNLESS they play sloop john b and are still breathing.
   
4. kimmy's feet.

"Only a masochist could ever love such a narcissist," and other things that will be recited at my wedding

wow. where to begin?? apologies on being a day late posting. apologies to stephanie savage and the rest of the ggirl writers for thinking you'd completely lost your minds when you simply, selflessly took an early vacation and allowed dorota to write the last episode. but thank god you're back.

a few things to note about this rundown:
1. i have yet to read daily intel or gawker or any other better, smarter blog's take on this 'sode. they're writing their posts for you. i'm writing this for me. because this week was so good, i almost cried. but then stopped because each time it was when blair was on screen and also crying and i realized she's the prettiest crier ever so i shouldn't even try.
2. i'm not talking about the baby situation. i'm just not. adoption? abortion? i can't think that far ahead. it's too taxing. i don't know if it's an existing kid (can you imagine if it were serena?? ick....but i'm a little into it cause i totally hate the dan/serena thing anyway. and i'm sick. and a masochist. and a narcissist.) or a new kid who suddenly strolls back from france to be chuck 2.0. i just can't. it's late.
3. i'm actually not going to discuss lilly at all. or serena really. wait i will discuss serena because i have to mention aaron's facial....situation...but not lilly. can't we just make this the blair-chuck show??

so. ok. wow. this episode is what a pop culture addict's dreams are made of. did anyone else think that serena was wearing a slip and then suddenly it was an actual "dress"?? she WOULD wear lingerie to her step-father's funeral. loved the hair though. at least that tats weren't out...

god i hope rufus stays on this show forever and ever. everything about him makes me laugh. the tight turtleneck sweater, the way he just sits alone playing guitar in his loft (which has become the most transient place since port charles general hospital ... no GH fans out there? robin w/ the hiv? sonny and the mafia? luke, laura and lucky??), how we gave him the most cliche closing line ever. go off to france, find you 25 year old kid, write a song about it and hire tom hanks as your manager and a kid who refuses to take his sunglasses off as your drummer and we'll see you next season.

aaron, on the other hand, christ. someone throw this kid a bottle of ky and a stack of anime porn. he's officially the creepiest dude on network tv. or hand him a mach 3 and my number. HOW does serena get an all expenses paid trip to south america away from her insane family with just her boyfriend at only 17 years old when she HASN'T EVEN PUT OUT YET!! the longest i think i've waited to sleep with a dude to test this theory was 12 (longmotherfucking) days. and you know what i got? a tom petty cd. i was also 17.

all right. it's time.

blair. hearts. breaking.
chuck. too. sexy.

who pulls aggro drunk off that well?? i'm so glad he didn't puke or go over the top with it. just was. chuck is pissed. and he's drunk. and he's still just as sexy. i can't wait for him to do something completely outrageous with all of bart's money. like buying loads of diamonds for blair or my dream nantucket beach house or dorota.

for real, these two could continue this back and forth of "i love you" / "that's too bad" for 10 more seasons. i'd still watch this cock tease tango over and over again. i wasn't even turned off that blair was the big spoon in bed, post-chuck's not-cry. and usually that's grosser than midget porn to me. and i love that blair just peaced on her mom's wedding to spoon. and be gorgeous. and sigh perfect. (Ed. note: what are the odds i don't come into work tomorrow sporting a dvf dress and matching headband?)

ummmmm in searching for an image to close this post, i came across this: http://blairandchuck.com/ and so i now need to go spend THE REST OF MY LIFE on this site. excuse me...

dirt 'stache artistry

serena, you just got served. finally.

i'm prepared to take some heat for this -- i fast forwarded through the majority of serena scenes this week. once they started quick cutting through that photo-shoot montage, i blacked out and drifted off to memories of the fourth season opener of the o.c. when ryan gets shot and fox thought a slow, blue-hued, over-shot scene would do the trick to get the melancholic vibe across. it just made me want him to die. (whoops!) i'm sure there was an imogen heap song playing in the background. buick!

anyway, thats the come the fuck on!! vibe i've been getting from the last couple of episodes of ggirl. from the fashion show to jenny's mullet, to rufus's VAPID personality (thank god for his washed-up 90's rocker shirts, or i'd write him off completely. he's still decent on mute for another episode or two).

i love blake in general, but can she PLEASE be a bitch again. that half episode when she mean girls-style queen bee'd the UES? not enough!!

perfect segue into mr. hall's apperance as eleanor waldorf's new man. there is nowayinmotherfuckinghell that would happen, and i don't mean that would never happen in real life -- this film major is just fine with suspension of disbelief -- i mean that would never happen in the waldorfs' life. never. and then the tie in to aaron?? at least hold back for a full episode before you reveal something like that. and what 20-something son tells his dad the full name of the chick he's been on one date with and goes into explicit detail about their date??

if this were ny mag, i'd be at -500 points for this episode. not entirely fair. it's sort of like if you have two kids - one's a straight A-student, class president, varisity soccer player and one's, well, a complete failure (Ed. note - i was the complete failure). you don't care at all if the failure comes home with a C on his chem test. the better kid, though, you'd go ballistic. gossip girl is the better kid. i know there's potential there, hidden under jenny's cheap eye liner. step it up. let jenny stop being a little bitch and come home for real. there's no way a spoiled 15 year old would live on the street just to spite her dad. let dan sell out and let bart/chuck completely fuck him out of everything he has (which, is what? pretty much just his pride...?). he's a complete punk, he could get smacked around a little bit.

but, back to serena. i have to admit the writers caught me in a lie. all through last episode and a good 20 minutes of this one, i kept screaming "serena would NOT be into this guy. he's SO gross." but serena would ABSOLUTELY be into this guy. and, i have to admit it was when genius blair hit me over the head with 'you think you're a free spirit' line shot at S. and she does. she would date aaron to prove she is an artist. when she's not at all. you can have her dance around in her slip in the middle of central park in november (it's 31 degrees out today, btw), but you can't convince me she actually listens to joni mitchell. she just leaves her "dog eat dog" LP lying around her bedroom for people to think she does.

so yes, i'm pretty fired up with disappointment that i've devoted time to this show and i've simply been let down. and it doesn't take much to figure out where all of this angst stems from -- MORE CHUCK AND BLAIR, PLEASE!!!!

"The Civil War is over. Let reconstruction begin."

thomas friedman ended his NYT column with those nine, simple words this morning. honestly, i'm really trying to get there. i am. i know we have a long way to go. i know this victory could turn out to be the least of obama's wins. he could find his New Deal to get us out of this economic crisis. he could get us out of iraq.

but i'm not there yet.

i'm stuck in shock and awe. not in his win -- in our win -- truly, i never let myself think we'd lose. but in how the last two years and the crecendo we've been reaching for the last 24 hours has made me rethink myself, as an american. bold/lame statement? maybe. but give me a minute.

i thought i cared about something as deeply as was humanly possible. everything i felt was black and white. we must end a war we never should have started. the government cannot dictate the decisions a woman makes about her life and her body. we have to give every man, woman, child the medical help they need with no questions asked.

those were my passions. then, at just after midnight last night, i realized there was something i cared about more than these issues, which had occupied my thoughts and obnoxious bar room debates for two years.

i felt something that i hadn't in a long time, and didn't even realize i hadn't. had almost forgotten what it felt like. i was proud to be an american.

finally. finally, i wasn't embarrassed to say i was an american. i knew i wouldn't have to pause after announcing my country when talking to my newest pals from down under, waiting for their judgement. i no longer had to pretend i was canadian -- pretty depressing when quebec's a better option than boston.

for the first time that i can remember, my heart is full of images of my country, of my neighbors, of my heroes, really. to think, we were called unamerican, unpatriotic for believing in hope and change. but today we open the newspaper and all across america these two images are all we see. it seems hope and change define america.

so, yes, we have a long way to go. but i think we can start tomorrow.

bowties and tears

i'm mondo depressed that rachel zoe is over. it hasn't even crossed my mind that my truebloodlove bairam and i are the only people who actually watch the show, so unless we want to pony up our combined salary of $42,000 to pay for a second season, it might not be back. please bow your heads in prayer that there are enough fags and respective hags out there to join in candle-light vigil/blow our pals at bravo into season deux.

so bairam (or, brian, for his quaalude'd-out office mate) has a bit of a thing for taylor jacobson, stylist associate in the zoe camp. but her bangs totally stress me out, so i prefer the ralph lauren-sporting, buttoned-up to button-down, alexander mcqueen skinny jeaned, brad goreski, rach's stylist assistant. at least he has a decent grasp of grammar.

also, i wore glasses for a solid 10 years, starting with a pair of red fisher price specs in the 4th grade. can you envision? my first flute concert in all black and white and red glasses? shut. it. down. anyway, i'm also a girl and quickly learned to cry to get my way (usually over playing brenda walsh during recess reenactments of that week's 90210 episode), but i must say, NEVER have i fogged up a pair of glasses the way brad did in the finale. he also has a julia roberts-style vein in his forehead when he gets stressed out. i cant decide if the comparison loses him points or if he still wins based on general vein-appearance.

also, he admits to being 30. THIRTY. i didn't have his skin when i was six. if he stays for another season, he's definitely getting his first wrinkle. and i, for one, intend to be there to watch it form.

p.s. placing bets on how long until his first hook up w/ rodger(!!!!). do you die? i die.

talkin' shit about a pretty sunset

and todaaaaay, i'm sick because...that's what i do. according to my mother it's because my air conditioner is in my window. it's not on, mind you, merely its presence has caused me to fall ill.

regardless, i made the executive decision to work from home today. typically if i were to pull tomfoolery such as this, it would be to get a pedicure or crush a pitcher of bloody marys and perv westside tavern for ed westwick. but today, i actually got my shit together and busted out a large chunk of the latest too-much-work-in-no-time-for-'you've got to be kidding me?!?'-pay project i've gotten myself into yet again. so, i took a certain amount of pride in that. i'm also feeling slightly better today, even contemplated mixing myself a salty dog for the first time in 4 days (yeah, i was feeling that shitty...). and as i wrapped up the last line of page 35235 of a 5935938596302 page wireframe, i turned to look out my window at the peachiest pinkerific sunset i've seen in all my 24 long years.

so i thought to myself, LB - stop talkin' so much shit and blog about something sweet and heartwarming. write the julia fucking roberts of blog posts.

and in that moment, i realized something: not a single person i know gives fuck about nice shit.

a moment of pure clarity (...and class).

and the next moment turned into pure hatred. i realized that i can't really see the sunset because of this massive high-rise to the west. and then my concentration was blown by a cab-induced fender-bender on 8th. which is totally going to fuck up people's commutes home, and i'm going to have to hear honking for AT LEAST an hour. so that means i'm definitely going to end up with a headache on the one day i finally don't have a headache. and then remembered my stomach hurt, but that's just because i'm hungry, but i know that those heaven-sent angels over at dominos would definitely judge me if i ordered a thin crust and cheesy bread again this week. and that forced me to hate society for making me care.

so fuck you society. fuck you cabs. fuck you high-rises. dominos -- you're cool. fuck you sunsets. i'm out.

origin of original

every once and awhile, i have an original thought. then i'm quickly slammed down like naomi campbell's latest assistant after a cell phone is rifled off her dome when i read better, funnier, more intelligent, over all faster blog posts. that's why these peeps get paid more than the intern's salary i've somehow made work by living off bologna sammiches and vodka.

So here's my weekly roundup of the most hilarious, SO-MF-TRUE!! articles/posts:

1. valley wag's "culture of complaint" post on idiotic,embarrassing facebook groups. honestly, i'm mostly embarrassed that "1mm strong against palin" has less than 40k members...
   
2. ny mag's "nairtini gossip girl recap" article, complete with brilliant point system. desperately figuring out who i need to sleep with to become leighton meester's writer's assitant.
   
3. gawker's coverage on letterman's continued bashing of mccain. amazing use of "sullied".
4. the return of mystery!! homeboy was doing magic tricks! that's gotta go on the mediocre sex list. or not, since there's a -2% blacked out chance in hell that any chick i know would drop her pants for a dude in goggles w/ a card deck as his mojo.
5. drew and ed. barrymourning. i can't BELIEVE i didn't get there first AND at a kings of leon show. kick. in. face.
   

de-snagged

bazaar totes read my post!  http://jezebel.com/5053533/maghag 

sex on fire

jumping in where kings of leon left off, i got to thinking (carrie bradshaw lameness intended) about what makes great sex great?

in my years of research, i've come to decide that it's not just one thing, or even a few things, but more of a hurricane-like culmination (oh yeah, this post is going to be riddled with lazy sexual innuendos, so buckle down) of things. it's not just the wind, not just the rain, but this love storm has to come together over the warm waters of the gulf to really pick up steam and do serious damage (usually it's damage to your productivity the following morning).

it's not just that you're in the mood for it because, honestly, are you ever not in the mood for it? it's not just that you finished your sixth ketel grapefruit because, honestly, is there ever a night when you haven't just finished your sixth ketel grapefruit? (if you haven't picked up on this already, you=me in the above and below statements...)

it's also that it's noon and you're feeling damn hot this particular tuesday. it's also "oops...the shower was closer than the bed and thank god it was". it's also that you're "in the mood to be dominated" (of course that came from ET. -Ed.) and were lucky enough to roofie home a dude who's gonna teach you a thing or two. and can we take a second to note: boys, this is relatively rare. most of you are more in the tropical depression category. which is fine. if there's a drought, we'll take a little rain wherever we can.

while we're on the topic, let's discuss the top three things that make mediocre sex mediocre. and wow, this one is a helluvalot easier.

1. Cuddling. way to ruin it, dude. if it was that good, we're probs pretty effing hot (in more ways than one! badumbumCHING) and the last thing i want is your sweaty--ugh. i cant even finish this sentence.
   
2. Prolonged eye contact. this isn't a staring contest. keep your head in the game. even if we're dealing w/ some super sappy emotional sexual situation, i'm not thinking about how much i care about you at that moment. seriously. focus.
3. Post-mortem. if you need to ask and/or discuss (unless out of pure 'holy. good. god.'), you better save your energy for a round two, you've got a lot of making up to do.

this sounds like i'm putting all of the blame/pressure on you cowboys out there. and, well, i am. consider this dancing. take the lead. and watch our toes.

Seven Things I Hate About...

i'm completely hungover today (pause for collective "par for the course..." from all 3 of you reading this), so i'm on the ornery side. i also just read this blog post by some random dude titled Seven Things that Need to Go Away Forever -- original.

I disagree with most of these things. anyone who hates texting and/or IM is no friend of mine. more importantly, he hates "struggles with drugs" stories. clearly he's never seen a single episode of Intervention -- there's no way you can see a hectic gay dude completely methed out and NOT enjoy yourself. so, since this kid has no idea what he's talking about, i'll take it from here with my top seven pet peeves:

7. kirsten dunst
why, why, why is she famous? let's go through a list of her life highlights: a pseudo friendship with sofia coppola, wimbledon, somehow making each spiderman movie worse, her monologue to missy in bring it on where she explains that "the shit" means "the best", and her adament refusal to take care of that fucking snaggle tooth. get her outta here.

6. top shop taking FOREVER to open in the states
get your acts together. commit. pick a date and commit. i mean -- march??! you're not even trying at this point.

5. LARPing
i wasn't going to do this because it makes me a loser for even knowing what it is (live action role playing, btw...yeah, sorry). but that makes me hate it even more. i dont get it. i really dont get any games that dont involve massive amounts of alcohol and/or drugs. what's the point unless you're gonna end up in a closet w/ some guy you've convinced yourself looks like a 1998 dean cain doppelganger (homeboy IS superman. that hair?? you don't have that hair)? maybe that is the point...just in medieval garb? ick. scene.

4. people who can't make a decision on an order when finally at the front of a hectically long line at a chain/fast food joint
you're at mcdonalds? get a burger. you're at starbucks? grande latte. done and done. this is particularly unacceptable at a coffee shop. if i'm waiting in line for 10 mins, i'm probably at the point of desperation/homicide. and if you're sitting there asking the barrista what "mocha" means, you should be shot and/or deported.

(I'm not even sure these are in order, but as i write them i'm getting exponentially more agro, so i guess it works. -Ed.)

3. reality TV fame
this is blatant jack of klosterman's essay, but it's worth repeating. i love reality tv, but being on the 15th season of real world/road rules challenge does not make you famous. does. not. i watch an unhealthy amount of mtv, and i really need for reality tv stars to stop being the hosts of shit. you're on the real world b/c you're black and/or gay and/or hate black gays. i don't need your thoughts on vampire weekend or for you to idiotically interview p!nk on the latest bow wow video. it's actually, physically painful for me to watch you embarrass yourself like that. take the $10k you won on gauntlet, buy yourself a 2001 jetta, and disappear into the midwest somewhere. and for the love of christ take spencer pratt with you.

2. calories
this is mainly because i don't get them. they're a unit of heat? fuck you.

1. backpacks
mainly the mini ones, ESPECIALLY if they're prada/gucci, some kind of super expensive brand that shows that you have no class and/or taste. but really, as my work-wife, mona, brilliantly begs, "do you REALLY need a mini backpack??" are they for mini books? toddlers? a lotta useless, i say.

the thai that binds

so i picked up the times this morning. (and by picked up, i mean clicked on a bookmark -- so young, so tech savvy) and noticed a particularly interesting article about samak sundaravej, prime minister of thailand. apparently he accepted a couple baht for whipping up a few spring rolls on a cooking show and is now getting the boot outta the brown house (racialist for humor...?). new meaning to well...done. 

i hate to state the obvious here, but how the fuck is this guy so easily dethroned when our retarded cowboy (thank you, russell brand) is still in office after throwing over THREE TRILLION DOLLARS toward a war that 65% of americans feel was a mistake to begin with. 

i have a really hard time mentally measuring distances like 60 yards, but i'm pretty good with money since i envision everything in cocktails and chanel, so i can tell you -- thats a significant amount of money. but at least our economy rocks so we don't need it...

i digress.

i mean, how much could they really have buttered this guy's skillet? the equivalent of $10,  maybe? i'm not being entirely ignorant here -- i can't imagine rachel ray throwing millions at sarahcuda palin for the opportunity to hear her secrets on keeping your caribu tender or the most efficient way to fillet a trout. 

to be fair, i know shit about this story -- i've probably read about sundaravej 3-5 other times in my life, so i'm not exactly an expert. regardless, i would welcome him with open arms to either  fry me up a grilled cheese or run this country. 

PS i promise i'll go back to nonsense about gossip girl or gavin rossdale tomorrow. 

My Leigh

until today, i've avoided miley cyrus because i felt...i felt it was something...I was supposed to do. i'm not 11. i'm not particularly into pop. i HATE people with lisps (despite being cast as the Pine Sol bitch in my girl bairam's made for tv movie). so all signs pointed away from mi mi.

though, in secret, i appreciated her naked photoshoots and the fact that her cell phone pics always "leaked" to the media. she's a slut in the making and i respect that. she's got moxie. and moxie goes a long way.

now, i've had to deal with a lot of peer pressure to hate her. my friends all do. and unlike your friends, my friends really are awesome. if they were drunk, i'd probably get in a car with them. because dying/getting mangled together would be better than awkwardly dealing with them in the hospital afterward.

but today, today i hold my head high with pride. i scream from atop my ikea desk "SEVEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOOOOOOOOOOOU!!!" i spent 99 cents on this bitch, and i've already listened to it at least 50 times, so that means it's paid for itself 75 times over.

ladies, gents, join me as we sing on high...

Pants Parade

guys, two days...TWO DAYS. it's been three long years of combing the interwebs, searching ABC family's weekly guide, tearing open each week's variety...waiting. patiently waiting. and in two short days -- Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 will take the world by storm! andicannotfuckingwait!!!

everything from the tagline -- Laugh. Cry. Share the Pants. -- is pure gold. i'm a little stressed about seeing this in the theatre though, honestly. i might pee my pants, that's inevitable, and it's also something i can prepare for and deal with accordingly. but my main issue is that i can't fast forward through all of Carmen's scenes. i HATE carmen. she's so aggro puerto rican. it's racist, really. what? you couldnt cast a black chick, so you made the closest thing the angry one? it should have been alexis bledel's character, Lena. she's at least 30 and playing a 17 year old, so i'd be pretty pissed. sorry, alexis, you were my least favorite gilmore...even the grandmother was better than you.

but i'll deal with it. i'll sit through carmen singing guantanamera with a spatula in hand over and over again just to see who my girl bridget falls into bed with next. we left homegirl crying about the fact that she left soccer camp and therefore her one night stand. (ed. note - isn't that the worst feeling though? right after you break up with someone or leave your summer crush on some condom/syringe ridden beach in southern massachusetts, knowing that it could be months before you're getting laid again. that's why i like to vacation places i have to take a ferry to -- a few greyhounds later and you're taking the skipper below deck...)

so, if you need me during the next two days, i'll be at forcing my three closest friends (who would never be my friends in real life) to come to JCPenney with me to try on pair after pair of faded dungarees.

"It's complicated..."

let me go on the record as saying i love the "relationship status" feature on facebook (named, heretofore, "the book"). if there's a way you can set your book homepage to only see relationship status updates, please let me know.

i couldn't care less that that dude i had a drunken make out with in sophomore year "just became a fan of zombies", honestly. or that the awkward redheaded chick, who i had to partner with on a skit in junior year spanish, added "Later that day I got to thinking about relationships. There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous. -Carrie Bradshaw” to her quotes section.

however this morning, i came across a friend from college's status update. he made the executive decision, within the privacy of the tight knit facebook community, to move from being "in a relationship" to "it's complicated..."

now, here's where entering free form relationship statuses would come in handy. if i were his complicated relationship counterpart, i would simply respond with "homeboy turned out to be a total tool" or "clearly 'taking a hint' isn't his jam" or, depending on the severity of the situation "he's not exactly...a home team hero, if you know what i mean, and i think you do" (depending on the character count limit).

if i can deal with seeing people's lame status updates (Ed. note: i update mine 6-10 times a day, usually about the type of alcohol i'm ingesting or some kind of emo quote. i'm the lamest kid ever. but it brings me back to the days of dial-up AOL when i would spend hours crafting the sickest profile with secret messages to the boy i liked that was vague only to myself. i digress...), i think i've earned the right to see free form relationship status. the end result would be nothing less than a spectacular tumblr.

the battle cry of a returning soldier

i'm back.

(pausing for applause, tears, related awestruck silence)

you and i both know, i love myself a good hip hop beat. moreover, i enjoy the classy, factual yet metaphorical lyrics that oft accompany da beats. so, after three days straight of listening to vanessa carlton's "white houses" (i should have just taken a valium and gotten it over with, i now realize), i was pleased -- nay, wonderstruck -- to have come across a certain gem by the lil'est of waynes.

you're welcome for 4:33 of pure bliss.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=740d8sTpM7U