Monday, September 25, 2006

Disco Daddy

Originally uploaded by Giulia1.
After an always fantastical Chicks & Giggles last week and a super fantabulous sold-out Mortified NYC show I didn't think my week could rock much harder...but then it did.
I spent Saturday night drunkenly dancing with some of my favorite girlfriends. I woke up Sunday morning absolutely spent desperate to just stay in bed and watch whatever MTV/VH1 marathon I could find. But alas I had my final wedding to attend of the season. Yeah, I know a Sunday wedding but that is how Italians roll ( Google it). There was no way in hell I wasn't going to muster some energy to witness one of my favorite things in the entire world- my family drinking and dancing.
First we enjoyed an endless stream of giggling throughout cocktail hour at the copious amounts of appetizers my tiny little parents successful manage to shovel down their throats. Yes, my parents favorite food to eat is anything with the ingredient "free" , they also enjoy eating things that have a dash of unlimited, all-you -can-eat, or complimentary. There was one app that was a cod salad ball thingy that my dad took a bite of and said " Blagh, this is no good." Yet each time the waiter walked by with a fresh platter of fish puffs my dad took two.
"Daddy you just said you don't like those things."
"Yeah, I know."
After a lovely meal it was time to do what my family does best, make absolutely adorable fools of ourselves on the dance floor and this evenings dance captain was my daddy.
Someday I will post tape of this experience on here but for now just close your eyes, well actually don't because then you can't read this. For now, just read this and then close your eyes and imagine the following- a little man with grayish white hair. This man spends most of his waking hours working even though he is newly retired. When you see him he'll grunt "hello" under his breath followed by some negative comment about how you parked your car crooked in the driveway and then he'll ask " what are you stupid?" Now imagine this little man as that dude in the middle of the circle on the dance floor for four hours straight. His moves look more like cardio kickboxing than dancing as his shimmy's his hips and punches the air at the same temp regardless of the songs beat. It’s almost the way those dancing Santa’s move except less coordinated. At one point he was doing some sort of awkwardly choreographed dance with the only black guy at the wedding during "Billy Jean" by Michael Jackson. Yeah, even black male dancers dig my dad. Then he grabbed my mom and rocked out to Pink’s “Get the party started” cheering "I'm coming out, I'm coming!" Before I could react my dad was being sandwiched by two women during “I’m bringing sexy back” by Justin Timberlake. Ahem, I said my father was being sandwiched my two women. One of the women went as far as to wipe my fathers face with a cloth napkin and fan him down so he could get some water. It was very Elvis-style rock-star-ish. And it was very beautiful.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

I'm a winner! Sorta.

Um, apparently this lil' website you're reading right now is one of the Top 40 blogs written by or about comedians according to Mo Comedy along with a whole gaggle of my other favorite blogs. I'm not sure what this means, but I do know that I came in 40th on a top 40 list which also means I came in last.This feels like both victory and failure. Mosty victory. I think.

Thursday, September 7, 2006

Business Binge

Originally uploaded by Giulia1.
I just finished the first of a four month in-house freelance copy writing gig. As a freelancer who works pretty independently all day I have successfully steered clear from getting to know most of my co-workers. I am sure they are all wonderful people but knowing my time here is temporary I would prefer not to get too attached to Larry in IT or too personal with Betsy in accounting. That said, during yesterdays lunchtime pizza party I felt the need to get my pizza and get out as quickly as possible to avoid any possibility of awkward office banter about the slow speed of the elevators or the recent drop in temperature. I didn’t want to answer any questions about me, my hobbies, my career goals, or my weekend. I just wanted pizza and there was a school cafeteria like line leading up to the satisfying element of my desire.
The five minutes I spent in line caused me to drift into the fucked-up fantasy land my head often travels to periodically throughout the day. I began to imagine what all these strangers would do if I decided to pile up 10 slices on my plate. There was already a buzz that there may not even be enough pizza to feed the entire staff. As murmurs of “they only got 25 pizzas?” grew in the air so did my aspiration to just grab 4 boxes of pizza and take them to my desk. I wasn’t even that hungry and I am only able to really eat two slices in one sitting ( unlike the entire pies I could once devour when I was a food addicted yet surprisingly slender child) but just to see the looks of horror on my office mates faces as this quiet, unknown, extremely adorable girl from the copy department shoveled slice upon slice on her flimsy plate while sucking the grease off her paws and splattering cheese on her clearly more casual than corporate outfit of jeans and a tank top would have been absolutely delightful.
What would they have done? Now, this thought ignited the fantasy of a post pizza hoarding scenario. The office manger would tackle me to ground tugging the slices from my hands as I screamed out “But your email said free lunch! Give me back my pepperoni!” Other staffers would jump in, some to save the office manager as I went to kick her arm that had a strong grip on my pepper and onion pie, while others simply dove in to save that perfectly good mushroom slice from falling to the floor. Finally the GM would come in and ask “what the hell was going here!” as everyone pointed to me and mangled mush of destroyed pizza boxes and spilled soda pop. (The soda spilled when Marsha in HR stood on her cubicle and tried to drop kick the parmesan cheese out from my under my arm, she missed me and fell on top of about 10 cases of Coke and Diet Coke. Did I forget to mention that part?) As he’d ask me to get my things and please leave the office, I’d wipe the tomato sauce (now mixed with blood from my busted nose) from my mouth and splash it on the floor saying “yes sir.” Then just as I was about to exit the office I’d run back and grab the last undamaged pizza from the table and run.
By the time it was actually my turn to select my slices I was already full, full of delight that is ( and I suppose pretty full of myself). Even though nothing extraordinary occurred as it did in my little mind montage, I still had the same kind of sinister grin on my face that my 8 month niece gets when she’s in the midst of doing a major poopy in her recently changed diaper. I took two slices, smiling at passer-bys as I returned to my desk. After I finished my lunch I couldn’t help but walk past the pizza party again just to test myself and unfortunately I did nothing, at least not this time…