Like I said a year ago, this blog is over (yet peeps still link to me here). From now on please visit www.giuliarozzi.com for the magic that spills from my mind.
I love you, now get out of here.
Get!
Monday, April 9, 2007
Monday, October 2, 2006
Let me try this again
Oh Giulia is cute and cheap, you are a hard habit to quit but I just don't have time to give you the love and affection you so deserve. I've tried to end our relationship a few times now but I think today is the day. We began as a humble little blog supposedly dedicated to offering people cheap shopping advice and cute thoughts, but your cheap tips were simple a repeated " Go th Urban Outiftters when they have a 50% sale" and your cute thoughts were well, actually they were pretty cute. Regardless, my lovin' is currently being given to my other sites www.deardouchebag.com and www.giuliarozzi.com ( which is getting a makeover that will include a mini blog/updates page). So to those reading, if you link to this blog please change your links to one of the above mentioned sites. I promise I will still share some sweet-ass hilarity, insight, and cuteness in cyberland just not here. (ewwwh I just said "cyberland")
Now for a very special episode of my blog let's remember the good times with a retrospective of my favorite posts. Cue "I will remember you" by Sarah McLaughlin here.
Disco Daddy
Business Binge
Suck my Dickinson
Weekend Top Ten
It Takes a What
A Blunt Powt
BFF Princess
I hate cats
Who's your yogi?
Creepy guys
Rome
t-hole
Reading List
Worst Intro Music
MTV
Asshole
Lo Mein
Biggest poop award
BAM
10 Greatest Reasons
Gottans
Face Wax
Subway People
Blog Therapy
Be a dancer
Em-bare-assing
Who's your Papi
We did good blog, we did damn good.
Now for a very special episode of my blog let's remember the good times with a retrospective of my favorite posts. Cue "I will remember you" by Sarah McLaughlin here.
We did good blog, we did damn good.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Disco Daddy
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.
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
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…
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…
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Exercise, porn style.
Click HERE and launch the demo for the new ab excercise machine the iGALLOP.
Yes, horse riding has always been a great exercise, for your vag?
Yes, horse riding has always been a great exercise, for your vag?
Monday, July 31, 2006
I am a few of your favorite things
I have an adorable friend Colleen who was raving about how much she enjoys reading my blogs. She is one of those people whom I love making laugh, because her laughter is very genuine and contagious. At a dinner party this evening she quoted my blogs a few times and then said "Oh my God I am like stalking you!"
Stalking me? Please! I am inviting you all into the part of my little head that is spilling over with commentary, judgment, fury, excitement, randomness, nonsensical jibber jabber, offensive language, and observations. Calling anyone who knows "too much" a "stalker" cause they read these blogs is like me calling some a thief after giving them keys to my apartment and putting big note on the door that says "there is cash and jewelry in the left drawer of my dresser, help yourself!" (Note: I do not have cash nor jewelry in the left drawer of my dresser. Actually I don't have cash, period. To be honest I don't really have a dresser. Maybe I don't even have an apartment or a pen to even write a robber a note.)
Point being, if adding my blog, my Dear Douchebag blog, my website, and my Myspace page to your favorites makes you a stalker than my all means here are the keys to apartment and my heart.
The internet is creepy good like that. Remember back in the day when you had to wonder how someone was doing? Like let's say an ex-boyfriend/girlfriend popped in your mind, back in the day you'd have to actually bump into someone who knew him/her or better yet actually bump into your ex. Nowadays you need not wonder anymore. You can Google your ex, read their blog, visit their MySpace page, find their wedding registry and go around to every Crate & Barrel in his/her town and buy out all the 10" Stainless Steel Footed Colanders and then when his little wifey wants to make pasts she's going to have to suffer with some dumb ass plastic 8" unfooted Colander that she settled for at Target and then she'll be so frustrated that she didn't get her dream Colander that she'll start to act really snappy at your, I mean her husband and they'll start fighting and she'll say "if you really loved me you would care about what I use to drain our ziti!" and then she'll snap and go upstairs and start tossing all his clothes out the window like they do in the movies and they'll get the marriage annulled.
Yeah, the internet is pretty wack.
Wait, did the spirit of one of the Kris Kross brothers just take over my body for a second or did I actually just use the word "wack" as an adjective?
I just opened a new screen and Googled Kris Kross because I was wondering how they were doing. (This is known as multi-tasking or ADHD) According to the official Kris Kross site they are doing vague. The details on Kris and Kross's whereabouts are fuzzy but the fact remains, Kris Kross tricked rich white boys at my junior high to wear thier pants backwards to school.
Now back to me and how awesome my blogs are. I do realize that this blog has been lacking a bit. Since my famed I hate cats blog entry (5 people read it) and the more recent cult classic Dear Makers of Crocs letter on www.deardouchebag.blogspot.com (6 people read it) I feel like I have a lot to live up to. This is why I tend to strive for being average, so that people don't expect you to always rock it so damn hard.
For you Giulia Rozzi historians this blog began as a place where I was going to delight the masses with my tips on being as the title indicates cute and cheap. Cute as in well, me and cheap as in bargain shopping. I have a gift for cheap finds but as I started in 2004 to try and teach the joys of inexpensive style I realized all I really do is shop the Urban Outfitters sale section and that every blog entry was about the Urban Outfitters sale section. Sure the city location may have changed but my obsession with mass-produced-hipstery- sizes made for teenagers-attire remained the same. And while I am still mad at Urban Outfitters for clearly stealing Johnny Cupcakes ideas I cannot resist a $3 tank top. Yeah I said $3 tank top. I got two of them today at the Urban Outfitters on Broadway and Houston in NYC today where they are currently having a $3-$10 sale on all their past season stuff. You have to go upstairs and follow the sign to this little room that is just filled with cheap clothes and accessories.
See there I go again with my cheap advice about the same damn store. Maybe I should have called this blog giuliaiscuteandindebtbecauseshewontstopbuying$3tanktopsshedoesntneed
butgetonlybecausetheyare$3.blogspot.com
Honestly, (because until this part of my post I have been lying) blogging is soooooo April 2006 so if this here blog ain't got that grove it once had 4 months ago, oh well. My energy has been going more towards the douchebag letters right now and that blog promises to always live up to its title.I plan to expand the blog to an actual site, include a few guest douchebag letters, and some fancier graphics.
But no matter what I want I have to keep this blog going, I gonna write for friends like Colleen, I gotta write for Urban Outfitters, I gotta write for my ex-boyfriends so they can know how I'm doing and I'm doing so very fine.
(Disclaimer: I actually do not have any ex-boyfriends, but ex-boyfriends sounds classier than ex-random dudes I've hooked up with).
Stalking me? Please! I am inviting you all into the part of my little head that is spilling over with commentary, judgment, fury, excitement, randomness, nonsensical jibber jabber, offensive language, and observations. Calling anyone who knows "too much" a "stalker" cause they read these blogs is like me calling some a thief after giving them keys to my apartment and putting big note on the door that says "there is cash and jewelry in the left drawer of my dresser, help yourself!" (Note: I do not have cash nor jewelry in the left drawer of my dresser. Actually I don't have cash, period. To be honest I don't really have a dresser. Maybe I don't even have an apartment or a pen to even write a robber a note.)
Point being, if adding my blog, my Dear Douchebag blog, my website, and my Myspace page to your favorites makes you a stalker than my all means here are the keys to apartment and my heart.
The internet is creepy good like that. Remember back in the day when you had to wonder how someone was doing? Like let's say an ex-boyfriend/girlfriend popped in your mind, back in the day you'd have to actually bump into someone who knew him/her or better yet actually bump into your ex. Nowadays you need not wonder anymore. You can Google your ex, read their blog, visit their MySpace page, find their wedding registry and go around to every Crate & Barrel in his/her town and buy out all the 10" Stainless Steel Footed Colanders and then when his little wifey wants to make pasts she's going to have to suffer with some dumb ass plastic 8" unfooted Colander that she settled for at Target and then she'll be so frustrated that she didn't get her dream Colander that she'll start to act really snappy at your, I mean her husband and they'll start fighting and she'll say "if you really loved me you would care about what I use to drain our ziti!" and then she'll snap and go upstairs and start tossing all his clothes out the window like they do in the movies and they'll get the marriage annulled.
Yeah, the internet is pretty wack.
Wait, did the spirit of one of the Kris Kross brothers just take over my body for a second or did I actually just use the word "wack" as an adjective?
I just opened a new screen and Googled Kris Kross because I was wondering how they were doing. (This is known as multi-tasking or ADHD) According to the official Kris Kross site they are doing vague. The details on Kris and Kross's whereabouts are fuzzy but the fact remains, Kris Kross tricked rich white boys at my junior high to wear thier pants backwards to school.
Now back to me and how awesome my blogs are. I do realize that this blog has been lacking a bit. Since my famed I hate cats blog entry (5 people read it) and the more recent cult classic Dear Makers of Crocs letter on www.deardouchebag.blogspot.com (6 people read it) I feel like I have a lot to live up to. This is why I tend to strive for being average, so that people don't expect you to always rock it so damn hard.
For you Giulia Rozzi historians this blog began as a place where I was going to delight the masses with my tips on being as the title indicates cute and cheap. Cute as in well, me and cheap as in bargain shopping. I have a gift for cheap finds but as I started in 2004 to try and teach the joys of inexpensive style I realized all I really do is shop the Urban Outfitters sale section and that every blog entry was about the Urban Outfitters sale section. Sure the city location may have changed but my obsession with mass-produced-hipstery- sizes made for teenagers-attire remained the same. And while I am still mad at Urban Outfitters for clearly stealing Johnny Cupcakes ideas I cannot resist a $3 tank top. Yeah I said $3 tank top. I got two of them today at the Urban Outfitters on Broadway and Houston in NYC today where they are currently having a $3-$10 sale on all their past season stuff. You have to go upstairs and follow the sign to this little room that is just filled with cheap clothes and accessories.
See there I go again with my cheap advice about the same damn store. Maybe I should have called this blog giuliaiscuteandindebtbecauseshewontstopbuying$3tanktopsshedoesntneed
butgetonlybecausetheyare$3.blogspot.com
Honestly, (because until this part of my post I have been lying) blogging is soooooo April 2006 so if this here blog ain't got that grove it once had 4 months ago, oh well. My energy has been going more towards the douchebag letters right now and that blog promises to always live up to its title.I plan to expand the blog to an actual site, include a few guest douchebag letters, and some fancier graphics.
But no matter what I want I have to keep this blog going, I gonna write for friends like Colleen, I gotta write for Urban Outfitters, I gotta write for my ex-boyfriends so they can know how I'm doing and I'm doing so very fine.
(Disclaimer: I actually do not have any ex-boyfriends, but ex-boyfriends sounds classier than ex-random dudes I've hooked up with).
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