1) Basked in post-Mortified Boston bliss after preshow low ticket sale fears were subsided by a large and receptive audience.
2) Was featured in Boston Globe article about the movie " The Break-up" sharing my own splits tale. I have very few break-up stories since my relationships have consisted only of the one I am currently in with my fiance', random dudes I've hooked up with, and the guy I was quoted about whom over the course of 3 weeks I had coffee with once,gave him a hand-job twice, and apparently dated never.
3) Attended the baby shower of my BFF and realized I am closer to baby birthing age than I am to appropiate binge drinking age.
4) Joined a new gym where I punished myself by reading US Weekly while flipping back and forth between Entertainment Tonight and E! News Weekend on the personal tv attached to the crosstrainer machine. I learned that Lindsay Lohan is supersticious, Mary Hart is getting old, and Janet Jackson lost 30 lbs in 4 months. Did I say 4 months!? Yup, 4 months. Janet claims her rapid weight gain was for a movie role. Whatever amkes you happy, but Jermaine Dupree videotaping you chomping on wings doesn't count as a feature film Miss Jackon. Maybe Janet has yo-yoed since her days playing America's most beloved abused child, Penny because Janet is naturally suppose to be thick. This issue of US Weekly was dedicated to celeb diets, naturally skinny celebs whose health programs included 2 days of dogwalking and eating "whatever I want."
5) Just when I thought Nick Lachey's " What's left of me" was the worst song I had ever heard, on my ride home from my pop nausea workout I hear the techno version of Nick Lachey's " What's left of me" on the radio.
6)Woke up every two hours out of fear that the centipede I was too scared to kill before bed was going to try and play footsies with me in the middle of the night,
7) Attended my cousins bridal shower where in an effort to entertain ourselves during the long and akward gift opening ceremony, my sister and I drew faces on our fingers and did finger puppet impersonations of shower guests. Did you just call us classy mature bitches?
8) I like my hair today so after the birdal shower I spent 75 minutes taking digital photos of myself in my backyard until I noticed my neighbor watching me and silently shaking her head in disgust. This was after I spent the car ride home from the shower almost in tears because I felt like my mom was giving her granddaughter/my niece/the cutest baby inthe world more attention than me. If anyone is suprised by my immature bratty behavior than you obviously did not read #7.
9) Watched another touching but disapointing episode of the "Sopranos" while eating a mix of tortilla chips, veggie chips, and pita chips. I am still uncertain if Michael Imperioli is attractive or not.
10) Blogged while allowing shitty Sunday night reality TV to keep me company. Looked up and noticed my almost boyfriend Bret Micheals on E!'s "Stranded with a Star" sharing that he likes ankles on a woman. I stare down at my own ankles searching for flaws to excuse Bret's lack of interest in me when I met him in 2001.My ankle daze is interupted by painful comedic commentary weaved into this E! masterpiece. I can feel the bitter digust brewing in my chest. Other than "The Soup" and "The Chelsea Handler Show" everything else on E! makes me want pour mouthwash in my eyes. I decide it's time to sleep, turn off the TV and finish up my blog.
Monday, June 5, 2006
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
It takes a what?
While cross-training on the eliptical last night I watched It Takes A Thief on the Discovery Channel, the most bizarre show on televsion. Mind you, I did not have my headphones so I was unable to actually hear the program which certainly doubled my confussion, regardless this show seemed crazy.
If you haven't seen it, here's Discovery's explaination
"It Takes a Thief, a unique new Discovery Channel series that offers viewers something they've never seen before: a home burglary performed by convicted former thieves that is taped as it happens, followed by a lesson in what steps to take to prevent such a violation from occurring again.Hosted by reformed ex-cons Matt Johnston and Jon Douglas Rainey...Watch along with the homeowners themselves as the burglars size up, break in, and ransack the home in search of valuables."
Next season, the Discovery Channel wil have a new show where former sex offenders rape teenage girls. Watch along with the parents themselves as the rapist size up, break in, and ransack thier daughters in search of a TV show.
If you haven't seen it, here's Discovery's explaination
"It Takes a Thief, a unique new Discovery Channel series that offers viewers something they've never seen before: a home burglary performed by convicted former thieves that is taped as it happens, followed by a lesson in what steps to take to prevent such a violation from occurring again.Hosted by reformed ex-cons Matt Johnston and Jon Douglas Rainey...Watch along with the homeowners themselves as the burglars size up, break in, and ransack the home in search of valuables."
Next season, the Discovery Channel wil have a new show where former sex offenders rape teenage girls. Watch along with the parents themselves as the rapist size up, break in, and ransack thier daughters in search of a TV show.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Love in an elevator
This hot dude in my office building offered to give me a ride in the freight elevator up to my floor this morning, to which I giggled, “ oh, hahahaha it’s okay, stairs are GREAT! Well not really, hahaha, but the exercise, you know, ha-ha (whimper) ha! See you later!”
Then Steve Tyler and a bunch of underwear models got out of the elevator that was when I was really bummed. Ok, fine there was no Aerosmith or models, but there is that tune running thru my head “Giving it up as I’m going down.” What is it about elevators that are so sexy?
I have mixed feelings about elevators. Sometimes they scare me and sometimes they excite me. When they are crowded, squeaky, slow, I am nervous. When the elevator goes somewhere cool like at Epcot Center’s The Living Seas, when it goes underwater. When it has a pregnant woman in it I am both scared and excited, I mean this could be a hilarious and touching sitcom moment, (but then I would be the one delivering the baby).
At my old office I hated the main elevator, because it prompted lame conversations with
unhappy business types. There was this one lady in particular with really bad hair that always happen to catch the same elevator as me in the morning. This woman hated silence and would proceed to sigh, moan, gasp, and mutter swears (shit, c’mon) and cheers (TGIF!) the whole ride. Upon her exit she would always turn to me and say, “nice talking to you.”
Talking? I didn’t say a word, unless of course I did call her a *bag-bag out loud, but I could have sworn that was an inside moment.
I did love riding the freight elevator at my old job. The building Super Sal was the driver of this ride, it lead down to the storage room basement, which as the “freelance temp” I was involuntarily sent to organize.
Sal was a 5’3 Sicilian man who loved me and loved him. Italians LOVE each other no matter what. I have seen people piss off my parents and just before it gets ugly I hear “Parlo Italiano? The next thing I know Gina and Luigi are dancing the Tarantella with my parents and eating meatballs (ok, no meatballs, but how great would it be if all Italian just walked around always carrying meatballs?).
Sal had callused dirty hands from years of manual labor. He rocked back and forth heel to toe in an effort to make up for his height. He spoke in angry yet compassionate manner, and always asked “wadyoudo?” Sal was exactly like my father, except shorter (I never thought that could be possible).
On our final ride together, just before I left that job, Sal turned to me and said, “So you leave dis job ah? You gotta better one?”
“Sure” I replied, although I ended up leaving for a job that was so awful I walked out after day three. (Have you ever seen the film “Swimming with Sharks”? That was my job.)
“Good, good” he said, “ You need a nice job, like work in a bank, that’s nice job”
I love to hear what my parents people think is a good job. Perhaps Sal was right, maybe bank-teller would be a good job for me but I still choose to float through the different adventures I come across on my artistic journey toward self-satisfaction. My latest little job is great, good energy, good co-workers, and most of all good company for elevator rides, sexy company for elevator rides (if only I could get in, oh and I love boyfriend. Oh well).
*Note: I normally do not promote the word douche-bag, because as an insult calling someone a feminine product really carries no power or injury. Although in this case, the woman I speak of actually resembled a vagina. She has really bushy big hair and saggy face, thus the use of the word bag-bag feels appropriate. Thank you.
Then Steve Tyler and a bunch of underwear models got out of the elevator that was when I was really bummed. Ok, fine there was no Aerosmith or models, but there is that tune running thru my head “Giving it up as I’m going down.” What is it about elevators that are so sexy?
I have mixed feelings about elevators. Sometimes they scare me and sometimes they excite me. When they are crowded, squeaky, slow, I am nervous. When the elevator goes somewhere cool like at Epcot Center’s The Living Seas, when it goes underwater. When it has a pregnant woman in it I am both scared and excited, I mean this could be a hilarious and touching sitcom moment, (but then I would be the one delivering the baby).
At my old office I hated the main elevator, because it prompted lame conversations with
unhappy business types. There was this one lady in particular with really bad hair that always happen to catch the same elevator as me in the morning. This woman hated silence and would proceed to sigh, moan, gasp, and mutter swears (shit, c’mon) and cheers (TGIF!) the whole ride. Upon her exit she would always turn to me and say, “nice talking to you.”
Talking? I didn’t say a word, unless of course I did call her a *bag-bag out loud, but I could have sworn that was an inside moment.
I did love riding the freight elevator at my old job. The building Super Sal was the driver of this ride, it lead down to the storage room basement, which as the “freelance temp” I was involuntarily sent to organize.
Sal was a 5’3 Sicilian man who loved me and loved him. Italians LOVE each other no matter what. I have seen people piss off my parents and just before it gets ugly I hear “Parlo Italiano? The next thing I know Gina and Luigi are dancing the Tarantella with my parents and eating meatballs (ok, no meatballs, but how great would it be if all Italian just walked around always carrying meatballs?).
Sal had callused dirty hands from years of manual labor. He rocked back and forth heel to toe in an effort to make up for his height. He spoke in angry yet compassionate manner, and always asked “wadyoudo?” Sal was exactly like my father, except shorter (I never thought that could be possible).
On our final ride together, just before I left that job, Sal turned to me and said, “So you leave dis job ah? You gotta better one?”
“Sure” I replied, although I ended up leaving for a job that was so awful I walked out after day three. (Have you ever seen the film “Swimming with Sharks”? That was my job.)
“Good, good” he said, “ You need a nice job, like work in a bank, that’s nice job”
I love to hear what my parents people think is a good job. Perhaps Sal was right, maybe bank-teller would be a good job for me but I still choose to float through the different adventures I come across on my artistic journey toward self-satisfaction. My latest little job is great, good energy, good co-workers, and most of all good company for elevator rides, sexy company for elevator rides (if only I could get in, oh and I love boyfriend. Oh well).
*Note: I normally do not promote the word douche-bag, because as an insult calling someone a feminine product really carries no power or injury. Although in this case, the woman I speak of actually resembled a vagina. She has really bushy big hair and saggy face, thus the use of the word bag-bag feels appropriate. Thank you.
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