Tuesday, November 10, 2009

yum yum yum.

I am exhausted from a day of running all over the city and witnessing a bombardment of shitty behavior (shame on you, New Yorkers!). Taking this into consideration, I've decided that I would best be expressed by the following video, rather than the usual blogging format.

Monday, November 9, 2009

No (rock of) Love for Megan

Recently, I went out to a bar here in Williamsburg to have a drink with some friends. Somehow, halfway into our first beers, we managed to get on the topic of the suddenly cancelled Megan Wants a Millionaire. And by “we managed,” I mean that I managed because, yes, I love talking about shows like that. And yes, when I do talk about them, it is totally classy because shows that have women with nicknames like Delicious, Buck Wild, and Rodeo deserve a little respect. It’s why I discuss them only in the finest drinking institutions while drinking the finest liquors (that are in no way Miller High Lifes). Sometimes, I might even spark up a Cuban or two (sandwiches, that is). But I digress because this story, like so many, begins with Megan.

Trying and failing multiple times to get my friends interested in MWAM, I finally, and I hesitate to use this phrase, pulled out the big guns.

“The show was cancelled midseason because one of the contestants committed MURDER!” I shouted.

This inappropriate outburst did, in fact, get them interested. Not only that, but the bartender, who had pretty much ignored us so far, also turned and was all, "WAIT. WHAT?" Would I say that she sounded a bit too excited by murder? Yes. Probably even more than I did when I initially shouted about it in a quiet bar. Still, I was finally getting the attention that I feel that I constantly deserve and what was I gonna do, turn it down? Wouldn't that let down all of the Flava/Rock of Love contestants that I hold so close to my heart (or my booze-soaked liver, at the very least)? So I kept the ball rolling, obviously.

"Yeah," I said to her. "The guy from Megan Wants A Millionaire is totally a murderer! Do you watch it?!"

"I don't watch TV," she said, immediately turning her back to me to, I assume, work on her dead eyes and mouth breathing in the mirror behind the bar.

The point of the story, even if we took the long and scenic route to get to it, is this: I live in one of the few places on the planet where being super enthused by homicide is totally acceptable, just as long as you don't own or watch television.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Let's face it: I'm pretty fucking incredible

There seems to be a movement within my lady internet circle to put aside the self-deprecating comments that we broads have grown far too comfortable making. It began with the Maiden Metallurgist calling on her readers to list three things that they love about themselves without qualifying or dismissing them. Next, Rachel and the Pop Culture Librarian followed up with similar posts and the former has asked me to do the same. I think that this is a great idea, albeit one that makes me a little uneasy as I am the queen of self-deprecation. This is a habit that I needed to break for, if nothing else, constantly criticizing yourself might convince others to believe the criticism.

So, here we go, ladies. I'm in. Today, this very moment, I am going to make a resolution to knock off the self hate and start with the self love. It ain't New Years, my friends, but tomorrow is a new day. Care to join me? Write your own post or leave me three things that you love about yourself in the comment section. Here are mine:

1. I am hilarious.

2. I have a scar above my left knee. I love it's shape and, even though it's small, I think that it makes me unique.

3. I am very brave.

Having trouble getting comfortable with this whole idea? Listening to Empire State of Mind eight kajillion times really seemed to help me, but it's effectiveness might vary by geographic location. How about listening to the band Chicago or the songs Sweet Home Alabama,
Back Home in Indiana, If You're Going to San Francisco Be Sure to Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair, Take Me Back to Tulsa, or the Tenessee Waltz?

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Rule Britannia.

After much pressure, the distinguished British landmark Big Ben has decided to start twittering. Alcohol monitoring bracelet, sexually explicit memoir, and werewolf bar mitzvah cover to follow.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Speaking of Steven

We collaborated tonight and the results were hilarious. He also titles me a humorist which is both flattering and crazytown.

mish mash

I'm being hassled to blog by my friend Steven, which is fair enough because I always say that I'm gonna blog and so rarely make the actual commitment. Anyways, here I am. Happy? Do you want another piece of me? I swear, all I do (besides overwhelming hoard) is give.

(Here, we ignore the need for a transitional sentence)

The past week has been a little bit out of the norm. My mother and stepfather came to New York for a lovely visit filled with cupcakes, dinners that weren't cereal, and little to no tension-filled moments. Not to brag, but I really lucked out when it comes to parents because mine are all pretty amazing. It was great having one set of my folks here to witness that I'm not living in a cardboard box or selling hand jobs in McCarren Park (because they're FREE!) and am, in fact, doing quite well.

I'm gonna change directions now, because, I don't know about you, but I'm getting a little tired of the recaps. Too much time is spent recalling what I've done and too little time is spent focusing on what could actually be a good piece of writing. The problem is that I am such a lazy blogger, yet I feel it necessary to fill you in on every detail that you may have missed in my waaaaay exciting life ("last week, I thought about going to the farmer's market, but I didn't leave the house on time"). How am I to solve this dilemma? Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you...

... Nablopomo Lite!

Why "Lite"? Because I'm being slightly realistic. And because I already missed day one. So, friends, tune in every day...ish for the month of November for a post by yours truly.