the legend of Silver Surfer

now this story may not mean much to you if you don't have the right sense of humor, so all of you who don't like to laugh at just about anything bear with me for a moment or ignore the rest of this story.

back in the day there was a new kid in town at Gulf Breeze High School. he had bleached blond hair, and the first day at school he showed up in a silver jacket. the second day he showed up... in the same silver jacket. in fact, from what i've been told, he wore that freaking silver jacket every freaking day and therefore became known as the Silver Surfer. ironically, he didn't even surf. it was his California-esque poorly dyed locks that coined the later half of his name.

Silver Surfer has travelled all the way from Florida to our very own Venice Beach California. how do i know this, dare you ask? well, believe it or not, he lives about 5 blocks away from me next door to Katie and went to high school with Nikki. small world...

my favorite part about Silver Surfer is that when ever any of Nikki's friends from Florida are in town she'll ask them, "hey do you remember (insert real name here not to be disclosed for protection purposes)?" and no matter who it is - guy, girl, gay, straight, drunk, stoned - the response is always unanimous. "you mean Silver Surfer?" it kills me.

what's also great is that poor Silver Surfer has been "outed" in every aspect of his post-high school career. one time our friend Jerry was visiting Silver Surfer's frat and one of his fraternity brothers asks Jerry, "hey, do you know (insert nickname Silver Surfer gave himself so that no one would ever feel the need to call him Silver Surfer again)?" stumped, Jerry sadly admitted he had no idea who the kid was talking about. but the kid was 99.9% sure that Jerry knew who he was talking about. "you know," the kid urged. "(insert real name here again not to be disclosed for protection purposes)" at this point Jerry is dying. "you mean SILVER SURFER?!!" Jerry proceeds to explain to Silver Surfer's frat brother how in high school every one called him Silver Surfer because he wore the same silver jacket every day and had the awful bleached surfer-esque hair. from that point forward, Silver Surfer's frat brothers called him by his rightful name: Silver Surfer.

a few months ago we were at The Whaler and we ran into one of Silver Surfer's current roommates. Nikki is a little lit and proceeds to inform him of the origin of the name Silver Surfer. just doing her job, kids. don't feel bad for poor Silver Surfer. it's partly his fault for trying to deny his heritage. embrace who you are no matter what. that's the one thing i've learned about my life because of Silver Surfer.

Thank you. Thank you, Silver Surfer for showing me the way.

my own worst enemy

it's the simple things in life that keep me going on a day to day basis. iced lattes, The Office, myspace, and LL Cool J (not really) to name a few. among my favorites has always been the bubble bath, not only because i find the word "bubble" completely intriguing in itself, but who doesn't like a little r&r in a hot, sudsy tub of water?

today my bath unexpectedly took a turn for the worse as it dawned on me that i was sitting in a pool of my own dirt (among other things i can only presume). but it's not like i've never taken a bath before. these things should have crossed my mind years ago. so why the sudden insight? no se. maybe it was because i was reading Sedaris, and Sedaris always puts me in a (wonderfully) cynical mood. maybe i've been protecting myself; subconsciously i knew that if i ever even began to think of all the unsanitary things that a bubble bath actually is my frothy times would immediately cease. if that is the case, my subconscious was right.

though i can't tell you why these thoughts began entering my mind i can tell you they hit me like a ton of bricks. i began to panic. i'm no germaphobe, but i definitely have hygienic instincts. i can deal with clutter (hence the current state of my room) but not dirty dishes in the sink. visions of me drowning in my own polluted bathwater began flooding my head. the tiled bathrooms walls were closing in on me. only one thing was clear: there was no way out.

until i sat up.

let's take a step back. soaking in your own dead skin cells is unquestionably disgusting, but look on the bright side - at least they're your dead skin cells (unless you're sharing your bath time, but that's your conscious choice). who knows how many people's hangnails were floating around in the last swimming pool you jumped into? or how many people's pee you've splashed at your friends in the ocean? don't even get me started... i began weighing the pros and cons and the beginning stages of a panic attack quickly dissipated. i had riled myself up for no reason.

in conclusion, i've determined that the bubble bath is still on my simple pleasures list. so long as you take them at face value, it should still be on yours, too. once you can accept the fact that you are not in the tub to become clean, but simply for relaxation purposes your mind will once again be at ease.

c'est la bubbles.

O' Christmas Tree.

for those of you who don't know and pretend like you don't care, i HEART Christmas. Halloween? eh, could do without. Thanksgiving? stuffing is great and all, but you can only eat so much before you feel like you could possibly die. but Christmas? Christmas is the shit. not only is it our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ's birthday (i'm totally going to hell for saying that, and saying it in a facetious tone in my head probably didn't help the cause...), but it means

WAIT. while it is still fresh in my mind, i feel that i have to say that sitting with Nikki and Drew is probably one of my top 10 all time favorite things to do. we don't even have to be doing anything specific, just listening to the conversation alone is good enough for me. they are simply recockulous - and i love them. today just went something like this:

N: why don't you just come out of the closet and admit that you're gay?
D: i'm not gay, you're gay.
N: no, you're gay. remember? you told me that one time.
D: well... you're gayer.

anyway, what i was trying to say before i became sidetracked was that Christmas means Christmas trees. the Sunday after Thanksgiving Nikki and i set out to find the perfect tree. and don't worry, kids. we found it - at Target, the greatest store on earth. but they were a bit understaffed in the Garden Center at Target this past Sunday because we couldn't find anyone to help us actually move the tree. so what did we do? we picked it up and put it in our shopping cart. yes, we put a 7 foot tree in our shopping cart. it was amazing, but not even the best part of the whole excursion. the best part was that the kid who worked at Target (who i'm pretty sure i went to high school with, but i could be wrong) wasn't allowed to tie the tree to our car for liability reasons. so he basically gave us a piece of string and bid us good luck and farewell. let's just say going 20mph from MB to MDR because we were scared shitless that a giant tree would cause a giant accident was not fun. but alas, the tree made it home safe and sound and i love it. you will love it too once you see it. just wait. i dare you not to love it.

yeah, this post definitely lost it's steam. i had better things to say, i don't know what happened. so i guess i'll just end on this note: Drew offered to write me a personal check for my last mini can of Diet Coke. i guess he really is gay.

karma isn't always a bitch. sometimes it's just plain funny.

Nikki, Dave and i were walking to the car tonight in the freezing cold and Nikki says, "i wish i had my ear muffins." i almost died. i laughed so hard that i was no longer cold and yes, i may have made fun of her just a little (or a lot).

we get to the car and i go to step in, but i fall out. yes, i fell out of the car on the way in. don't ask how because i'm not really sure how it worked. one second i was standing, stepping into a vehicle and the next i was on the ground. but then she got to relentlessly laugh at me, so i guess we're even.

karaoke (n): A painful form of 'entertainment' only to be attempted when very, very, very drunk.

we've made it a habit to go sing karaoke at the Whaler on Sunday nights. it's a guaranteed good time. the same people are always there, and the same people are always ridiculously drunk. last night was an especially "colorful", for lack of better term, evening.

i will now dissect various Whaler patron's singing styles and/or overall vibes for your reading (and hopefully viewing) pleasure.

let's start with Gina. Gina actually has a decent voice but sometimes puts on the vibrato a bit too strong and starts to resemble a cracked out opera singer. her head constantly wobbles, which often leads me to wonder if she's the adult version of that one story where the girl has to wear a velvet ribbon around her neck otherwise her head falls off (don't roll your eyes like i'm crazy - i've emailed Katy to confirm the name of said story. i know she knows it...). it's like she's a bobble head doll, and some one is constantly flicking her head. actually, it's quite remarkable now that i think about it. i give Gina mad props. i think i'd have a headache in 30 seconds if i voluntarily moved my head that much...

Kirk on the other hand has a very stationary head, and prefers the eyes closed hand over one ear method. i couldn't tell if he was actually plugging his ear, so as to hear himself better, or if the hand was simply cupping the ear so as to give the illusion that he was trying to hear himself better. though between you, me and the wall, when you're in a crowded bar singing cheesy Sting songs and every one else is singing along with you do you really need to hear yourself all that better? can you really hear yourself all that better? i guess only Kirk knows...

then there's Rico. Rico is probably one of my all time favorites because he will sing any song regardless of how long or terrible it is. he also loves to sing along to EVERY song. if he's not singing with you during your song, you can almost bet that he's dancing. Rico has some sweet dance moves. i love it when Rico dances.

moving on to Sumiko. Sumiko is an older Japanese woman who looks incredibly good for her age. at the beginning of the night, she seems relatively normal. she sits at the bar, drinks her drinks, and sings her songs as they come up. but as the night progresses she becomes more and more ridiculous and her crazy switch somehow gets turned to the "On" position. last night she wildly motioned across the bar for me to come over and talk to her. so i did. she tells me i have an incredible voice and that i've inspired her to learn new songs. in fact, she'd like to learn the song i had sung earlier in the night, but she's afraid that she's too old to know what song it was. well kids, it was Wilson Phillips' "Hold On" (sung only at the request of Katie Driscoll) which according to my calculations came out circa 1990. that's 16 years ago. not exactly a new sensation... moral of the story is she kissed me on the cheek after i told her i had complete faith that she could not only learn, but master "Hold On".

there are oodles more, but now that i've begun i realize i could go on for days. don't worry, i won't go on for days. there is just one more story that i have to share, though.

it's the end of the night, Nikki has already gone home and Katie and i have said most of our goodbyes and head for the door. Katie gets trapped along the way and i get to the door only to realize that she's not behind me. i scream her name. nothing. i scream it again. still nothing. Will, our favorite bouncer in the entire world laughs at me. i walk back into the bar, see her, call her name and give her a pissy look - though the pissy look is completely in jest. but this creepy old man with a fro and clear sunglasses walks over to me and says "honey, all that matters is that she goes home with you at the end of the night. there will always be people trying to get her attention, but remember that she's going home with you." i mutter thanks, and am now confused. Katie finally comes and i tell her what he says at which point she busts out laughing. apparently that old creepy man thought we were dating, as earlier in the evening he told her that we make a lovely couple. last week i was Dave's girlfriend, this week i was Katie's. who's next? grab a number, get in line.

if this didn't make you want to join us on Sundays for good some ol' fashioned fun, there's only one other thing i can think of that would sell you. Dave doing Usher's "Nice and Slow". and if that didn't get you, then you're hopeless. hopeless i tell you.

sweet dreams are made of these

i'd like to take this opportunity to let every one know that i think i've finally found a way to harness my psychic abilities. contradictory statement, i know. if i were actually psychic i wouldn't think, i would know... what ever.

in the past week, i've had dreams (or premonitions, will you) that have been eerily similar to future real life occurrences. for instance, the other night i had a dream that our former roommate Jordan B Nice came over and tried to hug me, Nikki and Danielle. the next day, i went to the mailbox only to find our old house key and a handwritten note from Mr. Nice inside.

i then had another dream in which Nikki took a small container of diced onions out of the fridge and asked me why i hadn't eaten my onions yet, to which i told her they weren't mine - they were Dave's. this morning Dave was in the kitchen making breakfast and he couldn't find onions. Nikki had to dig through the fridge and then pulled a container of pre-diced onions out JUST like she did in my dream.

not impressed yet? fine. i'm not psychic. i've had a weird week full of coincidences.

but while we're on the subject of dreams, let's talk about Nikki's dream from the other night...

so she's lost in the airport - doesn't know what gate her flight is leaving from and is rushing to try and find out when she drops her phone. it breaks into (fixable) pieces, and she gathers all of them up with the exception of the battery, which fell just out of her reach. as she's heading over to get it, one of those little carts that they always drive around in runs over the battery so she's just lost the use of her cell phone. this is potentially a problem because she's flying to New York, where ironically her ex-bf Matt is supposed to pick her up, but she won't be able to call Matt when she gets there because she doesn't have a phone anymore. she gets panicky. she keeps walking through the airport where she randomly sees BJ Novak (Ryan from The Office). so she runs up to BJ and the conversation goes something like this:

N: i know i don't know you, and this is kind of weird but i broke my cell phone and i really need to call my mom to get my friend's number so that they can pick me up when i land. can i please use your phone?
BJ: NO. i don't know you, this is weird, and you can't use my phone.
N: i always knew you were a dick!

that was really my favorite part of the dream, but for posterity's sake the rest of it goes something like this: she finally finds a payphone and calls her mom and is crying while telling her what has been happening. while she's on the phone, she overhears on the loudspeaker that she's missed her flight and i don't really remember the rest. i just love that she saw BJ Novak in the airport and that he was an ass. i also think it's funny how The Office rules our lives and we no longer go anywhere on Thursday nights because we can't risk not seeing it. last night's episode was FANTASTIC for you poor saps that missed it. go spend $1.99 on iTunes and buy it. you won't regret it.

TGIF.

(disclaimer: i do not personally know, nor have i ever seen BJ Novak in person. i do not think he really is a dick, nor am i really calling him one in this entry of my blog)

myspace... no longer mine?

before you freak out and throw me on a pile of burning wood, calm down and read. no, people, i'm not saying that i'm over myspace. i still check it religiously and would be desperately lost without it. BUT in the recent weeks i have become more and more dissatisfied with the myspace world. maybe dissatisfied is the wrong word... bored? hence me starting this blog. and now, friends, at the urge of Ben Gibbard i've also created a MOG account.

what is MOG, you say? funny, because i'm not really sure. from what i gather it's a community similar to myspace but is purely made for music, musicians and music fans alike. no, you won't have to deal with unsolicited friend requests from horrible bands because there are no friend requests. it's really just a page that you create to share your likes (or dislikes for that matter) with whom ever chooses to stumble across you.

i'm still building and becoming acquainted with the whole idea, but check it before you wreck it. http://mog.com/yesiamaninja

go make your own. you know you want to. and i want to see what you're listening to...

things i would tell Danielle if she were here

1.) i hate it when people say "that is so you!" what is that even supposed to mean? how is it possible for an inanimate object to be "so me"? i remind you of a sweater? or a pair of sunglasses? "oh my god, those shoes are so you." some one told me that today. no thanks.

2.) it's colder than a mother fucker outside. on Monday it was ninety something degrees. today when i was having a beer on the boardwalk i thought my fingers were going to fall off due to their ungodly low temperature. frostbite - no one's friend.

3.) Lola the cat will not leave me alone. i want her to leave me alone. i miss my cat. i hate Lola the cat. Dave the dog is fine.

4.) it hurts behind my left eye again. i need you to squeeze that one part of my hand, which you say relieves the pain behind my eye, but really it just hurts, too, so i stop thinking about the pain behind my eye. as long as the ends justify the means...

5.) i miss you.

but i guess if Danielle were here and i was telling her these things number five would be irrelevant. oh well.

i've always favored blue over red...

i'm not one to discuss politics. my silence is not due to the fact that i am uninformed, or don't have an opinion; i simply believe that every one has the right to their own opinion. clearly not every one shares in that belief. left wing this, right wing that. crazy liberals, tight wad conservatives. political discussions often become heated and uncomfortable for all parties involved whether you are actively engaging or merely acting as a spectator in the conversation.

so i'll keep it simple and say i'm pleased overall on a national level.

you, yes you. you matter.

as you're probably already aware, tomorrow, November 7th, is election day in our fair country. regardless of where your political beliefs fall, please remember to vote.

how much wood could Abumchuck chuck if Abumchuck could chuck wood?

so last night me, Nix and D managed to stay awake late enough to mosey over to The Good Hurt and see Chad's band play. (they went on at 11:45pm, by the way. who the hell plays at 11:45pm on a Wednesday night?) i've been inside the joint for maybe all of thirty seconds when a large, yet friendly man approaches me. we'll call him Abumchuck (all you Weeds watchers should get it and now know exactly what he looks like). Abumchuck is very nice and offers to buy me a beer, but i've already paid for the one in my hand, and politely tell him, "maybe the next one." Nikki and i stand there and make small talk with him where we learn that he's been in LA for about a week, is staying on his friend's couch, is 31 and from Kentucky. i start to become uncomfortable when he tells me that i look eighteen and he likes that, so i leave Nikki for a brief moment and find Danielle. we giggle about Abumchuck and everything that he stands for but then i go back to Nikki because i feel bad for leaving her all by herself with this oddly jovial fellow. then things just start getting really weird. it becomes clear that Abumchuck has had one too many New Castles (although he prefers Bass on tap. he must have said that about eight hundred thousand times. got it. Bass on tap.) so we both duck out and find Chad who is playing pool.

on our way to the pool table Nikki proceeds to tell me how Abumchuck asked her if i was single. being the great friend that she is, she said yes. thanks, Nix. i'll remember that. i start to get more weirded out as she then tells me he said i was the "perfect height" which she also agreed with. the perfect height to what? stuff into a trunk?!! at this point i begin gulping my beer.

unfortunately for me, The Good Hurt isn't exactly bumping so Abumchuck has no problem spotting us playing pool. he pulls up a chair right next to me and tries to guess my astrological sign. he's apparently awful at guessing so i offer him the answer at which point he tries to tell me that i am nothing at all like a Capricorn (because he knows me so well...) Abumchuck has once again become too much.

i finish my beer. he offers to buy me another. i politely say "no thank you, i'm driving," even though i really do want another beer and am in fact not driving. most of you are probably telling me to just take the free beer, but truth be told i don't want to have to talk to this guy for another minute - another second, for that matter. he’s too creepy and annoying. i want it to be over. "please go away Abumchuck, please..." i say over and over in my head hoping that some how he'll subliminally get the message. but he's not getting the message. and then comes the icing on the cake. he puts his arm around me, pulls me awkwardly close and says "if i were going to the North Pole, i would definitely take you with me." what? what the fuck does that even mean? "thank you," is all i can manage to mutter. he still has his arm around me. he's so large i feel at any moment my life could be compromised if he so chose to squeeze me a bit tighter - Abumchuck could very well break me in two. i'm starting to feel panicky and some how manage to wriggle myself from his grip. i don't turn back to look at him as i run away.

in other exciting news, i just bit off all of my fingernails. not really sure why. some people call it a nervous habit. i'm not nervous for any reason at the current moment. it just seemed like a fun thing to do, i guess. more fun than work at least...

a few things that need addressing

first, i was so freaking high last night. i started to write a bit, but for the life of me could not put together a coherent thought. luckily for you, i managed to save the ramblings as a draft and will now publish them for your viewing pleasure.

begin nonsense.

"'cause i'm gonna be hi-i-igh as a kite by then

i'm sitting in the living room drinking wine and watching The Blair Witch Project. i've also already consumed pot pasta (thanks Chad) and just cleared La Fonda (again) so motion sickness is beginning to set in. maybe blogging will settle the senses.

some pressing issues that have been on my mind lately:

- who are the people that join (insert useless object here) of the month clubs? why do they feel the need to have nonsense sent to them on a monthly basis? do they really eat the fruit from the fruit of the month club? do they really drink the random beer that no one has ever heard of that comes to their doorstep month after month? or does it all just sit in their garage/basement/attic/cupboard/trash can like i think that it does? just curious.
- why do people ever feel the need to fake cry? i hate people who fake cry. not in a joking way, because every one is occasionally guilty of a pouty crying protest when they don't get their way. i mean the people who just flat out fake cry for attention. did you really hurt yourself that bad when you drunkenly walked into the door at The Whaler? no. so don't fake cry.
- what is the real reason behind Donald Duck wearing a shirt but no pants, and then wearing a towel around his waist when he gets out of the shower? what is he covering up? he doesn't wear pants. why the fuck does he put the towel on?!! i fucking hate it."

end nonsense.

next, i am obsessed with Monkeywrencher Love Song by The Honey Brothers at the current moment. it has been on repeat for the past day.

i (and by i, i really mean me, my roommates, and even Greg across the street, and maybe even you) am also obsessed with Guitar Hero on PS2. Nikki and Danielle played it last night at Greg's and would not stop talking about it. i thought they were idiots. i had played very briefly once with Jake. neither one of us really loved it so we dismissed it without a second thought. but they would not stop ranting, so i figured i'd give it a second chance. one word: AMAZING. you're probably shaking your head and rolling your eyes but trust me, you don't even know the half of it. you think we're lame for even admitting that we play, let alone know what Guitar Hero is? oh, child. we're such losers that we actually found a used copy on Craigslist and proceeded to drive to Northridge to pick it up. never thought i'd go to the valley again ever in my life, but there are some things that you just have to do. going to the valley to purchase Guitar Hero from our new friend Jonathan was one of them. we've pretty much been playing non-stop. don't be jealous. you, too, can be a Guitar Hero. shit, you can be a Guitar Hero 2 on November 7th. that's right - Guitar Hero 2. write it on your calendars.

speaking of things that i love, i've rekindled my fondness for FreeCell. maybe because i'm a FreeCell champion. i'm just that good...

in fact, i would play a few rousing games right now but have just realized that i'm super sleepy. Seacrest, out.

who wants another shot?

my mission last night was clear and simple - get every one drunk. how did i go about tackling this feat? pouring round after round of shots non stop seemed to do the trick. how ever, some i managed to convince myself that it was perfectly logical for me to "sample" one from each round that went out. 12 rounds later, i was a little sleepy to say the least.

but all and all i was successful. TJ was pretty much ready to puke when Nikki and i were saying our goodbyes so i was happy. except for when i was on a hike this morning with Nix, D and D's mom and i thought i was going to throw up. i wasn't very happy then. but it was nothing a little meditation by the stream couldn't fix. thank the lord for the stream and the crazy lady with a bell on her shoe. i'm pretty sure she helped me in some way or another whether she knows it or not.


happy birthday, TJ.

drip, drip, drip, drip...

what's the most annoying sound you can think of? quick, just off the top of your head. the sound of water unremittingly dripping outside of your window when you're trying to fall asleep? weird, that's what i came up with, too!

but it's not just a water drop - it's a water drop echoing through a freaking drain on the side of a building or some nonsense like that. the first night i heard it i thought i was losing my mind; either that or some one was playing a cruel joke on me. but night after night after night i hear it. no one else hears it from their rooms - Nikki and Danielle thought i was making things up. but i'm not. i have to leave my tv on all night to mask that repetitive, mind numbing, soul defacing sound. and it doesn't happen during the day. i work at home, my desk is right by my open window - NOTHING. then the sun sets and it begins.

maybe it's really the neighbor who hates us (he thinks we dented his car with an empty beer can...) attempting his version of Chinese water torture. maybe i should really go throw beer cans at his car. full ones...

"you can put it on your blog"

fine, i will.

amusing Sunday anecdote:

last night i crawl into bed and pull the blankets up over my head, but quickly realize that something isn't right.

so i turn on the light only to find that some one threw up on my sheet a little. i debate for a moment whether or not to immediately throw it in the washing machine, but the half a vicodin and cold medicine i took earlier are already in full swing, and i realize there is nothing i can do about it.

feeling defeated, i toss the sheet aside and go to sleep.

things you may not have known before you read this

1. there are four stages of sickness

being sick is a grueling process. let's face it, it doesn't matter if you catch something as simple as a common cold or as volatile as the sars (yes, i just said the sars) feeling under the weather is no bueno. there seems to be a little something going around right now, and having recently entered the beginning of stage four myself, i thought i'd take this time to offer a few words of wisdom to help you and/or your loved ones along.

stage one: blissful ignorance
you feel a little run down but refuse to even consider that you are in pre-sickness mode. physical, mental and emotional exhaustion seep from your every pore, but you blame it on the one too many Ketel tonics that you had the night before, or the vitamins that you forgot to take in the morning. don't be fooled. denial is no one's friend. you are getting sick. do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, immediately go to your medicine cabinet and take the vitamins you claimed to have forgotten accompanied by some airborne or emergen-C to start fighting this thing head on.

stage two: failure and helplessness
you now know that you are sick. there is no turning back. laying in bed and whining profusely are at the top of your to do list, and it feels like every one around you wishes you weren't there. at the risk of sounding overly cruel, they don't want you there. "i don't want to get sick" maliciously rolls off of the tongues belonging to your friends, roommates, family and co-workers. even the guy at Starbucks doesn't want anything to do with you as he lays your change on the counter rather than putting it directly in your hand. he doesn't want your germs. in fact, he doesn't even want you in his store.

stage three: cynicism and spite
the children's song "nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess i'll eat some worms" is now on repeat in your mind. you're grumpy - really grumpy - and you mistake any genuine concern for pity. feeling tossed aside like an outcast, you envelop outcast mode. "if they don't want to be around me, then i'll lock myself in my room and never come out again" becomes a rational thought in your head.
** the only comforting words i can offer are fret not, for most likely all of these people you have encountered will become sick within the next day or two (thanks to you). but when that time comes, you will not mock them. you will not send them disparaging thoughts. you will hope that they recover swiftly, for karma is a bitch, my friend. (fine, i will let you have first 5 minutes - not one more or less - after you learn they have become ill to laugh behind their backs and hope that others treat them with the same disdain that they imposed on you but only because every once in a while vindication is well deserved)

stage four: acceptance and letting go.
the virus inside you is slowly but surely dying. your strength is returning due to the fact that DayQuil (or NyQuil depending on the time of day) has been entering your body like clockwork. you can almost breath out of your nose when you wake up in the morning. congratulations, you fought a hard battle.

your friends start calling you again because they figure they've given you enough time to recuperate and they have missed you and/or your drunken antics. you try to act like you're bitter because a small part of you feels that they left you for dead, but that's only stage three trying to creep back into your life. deep down you really missed them, too. so put on your favorite jeans, go to the Whaler, and have a celebratory Scooby. i promise it will make you feel brand new. if one Scooby turns into 13, and you suddenly feel sick again the next morning, don't be alarmed for we all know that is a completely different kind of sickness. you still have every right to be proud that you conquered your previous ailment and won, but getting over your hang over is a whole other blog...


2. there is nothing better in the world than a bagel special from Abbot's Habit

you may be shaking your head in disapproval because you think there are plenty of things in the world that are better than a bagel special from Abbot's Habit. hear me out, try it, then get back to me.

the preface: one bagel special is too much for one person, so grab a friend - or just make one when you get there - because proportion is key.

the perfect order: one bagel special with lox and a wheat bagel scooped out. one more wheat bagel scooped out with cream cheese. and then a caffeinated beverage of your choice (my recommendation: iced soy latte with two Equals).

the perfect way to construct your bagel layer by layer: cream cheese, red onion, avocado, sprouts. that pretty much fills the "scooped" part of the bagel leaving a perfect canvas to lay the tomato, lox, and then the cucumber on top so that you have something that's not sticky/slimy/gross to hold on to. eat it one half at a time so as to avoid awkward bites or eating too fast. this will also reduce the chances of other people (maybe even the friend you brought or recently made) giving you a funny look as you try to fit the entire height of the bagel plus toppings in your mouth all at once.

the aftermath: complete satisfaction.


3. i love you

ok, so this one is pretty much a given but just in case i haven't told you lately i thought i should throw it out there. i just love you.

being sick = no fun

yesterday i had a minor sore throat, but convinced myself that i simply smoked too much weed the previous night. then i woke up this morning and couldn't breathe through my nose and it became apparent that i have been in denial. i am sick. i really hate being sick - which seems superfluous to say, but i really hate being sick. most of you are probably telling me to "get over it" as you read this, seeing that i work from home and can just crawl into bed at my leisure. i'm a mere 2 feet (if that) from my wonderfully cozy bed, yet the last of the four jobs that i'm supposed to get out ASAP is staring me in the face and mocking me incessantly. i hate it, too.

at least today is Friday, my favorite day of the week. i’ll do what i need to do, rest when/if i can and suck it up. fear not, you WILL see me at The Whaler for happy hour.

drumroll please

it's the moment you've all been waiting for - the unveiling of the newest addition to 124 Fleet Street. and the winner is... Dave! no, not Dave the dog (though he is still here and yes it does get confusing sometimes with both of them in the same room.), Dave {insert last name here}. i would give you his last name so that you could stalk him on myspace but it wouldn't do much good because he's "one of those" - and by "one of those" i mean people who feel the need to make their profile private. (don't worry, Dave. i'm "one of those", too.)

so funny story about Dave... after we interview him, we determine he's a cool kid and what not. we go away to Mexico for Danille's birthday and while we're gone, Dave looks at a couple other places. we get back from Mexico, interview a couple more people, don't really like any of them and make the obvious choice. but in this short time period, Dave temporarily goes insane and agrees to move in with some one else. who, you ask? EXCELLENT question. why, Jordan B Nice! who else? small world... and don't worry, folks. Dave has obviously come back down to the real world, as he now lives with us instead of our lovely (for lack of better term) ex-roommate.

another funny story about Dave. he LOVES cats. lol.

moving on...

tonight's the night, kids! grab your loved ones and get ready for the PR season finale. i'm nervous and excited all at the same time. if Laura wins i'll just DIE. i can not stand her or any of her black dresses for that matter. please God, if there is a God, do NOT let Laura Bennett win Season 3 of Project Runway. if she does, i will know for a fact that the show is rigged. while i'll admit that i do like Jay, Chloe should not have won last year so this year if they get it wrong again it'll be too much. enough is enough, people. cross your fingers.

it's really hot in my room. i need a diet coke...

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!!

i can not believe that iridescent pregnant carrot top had the audacity to try and start shit with Jeffrey on PR last night. who does she think she is? it was one thing when Kayne actually saw design books in Keith Michael's room and went to the producers about it; but to "tell on some one" based on pure speculation? ridiculous. ri-fucking-diculous.

if Jeffrey does not get to show at Olympus Fashion Week... i don't even want to think about it.

make it work.

3:20 isn't nearly as good as 4:20

first, i'm locked in my room right now because the termite man is upstairs spraying again and i hate it. for any one not familiar with the appearance of a termite please search Google for pictures. they're nothing at all what i expected them to be. who knew termites had wings? i guess the termite man, did...

second, we've found some one to rent the loft but i'm not prepared to reveal the individual's identity yet for security purposes. story (GREAT story) will follow shortly with the unveiling.

third, work has been very stressful today. i don't like it one bit. i miss Starbucks every day. i would leave my house to go get a latte right now but that would require me walking through living room and the termite chemicals, which would defeat the purpose of locking myself in my room. fuck.

fourth, four is my favorite number.

enough with the numbers... Nikki introduced me to ear candles last night. they're amazing. i highly recommend you go to your nearest health food store and pick some up. get some for your friends, make a drink, lay with your head on the table together and see what gross shit comes out of your ears. guaranteed good times.

Sunday i got the Bangles "Everything" on vinyl and i can't stop listening to it. i love it. brings me back to 3rd grade when me, Katy, Mara and Kristin used to pretend we were the Bangles, but Kristin always got to be Susanna Hoffs. i don't remember who i was. i only remember i was never Susanna Hoffs.

better luck next time.

welcome to the land of the living

ok, so i used to blog but then i found out over a period of time that i suck at it. not because i'm not witty enough, or because interesting things don't happen to me and i have nothing to share with the rest of the world, but simply because i'm lazy. then something miraculous happened. today as i was half asleep (yes, fully aware that it's only 11:30am and the fact that i've already napped can be viewed as "odd" to say the least), half watching a rousing episode of TLC's While You Were Out in which it was revealed that the woman revamping her room was discovered by Random House via her blog it dawned on me that it could happen. a year from now after you've been loving every second that you've spent reading about my sometimes crazy, mostly insane life, i, too, could be solicited to turn my daily ins and outs into a book. far fetched? absolutely.

fine, i'm starting a new blog because i miss writing. you caught me. i don't have some elaborate scheme in my head which ultimately lands me as a celebrated author (yes i do); i simply miss writing and sharing my writings with you. yes, you. you are special. don't ever let any one tell you otherwise. especially not your mother. a mother's words can be catastrophically damaging, or incredibly nurturing depending on how they come out. that's why i'm not sure i'm cut out to be a mom. it's too much pressure and responsibility.

i digress.

so last night Joyce and i went to see The Killers. great show, great venue, NOT so great people. what's wrong with people at concerts these days? overly obnoxious drunk idiots? check. seventeen year olds who clearly only bought tickets because they could make out for a few hours with absolute certainty that their parents couldn't walk in on them? check. girls (or guys for that matter...) who appear to be bored out of their minds and only attended because their date/boyfriend/husband/sugar daddy/whom ever bought them a ticket? check. old creepy men scoping for pre-pubescent teens who honestly think they have a chance of blowing some one in the band? check. pre-pubescent teens who honestly think they have a chance of blowing some one in the band? check. i just don't get it. but then again i don't think i get a lot of people these days. either i'm just becoming more picky with whom i associate myself with, or i've officially turned into one of those people who thinks that every one else in the world besides themselves is a full fledged weirdo. newsflash to the latter (maybe me...) the "it's not me, it's them" theory is ridiculous. there is nothing believable in saying that you are normal and no one else is. get over yourself.

again, i digress.

i think i'm hungry. or maybe i haven't had enough caffeine yet, today. Gaby's and coffee it is.

it's good to be back, thanks for having me.