we all have these…

days where it’s in everyone’s best interest to stay the hell away from me.

Yea, I said it.  I’m in a mood today.  And I don’t want you to try and cheer me up – I’m not sad, I’m crabby.  I didn’t stay up late or go out much this weekend, or really any of that.  Quite the contrary, I did a lot of working out, cooking and cleaning (women’s work) so I was quite relaxed this morning.  Until I got on the train and the woman next to me spilt her coffee all over the place.

Really, lady?  You’re pushing 45, you still need a sippy cup?  And are the vulgarities necessary?

As she is cursing, I turn to her, press my finger to my lips and belt out a good ole “SHHHHHHH!”, then wipe whatever coffee that had touched me on her jacket and tried to settle in for my train nap. 

Which, I would have easily been able to get back into, if it weren’t for the two morons sitting behind me.  They each had an open seat in their row, but chose to yell across the aisle at each other, recapping their weekend of booze, broads and, most likely, venereal diseases.

They caught the death look and a “if ya’ll don’t pipe down, someone’s going to jail this morning”.

The rest of my ride was pleasant, but I guess I forgot that people in NY on Monday mornings don’t know how to walk.  I mowed down about four or five people before I even got out of Penn station.

The first man who asks me if “it’s that time of the month” is going to get brained.


Is that spelt with an “E”? I can’t remember. Maybe Dan Quayle knows.

Anyway. “That girl knows how to work a room” is something I overheard someone say about me.

Offensive/not offensive? Good question. I suppose there are two ways to look at it:

1. From the perspective that I actually AM trying to work a room. Which, would probably be offensive. Also, I must not be very good at it cause I clearly haven’t mastered the “snow job” of hooking some rich twit to pay my bills.

2. From the ideal that it just looks that way cause I have a damn good time where ever I am. Unless my company blows.

Its not my fault I’m so charming.

stop ringing my goddamn doorbell

I was going to post this yesterday, but I didn’t think it was a great follow-up to the whole “NYers aren’t rude” discussion we had.

I live in an apartment building that has one of those intercom things, that allow me to buzz people into the building.

There is a way around that, for my particular apartment.  Actually, its pretty annoying when people buzz me, so I know that if someone is buzzing my friggin apartment, it’s either someone I don’t know well, someone who hasn’t been to my apartment yet (so I would be expecting them) or the delivery guy.

note: I have a mental list of people I’m cool with dropping by unannounced.  With the exception of a handful of people what have not been by my new place yet, if I get a knock on my door and I haven’t made plans with someone, I can assume its either my ‘rents, my homeys, or my buddy.

So I’m home, staring at my dog (we have a staring contest every night when I get home.  I cheat so I can win) when the buzzer goes off.  I ignore it.  It goes off again.  I ignore it again.  Goes off again.

and it is LOUD.  Who is this persistent bastard?  I give it a few minutes, and they buzz again so I hit the intercom and say “what?”.

the response is something inaudible, so I say “What!” again.  Inaudible.  Clearly annoyed, I grab my pit bull and go outside to see who it is (I’m not going to randomly buzz someone into my building, I’d rather square off with them head to head).

It’s this little asian man.  I didn’t order any food.  So, I tell him “Hey, I didn’t order any food, why are you buzzing my door?”

well, he has a certified letter.  For my neighbor.

“Buddy, that’s not me”

“yes it is”

“NO, it’s not”

While this was a lot of fun, I had to end it.  I could just picture myself in a never-ending circle, like when I was little and I’d play the “I-know-you-are-but-what-am-I” game to aggravate my sister…so I took the high road and showed him exactly which apartment he was looking for.

And how to get there without using the buzzer.  Hope that doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass one day.  I hope I didn’t smithe the Lord by not ordering chinese food, I wonder if that was a sign from above.  We shall see.

I think my crotch is sticking out

…that’s an actual quote.  Not mine, that’s for damn sure. 

Everyone has heard of the Jersey Shore, of course.  This morning, a friend of mine sent me this video:


I’ll wait while you watch that.

…are you done?  Okay, great.

That is an actual compilation of “quotes” from one of the “stars” of the Jersey Shore, molded into a brilliant melody.

Now, I watch that show religiously, for the same reason I watch Toddlers and Tiaras: I like laughing at other people (it’s not mean, its true).  Toddlers and Tiaras, I don’t always laugh at them, unless the kids do something really funny (like when Mackenzie told her mom she was driving her crazy, or the little red-headed girl was riding her wagon and her mom let go, and the kid went careening down a hill – money).  I wind up being more disgusted than anything else with that particular gem because I also watch a lot of Law and Order (yea, so I like TV, mind your beeswax) and it just seems like a segway to pedophilia.

I digress.  The Jersey Shore show makes me laugh because these people are literally famous, and millionaires, for no reason at all.  And they act like animals.  On TV.  And they. Are. Stupid.

I’m pretty sure that if I had a strange affinity for pickles, and I blacked out every night while dancing on bars with no under-roos on, displaying my cooter for all the land to view, my folks would check me into rehab.  After giving me a shot to the head.  And when I got my act together, I’d profusely thank them for saving me from cirrhosis and a guaranteed slew of STDs.

If I was doing all the above, and actually being FILMED?  I don’t think all the money in the world would be able to compensate for the level of humiliation my family would be subjected to.  Sure, I can buy you a Beamer – but your boss is still gonna look at you and say “I saw your daughter “dance her panties” off at the bar last night on MTV.  Kudos on the parenting!  Now, where’s that TPS report?”

And what happens if we fast forward a few years to, oh, I don’t know, the tender age of 31.  My fame as being a slut-bag has dissipated, I clearly drank through all of my money (or maybe graduated to something like drugs), and I didn’t have a clear enough head during my 5 minutes to invest in other business ventures (like some of the other cats on this cast are doing – I actually like JWOWW.  Not her name, of course, but I think she’s a smart chic).  What now?  Well, I can star on another family favorite, Intervention.  Maybe one of those C-list television shows (like the one where Mini Me rode around some house buck naked in his cute little car, then pee-ed in the corner) will want to cast me.  Or I can ::GASP:: get a job.

Lets picture this interview, shall we?  I took off my poof, toned down the smokey eye, and wedged myself into panty hose.  I’m set for my interview at this nice company in Gotham.  The building even has a door man!  I’m chatting up the interviewer, and its going well.  I’m explaining why my degree is from University of Phoenix, and how my life experience has helped mold me into the brilliant young go-getter when the interviewer has that moment of realization of WHY I look so familiar.  Well, I’m the girl who sat in a refrigerator eating pickles and drinking wine because my rear end was hot from a strange reaction to self tanner.

What do you mean, you don’t want to hire me?

We’re Rude?! No way!

…is the title of today’s AM New York.

Now, I only read AM New York because the guy that hands them out in Penn station tells me I’m pretty, and I’m a sucker for a compliment, but today’s headline is pretty funny.

“NYers scoff at survey saying Big Apple is least friendly city”

I scoff at that too!  Ruder then Boston?  Tell me that after walking through Kenmore square wearing a Yankee hat.  I don’t even LIKE the Yankees and I’ll wear their gear in Boston simply for the reaction.

A pitcher of Sangria makes the Yankee hat easier to wear

Ruder then Washington, DC?  I don’t know.  Well, maybe.  I mean NYers aren’t known for sugar-coating things, like politicians are, so maybe its rude to not give you a reach around whilst stabbing you in the back.

NYers are not rude people.  Sure there are rude people here, but they’re everywhere.  And when you cram a little over 8 million people in about 305 square miles, you’re bound to catch at least one person having a bad day, but on a whole, we’re actually pretty nice.  Ask me for directions, you’ll see.  I won’t even laugh when you ask me where 6th Avenue is.  Not even if you’re standing on it.

We’re assertive, sure.  We get frustrated when tourists take complete control of where we need to go for work, and walk so slow, you almost think they’re moving goddamn backwards.  We aren’t afraid to speak our minds, but we’re not rude.

Its rare you’ll find a NYer that won’t hold the door for you.  The difference is, if you DO close a door in my face, you can bet your ass I’m going to call you out on it.  I won’t just shrug it off as poor manners.  You should thank me, I’m helping you become a better person.  And when you cough your outbreak monkey germs for an hour on my train ride, I’m going to tell you that you should cover your mouth, or stay home when you’re sick (helpful advice).

NYers have displayed multiple times in the past 11 years their pride and love for the city they live in/work in/visit; and are more often than not found sticking up for our Metropolis.  Being the target of hateful crimes has merely brought a feeling of serious pride in where we live, so when people say we’re rude, we tend to get our fur up and tell them the f-ck off.

I’ve done a bit of traveling, and when I tell people where I’m from, they automatically ask me if I have a gun (well, a stun gun, but I don’t have a carry permit for the pistol), if I’ve ever been mugged, and why I don’t have an accent.  That seems a touch ignorant, no?  Granted, NYC is the most widely known part of NY, but it’s not the entire state.  That’s like me asking someone from Maine if they’ve ever caught a lobster.

I also get riddled with questions about NYC, how to find my way around it (it’s a friggin grid, even I can’t get lost here), if there really are giant rats in the subway (yep, and they like pizza), do Mole people really live in the tunnels (goddamn right they do, my old housemate is an expert in them), how to hail a cab (show em some leg), does anyone speak English (sure, along with 799 other languages), have I ever seen a hooker (every time I look in the mirror, JUST KIDDING), do bums take my money (not unless I give it to them), do I know any crackheads (no), drug dealers (just the pharmacist), cops (um, yes), firemen (uh…yes) or movie stars (just me).

We’ve got a city full of culture, food, celebrities, music.  Our Police Department and Fire Department are not only the Bravest/Finest men around, they’re also the best trained, and travel to OTHER states/cities to teach ya’ll how to handle your citizens.  We’re known for our pizza, our Bagels, our accents and our tough skin – and there’s no place else I’d rather be.

not even New Jersey.

If you don't like it here, then stay home

The Golden Rule…

…my parents brought me up on that, and it’s relatively easy.  “do unto others, as they do unto you”

The reason I thought of this was because my ole land lord, y’all remember her, right? Well, she called me earlier today telling me that her home owners insurance wasn’t going to cover the issue with my neighbor, dog and myself.  She retained a lawyer for 5000 dollars, and was hoping I would split the fee with her. Apparently, if I split a lawyer, we will definitely win.  And the fee is reimbursed.

While I’m all for splitting payments I’m pretttttttty sure she is, what I like to call “full of sh-t”.

I don’t recall getting any instruction of pending lawsuits against me. And I’m not exactly a ghost, my name and number aren’t private, neither is my address. Or the rest of my family, we all share a last name, and there’s probably about 78 thousand of us floating around Gotham.

Methinks she’s upset she’s getting sued, and she wants me to chip in by trying to make me believe I am getting sued as well.

Advice: no one will put a judgment against you without you knowing. They’ll find you. Don’t do anything until they do.

She was clearly banking on the fact that even though I have a giant ego, and I’m a narcissist oddly enough, I occasionally have a soft heart, but I’m not going to let some old broad try and scam me!

The situation got grossly out of hand when she started acting like a child and egging the neighbors car, house, property. And her threats to kill him and his dog, I’m sure didn’t help.

In any event, it’s not my problem until it’s actually my problem. And I’m not giving that crazy broad any more money, she was a horrible landlord who cut abundant corners in the upkeep of her house, our apartment (and herself).

Karma can be quite a bitch, I’m so curious how her situation will turn out, and his.

I kinda want to go on Judge Judy though. If THAT is going to happen I am on board, I’d be a goddamn super star on that show.

just when you thought the old landlord was gone…

that crazy bitch strikes again.

Last weekend while I was preparing for my debut at the Case Race my phone rings – Caller ID notes it was my old Landlord.

Now, I’m hopped up on two 5 hour energy shots and I’ve got a purse full of beer, so I’m clearly in a great mood.

“yes, Old Broad, what can I do for you?’

I’m pretty sure she dropped the phone out of shock, ya’ll know she didn’t think I would answer.

Getting into it, apparently the old, pig-faced bastard that lived next door to me is sending her official court documents and blah blah blah blah friggin blah.

“haha oookay Old Broad, you just let me know how it turns out”.  I asked two people what they thought that meant and the consensus was she’s bored and looking to break my balls.  The other piece of advice was “if someone looks like they’re going to serve you with papers, avoid them”.  How do you know you’re getting served, you may ask?  Well, someone dunks a ball in your face.

No, not that kind of serving.  Alls I know if anyone asks me what my name is, I’m responding with “parles-tu francais? Oui?”

I knew 8 years of French would come in handy one day.

Music to My Ears…

…are the words “calorie deficit”

I hate running.  Hate it.  But regardless of how I feel about the act, its one of the best ways to burn a butt load of calories in a relatively short amount of time.  Generally I stick to HIIT (High Intensity Interval Training), where you do short bursts of strenuous cardio activity in intervals (example: 30 seconds of a flat out sprint, 30 seconds recovery; 8 reps – or something like that), I mess around with the time and the type of interval I’m doing – really high incline, fast work, 30/15 second intervals, etc. to keep it interesting.

That being said, I think the longest run I’ve done in the past, oh, I don’t know, 3 years has been a 5K. 

So, one of my problems is, I have a big mouth.  My friend asked me if I wanted to do a 10 mile “Run to the Brewery” (for CHARITY…and beer) on the 28th.  She asked me on the 15th.  And I’m thinking (internally) “Self, do you really think you’ll be able to put down 10 miles in two weeks?  You’ve been a little lazy lately”. Externally, however, I’m like “yea!  Of course I want to do that.”

This chic is a runner.  She did the Goofy marathon a few weeks ago, which is a half marathon on Saturday, then a full marathon on Sunday.  That is like the equivalent of being water-boarded for me.  Needless to say, my big ole mouth agreed.

My other problem is I’m incredibly competitive.  Even if the other people aren’t competing against me, I still want to win. 

Result?  I’m logging miles, fool.  Two runs this week, I’m up to an average of 6.25 miles a run at a pace of 10.20.  Not bad, right?  Nope.  Not fast enough.

My legs are pissed at me.  But, after these runs I like to eat ice cream and mac and cheese.  Ya know, carb loading and recovery.  Boom!


what the hell is going on with this internet censorship crap?  I tried to Wikipedia something this morning and its just a blank effn screen.  Those brits are seriously cramping my style in all aspects of my life.

I digress.  Hello!  Been a while.  The holidays, as I’m sure you’re all curious about, were actually quite successful.  Thank you, Ketel One. 

The other thing I learned about myself is, I’ll do just about anything for charity.  Including a “case race”.  What’s a case race, you ask?  WELL you get a team of four together, and you have to finish a case of beer faster then everyone else.  The stipulation is, you have to have one girl on the team.

I feel like thats just rude, so I went in with a point to prove.  And prove it, we did.  We demolished the other teams, winning by a clear margin and finishing our case in under 7 minutes – even with simply sipping our last beer.  Aside from being able to decide what charity the proceeds went to, the rest of the day people were congratulating me, telling us we’re champions, saying how impressed they were with us…

Ya’ll may not know this but I LOVE ATTENTION.  So I basked in the glow of Victory.

This weekend?  Perhaps a flip cup tournament for charity.  That’s a whole nother beast, my team better be up for the challenge, or just don’t show up, cause I’m in-it-to-win-it.  Next weekend?  10 mile run for charity.

If anyone is feeling charitable, themselves, feel free to donate to my other fundraising endeavor (insert shameless plug here)