Wednesday, December 31, 2008

2 to the 0 to the 0 to the 9


Happy New Year everybody! Although I have been AWOL for the last week, celebrating the magic, peace, love, vodka, and family dysfunction that is Christmas (and Hannukah—lets not leave out the Jews. After all, 8 nights of stressful family time is way worse than just one), you may notice (OK, probably you won't, unless you are my own personal insane stalker a la Mel on Flight of the Conchords) I reached my last New Year's resolution to post at least 220 times in 2008. In fact, I have posted (drumroll, please) 271 times, suckas! So I will resolve to post 272 times in 2009. Gotta keep challenging myself, you know how it is.

In cae you are wondering, my other New Year's resolution is to finish (oh, and start), my collection of essays, to be called Unabrow. I am so serious. Dec. 31, 2009, I will have the makings of a book. So help me Tyra.

One last thing before I cross the space-time continuum into 2009, a world of magical unicorn presidents, economic depression, and even worse reality TV (but hey, also Season 5 of Lost!): This makes me unexpectedly sad. So wear your 2009 glasses with pride.
Share/Bookmark

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Early Christmas Gift: ObABama

Is anyone else starting to feel like we're living in some TV show like 24? Who ever heard of a US president with abs of steel?


Share/Bookmark

Friday, December 19, 2008

Ludachristmas

So last night I descended on Planet Rose with some coworkers for the 2nd annual Ludachristmas party, named for our patron saint Ludacris a.k.a Chris Bridges. These photos were all taken within the first hour, so you won't get to see my furniture-climbing rendition of "We Belong" by Pat Benatar, but you will get to see me pulling my best Brooklyn gangsta face:


Merry Ludachristmas, and a Happy New Kids on the Block year!
Share/Bookmark

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Holly GoHomely: It's A Wonderful Life


So, for Christmas, like crack for my heart, I Netflixed my favorite Christmas movies: Scrooged (best ever); A Christmas Story; Muppet Christmas Carol; and Santa Claus: The Movie (Ok, full disclosure, I own that one. What? Dudley Moore and John Lithgow = holiday magic, people). I threw in It's A Wonderful Life for good measure. And tonight I watched it. ANd you know what? I've never really watched it before.

Sure, I've had it on in the background while wrapping presents and stuff. But tonight I realized that I had never actually paid attention. For instance, did you know that two of the characters are named Ernie and Bert? And that they play a kind of slapstick scene together? Is that where Jim henson got the idea? Also, there was a store in Park Slope, where I grew up and still live, named Zuzu's Petals... and I never realized that it was named for this movie. Also, Donna Reed is fucking beautiful. I'm just saying. And I'm not even drunk! I have a cold!

It's great when you discover something for the first time. Merry Christmas, you wonderful old Bulding & Loan! Merry Christmas, Frank Capra, you old sap!
Share/Bookmark

Blog Post From the Edge

Ack! I haven't posted in six days, and here's why: my laptop had a stroke. Seriously. It wasn't enough for it to just die, it shuddered and sputtered and went all static and then died. Just when I was writing a piece de resistance on the shitty production of The Fantastiks that I was a part of in college. And now you will never get to read it.

I'm also having a busy week at work, so ... it's doubtful I'll post a lot before Christmas. But look at all of the real life entertainment we have to watch: someone threw shoes at Bush! And that Blogdogajavevich-whathisname with the Ned Flanders hair! I'm sure you don't miss me that much.

Love and Christmas kisses,
U

Share/Bookmark

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Stretching the Dollar: Shitty Travel Edition


Hahaha. Oh, MTA, you so CRAZY! First the fare hikes, then the incomprehensible track work that makes me think someone is just spinning a Twister wheel every weekend to decide which lines to re-route and which, BTW, never makes the tracks actually work, and now this. Seatless subways. You know, to pack more people in, make it feel more like a urine-soaked cattle car, denying straphangers everywhere the simple pleasure of wedging onseself in between two surly strangers in the unlikely event that one is able to find a place on the hard, coccyx-bruising, dishwater-gray plastic that passes for a bench. It's good to know that my $2 is going towards progress! What's next? Flintstone-like, bottomless cabs to save gas? No, REALLY, MTA. I REALLY want to know.
Share/Bookmark

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

The Dangers of Online Shopping

DISCLAIMER: For those of you worried about me due to my frequent mentions of being drunk on this site, please note that events tend to be funnier when they involve alcohol, and therefore I edit out many, many, MANY days and nights of non-intoxication. If you don't believe that I tend to be funnier when drunk, I will sit you down and read you my teenage diary and you will BEG me to do shots with you just to numb the pain.

Aaaaanyway, I've done 99% of my shopping this year online, which suits me just fine, since crowds of idiots tend to harsh my mellow, and Christmas in New York is full of idiot crowds who congregate in Macy's and clog 5th Avenue from 34th Street all the way to the park. One evening, while nursing a glass of wine, I decided to excavate from my wallet the gift cards of Christmases past that I had not used. Therein, I found a bounty of Christmas cheer: $17 at Sephora (spread over 3 cards), $12 on an American Express gift card, and $39 at Pottery Barn. I popped open my (now deceased) laptop and decided to buy myself something through my favorite commerce hub: the Internet.

While I did nurse the wine, the glass was pretty full (one of those great big balloon glasses that hold like 3/4 of a bottle), and I found myself tipsily scouring PotteryBarn.com for something—anything—to buy. I wanted something that would use up the entire $39 in one go, something I would never buy unless I had "free" money to spend. I wanted decadence, frivolitiy, and uselessness. I had no time for sets of colored glassware or bud vases; I wanted something .... amazing. Which is how I found myself ordering a monogrammed whisky decanter at midnight. How very Chuck Bass of me.

Right after I ordered it, I was instantly ashamed, and decided that I would lie and tell Jeff that it was an ill-advised gift from a coworker (oops, cat's out of the bag, honey. Also Anna didn't buy me that Color Me Badd CD I have in my collection). But ultimately, I suppose, the greatest Christmas gift of all is that I am married to a man who finds me endearing in all of my pudding-for-breakfast-eating, crappy-TV-watching, irresponsible-monogrammed-whisy-decanter-buying glory. So thanks, baby. And in return, I will buy you some nice whisky to drink out of my complete waste of money.
Share/Bookmark

Friday, December 5, 2008

So, He's Not The Messiah After All?


OMG, sad! But upon closer inspection (thanks, HuffPo!), totally not true!


He can so grow facial hair, it would just look like this:


Good call, Mr. President.
Share/Bookmark

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Fun With Crosswords, Part Trois

JEFF: Quiz me, quiz me!
ME: Okay ... um, "Morning deposit."
JEFF: Turd.
ME: No. It starts with a D.
JEFF: Dump!
ME: [sighs and closes magazine].

Later ...

ME: Okay, "Bank holding," four letters.
JEFF: Loan.
ME: Yes! Oh, no ... it must be lien. [writing] Leee ... yen.
JEFF: You mean lien. Lean.
ME: That is stupid. I don't even know what lee-yen means.
JEFF: That's because lee-yens don't exist. It's pronounced lean.
ME: I hate the English language!
JEFF: I'm pretty sure it hates you, too.
Share/Bookmark

Monday, December 1, 2008

Guys Don't Make Passes at Girls Who Pretend to Wear Glasses


I have always, secretly, wanted glasses. Well, not always—but at least since middle school. I think the glasses-lust set in then because glasses were something that you could take off to make yourself look better. Since I had nothing to take off I had to live with myself at face value, which was difficult, since I sported an unholy trifecta of unibrow, braces, and acne. Glasses, in retrospect, would have made it worse initially, but then when I whipped ‘em off I would have looked that much better, right? Right??

I used to talk a lot of smack on the hopscotch course at recess, telling all of my friends that I had 20/10 vision, which I did. It meant that I could see from 20 feet what most people could see from ten feet, but none of my friends believed me. Despite a diet of almost no carrots and a lot of antisocial reading in dim light, my eyes were positively bionic, and I took a private, nerdy pride in the clarity of my vision. I still wanted glasses, though, the same way I secretly hoped to someday break a limb. Luckily I didn’t have the willpower to whack my shin with a hammer or to stare directly into the sun, so I continued on for many years with laser-like sight and healthy bones.

On a trip to Los Angeles when I was twenty-three, I finally broke down and bought a pair of eight dollar glasses in Venice Beach. The lenses were plain glass, so they didn’t fuck up my eyes, just made me look kind of scholarly and standoffish. I was in love. I took to wearing my glasses to work and making a big deal out of saying that I had forgotten my contacts at my boyfriend’s house, as if anyone actually gave a shit. To others, I may have looked dowdy and square, but I was thrilled. All day long I would feel like Clark Kent pre-phone booth, just waiting to transform. I wanted to admit to my coworkers that I didn’t really wear glasses, but understood that it would have been creepy for them, and confusing. So I kept my little secret.

It wasn’t until six months ago that I started to actually lose my sight, or, at least, to notice. I wasn’t going blind or anything, but suddenly I had to strain to read street signs (in the dark, on the highway, with my relatively unused license ... scared yet, Mom?), and my computer screen at work looked way too bright. I found myself constantly squinting, so I made an appointment with an eye doctor, perversely excited to finally fail an eye exam.

Today was the big day. I left work early to make my ocular pilgrimage to Brooklyn Heights to visit Dr. D, who came highly recommended by regular physician. Dr. D's office displayed a photo of him posing with Donatello from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, so I knew I was in the right hands. First, he made me put my chin on a little shlef and my forehead against a bar. I looked into a telescope-like thingie that showed a little pastoral scene with a red barn going in and out of focus, but it made a suspicious beeping sound, so I'm pretty sure it was just distracting me with the barn while it took some sort of scan. Then I had to hold up those budget-looking eye sticks and read letters off of a screen. I did OK until the letters got flea-sized, and when I gave up the technician sighed and said, "You need glasses."

The elation I had expected never came. Instead, I was filled with dread. First, and most basically, it sucks to not be able to see things. It makes me feel old. And I have enough white hairs on my head, in my eyebrows, and in places that should never grow old to need another reminder that I am aging. Also, I can't have nice things, especially when I pay for them myself. I stepped on my retainer once in eighth grade, and the bottom part bent out of shape so that when I stuck it in my mouth it jutted out like a cruel nightguard. I have also lost almost every umbrella, pair of sunglasses, and glove that I have ever owned. And now I will have to pay upwards of $300 for a delicate pair of glasses that I cannot just toss in my purse to jangle against my keys and discarded bobby pins and mismatched earrings. I will have to take care of them. And wear them when I drive and when I go to the movies. The way my parents have to find their glasses before reading anything. I will have to squint and rustle in my purse, saying "Ace Ventura who? I can't read the screen!"

So lesson learned, kids: be careful what you wish for. And if you ever find yourself with a hammer raised above your own leg, with visions of pudding and cast signatures dancing in your head, for God's sake, put that thing down.
Share/Bookmark
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...