Always Practice Safe Sex Noises

This blog sucks. I hate reading it. This is especially troublesome because if anyone likes it, I should, since I'm writing it. Alas, I am discontented, which I guess is what happens when you have to let the entirety of your life fall by the wayside (Wayside? Where's that? Oh, these silly expressions. Was Saved By The Bell based on Wayside High? Bayside? Oh whatever, Lisa Turtle.) to move.
I promise I'm done talking about moving, because it really makes for the least interesting reading ever. So...done.
Hokay, so I didn't have topic, until two seconds ago when one of the small children waiting for the doctor asked his mother, "Mommy, can I play with the toys?", she, of course, said, "sure" and then he said, "Why don't grown ups play with toys?" and she said, "they do...just grown up toys". Insert inappropriate cackle from unprofessional looking receptionist with a Werthers butterscotch in her mouth.
Recently I've been thinking about people's sex lives. A lot. Like everytime I look at someone I wonder if they're Rick James in the sack (see: Superfreak) or more like a dying manatee (see: sea noises and low moans....ew). Also, who are the people that are really into toys and games and backdoor lover kind of activities (you know, besides those who have no other options. see: the homos--who I love so dearly that every once and a while I decide I'm going to be a lesbian...and then five minutes passes and I decide I'm not cut out for that kind of work...just like I'm not ever going to be able to do math).
Before I post photos from random google image searches and tell you what I think these people are like in bed, I just want to say that this morning when the movers were loading the truck-which later got a $115 ticket...glad we have to split that guys, thanks-(I know, this is the last thing about moving) I went upstairs to clean up some of the dust before we were officially out and I realized that on the disgustingly dust-bunny-ridden floor was not just an empty condom wrapper, but and empty NYCondom wrapper. How gross is that? These twenty year old guys sweating over my 400 pound dresser had to see a wrapper from the least reliable, most obviously "free" source. Yuck. And I left the whole bag of condiments in the fridge forever. My large container of lowfat mayo and my three Coors Lights are gone forever. I mean, it doesn't really matter about the food or the condom wrapper, but that and the small child talking about "adult toys" with his Mommy made me want to do this today:

Okay, so I started to do my Google Image search with random names in it and I was thinking what I would write and the thought of writing "She's a biter" or "He whinnies like a horse" next to pictures of people I didn't even know started to make me feel sick. I mean, that's somebody's baby, right? Not mine, persay, but still somebody's (that being said, it could be my baby if I keep relying on NYCondoms for protection. Shuddup.)

So I'll leave you with this gem...think about your 5th grade teacher. Think about your 5th grade teacher having sex. If you've done this before, you either a) had a pretty hot 5th grade teacher (mine wasn't bad...) b) are a sick fuck or c) are a pervert OR d) have played this game and I have failed at entertaining you on a Friday afternoon. Get out of the office people...it's gorgeous out! Get out and think about what kind of O-face the woman (or man) who taught you long division has/had.

Pip, pip, cherrio!

A

Unwelcome Pathetisism [sic]

I feel like this personal transformation journey that I went on back in March (haha, back in March, it's only April! Well, it's almost May-whaaa?) is finally approaching a sense of normalcy again, and I mean that in a good way. Starting tomorrow night I will officially have only one apartment , and things will calm down for a minute, hopefully.

Since I can barely move my arms and legs today, I figured I'd give you all a visual picture of what I looked like last night, painting my new room.

That's not what I wanted to write about today, though. And since I'm back at the allergist's office (and thank god, because I really needed that free consult and stack of medicine to aid my rapidly swelling throat) I have some actual time to pluck at the keyboard! But I really have nothing to write about because I literally have not done anything noteworthy since I last posted. 

On Monday night I heard Jenna...I mean, Jane Krakowski's sound check of "Rubber Ducky" and a hilarious song about Tweeting while I was stuck wearing a catering penguin suit(ish) and serving over-stylized lamb, then scored two bottles of wine and got out of work at 1:00 am and drank one. On Tuesday I babysat for the child who makes me chase him around making dinosaur noises, and then carried belongings up and down what seemed like an unnecessary amount of stairs before passing out eating Vegetable Udon and watching Glee. And then yesterday I got paid to feed mac & cheese to a baby and then have said baby nap on me for two hours while I watched Parenthood on demand and then I painted wearing a headscarf (standard) and listening to a lovely medley of The Smiths, Ke$ha, Bloc Party, and Alanis Morrisette circa 1996 and ate Greek Salad on the floor of my new apartment.

As you can see, things are really thrilling in my life right now. I also have ummmmNOmoney because I'm waiting for paychecks from the last two weeks, so all this ordering in of udon and feta-laden salads is starting to feel less like moderately priced take-out and more like a trip to Per Se. Someday, kids. Someday.

Buy Me A Juicer?

So, I'm reclaiming a spot as a functional member of society, guys! It's been raining, and I've been wearing rain boots. And, for that matter, a rain coat. Yay!

No seriously, I don't have time for these blogging shenanigans this week. All of a sudden things are all kinds of busy. I'm moving this week so the endless shuffle of "stuff" between old neighborhood and new neighborhood is going to take over all extra time.

Miraculously, though I seem to be making enough money from all of my rando jobs to pay for my existence! Victory! I also just submitted myself to audition for a film produced by MC Hammer, so obviously all is right in the world. Yeah, I know, that's really wrong.

I'm catering the LGBT Dinner tonight, which should provide an interesting study in social behavior, as most high-end events do...or just great outfits and haircuts.

Well, the time has come, the walrus said...no, my mom is giving me the minivan to do the moving shuffle actually and has just called to say that she brought me a "food surprise" for lunch so not to eat yet. Knowing the way surprises go in this family it's probably quinoa with beets...which actually sounds appealing right now. Excuse me, my antioxidant rich "surprise" is arriving, I need to go braid my flaxen hair and start juicing some kale in anticipation.

A

PS: I'll try and post this week, because I know y'all can't live without me.

TrannyGaga & Nose Candy

Firstly, I want to just apologize for the formatting of yesterday's post; it is unreadable and I cannot figure out how to fix it. Seriously.

Secondly, I know how intolerably boring "dream stories" are...but I cannot keep this one to myself, it is just beyond crazy. It's bat shit crazy (is bat shit crazy? is this going to be like bats in hell? what's with the bats? what's so crazy about their excrement? Everybody poops, or so the book would indicate...although, I'm still pretty sure that Victoria Beckham just sneezes out her calorie intake once a week and is good to go). Okay, so my dream:

I'm sitting at a card table with two guys I went to college with who did lots of blow back in the day (and by "in the day" I mean, probably last night, since it was a Thursday) and a couple of small children. The guys start blowing lines off of the picnic table. I join them for one and then take the remaining into my parents' basement and do the rest by myself. My dad finds me in the bathroom and flips out because he knows I'm super effed up, but reneges his anger and replaces it with disappointment and an "I hope this is just an isolated incident" speech. Boy is there, upset that I'm in this state, but then joins me in obliteration by doing some himself. We then head outside, where it is raining and I get very excited about the falling water and splash around, splashing a well-dressed older woman, who calls over the police. "The police" are simply one officer, who is Jimmy Fallon, dressed (including facial hair) as his character from "Almost Famous", who accuses us of "handing off Russian narcotics" and then a reporter comes up to us, carrying a large flatscreen with an image of Boy as Lady Gaga, in full tranny form.

In dream conclusion, today's theme song is "Cocaine" by Eric Clapton, and I am apparently dating a fierce KGB tranny...or something. No, seriously, why am I dreaming about doing copious amounts of drugs and the one bad actor in "Almost Famous"? (Sorry, I have plenty of love for Jimmy, but he can't act).

Okay, so there were a few other things that I wanted to write about today, but now they seem rather uninteresting. So I'll just end with this, if you can provide any of the following services, I will pay you in homemade sandwiches and beer: 1) Explaining what the hell that dream means 2) Buying a leather couch and taking it out of my apartment 3) Helping me paint my new apartment and/or carry boxes of miscellaneous apartment stuff down two flights of stairs and up five next week and/or press "skip" on my ipod when one of The Smiths' songs come on that I don't want to listen to while I'm painting the walls of my new apartment wearing men's boxer shorts and a bra and sweating like a whore in church (note: I get that expression, if I were a whore and if I went to church, I'd sweat too) or 4) Listening to and giving feedback on my "in development" stand-up comedy routine.<---this really might be the most difficult of the four.

Happy Friday folks, and if you're free tonight don't bother coming to my play, because it's sold out!

A

Pro-ACTIVE, the state of mind, not acne cure

I decided this morning, after a gorgeous run (after which I noticed a few more little face freckles popping up from the sun...yay!) that I'm sick of not being successful. So I'm just going to do it. I booked myself an audition for another improv troupe and I've decided that I'm going to "funny" my way in to the business.

In response, Brianna offered to iron my shirts when I'm famous, because I have problems with things like ironing and not having holes in my expensive clothing:

Brianna: and i will roll my eyes like ADRIA youre going to be on LETTERMAN wearing a WRINKLY SHIRT

That's all I've got time for today. I have to go cut my own bangs and get ready to run out the door. I have a long overdue lunch date, followed by the first of my catering endeavors: The New Museum Gala.

Here's hoping I can roofie James Franco tonight...

A

Home is where...all of your embarrassing past is

As I mentioned yesterday, I'm at my parents' house for the day, and would like to share with you all some of the more mortifying treasures that I've found.

Last night I went digging through piles of papers and photos to see if I could throw away part of the amazing amount of stuff that I've amassed over the years. Sure enough I found lots for the garbage pile: A room key to The Venetian in Las Vegas (I went when I was 14), a box of Advil Cold & Sinus with an expiration date reading 8/07, a To-Do list from high school (seriously), and tons of former cell phone chargers. I also found a ton of stuff that held just enough sentimental value to stick around. But my favorite pile of stuff was the "oh my god this is so embarrassing/hilarious OR Why on earth did I save this?" pile.

In said pile was:
-An unopened college graduation card from my parents...how did I never open that?

<---This button:which can only be described as a hilarious tirade against my virginity...which I wasn't even looking forward to losing, I just thought I was making a statement. Sigh.
-A pamphlet advertising the new Starbucks in Plaka, which is in Athens, Greece. Hmm.
-A drawing of my high school french teacher with a voice bubble saying "My neck looks like a vagina!"
-A first generation iPod
-A note that Roommate wrote to me about where she was hiding the cigarettes after we threw a secret New Year's Eve party at her house, and my response, saying that I had smoked cigarettes again with a certain little Fox Primetime Starlet (ugh) the previous weekend.
-The finalized and confidential cast list for The Royal Tennenbaums, complete with agent's phone numbers, and the Social Security numbers and birth names of four of the leading actors.
-and finally, lots of really bad, whiny, unrequited "love" poetry.

In conclusion, I'm very glad I'm no longer a teenager.

A

The Gods smile upon me once again...

So this afternoon I wrote (what I thought was) a great post. It was titled "Jamaican Me Crazy" and was written from the point of view of a very happy Jamaican woman in honor of "Jamaican Accent Tuesdays" (which I made up earlier today). This is not a joke. I really did this, and the clincher is that I wrote the whole thing on my BlackBerry while babysitting a three year old who did NOT seem interested in playing with me after I had chased him around the apartment for forty minutes carrying a T-Rex doll, per his request, and read him two books, one of which was partially in Spanish (have you heard me try and speak Spanish?...actually it was kind of awesome, I wish you were there), SO...the post was deleted. My wonderful, written-Jamaican voice is gone forever, which is probably a gift from the Gods. Of which I am one, or at least I am playing one, this weekend in a show at the 14th St Y. I play the Second God, otherwise known as the snarky, doubtful, stickler god. Yippee.

I'm at my parents' house in New Jersey now for the next 24 hours or so, I mostly came out here to vote in the super important school budget election (this really is dire, they're cutting programs like deli meat and firing teachers like fourth of july sparklers round here), but I'm also here because I wanted to take a bath. My bathtub in the city is truly unusable (I'm sure I've got some company on this one, NYC rental apartment tubs aren't really something that people use are they?) and I've been craving a nice long bubble bath for awhile. My current state of under-employment (unemployment is incorrect since my stint with the three year old this afternoon technically counts as a job of sorts) has rendered it possible to take this little mini-vacation out to the 'burbs to raid my parents' fridge, bubble bath stash, and enjoy Sawyer's abs on a 52-inch flat screen tonight (okay fine, that was the real reason).

I hope you all had a mighty nice day, take cara yoselfs now, and dontcha go eatin no ice cream afta yo dinnahs.

A

Sweet Nothings

I'm currently sitting in my bed, peeling candle wax off of my duvet cover. No funny business, just a candle spill...from last week.
I slept until noon today. I wanted to get up, but there just wasn't a point..and I've been having these tension headaches, so I let myself sleep. What an uneventful life this is. It's funny because I'm having a hard time rationalizing all of the "nothing" that I used to do during the day as actual productivity after having spent a few weeks locked down in an office. I feel so lazy and useless! (and that's after a 3 mile run and finishing all my laundry). Really there is no point to this post whatsoever, other than to feed your hungry eyes. (RIP PSwayz).
I found the TO DO list on my computer today that I made when I first quit my job. It was oddly satisfying to see that I'd done most of the things that I said I would (save for actually finishing writing this play-THIS WEEK PROGRESS WILL BE MADE). It was also upsetting to see my "long term goals" again. Sometimes I take a few steps back and wonder why it is that I'm pursuing this acting career when it is just so damn hard to get to a point of satisfaction with your career in this business! Not to mention all of the financial downsides! I just have to simplify sometimes and remember that I'm doing it because I love it and it's what I've always wanted to do.

Well kiddies, this was unsatisfying and brief, but I've got to head off to rehearsal (show opens Friday, eeek!) so here I go...

A

Jew-vinile Behavior

I just wrote two different posts and deleted them both because you really don't care about my girl crush on Zooey Deschanel or my obsession with shopping at Anthropologie and how I want to decorate my new apartment to look like one of the pages in their catalogue. Or maybe you do, but instead of five paragraphs about that I've just consolidated everything into one neat sentence. Yay.

I'm having drinks tonight with three friends who I went to performing arts sleepaway jew camp with, and it occurred to me just a few moments ago that I haven't seen one of them in eleven years. Literally ELEVEN years! Ummm, I know that I don't really have the right to feel old but damn does that make me feel OLD! These are girls that knew me at my most awkward, then again, that's how I knew them too. We would eat gummy worms all night and overuse prhases like "jacking off" because we thought it was just about the funniest thing that anyone could ever say. It's weird to think about what amused you before you discovered drinking, it's weird because usually, its the same things that amuse you when you drink now. I could sit around drinking wine and talking about penises for hours. Strange how little you actually grow up. That's pathetic. Whatever, I'm gonna go buy pretty curtains and pretend I'm an adult.

I bet Zooey Deschanel would drink a bottle of Malbec and talk about penises with me. Esepecially if my apartment looked like that.

A

A Little About the Birds and the Bees

Well, kids, we're on an adventure today! I signed on for that receptionist job at the doctor's office on the Upper East Side because the hours are booze and actor friendly (read: I didn't have to be here until 2 today!) Before arriving here I knew nothing about the position other than that it was a Doctor's office and the Doctor was a woman.
Back track. Lately I've been obsessed with finding a cure for my allergies. About three years ago, out of the blue, I started developing a whole slew of allergies: cats, pollen, etc, and each year they get way worse and last year a new allergy appeared: Claritin. Ummm, what does one do when they become allergic to allergy medicine? Well, I did the only thing I knew, I posed the question as my facebook status and got an answer. Honey. All my friends are so sick of me talking about this (and they make up 90% of my readers) so I'll just say that it really does work, and I'm obsessed with it. It is NOT the same though. I could use some long term medication that doesn't require ingesting extra calories or going on vacation with a large glass jar of honey.
So, back to this new assignment. The doctor is an allergist, so naturally my first thought was "ohmigod you totally need to ask her what to do about the Claritin and the constant itchy nose and ohmigod the HONEY!" but then I thought better of it and realized that I should probably prove that I'm not a totally incompetent employee first.
And then I looked for Madonna in the file cabinets. No, literally. The following GChat conversation explains what I've been doing with my time here:

Brianna:  omg what if its madonna's allergist

she lives on 81st

and park

WHAT IF YOU SEE MADONNA

start going through files

screw hipa

Brianna:  you know im not kidding even a little

me:  nope

im gonna look

i don't think so but i'll look

ciccone

Brianna:  is that her real last name

me:  yeah

no ciccone files

but i'll look under ritchie too

hahaha

Brianna:  also check m

me:  nada. im sure madonna gets all her allergies taken care of at the kabbalah centre

haha

Brianna:  true

i have no basis for this except that she lives close

 me:  right

if i was madonna i wouldn't have allergies

just saying, she can get rid of that shit

she's madonna

And now, photographic proof that I am indeed wearing a white lab coat (something that I never thought would happen again after getting a C- in high school Chemistry and opting to not take a science class ever. Ever again.)

Even with the fat face in that photo (I look I'm imitating Marlon Brando): awesomely hot lab coat.

A

 

Starf*cking

Today is my last day here at the law firm.

On an unrelated humpday note, I'm going to celebrate by telling you my favorite New York moments. We all have them, and they're all good. I'm even going to rank them 1-10 for you, ending with my favorite.

10) Stop and Smell the Cancer

About five years ago I was walking across West 40-something-th st and noticed a lady stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. She was middle-aged, average looking, carrying a bouqet of flowers and appeared to have stopped to smell them. I remember thinking, "Holy Shit! Someone actually stopping to smell the flowers!" And then I walked past her and realized that she was stopping to light a cigarette and using the flowers to block the wind from her lighter.

9) Milk and Sugar? Clean Underwear?

So "someone I know" was working as an assistant on a feature film and sparked up a "romance" with(read: went out drinking with) one of the actors. The night that this "romance" (hotel sex) occurred was my "friend's" second to last (penultimate, if you will) day on the film. Stumbling out of the hotel at 8 am she realized that going in to your last day of work wearing what you wore on your second to last day of work was probably frowned upon and thought on her wobbly feet. The hotel and work were within walking distance of each other, so she started the trek, got a cup of coffee, and on the way saw a glimmer of light on the horizon-the amber arches of H&M. She sat on the dirty, piss-covered ground on 7th Avenue and waited until H&M opened. She and a large group of Italian tourists.

8) Tiger Beat or Are you a Carrie?

In the fall of 2008 a friend of mine got a gig on a pilot with an ex-teen star-turned C-List celeb. It should come to no one's surprise that after a few days on set canoodling and kissing my friend and this unnamed actor who formerly graced the covers of Tiger Beat and Teen Bop (and probably my bedroom wall) began their "romance". I accompanied her to a poker night with former Mr. Tiger Beat and even continued my Wingman-ship all the way to the West Village loft that he was staying in. I even slept on the couch in the living room while they "romanced" upstairs. In the morning we bid our host adieu (after I bit my tongue and refrained from asking him if I could see the difference between his "swimsuit" and "underwear" modelling poses) and went on the quest for a good breakfast. Crossing Perry street in our haze of moderate celebrity, we bumped, and I mean almost literally, into Sarah Jessica Parker looking like she was on a walk of shame of her own.

7) Let me show you around, maybe play you a sound...

4/11/10. Brooklyn-bound D train at 59th st. Two gay men and a tranny singing Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy" a cappella. It was so good that I cried. They were NOT asking for money, they were just trying to get their harmony right. Those who know me know that my biggest pet peeve is group singing in public places, but this was an exception

6) Hold'em like they do in Texas please

Times Square circa 2001-2002. Friends and I had won one too many tickets in the Rent lottery and went out to try and sell our extra ticket. After walking up and down Broadway several times tapping people on the shoulders asking if they wanted a ticket, a tall, blonde Texan man stopped and turned around to us-I can only imagine what we looked like, as two tweenish girls trying to scalp Broadway show tickets-but the man said he was sick of us yapping in his ear and he'd just buy the ticket if it was less than $25. We sold it to him for $20, I think, and proceeded to explain to him why Rent would change his life. In the middle of the show we spotted him in the audience with a HUGE smile on his face. Our teeny-bopper, rock musical hearts soared. (vomit)

5) Tell me that part about Kenny G again...

It was late, the lady whose son I babysit for didn't give me cab fare, I was on the Upper West Side, and it was January. I walked down Central Park West and across Central Park South and started down 6th Avenue. The streets were mostly deserted, and all of a sudden I heard a saxophone player playing "Moon River" in Rockerfeller Center, ten blocks away. The noise carried all the way down the avenue until I was almost at 34th street. A super cheesy moment, but definitely memorable.

4) Home is where...ever you want it to be

Two of my frattiest, most non-urban college friends came to the city to visit two summers ago and got rip-roaringly drunk to the point of antagonizing their hostess into locking the apartment doors. What did they do? Found a large piece of cardboard and slept on the street. Lucky for them their hostess lived on 66th and Madison.

3) Kicking 'em when they're down

I mean it was my 21st birthday. But I still probably shouldn't have kicked over the homeless man's change cup just because we couldn't find a pizza place.

2) A+ Train

10 am, Saturday morning, August 2008. I am wearing a low-cut "going out shirt" and a pair of men's flipflops. The cute pair of wedges I wore out the night before are acting as a pillow against the window of the A train as the conductor announces that it is going to be running express. I open my eyes and say "oh for fuck's sake" and the middle-aged Dad sitting across from me on the train (the only other passenger) says "Yeah, sucks. Nice walk of shame outfit."

1) The Patriot Act(ress)
July 2008. Christopher Street Pier. It's a perfect day. The sun is setting. I'm sitting with a friend enjoying the moment when a ghetto-fabulous lady starts to sing The Star Spangled Banner. She's pretty good actually. I take in the very New York-ness of the whole thing as a homeless guy yells, at the top of his lungs, from twenty feet away, "Shut the fuck up, woman! You can't sing for shit!"

I've said it once and I'll say it again: I love this city stupid.

A

PS: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROOMMATE!!

A Very Merry Un-Rape Day

I'm not going to even take the time to do more than note my huge breakdown/panic attack last night, because a) It was mostly residual Keystone Light floating around in my system, b) I hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in about a week and c) I'm sick of my complaining (and I know you are too).

That all being said, why is my broker raping me? I mean monetarily, of course.

Back-up to Friday afternoon when I ran like a bat out of hell (that expression sucks, by the way, bats don't run, and why would they be running out of hell? It seems to me like bats and hell go together quite well, actually. Ah, the expression is definitely "flew like a bat out of hell", isn't it? Still don't like it) out of this office to get the car from the parking garage, only to find that when I flung **my duffel bag over my shoulder I knocked the coupon for the garage, AND the slip that allows you to retrieve your car out of my back pocket and on to Water Street. So I ran back three blocks, found the papers still on the sidewalk, exhaled a loooong "Jeeeeesusss Christ!" (which is my favorite expression of late, even with the irony of my religious background-as I mentioned sometime on Saturday, I believe in Jesus. He was a good dude, then he died. The end.), and received sympathy from a passerby (he said, "I know how that feels!"). Thanks dude, that actually did make me feel better. Fo' sho. Boom, I hustle uptown only to be involved in a hit-and-run (full disclosure is never going to happen here or anywhere else, let's just say its NYC and I'm a terrible, terrible human being. Who is also super broke. And going to hell. To run with the bats. And wonder WWJD? Would he run with the bats? Did you forget what we were talking about already? Goooooood.) So after that thing happened that we never want to talk about again, I sprinted up the stairs to look at what was probably already my new apartment whether I wanted it or not. Me Likey. Approved. I run downstairs and proceed to exit Manhattan. This takes effing forever. The road trip occurs, we make the ears bleed of the only male passenger by actually listening and singing along to the debut albums of both Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera. Blah, blah, fast-forward through the weekend o' fun (for the time being) to the part where Lazy Eyes messes up and doesn't get us the deal we want and then redeems himself by forfeiting his fee from the landlord to get us the apartment (yay, thanks Lazy Eyes, you did your job, danke). So we have the apartment. And now (like he literally just called me) he expects me to have a certified check for the first month's rent and the security deposit to drop off today. HA! Sir, are you aware that I was basking the the miserable glory that is cheap beer and alumni (read: out of shape male friends) rugby? When would I have had time to get you an effing certified check on Sunday? And why exactly is the application fee still costing me money? I paid yo' ass already, I thought. Anyway, this just caused another mini-freak out, which was awesome because this time I was sitting at the front desk on the phone with my mom almost crying. Luckily, I had the deep, yogic breathing skills to stop that before it happened and I got the crybaby of the year award.

Moral of that story=moving sucks and brokers are figurative rapists.

**It's not mine. I don't own practical things like functional luggage. My duffel bag was an Across the Universe prop (yes, seriously) and has 2 broken straps. As previously mentioned, I have the best roommate ever who lets me borrow all of her big girl things, like luggage, work clothes, and raincoats.

Additionally, it is H's birthday today, and I love her.

Also, college kind of sucks when you're old and tired. I know this is probably not what you want to be thinking about right now, but "my system" really didn't handle the whole let's-have-a-fajita [fah-JIIII-tuh]-for-breakfast-with-spinach-dip-as-an-appetizer-and-then-drink-10-beers-and-stay-up-all-night-and-eat-pizza/Snickers-ice-cream-bars-at-4-am thing well. Although, I did just start to crave Spinach dip again. Damn.

La la la la la Monday...I'm going to rip my eyes out.

A

PS: I'm going to whore myself out to the first person who will run my lines for this play with me. You know, since it's in like 10 days.

Infamy and Hova da Broka Parte Deux

Okay, so Hipstercrite started a new feature yesterday for Baby Hipsters, and being bored at work I decided to send her a particularly hipster-ish picture of me as a small child. Sure as shit, she posted it! Besides the fact that I always enjoy a little blatant self-promotion, the photo blog really is hilarious, so be sure to check it out! Living in infamy on the web has always been a dream of mine.

In other news, yesterday's Hova da Broka turned out to be a real dud. He blew us off!! Roommate waited for him for a half hour before leaving in a huff to go buy postcards for Flat Stanley (this is seriously the FUNNIEST kid project ever, coming from roommate's little adopted chinese cousin). After all of the "yous pimps, you need a pimp apartment", bro just up and bailed on us. Honestly, what a dick. We were disappointed until we met with a lovely broker with a lazy eye. We went out to look a places and BOOM put a deposit down on an apartment. This morning, however, we found out some high flalootin bougie people offered the ACTUAL asking price on the rent (seriously?) so we didn't get the apartment. We did, however, spend 2 hours in the broker's office filling out those godforsaken forms. Moving is such a pain in the ass! And now, as I type this roommate is at another apartment trying to decide if we should put an application in on that. I'm supposed to be sitting here drowning in excitement over my impending trip towards liver-failure, not gaining an ulcer from tryin gto make a decision about whether or not to take an apartment that I haven't even seen!

AKLJG:LSDJLHKSD:LGKJFLDJLAHGLSJD

Lazy eyes won't let her even take a PICTURE of the room that would be mine and he wants us to put in an application before I see it! I just need a goddamn BlackBerry photo! [20 minutes later] Fuck it. We put an application in. This isn't scary or anything. I have a bone to pick with you New York City Real Estate Market...

a) Stop with the broker's fees...the LANDLORD should pay the broker, not the broke ass tenants. I'm sick of them. I paid over $2,000 18 months ago just so my broker could get a new pair of glasses? That's NG people NG
b) Why aren't dishwashers standard? Why do I have to feel like a dishwasher is the golden mecca of apartment deals and worth paying an extra $100 a month for! IT'S A DISHWASHER! (On that note, are garbage disposals actually illegal in NYC? Someone clarify, please?)
c) Is it so much to ask that there be windows that get actual AIR in every room? Apparently yes. Apparently big yes.

Now I'm going to relax and try and enjoy the three hours I have left here until I can drive uptown in Mom's minivan, RUN into this apartment, make sure it isn't god awful, and then hit the road for my five hour road trip. OH, and I made my mom find my childhood CD collection this morning to put in the car so that I can spend five hours in reminiscent 90's glory with the three girls in the car and ruin the life of the one guy. How? By playing endless Britney Spears circa 1998, and of course "Snowed In" the Hanson Christmas album!

Have a good weekend people, on Monday I'll be back with a full report on where I'm about to live and all of the disgusting buffalo chicken items I ingested over the weekend.

A

Shameless

I'm not going to lie to you all. I'm really excited to go away this weekend. My group of friends from college is a very...unique...bunch. Basically we're all batshit crazy. We've all done a decent amoutnt of growing up in the last two years, but something tells me that we'll be doing a bit of regression this weekend. The last time we all go together post-grad was...successful.

Here are some pictures, that I had a really good time with in PAINT for the last hour, from that weekend a year ago...

Basically, all day I've just been thinking about how excited I am about all of this. And discussing with my friends all of the seriously mediocre food establishments we'll be hitting up in the fabulousness that is Western, Upstate New York.

Additionally, for your viewing pleasure I have included the first half of the email that one of the brokers we are working with just sent to Roommate and I. I don't know how to react:

Girls,

H to the izz O… V to the izz A… you girls a big time pimps and you obviously need a pimp apartment. I will totally meet you at 5:15 to check out the best NO FEE stuff in midtown west.

 

Also...he's white. I will hitherto refer to him as Hova da Broka.

Yeah. I'm gonna leave you with that.

A

Hump Day Reminiscings

It's Wednesday and I was up too late last night (doing the things in item #2 and #4 on the second list below) so this is coming from a place of pure laziness and resentment for being indoors (it's 90 degrees and sunny!?).

Five things I miss about being a kid:

1. Being able to pick my nose in public. Actually no, I was never able to do this and still have friends. (Which is why I didn't have friends until High School-save for Roommate, again.)

Let me start over.
Five things I miss about being a kid:

1. Being able to eat mass quantities of whatever without feeling sick. (I just ate 4 Hersey Miniatures and now have a stomach ache. Ridiculous).
2. Tormenting people, or at least thinking I was. Once, Roommate and I knocked over all the deck chairs belonging to a neighbor of mine and left him a note written in red Sharpie, you know, to look like blood. The note started off with, "Beware!". It's really no fun to do things like that now, because you'll get arrested.
3. My mom making me dinner. I really miss having dinner cooked and ready for me every night. It was always good and always healthy. Granted, at the time I was upset that we didn't go to McDonalds, like EVER, and we weren't allowed to eat Macaroni and Cheese unless it was the kind my mom made herself. What I would give to guiltlessly eat a bowl of mom's macaroni and cheese right now (well, not right now because of that stomach ache, but maybe in a few hours).
4. Not being stressed out, ever. The worst part of having to grow up is having to have responsibilities. The worst part of having responsibilities is getting stressed out about them. Sure, when you're young you're worried about finishing your math homework, you're upset because you can't figure out how to do long division, hell, you even scream and then cry when you try to do algebra (no? just me? fine.), but you don't get stressed about it. Not like you stress about things now. Now, the ramifications for not getting things done are way worse, the stakes are higher! You don't pay your rent-you get evicted. You don't pay your taxes-you go to jail. You don't take out the trash-your roommate has to look at old condom wrappers for six weeks.
5. Being EXCITED! When you're a kid you're always excited about something. For me, from January until June I was having daily excitement seizures about how many days were left until I got to go to CAMP! Seriously, it's a wonder I didn't have a heart attack from anticipation. Come to think of it, I still get really excited about things, it's just that there's fewer and fewer things to get super excited about. ::crickets:: or ::violins:: (whichever you prefer...)

Just so I don't cry over my lost days of youth, I'm going to add this:

Five things that are awesome about being an adult:

1. Even though it isn't nearly as gratifying as it would have been when I was 10, eating dessert in substitution for a meal (especially breakfast), is totally allowed. And sometimes, it's really cool to be able to do that.
2. Sex. (I really don't need to elaborate on that, do I?)
3. Money. Not that I have any, but I can totally do whatever I want with it. For example, if I want to make myself only eat peanut butter and tuna fish for 2 weeks so that I can go on a trip to Colombia in July, I can. No one is saying, "That is unacceptable. You can't do that." Well, actually they are, but I'm ignoring them.
4. Drinking. Not just the specific act of pouring alcohol down ones throat, but just the freedom to do it. That and "going out on a school night". I went out last night. I got to work on time this morning. I'm not a trainwreck today. I knew I could handle that. Suck on that, parents of the world.

Yeah, I only have four. Because it really is awful to be grown up. All of the things that you grow up being excited about aren't that exciting when you actually start doing them. Relationships are hard. Living in an expensive city and paying your rent is hard. Having a job that you care about is very difficult to get, and even harder to retain (retain-keeping and retain-caring about). And all the things you dreamed about doing as a kid are far less attainable.

And that was the most depressing thing I've written in a really long time. I'm not going to delete it though, because I need it to remind myself why I care. Because I do, really and truly, believe that the things that we dreamed about as kids are possible as long as we remind ourselves just how sure we were of what we wanted to be like "when we grew up" when we were 10, and if we try to be those people that we wanted to be.

Your humpday musings, brought to you by the letter H and viewers like you,

A

Luck Be A Lady

Remember last week when it was raining and everything was terrible and I couldn't get over how bad I felt about myself? Today I feel sort of the opposite, and it's gorgeous out, but all of that is pretty ironic considering the course of events the transpired between 9:06 and 9:18 this morning.

9:06 am I'm walking out the door, dressed and ready to attack the day and I stop to pour my carrot/fruit juice blend (what? I'm trying to be healthy people...it's like dessert for my cheerios) into a water bottle "to-go". I shock myself by not spilling and put the sealed bottle into my purse. I decide to take one sip of the juice from the container before I go. Boom. Bright orange juice on my white top. (I have a tendency to just miss my mouth when drinking things). Well fuck, now I'm late. I go into my room and replace one white t-shirt with another. This one has delicious looking yellow pit-stains. Cardigan ON! [I'm writing this now blatantly not wearing my cardigan...I.don't.care]
9:12 am The light to cross Houston is going to change in a few seconds and I really want to make it to the other side before it does (remember, I'm running late now). I awkwardly run across the street and AHHHHHH, my left shoe flops off my foot and lands in the middle of the street. Stupid flats, stupid, stupid yellow flats. So what to do I do? I put my naked (I'm not wearing tights people, deal with it) left foot down on the PAVEMENT on HOUSTON STREET at AVENUE A and go back to pick up the shoe. And yes, the light has changed at this point so I do not have time to put my shoe back ON, but I have to HOP to the lane divider. HOP! In a PENCIL SKIRT!!! Sure, I could have put my foot down, but while it is completely acceptable to walk home from a bar at 4 am barefoot (oh, no? That's not acceptable? Well try reasoning with drunk Adria and see if you can get that point across), it just doesn't fly at 9 am. Plus, I'm way more aware of the possibilities of tetnis when I haven't had six Jack and Diet Cokes.

So, those two events aside it's actually been a really good day. In fact, even when they were happening I was laughing about them, not cursing under my breath. This is exhibit # 6,789 why I am 80% more pleasant to be around when the weather is nice.

RE: Yesterday's confusion, I called my mom for a bout of Motherly Advice on what to do about this receptionist position here. I would like to point out how lucky I am that my parents totally "get" me and my life goals. She agreed with me that I shouldn't stay just because its being offered if I'm not interested at all. I then launched into a speech about how "If I'm going to settle for a job it's certainly not going to be now when I'm not even 24 yet (it is looming in the very near future, however), and it's definitely not going to be at a law office. I'm at a point in my life where I can afford to be making a few mistakes. I'm at a point where I want to maybe make the wrong choice a few times, because then I'll at least know for the future, when I'm worried about things like owning a home and having children (BLJDFJ:LAGHLDFJ:SJDgrossssss)."

So you know what? I told them that I can't work here anymore after next Wednesday and do you know what happened? I got an email from the temp agency asking if I wanted to take a receptionist position at a Doctor's office through the end of June just on Thursdays and Fridays. I must be collecting on my good karma, or something, because not only did I get offered that but the hours are effing sweet (the money isn't, but for a few hours a week, its worth it).

Broke, but happy,

A

Concern-icus

In keeping with the theme of Mondays, I have here my current concerns.

1. I'm thinking of re-entering the world that I left. As in, thinking of finding a new food industry job. I needed to see what it was like to work 40 hours a week to realize that I don't want to do it. I thought that having the same schedule as all of my friends would give me more time to see them, and in reality it doesn't really work that way. I have a  LOT less free time (I guess I do have a lot of free time sitting at a computer here, which affords me the opportunity to get some "chores" done, but it is really not the same). This means less time to do laundry, clean my apartment, walk around when it is nice out, spend time alone (this is probably the most significant and the biggest thing I miss. I really like spending a few hours in my apartment doing my "chores" by myself and listening to music without interruption), go running, go to yoga, read, shop, etc. Mostly, I'm realizing that it wasn't so bad before, but I needed to switch things up to figure that out. Don't get me wrong, though, I don't want to go back to the job I had before. Not because I don't miss it, because I do (I spent some quality time with ex-coworkers this weekend and it really made me miss them, but I still didn't miss the stress of working there). I just need a place that is going to give me the flexibility to be an actress too. I also do not want to work all day on the weekends anymore. Some more thought needs to go into this before I do anything like actually get a new job, but it's something to think about.
2. In that vein, I got paid for my first full week of temp work on Saturday and it wasn't pretty. The goverment really does take out a buttload for taxes. Needless to say, I'm making pennies here.
3. I have to move at the end of the month.
4. I still have not booked an acting job.
5. The temp agency just called here for me. They're putting pressure on me to take a full-time position here. My brain hurts. It seems so supremly stupid to turn down a job. Yet so supremly stupid to take a job that is this boring and un-rewarding. Someone wise once said that it is braver to be able to say no. Someone practical once said (in a yiddish, grandmotherly voice), "You need to eat!" Kate Moss once said, "No you don't". (Not really, I made that up).
6. All of a sudden I have the worst allergies in the Northern Hemisphere. And last year I discovered that when I take Claritin this thing happens that makes me feel like my throat is closing up and I am dying. I am very uncomfortable.
7. I have a hair appointment tomorrow. For highlights. Very excited. Also worried I might look cheap and terrible.
8. Alumni Rugby Weekend starts Friday. Didn't play rugby, very excited to visit ye olde college and see all of the olde friends. Especially since we're all getting olde.

And just so you all feel sufficiently updated, I fufilled my need for a bender this weekend. And yes, it just made me feel a bit too much of Ye Olde Hangover.

Here's to getting through another Monday!

A

Good Friday indeed

Pain. Suffering. Agony.

These are the first words that passed through my Bud Light drenched brain this morning after four hours of sleep. I couldn't believe that I had to sit at a desk for 8 hours when almost everyone else was off today, to celebrate this

Oops, I meant this

But alas, I returned from my lunch of Swedish Meatballs (seriously) to an email reading: "Blank and Blank will close at 3:00 pm today. Have a peaceful and safe weekend."

Ka-CHING! So now I will go do this

and then this

and then this

Have a sloppy drunk weekend,

A

No Laughing Matter

Happy April, fools! (Get it, it's a play on words and I called you all fools. I.need.ther.a.py.) In celebration of the dumbest holiday ever, I'm going to share with you my favorite April Fools Day story, in brief. In fact, I'm just going to copy and paste what I wrote to my Mom in an email earlier today:

"2) There are no April Fools jokes in this email. Because I think it's mean to play jokes like that on your parents. Mostly because a friend of mine (oh, PLEASE, like I'm going to tell you who did this) once called her mom on April 1st and told her that she split her rectum having anal sex and I don't think I'll ever live down the awkwardness of listening to that phone call. Or listening to anyone's mother say "Didn't you use LUBE?!". I don't know why I'm telling you this, just to validate my point, I guess."

Yes, a friend of mine actually did that. And her mom asked her about lube. And she reads this blog. And is probably currently frantically gchatting me to tell me how inappropriate I am for posting that on the internet. Also, she's definitely pissed that I told my mom. Even though her name wasn't mentioned. I will remind her, at that point, that she told HER mom. Which is why it is so horrendously inappropriate.

Before I go (because I swore I wouldn't write a novella today), a few updates:

• I'm finally doing my taxes. Like right now. Like I actaully have a 10-99DIV form on my lap. AND, I never got that $250 from the government last year, so it looks like I get it now, which is good, because I didn't need it then, and God knows I need it now.
• Project anorexia is underway. So far I have been almost constantly hungry and avoided chocolate sucessfully for 3 straight days, including ten minutes ago when I reached for an Almond Joy then thought "NO! Lady Gaga ate one meal a day AND took diet pills. You aren't even considering diet pills." (Note: Before you call a doctor or my mom-which is pointless because she's been trying to give me an eating disorder for years-know that I am eating. I ate sushi for lunch today. I'm just not eating sushi, soup, 2 pieces of bread, a banana, and a smoothie.)
• The aforementioned is aiding in "project crazy". I'm slowly creeping nearer and nearer to full insanity. And for the record, I don't want to BE Lady Gaga, I just recognize that she, like me, was a dark haired, normal sized, large breasted person, and now she's not. Therefore, goal.
• I had a genius idea today (which was item "3)" in my email to my mother. She's a struggling artist, I'm a struggling artist, let's get together! Why? Because she has a disposable income (sort of) and I have no income! My mom is an artist and does Printmaking and Watercolor paintings and is the worst businesswoman ever. She never sells her work and rarely shows it, all because she's "too busy" to promote her work. No excuses, I say. I also say (as in, said, as itemized in #3) let me help! I want to do her PR. For real. And have her pay me for it. Let's see if this works. Anyone know any galleries looking for new works?
• Agggghhh pregnancy foils all my plans. Some attorney here is preggo and leaving today so they're force feeding us all cupcakes at 5:00. Can I resist? We shall see!
• I'm doing this. No, that is not a joke. I'm totally going to do it. For $20? Why not!

Happy April,

Adria