Once upon a time I was young and in college and I fell in love with a boy. I'd had boys before but this one was different. I was sure that he was The One. We had an amazing time together and I was one of the happiest girls in the world.
Then one nice summer day I went over to his house and he told me that it was time for us to break up. He had graduated and was moving away. I still had one semester to go. He needed to start focusing on himself and his goals. I wasn't a part of his plan anymore. I needed, in his words, "someone who can appreciate the fact that [I] like bright colors and Justin Timberlake."
Just like that, in the space of only a few minutes, my heart was shattered in the floor.
I spent the rest of the summer more depressed than I've ever been in my life. I lost 30 pounds because I forgot to eat for a couple of months. I averaged two bottles of cheap red wine everyday. I cried myself to sleep every night.
Then I woke up one morning and decided that I was done letting him run my life--he'd moved on and so would I.
Fast forward three years. I'm now in New York City, one ex-boyfriends and a constant stream of suitors separate me from the former love of my life. We still talk occasionally on the phone and trade emails. He's moved to another new city and when I see him now, it's different. I'm changed, he's changed.
But that doesn't change this simple fact: I never want to hear that he's getting married.
I'm past him. I'm over it. I know what we had was special but I also know that we were two kids in college and now we're grown-ups supposedly. Yet and still, the thought of him finding someone to spend the rest of his life with makes me want to hurl. When and if I ever get this news I can look forward to another couple of months of not eating.
No matter how over someone you are, it hurts when you find that they're loving someone new. Even if you know that the two of you could never make it work, there's still that cold dark feeling that settles in the bottom of your heart, that feeling that says "he chose someone else over you."
Friday, September 30, 2005
Give It Up For Friday
And the promise of a fantastic weekend to come. You'll always find me in the best mood on Friday afternoons. Around 4 or 5, only a couple of hours left in the workday, the knowledge that the weekend is waiting just around the bend. When I wake up hungover on a Friday morning I still have a smile on my face because I know that tomorrow is Sarturday, tomorrow I can sleep as late as I want!
I know that ultimately my weekend will just be another weekend, nothing super fantastic will have happened, I won't go to bed Sunday night with both Justin Timberlake leaving texts on my phone and Leonardo DiCaprio wanting to meet up for dinner Monday night. But right now it's Friday and I have hope. The hope that the next two days will be completely off the hook.
Fridays rock my world almost as much as karaoke.
I know that ultimately my weekend will just be another weekend, nothing super fantastic will have happened, I won't go to bed Sunday night with both Justin Timberlake leaving texts on my phone and Leonardo DiCaprio wanting to meet up for dinner Monday night. But right now it's Friday and I have hope. The hope that the next two days will be completely off the hook.
Fridays rock my world almost as much as karaoke.
Moment Of The Night
My roommate took out a Triscuit and discovered what you see in the pic to the left. That's right--it's a monster webbed Triscuit. You don't get one of those in every box, I bet. We've decided to take it as a sign of extreme good fortune to come.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Seen on the Subway
There's never a shortage of freaks on the New York City subway. Chances are if you get on and there's no one weird on your car, give it a couple of stops and somebody fun will roll in.
Seen On The Subway (WEIRD):
-A man nonchalantly flossing his teeth
-A woman clipping her sons toenails
-A guy methodically shredding his AM New York and piling the shreds in a neat stack in the seat next to him
-A little boy licking his bare knee every ten seconds or so.
-A man whose pants were soaked in foul-smelling old pee taking a snooze and alienating people from an entire train car (this is the only time I've actually moved between cars while the trian was going--I had to get out of there though)
Note from Brandy: Clearly these people have forgotten what HOME is for.
Seen On The Subway (ANNOYING):
-An asshole leaning on the pole and leaving no room for anyone to hold on in the middle of a packed rush hour train
-An asshole taking up three whole seats with his homeless-people-bags-o-recycling
-A bitch pretending that she was actually getting cell phone service as the N train inched along between Union Square and 34th Street. She was talking really loudly to her "best friend Teresa"
-CRYING BABIES IN STROLLERS
I can't wait until I'm rich and I can just take cabs everywhere.
Seen On The Subway (WEIRD):
-A man nonchalantly flossing his teeth
-A woman clipping her sons toenails
-A guy methodically shredding his AM New York and piling the shreds in a neat stack in the seat next to him
-A little boy licking his bare knee every ten seconds or so.
-A man whose pants were soaked in foul-smelling old pee taking a snooze and alienating people from an entire train car (this is the only time I've actually moved between cars while the trian was going--I had to get out of there though)
Note from Brandy: Clearly these people have forgotten what HOME is for.
Seen On The Subway (ANNOYING):
-An asshole leaning on the pole and leaving no room for anyone to hold on in the middle of a packed rush hour train
-An asshole taking up three whole seats with his homeless-people-bags-o-recycling
-A bitch pretending that she was actually getting cell phone service as the N train inched along between Union Square and 34th Street. She was talking really loudly to her "best friend Teresa"
-CRYING BABIES IN STROLLERS
I can't wait until I'm rich and I can just take cabs everywhere.
Boyfriend Season
It's here ladies.
Summer is officially over and for the next few months we can look forward to Cold and Colder. I love summer, I love sun, I love heat. But there is something to be said for the fall--or as I like to call it: Boyfriend Season.
The leaves are turning, there's a chill in the air, football season is in full swing. Starbucks has brought back the Pumpkin Spice Latte and it gets dark at 6.
It's time to find a boyfriend. Not a boyfriend that calls all the time and wants to be in my space 24-7 and gets all possessive and weird. But a boyfriend who wants to hang out with me until mid-March. I'll just need a small Christmas gift, perhaps fun t-shirt or a DVD box set of Seinfeld. No one has to meet any parents, we don't have to hang out with one another's friends. We just need to kick it together a couple of times a week, use the terms "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" loosely and we'll part amicably when the snow melt to reveal the new green of spring.
Spring and summer are my single seasons. When it's hot outside I like to go through a variety of guys, each less serious than the last, all just wanting to have some fun. I still want to have fun when the weather cools down but I'd rather it just be with one person. It's too cold for me to be trying to switch it up.
Summer is officially over and for the next few months we can look forward to Cold and Colder. I love summer, I love sun, I love heat. But there is something to be said for the fall--or as I like to call it: Boyfriend Season.
The leaves are turning, there's a chill in the air, football season is in full swing. Starbucks has brought back the Pumpkin Spice Latte and it gets dark at 6.
It's time to find a boyfriend. Not a boyfriend that calls all the time and wants to be in my space 24-7 and gets all possessive and weird. But a boyfriend who wants to hang out with me until mid-March. I'll just need a small Christmas gift, perhaps fun t-shirt or a DVD box set of Seinfeld. No one has to meet any parents, we don't have to hang out with one another's friends. We just need to kick it together a couple of times a week, use the terms "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" loosely and we'll part amicably when the snow melt to reveal the new green of spring.
Spring and summer are my single seasons. When it's hot outside I like to go through a variety of guys, each less serious than the last, all just wanting to have some fun. I still want to have fun when the weather cools down but I'd rather it just be with one person. It's too cold for me to be trying to switch it up.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Midnight on a Wednesday
There are people fucking on my roof.
I know this because I have caught them up there twice now, once on the old desk I got rid of a few weeks ago. Brandy goes to the roof, just wanting to have a cigarette after stumbling home drunk on a random weeknight and just as I'm taking my first puff, I round the corner and . . .hello to the girl getting it from behind while bending over my old desk. The next time I walked in on them she was sitting in his lap on some gross chair up there, totally riding it out under the stars.
And now I can hear them up there banging around because that damned desk is right about my living room. All I wanted was to settle in, have a beer, and watch the end of Love Actually. Lucky for me some kind of love is actually happening as I type, above my head.
I know this because I have caught them up there twice now, once on the old desk I got rid of a few weeks ago. Brandy goes to the roof, just wanting to have a cigarette after stumbling home drunk on a random weeknight and just as I'm taking my first puff, I round the corner and . . .hello to the girl getting it from behind while bending over my old desk. The next time I walked in on them she was sitting in his lap on some gross chair up there, totally riding it out under the stars.
And now I can hear them up there banging around because that damned desk is right about my living room. All I wanted was to settle in, have a beer, and watch the end of Love Actually. Lucky for me some kind of love is actually happening as I type, above my head.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Being A Woman Hurts Sometimes
Especially when a woman decides to try at little at-home waxing. I'm laying here in pain now, my lower calves are throbbing and I'm sure I missed a few spots. Instead of having some small Asian woman get to watch me bite my lip and clench my fists in pain, I had only my reflection mocking me in the bathroom mirror as I spread the purple goopy wax on my legs and then yanked out patches of hair.
And the kicker? It's not like there's anyone sharing my bed or really even the hope of someone coming in soon.
Waxing is for the more dedicated of my gender I suppose. I just can't commit to pain like that.
And the kicker? It's not like there's anyone sharing my bed or really even the hope of someone coming in soon.
Waxing is for the more dedicated of my gender I suppose. I just can't commit to pain like that.
Myspace Snob
That's right. I am a Myspace snob. This means if you are in a band that I don't know, if you are a 17 year old boy I don't know, or a sister from the Bronx who wants to "chill wit some new gfs", or anyone else I haven't met or seen on VH1 Best Week Ever, I will not approve you to be my friend.
Just wanted to get this out there.
Just wanted to get this out there.
I Hate Smelly Things
So I'm on my way out of the house this morning (on time for once) and I grab my green track jacket and shove it in my purse because my office is usually freezing. I get to work, the AC is blasting and I take out my jacket and put it on.
This is when I discover that it REEKS. It smells like I worked out in it sweating heavily for two weeks straight and then balled it up and stuck it behind a leaky toilet for another month and a half and then let it air dry in a dank corner of my roof.
But I have to wear it because it's fucking COLD in this office.
I'm not sure why my jacket smells so bad but it eventually prompted a trip to Old Navy and now the old jacket is festering in a bag and I'm comfy and new smelling in a new hoodie. The funny thing is that the other jacket smelled SO BAD and I had to walk in close proximity to several different people during my trip down Sixth Avenue to Old Navy. So I'm that smelly person now. You know when you're walking and you get the whiff of noxious BO and you see that Mr. Gross Homeless man is ambling along beside you?
That was me today.
But I promise I showered this morning and I have no idea why my really cute American Eagle track jacket which I bought because sophomore year of college the crush I was obsessed with told me that he thought girls looked cute in old school track jackets smells so awful.
This is when I discover that it REEKS. It smells like I worked out in it sweating heavily for two weeks straight and then balled it up and stuck it behind a leaky toilet for another month and a half and then let it air dry in a dank corner of my roof.
But I have to wear it because it's fucking COLD in this office.
I'm not sure why my jacket smells so bad but it eventually prompted a trip to Old Navy and now the old jacket is festering in a bag and I'm comfy and new smelling in a new hoodie. The funny thing is that the other jacket smelled SO BAD and I had to walk in close proximity to several different people during my trip down Sixth Avenue to Old Navy. So I'm that smelly person now. You know when you're walking and you get the whiff of noxious BO and you see that Mr. Gross Homeless man is ambling along beside you?
That was me today.
But I promise I showered this morning and I have no idea why my really cute American Eagle track jacket which I bought because sophomore year of college the crush I was obsessed with told me that he thought girls looked cute in old school track jackets smells so awful.
One Of The Worst Feelings
. . .is when you click "Send" for an email that you know you shouldn't be sending. There's no taking it back. At least if you make a phone call you shouldn't be making you can hang up. Once you send an email (or an embarrassing Myspace message) you can't go and unsend it. In less than 10 seconds it's going to be sitting in an inbox with YOUR NAME in the "from" column.
Oops.
Oops.
Overhead in New York
A bar on the Lower East Side. 8:26pm.
Guy 1: I would totally get an iPod nano. I don't even need it but I would get it.
Girl 1: Yeah, but Apple is so not innovative anymore. I mean, when compared with Microsoft.
Girl 2: what are you talking about? Apple is like the original innovator! They invented "copy-paste!"
Girl 1: Are you serious?
Guy 1: Yeah! They invented the trash can too!
Guy 2: Yeah, but Xerox actually put the trash can on the desktop.
Brandy's note: I was embarrassed sitting beside these people. Copy-paste? What kind of freak knows who invented copy-paste? It's like if I went up to a friend and said I know who invented apple key-option-escape. But I don't. Because I would be a HUGE DORK if I did.
Guy 1: I would totally get an iPod nano. I don't even need it but I would get it.
Girl 1: Yeah, but Apple is so not innovative anymore. I mean, when compared with Microsoft.
Girl 2: what are you talking about? Apple is like the original innovator! They invented "copy-paste!"
Girl 1: Are you serious?
Guy 1: Yeah! They invented the trash can too!
Guy 2: Yeah, but Xerox actually put the trash can on the desktop.
Brandy's note: I was embarrassed sitting beside these people. Copy-paste? What kind of freak knows who invented copy-paste? It's like if I went up to a friend and said I know who invented apple key-option-escape. But I don't. Because I would be a HUGE DORK if I did.
Some Things Just Need To Be Documented
Tonight, I came home at 11:30pm to find the door to my apartment open.
I walk in fully expecting to find my roommate murdered on the floor and the killer waiting for me. Instead I find her stumbling around in a spatula in the midst of making a fried egg sandwich, our favorite drunken snack. She insisted that it was fine that the door to our apartment which is located on AVENUE C IN NEW YORK CITY was open. She was after all, right there. I took a moment to remind her that we know for a fact that drug dealers live in our building as well as their Puerto Rican Mafia friends. Locks are not just for show here.
I settle in and start checking my email in my favorite chair in the living room, once again feeding off of someone else’s wireless. I happen to look over at my roommate who has now moved to the couch. She had a huge bottle of Evian water and was pouring it over the top of her head. I asked what was going on and she told me to stop judging her. She was pouring a bottle of water on herself while sitting on a sofa in her own home. In September. But I don’t judge.
She then requests a soaking wet washcloth because I guess she’s having drunken hot flashes. I get her one and the she exclaims “God, I’m so cold!” She’s dripping with Evian water and sitting in front of the air conditioner which is blasting at 64 degrees.
I get my yoga mat and start doing my ab exercises on the floor. She passes out on the couch.
And this is how two hot girls spend a Monday night. One passed out on the couch dripping with water she poured on herself, the other completely wiped out on the floor after only a single set of ten sit-ups.
I walk in fully expecting to find my roommate murdered on the floor and the killer waiting for me. Instead I find her stumbling around in a spatula in the midst of making a fried egg sandwich, our favorite drunken snack. She insisted that it was fine that the door to our apartment which is located on AVENUE C IN NEW YORK CITY was open. She was after all, right there. I took a moment to remind her that we know for a fact that drug dealers live in our building as well as their Puerto Rican Mafia friends. Locks are not just for show here.
I settle in and start checking my email in my favorite chair in the living room, once again feeding off of someone else’s wireless. I happen to look over at my roommate who has now moved to the couch. She had a huge bottle of Evian water and was pouring it over the top of her head. I asked what was going on and she told me to stop judging her. She was pouring a bottle of water on herself while sitting on a sofa in her own home. In September. But I don’t judge.
She then requests a soaking wet washcloth because I guess she’s having drunken hot flashes. I get her one and the she exclaims “God, I’m so cold!” She’s dripping with Evian water and sitting in front of the air conditioner which is blasting at 64 degrees.
I get my yoga mat and start doing my ab exercises on the floor. She passes out on the couch.
And this is how two hot girls spend a Monday night. One passed out on the couch dripping with water she poured on herself, the other completely wiped out on the floor after only a single set of ten sit-ups.
Monday, September 26, 2005
Urine Gone
I’ve been seeing this commercial for a while now and it never ceases to crack me up. Apparently there’s this new Febrez-like spray that’s specially formulated to get rid of urine stains. It's called Urine Gone. Everyone knows that if you have a cat, no matter how clean you are with it, your place STILL smells like a litterbox. This spray is for those people (hopefully some people in my building will buy it because the halls REEK of cat piss.)
The best part of the ad is that Urine Gone isn’t just for pet owners! When this proclamation is made the camera cuts to a shot of a toilet under a Special Scientific Black Light (free if you ORDER NOW!) and there are piss stains ALL over the bottom of the toilet. The announcer says “Urine Gone isn’t JUST for pet accidents!!”
How wasted are you that you piss on the SIDE of the toilet instead of IN it? The funniest thing is that the woman giving the testamonial throughout the ad is completely old and I’m assuming that the toilet must belong to her and her alcoholic husband who we never see. He’s obviously a drunk because he can’t seem to aim in the toilet and that’s probably why the woman has to have to many cats—her husband isn’t giving her what she needs. But at least her house won’t smell like pee anymore—cat or human! Thanks Urine Gone!!!
Have a laugh at the web ad I found for it.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Friday Morning
Half empty mug of coffee, almost full water bottle, Post-it note reminders scattered around, the phone is ringing, and everyone is talking a little too loud. ITunes is on low soothing me with a little chill out music.
I stayed out until 4 in the morning and I was the first person in the office this morning. Who's dedicated? This girl. I'm going to crash circa 2pm but right now I'm actually through with my morning To-Do list. I'm also wearing my glasses, a surefire sign that Brandy Got Crunk last night.
Last night was another New York City random. I ended up at a TV shoot with my roommate in the West Village right after work and had a nice little smoke filled walk along the West Side Highway, then I was with other friends at a roof party in Tribeca where I reconnected with about a million random people from my college, and wait, now I'm back with my roommate at Down The Hatch (I know--gross) and then we were on 29th Street at this party where there was lots of cheese and wine and I ended up knowing the guy who was throwing the bash. And suddenly it's 4am and I have to be at work in the morning but I'm still wasted and talking to a cute guy.
Another rocking Thursday.
I stayed out until 4 in the morning and I was the first person in the office this morning. Who's dedicated? This girl. I'm going to crash circa 2pm but right now I'm actually through with my morning To-Do list. I'm also wearing my glasses, a surefire sign that Brandy Got Crunk last night.
Last night was another New York City random. I ended up at a TV shoot with my roommate in the West Village right after work and had a nice little smoke filled walk along the West Side Highway, then I was with other friends at a roof party in Tribeca where I reconnected with about a million random people from my college, and wait, now I'm back with my roommate at Down The Hatch (I know--gross) and then we were on 29th Street at this party where there was lots of cheese and wine and I ended up knowing the guy who was throwing the bash. And suddenly it's 4am and I have to be at work in the morning but I'm still wasted and talking to a cute guy.
Another rocking Thursday.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Have a drink downstairs
So a co-worker just told me a story.
He went out to the Meatpacking District to have a dinner at a new hotspot that another friend was working at. The waiter friend's section was full so my co-worker and his companion went downstairs to have a drink. The first thing they noticed in the swanky lounge is that although there were a fair amount of people milling about, it was still really quiet as compared to the din upstairs.
After ordering a drink my co-worker and his friend noticed a couple signing to each other at the bar. Upon closer inspection they realized that the reason for the quiet was that everyone was DEAF.
Only in New York.
He went out to the Meatpacking District to have a dinner at a new hotspot that another friend was working at. The waiter friend's section was full so my co-worker and his companion went downstairs to have a drink. The first thing they noticed in the swanky lounge is that although there were a fair amount of people milling about, it was still really quiet as compared to the din upstairs.
After ordering a drink my co-worker and his friend noticed a couple signing to each other at the bar. Upon closer inspection they realized that the reason for the quiet was that everyone was DEAF.
Only in New York.
What Happened To The Popular People
Every school has the Popularity Hierarchy. In high school and middle school, I always hovered between the semi-popular fun kids and the high ranking dorks. Today, I once again discovered more random people on Myspace from my high school and it got to me wondering what happened to all the Popular Kids? I've heard stories that some of them are married (to each other of course) and there are a few illegitimate kids here and there and that one girl who ended up going to my college and getting arrested by the secret service for counterfeiting $80,000.
But I would like to know where they happen to be in life right now. Are they still Popular? And how did they end up being so Popular anyway. I feel like everyone was pretty much on the same level until fifth grade and then came boobs and mean girls.
I like to think that maybe they all migrated to an island where the only stores are Publix and Abercrombie and Fitch and they still all drive the same '97 Civics they got for their sixteenth birthdays.
But I would like to know where they happen to be in life right now. Are they still Popular? And how did they end up being so Popular anyway. I feel like everyone was pretty much on the same level until fifth grade and then came boobs and mean girls.
I like to think that maybe they all migrated to an island where the only stores are Publix and Abercrombie and Fitch and they still all drive the same '97 Civics they got for their sixteenth birthdays.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Right Now
I'm sitting at my desk switching between doing work and looking up random blogs on the internet. There is a guy sitting near me (he's working with someone at my company) and he has a video camera and the camera is pointed right at me. When I looked over at him he was like "Don't worry, I'm not taping you. Just seeing how the camera works."
But he's still doing it. And it's been like 10 minutes. And now he has on headphones too.
Just thought I'd put this into writing.
But he's still doing it. And it's been like 10 minutes. And now he has on headphones too.
Just thought I'd put this into writing.
A Fun Story
So today I leave to go and get lunch and I call my roommate when I'm out. She had emailed me asking where the Philips head screwdriver was. Here's our conversation:
Brandy: "Did you get my message?"
Roomie: "Yeah, I found it."
Brandy: "What did you need it for?"
Roomie: "Oh God, this is why I should never get high by myself."
Brandy: "What did you do?"
Roomie: "I took my closet door off its hinges."
Brandy: "What? Why?"
Roomie: "I mean, it was getting on my nerves."
I thought this was funny. Just picture my roommate (she's tall and blonde for those who don't know her). She's completely stoned, sitting on the couch, smoking. Then a fabulous idea: "I need to take my closet off its hinges because I hate it."
It's funny stuff.
Brandy: "Did you get my message?"
Roomie: "Yeah, I found it."
Brandy: "What did you need it for?"
Roomie: "Oh God, this is why I should never get high by myself."
Brandy: "What did you do?"
Roomie: "I took my closet door off its hinges."
Brandy: "What? Why?"
Roomie: "I mean, it was getting on my nerves."
I thought this was funny. Just picture my roommate (she's tall and blonde for those who don't know her). She's completely stoned, sitting on the couch, smoking. Then a fabulous idea: "I need to take my closet off its hinges because I hate it."
It's funny stuff.
More Creepiness
Because I'm such a good internet researcher and I wanted to find pictures of the disturbing doll I mentioned in a previous post, I ended up finding an entire WEBSITE with a series of "Early Arrivals" dolls.
I'm not over it.
PS--This is picture of "Little Gracie." That's right. It's a DOLL.
Little Gracie
Recently we've started getting TV Guides in the mail. By "we" I mean my roommate. And by TV Guide, I mean the little magazine that comes out weekly with the "Cheers and Jeers" section. We're not sure why she gets it because she doesn't remember subscribing or paying for it.
As a elementary and middle schooler, Tuesday was always my favorite day of the week because it was then that I'd come home from school and check the mail to find next week's TV Guide, nice and fresh, on top. I started kind of collecting them. Not real sure why, but to this day there is a huge stack of TV Guides from the years 1991-1996 or so in the top of my childhood bedroom closet. One of my favorite things about TV Guide was that there were always little ad inserts for completely useless household items. Lots of porceilan dolls and miniature British sports cars and collectable plates with pictures of landscapes or Elvis on them. I often used these ads to exact revenge on those who wronged me. I'd just mail off the prepaid postage card filled out with my enemy's address on it and check "Bill me on delivery" for payment method.
Today, as I looked through the newest issue of TV Guide I came upon one of this little inserts and I need to share it. The ad is for "Little Gracie" a new issue doll from our friends at the Ashton Drake Gallery. Little Gracie is a beautiful, completely life-like. . . . PREMATURE BABY.
What the fuck?
No one wants to have a premature baby in real life so why in the hell would you want to buy one in four easy payments of $25.99? And this doll looks so real that its chest is all blotchy and red from rosacea! And there's this GROWN WOMAN holding "Little Gracie" like she's a real baby. Who's going to buy this doll and hold it like that? It's just SO SAD!! What---do you need to be reminded of your own preemie baby? Or maybe your last stillborn birth?
There is a premature baby doll on the market.
This is a new low.
As a elementary and middle schooler, Tuesday was always my favorite day of the week because it was then that I'd come home from school and check the mail to find next week's TV Guide, nice and fresh, on top. I started kind of collecting them. Not real sure why, but to this day there is a huge stack of TV Guides from the years 1991-1996 or so in the top of my childhood bedroom closet. One of my favorite things about TV Guide was that there were always little ad inserts for completely useless household items. Lots of porceilan dolls and miniature British sports cars and collectable plates with pictures of landscapes or Elvis on them. I often used these ads to exact revenge on those who wronged me. I'd just mail off the prepaid postage card filled out with my enemy's address on it and check "Bill me on delivery" for payment method.
Today, as I looked through the newest issue of TV Guide I came upon one of this little inserts and I need to share it. The ad is for "Little Gracie" a new issue doll from our friends at the Ashton Drake Gallery. Little Gracie is a beautiful, completely life-like. . . . PREMATURE BABY.
What the fuck?
No one wants to have a premature baby in real life so why in the hell would you want to buy one in four easy payments of $25.99? And this doll looks so real that its chest is all blotchy and red from rosacea! And there's this GROWN WOMAN holding "Little Gracie" like she's a real baby. Who's going to buy this doll and hold it like that? It's just SO SAD!! What---do you need to be reminded of your own preemie baby? Or maybe your last stillborn birth?
There is a premature baby doll on the market.
This is a new low.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Am I Hot or Not?
How weird would it be if you were scrolling through the pics on the website Hot or Not and you came across a picture of someone who you are dating or had dated and they were rated at an average of 3.2.
That would not only be weird, it would kind of suck to know that hundreds of random people think that the person you think is hot is actually hideous.
I mean, would you break up with them? I'm so easily influenced.
That would not only be weird, it would kind of suck to know that hundreds of random people think that the person you think is hot is actually hideous.
I mean, would you break up with them? I'm so easily influenced.
A Few Thoughts
It's 3:30 in the afternoon and I'm hard at work. Some of the work I've completed this afternoon includes finding two old college friends in Myspace, im-ing my roommate, my best friend, and my boy Brian in LA, making lists on a variety of post-it notes, spending $13 on a salad at lunch, and opening the mail but not really looking at it. And now I'm getting ready to go on my first shoot with this new company I'm at and this is funny for a few reasons, first and foremost being that although I love working in production, I'm very much an OFFICE production person. I do a lot of writing and coordinating and processing, but usually all off this is done between the hours of 10 and 7 in my air conditioned office building and I have immediate access to iChat, iTunes, the internet, and free long distance (for me) calls on the company phone.
So this should be interesting.
I work in reality TV and tonight we're shooting some footage for a pilot we're working on about this new Latin pop star. I'm hoping to befriend this girl tonight because it's never a bad thing to have a pop star in your Palm Pilot as a friend. I also happen to actually enjoy her music. And the show we're shooting tonight is actually a part of this Latin Rap Music Conference so if this senorita is lucky she'll walk away with the number of a hot Dominican rapper named Juan.
So this should be interesting.
I work in reality TV and tonight we're shooting some footage for a pilot we're working on about this new Latin pop star. I'm hoping to befriend this girl tonight because it's never a bad thing to have a pop star in your Palm Pilot as a friend. I also happen to actually enjoy her music. And the show we're shooting tonight is actually a part of this Latin Rap Music Conference so if this senorita is lucky she'll walk away with the number of a hot Dominican rapper named Juan.
Doing Embarrassing Things While Sober
That's right. It's 11am. I'm at work, completely sober, not in the least hung over and actually pretty well rested. So why, in this clear state of mind did I still manage to do something completely cringe-worthy?
Back story: Yesterday my roommate and I decided to grill out on our roof this Saturday. Being the amazing Photoshop wizard that I am, I whipped up a fabulous invite jpeg and attached it to an email. And then sent it out to my address book in gmail. AFTER sending it out I realized while looking through the emails of people the invite was sent to that there are quite a few addresses in my address book that I had forgotten were there. Which means that the invite to this party went out to quite a few people I haven't talked to in quite a long while.
I'm trying to not feel super embarrassed but think about it: You're at work pissing around online and then check your mail for the 1000th time. And there's a new message! But wait. . .Brandy? You haven't talked to her in like 3 months! Why is she emailing you. . . . and it's a party invitation?
But it gets better--apparently gmail saves every single address you've ever written to including people I don't even really know. You know guys who emailed me wanting to buy my old computer, random comedians who I felt I needed to write to tell them that they were funny--that kind of thing. These people are also all invited to my intimate grill out session on Saturday.
It should be a fun party.
Back story: Yesterday my roommate and I decided to grill out on our roof this Saturday. Being the amazing Photoshop wizard that I am, I whipped up a fabulous invite jpeg and attached it to an email. And then sent it out to my address book in gmail. AFTER sending it out I realized while looking through the emails of people the invite was sent to that there are quite a few addresses in my address book that I had forgotten were there. Which means that the invite to this party went out to quite a few people I haven't talked to in quite a long while.
I'm trying to not feel super embarrassed but think about it: You're at work pissing around online and then check your mail for the 1000th time. And there's a new message! But wait. . .Brandy? You haven't talked to her in like 3 months! Why is she emailing you. . . . and it's a party invitation?
But it gets better--apparently gmail saves every single address you've ever written to including people I don't even really know. You know guys who emailed me wanting to buy my old computer, random comedians who I felt I needed to write to tell them that they were funny--that kind of thing. These people are also all invited to my intimate grill out session on Saturday.
It should be a fun party.
Monday, September 19, 2005
Hipster? Access DENIED
There's not much I don't like. I can't stand the cold but I can appreciate snow. I hate liver but I'll down pate every once in awhile.
So let me let you know what I don't like. HIPSTERS. That's right. I cannot STAND hipsters. Seeing that I live in the East Village in New York City, interactions with these people are an everyday part of my life. And right now I'm about to get really judgemental so if you have a heart you might want to stop reading right now.
I'm a pop kind of girl--I like to go to clubs and bars that celebrities frequent, and dance to hip hop that's played on the radio. I like to buy name-brand clothes. I eat meat, I have no problem with tuna and I won't lie--I don't recycle. The main difference between me and a hipster? I readily admit to all of this instead of hiding behind thrift store clothes that actually cost more than my JCrew t-shirt. I'm spoiled, materialistic and I like to go out and have a good time. My idea of a good time however, does NOT include going to danky dive bars where bands with weird names are murmuring lyrics about some girl they dated for two months who broke their hearts sophomore year at Brown or Berkeley. I want to make a lot of money one day. My job is producing reality television. When I do get into making movies I want to make classics like Drop Dead Fred and Sleepless in Seattle NOT Donnie Darko, Gummo, or Kids.
I just can't fathom why hipsters can't recognize the blinding fact that THEY'RE JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE. They try to have this distance from the upper middle class America that made them. I want to be like "Okay Meagan--let's be real for two seconds: Your parents are Republican, aren't they?" or "Come on Birk, you know you got a new Honda Civic for your 16th birthday. Stop trying to front."
I have accepted myself, from my $100 hairdo to my thrice-monthly pedicured toes. But maybe this is just too "ironic" of me and really this superficial Brandy is just suffocating the real Brandy, my true self, the one hidden behind layers of post-modernistic bureaucratic bullshit given to me by the conservative lackeys that run the government.
Shoot me now.
So please, hipsters can take your skinny vintage jeans and oddly shaped frocks that look like they're made of curtains, and those fucking black rimmed Elvis Costello glasses, and all those books on 18th century European philosophers, and GET A LIFE. It's okay to watch network TV and movies who's only draws are Reese Witherspoon or Brad Pitt.
And don't try to become my friend so that you can say, "I have a black friend!"
So let me let you know what I don't like. HIPSTERS. That's right. I cannot STAND hipsters. Seeing that I live in the East Village in New York City, interactions with these people are an everyday part of my life. And right now I'm about to get really judgemental so if you have a heart you might want to stop reading right now.
I'm a pop kind of girl--I like to go to clubs and bars that celebrities frequent, and dance to hip hop that's played on the radio. I like to buy name-brand clothes. I eat meat, I have no problem with tuna and I won't lie--I don't recycle. The main difference between me and a hipster? I readily admit to all of this instead of hiding behind thrift store clothes that actually cost more than my JCrew t-shirt. I'm spoiled, materialistic and I like to go out and have a good time. My idea of a good time however, does NOT include going to danky dive bars where bands with weird names are murmuring lyrics about some girl they dated for two months who broke their hearts sophomore year at Brown or Berkeley. I want to make a lot of money one day. My job is producing reality television. When I do get into making movies I want to make classics like Drop Dead Fred and Sleepless in Seattle NOT Donnie Darko, Gummo, or Kids.
I just can't fathom why hipsters can't recognize the blinding fact that THEY'RE JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE. They try to have this distance from the upper middle class America that made them. I want to be like "Okay Meagan--let's be real for two seconds: Your parents are Republican, aren't they?" or "Come on Birk, you know you got a new Honda Civic for your 16th birthday. Stop trying to front."
I have accepted myself, from my $100 hairdo to my thrice-monthly pedicured toes. But maybe this is just too "ironic" of me and really this superficial Brandy is just suffocating the real Brandy, my true self, the one hidden behind layers of post-modernistic bureaucratic bullshit given to me by the conservative lackeys that run the government.
Shoot me now.
So please, hipsters can take your skinny vintage jeans and oddly shaped frocks that look like they're made of curtains, and those fucking black rimmed Elvis Costello glasses, and all those books on 18th century European philosophers, and GET A LIFE. It's okay to watch network TV and movies who's only draws are Reese Witherspoon or Brad Pitt.
And don't try to become my friend so that you can say, "I have a black friend!"
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Seriously?
Still watching the Food Channel and this guy is doing a food tour of London and as I type he is eating pig's tails and a pig's head. And as he gently slices his knife through the side of the pig's head, he says "The cheek is the best part, so tender and juicy." The camera closes in on the cheek going into his smiling mouth.
Am I wrong for wanting to barf? I felt like I was watching Hannibal Lecter about to dive in to devour some young boy.
Now he's with an Indian family and they're making curry and lamb kebobs. The Indian mother is kneading the fresh meat of a freshly slaughtered two-year-old lamb. She's laughing and chatting away.
I think I'm done with meat.
Am I wrong for wanting to barf? I felt like I was watching Hannibal Lecter about to dive in to devour some young boy.
Now he's with an Indian family and they're making curry and lamb kebobs. The Indian mother is kneading the fresh meat of a freshly slaughtered two-year-old lamb. She's laughing and chatting away.
I think I'm done with meat.
How A Hot Girl Spends A Sunday Afternoon
On the couch in a cute hippie boho dress flipping between The Food Channel and New York 1. She should be washing the mountain of dishes in the sink. She should be cleaning up her room. She should be paying bills online. She should be just getting back from lunch with this weekend's crush.
But no, she just flipped in time to catch Weather on the 1's. And she thinks it might be time to pop open a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. She wishes that a really great movie that she hasn't seen in a while were on, like maybe "While You Were Sleeping" or perhaps "Doc Hollywood." Will she leave the house today? Her feet are so, indicating that there was a lot of walking the night before--one of her famous treks from the West Side Highway to Avenue C? The absence of a throbbing headache suggests that last night at least, she didn't go overboard with the drinking. Plans were made to go to the movies at some point this afternoon---but wait, she's just turned back to The Food Channel in time to see an advertisement for an upcoming Food Network Challange where contestants will have to work with. . . . . Spam. This makes her want to barf. And memories of her favorite dish as an uninformed child--Spamghetti. A Crawford original with spaghetti with cream of mushroom soup, chunks of Spam and strips of imitation cheese singles.
And that about sums up this afternoon thus far for this particular hot girl.
But no, she just flipped in time to catch Weather on the 1's. And she thinks it might be time to pop open a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. She wishes that a really great movie that she hasn't seen in a while were on, like maybe "While You Were Sleeping" or perhaps "Doc Hollywood." Will she leave the house today? Her feet are so, indicating that there was a lot of walking the night before--one of her famous treks from the West Side Highway to Avenue C? The absence of a throbbing headache suggests that last night at least, she didn't go overboard with the drinking. Plans were made to go to the movies at some point this afternoon---but wait, she's just turned back to The Food Channel in time to see an advertisement for an upcoming Food Network Challange where contestants will have to work with. . . . . Spam. This makes her want to barf. And memories of her favorite dish as an uninformed child--Spamghetti. A Crawford original with spaghetti with cream of mushroom soup, chunks of Spam and strips of imitation cheese singles.
And that about sums up this afternoon thus far for this particular hot girl.
Rejected On Avenue B
Happens to the best of us.
Saturday night, I go in thinking that it's a sure thing. And then I'm standing in front of a bar drunk and he's saying that he's so wasted he has to go home. Is this true? Can you really be so trashed you don't want to make out? I mean, let's be serious. I am some form of intoxicated six out of seven days a week and I am ALWAYS ready to make out. I may not be able to walk straight or even stand unassisted but let it be known that if the option to hook up is a viable on, welcome to my bed.
So he left and I stood alone for a moment amid the hustle and bustle of Avenue B on a full moon lit Saturday night. I know this guy and I discussed that this "thing" would be nothing serious. But I always thought that "nothing serious" meant "we're banging on Saturday night." I didn't get the memo that this definition changed.
Now I'm home, 1:30am and alone in my bed. I tend to forget when I'm inebriated that men are just men. Call it my pessimism stewing in my half empty glass, but with me guys are guilty until proven innocent. Hey fellas here's a heads up: If you don't let me know you're worth it, just know that from the moment I met you, I just assumed the worst.
Saturday night, I go in thinking that it's a sure thing. And then I'm standing in front of a bar drunk and he's saying that he's so wasted he has to go home. Is this true? Can you really be so trashed you don't want to make out? I mean, let's be serious. I am some form of intoxicated six out of seven days a week and I am ALWAYS ready to make out. I may not be able to walk straight or even stand unassisted but let it be known that if the option to hook up is a viable on, welcome to my bed.
So he left and I stood alone for a moment amid the hustle and bustle of Avenue B on a full moon lit Saturday night. I know this guy and I discussed that this "thing" would be nothing serious. But I always thought that "nothing serious" meant "we're banging on Saturday night." I didn't get the memo that this definition changed.
Now I'm home, 1:30am and alone in my bed. I tend to forget when I'm inebriated that men are just men. Call it my pessimism stewing in my half empty glass, but with me guys are guilty until proven innocent. Hey fellas here's a heads up: If you don't let me know you're worth it, just know that from the moment I met you, I just assumed the worst.
A Universal Truth
Just so everyone knows:
If you are ever in a bar and "Like A Prayer" by Madonna begins to play just know thata 85% of the girls in the bar will begin to scream and will immediately start singing using Bud Lite bottles as their microphones.
Just so you know.
If you are ever in a bar and "Like A Prayer" by Madonna begins to play just know thata 85% of the girls in the bar will begin to scream and will immediately start singing using Bud Lite bottles as their microphones.
Just so you know.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Fun New York Nights
I won't lie. In fact, I'll just get it out there because I have nothing to hide.
I think that Michael Showalter is REALLY CUTE. If you don't know who he is, you can go ahead and google him. I did.
Monday night was another in a long line of drunken New York evenings. I started the night out at an open bar restaurant opening and moved on to an East Village dive only to end back up at the restaurant I started my evening at. My roommate was with me and we were both on the very far side of drunk--she was barely standing and I was smiling for two seconds too long at every person I passed on the street. We end up at this restaurant and we happen to run into a friend we haven't seen in a while because he was away for the summer. We start chatting and one drunken comment leads to another and then he says something about a movie I want to see and something clicks in my mind--
"You know Michael Showalter?" I ask.
"Are you kidding? We're like best friends!"
It is at this moment that I feel the need to fall to the floor and thank God.
"OhmygodIlovehim!!" I blurt out.
"Do you want me to call him?"
What? What? "OF COURSE I DO!!!" I realize that this is incredibly eighth grade of me, but I'm on my fifth beer and this is the best idea in the world in my life right now.
So he calls Michael Showalter. And leaves a message. And an hour later Michael Showalter calls him back. It's at this point that feel that I might faint. My roommate then decides that she needs to talk to Michael Showalter first so she takes the phone and I watch in horror as she rambles drunkenly, "Oh my god my roommate LOVES you! She TOTALLY LOVES YOU!!"
Then I get the phone.
"Hello?" I ask.
"Hi how are you?" OH MY GOD. Michael Showalter is on the phone. He is on the phone with me. I love him.
"I'm good. I hope you weren't listening to my roommate--she's a total freak."
"I couldn't hear anything." Oh god, his voice, his voice!!
"That's a good thing. So we should TOTALLY hang out some time. I hd no idea you and Seth were friends!" That's right Brandy--spit that game girl!
"Yeah--that would be awesome--sounds like you guys are having a lot of fun." More fun if I was banging you, Michael Showalter.
"Yeah--awesome. Anyway--this is kind of weird now so here's Seth!"
And that was the end of my conversation with Michael Showalter. In the space of only a couple of hours, he went from being a celebrity obssession to something that might one day happen. I love New York.
I think that Michael Showalter is REALLY CUTE. If you don't know who he is, you can go ahead and google him. I did.
Monday night was another in a long line of drunken New York evenings. I started the night out at an open bar restaurant opening and moved on to an East Village dive only to end back up at the restaurant I started my evening at. My roommate was with me and we were both on the very far side of drunk--she was barely standing and I was smiling for two seconds too long at every person I passed on the street. We end up at this restaurant and we happen to run into a friend we haven't seen in a while because he was away for the summer. We start chatting and one drunken comment leads to another and then he says something about a movie I want to see and something clicks in my mind--
"You know Michael Showalter?" I ask.
"Are you kidding? We're like best friends!"
It is at this moment that I feel the need to fall to the floor and thank God.
"OhmygodIlovehim!!" I blurt out.
"Do you want me to call him?"
What? What? "OF COURSE I DO!!!" I realize that this is incredibly eighth grade of me, but I'm on my fifth beer and this is the best idea in the world in my life right now.
So he calls Michael Showalter. And leaves a message. And an hour later Michael Showalter calls him back. It's at this point that feel that I might faint. My roommate then decides that she needs to talk to Michael Showalter first so she takes the phone and I watch in horror as she rambles drunkenly, "Oh my god my roommate LOVES you! She TOTALLY LOVES YOU!!"
Then I get the phone.
"Hello?" I ask.
"Hi how are you?" OH MY GOD. Michael Showalter is on the phone. He is on the phone with me. I love him.
"I'm good. I hope you weren't listening to my roommate--she's a total freak."
"I couldn't hear anything." Oh god, his voice, his voice!!
"That's a good thing. So we should TOTALLY hang out some time. I hd no idea you and Seth were friends!" That's right Brandy--spit that game girl!
"Yeah--that would be awesome--sounds like you guys are having a lot of fun." More fun if I was banging you, Michael Showalter.
"Yeah--awesome. Anyway--this is kind of weird now so here's Seth!"
And that was the end of my conversation with Michael Showalter. In the space of only a couple of hours, he went from being a celebrity obssession to something that might one day happen. I love New York.
How Not To Waste Your Life
For starters, don't get sucked into Fox reality shows called "So You Think You Can Dance."
That's right--I had grand plans last night of coming home to my newly rearranged apartment, setting up camp on my bed, laptop on knees, and. . . .writing. I want to be a writer, I should start writing more. I had my Carrie Bradshaw night all planned out--opening a window so I can smoke in my room, coming up with lots of clever puns and titles, getting all dolled up in a cute night shirt and boyshorts. But as with most things in my life, nothing went to plan and I ended up blazed on the couch with my roommate and Jimmy Fallon's stylist's dogs, Slim and Scooter. My roommate is watching the dogs for a couple of days and when she found out she'd be doing this, we both got really excited because this means that we would be walking these dogs and everyone knows that wwhen you walk dogs, hot men hit on you. This is also a myth. We didn't get hit on once, from Tompkins Square Park to home.
I ended my night at around eleven--falling into bed and effectively blacking out. I didn't write a single thing. But during my tenure on cloud nine last night, I did have many incredible ideas, none of which I can remember right now. In more exciting news, my roommate was texted by none other than Jimmy Fallon himself last night and I pray that we get to hang out with him soon because I have a list of people I'd like him to introduce me to.
That's right--I had grand plans last night of coming home to my newly rearranged apartment, setting up camp on my bed, laptop on knees, and. . . .writing. I want to be a writer, I should start writing more. I had my Carrie Bradshaw night all planned out--opening a window so I can smoke in my room, coming up with lots of clever puns and titles, getting all dolled up in a cute night shirt and boyshorts. But as with most things in my life, nothing went to plan and I ended up blazed on the couch with my roommate and Jimmy Fallon's stylist's dogs, Slim and Scooter. My roommate is watching the dogs for a couple of days and when she found out she'd be doing this, we both got really excited because this means that we would be walking these dogs and everyone knows that wwhen you walk dogs, hot men hit on you. This is also a myth. We didn't get hit on once, from Tompkins Square Park to home.
I ended my night at around eleven--falling into bed and effectively blacking out. I didn't write a single thing. But during my tenure on cloud nine last night, I did have many incredible ideas, none of which I can remember right now. In more exciting news, my roommate was texted by none other than Jimmy Fallon himself last night and I pray that we get to hang out with him soon because I have a list of people I'd like him to introduce me to.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Do You Know Where Your Children Are?
The setting: Saturday night, Muffy's Tavern, a bar in the middle of the nothingness that is the corner of Hudson and Harrison in a part of Tribeca that gets little to no foot traffic.
I'm at the bar with my friends when I look outside and see the picture above.
A couple of questions I have about this:
1) Where is the big kid bike? There was no other bike or form of transportation around. Are Jennifer/Jessica's parents letting her out past curfew now?
2) Where is little Ashley/Michaela? Did she ride her trike over from the West Side Highway and parked it here because she was running late for drinks and dinner with Tyler at Nobu? She couldn't be late because Tyler is the hottest thing in the 2nd grade.
3) Who leaves their kids bike chained to a stop sign in the middle of nowhere at 11 o'clock at night?
Think on this. Discuss with friends.
Monday, September 12, 2005
For The Boys
From now on when I give a guy my phone number, I'll be adding the url for this particular post.
I am SICK of having the "I just want to get this out there" conversation so I'm going to save us both some time and effort. Read on.
My name is Brandy Crawford and I AM NOT LOOKING FOR A BOYFRIEND. If you get my number I am NOT automatically assuming that I need to book an appointment at Vera Wang to try on wedding dresses. If we end up hooking it up I don't really even expect it to happen again. If it does, great, if not, trust me, I'M ALREADY OVER IT. I am 24 years old and I too happpen to be selfish. I think about myself a lot and I'm not at a point where I want to make some huge emotional connection to a man. Yes, I realize that I happen to possess a vagina. However, this does not mean that because I let you see it, I will turn into an obsessive stalker who can't live without you. Men are a dime a dozen and if we're hanging out right now, it doesn't mean that we still have to be hanging out next week. I'm out to have fun and be young. Meeting a man is NOT on my agenda everytime I step out of the house. If I call you twice and you don't call back, your number is deleted from my phone. I don't have time for games so this is my speech to all future Brandy-Hook-Ups: I don't want you to be my boyfriend. If you want to stop calling me, it's your loss. But if you want to hang out, just don't expect anything that involves the word "committment."
It just so happens to be one of the only concepts I'm allergic to.
I am SICK of having the "I just want to get this out there" conversation so I'm going to save us both some time and effort. Read on.
My name is Brandy Crawford and I AM NOT LOOKING FOR A BOYFRIEND. If you get my number I am NOT automatically assuming that I need to book an appointment at Vera Wang to try on wedding dresses. If we end up hooking it up I don't really even expect it to happen again. If it does, great, if not, trust me, I'M ALREADY OVER IT. I am 24 years old and I too happpen to be selfish. I think about myself a lot and I'm not at a point where I want to make some huge emotional connection to a man. Yes, I realize that I happen to possess a vagina. However, this does not mean that because I let you see it, I will turn into an obsessive stalker who can't live without you. Men are a dime a dozen and if we're hanging out right now, it doesn't mean that we still have to be hanging out next week. I'm out to have fun and be young. Meeting a man is NOT on my agenda everytime I step out of the house. If I call you twice and you don't call back, your number is deleted from my phone. I don't have time for games so this is my speech to all future Brandy-Hook-Ups: I don't want you to be my boyfriend. If you want to stop calling me, it's your loss. But if you want to hang out, just don't expect anything that involves the word "committment."
It just so happens to be one of the only concepts I'm allergic to.
Weekend Recap
I had a feeling on Friday that it would be a fun weekend. With the exception of one weird thing, I was pretty on point.
Friday night I hung out with my new 21-year-old friends. I love these kids because although I'm not that much older than them they are the same age as my little brother so I will always think of them as kids, even when they're 30 and I'm 33. I don't remember much of Friday night. At one point before I left my apartment I know that I thought it would be a great idea to just pound two beers before hitting the road. And I did. We ended up in the most fun bar in the East Village--Uncle Ming's on Avenue B--and at one point I was talking to a really cute guy who may or may not have been named Sam.
Saturday, I rediscovered my love for college football by going out to this bar in the middle of Tribeca to watch the Georgia-South Carolina game. I have vague memories of attending this particular match-up while I was in school. I don't know if I ever actually attended the game itself but I was definitely wasted at someone's tailgating tent nearby. Since moving to New York, I've become very nostaglic about events I was never into during college. Football and the dorms are two of these recovered memories.
I went to maybe four football games during my time at the University of Georgia. But when I think back on it, all I can see is myself, bleeding red and black for the dawgs, cheering in the stands at every home game. The dorms were rat holes and we were forced in, two to a cage. I've had my own personal room and a lack of community bathrooms for almost 4 years now, but I still look back and think, "What a wonderful time I had, cramped into a room two times smaller than my room now and having to share it with another person. Making out in a twin bunk bed was such an amazing experience."
Saturday night was spent with a group of college people who I never knew at UGA but at most we were all only 2 degrees of separation from each other. I hung out at a bar in Tribeca and recalled why I never hang out in that neighborhood--there's NOTHING there. It was at this bar that the weird exception to my otherwise great weekend happened.
Backstory: Last week I re-met a guy from college and to make a long story short, he's cute, I'm cute and we had some fun.
Fast-forward: Sitting on a bench outside this random Tribeca bar and he sits down next to me and starts to speak. What did he have to say? That's right ladies and gents, I had the "I just want to get this out there" conversation AGAIN. So blah, blah, blah, selfish, bad boyfriend right now, not looking for serious, etc, et al. I saw his lips move but I already had my speech ready because apparently I'm going to be giving it a lot. He finished "getting it out there" and I promptly let him him know that I'm not expecting anything but that if he'd like to go to the alley around the corner we can go ahead and start making out.
So that was fun.
Sunday was spent as all good Sundays should be spent--filing receipts and bank statements while inhaling some fun smoke.
Now the work week has begun and if I have my way, it will be spent at a variety of open bar parties and hopefully rubbing elbows with various celebrites in town for Fashion Week who want to give me the years supply of Coors Light they get in their Fashion Week goodie bag.
Welcome Monday.
Friday night I hung out with my new 21-year-old friends. I love these kids because although I'm not that much older than them they are the same age as my little brother so I will always think of them as kids, even when they're 30 and I'm 33. I don't remember much of Friday night. At one point before I left my apartment I know that I thought it would be a great idea to just pound two beers before hitting the road. And I did. We ended up in the most fun bar in the East Village--Uncle Ming's on Avenue B--and at one point I was talking to a really cute guy who may or may not have been named Sam.
Saturday, I rediscovered my love for college football by going out to this bar in the middle of Tribeca to watch the Georgia-South Carolina game. I have vague memories of attending this particular match-up while I was in school. I don't know if I ever actually attended the game itself but I was definitely wasted at someone's tailgating tent nearby. Since moving to New York, I've become very nostaglic about events I was never into during college. Football and the dorms are two of these recovered memories.
I went to maybe four football games during my time at the University of Georgia. But when I think back on it, all I can see is myself, bleeding red and black for the dawgs, cheering in the stands at every home game. The dorms were rat holes and we were forced in, two to a cage. I've had my own personal room and a lack of community bathrooms for almost 4 years now, but I still look back and think, "What a wonderful time I had, cramped into a room two times smaller than my room now and having to share it with another person. Making out in a twin bunk bed was such an amazing experience."
Saturday night was spent with a group of college people who I never knew at UGA but at most we were all only 2 degrees of separation from each other. I hung out at a bar in Tribeca and recalled why I never hang out in that neighborhood--there's NOTHING there. It was at this bar that the weird exception to my otherwise great weekend happened.
Backstory: Last week I re-met a guy from college and to make a long story short, he's cute, I'm cute and we had some fun.
Fast-forward: Sitting on a bench outside this random Tribeca bar and he sits down next to me and starts to speak. What did he have to say? That's right ladies and gents, I had the "I just want to get this out there" conversation AGAIN. So blah, blah, blah, selfish, bad boyfriend right now, not looking for serious, etc, et al. I saw his lips move but I already had my speech ready because apparently I'm going to be giving it a lot. He finished "getting it out there" and I promptly let him him know that I'm not expecting anything but that if he'd like to go to the alley around the corner we can go ahead and start making out.
So that was fun.
Sunday was spent as all good Sundays should be spent--filing receipts and bank statements while inhaling some fun smoke.
Now the work week has begun and if I have my way, it will be spent at a variety of open bar parties and hopefully rubbing elbows with various celebrites in town for Fashion Week who want to give me the years supply of Coors Light they get in their Fashion Week goodie bag.
Welcome Monday.
Doing Things Wrong At Work
Fucking up at work totally sucks.
I come in this morning thinking everything is great and ready to start my day. Then I get a phone call from a producer who's stranded at the airport and I have exactly 15 minutes to get her booked on a flight.
NOT COOL.
Everything is fine now but that was a hassle I could have not had to deal with in my life right now.
So now it's lunchtime and I know that I've quit smoking but I'm going to need a cigarette soon. I've decided to just quit smoking SO MUCH. Just when I'm walking around.
I come in this morning thinking everything is great and ready to start my day. Then I get a phone call from a producer who's stranded at the airport and I have exactly 15 minutes to get her booked on a flight.
NOT COOL.
Everything is fine now but that was a hassle I could have not had to deal with in my life right now.
So now it's lunchtime and I know that I've quit smoking but I'm going to need a cigarette soon. I've decided to just quit smoking SO MUCH. Just when I'm walking around.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Thoughts On A Friday Afternoon
First off, let's give it up for Friday. Thanks to Labor Day for making it a four day week and thanks to the powers that be for the inception of the grand idea of The Weekend.
I am blissfully not super hungover today and I'm anticipating a weekend full of and hyjinks and I plan on breezing through this weekend spending no more than $20 because I happen to only have around $50 to my name until I get paid on Tuesday. The best weekends happen on the cheap I've found. Fashion Week starts today which means that a larger than average number of celebrities will be swarming around the city and making it harder for me to get into any establishment of note. On the plus side, my roommate is working on a Pepsi commercial right now and tomorrow I get to meet Jimmy Fallon. I know--fun, right?
Here are just a few thoughts I'm kicking around right now:
1. Why does my hair only look really great right after I do it? What happens to it in the time it takes for me to walk from the bathroom to my room. Because in the bathroom mirror I look fabulous. I walk into my room, come back out and take a look in the mirror and it looks like I definitely DID NOT just spend a good half an hour perfecting my tresses.
2. When you make out with a guy and he doesn't call you back, does he just assume you'll never run into each other again?
3. How is it that I have so many clothes but whenever I try and find something to wear, I find everything I own completely hideous?
4. What kind of species does US Weekly think that celebrities belong to? The magazine has a section called "Stars--They're Just Like Us." I mean, they're human--why wouldn't they be just like us?
Have a good weekend everyone.
I am blissfully not super hungover today and I'm anticipating a weekend full of and hyjinks and I plan on breezing through this weekend spending no more than $20 because I happen to only have around $50 to my name until I get paid on Tuesday. The best weekends happen on the cheap I've found. Fashion Week starts today which means that a larger than average number of celebrities will be swarming around the city and making it harder for me to get into any establishment of note. On the plus side, my roommate is working on a Pepsi commercial right now and tomorrow I get to meet Jimmy Fallon. I know--fun, right?
Here are just a few thoughts I'm kicking around right now:
1. Why does my hair only look really great right after I do it? What happens to it in the time it takes for me to walk from the bathroom to my room. Because in the bathroom mirror I look fabulous. I walk into my room, come back out and take a look in the mirror and it looks like I definitely DID NOT just spend a good half an hour perfecting my tresses.
2. When you make out with a guy and he doesn't call you back, does he just assume you'll never run into each other again?
3. How is it that I have so many clothes but whenever I try and find something to wear, I find everything I own completely hideous?
4. What kind of species does US Weekly think that celebrities belong to? The magazine has a section called "Stars--They're Just Like Us." I mean, they're human--why wouldn't they be just like us?
Have a good weekend everyone.
Reasons Why
I know it's 2 in the morning. I know I have to work tomorrow. I told myself last night after the fabulous open bar that I wouldn't go out tonight. I don't need to be that wasted all the time.
Oh wait. . . .I'm 24 and I live in the most fun city in the world. Sorry, sometimes I forget.
I'm posting this at 2 in the morning right now because I need everyone to know that I did another brave thing tonight. Remember the "I just want to get this out there" conversation? Well I went to that guy's show tonight. And it was really funny. And I didn't feel stalkerish at all. Because being a stalker would imply that I'm interested. And I stopped being interested shortly after the "I just want to get this out there" conversation.
I probably should have come home and gone to bed after the show but instead I convinced my roommate that she did in fact want to go to Soho. Two glasses of wine later I was telling the entire bar about my sexual escapades.
But now I'm home and my eyes are closing. At the risk of sounding like an alcoholic can I just say that I just love to drink. Why? I'm so awesome I don't even need a reason
The End.
Oh wait. . . .I'm 24 and I live in the most fun city in the world. Sorry, sometimes I forget.
I'm posting this at 2 in the morning right now because I need everyone to know that I did another brave thing tonight. Remember the "I just want to get this out there" conversation? Well I went to that guy's show tonight. And it was really funny. And I didn't feel stalkerish at all. Because being a stalker would imply that I'm interested. And I stopped being interested shortly after the "I just want to get this out there" conversation.
I probably should have come home and gone to bed after the show but instead I convinced my roommate that she did in fact want to go to Soho. Two glasses of wine later I was telling the entire bar about my sexual escapades.
But now I'm home and my eyes are closing. At the risk of sounding like an alcoholic can I just say that I just love to drink. Why? I'm so awesome I don't even need a reason
The End.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Playah Playah
I just am not a player. Or as I like to say--a "playah." I have no game. Playing hard to get? I don't know where to begin. When I get a call from a guy and he's like "What are you doing?" even if I'm doing something, my automatic reply is "Oh, nothing. What are you doing?" Why am I like this? Because making out is one of the most fun activities in the world so why on earth would I pass that up? Any plans that I did have can wait if hooking up is in the cards.
I won't lie--I might as well have "Super Slut" tattooed on my forehead. You don't have to take me out and you don't have to call me again. Nope, as long as I think a man is hot and I'm in the mood, he can come right back on over to my place and he doesn't even have to stay the night. Just long enough to get what I need. I don't do this because I don't believe in myself or because I have some impossibly low self esteeem. No, I'm probably the most vain person you'll ever meet. I do it because I'm 24 years old and right now I'm focused on one thing in life--myself. And if I want to go out and get laid, that's what I'm going to do. Committment is overrated. I love the feel of a guy next to me as much as my straight sisters but the thought of having to get to know that guy isn't my favorite right now. I want to have fun and I want to have fun with as many people as possible. Boyfriend? Been there and done that and I'll do it again seriously in a few years when I feel like it. But now? Now, I am young and I live in New York City. It's time to bang.
So I'm not a playah. I don't have game. I am straightforward and upfront about what I want. I wouldn't have invited you back to my place on the first night I met you if I wanted you to be my boyfriend.
I won't lie--I might as well have "Super Slut" tattooed on my forehead. You don't have to take me out and you don't have to call me again. Nope, as long as I think a man is hot and I'm in the mood, he can come right back on over to my place and he doesn't even have to stay the night. Just long enough to get what I need. I don't do this because I don't believe in myself or because I have some impossibly low self esteeem. No, I'm probably the most vain person you'll ever meet. I do it because I'm 24 years old and right now I'm focused on one thing in life--myself. And if I want to go out and get laid, that's what I'm going to do. Committment is overrated. I love the feel of a guy next to me as much as my straight sisters but the thought of having to get to know that guy isn't my favorite right now. I want to have fun and I want to have fun with as many people as possible. Boyfriend? Been there and done that and I'll do it again seriously in a few years when I feel like it. But now? Now, I am young and I live in New York City. It's time to bang.
So I'm not a playah. I don't have game. I am straightforward and upfront about what I want. I wouldn't have invited you back to my place on the first night I met you if I wanted you to be my boyfriend.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Complete Honesty Part 2
So he wrote back. And I'm here to share.
I wrote
"Thanks for the honesty.
I actually am not in the market right now for a serious boyfriend. I put out the ad because its always funny to post something completely honest and see who hits you up. Like I said in the ad, I'm just looking for someone who wants to have a good time--going out, getting wasted and basically just being young in New York City.
Let me know what you think."
He replied
The question now is. . .should I write back? Should I get together and see if there's a "connection"?
Probably not. But this correspondence provided a welcome distraction from a Wednesday workday afternoon. I mean, does this guy think it will really be that easy? That he would answer a random ad, it would turn out to be some hot girl, and she's totally okay with saying up front that all your relationship will be is hooking up? Friends with benefits starts with a KEY WORD: friend. And I usually don't meet my friends from random ads I decided to place on Criagslist.
As a sidenote, I'd just liek to say that I think the most hilarious ads are the ones that include phone numbers. I think I'd rather die single first.
I wrote
"Thanks for the honesty.
I actually am not in the market right now for a serious boyfriend. I put out the ad because its always funny to post something completely honest and see who hits you up. Like I said in the ad, I'm just looking for someone who wants to have a good time--going out, getting wasted and basically just being young in New York City.
Let me know what you think."
He replied
"Brandy:
I appreciate the honest and will do the same. Definitley into going out, getting wasted and see too if there's the cnonnection between us. Are you down for that too?"
I know--connection is spelled wrong--his bad, not mine.The question now is. . .should I write back? Should I get together and see if there's a "connection"?
Probably not. But this correspondence provided a welcome distraction from a Wednesday workday afternoon. I mean, does this guy think it will really be that easy? That he would answer a random ad, it would turn out to be some hot girl, and she's totally okay with saying up front that all your relationship will be is hooking up? Friends with benefits starts with a KEY WORD: friend. And I usually don't meet my friends from random ads I decided to place on Criagslist.
As a sidenote, I'd just liek to say that I think the most hilarious ads are the ones that include phone numbers. I think I'd rather die single first.
Complete Honesty
Because it's fun, I like to sometimes post ads on Craigslist. I've never actually met anyone from these postings but I've emailed and and im'd a few. I posted an ad over the weekend for a "Fun Guy." It basically detailed the fact that I'm looking for a fun guy who likes to party and get crazy because I'm a Crazy Fun Girl. The responses ranged from 40 year old cops from Queens to 20 year old stock brokers from Central Jersey. The pics? Disgusting to even-more-gross-than-I -could-ever-imagine. Out of maybe 70 or so replies, I chose to give one the time of day.
He writes:
"I'm looking for a something new, someone to have fun with, could it be you? I am good looking, stable, employed, educated, funny, intelligent and sexy man. 27, 6'1", 175lbs. Light hair and brown eyes. I enjoy having a good time, laughing and playing in the moment to its fullest. I admire honesty, introspection, intelligence, passion and a sense of humor in a woman.
I'm in the city if you want to pursue something."
Note: I'm not sure what "playing in the moment" entails. Also, "introspection is not on my list of thing I tend to look for in a man. Usually I'm fine with "nice smile" and "penis."
I know the post itself is pretty run of the mill. But his pic was cute and I was bored at work so I decided to drop him a line. I wrote my usual Let's Get To Know Brandy In A Paragraph Or Less. I included a link to my myspace profile so he could see a pic and learn even more about the Woman Behind The Email.
And then he writes this back:
So what does this mean? He saw the pics on myspace and coupled that with the I'm-a-party-girl post and decided that this particular girl is not one to take home to mom but one to fuck on the sly after doing lines at CroBar all night.
So of course I'm writing back. After all, complete honesty is a virtue right? And everyone knows how I love online romance and how well it ALWAYS works out.
He writes:
"I'm looking for a something new, someone to have fun with, could it be you? I am good looking, stable, employed, educated, funny, intelligent and sexy man. 27, 6'1", 175lbs. Light hair and brown eyes. I enjoy having a good time, laughing and playing in the moment to its fullest. I admire honesty, introspection, intelligence, passion and a sense of humor in a woman.
I'm in the city if you want to pursue something."
Note: I'm not sure what "playing in the moment" entails. Also, "introspection is not on my list of thing I tend to look for in a man. Usually I'm fine with "nice smile" and "penis."
I know the post itself is pretty run of the mill. But his pic was cute and I was bored at work so I decided to drop him a line. I wrote my usual Let's Get To Know Brandy In A Paragraph Or Less. I included a link to my myspace profile so he could see a pic and learn even more about the Woman Behind The Email.
And then he writes this back:
"Brandy:
After giving it some thought, I think what i'm looking for is a friends with benefits situation. Not sure if that's what your into? Thanks for getting back."
So of course I'm writing back. After all, complete honesty is a virtue right? And everyone knows how I love online romance and how well it ALWAYS works out.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Weighing In On Katrina
I haven't written anything about the hurricane yet because I didn't know what to write. Today I was clicking through the headlines on Yahoo news and one of them was about six kids who were found wandering the streets of New Orleans. The oldest one was six. And he was leading the others.
I really just couldn't believe it. These children, these small children had been wandering the streets of this broken city and they were being led by a six-year-old. This little boy was keeping them together. He was holding the youngest, a baby. They were all clean and he'd made sure they'd all been fed. Will he ever see out of the eyes of a child again?
New Orleans was a city. And now, it's nothing. A total ruin. There are bodies floating around in the draining waters. People can come home, but they have absolutely nothing to come home to. Their homes are destroyed, the jobs are gone. Half a million people just got displaced and I'm worrying about some asshole I banged not calling me back. I complain about my sixth floor walk up. About how I'm always so broke. And then this happens, this happens where I live. The hurricane didn't hit in Africa or Russia or somewhere I don't know. It hit in a place I've been, and people I know are affected.
The scene down there is so eerily post-apocalyptic. Katrina came through and exposed to the world the underbelly of what goes on here in our great nation right? We want to project this image that even still today, the streets of the US are paved in gold, the streetlights sparkle with diamonds. Except that people are living in situations that are so awful I can't even describe them and they were living like this before that hurrican came and ripped apart their lives. I've never been a Bush fan, but seeing him talk about rebuilding and the help the government is prepared to give makes me want to spit nails. He doesn't know. He's going to help Trent Lott rebuild his house? Well what about the half million other people whose houses were destroyed? Their only house. I'm sure Mr. Lott has about 3 or 4 more. Our president has never had a day of worry in his life. He's rich and he'll be rich no matter how many natural disasters tear apart his possessions. He'll still be safe, he'll still "rebuild". I don't want to play the race card here, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't give a damn that most of the people displaced from New Orleans are black.
My little tirade here is done for now. It just gets to a point that I get so pissed I can't think about it anymore.
I really just couldn't believe it. These children, these small children had been wandering the streets of this broken city and they were being led by a six-year-old. This little boy was keeping them together. He was holding the youngest, a baby. They were all clean and he'd made sure they'd all been fed. Will he ever see out of the eyes of a child again?
New Orleans was a city. And now, it's nothing. A total ruin. There are bodies floating around in the draining waters. People can come home, but they have absolutely nothing to come home to. Their homes are destroyed, the jobs are gone. Half a million people just got displaced and I'm worrying about some asshole I banged not calling me back. I complain about my sixth floor walk up. About how I'm always so broke. And then this happens, this happens where I live. The hurricane didn't hit in Africa or Russia or somewhere I don't know. It hit in a place I've been, and people I know are affected.
The scene down there is so eerily post-apocalyptic. Katrina came through and exposed to the world the underbelly of what goes on here in our great nation right? We want to project this image that even still today, the streets of the US are paved in gold, the streetlights sparkle with diamonds. Except that people are living in situations that are so awful I can't even describe them and they were living like this before that hurrican came and ripped apart their lives. I've never been a Bush fan, but seeing him talk about rebuilding and the help the government is prepared to give makes me want to spit nails. He doesn't know. He's going to help Trent Lott rebuild his house? Well what about the half million other people whose houses were destroyed? Their only house. I'm sure Mr. Lott has about 3 or 4 more. Our president has never had a day of worry in his life. He's rich and he'll be rich no matter how many natural disasters tear apart his possessions. He'll still be safe, he'll still "rebuild". I don't want to play the race card here, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't give a damn that most of the people displaced from New Orleans are black.
My little tirade here is done for now. It just gets to a point that I get so pissed I can't think about it anymore.
A Conversation With Stacy
I was just on the phone with my friend Stacy. We have been friends since freshman year of college and I think part of the reason we get along so well is that we both over analyze situations to a point where you just can't think about anymore. She's a very funny girl and I just have to share a couple of her lines. . .
Conversation with a co-worker
Co-worker: "Stacy, I'm going to give you some advice right now. You'll look back on this in a few years and thank me."
Stacy: "What's your advice?"
Co-worker: "That head in the cloud feeling doesn't last forever. Marry for money."
Conversation with me
Brandy: "Isn't this a great line? Listen--If you wait for the perfect moment, the perfect moment might pass you by."
Stacy: "I hate quotes like that. I mean, I don't mind waiting."
Conversation with a co-worker
Co-worker: "Stacy, I'm going to give you some advice right now. You'll look back on this in a few years and thank me."
Stacy: "What's your advice?"
Co-worker: "That head in the cloud feeling doesn't last forever. Marry for money."
Conversation with me
Brandy: "Isn't this a great line? Listen--If you wait for the perfect moment, the perfect moment might pass you by."
Stacy: "I hate quotes like that. I mean, I don't mind waiting."
Rooftops
One of the best things about New York City are awesome rooftop views. There's very little that's better than that first view from a really great roof. The city stretched out in front of you, New York City pulsing by the light of the moon.
I spent the last night of real summer on my roof getting blazed with friends. The perfect end to a summer I can't really remember. Apparently June, July, and August breezed on by and I'm sitting in September now, totally not ready for it to be cold outside.
My roof is the best thing about my building. It was only after moving ourselves into our apartment (2 Uhauls. 6th floor walk up.), did my roommate and I discover that not only did we have roof access, the view from our seven story building in the East Village was absolutely breathtaking. I'm talking 360 degrees of Manhattan. And since both of us had guys we wanted to invite over to the apartment, we decided to just have a little get together on Labor Day and send off the summer with drinks and fellowship. Well she was late, and the guy I wanted to come couldn't. But it was still a fun time.
And even though summer isn't officially over for a couple of weeks, there was a chill in the air today and it was dark when I left work. At least autumn in New York is pretty nice.
I spent the last night of real summer on my roof getting blazed with friends. The perfect end to a summer I can't really remember. Apparently June, July, and August breezed on by and I'm sitting in September now, totally not ready for it to be cold outside.
My roof is the best thing about my building. It was only after moving ourselves into our apartment (2 Uhauls. 6th floor walk up.), did my roommate and I discover that not only did we have roof access, the view from our seven story building in the East Village was absolutely breathtaking. I'm talking 360 degrees of Manhattan. And since both of us had guys we wanted to invite over to the apartment, we decided to just have a little get together on Labor Day and send off the summer with drinks and fellowship. Well she was late, and the guy I wanted to come couldn't. But it was still a fun time.
And even though summer isn't officially over for a couple of weeks, there was a chill in the air today and it was dark when I left work. At least autumn in New York is pretty nice.
The Perfect Moment
If you wait too long for the perfect moment, the perfect moment will pass you by.
This is SO true. I can't even count how many perfect moments have passed me by and I didn't grab onto them. And this has led me to my current life's motto: Do what you want when you want because you only live once. There's no time in my life to be shy. If I want it, I go for it.
Also, on a sidenote: last night friends were over, drinks were had, and my high school yearbook surfaced. After everyone left I was leafing through it and glancing over signatures et al, and I noticed that everyone who signed my yearbook in the spring of 1999 wrote something along the lines of "Can't wait until you're famous" or "See you soon on TV"
I am severely disappointing my high school class right now. Luckily most of them are still in Georgia and all they know is that I live in New York and everyone who doesn't live in New York thinks that all people who do live in the city must be wildly successful. Thanks TV and movies fore perpetuating the myth. You've saved me from any explanation.
"Brandy, what are you up to these days?"
"Oh, I live in New York City now."
And let them infer the rest, including but not bound to a beautiful Tribeca loft, a corner executive office in a midtown high rise and a summer house in the Hamptons. Let their imaginations of my wild successes run free.
This is SO true. I can't even count how many perfect moments have passed me by and I didn't grab onto them. And this has led me to my current life's motto: Do what you want when you want because you only live once. There's no time in my life to be shy. If I want it, I go for it.
Also, on a sidenote: last night friends were over, drinks were had, and my high school yearbook surfaced. After everyone left I was leafing through it and glancing over signatures et al, and I noticed that everyone who signed my yearbook in the spring of 1999 wrote something along the lines of "Can't wait until you're famous" or "See you soon on TV"
I am severely disappointing my high school class right now. Luckily most of them are still in Georgia and all they know is that I live in New York and everyone who doesn't live in New York thinks that all people who do live in the city must be wildly successful. Thanks TV and movies fore perpetuating the myth. You've saved me from any explanation.
"Brandy, what are you up to these days?"
"Oh, I live in New York City now."
And let them infer the rest, including but not bound to a beautiful Tribeca loft, a corner executive office in a midtown high rise and a summer house in the Hamptons. Let their imaginations of my wild successes run free.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Why I'm a Bad Person
Note: I wrote this a couple of days ago but I forgot to post it. Enjoy.
I needed some green. And my regular hookup was dry. So though neither of those reasons make what I did this afternoon right, I still want to vouch for me being a Kind-of Good Person.
What did I do this afternoon? I left my job to take a walk and that walk took me to Urban Outfitters where standing out front with his bike was a 17 year old boy with my green in his pocket.
I mean, I think it's funny in a sad "ohmygodbrandywhatdidyoujustdo" kind of way. The kid was super sweet. "Umm I don't really ever deal so I don't know what to do right now," he said.
"Well first off stop talking so loud." I replied and then places my bag on my other shoulder, the one nearest to him. "Just drop in my purse, casual like."
So he dropped in my purse, I gave him some cash, and we walked together to the corner. He gave me two fool-proof numbers for future reference and I gave him my wholehearted thanks. He then began to go into detail about the 3 foot bong he and his friends smoke out of daily. And that's when I decided that he'd probably smoked as much in summer of 05 as I had in my life (and that's a lot). And I didn't feel so bad about the deal anymore. If he wasn't getting it for me, he'd just be getting it for himself anyway.
And we're just talking about candy here anyway.
I needed some green. And my regular hookup was dry. So though neither of those reasons make what I did this afternoon right, I still want to vouch for me being a Kind-of Good Person.
What did I do this afternoon? I left my job to take a walk and that walk took me to Urban Outfitters where standing out front with his bike was a 17 year old boy with my green in his pocket.
I mean, I think it's funny in a sad "ohmygodbrandywhatdidyoujustdo" kind of way. The kid was super sweet. "Umm I don't really ever deal so I don't know what to do right now," he said.
"Well first off stop talking so loud." I replied and then places my bag on my other shoulder, the one nearest to him. "Just drop in my purse, casual like."
So he dropped in my purse, I gave him some cash, and we walked together to the corner. He gave me two fool-proof numbers for future reference and I gave him my wholehearted thanks. He then began to go into detail about the 3 foot bong he and his friends smoke out of daily. And that's when I decided that he'd probably smoked as much in summer of 05 as I had in my life (and that's a lot). And I didn't feel so bad about the deal anymore. If he wasn't getting it for me, he'd just be getting it for himself anyway.
And we're just talking about candy here anyway.
Friday, September 02, 2005
Super Nanny
I’m sorry, I had to write this. I’ve been watching Super Nanny and I’m just not over how bad these kids are. I saw a comedian recently who said there was a reason Black families are never on these nanny shows. I couldn’t agree more. Coming from a girl who grew up in a very Black family, very deep in the country of the South, I am 24 years old and I have never talked back to my parents. I mean, it just never occurred to me. I could pitch a fit in the middle of a store to get what I want? Not if your mom’s name is Rose Crawford. The thought of the ass-kicking I would have received for an act like that makes me cringe still. Acting up just wasn't an option.
I mean these kids on this show are so bad. How can these parents look at themselves in the mirror and be happy with what they see?
I’d also like to take a minute to say that the new Reese Witherspoon movie looks completely unwatchable. How do movies like that even get approval in the first place? Can I please run a studio?
I mean these kids on this show are so bad. How can these parents look at themselves in the mirror and be happy with what they see?
I’d also like to take a minute to say that the new Reese Witherspoon movie looks completely unwatchable. How do movies like that even get approval in the first place? Can I please run a studio?
Right Now
For the first time in my life I stayed home sick today. My roommate and I had a court fiasco this morning (nothing to do with the drugs I bought from the 17-year-old over by the Urban Outfitters on 14th) and after some barfage at the courthouse it was apparent that work would not be in the cards for Brandy on this hot as hell Friday before Labor Day. So I've been at my house all day, sleeping and crying because I just finished Finding Neverland and I don't know if it's because I'm sick and seeing the world through a view mired by TheraFlu but I thought it was a fabulous film. And my eyes are so puffy from crying and there's so much snot in my nose and throat that for once I'm glad I'm spending a Friday night alone.
Right now, there's a nanny show on TV and for the 5,475th time I thank God that I don't have children. I just can't get past the fact that you always have to be watching them--especially the little ones. I should now--this New York woman was a preschool teacher for two summers during college. Best form of birth control ever--No man is allowed in my bed without a Trojan.
Sorry this post isn't particularly funny or insightful. I'm sick. And it sucks.
However, I am Brandy and I do always look on the bright side: Tomorrow is the first Georgia game and they're having it on at a bar over in Tribeca. Who doesn't love college football? So tomorrow I will be bleeding red and black for my dawgs. And indulging in a little of the green from my new 17 year old dealer.
PS--Happy 25th birthday to Chris Barnes. I love that kid.
Right now, there's a nanny show on TV and for the 5,475th time I thank God that I don't have children. I just can't get past the fact that you always have to be watching them--especially the little ones. I should now--this New York woman was a preschool teacher for two summers during college. Best form of birth control ever--No man is allowed in my bed without a Trojan.
Sorry this post isn't particularly funny or insightful. I'm sick. And it sucks.
However, I am Brandy and I do always look on the bright side: Tomorrow is the first Georgia game and they're having it on at a bar over in Tribeca. Who doesn't love college football? So tomorrow I will be bleeding red and black for my dawgs. And indulging in a little of the green from my new 17 year old dealer.
PS--Happy 25th birthday to Chris Barnes. I love that kid.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Google Maps
Once again, the Internet has blown my mind. If you are bored at work right now, your prayers have just been answered. And the answer is GOOGLE MAPS. I don't know how long this little gem of a site has been around but it takes internet stalking to the next level. You choose satellite view and type in the address and there's a satellite picture of the location! I just saw my grandmother's house! And my East Village apartment! And my office building! In full color, and you can zoom in. Not a super zoom so yoou can't actually see into someone's windows but you can still see A LOT. I'm just amazed. And the main reason for my amazement is this: Why do you need to be able to get a satellite picture of an address? What good does that do a person besides feeding into the voyeur within us all?
Questions aside, I still think it's a pretty cool site. And I can forsee many hours of work NOT being done and lots of satellite pictures of addresses in my future.
Questions aside, I still think it's a pretty cool site. And I can forsee many hours of work NOT being done and lots of satellite pictures of addresses in my future.
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