Here's a thought. . .

. . .Walking down 23rd Street today talking on my cell and I thought to myself: How many other people who are also talking on their cell phones right now have their drug dealers on the other line?

How Does This Make You Feel?

Go here

I'm not sure how I feel about this. But I did put in my address and I'm happy to report that in my little piece of Manhattan there are 363 registered sex offenders.

I will NOT be going trick or treating on Monday.

Sorry

I try and update but unfortunately this job of mine is cutting into prime updating time. I've actually been busy and slightly stressed at work this week which is why you haven't had any wit and love from my blog since whenever.

Rest assured that I am getting my act together slowly but surely with the whole "work" thing and I should be finsihed and back to fucking around online and only pretending to work in no time.

I have some pretty great stories too. Here's a preview:

-NYC and the Lower East Side on a Thursday night after two bottles of wine.
-I am ONE STEP CLOSER to meeting Michael Showalter
-Halloween weekend: A recap you won't want to miss

So stay tuned.

Rick Moranis

Yeah, I'd forgotten about him too. Until I was doing a little late night web surfing and I caught this wave.

That's right. We all thought he'd faded away, a mere memory of his late 80s comedy heyday when in fact he was planning to wow us with his new album.

Rick Moranis has a country album. I don't need to say anything else.

New York Thunderstorms

The weekend before Halloween and there's a thunderstorm going on outside.

It would be awesome if I was watching a really scary movie but I'm waiting the rain out and indulging in the Saturday replay of last Sunday's Desperate Housewives.

I would like to note this though: Thunderstorms in New York are always vaguely creepy. There's something about being six floors up in my apartment and knowing that a really bad storm is going on and there's really no where to hide.

There's an old man in my office

I saw him walk in but I was in the middle of something and figured someone else would deal with him. A pretty old man is not really a threat so I wasn't too worried. Fifteen minutes later I notice that he's made himself at home on the client couch reading an old Post. I know that I should find out who he is. But I'm all the way across the room and finding out who the strange old guy in my office is would take way too much energy. It would involve me actually getting up.

Clean my house please

I was purusing my Daily Candy email today as I settled in to work mode and came across this picture.




Zen Home Cleaners is a service dedicated to making your New York living space as organically clean as possible. As you can see from the picture, the maids are VERY INTO the zen aspect of cleaning.

Have you seen this girl?

Katie Arnold was my best friend in 5th grade. I actually met her in 4th grade when we were both the new kids. I was a complete bitch to her on the playground. But we became friends the next year and pretty much stayed really good friends until high school. Then she discovered sex and pot and cigarettes and I was still under the impression that everyone under the age of 30 were virgins. Katie was one of those girls who wanted to be grown-up and I was content being a teenager and acting like one. At our high school graduation she couldn't wait for the charade to be over. I, on the other hand, was sad to be leaving--I thought school was fun.

We parted ways after high school. She went to college out of state and I learned how to be a party girl at the University of Georgia. I don't think I've talked to her at all since my sophomore year of college which was definitely almost 5 years ago. Once, maybe 3 or so years ago I was in North Carolina visiting my then-boyfriend's family. I was out at a bar with some of his friends and it turns out this one girl was Katie Arnold's current roommate at college. Besides that, my old best friend has been MIA. None of our old school friends know what happened to her, her mom has moved away from our hometown.

About a week ago, a friend sent me the pic you see above and it just started me to wondering what happened to her. I hadn't really thought about her in a couple of years, but now I'm curious.

So. . . have you seen this girl?

Wearing Glasses

I have not had to wear glasses since I was 16. That was the year I said hello to contacts. The year I finally got a pair of sunglasses. I won't lie--when I first got contacts I thought I looked hideous. The only me I knew was the me with glasses. Glasses were a part of my face. And now they were gone and it was almost like some other girl was looking back at me in the mirror.

Needless to say, I got used to the contacts. In fact, I began to never want to wear my glasses, and the only times they got brought out were on the days after extremely hard partying nights.

This all changed last week. Because last week I got an eye infection (sounds grosser than it really it--basically my eye was bloodshot and felt like an eyelash was in it.) I got some prescription eye drops ($80.99 for my fellow brethren floating around without insurance) and a command from the eye doctor to wear my glasses for two weeks. The upside is that I got new glasses which I thought made me look older, but after having a conversation with a man I met in a bar on Saturday night I know now that I still look 21. The downside is that I have to wear them in public on an everyday basis.

So to make myself feel better I just tell myself that now I don't look like a huge dork.I look like a really hot librarian who needs to be unleashed.

Reliving The Weekend

The sun is shining in New York again and Brandy spent Friday night hanging out with a hot man. Not a "Brandy-hot" man (for those of you who know me, wipe the vision of tall gangly nerd from your psyches). No, this man is Universally Hot and that makes this girl VERY happy.

Saturday was spent getting into the Halloween spirit. The sun was finally out and my roommate convinced me that I should come with her to the Nightmare House on Suffolk Street. My advice to those of you who haven't been: Don't waste your money. This was the lamest excuse for a haunted house I've been to in a while. I went with my roommate and her friend and his kid.The kid is 5 and came out of the house completely unfazed. I came away vaguely creeped out but mostly just disappointed. We continued our Halloween excursion at the Halloween store on 4th Avenue. My roommate is convinced that she is going to win the prize money for best costume at the Halloween party we're going to. I kept silent while she told me this, but I feel bad that she's so deluded. Because I am OBVIOUSLY going to win. You can't compete with how fabulous and funny my costume is going to be.

Sunday I found myself on the Upper East Side. That's right--the Upper East Side. I left my comfortable local East Village haven, I broke my "No Places Above 14th Street on the Weekends" rule. Oh yes, I took a TRAIN. And I ended up drunk at a Mexican restaurant watching the Patriots game on 75th and 1st Avenue. I'm not even a Patriots fan. But sometimes a girl has to be a good friend and go with her roommate to bars that are far away to meet guys her roommate is trying to decide if she likes or not. And because we traveled so far from home we now know that she doesn't like the guy. We just needed to be sure.

And now it's Monday, a new week is beginning and I've got that fresh-faced "I just made out with someone hot" glow about my aura. I love that glow.

So, my girlfriend died. . . .

Doing my usual persual of Craigslist ads to see what crazies are out tonight and came across this gem. Ladies, eat your heart out.

My girlfriend died - 32

and I'm on my way out. It was strange, she was hit by a car and I have testicular cancer. Its operable but treatment is beyond a fortune, I dont have Lance Armstrong money. I used to ride my bicycle almost religiously but I started too late in life. Had too many incredibly emotional strains in my life causing me to lose sight early on what would have made me happy. Now I'm putting things back together with a quiet determination.
I'd like to have sex with atleast one great looking woman with a nice bod. I'm not repulsive by any stretch of the imagination. I'm simply not rich. No one wants to date a working class shmo with testicular cancer in this city whose girlfriend was hit by a truck (or car I forget which). Please dont have a beard, no I'm not kidding I met one of you already and was far from impressed and I definitely deserved better. So anyway, I dont have anything contagious, everything still works I just have the occasional pain. Really looking forward to hearing from you my eternal (whats left of it) love.



Brandy's Note: He's right about girls not wanting to date a working class cancer patient. No offense meant--just being real here.

The Sun Shines Again

We have emerged. I went outside today, timid and shy, expecting rain gusts in my face. Instead? There was the sun. And blue skies. Hallejuah.

New York has been under a veil of gray and rain for 8 days. And today. . . .sunlight. It's been so long since I've seen the sun framed by blue skies and sparse clouds that I'd forgotten how beautiful autumn in New York can be.

I just don't understand. . . .

. . .why people in New York don't seem to get the fact that when a place of business has 4 cash registers that means there are 4 LINES. 4 SEPARATE LINES.

Every drugstore and McDonalds in the city has this damn problem. There are signs, bold signs that proclaim "PLEASE FORM A SEPARATE LINE AT EACH REGISTER." Yet there's always a big clump of people standing six feet away from the registers, loosely huddled together with their Mr. Clean, or toilet paper or shampoo clutched in their arms, the club card key chain that will take exactly 10 cents of your purchase in hand. There are four cashiers waiting for customers but no one walks up until the cashier says, "Next!" even though it's OBVIOUS that there shouldn't even be a line. Because there are FOUR empty registers and FIVE people in line.

And all I needed was some cigarettes.

Rain Sucks

All of New York is in mourning. It has been overcast and rainy since Friday. Last Friday. Almost a week has gone by and the city has been covered in a veil of GLOOM AND GRAY. I am from the South. I like the sun. I like rain, but only when immediately followed by sun.

Coming to work in the rain is one of those unfortunate facts of life that make me want to file for unemployment. I woke up this morning to the sound of water whipping against my window. I thought to myself "If God loves me, I will suddenly remember that it's Saturday and I can go back to sleep." I also thought, "If God really loves me it will be Saturday and when I roll over a hot man will be sleeping beside me ready to smooch as soon as I wake him up."

God was not with me today and now I'm at work and I'm partially soaked. Wet shoes and socks make for an unhappy Brandy.

Hot Pharmacists

I think I have a date tomorrow. That single thought should be enough to buoy me through this miserable steady downpour of rain I face every time I walk outside. Unfortunately, my left eye is completely bloodshot and disgusting. So it looks like I'll be wearing my glasses for few days. I feel like a tenth grader whose parents won't let her get contacts in time for prom. I HATE my glasses. I've had the same pair since they were cool in 1999!! When this man met me, I had no glasses, no sign of ay visual impairments thanks to Acuvue. Now I'm going to look like a librarian.

I just got back from the eye doctor and somehow I've managed to spend $600 in an hour on new glasses and an unbeliveably small bottle of prescription eeye drops (cost: $80.99) This experience is serving to further entrench my political ideals with the liberal left. Why can't everyone have health insurance? So now, not only is it raining, not only is my eye RED, I'm also broke. Completely and utterly broke.

The bright side to this situation is that the pharmacist at the Walgreens on 23rd and Park Avenue South is really attractive. Very tall, preppy looking, I'd like him to take me to his vacation home on the Cape. Looks like he comes from good New England stock. I made sure to have him go into detail about how to administer the eeye drops so that I could spend more time staring at him. I know he probably thought I was the hottest thing he's ever seen. I mean hello--my left eye is bright red, my XXL rain slicker is dripping, my bright orange track pants are soaked, and my shoes are so wet that I make squishing sounds when I walk. What's not to love?

I Think I'm Really Tired

Why? Not because itt's 6pm and I'm ready for my work day to be over. No, it's because of the construction guy here. There's a Frenchman named Moose doing construction in my office. And I think I must be really tired because I keep glancing over at him and slowly but surely I'm finding him to be more and more attractive. That's right--a Frenchman named Moose. He rides his bike everywhere and I can here him with the sander right now. He also has on these ridiculous looking goggles. I need to go home and take a nap I think.

Taking A Break

I took a break from work while I ate my lunch and discovered a wealth of information about what exatly Phoebe Cates has been up to since her star-making role in Drop Dead Fred. She's got a couple of kids now, and she's marrried to Kevin Kline. For some reason I though he was gay.

Anyway-if you were wondering what happened to her now you know.

I really enjoy doing internet searches on celebrities who have faded off the radar. Eddie Furlong info anyone? Or how about the cast of that great Disney show "Avonlea"?

I hope I've given you some places to start as you begin to fuck around on the internet on this dreary Monday workday.

Happy Columbus Day

I'm at work.

Apparently today is holiday complete with a parade up Fifth Avenue and bank closings. Apparently other people have today off. And apparently, my company missed the memo on the possible three day weekend and here I am posting an entry instead of going through my morning To-Do list and getting work done.

This weekend I won the award for Laziest Person Ever. I laid on the couch for two days straight and watched movies that I'd taped off HBO back in my senior year of high school. That's right--I watched video tapes (gems like 10 Things I Hate About You, Angus, and the original Parent Trap) on a VCR because it was already plugged in and I was too worthless to try and hook up the DVD player.

I would have liked to have had a contantly ringing phone, lots of random friends calling with vaious parties and open bar clubs invites in tow. Instead, I talked to my grandmother and my friends from home. And watched a lot of the Food Channel.

I left the house twice all weekend. Saturday I braved the rain circa 10:00pm and Sunday I saw The Squid and The Whale before arriving back at the apartment in time to watch Desperate Housewives and Grey's Anatomy.

I had such high hopes on Friday. And I wasted them away on the couch on my two days of freedom flipping between Wedding Cake Challenge, This Old House, and Georgia football. (The Dawgs took Tennessee. Hooray.)

Happy Columbus Day.

Just A Thought

Did anyone else find it odd that Hayley Mills was supposed to be playing American twins in The Parent Trap, she managed to hold on to her British accent? And no one ever noticed.

A Shot On Friday

Right now I'm in the office listening to Journey's Greatest Hits. There are some French guys (one named Moose) doing some construction directly in front of me and it's really loud and annoying so of course I can't work anymore.

More importantly I just got back from a bar down the street. I mentioned a hot man a few posts ago. Well friends, he just asked me to go and do a shot with him. We did tequila shots (but not body shots unfortunately). And then we headed back to the office and now I'm fucking around. As usual.

I love Fridays.

It's Hard Working With A Hot Guy

I know that it sounds like heaven: Everyday I get to see one of the hottest men on the planet, I get to talk to him and joke with him and eat his leftover fries. He is really too-extra fine. He has a girlfriend but I don't let that get in the way of my fantasy that one day he'll come in and be like "Brandy, my love. let me take you away to a secluded island beach and make love to you for hours and hours on end." This hasn't happened yet but I haven't quite given up hope.

It's hard to be around someone so hot all the time. Because I'm constantly distracted. He walks by and suddenly I'm not focusing on Quickbooks or backing up my hard drive. I'm focusing on the way his pants fit, on his great smile. I can't think about work, just about waking up next to this fine piece of man on a Sunday morning. (PS--Sunday mornings are really the only time I like to be waking up next to someone--I usually need my bed all to myself the rest of the week.)

So I'll try to get to work on this dreary Friday afternoon. But chances are it will just look like I'm working. I'll really be daydreaming about what would have if my wish for today came true.

I Took The Subway This Morning

Even though I promised my parents and grandmother last night that I would be cabbing it for the weekend or at least until this newest terror threat dies down. It was after I made this earnest promise however, that I remembered that I am not rich. Cabs are a luxury I can't be indulging in right now. So this morning armed with a small handbag to reduce the possibility that I'd be searched by the increased police presence. I got a Metro on my way down into the 2nd Avenue F station and sat patiently in the waiting V train, knowing that it could be the last place I saw alive. Fortunately I made it to 23rd Street unscathed.

I've decided to walk home though. No use tempting fate twice in one day.

And in case I happen to get blown up today, I'm treating myself to a nice lunch, so I'll perish full and happy. All in the name of my country and the cause.

Sex and the City Moment

So I had my Carrie Bradshaw moment last night. All I needed was a good jazzy soundtrack and a good camera angle to catch the wind delightfully fluffing my hair.

Last night, I went to yet another Downtown Benefit. I always forget what exactly these functions are benefitting but when you put on the invite OPEN BAR and FREE FOOD, I will be there with bells on. I came dressed in a dress that was fine when I left the house. Two blocks later I could feel the wind on my ass indicating that it was a little shorter than orginally thought. I worked it though and after 5 or so free drinks and some carrots and ranch I was chatting it up with a cute guy.

Three hours later I was drunk and it was time to go home. I had changed out of my killer heels into the more reliable JCrew flip flops. I was stuffing my heels into my purse as I stood on the sidewalk and the music cues now--I look up and there si the cute guy I'd been talking to earlier. He said "Are you leaving?" I said yes. He said, "Oh--well I wanted to say goodbye."

Can you believe it? I'm never that girl who gets the I-rushed-out-when-I-saw-you-leaving-and-wanted-to-say-goodbye deal. He gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek and we parted ways. I immediately put on a good walking song on my iPod and headed back to Alphabet City. I'll update if he actually calls. But the moment was worth the empty gesture if he doesn't.

It was a good night.

Just Wondering

When you make out with a guy and then he doesn't return your calls is he just assuming that you'll never run into each other again?

And what exactly is he planning on doing when you do run into each other again? Just pretend you guys never got wasted together and ended up at your apartment banging til your mattress fell off the box spring?

I mean, if you have friends in common and you tend to frequent the same spots does he expect you to just disappear and start hanging out in a different part of town so that the chances of you two meeting will be less.

And really, what's going through his mind as you guys are making out? Is he thinking "Wow, I am all about this girl right now but I am NEVER going to call her and I wouldn't mind if I never saw her again."

Another question: Why bother to get my number if you're never going to call? Save the space on your SIM card, I won't be offended. I don't mind if guys who aren't going to call me don't get my number.

A Morbid Thought For The Evening

I'm vegging out to A Current Affair and it's raised a question for me. If I were murdered today who would be brought in for questioning? Not that I think there's anyone out there wanting me gone but let's go hypothetical for a minute.

Myspace Is Not For Making Porn

So why is it that I have this message waiting for me in my Myspace inbox?

We are seeking sexy young black females for Adult Videos. Make up to $700 a day and work as little or as much as you want. This is in the New York area. The only two requirements are a current HIV/STD test and a photo ID. All models must be 18 years of age or older. If you have any questions please feel free to ask.

Gil Violante
732-581-1298

What on my myspace profile indicates that I have any kind of background or aspiration for the porn industry? Besides the fact that I'm black and they're seeking ladies of color for representation in an industry that's usually reserved for tan fake-boobed bottle blondes.

This is the second time in a month I've been propositioned like this. The first time it was in the form of a phone message from this stripper my friend met a CroBar. We all hung out one night and "Candi" decided that I was cool. So over the next week I received quite a few phone calls from her basically informing me that she has a great plan for "both of us hot girls to make a little of that dollar."

$700 a day though. It makes a girl wonder. . . .what if?

Who am I fooling though? I have about 15 sugar daddies to take my pick of.

I Want My Sugar Daddy

Craigslist is running a legalized prostitution ring. I've suspected this for months but now, now I'm sure of it.

Every other ad in the Men Seeking Women section involves an older gentleman promising to "take care of the whims and wishes of a college co-ed." I was more than a little disturbed by these postings so naturally I decided to post an ad of my own.

My CL ad titled "I Want My Sugar Daddy" reads:

Me--22, 5'10, brunette, a delight to be around
You--over 40, successful, knows how to show a girl a good time

This can be beneficial for us both. Let me know if you're up to the challange.


Within ten minutes of going live, there were 15 emails in my inbox. Here's a choice few:

Hi,

I'm interested in the ad you placed and would love to be of help. Let
me
start by telling you a bit about myself. I am a generous and successful
male
looking for a someone to pamper and spoil. I would like to meet someone
who
is bright, articulate and playful. I'd like to spend relaxed time
enjoying
your company.

Please tell me about yourself. You will find me to be a gentleman. If
possible, please send me a description of your appearance or a picture.
I am
sure we can work out and arrangement which will be mutually satisfying
to
the both of us.  Looking forward to your response and to meeting you
soon.

Liked your ad. I’m 49, single (no kids). very successful (had a rewarding career on Wall St). At 49, you might consider me too old for you. Plz consider:

1. Physically, I’m in great shape (work out 4-5 times);
2. Mentally, I’m sharp as a tack. Finish the hardest crossword puzzles in minutes. In pen.
3. Emotionally, I have the spirit of a 12-year old boy.
4. Mathematically, if you average my chronological age (49) with my internal clock (of about 25), you end up with a blended average of 37 years old. Just right, I’m sure you’d agree.
5. I love spoiling the special woman in my life. You sound like you could use some spoiling.

I’ve recently returned to NYC after years out of town, and had some amazing experiences I’ll tell you about. I love smart, funny, challenging women. I love (and collect) art, music, dance, travel, great restaurants, loud clubs and quiet, intimate times.Let’s meet for a drink—who knows? Here’s a pic in a more formal moment. I know-pretty ridiculous, but the only one I have on-line. I promise not to dress this way when we meet. If interested, let me know and send a pic.

Richard

hi

im a bust executive looking for a weekly playmate for execlusive pleasure and friendship

would require occassional trip short trips in us..as for me white 46 5'10 if interested please send a photo and measurments..thanks and good luck in your search--MarkD

hello there.
meet me for lunch so we can talk. I aim to please and settle for nothing but the best for the lady im with

Nice ad. I think I might be what you are looking for perhaps ...

... I am a handsome, confident, Ivy-educated, adventurous, athletic, West Village residing financier with a mischievous grin and a rogue's charm.

I peruse CL for fun on occasion and, in the midst of doing that just now, saw your ad and it caught my eye.

I am ideally interested in meeting an intelligent, sophisticated, stylish, feminine woman who has her own life, but who is looking to meet a very successful, high powered man who will spoil her totally rotten.

Interested?

I also received a couple of responses that were not so encouraging of trying to finad me a sugar daddy.

You are a grown  woman I suggest  you  buy  your  own shoes and
advertise under Erotic Services  like a  proper Ho   would. You are  a
prostitute. Get over  it.

Oops.


After reading through a plethora of these responses, especially the ones from MARRIED MEN, I have decided that there is a reason women don't trust men. I placed this ad pretty late at night too so that means these pervs were just purusing the intertnet late night, one window open to Craigslist and the other SororitySluts.com.

At first it was funny that I got so many responses. but upon further thought I don't think it's as funny. Just mostly disturbing now. Still, I don't know--that message from Richard was pretty intriguing. And I've always been one for dating guys with salt and pepper hair.

Thank God There Are So Many Cab Drivers

So I had an interesting weekend.

My roommate's younger brother and his even younger friends came up and we went to dinner at an Italian place right off Tompkins Square park. It was a cute little place, nothing out of the ordinary but these boys are used to Applebee's and Domino's so they thought we were really treating them. After wading through the Italian terms on the menu ("Don't they just have spaghetti? Or what about just regular lasagna?" "What's prosciutto?") I convinced them that gnocchi is quite delicious and it was the only entree with tomato sauce. Upon tasting this newfound dish one of the boys exclaimed "Hey this is pretty good! It tastes like Chef Boyardee."

Needless to say, we left the boys after dinner. Their big plans? To go and feed McDonalds apple pies to the cop horses in Times Square. It was something they indulged in on their last Big Apple trip and they were pretty excited about it.

The rest of Saturday passed in a drunken blur and then comes Sunday. It was a beautiful day outside so of course my roommate and I decide to just stay in and get ridiculously high. We went to a sports bar to see the Eagles game and then ended up at a friend's apartment down the street and it was here that I went a little too far.

Usually I know my limits but yesterday I got way to high to function. We were at the apartment of That Friend everyone has who always has more green than God and keeps it fresh in the fridge. He pulled that out and then out came the glassware and that was all she wrote for this girl.

I was supposed to meet friends for a play uptown and as soon as I got in the cab I knew I was done for.

I threw up the first time as we cruised up First Ave. Again as he turned down 49th. The driver never noticed so he dropped me at the corner of 50th and 8th and I paid my fare and stumbled to the theater. My friends were waiting outside and after mumbling that I couldn't do this, that I had to go home, I found myself in another cab and I was barfing three avenues later. This time the driver noticed and unfortunately I had to make my exit at around 5th Ave and 48th street. He was pretty unhappy but I was unfazed because he didn't make me pay.

I walked for awhile, trying to get a hold of myself. I had my iPod headphones in but I couldn't actually bear to hear any music. The worst is when you're high and nauseous. Because you're nauseous on another plane of reality and it sucks EVEN WORSE.

I finally get into yet another cab and head for Alphabet City. I felt it coming on and just threw up a little in this cab. I then had him pull over and I barfed for a full five minutes on the sidewalk. "Are you okay ma'am?" the driver asked.

"Must have been the shrimp." I weakly replied, failing to mention there was a pool of vomit on the floorboard in his backseat.

I made it home and up my six flights of stairs and vowed to never smoke again. Drugs are bad for you. Really bad.

But I was feeling better a few hours later so when friends showed up, I showed them the green.

Oops.

Fiesta Fiesta

Apparently I didn't get the memo that there would be a fiesta going on right outside of my apartment ALL NIGHT.

Some Sunday nights a girl just wants to watch Desperate Housewives and have a smoke with her roommate as they ruminate on the weekend that thye made it through.

It's hard for us to do that when the wheelchair nursing home next door has decided to go balls out and have a rager. And to top it all off the hipster girls next door are blaring some racket that I'm sure is a CD of one of their 120 pound indie rock friends who are always smoking cloves in the hallway.

I thought Sunday was a day of rest. I'm just trying to think about Jesus right now.