God, I LOVE Patrick Dempsey

Sometimes, I just remember all of a sudden how much I love someone. As I was googling my way through my slow morning at work, I came across a picture of Patrick D and it was as if Cupid had sent his arrow straight into my heart. I am a huge fan of Grey's Anatomy (Sundays at 10pm on ABC--watch it, love it). And I won't lie--it's Patrick that keeps me coming back for more. I have loved him since Can't Buy Me Love. And to a lesser extent, Loverboy. But all 80s movies and 2000s comeback aside, I LOVE some Patrick Dempsey.

If I saw him walking down the street, or at a restaurant or anywhere really where he was within touching distance of me, I might faint. Let me just let you guys know this: If I EVER have the good fortune to wake up next to Partick Demspey or a hot lookalike you won't have to worry about me EVER letting him out of my sight.

I want to give him the oh-la-la.

The Baby Basement

I work in Chelsea near Sixth Avenue. My office is located on a quiet enough street. There are a couple of beauty salons, a comedy club, a school across the street and a couple of bars.

Then there's the Baby Basement. I don't know what goes on in there but there are always strollers going in and out. With real moms pushing them, not African Hispanic nannies. There's no sign on the door, no evidence at all that some kind of day care is inside. It's kind of like Bungalow 8 for babies. Very secret and by the looks of the mommies and the Maclaren strollers, VERY TRENDY.

I'm often tempted to walk in and have a look around. Unfortunately, I think that I need a baby to guarantee my admission. And although there are plenty floating around, there aren't any extras I can borrow so that I can take a look at what the Baby Basement has to offer.

It's very strange. This is a very quiet street. Yet there are always at least four or five strollers coming to or from in both directions. And most of these babies are dressed in clothes that cost about five times as much as my own outfit. I know it's wrong to hate someone who doesn't have teeth or the ability to produce coherent speech, but I still do sometimes. They're decked out in Dolce and Gabbana Kids and all snuggled up in a real fox fur baby bunting, and to top it off, they're being wheeled around, will have any thirst or hunger taken care of by only uttering a small cry, and they have no bills.

Sometimes I just can't handle kids.

Support Me

I'm putting this out here because the more people I tell, the more likely I am to follow through and not just be all talk.

So here goes.

I'm going to try stand-up comedy. That's right. I've been going to shows for forever and writing my own stuff for forever. So now it's time to take it to the next level and start performing. I'm very nervous because although I think that I'm funny, and my friends think I'm funny, I'll find out next week if strangers think I'm funny. That's more than a little nerve-wracking. But on the bright side, it's just an open mic so everyone there will be in my boat.

I decided this very spur of the moment. I've never thought of myself as a stand up comedienne. But I'm going to go with it and see what happens. One of my co-workers told me that my "thing" should be that I'm black but a dumb blonde. I wasn't sure if I should be offended so I just laughed a little and changed the subject. I mean, I'd rather not have a "thing." I'd rather just be Brandy.

So I'm going to do it and everyone reading this can hold me to it. And also if you live in New York you need to come and see me perform. And laugh. Even if you don't think it's funny at all, I'm going to need you to laugh for me.

Tax Season

I haven't balanced my checkbook since August of 2001. I keep a running estimate of how much money I have and when I get that sinking feeling in my tummy, I know I must be near broke.

One of my responsibilities at my job is Accounts Payable and Receivable. And today in the mail the Tax Forms came. I don't know the difference between a 1040 and a 1099 but apparently it's not my job to get all that sorted out.

I'm getting a stomachache.

Monday Morning Madness

I forgot to mention it, but I ended up being off for this Thanksgiving weekend. So after four glorious work free days, I awoke this morning, wide-eyed and refreshed, finally completing the weekend I need on a regular basis. I woke up at 7:15 and decided to go into work early. I usually roll into the office around 10 but today I aimed for 8:45. Go in early, be productive, get a good start on the day alone in the office. So I get up and shower and I'm in the process of picking out clothes when I remember that I don't have my work keys. That's right--I lent them to a co-worker last Wednesday. And I can guarantee no one is showing up today before 10:10. So I'm up a full two hours early for nothing.

And not enough time to go back to sleep.

Why I Am A Good Friend

So the other night I rolled in around 2:30 after being out who knows where. I fall into bed and immediately I’m out. My cell phone rings an hour later. Usually I put my phone on silent at night instead of turning it off because I like to see who drunk dialed me and didn’t leave a message. But that night it was on and I woke up with that freaked out scared feeling you get when you’re jarred out of sleep. I look at he caller ID and see that its my roommate. My roommate who I know for a fact is in the next room because when I got home I went in there and told her to put on some pajamas because she had fallen asleep in her clothes. So I was a little confused that she was calling. So I didn’t answer it.

And she called again.

So I picked up and she’s like “Help me," in this super creepy strained voice.

Immediately my thoughts turn to “MURDERER IN OUR HOUSE”

I’m still drunk and I can’t find my glasses so I stumble out of my bed and grab the wooden intruder stick I keep beside my bed and pretty much leave my room preparing to die.

I go in to her room and she laying in the bed, no murderers around so I relax. Turns out she has a major cramp in her side and it’s making her feel like she’s dying. I spend the next hour talking her through it and talking her out of going to the emergency room. I was thinking to myself, Fuck there is no way I can go to a hospital right now. Got to keep her at home! That’s the kind of good friend I am. Sorry, but you don’t want me in your corner if I’m tired.

Then she’s all like “tell me a story.” So I told her a bedtime story. And then I was like "Why don’t you take some of these sleeping pills? Just take four—it’s fine, impossible to OD on this stuff. It’s WalMart brand Tylenol PM."

She wouldn’t let me leave until she fell asleep. Everytime I got up off the bed she was like “where are you going?” But finally she went to sleep and I went back to my room and passed out.

My favorite line of the night was when she was like “It hurts!” I was like “I know, I know” and she was like “No, I don’t think you do!!”

A Rope Ladder

This just in. . . .

Nine inmates from a Washington State jail just escaped by means of rope ladder.

That's right--a rope ladder. I totally thought it was a joke but it's not. I thought that maybe since its 2005, our jails would be a little more capable of preventing an escape like this. But apparently our nations prison system is headed by someone from Andy Griffith's office.

And the winner is. . .

. . .Sonya "The Black Widow" Thomas.

This 100 pound wonder beat out the morbidly obese subway conductor by eating 4 pounds, 3.1 ounces of of turkey in 12 minutes. She walked away with $2500 and the respect of a growing number of underweight binge eaters. I bet it felt absolutely wonderful to barf all that turkey right on up and into the toilet.

My big question is this: Why is her nickname "The Black Widow?" If I'm not mistaken this moniker is usually attached to women who marry men and then kill them. What is it we don't know about Sonya Thomas?

I did a little research. Take a minute and waste some time reading this. You'll be glad you did. There's even a picture of her.

What does this teach you? Small Asian girls can and WILL eat you.

Get Jealous

. . . .because Jonathan Taylor Thomas just accepted my friend invite on Myspace.

God, I am SO popular.


PS: One day I will tire of Myspace. Possibly one day soon.

PPS: I also realize that it probably isn't that REAL Jonathan Taylor Thomas. But let me just believe it for a little bit. It's the holidays for god's sake.

Sometimes, when you're wasted. . .

. . . you have arguments about whether or not a lamb is actually a baby sheep.

That's right. We're spending the Friday night in recovering from Thanksgiving and a Black Friday spent sitting amongst ten-year-old punks at Harry Potter. My Big Fat Greek Wedding is on and one of the characters was offering up some lamb. I remarked that Greeks eat a lot of lamb (I base this on the fact that gyros always come with lamb). I said that the reason behind this love of lamb must stem from the fact that they must have a lot of sheep in Greece.

My roommate then says, "Lambs aren't sheep."

At first I thought she was kidding. But then she said it again.

So I said, "Don't you know that lambs are baby sheep?"

And she ACTUALLY said, "No they're not!"

We then proceeded to argue about it for a good five minutes, until I took out my computer and the Microsoft Word dictionary proved me so incredibly right. I also let her in on the world's biggest secret, "Veal is baby cow."

But I'll admit. . . .for a second, while we were arguing, because I was wasted, I thought that maybe I was wrong. And that all these years, I'd just thought lambs were baby sheep. All this time, lambs have been actual separate animals from sheep.

As a result of this conversation, my roommate has now denounced meat. According to her, "Killing baby sheep is just wrong. I'm never eating meat again."

Happy Thanksgiving

I'm completely stuffed. It's 11:30 and I just got home.

My roommate is asleep and National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation is playing--the part where the Christmas lights finally come on to be exact.

Thanksgiving is amazing because it's evidence that we have dedicated a national holiday to extreme eating. I was totally full after my first helping. Yet because there was still food on the table, I helped my self for at least three more rounds.

Usually I spend Thanksgiving with my family. But since I've moved to the city and I'm having to spend my own money on transportation, staying here instead of flying back to Atlanta is just a lot more economically sound. So I've een spending the holiday with friends at a big dinner some of them host that people fly cross country for annually. I decided this year that I'd bring a little of my country Southern traditions to my new Northern big city holiday. So I asked everyone to join hands and then we proceeded to give thanks to Our Lord's awesome son, Jesus Christ. He's truly the reason for the season.

And if I keep putting him in posts just to poke fun, I'm going to go to hell very soon.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I'll have an update soon on who won that fucking disgusting-ass 10-pound turkey eating contest earlier today. Just who could have won Lard Ass Of The Year?

America is FAT

Some things are completely unnecessary and only add fuel to the already prevalent "America is ridiculously overweight" fires.

Read this.

There is no need to ever eat a 10 pound turkey on your own. In less than 12 minutes. Especially if you're already 420 pounds. You know why? 420 pounds is NOT pleasantly plump. 420 pounds is morbidly obese. And there is no good reason that someone that fat should be trying to eat a turkey the size of a six month old baby in less than 12 minutes. It's like he's just mocking death.

Hit By The Tired

Somewhere between the going to the ATM at the Doubletree Hotel and the cab ride back to the office, Tired hit me like a train. I'm barely keeping my eyes open right now. Currently there are two electricians and two air conditioning guys in my office, all waiting for direction from yours truly. Unfortunately, I have no direction to give because my boss didn't let me know what exactly they are supposed to be getting done today. And I'm SO TIRED. My stomach has that queasy, "I'm hungover feeling" and my head feels like my brain needs to just go ahead and ooze right on out of my ears and nostrils.

Fear not though. I plan on really tearing it up tonight. No work tomorrow equals Party Time for the Brandster tonight. In a related anecdote, a couple of days ago I was on the phone with my good friend's sister. I'm going to be in my friend's wedding in a couple of weeks and I called to get the DL on the bachelorette party (which will hopefully be policeman-stripper free). Turns out the bridal party is going to just pick me up from the airport since they'll be in Atlanta anyway (As opposed to my suburban hometown which is 45 minutes away). My friend's sister was like "Brandy, are you going to be okay to go out? It's going to be like 9:30."

My reply? "Are you kidding? Instead of blood, it's The Need To Party that runs through my veins!"

Especially if free alcohol is involved.

And this is one of my best friends from high school and middle school. I still can't even believe that she's getting married. I remember when I met her this girl's two biggest goals were to grow long fingernails and be a cheerleader. And because I only choose winners for friends, I'm happy to report that she accomplished both those feats.

Enjoy The Holiday Break For Me

Because I have to work today, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Luckily I do have Thanksgiving off.

Also, last night my roommate and I finally got around to visiting The Newest Hip Spot. It's one of those places so secret that there's not even a door and they made me swear on my first born with the blood of the sacrificial lamb at the bar that I would never disclose the location of NYC's Latest Secret Place.

Maybe you'll get lucky and get to go yourself at some point.

In related news, somehow I got so drunk last night that my coat got caught on the scaffolding at the corner of Avenue B and Houston and I took a spill in the middle of the street. I also may or may not have sent out a text message to Sexual Text Message Guy (see previous posts about this) that may or may not have been about the act of fellatio being performed by yours truly. If only one could take things like that back. C'est la vie--I deleted every text I wrote soon after the aforementioned incident that may or may not have happened so I'm going to just pretend that it didn't happen. If and when I see Sexual Text Message Guy again, I'm completely prepared to plead drunken ignorance and say that "someone must ave been fucking around on my phone again. Haha."

I must say though, one of the best feelings is walking through my neighborhood completely toasted. The wind was brisk, the air crisp, and even thoough my vision was blurring, I could still appreciate a real fall night in New York City. The weather is back on track--i.e. COLD instead of the weird May-like temps I've been enjoying for most of the fall. And even though I have to work this weekend, I am off tomorrow. Which means today is a little like Friday. And everyone knows how much I love Fridays.

Happy Thanksgiving. Tell your friends to read my blog and maybe you can come with me to NYC's Newest Trendy Place.

Not Sure How I Feel

This is serious. But I just can't take it seriously. I've got to find some new Myspace friends. Preferably ones who don't post messages like the one below.

SAY THIS SLOWLY:
Jesus. I. love. you. and. I. need. you.

Repost this within 5 minutes and title it: MY PARTY. A miracle will happen tonight.

P.S. Do not ignore

*God works in mysterious ways
remember God loves you more than anything

And just in case any of you are thinking about maybe posting something like this in the future, just remember: Stupid forwards do not a good Christian make.

My Roommate Doesn't Want Any

That's right. She has just informed me that you couldnt't pay her money to eat the 99 cent bologna and boxed milk I've got in the fridge.

But I think both of those things are okay. . . .it's 1% milk, healthy right?

6pm

I've been working it hard all day. Usually I spend my afternoons glancing at the work that's piling up on my desk but on this particular afternoon I buckled down and actually did something. But now it's 6pm and I need to take a break.

Which brings me to Myspace. Which brings me to this:

Your Hat Personality Is A

Beret

What Hat Are You?

There are just so many different things you can do on the internet. Gotta love it. I'm a beret!!

I'm A Walker

I am a walker. Being terminally poor and living in New York City, I've discovered that my legs are my new best friends. So yesterday I woke up bright and early and walked to Soho for brunch with friends. While getting pleasantly buzzed from three too many glasses of sangria I decided that it would be a great idea to walk to Central Park, a place that I know exists but since I rarely venture above 14th Street, it's not a place you find me often.

So began the 60 or so block walk from Soho to the Park. My friend Sara and I were planning on lounging about on a rock and then taking a stroll down The Mall. Walking through The Mall down to the fountain always makes me feel like I'm in When Harry Met Sally and that my own romantic comedy counterpart is waiting just around the bend. Unfortunately, by the time we walked 60 blocks with one stop at Whole Foods at the Time Warner Center for a potty break, the sun was doing its Winter Thing and setting even though it was only 4:30. So we didn't get to read and when we got to The Mall for our stroll we discovered that a huge fence had been put up all around it making it totally NOT FUN and REALLY JUNKY LOOKING. The plus side was that we got to see the park just as the sun was setting and if you've never looked across the Great Lawn at sunset, the buildings on Central Park South lit in the dusk, you need to get on it.

I make it a practice to never flock in foilage in New York City after dark. If it's green in the daytime there's no reason for me to be around it after the sun goes down. Rapists and rats like to hide in NYC greenery along with random homeless people and hypodermic needles so I tend to steer clear. Which is why we left soon after discovering that The Mall looked atrocious and that there wasn't even any water in the big fountain.

And I walked the 60+ blocks back to my own neighborhood, breathing the usual sigh of relief as soon as I crossed 14th Street and made my way back into the indominitable East Village. I love all of New York, but I'm like a fish out of water anywhere near 8th Avenue and the whole Hell's Kitchen neighborhood. It was a welcome site to see St. Marks and the huge ugly glass building on Astor Place (that I would totally live in if someone bought me a place there). The familiar sites of 7A and Tompkins Square Park, the Duane Reade on the corner of 2nd and B the old homeless man who makes his bed on the side of the deli my roommate and I call Mini Whole Foods on the corner of my block.

And my legs don't even hurt that much today.

God!!

Once again, I'm made to feel guilty after reading a message on my Myspace bulletin board.

Now you can feel guilty too!

The message is as follows:

I would like to know who really believes in God on myspace. There is no bribe of a miracle or anything like that. If you truly believe in God, then repost this and title the bulletin as "God". If you don't believe in God, then just ignore this...thanks.

In the Bible Jesus says..."If you deny me before man, I will deny you before my Father in Heaven,".


I mean, technically I didn't ignore this post because I'm re-posting it here. But I'm only re-posting it because I want to make fun of it so chances are my seat in Hell is warm and ready. And hopefully beside a celebrity.

At Borders

Today I was at he Borders at the Columbus Circle to use the bathroom. I was with a couple of friends and we were meandering about the store and stopped at one of the many book displays and began to leaf through a few of the more choice titles. As I read aloud from the new fill-it-in-yourself diary penned by America's sweetheart Miss Paris Hilton, I noticed that the woman standing at our same "book station" was giving me dirty looks. As if my reading aloud was getting on her nerves. Mind you, she was a also leafing through a book. . . .an accessories guide for cats, to be exact. Not only was she giving me dirty looks, but at one point she actually pushed my friend Adam because she was trying to get a hold of the Broadway Meets Hollywood coffee table book in front of him!

Luckily I didn't see this happen. I was being one of Those People Who Talk Really Loudly On Their Cellphones In Public Places. But if I had, rest assured friends, I would have put her in her place. I would have let her know that Borders is STORE. Not your HOUSE. Stop skipping your crazy pills. . . .there's a reason your shrink prescribed them. You obviously are lacking the ability to effectively engage in social interaction. And STOP PUSHING MY FRIENDS AROUND.

What Really Sucks?

Having a huge pile of work that has to get done before I leave tonight and it's 5:45pm.

I need my weekend to start already. I can't do numbers anymore.

KJs Rock!

THIS is really funny.


Being the karaoke phenom that I am, this website hit my funny bone REAL HARD.

Just have a look at the link above. Here are a couple of my favorite tips and etiquette for the perfect karaoke experience.

* Do not bring your drink to the staging area. Also singing while drunk does not usually help you sing better, although it may be amusing for others to watch. But if being the amusing drunk isn't the image you are going for, then drink with restraint (and call a cab if you are drunk).
* You will notice that there are different performance levels. The golden rule is that you clap for everyone regardless of their singing ability . Never make fun of anyone.
*Do not swing the microphone by the cord. It ruins the equipment and you could injure someone. Besides, it is distracting and does not positively add to your singing performance.

Also I like that karaoke DJs are referred to as KJs. This means I was a KJ in college. That's a great amendment to the old resume, eh? Brandy Crawford. . . .KJ extraordinaire.

For those of you who don't know, yours truly was a KJ for two years of her college life. I was also a wedding DJ. This means there are about 20 couples who were married from 2001-2003 who have pictures of me in a lesbian-riffic tuxedo playing "Wonderful Tonight" for their first dance and also teaching the Electric Slide to the flower girls and ring bearer. I hosted a weekly karaoke show at a bar near my college and needless to say I'm sick of this "How about I sing Brandy, You're a Fine Girl. Just for you sugar."

Herein lies the problem with ones name being the title of a popular 70s ditty. But I'll get into THAT in another post, friends. And if you're lucky, maybe I'll put of a picture from my wedding DJ days. I'm always up for a laugh.

Yahoo News

I'm not ashamed to admit it. I get most of my news though Yahoo News headlines on the yahoo.com home page. It's the default page on my browser so whenever I get a hankering for some websurfing, I can check out the hours relevant headlines before I begin my internet journey. Today while taking another break from real work to check personal email and download Carrie Underwood songs, I came across this.

It's not that this piece of news makes me feel any particular way. It's just that sometimes maybe PEOPLE DON'T CARE.

I am a fan of Laguna Beach though. It really sucks you in.

See it to believe it

Just when we thought everything was all right something like this comes along.

This is why blonde haired blue eyed kids creep me out.

Too Good Not To Share

SEND ME YOUR PIC AND I WILL LET YOU KNOW IF YOUR GOOD LOOKING OR NOT - 35

That's right--another really great men seeking women Craigslist posting. The body of the message? "Send pic."

Amazing to know that this guy was given the divine right and knowledge to separate the beautiful from the hideous. Husband material? I think so ladies. I think so.

PS: Here's a Brandy pet peeve--people who can't get your and you're right. Contractions are our friends people!

Some 1:30am Thinking

For a while I was trying to set a world record for number of New York based comedians I could bang within four months. I came to my senses after Mistake #5. I should have realized my error at Mistake #2 but then along came Mistake #3 and he was so great that when he turned weird, Mistake #4 was already so cute and texting me. By the time I realized that was not to be forever, Mistake #5 was calling me because I was drunk at a bar and accidentally gave him my phone number.

And let me be honest for a minute: I think I just ran into Mistake #6 at an open bar party in the West Village. He called yesterday and I’m really contemplating getting into this mess again.

I Smell Great

And that really makes a difference.

Not that I usually smell bad. I'm always clean and fresh. But I bought this new body wash and its really rocking my world. And I'm not going to tell you what it is because I'm selfish like that.

It's my signature scent.

I was running some errands today and I kept catching whiffs of my great smell. Add that to the fact that it feels like spring outside even though we're in mid-November and you're working with something fantastic.

A Confession

Sorry--this is another Myspace thing. It's on my mind right now so I'm going to get it out there.

When you join Myspace you automatically get Tom The Myspace Guy added as your friend. This way you have at least one friend and if you're browsing around profiles you can tell who's lame and who's not. If people only have Tom as their 1 friend--they're lame.

But anyway. I'd never clicked on his profile before and I just did. And I have a confession to make. Tom The Myspace Guy is kind of REALLY HOT.

Just wanted to get this out there.

Also for those of you who are bored at work click here. You won't be sorry.

Best Bulletin Ever

I signed on to Myspace this morning and this was the first bulletin I saw:


When Jesus was on the cross..... You were on his mind!

Repost this with the title "Myspace 2" or you are denying him


In the Bible it says "If you deny Me before man, I will deny you before My Father"

1 cross + 3 nails = 4given



PS: I don't need this kind of guilt first thing in the morning.

Leonardo DiCaprio

I saw Titanic on opening night. I was 16 and really had no idea what the movie would be about (besides the boat sinking). Three hours later I was crying so hard my stomach hurt, but also. . . .I was in love.

I was IN LOVE with Leonardo DiCaprio. To this day I have seen almost all of his movies and I will be the first to defend him if anyone has shit to talk about the man of my dreams. For my 17th birthday my best friend bought me a Leo poster--a great shot from Romeo and Juliet where he's looking through the fish tank. . . .perhaps because he has spotted me? One can only hope. I still have the Leo poster. It has followed me faithfully from childhood bedroom, to dorm, to first apartment, to my new digs in New York City. It's always right by my bed, watching over me in all its laminated glory.

And it's always a conversation starter. Most men coming back to my place, ready to rock and roll if you will, are not expecting to be watched by Leo as they try to perform to meet my expectations. It's my hope that one day, one day soon since he's broken it off with Gisele, that Leonardo DiCaprio will come into my room and we'll have a good laugh about the poster and then he'll lay me down and take me to heaven.

A girl can wish right?

In reality this is what will happen if and when I do ever meet Leo, the finest man alive.

Setting: A very loud, very trendy, very secret New York nightclub
Characters: Brandy, Brandy's friend, Leo

Brandy's friend: Hey, I think that's Leonardo DiCaprio.
Brandy: (heart leaps into her throat as she looks around, suddenly her mouth is dry) OH MY GOD IT IS!
Brandy Friend: Let's go and try and dance next to him!

At this point Brandy's body isn't really cooperating. She has spotted Leo DiCaprio in the flesh and is about five seconds away from totally flipping out. Just as she thinks she's regained her herself, wonder of all wonders, Leo is moving closer to her. He's now standing mere inches from her. She looses control of her entire body and suddenly her martini glass falls to the floor and shatters just as Kanye West's "Golddigger" starts playing over the speakers. Leo looks over after the crash and smiles a smile that says "Oooh, dropped your drink. That sucks." Brandy's entire mouth is dry and she is rooted to the spot. She vaguely feels her friend trying to pull her away from the glass on the floor. Brandy knows that she's about to say something. Something that only Brandy would say. Leo is only inches away. She reaches out to touch his elbow.

Brandy: Are you. . .
Leo: Yeah.
Brandy: I. . . .I love you.

Then she faints.

How Black Is Too Black?

If I get one more Myspace message from some young thug who's asking me to "Holla back a cha boy" because "Girl, I lik ur pic." This is usually accompanied by several pictures that these fellas took of themselves in oversized basketball jerseys, doo-rags and Phat Farm pants intended for someone about 300 pounds heavier.

I realize that I'm a Black woman. And I am all about supporting my race. But seriously, I can't support the constant conscious use of incorrect grammar and speech. Dialect and accents are one thing but Ebonics is NOT about keeping it real and true. It just sounds, for lack of a better term. . . .retarded.

So. . . no. I do not want to holla back at cha. I'm not ya gurl. I do not like ur pics and I feel slightly dirty that you've seen mine. And not "durty" in a good way.

What A Girl Wants

An hour of head. Three orgasms. Then he can leave, making sure there's pistachio ice cream in the freezer for when she wakes up and wants it.

Arrested Development

For those of you who don't know, Arrested Development is one of the best shows on television. Comes on Mondays on Fox and everything about it just on point. The cast is amazing, the writing some of TV's best. Unfortunately due to lack of viewership Fox is pulling the plug after two seasons.

And I feel bad. Because I am always telling people to watch yet I'm never around to watch it myself. I end up catching reruns on odd days or watching the DVD box sets that my friends have.

So although it's one of my favorite shows, I'm one of the reasons it's being cancelled.

In other TV news, someone finally came to their senses at the WB and they're taking 7th Heaven off the air. 7th Heaven has been on since I was a freshman in high school I think. It's one of those shows that I end up watching not because I want to, but because there's something so nauseating about it I can't seem to turn it off. Kind of like when you know something hurts but you keep poking at it anyway.

Foreplay, Text Message Style

So this guy got my number and we haven't gone out yet or anything but here's a little sample of the text messaging we had going on in the wee hours of the morning recently. A little backstory--we met at a Halloween party and I was dressed as a Very Fun and Very Sexy Tennis Pro.

Him: hi, sorry i missed you. . . are you wearing your costume?
Me: only if you want me to. you thinking about getting a lesson?
Him: sure, how long do they last for and how much?
Me: since you're a beginner it would take a good while. but i'll cut you a deal on the price because i think you're cute.
Him: That sounds fair. . .since i'm the kind of student who likes to please his teacher, you'll have to tell me exactly what you want
Me: Oh I'll be very specific. And i'll expect great results
Him: I look forward to it. . .
Me: Let me know when you want to set up a time. New students are my favorite
Him: I will. I can't wait to please my new teacher. Good night. . .
Me: Your new teacher can't wait to be pleased. Sleep tight

I know--I can't really believe that happened either but I'm looking at it on a positive note: I went to sleep with a smile on my face. I don't know if I'll ever go out with this guy but it's nice to know that he knows how to have a good time.

PS--Because I tend to overthink things sometimes, don't think that the thought that maybe it was a friend of his fucking around on his phone hasn't crossed my mind. It totally did already.

Boys and Girls in 2005

So I was just browsing around on Friendster and I stopped in on my ex-boyfriend's page. What did I find?

His relationship status has changed to "In A Relationship."

I'm over him. I'm dating a really hot, really nice guy right now. And I've been dating and I've had other boyfriends since we parted two and a half years ago. But it's still a slice to the old heart to see the change in status. Because that means he had to go in and change it. Because I know it used to say single. Because mine still says single.

I feel slightly barfish. But I'm done barfing over him and for now, I'm done writing about him.

An Ode To Ridiculous Myspace Surveys

If you're on Myspace then you know about the survey action that is always popping up in the bulletin posts. Yes, I usually fill these out but I rarely repost them. Who really needs to know what kind of shoes I'm wearing right now or if I've ever been beaten up?

Since my boss is out of the office today and I'm OFFICIALLY fucking off for the rest of the day I decided to take yet another useless information survey. Not only that, I'm posting it below so that everyone can learn a little something extra about the Girl Behind The Blog.

So read on . . .and come away with a little extra knowledge about Brandy C.

TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF - The Survey
Name:	Brandy
Birthday:	March 28th
Birthplace:	Atlanta, GA
Current Location:	New York City
Eye Color:	Black
Hair Color:	Brown
Height:	5'8
Right Handed or Left Handed:	Right
Your Heritage:	Southern and Black
The Shoes You Wore Today:	My new green and pink Sauconys
Your Weakness:	Funny men
Your Fears:	Drowning
Your Perfect Pizza:	CHEESE
Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year:	not to be completely broke
Your Most Overused Phrase On an instant messenger:	hahaha
Thoughts First Waking Up:	Is it Saturday?
Your Best Physical Feature:	Smile
Your Bedtime:	late
Your Most Missed Memory:	Dunkfest at Donovan's pool
Pepsi or Coke:	Coke
MacDonalds or Burger King:	McDonalds
Single or Group Dates:	What? Single!
Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea:	Lipton
Chocolate or Vanilla:	Vanilla
Cappuccino or Coffee:	Cappuccino
Do you Smoke:	A lot of the time
Do you Swear:	All of the fucking time
Do you Sing:	I love karaoke
Do you Shower Daily:	I try to
Have you Been in Love:	Once upon a time
Do you want to go to College:	Been there, done that
Do you want to get Married:	If Leonardo DiCaprio will have me
Do you belive in yourself:	I feel retarded answering this
Do you get Motion Sickness:	Yes I do
Do you think you are Attractive:	I'm the hottest thing east of the Mississip and north of the Mason Dixon line
Are you a Health Freak:	No
Do you get along with your Parents:	Love them
Do you like Thunderstorms:	Not really
Do you play an Instrument:	Flute for 8 years
In the past month have you Drank Alcohol:	Too much
In the past month have you Smoked:	Oh yes
In the past month have you been on Drugs:	Two many to count
In the past month have you gone on a Date:	Yes I have
In the past month have you gone to a Mall:	I live in New York City
In the past month have you eaten a box of Oreos:	No
In the past month have you eaten Sushi:	Yes
In the past month have you been on Stage:	Yes
In the past month have you been Dumped:	I don't like to say "dumped". But yes, I have "parted ways amicably"
In the past month have you gone Skinny Dipping:	I live in New York City
In the past month have you Stolen Anything:	only the hearts of preteen boys
Ever been Drunk:	only everyday of my young adult life
Ever been called a Tease:	perhaps
Ever been Beaten up:	only by my abusive ex-husband Marco
Ever Shoplifted:	Bra straps from Goodies
How do you want to Die:	umm. . .never?
What do you want to be when you Grow Up:	Famous
What country would you most like to Visit:	Spain
In a Boy/Girl..
Favourite Eye Color:	as long as they're not red
Favourite Hair Color:	I'm a sucker for brunettes
Short or Long Hair:	hate the ponytail look
Height:	tall
Weight:	skinny
Best Clothing Style:	fabulous
Number of Drugs I have taken:	I lost count around age 20
Number of CDs I own:	What's a CD again?
Number of Piercings:	just two--one for each ear
Number of Tattoos:	none
Number of things in my Past I Regret:	Nothing
CREATE YOUR OWN! - or - GET PAID TO TAKE SURVEYS!

PS--You didn't read wrong--I REALLY haven't eaten a whole box of Oreos in the past month. If I had said yes to that, I could be termed a FAT-ASS SLOB.

Myspace CREEPINESS

So today, I got a Myspace message. And it's so WEIRD and CREEPY that I posted it below. Just in case the police need evidence if I turn up murdered by this PSYCHO.

Note: This is a DIRECT COPY-PASTE.

Dear Brandy,

I would like to apologize for clogging your inbox with this message, but I found your ad so irresistible that I had no choice but to write to you.

My name is Trent and I recently moved to New York City. I have only known one true happiness in the world, and that is the unmitigated joy of a woman. My life's passion is to give everything of myself to a woman--to devote my every waking thought to her happiness and to endeavor to play a part in the fulfillment of her life.

I began my journey in high school as I approached women as a submissive maid and errand boy. What began as a simply rendezvous to clean their house would almost inevitably find it's way into transcendent conversation. To this day I still speak to several of the women that I served in my formative years.

I followed this path through college. My personal life would vacillate from dating a sorority girl for six months, to becoming deeply involved as a woman's servant for the next six. There wasn't much rhyme or reason to my movements--I simply followed what felt natural at the moment, but I began to find that the relationships where I acted as a woman's slave were remarkable. No two encounters were ever the same (whereas I could often mark the geography of a traditional relationship with a map--understanding where I would find myself after the third date or second month). What initially began as a simple arrangement of my doing a woman's errands and chores would inevitably lead somewhere else. I might find myself hiking to the top of a mountain at dawn for yoga poses, training a woman for a marathon or hosting a dinner party for her friends.

It took a while to place my finger on the pulse of the situation, but, when I finally found it, the truth was simple: By building a relationship of unmitigated honesty, devoted to the sole purpose of finding a way to be a part of a woman's happiness, we both found a place devoid of the usual constraints of inhibition. By freeing myself of any desire beyond contributing to the woman's life, by making myself her slave, she began to grow in a completely unbounded way.

Throughout college I worked as an assistant to a lawyer, but one day we stumbled upon the topic of submission and the relationship morphed into slavery. I acted as assistant, sissy maid, errand boy, cook, chauffeur and personal trainer to her and her daughter. It was perhaps the most fulfilling 18 moths of my life, and what drove me forward in the world.

I found myself living with two dominant women this year--as their roommate to the world, but slave in actuality. I truly enjoyed my time with them, but one of the women recently became engaged and asked that I simply be her flatmate. I find such transitions too painful, and so I came to New York to write and find a new owner in this magical city.

I am seeking a woman to take me as her property. I am eager to be your maid, assistant, errand boy, chauffeur, masseur, personal trainer--literally ANYTHING you ask of me, will be done. To the world I will simply be your employee and friend, but you will know the joys of having a handsome man cleaning your house in the outfit of your choosing. The ability to wake me from a deep slumber at 3 am to fetch a favorite snack; an attractive man to work like a dog for you and your friends' amusement, and a true and constant confidant. Through this time I will be completely devoted to you, but you will be free of any restraints to pursue your romantic desires.

I suppose a little more about me would be helpful. I am a 25 year-old Jewish man. I love music, theatre, movies, sports and literature. I am clean-cut and well spoken. I have a great relationship with my parents and have worked as a personal trainer and personal assistant at the highest levels.

Would you have any interest in allowing me to be your slave?



OH MY GOD!! WHAT THE FUCK??!!??

Expensive Jeans

There's something about a pair of expensive jeans.

There's a reason they cost so much. You slip on a pair of denim that has a $225 price tag and you will see--You are a MODEL now. You are SO THIN. Where's the paparazzi, because you my friend look INCREDIBLE. So this is why I dropped $70 on a pair of stolen True Religions on the corner of 6th Avenue and 22nd Street. These jeans usually cost half my rent. Yet there they were, my size and everything, waiting for me on the street for only seventy dollars. So of course I did what any fiscally irresponsible 24-year-old would do. I dipped into my emergency fund and bought jeans from a homeless guy who I'm sure had just lifted them from the Bloomingdale's stock truck.

I put these babies on and I feel like a rock star. I can do anything! I am so awesome!

I thought I would be content with this purchase. I finally had Expensive Jeans sharing closet space with my assortment of standbys from Express, the Gap and of course, my favorite Levis. Because I am cheap, I never pay more than $29.99 for blue jeans so the fact the a $70 pair was making its home with me was something short of a miracle.

But alas, reader, I was not content. Which is why I found myself at Urban Outfitters yesterday rummaging through the sale section they try to hide on the lower level. This time the brand was Hudson and I didn't care if I had to paw through every item on clearance I was determined to find my size. If you want to get me into a store all you have to do is say that it's 50% off the already redlined price. That phrase is music to my money starved ears. So imagine my surprise when I saw that Hudson jeans were a part of this magical sale. These kickers usually top in at $150 but with the sale I could get a pair for only $50. Sure $25 would have been a lot better but beggars can't be choosers. And quite the beggar I was last night. I went to the dressing room about a million times before I found the right fit.

But I found them. And they make me feel incredible.

Watch out New York. Brandy's got her new jeans on.

The Sweet Smell of Success

So Friday night I end up at a birthday party at a bar and lo and behold TWO of the men I decided to invite home this summer are there and talking to each other. By the time I made it to the party, I was already what I'd like to term "Ready To Roll." The music was loud, I was amongst friends, and even though these two guys were there and APPARENTLY ARE FRIENDS, I had no worries. Why? Because a Hot Man met me at the party and they both saw him with me. And he was obviously there WITH ME. It was a kind of sweet poetic justice that usually only occurs in a good romantic comedy. I don't know if they cared or not, especially since both are of the "I don't return phone calls and I think just because I girl makes out with me she wants to be my girlfriend" school of thought.

So while I didn't actually achieve anything Friday night, I left the party feeling particularly fulfilled.

Bill's Story

A co-worker emailed a picture to me.

There was no story attached to it. Just a picture of this guy who I like to call Bill Rogers. I'm guessing Bill had a bit of a wild night. He probably hasn't had a drink in going on ten years, but hey, the old wife is out of town at a bridge tournament and a couple of old college buddies want to get together. Just a couple of drinks to remember old times at the Michigan State Beta Kappa house. A couple of drinks turns into a quite a few straight whiskies and before he knows it, Bill Rogers and crew have arrived at Toppers, a low class strip joint two towns over. After a lap dance by a fake baked blonde with double D fake tits, Bill decides that yes indeed, he would like a visit to the champagne room.

Somehow the champagne room turns into Room 107 at the local Red Roof Inn with just Bill Rogers and Candi, his new friend. She plies him with more alcohol and maybe even a joint. He can't remember the last time he had this much fun. He falls asleep while she goes down on him.
Then she takes the picture that you see below and she leaves the disposable camera behind but remembers to take Bill Rogers' wallet which is stuffed to the gills with ones and tens.

Bill wakes up the next morning completely embarrassed and has no idea what happened the night before. He is upset with his complete lapse in judgement and heads home, defeated. The disposable camera ends up tossed carelessly into the back seat of his Ford Taurus. He tries to put the events of the previous night behind him. No more drinking. No more strippers.

A few weeks after the incident, Bill wife Joanne decides to take his car to the market. She sees the camera on the backseat and takes it to CVS for one-hour development. Bill always forgets to get film developed and it'll just sit there and rot if she doesn't take it in. Besides, it looks like the camera they used a few months back at her mother's retirement party.

The film is ready in exactly an hour and she can't for the life of her figure out why the cashier seems to be smirking. She pays for the pictures and heads out to the car. She opens up the package. And there are pictures of the retirement party, her mom is all smiles. One by one she leafs through and then at the end--her Bill.

I don't think I need to say anymore.

Monday Morning Freak Out

So it's Monday. And already that's NOT a good thing. I get into work and as usual, I'm using my work hour to peruse the internet. And I come across this fascinating article in this week's issue of New York Magazine. Have a read so I won't be the only person TOTALLY FREAKED OUT about all of the possible Stephen-King's-The-Stand-End-Of-The-World propaganda that this article is making seem completely plausible.

I think I need to watch some uplifting movie trailers to soothe my frayed nerves.

Extreme Makeover: Home Edition

I am strangely drawn to this show. It's SO OBVIOUSLY LAME, yet if I'm around on a Sunday night, chances are I'll be watching it. Everything about it reeks of cheese. And the families that choose are always so incredibly IN NEED that I wonder how they've managed to survive all this time without the help of a network television show. It's always a single mom with like five kids, two of which have cancer and one of whom is mentally retarded. Or a family that takes in fifteen at risk teens who also have cerebal palsy. And there's always the Special Room for the Special Kid who more oft than not has no arms or legs but it making a difference by starting non-profits for kids just trying to "live the dream."

And Tyler from Trading Spaces is probably THE MOST ANNOYING GUY on the planet.

More importantly, where do they FIND these people? Am I just a bad person? Because chances are I will never decide to adopt four wheelchair bound retarded blind kids. I saw one episode about a family with two deaf parents and two kids--one normal, the other deaf, blind and AUTISTIC. What kind of cruel joke is The Great Maker pulling with THAT?

Also, the looks on these poor peoples' faces when they get the Big Reveal is just too much. All the tears, the hugs, the feelings of Finally Getting What We Deserve. And Tyler telling the blind kid in the wheelchair with no left arm and dream to play NBA ball that "He's a Winner. No Special Challenges are going to keep this kid from going all the way! He's my hero."

And while we're on it---this may make me sound like a terrible person but it needs to be said: Sometimes, disabled people who Don't Let Anything Get In Their Way really make me want to hurl. I understand about making the most of a sucky situation but all that "We're not different" bullshit really wears on my soul.

Friendster

I really hate that Friendster has that option that you can see exactly who has viewed your profile. I mean I wouldn't mind if I could see who has viewed my profile. But I REALLY don't need people knowing that I have viewed their profiles. Internet stalking is one of the last frontiers for gathering information anonymously about your crushes. I personally think that it's a great way to collect fun facts about that new possible person in your life. But now you can count Friendster out as a possible source of information. Because he can see that you've been checking him out. And that's really embarrassing.

Hello DreamBoat

So last night I met my celebrity crush. If you know me, then you know who this is. If not, you'll just have to guess. I'd rather not write his name here on the off chance that he googles himself and my blog is a hit. No need to cause unnecessary stalker-like drama.

Anyhoo--I did it. I met my celeb crush who I will refer to as DreamBoat. I've loved him for months now and through chance and happy circumstance, I became aquainted with a number of his friends. So it was only a matter of time before this happy meeting occurred. Because I drink more than I should, I often say things that shouldn't be said. You know, those thoughts that are always floating around that you're supposed to keep inside? Well when I've had a few drinks, like most of us, those thoughts tend to just pop right on out of my mouth. As I said before, I've met quite a few of DreamBoat's friends. Usually, I was drunk. And usually the phrase "OhmygodyouguysarefriendsILOVEHIM!!!" is what I would say.

Which is why when DreamBoat walked in last night and we made eye contact I knew that he knew exactly who I was.

I had been so nervous all day, almost barfing several times. But I got my head on straight, put on a "I'm not even trying but I'm still SO HOT" outfit and I set out to get properly introduced. I show up with a gaggle of friends in tow who are all looking for him and saying loudly "TALK TO HIM!" So I see him go to the bathroom and I decide to make my move. I wait around at the bathroom for him to come out and then I "casually" bump into him. My ultimate line?

"Hi I know you. We talked on the phone!" (Yes this did happen about two months ago)

His reply? "Yes we did. How are you?"

Introductions followed and I am proud to report that although DreamBoat did not get my number we are now AQUAINTANCES. That's right. Get jealous.

I was planning on spitting major game with DreamBoat last night but unfortunately a small blond who had on way to much make up and couldn't be more than 18 was COMPLETELY WASTING MY FLAVOR. So I made sure to stand close to her a couple of times throughout the night so that DreamBoat could compare and contrast for future consideration. Towards the time I was getting ready to leave, DreamBoat sat out our table and since I'm the person who always has something to say, I regaled the small crowd with a story about my drug dealer.

I would also like to point out right now that DreamBoat is about three inches shorter than me and kind of looks a lot different in the flesh. No worries though, he's still Hot Stuff. And now that I've laid the groundwork, I can really pump up my game next time I see him.

DreamBoat is not one of my MAJOR celeb crushes but he's definitely in the top 5. So I am completely elated that we finally met. And that his friends obviously said something to him beforehand about the crazy black girl in Alphabet City who loves him so much.

Sometimes I Barf

As a sophomore in college I was in love with this guy named Dan Shaughnessy. I spotted him the day I moved into the dorms and fell head over heels immediately. He and I became friends but we never dated. Even though I had the hugest crush on him, I never made a move. My 19-year-old self, sadly enough, didn't have the game that the Brandy of today possesses. So I loved him for a year and what was my only constant? That without fail every time I knew I was going to hang out with him, I would barf.

You know how the kid from South Park always barfs on the girl he likes when he sees her? Well, that's me. I am that kid from South Park and anytime I have a crush on a guy, I usually have to barf right before I see him.

There. My secret is out. I'm a boy bulimic. I know that outwardly I have the confidence of a Queen but let me let you guys guys know this REAL FAST: I always get really nervous right before a big date (or a little one) and I usually have to puke. It starts out as a hot flash and I'm always SURE that I'll have to change clothes because my arm pits are DRIPPING. Then my stomach starts to turn and I rush to the bathroom, carefully holding my newly done hair out of my face and always remembering to wipe of my Juicy Tubes lip gloss. Then I barf up whatever I've eaten and I know that if I'm going on a dinner date that I'll have to get a salad and look like a total anorexic because nothing else will stay down.

So there. I barf before I meet up with guys. It's cool. Most hot girls do.

Oops.

Who wants a hug?

I know you all remember the Hugga Bunch. That cherubic line of dolls that came out in the mid-80s who were all about the hug. I happen to possess a copy of the Hugga Bunch television special that first aired in '85. If you've never seen this, make sure that before you watch it, you are COMPLETELY FUCKED UP. It will make the experience that much more genuine. Here are some pics from the movie.

Anyway--these dolls are really creepy looking. But I definitely remember having the one with the purple hair and LOVING her. I may have to do an Ebay search on this one.

PS--How FREAKY LOOKING are the puppets from the movie?

Power Moms

Right now I'm taking a break from converting euros to US dollars in order to write this.

There is a Power Mom in my office. That's right--a Power Mom. She's got on a Jackie O blazer and her hair looks a little like maybe she and a fork got too friendly with an electric socket. How anyone can take her seriously I don't know. I do know this though: My mom cusses like a sailor and has a tendency to embarrass me with her loudness, but I think I would have a really serious drug problem coupled with years of therapy if this woman was my mom.

I think my boss wants to do a TV show with her. I really hope he changes his mind because I think this one could be a loose nut.

Halloween

When you're little and Halloweeen rolls around, you want to be a monster or a witch or something scary. Then puberty hits and if you are a girl, Halloween becomes an excuse to bring out your inner slut. Put the word "sexy" in front of any noun and some girl will buy it and wear it to a Halloween party.

My fallback costume is usually a little number I like to call Dr. Delicious. The Doctor is my sexual alter ego and when I don the corset and garters and thigh hi stockings and stethoscope, most guys are willing to come into my office for a private "consultation." This year, however, I decided to have one of those costumes that you have to explain to everyone--you know the ones that you offer explaination for and then sit back as everyone praises your creative ingenuity. A few years ago I purchased an outfit at everyone's favorite pre-teen store Wet Seal. It's a little red one piece number that screams "Rap Video Vixen." So even though I have worn this particular outfit in public NOT as a costume on many occasions, I broke it out this Halloween and paraded around town as "That Rap Guy's Girlfriend" from the infamous start to everyone's favorite party tune "Baby Got Back." I bought a white baby at KMart and had a tattoo on my arm of her name--Shakiya. I padded my butt, got fake nails with jewels, and basically exploited a stereotype of my fellow Black Woman.

I would like to note now that wearing something as small as my one piece number as well as a push up bra and fake ponytail and imbibing all kinds of alcohol and drugs is bound to cause some trouble. At the party I went to on Saturday night, I was kissed my no less than five times by random men and since my ass was out for the world to see, it was a free for all for anyone who wanted to grab it. At one point, I was taking pictures in the middle of 36th Street and was almost hit by a car. The next car tried to get me to get in--apparently the time of my life was waiting if I'd just get in the car with two ugly guys and go to Jersey.

I don't have pictures yet from Halloween night since I went old school and I used a $4 disposable I bought at Duane Reade. Remember--those are the cameras you have to actually take in and get developed. Can't see those pics instantaneously.

Monday night, the actual night of Halloween, I changed up a little. I still wore the same outfit but I magically transformed myself from That Rap Guy's Girlfriend into a Fun Tennis Pro. Here's the picture:

I know--it's hot, right? I'd also like everyone to know that I was spitting MAJOR game on Monday night. I made myself proud.

I know I promised a crazy Halloween recap but as usual, I was expecting craziness and while it might have been SUPER CRAZY, I was a poster ad for why people should not drink and do drugs. Why? Because she wakes up the next morning with only vague memories of what happened the night before. Her head is pounding, and her mouth is feeling like perhaps it's full of cotton, her body is struggling because it's dehydrated and there's a film of nicotine and tar coating most of the organs because that's what happens when she goes through two packs of Parliament Lights and three or four bowls full of the Green Goodness. And when she looks back through pictures from the night in question, she doesn't remember any of the men she is obviously making out with. Oops. So although this story isn't as funny as it is real, I will put up a picture of what I looked like the morning after. Enjoy.



Hope everyone had a happy Halloween.