Brandy on....

Brandy on NY1 and the weather:

"When NY1's Weather On The Ones tells a lady that the high will be 78 and scattered showers with overcast skies, this lady puts on a raincoat. Imagine her surprise when she gets outside and not only is there no rain, the sun is shining and even though it's only 9:30, the temp has broken 80."


Brandy on gay bars

"Happy hour is happy hour no matter how easy it is to get a blowjob in the bathroom."

I just saw this on the street

Anyone can be star. For real. Fifth Avenue and 20th Street.

Make it happen today.

Observation Of The Day

Hanson sounds quite a bit like Sheryl Crow. When I first heard "Mmmbop," I totally thought it was Sheryl Crow. And when I saw the video I was really confused as to why she wasn't in it.

I love Strawberry Bubbalicious.

I mean really, who doesn't love smelling like a seven-year-old with sticky hands?

Brandy the Champion!

I did it everyone!! I'm a champion!!

I got a new job. You're now reading the blog of a bona fide television producer. Tomorrow is my last day at my current job so for today and tomorrow I will be doing what everyone does on their last days: fucking around.

I've started today out completely hungover and making it happen on four hours of sleep. I went out for some celebratory drinks last night and ended up taking a twenty minute break on the fourth floor of my six-floor walk up building when I got home, stumbling past the homeless man in the wheelchair on the corner of 2nd and Avenue C who promised as I went by to buy me the world if I'd just take a look at his homeless little penis.

I've got some shopping to do today, long lunches to take, and lots of internet browsing. The last days in an office require no work on the part of the lady leaving. People come to me with their problems here and I smile and nod, thinking, "Not my problem anymore suckers!!"

I'll probably need to poke around and have a look at the office supplies around here and see how many packs of Sunbrite Super Sticky Post-its I'm going to want to be taking along with me.

Spaces are important

Without them, IM conversations might get HILARIOUS.

It's 2pm

Do you know where YOUR old people are?

Hopefully they are not doing any of the following:

• Baking children in ovens in their house made of candy
• Dying grey hair blonde
• Driving without glasses
• Sitting on the side of the sidewalk on 4th Street and Avenue B smoking Virginia Slims while hooting at young girls who walk by
• Cruising for hookups on Myspace
  

Happy Hostess

The following is the picture of what a Happy Hostess should look like.

I think that I would be perfectly happy being pleasantly tipsy all day and hosting parties at my home. If there's any way that I could get a job that would pay me to do this, I'd never want for anything else. What can I say? I moved to New York because I heard tale that all people do here is get pleasantly tipsy and work in cool modern offices and do lines off the receptionist's desk. That's why people here never sleep.

Say what?

"I'm a brunch bitch, motherfuckers."

Thugs Need Hugs

"Maybe I'll stop by."

This is THE New York City line. Whenever you invite a New Yorker to something, they always use this line. Even if their evening will consist of sitting around with a pint of Chunky Monkey and a joint. One can never seem too interested. In this city that never sleeps, one never wants to be the person who has nothing to do.


I decided yesterday around 4pm that I should have a roof party. Most of the people I invited gave me that line. And they all showed up and brought friends.


Enjoy the pictures.

People should give some thought....

.....before sending me messages.

Like this one.


Nice to know that judging from the pic that this guy saw he thinks I'm classy. Green velour onesie doesn't exactly make me automatically think "classy."


But then again, I judge.


A lot.

Jarret's Dream

My friend Jarret had a dream last night. And he blogged about it here.

Go ahead. Have a chuckle or two.

Welcome Summer

I'm not much of an outside person. But I do love summer.

I am from the South. There, we consider anything below 65 degrees "a little chilly". I never owned a real winter coat until I moved here and discovered that life does indeed go on if there is snowfall.

Summer has always been my favorite season. No school, long hot days, no judgement for running around barefoot. My brother and I planned our days according to HBO's schedule from the TV Guide. We gorged ourselves on Chef Boyardee ravioli and Fruit Punch Capri Suns. The highlight of our summer week was the trip to Blockbuster where we could each get a movie and a video game. And if we were lucky a side stop at McDonald's was in the cards.

Summer is a little different now. First of all, there's no break. Apparently this "work world" doesn't believe in giving people mandatory summer vacations. They're going with the "year round" system. I'm not the biggest fan of that. Also, since the days are longer, many bosses feel that they can keep you longer at work. Daylight and 8pm may be synonomous in summer, but there was no universal memo indicating that I'm to be kept for a minute OVER 7 regardless of the fact that it looks like it's 4pm outside.

But summer is here and it's still my favorite. Many abhor the sweltering city streets in the months of June, July, and August. Not I. The constant drip-drip of random ACs wear on the nerves of some. I welcome those drips with bare shoulders and halter top tan lines.

Today is the longest day of the year. I hope everyone is planning on doing something worthwhile. I'll be trying to keep my shit together for the masses here in the office even though I could pass out cold right now for a good three hours.

I just woke up

The worst morning:

I open my eyes and stretch a bit, the fan is on full speed and I'm nice and still sleepy. I glance at the clock. 8:20. Perfect. Just---

FUCK.

I'm supposed to let the cleaning lady in at work at 8 fucking 30.

I leap out of my bed and into the first skirt on the floor. There's still mascara crusted to my eyelids and I totally have to pee. But there's no time for that. I don't even know if my flip flops match as I run out of the house. My mouth feels like a small animal died in it; my stomach is aching for me to break my fast. And I'm completely pissed because I'm about to have to shell out $10 for a goddamned cab to get my ass to the office. So much for the nice lunch I was going to treat myself to in honor of the summer solstice.

In the cab on the way over all I try and remember why it is that I allowed myself to wake up so late. There was an open bar the night before. Followed by some getting of some food. There was a brief interlude with friends at my apartment. And I was supposed to go to bed. And I think I may have actually started getting ready for bed. But somehow, as is often the case with me, I ended up back out. And not just back out, but "far away from my home and in the West Village out". There were promises of half-off bottles of wine. There was Stella in plastic cups. And at one point, particularly late in the evening, I found myself at a comedy show doing standup for a room of five.

And now it's 9am. And I'm not sure how I'll be making it through the rest of the day.

He said what?

He went there. He totally went there and is not ashamed.

Technology rocks

I am constantly amazed. I just called a phone number, said something and now it's posted!! What this is good for I don't know. Maybe I'll write some songs and sing them here.

But probably that won't happen.

Yahoo Knows

I love it when my homepage reads my mind. Just what am I thinking about at 2pm on a Tuesday afternoon?

THIS!

You know you want answers. Go ahead and click.

Identity Theft is Retarded

Currently I am on the phone with my bank because apparently there has been some fraudulent activity on my checking account.

I am the world's worst when it comes to my own money. My credit card and student loan debt is out of control, and I haven't balanced my check book since August of '01. I generally just get a bad feeling in my stomach which tells me to stop spending and wait on the next paycheck. I have every bank statement unopened stuffed in a box under my hamper. I never keep receipts. I check my balance online maybe once every couple of months. I live under the misguided impression that one day I will be making lots of money and/or marrying rich, and then I can just pay everything off.

So imagine my surprise when I get a call at work saying that there may have been some "activity" on my account. Imagine even more surprise when it turns out to be fact. I would have been upset. But when I'm usually only working with an average collected balance of $50 BEFORE I've been ripped off, it should be the person who stole from me who's upset.

So for any of you who are thinking about a life of crime--try stealing from someone who actually has money. There's nothing more embarrassing than using a stolen credit card and having it be declined.

Two Funny Things To Rock Your Lunch Hour

From my favorite film--"The Silence of the Lambs"






And a new take on everyone's favorite family film, "The Shining"

My Debut

Time for a bit of shameless self-promotion.

About a month ago I had my cube "pimped" for a little web-show/Honda promotion. Now it's online and ready for your eager eyes.

Here's Brandy Crawford in her internet TV debut. I'm episode four.



And just so you know, that's not my real office and I'm not really that lame. But I am a GREAT actress.

Myspace Husband?

Kids today have some serious issues. And some serious money to back those issues up. Where did this kid with braces get the money for a plane ticket to the Mideast?

My daughters are safe

As long as I move to Colorado I can get those little bitches married off at 15!!

If I play my cards right maybe I can just marry my young daughters to my sons! Get rid of all of them with just a couple of cheap Vegas ceremonies. I LOVE Jesus.

Lines of the Day

"I mean, I'm willing to sacrifice for the sake of the threesome."

--Christos, while sitting on my couch drinking PBR and discussing the state of certain sexual affairs


"If you're not coming in with at least three or four people with you when you go out, I don't know where you're trying to go."

--Christos on rolling into parties with an entourage

25 is the new old

I received this in my Myspace inbox today.



I've been having a bit of a quarter-life crisis and bullshit like this is NOT helping. Is 25 really so old that the mere mention denotes TWO question marks? And this guy's name is GIN? Well he can kiss my ass and go fuck some thirteen year old boys, thank you very much. I'll take my age and sage knowledge to someone who's 30!

Rich Kids

I hate it when 15-year-olds are dressed better than me. I also hate 150year-olds because I remember when I was that skinny.

Sometimes for a little extra cash, I work parties in the West Village. The "work" consists of me bringing in three or four of my friends, going to a rich person's incredible West Village brownstone and helping said rich person out at the party. Usually I sip white wine from a plastic cup while making sure that the canapes are being passed, the bar is stocked, and no dirty glasses are sitting around. In other words, I get a couple hundred bucks to hang out in a cool apartment for 5 hours with people I would never come into contact with otherwise.

Last weekend three friends and I showed up to work a party. It wasn't really a party so much as a get-together for the parents and students from the school of the daughter of party giver. So basically I had to cater to ridiculously wealthy children. The daughter attends one of those one-named private all-girls schools on the Upper East Side and the minute her little 15-year-old friends came flouncing in, I felt the barf rise in my throat in a flurry Prada bags, Paper Denim, Chloe shifts, and Marc Jacobs flats. I was wearing some J Crew sailor pants, a tank top of indeterminate brand, and a pink thong that kept peeking out when I bent over and my purse? The lining was falling out of it and I didn't care because I bought it for $20 on the corner of 18th and Broadway. Snippets of conversation included,

"Is it okay that I have on jeans? We just got back from the country house."

"I"m doing a two week internship for my mom's friend at Vanity Fair and then maybe going to Italy for a month."

"I couldn't decide if I wanted the blue Marc Jacobs one or the orange Prada one, so I got both!"

"I mean, I don't care if he's 19. That's not that old."

Needless to say, I had many plastic cups filled with white wine. I smiled politely at these ladies who, more often than not, gave me dismissive nods and vacant smiles when I offered mini pizzas and lemonade. I wanted so badly to say, "You guys are so retarded that you don't even know what you have right now. You'll stay rich your whole lives and never appreciate it."

I can't be too bitter though. At least I'm not in high school anymore.

Gross?

I think so.
Don't worry--it's a rhetorical question and I'm an authority on gross things.

Help Screech!

I just got this link in an email. As an aspiring stand-up comedian with pretty awful credit, I hope I'm never reduced to where Screech has landed. I wasn't a teen sitcom star though so maybe I'll be okay.

Possession is 9/10ths of the law, folks

I don't have boyfriends.

Okay. I HAVE had boyfriends. But generally I tire of men after a couple of weeks and I'm ready to move on. I don't play games. I'm very upfront. And, of course, I am still a lady. I'm not a long term kind of gal since there's always another guy around the corner.

I've always been selfish. I hate to share. It's only recently (i.e. since college) that I've been able to lend people things or not get completely pissed if I come in and my roommate is watching my television. I'm very much a MY kind of girl and I'm working on trying to not be like this anymore.

But there is a steadfast rule that I hold to no matter what the situation. It epitomizes my selfish tendencies to the max. There are no exceptions, and if this rule is broken, friendships could be compromised and/or lost forever.

If I see him first, he's mine.

That's right. It doesn't matter if a man and I only exhcanged the briefest of glances in a crowded elevator or if he's all over me at a club. It doesn't matter if I have a huge crush or I only love him from afar. If I'm the first to say he's cute, I have marked my territory. I have "peed on him". He's mine.

This seems to be a well known fact among women. If you're out with your girls and one of them brings a guy along, even if you've never heard her mention him before, HE'S HERS. So you don't see her flirting with him? Be a good friend and ask before you attempt to get your groove on with him. Or you will have a very pissed off gal pal in your midst.

So while I'm always jumping from one guy to the next, possession is 9/1oths of the law and as long as he's with me, hands off.

It's funny--I'm usually so laidback and ready to chill. But the minute I sense someone up in my space, "on my man," the claws come out and I get very passively aggressively ready to fight. I guess it's the part of me that always wanted to be on Jerry Springer shining through.

Happy Flag Day

Who's proud to be an American?

This guy.

And these guys too. I bet these guys LOVE grilling out.

Is there some kind of unofficial Redneck Handbook that requires rednecks to have mullets, a love for cheap beer, and a neverending loyalty to the American flag? I don't know--they don't give the handbook out to Black southerners like myself. I'd imagine people would get a little up in arms with the whole chapter in the back listing the best spots in America to lynch nonwhites.

My Next Guy

I'm always looking for the next guy. It's my fatal flaw in all relationships. Once I've got someone, I'm looking for the next. I think that if I could just get everything I want in one man, I wouldn't have such ADD. So here's a list of what I'm looking for. Anyone wishing for further information about me and my funness can consult my Myspace page for more details.

Some suggestions:

1. He needs to be okay with the fact that I will never clean my room. Yes, you will always have to step over a pile of clothes, shoes, bags, as well as various lotions and body sprays to get into my bed.
2. He's got to have a head for money. I am terrible with my money. I'd like for someone to help me take care of that.
3. No bad dressers. I'm not saying he's got to look like a Gap ad. But no chains on the wallet. And definitely NO denim shorts.
4. No roommates. I have a roommate. I need a place to go with no roommates.
   
5. I need him in Manhattan. Not just any part of Manhattan either--I'd really prefer if he lived in a one bedroom with good views and perhaps a roofdeck in the East Village. I can do the West Village but please no lower Manhattanites--I only believe in taking the train once a day and that's only to go to work. I don't do traveling.
   
6. Always ready to rally. Whether I'm inviting him to a play or to a party with people I don't know, I want him to be ready for anything. I'm a fan of just walking into places and finding fun. He'll need the same mindset if this thing is going to work.
7. Always ready to smooch. Alleys in Tribeca, in front of the movie theater on Union Square, outside my office in Chelsea, or in front of the fountain in Central Park, my next guy has got to be ready to smooch me at the drop of a hat. I'm not talking PDA-disgustingness, but just fun smooches which will make every singleton girl walking by mutter, "Fucking couples."
8. He's got to be down with hanging out. I am really good at hanging out and doing absolutely nothing. Hanging out could or could not include making out, smoking or not smoking, watching TV and/or staring at the wall. Hanging out does NOT include making plans on the weekend that have to be carried out to the utmost. Hanging out more often than not involves my couch, some snacks, and a remote control.
   

Just a sampling of what I'm looking for. Does this list make me high maintenence? Or just completely fucking awesome?

Line of the Day

"Sometimes it's like I'm a pipe and he's the plumber. It's like he's trying to unclog the pipe. How can a man be 35-years-old and not know what he's doing?"

--Stacy on how she doesn't like her sex.

Three things you don't want to deal with before, during, and after sex (there are many more but these are the three that came to mind first)

1. Fingers that have forgotten the meaning of "gentle" and instead feel like two prongs that are trying desperately to retrieve something from the confines of my uterus
   
2. Proper protocol after the queef: Acknowledge and have a laugh or Mortified silence?
   
3. Always having to say, "That's not the right spot. That's my asshole."
   

World Cup Fever

Apparently I haven't caught on to the World Cup fervor that's sweeping the nation. I have been observing though. I don't know much about soccer except that the clock always runs down which I like--not like in football and basketball with the clock stopping every two seconds. Soccer players tend to be hot and I'm really okay with that. But usually I've found soccer fans to be a little on the strange side. Not that I can really judge since I used to be such a college basketball "fan." But I feel that people who are really into the World Cup fall into a few distinct categories:

1. Foreigners
They wear the team jerseys and remember back to the old days in Mexico or Italy in when played football in the dusty streets of some forever unknown European South American town. They completely support their home team and are constantly shouting at the television in Spanitalirenchugeuse.

2. Hipsters
Suburban city transplants who played one year of JV soccer in 10th grade. Playing around the soccer ball was the cool thing to do on the quad of whatever New England liberal arts school they attended. Hipsters love the World Cup because they think that by embracing it, they are showing the world how international they can be. But really they're just clogging up the bar with their skinny black jeans and detached ironic demeanor.


3. The Dork Guys From High School
These guys were never hip enough to turn into hipsters. They played soccer for a few years but never excelled. So post high school and college, they work as IT kids or as graphic designers and talk about how awesome it would be to get some of the guys together and kick the soccer ball around in the park. But of course that's just all talk because the Dork Guys From High School only hang out with girls who they're obsessed with but have convinced themselves that these ladies are "just friends who might want something more one day." Too bad, they'll probably play in the World Cup before that day comes.

Of course there are other people who like to watch soccer. I'm not one of them. And whenever I find out that someone is into that, my eyebrow goes up much as if they'd just asked me to church. I automatically think that this person is trying to impress me with his or her worldliness and I put them into my You Are So Lame But Maybe We Can Have A Drink file and see what happens.

Viva le World Cup!!

Christina is back!!

And her single is making me smile. And DANCE!!!

Best of Craigslist

I've found my dream job on Craigslist.

Girls Get Paid To Kick Someone In The Face in Our Kick Fight Videos

---

Reply to: gigs-170806945@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-06-12, 4:51PM EDT


We are looking for beautiful girls for our kick fight videos. The work is simple and plentiful. If you are somewhat in shape and are pretty flexible with your kicking skills, then we can definitely use you permanently. Why do a 9-5 job for $8-10 bucks an hour when you can make $50 bucks per hour just for showing up and kicking our actor in the face and stomach. No one is hitting or kicking you, you are the only one kicking butt in our videos. Dont worry we have been doing this for 8 years and we are all trained pros here. Nothing brutal, really easy to do. You will be kicking bare feet. You do not have to be jackie chan, as long as you are willing to kick, we can show you how easy it is. This is a great stress relief and you will learn how to defend yourself as well from this type of work. Ever wondered what it would be like to kick someone ass, now you can get paid to do it. All you will be doing is getting paid to kick our actor in the face, stomach and get paid for it. You will not be NUDE, NO PORN, SEX, etc in our videos. You will strictly get paid $50 cash per hour to kick someone in the face and stomach with your bare feet. These are simple 5 minute staged kick fight story scenarios you will be in. You will be paid cash on the same day as the video shoot. You can work as many hours as you like weekly. Do this part-time or full time. If you are interested you must submit us a picture by sending it to bookdepotmail@aol.com. Or contact Maria, Ricardo or Roman at 516-403-7193. We can feel you in on more details, plus we have girls we use now that you can talk to about it more as well. (If you are timid, not serious or do not have a backbone please do not reply. Serious replies with photos only. Thanks



Everything about this ad is hilarious. If you didn't laugh, maybe your laugh muscles aren't working correctly.

I'm flipping the fuck out.

I just came from Whole Foods and my life has changed forever.

I saw Jodie Foster today. I saw her, and at one point she touched my arm. I was helping myself to peaches dipped in clotted cream in the fruit aisle and she walked past me and brushed the sleeve of my fleece!

I have been obsessed with Jodie Foster since I was ten years old and first saw The Silence of the Lambs. It was and still is my favorite movie of all time. As hard as it may be to believe, I used to be quite shy. I know that now I’ve become the life of the party but it was not always so. I read a lot of books and watched a lot of TV. I was quite the inside kid. Then I decided that Jodie Foster is awesome and I wanted to be just like her. So I started going out for clubs and plays and basically becoming the fun person-party starter that I am today.

She was very tiny and looked her age. But I still think she's totally beautiful and if she EVER asks me out I will TOTALLY say yes.

Also, for the first time I sent in a celebrity sighting to Gawker Stalker. And if Blogger was working I could actually POST THE SCREENSHOT OF IT.

And one more thing: Happy Birthday Mom!!!! She's 35 again!!

Just so everyone knows

Blogger is having some issues that I can't even begin to comprehend and they are SERIOUSLY cramping my posting style.

I've got a wealth of material and all I want to do is share it. But when I try and load this damned pages, something's JUST NOT RIGHT.

Hopefully 6/6/06 didn't mark the end of Google. Because my gmail has been running particularly craptacularly lately.

An Awkward Hookup That We've All Had

Here's a little stream of consciousness for you that may or may not have happened to me in the past.

After the date.

Don't forget to tell him, Brandy. You always wait until the last minute. Don't do that this time.

This guy is great. He's really great. I'm so glad he's coming back over. I know that it's the first date and it wasn't really a date, just some shots and a few vodka martinis, but still. Should I suggest watching a movie? He's so cute--I think he really does kind of look like Seth from The OC. Let me turn on some music--I'll ease him in and let him think that I have awesome taste is music--put on some Bob Dylan b-side and follow it with an equally obscure G-Love and The Special Sauce live tune. He's slightly hipster, this one. He'll like that. I think I'm drunk. Pull it together, Bran.

On the couch. I'm talking too much to him right now. I always do this. Shut up Brandy. Just shut up. He's going to have to kiss me to make me shut up. His hand is resting nicely on my thigh. I like this. I like this.....and finally. He's kissing me. I'm definitely drunk. Whoa--he's so into it. Oh dear. He's sucking my face--I need to pull away....and....okay. This is nice now. Ease up on the tongue Mister, no need for such a thorough exploration of my mouth and molars. Oh, hand grazing a boob. I know it's padded, I know, but I promise they're worth it....ooooh. That's nice, I like that. Now he's grabbing my boob. Things are going to get frisky with this one.

Uh-oh. Oh no. Oh no, when do I tell him? It's getting along now. Oh, the hand is on my stomach. Feeling quite nice inside right now but I'm going to have to tell him. Or do I?

Just say it Brandy, just say it--Hey, I'm on my period right now.

Oh no. If his fingers keep wandering he's going to get quite a surprise. I mean it doesn't matter--guys don't care if you're on the rag. But the question is this: how do I not ruin the mood by taking the tampon out?


True story people. Welcome to my life.

A New Era In Internet Stalking

The two biggest uses of the internet are, as everyone knows, Stalking and Porn. In the past few years, as Myspace, Friendster and blogs have given everyone the chance to control their own little piece of the internet. And it also given us the chance to find out a wealth of information about people by merely typing in their names.

We've all done it. And often this passive method of stalking leads to answers that are better known before you invited a possible suspected child molester into your East Village apartment. One of my friends internet stalked this guy she'd just met and found out that he'd been stripped of his teaching certification because he took more than a literary interest in some of the 15-year-old members of his honors English class. Internet stalking has led me to find personal ads that may or may not have been placed in the past three months by a man I'd like to be sharing some time with. And even more importantly, you can find out what other people have to say about the subject in question. I have been known to skim Myspace profiles checking out what comments have been left and by whom.

The internet has turned the dating scene into a "who can learn the most about the other person without asking the fastest" contest.

And now we have this!



I don't know whether to laugh or be overjoyed that now I don't HAVE to check Mr. Fine's Myspace or Friendster profile to see if he's broken up! This site is essentially eliminating one step form the process. And being the fabulous New Yorker that I am, I know that time is money. And now I can save a little time and maybe do something productive with my work hours.

Pop Punk Is Priceless

I love Pop Punk too. My friend Jamie posted about her love of this subgenre last week and it got me to thinking about how much I too love Pop Punk. Put on some Blink 182, some Panic At the Disco, and you've got yourself a party. If I'm walking down the street and Fall Out Boy comes on my iPod, I'm not walking to the F train on Houston Street anymore. I hear pop punk and suddenly in my mind, I'm heading out with my high school chums in someone's old clunker and hyjinks are about to ensue, most likely at the beach or at someone's lakehouse. I'm on the road to self discovery and Yellowcard is my soundtrack.

Pop punk gives you a good feeling inside. All the songs say, "I'm kind of angry but mostly happy!" Life is good in pop punk songs, every problem can be traced back to the root problem of a shitty girl or a shitty parent or a shitty teacher. The melodies are carefree and repetitive. True, I do love choreographed dance and pop punk isn't exactly conducive to that, but.....it's always fun to rock out by jumping around and shaking your head up and down, right?

The Break Up, or Why I Love Vince Vaughn

Critics be damned.

I saw The Break-Up and despite all the hype and the are they or aren't they really dating; looking past the Brangelina spawn and the drama that followed the shooting around, I saw The Break Up and I thought it was REALLY GREAT. So great in fact, that as soon as Virgin has it on the $8 rack, I'll buy it.

I think I loved this movie because I love Vince Vaughn. He's everything a man should be...to me. I love him in everything he's in, from the fabulous (Swingers, Old School) to the mediocrely okay (Psycho, Domestic Disturbance). He's so fine and funny and his entrance onto the screen is enough to send my heart aflutter.

He played the role of the asshole boyfriend so well in this movie that honestly, I was a little surprised that someone like Jennifer Aniston would be with him. Girls like her don't date guys like him--where's the cosmic balance? Girls like her date guys like Paul Walker or some other Abercrombie model lookalike. The don't date guys with substance.

Like I do. I'm waiting for you Vince. You won't be disappointed. I wear onesies.

Working Out

When I was a junior in college I moved off campus and into my first apartment. It was a beautiful townhouse with a pool and a porch. We lived right off the school bus stop so my roommate and I didn't need parking permits. My room was huge, we had great parties and my roommate was the best. She was very healthy and also a vegetarian. So when we lived together I was in the best shape of my life. This girl was 5'11 and ran six miles everyday. I never worked up to even a mile but I was hitting the gym every other day and taking runs with her through the intramural fields behind my house. She cooked the meals and I learned to live without meat. It was a great year.

Then she went to France and I moved in with three other friends into a huge old farmhouse on the outskirts of the Athens housing projects. Thus began the summer of 2002, or as I like to refer to it, "The Summer of Doing Absolutely Nothing." My roommate Caroline bought an awesome new smoking toy and our days were spent migrating from the back porch to the front porch to the TV to Wal-Mart for Betty Crocker Thin Mint brownie mix and then repeat. That was the summer I lost my virginity (I know--I was an "Everything-but" girl 'til then). That was the summer I became a stoner. That was the summer I finally fell out of love with the guy who broke my heart repeatedly and unknowingly since the dorms sophomore years. The summer of 2002 was a summer to be remembered.

It was also the summer that I stopped working out. I'd never really worked out before then but after I never did. That was the last time I actually belonged to a gym too. I've been blessed genetically with the ability to eat all manner of unhealthiness and still manage to be thin. And until now I've been content to never drink water, I have meals that consist of peanut M&Ms and Cherry Coke, and many times my first drink in the morning is an ice cold beer. I've tried to go on health kicks but they only last a day and I'm back to munching on cheese puffs and slurping down root beer floats.

So I guess this is a roundabout way of saying that I hate working out. So I have no idea why someone would PAY to be worked to the BONE. Which brings me to this fun conversation.

My friends are an honest bunch.

Burning Questions

1. Why am I not dating Vince Vaughn?
2. Does NY1 realize that the map they use for the rail and road report hs been out of use for over two years? There is no 9 train anymore.
   
3. Most importantly--HOW did Duane Reade get my email address?

I hate these

Just so you know: You WILL NOT get a new pink laptop by clicking that "this party girl" is Lindsay Lohan. In fact, you will essentially be signing up for an inbox full of spam.

There's a reason the answer is so easy and it doesn't involve anything having to do with new laptops, Chili's gift certificates, and/or iPod nanos.

It's Friday

And I'd like to make some lists.

Things I'm Into Right Now

1. The Britney Spears song "Overprotected."
2. Dr. Katz, Season One on DVD at Best Buy for $14.99
3. The upcoming weekend
4. Summertime
5. Gnarls Barkley
6. Real Italian guys
7. Onesies for grown up girls
8. Air conditioning
9. Hooking up with fun guys
10. Performing comedy
    

Things I'm NOT Into Right Now

1. Pregnancy
2. The hours between now and going home
3. Denim shorts on guys
4. Jalapeno peppers on anything
5. My aching neck
   
6. The World Cup
7. Credit card debt
8. Guys who don't call
9. Seeing live music in small spaces
10. McDonalds Asian chicken salad

I love this

I just saw it and I thought I'd share. I can't believe she goes through the hoop.



Get this video and more at MySpace.com

Afternoon Delight

My boss left early today and I've finished my to-do list so I'm just hanging out right now instant messaging with the masses.

Then I get this IM.


Apparently he's referring to this. After I get over the inital shock that people OTHER than my friends read my blog and thhat he actual utilized the "IM me" prompt on the About Me page, our conversation continues.


Because I'm not a fan of conflict (even if it's online and there's no threat of physical harm to myself) I agreed to blur out his name. But since that's done I'd like to take a minute and let people know that if you ever send me anything retardedly lame such as the Myspace message that this winner sent, I'll probably post it here so that other people can laugh at you. Not because I'm mean spirited, but because I like to share humor with the masses. He sent me a funny and incredibly lame message--of course I'm going to milk it dry for a laugh. He asked me to bring my girlfriends to hang out in his music video. Do I look like I turned 15 yesterday? Becuase that's the only time in my life I would have thought something like that is okay to take part in. His publisct is angry? How did his publicist find my blog? And most importantly why is he reading my blog?

But of course I saved the best for last.

Is he serious? I hope so. Well, at least I know that people I don't know read my blog. But can we at least all agree that the message I posted originally was the LAMEST thing on the planet? To quote just a few choice lines:

"Boo you're so cute it's GOT to be a crime. I'm calling 911."

"When I opened your page, harps started playing and the angels sang...I'm diggin your style hon."

Just ridiculous.

PARTY!!!

Tim is a frequent face on my Flickr stream and also most of the iChat conversations I post are with him. So if you're a Brandy's Blog reader you probably feel like you already know him.

If you live in New York you should come out on Saturday to say goodbye to him as he dedicates his summer to Shakepeare. And it's a good excuse to go to a really fun bar and then to my really fun roof afterwards.

Word.