In a shameless attempt to get more people to pay attention to me, I’m taking on guest bloggers. So if you’re under the misguided notion that you’re funny, or cool, send an email with your post to email@example.com or drop me a comment and I’ll more than likely throw it up here. There’s no pretentious application process or anything- the truth is, I’m just lazy, not picky and willing to delegate my responsibilities to someone else. There’s no pay, no reward and no recognition. Happy Blogging!
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
A few days ago I realized that in my first post, back in December, I mentioned this friend that I used to have that totally screwed me over, and then I promised to explain later. So, that never happened. Whoops. Sorry about that. In case any of you actually care, here's my "explain later," for two reasons: one, because I don't want to look like a liar, and two, because I'm past due for another blog post, and I have nothing specific to write about. So here it is.
I met this girl (we'll call her "L," for the sake of protecting my own privacy) in college, and we were instant friends. We became really close really fast, and we bonded over the fact that our professor looked exactly like Mr. Burns from The Simpsons. I'll chalk up our eventual implosion to the fact that we grew tight pretty quickly, and we really didn't know each other as well as we thought, and therefore I didn't realize that she was a raging sociopath.
I'm not saying that L didn't have some good qualities- I stayed with her for a few weeks while I looked for a new apartment; she drove me to the hospital when I got sick one time; we had our favorite restaurants, favorite movies, favorite TV shows (Top Chef night was a staple with us). Our families were like second families- we got invited on all each others' family vacations. She had spare keys to my apartment. It was like we were a married couple, without the terrible sex or the long-settling resentment.
After a couple of years, things started to turn towards the negative. L would chastize me for bringing up comic book references even though she greeted people with a fist bump (um, hi? WONDER TWINS?) and spent hours a day playing video games by herself. If I didn't like or dislike the same things she did she would give me shit about it and try to wear me down. She "banned" me from watching SVU marathons, Family Guy and ESPN Classic, and informed me that talking about this stuff is why I was single. Excuse me, but the last time I checked, every guy I know loves sports and Family Guy. When Halloween came around, she told me I couldn't spend it with her and the rest of the group because I wouldn't dress up as someone from Mario Party. That was fine with me, because I had a date, anyway. Explain that, resident guy expert. Also, have fun at your Nintendo convention. Loser.
I knew we were on our last legs when she started separating me from some of her other friends because they "didn't want to meet me." And, as if that weren't bad enough, she actually informed me that she'd told some of them that I was "slow." I mean, I know I didn't discover a new Theory of Relativity or anything like that, but I'd like to think that I'm right up there in terms of intellectual thinking. I didn't even know where the fuck that came from. Anyway, you'd think with the constant "reminders" L gave me that I had a minimal social circle (unlike her, of course- she took her phone to the bathroom with her in case she missed a text), she'd want to introduce me to as many people as possible.
To my relief, the end came pretty rapidly. Even though she had a boyfriend that was a total tool that followed her everywhere and missed all the signs that she was fucking, like six other people- without protection, of course, because I was the dumb one- she still accepted a date with a guy that she worked with. We were hanging out at my apartment one day when she told me about said excursion- a trip to see the local minor league hockey team. I said that it sounded like fun, and for the rest of the day, she kept dropping hints that she wanted me to go, so it "wouldn't be a date." She even thought that I might like him, so I agreed to go.
I swear she set this up to be an epic failure. The guy, who we'll call "R," calls her to let her know he was on his way, and L lies to him that I had invited myself. Great, now he hates me for horning in on his date. It didn't matter though- as soon as he picked us up I realized that the dude totally looks like Beavis, from the MTV cartoon. If they ever do a live action movie, I'm serious- no audition needed.
Anyway, we both get into the car and I sit in the back- not exactly a prime conversation spot. The music gets turned way up and they immediately start talking about people from work. The game goes kind of OK, and I kind of get pulled into the conversation a little bit, and then I get up to get food. I come back, and L tells me that he thinks I'm hot, and that she told him I'm single- which, is weird, considering they'd been making out all night. They then proceed to ignore me, and I get to spend the next few hours watching them eat each other's faces. Considering I never told her I'm not interested, I'm pretty pissed off. I wouldn't ever date this guy- it's the principle. Technically, she's a whore.
The next day, R sends me an IM- I assume that he got my screen name from L. He tells me that he does like me, and he's sorry for hooking up with my friend, and that he knows she has a boyfriend, blah blah blah and shit. Please- I was there. She started it, but it's not like you begged her to stop. He goes on to say that he knows I'm a Jets fan, and invites me to his house tomorrow for Monday Night Football. Then, weirdly, he tells me the plan is to watch the game, and then go to L's house. Even though I find this really odd, stupidly, I say yes.
The next morning, L texts me to congratulate me on my date. This whole thing is way too Three's Company for me- I realize this is retarded, and when R calls me to tell me he's on his way, I let him know that I'm no one's second choice, and cancel. Twenty minutes later, L sends me another text (she's allergic to phone calls), yelling at me for canceling. She tries to force me to go on the date, telling me it will "be good for me." I say no, and the conversation ends. The next day, I realize that L has blocked me from Facebook, and we haven't spoken since.
So, that was it. The end of a really fucked-up era. I've asked for my keys back multiple times, only to be ignored. Whatever, it's not like she'll come here or anything. Unfortunately, I can't get rid of this guy, who's a psycho too, BTW. He's obsessed with guns and shooting people and planning "dates" for us that will never happen. He used to constantly declare his love for me over IM's (I'm dead serious), so I blocked him online, but he still tries to get me on Facebook chat even though I always ignore him. You'd think after a month or two he would get the hint. He used to text me, but he hasn't in a while. I keep forgetting to delete him from my friends list, but now that I wrote this blog, maybe I'll finally get around to it.
Anyway, sorry to get so serious (and so long- thanks for sticking around). Next time I promise I'll be funny again.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Being stuck in LA for the last month has really sent my Bullshit Meter through the roof. I realize that it's only in the 60's here, but it's pretty obvious that the real reason people aren't going outside during the day is because they're afraid their plastic bodies will melt in the sun. The Oscars were this past weekend and I couldn't have one conversation without some nominees' name being dropped (in nickname form, no less). On Monday, I went to a Kings game with my friend and we were the only girls not wearing fake eyelashes, tank tops and six inch stiletto heels. Um, do these whores realize that the game is played on an ice rink? That's cold? My brain needs something that doesn't fit into the "fake" category STAT.
Lately it seems like I'm not even safe when I watch television. Every three seconds there's a new "reality" show that pops up and invades my otherwise pleasant existence. Remember when it came out that the The Hills was scripted and everybody freaked out like someone had just found Moses in an Ed Hardy outlet store in New Jersey? Please. Like any show on TV can accurately qualify as "reality." If I ran the networks, I would make sure that reality shows were actually real. Here's how I would make over the worst offenders:
AMERICAN IDOL: I have the greatest idea ever for this show. While the contestants sing, suspend them over a shark tank. With every negative comment from the judges (especially that asshole Simon Cowell), the rope gets lower and lower. Then, at the end of the night, the contestant that gets voted off gets dropped into the tank and eaten. The crunching sounds, of course, would be magnified by the microphone.
I would totally watch that.
SURVIVOR: There are no actual "survivors" on this show. Does anyone really believe that the producers would let any of their cash cows die of starvation or get seriously injured? Hell, no. I say let these people really "survive"- throw them into a different locale every year. Start off with Harlem, and switch it up. South Detroit, South Central LA, anywhere where you can get shot just for making eye contact. Then tuck the cameramen away in a nice, secluded apartment with a doughnut and coffee spread and let the fun begin.
DANCING WITH THE STARS: On my show, "dancing" means "shoot at their feet so they have to move around a lot to live." Also, the general public would get to pick who would be on the show, and they would fire the guns themselves. Note: I have shitty aim.
THE APPRENTICE: Donald Trump would work for me. I'm a fan of hard labor.
THE REAL HOUSEWIVES: I really don't give a shit about these overprivileged, underworked, egotistical bitches from Orange County and the Upper East Side. Show me the "Real" Housewives of Bumfuck, Idaho that sit around all day watching Maury, eating bonbons and growing their asses out of their trailers. The hour would fly by.
TOOL ACADEMY: The girls on this show would get to beat their boyfriends with actual tools (hence the clever title). The "winner" gets hacked with a chainsaw.
I'M A CELEBRITY, GET ME OUT OF HERE: The contestants are all from my list of Most Annoying Celebrities, and the island is the island from Lost, which no one can find. That way just when they think they get to leave, SURPRISE!- the island won't let them, and they all stay there forever, until everyone is killed by the Smoke Monster for being obnoxious.
THE REAL WORLD: Take seven strangers that have just graduated from college and follow them around with cameras as they try to live in a shitty apartment in a poorly lit area, apply for jobs, struggle with car payments and eventually have to move back in with their parents. So, basically, record the lives of everyone else on the planet that isn't being sheltered by MTV.
Just don't change Jersey Shore. I have a feeling the kids on that show really are that dumb.
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
First of all, I need to apologize for my ridiculously long absence. I've been in Los Angeles for the past couple of weeks, visiting friends and helping my dad switch apartments. I'll return to the real world shortly.
Being in Los Angeles has been a real trip. My dad lives here, so at least I have a free place to stay with HD and I'm not paying for food or anything. But other than that, LA is a fucking nightmare. I'm a huge Lost fan, so I kept praying for the ending to the pilot episode, but I still touched down at LAX. Six hours after I landed, I already wanted to go home.
I actually lived here for work for a few months a while ago, and it was during that time that I realized that the difference between New York City and LA is monumental. It's not just the weather, or the time change- it's the way people dress, think, speak, act. I walk everywhere, and people here think that's weird. Sixty degrees for me is t-shirt weather, and people in LA think that requires a parka and boots. At least three times a week I've gotten a comment on my Brooklyn accent, which I know is present, but actually isn't as pronounced as people here think.
|THIS is how it's done.|
Actually, all of that is pretty amusing. It's the people I've met that make me want to puke. Aside from the few friends that I have here, the name-dropping and celebrity-whoring is so rampant that I constantly have the urge to throw up. Guys are always coming up to me in their stupid sunglasses and telling me they can make me famous. I'm sick of hearing who these clowns know and what they do. Take note, Asshole: just because you filmed your little brother riding his tricycle through your backyard twenty years ago does not make you a producer. The fact that I've managed not to laugh in any of these idiots' faces makes me much more of an actor than any of them.
The girls are pretty horrible, too. I've managed to befriend the three of them with real jobs- probably because they're not from LA- but most of them are total morons that moved here to win an Oscar, and when that failed, they just wound up doing Oscar for ten dollars an hour.
The entire time that I lived here, I was completely miserable. My job was a dead-end that I knew would lead nowhere, and I have absolutely no interest in the bullshit parties and club scenes that I was being thrown into. My family and friends were 3,000 miles away, my jet lag was always up my ass, and the people I met only talked about themselves, celebrities, or themselves and celebrities. I was over it in about three days, but miraculously, I lasted another few months without totally losing my shit. My boss, who luckily knew that he couldn't provide me with any suitable work, told me I could do freelance projects back East and let me go home. I was packed in two hours.
The first thing my friends did to welcome me back to this planet was take me out for New York City pizza. Being a native New Yorker, I have incredibly high standards for pizza. All pies must meet a certain criteria:
A) Thin crust (none of this deep-dish bullshit- what the hell is that? Eat me, Chicago.)
B) A little heavy on the cheese, but not so much so that it constitutes the title of "extra cheese"
c) Extra drippy with the oil- you must look like The Joker after you eat it
No toppings, either. Pizza must always be eaten plain. Pepperoni is OK, because that's a classic, and so is extra sauce or cheese, because those are used as ingredients. But that's it.
Also, none of this pussy-ass dabbing the oil off the pizza, especially if you're a guy. You may hold the slice at an angle, so the oil drips off, but any guy that wipes the oil off must immediately be beaten, or forced to wear a dress.
Also, the sign of a real pizza place is one that only has pizza and heroes- no pasta. I love pasta, but if you want ziti, go to an Italian restaurant. If you want pizza, go to a pizza place. Don't do both in one setting. It's not kosher.
The greatest pizza (possibly the greatest food) you will ever experience in your life is the original Ray's Pizza on West 11th and 6th in Greenwich Village. Anyone who eats it will denounce all other pizzas. Trust me. (The other Rays, while also magically delicious, are just cheap imitations.)
What Los Angeles is sorely lacking is a good pizza joint. All of their pizza is treated as a fucking gourmet meal. There's always like, nine toppings on it, and they're always fucking weird and scary, like goat cheese or mangos or some shit. This is wrong, and should not be tolerated.
|Who came up with this bullshit? They should be shawshanked.|
So, now I've got an intense craving for New York City, and I've still got a couple of weeks left here. Honestly, I'd rather be on Shutter Island, so if anyone wants to send a ferry to bring me back home, please do so. Email me and I'll send you the address here.