I was never a fan of Jurassic Park. I know it's considered a classic and everything, but come on. In what actual One Direction Dance Party Hell would somebody greenlight an amusement park where real dinosaurs could get the chance to eat people? Keep in mind this was before Kim Kardashian was around.
You would do it too.
One of the dumbest scenes in that movie was the one with the velociraptors in the cafeteria. It's like, are they serious? Velociraptors were awesome, and also kind of looked like Kim Kardashian now that I think about it, but there's no way they could have figured out how to push against a doorknob. That's where I checked out.
So that film always bugged me because I figured that it could never happen, but then I came across this ridiculous bullshit from Uproxx.com:
So the other day, I was on Facebook looking at random shit when I noticed that one of my friends had posted this:
WHAT THE FUCK.
The chances of me ever having the chance to go to Brazil, although it used to sound awesome, are right up there with landing a seven-figure job or getting five minutes alone with Baby Goose without them ending in a restraining order, but still. NO. This is just- no. I'm done. What circle of Hell is this? This is terrible.
Spiders don't stand a chance. Just sayin.
Everybody that knows me is aware that out of everything in life, bugs are the things that I hate the most, except for like, nuclear war and Justin Bieber. Remember this dude? I couldn't sleep for a week and a half after I found it in my bathroom.
Who said that this was OK??????
Spiders are the worst. I've always been petrified of them. Growing up, I used to get my brothers to run in and crush them mercilessly; now I make my boyfriend do it for me. Last week I was about to get in the shower when I noticed a small web in the corner and I swear to God the scream that I let out woke up dogs in the next three towns. Iron Man ran in because he probably thought I fell down or something and I was standing there, terrified, staring at the floor.
Me: There's a spider! In the bathroom. IM: Where?
(I point to it. He's probably seen crumbs bigger than that.) IM: Are you serious? Me: OH MY GOD KILL IT OH MY GOD.
(He kills it. Kind of.) Me: OH MY GOD IT RAN AWAY. IM: It didn't run away. Me: It's not in the napkin. IM: This is retarded. Get in the shower.
Over the course of the day I kept looking all over his apartment for what I now consider my most worthy adversary.
Every time I heard a rustling movement I jumped, just knowing that the spider had come back to take its revenge. It didn't help that Tits kept posting stuff on my Facebook page about murderous insects that put people in comas and shit like that, which she found hilarious but probably scarred me for life. I finally agreed to get into bed, and I lay there, staring at the ceiling. I decided to shake Iron Man awake, and he was less than appreciative. I can't imagine why.
Me: Will you please go find the spider? IM: It's 3am. Me: He's waiting for me. He wants my soul. IM: This is really happening right now. Me: Please? IM: Goodnight. Me: Please?
(At this point he's started ignoring me.) Me: Please? Me: Pleeeeeeeeeeeease? IM: Jesus fuck. Me: Fine. I'll kill it myself.
(Thirty Minutes Later) IM: Were you really in the bathroom for half an hour? Me: ...no. IM: Did you find it? Me: ...no.
As of today, that little fucker is still at large, and Iron Man is fully aware that he is dating an insane person (he has actually said, "I'm dating an insane person"). The fact that he has not been bestowed with a medal yet is pretty baffling to me; however, maybe that's what the spider wants. It's probably in the same Legion of Doom as the Two-Headed Snake.
I know I'm late on my Dead Space analysis. My New York move finally came through, so I'm just now settling in. I'll get to it sometime before Season 3.2. Or, before they kill off another minority.
So, yeah, about that: I'm finally a New Yorker again. I'm crashing at my brothers' place in Brooklyn until I figure out exactly where it is I'm going with my life, but hey: at least I'm here. I hadn't even left the terminal at LAX before I updated my Current City on Facebook, to which Penny Lane responded,
I love how you wasted no time changing your city to New York, NY.
Fuckin' A, I did. Peace out, LA.
I did, in fact, manage to find some incredible girlfriends there, which in Los Angeles is more arduous a task than locating a pair of real jugs, and of course all of this happened after I had already booked my flight because the Irony Fairy is real. My last night in LA was spent at my friend's acoustic singer-songwriter performance, where I was serenaded and may or may not have actually cried a little (guess which one). All my girls came out to see me off and Kitty knitted me a scarf, which I then slept in because we're practically lesbians. Then we all drank some wine and cried a lot, and I got on the plane.
PS- everyone leave comments about how amazing the scarf is, because I want Kitty to go into business with this. Maybe if enough people love it she'll actually listen to me.
The plane ride was relatively uneventful- no Quadrant of Crying Babies (which sounds like it could be the next title in the Song of Ice and Fire series), although there was an old dude snoring behind me for a good three hours. There was an also an unbelievably magnificent guy two rows in front of me- he looked like Baby Goose if he hadn't slept or showered in a week. I wanted to kidnap him and make him read me the dictionary all day. You know, after the dirty stuff. He was no question my future second husband, so of course all I did was stare at the back of his head and leave without saying anything. Dying alone, 100%.
My first weekend in New York has been spent with my family, due to the fact that last night began Chanukkah in the Nugs house. I did have a gift for my brothers, and while they were certainly very appreciative, they felt no Jewish guilt whatsoever in the fact that they got me (and the rest of my family) absolutely jack shit. Whatever, yo. We're all poor. I also sent Ginny's cats a Christmas gift, and apparently, it made them so high that they turned on each other and one kicked the other in the face. You can get a glimpse of all the carnage here. 'Merica.
He's also a little molester. It's true. He grabbed my boob once in my sleep.
Of course, to acknowledge Chanukkah, a major Jewish holiday, I visited the Christmas Tree at Rockefeller Center because that's an awesome way to ignore my cultural heritage. Holiday season in New York, while freezing my proverbial balls off, is the optimum time to visit the City because it's one of the things that we're famous for- in addition to the Tree, we have the Skating Rink, the Rockettes, the store windows, Macy's- I won't even go on because I've already posted about this, so you can read all about it here. Times Square, on the other hand, doesn't count because no genuine New Yorker gives a fuck about Times Square.
I did, however, receive a couple of gifts to commemorate the holiday. I've been wearing out the aforementioned scarf from Kitty, and I've been really tempted to tell people I made it myself because I've gotten a ton of compliments on it and I have no real discernable talents of my own.
Also, almost as cool, I've been granted the Liebster Award from Christopher at Mixed Drinks & Mixed Feelings! It's been awhile since I've won an award for blogging, so this is pretty great. He also handed this out to my friends (and fellow New Yorkers) Penny Lane and Natalie Paige, so that makes it even better.
Basically, the Liebster Award is given to blogs you think deserve recognition- those with less than 200 followers. You then post 11 random things about yourself, answer 11 questions from the person who gave you the award, make up 11 questions of your own, and bestow the Liebster on 11 unlucky victims of your choosing. So here are my 11 facts:
The one thing about myself that I absolutely hate is my middle name. It totally doesn't fit the rest of my personality and I will never tell anyone what it is. So don't bother asking. Not even with tequila.
I was at the top of my class in first grade. The first time I got a B, I cried.
My first childhood crush was Lion-O from Thundercats. I was four.
I have never broken a bone or sprained anything. This is a total miracle because I'm always tripping over my own feet or falling all over myself.
I have one published piece of writing; it's a poem that's in an eighth-grade textbook.
I have never eaten Nutella.
The first concert I ever saw was the Bangles. I was really young, probably around three.
My family's heritage is about 70% Russian, yet I've never been there and can't speak the language.
I have no tattoos and no piercings, due to the fact that I am terrified of needles.
I went blond once; for my junior prom. It was not a good look.
My mom makes the best mashed potatoes in the world. Ever. No arguments.
QUESTIONS FROM CHRISTOPHER:
1) If you could have any superpower, what would it be?
Oh god. This is like Sophie's Choice, only less depressing and horrible. I'll spare you all the analysis of every single superpower of every character in the DC and Marvel universes (univi?) and just go with Genius Billionaire Playgirl Philanthropist.
2) If you had to move away from where you live, where would you like to move?
Um, already done. See: entire post.
3) If you could see any five bands in concert (past or present), who would they be?
Can I pick Radiohead again? Yes, because it's my blog and whatever I say goes. Besides them (another four times): Led Zeppelin, The Black Keys, Beastie Boys and Daft Punk.
4) You get to spend a week with a celebrity of your choice; who is it?
I think we all know this one. If I mention his name one more time I'm going to come up on police reports.
5) You have unlimited funding for a day; what would you do?
First I would give a million dollars each to my friends and immediate family members. Then I would bank a few mil in savings and never touch it again. Then I would invest in a private island with my own litter of adorable puppies, and purchase a jet to take me there whenever I wanted. Then I would fire the owner of the Mets and the Jets because I can do a better job than both of those clowns. Then I would buy the NHL and get the season started again because SERIOUSLY???? COME ON!
Then I would buy Baby Goose. Because why the fuck not?
6) If you could have any restaurant located IN your house, what would it be?
Ray's Pizza. YES.
7) Favorite superhero?
Second childhood crush: Superman. Faster than a speeding bullet, if you get what I'm sayin.
8) What was your very first blog about?
This is my first blog. Winner and still champion.
9) Drink of choice?
Alcoholic? Anything with vodka. Non-alcoholic? Chocolate milk. I'm an eight-year-old.
11) How many awards have you gotten (blogging or otherwise)?
This brings the Blogging Awards total to eight. I also won some community awards as a kid, but I can't remember them because that was like eleventy billion years ago.
1) If you could only eat one kind of chocolate forever, which type of chocolate would it be?
2) If you could have one celebrity for your "Cheat List," who would it be?
3) What is the one habit you have that you really wish you could break? For example, I swear like a sailor on leave and I know how incredibly not attractive it is, but I really can't help it.
4) What is your favorite condiment? (CondimENT. You little perverts.)
5) What's your one vice? (Alcohol, cigarettes, New Jersey...)
6) Who is the family member you're the closest to?
7) Pick one: Pizza, bagels, hot dogs or pretzels?
8) What, in your opinion, is the most quotable movie of all time?
9) I like that favorite superpower question. Let's go with that.
10) Besides Brooklyn (obviously), what is your favorite type of accent?
11) Describe the perfect zombie apocalypse. And make it sexy.
I like that Blogging Awards are once again a Thing, especially because I've been given one. You don't have to do this, but if you don't, I'll be sad, and that does mean more puppy pictures, so it's really your call.
I was at work yesterday, screwing around on Facebook and not doing anything at all incriminating on the interwebz, because that would never happen, when this viral image popped up absolutely fucking everywhere.
God, I would still hit that. Early and often. I am such a sociopath.
Apparently this is a promotional poster for Only God Forgives, the next collaboration from Baby Goose and his Drivedirector Nicolas Winding Refn, which was already enough to get me running to the theater. This was filming in Thailand (BANG KOK? Clearly not just a clever name) when I was supposed to be there for the film festival last year but the trip fell through. Good news for Ryan, not so good for the rope and chloroform industry. Did I say that out loud? I mean no.
They also put this out, so I feel (slightly) less crazy:
According to a production synopsis, the film follows Julian, who runs a Thai boxing club as a front organization for his family's drug smuggling operation, as he is forced by his mother Jenna to find and kill the individual responsible for his brother's recent death. Ryan Gosling as Julian:
An Englishman who lives in Bangkok and "is a respected figure in the criminal underworld" according to a production synopsis.Gosling had undertaken Muay Thai training in preparation for the role by that September,which included 2–3 hour daily sessions.
So basically what this is saying is that Ryan Gosling wears a wifebeater, kicks random people's asses and speaks in a British accent for two hours? I'll be sitting in the back by myself. Also that crashing sound you just heard was every single pair of panties I own falling to the floor in anticipation.
There better not be any puppies or babies in this movie. I might die.
That noise you heard on Sunday was the splatter of ovaries hitting televisions as they exploded in a sea of "HOLY GOD YES."
This week's The Walking Dead, "Say The Word," picked up right where "Killer Within" left off, with everyone being introduced to Rick (?) and Lori's daughter. Rick was too busy writhing around on the floor trying to win that well-deserved Emmy, so Daryl stepped up and held her and HOLY SHIT KITTENS AND MAGICAL RAINBOWS. Every time he asked the baby if she "liked that, Little Ass-kicker," not a woman on the planet did not respond in the affirmative. The only way the writers could have ensured more Defcon One-r levels of masturbating is if they would have cut to that video of Baby Goose singing the theme song from My Little Pony.
Top that off with Daryl putting flowers on Carol's grave and that's it. I'm done. Your move, other racists.
Apparently getting massively turned on by Daryl cooing to Lori's infant daughter does not make me a sociopath, judging by the Talking Dead that followed "Say The Word" (gotta say, that's a relief). I am, however, a little concerned about the tingly feelings that develop whenever the focus shifts to Batshit Rick (BRick? Let's make this a Thing).
For those of you familiar with the books, you know that Lori's death begins Rick's spiral into becoming completely and totally fucking insane. Also, for those of you familiar with the books, you know exactly who was on the other end of that phone call. I like how they're wasting zero time and not dragging that storyline out (it's AT&T, because Rick was too stupid to switch to Verizon).
Anyway.
I'm a little worried as to what it says about me that the more insane Rick (BRick) gets, the more I'm attracted to him. It can't be just me, right? I mean, his Crazy Face is pretty sexy, even if it's really bloody. Also if you think about it, all of this insane rage porn is to avenge the death of his wife, whether we all hated her or not, so it's kind of devoted and sweet. Kind of. Maybe. Also don't forget- British. He did this once:
I think I'm alone now.
Even The Governor also got in on some cute kid action, until we discovered that his daughter Penny is a zombie that he keeps in a closet, oh haaai.
Again, if you read the comics you knew some of that already, but the show has been deviating, so there's still that element of surprise.
It'll be interesting to see just how important a role Penny plays with all the characters, and just how closely the showrunners follow the books, if you get what I'm saying.
Wait- ew! Not like that. You perverts. She's like seven! I love you all so much.
At any rate, thank you, The Walking Dead, for no longer being a metaphor for my sex life. Between Daryl holding babies and BRick and his one-man zombie destroyer, after next week I'll most likely be pregnant.
Today in the US is Veteran's Day, a monumental day in American history because it celebrates our troops and all that they've contributed to our country over the past few centuries. I'm definitely not knocking this, considering the most significant achievement I've completed recently is a grilled cheese sandwich.
I'm awesome.
However, November 12th also marks another glorious feat which should not ever be overlooked. 32 years ago, even before my mother graced this planet with my existence (holy shit, I'm old), the world was introduced to Baby Goose.
This led to an epic chain of events that includes this video that doesn't make me a pedophile;
and culminates (so far) with this scene from the best film released in 2011 that did not result at all in my ladyboner.
Also none of my friends talked to me on Facebook at all today inquiring when this post was going to go up. Kitty and I in particular did not have this conversation, which never made me sincerely question the validity of what I used to consider our very close friendship:
Nugs: Today is Ryan Gosling's birthday If I get arrested will you bail me out? Kitty: Sure! Have fun! Nugs: Why do I think you're lying? You're totally going to call the cops Kitty: lol Nugs: Maybe he likes handcuffs I couldn't tell even though I've been hiding outside his house for a week I mean no Can you imagine if I knew where his house was????? *DIES* *extremely long pause* You're forwarding this conversation to the government, aren't you? Kitty: I kinda do It's near one of my friend's places in Beverly Hills (that is RIGHT NEAR ME OHMYGODKHDUYWTEYEUWGDYGFDCBCHDHHJ) Nugs: WHAT. HOW HAS THIS NEVER COME UP??????????? WE ARE NO LONGER FRIENDS.
I told my dad about this, by the way, and he just gave me a horrified look and went, "NO." Bobby asked me what I wrote on the card when I mailed him a chloroformed cake and nudie pic. Shut up! You guys don't know my life.
Also also- this:
I don't even... I'm done.
Anyway, enjoy this Evolution of Divinity from Buzzfeed of all the ways that the world has thanked Ryan Gosling's mom for bequeathing us with his photoshop-like presence. And Canada, we almost forgive you for Justin Bieber.
I usually don't do reviews of things I actually enjoy because then I can't make fun of them. However, this week's episode of The Walking Dead, "Killer Within,"was such a major sack-punch (if I had a sack) that I HAVE to discuss it. All my friends are talking about it so I would feel kind of left out if I didn't. So here's a new thing that I'm trying out. If it turns out to be wildly popular, this is Volume 1. If it doesn't, eh, I tried.
If you watch the show and/or are a fan of the books but haven't gotten this far yet, I would recommend that you not read this post, because then you'll know what happened and might think I'm a bitch, even more than you probably already do. If, like me, you witnessed the emotional fallout in real time, then cool. All systems go.
Being on the West Coast, I should really know to avoid Facebook on Sundays and Tuesdays, when my friends will unfailingly post about that night's respective episodes of TWD and/or Sons of Anarchy. I had shut off my laptop but unfortunately was too stupid to remember to turn off my phone, so while I was eating my dinner this alert popped up from Booyabobby:
Our wish finally came true! But damn that was heart breaking.
As an avid reader of the comics, I could only assume that he was referring to the anticipated and celebrated death of Lori Grimes, one of the worst and most reviled characters in the history of network television, although I was surprised that this was the episode that the event took place. Lilly, the character that shoots Lori in the books, hadn't even been introduced on the show, and Lori's baby had yet to be born (Also, fans of the show, is that the worst pregnant stomach ever, or what? What did they put in there, a NERF ball?).
Zombie Baby? Or BOOBIES?!?!?!
Then again, Carol was still around, so that whole Sophia deal was completely out of whack with the timeline as well.
BTW, thanks for forgetting that I'm three hours behind you, Bobby.
I decided to quit with the neurotic, Jew-y psychoanalysis and just watch the damn episode, already. It started out hilariously with Glenn and Maggie being caught boning in the tower and getting "yeah, man" looks from Rick and Daryl. That scene easily goes into my Top 20 Walking Dead moments. Everyone's reactions were totally realistic- Maggie was mortified; Glenn was like, "check me out- I just got laid"; the men were all up in that shit.
That, of course, was short-lived because the generators all started blaring and the walkers began to pour in. The Atlanta Gang immediately commenced with the killing, slicing heads and stabbing all over the place.
Meanwhile, back in Mayberry- sorry, I meant Woodbury- Andrea continued to skank it up and try to get into the pants of both Merle and The Governor. He's who this election really needed, IMO. Imagine how awesome that would be.
This dude for President of Everything.
She and Michonne were, in fact, planning on taking Merle to find Daryl, but because The Governor spoke more than two words to her, Andrea wants to stay now. What the fuck happened to Andrea? She used to be cool, kind of. Then she jumped on Shane's dick and became a sniveling little twelve year old with floopy hands and whiny facial expressions.
I've also been expecting a lot more from Michonne this season. She's one of the most popular characters in the comics, and save for a bad-ass entrance at the end of last season, she hasn't done jack except stroll mopily around the house and tell Andrea why they can't trust people. I guess she did off her zombie pets, and that was kind of cool, but dude, if I had access to a katana blade I would use it to hand things to people. But anyway.
As Andrea attempted to slut it out in Mayberry, the Atlanta Gang was busy taking names in the prison. Fucking Andrew from episode 2 showed up while Rick was busy trying to save his friends. God, Andrew. Good timing. Fortunately Rick didn't have time for any of that shit and killed him.
PS- I found out at Comic-Con that Andrew Lincoln is actually super, super British. As if the weapon carrying and the copious ass-kicking weren't enough, he just got exponentially hotter, oh haaaai.
Wow, I am really fucked up.
Of course, as much I'd been reveling in how great this episode had been so far, I still remembered the spoiler (!!!!!!) Bobby had posted on my Facebook wall earlier and couldn't escape that nagging lump in my throat (that's what she said). TWD did not skimp on the brutal deaths this week. Carol is missing and we're not entirely sure whether she made it out. She never really had a clear purpose but still, that kind of sucks. The first gut-wrencher, however, came in the form of the episode's MVP, T-Dawg, who pushed Carol out of the way when the walkers had them cornered and ran directly into the line of fire, giving Carol a chance to escape or at least get a solid head start. I'd heard that T-Dawg would have a bigger role this season, having more than two lines and maybe even some character development. Guess not. RIP, T-Dawg. From what we could tell from your four syllables, you were pretty awesome.
Here's a clip of IronE Singleton on this week's Talking Dead. You can tell he's just as nice a guy as everyone says and I hope he books a ton more acting gigs after this.
Lori had the distinct attribute of being one of those characters that I absolutely despised up until the very minute that I realized they were a total goner. This is impressive considering that it's only been accomplished by very few others- Jack Shepard, Marissa Cooper, Daffy Duck.
While running from the walkers, Lori chose that exact moment to go into labor and ushered Maggie and Carl into the boiler room (finally! Carl "stays in the fucking house!"). Maggie was forced to play midwife until Lori started excessively bleeding, because she would of course probably have a zombie baby. Meanwhile Carl is off to the side like, "oh great, the first vagina I ever see and it's my mom's."
Lori realized that something was up with her kid and told Maggie she would have to cut her open and extract the baby from her stomach, most likely killing her in the process. The world went "YAY!" but then we had to watch her say goodbye to Carl. The scene is below, and it's heartbreaking.
The speech Lori gave to Carl when she told him he would have to take care of everyone, including his father, was handled with grace, sincerity and real emotion. It was one of the most realistic scenes I've watched on television since I can remember, and it was made even more difficult when Carl volunteered to shoot his own mother in the head so she wouldn't turn. Maggie left the room, we heard a gunshot and then Carl emerged, all stoic and Child of the Corn like. He's not an annoying, useless little shit anymore, and I'm looking forward to seeing where this goes.
Both Sarah Wayne Callies (who played Lori) and writer Robert Kirkman claim that Lori is dead, gone and off the show completely, but Callies totally lied about her character's fate this season so as not to spoil fans, and we never actually witnessed Carl shooting her in the head, so you never know. I really hope we get to see Zombie Lori. That would be sweet.
Also, now that Lori is gone, we'll probably never find out whose baby it actually is, either, since the comics never tell us. My theories are as follows:
If the baby ever jumps directly into Andrea, it's Shane's. (Chris Hardwick suggested this on an episode of Talking Dead once. I think that was genius.)
If the baby won't stay in the fucking womb, it's Rick's. ("Baby! Stay in the fucking womb." "NO!" "Yup, it's mine.")
I think if you take an informal poll, you'll find that the scene where most people lost it is where Rick sees his daughter (not mentioned in the episode, but if you read the comics, you know) and figures out that his wife is dead. Andrew Lincoln deserves all the fucking awards. Just all of them. Emmy, Golden Globe, American Kennel Club, Award for Obscure Abbreviations, Jamy Toaster, whatever. Hell, just elect him President.
The moment was borderline "what's-in-the-box," but the dude's wife was just killed. Seriously. BTW, this marks a turning point in the books where Rick begins a spiral into becoming a complete fucking mental patient.
There's a reason The Walking Dead is one of my favorite television shows, and it's episodes like "Killer Within" that I would probably force my friends to watch to prove my point. This show does not fuck around, and although "Killer Within" was a terrible idea when I am PMS'ing and the leftover Halloween candy was not within arms' length, I am so grateful for quality programming and not more crap like Honey Boo Boo.
I'm going to forego my usual Halloween post this year. I'll write stuff next week, when I can report on parties and debauchery, but there's a lot more serious shit happening right now.
Last night a state of disaster was declared in New York and New Jersey due to the massive pummeling the country faced from Hurricane Sandy. I was originally supposed to move back to Brooklyn this weekend, just in time for my favorite holiday, but the impending storm loomed so my family, who does in fact love me, preferred that I hold off on my decision. The hurricane blew through 14 different states, tropical venues and parts of the East Coast of Canada, so she's officially since been adopted by the Kardashians.
Kim Kardashian: East coast in 15 mins is our fun Kardashian Special called Dishing it out! Tune into E! All of our footage that was too crazy to air!
This is an actual tweet from Kim Kardashian during the hurricane. 'Merica.
At the time of this post, there was a death toll of almost 40 with 18 of those in New York. 8 million people were left without power, possibly for weeks. People have lost their homes. Parts of Connecticut, New Jersey, Manhattan and Brooklyn are completely underwater. Hospitals and airports are flooded and public transportation is suspended until further notice. This storm may have caused more damage than 2011's Hurricane Irene and, some are speculating, may have been worse than Hurricane Katrina. They should have named this storm Hurricane A-Rod, because then it wouldn't have hit anything.
I'm currently still in LA, so I wasn't susceptible to any of the catastrophe that occurred. I was at my dad's all day yesterday, and in between phone calls from my brothers, we spent the day glued to CNN and MSNBC. A few times, the cameras cut to some idiots cavorting through the rain puddles like they were in summer camp. I refer to these douchebags as "natural selection."
I am still, of course, a New Yorker, and 90% of the people I love and care about were affected in some way by Hurricane Olivia Newton-John. We definitely should have seen this coming, as she does like to get physical. (If you were into that joke, it was all me. If you weren't, I shamelessly stole it from Lily.)
My brothers in Brooklyn were extremely lucky and didn't even lose power. My family on the Upper East Side and Queens barely experienced any casualties, either. One of my girls in Tribeca had her apartment flooded, but has somewhere to stay until her building is fixed. A few of my friends scattered along the East Coast just got a bunch of rain and a whole lot of wind. Kitty had a major scare when she couldn't reach her parents for a few hours, but that was assuaged fairly quickly. Everyone I know was extremely fortunate, so I can go back to making fun of Philadelphia and New Jersey, which is awesome, because that's like 1/4 of my arsenal. If this wasn't our punishment for giving fame and money to those worthless degenerates from Jersey Shore, I don't know what is.
For all of those I couldn't reach via cell yesterday, I got frequent Facebook updates from the rest of them. I'm "friends" with this one girl who's a model, and I know that you're all thinking, "right, middle-class escort," but she's actually been featured on some obscure magazine covers, done a few Fashion Weeks, appeared as a walk-on in some horrible sitcoms, etc. I've been considering putting her on hide because every single one of her status updates is either a shameless self-promo or a ludicrous proclamation about how God made it so that she could book some stupid gig. God must be pretty superficial, then. Yesterday she posted a status about how because of Hurricane Sandy, she was forced to cancel her flight to LA and therefore miss two "high-profile" red carpet events.
Wow, my heart fucking bleeds for you. Your life totally sucks. You definitely have worse luck than my family, who may not have heat, light and refrigeration for weeks. Or how about my friends, who have no way to get to their jobs and are already living paycheck to paycheck? And of course you are way worse off than those who have lost their place of residence, or are critically injured, or I don't know, have died? But yeah, let's focus on your fucking "red-carpet event." That's majorly important. Almost as bad as when you lost your phone last year and it was the "worst September 11th ever!" Every time this chick refers to herself as a "New Yorker" (with a hashtag!!!) I want to punch her in the vag, especially because she's lived there for like six months.
At any rate, if you live in the tri-state area and want to donate your time and efforts, I've included some lists of places to get you started. If you're not located near any of these, click on the links to find ways to make a difference anyway. Stay safe, everybody.
So it's October now, which usually gets me super excited because it's my favorite time of the year. Both my mom's birthday and Halloween are at the end of the month, and everyone that meets me for five seconds knows that I go totally jazz hands for Halloween.
The weather is perfect- that consummate temperature that's just in between cold and hot, with no humidity, so I can bust out my chunky boots and adorable accessories at night but still have free reign to slip on what might be considered "less than subtle" attire during the day (read: I think you know).
October is also the best sports month- football is just heating up, hockey begins and the MLB postseason gets underway. It's also the NBA pre-season, but being a casual Knicks fan I don't care enough about that to actually pay attention.
This year, however, October has pretty much brought on a massive raindown of Epic Fail. While my friends and family back in NYC have been playing up this country-wide heatwave to their full advantage, LA seems to have missed the memo that hi, it's Fall now. For the past month or so Southern California residents have been "enjoying" insane temperatures in the 90's and 100's. I tried to go outside for a run this weekend and as soon as I walked out of my apartment I immediately was like FUCK NO. It was like those scenes in the SyFy Channel movies where the editing is sped up and backwards.
Dear Los Angeles:
NO.
Sincerely, Everyone.
This has also been an incredibly depressing year in sports for me. The Mets are absolutely fucking terrible- I mean, terrible to the point that I didn't watch more than five full baseball games on TV. I think they're something like 7,000 games under .500. At least I learned my lesson from last season and didn't put money down on the Sox. R.A. Dickey may win the Cy Young this year, though, so that's a small consolation prize.
The Jets aren't much better, and now with the acquisition of Tim Tebow we get to boast two quarterbacks that can't throw the ball! Awesome! And even though this wasn't technically in October, we're currently the joke of the NFL and most sports programming thanks to this game:
Every time I relive this I die a little.
Note: NBC Sports actually laughed when recapping this.
Which brings me to hockey: I may have taken some comfort in the fact that the Rangers had a shot to go really far this year, but oh wait! Hockey's been canceled. The NHL and the NHL Player's Association failed to reach a monetary agreement and therefore shut down the 2012-2013 season, for now anyway. A lot of the NHL players are dealing with the lockout by playing in Europe, which resulted in new Ranger Rick Nash injuring his shoulder (of course).
I've discussed this with my brother and a few of my Canadian friends, and they all run the gamut from devastated to suicidal. I wonder what people do in Canada when there's no hockey. Chug Molson? Play Rush albums? Moose hunt?
As if this weren't enough, I think I remember telling you guys that a couple of months ago, the hard drive on my brand new MacBook crashed. Well, if I didn't, it did. So that happened, and I lost half of my music files, which I've been fighting with Apple to get back for a good two weeks now.
At least my grief has been somewhat assuaged by the fact that it's impossible to cancel Halloween, although I still haven't decided on my costume yet. Ginny and I were discussing this over on her blog yesterday, and so far she has helped me narrow it down to three distinct possibilities:
1) The Uhura costume from Star Trek.
Now while this may seem like a waste of money, you all know me, and what are the odds that I will actually wear this again, frequently, in public, for no other reason than I HAVE A STAR TREK DRESS?
B) A TARDIS dress. BTW, I recently came across a video of Matt Smith citing his love for Breaking Bad and Radiohead. Dude. I'm in.
What is the plural of TARDIS, by the way? TARDI? TARDISes?
BABY MARMOSET) Either Mileena or Kitana from Mortal Kombat. I would do this because I loved the game as a kid, as did most of my friends; however, wearing either one of these would probably require starving myself until the 31st. I'll also be in New York, where it could possibly be pretty cold.
What do you guys think?
Also while you're at it, and if you have the time and aren't worried about the remainder of your sanity, cruise over to the sidebar and check out my newest feature, Tits From Last Night (or just click this handy link). It's not porn (unless you want it to be- oh haaaai), but rather a compilation of some of the most hilarious exchanges between myself and Coyote Tits. Basically what it comes down to is that I'm a demented, inconsiderate asshole and it's a wonder she puts up with me or even that I have any friends at all, but read this anyway. It's kind of funny sometimes.
A few years ago I met this guy. For the sake of this post (and hilarity), we'll call him "Hands."
Hands and I had one of those friendships where everyone assumed that we were dating. We always showed up at parties together, and he gave me rides home. We followed each other around. There was obvious flirting, verbally and physically. If we were at a table together I would practically sit in his lap. We were both definitely in the stage of serious like.
Of course, this is me, so nothing ever happened. No clothes ever came off, except coats. The only deep penetration I ever experienced with this guy was purely mental. For reasons I won't get into here, because the list is both long and irrelevant to the story, we decided not to be together.
He did kiss me once, when I told him that I might be moving to LA for work (we all know how that turned out). It was only a kiss, and it never led to anything else, but it was really good. Like, really good. I didn't fall over or anything, but my theory that we would have amazing chemistry was pretty much confirmed. That made it even worse when I found that I did have to leave, and we had to say goodbye to each other permanently, adding "living 3000 miles across the country" to our reasons of why a relationship would never work. It sucked hard.
Anyway, a few weeks after I left for LA, I was sitting in my apartment alone, thinking about how my job was horseshit, all my friends were back East and how I had wasted my opportunity with Hands. We hadn't communicated since (an unspoken decision on both of our parts), and I had spent a lot of time thinking about him, due to the fact that my employers gave me no work and I sat around doing nothing all day. I signed onto Facebook to see how life was continuing without me and noticed that he was awake (before noon? On a Tuesday? That was bizarre) and had posted a Facebook status.
I forget what it said, but the first thing I realized was that in lieu of "there," he had put "their." I was mesmerized, yet horrified. Dude. You are TWENTY-NINE. Employed (kind of). Educated. What the fuck is this?
I immediately called Hurricane, a really close friend who also knew Hands and had spent the past few weeks letting me ramble about what an idiot I was for not at least trying anything out.
"Hey. How you holding up?" "Have you been on Facebook today?" "Not yet. What's up?" "He used the wrong 'there.'" "Oh. Shit." "Yup." "So. I guess you're cured." "Oh yeah." "Going out tonight?" "Yup."
I know this makes me weird, but terrible grammar both baffles and horrifies me. A guy could be Ryan Gosling's twin and if he misappropriates the English language I will just walk away.
OK, maybe not.
A while ago I met a guy who was so dumb that I slept with him just to get him to shut the fuck up; now I would have probably just excused myself from the conversation. In my defense though, he was a work of art.
There was also, in case we all forgot, my saga with Brainy Smurf, which almost forced me to take a torch to humanity in general.
Correct usage of commas gets me hot. If a guy mistreats his run-ons, what's he going to do to his clauses? Apostrophes are big with me, too. Days of the week do not need them at the end! They are for possession, people!
On a related note, I recently met someone who kicked my ass across the room at Words With Friends, and because of this, I now want to roofie him so hard that he wakes up in a different state with his pants around his neck. (PS, Nip Clique- he actually made a roofie joke. Start our genetic mash-up ASAP.) Proper handling of semi-colons guarantees at least one future alimony check, so it'll be interesting to see where this goes, if I ever see him again.
Probably not, since now he knows I'm certifiably insane.
This post comes to you from Amishtown, PA. For those of you that don't know Mandy Moore or the shitstorm that's taking place in her life right now, I'll keep this brief by saying that she needed me this weekend, so I'm here.
My first few weeks back East have not gone exactly the way I expected them to. The day I arrived in New York, my mom sat me down and let me know that my grandmother would be taken off life support the next morning.
I don't have the kind of extended family that relishes in each others' company- Grandma was the peacekeeper, and I knew that after the service, there were some (a lot) of people that I would likely never see again. Luckily, my mother and my brothers made the situation a little smoother- we were all trying to be strong for each other, especially my mom, who had to host the funeral at the same place her father was buried. To make things more difficult for her, her cat was put to sleep just a few days later. I assisted in most of the arrangements, although my aunt later remarked that I was falling apart more than anyone else.
I was definitely not prepared for this, and what frightened me the most was that I had no idea how to deal. I've been fortunate enough to live this long without having to cope with tragedy or loss. I never knew my mother's father, and my grandfather on my dad's side had died almost fifteen years ago. I'd buried a few pets in my lifetime, but that didn't compare to this. My grandmother had been a very special part of my life- we were extremely close, and I considered her a friend. I took the news as well as one might expect- I sat in shock for a few minutes and then spent the next week acting like a complete asshole.
What hit me the hardest was when I went to the funeral home to schedule everything and make arrangements. The director asked my mother and my aunt who should be put down as the "Next of Kin," and I realized that someday, my brothers and I would go through this process ourselves. My mom grabbed my hand, and I was unable to squeeze back.
To make the situation worse, my friends back East are- how can I put this?- unresponsive. It took them all a few days to get back to me, and I haven't heard from them again after that. I understand that everyone has their own lives, and I respect that. However, if someone you care about loses a piece of themselves, would it take that much out of you to send a text every couple of days? Especially if you have the time to post pictures of your club-hopping on Facebook (I wasn't invited, BTW)? These are people I've known for years, and I am so disappointed in their reactions.
In order to cope with my swirling emotions, I posted a thread on 20sb. This isn't like me- I'm not one to whore out my sympathy on the Internet. I didn't post my grandmother's passing on Facebook, or Twitter, or send out a mass email, or ask any of my friends to attend the service. I did call Bad Monkey, my best friend in LA, who's been corresponding with me steadily, sent my family a card and is even coming to visit me next week. She was upset that she couldn't afford to fly out sooner, but just hearing her voice has been enough for me.
My 20sb posting wasn't to garner empathy for myself or to let people know what was going on. I just had never had to deal with a sadness this heavy and I was frightened and confused by its effect. This wasn't like sadness- that I knew how to cope with. I'm sad every time the Jets lose the AFC Championship, or when my brother eats the last spoonful of mashed potatoes. Grief is a mixture of depression, nausea and fear, and it was alien to me.
I didn't want to burden my mom, who was coping with her own feelings, and my friends who lived closest to me were of no help, so I turned to the next logical candidates.
The reaction I received was overwhelming. I knew that my blogoverse friends (I'm not going to distinguish you guys from "IRL" because, and let's be honest here, most of you have already crossed that line) would offer consolation, but I had no idea that your responses would leave this much of an impact. I was offered pages of advice on how to handle my dejection and mental anguish. People I'd never even spoken to or seen before posted their condolences. Coyote Tits started a "Worship Wednesday" thread where my friends wrote hilarious epic poems on my behalf (seriously, check this shit out. It is ridiculous). Shellytook over the posting of the Movie Review Blogring for the month because I didn't want to leave my family alone to find an Internet connection. Mandy offered to come to the funeral, and Sara Nips mailed me a bouquet of lilies and a card. When I called and left her a pussy, sobbing voice mail about what an amazing person she was, Nips told me later that my phone call made her cry. Are you serious, Nips? This is why everyone loves you. If I were any more butch (and weren't into penis), I would totally force Andy into a leprechaun narwhal fight. Winner take all- I'm chivalrous, yo.
The most valuable piece of advice that I've gotten from all of this came from a bunch of my friends on 20sb, and they all told me the the same thing. I was warned that grief is a real bitch. It's going to surface when I least expect it, and it might take weeks, months, or I don't even want to think about how long. This is really fucking with my head because I have yet to experience a complete mental breakdown. I haven't cried yet, at least not fully, and I can't figure out why. I hate that I have no idea when this is going to strike, or what the trigger is going to be. Vulnerability has never been an option for me, and this is not a change I'm willing to adapt to.
I guess in order to prepare for all of this I'll have to realize that I can't prepare. I've finally decided to stop trying to "be strong" for everybody else and let myself go through the mourning process. I've spent a lot of time with my mom, looking through pictures and letting her tell stories. I spent a few nights at my brothers' house. I've been bequeathed with my grandmother's Chai, which I now wear as a charm around my neck.
I'm cognizant of the fact that grief will sneak up on me and slam my back against a wall, and when it happens, I won't argue. I'll see it as another connection to somebody everybody loved- even the maintenance men in her building, her pharmacist and her hairdresser wanted to be guests at the funeral.
I wrote this post not only as a form of therapy, but to express my gratitude to everybody who's helped me get through this past month. Thank you to those who I didn't mention by name, who took the time to leave me Facebook and Twitter messages, texts, emails, and however else you chose to convey your compassion (especially those of you who kept checking up on me for weeks after the fact). There were far too many of you to single out, and I feel terrible that I couldn't get to you all. But just know that whoever says that 20sb is not a community and that we all don't genuinely have each other's backs is getting a throat punch from me.
Thank you to those who still follow me, even though this blog fell by the wayside while I had the shit kicked out of me emotionally.
Thank you to my family, for obvious reasons. I'm a lot more solid because of your support.
And most importantly, thank you to my grandmother. She's the reason for this entire post, and she's also partly responsible for the entire foundation of my personality (Brooklynese, FTW!). Thanks Grandma, for everything I know about life, love, and most significantly, loss.
