I May Vomit

Tuesday night, my brother and NonGirlfriend had a 2am session that woke up the entire house (including the upstairs neighbors). Homegirl was screaming- the loudest I've ever heard- like she was turning into a dog instead of just being fucked by one*. Adding insult to injury, Jay's music selection was along the lines of Aesop Rock...

I wake up at 6am to have a 12 hour day- and Jay knows this. Considering I also spent the past two days with a head cold, to awake in the wee hours of the morning pissed me off, to say the least. So much so I yelled through the vent at them, "OKAY, LET'S CALL IT A NIGHT! CHRIST!" (Hey, being whacked out on NyQuil does strange things to a gal). Yeah, that was an exercise in futility.

The next day, I spoke a bit more rationally with my brother, outlining the numerous ways in which he's an excellent roommate. The middle-of-the-night fuckfests had, indeed, been tamer (the first two months were ridiculous). However, last night seemed simply uncalled for and needed to cease entirely (of that magnitude).

Naturally, Jay apologized and made concessions. He also divulged that beforehand, he informed her they needed to be quiet, since our nephew was crashing on the couch.

Suddenly it made sense. That repugnant, loathsome, bestial skank wanted my nephew to hear her (hence the increased volume) at the expense of everyone else in the house.

But the jokes on her. Travis is a heavy sleeper and wasn't affected in the least**.

*I don't understand that. If you're going to go through the trouble of reaching the decibel level of howler monkeys, don't you want to at least sound sexy, for fuck's sake?!

**Besides, I already briefed him so he shuddered when she walked by.

Steadfast and True

What the hell is wrong with Emotional Rescue?! Quit your belly-aching- falsetto is sexy. Even my painfully shy boyfriend sang a completely unsuited song.

And who knew my nephew's gravely voiced rendition of Born on a Bayou would bring the house down?

I, on the other hand, haven't sucked so hard since rent was due.

Poppa Needs a New Pair of Schuchs!

Me to a co-worker this morning, "How was your High Holiday?"

"Interesting."

"Interesting?!"

"Yeah, we ate Saturday after sun down and my Father-in-Law piled us all in the car and took us directly to Atlantic City."

"You win?"

"No. That's what I get for jumping into the fire."

Are You Ready to Rock?!

If you have the means, check out the American Museum of Natural History's special exhibit on frogs. Ya know, if you're into that sort of thing.

I, however, will be rockin the mike tonight with my Cuz , my nephew, my man, my oldest friend and possibly my brother. So if you're in the mood, join us! You may catch a kickin version of Heartbreaker (by either Led Zep or Pat Benatar- I haven't decided).

I've always been fond of Colonel Angus...

Who knew that beneath that rough and tumble exterior, beat a heart of an inspiring Danielle Steele, Nora Roberts or at the very least, Judith Krantz.

News Roundup. I have to admit that this headline stopped me a little short when I saw it on Google news: How Will the General Use His Huge Mandate? Can't you just see that line towards the end of some euphemism-laden Harlequin romance? With lust in his eyes, General Goodbody strode across the now-empty ballroom towards the wide-eyed Deborah. With one hand he tore open her bodice and with the other he pulled Deborah towards him, kissing her passionately. As he lifted her from the ground and carried her up the stairs to the master bedroom, there was just one thought on Deborah's mind: How will the General use his huge mandate?

And your father is a alcohawwwwwlic

Passing a schoolyard on my way home last night, I overheard a conversation between three little girls.

One walked up with an Italian ice in hand. The other two said things like, "Awww, you got ice cream?!" Which prompted the girl to stick her tongue out at the two, turn around and wag her butt in their faces, repeatedly. All the while with a shit-eating grin on her face.

And I thought- Yeah! That's how you gloat, man! Unashamedly.

So I'll be doing the same whenever anyone asks about my promotion or new man.

At Peace With The Curl

Ever since I could remember, my curly hair has always done what it wants too, when it wants too. As a girl, there was nothing I wanted more than straight hair. Well, maybe a date with John Taylor. But if I could look like the others- so effortless and silky perfect; they knew nothing about the deads of humidity. My best attempt involved a round brush and half-a-can of Extra Super Hold Aqua Net.

Then in my 20's, one of my roommates was a hairdresser. She gave me miracle products (i.e. Sebastian Molding Mud) and my hair became bigger and more beautiful than ever! I looked right out of Moonstruck.

After being a blonde for a few years, the damage unkinked my corkscrew locks to the point of distress. I was ready to pack it in and *gasp* relax my hair. That same day of contemplation, my girl gave me a book:



Curly Girl became my new bible. At first seemed unorthodox- No shampoo? No hairdryer? No combs?! Ever?! ...Eh, what the hell? Worth a shot.

Words cannot describe the results. I thought my hair coiled before! My tresses are at an all-time fabulousness.

Anyway, if your hair has any kind of curl to it, check this book out. You can thank me later.

I said diet vanilla pepsi

Did anyone catch Rescue Me last night? (If you're not watching...you really should)

That scene in the hotel room with the champagne and whip cream was really hot. *May have to stage a reenactment*

Speaking of which- how great was it that they dramatized the incident in Central Park?

Bawdy

Last night, I had a dream that after stepping out of a NYC restaurant to have a smoke (apparently conditioned to be law-abiding even during slumber), a Porsche pulls over to pick up the tranny hooker working the block (bolero fur jacket and all). As the car rolls up to the light, the driver is none other than the pencil thin mustached maven of trash himself, Mr. John Waters. Thrilled to catch him in a lascivious act, I shout, "I see you, John!!"

Although recalling his retort upon waking, it escapes me now. However, I do remember the hooker throwing back her head in laughter as they sped away.

Perhaps it was an anticipatory premonition of his new movie. Which, by the way- don't you think he and Johnny Knoxville go together like stink on a monkey?

Hee-hee, me love you broddah long time

One o'clock in the morning, I get up to pee. Someone's in the bathroom so I park it on the living room sofa. A few moments later, NonGirlfriend walks past, stark naked, notices I'm there and giggles. Groggy and now hot, I quip, "Christ! Wrap a fucking towel around yourself at least!"

It's not that I'm anti-nudity. And I understand that it was the middle of the night and she was just using the can. But this becomes another spoke in the wheel of disregard for the fact that someone other than Jay lives in the apartment. Hell, even he and I don't bare it all in common areas- and that has nothing to do with the fact we're siblings- his old roommate never saw him in the buff either.

Jeebus, it seems every time I make an effort to be nice to this chick (I offered her to share in Monday's bounty) she does something to put right back at square one: seething repugnance.

Yeah, I'm a control freak. So the fuck what?

Antipasti Italiani

For lunch break, I ran over to 9th Avenue (while wearing all black) to pick up some ingredients for dinner.

The main course was to be broccoli rabe with sweet sausage over fusilli. The rest'd be figured out during the shopping trip.

The produce market I frequent was subsequently out of broccoli rabe. Not wanting to come back after work, I had to think of something else on the fly. And looking around at just fruits and vegetables wasn't helping any.

So I head down to the Italian store (where I was going to buy the meat, pasta and grated romano) for other ideas. Surrounded by various wonderful cheeses and olives in buckets - the decision made itself- all appetizer dinner. Culled from various stores in the area, here's what's on tonight's menu:

Nicoise, Bosana and black oil cured olives
Marinated mushrooms and artichokes
Genoa salami (sliced thin)
Provolone cheese
Hothouse tomato, buffalo mozzarella and basil salad
Semolina bread (with spiced olive oil on the side)
Fresh figs
Big-ass bottle of red wine
And, of course, cannolis for dessert

Figured now that I actually have the girlfriend slot, I should start earning it, no?

Sophistimacated

This weekend uncovered that quite a few of my friends never heard of a Waldorf Salad, the phrase "Hair of the dog that bit you," or Faith Evans is the widow of Biggie Smalls.

On the plus side of revelations: I'm the best singer in the office and my man turns into a magnificent sexy beast in the sack.

Everything's Coming Up Marietta!

My boss (after going through all the red tape) officially announced my promotion. I'll be transitioning over the next two weeks- but the raise goes into effect Monday....Sweet.

So tonight he set up a private room for us (meaning the office, not just me and him- dirty) at a karaoke house called Japas38. Open bar, sushi and all the songs we can sing. Sake it too me, baby! Time to celebrate!

Off The Market

I knew it. Voodoo really does work.

B-E-A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E

Amy Henry from the first season of The Apprentice wrote a book relaying her experience as a woman in the male-dominated business world.

I heard a promo interview with her on the radio and she suggested a correlation between successful businesswomen and playing a team sports in school.

In the fifth grade, I was selected for the basketball team. This was a big deal: it meant you were good (since only three were chosen) and it guaranteed a spot in sixth grade. Being super short, I also considered this a personal victory. But I never missed a free throw, evah. I was like Rainman at the top of that goddamn key. Of course, it also meant getting fouled- but I've always been known to take one for the team....

Our first game was going well. Half-time pep talk and I'm back in the game. I get possession of the ball and take off down the court like a shot! And I thought I heard, "Go, Marietta! GO!" when my team actually yelled, "No, Marietta! NO!"

You see, I wasn't aware of the whole switching baskets after half time thing. Either I missed that practice or was too busy daydreaming of ways to get Vinny Pasquale to like me when the coach mentioned this crucial rule.

Needless to say, I made the basket and throw my fists up, "YEAH!" And turn around to what I thought would be accolades from my consorts, only to face bemoaned expressions and gestures.

In the midst of the coach's red-faced hissy fit, I realized my mistake. He subsequently benched me for the remainder of the game and while I managed to keep it together then, I cried the entire bus ride home. The next day, I quit.

So I'm thinking Amy should've been more specific in saying that women who excelled at team sports are more apt to do better in business.

On The Ropes

By the way, The Boy and I been together every night since Friday...with plans for tonight as well.

I'm inches away from becoming his girlfriend. I can feel it; his eyes are starting to close.....

Always Look Eye

Call me back, Ishmael

Every Monday for the next fourteen weeks, The Post is giving away a hardcover classic book (nice quality, even). You know- all those stories they should have taught in school instead of The Canterbury Tales or Beowulf.

While each will be a first read, a few titles I'm looking forward to include Frankenstein (No, not this one), The Hound of the Baskervilles, Through The Looking Glass and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (almost finished with the third chapter).

So my goal is to complete each before the next release in an effort to retain some semblence of edguhmacation.

Stardust Mammaries

From The Stranger's Last Days:

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 5 The week ends with the U.S. government finally placing a dollar amount on the pain and suffering caused by the exposure of Janet Jackson's right breast during the Super Bowl halftime show. Today news agencies around the globe reported the $791,650 fine imposed on the breast-broadcasting CBS by the psychonanny Federal Communications Commission. Cheers to Ms. Jackson for retracting her apology to the FCC, and for proving, in this age of girls gone wild for penny strings of beads, the true value of a single human boob.

Hear, hear!

You believe in fate, Mallory?

This weekend, I went on three dates.

With the same guy.

We're going out for dinner tonight, too.

And if he keeps this up, I may fall in love.

Or ball him. I'm not sure which.

Three Years Ago Tomorrow

Everyone I love thought I was dead.

Chunks of building almost crushed me. Twice.

I witnessed horrors no one ever should.

Time has not assuaged the effects of that day. However, there's an overwhelming sense of getting over somehow. There's no tangible reason why I survived. Luck, perhaps? But since then, refusal to postpone joy became paramount (and frankly was doing a damn fine job beforehand). And utilize every opportunity to tell and/or show the people in my life how much I love them.

I love you.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Like a Mug

Damn, the building is creaking like the hull of a ship again. Loudly. Consequently, my radio is blasting so I don't have a fucking anxiety attack.

Probably because I watched that damn Modern Marvels special on the World Trade Center last night.

Choose Your Own Adventure

Remember those books? I was hooked on those damn things...

So, Today we're gonna play a game I read in last month's Spin magazine: Create Your Superband. Which is not as easy as it sounds. Okay, you'll need a singer, a bass player, a guitarist, a drummer and one wild card for backing vocals and instruments.

Here are the rules:
1) You cannot take more than one member of an existing band.
2) Frank Sinatra or Elvis cannot be your singer.
3) If you choose someone who sings and plays in their band (e.g. Sting or Phil Collins), said person can only play their instrument in your band.
4) You cannot pick either Jon Bonham or Animal as your drummer.
5) They have to theoretically work as a band. For example, it is doubtful that Nina Haggen and John Tesh could create a cohesive sound.

Now get to work!

Here are my choices:
Drummer: Stewart Copeland
Bass: Flea
Guitar: Carlos Santana
Vocals: Grace Jones
Wild Card: David Byrne

Their name: Eager Beaver and the Wild Bologna Ponies

I'll Admit It

I'm a celebrity gossip monger. Give me juicy tid-bits about their lives or caught off guard soft focus photos and I'll be salivating for more. I peruse tabloids, subscribe to People and watch E! True Hollywood Story. It's because of people like me that Princess Di is dead.

That's why The Surreal Life is right up my alley. Even if you have no interest at all, you have to tune in just to validate your assumptions that Flava Flav is really like that. Natch, there's a sneak peak at the next episode where Brigitte Neilsen and Flav are all up on each other in the pool. You know Stallone is puking in his Capezios!

And one of my favorite sites, Awful Plastic Surgery, posted a few side by side photos of Paul Stanley, Gwen Stefani, Paris Hilton, and Jessica Simpson's boobs. Perhaps most distrubing is the ongoing saga of What The Hell Happened to Farrah Fawcett?!

Update: Why in the hell can't I find a current picture of Adam Ant?!

How dry I yam....

How drunk was I Sunday night? Among other things* that won't be repeated here, upon exiting Nancy G's car at my house, I greeted NonGirlfriend like she was a long lost relative.

Speaking of whom, Jay told me he agreed to monogomy cause she caught him trying to lay the groundwork with the hot roommate. And goes on to explain it was more of a default decision because she's over every night anyway. However, he's convinced she won't flip out when he's done pretending (or gets caught). So that's it. I'm out. No more advice about women for baby bro. Well, not for this relationship at any rate.


*Only because I cannot recall said events, so who knows if they're actually true. Regardless that there were seven other people to corroborate the story.

But I will tell you one thing I do remember. The couple next to us left their disposable camera as the went to dance. I pull open my shirt and bra to capture an eagle eye titty shot then put the camera back on the bar. And snickered at how much trouble he'll be in with the old lady.

I like how Wolfie encapsulated the day, "If it was fried, alcoholic or took quarters we were all over it."

Where's Your Numbers?

Check out Functional Ambivilant's Harpers Index-like statistics on mention of Osama at the RNC.

Clerks II: Hardly Clerkin'

I'm sure most of you have heard about the sequel by now. Click here for some of Kevin's thoughts on the matter.

I'll definitely go see it. Randal is one of my most favorite movie characters, evah.

Good to know he's not doing it in a J&SB Strike Back fashion. Although one of the funniest lines in that movie was delivered by Dante as he and Randal watched the news coverage on the police search for J&SB, "I told you those restraining orders were a good idea."

Whew!

Made it to Friday. Three day weekend at that- should be action packed! Dinner and drinks. More drinks. Skee-ball and a sausage and pepper sandwich. Possibly a jaunt down to AC afterall. More drinks. Let the good times roll!

All I know is the sun will be prominently featured in the sky for this holiday. Home will be for sleeping, that's it. Besides, an ever-present NonGirlfriend is really starting to work my nerves.

Speak Softly and Carry a Big Stick

Last week, Rob said:

New York Times rock critic Jon Pareles bemoans the withering of the Beastie Boys' comic feistiness. As they've become politically aware and socially responsible, the white hip hop artists have toned down their anarchist braggadocio and shameless troublemaking. Now the fun is almost gone. Pareles says it has been "like having the Three Stooges decide they want to become a panel of appellate judges." I wonder if it might have been possible for the Beastie Boys to evolve a more positive and compassionate outlook without losing their deliciously scandalous spunk. I pose a similar question to you, Scorpio: Can you imagine becoming both kinder and wilder?

So there you go. And figured I'd start with here and make a concerted effort in aspects of my personality as well*. Perhaps a touch of temperateness instead of taking everything so personally? I'm not going anywhere soon so I have to mellow the fuck out in order to keep sane at the very least. Personification is the next step.


*Offer subject to change to coincide with alcohol availabilty.

Don't Shit Where You Eat

So I'm sautéing up a little zucchini last night and go to grab the pepper mill from the top of the spice rack when I notice the Mr. Penis Ice Mold is out of place. As you might recall, it sits in the middle alongside the Long Drink and Femme Fatale coasters. Being the neurotic I am, it must go back in its place. But the box felt empty. I check the freezer- nothing.

Since NonGirlfriend wasn't five paces behind my brother, I got a chance to razz him about it as he walked through the kitchen.

Shaking the box, "Um, what's up with this?"

Jay should never play poker, "It's in there somewhere," he smiled and glanced off.

"Where? Her twat?" I'm so delicate.

"No, my room. It's buried somewhere." His room has been unusually messy lately.

"Look, Jay, you know I love you. Anything you need, I'll get. But sex toys is where I draw the line." He must have been mortified at this point.

"So who was that guy last night?" He fired back.

Oh no, mon petit frère, you're not gonna get over that easily. "A friend," I answer cavalierly.

"How'd you meet him?" What is this? Twenty Questions?

"You know she thinks she's your girlfriend, right?" HA! Two can play this game.

"Yeah, she tried to have that talk with me last night," he rolled his eyes.

"AND?!" Bring it on, baby bro!

"And I told her I was sleeping," he chuckled.

"What? How'd you pull that one off?"

"Well, I said I needed the next two hours to sleep before work so I didn't want to have that discussion right then."

She wanted to have the boyfriend/girlfriend talk at four in the morning? Jesus, lord. "You have to nip this in the bud, Jay, cause it's only gonna get worse."

"I know. And her roommate's so hot. She came home the other night when I was there, went into her room and changed into a t-shirt. Nothing else. And she starts to blow-dry her hair in front of me and her t-shirts lifting up, giving me a sneak peak. So when (NonGirlfriend) and I go to leave, I accidently turn off the light. The third roommate's boyfriend is sitting in the dark with her and jokes, 'You wanna join us, Jay?' and her face lit up and she's shaking her head yes." Unbeknownst to NonGF, natch.

Bad idea jeans. I tried to give him a word of warning as the aforementioned title would indicate. But, there's going to be a boiling rabbit on my stove soon, I know it.

Non-Girlfriend

Is what I'll be calling Dog Girl from now on. Because everytime I refer to her as the GF unit, Jay protests, "She's not my girlfriend!" although she's been over every night for the past two months. Which, quite frankly, is making me suspicious as to her living situation (or lack thereof). And my brother brought her to our niece's third birthday party. Sorry, you don't bring "a piece" to a family function- no matter how long you've been fucking.

Indications she's chipped her way into that role:

*Jay leaves our apartment in the morning before she does
*He walks her dog
*They're spotted canoodling around town
*She wanders around the pad in just her underwear

If that's not relationship behavior, I don't know what is....

New month. New format. New attitude.

Heh-heh. I'm such a dorkus. That last bit is a bunch of hoeey. You people know I'm a surly bruja.

That notwithstanding, allow me to interject New Guy is scrumptious.