Twin Win

So I'm dating this guy. He's an identical twin. I have not met his twin, but apparently they look different enough that I won't have trouble telling them apart.

Boy and I went out to dinner. We shall call boy, "A"(he is not sending creepy texts to Hanna, Aria, Spencer, and Emily). We put our name on the waiting list, but he gave his twin brother's name...we shall call twin "B"(he is sending the texts to Hannah, Aria, Spencer, and Emily). So even though I know I'm with "A", he says he's "B" and my eyes go wide.

Holy. Crap. I got in the car with, essentially, a stranger. I'm with the wrong brother. No. No. No. This cannot be good.

It reminds me of MK&A's "Passport To Paris" when they are waiting outside of the Embassy for the boys and they are like "This is it, the true test. Can they tell us apart?"

                                              *Check it out at 1:57

So I'm freaking out that I just failed the most important test of the day and the boy is gonna leave me.


"A" reveals he is, as I thought, "A". NOT A FUNNY TRICK.

(Since I wrote this a week ago, I have since met twin. I can successfully tell them apart.)

"We're Not Gonna Pay"*

Dear Faithful Readers and Other People Who Have Arrived Here By Random Happenstances of the Universe,

I speak a lot of my good friend Matilda who has put up with my insanity and proof read every post - even the ones that you will never see. She has decided to reveal her true identity and become a guest blogger on my site! FINALLY!  Without further ado and adon't, I give you...

Hi people, I'm Matilda, but you can call me "other".

Recently my parents abandoned me. Kicked me out of the house and made me face my fear of being self-sufficient. Yes, my parents will still pay for my cell phone bill, but what Jewish girls' parents don't? Am I right?

So anyways, this past month I have spent my life apartment hunting. I've seen it all - the skuz, the shit, the over priced and the beautiful. Those words could also be related to my dating life (which is non existent)...ya feel me?

Finally, I found it. The one. Not too small, not too large, Juuuuuust right.

So now that half my paycheck is going out the window to the box I will live in, I must start buying everything to put in it. Luckily my parents are nice enough to give me all their cleaning supplies, two stools and a chair. How sweet.

But there is still so much left. I mean how do you know what is essential and what isn't?

Enter the checklist. The how-to guide for those who have no idea how to live.

Click here for the list I used.

Not everything applies, but hey, it gets the juices flowing.

Much success to you all.

Thanks, Other/Matilda! Stay tuned for more posts from Other/Matilda in the future. If you'd like to be a guest writer, comment on any post with a way to contact you (I won't publish your comment so your info will stay private) and I'll be in touch!

*RENT RENT RENT RENT RENT REEEEENT

In a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G

I love country music.

Yep, I just lost half my readers. 

Anyway, I love country music. There are a lot of songs about kissing people. Rather, there are a lot of song lyrics about people not kissing people. My two current favorites:

1) Thompson Square's "Are You Gonna Kiss Me Or Not"

2) Gloriana's "Good Night"

That said, if you want to kiss me, kiss me. 
If you want to kiss me, but don't know if I feel the same way, ask me. 
If you think I want you to kiss me, but you don't want to kiss me, make an awkward statement like "I have no intention of kissing you." At least then I won't keep wondering. And then everything will be awkward. And for the first time it won't be my fault!

So, with that. You should've kissed me when you had the chance. Or you should've shut me down when you had the chance. I know you're reading this. Because I stalk you - obviously. 

Walk this way!*

Walking. It's a great thing. We learn at a young age how to walk, usually after we learn to crawl. What we never learn is how to "perfect" the walk of shame. No matter how many times we practice, the walk of shame is never graceful and never flawless.

At this time I'd like to take the opportunity to warn you. Nothing below is graphic, but may be inappropriate, so if we are related and you might get uncomfortable knowing the below, please stop reading now, close the window and walk of shame from my page. Gracias.

In college I used to make guys stay at my place. I NEVER stayed at their place. I refuse to do the walk of shame. I've seen so many people trek down the street come morning time, makeup smeared across her face, clothes in disarray (or entirely off), and sky high heels encouraging the teeter-tottering that we should've left at the playground in preschool.

In my post-college days it's been a lot more difficult to make sure the guy stays at my place. It's not like we all live a few blocks from one another and can run home before class/work. I recently had a very embarrassing walk of shame. Obviously I'm going to tell you all about it.

So I was out with this guy I'd been dating for awhile. (And now I'm switching to the present tense - sorry, Ms. Wolfe. Hey, at least I'm acknowledging it.) I'm wearing tan ankle bootie heels, dark skinny jeans, a super cute black sequin top that Taylor Swift** picked out for me, and a leather jacket. Not to toot my own horn (I'm actually afraid of honking my car horn, FYI), but I looked pretty hot. We went to a few bars with friends and then headed back to his place and passed out. We woke up abruptly to the dog barking like crazy, and his roommate banging on the door -- "Are you ready?" He looks at me and it's obvious he has no idea what she's talking about. 

All of a sudden it rushed back to him -- they had an event that day. It was not the week after, as he thought. Nor was it scheduled for 2pm like he thought, but for 11am. His roommate screams again, "hurry up! People are already here!"

PEOPLE WERE ALREADY THERE. So I put on my big girl pants (metaphorically speaking), put on my actual pants and my actual sequin shirt, attempted to fix my hair, and walked, hand in hand with boy, into the hallway. (I'm friends with all the roommates so it wasn't exceptionally weird, except that they didn't expect to see me there at 11am on a Sunday.)

Seeing as I'm quite an awkward person and am always trying hard to be unawkward (yeah that was awk), I walked into the hallway and screamed "HEY GUYS!" I may have made it worse. Yes, in retrospect, I definitely made it worse. "Oh! Hey!", they all said. Yes, climatic. I know.

Boy walked me out to my car. I told him I used to refuse to sleep at the guys place, for this exact reason. He laughed. I don't think he knew I was serious. And I was. Serious. 

Got in my car and naturally called Joan right away to tell her about the most awkward walk of shame I've ever had. Good news, I only had to walk a short way to my car. Good news, no smeared makeup. Best news, I'm not a hoho (also not Santa) because I'm dating this guy. 

*Fank you, Aerosmith.
**Taylor Swift is a code name. The real TayTay did not pick out a shirt for me. Real Taylor, do you read my blog? Would you like to pick out a shirt for me? 

I Can, However, Blame A Guy For Not Trying...

Last night I was talking to David. We hadn't talked in awhile and tried to fit a few weeks of happenings into an hour. I talk a lot. It was difficult.

Anyway, I was recounting my recent babysitting adventures during which a number of things occurred. Most notably was the hour I spent picking up a ball, while making pirate noises, that the ten month old continued to drop because he liked the noise. So he was all flirty. And as all babies do because they just...do, he kept giving me a devilish smile and then grabbing at my chest.

Upon telling this to David, he responded, "I didn't know you let just anybody do that! You should have told me that!"  No. David, dear, you try without being asked. He he said, "oh well, can't blame a guy for trying." To which I quickly grabibbled (I couldn't think of a good synonym for 'said' so I made up a word), "true, but I can, however, blame a guy for not trying.

I feel like we always (sometimes) like the guys who don't like us. And the guys that like us are the ones we are...well, less than attracted to. So on a recent trip to visit college friends I made what I thought was a reasonable request to a guy...I wanted to snuggle. And he turned. me. down. Turned me down like bed sheets. Except I was in the bed and he was on the other side. And he was like "awww, no. No, bed sheets. I turn you down!" Say whaaaat?! I was so angry.

What he actually said was "I literally cannot move right now." LIAR. YOU ARE A LIAR. Turn over and spoon me, please and thank you.

I wanted to snuggle. That's all! I just LOVE snuggling. WHY WON'T YOU SNUGGLE ME? 

I'm still a little bitter, apparently. So telling David this the next day sent him into uncontrollable laughter. I did not laugh. "Guy is oblivious," grabibbled David. Thanks, Captain Obvious.

David then maneuvered his way into bed with us (probably appropriate to mention that this was David's bed. He had been at work, thus the reason we slept in his bed.) trying to snuggle us both. It was the threesome I never wanted to have. I said that out loud. It was awkward. So I gave myself an award. I try to applaud myself for my awkward moments.

Clueless Weekend

One weekend I lived the life of Cher Horowitz in "Clueless". Well, my roommate was Cher. Somehow I ended up being Elton. For real. Explanation to follow.

So a bunch of us met at a bar but decided to leave to head to a house party. A friend warned us that there might be some hard drugs there. Was Tai gonna be there? Oh em gee! Little did I know, Tai was already with us.

We got to the house party and after about an hour, one of our girlfriends, "Tai", fainted and hit her head really really hard. Our group accompanied her outside to get some fresh air, but we were escorted by another party goer - a pediatrician, "Elton" (not me). Only in LA will your pediatrician have huge gauges in his ears. Dude was awesome. He asked the girl questions to make sure she was concussion free. One of the questions was "what is her birthday?" - her being me. My roommate promptly "Cher"s it up - "stuff she knows!" Our friend is alive and fine, thank you for asking!

The night before this incident the same group was at a different set of bars. It was time to go home and even though it made the most sense for me to drive my roommate home, I wanted to drive home one of the boys. I put on my Elton attitude and said "I'm taking Jake home". The other set of girls thought they were taking him home because he lives on their street. "No, I'm taking Jake home." Jake's roommate stepped in. He was taking Jake home. You don't argue with that, apparently. Case closed for drunk Melis. So I,"Elton" (obviously not the same Elton from above), drove my roommate ("Cher", the same Cher as the above story), and Jake ("Tai", who is not the same Tai from the above story) went home with his roommate (Summer, not in the story above). 

I did not leave my roommate at a seedy liquor story in the valley and neither of us were held at gunpoint. 

Cher and her crew trek from Beverly Hills to the Valley. We live in the valley and hit up a swank party in the nicest part of town we know - West Hollywood. So really there is no doubt that I lived the Clueless life last weekend. Nothing I'm so proud of that I want a repeat, but I'm certainly relieved I Cher-ed it up in my young years.

That's right, I said it. YOUNG. I'm still young. Sort of.

I'm not even sorry that this probably made no sense.

Your Eyes Say Yes But Your Lips Say No. Say What?

I love board games. Even card games. An intense game of go-fish with other employed adults gets me going all the time. Day or night. Night or day. Nightday or daynight.  I, however, do not like mind games that the boys play.

I'm by no means saying that boys are the exclusive owners of the mind game. Girls do it too, but for the sake of my rant I'm going to make me and my ladies innocent. 

I got a text from a friend last night - "Why did he kiss me? I just don't want people making moves on me if they aren't interested." Exactly. It's a sad truth. Guys will kiss us because they can, and maybe because they want to, but not necessarily because they want us. 

In the moment it's great! But the day after? The week after? How are you supposed to interact with this guy ever again and not make it awkward? If you go in all friendly, pretending nothing ever happened, he's going to think you're into him. Sometimes we're not, okay? You're not all that and a bag of chips. Sometimes your just all that. And I don't take anything that comes without chips (make it a meal at Subway...always). 

You can go the ignoring route. But that's weird too. Because it's awkward. 

There is a time in life when you can randomly make out with your friends here and there and it's okay, but then it gets to a point where it's childish and not conducive to the marriage goal. One time in college I made out with a friend of mine. I texted him a few days later asking him to snuggle - I love to snuggle! - and he responded "I'm sorry if I led you on...". Umm...IF? IF? Yes, you did lead me on. There was no need for you to kiss me if you weren't interested. (I found out later he had a girlfriend. They had become official days before - their relationship lasted almost 2 years. Impressive. Clearly she never knew he was a cheating dirt bag.)

Anyway, moral of the story. Figure out what age makes the random no consequences make-out becomes inappropriate. And then let me know. Because I'd like to know. Sooner rather than later is ideal.

Thank You, Dr. Pepper...

...For excluding me from enjoying a drink that I don't want, and for proving I'm a man in the process.

I'm sure you've all heard of Dr. Pepper 10. I purchased it last year because I had a coupon for a free 2 liter bottle and I never pass up free stuff I don't like. Right after my purchase I first saw the commercial that made it overly clear that this drink is only for men. I say "overly clear" because the dialogue and text say "not for women". 

Recently as I was driving to work I heard the new radio spot for the drink. The spot basically sets a list of check points that will qualify or disqualify you for drinking DP10, thus, measuring your manliness. Among the qualifications:

• If you’ve ever hemmed your pants with duct tape…
• If you sport a handlebar mustache…
• If you’ve blogged about bacon…

I've hemmed many things with duct tape. I'm poor. Not just pants. Dresses. Shirt sleeves.

My handlebar mustache is the fake one I craft when I pull a piece of my long hair across my face for comedic effect. 

I have blogged about bacon. Not on this blog. On a different food one where I am a guest writer. The sentence said "I don't eat bacon so I left it out of the recipe." I'm pretty sure that qualifies as blogging about bacon.

So by your standards, Dr. Pepper 10, I'm a man. But you know what? I'm not and I don't want your drink because I hate Dr. Pepper. Also, way to perpetuate stereotypes, assholes. 



*This post would not be complete without making fun of my brother, who as a 2 year old had a meltdown in a Pizza Hut where he screamed "I WANT DR. PEPPER!" for what felt like an eternity. The boy had never had Dr. Pepper before. Pizza Hut does crazy things to us all.

"I heard from a friend of a friend of a friend that..."*

Alright. Here's the deal. When I drink I act like I'm in high school. Not the way I actually was in high school. The way the girls I hated acted in high school. 

It's a dark bar. It's very loud. It's a dark and loud bar. A girl I barely know called me over. "Can I tell you something?" she asked me. I was drunk, of course I would say yes. Disregard the fact that I hadn't known her for very long, she wanted to confide in me and I was far from denying her of her request. "I kissed Frank a few weeks ago. I really like him. Will you find out if he likes me? Say it just like this…"

Yes. Obviously I will help you. Did you not know I'm the matchmakers of all matchmakers? Well I am. I'm notorious for setting people up on dates that never actually end up occurring. So, really, my track record is pretty good. No failed dates!

Within seconds I had forgotten the exact words I was supposed to say, so I said the following. "Frank, I forget what I'm supposed to say, but do you like that girl?" He didn't, but said he'd call her the next day to straighten it all out. "But she wants me to give her an answer now so what do I tell her?" Apparently I was supposed to leave it alone because "This is ridiculous we aren't in high school." No. I have a BFA in meddling. 

Girl tracked me down. "Does he like me?" No. Whomp and let the sadness commence. But not too sad. She was drunk too so she was relatively upbeat.

I went back to Frank. "Are you trying to hook up with that other girl?" 

I don't remember what he said. Those drinks were strong. 


*Eden's Edge, "Amen"

"On Wednesdays we wear pink!" and everything else that made high school a living hell

What the hell just happened on PLL? Holy crap I am shocked. I'm sorry, did you not realize this was a Pretty Little Liars blog all along? Yeah, I was hiding A clues in all my past posts. 

Just kidding. I think. 

Anyway. Happy hump day, people! Fun fact, it wasn't until my senior year of high school that I first understood the non-sexual meaning of "hump day". I genuinely thought that  Wednesday was just sex day for all.

In honor of my high school naiveté, PLL's epic high school drama, my recent reconnection with a high school friend, and the fact that my high school reunion is rapidly approaching, I want to back track to the days when sneaking out at night and sneaking in after curfew was a right of passage and sign of bad-assiness. Back to the time when wearing the most expensive clothing was more important than being comfortable. Back to the time when lying to yourself about who you were seemed like a better decision than being yourself. Simply put, back to the time you thought was the greatest life could ever get, clouded with tons of shitiness you just assumed was a staple of life. 

What were you like in high school?  It doesn't matter.  I am a firm believer that people can change and what we were in high school probably isn't what or who we are now. 

It's great you changed. Really, it is. You know who doesn't care? The people you screwed over back then. Yes, there is such a thing as 'forgive and forget' but let's throw that out the window for now.  Let it fall til it whacks the ground and shatters to teeny tiny unidentifiable remnants of the past.  Just like the egg assignment from elementary school that I still don't think I'd be successful with today. 

Anyway, we've all talked smack about someone behind their back and it's gotten back to them. We learn from it. The person you talked about may never forgive you, and that's fine. You may never forgive the girl that made up bizarre rumors about you. That's fine too. But we learn how to move on and we're better people because of it. We're better without those people.

One day one of my supposed BFFs, Ingrid, was talking about me behind my back. In front of my face. I was like "BITCH PLEASE" and then I cried. She told me I'd changed so much because I started wearing eyeliner. Yes, seriously, that is what made me cry. I think I just hated her so much that I cried over whatever she said even if it was funny. And Ingrid was one to talk! Girl caked makeup on, including eyeliner, like a transvestite show girl in Vegas. Not really, I'm just still bitter about this apparently. I forgive her, but I will never be her friend.

Then I transferred schools, but not because of Ingrid. Because of my love of eyeliner and my want to wear it openly without judgement. Just kidding. I transferred to an all girls school so I could get away without brushing my hair in the morning or shaving my legs on a regular basis. It was glorious. I highly recommend single sex education if you want your child to forget everything they know about personal hygiene. Really, it's a great move.

Those PLLs should learn something from me. Wear less makeup, don't talk about your friends behind their backs, and go to an all girls school to avoid Toby and other sexy traitors like him. Also, call the police. Just do it. And don't go to remote cabins with creepers. Just make out with them on your front porch steps. 

*thanks, "Mean Girls"

Did You Know...?

I want to make something clear. I rarely write posts the same day I post them. Very often I write them days, weeks, or a month ahead of time and let them sit until I feel like they're finally "postable". So if in a post I say "last week" or "yesterday", it is possible that those moments referenced were actually quite some time ago. Then again, it is also possible that it was actually last week or yesterday. 

Just for some examples:
Bite Me, Blondie! was posted on August 22, but I wrote it in mid July.
A Case of Mistaken Identity was posted on July 16, but the event occurred July 9th.
abcdeFGjlmnqrz and my NYC subway journey was written and posted on July 6
Haven't You Ever Seen "Taken"? posted June 22, but the night referenced took place in mid-May.

But anyway, you get where this is going. I mention this for two reasons. One, I don't want anyone to think I have brilliant moments of creativity every day.  Two, I don't want anyone to think I'm writing a post about them because I say "yesterday with my friend" and I saw you yesterday. If I write about you, I will tell you. You will know. I promise. 

"Bite Me, Blondie!"*

What do you do when it's 100+ degrees outside and wayyyy too hot for the trusty decorative scarf? You "show it off!" as Joan so confidently advised me. Brilliant. Seriously. That's actually a really good idea. Doing the model strut/walk down the street but instead of showing off your high end fashion sense, you're saying "Look at this artwork on my neck, yo! I got some! Sucks for you, seeing as you gots no pretty marks to show for yourself."  

But what if you can't show it off? What if you're game to hit on someone -- someone who did not decorate your neck so beautifully? How exactly do you avoid that awkwardness? I have no idea. No idea at all. It's all a big messy situation that I'm ashamed to admit I've been a part of. Crap. How the hell am I supposed to successfully flirt it up all the while sporting another guy's teeth marks?

After I wrote the above paragraphs I took a break because I didn't know where this was going. That night I went to a bar with some friends where I was hit on, despite my "flaws". I've come to two conclusions. One, those guys were dumb. Or two, they saw the marks, assumed I was a grade-A slut, and wanted to get in on the action.

Now I've come to this conclusion, a week after writing all of the above. Don't hook up with someone just for the sake of hooking up. It's not a good idea. Fun. But not a good idea.


*Yes, this is from "FRIENDS". What else would I quote?

Let Me Look Into Your Mind

My mother just admitted I was psychic rather than admitting she was wrong.  Seriously. I promptly told her how ridiculous she sounded, but no, she was still right and thus I was psychic. 

Perhaps I should back up.

In a previous phone call with my mother I reminded her of someone's birthday and then continued with, "it's also Aunt Hope's birthday." Apparently this was a weird thing from me to know seeing as I never had much contact with Aunt Hope (she's my great aunt). I told my mom I knew this because I had seen it on her calendar when I was a child, to which mom said she had NEVER had Aunt Hope's birthday on her calendar, nor did she know it. So in attempt to prove my awesomeness, or "birthday psychicism" as I've come to call it, I phoned my Grandma who confirmed it was, in fact, Aunt Hope's birthday. So I called my mother back to tell her this and she continued to insist that I couldn't have ever seen that on her calendar. Thus, my psychic prophecy began.

A few days after that incident I was out with a friend I hadn't seen in years and randomly asked if his birthday was on a certain date -- it was. How did I remember it? I'm the birthday psychic.

This weekend I asked my roommate's brother if his birthday was February 7th. Right again. Somebody save me from my own amazingness!

I do have to admit I haven't honed my talent too finely yet -- I can't perform on command. I tried and I failed. In due time, friends, in due time.

But I won't disappoint, so one final guess. Your birthday is in May. May 18th, possibly? 

Coast to Coast

People always ask me if I like the West Coast better than the East Coast. I don't like this question. There are oceans in both of those places.

A question I'd much rather ponder is "Baltimore or LA?"

My Grandmother recently reminded me that LA has earthquakes, but Baltimore has Michael Phelps. I told her he has a girlfriend, she yelled, "that stripper?!", I explained she was a model. Grandma said Baltimore has Allison Schmitt. I told Grandma I'm not a lesbian.

Anyway, this list is NOT what is better/worse about one city vs the other. This is just a list of things that each city has. (I have a feeling this might be a very boring list.)

Baltimore/Surrounding Areas:                                Los Angeles/Surrounding Areas:
Michael Phelps                                                                  Dodgers
Allison Schmitt                                                                  Angels
Orioles                                                                                 Kings
Ravens                                                                                 Lakers
Inner Harbor                                                                      Clippers
Wegmans                                                                            Smog
Snow                                                                                    Traffic
Humidity                                                                            Runyon Canyon
Rain                                                                                     Earthquakes
Crabs                                                                                    Mudslides
Snowballs                                                                           In N Out
"The Wire" and "Veep"                                                     All other tv shows that aren't "The Wire" and
                                                                                                    "Veep"                                                                                                                     
Otterbein's Cookies                                                           Yogurtland/Menchie's
Preakness                                                                            The Hollywood Bowl
Berger Cookies                                                                   The Grove (aka the hot sauce store)
Natty Boh                                                                            Universal Studios
UTZ (Crab Chips)                                                               Disneyland
Dunkin' Donuts                                                                 Rodeo Drive and other places with expensive  
                                                                                                        things that I can't afford

Multi Colored Rings AKA Olympics

As the Olympics come to a close, I'd like to reflect on the wonderment the past two weeks have provided.

First, I refuse to watch any of this NBC primetime recap. I'm watching it live or not at all. So I watched at work a lot, having Matilda give me play by plays when I was in a meeting, and doing the same for her when needed (more on this later). One night I tried to watch gymnastics (delayed) on NBC and couldn't stop laughing at the broadcasters, so I stopped watching.

I may not be a gymnastics genius (it's not called gymnicetics!) but I know what a clean landing/dismount/standing up thing looks like. So, US commentators, when you say "oh boy, that was not a good landing. That double hop there..." reminds me that you too are average and should not be relaying information on a sport you've clearly never watched or participated in. I'd be more interested if you explained why that "flippy spin split" thing was not perfect. But my guess is you don't know why.

Also, Gabby Douglas, your hair is fine. I don't know what the big deal is. 

As far as swimming. Hello, boys. Hello, girls, too - but not in the same tone of "hello, boys". Anyway. Ryan Lochte, I hope your mother was confused about the meaning of "one night stand" when she used it in interviews. And of course your shirt is off in this pic. Nathan Adrian, Matilda wants your hot bod. Although this picture here looks like a mugshot. What were you arrested for? Huh? Huh? Michael Phelps, you are from Baltimore, you're a great swimmer, and you clearly don't prepare for photo days. I'd like to see your high school yearbook pics. 

you're so awesome. you make me feel so...not awesome.

Soccer. I don't really watch it, but Matilda loves it the way I love baseball, so I don't judge. She had to pop into a meeting while the US was playing Canada in the semis and despite my non-existent knowledge of the sport (even though I played for 10+ years growing up) I gave  her the following real-time information. (She read it after the fact, and since I don't know any players names, I don't know how helpful this was.)


US corner kick  nothing.                        another corner for US 
 
nothing again  damn canada b****es keep saying theyre hurt  one of them better be. because im sick of watching poeople lie on thge ground only to get up and play  ok she was actually hurt.  why does time still go when they are down  playing again NOOOO  almost got a goal for US    blocked again another b**** is hurt  GET UP LAZY  oh well hers might be legit  dont worry itgs only canada ok shes walking off  not okay though  WHY FDOOES TIME KEEP MOVING oh and now shes playing again  i dont get these people us has the ball  going down field  OH MAN SO CLOSE  close again us has it again  booooo ref hit it  cxanada has it  us has it  OH MTY FOSH WE ALSMOT GOT IT  bouncved off the top goal post oh s*** canada playing dirty  uh ioh ohara is down because of canada being dirty  she OK  i think there is on mionute left  i fdont understand time

I think we can all learn from this that I don't understand how the time clock works.

GO USA! GO ALL THE OTHER COUNTRIES TOO!

The Phantom Of The Fire Alarm

Ever since I was a child I've had very vivid dreams. I've also always been a very heavy sleeper. It's nearly impossible to wake me up and if you succeed, I'll greet you with some curses.  Or I'll lunge at you and chase you down the hallway. Both of those scenarios have happened. 

A few weeks ago I startled awake to the sound of the fire alarm going off. Three blasts and then it shut off. I didn't smell any smoke and no one was screaming so I decided to go back to sleep. It was a quite a shock that I woke, seeing as I've slept through many a smoke detector beeping.

In the morning I asked my roommate if he heard it. He hadn't. I thought maybe he just slept through it, so I brushed it off. Later in the day I ran into the building manager and another tenant. Upon asking them if they heard the fire alarm, one gave me a very strange look and the other asked if I had been dreaming. Apparently it was a dream. Crap.

The night after that we had a 3.8 earthquake.  For Los Angeles that's pretty low, but still enough that you'd notice it. I slept through it. 

Two nights ago (Tuesday) I was getting ready for bed when I got a frantic text about an earthquake. A 4.4 that I didn't feel. Yesterday I got to work to find there was another 4.4 quake at 9:30am while I was getting ready for work, which I also didn't feel.

Apparently I wake up to phantom fire alarms but sleep through natural disasters. Fix me. 

Brace Yourself

As a child I wanted glasses, a retainer, and braces. 

I lied on my eye exams hoping to get glasses. By the time I was 7...it had happened.

Lying about teeth problems is a little more difficult. I did, however, manage to get a bright yellow, glow in the dark retainer in fourth grade. That thing brought all the boys to the yard. In the sense that if the lights were out in the classroom I'd take out my retainer and use it as a flashlight. 

In 7th grade I got braces. Damn they looked good. Although less boys flocked to me because I was unable to guide them with my tooth-repairing-flashlight. 

I got my braces off right before high school started, but then had to wear another retainer to hold my teeth in. Because, I have dentures. Not really. I picked clear retainers. I don't know why I thought that was a good idea. I must have decided that if I was going to have mouth fun I needed to look mature. Note to self: no matter the color of your retainer, you look immature. I should've sprung for the multi-colored glitter. SHABAM. 

I still have glasses. Next time I will get glow in the dark frames to scare away all the humans, but to attract the aliens. Maybe I've been looking for the wrong type of man. Alien men, are you interested?

A Battle For My Love. Or My Bat Mitzvah Invitation.

I'm proud to say I have NEVER cheated on a boyfriend before. I have, however, made a mistake that is debatably worse than cheating.

In 4th Grade I sat at a desk in a group of four. Me, another girl, and two guys. I happened to have a crush on both guys in my group. So I went on crushing on them through fourth and fifth grade. I was boy cray-zeeee, but despite what I thought was obvious, my flirting went unnoticed by these two Romeos. (I realize that this still happens to me quite a lot. The unrecognized flirting, not the sitting at desks.) 6th Grade rolled around and I lost touch with one of the boys, while the other still had no idea I wanted to have his babies (in a non-sexual way or whatever is appropriate for eleven year olds).

This is how I went to school ONE DAY and one day only, in Fifth Grade.
I had just taken a full head of cornrows out and thought my hair
looked nice like this. This may have had something
to do with the unrecognized flirting. 
Let's admire my LTD2 sweatshirt.

At the end of 7th grade I finally started dating a guy I had been crushing on for...months. Let's call him Armageddon. A week into our oh so something relationship, I was at my brother's hockey game (for those of you that know my brother, let the laughter commence) and one of his teammates was the 4th grade hottie I lost touch with. We will call him Sparta. Sparta also happened to be my new boyfriend's BFF. Oh snap. 

After the hockey game I get home to find an IM (romantic!) from Sparta saying he's had a crush on me since we were little. What did I do? I confessed my undying crush for him, too! "But I'm with Armageddon now", I said. And after what felt like a long conversation, but was probably only a few minutes, I had convinced myself to break up with Armageddon (via IM, of course) and date Sparta, but we'd keep it on the DL for a little while. 

Well in middle school time "little while" apparently meant a few days. Or one day. I really forget. 

THIS. IS. SPARTA.

Since Sparta and I hadn't been friends in years, I hadn't invited him to my Bat Mitzvah, which was days away. Yes, that is correct, I broke up with one boy 6 days before my Bat Mitzvah and then started dating another. Well my parents told me I could not invite Sparta so last minute. I started crying and said it was unfair for me not to be able to invite my boyfriend. They finally agreed. Sorry, Mom and Dad, that was really horrible of me.

Looking back I realize two things. One, I was a total brat. Two, I made a mistake in being such a beyotch to both of those boys. I don't know what either of them are doing now, but we're still Facebook friends. 

I talk to the other 4th Grade boy once in awhile (he is no longer in 4th grade, if that was unclear). He may never know that I wanted to marry him that day in elementary school...even after he threw up in a box.

Friend? or Foe? or Friend?

So I've been thinking a lot about the difference between friends and stalkers and I've decided that it's almost impossible to decipher. Basically, if their presence annoys you AND they can't take no for an answer, they're a stalker. Friends will annoy you - fact of life. Usually a friend will take "no" for what it is, but then sometimes they don't. That really pisses me off. But more on that...probably never.

The commonality that makes the differentiation between friend and stalker so troublesome is that you refer to both with nicknames. Here's the difference: if the person knows about the nickname and refers to themselves by that as well, it's a friend. If the person does not know about the name, it's a stalker. If the person knows about the name, the name is offensive AND the person refers to themselves by it, it's a stalker.

Obviously this is a vicious never-ending cycle. Apparently all of our friendships are truly stalker-ships. [Someone please tell me when this gets added to the dictionary. If "LOL" can be in there, stalker-ship sure as hell should be.]

But honestly, if you're calling someone by their given name, they're probably not a good friend. 

Here is a very abbreviated list of things I call people who I consider besties:

-Osamo
 -Fish
 -Lamb
 -Bulldozer
 -Mount Everest
 -Little Foot
 -Joan
 -TT
 -Sir
 -Bieber  (I want to be clear that I do not know Justin Bieber. I just call a friend of mine Bieber sometimes. It is normal!)

Ten On Tuesday (3)!

Since no one sends me Ten on Tuesday questions, I have forced Matilda to write some. She could only think of five. I really like them. Keep it up, Matilda!


1. would you rather have sex with aunt jemima or mr clean?
tough one. good pancakes vs knowing you can't get an STD. also, woman vs. man. 

2. have you ever been so scared your peed your pants?
no.

3. what is your favorite food since you like to eat so much?
I love french fries. I love turkey. I really like french fries.

4. what is your fav talk show?
ELLEN!

5. how high are your highest shoes?
i'll guess...4.5"?

This next one came from an anonymous commenter!
6. How many highlighters are at your desk right now?
fourrrr. two yellow, one blue, one pink. 

I wrote these last four.
7. Who is the second to last person to call you?
My momma.

8. Are you listening to music right now?
yep! my Teddy Goldstein station on Pandora

9. What's under your bed?
some suitcases/bags, my external hard drive, some secrets...

10.How many keys on your key ring?
5

The One About Phoebe's Songs

After searching on a variety of fan sites for the # of songs Phoebe sings during FRIENDS ten year run, I can best gather that she sang 40+ different songs and mentioned at least 10 more.

I started thinking about this when I rewatched the episode where Phoebe sings at the children's center. The kids love her because she's "the lady that tells the truth", and for the same reason the parents hate her. Also, take a second to appreciate that Tahj Mowry appears in this ep. 

Now, because this is really fun and I'm really bored, I am going to dissect some of the songs featured in the aforementioned episode, as well as some of my favorite Phoebe songs. 

There'll be times when you get older                                      
And you'll want to sleep with people                                       
Just to make them like you                                                    
But DON'T                                                                         
Cause that's another thing that you don't wanna do
That's another thing that you don't wanna do
This is spot on. Do not sleep with people to make them like you. Only sleep with them to cure boredom. It is a proven fact that sex cures boredom. (Just kidding, I made that up. Please don't quote me in your prestigious articles. Yes, I have high hopes that people of prestigious-article-writing -levels read my blog.)

Sometimes men love women
And sometimes men love men
Then there are bi-sexuals
Though some just say they're kidding themselves
La-la-la-la-la-la...
This is just as relevant now as it was when the episode originally aired in 1996. And a very simple way to teach children. Notice that there is no judgement of any particular scenario. 

Now grandma's a person who everyone likes
She brought you a train and a bright shiny bike
But lately she hasn't been coming to dinner
And last time you saw her she looked so much thinner.
Now your mom and your dad said she moved to Peru,
But the truth is she died and someday you will too
La-la-la-la-la...
I would cry hysterically if someone sang this song to me. Also, what a cool grandma to just pick it all up and move to Peru! If only it were true...

...And the crusty old man said "I'll do what I can"              
And the rest of the rats played maracas                             
If all rats were like the ones in this song I wouldn't be so terrified of them. Also, I wonder what this song is about. What is a crusty old man?

Crazy underwear creeping up my butt
Crazy underwear always in a rut
Crazy underwear...
No need to call it crazy underwear. Underwear in general. Creepin' up my butt. I hate it. No. No. 

...dumb drunken b*tch!!                                                 
This might be about me. And most of my friends. 

What are your favorite Phoebe songs? Let me know in the comments!

Also, write more questions for the next "Ten On Tuesday"!

Kickin' 'em to the curb. Gently, of course.

You know what really sucks? Being dumped. There's really no "good" way to be dumped. Or to dump someone. The situation sucks whether you like or hate the person. Unless you're a cold hearted spineless form of human, breaking up is hard to do. I'll call it "breaking up" vs "dumping" because dumping sounds so sad. Like a piece of trash. Breaking up sounds more painful, but less violent. I can continue on my rant of which euphemisms are appropriate and not, but that will be another post. If I get around to it.

If you're thinking about breaking up with your significant other (or your random hookup, college kids), here are some ways to consider.

The text.

DO NOT DO THIS. If you're that much of a coward, you probably shouldn't be in a relationship. Your relationship also might be fake. A LIE. I said it. Yes I did. If you're texting, you have your phone, thus you can make the break up phone call.

The phone call.

Not the best idea, but better than the text. There are some situations when this MIGHT be acceptable. Long distance (of the permanent nature, not the "he's on a weekend trip with his parents"). Okay, just one situation.

The email.

In middle school my friend's boyf broke up with her in an email. She read it, claimed she was planning on breaking up with him anyway, then sent HIM a breakup email and claimed she had sent hers first. Why are we always so keen on being the dumper instead of the dumpee? Also, kudos to my friend. That was the best sneaky sleuth-y break up ever. We were also twelve so it was slightly more acceptable than it would be now.

The IM.

First of all, who still uses IM as a main form of communication? The last time I was dumped via IM was 9th grade. The last time I dumped someone over IM was... I either can't remember or am purposely blocking it out. Whatever. Don't do it. It's cheap and it dates you. The text is better than the IM. 

In person.

The best thing you can do. However, wear a lot of armor in preparation for the mass amounts of crap to be thrown your way. Remember in "The Parent Trap" when they reminisce and she reminds him she threw a hair dryer? That was quite tame. 

I have heard of breakups via Facebook and Twitter, but I'm too old to care about that nonsense anymore. I'm ignoring its existence and the possibility that it will ever happen to me or my friends.

All of this being said, future boyfriends (who I know aren't reading this because if you are a male reading this blog we either a) have already dated, b) will never date because my blog terrified you, or c) we are related), please don't break up with me via IM, email, or text. Also, I don't throw things out of anger, I usually do it out of excitement.