Observational Humor

Running on Empty

2008-03-09T14:30:00.002-04:00

My eyes are blood red and adorned with puffy circles, my hair hasn't been brushed in over 24 hrs, and my brows are in desperate need of grooming. Unfortunately, though, my schedule this past week hasn't granted me much time to take care of my personal appearance. With the Flower Show in town, an annual and quite popular convention here in Philly, I've had to work nearly every shift due to the heavy influx of customers at the restaurant . I haven't had a day off in six days, have worked almost fifty hours since then, and won't have off for another three days. I've spent nearly every minute at work on my feet, running all over the spacious restaurant, trying to please hundreds of cranky old ladies.

The crazy thing is, though, that I love it. I love the chaos, I love the drama, I love the surprises. In many ways, I even love the stress and exhaustion. I'm definitely craving that day off, but I really love my job. I'm making great friends and having so much fun. I would never have thought I could find a place I like as much as The Harbor Grill, but in less than three months I feel so at home here at FH and have met people who I hope I will remain friends with for years to come.

Most importantly, working at FH has made me realize how much I love this industry. Its hard work and long hours and unpredictable circumstances, but its damn fun. I think I've found what I'm supposed to do.

But I'll know a lot more where my future's headed in the next week or two. Updates to come. ; )

Home Again

2008-02-12T19:47:00.001-05:00

Well, its been almost five months since I left Block Island to move back to Philly. Its hard to believe that this is the most amount of time I have spent here in the past four years. Until now, the longest I'd been back was the summer after my sophomore year-- just three months. Mostly its just been Christmas vacation, a weekend here and there, a few days around Spring Break. It's sad to say that Philadelphia had started to become a place to visit, rather than my home.

Five years ago, I never would have thought things would turn out this way. My first year at college, friends wanted to kill me for my incessant talk about Philadelphia. Every thing was a story about my high school, a lesson on a "true" cheesesteak, a joke about The Phillies. Like most Philadelphians, my pride for this city was just as big as my mouth, and I couldn't stop talking about all the reasons we were better than everyone else.

But long semesters at school, Spring Breaks on vacation, and summers in Block Island kept me away from Philly. I started using words like "wicked" and "cawfee"; Clam chowda and bagels became staples of my diet, while Tastykakes lay dusty in the corner; my car's tires wore down the stretch of I95 between New York and Rhode Island. After the Harbor Grill closed up for the season, coming back to Philly for more than a month-- especially to a house that was not my childhood home-- felt oddly uncomfortable.

After a couple of weeks, however, things quickly fell back into place. Seeing so many friends and returning to places I hadn't visited in years made me incredibly glad I returned. Now, nearly every day I am reminded of what makes this city so great. Riding the train to work, I pass through several of the city's neighborhoods, appreciating the individual character and nuances of each; I gaze at the historic streets and architecture while walking through Center City; during Eagles games, I smile as burly men draped in green jump out of their seats at every touch down, and petite mascaraed women curse off the screen at every fumble; I rush through Market East with a mix of fear and amusement as a crowd of the homeless venerate at the blank wall beneath the escalator. There are just so many diverse reasons to love this city.

However, my favorite aspect of Philadelphia may be its love for a good story-- and the many ridiculous ones it provides. Despite the significant size of the city, gossip tends to run through the streets like in a small town. For a city that both Hillary Clinton and Paris Hilton have recently chose to promote themselves in, a city that hosts several professional sports teams, a city that provides the namesake and location for numerous TV shows and movies, the local news can still be dominated by stories of high school students who let chickens loose in the school halls.

I myself witness many good stories here every day. Working in a Center City restaurant of course provides its amusement, and SEPTA, the city's public transportation system, is filled with characters destined for novels. My friends here as well, with their eccentricities and lack of social grace, never fail to provide their share of comedy and drama. And, of course, as readers of this blog know, I too have been known to find myself in an awkward predicament or ten.

So, while I have been wildly negligent of my writing in the past nine months, I'm going to strive for now on to keep up with my blog and capture these and other stories in print. With so much to work with, there's no reason not to. This city is filled with passion, absurdity, and humor-- just what I try to instill in my writing. So, to the few people who may have read this blog in the past, I hope you'll rediscover it and enjoy hearing about the pathetic stories that are my life and the awesomeness that is my hometown.

And if that doesn't peek your interest, I'll have you know I live with my parents. If that doesn't provide some awkward and hilarious moments, I don't know what will.

Where to Now?

2007-10-16T16:02:00.000-04:00

Having finished college and returned from Block Island, I don't exactly have solid plans for my future. For awhile, i had been planning on moving to Boston this winter with Sara. I was really looking forward to it and had been telling everyone all about my exciting plans. However, just two weeks ago, I got a surprising email from Sara, who is currently traveling around parts of Europe. Apparently, she is having so much fun there that she is seriously contemplating renting an apartment in Florence and attending grad school there.

While this is a huge surprise and would affect me considerably, I couldn't help but be excited for Sara. Though she is not positive about her decision, she would love to live in the same city as her sister and new brother-in-law, and I know that it would be an amazing experience for her-- one I would never expect her to give up for some previous idea we may have had. I would love to do Boston, and I would miss Sara like CRAZY if she moved away, but I completely understand-- it's Italy!

However, though there is still the possibility that Sara won't stay in Europe, I need to start making some decisions. I'm not working and I need to get a job soon- either here or in Boston. Since receiving her email, i've been going back and forth-- do I take the chance and wait for Sara to make up her mind, or do I just get a job here in Philly and stay local for the winter?

There are certainly advantages to both. In Boston, I would be in the same city as many of my friends, just a few hours away from Block Island, and have the opportunity to see new things and meet new people; In Philly, where I haven't spent significant time since high school, I would be able to catch up with family and friends, save money by living at home, and would be just a short trip away from DC and NYC where, like Boston, I have several friends living.

I've gone through the pros and cons of both a million times, but in the end, it was one small thing that swayed me. Browsing through Myspace yesterday, I noticed my friend Anna had changed her profile picture. It was a snap shot of me and her alongside our friend Cindy, our arms thown around each other's shoulders, huge smiles on all our face's.

It was a simple picture, one in which I didn't even look particularly good, but it made me so happy. It was like so many pictures we had taken in highschool, when the three of us were inseperable, always acting wierd and getting ourselves in trouble. It made me long to have some of that back-- minus the curfews and homeroom meetings, of course.

And, along with Cindy and Anna, there are many other friends I have missed so much over the past four years, and who I would finally have the chance to spend time with if I stay here. There's my cousin Emily, who is planning for her wedding this summer; My friends Kim and Danielle, also Springsiders, who have just returned to Philly after long absences; My girl Megan down in Maryland who, despite our tri-weekly phone calls, I haven't seen in well over a year; or my dear Nana who, at eighty six years old, won't be around forever.

So just as Italy is an opportunity I think Sara should not pass up, this is one I can not let get away. I can't keep neglecting the people that I love so much who are living here in Philly and places nearby. And, more importantly, I WANT to spend more time with them. Boston will still be around next year, and I can always take weekend trips to BI and visit my loves there. But, right now, i'm ready to get reconnected to my hometown. So if you need me, you now know where I'll be.

Important Announcement

2007-09-21T15:29:00.000-04:00

Because I haven't updated in weeks now, i think it is important that my latest post reveals some of the most important news to have occured in the past decade, the release of my new fragrance, Heartbreaker by J. Lachat. It's something I've always dreamed of doing, and it's a project I take very seriously. Trust me, I have taken a very active role in the entire process-- its not just a bunch of businessmen and chemists I hire to take care of it all, but a project I aproached hands on and wholeheartedly just for you.

Heartbreaker, my very first fragrance, is designed for both men and women and of course priced reasonably, because I care about the "Normal", "average" people out there-- ya know, folks just like you and me. Hearbtreaker is a versitile scent and can best be decribed as a blend of roses, lavender, and jagermeister.

Expect the full Heartbreaker line to hit all Boscov stores in November '07. After all, if Paris Hilton, Hilary Duff, Sienna Miller, Gwen Stefani, Sarah Jessica Parker, P Diddy, Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen, Mariah Carey, and Vice President Cheney can all do it, why can't I?

Better Late Than Never

2007-07-21T16:30:00.000-04:00

Ok, I know: I suck at updating this summer. But, really, you can't blame me. I've been working crazy hours and, when not, I'm out having crazy fun. Finally, though, I'm buckling down and writing a little something.

As everyone who has ever spoke with me knows, I absolutely adore Block Island. I'm always talking about it, always thinking about it. If you haven't been here, you can't understand, nor do I expect you to, but it really is an amazing place. With every day, I am more and more in love with the island and all the wonderful people on it. This summer I have become closer with so many of my friends, and have made some great new ones as well.

In particular, I have been so grateful that I have been able to spend more time with my friend Leah B. Leah and I first met three summers ago, the first summer both of us worked on the island. We became fast friends, spent tons of time together, and have kept in touch throughout every winter since. And, though she has taken on a "real" job, working at a private school in Connecticut, she is back for the summer, keeping me company here at the Harbor Grill.

However, though we've been chillin a lot at work, and out at night at the bars, we have yet to sit down and really spend some "quality time" together this summer. So last night we finally had a date night and made plans to have dinner. We do it every summer-- dress up, go to a nice restaurant, and chat over a few glasses of wine. It's a nice change of pace from the noise and crowds of the bars: to catch up on the happenings in each other's lives and, more importantly, swap some juicy island gossip. All day yesterday I couldn't wait for our quant little date.

There was nothing quant about last night.

Thouh I thought things would be tame, it all quickly took a turn. Moment's after sitting down at Winfield's, one of the finer dining establishments on the island, sweet little Leah had convinced me to split a bottle of wine with her. We got a bottle of the Sauvignon Blanc, a delicious wine that went down so smoothly and, quite honestly, so fast. Half way through the bottle, and 30 minutes into our gossip sesh, the wine was clearly hitting us both and we dished and giggled like forty year old women from a bad chick flick. And our food was DELICIOUS! We split a tuna tartare appetizer and I had a unbelievable duck and scallop entree that was so yummy I wouldn't be surprised if I order it every time I go there for now on (which I'm planning on doing A LOT). By the end, my pants were feeling significantly tighter and I felt as if my stomache would burst.

But, when Leah B and I have date night, we don't stop at full. Dessert was next, and with some more (gentle) arm twisting, my innocent companion convinced me to join her in ordering a coffee drink-- Kahlua and Baileys for the both of us. Though the night had not made my body any lighter, my wallet was definately missing some of it's previous weight. I knew it was worth every penny though as Leah and I laughed ourselves out the front door, trying not to trip in our rarely-worn high heels.

Of course, after a bottle of wine and a very strong coffee drink, we weren't ready to call it a night. Next we were off to The Grill to take advantage of our connections and have some free drinks. Just a block into our walk, though, our mission was disturbed when we ran into our friend Rick, a former coworker and member of our favorite island band, The 007s. Rick, being the charmer he is, soon had us following him into The National for drinks with him and his brothers. Inside was chaos-- dozens of people crammed into the bar, music playing, and guys getting quite grabby. The three of us found a nice little spot, however, and were soon drinking three 007s, the drink that inspired the band. And of course, as it always goes with Rick, a round of shots were done as well. We talked and laughed our faces off for a good hour, reminiscing about our times at the Grill and making plans for the remainder of the summer.

After another round of drinks, we made a quick stop at Nick's before heading over to Kittens to cap off the night. Many more of our friends were there and an awesome band was playing so we danced our faces off and made complete fools of ourselves-- not that that is ever hard for us to do. Again, another round of shots occured, and when I heard "Last Call!" I almost wept. I was having so much fun and was completely unwilling to let the night end.

Lucky for me, I forgot who I was hanging out with. Moments later, Rick had us on a boat in New Harbor, hanging out with some strangers and drinking beers. It was a perfect end to an incredibly unpredictable night. And, though I nursed a hangover all day at work, I wouldn'tt trade in last night for the world. Not only was it silly and crazy, but-- more importantly-- I got to really talk to Leah. Our conversation at dinner was so great, so fun, so needed. I am immensely happy to have a friend who really understands me, and who is possibly the most genuinely caring person there is. Plus, she can drink like a champ-- what else could I need?

Slow Days and Fast Nights

2007-06-14T15:26:00.000-04:00

Where to begin? So much has happened in the past three weeks that I can't believe its actually only been three weeks since I returned to Block Island. From the begining, it was clear that it was going to be the craziest summer yet. Just minutes after arriving on island, as I greeted friends at The Harbor Grill where I work, I was forced to step into my new position as Assistant Manager. I was out in the hotel lobby, which adjoins the restaurant, when I heard a loud crash from the bar. Several others and I rushed in to find D Fagen, a notorious local drunk, lying on the floor next to his barstool. Fagen, who has been banned by the majority of the bars on the island, had apperently fallen asleep while drinking his red wine and slipped off his seat. Lying on the ground, he began to yell and curse, refusing help from George and Berger, who had come out from the kitchen when they heard the commotion. Attempts to call a cab for him were made, but the poor drunk was extremely resistant towards the idea. "You're all bitches!" he yelled. "I own this place!". Arms flailed, shoving ensued, and I desperately-- and hopelessly-- tried to talk some sense into this completely senseless man.

But nothing we said or did could calm him down. He was drunk, angry, and becoming increasingly violent. Teetering by the edge of the porch, i was certain he was going to topple off the side. Poor Trish hadnt yet seen more than a block of the island, and here she was now, watching a poor old drunk take swings at me. Finally, George and Berger made me step away since it was becoming more and more likely that I was going to get pushed over the porch railing. It wasn't until he fell over-- and couldnt pull himself back up-- that we acheived some sort of calm. Minutes later the cops arrived and carried Fagen off the porch by his belt loops, swinging his frail, limp body like a duffle bag.

Luckily, since then, we have not had any more scenes like that in the restuarant. In fact, besides a busy memorial Day Weekend, it has been extremly slow on the island. Schools aren't out yet and the weather is still crappy, so the hoards of tourists that will eventually come are still absent. Though we aren't making a lot of money because of it, on the bright side we have had plenty of time for goofing off in and out of work. Last Thursday was the second annual Toga Party at The Albion and this Tuesday marked the beginning of the Block Island Music Fest at Captain Nicks. Words can't fully describe the debauchery that has taken place, but believe me, it's been epic. If these events are any indication of what's to arrive, I can only hpe I'll make it out alive.

Ride or Die '07...let's do it!

Finally!

2007-05-22T16:42:00.000-04:00

Finally tomorrow I will leave for Block Island! I have been waiting for months for this day, and I am SO excited. I'm sure many a fun, crazy, and absolutely unforgettable times will be had. And I'm also pretty sure that, on at least four occasions, I will want to take my own life. Those days will likely be Fourth of July, VJ Day (Aka white trash day), Labor Day, and that random day when it rains uncontrollably and everyone in the inn decides they should go to The Grill to get wasted and/or have their kids order sodas and color for three hours.

Regardless, though, those few terrible days are totally worth it for the dozens of fun ones. Summer '07 will have its goods and its bads, but I wouldn't trade any of them for the world.

7 am tomorrow my summer begins. Block Island here I come!

2007-05-15T13:54:00.000-04:00

I can't believe I have one more final to go-- and not in a good way. Like, I can't believe I STILL have one more final to go. I can't study or concentrate. I can't even gather the motivation to pack up some of my stuff. To be fair, part of that is because Dunkin Donuts screwed up my order this morning and gave me regular coffee instead of decaf, leaving me more hyped up than Lindsay Lohan after a trip to a nightclub bathroom. Or, it could be that, after this weekend, I don't even feel like I'm still in school. With all the celebration that took place, I kinda feel done with it all. Some people find that a fun weekend revitalizes them and gives them the energy to work through the week; It just makes me even more impatient for the next weekend.

Not that this weekend was even THAT crazy, but it WAS really nice. Freddie was graduating this past Saturday, so I went home Friday after my psych final so that I could drive to Carlisle with my parents Saturday morning. We had to get up early to make it to the 10:30 ceremony, so I just stayed in with them that night, had a cold one and ate some take-out from Fatty's on the back patio of the 'rents new house. Then it was a 6:15 wake up call Saturday morning for the ride out to Central PA. And let me tell you, it was just as thrilling as one would expect a three hour car ride with your parents to be. Most of it went pretty well, just quietly driving through good ol Amish country, but then my Mom decided that it'd be a much better idea for us all to get in a giant fight right towards the end of our ride. She sure knows how to liven things up. Even better, she found lots of fun ways to bring it back up throughout the rest of the weekend. What a good time it was!

Luckily, I had my Dad there who, though a bit strange at times, is too mild mannered and uninterested to care about my mother's irrational complaints and tantrums. So the two of us just rolled our eyes and tried our best to brush her outbursts aside. Instead, we just made fun of all of Freddie's fellow graduates and any other wierdos at the event. I am seriously considering law school at this point cause, let me tell you, there were a lot of ug-ohs there. If I went to Dickinson, I would surely be one of the most attractive people there-- if not THE most attractive. If you were there, you would know I'm not being conceited, but actually quite honest and astute.

That afternoon, after a picnic for the graduates and their families, where my Dad succesfully called all my brother's friends by the wrong names, my parents and I headed back to Philly. Tired from a long day, I just stayed in again and, besides another battle with my mother, had a mostly quiet night (Piece of advice: When in an argument with your mom, dont tell her you want to "punch her in the face". No matter how reasonable your desires are, this will only make matters worse.) We got take-out from McNallys, drank some delicious Montepulciano wine, and then my Dad and I stayed up drinking Kahlua and talking about possible warning signs of Schizophrenia.

Luckily, I did get to bed fairly early, though, because I was up at 9 the next morning to get some studying in before my Mom's family came over for a Mother's Day lunch. It was the first time everyone was invited to the new house, so most of her sisters and their kids showed up to snoop around (Don't think I dont know the truth, you guys!) It was a great time, though, and even my mother seemed to remain fairly pleasant throughout. Fortunately, the weather was nice so we were able to sit outside. There were lots of good appetizers too, particularly my Aunt Aliceanne's sausage balls, which were mauled by my family like a bunch of starving tigers. By the time the actual lunch was served, I was too full on apps to even eat the pasta my Mom had made. Not that it wasn't TOTALLY worth it.

Most of the time, though, the day was spent like any Dougherty family get together: Jake and I argued over who our Nana liked better, Emily updated us on her ever-changing wedding plans, John unabashedly called Trisha by my name, Donna pretended John wasn't her husband, and Nana drank a lot of gin. The celebration definately got an upgrade, though, with the giant carrot cake my Mom had bought and the champagne toast my Aunt Ceil prepared for the mothers and the graduates. Of course, my family being as vain as they are, all found a way to include themselves in the toast regardless of their status as a mother and/or graduate.

It was a good day overall, and a nice relaxing weekend, but I guess I have to face reality and realize that I'm not done school yet. Give me a graduation cake with my name on it, and I think I have a diploma. Unfortunately, that's not the case so I guess its back to the library for me. This caffeine's starting to wear off, so hopefully I can sit there without twitching too much. I just need to remember that, by this time tomorrow, I'll be all done. Twenty four more hours of concentration cant be too hard--as long as I stay off the Dunkin Donuts of course.

Good for You, Paris

2007-05-09T10:58:00.000-04:00

In case you've been living in a hole, you'll be happy to know that, this past Friday, the most glorious thing ever happened: Paris Hilton was sentenced to jail for 45 days for violating her probation. Paris was caught driving after her licensed was suspended for a previous DUI. Of course, Ms Hilton played oblivious, which lets be honest, she probably was. Fortunately, though, ignorance isn't a good enough excuse, and she'll be locked up like anyone else would. Even better, she'll be in no Martha Stewart-esque jail nor will she be permitted to leave for any "job" commitments.

But, of course, Paris, being the hard working, dedicated person she is, has recently taken up efforts to ask California Governor, Arnold Shwarzenegger, to pardon her sentence. On her Myspace page, Hilton asked fans to "sihn" her petition, which claims she was treated unfairly because of her celebrity. I agree, Paris HAS been treated unfairly-- she has been unfairly rich and famous for the past 5 years. But, sadly, she does have plenty of fans, and I have worried that their signatures could sway the Governator.

Leave it to Paris though to give a huge "fuck you" to any chance of redemption. Today, pictures of her were released behind the wheel of her Bentley. Whether she was actually driving is unknown, but the fact doesn't matter. When you are trying to get a totally deserved sentence lifted, you don't even "pretend" to do the very thing you were arrested for. I say lock her up for another 45 days for shear stupidity and arrogance.

Have fun in jail, Dear Paris. And in case you're wondering, no there is NOT bottle service in prison. The only bottles you'll see--God willing-- are the ones that'll be smashed over your head by the 200 lb. lesbians you'll be sharing a cell with. That's hot!

My Life is Going Great Right Now

2007-04-29T16:14:00.000-04:00

Well, just as the whole "not gonna graduate" thing seemed like it was taken care of, and my life was getting back in order, I have another blow to deal with. Yesterday, before going to Target for a little Saturday afternoon shopping, I dug into my desk drawer to get some of the cash my father had so kindly given me to finish off the semester. Yet, when I looked in my hiding spot, it was gone. $100 dollars missing from my desk drawer, coincidentally (or not) the day after I noticed my phone charger was absent from the room.

Since then, I have been searching EVERYWHERE for these two items. I have devoted pretty much all my time towards finding them. Since I am broke and phoneless, and therefore can't go anywhere, its all I really could do. I have emptied my drawers, rummaged behind my desk, and checked all my bags, pockets, and even my shoes. Nothing. I've had zero luck.

So what does this mean? DId someone actually come into our room and go into my desk looking for cash? When could they have done it? Why would they have chosen MY room? Or did someone else who lives here--or someone they invited in--do the dirty work? Well, I just don't think they could be that coldhearted, or more importantly, that stupid to steal from their roommate. I haven't been able to get any info from my roommates since they are both home for the weekend, but I hope I can get some answers soon.

Most of all, I hope I can get my money back, because I was really depending on it, and I really appreciated my Dad giving it to me. My old man doesn't often just hand over bundles of cash, so when he did, I vowed to make it last til the end of the semester. Now, I have to let him know it didn't even last one week.

Whoever did this is just down right mean. It's that simple. I could go on and on blasting their character, cursing their souls, and using every profanity I know, but when it comes down to it, the person is just plain mean. They didn't just steal from me, they hurt me. And no amount of words can describe what I think of them.

2007-04-25T13:21:00.000-04:00

Because my school shares a coordinate psych department with the College of Mount Saint Vincent, I take several of my classes at their campus about two miles away. Manhattan runs a shuttle bus there, but, since its been warm, I often choose to walk at least one way or the other. Its good exercise, and it doesnt take me that much more time since I often have to wait for the bus anyways. But, even more so, its an extremely pleasant walk. Though MC is technically in the Bronx, it falls right on the edge, just next to the beautiful suberb of Riverdale. Its a fairly wealthy area, filled with large homes and plush yards, yet pretty unassuming also. On Riverdale Ave., one of the neighborhood's main streets, there are often people walking around, mothers pushing their young children in strollers, elderly couples out for some afternoon sunshine, and business men on their way to the nearby deli for lunch.

I walked home today after class, and it was incredibly uplifting. After a long winter and a rainy month so far, it was nice seeing people out on the streets, smiling, laughing, and talking to those they pass. Normally I take Riverdale Ave and then turn down to Broadway, but today I took the back route, walking along the Henry Hudson to the residential areas nearby. The houses there are gorgeous, and everything so quiet. Its hard to believe that just a half a mile away lies busy Broadway, filled with street vendors, honking taxis, and the obnoxiously loud subway.

I love that I can have both here in my part of the Bronx. I love that walking down one street, there is the hectic lifestyle typical of New York City, and on another its like any small town. I love the diversity of the people-- Black, Hispanic, Asian, Jewish Orthodox. I love the family owned delis, Irish pubs, and small grocers-- but thank God there's three Dunkin Donuts in walking distance so I can get my iced coffees. Its a perfect balance, made for someone like me, so incredibly fickle and unsure of what they want.

I'll miss this when I graduate. I've said it a million times, but I will in no way miss the papers, the exams, and the 8 am labs that have filled my college career. I am sick, sick, sick of school and ready to try something else for awhile. But I will miss Riverdale, and if I ever have the money, I would gladly live here some day. I just hope it retains its charm for the 100 years it will take me to afford a house in this zipcode. But for now I guess I will just have to enjoy it while Im here, and hope for the best in the future.

My Living Nightmare

2007-04-17T20:46:00.000-04:00

Well here I thought that if I wasn't going to graduate, it would be because of my own stupidity and laziness. Yet, it turns out it may not be my fault. I got an email today from my academic dean, a woman I'd never even met, informing me that I'm three credits short of graduating. Although I was told NUMEROUS times in Spain that I was taking enough courses to receive the standard 15 credits, it turns out it was all a lie. Now they are trying to tell me that the courses fell short several hours to receive full credit. I can still walk, although I had no interest or intention in doing so, but technically I can't receive a diploma, the one thing I actually want. In order to do so, I will need to go through another semester, all for one lousy course.

Normally, I think im pretty good under pressure, and, when dealing with others, I keep a cool head. After working in the restaurant business, I know how awful it is to be yelled at by people, especially when its not your fault. Today I was not calm. Today I was VERY, VERY angry. After going to see Dianna, my advisor, I yelled between tears about the ridiculousness of the situation, claiming that it was complete "garbage" and "utterly unacceptable" that they would inform me of this now, a month before graduation. She tried to appease me by saying the dean was willing to award me one more credit, meaning I'd only need two to graduate. Seeing as this still necessitates that I take another course, you could see why I told her that meant complete shit to me.

The anger I feel about this whole situation is indescribable. I am a 3.8 student, on the dean's list, who has fulfilled every requirement thus far in a timely and appropriate manner. To find out that after three and a half years, NOW something is going to keep me from graduating, something that is clearly not my fault, but the error of the negligent and irresponsible administration, is infuriating. My parents too are livid, and for once I am happy that my mom is the kind of irrational psychopath who will threaten to "drive up there and sit in the President's office until he fixes things or (she) is going to write to every single donor on their list telling them what a horrible school Manhattan College is". And, trust me, my mom loves a fight that much that she is willing to risk her job to take off work and drive to New York for her own personal protest.

So on top of my already immeasurable senioritis, I have this distraction to keep me from doing my work. Even if this problem is fixed, I may not graduate seeing as I can't bring myself to do anything after hearing this incredible news. I sat in the library today, trying desperately to work on a paper that's due on Thursday. In over three hours, all I got done were two paragraphs. I spent most of that time answering phone calls from my parents and checking my email for any updates. By the time I had calmed down, I was too tired to do anything else, seeing as I only got about 5 hours of sleep last night.

You see, on top of my academic issues, I have two of the most self-centered roommates ever. Last night, they invited people to our room to pre-game, an event that happens at least twice a week. In the beginning, I tried to be cool about it, hoping the parties would be less frequent further into the semester. But, no, they have not waned, and I often have 5-10 people in our room several nights a week.

Last night was my favorite though. By 12 o'clock, when I was ready to go to bed, I told my roommate Morgan I was tired, and asked when people would be leaving. She answered that she was going to Fenwick's shortly after, and that she was sure Tara, my other roommate, and their friends would quiet down. Now, I know my question was rather passive aggressive, but I think it was clear that I wanted people out. Our room is set up similar to a studio apartment, with just a small "half-wall" between the bedroom-- no door, just a flimsy curtain on a shower pole. Trying to sleep with 6 or 7 people playing drinking games just 15 feet away is not undesirable, its impossible.

Around 1, though, I let out a sigh of relief when everyone left the room. Within minutes I fell asleep, exhausted from a busy day. However, just an hour or so later, the party returned and I was made wide awake. Turns out everyone had just gone outside to smoke, and were now ready to return. I shut my eyes and tried to swallow my anger, but sweet relief would not come. Finally, by 2:20 I got up and told Tara I wanted everyone out. Gratifying to say, but not very helpful, since I was now wide awake and still agitated. It wasn't until at least 4 when I finally fell asleep, after Morgan stumbled back from the bar, stomped through the room, tried to rouse Tara from the peaceful slumber she so easily fell into, and yelled out my bedside window to her friend below.

I live in a nightmare. A nightmare that, after today-- after reaching my breaking point-- I will no longer allow. There will be no more parties in this room. I'm making sure everyone is out by 11 so I can go to sleep. I will not be kept awake all night so that I must rely on several cups of coffee to make it through class the next day. If I'm not graduating this semester, it'll be because I won the lottery or because I'm running away with Jake Gyllenhaal. It will NOT be because I was too tired from someone else's parties to do my work, and surely NOT because my asshole dean won't give me the credits I deserve. I'm not going to let that happen.

That felt REALLY good to get out of my system. Good night, everyone. Here's hoping I actually get some sleep tonight.

2007-04-15T16:37:00.000-04:00

When I went to bed last night, the rain was just starting, a light drizzle that my knit sweater, held above my head, could protect me from. This morning, I awoke to near-darkness and the noise coming from our window air conditioner told me the rain had picked up.

Now, after checking weather.com, as I do religiously, i find out its going to be raining pretty much all week: Tonight, heavy rain; Monday, showers; Tuesday, showers; Wednesday, cloudy (what a relief!); and Thursday, what else, showers. Then, after a so-so weekend, it'll be back to mostly cloudy weather.

On a day like today, when you want to do nothing but lye around anyways, i dont mind the rain. I snuggle up under a blanket, watch tv, and eat way too much. For one weekend day, its not so bad. But theres nothing I hate more than a rainy weekday--walking from class to class, trying to keep hold of your umbrella, the bottom of your paints soaked to your knees from deceptively deep puddles. And that's when I can even make myself get out of bed. Mostly I don't want to do ANYTHING. I have your classic case of Seasonal Depression. Cold and/or rainy weather makes me miserable: I have zero motivation, Im tired, and Im cranky. I go on an all Skittles diet, daydream about my grade school school bus, and lie in bed with my Barbie coloring book, just to degrade myself later for the poor quality of my artwork. If I lived in Seattle, I would be a complete psycho. Or at least more so than I already am.

I'm gonna try to hang in there this week but it's definitely gonna be tough, and I'm probably not gonna be a person im proud of. So if anyone has any prozac, please send them to me, in large doses, because its looking like its going to be a LONG few days, and I really don't want the authorities coming to take me away for listening to One Sweet Day on repeat for 48 straight hours. So any donations, anything you have, would be greatly appreciated.

Gym Rules

2007-04-14T17:24:00.000-04:00

When you enter the fitness center at my school, there are several rules printed out on the entry door: sneakers must be worn, no food allowed, wipe down equipment when finished. You know the stuff. But after this semester, I think they need to add a few more rules, rules that should go unsaid, but clearly need to be reiterated amongst the Manhattan College community. If I had my way, these would be some of the guidelines on the gym door:

1) No Cell Phones! Ok, its one thing if you pick up your phone as you're pulling on your jacket and sweatpants, but its an entirely different thing to be using it while walking on the treadmill. Not only is it incredibly bizarre that one feels the need to talk on the phone that badly, but, even worse, you are abusing your time on the treadmill. The other day I watched a girl walk on the treadmill for 10 or 15 minutes while on the phone. I thought she was just lazy and a halfassed exerciser, but then, I find out this wasn't even her workout. She was waiting to hang up before she pumped up the speed and started her run. There's only 10 treadmills in this place, people, and only 5 functioning ones, so you better start running and then get the hell off. I'm stuck over here on the exercise bike because you need to talk to Jenna about next weeks sorority meeting? I don't think so, sister.

2) While in the fitness center, liquids should be confined to water and sports drinks only. Last week I watched a girl on the treadmill who, unlike the aforementioned individual, was actually busting her ass. She was running at a speed I could only dream of reaching, and it looked like she was doing it with ease. I was truly impressed. That is, until I looked at her cup-holder and saw she was drinking a cup of coffee as she ran. Ok, sometimes I'll have a little coffee a half an hour before a run to give myself some energy, but WHILE working out? That's entirely different. The thought of it alone makes me want to vomit. Coffee is for Starbucks, water is for the gym. I dont think theres anything else that needs to be said.

3) No street clothes. Ok, this one is actually on the list of rules already, but apparently others have a misguided opinion of what "street clothes" entails. When I go to the gym, I wear a t-shirt and sweatpants. If I'm feeling particularly sexy, I might switch up that ratty tee for a ratty tank-top. But I do not wear full makeup, a baseball cap, or Uggs. These are not gym wear. First off, no one's taking your picture, so you can wipe off the makeup, Paris. And baseball caps should not be worn during indoor physical activity. They are BASEBALL caps, as in that sport played under the glaring sun. I know the florescent lights in here are bright, but the rest of us are seeming to manage just fine, chief. And the Uggs? You're on an elliptical, not climbing in the Andes. Lose em.

4) When working out, your appearance should be equivalent to energy exerted. Disregarding the heavy makeup hoes, I am still astounded by the perfect appearances of many girls at the gym. I don't know how they do it, but so many manage to walk out after an hour and a half workout with perfect hair, not a single sweat mark, and nothing more than a "healthy glow". I, on the other hand, walk out smelling to high heavens, with my hair falling out of my lopsided ponytail, and my face so red that I think people consider calling the paramedics for me. My appearance is nothing less than offensive. So how do these other girls look so cute? Well, honestly, I don't care. I just want it to stop, because its making me look like a pig.

5) No grunting. We get it, guy, youre lifting a lot of weight, and it must be really tough. Im impressed by your manliness, really. But youre not in labor, so lets keep the volume to a minimum, because not even the Black Eyed Peas full-blast on my ipod is drowning out your hideous groans.

I know I may have voiced my opinion rather roughly, probably too roughly for Manhattan College to display these exact rules, but I really don't think this is too much to ask. If we could all just act like we're in a gym and not in a club, I think the atmosphere would improve greatly. And if anyone else sees these people in their gyms, do me a favor and push them off their machine.

The Lunch Switch

2007-04-03T20:28:00.000-04:00

**Another section from my multi-genre because I'm too busy (and lazy) to update my blog**

The Lunch switch at the Harbor Grill is always the hardest time of day. Seemingly all at once, customers abruptly stand up from their tables as they finish their meals, inadvertently whacking their shopping bags, and strollers, and luggage into the abundance of servers already clogging the thin aisles of the restaurant, all fighting for precious room to move about as I struggle to carry dirty dishes soiled with half-eaten omelets, globs of ketchup, soggy homefries, and toast smeared with sticky purple jelly that always ends up on my hands, and clothing, and somehow my face just as people are lining up at the hostess stand asking me for breakfast, when I've already brought out the lunch menus with strict directions to seat only those here for lunch, yet they all still moan, "but they're eating breakfast why can't we?" pointing like little children at a table that sat down an hour ago, at 10:30, when we were still serving breakfast and I still had an ounce of sanity and pride, back when I hadn't bussed 25 tables and crawled on my hands and knees in my nice white pants to pick up dirty napkins, and sugar packets, and torn pieces of paper once used to hold together the silverware rollups I spent all morning assembling; back when I hadn't dealt with customers who were too hot, too cold, waiting too long, paying too much; before I realized I never should have gone out last night, never should have drank two glasses of wine, five beers, two--no, wait three--shots because now my head hurts and my hands are shaking so that every tray I carry trembles and Rick laughs at me from aside even though he was the one force-feeding me socos and limes, making me destroy my life, convincing me it was a good idea—though, trust me, it seemed like one at the time—until I found myself here, now, with the worst hangover of my life, stuck in my idea of hell, swearing I'll never drink again even though I'm secretly craving a strong shot of tequila just to make this unbearable lunch switch just a tiny bit tolerable, just to make it all go away.

What is Our World Coming To?

2007-04-02T09:51:00.000-04:00

Shooting at Nickelodeon Awards After-Party

AP
LOS ANGELES (April 1) - Shots were fired at a party attended mostly by teenagers early Sunday following the Nickelodeon Kids Choice Awards, wounding three people, and police said they suspected gang members were involved.

The party in the western part of the city was thrown by someone who had attended the awards, but it was not an official Nickelodeon function and had no celebrity guests, police Lt. Roger Deranian said.

No arrests had been made by Sunday morning, police said.

The shooting occurred at about 12:30 a.m. at a drapery store rented for the party, which drew about 200 young people, Deranian said.

At least one person opened fire with an automatic weapon on the crowd after a group of five was denied entry, he said.

The three victims were hit below the waist and did not face life threatening injuries, he said. They were taken to a hospital.

The annual awards show for the children's television cable channel aired live Saturday and was hosted by Justin Timberlake .

Honestly, when did Nickelodeon become so hardcore? I thought that all violence on the channel was strictly slime related. When the Source Awards and Nickelodeon start having this much in common you know there is something seriously wrong with our country. When I was younger the scariest thing about Nickelodeon was Are You Afraid of the Dark?, a pretty awesome show might I add. Whats next? Is Raven Symone gonna be caught in a threesome with the twins from Big Daddy? Or is Jaime Lynn Spears gonna take after her sister and show up to next year's awards pantiless? Dear Lord, lets hope not. I think this is all the direct result of getting rid of Snick. I think an easy solution would be to bring back Clarrisa Explains It All and call it a night. I mean lets be honest, do you think Melissa Joan Hart has anything better to do? I didn't think so.

Things I Would Rather Be Doing Instead of School Work

2007-03-27T09:09:00.000-04:00

1. Hanging out with friends
2. Talking on the phone
3. Watching TV
4. Writing in my journal/blog
5. Going to the gym
6. Sleeping
7. Looking up useless celeb gossip
8. Reading
9. Going shopping
10. Painting my nails
11. Daydreaming
12. Organizing my desk
13. Doing laundry
14. Filing my taxes
15. Renewing my license
16. Going to church
17. Going to the dentist
18. Talking to my mom
19. Sitting on tacks
20. Pulling my hair out
21. Seeing a Mandy Moore movie
22. Lying on a nude beach of senior citizens
23. Walking into oncoming traffic
24. Being chained to the wall in Michael Jackson's sex dungeon
25. Watching The View

2007-03-19T21:49:00.000-04:00

I came across a paper I wrote for one of my English classes Junior year. We had to do a multi-genre piece, writing about a topic we felt "passionate" about in a variety of different styles. Surprise surprise, I chose to write mine on Block Island, focusing on my experiences during my first summer there. Anyways, I found them interesting to read, especially after having spent so much more time there since I wrote itm, so I thought I'd share some of them with you.

Arrival

As the boat inched closer to land, I finally gazed up from my book and stretched out over the table in front of me to peer out the window. Outside, the sky was gray and thick, but the strip of land that stretched out as if greeting you was plush with green. Frothy blue waves crashed below me, splashing unto the small, deserted beaches bordering the island. I carefully looked behind me to see if anyone was around, to see if I had to conceal my excitement for this fascinating and foreign sight. Realizing I was basically alone, I stretched myself further towards the window, my nose just inches from the glass, my hot breath leaving a hazy gray circle upon it. As the boat slowly moved forward, the knots in my stomach began to change from seasickness to anticipation; visions of the island I had never seen started to form in my head. I tried to look for Sara’s house, the patch of gray on the cliffs I was told about, but the clouds were creeping too low, covering too much. Finally, as we came closer to shore, I could see true land: buildings, then streets, and eventually cars. The several dozen people on the ferry began to file into line as we waited for the cars to pull out from below us. I hoisted my bag up from under the table, my shoulder still sore from the strap pressing into it throughout my long, arduous trip to Rhode Island. Waiting at the top of the stairs, I stood on tip-toes in a desperate attempt to see what lay below; yet, from the glimpse of the dock visible, all I could see were workers clothed in gray and brown, heaving boxes and bags from the shelves, wheeling out cargo and impatiently directing traffic out from the darkness below. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the line before me began to move and I teetered down the stairs, my thin frame squished by the immense luggage that adorned each of my sides. Once outside, I was immediately submersed in the island atmosphere: the sounds of seagulls above me, the smell of salt being pushed through the wind, the chill of the ocean breezes washing unto the shore. I spotted Sara and Mayu almost instantly, despite the distractions my surroundings offered. They hung out the sides of the ’88 Montero, their hands waving in a frantic attempt to gain my attention. I waved back to acknowledge them but moved no farther. Instead I dropped my bags, taking a deep breath. I looked around to survey my new home, smiling, knowing it was exactly where I was meant to be.

Written Communication

2007-02-25T22:54:00.000-05:00

Im afraid I'm going to lose all ability to communicate orally. It seems that I only talk to people now through aim, emails, facebook comments and, most of all, text messaging. If theres any possible way I can, I will choose texting over an actual phone call. Though it may be less personal, the bright side is that I get to keep mementos of my friends funny comments . This weekend, while visiting my friend Natalie in DC, the quality of text messages I sent and received seemed to be at an all time high. Some were funny, some were touching, and others were just plane strange. For instance, my cousin's fiance sent me a text at 3 in the morning saying simply "The bald eagle stole the bacon". I dont know what this means or why I got it. I can only assume that he was drunk ( well, thats actually pretty much a definite) and that he sent the message to the wrong person. But considering my cousin Liz and I called him last weekend to tell him how much we liked him over his fiance, my cousin and her sister Emily, I guess its only fair that he gets to be weird and creepy too.

Another great text I got was from my friend Morgan. Morgan, who works with me in Block Island and lives out there through the winter, sent me a video of the 007s, my fav Block Island cover band, to tide me over until I get back there and can see them live. Unfortunately though my phone doesn't accept video messages so i had to go online to view it. Furthermore, It didn't come out clearly so, although I THOUGHT I saw two people in the background making out, it was really just two people, standing probably a good ten feet away from each other. So when I sent Morgan texts back asking who was making out, he was clearly confused, and probably thought I was also a bit of a pervert.

My love of texting has also helped me come up with a new party pastime. On Saturday night, Natalie and her roommates had a houseparty for her birthday at their apartment. I had a really good time and all her friends were really friendly, but there were inevitably times when I was without someone to talk to. I decided to spend that time taking pictures of Natalie while she wasnt looking, and then I would send them to her on her phone. Its super creepy, I know, but really funny to see her looks of confusion when she received repeated pictures of herself taken just moments before. Yeah, I'm kinda bizarre.

Really, though, the best part about text messaging is that you don't have to worry abut your phone going off at inopportune times. Rather than a long, obnoxious ring, all you get is a quick beep. I was reminded of how much I prefer this when, on the bus ride home, my friend Sara gave me a call. Several weeks ago I changed Sara's ringer to C.R.E.A.M by The Wutang Clan. Its funny because Sara is probably the whitest person I know, and I doubt if she could even name a Wutang song if asked. But what isn't funny is having loud hardcore rap blast over the quiet bus, drawing attention to me, the equally white girl in the lime green turtleneck and UGGS. However, I wasn't smart enough to change her ringtone afterwards, so really Im just setting myself up for future embarrassment. Luckily, though, my phone rings so rarely that the chances it will happen anytime soon are slim.

Some people aren't in to the texting, but I think it will always be my preferred mode of communication. Its quick, convenient, and can be utilized pretty much anywhere. So mock me if you must but, if you do, expect a really mean text from me about it later. I can write a damn good one too-- I have the practice.

A Glimpse of Hope?

2007-02-14T23:04:00.000-05:00

Throughout college, all I've done is read articles proclaiming how difficult it is these days for recent grads to find a job. On top of that, liberal arts majors--and particularly psych majors-- are earning some of the lowest salaries. So imagine my surprise when I opened up the lastest "Top Paying Jobs for Recent Grads" article and read this:

"With less than four months to go before saying sayonara to the quad for good, the class of 2007 is finding it easier than recent classes to get their foot in the work world.

Employers have said they expect to hire 17.4 percent more college grads than they did last year, and in many instances they plan to pay them more, too, according to a survey released this week by the National Association of Colleges and Employers (NACE)."

Finally! I knew something would change! I knew I wouldn't be completely screwed when I graduate. It may have taken three and a half years, but things have turned around right in time!

Wait...whats that? What does that say at the end?:

"There have been slight decreases in the average starting salary offers for just a few majors, but NACE notes that given that it's still early in the hiring season and the job market is strong for college grads, salary offers may improve in the next few months:

* Logistics/Materials management: Down 1.8 percent to $43,294
* Liberal arts (including psychology, political science history, English): Down 1.1 percent to $30,502"

Crap.

Just Try It

2007-02-13T22:59:00.000-05:00

I challenge anyone and everyone out there to watch The VH1 Behind the Music of Nick Lachey and not be touched. I was just glued to the TV for an hour, and I am an even more in love with him than I was before. Jessica Simpson, you are a fucking idiot.

Bringing Baskets Back

2007-02-12T18:53:00.000-05:00

Its offcial: I don't know how to come home for the weekend and NOT make a scene. But this weekend might top all, as Im still hungover 36 hours later, and my mother has banned me from returning this coming weekend.

Last weekend, my mom asked me to come home, box up my room, and help organize things for our upcoming move. I obliged, figuring I'd take it easy Friday night, wake up and help out on Saturday, and then go out for the night with some friends. So after getting into Philly on Friday, I went out with my parents and grandmother for a nice relaxing dinner. We ordered a little wine and had a long, talkative dinner. It was a really nice time and a lot of fun. Afterwards, I was ready to go home, curl up and watch a movie, and go to bed, but my dad, having had a few and starting to feel sociable, insited we stop at my Aunt Donna's house. Three glasses of their homemade wine later, I was surpisingly wasted. Not drunk, WASTED. The next day I was so hungover that it was entirely impossible for me to do any work. To be fair, though, it wasnt really my fault as I was poisoned by this deceptive vino. That night I was going to stay in, but at the last minute recovered and decided to meet up with some friends. 7:30 the next morning, my Mom found me and my friend Meg drinking beers and ordering Umbro shorts online (don't ask). I ended up sleeping until 2:30 that day, and didn't get a single thing done like I promised.

Which is why I returned this weekend, to do the work I should have before. I went to bed early Friday night and got my whole room boxed up the next day. Feeling somewhat accomplished, I was ready to go out and see my friends. Since it was one of those one-in-a-million nights when my parents had somewhere to go on a Saturday night, I had no one to make me dinner, and therefore decided to go out for my meal. I recruited my friend Chris to join me, and we had a lovely little date at Fatty's, even though he pretty much berated me the entire time for ordering a veggie burger. We planned to go to Towey's afterwards, where its always a safe bet you'll run into someone you know, but were surprised by the news that a chunk of our friends were going into Manayunk for my friend Meg's bday celebration. So with 90% of our ten friends going there, we had nothing to do but jump on the bandwagon.

We hungout at Flat Rocks for awhile, a great experience since I had never been. Its a pretty simple bar, but is distinguished for having several dozen different types of exotic beers. I found this impressive, but it didnt stop me from ordering a Coors Light, or for getting mad when I was told they didnt have it. Somehow, though, I got over the loss and moved on, and I even warmed up enough to take several hundred pictures with Meg and her ugly neon green glasses. I think her goal to have everyone take a picture in them was met beyond her wildest dreams.

After Flat Rocks we ofcourse did what we always do-- An after-party at my house. I was somewhat reluctant at first, but since my parents only told me not to party until morning again, I figured that didnt include a late night that ended just shortly before. A bunch of people came back, and we all acted like the degenerates we are. I can remember looking at pictures of my parents from the 70s and seeing the wierdest things- hat parties, guys in drag, my Uncle Vince- it was all strange stuff. But as I was taking the basket off my head to start making a fort out of the 2 dozen empty boxes in our kitchen, it suddenly hit me that I have topped them in bizarre drunken behavior. It wasn't an easy task, but somehow it was done.

We had a long, wild party, but we managed to end things before dawn as I had promised. However, when I awoke later that day, my parents were not thrilled. Despite my expectations, they did not enjoy the fort I had built, and the random articles of clothing they found lying around concerned them greatly. This is why, my friends, I'm not allowed home next weekend if ever again. My parents officially hate me, and are ashamed to have me as their daughter. Its a tough fact to accept but, ya know what, it was still worth it.

You Crazy, White People

2007-02-08T22:09:00.000-05:00

When I woke up this morning, at a thick 7 am, I immedietely checked weather.com, as I always do during the winter months. As it has said for the past week or so, the weather was at about 10 degrees fahrenheit with an expected high of about 20. Add in the windchill, and the warmest it would feel all day was about 12 degrees

So, of course, I geared up: on top of my tanktop and long sleeved shirt, I added a sweatshirt, scarf, gloves, and my thick black bubble jacket. On my feet were a giant pair of socks and snug sneakers. Prepared to face the worse, I waddled outside, suddenly relating to Randy, the lovable character from A Christmas Story. Yet, despite all the padding, I was still cold, and hurried to catch the bus to my 8:30 class.

Still delirious from the cold, I rushed on to the bus and coincidentally wound up sitting next to my friend Geanilda. I hadn't recoginzed her at first, since like me she was completely bundled, with her face halfway concealed by her giant scarf and her knit hat pulled down tight to her eyes. Geanilda and I met during our semester in Madrid, and I was instantly drawn to her strong sense of humor and friendly- yet blunt- demeaner. We chatted on the bus ride over- mostly about the good times back in Spain, but a little bit about our upcoming Bio quiz- and before we knew it, we had pulled up to class.

Immedietely after we walked out, however, Geanilda puts her arm out across my chest, stops me, and asks "What's wrong with you white people". Though I assumed her concern was right, whatever it was she was talking about, I was taken aback and extremely confused. " Well..." I began. "Where should I start?"

"No, no no. Look at that girl," she said pointing to the blond girl in Pink capris walking in front of us. " Why do you dress like that in this weather? Its freezing!"

I couldn't help but burst out laughing. She was so right. I myself had noticed it just that morning- a girl in FLIP FLOPS for Christs sake! Fifteen degrees outside and this girlie's got her toes exposed to 20 MPH wind. And in the past weeks too I saw tons of girls at my school walking around in their oh-so-cute tights and ballet flats in single digit weather! Now, don't get me wrong, I LOVE the tights. I ROCK the tights. But in appropriate weather ONLY- say 50 or above. This week was NOT a week for tights.

However, unlike Geanilda, I had not taken into account the role one's whiteness played in this phenomenon. Yet, in hindsight, I knew it was only white people- mainly girls- who were refusing to dress weather appropriate. Why?, we wondered. Why would these girls choose to dress as they do? Do they not feel the bitter, sharp winds biting at their skin? Or do they just ignore it in an effort to look cute? Geanilda thinks its an adoptation thing. Unlike her Dominican relatives, other hispanics, and African Americans, white folks typically come from a more "arctic" environment. I, however, refused to accept that explination: Italy, after all, is fairly warm, and Ireland and England, though terribly rainy, do experience summer temperatures. Hell, the entire Jewish population originated in the friggin desert!

So, after much contemplation, I could only accept one explanation for the bizarre, irrational behavior of white people, an explanation I've used for most of my life: White people...well... they're just damn crazy!

My Crazy Folks

2007-02-04T21:52:00.000-05:00

After going home this weekend, something has become abundantly clear- my parents are totally bizarre. Maybe its because they are getting older or maybe its because Im getting older and more perceptive, but I've realized how many wierd quirks they have. Here's a few things that came up this weekend:

Some people drunk-dial. My dad drunk-shows the fuck up at your house. After dinner with my grandmother on Friday night, my dad decides he wants to stop by my Aunt Donna's house. He actually made me call her and tel her- not ask her, but tell her- that we were coming over. He pulled over at Beer-To-Go and picked up a six pack to bring with him. Coincidentally, I made the unfortunate decision of drinking my uncle John's homemade wine- or monshine as we like to call it. Its pretty much pure gasoline, and I spent all Saturday sleeping on our back couch, close to throwing up with every movement.

When I was younger, my Mom was far from the over-protective mother. "Get it yourself" and "Well, what do you want me to do about it" were lines I often heard. Now, though, she is entirely consumed with my well-being. Before I left to come back here, she made sure I had on gloves, a scarf, and a hat because she was "concerned about the cold". This from the woman who used to let me swim in the ocean in January.

During my state of hung-overness on Saturday, I asked my dad to bring back some icecream from the store, the one thing thst always makes me feel better. However, when he came home, he was icecream-less. I was baffled, upset, still violently ill, and in need of an explination. My dad claimed that he couldn't get the icecream because he is trying to lose weight and he knows he would just end up eating it. Yet when I opened the cabinets, there were two boxes of girl scout cookies. I don't know what diet he's on, but I should join it!

We finally sold our house, and my parents found a nice little place in Laverock to rent while the new house is being built. Its a cute house, but significantly smaller than our current home, so a lot of our furniture won't be coming with us. Furthermore, my mom, being the trendy interior design know-it-all, is insisting on a "minimalist" look for the house. Apparently this means we can't keep our china cabinet in the dining room and, by extension, all our plates and bowls. Instead, they will be kept in the basement, and my poor 60 year old father will have to walk down there every night in order to set the table. Similarly, when we were in the process of selling the house, my mom told me I had to keep my clothes in our shed whenever I came home so my room wouldnt be cluttered during open houses. I wanted to be helpful, but I drew the line at getting dressed between a weedwacker and my old bicycle.

For my birthday, my Aunt Nell sent me an email, wishing me a good day. She also told me a little story about the day I was born. As she explained, my father was at their house having a beer after his basketball game. My mom called to inform him she was in labor and told him to hurry home. He said he'd be there as soon as possible- but first he had to stop at Lee's for a hoagie. When I asked him about it this weekend, he rdefended himself by explaining "Well, I got one for Mom too". So for now on we won't be celebrating my birthday- we'll be celebrating the anniversary of my dad eating a hoagie.

So, yeah, my parents are total wierdos, but I think its made me a better person. No matter how screwed up things get in my life or how crazy I become, I'll always know I'm not as bad as them.

Time for a Change

2007-01-30T22:58:00.000-05:00

Earlier today I received an email from my friend Gosia, a coworker from Block Island, with some pictures from this summer. They were mostly of me, I guess because she knows how vain I am and how much I despise looking at other people. It was fun seeing the photos and reminiscing about the summer, but they also caused me to come to a distressing conclusion-- I make the same faces in every G-D picture! I knew I made these faces a lot, but it has finally hit me how much of a problem it has become, and Im ready to admit that I need help.

Why I do this, I don't know. Maybe its because I don't like the phoniness of a standard smile. Maybe I thought I was being cute and original. Either way, I have failed to look authentic, attractive, or creative in any of these. No, I just look plain stupid and end up ruining many otherwise nice photos.

So, although I know its a little late, I am finally making my New Year's Resolution: I, Jane Marie L-ch-t, will no longer make the same outlandish expression in every photo I take. Furthermore, for now on, I will only make faces that are appropriate to the current situation.

Prepare to see this no longer

Is this guy serious?

2007-01-19T13:45:00.000-05:00

For anyone who doesn't know, my parents have finally sold the house we have owned for the past 13 years. I moved here when I was eight, rather begrudgingly, but I have eventually grown fond of this house and am sad to see it go. However, I realize that I have no right to truly be upset since I am so rarely at home as it is, and the time spent here in the upcoming years will only get less and less. Besides, my mom and dad are 59 and 61 respectively, and they are getting no younger. They need something smaller, something with a first floor bedroom and bathroom so they won't have any difficulties when they can no longer walk upstairs, say in the next few months or so. So I've decided to suck it up, keep my mouth shut, and be as helpful as possible.

Before Spain, I was stuck with people coming in the house almost every other day to look it. I would have to clean everything up, leave the house, and find something to do for the hour or two that people were roaming through MY home. I did it with minimal eye rolling, but it sucked. I did not enjoy waking up at 8 in the morning on my vacation to go idle at Starbucks for two hours or, even worse, sitting on my front porch waiting for people to leave when they took far longer than they were supposed to. So when we sold the house I was a bit depressed, forced to accept the reality of the move, but relieved that all the hassle of potential buyers was gone.

Earlier this week, though, I found out we weren't quite done. The buyers wanted to come in for one final inspection, in order to get a professional assessment of our dying heating system. Even better, they wanted to come at 8:30 in the morning. Now, when I came back from Spain, I found my room stripped of its original furniture, most of my bureaus removed. I have been forced to keep half of my clothes in their suitcases while the other half has been sprawled across my floor. Admittedly it’s a mess, but right now there isn't much I can do to fix it, so I didn't know what I was supposed to do about the buyers coming. Luckily, my mom told me not to worry about it, that she would leave a note saying I was sick and sleeping upstairs, so I wouldn’t have to clean my room or get up and leave the house so early in he morning. I was very grateful and very relieved.

At quarter to nine this morning, I could hear people walking around the house, but it wasn't a huge disturbance. I just put on my head phones, listened to some Corinne Bailey Rae (she's awesome), and sort of half slept through it all. But then, a half an hour later, I heard a knock on my door. "Uh, yeah?" I asked in confusion, just before my bedroom door creaked open. "Is it ok if we come in and check the heat circulation in here?" one of the two men standing there asked me. Looking around at my slovenly room, I wanted to scream what was clearly obvious: " No! I am sleeping, the note says I'm sick, and I look like a rabid cat attacked me during the night." But, of course, too shocked and cowardly, I only managed to let out an exaggerated sigh that clearly said "No, fucker" and muttered an exasperated "whatever" before pulling the covers over my head. Unfortunately, my clear frustration didn't register with this a-hole, and I was forced to endure their presence and even answer his questions about the ventilation in the room.

I'd really like to know how this guy ever thought it would be ok to come into my room. Clearly, what any young female wants is for two middle aged men to walk through piles of her dirty underwear, tampons, and candy bar wrappers as she lies in bed, filthy and half asleep. I may not be easily embarrassed, but I do have some pride, people. I would like it if I didn't have to cower under my covers from strange men in my bedroom; I would like to not worry about people judging the despicable state my bedroom is in right now; and I would like to know that my new underwear isn't going to get a giant boot print on it from some socially inept electrician. I don’t know, maybe I'm just picky.

But, on a bright side, the selling of our house does lead to one good thing: an f-ing awesome going away party. Freddie and I are in the early stages of planning, and more details will certainly follow. 8427 Prospect Avenue has done us well and thrown its far share of parties, so it’s only right that we see it off properly. Expect tons of people, tons of dancing, and tons of stupidity. And now that I officially hate our new owners, feel free to damage as much property as you'd like.

Its About Time

2007-01-16T23:06:00.000-05:00

It bothers me so much that no one in Hollywood has any balls. Though there are paparazzi everywhere, catching each miniscule detail of anyone with the slightest amount of celebrity, not a single Hollywood star ever 'fesses up when they've been caught redhanded. Look at Paula Abdul, who was recently interviewed on camera, clearly drunk out of her mind. When questioned about it, however, she claimed that it was just "technical difficulties" that caused her to act so strange and that she was merely "having fun". Or how about Angelina Jolie, who just last year swore that she and Brad Pitt were in no way romantically involved. Now? Well, she's the mother of his child.

Similarly, just a few months ago on the set of Gray's Anatomy, a reported "brawl" took place between actors Patrick Dempsey and Isaiah Washington. According to sources, heated words were exchanged between the two actors, in which Washington exclaimed he would not be Dempsey's "f*ggot like Knight" , referring to gay co-star TR Knight. Things then turned physical between the two stars, as I'm hoping Patrick Dempsey beat the living shit out of Washington for being such an ignorant prick.
Of course, however, as I've shown is often the case, these rumors were immediately dispelled by the show's spokespersons, who claimed there was just a minor disagreement between the two and that no epithets were used. By the end of the day, the two were best of friends again. Riiiight.

Though all involved tried to squash any discussion of the issue, the "disagreement" remained the topic of gossip for some time: Isaiah Washigton was continually proclaiming his innocence, castmates undermined the event, and poor T. R, Knight was more or less forced to come out to the public. The drama had died down, however, in these past few weeks and Gray's discussions returned to more innocent discussions of doctors McDreamy and McSteamy. That is until last night's Golden Globes, where the Gray's cast was awarded for "Best Television Drama". Backstage in the pressroom, while interviewing the cast, a reporter asked about the dispute and its effect on filming. All the actors, particularly TR Knight, looked like they were ready to downplay it and gracefully move on, but then Isaiah Washington opened his horrific mouth and screamed "I never called TR a f*ggot!", shocking his costars with his flagrant and casual use of the f word. Way to go Isaiah: not only are you a homophobe, but you're a liar too.

After the shock of Washington's vulgarity had worn off, I didn't expect much else from it, only yet another statement assuring us all of the love and support on set and the great admiration the cast has for one another. Luckily, however, I found out there is someone in Hollywood who isn't afraid to express their opinion, to speak without direction from their publicist. In an interview with Access Hollywood, Gray's costar Katharine Heigl was asked about the situation and her feelings about it. In a rare move, Heigl, looking clearly pissed off, announced that she "was going to be really honest". Instead of hiding her feelings, she strongly proclaimed that Isaiah Washington "..needs to just not speak in public. Period," Maybe it was just the booze of the Globes afterparties talking, but regardless, it was a bold and much needed move. Even better, she went on, saying "TR is my best friend. I will throwdown for that kid. I will beat you up. I will use every ounce of energy I have to take you down if you hurt his feelings".

Well, needless to say, I can't wait to see how they will explain this. Im sure there will be statements claiming her words were misconstrued or some bullshit like that, but I'm really hoping Heigl sticks to her words. They were a breath of fresh air, and in my opinion completely admirable. Not only did she stand up against a clear jerkoff, but she stood up for her best friend. As I've said before, I adore TR Knight, and I too will "throw down for that kid" if it will help keep him on the show. So to Katherine Heigl I say thank you, thank you not only for giving me a little drama to read about during my boring winter break, but also for having a little courage to say what we all knew everybody was thinking. Awesome, Katherine, you are awesome.

Funnest Weekend Ever

2007-01-10T16:22:00.000-05:00

Since coming back to the States, Its been great being able to lie around all day in my parent's house, go out to dinner at my fav restaurants, and hang out at night with all my friends from here in Philly, but I have of course been dying to get back to Block Island and catch up with my summer loves. Thanks to the likes of Email, Myspace, and Facebook, I had kept in frequent touch with most of them while I was in Spain, perhaps even more so than my own family. Going on the internet to find a message from any one of them proved to me not only how extremely funny and insane they all are, but what good friends they are just to let you know they were thinking of you.

Luckily, in this month I have off, I was able to scrounge up some free time between eating, watching tv, and going to Towey's in order to plan a visit to BI for the weekend. I have never seen the island in the off season, when the thousands of tourists are gone and the harsh winter weather takes over, so I was eager to experience it in a whole new way. Several of my friends are living on the island year-round, so despite the drastic loss of people, I also knew I would have plenty of people to hangout with. With Sara recruited to come along with me, we quickly sent out massive messages to alert people of our arrival and encouraged others to meet us there. Soon enough our dates were set and Sara and I were more than ready to hit up little Rhody.

However, before we could begin our trip, we had the slight problem of figuring out where to stay. Sara's house had been shut down for the winter so, with no heat, electricity or water there, we needed to find somewhere else to crash. We called our friend Timmy to find out what hotels are opened this time of year, but were unfortunately told that everything was closed. I have a feeling that this wasn't exactly true, but am ok with it since he offered to let us stay with him for the weekend. Timmy's family has owned a house on the westside of the island for several decades now, and he has been living in it for the past few years. His parents are there only a few months a year, and the rest of the time it remains his own little bachelor pad. Though Tim lives alone, it is not uncommon to walk in and find his friends eating breakfast and watching TV long before he has even woke up. In fact it wasn't until two days into our trip, that Sara or I even figured out that Timmy's friends Nick and Baggie weren't actually staying with him this winter. Yet, despite his often juvenile behavior, Timmy always keeps the house quite clean and comfortable, and Sara and I were more than grateful to be able to stay there.

So Friday night, after a long car ride of anticipation, we reached the Block Island ferry. My friend Morgan, who had been off island for the day, met us there to take the boat over, and the three of us quickly opened some newly purchased booze to enjoy on the ride over. We laughed the whole way as we all caught up on our last few months and reminisced about the past few summers. With the heavy fog settled over the ocean, there was no way of telling how far we'd gone, and I was startled to feel the boat come to a stop in what felt like just minutes later. Faster than kids on the last day of school, Sara and I grabbed our bags and rushed for the exit. And as promised, there was Timmy and Baggie kindly waiting for us to arrive. With one look at those two boys,I knew instantly that I was in for trouble this weekend, a suspicion that was reinforced moments later when empty beer cans came tumbled out of the trunk of Baggie's SUV.

That night, after dropping our stuff at Timmys and having a little something to eat, we heading over to the Albion, the local bar on the island. Sara and I were surprised to find so many people out and about on the island. I had alerted many of my friends of our arrival, but I was surprised to see many others. And some- like Rick, who was bartending that night- were quite surprised to see us. We all had a few beers and some minderasers- the fav shot of the island- and then Sara and I invited everyone back to Timmy's for late night. Everyone except Morgan that is. Sara, TRYING to be sarcastic, told him he wasn't invited and silly Morgan took her seriously and unfortunately did not join us. Mostly everyone else did, and after a little drama with Nick's car getting stuck in a ditch, the party continued at the house. Typical late night, Nick pulled out his guitar for a jam session, Tracy starting doing boxed wine funnels, and Timmy and I played flip cup on the kitchen counter. My idea of heaven!

The next day, I was awoken by Timmy as he handed me a piping hot cup of coffee and a mimosa. The night before Sara and I decided with our friend John, that we would take a long walk to Sara's house on the other side of the island. So we called John and met him and his dog Honey, who Sara fell in love with at late night, in town for pizza. It wasn't a very nice day- the ground was wet, the sky foggy, and the air sticky- but the surroundings were still gorgeous. Free from my hectic work schedule, I finally had the chance to enjoy it all, taking pictures of all the things I never would during the summer. I couldn't be happier. The town was free of tourists and instead consisted of only locals, the friendly hippies who wave to anyone they pass and who are always willing to strike up a conversation. We walked all the way down Corn Neck, the long road that takes you to Sara's, without any worries of obnoxious Moped drivers or drunken white trash stumbling home from the beach. Everything was perfect.

Hours later, we returned home filled with euphoria, just in time to begin yet another night on the island. Timmy and Baggie were already there, just opening a bottle of wine with their friend Andy. Along with John and Rick, Andy is a member of the 007s, arguably the most popular band on the island and definitely the favorites of both mine and Sara's. Earlier the two of us had tried to convince John to get them all to play at the Albion that night so we were happy to see Andy so we could seal the deal even further. Luckily, it took little persuasion, as they all love playing so much, and our plans for the evening were set. We hung out at the house a little longer and then eagerly headed out to the Albion for round two.

As always, the 00s kicked ass, and even did some new songs we hadn't heard them play yet. Though they only do covers, the 007s put so much energy into each and every one of their songs, that you begin to think of them as their own. Everyone- especially myself- was up and dancing like the crazy white people they are. During breaks, we all did some minderasers "with the band". I had managed to stay somewhat under control the night before, but on Saturday these things really lived up to their name. All I know is that I was pretty much dragged out of the bar as I screamed "Late night at Timmy's!"

I sobered up at the house, but others seemed to go in the opposite direction as me. The boys-Tim, John, Cave Dave, Andy, and Baggie- together finished pretty much an entire bottle of Scotch on top of their beers. Soon enough they were having vicious arm wrestling matches on the kitchen counter and D.O.T- Timmy's drunken alter-ego- made an appearance and had to be put to bed. When I walked up stairs for bed, I found a toilet full of puke and a half smoked cigarette waiting for me. Lovely.

The next morning, we all woke up feeling pretty nasty, but the boys were insistent that we go get beers and snacks for the football game that afternoon. Sara and I, who had deciced to stay an extra day for the opening of Morgan's restaurant, had promised to be their "beer wenches" in return for taking us on for an extra day. Instead, however, we ate lunch and fell asleep until the end of the game, only to be periodically woken by screams of "Im thirsty!". When we crawled back downstairs at 4:30, they were not too pleased with us. I dont think I helped matters either by continuously asking them to open the beers I couldn't managed to open myself. But, hey, thats what they get for feeding me so much alcohol the night before. John and Andy tried to convince us to come to the Albion, but Sara, Timmy, and I decided it was probably best we stay in and recover fully.

Sadly the next day was the end of our stay in Block Island. Though still tired from all our fun, I was in now ay ready to go: The weekend was so fun, and it flew by too quickly. Baggie came by around 12 to drive us to the ferry, but first I needed to stop in at Swashbuckler's. the restaurant Morgan was opening that day. An addition to the Albion, Swashbucklers will provide food for the bar as well as for their own customers. Morgan was a chef at Harbor Grill, working breakfasts with me most days, but had decided to move on and open his own place with Phil, a bartender at the Albion. He's extremely talented, and I couldn't be more proud of him, though I am sad to see him leave the Grill. Anyways, I knew the opening was important to him and since I was fortunate enough to be in town for it, made sure I made an appearance. Unfortunately, we didnt have time to eat, but I did get a glance at the place and it looks like its going to be a hit.

After saying my goodbyes to Morgan, Colleen, and RIck at Swashbuckler's, Sara and I bored our ferry, sulking at the thought of leaving. Block Island is truly a special, unique place, and I'm so glad I have it in my life. Luckily, after this weekend, it seems I will be having a lot more of it in my life: Sara and I have decided to spend a year there after graduation. Rather then leave in October when our summer jobs end, we will try and find other work and remain island bound through the winter. The whole way home Sara and I discussed our plans with glee. It'll be a great adventure and I can't wait for it to begin. If I can have this much fun in Block Island in one weekend, I can't imagine what an entire year would be like! Until then, its four months until my return, and I will be counting down every minute while day dreaming of many, many nights like the ones that just passed.

Ringing in the New Year

2007-01-01T22:31:00.000-05:00

Well, here I am back in the States. I was of course sad to leave Madrid, and I miss my friends there everyday, but I have been having a blast since the moment I landed in Philly. I have caught up with a lot of my friends here, made some trips to Solaris and Towey's, my favorite bars in Chestnut Hill, and have been trying my hardest to catch up on a little American cuisine- hoagies, mac and cheese, my mom's meatloaf. I saw pretty much my entire family over Christmas, at both the annual gingerbread house decorating at my grandmother's and the Christmas dinner here at my house. But the best part so far has definitely been my New Year's Eve. Caitlin D, a friend of mine and my brother's, had a party at her new apartment in Old City which I attended with Freddie, my friend Sara, and her friend from school, who is also named Caitlin. I wasn't sure what exactly to expect, but it ended up being an extremely fun party as well as a night of complete debauchery. All day I have been reminiscing with Freddie and wishing I could relive the night. Since that is impossible, I guess I will just have to relive it here for all of you. Some of the highlights:

- Walking into the party, I was confronted almost instantly by Danny D, Caitlins cousin and another Chestnut Hiller. I have known Danny for some years now, but last night there was a distinct difference in his appearance- Danny had grown a perfectly groomed, curled at the tips mustache. He was extremely proud of his facial hair, but also very disappointed that others weren't equally impressed. It was funny, ofcourse, but I don't think I've ever said a nice thing to Danny, so I made fun of him for it the entire night. I begged him to shave it but, delivering a sweet burn to me, he said he would only do so if I shaved MY moustache as well. Ouch.

- Mike Kilkenny ingeniously brought the best thing to the party- a personal breathalizer. We all took turns testing it out, and Mike, who had been at the Eagles game all afternoon, blew a .18 by 7 o'clock, drastically over the legal limit. Needless to say, he was a train wreck all night and, as usual for Kilkenny, a complete sleezebag as well. He made numerous fervent yet poorly executed attempts at hitting on Sara, and late in the evening approached Karen, a well endowed girl at the party, with this glowing line: " Debbie, I'm pretty much a respectable, nice guy but...I really think we should just, like, fuck." He's a regular prince charming, ain't he. Unfortunately, as smooth as he was, he quickly got shot down. He did however score some sweet prom style photos with her before the night was over, in which he tried to grab her tits every shot.

- After five years of unanswered requests, Caitlin's roommate Kim finally got the drink fountain she's been dying for. To anyone and everyone who entered the party, Kim proudly showed off her new gift, and shortly before midnight we filled it up with champagne punch for all to enjoy. It was absolutely delicious, so much so that I just stood next to it and refilled my cup after every sip I took. I thought it was funny, but I quickly stopped when Kilkenny of all people told me that I was being majorly sleazy. I got that painful message loud and clear and immedietely moved away from the fountain.

- It was clearly the night of Michael Kilkenny, who pulled off the best moment of the evening and possibly all of 2006. Waiting upstairs for the bathroom, I noticed that one of the floor boards felt a little soft. I was alarmed by the danger of it, and told Kilkenny to feel it, saying that "someone could fall right through". Well, what does Mike do but stomp his foot down right on that spot and goes straight through the floor. With his leg immersed up to his thigh, I burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter as I tried to pull him out. He had broke all the way through to the kitchen, leaving a giant hole in the ceiling. Unfortunately, though, just as Mike went crashing through, another guest walked through the kitchen door right next to the incident, causing everyone in the room to blame him for it all.

- This morning, I woke up on the living room floor, with little memory of the last hour or so before I wound up there. Apparently, Slats had tried to wake me up to give me a ride home earlier, but I was unresponsive. Maybe if he had played the bongos on my stomach like he had done to Freddie, he would have had more success. Anywho, without a ride, Fred and I had to grab a cab to Suburban Station and take the train home. Still wearing my gold dress and stilleto heels, but with Freddie's blazer on as well, I looked like the ultimate walk of shame. It also caused a lot of attention from everyone we passed- the woman at Dunkin Donuts, some fifteen year old kid in the station and, most of all, the ticket guy on the train. He was extremely amused by my brother and me and how absolutely banged up we looked. He was less amused when, still drunk, I crashed face first into the train door as I attempted to exit. Similarly, my dad was very pleased when I initially came home and asked him to cook me an omelet, but less so when I passed out on the couch for 5 hours afterwards.

Luckily, although I'm upset New Year's is over, I think I have a lot to look forward to this year. I have high expectations for 2007, and its going to be an important year for me: assuming these next few months go as planned, I'll be graduating college, and I guess I will have to face the fact that that probably makes me a grownup now. Its pretty exciting, but also extremely scary since I have no clue what I'll do. Whether I'll start looking for a job, bum it for awhile, or maybe go back to school, I don't know. But one thing about 2007 is sure: as long as there's more nights like the last, its gonna be one hell of a year.

Summing things up and winding them down

2006-11-30T14:45:00.000-05:00

Wow, I can't believe it's been more than a month since I last updated. The time here is just flying by. I am so busy with school, travels, and other things, its hard to keep track of it all.

Since I last wrote, I've moved out of my old apartment into a residence on Gran Via. It was definately a downgrade in quality-- I share a bathroom and can touch both sides of the room with my arms outstretched--but my location has improved immensely. Gran Via is essentially the Broadway of Madrid. And, although the area is a little sketchy, I'm right in the hub of things. There's almost always something exciting going on nearby. For instance, last week, while on my way to my friend Sherry's place, I ended up walking past the Spanish premiere for the new James Bond movie (I saw Daniel Craig!), and just last night I watched a screaming drunk passed out in my alley get carried away by paramedics (I saw his butt crack!).

But, even though I love my new place, I spend very little time there. Being in El Centro keeps me very busy. Its so easy now to meet up with my friends for dinner, go out shopping, or just head over to Sherry's to watch a little Grey's Anatomy. Plus, I have been spending all my weekends traveling. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of going out the night before many of the trips I had scheduled earlier in the semester, causing me to sleep through my departure times, but lately I have been making my way around more.

For my most recent trip, just this past weekend, I went to Florence to visit my friend Fiona and her fiance, Sandro. Plus, Fiona's sister and my good friend, Sara, flew over from Miami to celebrate Thanksigiving with us. It was sad being away from my family for the holiday, but if I had to be somewhere else it would definately be in Italy with a certified culinary school student. Fiona, of course, made a delicious meal, and we gorged ourselves on turkey and stuffing, and completely intoxicated ourselves with fancy local wine and grappa.

On Saturday, after we had pretty much destroyed any semblance of leftovers, we went to a truffle festival near the city. For anyone who doesn´t know, truffles are not just the delicious little balls of chocolately heaven that I was expecting, but also a mushroom-like root popular in Italy. Though I was a little dissapointed by the discovery, these truffles failed to disapoint. We walked from stand to stand trying the samples each vendor had prepared. There were spreads, sauces, cheeses, and even a ¨lard mouse with truffles¨....mmmm. Along with the truffles, they also had stands with cookies and wine, so my dietary requirements were pretty much met. Then, after nibbling samples for two hours, we did the only thing we could think of- we went out to eat. By the end of the night, the jeans had been unbuttoned and I was walking around like a pregnant woman, but damn was it worth it!

Sadly, the next morning at the butt-crack of dawn, it was time for me to leave. I sulked the whole car ride to the airport, not only because I had to say good bye to the beautiful Tuscan countryside that was Fiona and Sandro´s backyard, but also because I had to leave my wonderful friends as well. Spending Thanksigiving in a foreign country can make you a little homesick, especially when you get calls from your brother and all your friends while they party in your kitchen back at home-- hypothetically, of course. Luckily, since then I have recovered, and I have been soaking up my remaining few weeks here in Madrid. Having to leave so soon has made me realize how much fun I am having: the friends, the food, and, of course, the nightlife will be hard to leave. Fortunately, I have a busy schedule until its time to say good bye to help keep my mind off that. This weekend I am heading to Granada, next week its Paris, and then my Mom comes to visit right before I head home for Christmas. And if I have to say goodbye to Madrid, I'm glad its to go see all my Philly friends. It feels like ages, and I can't wait to hang out with them.

Well, it's not long now!

More Good News Coming My Way

2006-10-24T07:45:00.000-04:00

"Perhaps psychology majors should seek professional help. After all, why would they choose a field in which the average starting salary is only $30,369 a year? It's the lowest starting pay of any field, according to the National Association of Colleges and Employers, which ranks money-making majors every quarter." -Forbes.com

Yay! One more thing for me to worry about after I graduate. So if I can actually find a job in this terrible economy, I'll be making less money than clerk 7 at the local Superfresh. Looks like I should have just majored in stripping because I'm pretty sure I could make a hell of a lot more money doing that...and in cash too!

Crap, We've Lost Another One.

2006-10-23T19:01:00.000-04:00

Last week, while waiting for my friend Layla to get dressed to go out, I instinctively crept to her computer to check my email, Facebook, Myspace, and every other dorky cyber society I affiliate with. As I was typing in my screenname at aol.com, a shocking headline caught my eye. Right underneath some crap I never heard of called Darfur was some real news, something I frankly didn't see coming: Grey's Anatomy's T.R Knight Announces He's Gay.

For anyone who doesn't watch the GREATEST show ever, TR Knight plays George, the quiet intern who pines for the main character, Meredith Grey. The sensitive and awkward underdog, he has developed somewhat of a following amongst female viewers. In fact, I don't think I know a single woman my age who doesn't openly swoon over George. So, as you can see, this is not just a blow to me but to twenty-something females everywhere.

Fortunately, though, this discovery was somewhat manageable for me since I've been in this type of situation before. It first happened several years ago, when I was both blessed and cursed to turn on Oprah one weekday afternoon. That day, I found the most gorgeous human being I had ever seen gracing her comfortable beige couch. His name was Nate, and I was immediately lost in a sea of daydreams about our beautiful New England wedding that it took me over 15 minutes to realize that not only was he interior decorator (um, dead give-away) but he was also on to talk about the loss of his partner in the recent tsunami. So, clearly, I am the most unlucky person ever. It was months later before I recovered from this devestating blow, and even now its hard to look at a beautifully arranged center piece without getting a little misty eyed over my should-be husband. But on the bright side, I'm now a stronger person becaue of it. Oh yeah, and I also didn't lose my boyfriend in a tsunami.

But anyway, although experience has made this latest news somewhat easier, there's still something bothering me. It isn't that George is gay; Lets be honest, I never had a chance regardless of his sexuality. What really gets me is that I never saw it coming. I PRIDE myself on my gay-dar. It's one of my many useless and mildly offensive skills. I could stand on a park bench and tell you the sexuality of every passerby with nearly perfect accuracy. And when a friend of mine came out to me a few summers ago, he was actually pissed that I was in no way surprised. Though no one else we associated with picked up on it, I knew within minutes of meeting him that he was playing for the other team. Some people can cure terminal illnesses through prayer, I can point out the homosexuals. Its a gift. (On a side note, here's a little advice: If you have to ask, the answer's more than likely yes)

So now I must add dear Georgie to the list of men we women have lost to the boys. It's really a shame that I don't believe that homosexuality is a disease like the Republicans do. Then I could just further delude myself into thinking that these guys will be "cured" and come running to me to make up for lost time. But I guess it's not all bad news, ladies. After all, we still have Ryan Seacrest, Ricky Martin, and Tom Cruise. Now those guys are DEFINATELY straight. If I find out though that Sack from Wedding Crashers is gay, as he's been rumored to be, I'm getting a sex change and moving to the Village. Until then you can find me watching Oprah, getting tips from Nate on how to throw the perfect wedding reception, one we unfortunately will not be sharing.

What I Love/Hate About Madrid

2006-10-12T14:21:00.000-04:00

After nearly 20 days in Madrid, I have had plenty of time to observe this great city and its culture. There are of course numerous differences between the life here and that in America, some good and others bad. As a convenience to you, and I'm sure to the delight of many Madrilenos, I've formed a few opinions on the matter that I'd like to share. So here, my friends, is a list of the good, the bad, and the straight up European.

1) LOVE: I love that you can sit for hours on end at any cafe or restuarant, even long after you've finished eating, without pissing off the staff for taking up one of their tables. In fact its expected that you linger. This of course has a slight downside when I'm in a hurry but refuse to get up too soon in order to be ¨more euro¨.

2)HATE: I hate that no one eats breakfast, and when they do its only a croissant, churro, or other pastry- all neither healthy nor filling. Give me a big bowl of oatmeal or an omelete, please, because its been 12 hours since I last ate and I'm frickin STAHVING.

3)LOVE: The one good thing about breakfast is the coffee. I adore the coffee here: its small but delicious, nothing like the watery, caffeine infused shit in the US. I drink mine ¨solo¨ (without milk), and it is so good that I have to fight not to toss it back like a shot of soco and lime and instead enjoy it slowly for the treat it is.

4) HATE: As most people know, European working hours are far fewer than American. While this is great for the people who work here, its a pain in the ass for me. Before I started at the Complutense, I had to wait two hours outside the secretaries' office for them to return from their lunch break so I could hand in my forms. Two hours to hand some lady my papers, wait for her to stamp all 5 of them, and thats it. I get it, you need to eat, but I need to do a million other things that can't be done from the dirty linoleum floor of the university. Furthermore, everything is closed on Sundays or on Fiestas like today, and pharmacies proudly advertise that they are open 12 hours a day. I like America where if stores could actually be open for more than 24 hrs they would be.

5) LOVE: I love the metro. Its ridiculously simple and cheaper than New York's. Everything is clearly presented and labeled, there are maps everywhere, and its extremely efficient. Not that I thought highly of it before, but it truly puts Philly public transportation to shame.

6) HATE: Dog Shit. There is dog shit everywhere. They say its good luck to step in it, but I see nothing good about being the smelly girl on the bus because you have canine feces stuck on the bottom of your shoe. Not that this happened to me, of course.

7) LOVE: I freakin love futball. And even more, futball players. Even though I don't know much about the sport , and I can't understand a word the announcers are saying, I still stay glued to the screen. Never before have I seen a sport where such an overwhelming amount of players are so damn sexy. Christ, even the ugly ones could model for Abercrombie. Obviously I'm in no rush to have children, but I would gladly give up my education, my career, and possibly my soul to birth any one of Real Madrid's babies--especially yours, Cannavaro.

8) HATE: I hate that the electrical outlets are different and, therefore, incompatable with American plugs. All I want to do is use my computer and blow dry my hair, but apparently European electrical companies hate me. Its probably because I'm so damn sexy and going to marry a futballer.

9) LOVE: Finally, I love Spanish TV. Its hysterical. Not only can you watch ¨Friends¨ or ¨The Simpsons¨ with ridiculously animated voice-overs, but they also have their own versions of American programs such as ¨Matrimonio con Hijos¨ and ¨Quien Quire Ser un Millionarre¨. And you know the Ax Click commercial where Nick Lachey walks around recording how many girls check him out? Well here Ben Affleck stars in the same commercial. Although too important to sell out for US television, doing the same in Espana apparently doesn't compromise Ben's artistic integrity.

I'm sure I'll come across many more things I love and hate about Spain (hopefully, more "loves" than "hates"), and because I have like zero school work so far, I'll be sure to pass my opinion along. Until then you can find me in a cafe, drinking my cafe solo and watching my future husband's futball match long after I've paid my bill. Adios!

Bienvenidos a Madrid

2006-10-09T14:34:00.000-04:00

*warning: I have no spell check so you will all now see how terrible a speller/ what a sloppy typer I am*

I can´t believe I have already been in Madrid for half a month...and that I haven´t yet written about it. After a relatively smooth flight, I arrived in Madrid at 6:30 am local time. I should have been more sleepy since according to my internal clock it was nearing 1 am, but the excitement of being in a new country definately enlivened me.

Robert, Manhattan´s program director here in Madrid, kindly picked me up from the airport to drive me to my new home for the next three months. I knew little about it except that it wasn´t exactly close to the Complutense and that I was sharing the apartment with three other people, so I was eager to see where I´d be living. When I arrived, I was relieved to see that none of my roomates were home: After a 7 and a half hour flight I wasn´t exactly eager to do the whole introduction thing- and in Spanish no less. Plus, it gave me a nice opportunity to scope out the place.
The apartment is very different from what I expected, though not in a bad way. In fact it is quite nicer than what I imagined. We have two stories within a larger, gated complex with a beautiful private terrace, our own kitchen, and a decent sized living room. My room, the master bedroom, is warm and sunny, with it´s own tv, plenty of closet space and my very own bathroom. A place like this would run you hundreds of thousands, if not millions, in New York City- but then again, what doesn´t?

However, though the apartment is spacious and comfortable, it is far from what I wanted. For starters, being there I don´t even feel as if I am in Madrid. The whole place is very modern as is the surrounding neighborhood. My entire block is filled with apartments, supermarkets, and banks. No where in sight can you find the historic townhouses or beautiful fountains filling the tourist books. The only slice of Spanish culture I have is the small cafeterìa down the street, the one right between the chinese restuarant and the video rental store.

But worst of all is not the atmosphere, but the location itself. I had been informed that I had a a fairly long communte to the Completense everyday, but I didn´t realize until I got here, though I had suspected, that I am also at least a half an hour away from all the other students as well as ANYTHING worthwhile in the city. Everyday I leave for my 3 oclock class before 2; if I want to go for a quick shopping trip, I have to factor in at least an hour and a half for the commute; At night, if I want to meet friends in Al Centro around 1, I must catch the last bus at 11:15 or else suffer through the painfully long ¨night bus¨that takes you all over the city; and then, to come home, its either wait until 6am when public transportation reopens or take that damn night bus again. It all SUCKS.

But, despite my lousy living situation, I am actually having a good time. My roommate Julie, though not exactly my first choice of companion, is very nice and has taken me out with her a few times. My first night out, she took me to a houseparty a client of hers was having. Now, Madrileños don´t often party in their homes, but this guy knew how to do it right. I honestly don´t know how a girl like Julie got invited to such an event. The apartment itself was spectacular. Located on a corner building right off Puerta del Sol, the balconies that cover it look over the many people roaming the streets from bar to bar. Inside, though spacious, it was near impossible to move with all the people there and even harder to hear over the noise of the DJ plaing in the main room. It was definately a very trendy, underground, ¨lets snort lines in the back room¨ type of party. Out in the open, there were plenty of ¨substances¨ as well: I saw at least two tables covered with bottles of rum, vodka, coke, and redbull for the taking. The host was very friendly and encouraged everyone to help themselves. Though he didn´t speak much English, he was quick to share with me at least one phrase he had learned: ¨Grab a drink and let´s fucking party¨.

Despite that first impressive night, Julie has not been much of a party animal. Instead I have mostly been hanging out with some of my classmates from the Complutense. We have gone to all sorts of places from a restuarant with a tapdancer for entertainment, to a club that was once a royal palace, to the typical, though always reliable, Irish pub. Unfortunately, however, I still have the dreaded commute home to worry about whenever I go out. It´s always a lose-lose situation: Either wander for blocks to find a night bus-stop and try to hold your bladder throughout the long ride or go home at 6 am when the metro reopens and shamefully walk into your apartment as your fruitful, productive flatmates eat their breakfast before work. Either way, lets be honest, little pride is involved.

What Will they Think of Next?

2006-09-21T15:52:00.000-04:00

Redbull, Monster, Rockstar, we've all heard of the energy drinks. I myself was a Redbull-aholic until I developed a heart murmur and found out my heart would explode if I kept drinking it. But now these companies have taken it one step further and developed a new drink: Cocaine.

No, seriously.

An energy drink billed as a "legal alternative" to the drug, it is 350 percent stronger than Redbull. An ingredient has also been added to numb the throat, just as the drug does. Creator James Kirby says, "I can think of no other product except real Cocaine that could have that effect on the public".

That's friggin scary. What I want to know is, if this is going to provide the same effects as cocaine, why should this be legal but not the "real" thing. After all, they never claimed it was a "safe" alternative, just legal. What is wrong with our country? I can't buy beer on Sundays, but an 8 year old can go buy a drink that will pump 280 milligrams of caffeine into their system. Something's not adding up.

Now, I'm not suggesting that energy drinks should be banned or that you should have to show ID to buy one, but I am wondering how far these companies are going to go. How much more caffeine can we put in one drink? Where do you draw the line? Are we gonna have liquid ecstasy, liquid acid, liquid heroin? And, more importantly, if we do, where can I get some?

Three More Days

2006-09-20T20:17:00.000-04:00

In exactly three days from right this very moment- just 72 hours- I will be flying over the Atlantic ocean on my way to three glorious months in Madrid.

Im excited, I'm nervous, I'm impatient, I'm scared. Sometimes I want to do nothing but daydream about my upcoming months and at others I try and shut it out of my thoughts completely. I'm essentially making this trip all on my own. Sure there will be other people from Manhattan at the Complutense, the university I'm attending,but I am not friends with any of these people nor am I certain I will have any of my classes with them. Furthermore, I'm not living in dorms like the majority of the students. Instead, I'll be sharing an apartment with three other people. This could either be awesome or a complete disaster.

On the plus side, my roomates- a french girl and two spanish guys- have lived in the city for some time and are therefore familiar with the local sites. They are also slightly older- out of college- which I don't mind since I tend to get along best with people a few years older than me. However, this could be completely inconsequential since I've also been informed that there is very little interaction between any of the roommates.

On the downside, not only am I living sperately from the students, my apartment is a full 40 minutes from the university. I can deal with doing a 40 minute trip at the beginning and end of my school day, but if I have to go 40 minutes to get everywhere- bars, restuarants, stores- then I'm either hopping on the first flight back to Philly or hoeing it up to some Spanish man with a more conveniently located apartment. Either works for me.

But in the end, what really matter is that I am going to learn some Spanish. I don't care if it kills me, I'm coming back fluent- or at least able to understand a Telemundo soap opera. But, considering I'm taking four Spanish language courses, I think I'll be able to do it. Either way, there's no turning back now: The tickets are booked, my tuition is paid, and my roommates are expecting me. Now I just need to get my ass in gear and pack those bags. Hmmm...maybe I won't be going to Madrid afterall.

25 years of Excellence, One Night of Ridiculousness

2006-09-18T14:06:00.000-04:00

Well the Twenty Fifth Birthday Extravaganza has come and gone, and I'm unsure of whether I want to relive Saturday every night for the rest of my life or if I want to forget all about it and never look back again. It was that kind of night.

Because the evening was way too chaotic to assemble into a chronological account, I'll just provide a summary of some of my favorite moments:

1. Bringing Sexy Back...Again and again: Freddie and I have been obsessed with JT's latest masterpiece and were thrilled to find out that everyone else at the party was equally in love. Luckily Liz brought the CD and put it on repeat in both the apartment and the limo. Then, every DJ at every bar we went to played it as well. I would guess that the song was played and danced (hard) to at least a dozen times throughout the night.

2. "I'm TWENTY FIVE!": After a mojito and several bottles of champagne, Emily became very enthusiastic about getting a year older. Mimicking Molly Shannon from one of her popular SNL skits-- who shows off her new boyfriend and boasts about being 50 on talk shows--Emily repeatedly kicked her leg up as high as she could while screaming "Im TENTY FIVE!" at every bar we entered. The bouncers weren't too amused, but I sure as hell loved it. It even inspired me to start a dance with Emily at McFaddens where we repeatedly kicked our legs up in the air to the beat can-can style. It was a huge hit.

3. Little Dave: One of Emily's friends brought with him his roommate from freshman year of college. Little Dave, as we called him, was an extremely awkward individual with pale skin, glasses, and a rather short build. He had called Nops earlier last week to 'inform him he would be in Philadelphia for the weekend' and to ask him if he would "be available". This is how Little Dave talks. We actually debated whether or not he was retarded. We also suspected that he was completely being used by Nops to score chicks, by making him seem like a kind, sensitive guy for hanging out with someone so nerdy and weird. Incidentally, this may have worked.

4. Tony the Limo Driver: Poor Tony had no idea what he had coming. Afterall, he did think he was cheuffering a twenty fifth birthday party not the junior prom. However, he probably caught on pretty quickly that things would not be as he had expected. Within five minutes of his arrival we were already pressuring him into breaking the rules and allowing more people than the legal limit into the vehicle. Then we all made complete shit shows of ourselves during the ride, entering the bars, and returning to the limo. At one point, Emily tried to get him to drive us from McFadden's to Finnigan's, which are maybe a block apart from each other. Then there was the little secret encounter between two of the passengers while everyone else was in the bar. But worst of all, despite our promises to "take care of him", I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who passed him some cash- and that was five dollars.

5. The Fights: Now, normally, I hate fighting. I think its usually for totally unnecessary reasons, and it completely ruins the night. But when its done in the name of family, I'm all for it. Tensions were getting pretty high throughout the night: there was confusion over where to go, people were getting separated, and everyone was pretty drunk, a factor that never helps keep the peace. By the end of the night it seemed like everyone was yelling. But shit really hit the fan when Emily's friend Courtney started complaining about something while we were outside of Murphy's. Finally, in a last attempt to keep her sister happy, Liz blew up at Courtney. I believe her exact words were "Courtney, will you SHUT the FUCK UP!" To be honest, I think we were all thinking it and Liz, though dramatic, was entirely justified. Courtney, however, disagreed and began complaining to Emily about the way her sister had spoken to her. Clearly, she doesn't know how our family operates. We will lie, cheat, or steal for one another, but mostly, we will tell a bitch off. Which is exactly what Emily did. As soon as Courtney even tried to suggest that Liz had done something wrong, Emily flipped. "Don't you ever talk to my sister like that!" she screamed. More words ensued, and Courtney ended up crashing somewhere else for the night. Never have I been more proud to be related to those two girls.

6. Party Favors: At some point during the night, someone found a necklace and a pair of earrings. "Are these anybodies?" they asked. "Mine!" I screamed without even looking at them as I stuffed them into my bag. I found them the next morning and, though I don't particularly like them nor do I plan on ever wearing them, I'm really glad I got some goodies out of the night.

There were many, many more fun things about the night, and I had a ridiculously awesome time. To be fair, I would have a ridiculously awesome time just raking leaves or going to church with these girls, but nothing beats when we all get together for a night on the town. Its always trouble, and its always fun. Now all I can think about is Summer 2008 when we will all be partying together again at Emily's wedding- only this time with open bar. OHHHhhhhh NOOOoooo!

Happy Birthday, Emily!

2006-09-16T13:41:00.000-04:00

Ok, so technically Em's bday has passed, but tonight is the party and we all know that is what really counts. The night is going to be quite the extravaganza. In her typical fashion, Emily is throwing herself a surprise party (yeah, you read that right). And, if you know Emily, you know she will not settle for anything less than excessive. She and her fiance have rented a Hummer limo for the event, which will drive her and her friends around to various bars for the evening. There's going to be mojitos, champagne, and, obviously, shear debauchery. Considering the havoc we wreak on an average night, I can't imagine what will happen when we really have an excuse to party.

Of course, my cousin Emily has never been "mild-mannered". When she was younger, she was rarely allowed caffeine or sugar because of the adrenaline rush it gave her. Now, at twenty-five, alcohol seems to have the same effect on her. Put a few drinks in her and the girl is all over the place. And, because she likes so much to be the center of attention, I think her own birthday party will be the perfect venue for her to display this rowdiness. I expect- and in fact demand- lots of dancing, yelling, and maybe even a little encounter with a stripper pole (don't think I've forgotten Boone, Em). And, ofcourse, I plan to get every embarrassing moment on camera to show our dear eighty-five year old grandmother later this week. I mean, what else are cousins for if not to harass and humiliate you? Really, I consider it a sign of love.

So Happy Birthday, Em. I absolutely adore you and can't wait for tonight (and many more nights to come)!

Some of my Favorites

2006-09-14T15:09:00.000-04:00

Paulina and Sara should be supplying me with some more later but heres just a few for now

.............................TOGAS!!!...............................

Sadly, this is normal for us

Me, Bry, and Nat

Roman gods: Bryan and Sandro

The gang

Kisses!!!

Magda and I raging out

More of my Favorites

2006-09-14T14:40:00.000-04:00

Siblings!: Bryan and Natalie

With my favorites girls at Martini Night

Bryan pimping it with the Poles- Magda, Gosia, and Paulina (Don't they all look stunning?!)

Me and Natalie

Some of the Grillers at the Albion

The Atlantic, where Fiona works

Home Sweet Home

2006-09-14T13:44:00.000-04:00

Well, it's official: Summer is over. Not only has the weather taken a drastic turn, but I have finally returned to Philly after almost four months in Block Island. I left yesterday morning bright and early- 8 am to be exact- and endured a looooong 6 hour drive home, still a little groggy from the night before. Though I had sworn to make Monday night my last night out, Morgan and Maggie finally wore me down and convinced me to go to the Albion for a little. Fortunately, I only had a few drinks--much more responsible then I had been the night before. Because I thought then that it was my last night, Maggie, Morgan, and Rick had insisted on buying me numerous shots, including one very large Mind Eraser. And let me tell you something: the name does not lie. Tuesday night, however, I was in bed by 12:30, much earlier than the previous. Regardless, though, I was still very tired in the morning. It took several coffees and a highly- sugared cookie before I finally felt functional enough to drive.

Though I had been so ready to go, leaving was tough. I hate saying goodbye and, despite the drastic population decline on the island, there were still many people I had to say farewell to. My three closest friends- Natalie, Magda and Gosia- had already left the island, which took a big weight off my shoulders, but It was still a rough time- especially for three in particular. Erin and Steve, my boss and her husband, were the first I had to say goodbye to. I absolutely adore and respect the both of them. They are a great couple and truly caring people. Erin was like my summer mommy, always there to offer advice, comfort me, or lend a helping hand. And Steve, Steve is just a riot. To be fair, a good deal of the humor in what he says probably comes from his strong British accent, but all summer he had me in stitches, whether it was asking me to go "French kiss in the walk-in" or just making frighteningly realistic farting noises whenever someone bent over. Because they are trying to start a family, something they've had heartbreaking difficulty doing, they are unsure of whether they'll be back to work next summer. This added to my sadness as they had been such a great source of comfort for me this summer. Leaving them was definitely a little scary. Even back here at home, I wish I had them to turn to, and I worry that I won't have that same support next year. But I also can think of no two people I wish more to become parents and am thrilled they are trying to start a family. I envy the kids I know they will someday have.

Equally difficult to say goodbye to was my friend Morgan. A chef at the grill, he ran the daily breakfast and was frequently the only other American working with me in the morning. We had so much fun together and were always turning to each other in exasperation when "the foreigners" started spouting out some indecipherable language. On slow days, we would often text back and forth from the kitchen to the hostess stand about the ridiculous shirt Inna was wearing or the screw-ups Olga or Johanna were inevitably making. Walking to the ferry, I got a text from him thanking me for being "his rock" throughout the summer. It is exactly how I felt about him- he was my rock, my sanity, and my source of amusement. He- along with my beloved Natalie- was the reason I could bare to wake up each morning at 7 am. Unfortunately, he's also the reason I'm going to have to get a very pricey international text plan once I get to Spain.

On the bright side, though, there are a lot of good things about leaving the Island, namely 24 hour convenience stores, streets that go over 25 mph, and not having to hear the word "wicked" in every other sentence. But floating out of Old Harbor, I still breathed a sigh of sadness as I watched the grill and my beloved summer home drift away in the distance.

2006-09-06T21:44:00.000-04:00

I know I haven’t really been keeping up with my entries but its been for good reason: not only have the last few weeks been really busy at work (excluding this past one), but I have also started another job, and at the same time moved out of the Lapham’s lovely home into employee housing. I was really sad to leave this house I had gotten so accustomed to and especially upset to say goodbye to Fiona and Sandro who I spent many wonderful days with, but it has also been really nice living in town. I get an extra half hour of sleep each night, I’m within walking distance to the bars, and I’m much closer to all of my friends. Hell, I haven’t even minded rooming with Paulina, a very "intense" Polish waitress from the Grill. All in all, the past three weeks have been pretty good.

However, despite all of this, I’m so ready to go home. I miss my friends, I miss my bed, I miss my mommy and daddy. In the short two weeks I’ll be home before shipping off to Spain there’s so much I want to do and so many people I need to see. Already I am set to celebrate my cousin Emily’s 25th on the 16th and I’m trying my best to get to Carlisle for a night to visit Freddie. But I also want to do so much other stuff. I want to hang out at Towey’s and Solaris, I want to have dinner with my grandmother, I want to visit friends at school, and go shopping in an actual mall. I was supposed to have drinks with an old boss and a former teacher. I should be making doctors and dentists appointments and maybe even catching up on some much needed sleep. But, in the words of Frank the Tank, “I don’t know if I'll have enough time”.

But I do know I will try my hardest to do all I can and, unfortunately for my mental and physical health, I’m pretty sure appointments and sleep will be the sacrificed tasks from my list. Obviously, Towey’s and Solaris will not be neglected. And I do know that I will definitely be at Emily’s birthday party, an event that, after our excursion in Cape May, I’m very much looking forward to. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to hit up Carlisle one night as well, but I also know Freddie will be understanding if I don’t, although I’ll be sorry to miss the opportunity. And in the end, I’m just going to try and remind myself that I will have plenty of time for all the college road trips during the Spring Semester, when I will be spending almost every weekend visiting someone or another. There’s no need to go all Jessie Spano and get hopped up on Speed: my world will survive if I don’t have lunch with Coach Ed or if I don’t make that trip to H&M. What’s most important is getting myself to Madrid and doing the best I can to see some friends before hand.

But, until then, I still have another week in Block Island. Now that Labor Day is over, things should be a lot more relaxed and I will hopefully be able to make the most of my final days. Tonight we will be celebrating the end of Breakfast at the grill, which means that for now on ill get an extra THREE hours of sleep each morning, and tomorrow night is our staff party, a three hour sailing trip followed by dinner at the Spring House. Hopefully, the weather will cooperate for the event and everyone will have a good time. But mostly I just hope that I can ignore that little itch to go home long enough to enjoy my short time left.

Countdown to Staff dinner: 20 hours

Countdown to my return to Philly: 1 week, 1 day

Ride or Die, Bitches

2006-08-11T09:13:00.000-04:00

Well I'm finally back in Philly for a little bit and, although I am THRILLED to be here, I have to say it was a little hard to leave after such a fun and eventful week. Block Island was teeming with drama and excitement and I was right in the middle of it all.

It all started Sunday night. After a lengthy dinner with the Laphams, Sandro and I headed into town to meet people at Kitten's for Reggae Night. Red Stripes in hand, Natalie and I hit the dance floor with our friends Magda and Sushi Bob. Though Nat and I were not sober, we were clearly the responsible ones in the group. Magda was especially out of hand. Though she's usually a pretty good girl, Sunday night she was out of her mind- even openly making out with some guy on the dance floor. This would be fine if she didn't have a boyfriend waiting for her back in Poland or if she atleast realized what she was doing.

Unfortuantely, her actions finally set in at last call as she stood outside the bar crying to me and Natalie. She was clearly upset, so Natalie and I tried to convince her to go home, but she was completetely determined to go to Mansion for a late-night beach party. Suddenly over her recent mistake, Magda went skipping down the street and climbed through the window of someone's car, joining the other Poles. I, however, was working breakfast the next day, so I reluctantly opted out of the late-night.

Feeling rather responsible, I got in my car and headed back to the house. Unfortunately, however, I quickly hit a delay as I passed by a car accident on the side of the road. Things looked fine, but I was somewhat worried since one of the cars looked a lot like my friend Monique's. I tried calling her but she didn't answer. Eventually I gave up and went to bed figuring that,even if it was her, she was proabbly ok since the accident appeared fairly small.

The next morning I had completely forgotten about the accident. Bright and early I drove back into town to start the breakfast shift. But when I got there we were a waitress short- Monique was missing. I frantically called her cell phone several times but got no answer. I started getting nervous. "There was an accident last night", I told my friend Morgan. "And I think Monique might have been in it." But Morgan shook his head and lowered his voice. "Don't say anything", he whispered. "But It was Magda in that car. She chipped her tooth pretty badly and is at the medical center right now".

Well I felt terrible knowing we let her go off, but I was relieved that she wasnt too badly hurt and things would be ok. We finally gave up on Monique showing, who it turns out WAS the other car in the accident, though she came out unscathed, and struggled to get through the breakfast rush with just four waitresses. Things were just starting to settled down when the cops arrived. " Are you the manager? " one asked me. I nervously replied yes as they began to tell me about an accident involving some of my employees. It turns out that the "small" accident I thought I saw wasn't as benign as it seemed. Not only were several people in the car pretty banged up, but the car they drove was in fact stolen.

The cops explained the situation to me in full and then informed me that I was to keep an eye on my female employees to look for any who might have some noticable injuries. The driver was never identified since she split right after the crash, and the police were still searching for her. After talking to me, the two cops sat down with Magda and had a lengthy discussion with her to try and figure out some details. I haven't heard too much about it since, but as far as I know they haven't made much progress in their investigation.

After the drama of Sunday, we all laid low Monday night. Furthermore, Tuesday night was the long awaited Battle of the Air Bands at Nick's which we were all very excited about and therefore wanted to be well-rested for. I never intended on participating in the competition, but my friend Colleen eventually convinced me to be the "drummer" in Dirty Silk Panties, the band she had formed with several other girls from the grill. Our friend and coworker Gigi had dropped out for what she claims were "back problems" but we suspect was actually embarassment over the fact that they were one of only two bands who signed up for the event.

So, after a delicious dinner at Eli's for Sara's birthday, I bolted over to Nick's to prep with the other band members- Colleen, Allie, Sarah T, and Natalie. Dressed in black tanks and copius glitter, we began a series of shots to loosen up for our big performance. After two Minderasers and three Dirty Silk Panties (a nasty, nasty, shot. Please see previous posting where I swore I would never consume one again) we were ready to go. Liquored Livers, a send-up on a popular local band and our competition for the evening, went first. They were good but there energy was a little lacking. DSP, however, as we've come to call ourselves, killed it if I do say so myself. The five of us went nuts and so did the audience. We played some Journey, a little Aerosmith, and topped it off with Shoop, by Salt N Pepa. The next day Colleen's fingers wer ripped apart from the guitar, Sarah had rug burn on her knees from dropping to the floor, and I still had glitter all over my face. But it was all worth it since we not only won the battle but were asked to come back and play for an entire night. I never thought I would be a musical success, but I have always said that if it weren't for my horrendous voice I'd be a great singer. Everyone looks at me like I'm crazy when I tell them this, but I think my theory finally makes sense.

I was clearly feeling pretty good the next day (well, aside from my massive headache) as I strolled into the Grill to pick up my tips. That is, until I found out who had been there earlier. On the one day this week I worked dinner, guess who comes into the Grill-- Billy Joel. Billy Fucking Joel. He came in with his super young wife and I wasn't there. I could have talked to him, sat him at his table, told him about Dirty Silk Panties and been invited to join him on his next tour. Then he would fall in love with me, and I would become his new innapropriately young wife, and we would live happily ever after in his mansion on Long Island.

This is clearly how events would have unfolded.

But, no. I was at home. No one called me and I missed my big chance. Fucking balls, man.
And now I find out my fav comedian Aaron Karo is going to the island soon, and I may miss him too. If I didn't have the possibility of future fame and fortune with my up-and-coming airband, I would be quite upset right now. Luckily, Dirty Silk Panties is gonna hit it big and this will all soon be forgotten.

Ride or Die, Bitches!

Lucky Me

2006-08-04T17:24:00.000-04:00

Can someone please tell me why I am being called in for work on my day off? I am not a doctor: I wipe other people's poop off the sides of their toilets and pull hair out from their shower drains. This does not require much skill, and therefore I do not think I am that much of a viability that it necessitates dragging me away from my day off to clean houses. Yet, at 7:30 last night I got a call asking me to do just that. I spent my day --in the 95 degree heat-- scrubbing, dusting, and vacuuming. By 2:30, when I finally said to hell with it, my hair was stuck to the sides of my face and I was starting to get heat rash. I was planning on sweating today but while lying on a towel on the beach, reading my new book. Not with my hand in a waste basket trying to remove the tampon wrapper stuck on the bottom.

Isn't my life just grand?

Harbor Hazing and Hysteria

2006-07-30T18:22:00.000-04:00

Working in a restaurant can be very exciting: there’s people moving around everywhere, tons of noise, lots of chaos. But it can also be extremely monotonous. Six days a week, I walk into the grill, greet the same general people, punch in, and walk out to the hostess stand. Throughout the day, I go through the same motions and say the same things, most usually “How Many?”, “Would you like to sit inside or out?” and “Ok, you can have a seat over there and I will give you a shout when we’re ready for you!”. Many of us joke about how we’ve even adopted “waitress voice”, a much higher tone of voice in which we recite these lines.

Unfortunately, all this repetition really starts to make you feel as if you’re living the same day over and over. Coupled with the aggravation of obnoxious customers, it can all make you go a little crazy by the end of July. For the past couple of weeks the staff has been getting stranger and stranger as they come up with new ways to liven up or just make it through their days. Last week for instance, I tried to make it through my whole shift without turning left, a la Zoolander. I spent my entire morning making spastic and dramatic spins every time I had to “Hang a Louie”’.

But its when there is no manager on duty that we have the most fun. Like a group of twelve year olds whose teacher has left the classroom, we all go nuts when we know there is no one nearby to reprimand us for our immature and completely unprofessional behavior. Last week, on one very hot day, Maggie and George showed up to breakfast with water guns and, because Erin and Gary weren’t there, a pretty large water gun fight broke out on the front porch, right in the presence of the customers. It continued in the back for the rest of the day, and I was constantly being startled with a shot of water to my face whenever I walked through the kitchen.

On another day, we started a giant dance party in the wait station. Though the kitchen guys usually play sublime, reggae, or laid-back hip-hop, for some reason they were rocking the club music, so we all busted out dancing in the middle of our shift, even creating “the Grill”, our signature dance move. At the height of the party, as George had Tara bent over while he grinded against her from behind, Mike , the owner of Harbor Grill and a pretty intimidating man, walked into the wait station. Everyone froze as Mike stared at them. Then, suddenly, he burst out laughing. After all, how else do you react to a situation like that? Later, when he returned to the kitchen, he walked through and pointed at each of us as he told us“You’re fired. And you’re fired. And you’re definitely fired”. You know it’s a good day when you can even make Mike loosen up a little.

But of course, we’ve all always been a little strange like this. We speak in weird voices, openly fart in the wait station, and take shots of grenadine to pump ourselves up on busy days. However, the largest portion of our time is probably spent annoying each other. My friend Bryan and I have a fun little game where we just push our fingers into each others faces until one or the other gives up and pulls away. He usually wins, seeing as I have a very sensitive neck, but regardless I think I do a nice job of getting on his nerves. And as far as ball busting goes, a common habit at the grill, I can no longer count the number of times I’ve been called a slut, a bitch, or a fat ass, but it’s probably somewhere around the same amount as I’ve asked Billy to make me a meatball omelette or told Gosia to start speaking American or go the hell back to Poland.

But, of course, our harassment is done all in good fun. It has even come to be an expression of endearment. In fact today, when Billy told me my new shirt was nice, i was oddly offended. I waited for a "but" or a "for a change" but he actually said something genuinely nice to me. I was totally offended. Was he mad at me? What had I done? It wasn't until later that day when he made some comment about how I "get around" that I knew things were ok between us, and that his previous comment was just a rare change of character.

But seriously, when we’re not insulting each other, we all get along very well. I love the people I work with, and have really come to realize just how much this past weekend. Because my parents were in town visiting, a bunch of us went with them out to dinner at Harbor. Though, the hostess on duty made a mistake and we ended up having an immense wait for our table, everyone working was so nice. They brought us out free drinks, complementary appetizers, and several of them came out to say hi and ask my parents if they were having a good time. Maybe it was because of all the Stellas I had drank, but I have to admit their ample kindness choked me up a little bit. But of course I would never tell them this. Instead, Ill probably throw out a bunch of sexual innuendos or write obscene comments about them on the kitchen whiteboard and just hope they know how grateful I truly am.

Lance Bass is SO Gay

2006-07-26T13:46:00.000-04:00

In the current issue of People Magazine, the former Nsync member reveals that he is in fact homosexual. Other stories in this week's issue:

The Earth is Round!
Studies Show Diet and Exercise May be Good for Your Health!
Gravity: What Goes up Must Come Down! Scientists Shocked!
Oprah is Really Rich
George Bush Doesn't Like Black People

Reporting that Lance Bass is gay is about as obvious and piontless as reporting the current weather on the news. No use in highlighting the obvious, People. The man danced around in shiny space suits for Gods sake. If I find anyone who's actually surpised by this, Im smacking them upside the head with my Nsync factbook.

Im Never Drinking Again

2006-07-25T22:38:00.000-04:00

I feel like shit. Its 8 oclock at night, and I am still hungover from last night. For breakfast this morning I ate grilled cheese, a bowl of pasta, and George’s “meat cakes”, pancakes with pieces of bacon and sausage in the batter. Then, when I got home from my horrendous 8 hour shift, I threw up for the first time in nearly four years.

What could cause this agony, you ask? Well, last night Sara decided to have a bunch of people over for pong and flip-cup in our garage. I was working dinner at the grill, but I made plans to head over with my friends Gosia, Magda, and Bryan afterwards. Fortunately, something was wrong with one of the grills so we closed a half hour early. Unfortunately, though, Bryan and Gosia’s last tables took FOREVER to leave. So, while I was waiting for them, I sat with my friend Colleen at the bar and had a glass of wine. I planned on just having the one drink since we are entitled to a free one for every shift we work, but next thing I know Colleen has me doing a “Dirty Silk Panties” shot, her latest obsession, with her and Gigi, who was on bar for the night. I had never done the shot before, and I will NEVER do one again because im fairly confident that its what led to my downfall that night.

Well, that or the numerous games of flip cup we ended up playing. When I got back to the house Sara and Natalie had already started playing pong with Timmy, Justin, Nick, Dave, Fiona, and Sandro. But when the rest of us arrived we decided to switch over to Survivor flip-cup, where the team who loses a round has to vote off one of their players. Though a fun game, it really messes you up if you play with a lot of people and are one of the last to be voted off, which is exactly what happened to me. We played two long games and I stayed in both to the end. I was really proud of my dominance in the game, but also REALLY drunk because of it. Natalie and I ended up crashing on my bed insisting we werent coming back downstairs and were just gonna “cuddle” all night. Five minutes later, after puking in our bathroom, Natalie was taken home by Bryan, her brother, and I was passed out cold.

This morning I paid the price. Though you’d think I’d be rewarded for my victories last night, I was anything but. I woke up at 7 am extremely nauseous and, after eating a grilled cheese sandwich and some pasta, headed to work. I stumbled in still feeling extremely gross and walked up to George, my friend and a chef at the grill, and demanded some sort of greasy meat, the reason I ended up with his special "meat cakes". It just might be the most glorious hungover food EVER, something I’d never consume in any other condition but made me feel GREAT while I was eating it.

Unfortunately, though, the relief only lasted while I was actually swallowing the meatcakes. Then, afterwards, I was back to feeling like 100% shit. I was tired, weak, and nauseous. All I wanted to do was lie down and go to bed. Then, to make matters worse, at the height of my agony, some kid actually parks himself across the street and starts playing the bag pipes- loudly and poorly. God was clearly having a good laugh at my expense...as was half of the Harbor staff as they watched me cringing and groaning as this 12 year old squeaked his way through the same 3 songs over and over. It was like something from a movie: a situation so perfectly bizarre that no one would ever expect it to happen in real life. Yet it did. To me. On the bright side, though, I wasn’t the only one suffering: most of the office staff was hungover as well, including my boss who was therefore pretty understanding of my inability to function. Not understanding enough to let me go home, but you can only ask for so much.

So, needless to say, it was a day of hell. At four o’clock, I bolted home and collapsed on my bed. An hour later, I heaved all over our toilet. I’ve never been able to make myself throw up but, after today, I understand why everyone does it. Although I still feel kinda crappy, I’m in MUCH better shape than I was before. It’s been a long time since a night of drinking has caused me to swear off drinking but I have a feeling it may be awhile before I can take a drink again. Judging from the way I felt today, I may be hungover for the rest of the week. Looks like Ill be the girl drinking water at the bar! Hey, at least, I’ll save some money!

I Don’t Care What the T-shirts Say, I Hate New York.

2006-07-23T01:02:00.000-04:00

Ok so I don’t hate New York, but after this weekend, I have a slightly bitter taste in my mouth. And that’s only because anything that could possibly go wrong, did.

Because my roommates and I are moving out of our lovely fourth floor Bronx walk up this month, I really needed to head down there to clear out some items. I promised Erin adn Caroline I would and, since I have off Fridays and don’t work until 5 on Saturdays, I decided to head out Thursday after work to get some stuff done there.

From that point on everything goes down hill. I really should have realized things weren’t going to go well from the start. Thursday afternoon, as Hurricane Beryl grew closer and closer, I was forced to leave work a little early out of fear that the ferries would stop running due to rough seas. Luckily they weren’t, but as I began to move my car to the ferry parking lot I realized I had forgotten my apartment keys. With only 30 minutes to spare, I hurried back to the house, found my keys, and made it back to the docks with 10 minutes to spare. Sitting in my ferry seat, I exhaled a deep sigh of relief knowing I had made it.

So, finally relaxed, I reached into my bag to call my friend Chris, who I had PROMISED to call when I got on the ferry. I dug around through my big black bag, but the cell phone was no where to be found. Thinking back, I realized that, in the midst of my hurry to catch my boat, I had left my cell phone on the front seat of my car. I, the girl who SLEEPS with her cell phone next to her in bed, had forgotten to bring her the same device on a multi-state trip all alone. NIIIICE.

With nothing else I could do, I brushed the loss aside and decided I would get by without it. I mean, just ten years ago I would have been able to function just fine without one. Then again I would also be eleven years old and probably be watching Saved by the Bell while dreaming of my future as a famous Fashion Designer. Things sure have turned out as I planned.

Anyways, after getting over the situation, I took a little nap on the ferry, had some candy, and made it to Penn Station unharmed and a little more rested. But then, on the 2 subway, I got so immersed in my freshly bought copy of Cosmo, that I forgot to transfer over to the local and found my self smack dab in the middle of Harlem. So I, the only white girl in a ten mile radius, wearing my gauchos and a head scarf mind you, was forced to get off the train, turn around, and head back to Caucasia. The woman next to me had curly gold hair and was wearing stilettos. Needless to say, for numerous reasons, I think I stood out a little

Despite the hassle, I made it back to the Bronx but, keeping in theme, I was hit with yet another surprise as I opened my apartment door. Though I knew my roommate’s sister, Dianna, was staying at the apartment with her roommate while they looked for a new place, I had no idea they were still there. Upon opening the door, however, and seeing loads of new and rearranged furniture I quickly pieced out the situation. Dianna wasn’t there at the time, but when she returned later that night to find some girl sleeping on the couch it was sufficiently awkward. Luckily, I know Dianna and she’s extremely nice, so when she figured out who, it was slightly more normal, but regardless it was weird all around.

In the morning I quickly headed out, went down to Manhattan, taken care of some chores, buying some things for my coworkers in Block Island, and eventually getting a hotel room for the night since I felt strange about bringing back my brother and his friend Pat to the apartment that Dianna and her roommate were now occupying. I watched some tv, got a few minutes sleep, took a shower, and met up with Freddie back in the Bronx to remove my crap from the apartment.

However, because I had no cell phone, I couldnt call Caroline to ask what needed to be done. In addition, Dianna wasnt there for me to ask her what she wanted and/or needed. With no one to turn to, I decided to take only what was definitely mine. It wasn’t until later today, when I was finally reunited with my phone, that I got the message from Caroline asking me to clear out the kitchen. Instead, I traveled numerous hours and spent loads of dollars to remove a pillow, a clock radio, and a two mirrors. And now I need to try and bribe my brother to return to the Bronx to take care of the remaining stuff. And, I have to hope my roommates aren’t too pissed that the things they had wanted done weren’t taken care of.

But luckily, after that, I was able to relax for a little and even had a fun time out that night with Freddie and Pat. We “did” beers, hit a few bars downtown, and destroyed an entire pizza. The next day I even woke up fairly on time and, though slightly groggy, feeling not so bad. I gathered up my stuff, laughed at Freddie and Pat sleeping in the same bed (no homo), and headed to Penn Station.

Well, I don’t know what schedule I was looking at, but when I arrived to catch my train, the departure I was looking for was completely unheard of. The next possible train wasn’t until one, meaning I would get to work at least 15 minutes late. After reacquainting myself with the pay phone and visiting every store in Penn Station to get change for a dollar, I finally got a hold of a coworker who, after laughing at me profusely, informed my boss of the situation. Everything, though a little tense, was taken care of.

I think we all know my bad luck doesn’t end here. After thinking I was in the clear, my train, of course, ends up arriving late. Not 5 minutes late. Not even 15. It was an hour late. Meaning I missed my intended ferry and was forced to take the 6 oclock. Again, I went through the 411/ pay phone drama and let the grill know the deal. Sitting in the cold, foggy wind, I was convinced I would soon be fired and maybe even be spit on by my boss.

When my ferry finally pulled op to Old Harbor, I dragged myself off exhausted, disheveled, and, admittedly, a little smelly. I hurried over to the grill and fell into my boss’s arms, apologizing profusely for everything. Well, what did she do? She give me a raise.

Seriously, she gave me a raise.

It turns out that Friday, while I was away, we were totally slammed and the crazy Ukrainian hostesses working that day couldnt control the crowds. So my boss, Erin, after talking to the owner, got me a little bump up on my salary. I wont be able to take the two week vacation I had intended in August, but Its nice knowing that my work is appreciated.

So, although my weekend was chaotic, I have at least returned with some piece of mind. Its gonna be a little nutso trying to convince my brother to go back to the Bronx to unload my stuff, but once this apartment stuff is taken care of Ill be golden. Things are good here on Block Island, and I am happy. I have great friends: my new friend Natalie is one of the best I’ve made since collage. My job is going great. And I have a boss who, when things are shitty, I can fall into her arms and cry to like she’s my mom.

Things could be worse: I could still be in Harlem, the weird white girl in the hippy head scarf, trying to get to her apartment without a cell phone.

V.I.P

2006-07-05T14:08:00.000-04:00

Living on Block Island is awesome, but it starts to make you feel a whole lot cooler than you really are. Though town is teeming with people right now vacationing for the Fourth of July, in the winter months the island consists of only about 750 people, and in the early months of summer when I was just arriving here there was probably only two hundred more. This means you meet people constantly, see them again frequently, and become friends quickly. Walking down the street to work or hanging out at night at the bar I am always running into numerous people I know, some just by face and others quite well. Though this is likely the case for all island workers, the attention causes you to believe you’re way more important than you are in reality.

For instance, the other night while attempting to get into Yellow Kitten’s, a popular local bar, we were met by an obnoxious crowd of people (mostly tourists) attempting to get in. Because the island has become so strict on carding, they were all waiting for the bouncer to meticulously inspect their IDs. My friend Natalie, however, apparently knew the bouncer, so we breezed through un-IDed and without paying the cover charge. Now, we weren’t trying to enter Studio 54, and Lord knows how many other people he allowed to do the same, but Natalie, Bryan, and I all basked in our pseudo-celebrity as we sauntered through the bar with our extra 5 bucks. Of course, 10 minutes later we realized we didn’t know a soul in the place since it was packed from wall to wall with tourists, and so we quickly left. None the less, we had our ten minutes.

And this stuff happens all the time, the little things that most people wouldn’t blink at yet make me think I’m Paris Hilton: slipping past cover-charges, waves from cars as they pass by Harbor Grill, knowing the members of the band playing at the bar. The other day I asked for water from the bartender at Nick’s, and my friend Chris, who was also behind the bar, over-heard and tossed me a bottled water instead of the tap water that is typically provided. I was ecstatic and, though I attempted to remain cool, I totally mentioned to all my friends my “sweet hook-up”.

It’s not just me though: everyone wants to feel a little V.I.P. At work, when attempting to seat customers, spacing them out in different servers’ sections, I know I can usually get them to sit where I want simply by proclaiming a table “the best seat in the house” as I begin to set down their place settings. Their eyes may have been wandering towards the comfy looking table in the corner , but with these simple words I can see their minds change as the “special treatment” starts going to their heads. I laugh at them a little to myself, but in reality I’m sure I’d do the same thing. I’d probably even feel cool enough to go home and write a blog about it. Now, if that’s not the definition of a cool person, I don’t know what is.

Pictures!

2006-06-27T18:47:00.000-04:00

I finally put some pictures from Block Island up. Hope you enjoy!

This is the view from Sara's yard looking out on town.

Sara's house from the yard

Bird Banding

Me, Baggy, and Sara

Natalie, Monique, and me

Timmy, Baggy, and me

Timmy and Sara

Random

2006-06-23T16:52:00.000-04:00

1. I woke up last night at 4:30 in the morning with blood all over my face, shirt, pillow case, and sheets. My nose ring was also missing. I guess it punched through my nose in my sleep and, because I was drunker than Billy Joel on St Patrick's Day earlier that evening, I never felt a thing. It was pretty gross.

2. I like to drive around drinking Stewart's Root Beer-- ya know, the one in the brown bottles. It really psyches people out.

3. The amount of foreign people in my life right now is absurd. I live with an Italian (Sandro, Fiona's fiance), and I work with Guatemalans, Poles, and Ukrainians. On top of this, my friend Natalie is fluent in German. By the end of the summer I should know a pretty large amount of foreign phrases, probably all of them vulgar and/or inappropriate.

4. Today, after Sandro used the bathroom, Fiona exclaimed "God, it smells in there!" to which Sandro replied in his thick Italian accent "I make poop not flowers!" needless to say, I was laughing like a 6 year old boy for hours.

5. Our cleaning lady is a bitch.

6. Have you ever accidentally said something a lot louder than you intended to? Yesterday someone asked me for some napkins and I practically screamed "SURE, NO PROBLEM!" I'm pretty sure my sudden enthusiasm terrified them.

7. The girls dominated in our Battle of the Sexes flip cup tournament. After a week of Nick and Timmy driving by my work screaming "you're going DOWN!", we finally put them in their place.

8. Is it wrong to assume when someone asks you about the area's nightlife that they want to get wasted? Yeah, I didn't think so either.

9. I think when every female hits the age of 20, they immediately start watching Oprah. Either its an inherent change or Oprah is putting something in the water. God knows she's rich enough.

10. I really enjoy The Pussycat Dolls. There, I said it.

How Quick Things Change

2006-06-20T17:07:00.000-04:00

Its funny how quick things can change in the restaurant business. Sunday we were slammed all day: the porch was full from about 10 until 4, a waitlist was in effect for a large portion of the day, and I along with the rest of the front of the house was running around like a mad woman trying to get these people sat and fed. By the end of the day, I had collected around $75 in tip-outs in addition to my regular salary. Natalie, a friend of mine and waitress at the grill, tipped me out $21 dollars alone, meaning she made over $200 throughout the day. Everyone was exhausted but at the same time thrilled to have so much money in their pockets.

Yesterday and today, however, has been another story. To give you perspective of how slow it was, yesterday I made and filled out an entire calender for the summer while today I nearly finished reading the complete “bartender’s dictionary” as well as several magazines and a newspaper, even completing the crossword puzzles in each. I don’t know how much I was tipped out today, but yesterday I walked out with about $15-20. Clearly not my best day and I’m not expected much better for today.

The bright side is that I have at least started cleaning houses for one of my fellow Harbor Grillers. Its grueling work but the pay is good-- $16 an hour with a dollar raise every few weeks and a $20 bonus for every Saturday I work. Plus, I get to see some spectacular houses and get a little exercise while I’m at it. And tomorrow I may be doing a window job which means I’ll spend the majority of the day in the sun soaking up some rays.

The only problem is that, now that I’m making some money, I’m extremely tempted to go spend it on everything I see. Block Island has some great clothing stores and, although I need some more clothes for hostessing, the amount I’d actually like to buy is way out of my price range. And to make matters worse, I finally went back to the bagel shop which I know will cause major temptation to buy breakfast there every morning ( they have un-godly delicious bran muffins). On top of this, birthday celebrations, friends’ concerts, and sheer-drunkeness have led me to some how “misplace” a lot of money at the bar. Luckily, or unluckily depending on how you look at it, I will soon be way too busy at work and tired from it to go out as much and maybe, just maybe, the $8 mudslides I’ve been consuming so much of will start to lose their appeal...hmmm, something makes me doubt that but, hey, a girl can dream.

How to Eat Out

2006-06-14T11:14:00.000-04:00

There are tons of articles and books out there about proper dining etiquette– which fork to use with what course, what wine goes with what entre, reminders to keep elbows off the table and chew with your mouth closed– but there seems to be an immense lack of knowledge amongst the general public about dining out. Everyday, I am consistently shocked and annoyed by the behavior and requests of the patrons at the grill. To be fair, part of that comes with the job. Restaurant staff tend to get bitter and quickly irritated by their customers even when their requests aren’t that absurd. However, other things are just inexcusable. For all of you out there who ever plan on eating out again, I strongly urge you to heed my advice.

As a hostess, I obviously bare a lot of grievances in regards to seating. Upon approaching Harbor Grill, there is a clear sign displayed on the hostess stand reading “Please wait for maitre d to seat you”. However, despite this, numerous customers have walked right past it and sat themselves, usually when I am not at the stand and therefore never become aware of their presence. Even worse, they then become irritated when they do not immediately receive menus or are met by their server. Others recognize my presence, but approach me and immediately point out a table informing me that they will take that seat and rendering me completely useless. Lets think about this, people: If you were supposed to choose your own seat, why would they hire a hostess? Do you really think my job is to merely stand there, wait for you to choose a table, and then escort you the 10-20 feet to it, handing you a menu as you seat. I think not.

Believe it or not, there is actually a valid purpose to having a hostess. By assigning patrons to a table, she is able to maintain a rotation of servers, who are each given their own section in the restaurant, so that no one waitress is over seated and therefore does not become overwhelmed. Please, please remember this next time you eat because there is nothing I hate more than the self-seating customer, the picky customer, and especially the indecisive customer- the one who asks to change tables after they’ve initially been waited on, leaving me to hunt down their waitress and inform them they know have a table on the complete opposite side from their section.

Now that you are seated, there are still some general guidelines that should be obeyed. For starters, do not ask a server other than your own for the check, another drink, or an extra order of onion rings. You are not their responsibility and, for your own sake, there is often little they can do to help you. Even if they are willing to take time for people they will receive no gratuity from, they are incapable of placing orders for a table that is not their own: the computers won’t allow it. If all you need is some extra napkins or a little more salt, and your server ir truly MIA, ask the hostess if she is not too busy. Most keep these odds and ends in their stand or, if not, are willing to run back to the wait-station to grab what you need.

Furthermore, I am continually amused by customers who berate their server for the quality of the food. Food is cold? Probably the server’s mistake. Missing a side of fries? Yeah, they probably screwed up. But if the balsamic’s too strong, or the fish doesn’t seem quite fresh, this is hardly the waiter’s fault. Though great at carrying a heavy tray, I know no servers who buy, prepare, and cook the food they serve. If your food is really inedible of course you can explain the problem to the waitress. After all it’s not like you can walk into the kitchen and explain your problem to Chef Bob, though I’ve seen people try. But if you do, try and voice your dissatisfaction nicely, keeping in mind that the server isn’t responsible for your gripe. Just as you wouldn’t yell at your mailman when you receive a pricey bill in the mail, don’t blame the waitress for your burnt toast.

Yet, though you have the right to return your food when it is truly unsatisfactory, don’t think this means you can send back every little thing you dislike. Eating out is about taking risks. Sometimes, you’ll find out that you don’t like their recipe for clam chowder or that you didn’t realize just how strong curried food is: these are not valid complaints. You took a chance and lost. Suck it up, learn from your mistake, move on. Trust me, a crab cake that’s smaller than you expected is not the end of the world. Order another, ask for a bowl of soup, get desert. Just don’t send it back, because I’ll tell you now, when you do, we’ll all be in the back making fun of your sweater and ugly haircut.

However, if you choose to be an asshole and send back that veggie burger (what?! It’s not a homemade patty? Inexcusable!), make sure you haven’t consumed more than three bites of that meal. Last week, we had a customer who had actually returned a fully eaten meal. The Lobster Roll they had ordered was gobbled up, only a few scraps of pink meat remaining. Yet, when I came to bus their table, the man sitting their asked me not to take the essentially empty plate, claiming he wanted to discuss it with his waitress. As Sara T approached the table, I heard the man explain how his poor wife was really unsatisfied with the meal, how the meat just didn’t seem fresh, how he didn’t believe they should have to pay for the plate. Sara looked at him bewildered, slowly asking why, if the food was so poor, his wife was able to consume the entire thing. “Well,” he went on. “She was really hungry, so she forced it down.” Look, its not our fault your wife’s a malcontent pig. Although, in the end, the SOB didn’t have to pay for the roll and even got an apology from the manager. However, I can’t repeat the comments made about him by the staff afterwards. Children may be reading this.

In the end, however, it all comes down to the tip. Behave however you want- you can even slap the waitress in the face if you so desire- as long as you leave a decent tip. Decent meaning no less than 20%. Im surprised how many people are still under the impression that 16% is standard. No more, Grandma. Twenty percent is no longer gracious, it's expected. If your waitress was particularly good, the meal spectacular, throw on a few more bucks. If you ordered numerous glasses of coke, another basket of bread, a burger w/out the bun, cheese on the side, and olives instead of pickles, bump that tip up a notch. I’ve looked at tips that, had the person just added one or two more dollars, they would have made their server’s day. Waitressing is a hectic job, one many don’t understand until they’ve done it themselves, so try and keep in mind how hard your server is working for you. Otherwise, be prepared to be known as Fatty McCheepypants every time you return.

Thirsty Thursdays

2006-06-09T10:21:00.000-04:00

Since I was working the PM shift yesterday, I was blessed with another miserable day off. Luckily, Sara was off too though so I had someone to keep me company, and we headed off into town to take care of some business– checking out the rates at the gym, going to Froozies to pick up Sara’s paycheck and order me some organic decaf (its awesome), put some clothes I can’t afford on hold, hit up the library for a library card, and finally stop by the grocery store to get some flour for muffin making and a bottle of Baileys. As soon as the weather drops below 60, Sara and I immediately crave Bailey’s and coffee- it’s a good thing we’re so on the same page. But this time, as we were picking up our Baileys, Sara and I were immediately intrigued by a bottle of white chocolate liqueur they had, and of course had to buy that as well.

When we finally got home, Sara and I began a rowdy game of Boggle (yes, we’re old ladies) and tried our new goodies. Drinks like Baileys are definitely going to be what turn me into an alchey, because I could and would drink them any time of day, all day, as Sara and I proved by cracking open our bottle at 12:30 in the afternoon. Believe it or not, though, it was pretty quite around here despite our hardcore game of Boggle. That is until we heard some random screaming from outside. Sara’s house is in the middle of a nature trail, so its not uncommon for people to wander by, but this noise was definitely more raucous than usual. We peeked out the front door, trying to get a glimpse of who was there, and saw four shady guys standing up on the hill smoking cigarettes, drinking beers, and peering down at us yelling. Who else was it but our local degenerates Timmy, Nick, Billy, and their friend Justin. Apparently, on their day off they had decided to drink beers and roam The Maze and happened to stumble upon Sara’s house. So they came in and joined us and of course made fun of us for sitting around playing Boggle, which is understandable of Billy and Justin, but considering Timmy and Nick are both in their mid thirties spending their Thursday afternoon drinking Bud Light in the woods, I really think they should watch what they say.

As is likely to happen when Timmy and Nick show up somewhere, the drinking was turned up a notch, and we soon found ourselves in the garage playing beer pong. And of course when I say “we” I really mean “they” because I had to go into my lame-o job in just a few hours. But I sat out with them, still indulging in my white chocolate liqueur watching the old men ardently trying to learn to play beer pong. Tim and Nick are both so old that they had never played before, instead playing a similar version where they actually use paddles and try to knock the ball in to one lone cup. Surprisingly, they picked up on the many rules quickly, which Sara was playing like the sorority Nazi she is, and even turned out to be pretty good. Not that they won a single game anyways, but a valiant effort all the same.

Cursing my life, I had to go take a shower for work soon into their little tourney, and when I returned downstairs they were all heading to the Albion to shoot pool and bother our friend Rick who bartends there. As I expected, two hours later I was sitting in an empty restaurant with absolutely no reason for me to be there. Gigi and Jess were at their laptop looking through Myspace, the cooks were in the back playing Scrabble, and I was reading the current issue of Cosmo for the 15th time. The place wasn’t just dead, it was non-existent. So and hour later, Erin thankfully cut me and I headed home for a quick nap. Just as I woke up though, Sara, Tim, Nick and Justin had returned, and it was my turn to finally play a few rounds of pong. As usual, I started out pretty poorly, but luckily Nick was drunk enough to repeatedly knock over his own cups, making our inevitable domination even more likely. Although, his constant farting did almost cause us to lose our concentration, if not pass out entirely from intoxication.

The rest of the night was fairly tame. We headed over to the Albion to see Rick’s band, The 007s, play their weekly gig. As usual, tons of people were there and the band kicked serious ass. Unfortunately, though, they still haven’t learned to play My Heart Will Go On, as I requested last time, so Sara and I will be paying a trip to all their houses to offer them a copy of her Titanic Soundtrack--Yes, Sara does have her Titanic Soundtrack with her– so they can hopefully learn it by next week or so. We definitely have other people on our side pushing for it, so I think we have a good chance of hearing it within the next few weeks, despite Rick’s extreme resistance.

Unfortunately, though, I must now head to work. I’m guessing we have 10 tables today tops. Magazines just aren’t gonna be enough to keep me occupied anymore. I just might have to switch to Bailey’s!!

Rain and the Ukraine

2006-06-07T10:14:00.000-04:00

After four extremely boring days at work I finally have the day off. And its raining-pouring, actually. So much for a day of tanning at the beach.

Regardless of the weather, I'm still relieved to have the day off. The last few days have been hellish at work. Because its still so early in the season, and the weather is less than stellar, nobody has been coming in to the restaurant. I spend most of my days absently staring out at the street hoping somebody will come in to eat.
My only entertainment has been the training of our two new Ukrainian waitresses, Inna and Riana. Their English is not so hot and they aren't exactly familiar with American custom and cuisine so their waitressing skills aren't so good. Its difficult to serve breakfast when you don't know what toast is.

Not only does their behavior cause these girls to stand out, but their clothing is a dead giveaway that they aren't American. It in fact screams "Eastern Euro". Inna came in yesterday with pointy reptile skin boots, Riana had very tight shiny pants on, and both were rocking the scrunchies- velvet, rhinestoned scrunchies. I keep thinking about the scene from Euro Trip where the eastern German man is so excited that they just started getting Miami Vice on TV there. Its exactly like these girls.

Well, since the beach is obviously out of the question today, I'm going to take care of some chores that need to be done. My friends Gigi and Morgan might be coming over for dinner so I need to do some hardcore grocery shopping for the feast we have planned. Then its laundry, cleaning, maybe a trip to the dump. It's a busy little Wednesday I have planned, a nice break from drooling at the hostess stand at the Horror Grill. Maybe if I have time though I'll give Inna and Riana a call. We could listen to some David Hasselhoff records, paint some eggs, you know all that stuff Ukrainians love. Ahhh, God bless Europeans- and stereotypes.

I'm a Sellout

2006-06-02T09:53:00.000-04:00

So I sold out and put ads on my blog. I'm sorry but I'm very poor, and Madrid this fall will be very expensive. I don't know how much I'll make but let's hope its enough for atleast a few nights out.

So, although I'm not supposed to encourage people to recklessly click on ads or offer them incentives to do so, I do ask that you give them a click every once and awhile so I can earn some dough. Money for Jane means a happy Jane. And a happy Jane will inevitably be nicer to you. Everyone wins. So PLEASE help the cause.

My Last Few Days

2006-06-01T17:44:00.000-04:00

Well, although Monday was still very busy, things were a lot better than they had been Sunday. I was able to keep the influx of people under control and the chaos to a minimum. Again, there were only three waitresses on which really seemed to be the problem. Unfortunately, when the place gets really busy I think people tend to blame me; I don’t lore the people into the place, I just seat them when they come. And, unfortunately, people tend to come in packs, making things extremely hectic. It was a long arduous day but considering I made $75 on tip-outs I can't complain. Plus, when Gigi came in to eat, she really pissed off the kitchen staff by sending her bacon back to be cooked more. Screams of “what a bitch” could be heard throughout the kitchen. It was really nice to hear after the attitude she had given me the day before.

Tuesday, on the other hand, was much more calm. With the Memorial Day crowd gone and the summer vacationers not out yet, there wasn't many people on the island- just how I like it. Erin, my boss, wasn't in either so the day was even more relaxed. It was only me, Gigi, and Sara M on, and by 1 o'clock we cut Sara so she could get some rest before her night shift. Gigi and I spent the entire day dicking around with Morgan and Billy, who were working the kitchen, and Gigi's two friends who came in for lunch and drinks. Luckily, Gigi’s stick seemed to have been dislodged from her ass, so things were much more pleasant between the two of us. I didn't make much money but it was well worth it for the amount of fun I had.

Gigi's friends Justin and Mark, who came in at 12, ended up getting wicked cocked, as they would say here in Rhode Island. They had three Long Island Ice Teas, 3 tequila sunrises, 2 mimosas, and, thanks to encouragement from me, a Jaeger Bomb. We don't have Redbull at the Grill, but because I wanted to see them do one so bad, I offered to run down the block and get them one. Well two hours later, these boys were off their ass: Mark was talking way too loud for comfort, Justin could barely walk, and I was extremely happy Erin wasn’t in to witness the disaster.

That night, after painfully watching these boys drinks the day away, I was ready to go out and have a good time as well. Billy and I decided during the day that we should all go to Trader’s, a bar located on the docks of New Harbor, for their famous mudslides. That evening, Sara and I made cocktails and walked the trails before having dinner and swinging through town to pick up my friend Ingrid. We then drove over to New Harbor to meet up with the rest of the Harbor crew.

Although a good crowd from Harbor Grill came out, the rest of the place was deserted. At first we weren’t even sure if they were open since not a single person was in sight. We quickly filled up the little downstairs bar, however, and made the lonely bartender happy with our long, elaborate orders. After grabbing our mudslides, which were even tastier than I had remembered, we went up stairs to sit outside on the roof deck.

We stayed there and chilled for awhile but my friend George was soon itching to head over to club Soda for Kareoke Night. Mostly everyone else went to Nick’s but Sara, George, and I hit up Soda so he could sing his little heart out. He desperately tied to get me to join him, but as anyone who’s heard me before knows, I am a terrible singer, so I declined for the comfort and sanity of the other patrons. He swears he’ll get me on stage before the summer’s over, but unless several shots proceed that, I highly doubt it will happen. I’m trying to keep what little bit of pride I have left in tact.

This weekend Kelly, Mayu, Chris, and Mike are coming to visit so we should have a busy and exciting two days. Mike’s never been and Kelly hasn’t recently, so we will have to show them a good time here. Until then Sara and I will be taking it easy, resting up for the crazy weekend that Im sure lies ahead. Hopefully Chris won’t be too mad when I have to work the whole time, as he was last time he visited us, but at least this time he’ll have plenty of company.

Updates on Philly’s invasion of Block Island to come soon.

Like Riding a Bike?

2006-05-28T18:20:00.000-04:00

This Friday night, the night before starting work, I had several nightmares about my first day back. In them all my customers were assholes, I didn’t know where anything was, I kept screwing up, and for some reason the grill was actually my Cape May house. Oh yeah, and Adam Sandler came into the restaurant. That was kinda cool.

But luckily, despite my terrifying dreams, everything went really well my first day. A lot of my friends were back, and the two new girls there I ended up really liking and hope to hang out with this summer. I didn’t even have much trouble getting back into the swing. Besides minor details, like not being able to find a container for me to fill with water for washing tables, which I probably would have done two summers ago as well, things pretty much fell into place. Plus, we had a busy day, which kept me occupied, but it wasn’t so crazy that I was going out of my mind. In fact the worse thing that happened all day was that I got asked on a date. Overall. I have to say it was a nice smooth transition back into work. I left feeling hopeful that it was going to be a great summer.

Today, however, was a different story. Today just might have been my worst day ever at the Harbor Grill. Breakfast went great, spending it busy but still able to have some time to joke around with the waitresses and my boys in the kitchen; but lunch? Lunch was a nightmare. Starting at about 12:30 the place was MOBBED with people The crowds came in all at once. It was nearly impossible to seat people and take names at the same time, forget about even bussing. Plus, we only had three waitresses on so it was extremely difficult to seat people. Soon I had a waitlist of about 30 people, and at one point I just started telling people it was like a 2 hour wait so they’d just go the hell away.

Even worse, all of the tables stayed FOREVER. I would see people finishing off their meals and even asking for checks, so I’d give people in line a modest amount of time to wait. But sure enough everyone lingered, ordering more rounds of drinks or just sitting around giving me further reason to slit my wrists. Then, to make matters worse, the people who did finally leave always seemed to be in the same section, forcing me to bombard the waitresses with like three or four tables at once.

This clearly pissed off the waitresses, which I can understand, but unfortunately I was in a predicament. I had people from both sides coming at me: the waitresses in the back and the many customers in the front. By the end of the day, one customer made me think he was going to call my boss and report me, my friend and fellow staff member Gigi wouldn’t look me in the eye and would only sneer at me, and I wanted to kill myself. Luckily around three Erin, the manager of the grill, came in and relieved some of the waitresses of their tables, and also cheered me up and kept me from worrying too much. What a great person to have on your side.

Leaving work, my friends Rick and Morgan yelled at me as I passed by them having cocktails on the porch of the Harbor. I practically fell into Rick’s lap in a heap of exhaustion, frustration, and anxiety. My hair was a mess, I had ketchup and coffee all over my white shirt, and I’m pretty sure my B.O was kickin’. They were like “who is this pathetic girl?” and immediately regretted calling my attention. Again, it was a looong day.

But thankfully its over now, and I can relax here back at the house until tomorrow morning when it all starts again. My friend George, a talented chef at the Harbor, is waiting tables tomorrow for some unknown reason. This could either be an awesome thing, seeing as George is hysterical and will provide some humor, or disastrous since he is NOT a waiter and is stressed out easily. Let’s just hope, not matter what happens, that tomorrow is NOTHING like today.

Rocking the Block

2006-05-26T14:14:00.000-04:00

Well, we finally arrived in Block Island. Despite a shaky start, I made it to the ferry on time. Our friend Timmy met me and Sara there, and we made plans for the evening before heading back to the house to unpack our ungodly amount of groceries. We had made a Costco trip the day before coming and kind of got out of hand. I’m pretty sure we have every type of cheese ever made and enough snacks to last us throughout the summer. Sara’s cousin Erica, who is staying at the house until Saturday with her boyfriend and Sara’s grandmother, was astonished by the amount of goods we brought. She clearly underestimates us.

Pulling up to the house that evening, I was so excited to be back. It was a so nice out and, at 6:30, it was the most beautiful time of day at the house. The ocean, which you can see from Sara’s yard, was blue as ever and the breeze was just perfect. After unloading, Sara and I sat down to eat a little something and I was continually gazing out the window at the gorgeous view. Even though I lived here before for an entire summer, I never tire of that sight. It’s absolutely breathtaking, and I look forward to sitting outside every evening to enjoy it.

Anyways, that evening Sara and I were pretty exhausted from our long trip to the island, but we were looking forward to seeing people so we decided to meet up with Timmy at Club Soda. Despite the name, Club Soda is anything but clubby. It’s a small, relaxed little bar, as many of the bars on the island are, perfect for chilling out and listening to some live music. It was Open Mike Night that evening so we got to hear some good music, and we even ran into a few people we knew, although not as many as we had hoped. By 12 or so I could feel my head drooping towards the bar counter as if it was magnetized. Sara and I both agreed to head home and get some sleep before we took a nap in our barstools. Before leaving though, Timmy invited us to his house the next night for some wine and cheese before going to Martini Night. We were of course loving the idea and agreed to call him about it.

It was a good thing Sara and I decided to get some rest because the next morning we were awoken bright and early by loud chatter outside our room. Several people were over the house for bird banding, a practice that has taken place at Bluestone (the Lapham’s house) for years. Nets are placed around the property to catch various birds from the island. They are then collected to be weighed, documented, and banded with a silver bracelet, before being released again into the wild. The Lapham’s are big environmentalists and are known for banding by all the locals. Though Erica and Kim tried to get my to release some of the birds, I was way to chicken (no pun intended). I did, however, hold some of the bags after we got the birds from the nets to bring back to the house so maybe I’ll work my way up slowly but surely to actually holding a bird.

In the afternoon, after I took a nice two hour nap, Sara and I headed to town to figure out our working arrangements for the summer. Overall, our efforts were pretty much useless. At the Atlantic, where Sara wants to work, she was told yet again that she would have to wait several more days to get a definite answer, and no one was there when she went to The Nature Conservancy, her other job for the summer. Likewise, when I went to Harbor Grill, Erin, my boss, wasn’t in yet. I did however see my friends George and Gigi which was very exciting. I was glad to know they would both be back at Harbor since I had heard there were a lot of new employees. It was comforting to know that I would at least know someone.

That evening, after a delicious dinner made by Erica, Sara and I headed to Timmy’s. He was there with his friends Nick and Baggy, who had clearly gotten a good start on the wine already. I didn’t get carried away on either the wine or the cheese since a) I was designated driver for the night and b) I was still SO stuffed from dinner. But I had a glass or two of wine and we all chatted for awhile and had a nice time. Baggy is working for Christopher Walken, who has a house on the island, so he told us a few stories about that. Unfortunately, neither he nor anybody else working with him has ever actually met Walken since he is pretty reclusive. I do at least now know where he lives so maybe I’ll do a little stalking in my free time.

We were all having a lot of fun and it was a really chill night until I had to go and prove that I’m a complete jackass even when I’m sober. Sara and I went upstairs to snoop around Timmy’s house, because that’s the kind of girls we are, and sat down in his nook overlooking the living room for a little bit. She was telling me how this past Thanksgiving, in typical DOT fashion (Drunk Old Timmy), Timmy had fallen down the stairs and had to get several stitches. We laughed at his stupidity before heading downstairs to rejoin the group. Well guess what stupid little Jane did. Half way down the stairs, my wine glass is up in the air, my ass in on the ground, and I am sliding at full speed down the carpeted stairs like an Olympic bobsledder. I screamed. Sara screamed. Everyone came running. At least Timmy had done the same thing, with worse consequences might I add, so I felt a little better about my clumsiness though I was still extremely embarrassed and quite sore might I add.

After I rubbed my bruised ass for a little bit, we headed out to The Albion. Martini Night plans were nixed as soon as we found out our friend Rick and his band, 007, were playing the Albion that night. I’m glad they were because I ended up having the greatest time. Not only did I run in to a bunch of my friends, but Rick’s band f-ing killed it. They are absolutely amazing, and everyone was digging them. The best part about Block Island is that no one there gives a crap. Everyone was basking in their whiteness, hitting the dance floor and flailing their legs and clapping their hands over their heads. It was actually good white dancing, if there is such a thing. The band was taking requests too, under the condition that you bought them a shot, so they were playing the music everyone wanted to here, including a rendition of “Legalize it” which was changed to “Rick Lysic”, an awesome remix I must say.

I of course, however, had to be a smartass when I heard Rick say they would play “anything” as long as a round of shots were bought for the band. I requested my absolute favorite song and the one and only one I wanted to hear: Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On. Surprisingly, they didn’t know it. I tried a few others and finally Rick had to make an announcement that “Thanks to Jane, they will no longer be taking requests”. Way to go, Me. I still bothered him to learn it though because, after all, he did say they’d play “anything” and I’m pretty sure Celine’s classic ballad is included in that criterion. I gave the band until August to learn it. I’ll try and keep you updated on their progress.

Unfortunately, tonight Sara and I will be taking it easy since I start work tomorrow. I finally got a hold of Erin and I’m all booked up for the weekend so I will hopefully have some cash in my hands very shortly. I even ran into my boss from Footprints, the clothing store I also worked at, while at the Albion. She said she’d love to have me back so I’ll be stopping in there Saturday to discuss shifts. It seems I’m all set up for summer, Thank God. I just hope everything is like riding a bike and I remember what I have to do. I had dreams all last night that I kept screwing up at working and getting awful customers. Except for Adam Sandler. For some reason, he was in my dream and came into the Harbor. Let’s hope it’s a premonition.

Well, this blog has babbled on for far too long. I’ll try to update a little more often in the future so they’re not as long and incoherent. Hopefully, I’ll have some good stories after the Memorial Day weekend. And hopefully, they won’t involve me falling on my ass.

Bon Voyage

2006-05-24T08:52:00.000-04:00

I'll be heading off to Block Island in two hours! Hopefully, that is. As usual, something has gone wrong that may keep me from leaving on schedule and completely screw up my plans for getting on island. What else is new.

I had to bring in "Little Red", my beautiful Ford Escort, for inspection this week. I brought it in Monday but, of course, we were missing proper documentation and had to bring it in the next day. It was there bright and early but, when I went to pick it up at 5 o'clock, I was told she needed new tires.

I bit my nails as the mechanic explained what he needed to do. He asked me questions about what kind of tires I wanted which of course I couldn't answer because I know jackcrap about cars. "Just put on whatever will get it done fastest" I told him, and he assured me he'd have it ready by ten today at the latest. It was slightly later than I would like but still do-able.

I woke up this morning bright and early at 7 am, had a cup of coffee, and gathered some last minute belongings. As my Dad left for work, I asked him to swing by the gas station and check on the status of the car. As I feared, he called 15 minutes later to tell me it wouldn't be ready until noon. I was screwed. It takes six hours to get to Rhode Island which means I would miss my ferry, the last one available for the next four days. So I did what anyone would do and turned to Marie "Balls of Steel" Lachat to call and bitch at him, something she's very good at.

Luckily, bitching wasn't necessary, and she was able to get me the car by 11, making it possible, though difficult, to make it on time. She has to shell out a few extra dollars for more expensive tires, God bless her, but I at least now I have a shot of reaching my destination.

So I'll be waiting at the gas station at 10:30 staring down the mechanic in hopes that he'll get it done a little early. Then I'm off for a six hour drive. By Myself. For six hours. Alone. I'm betting by hour 4 I start talking to myself and by 5 I may attempt suicide. But if not, I'll be in Block Island by 7 tonight. Cross your fingers for me!

Happy Birthday Nana

2006-05-22T01:24:00.000-04:00

Today marks the eighty fifth anniversary of my dear grandmother's birth. She's lived through the Great Depression, numerous wars, the first moon landing, and the millennium. She's birthed eleven children and survived quadruple bypass surgery. So to celebrate this milestone in such a miraculous woman's life we had an afternoon barbecue in her Roxborough home. I was starting to doubt our white trash cred, but luckily it was reaffirmed today with the "party zone" decorations, my Nana's sparkling "happy birthday" antennas, and the dancing-singing stuffed animals. Fortunately, my Nana's never been a fussy person.

Yet the day was a lot of fun, even though understated. I was happy to see my Nana having a good time since I knew she was fairly nervous about the event. You see, 15 years ago or so, my grandmother's sister, during her own eighty fifth birthday party, suddenly put her head down on the table and died right then and there. We were thankful she went peacefully but it sure as hell put a damper on the party. Pretty selfish of her if you ask me.

Nana had a good sense of humor about it all though. Not only did she wear the ridiculous birthday antennas, but while we were singing Happy Birthday she even messed with us a little by starting to lower her head to the table. You gotta love an eighty five year old woman who can fake her own death in front of her loved ones. And she even laughed it off when I called her senile and referred to her as "old lady" all day.

After the bday rituals, many of us headed out to the front porch as we often do at family events to bring up embarrassing stories and tease each other about our current happenings. We had plenty of material since old pictures were being passed around, and Freddie and I both showed up with black eyes while Trisha nursed an all too apparent hangover. Plus, we recently found out that my uncle Vincent had a fleeting fascination with German culture during his adolescence and wanted to make his confirmation name Wolfgang. You would think calling him Uncle Wolfy would get old, but believe me the hilarity of it does not die down in the least.

But dear Uncle Wolfy took the ribbing in stride and just promised he would get his revenge during the Dougherty Family Beer Olympics that our aunts and uncles challenged us to over Easter. Its tentatively planned for summer and, although it began fairly innocently, it has really been turned up a notch in the past few weeks. Even more so than the cousins, the aunts and uncles are ready for the challenge and insistent that they will destroy us in the competition. Things are getting heated: Rumors have started circulating, some trade negotiations have been discussed, people are at risk of being axed from their team- the Gauntlet will probably look tame in comparison.

But on a serious note, I'm so grateful to have my Nana in my life and that she is relatively healthy for her age. My Aunt Sharon's mother was there today as well, and at 87 she is already fully blind and wheel chair bound. She's a sweet woman and extremely happy despite her circumstances, but I'm glad I don't have to see my Nana in the same position. I just hope that she will remain this way for years to come. I'm sure my cousins would be happy to step up to the plate if necessary, but it just wouldn't be the same without her there to make fun of the length of my skirts or my new choice of jewelry. The woman's got talent when it comes to insults, and that is something I truly respect and admire. Some people say they hope to be in great shape in their old age or still be able to live on their own. I just hope I have the wonderful sense of humor my Nana has and the impressive ability to dryly ask her thirteen year old granddaughter if she's been "playing makeup" when she shows up for Christmas with poorly applied eyeliner on. Hypothetically, ofcourse.

So cheers to you, Mary Dougherty, you senile old quack! I look forward to you faking your own death for years to come!

Oh Freedom, You Taste So Good

2006-05-17T14:22:00.000-04:00

Finals are done!!! I am officially a free woman for the next four months! There's no better feeling than know you are at the farthest point from being in school. The celebration begins tonight with the Boozecruise then there's the clambake tomorrow and the formal Friday. Time to shower, pick up a bottle, and charge my camera batteries for the mass amount of pictures I'll likely be taking. My summer has begun, and its gonna be GOOOOOD!

Sex Ed

2006-05-14T15:25:00.000-04:00

***This post is dedicated to Emily, not because she's a pervert, but because she asked for a new post. And since she's moving back to Philly, I'm pretty much willing to do anything for her.***

My decision to major in psychology was not entirely because I didn't know what else to do. I have for most of my life been a very social person and therefore have been very interested in people and human behavior. My Intro to Psych course, a requirement for liberal arts majors, came naturally to me, and I enjoyed learning about conformity, schizophrenia, and classical conditioning. But what I didn't realize was that a major portion of human behavior is sexual. In three of the six courses I've taken this year alone there has been extensive talk about human sexuality. In highschool I mercilessly teased my "Life Issues" teacher for having majored in Sexual Education in college, but I'm starting to realize that my degree isn't far off from hers. At this point I could easily teach a sex ed course. In fact, I now know so much about sex that even Dr. Ruth has been calling me for pointers.

However, though I've found my self in the role I previously mocked, I still find something about taking an exam on fetishism extremely humorous. And, obviously, studying sexual behavior is far from glamorous. My roommates must think I'm a complete perve because I have flashcards reading "premature ejaculation" and "oral sex" scattered across our apartment. Sometimes I don't know if I'm studying for an exam or reading Playboy. This year I've heard professors say masturbation, testes, anal sex, spermacide, sexual masochism, cunnilingus, and multiple orgasms among others. But I think the moment I got closest to laughing out loud was during my Abnormal Psych class this year. While discussing vaginismus, a condition where the vagina contracts causing penetration to be quite painful, my professor couldn't remember the name of the device used in treating this condition. "What is it called, again?" he asked right before the lightbulb in his head went off. " Ah yes, a dildo!" Until then I had handled our discussions with complete maturity, diligently taking notes without the slightest smirk or cringe, but hearing my fifty-something year old professor shout out "dildo!" with such delight really almost caused me to lose my cool.

But other than that one moment, I handled myself well and am now quite knowledgeable about all facets of human sexuality, which should come in handy if I get the internship at Cosmo next year. But, if not, at the very least I can provide some interesting discussion about cropalism, a condition where one is aroused by the use of fecal matter during sex. I may not be able to summarize the causes of the French Revolution, discuss the philosophies of Sartre, or design a suspension bridge like some of my peers, but if, God forbid, you ever develop an STD, I'll be more than happy and extremely qualified to counsel you through the unfortunate time!

What a Failure

2006-05-08T22:49:00.000-04:00

I knew I shouldn't have jumped on this David Blaine bandwagon. I made fun of him all week, ignored all the hype, then at the last minute I find myself a little intrigued, and what happens? He fails. Miserably.

First off, lets just get one thing straight: This guy is psychotic. During this whole two hour special they kept talking about how, if something goes wrong, Blaine could end up with permanent brain damage. Well call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure this guy is damaged as is. Not only does he talk like he's been "drowned alive", not showing any signs of a personality or soul in his speech, but no one who does the things he does could possibly be working properly up there. He traps himself in blocks of ice, stands on platforms the height of buildings, and he claims that pain is "just an obstacle that needs to be conquered". Well, no actually pain is a message to your brain that you're body is in trouble and something needs to be done to fix it. Common mistake, though.

Anyways, not surprisingly, they dragged this special on for two friggin hours before he even performs the stunt. I sat there like the susceptible moron I am biting my nails waiting to see what would happen. Finally, he goes under, but after 6 minutes he starts letting out air bubbles and they have to pull him out.

But I have to say, my favorite part was at the end when they announced that "I'm sure no one here nor anyone watching from home thinks David Blaine is a failure right now". Hmmm...did he hold his breath for 9 minutes like he said he would? No? Well, then I'm calling him what he is- a big magical failure.

Why My Life Sucks Right Now

2006-05-07T21:48:00.001-04:00

The neighborhood I live in, although a part of a large metropolitan area, has a bit of a small town feel. Many of the people know each other and its not uncommon to run into an acquaintance almost every time you go out to Germantown Avenue, or "the avenue" as its referred to by Chestnut Hillers. The avenue is Chestnut Hill's main street, a cobble stoned stretch lined with small shops, restaurants, and bars. Twice a year a street fair is held there where local shops set up stands, bands play, and food and beer are sold. Today is one of those days, and I am missing it.

Instead I am here in the Bronx getting ready to start finals. All my friends are either home already or will be there in the next few days. In sum, I hate my life.

I can't wait until 10 days from now when I will be done with school and in complete freedom. But until then, my life sucks.

Cinco De Mayo

2006-05-06T18:09:00.000-04:00

In honor of Cinco De Mayo, Cancun came to the Bronx yesterday, and the amount of debauchery that took place was unprecedented.

After being responsible and finishing my psych paper, I headed over to Fenwicks to meet up with Megan Sheehan. Meg started bartending at 9 am, still drunk from the night before, and was still drinking when I arrived at 4 o'clock. Needless to say, she was very, very drunk. Also needless to say, we told each other "I love you!" like 25 times. Here's a little description of meg's day in her own words:

meglet29: at one point i believe it was 930am, spyder and i switched clothes
meglet29: and i was completely hammered
meglet29: taking shots of jameson to the face for breakfast
meglet29: after that... i have no idea what happened to my life

Well, I can tell you a little, Meg. You danced on a table, kicked Boogie in the balls repeatedly, brought in the employees from RiverDeli, and eventually passed out in our friend Natasha's room.

But the worse part is, Meg wasn't even the worse one in the bar. When I got there, things were relatively calm: a few people were sitting at the table by the doors and a few were crowded around the bar. Everyone was drinking, but normal. Then a Tsunami of alcohol hit Fenwicks. The music took over and everyone went nuts. People were dancing all over the place, jumping on tables, picking up chairs, spraying beer- it was nuts. Ten minutes later, a huge game of flip cup was going, the seat of a chair had broken, and people were taking their pants off. It was Fenwicks Gone Wild.

Though I was pretty sober when this all began, after two Jaeger bombs later and a few rounds of flip cup I was pretty much caught up. Our friend "Natasha" came and joined us shortly after and, let me just say, you gotta love a girl who can dance on the table before even getting her first drink.

After a few hours, I had to go get my laundry and grab something to eat, but I eventually met up with Natasha and headed with her down to Tequila Bar, with beers stashed in our bags to slam in the bathrooms. Sleazy, I know, but we're REALLY poor! After the long walk (and an elaborate discussion about the intimate details of our sexual encounters), it was more than necessary to indulge in a round of margaritas. We had a great time and made a few friends, including an 8 year old boy who we danced with in the middle of all the diners, but after awhile decided to head over to the townhouses to crash the barbecue they were having.

Instead, however, we wound up running into Caroline and Ryan who dragged us with them to RiverCity Grill. This is probably when things started getting ugly and, unfortunately, I have pictures to remind myself. In case you haven't noticed the trend, we weren't really able to stay in one spot for too long, because of both intoxication and fear of being caught filling up our pint glasses with natty light.

Along with Dusty, we walked back to Fenwicks, and I made the big mistake of opening a tab. As my favorite comedian, Aaron Karo, has said before, opening tabs is an extremely risky decision. Once it happens, you immediately become the most generous person in the world. Luckily, the cops came and raided the bar, so I was kept from spending TOO TOO much money.

I wish I could describe more about what happened after, but this is where it gets hazy. I do know that we went to An Beal Bocht. I know I had Smithwicks. And I know, as I was told today, that we called my friend Chris, and Tasha told him that "her hips and her lips don't lie" while I just screamed in the background. Classy ladies we are.

So I guess the lesson of the story is Avoid my dear friend Natasha. She destroys lives. And that's why I love her!

College Wrap Up

2006-04-29T16:40:00.000-04:00

For everyone who doesn't know my story, my college situation is not exactly standard. When I came to Manhattan College, I somehow ended up befriending a large group of people from the year above me. In fact, I have about three friends tops in my grade. While I love my friends, this leaves me in a bit of a predicament since the majority of the people I know will be graduating in just a few short weeks.

A lot of people having been asking me if I'm sad to say goodbye to them or if I'm worried about what I'll do next year. Since I'm going to Madrid for half of the year, I'm not too worried about my final year of college. And for some reason, the fact that all my friends will be leaving me never really quite sunk in. Recently, though, I'm coming to realize that my college years are in a lot of ways over this year as well. Last night while having margaritas with my roommate Caroline and our friend Joe, I was saddened to think that everyone will be going there seperate ways in a couple of weeks. I'm confident that I will stay in touch with a lot of people (particularly Caroline since she has threatened me to do so), however, I know there are some I may never see again. In honor of my dear friends' departure I've compiled a list of some of my favorite memories of Manhattan College:

1) One of my first times out at Manhattan College was for San Gennaro, an Italian festival held in Little Italy each year. Nick, Jonalin, Katie, Seth, Brian, Karen, Geno, and I all took the long subway ride downtown to enjoy the festivities. After roaming the streets for sometime we all indulged in two very large daquiries, which after quickly downing we realized were in fact non-alcoholic. Feeling extremely sick and not at all intoxicated, we decided to ditch the fesitival and hit up a nearby lounge called People. Coincidentally, the first bar I went to in Manhattan was also the nicest one I've been to in the past three years. The crowd was mostly older (there was actually an engagement party being held on the second floor) and Katie and I spent the night flirting with older men in a sleazy attempt to win ourselves some free drinks. Within an hour or so, the group of us were wasted, and made a drunken juvanile scene dancing in the middle of the bar. Seeing Seth dance and hearing Jonalin ask katie to "Hold her shoes because her feet were too heavy", I knew I would get along just fine with these people.

2) Spring time ofcourse brings good weather, but it also brings good excuses for drinking. Freshman year, in honor of the first day of warm weather, Anthony and Duke bought a keg and snuck it into their dorm room. We spent the day drinking on top of Jasper's roof and the night playing flip cup in the dorm- Dicks vs Vages. Halfway through the flip-cup tourny- which I'll proudly point out, Vages won- Duke hurled himself across the table slip N slide style. It was one of the most bizarre and funniest things I've seen in my life. Coincidentally, the night also ended with a massive slip N slide fest out on the quad. In full clothing, we all went out and got down and dirty on the infamous yellow plastic. I ended up walking back to my dorm at 3 in the morning by myself soaking wet, completely confusing the dorm security, and slept through class registration the next morning, but it was a fun-ass time I smile about to this day.

3) Super Bowl, 2005. Eagles Vs Patriots. Philly vs Boston. Me vs Caroline. We had people here at our apartment in honor of the event. We bought a keg, and Caroline, Erin, and I made copious Jello Shots which we, as usual, began "testing" very early on in the day. By half time, everyone in the apartment was WASTED. Caroline played waitress, carrying around jello shots to our guests every 5 minutes. Maggie and Marco made out very publicly in the kitchen. And best of all, upon going to the bathroom, I found Nicole "playing crouching tiger hidden dragon" in our bathtub. It turns out her and Tresky were hooking up in the bathroom when I knocked on the door. Trying to conceal their tryst, Nicole thought she could hide in the bathtub while Tresky made his exit. Unfortunately for her, I heard her almost instantly and, even worse, I ofcourse told EVERYONE all about it. It also turns out that she had played the hiding game earlier in the night and some poor unsuspecting person went to the bathroom without realizing she was ever there.

4) Cat Day. Unfortunately, this day is somewhat hazy since 100% of it was spent D-R-U-N-K. I don't remember what we had been doing the night before but Erin, Hess, and I woke up still intoxicated and decided it would be best to just keep on drinking. We began doing shots of straight vodka in our kitchen, cheersing the construction workers outside our window. For some reason, we started screaming " I love (fill in the blank)" about pretty much everything we laid eyes on. After looking at the picture of some random man in a hawaiian shirt we named Jim and his cat, which I found in our apartment basement and for obvious reasons found hysterical, "I love cats!" became our main chant, and really stuck for the remainder of the day. We started asking the construction workers if they loved cats and calling friends to ask their opinions. Most of the people we surveyed understandably found this question really bizarre and confusing- except for Sara, the animal enthusiast, who quickly responded "yeah, I love cats!". A few weeks later, Hess and I engaged in some more daytime drinking and, after taking a trip to Eckerd, bought an extremely tacky statue of two cats playing chess as well as a "Dig a Dog", a dog that kicks its leg and barks when you push a button. Certainly money well spent.

5) How Frank convinced me to go to Medievil Times is beyond me, but thank God he did. For anyone unfamiliar with this ingenius establishment, Medievil Times is a themed restuarant/performance in New Jersey. If you've seen Garden State, the one character was an employee of Medievil Times and, as in real life, was cruelly forced to wear Medievil regalia. Anyways, Frank and I headed over to Fenwicks for a little pre-gaming and were definately "feeling it" by the time we got on the bus. Everyone who went was way into the event and spent the entire time valiently cheering on our knight (seriously, you have to go to understand). Frank was, ofcourse, the most enthusiastic, and spent the night running down the isles high fiving little kids witht heir parents. At one point, one of these kids turned to him and said "Are you drunk!? My dad said you're drunk!". Well, the kid and his dad were very astute because Frank was indeed drunk and so was I. After getting back to school, Frank and I went back to Fenwicks to continue the party where we were told by our friend Kevin later on that we "stumbled through the door". Luckily, Frank and I were wise enough to end the night shortly after that, managing to keep what little dignity we had left.

6) For Caroline's 21st, a bunch of us went out to Free Wine, a chinese restuarant in the city that gives you, what else, free wine with your meal. Walking to the resturant, we met a homeless man who serenaded us with a kickass free style that included repeated use of the phrases "stop playing" and "girl I didn't know you could get down like that". Unfortunately, our meal was rushed as they were eager to close up, but we still managed to have a great time afterwards barhopping on Amsterdam Ave. Afterhours partying continued at our apartment afterwards and Frank was taunted was incriminating photos after passing out on the couch. Gotta love it.

7)This year Caroline and I went to Maritime's Annual Halloween Booze Cruise. Though the cruise itself was a bit of a letdown, we ended up having a blast afterwards. We went to a local bar for a few more drinks and got way more than we intended. The bartender, who was fully dressed up as a devil, was completely shitfaced and ended up giving us shot after shot of jaeger- FREE. Needless to say, I blacked out shortly after but I woke up the next morning in Joe's room with jaeger all over me, including in my hair. Classic Caroline, she asked how the hell we got home and was informed by Joe that she drove home...on the wrong side of the road. Now I am not condoning drinking and driving, and I am strongly opposed to the practice, but that is just f-ing hysterical.

Now, I'm sure everyone of these memories will suck in comparison to the debauchery that should be coming up in the next few weeks. Senior week, which consists of a booze cruise, a clam bake, and a formal all in three days time, will surely be a shit show to end all shit shows. Speaking of which, i'm off to make some more memories as we speak- Brunch at Piper's with Megan, Natasha, and Kristy. I mean, I only have paperdue at 7 tommorow morning but that can wait right???

Summer Dreaming

2006-04-27T20:15:00.000-04:00

This week has been totally chaotic. Monday I returned from Philly to get started on my lengthy list of assignments. Tuesday I had a Methods exam. Wednesday I had a presentation, Thursday a paper, and I have two more papers due early next week. Now, believe it or not, on a normal basis I am rather unproductive. I have a tendency to procrastinate, daydream, and take extensive mid-day naps. So imagine how difficult its been trying to accomplish this all with the impending summer just weeks away.

After much confusion over my summer plans, I finally made arrangements with Sara to stay with her again in Block Island. Initially I was somewhat hesitant to do so for several reasons. But, I threw my concerns aside and now I am extremely excited to return to the Island. Sara and I have been talking about it non-stop. In fact, I'm pretty sure that if I send her another text message about it she might set up a restraining order against me.

But, for anyone who's been to Block Island, my enthusiasm is more than understandable. The three months I spent there two years ago were some of the best in my life. I made friends I speak with to this day, friends I hope I will continue to keep in touch with for years to come. Working at the Harbor Grill was probably the best job I've had. I spent my days goofing off while making more money than I have any other summer. Luckily, after extreme difficulty contacting my boss, I've secured my job there again and, as I've been told, many of my old work friends will be returning. I'm looking forward to seeing them all, and am praying that I have no trouble getting back in to the routine.

However, though I'm excited for my summer, I'm trying hard not to hold my expectations too high. I know I will have a great time, but I have to remind myself that it won't be just like it was before. I can't expect to walk into the same old scene. Things will have changed. New people will be there, old ones will have left. I can't expect to relive the past. I have to try and look forward to a whole new experience in Block Island. Unfortunately, this can be difficult for me at times. It's not that I don't like change, I just don't like change that occurs without my knowing, without my consent. It makes me feel as if people have been sneaking behind my back, as if I've been left out.

Fortunately, there are some changes I am looking forward to. For starters, Sara's sister, Fiona, and Fiona's Italian boyfriend, Sandro, will be staying with us this year. Since it was only Me, Sara, and Mayu last time, it will be a little strange sharing the house with a BOY, but I adore Fiona and, from what I've heard about Sandro, I'm sure I'll love him too. Besides, they are both in culinary school, so as long as they cook for me on occasion I'm fairly confident we'll get along just fine.

This summer will also be my first on the island as a legal 21 year old. Unlike NYC, which a 19 year girl can get spoiled by, Block Island is far more strict on IDs. As an Island worker, I was fortunately given some leniency, but there was still that constant threat of arrest looming over our heads. This year I will be free from those worries, able to go to any bar I want, buy from any store I want and, best of all, indulge in my "shift drink", a complementary cocktail received after clocking out from work. It was never that bad when I was shot down by a bar or unable to grab a case from the grocery store. What really frustrated me was being unable to sit down with my coworkers and have a beer after work. But now that is no longer a concern, and I plan on trying every glass of wine on Harbor's very extensive wine list.

But before I can drink my mudslide, have a pondsider from Froozies, or dance the night away at Kitten's, I have to get through these grueling next three weeks. It's not gonna be easy, with the thought of the Lapham's view from their back porch creeping in my head, but somehow I'll get everything I need to done. And as soon as I do, I'm grabbing myself a drink and toasting to yet another unforgettable summer!

Andy Pandy

2006-04-25T18:44:00.000-04:00

I never thought I'd get such an awful call as I did last Thursday. The day had been going great, I was in an unusually happy mood. I spent the morning running errands and soaking up the beautiful spring weather. The day was perfect.

Then I got the call saying that one of my good friends had died. I was devastated, destroyed, confused. I still am.

Andy was the last person who deserved this. He didn't always make the best decisions, but he always had the right intentions. Never did I see him in a bad mood. He always had a smile on his face and mischief in his eyes. I remember when we stayed up all night after junior prom, writing on people's faces who had falling asleep and stealing their belongings. It was all stupid stuff, but that's what we were best at. It is a night that I'll remember forever, not because it was "prom", but because it was a great fucking time.

I could always count on Andy to have fun with me and make me laugh. In high school we used to joke about the old "We Believe" posters that had a giant drawing of a green alien face on them. They were popular around 1996, about the same time as Dr Seuss hats, hackey sacks, and ying yang symbols-- the kind of crap you'd love to win from the arcade down the shore. We never stopped finding that stuff hilarious. Just weeks before his death, I had left him a message on his facebook wall saying "we believe". It was the last thing I said to him.

I wish I had taken more time to hang out with Andy these past few months, taken the time to do stupid shit and just have fun. It wasn't that I didn't want to, it's just that I thought there'd be more time. We always think there'll be more time. What I wouldn't give now to hear one of his trademark pranks calls or have him sneak up behind me and scare the living bejesus out of me. Luckily, this weekend I was able to catch up with a lot of people I don't often see. I was especially happy to see a lot of our classmates from CHA. I was so incredibly proud of all those boys that day. All of them there together, I finally realized how much they've grown up and what good guys they are. Eli, Mikey, Mike, and Drew gave incredible speeches. Others flew in from all over, taken time out from finals, just to be there. I had plenty of terrible things to say about CHA boys in high school, some of them probably well deserved, but I was so happy to have them in my life this past weekend. Like Andy, they were there to help me smile when I really needed it.

I hope that if there is one thing good that can come out of this, that Andy's death will remind all of us to keep in touch. We say all the time that we'll catch up, but we tend to let our reunions drag out or get delayed by other plans. I know its not easy to get together all the time but, I hope we start living up to our promises just a little more, because you never realize how much you want to see someone until you no longer have the chance.

R.I.P
Andrew David Hyman
May 9, 1985- Apr. 19, 2006
We love you and miss you

The World Is Ending

2006-04-18T21:52:00.000-04:00

I'm sorry to send you the message so informally, I wish I could have sent out caligraphied notices, but I think its more important that you hear this news as soon as possible:

Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes had their baby today.

The alien child's name is Suri, which is surprisingly only a 7 on the Weird Celebrity Baby Names Scale. I guess Tom Cruise dropped some of his creativity on Oprah's couch with his sanity and pride. She weighed 7 lbs and was born with a full set of pearly whites.

Anyways, I've been fearing the birth of this child for some time now because, as you can clearly tell if you're reading this, I'm a huge loser who lives her life through celebrities and reality TV stars. But I never could have expected it to play out this way. I never even realized it was a possibility! But there is a delicious twist to this momentous event: Tom Cruise and Brooke Shields both gave birth on the same day!

For all of you who don't know, Tom infamously slammed Brooke Shields for using prescription medication to treat her post-partum depression after the birth of her first child. Tom suggested that instead she should have simply exercised and taken vitamins to relieve her symptoms. Good idea, Tom. I want to kill my baby but I'm sure a little vitamin C and a brisk walk will clear that all up. Riiiight.

(On a side note, Tom also doesn't believe in psychology, talking during child birth, or gravity. Ok, I might have made up the gravity part but, really, would you put it past him?)

Now, I would never go so far as to wish post partum depression on Katie Holmes because clearly she's suffered enough. And I certainly pray that Brooke Shields isn't afflicted again. But what I will say is that its a shame that someone with as much grace as Ms Shields would be forced to suffer through this condition while ignorant Tom Cruise cruelly criticizes her. Hey Tom, sorry but vitamins and exercise clearly didn't "cure" your homosexuality so I don't think it will work for post-partum depression either. How bout you stick with the cliff hanging and couch jumping and leave women's health issues alone.

Potty Humor

2006-04-13T20:31:00.000-04:00

It astounds me that no matter how old we get it seems we all still have a great appreciation for toilet talk. My parents used to scold me for it as a child yet now I continually catch them chuckling at mentions of farts or poops. My friend Maggie and I send text messages to each other to this day with just "bowl movement" or "feces" written. We never do grow up.

My brother just might be the most immature of everyone I know, though. At 25 years old, he's still extremely fond of potty humor and feels the need to share every story he comes across with me. The most recent, however, is truly a classic. He called me earlier this evening with one of the funniest stories I've heard, which he originally heard from his friend Doug.

It turns out a female friend of Doug's recently went home from the bar with a very attractive doctor. The next morning he had to leave for work, but he told her she could let herself out since the door locks behind you. She was quite relieved to hear he'd be leaving since she desperately needed to do a "number 2" and did not want to have to do so with him still in the apartment. After he left, she grabbed a copy of GQ and took care of business. But as she went to flush she realized every girl's nightmare had occurred and the toilet was not working. Even worse, the water had drained out of it so it was pretty much a dry dock.

She jiggled the handle, lifted the top, tried everything to get the damn toilet to flush but nothing was working. Not knowing what to do and quickly panicky, she called a friend of hers for answers. The friend advised her to find a plastic baggy and "fish it out". Having no other options she took her friends advice. Everything seemed a-okay.

So, since she had a pretty good time with the sexy doctor, she went to leave him a little note before leaving, hoping maybe things would progress with him. She wrote him a short note saying she had a good time, left her number for him to call her, and headed out the door feeling extremely relieved.

OH SHIT!!!

The second the door slammed behind her she realized she had made the biggest mistake ever. She had left the poopy baggy next to the note which was now locked in the apartment with no way for her to get in and retrieve it.

So picture said doctor's face that afternoon when he comes home, feeling pretty good because he hooked up with a cute girl the night before, and sees a note for him waiting-- "Hey I had a great time last night. Give me a call some time. Love, Suzy"--
with a big giant dump in a bag sitting right next to it.

What could possibly be going through his head? The poor guy must think he hooked up with the most psychotic person ever. And the poor girl is never gonna be able to talk to a doctor again without getting a severe case of constipation.

So no matter how bad of a hook-up story you think you have, please remember this girl and, for the love of God, if you ever have to fish a crap out the toilet, be sure to take it with you.

Research Methods, Research Scmethods

2006-04-13T15:34:00.000-04:00

I absolutely adore my Research Methods professor. Her class could not be more of a joke. Let's go over some reasons why:

1) Today, everyone in class got 5 points extra credit on our next exam just for showing up. Then, as she has for the last 4 out of 5 classes, she gave us an ultimatum: we could stay for class and go over bivariate correlations OR we could leave. She's practically begging us to leave. I mean, last week she said, "would you rather stay in class while I beat you with a metal rod, or you can leave early and I'll give you 50 bucks. Your choice." Hmmm tough one Dr. B...I'll take the metal rod.

2) Our first exam was postponed three weeks simply because we continually asked her to push back the date. We gave no logic or reason to why she should we just simply told her "we don't want to take it then". THEN we convinced her to let us prepare not one but two index cards to bring to the exam. Urline, Kristin, and I managed to fit three chapters worth of notes on those two cards. I got a 98.

3) We were supposed to have three exams, two research articles, one group research project, and a final but, because the test was pushed back so far, she had to eliminate the project and it's looking highly likely that she'll knock off something else too.

4)With the simplest prodding, we can get her off topic. I know more about her vacation to Greece than I do ANOVAs and Student's t tests.

5) She brings us candy... which is pretty much a guaranteed way to my heart.

Though clearly scatter-brained and a little out there, I absolutely adore this woman. On top of the fact that I am getting out easy on one of the hardest courses I'm required to take, I can actually go to her for advice, and I know she really cares about her students. Clearly, she just understands that not a single one of us wants to be in this class, so why torture us? After all, that's what grad school's for.

Hannah Dare Wyatt

2006-04-12T20:34:00.000-04:00

This past weekend, my cousin Richard and his wife Meredith became parents to the beautiful Hannah Dare Wyatt. My grandmother is now a great-grandmother and my goofy cousin Richard is a dad-- crazy.

Speaking of crazy, Gweyneth Paltrow has further ensured that her children will be beaten up in school by naming her second child Moses. And the sad part is that, because of all the crazy baby names people have been coming up with- Apple, Rumer, Moxie Crimefighter, it wasn't until just yesterday that I realized Dare is Meredith's maiden name. Until then I actually thought my cousins had cruelly named their daughter after an American Gladiator. The cool thing is, though, that whenever Hannah plays Truth or Dare she'll be able to laugh at her provokers and say "psh, dare??? Puh-lease, Dare's my middle name"

But whats even better is that, even though he had nine months to figure it out, my brother had no idea Richard and Meredith were even expecting. This clearly had him really confused when my mom contacted him to tell him that "Nana is now a great-grandmother". For some reason, neither of the married cousins came to his mind, perhaps because we don't see them very often, so Freddie immediately assumed it was my newly engaged cousin Emily. "So that's why her and Keith got engaged", he thought. Ahhh how great that'd be but, unfortunately out of wedlock children are reserved for the Knox family, my Nana's relatives. Plus, I'd like to think that if Emily did get knocked up she'd have the decency to throw a full out white trash wedding before the birth so she could walk down the isle 8 months pregnant and 20 pounds heavier. Ofcourse the summer Cape May wedding she wants would be out of the question but a winter Atlantic City one is pretty damn close, am I right? Or we could just have it in my Nana's backyard in Roxborough and hold the reception on the front porch. We'd do a little cha-cha slide, drink some of John's moonshine, and then maybe I could get knocked up by one of the groomsmen and keep the tradition going. I mean, I may pay for 30 racks in change and hold out doing my laundry until I've gone through all my bikini bottoms, but I'm sure I could handle motherhood. Hey if Richard can be a parent, I think anyone can.

Update

2006-04-09T12:28:00.000-04:00

Good- when Joe comes to visit
Bad- how I feel right now

My Obsession with Reality

2006-04-07T16:04:00.000-04:00

Hi my name is Jane and I'm a reality-TVaholic. It started off slow-- a little Real World, some American Idol-- but as more shows premiere I find that I am unable to resist watching attractive, neurotic, self absorbed Americans humiliate themselves on national TV. Here's a list, in no particular order, of some of my favs:

1) The Real World: A true classic, I wouldn't feel so ashamed about watching it except for the fact that it progressively gets worse every season. I've actually said numerous times that I don't like this season's cast yet I still tune in religiously every Tuesday night. I think I secretly hope that it'll somehow get better and that these social voids will somehow become interesting. What happened to the racist, the bitch, and the homophobe? Has anyone else noticed that everyone is working way too hard to be PC and considerate of others' feelings so they won't be "that guy/girl"? Seriously when even MJ, the southern-accented football player, can't provide some bigoted remarks than something's just not right. The whole season I thought he was gonna hook up with Willie just to prove what an open-minded individual he is. It's time to up the ante, MTV: next season I suggest a conservative southern Baptist, a Howard University African studies major, a rich, gay Jewish New Yorker, bi-racial Siamese twins, Tom Cruise, and a saber tooth tiger. I think that would add some drama.

2) Trading Spouses: this show is genius. They actually stole a premise that originated on the Dave Chappelle show as a form of social satire and made it an actual series. Picture a CEO from NYC and a lumber jack from Huckleberry, Louisiana swapping families. Or an orthodox Jew and a stripper. There are several things that astound me about this show. First, that there are actually people this bizarre out there. Second, that the producers put these mentally handicapped degenerates in such dangerous situations. They'll put a member of the KKK into Al Sharpton's house if they think it will create some friction. Hmmm...maybe MTV should take some tips from FOX. But what really gets me is that in every episode someone inevitably refuses to do the smallest thing and, even worse, is absolutely shocked that the "new mom" would impose this rule. Ok I'll give some leeway to the earlier participants, but are these people not understanding the premise of the show yet? How did they not know what they were getting themselves into?

3)Laguna Beach: Young, rich, good-looking. Enough said.

4) The Real housewives of Orange County: AKA Laguna Beach Botoxed. Great to watch because you get the same egotistical millionaires but with the pleasure of knowing that although they may have more money atleast you still have your youth. Watch them get breast lifts while you do bra-less jumping jacks.

5) The Biggest Loser: After watching good looking people all week, your self esteem will inevitably need a boost. This is when you grab the carton of Ben and Jerry's and watch a bunch of fatties sweat and pant for two overly toned and tanned trainers. Relish in their humiliation and agony, and try to forget that in ten years you'll probably be twice their size. Ahh destiny how cruel you are.

Theirs many more shows I could add to this list but if I get started on Flava of Love I don't think I'll ever stop typing and unfortunately E! is running a Simple Life marathon in 5 minutes. Enjoy living, everyone, but I think I'll stick to reality.

Me encanta Madrid

2006-04-05T21:55:00.000-04:00

I had my Madrid meeting today and they were finally able to tell us some of the last few details they were still working out. I filled out some forms, found out some dates, and got a good basic picture of what I'll be doing there.

We're scheduled to meet in Madrid on September 18 but, since we'll be traveling there independently, we can go earlier if we'd like. A girl I'm fairly friendly with is thinking of doing that, and I'm starting to think its not such a bad idea either. We'll be living in student apartments and since we probably have to pay for the whole month anyways we might as well spend as much time there as possible, especially when we don't have classes to worry about.

Speaking of classes, I'll be taking four, count em four, Spanish language courses and one art history course. The great part is that the language courses don't start until October so for the first two weeks I'll only have one course to worry about. Not that classes should be too much of a struggle anyways considering they're all pass/fail.

After getting the nitty-gritty details out of the way-- passports, cellphones, transportation-- we finally got an idea of the daily life there. Most of the conversation revolved around food, coffee, and sangria so I'm pretty optimistic that I'll enjoy myself. Plus, we'll have plenty of opportunity to travel, both with the art history class and on our own. I'm really hoping to go to Morrocco, though we've been warned that women can't go "unaccompanied". I can just imagine how angry my uber-feminist mother would get there. It'd be like watching MTV's Boiling Points except instead of getting a hundred bucks, she'd get stoned and thrown into jail.

Now all I need to do is find myself a summer job so I can finance this excursion. Looking at how much I'm capable of spending here, I don't know how I'm gonna cope in the "most expensive city". So if anyone's willing to donate to the Jane Goes to Madrid Fund, you know where to find me.

The worst week of my life

2006-04-04T21:17:00.000-04:00

"So I was sitting in my cubicle today, and I realized, ever since I started working, every single day of my life has been worse than the day before it. So that means that every single day that you see me, that's on the worst day of my life."
-Office Space

This is pretty much how its been for me since I got back from Spring Break. Every week just gets worse and worse, with more and more things that I have to do. Just when I think I might be having a somewhat average, relaxed week, something happens to quickly shatter my hopes. This week, for instance, I was supposed to have two tests, one on Monday and one on Friday, and an informational meeting about my semester in Madrid, which I've actually been looking forward to. No big deal- totally manageable, right?

But then starting last Thursday my nice simple week started slipping away faster than Ruben Studdard's singing career. I first found out that, unbeknownst to me, class registration began Monday. I failed to realize this because not only are none of my friends registering since they will all be graduating this year, but I also had no need to figure out my schedule since I'll only be signing up for one class, "Semester in Madrid". However, despite the fact that I have only one class to sign up for, I still must meet with my academic advisor, who conveniently was switched to someone I've never met before, and my academic dean to approve my "schedule".

Then, to add to this glorious news, my psych professor tells us she's moving our exam to Friday, the period after my extremely difficult and lengthy history test. Now, I'm forced to not only study for these tests simultaneously, but also take them one after another and on a friggin Friday of all days. But, although it's inconvenient and certainly undesirable, I could still deal with that. Atleast I had all week to study for them both.

But what I just can't deal with is the fact that I've recently been sent an email about two workshops I'm "strongly advised" to sign up for, one on career searching and another on interview training. This is just great. Now I get to squeeze into my already jampacked schedule two hours to listen to someone further convince me that I will never get a job and that I will forever live with my parents. Who am I kidding? My parents hate me. I wish I could live at home. Atleast then I'd have running water and wouldn't hear gun fire outside my window, as I inevitably will in the squalor I'll call my home after I get the cashier job at Wal-mart.

On the bright side (yes I am capable of saying something slightly positive), next weekend is Easter. That means four days off, homecooked food, seeing my family, and wine, lots of wine. Plus, I'll be seeing my little china doll, my baby cousin Ryann. She should be walking now and I can't wait to see her running around, reeking havoc.

So maybe every week isn't getting worse. I still have something to look forward to. It's just gonna be a struggle getting there...if I ever do.

Good and Bad News

2006-03-28T21:55:00.000-05:00

Mayu got the grant to study in Santa Fe this summer! Hoorah!

BUT...this means I will be without my Mayu all summer! :(
Who will I go to happy hour with? Who will I spoon with and watch Zoolander? Who will dance and make a fool of themselves with me at Finnigan's? Oh, what will I do without my little alibaster doll?

So sad but so happy for her!

60 Degrees and Sunny

2006-03-28T14:56:00.000-05:00

I'm in an absurdly good mood right now...I have more energy than I have had in days. I think this is further proof that I have seasonal depression, because I feel better than I did throughout the entire winter. Let's just hope the energy lasts through this ridiculously boring research methods class I'm in right now so that afterwards I can use it to get done the mass amounts of work I have to do. Ofcourse, maybe if I just paid attention in my classes instead of blogging, I wouldn't need to do so much work outside of class. Oh well, that's a price I'm willing to pay.

Time Traveling

2006-03-27T21:11:00.000-05:00

If I could go back in time to any one point right now, I'd want to be back in France, back in the summer of 2004 when I went on vacation with my family. My computer screen flashes all the digital pictures I keep on it, and the one of me in a shabby hotel in Nice caught my eye as I was doing my homework. In it, I'm holding a 3 euro bottle of champagne in the air, dancing around in delight as my brother laughs at me and snaps the picture.

After days of making terrible jokes about how nice Nice must be, we hopped on a train that afternoon leaving my mom and dad behind so we could get a taste of the beautiful south of France. We exited out of the train station in Nice, walked a few blocks and grabbed a bottle of champagne, and then walked a few more until we found a hotel that cost only 40 euros a night. I love and miss that sense of spontaneity we had. Neither of us knew the land or the language; we had no idea where we going or what we would do; but we hopped on a train in the middle of Europe and went on our way, hoping for the best.

Unfortunately, however, we didn't find the best part of Nice. We quickly wondered into what was clearly "the wrong side of town". Graffiti was prevalent, laundry hung out the windows of the apartment, and the streets were desolate except for several sleazy old men strolling the streets smoking cigarettes: it was essentially a 21st century Moulon Rouge. I was just waiting for the prostitutes to come out on the balconies in their red ruffled dresses to drink whiskey with their lover Pierre before breaking into the can-can. And we didn't exactly find the highest quality hotel either, but it was what you'd expect for 40 euros a night: two dormitory style single beds, a 14 inch tv that was dangerously close to falling from the stand that held it to the wall, and a tiny bathroom that had just enough room for you to walk into it, turn, and sit down. But we had our champagne which, despite the fact that it was bought from a French bodega, was superb. Had we not had to pour it into two 5 inch clear plastic cups on top of a wobbly fold up table, I would have thought I was at a five-star bistro.

Though our living situation wasn't luxurious, I had two of the best nights of my life there in Nice. Freddie and I had a great time that first night and on the next our friend Johnnie, who has been living in Cannes, met up with us to continue the festivities. In our time in Nice we made some friends, a few enemies (Johnnie doesn't get along with the Germans),and some of the greatest memories ever. It was all so perfect. Sitting here in my room, attempting to balance my extremely hectic schedule for the remainder of the semester, I long for that week in France when I didn't have a single stress. Not once did I need to worry about what I would be doing the next day, hour, or minute. I just soaked up the early summer sun, sipped my wine, and enjoyed the time with my family. I love that none of us cared about seeing the sights. None of us wanted anything more than to sit outside and eat long lunches, stroll through the towns of central and southern France, and maybe take a few pictures by a public condom machine or a topless perfume model.

It's hard doing work knowing that next semester I'll be in Madrid. I try not to think about it to much because, most importantly, I still have several weeks left of school to get through and also because I don't want to build it up too much in mind, only for it to be a disapointment. But I am looking forward to going, to being back in Europe, to taking a break from the fast-paced Northeastern lifestyle. I think its something everyone should do, and nothing anyone seems to regret. I just hope that my friends will be able to visit me while I'm there and if they have time, maybe my brother and Johnnie, so we can have our European reunion. Only this time, no peeing in my suitcase please.

My bad luck

2006-03-23T17:47:00.000-05:00

I'm convinced that, while numerous wonderful and exciting things happen to other people, I am cursed with only miserable experiences. Here's some proof for ya:

1) While in Boston, Liz met her "future husband" at one of the bars we went to. Despite the fact that it was a short drunken encounter, he called her a few days later, and it turns out that he's a chemistry grad student at BC and really wants to meet up with her again. The only thing I got in Boston was a wicked hangover and a stronger New England dialect. Moreover, the last guy who I gave my number to turned out to be a major creep and has continued to call me for the last six months. I haven't answered the phone the last 200 times he's called yet he still leaves me weird, awkward messages asking me to call him back.

2) For spring break this year I went to "sunny" California. I packed three bathing suits, ten tank tops, and like all my miniskirts yet it was too cold for me to even wear flip-flops. Chris, Jack, and Brendan on the other hand went to Florida where it was around 85 degrees the whole time. Chris is like 5 shades darker AND they saw Kelly Clarkson in South Beach. I'm like 10 pounds heavier and saw a toothless hippie sleeping under a bush.

3) I spent St Patrick's Day at Penn State this year visiting my cousin for her bday with a few of my childhood friends. My one friend Katie hooked up with an extremely attractive guy within a half hour after getting to the frat party. I got beer all over me and slept on the floor.

4) For her birthday, Trisha's mom sent her an entire package of fresh cupcakes with sprinkles and icing to decorate them with. The last thing my mom sent me was a package of twelve-grain hot cereal and a Jesus Pen....ok that was actually kinda cool.

5) Saturday night, as usual, my friends and I went to Towey's, a sleazy but beloved neighborhood bar. Chris, for some unexplainable reason, got free drinks all night from John, the bartender. After paying for my seven dollar Long Island, John yelled at me for not tipping him more. Even though I tipped him a normal amount and he was clearly just busting my balls, I felt guilty and tipped him double for the rest of the night. I came home with $1.72 in change.

6) A few weeks ago, I lost my wallet which contained my ATM card, some gift cards, my insurance card and my id. I hadn't been out drinking. I didn't spend a hectic day at the mall. I just went to class, came back, and it was missing from my bag. I had to use a fake ID to get into the bars that weekend despite the fact that I'm 21 while, at the same time, struggling not to spend all of the 30 dollars in cash I had on me so I could buy my train ticket home for Spring Break. Around the same time, Erin got a call from her mom telling her that another one of her checks came in the mail. For some unknown reason, Erin periodically gets checks from the government for various amounts of money. This one was far less than usual though- only a hundred some dollars.

So I think the facts speak for themselves: I live a pathetic and unfortunate existence while good things continually happen to everyone I know. If things continue to follow the same pattern I should be renting a quant little one bedroom house with my boyfriend Suave and our 5 cats in just a few short years. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll get the teller position at the bank too. But as I think I've made clear, I'm NEVER lucky so more likely I'll just gain 300 pounds, grow a mustache, and yell absurdities at the neighborhood kids as they walk home from school. So warn your children to stay away from crazy old lady Jane because she just might bark at them if they get too close to her front yard. But don't worry, as long as they don't touch any of my Virgin Mary lawn ornaments, I won't bite.

Spring Break begins

2006-03-11T15:08:00.000-05:00

Since I carelessly lost my wallet last week in a classic "Jane move", I was forced to trek my ass to the DMV yesterday to get a new license. The ticket we drew upon arriving said our wait would only be approximately 20 minutes but, as can only be expected from the DMV, my mom and I spent over two hours there waiting for the ridiculously inept employees to help us. At any giving moment there were no more than two people working, while the rest took their "breaks". Though the DMV is clearly never a place anyone wants to go, I have one thing to say for it: nothing brings people closer together than their mutual hatred for this evil, evil place. Everyone waiting there was friendlier to those around them than people are at church. Everyone was talking, making jokes, starting random conversations with those around them to discuss the idiot working at desk 6. While there I found a new hairdresser, someone helped me fix my watch, and I have a date for next Friday- people there are that nice. It's really somewhat of a beautiful thing when humans can join together and share a smile as they curse the jackasses who work for the DMV.

So I finally have a license again which is great because I really didn't want to have to bring my passport with me when I went out that night. Freddie and I were heading to Solaris after having dinner at my Aunt Nell's to indulge in some Long Island Ice Teas, something we had been craving for well over a week. Nothing beat the look of impressed recognition we got from Celeste, the bartender, as we ordered them. Clearly it is not an often purchased drink there. Unfortunately it was the only drink she served us that night since she got off work just minutes later. A new guy we had never seen before replaced her and he was one of the worst bartenders ever. Everyone was outraged at the pace at which he waited on people. I mean, the guy should work for the DMV!

As can only be expected from a night that starts off with some wine, a white Russian, and then a Long Island, Freddie and I ended up getting pretty drunk. Kilkenny and Mikey met up with us and we ended up walking down to Toweys to finish up the night. After heading home, Freddie and I had one more beer and watched home movies: an odd drunken habit we picked up over Christmas break. Laughing at my cousin Liz in the videos, I had the urge to call her- at 4 in the morning- to discuss with her the humorous nature of her behavior- another bad habit I've developed. She was very nice to me for clearly being exhausted and not wanting to talk to her drunken younger cousin about playing in blow up pools and Easter egg hunts. What can I say, I have an overabundant love for the girl and sometimes I need to talk to her in the middle of the night. So my apologies, Liz, for being a degenerate. Unfortunately, I have to warn you that it probably won't be the last time.

Tomorrow I head off to Santa Cruz with Mayu for spring vacay. It should be a marvelous time. I've never been to the west coast so I'm looking forward to checking it out and judging for myself whether Aaron Karo's observations about east coast vs west coast are true.

Then when I get back its off to State College for St Patty's Day with my girls. Looks like Alice might be coming along now too so it should be quite the weekend. So much too look forward to! I can't wait! I'm sure I'll have plenty to discuss in the future- and Liz, you might want to put the cell on silent because there's a three hour time difference between Cali and PA so the calls could be coming in quite late!!!

Pictures from the Weekend

2006-02-27T22:48:00.000-05:00

Liz, Caroline, and Me in Boston
(notice the Long Island Liz made me drink)

Shaking it to Senora

Never Say Never

2006-02-27T19:20:00.000-05:00

They say you should "never say never". I'm not really sure who "they"are, but I'm pretty confident there's a handful of things I'm comfortable saying "never" about. Here's just a few:

- Never do I want to die a slow, painful death
- Never do I want to gain 150 lbs
- Never download snood during finals week
- Never do I want to suffer from food poisoning
- Never do I want to see my parents naked
- Never do I want to see my parents sick
- Never will I think dog shows are normal
- Never do I want to see George W elected again
- Never do I want to be too old to spin around in circles really fast
- Never take your friend Jamal to a St Patrick's Day parade in Alabama
- Never am I not happy its summertime
- Never will I understand why gay marriage is such a big f-ing problem
- Never do I want to take Roots of History again
- Never will Sean Paul not make me want to dance
- Never take laxatives before a long car ride
- Never do I think facial tattoos are ok
- Never watch Boogie Nights with your grandmom
-Never will the word "Uranus" not make me crack a smile
- Never do I want to see someone I love get hurt
- Never do I want to start studying for my damn history exam tomorrow

What a Bloodbath

2006-02-26T12:24:00.000-05:00

I wasn't sure if this weekend was going to be able to live up to my expectations, but it pretty much surpassed them.

As I've expressed in numerous posts before, this weekend was the much anticipated trip to Bean Town for Aaron Karo, one of my fav comedians. My cousin Liz drove from State College, PA for the event and very generously picked me and Caroline up along the way. It was a pretty arduous trip but very much worth the effort.

We arrived in Boston around 5 or so (I'll leave the hotel unnamed for prides sake), got dressed, and headed down to the very classy Chinese restaurant bar in the hotel for some pre-standup drinks. After a round of Mai tais, Liz and I headed to the show leaving Caroline to meet up with her boyfriend. Thank God we left when we did because had we got there 3 minutes later we would have had to stand for the whole show, but instead we got a pretty prime front row table.
So there were Liz and I, just feet away from Karo, having some drinks, pretty much in heaven.

And luckily, the show was in no way a disappointment. I wasn't sure how Ruminations would translate to the stage but it all worked out really well. There was, as expected, plenty of jokes about drinking- including my fav about opening bar tabs, a very dangerous situation- as well as a few about his mom (Just open a window!), trying to hookup sober, and the differences between the east and west coast (east obviously wins). But I think the highlight of the night was probably when he asked for a volunteer, preferably one in a wife beater. Well my excitement got the best of me then because I launched out of my seat to show off my wife beater and to offer my services.

It gets worse.

Then I start to walk on stage and Karo has to remind me that I was not, in fact, at a magic show and that he didn't need me to come on stage. There was some laughter, he commented on how embarrassing it was for me that I had done that, and I probably turned about 8 shades of red.

Still gets worse.

He needed the volunteer to help him out with some new material. He had 25 new jokes that he wanted to try out on us for the first time. However, in the midst of laughing at myself for previous embarrassment, I failed to hear him say that he wanted me to call out even numbers between 1 and 25. My first pick was 25. Karo laughed at me some more, called me a jackass, and basically highlighted my stupidity to the entire crowd. But on a bright note, Aaron Karo does now know my name, and I got a hug from him post-show. And I didn't even need to go up to him afterwards like a desperate groupie, as did half of the girls there. So there's the one plus side of the night.

After the show, Liz and I met back up with Caroline at the Chinese bar, had a few more drinks, and then hit the town to disgrace ourselves in Boston. All in all, we had pretty good luck guy wise. A group started a conversation with us in every bar we went to, and I'm proud to say that all of them were older, not bad looking, and, from what I could tell, fairly normal. By the end of the night, Liz and I had danced to Senora (ie the Beetlejuice song), Caroline got shot down by TWO bars for over-intoxication, Liz met her future husband, and I invited the whole bar back to our very classy hotel for an after party. So basically, the night was pretty tame.

Thank god the next morning we were able to find the BEST diner ever. We all ordered omelets and, no joke, they came out within 3 minutes of ordering them. It was the happiest any of us have ever been.

Later that night, the fun continued when Liz and I met up with my parents in Manhattan for dinner. They were in town for the weekend to see Spamalot so they invited us to meet them for dinner. We went to Les Halles, the Kitchen Confidential restaurant, and then we went to the Algonquin for some after dinner drinks. Unfortunately we did not get the Martini on the Rocks, a $10, 000 cocktail which comes with your choice of diamond. Maybe next time, though.

The rest of the night was far less classy, spent back here at the apartment. By the time Liz and I arrived, everyone had been drinking for a significant amount of time and were either already drunk or pretty close to being so. Liz and I both thought we were gonna have difficulty getting intoxicated but, fortunately, it ended up being no problem. Several Coors Lights and a purple nurple later we were pretty tipsy. I just might have the bestest cousin ever.

So now hear I sit, ruminating over a gourmet weekend, wishing it wasn't over. If I could relive it, I would in a heart beat. I think its safe to say I wont do an ounce of work today which not only is really irresponsible but will also probably cause me some pain tomorrow when I have a million things to do. Its a sad ending to a very happy weekend but that's pretty much the standard in my life. Eh, fuck me.

Woo hoo!

2006-02-24T09:28:00.000-05:00

Aaron Karo tonight! I'll be driving to Boston with Liz and Caroline. It should be a blast! After staying in last week do to illnesses, I'm really looking forward to a fun weekend!! Updates and, if I figure it out, pictures to come!!

Ode to Peanut Butter n Jelly

2006-02-22T18:44:00.000-05:00

I LOVE peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I think they may just be one of the greatest things ever invented.

I never liked peanut butter until senior year of high school. All through grade school I never had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my lunch box. I ate bologna and ketchup sandwiches.

I eat my peanut butter and jelly with two parts jelly, one part peanut butter. I cut it diagonally and then peal off the crusts and eat them first.

Sometimes, when I'm really hungry, I make a triple decker peanut butter and jelly. That's what I'm eating now.

I don't like to call peanut butter and jelly PB & J.

I like other peanut butter sandwiches too. I like peanut butter and banana and peanut butter and apple, but nothing makes me as happy as peanut butter and jelly.

If I was in second grade, what I just wrote would have earned me an O for outstanding.

What a Jerk

2006-02-21T21:40:00.000-05:00

Donald Trump is officially the world's biggest asshole. The following is an open letter he wrote to Martha Stewart:

Dear Martha:

It's about time you started taking responsibility for your failed version of The Apprentice. Your performance was terrible in that the show lacked mood, temperament and just about everything else a show needs for success. I knew it would fail as soon as I first saw it – and your low ratings bore me out.

Between your daughter, with her one word statements, your letter writing and, most importantly, your totally unconvincing demeanor, it never had a chance – much as your daytime show is not exactly setting records.

Despite this, I did nothing but positively promote you. Your only response to your failed show was that, "I thought that I was supposed to fire Donald Trump!" You knew this was not true – NBC would never fire me when The Apprentice was, for a good period of time, the #1 show on television and my recent finale, where I hired Randal, was the #2 show for the week, easily beating the competing finale of Amazing Race and others. Even Mark Burnett said, "Thank God that didn't happen," when asked about firing Donald Trump.

Essentially, you made this firing up just as you made up your sell order of ImClone. The only difference is – that was more obvious. Putting your show on the air was a mistake for everybody – especially NBC.

In any event, my great loyalty to you has gone totally unappreciated.

Sincerely, Donald J. Trump

P.S. Be careful or I will do a syndicated daytime show, perhaps called The Boardroom, and further destroy the meager ratings you already have!"

How could someone so rich and successful have such low self-esteem that they need to attract attention for themselves by needlessly putting someone down? The show was canceled so why does it even matter? Clearly, as you've so gracefully stated, Don, she was no serious threat to wondrous show. Get over yourself. You didn't paint the Mona Lisa, Jerk off. You had a popular reality show. Anyone with a pair of double D breasts can do that. So please, stick to what you're good at: toupes, marrying women half your age, and really ugly real estate.

Oh, and stop calling yourself "The Donald". No one needs that.

Has anyone noticed...

2006-02-20T22:10:00.000-05:00

Has anyone noticed that rappers fight like a bunch of 15 yr old girls? Every time I turn around there's a new dis record out. I think Jay Z and Lindsay Lohan should team up to write some really harsh rhymes against Hillary Duff. Or I bet 50 cent could help Mary Kate get back at Paris for stealing her man.

Why when big black men act this way is it considered tough, but when young females do its immediately described as catty?? Not that I think a lot of the behavior going on amongst these female pseudo-celebs isn't catty, I just don't think that whats going on in the rap world isn't either.

But who am I to complain, I eat it up faster than the Japanese do hotdogs. So hand me a spoon because I heard Ashlee and Nas have got some serious beef going on.

My so called life

2006-02-19T15:30:00.000-05:00

You know when you watch a movie and you think "this isn't how real life is"? You sit there laughing as the 28 year old prom queen drives through her perfect suburban town in her red corvette, or the dream guy races through the airport to stop his love from making "the biggest mistake of her life"? Well, sometimes that's how I feel about my own life. Sometimes I feel like its a little too ideal, that I have just too many great things going for me, that this just can't be real.

For anyone vaguely familiar with Chestnut Hill, Philadelphia, you've heard the jokes. You've probably heard how its filled with "wasps and snobs and old money". But Chestnut Hill isn't so surreal to me because of its prestige, history, or beauty. If you've ever spent a significant amount of time there you know that what makes Chestnut Hill so special is the amazing people who live their and the undeniable sense of community we all have. Although the stereotypes present themselves, the Hill is also filled with some of the funniest, most interesting, most caring people in the city. I've known many of them since childhood and my father knew many of their parents. Others I hadn't met until the past few years, but already they feel like family to me.

When I first came to college, a friend of mine looked at the pictures on my wall, her face contorted with confusion. "Ok, so I don't get it," she finally said. "how did you meet all these guys if you went to an all girls school?" I told her about CHA, our brother school, but then I also explained how my friends had gone to a variety of highschools all over the city. "well then how did you meet?" she asked only more confused. I shrugged my shoulders not really sure of the answer. "Around the neighborhood I guess" I finally managed to say.

To my friend this concept was so alien. For her, growing up in suburban New York, your friends went to your high school. Maybe you knew the names of a few other people from area schools if you played sports, but you certainly never interacted. She didn't understand living in a neighborhood where, at twelve years old, you already had a social network comparable to that of a thirty year old.

If you've been lucky enough to grow up in the neighborhood you know exactly what I'm talking about. Spend any night at Solaris, Toweys, or Hill Tavern and you'll most likely run into an old friend, someone you haven't seen in years but are so happy you did; Drive through the streets by the golf courses or the Watertower and you'll probably be able to spot a friend just by the car they're in, the same one they've been driving for years; Or just try walking into Wawa without seeing someone you know- trust me, it won't happen.

We all joke about how boring Chestnut Hill is, but try and name another neighborhood in Philly who has what we do. Sure, Manayunk has great nightlife and Society Hill has some gorgeous homes, but neither of them have the sense of community that's so present in Chestnut Hill. It's so rare to be able to walk to your friends house or to the store for some milk. It may sound old-fashioned but I wouldn't trade it for the world. So for everyone who wants to make the jokes, for all of you who stick your noses up at us for, well, sticking our noses up, that's fine. Maybe it makes us snobs, but if that's the way you feel, we don't want you anyways. But if you're willing to look past the stereotypes and get to know us, I think you'll find a group of people who, though slightly neurotic, are as welcoming as they come.

Are we there yet?

2006-02-16T18:58:00.000-05:00

There are just too many exciting things to look forward to for me to possibly think about work.

I went to the library today for about 2 and a half hours to work on my English paper but I didn't manage to get much done. Ok, so only like 20 minutes of that time was actually spent on writing the paper, but why split hairs. Anyways, I hope you all liked the messages I left on your facebook walls.

Maybe I could have concentrated better If I hadn't been messaging back and forth with Katie and Becky about my upcoming trip to Penn State. I've known the Hops since I was like 4 but, since we both moved away from our old neighborhood over ten years ago, we've only seen each other once every few years. Luckily though, whenever we do get together, its like nothing's ever changed. And as my mom always says, that's how you know a true friend.

However, it wasn't just the fact that I was talking to them that got me so distracted but rather the topic of our conversation- my impending trip with Katie to Penn State. We'll be going with Betsy, another old friend of ours, to see Becky and to celebrate my cousin Trish's 19th bday. It's going to be a complete reunion- the first time the five of us have hung out together in over 5 years. And, I believe, the FIRST time we'll all be getting wasted together.

So all afternoon we've been posting messages about what ridiculous item from our past we'll be bringing with us- fun-dip, Huggies, sleeping-bags, Boogity, my brother's underwear (don't ask). Clearly, I can't be expected to concentrate on "how the association between war and masculinity is complicated in Regeneration" when my mind has been filled with thoughts of Piggly Wiggly!
Add in the fact that just a week from tomorrow I'll be traveling to BeanTown to see Aaron Karo with Liz, and the idea of me doing any type of work is pretty much impossible.

I'll apologize now because I'm pretty sure this will be the topic of my blog for the next few weeks. My mind can't seem to process anything beyond Boogity, Boston, beerpong, and bar tabs. Which isn't really a problem for me so much, but let's just hope my professors feel the same.

Motivation

2006-02-15T19:21:00.000-05:00

I have absolutely no motivation.

And it kind of worries me. I'm four weeks into the semester and I still sit around everyday looking up who changed their facebook profile or adding stuff to my online shopping carts even though I have no money or intention to buy anything.

I don't know why I can't just buckle down and do what I need to do because it's not even that much work. But here I am letting it all build up. It's not that I think I won't get things done because I know I will, but I can't helping worrying that all of a sudden I'm going to be bombarded with deadlines.

Ofcourse, the fact that I'm going to see Aaron Karo in Boston next week isn't helping matters. It's completely taken over my life. That's just pathetic. Yes, I should be excited to see one of my favorite comedians. Yes, I should be f-ing pumped that I'll be doing so with Liz. But three hours? I could have written the paper I have due on Monday in half that time.

So as of tommorow I'm starting over. Thursday's probably bad timing to reevaluate my habits, being that its so close too the weekend which is when I'm most lazy, but if I don't start soon I never will. So tonight's my last night of wastefulness, and I plan to live it up to the fullest- edit my webshots, watch a little Biggest Loser, and check every single away message on my buddy list atleast 5 times. Oh, its gonna be a damn fine night!

My Daily Rant

2006-02-12T23:24:00.000-05:00

I don't know how it took me this long, how I possibly could have overlooked such a piece of genius, a rare jem in a world of mediocrity, a work of art that will surely go down in history. Obviously, I could only be talking about one thing- Kevin Federline's "Popozoa".

I had heard all the jokes on the late night talk shows and such, but I hadn't come across a link to this song until earlier today. In case you haven't heard it yet, I'll have you know that it might possibly be the biggest piece of crap EVER. It sounds like something MC Hammer would have made after he dropped the MC and started wearing really provactive bathing suits in his videos. Except Kevin Federline couldn't even make a few hit singles before spiraling down into "Pumps n a Bump" territory.

Honestly, I think all the Kevin Federlines, Paris Hiltons, and Ashlee Simpsons need to be put on a boat and shipped off to a deserted island- kind of like how England did with all the dirty criminals several hundred years ago. All we need to do is find another Australia- though preferably one less sunny and exotic- so we can rid of all these talentless media whores. I remember when being white trash just got you some sweet lawn ornaments and a baby-daddy. I mean, that's how it worked for my grandmother and that's how it should work for them too!

Now, don't get me wrong. I think nepotism is great to an extent. But couldn't they have just gotten a sweet little office job working for Daddy/Wifey's company? That way, atleast, I wouldn't be subjected to their talentless whoring around whenever I try and watch E! at night. I mean, I'm trying to get updates on real artists like Lindsay Lohan and The Rock. Now is that too much to ask?

Indents

2006-02-12T23:21:00.000-05:00

For some reason, my indentations are not showing up in my published blog. I'll try and figure out what I'm doing wrong but, until then, do your best figuring it all out.

My Cousin Jimmy

2006-02-11T21:14:00.000-05:00

I have a lot of crazy cousins. But somewhere on the top of the list would definitely be my cousin Jimmy. He and his twin brother are infamous for their hard-partying ways. They're stories always sound more like something out of a highschool movie than a real life incident. They're in their early thirties now, but they can still party harder than most people I know. My brother and I look forward to hanging out with them because of the crazy shit that will inevitably occur. For example, here's what he emailed me about a recent weekend:

Our party was I'm sure no where near as fun as yours...Although it was open bar for 5 hours....The only thing I remember were three girls who wanted Tommy and I to take our hats off so they could see what we look like without them on, which Tom replied in a drunken and surly tone, "I'll take my hat off when you take your shirts off!!" To which they began to do....before the bartender flagged all of us!!!
I was so hungover the next morning, and I had to attend a brunch of a co-worker, who happens to have a supermodel daughter who was visiting from South Beach with three of her friends....mid-way through the brunch I had to excuse myself and vomit, which reverberated through the whole house....Needless to say I think I ruined my chances with the models! LOL!!!

I was exchanging these emails with Jim around the time of my twenty first birthday. The topic of his own twenty-first inevitably came up and I was amazed- no, in awe- of his story. It has had me cracking up for the past few weeks as I try to think of the actor that will play him when I eventually make this into an extremely successful film. So I thought I'd share it all with you. I think it'll give you a good laugh.

Ahhhh so glad to hear your 21st was a blast! True Story- On my 21st I made the insane decision to take a drive up into hillbilly (Punxsatawney)country at 3 in the morning, completely hammered and bombed out of gourd, in my new antique car....I almost killed myself three times, so I decided to pull into a bible belt church that was up on a hill....I went into the back of the church parking lot to pass out and get some sleep, I thought I put my car in park, I did not, so the Bel Air went racing wildly and out of control down through corn patch, cutting a swath through the entire corn field (meanwhile I am passed out the entire time) I wound up in a ditch at the bottom of the corn field with the front end of my car in a ditch and my back end entirely up in the air(mind you this was a mint condition antique car thatI just got that week)
I was awoken the next morning by a pastor dressed in all white and Triple AAA lifting my car out of the ditch.....I was sooo out of my mind drunk I thought I was dreaming the whole thing...The pastor then proceeded to take me into the church where service was going on....so picture me...completely out of my mind, blood shot eyes, stinking like stale beer, in sweaty clothes...and a church full of bible waving freaks staring at me....The music stopped for a second and then continued , as the pastor took me into the bathroom to get me cleaned up, I vomited and then passed out in the sacristy...
I woke up at like 4 in the afternoon and the had dinner with the pastor and his family.....most bizarre day of my life...well at least in the top ten!!!!!!! LOL!!

Yeah, by the way, this guy's a teacher. Pick your children's schools carefully ladies and gentlemen.

Study Abroad Essay

2006-02-11T00:04:00.000-05:00

Here at Manhattan College, in order to study abroad you need to submit a one page easy. It's not so much a qualifying factor as it is an annoying formality. I guess they want to make sure you're serious enough about spending four months in a foreign country that you'll take ten minutes to type out some bull. So here's what I wrote this afternoon. I figured I might as well take advantage of it and put it up as a blog since I haven't been doing so well with creating some posts. So here's my little essay about "Why I Want to Study in Madrid". It's all a lie. But I don't think " I want to drink a lot of sangrias and meet some sexy exotic men" would have sounded as good.

I have always been an explorer. When I was a toddler, just learning to stand and crawl and walk, my parents gave me the nickname "Houdini". Though I was barely mobile, I had already found numerous ways to escape my crib, car seat, and high chair. Fences had to be put up in my back yard, and the child lock was always turned on in the car. Down the Jersey Shore one summer, I became so restless while attending dinner at a family friend's that I stood up unannounced and snuck home. This would not have been such a big deal had it not required crossing one of the busiest streets in town and had I not been only three years old at the time.
My curiosity for the new and exciting continued to develop as I got older. In elementary school, most of my friends planned on attending one of two local catholic high schools. I, however, was reluctant to continue at a school so similar to the one I had just spent the last eight years attending. I wanted to go somewhere with diverse people and new practices. Though I adored my friends from grade school,couldn't help wondering who and what else was out there. I finally decided on a liberal all girls' private school far different from the coed catholic elementary school I had attended. Though no one else in my graduating class would be joining me, I had no apprehensions over beginning a unique and unknown territory. And in my four years there, I know I learned and experience things I never would have had I stayed with my peers from my childhood.
Since graduating high school, I have continued my "quest", visiting numerous cities in the United States as well as several foreign countries, including Miami, Charleston, Puerto Rico, France and Ireland. Yet, though I've seen a lot, I'm still eager to explore. I want to see as much as possible, learn as much as possible, and accomplish as much as possible. I have a great appreciation for this expansive and diverse world we live in, and I want to discover everything there is about it. Because I have always been so drawn to the new and unknown, I have learned early on that there are many different ways of living and that everywhere you go you can find something fresh and exciting.
A semester in Spain, a country of such great history and culture, would undoubtedly provide me with a wealth of new experiences. I look forward to eating exotic foods, learning rare dances, and, most importantly, conquering a foreign language, one I have been struggling to master for several years. Studying abroad has always been a great dream of mine, and like my many other aspirations, I plan to tackle it with great determination, curiosity, and enthusiasm.

The little things

2006-01-31T22:46:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, as I read Frankie's blog, I was inspired to leave her comment. Not only was it particularly amusing, but I had been reading her blog for the past month or so, and I figured it was finally time to let her know how much I was enjoying it. After writing my brief comment, which went somewhere along the lines of "haha that was great", I felt a little ashamed that that was all I could manage to say. Dozens of other readers had left her comments poignantly expressing their support, admiration, and love despite the fact that they were complete strangers, knowing her only through the words on her blog.
I have known Frankie for almost seven years, yet my comment was the least personal. After rereading it, I hesitated, wondering if I wanted to leave this pathetic message in the midst of the many caring and thoughtful comments. Finally, I just pushed entered and went on with my business.
Three minutes hadn't gone by when I glanced back at my computer screen and found an ecstatic IM from Fran, thanking me for posting a little something on her blog. She was so excited that I had been reading and had taken the time to recognize her work. Here I had almost never sent anything because I was afraid it wasn't enough; yet I wound up with a greater thanks than I could have ever expected.
It felt so good knowing the comment meant something. And it made me realize how the smallest things can brighten up ones day and really make a difference. In grade school, the teachers used to beg us to contribute to the tiny piggy bank on their desk, a collection for various charitable causes. "Every penny counts", they told us. And "a little bit from everyone can add up". So we would all eagerly stuff in any coins we found lying at home or deep within our pockets or in the hallway on the way to class. And, sure enough, they did add up. By the end of each month we were able to send a substantial amount of money to a different local charity.
I don't know when it changed, why I was smarter then, but now it seems I only have an "all or nothing" attitude. Unless I can do something grand or spectacular, I often figure why bother: Because I forget to buy a friend a birthday present, I wont even give them a card. Or I don't have the time to answer all my Aunt Nancy's annoying emails, so I never bother even sending a quick "thank you" or "hello". The little things I could do often seem so small or trivial or downright stupid so I hold back. But I realized yesterday how much the little things can matter. Even if they have no great impact, what chance is there that they will do any harm?
So I'm going to try and remember the little things for now on: a smile to a classmate, a piece of candy for my roommates, a comment on a good friend's blog that, though impersonal, just might make them a little happy.

Twenty One

2006-01-30T21:26:00.000-05:00

I've been wanting to start up a blog again for awhile now; yet, like so many other things in my life, I never really got around to it. I keep reading friends blogs while cursing myself for not making my own, yet I don't have any other excuse except that I'm lazy. I spend far too much time watching tv, stalking my friends on facebook, and going out drinking (ok the last one isn't that much of a waste). But, after months of procrastination, I finally sat down and got myself started. And what better time to start writing than after my twenty first birthday.
The day I've waited for since I was fourteen has finally come and gone. For years I had pictured the drunken debauchery- dancing on bars, body shots, perhaps an incarceration or two. Yet, I managed to stay somewhat in control this weekend. Not to say it wasn't fun. I had the time of my life and I'm thrilled that so many people were there to celebrate with me. Unfortunately, Chris, Mike and Brendan couldn't make it. I would have loved for them to have been there but I understand why they couldn't. Luckily, Freddie and Pat still came Friday evening and Kilkenny even made a surprise showing for the big night Saturday. It was the first time Freddie had met any of my roommates so I was glad he was finally meeting the girls I had talked so much about. And, despite the fact that he has spoke to Caroline numerous times on the phone, it was nice for them to finally talk when he wasn't under the influence of a dozen beers, mocking her in a terrible Boston accent.
Freddie got here around 3 on Friday which gave us some time to chill out and grab something to eat. But by 5 o'clock when we still hadn't heard from Slats, we decided it was time to commence with the drinking ourselves. We headed over to An Beal Bocht, my new favorite bar now that I'm old enough (woo hoo!), and had ourselves a few pints while we waited for Pat's call. We had a nice chat and thoroughly enjoyed our Smithwicks and Guinness, which are ridiculously tasty at An Beal Bocht, the closest you can get to being in Ireland. In time Pat finally showed and we headed back to the apartment for a few more beers. We thought we'd be ok with a simple six pack but within a brief 30 minutes the boys headed out for a few more. Despite my suggestions, they were both too impatient for Hess to head back with the wine and champagne he had promised which he did just moments after they left.
After a few more drinks and a little bit of cards with Hess, Erin, and Jess, the three of us hopped in a cab for the city. We had intended on going to Free Wine but the line was pretty long and Freddie yet was getting impatient yet again so we went to the place next store. It ended up being pretty nice despite the fact that we had to pay for our drinks. After we all agreed that the waitress was in love with Freddie, Pat took one for the team and asked her her sign, a strange hobby of ours. Though we were sure she was an Aquarius, as the coolest people are (ie me and Pat), we soon found out that she was a Scorpio as well as a weirdo astrological buff. Unfortunately though, she wasn't interested in partying with us afterwards seeing as she already had a boyfriend.
After a delicious dinner and enough drinks to earn the waitress her drink incentive, we made a brief stop at Nicky K's bday party at Gin Mill before heading to Jake's Dilemma for the rest of the night. The scene there was pretty good, and Freddie was loving it so I was happy. Plus, the Coors Light girls came and, since we were double fisting Coors Light when they entered, they gave us all a free round. Pat though was the only one lucky enough to get a necklace which he reminded us of for the rest of the night. I, however, did get information about promoting for the company they work for. It turns out they do a bunch of stuff besides Coors Light and they hooked me up with some contact information if I wanted a job. I think my cousin expressed the magnitude of this great opportunity best when he wrote to me, "Think of the places you will go and the people you would meet!!!! I think this is your life's and our families greatest moment!!!!!!" Clearly, the L-ch-t family holds anything involving drinking to the highest prestige.
The night ended in typical fashion- a few beers at Fenwicks- but unfortunately our evening was cut short when the police raided the bar. However, I was ok with it since, for the first time I was doing nothing illegal. Plus, the early ending allowed us to get to bed and wake up in time for brunch at An Beal Bocht. Hess, Freddie, and I went and, after just two beers each, we were all drunk again. Hess, being much more productive than us Lachats, went golfing for the remainder of the afternoon, but Freddie and I just went back to the apartment to sleep a little before round two (or is it three?)
Though Black Finn was packed pretty much the entire night, I had a great time there. Pat met up with us again and brought his roommates and Kilkenny. It was nice having my brother come out with my friends and meet some people though I think I introduced him to so many people that he'll be lucky if he remembers three of them.
I think its safe to say that, of those three, Megan Sheehan and Natasha would definitely be included. They quickly got friendly with him after he told them that, because his law school is "business casual", he only had to wear a man thong to class. Natasha, being several drinks into the night, didn't quite pick up on the joke and was a strange mix of disgusted and enthralled by the comment. I still don't know how this entered the conversation but I'm more than happy remaining ignorant.
I too had a blast with those girls and I think we all let each other know how much we enjoyed each others company. I think the number of people in the dangerously crowded bar was fewer than the amount of times one of us said "no seriously, I'm like in love with you". By the end of the night it was settled: the three of us will eventually make sweet, passionate, lesbian love. You're all invited to watch.
Today, as I was discussing the weekend with Caroline, I was proud too say that I kept it in control. In fact, as I told her, I didn't think I blacked out once. WRONG. Just one hour after our conversation, Meghan thanked me for backing her up in a fight at Fenwick's. I don't remember this, but apparently some girls were starting shit and I, being the peacemaker I am, decided to step in and smooth things over. However, seeing as I was extremely intoxicated, my negotiation skills consisted of nothing but repeated requests to break it up because "come on girls, it's Saturday. It's Saturday." I don't know what makes Saturday so special and apparently neither did these girls, because I guess my feeble attempt did no good. And this angered me. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, thank you Ralphie for stepping in and separating us. You were very helpful. Or so I'm told.
This blog rambled for much longer than I expected but only because I want everyone who shared this weekend with me to know just how much fun I had and just how much I appreciate them being there. In the future I'll try and write something of a little more merit than just recollections of my drunken shenanigans, though I'm sure plenty of those will be interspersed in here as well. So to everyone who took the time to do a little 21st bday celebrating with me- and even to all those who didn't- here's to many more!!