Sunday, August 15, 2004
Tomato TomAto
Sundays suck. And it's raining. Few things blow more than a rainy Sunday. And someone always calls and wakes me up. Never fails. This morning it was my dad at 10:30. He's happy now that his neighbor is talking to him. Because my dad tends to have a big, blunt mouth, he said something to piss The Neighbor off..so The Neighbor didn't speak to my dad all summer. But this morning The Neighbor came over and gave my dad 15 tomatoes. So apparently things are okay. People are so funny. Especially people who are old enough to have neighbors who grow tomatoes. I hope someday I have a neighbor who grows pineapple and watermelon. That would be awesome!
Sunday, August 8, 2004
Birthday Debauchery
Birthdays are great. I got the day off Friday and lived out my Central Park fantasy. Except there was no wine. No cheese. And it wasn't a gondola, it was an old rowboat. But v. exciting, nonetheless.
The evening out proved to be successful. If 5 gin and tonics and 7 shots of SoCo and lime are accurate measurements of success. But dude, if you are stupid enough to buy me birthday shots, it does not ensure that I'm yours for the evening, nor does it ensure I'll go home with you. So get off my ass. Patrick didn't get the hint. So I escaped to the dance floor downstairs—Britney saves the day! When Patrick found that I was no where in sight, he took the opportunity hook up with my friend Jenny. I got my shots, and he got to make out. Yay. The night suddenly took a downward spiral when I proceeded to call The Boy 15 times (literally), leave messy voicemails and text messages and then yell at his roommate. Why can't I just be smooth? Fuck me. The next thing I know, I'm waiting for an hour for the New Jersey PATH train and babbling about my night to a boy in a pink argyle sweater.
I wake up at 2 p.m. with the vision of McDonald's french fries swimming in my brain. Confusing, I think, as I know I didn't stop at the 24-hour McDonald's a block from my apartment. There are no wrappers in my trash can. I figure it must be a hungover craving, and I traipse to Micky D's for greasy satisfaction. I call Anne later, who kindly informs me that she took me to the PATH station. On the way, we stopped at McDonald's and I stuffed my face with fries. So I was thinking I had the willpower not to eat while drunk. No such luck. Damn.
Last night's O.A.R. concert was lovely. A nice reminder that I'm in my mid-twenties. We tailgated before the show, and while sitting on the lawn, about 20 youngish looking boys walked by. My friend Liz and I thought it would be fun to talk to them. What boy doesn't like a Mrs. Robinson-type who can buy them beer? They were all anywhere from 16 to 19 years old. I gave them each drinks of my 24 oz. $10 concert-bought brew in exchange for a dollar. And I bought them a few beers and made some tips. I came out $8 ahead. Yay. Good birthday weekend. And now it's Sunday. Boo.
The evening out proved to be successful. If 5 gin and tonics and 7 shots of SoCo and lime are accurate measurements of success. But dude, if you are stupid enough to buy me birthday shots, it does not ensure that I'm yours for the evening, nor does it ensure I'll go home with you. So get off my ass. Patrick didn't get the hint. So I escaped to the dance floor downstairs—Britney saves the day! When Patrick found that I was no where in sight, he took the opportunity hook up with my friend Jenny. I got my shots, and he got to make out. Yay. The night suddenly took a downward spiral when I proceeded to call The Boy 15 times (literally), leave messy voicemails and text messages and then yell at his roommate. Why can't I just be smooth? Fuck me. The next thing I know, I'm waiting for an hour for the New Jersey PATH train and babbling about my night to a boy in a pink argyle sweater.
I wake up at 2 p.m. with the vision of McDonald's french fries swimming in my brain. Confusing, I think, as I know I didn't stop at the 24-hour McDonald's a block from my apartment. There are no wrappers in my trash can. I figure it must be a hungover craving, and I traipse to Micky D's for greasy satisfaction. I call Anne later, who kindly informs me that she took me to the PATH station. On the way, we stopped at McDonald's and I stuffed my face with fries. So I was thinking I had the willpower not to eat while drunk. No such luck. Damn.
Last night's O.A.R. concert was lovely. A nice reminder that I'm in my mid-twenties. We tailgated before the show, and while sitting on the lawn, about 20 youngish looking boys walked by. My friend Liz and I thought it would be fun to talk to them. What boy doesn't like a Mrs. Robinson-type who can buy them beer? They were all anywhere from 16 to 19 years old. I gave them each drinks of my 24 oz. $10 concert-bought brew in exchange for a dollar. And I bought them a few beers and made some tips. I came out $8 ahead. Yay. Good birthday weekend. And now it's Sunday. Boo.
Thursday, August 5, 2004
Wrinkles Suck
It's my birthday! Yay. I'm 23, and it's definitely the mid-twenties. And not because stupid Jessica Simpson said so on her 23rd birthday. It's true, and it bums me out. I haven't been to Thursday night quarter draws at Harpo's for a year. I haven't had Pokey Sticks at 3 a.m. for a year. I haven't belted out dirty sorority songs for a year. And it sucks. Only a little.
Note to self: Don't write about Dave.
Note to self: Don't write about Dave.
Friday, July 23, 2004
SATC, New Jersey Style
Geeez. Where do I start?! So I'll just provide an update on Tina's Little Life, sans the witty banter b/c I've worked my ass off this week for the 9-year-olds.
1. Met a guy. Seriously. My life is the epitome of SATC. Except I can't afford Manolo Blahniks, I'm not that skinny, and my hair's not that 'fro-ey. His name is Dave, and he's New York lova #7. Ooh...7's a lucky number. Maybe that means something! I tend to be v. superstitious, and I believe horoscopes, even though I make them up. But this reminds me..a good entry would be one that focuses on all my New York lovas. Maybe I'll save that for my lunch break today. If you're lucky. ;) Anyway, Dave's great. There's something about this guy that's different than the other six New York lovas. He's a musician. (Yay! Although, he's not exactly starving, but that's good. And he plays classical bass, not Blink-182 bass, but it's cool.) He's currently a paralegal, he went to Brown (Ivy League! I'm outta my league here...), and he loves sports. What's more is that his ex-girlfriend was on that reality TV show, Dream Job, where students compete for an internship on ESPN's SportsCenter. And she took third place, the only female to get that far. I only hope that he likes his girls girlie and not sporty because...I definitely didn't know that baseball teams play the same team three times in a row. Apparently that's common knowledge? Did you guys know that? But whatever. I'm totally willing to learn about sports, I just can't carry on a conversation regarding A-Rod, unless it's involving his cute-factor. But I love watching games, and betting on them. (I'm a gambling fool. Just between us: I place my bets on team colors, mascots, and locale. I usually win.) OK, I've really got to get to work. I'll save other updates for later! xo!
1. Met a guy. Seriously. My life is the epitome of SATC. Except I can't afford Manolo Blahniks, I'm not that skinny, and my hair's not that 'fro-ey. His name is Dave, and he's New York lova #7. Ooh...7's a lucky number. Maybe that means something! I tend to be v. superstitious, and I believe horoscopes, even though I make them up. But this reminds me..a good entry would be one that focuses on all my New York lovas. Maybe I'll save that for my lunch break today. If you're lucky. ;) Anyway, Dave's great. There's something about this guy that's different than the other six New York lovas. He's a musician. (Yay! Although, he's not exactly starving, but that's good. And he plays classical bass, not Blink-182 bass, but it's cool.) He's currently a paralegal, he went to Brown (Ivy League! I'm outta my league here...), and he loves sports. What's more is that his ex-girlfriend was on that reality TV show, Dream Job, where students compete for an internship on ESPN's SportsCenter. And she took third place, the only female to get that far. I only hope that he likes his girls girlie and not sporty because...I definitely didn't know that baseball teams play the same team three times in a row. Apparently that's common knowledge? Did you guys know that? But whatever. I'm totally willing to learn about sports, I just can't carry on a conversation regarding A-Rod, unless it's involving his cute-factor. But I love watching games, and betting on them. (I'm a gambling fool. Just between us: I place my bets on team colors, mascots, and locale. I usually win.) OK, I've really got to get to work. I'll save other updates for later! xo!
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
Questions in Love
Been awhile, but I'm back! Jessi visited last weekend, and we had a blast! Some nutty things happened that'll have to stay in The Vault...but you know? It so made me jones for my buds back home. Shout out: I miss you guys!
But why oh why is everyone getting engaged?! Old roommates, high school buds, coworkers, everyone! Even Chad Michael Murray recently got engaged..to his beautiful perfect One Tree Hill costar. And I have no clue in the world what or who I want. Tell me this: Are we (as in single chicks) supposed to have a laundry list of admirable qualities we want in a partner, or will we someday meet the love of our life and just know..that this is The One? Is there even a One?
But why oh why is everyone getting engaged?! Old roommates, high school buds, coworkers, everyone! Even Chad Michael Murray recently got engaged..to his beautiful perfect One Tree Hill costar. And I have no clue in the world what or who I want. Tell me this: Are we (as in single chicks) supposed to have a laundry list of admirable qualities we want in a partner, or will we someday meet the love of our life and just know..that this is The One? Is there even a One?
