How to Make the Worst Cocktail Ever

I've been slacking on the journal like a booze-addicted college freshman in fuck-me boots with an 8 a.m. Algebra class. Wait, that was me four years ago. Except for the fuck-me boots. And I got a 2.0 that semester.

I've had so much to write about lately, but my computer at home has been down and work has been a bitch. Damn..I now have strawberry jelly on my keyboard. Except for Z and Q..well now they've covered in jam, too. Crap.

Consider this:
- Never mix tequila, vodka and cranberry juice. It's gross. Well, it was an accident. I was chilling with The Gorgeous People again, and the vodka supply was running low. I had half a vodka and cranberry, when a new bottle arrived. Before the GPs could snag it, I refilled my glass. Dude, it was clear. But it was tequila. Gross.

- Sometimes I wish my boss and 95% of the world's male population would all fall into a lava-filled crevice in the earth's crust. But only sometimes. But that bitch in elementary school who asked me if my mom picked out my clothes? Yeah, she can fall down there. And she can wear my pink Mr. Rogers sweater with the matching socks.

- On Sunday, I hung out at CP. Everyone was at CP. I'd gone to meet Curtis, and Michelle, Anne, Eliza and Jenny were all there. Separately. So we joined forces. The most bizarre thing? There were beer vendors around. I had no clue old men strolled up and down Sheep's Meadow selling Heineken and "green" out of garbage bags. We got approached five times. And we'd forgotten to bring our "Looking for Beer and Weed" cardboard sign. Hey, it was Sunday.

- If you're me, and you say something cool and profound, no one cares. But if you're P. Diddy and you say something cool and profound, it's the coolest and most profound thing you've ever heard. I covered the first annual Music Upfront yesterday. Diddy gave the closing remarks and didn't say a damn thing that I hadn't been listening to all day. But everyone cheered like he was MLK, Jr. Give me a break.

Only in the Northeast Corner of America...

I was dancing at Marquee, when lo and behold, Beyonce and Jay-Z were a few feet away. I think I overstepped my bounds when I tried to get a better peek at B—one of their eight bouncers pushed me back. Oops. No more getting kicked out of clubs for me.

Last night (during my determined search for hummus), I stumbled upon a drunk homeless epileptic having a fierce seizure in the middle of a sidewalk.

A bomb scare...at a New Jersey McDonald's. Cops were everywhere. Really, those unattended suitcases'll really get ya.

$12 gin and tonics, bars made of glass, models who Justin Timberlake couldn't do justice...and I lost my driver's license and my debit card. Oh well. I don't drive anyway.

Emotionally Unavailable

What the hell is it with emotionally unavailable men? I must be a fucking idiot. Not to be cocky, but I really think I could make the best girlfriend, if someone would just give me a chance. I'm super supportive, I care about his interests (I fucking know the Yankees lineup by heart), I'm independent, I offer to pay, I clean up well, I'm willing to learn how to cook, I don't smell, I can bong two beers, I have a firm handshake, I'm not shabby between the sheets, etc. SO WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME? Two short-term boyfriends in five years has got to tell me something, but I don't know what. My dad always says I'm the kind of girl boys want to marry, but no one wants to fucking get married! Hell, I don't want to get married until I'm at least 27. So I'm supposed to twiddle my goddamn thumbs until a dude decides he wants to settle down?! Meantime, I can't f-ing handle being surrounded by couples. It sucks. And I'm tired of wondering what it's like. I'm tired of trying to figure men out. Perhaps I should relax and not try to figure it out, but I just can't accept being alone forev. I'm having another pity party, and you're all invited. BYOCF (Bring Your Own Comfort Food) I'm stuffing my face with hummus. And it sucks.

I'm That Girl

I've just realized...I am that girl. No, not THAT girl, or even that girl. I am The Girl who makes others do my dirty work for me because I don't want to get in trouble. For instance, I saw Neil eating a bagel. I didn't bring any lunch and all I have is yucky canned soup in my desk. I decided that I wanted a bagel, too. Immediately.

Me: "Neil! Where'd you get that bagel?"
Neil: "In production."
Me (In my best pouty face.): "I want one!"
Neil: "Go get one."
Me: "I don't know anyone in production."
Neil: "You know John. Call him to bring you one."
I dial ext. 304. No answer.
Me: "He's not there."
Neil: "Just go get one."
Me: "Will you get one for me? I'm shy. I don't know the production people."
Neil: "I just got one! No. Maybe later."

I still don't have my bagel. And I'm not going to go get it because I fear getting dirty looks from the production people. I don't want to anger people. You're thinking, it's just a damn bagel. It is, but I am just That Girl.

1987. My neighbor's house. I was sitting in my neighbor's house with my first-ever boyfriend. BJ was four, and I was six. The older woman. We ate some M&M's. I wanted more. Immediately.

Me: "BJ! Go ask your mom if we can have a few more M&M's."
BJ: "OK."
A few minutes pass, and BJ's mom walks out.
BJ's mom: "Tina! Did you ask BJ to ask me for more candy?"
Me (In my best pouty face.): "No, I didn't."
BJ's mom: "Yes, you did! I heard you! If you want something, you have to ask me yourself."

She's right. But I never asked for the M&M's, and I went home crying. I am That Girl, and I will probably always be That Girl. JSYK, I stand up for what I want when it's important. I can move to New York with $2,000 and no job. I can drive to DC and march with a million feminists on the White House lawn. I can even yell when people on the subway do me wrong. But when it comes to bagels and M&M's, I'm a big mush-ball.

Dear John

Dear John,
I saw you in concert last night, and I thought you were suberb. Your guitar-orgasm faces were exceptional. It was also really exciting when all 100,000 people starting screaming along with "Why, Georgia." That song has gotten me through many a tough time. Obviously, everyone goes through a quarter-life crisis (Hell, I bought the book), and everyone has their Georgias. I just think you should know that you are an extremely talented writer, and I'm not selling out when I say that. You write what we're all thinking quite beautifully, JSYK. "Stupid Mouth"? Sheer genius. Social casualties are the story of my life, and I, too, am often a Miss Captain Backfire. Fathers and mothers should be good to their daughters, because the daughters become lovers and eventually mothers. I do not think you should attempt that Jimi Hendrix rendition again though. And it's really not necessary to include "Your Body is a Wonderland" in your playlist, because I never really liked that song. But overall, I enjoyed your concert and will most likely continue to give you my money.
xo, Tina

PS Because I'm so tired from watching your concert, this morning I spilled water all over my thesaurus, in addition to breaking my second favorite coffee mug that's from Hawaii. Please send me $15.00 to cover those casualties. Thank you.