I’m a Jinius

I’m starting to recycle old blog titles from 2005. It’s nice to know that my life hasn’t changed in three years.

Lets see, I ran for three miles yesterday, did not drink very much water, then met up with friends for drinks and had about twenty beers so this will be an inchoate post. I’m grateful that i can even keep my eyes open let alone string together sentences.

Friday

Met up with V for drinks before the jay-z/mary j concert. Had a really good conversation about relationships, dating–you know, stuff women never talk about–and she basically told me that I have to be more open and less cold. And that I should just talk to guys the same way I talk to my girlfriends instead of rolling my eyes at them.

It’s not that I’m rude to guys. I just don’t like people!

I guess if you’re open to being in a relationship then you have to be open to people. Keep your heart open and your legs closed! Ha.

I need new writers.

But i also think that if it’s the right person then you won’t have to work so hard at being open and it will just happen naturally. And if this person were, lets say, hot bartender, then I would be very willing to be open minded!!!!

Anyway, the concert was off the hook. Recordings do not do justice to MJB’s voice. She has the voice of a hundred person gospel choir. Talk about presence. And Hova was awesome. He even played my track…Jigga what? Oh, and Beyonce made an appearance on stage. She basically strutted on stage and shook her ass and left. Hot tranny mess.

After the concert I met up with my friend Meghan who is visiting from out of town. Meghan is one of those people who just knows everything about everything. Sometimes if I need to get some info on something I don’t even google it, I just call Meghan. She can talk about everything from the problems of secularism in France to the growing popularity of Li’l Wayne.

Saturday

I forced my ass out of bed and went for a run.

I really hate saying this and I know that as a seven sister alum I should be espousing feminist ideals and preaching positive body image messages, but as Lisa Simpson said, “That’s something a fat girl would say!” But it’s so hard to come to terms with the fact that as you get older you just can’t metabolize all the foot long meatball subs like you used to!

When I was younger, I had the metabolism of a cheetah. Now I have the metabolism of an elephant. Okay, I’m exaggerating, but it’s really depressing when you realize you have to start watching what you eat. My problem is that I watch what I eat and then end up eating what I was watching.

Anyhoo, obviously my vanity did not deter me from eating and drinking the rest of the weekend.

Later, Meghan and Nicole and I went to Spitzers for drinks, then met up with Liz and Elissa at Le Pere Pinard for wine and cheese, and ended the night at Pink Pony for dinner. My girl friends are so amazing because not only are they hot and hilarious but they’re also fucking brilliant. If I weren’t so hungover I would expound on how they are a great embodiment of what the feminist movement strives for but…I don’t have anymore braincells. All I can say is that I hope my unborn daughters grow up to be just like them.

And I also realized that at the end of the day, anyone can have flat abs if they tried really hard. But not everyone can be brilliant.

Let’s give it up for brains y’all.

Biggest muscle.


Sunday
Went for a run. Because as much as I respect brains I also like wearing t-shirts as dresses.

Met up with Sarah for margaritas at La Palapa where I deemed my margaritas not strong enough!

Later Sabbie and Allstadt showed up and we strolled over to St. Dymphnas for curry fries and beer.

Why is Guinness so good?

Okay, speaking of hot, hilarious, brilliant girlfriends, I have to end this post with an email I got from Vidya. I literally laughed so hard that I snorted.

So can I just ask you wtf is wrong with people in nyc. This morning there was a guy on the subway cutting his nails on the train. How DISGUSTING is that??? Then when I got off the train and was exiting the station, I had to go through those revolving door/turnstile things – not the regular turnstiles. And you know how everyone knows that only one person is supposed to go through that at a time right? I get in there and realized it wasn’t moving forward even though I was pushing and I look over my right shoulder and some bitch has jumped in there with me!!!! She is literally pressed up against me and she’s like – omg I’m so sorry I don’t know what I was thinking. I was like – bitch get off my back!!!! Like who does that???? I swear – sometimes I feel like I’ve had enough of the human race.

That’s right. I’m going to the Jay-Z/Mary-J concert tonight.The Messiah of Hip Hop (as he modestly anointed himself) and the Queen of Hip Hop Soul are performing on the same stage. If I knew anything about religion then I imagine this is like the street equivalent of the second coming. This shit is gonna be empanadas!

So in honor of tonight’s concert I give you the Jay-Z and Amil track that spawned the catchiest retort in hip hop.

I once told my ex boyfriend that I was acting crazy because I was on my period and he replied, “Well, then you must always be on your period.”

And I know that the pms/period/or anything in the not so fresh family seems like a dubious excuse to justify irrational behavior but trust me when I say that you would be feeling pretty cranky too if you were so bloated that you felt like the Hindenberg and that you were feeling even hornier than normal but you can’t do anything because you’re on the rag and the only person you could reasonably booty call is not even available because he works in the evenings and only sends one word texts that you don’t understand and SO BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAY I AM NOT USUALLY THIS CRAZY AND THAT I AM JUST VERY VERY SENSITIVE AND I AM A DELICATE FLOWER!!!!!!

Did I also mention that I’ve been like the only person in the office all week because I have to take care of all these projects?

WHY MUST I BE SO IMPORTANT??????

Relax. Relate. Release.

So, yeah, you could say I’ve been feeling a little…unhinged.

And on top of that I was feeling excluded from this particular circle of friends and I won’t go into the details because sometimes I forget that my private blog is actually very public because I have a huge mouth and tell everyone about it–anyway, I felt like I was in an episode of The Hills and that I was Heidi–HEIDI–and you would feel bad too because who wants to be the Heidi character???

And I wasn’t going to go out tonite because I wanted to avoid feeling excluded. But then I was like–wait–why am I letting this dictate my social life? I am too cute to be stuck at home on a Friday night and watching repeats of LOST!!!

Sometimes the only person who will rescue you out of your own depression is you.

So things are looking up.

And last night I was at home, doing some more work, when I saw that I had a text from my friend Binnie. She wrote, “Just wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you and I miss you.”

And that just meant so much to me, you know? Here was this person who doesn’t even live in the same city as me and doesn’t even know what’s been going on and she just texted me out of the blue.

It’s nice to know that people think about you.

Sometimes I think that our existence is predicated on the belief that other people remember you exist.

And then my friend Henri called shortly after and asked if I wanted to meet him for drinks.

So I met up with him at this great wine bar in the lower east side– The Ten Bells. It’s by the same people who own Le Pere Pinard so just like it’s sibling it’s very laid back and convivial. Say hello to Fifi at the bar!

And it was a great spring night. Doors and windows were open. We looked out onto the lower east side. Indulged in aged goat cheese and many glasses of velvety red wine.

In life, there will always be people who don’t think fondly of you. Who don’t want to be in the same room as you. Who want nothing to do with you.

And you have to accept that.

But there will also be people who care about you no matter what. Who think of you even though there are miles away. Who agree with you when you say, “He can suck a fat one.”

Life is short. Playas can exit to the left. All my ryde or die bitches can stay to my right.

So all the haters betta Watch Out Now.

Get money, get money.

Last night I attended my first burger club meeting. I even created my burger club nom de guerre: Burgerlicious. Because everything sounds better with -licious attached at the end. Fergalicious. Bagelicious. Syphilliscious.

My friends started this club to find the best burger in New York City. It’s also just an excuse for us to unabashedly eat some juicy meat and wash it down with beer…or Jameson.

I am supposed to meet the club at Wollensky’s Grill at 8 PM but I have some time to kill so I meet up with Sarah and Chelsea at Dos Caminos. I am sure that margaritas and guacamole are a great way to stimulate the palate. Hmmm, maybe I’ll start my own margarita club. The quest to find the city’s most formidable margarita! Ooh, maybe the inaugural meeting will be on Cinco de Mayo!

Genius.

After Dos Caminos, I stroll into Wollensky’s Grill. Henri introduces me to the other diners and I kinda lose track of their names and he accuses me of being drunk but really it’s because all white people’s names start sounding the same after a while and I get confused. Or maybe it was the tequila on the rocks. Drats!

So all fifteen of us order the Wollensky burger. Oh, except one girl. She orders the chicken. The burger club members give her a lot of flack since they are fervent followers of the burger and after all, that is the name of the club. But I have to admit the chicken looked kinda juicy Mmmmm meeeaaaat.

Matt and Todd and I are the first to finish our burgers. We hi-five. You think this is a game biatch?!?! This is burger club !!!

Matt says he should be intimidated since I am half his size and can eat the same amount of food in the same amount of time. Yes, be afraid. Be very afraid. And when I get my first angioplasty at the age of thirty I will be muahahahahahaha-ing all the way to the hospital. (more…)

Friday

Before going to Nurse Bettie for Meredith’s birthday, I meet up with Emi at Paladar for some pre-party margaritas. I don’t want to have a crazy night because it’s supposed to be nice on Saturday so I order tequila on the rocks with lime juice and a vampiro which is just straight up tequila with hibiscus juice. This is my idea of “taking it easy”.

These two guys sitting behind us look like extras in a Fat Joe video and decide to give us each a rose. Like it’s The Bachelor. We decide to give these roses to our friend Meredith because everyone likes receiving hand me down roses on their birthday. (more…)

That’s what some people have been asking this week.

Answer: Sleep, stress, and sugar.

I have completely broken out. I didn’t know you could still break out at the age of twenty-eight but my friend Emi said that it’s possible to get adult onset acne. Oh, it has set in alright. It has colonized the entire left side of my face.

My work events are finally over. But they have left an indelible mark on my skin. I guess the lack of sleep and the over consumption of donuts, bagels, and high fructose corn syrup to keep me awake have incited an over production of oil glands.

But I shall prevail! I shall not let adult onset acne control my self esteem!

But, seriously, will this shit clear up by tonight? I have a party to go to.

You have no idea how excited I am that all my work stuff is over. But I learned alot of lessons. I learned it is unwise to run from event to event in precarious heels and that you should always carry a stack of bandaids in your purse. I also learned that if you’re starving but in a real time crunch you should just grab a kebob from one of those street vendors. That way you can run and eat at the same time. Genius!

And the highlight of the week was meeting this individual. Unfortunately it was at the end of the evening and I was drinking red wine like water. Not so genius.

(Title courtesy of Miss Sarah)

Saturday

Since we’re all at the office on Saturday, my boss is nice enough to take us all out to lunch. We go out for Korean food in K-town where I eat my weight in kimchee and champong. I’m too tired right now to describe it but basically–it’s SPICY.

Its not news that I have digestion issues. I should assiduously avoid spicy food, dairy, and alcohol for the well being of my stomach but then I wouldn’t be able to eat anything! I usually have to pay for it in the end. Literally.

I make plans to meet up with Sarah for cocktails at The Back Room–an establishment that strives for a “speak easy” vibe by serving you $13 cocktails in tea cups. I like authenticity and all but I also like my cocktails in a proper glass.

I hail a cab and as soon as I get in I feel a rumble in my stomach. Actually, not a rumble but more like a fucking riot with villagers plunging pitchforks into my sides. I do some yogic breathing and fervently pray to god to stop the pain, but that spicy food is battling with my intestines. I show up to the bar and promptly go to the restroom. Except I can’t relax because there are girls in there reapplying gloss. Tangent: You can always tell a girl is new to Manhattan by the amount of time that goes into her make up and her outfit. Newbies wear dresses from Intermix. I wear spandex from American Apparel.

I leave the bathroom and ask Sarah if maybe I could use her brother’s bathroom because he lives in the area. Mind you, her brother was also my date to my high school prom. I’m sure I could have taken our intimacy to another level by coming over to his apartment and destroying his plumbing.

But Prom Date is asleep and I am having difficulty standing straight. I notice that there are actually some cute guys at the bar but I figure it’s probably not a good idea to mack it when you’re bending over in pain. I apologize to Sarah and flee. I get in a cab and implore the cab driver to go as fast as he can. He must’ve thought I was sick from drinking too much but I was not. For once.

I arrive at my apartment and just throw my purse on the floor and run to the bathroom.

I suppose I’ve given too much information on the intricacies of my bowels but… we’re friends right??? Unless you’re creepy. In that case, lets stay anonymous strangers who divulge intimate details of our private lives!

Sunday

I meet up with Sarah and Chelsea at La Palapa. They have this insane happy hour on Sundays from like 5-7. Margaritas are $4.50 and bar food is $2.95. Recession what?

The host is a chatty cathy and interrupts our conversation. I am annoyed. Hello, I have important things to discuss! Like the Real Housewives of New York!

In one episode, one of the “real housewives” orders a skinny margarita. It’s basically tequila on the rocks with a splash of lime juice. I have two. They should change the name to a skinny, drunk margarita.

Sarah leaves to go to this film screening and Chelsea and I drink some more and have guacamole with chips and spicy salsa and queso fundido with jalapenos and onions. Digestion issues what?

Afterwards, we meet up with Sarah at The Bitter End to ostensibly see some band play but really we go because there is open bar. Chelsea and I roll up to the Bitter End and declare that the line is too long so we sneak into Peculiar Pub to have beer until the line dies. Genius!

Sarah tells us to hurry up inside so Chelsea manages to smuggle her FULL PINT GLASS in her bag and I chug my beer in about two seconds. Geniusosity!

We wait in line and Sarah sends me a text that this guy I went out with a couple of times is randomly there and you know me, I am full of propriety after consuming three alcoholic beverages in the span of thirty minutes. No, really, it was fine. I can be a nice person! Sometimes!

Sarah’s friend was there and he smuggled in a bottle of fucking Veuve so we are poppin bubbly in plastic cups because we are classy like that.

So we see two bands play.

Did I tell you that I think I hate live music? Well, not all live music. I like live music when I am allowed to get up and dance around. I don’t like live music if I am forced to sit and be quiet.

We leave the Bitter End and go back to Peculiar Pub because clearly I have forgotten that I actually work on Mondays.

Then I stop into Artichoke and get a slice of pizza because NY Mag gave it such a great review that you’d think they wanted this pizza to be their new left testicle.

I try it.

It is good. But not new left testicle good.

While I was walking home, I started thinking about exes and how there are people who can’t be friends with their exes and those who can. I manage to stay friends with most of the guys I’ve dated as long as they weren’t total fucktards. And I think it’s because when I see them I have absolutely no feeling. Its so odd to me that you can be so unattached to someone you used to be in love with or heartbroken over. I think it’s because when you are in love or hearthbroken over someone they are like an object that you imbue all these feelings for. You say things like “Omigod he was so amazing; I will never meet anyone so amazing.” Or “I hate him! He’s an asshole!”

And then one day you don’t feel anything.

And you see them and think, Oh, he’s just this dude. This vessel. He could be anything or anyone. His existence is completely contingent on your feelings for him. And if you don’t have any feelings, then he doesn’t exist.

I am tired today.

I am at work today. Let me point out that it is Saturday and gorgeous out. My co-worker brought in a box of beard papa’s and had just enough so that everyone on our floor could have only one. After I ate mine I went into the fridge and took another one. That was my way of telling the office, “This is what you get for fucking with my weekend.”

Beard papas are so delicious and almost worth a journey to the office on a Saturday. The Beard Papa’s website describes itself as “World’s best cream puffs”. I think that is an understatement.

I don’t know what it is but lately I’ve had the most urgent sugar cravings. The other day I went to Subway and had an oatmeal cookie, a white chocolate macadamia nut cookie, and a dark chocolate macadamia nut cookie. And then yesterday I had a donut, another oatmeal cookie, and downed a fruit juice. I’m like children of the corn syrup. I wonder if all these sugar cravings is a sign that maybe I’m pregnant??? That would be hilarious. My baby would be half Asian/half hot bartender and !00% alcoholic.

I hope that hot bartender never finds my blog.

In other news, Nerve.com emailed me and said they fixed my gender. Glad to know that I’m still considered a woman. I perused the site last night and tried to ignore the fact that I was at home on a Friday night, drinking a glass of red wine, and looking at personals. At least I wasn’t watching WE’s Cinematherapy.

But looking through the personals was kinda like a horror movie in itself because I instantly recognized one dude I dated via Match.com. Ugh, the online dating world is too small! This was the guy who had very deceptive photographs in his profile and turned out to be much heavier in real life. Not that I care about those things. I mean, when I make jokes about the morbidly obese of course I’m not referring to people I am dating! Anyway, this dude is using THE SAME PHOTO from his match profile. And mind you I met him on Match a year ago. I want to email him and be like “Please use a photo from this century.”

Anyway, all the red wine fueled my curiosity and wonder so I clicked on his profile. He says that people tell him he looks like Robbie Williams. It’s almost as if he is taunting me to make a fat joke.

I am so mean. I’m horrible. Who am I to judge? But at least I don’t post photos of myself from 1994.

As I am leaving the office my boss says to me, “You’re leaving so early.” I feel bad but leave anyway because I figure I shouldn’t deny him the pleasure of missing my presence.

I am so exhausted and ready to hit the sack but I have to persevere like a no-limit soldier and make it to the lower east side for my friend Steve’s going away dinner. He’s my favorite Frenchman and this is his last weekend in New York before he goes to Africa for two months. Is it just me or is Africa like the new West Coast?

So we all congregate at Le Pere Pinard and have glasses of wine at the bar. I order a rose but I can’t tell if it’s my congested nose or my weak palate but it kinda tastes like rotten apple cider. I have Steve taste it and he agrees that it is a bit odd. If a Frenchman declares it odd then it must be odd! So he talks to the bartender in French and the bartender says something about how it is a special kind of rose with a distinct flavor and that it was like produced from his mother’s vineyard.

I don’t think he liked me after that.

Whatever, the first five buttons on his shirt were unbuttoned. If you can’t conceal your bare chest then I can’t conceal my disdain for your mother’s wine. Actually, I don’t know if the wine was really from his mother’s vineyard. I think they were just trying to fuck with me because I don’t speak French. Why must I instantly believe everything I see and hear?? (more…)

I don’t understand how I can be sick for the third time this year. I mean, I take preventative measures. I eat garlic. I eat so much garlic that I might have to start wearing deodorant again because that shit comes out of your pores. I eat kale. KALE. I exercise. Why would I torture myself with leafy greens and exercise if I am still getting sick???

Oh, I know why.

Because people like to cough on me.

Has that ever happened to you? When someone doesn’t cover their mouth so they decide to just cough ON you like you are part of the air?

A co-worker actually did that to me yesterday and I was so offended that I said, “You need to cover your mouth!”

That really pisses me off. Just as much as people who fart in restaurants.

And having a cold is far worse than the flu. At least with the flu you can miss work and sleep all day but with a cold you’re still fine enough to show up but every little activity makes you completely miserable.

Like trying to open a bottle of gatorade for instance.

Are they trying to make gatorade child resistant or something because opening the bottle requires the strength of a gladiator.

I got so frustrated I almost threw the bottle at the wall.

Sometimes I think I have anger issues.

But I only get angry when seemingly simple things turn unnecessarily complex.

Like trying to fall asleep.

Or opening a jar of marinara sauce or waiting for a subway that never appears or sitting by your phone and hoping that some hot bartender will call you and offer to make you a hot toddy only to curse yourself for deleting his number.

And New York is like a callous lover when you’re sick. Whipping your face with cold wind and protracting every menial task into an arduous affair.

I just want a hot toddy.

Or a hot body. Ha.

I was thinking the other day that I hate sharing my bed with guys because I can never fall asleep. It doesn’t matter how big or nice their bed is, I just can’t get comfortable. I like to extend my body so that it colonizes the entire bed. If I had it my way I would just kick the guy off and do my own thing. Like this:

But lately I find myself spooning my pillow as if it were a person.

Sometimes it is nice to wake from slumber and find yourself ensconced in warm arms. And have them rub your bare belly and whisper “you have soft skin”.

And you reply to such a sweet sentiment by saying:

Oh, it’s because I moisturize with Nivea every day.