I’ve been a fan of sports since I was little, wearing my backwards Beauty & the Beast baseball cap while I played baseball and football with the boys at recess. I’m a baseball, college football and hockey kind of girl (in that order), so imagine my absolute joy at the Phillies entering the World Series last night while I live right here, in Philadelphia.
I am NOT a Phils fan by any means – Lord no. I bleed the blue of a Yankee, through and through. The only reason I have an Utley jersey hanging in my closet is because a friend of mine bought it for me for my birthday as a joke – and you bet your ass that it’s hanging right over a Yankees t-shirt.
Living in this city allows me to feel the absolute hype and hysteria over the situation and it’s a really cool thing to experience.
Tonight the Yankees will win and clinch their spot next to the Phils in the World Series (confidence is key, baby). And then…well…things are gonna get interesting for me.
My Yankees apparel is all ready here – I just have to make sure I don’t get the shit beat out of me for donning it.
At the end of all this, there will be two possible outcomes – the Phils will repeat and I’ll be forced be at the shit-end of all my friends ridicule down here OR…
The Yanks will take it and I’ll have my day – all those months of heckling will be forced into a friend-wide silence that I will bask in as I stand there and say “I TOLD YOU SO!”
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
gory glory.
Let’s take a second to talk about my balls.
My metaphorical ones, that is. You know – my cajones, my stones, my rocks. I’m not afraid of a lot of things. I have no problem doing most things, experiencing most things (except your occasional flock of birds - PLEASE get them OUT OF HERE).
One thing I DO have a problem with is scary movies. Since dating Tony, I’ve been seeing more and more scary movies and I’m now figuring out what really gets under my skin. It’s not so much the blood and gore at this point – it’s the paranormal things. It’s demons and ghouls and crawling, jerking figures. But I sit through all of it, and I do it well.
My scary movie balls are pretty big, but I didn’t get there without a fight. Oh no. Don’t like scary movies but find yourself being dragged to one? Listen to me – I know just what to do.
Got contacts? Take those bitches out and throw your glasses on. There’s a sense of security in knowing that if you look a little too far in one direction, your world will become a blur, thus softening what’s on screen. Or, just take them off completely. The people you’re with don’t need to know you’re blind as a bat without your glasses on. What you see on screen will just be a lot of blotchy figures – Saw V went by in big red blurs for me.
Put your knees up. This will only be a problem if the theater is full, thus making the seat in front of you occupied. Otherwise, putting your knees up gives you something to stare at when things start to get crazy. It serves as a barrier to the screen – you can pick and chose which corner of the screen you’d like to stare at instead of the whole thing by shifting your knees about. This method also works well if you wear a hat. Hats are way more effective, but you might get called out if you pull the brim down too far.
And last, but not least, and most important - RESEARCH. Yea, it’s not just for school – it’s for your nerves and sanity. It’s going to ruin the movie, sure. But who cares?! Did you really want to see this in the first place? Probably not. If you aren’t attending the opening night of the film, go online and look at reviews. Got a twist ending to it? Google it. YouTube it and you might get lucky. A lot of reviews talk about specific scenes, so you know what’s coming. Prepare yourself for what’s to come and it all won’t be such a shock.
So get out there, go see some crazy films that you didn’t want to be a part of in the first place. You can at least discuss it with your friends (to a certain extent) and maybe after a while you’ll remove the cap and drop your knees and take it in in all its gory glory.
My metaphorical ones, that is. You know – my cajones, my stones, my rocks. I’m not afraid of a lot of things. I have no problem doing most things, experiencing most things (except your occasional flock of birds - PLEASE get them OUT OF HERE).
One thing I DO have a problem with is scary movies. Since dating Tony, I’ve been seeing more and more scary movies and I’m now figuring out what really gets under my skin. It’s not so much the blood and gore at this point – it’s the paranormal things. It’s demons and ghouls and crawling, jerking figures. But I sit through all of it, and I do it well.
My scary movie balls are pretty big, but I didn’t get there without a fight. Oh no. Don’t like scary movies but find yourself being dragged to one? Listen to me – I know just what to do.
Got contacts? Take those bitches out and throw your glasses on. There’s a sense of security in knowing that if you look a little too far in one direction, your world will become a blur, thus softening what’s on screen. Or, just take them off completely. The people you’re with don’t need to know you’re blind as a bat without your glasses on. What you see on screen will just be a lot of blotchy figures – Saw V went by in big red blurs for me.
Put your knees up. This will only be a problem if the theater is full, thus making the seat in front of you occupied. Otherwise, putting your knees up gives you something to stare at when things start to get crazy. It serves as a barrier to the screen – you can pick and chose which corner of the screen you’d like to stare at instead of the whole thing by shifting your knees about. This method also works well if you wear a hat. Hats are way more effective, but you might get called out if you pull the brim down too far.
And last, but not least, and most important - RESEARCH. Yea, it’s not just for school – it’s for your nerves and sanity. It’s going to ruin the movie, sure. But who cares?! Did you really want to see this in the first place? Probably not. If you aren’t attending the opening night of the film, go online and look at reviews. Got a twist ending to it? Google it. YouTube it and you might get lucky. A lot of reviews talk about specific scenes, so you know what’s coming. Prepare yourself for what’s to come and it all won’t be such a shock.
So get out there, go see some crazy films that you didn’t want to be a part of in the first place. You can at least discuss it with your friends (to a certain extent) and maybe after a while you’ll remove the cap and drop your knees and take it in in all its gory glory.
Monday, October 5, 2009
i want your love, i want your revenge.
Today I decided to go out and do something old fashioned – a lil ole thing I like to call human interaction.
I pulled on my favorite boots, grabbed the gorgeous Marc Jacobs Tony bought for me and crammed it full of resumes and writing clips. I traipsed the city from 2nd to 19th Street, Market to League, and handed packets in to any publication I could find.
It went as well as one would expect. But there was one place that stuck out in my mind.
When I got to Philadelphia Style, I nearly threw up from the sheer overwhelming feeling that hit me when I walked in. It came from the fact that everything clicked and I knew this was the place I had to work.
It was in a remote part of town, the door outside was big and black, as well as the name plate that indicated the company inside. I walked in to blood red walls adorned with blown-up pictures of select covers of the magazine. It was quiet and the secretary desk was unmanned – until a huge fluff of white came bounding out of the back to jump up on my legs and lick my hands. The dog was adorable and soon followed by a woman, who I gave my packet to. She said she would pass it on to the editor.
I hope so. And I hope I get a call.
I walked in that office and saw myself. I saw myself traveling there day in and out, working there and enjoying every minute of it. I saw comfort and guidance. I saw the era of a new me.
I’ve been seriously considering going back to school for fashion lately. I’ve got journalism and marketing under my belt. Why not add the passion that comes second to writing to it?
I pulled on my favorite boots, grabbed the gorgeous Marc Jacobs Tony bought for me and crammed it full of resumes and writing clips. I traipsed the city from 2nd to 19th Street, Market to League, and handed packets in to any publication I could find.
It went as well as one would expect. But there was one place that stuck out in my mind.
When I got to Philadelphia Style, I nearly threw up from the sheer overwhelming feeling that hit me when I walked in. It came from the fact that everything clicked and I knew this was the place I had to work.
It was in a remote part of town, the door outside was big and black, as well as the name plate that indicated the company inside. I walked in to blood red walls adorned with blown-up pictures of select covers of the magazine. It was quiet and the secretary desk was unmanned – until a huge fluff of white came bounding out of the back to jump up on my legs and lick my hands. The dog was adorable and soon followed by a woman, who I gave my packet to. She said she would pass it on to the editor.
I hope so. And I hope I get a call.
I walked in that office and saw myself. I saw myself traveling there day in and out, working there and enjoying every minute of it. I saw comfort and guidance. I saw the era of a new me.
I’ve been seriously considering going back to school for fashion lately. I’ve got journalism and marketing under my belt. Why not add the passion that comes second to writing to it?
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
i dream of to-do lists.
I realized last night, as I lay in bed, that I never relax.
Ok, for example – I have a really hard time going to sleep because my head is constantly swimming with thoughts. Last night as I lay in bed I thought about this:
- What to wear for my Lady Gaga Halloween outfit – all the make-up and accessories possibilities
- Calculated the hours I had put in for my job this week and how much I had left
- Contemplated what outfits to buy/wear for the Wicked Faire we’re going to in February
- Thought about going home next week & who I was going to see
- Where I'm going to get the OPI Russian Navy matte nail polish I've been lusting after
None of this is pressing. I cannot accomplish any of the above things while it’s that hour of the night. Yet I lay there and I think them and I can’t sleep.
A typical relaxation for others is not so for me. I can’t just SIT. The above happens. I plan and plot and organize and rearrange things mentally.
A lot of it has to do with this job thing. I need to just go downtown next week and go door to door, handing out packets of my work.
I saw The September Issue last night. It not only made me want to shop, but also to get back into the major publication mode. I miss the days of being editor-in-chief and of writing for the Weekender. I miss interviewing people and bringing out the best in the stories they had to tell. I miss deadlines.
I miss deadlines. What the eff is wrong with me?
I just miss it all.
Ok, for example – I have a really hard time going to sleep because my head is constantly swimming with thoughts. Last night as I lay in bed I thought about this:
- What to wear for my Lady Gaga Halloween outfit – all the make-up and accessories possibilities
- Calculated the hours I had put in for my job this week and how much I had left
- Contemplated what outfits to buy/wear for the Wicked Faire we’re going to in February
- Thought about going home next week & who I was going to see
- Where I'm going to get the OPI Russian Navy matte nail polish I've been lusting after
None of this is pressing. I cannot accomplish any of the above things while it’s that hour of the night. Yet I lay there and I think them and I can’t sleep.
A typical relaxation for others is not so for me. I can’t just SIT. The above happens. I plan and plot and organize and rearrange things mentally.
A lot of it has to do with this job thing. I need to just go downtown next week and go door to door, handing out packets of my work.
I saw The September Issue last night. It not only made me want to shop, but also to get back into the major publication mode. I miss the days of being editor-in-chief and of writing for the Weekender. I miss interviewing people and bringing out the best in the stories they had to tell. I miss deadlines.
I miss deadlines. What the eff is wrong with me?
I just miss it all.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
my cay.
I had dogs from the age of five until the age of eighteen. One after the other after the other. The first one was too big for a small kid like me. The second one was too mean. The third one was absolutely perfect and my favorite (Digger, a hot dog dachshund that got to be entirely too huge and broke his back jumping off our back porch). When he died it sent me into my first little bout of depression and sense of true loss ever. My parents saw this and the very next day I had a Dalmatian in my hands – a dog that became too mean after months of living with us and bit the neighbor’s daughter. Doggie number four was gone and replaced with doggie number five, a Jack Russell that promptly tore the house to bits. That dog was gone back to the farm we purchased her from in a flash.
Throughout all that, I had also acquired two turtles (one died, one set free to the river), two mice (who mated, had many babies, and all were sold), a guinea pig, and a bird, the only one in my life I ever loved and was not afraid of, that lived for thirteen years.
Then it all came to an abrupt halt. After the guinea pig ceased to live I was petless. It went on for four years until, at this time last year, I became hell-bent on acquiring two black mice and naming them Frank and Dean.
After finding out that black mice are scarce, two male mice in a cage are not the best idea in the world and most Petcos don’t carry two black females at a time, I settled on one little black mouse that I adopted, purely for the fact that he was a little runt that had scratches all over his body, no tail, and hairless spots due to a fight he got into with a much bigger mouse.
I named him Calix, the Greek name for “handsome” and he took a two hour trek home with me from Philadelphia, only to be nestled safely into my home back in NEPA. As the months went by he fattened up, his scratches never disappearing but only becoming more prominent as he grew a little wider. He had a wheel that squeaked that he came to love and run on at 3 AM every morning, without fail. He liked tiny colored pretzels as snacks. He never lost his skittish side, allowing Tony to pick him up only when he had nowhere else to go and he still always pooped in his hand out of fear.
When I moved to Philly I left him home and my mom and dad took care of him. It was always fun to come back and see my little guy growing, burrowing tunnels in his bedding and running in and out of the PVC pipe my dad cut him for a play thing.
I grew to love him. Everyone did, even though in the beginning they all joked about what an ugly mouse he was. He was the underdog that came shining through and stole my family and friend’s hearts. He was always in the corner of the living room and everyone continuously stopped to say hi before even talking to any of us.
Yesterday, Calix died.
He’d been scratching at himself for week, not sleeping in his purple igloo, not burrowing any more. He lay and he scratched and he shook. And finally, yesterday, he succumbed to whatever was ailing him.
I didn’t know how sad I’d be when this day came, as I haven’t been home the past five months to take constant care of him. But I cried when my mom told me, and quite a good deal.
A pet is a pet, no matter what, and to lose one is an awful thing. I will never forget Calix, my little mouse that could, and it makes me sad to think there will never be another quite like him.
I love you and miss you buddy.
Throughout all that, I had also acquired two turtles (one died, one set free to the river), two mice (who mated, had many babies, and all were sold), a guinea pig, and a bird, the only one in my life I ever loved and was not afraid of, that lived for thirteen years.
Then it all came to an abrupt halt. After the guinea pig ceased to live I was petless. It went on for four years until, at this time last year, I became hell-bent on acquiring two black mice and naming them Frank and Dean.
After finding out that black mice are scarce, two male mice in a cage are not the best idea in the world and most Petcos don’t carry two black females at a time, I settled on one little black mouse that I adopted, purely for the fact that he was a little runt that had scratches all over his body, no tail, and hairless spots due to a fight he got into with a much bigger mouse.
I named him Calix, the Greek name for “handsome” and he took a two hour trek home with me from Philadelphia, only to be nestled safely into my home back in NEPA. As the months went by he fattened up, his scratches never disappearing but only becoming more prominent as he grew a little wider. He had a wheel that squeaked that he came to love and run on at 3 AM every morning, without fail. He liked tiny colored pretzels as snacks. He never lost his skittish side, allowing Tony to pick him up only when he had nowhere else to go and he still always pooped in his hand out of fear.
When I moved to Philly I left him home and my mom and dad took care of him. It was always fun to come back and see my little guy growing, burrowing tunnels in his bedding and running in and out of the PVC pipe my dad cut him for a play thing.
I grew to love him. Everyone did, even though in the beginning they all joked about what an ugly mouse he was. He was the underdog that came shining through and stole my family and friend’s hearts. He was always in the corner of the living room and everyone continuously stopped to say hi before even talking to any of us.
Yesterday, Calix died.
He’d been scratching at himself for week, not sleeping in his purple igloo, not burrowing any more. He lay and he scratched and he shook. And finally, yesterday, he succumbed to whatever was ailing him.
I didn’t know how sad I’d be when this day came, as I haven’t been home the past five months to take constant care of him. But I cried when my mom told me, and quite a good deal.
A pet is a pet, no matter what, and to lose one is an awful thing. I will never forget Calix, my little mouse that could, and it makes me sad to think there will never be another quite like him.
I love you and miss you buddy.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
i could punch a small child at this point.
The great thing about this little ditty called “the Internets” (thanks, Gramp) is that you can promote the shit out of anything you want. You can bestow greatness upon this organization or that company, or maybe that particular blog.
The flipside to this (which is one I’m not partial to) is bashing the hell out of something that displeases you. I’m not usually one to gripe; I generally enjoy everything in life (except maybe onions and your occasional pair of skinny jeans), but this must be said:
Hey, American Education Services? GO FUCK YOURSELF.
For some reason, they nixed my incentive program on my subsidized loan – which doesn’t allow EARLY PAYMENT – because there’s a rule that I have to pay a certain amount every month, even if the bill they send me calls for LESS than that amount. It states this nowhere. And the one bill I paid that WAS less than the required amount? Was eight dollars short.
Here’s the thing that really pisses me off – I pay my bill (at most) five days early, if not right on the dot (even though there’s a fifteen day grace period afterwards) and they’re going to fault me for this.
I had TWO reports sent to me that my payment was delinquent. Know why? Well their explanation is that since I send my bill in that early, the computer reprints another bill because it doesn’t recognize my first payment, thus making it SEEM delinquent. This has happened twice.
Who ever heard of not being able to pay their bill early?
OH and – let’s look at it this way: I’m a college student in a shitty ass economy who is actually paying her bills ON TIME and OVER what each payment asks for EVERY TIME so I can just get them out of my way!
Thanks for putting me through the ringer, AES. I’m probably one of the only people right now who can not only pay their bills, but pay EXTRA on them and ON TIME and you’re dicking me over.
Your employees are incompetent and your system is asinine.
The flipside to this (which is one I’m not partial to) is bashing the hell out of something that displeases you. I’m not usually one to gripe; I generally enjoy everything in life (except maybe onions and your occasional pair of skinny jeans), but this must be said:
Hey, American Education Services? GO FUCK YOURSELF.
For some reason, they nixed my incentive program on my subsidized loan – which doesn’t allow EARLY PAYMENT – because there’s a rule that I have to pay a certain amount every month, even if the bill they send me calls for LESS than that amount. It states this nowhere. And the one bill I paid that WAS less than the required amount? Was eight dollars short.
Here’s the thing that really pisses me off – I pay my bill (at most) five days early, if not right on the dot (even though there’s a fifteen day grace period afterwards) and they’re going to fault me for this.
I had TWO reports sent to me that my payment was delinquent. Know why? Well their explanation is that since I send my bill in that early, the computer reprints another bill because it doesn’t recognize my first payment, thus making it SEEM delinquent. This has happened twice.
Who ever heard of not being able to pay their bill early?
OH and – let’s look at it this way: I’m a college student in a shitty ass economy who is actually paying her bills ON TIME and OVER what each payment asks for EVERY TIME so I can just get them out of my way!
Thanks for putting me through the ringer, AES. I’m probably one of the only people right now who can not only pay their bills, but pay EXTRA on them and ON TIME and you’re dicking me over.
Your employees are incompetent and your system is asinine.
Monday, June 22, 2009
then buffy staked edward, the end.
I was planning on starting this entry in a calm, story-like manner – but I can’t. Right now, I can barely breathe. I can’t think straight.
I am going to be meeting this man come August and I think I’m going to die shortly after.
Ok, phew. Now on to what I was going to say, which has a lot to do with James anyway.
A couple years ago, no more than ten and no less than five, a young girl was flu-ridden on her couch, desperately trying to fill the void that was three days off from school and nothing but warm Coke and crackers.
Having just come off an Idle Hands kick, it was no surprise that she stopped flipping channels on a red-haired Seth Green, apparently part of a band that was traveling to LA and dealing with…vampires. Actually, one vampire in particular that went by the name of Spike and who the girl had yet to see. But, Seth Green was enough and so she stayed on that channel, watching as the hour of nine turned into the hour of ten and Buffy the Vampire Slayer gave way to Angel.
Thus started my foray into the world of Buffy. I was three and a half seasons in, but I’d be damned if that stopped me. I read up on episodes I missed, watched the reruns and caught myself up quickly, following it all the way to its demise in Season 7 and even hanging on for some Angel.
Buffy was a huge part of my life. I loved the characters, I loved the plots. I adored being a part of that pop culture cult.
This Saturday, I met my first celebrity ever and I was fortunate enough to have it be someone who is part of Buffy.
Yup, that’s Anya! Emma Caulfield is a doll. I was so star-struck I did nothing more than say, “Hi!” and “Thank you!” haha, but that’s ok! I got a picture with her and she signed my Once More With Feeling soundtrack.
And now…..whew, well now I’m going to meet the man I immediately dumped Seth for – James Marsters. James played Spike on Buffy and that man…yikes. I don’t even know what to say right now. He’s amazing. And I’m going to meet him.
He can bite me any time. Mmm, mm, mmmm.
I am going to be meeting this man come August and I think I’m going to die shortly after.
Ok, phew. Now on to what I was going to say, which has a lot to do with James anyway.
A couple years ago, no more than ten and no less than five, a young girl was flu-ridden on her couch, desperately trying to fill the void that was three days off from school and nothing but warm Coke and crackers.
Having just come off an Idle Hands kick, it was no surprise that she stopped flipping channels on a red-haired Seth Green, apparently part of a band that was traveling to LA and dealing with…vampires. Actually, one vampire in particular that went by the name of Spike and who the girl had yet to see. But, Seth Green was enough and so she stayed on that channel, watching as the hour of nine turned into the hour of ten and Buffy the Vampire Slayer gave way to Angel.
Thus started my foray into the world of Buffy. I was three and a half seasons in, but I’d be damned if that stopped me. I read up on episodes I missed, watched the reruns and caught myself up quickly, following it all the way to its demise in Season 7 and even hanging on for some Angel.
Buffy was a huge part of my life. I loved the characters, I loved the plots. I adored being a part of that pop culture cult.
This Saturday, I met my first celebrity ever and I was fortunate enough to have it be someone who is part of Buffy.
Yup, that’s Anya! Emma Caulfield is a doll. I was so star-struck I did nothing more than say, “Hi!” and “Thank you!” haha, but that’s ok! I got a picture with her and she signed my Once More With Feeling soundtrack.
And now…..whew, well now I’m going to meet the man I immediately dumped Seth for – James Marsters. James played Spike on Buffy and that man…yikes. I don’t even know what to say right now. He’s amazing. And I’m going to meet him.
He can bite me any time. Mmm, mm, mmmm.
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