Friday, September 29, 2006

Ca$h Money and Marvelou$: $370 Worth of one particular Friday.

From a recent email sent by a friend of mine, it's a Purity Test! Read on, if YOU DARE!


Look over the following list and see how many of these things you have done. Add up the money amount along the way, then post the amount. JUST CHARGE YOURSELF ONCE EVEN THOUGH YOU MAY STILL DO IT EVERYDAY!!!

Smoked pot -- $10
Dropped acid -- $5
Ever had sex at church -- $25
Woke up in the morning and did not know the person who was next to you -- $40
Had sex with someone on MySpace -- $25
Had sex for money -- $100
Ever had sex with a Puerto Rican -- $20
Vandalized something -- $20
Had sex on your parents' bed -- $10
Beat up someone -- $20
Been jumped -- $10
Crossed dressed -- $10
Given money to stripper -- $25
Hooked up in the bathroom at a bar--$10
Been in love with a stripper -- $20
Kissed some one whose name you didn't know -- $5
Had sex with someone whose last name you didn't know--$25
Hit on some one of the same sex while at work -- $15
Ever drive drunk -- $20
Ever got drunk at work, or went to work while still drunk -- $50
Used toys while having sex -- $30
Got drunk, don't remember informaton from the night before and/or passed out -- $20
Went skinny dipping -- $5
Had sex in a pool -- $20
Kissed someone of the same sex -- $10
Had sex with someone of the same sex -- $20
Cheated on your significant other -- $10
Masturbated -- $10
Cheated on your significant other with their relative or close friend -- $20
Got oral -- $5
Gave oral -- $5
Gave / got oral in a car/cab while it was moving -- $25
Stole something -- $10
Had sex with someone who'd been in jail -- $25
Made a nasty home video -- $15
Had a threesome -- $50
Been in the same room while someone was having sex -- $25
Had sex while someone else was in the room--$75
Had sex in the wild -- $20
Stole something worth over more than a hundred dollars -- $20
Had sex with someone 10 years older -- $20
Had sex with someone under 21 and you are over 27 -- $25
Been in love with two people or more at the same time -- $50
Said you loved someone but didn't mean it -- $25
Went streaking -- $5
Went streaking in broad daylight -- $15
Been arrested -- $5
Spent time in jail -- $15
Had sex with someone who you knew you'd never see again--$15
Peed in the pool -- $0.50
Played spin the bottle -- $5
Drank other people's drinks--$10
Done something you regret -- $20
Had sex with your best friend -- $20
Had sex with someone you work with at work -- $25
Had anal sex -- $80
Lied to your mate -- $5
Lied to your mate about the sex being good -- $25


I realize most people would read this list and tick off things based on years of teenage drinking, collegiate Greek antics, and wedding reception open-bar fueled inebriation. I, on the other hand, seem treat it like a to do list for a Friday night after work wind down. It's a time to do a little self-evaluation when, we realize that the list sums up a scant few hours spent with an attractive-nay, VERY attractive- co-worker on one recent Friday evening. One night, and a total of $370.00. [Eds. note- some of these items were bolded prior, but I decided it was too much for even me to handle when it was on paper and removed the indicators. I'll let you go ahead and assemble the items leading to that total, like some sort of algebra problem where you have to show your work]

I will say this about myself: I am NEVER boring.

Nick Drake, You Tricked Me Into Sleeping With You- DANG!!!





Don't know how you do the voodoo that you do so well, Mister Drake. But you certainly pulled one over on this lady. Somehow you managed to hoodwink me into handing over the underpants and I don't know how but I DO know that I liked it. A lot.

What will happen to the weasel, indeed.

Little Fat Pug Nose Face.




I was HOWLING just now at work. There are tears in my eyes. I love you, Ricky. I love you.

The Making of XANADU.



Someone may have cried when she saw parts of this. Someone may also, based on this type of unappealing behavior, die alone and not be discovered until the smell alerts her landlord to open the door, whereupon he is greeted by the sight of one of her many cats-let's say this particular one is named Impy-yanking her remaining eye from its socket and chewing, ever so nonchalantly.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Hatefully Charming's Glory Hole: Episode #3.



Another blast from the past and not, it is hoped, your ass. Tee hee.

Friday, January 28, 2005
So Says I.


I have had two professors that talked in a way that was eerily reminiscent of cartoon character, Elmer Fudd.

The first was my driver's ed teacher in high school, who, during one of those "Blood On the Pavement" type fright filmstrips chose to wait until after a gruesome image of two corpses in a flaming automobile to announce, "There's the crispy critters" and them chuckle at himself. But instead it sounded like he said, "cwispy cwitters". I hated him and his mumbling and so I ditched class all the time. That's right, I almost flunked Driver's Ed, folks. My best friend Becky and I defaced his picture in our yearbooks with the phrase, "you wascalwy tuwn signal!"

The second Elmer Fudd was an ancient college English Literature professor, who had open contempt for the class and muttered his way through Chaucer all the while insulting us for being "stupid" as we fell asleep to his freakish droning. He once was directly behind me in the hallway as we proceeded to an elevator, and he said, "Not so fast, my dear", and indicated I should slow down to walk with him. We stood in the elevator in silence, while he stared directly at my profile with a weird grin. I was creeped out and didn't want to make eye contact with him. Of course I didn't understand what he had even said before we got in the elevator until months later. Then I was repulsed at the fact that he was being kind of pervy. Especially considering that earlier he had insinuated that the class was a bunch of half wits.

Jesus, filmstrips? I am old.

Women Who I Am Not, But Who Also Have Reddish Curly Hair And Who I Get Compared To Occasionally.




Tuesday, September 26, 2006

What A Feeling!



And that feeling is...nausea due to my poor choice in outfits. Someone watched too much "Flashdance". You see, I had some sort of freak out where I decided I needed to dress up to go out to a fun party Saturday- but only after looking at the (sad but true) website photo gallery for the Mis-Shapes party. Let the record state I am too old to even begin to try to emulate this kind of get up. It it the "Logan's Run" of style, meant only for precocious, slender, lovely, Eurotrash-wanna-be teenagers. Ones who, if they get the Pulp reference therein, were in elementary school at the time Jarvis and his bunch were at their heyday. Whereas at that time, I was buying "Different Class" at the secondhand half of Lou's Records in Leucadia, along with a Meat Puppets disc and probably a Teenage Fanclub import, so I'd have cool studying/necking music for my college dorm room. Eeek. Grandma likes to recollect her Brit Pop olden days!

Back to the lecture at hand: Not only did I look at pictures of the too cool for schooliest prior to a night out and have an inadequacy fit, I then let the American Apparel on Smith Street trick me into thinking it was appropriate to wear an electric blue cotton nightgown and black leggings out -IN PUBLIC. Oh, there's more- I cinched it with a jaunty beige suede sash-belt and wore bright red pumps. Someone is patriotic! As you can see the results were tragic. I am nothing if not pathetic. In the neighboring photo, poor Kloke is force to drink even more in order to tolerate my attempts at "fashion".

The irony is, we were at a birthday party for a new friend who is going to have his own show on Style Network. I suspect I may be asked to appear...in one of the "BEFORE" segments, you know- one of those scolding host shows where they take away my silver sequined belts and camoflauge trucker hats and midwestern Mom denim and slap my hand when I try to put a butterfly clip in my hair. Jennifer Beals, you minx! How you've deceived me lo these many moons! And YOU, Solid Gold's Costume Department!!! I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIEND!!!

In closing: I should have just worn my uniform of skinny jeans, cute flats and a decent tank top. I had to go and complicate it. Let the photos, then, stand as my punishment. And YOURS.



I implore you.


Do not do as I did and ingest three quarters of a bag of Parmesan & Garlic Pita Chips at 2 am after a night of ennui. You won't like the consequences in the morning. Trust me on this.

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Hatefully Charming's Glory Hole: Episode Two.


A repost from the coffers of my pathetic little life. Do enjoy.



Rara Avis
April 23, 2005

I looked at myself yesterday and decided I was not healthy. What was my first clue, you ask? Was it the little silver mountain of Hershey's Kisses wrappers next to my laptop? The suspicious clink of numerous discarded wine bottles in my Islamic, non-drinking landlord's recycle bin? Or perhaps the fact that the last time I willingly had a glass of water, it was to stave off the inevitable nauseua I was going to be experiencing after ingesting 4-5 more Grey Goose & cranberries than I could possibly handle?

The final straw was when I asked Ben if he thought I'd gained any weight. He without hesitation said yes. Then I said, "Do I look chubby?" He considered, then said, "Well, you're on the borderline of chubby. Like, I wouldn't say you were chubby but you're getting close."

That does it. Things are going to change.

So as of this morning I have had two glasses of water. And handful of raisins. And half a whole wheat bagel with almond butter and grape preserves. I am on a mission. This mission includes avoiding excess consumption of soda (I am already about to cry on that one) carbs (so I have to throw out all my beloved snack crackers) and of course, candy. And I have, have, have to cut down on the drinking.

My drinking goes in cycles. I'll be a drunk assed hellion for 6 or 7 months- meaning I'm out at least 2 times a week if not more, hammered and rowdy- and then, I switch back into "I haven't been drunk in months" minsdet. I am in the former mode as of January, but sense that I may go back to being drunk every couple of weeks (as opposed to every other night) soon.

I did a quick, depressing equasion: How many times have I been drunk this past week?

April 17th: Went out after my show, did not intend to have more than one drink but people kept buying them for me. So why say no to that? That would be rude. Sara and I dig in purses for change. She is the brave one, so she walks up to the bar with only a few paper bills in hand, the rest being coin, and gets drinks (I am not only a chubby drunk, I am a coward to boot). Only have 4 beers total (or was it five?), but this was on an empty stomach, so I am a bit tiddly. Giulia, Sara and I are harrssed by an obese man with a Montell Jordan jukebox fetish, who I begin to refer to as my "dad". His pockets are, comically and tragically, turned inside out of his ill-fitting pants. My friend/old roommate Deb is visiting from San Francisco, so she and I then go home and eat at the Carrol Gardens Diner, where it seems wise to have a bacon cheeseburger, fries and a Coke at 1 am on a Sunday.

April 18th: Went to see Liam's show. Met Anne at the Hat prior and had a large one of their gasoline-powerful margaritas along with a handful of chips. Smart plan. Went to the show, spilt a bottle of wine with Anne. Went to the Magician, had 2 glasses of wine and about 3 peanuts. Went somewhere else in the LES (can't remember) had a beer? I think? Went home, laid in bed and thought, how the fuck did I drink that much? Had the spins.

April 19th: Wrote sketches with Sara. Had two beers. Went to see Midnight Pajama Jam taping. Did not drink at the show- but did eat a guacamole smothered fried catfish taco at, oh, 1 am? Nice.

April 20th: DID NOT DRINK. EXCEPT FOR A HALF A GLASS OF RED WINE. THAT SO DOES NOT COUNT. Where's my token, dammit? Porter came over, I made outrageously fattening french fries w/ a butter/garlic/parsley sauce and red-pepper turkey burgers. Then we went on a walk and got ice cream. Something tells me that in order to make up for those fries, I would have needed to take a walk back and forth over the Brooklyn Bridge a few times. Say, 23.

April 21st: Anne and I drink some 40s, go to Quinton's birthday, where I have 2 beers, then go downtown, stop in at Pommes Frites and eat some amazing fries drenched in blue cheese sauce, then on to Telephone Bar, where we have 2 beers, then go to Welcome to the Johnson's, where we are picked up on poorly by NYU freshman as we drink a PBR, then to Motor City, where we have another beer, then to the Hat. I order something off the menu and by the time it comes, I forget what I ordered. Which is sad because it's so awesome I want to order it again. It's in a fried tortilla shell smothered in- yes of course- guacamole, sour cream, and cheese. Massive. It was so lovely, so fatteningly lovely. I can only eat half of it, so they make me a little doggy-bag and Anne and I stomp out the door directly into cabs. Again, it's 1 am and I am drunk and have eaten my staple of cheese, fried things and booze. Nummers.

April 22nd: I go out to meet some co-workers of mine, and some aquaintances who were visiting from London. We were meant to have Japanese bubble tea, but instead, we end up having cocktails. After my fourth drink at, oh, I guess it was about 7 pm, we all head to Max in Alphabet City and have an AMAZING Italian meal, offset by two bottles of red wine for the 7 of us. Now, I was only a bit buzzed, and this is because I made a point of eating everything in front of me that wasn't bolted down. It was frightful. I had to eat some of everyone's rigatoni, osso bucco, and of course my own lasagna. It was heavenly piggery. I was sick to my stomach by meal's end because I overate horribly. I got home at 10ish, stuffed and in pain, and that's when I decided things were verging on retarded. So, I crawled into bed with Confederacy of Dunces, nursed my awful stomach ache and made promises to myself that I was going to fucking BEHAVE.


After documenting this and reading it, I had to laugh at myself due to my repulsive behavior. It is time to exercize the muscle I feel is my weakest- the self-control muscle. In me, I suppose this muscle might resemble the stunted, puny arms of the Tyrannasaurus Rex, present yet impotent, something to be mocked rather than feared.
This is the muscle that seems to be largely absent when I decide it's totally OK to have two Magnolia Bakery buttercream-frosted cupcakes/another Sapphire & tonic because he's buying/make out with you.

Being impulsive is something I neurologically cannot help- and while I do think it makes me unqiue, it also gets me into heaps of trouble. I find myself in situations doing absolutely ridiculous things, things I don't even want to do. I don't have that "off" button that practical people have. I don't grasp consequences of actions until it's quite late. And again, while I think that that lends me a certain charm I am proud of, it also means that sometimes, I am an asshole.

So that's how that goes.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

A Story About My Life One Fateful Friday NIght As Told Thru Images.

Borrowing (also known as blatant plagarism) is always a trick I like to employ, especially when it's from my pal Jack Kukoda. Jack maintains a screamingly hilarious blog full of nonsense and malarkey and you should read it ever so faithfully. He is funny and also, sometimes he cleans up nice for humping purposes and may try to look at your boobs (not just for the ladies, FYI, gents).
























































































The moral is this. Life is about the things you collect along the way, be they memories of shared love for Karl Wallinger, or the way someone smells like Hugo Boss and cigarettes and gin, or the way someone's mouth looks when they pronounce the words "Lolita Bar" with an English accent, or experiences enveloped in fancy feather comforters, or the feel of slick black slate tile against your bare shoulder blade, or matchbooks you hold in the palm of your hand and smirk at. I like matchbooks.


















PS Margot Leitman will totally get you laid.

Monday, September 18, 2006

Me!


Hey all,

I have decided this is going to be a boring day at the office and I desire attention and communications. So, here is my AOL IM info.

xanadutattoo

No, I do not have a tattoo of the Xanadu logo. Yes, when I chose the name I wanted to get one. In fact, I still very well may. I am easily swayed by my love of 80's mega-musical roller-skating fusion Greco-Roman dramas, and all.

So let's talk it out, champ!

Jagshemesh!


Jagshemesh!, originally uploaded by Vidalia.

Aw, yeah! Shit's going down!

Mile End.






Bolly darling? You are Patsy Stone. A sloshed Sixties relic. Your heart belongs to all night parties, free booze and perhaps something a little more illegal. You've lived a wild life and it has taken its toll. You have a tendency to be catty, jealous and rude to anyone who doesn't meet your standards of high fashion. Despite your shortcomings no-one could deny that you love your best friend. Cheers!

Are YOU AbFab? Click here, sweetie darling!

Sunday, September 17, 2006

Who's Got The Crack?



I just got all a-wiggly because I realized the the geniuses behind my beloved 2 Many Djs bootleg purchased at Kim's way back when I was in grad school at a heretofore undisclosed location on the Upper West Side (some may say, the very mouth of hell itself) will be performing Thursday at what sounds to be a fucking rager of a show. That's right, straight from Belgium, it's Soulwax. HINT: There is free PBR. Oh, yes please.

Could they be ANY more dreamy? Methinks not. Lookit.

Here are some details on the show, which you should go to and dance with me at, hott stuff, Yeah, YOU.


Thursday September 21st, 2006
FIXED Presents:
THE RADIO SOULWAX TOUR

@ Studio B
259 Banker St, between Calyer and Meserole Ave Williamsburg Brooklyn

9pm-3:30am

Featuring:
SOULWAX NITE VERSIONS (live)
(www.soulwax.com, www.soulwax.uk.com)

New York, don't sleep, don't work, don't go out this weekend...basically, do whatever you have to do to be at Studio B on Thursday September 21st, 2006 to experience Soulwax Nite Versions live!!!
This night could possibly change your life!!!

&

THE KLAXONS (live) (www.myspace.com/theklaxons)

&

2manydjs
(THE BEST DJ'S IN THE WORLD...ENOUGH SAID!!!)

SUPPORT BY:
Dave P (MAKING TIME, [click.], www.myspace.com/davidpianka)
&
JDH

Free Sparks and PBR from 9-11!!!

Check out Soulwax Nite Versions' live set and 2manydjs' super rad DJ sets at:
www.2manydjs.free.fr

$10.00

Advance tickets available at Other Music 15 E. 4th St. NYC and online at
http://www.igetrvng.musictoday.com

Saturday, September 16, 2006

The Mighty Boosh.



Short Clip.



Full Episode.


My pal Sophie from Dublin told me about this show when she was here, and it took a few more mentions of it for me to realize I had to know more. This afternoon, I was looking at the website for The Streets, wanted a shirt or some such nonsense, and the online store for Mike Skinner also seemed to carry merchandise for the show. I did a bit if reading, a bit of peeking, and low and behold, it's fucking crazy and awesome. Even better? There's significant crossover from the whole Garth Merenghi's Darkplace crew. This only means good things. And this is really odd- I thought I recognized the guy who plays an American on the show. It was driving me nuts. The it hit me- It's Rich Fulcher, one of the original members of the UCB. I remember seeing him around the theater numerous times when he was in town, doing his one man show. In fact, I recall slipping him free beers when I was bartending at one of the last Del Close Marathons I worked at- maybe 2003? How bizarre.

All of this leads to me mentioning that my dream is to have a hit comedy series on BBC someday. I want to go there first, make it, and then maybe make it big here. My obsession with being psuedo-European is odd, but bear with me. I want what I want. Of course, that means I have to stop watching cult British comedy on YouTube and actually WRITING SOMETHING. Harumph.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Fresh, Fresh, Exciting. She's So Inviting To Me.

Well look at me. I make up smartass sayings that my friends put onto T-shirts. And often, I act out on those sayings. Not often enough, mind you.

What you can't see is, there's a little heart right after the "on". Thanks, Rozzi!

FLICKER TONIGHT!


Come one down for free candy, popcorn and fun at the first ever FLICKER! With your hosts, Brandy & Jack! AND a stand up set from Roger Hailes (Flying Blind, Chapelle's Show). Should be fun!

Is It Like Today?














































































I had a great fucking weekend. One of the best, really. Happy Birthday to Claudia! Happy show to everyone who made our show magic Saturday night. And my respect to the wonderful nation that is, The United Kingdom. Bless.

Friday, September 08, 2006

Sex In the Attic




Here's Sara & I in a short film written & directed by our pals, Pat Stango and Blaine Perry. These two boys host a fun show called Don't Touch Me There, and I implore you to go see it a.s.a.p.

Enjoy the film that outraged a sixteen year old on YouTube!

Thursday, September 07, 2006

Hatefully Charming's Glory Hole: Episode One.


As I mentioned, the blog is about to undergo major changes. In the interest of this regenesis, I plan to post a variety of things from its archives that I have re-read and deemed "not totally shitty". Please, hold my sweaty hand and walk down memory lane, all the while relishing what a cooze I am. Bon appetit!

Tuesday, December 07, 2004
El Sombrero/The Hat

You'd think by now that I'd take a moment to reflect and learn from experience that I always, always end up getting way too drunk when I have a pint sized margarita on the rocks, no salt, at the Hat. But after a few years, it still has not seemed to sink in. Even after numerous nights which ended in puking up guacamole and rock salt. Nope.I don't know how I got so drunk last night, I just know that all of a sudden I was blatantly hammered. I hazily remember getting up to dance at the party and as I did, the oh, so wacky Dj who was at the most 20, decided to take it back to the 70's and school us in her supercool "Look at me I use ironic incorrectly to describe myself" ways. When I got up, MC Lyte was playing. When I arrived at the dance floor, it morphed into some lame ass Led Zepplin song. There are a few of these that you could dance to, perhaps if you were peaking on acid and scampering around a tent covered in your own patchouli filth. However, I am not one to partake in such exploits and certainly will not even after raiding the open bar. I wanted to go over, give her a time out, and say, "Look, I know how much your life has been changed since last week when you discovered Stevie Nicks because you read about her on Courtney Love's website? But no one wants to dance to your attempts at being a 'hip DJ' in order to anger your conservative midwestern parents who pay for your East Village walk up rat infested closet, so fuck off and put on some James Brown, princess." I didn't, though. I instead went promptly to a bodega and knocked over a can of Sapporo which exploded while I was trying to paw at a 40 of Coors Lite. I'll show her, I'll show ALL OF YOU!

A guy I have an ill-informed crush on was supposedly spotted at the same bar. I got excited at the thought of such romantic kismet; instead I drank too much free Red Stripe and staggered out. Later, in a move reminscent of the star of the movie, "Problem Child" I swiped a huge handful of Hershey's Kisses from the bartender at the karaoke place, rather than taking the proffered one serving.

In other news, my new black-with-kelly-green-wheels roller skates came fresh from eBay and I could not be more thrilled. I decided it was wise to make myself some hangover treats- tea and ginger noodle soup- while wearing them. About halfway from the kitchen to the couch I realized what a fucking douchebag I am 99.7% of the time.

Bust a move, we show and prove.


Did somebody say SHOW?!???!!!

Get your asses out to see our monthly shindig.
This one is going to be a rager. That's right, I said and I'll say it TWICE, A RAGER.

Excessive drinking, dancing and any and all sorts of fun. You can drink during the show, and stay and savor the cehapest drinks you'll find in Manhattan while watching Sara & Brandy act the fool and demand even more of your undivided attention.

A special note: we comedy types notice who comes to our shows and who does not. And we take it personally when you don't. It's like if I had a cute little baby, and I LOVE my baby, and I show you the baby, you know, I sort of push it up in its pram up close to you to peek at its little pink face. And then you grab it by the arm and drop kick the fuck out of it. THAT'S how it feels when you don't come see my show which I am very proud of and which only happens once a month. I mean, really.

LOVING YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Kissing Booth: How We Spent Our Summer Vacation!

SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 9th, 2006!
9:30 PM- $5

The D Lounge
101 East 15th @ Union Square East, Basement Level
$3 Miller Lites~ $4 well drinks & shots!
with your obnoxious hosts, Brandy & Sara

and featuring:

Vince Averill
Lang Fisher
Gabe McKinley
Sean O' Connor
Giulia Rozzi
Lianne Stokes
Pat Stango

plus the triumphant return of DJ Law Tarello and a spectacularly drunken finale from your hosts!

Monday, September 04, 2006

Such a lovely arrangement.



Krush Groove All Stars. 'Nuff said.




If you come see my show this Saturday, I promise at some point I will drunkenly perform this entire rap on the mic complete with shout outs to Sara & DJ Law, as per usual. I still have this 45" at home in my room, in a shoebox.



Groundbreaking. And you can dance to it, too, assface.



They call me a B Girl. They may well be right.



I had the hots for Special Ed.



One of the best raps. Hands down. D Nice is just a description.



So so def is correct, Gangstarr.



Couldn't forget this classic.




Oh, my.


YouTube makes being alive a new, wonderful Pandora's Box of discovery and delight and songs you danced to in the gym after the football game with handsome boys named LaMar and Jermaine. OK, you danced NEAR them. Whatever.

Friday, September 01, 2006

My life is complete.





















I got to meet JOAN FUCKING RIVERS! Me & my pal Carla sandwiched her betwixt our auburn curls. In all honesty, I am about to cry because I am in awe that I'm touching one of my comedy idols. I should also add a special thanks to my lovely one, Anne Altman, who was my lady date and got the tickets. What a pal. Seriously- no one better fucking talk shit on Joan, I will kick your ass into the next century. She's the real deal.

Check THIS Shit Out!