It's Ok To Make Friends, After All.

"Pretzels smell like another man's breath!"

This song reminds me so much of being in 3rd grade, sleeping in my Aunt's waterbed. It may have been playing on her digital display clock radio. I was half-asleep, thinking I was so super cool. NEWSFLASH: I was not. It's a relic of a time when I felt like all was right with the world.

It makes me so glad for all the love I have in my life, because I have to say- I am stunned by it sometimes. I have never been so surrounded by people who care for me, who would take a bullet for me, and who refuse to let me be treated poorly by anoyone who would dare to attempt it. I am fascinated by this. And beyond grateful.

He is the man, who will fight, for my honor.

Nigel is in good spirits, according to impromptu petsitter Ben. This does not make me feel any better for abandoning him. I am not good at apologizing, but when I do, I mean it. Sorry, Nigel. Sorry.

Wrapping It All Up.

My favorite parts of the Christmas season, one last time before they get put away for the New Year. My love to all of the people who make my life so amazing. I owe it all to you, just like "Dirty Dancing".

































































































































Photos courtesey of Maryanne Ventrice, Anya Garrett, Brian Van Niewehoven.

Addictions, Delicacies and Capes.

Another amazing day in Southern California with the folks. There was a trip to Del Taco for some fast food gorging, and my brother and I went on a bonding shopping trip. I managed to clean up and snatch a pair of Vivienne Westwood open-toed gladiator pumps for over 75% off their original price, an AMAZING vintage styled cape (yes, a cape) and a pair of to-the-elbow leather gloves. My Mom asked why I have to dress so S&M. Yuck. I also bought another copy of The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter, which I plan to re-read on the plane home and openly weep. I found 2 amazing silicone cupcake trays for nearly zilch (I left my cupcake pan at the apartment of an old paramour last year and only just realized the discrepancy) and, of course, had to get some more hooded sweatshirts because I don't have enough as it is.

It was, all in all, a blissful day. And then I came home to watch what shall be my new crack. It is a little show that goes by the name of The Bad Girls' Club, and it is so gross that I cannot look askance from it the minute it comes on the screen. I blame Giulia Rozzi for getting me hooked. Seriously. Do yourself the favor and TiVo it on the Oxygen Network, because it is unlike any other reality-show-basic-cable crap you are sure to encounter on a daily basis. Too delightfully trashy to be true. I thought I was dramtic, demanding and full of mischief. After watching this, I think I may be an amateur. I've got a lot to learn, so thanks, Oxygen, for creating this classy show to teach me how to get grossly drunk by doing shots of patron at 8 am, cheat on my long-term, totally nice boyfriend, and start heinous skanky bar fights replete with the "f" word. Rad.

Testing.

Brandy Barber, originally uploaded by anya-garrett.

1,2,3.

A Very Post Secret Xmas.

Someone got too riled up last year on a trip to Key West, Florida. Someone named me. I have placed a self-imposed ban on any return visits. I'm sure the Board of Tourism is pleased.



















This made me laugh. I am mean.












This I found to be compelling. That's the worst feeling I can think of, hoping someone realizes that they used to love you. I hope this person's wish comes true, wherever they are.


Thanks to PostSecret.com.

Blow Me Where The Pampers Is.

Another lovely day in Carlsbad, on the couch and swaddled in pajamas. I was looking up holiday photos from 2004 and am horrfied to say, I had on much the same outfit. It's not what one would call "becoming" but it is comfortable. So very comfortable.

So far the family Xmas Eve has consisted of my father tromping off to the supermarket (which gives me panic attacks to enter as it is the size of my office builing in New York) and making no less than four (4) phone calls to my Mom to discuss various shopping foibles. These have included questions regarding the location of a glue stick (he can't just ask the supermarket staff, I mean, REALLY), the correct size of a bag of shredded cheddar, and an insistence that he buy cold tablets because my Mom may have a cold in the next few days because I sneezed by her. Once. On Tuesday.

Although it's only 1 pm here, I am starting to wonder if it's OK to go hide in the garage and do shots of Patron Silver with my brother. You know. Just to get thru the day.

I was informed by my Dad yesterday that tonight I was going to be making my Mac & Cheese and we would be having honey-baked ham along with it (hopefully e-coli free). There was no debate. It was less a request, more a marching order. So I suppose might should stay sober in order to cook properly. Or not. It's a fun game- drunken baking!

Here are some pics of me making my Mac & Cheese last Xmas. Because we are, after all, Southern*, I put on makeup to do so. Also it appears my brother was my prom date. Yuck.
If you look closely you can see my Dad ruining the photo. Classy, as always. That's us.





































*even though my parents no longer have discernable accents
Carlsbad Sunset photo by WineVines

All Kinds Of Time.

Now that I'm faced with endless free time and not crazed to the point of a breakdown daily due to workload/shows/need to imbibe cases of alcohol to chase away fears of dying broke with but a cat to call my lifetime companion, I don't quite know what to do with myself.

We've discussed my amusing myself via eating everything that's not tied down. Ben, ex-boyfriend and pal extrodiannaire, suggests I marry Nigel (our Valentine's Day 2003 cat) and has offered to conduct the ceremony himself. How very considerate.

Thank god there's YouTube in order to entertain myself with Fountains of Wayne. What a great goddamned band.



Anyway...remember when I used to pnly post like once a month? Remember that?

Delightful.

Questions Couples Should Ask (Or Wish They Had) Before Marrying

from The New York Times, Dec. 17th, 2006

Relationship experts report that too many couples fail to ask each other critical questions before marrying. Here are a few key ones that couples should consider asking:

1) Have we discussed whether or not to have children, and if the answer is yes, who is going to be the primary care giver?

2) Do we have a clear idea of each other’s financial obligations and goals, and do our ideas about spending and saving mesh?

3) Have we discussed our expectations for how the household will be maintained, and are we in agreement on who will manage the chores?

4) Have we fully disclosed our health histories, both physical and mental?

5) Is my partner affectionate to the degree that I expect?

6) Can we comfortably and openly discuss our sexual needs, preferences and fears?

7) Will there be a television in the bedroom?

8) Do we truly listen to each other and fairly consider one another’s ideas and complaints?

9) Have we reached a clear understanding of each other’s spiritual beliefs and needs, and have we discussed when and how our children will be exposed to religious/moral education?

10) Do we like and respect each other’s friends?

11) Do we value and respect each other’s parents, and is either of us concerned about whether the parents will interfere with the relationship?

12) What does my family do that annoys you?

13) Are there some things that you and I are NOT prepared to give up in the marriage?

14) If one of us were to be offered a career opportunity in a location far from the other’s family, are we prepared to move?

15) Does each of us feel fully confident in the other’s commitment to the marriage and believe that the bond can survive whatever challenges we may face?

This was a delight. I liked that Gawker had some questions as well, and found thiers a bit more to my taste.

1) If we get pregnant, is it because one of us didn't wear a rubber or because you forgot to take the pill?

2) How much does your trust fund pay out quarterly?

3) Did you get the Heineken and Pop Tarts like I said, bitch?

4) Do you have herpes or paranoid schizophrenia or something?

5) Why don't you go down on me?

6) Are you absolutely sure you're not gay?

7) Where should I put my porn in the bedroom?

8) Do you ever shut up?

9) When I'm bored of sex (with you), you're not going to make me go to therapy or AA or anything, are you?

10) Are your friends hot?

11) How much cash would your parents give us if we had kids?

12) Is your mom crazy or a drunk?

13) Are you just a cokewhore?

14) If I go to Thailand for a month, will you just not ask me any questions?

15) Is that prenup still valid?

Matt Sears is The Best.

My dear pal Mister Matt Sears has been telling me he made a new video recently. He sent me a link and I have been an awful pal and have not gotten a chance to watch it. Until I sat down with my Dad the other day to catch up and screened it for him. I suggest you do the same, as Christmas is, after all, a time of sharing.





(After viewing, please note that he claims it was inspired by myself and Sara. I don't quite think I like the sound of that. Literally.)

Knock It Off.

I am definitely going to gain at least 10 pounds on this trip home. I put on so much wieght last year when I was home for Christmas, due to the joint factors of me scarfing down so much California-only so much fast food (Jack In The Box, Rubio's, In N Out Burger)and because my parents are both amazing cooks. Add in all the holiday snacks lying around, a box of See's Candy, booze, and the fact that I was having (what I thought was) a long-distance relationship, and by the time I got back home to New York I looked like a fashionably-dressed walrus.

That happy weight- that you put on in relationships- that's the best and the worst. Best because you're content and comfortable. Worst when it inevitably ends, and you have to try and be at your prime for mate replacement purposes. Although, if it's a truly heartbreaking, life-ruining ending romantically, the pounds just seem to melt away. Take a look at me around March 2006 and check out my new svelte, miserable, hollow-eyed, soul-crushed look! Sassy!

Anyway, I am a wee bit concerned about this holiday weight. Not enough to cut it out and stop drinking so much soda and eating beef sticks and petit fours every 10 minutes, mind you. I mean, jesus, my Uncle sent us a giant beef brisket from the Salt Lick in Texas, and Terry, my Dad and hero, is grilling it up, so do you fools think I'm going to pass that shit up?! Hell, no. Especially not the chance to scarf down the leftover meat on some cushy white bread...which reminds me. I need to go and dig through my parents' refridgerator right about now.

I've just decided my folks' house is like Fat Camp. Except in reverse.

Crescent Savory Snack Category.

I love to dig around in my parent's closets when I get back home to visit, which is rare these days. Today my closet find was a 1976 Pillsbury Bake Off Cookbook which reeked of mold and about sent me into a fit with all the awesome, trashy n' tasty appetizers within. I only wish I'd had this for my cocktail party- because pigs in a blanket would have been varied with a recipe I found for- brace yourself and think of England- "Fish & Crescent Roll Ups". Yup. Fish sticks. Crescent rolls. Magic.


By the way, here's one of the winners of said bake off, circa 1976. 1976- what an awesome year. I'm jealous of friends born in that year. I've always wished I was around for the bicentennial, mostly because I have fantasies of living like one of the kids in Dazed on Confused, a perennial favorite film. The sad part is, I kind of do now, which is pathetic considering they're all 17. Yuck.

So Save Your Breath For Someone Else, And Credit Me With Something More.

This song is so good. Like Jaques Torres chocolates and Veuve Cliquot. Like being wrapped in a cashmere robe and eating In N Out Burger. Like Vernor's Ginger Ale, and Esposito Brothers' New Jersey Pork Store handmade soprasetta and a riveting book and a down comforter that you've had since you were in high school. It's bolstering, and rich, and comforting. It's a song that, since the 1990's, has managed to make me grind through some pretty heinous shennanigans. And it's a secret handshake amongst those ladies in the know. Which is, I realize more and more lately, with a mix of disappointment and, dare I say, resignation, all of us gals.

If you've never heard it, have fun. Enjoy, Lush's 1996 gem Ladykillers.

Thanks to Matt McC for this image!

Photo by the lovely Ms. Maryanne Ventrice.

New Anthem Alert!

Oh, that's right. I like to sum myself up with indignant R&B songs from teenagers. WHAT OF IT, FUCKFACE?!?

In the awkward silence that follows that outburst, enjoy Got A Long Way 2 Go, by the lovely Cassie.

Drink At Work Show, 12.18.06

Here's Melissa B. and Melissa S. being escorted from the Drink At Work Holiday Show after getting a bit too crazy for comedy.

Big ups to Carol, Ces, Sean, Craig and Maryanne for putting on one hell of a show, and congrats on your new day & venue!

You should go to Drink At Work and see what all the justified fuss is all about. No wonder they have two drunk comedy groupies there every week!

Photos by the lovely Maryanne Ventrice. Here are some more!

Francie K. Nolan got it right.

She had been excited about going to work in New York. Since such a tiny thing as a flower in a brown bowl in the library had thrilled her so, she expected that the great city of New York would thrill her a hundred times more. But it was not so.

The Bridge has been the first disappointment. Looking at it from the roof of her house, she had thought that crossing it would make her feel like a gossamer-winged fairy flying through the air. But the actual ride over the Bridge was no different that the ride above the Brooklyn streets. The Bridge was paved in sidewalks and traffic roads like the streets of Broadway and the tracks were the same tracks. There was no different feeling about the train as it went over the bridge. New York was disappointing. The buildings were higher and the crowds thicker; otherwise it was little different from Brooklyn.

-- A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, Betty Smith, 1943.

I'm not the only one who holds you, I never ever should've told you you're my only girl.

All day long, thru a savage hangover, I've been singing Toto's Georgy Porgy to myself. There are two reasons for this.

Reason the first: It is a great fucking song. That is the main reason.

The other reason? Because it makes me smile due to the simplicity with which it sums up those jackass kind of dudes who think they're slick lady killers. You know the type. The kind of guy who gets the details of you and the various other girls he sleeps with mixed up and asks how your Mom is and you say "Uhhh...my Mom's dead." The kind of swell fella who calls you "sweetie" a lot, not because he harbors any genuine emotion for you, but because he's trying to make sure not to call you the wrong name. He forgets the basic details of a conversation you had 24 hours prior because he's so busy trying to cover up the hickey he got from some other broad an hour before you got over to his place. You have to give it to these clowns- they're good for a laugh. They think they've got you fooled, but the whole nice guy routine can only go so far when you come over for dinner and espy another lady's (most often tacky) accessories half-assedly stashed just out of view. The good thing is, once you've dealt with one of these gents, you learn all the tricks they try to utilize. So, when some buffoon tries to pull them on you again- and trust me, they will- you get the pleasure of watching with detached bemusement as they put on a royal show. And I have to tell you all this- I do so love to watch the show.

So now you all get to look at Toto's delightful song, and maybe you, too, will sing it all day. And smirk.

Simply Having A Leopard Print Xmas Time.