Thing of the Day: 2010 (Twenty-Ten)

Full disclosure: as I write this, I am watching Jersey Shore in my Snuggie, which is actually not even a Snuggie--it is the significantly more ghetto Costco version of a Snuggie, and a disgusting mustard yellow shade. When I came home for Christmas break, I found this and a similarly ugly colored forest green faux-Snuggie resting comfortably on the section of my living room couch that is usually reserved for snacks, and ever since then my sister and I have been parading around in our new garments (these "Snuggies" also have hoods. As far as I know, real Snuggies lack hoods, which is really very silly since hooded Snuggies allow us to not only be warm and comfortable but also pretend we are dementors/Death Eaters and chase each other around the house screaming normalcies such as "Expelliarmus!" and "Give-me-the-remote-us!" If I were Snuggie Inc. I would definitely implement a hooded version. Also perhaps one that comes with feet. Although that would just be a onesie...). Snuggies aside, I'm really proud of all the characters on the Jersey Shore, especially Snooki, who really seems to have matured since she got punched in the face by a stranger. I hope she succeeds in her mission to find love with a Guido on the shore. I've been thinking lately that Snooki would be an ideal character for a reality dating show. It could be like I Love New York, but Snooki is considerably kla$$ier than New York will ever be, and I'm sure she would not have to repeat her show for a second season. When I googled "Snooki Dating Show" on a complete whim I was shocked to find that Snooki totally agrees with me. Although I was thinking of something titled "Snooki's Got Nooki" or "Nooki for Snooki," and her self-chosen potential title is the considerably inferior "Snookin' for Love." Dear MTV: If you read my blog, credit, please.

A few other thoughts:

1. New Years 2010 was...interesting (And its Twenty-Ten, not Two Thousand Ten. Come on, people). After a mediocre actual New Years Eve that culminated in having to take the subway uptown because we couldn't get a cab in the 15 degree weather, we woke up in our Times Square hotel, looked around at the confetti and glitter and eager bright eyed tourists, and decided to try again. We acquired brand new 2010 glasses (bravo to the genius who designed the 2010 glasses...before seeing them we were very concerned with how the eye holes would be placed now that it was no longer 2-eye-eye-something, but, big success!), wore them for the entirety of our family style Italian meal at Carmine's, and just when we thought the evening would culminate in wine and resolution-writing in bed, some friends saved the day by inviting us to Greenhouse. New Years Take 2 was considerably more successful, thus the only resolution we wrote was: In Twenty Ten, if at first you don't succeed, pick yoself up and try again (you can dust it off and try agaiiinnnnnnn...I miss you Aaliyah). Still working on other New Years' resolutions, but they include gems such as working out more/eating less, wasting smaller amounts of time reading strangers' blogs/StumblingUpon/other internet activities, making post graduate life plans, finding useful hobbies, running half marathons, being nicer to people, etc etc.

2. Why is Avatar 3D IMAX sold out every time I try to go see it? I am completely incapable of planning to see a movie a full day in advance, so nearly every day for the past week I have woken up and checked showtimes for the one movie theater in Brooklyn playing Avatar in IMAX and found it to be sold out every single day. Can the rest of New York City really be that much better at planning than I? All I want to do is see these blue creatures everyone has been raving about so I can blog about it, but the world seems to be against me. FOMO, Avatar.

3. Staying in Times Square for the past few days (thanks, Lauren!) has really got me thinking about tourists and tourism. As a New Yorker, I hate New York tourists. I hate their stupid I <3 style="font-style: italic;">The City. But I really don't mind other tourists. In fact, I think I like other tourists. I can only assume this is because when I am in other places, I too am a tourist, but in reality other tourists just seem more intelligent than those in New York. I was really curious about what the most visited tourist sites in the world were, so I consulted my best friend, Google who informed me that NYC, which I for some reason thought to be #1 (please consult picture on right hand corner of blog), is #5. Additionally, I have only been to 4 of the top 10 most visited cities (#1 Paris, #2 London, #5 New York, #10 Rome). I wonder what it is that drives so many people to go to the same places, and who it is that decides The Eiffel Tower or Times Square or The Colosseum is that which should be seen. But whatever it is, I would like to be a part of it. Bangkok, Hong Kong, and Shanghai, here I comeee.

4. Speaking of New York, I just finished a wonderful novel, Let The Great World Spin, by Colum McAnn, and in one paragraph it summed up exactly how I feel about the city: "New York had a way of doing that. Every now and then the city shook its soul out. It assailed you with an image, or a day, or a crime, or a terror, or a beauty so difficult to wrap your mind around that you had to shake your head in disbelief. He had a theory about it. It happened, and re-happened, because it was a city uninterested in history. Strange things occured precisely because there was no necessary regard for the past. It had no need to belief in itself as a London, or an Athens, or even a signifier of the New World, like a Sydney, or a Los Angeles. No, the city couldn't care less about where it stood. He had seen a t-shirt once that said: New York F*ckin' City. As if it were the only place that ever existed and the only one that ever would." Oh, New York. Every time I think I am over you, you reel me right back in.

5. For those who are not interested in great books, a great movie: I just saw Up In The Air. It made me think, a lot. Additionally, George Clooney is beautiful. If none of this convinces you, it is currently the highest rated movie on Rotten Tomatoes, which is the only real place to criticize movies. Go see it.

6. And finally, or those who are uninterested in great movies, great TV/great eats.
Double food porn tonight: The menu that I'm currently obsessing over, and the premiere of the White House episode of Iron Chef America on The Food Network (Bobby Flay + Mario Batali + Michelle Obama?! Leaving on the TIVO queue forever).

As usual, this blog post failed to have a concentration. So for new beginnings' sake, Thing of the Day: 2010.

Thing of the Day: New Years Eve

I've always had a love/hate relationship with New Years Eve (someone pointed out to me that having love/hate relationships seem to be a quasi-forte of mine: The Jersey Shore, guidos and all things tacky in general, binge eating and drinking, pop culture, most people I interact with on a day to day basis, technology, becoming an adult etc etc)--but New Years Eve especially. The issue that I have with New Years is the same one I have with birthdays--it makes me feel old, and it makes me feel guilty for not having done more since the last New Years Eve/birthday.

This year has been a little different. Over the course of the past year, I have done, experienced, and changed more than I have during any other year of my life that I can remember (which, to be quite honest, isn't saying much--I have an incredibly selective and can't really recall any memories that I may have formed before the age of 16, save for the ones that Mama Bogo has embedded in my head via telling and re-telling of stories. "Do you remember the time you...were 1 and pretended you didn't know how to walk and insisted on being carried everywhere even though I had caught you sneakily walking around your room at least 10 times when you thought nobody was watching? Were 3 and kicked your pediatrician in the genitals and then ran out of the office and down several floors completely in the nude because he tried to give you a booster shot? Were 5 and got yourself banned from the playground and thus myself banned from the mothers-who-gossip-at-the-playground because you stole all the little boys toys and nearly cracked ones' skull with a shovel when he tried to refuse toy surrender? Were 9 and broke both your wrists trying to demonstrate to the playground you had just been re-admitted to how well you could cartwheel on top of the monkey bars? Were 14 and got a one day suspension from school because when your cell phone went off in Chemistry class for the third time that week you pulled it out and answered the teachers' reprimands with "sorry Mr.Banks, I really like this boy and have to talk this call?" NO Mom. I have no memories from before at least sophomore year of high school. But while you're at telling stories can we talk about how I was 4th grade Brooklyn spelling bee champion, or how I once placed at the science fair, or how I wasn't the bane of your existence? GOSH.) But I digress.

I've done more this year than I ever have in the (memorable) past, and I can say surely that 2009 has been an action packed year for the world as well. America inaugurated our first black president. The world got swine flu, one Mexican spring breaker at a time. Michael Jackson died, and everyone immediately forgave him for (maybe?) molesting children. Bernie Madoff swindled millions of dollars from thousands of Jews and caused us to doubt everything we hadn't already been questionable about (which wasn't much). Google, Twitter, and Facebook continued to take over the world. Khloe and Kourtney Kardashian got married and knocked up and all of America got to laugh along. Banks collapsed and were rebuilt. A (maybe?) terrorist's plan to hijack a plane from Amsterdam to Detroit (Amsterdam to Detroit? Cmonnn...that has got to be a plane full of some chillll individuals. Who would wish harm to those flying from Detroit to Amdam?!) was foiled and we cheered for America. A dude landed a plane on the Hudson River, no one got hurt, and we cheered for America. Barack Obama got the Nobel Peace Prize and we booed for America. Sarah Palin "wrote a book." Our favorite d-bags, Levi Johnston and Spencer Pratt, continued to show the world what d-bags they were by posing in the nude and, well, just posing. Iran elected and re-elected presidents. The longest solar eclipse of the 21st century (7 minutes!) came and went. Jon and Kate + mistress + mister + Ed Hardy + 8. The G20, NATO and Hopenhagen summits came and went. People continued to purchase Nooks and Kindles despite this blog. Brittany Murphy died and we forgot to notice. Susan Boyle sang. Kanye West was a jackass. Sweden was named capital of the EU and gave us Tiger Woods' hot thang wife Elin, who will soon be retiring back to said capital. Wars were fought. People died. We passed and subsequently broke laws. People laughed and cried and fought and fell in love and got married and divorced and had kids and kids who had kids who had kids who were paid by MTV to appear on "16 and Pregnant." Life went on.

When I first started this blog entry, it was meant to be a list chronicling my personal best of 2009 moments. Because of my issues with selective memory, however, I found myself stuck and unable to recall specific instances. It was only yesterday when someone tried to help me come up with memories for my list that I came to a terrible realization, a cliche, and the oldest one in the book at that: it's not, and will never be, what you do that matters. It's who you're with.

So off the top of my head, without overthinking and overanalyzing and overwriting, for those best moments of 2009 and those who were there with me: "Black Monday". Our last day in Amsterdam. Mulled wine and the Charles Bridge in Prague. Thursdays (every) at Kulor Bar. Meals consisting solely of "salats" and cold fish. Caiscax and the end of the world in Lisbon. The day of culinary adventures in Paris. Dinner with long lost relatives in Moscow. Norwegian Booze cruise. Our last day as stoweaways in Copenhagen. 4th of July weekend. The day of 9 bottles of wine and a lost camera on the roof. My 21st birthday party. The day of the Brooklyn Bridge/the last day of my internship. The Bourbon and BBQ festival. The first tailgate. The last tailgate. The Jay Z concert. Wine and cheese in the park. Sunday night family dinners. The entirety of the last week of finals. The suite evenings with Pie Cook. Skiing Mt. Mansfield. The Christmas Party. Oh, and Love Hill.

Welcome, 2010. We've been expecting you.

Thing of the Day: The Jersey Shore

First things first. A bunch of pretty excellent things have happened over the course of the past few weeks. For matters of organization, I will divide these into city categories:

Nashville, TN: I had a week left in Nashville after finishing my internship and all my final projects and I chose to spend it doing what I do best: watching TV and eating. I have become incredibly invested in How I Met Your Mother (please watch this clip of the best 30 seconds of television I have ever seen/an explanation of why the male race has anything to do with me), a sort of whacked out Friends-ish sitcom for the more cynical and promiscuous Aught generation (Did anyone else know the 2000's are most commonly referred to as the "Aughts?" Also, the "00s" and the "Naughties?" Apparently we're living in a decade suffering from an identity crisis), and since one of my best friends also wrapped up finals early and had plenty of time to invest in doing nothing, I had the chance to sample several new Nashville eateries. Lunch at The Yellow Porch was okay, lunch at 1808 Grille was awesome, dinner at Taco Mamacita was delicious, and drinks at The Patterson House were perfect for a date night/girls night out. My week of lounging and eating ended perfectly with a binge eating and drinking session with my best friends at our favorite, Sunset Grill, to fully purge every last cent of our Commodore Cash and reflect on the semester that just passed.

New York, NY: Though it took four bags, a layover and an obnoxiously long and pricey cab ride home from the airport (I hate cabs home from the airport and Mama B received a serious silent treatment for not greeting me at the gate), the second I got off the plane in New York, I remembered that my favorite thing about the city is how it all comes together during the holidays. Such thoughts were enhanced at a friends' "Jersey Shore Holiday Party" (God bless you, MTV), my grandparents' anniversary party (think three generations of Russians taking shots and dancing the Hora), and a day playing tourist with two of my favorite people (Low Point: the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree is smaller this year due to recession, purchasing socks at the Rockefeller Center GAP because ours were soaked through, High Point: Memphis: The Musical and the incredibly talented star, Montego Glover.

Stowe, VT: I survived the ski trip! And I actually enjoyed it. Thank you, plethora of spa treatments, attractive and talented ski instructors, and Mama and Papa Bogo. I managed to only have one near death experience in which I found myself on a slope that angled down approximately 70 degrees, sat down, promptly removed my skiis and walked/ran down chasing the one ski that fell out of my hand and would be found a quarter mile later casually resting by a rock. Stowe is an unbelievably cute town in which one can only find resorts, bed and breakfasts, general stores, glass blowing studios, and cheese/maple syrup shops and was a great escape from city life for a week. My parents managed to have a perfect Russian Orthodox Christmas Eve (hours of spa treatments, a four course Christmas dinner, and a sleigh ride through the woods) followed by a perfect American Jewish Christmas Day (skiing, Hibachi dinner, and movies in bed) and I'm headed home this morning.

That being said...The Jersey Shore. I don't think reality television has ever been this spot-on (sorry, Lauren). This show is beyond entertaining, beyond hilarious, and breaches all boundaries to pure genius. I have spent a mere four hours with the cast members of The Jersey Shore and I have never fallen in love/disgust quite so fast. Clearly my favorite is Snooki, the sloppy, shwasted, 4'10'' hybrid of an ethnic Barbie and one of those troll dolls with colorful tufts of hair and a rhinetstone in their bellybuttons. Over the course of the past four episodes, 21 year old New York native "Nicole" aka Snooki (me too me too!!) has managed to black out and make a complete fool of herself, pack up all her belongings to leave twice, get punched in the face by a fellow Jersey Shore club-goer, and describe to America that she "like, invented, the poof." She also has a fabulous collection of Von Dutch hats. As someone who also used to have a fabulous collection of Von Dutch hats (more details on my life as a thug/Guidette later, for further proof see the frat party costume box in my apartment), I feel like I relate to Snooki on many levels. If my parents had fed me mild rat poison instead of baby formula as a child, I'm sure we could understand each other thoroughly. Snooki has her very own You Tube channel. It is on my favorites tabs.

My second favorite character is "The Situation." The Situation is from Staten Island, aka, "How-the-hell-did-you-ever-become-a-borough-of-New-York-City-who-was-your-mayor-sleeping-with-your-entire-island-is-literally-built-on-a-garbage-landfill." Additionally, unlike the rest of the castmates, who are 21-23, ages at which you can do really dumb crap which you will laugh at later because you are either a)in college, or b)a bit of a life failure who never went but still college aged, The Situation is 27. Comparatively speaking, some other pop culture phenomenons who are aged 27 and younger: Mark Zuckerberg, founder of Facebook. Chad Hurley, founder of YouTube. Kevin Rose, founder of Digg. The Jonas Brothers. Taylor freakin' Swift. The Situation is currently engaged in mad drama, yo, because his gurrrrrrrrl, Sammi Sweetheart, has been hooking up with his boy, DJ Pauly D**. Get your shit together, The Situation. How I adore watching train wrecks in action.

Judgement aside, The Jersey Shore airs every Thursday night. Because Thursdays are my favorite night out when I am at school, the roommates and I have invented a rather simple drinking game for watching. We have only played once, but the basic premise consisted of buying Jaager, Red Bull, and beer, and taking Jaager bombs every time hairgel, spray tanning, or spitting game was mentioned. The rest of that Thursday night was blurry. We hope to play again.

To everyone out there, Merry Christmas. Be safe. And please, pretty please, keep it klassy.

**It has been pointed out that Sammi Sweetheart is seeing not DJ Pauly D, but Ronni, who for some reason doesn't have a nickname. I am deeply sorry for this error on my television watching part and hope blog readers can forgive me.

Thing of the Day: Updates

A couple of funny/important things happened in the past three weeks that I was too lazy to write about (in brief: Tiger Woods lost his shit, my mother put a menorah on top of our Christmas tree in lieu of a star in an effort to pretend she is a good Jewish parent and sent it to my Blackberry with the caption "sorry for not throwing you a bat mitzvah", I went apartment shopping with a friend in Manhattan over Thanksgiving and for the first time ever thought that maybe graduating and being a real life adult might not be that bad (cue browsing cute furniture store websites instead of job opportunity websites), The Fantastic Mr. Fox (aka why children's movies will always be better than adult movies, I was offered an amazing job opportunity for next semester (details to be divulged upon confirmation), this website, but after a disappointingly long hiatus I have finally found something too ground breaking to not share with the world.

This morning, upon perusing The Daily Beast (the onlllllllly way to get the news/so busted yes this is where I got the title for this blog), I discovered that not only does the new Harry Potter movie (the only other thing I am looking forward to in my real life adult existence) has a release date (early November 2010), but it will also be featuring the great HP in all his greatness...naked.

I thought I missed my chance to see Daniel Rupert in his birthday suit when Mama B refused to take me to go see Equus on Broadway, but as the stars will have it--myself and the other 100 million Harry Potter fans out there get a second attempt at happiness/child pornography. Apparently, the first installment of the 7th book will feature a love scene between Harry and Hermione (scandalous!) where HP will be nude. Hopefully, the fact that the movie will now have to be rated at least PG-13 will help in other aspects as well--more badass battle scenes, more pre-teens yelling curse words, and some hot and heavy petting. J.K Rowling and co: 1, PTA: O.

In addition to this glorious gem, The Daily Beast also informed me that one of my fave rappers, 50 cent (I know he really went downhill after "we gonna party like it's yo birthday" but the man still holds a fine place in my heart), would like to participate in a musical collaboration with the one and only Susan Boyle. Other than seeing Harry Potter naked, I can literally think of nothing else that I would enjoy more. I can't imagine how this mash-up could possibly work. Will Fitty be belting show tunes? Will SuBo burst out in rap? Fitty was quoted saying ""She's cool. I'd love to take her clubbing, show her around my world. She'd have a great time." If anyone anywhere knows of a club that would admit 50 Cent and Susan Boyle to the same VIP section, pleaaaaaaase call me. I would do anything to be there.

Speaking of clubs, I have become very interested in the idea of spending my New Years' Eve at the Lady Gaga concert at The Fointainebleau in Miami. Although Lady GaGa is clearly a treacherous biddy for abandoning her hometown of NEW YORK on the most important party night of the year, I would forgive her in an instant if I could somehow score the dollaz to make it to a)Miami and b)The Fointainebleau. Unfortunately, after requesting both a new Mac (peace out forever, Dell), and a new watch for the holiday my family has affectionately dubbed Christmakkuh, the money I can squeeze out of the fam this holiday season has dried up and then some, and I don't envision Mama B or the ever more generous Grandma B fronting the cash for me to get tipsy and gawk at celebs in the MIA, so all possible travel accommodations are on me. Life is hard. Does anyone know of a part time holiday season job that will make me about a thousand extra dollars in a week?

Until then, save one fifteen minute presentation on Friday morning, I am officially done with any and all schoolwork this semester! That and my internship ending tomorrow (my co-intern and I are celebrating with a classy lunch at the Hooters down the block) has left me feeling both incredibly relieved and depressingly old. I have one semester of college left before I am done forever (until graduate school, which of course is nothing like real college at all and lacks all of my favorite things about being a student: fraternities, costume parties, communal on-campus living, meal plan, cab cash, Greek list serves, and the Human and Organizational Development program) and I can't believe I am 7/8ths done with my undergraduate career. Being 7/8ths done with something is basically being completely finished--who would ever offer someone 1/8th of something? Just rude--and I am as, if not more, confused about my life direction as ever. But you don't read this blog to listen to me whine about having no post-graduation plans (speaking of, you who read this blog--I recently installed Google Analytics to determine if there was a you at all, and A--there totally is! Thank you and I'm flattered and honored, and B--if you hail from The Philippines, London, Copenhagen, or Alaska, can you please tell me who you are? Because I'm moderately confused about how you stumbled upon my bantering (thanks, creepy map feature))--you read this blog to be updated about the hilarious and ridiculous shit happening in the world and my life, so for your laughing pleasure:

Mama B has booked a five day skiing trip to Stowe in Vermont. For a normal, coordinated and adept human being, this would be great news and an excuse to spend fun family time in the mountains. Except last time I went skiing with my family they tricked me into attempting a black diamond when I have barely reached blue square level and I had to be escorted down in a toboggan by the emergency rescue people who are usually reserved for, well, emergency rescue, rather than crying twenty year old girl being walke down the mountain by her exasperated father on foot as he carries her skis in one hand. And last time, we were at least in Montreal, where I could opt to stay behind and shop/eat/nap in a cultural metropolis. I have Googled Mt. Stowe extensively. There is nothing else to do. I might attempt snowboarding, just to be funny, and have an excuse to be worse than the five year olds whizzing past me on the slopes.

Other holiday plans include: The Rockettes (score), holiday reservations at Momofuko Ko (score score score), D.C (possibly. I was so enamored after my last visit that I can't stay away), Miami (hopefully. But unless I find a suga daddy pen pal from the 305 before then, I'm not so sure) and a lot of detoxification.

Stay tuned for my Christma(kkuh) list. And a very very very belated what-I'm-thankful-for-one.

Oh, and I know that updates aren't really a "thing of the day," but there was absolutely nothing that this post was primarily about, so sorry I'm not sorry.

Thing of the Day: Fame

Up until very recently ago, I was under the mistaken assumption that if, as an adult, I was successful, healthy, wealthy and content in my relationships, I would be happy. The past week has proved me wrong. Yes, I would very much like to have success and money and good health and a great life partner and lots of small adopted African and Asian children, but I have decided that this will not be enough. I would like to be famous.

Several things have led me to this conclusion. Last Wednesday, I had the luck to work the red carpet at the Country Music Awards in Nashville. Since I do not like country music, standing for long periods of time, or taking directions from others, I thought this would be a pretty average and not terribly exciting experience where I would briefly glimpse several B-list celebs, snap a few iPhone pics, perhaps get some free shit, and be on my way. Wrong. Working the red carpet, apparently, means you get to actually be on the red carpet. Next to those who are walking down the red carpet, being photographed and interviewed and fawned over. Now, a fan of country music I may not be (Seriously. George Strait, Kenny Chesney, and the Zac Brown Band walked into the awards within one foot of me and had to be pointed out to me by my co-intern, to whom I responded with "who?!"), but when I found myself within approximately 2 feet of Carrie Underwood for a prolonged period of time I had to physically restrain myself from reaching out to stroke her perfect blonde curls. As if this wasn't enough, I actually touched Nicole Kidman. I don't particularly like Nicole Kidman--I think she desperately needs to go tanning, or if she's concerned about 'cancer' or something, use a no-side-effects tanning spray, stop getting Botox, and be generally less creepy-looking, but when we briefly grazed hands and exchanged greetings I would have chopped off my left arm, freeze-dried it, and crushed and spoon-fed it to my first born for the opportunity to hang out with her for five more minutes.

Hyperboles aside, I spent the following four days excitedly Googling CMA pictures in the hopes that I would appear in the corner of one (fail, but the co-worker who calls me "fashion girl" (I like you, co-worker), did tell me he saw me holding up the red-carpet sign for Reba on C.M.T! What I would give for that to have made it to my TiVo...), and on Saturday night, my lingering thoughts that I would maybe one day like to be famous were confirmed beyond any reasonable doubt. The reason? Jay-Z.

Jay-Z played at Vanderbilt's Memorial Gym this weekend and by the first song, quickly moved onto my list of favorite-concerts-I-have-ever-attended (other contendors: Radiohead in Miami, Regina Spektor in Nashville, N.E.R.D in Nashville, Backstreet Boys Reunion Tour in New York). The man is a performer--to see him live is truly an honor, and to see the effect he has on the crowd is breathtaking. Within ten minutes, my Jewish-white-girl friends were sweaty, screaming song lyrics at the top of their lungs, bopping to the beat and attesting that if the only way they could engage in sexual intercourse with Jay-Z was on stage in front of the crowd of 5000 at that very moment, they would absolutely do it. And I found myself thinking...I want people to say that about me.Not quite that, because it would be creepy and offputting, but I would like people that I don't know to get moderately excited to see me. I'm not striving to be an actor or a singer, or a reality TV star turned actor-singer (although if anyone wants to pitch me a good reality pilot, please don't hesitate for one second), but I'd like to be known. Perhaps in a really good author or cool talk-show personality way. Or a wife of actor/singer/reality star turned actor-singer who uses her husbands' money benevolently to start a scholarship fund for Russian immigrants and makes frequent appearances on Oprah and The Today Show while running her non-profit and casually attending culinary school/submitting weekly columns to New York Magazine. Not that I've given it much though, really.

In other news: I am going home to New York for the first time since August and I am so excited. I am making a brief stop at my friend Megan's house in D.C for the weekend to eat good food, bar-hop around Georgetown, and decide if I would ever want to live there after graduation. I plan to make her tour to me around all of the places I toured in middle school and take many embarassing tourist photographs, and then on Sunday I will re-unite with my one true love: the great NYC. People often ask me why I am so set on not living in New York right after graduation if I love it so much and I've come to start explaining it like so. You know those couples that have been dating forever and are obsessed with each other but decide to break up to see what else is out there and date new people and realize if they are truly right for one another while always secretly harboring the intention to get back together? That's like me and New York. It was wisely pointed out to me that in the case of these couples, one or both halves do tend to find someone they'd rather be with and then months are wasted Facebook stalking and writing angry emails that will never be sent and shooting imaginary poisonous arrows into each other's backs and all sorts of other dramuhhhh....

But lucky for me, New York can't ever break up with me. Only I with it, briefly, for D.C or Chicago or maybe even an extra year in Nash-Vegas, where I will cultivate a short-lived but undoubtedly exciting affair with the lesser city before coming back with open arms and welcoming myself home.

Thing of the Day: Lessons Learned

Preface: Picture fairly unrelated to the rest of this post, but how AWESOME would that be?

Four years ago, when I opened my Suntrust bank account in Nashville (a quick shoutout to the employees at Suntrust West End who have forgiven me somewhere between 5 and 15 overdraft charges), I was asked to create a pin for my debit card. 18 year old me looked down at my classy tricked-out flip phone and rapidly selected a pin based on a four letter word I could easily remember by spelling the numbers out on my flip phone key pad. Feeling clever, I proceeded to not to make room in my brain to memorize the four digits in the years since.

Enter Blackberry. Ever since I got the glorious PDA that never leaves my side but unfortunately lacks an old school number/letter keypad, one would think that I would have made the effort to memorize the four numbers that gain me access to cold hard cash. The one who might think that, however, clearly knows nothing about me. Ever since I first started using phones I have only memorized six phone numbers (my house, my mom's office and cell, my grandparents, my best friend Rachel, and one boy when I was 15). Furthermore, the only way to enter our campus apartments is via 5 digit access code. It took me until mid-October to memorize my own access code without checking my Blackberry notes, and I know only 2 others despite day-to-day entry into my friends apartments and the fact that all the codes are made up of only the numbers 1-2-3-4-5. The point being--ever since my phone keyboard stopped providing me with the numbers that make up my pin code (thanks a lot, QWERTY), I have had to resort to desperate measures to withdraw.

Usually I don't have much of an issue. Store purchases always have letters conveniently placed on the number pad where you swipe your card, and most ATMs still use the numbers as well. While abroad in Europe, I had several unfortunate ATM encounters where foreign alphabets threw me off and I was forced to either Google "phone keypad" on my Blackberry and cause a frustrated-at-dumb-Americans line to build up behind me, or grab a strangers' cell phone to quickly identify the numbers I needed. So despite embarassment, I never felt the need to really take the leap and embed the four digits to memory.

Until yesterday. A loving family member made the gracious decision to surprise my campus mailbox with a check, so I giddily headed down to the Suntrust office on the first floor of my building to make a rapid deposit and begin online shopping at work. As I approach the teller, giddy with check in hand, she has the audacity to ask me for my pin for "security reasons." Uhhhhhhh. "Can I borrow your phone?" is greeted with a dirty look and a flash of a Blackberry Tour. As I attempt to explain, the tellers' eyebrows retreat further and further towards her hairline as she judges me in utter disdain. I am clearly deemed an identity theif as the teller asks me to hold on and calls an intimidating looking superior who then proceeds to lecture me for a full two minutes about selecting a pin I am "capable of remembering." I am then told that my check will be held for 24 hours for further security reasons. There's a Gilt sale going on now, woman, I don't have that kind of time. But alas. After recieving a pamphlet about managing my student checking account, I am given a brisk goodbye and sent off.

I think I've learned my lesson.

On to embarassing moments for others. Now that I am a 21 year old responsible legal adult, I can judge the stupid decisions of those younger than me. So it must be said--what is with kids these days?! The Cheat Sheet this morning had not one but two WTF worthy pieces of news. Firstly, an 11 year old girl in Bulgaria gave birth to a child last night. On her wedding day. Sick. The Daily News quotes her as saying "I'm not going to play with toys anymore, I have a new toy now." I am going to vomit--there are several things that are incredibly disturbing about this case aside from the fact that this girl is ELEVEN.

1)Okay, no, she is 11. When I was 11 I learned from the son of the family who was renting the mountain house next to ours what sex was by engaging in one too many dates between my Barbies and his Kens. I was shocked that my beloved Barbara would engage in such an act and all in all didn't understand the logistics of it , but that may have been because Mattel didn't feel the need to equip B or K with genitalia of any sort. Nonetheless, the idea of humans engaging in the bizzare act was unthinkable.

2)Of course she's Bulgarian. Come on, Eastern Europe--no one is ever going to take you seriously if you continue to allow shit like this to go down on your turf. Lay down the law. Sex education in middle schools, please.

3)The girl is also quoted as saying "I didn't know I was pregnant until my grandmother said I'd put on weight. I just thought I'd ate too many burgers." W-W-WTF. I once spent a full eight hours watching I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant with Momma B this summer and have never heard as ridiculous an excuse. How many burgers is this child eating? And where oh where are her parents?

4)The new baby's name is Violetta, as is my little sisters' (hi, V). Since I have never met or heard of any other person named Violetta, I am going to take this as some sort of sick and twisted sign. To either join an against-child-brides-advocacy-group or call V and demand to know exactly what kind of crap she is up to her freshman year of college.

Moving on to the Cheat Sheet's second ugh-story. Next week's Gossip Girl will apparently be featuring a threesome. As excited as I am to find out who the lucky characters will be (Serena-Nate-Trip Vanderbilt? Olivia-Dan-Vanessa? Lily-Rufus-hot rockstar from Rufus's olden days...ah, I can only guess), this is completely inappropriate behavior for basic cable television aimed at teenagers. Back in the days of my dramedy filled teen-hood, the raciest shit ever pulled on TV was when Marissa and Ryan had sex in a random tent for some reason set up in their high school. And it took them three seasons! Maybe if we didn't air threesomes for impressionable eleven year olds to watch, we wouldn't have burger-babies named Violetta! Ick, world! I have learned my debit-card-pin lesson. When oh when will you learn your stop-encouraging-stupid-teenagers-to-have-sex-and-then-be-shocked-about-teen-pregnancy-statistics lesson? Oy.

Until then, I'll be counting down the minutes till my workday ends and listening to the "Glee Soundtrack"station on Pandora (Thanks, Caybabe!) Other music played on the Glee station:90s Disney movie soundtracks, the Rent and Wicked soundtracks, Bohemian Rhapsody, and Miley Cyrus. It's going to be a great hour and a half.

Thing of the Day: Halloween

Halloween is number two or three on my list of top five fave holidays (1. New Years Eve, 2/3. Halloween/4th of July, 4. Chrismakkuh, 5. Thanksgiving) and now that I have gotten back from fall break I have finally gotten sufficiently excited enough to begin adequately preparing. My apartment has been decked out in pumpkins and other seasonal fruits/vegetables (among my very few faults, being unable to destinguish between what is technically a fruit and what is considered a vegetable is moderately high on the list) for the majority of October, but seeing that we have a mere week left until the holiday, I have broken out the pumpkin cups and spider accessories. Sorry roomies. The other, considerably more important thing that I have broken out is my costume. I clearly can't reveal what I am being until the day (or in college, days) of Halloween, but it involves fake money, green fishnets, and a very LBD.

It's funny to me that all the holidays we used to get terribly excited for as children for very wholesome reasons (candy on Halloween, staying up all night on New Year's Eve, turkey on Thanksgiving, fireworks on the 4th of July, presents and cake on birthdays) are, for young adults, simply reasons/excuses to get excessively drunk. I come to this conclusion because every single person who I suggested come trick or treating with has responded either with a flat out "no," or an "only if we pregame." I am one of the founding members of pregaming's fan club, but for once, cannot see the purpose. What about putting on costumes and getting candy from strangers requires one to be intoxicated? Another thing that alcoholic friends refused to join me for this week was pumpkin carving at my sorority house. This time, pregaming wasn't suggested--probably because nobody should be wielding a knife and that close to accessible food in any state of inebriation--and I was flat-out greeted with "you're a loser." (In a twist of great hypocrisy, we will be hosting a Halloween/22nd roomie birthday party on Friday, complete with orange beer, spiked cider, and a plethora of unhealthy candies and revealing costumes).

In several other pieces of completely unrelated news:

1)Fall break was great and debaucherous. Charleston is a ridiculously cute city and I want to go back.

2)Does anyone know where I can get a Google Wave invite? I know its ridiculously geeky but I want this technology so badly. The 2 adorable Danish brothers who created it (Lars and Jens Rasmussen-duh. In my 4 months in Denmark, I learned that Danish people only eat three foods: fish, bread, and cheese, and that they only have three names: Lars, Jens, and Hans) just did a CNN interview about it and I want it on my desktop now.

3)Glee is officially my favorite show on television. After last Wednesday's mashup of "The Thong Song" and "I Could Have Danced All Night," I am officially denouncing both Gossip Girl (by the way, for those who watch Gossip Girl, check out this phenomenal GG Recap blog by the people at NY Magazine (Hire Me!). I am considering imposing this point system onto my own life. Thoughts?) and Greek in leiu of a wiser, funnier, better sounding teen dramedy. And, oh, Mr. Schuuuu.

Trick o treat lovers and friends.