Noony Low

Today, I have hit a noony low. I'm feeling feminine and emotional and just plain douchey. I am drinking a Fuze Slenderize fruit drink, have been adding Steamy Romance movies to my Netflix queue, and am reading Memoirs of a Geisha and underlining important lines to remember in my own life...as a geisha. I also consequently put on culottes this morning, imbibed a few TrimSpa pills, called all my ex-boyfriends and hung up on them, slapped a woman with a baby and then clutched my own empty womb in tears, dipped my naked body in the office sink which I had filled with self-tanner, won't stop listening to Dido on repeat, gave all of my body hair an Ogilve perm, frenched the Xerox repairman, did the electric slide alone in my office with 39 cent stamps stuck to my cleavage, huffed a dryer sheet, did a freewrite about love, and tried cutting myself just to see how it works.


Tomorrow will be better. Now, it's time to wrap my birth control in bacon, so that I can choke it down.

More for You

My friend Emily says that there are stirrup pants available at H and M. The world is coming to an end.

Also, a large burly man brought a pet parrot to Prospect Park today with him. He also brought the parrot a little perch to sit on. And the parrot just looked on as this beast of a man did his ab crunches and pec struts and glute flexes. I wish I had a pet or a baby or anything...just to love.

Theeeeey're Baaaaack...God help us all

I just heard the most horrendous news from the fashonista world...body suits are back. NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

I am immediately reminded of the early 90's when I had several that I would wear with tapered black jeans. One of them was a poet shirt...remember those? Remember?!! And I desperately wanted one with the shoulders cut out. Ewwww.

I can't believe that they are back. For those of you who were cryogenically frozen from '88 - '95, the body suit was the love child of the lady's shirt and the leotard. It was invented to give waif-thin models a good tuck in their high-waisted Z. Cavaricci's. For the rest of us though, it only created awkward struggles in the bathroom and an unflattering spare tire effect. Miss Jules sent me a secret camera phone pic of a new one from an unnamed -- but very popular-- designer. Please look. I am appalled.



Oh and it is so BLOUSY!!! God!!! Yuck. Noony, noontown. Louis Vuitton (not the designer of this item, but is also rumored to have a body suit out in his summer line), why? WHY? Why must we have to unbutton our crotch to get to our underwear to use the toilet? What's that? We aren't supposed to wear them with underwear -- GROSS!!! Why don't I just add some shoulder pads, dock martins, and the rest of Bridget Fonda's outfit from Singles?



Or maybe I should just slip into this...

...because the future is inevitable and the body suit is back. And I can't stop it. Ugh. (Soft, slow weeping into a pair of stirrup pants).

The day after Easter and all through the house...

Happy Easter everyone!!! Yesterday, I really wanted to create a hilarious Easter egg hunt on my friend Brooke's patio, which is Manhattan - or shall I say Chicklet-sized. I seriously wanted to put tiny miniatures of liquor in individual eggs and hide them all over the patio for my friends to find. Buuuuuuut, I had too many mimosas before noon and never made it happen. Too bad. I hope everyone else had a nice Easter.

Also, please check out Michelle's blog for pictures from Passover at the Pitkins. They are preposterous. As Elijah the prophet, I looked like a member of ZZ Top and bought one of those novelty beer helmets, but replaced the beer with wine, and got sooooo bombed on Manneshewitz that I had what Jules calls a Vanessa Huxtable hangover (wearing sunglasses indoors, cringing at any loud noises, and stumbling down stairs, hallways, etc.). I also went on a drunk dialing spree at the end of the night, leaving lovely messages for all those who were appropriately tucked in their beds at 2 AM on a Thursday.

Thanks again, Michelle!!!

TONIGHT: Come see me perform at

Twin Killing
Hosted by Matt Goldich and Chris Jurek
Swift
34 E. 4th Street
(between Lafayette and Bowery)
8:30 pm, FREE

also with

Seth Herzog (host of the show Sweet at the Slipper Room)
Sean O'Connor (VH1)
and Charlie Sanders (from Conan O'Brien and the UCB Theatre)

I'm Not Jewish but...

Happy Freaking Passover!!!

You guys, I am soooo mother-effing psyched that it is Passover. I'm not Jewish...yet. Moishe where's my ring?!! But I am really excited for two reasons:

#1 Low carb count = skinny jeans for at least a week

That's right folks, I'm observing Passover...any reason to starve myself, any reason at all. Gimme any fasting holiday and I will worship your god(s)

#2 Passover at the Pitkins!!

Bestie Michelle has watched me for years staring through the windows of Jewish families on Passover. She has observed me silently weep as I see the children hunt for the Afikommen; and she has sighed and shaken her head while I mouth the words pathetically to "Dayenu." So, last year, when she caught me attempting to squeeze myself into one of her stylish suitcases so that I could join her at her grandparents sedar, she delicately lifted me out, patted my head, and said, "next year, little one, next year." We sealed this oath in blood and matzah and buried it underground in a Coach bag.

And she has kept her promise, ladies and gents. She has kept her promise. Michelle has so kindly invited me, a little WASP from the South, to participate in this extremely amazing Passover Sedar at Mo Pitkins tomorrow (Thursday, April 13th). I will be playing the part of Elijah the Prophet, which I have been told is like playing the North Star in the Christmas Pageant -- I was only ever asked to play Donkey #2 or Pine Cone #7.

I am filled with the joy of thousands of years of heartbreak and struggle!!! Also performing are NYC's best Jewish comedians -- yes, there are some Jewish comedians in New York.

I won't let you down Passover, I won't let you down.

Sixth Grade Subversion

My 6th grade student just told me that he ripped up his Presidential Physical Fitness Test certificate for the mile run, because it had President George Bush's signature on it.

More power to you, little brother man.

6th Season Soprofoundos

This season of the Sopranos -- my favorite show on television -- so far has been awesome, but reeeeeeaaaaallllly existential, right?



Very little wacking...but a whole lot of pontification about "who we are" and "why we're here." After last week's episode, I felt as if I had been through a combo of therapy, philosophy class, and church. When did becoming a wise guy, actually mean becoming wise?


Quick scene count from last Sunday's episode:

Number of scenes where an old cancer-ridden rocket scientist explained Quantum physics to two gunshot-wounded gangstas (Tony and rap artist Da Lux) and their crews: 1

Number of scenes where the same old sage explains that people are not separate entities but that we are all connected as collections of molecules: 2

Number of scenes exploring evangelical Christianity and the validity of evolution: 2

Number of scenes where a key character poignantly confronts himself, his place in the world, his future, and his own death: every single scene, except for...for...nope every single scene

Number of scenes where Paulie cries: 1

Number of scenes where someone's knocked to the ground and beaten: 2...only 2

Number of scenes where a character asked another character to wack or shoot him: 2 -- curiously, once to end someone's life and once to make someone's life better

Number of shots of that creepy Ojibwe saying: 3

Number of scenes where the wind was mentioned in a sort of other-worldly kind of way: 2 (1 in relation to the molecules speech and 1 regarding Native American beliefs)

It's getting deep y'all. It's getting ralll, ralll deep.

If this soul here are a few of my predictions for what we can expect in future episodes:

1) It's revealed that Dr. Melfi is an old Ojibwe prophet, sent from the past to save the future via the mob.

2) The whole crew revamp their infrastructure for the purpose of more positive Feng Shui

3) Dance numbers. Lots of dance numbers. (not a prediction, just a wish)

4) Twice the number of meaningful, heartfelt, prescient looks (not a prediction, a promise)

5) Now that Tony has come out of his coma, he, as the leader of the Northern New Jersey mafia, will in fact reveal the meaning of life...in the finale.

6) Adriana returns as the skimpiest-dressed angel of all time, with lacy wings, to reveal Doomsday whilst chewing Dentyne White.

The Winds of Katrina are No Match for Senior Prom

In Pass Christian, Mississippi, students don gowns in FEMA trailers and dance 'til dawn next door to the local gas station. It's prom season and ain't no natchal disaster gonna stop it.

Literally, though, this story made me well up.

The only thing that has made me well up more than this story in the last two days is the Lowe's commercial that played all last night during the NCAA basketball championships. The one where the daddy helps his son build a basketball net outside of their house and, then, cut to future where the son takes the net down victoriously after winning the NCAA championships; and then he looks out to the crowd to see his father (the very same father who constructed the hoop outside of their home many years before -- now greying at the temples) gazing at him with pride. I saw it 8 times last night and cried each time. People achieving their dreams. Tears.

Singles Show

I am doing a show for singles tonight. I haven't told them about Mr. Romance yet...my new boyfriend.

April 3rd at 7pm

The Singles Show

Featuring:

Eric Andre, Denise Bongiovanni,

Ben Chaney, Eric Deskin, Mindy Raf,

Lang Fisher and Drew Wininger

Hosted by Skip Lickdale and Sparkle Montgomery

brought to you by Ron Phoenixville and Mintyfresh: A Family of Sparkling Shows

McGee's Pub

240 West 55th Street, 3rd Floor
www.mcgeespub.com

www.mintyfreshcomedy.com/singles.html
$5 plus 2 dates minimum

Let's Grab a Drink

Last night, I met up with my childhood bestie at a local tapas and wine bar. We shared a lovely bottle of red and some chorizo (not in the wine -- on a separate plate, silly) and caught up about boys, work, clothes, fascism, and other girly things. Afterwards, I felt pleasantly tipsy and full; and I was ready to go home and watch my Sunday night HBO lineup but then...


...my friend Jules called to say that she and her boyf were hanging out at the bar of a local Italian eatery down the street from my apartment. So, I said that I would meet them for a drink. "I can always 'On Demand' my HBO shows another night, but when can you 'On Demand' good conversation?" I thought to myself. And so, I skipped on over to see my dear friends. Well, as you might imagine, one drink turned into another bottle of red. And we laughed and we chortled and we talked about the weather and about summertime plans and current dictators and friendship. Afterwards, we all embraced and, stumbling slightly, I wrapped myself up in my scarf, ready to go home and curl up with a good magazine before I drifted off into sweet slumber. But then...


...I ran into my old roommate on the street and we caught up for a second, but she had just gotten off work at her restaurant job and she asked me if I wanted to grab a quick drink with her, since she had just had a long day and wanted to relax. "What the heck!" I exclaimed and, to the bartendrix's surpise, I walked right back into the Italian restaurant that I had just left. Another round of red and halfway through a flute of champagne, the two of us were on the verge of tears about career struggles, heartbreak, money problems, the loss of civil liberties for thousands of American citizens, and recent weight gain. Drunk as a skunk, I trudged homeward. But then...


...a homeless man offered me an old boot filled with moonshine, and I didn't want to be rude, so I guzzled it, lit my own fart on fire, and hired a Russian pre-teen hooker. JK, you guys. She was Lithuanian.


Anywho, the point is: catching up gets you fucked up. And now I am barely sitting up at my desk, guzzling Vitamin Water, and waiting for the focus in my left eye to return.