Dirty Old Prom Queen

In '98 I was the prom queen and in '06 I hang out with queens. I'm a private tutor during the day and a comedian at night in ol' NYC. I just can't seem to get out of high school...can someone call the custodian? Vesuvio, I'm locked in!

Friday, June 30, 2006


I bought my little brother some work clothes for his summer internship at a real estate development company -- we just went for the basics straight outta Old Navy. Some khakis, some polos, a belt, some shoes. Done. Suffice it to say, that the clothes were not the cutting edge of style, but they are WORK clothes, for god's sake.

Anyway, apparently, he was walking through SoHo and, like any normal 20 year-old, he was caught gawking at some pretty chica by her boyfriend. But instead of the boyfriend being macho and saying something like, "You better turn your eyeballs the other direction before I karate chop your dick!" (Ha! My idea of macho is clearly retarded).

Anyway, instead of saying something manly, this douchebag, says, "What are you and your high pants looking at?"


What a fruitcake! Where else besides SoHo does a straight man try to diss another man by dissing the cut of the other man's pants?

Anywho, on another note. TONIGHT IS JULIA'S GOING AWAY SHOW!!! It's gonna be great!

Although her heart will technically still be pumping, Jules Langbein, comedian and author of the Bruni Digest, will be moving to Chicago forever this summer, and thus be dead to us. Come see her off at "Bye Bye Julia Langbein, You Nasty Bitch," a comedy variety show and party, hosted by Jules Langbein and Lang Fisher.
If you can't make the show, please do come by after—the going away party will continue in Sadie's Lounge next to the main stage upstairs at Mo Pitkins. Bonus points for anyone who tricks Frank Bruni into coming, telling him it's "this really great Indian Buffet." Mo Pitkins is located on Avenue A between 2nd and 3rd street in Manhattan!!!!

Friday, June 23, 2006

I've Finally Done It

I've finally managed to, a la teen chick comedy, pull out my wallet at a deli and accidentally launch a tampon into the face of the cashier. It was an O.B. so it literally hit him in the head like a little bullet. There's no real smooth way to leave that situation. You just retrieve your tampy from the vegan cookie stack, give the guy a dollar-twenty-five, smile, whisper "sorry," grab your Arizona Ice Tea, and mosey on.

Monday, June 19, 2006

Nasal and Naked

New York Magazine has an article right now about how Viagra is going to be replaced by a new nasal spray. And, laaaaaaaaaaaadies, this is not just for men, it's for you too!! Get ready allergy sufferers...get ready to be sexy.

Also, please take note of the following description of the wooing act in rats:

The female rat will approach the male head-to-head. She will wiggle her ears, she will wiggle her whiskers, she will nibble at him, and finally she'll turn and run away. If the male chooses not to pursue her, she may return and, as one leading rat sexologist puts it, "kick him in the face."

That is literally how I get my men. I basically kick a man in the face, once a night.

I would love any and all comments on this particular article. Do you guys think that this is a good thing?

What if you could make a sex drug in the shape of a gummy bear? I'm not going to go into how turned on I would be. I will devour a crate of those little smushy critters.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

Save the Date!!

For those of you who are fans of this blog and of The Bruni Digest, please come to a raucous event on JUNE 30th. It is the "going away" comedy show for my good friend Jules Langbein, it should be a hilariously wild time. After the show will be a rager party with music and dancing and making out!! Whoohoo!!

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Schoooooooooooool's Out for EVA!

Last conversation with my young private school tutee:

Me: Hey, you're hair looks great, did you go blonder?

Student: Yeah. Did you?

Me: Yeah.


Tuesday, June 13, 2006


ABC Family has outdone itself. Everyone PLEASE watch Falcon Beach!!!! It is the poor man's O.C. And by "poor man," I mean Canadian. It is Degrassi on a New England shore, where everyone wears fashions from the mid-90s and the drug of choice is E. PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE WATCH. There is a lot of making out and a lot of chunky flip flops.

It's on Mondays at 9/8 Central!!

Monday, June 12, 2006

Sultry Sunder

You guys, I am so sorry that I have neglected my little blog for a bit now, but it's because I have been visiting my family in Georgia.

Every young person in NYC (aside from those who grew up here) comes from a place that, in comparison, seems lackluster, ordinary, average...but after you've been in NYC for a while, isn't that exactly what you crave? When you are constantly inundated by fabulousness and extraordinary culture and tremendous cuisine and so forth, don't you just want to sit in the middle of nowhere at an everyday outdoor barbecue? Don't you just want to be somewhere where people think that "The Break Up" is an edgy movie? Or a place where the hip people have just started to layer their monochromatic polos popping all three collars up for a rainbow flourish?

I do...and so I went...to Georgia.
Ahh, the southern comfort...and the Southern Comfort.

Basically, what happens when I go to Georgia is that I get to live the life of a 76 year-old socialite with the joints and the energy of a 26 year-old. It's genius. I get to go out for different lunch, tennis, and golf dates, but I have no arthritis. This is the glorious life at my grandmother's house.

One thing that a young, liberal, artsy New Yorker must remember is that if she thought her family's views were a little backward before she went to NYC, then they will be backward, upside down, and inside out after she has lived in the city a little while.

My grandmother arranged for my friend Julia (of the Bruni Digest) and I to take a day trip to our family's ancestral plantation, where my great uncle handed me a coozie of Coors Light and then relayed the details of his pipe dream to move a Mexican family onto the property so that the wife could work in the house and the husband and children could work in the fields. At this, Julia and I blankly stared off into the distance while gulping down our brews, purposefully not making eye contact with the old slave quarters (I kid you not).

The plantation itself is an old farmhouse on 1200 or so acres of fields which used to grow cotton and wheat and other crops but is now mostly devoted to pine trees. My first thought was, "Jesus, so many Christmas trees...is there really this high of a demand?" And then I realized that pine trees can be used for other things besides Christmas...like wood...or paper. Whoops.

The inside of the main house is covered in ornamental taxidermy that ranges from a bobcat leaping, to a snake slithering, to innocent turtles mating. But literally, every inch of the house is smattered with dead, stuffed, action-posed wildlife. Lit-tle creep-ee. This is my great uncle's doing. In addition to showing Julia and me all of his bloody hunting photos, he also showed us one hell of a combover.

Anyway, the rest of the week continued in an equally Southern fashion. My accent returned with a vengeance and I got used to the idea of having a legitimate 5 o'clock cocktail -- not just a snapple half-filled with Georgi vodka, that I took to "Boy Beach" (also called Hudson River Park -- but if you can find a straight man there, I will give you a nickel). We played rounds of tennis and strolled through gardens. It was the most ladylike I have been in ages.

I would say that the only things that I didn't necessarily agree with were:

a) everyone's penchant for littering in the Chattahoochee river ("You done with that beer?Throw it over the boat. Yeah, just into the water.")

and b) everyone's love of the "to go" cup. Even my grandmother insisted that we take our vodka tonics in plastic cups with us in the car. And everyone who came to pick us up or take us anywhere also brought a six pack for us to drink. In fact, by the end of the trip, it felt downright rude not to have an open container in your hand, while we were en route to our next destination.
Oh Georgia...you are my heart and soul and belly.