Who Knew?

Who knew if you left a pumpkin in a hot, improperly ventilated kitchen that it would explode?

I came home last night to find my newly carved pumpkin, carved a mere four days ago, laying on the table in a juicy pile. I went to go pick it up and not only did my hands sink into its skin, but the entire pumpkin juiced itself. All over the place.

Happy Halloween.

Why is Gina Gershon Being Terrorized By A Ghost and Why Am I Watching?

While helping Greg make a headband for his Middle Aged Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costume last night, I came across haunted stories on the Bio Channel. I'm a sucker for these things that manage to suck hours from your life and never give it back.

They get you with the 'Up Next' segment. I think therein lies the problem. "Up Next... Sammy Haggar gets a surprise visit from his drunk dad....who's dead!" It's like with marathons you know you have no business or even interest watching but you can't stop. They don't show commercials between the credits and the next show. Five hours later you discover you haven't moved from your couch and you wonder how Ashlee Simpson has been your companion for an entire Sunday afternoon.

I digress.

Gina Gershon, (whoever the shit this is) was regaling me with tales from her haunted New York apartment. She kept waking up with scratch marks on her arms and was having terrible nightmares. She felt the presence of a man watching her while she was writing term papers for college...in the buff. "You know, I would write my term papers without a lot of clothes on....I don't know why, I'm Gina Gershon. You know me."

Turns out the house used to be a brothel at the turn on the century. Turns out that manly presence she felt was the mentally deranged son of the Madame. The same son who happened to kill, that's right, kill two prostitutes. He now haunts that room and other unsuspecting scantily clad women who rent that room.

Two things:
1) Don't get sucked in to shows like this. You waste hours of your evening and can't articulate what's the matter later when your boyfriend looks at you with that, "Are you thinking about dead ghost prostitutes?" face.
2) Happy Halloween.

Time to gladiate.

I Now Declare

In order to offset the seriousness of the previous blog, I will now issue you a statement from my recent lunch finding.

Kettle Brand Sea Salt and Vinegar Chips? You will enjoy this delicious chip if you acquire the arm strength to open the bag.

Seriously. These chips could survive a nuclear Holocaust.

Infomercial My Heart

Anyone see Obama's 30 minute informerical last night? I wasn't able to catch it, (as I was knee-deep in red shiny foam and glue guns...Halloween is tomorrow, yo). I did see it online this morning and yes, I did cry at work.

I don't know if it was the swelling music, the slow motion stills of hard-working Americans receiving heartfelt hugs from Obama or the arthritic wife sitting at home while her 74 year old husband pulls himself out of retirement to go work at Wal-Mart. But I found myself quietly crying at my desk.

I've already said it. Anyone reading this is probably already a friend of mine and I know all of my friends are voting. It's not just about voting that I'm writing about, it's not the need for Americans to pledge their support to a winning cause. It's that America needs change. This country has slipped and has continued to slip. I'm not blaming Bush. I'm not blaming Reagan or any other President who's made a mess of things. I'm not blaming our forefathers who founded this constitution. I'm blaming us, I'm blaming the present and I'm blaming everyone who can't stand up and admit that things are all wrong. Things are terribly wrong.

Seeing this infomercial, which was not enlightening and was not life changing, made me cry because of how real it was. Mothers sending their sons and daughters to a pointless war. Grandmother's unable to afford medication. Fathers unable to provide for their family. This is my family. These are my friends. This is the world we live in. We have to change this.

If you support change, if you support anything positive for this country, make your vote count.

(And if you don't want to have people seeing you cry, don't watch this at work.)

Vote.

I received my absentee ballot from North Carolina on Friday. Before I even took my coat off, I was already ripping open the envelope to fill in the oval next to Obama's name.

I stop and think of the times we're in. Scary or devestating, this is the most historical time period our world has ever seen. From the short time that I've been on this planet, I've seen the Berlin Wall come down, the Gulf War, the Twin Towers fall, George W. being elected....again, the war in Iraq, technology changing at a daily speed, catastrophic change in our planet's weather, cell phones shrinking in size, huge leaps in the cure for cancer, state's beginning to support same sex union...

We are living in the most important moment in our nation's history. Whatever your political beliefs may be, your opinions, your concerns, this is the most significant turning point that we are all a part of. We have a vote and we have to use it. What do you care about? What do you want to see change? What do you want to say to the ones who have the power to change them?

I don't care if you're a gun-toting Republican who worships Satan or a Democrat who eats trees and communicates with taps. As long as you have an opinion about the direction of our country and have reason to back it up, then you need to get involved. Go vote. Get your friends to vote. We can change the direction of our country, this war, our environment, our future, our children's future.

Don't be an asshole. Go vote.

Filly My Pain

Not that kind of filly...though this horse does resemble how I felt when leaving the dentist today.

3 week old filling was not sitting straight and I couldn't eat on that side. After x-rays they decided it was too close to the nerve and had to take it out and put it back. First step? Novocaine.

So what was my request? More Novocaine.

First shot: "Yeah...I can still feel it. Better make it a double."

Second shot: "Mmm, I think I can still feel it but I'm not sure. Better give me some more."

Third Shot: "We'll see how this goes."

It went fine. But taking three shots of Novocaine to the face means that you leave looking like a stroke victim. I brought back a smoothie to work and trying to drink it through the straw was the most difficult thing I've attempted in years. And the most hilarious.

I've said it once before... Kids, you must floss. You must floss, floss, floss.

Get flossy with it.

Bonin' Bush

I saw "W" last night. Hollywood took a bold step in making this historical piece while still in the midst of history, but boy did they do it well. There was nothing offensive about this movie. They didn't overstep their bounds in making Bush seem like a black-hearted jerkwad who is heartlessly waging war on unsuspecting oil rich countries. He's not a bad guy. He's just a dumb-dumb head who is easily led by members of his party.

More importantly.... Josh Brolin? I think he's the only person alive who can convince me that I'd consider boning a president. Hot.

They did an amazing job creating this story and not missing a beat on references. If anything, it gave me an insight to decisions made during a time when I was personally choosing to tune out reality. Fact: They were wrong. Their speculations weren't precise, they were made by gut feelings. But in terms of what George W. actually contributed? He's really just the face.

There are so many things we can say. There are so many speculations we can all make. In the end, this war sucks and it was the wrong choice to go over there. We all knew this and it's time to end it. We do not have a perfect system. And it gave me all the more reason to believe that Obama is the next thing that our country needs. Please, for the love of God, make your vote on Novemeber 4th count.

And lastly...Josh Brolin needs to get ugly.

Drama Break

I've decided I'm taking a break from the show 'Felicity.' I've tried so hard....I've given it my all.

The one season I watched as nineteen year old just don't hold up. I thought, "Oh, J.J. Abrams, there's no way he can let me down." But each time I receive a Netflix envelope in the mail, I know it's from Felicity. She's saying, "Delve into my sad, little world. Nose dive straight into morbid insanity. Take a jog with me down Depressingville. I'll show you how much you never thought you wanted to drive blunt spoons into your eye sockets."

And it's true. I do. I sit there episode after episode, unable to press the stop button and end this madness. Ben's whispering, (always whispering!) something stupid, Felicity's touching her hand to her furrowed brow, wondering how she can be anything but herself...Someone got pregnant. Someone drank too much and fell into a coma. Someone didn't get into Med School. Someone's dad is dying of alcoholism and their son can't forgive him. Someone was a crack addict and shot someone at a party by mistake.

It. Just. Won't. Stop.

I'm on the last season. I'm so very close to the end but I just can't do it. I gave it my all, Felicity. If you could throw in a trip to Coney Island every now and then... A cheerful dance party? Anything?

Where Have I Been?

I'm not quite sure what I've been doing since '94 that I've been too busy to discover the joy that is Method Man. I recently pillaged Greg's computer and smuggled several never before listened to, (by Katie) albums that caught my eye.

Method Man? Amazing. I'm pretty sure if it were appropriate, I'd be following statements with, "What the Blood Clot?"

I mean...

Everytime I pass by a basket of baby pumpkins on the street, I have an overwhelming urge to take them all.

It's kind of like seeing babies in strollers, bull dogs on leashes, any advertisement featuring Paul Rudd. You know...like that.

So with my stolen basket of babies, dogs and Paul Rudd, I will add a random fall assortment of pumpkins. Done and done.

Gladiators, Ready??

You know what's more exciting than going as a female Gladiator for Halloween? Getting your costume together to be a female Gladiator.

Four ladies hit the streets this past weekend to acquire any flashy accessory that would complete our muscly sensual look. The only logical place to start was American Apparel. Unless you own a pair of sparkly roller skates that you wear them on the regular and you live in the 1970's, you have no business purchasing electric red shiny spandex leggings. But that is just what I did.

We were having quite a fantastic time showing each other our spirited garbs in the dressing room, whooping it up and exclaiming, "Look at me! I look ridiculous!" It was around that time that the line for the dressing room started to build up and I began noticing that everyone was there shopping....but like, for real.

I got the feeling that I was slowly offending each shopper with every gold headband I donned and every stirrup legged pant that I shimmied out of the dressing room with. The dressing room attendant said, "People really buy this stuff." I'm still not sure if he was agreeing with our public mockery of the styles or he was defending the overpriced turf he stood on. We quickly finished up and left with a bundle of money in shiny fabric form.

Hours later, we sat around the kitchen table gluing on Red, White and Blue stars and outlining our Gladiator names in sparkly silver paint. We put our wrist bands around beer cans to appropriately decorate them.

Take a note from my dim camera phone pics... Patriotism is at an all time high when puff paint is involved. Watch out, New York Halloweeners, we also have a golden joust in our clutches with which to pummel your ass.

Excuse me, waiter. There are no clams in my clam chowder.

Soup. I love soup. I could eat soup every single day and not get tired of it. But you know what I do get tired of? Soup that's not made correctly.

As stated before, I had some ill dental work performed and it's completely botched. My mouth is in chaos and I'm down to eating soup and smoothies until I can get back into the dentist's chair next Thursday. Bread, vegetables, moistened syrupy waffles...it all hurts.

Yesterday I discovered a soup/sandwich place in my new office neighborhood. It was okay, except they did not provide a spoon. Who leaves out the spoon when you're demanding an absurd amount of money for soup? I do not know. I got clam chowder only to discover that not only was I without spoon, I was without clams.

Today the amazing Fall weather taunted me into trying another soup place. I found an amazing place two blocks from my office containing the inner workings of the best Spicy Chicken Chowder you've ever put your face into. I get back to work...there is no spoon. No spoon? I know that I should probably check, but they've put bread in there, napkins...who leaves out a spoon?

So maybe I should go the extra mile to fix my soup craving. But, people...it's soup. Get with it. This is probably the only necessary acoutrement needed to complete this feeding. Take a note.

Pimp My Plumber

I'm just going to be the first one to say it, after last night's debate "Joe the Plumber" is going to the hottest celeb since Spencer Pratt....but more loveable.

What's next for "Joe the Plumber?" A reality television show where he will be up for grab's from anyone currently in office or running for President. He will be popular and filthy rich. My only question is, if you get all the money you need would you still go into the plumbing business if you had a choice?

Like Hector from the amazing movie Quicksilver. Kevin Bacon earned mass amounts of money in the stock market so that Hector could open his dream hot dog stand. Why did he still open a hot dog stand? Why not a restaurant? I think the movie needs to shift its focus a bit.

I digress. Joe the Plumber stars in Pimp My Plumber. It's gold, Jerry! Gold!

"I Am Not President Bush."

That's true.

But you're still a robot.

Steel Friends? Nuff Said.

My mom was recently cleaning out a box in her house and found a letter I had written as a little kid. I must have been in the second grade as the ink was purple, the lines started at the top and staggered down, and there were broken hearts doodled all over the page.

Apparently I never delivered this letter but oh golly, I wish I had.

Dear Chris,

I guess you hate me. So I thawt that I would endup hating you. And I am happy that you read this. Because I have wanted to say that all year... And I mean hate, hate, hate you!

I hope that you hate me. Because I am braking up with you. Got it, HATE.

No hurt feeling! O.K.
Steel Friends? Nuff Said.

Katie

What a cruel, heartless Ice Queen I was! We could all take a few tips from young, rowdy Katie. Tell em to stick it.

The Perfect Storm

I've taken my name off of the New York Department of Labor's hitlist for one's to feel sorry for and walked into my first day of work today. It's awesome. I'm really into my job so far, my boss is fantastic, the work is great and I get to watch TV all day. Awesome? Yes. Quite.

My building, however, is quite hilarious. Seeing as this floor operates with around 100 other companies, it's a mish-mash of different occupational threads. The floor is set up like a maze and I was trapped in a Seinfeld episode today when I got lost looking for the exit. It seriously kept on going.

My new cube neighbor is either a Trader, a Stock Analyst or an extremely angry manic depressive. I held myself back from laughing out loud several times today while listening to him talk people down. As we all know, it's been a ridiculous time for the Market and a shitcan feeling if you've got a lot of money in it. (Side note: Why didn't I buy Intel at 6?!) So the following contains a few tasty tidbits I overheard today:

"You gotta step it up and buy when the market's strong...I know you're a big boy."
"I will kill myself."
"It's like this...if you get hurt and wind up in a hospital, I'll feel responsible."
"It's like the Perfect Storm with Mark Wahlberg and what the fuck's his face...."

And now enjoy the following video.

I Rest My Case.

While there are staggering comparisons to be found between the Republican presidential candidate John McCain and adventure-seeker Bear Grylls, I think I know who would have my vote.

In this media based society we call ours, how can we not take some tips from other bad asses? We are constantly comparing movie stars, music legends and most fashion-forward trend setters. How do we not have the same authority of discernment between our presidential candidates? I'm going to take some tips from other world figures and I suggest that you do the same.

John McCain was a prisoner of war?



Bear Grylls ate the head of a fucking snake.

The vote has been cast.

Boom-Da-Boom!

I sat up last night watching West Side Story and now I want to live in 1960's New York... apparently there was a lot of dancing.

If only present day New York warlords were fashionable and spry and used phrases like "Boom-Da-Boom!" or would occasionally kick their leg up and shout, "Wacko-Jack-o!" I'm fairly certain after viewing this film that more things would get done if we only worked out our frustrations with society through the power of dance.

I realize present day New York is filled with the corrupt Officer Crupke types who need to keep a clean beat. But at the same time, there are an equal amount of youths just trying to make their way through the world who seem to say, "We are here! We are colorful! We carry a lively step!"




I'm going to try this maneuver today. I'll let you know how it works out.

"You're Going to Need a Drink After This."

I just got back from the dentist. There was crying, there was blood and a smidgen of vomit. Want me to go on? Will do.

I went to see this fancy dentist on Central Park South a few months ago after a bad run in with a Fireball. I cracked my tooth into five pieces and had to get a Partial Crown. First he took pictures of the gaping hole in my mouth with a tiny camera from the future which I then emailed to everyone I knew. During his drilling, I watched the new Pink Panther on a flat screen television. He scanned my mouth with a laser to double check that I had no other cavities. I thought, "We are living in the future! I could go to the dentist every day!"

Boy was I a dummy.

I did have cavities. Four of them. I'm going to state for the record that no, it was not just years of candy and improper flossing. It's genetics. He told me so, so there! So the cleaning happened first today. You can always tell it's a bad sign when the Hygenist goes ahead a numbs you before she starts. After that it was like Halloween IV. I've never heard or felt so much scraping, pulling, yanking or scratching in all my non-violent peaceful life. I feel my jaw start to swell due to a terrible case of TMJ. She stops and says, "You're going to need a drink after this."

After that I'm sent into the next room to get my fillings. The first two. Only they're the last two teeth in my mouth. On the top row. My jaw was so swollen from the cleaning that I can barely open my mouth. So much that he literally tilted my chair back as far as it would go to see the back. This enabled all of the water, numb-numb juice, blood, etc to go directly into my throat.

There were at one point, up to eight different tubes leaving my mouth. I would open my eyes only when I was slapping the dumb assistant's tube out of my throat, and would see smoke rising from my mouth. Oh what's that? It's just my effing tooth being drilled away. The numbness is wearing off. My jaw is getting so sore that they put in a bite splint, only this makes the gagging worse. I start crying. Immediately he tries to change the subject by asking, "Is this song Hootie?" I start crying harder. There is no flat screen television. There are no lasers. Only heartache.

How can it get worse? Wait for it. The doctor goes into the next room to tend to another patient and leaves me alone with this demonic assistant. She starts shoving what feels like fire and death into my gums. I'm wincing in pain and she reaches for another few shots of whatever it is that makes your pain go away. The taste of this drug is going back down into my throat. I can bear it no longer. I gag all over her. All the liquid from the shot is everywhere. Spit, blood, everything. It's all over her, the chair. Everywhere. I'm sobbing over the rinsing drain, unable to open my mouth to properly cry and drooling out of the side that isn't swollen. She gets up and leaves the room.

That, in a nutshell is how I won my first set of fillings. I have to go back in two weeks to get the next two. I am never, ever allowing my teeth to reach the sad state they were in. Kids, you must floss. You must love your teeth. You should never underestimate the worth of your teeth.

You should take your teeth out on a date.

But She Doesn't Do Windows...

At least she makes the end of our planet as we know it look good.