you were the stunningly beautiful wife of a powerful fictional drug lord and lived a life of excess and luxury? then, just when everything falls to shit, you escape to your loving family back East just as hubby gets shot to death and leaves you with piles and piles of drug money?
Today's my New Yorkiversary. Five years since I flew in wearing new clothes I didn't know I hadn't removed the price tag from until I landed in JFK and some nice lady told me.
I remember thinking my sister was rude for not meeting me at the airport. Now I know cabs are reserved for when you've mixed wine with margaritas, Jack Daniels, and ice cream sundaes, late for a job interview, or have a baby well on its way out your cervix.
I wish I could go out for a drink. Celebrate. But I have an article to write and by the time I'm done everyone I know will be in bed. There are one or two people I *could* call but I'm trying not to call those people because I get into trouble when I hang around those people and I no longer want to party like the old days. You know. The old days. When we all wore petticoats and got drunk on fermented canned goods.
Instead I got some birthday candles out of the kitchen cabinet, lit 5 + 1 to-grow-on off the stove burner and sang a little ditty that went something like this:
Happy New York to me. Happy New York to me. Happy New York to me. Happy New York to me!
They were the cheap kind that melt fast so halfway through I blew them out over a bowl of mac-and-cheese
I'm sorry New York City. You deserve better. I know I used to say I'd be here 5 years and then I'd leave you for someone else. Seattle. LA. Austin. London. But I don't know if I can. You are my favorite place in the entire world and you mean everything to me.
Whoever says Times Square sucks hasn't ever been to Jimmy's Corner, 44th between 6th and Broadway. Ask for Mickie.
My very good friend Stephen and his brother Joel are competing in this batshit crazy contest sponsored by Delta.
They are part of several 2-person teams picked to fly all over the world and write blogs/make videos about it.
They are called the AWESOME BROTHERS and they need VOTES in order to go ahead to the next round.
The last round of voting ends TOMORROW.
You have to register (use www.bugmenot.com and it will take 2 seconds) and watch all 5 videos in order to vote. What a drag. The good thing is that you can minimize the screen and have it running while you're doing something else.
was Ocean of Fear a let-down or what? think the problem was that it tried to be everything all at once. documentary. dramatic reenactment. zippy primetime special.
very little sharking. very little gruesome. so pussy. especially the part where the soldier sketched that one shark naked and the little old lady came out and dumped the big gaudy necklace over the side of the boat near the end.
If you're the kind of person who doesn't read post titles, allow me to repeat:
MY VETERNARIAN CAN SUCK IT.
I am so sick of bringing my animal in and getting yelled at.
You're not brushing him enough. You're feeding him the wrong food. You should buy this organic shit that costs $39 dollars for a 2 lb bag and I will look at you like a cannibal who practices incest should you show the slightest hesitation.
I realize there are ways I could improve as a cat mother. But the fact that I'm even bringing the little fucker in to your establishment already puts me in a better position than 99% of people out there.
He's neutered. He has his shots. I didn't have him declawed, and thus have to had to give up on my dream of owning awesome wicker furniture like the kind Jack and Crissy have on Three's Company. I got him as an adult. I didn't buy a kitten from a huge chain store that acquires animals from dubious sources and subsequently give it away because the litterbox doesn't match my Crate & Barrel furniture. He's fat because I GOT HIM THAT WAY and I don't understand why, after 5 times in 5 visits, you still haven't managed to absorb that story.
I just gave you $150 dollars for 15 minutes of work. There are people who DOUSE CATS WITH GASOLINE AND LIGHT THEM ON FIRE. Can I get a little credit? Just a little? Thank you, Dr. Doolittle. You can go back to painting watercolors of your Bichon Frise or whatever it is you do in your spare time.
