More Old Blogs

Blog: "Silly Girl, Coats are for Winter." Posted October 9, 2006


Well, kiddos, as the days grow shorter and the cold weather creeps in for a winter-long stay, I find myself remembering all the things I hate about winter. Today, I will broach only one winter peeve, because I want to be the first to establish this social taboo.

Okay, so it's about 30 degrees out, and you are headed out for a night on the town. What to wear, what to wear? Well, if you're one of the many brainless females out there without sense enough to decipher between a summer and winter wardrobe, chances are you reach for your trusty tank top with spaghetti straps that you wore all summer. Why not? You looked fabulous in it when you were picking crabs or downing coronas at Seacrets, right? Sure! Except for one thing, it's WINTER dumbass.

I cannot emphasize enough how much I hate when girls trek out into the TUNDRA of Maryland winter (haha, I know I know) in their tank tops and open toed shoes. What in GOD'S NAME is going through your head. There are MANY things wrong with thinking that this is acceptable.

Number One- the obvious. IT IS COLD OUT BITCHES. When you are hailing a cab at 2am, no matter how drunk you are, you still need a COAT of some sort. The ridiculous necklace you have draped over your neck does not count, either. Instead of wearing a coat, you stand in a huddle with your other friends, chattering your teeth and rubbing your bare arms, saying how "like totally cold it is out here." Well, sherlock, that's because it's WINTER.

Number Two- No one wants to see your a) pale ass winter arms or b) your desperate attempt at a fake tan in January. I am pretty sure no one is going to believe that orange color comes from the sun. Like most respectable females, you should wear long sleeves in the winter. This is only the sensible thing to do. I am not trying to be a stickler here, you can make those sleeves as tight as you want, girlfriend, just wear them.

Number Three- We already know how desperate you are to make everyone think you are hot, so we don't need another reminder. Instead of a guy admiring your "boldness" of not wearing a coat to the bar and braving the cold weather, chances are he is going to shake his head and mumble to his friends what a dumbass you are. When you talk to him, he will also ask you if you're cold, which you will of course answer with "not really." Please know you aren't convincing anyone. There is snow falling from the sky and no matter how much you have visited the tanning bed, it will still feel cold when it touches your tan.

Number Four- Your goosebumps are so obvious that it looks like you are smuggling mexican beans in your shirt. Turn your headlights off and go get a coat.

So again, I find it to be my responsibility to remind all the ladies out there how silly it is to "forget" your coat on your way to the bar. Holding it in your hand while you drink might be annoying, but atleast you can rest assure that your tic tacs stay in your purse, and not in your bra.

Blog: "I'm Just a Bimbo Stuck in Limbo" Posted November 26, 2006

Join me, folks, into my deep probe of self-analysis, today. I think it's always good to take a moral inventory of ourselves, and to stop and reflect about where we are in our lives, and where we are going.

I think they are right when they say hindsight is 20/20. Sure, it'd be easy to kick myself for not getting my teaching degree earlier, but then again I realize the trial-and-error game I was playing with other jobs may just be the spark that fuels my fire for going back to school and getting my master's degree.

But that doesn't change the fact that I feel like I am serving a two year sentence in Limbo Prison. Yes I realized what I finally want to do, but to get there it's as if I have to put my car in reverse and back that shit up about 10 miles, all the while waving at friends as they pass on their way, moving forward in their lives.

I have to continually remind myself to see only the big picture. Two years of school and bartending is nothing in the long scheme of things. But maintaining this perspective is pretty hard when I am busting my ass everyday for tips to pay for it. If I have to explain one more time what the difference between cream of crab and Maryland crab soup is I am liable to dump a cup on someone's head- the difference should be crystal clear then.

Now I am not trying to be a whiny little brat here, because there are some perks to having a grad student's schedule. For instance, while your fat ass is at a computer screen all day, plunking away at keys and gabbing to "clients" on the phone, I will be burning a ton of calories in my workplace, and toning this tush-o'-mine.

Also, after two years of getting up at 6am every day to combat traffic on 95, I get to sleep in, and walk to work. Betcha can't say that about your office job.

Nonetheless, I still feel like I am serving time in Limbo State Prison, just waiting for the Warden to grant me my Master's Degree to I can walk as a free woman. In the mean time my cellblock and I will enjoy ourselves as we pour draft beers and serve blackened swordfish.

Bon appetit bitches.

Blog: "I ain't to proud to beg...like TLC." Posted November 27, 2006

I'm feeling very bloggy lately, and by that I mean I have a lot of shit to get out of my system. Let's begin my daily tirade with a subject I know you can all relate to. People who think they are a big deal.

Okay, first I should get this disclaimer out of the way: ***I know I am a big deal, and this doesn't apply to me because I am just a big deal, no explanation required.***

But, there are folks out there who have delegated themselves into the "Big Deal Club" with no credentials to back it up.

Let's take exibit A: The person, guy or gal, who never ever had a job during high school or college, but gets a job after graduation and decides they are a big deal. Okay, to put this nicely, these assholes piss me off. I am not saying I had it hard, but these kids were born with a silver spoon in their mouths, and haven't had to work a day in their lives. YOU ARE NOT A BIG DEAL. Let's just make it a general rule that you're not a big deal if you enter college without a bank account. Or, and this is a true story, someone who doesn't know how to write a check. Let me break it down for you.

While most of us had to bust our little pre-slow-metabolism asses working dumbass jobs in high school to pay for prom, your Mom was taking you to get pedicures. For this alone, you have NO STREET CRED. Basically you are a huge sissy-boy or girl who parades around pretending they know shit when they don't. Then in college you went to the ATM and took out Daddy's money to pay for your cover at the bar. This is a downright insult to those of us who had to wait on tables, do construction or babysit snot-ridden kids to pay our bartabs.

Exhibit A People were dumb assholes then, are dumb assholes now, and will always be dumb assholes. They are also the same people who coincidentally pinch every penny, always try to get free stuff, and then will "pick up the tab" at dinner just to impress people. Or should I say let their Dad pick up the tab, since it's his name on their credit card.

Having your parents pay your way through high school and college does NOT make you a big deal. I know for certain that there are others who agree.

In light of this, I want to give a shout-out to those gals and guys out there who ain't too proud to beg for that bar tab cash. Those people who know the value of an 8-hour shift, and learn to live for the weekends. The next time you see some dumb bitch carrying a Gucci purse that her Dad bought her, remind yourself that YOUR Gucci purse was paid for whoring yourself out to the MAN, and collecting your hard-earned American wages. BOO-YAH

Blog: "Watson, fetch my snifter, it's time for my evening cocktail." Posted December 7, 2006

And if by cocktail you mean six beers and maybe a prescription drug or two, then yes, it's time.

Friends, it has lately dawned on me that there are two groups of people in this world. Those that go to a bar occasionally, maybe on the weekends, and those that make it a part of their daily routine. And what I am preparing to postulate is that it is the latter that makes this silly little world go round.

You see, these particular people, let's just call them Bar-nies for reference-sake (and because it sounds funny),go to their local bar almost every damn night. Not only do they go, but they have a routine there that includes the same drink and food order that's as predictable as a celebrity divorce.

I have had the good fortune to observe and interact with said "Bar-nies" frequently lately, and I am officially obsessed with them. Why, you ask? Well, folks, it's simple. They have life down to a fine science, which to me, is both intriguing and captivating. Barnies go about their daily business as usual during daylight hours, but emerge happily and eagerly like vampires once the sun goes down, trudging up to the local bar in even the worst weather, just to get their evening cocktail.

They take their usual place at the bar, smile kindly to the bartender (who in my case has some serious dimples) and order a drink. They expect nothing out of their bar experience but a light buzz an some good conversation. To me, this is truly endearing.

Their topic of conversation need not be sophisticated or worldly for me to enjoy their company. I take solace just knowing that their entire universe is at peace sipping thier beer and discussing which spider is the deadliest in the world or why it isn't actually beneficial to salt your walks when it snows.

You see folks, it brings me great joy and inner peace to know that there are people in this world who finish their days at their local bars, smiling, and exchanging drivel-laden conversation with the bartender.

Whatever life brings my way, it would be nice to know that life's simplest pleasures can be the most rewarding, even if the pot at the end of the rainbow happens to be a pint of draft beer and a warm bar stool.

Blog: "Who Gave Me the Key to Blackout City?" Posted December 12, 2006


Well, whomever gave it to me, I don't want it, and please, for the love of God, take it back. It is 3 a.m., and I just work up in a cold sweat, and felt the need to share my anguish with the whole world.

This last month I have totally felt like Frodo Baggins. One day I was living a peaceful and humble existence in the "shire" and the next minute I have lost all control, chasing and protecting the "Precious," which just so happens to be the bottom of a bottle of Grand Marnier.

I've have never really given any thought to the cliche of "living life in the fast lane," but they just WERE NOT KIDDING when they say it makes you lose your mind. Whomever slipped me the key to BlackOut City, which I unknowingly and naiively embraced, take it back, please. I am not P.Diddy. I did not ask for the key to this city, nor do I have the self control to own it.

Suddenly, as if a vampire came and bit me on my neck, my days became my nights and my nights became a blackhole that swallowed me whole. For the love of GOD, someone please intervene!!! I have lost all self control! Laundry? What's that? Clean clothes don't appear out of nowhere? Bills? Oh, that's right, you have to actually PAY THEM.

For the last month Peter Pan took over my body and whisked me off to Never Never Land where I am Captain Hook and the sound of the clock in the Croc is actually a shot of GM waiting to be taken. I am haunted by my alarm clock, which never goes off anymore, only reads 2pm, which are my new mornings.

Friends, if you were ever to be here for me, it should be now. I need someone to please point me the way back to my bedroom window, cause Peter Pan is really getting on my nerves. This is not me!

I write this in a puddle of self-disgust. I cannot emphasize how much I need to regain control of myself and maintain a focused mindset. I start school in January, and here I am, Queen of BlackOuts, parading Cross Street like the Pirate Whore of my alter ego, Liquorny. Yeah, it's nice to let loose once in a while, but when "once in a while" turns into 2 entire months, it's about time you took your own shoulders, shook them violently, and screamed "REGAIN CONTROL OF YOURSELF WOMAN! SCRAMBLE FOR WHATEVER SHRED OF SELF-DIGNITY YOU STILL HAVE AND HOLD ON TIGHT!"

Where is the firey abyss I can throw this ring into, to free myself, Mrs. Frodo Baggins? I don't want the Precious anymore! Sam Gangee, will you take it for me PLEASE?!?!? It sucks being Frodo!

I am throwing in the towel here, and laying off the booze for the rest of the month. No joke. You heard it here first folks. I am done drinking until New Years Eve, and even then, someone better keep a close watch on me, or I will be starting off 2007 at my new home, The Betty Ford Center.

Blog: "My Dog Can Kick Your Dog's Ass." Posted December 18, 2006

I am happy to announce that I am the proud new GodMother to Lady Lola, a Poodle-Yorkie mix, or "Porkie" if you will, daughter of Jenny, a close friend of mine. Might I also add that Molly has also announced that she will be becoming a Mommy too, as she plans to adopt a new puppy for XMas.

I know, all this is thrilling and all, but in honor of this occasion, I do want to point out how incredibly wonderful it is to become a real "Mommy" to a puppy, and how it utterly changes you forever.

As you all know, I have a son, age 3, named Snoop-dizzle, who is pretty much the center of my world. However, I did not forsee this connection with him in the beginning.

Mondo and I could not have had worse timing when we "had" Snoop. We brought him home, had no ida how to take care of him, and then got angry when he did puppy things like poop and pee all over the place. In this time, the "puppy time," Snoop was cute and everything, but I was close to suicide. I was completely and utterly overwhelmed and will admit I definitely decided to "take him back" a couple times before realizing that was impossible. I was now a Mommy and I had to deal with it.

The beginning was rough. I didn't understand why this small, brown, living creature could hate me so much to pee and poop all over everything and then on top of it, chew my favorite pair of Guess by Marciano heels.

Whomever said patience is a virtue said it when they had a dog and thought that perhaps jumping off the nearest bridge was a better option.

Slowly and surely, it began to dawn on me that soon enough Snoop would come around, and soon enough (and after countless rolls of toilet paper and bags of pigs-in-a-blanket treats) he did.

It was then that I started to fall madly, truly, and deeply head over heels in love with this dog. They say in every meaningful relationship there is a moment when you know that it will last forever. Well, folks, the moment I knew that Snoopy was the dog for me was one day, when he was around 2, I came home from work and walked in the door. Snoop was so excited to see me he did, not one, not two, but EIGHTEEN (I counted) loops around the coffee table with his Snowman toy in his mouth shaking his tail (or nub) avidly. For some reason, this moment made me melt. To know that here was this creature who, no matter what, would always be there to greet me at the door, and who would always be THIS excited to see me blew my mind.

Ever since I have been a true advocate of becoming a Doggy-Mommy. (or Daddy). Yeah, it might suck having to take the dog out at 6am in the searing cold weather, and having a vet on speed-dial, but those times when you get a voluntary paw while watching tv and a cuddle-buddy when you're upset make it all worth it.

To be honest, some of the best moments in my day are spent with and made by Snoop. When we first get up in the morning and his paws on the cement are the only noise on the street, or when he falls asleep and he is dreaming about chasing squirrels and his paws move, his tail wags, and he makes muffled barking noises...I can't help but find myself smiling and bending down to rub his belly.

So, for all those new "Mommies" out there or to those who already know about these precious moments between mother and dog, I can only sit in complete anitcipation for you, knowing what kind of pure joy you will get out of being a Doggy-Mommy! Feel the warmth of a cold nose!

*** This blog is dedicated to the memories of Gus, Sandy, and Brandy, and to their Mommies, who still feel their loss.***