I Love New York

(Public Library!)

If you ever want to nerd out for several hours looking for images of washing machines or women beating their laundry on rocks by the river may I recommend the outstanding image collection at the mid-manhattan branch of the New York Public Library. The have a picture of anything and everything you could possibly want, friendly staff, and! (get this) you can check actual photographs out of the library and take them home for your very own.



P.S. I'm deep into procrastination today so there will be more pointless posts to come!( I know you are all ecstatic).

Dear LiLo,

My love of you will be permanently on hold until you go back to being a redhead, having huge breasts, and remove the black fingernail polish, leggings, and uggs.
Just to remind you...You looked like this, and you looked damn good.


Sincerely,
Daisy

Observations

I just rode the A train to Washington Heights next to a rather normal looking dude reading what appeared to be a 1st edition copy of How to Win Friends and Influence People with a stuffed monkey lovingly wrapped around his next. That's right. A stuffed monkey facing outward hanging from around his neck.

Failure: Always An Option

Alas, dear readers, my misguided attempt to not drink was destroyed Friday night when my dear friends, The Nice Jenkins, played at Pianos. Too much fun to be had without a libation. However! I did go down valiently after having one (tiny) Shirley Temple- soooo I can place a smidgeon of blame on the bartender for not making me a much bigger non-alcoholic cocktail in a proper pint glass, thus ensuring that I would have something to drink and take my mind off of whiskey for longer than 30 seconds. Valuable lessons learned during my six days of sobriety:

1. I'm not fun without alcohol
2. Not drinking during the work week is a very viable (and enjoyable) option.
3. I can never be Amish.
4. Spending Saturday hungover, eating junk food and watching The War with a furry creature is a pretty good way to while away a rainy day.
5. The Nice Jenkins are awesome! And getting awesomer all the time.

But seriously....http://www.myspace.com/thenicejenkins

As God Is My Witness,

I will never smoke a cigarette again! (or at least for quite awhile).
I'm over it.

Sobriety Challenge, Day Four: The Bridget Jones' Edition

Date: October 24th, 2007 Alcohol Units: 0 Cigs: 5+? Weight: Adding up by the second Have replaced drinking with smorgasboard of bad habits including, but not limited to: donuts, mozzarella sticks, pizza, gummy candy, cigarettes, and coca-cola. Must go on spa holiday to detox camp to clear body of what is now, obviously, a complete breakdown with all rational willpower. Must avoid all future excess so that I can cruise the Thames while Hugh Grant reads Keats.

OMG!

O! sweet Lord- its true!
My favorite girl, Reese, is actually dating him.
I guess I'm o.k. with it but I still think she could do better.

What I Learned on my Weekend Getaway to Boston

1. I want to move there. Like yesterday. What a beautiful city! Taking the T over the Charles with the leaves and the sailboats, the tree-lined streets, beautiful architecture, low and small store signage, cute stores, easy walkin', big "cheap" apartments.

2. Cheeseburger is an awesome band. The lead singer is homeless sexy personified.
2b. Don't stand close to Wookies when pinatas are flying about. You will get hit in the head.
2c. Gummy cheeseburgers are the best.

3. Baseball is much more fun after finishing three Redbull and vodkas in quick succession.

4. Take the Fung Wah bus, Lucky Star is the pits.

5. I want a record player and a bike and a vespa.

All in all, despite one slow bus ride with an agitated Wookie and a Drunk Drawler who tended to get stuck on fiesty (or was it beligerant?) a good time was had by all.

To my health!

Since I was but a wee 15 years I have thoroughly enjoyed my drink. But, for the most part, I have not so thoroughly enjoyed my morning afters or the wincing thoughts of what I stainfully said/did the night before. Last night I had a dream where my family waged a sort of intervention to convince me that I could no longer handle my drink like a proper citizen. So! I'm going to listen to my subconcious and for the first time in the history of me I am going to take the plunge and not drink for 30 days. A cleansing of the liver to get my body prepped for the upcoming holiday season. And since I have just announced this on a semi-public forum I might actually have a chance of living up to my word. Viva la Shirley Temples and bright and shiny Saturday mornings.

For Your Perusal

Harpers, the magazine devoted to elitist liberal intellectualism-not only has incredibly well written articles- but also, I submit, the funniest classified ads. On one tiny page (not even counting the second one where you get into Asian wife services) you can learn about terrorist conditions in Tampa, Raffi, and spanking erotica all while giggling senselessly at that ubiquitous Beret Dude.

Since I'm not showing you the next page I'll just go ahead and include Tawny Ford's live, personal conversation line: 248-615-1300.

An Ode to Irresponsibility, 4 Rusty

Dear Reader (all three of you),

Sometimes I have the best of intentions to drink like a grown-up only to stagger home six hours later pondering what went wrong. Last night, after finishing responsible drinking at one lovely Village bar for a much needed girl's night-I was walking merrily home, arms linked with my great friend Susan when she suggests that we go to just one more bar before heading home.

"No, no," I protest, "I must go home and do my homework, clean the pigsty, wake up refreshed and bright for a new day."

To which Susan replies, "O.k."

We walk a few steps further, I turn and look back at the bar with its warm, glowing lights and say, "well just one more" (See! she twisted my arm, I swear!) and off we go for the night.

Saddled up at the next bar, heady on conversations about boys and love and life we start to notice two dudes staring at us. Dear Reader, I promise you these aren't the kind of dudes you want staring at you. So I whisper to Susan to not look at them at all so as not to encourage what would obviously be the worst interaction of the night. So we don't. We continue our heady conversation of boys and love and life and while we are just getting into the meat and potatoes of the point one dude staggers over and not so subtly smidges right on into Susan.

Oh no. Not good.

This is his opener:

"Are you girls from New York?"
(Seriously? Seriously?)

"No, no we aren't from New York"
(We can't even lie about this, our drunk drawls coming out of the bottom of our wine glasses.)

"I'm Rusty and I'm a drummer"

Hmmmm.....this is where I go, "But I've known a lot of drummers and you don't look like a drummer." I repeat this for effect.

Rusty assures us he is only in this suit (I will admit a disheveled suit!) because he came straight from his day job.

So we head straight into lying. Susan is in fashion design although she can't sew, but man is she a good drawerer. I burst out giggling never to return. Rusty undeterred by obvious lies and a good deal of my asshole laughing persists.

"What kind of music do you like?"

Susan goes first. Rusty responds that he likes, "grunge, Led Zeppelin (o.k. we are doing o.k at this point) and Foo Fighters! Oh! And I like new stuff too, like Fall Out Boy."

Fall out Boy? This 30 something man loves the eye make-up wearing, tight pant cramming, Ashlee Simpson canoodling, fake band member Pete Wentz? And readily admits it! Seriously? Seriously?

Dear Sir. I insist. You are no drummer. And you think we are 21.

We slam back the rest of our wine and God bless her, Susan takes my uncontrollable laughing self out of the bar (to the next bar).

I would on a normal day feel bad about laughing in this guy's face- but he committed what I find to be the most egregious bar sin. If two girls are deep in conversation, not looking at you, not even giving you the slightest hint that we are looking at you, and you do not look like an exact replica of Adrian Brody or Joaquin Phoenix or even Shia LaBeouf do not come over and interrupt our conversation and saddle in and think you are just what we need for the eve.
You are not. You are annoying. Please go away. Right now.

I will wax poetic about the #1 bar sin on another day, when I sit on a much higher moral perch, not having woken up with a teeny little headache and absolutely nothing accomplished other than being absolutely irresponsible, again.

Coming up soon, 30 days of sobriety- Stay tuned.

Daisy Says...

Aw hell y'all. A girl with these abs shouldn't be working so hard for no pay.

Thighs to Gym: F*ck Off!

Near the middle of my 27th year Mother Nature gave me a present: literally overnight I received new, larger thighs. It was like puberty but much more horrifying since I brought it on myself. Upon waking to this discovery I called my oldest and dearest friend Mollie to complain and she said that I had just experienced "the spread." This mysterious "spread" stranded me for about a month in skirts and dresses because none of my pants fit anymore. Whereas a health conscious person might say to themselves, "maybe I should cut back on alcohol, or sugar, or the fact that I eat pizza five times a week" I (being only concerned with fun and procrastination) took my new thighs out shopping. So as of two weeks ago my thighs and I said goodbye to the old and welcomed the new, not so tight pants. We have been happy together ever since. Hopefully Mother Nature will cut me some slack and give me at least two more years until I have to be a grown-up and join a gym and not eat spoonfuls of mayonnaise or whole sticks of butter with meals. At least that's what I'm telling the spread.

Daisy Says...

Good thing I wear denim hot pants. It's hot as balls outside Sugar!

Keira's Bulldog Bite

There are few things more annoying than watching Kiera Knightly protrude her underbite on purpose! That jaw almost single handedly ruined the otherwise flawless movie, Pride and Prejudice.

Village Insane Asylum-Clap On, Clap Off

Maybe I've just noticed recently because the windows have been open all summer long. Maybe this person just moved in. But for the last two months, at least, I have been tormented by an obsessive compulsive clapper. This person claps maybe ten times in quick succession, in sets of five or six, probably every thirty minutes.

Day or night.

It doesn't matter. In fact, they are clapping right now. You might not think clapping is that annoying. But loud, sustained clapping repeated over and over day after day like nails on a chalkboard can inhabit your brain until you are leaning out your window screaming at the clapper to please stop or at least seek treatment (I admit! It was a long day of lying sick in bed listening to clapping).

The sound is so amazing in fact I just looked out my window towards the direction of the clapper and noticed a woman looking up in astonishment, looking for the mystery clapper. I will get to the bottom of this. I will not rest until I have subtly looked at everyone's hands for the sign of a raw and red permanent clapper.

Hi There

So...all my friends have blogs, and not one to be left out I'm going to start my own. Just observations, rants, and rages about anything that comes up. I'm not the best writer and I'm definitely out of practice. Hopefully this will help. No matter, my momma is probably the only one that will be reading. Welcome!