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What’s In A Name?

26 Sep


So…I’m at the age where everyone is pushing out spawn. Some people my age already have THREE kids. Damn, simmer down. I know there’s not much to do in Bakersfield, but there’s more to do than breed. Play some Canasta or something. I know it’s natural and, if the people aren’t dumb asses, is a good thing; but there is something that has been SUPER annoying to me lately.

I work in Beverly Hills now (la de frickin’ dah) so the world of stupid names has opened up like a blossoming flower…the one that smells like dead people.  I don’t really know what these women are thinking. Are they mad because the babies jacked up their bodies  so they’re taking it out on the kid?  With some of these dumb ass names, these poor kids is going to get their asses beat as soon as they hit pre-school!


Aslan. If you’re thinking, “Oh God, that kid can’t be named after the fictional lion from ‘The Lion The Witch & The Wardrobe!?!’ Think again. I know of one child with that name. I thought it was a boy….nope.  I’m sure that her parents will tell her she can do whatever she wants to do…think again, not with that name, kid.

Naming children after types of fabric. The only person I could see doing this and getting away with it would be Martha Stewart because she’s super into crafts. Anyone else, NO.


Any Italian name. This one just pisses me off because 99% of these kids are NOT ITALIAN, they’re like….Aryan race looking babies whose last name is Smith. I’m not Chinese, so I wouldn’t name my kid some Chinese name. All these girls are named Bella, that means beautiful. News flash, a LOT of these girls are going to have self-esteem issues when they figure out their name is a lie. Enjoy those therapy bills.

Douche bag names. You know what I’m talking about. The names that were ruined for you because a d-bag you knew growing up had them. Why would you force your child into douche baggery? This category casts a WIDE net in my book. Any name ending with -den, -ton,-lynn, anyone named after an item the parents can NEVER afford, anyone named after a town/country they will never go to and are not from, anyone naming their child after a fucking PRISON!


What the hell happened to naming your kid after a grandparent? Here’s an example: my Grandmother’s name is Mary. NORMAL. The only jokes about that name refer to the mother of our Lord and Savior…better than being name fun of because you’re named after a porn star. (Mackenzie ,Reily, Brooklyn, Madison… know, named after their father’s favorite. Classy!)

I know you can name your kid whatever you want, doesn’t make it right. Also, not all of the names I’ve heard recently are stupid, but if you have a baby and are questioning if this post is directed at you…then yes, it is.


It’s Not Me, It’s You

14 Jul
What an inviting mascot.

What an inviting mascot…from your nightmares.

So…after enough years at the same job, I quit.  I worked there so long that I needed help from my roommate and friends to remember all the crazy ass stuff that I’ve seen and that has happened to me while working there. As many of you know I worked at a restaurant at a theme park in Southern California. (Figure it out.)Also, the mascot looks like a GIGANTIC Klan member…I didn’t just put a creepy racist clown photo up to creep you out for no reason. stupid people That job made be realize how INCREDIBLY stupid people are. I got  sick of explaining what penne is….PENNE! Where do people eat that they don’t know what a simple form of pasta is? Speaking of forms. It doesn’t matter what shape your pasta is assholes. It ALL tastes the same and it will all leave your stink hole the same way. Adults who bitch about what shape pasta they receive were the shit head kids that don’t eat crust and only wanted buttered noodles. And how is buttered noodles an acceptable dinner for kids?? There is ZERO nuterion in that. I didn’t even know that was an option for a dinner until I started that job in my twenties, why? Because my parents didn’t let me decide what I ate. Why? Because as my Dad said about parenting, “This is a dictatorship, not a democracy.” white devil! Most importantly, stereotypes are true. But the worst kind of  people (this is not limited to my place of work) are parents. Hands down. I’m sure those of you with kids are thinking, “You don’t have kids, you don’t know.” I’m not a parent, I’m a sane (angry) person. What I do know is, letting your kid pull their pants down and drop a watery deuce in the middle of our patio seating makes me want to punch you in your reproductive organs. Yes, that actually happened.merp Or when a kid crapped so hard, it shot up it’s back, the Mom washed it off in one of the bathroom sinks. She clogged that sink with poo, switched to the other sink, clogged that one and left the people crapping in the stalls with no sink to wash of their dooky hands. Those are just SOME of the gross stories I have. asshole kidKids are evil, but they are evil because of crappy parenting.  For example, parents letting their kids beat me with balloon animals like I was Joe Pesci at the end of Casino, or let them run around me while I carry 16 drinks…assholes. Little kids who have cellphones make me want to drop kick them into a fountain. Who are they texting? One, they don’t know how to spell. Two, when you’re 6 years old, the majority of the people you know in life are at the same dinner WITH YOU! I’ve seen a teenager, sitting right next to her Mom, tell her to “shut up” then threw a FORK at her Mom’s head! I wish the story ended with, ‘and then the Mom took her outside and beat her kid’s ass,’ but  she ended up calmly asking her violent hell child “what’s wrong?” GAH!  Once while I was taking an order, I had a kid look up at me and cough INTO MY MOUTH. The parents said nothing, dicks, I didn’t even excuse myself, I just walked away. Here’s a tip for other servers: If  the Mom is in the bathroom when it’s time to order, don’t go to the table because all modern fathers are useless. I truly mean that, they are just walking sperm donors. They don’t know what they’re own children are “allowed” to have. GOD DAMN IT! You’re a man, pick for them. Juice or water? Stop being a little bitch. Now, a happy story: One time a kid ran straight into a lamp pole. I laughed SO damn hard. eww get off meNow, I don’t have to deal with gross co-workers touching me or saying inappropriate things to me. What do I mean by inappropriate? ” I want to put olive oils all over your body and massage you with my feets, then put my big toe in your butt.”  Gross and I hate olive oil. Or customers wanting me to join them for a threesome, barf. People need to stop.

After all these terrible stories, do I miss it?  Well, it was easy, aside from all the assholes, and I made really good money….so kind of. 

I’m Going Slightly Mad

29 May

adult1 adult2

So…for the past year I’ve been learning a trade so I can write more and smell like pizza and kid farts less. At this “institution”…which it totally felt like that to me when my time was coming to an end….I got a greater realization that 18-22 yr olds are not adults. I know society thinks they are, but this is not 1943, none of them are running farms or going off to war…they can barely wipe their asses.

crazy mo fo

While being surrounded by these people for 45 hrs a week, I started to think I lost my ability to be funny. Maybe I was exhausted from all the school plus work? Yes… but no, that wasn’t it. Then I thought I must be going crazy instead because I didn’t/couldn’t believe that people like this actually existed and had not gotten themselves killed yet.  I already told you there is a person I have met, in real life, that can NOT read a clock. So, clearly, I’m not insane because that  person shouldn’t exist.


There are people don’t know who American treasure, Tom Hanks, is. I have met people who have never seen Hocus Pocus or Back to the Future.  Do people hate their children? Does no one watch TV, because BTTF (as the cool kids call it) is almost always on TNT every weekend? God damn it! What else could be on TV that is better than some young, fine, Calvin Klein MJ Fox? Come on! Also this generation thinks Anne Bancroft is “thick.” If that is true, I must be an elephant in their stupid, young, eyes.


I also think there is a major problem with the way girls and guys speak to each other in their early twenties. There was a girl in class telling me about this guy that she started dating, maybe a week prior to this conversation. She was already talking about marrying him, he got a tattoo of her on his back…oh yeah, this is real life. She said he was so nice to her and she had me read one of his texts where he said he was glad they “smashed guts” last night.


………………..”Smashing guts” is what guys are calling sex now. I’ll let you think about that for a minute.


I’ll say what everyone is thinking, we need a draft. These assholes need to go. Soon.


*Yes, they broke up after 3 weeks. Thank God he’s got that tattoo, right?

fuck nuts

Roger teaches English at this “institution.” He informed me that his students had no idea there were beaches in Orange County. (Yes, they were all raised here.) And one person wrote in an essay, which was turned in for a GRADE, stating that MLK Jr. freed the slaves.  These numb nuts have phones, which they are on CONSTANTLY which can access GOOGLE and look up who freed the slaves. Instead they literally pull shit out of their asses and smear it across a paper and expect an A. Psychos.

selfie And lastly, the amount of selfies I witnessed on a daily basis was staggering. If you watch someone take a selfie, they look like an insane person. Why are you suddenly happy? Duck lips aren’t sexy, it looks like you’re making an “oops, I farted” face. And maybe you did.  I can’t comprehend why these girls think they look so great that they need to document how they look EVERY DAY. Especially when we wear uniforms and look the same EVERYDAY!


So, basically, I thought I was going slightly mad, but in reality, I’m just mad.


Status Update

4 Mar
If you think this is directed at is.

If you think this is directed at you…it is.

So…stupid ass Facebook updates. I’ve been wanting to write about this topic for a long time, but apparently I wasn’t annoyed enough to do so.  I know what you’re thinking, if someone’s annoying, why don’t you delete them? I did, but these dummies are everywhere. After a conversation (read: bitch fest) with Kim, I found that I was not the only one who can’t stand this crap. There are a few different kinds of status updates that are especially annoying.

dunt do that

Hash tags. Facebook is not Twitter. I feel like I’m playing a sick grammar game about being able to read things that aren’t properly written out. Hash tags are used to help people search for things. I HIGHLY doubt anyone is searching for #ilovehimhelovesme. Write it in your diary. #Choke yourself.


Attention seekers. Yes, I understand, most people want attention, but I’m talking about a certain sort of attention.  People who complain about being sick, do you realize that is exactly what you’ll be bitching about when you’re 80? Call your Nanna and ask her how she’s doing…it will sound exactly the same as your latest update. Hip and cool, huh? Asking for hugs and telling people you feel overwhelmed or sad makes me want to smash your computer…call your Mom or get a pound puppy. Better yet, get a damn therapist because at least someone will get paid to listen to you…whiner.

f u

People who are constantly stating how amazing their life is. No, I’m not jealous. Of what? Your vacation? (That you loser husband let your Dad pay for.) Your (second) marriage?  Honestly, I think these people are convincing themselves that they are actually happy…or they’re assholes. If that is the case, I can’t wait for you to break-up/get divorced (again).  My black heart will enjoy every minute of it and so will everyone else, I’m just the only one ballsy enough to tell you.  And stop using phrases like: the hubs, the fam bam and the bestie. No one likes that.


What about me, aren’t I annoying? I’m a single chick in her late 20’s on the verge of becoming a cat lady, what do you think, genius? Of course I am. Unlike everyone else, I at least try to make my eccentricities entertaining to the world instead of making them want to scratch their eyeballs out after they’ve read whatever it is I wrote about. Plus, going to this blog takes a smidgen of effort, you don’t have to come here if you don’t want to. Seriously.

Do what you want, but entertain me.

Who Can It Be Now?

28 Jan

story of my life

maid 2

So…I starting using an online dating site ( my Grandma thinks the name is “It’s OK to be Stupid”) to help me meet someone before I give up on life, adopt 38 cats and begin wearing only Muumuus. I figured that since you have to answer questions and fill out profile crap, that would probably knock out enough idiots.

I thought wrong. Let me share some of the best messages I’ve received.  I have not altered these in any way, just copied and pasted them from my inbox. For those of you who don’t believe me when I tell you how tedious it is to wade through these morons, your brain will probably crap out the side of your head after this, so grab a wet wipe.

  • glass-essay1: “Pardon me for asking, but I’m very curious. What’s your bra size? Honestly. 34C or D?”

respect me1

respect my boobies

  • wineanddineyou: “Wolfgang Puck. Wine tasting in Santa Barbara. Sunday brunch at Hotel Bel Air. A night at the Four Seasons Westlake Village Spa. Good morning! Is there anything I can do or say to say YES to seeing me? I am a work a holic so I am seeking something casual. In exchange I am more than happy to help with your bills to see you maybe once every 2 weeks. Please…. You are really adorable and cute and I promise to show you a great time. You will have fun with me and laugh and you won’t regret it. I am happy to send you a photo of you’d please give me your email address.”
Since when do I look like Pretty Woman?

Since when do I look like Pretty Woman?

  •  issaaa: “hi there what ethnicity are you? :)” 
a brain..a heart..the nerve

Because my extreme paleness makes me racially ambiguous?

  • madiman: “just the ex-girlfriend I’m looking for.”
Really, dude?

Really, dude?

  • greatbirds: “Hello..? Could i be your slave…?”


  • glidingsaucers: “You almost capture the elegance of the mammary grope of the original. You must be the next Rodin.”
What are you even trying to say, dum dum?

What are you even trying to say, dum dum?

  • smartcutewriter: “Ok just read my profile and contact me. Nuff said :)”
Good writers don't use the word "nuff," jag weed.

Good writers don’t use the word “nuff,” jag weed.

  • ANDREW_IS_HORNY: “OMG!!!! i would soo fuk u hard in the ass nd pussy i’ll eat u out send me a naked pic of u nd i’ll send u 1”
My thoughts exactly.

My thoughts exactly.

And those are messages from the guys I did NOT go on dates with. One guy I met up with had a list to help him know when he was in love, also, he’s never been in love.  I got catfished…or Manti Te’o-ed, either way, that was weird and lame. Another guy told me he was into BDSM, banging old chicks and having them use strap ons on his b-hole.  That was on our first (and only) date.  And my personal favorite, I got dumped because, apparently, I’m “too sarcastic.” I feel like anyone who’s had more than a 10 minute conversation with me would figure that out rather quickly. It took him almost two months.

Damn, is this too sarcastic?

Is this reaction too sarcastic?

Thank you, my parents’ generation, for making the “men” I get to date. I love wasting all my pretty years weeding through this discouraging, never-ending, garden from hell.

I’ve Gotta Be Me

2 Nov

So…apparently my last post really resonated because I got a LOT of private messages from people who read it and the feedback ran the gamete in extremes.

My Dad still thinks I have zero gaydar and everyone down here is gay. This coming from the man who watches ‘The Notebook’ every time it’s on TV. And let’s not even talk about his weird love affair with human giant, Julia Child. Yea, I’m calling you out Dad, that’s kind of gay.

Other people were super pissed that I had to have such an exhausting experience. Thank you for being mad for me? Yep, it was draining to deal with, but thank God I can see the ridiculousness of it all. If I couldn’t, I’d be crazy by now. Like, Britney Spears shaving her head, baseball bat wielding, kook job.

I also got this sentiment from a few people, “Not all guys are idiots.” If I thought all guys were knuckle dragging morons, I would have given up years ago. I know there are nice, straight, guys out there and I know quite a few of them. My Grampa, my Dad (when he’s not cursing out an inanimate object that “got in his way.”) Smaptie’s Dad, John, Alan (Anyone who watches movies all day long for four days once every year with me is a prince!) and a few more, but you get the point. I don’t write about all the guys I date on here either, I’ve dated some nice guys that I didn’t want to write about because this isn’t a dating blog. It’s a blog about crap that pisses me off…and sometimes movies and cats.

I also heard, “You’re a such a catch.” First, thank you. Second, saying I’m awesome in response to me repeatedly failing in the dating world doesn’t make me feel better. It kind of makes me angry that the people I want to see that don’t and those that do, are married…or my Grandma, who HAS to say it.

And one person took it very much to heart and was hurt by it. No, it was not the moose knuckle I wrote about, it was an actual nice guy. I felt completely horrible about making someone feel bad, especially one that most certainly didn’t deserve it.

SYKE!!! This guy is a lying tool who thought he could get away with lying. Thanks for dicking me around, I so needed more of that in my life. What an utter waste of my time.

It made me feel so bad that I seriously thought about taking the post down completely, which I have NEVER done for anyone, ever. And that thought made someone else totally infuriated, Roger.

I’m sorry that post ruffled someone’s feathers that weren’t meant to be ruffled. But, the post wasn’t about them or for them, it was for me and about how I felt after someone treated me like dumpola.  Since the human skidmark it was about wouldn’t let me have an adult conversation with him after standing me up THREE TIMES (penis wrinkle!) I had to let my thoughts out somewhere and what better place to let MY thoughts be known than on MY blog. In the words of Sammy Davis Jr., “I can’t be right for somebody else, if I’m not right for me.

Here I Go Again

31 Oct

I’m in my rage period.

So…I started dating someone. Hey, I was fine in my self-induced Fortress of Solitude, slowly making my way towards Cat Ladydom.  This wasn’t something I planned on, I was pretty surprised an attractive, straight, guy could like me because….I’m a dork. I’m the freakin’ real life Liz Lemon. Aside from my nerdiness, everything was going great. Until he stood me up.

I’ve had guys do a lot of crappy things *cough* dump me on my graduation day*cough*, but I’ve NEVER been stood up. Honestly, being stood up is such an epic waste of time. I mean damn, I buffed my skin, shaved, curled my hair, my make up was impeccable. I could have stayed all gross, in my sweat pants and watched a million hours of crap on Netflix and my time would have been much better spent!! Instead I looked super hot as I waited on my couch for the dinner that was never to be.

When this perfect example of “men” my age finally reached up inside himself, felt around, and found his pitiful excuse for balls and talked to me, he gave me a doozy of an excuse. (By talk I mean text. God forbid a guy CALL a girl. They’d rather have me try to crack the encryption of their tone like I’m freakin’ Indiana Jones.) This is what he said, I can’t make this shit up, “I really like you, but I got attached too fast, so I’m a dick.”

Now, I’m no mathematician, so let me get this straight. Fun+Nice+Really Like=DUMP? If I follow this equation, I need to be more of bitch to keep a guy. You like someone a lot, so you leave?  I’ve never had so many positives turn into negative. It reminded me of an SNL sketch about throwing stuff you like on the ground. It really makes no sense.

I know what you’re thinking, it’s time to tase some buttholes.

Then he says, “I’m not ready for a relationship. I don’t want to get hurt.”

Do you think the manly men who blew the brains out of dirty, stinking, Nazis 70 years ago would have fathomed that they would begat grandsons who are such gigantic pussies? I can’t handle all this emotional BULLSHIT. Last time I checked, I looked down and got an eyeful of tit. Meaning, I’m the girl, knock this whining crap off.  I’m tired of being the Alpha Male. Why does your fear of getting hurt trump mine? And who goes into a relationship expecting to get stomped all over? I date asshole after asshole, I get hurt every time. But I still keep trying.

Men: STOP being pussies. And if things are going good…SHUT UP and KEEP GOING.


20 Jul

“Helga, I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at the dirt.”- Joan Crawford

So…I am well aware that I have a freakin’ weird way of looking at things but hopefully the story I’m about to elaborate on will help you not make the same, disgusting, mistake and embarrass yourself in front of super judgmental people, such as myself.

I went to the gym to burn off some angry energy but ended up getting leaving even more pissed off. Normally on a Friday night I’m the only one on the row of treadmills but that night, with 15 empty machines around, this bitch decides to run on the one RIGHT NEXT to me. Not only is my new running partner super thin, but she’s wearing the world’s tiniest work out shorts.

Which leads me to the first thing that pisses me off; girls that wear super tiny work out shorts. It’s not because deep down I’m jealous that I can’t wear them because I actually eat one meal a day (and keep it down.) I do wear them, how they should be worn, as underwear. I’m mad because I know these girls aren’t wearing any panties when they have those on, so when they sit down on the machines all their lady juices are just left behind when they’re done.

Gross, right?

You’re God damn right its gross! Something I have learned having had guy roommates and girl roommates is that girls are a million times more disgusting than guys. I could write an entire blog on that topic and you would think most girls were raised in a third world country that never knew what soap was.

If you see this girl, she probably smells like butt sweat.

Back to the gym. As this girl runs, she starts to sweat. Did she bring a towel with her? Hell no, why would anyone follow the rules. Her “shorts” also kept getting eaten by her butt so she was doing this butt picking/brow wiping pattern every few steps. Obviously, I couldn’t help but notice this. Did she not realize she was wiping her butt sweat all over her face? At this point I was openly staring with disgust, but she kept on going, flicking her pony tail back and forth in that annoying Jan Brady way as she ran.

I couldn’t handle that bio-hazard anymore and went to get yoked. As I was lifting weights I glanced over into the sauna and saw a man with chunky, hairy, man titties making out/fondling his equally bodacious girlfriend.

THAT’S IT! I couldn’t take it anymore. (And you’re welcome for sparing you that soft-core photo of those fat bodies. I’m sure that image will flash in my mind before I die…something else to look forward to.) I got out of there and came home to scrub everyone else’s ooze off of me.

Am I trying to get to something or am I just working on an ulcer? I do have a point; when you least expect it, in your grossest moment, you are being watched. So remember that and hopefully someone won’t go home and write a blog about how five-year olds who eat their boogers are cleaner than you, you sick freak.

Goin’ Back To Brooklyn, Not That There’s Anything Wrong With That

27 Jun

Ess-a-Bagel. Last stop on Tour de Fat.

So…our last real day in New York had come. Kim had made reservations for us to go to the World Trade Center Memorial in the morning. Nothing like a super depressing American tragedy to get your day going.  Before all that fun, we went to grab some “real New York bagels” at Ess-a-Bagel. Johnny had told us that “real” New Yorkers don’t toast their bagels. Kim and I both thought that was the stupidest thing we’d ever heard. Toasting a bagel is just about the best thing you can do to it!

There was a crap ton of different cream cheeses and bagel flavors to choose from. Kim had some difficulty making her order and the guy behind the counter asked her sister (me…!) what I wanted. He was pleasantly surprised by my brief, precise order. Salt bagel, toasted with cheddar cheese cream cheese. Holy sweet Moses. All that salt and cheese was like french kissing God.

The irony of our cab driver bumping Middle Eastern music while taking us to Ground Zero was not lost on me. There wasn’t a long line to get into the memorial. People were very respectful there but there was one thing I didn’t understand. Obviously, this is a tourist place, so people were taking photos. What I didn’t get was, why were people smiling and taking photos next to names on edge of the fountain? Are they happy to be next to a place where hundreds of people died? It was just a little off putting to me.

Thankfully, the museum was closed for refurbishment. I don’t think I could handle anymore sad stuff. We grabbed a cab to take us to the Brooklyn Bridge. We were tourists and the driver knew that but he was so put off that we wanted to go to the Brooklyn Bridge because, he said, “it’s right there.” Shut it, dude!  We don’t know how to get to “there.” Plus, we’re giving you money, just drive!

“I’m goin’ back to Brooklyn…”

Since we’d walked all over the damn city and made it up to the Bronx, we figured, why not walk over to Brooklyn. It was only about a mile walk, which was nothing to us at this point. When we had started out earlier that morning it was overcast, now it was sunny. Not even half way across the bridge I touched my chest and KNEW I was going to be sunburned. Kim couldn’t believe I knew it before I even looked burnt. 27 years of living in a pale, pale, shell…you just know.

It was a pretty quick walk. There were plenty of tourist and a bunch of school kids. The only annoying thing about the bridge is that there are two lanes, one for bikes, the other for pedestrians. The pedestrians have to use one lane for coming and going traffic. Not a great idea.

“Man, I don’t think so.”

Brooklyn seemed nice, but we didn’t stay long enough to find out. I was just happy to get my photos to pay homage to Colin Quinn’s music video, “Goin’ Back to Brooklyn.”

Kim’s feet were killing her, so we sat in a nice little park while she slapped some bandages on her toes. For some reason, there was a gigantic, inflatible ketchup bottle at the park. And we all know the deep love I have for that condiment.

The amount of ketchup I use on an order of fries.

I also witnessed my first bum fight. Two guys were fighting over a cane and one dude looked like he was losing because there was a LOT of blood, which kind of looked like ketchup, coming out of his head due to the other guy beating the crap out of him with said cane.

Our next stop was The Metropolitan Museum of Art. I could have spent all day here…Kim was probably OK with the time we ended up logging. There was so much artwork there that it seems like who ever was in charge of all of it said screw it and made one gigantic room full of all kinds of art. This room reminded me of a very organized Tuesday Mornings, but it had the BEST art in it. Well, best art in the sense that it was some weird, kooky stuff.  Here are examples of some goodies…

The Pilgrims were neither attractive, nor were they very good artists.

How long did this guy have to pose like that for this carving? Or is it an actual guy back there…like the episode of Lucy when she pretends to be a bust?

All the things your Grandma left you in her will…that you never wanted.

“Buzz, your girlfriend. Woof!” Portrait of Mrs. Gabriel Manigault, if this fulgy chick got a man to say yes to her, there’s still hope that I can get a date.

Speaking of Macaulay Culkin.

The world’s least baby friendly crib: Rock a bye baby or else daddy will beat you with a mallet.

We continued on to find rooms decorated exactly as though you were in the 1820’s. I thought it would be hilarious if someone filmed a spoof of the old MTV show ‘Cribs’ in there.

This is where the magic happens.

While trying to find the baseball cards exhibit that Kim was interested in, we happened across the Egyptian temple that I know from ‘When Harry Met Sally.’ (And the fact that I’m writing about this movie on the day Nora Ephron died is kind of creeping me out.)

I was surprised to find that we were allowed to walk right on in.

What douches! Graffiti through the ages.

We found the half a hallway that comprised the baseball card collection. Kim was pretty disappointed with the lameness of it all. I managed to find something to make her laugh.

Not a Magnum man.

For some reason there was a pretty sizable armor collection at the Met. The coolest one we found was from King Henry of France. The suit was so intricate, I’m 100% sure it never saw any kind of action on the battlefield, but I’m sure it was a babe magnet.


After clunking around in that room we found a statue garden. I couldn’t help but think about all the ridiculous pictures Roger and I could take there. It was like photo Heaven!

Girl, I NEVER told you this, but…

Poor Mija! ‘Death of a Mexican Princess.’ Mexicans are always so friggin’ dramatic!

What’s with every statue of a woman having one tittie that’s just floppin’ out?

I told her to shut up, but she didn’t listen.

I knew there was a British silver collection on exhibit and since my Dad, (like a spinster,Victorian woman) is obsessed with silver, I thought I’d take some photos of the pieces for him.

The most impractical serving platter, ever.

You know your rich when your have really tiny silverware for your dolls.

If you are trying to find the elevator to go to the rooftop garden at the Met, good fucking luck. By the time we found it, we were ready to kill someone. The workers sent us on a wild goose chase all over the first floor, to the second floor, back to the first floor, then to the mezzanine, then, hidden in a corner…the elevator. They made it seem like there’s some neat-o martini bar at the top, which is what lured us up there. After a long day of walking and elevator hunting, a martini sounded pretty good!

Guess what? There is a pop up bar there, with booze in a plastic cup and lame sandwiches. I got a Diet Coke and a cookie and sat down, trying not to get even more sunburned. It was a nice view of Central Park but there were too many annoying people up there for our taste. By the way, if you think you can take the elevator back down, think again. They sent us down this shady, side stairwell that emptied us out into a gift shop. (I see what you’re trying to do Met…I work at a theme park. Nice try.)

I was born 200 years too late.

On our way to  the fashion exhibit, Schiaparelli and Prada: Impossible Conversations, this Renoir painting caught my eye. I told Kim that she was very lucky to be living in the time period when tall and tan where in because two hundred years ago I would have been the SHIT! It kills me, every time I go to a museum. I see paintings and sculptures that look just like me and everyone thinks they’re beautiful…then I go home, alone, to hang out with my cat. Come on pale people, we need to take our spot as number one back!

We couldn’t take any photos of the Prada exhibit, but there was a video playing the whole time of Prada and Schiaparelli talking. The actress that played Schiaparelli, Judy Davis, also played Judy Garland in a bio pic a few years ago, so no matter how good she was as Schiaparelli, all I could think of was “Clang, clang, clang went the trolley!”  Now I’ve got that stuck in your head, I’m sure.

Like I said, I could have stayed there forever, but Kim’s feet where killing her, and since I remembered that feeling from a few days ago, we caught a cab back to the apartment. Kim and Johnny went to “the best Chinese food ever,” while I went back to the Comedy Cellar. Johnny told me I was missing out on a “once in a lifetime experience.”

The closest I came to “seeing” CQ, that mysterious son of a gun, on my last night in NYC.

Ardie totally remembered me from Monday and asked if I had seen Colin…ha! I knew he wasn’t going to be performing that night, but wanted to see a show anyways. Ardie told me there was going to be a special guest, which I didn’t really care either way about, so long as I had a good laugh. Tom Papa (yes, the very one who had that stinking cocktail party that blocked me from meeting Mr. Q) performed. After he stepped off,  a wave of chatter rush through the crowd and since I wasn’t wearing my glasses, I didn’t recognize the the next comedian, who’s back was to me. He got on stage and all I heard was, “What’s the deal with this?”

Holy crap, it was Seinfeld…and for $12. My stingy little heart was filled with glee over how much money I just accidently saved.  How ’bout that for a “once in a lifetime experience, ” eh Johnny? People started taking photos, but there’s a no photo policy at the Cellar and my server, Kinga, laid the smack down on some bro-y business guys. (I really liked her, she reminded me of me when I serve.) That is why I don’t have a photo of him, because I’m a rule follower. His set was good, a lot about his kids because that’s what’s going on his life right now. It was brisk and not very long.

Ardie and my sunburn.

After the show was done I headed upstairs and met a nice lady from Scotland as I waited to see if there was any stand by tickets available for the next show. There wasn’t and I didn’t feel like leaving yet, so I grabbed a seat at the end of the bar. Since people ALWAYS talk to me, I was certain I’d meet a special kind of crazy if I sat there long enough. I looked around and noticed that in the booth to my left sat Seinfeld and Tom Papa (in my head I say Tom’s name like Jerry used to say “Newman.”) No, I didn’t talk to them, why the hell would I? To remind Jerry of the time I sat near him at the Broadway Deli in Santa Monica on my 18th birthday (which is the day before his) in 2003? He totally remembers that, it would’ve been pointless.

After a while a guy came over and sat next to me while he waited for his date to get out of the bathroom. I found out that it was their first date, but they had boned before, so he felt obligated to take her out and he only kind of likes her. He was just the kind of over-sharer that I knew would pop up.

I chatted with the nice bartender, Mike (I think), and found out that apartments in NYC aren’t as stupid expensive as I thought. Sure some of them are but not all of them, just like in LA. The bouncer, Shaq (I’m pretty sure that’s his Christian name), befriended me and before I left, kissed my hand like a gentleman. I met Dave Attell, who was very polite. Wil showed up again and had Ardie’s daughter with him. The Scottish lady found me and talked with us for a while. Wil, who is the most Zen-like person I’ve ever met, pulled up a map on his phone to show Ardie’s girl where Scotland is. I would take geography lessons from him, he’s pretty good.

I did not want to leave the Cellar, I love it there, but I needed to meet back up with Kim. She was at a bar with a family friend, Nick. By the time I got there, they had watched the Kings lose, so they were pretty tight.  Apparently we were close to Time Square, so we walked over  to check one last thing off our list.  It seemed a lot smaller to me in real life, like a movie back lot, and it wasn’t a location that meant anything to me. It’s just gigantic advertising. What did impress me was the statue of George M. Cohan. Like I do with most things, I relate them to movies. So, with George M. Cohan, it was not to his Broadway hits, but to James Cagney in ‘ Yankee Doodle Dandy.’

George M. Cohan, a real life nephew of my Uncle Sam.

I wanted to dance like this (see video) down the red stairs behind the statue.

Kim decided it was a good idea to have hobo take a photo of us with her super expensive camera. I told her afterwards, maybe, let’s not let strangers touch our stuff at 3AM. Nick, this being his first night ever in NYC, completely disagreed with me and said that no one would hurt us. I told him that I’ve successfully made it through six days in the city without getting raped and/or murdered and he wasn’t going to screw it up for me. So I threw their drunk asses in a cab and got us back to the apartment, so we could sleep before our trip back to the West Coast.

Fade In

18 May

This was WAY better when I was eight.

So…while preparing for my impending cosmopolitan vacation, I’ve realized that everything I’ve learned about New York has been through the movies. And oddly enough, mostly from horrible, cheesy, comedies. (Although all my fears about the city come directly from ‘Law and Order.’ Thanks Lenny Briscoe.)

I had forgotten all about ‘Big Business’ until I caught it on Showtime late one night. I used to love that movie…when I wanted to be just  like Bette Midler (I was a weird little kid.) I thought I was more like the harsh, business minded, New York version of Bette, but I’m from Bakersfield, therefore making me the country bumpkin version—damn it.  After coming to that realization, I don’t know if I really want to run into a harsher version of me, especially after finding out what people already think of the current version!

My future BFF.

‘Home Alone 2’ taught me that not all homeless people are crazy, meth addicted,  hookers, like they are in L.A. Some of them are down on their luck women who got divorced and their families forgot all about them. I’ll keep an eye out for the nice bird lady in Central Park who needs a friend and would rather have a Christmas ornament than some cash.

Of course the movies have taught me all about romance. One of two things can occur when you fall in love with someone in New York; 1: the guy can be nice but not hot and 2: if he is hot, as punishment, something horrible will happen to you.

Girls in Manhattan trying to land a perfect man…guess Carrie Bradshaw wasn’t that unique after all.

This happened a few times in ‘How To Marry A Millionaire.’ Lauren Bacall falls for an unattractive millionaire and Marilyn Monroe goes for a guy because they both wear glasses (what a stupid reason to like someone!) and who’s running from the mob. Really? I’ll stay single and go hang out with my crazy bird lady friend, thanks.

“I hate you Harry, I really hate you.”

I already have a best guy friend who’s a total push over, I can NOT handle another one. NEXT!

“It’s all in the family.” Gross.

Say I do meet a hot guy like Bill Holden, but end up getting passed around the family like a high class call girl. Is it worth it? Not if I end up with Bogart. (Seriously, ‘Sabrina’ is kind of a sick movie if you think about it.)

“The Empire State Building is the closest thing to heaven in this city.”

‘Love Affair’/’Affair to Remember’/’Sleepless in Seattle.’ (Um, it’s time for some new script ideas Hollywood…come on.) Basically if you get the chance to suck face with Cary Grant at the top of the Empire State Building, your hormones will cause you to go frickin’ nuts, run out in front of traffic and get hit by a car. Tempting as a yummy guy like Cary is, I like walking.

As much as I love ‘Funny Girl,’ this movie has taught me that even if a hot man likes you because you’re funny, he’ll gamble away all of your hard earned cash and then ask for a divorce. That is a horrible tale. I don’t know what’s worse, losing the ability to walk or all your money. Actually, I’m a total tightwad, so I think we all know what’s worse for me.

“Zap him right in the ba-doobies.”

And, of course, a drag queen will fall in love with me…really,  that would happen in any city with my track record.

Why was Meg Ryan in every Rom Com for a good 20 years?

If none of these potential adventures happen, I have one last movie plot to count on. Time travel! I could jump off the Brooklyn Bridge and be transported back to the late 1800’s just like in that cinematic masterpiece, ‘Kate & Leopold.’  Honestly, let’s face it, this seem like a most fool proof out of all the misadventures that the movies have told me I will likely encounter in the “Big City.”