I bet those bunnies have better 401ks than I do

Thank You For Being a Friend: A Golden Girls Marathon (Season 1)

I once read an article in Entertainment Weekly where two reporters watched the entire series of Full House in one sitting. It was eight seasons, 192 episodes, 75 hours and, if I must say so, pure brilliance. I can appreciate that kind of excessive sloth for TV.

So, it was a lazy, rainy Sunday, and I figured I'd take a crack at it with the Golden Girls, mainly because it's what I would be doing anyway—seven seasons, 180 episodes, 66 hours. Because I have a job, I can't say that I can do this in one sitting, but I can definitely break it up and try. Can I handle it? All of the St. Olaf stories? The Cheese Man saga? The all night dance marathons? Seven hundred cheesecakes? Who knows. Wish me luck.

Day 1:
Episode 1, The Engagement, 6:09PM: Sometimes the pilot episodes of TV series are hysterical (ala 30 Rock), and some are terrible because the characters you love haven't found their footing yet. The Golden Girls pilot falls somewhere in between. First of all, it's incredibly obvious how much this show was supposed to be a vehicle for Bea Arthur, with the rest of the girls playing off of her. She gets all of the zingers.

Within the first 3 minutes of the episode, here is the dialogue:

Rose: What a day! One sad person after another.
Dorothy: Rose, you work at Grief Counseling. What do you expect, comedians?

Blanche: Dorothy, can I borrow your mink stole?
Dorothy: It's Miami in June, only cats are wearing fur.
Rose: You going out?
Dorothy: No, she's going to sit here in the kitchen with us, where it's 112 degrees and eat enchiladas.

The pilot features a gay cook named Coco, and thank GOD that they axed him in favor of adding Sofia into the mix instead. Blanche is apparently getting married (the first of the million marriage scares they have over the years), and everyone is worried that they'll have to move out. After some hysterical slapstick comedy between Rose and Dorothy as Blanche is getting ready for her wedding, the doorbell rings and it's a police officer, who is coincidentally played by another 1980s estrogen-heavy sitcom star, Meshach Taylor (of Designing Women). He's here to deliver some bad news. Blanche's fiance, it turns out, is a bigamist! And that's the end of that.

Episode 2, Guess Who's Coming to the Wedding, 6:36PM: Dorothy's daughter Kate is coming to visit, and she announces that she is going to be marrying a doctor in the Bahamas. They convince her to have the wedding at their house (specifically, on the Lanai), because who doesn't want to have a wedding an old lady's house surrounded by florals and wicker? NOBODY. Dorothy calls her estranged ex-husband, Stan, and invites him to the wedding. He left her for a stewardess after 38 years of marriage and Dorothy still hasn't gotten over it (talk about holding onto something!). Stan shows up and toupee jokes abound. Throughout the wedding, Dorothy tries to hold it together—Rose tackles her because she has a knife and she thinks she's going to stab Stan. After the wedding, Dorothy tells Stan off, but she tells the girls that there will "always be a part of Stan with [her]." Apparently, he left his toupee behind. Oh, the hilarity!

Episode 3, Rose the Prude, 6:59PM: Blanche convinces Rose to go on a double date with her. Rose starts falling for Arnie (who is played by Harold Gould, who returns to the show later as Rose's long-term boyfriend, Miles), but is worried about having sex with him because she hasn't had sex with anyone since her husband, Charlie died. Blanche is aghast, (mainly because she's a slut) and Dorothy retorts, "Shut up, Blanche, not everyone is classified by the Navy as a friendly port."

Rose decides to go on a romantic cruise with Arnie, but won't put out at first. We find them in a tiny cruise ship cabin, wearing ridiculous pajamas. As an aside, when did people stop wearing pajamas? My mother still wears button up pajamas and I just don't get it. Call me crazy, but I don't want to wear a shirt with buttons and a collar when I'm trying to be comfortable. You should be wearing t-shirts and shorts to bed.

Anyway, back to the episode. Rose confesses to Arnie that her husband died of a heart attack while they were having sex. She's afraid that she might kill him if she sleeps with him. He says, "If you haven't had sex in 15 years, that's a definite possibility."

Rose returns, and Sofia asks her, "So, did you play hide the cannoli?"

Episode 4, Transplant, 7:23PM: Blanche's sister Virginia is coming to town and Blanche is UPSET. To make matters worse, Dorothy shows up with an anonymous infant. It turns out that someone named Lucy hurt herself, and Dorothy volunteered to take care of it (the baby, I mean). Blanche is pissed, saying that they simply cannot have a baby in the house if her sister is here. Dorothy asks, "Why, does she eat them?" Turns out that Virginia is dying, and she needs Blanche's kidney to save her life. Blanche hems and haws (like most Southerners do) until she finally decides to give her the kidney, only to be told that her kidney can't be transplanted into her sister's body. The episode ends with all four of them running into the kitchen for some Rocky Road ice cream.

Episode 5, The Triangle, 7:46PM: This episode marks the first time Rose tells a St. Olaf story, about how the she and the farm animals had the same doctor. It all worked out until "he started drinking hog linament and tried to neuter the Swenson Brothers." Classic. Apparently, Sofia is sick, and Dr. Clayton comes for a house call (does that happen anymore? I wish it would). Dorothy hits on him shamelessly and he agrees to go on a date with her. Blanche tries to intercept him, saying:

Blanche: But he and I were meant for each other. I'm a woman, he's a man...
Dorothy: And what am I? Little Richard?

Dr. Clayton shows up to pick Dorothy up for a date and he puts the moves on Blanche (and his moves are TERRIBLE, btw. "Blanche, are you feeling all right, you're looking a little flushed. Let me take your pulse..."). Blanche is torn on whether or not she should tell Dorothy what a dbag Dr. Clayton is, and Rose convinces her, using the logic that Dorothy could marry him and adopt a child named Little Mei Ling. Blanche tells Dorothy, and Dorothy doesn't believe her and calls her a slut, and an "amoral, back-stabbing, self-centered jezebel" (Honestly, I think we should use the word "jezebel" more often). Blanche tells Dorothy to move out.

This episode also marks the first "Picture it/Sicily" story. Sofia and her best friend back in Sicily start a pizza business together. One day, a "fast-talking pepperoni salesman" rides into town and gets between the two girls. The pizza suffers, the friendship suffers, the business suffers. Turns out that the friend in Sofia's story was none other than Mama Celeste. The scene ends with Sofia flipping off the freezer, which presumably contains Mama Celeste's frozen pizzas.

Rose gets the truth out of Dr. Clayton by acting like a skank, Dorothy realizes she made a mistake, apologizes to Blanche, and the episode ends with a group hug, where Rose says, "It takes a big woman to forgive someone calling her a slut!"

Episode 6, On Golden Girls, 8:10PM: Blanche's dbag grandson, David comes to visit. He's about 14, which explains the bad attitude and leather jacket. Dorothy tells David that she doesn't like his attitude, and he says, "YOU ALL CAN KISS MY ATTITUDE," which earns him a well-deserved smack across the face from Sofia. Of course, behind every belligerent teenager is a deep-seated emotional problem, David's being that his parents fight "all the time."

Episode 7, The Competition, 8:34PM: Bowling—the favorite sport of old people and drunks. It was like that time we went to the HoeBowl in Poughkeepsie and had a sing-a-long to "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt" on the way there. I don't really remember much of the bowling, mainly because I think I drank about a half bottle of jager before we got there, but I do remember having fun! Speaking of fun and bowling, there's a bowling competition and Blanche and Rose are partners. They are trying to beat Olga and Sonia Neilson, the best bowlers in the over-fifty crowd. That is until Rose finds out that Dorothy is a better bowler, and she dumps Blanche and teams up with Dorothy. Then Rose dumps Dorothy for Sonia Neilson, Sonia Neilson dumps Rose, Dorothy and Blanche team up, and Rose is left without a partner. Jesus Christ. This was a complicated plot twist.

Meanwhile, Sofia's old boyfriend from 1915 in Sicily comes to Miami for a visit. She wants to go back to Sicily with him for the San Genero Festival, but Dorothy says no. To piss her off, Sofia teams up with Rose and starts a bet with Dorothy: if she wins the bowling tournament, Dorothy will give her the money to go to Sicily. Some ridiculous competition trickery goes on, and Dorothy ultimately throws the tournament because she wants her mother to be happy. Warms my heart, almost as much as my radiator is doing right now—gotta love those flaming hot poles that masquerade as heating systems in pre-war apartment buildings.

Episode 8, Break In, 8:57PM: The girls come home from a Madonna concert (?!) and they find that someone has broken into the house. Blanche realizes that they stole her "Momma's jewels." Her only consolation is that they didn't take her precious vase (or, as she she says, "vah-zzzzze"). Rose thinks they were robbed because they don't have a man in the house (woohoo, feminism!). Hilarity ensues as they all try new things to protect themselves—a guard dog, an alarm system, and finally, a GUN. Blanche comes home with a date, and Rose shoots him. Okay, she shoots AT him, and hits the vah-zzzzze. Rose is hysterical, and then we cut to her in a parking garage. She is wearing a ridiculous sun hat and a man starts chasing her. She recounts the rest of the story to the girls at home, saying that she "nailed him, right in his safety deposit box" (ie: his crotch). Unfortunately, it was not an assailant, but rather a parking attendant. All's well that ends well!

NOTE: Disc 1 ends, and I insert disc 2. In the interest of full disclosure, over the course of the three hours it took to get through the first disc, I have eaten a cheeseburger, some pickles, and some chips with onion dip. I also cleaned the kitchen and tried to figure out how to work the heat in my apartment. I wonder if my neighbors are getting tired of hearing "Thank You for Being a Friend" every 20 minutes.

Episode 9, Blanche and the Younger Man, 9:22PM: Blanche is asked on a date by a (much) younger man named Dirk. Rose's mother (who has to be about 700 years old) is visiting, and shows up in an outfit that looks like it was designed by the American Girl Doll wardrobe people. Fun fact (not revealed in this particular episode): Rose's mother's maiden name is Gerkleknerbeigenhaufstetlerfrau (it was later shortened to Gerkleknerbeigen, because she was in show business).

Speaking of old, I think the ages of the women in the show are interesting. The first season premiered in 1985, when Betty White was 63 (and looked damn good), so was Bea Arthur (she looked less good), Estelle Getty was 62, and Rue McClanahan was 51. First off, I still think it's funny that Estelle Getty, who played Bea Arthur's mother is younger than her, but more than that, can you imagine having a hit TV show at 63 years old? When I'm 63, I hope to be a.) still living and b.) still able to walk up stairs—not star in a hit television series and win multiple Emmy awards. Hats off to these old broads, for realsies.

Episode 10, The Heart Attack, 9:45PM: So when I was in high school, I took an internship class. I interned at a local PR "firm," which was essentially one woman sitting in a room. I didn't learn anything, but my teacher made me right my internship superviser a letter. So, in the letter, I wrote the lyrics to the Golden Girls theme song. It's a perfect thank you letter, when you think about it. "Thank you for being a friend/Travel down the road and back again/Your heart is true/You're a pal and a confidant/And if you threw a party/Innnnnnnnvited everyone you knew/You would see the biggest gift would be from me/And the card attached would say/Thank you for being a friend." My teacher read it, and was all like, "This is....like a song...?" Anyway, she wouldn't let me send it.

In this episode, the girls fear that Sofia is having a heart attack, but she's not. Badabing, badaboom.

Episode 11, The Return of Dorothy's Ex, 10:09PM: Stan is back from Maui—Chrissy has left him and he's got the hots for Dorothy again. I have to say that I'm glad that they decided to bring Stan back as a recurring character, but that weird moustache has. got. to. go. In an unrelated side note, I'm getting really tired. My back hurts.

Episode 12, The Custody Battle, 10:33PM: Dorothy and Sofia get into a fight because Dorothy never goes on dates. Rose suggests that they just kiss and make up, and Sofia responds with one of the best lines in the history of the show: "Go blow it out your dittybag!" I don't even know what that means, but it made Scott and I laugh for about 45 minutes. To be fair, we were also about 27 beers in at the time, but it's still pretty fucking funny. So Dorothy's sister Gloria rolls into town and ends up asking Sofia to move in with her. Of course, she doesn't leave and life goes on. Honestly, these "is she moving out?" "is she getting married?" episodes bore me. Of course none of the main characters are moving out. COME ON.

Episode 13, A Little Romance, 10:56PM: Rose is dating Dr. Jonathan Newman, but she's tight-lipped about her relationship with him. Blanche invites him to dinner, he shows up, and guess what?! He's a midget! Hilarious height jokes follow, they serve shrimp and short ribs at dinner, and Blanche says "Gawddddd, I was I was dead," which is always hysterical in my book.

In other news, it's getting late and I'm getting tired. I'm moving this party into the bedroom.

This is otherwise a great episode, except for the crazy dream sequence. You see, in typical Golden Girls fashion, Rose has been on about three dates with the midget, so she's obviously assuming that he's going to ask her to marry him. So, she has a dream where another midget comes in with a psychic and Sofia is dressed up as a priest, and as OMC would have said in the mid 1990s, it was very bizarre.

It ends with the midget breaking up with Rose because she's not Jewish. Awkward.

Episode 14, That Was No Lady, 11:25PM: They finally throw Dorothy a bone and give her torrid affair with a [married] man, played by Alex Rocco. Fun fact: Alex Rocco's gravelly voice is also the voice of Roger Myers, the owner of Itchy & Scratchy in The Simpsons. When she finds out that he's married (you weren't tipped off by the fact that you were always having sex in motels?), Dorothy freaks out, but then starts seeing him again because she's a huge whore. Sofia finds out and confirms the whole "Dorothy is a whore" theory, and Dorothy ends up breaking up with him for good. My eye lids are getting heavy, and I want to get up early and go to the gym tomorrow. Enter sandman.

Day 2:

Scott is over, and I will now be doing Day 2 accompanied by about 700 beers. Yes, it's the Golden Girls drinking game.

Drink every time:

Dorothy says "Ma"
Rose tells a St. Olaf Story
Sofia says "Pussycat"
Stan says "Hi, it's me, Stan"
Sofia says "Picture it"

And, to make things extra interesting: Every time someone says something sassy.

Episode 15, In a Bed of Roses, 9:07PM: Rose sleeps with a man and she wakes up the next morning to find him dead. She goes to tell his sister that he's dead, and OMG, guess what?! His "sister" is his wife! What a scum bag! Rose is convinced that she is the "kiss of death" because she kills men when she sleeps with them. She goes to tell the wife what happened, and she is the most understanding widow in Miami.

This is one of my favorite scenes:
Rose: I slept with Arnie. He's dead.
(Dorothy and Blanche's eyes bug out)
Rose: And the sheriff, I told him about me—how I kill men. And he said, "Oh yeah, prove it, sleep with me." So I did. And the Sheriff died.

Rose was obviously kidding, but it was hysterical.

In other news, Scott and I have gotten off track. We were talking about the gym, and how everyone feels like it's okay to walk around naked, instead of hiding their shame, which is what I think they should do. Good thing he screamed, "I CAN'T WAIT TO GET NAKED, BEEN WAITING ALL DAY!" just as my neighbor (not Milagra) was unlocking her door.

Episode 16, The Truth Will Out, 9:31PM: Something about Rose and her daughter and a will and money. I don't care that much, I'm kind of drunk. We are three "Ma's" behind.

Episode 17, Nice and Easy, 9:55PM: Blanche's slutty niece Lucy comes to visit and is sleeping around, only because her Aunt Blanche does the same. I can't get over her haircut, which looks like Daria's best friend Jane's hair cut. The B story is that there's a mouse in the house, which I can obviously relate to. Dorothy is all rough and tough, but when confronted by the mouse, she couldn't kill it, and she ended up acting as a "mouse whisperer." I'm obviously not like that, because I killed my mouse. But I did feel bad about it. I swear.

Episode 18, The Operation, 10:25PM: Every now and then, it seems like the writers on the Golden Girls come up with entire episodes just to showcase the cast's talents. Since they're all so old that they had to have gotten their start in vaudeville, they all can sing and dance. So, this episode opens with Dorothy, Rose, and Blanche entering a dance competition. Dorothy has a growth on her foot (gross), so she has to go in for an operation and will miss the dance competition. We, as the audience, are treated to several dance numbers throughout the episode, including one where Blanche and Rose are in leotards that make them look like they're 20 years old. Damn, these old broads are in good shape!

Episode 19, Second Motherhood, 10:51PM: There is a phenomenon on the Golden Girls where one of them date a guy for about 45 seconds, they are automatically anticipating a marriage proposal. Here, we find Blanche dating Richard, a millionaire with his own private jet. In a predictable turn, Blanche does not marry him because his children are in elementary school. Case closed.

Episode 20, Adult Education, 11:17PM: In sitcoms, college professors are usually sleazebags who hit on the cast and allow them to have their "I'm mad as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore" moment. In real life, actually, college professors usually are sleazebags, I mean, at least at my college. My favorite adjunct professor was also a club promoter, so every class ended with "Come to the Loft tonight to meet [insert name here] from The Real World!" Anyway, Blanche's professor tells her the only way she's going to get an A in his class is to sleep with him. Because she's a slut, everyone assumes she'll sleep with him, but au contrare! She says, "I, sir, am a LADY!" Bravo.

Although my favorite exchange from this episode was said in passing, with nothing to do with the plot:

Rose: What are you doing?
Sofia: I'm cleaning out my purse.
Rose: Did all of that stuff come out of your purse?
Sofia: No, Rose. I was also cleaning out my ears. That's where the rain bonnett came from.

Episode 21, Flu Attack, 11:42PM: The episode opens with Sofia measuring Dorothy. She is wearing a ridiculous, drapey, sequined number and Sofia is going to alter it for her. Remember when people altered and sewed their own clothing? What a dying art. Future grandmothers will only be able to complain via Twitter about how a button came off, rather than being able to sew it back on. I bought a new shirt the other day and threw the button packet away, because honestly, if a button falls off my shirt, I'll probably throw it away. What, me sew?

Anyway, all of the girls are getting ready for the big charity banquet and to complicate matters, all of them (excluding Sofia) gets the flu. Yet another doctor comes for a house call (still an old-timey novelty to me) and tells them there's no wayyyyy they'll ever make it to the banquet.

Of course, they all get pissed off at each other because each of them thinks that they're going to win the "Friends of Good Heath Best Friend of the Year Award," (?!) so they all go, and the sequined-studded banquet is punctuated with many coughs and sneezes. To make everyone feel bad about being so selfish and mean, Sofia wins the award, and gives a speech about how great friendship is. Touching.

Episode 22, Job Hunting, 12:14AM: Rose got laid off from her job at the Grief Counseling Center. Can you believe that twenty-ish years later, life is imitating art? You can't get a job? Rose can't get a job. But before you start feeling too sorry for yourself, Rose can't get a job because she's too OLD. At least you're young and (moderately) beautiful. The episode ends with her finding a job as a waitress at a diner, which is surprisingly realistic. My only gripe is that somehow Rose gets her job at Grief Counseling back and the lay off is never mentioned again. Um, hello, consistency? No? No? Okay.

Episode 23, Blind Ambitions, 12:39AM: Rose's blind sister, Lilly, is visiting, and she's not letting a little thing like having no eye sight get in her way! That is, until she's cooking and starts a huge grease fire. I'm reminded of the time that I dressed as a blind woman on Halloween freshman year of college. I just wore cataract glasses and deliberately bumped into everyone all night. What a dickhead I was.

Episode 24, Big Daddy, 1:07AM: Scott has left for the night and I'm pretty ripped, but I'm determined to finish this up. Here, we have the historic unveiling of Blanche's father, Big Daddy. As Dorothy opines, "I can't believe I know somebody who calls their father 'big daddy!'" This opens the door for a lot of ridiculous things that are said like "mint juleps, Mason Dixon line, mammy, and fiddle-dee-dee." It seems that Big Daddy has decided to start a country singing career. Imagine if your father called you up and told you, "Guess what, I sold our house, I'm going on tour." You'd probably have the same reaction Blanche had—A NEGATIVE ONE. Something is said about "chasin' rainbows," and then a crappy song is sang as the credits roll.

Episode 25, The Way We Met, 1:32AM: Apparently, the producers of the show thought that a really engaging, interesting way to end the show's first season would be to do a clip show. The girls have evidently watched Psycho and can't sleep. So, of course, they end up sitting around the kitchen table, eating cheesecake, and reminiscing about how they all met each other.

And so ends the Season 1 Marathon. I am drunk, tired, and ready to fall asleep, but one thing I have to say is that I really, really love this show. Obviously.

I Fucking Hate Those Commercials

Okay, so I haven't been writing, mainly because my life has entered into a downward spiral where all I want to do is drink and cry and repeat, but I took this weekend to not talk to ANYONE and clear my head, and I do feel better, so be on the look out for more posts and watch this funny clip:

Things I Vaguely Remember from Halloween

-Marching in the NYC Halloween parade by accident
-Laying in the street
-Knocking down police barricades
-Knocking down a ladder in the hall way of my apartment building

As you can imagine, NYC in Halloween is crazy, and the low-key bar that we decided to go to was decidedly not low-key, as there was a massive line outside the door. So, we decided to ditch that place and go to a nearby bar I've been to before.

We get to the front door, and it's a private party.

"Are you here for the Captain Morgan party?" the girl asks.

OF COURSE WE ARE. I spell my name when she can't find it on the list, and then insist that we paid online. We get four wristbands, and find out that all drinks are free.

Then, we talk our way into sitting in the VIP section, and after about 500 free drinks, we convince a waitress that we pre-paid for bottle service. Cue the free bottle of Grey Goose.

My life rules.

Jumpin', Jumpin'

So Scott sends me an email yesterday saying, "Hey, what are we doing for Halloween, blah, blah, blah... Oh, by the way, I got jumped from behind by three guys yesterday."

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?

Why so casual? You better believe that if I got jumped/mugged, EVERYONE would know what the fuck was up. I'd be on the 6 o'clock news.

I guess that means that Scott isn't a big drama queen like I am.

So, in light of this horrifying incident, I decided to create some ecards to help lift Scott's spirits.

Observe:





Maybe I should go into the greeting card business. My tag line will be "For life's little messes." Wait, isn't that a paper towel company's slogan? Whatever.

Fondue Bitches!

Now that I'm an adult with my own place, one of my favorite things to do is to spend a ton of money I don't have on throwing parties for my friends.

Oh, sure, back in the day (ie: a year ago, at college), when you threw a party you were just basically offering people shelter and a [relatively] clean bathroom to piss in. Everything was BYOB and the only food I got even close to serving was when my friends got hungry and raided my cabinets only to find that I only had granola bars and olive oil and no good drunk food like chips and queso dip.

Then we would all walk across the street to McDonald's and yell at the night manager who we dubbed "Snaggletooth." We called her a loser (not to her face, but definitely loud enough so she could hear it) and laughed about how we'd make more money in a year than she'd make in her entire life. This was not one of my best moments, but let me just say that the irony is not lost on me that she probably makes more money than I do now and is definitely less stressed out about things. So, joke's on me. You win, Snags.

Anyway, the point is that I wasn't a very good hostess.

But now that I have my own apartment and a pay check that amounts to a little bit more than beer money for the weekend (thanks, Marist College Office of Admissions), I have gotten fancier.

My housewarming party consisted of homemade onion dip, a roasted red pepper/eggplant dip, and various tiny pizzas (pesto shrimp and assorted vegetable). It seems that I'm moving closer and closer to a full-fledged meal, because this past weekend, everyone came over for a Fondue Party.

Everyone was all like, don't turn your fondue party into a fondon't party, hahahahaha. And I was like STFU, dbags.

The problem was that I had never made fondue before and I didn't have a proper fondue pot, so it wasn't going to stay warm for very long on my coffee table. I figured, hey, it's cheese, who cares? People were worried about my attitude towards this, but as always, I was right.

I made:

-One with Gruyere, Fontina, and white wine
-One with Cheddar and dark beer
-One with Cheddar, Swiss, and apple cider
-One that was basically just melted chocolate with a little heavy cream

Whenever I have a party where I need a lot of ingredients, I treat myself to a Fresh Direct delivery because my canvas bag and tiny Grandma cart with a faulty wheel ain't gonna cut it for such an ambitious shopping list. I always get the earliest possible delivery the day of the party so I can get everything ready. Unfortunately, I didn't realize how EARLY 7AM-9AM seems on a Saturday, and definitely didn't count on Scott coming over on Friday, us drinking 15 beers and then going out to the deli to buy another 30 rack. Imagine the Fresh Direct guys at 7:48AM, coming into my apartment and finding socks inexplicably hanging from the plant on my TV stand, 50 empty beer cans on my coffee table, me looking (and feeling) like I got hit by a bus, and Scott, passed out, in his clothes in a weird position on the couch.

I believe they were laughing, but I couldn't really tell because I was concentrating on trying to breathe without causing my head to explode.

Anyway, the party went off without a hitch, but I did end up having a lot of fondue left over, mainly because if we ate any more cheese at the time no one would be able to take a shit for about a week (except Abi, who is lactose-intolerant). Not wanting to waste about $40 worth of cheese, I got creative and bought dough from the store. I made cheese crepes and homemade hot pockets with the cheddar-beer mixture and steamed broccoli as well as chicken rollatini with the same ingredients.

I have officially become a domestic diva.

Move Out of Your House That's Also a City

This isn't actually true

I've actually been thinking a lot about my career lately, and how much I kind of want to jump off of the Brooklyn Bridge with weights in my pocket.

But Halloween is here! I was gearing up to just stay home this year after I didn't have much fun at a co-worker's party last year. Mainly because I didn't really know anyone there, except our intern, who stole my tall boy of Coors Light out of the fridge.

But, my old housemate from college is coming up, and Scott and Steph are dressing up as John & Kate Plus 8, so now I'm faced with trying to come up with a last-minute costume.

I'm not one for the big, uncomfortable costumes (a giant pumpkin, a can of beer, a table set for two people, etc.), and I'm definitely not interested in pretending to look like I could possibly be sexy in fishnets and a corset, so I always go for the funny and clever costume instead.

My senior year in college was my best costume year, mainly because I had two HILARIOUS ones:

Ellen Degeneres

A tourist at Niagara Falls

So now I've come up with another stroke of genius. I will be Sue Sylvester from Glee. For those of you who haven't watched Fox's new hysterical musical-comedy, let me just say that you are missing out. Jane Lynch, who plays the evil high school gym teacher and cheerleading coach is, as to be expected, the funniest part of the show, throwing out ridiculous one liners such as:

"I don't trust a man with curly hair. I can't help but picture little birds laying sulfurous eggs in there, and it disgusts me."

"You think this is hard? I'm living with hepatitis. That's hard!"


So, I'll be doing Halloween like "Sue C's it." Why is this a great Halloween costume?

1. Track suits are comfortable.
2. I'm always up for some obnoxious fun and whistles and stop watches provide that.
3. Sue always carries around a Nalgeine filled with some kind of protein shake. I will fill mine with liquor.

My only regret is that I didn't save the Ellen wig, because they're both old, blonde lesbians with essentially the same haircut. Oh, well. I just ordered a replacement wig from Party City titled "The Dude Wig." I think it's supposed to be for if you're dressing up as a surfer, but who cares.

Bring it on, Halloween. Bring it on.

Hundreds of Lions

Caught the Erin McKeown/Jill Sobule show last night in my neighborhood.

Check out my experience here.

On second thought...

I guess I should be grateful I don't have one of these....

NO WALT DISNEY I WILL NOT BE A MOUSEKETEER

You know, I've been thinking (read: I've been obsessed) a lot about mice lately, and I think it's kind of ridiculous how as a society we have so many children's movies, books, cartoons, etc dedicated to these exoskeleton-less vermin.

New life motto: don't trust anything without an exoskeleton.

And you know what? I blame all of my mouse troubles on Walt Motherfucking Disney. No, Walt, I will not join your Mickey Mouse Club. No, Walt, I will not be a mouseketeer. MICE CARRY DISEASES.

But think of all of the messaging we got as kids that mice are cute and cuddly and friendly.

THEY'RE NOT, GET THEM OUT OF MY HOUSE.

Examples:
Oh hey, kids! You love pizza, right? You love skeeball right? Of course you do! Head on down to Chuck E. Cheese's, where your parents will spend $75 all so you can trade in 700 tickets for a pencil with a weird eraser, or some waxed lips. You know what I don't want? A mouse making my pizza. FUCK YOU.

As almost always with Disney movies, you don't realize how dark they are until later in life. As kids, all we remember are the key words "mean stepmother," "sweeping stuff up," "going to the ball," "Prince Charming," "happy ending." How fucked up is it that Cinderella has to sleep in this dank, disgusting room where mice are her only form of companionship? She makes them clothes! Isn't that cute? NO, IT'S NOT CUTE, IT'S FUCKED UP. And I don't care how those mice helped her escape or make something or do something (it's been awhile, I'm foggy on the details), I know what a girl wants. And what a girl DOESN'T WANT is a bunch of mice hanging around when she's FINALLY dancing with her Prince. Take a hint and get back under the oven.

I honestly have no idea what this movie is about, but it stars a mouse and that's enough to get me pissed off. I'm sick of these "mouse as hero" scenarios. Look at him—so proud, so defiant. You didn't look so proud sitting in my garbage can chewing on Clorox wipes the other night and then hiding behind the toilet before shoving yourself into the crack between the cabinet and the bathtub. FUCK YOU.

NO, MOUSE, I'M NOT GIVING YOU ANY COOKIES. This is AMERICA. Just because the Democrats are in the White House doesn't mean you should spend your life looking for handouts. GET A JOB AND PAY FOR YOUR OWN DAMN COOKIES, DOUCHEBAG.

As usual, The Simpsons is the only show that gets mice right. They are evil, homicidal maniacs who will disembowel your cat if given the chance. KILL HIM NOW BEFORE HE KILLS YOU.

Oh, Mickey, that's so sweet, giving your girlfriend chocolates. Do I need to remind you who bought those chocolates? ME. I bought those chocolates and you stole them, because YOU'RE A THIEF. I don't care if you're the most beloved cartoon character in history. You're an asshole.

I've never watched Mighty Mouse because I was too busy watching Designing Women or the Golden Girls or reading Carol Burnett's autobiography "One More Time" when I was a child (I was what my mother called "smarter than everyone" and what the kids at school called "weird." Remember that time for my 10th birthday party my dad took me to Blockbuster to get a movie for all of us to watch and I ended up renting "Evita?" Yeah, about that). BUT, fuck you and your fancy outfit, Mighty Mouse. You think you're better than me?


Speedy Gonzalez, you think you're so clever, running so fast and screaming "Andale! Andale! Arriba! Arriba!" all the time. You can't outsmart me and my steel wool and large feet. I'm waiting for you, dbag.

Stuart Little is part of the family. He wears people clothes, doesn't he? He's not part of my family. GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, DAMMIT.

Jerry, always outsmarting that cat, living in the walls, hanging out in the house like he owns the place. We'll see how you feel when I close up that hole and you starve to death in the walls. I'LL SHOW YOU. I'LL SHOW ALL OF YOU.

Anyway, so the point is that I am SICK of mice been portrayed as cute and amusing.

Also, I've officially lost my mind.

Amanda Goes Crazy (Fievel Goes West)

This whole mouse thing is driving me crazy.

I've told everyone about the mouse, like I have just purchased a new puppy and it has consumed my personal life.

"I can't go out for drinks. Gotta get home to my mouse!" I'll say, or, "I have the smartest mouse in Brooklyn!"

Why is it so smart? Because I put out a trap with cheese on it, went to bed, and woke up the next morning with the cheese removed from the trap and no dead mouse.

It's just like that time when my cat would scratch on my bedroom door like it wanted to come in, so I'd get up, and open the door, and the cat would run away. He would do this at least three times in a row until I realized that essentially, the cat was playing "ding dong ditch" with me and I was losing. EVERY TIME.

But this little story is cute, because the annoying animal in question was a beloved family pet, and not a nasty, unwelcome rodent.

People have told me to put out peanut butter because it's sticky and they can't just grab it from the trap. That all sounds reasonable, but guess what I'm not gonna do? GO GROCERY SHOPPING FOR THE MOUSE. I don't eat peanut butter. Therefore, I don't have it in my house. I'm not going to make a special trip to the store to buy peanut butter for an unwanted house guest. It just seems crazy to me.

I know it's an old building in New York City and all buildings have them, but I am pretty sure that Milagra's trash picking tendencies have brought him/them into my apartment.

I saw her outside of the apartment the other night (going through the garbage of course) and I said, "Hey Milagra. I've got a mouse in my house."

Her response was not what I expected.

"FUCK THAT. I DON'T WANT THOSE BITCHES IN MY HOUSE."

Keep in mind that this is a 70-year-old woman, who is about 4 feet tall, who essentially said "FUCK THAT NOIZE" when I told her about the mouse.

So I'm trying to come up with ways to keep the mouse (mice?) at bay.

Advice I've gotten:

My boss: Steel wool in all of the holes
My father: Stop being such a drama queen
Co-worker: Mint oil
My landlord: Deal with it yourself and stop calling us
My father (again): Name it and pretend your life is a Disney musical
Friend: Glue traps

So now I'm obsessed (ala Nathan Lane in Mousehunt). I've put out bait and traps. I've scoured my apartment for every hole or crack and stuffed in steel wool (my baseboards currently look like they're growing hair). I've doused the place in mint oil. I've taken to sitting on the couch in silence, listening for the pitter patter of rodent feet (or, as they say in The Night Before Christmas, "stirring").

One thing I will refuse to do, however, is put out glue traps. Imagine: you're walking along, and all of a sudden, you're stuck. Like, really stuck. You can't get unstuck. But you're not dead. And the glue's not gonna kill you. So you'll just sit there and die of starvation. Now, I'm not a hippie animal rights douchebag, but that is pretty fucking cruel. Snap their necks is what I say! I've always been very deliberate.

All I want to do is eat dinner, have a vodka tonic, and watch Designing Women in peace (Season 2 on Netflix, bitchez). Is that so much to ask?

Adventures in Mouse Killing

The fall is what my father refers to as "mouse season," which means that it's getting cold, and mice are trying to find nice, warm homes. I can understand this. But until the mouse I have in my apartment starts shelling over money for rent, he ain't welcome.

Here's what happened:

Last weekend, I was doing my normal routine of laying in bed with the shades drawn, air conditioner up, watching Dexter on Netflix Instant View. I got up to get a drink in the kitchen, and I saw my little friend scamper across the kitchen floor and under the baseboard.

I called the landlord, and they said that they would come to close up all of the holes.

Not to be a nerd, but COME ON. Mice don't have exoskeletons! They can squeeze into the smallest crack. It's not like I'm living in a goddamned Tom & Jerry cartoon where there's a big oval in the wall that the mouse goes in and out of.

Anyway, they closed up a few areas, and I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the apartment. So I'm hanging out on my couch, watching TV, and I hear a commotion in the kitchen. The mouse is running across the counter, presumably because his hole was closed up and he's trapped.

Wonderful. I put out poison. I don't see him for a few days, so I assume he's dead from the poison.

I wake up in the middle of the night on Saturday night and go into the bathroom to pee.

Oh hey, what's up Mouse! Hanging out in the garbage can, chewing on Clorox wipes, huh? Sounds like an awesome Saturday night.

The mouse hides from me, behind the toilet. Admittedly, he is cute. Cute, but still vermin. Also, I don't really love what seeing one mouse portends (read: 10 MILLION MORE MICE). It shoves itself into a tiny space in between the bathroom cabinet and the bathtub (evidence of the exoskeleton business I was referring to earlier).

I need an exterminator.

A Recap of My Weekend

I may be a Brooklyn snob, and it may be my contention that aside from theatre and tourist attractions, there's nothing Manhattan has that Brooklyn doesn't, but the real reason why I don't leave Brooklyn on the weekends is because of the MTA.

After a particularly shitty work week, I wanted to hole up in my apartment and not talk to anyone. Netflix Instant View has Seasons 1 and 2 of Dexter, so I ordered Chinese and settled in for a quality evening of Michael C. Hall and vegetable lo mein.

All of a sudden, my computer has one of those scary fatal error messages that Macs almost never get (they're reserved for shitty Dells). The problem with Macs, though, is that they are made so well, that when they break, we, as the user, can't do anything about it. Usually when my Dell laptop stopped working, I could yank out the battery pack or slam it with my fist and that would jar it back to life. Not so much for my beautiful Mac.

So I resigned to the fact that I would have to go to the Mac store in the morning. The Mac store is on 14th street in the Meatpacking District, so it should only take me about a half hour to get there via subway.

I get on the F train and make it to Jay Street in record time. I have to transfer at Jay to an A or C train and take it to 14th street. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

Finally an A train comes. Here's all of the announcements that were made in about 15 minutes:

This train is running over the F line until West 4th street. Once we get to west 4th, we'll resume A line service (repeat about 700 times)

Oh wait, this train is going express to 59th street from West 4th street. No stops for 50 blocks.

Correction: this train is going local.

Enough to make you want to lock yourself in your apartment and never leave. Ever.

Walk this Way

Whenever my parents come and visit me in New York they complain incessantly about how much walking they have to do.

Up and down the subway stairs, up and down the stairs to my apartment, 15 blocks to the store, etc, etc. It doesn't seem like a big deal to me because I do it every day.

But now that I'm living on Prospect Park West which is close to the park, and far away from everything else, I used Google Maps to see just how much, on average, I walk in my daily life.

From the subway to work: 1 mile
From work to the subway: 1 mile
From home to the gym: 1 mile
From the gym to home: 1 mile
From home to the grocery store: 1 mile
From the grocery store to home: 1 mile

I'm walking an average of 4 miles a day, not counting the flights of stairs in my apartment, at work, and all the miscellaneous walking I do or what do I when I'm at the gym.

No wonder my parents, who walk two feet to their cars every day, are always huffing and puffing when they visit. Thanks, New York, for helping me work off all the beer without even realizing it.

And now it's time for my favorite game...

It's called, "Who is giving off that terrible odor?" and 9 times out of 10 you play it on the subway.

How you play:

1. Recognize that there is a terrible smell of body odor. Someone who has live in New York City for more than 6 months has a nose for this kind of thing. The subway ALWAYS smells like urine, so discount that smell right away. Body odor? Bingo. Let's find who hasn't showered in awhile.

2. Look around, the person with offensive odor is probably homeless. Are there any homeless people around? DING DING DING—YOU WIN!

3. No homeless people? Weird, you must not be on the A train. Anyway, look around. Are there any huddled masses around (ie: FOREIGNERS)? I'm sorry if this is racist, but if you smell BO around you and someone is speaking a language other than English, you've most likely found the BO Bandit.

So you win. You found the source of the terrible smell that's making [most] people in the subway car want to vomit. What's your prize, you ask?

Your prize is that you have 15 stops to go and the train will be "momentarily held in the station because of train traffic" at EVERY. FUCKING. STOP.

Welcome to New York. Try not to kill yourself.

Where My Lesbos at?

My little corner of Brooklyn is regarded as a lesbian mecca, so much so that Park Slope was nicknaked "Dyke Slope." Classy, of course, but I see wayyyyy more straight couples pushing double-wide strollers than I do any cute sapphos.

Listen to me complain at Fucked in Park Slope.

Open Letters

Dear My Job,

Stop turning me into a raving pyschopath.

Love always,

Amanda

---

Dear Top Chef,

What's with all of the lesbians this season? And why are none of them cute?

Love always,

Amanda

---

Dear Milagra,

Why do I always see you picking through the trash cans outside of our building? Please don't give me bedbugs.

Love always,

Amanda

---

Dear NYC,

How can I love and hate you so much ALL AT THE SAME TIME?

Love/hate always,

Amanda

Dear Zachary: Watch it

It was quite the coincidence that the very week one of my best friends moved in with me, was the week that I watched this documentary for the first time. I was waiting for Scott to come home so we could go out and I logged into Netflix. On Instant View, I chose Dear Zachary. Fast-forward an hour, and I'm sitting on my couch, sobbing. Like CRYING, like you would not believe. This story touched me in a way that no other film, documentary, book, story, has ever had.

Dear Zachary is the incredible documentary about a 28-year-old doctor who was murdered in cold blood. His best friend since the time he was in kindergarten made this documentary to capture his friend for his son, who was born after his father was murdered.






This is honestly one of the best documentaries I've ever seen. I've watched it only twice, but each time I'm reduced to a puddle of tears. This story will stay with you long after the film is over. If you have Netflix, watch it on Instant View immediately.

Sometimes I get to eat food for free..

...Because I have to write about it.



Check out my review of Metromix's Hot Plates Live here.

RIP

Still Can't Get Over it

Empire State of Mind

Anyone who works in the entertainment industry will tell you that there are usually three truths about our working lives:

1. You work all the time. Like, ALL the time. At your friend's birthday? You sneak into the bathroom with your iPhone, so you can check work emails. Serving as a bridesmaid in a wedding? Your boss is going to call you and ask you to do something, ala Sandra Bullock's character in Two Weeks Notice. Luckily, my boss has an adorable family, and accordingly, she'd like to spend time with them. I don't work much on weekends, but it's not a stretch for other people in industry.

2. You could make more money working at McDonald's. Seriously. You have a "cool" job, where your daily work is structured around researching the feud between Mariah Carey and Eminem, or ordering 75 bottles of vodka for a film screening, so they can pay you nothing. You're working in entertainment in New York City during a recession, and there are about 10 million other kids from small towns who sat in their rooms throughout their childhoods, dreaming of the day where they would move to the BIG APPLE, take it by storm, and shove it in the faces of all of the people who made fun of them. TAKE THAT, Christy Carfiello! Where do you work? CVS? SUCK IT.

3. You get to go to cool events and pretend you're VIP. As a pay back for working crazy long hours and getting paid a salary that makes you want to jump out of your boss's office window while screaming "WHY GOD WHYYYYYYYYYY," you get to go to awesome events and get the VIP treatment although you're definitely not a VIP.

Last night, I was invited to the Jay-Z Answer the Call concert at Madison Square Garden. It was a charity show to benefit the victims of 9/11. I was just happy to get tickets, as it sold out in about 10 seconds, but when I arrived, we were shown to the Club Suites. We were in a box, with a private bathroom, catered food, open bar, and an awesome view of the stage. Was I in heaven? Perhaps.

Jay-Z put on an awesome show, punctuated with awesome special guests. Biz Markie ("Don't ever talk to a girl who says she just has a friend") opened, and throughout the show, Jay-Z was joined on-stage by John Mayer, Rhianna, Beyonce, Mary J. Blige, Kanye West, and Puff Daddy (P. Diddy?). Mind officially blown.

But honestly, who am I that I get to sit in a private box in MSG and watch one of the biggest events? Yet another "is this my life?" moment to add to the list.

Really, what it comes down to is that no matter how difficult it is to make rent, how frustrating my job can be, and just how difficult life can be sometimes, when I can find myself in a private box at MSG, looking over thousands of people, lights flashing, music blaring, I just feel nothing more than greatful for every moment of my stupid little life.

It brought me here, didn't it?

Sage Wisdom

Most people wait until they're settled into their apartment before throwing a housewarming party. I'm not like most people. You see, most people would also probably have boxes piled up in corners of their new place for weeks after they moved in because they're "busy." You're not busier than me, I would shout at them in an argument I would obviously win.

I've never been obsessively neat (as former roommates could attest) but I have been obsessively obsessive about accomplishing things. So, when I moved in last week, I took Friday off from work and by Sunday morning, everything was unpacked and organized. I was settled, dammit, in record time. It was time to drink.

But housewarming parties have always struck me as a little strange. "Come see my new apartment, bring me wine and assorted useless gifts, compliment everything incessantly or I'LL KILL YOU—would you like some onion dip?" So I kept the guest list small, just a few friends from college.

If you're a longtime reader of this blog, you'll remember when Abi and I were going to move in together. To give you a quick backstory to our relationship: Abi is a flower child and I hate flowers. We are very different people, but we have bonded over our mutual hatred for everyone, and our mutual scary love for serial killers. Okay, "love" is the wrong word here. "Fascination" would be better. We had mutual friends in college, but our independent friendship was cemented when we both looked across a bar and looked at each other and said "Hey, do you think that woman looks like Aileen Wuornos?"

BAM! Friendship.

One time, our team name at Trivia was "Karla and Paul," after Karla Homolka and Paul Bernardo, the Ken & Barbie Killers. For her birthday, I sent her hourly photos of Aileen Wuornos celebrating her birthday in various poses as a countdown to when we could finally leave work and head to the bar for 200 drinks.

Observe:



Anyway, while we have serial killers in common, we have little else—when we were going to move in together, she told everyone she was going to do a "sage burning" of the whole apartment to rid it of its "negative energy." Everyone we were friends with laughed and said, "Abi, you're living with Amanda—it's going to take more than some sage to get rid of the negative energy."

So, as a housewarming gift, Abi got me a sage burning kit. Everyone laughed, and I believe I told her I hate her. Fast forward a billion beers later, I'm walking some friends out of the apartment and hanging out with them on the stoop until their cab comes. I come back inside and discover that Abi has lit the sage on fire and is frantically running through my apartment, waving it over all of the door frames.

I believe "what the fuck" was shouted as Abi reassured me that the place now had "good vibes."

Ridiculous.

Life in the Tenament

Breaking news: Milagra just put out a nice new door mat.


Who needs to go to the store and buy a proper door mat (I got one at Target for $5, BTW) when some old rags, a button down shirt, an old paint can, and some Jesus sandals can do the trick?