Sunday, December 30, 2007

Walking in a [Creepy] Wonderland

I think that I've mentioned the ridiculous Christmas decorations my mother has put up every year since I was born, and while I've always regarded many of them as creepy, it's only been recently that I've actually taken a good look at them and realized how genuinely frightening they are.

Exhibit A: 4 Ft. Tall Anamatronic dolls

We have two dolls, a boy and a girl. The boy looks like a Chucky clone and when plugged in, his arms move up and down like Frankenstein. He's supposed to be decorating a tree, I guess.

The girl is no better, as she looks like the small daughter of a member of the Russian mob. When she's plugged in, she sways slowly from side to side, as her long-lashed eyes open and close. What's worse is that the eyes don't open and close in sync, so she looks like she's having a seizure, all while rocking from side to side.

Exhibit B: 12 inch Caroler Dolls

Our entire stereo system in the living room is covered by these creepy caroler dolls, that according to my mother are "worth a fortune." All throughout my childhood, my mother has talked about what my brother and I will get when she dies, and apparently, these dolls are worth a lot of money. My brother, who keeps old McDonald's toys for their "sentimental value," claims that he will keep these dolls and display them proudly in his house. Surely, he'll have them put in his casket and be buried with them. On the other hand, I don't want these creepers in my house and will likely pawn them or sell them on eBay. Sorry, Mom. But seriously, these statues are unbelievably scary, and they look like either Munch's Screamer or a bunch of haggard homeless people getting ready to give someone a blow job. Am I wrong here?

Moral of the story: I can't wait until these awful decorations are packed away.

Thursday, December 27, 2007


On any holiday, the majority of my friends send out a mass text message, and for Christmas, they all say something along the lines of "Merry Christmas!! Hope Santa was good to you!!" So I usually send one back that says "Merry Christmas, jerk." This is so my friends know that I care about them, but because I've never been comfortable with such naked displays of emotion, I add the "jerk" in there for good measure. Well, my friend Tim sent me a message back, telling me that I'm unoriginal. I responded, saying that Christmas is the most unoriginal day of the year. And it is. We all want to believe that we're all original, that we all have independant thoughts and we all do different things, and yet come Christmas, we all watch the same movies, want the same gifts, eat the same food, give the same cards; it's depressing. Well, maybe the word depressing is too strong. Quite honestly, I really don't give a fuck. I like to get gifts. And in the spirit of all of this evil commercialism, I thought I'd let you guys know my favorite gifts.
iPod Classic: I've watched for three long years as all of my friends got cool new video iPods, and I was left in the dust, with my old original iPod. It has truly been the little iPod that could, considering Apple makes them with Lithium batteries that only fully recharge for a year so you'll have to trade it in every year. But after three years the iPod would only hold a charge for about 20 minutes, and I decided it was time to trade it in. I love this thing.

I Like You
By Amy Sedaris:
The ever-hysterical Amy Sedaris is taking on entertaining by writing a book about throwing parties and h
ospitality in general. At first, I thought it was a joke, but she's actually semi-serious with this book and it's fucking hilarious. Although, if I knew she wasn't wearing pants on the back cover, I probably wouldn't have asked my 65 year-old conservative aunt to buy it for me. Oh well.

Buffalo Gear: I'm pretty sure my father started to realize that this is the last time I'll be home for Christmas for an extended period of time (ie: three weeks), and he wanted to make sure that I don't forget my roots. When I was home for Thanksgiving, we did one of our favorite things to do, which is to go shopping on Elmwood, a community of great restaurants, boutiques, artist's studios, and coffee shops. We went to the The Neighborhood Collective and I discovered Michael Morgulis, an awesome local artist who specializes in Buffalo-related art. His work was a little too pricey for me, but apparently my father went back and bought me the print above.

In addition to the print, he also bought me this t-shirt, which allows me to express my love for the Sabres without wearing an ugly, boxy jersey that manages to look good on no one.

I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell By Tucker Max: Tucker Max is preceeded by his reputation of wise-ass humor, and the title seemed appropriate, so I'm excited to read a fellow asshole.

Sellevision By Augusten Burroughs: So a few years ago I caved and decided to see what all of the fuss was about concerning Augusten Burroughs's Running With Scissors. When I mentioned in an email to my old high school English teacher that I was reading the book, she said "I would have liked Running With Scissors had my gay porn collection needed to be expanded, but actually it's quite full" (for the record, she's married with children). I did like the book, but I thought it was a little overrated, but I decided to give Dry a chance, and I absolutely loved it. I got it on audiobook for the long drive back to school this year, and I appreciated the irony of listening to an audiobook about a drunk going to rehab while driving to college where I would get drunk four times a week for the first month of school. Because of how much I enjoyed Dry, I hope that Sellevision will be on par with that.


Sunday, December 23, 2007

My Christmas Goal

So when I was home for Thanksgiving, I insisted that I change my dad's cell phone to have a personalized ring tone for whenever I call him. After weighing all of the options, I thought "Amanda" by Boston would be more than appropriate. Big mistake.

The ring tone is the chorus, you know "I'm gonna take you by surprise and make you realize/AMANDA/I'm gonna tell you right away/I can't wait another day/AMANDA/I'm gonna say it like a man/and make you understand/AMANDA/I LOOOOOOOOOOOVE YOU."

My father loves the ring tone so much that every time I call, he insists on listening to the ring tone until the end. Meaning that when I call him, he won't pick up until the SEVENTH ring. Sometimes, he'll pick up and tell me to call him back so he can hear it again. I have no patience for these shenanigans.

This break, if it's the last thing I do, I'm gonna take that cell phone and change it to something else. Something he won't like. Like hard core rap. Or Alan Jackson.

That's my Christmas goal.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

What's in this Drink?

Okay, so I'm home for the last Christmas break I'll ever have IN MY LIFE and I'm excited to sit around and do nothing for three weeks.

Unfortunately, long breaks usually equal terrible neglect of the blog, but for the first time, I actually have some people who read it on a consistent basis so I'll try to be good and keep the updates relatively frequent.

The problem with being home is that my house's technology situation is still in the early 90's. That's right, we have dial up. That means that it takes about 15 minutes for me to check my email. I waited 10 minutes to access the create a new blog post page to load. This gets tiring.

Admittedly, when I'm at school and have access to internet in high speed form, I'm online constantly. My roommate will attest to the fact that unless I'm sleeping, at class, at the bar, or in the shower, I am at my computer. Not so when I'm at home and subjected to the horrors of dial up. But I'll try to crawl off of the couch during my A&E American Justice marathons and update. Promise.

So during the six hour Christmas sleigh ride/drive back to Buffalo yesterday, my housemate Carrie (who also lives in Buffalo) obviously listened to an obscene amount of Christmas music. Rosie O'Donnell's Christmas CDs did not make the cut (Sorry, Natalie). But I can appreciate good bad songs every now and then.

The classic "Baby it's Cold Outside" is sweet until you actually listen to the lyrics. I guess I take the role of Scrooge in everything around the holidays (ie: "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" is about divorce), because the truth most often sucks, but seriously, everything is usually really fucked up if you just pay attention. So, in "Baby it's Cold Outside," we've got a guy trying to convince a girl to stay at his house, saying that it's cold outside and he's got a warm package to give to her (well, that's the subtext anyway). Regardless, it's cute. That is, until you listen closely. Next time you listen to this song, listen for the lyric, "Say, what's in this drink?"

WHAT'S IN THIS DRINK? He's drugging her. Not so charming anymore, is it?

Of course, my favorite terrible Christmas song is "Christmas Shoes" by schmaltzy singer Bob Carlisle (he's the guy who brought us the gag-worthy "Butterfly Kisses"). In "Christmas Shoes," Bob, our narrator is in another line at a store (Payless, probably) and he sees a little boy who's talking about buying his dying mother shoes so she'll look beautiful "if Mama meets Jesus tonight."

I appreciate the sentiment of this song, but it's just so exploitative and tragic that I can't help but make fun of it. He was dirty, his clothes were torn, he didn't have enough money to buy the shoes, he tried to pay for them with pennies, etc. COME ON.

People like my mother and Christine think I'm a monster for making fun of this song, but please. The mental picture of a dirty street urchin paying in pennies for shoes for his dying mother is bad enough, and just when you think it can't get worse, here comes the children's chorus to finish off the song.

I think that if I were dying, I wouldn't need shoes. Besides, when I want to get into the Christmas mood, "Jingle Bell Rock" works a lot better than some contrived song about death and dying.


Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Gloria Estefan Does Not Spread Holiday Cheer

Why do celebrities see fit to make terribly produced, half-assed, last minute Christmas albums? Do I really want to hear Nick Lachey's version of "O Holy Night?" The answer is no.

Maybe I'm a purist, but give me Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole over Britney Spears and NSync.
The only modern exceptions that I can say are decent are Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas is You" and Wham's "Last Christmas."

The notion of "hey, I'm famous, I should ruin Christmas classics" is obnoxious, and the Queen of Obnoxious, Rosie O'Donnell participated, with not one, but TWO crappy Christmas albums. Now, I had heard of these albums, but I had never actually heard them. I came across them in my very own living room. Apparently, my housemate Natalie really enjoys hearing Rosie's rendition of "Gonna Eat For Christmas" (eat what? DEAR GOD I COULD GO SO MANY INAPPROPRIATE PLACES RIGHT NOW) with Gloria Estefan. I don't know about you guys, but when I think of Gloria Estefan, I don't think of winter snow and holiday cheer, I think of sweaty night clubs and Latin rhythms.
Admittedly, Rosie doesn't have that bad of a singing voice, but it's the ridiculous duets that get me. Rosie and Elmo from Sesame Street singing "Do You Hear What I Hear?", Rosie and Smashmouth singing "Nuttin' For Christmas," Rosie and Ricky Martin singing "Ay Ay Ay It's Christmas," etc. Talk about a trainwreck.

And because I'm Marist's resident homo, I knew that it would be assumed that these awful CDs were mine. I have too much pride to let this happen (not gay pride, regular pride). I insisted Natalie claim these CDs as her own, by putting a post-it note on them that says "Natalie's CDs, not Amanda's."
That said, I guess I really shouldn't get too self-righteous, because I'm pretty sure we all butchered "Feliz Navidad" and "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" in the back of a cab last night.

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Monday, December 17, 2007

Why Girls Take So Long in the Bathroom

So for the guys who read my blog (population: 3), you've probably wondered why it always takes women so goddamn long to go to the bathroom. This is a video I took of my very drunk housemates at the formal a few weeks ago and it pretty much sums up why it takes us so long. Because it's much more interesting than anything going on out by the bar.


Sunday, December 16, 2007

General Observations

Don't you think it's ironic that we always find time to muse and wax poetic when we have a million other things that we should be doing? For me, it's studying for finals. Fuck it, man. Here are some general observations I've made while living life lately (nice alliteration, eh?):

People Go Insane on Snow Days: This past Wednesday, classes were cancelled because of a big snow storm that came our way. Here are some instances of insanity:
-Christine woke me up to tell me that I can go back to sleep because we don't have classes. Wasn't appreciated.
-In the walkway outside in the courtyard, some
one wrote "NO CLASSES" in 3 feet tall letters.
-Everyday, I thank God that there is a liquor store in walking distance of my dorm. This comes in handy when a snow storm strikes. Instead of using the extra day to be productive and study, we went to the liquor store to stock up. I could have sworn everyone from our colle
ge was in that liquor store. At 11am.
-While walking back to our house, carrying our goods, some guy was hanging out his window, wishing everyone a happy snow day. "Who made him the mayor of Lower West?" -Christine
-Someone pranked my college-issued phone by playing "All I Want For Christmas Is You" into the receiver
-We started drinking while watching West Side Story, and I don't really remember much after this, but this is all that remains of my snow day:

It's Important to Have a Sense of Humor:
While driving to Panera for dinner, my friend Tim and I were stopped at a light, and I noticed that the car in front of us was a handicapped car (as noted on the license plate). The handicapped car had a vanity license plate which read "BUMLEG." It's important to be able to laugh at yourself, and your disability. Kudos to that gimp.

Poughkeepsie is Ridiculous: Christine and I had lunch at everyone's favorite ghetto pizza place, Pizza Hut. Come on, you know sometimes you just want some good bad food. So we get the check, and we find out our server's name is "Princess." Poughkeepsie, you so classy.


Friday, December 14, 2007

Oh, Life

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Tales from the Office Drones (pt. 2)

Another installment of Tales from the Office Drones!

May 24, 2006 4:15pm
From: Amanda
To: Christine

I'm leaving now so I can go home and take a nap and then drag
myself into work at the country club (NOTE: at the time, I worked in the kitchen of a local country club). It's a banquet for DARE, meaning that 140 police officers will be at the country club tonight. Do you find it ironic that there's an open bar at the DARE banquet? If you wanted to go on a crime spree or something, tonight would be the time to do it as ALL of the area police officers are having a lovely steak dinner and open bar over at the club. Psh.. I am SO speeding home tonight.


May 24, 2006 4:32pm

hey journalism major its DOUGHNUTS not donuts. geez.

So I decided that I’m a failure. let me explain. so when I was in high school I was all like im gonna conquer the world and be a big reporter/writer/editor whatever and live on my own and have a crazy sex and the city lifestyle. now i was to move down south, live on a farm, and have kids. im pathetic.

in case you were wondering, the following is my updated list of future kid names: Madison Jeanne, Ava Grace, William George, and James Lee.

k bye.

May 25, 2006 9:30am
From: Amanda
To: Christine

hey, asshole, I know the correct spelling is DOUGHNUTS but I spelled it "donuts" to save time. I am VERY VERY busy.

You thought you were going to conquer the world in high school? So did everyone. I was voted "most likely to take over several countries." Just kidding. Although I'm sure if that was an option, I would've gotten it.

I like the name Ava. Please do not name your children James or William. They're old man names. I have an Uncle Jim. He's 60. I HAD an Uncle Bill. He's dead.

Back when I thought I was normal and I was going to have a mundane, banal life relegated off in suburbia, I liked the names Max and Chandler for a boy and Elizabeth and Alexandra for a girl. My father said that with names like those I would have to be really wealthy because those names are really pretentious, and my mother said that that the two names for the boys were "queer."

HA. Joke's on her. I'm queer.


Wednesday, December 12, 2007

True Fact: Studying Makes You Delirious

After handing in the much bitched about capping project, I felt relieved for about 30 seconds and started focusing my freak outs on my three remaining finals.

I'm currently (not) studying for my Mass Communication Law class. Funny story, the exam is cumulative!!! Memorize 30 court cases and hundreds of random legal terms! This class has been a fun little peek into the world of law, and I can tell you right now, I've come to one conclusion: I don't know why anyone would EVER want to go to law school.

So I've been in the library for much longer than any person should ever be trapped in one space, and there I was, hating the world, wishing I was dead, and I could think of one thing: I need caffeine.

I go to the library cafe run by a 70 year old woman.

Here's our conversation:

Me: I forgot my card. Can I give you my [student ID] number?

Old Lady: Yeah, I'll take your number, honey. Are we gonna go clubbing?

Me: (it took me a minute to realize what was happening) Oh, oh yeah. Party tiiiiiiiime.

Old Lady: (swipes my card)

Me: So I'll call you later and we'll go to the bar.

Old Lady: All right, let's do some shots!

And now, my life is complete.

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Monday, December 10, 2007

I Just Found Out I'm Three Weeks Late

Okay, so if you're a regular reader of this blog or known my in real life, then you know that I'm definitely not three weeks late (because this bitch defin
itely don't come into contact with no sperm). The title of this blog refers to a little game we played on Saturday night at the MCTV formal.

We call it "The Awkward Game." You can play it pretty much anywhere, a party, a grocery store, the movie theatre before the lights go down, wherever. All you need is at least one asshole
friend to play along. You take turns yelling out awkward phrases and see if anyone notices. Examples would include:

-"I just found out I'm three weeks late!"
-"Well, he looked clean."
-"So I finally g
ot that rash cleared up."
-"So right now I'm just waiting for the test results to come back."
-"He told me he loved me!" (this is especially awkward when a male says this)
-"It's less than 9 months 'til graduation so I should be okay."
-"And that's why you should always use a condom."

"I just found out I'm not pregnant after all!"

Christine: "You gave me a rash!"
Nick: "The doctor said it was temporary!"

Unfortunately for us, no one really gave us the attention we wanted, but at least we amused ourselves. And that was a good thing because even though the school administration got involved because they found out alcohol would be served at the shindig, they didn't need to worry about drinking because I could not get drunk off of those tiny, weak ass drinks they served us. They made us sign a waiver. The waiver made us pledge to "drink responsibility."

My date declared this an assault on the English language and then fixed her flo
wer-shaped earrings. I told her they were very Georgia O'Keefe (ie: very lesbian and vagina-like) and she laughed.

Abi says, "I like reading your blog more than I like reading books."
The best kind of date you can have is one who is a shameless flatterer.

There's a photo of me licking the flower/vagina-like earrings, but I'll spare you. Now THAT'S awkward.

And just for vanity's sake, here's the most gorgeous picture Christine, my ridiculous roommate and anonymous blog comment bandit and I have ever taken together.


Sunday, December 09, 2007


So today was the day, people.

The day that my group and I gave our final
capping project to Staples for printing and binding.

Four months of agonizing work lead up to this. I'm not joking when I say that for four months, we met 3-4 times a week for 4 hours at a time. We were ready to kill each other. Literally. But it was finished.

Let me back up and explain to you that our project was a travel guide for the 18-35 demographic. It was supposed to be funky and fun, rather than boring and cumbersome like Fodor's and Frommer's tend to be. It's called Four Broads Going Abroad.

For the most part, other groups in our class have created pamphlets on childhood obesity or something equally boring, useless, and unambitous. We wanted to do something that we could be proud of. 115 pages later, we're fucking proud all right. And stupid. Why God why couldn't we just do something adequate and mediocre? WHYYYYY? My group blames me because the idea for the guide was mine, but I just didn't realize what a ridiculously difficult process this would be.

But regardless, we're done and it's ready to print.

We end up at Staples, who has dubbed itself "America's Copy Center." We've discovered that nothing could be
further from the truth.

First of all, Susie, Staples Copy Center employee is a douchebag. Hey Susie, when people come in to discuss printing a book with you, you should a.) ask what paper we'd like b.) ask what binding we'd like c.) not talk to your co-worker about how you should have gotten to leave 10 minutes ago d.) FUCKING TELL US IF YOU CAN'T OPEN FILES DONE IN ADOBE INDESIGN.

After charging us $237.47 for printing 6 copies of the book and acting like an asshole in general, we leave, with the foreboding feeling that something will go wrong.

I'm not back at my house 10 minutes before I get a call from Susie. It turns out, they can't open Adobe InDesign files. After screaming, kicking the wall, and sitting on my kitchen floor hyperventilating for 15 minutes, we went back to Staples and demanded our money back.

Long story short, we printed 6 copies of the book out in the school's computer lab (ILLEGAL ACTIVITIES) and took them to Office Depot for binding. Hopefully, it'll all turn out all right. In the aftermath of this emotional rollercoaster of a day (rollercoaster ranging from average, to low, to abysmal, to suicidal), my roommate and I have gone completely insane.

Here's what happened:

6:34pm: I tried to go back to the computer lab to work on another project. I really did. I got to the front door, but realized it was raining. I went back up to my room to get my umbrella and instead found myself lying in bed watching the Food Network.
7:27pm: Giada De Laurentis is 37 and she looks better than I look right now.
7:28pm: Capping has aged me 15 years.
8:05pm: I need to do work, but cannot physically sit at a computer any longer. I want to lay in bed and do work, but I lack adequate lighting. I come up with a brilliant plan.
8:15pm: Christine is writing a paper about PT Barnum, the creator of the circus. I revel in the irony. As I run off to complete my brilliant plan, Christine tried to jump off the top railing on the second floor.
8:20pm: I am sitting in my bed, wrapped in Christmas lights, studying. I've officially gone off the deep end.

Next Tuesday, 12/17 we hand in the project to our professor. That will be the best (and drunkest) day OF MY LIFE.

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Saturday, December 08, 2007

Ugly Holiday Sweater Party

So I wrote the cover story for our campus arts and entertainment magazine (which I am the editor of), and its title was "Tis the Season to be Cranky: Why Holiday Parties Suck." So I figured I'd post it and then post pictures from the ugly sweater party I attended last night (which, by the way, didn't suck).

These days, it seems we haven’t even had a chance to digest our Thanksgiving m
eal before we all begin preparing for the holidays. Holiday-themed commericials touting all of the amazing deals Black Friday will bring play non-stop, urging you to buy your loved ones expensive gifts for outrageously discounted prices even before we’ve had our first snowfall.

Soon, everything is covered in fake snow and mistletoe. Trust me, walk into my house any time after December 1, and you’re literally walking in a winter wonde
rland. Scary-looking caroler statues, garrish lights, cotton balls used as a poor substitute for snow, at the first threat of cold weather, all of our houses end up looking like Rudolph came in and threw up everywhere. Even my roommate insisted on hanging up stockings.

And before you start calling me a Grinch or Scrooge, let me just say that I do love the holiday season (it’s the gifts, mostly). What I don’t love is the manic way that we celebrate them. The emphasis is more on what we can buy than on what we can do together (sledding, anyone?). The notion that the holiday
s are usually spent standing in line to pay for gifts rather than spending time with the person you’re buying the gifts for is not a new one, but here’s one notable exception: the holiday party.

Here we’ve found a way to scratch our consumerist itch and spend time with people we care about, all in one swoop. That said, there are two types of holiday parties: fam
ily parties and friend parties. Most often, the holiday parties you have with your friends are no different than the parties you throw every weekend, except for the fact that you all happen to be wearing Santa hats that you bought at the Dollar Tree, and in between sips of beer, you’re taking red and green jello shots.

These are the good parties. And here’s a way to keep the party going long after jokingly kissing under the mistletoe has gotten old: yell, “Hey, guys, did you know that [the song] “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” is about divorce?” (True fact). Watch the news register on everyone’s face, and then take another jello shot. A green one, because you’re a grinch.

When winter break finally arrives and
you head back home, you get the joy of going to family holiday parties. This is where things get a little less interesting. That is, unless your family is cool with you chugging down egg nog like there’s no tomorow and then trying to wrap the cat in wrapping paper.

It’s not that I don’t love my family, it’s just that there’s only so many times you can answer the big three questions. You know them: “So, how’s school?” (It’s good), “Are you ready to graduate?” (No), “Have you started looking for jobs?” (I don’t want to talk about it).

The worst moment of my life was when I found myself asking my young cousin “So, how’s school?” Not only did it mean that I’m old, it meant that I’m a schmuck, uncomfortably asking vapid, me
aningless questions just because I feel like I need to say something. That is, if I can even recognize them.

I have 34 first cousins on my mother’s side of the family so
not only does our Christmas party look like the army of a small, smart-ass country, it’s really hard to keep track of everyone. The cousin that I thought was still an infant apparently just got her driver’s license. And then the cousins start getting married (in some cases) and having babies that I didn’t even know about. “Who’s baby is this?” is always a fun game to play around the holidays. You should try it.

While not recognizing your own family members is bad enough, probably the worst thing about family parties from my e
xperience is that they’re seemingly endless. One hour in, I’m enjoying myself. I haven’t seen these people in awhile! Let’s all get caught up, shall we? Two hours in, I’m getting antsy. Three hours in, I’m sitting at a table, completely out of things to say to every single person at the party, silently willing my mother to work up the urge to leave before midnight.

I guess if you’re forced to be around people, the best part is he gifts you get- in
theory. But how uncomfortable is it to get a Cinderella princess jewelry box from your great aunt who forgot that you’re not seven years old anymore? (Oh no, Aunt Sally, this is great- now I have somewhere to put all of my fake jewelry I use when I play dress up)

Also, here’s a rule I think we all should live by: unless you’re a famous artist or clothing designer, stay away from giving homemade gifts. There’s nothing worse than getting crocheted pot holders for Christmas. Trust me, I know.
I guess it’s not all bad, though. We’ve all got to suck it up and go to them anyway, lest we get written out of the will, so have an extra glass of wine and tell everyone how great school is going, again.

So last night I attended one of the drunken college holiday parties that are oh so fun, and in order to add more fun to the mix, you make a theme. The theme of this party was "Ugly Holiday Sweaters." And yes, there were red and green jello shots aplenty.

Here are the results:


Friday, December 07, 2007

I Love Compliments

Okay, so Heather awarded me this Amazing Blogger Award and I'm extremely flattered. It's really weird to have a real audience on my blog all of a sudden, rather than a bunch of my jerk friends (I love you guys- really). Keep commenting everyone, you know I love it. Except Christine, my roommate who comments anonymously on the blog even though I can see her from across the room while she's doing it. Christine, stop it, you're such a creep.

Anyway, if I could give this award back to Heather, I would, because she deserves it, but I wouldn't want her head to get too big, you know, receiving the award twice, so I'm gonna give it to
Tina, who writes a hilarious blog that features everything from hysterical commentary, to bitter rants (my favorite), to funny pictures and cartoons. Check her out.

In other news, look forward to posts about this weekend's ridiculous happenings: an ugly holiday sweater party and a semi-formal drink up (yes, me in a dress).

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

Going Off the Rails on a Crazy Train

So I went into the city today for ANOTHER interview. While I don't mind actually interviewing, what I do mind is the hour and a half ride I have in order to get there. And the train ride is just a minor part of it. In order to make my 11am appointment, I woke up at 8am, took the 8:51am train, got into the city at 10:30, and walked for 15 minutes to my destination at E. 34st Street. I was out of my interview and back in Grand Central in time to take the 11:51am train back to Poughkeepsie, but I didn't get home until close to 2. That's six hours of my day tied up for a 15 minute interview. Not cool, people. But whatever.

After my internship last semester, nothing can phase me. I got used to that ridiculous commut
ing schedule. I got used to waking up at the ungodly hour of 5:30am to catch the 6:47am train that put me in Grand Central at around 8:30. Add a 15 minute walk to the office in there and that was my life, twice a week, for 4 months. That's 128 hours of my life on the train.

With all of this time spent on the train, I have a few observations. One of them is that the Metro North Railroad features the most interesting mix of business people and pyschopaths. Here's something I drew awhile ago which pretty much sums up my usual train experience:

The other observation I've made is that 85% of the conductors are insane. First of all, no one ever wants to be a train conductor past the age of 6. There's a comedian who once asked his audience, "Why don't we ever stick to our childhood dreams? Why isn't this an audience full of ballerinas and firemen?" Well, it seems that several train conductors I've run into while riding the crazy train have followed through on their childhood (childish?) dreams. These are the train conductors who will not stop talking over the goddamn loudspeaker.

For the record, I appreciate it when the conductors actually do their jobs and announce the station stops because I'm always quite certain that I'm either a.) on the wrong train or b.) going to miss my stop. When the conductors read the stops on the loudspeaker, they quell my fears. However, ONCE is sufficient, and funny voices are definitely not neccessary. "NEEEEEEEEEEW HAAAAAAAAMBURRRRRRRG! GAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRISONNNNNNN!" Shut the fuck up! I'm trying to sleep.

I was not on the train for an hour this morning and this guy repeated three times where the bathrooms are located. Got it. Bathrooms. Shut up.

Because they're "conductors," they also seem to be on power trips. This morning, we were told that we would be fined and thrown off the train if we put our bags on the seats. We're supposed to make room for our fellow passengers, it seems.

I wish he did throw me off the train. While it was moving. It would have put me out of my misery.


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Monday, December 03, 2007

Go Elf Yourself

So I've complained about
capping before, and in order to finish it in time for finals in TWO WEEKS we've been meeting four times a week for an average of four hours each time in order to get this damn thing finished.

Usually, when we're working on it, we're all in bad moods, but today I just plain snapped and kept singing "From a Distance" by Bette Midler in the computer lab. Much to my amazement, my singing was not appreciated.

After the meeting ended, I stayed on in the computer lab to do more work, and I get an email from my roommate Christine who happens to also be in my capping group.
The email contained a
link. This pretty much sums up capping for all concerned. Pretty much the best thing I've seen. Do it. Do it now.


Sunday, December 02, 2007

I'm a trainwreck

I'm gonna open this blog entry with an excerpt from an AIM conversation I had this morning:

Scott: im pretty sure I puked when I got home, and then wandered over to stephs house, stayed at her house, and peed her bed
Me: apparently i tried to break into my housemate's room again but they lock the door when they know i'm drinking

Sounds like a pretty good night, right? Yes, yes it was. You know it was a good night when I told every single person in the bar that I loved them. And to people that I definitely don't love.

Some background information:

Here are "The Three Stages of Drunk for Amanda" (according to my friend Tim)

GREEN LIGHT (keep drinking!) when I'm not touching anyone and keeping up my usual witty banter.
YELLOW LIGHT (keep drinking, but pace yourself) when I have my hand on your shoulder and I'm all like "You know what I like? Friends."
RED LIGHT (stop drinking, seriously, Amanda, stop) when I'm all over someone I barely know/just met declaring my love for them and then I drop my beer on the ground and it sprays everywhere

I used to get very out of control on a more frequent basis, but chalk it up to being a little bit older and being able to handle my booze a little bit better. That said, whenever I end up drinking with Scott, we always get terribly shitfaced.

I don't know if you're all familiar with a drinking game called "Power Hour." Basically, you break out some shot glasses and you take a shot of beer every minute for an hour. It's pretty painful, and you end up killing a six pack in an hour. This is my preferred method of getting smashed lately because hey, I'm busy. Let's speed this up, people.

Combine drinking with Scott with a power hour, and you're pretty much guaranteed a recipe for disaster. The last time I did a power hour with Scott, we drank with DOUBLE shot glasses. I threw up before we left and kept drinking because I'm a). an idiot or b). a champion. You decide. Regardless of what anyone thinks, that was a proud moment in my life. I am a trooper.

That night culminated into me drunk/sleepwalking into my housemate's room, pulling the sheets off of their beds, and unplugging their computers. I, of course, don't remember this, but it was a very mortifying morning, when the details were filled in for me. Luckily, my housemates were good sports about it.

Well, last night was a deja vu again. Drinking with Scott, power hour, Irish pub, and apparently, trying to get into my housemate's room again (of course, again, I don't remember). Fortunately for all involved, my housemates lock their bedroom door when they know I'm drinking. Crisis averted.

I'm a trainwreck.