Hot again

The hot mugginess that was once New York has recommenced. What’s strange to me is that I don’t feel like I’ve progressed in time. Instead, I feel like I’ve returned to a place I used to know. A land full of sweaty subway stations and dirty, flip-flop clad feet. A magical world of watching free outdoor concerts without needing a sweatshirt. It’s a happy reunion.

Confessions of a cyberstalker

In the olden days, before the Internet, people were forced to use traditional methods of getting to know someone. They would ask friends of friends, listen in on conversations, or, if they were really brave, go up and actually speak to the person they were trying to get to know.

Luckily, for those of us in the 21st century, these antiquated methods are no longer needed. Now we have the Internet, where people are more than willing to divulge personal information through multiple channels. With networking sites like Myspace, Friendster, and Facebook, getting up the courage to speak to the cute boy at the gym is just not necessary.

With a simple click of a mouse, I know that Cute Gym Boy is single. He’s my age. He enjoys playing with his nephews, foreign films and spicy tuna rolls. All this I found out without even having to talk to him. It’s great, because if I were to go up ask him these things in person, he might think I was interested. He might even ask me out on a date. In which case I would probably have to leave my apartment, which would entail putting on deodorant and pants.

Okay, so I’m not really that much of an introvert. Eventually, of course, I will go up and speak to him. When this momentous day occurs, I can use my Internet-gained knowledge to my advantage. Or, if I’m not careful, this knowledge can turn around and bite me in my lazy, pantsless ass.

Example A: The wrong way to be a cyberstalker

“So how old are your nephews? Oh, um, yeah I know you never mentioned that you had nephews er, uh, I guess you’ve always struck me as sort of avuncular.”

Example B: Embarrassing cyberstalkers everywhere

“Hey, give me a high five for that delicious chocolate cheesecake at Juniors, cause I know you love high fives and Junior’s chocolate cheesecake. I mean, I assume you do. I mean, um… who doesn’t?”

Example C: Using cyberstalking to your advantage

“So the other day I was reading Amsterdam by Ian McEwan on my way up to The Arcade Fire concert and totally spilled my chicken tikka masala all over my shirt and… what? No way! That’s your favorite book and your favorite band and your favorite food too?!? Crazy! You wanna make out?”

On being a big sister

I can’t remember much of my life as an only child. My memory starts 27 years ago today, when it was brought to a sudden end by a seven-and-a-half-pound, screaming, purple-faced monster emerging from my mother. When you watch the video of my sister’s birth, my three-year-old face looks, for the most part, bored and under whelmed. Like I was pissed off my viewing of Sesame Street was interrupted to watch this noisy mess. How could I have known then that my life was about to change forever.



At the beginning, Eliza wasn’t much more than an annoyance. She mostly just cried, slept, and stole the greater part what used to be my parents’ undivided attention. But as Eliza grew and developed a personality, I found that she was useful to play with, boss around, watch out for and make laugh.



That’s one of my favorite things about being a big sister; I can always make Eliza laugh. She gets me. She’s the one person I’m never ever afraid to be myself around. Whether that means being silly or being bitchy. I can show Eliza the ugliest, most selfish or petty or angry parts of my inside, because I know she’ll always love me anyway. And I hope she gets that. That when I get angry at her or belittle her or get frustrated (because she also knows how to drive me insane more than anyone else), it’s because she’s the one person in the world that I can express those feelings to in that way.



I’m so thankful that Eliza has been there to go everything with me. New step-parents and new siblings, family feuds and family lunches, Shabbat dinners and Catholic weddings, I don’t think I could have done it all alone. No matter what the situation, I know she’s always on my side. For fifteen years, we shared not only a room, but a bed. We also share a dad who likes to take photos early in the morning when we have not yet had a chance to brush our hair.



Eliza is one of the bravest people I know. Not just brave in that she travels all over the world by herself and climbs 100-ft high rocks without a second thought, but also brave in her honesty and her eagerness to speak her mind. As we grow older, Eliza becomes more and more a person that I not only respect and care for. But a person that I’m proud of, a person that I would like to emulate, and a person that I even, dare I say it, look up to.



This is my birthday gift for you, Eliza. A disjointed photographic retrospect on our 27 years of life together. I know I left and moved across the country, but I’m glad we’ve managed to stay in such close contact. Someday I’ll be back and our future children will be able to grow up together. This is very important to me, because I know my future kids are going to ADORE their Aunt Eliza.



So Happy Birthday Fishhead. This is your present, your whole present, so don’t go looking in the mail for some store bought gift or anything. This is all you get.

Love,
Audrey

The Poconos

Just got back from a lovely weekend at Lake Wallenpaupack in the Poconos. I’d heard of the Poconos before, I always pictured them as tropical and islandy. Maybe because of all the vowels, they sounds Hawaiian. Turns out they’re in Pennsylvania. And they’re more wooded than tropical, but still beautiful.

My long weekend mostly involved lounging, drinking beer and cruising around the lake on the patio boat. I cannot believe that I had never been on this beautiful thing called a “Patio boat” before. Talk about a brilliant concept. It’s a boat with nothing but couches, a table, multiple drink holders and a sound system. Basically, it’s a boat MADE for lounging, drinking and partying. I want one.

Here are some other fun things about Lake Wallenpaupauk:

The local bar



The local industry



The local vacationers

The girls...


The boys...


The feet...


Thanks to Mike and Elise for being so hospitable and gracious and showing me such a fun weekend at their family’s lakehouse.

Wipe your fingers with lies.

I know that products sometimes lie. But when they do it so blatantly as this moist towelette I got last night when we ordered Buffalo wings, it makes me a little angry. Read the whole thing.



Oh really, refreshes using no soap or water? Then why are soap and water two of the three ingredients?!? Perhaps me threatening to sue the waiter because the products he handed out were full of lies was going a little overboard. But you have to keep those restaurants in check. Next it’s going to turn out that our buffalo wings weren’t really buffalo. They were probably just made chicken. I thought they seemed a little small.

Gore ‘08

I proudly displayed my “Gore ‘08” sticker all the way back to Brooklyn last night from his lecture at the 92nd street Y on the Upper East Side. The message makes me hopeful, it makes me laugh (because I know he’s not going to run), but it also saddens me, because I can’t help but think about what a different world we’d be in right now if only they’d counted those Florida votes. If only there were different justices in the supreme court that fall of 2000. If only Gore was in office for the last seven years.

But why dwell on the past? Last night, Al Gore spoke about the present. He spoke about the sad state that our nation is in, with the majority of the media spending most of their time talking about Brittney’s most recent bouts of insanity rather than the issues that are actually affecting the world. The news stations that focus on Hilary’s hairstyle rather than her opinions. He spoke about the fact that the majority of Americans not only don’t know the truth about what’s going on, they don’t care to find out nor do anything about it.

This is what hit me the hardest, because I think he’s right. When I think about myself and my group of friends… we’re well-educated, we’re active, we’re have a decent amount of money. We’re the folks who should be doing something. We should be making our opinions heard and working towards a better future for our country. And what have any of us done?

Really, what have we been doing, guys?

I suck at dietary restrictions

A couple weeks ago, I decided I was going to try being vegan. That lasted about a day until I realized that I could never live without cheese, so I decided I was going to be vegetarian. A vegetarian that eats fish, of course, because I love fish. Then I ate a grilled chicken salad. As of now, I’m not eating red meat.

I also decided that I was going to give up sugar. Which quickly changed to giving up refined sugar. One Ben and Jerry’s ice cream cone later, I decided I was going to not eat things with high fructose corn syrup. Then I was offered a free Doctor Pepper. I’ve now decided I’m not going to BUY things with high fructose corn syrup.

So now, to make my life simpler, I’ve decided that I will not eat things that contain beef and corn syrup. Together.

Would I like one of your caramel-coverage sausages? No thank you. Okay, well, maybe just one bite.

A midweek poem

Surly coffee shop girl
Serving up calculated indifference with each steaming soy latte
I was once like you

Week #2 at the boner job

You’d think this would be the perfect job for me. And in many ways it is - I get to sit around all day and talk about erections. But there are a few ways in which this job is all wrong for me. I’m too crass of a writer to tip toe around the sensitive issues of erectile dysfunction. Everything is a pun when it comes to ED. Everything.

Here are some of my brilliant ideas that continuously get rejected (and it’s only been a week):

My number one favorite line: “Harder just got easier.”

On talking to your doctor: “The sooner you bring it up, the sooner you can bring it up.”

On discussing Erectile Dysfunction: “Admitting you have ED can be hard. But if you don’t, it won’t be hard.”

On talking to your partner: “It helps to talk openly with your partner about your sexual experience, so let your partner know you’re getting treatment. She’ll appreciate your honesty. You know what else she’ll appreciate? A big, hard penis.”

See what I mean?

12th to Sterling

This is the first year in the last five that I’ve missed Bay to Breakers, my very favoritest holiday. What a tragedy to be thousands of miles away from the wild festivities and general debauchery that I’ve come to treasure each year.

Instead, I enjoyed myself yesterday at the 5th Ave Fair in Park Slope, Brooklyn. There were no crazy costumes, no creative floats with free-flowing kegs, and certainly no ugly naked folk. However, Brooklyn’s cheap beer in the sun, the delicious street food and the little independent jewelry and clothing stands almost made up for it.

Or should I say, the jewelry and clothing stands that we THOUGHT were independent. Early on in the day, Cate and I stopped at a little stand that sold African-looking jewelry, various scarves, tapestries and purses. We were attracted to two bags featuring colorful, creative patterns and unique straps. African imports, we wondered? Independent designer? Maybe they were hand-sewn by the woman at the stand. We didn’t ask. We just happily handed over our $20 and walked off with our great finds.

“Yeah, those are nice,” Julie admired our bags as we showed them off to her that afternoon. “Wait a minute, did you look at the tag inside?”

“Tag? What tag?”

“That one inside… yeah… uh, those are from Old Navy.”

Oh. No, we did not realize that. I don’t particularly care; I shop at Old Navy anyway. I was just a little annoyed that we were mislead and over-charged. I will be very surprised, however, if Cate “I-only-buy-independent-designer-and-vintage” Reilly ever uses her bag even once.

This would never have happened at Bay to Breakers. We'd be too busy doing beer bongs and rolling around in our own urine.

Let’s hear it for the soy

Ever since my somewhat failed Master Cleanse (failed in that I only did it for five days) I have been attempting to watch what I eat. Of course, when I’m sitting in an office and someone offers me a cookie, this careful attention flies out my 16th story window. However, when I do have control over the situation, i.e. when the food’s not free, I have actually been eating vegan.

Okay, so I’ve delved into an egg or two, and perhaps a bit of cheese. So, maybe “vegan” is not the right word.

BUT I have yet to eat meat AND I’ve switched from regular milk to soymilk. And in doing so, I’ve made an important discovery. I like soymilk better.

Especially the vanilla flavor. It’s perfect in cereal. And the soy latte from Starbucks – superb. Next, I’ve decided to limit my diet to nothing but the most natural beverage in the world – breast milk. Brons? Jules? Wanna help me out here?

A deep goodbye to shallow friends

Last night, I said goodbye to seven people I had grown very close to.

As we shed our tears, I thought about the times we’d shared over the last three months. The time I spent laughing with them and laughing at them. The joy I felt at their accomplishments and the even greater joy I felt at their failures. I thought about how the reproach, disgust and shock with which I observed their behavior had, over time, blended into a vague feeling of love. Or at least, warmth, towards them, with no inklings of respect.

And now that we’ve sad our fond farewells, I’m still left with the desire to physically harm more than a few of them. Especially Brooke. She sucks. If only there wasn’t the thin glass of the television screen separating my hand from her overly painted face.

So, it’s with great sadness that I bid adieu to Real World Denver. Farewell, my dysfunctional friends. I’ll see you again soon on various MTV Challenges and reunion specials.

Working at a new FIRM

Today is my second day at my new job. It occurred to me that it's been almost three months since I left my last job. That's a long time to be out of the work force. Adjusting to my new corporate office was a challenge yesterday – the 9-6 schedule, the endless halls of beige cubicles, the fancy closed-toed shoes. Not fun.

However, there is one thing about this job that makes it a little more entertaining than most corporate jobs: boners. My new job is to write about erections all day long.

In keeping with my rule of not mentioning my client's names, I won't mention the client's name. However, you can totally guess this one. It's probably the most well-known prescription medication there is. It's small and blue. And it gives dudes woodies.

But, I'm not allowed to write the word "dude" or "woody." Very professional, this client is. But I gotta admit, it's seriously difficult to keep a straight face when talking about the new "hardness messaging" that needs to go on the website.

Scavengers

This past Saturday I spent seven hours racing all over the West Village solving puzzles, reading signs and taking pictures with strangers. It was the annual Metro Metro Scavenger Hunt, one of the most fun and stressful days I’ve ever had in New York.

A scavenger hunt, what could be so stressful about that? you ask. Well I'll tell you. The problem is that there are 200 clues, it’s impossible to solve them all. And each team was competing against 65 others, resulting in a level of competition way too intense for a sunny, peaceful Saturday morning.

However, amidst the team disagreements, the insults thrown from other teams, and the constant reminders to remember that it’s “just a game,” we managed to have a really good time. And, more importantly, devise our winning strategy for next year.

Still, The Saro Sarmazians made a good showing with our team costumes.


Then things got a little crazy.


Murders were attempted.


And the law had to step in.


These photos were all part of the hunt. We had to find certain locations, act out specified scenerios and then get all the photos printed and turned in by 4pm. Oy, what a busy day. Can't wait till next year!

Done

I hate to disappoint anyone that was gunning for all ten days, but I’ve decided to cut my ten-day cleanse into a five-day cleanse. All the books say that you don’t get the desired results until day ten, but I’m feeling pretty good. And I think my insides are clean enough.

I know. Quitters never win, blah blah blah, but there were a number of factors that lead to this decision. First and foremost, the cleanse is fucking up my teeth. I already have some areas with weak enamel and the lemon juice is wearing it away until it hurts to brush them. I’ve tried drinking through a straw, rinsing my mouth out after each sip, but nothing really seems to help. This is not good. I need those teeth to do stuff like chew, and smile prettily, and, um, gnaw through a rope quickly should I ever be tied to dynamite.

Secondly, I just found out that I start a new freelance gig on Monday (I’ll tell you all about it later, believe me, it’s even funnier than the last one) and I just don’t want to deal with the cleanse my first week at a new job.

And lastly, it’s turning me into a hermit. And being a hermit is boring. I’m sick of turning down dinner plans and happy hour drinks and picnics in the park. I could see how the ten days would be easy in a small town with nothing to do, but New York has so many delicious restaurants, fabulous bars and interesting street meats. Fasting in Manhattan is like being celibate in country full of gorgeous men (New Zealand, for example), it’s just a waste of resources.

So there you have it. Today is my fifth and last day on the Master Cleanse. It’s been, well, interesting. I have two giant jugs of grade B organic maple syrup left if anyone wants to buy them. They cost me $13.95 each, so I’d be happy to get that money back. Any takers?

Squatting Vs. Sitting

It’s a debate I’ve had with many of my girlfriends for many years. You see, I am a loyal, steadfast Sitter. Unless I’m in the dirtiest, most disgusting public bathrooms of nastiness, I will plunk my white ass right down on that toilet seat with joyful abandon.

Then there are the stubborn Squatters. Not to name names, but you know who you are and you’re ruining it for the rest of us! YOU, with your thigh-burning yoga moves. YOU, with your Brazilian-waxed wild sprays. YOU are the ones that are peeing all over the goddamned seat.

If everyone just placed their butts nicely on the seat, no one would spread any germs. It’s just skin on skin. Unless you need to rub your labia all over the porcelain because you pee like a freak, you’ll get more germs from touching the doorknob when you exit the bathroom.

However, I’m prepared to offer a compromise. For those of you ladies that just cannot bring your royal backsides to come into contact with the unworthy porcelain, maybe you can at least lift the seat up so as to keep it clean for the rest of us. Do we have a deal?

Internal Spring Cleaning

Today is my third day on the Master Cleanse. When I decided to do this, I promised myself I would not blog about it because if you do a Google search for Master Cleanse you’ll find only like eight hundred million blogs about people’s fasting and pooping and weight loss and such.

But basically, the gist of the cleanse, as you can read in the article, is that for ten days, I’m ingesting nothing but water, lemon juice, maple syrup and cayenne pepper. This combo (plus various herbal laxative teas and salt washes, I won’t go into that part, it’s nasty) will supposedly scrub all my insides out to get rid of all the toxins that I’ve put in there for the last 30 years of my life. Everything from the entire bag of tootsie rolls I ate on Halloween when I was seven to the big juicy hot dog I ate on Sunday after the bike ride. It’s all coming out.

Granted, the so-called “doctors” with “medical degrees” and “professional scientists” say that your body does that on it’s own. That’s what kidneys are for. Sure, they went to med school and, um, scientist school and all. But, I read a website that says otherwise!

To be honest, I don’t know if I believe in all the detox mumbo jumbo. However, I’ve heard about this cleanse for years and have always been sort of curious. I know many people that have done it with positive results (at any rate, they didn’t die). And I’m unemployed. I got nothing better to do this week.

I wouldn’t say I’m an unhealthy person. But I pretty much eat whatever I want, whenever I want, so I thought this would be a neat experiment just to see if I can do it. It’s not about losing weight (all the pounds you lose, you gain right back, apparently), it’s about focusing on my body and paying attention to what goes into it for a change. My hope is that after this, I’ll have a better understanding of what food makes me happy, what makes me unhappy, and how I can maintain better control of those factors. Also, I heard that crazy things come out of your butt! Stuff that you didn’t even know was inside you… I can’t wait!

It’s yet to be seen whether I can actually last ten days. That’s a long time to go without solid food. And I have a serious hankering for a cheese danish right now. Yes, a cheese danish on a large pepperoni pizza.

Followed by a Dr. Pepper.

With Vodka in it.

Farewell dust bunnies, we've had some good times

I’ve lived in my room in Brooklyn for almost a year now. This morning I woke up and decided that it was probably about time to clean it. This had to do with my recent discovery of a vacuum in Cate’s closet.

So, this morning I got it out and plugged it in. Now, how to turn it on…? After much prodding and poking, I finally ended up emailing my roommates to ask. And they made fun of me for not knowing how to use a vacuum. Okay, fine. I’m not a big cleaner. It’s not that I don’t like to clean, it’s just that I don’t really notice dirt. And also, I don’t really like to clean.

But I think that’s okay. I grew up in a fairly messy household (no offense, mom) and look how awesome I turned out. And through most of my adult life I haven’t really had to clean. That’s what boyfriends are for, right? Hmmm, I wonder why I’m single.

5 boroughs in 4 hours

Yesterday morning, I completed the 42-mile NYC Five Borough Bike Tour. “Tour” being the operative word. It was not a “race.” It was not even a “ride” some of the time. Seeing there were 35,000 people trying to bike through New York’s narrow streets, it was often a Five Boro get-off-and-walk-your bike tour.





However, it was still a ton of fun. And now that I’ve spent time in all five boroughs, I can say confidently that Brooklyn is the very best one.

For those of you that don’t know New York City and need a review of the boroughs, please examine the subway map slash male reproductive system below. Manhattan may be the shaft, but Brooklyn is the balls. And once again, at least I don’t live in semen island.

Just give me a fucking job already!

I’ve been soooo patient and diligent about this job search. I’ve been emailing my portfolio and resume every day. I’ve been on interview after interview, going into offices multiple times to meet multiple people. (This is especially trying for me as I only have one interview outfit.) Which is why I’m begging, pleading, just give me a fucking job already.

Clearly, I am not one of those people that functions well with too much free time. Also, something that’s been increasingly apparent is that being unemployed pays $0.00/hour. That’s a daily rate of $0.00. And don’t even get me started on what that works out to for an annual salary. Believe me, it ain’t much.

A guess a month to find a job isn’t horrendous in the grand scheme of things, but my previous New York job searches took me two weeks, and then one day, respectively. And those companies hired me on the spot. Have my qualifications changed? Has my work degenerated? No, everything’s the same. So I’m begging of you, oh readers of the world wide web, just give me a fucking job already! Or at least pay me to do nothing.

Reason #12 why I could never be thin

Soul food.

Sure, I’m a middle-class white girl from Berkeley, raised on lattes and matzoh ball soup. But there’s just something about real soul food that brings back the sweet, sweet taste of home.

Last night my pals and I joyfully stuffed ourselves to the point of vomiting at Ruthie’s “Authentic Southern Food” restaurant. I’m not sure which I enjoyed most, the barbecued chicken, the real cheddar mac and cheese goodness or Ruthie herself – an elderly southern black woman, still in charge of her bustling kitchen where “everything is homemade with my mama’s old recipes.” Okay, yes I am. It was the mac and cheese. God damn it was so gooood. I kind of want to order a giant bowl and roll around in it.

Still too shallow for yoga

Today, between noon and one at the downtown New York Sports Club, I confirmed for the first time in three years what I knew to be true all along: I don’t like doing yoga.

Why? Because I suck at it.

I know if I practiced more, I could possibly get good. But I’m not very flexible. And I’m not particularly deep in that way. I could never meditate; I think too much. I know all this about myself, and yet, once every few years I think: maybe THIS time I’ll enjoy yoga. I feel it’s something that would be good for me. Also, yogis have great bodies. But the one positive thing that came out of all my failed Downward Dogs today, I came home and dug up this old poem that I wrote almost four years ago. And it's still true today, enjoy:

Too Shallow for Yoga

I started out with great intentions, my mat was shiny new
My sweatpants low across my waist, my shirt a pale blue
I saw the dimming lights, heard the music for meditation
I laid out my mat, took a seat, and thus began a self-realization

I’m too shallow for yoga, I have the wrong attitude
The class thinks about their spiritual selves. I’m thinking about food.
“Stretch your body into the Cobra Pose, the Fish, the Alligator…”
I hear the place next door has great fish tacos, I’ll have to get one later

“Focus on your muscles, turn the thoughts off in your head.”
The guy to my left is kinda hot (I focus on his muscles instead)
“Stretch your back out long and raise your arms, reach out to touch both walls”
If I look really hard when he does Warrior One, I think I can see his balls.

I’m too shallow for yoga, I find the class a bore
We’re supposed to concentrate on our Chakras, I concentrate on the door.
I’d love to get in touch with my spiritual self, but I’m really not that deep
At the end, when we did Shevasana, I think I fell asleep

I do Triangle Pose, Downward Dog, Child’s Pose and all the rest
But in truth, I like Sitting-on-the-couch-watching-MTV-eating-Cheetos Pose best
I understand it should relax me, open my mind, expand my world
As long as it ends by ten-thirty, so I don’t miss the Golden Girls

I’m too shallow for yoga, I guess I’ll never be a monk
I don’t believe in meditation, Chakras, Breath of Fire and all that junk.
I go to class and act grown-up, but my immaturity has won
I’ll just have to find another sport, I hear kickball can be fun…

Ideal Woman meets One-legged Wonder

As a internet social experiment, over the weekend I posted the following personal on Craigslist:

Ideal woman
I hate fun, laughter and puppies. My friends would describe me as dull, generally unpleasant, or "a real drag." I'm, at best, clingy, at worst, frighteningly codependent. Sometime I burst into tears for no reason. Oh, almost forgot - I'm fat. Really, really fat. Email me!

Amazingly, I got 30 responses within two hours. Most of them were lame "Clearly you're very sad - I'd love to come over and cheer you up." But a few people got it: "Where have you been all my life? It's like Christmas!" And my personal favorite response:

Depressed
I'm depressed, don't talk much, can't stand music and don't believe in God. Slim but missing one leg due to a lack of movement (spend a lot of time in bed) Not a big fan of the outdoors either. I am retired, used to rob banks before I Iost my leg.

I think it's love.