Monday, April 26, 2010

One Way Ticket


These days it seems like each time I walk in my front door a housemate is either stepping out, moving out, or leaving on a jet plane. While I on the other hand feel like I'm deserted on a barren island that strangely resembles my city block. But with everyone around me vacationing, or leaving entirely, I have had some extra social time to find my love passport and start getting some new stamps in it. But dating, just like traveling, can be exhausting and more tiresome then originally recognized. Both are always romanticized into being great and luxurious, like a 1950's American Airlines advert where all the men wear tailored suits and all the women look like Grace Kelley. Damn, was that a lie. The reality is, dating is a lot more dangerous then flying. I'd take grouchy security guards with their beeping wands over talking to a stranger at the bar any day. Every time we decide to go out on a date, or agree to get a drink with someone, or ask someone out for dinner we are buying a one way, non-refundable, ticket to a destination we aren't aware of. Dating, or seeing someone, is like an impromptu flight purchase without the free peanuts. Or the hot towels. The idea is so risky and crazy and absurd; wanting to get closer to a complete stranger. It's comparable to blasting ourselves into the friendly skies and hoping we won't fall out of them. We fly all over the place, with our love passports in hand, hoping that the destination we reach is love. Or romance. Or good sex. But dating doesn't come with a parachute underneath your seat, or an inflatable life preserver. Dating is either smooth sailing, or plummeting to the ground at an alarming rate while desperately trying to slip the oxygen mask over your mouth. A life of lonely, solo train rides is sometimes appealing. But there is too much about flying that we just can't give up. The excitement you get when making a ticket purchase, the fun of deciding what to pack and what to leave behind, that butterfly feeling in your stomach when you lift off. When it's a good flight, you feel amazing. You're thousands of feet above reality with your head in the clouds, and nothing bad can touch you. You're secure in the arms of your lover, enjoying the in-flight entertainment, only worried about how to recline your chair. Sometimes you touch down in an exotic and lovely destination, other times you simply disembark and go your seperate ways. And then sometimes you crash land in the middle of the ocean and fight to keep your head above water. The fact of the matter is, you're more likely to get killed in a car accident on the ground then die in the air....or something like that. I've been flying all over the place lately. Vacationing in New York. Having business lunches in Iowa. And I've recently started making day trips to California, and Michigan. Despite my frequent flyer romance miles, I can't help but still feel that I left my heart in New York. Or rather, with my New York Sweetheart. I was so jet lagged this past weekend my brain still doesn't know what time it is, and my heart hasn't found it's normal rhythm yet either. I guess, for the time being, New York is more like a travel companion; because our destination keeps changing and becoming something new and something else. I can barely keep up, or afford the tickets. And since I can't rely on New York, I've been booking other flights left and right, trying to put emotional miles between me and the big apple of my heart. But, just like that fucking song says: I wanna be a part of it, New York. New York! I think I view New York as first class seat material, but in his book I'm just business class. Obviously, because of his "special someone" who he says is his copilot. But my passport has had "NY" stamped all over it recently, and I wasn't even booking the flights. Sometime soon I need to analyze my flight patterns, but for the time being I'm too jet lagged to think. Plus, New York is so hot in the summer. If you catch my drift. So, we continue to clutch our carry on bags to our chests hoping that the next ticket purchase will be our last. Not because we go down in a fiery ball of melted fuselage, but because we finally reach a destination that is worth throwing out our love passport for. Until then, enjoy the free peanuts.

"Hold me like you'll never let me go, cause I'm leaving on a jet plane." -J. Denver

Thursday, April 22, 2010

New York Boys



(horn intro)

Who wants a boy who acts like New York?
They're always so busy,
It's kind of a pity.
Just like wine, make you tipsy

New York boys are so dangerous
Little monsters you just can't trust.
Slight of hand and quick of tongue
One kiss, two kiss and then they're done

Who wants a boy who acts like New York?
They're always so loud,
So full and so proud.
Just like cabs, knock you down.

New York boys are so notorious
Headlines have always warned us.
Forget your wallet and guard your heart,
You'll fall for them before it starts.

Who wants a boy who acts like New York?
They've all got vagabond shoes.
Pretty words that give you the blues.
Bedroom eyes to match their tattoos.

(horn solo)

Start spreading the news, I'm leaving today.
Who wants a boy who acts like New York, New York
Can't handle these boys, So I can not stay.
I can't be a part of it no more, no more.

Who wants a boy who acts like New York?
They’ve got no real rhymes,
And they lack all reasons.
Like fashion, it all changes by seasons.

(horn outro)


“Men are all alike--except the one you've met who's different.” -Mae West

Monday, April 19, 2010

DOMS


DOMS- delayed onset muscle soreness. Or, in my case, delayed onset mental stress. The last 48 hours have been all kinds of painful. Got a call saying my dad is in the ER. Went back to working normal shifts because third shift days are over. Got a letter of rejection, pretty much a "dear john letter", from Macys. Oh! Wait! It gets better. Was told by New York that he has a special someone, and that his intentions with me (YET AGAIN!) are strictly platonic, for the time being. Well thank cheesecake it's only for the time being...whatashmuck!...since I only have one remaining martini glass I decided not to throw it across the room like the fated glasses that went before it. Since I'm done with smoking the anger away, I refused to buy a pack. And since I don't have a special someone to have an angry make out session with. I went running. At two in the morning. For a very, very, very long time. So today I'm feeling some hardcore DOMS, but since I'm still feeling some hardcorse DOMS, I'm lacing up my gymshoes and charging the iPod for round two. Funny how DOMS leads to DOMS. OH! And it's really funny how relationships lead to bad romances. Which, in turn, lead to good remixes which give way to great playlists. DOMS ain't got nuthin on me!

“Run like hell and get the agony over with.” -Clarnece DeMar

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Dear Fill In The Blank


It's been a minute since I've updated this, that's because I was super sick and super busy. But when you're laying in bed/couch for the majority of the day you get creative and write fictional letters to people you may or may not know. Or, at least, that's what I do.

Dear Luke Cunningham Wilson,
What the f**k happened? Sweetie, you were once one of the hottest leading men in Hollywood. You were cute and quirky and had great arms and soulful eyes. Now you have more then one chin and television commercials about telephone lines. It breaks my heart big guy. Literally, big guy, you need to hire a personal trainer (me!) and get back into decent shape. Old School shape, you were so hot in that movie. Remember that you were once chosen to date and mesmerize an Angel. An Angel who belonged to Charlie, obviously you were once holding it down. We miss you. It makes us very sad that you are in phone commercials. You had a prime shot at being Wilson Brother number one when Owen went all suicidal, and you blew it. You were nowhere to be found to reclaim the throne as hottest Wilson Brother around. Chances are you were wearing a different crown, possibly the ones handed out at Burger King. I'm not saying, I'm just saying. Please come back to us, less husky and more hunky. IMDB tells me that you are about to be in a show on HBO, that's a good start. Plus I hear that their studios have excellent work out facilities. I'm not saying, I'm just saying.

PS- I'd totally still date you, no worries.


Dear Perez Hilton,
STOP! Just stop. Everything. Stop everything you are involved in. Everything your name is on. Just stop existing. You suck. You're fat. You're ugly. And you are very, very, very mean. You picked a fight with the Black Eyed Peas. THE Black Eyed Peas. Apparently you're supposed to be up to date on mainstream trends, well sweetheart, they are a BIG FRIGGIN DEAL. And you were stupid enough to start shit with them?! Dumbass. Plus they hood, they'll cut you. Cuz yous a bitch. And when they did try to talk to you, you cried like an overfed baby on your Vlog for like forty minutes. Just stop. Will.i.am, call me if you want me to finish the job you started, I'd be more then happy to shut that faux hawked, over weight, under talented, loud mouthed chicken head up!


Dear Housemates,
I'm no longer working third shift, hazah! I'm more then ready to start seeing you all again and having fun and making more good memories. Sorry if I was a complete ass these past couple of months. But you guys are some loud, obnoxious idiots. But I love you all. So let's start partying....as soon as your summer begins.

PS- we need a new couch, the duct tape is melting.


Dear Weather,
I find it quite charming that you have decided to be sunny and pleasant now that I am done with third shift and almost back to one hundred percent healthy. That's so sweet of you. Thank you so much. Loves you.


Dear Macy's,
Pick me. Chose me. Love me. Hire me. That is all.


Dear Lady Gaga,
Love you!


Dear New York Sweetheart,
Don't blow this. I like you a lot and we get along great. Don't be stupid, and I'll try my best to do the same.


Dear Bitch-Who-Keeps-Messin-With-My-Housemates-Head-Even-Though-He's-Partly-To-Blame,
Bitch you better hope that we ain't ever in the same room, cuz Ima let you know how nasty and trashy and slutty you is in all kinds of verbal ways. Sure the poor dude keeps calling you but you know what you doin, and he's just lovesick. Sure I can't touch ya, but I got girls who'll tear you up like a RotoRooter, bitch. Come round here again and see what happens! Wooden spoons will fly. Shit!


Dear Housemate-Who-Is-Partly-To-Blame,
How many times must we hit ourselves in the head with the hammer before we realize it hurts? Seriously man, it's kind of breaking our hearts, Luke Wilson style, to see you do this...again! WE love you and will take care of you, stop turning to those silly bitches. They bad news. They monsters. Take some time and figure you out. I'm here for you if you need anything. You should already know that but I'll say it again anyways. Hugs.

Dear Older-Dude-Who-Is-Now-Part-Of-My-Friends-Circle-Of-Friends,
You mess up one more time, one more time, and Ima be on you like Tina Fey on joke: perfectly timed, perfectly delivered, and kind of out of nowhere. I already told you to watch your step, you are now friends with one of the girls I care most about in the world, so you mess up anything, I don't care if it's a blade of grass in their front yard, Ima kill you. Kill you dead. I will break your yoga performing, big bird legged body into pieces.


Dear Tina Fey,
You are hilarious, keep up the good work. I will try to see "Date Night" as soon as I have money and/or a date to go with.

PS-although if you skip out on returning to SNL when Betty White hosts....that's a bitch move Fey.


Dear Betty White,
PLEASE NEVER DIE! The world needs you too much for you to go to heaven anytime within the next several decades. I'm totally overjoyed by the fact that you are going to be doing a special Mother's Day SNL program. You are charming and delightful and sassy. I have seen every episode of Golden Girls and think you are perfect. You are what everyone wants for a Grandma. Continue to make the world laugh and please, please, please continue to keep on living. Like I said before, I'd be more then happy to kill and harvest the organs from young, undeserving, untalented starlets. Seriously, say the word and me and will.i.am will get the job done. I love you, and St. Olaf.


Dear Megan Fox,
You are rumored to be the next Catwoman...if this ends up being true be prepared to die. It's nothing personal, it's just that you are a shit actress and have absolutely no business coming anywhere near a role or movie franchise of that caliber. Can you even spell "caliber"? Can you pronounce it? You and your fun jugs better stay the hell away from that movie and Christian Bale. And Brian Austin Green! Obviously you put roofies in his bedtime milk, otherwise we would have dropped your skanky ass a minute ago. Stick to what you do so well: Maxim centerfolds and wet t-shirt contests.

PS- if Betty does want organs, I'm coming for you first. and it will be personal then.


Dear Michelle Pfeiffer,
They say that they want a Catwoman in her twilight years. An older leading lady in a major super hero franchise?!! When does this happen?! When?! NEVER!! That's when!! Get on the ball Pfeiffer, the big ball of yarn. Make this happen. No one does Selina Kyle like you, and no one ever will.


Dear Nivea For Men Company,
If you ever, EVER, stop making products that I use I will sue you for defamation of character so fast your head will spin around like the Exorcist. You're just a plane ride away...remember that.


Dear Sex And The City 2,
If you suck, I will be totally pissed off. Liking, watching, quoting and obsessing over the show, your predecessor and you is one of the gayest things about me. So don't blow this! Other wise you will be beaten by the heel of Manolo Blahniks all over the world.


Dear Summer,
Please do not suck. I only ask for at least one trip to a theme park with grade A roller coasters, countless bbq's, several all nighters, and all the memories my tiny brain can handle.

PS-please don't bankrupt me, I'll do my part you do yours. Capisca!


Dear Parents,
Congratulations on still being married! Today is your anniversary. That is a huge achievement and you both should be very proud. May you have a thousand more. Love yous!

PS- thank you for the flu care package you mailed to me, and the Oreos!


Dear Rachel McAdams,
The competition to see who will fill the leading lady shoes soon to be vacated by Madame Supreme Julia Roberts is on! And it seems to be between you and Annie/Ann/Any Hathaway person. Please don't let her win. I like you much more. I'm willing to overlook the fact that you are Canadian, because that other chic is slowly trying to become the next Judy Garland. You're not that great anyway, Hathaway! Plus you were in Mean Girls AND Sherlock Holmes AND The Family Stone so you are golden in my book. Plus you were in The Notebook, which I am refusing to watch until I find the right person, but everyone says it's amazing. So, yeh, don't let that Anny Garlandaway floozy take the lead. You go you beautiful Canuk!


Dear No Doubt,
I don't want to rush the genius, but feel free (no really, anytime now) to drop another single and/or set a date for the next album. I can only hold my breath for so long.


Dear Jennifer Garner,
Remember when you were on ALIAS? Yeh, good times. I love what you've been doing lately, but feel free to go back to your ass kicking ways. I miss that about you. And you have great hair. And a great smile. Keep Ben in line.

PS- i'm totally open to the idea of there being a Daredevil sequel. get on it.


Dear Best Friend,
Damn I F**king miss you! Sorry we didn't get to hang out over Easter. And now that I was sick I'm not sure when/if I'll get down to visit you. But I think about you everyday and miss you in a way not measurable by mankind. When we do hang out next, it will be EPIC! In a way that is also not measurable by mankind. I love you!


Dear Future Children,
The world is a wonderful and frightening place. But it's going to be so much fun having you around.


Dear Me,
Try not to get the flu again anytime soon. That sucked. And try to make the most of the situations you are in. And lighten up on the whole "new decade, new list of rules to follow" thing. You can wear color, it's ok. Probably a good thing. Stick with the money rule, the no meat rule, the third date rule and the working out rule. Those need to stay. But restrictions make it harder to smile and find the fun. And with the situations you get into, you need to have an easily accessible smile. Heart hug.


and finally

Dear Jude Law, Chris Evans, Tyson Ritter, Hugh Dancy, and Chris Pine,
I'm breaking up, with all of you! I know it's hard, and out of the blue. But I just can't be with you like this anymore. I need to focus on those around. It's not you, it's me. You can all dry your eyes with twenty dollar bills, you'll live.


Love,

me