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Friday, August 6th, 2004
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4:50 am - Live Journal is dead to you.
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| Thursday, August 5th, 2004
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3:20 am - Veg-heads look away
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Just blew into the bottom row of keys on my laptop and all these crumbs flew out. Buffalo shrimp batter, Dorito cheese mold and, most recently, Mrs. Gallagher's caramel brownie droppings (holla!). This scattering reminds me of one of the post-its on the multicolored "quote wall" Kelly and Meaghan made senior year at BC. Most of the quotes were short and sweet, but one time Kelly took the liberty of writing out something I appreantly said out loud about my open laptop being the perfect-sized tray for those nasty homemade garlic-bread-and-bruschetta things I used to make. Did anyone take a digipic of that wall?
I was thinking about food earlier, which was weird, and suddenly realized that I made a big mistake in not securing more leftovers from Dee's big New Buffalo bash. We got loads and loads of these awesome ribs from the Red Arrow Roadhouse (holla!) and for some reason which won't be mentioned on the Internet, I was so distracted that I only ate four that night. Now I'm sitting here in New York with no groceries and a freezer full of Lean Cuisines I'll never eat, dreaming about that sweet, tangy, glorious meat. I should have taken about 100 ribs, carefully shaved off just the meat, and packed it oh so tightly into a huge plastic bowl to take on the plane. I bet I still wouldn't be at the bottom of the bowl yet, if I'd used enough packing force. Every few hours, or minutes, I could lazily dip my fork, or finger, into the meaty mess and pluck out a few more shreds of absolute delight. I'd swirl it around in my mouth with a beverage or just suck on it like tallow, depending on my current activity or lack thereof.
Hmmm. Someone who doesn't particularly care for me once labeled me "classless". Reading that last paragraph, I can't imagine why. But I promise I'll keep trying. Cheers!
I guess the good thing about me not having transported the ribs that is that I won't have to bear the disappointment of the bottom of the bowl. This way, I can talk to my parents while they're eating the leftovers for dinner and wistfully describe what I "should have done" while smugly knowing that they themselves will eventually reach the bottom of the huge, glistening aluminum tray. Take that, Deedles.
I'll be starting a full-time Entertainment Weekly internship at the end of the month. Yay! I'm pumped. I know it'll take my nationwide following awhile to get used to the idea of me working during daylight hours, but I will try to smooth the transition by altering the time on my posts to read "5:30 a.m." just like they used to.
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| Tuesday, August 3rd, 2004
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10:47 pm - Wipeout, pre-flight
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Last Thursday on my way to class, I encountered my grad school friends Matt, Maggie, and Zach:
I had a rolling suitcase and a few minutes to spare, so I casually propped it against a scaffolding pole and leaned against (sat on) it to chat with them. But within five minutes, the luggage barreled out from under me and I completely wiped out onto the ground.
Zach managed to capture a blurry "after" shot of me laughing hysterically. I think the people walking by for freshman orientation were really impressed! If anything, I calmed their fears about having to be suave and savvy in New York City. Now they know that there's at least one person nerdier than them.
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| Wednesday, July 28th, 2004
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8:46 pm - That's a solid salad.
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My dearest friend in the Confederate states, Rebeccahhh, has started a live journal! Hi Rebs! The bandwagon is so happy to have you. Now order that iSkin in the color "Fiji."
Rebecca has expressed repeated concern over the past few years about "not being funny." Where does she get off? Why, just the other day, I mentioned the Wendy's Mandarin Chicken Salad while chatting with Rebs at work. Nice try, Annie. You just wanted to make this a post about Wendy's. And out of nowhere, Rebs chimed in with - get this - "That's a solid salad."
!!!
I agree! It is a fucking solid salad! And probably the funniest phrase of the entire week, if you don't count Dee's orange freeze outburst (OFO) on Saturday. Rebs, Diminish This salutes you.
Tomorrow I'm heading to the Midwest AGAIN. (Emphasis indicates excitement, not reluctancy!) My family throws an annual party in Michigan for some of their friends, which is really just an excuse for Dee to freak herself out about food, Bill to mix gallons and gallons of heavy-on-the-rum punch, Meghan to be told how beautiful she is, and Annie to drink 14 bottles of Mike's Hard. I'll take it! The esquire-in-training is coming too, but he'll have to BHOB. And compose an adequate playlist NOT including "The Bad Touch" like last year.
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| Tuesday, July 27th, 2004
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4:29 am - Steaking our claim on Decatur, IL
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Might as well get this out of the way: For everyone who cares (Rebecca! Dee!), here's my new quilt.
The Snowman looks quite pleased. He is trying not to look at the paint color.
This past weekend involved a whirlwind trip throughout the Midwest. The basic timeleine was:
NYC-->Chicago-->Decatur, IL-->Steak 'n Shake-->Decatur, IL-->Chicago-->NYC.
There were a church, a Holiday Inn banquet hall, and a Hampton Inn motel room somewhere in there too, but they were mostly a blur. The only thing I'm 100% certain about is the Steak 'n Shake.
It was a godsend. The Fab Four were all tired out (and kind of hammered) after my cousin's wedding reception (Holiday Inn! Decatur!) and doing that gossiping/general bitching thing you do after family functions. We had a "liquied-up Mawmee" (LUM) on our hands, and Bill couldn't remember where the hotel was. A Taco Bell loomed in the distance. We suddenly needed it like nothing else. He sped up.
WTF? It just closed. Apparently "Open Late!" doesn't apply south of Joliet.
Then we saw it. Its outlandish lighting beamed out onto the main road. We couldn't believe we'd missed it. It was red. It was white. It held burgers for us. It was Steak 'n Shake. Bill pulled a sharp 200-degree turn as we all did a double take. We parked, with some difficulty.
Out of nowhere, things became a bit philosophical. We literally sat there discussing what we had done to stumble upon such good fortune. There was never a question of WOULD we go in. It was more whether we should, or whether we deserved to. I think we got over that in about one second - mostly because Bill was already inside the restaurant.
A cute, sturdy waitress greeted us heartily as my own heart swelled with bountiful love for the Midwest. Not half a second after she asked something equally cute, like "How about something from the fountain?" did Dee uncharacteristically (and rather rudely, pointed out Meghan) blurt out a booming "ORANGE FREEZE!" Since she was tipsy, it sort of came out like a happy song. We burst out laughing, partly out of joy because she just seemed so incredibly thrilled. We were thrilled for her!
I got my staple, the Banocholate Side-By-Side. Here's the official photo from their website:
As usual, I also took full advantage of... 
You know you're in a safe and happy place when "Hot Fudge" and "Milk Shake" are all capitalized, signifying their well-deserved status as more important than the rest of the lowly word pool.
I'll spare you the rest of this predictable account. Suffice it to say Bill and Dee perform the late-night eats ritual with more vigor and lasting power than Meghan and I had ever dreamed. We are so proud to be their offspring. We worship them and their insatiable alcohol-inspired appetites. We pledge to (continue to) follow their glowing example.
Sidenote: Has anyone else had trouble with Asics sneakers? I have these horrible blisters on the insides of my feet. What do you do about blisters? Just keep running on them until they toughen up and deal with the fact that their torturer isn't buying new sneakers? I used to know about this stuff but apparently I haven't worked out since high school. Shed some light, yo.
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| Thursday, July 22nd, 2004
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2:32 am - Speaking of liquid cheese (LC)
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A cheeky mademoiselle with better and more colorful shoes than me playfully alerted me today that this guy just might be my alter ego. I think we were separated at birth, and then somehow he fell behind in age by six months and a few weeks... huh? Just read it.
I know I just wrote a whole expose on why LC is evil, but how fitting would it be for me to try to trash a swimming pool concession stand in a drunken rage? I'd get to be covered in chips and LC (which would taste relatively acceptable if I was hammered enough) and I'd also get to exact revenge on the concept of LC itself. It's like a win-win for everyone except the LC.
What I don't get is how they calculated that this guy spent $40 on chips and $7 on the LC. Did they have some sort of nachos expert on hand that night? I don't live in Tennessee so it couldn't have been me. Was someone called up to do a quick once-over of the chips-and-LC-covered guy and assess the monetary damages done simply based on the amount and thickness of the layers? What a great job!
If the cheese was actually the good, real, melted kind, I could see throwing in some chili, tomatoes, guac, etc. and just snacking off of the guy's passed-out carcass until either things got too revealing or he woke up. Just watch: some concept artist is going to become famous by layering like 27 tiers of quality nacho fixings all over a naked body. ('Nude' or 'naked'? What's the difference? Like, omigod, I don't care!) It would be called "Guac This Way," which is both an invitation to wander towards the exhibit and a compelling argument for the worthiness of guacamole. People would "guac by" in the museum and be intrigued, sexually aroused, and pretty much whacked in the face by a sudden incredible urge to eat nachos. But they couldn't, because I would have been hired to sit inside the ropes and "work on the installation." They'd have hired someone else to keep refilling my three perpetually frothy mugs of Sierra Nevada on tap, Diet Pepsi, and ice water. After I'd have eaten my weight in nachos, I could become the model and whoever had written the best 300-word essay and dropped it into the "That hungry, tall, striking but getting kind of fat blonde beauty could be YOU!" contest box would get to resume the effort.
It wouldn't just be an experiment. It would become a way of life -- like the unhealthy version of Forrest Gump's whole running thing. Here's the campaign poster. Vote Barrett!
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| Monday, July 19th, 2004
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4:53 am - Rain o'er me (but not my sandwich)
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Last night I went to something called the Boat Basin with Larry and Kate. Despite the lovely view of Dirty Jerz and the admittedly intriguing ancient Rome theme this place has going on, the Boat Basin kind of sucks. The people are pretty awful, not to mention the food blows. I had my most horrifying nachos experience yet last night - and if you know me, you know how seriously I take nachos and therefore how deeply offended and shaken up I must be.
I'm still in recovery so I won't put myself through the agony of relaying the description.
I'll just say this.
Wait for it...
Are you sure you want to keep reading?
Seriously, you can stop it you want...
OMG...
Ready?
LIQUID CHEESE.
I know.
I'm aware that a lot of people find liquid cheese yummy and sort of endearing in swimming-pool-concession-stand or baseball-game-vendor sort of way. That's fine. I'm all for it. I eat so much crap like that that I am convinced there is this giant ball of food processing lodged somewhere inconvenient in my digestive tract. HOWEVER, when nachos are listed on the same page as a "chilled seafood salad" and a $16 platter of ribs, you better believe I'm not about to cough up $7.95 for chips and liquid cheese.
I calmly sent it back, pouted for awhile, and then proceeded to make up for the loss by drinking lots and lots of beer. At a different (read: downtown) bar, of course. Screw that place.
This afternoon I got caught in an outrageously windy downpour at the same time I got caught on the median thing on South Park (haha) Avenue between two really, really fast lanes of traffic. I couldn't see anything and was conscious that I was still alive only by the rapid full-body splashes of dirty water from speeding cars. My flimsy umbrella busted out the wrong way and when I finally got it concave again I actually considered squatting down on the pavement because then at least I'd get to cover more of myself and generally be able to hide more from hell on earth.
Guess what I did instead? This is sick. Rather than holding the umbrella primarily over my head and perfectly-coiffed hair, I positioned it directly over my right shoulder, because gently encased in my non-waterproof straw bag was a spanking fresh foot-long Subway sandwich. It's all about priorities.
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| Friday, July 16th, 2004
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1:27 pm - Clutter: A Redefinition
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I just spent over 90 minutes pacing around The Room looking for my camera-to-computer cable. This was especially frustrating because given the square footage of the Pink Palace, I knew it had to be less than five feet away from me no matter where I was standing. I eventually uncovered it under one of my many bags of trash. Whew! That was close! Dee NEEDS documentation of my new apartment, NOW. We must not deprive Dee of photos. Click below if you too are interested.
( The Room. )
I'm about to start rereading a book I first read in high school for my summer class. I'm a little afraid because I know I'm going to be horrified by the marginalia. After randomly opening to page 173 and reading the comment, "WEIRD!" in jade-colored ink, I know I'm in for a treat. Some of my other gems from that era include "Huh?" (which has since been replaced by "WTF?" during graduate study), "haha" (which I still use), and my all-time favorite, "is this foreshadowing?" I don't know Annie, read the rest of the fucking book and find out.
Shout-out to my new friend Lindsay and her kickass blog. It's funnier than mine, so I don't know if we can actually be friends because now I have a complex.
I saw Anchorman last night and somehow really, really enjoyed it.
I told myself I'd have to go running if the UPS guy came before 2, and he just did. Shit.
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| Monday, July 12th, 2004
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5:58 am - Your milkshake awaits.
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Maybe I just haven't seen a vending machine in a long time, but I was unaware that Doritos now warrant an entire machine. So funny.
Sorry about the lack of updates. My extensive two-person readership in Oklahoma has been neglected all weekend. I'd like to say I've been busy with productive, life-enhancing means and ways, but honestly it's just alcohol. I did just manage to upload photos from last weekend's Michigan adventure while I was glued to "Annie" on HBO Kids. I'm such a loser - any time that movie is on TV, I drop whatever I'm doing (nothing) and insist on watching the whole thing. What's even sadder is that I own the movie. I just feel like I have this duty to watch it when it's on cable. I think I just like the part in the end, where she goes, "I love YOU, Daddy Warbucks" and I start crying. And TO TOP IT OFF, the fake fireworks in the fake sky slowly spell out "A-n-n-i-e" before slowly fading away, much like this apartment's supply of cheesy noodles or the waning glory days of Diminishing Returns.
Anyway, here are the pics on a separate page. They're not that great. Oh, except the milkshake one.
( Livin' Large )
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| Friday, July 9th, 2004
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4:52 am - Pink gets me high as a kite
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Hello ... hello again! (totally '80s guitar riff) I have Internet again! The Time Warner Man defied my expectations completely and showed up. Now I have no excuse for not obsessively updating my blog while obsessively not updating DR.
After entering The Room, Time Warner Man walked up to the TV and said, "Is this the TV?" I assumed that after doing a double-check over the rest of my living space, he'd become more confident in his guess - so I didn't respond. Indeed, it was the TV, but why should I have given away the answer? But then the man actually turned around and waited for a reaction. I considered shrugging helplessly. But then I just nodded.
The new apartment kicks ass! But there is one glaring problem. The paint color turned out to lean towards the "rosey" side of the "nice rosey orange" spectrum. I never looked at the paint after I bought it, so this is my fault. (Your runny nose, Larry having a blog, and the overwhelming April-May profits of the 23rd St. Nuts for Nuts cart are also my fault.) The painting occurred while I was romping around the Midwest, so I wasn't there to stop it. But I wouldn't have anyway. It's not that bad. It'll be like a test of character! Uh, you lose.
So much for my brilliant plan to offset the dark brick wall (wouldn't any color have done that?). Or maybe I'm overreacting. Here's a low-quality preview of the paint:
Notice that the orange is just dying to come out. But it can't. It's being suffocated by the parasitic pink, rendering a hue that can generously be classified as "coral." But we all know it's really "pink." Below is an alternative:
Okay, that was intended as a joke but it seems my "joke" looks better than my reality, so I'm not even going to attempt other colors. I would probably stay up all night and waste time on the computer if I did that. Oh wait.
It's really not that bad. I have a lot of stuff to throw on the walls, and the color does kind of remind me of a Matisse painting. (I'm not one of those people who name-drop painters, BTW. Matisse is the only artist I know. Are there, like, others?) Plus, anything's better than white. Plus:
Check out this cute sweet shop across the street. It actually says "ice cream artisans." I am pumped. I'll have the pink kind!
I'll post silly pics of last weekend soon. Amazingly, I'm tired before 5.
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| Thursday, July 1st, 2004
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10:22 pm - Pop o' the Morning TO YOU!
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Hi. It's the Internet exile coming to you live from my "job". I decided to go with POPPY for the apartment, which will from here on be designated as "the room" instead of "the apartment." Let's be realistic here. It is a small room with a stove, a fridge and - brace yourselves - a toilet. I don't even have my own shower. I have to share it with the two androgynous installation artists down the hall.
Thanks to all for the input on paint colors. I didn't feel like lugging three gallons of better-hued PPG paint across the city from East 23rd by myself, and at the Bleecker Street hardware store they only had Benjamin Moore paint. When I got to the paint store I was all about the plant green - "fern," if you will - but all the greens and turquoises they had were horrible - too dark and/or too muted. The poppy was the only acceptable color. It's a nice rosey orange. To those who thought it wouldn't match the brick - REST ASSURED the brick is only on ONE of the walls (I was wrong) and is VERY dark brown, not red (I was wrong). So it will actually look great. Yes. Because I said so.
I love how I think people care about this. (But they must! They posted comments!)
BTW, totally kidding about the shared shower. They're not androgynous! They're really hot men!
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| Tuesday, June 29th, 2004
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4:40 am - Area Slacker's "Real" Website Officially In Second Place
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My apartment looks like ... whatever Dee's equivalent of "shit" would be. I have to be all packed by Thursday night, at which point I'm jetting off to MI again (!!!), this time with the esquire-in-training (EIT. Get it? It's the unhappy-face version of EIC) in tow. I'm officially moving next Tuesday.
Two walls of the new place are dark, pretty exposed brick. I want to paint the rest of it dark rosey orange, light plant green, or turquoise erring on the green side. (Would that mean LESS green or MORE? Because I meant MORE.) Which should it be? Input is welcome (Rebs? Bridget?)
I took the liberty of whipping up an omelette-like composition of everything left in my refrigerator, as if this was an appropriate "farewell" testament to the apartment as a whole. It sort of makes sense. As much as I like to think the world revolves around me, all the energy in this apartment has revolved around the fridge. I don't even pretend to compete anymore.
You know. Basil, garlic salt, roasted corn, cottage cheese, maraschino cherries. Just the basics.
JK people! It's the same salsa-cheese-scallion "Mexican Delight" I raved about in my starring role in Naree's short film Annie, Nobody Cares. (linked a few entries down)
The RCN Man is coming in a few hours (between 8 and 11. Yeah right.) to pick up "the equipment," which I thought was an unnecessarily vague way to put it. It's a cable box and modem, right? When he gets here, I'll tell him that that's what those things are called.
This means I will be without Internet from 11 a.m. Tuesday to Friday evening. I know, I know, I am such a loser. But when this sunk in this afternoon, I experienced somewhat of a mental crisis. It's not my fault. This computer is just so friggin' nice. It would be insulting to NOT conduct my entire life from its pristine titanium portals. The "freakout" wasn't verbal, or bratty, or anything. It was more like a silent, proufound realization that I ... um, conduct my entire life through a computer.
And yet, I can't wait to run on the beach. Hmmm. Maybe I could just find a virtual running-on-a-beach live feed on the Internet and use that instead. I could turn on my powerful wave machine and spritz myself with tap water and have my sneakers on and everything. But I'd still be lying on this couch.
I'll try to take more pics of the Midwest while I'm there, since apparently the fruit market ones were a hit.
L8R SK8RS.
current mood:  groggy
current music: Channel 313. For three more hours :(
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| Sunday, June 27th, 2004
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3:06 am - I think Rose just Turned
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| Friday, June 25th, 2004
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12:00 am - Thursdays with Kelly
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An excerpt from Dee-mail:
"You do NOT look chunky!
You need to get a few more skirts to wear !
You would make the Mawmee happier to reduce the f-word usage !
Thank you very much for this opportunity to let you know the above info -- knowing #3 is a stretch.
: ) "
Okay. Thanks. Actually, I will try to tone down the f-bomb. I think it's trashy when I read it in other people's stuff so I don't know why I do it sometimes. A good writer shouldn't have to use expletives to create emphasis. Oh yeah? What the fuck are you implying?
Note my mom's not-so-subtle hints that I should dress more like a lady. I knew she'd salivate over photographic evidence of me in a skirt. Yeah, well, she's the only one. Worthless... fucker. Also note her entirely cute way of "spacing out" her smileys. Awww.
Today I met Online Kelly for happy hour at Duke's because she was in midtown for company training and I felt like going to work at 7:30 tipsy. Seeing her was amazing. Oh wait. That was the nachos. Seeing her was pretty fun.
Will somebody (Kelly, ironically this could be you) please tell me how to get rid of red-eye? Why am I the only one it happens to? Life fucking sucks.
Look who popped in after a hard day's stare session! It's the editor in chief!
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| Wednesday, June 23rd, 2004
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6:05 pm - Extra. Tasty. Crispy.
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| Tuesday, June 22nd, 2004
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4:31 pm - "I want YOU to get excited about your life!"
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I have a confession to make.
In the past few weeks I have watched ENTIRE EPISODES of Dr. Phil. It's after The Ellen Show on WLNY (TV-55!) on weekdays right before I have to shower for my "job." I used to turn it off in sheer disgust - I hate Dr. Phil's voice, his fucking shiny scalp, and the way his eyes bug out whether he's surprised or not (considering his guests on the show he might legitimately be perma-surprised. Or maybe he's had Botox.)
I'm pretty sure the reason I actually started staying tuned to this crap show is because the people are so royally, yet REALISTICALLY, fucked up. The trashy people on Springer or Montel, I don't even really buy their problems. I assume they just want a free overnight stay in a hotel and the chance to be on television. But Dr. Phil's "patients" are seriously pathetic. You almost feel for them.
Another reason for my unforgivable viewing of this show is that I have magical powers of convincing myself that any of these people's situations could be my own someday. One mother lives in fear of her knife-wielding, hyper-violent four-year-old son. Another couple have "come to terms" with the fact that one of them is gay and now don't know what to do. One part of me is thinking, "Shit. I'm very drawn to gay people, and I'm terrified of children. This is totally gonna be me." The other part is all, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? MORONS! And yet they're so normal-looking that you can't blame them. How did that happen to such nice poeple? I don't know so I better stay tuned and find out what Dr. Phil says so that I can avoid and possibly even prevent gay husbands and killer tots in the future! Shit.
The woman on the show right now (three-time adulterer, pregnant with another man's baby) looks exactly like Linda Cardellini. It's a little off-putting because I'm positive I hate this woman, but I really like Linda Cardellini. Dr. Phil, help me figure out what to think!
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| Sunday, June 20th, 2004
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7:32 pm - Color me happy, there's a sofa in here for two!
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Debating among paint colors:
a) Golden Cricket
b) Sea Fantasy
c) Rustic Pottery
d) Cajun Shrimp
About to go with (d) because it's food.
Five points if you can name the film referenced in the Subject.
Happy Father's Day, Barnacle Bill.
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| Friday, June 18th, 2004
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6:16 pm - Editorial: Phish should heighten security at outdoor concerts
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I thought I should share something about my disappointing experience at the Phish concert last night. Here goes.
There was a lot of marijuana there. I looked around and could not believe my eyes. People were smoking right next to me! Now, I’ve never seen “pot” up close, but I noticed someone rolling something that looked like a cigarette and let me tell you, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t tobacco. I was so confused, because they were doing it right in the middle of the concourse. As if they didn’t think they would get caught! At a concert, with cops right there! Whatever!
Occasionally throughout the show, I looked down at the floor crowd and could see puffs of "weed" smoke rising up from various places. Like, three per second sometimes! I stopped doing this after a while because I grew kind of upset. When I pointed it out to a neighbor, he stared at me for 10 seconds and then started laughing very slowly with his eyes closed. Then he continued rocking back and forth. Oh, I’m sorry. Is that funny? Do I amuse you? Hey, man, open your eyes!
I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me, but I think that Phish might want to consider some heightened security at their concerts. I have a feeling that if they knew that people were getting stoned during their playing, they would be as offended as I was – and probably even more so! These fans seem to have no respect for the long arm of our great nation’s law. I even saw a law student smoking a thin, poorly-rolled “joint” right nearby! (I had to ask another neighborly giggler what the term for that was. Thanks, Moonshine!)
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| Thursday, June 17th, 2004
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12:03 am - Positively Bleecker Street
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Today I signed the lease on a studio apartment in the West Village for July 1. I am PUMPED. Granted, the apartment has roughly the same square footage of all of the mice I have caught and killed in my current apartment (if you laid their glue traps side by side on the floor). Oh wait. That's actually pretty big.
Just to stick it to my current apartment's management company, I'm laying down even more traps so that if they really want to show my apartment, potential tenants will be too freaked out to consider it. I am actually including this tidbit in the letter I am currently drafting, which states my imminent need to evacuate and includes a hotel bill for a two-week stay at the Waldorf.
Here I am, larger than life in my new neighborhood:
Is there anyone as self-obsessed as me? I dare you to provide me with a link proving so. (Hint: visit any other blog.)
The Wendy's homestyle chicken strips are hit or miss. Tonight's taste amazing, but maybe that's because I paired them with a "spring mix" salad. With fries and a small Frosty they sort of lose their glamour.
current mood:  giddy
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| Tuesday, June 15th, 2004
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3:15 am - A very lake-able atmosphere
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