california knows how to party

So I never said anything about my trip to California! Well, due to my idiocy, specifically my getting wasted and staying up all night before my morning flight, my forgetting which car rental service I'd booked, and my nonexistent available credit which made that last point moot, things didn't turn out quite as I'd planned. Sans wheels, I was unable to see Alex and/or Eric and my friend Chef Steph who works her magic at the Dakota. Sad. But this meant I had more time to relax, detox, hang out with the Fam, and jump on every little opportunity to chauffeur them all around in their rental minivan. My parents love them some minivans, and I just love to drive. Anyway.

For the first couple days before the relatives arrived, I spent an inordinate amount of time beached on the big leather couch on my sister's dorm suite's terrace.



I love how in this picture every other person, myself included, is making a ridiculous face.


I would also like to point out the lovely flaxen-haired lady of a certain age at the end of the table. That is Great Aunt Barbara. She was Miss Budweiser sometime back in the 50's. Note that she is drinking a martini. It is a tragedy that this was the first time I met her since I was three.

Here's me and my sis on graduation day. I did her hair and makeup and encouraged her to buy that great dress at Target.



Though hard to believe, we are 100% genetic siblings. Here's proof:



Well, my sister looks like my dad at least.

"i switched the axolotls"

I've been reading a lot lately, which is all well and good. The only problem is that it makes me want things. My brain is like a file drawer filled with knowledge about all these wonderful things I read about and must. have. now. Magazines make me want clothes, books make me want to travel to far off places, and my list of cheese descriptions from work makes me want, um, cheese. I can't even look at the Time Out New York restaurant listings for fear of making my little file drawer explode. Now, thanks to the New York Times, I want an axolotl. They are giant Mexican aquatic salamanders widely used for lab research and, according to my dear old dad, repeated joke fodder for Mad Magazine. They are neotenous, which means the adults retain some fetal characteristics. Just look at that face!

r.i.p. humberto "jose" mendez

I was all set to write a post about how the reason I haven't been posting much is that I'm just plain happy, and no one wants to read about someone who's just plain happy. And then I sat down for family meal and the meeting before work tonight, and the owner stood up and said, "I have something serious and tragic to tell you guys."

He told us that one of our backwaiters, Jose, was shot and killed in Brooklyn this morning. He was with his brother, Humberto, who just started working for us too. Tonight was slower than usual because of Memorial Day weekend which normally I'd whine about because it means less money, but tonight I whined about because it meant I had too much time to think. I didn't want to think.

Jose started just a couple months ago and he picked everything up so quickly. His face was perfect and handsome--completely symmetrical which I've learned from the Oprah Winfrey show is what makes people attractive. Every time I'd blow past him needing to get some waters for a table he felt like a brick wall. Dude was jacked. He was always smiling and happy and worked his fucking ass off and every time I needed something he'd have it in two seconds. He was also a world class flirt and would demand kisses on the cheek when he'd helped us out, which I was happy to give him. He was always impeccably dressed and wore a nice and not overpowering cologne. He came out and drank beers with us last week to celebrate a fellow waiter's last day. Last night he was so happy because he'd just bought some new t-shirts and sneakers. He and some guy got in a fight over a girl outside of their Brooklyn apartment and the guy shot and killed him, while Humberto watched, at 11:30 a.m. this morning.

The first part of work tonight I just felt nauseated and hungry because I couldn't eat, and then Jose's brother Humberto, cousin Marco (a new backwaiter who just started), and other unkown female relatives came in to bring us pictures of him, and I nearly lost my shit. Every time I had to go to a table and ask "Hi! How are you guys doing tonight? Can I get you some water?" and they'd respond, "Great! Yes! How are you?" I'd for once have to lie and say, "I'm great! Is tap okay or would you prefer a bottle?" I had to fight so hard not to tell them the truth about how I was really doing tonight.

What is wrong with people such that anything, ANYTHING, is worth killing someone else for? I've never understood guys who get in physical fights, but a punch in the face, fine. A bullet through the heart, NO!

Fuck.

Jose, you rocked, and I'll miss you and your jokes, your smiles, and your diesel biceps.

street art!

Ha! Get it?!

(I'm down with the art and stuff, but I've always found its terminology more than a little pretentious. Especially "street art". It's called "graffiti". And there's nothing wrong with that.)

no fair!

All we got was George Stephanopolous.

the best story ever

You know how in the American Apparel storefronts all the mannequins are dressed head-to-toe in multi-layered, contrasting-solid-colored American Apparel gear? Every time I walk by an American Apparel store (which is basically every day) I think to myself, "Wouldn't it be hilarious if someone actually dressed like that?" Well today on a stroll through Soho I walked by a girl dressed just like that--leggings, skirt, two t-shirts, hoodie vest thing. The whole kit 'n caboodle. And, uh, it was hilarious.

THE END

i have a crush

Coexistent with my recent blog dry spell has been a dry spell in the more traditional sense. That is, I haven't had sex in quite some time. This is due to a number of factors, including but not limited to the fact that I've already slept with the only straight boy at work I'd want to sleep with and no longer want to sleep with him, recent mysterious five pound weight gain, and working all the goddamn time. This has given me an opportunity to clear my head with regard to The Dudes.

I've mulled over the past five years and come to realize that I've been exhibiting certain patterns. Namely, I'll develop a raging crush on a very attractive guy who is clearly never going to date me (let's call this Type 1), eventually we'll sleep together anywhere from two to fifteen times, and then it'll be over and I'll be devastated. Then I will meet a moderately attractive available guy (Type 2), convince myself that I like him and date him anywhere from two weeks to fifteen weeks, and then run the fuck away when it becomes apparent that he thinks I might be, or someday be, his girlfriend. This was all illustrated quite clearly this past winter when I was alternately sleeping with the painfully hot and exciting Scruffy Brit and the Science Geek from work. I realized that it's not that there's something repellant or undateable about me, as I like to tell myself after a fling with a Type 1, it's just that my girl parts want the Type 1s as much as my mouth wants beer and the Type 2s as much as my mouth wants a virgin dacquiri. So I resigned to put an end to the madness, save myself and the Type 2s of this fair city some trouble, and be celibate until I came across a Type 1.5. I was quite proud of myself for this groundbreaking resolution.

And then my little fortress came crashing down. The night before I left for LA, I responsibly shunned packing and making the mix CD's I'd promised my sis as a graduation present in exchange for dinner and drinks (emphasis on the drinks) with my friend Sarah in Brooklyn. As I entered her favorite local bar, I noticed the tall, blonde, scruffy bartender dude and thought to myself, "Hmmm..." As I sat down for my third beer of the evening and he concluded a conversation about his recent date with a local bartender chick with the magic words, "...but I'm no good at relationships," I thought to myself, "I must sleep with him immediately." Due to my dinner plans, my being out of town, and now his being out of town, this has yet to happen. But oh is he ever dreamy. Please allow me to count the ways: 1. His Myspace profile headline reads "Relationship material? Probably not." (Shut up, he has a unique and very stalkable name.) 2. He gave me his phone number, but he refused to take mine when Sarah offered it to him several days later saying he can never make the first move and isn't good with dating. (That makes two of us!) 3. He is a bartender, and a relatively cute one, and we all know what that means. 4. He purports to be a Christian on his Myspace page. 5. He never finished college. (Again, according to Myspace.) 6. He jokingly refered to me as his future wife, a joke I've only ever heard come from The Canadian, who is probably the biggest relationship wussy I have ever encountered. 7. He may have gotten a blowjob from a hooker on Saturday night.

Truly, this is a match made in heaven if ever there was one, and you can bet I'll be a-callin' the first night I'm free next week. But fear not, I've already got my Type 2 rebound all lined up, in the form of a scrawny painter nerd who lives in the same Williamsburg basement as my work friend Natalie. He told her he thinks I'm beautiful. *gag*

(four dwarves and a minnie mouse)

The Local Paper has been turning out some real gems lately. For your amusement:

The ubiquitous stolen lawn ornament letter.

The I-don't-know-why-the-hell-this-person-sent-this-to-the-newspaper letter.

And, last but not least, a horrendously written, creepily disturbing, and wildly entertaining account of this year's Spencer High School Junior Prom.

one of these things is not like the others . . .

. . . one of these things just doesn't belong.



I don't know about you, but I probably wouldn't scream out "Kraft Single" if I were on Family Feud and the category was "Things Commonly Found on the Back of a Toilet."

Sometimes I quite like having roommates.

a letter from apartment nine

Dear Few Brave Souls Who Still Read This Borderline Defunct Blog,

Greetings from my sunny corner apartment in the East Village! I know I've been pretty lousy at keeping in touch with you lately. Between all the extra shifts at my job and the bartender at the other late-night restaurant down the street from mine who barely charges us for drinks, I've been quite busy. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that it has been a pretty good couple of weeks!

First, I had my three-month review at my restaurant. I know I know, I started working there four months ago, but there was the whole "closed for a week to take the roof off the building and fix the broken cooling/heating system" thing, and the "the manager who does the schedule now thought my request for a week off in May was for a week off in April and scheduled me thusly" thing, and the "general manager's frolicking around Budapest and Prague for two weeks the lucky bastard" thing. So yeah, I had my review, and I got straight A's! Well, almost straight A's. I got an A on service and an A and an A- on the food and wine tests, respectively. Even at the height of my dorkdom (i.e., the first three and a half years of high school), I always had one A-. Gotta keep it real, you know?

Now I don't want to go putting carts before my chickens are hatched or anything, but I think this may be the year in which I do something remotely fulfilling with my time, aside from drinking. Last week I got this writing internship thingy for a big website. It's unpaid, but wasn't it the late great Mark Twain who said "Write for free for two years and if no one pays you after two years, you should quit because you suck" or something to that effect? What's good enough for Mark Twain is good enough for me. Let's just pay no mind to the fact that I've been writing my blog for over two years. Ahem. In slightly less shocking potential career-oriented news, my love for cheese has blossomed since my job began. I grew up in a town that had parades in celebration of all that is dairy, and except for those two misguided years when I was a vegan, cheese has always been my favorite food. I get a little thrill at work when someone polishes off a cheese plate that I selected for them, and I'm also a little thrilled that the cheese mecca of New York City offers Cheese Internships. Let the internment begin!

And last but not least, I've decided that the time has come to pay off my exhorbitant credit card debt. I'm not sure how this is going to happen, exactly, but I think it's going to involve perhaps canceling my credit card (thank you, Ellen, for this genius idea,) getting one of those fancy debit cards with a Visa symbol on it, and saying goodbye to the well-fitting wonders of designer clothing. H&M here I come! (I'm actually on the verge of tears right now.)

Anyway, I hope this letter finds you well! I'm off to Los Angeles tomorrow to see my sister enter the wonderful world of adulthood. Let's hope it doesn't take her three years to come to terms with that like it did for her big sis!

xoxoxoxo,
Gina