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One-Uppers

Sun, 19 May 2013 11:08:00 -0400

A few months back, I blogged about “Negative Nancy’s;” AKA the kind of person who exudes a severe doom-and-gloom mentality, bringing down everyone around them. When I wrote that post, I thought extreme negativity was one of the worst personality traits that a person could have, until I recently realized: nope…I found something worse.

The “One-Upper.”

A One-Upper is a person who constantly (and obnoxiously) takes a conversation that isn’t about them, MAKES IT about them, and tries to ‘trump’ the other person as if said conversation was a weird contest of some sort.

The strange thing is, these kinds of people always want to have a better story than you, even if you’re talking about something shitty.

Oh, you had a bad day? Well I had a WORSE day.

You’ve got a cold? Well I have the flu.

I’m sorry your cat died; did I ever tell you my ENTIRE FAMILY was murdered?

Ugh. Stop.

With One-Upper’s, it doesn’t stop there. They also want you to know that if something good happens to you, they have a story far superior. You went on a vacation; they went on a better one. You bought a car; they tell you about the more expensive/fancier one they drive. Oh, your significant other did something nice? Time to hear about how they are dating/married to the world’s most perfect and generous specimen.

You can’t win. And the funny thing is? You weren’t trying to.

I actually think it’s normal to talk about yourself and your personal experiences in certain conversations — it shows the person you’re talking to that you’re relating to them. I also think it can be valuable to tell someone that you’ve been in a similar situation before; maybe offer up some kind of advice or suggestion, and tell them about your experience.

But One-Uppers do this in EVERY conversation, even if the relatability factor or the advice is unsolicited. Sometimes I want to just tell someone that I get really bad migraines — and have for my entire life — without them telling me that THEY, too, had a migraine once, and it was really terrible. Okay? Thanks for that tidbit of information.

Perhaps you just want to anecdotally state that you’re exhausted, and not get into some weird ‘WHO’S MORE EXHAUSTED’ contest with the person you said it to.

“Oh, man. I didn’t sleep well last night. I think I got like, 4 hours of sleep. I’m so tired.”

“YOU’RE tired? I didn’t sleep at all. Literally, AT ALL. Zero hours of sleep.”

…Oh, alright. You… win, I guess?

I think it can be difficult to refrain from talking about yourself in conversations. After all, it’s a subject that we’re all the most knowledgeable in. But it’s important not to turn a dialogue into a competition, and make the other person feel like their story or feelings are far more inferior than yours.

Remember, guys, NO ONE likes a One-Upper.

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WO23WBji_Z0

Tattletale

Wed, 15 May 2013 20:50:00 -0400

It’s nighttime. Sometime in the late 1980s. I’m not sure exactly how old I was, but I was in elementary school at the time. 7 or 8 years old maybe? It doesn’t matter.

My mother was out, and I was home with my dad. I don’t recall exactly what I was doing; but knowing me, I was either playing with Barbies, writing one of my ridiculous stories, or watching Full House or something. Who knows, maybe it was all three.

My father was on the phone in another room and based on the conversation he was having, I gathered that he was chatting with an old friend; someone he hadn’t seen or spoken to in a while. I didn’t particularly pay attention or care about this phone call or what was discussed, until my selective hearing kicked in and I heard this:

“No, no, no. You’re thinking of my first wife. That’s not Susan.”

WHAT.

I didn’t care about the context, or who he was talking to at that moment. All I knew was that I just discovered a HUGE secret, and this was not good.

My poor mother! Clearly she did not know that my father had been married to another WOMAN before her, because this is the first I heard about it. What other secrets was he hiding??! Did he really work at a bank? Did he have other kids? Was TOM even his real name?!? I sat in the other room, stunned, not sure what to do with the information I had uncovered.

I wish I could have witnessed the way I acted towards my dad that night, because I most likely was an insanely awkward WEIRDO, staring him up and down suspiciously.

When it was time to go to bed, I laid there agonizing over how to handle this little pickle I found myself in. Where does my loyalty lie? Should my father and I share this little secret and take it to our graves? Or do I spill the beans to my mom, knowing that this news would probably devastate her. RUIN HER LIFE, EVEN! If they get divorced because of this, it’ll definitely be my fault. Maybe I should stay out of it. But she should probably know…. RIGHT?

That’s when she came in. I heard her come into the house, and subsequently into my room to say good night. I literally felt nauseous and on the verge of exploding, so I did it. The words came flying out like bullets:

DADWASMARRIEDBEFOREYOU.

“What?”

“Dad was married before you! I’m sorry! I had to tell you! I heard him telling someone on the phone something about his first wife!”

She smiled. ”I know.”

Oh. Well then.

After I found out that he had married young (and no, they had no children) and that it didn’t last very long, I felt better about everything. The only thing I DIDN’T feel good about was the realization that I was a huge blabbermouth.

…Sorry dad :-)

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Addendum: after my mother read this post, she told me I left out a major detail. Turns out I ALSO woke up my poor brother to tell him the big news. Thus reaffirming what this story already proves… I’m a big mouth and cannot be trusted with secret information.

A Mother's Day Tradition

Sun, 12 May 2013 18:48:00 -0400

A few years ago on Mother’s Day weekend, my wonderful and spunky Grandmother decided to throw a German-themed “‘Wurst” party (‘wurst’ referring to the foods that would be served: bratwurst, liverwurst, etc.). My entire extended family showed up to enjoy the nice Spring day, and got a pleasant surprise: my brother and his girlfriend (now wife) showed up to the party dressed like this:

Everyone in attendance got such a kick out of the costumes, so a new tradition was officially born. Moving forward, every Mother’s Day weekend, we were having a damn theme party.

The criteria for the theme is that ideally we want something that involves both food AND costumes, so that means we have to get creative. Our first theme? Easy. Ocho de mayo. OK, fine, it was technically a cinco de mayo theme, but it was held on the 8th of May. What can I say? We’re very literal.

This is what ensued:

How could we possibly top this?!

Well, the next year, we did. With a Kentucky Derby theme, which happened to fall on the actual Derby day in 2011:

Are you finally sensing how seriously we take these things?

Well, this year’s party (held yesterday in the sketchy and eventually gross rainy weather) was USA themed. Yes, we’re aware that Mother’s Day weekend has nothing to do with America. We know that Memorial Day is in a few weeks, and that 4th of July is typically the day we spend celebrating our great country. BUT WE DON’T CARE. This was our theme, and as usual, we ROCKED it.

Right now you might be thinking one of two things: “Wow, that family looks like fun!” or… “My God, that family looks annoying.”

But we live for this stuff, and as cheesy or obnoxious as this charade may seem to others… it makes us happy. And we have a hell of a time.

Looking forward to next year’s party! Happy Mother’s Day, everyone!

Attack of the Cicadas

Tue, 07 May 2013 23:07:00 -0400

If you live on the East Coast between Georgia and Connecticut, get ready for the air to be filled with billions of large, buzzing insects known as cicadas, a massive brood of which have been feeding on roots underground for the past 17 years — all in preparation for this one moment.

A small number of the “Brood II” cicadas, which are one of seven different species of the insect, have already begun emerging in some eastern states, according to Magicicada.org, a website run by John Cooley, a cicada expert and research scientist at the University of Connecticut.

By the end of May, the inch-and-a-half-long insects will come out in full force, swarming in massive, noisy clouds up and down the eastern seaboard, reports CBS New York.

Source: Huffington Post

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Oh, what’s wrong? You didn’t hear about this? Well, like our little cicada friends, you must have been living underground for the last 17 years.

If you ARE familiar, then you know these pervy little sex fiends lie dormant for a few years, and then come above ground to mate, wreak havoc, make a lot of noise, and terrorize neighborhoods throughout the East Coast.

If you’re squeamish around bugs — especially ones that are terrifyingly large and noisy — then you MIGHT wanna hightail it outta here for a while. I’m serious.

Sureeeeeeee, technically they’re “harmless” to humans, but they’re also a bunch of doofy clumsy insects who fly right into your face and land on your body. AND THAT IS NOT OKAY.

Right now you may be wondering to yourself: “why’s this girl so knowledgeable about these ugly winged insects?” The answer? Because I’ve survived (barely) one of these cicada invasions. And let me tell ya… it wasn’t pretty.

It’s May, 2004. I’m about to graduate from college; so I’m experiencing a whirlwind of emotions: excitement, fear, happiness, anxiety, and sadness. I’m done with all of my finals, and now I get to enjoy a week of stress-free fun before graduation.

I started hearing on the news and through the grapevine that cicadas were going to invade our area (Towson, Maryland) and that these little suckers would be EVERYWHERE. I thought — stupidly — how bad can this be? I’ve seen cicadas before. I knew a guy from my high school who used to put them in his mouth and violently spit/shoot them out for his friend’s entertainment (please don’t judge me based on the company I keep).

I also remember coming across these insects growing up in my hometown in Long Island; they’d emerge in the summer and fly around, make that famous humming/buzzing noise, and they really didn’t affect my life at all. So, all this news about them coming? Big deal.

Famous last words.

I know it wasn’t 17 years ago, but in May of 2004, a cicada invasion DID arrive in my college town, and it was a bloody NIGHTMARE.

They were everywhere. Thousands of them. On tree branches, cars, front steps, the sidewalk, and streets. Some flying around aimlessly, some who had escaped their shells and left behind a crispy brown body that would crunch when you stepped on it. The carcasses were everywhere, and the live ones buzzed around in swarms. It could have been a scene in an Alfred Hitchcock movie. And I decided pretty early on: I AM NOT DEALING WITH THIS CRAP.

Nope.

Since I didn’t have any more classes, I decided I didn’t ever need to leave the apartment. It was too gross and scary out there; so I’d just hide inside until it was all over.

But that didn’t last very long, and I realized I’d eventually need to go outdoors to run errands, shop, or go out and actually enjoy a fun social life before graduating. So, if and when I absolutely needed to leave the house, my roommates and I developed a method of running in zig-zags and flailing our arms like complete and utter LUNATICS when heading to our cars. It’s harder to hit a moving target, and I didn’t want one of those bad boys so much as flying near me.

I also distinctly remember making plans to go out in Baltimore one night, and I was going to be the Designated Driver. A few of us piled into my two-door Honda Civic, and headed for the city. We made it onto the parkway and one of the guys in my car discovered that a CICADA had been ATTACHED to his SHIRT for the ENTIRE RIDE and he FLIPPED OUT upon realizing this.

Guess who ALSO flipped out?! …the driver!

The next few minutes was like a scene out of the movie Tommy Boy, with a bunch of college students screaming like psychopaths, windows now opened, with me swerving across several lanes, trying to pull over. ”AHHHHHHH GET IT OUTTTTTTT! GET IT OUTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!”

Horrifying.

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Guys, the cicadas are coming. And I hope you’re in an area on the East Coast that they don’t particularly like. I can’t imagine that they’ll invade Manhattan; we’re a little too urban and concrete-y for them. But please just be careful out there. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Too soon for a little hipster cicada humor?

How about Drake cicada humor? No?

Bravado

Thu, 02 May 2013 22:22:00 -0400

It’s been almost three weeks since the tragic bombings in Boston, and I think I speak for many people when I say… we’re all a bit uneasy.

You all know how much I love living in New York City, but it’s kiiiiiiiiiiind of a bummer that we have a bullseye directly on us, and we are (and always will be) a prime target for terrorist attacks.

I think about this often, especially when on crowded subways, gallivanting in the middle of Times Square (although, like most native New Yorkers, I try to avoid that area like the plague), or during significant holidays and events.

New York is the greatest place in the world — minus that minor little detail: everyone wants to kill us. If you can get past that, it’s really a fabulous city!

Clearly the events on April 15th showed us that other places in the world aren’t safe either, and it got me thinking: how can we ever feel safe anywhere? Terrorist attacks, freak accidents, mass shootings, fires, explosions, natural disasters…. it’s a wonder that most of us are even still alive.

I recently remembered something that happened to my friends and me in the spring of 1995. The Oklahoma City bombing had recently occurred, and a few of my girlfriends and I were spending a totally awesome day at an amusement park in Long Island (I was 12 years old, guys… come on). A reporter from Newsday approached us while we were eating lunch, and asked us how we felt about the bombing. Were we scared? Freaked out? Forced into a life of agoraphobia?

…nope. We were just eating french fries and most likely talking about boys.

When I was at my parents house tonight I rummaged through old folders, drawers and closets to find the article (because of course my parents kept it) and found comfort in my 12 year old blasé attitude about a national tragedy. I guess the interviewer picked up on our sense of ‘life goes on,’ and referred to our “bravado” and “pragmatism” in the first sentence of the article.

He also referred to my friends and me as a “teenaged posse;” which is hilarious.

Oh, and I was quoted in the article with these profound words of wisdom:

You feel sad; but you don’t think that wherever you go, a bomb is going to go off.

Wow.

So there you have it, kids. You can’t change the way you live or do anything to successfully avoid certain calamities. Just live your life, do your thing, and let’s all hope for the best.

DO IT BECAUSE A 7th GRADER SAID SO.

It’s nice to know that 18 years ago, I wasn’t as terrified of life as I am now.

Oh the Weather Outside is Weather...

Wed, 01 May 2013 16:46:00 -0400

What ‘concrete jungle?’

Enjoy some pics of a glorious Springtime in NYC - just try not to have an allergy attack while viewing:

Run As One

Sun, 28 Apr 2013 20:11:00 -0400

Cause sometimes you just feel tired; feel weak

And when you feel weak, you feel like you wanna just give up

But you gotta search within you, you gotta find that inner strength

And just pull that shit out of you and get that motivation to NOT give up

And NOT be a quitter

No matter how bad you wanna just fall flat on your face and collapse…

-Eminem-

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I DID IT!!!! Today I ran in my first (uh, and most likely last) race: a 4-mile run in Central Park for the Lungevity foundation. You might be thinking, 4 miles? Really? Big deal, I can run that in my sleep.

WELL I CAN’T AND THAT’S A LOT FOR ME, OKAY?!?!

…also, you run in your sleep? That’s weird.

I’ve never been a huge fan of running; I can do a mile or two and then I throw in the towel. But it was important to me that I do this and cross it off my list, and the cause I was running for made it even more important. There’s something really symbolic about doing a run — a run that requires strong healthy lungs — for a lung cancer charity.

I woke up nervous and also exhausted (getting up at 6:30am on a Sunday is blasphemy!!!) and headed over to the park with Matt and my parents. I was immediately overwhelmed by the amount of people, the energy and the good vibes. I no longer cared about how long it would take me to finish the race; I just wanted to do it. I was ready.

It definitely wasn’t easy, and around Mile 3 my body started rejecting the activity I was forcing it to endure, but I soldiered through. I walked when I needed to, and sped up when I felt motivated. I also didn’t vomit on the side of the road, so that’s good.

Uh, and whoever described the route for the race on the website as “fast and flat?” I don’t know what your definition of “flat” is, but this was not it.

I tracked the race and my running speed with a Nike app on my phone, so I was able to tell when I was nearing the finish line. I was definitely ready for it, and felt a huge sense of pride, accomplishment and euphoria when I finally saw it — and then crossed it.

Today was a beautiful, cloudless, sunny day in Manhattan, and it was the perfect backdrop for a great morning. And I know there were a few people that were ‘with’ me during the run today, and I hope I made them proud.

my motivation…

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go ice my shins.

And I’m also ‘bout to get some frozen yogurt. I think I deserve it, no?

It's Gonna Be Alright

Tue, 23 Apr 2013 23:02:00 -0400

Apologies for the radio silence this past week, but in lieu of last week’s events, writing blog posts about random nonsense just didn’t seem right.

Obviously last week started off on a crappy foot for my family personally, and then it escalated into a weird, scary, intense week for the entire country: a manhunt and shootouts with the bombing suspects, an explosion in Texas, the bill on background checks for guns not getting passed… DO I EVEN NEED TO GO ON HERE?!

I’ve been unhealthily obsessed with all of the current events — especially the ongoing story in Boston — glued to CNN like some kind of deranged weirdo for the past seven days. It’s a weird combination of my obsession with depressing and sad new stories, but also my fascination with the human psyche and the need to understand why people do what they do. Did I miss my calling in life? Instead of working in online advertising, should I have applied to work in the FBI or in criminal psychology? Perhaps.

But all this exposure to these sad and tragic stories takes a toll on you. Yesterday morning when I was on the subway headed to work, thinking to myself, “it’s a new week, things can only go up from here,” a woman on my train went BALLISTIC on someone who spilled their iced coffee on her. She made a scene, yelled like a lunatic and completely berated this poor person, all while I’m about to have an outburst and scream JESUS CHRIST DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT WE ALL WENT THROUGH LAST WEEK IT’S JUST COFFEE GET OVER IT YOU MADWOMAN!!!

Clearly, I’m a bit stressed.

But today, I sat on that same 6 train on my way to work, plopped down in a seat and put my iPod on shuffle. Within seconds I realized that a random techno-ish song from a few years ago came on, and the lyrics jumped out at me like a Jack-in-the-box:

The sun is gonna keep on shining

Brighter days on the horizon

My love for you will keep on rising

Everything’s gonna be alright

And even though it’s just a random song by an artist or group that I don’t even know, those lyrics stuck with me all day.

Everything is gonna be alright.

Maybe not now, but eventually.

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3RPMrGMEZ-w

Boston

Wed, 17 Apr 2013 21:50:54 -0400

When I first heard the news of the bombings at the Boston Marathon, my initial reaction was that it’s becoming harder and harder to have faith in humanity these days. School shootings, mass murderers, terrorist attacks… it’s sadly all become “the new normal.”

But as I watch the continuous coverage and continue to see and read about all the heroes and first responders who rushed to the scene to help, it reminded me that people ARE still good. These heroes aren’t just fireman, EMTs and police officers, they’re also just regular people who reacted bravely in the midst of a horrifying experience: making tourniquets for victims, carrying them to safety, and literally giving them the shirts off their backs.

I stumbled across this quote by Mahatma Gandhi yesterday that I found especially fitting for the occassion:

When I despair, I remember that all through history the ways of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants, and murderers, and for a time they can seem invincible, but in the end they always fall. Think of it—always.

Think about that next time YOU lose faith in humanity. People are still good. And we won’t let the ones who aren’t make us think any differently.

Grandma

Sun, 14 Apr 2013 18:09:00 -0400

My Grandmother — my dad’s mom — passed away unexpectedly this weekend. While I’ve been no stranger to loss (especially in the last few years), I’ve never experienced losing someone when I wasn’t prepared to do so. Cancer is a nightmare, but the one — literally, ONE — good thing about it is that it gives you the gift of time. Time to prepare, time to deal with the reality of the situation, and more importantly, time to say goodbye.

Unfortunately, we weren’t granted that luxury this time.

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This past Mother’s Day, I was home in Long Island visiting my parents. Matt was with me, and we had breakfast with my mom and dad and were getting ready to head back to the city. My dad, like clockwork, always visited his mom on Sundays, so we decided that this time, we’d all go see her together and then my dad would drive us home from there.

My mom, dad, Matt and I walked in to my Grandma’s house as some members of my family were actually on their way out — also visiting her for Mother’s Day. We sat down at the dining room table, chatted with my Grandma for a few minutes, and in came more family members. My aunts, uncles, and cousins all came in and out at different times — and at one particular moment there were about 12 of us crammed in this tiny room.

I looked at my Grandma; mother of seven children, grandmother to fifteen grandchildren, great grandmother to two great grandchildren, and I thought, wow, this is pretty special.

My Grandma Ann was quiet, and as the years went on I watched her take a backseat to all the noise, silliness and outlandishness of our family. But none of us misinterpreted her quiet nature for not being interested or wanting to be there. You could see that she reveled in the chaos of her people. After all, she’s where it all started. She was the matriarch. If it weren’t for her, none of us would be there.

Almost two years ago on her 85th birthday, all of the grandkids and their significant others surprised (well, ambushed, basically) my Grandmother in her home; bringing over breakfast, coffee, and a digital picture frame as a gift, featuring photos of our massive and continuously expanding family. I’ll never forget the look on her face: first, obvious confusion (what would you do if all of a sudden 20 people walked into your house at the same time?) but then… elation.

She seemed happiest when she was surrounded by her family. And in the middle of the night on Saturday when she left this Earth, she was surrounded by the seven people in her life who mattered most: Tom, George, Jimmy, Joe, Diane, MaryAnn and Anthony.

Rest Peacefully, Grandma! We’ll miss you.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nv87RWX_Kco

North Korea Conversations

Wed, 10 Apr 2013 21:04:00 -0400

NEWSPAPER OR WEBSITE HEADLINE: “North Korea readying rockets to aim at U.S. targets, state media says.”

Me: Whoa, should we be worried about this?

Matt: Eh, nah. They make this threat once a year.

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Few days later…

NEWSPAPER OR WEBSITE HEADLINE: “North Korea shows signs of preparing for nuclear test, South says.”

Me: Oh my god; should I be worried yet????

Matt: No.

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One week later….

NEWSPAPER OR WEBSITE HEADLINE: “‘Very high’ chance North Korea will fire missile, U.S. and South Korea say.”

Me: CAN I BE WORRIED NOW?!??!!

Matt. No.

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Today…

NEWSPAPER OR WEBSITE HEADLINE: “‘US believes North Korea could test fire missiles at any time.”

Me: Waaaaaaaahhhhh we’re all gonna dieeeeeeeeeeeee

Matt: ::::ignores me:::::

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Spring Cleaning

Sun, 07 Apr 2013 21:17:00 -0400

Spring cleaning is the practice of thoroughly cleaning a house in the springtime. The practice of spring cleaning is especially prevalent in climates with a cold winter.

The most common usage of spring cleaning refers to the yearly act of cleaning a house from top to bottom which would take place in the first warm days of the year typically in spring, hence the name. However it has also come to be synonymous with any kind of heavy duty cleaning or organizing enterprise. A person who gets their affairs in order before an audit or inspection could be said to be doing some spring cleaning.

(Source: Wikipedia)

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Don’t be fooled by the fact that it’s still colder than a polar bear’s toenails outside… it is in fact Spring.

I took full advantage this weekend and jumped into major organizational mode; cleaning every nook and cranny of the apartment (finding dust bunnies the size of my fist, and a whooooole bunch of bobby pins in every crevice) and throwing tons of things away: clothes, jewelry, shoes, and other random junk.

There’s something about Spring that makes people want to have a fresh, clean start — nice, warm weather is upon us; time to shed those winter blues (and pounds?) and get rid of a bunch of crap. Out with the old, in with the new.

Matt and I clean the apartment every week, but during my Spring Cleaning sesh, I cleaned places I had neglected for a while and/or was previously scared of touching. The blinds? Ewwwwww. The vent in the bathroom? Yuck. Underneath the bed?! OK, I think I officially have asbestos poisoning.

In terms of organizing, I took out every pair of shoes, piece of jewelry, and clothing item I owned and if I hadn’t worn it in a while, it wasn’t comfortable, or if something was wrong with it— bam! Right in the trash. No questions asked, no second-guessing… I just bid them adieu and went onto the next thing.

As you can imagine, this took a while.

(You think Manhattan apartments are small? This is the closet space we have to work with. BRUTAL.)

Similarly, Spring Cleaning can be done in other aspects of our lives. A few months ago, I went on a “de-friending” frenzy on Facebook and went from having an impressive 600-something friends down to about 400 (just checked: 437 to be exact). Just like I did with my closet: if I hadn’t spoken to you in a while, didn’t like the crap you were crowding up my news feed with, or I actually couldn’t even remember who the hell you were… bye bye! I reap the benefits of doing this during significant moments in current events and politics when I don’t have to see close-minded bigotry and obnoxious comments. Why? Because I got rid of all those dopes! Yay! I highly suggest doing this if you haven’t done it in a while — or ever.

So what are you waiting for? Clean out your home and your closet, organize all your crap, and get rid of the things (or people?) in your life that are weighing you down.

And here’s to Spring! (…if it ever comes.)

Kardashian Kruelty

Wed, 03 Apr 2013 22:02:00 -0400

I can’t believe I’m doing this, but…

I’m about to defend Kim Kardashian.

Now, let me be clear: I am NOT on the Kardashian bandwagon. I don’t particular kare for their krazy family and their annoying nasally voices or their lack of any discernible talents. They’re literally famous for nothing, are horrible role models, and I’d rather get a root canal than have to endure 30 minutes of their E! reality show.

Kim K. has made a career of whoring herself out to the public; getting paid for appearances, endorsements (diet pills), and even televising her lavish over-the-top wedding to that awkward and possibly learning-disabled basketball player. You know, the wedding that lasted a whopping 72 days?

She displays incredibly obnoxious and narcissistic behavior; posting countless ‘duck face’ selfies on Instagram and constantly showing off her um, ass-ets.

Are you getting that I’m not a fan? Not sure if I’ve made that clear enough.

But something happened recently, and I actually started feeling genuinely sorry for her. Kim announced several months ago that she was pregnant — and the father was fellow egomaniac, Mr. Kanye West. Sureeeee, we all had jokes and got a good laugh at the whole thing, but in the last month or so, things got… well, ugly.

Holy. Shit.

Listen, I’ll stand by Kardashian jokes any day. Lighthearted, SNL-skit-type humor is fine. But this woman is a mother now. She’s a woman who is bringing a baby into this world. Weight gain comments, jokes and insults should be off limits.

News Flash, media outlets! Women gain weight when they are pregnant!! This tends to happen when you have a GODDAMN HUMAN PERSON GROWING INSIDE YOU. Posting an unflattering pregnant woman’s picture on the cover of your magazine with the caption, “I CAN’T STOP EATING” isn’t journalism — it just shows you are all a bunch of dicks.

Seriously, who works at these magazines? I assume some women have to work there, right? Are they all supermodels? If they ever had kids, did they remain the same size during their pregnancies and then pee their child out after 9 months? I’m just curious.

As a woman — a woman who has never been pregnant — I would quit a job that made me write an article that described the fattening, high-calorie meal Kim Kardashian ate and then made me guesstimate how many pounds she put on in her 4-month-long pregnancy.

Oh, and I see two of the magazine covers I posted above went for the post-a-picture-of-Kim-about-to-down-an-ice-cream-cone route. That was a nice touch, guys. It really drove the point you were trying to make; that Kim Kardashian is a gross, pregnant fat ass.

I’m disappointed that these magazines still exist, and that I continuously see blogs, articles and photo galleries talking about or showcasing her expanding body. I don’t care how many pounds she’s put on. Sure, her maternity fashion style has been… questionable. But lay off the cruel, insensitive body snarking and fat-shaming. It’s MEAN.

I’m sorry that the world has been so cruel to you during a really wonderful and exciting time in your life, Kim. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to see myself on these awful magazine covers. My advice to you is to go ahead and eat your damn “five desserts in one sitting,” wear whatever the hell you want, and screw the haters.

C h a l l e n g e

Mon, 01 Apr 2013 22:03:00 -0400

What is it about 2013?

Every other year before this, I was unadventurous, non-risk-taking, and continuously played it safe. I didn’t like to step outside of my comfort zone and I definitely, definitely didn’t like being challenged.

But something happened in 2013. Instead of just THINKING about my ‘bucket list,’ I actually started doing things on it.

And that, ladies and gents, is why I’m running in a 4-mile race at the end of this month.

Yes! Me! The girl who often blogged about the trials and tribulations of exercise, the girl who — since childhood — has never really been able to commit to any hobby or activity, and the girl who certainly does NOT like to run.

And yet, here we are. ”Run a 5K” made it onto my bucket list in 2013, AKA the Year of Challenging Myself, and one day I started doing an internet search for races in Manhattan. ’The Color Run?’ Running while people throw colored powdery substances all over you during the race? Sounds fun, and also messy. I also have sensitive skin and am allergic to everything, so the idea of possibly breaking out in a skin rash or hives made this sound unappealing.

Oh, what’s this? The “Run for Your Lives” race? Let’s see what this one entails:

Spend one of your last weekends of summer running for your life from our gruesome brain-hungry zombies! On top of zombies being after you, you and your fellow hopeful survivors must triumph over countless obstacles that you will face along the 5K obstacle course.

Oh HELL no.

Jesus, can’t I just find some nice, normal race — maybe even for a good cause? It’d be nice to be part of an event that had a personal meaning to me.

And that’s when I found it.

Run as One.

On April 28th, in Central Park - I’ll be running in the ‘Run As One’ event for the Lungevity foundation; an organization that funds the most promising research into the early detection and successful treatment of lung cancer. Which, unfortunately, is the disease that has taken three of my family members away from us way too soon.

I can’t think of a better way to honor their legacy, while also challenging myself to do something I have never done.

Speaking of, I’ve worked pretty hard to prepare for this event and just my overall health initiative in general. I’m in the gym 4-5 nights a week and constantly pushing, pep-talking and motivating myself. Matt and I went for a run outside this weekend, and I experienced every possible physical feeling from euphoria, to nausea, to OHGODMAKEITSTOP to… OK, I’m pretty damn proud of myself.

My Grandfather (who I never got to meet), my Uncle Dan, and My Aunt Kathy all had a horrific disease that first affected their lungs; and I think about that every time my own lungs feel like they’re going to give out on me. I can’t quit. I have to do this for them. And, truthfully, I have to do it for me, too.

Only a few weeks to go… let the training commence!

My personal fundraising page: http://events.lungevity.org/site/TR?px=1753240&pg=personal&fr_id=3940&et=4vikfggRC-qRiIdQrFjlnw&s_tafId=22851

Easter Antics

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 22:34:23 -0400

My Easter Sunday, in a nutshell:

We don’t do normal.

An Ode to Grumpy Cat

Tue, 26 Mar 2013 22:49:00 -0400

What can I say… I love a good meme.

Whether it’s the ‘hide ya kids, hide ya wife’ guy, or my dear, dear Sweet Brown (LORD JESUS IT’S A FIRE!!), I embrace all the weirdness of the internet.

Don’t even get me started on the ‘goats yelling like humans’ videos. I could watch them all day. Actually, I think I may have.

But a few months ago, I stumbled across a new internet fad. A sad (er, angry?) looking feline affectionately known as… Grumpy Cat.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeee!! LOOK AT IT!

The thing is, I don’t like cats. But I feel a special connection with this little lady (yes, Grumpy Cat is a girl — even better!). Maybe because I’ve been called ‘grumpy’ a few times in my life….

On the left - me at my nursery school graduation. And as you can see… beaming with joy.

Grumpy Cat has grown to become my animal soulmate; we are a kindred spirit and we share a common bond: we are both cranky and have an adverse reaction to joy and positivity. We also hate mornings and we like to complain. A lot.

Oh man. I get you, Grumpy Cat. I totally get you.

So today’s post is dedicated to my favorite thing on the internet right now, and quite possibly, my favorite thing on the internet EVER.

I’ve never related to another person or thing so much in my entire life. Ya know, it’s almost like we’re the same person….

“I had fun once. It was awful.”

Gym Etiquette

Tue, 19 Mar 2013 23:52:00 -0400

Approximately 6:05 pm: I’m in the locker room of New York Sports Club, changing into my gym gear. And that’s when I hear it.

It’s faint, and at first I can’t tell who it’s coming from, but I’ve clearly identified what the sound is. HUMMING.

Someone in my vicinity was humming. While in the gym locker room. It lasted for the entire time I was in there, and I went from noticing it, to being mildly irritated, to getting really annoyed….. to nearly exploding in a fit of rage and smashing the culprit’s head against a locker.

But… I digress. That little humming episode got me thinking about a little thing called Gym Etiquette; AKA the unspoken rules that members should all follow when working out in a public place around other human beings. It’s kind of an unnatural and awkward situation — you’re in a building with a bunch of sweaty people operating heavy machinery, making weird faces while in unflattering positions — so it’s important that we all adhere to certain rules and guidelines to make it a better experience for everyone involved.

Ladies and gents, I bring you… Gym Etiquette 101.

Too Much Nekked-ness. Not to sound like Patsy Prude over here, but, girls? Your blase attitude when it comes to nudity is making me (and several others, I’m sure) extremely uncomfortable. It’s one thing to get undressed and changed in a normal fashion while in the company of others, but it is quite another to be bee-bopping around the locker room like you’re in a nudist colony. I’ve seen girls standing in front of the mirror; applying makeup or blow-drying their hair STARK naked, and I’ve seen them standing in the middle of the room organizing their handbags, having casual conversations, or bent over while lotioning their legs.

(Fellas: before you get excited at the visual of this… think less Heidi Klum and think more Lena Dunham).

This reminds me of a Seinfeld episode where Jerry dated a woman who was perpetually in the nude, and while his guy friends expressed their jealousy, he pointed out that there are a number of things women do NOT look attractive doing sans clothing. One example? Struggling to open a jar. (Ew).

That said, be comfortable with your body, ladies. You don’t need to change in a bathroom stall or while awkwardly trying to cover yourself up. But MAYBE, just maybe, you could refrain from practically doing lunges without your damn clothes on.

Hygiene. Sigh. I can’t believe I actually have to say this. Would you guys mind showering? Daily? Wearing deodorant, perhaps? I get it; we don’t all smell like daisies after a workout sesh, but if you’re clean BEFORE your workout, the chances of you smelling like rancid garbage AFTER your workout are slimmer. I’ve literally left my machine or area because someone near me smelled so bad, and unfortunately it’s very difficult to work out while holding your breath.

Oh, and do us a favor and try to refrain from bodily functions.

Don’t Hover. Oh, you want this machine I’m on? You can pretty much guarantee that if you hover or stand too close while watching me, I’m only going to take longer. And if I’m in one of my moods? I’ll probably stop and stare right back at you with a look on my face that says, “IF YOU DON’T WALK AWAY I WILL LITERALLY STAY ON THIS MACHINE UNTIL THE GYM CLOSES.”

Same goes for the water fountain. If I’m using it, and you want to use it next, just stand a few feet away and wait. If I can see you in my peripheral and you’re too close, again, I will drink so much water that my entire body will explode.

Mind Your Business. When I’m on a cardio machine (treadmill, elliptical, etc.) I will often use the attached television, depending on how I feel that day. Sometimes, I’ll notice that the person working out next to me chose NOT to watch their television — but instead, has decided to watch mine. Have you ever been on the train and felt someone reading your newspaper or book over your shoulder? It’s extremely uncomfortable and annoying. Listen, lady, if you want to watch TMZ, put it on your own damn TV. We’re not friends who are hanging out on my couch watching a show together. Knock it off.

Similarly, don’t look at my machine to see how fast I’m going/what resistance level I’m on/how long I’ve been on it. We are not participating in some kind of gym race, and I don’t want to feel like you’re judging my running speed. Which yes, I’m aware, is slow.

Don’t be a Creep. Guys, that’s for you. We’re not interested.

Don’t make those gross grunting noises, either.

Bad Phone Behavior. Contrary to popular belief, updating your Facebook status does not burn calories. Taking up space at the gym when all you’re doing is scrolling through Instagram or sending long emails is pissing everyone off…so please, put the phone away.

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See guys, this isn’t so hard! Just follow these few simple rules and you won’t be the person at the gym that everyone hates.

Did I miss any other gym faux pas?

Here is New York

Sun, 17 Mar 2013 19:58:00 -0400

As a self-proclaimed book nerd; I’m always looking for new things to read.

While perusing GoodReads for the next novel, memoir or biography that I could order for my Kindle, I stumbled upon a book — well, it’s an essay, really — called ‘Here is New York’ by E.B White. Only 58 pages long, it was published in 1949 and it’s considered to be a famous “love letter” to New York City.

I was sold.

I read ‘Here is New York’ in about two days, and one thing that struck me right away is how so many things about my beloved city were once so drastically different, and yet so much has remained the same, 64 years later. The author describes the city in such beautiful and accurate detail (the good AND the bad), and often notes all the changes that have taken place since he had visited Manhattan as a child.

The essay got me thinking. What is it about NYC? The pride and hubris that comes with this city is larger and more powerful than any other place in the world. Although I had grown up in a town in Long Island that’s only about 40 minutes away from Manhattan, I didn’t come here often as a child. Field trips, sure. The occasional Broadway play or heading to see the tree at Rockefeller Center at Christmas? Yeah, I did all that. But I didn’t really get a taste for the Big Apple until I graduated college and started working here, playing here, and quite frankly; loving it here.

I immediately knew it was where I belonged. Unlike some, I loved the hustle and bustle, the chaos, and the fast-paced nature. I loved the lights, the sounds, and the tall buildings. I loved the culture, the different and unique kinds of people, and the liberal and accepting nature of the island. I loved often seeing and running into famous and notable people. And years later, those are all of the things I still love about this place.

I’ve worked in Manhattan for about nine years (with some small little breaks in there) and have lived here for almost four. I often find myself walking around and thinking to myself, I can’t believe I actually live here. It’s easily one of — if not THE most — famous cities in the world, and I get to reside in it. So many people dream of coming here; of making something of themselves here, or even just getting the chance to visit, just once. And it’s never lost on me that I am able to write down “New York, New York” as my address.

There’s a reason there are countless songs and television shows and movies either written about or taking place in NYC. I’m not hearing many songs written about Albuquerque, New Mexico or Omaha, Nebraska. No offense to those places.

The truth is, people write and sing about New York for a reason. It’s a remarkable place and something that I’m truly proud to be a part of. One of my absolute favorite parts of living here is the fact that you never need a plan. Just walk out your door, and go. Excitement and adventure will find you.

…………………………………………………………………………..

I know that New York isn’t for everyone, though, and that not everyone shares the same love and affection I have for this town. It isn’t perfect; it can be a tough and scary place, and I do understand why some people would NOT bode well here. Sometimes I get to see it through other people’s eyes when out-of-towners come to visit, and it’s not always the glamorous, luxurious place you see in movies. Sometimes, it stinks. Literally and figuratively.

Living in New York means being in a relationship with New York. There are ups and downs, highs and lows, and love and hate.

But in the essay ‘Here is New York,’ E.B White describes why New Yorkers put up with the things we do. I’ll let him explain:

Mass hysteria is a terrible force, yet New Yorkers seem always to escape it by some tiny margin: they sit in stalled subways without claustrophobia, they extricate themselves from panic situations by some lucky wisecrack, they meet confusion and congestion with patience and grit — a sort of perpetual muddling through. Every facility is inadequate — the hospitals and schools and playgrounds are overcrowded, the express highways are feverish, the unimproved highways and bridges are bottlenecks; there is not enough air and not enough light; and there is usually either too much heat or too little. But the city makes up for its hazards and its deficiencies by supplying its citizens with massive doses of a supplementary vitamin —- the sense of belonging to something unique, cosmopolitan, mighty and unparalleled.

This was written 64 years ago… and yet I couldn’t have said it better myself.

This is 30

Tue, 12 Mar 2013 23:53:00 -0400

And it’ll happen once again

You’ll turn to a friend

Someone that understands

And sees through the master plan

But everybody’s gone

And you’ve been there for too long

To face this on your own

Well, I guess this is growing up

—Blink 182

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First off, I apologize for quoting Blink 182.

However, this song kept popping into my head when I thought about writing this post, and going back to that theme I love so much:

Growing up.

It’s a part of life, right? I can’t pretend that I’m the same person I was five years ago; hell, I might not even be the same exact person I was one year ago. But when you turn 30, it starts to become painstakingly apparent how much things are changing around you; and you can’t do shit about it.

In our early 20s, life is about fun. Careless, irresponsible fun with reckless abandon. We go out too much, stay out too late. poison our bodies, do things we probably shouldn’t, and live for our friends. Everything is sporadic and adventurous, and there’s always a story to tell the next morning.

We realize this lifestyle can’t last forever, though, and things change once we hit our mid-to-late 20s. Now we actually have to care about our jobs, being responsible, and taking care of ourselves. Many of us tend to get into serious relationships, which calm our lifestyles down a bit. We’re still going out and having fun, but maybe not as often. We spend more time at home or with our families, and even start to enjoy the once foreign concept of ‘relaxing.’

But then, something happens. We get even older, hit that awkward crossroad age of 30, AND. THINGS. CHANGE. Like, a lot.

Long gone are the days where you sporadically call up your friends and say “wanna do something tonight?!” Instead, we make plans weeks in advance, entering reminders into our Smartphones and Google calendars; treating our social encounters like business meetings. Everyone’s busy and all over the place, so group get-together’s take months to plan. If they even get planned at all.

Most friends are now married and that doesn’t really change anything, but then the babies come flying in. You look around at gatherings with friends and instead of just seeing the usual scene: beer bottles, red Solo cups and little white balls (hehe) for beer pong, you’ll see a few NEW items added to the mix: baby monitors, sippy cups and diaper bags. If your friends with kids even come out at all.

Whoa.

You’ll even start to notice how some people who once participated in the social debauchery of your past are now MIA. Bars, parties? Ain’t nobody got time for that anymore! (OK, I’ve officially MURDERED that quote, by the way). Sure, it’s sad when friends disappear, but such is life. People not only grow up, but also grow apart.

But don’t be alarmed my little kiddies; being in your 30s isn’t so bad. This is a part of life; we have to constantly evolve, adapt and change when it does. I think it’s just become grossly apparent in the past year or so that I’m not ready to fully ‘grow up.’ There’s a part of me that wants to milk my youth for all it’s worth; to enjoy every moment, and damnit… to still have fun. And that I do.

I kind of enjoy the divide of having friends on opposite sides of the spectrum; those who are legitimate adults who do adult-like things, and those who still like to revert back to their 20s. I like to think I have a little of both qualities, so I can play either side.

It makes me laugh to myself, though, when I hear that some of my friends are excited that they found the perfect back-splash tile for their kitchen, and here I am, excited that I scored Bruno Mars tickets. They’re online during the day researching new washing machines, and I’m on clothing websites. They trade recipes and discuss elaborate meals they’ve cooked, and I go home and eat scrambled eggs for dinner.

Friends make these grand declarations of really big life decisions they’ve made; “I think I’m ready to have a baby.” I announce, with the same amount of thought behind my decision, “I think I’m going to cut bangs.”

But, hey — I wouldn’t trade the life I have for a second. It’s the perfect dichotomy of 20-something fun, mixed with grown-up activities and responsibility. One Saturday I might be out until 3am, and the next week I’m home, falling asleep to Saturday Night Live.

Sure, I read articles on CNN and I’m up on current events, but I also religiously check ‘Suri’s Burn Book’ and watch Catfish on MTV.

Matt and I went to brunch with my cousins (complete with unlimited mimosas) for three hours this past Sunday, and then went to Macy’s and bought a new iron since his broke days before. Look at that! The perfect blend of immaturity and adulthood!

I won’t lie to you and say that sometimes I don’t pine for the “old days,” and wish that my friends and I could go back to The Way We Were, but alas, that’s not how the world works.

I guess this is growing up.

In The Black

Sun, 10 Mar 2013 23:18:00 -0400

If you live in or around Manhattan, it’s essential that you partake in all the activities, history, culture, and unique experiences that this great city has to offer.

Go to the museums, famous landmarks, parks, and bridges. Take in a Broadway show or head to Lincoln Center for the Ballet. Go to a taping of the Daily Show or a concert at BB Kings.

Orrrrr, ya know, go to a restaurant where you eat in complete darkness, are served by blind waiters, and have no idea what you’re eating.

…Say what now??

—————————————————————————————————-

I’m still not quite sure how the hell she found out about this place, but when my sister-in-law Nicki sent me the link to ‘Dans Le Noir’ I *literally* laughed out loud at my desk at work. After clicking the link I immediately stumbled upon this sentence:

“Dinner in the total darkness, guided and served by blind people, is a unique experience that changes our perception of the world by reversing points of view.”

You’re kidding, right? What do you mean ‘served by blind people?!’ Like, BLIND blind? Ray Charles blind? And you eat in a pitch black room?? What the hell is this place?!

Needless to say, I love an adventure.

Fast forward one week later, and Matt, my brother Mike, Nicki and I were sitting at the bar at Dans Le Noir (which, in French, translates to ‘In The Black’) being instructed by a blind host and a man from Barcelona about how our night was gonna go down. Waivers were signed, our personal belongings (especially anything that emitted light) were put in lockers, and we were told to select one of the four menus: White (Surprise), Red (“Land Animals,” AKA- meat), Blue (Seafood) or Green (Vegetarian).

Matt and Mike were brave and chose White, so I did too. Nicki hates seafood, so she went with Red to avoid getting anything from ‘Unda Da Sea.’ The nice Barcelonian (not a word) man instructed us that while we won’t know what we’re being served, this ain’t an episode of Fear Factor, and we wouldn’t be dining on Cow Eyeballs or Flamingo Testicles or anything like that. So, that was comforting.

He also explained how we all tend to ‘eat with our eyes,’ meaning we identify what our food is by seeing it, which then affects how we think it tastes. For example, I can SEE I’m eating salmon, so that’s why I know it TASTES like salmon. But, if I’m served salmon in TOTAL darkness and I can’t see it? There’s a good chance I don’t have a clue WHAT I’m eating. He told us that in the dark, people often think they’re even drinking red wine when it’s actually white, and vice versa. Sounds implausible, but don’t underestimate the power of vision.

That said, what’s the deal with the blind waiters then? Well, sure, it’s a way for the guests of the restaurant to get a feel for what it’s like to be in their situation, but even more important, it becomes an interesting role reversal where the blind server actually becomes YOUR guide. They know what it’s like to be blind; you don’t. They know their way around the restaurant; you don’t. They know how to eat, drink, walk, work and get around without the luxury of sight. You don’t.

Gives new meaning to “the blind leading the blind.”

Before heading to the dark dining room, we met our awesome and hilarious (and of course, blind) waiter Sam. Sam gave us the low-down of how we were going to find our way to our seats: you’d put your left hand on the left shoulder of the person in front of you, and make a ‘human train.’ (NOT to be confused with a Human Centipede, which Matt grossly made a joke about.)

So, we began to move. We made it through the big velvet curtain and BAM! If you want to know what it looked like in the restaurant, well, here you go:

I’m. Not. Kidding.

Until you experience something like this for yourself, you really can’t properly explain it. Once we all were individually shown to our seats, we had to rely on our four other human sense organs to figure out what the F was going on. We learned how to pour ourselves water from a pitcher (Folks, that ain’t easy. Let me tell ya.) and had to feel around for our utensils. Have you ever tried to use utensils when you can’t see a damn thing? OF COURSE YOU HAVEN’T. And it’s goddamn impossible!!!!

Once the first course arrived, we realized we had to dig in — no, literally, I mean with our hands — to feel around for what was on our plate. You’d also attempt to use your sense of smell to determine what you were about to shove in your mouth as well. And that’s when, quite frankly, shit got hilarious. Conversations at our table sounded like this:

“OK, I just ate something cold and round… what is this? Like a stuffed mushroom or something?”

“Yeah, I had that too. It’s definitely a stuffed mushroom.”

<Side note: we found out later that it was NOT a stuffed mushroom.>

“What is the meat? Is it chicken? It might be chicken. Oh wait, no, it might be steak. Is it steak?”

<It wasn’t either of those.>

“What’s the jiggly thing on the lower left part of the plate?”

“What jiggly thing? I don’t have a jiggly thing!”

“Guys, what’s the thing that’s like a mini thimble that you can stick your thumb in?!”

<Yes, that was me.>

“Hahahaha you stuck your thumb in something?!?!”

“I’m not gonna lie, Al — I stuck my thumb in it too.”

<Andddddddd that would be my brother.>

“ALI ARE YOU STILL THERE?”

“Yes, where the hell would I go?! I can’t see shit! I’ve just been concentrating on trying to refill my water glass.”

“Oh, crap, I definitely just spilled food on my shirt.”

“EW!”

“Okay I am totally eating spaghetti with my hands right now.”

“You just hit me in the head!”

“Are these meatballs?”

“Sam?”

“Haaaaaa, Ali, I know you hate onions but I’m pretty sure that bread thingy had onions on it!”

<It didn’t.>

“Do you guys have your eyes open or closed?”

For 60+ minutes, we laughed like little schoolgirls, chatted with the other people at our table, and ate three different plates of mystery food, including dessert. Sam also provided us with not only assistance but some comic relief as well — when Matt asked where he was at one point, Sam gave him a deadpan response: “I’m right here; what are you blind or somethin?”

I won’t divulge any details about the food we ate (they show you the menu after so you can identify everything) in case you ever decide to brave Dans Le Noir yourself. I have to say, it was SUCH an eye-opening (ha!) and cool experience and I totally recommend that you go if you can.

Prepare to be terrified at first, then to laugh your ass off, and then be completely disoriented when you finally get to emerge back into the light (not gonna lie; it feels like you’re staring directly into a Solar Eclipse).

But Sam was right when he said, “You’ll go out to eat at other restaurants in the future, and I promise, you won’t forget about Dans Le Noir.”

It’s true; it really was unforgettable.

…but it’ll be nice to be out to dinner and NOT have to eat rice with my hands.

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http://newyork.danslenoir.com/