I hate my body

I went out last night for a friend's birthday party in the Bronx and was forced to have fun and drink too much. Here is what happened when started the journey home around 3am:

• I fall asleep very briefly on the bench waiting for the train.
• I stumble onto the train and proceed to fall asleep again.
• I wake up as the train is approaching 181st because the train is stopping/a homeless man is yelling something at me. I have no idea what he's saying, but am alarmed to be at 181st because I am used to travelling north and think that I have missed my stop. I hate myself.
• I bolt off the train and stumble toward the elevator, thinking I'll just take a cab home because I saved so much money by being given a thousand free drinks.
• I realize that I was travelling in the correct direction and should have stayed on the train and that it's 3:30 and that I hate myself more.
• I get in the elevator with the same homeless man who proceeds to mumble at me and hound me for change. Even if I had some, I don't know if I could be coordinated enough to look for it.
• I leave the station and start walking north on Amsterdam. I have no fucking clue where I am or how to get to Broadway, which is where I assume I'll find a cab or another subway station. I also don't realize that the numbers are getting larger when they should be getting smaller. I consider taking a standing catnap against a wall.
• I finally get a gypsy cab to pick me up (after turning down a large white van that offered me a ride) and start insisting that he's going the wrong way, which he isn't.
• I get home! I wash my face and fall into bed! I also make sure my alarm is set because I am a responsible adult and have to be up in 3.5 hours.
• I wake up 10 minutes before I should be leaving the apartment.
• I throw on the first outfit that hits my hand when I reach for my floor and make it to work only 15 minutes late.
• At 11:50am, my body is just now considering not being drunk anymore. So far it hasn't come to a conclusion. Except that it hates me.

The internet is a treasure

God bless it.

I knew you'd come back to me.

Holy shit, guys. Holy shit! With this blog entry, I have single-handedly brought back the P'Zone. Check this out: http://www.pizzahut.com/

Just like they say, if you love something set it free; if it returns to you, it's yours. I knew ours was a love that knew no boundaries of size or limited times or human/food relations. Welcome back into my hungry arms and hungry eyes, my dearest.

A delicious death for kitty

I just got back from lunch, where I had something claiming to be thai food. I'm pretty sure it was spicy cat food. I found this photo fitting for my lunchtime confusion.

I found this picture while google searching something about cats and I am intrigued by so many things about this product.

Let's start with the name of this product. "Lenguas de Gato," which is translated into "Cat Languages." Will I find a cat-to-human dictionary inside? Are there cds inside that I may listen to so that I may speak "cat" as well? Or is it merely a box full of cat tongues to use at my disposal?

No, it is not. Unless those cat tongues are covered in 100% Chocolate! Does this mean it's chocolate that's safe for cats? By the terrified look on that poor kitty's face, I'm going to say no. This is probably a delicious and deadly cat exterminator, much like salt is to the slug. And I can't get enough of it. I love cats (too much for a girl my age? Perhaps), but few things delight me more than a terrified or pissed off look on a cat's face. This is enhanced when put on a product, or when dressed up in a silly costume. If this cat had a hat on, I'd buy a thousand boxes of these cat tongues.

Google is my best friend

Google just made the coolest gadget ever. Check out this video:

I'm obsessed with maps in the same, anal way that I'm obsessed with weather.com. I like to know what's going on at all times. If only we could...

Holy shit, Google. C'mere. Shh, really, come closer. I just had an awesome idea. Let's combine them. Yeah, I'm for serious. OMG, it's gonna be so awesome. We can get an up to the minute weather map, like the kind on the news where you can see the progression of the cloud movement over time, and put that over the Google street view map, I could have everything in one place! You already show me the closest subway stations and restaurants (and their ratings), so don't stop there, Google. I wasn't screwing around when I said I like to know what's going on at all times. I want to be able to zoom in on parks and peoples' houses to see where my friends are. I want to know who is protesting at Union Square today and what they're fighting for. I want event and gossip updates so I can base my night around what shit is going down where. Like G-Chat, but just on top of the map. I want to be at the birthday party where Kate is bringing her new boyfriend when Google Maps tells me her bitter ex Jason will be there. I want to know when LiLo is in town, and where I can best position myself to see her wasted on booze and coke.

But that's all a fantasy for my gossipy and demanding imagination. Really, you're close to perfection for me, Google Maps. This new Street View option is amazing, it's like touring the city and never having to leave the house!

PS- I don't know where to put this, but I feel it must be mentioned... Street View video, orange suit, balls. My sympathies.

I'm a star!

Some of my bros over at The Seven Year Plan posted an article yesterday that I wrote as a revision/expansion of the P'Zone blog seen here on this very site. I am a lucky lady.

Please check out the article, register for the site and vote for it. There is a ton of other hilarious stuff to read or watch all over the site, so check it out. And I'll post a real blog soon, I promise.

http://www.thesevenyearplan.com/viewarticle.php?id=116


Also, a picture of something amazing:

In the grand tradition of "Honey, I Blew Up the Baby"...

Michael Jackson wants to start his comeback in Las Vegas. It's been a rough few years since the child molestation charges against him in 2004, so it seems he has hired a top notch team to bring him back big time. Michael Jackson is in talks to build a 50 foot robot (in his own image) that would roam the Las Vegas desert and shoot goddamned laser beams out of it's eyes.

http://music.yahoo.com/read/news/41620594

This is the maybe the coolest news item I've ever heard.

You need to give it up, had about enough

Hey, you. Yeah, sassy black man, you. I see you.

You in your newsboy cap tilted to the side, your plaid pink-and-green vest, your flat-front khaki pants with the rain jacket and umbrella to match. Your nice brown shoes that seem to have remained spotless, despite the nasty, rainy day. You with the snarky look. You're probably named something like "Giann." You look like Andre3000 with a catwalk strut.

You want to look at my iPod as I change songs? You thought I didn't notice. Well go on, take a look-see, I don't care. But stop judging me when I skip over the "The Boy is Mine" duet by Brandy and Monica, pause and reflect on my decision, and go back to listen to the song, cranking up the volume.

You take your roll-of-the-eyes and your smirk and your triple snap of the fingers up the subway stairs and you exchange it all for a $1 tamale bought from the lady selling them out of the shopping cart, 'cuz that's all it's worth to me. OOHHhhhh shit!

Reminisce'Zone

Hey! Do you remember the P'Zone?

It's more than just a calzone, it's the size of a pizza, folded in half! You are made to believe that it's for one person, so you and your roommate Amanda have 2 of them delivered. You have a mini celebration about how awesome they are going to be. You get out unholy amounts of ranch dressing to sacrifice to the P'Zone and throw on The Emperor's New Groove. Yeah, it's a party. You and Amanda are overly rambunctious when the pizza guy gets there, and though you are both single and lonely and centering an evening on what is basically a fun-to-be-fat party, you ignore the delivery boy's advances. We don't need companionship, we have the P'Zone!

So you and Amanda settle onto the couch, put the P'Zone on the coffee table and pump your fists as if you've just finished the New York Marathon. You smile at each other and start eating this magical concoction like you're the happiest person on the planet (you know, Bill Cosby). You're not thinking about all the cardio-kickboxing you're going to have to do to burn this off, you eat like you're being paid to do it. Other metaphors happen.

Cut to an hour later, the both of you sprawled out on the floor. You left the couch because it couldn't hold either of you anymore. You both have skipped the unbuttoning of your jeans and totally taken your pants off. You have never been so fat in your life. Since this whole debacle began, you've gained 25 pounds and a heart condition. You won't be going to class tomorrow because you can't fit in any of your clothes anymore. You won't be going anywhere but the bathroom, and you're certain to visit it often. You spend the rest of the evening moaning in agony and rolling around on the floor, getting dog hair all over your already ranch-dressing-and-marinara stained hoodie.

But don't worry, fella. Things get better. It may take a while, but you get back on your feet. You stop having P'Zone themed nightmares. You're able to look at red sauce and baked goods again without wanting to vomit all over your new, stain-free hoodie. You've grown up a bit and have more control over yourself.

You're finally ready for another.

So what I'm saying is this: come on, P'Zone. It's been 5 years. I'm ready for what you've got, I'm a woman now. Come back to me. I know, you hurt me, but I love you. I think I'm ready for a relationship now. But only with you. Or another Americanized Italian food. Let's do this.



On a side note: I love Bill Cosby.

Happy Anniversary, Misfortune

As Valentine's Day approaches, I have an event to commemorate that has made this year considerably different from any other. Even more so, this day changed many aspects about my life.

A year ago today, I broke my leg. It doesn't sound like a crazy big deal, but as far as health and wealth go, I'm in a much different place. Also, I'm pretty fed up with the way the government treats people. But that's another gripe for another day. Today, to honor the memory of my totally normal, functioning left leg, I'll recount how I busted it and ruined my life.

-Feb 12, 2006-

10:15am - New York has had one of the biggest snowstorms in recorded history. Evan and I put on all the clothes that we own to go meet Trevor for brunch. Trevor decides we need to seize the day, make our own sleds and head to Central Park!

12:40pm - The 3 of us trek to Home Depot, where we purchase 3 wood panels, a shitload of duct tape and a pair of super thick socks (I'm freezing).

1:14pm - On the subway platform, we set about making the most aerodynamic sleds possible. This really just ended up meaning we tried to secure duct tape handles to the wood. Evan also added an "E" to the bottom of his sled. Aren't we crafty?

1:35pm - We trek up to Central Park, entering at 59th st. We walk in, searching for the perfect hill.

2:01pm - Trevor does a flip into the snow. I decide to daintily fall back into it, avoiding injury.

2:17pm - Somewhere in the 80's, the trees part and a beam of light draws our eyes to the perfect hill. The snow is untouched and a perfect powder. There are two parts to this hill: the upper level, which includes a decent hill and a small plateau so you don't fall over the edge, and the 12 foot cliff.

2:20pm - Evan, Trevor and I go down the upper level. It's perfect, and all ours. Trevor decides to make the full run, from the very top of the upper level and down over the cliff. It's a success. Evan and I avoid it because we're pussies. We do this a few times as our sleds slowly wear down and break.

2:48pm - With one run left in the last remaining sled, I decide to go down the small hill.

2:49pm - Halfway down, I decide that I am not a pussy and will continue over the cliff.

2:49:24pm - I go over the cliff and shriek with excitement.

2:49:27pm - I come down hard on a rock and shriek with pain.

2:50pm - Evan and Trevor come down the hill and see if I can walk. I can't, but they don't believe me because I'm not crying. See, I told you I'm not a pussy.

2:52pm - A crazy cross-country skiing woman, her "lover and lawyer" boyfriend and their St. Bernard come over to save the day. They call 911 and give me wine. The woman tries to get the boys to make a splint for my leg and cover it with snow. The dog walks on me and gets all up in my grill.

3:15pm - Trevor gives me his hat. I'm shaking I'm so cold. Evan makes some crack about me peeing my pants.

3:32pm - The paramedics come, put me in a terribly annoying neck brace and strap me to a board. They almost drop me 7 times on the way to the ambulance.

3:37pm - I've been pretty calm this whole time, even a little cheery. I ask the paramedics about Gray's Anatomy. It's everyone's favorite show.

4:16pm - I get to the hospital, they cut off my pants and reset my leg. This is when I cry.

6:12pm - I get x-rayed. I have a maison-neuve fracture, which means that my ankle broke pretty badly and the force of the fall made my fibula break in a spiral fracture near my knee.

After that it's all a bunch of sleeping and vicoden and surgery (on Valentine's Day) and morphine drips and a box of blood attached to my foot and refusing to use a bedpan and fighting with nurses and nasty scars (you can see them a week post-surgery here and here... but BEWARE: stay away from them if you get grossed out easily. They're pretty nasty). I stayed in the hospital for 5 days and, since my elevator was out, stayed at Mark's house in Brooklyn for 3 weeks. I also flew home to my mom's for a week, to ease her nerves and be visited by Dickie, Scott, Jeff and Mike. And use a wheelchair in a mall! Hooray!

The rest is a mish-mash of me getting better and starting work again. I had a cane for a while (on vacation in Hawaii with my dad and sister... not the greatest beach accessory), I started physical therapy. And Trevor made a website dedicated to me, and people actually donated money. How fucking incredible are my friends?

I got the plate and 2 screws taken out in November, and my strength and flexibility are slowly getting better. No marathons anytime too soon, but I'm totally committed to doing one when I can run like a regular human being. Seriously. I've never wanted to run so bad in my life.

So that's the leg story. There's more pictures of the snow day here, if you're so inclined. Happy anniversary, busted bones. Let's not do that ever again.

Horrible

Dear CNN, CBS News, ABC News, MSNBC, et al:

Please show something other than Anna Nicole Smith on your websites and news channels. Trust me, you don't need stand outside the hospital with the camera on, waiting for hours until you find out about the autopsy. It's deplorable and crude. Also, isn't there anything else going on in the world of any importance? There are 6 giant tv screens pointed at my desk, all tuned to news channels, and it would be nice to see something else for a change. Anything. What about that helicopter crash? Jim Samples leaving Turner Broadcasting, that's big news. The Astronaut love-triangle, you know I can't get enough of that. Even that "Drooling dog skateboards down streets" video that you inexplicably have up on your front page, that will at least mix things up a bit.

Please. I'm tired of it. It's horrible. Don't make me poke my eyes out.

Sincerely,
Sarah B. Claspell

Look-alikesies

Lisa Nowak v. Britney Spears:

Listen Britney, I'm just saying... watch out. I know, things get crazy; life is tough when you're a millionaire divorcee with 2 kids and not a panty to your name. I see you going down a dangerous path, and you don't want to be caught in a diaper and a bad wig, trying to kill someone with pepperspray. I mean, we've already seen your vagina. Enough is enough.

Recipe for distress

I recieved the following e-mail from my roommate this morning, following our over-indulgent Super Bowl party yesterday.

How to make a ROTTEN ASS:

6 btls beer, preferably light
2 cups mayonnaise
1 chicken breast, boiled and finely chopped
1 tsp salt
9 lbs pasta

Mix ingredients in large bowl. Spread evenly in casserole dish and bake at 350 for 25 min. Sprinkle liberally with nachos and serve warm. Serves 1.

I hate my life right now.

Help me,
E

I would call him to share in his pain, but my throat has been scratched to shreds by a Louis Armstrong impression I was showing off all evening. Pair that with the recipe above and a 5am wake-up call. I feel like garbage.

I take it back!

I totally asked for it with my last blog, saying I wanted to grow up and be an old woman. I'm stupid.

I went to physical therapy yesterday (I broke my leg last February and had some of the metal removed in November). My therapist is really awesome and we have developed a sort of friendship in the past year. She always pushes my limits, and it's usually welcome and always for my own good. Recently we've been working on getting more stretch in my ankle and strengthening my hip and leg muscles, so she had me do a shitload of lunges for most of the 30 minutes I was there.

Today I want to die. My legs are sore beyond reason. I definately use the broken-leg excuse to explain my lack of exercise (more of an excuse than a reason at this point), but I didn't think I was this out of shape. Holy shit. I can't walk down stairs without clinging to the handrail and easing my way down each step. It's stupid.

In other news, 'Eddie and the Dreamgirls' (myself and my fellow Saturday interns Brian and Phlip) are the reigning champions at Improdome for the second week in a row! Boo-yah! And this week we earned it. Last week, ehh.

Those boys are great. Here's to you, Dreamgirls.

I want to be an old woman when I grow up. This one.

This. Is. Awesome.

"Wife, 65, fought lion with log"
• 70-year-old man sent to another hospital for additional surgery
• He was ambushed by female mountain lion Wednesday at state park
• Victim's wife smashed cat in the snout, stabbed it with pen to fend it off
• Hospital spokesman: Infection is doctors' biggest concern

An old man and his wife were hiking through the California redwoods when a mountain lion attacked the man: mauling his face, scalping him and ripping off parts of his lips. So his old woman wife apparently smashed the lion in the face with a log and stabbed it with a pen.

Smashed a lion in the face! Stabbed it with a pen! It's just like the movie "Red Eye", starring Rachel "mean girl" McAdams, Cillian "hot Irishman" Murphy and Brian "I'm actually James Lipton" Cox. *Spoiler alert* (though it came out a year and a half ago, you need to see this already) There's a sweet scene where she stabs him in the neck with a pen just as the plane is landing. I don't remember all the specific details after that, but I think there's some sort of high speed chase or something... maybe they just arrest him at the airport? I can't remember. But I know she hurries home and makes sure her dad is safe. Then as soon as she thinks everything is in the clear, Cillian (who knows how he got there) jumps through the window or something, yelling at her through the hole in his neck and she has to shoot him in the face. It's fantastic.

So anyway, I guess my point in all this is directed at the hospital spokesman and the 65 year old bad ass lady. Listen, you have bigger concerns to worry about than infection. Go shoot that lion in the face already, because he and his punctured trachea are not through with you.

This makes me hate people

Holy shit. This is horrifying. It would be absolute genius if it was a parody, though I'm sad to say it's not:

http://www.eveningservice.com/Video

I feel obligated to make some crack about Isaiah Washington producing this or bumping it on his iPod on the way to counseling, but there's probably have a song titled "God Doesn't Like Blacks Or Jews Either".

I can't get over the everything I'm seeing in the video and on the website. First, he (Donnie "God Hates a Fag" Davies), quotes Oscar Wilde as a "reformed homosexual." Then there is the extensive list of gay bands, including Wilco, Jay-Z, Morrissey, Frank Sinatra and... Ted Nugent? Is he fucking serious? This Ted Nugent? The man who must be giving boners to the NRA, separatists and gay-haters alike??

Oh, nevermind. He must have meant this Ted Nugent. Oh, the sex.