falling back into the swing of things

Well, looks like my venture to detail every painful detail of my life has been going slow lately. Don’t worry, it’s not for a lack of absurdity. The reason: I’m a lazy sonofabitch. Sorry you had to find out this way.

Today is the first day of fall. For those of you who are seasonally challenged, that means summer is now over. Considering my last post was before summer I’ll quickly share some highlight from my summer: (in no particular order)

I got to wear jhorts, which I have a secret love affair with. I went to disco-themed baseball game where I made it onto the jumboTron. BAM! I was accosted by a drag queen while playing a game of bingo. Said drag queen and I later made up at a Euro-trash discothèque. I rode a tandem partially naked through the streets of Chicago on a crisp June night. I become one with hippies and ravers alike at a weekend music festival. And finally, I believe I did permanent damage to my brain by watching an overload of trashy reality TV.

Yeah summer!

This fall, I hope to once more be accosted by a drag queen.

Seriously? Yes. Seriously.

angela meet... hitch is it???

Oh dear, oh me. It's been a while since my last entry, I guess I've just been too busy getting all sit-e-ational on ya.

As I currently look down at my fingers flying on the keyboard I can't help but notice my new tattoo. Henna tattoo that is. Yes, I got it nearly a week and a half ago at the First Fridays at the MOCA. When they told me it would last two weeks I rolled my eyes and thought to myself, "Chaa. I bet it doesn't last two hours." And here we are, two weeks later and my still stained right wrist not only reminds me of my wrongful assumption that night but also of a new friend.

As my friend and I were walking into the museum that night we noticed a ...might I say dashing individual walking alongside us. We both turned to each other with the same question : "Was that guy just looking at us?" We decided that the answer was a most definite yes. He was staring at us. And unabashedly so.

Now, getting into the MOCA is harder than getting into one of the Jonas brothers' pants. First you must get a ticket and print out a confirmation only to never actually have to show anyone this considering this is 2009 and they have each person's name listed. Once you tell your name you're given a ticket. You're also carded and given another ticket that proves you're 21. I guess they didn't gather that it'd all be a 21+ crowd given that "happy hour" is the main draw here. And then, after you're given your well-earned tickets you give them away ....two seconds later. Then you are led to the coat check. Yup, 'nother ticket. Then, you must purchase tickets for drinks. One for each dollar. Seriously?

But alas, why do you care about tickets? You don't. The point of my story is that my handful of tickets led me to meet ...him. The staring stranger from outside. My friend spotted him inside and nudged me. My ever so graceful reply was meant to be, "What?" but turned out to just be a "Whaaaa" with me staring at him with my mouth gaping open when I realized what was happening. Contact had been made. Who was this mysterious man? A mere five minutes later he'd make his entrance: "Do you guys ever meet lame people?" Um. What? Pardon? Are you calling us lame? Did you just meet someone lame? Was that a slight lisp I detected... and perhaps a slight inflection? Are you ...do you also dream of getting into the Jonas brothers' pants?

Nearly all my questions and more were answered throughout the night. I discovered that another "s" could be added to staring stranger's name: Shahin, his actual name. While we're adding "s" words, lets add another: shadow. Shahin stuck with us the rest of the night and boy oh boy, did we learn a lot about him. Basically, Shahin has the same job Will Smith did in the movie Hitch. Yes, he advices men on how to effectively date women.

As if to drive home the bizarreness of this career choice, several older men approached him throughout the night with an aura of awe and appreciation. As the night continued we learned Shahin's theories (each person falls into one of four categories: king, warrior, magician, magistrate) and tips for picking up the opposite sex (stand with your feet point toward them). He was a wealth of advice for us girls, who were of course eating up anything and everything that came out of our new, outspoken friend's mouth.

Now I can't exactly say his advice was great. Some tidbits include giving the submissive look when interested in someone and oh! gladiator sandals. I think he fancies himself quite the fashionista. Within the first five minutes of meeting he pointed out his outfit: jeans, mint green tight v-neck and a white zippy. Not exactly a runway look here but not bad. Of course what do I know? He asked me if he could take me shopping, to Anthropologie no less. Hmm, should I be offended?

My favorite advice given from him by far was the ways to approach a group of people you don't know. Ask on open-ended, easy question. Sound advice. His example? "So do you guys think Oprah is sexy?" Okay, what? I mean really? That's almost as - for lack of a better word - lame as asking "So do you guys ever meet lame people?" I mean, just ...what?

As the night ended, it was these things that just made Shahin great. I love interesting people and believe you me, this one's interesting. We even discovered he has an affection for clear nail polish. This was of course, not something he willingly told us. He was after all maintaining that he was straight. No, my friend, the future CIA candidate, noticed this detail.

And you know I was really trying to give him the benefit of the doubt and believe him when he told me he was straight but the more I think about it I'm not so sure.

Because I mean, clear nail polish ...seriously?

best before 1999

Why is it that every time I have these grand notions of cooking I always am somehow deferred and wind up ordering take-out or eating what I like to call block of salt (Lean Cuisine's)?

Well, actually I know the answer to this. It is because for some reason or another I think you are not allowed to buy new groceries until every last nut, grape, chip, ounce of hummus, etc. is gone. Of course this typically causes me to eat meals that has previously consisted of a sandwich with mustard, cheese and pretzels. Doesn't sound half bad right? Well maybe if you're in second grade, but trust me - it ain't. It's like a party in your stomach and honey honey, that ain't where you want your parties happening.

Another side effect of this disease is having all your food go bad, and not realizing it until you're desperately scrounging to finish your food due to your made-up rule. Today I walked to the grocery store in the (light) rain so that I could finally use some pizza dough I bought... I don't remember when. And to get some trash bags considering my roommate and I have been living without for over a week now. Seriously, our apartment looks like a minefield of tied plastic grocery bags filled with trash.

I get home after picking up every other item I need to make pizza and what do I discover? The pizza dough expired a month ago.


SBM looking for SWF

Well here I was promising you moments from my life that we could all relish in and it's been over a week. For my absence, my deepest, synthetic apologies - like the kind you give to the chatty girl blocking the subway doors you "accidentally" shoulder check on the way out.

Speaking of interesting encounters on public transportation, I myself met some interesting characters to add to my cast list this past week. The most interesting of all may be Glenn. Glenn Stanley.

As a rule of thumb, I never trust anyone with two first names. Needless to say I didn't know Glenn's last name, or first for that matter, when I stepped onto the NYC subway heading towards Brooklyn. At least, I thought it was headed toward Brooklyn... wait, this is express? Will it go to my stop?... Now, wait are you sure?

Lucky for me, I was in the company of several experienced New Yorkers like Glenn, who moved to the U.S. about 10 years ago from the Virgin Islands. This Glenn was no virgin though. In fact, he'd already produced two offspring: both daughters, ages 20 and 21. This tidbit came after Glenn pleaded with me to introduce him to some of my friends. His one requirement: not a young mind. So, ladies. Here is my personal ad for Glenn:

SBM looking for SWF; age 43; used to live in the Virgin Islands and has previously lived in NC, FL and currently resides in Brooklyn, NY. He enjoys taking women to lounges and drinking - make that sipping on - Hennessy and Coronas, with a lemon. He works very hard delivering and putting together furniture, sometimes gaining tips of $200 for one delievery. He will also cook you food, which kind I cannot specify seeing as I droned him out after awhile.

After discussing... well, mostly Glenn I think I finally drove home the point that I was off limits, even though he operates under the assumption that you're allowed one significant other in each state but not city. Area code rule y'all! Yet he was still a gentleman, old man. Glenn even missed his stop to make sure I'd be okay getting off, but not as he'd originally intended. We hugged one another goodbye.


who the hell is angela chase?

Let me let you in on a little secret: I'm not actually Angela Chase. But, like any decent human being who grew up in the '90s, I followed the short-lived MTV hit "My So-Called Life." The main character, Angela Chase, depicted a normal teenager dealing with everything involved with being a teenager - boys, school, family, friends, etc.

The main different between my so-called teenage life and my so-called adult life can be summed up to a few things: boobs, alcohol and a college education.

So now here I am, boobs and all! And with my boobs and college education (and usually the help of alcohol), I'll be sharing with you the situational comedic moments of my life and other's. I assure you there will be many. And if you have any of your own you'd like to share, please contact me at mysocalledsitcom@gmail.com.