Gobble gobble goo and gobble gobble gickel

So.

For the last three Thanksgivings I've dissolved into a sappy soppy mess while I outlined the 10 things I was most thankful for. While that's be fun, definitely, this year I thought I'd mix it up. Don't get me wrong, I still feel incredibly lucky and blessed, but honestly, how many times can you hear all that before being like...

WE GET IT.

This year, I'm going to give you 10 decidedly NON sappy things I'm thankful for. The other stuff (you know, family, friends, you guys) are no less important. They're just so obvious by now that I don't feel like I need to state them! Happy Thanksgiving!!

1. Milk. It does a body good, AND I'm allowed to drink it, and it's effing amazing. When was the last time you drank a large glass of milk and thought "damn. Thank you cows." I suggest you go ahead and do it right now.
2. Working from home. While it's not something I'm going to be able to do very often, lying in bed with two laptops until 5pm is kind of amazing. Also, kind of terrible but you know what? Let's ignore that part for now and be like - yay, thank you working from home! Or maybe it should be thank you technology for allowing me to work from home!
3. Friends of friends who send funny ass jokes. You know who I mean. You get their forwards, they comment on top of your comments on facebook, and while they may not be YOUR friend, they certainly brighten up your day. Especially when the jokes are dirty.
4. Alcohol. Last night I hung out with some old friends and while they were all drinking, clearly I was not. And sobriety, while actually sort of nice most of the time, SUCKS when everyone around you is acting like a drunk asshole and you're the only one who's going to remember it in the morning. Yaaaay booze.
5. Bobby pins. My hair is ridic long right now (so long that srsly, I thought about scheduling an appointment with a person I didn't know whilst being in NJ. I DIDN'T do it, because my hair is a clusterfuck of curls waves and straight, but I thought about it. Eek) that I can wear my hair differently every day of the week, and it's all down to these little bent pieces of some sort of metal.
6. TSA. I know they're getting a bad rap right now, and I'm betting that there are a few people out there getting their jollies from the pat downs/non-sexy pseudo-nakkey images, but for the most part they're just men and women doing their jobs. I especially like the ones who patiently wait for me to finish up chugging my Diet Coke and then scream "the burn! The burn!" even though there are people behind me on line.
7. Little white lies. This week has been a bitch on the diet because of all the (extended) family I've been seeing who I don't necessarily love and with whom I definitely don't want to share the innermost parts of my soul and eating habits (unlike you guys, who technically are strangers but are AWESOME). But I've found that little white lies save the day! And don't hurt anyone. Just like telling your girlfriend that no, she does not look fat in that dress.
8. Kitten and puppy videos on YouTube. Every time the day sucks, I just click on over and watch that guy sing those puppies to sleep. ZOMG ADORBS! Day solved.
9. Chicken bouillon. Mmmmmm so salty. And so allowed!
10. Everyone in my life. Ok. I'm sorry. But it has to be said. My AMAZING family, my ridiculously supportive and patient and lovely friends, you guys for continuing to visit, my new coworkers (and my super new coworkers) who have made an otherwise meh job fun, the doctors at my program, my therapist for being fanfuckingtastic and worth way more than I pay her, Barack Obama (what. He could be in my life. I see him/his picture EVERY DAY), the New York Times reporters and columnists, the staff at Trader Joe's, and everyone else that makes me smile even when I'm starving and sober and pissed off at life. YAY YOU ALL!!

Happy Turkey Day to all, even those of us who aren't enjoying the orgy o' food. I hope you get the bigger piece of the wishbone.

The Always a Drunk, Never a Bride Guide to NOT Looking Like a Tourist in New York

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack. Well, to the blog. I'm actually gooooooooooooooooone from DC for a few days for Turkey Day (did anyone see How I Met Your Mother? Turturkeykey? That sound disgusting. But better than turducken) which this year will just have to be regular old Thanksgiving Day because I will be eating artificially favored protein in lieu of mashed potatoes, biscuits, and mounds of white meat slathered in warm savory gravy.

My diet's going GREAT by the way. Don't miss real food at ALL.

Anyway, I was in the city ever so briefly (let's be honest, I could be in the city 5.9 months of the year and that's too brief for me) and it's funny, now that I've lived in DC almost as long as I was in the NY metro area, I'm starting to act like a real tourist. This time was worse than last, when I got to Penn Station on my way to Emilia's house and was standing on the C-E platform looking for the A. I pivoted around and around, walked to a staircase, walked back, dropped my suitcase in the way of some businessmen who looked Very Busy Indeed and felt like a real asshole, then felt WORSE when I finally had to ask the station agent where I could get the A train, please.

"Uh... it's right there" he pointed in front of my face. Awful.

Anyway, this time, I was determined not to play the fool until I was dropped off in front of Michael and Alexis' house and I looked up and said "wow! It's sooooo taaaaaaall." EMBARRASSING. I USED TO WORK IN A BUILDING TWICE ITS SIZE, AND MY OFFICE WAS ON THE FLOOR THAT IS 3X THE NUMBER OF THE FLOOR THEY LIVE ON. I USED TO BE A MANHATTANITE DAMNIT AND THEY LIVE IN BROOKLYN.

Sigh.

So from that moment on until the very short period of time later when I departed the city (very very VERY very short), I strove to regain my New Yorker ways. And for those of you who are ex-but-only-for-a-while-I-swear-I'm-moving-back-SO-SOON New Yorkers like me, or tourists who want to experience the city outside of Times Square and Central Park as a "real" New Yawkah (cause you gotta go to NJ to go to the Statue of Liiiiiiberty), or even newbies who have mastered the we-carry-our-lunches-in-Victoria's-Secret-bags but still feel out of place, I give to you:

The Always a Drunk, Never a Bride Guide to NOT looking like a shithead in New York:

(What. I can change the title from the title. It's my blog and I'll edit if I want to!)

• Famous people. Why yes, that IS Jon Stewart, Maggie Gyllenhaal, one of the Olsen twins, Mike Myers, Jerry Seinfeld, Sarah Jessica Parker, Chris Rock, Matthew Broderick, Mike Bloomberg, Renee Zellweger, Derek Jeter or Tracey Gold. They live here! Just like you might. But that does NOT mean you can stare at them. That CERTAINLY does not mean you can say "wait a second... are you Mike Myers?" on a random street in Chinatown when he's just playing a game of pick-up with friends (sorry Mr. Myers). That really REALLY doesn't mean it's ok to be like, over the din of a crowd in Little Italy, you can shout to Dexter/Anne/Maggie "ISN'T THAT THAT GIRL FROM GROWING PAINS?" (sorry Ms. Gold). It DOES mean you can do a double take when you see the extraordinarily short, terribly dressed girl that looks like you might have known her in elementary school being escorted down 14th Street. I mean, you're only human. But try to avoid the triple take (sorry Ms. Olsen). Then at least you can name drop the shit out of them on your own blog without feeling intense shame.
• Crazy people. Yes, they live here too. And since this is the biggest city in all of 'merica, there are a lot of them. It's their city too, so don't disrespect them. But ignoring is OK, and not necessarily disrespectful. Especially when they're on the subway, and they want to talk to you about Jesus and how the CIA is after them because they know the truth about Jesus and how he's really behind the murder of Tupac Shakur. No one will judge you. Just do it nicely.
• Sunglasses. Buy a pair. A pair that is big. Brand name is ok, but brand name off the street is better. Put them on. Do not take them off. I do not care if it is raining, midnight, or you're a mile underneath the East/Hudson Rivers. Sunglasses protect you from looking anyone in the eye and thus distinguishing yourself from the crowd. They also help you stare at people (famous or crazy or both) without engaging or looking like a douche. They are multitaskers, those $5 Ray Banes! (Sic).
• Walking. You know how wherever you're from originally, sometimes people power walk? Imagine you're them. And now imagine that you're being followed by a bear. A hungry bear. A hungry bear that works for the CIA. And you have to get away, because hello, he's hungry, but at the same time if you break into a run you'll attract a lot of attention and the bear's CIA instincts will kick and like in Law and Order: SVU when Munch and Fin capture the guy who was running away the bear will slam you to the ground and be like "it doesn't look good to run away jackass". And then remember he's a bear and eat you. My point is - walk as quickly as possible.
• Law and Order: SVU. It films here. So do a bunch of TV shows and movies. That is really cool. New Yorkers who pretend they're too jaded to give a shit about what's filming are lying to themselves, and have no soul. But find out surreptitiously, and here's how. Every time something is filming in New York, the street signs/tree trunks will have the permits on them that allows the show/movie to block off the street. On that permit, there will be a name of the show/movie. You casually look at it, walk a block away, and whip out your smart phone to look it up. When it's SUPER cool, you're allowed to go back. That's life man. You could be FAMOUS. Then people will be ignoring YOU in the street!
• Walking part deux. Much like a soccer game, you should walk to the open space. Away from bears and CIA agents. If that's on the street, that's fine. If that's on the left side of the sidewalk, also OK. Just get the fuck out of people's way asap.
• Clothes. Make them nondescript (see above: sunglasses and not distinguishing yourself). I prefer black. Lots of New Yorkers do. Lots of New Yorkers prefer fashionable black, but some don't so you're OK if you're not wear black legwarmers on top of black leggings and black ankle boots with a black leather jacket open and covering a dark grey sweater than is layered over a sparkly grey cami of which one inch can be seen. I like to wear jeans, dark shoes, and a black coat. It works for me.
• Clothes addendum. If you're going to stand out - you know, you're especially tall, or have amazing boobs, or are ridiculously handsome, or anything else - feel free to wear colors. People are gonna stare anyway, right? You might as well look faaaaabulous.
• Clothes addendum post script. Honestly, if you really LIKE colors you can wear them, if you must. But you know. Make sure it's the color of the season or some shit like that.
• Clothes post post script. You know, wear whatever the fuck you want. This is why I fucking left Manhattan. It's such an effing GAME getting out of the HOUSE in the morning!
• Don't take shit from no one. And have an AMAZING time. You're visiting/living in/missing the best damn city in the world.

A change of lifestyle

I've been putting this email off. For a while. A long while. Like, since when I promised it on Thursday. I'm excellent at avoidance. When talking about uncomfortable things, I kind of shake my head and change the subject, stat. When bad things happen, I just don't think about them. Ever.

So when I made a big choice to get "healthier," it's not surprising it took me 3 months to actually start.

Three months ago (as it were), I started to realize that I was eating out of control amounts of food that I knew for 100% was terrible for me. I've catalogued it here already, so no need to go through it, but this time it was different than all the other times I've eaten my way through my emotions. This time, whether it was because of the break-up, the possible reunion, the shitty job, or maybe even just that I was finally FEELING things again after a long period of really being so fucking meh about everything, I ate and ate and ate because it made me happy.

And that's all I cared about.

It got to the point that I was readily open with my overeating. Unlike the standard "so ashamed of your eating that you won't do it in front of people," I ate, asked if others were going to finish that, ordered the shittiest-for-me item on the menu, and drank wine as though afflicted with an unquenchable thirst.

Not gonna lie - it was AWESOME.

But it was also a little terrifying. As I think I made clear in my conflicted post about being a fat fatist, my weight has never been something I've been PROUD of. Well, after my high school boyfriend and my mother (one who I hate, one who I love) pointed out to me that I should start paying attention to it. So when I started plowing through entire pizzas from Open City in front of the ex with little care about how attractive (or not) I was being, when I started throwing away cartons of B&Js on top of others and laughing about it with my friends, when I was just like CONSUME CONSUME CONSUME and didn't care.

Well, I cared!

And after a little research (with the help of my aforementioned madre) I found a program in DC that helps people who are really at their wit's end with the eating thing. It's a medically managed, psychologically oriented weight loss program that has a fantastic rate of non-regain. Which sounds weird, but is sort of the goal.

Also, being hawt. Duh.

So I went through all the exte-hen-sive blood tests, went to the info sesh, met with the docs and finally got the first week o food! On Wednesday!

And I didn't open the bag.

To be fair, the doctor told me not to start on Thursday because I was going to be driving on Friday/Saturday (more on that - a LOT more - later this week), and apparently sugar withdrawal can make a person pretty effing woozy. So fine, I'd just start Friday. Except then I realized I was SO LATE FOR WORK that I just shoved a cupcake in my mouth (leftover from my "last supper" on Wednesday night) and hopped on the bus.

Saturday was no good. I had a funeral. And you know, my favorite bagel place.

Sunday was a good opp, but Monday was better I reasoned, because I started my new post for work today and new schedule = new dietary habits! Right?!

Wrong.

This morning I got up way later than I was supposed to and realized that I had to leave in approximately 25 minutes to get to the new post on time, I hadn't showered since Saturday and it was fucking cold outside. So I showered, grabbed the last bit of food that was in my fridge (NOT a cupcake. But not my protein shake either) and got lunch at work.

Super duper self-control fail.

But tomorrow is different friends. For one thing, I FINAFUCKINGLY wrote this blog post. And I packed all my lunches for the rest of the week. And I sliced my veggies, and I pooled my vitamins with my birth control, and I'm ready.

Because I don't want to be out of control anymore.

So wish me luck! I have a feeling this isn't the last you'll hear from me about this, but I'll try not to be super harpy bitter about it all. Well, most of the time. And you know, the rest of the time I'll have fodder for the stories of when I bitched random strangers out on the metro for smelling like chocolate.

Mmm. Chocolate. Those BITCHES.

Why do people hate Gwyneth?

I don't get it. I like her a lot! Especially in Shakespeare in Love and Sliding Doors. Mmmmm Sliding Doors. SO GREAT. Anyway, I've been watching her performance on Glee of Cee Lo Green's AMAZING "Fuck You" song and all the coverage is "wow, I guess I can't Gwynnie for this". Why is that everyone's first reaction? Have I missed something here?

I met Ms. Paltrow and her then-boyfriend Chris Martin when she was filming Proof (I also met her mom Blythe Danner and Jake Gyllenhaal, in case you were wondering. Cause I know you were. Cause I am that cool) and she was super lovely! A little wary of attention it seemed, but uh, if you were famous wouldn't you be?! I dunno. She seemed nice.

I like her. I def DON'T hate her.

Anyway, this is not my post for today. I'm coming back atcha in a little bit. But I was just wondering if anyone could clear that up for me?

anticlimax!

Uh, yeah I sorta forgot today was Veteran's Day. AND as the source of my Big Announcement has been postponed one day, Ima postpone that post. But no worries:

• I'm not preggo (god. I don't THINK I am! EEP!)
• My liver is just fine
• No sort of 24 hr watches have been placed on me anytime recently

Life's good!

But you'll hear more about that domani mattina. For NOW, I just want to say, that there are three ways to serve your country. Voting, jury duty, and turns in the military. While you certainly can, and people certainly HAVE, been maimed and/or killed in all three ways, clearly the last one is the most dangerous, and requires the most bravery. My ability to bitch about the government, say not so nice things about ex President (W) Bush (like I wish he had interviewed right before the elections cause my reaction to him is so visceral I would have quit my job and gone campaigning), march in the streets of Washington for sanity and/or fear, petition my reps in Congress so much that they have a file bearing my name, etc, etc, ad finitem:

This is because of them.

(Because of YOU. If you're current or former military, jury member, voter.) Thank you all. It's GREATLY appreciated.

Sick

I hate being sick. I'm getting over the starts of a sinus infection (hey! It only took me 15 years to figure out the symptoms in advance and deal with them!) AND I finally went to the doctor, ostensibly for the above, but really because I've had headaches, sometime crippling ones, for a MONTH.

Too long.

The benefit is? DROGAS! Antibiotics annnnnd... muscle relaxers! WOOT. Well not really, because I've never been the sort of girl to 1) get excited by painkillers or 2) be very affected by them. No joke - vicodin, xanax - all they do is the thing they're supposed to (kill the pain/calm my adrenaline response). My therapist says I have a very high tolerance for narcotics, which is kind of hilarious, since I've never DONE narcotics.

Meh.

Anyway, these drogas are supposed to make the cramping/tension in my neck and head go AWAY. Also, make me sleep. Two things I can appreciate. The only thing is, no alcohol - so since I was already quitting alcohol tomorrow (no really. Well, ok, no really - but only temporarily. Check in at this space tomorrow for more deets), I have to wait until then to start taking them. Which means one last day of aches.

Which means nothing to say but OUCH.

Be back tomorrow with a fun (not) announcement, and also, hopefully no pain!!

Case of the Mondays? S'no problem!

Watch this.

I'll be back soon, but I just had to share.

People who are OK. People who are gonna piss me off.

Some OK, some great, some make me sad, some suck but make me laugh:
Russ Feingold, Joe Sestak, Joe Sestak's daughter, Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, Tom Perriello, Christine O'Donnell, Lisa Murkowski, Andrew Cuomo, people who voted in DC, Adrian Fenty, people who voted, period, even if they voted for Sharon Angle, my work friend who is driving me at 7am to VA, the ex for being a nice guy, my super supportive friends. Oh, and Barack Obama.

Shitastic and worse:
John Boehner, Mark Kirk, Pat Toomey, my client who had me up until 2am and then again at 5am, Vincent Gray, Mitch McConnell for being omnipresent these days, me for leaving my camera at a bar, that kid I went to HS with who is apparently a birther now, NJ Republicans, Chris Christie, Meg Whitman, Carly Fiorina, Linda McMahon, Sharon Angle, Christine O'Donnell (yes I know both lists, but she cracks me up AND pisses me off), and most especially Sarah Palin AND anyone else out there male or female who thinks that being loud, ignorant, gaffey and intolerant, BUT AT THE SAME TIME having a vagina, makes you a candidate women are gonna wanna vote for.

It does not.

I gotta go to work guys. I have a funny post for tomorrow though. Altho depending on lack of sleep, it might be full o' bitterness and not just amusing snark. S'ok. Bitter is the new black.

You know what's AWESOME?

That even after freaking out about having absolutely no money and then losing my digital camera, watching the Dems lose control of the house, having to take a cab home for five blocks because it was so freezing and I wasn't wearing a coat, not being able to find the $100 that is supposed to be in my apartment to pay the cab, having to pay the $3 fee at the ATM across the street to pay the fare that had doubled while I was searching for the cash, coming upstairs to find out that Toomey had won, tearing apart my apartment to find the money while being so angry about the House, the combined feelings of which resulted in my breaking two of my favorite picture frames, still not finding the money, finding out about Mark Kirk, and then sobbing in bed out of utter frustration.

Oh right, and calling Grad School Ex and freaking out like six times. Attractive.

That this morning, with the blue skies and the crisp air, the memory of John Boehner crying like the orange drunken frat boy he is who just found out that they AREN'T revoking Phi Delta Gamma Kappa Assholika's charter despite the alleged date rape, the sight of my bridesmaid dress for Becca's wedding hanging on my door, and the knowledge that no matter what, life will go on?

And Obama's chances of re-election just got about eleventy million times stronger?

(Thank you Chris Matthews.) I'm happy. Sure, I'm less thrilled with the events of last night that I was with those two years ago. But life goes on. There are more elections in two years. John Boehner will still be the crying spank-me-with-a-wooden-paddle type, either I'll find my camera or have an excuse to buy a pretty new one, and I'm sure there are more ill advised searches/phone calls/choices to be made. It could be a lot worse. I could have lost a limb, Dems could have won the House but only because Al Qaeda decided to attack us last year.

It could be 2002. Or 2004, for that matter.

So chin up lads, walk on, gray skies WILL clear up (in fact - they already have!) and all those other cliches. Make sure to keep on keeping on! And to quote Victor Lazlo - "welcome back to the fight. This time I know our side will win."

VOTE (aka taxation without representation)

DUDES.

Tomorrow is election day. No matter where you live, someone is up for a vote. And because you are Americans (uh... if you're not, then you know. Welcome! Sorry that this doesn't involve you. And if you're Brazilian, good job voting for the first woman president of your country. Sort of. Not sort of she's a woman, sort of, but more than good job, sort of. Cause trusted sources (aka Joey) tell me she sucks a little), and as Americans, this is your fucking job. Sorry. It is. I don't wanna hear some shit about how choosing not to vote is in and of itself an act of voting, because if that's the way you want to play it, then get off your ass, go to the voting booth, and write in yourself for all the jobs because clearly you think you could do them all better than the people running.

I'm not even joking.

It is an IMMENSE privilege of birth to be an American. Imagine if you were born elsewhere (I tried to name a country here but that's insulting whichever way you paint it). But ok, other than the other great countries of the world, imagine you were born in poverty in a developing country. Or imagine you were born a woman in (almost any other country than the US, but specifically) those republics that find your vagina offensive, shameful, and something that means you get to be a second class citizen. Imagine, finally, that you were born in a country that didn't let you have a say every two years (or MORE) in the people who govern you.

And now imagine your parents didn't move you to the US at a young age.

You'd be fucking screwed, dudes. Fucking SCREWED. We are all SO FUCKING LUCKY to live here. You are. And I am. And she is and he is and Barack Obama is and John Boehner is and Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert and the management of my building and my boss and your favorite waitress and the dude who makes your coffee at Starbucks and yes, even those who do not lead incredibly blessed lives like the homeless man on the corner of my street in DC or the poor rural/non gentrified urban family with too many mouths to feed and no health insurance.

At this point, I've probably lost a lot of you. I'm ok with that.

Because no matter what, I'm right about this one thing - we. are. lucky. to. be. here. And this one OTHER thing. As a thank you to the birth gods, or to your immigrant parents/grandparents, or to the Flying Spaghetti Monster or WHOMEVER - you have to vote. No joke. You have to. I know it's not a law, but it should be (sort of. See above re: Brazil). It's your damn right, and a LOT of people died in the 1700s, 1800s, 1900s and 2000s to protect it.

So exercise it, bishes.

And for those of you who like me are sad that we Districtians can't vote for a Senator or even voting Representative (and we have more people than WYOMING for chrissakes, which has TWO of the former and ONE of the latter) - dudes. Go and vote anyway. I'm writing in Fenty. And I'm voting for some local dude who I met outside my building a few weeks ago, because I liked what he had to say, and that he was spending his gorgeous Saturday campaigning, and I was going to have my nails done.

All politics is local. And so are manicures.

Point is - it's your civic fucking duty. Just like being on a jury and paying your taxes. That is ALL that is asked of you to live in the "greatest, strongest country in the world". Quoth Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, nevermore.

USA! USA! USA! Whew. And I'm done.