Monthly Archives: April 2008

I’m only mad that she’s not marrying ME.

Filed under all of my friends are prettier than i am, everyone's married but katie

Saturday night while I was bowling, my best friend Tracey texted me to say, “I’ll be up late if you want to call me when you’re done!” When what she really meant was, “OMG OMG CALL ME NOW YOU STUPID WHORE BECAUSE I’M DYING TO TELL YOU THAT I JUST GOT ENGAGED !!!!!”

So after weeks of badmouthing her boyfriend for spending money on DVDs and flatscreen monitors when he needed to be saving up for a ring, it turned out that he already had the perfect white gold princess cut number and had been saving it for the right moment. That moment was oddly when Tracey was at work in the science museum and no one was around to videotape any of it for best friends and future generations, but we’ll forgive Dan for that based solely on his clever use of a Nintendo DS in his proposal. Because we are nerds.

So please join me in congratulating the smartest, funniest, most generous girl I know and her geekily romantic sweetheart on their engagement.

Why, yes, that is an Applebee’s box that Dan changed to say Applebutts.

And please remind them that all plans should be based on my availability and that I can’t afford to come home for a fifth wedding this year.

Sonya can rent a car like the big girls now.

Filed under all of my friends are prettier than i am, par-tay

The greatest fun in living in a city where the majority of restaurants are tiny, unreplicable, and authentic is choosing to eat at a chain, which is exactly what we did for my friend Sonya’s quarter-century birthday the weekend before last. She’d been craving teppanyaki for weeks but hadn’t wanted to spend the money, and her birthday gave her the perfect opportunity to make her boyfriend Adam pick up the tab at Benihana. And we felt okay about it, you know, because the very first Benihana was in NYC. So shut up.

Kamran stocked up for the evening all baller-like,

and then we met Sonya, Adam, and Adam’s co-workers/couple-friends Dave and Sarah at the restaurant,

Look at Adam’s tongue hanging out!

where Kamran immediately filled me up with some crazy blue liquor so I’d quit talking about how much he hated the green pleated shirt Sonya and I had bought for me to wear especially for the occasion the night before. Sonya told us that in other parts of the country, the chefs–though obviously not Japanese–are forced to adopt Asian-sounding names just for show. Our chef for the evening was very not-Japanese and had the not-Japanese name Romeo, which very well could have been made up, too, but he used it to his advantage and cooked us up this very romantic rice heart:

He slid his spatula under the middle section and pushed it up and down to make the heart look like it was beating, which made all the girls’ hearts flutter. He flipped shrimp into the top of his cap and threatened to flip some at me when he could see how grossed out I was by seafood, but I totally ate the ones that he grilled for us out of guilt. Kamran and I each had a Rocky’s Choice, which was hibachi steak and chicken with soup, salad, vegetables and this garlic butter chicken rice that could have been a meal within itself. Sonya got a bowl of birthday ice cream on the house and offered it up to everyone, but the four of them were all, “Oh, no, we’re waaaay too full for that.” Kamran and I, on the other hand, were like, “Excuse me, waitress, but our meals are supposed to come with ice cream, and we want to be as fat as possible, so please bring it to us double-time.”

We decided to head downtown to get Sonya drunker, and while we waited for the subway, various naughty things involving Kamran’s super-sharp umbrella took place, including but not limited to what Sonya refers to as “the pimp picture”,

and this, which should probably never be mentioned again:

We got to The Back Room at 11, and after taking an unmarked set of stairs down to a tunnel, walking through an alley, and taking another flight of stairs up again, we finally made it inside the place, which is shticky with Victorian speakeasy charm.

The idea is that it’s still the 1920s and Prohibition is in full effect, so drinks are served in teacups and brown paper bags,

and the Asian folks aren’t in internment camps yet, so everyone’s merry (except Adam):

The plan was to get Dave wasted enough that he wouldn’t mind going dancing, because he’s not so into grinding up against strangers for reasons that DON’T MAKE ANY SENSE TO ME. But of course it was Sonya and me who got there first, as evidenced by this

and this


which we took with the bouncer who was guarding the secret bookshelf-disguised door to the back room where owner Tim Robbins and all of his famous friends hang out. This guy in a prep school sweater kept shaking hands with the bouncer and slipping him folded bills in unknown denominations, but the bouncer kept denying him, and we kept making snide comments about him until our teacups were empty.

We got to Ruff Club (no, seriously, that’s what it’s called . . . !!!) at midnight, and it was their second anniversary, so there were loads of people standing in line in fishnets and white shoes. We took our place at the end, and then a kid behind us asked, “Do you guys know what this place is like?” I said, “It’s worth the wait.” Even though I’d never been there before. We stood for maybe ten minutes in the rain, which resulted in this super-homosexual picture of Kamran protecting Adam’s glorious hair:

Sonya and I had been shopping all week so we could compete with this and this and this, but after that ten minutes, the bouncers started separating girls and boys into two different lines so the girls could go in first, and we didn’t want to leave our boyfriends behind, so we ended up going to another unmarked bar. And despite the inclusion of songs by the likes of The Notorious B.I.G. and Sophie B. Hawkins, we danced and danced and danced until the sun came up. Or, you know, until, like, 2 a.m.

More Fun with Boyfriend Obsession

Filed under creepy boyfriend obsession

This is skin
You can wrap all of your arms and legs in
An address that you know
An envelope unfolds

Tokyo Police Club, “Centennial”


Filed under no i really do love ohio

Tonight at 8:40, I leave on a plane for Ohio. My plans are as follows:

Tonight: My second-best friend from high school, Mike, his wife, Jessica, and our friend Jonathan will pick me up at the airport at 11 p.m. and take me to Skully’s for Alternative Ladies 80s, where we will meet my first-best friend, Tracey, and dance so hard. She and I will hopefully make out with all of our ex-boyfriends who happen to be there, not tell our current boyfriends, and spend the rest of our lives bound by our secret.

Friday: Tracey and I will wake up early and go shopping for our stupid pregnant friend Katie’s stupid baby shower, even though we both hate the idea of having children and hate Katie for ensuring that all of our conversations with her from now on will be child-centered. Then we will drink smoothies with Tracey’s mom and slop pigs with my dad, because we are from the country.

Friday night: I will go to a rehearsal dinner for my grandmother’s wedding. That’s right. My grandmother’s wedding.

Saturday: I will attend my grandmother’s wedding. I will remind her that my grandfather hasn’t even been dead two years, because his sister (my great-aunt)–who isn’t invited to the wedding because of a long-standing feud between the two of them (awesome!)–still loves him despite the feud, thinks my grandmother is a hussy for remarrying, and will reward me handsomely in her will to tell my grandmother so. I will also remind her that I spent $300 on a plane ticket for the occasion and that she’d better make it up to me in my Christmas present this year. I will gossip about the family with my sister, say for the thousandth time that it’s a shame I don’t get to see my cousins more, and wear shoes that no one will approve of but that everyone expect from me because I live in New York City now.

Saturday night: I will karaoke my little heart out, if someone gets their shit together and figures out the name of that one Japanese restaurant we used to go to in college. I will sing so much Heart and Pat Benatar that feathered bangs will actually come back into style.

Sunday: I will go to my friend-since-birth Katie’s baby shower with Tracey. I will not be happy about it. Not because I hate children but because we’re too damned young for this sort of thing. Now all parties at their house will involve some kid crawling around on the floor, we’ll all have to keep our drinking in check to ensure we don’t step on it, and Katie’s husband will probably become all responsible and upright and stop posing for lewd pictures with me on their pool table. I’m so pumped to see Katie looking all fat, though. And I will make plenty of snide comments about her weight to prove it. (Kidding! Love you, Katie!)


Monday: Hopefully I will eat pizza with ex-boyfriend Todd at the pizza place that only he and I like out of everyone in the entire state of Ohio. I will try not to mention Kamran too much, and he will try not to touch my vagina (but will fail!). And then he will hopefully drop me off at the airport, because my dad has to drive to Indiana to pick up the new field cultivator he found using this newfangled thing called the Internet that he just signed up for a couple of weeks ago. Whee!

Monday night: I’ll return “home”.