Wednesday, August 31, 2005

And the verdict is...

According to this quiz on this site, I am the following stereotype:

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Prep: You enjoy being around people and your life relies heavily on your popularity.

Hm. Gina? Any comment?


Everything I Need To Know I Learned When I Was An RA in College

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So for two years, I was a resident advisor (read: lucky bastard with free room, free board, and a stipend in New York City) in college. My junior year kind of sucked in terms of my 'assignment.' I was 'positioned' in a freshman dorm--'posted' as the advisor for 43 newbies from California, Missouri, Maine, Russia, and everywhere in between. It didn't suck in the sense that I hated it. It sucked in the sense that I actually had to do a lot of work. Hm. Well, technically speaking, by the associative property I guess I did hate it. Semantics.

Organizing floor events was the worst. I hate publicizing shit and convincing reticent and ambivalent people of what's cool. I'd usually be giving a spiel to them all at a meeting saying one thing all the while thinking 'If I were you right now, I'd so be zoning out and thinking about what kind of omelette I'm going to have the cafeteria lady make me tomorrow morning.' Therefore, rallying 43 kids was pretty much a nightmare for me. But I digress.

One of the most tedious aspects of being a resident advisor was the mandatory attendence at various seminars, conferences, team building exercises, meetings, discussions, awareness forums blah blah blah blah with all the other RAs. It was hands down. the. worst! I loathed them. The worst was having to be on campus a week early to partake in this shit nonstop in order to become acquainted with the entire campus's residential staff. G. O. O. H. Gooh.

My first order of business at these pre-orienatation-let's-all-sit-on-a-couch-and-tell-the-story-of-how-our-friend's-friend-uh-huh-yeah-right-tried-blow-and-had-to-be-taken-to-the-hospital-and-how-totally-bad-doing-drugs-is meetings was to find the other ambivalent and/or cynical RAs that somehow also fooled the interview process to get such an otherwise sweet gig. While others were forming human chains and sharing stories of suicide attempts that had been averted in the past, I'd be chortling on the sidelines with a fellow nonbeliever. Usually. Unless I wanted to be really cruel and pretend to care by fabricating a story to share so that I could LATER chortle with a fellow nonbeliever. Oh, good times.

The best memory I have was bonding with a girl C, who later became one of my best friends on campus, over a shared hatred for all the huggy feely RA sharing events. We came up with an ingenious method of nipping long boring 'awareness' meetings in the bud. Before each meeting we'd recruit other haters and conspire. So at these meetings, there'd usually be a speaker/expert that came in to discuss the issue of the moment (i.e., anorexia, drug use, binge drinking, suicide, etc.). Cutting them off wasn't an option: that we just had to sit through and make bearable only by rolling our eyes and giggling when the expert had the nerve to pronounce it foilage and not foliage. But. At the end of these meetings there would always by a 'Q & A period' (aka, the awkward seemingly neverending silence that would intermettintly be broken by some sobby-eyed RA who had a Lifetime Television for Women story to tell... in detail... for an HOUR. Sometimes I swear I wasn't the only one making up stories for fun. Anywho.). These things could go on for. ev. er. SO. C and I would immediately initiate a round of applause with our recruits about two minutes into the Q & A and begin rustling our possessions while hurriedly getting up from our Inidan style positions on the floor. It was basically a mob rule thing and it worked like a charm. Oh, good times!

Anyway, one thing I remember... learning at one of these... awareness forums was about binge drinking. That's also when I realized that I am, by definition, a binge drinker. Do I drink to intoxication? Uhm. Please. Do I drink five or more drinks at a time? Are you kidding? Well, this tradition is in full force. I went out and got drunk AGAIN. Last night. Ugh. It was supposed to be a friendly afterwork margarita with my three buds CBrooklyn, CBrit, and S. That turned into three jumbo margaritas which led to my friends' going away party at some hoity toity rooftop club for vodka, tequila, and more cigarettes than I can shake a stick at. Yeah. I'm a binge drinker. And I'm not really too bothered by that fact. What I am bothered by is the dearth of money in my wallet as a result.

As I mentioned, my good friends S and L are returning (probably as I type this) to London for work and living. It was really sad to see them go, but it gives me an awesome reason to come and visit not only them but my awesome friend A who also lives and works there. Sweet.

My drunken schedule this week includes happy hour on Thursday and a birthday dinner for just my ex and me on Friday night. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up!!! Eh. Who am I kidding? I can keep this up for as long as there's tequila on this green earth. Cheers.


Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Heavy Lifting: Repeat Offenders

Lindsay doesn't need no stinking bodyguard, lackey, or toady to carry her:

1. Ron Herman shopping bag;
2. Acqua Balenciaga bag;
3. cell phone, and;
4. car keys.

No way. But as we learn from the frame by frame, we realize that she does enjoy the benefit of having two hands. One just ain't enough for all that heavy lifting.

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The following makes me giddy with glee for some stupid reason unbeknownst to even me. The two of them together carrying items that are heavier than they are and drinking respetive coffees that are quite literally the sizes of their respective heads makes me smile. They're like... super strong people ants. Or something.

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[Images via the Holy Pink]


I almost fainted

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How on Earth could I forget to tell you about this siting??? Walking back from my aw. ful. date! on Friday afternoon, I'm trying desperately to turn left while the actor turns right and say see you never when who should be crossing the street with me but Rebecca from America's Next Top Model. Midwestgrrl should appreciate this siting, I hope. This was the contestant whose antics gave us perhaps the best episode EVER [You can view the video! Again! And again. Trust me, you will.]. Aside from the one where Tyra went all bonkers on the girl for not caring that she got booted from the show, Rebecca's was hands down (no pun intended) the best.

Anyway, I was so busy ditching the actor that I couldn't stop Fainty McFaint. She looked so funny though. Dressed as if she were trying to dress like a model might dress if she were in an Abercrombie & Fitch ad. Oh, Rebecca. Best of luck to you. And thanks for reacquainting me with your collapse.


Drone: Back to School Edition

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Yes, but where do I purchase the midgets?

Ugh. Sorry for the no post Monday. I was a little too overwhelmed by (read: hung over from) the weekend and didn't know where to begin (read: couldn't keep my eyes from crossing long enough to post). But I'm back now. So where did we leave off? Oh. My last date on Friday afternoon.

Aw. FUL. Awful. Attrocious. Not to belabor the story, I'll just say that "S" talked a budgillion miles a minute, went on and on and on about how fulfilling acting is (in Dentyne commercials), and looked NOTHING like the pictures that I had seen. Nothing. Leave it to an actor to have the world's mist airbrushed photos from (probably) ten years ago. Aside from the above, S was a real catch. Yeah. So, I decided to pull out all the stops and act (how appropriate) as obnoxious and juvenile as possible. So, sitting outside as we were, I whipped out a smoke and began puffing away. I usually reserve my smoking for later... that is if I'm actually into someone, because a lot of people (shock of all shocks) find smoking annoying. So, smoking away I responded to S's question of, "What are you doing this weekend?"

"Probably hanging out with my friends and getting wasted. Yeah."

Worked like a charm though, oddly enough, that's exactly what I did this weekend. Anyway, twenty minutes into the date, I said that I had to walk to the gym (which I did have to). And that was that. Ugh. No more actors. Well, except for that one I'm having a drink with next Thursday.

So after my "date," I went to the gym and then met Cool Brooklyn for Mexican food and margaritas in the West Village. After that, it was a full night of subway riding from one drinking venue to the next. Friends apartment on the Lower East Side, a rooftop BBQ in Brooklyn, back to the City for drinks on the Lower East Side. Yadda. Had an awesome 'isn't it a small world' moment when I saw Gina and her friend E walking on the street from the third floor apartment of my friend S. I called out G's name and reveled in how cool it is to have those path crossing moments. This is me drinking on the sill of the window from which I saw and yelled at, 'Gina!!!!!'

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Random and kind of an I heart NY moment.

Saturday consisted of the gym and prepping for another night of drinking. CB's and my friend D had a birthday on Saturday night, so it was drinking all night until the wee hours. Gramercy Park, Lower East Side, then home by 2. I had an awesome girlie drink at D's party called a Cosmopolotini. My drink of choice is usually tequila straight up, Corona, or wine. But I have to say that those drinks go down mighty smooth.

I couldn't sleep at all Saturday night, so I met up with Gina for a coffee at her former home and cleaning station. After that, we both took the subway to different locales. She to the BK and I to the Lower East Side. I met up with Cool Brit for coffee. Then friend S joined up at a pretty cool, if pretentious and hipster haven-ish, coffee bar where the skinny Asian male bartender with a mohawk must've been in a bitchy mood because he rolled his eyes every time we ordered anything and slammed our mugs down every time we asked for a refill. I heart NY.

So S, CB, and I went to brunch where we met up with Cool Brooklyn. A foursome made in heaven. Half way through brunch, I got a call from my favorite Hotlantan (oooo, aaaa, FAB's a .com-er, everbody). We discussed the importance of relationships and how it would be ideal to have multiple partners that fulfill individual and dedicated needs (i.e., sex, intellectual stimulation, money, etc.). It really is too much of a burden for one parner to bear. So, let's say, there actually could be an ideal relationship out there: one HOT relationship comprised of multiple people. Mmmm, polygamy.

After brunch, Cool Brooklyn met up with his friend J (a cool hairstylist girl) and had a drink. Cool Brit, S, and I went to S's apartment for a vieiwing of Igby Goes Down. After that, and after specifially SWEARING that I wouldn't drink anymore, I joined Cool Brooklyn and J with the gang for multiple drinks and jokes. Ugh. 'Here we go again,' I said. I couldn't have been more right.

Fast forward an hour and Cool Brooklyn, S, CB's roommate and I were slamming maragritas, tequila shots, and vodka and sodas at 10PM on Sunday night. Work? Eh. Who needs a job? Fast forward another hour and it was down to CB and Drone. We went to a huge bar for drinks until 3:30, where we reveled in ridiculing the patrons and being loud and obnoxious. After the obligatory 'get sober' slize of pizza was consumed, the conclusion of the night was made even better by partaking in taxi cab drag racing. CB and I got into different cabs on opposing corners, both going north, at the same time. With cell phones in hand, we narrated where we were if we lost visual track of each other. My cab made it to 57th Street and 7th before CB's cab turned off of 7th Avenue. In other words, I won. Sweet.

Here's to a full weekend of booze and sleep deprivation. Luckily, work's been slow BUT. My evening classes (re: professional degree I'm pursuing at night) began last night. I'd almost forgotten what it was like since I had a mini break between the summer and fall sessions (three weeks, I think). My class last night was full of 18-year-old full time students that have been in New York for all about a week. It was so weird. This really nice girl pulled the whole, 'Hi! How are you? Where are you from? What's your major?' thing on me. When she found out that I was in my mid-20's and a working professional, she seemed so sad that she had invested all that conversation in someone that couldn't be her bud/f*** buddy down the hall in the dorm. Here's to being old and a non-traditional student. On the bright side, I guess I look young enough to pull off being 18? Hm. Cheers.


Friday, August 26, 2005

Cumming and going

According to my awesome friend, S, you must all watch this video. I guess it's SFW, if not a little weird. It features Alan Cumming for his new... fragrance. What a weirdo, funny though he is.

So last night began the weekend of drinking. Met up with Cool Brooklyn and CB's roommate for some eating and drinking. Exciting news is that CB and I have decided to launch our own business venture together over the next sixteen months. It will be something that we can maintain on the side while we work our primary, high-paying (hah) jobs. Three cheers for entrepreneurial ventures! More details to follow as the plan segues more from "Idea Over Beer Land" into "Cashing the Checks Land."

I half half-day Fridays for one more week, so I'm out of work pretty soon today. Then I have (another) first date with (another) actor. My expectations are pretty damn low and yet somehow I'm sure that I'll be disappointed. After that, the gym. And then after that, booze party booze (necessarily in that order) each night. Hopefully, I'll have some good stories for you all on Monday. Until then, happy weekend!


This is me: Stripped

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Well, not exactly. But it is a picture of me in one of my favorite t-shirts. It's from that party this past weekend where I got bombed and made out with my friend L from Brooklyn in front of everyone. Embarrassing, thy name is Drone.

Anyway, I'm a little... pressed for things to do, shall we say, at work today. All of my bosses are on vacation. And I just celebrated a-NOTH-er department birthday with cupcakes. That's four in under a month. Come on, people. Enough! There are only so many icebreaking questions I can ask you all in an awkward circle before I plain run out. Love you all though I sincerely do, cool it with the birthdays!!


I Heart Daria

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OK, so it's no secret amongst my friends that I love models. Not all of them, mind you. But definitely a sizeable many. Female models tend to get the best of my attention, but male models aren't above being appreciated too. I mention this because I just realized that I never mentioned the time I encountered my favorite model in the whole world: Daria Werbowy. Behold:

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Yeah, she's amazing. And if you don't think so, you're crazy. So, one drunken night I was out with all of my favorite people in the City. There were probably seven of us in total. We, including the Drone, were blitzed. Seriously drunk... when we poured ourselves in the banquettes of one of those so-called edgy Lower East Side bars. Immediately upon sitting down, I realized that I needed to use the facilities. So did friends Cool Brooklyn (CB) and S. So the three of us made a bee line for the unisex bathroom where there was, of course, a line. Waiting in line, making the ol' drunken chit chat where everything you say or hear is the FUNN-iest shit in the world, I did a double take in the direction of the bar. Some guy was sitting at the bar with a girl who looked remarkably like... is that?... I think it's... Daria? She looked a lot more like this:

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As I'm wont to do when it comes to celebrities, I rolled right up to Ms. Daria and politely inquired (read: tried to mask my drunk-as-a-skunk demeanor) , 'Is your name Daria?'

'Yeah.' [insert smile here]

Fast forward five minutes, and I was still chatting up Daria and her older looking guy pal. I was pretty drunk so, per usual, I was pretty good at being charming and friendly. I can't exactly remember all that I said, but there was DEF-intitely a lot of complimenting going on. Which she seemed to genuinely appreciate. I garnered that she was from Canada and that she thougt I was 'cute.' Heh. Whatever. I was so excited to meet her that I asked her date or whatever to take my picture with her on my cell phone camera (Note: Of course the picture didn't come out because my stupid ass camera phone doesn't have a flash and it was a dark bar! Bitchass motherf***er.). Anyway, I said adios and found CB and S with there mouths wide open wanting to know every detail.

So CB and S dragged me into the unisex bathroom, locked the door behind me, and forced me to tell all. The funny part is that S left the bathroom first, leaving CB and me in there to finish up. Unfortunately, CB's significant other was in line for the bathroom. Upon seeing CB and me in there together, the significant other assumed that we were in there gettin' down with the get down. WRONG! But in retrospect, I can see how it could be construed as looking suspicious and weird. Very The OC, if you will.

So significant other promptly scolded CB and ran out of the bar, pissed. And totally killed my Daria buzz. Yeah, 'cause it's all about me. Duh. So that's my Daria story. I love her infinitely. Hot, cool, and seriously as nice as she could have been. Some people have all the luck.

Incidentally, I found this cool picture of Daria partying in NY on this random site where someone has pictures featuring models galore. Look closely and you'll see Josh Hartnett in one of them [yack]:

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And just in case you'd thought I'd left out male models, here's some male eye candy for you all:

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I know that I, for one, love sipping champagne whilst wearing a banana hammock, don't you?? Maybe THAT'S what I'll do this weekend! Who's with me? [Burp.]


Thursday, August 25, 2005

Heavy Lifting: A Continuing Series

"Uh. This Balenciaga and Venti are soooo heavy."

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[click the photo for a better view]

I wonder if that other girl is actually with M-K or if it's one of M-K's obssessive stalkers. I mean, the matching bucket hat, red fingernails, sunglasses, and grey sweater are kind of overkill. If you look really closely, you can see that M-K's... larger friend has tried to jazz up her look with a small broach on her right shoulder. Uhm. Just be happy your M-K's friend. And help her with that bag--her arm might fall off.


Drone: My Life on the Grump List

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Hello, All. You know. I realized something about myself recently. Well, I've probably always known, but I just recently decided to come out with it: a lot of shit bugs the hell out of me. That's why I relate somewhat to this post. Things tend to nag me or really get on my nerves... especially so when I'm in a so-called bad mood. For example.

There's this neighborhood security guy that paces up and down my block (swaddled in one of those Rent-A-Cop uniforms, complete with a hat that has some sort of emblem on it). I think he's employed by one of the fancier doorman buildings on my block, but I can't really say for sure. He just always seems to be there. A presence, walking (limping, I should say--he's sort of old and definitely has a gimp leg), so limping, up and down my block.

I can't really bring myself to aknowledge him (note: I've lived in the same apartment for almost two and a half years), because he kind of annoys me. Why? Well, he and his companion (this old man who's clearly in his early HUNDREDS and sports a homeless chic look) enjoy perching themselves on this ledge right outside my first floor apartment window to chain smoke and shoot the breeze... really loudly. Now, it's been hot outside lately so I like to crack my window to get some airflow. Instead, after dragging myself home from work, I'm welcomed by the white noise of freak talk and Marlboro Reds. It's not so much the cigarette smoke that bothers me, because I smoke. But hey, I'm man enough to admit that I like to smell cig's on my own terms. Also, neither of them live in my building and they chat there... for hours! So that bothers me. And for their offenses, I have written them both off for life. I tend to that. Screw me, and... YOU'RE FIRED. Forever. Not a very forgiving quality, but hey. What can I say?

What else? Well, this morning for instance. Getting on the subway, I proceeded to take a seat. The girl seated next to me continually whacked me with her book and elbow as she attempted to read in the crowded car. Despite my fidgeting and motioning to her that she's out of order, she continued to do it. Written off. For life. Book-reading girl.

Then, strolling into my office building lobby, I walked onto an empty elevator. I pressed my floor button. Light was illuminated, but there was no action. Hm. PRESS PRESS PRESS. No closing doors. Grrr. PRESS PRESS PRESS. No closing. About three minutes later, starting to close. [Exhale] Oh, good. Finally. [Cut to Fat Man tossing his girth in the way of the closing doors] So I sat there for five minutes with the doors open and then this yokle has to make the doors re-open. Fat Man. GONE. You're fired!

So that's it in a nutshell. I wish I were more like Kathy Griffin, who seems to be able to tell people exactly how she feels. Unlike Drone. Who harbors resentment and silently writes people off for life.


Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Heavy Lifting: Part Tres

Mary-Kate likes her Blackberry, too (in case you can't tell, she's guarding her eyes with it). Guess this doesn't qualify as heavy lifting exactly, but hey I love me some M-K.

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"Dude!! Back up off my Venti!!" [click on the image for a better view]

Man, I miss Fall. And M-K being in NY. Here's to the return of both.


God, I hate it when I'm [almost] right

'Member this tidbit? Well, according to August 22nd's DNR Justin Timberlake and his business partner Trace Ayala called the line William Rast because:

"William" is the first name of Timberlake's grandfather and "Rast" is the last name of Ayala's...

Cool beans, y'all. Let's all start our own fashion line... Say it with me, now: BARF!


The Pussycat Dolls: Exposed

Ok, so I've heard that song "Don't Cha" by the much-touted Pussycat Dolls lately. I've also seen the video for the single and the extremely embarrassing Teen Choice Awards live performance of the song. Each time I see the group, I have this nagging feeling that I recognize the lead singer (a Ms. Nicole Scherzinger):

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Upon closer inspection, I had it! Does anyone remember a little failed experiment known as Popstars that yielded the awful group Eden's Crush? Well, I do. And so does's archives. Maybe I'm not the first to call this one, but I'm definitely taking credit for being among the first to call Nicole's attempt at a sneaky performing rebirth out on these here Internets. Sweet.


Heavy Lifting: The Saga

Mary-Kate decides to do some heavy lifting of her own:

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[Image via Pink]


Heavy Lifting

It's a wonder she's so friggin' spindly. I see a Blackberry, bottled water (the actual bottle in her left hand, the cap in her right), car keys, a pink string on her left forearm (PS: What the F?), and are those two purses? Damn. Hope you don't have to take off your sunglesses, L. Oh, wait. I guess that tool next to you (whose arm is gratuitously included in the frame) could take them off for you...

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Seriously, though. Don't the Hollywood IT set have enough money to buy bigger bags or something? Gooh. [Image via A Socialite's Life via Lime Light]


As we've established...

I'm 24 going on 12 years old. Having said that, why does the name of this product continually make me laugh so hard? And, when I think about it too much, make me wanna puke? Yeah.


"Badass" + "Superrich" = Douche

Oh, how I love my friend, A. A recently abondoned me and moved to London, but I miss her on a daily basis. Here's just one reason why she is impeccable. In response to this "look book" entry, A had the following review:

Yeah this guy's a real douche... I feel like he was made in a factory. I hope he loses all his money and is forced to support his Swedish no doubt trophy wife by taking a job at gray's papaya, where gina and you should taunt him at 3 am while you're drunk with requests for 1000s of hot dogs.Umm. Yeah!

Couldn't have said it better myself, A. I heart you.


Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Alert: Time Wasting GOLD

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So after reading today's BLACK LIST on Black Table, I realized the following:

PHOTOS OF PUPPIES ON FLICKR: My mom is afraid of dogs. I never had one growing up. Now that I'm in my twenties, I lack the work ethic to actually own a dog of my own. I want a puppy, but without the trouble of feeding it, training it, taking it to the vet, cleaning up after it, etc. The solution? Photo sharing website Flickr. The site allows users to tag their images; a simple search allows me to look at hundreds of photos of cute puppies without having to take care of them. I can even save my favorite doggies, creating my own Internet pet collection of labs, spaniels and hounds. The only drawback? They're so cute, I'm thinking of getting myself a little beagle. B+ —

Su. WEET!!


If Monday sucks, then Tuesday blows

Not really. It just has no identity. You can't hate it like Monday. It's not 'hump day.' It's not the day before Friday, and it sure as hell ain't Friday. Oh well.

Last night I experienced a mondo exciting course of events. I walked from work to my ex's apartment to drop off a cheesy birthday card (I can't afford the $.37 stamp, people). I couldn't go to the gym because I literally, at that point, had not ONE pair of clean underwear, gym shorts, or socks. I had been going commando for days and rotating equally dirty socks. So after the drop off with my ex's doorman, I went home. Then the real fun began.

I proceeded to do my laundry and watch reruns of Sex and the City. Went to bed at 11. So much fun. At least now I have clean clothing.

So this morning, I found more reason to hate the Subway... when I thought that I might actually find reason to like it. I had one of those seemingly magical moments when you time your arrival at your station of departure perfectly with the arrival of your train. I hopped right on the train and actually got a seat. All seemed to be going well... until the train came within literally steps of my first stop (where I then transfer to yet another train--hurray!). The train stopped in the dark tunnel for not 5, not 10, but 15 minutes. After minutes, the train conducter 'explained' that we had 'a red signal above' and instructed that passengers 'please be patient.' First of all, that's not an explanation, Mr. Conductor. That may be the CASE (that there's a red light ahead), but the WHY: that's the explanation part. WHY is there a red light, for Christ's sake? Oh well. We all know that I hate the Subway. Big whoop.

Today's been pretty uneventful. However, I did received the following E-mail from my ex:

Hey sweetness,
I got your card this morning when I left my building and it put a smile on my face. :-)

Big kiss,
[Ex that Drone really really really wants to get back together with, but it looks pretty hopeless]

I'm not ashamed to say that I seriously love my ex and have never loved anyone like I love my ex. I didn't really realize that fact until a while after we broke up (i.e., until I went on a TON of bad dates and failed quasi-relationships thereby realizing that there simply isn't anything better for me than my ex). Nonetheless, I will diligently continue to hold out hope that maybe there is someone better for me. I'm an optimist. Sort of. Anyway. In the meantime, maybe I can collect on that "big kiss" I'm being promised. Sweet.


Monday, August 22, 2005

I [Really Do] Hate ["Alpha Male"] CMM

I'm linking to this for no other reason than I hope potentially more people will read something derogatory about this goofball.


I [Really Do] Heart M-K

I had almost completely forgotten that last night I had a really involved dream featuring Mary-Kate Olsen. I'll give you the appreviated not-so-on-Ecstasy version of the events that went through my mind during R.E.M. Basically, I was following M-K like she were the Rabbit and I were Alice from Alice in Wonderland. Somebody was holding her hand, but I could never tell who it was. Anyway, M-K kept looking back at me as if to say, 'Follow me. Come with me, Drone.' So I continued to follow her and her unknown companion.

Through tunnels and down stairwells we went. I got the clear impression that we were heading down. Way down. Like into the core of the Earth. Eventually, we ended up in what seemed to be a Lower East Side hipster apartment (complete with lots of fitted lumberjack shirt and fitted bootcut jean ensembles) in which there was a party. I smoked a cigarette with her and then made out with her. Seriously a weird dream. But I love Pink for reminding me about her. She is SO funny. Please don't ever stop being ridiculous, M-K. The minute you start wearing Rochas gowns, quit smoking, and go Vegan: that's when I die.



What follows is yet another tidbit that is so unrelentingly funny, that I cannot even watch it through to its natural conclusion without dying from attempting to hold in my laughter. Hence, I have not actually been able to view the entire video. It is completely SFW, BUT: only if you can laugh out loud. You've been warned. [via PlanetDan]


JT to 'design'

No no no no NO! According to today's Women's Wear Daily, Justin Timberlake is designing his own line called William Rast. If you're reading this and you happen to live in Southern California and maybe come across JT, will you please vomit on his nylon zip-up for me? I can't wait to find out the origin of his line's name. Wouldn't it be, like, so cool if William were Cameron Diaz's dad's name and Rast were, like, his highschool best friend's name?! Barf.


Riding in Cars With Booze

Let's look right past the fact that it took me an HOUR to get to work this morning. An HOUR to travel what is probably 4 miles. Again, I hate the subway. Hate. IT.

Moving on, this weekend ruled. A re-cap:

*Thursday night, G and I got wasted at my ex's birthday party and proceeded to get further wasted in Brooklyn with friends from my old job. I took awesome pictures, one of which is featured on G's blog today. I refer to it as my portfolio builder for fashion photography at VOGUE. Check it out:

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I took this one in the cab from ex's party on the way to Brooklyn. After the cabby scolded my drunk ass for smoking in the cab, I had to find something to do with my hands. So I had a go at being Mario Testino with my muse, G. Pretty rockin' if you ask me.

*Friday night was Gina's rooftop party. Got to see my awesome friend, FAB. Got wasted on tequila (shocker) and went home rather early.

*Saturday I spent most of the day hanging with G and convinced her to go out with me and my Brooklyn crew. Shortly after the convincing was done, G and I were throwing back white wine and shots of tequila. I think I did eight in all (shots, that is). Yeah. So I was Drunky McDrunk. We went to a pretty annoying bar (read: complete with velevt rope, tedious bouncer, and designer label clad hussies of various shapes and sizes); however, the booze was flowing and the people I was with were awesome. I ended up making out with one of my Brooklyn friends (whoops) and acting like a complete ass. Fun was had by all. Afterwards, G and I got pizza. THEN. We decided to go to the diner that we frequented in college for more food. So we did. I had a stack of pancakes whilst G had a BLT. Pizza really was just the appetizer. So much fun.

*Sunday was made for the New York Times. And hanging out with G. We met up again and pretty much lounged off our hangovers. Bored out of our minds, G and I created this phony profile to see just how desparate horny guys can be. I understand that our okra-loving giraffe has already received three responses. Wow. Sunday night was full of TV for me: the finale of Six Feet Under, Entourage, and The Comeback. Sweet.

Here's to booze filled weekends. Cheers.


Friday, August 19, 2005

Spin Cycle: ANTM

Well, folks. It's that time of the season again. Time for Tyra to generate a new harem of future Style Network hosts and game show 'rack girls.' I mean models. Ahem. That means it's also time for Drone to give his expert opinion on the collection of oddly-named wannabe future waitresses. Without further ado:

Ms. Ashley. Oh Sneaky McSneak. You already have a show on UPN. I know Veronica Mars sucks ass, but why chance it all on Tyra's pet project? Plus, you're 5'8". Next!

Bre. Brenda? Bre...anna? No? Just Bre? Gooh. Well, let me be brief. Are you from Harlem? And, oh my gosh. Is ANTM your favorite show?? Wow. That is so. awesome. This could totally be your chance to buy a house for your family and prove to everyone that you can change the circumstances of your life and cry on camera and tell everyone what a hard life it's been and how this would change EVERY-thing for you. Nice going, Tyra. Next!

Cassandra? Are you blessed with the same ability of foresight as your namesake? If so, why the hell did you wear your bedazzled TEXAS tank top for your photo? Didn't you realize that it would make you look like a Miss Teen pageant girl? Oh, wait. YOU ARE! Apparently, you read both Cosmo and Poplular Science. Holy gosh, y'all. That makes you, like, so well rounded. You're smart and fashion minded. Awesome. If you're really smart, I'd suggest you hurry up and fill out the application for next year's Miss Teen Texas. Buh bye.

Corn? I mean Coryn. What is it with these names?! Every. YEAR! OK, Coryn. Somebody out there thought you looked almost like a hot woman that already has a career. However, you must actually be a woman to win this competition. I'll just call you my delightful little Victor Victoria until you get canned. 'Nuff said.

Diane? Wow. That chick from Girls Behaving Badly really cleans up nice. Later, Kira.

Ebony? Hm. You're 5'10" and 18 years old. You seem to have a pretty face and good skin. That's what I thought before I saw your pose featuring your jugs. Them guns are lookin' to tear up that Chanel wannabe jacket. I'll see you on the cover of Maxim or Stuff or both in, six months. Say hi to Tara Reid for me.

Jayla? Do I really need to say anything about the name? Good. Thanks for saving me that agony. You're so cute... but you're not fooling me, actress Elizabeth Moss. You, much like some of your other competitors, already have a good job. Plus, you're only 5'8". Peace out. And chicken romaine?

Kim? Are you sure you're not my childhood best friend, Scott. Seriously. Did they freeze you in a cryogenic unit and bring you back to go Slip 'N Sliding with me on that concrete driveway again? Seriously, though. No... No... Just. No. Pack up your Lipsmackers. It's time to go, Scott. I mean Scott. I mean KIM.

Kyle? Oh cool. A girl with a guy's name. How deconstructive, crazy, and original of your parents! Well, you are 5'10". That's promising. However, we at Drone Command Center cannot at the present time discern if you are potentially hot or just one of those bitchy butter faces that dresses up real nice. Hard to tell. So for now, you get a resounding 'maybe.' Plus, you work at the DQ which gets major points. Next!

Lisa? Angelina Jolie wants her pose back. And her lip. I say lip singular because you clearly forgot to steal her upper lip. Gotta take both, Lisa. Gotta take BOTH. If that guffaw weren't bad enough, you're 24 (read: OLD!) and 5'8" (read: SHORT!). Good luck running from Angelina. She knows where you live.

Nicole? 'Oh my gosh. Look how pale and meak I am, you guys... I'm a dancer. How cute am I? My favorite show is totally Gilmore Girls. My idol is totally Rory Gilmore.' Sorry, Nicole? Only Alexis Bledel can pull off the cutsie act. We love her for it because she has the monopoloy. Next!

Nik? Oh, Nik. What's in a name? No, seriously. What the hell is your name about?! Oy. The first word that comes to mind is... pelican. My advice? Keep 'coordinating offices.' If all else fails, I hear that HBO is hiring. Kaw! (That means, 'Next!' in pelican. Duh.)

And, finally, Sarah. According to the site, "Meet Sarah, who still can't get over the fact that she's in the finals of ANTM5 [me either]. And yes, her lips are real." Really? They are? Awesome. And so is your receding hairline.

So, my friends. It appears as if we are all out of stellar options. It's a completely *shocking* group. Who would have guessed that there would be girls with weird names, charity cases, sob stories, and girls that look like men? Not I, for one. Tyra has done it once again. Given me more material than I could ever hope to have. G and I will be watching and critiquing along the way. Unfortunately, I really only see Kyle as a front runner right now. But, like I said, it's hard to tell based on one lonely photo. Only time will tell who will be... America's Next Top Game Show Host.


Party on, Wayne

Oh, man. Last night was so. fun. G and I showed up to my ex's surprise party right on time and immediately made a bee line for the mojitos. It was a fully catered shindig that my ex's four sisters through together, complete with coktails, beer, wine, and finger foods. As we approached the bar, G and I noticed a poster-size image of my ex as a little kid. SO. NOT. FAIR. If there's one thing besides dogs* that gets me to act like an idiot it's baby pictures of people you know and love. So already I was feelin' that lovin' feelin'. When we looked on the bar, G and I began to inspect what looked like confetti. It turned out to be confetti-sized (that of a quarter) baby pictures (and just cute pictures in general) of my ex. Again. Wrong. Just WRONG. Didn't they know that I was trying to AVOID being attracted to my ex? Oh well.

One mojito and about five white wines later, and Drone was feelin' fine. G and I talked up everybody in the joint. I pretty much introduced G to all the ghosts of my past. All my ex's associates and friends and whatnot were there, and they all commented on how good I looked (read: why aren't you and your ex together???). It was a nice little ego boost. Those comments combined with my drunkitude made the night so much better. I must admit, though, G made it rockin' party. If I hadn't known better I would've guessed it was the G and Drone Get Housed Party. G did her job and was there with me every step of the way. She took pictures of me with my ex (c. one million shots), and I calmy gave a farewell at the end of the night. I did not bag my ex, and I have G to thank for that. Sweet.

After that, G and I booked a cab into Brooklyn where there was a dinner in honor of my British friend who's going to Peru for vacation and then to London for good. Basically, it was another opportunity for me to get liquored up and smoke massive amounts of cigarettes. Which I did. I got some awesome pictures with my awesome digital camera. I'm going to try to add some here, but I'm not promising anything (only because I tend to be mildly retarded when it comes to resizing pictures and getting them on the ol' blog).

Anyway, the night was a huge success in my humble opinion. I looked good in front of my ex and didn't end up hooking up with a bartender or dancing on any tables. Nice. Tonight is a whoooole other story, though. It's Friday night, and I'm planning on doing some drinking in honor of my ephemeral youth (oh yeah, and in honor of my awesome friend FAB).

*My ex (C) got a baby pit bull for the old birthday last night. No. F***ING. FAIR! That's MY wish. Anyway. It hasn't been picked out, so C asked me if we can pick it out together... 'Sure thing. And after that, we'll go back to your place and bang.' Just kidding.


Thursday, August 18, 2005

Boozehounds, start your engines

It's 4:10 on Thursday, and I just had the usual 'Surprise! It's your birthday so let's all awkwardly convene in the nearest workspace to eat cupcakes and drink Diet Pepsi!!' It's not my birthday, of course. It's a co-workers birthday. And this wasn't the usual gathering with the usual vittles. Oh no. Try Veuve Cliquot and chocolate-covered strawberries. Suweeet. I passed on the fruit and went straight for the booze (huge shocker). Consequently, I'm buzzed. And so begins the weekend of drunken debauchery. I will proceed to work out at the gym, meet up with G to get drunk at my ex's soiree, and then get even more drunk at my friend's good-bye soiree. Then, of course, there's G's pee party (please see G's blog for clarification) tomorrow night. Tequila!

Finally, G reminded me that:

dude, new antm contestants are profiled on i think it's timefor your expert opinion on each one. (i'm a little baffled by jayla'sfavorite food selection. perhaps she meant chicken lo-mein?)

I have already taken a preliminary gander at the competitors. Let me initially say that I have a lot to say. This batch of winners is far too daunting for me to review in my current buzzed state. But. Rest assured that you can expect a full review and handicapping by yours truly before the end of business tomorrow. Until then, have fun making fun on your own. Trust me, it's fun. And if all else fails, you can always make yourself Jayla's favorite food: Chicken Romaine.


Everyday Etiquette, Every Day

Happy Thursday. In case you're wondering, I'm drinking my new most favorite drink: Starbuck's double tall sugarfree vanilla skim latte. Sounds gayer than gay and finickier than finicky, but damn it's good. Anything with two shots of espresso makes Drone's day better. Instantly. I am also eating this for breakfast. Mm. Fake food.

Now that the important business is on the table, let's move on shall we? The subway ride this morning was, gulp, actually pretty easy. No one pushed me, I didn't shout (too many) profanities, and my trains (oh yeah, that's two trains a day) came in a relatively timely fashion. The only minor freakout I had was when the echoey PA announcement, that no discerning human being can decipher, seemed to go on forEVER at my initial stop while I was waiting for the train. It was infringing on my iPod listenings and, plus, who the hell can understand that shit. So running through my head were a series of SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UPs. But other than that it was swell!

Last night was pretty swell too. I had my first rather late night at new job. I had to forego the gym and decided rather to meet up with awesome Her Lady Hobo of Starbucksia. Turns out, the water in G's building has been turned off until further notice. Again, the glory that is living in New york City. So, G's camping out in the local Starbucks with her toothbrush, toothpaste, and presumably face wash. I picked up my triple meat Subway sandwich and joined G for an exciting meal and coversation that consisted of talk about how one should never meet an Internet date without seeing a picture first and how we are going to get drunk tonight. I left G at her new home reluctantly, but I knew in my heart of hearts that the kind baristas would take care of her.

As I was coming in to work today, I realized that I forgot my cell phone. So I'm basically naked. I don't wear a watch, so I neither know what time it is nor do I have the capability of coordinating tonight's plans on the fly. I'll have to rely on my friends' mental wherewithal to get it together beforehand. Grrrreat. Kidding, friends. KIDDING. But seriously, get your shit together.

Riding the subway to work, I also saw a disturbing advertisement posted by the Movies on Demand people or whatever. It read: 'Movies on demand everyday.' [Cringe.] Peop... I mean. Look at the... It's a. OK. Calm. Everyday vs. every day. An adjective vs. two separate words (which are, for the record, an adjective and a noun, respectively). Now, I know that the Movies on Demand people aren't the only ones (re: Toyota: Everyday) with this issue (see#4 and 33). But, damn it. Let's get it right, people. I am an everyday masturbator. OR: I masturbate every day. There you have it.

Moving on, I have noticed something interesting at work. When everbody loads into the elevators, men let every single woman on the planet load on first and THEN let every woman on the elevator off first. I guess it's some weird form of chivalry, but. These are the same guys that a block away probably steamrolled a little old lady to get their coffee at the corner coffee cart. Is it the whole 'I work with these people so I want to keep of the facade of being gentlemanly' thing? I'm guessing that's it. Just wierd is all I'm saying.

Now, I'm basically just doing work until tonight's extravaganza. G and I are going to my ex's surprise birthday cocktail receiption. My ex's sister invited me, so it should be interesting. As you may or may not know, I still harbor lustful feelings for my ex. So G's job is to make sure that when I get drunk (and I will be getting blitzed) I do not attempt to seduce my ex or embarrass myself in any way... major. After that, we're going to a bon voyage dinner for a friend of mine who's going home to England. Mm, booze.


Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Breaded Bread

I have mentioned it before, but it bears repeating. I LOVE Kathy Griffin and her new reality show. The best moment from a recent episode was when Kathy expounded on her eating habits. I wish I could find a transcription of her comments, but here's the gyst.

She talked about how she hates fruits and vegetables, kinda likes meats, but prefers sugary things, doughey things, and fried things. Cupcakey/cakey things, things with glazes. Dipping sauces. Things with dipping sauces. Things with glazes. Things with many layers and sugary substances underneath. Things that rise. Doughnuts. Breaded things. Breaded bread.

If you haven't seen this show, I compel you. Watch what happens.


Hi, Hello, How's it going, Morning!

So here I am drinking my double tall sugarfree vanilla nonfat latte from the big S known by some as Satan and by others as simply Starbucks. Just thinking away at my desk, and here are some thoughts. Stream of consciousness and all:

*Is it weird that I hate finding new and interesting ways of greeting certain people in a perfunctory manner? Lobby security men, company receptionists, Upper West Side building doormen, the lady that checks me out at the grocery store? If you don't say hello (or anything for that matter), it's interpreted as a slight. If you do, what do you say? These are the things that go through my head. As I ride the elevator up to my company's floor I wonder, 'What will I say to Tina the receptionist today?' Maybe I'll just keep my iPod mini headphones firmly in there respective ear canals and speed by? Ugh. Can't do that. Sweet! This morning the receptionist was occupied with a visitor, so I didn't have to worry about it. But what about lunchtime when I have to leave AND come back. That's TWO salutations I have to come up with. Ahhh.

*I. NEED. A. GOOD. DATE. (Read: I need to make out with somebody [that I find] hot.) As I prepare myself to go to my ex's surprise birthday party tomorrow night (note: I am bringing her G-ness with me to prevent me from getting soused and trying to seduce my ex), I am reminded that I have not had a satisfying makeout-fest or bed romp since my ex. We broke up in February, people (ok, so our actual last romp was in April--what can I say, break up sex rules). That's not to say that I haven't had a makeout-fest or a bed romp, but I clearly indicated the need for SATisfying activity. Yeah. So anyway, I've been whoring myself out to any friends that might have friends who want to hook up, I mean date, the Drone. I've probably been on ten dates in the past month and ALL of them have been "eh"s. Not horrible. Not great. But definitely boring if not stalkers.

*Pee S: Heh. It would appear that everyone's having problems with pee today. This might border of TMI, but I laughed at myself so--damn it--why shouldn't you? Sitting on the pot this morning (at work), doing the usual criticisms of why certain people are heinous (in my mind), I heard an unusual noise. Lost in my own thoughts, it took me a second to catch myself and realize that my Diesel jeans (around my ankles) were getting a golden shower from yours truly. After a few muffled 'F***s' and swipes at my jeans with TP, I realized the situation wasn't SO bad. Just a spot really. Then I promptly went back to anhialating heinous people (e.g., Paris Hilton, that guy at the gym who thinks he's really awesome, etc.) in my mind. If this were PeeWee's Playhouse, today's word would be... PEE (ahhhhhhhhh!!!!!).

*Her G-ness and I watched the Teen Choice Awards last night at G's place. Mainly we watched said programming because G doesn't have cable, and we are forced to watch the likes of PAX and FOX. Gooh. After our respective workouts, G and I ate our takeout food on her futon and made fun of teenaged celebrities (a time honored tradtion). A few notes from the night:

1) Hilary Duff's teeth. What. the. F***? How come I haven't heard more about good ol' Choppers Duff?? Why has she not been subject to more ridicule? She clearly had Mr. Ed's teeth superimposed over her old teeth. Why are we all letting her get away this? Maybe I missed the witch trial, but I don't care. Get your pitchforks, people. Pitch. FORKS! Exhibit A (pre-Mr. Ed). Exhibit B (post-op). Postscript: G told me some story about how HD's real teeth are brittle by nature and how she bashed out her two front teeth with a microphone during one her performances, thereby having to get porcelain caps. After laughing hysterically, I shrugged and still demanded that we all make fun of Choppers McGee and her impending anorexia.

2) Chad Michael Murray. I hate him. He's just a toolbag. I saw him on some MTV House of Wax special that really made me hate him for life. He kept spouting off about how he's an Alpha Male and how he's a guy's guy and blah blah blah. Plus, I actually had to do something for him at my last job, and I realized just what a tool I believe him to be. CMM, (as Paris Hilton might say) hates it. 'Nuff said.

3) Speaking of Paris. Good ol' loose lips (and I don't mean her mouth) made G and I laugh hysterically with the following line, 'Thanks to all of my fans.' Just hilariamous. Fans? Oh, boy. The fact tht she won an award was laughable enough. But FANS? Good one. I read that Paris Hilton once advised other not to drink diet sodas because 'that's for fat people.' Uhm. Hate to break it to you, P. But them's your fans, those Diet Coke drinkin' fatty teens. The other line that had us rolling was Paris's amazing conclusion to her acceptance speech: 'That's it. ' Brilliance. Sheer brilliance.

4) Alexis Bledel from The Gilmore Girls. Both G and I agreed that we want to make out with her. She rules.


Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Slightly Skeptical

OK. So I'm a little hesitant to document last night's date, but what the hell. So. Unlike this fortunate individual, I do not get humped as often as I'd like (sidebar: Drone's hat's off to you, P/O). I tend to be excessively... picky, some might say. OK, everyone says. It's true. Wierd teeth? Later. Can't put my finger on why your nose is funky lookin'? Buh bye. Rolled up hem on your jeans? Peace. One earlobe apparently (but maybe not actually) more detached than its compatriot? Nyeh. For every date, I tend to find instantaneous deal breakers. If it were a job, I'd be in business.

Well, latley I've come across some real doozies, snoozers, and--if you include last night's date--boozers. So, what follows is a little excerpt from a recap E-mail that I sent one of my best friends, Cool Brooklyn. CB asked how the date went:

Oh, [CB]. My date was so freaking adorable* (physically and personality-wise). There was one catch. We got around to how [date has] been diligently doing the AA thing for the past 16 months and how [date] never wants to drink again. The date actually ended w/ me walking [date] to [date's] 9PM AA meeting in the West Village. Ugh. Scarily, I find [date's] fault weirdly adorable and charming. I definitely want to see [date] again.

Response from CB:

that's gggggggreat! ummm, i'm a little skeptical though.

Frankly, so am I. Whatever. I must just be crusin' for a bruisin.' We shall see. In the meantime, I guess I can't go on a second date to that wine bar I've been wanting to try out. Dag.

*Please note that Drone rarely if ever gushes like this. Your forgiveness is appreciated in advance.


Slutty in Style

'Morning after' what? Oh, jeezle.



I can't even write the word for the heading of this post. It doesn't really matter either because I don't believe that words can adequately capture how much I despise the subway system of New York. Well, let me rephrase my frustration. It's not so much that I hate the subway system per se. I hate being forced to take it each and every morning to work because I live too far away from work and because I'm too poor to afford another mode of transportation. In short, I'm like most other New Yorkers, but I think I hate taking the subway just a little bit more than most.

To wit, this morning the subway rolled into my station as usual. All the lemming loaded on. The doors closed. The train remained stationary. An announcement came accross that everyone should move into the car. All the way. Doors opened and closed. Opened and closed. Opened and closed. Announcement. Opened and closed. Opened and closed. Announcement. Opened and closed. Doors remained closed while the train remained stationary for a good ten minutes. An announcement came across that the train was having 'door problems in the rear of the train.' Silence for ten minutes. Let me stop here, as my blood is beginning to boil and it's not fair to have to experience the misery twice in one morning.

The moral of the story is that I HATE the subway. FYI.


Monday, August 15, 2005

Fainting @ Work

Oh, people. I am so tired right now. SO. TIRED.

My jaunt to Miami must have been far too relaxing because I can't seem to focus on anything right now. I also didn't sleep at ALL Saturday night. Here's why.

One of the coolest things about going to the beach by yourself (from the humble perspective of this drone) is the engaging in mild flirtation with other beachgoers. At first you just plop yourself down with your stuff, casually noticing out of the corner of your eyes that others are immediately sizing up the new meat. Then you take your shirt off and watch the internal assessments get more intense. Slowly but surely you eye other people and pretty much look for a reason to talk to them. That's pretty much what I did every day, aside from smoking cigarettes and falling asleep with my iPod mini blasting music in me ears.

My last day there (Saturday), I noticed the click click click of somebody's (a pretty hot somebody's) malfunctioning cigarette lighter. So I took the bait and tossed my lighter to this hot somebody. A few witty exchanges later and hot somebody introduced me to two other hot somebodies (they turned out to be a couple). As it turned out, I was extremely attracted to one half of the couple. But I continued talking to the single hot somebody (SHS). As the day wore on, SHS asked if we could hang out later that night. I said "of course," and we axchanged numbers. Fast forward. I hung out with the three that night until about 5AM. My flight home was at 7. So I didn't sleep at ALL. I basically ran to my hotel room, checked out, and jumped in a cab to go to MIA Airport.

PS: Have I mentioned how much I HATE commercial airlines and utilizing them for traveling? Well, I do. Note to all the other people that use commercial planes: SIT. THE. F. DOWN. after the plane lands and until the front door opens. Where the hell do you think you're going by unclicking your seatbelt the instant the front tire hits the earth? Aaaah. But I digress.

There was no measureable action between SHS and Drone because I was so intrigued with hot half of the couple. I got the couple's numbers (they're from New York). So hopefully the couple breaks up and Drone can get some action there. One can hope.


Monday: An Update

OK. It's 9:12AM, and I feel as if I've already been at work all day. Not a good sign.


Note to Self

Five whole days of sunning on Miami beach does not make for a happy Drone on Monday morning. Waking up at 7AM was so incredibly difficult this morning that I really would rather not go into it. I feel like I should Scotch tape my eyelide open. Gooh.

Anyway, I had an AWE-some time in Miami. I went to the gym and slept on the beach for hours every day. After the second day I got a little burned, so I got wise and started renting the umbrella/cushioned chair combo for twenty bucks. My schedule consisted on smoking, sleeping, jumping in the crystal blue water with all the hot bodies, sleeping, smoking, sleeping, jumping in the water with all of the hot bodies... You get the picture. A totally relaxing sojourn in all. I'm so brown right now that I can hardly wait for the peeling to commence. Hurray. So. TIRED!


Tuesday, August 09, 2005

Hot Drone in the City

So Drone is toying with the notion of moving from his current abode into another apartment that might be cheaper and/or closer to other hipper friends that live in Brooklyn or on the Lower East Side.

I came across a broker who's been a keeping an eye out for. Of all the things he emailed me, I believe the following excerpt to brilliantly encapsulate what it means to have an apartment in the City (and be a poor twenty/thirty-something):

These are apartments are all about price and location. Yes, they are small. These would be ideal for a single person with a long work day or extremely active social life. It is pretty much a place to sleep.

You heard it here, folks. Come to New York and have not a home but... a place to sleep. Sacrifice all your future savings, potential equity, and a lavish lifestyle so that you, too, can have... a place to sleep. Gooh.


Hungry, hungry hippo

Somebody get me a baby hippo now. That is all.


Monday, August 08, 2005


Something has come to my immediate attention today.

We here at Drone Command Central Station, after having heard them both today, decide to detest the following statements, quite simply because they make no sense whatsoever:

"I could care less..." (E.g., I could care less if he dies.)

"I don't give two f***s."

OK. First one's first. If you are capable of caring LESS, then it logically follows that you care at least a little bit. We here at DCCS assume that the speaker of such of phrase intends to say, "I couldn't care less." Let's help our misguided ambivalent friends out there express their surly demeanors in the most gramatically correct fashion, shall we? Good times.

Secondly, why is it two f***s? OK. So you don't give two. Does that me you do give one f***? If you're expressing your complete ambivalence and you've decided to employ a profanity, shouldn't you go balls to the wall and just say, 'I don't give a (singular) f***?' Just a thought.

That is all.



What you are about to see is far too funny to view whilst potentially NARC-y co-workers are around. If you're alone, view away. Please put down that glass of milk, or else. You've been warned. [via Lindsayism]


So good, so good.

This weekend was soooo good. Here goes:

*Friday I had a half day at work. That's sweet in and of itself. Proceeded to the gym (less than 48 hours until Miami Beach, people). Had my usual post-gym cigarette (so healthy) and met up with awesome friends Cool Brooklyn (CB), S, H, and D for an afternoon chilling in the park, eating Mexican food and guzzling shots of Sauza (again, so healthy). Then went home for a pretty slow night in.

*Saturday. Woke up bright and early to hit the gym. Post-gym cigarette, coffee, then met up with CB for an entire day of street walking and general rebel rousing. We started out (2PM) by double-fisting takeout frozen maragritas from the sketchy Lower East Side restuarant that only charges seven bucks for an alcoholic kick in the teeth. So. GOOD. Five blocks later, CB and Drone were blitzed. Good times. We then walked all over the Lower East Side and East Village--one of those awesome wandering sessions that doesn't really have any agenda. So what else should we have done than get CB's long hair completely buzzed off? Naturally, nothing! (Note: I did the same thing to my hair four days ago, and I've been bragging about how awesome it feels.) Drunken head shaving. Check!

With that out of the way, we then proceeded to have customized shirts made for CB, our mutual awesome friend Cool Brit (who just got back from England yesterday), and yours truly. It was an idea I'd had a while back when all three of us were working together at my last (read: insane boss) job. So. Suffice it to say, that our shirts rip our old diva boss a new a-hole. Awe. SOME.

So then, after playing with dogs in one of New York's famous doggy parks CB and Drone returned to skecthy Mexican joint for two more maragaritas. I used the opportunity to immediately change into my phat shirt. Then we booked to meet CB's awesome friend B in Union Square Park.

After getting chased out of the Park by rats, the three of us had the best Japanese food. Ever. Period. It was one of those hole in the walls where all the patrons were Asian (except the three of us). One humungous seaweed salad, sushimi platter, serving of sake, and random siting of The Strokes' bandmates eating later, and we were out of there in search of more friends and more booze.

Mission accomplished. Meeting up with friends S and H, the three of us (CB, B, and I) drank for free: as B knew the owner of said bar. Drone started getting sick of the crowd (ahemBridgeandTunnelahem), and just like an angel on high B suggested we go to another cool bar where she knew the "hot bartenders". One of whom happened to be looking for someone "just like" me. I'm there.

Three huge martinis (free) later, hot bartender (hb) and I were chatting. HB was pretty busy, so I didn't get to talk too much, but it was really fun. I was blitzed and with awesome friends. So good. And the $40 bill for about 30 martinis between the (what was now) four of us wasn't too shabby.

After THAT, CB, B, HB's friend, and Drone did the drunken shove a piece or two of pizza down your throat as fast as you possible can act. Before I knew it, CB and I were headed back to CB's place in Brooklyn with HB's friend (don't get any ideas, pervs). Heading back to CB's, I basically fell asleep, woke up, and crashed in CB's A/C apt.

*As if my Saturday wasn't enough activity, I proceeded to wake up early with CB and CB's roomate (M) on Sunday to go to Jones Beach with M's sister and two brothers. Sunday was basically a beach day. So nice. SO good. And know I'm all friggin' tan for my Miami trip. Awesome. Came home around 6, hit the gym, and THEN went out for drinks with my friend from college days (M).

SO in short. I think I spent more time drinking this weekend than actually sleeping. Quite an accomplishment if I do say so myself. Now, I'm looking forward to having drinks with Cool Brooklyn and Cool Brit tomorrow night so that we can give Cool Brit the awesome t-shirt of solidatrity that Brooklyn and I had made up. It's also my bon voyage for Miami. I suggested we go to the bar where hot bartnender might be interested in Drone. Heh.


Friday, August 05, 2005

And they don't stop...

Wow, I'd seriously forgetten how good this site is. This one's for all my Columbia peop's... who will certainly get a kick out of this:

Back to School, Wednesday One-liners

Woman: Is there a special event going on at Columbia this summer? Because I've seen a lot of Asians around.

--116th & Broadway

Uhm. Yeah, that special event would happen to be called 'the school is open.'



In case I've never made it clear, I have a pretty strong aversion to jerky Wall Street suit types. I'm not saying all 'suits' are bad, per se... but I'd roughly estimate that 75% of straight male, 23-45 year-old investment bankers are grade A (for a-hole) losers. Case in point:

It's Probably More Like Thirty-seconds

Suit #1: I screwed one of the new piece of ass last night.
Suit #2: You mean the li'l one, the new one?
Suit #1: Yeah, Jen, the new girl on 15.
Suit #2: Dude, I just smashed her the other day at lunch! Are you fucking kidding me?
Suit #1: You're clean, right?...'cause I'm going back for seconds.

[via Overheard in New York]


Just call me Oscar

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On second though, don't. 'Cause I might punch you in the face for doing so. I don't know why, but I'm extremely grouchy this morning. Wait, I know why. When I descended into the subway stop this morning, I felt as if I were entering the most boiling hot sauna on the surface of the Earth... wearing heavy jeans. I instantly began to sweat profusely... on my face, down the small of my back, inside my jeans. Ahhh! I even went so far as to pull my gym shirt for today's workout from my backpack to swipe my face.

Hoping to escape the heat, I told myself that I would get on the very first train that came (local or express, packed to the brim with other commuters or not). I lied. The first train was so packed that I knew I might end up slugging someone if I got on (one too many purses have jabbed me in the hip, people). So I did the right thing and waited. Next train? Packed. [Sweat, sweat, sweat.] Third train? Packed! What the F, people. It's Friday... during the SUMMER. Aren't all you people supposed to be in the Hamptons or something? Gooh.

Practically drenched in my own salt water, I vowed to get on the next train even if it killed me. It was packed too, but I couldn't take the heat for one more second. I barreled on and pushed my way into a spot where I would only be poked my one measly shopping bag and one piddly elbow. Fine. So that was over. I was now above ground near work.

A flying piece of trash hits me in the head from behind. Let me tell you. That friggin' hurt. It was pretty windy on the street corner, so apparently it was only the wind to which I could direct my anger and disdain. In case you didn't know, the wind is one opponent that's pretty hard to catch with an uppercut. Yeah. Almost to work, when...

...that noisy (and comp-LETE-ly useless) street sweeping behemoth mostronsity came right up next to me on the curb and blew dirt particles (and probably rat feces and hepatitis) all up in my face and in my eyes. Grrrr. Did I mention that I don't have A/C in my apartment??

Breath, Drone. Breeeath. Half day Fridays. Half day Fridays.


Thursday, August 04, 2005


So Gina and I had this discussion last night about artificial sweeteners (e.g., Splenda, Sweet 'N Low, Equal, etc.) that fell underneath the umbrella conversation of unhealthy behaviors (e.g., smoking, living in New York City, etc.) where we both uncovered just how much of this sweet stuff we ingest on a daily basis. It got right down to a competition over who consumed the most fake sugar. I think I win by deafult, as I actually have gone so far as to purchase a box of the 250 packets to have in my house. Up until I did that, I pretty much just jammed my pockets with pink packets at Starbucks. But no. Now I am so desperate to (artifically) sweeten my oatmeal, coffee, and yogurt that I need a ration of the cancer-causing stuff. But is it reeeally going to kill me, we thought?

Dunno the answer to that question. Our main conclusion is that: it's not good for you. OK. Well, neither is riding the subway (summarily ingesting rat feces, soot, asbestos and God knows what else), smoking cigarettes (duh), or having drunken sexual romps. But you know what? This is life... and I think we both agreed to remain oblivious. Oh. Our other fallback was that if it were truly dangerous, 'they' would tell us. Yeah. Genius. So, for your demonstrative pleasure:

-9:45AM: Diet Snapple Lime Green Tea
-11:30AM: Starbucks Latte with Sugar-Free Vanilla Syrup
-12:00PM: Diet Coke
-Right now: Company machine-made latte with two Sweet 'N Lows.

And I'm just gettin' warmed up, folks. Sweeeeet.


Boob tube and so much more (ok, so not that much more)

So last night I worked out like a maniac at the gym. I'm determined to get myself into awesome beach shape for my trip to Miami next Wednesday. I did a spinning class, then did extra running, and lifted. Crazy, I know. But it gives me a reason to get fit. Those Miami beach bodies don't mess around.

After that I had a date with her G-ness to watch bad TV, smoke cigarettes out her window, and eat sushi. All of which we accomplished marvelously. However, I was completely looking forward to seeing this new show on Bravo; but, alas, G doesn't have cable any longer. So we watched seriously bad TV: something about dancers on FOX. I hated it, but G's company made up for the loss. Much to my excitement, however, Bravo re-aired the premiere that same night at midnight. So I stayed up until 1 watching Kathy Griffin at her best. Let me just say that I friggin' love her.

Kathy came to Columbia my senior year to do a free stand-up routine for students (during finals), and all I remember is that I pretty much crapped my pants from laughing so much. Ever since, I've been a huge fan. Her new show is no disappointment. I highly recommend it if you get the chance.

In case you were wondering, my other favorite shows are now this and this. HBO has once again made my Sunday nights a happy place (at least for an hour). Word.


Wednesday, August 03, 2005

The Loner (read: Droner): An update

Eh. Eff this ambivalence. I just booked my vacation. I'll be in Miami, rain or shine, all by lonesome next week/end. So if you see a devilishly handsome male-model lookalike sunbathing on the beach, keep your eyes peeled. I might be somwhere near that guy, guarding my wallet and trying to get tan whilst I listen to my ipod and wear my patented 'dont f*** with me' look on my face. Word.

Random note to the editors of Esquire Magazine: Your August 2005 edition is simply drivel and is mind-numbingly boring (per usual); however, this time you made a ri-DIC-ulously stupid mistake. On page 131 ("The Five-Minute Guide: Models"), you feature a full description of oh so Vogue-friendly Daria Werbowy while you feature an accompanying photograph that is clearly not her. Bravo to you, fancy editors. Bra-vo. Maybe you should take over (if only temporarily) for the monkeys you have chained to typewriters? Just a thought.


11:15 on a Wednesday

OK. Work's kind of slow (read: mind numbingly slow). I'm seriously not going to complain, as I recently departed a job that left me with spontaneously presenting eye twitches and centrally located headaches. However, I'm a confessed workaholic and perfectionist. Not having things to constantly do kind of makes me a tad uneasy. I'm a pretty deft finder of tasks, so I've done alright.

I decided to pick up Lauren Weisberger's The Devil Wears Prada the other day, so that's been keeping me busy. I started it yesterday and will be done by tonight. I'm a little ashamed to admit that I'm reading it, because it was one of those titles (like The DaVinci Code) that I swore I would never read. Nonetheless, I was told by friends that I was get a kick out of it. A kick I have indeed gotten out of it. The antagonist is my former boss to a T. 100% It is as if my former boss picked up this book and perused it for decorum in relation to interaction with subordinates. Vague directions? Check. OCD-inspired lunch orders? Check. If I weren't aware that my former boss were illiterate and unable to to write, I might be convinced that he had indeed followed this title as a manual for conducting business in the 'creative' world. What else?

I'm feeling a little bored and lonely. Have to say it. Two of my good friends (who happen to be British) have gone back to the Motherland for vacation. I'm back at that point where I feel like I have no friends and that nobody wants to date me. To wit, I made a list yesterday of all the people that I like enough to hang out with. Exactly ten people fit the bill. Aweosme. I'm so popular I can barely stand it.

My awesome friend (Cool Brooklyn) just broke up with his significant other but is at my former place of employ and is constantly tired or unavailable. I'm hoping we'll have a swinging single night out on the town this weekend. Blah.

Typing this blog post seems to be the most productive thing I've done in a while. My awesome new boss suggested that, since August will be slow, I should consider taking a vacation soon. Only problem is, none of my friends can go on a vacation (due to either monitary or temporal constraints). Hence, I'd have to go to some locale all be my self. Could be fun I suppose. I was thinking a last minute package deal to Miami or something (thinking that maybe I'll catch a glimpse of MK or something).

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But one quick search on revealed that Miami is in a perpetual holding pattern for thunderstorms. Hurray! I can see it now. Drone. By himself. Holed up in a beachfront hotel while it rains. Watching Dumb and Dumber on TNT. Nyeh. No thanks. What's a Drone to do? Then I was thinking: I could just take care of myself in the City. Get a massage or something. Do those things that I neer do because I complain that I can't afford them. We'll see. I'll keep you posted.