Seven Minutes In Heaven?

I've come to the conclusion that my roommate is either:

1. Endlessly entertaining

2. Hopelessly slutty.

Maybe both-the former just happens to be the "glass half-full" approach I suppose. Rewind to Saturday night. I'm slumbering peacefully in my bed, only to be awoken at 6am by my inebriated (that's putting it kindly) roommate...and a guy. A guy who closely resembles the bartender from our neighborhood bar which I'd left only hours earlier. Okay? Before I had a time to assimilate THAT little bit of information, however, she was leading him straight into...the closet. Our closet. (Now may be a good time to mention we share a room in our apartment. Whatever. It's Manhattan.) I'm still trying to figure out what in the H is going on at the same time I realize that, due to rubbing creme on my aching calf muscles before bed, I am also sleeping in my thong. And now there is a strange boy in my closet. And I'm in my thong. This was my thought pattern for what seemed like a very long time, until anger took over. Why couldn't they make out in the hallway? Why were they in the closet with the light on and the door open? Why  am I twenty-three years old and feel like it's freshman year again? And most of all, WHY THE HELL AREN'T THEY LEAVING. My solution to the madness: yelling "if you don't leave now I will effing kill you!" Mature? No. Effective? Yes. They ran out of there like a puppy you just smacked with a rolled up newspaper. Hmm...perhaps I'll keep a rolled up newspaper by the bed from now on as well...

OOOO girl!

Needing entertainment last week, my favorite ginger, Ashley, and I went to see "Madea Goes to Jail." Those of you unfamiiar with Tyler Perry's genius may be confused-this is your own fault. Anyone who hasn't seen "Diary of a Mad Black Woman" is no friend of mine. Or at least no friend who knows good movies! Though Madea is in fact, Tyler Perry dressed as a large, fat, grandmother, his are no "Big Momma's House" type movies-just great stories with humor and depth. And you'll be talkin' like Madea in no time! I must note, being the only two white folks in the movie theater is definitely an experience. An AWESOME experience. (Plus, thanks to our big, juicy boot-tays, Ashley and I look remarkably like black women when the lights are dimmed.) Watching a Tyler Perry movie is more of an interactive experience than traditional movie-goers may be used to. There were times the audience felt the need to direct characters, like when they get caught lying ("bitch, you best back up OFF IT") or needed to know how to escape from a pimp ("climb out that window bitch! RUN!"). At every pinnacle moment, there was a whoop, a clap, or extremely loud cackling. And you should have heard how everyone ELSE was carrying on! In the words of Madea: The LORT is GOOT, oh yes hes is!

Charmin or Angel Soft?

When deciding to become an intern in New York (doing two internships, at that) I thought I understood that grunt work was the name of the game. Errands, coffee runs, making copies-it's called working your way up, people! And, being an almost college graduate while doing so, I hoped that I could blow those other eighteen year old wimpy interns right out of the water. Wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. Now I must admit, I've gotten a bit spoiled at Seventeen. I've yet to go on a coffee run, have made an insignificant amount of copies, and get to run to beauty shoots and do other fun things to help out. They also tell me when I'm doing a good job and say things like "please" and "thank you". Weird right? Totally. Enter in the two days a week I spend at my other internship. My desk is a couch, I have to feed the cat food that smells like asscrack, and as for the errands I run? I had to buy her TOILET PAPER. Charmin or Angel Soft? Double or single roll? I mean, thank the lord I spent four years studying photography, or I'd never be able to keep up! She will toss returned mail at me and bark "find this current address!". I then sit in cold sweats for twenty minutes while trying to figure out WHERE I could find this address before I just ask her, and it ends up being on her computer which she has BEEN ON for the past twenty minutes. I believe this goes with the saying that sometimes it's faster to do things yourself.... The sad things is, that's not the worst part. The worst part is....we have to listen to New Age music. All. Day. Long. I don't really even know how to qualify the sounds that come out of that stereo...the term "whale music" seems much too pleasant. It's more of a gutteral humming that builds up from silence and then makes me almost fall over my desk (I mean, couch) when the loud humming chorus rears its ugly head. Seriously. Even the cat hides from it. But maybe he's just digesting asscrack. So, life lesson learned: avoid all music with titles similar to the following: Sounds of Yanni, Kindred Spirits, Winter Mornings, Awakenings, New Awakenings, New Kindred Winter Morning Awakenings (featuring Yanni). Seriously, if we subjected Al Qaeda detainees to this crap for even a small amount of time, we would KNOW where bin Laden was by now. That is all....

Retail Therapy: Commence!

Note to Self

Note to Self 

1. Watching "The Tudors" online for five hours straight may induce nausea and/or bitchy, Anne Boleyn-ish facial expressions. 

2. Repeatedly watching the same episode of "Millionare Matchmaker" on your TiVo is still not the same as being on a real date. 

3. Accepting your roommate and her boyfriend's invitation to go to Central Park and kick around a soccer ball is always a bad idea, based on your aversion to contact sports and cute couples. 

4. Also a bad idea: Central Park hot dogs. 

5. Next time you are at a piano bar on a Sunday night with your sweet friend Brooksie, show a little more decorum than yelling "WHY ARE WE AT A GAY BAR?" just as a song is ending. 

6. Your daily horoscope may not be accurate since it is, in fact, written for about 500 million people at a time.

Who Moved My Freaking Cereal?

Something strange is happening to the young women of America: