tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29627904632778487302024-03-13T08:10:00.833-04:00A General Anxiety DisorderDeannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596418822200787754noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962790463277848730.post-77446579224792694202010-08-05T15:08:00.001-04:002010-08-05T15:10:52.780-04:00I'm famous! (with the gays)http://www.newnownext.com/2010/08/05/pop-culture-detective-asks-what-do-justin-bieber-drunk-snooki-katy-perrys-peacock-have-in-common-watch/Deannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596418822200787754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962790463277848730.post-6474107228804977742010-07-28T16:18:00.010-04:002010-07-29T11:53:12.549-04:00Pandora - I'm so over you.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWxJpZHyPOQ65S5YP9mAsZecOGPukqHQxs9lSy8OhEAztMMnT9W7KIfyVFkHrTM2wBpeDjg8z4aHk7Tth-LDhNbIRErTmZrdmWMXDETCHEW23hWxEWldcgR4MQxahv5VdkcjtghqfRcpVF/s1600/image002.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWxJpZHyPOQ65S5YP9mAsZecOGPukqHQxs9lSy8OhEAztMMnT9W7KIfyVFkHrTM2wBpeDjg8z4aHk7Tth-LDhNbIRErTmZrdmWMXDETCHEW23hWxEWldcgR4MQxahv5VdkcjtghqfRcpVF/s400/image002.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499354800827679106" /></a><br /><br />Screw you Pandora. How dare you charge me for listening to music all day long during my work day. There are 4 billion free music streaming services out there. <a href="http://www.stereomood.com/">You can listen by mood</a>, listen by genre, listen by sexual preference, whatever. And you have the nerve to oust me because I was trying to make my work day more tolerable? It's bad enough I have to listen to your Progressive Auto Insurance ads with that stupid girl "Hi there - Flo here." Why do they even call her Flo? That makes me think of women referring to "Aunt Flo coming to town." That's a marketing campaign aimed at men if I've ever heard one, right up there with the iPad. Pandora, Who do you think you are? I'm switching to Slacker. Speaking of music, anyone have suggestions for free illegal downloads that won't make my computer explode? I'm in the market.Deannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596418822200787754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962790463277848730.post-51186210157434017152010-07-26T15:04:00.008-04:002010-07-26T15:18:13.847-04:00Carstache - this month's Must-Have.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8DDfYc-Y9D4r1Yl-aAH-SFM9NjM4FozC3hPwfhQUK4XsxhbXOIgGqRMfXvReeJO7YtJgNPI7Hobks9pv1cXoLWqoCo0FBSyECXvAiglIfDR6RiMR5wJacIeuC2SSK00O2t4nLMn7E-fwE/s1600/carstache.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8DDfYc-Y9D4r1Yl-aAH-SFM9NjM4FozC3hPwfhQUK4XsxhbXOIgGqRMfXvReeJO7YtJgNPI7Hobks9pv1cXoLWqoCo0FBSyECXvAiglIfDR6RiMR5wJacIeuC2SSK00O2t4nLMn7E-fwE/s320/carstache.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498295814497055330" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.urbanoutfitters.com/urban/catalog/productdetail.jsp?id=19205244&navAction=jump&navCount=21">If I had a car in this God forsaken city, I would DEFINITELY have this on the front of it.</a><br /><br />My first car was a 1994 green Buick Skylark that was pimped out by the Guido I bought it from down the block. It had tinted windows,a blue light in the passenger seat, a banner on the windshield, and green reverse lights (to match the gorgeous color of the car of course.) I loved it because it was huge and I didn't care about it so I used to crash it into anything I drove past. Not on purpose of course, I'm just a terrible driver and it was easier to crash the skylark in particular due to the pointy nose in the front. It was such a hideous car that I would beep at anyone else in a Buick skylark as a gesture like, "you're embarrassed too right? So am I - I want to drive off the road," which I was usually about to do being that I was balancing my cell phone, various cds, and didn't really know how to drive anyway. I still don't. That's what the E train is for. Thanks MTA by the way for sucking, I wish I could stab the CEO of the MTA in the eye with a pencil like that guy at the Comic book ralley this weekend or just use him as a scapegoat and fire him like Tony Hayward. See below for a pic of a car that looks like my first car but isn't because I couldn't find it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhSOy1pl3kIk2nOgfqFxy3HpVJGNQosQrjnk65QoCKIVlC0vDUDBybocKEHmGhVfnuKavIv_HDHSeyQkvAD8L71B6KFitEBJgtZH__cF-B3kOJoKmIc0fq36Nk4BUNI2dkxTsEpV7KGiC9/s1600/skylark.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhSOy1pl3kIk2nOgfqFxy3HpVJGNQosQrjnk65QoCKIVlC0vDUDBybocKEHmGhVfnuKavIv_HDHSeyQkvAD8L71B6KFitEBJgtZH__cF-B3kOJoKmIc0fq36Nk4BUNI2dkxTsEpV7KGiC9/s320/skylark.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498295453719494418" /></a>Deannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596418822200787754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962790463277848730.post-69666057446150785632010-07-26T14:55:00.001-04:002010-07-26T14:56:07.640-04:00Shark Attack<object style="background-image:url(http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/ppLMCDcz3ns/hqdefault.jpg)" width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ppLMCDcz3ns&hl=en_US&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ppLMCDcz3ns&hl=en_US&fs=1" width="425" height="344" allowScriptAccess="never" allowFullScreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object>Deannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596418822200787754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962790463277848730.post-6340387485616531372010-07-26T10:56:00.006-04:002010-07-26T11:49:44.575-04:00Mel G<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGJ_Kx3uCCiwjgw7qYfh1C72dQjPe9tjAIWzGsPLJV3pnFHHltpmkYD3suGZCFR9XgsYaUUP67px5rMJajQyRaQC9GnSp7ymh1qOvr9zOiGzmT_KKf9c0OgADZ6AsHUiZJTOklvGkL0Fwl/s1600/Mel.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGJ_Kx3uCCiwjgw7qYfh1C72dQjPe9tjAIWzGsPLJV3pnFHHltpmkYD3suGZCFR9XgsYaUUP67px5rMJajQyRaQC9GnSp7ymh1qOvr9zOiGzmT_KKf9c0OgADZ6AsHUiZJTOklvGkL0Fwl/s320/Mel.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498235014343770642" /></a><br /><br />Advertisement as seen in Metro NY this morning. I obviously only read the classiest free newspapers that have misspellings in the articles and ads for hammertoes and happy ending spas in the city. However, I really enjoyed the clever marketing above, targeting everyone's favorite lunatic - Mel Gibson. Have you not listened to his doctored audio rants? <a href="http://www.radaronline.com/exclusives/2010/07/exclusive-new-audio-mel-gibson-completely-loses-it-btch-cnt-whre-gold-digger">Click here to hear Mel demand at least hummer before bed.</a> Yes, I believe they are doctored but it is still highly entertaining while somewhat disturbing. However, if my boyfriend taped me on the sly when I was going off during an argument I often wonder if I would sound e.x.a.c.t.l.y. like Mel. Maybe I should start hitting up NYSC a bit more. Then again, maybe Mel just has a general anxiety disorder.Deannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596418822200787754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962790463277848730.post-91522666977033537132010-07-15T15:56:00.004-04:002010-07-15T16:09:48.042-04:00Pennies<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0XOYjdoXRRup5YiP7nYllUP4GgSB0Z7Ie0fcj2_WF-my77_no_m1nGRoEDM_B9j2Tv7TopMNobRsBK4p5-gboe0aMFerI5qistKr9gn03QeD77BPdB5VLpfj7Uzd8tBY_mEcc0-ekp7yv/s1600/stupid+things+you+can+do+with+a+penny.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0XOYjdoXRRup5YiP7nYllUP4GgSB0Z7Ie0fcj2_WF-my77_no_m1nGRoEDM_B9j2Tv7TopMNobRsBK4p5-gboe0aMFerI5qistKr9gn03QeD77BPdB5VLpfj7Uzd8tBY_mEcc0-ekp7yv/s200/stupid+things+you+can+do+with+a+penny.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494227734923342914" /></a><br />I vacuum up pennies and when I find them laying around I throw them out. I'm poor, so I totally shouldnt throw money away but one thing I have learned in life is that pennies suck. They should be eliminated from currency. Can you actually buy anything with a penny? You can't even buy a penny in the Press a Penny for a penny. That costs 51 cents. You're paying a machine to MAKE your penny virtually useless, which it already is. Sorry, I know there are a lot of Abe enthusiasts out there, but when I can't even buy a piece of bazooka joe with you, you're done.Deannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596418822200787754noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962790463277848730.post-39641310715862270092010-07-15T15:48:00.003-04:002010-07-15T15:53:51.693-04:00passwordsIf you were to die TODAY and I.T. needed to know your password, would it be the end of your reputation? See conversation with myself and my dad below.<br /><br />"Dad give me your password for stubhub, I want to order the Penn State tickets." - Me<br />"You dont need my password." - My Dad<br />"Dad just give it to me, I'm calling and don't want a problem on the phone." - Me<br />"Ok it's B-I-G-T-I-T-S." - Dad<br />click - Me.Deannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596418822200787754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962790463277848730.post-66558982474088775082010-01-11T12:43:00.009-05:002010-01-11T12:55:40.926-05:00MEDIOCRE JOBS PROVIDE TIME FOR ONLINE VIEWINGSSo far I have done about 15 minutes worth of work the entire day. See below for the G chat conversation between me and one of my best friends that just took place:<br /><br />me: sorry im back<br />got kicked off and distracted by the video of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ros73m7xBRA&feature=player_embedded">a walrus sucking his own peen<br /></a> I had to watch the whole thing through<br />Stefanie: I SAW THAT!<br /><br />Do you find it disturbing that her and I both watched the video or do you think that's why we are friends? <br /><br />This brings me to a debate that I had with my boyfriend and cousin and various male friends a few weeks ago. If men could do that to themselves, would they? They all denounced it but I know they were lying. <br /><br />Would YOU do that if you could? We all know the walrus looks happy.Deannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596418822200787754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962790463277848730.post-11840938610816803692010-01-08T16:32:00.000-05:002010-01-08T16:33:02.436-05:00I THINK MY NEIGHBOR POSTED THIS SIGN<a href="http://media1.break.com/dnet/media/2008/12/95%20Tom%20Was%20Delicious.jpg">GHENGIS</a>Deannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596418822200787754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962790463277848730.post-57057427815418988922010-01-04T13:35:00.017-05:002010-01-07T10:09:45.165-05:00SNOOKIN FOR LOVEVH1 Please Please Please Please pick up <a href="http://www.mtv.com/shows/jersey_shore/cast_member.jhtml?personalityId=13196">Snooki's</a> reality pilot and have a dating show with Queen of the Guidettes and what was her line? I believe her direct words were "big muscley guidos." Everyone's favorite guidette, <a href="http://warmingglow.uproxx.com/2009/12/snooki-gets-punched-the-most-gratifying-animated-gif-you-will-ever-see">Snooki,</a> is pitching a reality pilot called "Snookin For Love" and you can imagine the train wreck that will ensue. Please I promise I would watch for the poof and orange face all the time. I would have Snookin for Love parties at my apartment for God's Sake. I would be THAT into it. <br /><br />Speaking of orange face, this week (and for this week only) I have been going tanning. Don't hate me and don't tell me I'm going to get skin cancer while you have your cell phone attached to your head. What is with people and those stupid bluetooths? You may as well wear a sign on your head that says "Asshole." Do you think that you look cool with that thing on your ear, even worse when you are NOT talking in it and it's like, it has to be there in case what? Unless you work for 1800 Dentist you do not need to have a bluetooth on 24/7. The only exception I will make is in the car because I was the lucky recipient of a $150 ticket (Damn Nassau County cops) for talking on my cell while driving. What did you expect, really? <br /><br />Another thing that really irks me is phone usage at the gym. Yesterday I was next to this lumpy girl that talked on her phone THE ENTIRE TIME that I was on the elliptical. I had to put Biggest Loser Season Premiere up to max volume to drown out her "catching up" with all her corny friends. How do I know they are corny? Because she was in pink sweats, get a clue sister friend, this is NYC, everyone wears black pants and a college tee shirt to the gym. On top of that maybe your ass wouldn't be so lumpy if you actually WORKED OUT on the exercise machine instead of being Chatty Patty. Don't get me wrong, I really don't work hard at the gym either and haven't been there in a bit, thus the obvious declaration of my return in today's post. But still, I at least make it SEEM like I'm working out. There is a time and a place for everything and I don't know how many more dirty quick looks myself and the girl next to me could have thrown her that said "get off the phone," along with the plaque on the wall depicting restricted cell phone usage in designated areas. Clue: the cardio machines is probably not an area you want to be using your phone. Some people just don't get it. Like the naked girl in the locker room yesterday. I wanted to take a hedge trimmer to her. Really, I don't need to see that, it's 2010 girlfriend, please shave. I felt like I was in a low budget 70s porno, mostly because I couldn't stop staring at her giant bush. So I probably looked like a lesbian about to get it on. <br /><br />Back to tanning. I have been going tanning this week because I'm ghostly pale and I have a wedding on Saturday. This isn't just any wedding. It's a wedding that I may or may not be one of the few white people at. I can't in good faith go to a wedding where I'm the minority and be Snow White. If I am going to stand out, I will look good, damn it and to me looking good is being tan. I know that in most cultures peasants were tan and it was desired to be pale. Not in my society and not according to Cosmo. Everyone knows everyone looks better darker for the most part except Purple-dark Africa style. Another post to come on the Africans in my building. <br /><br />Anyway when I was tanning the other day, there was a BLACK GUY in front of me. I think he was mixed but I couldn't believe it. And he was all snotty, meanwhile I'm like why are you being snotty to me? You are the one that is out of place here. He looked super vain, one of those guys that works out two-a-day and only dates girls that are 10x hotter than him. I mean I'm not judging or anything. Just kidding I totally am. Anyway my reflex was to immediately bbm my best friend <a href="http://smallinsays.blogspot.com/">Erin</a> and inform her of the unnatural events unfolding before me. Plus I have to tell her every time I do so much as go to the bathroom. Her reply was, "Maybe he's cold." I think he was just snookin for love.Deannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596418822200787754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962790463277848730.post-86964411522660953572009-12-19T11:15:00.006-05:002009-12-19T11:58:20.928-05:00Tissues For MenI love being at my parents because they have everything in the world (essentially free toiletry shopping for me) in what we refer to as the "bomb shelter." Some people might call this stealing, but they birthed me after all. Right now I have a load of laundry in because I'm scared I'm going to contract Hepatitis from the laundromat by my apartment. So because all my laundry is in the wash, I am wearing my mom's granny panties which come up to above my belly button. I asked my dad for sweats and he gave me Under Armor. I have a serious case of VPL. So my parents have the coolest bathroom complete with a bidet(for my dad who has a preoccupation with his back parts apparently). In the bathroom I can see myself naked in the mirror while I shower. As I love being naked, this can be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on the mood I am, what I ate last, and what time of year it is. Right now as it's winter, I'm super pale and everything looks bigger when it's white so I shuddered when I caught a glimpse of myself and tried to look away but I couldn't. It was like a train wreck that I can see from every angle. Mental note - get back in the gym after the holidays. Procrastinating is my favorite sport. <br />At my parents, I get in "trouble" whenever I don't squeegee the shower when I'm done. For this weekend's visit, I was sure to leave my dad a nice butt-print on the shower when I was done squeegeeing. It was initially on accident but then I left it on purpose. Generally when I am home visiting my dad follows me around from room to room and empties every garbage as soon as I put so much as a tissue in it. <br />Speaking of tissues - new invention alert. My dad asked for a napkin yesterday to blow his nose and I immediately demanded that I get him a tissue instead to which he replied, "Regular tissues are too thin and I end up blowing it all over my hand." While this was definitely TMI, it sparked a new idea - thick tissues for men. Possibly towel-like. I bet every man would buy into it. Advertisers - catch onto this one. I always want to invent something but am never proactive enough to do it. Would <strong>you </strong>buy tissues for men?Deannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596418822200787754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962790463277848730.post-77828960660219239912009-12-19T09:47:00.013-05:002009-12-19T10:28:15.860-05:00BLIZZARD<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHVi4mOCCeUzCyli3MGh_VQVF4xc08IqJ59jPpgdn5xgLLYr5Js75nOzzHZIlyBhoPDu0LmjFbSA7NDmJr3ftUeao0EPNdCTiz3zwtShsDTrIPIyvwrgRigAjshaEH9wSgIguNZD_tvExJ/s1600-h/blizzard.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHVi4mOCCeUzCyli3MGh_VQVF4xc08IqJ59jPpgdn5xgLLYr5Js75nOzzHZIlyBhoPDu0LmjFbSA7NDmJr3ftUeao0EPNdCTiz3zwtShsDTrIPIyvwrgRigAjshaEH9wSgIguNZD_tvExJ/s320/blizzard.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416964022521474530" /></a><br /><br />This is the note from my mom to my dad that I woke up to. Interesting how she softens the blow with use of the word "might," like merely suggesting "You <strong>might </strong>want to pick up some milk for coffee." She is as casual about suggesting that he make an $800 purchase as she is about a $3 purchase. I love the demands she places on my dad and even more so, how she goes about it. I also love the urgency and hubbub around this so-called "blizzard" in NY. They announce on the weather that we are going to get 6-12 inches of snow and you would think we are having the snowstorm of the century, like we live in the Appalachians. People are stocking up on food in the grocery stores, shovels are sold out everywhere, my dad goes out to buy a snowblower. <br />Mind you, they have lived in this same home for 30 years now and seemed to do relatively well without a snowblower until the "blizzard of 2009" when we can't live without it. Btw, we don't live on an acre of land. Like most crowded suburbs, we live on top of the houses next to us, so it's not like he needs a ride-on tractor for a farm. I think it has more to do with the fact that my dad considers bacon a food group, and even though he works out with a personal trainer (ie walks around the gym going "eh oh Joey, how's it goin?" and then does a sit-up), he seems to get rounder and rounder by the day. My mom is scared that any form of strenuous physical activity like shovelling will bring on a mild heart attack. Were that to happen, she would have no one to leave a note that says "Your daughter is getting married, you might want to put an extension on the house." True story. Not the note, but the fact that they put on extension on their house for my sister's wedding. A wedding that didn't even take place in their home, it was for the activities surrounding it. <br />Well got to go start baking before I get ousted from the "Cookie Exchange" like my Uncle did for not taking it seriously enough. And gearing up for the snowstorm. You might want to go buy a snowblower.Deannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596418822200787754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962790463277848730.post-22281569269817846012009-12-19T09:15:00.010-05:002009-12-19T09:47:20.335-05:00The Undo ButtonYesterday when I woke up, it took me forever to get it together to finally get on a train to go to Long Island. My work holiday "gala," I believe, is what my CEO labeled it, was gorgeous, posh, and fun. He announced an unfreeze on the raises and where our new building is going to be (1 Hudson Place). I also, as predicted, did some networking and got pretty sloshed. No one noticed. I was nursing a massive hangover and I had to go to my parents for the weekend to help bake Christmas cookies for the holidays. Sounds corny but it's a fun tradition, and I always try to pitch in with the goal that my mom won't cry around the holidays this year and cancel Christmas for next year. Also, even though my family can be irritating to the point of Chinese Water Torture, both of my sisters go and I would feel extremely left out if I didn't. (Youngest Child Syndrome.) <br />So I'm cleaning up my apartment and naturally, I'm jamming glassware into my tiny dishwasher, (I swear it is half the size that dishwashers should be - I can fit a plate and a cup - max - in it - what a waste of electricity), when I add that last cup, and it messes up the whole flow of all the other dirty dishes around it. A glass breaks, a casserole dish moves out of place, I can't get it closed, it was pure chaos. <br />Immediately the thought that went through my head was, "Damn it, I wish I could hit the undo button and go back to the precarious way it was positioned before I put in that last cup, when it was still rolling closed." You know, how when you are on the computer and you delete something you shouldn't have, or copy and paste over something you didn't mean to, you just hit undo and it goes back to the way it was, the way you wanted it to be. Since I was hungover and alone for the first time in weeks, this sent my mind into a whirlwind of thought. How many times would it be beneficial to just have an undo button in life. Especially for someone like me, that doesn't have a filter and just blurts out exactly what is on her mind. Do you know how many less people I would have offended if there was an undo button in life? I would probably have way more friends (I have enough) and even my dream job if I could just undo some stuff. Ok, let's not get carried away. However, I did get into a pretty big fight with my boyfriend last night and I just wished I could click undo and make it go back to before. There are so many situations I could use that undo button. We could change split seconds that make up for whole life changes. Or is that what people call fate? What would you use an undo button in life for?Deannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596418822200787754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962790463277848730.post-35869289566563187822009-12-19T09:02:00.009-05:002010-01-06T15:36:49.886-05:00Celebrity Sighting<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxxtu7sREFrYu3bOFwN2Q2QHUfFvm-YNumjZXYg89dvqe4S2W9vSRwXy0nMLmh9CBkvtgjimYQwQ12pTljH0Ogp4z4rI-k5RB2j_UfnurPKgXUoCvRsXtBJNUG9Bo6nKOPIick4_MCH_np/s1600-h/Mr+Shickadance.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 82px; height: 61px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxxtu7sREFrYu3bOFwN2Q2QHUfFvm-YNumjZXYg89dvqe4S2W9vSRwXy0nMLmh9CBkvtgjimYQwQ12pTljH0Ogp4z4rI-k5RB2j_UfnurPKgXUoCvRsXtBJNUG9Bo6nKOPIick4_MCH_np/s400/Mr+Shickadance.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416948840424481730" /></a><br />Yesterday I was strolling down my block after a hellish trip to the Post Office, partially because I was shaking from being so hungover, to send a Christmas package to my friend in Afghanistan. I walk past the Actor's Studio and spot none other than MR. SHICKADANCE! The landlord from Ace Ventura. I know the pic leads you to believe it was Jim Carey, that was the point. I was patting myself so hard on the back that I recognized this old man that I nearly knocked myself over. Is it just me or did you all watch that movie the entire summer of 94, on repeat and quote all the lines from it? "Ventura." "Yes Satan?" "Oh I'm sorry sir, you sounded like someone else."<br /><br />Amazing movie, great sighting, really brought me back. Sorry the pic is so small - I'm new to this whole blogging thing and couldn't find a good one.Deannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596418822200787754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962790463277848730.post-55724412368480262082009-12-17T11:22:00.005-05:002009-12-19T09:42:08.358-05:00Work Holiday PartyTonight is my work holiday party. I plan to network with other departments in my company so I can exit my current situation, but still work within my company. LIE. Really I'm going to take advantage of all the free food and alcohol and probably get drunk and fall down and get told by HR "someone needs to get that girl in a cab," like last year.<br /><br />No I will not get drunk tonight. I have to maintain my integrity and a level of professionalism. My company is such a high school though, I'm interested to see how this all goes down. This is my third holiday party with this company and this year it's at a really high-end venue. That's nice seeing as there has been a freeze on raises the past year even though we are one of the few companies still hiring and picking up new business in an "economic downturn". I will not get drunk tonight, maybe if I keep saying it, it will work. <br /><br />I'll try to post about this tomorrow but I don't think I'll be able to seeing as I don't have a computer at home and I had the foresight to take tomorrow off, (give it a weekend for coworkers to forget my antics and slurred insults) because I just moved into a new shoebox, I mean new apartment and my old computer was as big as an arcade game. Because I am such an adult, I have to wait until April, my birthday, for a laptop. More to come. <br /><br /><strong>Side note - Happy 56th birthday Dad! </strong>Deannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596418822200787754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962790463277848730.post-22410052297705121882009-12-16T17:12:00.004-05:002009-12-16T17:48:17.265-05:00My DadThere will be many updates on my father in the future. He's probably my favorite person to quote because he's so into himself and so funny.<br /><br />Let's put it this way. If my Dad was 20 years old today he would be on that Jersey Shore Show. Sure we all detest them but he is a reformed former Queens turned Suburban Guido that has three daughters and a wife that pretty much rule him. We call him Mr. Saturday because when you don't work "Everyday is a Saturday." Another nickname is "Rabbit" because he got new teeth recently and they're way too long. When he gets really excited or does something that he thinks is really funny, the Rabbit comes out. <br /><br />Today's text from my sister: a quote from him: "Everything about me is great. I got the best house-the pool. I got the nicest mailman. Everybody wants to be related to us."<br /><br />See below for pic of him. This is him tanning on a cruise that my entire family went on without me. He likes to ensure that, quite unnaturally for a male, the tops of his legs get tan too.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLVXYFtZ6evAHCUa2VLXb2QfTHLMBmDHaOrio3KRBUtkGIk1NodVfuMFbL_8iOv9LgE4Yui2tSznnwr4p8rj_1_-SWOSvsa9Q-nypOBdWM7kwA42T5S7So3Ibo_JweH80T0fZ6URhu09TK/s1600-h/RABBIT+SUNBATHING.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLVXYFtZ6evAHCUa2VLXb2QfTHLMBmDHaOrio3KRBUtkGIk1NodVfuMFbL_8iOv9LgE4Yui2tSznnwr4p8rj_1_-SWOSvsa9Q-nypOBdWM7kwA42T5S7So3Ibo_JweH80T0fZ6URhu09TK/s200/RABBIT+SUNBATHING.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415962417578905970" /></a>Deannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596418822200787754noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962790463277848730.post-41948248041810750592009-12-16T11:24:00.015-05:002009-12-19T10:00:47.007-05:00300.2Why? Do you ask? Is my blog called 300.2? Let me start with the back story. I am 25, and in a current state of duress. When I was in middle school we prepared for high school. In high school we were striving to obtain scholarships to get into college. Little did I know that all my overzealous extracurriculars which resulted, much to my dismay, to get me voted "most involved" by my senior class, were going to gross me $3,000 total, most of it coming from my elementary school, named after a Native American Indian. Is that PC? Apparently that's how they roll on Long Island in regard to naming shit. Thanks for the 1.5% help off my college tuition. Anyway from there counselors helped you choose your major in college and that was ultimately to prepare you for the real world: a job. Well finally I realized that in "Freshman year of life," no one holds your hand the way they do in the past and you're ultimately preparing for retirement. So now here I am, in Junior Year of Life, age 25, at a job that isn't what I thought it was going to be, and a credit card debt like I'm raising a small family - with a chronic case of hives. <br /><br />Don't get me wrong, from the outside looking in, I'm really not a nervous mess. I have lots of interesting and engaging, and did I mention hot and popular friends, a good looking boyfriend and a pretty dysfunctional, yet supportive family. However, the uncertainty of the future and utter dissatisfaction with my current situation (what? You don't come out of college making $75k a year and I have to PAY $700 to get a cavity filled - what is the point of insurance? - I nearly passed out when my hot young Asian dentist told me - and normally I'm quite adverse to Asians) has resulted in an overall anxious feeling from day to day. So I start breaking out in hives when I am doing nothing that should make me break out in hives, everyday things. I decide, like most New Yorkers, that I have to dump my problems on a complete stranger and need to take advantage of the little insurance that I work so hard for at my not-so-great paying and not-so-challenging job. I enlist the help of a friend in grad school for none other than therapy and determine I am going to interview therapists. That's what every non-crazy does right? Til it just feels right, like a mate. At least that's what we're led to believe "you'll just click" - bullshit.<br /><br />I finally settle on this heavy lesbian who is actually a social worker. However as our sessions go on, she is a little too opinionated and not so flexible with my schedule. I want to come every other week, after all I have a shore house and after treating my body like a garbage disposal all weekend, I want to relax on Mondays rather than rehash suppressed childhood memories. Priorities people. After each session I come home in a catatonic state and tell my boyfriend about how I loved her this time and the next I hated her because she told me what to do and was yawning too much. Sorry do my problems bore you? Oh wait you are getting $350 an hour to listen to me bitch so damn it you will pretend you are interested. The next session I go back and she wants me to refill the insurance forms (Insurance Companies rule the world btw) because my penmanship is comparable to writing with your feet. I never mastered the art of fine motor coordination, I also can't paint my nails and tried to get my boyfriend to do it once because he claims he is "artistic," (ie took Art in high school). He tried to paint them like you would a canvas and that was the end of that. So I have the form in front of me and my info is already there. Being the invader of privacy that I am I immediately scour the paper for any details I can take in. I want to know what she is scribbling all session. I deserve to know. How dare she judge me? Then a few lines down I see it. <br /><br />DIAGNOSIS: <strong>300.2 </strong><br /><br />That's my diagnosis every session. Immediately I'm mad at her for diagnosing me with any kind of crazy. "Who does this lesbian bitch yawner think she is?" I'll diagnose her with a big F-A-T. So I scribble it down in the memo section of my blackberry, where you should keep important notes like "don't forget meeting with really important exec tomorrow" but instead I write things like a song I hear that I like or the type of wine that I am guzzling at my friend's apt and seemingly enjoy. <br />I can't even concentrate during our session, as the different types of 300.2 diagnoses run through my head. "Chronic Put downer of others to make herself feel better" Is that a disease? I always just thought making fun of people was amusing. "Psycho Personality Disorder." Did I tell her the truth about the story with my boyfriend? Surely I edited it for a therapist's ears. Don't lie, anyone that goes to any doctor lies to them, I know it's not in our best interest but it's certainly in the best interest of my ego. I'm trying to impress here. Even if I'm less than impressed by you, I must feel superior. <br /><br />I get home and immediately google it. <strong>General Anxiety Disorder.</strong> That bitch.<br /><br />I stopped going to her the next month. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Stay tuned for more rants on living in a big city, being 25, and hating your job. For now I am going to drink my sorrows away with my friends because that's what you do when you're 25 and broke.Deannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596418822200787754noreply@blogger.com1