Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Seven Facts and The Day of Whys

In response to MSPuddings request…I have to post 7 things people don’t know about me….I normally don’t do this “request” shit but considering MSP is from LA I don’t want to mess around with her, I hear those west coast girls are some crazy bitches… And as a timid, LL Bean wearing, Northeastern’er, I am scared of her.

So here goes nothing:

1- My nephew looks so much like me when I hold him in public places people ask me if he’s mine... essentially he is ridiculously good looking. Even at six months he gets the ladies. Diaper-crib-style

Pimpin aint easy

2- Last year I worked with Ani Difranco’s older brother
3- I got an entire group of people lost in Miami once try to find the ‘beach’ in ‘South Beach’…everyone ended up on a bus somewhere at midnight asking the driver if we were still in Florida
4- I can actually sing and not just to Journey. When I was 15 I recorded and produced my first CD. I still have a box of those CD’s in my parent’s basement somewhere….and NO, it wasn’t called the ‘Babysitter Club Blues’
5- I had a psychic tell me once that I when I grew up I was going to work in some job involving “computers” and “writing”…she was one dumb bitch
6- Four of my serious relationships were ALL with personal trainers…and I still don’t know how to use that damn squat machine without falling on top of it

Damnit why is Jimmy wearing my shorts again?

7- My ex-roommate got in a fight with T-Pain in club over the summer….I try and not get in fights, ever, but especially not with people who are named things like, ‘T-Pain’
I've renamed him, T--Nice-Elmo-Pants, because I think it fits better

I will tag the other unfortunate souls whom may or may not have interesting lives.
In other news:




-Why do personal trainers in gyms like to use made-up terms to confuse you? Terms like “cardiovascular”, “fitness” and “aerobic activity”. By using these terms they can convince you to stand in the middle of the gym on top of a neon plastic ball, doing crunches, while swinging a jump rope. Let’s call personal training what it really is…making you look like an asshole.

-Why do you always have one friend whom you can never explain what it is they do and the more you try to explain what they do, the more confused you get? “Oh yeah Mike works with computers at this company, he rewires things, I mean he uses wires, well there are wires in the computer and he touches them… I think he touches the wires…maybe he just has other people touch the wires…I don’t know, maybe he doesn’t even see the wires, maybe he is just in a backroom somewhere studying what the wires might look like, I don’t really know..” Until you are eventually like, “Yeah fuck it, I have no idea what Mike does.”

-Why it is that one friend can never find the place is it you are going to, no matter what you do to try and help them. Even if you MapQuest the place for them, draw a diagram, highlight the route, drive their car there yourself, put them in a wheelchair and wheel them right in front of the building, they will still sit there and go, “Umm… yeah I have no idea where this place is.”

-Why can I not cook any kind of food in the microwave at work, because it is inevitable that everyone is going to want to make a comment about it. People come out of their office to try and see who is cooking something the minute any type of smell is produced. Your co-workers feel the need of actually take guesses at what the smell is, until you finally have to be like, “Dude, it’s popcorn...”

And finally, in case you missed it...

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Dont Call the Radio, Jesus Wont Answer

Anndddd she’s back.

Slightly tired. Mostly hungover. Mainly satisfied. Loved ever minute that I actually remember, I do know I ended up stealing Poland springs water bottles from someone’s limo and apparently pissed off a small delivery boy and two 411 operators. All in all I would say it was a success.

I would like to start off this week talking about one of the numerous things in life that keep me awake at night. Song lyrics. Sometimes I am not quote sure who is writing these songs, but I understand some of them about as much as I understand why my dad polishes the loafers he only wears indoors, but hey, some things are left only for Jesus to understand I guess.

Below are some lyrics that have kept me awake many nights.

R . Kelly - Ignition
“Can I get a toot toot and a beep beep...”
Wait, what? You want me to what? Beep? Toot? What? RK are you trying to be modest and not use the real words? Considering you ate out a girl’s ass and wrote a song about it? Really? I am not sure I know how to beep or toot... does the beep involve me being on my back with my arms tied to my sides?

Ashanti – Always On Time
“I’m not always there when you call, but I’m always on time…”
If you weren’t there to pick up the phone when he called, how the hell did you get there on time?

Mary J Blige - Be Without You
“Call the radio if you just cant be without your baby..”
I don’t even have the station's phone number and what station is this anyway? What if I am listening to a CD right now? Because if I call the radio station the receptionist will answer the phone and do what? Find my baby? How did I lose my baby to begin with? Are we talking about an actual baby here?

Whitney Houston- Your Love
"It would take an eternity to break us. Even the chains of Amistad couldn't hold us..."
The CHAINS OF AMISTAD? Seriously? Maybe we being a TAD dramatic here?

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

When The Heavens Called Out and Light First Broke, In Otherwords, My Birthday

Look at this bitch, I bet she grows up to be real attractive,
someone please tell her that horse isn't real

So I am going to be out of commission until the beginning of next week, being that it's my birthday this weekend and all. Essentially I feel as though being drunk on only one day of the week is never enough, I hope to be more toasted than a cashew stuck in a homeless man's tooth.

And if you think I am going to tell you how old I am turning, that is bullshit, I wont...but if you want to go ahead and get all Nancy Drew on me, then I only have four words for you, 'Blogger Profiles'.

I own that dress

But back to my original thought, you should all know that Saturday night if you find me laying in a gated bush in the Meatpacking district, wearing some kind of glitter heels and a tierra, just know, I probably look better than last year.

Anyone remember when Toonces the Driving Cat drove the golf cart drunk?..... you people suck
(Update- Fine, fuck you, I guess he is driving a 'lawnmower')

Monday, October 22, 2007

To Catch a Bouquet

Over the weekend at a lovely little place some people like to call, "New Jersey", at a wedding for my old college roommate, I did the unthinkable and actually dove in to catch the bouquet. According to one of the bridesmaids I apparently turned around and said something along the lines of, "Out of my way bitches," as I ran in to get it.

The irony of it is that marriage is not in the picture anytime soon for me. In actuality, as much as I date, I am starting to think as each year goes by I understand less and less about men. I used to know a lot about them, a few years back I remember thinking men were a breeze, a Final Exam in Division 101 when I had already aced Calculus. In second grade there was a boy named Tommy who used to follow me around on the playground. He was always trying to sit with me and talk to me, until one day he tried to cut me on the monkey bars and I had a big girl name Elsa go over and pull him off by the ankles until he finally let go and plunged face first into a pile of sand. Tommy didn't follow me around too much after that.

There is this scene in the movie Picture Perfect where Jennifer Aniston is standing in a marble bathroom yelling to her friend, "I don't get what went wrong...things were so simple for so long, I liked men, men liked me..but somewhere in the last year or so everything has just gotten so, screwed up..."

Every year I understood a little bit more than I do now, so essentially if I date myself all the way back to being a fetus I was in complete control right around embryo stage.

There are certain things I get such as; going out, talking to boys, going to dinners... then right after that is about when I get completely lost. It is as though after the first few dates suddenly I have wandered into some unknown desert where I am walking around holding a sandy map and a broken compass going, "wasn't I just on a main road about 2 blocks ago...?"

My last relationship, less than a year ago, was with a boy named John who tried to take me home to meet his mom and dad...after we had been dating for one week. John actually wanted to have a "real relationship" and do things about our feelings...the kinda crap that makes my stomach churn. I remember he almost cried when we rented the movie 'Serendipity" together, I still get nauseous just thinking about it.

And yet on the other hand when I date guys who only show interest in seeing what kind of comforter and sheets I own, I cant help but think I am at a loss. How did I end up on this road? Where is the middle ground? Why can't I get rest somewhere on the divider? I like men, men like me, but in the last year or so everything has just gotten so, screwed if I could only find my way out of this desert...

Friday, October 19, 2007

America & Turkey: Best Friends 4-never

So as my readers, you may already know that I never do this- post articles written by other authors- And I don't do it for a number of reasons, partly because I don't really think most authors are as good looking as me, but mainly because you come to NYCP to get a little dose of Kimmie...actually I have no idea what I am talking about I am sure you people don't care whether I write something or whether a goat in Tanzania writes this site. So please read the attached article below, party because it is truly funny, but mainly because it was written by someone way better looking than myself, Elliott Kalan.
This article has been the sugar in my coffee this morning and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did.

America & Turkey: Best Friends 4-Never
My View
by: Elliott Kalan
October 19, 2007
The world is kind of like America’s family. England is our stern mother, Canada’s our goody two-shoes little sister, Russia is the scary uncle whose house smells weird, and our best bud would have to be Turkey. America’s bond with Turkey is legendary. Turkey helped us move our stuff after the Louisiana Purchase. We were the best man at Turkey’s wedding. And we commemorate this friendship every third Thursday of November by devouring the bird that bears Turkey’s name.

Well, maybe we’ll be eating penguin this year, because things are pretty tense with Turkey right now. You see, our relationship is built on a foundation of fratboyish needs. Turkey lets us crash on their couch when we’re in the Middle East, and we don’t tell anybody about its embarrassing youthful shenanigans, specifically the Armenian Genocide of 1915. Turkey’s still pretty touchy about that, so we pretend it didn’t happen. That’s what friends are for.

But Congress has no friends, so it doesn’t realize how dorky it’s being by proposing a resolution condemning Turkey’s actions. Now Turkey’s mad at all of us, even though we didn’t do anything. It’s like the time your friend Chad said Sheila was a slut, so Sheila got mad at you, because even though you didn’t agree with Chad, you still didn’t stick up for her, which was a lame move on your part, by the way. The only difference here is that instead of Sheila being a slut, Turkey killed 1.5 million people. I admit it’s not a great analogy. Now, since we broke our blood-brother oath, Turkey won’t let us use its airbases. Plus, it’s planning to invade Northern Iraq, home of the Kurds, a.k.a. the only Iraqis we don’t have a problem with right now. This would be disastrous, removing the center of conflict to an area where we have few troops, and forcing our enemies to disengage from us in order to repel Turkey, which is really insulting. What, suddenly we’re not good enough to be insurged against?

Wait. Hold on. Is this all an elaborate plot to get Turkey involved in Iraq, allowing us to tiptoe out whistling nonchalantly? That’s brilliant! Heck, it’s worth losing a meaningful international friendship to get out of there. After all, we lost so many meaningful international friendships going in, what’s one more? Nice move, Congress! I knew there was a reason we kept you around.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Damn Sports, Damn Them to Hell

This is exactly how I feel about baseball too

Last year when all the world seemed calm and serene and Britney Spears still had an ounce of dignity left, I myself spent a fall season learning some important lessons about a little thing I like to call "sports" being that I live with all women and think eating cookie dough at 3am while crying during a cotton commercial is normal, sports in essence is never really a big topic...that is of course, until a couple of us went and did the unthinkable last year and got boyfriends. The minute you get a boyfriend you suddenly realize not understanding sports is like not understanding how to unzip Levi's high waisted black don't really want to know, but eventually you are just forced into it.

I had wandered down the street into a little sports bar where there was a sea of team jerseys everywhere and men with arms outstretched in the air, waving them frantically at the TV screen. It was so packed if my seat got pushed any closer to the bar I would officially have been able to rest my boobs on top comfortably. It was an enchanted day of baseball and I was revealing in all its glory next to hundreds of men who were drunk and spilling beer all over themselves…it was a magical moment.

I yelled just like how they yelled, I booed how they booed, clapped when they clapped...peed how they...wait, what?...Essentially, I had no fucking idea what was going on.

I remember earlier in the summer being at my friend Jeff’s apartment, watching the Yankees and trying to play this little game I like to call 'pretend like you know what is actually going on'.

They flashed Chris Ray’s profile across the screen and I began yelling, “Go Chris! Yeah yeah yeah!” I could see my friend Jeff staring at me as though I had just cut off his left testicle. “KIM…Do you LIKE the Orioles??” (Umm, who? what? Oreos? Yeah I like Oreos why?) What was I supposed to tell him? I was cheering just for the sake of cheering? Because I thought it was the right moment to scream something?
Our conversation went something like:

“KIM, why are you cheering for Chris Ray, stop cheering for Chris, you don’t even know what the fuck you’re cheering about and he is not even a Yankee.”

“Well fine, if you put it that way, then fine I won't cheer anymore, I just thought that…”

“How about you cheer for the Yankees, Kim?? How about that one? Can you just follow the color of the uniforms? Is that too much to ask? Kim, the Yankees have on the uniforms that say NEW YORK…can you follow that?”

Now I wait for the cheer. I see a game going on and I sit there thinking.. wait for it…wait for it…wait for it… and then as the bar beings to roar all of a sudden I am screaming, yelling and throwing my shoes at the TV just like everyone else… people throw shoes, right?

Monday, October 15, 2007

Things That Make My Ovaries Cry

Last weekend I made the fatale mistake of renting, ‘The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants’, thinking it was going to be ‘cute’. About an hour into it I felt like if I endured anymore estrogen my ovaries would explode, as my uterus tried to commit suicide off the edge of my fallopian tubes.

I want them to be my BFFs forever and share half heart
necklaces and sing Ace of Base 'dont turn around'
That movie had so much crying and talking, and talking and crying, I was in hormone hell…it was like I had rented two hours worth of menstruation. After that movie I needed to watch four hours of football, scratch my non-existent balls, or scratch someone else’s balls for that matter, and make some pussy jokes.
my ovaries are crying inside
When did women start enjoying this? Do we not talk about our feelings enough as it is? Do we actually need to watch others talk about theirs now too?
If you have ever sat and watched a reality show such as 'The Bachelor' with a group of women, you would know that women can talk about anything for hours. I had a three hour debate once with my roommates once on why the Bachelor picked the blonde girl in the purple dress versus the blonde girl in the red dress. We had theories and speculations. We even made charts and diagrams and I believe someone brought over a projector and some slides for a PowerPoint presentation or some microfiche. It was all very scientific.
I like using advanced technology

And you know what I finally came to the conclusion of? …Goddamn women talk a lot about nothing.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

A Children's Story

One day, in a magical land called, "Neiman Marcus", there lived a little girl named Cynthia. And in this magical land, Cynthia was allowed to purchase 200 dollar tank tops, drink champagne and berate minimum wage sales employees, all without anyone judging her.

greedy bitch

Until one day a dark and evil force came across the land, and this man was known as, “Mr. Debt Collector"! He was an evil man and Mr. Debt collector told the little girl, "Little girl , if you do not pay me, I will take away all your precious gifts and jewels and make it impossible for you to ever buy a house or a fancy pink convertible car!” The little girl was so sad and cried out, "But Mr. Debt Collector! I have no money to give and I cannot give up my precious gift because they make me beautiful and popular and boys want to take me home when I wear those tank tops! Whatever shall I do?!”

Then, across the cosmetics department, rode in an old man on a white horse and although this man was so very old and balding and forty pounds overweight, he said, "Hello little girl, I will save you and I will be known to you as the 'magical sugar daddy' and I will pay for all your debts so you will never have to worry about debts again! And your only fee to me will you will have to sleep in my very large bed and watch me roll around naked.”

The little girl thought for a moment.
"Hooray!" She screamed, rejoicing. She could now continue to purchase all the beautiful jewels in the world and she would only have to be a prostitute on weekends.

Suddenly the dark cloud lifted over the magical land of Neiman Marcus and all was right in the world again!
The End.

Please look out for the rest of the Cynthia Series to be out in Bookstores soon. New titles out are:

-The Day Cynthia Throws Her Cellphone at Her Nanny

-Cynthia Goes on Her First Diet

-Cynthia’s Mom Likes To Smoke Magical Cigarettes

-Why Does Cynthia's Daddy Stay Out So Late at Night with the Secretary?

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

I am Getting Old, I Might Die Soon

The last time I visited a well known WJ, or whore-joint as it is known to the Bible followers, I was halfway through my Corona when I looked around and thought, “Wow, I look pretty…mature…for this crowd.” Every girl in there was wearing her sorority t-shirt and daring her Delta-Gamma-UV-Ray sisters to hop on the bar with her to perform that dance routine they learned to Christina Agulera’s Diiirty. All I could think was, “You will never be able to dance in those shoes! You need good comfort shoes… with insoles like mine! And why are your jeans so tight! Those are some damn tight jeans ladies!”

When did I get old? When did this happen? It was like one day I was dancing on the bar drinking Malibu Baybreezes and the next minute I am in Aerosols shoe store going, “Do these brown sneakers come with support insoles?”
In Case you were wondering how I pick up all the men...
I turn 26 in two weeks and I have to say I have taken stock in my life, separated things that matter and don’t matter…for instance:

Things that Matter- Men that know what a UTI is and how to proceed with caution.
Things that Don’t Matter- Body Glitter.

See how I carefully sorted out the meaning in life right there? I realize in my 26 years on this planet I have learned a few things I would like to pass on to my children, or to someone else’s children like maybe some random grocery store children. Things like, how to use a counter top overhang to open a beer bottle or how to take a really good MySpace picture of yourself. And one day, one of those grocery store kids will look back and think … “Damn…that lady was hot.” And then I will know I have done my job.

Thursday, October 4, 2007

Thin Walls, Cell Phones and The Discovery Channel...essentially everything upsetting in life

I used to live in an apartment on 80th street that was about the size of a cubical and my roommate Molly’s and my bedroom were separated by essentially a sheet of poster board. Lifestyles of the rich and famous for sure. Molly had a boyfriend at the time who was a merchant marine who used to come over to our place and turn on the Discovery channel and watch shows about ships…and water…and things made with screws and metal…it was all very upsetting for me.

This is about the actual size of my apartment on 80th street, it was also a center for
kids who want to learn how to read good

For some reason though whenever her boyfriend came over I was always doing something that seemed to clarify the fact why I was the single one, such as being in bed watching the reenactment of the Michael Jackson Trial on E!, eating massive amounts of those yellow chickadee marshmallows. They would be in her bedroom right next door to me, kissing and cuddling, while I sat in my green face mask, practicing how to take photos of myself with my digital camera.
I was always frightened I would wake up to the sounds of something more than the Discovery ship channel blowing horns at night and possibly to the sound of something else being…um…blown… so I went to bed most nights with my fan set on high.

One of my good friends also suffered with a case of ‘thin walls’ and was subjected to listening to her roommate’s vibrator one night. The first time she woke up she was positive a cell phone was going off. She realized after a good ten minutes that unless that vibrating cell phone had some serious battery power this was not exactly a late night phone call going on. And her roommate had a body odor problem to boot..and slept on a mattress on the floor with all her clothes piled into trash bags, no joke, 'Classy' is the only word I know how to describe that...She was not the kind of girl you want to imagine ever taking her underwear off for anything. In fact I think underwear should have been permanently sewn onto her body along with a metal chastity belt and 15 sticks of deodorant…but hey, I’m just thinking out loud here.

If these aren't sexy, then I don't know what Sexy is..

Tuesday, October 2, 2007

Women Can Vote Now Too? Damnit My Uterus is Mad

Walking up my apartment's treacherous two flights of stairs last night with my roommate, I went on what can only be called a typical ‘Kim Tyrant’, or ‘Temper Tantrum’ for the Harvard graduates out there. I was yelling all the way up the stairs about something that has bothered me since the dawn of time, and that dawn of time clearly being October 29th, 1981 when I was born. Hello people, pay attention here.

“You know what just frosts my cookies!” I yelled at my roommate. “That us women have to go through years and years of ‘pretending’ to want to have a successful job when all I really want to do is just go make some babies.”

Now I know what you all are thinking, “But Kim, women are taking over the world, we are the largest growing demographic to not only get a college education, but a graduate education as well.”


I got this one good uterus, and what is it doing right now? It is watching me “learn” and “get a graduate degree” and “work to make money” and you know what, it is damn tired of it. My uterus is like “Hey Kim, it’s you Uterus here, yeah I know, I didn’t expect me to have a southern accent either, but I do darlin! But guess what Kim? I’m here and I’m bored, so stop trying to use your ‘brain’ all the damn time and start usin’ me, your Uterus! Now if you don’t mind I got some ovaries to go have a lunch meeting with...”
(Apparently they like to eat at Mangia everyday, I know, who knew)

My uterus is so damn sick of me using my “brain”. My brain gets wayyyyy overused on a daily basis, when in reality I would like to be using my vagina way more instead.