SELFABSORBED.ME

I woke up this morning and didn't feel so well... and not just physically, but mentally as well.

So I get into work and I open my laptop and you know what I do? That's right, I download Huey Lewis and The News' 'The Power of Love'. And not even because I like it all that much, because I don't like it much at all, but I heard the song after watching a College Humor skit and it has now been etched in my brain as the next song I needed to get in my Itunes. So I download the song and I play it and play it. Over and over. And everyone that walks by my desk all I can think of is how I am listening to Huey Lewis. So I listen to that damn song maybe 6 or 7, possibly 12 times in a matter of an hour. And I am quite sure by this time I can even tell you the chord progression and possibly the bridge.

But I still don't feel better.

So I get up from my desk and head downstairs. And as any bad-movie-goer knows what comes next, I get in the wrong elevator by accident. I meant to go down but everyone is going up and I walked in aimlessly and all the passengers gave me that sorry helpless look that I had been caught in their upward bound elevator ride. So I stand and mumble numerous F words under my breath and everyone in their pleated-front-khakis is staring at me. I finally get downstairs and head to the front of the cement steps. Now I am not what most people might call a 'smoker'. I am a smoker-wanna-be. I hang out with all the smoker-cool-kids at parties and outside lounges, because sometimes when I am wearing ripped jeans and a vest and some kind of cheesy hat from Urban Outfitters I am quite sure the one thing to complete my outfit would be a cigarette... I think Vests and cancer happen to go well together, yes. But in truth no matter how many times I have smoked it still burns the back of my throat pretty bad and upsets my stomach just enough to make me feel like I need to go take a shit.

But this morning I smoked two cigarettes. Two. It took me a bit to figure out how to light the first one in the middle of the wind storm. And I could tell the other "seasoned' smokers were staring. But I actually walked outside of work to do it so it was going to be done. And I stood there trying to light a cigarette with the rest of the smokers as though I belonged...but they kept eyeing me, clearly noting I was not part of the normal smoking community that congregates outside of my building's steps. And I had on no makeup, some old corduroy pants and a t-shirt and I wonder if people were thinking if I even looked old enough to smoke.

After I smoked my second cigarette...which essentially was just for effects and maybe to prove something to the other smokers. I breathed in the last end of ash so deep I almost threw up. But I stood there. Waiting for the nicotine to hit me a bit.

But I didn't feel any better.

So I walked back inside. Thankfully got on the right elevator this time and headed back to my desk. I sat down and started to try and eat my sandwich. Eating can be seemingly difficult though when not all is well.

I remember this girl Libby from my 8th grade class having just broke up with her boyfriend named Josh and after the final student came over to make the 'Just Joshin Ya! " joke to her (dont ask) she pretty much lost it at the cafeteria table and the site of Libby trying to eat some sandwich while she cried over Josh was almost too much for my 13 year old mind to bear. Every tear drop and deep-cry-inhale she tried to take a bite, and it was truly a painful site. It will be forever imprinted on me, like some horrible childhood memory.

So the more I tried to eat my sandwich, the more I started pulling the chicken out of it, and then the lettuce and tomato...until eventually all I had in my hand was bread and mayo. So I consumed that and sat there. Reached into my drawer and pulled out my kids chewable vitamins and ate 4 purple dinosaurs. I figured the dinosaurs would make up for the mayo and bread I had consumed as my only meal of the day.

And I sat and waited to feel better.

But I didn't feel any better.

And then I sat and wrote this blog. And wrote and rewrote and tried to make it funnier. Or wittier. Or catchy-ier. And I rewrote it again. And I tried to think of what my friends would think is funny, or what maybe even my dad thinks is funny . And I rewrote again.

But I didn't feel any better.


I am thinking I will now go download some more Huey Lewis and see how that goes...

Ever since Jewel made her first appearance on Rolling Stone in 1997, I became obsessed with female artists. I remember staring at that cover for hours. She was just so pretty. And smart. And she had boobs. Was the world going to implode?

And I was obsessed with everything Jewel until of course the first time Kurt Loader decided to shove one up that pretty little ass of hers and call her out during an interview. Kurt Loder questioned her use of “casualties” in her lyrics and Jewel essentially went on to explain her own definition of ‘causalities’ when Kurt Loder remarked that it was used incorrectly and casualties actually means someone 'wounded in battle'. I believe Jewel's definition had something to do with being casual in Alaska and wearing a bearskin rug or something.

After Loder called her out, Jewel then in turn, did what any folk singer might do and turned to Kurt and called him an ass.

Ah, the beautiful depths of journalism.

And while I did agree he was being an ass, as this was MTV , which means the WORLD was watching it…another part of me just thought Jewel was a fucking idiot and I soon tallied up her intelligence to that of a Ham Sandwich.


In later years I have come to realize I really do love her song lyrics and frankly, I don’t think I would care if I found out most of them were written in gibberish and consisted of lines such as “la de dum, pirates in my vodka rum"...frankly I wouldn't give two shits, because I love her.

And you know who else I love? And I am not even ashamed to say it either? Christina Aguilera.

Yeah, that’s right , I love her, I have loved her ever since her first album came out and she wore a beaded orange and blue tank top.

And then life got better when I bought…yes I will repeat..BOUGHT, her album and I heard “Love Will Find a Way” for the first time.

I would equate it to what most people feel when they see their newborn child for the first time.

I remember thinking what intricate and deeply sentimental lyrics these are. Who could possibly come up with such lyrics? She must be some sort of Harvard genius... with a really good JOB or something.

I don’t even know.


But to prove it I have decided to copy the lyrics below, so you can see what a true lyrical genius this Miss Aguilera is:

Christina- Love Will Find A Way

No one ever said that love was gonna be easy


How DOES she know?!

Gotta take the ups and downs the in-betweens


Yes! The Inbetweens, how did she think of that, it isn’t JUST the ups and downs, its ALSO the INBetweens too!

If you take this journey Gotta give yourself completely Never let nobody ever step on a dream

Fuck! She is so right. I wont let ANYONE step on my dream! I will put my dream on a shelf so high you wouldn’t be able to step on it! Unless you had some really big fucking ladder or something and could climb up there.

No the rain wont last forever Find a way to make it better Long as we can stand together Love will find a way

Wow, I get chills, the same kind of chills I get whenever I watch the Lion King and they lift the new cub above the old man’s head and play, 'Circle of Life’.

Gonna make a new tomorrow Say good-bye to tears and sorrow Better listen when I say Love will find a way

I want to say goodbye to tears and sorrow! How do I do that Christina? HOW?! God she is a genius!

Somebody tried to tell me love don't last forever

Shit! Someone tried to tell me that too! I think it was my Dad...

Said it only happens in your wildest dreams After all is said and done We're still here together Never listen to the lies and jealousy
You better stop

Ok I stopped.

Don't you let them turn you around
Ok, I will swivel a little bit back to my left...

You better stop

um, I just stopped...

Hang onto this love that we've found

Do you have some sort of hard rubbery glove or something I can use to hold it down with? I mean I just put cream on my hands so they might be a bit slippery.

Nothing that they say can ever stand in our way.


If that song doesn't give you chills then I don't know what would.
Maybe Billy Joel's We Didn't Start The Fire would be next on my list, but frankly , that songs contains way too many words with more then two syllables.

But hey, maybe I would have been happy?

Even if I could ‘Imagine” the perfect job I would probably get tired of it after awhile. I used to tell my dad I was going to quit everything and move to South Beach and become a towel-girl at the The Delano Hotel. My dad would lose it every time, as though I was really going to do it. He used to get so mad and say things like, “I paid for 4 years of college so that you could go hand towels to Puff Daddy?!” And then I would have to correct him about the whole , ‘P-Diddy’ thing and that would lead to a whole OTHER conversation.

Think of the coolest job you can think of. For example, - A sports editor, who gets to travel for free to sports games, he helps plan huge parties for big athletes then gets to go to all the parties and hang with celebrities…well guess what…I know him, I know a guy who does that very job, and he hates it. Yes fucking hates it. I know a girl who is top notch at Michael Kors and travels the world…some days she confesses she would rather have her eyes burned out by a hot poker.
My point is, if you hate your job, or sit at work thinking, “there MUST be something better.” I am here to tell you …there isn’t.

But if you find Billy Organ anywhere and he happens to have a farm with 10 unicorns and an extra vet license..you let me know.

My first year out of college, I had the pleasure of taking up a guest bartending job at a popular midtown bar. Not only did the bartending experience give me great insight into the world of making Malibu Baybreezes …but it also taught me very invaluable lessons about the natural habits of drunk women.

It was like watching gorillas in their natural habitat, untouched by mankind and running wild. It wasn’t the men per say that were running around like frat boys, but more so the women, dressed in a 3 dollar tops, carrying 300 dollar handbags.

And who can blame them?

Women have to have JOBS now AND be EDUCATED. I don’t know who made these rules, but clearly having to be educated and employed are causing huge problems in the female society, mainly involving sobriety.What happened to the good old days when women couldn’t vote? I bet those women were sober.

Around 3:45am every weekend at the end of my shift, it became inevitable that some chic was going to be the last one left in the bar , still trying to pick the bartender. Normally she would be eyeing me as though I was the only thing standing between her and the scruffy faced McGee to my right.

“He’s all yours.” I used to whisper into their diamond clad ears and walk away.

She would sit, legs sprawled across her bar stool. Trying to remember her Ex’s cell number. You could hear her mumbling something along the lines of, “978-6..978-5….no, fuck, mother fucker…”

And do you know who that girl is?

Yes you do.

She is ‘Drunk Girl’.

All of you know Drunk Girl. In fact, most of you have been Drunk Girl at one point or another.
Drunk Girl is the girl sitting in the corner of the bar waving her arms around, telling a story to…well… to no one.

She is wearing a tank top that is always about to reveal her left boob and some sort of Mardi Gras beads around her neck. Where did she get the Mardi Gras beads? Who knows! Why is she wearing them? Who cares! She has squinty eyes and believes the mascara running down her face is giving her a smoldering, sexy look. She thinks she is sexy. Actually, she thinks she is dead sexy. You always catch her trying to balance her head on her hand in a playful come-hither way and in reality she looks more like a toddler who fell asleep taking a shit.

Drunk Girl always has a million of glasses around her, yet has no fucking idea which cup she has been drinking out of. Her shit is everywhere…keys, cell phone, money, wallet, it’s all scattered either beneath her stool, in her lap, or on the bar. She can’t keep track of anything, but she will become violent if you try and touch any of it.

Drunk Girl has an obsession with her cell phone and is always shouting something like, “BUT I JUSH WANTS TO MAKE A PONE CHALL!”

Drunk Girl normally has a posse of friends surrounding her with some sorority chic explaining, “Kelly Cat! Totally listen to me for one sec…He totally wants to talk to you, but he is like going to go home with Jenny cause like you’re like a mess, but like don’t think he doesn’t like LIKE you like that because maybe he does like you LIKE THAT but just not right now…” Which as we know, makes PERFECT sense to Drunk Girl. Who is still trying to figure out what the hell the 978 number is.

Drunk Girl will sit there, clutching her cell phone, staring at everyone as though they all just spoke to her in Swahili yelling, “BUT I JUSH WANTS TO MAKE A PONE CHALL!”

Drunk Girl will then try and leave the bar and will wave cabs down the in the middle of the street like she is Matador in front of some Goddamn bulls. She always has on one shoe, the other shoe is always either broken or off in the street, about two inches away from being hit by a few yellow cabs.

When Drunk Girl comes to the bar, the shit show officially begins. And no matter how drunk YOU are, you always look at Drunk Girl and go, “Wow, I will never look as drunk as her,” as you hop off the bar in your mini skirt and go outside to catch a cab.

So, liking to think I am a "smart" girl, which is confusing, because I also like to refer to myself as a "beautiful" girl and a "hilarious" girl...so maybe what I am saying is I relate more so to Jesus then most...and that goes without saying considering I did try and help him buy new sandals once at Macy's, but damn that man sure does like himself a good brown leather...wait...I am sorry...I was going somewhere with this before...

Ok, back to topic, so being a "smart" girl blahdiddy blah blah ( I tend to like to make air quotes when I say it) I try and do this thing in my life that I refer to as - "not getting pregnant". Now this is seemingly becoming a more difficult task then originally assumed.

You say Birthcontrol.

I say Potato you say Potato.

I dont know what the hell that rhyme is people but I know it makes sense in my head.

Now this whole "birth control" thing is considering not as effective as once seemed...and by "not effect" I do mean "Not effective when you dont use it". I wish it was just plain old effective just by thinking about it, I mean, no one told me I actually have to use the stuff. Damn MAMA! That is a hell lotta work!

I say this considering I have taken about three baby-tests in the past year alone. And thankfully none of them have come up positive, but I am starting to wonder, how many can you pass before your luck is up?

As I say this, I can think of three or so of my girlfriends who are all on Plan B right now, praying that whatever is in that thing will get rid of any Mike Jr, Danny Jr, Sutton Place Bar Jr... that might possibly be in them. I called my friend up the other day who told me not to worry, I couldn't never be pregnant ever because I - "drink too much, all that alcohol will kill the baby."
I actually reasoned it in my head for a minute.

The point here being, why are we all suddenly being so non-cautious with our bodies? It is like the HIV and AIDs epidemic suddenly creep away and we started saying things like, "Well I don't personally KNOW anyone with AIDS, so therefore it may not exist in my circle and who likes a condom anyway?"

And I will agree with that, a condom is just about the most unromantic thing to ever exist, but also completely necessary. And yet too many of us cannot even be bothered with a simple piece of latex (or sheepskin for your dirty birds out there.) But more importantly after you start seeing someone for three...four...five months (mother of sweet Jesus do people do this?!) ... you start to wonder, is the condom necessary? Clearly after five months they cannot get me pregnant anymore, it's like a rule or something. Who needs condoms?! Who needs birth control that makes you fat and cranky? (Not I!).

I mentioned this to a friend the other day, telling her I think sex during my period must be OK, because I cannot get pregnant then. "Well" She said, "That's a little bit like playing Russian Roulette, dont cha think?"



And GOD DAMN I am a bad card player!

What about the rhythm method?

What about all those damn catholics, I mean it's not like they have more like 1 or 2...or 6 children right?