Katie and Brianna: Heterosexual Life mates

photo We're not gay but we're meant for each other, baby

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Goodbye FluffyWhippedChocolateInABar Road

Dear Brianna,

While you were out traveling the world by accident I've been at home, all alone, listening to Ruben Studdard's remake of Westlife's "Flying without wings" on repeat. WHY would I do that, for three weeks straight, no less?

Well, since you asked, I've been nursing a heartache. WHY is my heart broken you ask, while taking a sip from a giant Slurpee? WELL, since you are full of so many questions and diet coke Slurpee, I will explain the whole situation. But I will NEVER TALK ABOUT IT AGAIN, so listen good.

3 Musks and I broke up.*cry cry cry Everybody's looking for that something one thing that makes it all complete cry cry cry*

I know we always seemed happy. I know we went everywhere together. I know that he was the only man I thought of when I went in 7-11 for a snack. I know, I know. But a good connection does not a happy relationship make.

Four weeks ago I went on a date with 3 Musks like every Tuesday afternoon. I went to the corner store by my apartment, we met up and I took him back to my place. We sat down, put on some Fleetwood Mac on vinyl, turned on The Real World and put it on mute, opened up a nice issue of Entertainment Weekly, made some coffee, changed into sweats and got comfy on the couch. But then, he started getting fresh. I started to take off his "clothes," peeling back a corner first like always (he likes to lightly jog coming out of the gate) and when I went to take my first "bite" my teeth started hurting! Like, really bad hurting! Like taking a swig of cold diet Snapple with lemon after you've just eaten a giant spoonful of hot shrimp bisque!

"Ouch!" I yelled. He apologized, making that sweet face that he always does when he's in trouble; I can't say no. So I tried to bring the mood back up to speed by taking off a little more "wrapping." He seemed to like it; he was practically melting in my hand! I went in to take a little love "bite" and it happened again! It felt like drinking really hot coffee right after eating ice cream! "Shit!" I yelled. "You can't keep hurting my teeth like this! It isn't fair after all I've done for you! Why can't men just give back what women give them? Is it so hard to just not hurt me???" He tried to explain himself saying that "I have sensitive teeth" and the consistency of the whipped chocolate inside was what was "bothering" my teeth because of the "temperature" of the bar. Bullshit excuses! I took him right in the kitchen, sealed him in a Ziploc bag and put him right in the freezer where he belongs. We haven't spoken since.

Stupid me! Stupid, weak, lonely me! I thought he would change. I thought he COULD change. But alas, another CHUNK of my life wasted. God, I was so young when we met. I was only 5'9, 8 years old. My vision non-blurry, with my caffeine addiction just beginning to peek around the corner. It's weird to think we were together so long. Like, he's been there always and now he's gone. What am I gonna do when the nights get long and I'm "hungry" for a "snack?" Who is gonna sit with me on the bus to the L-train in the morning? Who will read David Sedaris' new book with me? *sob sob sob You've got to fight for every dream 'cuz who's to know which one you let go would have made you complete sob sob sob*

Maybe I'll never get over him. Maybe I'll be alone for the rest of my days. But you know what Ladies? I'm better off. I am BETTER off being a strong, independent WOMAN. I am BETTER OFF without terrible teeth pain.


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Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Been around the world...

Dear Katie,

OMG Cheek! Where the EFF have I been? AAACK! I got so lost for a while. One day I was just minding my business and organizing my scarf collection, when all of a sudden, I found myself here:

My first reaction was to be mad cuz I hadn't finished organizing my scarves, but then I was like, duh hello, you own a magical scarf that transported you to Egypt... probably more important things to think about right now. So, I popped open a purple Fanta (which happens to be huge in Cairo) and took a pause break to think about what to do next. But, then, as I took my first sip, I was no longer in Egypt, but had been brought here:

Mother-Freaking Tokyo! It was like somebody said, "Hey, Brianna... where are the top three places you want to go in the world?" And then they found a magical scarf and a magical grape Fanta to take me there. I could only wonder if my next stop was going to be my third most-desired travel destination. I couldn't think too long, though, cause I had a bithcin' hangnail that needed my attention. So, as I got to work, I felt a familiar feeling and didn't know why it was so familiar. Then I remembered that I had just felt it two times, and decided if I was wearing a hat, I would hold on to it because before I knew it, I would be here:

Eating fruit on my secluded villa in the Greek Isles. The sun would be soaking into my skin, and I could jump right into the ocean to cool off. When I came up for air, there would be a handsome Greek man waiting for me with a towel. (So, I might have based this scene on Sisterhood of the Travelling pants... Those pants make miracles... Sue me.) Instead, when I opened my eyes, I was here:

Back at my cubicle at work. Totally lame. But, on the upside, I did turn into a lego. So, all wasn't lost.



Saturday, March 22, 2008

The first cut is the deepest, baby I know.

Dear Brianna,

I've been a bad, bad girl. As you read this I have already written it in a state of panic and regret. WOE! WOE the weakness of the human mind and heart! Dear Lord WHY must you make us so weak?

Two fateful days ago I went to the Theatre to see a wonderful new musical entitled "Cry Baby." I was having a joy filled evening picking up on jokes that only people from Baltimore would get and laughing with my mother when all of the sudden, intermission occurred. Normally this would be a time to rejoice, a time to use the rest rooms, to pretend you already know all the dances and perform them in the lobby, but for me this intermission was a pivotal moment in my life. So pivotal that I fear I may never be able to turn back.

I contemplated murdering two women.

I am a horror of a person! I do not deserve to walk with the holy, the righteous, the innocent anymore for I have committed something that can never be taken back! Two whole human lives were lost (in a very intense, and might I add AWESOME, imagined sword battle) that can never return (in my head)! And they were mothers!

But seriously, may I appeal to the better side of your hearts and minds and ask for forgiveness? I so miss being able to walk amongst people on the streets of this fair city without a giant "M" on my shirt. I'll tell you my side and you can judge for yourself. But please, please understand that I took no joy, or, well, only a little bit of joy in imagining chopping these women at the knees with a sword. Isn't that something to be commended?

I'll put you in my place. Say you're enjoying watching a musical on broadway, something that you rarely get to do because you're poor but something you wish you could do every day, and people are talking. Annoying, right? Now, say that you're buying into the magic of the corney love songs, possibly imaging yourself on stage and someone right beside you pulls out a tiny bag of pretzles that they can barely fit their hand into so it makes a fuck ton of noise EVERY FUCKING TIME they reach for a tiny pretzle that they chew with their mouth open and then crinkle the bag while passing it to the other person beside them while loudly asking if they would like one. Alright, maybe you haven't snapped yet, but say you're intesly watching the choreography to see if you really could pick it up quickly in an audition and do well (you're thinking about a career change to broadway dancer) and two people beside you decide to pick up their gigantic leopard print purses and DIG through them for what seems like an eternity and what are they digging for? What's so important? Insulin? Zanex? A tissue? TRY A LOLLYPOP. A FUCKING LOLLYPOP. What are you, Britney Spears at a club? What the fuck are you thinking opening and LOUDLY SUCKING on a lollypop at a fucking broadway musical? You both look like you're forty years old, and while I will probably be sucking lollypops for the rest of my life (pun intended?) I will not do it during the quiet part of a play or musical! I also will not talk about the bulge in someone's pants for three minutes next to my two young daughters while everyone around me tells me to shut the fuck up. I will NOT do this and I do NOT approve of you doing the same! FUCK YOU ASSHOLES! SWORD FIGHT!

In closing, they deserved to imaginary die.


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Tuesday, December 04, 2007

O.J. Simpson...not a Jew.

Dear Katie,
Remember when we were in the mall in Baltimore and the salesgirl at Aerosol's was beligerently declaring her love for Christmas Music? Remember how she was a second away from tearing off our faces and fashioning them into a pair of stylish yet comfortable shoes when we said we were already tired of them? Well, I am facing the same sort of predicament, but with a little chosen person twist.
Tonight is the first night of Hannukah, and I swear this won't be a "it's so hard being a Jew at Christmastime" post. I got over that in high school when I wrote a letter to the school newspaper criticizing them for not displaying any Jewish imagery in the happy holidays pictorial. This is more of a "it's so hard being a Jew at Hannukah time" post. Confused? I will explain.
We Jew-folk only really have one popular, playable Hannukah song, and I was tired of it as soon as it was released in 1994. There are three versions of Adam Sandler's Hannukah Song, and all three are playing in full force on Z100. If I don't feel enough guilt based on my chosen person heritage, imagine how much guilt I feel changing the radio station on the one holiday song my people have. It has nothing to do with Adam Sandler or wishing I celebrated Christmas. It has everything to do with the fact that I know David Lee Roth lights the menorah and that if you put Goldie Hawn and Paul Newman together you'd have one fine lookin' Jew. I knew it singing the song really loud in Hebrew School, and I knew it when it got stuck in my head on the train yesterday.
It is even getting to the point where I am turning to Christmas music for relief. I really like the song about the chestnuts. It's catchy, and sweet, and fun to sing when you are alone in your room and no one can hear you.
Hannukah is full of wonderful things. It is the one time of year when you can eat fried potatoes, jelly doughnuts, and chocolate coins without feeling bad about it. You light pretty candles and recite the blessings and sometimes you get presents. It is a wonderful holiday that deserves a wonderful catalogue of musical tribute. So, step up Jewish people. Pick up a pencil, grab your trumpet, and write some songs for us. And while your at it, put on your yammakah cause here comes Hannukah...drink your gin and tonic-as, smoke your marijuanicas...
I digress.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Wicky Wicky, The Wild Wild West Y'all

Dear Brianna,

I am 21 years old now, which means I am legally able to question the universe. I have taxed myself for many hours over what my first, and obviously most important, question will be, and it’s been an uphill battle, but I think I’ve finally chosen which horse to ride...

Where have all the Cowboys gone?

First of all, where did Paula Cole go? And secondly, she has a point. I would like to meet a Cowboy. A REAL Cowboy. I have visited the "wild west" only twice in my life for very short periods of time, so I assume that’s reason one why I have never come across a try blue cow slinging hunk, but for real…where are they?

Is there no market left for Cowboying? Are there no more saloons in which to “ruff up?” Are Horses not used as a main form of transportation anymore? Are there no more people left to save???

Now, I know there are lots of men out there who BELIEVE they are Cowboys, but true chap-wearing men don't travel in cow-ropeing circuses. And, they also don't pose in calenders with their shirts off.

We need REAL Cowboys! Remember when they policed this country? Wasn't it great? Let's go back to a simplier time when women weren't judged for leasing out their kittens, and beers never spilled when slid down a wooden bar. Bar doors swung freely and priests didn't (openly) diddle little boys.

It’s a sad world out there. There is a terrible war that we instigated in a country that is already fighting with itself. Al Gore says the world is losing it's hair. The Euro is TRUMPING the dollar. Britney lost her kids. This world is in so much shit, and we've used all our savior resources. The only people left to call on are the Cowboys.

So here it is, straight shooters. We need you. We need your five o'clock shadows and your cowhide clothing. We long for your shadows on the dusty ground and your rotting teeth. We can no longer live without your gruff voice and sexist ways.

Come back to us Cowboys!



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Tuesday, November 06, 2007

She works hard for her money.

Dear Katie,
I wish I could write something super insightful about the writer's strike, but all I keep coming up with is that I want to go back to work. As you and most of our readers know, I have been stuck in bed fighting a case of mono that just won't quit, and now that I am feeling well enough to return to my glamorous job as a cue card assistant, I still can't go.
I can't help but think that this is an act of fate. Perhaps I haven't recovered enough, and shouldn't be working yet, and the strike is just a way to keep me from getting sick again. However, reality says that this is definately not the case.
As a writer in the very VERY beginning stages of her career, working on her 30 Rock spec, and soaking up all she can, I fully support the WGA in their fight to get the proper compensation for their work. However, as a girl who has spent the last two weeks in bed watching crappy reality TV, I can't bear to think that soon all original programming will cease, leaving reality TV as my only option.
If I have to watch one more episode of A Shot at Love, America's Most Smartest Model, Run's House, or Pageant Place, I think I am going to kill myself. Even I Love New York has gotten ridiculously...ridiculous...and I totally checked out during last night's episode of The Hills. What kind of world is it where New York and Lauren Conrad can't keep my attention? Okay...I know...a good one, but still. As much as I hate to say it, the only show that I think has any sort of promise is Keeping up with the Kardashians, and the E! channel rarely repeats it.
Tomorrow was supposed to be my big day back to work. Seth freaking Green was scheduled as a guest, and he would walk right past me, sense something behind him, turn around, and propose marriage as I sat trying to keep my cool backstage. Now, this won't happen. The strike won't be over, and I will be stuck staying at home and watching re-runs of The Girls Next Door instead.
So listen, AMPTP, I want you to stop being such meanies, sit down with the WGA, and figure this whole thing out. The reason us writer folk are so passionate about these issues is because writing and going to work is what makes us happy. We don't want to have to put production on hold, keep tons of people out of work and force America to watch bad television, we just want to earn an appropriate salary.
I beg of you, no more drama, end this shiz, and let me go back to work...please.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Hey, you, jump on to my cloud!

Dear Brianna,

Happy third anniversary NYC! It's been a great three years, eh? We've seen some homeless people pee on themselves, drunk people barf on themselves, famous people that smirk so hard they pass out and SO MANY DOGS! I've had a few burgers, drank a few underage beers at several bars (being 21? who cares!), and been hit on by creepy men from over thirty-seven countries!

Hey! Remember that time that crazy man asked me to hold his parrot while he shopped in the grocery store? That was hilarious! Classic NYC! That parrot liked to say Hello! HAHA!!

Or that time I was threatened by a five foot tall gay man in Chelsea because he didn't like what I was wearing? Ha! I'm taller than you little man!

Parties on my roof! Kiddie pools! Fires! Beer cans! Shoe Chair!!

What about those little kids who were visiting Columbus Circle in February, all star eyed and bushy tailed, and were offered giant bottle of Vodka and Rum from two men collecting money for the homeless? Those kids seemed so thirsty!

All those nights spent in the basement of a grocery store chocking on smoke and mildew!

Recall that time at the Thanksgiving Parade where we saw the M&M balloon right before it decided to injure a child in a wheel chair? That kid should have been more aware! M&Ms are free spirits!

All those late night walks to the little park by my apartment in Brooklyn where I can swing and swing until my baby heart is giggling!

Ooo! Ooo! Those twin bums we used to see all the time around 23rd and 5th! That family is twice as disappointed!

We've read so many books together!

Oh, dear God, all those times I've decided to burst into song and dance on the street only to confuse and piss off everyone around me!

JFK is a fun place for dance parties when your plane is delayed two hours!

My college days of partying on roofs of people I barely knew, then being locked out of the apartment and having to finish my Sparks on the sidewalk of Little Italy!

I've baked a lot of cookies!

And, um...that's it!

(plenty of other things have happened, but it's 10am and I can't remember. Make it up people!)