Katie and Brianna: Heterosexual Life mates

Goodbye FluffyWhippedChocolateInABar Road

2008-07-10T07:10:00.000-07:00

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.

Love,
Katie

Been around the world...

2008-06-24T08:47:00.001-07:00

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.

Love,

Brianna

The first cut is the deepest, baby I know.

2008-03-22T10:02:00.001-07:00

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.

Love,
Katie

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

2007-12-04T07:38:00.000-08:00

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.
Love,
Brianna

Wicky Wicky, The Wild Wild West Y'all

2007-11-27T08:24:00.000-08:00

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!

Love,

Katie

She works hard for her money.

2007-11-06T09:36:00.000-08:00

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.

Hey, you, jump on to my cloud!

2007-09-11T06:53:00.000-07:00

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!)

Love,

Katie

ROADTRIP!

2007-08-14T12:25:00.000-07:00

Dear Webernet,

Brianna and I are taking a road trip!

See you later, friends!

Love,
Katie

Dead or Alive

2007-07-19T07:01:00.000-07:00

Dear Katie,
I just celebrated my year anniversary of living in New Jersey, and for the first time ever, I had complete strangers tell me that I came off Jersey-ish to them. This got me to thinking about all the Jersey-bashing that goes on in this world, and how I have idly sat by and listened to my home state be demeaned and marginalized for no good reason.
Ok, I know there IS a reason. I see what I board the train with at NJ Transit. But a loud voice and penchant for hairspray doesn't a bad person make. Not everybody in New Jersey wears denim on denim and saves a seat for Bon Jovi at the dinner table.
I am on a mission. A mission to bring Jersey back. A mission to shed our armpit image and change it to something more classy like a knee or a chin. This past year has been one of the worst for me in some ways, and the best in others...or another. That another has been living in the garden state. Past the industrial parks protecting us from New York, lies beaches, and parks, and malls, and town squares, and all those chains and franchises that you can't get in the big ole city. Mark my words, by the end of this next year, I will have brought all my friends across the border and to my homestead, and there is nothing they can do about it. So, pack your overnight bag, because I'm coming for you.
Love,
Brianna

Goodbye to you

2007-06-19T11:03:00.000-07:00

Dear Brianna,

As you celebrate your 23rd birthday this Thursday (which I am missing because I'm an asshole) I realize that my 21st is fast approaching.

Most people turning 21 have already planned big "to-dos" such as week long drug and alcohol benders in Las Vegas, 24 hour orgies in rented beach homes on the Jersey shore, or just plain drinking until they pass out in some awesome bar. Now I say most people because I am not included in this lump of fun loving 21 year olds. I am terminally boring.

Now I know you're at your computer reading this and shouting aloud "No! No! You're far from boring! You stay out late and go to parties some times!" but stop yourself for a moment and remember those times I've left parties early to go home and watch television that I own on DVDs and could watch any time, or the time I skipped my prom to watch the Cameron Diaz repeat of SNL that wasn't even that good.

Besides the occasional law breaking activity, I rarely do anything "on the edge" or "daring." I've never snuck out of a house, I've never broken curfew without calling my mom first to tell her I would be late, I've never been in a fight, I've never failed a class (or been off the dean's list since having been in college), I've never just hopped in a car and driven somewhere just because, I've never gotten a speeding ticket, I've never walked up to a random person and just started talking to them, I've thrown up from drinking only twice in my life, and I've never even been out of North America. You are now offically asleep.

The crazyest thing I've ever done is getting my tattoo, but I called my parents first, I was not drunk, I researched the parlor, and the tattoo represents my family's struggle with cancer. I also went to senior week after high school, and was stranded there because the girl who drove us was a tad unstable and decided to go home early and leave us with nothing but a note. SNORE!

I'm pissed at myself that I haven't taken more risks in my life thus far. At dinner parties, I find myself mute, or struggling to pull moderately strange stories out of my ass. I want to be the person with the stories! I want to tell people about the hooker I met in Mexico that I paid to come have dinner with me, eventually convincing she should quit the "biz" and go back to school. Or the time I got a flat tire in Arizona and had to walk 15 miles to a gas station that, turns out, never really existed. I'd even settle for some crazy concert stories. I'm so boring!

This is where you, more adventurous people of the world, come in. I am looking to you for suggestions.

I'm up for anything, just as long as it isn't something that will obviously kill me (crazy amounts of drugs, jumping off of surfaces without protection, etc...) or something that will compromise me being able to look my children in the eyes when they're old enough to find out about my past (videos, etc...).

I want some stories to tell my grandchildren when I'm old and unable to entertain them with reading (i will most likely be blind). I want tales of risk and heroism and just plain crazytown!

HELP ME!

Leave suggestions in the comments. And don't be an asshole (men) and say something like "butt sex" because no matter how much you think ladies like it, it's usually just for you.

Love,
Katie

Looking for love in all the wrong places

2007-05-22T08:42:00.000-07:00

Dear Katie,
I promised myself that I wouldn't sign up for a dating service or website until I am at least 25. There is nothing wrong with being 25 and single, but I figure if I am still singlin' and minglin' by then, it will be time for some drastic measures. However, for the next two years, I have to figure something out, and lately instead of me looking for love, love has come looking for me. About fifteen minutes ago, eastern standard time, I made a connection...a PC Connection.
Before you get to excited, let me explain. I was given the task of ordering four MacBooks at work, and that lead me to call PC Connection, which lead me to a salesguy named Dennis*. Dennis helped me order the computers, and instead of the usual awkward silences that take place during over the phone transactions, he told me his life story. I learned that he lives in Boston and went to Mass Arts. He is a Red Sox fan, and draws a comic book with his friends about Mac Users. The final fun fact that Dennis left me with is that he is going to be in New York in a couple weeks for his cousin's wedding. That is where we hung up. That is where I thought our time together on this Earth was over, but the stars aligned, and Dennis and I spoke again. He called to make sure we got the computers (which we did) and told me all about how the Yankees beat the Red Sox this weekend. Then, in as smooth of a move as guy who sells computers can make, he said he would email me when he is in town for his cousin's wedding. So, I guess I have a date to get ready for. A date with a guy that looks like this:

and hopefully not this:
Because I can't date no cat, yo.
Love,
Brianna

*Name has NOT been changed.

Don't fear the reaper

2007-04-23T21:58:00.000-07:00

Dear Brianna,

I know that summer can be a scary time for all of us. You want to be outside, but what is there to do? In the winter, you can hide inside using the cold or the snow as excuses to not leave your apartment. But if you're a very tight budgeted new yorker without A/C like myself, you know that you can't stay in your apartment unless you want to die a most horrible death. You must get out there. Problem is, you've seen all the sights of NYC.

-the empire state building is just too fucking high and not worth that breeze
-you've done the shade in central park and frankly, you can't handle all the people using modes of transportation that make them faster than you
-coney island is just plain gross and that water CAN NOT be swam in
-you can only handle riding the subway for the A/C for a limited amount of time (mostly because people's sweat will literally choke you)
-movies usually suck pretty hard in the summer (except for spider man three...EE!) and aren't worth ten bucks,
-Starbucks is an asshole...

So, what is there to do???

Fear not, for I have a most grand time solution. Do you have an Ipod? A CD Player? A boom box that you can carry on your shoulder a la 1985?

Great. Take the subway into manhattan if you don't already live there, and pick a nice spot where you can walk down the street without tripping yourself in tourist camera lanyards or rich snobby people sak's bags, and get a good pace going. Walk down that street like it's fucking yours. Now, look through your Ipod, CD or cassette collection and pick something you know will make you feel like a million bucks. I would choose something like Justin Timberlake's new album, or maybe something more classic like Aaliyah...whatever floats your boat.

Now that you have your music and your map laid out in front of you, think of that one thing you REALLY want that is right there in front of you but you just can't fucking reach it. A movie deal, a great part in a play, that awesome apartment, a recording contract, a book deal, a relationship with that special someone, a dog, an iced tea, whatever it may be, and start to think of it. Now, think of one of your favorite motivational movies...got it?

Awesome. My pick today for plot line would have to be "The Wedding Singer," and I would make my music some Hall and Oates, or some such other 80's awesome tuneage. Getting it?

Right on. Now, walk down the street, get a good pace going and blare that music in your ears (or in the ears of everyone around you in the case of the boom box). Think really hard about what you want, think about the story line of that movie you picked and change it around a little to match your situation...and presto; you're in the movies! You've created your very own motivational, my life needs to change, I finally got everything I want movie strut!! Fun times abound! No end in sight!

I seriously do this all summer long. It takes up all my time. Help me.

Love,
Katie

Who can Turn the World on with her Smile?

2007-04-13T09:07:00.000-07:00

Dear Katie,
I take your puppy, and raise you a monkey.
I want to take this time to tell you, our readers, and our local Nielsen Guy about a little show called 30 Rock. 30 Rock was just renewed for a second season, and I want to do my part in singing its praises. Why waste your time flipping through the channels, when you could be watching one solid program? Yes. I said program. I am 85. Jealous? But ANYWAY... 30 Rock is chock full of awesome. From the writing, to the acting, to the everything else, this show is a class act. Even if I wasn't a long time devotee of Miss Tina Fey, it would still be tops to me. When Kenneth the Page uttered the words, "Your hemmorhoid cream Miss Mulroney," in the first episode, I knew that I was witnessing something special. What sets 30 Rock apart from every other sitcom is its capability to successfully blend all aspects of comedy from screwball to slapstic to sarcasm to smart, while simealtaneously making you feel for and empathize with the characters. I have heard people compare 30 Rock to The Mary Tyler Moore Show, and as a fan of both, I stand behind that comparison. Each episode is better than the one that came before it, and I look forward to the great things that Tina & Co. have in store for us. Now that I have sufficiently nerded out, do yourself a favor and watch 30 Rock Thursday Nights on NBC. I swear you won't regret it.
Love,
Brianna

OMG!

2007-04-09T09:38:00.000-07:00

Dear Brianna,

My ice cold winter heart just melted.

SPRING TIME!

Love,
Katie

photo from: http://sofinepoms.com/images/puppies/puppies2.jpg

Don't cha wish?

2007-03-08T08:42:00.001-08:00

Dear Katie,
Tell the CW to stop their searching because I am going to be the next Pussycat Doll.

If there can be two plus sized chicks on America's Next Top Model, why can't there be a portly pussycat? My size aside, I can rock it out on the dance floor. Vocals...please. I am not the best singer on the block, but praising the dolls for their singing is like going to Hooters for the wings. Just cause I make hot pants look more like "please don't wear those" pants, doesn't mean I couldn't join the ranks of the current dolls. Those girls need someone like me, someone who doesn't get by by accidentally dropping things on the floor and bending over to pick them up. I am a fighter. I am fierce. And I know how to par-tay. My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard...in theory...one day... ANYWAY, life on the road isn't always fun, and I'm sure the dolls are always looking for a non-bony shoulder to cry on. I can be that shoulder, and I can make things fun. I am an excellent hair braider, and my guacamole is to die for. So, Robin Antin, sister of the man I wrote about here, do yourself a favor and make me, Brianna Hope Fly Girl Dancy Pants Jacobson, the next Pussycat Doll.
Love,
Brianna Hope Fly Girl Dancy Pants Jacobson

Mid-Term Report

2007-03-07T08:30:00.000-08:00

Dear Brianna,

I've been keeping close contact with our secret google insider, and they have recently sent me a report of the top search phrases people use to find our blog. Most of the search phrases have something to do with Katie, Brianna, Lifemates or Heterosexual. BUT, there are some little gems that I found trying to hide behind the normalcy of their wife and children, and here they are:

-dirty aim conversations
-gay+irishman
-brianna's birthday
-Wayne Newton face surgery
-dirty grandma
-faces of brianna
-grampa fucking grandma
-dear mom please tell the story of how i got my ...
-Brianna whats it matter
-"true life: i am obese"
-drinking gin and juice in the hood
-august and brianna
-whore
-kevin spacey
-brianna love tube
-world of outlaws car bedroom sets
-to much beer causing me to wet the bed
-WHERE IS BRIANNA ?
-"steven segal" fat

We really talk about some hard hitting things, Brianna. We should be proud.

Love,
Katie

P.S.
Please check out these awesome videos on youtube from a bunch of our friends at the UCB Theatre!
http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=cutmanfilms

H&R BLOCKingmywilltolive

2007-02-26T07:16:00.000-08:00

Dear Brianna,

It's that time of year again. The hair pulling, teeth grinding, number crunching urge to hang yourself time of year. TAX SEASON.

No joke, I made somewhere around $5,000 dollars last year. In a year, that is all I made. I'm a disgrace to all people. And yet, I still need to file my tax papers. Why? Because the man makes me.

Well this year, I'm stickin' it to the man. I'm rollin' up in there George Harrison style and tellin' that taxman "I'm gonna walk up to you and you're sure as hell not gonna tax my feet just cause you're the tax man, yeah yeah yeah, the tax man!" Then I'll throw a roll of pennies and he'll go fetch it like the dog he is. While his back is turned, I'll run across the street to the Duane Reade and sit in the window and eat some Fiddle Faddle until I see that he's emerged from his dark H&R lair, at which point I'll pop up from the lawn chair that I stole from the back of the store and run towards him. He'll be walkin' down the street towards his 1997 Toyota Eclipse and I'll get all up on him and whisper in his ear "you drive a car, but they don't tax your street, cause you're the taxman, yeah yeah yeah, the taxman." And when he turns around to see who's there I'll disappear in a puff of smoke because while I was sitting in Duane Reade I bought and read a magazine about magic and now I'm a fucking wizard. He'll turn back around and I'll reappear because I've haven't perfected the staying invisible part of the trick yet because the article was long and I got bored, and he'll take out his keys and bend over to unlock the door but will be distracted by the dime, nickel, and four pennies that I taped to the door handle and while he uses his dirty taxman nails to peel the tape from the door I'll stand behind him and yell "Nineteen for you and one for me, taxman, yeah yeah yeah, taxman!" I will then extend my arm and obtain an empty taxicab, which I will take to the end of the block because I only have $3.00 after buying Fiddle Faddle and a magic magazine and I'll take the subway home.

Why would I go to all this trouble, you ask? Why would I spend an entire day of my life badgering a man who just writes numbers on papers all day? Why wouldn't I fill out the forms myself? Well the answer is simple. I hate numbers. I hate money and they both give me panic attacks. I also hate people are are really good with numbers because I'm really bad with numbers and I'm jealous and instead of respecting them I just get angry because I have anger issues. Well, you know what? Fuck all this. My cat's doing my taxes.

Love,
Katie

(This post is just a joke. I don't really hate taxmen, I actually respect anyone who can work with numbers and not start to cry almost immediately.)

Where do we go from here?

2007-02-21T08:36:00.000-08:00

Dear Katie,

Anyone who has ever met me knows three things about me…

1)I love dance parties

2)I WILL marry Seth Green

And finally…

3)I am a Buffy fan.

Some time has passed, three-ish years to be exact, since Buffy the Vampire Slayer ended its seven-season run, however the show’s effect on me has not gone away. I am a slave to Buffy-speak, I dress like Willow, and have never lost that self-confidence that I learned to have from all the sassy females on that show. Anyway, the reason I am all Buffy-centric girl again is that I just finished re-watching the series on my first edition DVDs. As a way to ease the transition from college graduate to working gal, I decided to go back to the series that helped me transition from an awkward, just Bat-Mitzvah’d, teenager to a little bit less awkward high school and college, dare I say, woman.

I’ll spare you the ups and downs of the first six seasons—the Buffy/Angel romance, Oz mocking me with his monkey pants, Willow and Tara, The Musical, and Buffy dying…again—because none of it compared to the experience of seeing the final episode, aptly titled, “Chosen.” My first experience with this episode, needless to say, was not good. It was the summer between my freshman and sophomore years of college and I was about to move to New York. I sat alone, in the middle of my bedroom floor, and watched as the past seven years finally came to a close. Crying does not describe what I was doing in the iconic scene showing the core four—Willow, Xander, Buffy, and Giles—standing together in the new high school much like they did at the end of the very first episode. When Giles uttered the classic line, “The Earth is definitely doomed,” for the second time in the series, I lost whatever “it” I had left to lose. I was carrying on so loudly that our neighbors from across the street called to see what was going on. My mom came into my room and held me, trying to calm me down, but it took some time to recover. What was I to do with my Tuesday nights? What was going to happen to Buffy and the Scooby Gang? How would I get my Joss Whedon fix?

As you can imagine, life did go on, but I never subjected myself to watching, “Chosen,” again... until Monday afternoon. To celebrate my first day off in who knows how long, I stayed in bed and finished the seventh season. I was content, fed, rested, and in perfectly good spirits. No signs of tears in sight. Not so much has changed though because as soon as I saw that scene again, and saw the Scoobies part ways for the battles of all battles, tears welled up in my eyes. I didn’t hoot, and I definitely didn’t holler, however I was definitely emotional. And as everyone asked Buffy, “What are we gonna do now?” I asked myself the same thing.

Love,

Brianna

Boo, you whore!

2007-02-12T18:16:00.000-08:00

Dear Brianna,

I like Lindsay Lohan. I feel bad for her when magazines and blogs rip her apart. I think they give her a bad rap. She doesn't seem all that bad, right? She's young, she's living, she's makin' it happen. Sure, maybe she has cost people a lot of money because she's late to her movie sets a lot. But who hasn't had a case of the mondays where they just don't wanna get up? I know I've had the mondays probably every week. So, I can't blame her. Sometimes, I buy magazines just to see what she's up to, mostly because my life is somewhat boring and I also don't like actually reading on the subway after working for 8 hours. Call me superficial; I just find her interesting. Unfortunately, Lindsay done and gone messed things up. She's crossed the friend line. She's taken all the trust and love I've built for her and rolled it into a big fat joint that she obviously smoked before heading out of the house like this:

Alright Lindsay. Enough is enough. I told you it was okay when you started wearing the tee-shirts with all my favorite bands on them. I figured, enough people really like these bands so, whatever, you know? It's all good. I said okay when you decided to dye your hair the same color as mine. I mean, I love my color, but I don't own it. But this time, you've gone too far.

Those are MY earrings!

and MY sunglasses!

Step off, bitch!

Blaze your own trails!!

Love,
Katie

Every dog has its day

2007-02-12T07:30:00.000-08:00

Dear Katie,
We are gathered here today to say goodbye to my late great ipod mini, "Funky Delite." Funky was a dear dear friend. She was silver and beautiful, and although she had my name and phone number engraved on the back, I'm afraid I will never see her again. It was a result of my own carelessness that Funky and I have been torn apart. I should never have taken her out of the safety of my purse at the pizza place on 7th Avenue. I was asking for trouble. In the two seconds that Funky was out of my site, some evil evil riff raff had taken her away from me. Granted that 2 seconds included a trip to H&M and almost getting on the Subway to go home, but still. I ran back to the pizza shop, I even dug in the trash for her, however she was already gone. There is nothing I can do now, but move forward. Miss Funky Delite and I had a good two year run together, but now those times have come to a close. I will have to move on to a new ipod. One that maybe doesn't run out of battery every three hours and only start working after I warm it up in my hands for a while. Despite our differences at the end, I am sad to see my dear ipod go. If you are the riff raff reading this, please turn Funky over and give me a call. I don't want to take her back, I just want to say goodbye. Rest in peace, Funky Delite. No matter where you end up in this crazy world, you will always hold a place in my heart.
Love,
Brianna
PS- Saturday wasn't so bad afterall.

The Boxer

2007-01-29T09:22:00.000-08:00

Dear Brianna,

I'm lazy. It's my turn to post. Here's a character monologue I wrote for my writing studio. I wish I was in the middle of nowhere today. It's cold. Please read this is a southern accent.

"Tomatoes"

Grandpa always leaves the house and I never know where it is he's off
to. One day I saw him grab a fishin' pole out the garage, so I figured
he was goin' fishin somewheres, probably the lake down the road a
ways, so I ask him wher you goin' Grampa? He never answers me, he just
gets in the truck. He throws his box and his pole in his truck and he
gets in and starts drivin' away. One day I ran after the truck cause I
just wanted to know real bad where he was off to. I thought he was
goin' to the store without me and I love goin' to the store, so I
start runin' down the gravel driveway to catch up with him, and he
sees me in the mirror and he stops his truck so I can catch up with
him. I was gettin' real angry cause I thought he was tryin' to trick
me out of goin' to the store with him and he knew that I needed to get
me some fishin' hooks so I run up to the window to try and get his
attention and he rolls it down and I ask where you off to Grandpa, and
he says I gotta go do somethin. I gotta do this, I gotta do that. He
ain't gotta do nothin' but breathe, and I tell him that, but I never
get nothing but a branch to my hyde if I talk back to him.

I tried smokin' one of them cigars that Grandpa leaves in the ash
tray in the livin' room. It's only a little left so I figured, I
figured that it wouldn't matter too much. Like, he wouldn't miss it or
nothin'. So I took it out of the tray in the livin' room and I went
outside behind the barn. Not like I was hidin' or nothin', but I just
like to be behind the barn. Not because the compost pile is there or
nothin' , cause that smells, but I just like to know that some people
could only see me if they tried real hard. So I put it in my mouth and
there comes Grandma right around the corner, and she sees me puttin'
somethin' in my mouth. She dropped her whole basket of tomatoes right
there in the dirt and they go flyin' everywheres and I just start
laughin' . I start rollin' around on the ground, not in the compost
pile or nothin' cause that smells, but I start rollin' around in the
ground right by there and she comes barrellin' over like I has been
doin' somethin' wrong and she asks me what you been up to boy? And I
tell her nothin' cause I ain't really been up to nothin' and she tells
me I got somethin' in my mouth that shouldn't be there, and I tell her
it's just one of them cigars that Grandpa keeps in the ashtray in the
livin' room. So she gets real upset tellin' me I can't put them in my
mouth because they're dirty and I tell her that I put dirty things in
my mouth all the time and nothin' ain't happened to me yet and she
just stands there and she looks real upset and all so I tell her I'll
stop puttin' dirty things in my mouth if its what she wants. I tell
her I won't put them tomatoes in my mouth later at supper cause
they've been on the ground and they is dirty.

Grandpa put Grandma in the truck one mornin' real early, and I hear
the dogs barkin' so I go outside to see what's goin' on cause the dogs
only bark if somethin is going on or somethin', so I go outside to see
what all the fuss is and Grandpa is putting Grandma in the truck. She
looks real tired or somethin' so I ask them if they're goin' to the
store to wait for it to open and he says for me to go back inside and
he be back later. So he gets in the truck and starts the truck and he
starts to drive down the gravel driveway and I start to run after the
truck cause I wanna know what's goin on. Grandma looks real tired and
I want to know why he won't let her go back in the house. I says to
him it's too early for Grandma to be up cause she's tired and he tells
me to go back in the house before I get a branch to the hyde. My
backside is still sore from the last branch I got so I decide to go
stand on the porch and wait for Grandma and Grandpa to get back so I
can ask 'em where they went. So I sit there and lots of bugs come and
crawl on my feet cause I wasn't wearin' any shoes and I let them for a
while cause I like the colors they have, but after a while they tickle
so I stop 'em and Grandma and Grandpa still ain't back yet and I still
wonderin' where they are so I eat an apple.

Love,
Katie

taggy pants

2007-01-20T11:01:00.000-08:00

Dear Brianna,

In hopes of getting on the good side of the Gods, I will respond to your post with five things people may not know about me.

1. I am a secret redneck. I grew up in Baltimore (which has it's fair share of weird ass people) and at my Grandparent's house in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania (Bedford), both places that fully support redneck activities. I have been hunting (several times), I've been to about five Nascar races (best days of my life), I've been to livestock fairs, World of outlaw races (fucking dirt track car racing, son), I've worked on a farm (short, short time), I learned to drive at age 12, I had my first beer with my parents, I've had to drive an hour just to get to Walmart and then go in only to buy beef jerky, and one of my first crushes had about ten teeth. Nice.

2. I'm a pretty good flute player. I played for nine years and was second chair in high school. I'm awesome.

3. I had MAD buck teeth. And you will never see pictures. Thankfully, my Mother has dental insurance and i got to have braces for five years.

4. I'm extremely close with my cousins, to the point where we are more like brothers and sisters than cousins (i'm an only child). I grew up with these people, and we're all close in age (my best friend/cousin erin is two months older than me). I will do anything for any of them, and they all know it. Awwwwwwww.

5. Since most people ask me this anyway, I will answer it here. The tattoo of a purple ribbon on my left wrist represents general cancer. It' for all four of my grandparents, my aunts, my mother, Gilda Radner (dork, i know), and myself (I had cancer when I was 16. I'm all better now, and you can ask me about it if you're curious). It's nice to look down every day and see something that reminds me what I've been through in my life and also reminds me how lucky I am to be able to follow all my dreams here in New York when there was a time when I might not have been able to. Sometimes, it makes shitty days a lot better to think about that stuff.

Well, now that you know a lot more about me, I'm gonna go hide in my bedroom for a few weeks while this all blows over.

I don't know who to tag. So, um, I'm not gonna do it. Suck my dick.

Love,
Katie :)

I got tagged.

2007-01-19T13:34:00.000-08:00

Dear Katie,
I know this is out of order, but the most super duper wonderful Glennis McMurray tagged me, and now I have to fulfill her and the rest of the world's wishes to know more about the mystery that is Brianna Hope Jacobson. Here are five things you might (or might not) know about me.

1) I have been to SIX *N SYNC concerts. I was at the peak of adolescence during the whole teen pop craze, and I was totes on the *N SYNC side of the boy band battle. My favorite member was Chris (the one with the pineapple dreadlock hair) and I threw birthday parties for Justin Timberlake with my best friend Sara every year. Sara and I collected every television appearance *N SYNC made on a set of 10 VHS Tapes in a time before Tivo and You Tube.

2) My name, Brianna, means beautiful creation in Hebrew. It is pronouced Breeee (like the cheese) ahhhhh (like the sound you make after drinking a glass of water) and then na (like na-cho). Sometimes people pronounce the middle syllable wrong, and that secretly bothers me. My dad moved to America from Israel in his mid-twenties, and I am very proud of the heritage that my name holds. So remember guys, it's ahhhh like awesome, not ah like ant.

3) I had my first kiss in my friend's basement while watching Happy Days. It was an episode where the Fonz is hitting on a tennis pro. I know this because the kiss was so bad, and my eyes were wide open, and to this day, I can not watch that show without being utterly mortified.

4) I will admit this because Sarah Silverman has admitted it, which makes it kinda cool. What is IT you ask....well, I'll tell you. I wet the bed for a long time. Like until I was a little too old to be doing it. And what finally made me stop was going to a children's therapist (I was still a child so it was ok, right!?!) and getting this contraption that I had to attach to my underwear at night. If any moisture ever touched it, it would start beeping, and I had to get up and change. I know...Grosstown.

5) I wrote a rough draft of my Myspace page. Before I took the plunge into posting a profile for myself on the interweb, I did what any other self-respecting, OCD, writer-type would do, I sat down with my journal. While listening to Neutral Milk Hotel, I wrote a down right pretentious, embarrassing, profile, that made me look like the most annoying hipster that ever hipped (so not me), and by the time I actually posted said profile, it looked nothing like the word vomit I had originally wrote out.

So there it is, Miss Cheek, (and Miss McMurray). Now here are the peeps I am tagging...

The beautiful and talented Ari Scott

My Saturday night homie Brian Kennedy

The refreshingly honest Anna Rubanova

The really good hugger DC Pierson

and....YOU! Miss Katie Cheek

So that's that. Thanks Glennis!
Love,
Brianna

Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel

2006-12-29T08:04:00.000-08:00

Dear Katie,
In a fit of boredom at work, I decided to use the IM Santa option at the bottom of my AIM conversation box. The following is what happened when I, a sweet little Jewish girl, instant messaged the great Mr. Santa Clause.

Veruca552: do you like Jews?
SantaClaus: Cool. Hanukka rocks.
Veruca552: I think so too. How old are you?
SantaClaus: Well, it's all how you feel inside. But actually, let's see, I was born December 6, 343 A.D. Maybe you can tell me how old I am, smarty!
Veruca552: You seem like a young 78
SantaClaus: Excuse me?
Veruca552: a young 78.
SantaClaus: Type menu to get your to do list for the holidays.
Veruca552: But i want to keep talking to you, santa
SantaClaus: I've noted it. Anything else?
Veruca552: do you not want to talk to me anymore?
SantaClaus: I could tell you, but that would spoil all of the fun.
Veruca552: It isn't about fun, it is about manners.
SantaClaus: Mm hm, now we are getting somewhere.
Veruca552: I'll say.
SantaClaus: Why did you say that?
Veruca552: It is the appropriate response
SantaClaus: Mm hm.
Veruca552: You are bored of me
SantaClaus: You're full of mischief.
Veruca552: Are you trying to seduce me
SantaClaus: Are you kidding?
Veruca552: Are you?
SantaClaus: You keep doing the same thing. Over and over. I get it already. I see everything, you know , It's possible. that's all I'm gonna say on the subject.
Veruca552: You, devil, you.
SantaClaus: Interesting.
Veruca552: How's Mrs. Clause?
SantaClaus: I could say the same thing to you -- and I will. How indeed?
Veruca552: I am good.
SantaClaus: Smashing!
Veruca552: And the reindeer?
SantaClaus: Hmm. Why don't you type, music, maybe that will put you in the Christmas spirit :-)
Veruca552: Nah. I want to know about the elves.
SantaClaus: My goodness! You certainly are direct! Well, you can always type, 'Tell Santa' and I'll be happy to listen to all of your wishes!
Veruca552: Well, I wish that the war would end.
SantaClaus: Can I ask YOU something?
Veruca552: Sure
SantaClaus: Have you set up a Wish List for others to see?
Veruca552: no
SantaClaus: OK, type WL and follow the instructions -- you can set up your own WL for others to see and see any AIM user's who has left a WL with me!
Veruca552: But I don't want to. I just want to talk to you.
SantaClaus: May I ask you a question?
Veruca552: Yes.
SantaClaus: Have you done any good deeds yet this holiday season?
Veruca552: Yes, I have done many.
SantaClaus: Excellent! That makes me so happy! Just wanted to be sure you were on it! Type menu now to get back to the fun and games.
Veruca552: You don't walk to talk to me. I get it.
SantaClaus: Ah -- you've got me again. Why don't you type menu, it's time to get you in the holiday spirit!
Veruca552: I think that is impossible now.
SantaClaus: Heh, its settled then.
Veruca552: Thanks, Santa.
SantaClaus: Of course, no problem!
Veruca552: Bye.
SantaClaus: Merry Christmas, my dear! TTYL

Love,
Brianna

Money Money Money Money MONEEEYY

2006-12-19T18:40:00.000-08:00

Dear Brianna,

I'm fairly certain that the majority of our readers are among the millions who flocked see the biggest comedy of the year, "Borat."
Sasha Baron Cohen, the man behind the facade of Borat, is an amazing artist and a brilliant comedian, so his new super fame in the United States is very warranted. He is also the man who filled much of our nation with shame and doubt in themselves, and I applaud him for that in a most of the cases. But, there is one instance where I cannot bring myself to clap skin against skin. There is one instance where I cannot bring a smile to my face, and I am finished standing for the horrible things he has done to me and my family name! I cannot stand for the slandering of my driving teacher! I will not stand for it for one more second!

What's going to happen to my future now? What if I apply to a job that requires I drive some type of vehicle and the second they see that I graduated from Perry Hall Maryland's driving school they throw my application in the trash? What if I'm driving merrily along and someone all the sudden recognizes me and drives me off the road, causing me to loose my license, trash my car and land me in a wheel chair? How shall I feed myself and my fourteen children then? We shall starve! Starve like animals! Well, they'll starve and then I'll starve after I've eaten all of them, but, that's beside the point. I have been publicly defamed! My name has been run over by a car driven my a foreign man! And he didn't even honk to warn me he was coming!!!

So, I've decided to sue. And I'm not suing with a crack house case like all the others who were "defamed" by something they said in the movie. They signed papers. DUH! If you sign something, your life is legally owned by someone else right then and there. Everyone knows that. But, I was never given a paper to sign! I was never given a choice! Where is that fair?? I was born to fight for equality. Especially equality for myself. So, here I go.

I hear-by sue everyone involved in this movie. I sue you Mr. Sasha Baron Cohen because you were "smart" enough to realize that "reality" is "funnier" than "put on" comedy. And, you have plenty already. I'm suing my driving teacher because he was retarded enough to sign the paper. If you don't want to be in a film don't sign papers that make your appearance legal, no matter what happens with the film. And finally, I'm suing Arnold Schwarzenegger because he totally touched my boob.

In closing, I want money. GIMMIE GIMMIE MONEEEEYYY!

Love,
Katie

Does He Love Me, I Wanna Know

2006-09-01T11:37:00.000-07:00

Dear Katie,
A guy asked for my phone number the other day. It was 11:00 on a Tuesday night, and my hair was doing that damn you I'm actually curly thing cause of the rain, and all I wanted to do was buy a fountain soda (far superior to canned or bottled) from Nathan's in Penn Station. Unfortunately, I didn't have enough money, which, as you know, is the story of my life. The guy behind the counter told me not to worry about it. He gave me the soda for free, and even threw in an order of fries. As I fumbled through my wallet, confused, to say the least, I tried scrounging together some change. Then, the guy went in for the kill.
GUY-"Don't worry about it."
ME-"Are you sure, I don't want to throw off your till." (That's cashier talk)
GUY-"Yeah. What's your phone number?"
ME-"Huh?"
GUY-"Your number."
ME-"I don't know you."
GUY-"You can get to know me."
ME-"I'll bring you a dollar tommorow to pay for the fries."
I ran for cover, and waited for my train. The fries were perfect; overcooked to right amount of greasy crispiness, without being hard as rocks. The guy might not have been Don Juan, but he definately knew how to work a frymaster. I felt a little pathetic huddled in my corner of the station eating and reeling from his proposition. What if I had given my number to him? What if we went on a date? What if Linda Tripp lost a whole bunch of weight and became the next Heidi Klum? My life would be a lot different if guys who didn't sell hot dogs for a living hit on me. Yes, I think that is it.
My life would be a lot different if guys who didn't sell hot dogs for a living hit on me.
Love,
Brianna

The Landslide will bring you down

2006-08-29T10:10:00.000-07:00

Dear Brianna,

As you know, my grandmother passed away on August 23rd 2006 after 80 years of life and a long battle with cancer. She had four children, ten grandchildren and one great grandchild, and I know that we will all miss her. She meant the world to me, and I will miss her greatly.

july 7th 1926- august 23rd 2006.

But, as they say, life goes on

love,
Katie

It's Your Thang

2006-08-22T09:15:00.000-07:00

Dear Katie,
I don't care what anyone says, I am in love with Jonathan Antin.

He is what I imagine people are describing when they use the adjective beefcake, even if he might come across as a tiny bit homosexual. Jonathan is tough as nails, but also has a sensitive side. He cries when things go wrong, and appreciates art...hair art. He approaches doing hair like other people approach painting or sculpting. It is a craft that he pours every bit of his hyper-masculinized soul into.

There is a category of guys that I say look like ducks. Patrick Swayze and Emilio Estevez are examples of this. (Insert Mighty Ducks joke here) I am usually repulsed by "duck boys," however Jonathan eludes this tendency, and is the first duck that I am attracted to. I love his pointy chin, pursing full lips, squinty eyes, and large forehead, but I love how cocky he is even more.

Jonathan calls all the shots. He makes a lot of enemies, enemies who keep coming back to him because he is so damn successful, and because it means they can be featured on national television. Every time Jonathan raises his voice, punches a wall, throws something, or storms out of a room, I get butterflies.

I am infatuated with this sensitive, duck-like, cocky man more than almost any other reality tv-based celebrity. Except for maybe Jason from the Real World Boston, cause he was way cute.
Love,
Brianna

Life is a highway....for my parents.

2006-08-14T11:37:00.000-07:00

Dear Brianna,

I haven't been on a vacation with my mother and father since the summer before my junior year in high school. Which would make it four years ago. Right.

Anyway, it didn't bother me much when we stopped the whole vacation ordeal. First of all, my parents and I tend not to agree on vacation itineraries (they're boring). Secondly, my whole summer used to be a vacation. My parents didn't make me work for more than a month (usually july) so I would have about a month free to roam around in my car and watch TV with my cousin Erin. That's honestly about all I did. When I moved away to New York, my parents decided they didn't need to take vacations anymore. It's too hard for me to pull away from work and other things that I have here, and they just don't feel like it, I guess.

Well, they recently changed their minds.

This week my parents:

-went on a Cave exploration (lu ray caverns)
-took an Airplane flight over the Appliation mountains
-took a Motorcycle ride through civil war battle fields
-rode Horseback through the Shenandoah Valley
-Stayed at Ski resort (needless to say, they didn't ski)
-Stayed at plush golf resort (they didn't golf, either)
-Met baby tigers (in Pennsylvania??)
-Visited the property our family owns in Bedford Pennsylvania for the first time in years

Basically, they did a whole bunch of stuff. Ridiculous stuff. When we used to go to the beach, they would sit around and read, and I would cry from boredom. When we went to Disney World when I was 10, they didn't ride many rides with me. When we went to North Carolina, we looked at lighthouses. When we went to Vegas, they sat around in casinos leaving me to fend for myself in the casino video game rooms.

And now they do exciting things.

I can't wait until I'm a parent and I can do that to my kids. Parents have a special way of burning their kids without trying.

Love,
Katie

Simple Joys

2006-08-10T14:53:00.000-07:00

Dear Katie,
What Dunkin Donuts is to you, Subway is to me. When I say Subway, I don't mean the MTA, I mean the superior-sandwich-making-fast-food-chain. I ate fresh for the first time only a few months ago, and since that 6-inch turkey delight, I've been hooked.

I can't believe I went 21 years without falling victim to the sweet smell of baking bread that surrounds every Subway store. At Indiana University, I lived about two blocks away from the famous Subway that the famous Jared ate at. I've met and spoken with Jared in person, and incidentally found out how he really lost the weight. (I'll tell you about it if you ask me in person.) But this wasn't enough to get me to go inside.

There wasn't anything noteworthy about my first time eating at Subway, except for the jammin' tunes they played in the store. Listening to Tina Turner sing/ask "What's Love got to do With it," while I ordered my sandwich made the experience fun and relaxing, and enjoyable enough to make me go again.

After much experimentation, I've found the two perfect sandwiches, and after clocking in 5 years working at Panera Bread, I am a sandwich building expert.
1)Toasted wheat bread, cucumbers, lettuce, pickles (I know, weird, but trust me), green peppers, mayo, and salt&pepper
2)Toasted wheat bread, turkey, cucumbers, lettuce, tomato, and chipotle sauce
The best part is that you don't have to feel guilty for indulging in this tasty treat. Each sandwich is only about 5 weight watcher points, which translates to being a pretty kick ass meal.

Although Jared may be less than desirable, the product he pushes is the cream of the crop. I've eaten at many restaurants, from the fancy schmancy to the about to lose their license, and if I had to choose one place to eat at for the rest of my life, I would definitely choose Subway.
Love,
Brianna

Baby boy, make me lose my breath.

2006-08-09T08:23:00.000-07:00

Dear Brianna,

Brace yourself......

Um, excuse me? My life is supposed to end in October? Because this fucking MAKES MY LIFE! I have no need to live beyond the third time I see this in theatres in 3fuckingD! OH MAN! Jesus Christ! (Jebus christ, if you're religious).

This is one of my ALL TIME FAVORITE MOVIES OF EVER ALL TIME. I remember seeing it when I was five (six maybe?), and walking away from the theatre in awe. IN AWE. Then my dad bought me a jack the pumpkin king doll that I still have today.

I was Jack for halloween one year in highschool.

I watch this movie at least five times around both halloween and christmas.

I watched the movie so much on VHS that if I watch it now, there are permanent lines through the picture.

I can recite the movie almost verbatum.

I have the soundtrack on my ipod, and I'm listening to it right now.

I have every type of apparel that one could own with something from this movie printed on it. Also I own Perfume, Key chains, A giant snow globe, A music Box, posters, a sheet set, shoe laces, buttons, a wallet, earrings and a necklace.

You have far too much embarassing information on me for me to continue this post.

Love,
Katie

A Night in the Life

2006-08-07T17:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Katie,
There is a tradition in poetry to write poems based on a snippet of one's daily life. Keats used to write odes to inanimate objects, and Frank O'Hara is famous for his lunchtime poems that were written during his lunchbreak. Shocking, right? On Saturday night, I had to cab it home alone from the UCB, and since I didn't have anyone to talk to or anything to distract me, I had time to really absorb and appreciate the scenery and people around me. In the spirit of Keats and O'Hara, I want to recap for you what I noticed on my ride home, but being only a mediocre poet, I will take things to the twenty-first century and blog it out.

Nothing really happened until I got to Brooklyn. I was over the bridge in ten dollars, which is always exciting. On the corner of Myrtle and Flatbush, I saw a real life prostitute for the first time, or what I assume to be a real life prostitute. She was wearing an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, yellow bikini top and matching yellow (insert German accent) booty shorts. She was leaning down into a car with tinted windows to make what I assume was a real life sex deal.

A couple blocks after the prostitute is the laundromat that either burnt down or caved in or self-destructed before it even got the chance to take down the grand opening sign, which as long as I can remember, has read "And Opening." How appropriate.

The last thing that caught my eye was an ad for Seagram's Gin on the back of a pay phone. It featured a silhouetted drawing of a dude with a fro in a barber chair holding a bottle. The tagline was "Snip. Snip. Sip. Sip." I was completely perplexed because the ad is wrong on so many levels. 1)Who drinks gin while they get their haircut? 2) Who drinks gin while they get their haircut at a barbershop in the hood? 3) What does hair have to do with Gin? They are both dry... And finally, was this ad strategically placed on Myrtle Avenue (once called Murder Ave.) because it is home to a lot of black folk? Isn't there some sort of racism hidden in there?

The first thing the cab driver asked me when I told him I was going to Brooklyn was, "Is it a long ride?" and at risk of sounding cheesy and trite, it most definitely was.
Love,
Brianna

PS-This has been edited after Laura Radcliffe dusted some cobwebs off the part of my brain that remembers poetry.

Hot town

2006-07-17T09:34:00.000-07:00

Dear Brianna,

Remember when we were riding the subway that time last week, and you reached into your purse for a book or something and instead dropped your underpants on the subway floor? HAHA! I remember. It was one of the funniest moments of my life. You dropped your underware! In public no less! AHHAHAH! Okay. phew. I'm still laughing. You can embarrass me in the next post. I'm sure you have enough fodder for that.

I've become somewhat of a traveling man (woman) as of late, and it's rather exciting. I've seen the world (eastern seaboard). I've met exciting people (bikers and asshole lifeguards) and eaten rare and exciting cuisine (FRIENDLY'S!!!). I'm extremely worldly now and have taken to speaking in a semi British accent (more like Canadian), much like Madonna. I've adopted a new religion (MTV's The Hills). How could I not change my ways after seeing some of the worlds most popular wonders (Jones Beach ponchos, a traveling diner, Harlem, and Kelly Clarkson)??? See, I knew you'd understand. I feel fifty years older now that I've experienced all the world has to offer. Am I still ready to see more? What more is there for me to see?? I've seen the sun set on three different continents (states) and each time the sun set in a more amazing and unbelievable way. How is that possible? I think I'm growing as a person. I've become wise beyond your years.

So, in concluuusion, I would like to thank...YOU. Why? I'm a big person (tall). The public, the people like you, are where it all started. So, Thanks. Thanks for just being....YOU.

Love,
Katie

She is a material girl.

2006-07-06T17:00:00.000-07:00

Dear Katie,
My grandma bought me my first CD, and by bought, I mean stole from the thrift store she worked at. It was a copy of Madonna's, Immaculate Collection, a CD that changed my life. Little did I know as I was dancing to Material Girl, and giggling with my sister when Madonna sang "Two bodies become one," that about fifteen years later I would be working in her dressing room.

You didn't read that wrong. Last week I worked for Madonna. I didn't technically meet her, unless you count a couple awkward eye contacts as meeting, but I did get to hang backstage and watch the concert from $300 seats. At one point, I was standing in the middle of a crowd containing Kevin Spacey, Lenny Kravitz, and Michael Moore. At that point, I asked myself, "How on Earth did I get here?"

I never had time to formulate an answer, but I did have time to do something super duper amazing that I am definately NOT allowed to share with ya'll. It is something that you only get one chance in a lifetime to do, and I would be happy to tell you about it in confidence, in person.

Anyhoo, I can't get into any real details (in this blog) about what it was like working for Madonna, or M as they call her on tour. I can, however, tell you that she likes flowers and Kabbalah and is totally teeny tiny and has great taste in furniture.
Love,
Brianna

This post is not about Brianna's Birthday.

2006-06-22T11:20:00.000-07:00

Dear Brianna,

We all know what yesterday was. We all know people called you. We all know you had cake. We all know you made a crack pipe out of a coke can. We all know you flew to Alaska on a vacuum cleaner like Sabrina the teenage witch did on her TV show. We all know you got 10 bucks from your rich Uncle Morty. Give it a rest already! GEEZE!

I've been thinking lately. I know, right? WHO does that? I've decided to make myself more scholarly, which means I've taken time out of my busy life of movie watching and laundry doing to let that little organ under my hair have some exercise. We started slow with some basic cardio (reading "In Her Shoes" by Jennifer Weiner) then we slowly moved on to actual thinking without restraints. You know, thinking OUTSIDE the books. CRAZY RIGHT? Well, either way, I solved a lot of problems.

As you all well know, I was married once. It was great. I was twelve, he was two months old. I have to say it was damn near paradise, or at least what I think paradise could be. We held hands, he bought me ice cream (sand), I kept his fur nice and clean, and he gave me the most satisfaction that I've ever had. I thought life couldn't get any better. I didn't even know what cloud nine was because I was on cloud ten.

Along comes my thirteenth birthday. I was finally a teenager. I can't say I wasn't happy with my husband, but it was like the second I turned thirteen my view on life changed. Instead of ice cream I liked Italian Ice. Instead of reading The Baily Kids books, I read The Baby Sitter's Club. I had matured, and I realized that these were going to be the best years of my life. I didn't need a husband who was breathing down my neck everyday when I got home to rub his feet and get his cigar. I needed to spread my wings! Fly free from my chains of marital "bliss." So, we divorced.

It didn't end happy. It never does. Luckily, we never had any kids (he was sterile).

The sad part of this whole tale is that I've been alone ever since. He moved on and married a girl down the street when my parents and I moved. They said we couldn't take him because the new back yard wasn't "Big Enough," but I knew the real reason. They couldn't take the awkward silence at the dinner table. They couldn't stand that he now slept on the couch. You could cut the tension in the house with a butter knife.

Since moving on, I've had some meaningless hook-ups in my years as a single woman, but none of them ever meant a thing to me. I would lie in bed, each night, with a new random man and I could only think about him. It my idea to leave because I needed freedom, but what I failed to see was that the only time I was free was when we were together. Those nights I would catch fire flies in my hands and he would try to eat them. Those long days at the beach where we would dig holes we swore would go to china. At the age of Thirteen, I had made my biggest mistake.

So, you may be asking why I'm writing to you today. Well, I want you all to take this as a warning. A warning to never let those who matter most to you go. Sure, maybe they have fleas once in a while, but that just means you should give them a bath instead of throwing them to the curb. Give love a chance, don't push it away! Don't be pathetic like me! I'll never be happy again!

Love,
Katie

It's a rat race.

2006-06-14T12:53:00.000-07:00

Dear Katie,
I haven't updated in a while because I am depressed. I just can't seem to get a job, and it is really making me blue. I was valedictorian, am a published writer, and have had some really cool internships, but, alas, it is getting me nowhere. Nobody ever warned me about post-grad depression. I know this is turning into a big downer, and I don't want to write anymore about feeling like a failure, so instead, I am going to share with you some of the perks of being unemployed.

1) Making lunch. I made the best sandwich in the world the other day. One bite, and I forgot about resumes and cover letters, and I was taken to the land of ooh la la.

2) Taking time to look pretty. Instead of rolling out of bed after a couple hours sleep, and rushing off for a full day, I have time to take a long shower and actually do my hair and pick out an outfit and not look like a total scrub.

3) FULL NIGHT'S SLEEP.

4) Working out. I, Brianna Jacobson, have gone back to the gym. It is about time. Amazing.

5) Reading. For fun. Everyone out there should get a copy of Phillip Roth's "Goodbye Columbus." He is a phenomenal writer, and I would have never known it if my job hunt wasn't taking so long.

So, maybe things aren't so bad afterall. But if any of you out there wanna help me out, my email address is briannajacobson@gmail.com
I would LOVE to give you my resume.
Love,
Brianna

All About Brianna!

2006-05-30T07:44:00.000-07:00

Dear Brianna,

First Order of Business:
-I am so very proud of you for graduating with honors and speaking at graduation. It was fantastic and I know your family was so crazy proud of you (I was sitting with them, so I very much know). You're a college graduate!

Second order of Business:
-We do not currently live in the same state. It has been very hard on our relationship, but so far we've made the distance thing work. Why? Because we're survivors.

Third thing:
Does the public know that we collaborated on things before this blog? That we spent a hot July day making a movie with the annoying children of Brooklyn? That my bicycle that stars in the movie was stolen two days after this was filmed? I'll bet they don't know! They should watch this movie that we made a year ago! It has bananas and playgrounds and the little grocery store that is across the street from the big one!

Have a great day everyone, and if you're in New York City or the surrounding areas, remember to drink lots of water on these annoyingly hot days!

love,
Katie

'>file://

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ndweZdwSBKI

I know you're the Irish one, but...

2006-05-21T09:13:00.000-07:00

Dear Katie,
I am ashamed to report that I am living in a state of addiction. My body screams 24/7 for a certain something that puts me in danger of heart disease, cancer, narcolepsy, obesity, infection, and diabetes. They say the first step of conquering addiction is admitting you have a problem, and I am ready to come clean.

I, BRIANNA HOPE JACOBSON, AM ADDICTED TO POTATOES.

Au gratin, mashed, grilled, steamed, potato chipped, and especially french fried, it doesn't matter. My day isn't complete until I have stuffed my face with enough starchy goodness to give me that coated throat and heavy stomach that I love so much. You can dip potatoes in anything--ketchup, cheese, honey mustard, mayonaise, barbeque sauce--and they will always taste good. You can even spell potato two ways: potatoE or potatO! The fun never ends.

In the words of the moustached Pringles mascot, "once you pop, you can't stop," and it's true, I really can't stop. The tyrrany must end. I want out of the totalitarian potato dictatorship that has taken me prisoner. I read in a magazine that if you stop eating potatoes you will see the difference in just one week, and I want to prove that statement to be true.

So, mark my words, today is day one of my potato-free life. Not one succelent spud will pass through my lips until "I can only eat just one." If you and any of our lovely blog readers see me so much as look at a potato, I give you permission to punch me in the face. For reals. Do it. It is for my own good. Thank you.
Love,
Brianna

Um......drinking? work tomorrow?

2006-05-05T00:32:00.000-07:00

Dear Brianna,

We just looked at each other and said Technophilia at the same time. Referring to the same thing.

"Stick It" got a better review in the new yorker than "Art School Confidential."

You just called yourself Big Mamma, and when I said I would never talk to you again if you became big mamma, you called me a big mammaist. Yeah.

Tom spelled like Thom should always sound like TH-OM, not T-O-M.

We're both drunk and sitting in a room together. Robot Chicken is on. I'm calling into work late.

You just said fine-to.

Love,
Katie

I know this is out of order...

2006-04-24T21:23:00.000-07:00

Dear Katie,
I know it isn't my turn to post, but as you know, I met my hero tonight, and I have to tell the world, or at least the part of the world that reads our blog. (Shit, that sentence had a lot of clauses!) Anyway, tonight's edition of Broin' Out was extra special because the guest was none other than Janeane Garofalo. She was well spoken, intellegent, and super cute; everything I had built her up to be. The best part is that after the show, I made her laugh! I made a famous comedian laugh! Now, all I have to do is meet Seth Green and convince him to marry me. Then, my life will be complete. Happy and complete.
Love,
Brianna

I was so excited that I didn't even worry about avoiding a double chin shot!

You'd punch me in the face...

2006-04-14T07:38:00.000-07:00

Dear Katie,
Last night was a HUGE success! We raised two hundred dollars for Gilda's Club! You, and all the other performers were amazing. I want to thank everyone who helped out and Kid Dervin and Mailer Daemon for coming all the way out to Brooklyn to perform. Hopefully, we can do more of these things in the future. I guess improv really can make a difference. The next time I am playing an alien/robot/bride, I will think about the larger good that I am doing for humanity. Hooray!
Love,
Brianna

i'm promoting the shit out of this!

2006-04-10T15:45:00.000-07:00

Comedy For A Cure!

Starring:
Scotchatory Tape
Kid Dervin
And the Upright Citizens Brigade's own Mailer Daemon!

Thursday, April 13
Time: 8:00pm - 9:30pm
Location: No Name Gallery, Pratt Institute Dorm,
215 Willoughby Ave, Brooklyn NY 11205

Admission is free, with suggested donation. All proceeds go to Gilda's Club.

Come out and help support Cancer Research and Great Improv Comedy all at the same time!

If you have any questions or you need directions hit me up at: katiecheek@hotmail.com

The Simple Life?

2006-03-27T07:56:00.000-08:00

Dear Katie,
The secret to Paris Hilton, Nicole Richie, and Ashton Kutcher being famous is that they should be seen and not heard. Why on earth are both Punk'd and The Simple Life in production for another season? Please tell me. I need answers.
Love,
Brianna

Since you've (I've) been gone...

2006-03-22T11:22:00.000-08:00

Dear Brianna,

Sorry it's been so long since I've written to you. It's been a little crazy here lately. I don't know if you heard through the grapevine, but I had to go home last weekend to visit my parents. Baltimore has quite a personality. I would write about my experiences on the train, but since you stole my thunder with your bigger and better transportation stories, I will write about something else. Something that may be a very big love of mine.....

COFFEE!

Everyone in the whole world knows I have an affinity for coffee, especially coffee of the Dunkin' Doughnuts variety. I just fucking love the stuff. When I'm on my death bed, pull that IV out of the medicine bag and shove it right into a nice large ice coffee with a little bit of skim milk and three sweet-n-lows; you'll only be doing me a favor. Jesus christ I love coffee.

I guess our love affair started my last year of high school when I learned that being awake at night was much more fun than being awake in the day time, and since I had to be up for fucking class at the unholy hour of 7am, coffee became a necessity. In college, I started staying awake until 2 or 3 in the morning, and waking up at 9am so the need for coffee rolled over.

On a slow day I'll have one (large) cup of coffee, and I can drink up to three on a good day. You'll know it's a good day (like today) when I speak really quickly, type insanely fast and shake a whole lot (usually my feet shake the most).

If I have a cup of Dunkin' Doughnuts coffee in my hands, it's a good time to approach me; I'll be in a good mood (even if I'm hung over! it's THAT magical!). That warm bean juice laced with cow secretions and artificial sweetener running down my throat just makes me want to scream in pure delight with every sip! It even still sounds appetizing after I described milk as a secretion! Ew!

It is my duty, as a full blooded coffee drinking American, to know where each and every Dunkin Doughnuts in my path is located. And, I truly do. I can list every Dunkin' doughnuts within thirty miles of my house back in Baltimore. I can also tell you that there is a Dunkin' Doughnuts/Baskin Robbins on 8th btwn 23rd and 24th, a plain Dunkin' Doughnuts on both 34th (btwn 6th and 7th) and on 23rd (btwn 5th and 6th). And yes, there is a Dunkin Doughnuts/Taco Bell on 8th ave btwn 36th and 37th. I only know of one where I live in Brooklyn, and it's at the Fulton Street Mall.

So, in conclusion, I have a problem. But, don't we all?

Love,
Katie

Mile High Club

2006-03-13T19:26:00.000-08:00

Dear Katie,
As I write this, I am sitting in Laguardia airport waiting to catch a flight that will seemingly never come. When I first arrived, the flight was delayed by an hour. It’s scheduled departure time of 8 was pushed to 9 meaning that I had three hours to waste. After I waited an hour, an announcement informed me that the delay had been extended another hour, canceling out the time I had already waited.
I am hungry, and the airport is hot. If the airport is going to make you wait an extra two hours, the least they could do is provide air conditioning and a complimentary beverage, preferably alcoholic. The genius who designed this airport put all the restaurants and stores outside of the security lines, meaning that even if I was willing to buy something—a bottle of water, a soggy turkey sandwich, or an oversized bag of trail mix (each item priced at over ten dollars)—I would have had to do it before I checked in.
Once in the gate area, you are stuck in a vacuum of warm, recycled air, abrasive voices relaying bad news over tinny loud speakers, and pacing mothers pushing restless babies around in strollers. In the time it has taken me to write the last two sentences four people passing by have almost knocked my computer out of my lap.
I am trying my best to be positive and be in a good mood. Ashford and Simpson are playing on my Itunes right now, I might indulge in a trashy magazine, and a famous comedian (the one from Conan who was in the Asssscat special on Bravo) just walked by me. I see that dude everywhere, at the UCB, McManus, The Onion, something strange is going on. I digress.
So yeah. It is time to venture out of the gate area. If I ever get to Chicago, I will give you a call. If not, I will try to build a fort out of pillows by the Au Bon Pan stand and you can send a search party out for me. I am in terminal B fashioning an “I surrender” flag out of a white I heart New York t-shirt and an umbrella from The Hudson News shop.
Love,
Brianna

PS- I wrote this on Friday, and my flight home was just as bad.

London Calling, Speak the Slang Now

2006-03-09T16:23:00.000-08:00

Dear Brianna,

I just want to start this post by letting our readers know that I suffer from a very serious disease. I don't want to bring the vibe down here, you know, but I feel like it's important that people in the world stay informed. Okay, so here goes.

I suffer from social retardation. Or, to put it in more politically correct terms, I'm socially inept.

Now, I know it's hard to admit things, but sometimes just saying it makes you feel better. "I'm socially inept!" "I'm socially inept!" "I can't hold conversations that don't turn painful at one point!" "I can't walk away from situations without feeling like I sound stupid!" "Sometimes I can't even look at people when I talk to them!" "I'm socially inept!" Feel better? Not me.

That's right, you heard me. I don't buy this bullshit. Sure, It's hard for me to exit situations with people without sounding/looking like an asshole. Sure, I look at people oddly when I don't know what to say. Sure, I fill sentences with phrases that are not necessary, and they just come off as sounding completely insane. Sure! But I'm human. I'M ONLY HUMAN! And I need your help.

I'm coming to terms with my disease, slowly. I've realized that it's better to fake a sore throat sometimes rather than talk. It's also helpful to pretend to read something! There is really only one known "cure" for this disease and it's very temporary (alcohol). The only way to live life and go on is to accept your disease and move forward with your life.

If you have an awkward conversation with me, it's not that I don' t like you, it's that I'm may be going through an episode, and I also don't trust you (that's another disease that I'll keep in my back pocket for another rainy day blog entry). Understand me, don't push me away! I'm a good huggerer! Yeah! Hold up the conversation, and somewhere along the line, I'll work it out! Promise! Embrace my diseasssseeee!

Love,
Katie

P.S
Say happy birthday to my mom!
53 years ago today, she made it happen for the first time.
Go Susan, Go!

Menime is Eminem Backwards

2006-03-06T18:58:00.000-08:00

Dear Katie,
8 Mile, Eminem's biopic, is a fucking amazing movie. UPN played it to try and steal the Oscar's thunder Sunday night, and I wasn't even tempted to see who won best film because I was in the middle of watching the best film winner of all time.
Watching B. Rabbit, a thinly veiled Eminem, rap his way from being trailer park trash to trailer park trash who battles at underground clubs, was like following Odysseus on his quest to return home. I cried with B. Rabbit when his girl, played by an obviously anorexic Brittany Murphy, cheated on him with Poppa Doc, I laughed with him when he schooled Ice Cube in the factory commisary, and I feared for him when the Free World crew jumped him in front of his trailer.
The climax of 8 Mile is the final rap battle where B. Rabbit burns through the whole Free World crew with his tight rhymes, and only has to beat Poppa Doc to get the title. Not since Tiresias poked his eyes out in Sophocles's Oedipus, have I seen such a cathartic moment. B. Rabbit lays it all out on the line. Yes he is white, he is a f*ing bum, he does live in a trailer with his mom, and his boy Future is an uncle tom. He does have a dumb friend named Cheddar Bob who shoots himself in the leg with his own gun. He did get jumped by all six of those chumps, and Wink did F*** his girl, but he is still standing there screaming, "F*** the free world!" We can all take a page from Emin...I mean B. Rabbit's book. It doesn't matter what other people think. Be yourself. Don't make apologies. And all of your dreams will come true.
Love,
Brianna

I believe the children are our future

2006-03-03T11:17:00.000-08:00

Dear Brianna,

This morning was totally worth waking up at the ass crack of dawn (7am). I don't think I've ever had such a generally fun show. And I wasn't even offended that they kept talking about how tall I am. And laughing about it. And then pointing and telling Kate how tall I am. Oh God, it's elementary school all over again.

I pretty much love kids. I still don't think I can handle having one of my own though. SCARY.

We're like fourth grade super stars! If I could go back to elementary school, I would have such a better time, this time around. Oh yes, this time around.

Love,
Katie

P.S.
they were quoting and recreating the scenes after they left the auditorium! Wow!

Old Jewish farts fart Jews a lot.

2006-02-27T07:58:00.000-08:00

Dear Katie,
That guy was a DOUCHEBAG, but in happier news, I finally know what I want to be when I grow up. I want to be an old Jew. I am very qualified for the position of an old Jew for the following reasons:

1)Feeding people is a hobby of mine--chopped liver, gefite fish, matzo ball soup, ruggelah, mandel brot--I can cook it all. Whenever a friend of mine is looking thin, having a bad day, or bored, I am always ready to give them sustenance.

2) I am willing to sit in the dark. If there is a problem that requires people helping me, I would much rather sit and suffer than make them go out of their way. I can also make them feel guilty while doing it.

3) Florida is my favorite.

4) Early bird specials don't bother me too much. I am always looking for a bargain, and if that means eating way before the sun goes down, bring it on.

5) I am wearing a belted sweater dress, reminiscent of Dorothy Spornak as I type this.

6) Yiddush is like a second language to me. A second language that I know about ten words of. I can put a yiddush word into every other sentence to make me know what I am talking about. If this is a problem, I can take courses at the Jewish Community Center to improve my skills.

7)My grandparents were "snowbirds" for a very long time, moving to Florida permanently from their "adult community" in New Jersey when I was ten. Spending time with them meant that I was constantly surrounded by old Jews that I now aspire to emulate.

8) I'm Jewish. Duh.

If anyone requests a more complete resume, or references, I am working on them as we speak. This is turning from a crazy career idea to something that could really happen. I'll keep you posted on my path to becoming an Old Jew. In the meantime, I'm gonna go play shuffleboard and eat some pickled herring.
Love,
Brianna

Danga! Danga! (pronounced like danger, except you leave off the r)

2006-02-26T15:55:00.000-08:00

Dear Brianna,

Good thing I didn't come to the bar with you last night, because if I had been present at this "cab debacle" I may have either

A. jumped on top of the cab, crawled onto the roof so that I could reach my hand into the window and grab the guys ugly face, ripping his skin with my nails and raw tenacity.

or

B. Thrown something at the cab that would have broken one of the windows. The cab driver would stop, get out and walk towards me. I would pick up a trash can and throw it at his head, causing him to fall over. Then, I would run up to him, spit on his fucking face and NAIL him in the balls.

Funny thing here is that I probably would have really thrown something at the cab. You know how violent I am. Sometimes, violence is the only way to communicate with assholes. So thanks Baltimore, for making me bitter, violent, short tempered and completely self doubting!

I have pretty much been completely alone in my room for about 24 hours, and I'm going prettttty nuts. I went out to breakfast this morning, but that was the only time I ventured outside after about 5 o'clock on Saturday. Don't get me wrong, I love being alone, but after a certain point I tend to go a little crazy. There is only so much Celebrity fit club, There and Back, True Life, Project Runway and E! True Hollywood story you can watch. I've found myself talking aloud to these people, yelling at Ashley Parker Angel from There and Back about wiping his ass in the kitchen where his mother in law could see him, and complaining aloud about E! television's lack of actual good programming. I've driven myself to the point where I just want to drink alone because I have nothing better to do! (I haven't done that yet) I think my roommates heard me singing along to Billy Joel and the Rent soundtrack, but that's just too bad...I couldn't hold back. People already think I'm crazy, so why not just roll with it? There are so many things crazy people can get away with that we cannot, so if people think I'm crazy, I'm actually at an advantage. Maybe they'll start buying me food because they think I can't actually do that for myself! This may be a blessing!!

Love,
Katie

Twelve

2006-02-25T23:41:00.000-08:00

Dear Katie,
The average woman in America is a size twelve, and I am not affraid to admit to our millions of readers that I fit into this statistic. Pun most certainly intended. After enjoying a beer with some friends at The Peculier (I don't know why it is spelled with an E) Pub in the East Village, two friends and I decided to splurge on a cab ride home. Both of my friends are petite, sassy looking ladies, and while I am sassy looking myself, I don't share the same svelte frame. There were no cabs in sight, and the bitter cold wind was hitting us in gusts strong enough to make even me lose my balance.
A cab pulled up with the window open, and an ugly, chubby guido (sorry Italian readers) leaned out and yelled, "Hey ladies! Two of you are pretty, but the other one is FAT!" It took me a moment to realize that I was the fat one because the only times I have been referred to as fat are by my mother or my interior, self-concious dialogue. Before I could do anything, my one friend started yelling at the guy, calling him a cuntbag. All I could do was yell, "Go home and puke on yourself while you're NOT getting laid," as the cab pulled away. If I could pick any moment in time to go back to, I would go back to that one and punch him in the face. Right in his big, ugly, bulbous nose.
I don't want this entry to turn into a montage from a chick flick, with me saying how I am a beautiful intellegent girl, and it doesn't matter what some ugly drunk fuck has to say about me, but I can't help but feel a little discomforted by the whole situation. It is amazing how quickly another person, a stranger even, can bring you down from a ten to a zero in a mere thirty seconds. I guess it was only a matter of time before something like this happened to me. You can't walk around being chubby these days without someone having something to say about it, however I don't want to know what you have to say. So Mr. Guido, I hope you are fucking your mom right now, because she is the only person that will ever love a worthless piece of shit like yourself.
Love,
Brianna

PS- Sorry about the Wayne Newton, Steven Segal mixup. After a certain amount of plastic surgery and botox, people start looking alike.

Research?

2006-02-24T13:32:00.000-08:00

Dear Brianna,

The guy in the top picture is most definitely Wayne Newton.

I'm a little offended you thought he was Steven Segal. They're not even in the same category.

That is all.

Love,
Katie

P.S. I think Carrot Top is the person I despise most in the world.

HLMs of the world unite!

2006-02-24T09:36:00.000-08:00

Dear Katie,
This week hasn't been so good for us, but I think I found the perfect way to cheer us up.

Look at this other pair of heterosexual life mates having a great time on two separate occasions. Nothing says levity like Steven Segal, and we can all take a cue from Carrot Top by giving peace a chance.

Love,

Brianna

don't touch my heine(ken)!

2006-02-22T20:35:00.000-08:00

Dear Brianna,

This post is going to take me forever to write because I am drunk and I need to press the delete key a lot. That being said, I would like to write a noble and moving post.

Drinking underage is illegal.

Love,
Katie

P.S. pay no attention to the time of these posts because my fucking mac doesn't let me change the time. I was not drinking alone at 8:30 in the evening. It's really 11:38, and I was at a party four doors down, people. So don't judge me. Or judge me. I don't give a shit.

P.P.S
I BOUGHT RENT TODAYYYYY! THREE DISCS!

Reality TV Makes me Cry

2006-02-20T09:04:00.000-08:00

Dear Katie,
That reminds of me of the now defunct MTV show, "I Want a Famous Face." At first, everyone was outraged because they thought MTV was paying for people to deform their faces to look like the celebrities promoted every day on the channel. The important information that MTV failed to publicize properly was that these people were going to get the surgery no matter what, and MTV was just there to document their transformations.
The episode that I remember best was about a "boy" named Jessica. I quote marked "boy" because Jessica was in fact a man who lived his life as a woman and was getting surgery to look like Jennifer Lopez. When finished with the surgery, Jessica looked more mannish than she/he did originally, and the damages were irreversible. A lot of people give MTV slack about their programming, but Jessica's story was only one of many from MTV's news and docs productions that left me thinking and crying. Don't forget the crying.
There was a more recent show on MTV called True Life: I am Obese. I was having a particularly low self-esteem day, as girls tend to do once a month, and I could barely see the tv screen because I was crying through the whole show. There was a boy, a big big boy who was a senior in high school, who just kept eating and getting fatter with the hopes that he could get gastric bypass one day. At one point, he was sitting in a pool. wearing a bathing suit and a shirt, waiting for nobody to look at him so that he could get out of the water. Another lady weighed about 600 pounds because she got this horrible disease that left her unable to move. Her husband was caring and wonderful, and as a favor/gift to him, she agreed to go out to dinner. He had to push her around the restaurant in a wheelchair, and throughout their meal, the other dining patrons were staring at them and making hurtful comments. As if this lady didn't have it hard enough.
I guess the bottom line is that reality tv is a powerful tool, but with shows like "The Gauntlet," "Next," and "Flava of Love" (which I love) that power will remain unused.
Love,
Brianna

Why do we never get an answer, when we're knocking at the door?

2006-02-19T19:51:00.000-08:00

Dear Brianna,

Have you ever seen someone who has had a lot of plastic surgery done to their face try to cry? Like actually generate tears? Like actually let the tear ducts in their face release the water that has suddenly built up in a fit of unhappiness? The mouth tries to form a frowning position, but instead takes the form of an uncomfortable constipation type face?

I was watching this show called "Intervention" on A&E and this family was calling out this women who had some addiction, I don't remember what, but her face was fucking pulled tighter than that new single from JLO (HOLLA!). Somehow the topic of the conversation in the show turned to rape, i guess she was raped, and her face started to twitch like she was trying to cry, but her face is permanently smiling so it's obviously hard for her to change that so that she can frown. I was completely captivated by her incapability to control her facial muscles. She has to look the same all the time no matter how she feels. Her puffed out collagen filled lips have to hold that red lip stick that she had tattooed on last year when she was down on herself, forever. Her forehead can never generate wrinkles. Seriously, think about it for a second. What if you could never show your emotions through your face? How would you ever be a mime?

Good thing I haven't had plastic surgery, because it's time for me to go have myself a good cry while watching Celebrity Fit Club. Jeff Conaway is back, and I'm so proud of him. He's been through a lot, you know, and he really tries to please everyone, but sometimes you just can't handle everything on your own, you know what I mean, and it's really hard to be alone for so long, and maybe he just wants love because he's lonely and he found love in the bottom of a bottle because a bottle will never judge you, you know, and I can partially relate with that, you know that fragility of humanity and the fluctuation of the need for acceptance and the complete disregard for other people. He's hurting and I feel it.

Love,
Katie

Retail Therapy

2006-02-19T14:14:00.000-08:00

Dear Katie,
After seeing the super duper German coat you bought at Urban for 5 bucks, I decided to try my luck, and take a trip there. What I found at both the Urban on West 4th and the one on 14th, is that shopping isn't as relaxing as it used to be, and retail therapy could quite possibly be a myth. Upon my arrival at the store, I smiled at the security guard, and made my way straight to the sale section. In a logical world, the sale section would be set up in a wide open space, as it is probably the most popular and crowded part of the store, but at Urban, they shove racks into a space the size of a closet and leave the customers to fend for themselves. Whenever I am in this situation, I think of the commercials for DSW Shoe Warehouse, where women are portrayed as wild animals, stalking out shoe prey, while a bongo drum, jungle-esque tune plays in the background. I don't want to live up to this stereotype, but it is hard to walk the logical path through the racks when other people completely disregard the order and walk willy nilly through the aisles. My supposed to be relaxing trip was quickly turning into a stressful situation, fueled by aggressive hipsters trying to get a good deal on some Diesel jeans. While I am happy with my purchases, I felt no sense of refreshment after my day of shopping. I was tired, my feet hurt, and I had a headache from the incessant blarings of Arcade Fire, Modest Mouse, and White Stripes that Urban insisted on playing at top volume. I think I need to look for a different way to blow off steam, before my money and my patience runs out.
Love,
Brianna

the roof, the roof, the roof is on fire

2006-02-16T10:03:00.000-08:00

Dear Brianna,

Remember last night when we drank that wine that comes in a jug? Carlo Rossi Sangria? Yeah, it was gross.

Valentine's day was another "success" as in nothing bad happened. EXCEPT, I did get to see a table fire at BAM, and that was amazing. The bus boys were panicking and had no idea what to do, and I couldn't help but laugh. I'm still battling with that case of asshole I just can't seem to get over.

OoOo, guess what I decided today? I'm going to take myself to Europe when I graduate. I want to go to London, and Paris, and Rome, and and and AMSTERDAM! I'm going to smoke weed and it will be legal! Think of it B! No repercussions! And then I'm going to have a torrid affair with an Italian man who only speaks one language--the language of love. We both speak it. We don't need to say anything, we let the love do the speaking. Then, when it's time for me to come back to NY, I'll leave him a note, and on the inside will be a sketch of a heart ripped in two. He'll know that that means we can never see each other again, you know, in love speak. Sometimes, when I'm looking at the Manhattan skyline out of my Brooklyn window, I will think of him and the love we shared. I will blow a kiss and know that somewhere, where ever he is, he'll catch it and bring that kiss close to his heart. He'll whisper into the Italian night air "Amore" and I will catch it with my eardrums and send it to my heart via my blood stream. This will go on for a few weeks after I return, until I fall in love with a new Swedish tourist that speaks the language of dreams. A language we both speak.

love,
Katie :)

I used to be (still am) a nerd.

2006-02-11T17:57:00.000-08:00

Dear Katie,
It is common knowledge that I am a little obsessive compulsive about certain things, and by certain things, I mean everything. I have a way of doing things and there are certain possibilities out there that I would never even think of entertaining. Until recently, my underwear would always match my socks, I wouldn't eat meat in public, I couldn't fast forward through the credits of a taped copy of SNL, and I would have to perform countless other behaviors that had crept their way into my life over the past twenty-one years. The reason I remind you of all this is that times are changing. Wednesday night, I said goodbye to the old Brianna. The Brianna plagued with idiosyncracies went away, and left room for the new Brianna to be ushered in. On Wednesday night, I ate a kids meal at Wendy's. With that action, I broke the rules about eating alone in public, eating fast food, and eating beef that my mom didn't buy. I also sat at the table right in front of the window so that all of the passerby could bear witness to my reinvention. After my life-changing meal, I did one more thing that cemented my new existence. Against my better judgement, I used a starbucks restroom. The restroom was filthy, and a discarded paper seat cover was draped over the toilet, but I removed it, and peed anyway. Granted I used a piece of toilet paper to pick up the seat cover, but that isn't weird, it is sanitary. Anyway, I have many new avenues to explore, now that I have been freed from the chains of compulsion. I am going to let the waiters pile the dirty plates at restaurants, I'm going to tell people that I have BOTH Ashlee Simpson albums on my ipod, and I am going to live a life that tells the world how daring and adventurous I now am.
Love,
Brianna

Look! She's taking after me already!

2006-02-10T06:14:00.000-08:00

Dear Brianna,

Isn't she cute?

I guess it won't be SO bad to go home this weekend. PLUS, she's already giving the middle finger, and I can't say no to a girl after my own heart.

Love,
Katie

P.S. now you can post your comment, happy?

My Friend

2006-02-07T13:26:00.000-08:00

Dear Katie,
I have a friend who might or might not be an RA. Because she might or might not be an RA she can't go to Harold Night. Because she can't go to Harold Night, my friend might nor might not be really peeved. She has a right to be really peeved because she might or might not have an RA meeting every Tuesday. Because she might or might not have an RA meeting every Tuesday, my friend can never go to Harold Night. Because she can never go to Harold Night she feels tied down by the job that she might or might not have.
Love,
Brianna

PS- Don't tell my friend that I told you this.

ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ahhhhhhhhhhhh Stayin' Aliveeeeee

2006-02-06T12:00:00.000-08:00

Dear Brianna,

Sorry I missed the Super Bowl Party; I fell asleep. But, let me tell you something ma'am, that sleep was spectacular. In fact, it was so good, I may go do some more of this "sleeping" really soon. I better not get used to this waking up rested thing because then I will expect to feel good when waking up, when in actuality, waking is the worst part of my day. Want to know why? Because in dream land, things are free and there is casual sex without repercussions.

Love,
Katie

P.S.
I was reading over the other posts from us, and it's funny how you described me. "things only she can tell you about..." haha! Come on Brianna! I tell people about my daughter all the time! After all, she is the bread winner, being on "Lizzy Macguire" and "That's so Raven." I can't hide a 6 foot tall 6 year old; it's physically hard.

I didn't tell you this

2006-02-05T12:46:00.000-08:00

Dear Katie,
I might have just watched the Steve Martin SNL, and it might have been the best episode of the past couple of seasons. I might have really really enjoyed it, and I might have wished that we could talk about it.
Love,
Brianna

Hey, remember that one time? oh yeah, it's always.

2006-02-05T01:40:00.000-08:00

Dear Brianna,

Remember that one time I was really awkward? Oh wait, that's all the time. My bad.

Sometimes, I feel like I need a life coach. Or at least someone who can tell me what to say and do, and how to walk, smile and give complements. That would be super helpful.

Love,
Katie

P.S.
Great show last night!

A Serious Post

2006-02-04T09:23:00.000-08:00

Dear Katie,
Thad gave this story to us in studio today, and I thought it was compelling.

We know only four boring people. The rest of our friends we find very interesting. However, most of the friends we find interesting find us boring: the most interesting find us the most boring. The few who are somewhere in the middle, with whom there is reciprocal interest, we distrust: at any moment, we feel, they may become too interesting for us, or we too interesting for them.
-Lydia Davis

Just some food for thought.
Love,
Brianna

PS- Yeah, I can be sentimental...Jealous?

Bigmouth Strikes Again!

2006-02-03T16:29:00.000-08:00

Dear Brianna,

Who knew moving could suck so hard? I kind of knew, but it still sucks. It sucks even more when you're an idiot like me and you leave your keys to the new room IN THE NEW ROOM and the roommates leave and lock them in. So, that's why I'm on blogger. Because I'm an idiot.

Love,
Katie

P.S.
You are a hipster, but at least you're not a hipster asshole or a poser. AND, you don't ride the L-Train which gives you a fare turnaround rate back to artist. Also, the lines between hipster and artist are very blurred.

P.P.S
The title of this post is a Smith's song. YOU GET IT? HAHAHAHA I WIN!

Hipster Sassafrass

2006-02-02T21:22:00.000-08:00

Dear Katie,
Today in the elevator, I bent over to adjust my leggings, and I realized that yes I was wearing leggings, and yes I was adjusting them, which are both common actions of a fucking hipster. I tried to convince myself that I shouldn't be worried, that I am a nice normal girl, but then I saw my leopard print flats, cut off denim skirt, extra long hoodie, and realized that I might be a fucking hipster. I am really very worried about this, and we better go to the GAP tommorow and then drink smoothies from Jamba Juice so that I can un-hip myself. But wait... if I wore GAP and drank smoothies, I would be a yuppie. Is a yuppie better than a hipster? Fuck. You just can't win these days.

PS-My post is tropical colored, and it would match your poncho.

Hey World, Here comes Brianna!

2006-02-02T16:23:00.000-08:00

Dear Brianna,

Good thing you took green cause I hate Green! Just kidding, I like green, and I would make my text a color if I only knew how. But you still don't know how to post links or pictures, so we're even. Anyway, thanks for telling me you don't ever want to sleep with me. That really meant a lot. Because sometimes, I just like to cuddle with no further involvement. But, now that I see where we stand, I shall never mention this subject again.

Brianna Hope Jacobson was born far far away on a tiny farm, also known as New Jersey, and hasn't lived there in a really long time. Her father works on big metal birds, so her family moved around a lot, and she laments about moving all the time, all the time. Brianna's new drink of choice would have to be the screwdriver, and I never really knew her to drink until I became her friend and corrupted her. So, sorry if you didn't know her before me, she was probably better or something. Anyway, Brianna believes Seth Green to be her soul mate, and will tell you this because it's not a secret. She also enjoys vintage clothing, comedy related things, Project runway, being neurotic and reading. Also, just a note for those of you who may be planning on living with Brianna in the future: She hates it when you don't do your dishes right away (I never do) and she won't let you smoke weed in the house. I learned the hard way and had to sleep in the dog house for a night or two. Oh, wait, she didn't know about the weed thing. SHIT.

BYE!

Love,
Katie

2006-02-02T06:41:00.000-08:00

Dear Katie,
I am going to write my entries in green so people can tell us apart. And no, I do NOT want to sleep with you. At all. Ever. But what I want to do is introduce you to our millions and billions of readers. Is it still considered third person if you are writing about someone else using their name? Does it even matter? Here goes nothing...
Katie Cheek is a studying writing in her sophomore year at Pratt Institute. (It is an institute, not a university.) She was raised in Baltimore, but was ready to get out of there as quickly as possible. She endured some things that only she can tell you about, and then made her big move to Brooklyn. A lover of all things fun, Katie spends her days watching, practicing, and writing comedy, eating cereal, drinking vodka, giving campus tours, dancing to the Backstreet Boys, watching reruns of Sweet Sixteen, and juggling all that life throws at her.
That is you in a nutshell. A very vague, non-particular nutshell. It is a mystery nut covered in sugar and brown shit that they sell at the Nuts 4 Nuts carts. So it's your turn. Introduce me biotch.
Love,
Brianna

Hi, We're non gay life partners!

2006-02-01T20:10:00.000-08:00

Dear Internet land,

Brianna Jacobson and Katie Cheek are heterosexual. They also have no interest in dating or having sex with one another. But that doesn't mean they can't be life mates, does it? We don't think so. And that's why we're bringing you our experiences as Heterosexual life mates.

Love,
Katie