Bitch, what? Volume 1

I’m dying. Not literally. But I found my diary from my freshman year of college, and it’s a train wreck. Before I even got to the first entry, I opened the diary to see that, on the inside cover, I wrote out the lyrics to Black Balloon by the Goo Goo Dolls.


Why, you ask? Wonderful question.

This specific lyric: “A thousand other boys could never reach you. How could I have been the one?” This may or may not refer to a guy who, at the time, I thought was the be all end all of my life (but who is now waiting tables at like, a Chili’s, and doesn’t have a license due to numerous DUIs). In high school (and almost all of my 20s), it was hard for me to let people in, especially guys. So when Mr. Baby Back Ribs swooped in, I felt all bajiggity.


This feeling of bliss lasted approximately two weeks before he hard passed on our situation and I was left with nothing but morose song lyrics.

It was bad – this happened at the end of my senior year of high school; and well into my freshman year of college I was still pining over this idiot rather than trying to shift my focus to guys at school who were present rather than 1,500 miles away and probably forgot I even existed.

The first entry of this diary was December 26, 1999. Even though I was in my freshman year of college, I spent a lot of time talking about my failed crushes from middle school and high school – you know, to set the stage.


This little excerpt is where I started laughing and dry heaving at the same time:

Second semester rolled around (1997) and that was when I truly believed in love at first sight. I met (name redacted) in my gym class. He supposedly liked me, but by the time I finally got up the nerve to ask him out, he told me he was “grounded.” The truth was, he was going out with someone else. This was probably the beginning of March when I asked him out. I wouldn’t talk to him for at least a week until he finally apologized. Then we were friends in a  very casual sense of the word.


Okay – first of all, (name redacted) was obviously a fucking liar. Second of all, I had a crush on like 19 other people at the same time, but he was always in my top five. He was so messed up – he played more than just me, and then started dating Skanky McBitchFace for quite some time until she cheated on HIM, and it was all just a giant disaster. Moral of the story – gym class sucks.


Oh, but it gets better. At the same time I was pining over (name redacted), my friend Whitney asked me to help her in the drama club with props for a play they were working on. I said yes because there was a senior, Chad, in the play who I had a crush on. However, at the end of the first rehearsal is when I laid eyes on Someone Else. Immediately, I decided I was in love. (I remember very distinctly that Someone Else gave me a ride home from rehearsal one night and “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls came on the radio and he started singing and I pretty much figured life would never get better than that.)

And then…

At drama festival in March, I wigged out when he was all over a girl from another school. That was pretty much the worst day of my life.

Just so there is no confusion, this March I keep speaking of is March of the same year, 1997. So I was equally obsessed with (name redacted) and Someone Else and had already decided I’d experienced the worst day of my life because Someone Else spent the day pawing over a girl from another high school whose name escapes me because who cares.


Now it gets ever more cringeworthy – first of all because this is something I wrote about as a freshman in college and it is all high school shit and second of all:



I met Mac. I had a crush on him and so did my friend K. K and I both had a crush on this guy D, but he liked me so we had maybe a four day fling (we never even kissed) but I liked Mac more so I ended it. Then D asked K to his prom (which I wanted to go to because Someone Else would be there). K dumped D for Mac because he liked her and then it gave me an excuse to go back to chasing Someone Else.

They all had my phone number – I wonder why none of them ever called.


After I wrap up the last two years of high school, complete with writing the most cliche shit ever about Mr. Baby Back Ribs (something about my emotions being too intense and complicated to explain), I proceed to list out all the guys I had kissed up to this point (WITH COMMENTARY). Probably because:


Some highlights (names withheld):

…Well I don’t know his last name, it was one kiss.


…UGGH (this person now has a joint Facebook account with his significant other – bullet dodged)

…sometimes revenge is the worst idea (thank you diary for reminding me of a guy I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT)

…We all make mistakes

As you can see, I was making bad decisions as early as 15 years old.

And yes, I covered all of this in the same entry, 12/26/1999.




Vegas, Baby

Even though what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, with me going there in one week for Christmas, I wanted to recap my previous trips – at least the parts that are publishable.

Trip 1: June 2006

Occasion: Bachelorette Party

Hotel: Tropicana

Highlights: Having a 38-year old balding man that I’d be hotter if I lost weight. Having random guys buy us drinks at Ghost Bar. Having a table of men at Ghost Bar invite us to join them while buying us a bottle of $300 champagne. Having to tell the bachelorette they were not inviting us back to our suite to be nice and that we should skedaddle. It was also about 120-degrees the whole time we were there. Even though it was the least amount of fun I’ve ever had there, I still fell in love.

Trip 2: March 2007

Occasion: Moving to Chicago, stopping en route from San Diego

Hotel: the Palms

Highlights: Our room was pretty awesome and trying to watch my mom figure out the penny slots was hilarious. My going away party in San Diego had been the night before so I was fairly hungover. We got to the hotel, gambled for a bit and then went to bed. But it was the most comfortable bed ever.

Trip 3: June 2009

Occasion: Melissa’s 30th birthday

Hotel: Stratosphere (NEVER stay there)

Highlights: Watching Fat Elvis sing. Having a blast. Laughing a ton. Gambling. Sun bathing. SO MUCH FUN.

Trip 4: April 2010

Occasion: Bachelorette Party

Hotel: Mandalay Bay

Highlights: On the plane ride there, having a random dude buy me drinks the whole flight. Playing flip cup by the pool. 85-degree weather. Winning $340 on the slots. Going to a club with an amazing group. Being up until 4am,

Trip 5: December 2010

Occasion: Christmas w/my brother

Hotel: Bally’s

Highlights: Relaxing, low key trip, winning $600 playing black jack and pai gow.

Trip 6: May 2011

Occasion: My 30th birthday

Hotel: MGM Grand

Highlights: Pool time, Ghost Bar, watching the sun rise, being with my amazing friends…have I mentioned that I LOVE VEGAS???


Anatomy of a Boy Band

I’ve loved two boy bands in my life:  New Kids on the Block and the Backstreet Boys.  And the more I think about it, the more I realize they’re the same band.

Allow me to elaborate:

Each band has five members, at least one of which is too old/young to be in a boy band-

NKOTB (current ages):

Donnie Wahlberg (43)
Danny Wood (43)
Jordan Knight (42)
Jonathan Knight (43)
Joey McIntyre (39)

Backstreet Boys:

A. J. McLean (34)
Howie Dorough (39)
Nick Carter (32)
Kevin Richardson (41)
Brian Littrell (37)

Nick and Joey specifically were like 12 when their bands formed and I could have sworn Danny Wood was like 50 when NKOTB was popular but I guess I was wrong.

Now let’s take a glance at two of their most popular songs.

Step by Step, 1990

Let’s go through the formula, shall we:

  • bad fashion  – check. My god, the hair.  MY GOD. And Danny’s sideways hat? Fail.
  • completely irrelevant segments of music video – check. Opens with Donnie riding a motorcycle…at some point he is lifting weights.  I’m confused. Isn’t this a love song?
  • confusing/inane lyrics – check. Step by step — ooh baby, gonna get to you girl.  That’s all well and good, but the rest of the lyrics?
  • Choreographed dancing – check, and mandatory and oh my god are they doing the SPRINKLER???
  • slow motion something…
  • rhyming – see lyrics, confusing
  • irrelevant member no one remembers – Danny Wood for SURE
  • falsetto – check – Jordan!
  • pretending to have a skill they don’t actually have (besides singing…hey OOOHH – see what I did there?) – Jordan “playing” the violin (albeit for two seconds, but still)
  • no actual girls in video — you’re going on and on about this girl and she’s not even in the video???

I Want it That Way, 1999

  • bad fashion  – what is going on with Nick’s pants and Kevin’s trench coat?
  • completely irrelevant segments of music video – check. Lots of walking, destination unknown, something about an escalator…
  • confusing/inane lyrics – check. Am I, your fire, your one desire, yes I know, it’s too late, but I want it that way. Be MORE confusing, thanks.
  • Choreographed dancing – check, and mandatory
  • Slow motion walking, dancing, spinning, etc
  • rhyming – I never want to hear you say I want it that way
  • irrelevant member no one remembers – Howie for SURE
  • falsetto – one of them…Nick? I don’t know. Maybe Brian
  • pretending to have a skill they don’t actually have (besides singing…hey OOOHH – see what I did there?) – Lots of pointing and gyrating and hell I don’t know
  • no actual girls in video — you’re going on and on about this girl and she’s not even in the video???  FANS DO NOT COUNT

So – that is the formula for the upbeat song.  Now we have the love ballad.

It’s obviously required that the cutest most innocent one sings solo:

Please Don’t Go Girl (Joey McIntyre)

OMG he SOUNDS like a girl and he looks like he’s ten.  It came out in 1988, which makes him around 15.  But he seriously looks ten!

And is that a RAT TAIL I see on Jordan?  Good lord, make it stop.

Between the mullets, falsetto’s and sideways hats, we again do not see an ACTUAL GIRL.

And now THIS could not be more staged:

Nick seriously looks like a bell boy.  That outfit…all kinds of awful.

I could actually not be more ashamed of this post, so I’m going to pretend none of this ever happened.

Emotional Russian Roulette

Well, not really, but my subconscious hates me!

Even though I haven’t seen or talked to John Doe in around six months, he was in my dream last night, and my subconscious was NOT kind to me.

Basically our parents were meeting and BFFs because him and I were going to build a life together – I mean, literally the exact opposite of reality in every possible way.  Very few times I wake up and immediately want to cry, but today was one of them.  I haven’t thought about him in a while but that didn’t stop some part of me deciding to go ahead and drag me back to 2007.  That’s cool, whatever.

Don’t you worry, I am not clinging to the hope that he’ll every change his mind, but I think what’s truly prevented me from fully accepting that and moving on is because I’m lacking any type of closure.  It’s more gutting than anything that we can’t be friends or have a normal, adult conversation.  And I know I need to just realize it will never happen but it makes me so sad.  On the bright side, it’s almost 1 pm and I’ve refrained from crying at work, so there’s that.

Why don’t you tell me I’m pretty??

When I lived in my old apartment at 2020 N Hell, we often threw epic parties.  It started with “Fall into Fall ’07”, which was such a success that we also created Spring into Spring the next two years, in addition to at least two more Fall into Falls.

Here is a glimpse of what our fridge looked like before one of our parties:

Who needs food when you can just serve jello shots??

Out of all of our parties, my personal favorite, by far, was Spring into Spring, 2009.  While we didn’t throw it until the last weekend of May, that’s still spring, technically speaking.

That was the first, last, and only time John Doe was at my apartment.  I guilted him into showing up because it was my psuedo birthday celebration (not that he knew when my birthday was.  I had to remind him).

He didn’t get there until around 2 am, and showed up with his friend Harold, who none of my friends could stand.  Actually, none of them could stand John Doe either, but they tolerated him through gritted teeth because they knew it was important to me and they’re amazing.

The party was still going strong when they got there – so much so that as I let them in, JD pointed out that someone had puked on our stairs on their way out of the party.  Gross.  (We never did figure out who the culprit was and Steph earned a mega gold star for attempting to clean it up since our landlord would have taken weeks to do it, if he even did.)

At one point, I was sitting on his lap when he looks at me and says, “that’s an interesting dress.”

With about eight gallons of liquid courage in me, I responded, “John, why can’t you just tell me I’m pretty?”  He said something along the lines of, “I assume you knew I thought that.”  Well when you NEVER compliment me, no, I don’t.

Anyway, I decided to put on his Red Sox hat with my “interesting” dress, the result of which is the below:

As you can see, there is nothing whatsoever interesting about this dress.  It’s just plain and black.

I can’t remember if this was taken before or after Courtney pulled me off his lap and dragged me into the kitchen to yell at me.  Good times.

Revisiting Ninth Grade

One of the things I love about Twitter is the things you can learn and the people you can meet (one of the things I hate is that it inevitably also sends in the clowns, but that’s neither here nor there).

One of the lovely people I follow on Twitter, Ms. Pink Funk, tweeted the following and inspired this blog post:

So, I couldn’t even do that NOW.  Let’s forget the fact that I can’t name an endangered species off the top of my head with 100% confidence, but when Melissa invited a bunch of us over to help with her centerpieces for her wedding earlier in the summer, it quickly became apparent I could not be trusted with anything more difficult than putting the gift bags together, because I am not artistic or good at anything in the realm of that.  So.  Yeah.  And this project is for first graders?  Really??  That seems extreme.

But, that did remind me of two ninth grade projects I had that my dad flat out 100% did for me.  Why, you ask?  Why would he offer to do so or why would your mother allow such a deplorable act?

It was because of Mr. Salmi.

Ahh Mr. Salmi.  He taught Accelerated Physical Science, which my mom forced me to take (something about challenges being good even though I am inept at math and science).  But, I use the term “taught” loosely.  Our notebook organization was, no joke, 50% of our grade and we spent each and every class answering chapter summary questions, which we then had to file behind “double zero pink” (our notebook sections had to be separated by color) – anyone from Rundlett with me here?

Anyhoo – project #1 rolls around and it’s something about having to create a water tester (I was in 9th grade 10* years ago, bear with me here).

*=not really

I can’t remember the specifics, only that we had zero practical knowledge of how to do this – how could you possibly after reading irrelevant book chapters?  So, my Dad made it for me.  And I got a 100.

Project #2 was even worse and more asinine, considering, again, all Salmi cared about was fucking double zero pink and if it was filed in our notebooks correctly.  He asked us to make a brick powered car.  Yeah, you read that right – a brick powered car.

First of all – fuck you, Salmi!  If you had given us a MODICUM of practice on how to do this it wouldn’t have been as unreasonable.  I should have somehow powered the brick power car with “double zero pink” rather than an actual brick, you know, to really stick it to him.

Anyway, I got a 100% on that, too (thanks, Dad) – and Salmi was none the wiser.

It’s not that I am not willing to work, either.  It was just that he gave us projects with no foundation whatsoever and just sat back and watched us suffer.

My junior year of high school, we had a huge project in my English class.  Something about reading someone’s biography and then completing one of five project choices.  Well, it’s maybe a month-long project or something and the night before it’s due I realize I hadn’t started.  Soooo, one of the options was to write a short story.  My subject was Charles Lindbergh.  So what do I do?  Whip up five pages of bullshit about him and Amelia Earhart falling in love, which garnered a 97.  My mom was FURIOUS that I waited until the last minute and got such a high grade to therefore reinforce my behavior – but at least I did it myself.

Parenthood – the older I get, the harder I realize it is.

20 Years Later

So, I see on that the Backstreet Boys are reuniting for the first time since 2006 and are recording an album to coincide with the 20th (!!) anniversary of their inception.

Let’s ignore, momentarily, how old this makes me feel and discuss the age old question:

What in the HELL is “I Want It That Way” about?  Released in May of 1999, it was a song I listened to on repeat driving around the back roads of New Hampshire in my Subaru, heartbroken over Ben.  I’m not kidding – I would routinely sleep over at Lisa’s, wake up at some ungodly hour, and go for a drive.  Even if I didn’t sleep there, I’d routinely take random drives just to be alone – often driving from say, Concord to Tilton, just to get gas.

It was a sad, lonely summer for me.  I didn’t want to do anything – and pretty much didn’t.  Instead of being excited to go to Miami for college, I was crying all the time over the relationship that wasn’t.  So, this album really brings me back to that summer and all the memories, for better and for worse.

What the hell was I talking about?  Oh right – the lyrics.  I could not have done a better job than LA Weekly did – you can read the blog in its entirety here, but below are some gems to think about (Ben Westhoff, whoever you are, you’re a genius):

“So, wait, the “that” that I say is different than the “that” that you say? You’re saying that I want it a different way? A way that is not preferable to you?

Then the chorus kicks in and this thing goes off the rails.

Tell me why
Ain’t nothin’ but a heartache
Tell me why
Ain’t nothin’ but a mistake
Tell me why
I never wanna hear you say,
“I want it that way”

None of the sentiments here seem to go with any of the other ones. Even worse, no further explanation is given for what “that” is.”

… and then…

“So, check this, it turns out that the popularized version of “I Want It That Way” was not the only version the Backstreet Boys recorded. There’s another version out there, one thatactually makes sense.

The key lyric:
No goodbyes (ain’t nothing but a heartache)
No more lies (ain’t nothing but a mistake)
That is why
I love it when I hear you say,
“I want it that way”

!! This is like discovering the rosetta stone of craptastic late ’90s boy band music!”

So basically the song was just never destined to make sense, as the blog later points out.  I mean, we know it’s about some sort of relationship – but what are they agreeing to disagree about?  Why are they two worlds apart?  Is it a long distance relationship?  And actually, because the song makes no sense, it was perfectly fitting that the accompanying music video – them singing in an airport hanger (?) in front of screaming fans before they board a private plane – also made no sense.

Also, can we talk about Nick’s hair?  Also part 2, he’s only 32!  That means he was 12 when the band assembled, which seems ridiculous.  Or maybe he was 13.  Either way.

The rest of the album (yes I bought it, bite me), however, does have some catchy little ditty’s that actually make sense.

My freshman year roommate, Kandyce, who was beyond awesome, also had the CD and we’d routinely listen to it all the time while studying.

My second favorite song on there was “Don’t Wanna Lose You Now,” and the lyrics are as straightforward as you can imagine.

Kandyce always referred to Nick Carter’s solo ballad “I Need You Tonight” as “Nick’s Penis Song” (a perfect descriptor).

This album brings me back to 1999 as I ended high school and 2000 as I finished my first year of college, none the wiser about life or the meaning of “I Want It That Way.”

I can close my eyes now and see myself walking around campus in Coral Gables in long sleeves and jeans, too self-conscious about my body to dress appropriately for the climate.  High 80s?  Pssh, didn’t matter.  Now I don’t care – with this past summer reaching the high 90s more often that not, people just had to deal with seeing my arm flab.

You’re probably thinking:  why is this bitch obsessed with an album that she associates with so many horrible memories?

Well, I can tell you that good and bad, the experiences I had that summer and my freshman year of college are all part of the wisdom I now have in my old age of 31 (yeah, right).

And before you ask – if given the choice, I would absolutely rather listen to this album on repeat until the end of time than another goddamn Taylor Swift song.

Back When MySpace Was #1 – A Guide to Surviving Without Your Cell Phone

 The first time I started a blog was during my senior year of college when I was procrastinating on writing some paper or another.  I’ve been blogging (very sporadically) ever since across multiple different Blogger and Word Press sites, but without any sort of consistency.

One day, when I apparently had WAY too much free time, I basically went through all of them, deleted them, and put my favorite posts into yet ANOTHER blog, which I was going through earlier to find things to use for the book.

So, I am re-posting one of my favorites, with permission from myself.

How to survive without a cell phone for ONE WEEK (originally posted Dec. 30, 2006)

Before I even got to the San Diego airport on Dec. 22, I realized I had left my cell phone at home and would have to survive a whole week without it. I hope none of you ever suffer the same ordeal, but if you do, I have come up with a little guide on how to survive, should you ever find yourself in such a horrifying position.

1) Upon arriving at destination without cell phone, get to nearest computer. Immediately post My Space bulletin (ed note: Facebook status) and/or send mass e-mail alerting all friends of predicament. Be sure to use whichever method will hit the most people, specifically the people you want to see the most.

2) When one specific person who you are hoping to see but are trying to play it cool with does not respond to bulletin and/or e-mail, send My Space message (ed note: Facebook message) with any and all numbers where they can reach you.

3) Spend holiday/quality time with family and hope person calls/My Spaces/E-mails (ed note: Facebooks) you.

4) Go out with mutual acquaintance in hope of running in to aforementioned person. Get extremely drunk to dull the pain of getting blown off (again again again).

5) Spend entire next day hungover, miserable, traveling to Boston/Providence with your mom’s cell phone that you have taken for the week, receiving few to no phone calls, nothing from aforementioned person.

6) Check My Space (ed note: FACEBOOK, MY GOD, FACEBOOK NOT MY SPACE).  Oh wait, this was back in 2006 when MySpace was still relevant.  Carry on.), e-mail incessantly. Continue to not hear from person “x,” refuse to accept reality of situation by drinking lots of wine.

7) Sign on to AIM and talk to a different mutual friend — mention you have not heard from aforementioned person. Wait for friend to suggest plans. Continue to wait until you realize, “boy I need to get a life.”

8) Resign yourself to the fact that you will not see this person. Go out to the same bar your last night in town, run in to the same people, keep looking at the door, realize you are a loser.

9) On return flight, run into yet another mutual acquaintance who saw person you wanted to see but didn’t see. This confirms they are alive and able to make/keep plans with other people besides you. Remind yourself you need to re-read, “He’s Just Not That Into You.”

10) Spend three plane rides and two layovers reading/sulking. Call best friend with prepaid phone card to bitch.

11) As you are writing this list, person IM’s you to ask if you are still in town and makes up lie about looking for you in bar. Want to throw yourself off bridge.


Ahh, memories.  The person I was trying to meet up with, we’ll call him Michael Myers, was a friend from high school, who is now engaged to a person from high school that is not me.

Michael Myers was a pro at feeding me bullshit – he even had the audacity to come to Chicago a few years ago and NOT CALL ME but CLAIM he had call me.  Um, WTF, dude.  Just don’t even bother telling me you’re here so that I rearrange my entire schedule for three days only to end up sitting by myself on my couch watching the Golden Girls (okay maybe I’d be doing that anyway…but still).

He definitely mastered the I-am-dying-to-see-you-I’m-scheduling-a-trip-to-see-you-when-you’re-home-I’m-spending-all-my-time-with-you act.  And for the record, I have not seen him since…2000.  Maybe 2001.  And that was when I ran into him at the grocery store when he was with his then-girlfriend’s mother (if ever I had an arch-nemesis, that hoe bag was it…the girlfriend, not the mom).

As Katy Perry says so nicely, “shut up and put your money where your mouth is.”