I Can't Even Fucking Do That

Jake's Dilemma = My Home

While I live on the Upper West Side, I rarely party there. It's never crowded or loud enough, and the clientele is often just a bunch of white people who I think I remember going to college with. (Which means I think I can remember them ignoring me or not letting me into their frat houses.) But occasionally, when I'm going out with someone I don't like that much and basically just want the evening to be convenient (for me) and over faster, I will bring them to one of my UWS haunts: usually The Dead Poet. The Dead Poet has impressive mahogany-paneled walls peppered with quotations and poems "pertaining to the universal quandaries of life" and cocktails named after dead poets, such as Edgar Allan Poe. The Dead Poet is what I think I want people to think I like. When I take people to The Dead Poet, they say, "this is a nice bar."

Nobody would say, "This is a nice bar" about Jake's Dilemma, but somehow I end up there several times a month. I have memories of being delightfully wasted, sweaty, thirsty, and dancing in complete darkness, only to look up and see the neon letters that spell out "Jake's Dilemma". How am I at Jake's Dilemma again? I think. Is Jake's Dilemma following me? I have been with friends and when most bars are too crowded I eventually say, "I bet there's room at Jake's Dilemma." (There always is.) Sometimes I will walk by and see a sign for the insanely cheap happy hour specials and think, "why the hell not?"

If you couldn't tell from the somewhat aggressive yet confusing sounding name Jake's Dilemma or the less than pristine exterior, you will realize soon after entering that Jake's Dilemma is one big frat party. There are tables designated for Beer Pong and Foos Ball, a stretched out bar, ample chill space, comfy couches that people have probably had sex in, retardedly strong, cheap drinks, outdoor seating, and a dirty, sticky looking dance floor. While this is charming in its own way, I like to think of myself as a Dead-Poet-Sort-Of-Girl, not a Jake's-Dilemma-Sort -Of-Girl.

In the past, when my attempts to bring people to The Dead Poet would fail, I'd gently suggest maybe possibly trying Jake's Dilemma. "I really don't like this place, but I'm sure we can get in," I'd say. "But really, it's kind of a horrible bar." The fourteenth time this happened, I interrupted myself and exclaimed, "who am I kidding? I fucking love this place!"

And it has nothing to do with the fact that one of the lesbian bar tenders has a crush on me and treats me like a movie star. And it has nothing to do with the fact that sometimes they forget to put anything other than vodka in their martinis. And it has nothing to do with the fact that I can sit outside on a hot summer evening, after a long day at work, and drink two ass-kickingly strong gimlets for $5. Actually, it has everything to do with all of this.

One night, after getting drunk in Columbus Circle with Eric and Nikki, we found ourselves in Jake's Dilemma circled with about 8 complete strangers dancing The Running Man and The Scarecrow to Billie Jean and Push It. I think it was at the climax of Come on Eileen, where the music is its fastest and the corresponding dance moves are its wildest that I realized I had found a place where I belong. Realizing I'm not too good for Jake's Dilemma was like an anorexic person realizing it's okay to have meat on her bones or a young, first-generation Chinese boy embarrassed by his heritage but finally coming to terms with it.

Jake, I don't know what your dilemma is, but I'm happy to call you home. Thanks for having me.

This Is Embarrassing

I don't watch The Today Show that much, but I was always under the impression that Ann Curry was the serious, newsy one of the kooky bunch. You know, sort of like how Matt is the lame one who gets attacked by deer (which I am still suspicious about), and Al is the goofy, enthusiastic Santa Clause one full of awesome zingers.

But what is this shit? Journalism? Ann giggles like a school girl, slings empty (awkwardly unwanted) compliments at Brad, and addresses his appearance and sex appeal instead of his work, which is clearly what he wanted to talk about. If this is the criteria for a good interview, why spend all that money paying for Ann Curry's salary? Couldn't they just get some 12-year-old to do it? A 12-year-old would pay to interview Brad Pitt, and the interview would be probably the same, possibly better. So The Today Show could make money and Ann Curry would be left to get a job selling Auntie Anne pretzels at the mall or babysitting the kids down the street, which maybe she'd be better at.

13 Things I've Learned in Hip-Hop Class

1. Hip-hop is not happy ("look tired and hungry").
2. Mirrrr is "mirror"; flo is "floor".
3. Embarrassing/awkward situation will ensue when asked post-funeral by your family members, "show us what you've learned in hip hop class".
4. "Havin' two chicks is better than no chicks," according to Dirty Ray Lavander. (This kicks ass. Watch it.)
5. Some of your favorite moves (flying gun hands, twisting) are, according to Instructor Bev, "not cute."
6. Just because you have more lungs doesn't mean you are a better dancer. For example, Instructor Bev has: 1 and I have: 2.
7. I actually can touch my toes but it fucking hurts.
8. Dropping it like it's hot is actually harder than it looks.
9. It doesn't matter if you're actually doing the moves right, as long as you are doing them wildly, sharply, quickly, and with enthusiasm, you will look okay.
10. When Instructor Bev said that a command to "freestyle" meant to do anything, she did not mean it was okay to start doing the Charleston with Eric.
11. If you use your brain at all while you are dancing hip-hop you look autistic.
12. Nobody will ask for your number if you're dancing and don't bob your head while you dance or if you smile too much.
13. Eric will throw you under the bus (if, say, he gets called to the very front of the class for actually nailing the moves, and drags you with him because you are partners).

my mkouth tastes houw teh zoo smelllls

Prologue to this blog post: Drunk texts are hilarious. Lets get real.








I don't really know why people get in a tizzy about drunk texting. Friends are always all "ugh, give me that phone of yours. you shouldn't text anyone," or "if you send one more drunk text to your ex about how you want to touch butts, we're through."

Luckily, I'm not the only one who can't get enough of this 'less-than-sober" form of late-night communication. [TFLN], or TXTS FRM LST NGHT (cleverly spelled sans vowels) documents witty, outrageous, and mispelled texts that make me laugh until i cry.

A lot of texts reference sexual encounters:
"yeah worst sex in my life. plus i think her little brother was in the room."

Others are fairly inexplainable:
"What did we do last night that was yellow?"

Most contain some clear signs of alcohol involvement:
"Well if yoir are still awake and secided to drink... You may aswell drink"
"That text needs to switch to water."

And finaly my personal favorite:
"my mkouth tastes houw teh zoo smelllls"

WTF Lyrics: Take Me By the WHAT?

I was just thinking about how much I love Dance Hall Days, how sweetly, slickly '80's it is, when I realized I actually don't know the lyrics, and after reading the lyrics, realizing I don't get them at all:

Take your baby by the hand
And make her do a high hand stand
Take your baby

by the heel
And do the next thing that you feel

We were so in phase
In our dance hall days
We were cool on craze
When i, you, and everyone we knew
Could believe, do, and share in what was true
Oh, I said

Take your baby by the hair
And pull her close and there there there
Take your baby by the ears
And play upon her darkest fears

Repeat chorus

So take your baby by the wrist
And in her mouth an amethyst
And in her eyes two sapphires blue
And you need her and she needs you
And you need her and she needs you

Is that why I think this song is so cool -- because I have no idea wtf is going on? Is that the appeal? Maybe I'm a sucker -- Wang Chung could start singing about monkey anuses and I could be convinced that it's totally cool and normal and worthy of a song.

Also: this video CAN BE considered bomb-ass.

Play Her Off, Keyboard Cat!

When your kid has just been kicked in the face by a breakdancer, Play Her Off, Keyboard Cat!
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When you faint while being interviewed on TV, Play Her Off, Keyboard Cat!

When you fall smashing grapes, Play Her Off, Keyboard Cat!

When you're a fuckin' idiot, Play Her Off, Keyboard Cat!

I think Keyboard Cat is trying to tell me that even in life's shittiest moments, everything all just comes down to a cat playing a keyboard. So next time something sucky happens to you, just think, awww Play Her Off, Keyboard Cat!

Reward: Free Food

So my roomate "lost" (forgot) her iPod at the gym a little while ago and someone apparently stole it. Sucks, I know. At this point most schmucks would just shed a few tears, pop into the Apple store, and purchase a new (perhaps even sportier) iPod.

But not MY roommate. This proactive little housemate of mine whipped up some eye-catching signs to convince this NYSC-iPod-theif into returning the merchandise (she really hung these signs in the gym).

If it was YOU who stole the iPod, allow me to reitterate some reasons why you should return it immediately:
-This iPod is apparently "3rd gen"
-Melissa won't be mad
-The iPod illustration is urging you to


If you think this is funny... you should have seen the first draft.

*Note: I'm not a total a-hole. Roommate said I could post this.