I'll have what she's having

Emmy had to go to the vet today and get some small bumps biopsied. Because she is the world's worst vet-goer, they had to sedate her. She's yet to come out of it entirely and is currently twirling around my apartment. She's a cat, so I'm guessing she's not getting why she's dodging imaginary obstacles and bumping into walls.

But it looks like fun.

Off to hand out candy now.

Halloweak

Grownups in costume on TV freak me out.


image courtesy gothamist

Riddle Me This

What do you do with a woman who flops horribly on a network news show?

You call her a "YouTube Star" and throw her back on TV in front of an even larger audience.

According to this write, Merry Miller believes she has "created a phenomenon" and thinks her gross incompetence being gawked at online illustrates the power of "viral marketing."

Being optimistic is one thing. Being delusional is another. I just don't know who's more culpable - Miller or the powers that be.

Why have we SO lowered our expectations that we no longer bother to care about being manipulated?

The volume of apathy is deafening.

The Circle of Life

And with that, Babypalooza Weekend comes to an explosive close. Literally. Baby K had an accident at lunch. Chalk it up to too much excitement and a loosely fastened diaper.

Mommy K and I were quite the pair in the women's restroom. It was a true tag team effort to get that mess in check. But we did, and Baby K emerged clean, happy, and naked.

The best part of the whole experience though is what it says about the circle of life. Mommy K and I have been friends for 29 years. We've grown up together and have experienced most of life's milestones either together or over the phone. She was with me the day I got my braces in elementary school. I was there for her the day she called from Cornell freshman year to inform me that Ithaca was, in fact, freezing. There have been the usual ups and downs - it happens - but she is truly my oldest friend. We haven't lived in the same city since high school, yet we've managed to keep the friendship alive. I think we both respect what it means to really know someone.

That said, helping her care for her first child - her gorgeous little girl - made me really happy. It was such a comical moment - the two of us crammed into a teeny bathroom stall half in and half out - cleaning up this smiling little bundle of baby. It was also pivotal in a weird way. A clear shift from one generation to the next.

Could have been a cleaner move, but I'll take it.

Pie in the Sky

We saw a commercial last night for Ready-to-Eat Cheesecake Filling.

According to the ad, you're supposed to scoop the goop into a readymade pie crust and serve by the slice.

Wanna bet no one's making pie? It's ready-to-eat. Who's not grabbing a spoon or a box of graham crackers and going to town? We're the people who eat raw cookie dough because baking the suckers takes too much energy. You give us pie in a tub, I'm guessing we're not taking the time to dress it up.

But it's a nice gesture to assume otherwise.

Happy Monday.

Babypalooza

It's been a theme weekend.

I had lunch on Friday with a friend who's having her first child any second now.

I met my best-friend-from-childhood's 8-month-old for the first time Friday night.

Yesterday was a doubleheader of babyshower and quality time with the signif's nephew (20 months).

Tonight brings a 1-yr-old to the house for dinner with her 'rents. And tomorrow is 8-mo-old Part Deux.

So far the highlight's been hearing the nephew call my signif "Uncle Cheese Nip." Priceless.

You Decide

Via TVNewser comes this Radar quiz.

I got 9 out of 10. I can't tell if this means I know too much about TV news or too much about the adult film industry. I'd actually be more ashamed if it were the former than if it were the latter.

Roll with Me on This One

I have a totally insignificant unscientific theory that sushi may be a generational thing. My friends and I have been eating it for years. We know what we like. We're very particular about our selections. We've got the wasabi/soy sauce ratio down to a science.

My parents, - and my friends' parents - on the other hand, subscribe to the "which are the rolls i like again? oh just order for me" school of soosh. It's actually very cute. Like it's all just too complicated to decipher. Protein, rice, veggies on a plate are no problem. But roll them up together into little bite-sized pieces, and you've alienated an entire segment of the population.

Again, it's just a theory. I have a lot of free time.

Taxi Cab Confession Part I

I lived in NYC for almost 6 years. I did not own a car. Which meant when I wasn't subwaying around town, I was cabbing it. Since I always promise there will be no math, let's couch the calculations and just say the number of taxis I took in those 6 or so years rounded up to a lot.

I never had a problem with a cabbie. Not once. Not until I moved to DC.

One morning on my way to work, I decided to grab a cab instead of trekking to the Metro. I flagged down a car and hopped in. I told the driver when I needed to go, and he tore off in that direction. He was chewing on the end of a pen, but I didn't find anything unusual in his demeanor or any indication that something was about to go horribly wrong.

As we drove down 17th street, the cab driver started to hiss.

"I am J Edgar Hoover. I am with the CIA," he snarled. I thought maybe he was rehearsing for a play.

"I am with the CIA," he continued. "I am with the FBI. I am J Edgar Hoover. You will respect the black man. Especially if he is EDUCATED."

On "EDUCATED," he snarls out the window towards no one in particular. A passerby stares at him in horror and at me in sympathy. I can't tell if he's yelling at me or just venting. I do realize he is not rehearsing for anything. He's insane.

Then it gets worse. The cab driver starts to speed up and his voice gets louder. He starts yelling.

"Fuck you. Faggot. Faggot," he screams out the window - again at no one in particular. At this point, I am on my blackberry emailing a friend at work. I give her details of what's going on, plus the cabbie's license number and whatever information I can compile about the cab from where I'm hunched down in the back seat. Last thing I want is him launching at me.

The vulgarities continue. He's got one hand on the wheel and another on the pen. It's now out of his mouth, and he's waving it around, making stabbing motions with every obscenity. At each intersection, people stop and stare. I'm afraid to move. I'm terrified to stay put. But my convoluted logic in the moment goes something like this: He's driving towards where I need to go. I can get close, tell him to stop, toss him exact change, and bail. That procedure will most likely be least upsetting, and at this moment, all I want to do is keep the mentally unstable man driving the car actually driving the car and not paying attention to me.

Hissing, screaming, cursing, he pulls up close to work and stops the car. I toss him the fare plus an extra dollar - yes, I tipped the man - and watched him drive off. Blackberry in hand, I furiously typed out all the info I could get from the car as it sped away. Color, company, number. Then I walked into work and crumbled in the lobby.

Tears started streaming down my face. I was shaking and crying. It was like my body was processing what just happened irrespective of my mind. I walked towards the elevator bank and ran into a coworker who noticed something was wrong.

As I retold the story, I started to feel better. I also started to get mad. I wanted this guy off the road now. No one should have to be that terrified. No one else should be subjected to that ridiculous feeling of helplessness. How was this man driving a car, let alone a car that picked up random people?

Teeny sidenote here: Some of my coworkers were incredibly understanding and compassionate that morning. Others bled their true colors. Very telling little saga all around.

Anyway, my first call was to the cab company.

Me: "Hi. Is this Empire cab?"

Dispatcher: "Yeah."

Me: "Hi. Um, I just got out of one of your cabs, and I think the driver was insane. He was screaming and cursing and yelling horrible words out the window at no one in particular."

Dispatcher: "Yeah. So?"

Me: "Well, I think there is something seriously wrong with this man, and you should get him off the street immediately. He is sick or something."

Dispatcher: "Oh. Well, I'll call him and talk to him."

Me: "What?"

Dispatcher: "I'll call him and talk to him."

Me: "No, sir. I don't think you understand. This was not rational behavior. You can't call him and talk to him. You need to get him off the street. Call the cops. He is going to keep going if someone doesn't stop him now."

Dispatcher: "Ok, I'll call him and talk to him. Thank you." He hangs up.

Furious, frustrated, and terrified for the next possible passenger, I wasn't comfortable leaving it there. TV networks have security, and since our man in charge was THE man, I figured he'd know where to start. He did. JD called the cops who referred him to the Taxi and Limo Commission. I'll save you the tedious details of being shifted around and put on hold, but it turns out the cab driver was wanted - wanted - by authorities. As told to me, he'd been driving around without a license for a while. When he'd get caught, he would skip off and join up with another company. He was - in fact - a public hazard.

So why couldn't the commission nab him? Well that, my friends, is the $64,000 question. They asked - via JD - if I would fill out a complaint. I said I would but only anonymously. The man was insane. He knew where he picked me up and where he dropped me off. My job put me in the public eye. I was easily found. No way I was facing off in court. Plus, I gave a detailed description of the incident plus the cab company name and the car number. If he was truly driving without a license, no one needed me to get him off the road. Last I checked, the cops were just fine handlng that kind of apprehension without my assistance.

I never found out what happened once I turned in that report, but I wouldn't be shocked to find out it was a whole lot of nothing. On this end, I won't get into an Empire cab. Ever. Let's say it's pouring rain in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, and the only cab in sight for miles is a royal blue taxi with white lettering. I opt to walk. No joke. I'm also extremely particular when I step into any cab in this city now. I have little things I look for. Not that you can smell crazy or see insane on first glance, but it puts my mind at ease a little to linger at the outset.

Of course, sometimes you can't sniff out a crook. And that will set the stage for Part II.

For Quincy

Close friends had to put their dog to sleep this week.

It's very sad. He was sick and fading quickly.

They took him out for a special day on Monday and then said goodbye.

As expected, they are grieving the loss. There is nothing to say that makes this any easier, but it does help to acknowledge that pets are family, and losing one can hurt more than anyone expects.

So S&D - for you. And for Quincy. A little something...and a lot of love.

Cat's Out of the Bag

If I worked for QVC or HSN, this is EXACTLY the kind of host I would be. Mike Rowe before Dirty Jobs (via FishbowlNY):


"If we had audio, you would hear this cat making sounds of unbridled pleasure."

I haven't watched the second and third clips yet, but the first was enough to seal the deal for me. Mike Rowe rules.

Btw, true story. My friend Nicole and I first became friends because our mothers were both addicted to home shopping. My mother would probably argue with the word "addicted," but Nic and I knew better. And we both had the random gifts to prove it. I'm not entirely convinced I didn't own the Katsak at some point. I do still have the kitty hammock.

UPDATE: Just watched the second clip. I also had a lava lamp...up until like, recently.

Pants Off Sound Off

Woke up this morning to NPR reporting a hip-hop plea to America's youth. Here's a video clip of a news report on the song. From the MySpace page:

"It's rude not cool, walkin around showin your behind to other dudes..."

This Christian Science Monitor write from June details the sagging pants trend and explains its origins. It also talks about how some people are uncomfortable with the fashion statement because of a culture they suspect it represents.

On that count, I disagree. If you're passing laws to prevent self-expression because of some thinly-veiled racist assumption, then you're just uneducated or misinformed.

However, if you're asking guys to pull their pants up because it just looks dumb, then you've won me over. In fact, I kind of wish someone had written a song for us back in the 80s.

"Ditch the Stretch Pants" or "Say No to Neon" or "Big Bangs/Bad Decision"...all would have been hits.

Now I Hate Myself 2

I make no excuses for my addiction to bad reality TV. But last night, we watched half of I Love New York 2, and I'm ashamed.

There were moments I cringed and then covered my eyes.

I may need therapy.

Head Start

I've spent most of the morning/early afternoon battling a migraine. Stubborn little sucker. I can usually kill it with three Advil and a nap. This one's been tougher to tackle.

I can remember having migraines as far back as high school. Skipping lunch was a likely trigger. And stress. I've always been sensitive.

The fortunate - albeit scary - thing about my migraines is that I do know they're coming. They warn me with tingling in various parts of my body (and not in a good way) and blurred vision. I had to walk out of an exam in high school once because I couldn't see half the page. That's how this morning's began. Not being able to see straight. Happy Monday.

I haven't felt particularly overwhelmed the past few days, but I suspect my mind's working out something fierce behind my back. Nothing like a little subconscious overload to get the week off to a roaring start.

www.BeenThereDoneThat.com

I'm having all shades of dotcom deja vu lately. Everytime I get an html newsletter from some website, I think about my days in the Pseudotainment cave fine-tuning Dreamweaver templates. Everytime someone mentions community building or web environment or video interface, I get the urge to hop a shaky elevator and bum a smoke on the corner of Broadway and Houston.

It's an interesting time for the Internet again. I believe new technology may give old ideas a second chance. I think both creatives and entrepreneurs are missing the freedom and frivolity of the late 90s. I am genuinely impressed when online ventures catch on and convert the next wave of believers.

But forgive me if I don't strip the water wings and dive head first into the deep end of the pool. I remember what happened when it sprung a leak the first time around.

Let's collectively do ourselves a favor. Let's not pretend we haven't been here before.

Weather Dictates the Mood

Stormy. Soggy. Unproductive.

Most likely post-free this weekend, but I will make good on the taxi cab confession come next week.

There is a G-d

And he's clearly been ripped off by a DC cabbie.

Mayor Fenty now gets my vote for anything ever. Seriously. He could run for President of the World, and I would offer to run his campaign. For free.

When I get some time later today, I will share my Adventures in DC Taxi-Riding.

Yo Toby, Over Here

Season 2 episode 2 of The West Wing. C.J. gets fired from her PR gig for some asinine non-reason, and Toby Ziegler shows up at her apartment complex and offers her a new job immediately. She wonders if she'll be in over her head. He assures her she's ready. The rest is TV history.

I'm starting to feel a kinship with C.J.

I'm also aware that I probably need to put down the remote and step away from the dvds.

The Heat is On

You don't have to be Al Gore or a UN panel of scientists to know there's something wrong with my being able to run in a tank top and shorts in the middle of October in DC. If you suspect global climate change, I'd suspect you're getting warmer.

Part Two - The Sophomore Sicklet

or Things I've learned since college without really trying

There are two things I don't talk about much. One - I was captain of my cheerleading squad in high school. And two - I was in a sorority in college. I don't usually mention either because of the stereotypes conjured up by both. However, I assure you neither fits the bill. I went to a small private high school so cheerleading was less about school spirit than finding any excuse not to have to wear school uniforms on Fridays. And joining a sorority in college was less about sharing make-up and hair tips than finding a way to have more than one female friend. It's a lot easier to meet guys as a freshman girl than it is to meet other girls. I had an entire pledge class of really cool "I have a lot more guy friends" girls to prove that theory undeniably true.

Anyway, I mention the sorority because it's where I chose to live sophomore year. And it's how I chose my roommate. I'll call her Sue, mostly because that is not her name and partly because I've grown somewhat forgiving of Sicklet Sue as the years have passed. Knowing more about manic depression now than I did then, I can look back on Sue's erratic and disturbing behavior with less contempt and more compassion.

She was a really fun girl when we met. Sexy and sassy and always game for a good time, Sue and I had a blast. We became fast friends and living together seemed like a natural extention of that comraderie. What I didn't know about Sue at the time was that she suffered from a mental instability that caused inexplicable bouts of sadness or anger that swelled up without warning. I never saw them before we moved in together because she'd hide out when they came on. All I knew was happy Sue. Happy Sue was a blast. Sad Sue hibernated. My mistake was offering to move into the cave.

We didn't live together for long. If I remember correctly, we separated sometime before Christmas break. Maybe it was even sooner than that. I'd be surprised if you told me we made it through Thanksgiving, come to think of it.

Sue did a lot of storming out of the room for no reason. She imagined conflict and fabricated drama and suffered life-threatening ailments that turned out to be common colds. (I know because I escorted her to the hospital in the middle of the night. She had threatened to ride her bike.) To say she overreacted to everything would be a gross understatement. The final straw came when her dad called my dad. Apparently, my boyfriend was a drug dealer and his daughter was a virgin and her being in the presence of him was destroying her innocence. For the record, neither allegation was true. Not even close on either count.

That's when I'd had enough of Sue. I went to the powers that be and laid out an ultimatum. Get her help or get me out. Sue refused to take her medication, and we split.

I've heard bits and pieces about Sue's progression over the years. She's had some professional success from what I can tell. I know nothing of her personal life or her social interaction. But I do know that I tend to soften in my assessment of her as details fade with time. I know a lot more now than I did then. I understand a little better now how difficult it must have been for her to fight the demons in her head, let alone admit they lived there in the first place. I wish she'd been okay opening up, but I do get why she didn't. Society's grown a lot since then. I'd like to think so have I.

Part Three - All Shades of Crazy - The NYC experience.

The Done and the Westless

Yes, I agree. Today was a particularly lame blog day. I've got little to share, and I'm not in the mood to recount past indiscretions or anecdotes.

What I am doing is watching episodes of The West Wing in succession, and I've decided producers should just make straight-to-dvd TV series and save us all the trouble of scheduled programming.

Don't ask me about the pic. Google Images just turns up the strangest stuff sometimes.

Say freeze!

The repairmen are here tackling the refrigerator. Turns out years of ice and crumbs built up inside the freezer drain, and every six hours, the runoff was flooding down onto my food instead of out through the drainage line.

So the guys are currently chipping away at the ice - plus boiling water on my stovetop and vacuuming the underbelly of the appliance - all in the hopes of clearing out the exit.

They're like Fiber One for my fridge!

Does this fat make me look fat?

Everything about this is wrong. But most egregious is this quote in particular:

"When consumers go to other fast-food places they feel like they've got to buy two of their breakfast sandwiches or burritos to fill up. This is really designed to fill you up."

I don't know what's more disturbing about it: the fact that anyone buys two fast food products for breakfast or the fact that there are enough people buying two fast food products for breakfast that someone feels justified in using said gluttony as a marketing tactic.

How cool are these?

My nickname's been Jax ever since it was misspelled on my dormroom door in college. It's served as the perfect online nick in slight variations ever since. If I ever got a tattoo, it would be a small jack somewhere discreet.

Since I have trouble committing to real furniture - let alone permanent body art - I'd be ok with self-expression through glassware. Put these on the wishlist.

Monday Miscellaneousness

Emmy's sitting at the bottom of the stairs meowing at the door. It's official. She wants out.

Not really. Actually, the apartment has come together quite nicely. We've still got some issues with the tub and the fridge, but neither is so horrific that a little strategically-placed tupperware can't contain the flood until repair.

Speaking of "on the mend," I now have little excuse not to focus almost exclusively on the job front again.

It'd be easier if I had clue what I want to be when I grow up.

Faking it

The following caught my eye in this write from Stelter @ the NYT:

Dan Harris, the anchor of “World News Sunday” who regularly substitutes for Mr. Gibson, said the Webcast was his favorite show to anchor.

“I feel less pressure to wear a tie, sit up straight, and make sure everything I say is perfectly enunciated,” Mr. Harris said. “I have an opportunity to be much closer to who I actually am, instead of the TV version of myself.”

Bold emphasis mine. Why? Because it's inherently ridiculous and exemplifies everything that is wrong with the TV news business. Well, not everything. But one important thing. The TV version? Of you? Shouldn't you just be...well....you?

Flying Fruit

There is a new insect in my apartment every day. Last night, Emmy smushed an Asian Lady Beetle with one quick paw to the wall. Right now she's chasing a moth. It's like Harry & David for cats.

Really Annoying

It takes a lot to turn me off a reality show. Especially The Real World. Because it's the grandfather of most reality crap these days, I am inclined to afford it certain liberties. But this season is just painful. It's like casting passed out in a sorority house and picked the first four girls it saw when it came to. The guys are equally homogeneous. Oh wait, I'm sorry. One has an accent. There's a lot of inane talk about "girl code" and "right and wrong" and most of it takes place in the 2 hours the cast is not wasted out of their minds. In my unofficial expert opinion, the show's not only jumped the shark. It's leapfrogged the animal, been chewed into tiny little pieces, and then spit back out again for being just that tough to swallow.

Minty Refreshing

I'm not one to hype a product, but in the day and age of brand name overload, it's novel to find a no name gem. I had never heard of Queen Helene before tonight, and I would still be oblivious were it not for a desperate quest to find a facial masque. CVS - being as well-stocked as usual - had one option. Bottom shelf. Back of the store. Nothing offensive on the short list of ingredients so I shelled out $3.99 and thought it'd be worth the experiment.

Turns out, this stuff rocks. I know, I've lost the men. But for my female readers - or reader (again, Hi Mom) - Queen Helene is the woman. I looked it up online, and not only is it inexpensive and effective, but it's been around forever. From the website:

Queen Helene now produces over one hundred different products for the face, body, feet, hair and scalp. Some of these products have been consistently used since the early 30's. Queen Helene's Mint Julep Masque is a fine example. It's a truly unique acne product, developed before the use of synthetics were available. Today, the preparation for this product remains the same.

Now my face is minty fresh, and I feel downright regal. Ok, that's a stretch, but it's good goop.

From A to Crazy

Pre Andrea, I'd never had very good luck with roommates. Andrea broke the curse of a short line of loons. The most recent was an actress whom I've started seeing on TV a lot lately. In commercials. She sells you stuff. Like dust mops and trips to Vegas. Which got me reminiscing about the nuts I knew before her.

Like Dana. Freshman year of college, Penn paired me with Dana. We could not have had less in common. This was our first phone conversation:

Me: Hi. So it seems we're going to be roommates.

Dana: Don't tell me you wear like a size 2 or something?

Me: Um. Well, I'm like a 5/6. Why? (Btw, this was before retailers started cheating the numbers. I weigh exactly the same as I did in high school, and yet I'm now three "sizes" smaller. How? Conspiracy! I rest my case.)

Anyway. It continues.

Dana: Because I'm 5'2'' and wear a size 14. Figures I'd get a skinny roommate.

Me: Um. Ok. So, are you bringing the radio or should I?

I'm so not kidding. This is exactly how it went down. Well, hello to you too, roomie. This exchange went on to set the tone for the entire relationship. She hated me from the get go. She left me nasty notes. She slammed doors on my friends. She intentionally embarrassed me in front of dates. She was majoring in nursing and minoring in making my life major hell.

I asked for a swap, but the U was all about forcing the love. So I didn't get a new room. I did, however, get a boyfriend with an off-campus apartment. I'm nothing if not resourceful.

Dana left me a lovely note upon our departure at the end of freshman year. Instead of cursing my size, she just cursed me. She was nothing if not consistent.

Part 2 - The Sophomore Sicklet

Sudoofus

Remember how bad I was at housepainting?

I'm worse at Sudoku.

I got one of those books yesterday so I could practice puzzle after puzzle. I irreparably screwed up the first one in about twenty minutes, and I've now spent 16 hours making it halfway through the second.

Cyberchondriac

Preemptive apologies for little or no good content today. I feel lousy. It's either the result of a spider bite, carbon monoxide poisoning, or a stomach bug depending on what combo of symptoms I google.

In unrelated health-related news, I watched this documentary last night. Kris Carr made a powerful film.

Took a little vacay from the blog the past three days. Since it was a holiday weekend, I figured my readership would understand.

Mom's cool like that.

Significant Picks: Week 5

Your weekly NFL picks from Jacki's significant other.

Last Week: 8-5
On the Year: 20-18-5


Carolina at New Orleans
David Carr is starting for Carolina, which means that as bad as New Orleans has been, they’ll sack him 35 times and win. Saints - 3

Jacksonville at Kansas City
Who thought the Chiefs would beat the Chargers by 14 points? It’s like when the kid who gets picked on every day finally loses it and just beats the crap out of the bully. The other kids all stand there, jaws agape. That said, I like the bullies this week. Jaguars -2.5

Detroit at Washington
The Redskins play hard for a few quarters and then take a breather. In sixth grade, my friend Hayato tried running the mile that way—sprinting hard and then resting for a while. It didn’t work for him either. Lions + 3.5

Atlanta at Tennessee
Tennessee plays well at home, but eight points? I’m channeling Balki Bartokomous here: “Don’t be ridiculous.” Falcons + 8

Miami at Houston
I visited Houston once and went to the Livestock Show and Rodeo so I could get the full Texas effect. Do you know how bull riders get those bulls to buck? Think how you would you put a big male animal in a lot of pain. Yeah, ouch. Dolphins + 5

Seattle at Pittsburgh
The Steelers are just filthy at home. Steelers - 6

Cleveland at New England
New England is beating everyone by 20 points this year. There’s only one explanation: God is 13 years old and we’re watching him play Madden. Patriots – 16.5

NY Jets at NY Giants
Jets and Giants fans will be cursing each other, brawling and getting sloppy drunk. Meanwhile, in the stadium… Giants - 3.5

Tampa at Indianapolis
The Colts are a little banged up, so I’m going with Tampa. Hmm. I already hate this pick. Bucs + 10

Baltimore at San Francisco
Alex Smith is gone for the year. Baltimore will crush them. Baltimore - 3.5

Chicago at Green Bay
The Bears will get a couple of defensive starters back, but it won’t be enough. Maybe there is something to the Superbowl runner-up curse. Packers – 3

San Diego at Denver
Travis Henry—the fertile one—might be suspended for the year after getting caught smoking weed again. How much weed do you have to smoke to have ten kids by ten different women? Broncos - 1

Jacki’s Lock of the Week™ (1-2 on the year!)

Dallas at Buffalo
Oh, this is a tough one. Texas BBQ versus Buffalo wings. Well, I've seen a few episodes of the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders Tryouts on CMT, and I'm only marginally entertained whereas it's always hard to resist a good blue cheese dressing. So it's food over boobs on this one. I'm taking Buffalo. Bills + 10.5

New quirk

I just noticed my apartment's drunk. Look at the doorways:

Flashback!

Before YouTube, there was Odd Todd. He was the unofficial mascot for a whole slew of dotcommers who suddenly found themselves with too much free time.

If you've never seen it, go now. It's worth it.

What Else I Shouldn't Do

Because no one should be getting their news from Kid Rock.

Thanks L!

What Shouldn't I Do

Scratch housepainter off the list. I just tried to finish up my entryway and ended up painting much of the floor and most of my body in the process.

Coolest gift ever

I got an Ice Cream Maker for my birthday. A Frozen Yogurt-Ice Cream & Sorbet Maker to be exact. But who are we kidding? No one's wasting time on the froyo and sorbet.

The Road Not Traveled

Birthday's been good so far. Mellow. Not much to report. But being a "woman of leisure" at the moment reminded me of the time I actually lost a job ON my birthday. My 30th birthday. About an hour before the party. Doesn't that just take the cake?

I'd auditioned to cohost a series called "Road Trip" for the Travel Channel. The premise was simple. A guy and a girl get in a convertible and drive cross country. The production company had already found their guy and shot the pilot with a solo host. But the Travel Channel though the series needed a sidekick so they asked the crew to find a woman. They found me.

We spent a day reshooting the pilot - if I remember correctly - from Long Island to Queens. It went alright. I'm not much of a "turn it on for the cameras" personality. I'm better just being me. So the process of take after take to get multiple camera angles of the same shot was tedious. Plus, I'm better off-the-cuff than reciting script that's masquerading as spontaneous dialogue. It's why I never got into acting. Not my thing. Therefore, by the end of the day, I was less Road Trip more Road Kill.

A couple of days later I went out to the production house to take a look at the raw cut. In retrospect, I didn't love it, but I was under the impression that Pilot 2.0 was more of a proof of concept than a proof of me. The whole process was awkward, and it was clear both cast and crew needed to work out the kinks. Messy but not insurmountable.

Then it got quiet. For days. And on my 30th birthday, I got the call. I remember being on the street in the East Village when my cellphone rang, and a lower level producer informed me that Road Trip was a go but going without me. They ended up hiring an actress - a Broadway actress - to cruise shotgun cross country.

Yeah, it was a bummer. Huge bummer. And I can't even say it was for the better because where's the real downside in getting paid to see the country? But if you believe in things happening for a reason, then the lost series are just as important as the ones that stick. And had I caught that ride, who knows where I would have been when CNN came calling? If the pilot was any indication, I would have been somewhere like this.

MYstery solved

I'm more Nancy Doodle than Nancy Drew, but I cracked the case of the missing Sunday papers.

Turns out when I skip town, my downstairs neighbor scoops up my NYT.

I can see the logic behind not wanting home delivery to go to waste, but I'm thinking there's a better way of handling the situation. Like maybe bringing the paper inside and leaving it for me, seeing as how it's mine and all. Or maybe asking if it would be alright to grab my paper when I seem to be out of town. I'd be ok with that. I play well with others. I'm just not digging the assumption that it's cool to cop first and ask permission later. It leaves me in the awkward spot of having to knock on your door Sunday night and ask for my crossword puzzle back - operative word being "my."

Power grid

We're back from NYC, and we had an amazing time. How can you not have fun at a wedding that features spiked SnoCones? Solid choice.

I do feel like we ate our way through Manhattan though. When you live in the city, you pace your consumption. When you're only back in town for 48 hours, you tend towards wanting to devour everything it has to offer - sights, sounds, and scooped bagels - in ridiculous dose.

Yes, I miss it. A lot.

But I did promise info on my pre-vacay soiree so here goes. It was a fancy shindig celebrating Washington's most powerful people. I'm not one of those people. I'm the DC power equivalent of a flashcube. But sometimes you need a quick blip of light, and therefore, I was invited to be the non-date date of a "one to watch." My "one to watch" and I spent much of the night watching and wondering who ARE these people? Clearly, I'm not just out of the loop, but I don't even own a belt. I was honored to be invited, but the dinner afterwards with good friends and even gooder wine (she says after 3 glasses) trumped the evening's main event by a wide margin.

Which leads me to this. My Power 150 is probably closer to a Power 15 these days, but it's not tough to make the list. You just need the power to make me laugh, the power to laugh at me when appropriate, and the power to laugh at the rest of the city that takes itself much too seriously far too often.

DC needs a little NYC. It could start with scooped bagels.