My Mother Got Me A Job… And She Doesn’t Know It…

It’s pretty funny how things happen.

About three years ago, my mother, T-Diddy, as we call her, came to visit me in Hoboken, NJ where I lived at the time.  She brought her bestie, my Aunt Di, my sissy Rissy, and my cousins, Tara and Sam.  During this visit we did a lot of things, such as eat Italian food, drink wine, and eat frozen yogurt, and drink more wine [eat, drink, eat, drink…repeat…usual things].

The other thing T-Diddy felt necessary to do during this trip, was to try her hand at match-making.  This wasn’t a new thing for her, but she had never been very successful before.

We were all hanging out by the water, taking in the sights of Manhattan across the Hudson River, when T-Diddy spotted a handsome man playing with his dog near us.  In true T-Diddy fashion, she approached this man, asking if he was single.  Turned out, this man was in fact, single; so she made quite the effort to bring her oldest daughter (me), over to introduce to this random man.  She encouraged an exchange of numbers, and I’m sure she felt very accomplished.

This man, “J,” we will call him, actually followed through and called to ask me on a date.  Myself, as a nice, classy lady, agreed to the date, and of course chugged at least one (read: three)  glasses of wine beforehand, normal first date preparation.  He took me to a nice place I had never been to, and me, being myself, after some interesting conversation, asked him if he was gay.  He said he wasn’t, but me, being myself some more, decided to not believe him.  Openly not believe him… like as in, telling him I didn’t believe him.   Turns out, I’m not sure what his actual sexual orientation is, nor does it matter, but after that date, neither of us contacted the other ever again….Ever….

…Until [flash forward] three years later… when I decided I needed to look for a new job.  I subscribed to LinkedIn Premium… don’t get me started on what that is, because I’m not entirely sure…all I know is I paid money for it;  but I was on this website day-in, and day-out for several days perusing some opportunities.  Who did I come across? Obviously, I happened to see “J.” [hence this blog post].  Although I now live on the complete opposite side of the country, in San Diego, I noticed “J” now owns a recruiting firm that specializes in Medical/Biotech Sales (and which he named after his dog)… hmmm…. how ironic.  Just the type of position I’m looking for.

What did I do?  I shamelessly inboxed the guy on LinkedIn.  I mentioned that we had met several years ago in Hoboken, [hoping he had forgotten the actual circumstances, but maybe recognized my name].  He responded positively [what?!] mentioning the place we had gone out [how did he even remember–? I didn’t!], and he told me to send him my resume in case he came across any appropriate SoCal job openings, although he didn’t have any at the time.  I sent the resume.

Two weeks later I get a call from a recruiter in his office…. “‘J’ gave me your resume;… we have an opportunity for you.”

Flash forward… I’m now employed by this company “J’s” firm proposed.

Thanks, T-Diddy… you’ve been there for me through thick and thin, you’ve stuck your neck out when you felt I needed a man in my life, [even when I didn’t agree], and whatever else you thought you were doing that was helpful…[it’s really usually not helpful at all… but I love you anyway for it].  What you don’t know until now is that the handsome [gay?] guy with the dog you hit on for me three years ago is responsible for my most recent employment..   You’re the best.  I owe you one.

xoxo

Gossip Girl

Another Day… Another Cleanse. #Paleo

I decided to start a diet and exercise blog.  I will entitle it, “The Best Way to Start Fad Diets and Exercise Programs and the Quickest Way to Quit Them Without Lasting Results.”  I will constantly post updates to The Facebook and The Instagram of what I eat, how I eat it, and what I look like in the mirror before and after I have explosive diarrhea.  Then I’ll document just how long I stick to an exercise regimen before foregoing it regularly for happy hour and trash TV watching.

I feel like I’ve exhausted my audience when it comes to documenting my “cleanses” and just how much they fail me each time, how I poop and fart in public, on dates with random men, and how I cry when I only lose three pounds at the end of a grueling week of eating straight tuna and chicken broth.

Let me preface this entry by saying, if even ONE of you diet and exercise salespeople on my newsfeed tries to contact me after reading this and pitch just how wonderful and different, and LIFE CHANGING your Advocare, Beach Body, Isogenix, or Body Wrap program is, I will send you something really mean like a lot of glitter and confetti in the mail and promptly block you, even if I happen to not mind you so much as a person.

So I went back at it again.  A couple of friends come over one night to watch hockey, and start talking about the three-day juice cleanse they just finished.  Steph, who weighs as much as my right arm did it, and  lost seven pounds, and B.Coll lost 13.  They both said it was the most awful thing they ever did… B.Coll being a little more dramatic about it than his better half.  But hmmmm…. three days of just drinking fresh cold-pressed juices and that much weight loss as a result?  And if this skinny bitch could lose seven pounds, my out-of-shape fatass is bound to lose like 15…. right??

Ginge was heading to a bachelor party the following weekend which prompted him to immediately order the cleanse.  Whyyyyy…… do you ask does he need to cleanse for a bachelor party???  “There’s going to be a pool! I’m going to have to take my shirt off… Nobody wants to be the fat friend!”  OMG…I’m dating a girl.

My roommate Karli also ordered it.  I was traveling to Hawaii for the next few days for work, so I couldn’t join the cleanse team.  Their three days ended, and Ginge, of course, lost 12 pounds, and Karli lost seven.  All four of them reported feeling great, cleansed, energetic at the end, and not craving anything unhealthy.  Ok, now that’s four success stories…. gotta do it.

I decided to cleanse from Monday through Wednesday.  Of course, everyone goes out for wing and beer night the Monday of my first day, so I go and sip water and watch wings get devoured by the dozen… drooling and wanting to punch people in the face.  I leave early.  That.was.torture.

The next night is softball.  What is softball without beers?  I’ll tell ya what… its a big fat L on the books.  Night two with no food.  I’m not going to lie… I was hungry.  I wasn’t hungry all the time, but I wasn’t NOT hungry all the time.  Driving around all day looking at restaurant after restaurant, and each time I stopped for gas, immediately thinking what snack I was going to buy inside, I realized that even if I wasn’t PHYSICALLY hungry, eating is such a HABIT.  The juices really weren’t bad.  They are from a place called Juice Crafters.  They boast that with their special cold-pressed juicer, they are able to extract 3-6 times more nutrients than most normal juicers.  Whatever.

By day three I still hadn’t pooped much, I didn’t have that “mental clarity” or “feeling of lightness,” or “elevated mood” everyone speaks of.  I literally felt like I was turning into juice.  This is going to sound like I’m making it up, but how would one even think to make this up…. I was surrounded by fruit flies.  Ok.  I know that sounds weird and gross, but it’s true.  Hanging out on the couch, fruit fly circling my head.  Sitting on the toilet, fruit fly sitting on my leg.  WTF?!  I must be emitting fruit smells.  This is flippin’ disgusting.  I am literally turning into fruit juice.

By the end of night three I had dreamed of eating food every single night, followed by a feeling of guilt, and I went to bed just hoping for a miraculous number on the scale when I awoke.

I awoke, wondering if I actual had eaten those huge loaves of bread I took bites of in my fantasies.  I hadn’t.  Thank goodness.  I stepped on the scale.  THREE POINT FIVE POUNDS.  Mother F**SFDLJKJ***CKER.  I knew this was going to happen.  I HADN’T EATEN A DROP OF FOOD IN THREE DAYS, CONSUMED 20 POUNDS OF FRUITS AND VEGETABLES IN LIQUID FORM and I had lost a measly 3.5 pounds.  I really wasn’t surprised.  But I also wasn’t done.

This can’t be right.  Maybe my body just takes longer to catch on than most.  I went to Juice Crafters, paid another extraordinary amount of money, and collected eight more bottles of juice to take me through one more day.  I decided I would also eat a few real veggies that day to ease my way back into real life, and I’d drink some all-natural poopy tea.

Day.Four.Was.Awesome.  My pipes cleaned themselves out.  “Pipes…” yes… I’m in the medical field.  I drank the juices til about 4pm when I ate tomato and cucumber salad (HALLELUJAH- CHEWING!) and then finished the day with more juice and aloe water.  I felt like I was on a high.  I know this sounds so cheesy but I was in a better mood than I have been in months, and felt like I could run a marathon… and I hadn’t eaten real food in four days.  I was sooo glad I decided to stick it out another day.  I guess all bodies are not the same.   I beat Ginge at darts three games in a row (sorry, bud), and actually felt compelled to start cleaning my house and doing laundry.  WHAT IS GOING ON!??

I woke up this morning, and stepped on the scale once more, to discover that extra day did its duty.  I was down a total of six pounds.  Now, I know, that’s nothing compared to some others, but six pounds to me feels a lot better than 3.5.  I wasn’t even hungry this morning.  I still felt great and started out my day with another juice, then added in some more veggie salad and fruits til I ate real cooked chicken and beans for lunch.

Now I think I should name my new blog, “HOW TO LOSE 6 POUNDS IN FOUR DAYS AND FEEL LIKE YOU CAN RULE THE WORLD!”

I’m just kidding.  This is obviously just another one of my fads, but I think I’ll do it again in the future and follow it up with some fad exercise.  I’m zoning in now on Orange Theory.  I hear it’s a cool trendy new gym where you get super hot and skinny and tan and pretty and smart and loveable and…. yeah…. well I’ll try it out for a week or so.

In any case, I hope all you muffins have a wonderful weekend.  I’m about to go eat and drink my cleanse away… obviously.

xoxo

Gossip Girl

Sorry, Charlie… [Video]

There’s apparently this new thing all the kids on fleek are doing (that means the cool kids, not the ones on drugs… although probably most of them are also on drugs).  It’s a game called “Charlie Charlie.”  I heard about it last week in an article that showed up on my Facebook feed.

If you’re not under 15 and on fleek (I’m sorry if I”m overusing this term, but I”m old, and it makes me feel nice about myself to use it correctly), you may not have heard about this yet, but it’s a game in which a demon named Charlie is summoned to answer questions; think of it as a simpler version of Ouiji in which no one is actually touching anything.  You draw two perpendicular lines on a piece of paper, intersecting them in the middle to make a cross, and then write the words “yes” and “no”  in each of the four spaces created.  You then put a pencil on each line of the cross, balancing one pencil on top of the other.

In this game, you’re supposed to ask: “Charlie, Charlie, can you play?” or “Charlie, Charlie, are you here?” and the top pencil will begin to spin and point to either yes or no.

This game has picked up so much social media attention in the past week, that a Vatican-approved exorcist has actually weighed in on the subject and warned youngsters of the dangers of summoning demons.

A story written in a British newspaper explained that the game is only a combination of gravity and the positioning of the pencils that make the pencils move.  I fully believe that, but needed to try it for myself to check it out.  I don’t actually think demons are coming to move the pencils, but I also didn’t want to play around with that weird stuff.   I just wanted to prove that the pencils will move with or without demon summoning.

The hardest part about this game was finding wooden pencils.  Who even owns pencils anymore?  Out of four people in my house, nobody had a pencil.  I texted V, who was coming over to watch The Bachelorette, and asked her to steal some from work, but she had already left, so she said to check the bins she left in my carport.  The girl is moving to Guatemala for two years, and getting rid of almost all of her stuff, yet she’s still good for a package of number-two pencils which she is storing until she returns.  What am I going to do without her?

I set out with a hypothesis.  I could balance the pencils, say whatever I wanted, or nothing at all, and the pencils would still move, just as they did in the countless vines and youtube videos out there.

I gathered my supplies and began my challenge.  On one attempt, the pencil actually did move a little bit, but I realized the ceiling fan directly above me was on high speed.  Not fair.  My roommate, Emily walked in from work during one of my attempts and was completely confused, “I don’t get it…” and Ginge was in the carport where I locked him, with instructions of not speaking while I was videoing.

Later on, a few more of the ladies came over for our Monday night viewing of the Bachelorette (yes, I’m 32, and yes, I still have Bachelorette viewing parties).  When I filled Lexi in on my evening activities, it was immediately, “Court, I really forgot how weird you are.”  Can I be weird?  Maybe a little… but five minutes later, who was the one begging me to try the Charlie game again?!  (Lexi)!

There we went again….  Here is a compilation of my attempts of debunking the Charlie demon:

What do I have to take from this?  I’m not sure.  All I know is that I couldn’t completely say this game is BS.  I really wish I could have.  Charlie, if you’re out there, I really hope you’re enjoying this media attention, and I also really hope you make peace with yourself and transition from “demon” to “loving, sweet boy of the afterlife.”  I mean if Bruce Jenner could transition from Olympic male gold medalist to beautiful older woman, “Caitlyn” in this crazy world, I have faith in you.   And THAT’s a story for another day.

Goodnight my muffins.

xoxo

Gossip Girl

How NOT to Get on The Price Is Right (and other tips)

A couple of months ago, our friend, Maxwell informed our group of friends that he created a ridiculous amount of email addresses, and eventually scored 20 tickets to The Price Is Right, filming in Hollywood for a Tuesday afternoon.

I didn’t even get the invite yet, when I cleared my calendar and decided on requesting a vacation day.  I shortly after, got the invite (I would have some way wiggled my way in, of course, but the legit invite was nice to have).

The group was intense.  Our group of PB friends is often intense, but throw in a game show in which there is a chance one of us has an opportunity to showcase our intenseness, and we rise to a different level of intense.

It was decided upon that we’d all be wearing Hawaiian shirts, and a party bus from PB to Hollywood was immediately booked for 8am on Tuesday morning, April 7th.  The internet savvy members of the group did their due diligence to find out the best way to actually get to contestants row, and we learned a few things:

  • You’re being judged by roaming producers, as well as hidden cameras as soon as you step foot in line
  • Over-the-top enthusiasm will take you far
  • Large groups of 15-25 are basically guaranteed to get one person chosen for contestants row
  • You need to arrive at noon and plan on being there for 5 hours

Over-the-top enthusiasm?  I’m pretty sure we have that covered on our sleepiest of days.  Add an 8am, three-hour bus ride (including at least one bathroom break), coolers full of mimosas, beer, and some Fireball, and we’ve got the whole audience covered on the enthusiasm-meter.

We get there close to noon, our deadline, and are ready to wait in line for a while (acting peppy and friendly, of course), and ditch alllll of our food and drinks on the bus.

Let’s fast-forward to FOUR HOURS LATER… we are STILL in line.

Here are some things I’ve learned from actually GOING to The Price Is Right:

  • BRING THINGS– drinks, food, whatever floats your boat.  You are waiting in line for legit 3 hours before you even get to the security area where you need to ditch drinks, food, and your cell phone
  • BRING YOUR CELL PHONE– many of our group members left their phones on the bus, after reading the show’s instructions that they would need to be “checked” at the door.  The “check-point” isn’t until an hour before you enter the studio, which leaves you THREE HOURS of potential selfies with your super cool PIR name tags, texts to your jealous friends, and responses to work emails if you happened to just “call in sick” or “work from home” that day.
  • DON”T BE AN ASSHOLE–  there is a fine line between enthusiasm, originality, and assholism.  As a group, we did not put ourselves on the right side of that line.  Being enthusiastic, sweet, friendly, is great.  Leave the cockiness at the door [*guilty as charged]
  • YOU ARE NOT GUARANTEED TO HAVE A GROUP MEMBER GET CHOSEN:  It doesn’t matter how big your group is, if they don’t want one of you, they WON’T PICK ONE OF YOU

As we’re waiting in what seemed to be the last leg of the line, right before security, after several overpriced Red Bulls and stale, tasteless personal pizzas from the show’s “snack stand,” and after being told we ONLY have an hour and a half left ’til we get into the studio, my sister says to me,

“I’m tired of this, do you want to just go to the bar across the street??”

I respond, “Umm.. yeah, if it’s really gonna be another hour and a half, I’ll go.”

“No, I mean, INSTEAD of going to the show.  I”m over this.”

That’s where I put my foot down.  There’s no way I’m waiting in a sea of ridiculous lines for this long, and not even getting in there.  We started making jokes such as,

“What if Carissa gets picked and they’re like ‘CARISSA!!!  COME ON DOWN’ and we have to say on national TV— OH- she’s not here anymore– she went to the bar!!'”

She resorted to just napping once we got to our seats.  She was over it.  Little did she know… there would be NO NAPPING.

The person I feel for the most in production of The Price is Right:  The young’ish looking man, who had a title I can’t even fathom, (Cheer police??) who stood on stage having anxiety attacks every time the cameras rolled, convulsing over getting everyone to stand up, clap, and act like they were having the times of their lives.  This poor guys was sweating down his cheeks and looked like he was about to cry when he wasn’t getting a proper response.

My hands were literally sore from clapping, my voice horse from hooting and hollering, and my Fitbit going out of control with all the fist pumping.  Sitting in the audience of The Price is Right is a much different experience from sitting on your couch.  You can’t hear anything that is happening on the tiny little stage.  You literally have to wait to see poor little Cheer Police’s note card to know who was chosen next to “COME ON DOWN,” because you couldn’t hear a damn thing.

The group of assholes with the Hawaiian shirts and enough enthusiasm to light the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center, (even after a mid-afternoon hangover at this point), was strategically seated front and center, two rows behind the contestants.  We were USED.  They baited us before the show started, by saying all the contestants were not yet chosen after the interview process (obvious lies), and that they’d be watching us throughout the show to see who was cheering loudest, and helping out the most.  That’s how they continuously got us out of our chairs and screaming.  We bit the bait.  Bastards.

Contestant after contestant was chosen.  Not.one.of.them.came.from.our.group.  W…T…F…

The beginning of the bus ride home was somewhat solemn.  How did NOT ONE of us get chosen?  We were soooo cool, and fun, and enthusiastic.  Weren’t we??  We got over it by the time we hit the highway, got back to our normal selves, and started  pumping the jams (I’m old… I say pumping the jams), cracking the beer, and passing the Jack.

We made the bus driver get to record speeds on the way home (approximately 55mph), as six of us on the bus had a  co-ed softball game to get to at 9pm.  Forfeiting was not an option.

We made the game.  Me, still in my Hawaiian shirt, jeans, chucks,  and Price is Right name-tag, as I didn’t have a second to change.  We also won the game, due to something I can’t put my finger on.  Probably the fact that the other team had never played softball in their lives??  There’s nothing else I can guess there….

Ginge and I had a talk later on that night… why didn’t any of us get on?  It wasn’t very hard to decode.  After all of the tips we read about being outgoing, enthusiastic, and original, we didn’t really stop to think about the target audience of the show.  Who is the target audience?  Mostly old retired people, maybe some stay-at-home moms, and the obvious kids who pretend they’re sick to stay home from school and binge-watch game shows.

What were we lacking in our approach?  Genuineness.  Plain and simple.  We didn’t need to be these over-the-top ridiculous people, making up fake occupations and turning on the ham.  That’s not what people want to see.  That’s not what people are rooting for.  At least not on this show.  We discussed the people who got called up, and the old woman who won the entire showcase, whose husband, who was bound to a wheelchair was crying tears down his cheeks.  We realized then, people want to see good people win things.  Not annoying people, not crazy-hyper people… real people with good hearts and a great desire to play the game.

We are those people.  We are all, individually, good, genuine people who have good hearts and want to play the game and win things.  Every one of these people I love is that great person you’d cheer for if you knew them.  But I’m not sure we portrayed ourselves in the best light possible.  I’m not going to say we were the drunk idiots of the interview process, because we weren’t.  Maybe we would have been if we knew better…. they kept us in line for so long beforehand that it would have been somewhat impossible to STILL be the drunk idiots that we may have been on the bus.  But they may have read our enthusiasm incorrectly.

Here is my humble advice for anyone who scores tickets to this show:

  •  BE YOURSELF-  Just maybe a less-inhibited version of yourself.  Be friendly and kind, very happy and really want to play the game
  •  BE PREPARED- They tell you not to wear open toed shoes.  Don’t.  Our friend with flip-flops stopped at a store outside the studio and bought a pair of knock-off chucks for $194.  (He’s pleased with his purchase, so all is good).
  • DON”T PLAN ON HAVING A VOICE…OR PALMS the next day:  You will clap like you’ve never clapped before, and yell like you’ve never yelled before.  Even if you don’t want to.  Cheer Police knows what he’s doing.  He’s no joke.  You will clap.  You will yell.

All in all, I could not have thought up a better way to spend my Tuesday.  A group of great friends getting together and sharing an experience so close to home that most don’t really put on their priority list…. we put it on our priority list.  Thank you Maxwell, for all of your finagling and hard work.  I love you guys all to the moon and back… and no RV, Range Rover, pony, sailboat, washer/dryer, cooking set, or bear hug from Drew Carey could even make me love you more.

To all of you thinking of going to The Price is Right?  Go.  It’s an experience for sure.  Just pack a backpack full of snacks and refreshments for the wait… and try not to act like an asshole.  😉

PS- Our episode airs June 1, 2015.  Look for the sea of Hawaiian shirts up front. 🙂

xoxo, pumpkins,

Gossip Girl

price is right

A Bit of Reality… ‘Aint Never Hurt Nobody

Me:  “I think I’m going to sell my SUV and get a Prius…”

[as i look across the couch to see his facial expression]

———————-

[he doesn’t look up from his laptop; his facial expression doesn’t change]

Ginge:  “I think we should start seeing other people…”

I just smirk.  I would never sell my SUV to buy a Prius unless absolutely necessary.  Not that I have anything against Prius’ (or Priuses?) in general, but they’re really just not my cup of tea to drive.   I just knew the suggestion would ruffle Ginge’s feathers, as it did.   Yet, he knew I was joking with my random comment.

What this got me thinking about, however, was, what if Ginge were to say to me truthfully and genuinely, “I think we should start seeing other people?”

I mean this comment stemmed from the jokiest of jokes, but it brought to my attention that in the past 14 months, this thought has never crossed my mind.  Am I naive?  Am I egotistical?  What the HECK am I?  I thought back to the time when I just met Ginge.  We had only gone on two, maybe three dates, and T-Diddy [mom] was asking about him over the phone.  I remember telling her:

“It’s weird.  I don’t have to guess about him.  He always calls, he always texts, he always follows through with plans… I don’t even have to wonder with him…”

What the HECK game did he play?  Well apparently a freakin’ good one.  He played the game in which you are an actual genuine person who says and does what he says he’s going to do, and treats a woman like she’s actually a human being.  I mean, really?  It’s not that hard.  But sadly, it’s out of the ordinary, and this is something I commented to T-Diddy.   She, of course, gave me her wonderful motherly advice, that I SHOULDN’T have to wonder and I SHOULDN’T ever worry if he’s going to call me again.

Which brings me to my current point.  At over a year I have NEVER wondered or worried about if Ginge was going to call again, or if he didn’t like me anymore.  He’s always made me feel like I’ve had him and I’ll never lose him.  But this one comment really got me thinking more than I usually do [I guess I don’t think that much?]… Have I made him feel similarly?

I feel like I’ve been screwed over so many freakin’ times over the past several years, that it’s been all about me… “does he like me?”  “is he treating me correctly?”  “is he making ME his number ONE priority?”  “does he love my family?”  “can he live without me?”  …blah blah blah… me, me, ME….

What about HIM?  Let’s not get me wrong… I’ve come to really love this guy to death.  But that silly comment just put this thought in my head…. what if he were to want to leave ME? [I mean who really would want to leave me?? But still…]   HELLO!!!! Get off your high horse, you ASS!  This is a two-way street!!    How have I never even considered that this wonderful, kind, handsome, completely fantastic man could ever do better?  [Well, better…?  No, he couldn’t…]  But my point being… I knew those silly words that came out of his mouth, “I think we should start seeing other people,” were completely nonsense, and joking around, but they really hit home.

If I had heard those words out of his mouth in truth, I’m not sure what I would do.  I know I’d probably be in shock… because apparently over the past 14 months, I’ve felt the most secure I’ve ever felt in a relationship before.  I guess all I can say here is that maybe i learned a bit about myself.   I’ve learned that I hope I’m doing all I can to make my man feel just as secure as I do.  And if I’m not, I sure as hell need to do a better job.  Thanks, Ginge… for being you.

‘Til we meet again… hopefully less than 3 months from now….

xoxo

Gossip Girl

The Night I Didn’t Meet Tom Brady

I just remembered I had a blog. Have I been boring lately or what? Maybe I’ve just been such a blast that I haven’t had time to properly document it. Let’s go with that.

The Patriots are in town all week to play the Chargers on Sunday. T and Brie are New Englanders so took a strong interest in “randomly” running into them while they’re here. You might think, “how can you just randomly run into football players?” Right? Right. Well here’s how… you stalk the crap out of their every move.

Within hours of them touching down in San Diego (touching down… see what I did there??), the girls had figured out where they were staying, what their curfew was, where they were practicing, and what Tom Brady ordered for lunch. Yes, that’s serious. He gets a tray of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every day. Really, bud?

In any case, it had been thrown out there that no one would mind running into these dudes, but no moves had been made. It was a Tuesday night and one of those nights that one of us was having a hard time and needed girlfriends around. V and Brie came over after work to join T and me, and the four of us sat on the couches in the carport watching Friends re-runs, devouring pasta and garlic bread, drinking wine, crying, and laughing. T was in her PJs and nestled in for the night.

I got up to use the bathroom and two minutes later hear Brie’s loud mouth, “COURTNEY!!!! LET’S GO!”

I open the bathroom door a crack (get it…? crack) “What?! I’m pooping!”

“Well taper it off! The Patriots are at Tavern. We gotta go. Now!”

I cut my bathroom time short and rushed out. T is in her room doing a quick outfit change, exclaiming “Gotta wear an East Coast outfit!” as she throws a vest over a red and black plaid shirt.

Apparently T got a text from a friend who somehow knew where they were headed. V’s scrounging around my room for makeup, as T and Brie are already out the door. They told me I didn’t have time to change into a cuter outfit, so I did a quick hairbrush and makeup touch-up, chugged my last sip of wine and ran out the door. We piled into Brie’s little VW bug and raced down the street.

“We gotta hurry. They have to be home by 10:30 and it’s already after 9.”

I ask if I look cute enough to meet the Patriots. They tell me I have a boyfriend so what do I care?

“Oh, Ginge wouldn’t care if it was an NFL player.”

Brie agrees, “Yeah, I’d definitely get a pass too for a Pats player.”

Glad that’s settled. When push comes to shove, I don’t know any of the Pats besides my love, Tom Brady, and I was told he probably wasn’t there, so I wasn’t quite as giddy as the rest. They gave me a quick lesson on how sexual some guy named Gronk is, and passed a few pics around the car. We were hoping he’d be there.

He was.

I told the girls they had to play it cool. My version of playing it cool is acting like I have no idea that people are famous. I like the way this usually works. I utilized the method on a guy who later introduced himself as Darius. I positioned myself very near to Darius. I overheard a guy next to him ask, “Are you starting this week?”

He replied, “No.”

I took this opportunity to turn to him and ask, “What sport do you play?” [**playing it cool**]

“Football.”

“Oh, cool.”

He asks, “What sport do you play?”

“Co-ed softball.”

“Oh, like the slow pitch kind?”

“Yeah the ball has to go to head height. I think it’s harder to hit that way.”

“Oh yeah, I love watching girls softball.”

“No you don’t. Nobody likes watching girls softball.”

Darius chuckles, introduces himself. The girls come join the conversation. V asks why he has a tag hanging off his hat, which was on backwards, and he says someone had just given it to him. I ask to see the front, and it’s a Patriots hat. I ask why someone gave him a Patriots hat and he tells me it’s because he plays for them.

[Play.It.Cool] “Oh really? You play for the NFL?”

The girls think my act is moronic at this point, but I’m pretty pleased with how it’s going. He confirms that he does, indeed, play for the NFL, and asks if we’re going to the game on Sunday.”

“I’m not, I don’t have tickets…” [sad puppy dog face] [this face does not work] [Darius does not offer to gift me free tickets] [this is BS].

Brie pretended to play it cool for about 5 minutes before she broke into her story about how Gronk crashed her birthday party in college and ate all of her food. Mid-story I gave her a stern look to shut up, so thankfully she cut it short. Play.It.Cool.

The conversation somehow turns into an age guessing game, in which I correctly guessed Darius’ age on the first try, which made me remember my bar trick of guessing men’s weight. This trick was born a couple of years back at a national sales meeting for my old company. Professional as ever, one night I decided to have all the male sales reps sit on my lap one at a time, and I guessed their weight. I had never done this before, but I was surprisingly dead on the majority of the time, so I brought my talents back to Green Rock in Hoboken, still nailing it, and decided it’s quite a talent of mine. Pat.hand.on.back.

I asked for Darius’ height, and instructed him to get off his stool and sit on my lap.

I shook him around a little… “252.”

“Whoa. I’m 250.”

“Well probably after everything you ate and drank tonight you’re 252. And did you have that weird little patch of chin hair last time you weighed yourself?”

“Good point, you’re probably right.” He turns to his teammate and tells him I think his chin hair is weird. It is. His teammate agrees.

Darius got up and a few of his buds took a turn on my lap. I had no idea who anyone there was, being a loyal Saints fan and not paying much attention to New England (loyal Saints fan = I own a Saints jersey and know who Drew Brees is). I wish I had known who people were, I maybe could have yelled at some of them for ruining my fantasy season. T thought this weight guessing trick was hilarious and started taking pictures. She was instructed to not let the pics go anywhere, and one of the dudes asked her to not take any of him at all. They were all very embarrassed after a recent photo of them with Justin Bieber had just gone viral. T obviously immediately posted the photos to the fb.

1 2

When one of the guys asked, “What are you girls doing out tonight?” we clearly couldn’t respond with, “We got a tip that you were here, so we put on makeup and east coast outfits and raced over, ran down the street in the rain and arrived here out of breath…” so it was more, “Oh you know, just a girls Taco Tuesday night!”

After a bit, the guys had to hit the road, or they’d turn into pumpkins. We were very pleased with ourselves and left the bar as soon as they were out of sight. We ran back down the street in the rain and back into the Bug. Man, were our boyfriends going to be jealous. Not because we were flirting with large athletic men, but because they were not flirting with these large athletic men.

The girls’ stalking skills were at an all time high, and I’m proud to call them my friends. But the moral of this story is this: I didn’t meet Tom Brady.

The week isn’t over yet…

xoxo

Gossip Girl

#IceBucketChallenge. Dump AND Donate.

Ok herrreeeeee we go… it’s opinion time.  I try to keep most opinions to myself (wait…)

This ice bucket challenge to create awareness for ALS is creating so much social media buzz.  What’s blowing my mind, though is that much of this buzz is negative.

“You’re dumping ice on your head so you DON’T have to donate to ALS???”

Oh, good point, my friends, good point.  Donations to a cause are always helpful.  But let me ask you this… how is anyone participating in this stunt negatively affecting ALS?

I’ll tell you how:  they’re not.  They may not be directly assisting the cause by contributing in a monetary way, but they’re doing what this challenge calls for, and creating awareness in some way, shape, or form.

One thing I agree with… we shouldn’t be doing this challenge in LIEU of a donation.  This challenge causes for ice to be dumped on our heads OR a $100 donation.  Here’s my take.  Dump the damn water on your head… but please get the water from a lake, a bay, an ocean, even a freakin’ pool.  Some of us are in a drought, and other friends on the other side of the world struggle to survive without clean drinking water…. but ALSO, do what you can in the form of a donation.  Does it need to be $100?  I think not.  Does it need to even go to ALS??  That would be wonderful, being that’s what this challenge is for, but let’s look at the greater picture.  This challenge is a call to action to wake us up (in a very literal sense), and push us towards awareness and generosity of a special cause.

Here’s what set me off today and made me run for my laptop to get this off my chest.  It’s a Huffington Post article  titled:  “#IceBucketChallenge:  Why You’re Not Really Helping.”  And although this article may have made some good points, this is what made my blood boil:

“And although the ALS Association has seen as much as four times as many donations during this time period than last year, just imagine with me for one second: What if the thousands of people who spent money on buying one or two2 bags of ice actually gave that money to ALS? It would be out of control.”

Wait…. let’s hear that again…  “And although the ALS Association has seen as much as four times as many donations during this time period than last year…”

Ummmm… HELLO!!!!!!!!  FOUR TIMES as many donations!  Kudos!  Kudos to the man who began this challenge.  Kudos to everyone who participated, and continues to participate.  Kudos to the silly videos, and kudos to the donations, big or small that have rolled in.  You’ve all positively contributed to a cause.

Let’s continue using social media for positive things.  What if for every photo of our lunches we posted, we contributed one dollar to the charity of our choice… like O…M…G!!!!!

And OMG, my only tweek to this (I almost said twerk), would be to recycle water instead of getting it from our sinks or hoses.  But hey… keep on doing what you’re doing.  Silliness creates awareness… silliness creates donations.  Just please pair your donations with the silliness.

xoxo

Gossip Girl

Previous Older Entries Next Newer Entries

%d bloggers like this: