Monday, May 30, 2005


that is what is called a rave box. a rave box is your average, everyday cardboard box that has been lined with tin foil and adorned with flashing christmas lights. BUT! a semi-circular hole has been cut into one side of the box, the perfect shape for a neck. and this is just what you do with a rave box...

YOU PUT YOUR HEAD IN IT!!!! and while your cranium's in there, the guy holding box will tap his fingers on the side of the box to the beat of the music!!! how genius!!!!

if you havent gotten the hint, i went a rave this weekend. a rave in karisa's hometown of springfield, massachusetts of all places. a friend of ours had a gig up there and katy asked if i wanted to go, that they were renting a car. i was kinda like, "ehhhhhhhhhhh" until she told me that if i went, i could push the whip. i will do just about anything you want if you dangle a set of car keys in front of my face.

so we were off, three girls and a dj. katy and karisa chugged sparks in the back seat and the dj let us listen to the latest (unreleased) choons coming out while i smoked black n milds and tried to dodge the ungodly assaulting pellets of hail that were being shot out of the sky at our brand new rented vehicle.

we got to mass and did a quick wardrobe change at the telly and headed to what was the most thorough entrance search i have ever been through. i finally made it into the rave after having to make three trips back to the car to put away some new finding that security would not let pass through, one being my blade. i have snuck that blade at least six times through airport security, yet i cannot get it into a damn club??? something is definitely wrong with that picture.

partying in springfield was like stepping back into 1998. i didnt even know they still made UFOs anymore? god, is JNCO still around, too? wow, so thats how i used to look like??? it was good times and we played the role of the alpha-new-york-bitches-inna-small-town to a tee.

then we drove to some highway diner and i tried to prank call people on the trucker phone. i didnt work. those bastards.

back in the day, after a rave, this is what i wouldve looked like...

love ya, karisa!!!

Saturday, May 28, 2005

I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day.

i love my friends.

today is absolutely fantastic and its only going to get better. i can feel it.

Sunday, May 22, 2005

throughout the night, its best to have friends on different levels of drunkeness. that way, when you are totally shitfaced at 2:00 am, there will be someone just soberly arriving to the bar and they will be able to piece your night together for you the next day. like when you wake up and you think that you left the bar the night before to go home and that you just happened upon another bar and decided to pop in for a quick hello, someone will be able to tell you that, no, you were not on your way home, that you had in fact made it well known that you were going to another bar. its also a good idea if you befriend the workers at the bars that you frequent. that way, someone will be able to inform that in the midst of your black out, the only way to get you to leave the bar was to feed you two shots of five alive and slip a bottle of water into your purse. you, of course, will remember none of this.

yesterday i walked all the way from houston and west street to seaport. some guy named marcus on a bike walked with me for awhile. he is a cath-o-jew lawyer that lives in brooklyn heights. we were both wearing red sneakers, so he used that to open the doorway of conversation. i told him that i wasnt very good with small talk, but he didnt get the hint and continued to walk with me. i really wouldnt have minded so much if i hadnt been wearing my retainer.

we parted ways at battery park, which i realized is the jump-off for all things knock-off. i talked a guy down to $25 for a louie bag, and then decided not to get it. i bought a popsicle instead.

ive woken up at 9:30 am both days this weekend and at some point in my sleep last night i totally fucked up my back.

nothing a little liquor cant fix.

Friday, May 20, 2005

getting drunk alone at max fish = 0 dollars

getting drunk at max fish with karisa = priceless.


Thursday, May 19, 2005

as i left work today, i was crossing the street near the intersection of 5th avenue and 33rd street, in front of the empire state building. it was that interval of time in between green and red lights when there are no cars at any of the 90 degrees. when either one green light lasts too long or one red light lasts too long, depending on how you look at it. and so the streets are just filled with people. walking, standing, photo-opping, whatever. but i was the sole person crossing the street at this time, listening to my music when i looked around at all of the tourists and just got this sudden urge to bust out in dance in the middle to street. kinda like bjork oh-so-quiet steeze, but a lot less choreographed and a lot more epilepticly skanky. like a mick jagger/ beyonce combo. i mean, i really wanted to do it. just all those people around not really paying attention to anyone but themselves and all that open space and me acting like a complete fool. i bet no one would have even noticed at all.

then i met with a client of mine, a hairstylist, who was closing down the salon as i showed up. he dressed me up in a bunch of different extensions, or "falls," and let me prance around the place and ask him a million questions as he was cutting the last girls hair. i told him i wanted a fall of my own and he told me that they cost from $1200 and up, but he said he could make me one out of my own hair for cheaper. i told him that that meant that i first had to cut my own hair that he was outta his god damn mind. throughout the meeting, i probably had a total of $5000 worth of pieces on my head. i am a fucking princess.

katy has cooked me dinner at her place the past two nights in a row because i havent had a cent to my name, but i got my check cashed today, so i can eat all the two dollar rosarios pizza that i want again. and get katy drunk as hell. i also saw Layer Cake tonight, which was fucking great and i highly recommend seeing. those brits sure do know how to make a classy gangster flick. yes, yes they do.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

i can pretty much imagine that your saturday wasnt as beautifully blue as this:

i decided i needed some down time, as opposed to downer time, and spent saturday afternoon at seaport, which i had not been to since my first visit to nyc in 2001. its pretty much a touristy place. it was then, and is even more so now. but fuck it, it has a killer view of the brooklyn bridge (and consequently, west brooklyn) and theres just something so familiar about walking on a boardwalk. so soft, so unstable.

i treated myself to lunch there and chilled out on one of the balconies overlooking the water. they dont just have benches or chairs to hang out on, but they have loungers where you can just sit back, kick your feet up and smoke as many cigarettes until your hearts content. which is exactly what i did. until this youth group of tourist christ lovers started crowding around my seat, and then i decided it was time to leave. the sun was going down and it was gettng windy out anyway. i guess it was a sign from god that i should go home.

there was also this weird jamaican contortionist dude who fit himself into a tiny glass box:

and a jazz brass playing guy:

there are a lot of places in new york that are trying to give key west's pier a run for its money, but nyc needs to really step up its pace if it wants to impose a real threat.

katy called me up later that evening and explained that she had a friend, Paul, in town from new orleans whose person he had planned on hanging out with ditched him and that he had been in NY for two days, was forced to get a hotel in long island because manhatty is too damn expensive and that he really needed to be shown a good time. so she gave him my number and he called and i gave directions to the bar. we stayed there til the bar closed, then went to my house to grab some clothes, bought a few cans of sparks and cabbed it up to harlem. it turns out that back down south, paul is friends from the ex super lover of my life from high school. the world just keeps getting smaller and smaller.

karisa and i do a damn good impression of a tyrannosaurus rex, if i do say so myself.

Friday, May 13, 2005

if out-of-town saturdays are in full effect, then competition thursdays are giving them a run for their money.

i hurriedly left the office today at 6:45 pm, 15 minutes after my normal day is done, and called katy, who had left me a message not too long before. through the cellular breaking up and piecing together that i had to suffer through the entire elevator ride down to the first floor, i made out from katys broken words that i was to get on the F train, sit in the last car and get off on the carroll stop, four stops outside of manhattan. i had previously rsvp'ed to this magazine party that was a few blocks away from my house, but i said fuck it.

so, yes, i actually traveled out to brooklyn. on a week night. this never happens.

i stepped into the gawnus yacht club, brooklyns version of the beer garden, and was greeted by some of my brooklynite friends, and of course, katy. at GYC, they serve nothing but hot dogs, hamburgers, knockwurst and the shittiest of shit beer. i opted for the spicy hot dog, a knockwurst and rolling rock.

a friend of ours comes back from the bathroom, looks at katy and i and says:

"ok, so which one of you wrote that in that bathroom?"

"wrote what?" we both replied in unison.

"someone wrote 'katie is a whores name. K-A-T-Y parenthesis I-E'"

katy and i look at each other in disbelief and bewilderment. mostly because a.) neither she nor i had ever been there before, b.) theres a next to none chance that there are another pair of kat(y)ie BFFs out there and c.) most people dont consciously realize there are several differnt spellings of our name. but then we looked across the table at our friend dave giggling to himself and we quickly realized who the culprit was.

he crossed out the word "whores" and wrote "nice persons" before we had a chance to see the original product. we then played a few rounds of blackjack, which soon deteriorated into a game of go fish, which then slipped even further down the card-playing totem pole into a game of drunk driver.

the sun had barely set when realized how drunk we were and that we should probably start heading back to manhattan. but as we were leaving, i spotted a playground across the street and that was that. it was a full on swing war. katy thinks she got higher than me, but i think katys wrong. its all about the arm-leg-pump combo. my steeze cant be beat yo!

we soon realized how out of shape we were and what kind of energy jungle-gyming takes and decided to finally hop our urban asses back onto the F train.

katy and i bet the boys that we could beat them to fish, even if they got off at the stop before us. well, they beat us. but were pretty sure that they ran, and that was against the rules that we had laid for them.

and we all know that cheaters never win.

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

jess tells me that i am known worldwide. apparently when she was down in miami for the winter music conference, she and some other friends of ours were screaming to the [dnb] dj, "PLAY SOME MADONNA!!!" now, for those that dont know, and i cant imagnine theres many of you that dont know, i am a screamer. especially if youre a dj. or should i unfortunately if youre a dj? i have a lot of friends in new york that are djs, so screaming random silly things at them is ok because were all friends and its all debaucherous love. so one night, my tag line became, "play some madonna!" because, well, i like madonna and i like yelling, so what better combo, right? the girls gotta kick out of it, so its been kind of a running joke that thats what we yell at the dj when we get totally shitfaced. so jess is across the country, screaming this ridiculous command at the dj and some guy asks her, "why are you yelling that? is that some kind of inside joke?" and she explains that, yes, its an inside joke because her friend Wisdm in new york is constantly screaming it. and he goes, "oh yeah, i know that girl." come to find out, his name is jeff. i have no idea who the hell jeff is or how he knows me and im not quite sure how i feel about that. but if i can get this whole "PLAY SOME MADONNA!!!" thing to catch on overseas... well, then i will have truly become a success.
out-of-state saturdays are gonna be in full effect this spring. the 2005 spring series was set in motion this past saturday when everyone jaunted down to jersey to catch the kentucky derby at CTs moms house. CT is quite possibly the most skilled person in a kitchen that i have ever met. he is also one of the most hospitable. so all of us city kids spent the day sitting in lawn chairs, sipping mint juleps and sparks, eating freshly grilled meat and having keg throwing contests. i didnt participate, but you know i wanted to.

but once the sun had set, we all had to head back to the city for odi's gig. everyone thought joe was too drunk to drive. whether he was actually that drunk or not, im not really sure, but he was being super fucking annoying, which is usually a good indicator of drunkeness. it may just be the path his personality decided to take that day. who knows. but, i do know that we were able to convince him to not drive and hand the keys to me. there is nothing more that i love doing than driving. jesus fucking christ, its so freeing. i drove through two states and two boroughs. or was it three? i dont know, i lost count.

odi threw down a great set and i actually appreciated jungle again. if just for the moment. ive tried making raspberry and sprite my new drink for the spring, but it leaves me with a serious hangover, so i think im done with that girly shit. the rest of the night is pretty much a blur, but im sure it consisted of lots of crotch grabbing, mammory flashing and people trying to get me to do drugs. i dont know, i lost count.

Friday, May 06, 2005

i had to work a party last night, but katy told me that after i was done, to come to lotus because one of our dj friends is back in town and that guest list action was in full effect. and i said, "lotus???"

lemme give you a little background on what this really means to us. lotus is directly across the street from rare, one of the less swankier clubs in the meatpacking district. rare used to be the home of direct drive, new york citys saturday night dnb weekly. every saturday, as we were smoking our cigarettes, wed see the limos, ranges and beamers drop off and pick up the yuppies and barbies from the front of the club. wed talk shit about the place, and when we got drunk enough, would yell obsenities across the street at the lotus patrons. lotus is a place that we would never go. too posh. too midtownesque. too... gay. us? go there??? nooooooooo. not usssssss. but DD hasnt been at rare in a good long while and weve had time to rethink our ways. so there we were. the grimey fucking dnb bassriders, all polished and shiny like we were really adults.

no one seemed to mind slapping down 10 bucks for a drink, but after a few hours, karisa asked if i were ready to go east and hit the more inexpensive spots in the LES. i told her we would leave after i finished my cocktail, but then dat walks over and says...

ive just bought a bottle, come help us drink it.

do i really need to explain what happened next?

as katy was handing me her lipgloss in the bathroom, this six foot model chick, who had obviously just done a few lines of blow off of the toilet paper holder in the corner stall, said that katys gloss was no good for me and that i needed to have red lips and passed me hers instead. i really wanted to ask her for a bump of drugs, but then i remembered that i stopped doing drugs, so i thanked her for the lip shine and just went back to our table and continued drinking.

we waited until the bottle was done, and then karisa and i left.

all polished and shiny like we are really adults, huh? ha!

never that.

talk about nursing a drink!

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

for the most part of my life, i have resided in a coastal city. born in alaska. did that whole cali thing. guam? yeah, i did that too. and of course, if anyone has forgotten, florida is where i claim as home. if there is one thing that i can say about my life, its that ive definitely seen my fair share of beaches. independently, i dont really care too much for the sun, the salt water or the sand, but collectively, its a very comforting place for me. calming, familiar. the seascape is an acquintance of mine; were on a first name basis. i like to visit her wherever i can, because she reminds me of home.

and although manhattan is an island, i dont think anyone really considers it a coastal locale. ok, eff everyone else, I dont cosider it a coastal place, its a fucking concrete jungle. but new york city, as a whole, has an abundant amount of nook-and-cranny beaches stashed away here and there. of course, one of the more well-known being coney island.

after finding out that coney island was being bought up at a rapid rate by those bastards at Thor Equities, i panically waited for a weekend day that the weather actually permitted for a real outing. and low and behold, on sunday the clouds parted ways and the sun, once again, was able to peak its face out and say hello to new york city.

hollar back, sun.

but when youre going to a place that encompasses all types of nostalgic elements of your life, you, of course, want to bring someone along that appreciates these same things. someone comfortable. someone calming. someone familiar. really, i had been looking forward to this day for awhile now: warm weather, pretty waves, carnival games, ya know, good, clean fun.

but this time wasnt comfortable. it wasnt calming. it wasnt familiar. it still jogged my memories of all these things, but it just didnt provide them. its like that homey feeling was right at my finger tips and i stretched and i stretched and i tried my damnest to grab it, but all i ended up with was a handful of whistles and miniature plastic playtoys. i had a good time, honest i did. how could anyone not have a good time at coney island? but it just wasnt what i had expected, what i had wanted. what it is that i had expected or wanted, i really couldnt tell ya. i hate the saying that you can never go home again. because you can, its just that it will never be the same as it once was.