This One's For My Hommie

Jet-setter, globe trotter, road warrior, funding bitch – call it what you will but you’d be hard pressed not to find Funding Boy in some state of travel like all the time. To the airport, to the hotel, to the car rental place so he can drive through God knows where in a spinner-less Escalade to his final destination(s).

This really leaves a girl like me alone and to her own devices (and those devices being a laptop, a search engine and a dream) waiting for the “I arrived safely” calls so that I can then proceeding back to my business of infomercials and texting. So tonight, after he called noting that he had arrived in Philadelphia safe and sound, I could not help but think of Cheesesteaks and bad 90s hip hop.

This got me to thinking – and I have got to say the “coolness” quotient of FB’s travels sure has dwindled since he moved back from Mother England. As you can see by the chart noted below (like I said, a girl alone to her devices) FB currently seems to be in the “ebb” of coolness as noted by y = coolness and x = time elapsed in multiples of 2 since it was easier to create the graph in excel that way.

Figure 1:


Now I am not knocking the U.S. – after all American F-Yeah – but there is a BIG difference between Paris, Texas and Paris, France…I am not trying to be un-American, I am just saying that’s all.

So in my late night quest to keep myself entertained while the rest of the world sleeps, I dug up this video (to which its dance steps I still remember) so that I can properly welcome FB to the bottom of the curve…where the rest of the world lives. Baby, this shout-out goes to you…and all the Philly Cheesesteaks you can eat.

The Bitch is Back

Alright kids, I know you guys have been craving more of my blogging nonsense goodness so I am making a conscious decision that I will start to blog again. Please please…not need for the massive applause, I do it for you my fans (chirp chirp).

How Charlie Got Her Jade Back

I have this friend whose name is Charlie. Charlie, you see, was one of those “mean” girls you frequently see in high school movies. She partied VIP and made mean comments and wore fantastic young people clothes that fantastic young people wear. Then out of the blue Charlie made a vow when she turned 24 to appreciate the little things in life and not take things for granted. She became a “nice girl” as nice as former mean girls can be anyway.

All was fine and dandy the last few years with Charlie until her somewhat jaded and bored boyfriend invited her this summer to Europe for a few weeks to do what semi-young people do I guess. She then spent the ensuing months in a slippery slope of partying, shopping and hanging outing worthy of an Us Weekly cover story (well okay with the right positioning anyway).

Lets see, jet set across Europe first class, 5 star and Michelin rated? Check. Shopping sprees in designer stores? Check. Chillin Owner Box side at baseball games? Check. Red carpet parties and taking meetings with well known celebs? Check. Comped concerts and events and hanging with radio industry types? Check.

On the outside, Charlie was living the life that people dream about. On the inside, it was a downward spiral into total disarray and boredom of her so called life. This boredom, of course, sprinkled with one of her favorite toppings…too much work, which she fully blames on her pococurantism of life. It is not that she isn't happy or excited when these things happen to her, but I don't think she gets the magnitude when it is all put out on paper like that.

That is when it hit me; Charlie got her jade back.

Hopefully she will snap out of it soon before she gets all Jamie Fox on us and starts to wear her sunglasses at night...so she can so she can.

Ricky Martin Forever Ruined?

A coworker once told me this story regarding wretched stomach issues and Ricky Martin. She was in France for an athletic competition of sorts when she came down with the stomach flu or food poising or something to that effect and had to stay in her hotel room to recuperate. At the same time, France was hosting the World Cup and Ricky Martin’s song “The Cup of Life” was the anthem. As she laid, sick in bed, she would hear the fantastic song blasting everywhere and thus forever associated this song with food poising.

She mentioned this story after hearing my ring tone that festively played The Cup of Life, a song I had selected to celebrate the best competition in the world. At the time, I thought to myself that it was so unfortunate that something so random could ruin quite possibly the best song ever written. Me personally…I would blame the evil belly on the controversial France win of the cup, but you say tomato and I say tomatoe…

Well during the week spent in Mecca my phone rang every minute of the day requesting one thing, demanding another to the point that as soon as I would hear the “Tu y yo ale ale ale” my heart would start to race and my palms would sweat in sheer panic. Ricky Martin’s song now had the same effect as it had on my poor colleague…it reminded me of food poisoning, or worse, work poisoning.

A few weeks have passed since my trip, but I still cringe when I hear the song. I am hanging in there, and keeping the ring tone, in the hopes the Pavlov’s dog effect it has on me will wear off.

Don’t Drink the Pineapple, Bring Business Cards and Other Life Lessons From New York City

Recently my tasty, and by tasty I mean insanely busy, travels took me to Mecca. For me this Mecca is New York City, home of every possible magazine known to man. With Juless and Vicky in tow for good measure, we were all in for a good time (or at least to take something back from New York, lessons if you will on the Big Apple life).

Life Lesson #1 – Don’t Drink the Pineapple

Tired, overworked and jet lagged in the way only a red eye can accomplish the girls and I decided to head down to the swanky hotel lobby bar for a tasty libation or two. On the menu for the evening? Pineapple Martinis - with their tantalizing “I won’t affect you” taste that unlike the pineapple and Malibu concoctions of our youth will actually have you seeing double in no time. We ordered a round and--unaffected and bored as we customarily are in places such as these--ordered another, then another.

Before you know it we, and by we I mean Vicky and I since teetotaler Juless dropped off early to catch z’s, were about 4 martinis deep and being convinced, rather successfully, by the swanky bar bouncer that we should go to club in the basement since it was the place to see and be seen. So there we go, being swept off by said bouncer to guarantee immediate VIP entrance, we enter without any restraint and resume to the now ritualistic downing of the pineappletinis, drinking them like shots then dancing to absurd music about a chick who is “a mentirosa”

Maybe it was the vodka talking or maybe it was the vodka talking, but I was enjoying the ghetto mix of house and reggaeton when we were joined by a few fellas who insisted on dancing with us even though we both refused to acknowledge their existence (it is good to see that even while intoxicated we maintain the unaffected and bored attitude). So there they remained, dancing in our shadows, and the more we ignored them the harder they danced. Then something happened that would change my experience with the New York man forever.

Life Lesson #2 – Bring Business Cards

So then there I was, a few more deadly pineapple martinis into it, when said shadow dancer, after many failed attempts to speak to me, leans in close to me and says “by the way I work for [insert second rate bank name here].” I guess the wildly surprised look in my eyes gave it away, or maybe he thought I was hard of hearing, but he leaned in closer and said “I am a banker for [insert second rate bank name here].”

What? Um, guy Sex and the City is a TV show and not a way of life for this California girl…ESPECIALLY when you introduce yourself with the name of where you work. And not that it matters to me where you work, but if you are going to go there at least work for someone reputable not for some crap ass bank doing retail…no one gives a damn about your retail banking experiences. (of which I am sure I spouted some variation of this to said “banker” in my mean girl intoxicated state).

At this classy cue, Vicky and I downed one for the road and left said club to wander around aimlessly around Times Square to “walk it off” or some version of walk really since it was more like stumble around TS in the wee hours of the morning (as evidenced by the above photograph). I am not really sure how long we walked for, but I do know that it was not enough since the mad thumping in my head, effects of The Cup of Life blaring for my constantly ringing cell phone, the next day made me want to just curl up and die.

I wish the banker story ended there, but I guess all the bankers wish we could all be California Girls. Later that week there sat 5 communications professionals and the tasty eatery knows as Pastis, when the herd was approached by a pack of hunting bankers, this time of the hedge fund variety. Why do I know this? Because I got handed a business card as an introduction followed by a cheesy line regarding the hedge funding type and an offer to buy me a drink.

This got me to thinking, is it that bankers think they can only get laid if they divulge their profession, or is it really a sense of pride that has takes hold of these boys that they are handing you a business card with a shiny bank logo before you can even get their name (although their name is on the biz card so maybe the joke is on me)? I went to the only credible source I could find, a source who has been both a banker and a banker in NYC to get to the bottom of this.

I told funding boy the story of the bankers pick up manifesto that I encountered in NYC and he just laughed hysterically then mentioned something about a bulge bracket. I don’t really know what that means, besides the fact that the next time he parties with his “boys” I should consider confiscating the biz cards, nor did that answer my question but for the sake bankers the world over I sure hope that the answer is the latter.

As Mecca time approached its end, I think in retrospect, New York your not that bad. True most of your men are all eager and proud bankers, but you do mix one deadly yet tasty cocktail and I could see myself living Greenwich Village (although I am partial to the California air). I guess the saying is true, if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere...just make sure you have plenty of business cards.

So Long, Goodbye, To You My Friend

Brutality, desperation, pain all in the name of football. It is with great sadness that we say goodbye to Team USA from the world cup. The first of two already fallen heroes of my personal collection of favorites (adios República Checa). Beasley and the boys could not pull a win or catch a break from the Football Gods and most importantly the incompetent referee. Even with the help of the oh so beautiful Italian team, the good old red white and blue is now packing their bags and saying auf wiedersehen to the best, albeit cruel, competition in the world.

As I pick myself up off the floor, where I lay crouched in the fetal position after today’s loss, I ask that we all take a moment of silence here, to honor the great team known as Team Beasley USA. Alright, PLAY BALL!!!

Buildings, Like People, Have a Low Heat Tolerance Too

After months of rain and chilly temperatures, uncommon for the Sunshine State, the California heat has finally started to kick in as witness by this week’s heat wave. Temperatures soaring to the 90s even the 100s, in some inland locations, have been witness on several thermometers sending Californians into panic as they all chant in unison “It’s getting hot in hurr,” while they stock up on bottles of Voss water and personal cooling systems. Old people and children have been advised to stay cool and keep hydrated in order to prevent heat stroke and other heat related diseases such as being really pissed off and annoyed at everything.

This heated silent threat, however, has been affecting some of the most vulnerable yet unnoticed Californians, Californians such as my office building that is feeling the pain of the heat. An office wide communication was sent out earlier today as a preemptive defense against the blasting California heat that rivals the temperature of Mars. The alert is posted below, as issued by the building management via our receptionist. Please note that this email has in no way shape or form been altered for entertainment purposes, it is “as is” with the name removed for anonymity (and liable charges).

“XXX XXXXXX, our building supervisor, has informed me, that today’s temperature is expected to reach 107 degrees outside. This building’s system is designed to handle temperatures up to 90 degrees. He suggests we keep the blinds closed to help keep cool.”

Yes, the suspicions are correct…buildings, like people, can’t take the heat. As a result, this building has decided to cave in and quite possibly malfunction once the mercury rises to 91 degrees.

Perhaps it is the years of extreme California temperatures that have wrecked havoc on this building and this is why there is no love in the elevators thus causing them to rattle when you ride them or to get suck in between floors. Or perhaps it is the heat that is why the emergency door handles to exit the stairs fall off leaving you stranded in the stairwell. Or maybe it is the heat that causes all the building specific power outages and resulting non-AC so that you are sitting in a forced team brainstorm in not much else but a cami and slacks pulled up as if they were shorts.

Or maybe, just maybe, it moves beyond the heat and this building is just (peering over my shoulder) ghetto. There I said it! 90 degress, COME ON, this is California not Antartica it gets to 90 all the time from June-September so i am just failing to understand here. I will be glad to say good-bye to this joint come June.

I guess, I will have to sit and wait it out to see what happens. Thank God I wore my “its so hot today and I can’t think” skirt today. Until then, I will take the stairs, have a pair of pliers with me so that I can open the “emergency” stairwell door and hope for the best. And building, just so you know, unlike Easy-E I won’t mourn you till I join you (although the location I will mourn…and Cascals too, so good).