Wednesday, January 31, 2007

just in case you wondered

Ancient mystery, revealed.

The light in my refrigerator? Never turns off.


No - Really!

Monday, January 29, 2007

waking dreams

The other day someone found my blog by googling "sex with a paraplegic." Which I found totally funny until I realized I had in fact blogged about this before.

It was a really hot dream. How could I forget that?

Then there was the time I had dreamt about a guy seducing me, equally steamy, but awkward due to occasionally our paths crossing.

Here is a new fun one - I dreamt the other night of a whole beginning of a relationship. The glances, the awkward first words, the gentle acceptance of each other. It was so long and detailed that when I woke up I had to keep reminding myself that it wasn't real. Although I may end up hitting on this person just because the dream was so good. God I hope he isn't dating someone. Or gay. Oooh, or married. Gotta look for the ring!

Guess you could tell it wasn't the guy I went on a date with the other week, I'm afraid that didn't work out.

In life my dad taught me two very important things: Always tip the bartender well on the first round, and the secret to being a good conversationalist is asking the right questions.

See, everyone's favorite topic is themselves. (Obviously including me, hello blog!) In general when talking people tend to drop all kinds of hints and items that are great openings for talking. And I enjoy talking to people with different experiences and life lessons.

But after two dates with this person I felt more like a therapist than a companion. Seems my presence brought out a need for validation, not mutual admiration. This person was so interested in his own drama he made me feel like my life was small. By god my life is not small. I ran the marathon for heaven's sake! That alone is marginally something...

Soooo, not so much with the latest guy. Good news is at least dating is getting easier!

And you never know with the relationship dream boy, you never know.

Saturday, January 27, 2007

your opinion counts

Help a sista out. I took my friend spaghetti surprise glasses shopping, as RFW and I had given her a glasses intervention a few months ago.

That and I have MAD skills at helping people pick out frames. Discovered while being an optician. But I digress.

My favoritest eyeglasses store SEE has opened a location in Manhatty. Without telling spaghetti the destination I brought her there. And then the magic.

Give a shout, which pair do you think is best? (You can double-click to enlarge photos if need be)

Number 1

Number 2

Number 3

I know which one is my favorite...

Thursday, January 25, 2007


This morning on NPR there was a segment about how MGM is auctioning off old contracts of long ago movie stars. Like Marilyn Monroe and whatnot.

The contracts are valuable for the signatures of all things. Interesting.

More interesting? Elvis Presley's insistance in writing. That he had full control of his hair.

Would the king have been the king if they took some of that grease out? One wonders...

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

tourist observations

One thing I've noticed. If you are an adult in times square wearing Disney paraphernalia, you are obese. The bigger the Disney iconography, the more obese you are.


Strange but true.

Monday, January 22, 2007

new year, new something

So guess what? Last night I totally went on a date. Surprise!

Normally I tend to say something to ya'll sooner, but I wanted to keep in on the down-lo, lower the jinx rate. And it worked! The date was fun. We met at a bar and totally talked for like four hours, then played a little pool at the end. So I guess you could say the conversation was engaging because I really did not intend on staying out until midnight on a sunday night. Makes for a rough start of the work week.

Soooo tired must sleep. Date convo tk...

Saturday, January 20, 2007

where you belong

I just watched Mystery, Alaska and it got me to thinking about people who stay home to live and those who move away.

(Yes it is a hockey movie and yes of all things this is what I got from it. Deal.)

Growing up outside of Detroit in suburbia I always felt just a little out of place. Don't get me wrong, I ended up meeting some amazing people, making friends and carving out a place to belong. But from the first moment I came to New York I knew I had found home.

People who move away from home are in the minority. I have never seen an official study of how many people stay in the area in which they were raised. Surely it varies by location. Does the percentage remain the same from small town to major metropolis?

But I digress. In moving to NYC I always knew I would make friends, I'm not a wilting violet and seek out social interaction. Interestingly enough the people I spend the most of my time with (RFW and Spaghetti) are both New York natives. They both were raised in New Jersey and now liver here, RFW in Astoria and Spaghetti in Union Square. Of the rest of the Peteys four are natives, and two from the Midwest. As Bacon is soon to move away, that leaves La La La and myself as the transplants.

It just seems interesting to me that I don't have more close friends who have shared the same experience of moving here from somewhere else. Or does that speak even more to the idea that I feel at home here that I relate to people for whom this is their real home? Or to the fact that 75% of the people that I have met who moved here from another location have left?

On the trip to Memphis I noticed an interesting reaction to our being from New York. RFW has commented on how us transplants try so hard to live in Manhattan instead of the other burrows. For gods sake I worked full time at the mighty bird plus five nights a week at the restaurant when I first moved here. All so I could pay an unreal amount of money for a tiny space on this island.

Granted living on the island holds a certain esteem. To people in New York living in Manhattan is about money or connections – having one or the other. You get a nod, but that is about it. But outside of this city it is a whole other ball game.

While on Beale we met A LOT of people. Gotta say they are friendly in the south. Inevitably we would be asked where we were from, and we would respond New York. At that point people would always want the drill down, "The city?" RFW and Gerf both live in queens, I live in Manhattan. They got practically no props at all but I got the raised eyebrows. Living on the island gives you that extra admiration.

But we know this, moving to the city from other states and countries. I know that if I moved here and lived in queens or Brooklyn I would not get as much credit for living here as I should. There is that much extra esteem that I and my family back home gets for me paying that little extra rent. So as much as I moved to this region for my sanity, I pay the extra rent to prove to the people I left behind that I chose a “better” place.

What is that about pride and falling somewhere? Ah well.

p.s. I totally just made ten bucks while I wrote this. Fresh Direct is two hours late so I got a store credit. My time is worth more, but really they only held be back from the gym for a half hour. Go go gadget late delivery!

Wednesday, January 17, 2007


Last year sometime I was talking to my parents about being someone's boss. Being a supervisor. My mother said to me,

"I always knew you would be a manager. Ever since high school when you were on the stage crew for the drama club. After one play while we waited for you we could hear you ordering everyone around and you were a natural."

Huh. That would be something I never saw in myself until I was older.

By far having people work for me is the hardest and least rewarding gig I have ever had. Pretty much I have had employees that report directly to me for about three and a half years now. That would be three and a half years of increasing stress. And increasing work. It is no coincidence I was only able to play four softball games over the last few years.

Honestly though, I wonder if I'll be able to go back to normal person mode. It is almost like my authoritative voice is automatic now. The insistance of thought voice, with a tone that communicates intensity and finality.

Will I ever be the person whispering in the back of the room again, or am I doomed to being the one to shush him or her because I am their superior and forced to be responsible?

the fun doesn't stop!

Sorry it is sideways. Didn't quite realize that I could not rotate video in iMovie. Noted for next time, dammit.

Anyhoo, enjoy a small taste of our weekend!

You may note at this time that his berries seem to be lacking a twig. Very strange, we could not look away...

Monday, January 15, 2007

memphis blues

Would you be surprised if I told you we spent literally twice as much time drinking as we did sleeping on our trip to Memphis?

Of course not.

Here are some of the highlights:

• The first drink on Beale Street? The “call-a-cab”, specialty of Wet Willie’s containing Everclear and rum. Way to start a weekend!

• A conference for a national country music radio-a-thon raising funds for St. Jude’s was in town. I think we got to know half of them. Because obviously RFW, Gerf, and I know so much about country music. (Not)

• Nothing to make you feel young again like making out with a 24-year-old bartender in the men’s room.

• Drunken people should not dip you when dancing.

• Graceland converted RFW from an Elvis admirer to an Elvis fan.

• Taxi drivers in Memphis are scary. Very very scary.

• Because the state of Tennessee could not hold us, we headed to Arkansas for the dog track. And I won $40 on Silver Willow. I never win anything!

• My god the music in Memphis is amazing. We saw so many live bands, and all I have to say is there is NOTHING like seeing the blues live. I feel that much hipper for just witnessing the soul.

• When RFW is done kissing a boy for the evening watch out – only skid marks are left in the joint. Run smooches run!

• Really you would be surprised at how many people go to watch ducks walk from the fountain in the Peabody Hotel Bar on the red carpet to their beds for the night.

• Barbecue may be good at Rendezvous (located in a honest to god alley), but by god the Interstate Barbecue wins hands down. And we ate it at the location in the airport!

• Dancing at Club 152 was way fun, but over the top best men of bachelor parties and Gerf do not mix.

• RFW and I need to work on our wedding-ring scoping skills.

• Gerf is one hell of a wingman. But I need to work on my married friend wingman abilities.

• The Gibson guitar factory is really cool, albeit really really loud.

• A very not-successful pick up line? “You have really great boobs.”

• Drinking the Diver at Silky O’Sulluvans is a tip of the hat to Beale tradition, but watch out for drinkers who lose all ability to stand. Or even stay seated on a barstool.

• Way to break a 22-year-old New Jersey resident? Tell him you and your friends are all over 28. Seriously, heartbroken.

• What does it say when you eat twice in 24 hours at Denny’s on vacation? That there is nowhere else to order breakfast at 2:00 pm, and no where left open to eat post bar-closing at 5:00 am.

• Watching ladies the age of my mother who look like my mother going crazy for an Elvis impersonator is vaguely disturbing. (Seriously, they were creaming themselves, it was unsettling)

• An excellent way to end a super-fun vacation? Getting bumped to first class. Saweet!

For a taste of the sights, feel free to check out the pics here.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

too good

I am totally addicted to this series. If you ever think that your boss is strange or difficult....just imagine it was Chad instead.


Monday, January 08, 2007

taking care of business

The year was 1997, and our good friend Dirk was turning 30. And by god we had to commemorate it. So we arranged a trip, bought his ticket, told him to pack his bags without telling him the destination...and flew to Memphis to tour Graceland.

See, Dirk had mad love for Elvis. "He's the King!” he would insist. Often. Dirk watched the movies, had a young Elvis wristwatch. We all knew he was kidding as he is an indie music kinda guy, but he would never give up the ghost.

Until we flew his ass to Tennessee. He actually finally pulled me aside and said, "you know I'm just kidding, right?" So busted.

The trip was fantabulous. I believe there were five of us. We hit the Coors Brewery and got some sort of free beer, did the whole downtown Memphis thing and had the best barbecue of my life (still to this day), went into the hotel hot tub in our underwear (who remembers to pack swim suits?), and drank copious amounts of alcohol named things like "the boll weevil" out of huge fish tanks while being serenaded to "Walking In Memphis"

Seriously, it was awesome.

What was the cherry on top of the whole trip is the fact that Graceland was...really cool! Inevitably you kind have low expectations because of the sheer cheesiness of it all, but when you get down to it Elvis was a big deal and just eccentric enough to leave a fun legacy behind. Honestly in the whole MTV Cribs generation who rivals the Jungle Room? This kind of over the top fanaticism is limited to a handful of crazies. And we love to gawk.

When RFW mentioned a couple of weeks ago that she had to go to Memphis for work and was curious if anyone wanted to join to stay the weekend and do the whole Graceland thang, I could do nothing but say "Hells yeah!” Thus this Thursday Gerf, RFW, and myself are off to the land of blue suede shoes and delta blues to revel in the glory of Elvis' ghost.

That is if he is really dead. I have my doubts.

Sunday, January 07, 2007

long lost friends

Do you remember the exact moment you become friends with someone? What happens in that brief moment of time when you meet a person that ends up determining the next years of your life?


It was a tough decision, deciding where to go to college. The world was my oyster: I believed I could do anything I set my mind to. So, coming from a less moneyed background, I decided to go to a college that helped pay my way. GMI.

It was 1990, and I applied at the last minute to one place. A very exclusive engineering college. The main draw was the fact that you had to get hired by a company in order to go there. Can we say income=tuition? GMI used to stand for General Motors Institute. GM sold it so the acronym was one no longer, and the college was just called GMI Engineering and Management University. Now it is Kettering University, but whatever.

My application was accepted, and GM hired me in their facilities department. So off I went. Fresh out of an all-girls high school to a 75% male college. Awesome.

Irony, my best friends there ended up being guys. Dewey and Paco. Not their real names. They were in the same dorm unit together, and the first night we were all there they were given those names for practically no reason. No reason, but the names stuck.

Honestly I don't remember meeting them. I don't know how we became friends. All I know is that the two semesters I spent at that college, they were my best friends. We were THE hardcore rockstar party group. At least in our section of our year.

They both pledged Sigma Chi, and I didn't pledge a sorority. I rushed, but why limit myself to one set of parties when I was welcome at all? Madness.

Time passed, and tuition was raised. I left GMI my sophomore year for a cheaper college, kept the GM gig. I went to Dewey's wedding (awesome) and introduced Paco to his future wife (also awesome.)

These two people meant the world to me for an entire year. And back then a year was a lifetime. They were a part of me, and they helped to shape who I am today. Yet I have not spoken to either in years. Probably a decade.

There are so many stories.

Dewey wandering around in his underwear, losing his wallet because he just threw it somewhere when he was drunk.

Paco getting so wasted on everclear that he could not sit down on a staircase, he would just slide.

Dewey torturing Tuber, the ultimate geek with tube socks that clasped the bet to his backpack.

Paco drinking an entire fifth of Mescal including the worm, then throwing it all back up and being given the worm again the next day.

Hypercolor shirts. Sid and Nancy. Def Leopard. The Jerk.

Ironically, their names were Brian and Ryan. But they were never known by their real names. Me? I was always Bridget. But I didn't need a nickname, because I was part of a group. We were a solid unit of fun, and it was spectacular.

Thursday, January 04, 2007


If only there was a time release caffeine pill that you could take at bedtime and would kick in eight hours later.

Can you imagine your alarm going off and just waking up in a snap?


Wednesday, January 03, 2007

scrubs love part one billion

Okay, did you hear that on January 18th there will be Scrubs the Musical? We aren't just talking a nod to West Side Story or The Wizard of Oz here (both brilliant episodes), we are talking an entire musical episode written by the same people who did Avenue Q.

Did you hear me people?!?! The Avenue Q writers!!

Damn this show is good.

another year another post

Yes, I survived my New Years Eve party. My apartment unscathed, no neighbor complaints to be had, my liver a little worse for wear.

Somehow twenty-nine people fit into my NYC one bedroom apartment. Not too shabby if I say so myself! The party started somewhere around 7:00 with RFW and Spaghetti. The last guests left somewhere around 4:00 or 5:00. One of them again RFW. You have to give the girl mad props, she started drinking at the Jets game and kept going and going and going...

And of course as I am livin' and lovin' the digital life my photos are here

As an extra added bonus, bacon has also gone and posted some pics online. We aim to please.

The next day I pretty much stayed in bed nursing my annual "welcome to the new year you damn drunk asshole" hangover. Really should have gotten up and cleaned more, I just mopped the floors. I wouldn't have even done that but honestly my floors were a scary combination of spilt beer, wine, tequila, and mauled crab cakes and bacon meat treats.

Thus for the first time in years I, bridget rockstar, am making a New Year resolution. I resolve not to get drunk enough to completely incapacitate myself the next day. Lately my hangovers have been horrific, and there is no one to blame but my sorry ageing self. (Although I do blame the marathon for kicking my liver's ass, but that is beside the point.)

So this year when I drink I will SLOW DOWN AT THE APPROPRIATE TIME. I will not do shots after having five drinks already, and after four drinks will consume a pint of water for each beer thenceforth. Because I will not let my productivity be hampered by my body trying to foil me yet again.

Stupid body. Always tryin' to hold me back.