Back to School

With all the back to school commercials and specials going on it makes me think back to when I was in school.  Without realizing it at the time, school helped make me the person I am today.  I never thought I would say that when I was younger, but it’s true.  It molded and guided me to the person I have become.  Don’t get me wrong though.  I’m not talking about all the “studying” and “hard work”.  I’m talking more about the day to day shenanigans which prepared me for a life of entertaining people through my ability to find the “fun” in anything.  And also because of my general lack of concern for my overall safety and of those around me.

Gym Class:

Gym was always fun.  I was athletic, I played sports, I could run forever, and yet I still refused to participate in most activities.  It was a glorious time.  Because I was a strong athlete at my school, gym teachers initially thought I would be one of the ones who would always step up to show a good example.  Turned out I was more the one who would step up to show a bad example just because I thought it would be more beneficial for the overall feeling of the class.  See, I knew I would be getting my exercise after school at soccer or during the winter, basketball.  So gym was more or less a time to wear ridiculous work out outfits from the 80’s I found at thrift stores and drive my gym teachers crazy.  I feel like I did a lot of good in my gym classes.  It has been scientifically proven that laughter extends life and burns calories.  So when all of the fat kids who refused to participate would sit down in protest, I would step up to the plate.  Sometimes I would break out in interpretive dance during badminton to express my deep emotional connection to the game.  Other times I would swing like an ape from the climbing rope from side to side in the gym yelling to the gym teachers, “This monkey wants a banana!”  So guess what I was doing…that’s right.  I was doing my small part in making America healthier.  You don’t want to run with the rest of us?  No problem!  I will make sure you at least have an entertaining class and burn a couple hundred calories.  Obese America: You’re welcome.

English and Social Studies Classes:

My favorite classes in school were probably English and Social Studies.  I mean out of the real classes obviously.  Art and gym were clear winners overall, but out of the core subjects I’d go with English or Social Studies.  English was always fun for me because I loved writing.  Granted, I never actually wrote what they asked me to, but I loved it.  Keep in mind I’m talking about elementary school right now.  Also, it’s not like I totally disregarded the directions.  For example if we had to do a book report on assigned reading:  I would do a book report, but I would do it on a book I wanted to read.  If the assigned reading was of no interest to me I deemed it beneath me.  I had better things to read.  So it would be a little confusing for the teacher when they would assign a book about climbing to the top of Mount Everest and my report was about Mia Hamm in her North Carolina Tarheel Days.  I always did the assignment on time, but I would do it my way.  If a teacher didn’t like the subject I chose I would eventually have to cave and do their report.  But I wouldn’t go down without a fight.  So when it was a typed report I would turn it in with the smallest possible font.  This would then make the teacher ask for me to make it bigger and bring it back in.  This would then make me go home and change it to the largest possible font.  This then lead to a dangerously high blood pressure for every teacher I had. 

I also loved Social Studies because I really like history, mainly American history.  I also liked learning about the English because come on, who doesn't love a British accent?  So basically if you were an English speaking land, I liked you and your history.  My bread and butter was when they would assign projects where they allowed creativity; when they would give you a list of different ways to present.  My favorites were always dioramas or presenting a report as like a character from that time period.  I would always give it a modern twist too though.  So if I was giving a report on The Revolutionary War I would be Paul Revere telling everyone the British were coming, but instead of acting like I was riding in on a horse I would act like I was riding in on a motorcycle, or dancing to the Backstreet Boys.  Or on the Civil War, instead of trying to free the slaves through battle we were trying to free the baby lions from the zoo through luring them out with enticing cheerleader moves and chants.  This gave it a certain flair I thought.

Currently Holding Casting Calls:

I was 10 when I wrote my first movie.  It was a “who-done-it” comedy taking place partially in a school and then back at an old haunted mansion.  It was called “The Bomb Scare Killer” and I decided I needed to cast it immediately.  Problem was I just didn’t have the time.  After school I always had soccer practice or was busy playing “Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen” with my best friend.  The schedule of a 10 year old is exhausting.  I also was working on my sketch comedy videos.  They consisted of me and my two best friends basically looking like 10 year old crack heads wearing wigs with ADHD attempting Saturday Night Live.  So with such a busy and fabulous lifestyle, it was hard to find some time to cast my movie.  I was in the cafeteria one day overseeing a trade between two kids of a peanut butter sandwich for a bag of chips.  (I was kind of the food trading bookie in elementary school.  Obviously you can see I was meant for big things at an early age.  Very entrepreneurial.)  And that’s when it hit me.  Our cafeteria was perfect for casting.  It was one of those cafeteria’s that also had a stage on one end.  I could have my choice of 300 tables to set up at and watch the auditions on the stage.  So I got right to work and started spreading the word about auditions to friends and other students.  Once they were scheduled they were advised to “need to go to the nurse’s office for a head ache” at that time and meet me there.  I snuck out of class for my first audition and was feeling pretty damn good if I do say so.  I set up with my script in the cafeteria and waited.  But soon found my appointment had bailed.  If you’re not willing to skip out on class for an audition, what good are you at life?  I was disgusted, and was about to pack up everything when a hall monitor came in.  I was all alone, sitting on 4 stacked chairs because I thought it looked more authoritative if I was up high, had scripts spread all over the table, a mini Harlem Globe Trotters megaphone for directing, was wearing a beret, had a mug of water which I pretended was coffee, and a directors chop block.  Granted, I was very good from a young age at talking my way out of situations but I didn’t see a way out of this one.  So when the principal asked me what I was doing I simply tried to bargain.  I offered her a role in the movie if she let me go with a warning.  I found this to be an extremely kind offer.  She was not the best looking and I am sure would have been very stiff in front of the camera.  I needed beautiful actors, not ugly failed college professors.  As kind as I thought the offer was, shockingly she declined.  I was also in a whole other world of trouble seeing as how I was in a school, casting a movie, called The Bomb Scare Killer.  They seemed to frown upon that.  So my directing career had to be put on a bit of a hold.  While I was in trouble and not able to cast or do my sketch comedy I decided I should reflect on my actions as they had asked I do.  They wanted me to think about what I had done and learn from it.  Which I did.  If I was going to shoot a movie at school it needed to be less risqué and not involve the words “bomb scare”.  So I wrote a new movie about a group of upper middle class white kids in a rollerblading gang loosely based on my own life of course.  This later became a musical complete with dance numbers and a score full of nothing but Britney Spears songs.  I never did get to film it though.  It’s a shame, because as you can see from this brief description, it was obviously dripping in brilliance.  It could have been our generations West Side Story.  What a shame.

This is another topic I will have to come back to some time and revisit more of.  And if you are a former teacher of mine reading this, you don’t even need to say it.  I’ll be the bigger person here and step up and just say what needs to be said to you…You are all very, very welcome.

Carli Lloyd-aphobia

I recently declared my severe case of Hope Solo-itis.  It felt great to be honest, and open about it, and truly embrace it.  Now that I have done so, I feel it necessary to approach a new subject infecting soccer fans everywhere.  It seems there is a nasty case of Carli Lloyd-aphobia spreading.  I for one do not suffer from this phobia.  I may even have a case of Lloyd-itis, but that is not what concerns me.  The Lloyd-aphobia is what is infecting our citizens and I want answers why.

Carli Lloyd is what we in the medical field call a “beast”.  She’s like an 18 wheeler full of talent, skill, and aggression.  When this 18 wheeler charges down the midfield you should just get out of the way, or you will be demolished by it.  Basically what I’m saying is she’s a freak of nature.  The US Women’s National Soccer team would not be nearly as successful without her honking her horn in the midfield and plowing over the opposing teams.  The amount of work she puts into a game is insane.  Even if she doesn't finish a game with a goal or an assist I can guarantee you she still made a huge impact.  Her crafty touches in the midfield, her work rate which is mind blowing, her ability to control and direct traffic all over the field and her movement on and off the ball all contribute to winning matches.  She is a special player who is not only a "behind the scenes" type of conductor in the midfield but also a player who can shine and take control of a game putting an amazingly beautiful shot in the back of the net.  Her little touches and smart runs off the ball and movement in the center of the field is constantly creating opportunities for us.  She is also without a doubt one of the hardest working athletes I've ever seen.  She covers more ground in one game than most people do in 2 weeks of working out.  Heck, just watching her makes me want to take an ice bath after a game.

But it seems there are a few people who have come down with this Lloyd-aphobia I have spoken of.  They seem to be scared off by her talent.  They don’t seem to be able to embrace what a sickly talented athlete she is.  When you are a “beast” you have a lot of heavy expectations placed on you.  And although she is a very, very sick freak of nature in her pure skill, she will have a bad day from time to time.  When these days happen the Lloyd-aphobians begin to attack.  Even if she didn’t have a bad day they begin to have “episodes” we’ll call them.  It’s when they let the fear take over.  They know the power and strength behind this athlete and it sometimes consumes them to a point where they have no other defense than to lash out at her I suppose.  These “episodes” can occur anytime, with no rhyme or reason.  Carli can play a flawless game, until the last minute where let’s say her hair tie falls out and she has to fix her hair.  This is apparently enough of a mistake for the Lloyd-aphobians to attack.  I know, it’s intense.

The only conclusion I can come to, is the assumption I made previously:  They are deathly afraid of someone with that much talent.  It is the only possible answer to such an odd phobia with such odd reactions.  I just can't understand it.  Also, might I mention as a reminder, what an absolutely clutch player she is for us when we need something huge.  Pop Quiz: Who scored the game winner for us in the 2008 Olympics, giving us the Gold Medal?  I'll give you a hint: IT WAS CARLI LLOYD.

In my last piece released on Hope Solo-itis I made a public statement that I embrace my Solo-itis and encourage others to catch it.  In this, I am declaring it unpatriotic, unrealistic, and just plain silly to have Lloyd-aphobia.  Accept the Lloyd!  We need the Lloyd!  The Lloyd led us to Olympic Gold and World Cup Silver!  The Lloyd has a rocket of a shot that would slice runway models in half if it hit them!  The Lloyd has poise on the ball that poets will one day write about and painters will paint her taking a shot on the Sistine Chapel!  Ok, I seem to be getting carried away…

My point being: Embrace the Lloyd and let’s do away with this phobia of her.  I want “Lloyd-aphobia” to no longer be in our English language. (I understand it is not currently actually in our English language, but humor me here)  I for one love watching her play and think she is one of the best central midfielders we have ever seen in our history.  And also one of the best we will ever see.  I cannot imagine a US Women’s National Team without her, that would be the real thing to be afraid of.

In fact, let’s make that the new phrase, the new phobia.  “Lack-of-Lloyd-aphobia”

That one….I do suffer from.

Hope Solo-itis

I am not a doctor, I have never studied medicine, I paid my Asian friend Suong to do my homework for me in high school.  You may say this means I am not qualified to diagnose someone with a serious disease.  But I beg to differ.  I see Hope Solo-itis spreading everywhere.  And there is no pattern to figure it out…the very young, the very old, men, women, the young athlete, the elderly obese, even the deaf / blind / mutes who cannot hear, see or speak of her…no one is safe.  It’s an epidemic and it is taking over our country.  It’s even spreading to other countries.  I intend to get to the bottom of it right now.

Some have been afflicted with this disease for years.  We have come to learn they are called “Holos”. They have been dealing with this sickness almost in the shadows.  No one had done any research on it and they were forced to try and hide it at times.  When they would show their true colors and share they were a Holo, people would sometimes even shun them at times and tell them we don’t have a place for that in our country.  It seemed in the late 90’s there was a similar illness called Hamm-itis.  But once that died down there was a period where the public’s interest faded in learning more about these diseases.  Until this Hope Solo character came along that is. And then all hell broke loose.

The Solo-itis epidemic saw a spike in 2007.  At the Women’s World Cup in China there was a severe upward trend in Holos appearing everywhere.  They were growing larger in numbers and stronger.  When people would trash talk their illness and the Solo name, those were fighting words.  The Holos would not put up with any of it.  If you mess with the Solo, you have to answer to the Holos. 

But nothing could prepare us for what we saw this past summer.  The Women’s World Cup in Germany created a world-wide frenzy.  It didn’t matter who you were or where you came from, it was spreading like wild fire.  I advised close friends and family to stay in their homes and avoid direct contact with people, but it was too late. Everyone was affected.  The world has been taken over, and it has been taken over by the one and only Hope Solo.

Now, I have a confession.  This may shock you, but it is important you all know this…

I am in fact…..a Holo. 

I was infected in early 2007 and have been living with the disease ever since.  I understand the allure of it.  Once you see Hope Solo play, you are forever a Holo and there is no cure and there is no going back.  I think every other Holo can agree though…we don’t want a cure.

I am severely affected by it, but I have found two other people who are so far into the stages of this disease that I am surprised they are able to function still in every day society.  They go by the Twitter names of @HopeSoloSwag and @HopeOnTheSolo.  I suggest everyone who is living with this follow them immediately so they are able to get guidance and information from them.  You can visit their website at www.hopesolofans.wordpress.com for more information.  They have done some great things and are the best super fans out there.

Hope Solo, if you are reading this:  I thank you for being a true hero and a true athletic phenomenon.  You have touched many people, and I for one am proud to call myself a Holo and embrace my Hope Solo-itis.

My First Job (con't) The Adventures of Amy and JoJo

A few disclaimers to begin:  If you have not read my entry “My First Job”, you will not understand a lot of this.  Also, as much as you may be led to believe it by the title, this is not a story about cartoon characters named Amy and JoJo.  We are real people.  Thank you for your time.

Last time I spoke of Byrne Dairy and my first job I had told you about my buddy Scruffy Tubs.  I think it is appropriate we start this off with a good Tubs story.  There were two restrooms in the store, both single stall, one for men and one for women.  When the women’s was out of order we were obviously forced to use the men’s.  When I was in there one time I noticed the paper towel dispenser was missing and instead there was just a giant gaping hole in the wall.  If you are thinking Scruffy Tubs may have something to do with this, you are correct.  I came out and asked Hot Boss what had happened.  Hot Boss turns into a 12 year old girl sometimes with giggle fits and this was one of those times.  He shuffled me into the back room giggling and then proceeded to tell me what happened.  Apparently Scruffy Tubs was in the bathroom and there was no one in the store other than him and Hot Boss.  All of a sudden Hot Boss heard a crashing sound and Tubs screaming and groaning.  Then he heard nothing for a couple minutes, then some more groaning and now swearing.  Soon, Scruffy came around the corner from the restrooms with that look that your dog gives you when they have just come from eating your shoe or pissing all over your carpet.  With his tail between his legs Scruffy Tubs said, “So, uh, boss.  Uh, I um, da paper towel dispensa, uh well it’s not in da wall no mo’.  See, da floor was wet and I uh, well I slipped and da paper towel dispensa broke my fall.  But then it came outta da wall and then I kept falling.  And then it fell on top of me.  So there’s no mo’ paper towel dispensa.”  After hearing this, if I was having a bad day I would just walk past the rest room to remind myself of such a glorious story and it was an immediate pick me up.

JoJo and I were becoming better and better friends and we started hanging out outside of work.  We were tired of only sharing experiences such as Tubs mooning us or Witchcraft trying to put a spell on us.  Or the crazy mom of the group, who I affectionately referred to last time as Pecan Glasses (Due to her smearing pecan ice cream all over her glasses and still wearing them) telling us we shouldn’t be drinking beer in the cooler.  How dare she?  So we began setting out on our own adventures which normally consisted of us crashing someone’s party, creating our own party, stealing people’s food and or beer, and dressing in Mexican ponchos and sombreros of course.  One specific experience comes to mind right away.  JoJo and I had enjoyed one of our normal evenings of going to a party and mooching off of everyone before going back to my house.  We decided we weren’t done for the evening and wanted to have a camp fire.  We had a fire pit in my back yard and were all about continuing drinking and lighting that bitch up.  The problem being; neither of us could make a fire that lasted more than 30 seconds.  If we were lost in the woods together I would give us roughly a day and a half before death occurs.  We would build up the logs and toss a match or two in and then some news paper but it just would never catch.  So being the drunken resourceful little thinker that I am, I went inside and grabbed anything I could find in an aerosol can that said “Highly Flammable”.  When I came back out I just started spraying everything in the fire pit with said cans, took another sip of beer, prayed to the fire gods, and then tossed a match in.  It basically created 4 seconds of massive flames which tried attacking my face and then went back to nothing.  Fail.  But after some perseverance, another 6 pack between us, and some more flammable liquids we finally had a fire going. 

We were sitting on a picnic bench with our backs to the fire having a few drinks.  All I can really say about what happened next is that gravity and I were just not on the same page that night.  I wanted to stay up, it wanted to pull me down.  We seem to have this disagreement quite often.  Needless to say, gravity won.  To be fair, gravity had a 12 pack on its side working against me as well.  So I fell backwards, basically inches from the fire.  My legs were still up on the picnic bench while my elbows were holding my body up from lying in fire basically.  JoJo decided as this was all happening that she had to pee.  This couldn’t wait apparently.  I have to assume it was a life or death situation where if she chose to take 5 seconds to help me she would have died from an unknown disease that kills you if you do not immediately release yourself the second you have to pee.  I am still unsure if she is cursed with this disease, none the less, she chose the bathroom over her fallen sidekick.  Not only did she choose the bathroom but she chose it while laughing hysterically at me lying in a fire.  Granted, I was laughing as well.  I’ll be fair here; it wasn’t like I was being burned at the stake when she left.  I was a moderately safe distance from the flames.  So as I lay in my back yard, by myself, at 3am, inches from flames eating my face; I thought about my options.  I realized if I moved either of my arms it would result in me falling directly into the flames because they were all that was supporting me.  I also realized I was way too drunk to navigate this situation on my own.  I don’t make the best decisions sober, so when I need to make them and I have been drinking I usually just don’t decide and just wait for someone else to do it for me.  But, once again, being the smart little drunken resourceful thinker that I am, I discovered a beer close by.  It was close enough that I could keep my arm planted to hold my body away from ensuing death, but also grab the refreshing beverage.  I mean, I was lying in a fire…it was hot, give me a break.  I was obviously thinking on a survival level, not an “I want another beer” level.  So when JoJo came back out she found me still lying in the fire pit, but drinking a beer.  As she continued hysterically laughing at me she came over to help now that her bladder was empty and she was capable of doing such.  Thanks JoJo, you saved not only me, but also that Bud Light.  You’re a true friend for life.

When we weren’t crusading around town dressing as Mexicans and drinking we were back to the grind at work watching the circus ensue.  Pecan Glasses and Scruffy Tubs were working the ice cream stand one night and they were both on their ‘A’ game.  Pecan Glasses no longer wanted to be Pecan Glasses.  She had gotten contacts but still hadn’t mastered them.  When I say she hadn’t mastered them I mean she looked like a rabid monkey trying to put them in.  She would make all sorts of noises and swat her arms around in the air while they were settling into her eyes.  I know this, because she wouldn’t go to the bath room to put them in.  She would do it right out in the store. But don’t get me wrong, she was very sanitary when doing it.  She literally would poor half of a mini bottle of hand sanitizer into her hands, push it around for 2 seconds and then, with her hands dripping in sanitizer would put her contacts in.  She would then complain about her eyes stinging saying her contacts were “broken”.  Just a guess here, Pecan Glasses…the burning could have to do with the rubbing alcohol your smearing your eye balls with.  I’m no doctor, but just a thought.  So on this particular night Scruffy Tubs took his usual 13 minutes to make one milkshake and when he gave it to the customer she asked him if he had to go milk the cow.  He didn’t quite understand she was upset and making fun of how long he had taken and just grunted at her and walked away.  This was his normal routine if someone confused him.  So Pecan Glasses had to come over and finish the order.  The customer’s friend asked for a hot fudge sundae.  She said no nuts, I believe 3 times, and I was across the store and heard it.  Pecan Glasses then proceeded to pile nuts all over the sundae.  As she was doing this the customer stated one last time no nuts.  Pecan finally heard it, giggled a little, then pushed all the nuts off into the trash and handed her the sundae.  When the customers started complaining about how bad their whole experience was, Pecan Glasses just up and walked away scratching at her eyes like a meth head who hadn’t slept in 9 days and then started yelling her eyes were on fire.  This is when I decided I would swoop in to try and save the situation and get a tip.  This was always the perfect situation because the second the customer realizes you’re normal and even just a little better than the last two, they instantly love you.  It’s like after Bush left the White House.  My dog could have gotten elected after him and everyone would have said President Muffin was the chosen savior of our country and would lead us to prosperity.  It’s not exactly a tough act to follow.

Ok, all this talk of ice cream, now I want some.  So I’ll end this story so I can go get some but again, I will most likely revisit more adventures of the Byrne Dairy and also of me and the one and only JoJo.  I still haven’t even told you about how we metaphorically dunked the shit out of one fat donut.  Intriguing or idiocy?  I’ll let you decide.

Amy and Jamie Take California

I want to share with you all a story of a magical week which was surrounded by glorious events that still make me jealous I can’t go back in time and live it again.  There is adventure, travel, donuts, rum, peacocks…what more could you want?  By the end of this story you will either say, “Wow, what an entertaining story about a fun vacation.”  Or you will say, “Wow, Amy is a hot mess and just wasted my time with this nonsense.”  Either way…you’re welcome.

Let me give you a little background on me and my friend, Jamie.  We went to high school together and were friends, but never hung out outside of school much.  I lost touch with her after graduation as I did a lot of people when I moved to California.  I moved back after a year and a half though.  Apparently spending all of your money on vodka and massive impulse buys is not the path to success.  Skip ahead to the night of my 21^st birthday when I am back in NY.  I was of course two hours late and already smashed.  I pulled up with my boyfriend in his jeep and I looked to my right and saw, none other than Jamie.  I looked like a crazed mime who had gone on a cocaine binge, pounding on the window of the car freaking out that she was there.  Amy and Jamie were reunited, and I had to make a drunken confession to her.  I am comfortable enough to admit Jamie was my girl crush.  In our drunken haze we recalled stories from high school and admitted we were indeed girlfriend soul mates.  It was pretty special.  Our boyfriends didn’t seem to mind.  She remains in my phone as ‘Jamie My Girlfriend’.  Well, that’s a lie.  On her birthday a couple years ago I changed it to ‘Jamie My Girlfriend The Birthday Girl’ and never changed it back.  So congratulations Jamie, it is your birthday every day in my phone.

Onto our adventure.  Jamie and I were both somewhat, slightly, extremely intoxicated in Syracuse New York when we planned out a trip to California.  The next day the tickets got booked, the suitcases got packed, and the friends and family feared for our lives because of the events they knew would inevitably ensue.  I got to Los Angeles a couple days before Jamie because of her work schedule.  I had gotten a rental car and did my usual:  You book the cheapest car, but when you get it search for anything possible that could be wrong with it after leaving the lot.  If anything doesn’t work or even is just slightly inconvenient for you, take it back about an hour later.  Complain saying you will never use their company for renting again and they will upgrade you for no charge.  If you make a big enough deal out of anything, especially when there are other customers around, you get what you want.  If anyone from Budget, Hertz, Enterprise or Dollar rental car services is reading; don’t worry I totally never did that to any of you.  Or you can just flirt with the guy at the desk, either way works.  So anyways, I picked her up at LAX with my brand new Mustang and we were ready for the week.  By the way, one of the first things she saw in California was a “men working in trees” sign.  Seeing such a ridiculous road work sign is in itself a sign; a sign of very ridiculous things to come.

We were heading down to San Diego to stay with my aunt for the majority of the trip and then we would head back up to LA for the last couple days to catch a show at The Groundlings and then fly back home the next day.  Before heading to San Diego though, we decided to take a drive through Malibu and just enjoy the day.  We drove up into the mountains on some sick roads with some amazing views.  A little too amazing, seeing as how I almost drove us off of a cliff one or six times.  After almost killing Jamie I figured I should pay her back by taking her to lunch.  Its common courtesy; when you almost cause death, you buy lunch.  Everyone knows this.  So we went to this great Mexican place at the end of Santa Monica pier.  I have been there almost a dozen times and I still could not tell you the name of it if my life depended on it.  As we were walking down the pier we decided to check out the shops and some rides too.  They were shooting a commercial at the pier which we kept walking through the area behind where they were shooting and they kept getting mad at us.  Seriously, Jamie and I apparently cannot take direction from anyone.  A deaf / blind 3 year old would have understood better than we did.  They seemed to just give up on us after a while and allowed us to walk through eventually.  So if you see a commercial at the Santa Monica pier and two confused girls wandering around aimlessly in the background, you’re welcome, and yes I will be signing autographs.  Then, as we ate, the birds seemed to take on a very strong feeling towards Jamie.  That feeling was summed up by them kamikaze bombing her as she attempted eating.  She hovered over her food holding her knife like a serial killer looking like a paranoid crack head who had just sat down to her first meal in 8 years.  She was not about to let one of those birds get at her Chimichanga.  We escaped from dinner with no food having been eaten by the birds, and no birds having been slain by Jamie.  I would say it was a success.  Then we headed to San Diego.  I figured within 20 minutes of getting there we’d be on the beach.  Instead, somehow within 20 minutes of getting there I already had 2 parking tickets.  I honestly can’t even tell you how that happened or when that happened.  It’s like they just would appear on the windshield out of nowhere.  San Diego must have little parking ticket nymphs that float around ruining people’s day.  Either that or I just have a severe lack of an ability to read street signs.  My money is on the nymphs.

Over the next few days we did exactly what we had planned on though.  We laid in the sun, we drank, we ate, we drank, we napped, we swam…we drank.  One of the nights after some drinks was where I discovered Jamie’s Russian Rodney Dangerfield impression which I will hereon refer to as R.R.D.  After a few too many cocktails I decided I would enjoy some outdoor play time, being the 5 year old on the inside that I am.  I found a short brick wall in the yard where I would balance on and walk across like a balance beam which took some insanely intense concentration.  I started to get cocky here and there and try little tricks like I was one of those crazy talented Chinese midget gymnasts.  But I was quickly reminded that I am instead, just a crazy clumsy Italian average height idiot.  This was made clear by me falling directly on my ass seven times before giving up.  Jamie was chilling in a tent outside in the yard and after each round on the beam I would walk back to the tent to peak in on Jamie.  She would be eagerly awaiting my return and every time I looked in the tent she seemed more and more excited to see me.  We were both obviously having a blast with this little ritual because it went on for a good 30 minutes I would say.  Afterwards we were sitting on the ground and then it happened.  In her newly discovered and accidental R.R.D voice Jamie said “wool”.  Yes, wool.  I do not know why she said it, where it came from, or where she intended on going with it, but she said it.  And she said it just like a Russian Rodney Dangerfield would.  I can’t explain how much I love to this day that I got to hear what Rodney Dangerfield would sound like if he came from Russia and was a sheep shearer.

The next day we went out for groceries for a bon fire we were going to have that night and we wanted to find donuts, headlights to be specific.  Apparently they did not exist in San Diego though.  We looked forever and it became one of those battles that is no longer even about the task at hand.  I don’t know that we even wanted the donuts anymore; we just couldn’t let the donut gods win.   But after two hours we had succumbed to defeat.  We got a variety box of donuts and headed back to my aunt’s house for the fire.  This night is mostly a blur for me but I do recall Jamie yelling at our neighboring fire pit friends because they had used our donuts to put them on the end of sticks and put them in the fire.  Who does that?  That is donut cruelty and Jamie was not about to stand for it.  She let them have it, and rightfully so.  They’re not marsh mellows people, get your snack foods straight.

(Parking ticket update: 1 more, totaling 3 so far.  Damn parking ticket nymphs)

The next day we headed to the zoo which is always great.  There is always a peacock wandering around the zoo and I always try to pet him, but he is tricky!  Also, I’m about as graceful as Shaquille O Neal would be attempting Swan Lake in figure skates so it never goes well.  Aside from the visual of me chasing a peacock around the zoo knocking shit over the whole time add in the audio of me yelling, “Jamie!  I’m gonna get him!  I almost got him!  Jamie! Look!  I almost got him!  Jamie!  Loooooook!”  You would have thought I was that 5 year old kid with ADHD trying to get my mom’s attention and that Jamie was the neglective mom who was off somewhere smoking cigarettes flirting with the zoo maintenance guy.  Needless to say, it was a great day and we took a ton of pictures.  Now that I think of it I still haven’t sent her the pictures she asked for from that day.  (Keep in mind this trip happened roughly 2 years ago.  My bad Jamie.  I promise I will send them…soonish.) 

After an excellent few days in San Diego it was time to head back up to LA.  The hotel was amazing that we were staying at.  It was a huge room, a couple of TV’s, big kitchen, big mini bar (yes I see the irony), it was all so nice but we had to get ready quickly.  So we did, and then called a cab and were on our way.  The show was amazing as it always is at The Groundlings. (Now that I’m a student there I will suck up a bit)  After it was over we decided we were close enough to the hotel to walk.  We were not.  Well, maybe we were, but we got so lost who knows where we were.  We made the logical decision to find a liquor store before we go any further and buy a bottle of Malibu.  (Rule to live by: When lost and in despair, locate nearest liquor store and the world will once again be ok) So we brown bagged it around some pretty sketchy areas until we finally called a cab.  The cab asked where to and when we told him he laughed at us and literally drove us around the corner and we were there.  See, rum will always lead you home.  Jamie tipped the cabbie which infuriated me that she would tip for such a short ride.  Sorry for yelling, Jamie, I have some rage issues when it comes to tipping cab drivers apparently. I’ll seek help.

(Parking ticket update: I lost count after 3.) 

The next morning I woke up to the sound of the blow dryer coming from the bathroom.  Jamie was in the process of trying to dry off her phone which she had dropped in the toilet.  It was a sad morning.  She had killed her phone, and we were packing up to leave this beautiful hotel room and also leave California.  We spent the day around LA and then headed to the airport for a red eye.  We were exhausted from a crazy trip and just wanted to get on that plane and sleep.  But of course, we had one last obstacle.  This obstacle happened to come in the form of a giant Mexican lady who was in one of our seats on the plane.  She spoke no English and when I told her it was my seat she just kept shaking her head saying no acting confused.  But I think she spoke more English then she let on.  Because when she was saying no, she was saying it with a very strong tone.  With that one word she was basically saying, “I know exactly what you’re saying little white girl.  I am going to act like I don’t though because I want this window seat.  So you can take your little ass and plop it down in the middle seat.”  Seriously, you could hear her saying all this just by how she said “no”.  It was impressive actually.  Finally a flight attendant came over after my attempt at translation didn’t work.  She didn’t seem to respond to me saying “You in my seat-o.  Move-o before I have you kicked off the plane-o.”  She reluctantly moved to her seat, the aisle one, with the help of the flight attendant and Jamie and I took the window and middle seats.  I took the middle one being the good friend that I am.  I pissed off the old Mexican mule so I might as well have to deal with sitting next to it.  As hard as I tried to sleep it wasn’t happening due to the mule keeping her light on all night flipping through some sleazy Mexican tabloid magazine with super glossy pages reflecting the light directly into my eyes.  Thanks mule.  None the less, off we went, back to New York.  Although Jamie and I were convinced for a solid 15 minutes they were going the wrong way and we would be in Japan when we woke up.  Thankfully when we woke we were still in America.  The pilots apparently knew better than we did.  Weird I know.

I can honestly say this was the best trip I have ever been on.  Now, as I leave you, I will ask that you play me out with a theme song. Imagine in your heads ‘Paper Planes’ by MIA, as it was our theme song for the trip which we listened to roughly 13,006 times.  (I also just really like the idea of exiting or entering things with a theme song.)  Jamie was a specialist at the chorus doing the gun shots perfectly and always spitting clear across the car while doing so.  So hit that beat and do the gun shots in the chorus with me while you practice your very own R.R.D. 

Wool.

Typical Evening in NYC

When a day begins with pancakes and a glass of Jameson on the rocks and ends with getting punched in the ear at a bar restroom in New York City you begin to wonder why you’re ever allowed out in public.

It was the morning of the St Patty's day parade in Syracuse, NY. It's your typical St Patty's celebration. Everyone gathers downtown for massive amounts of food and alcohol which begins bright and early. I headed to my friend's house around 830 am. We'll call him Pot Hole (he smoked a lot of pot and turned out to be an asshole so we'll shorten it up for convenience). I was meeting Pot Hole and some other friends there for breakfast and then to head to the parade. By 9am I already had a couple shots in me and 1 delicious pancake. Myself, Pot Hole and the others were ready for a day of whiskey and dancing.  But I got a call from my friend Mollie around 10 telling me I was going to NYC with her that day to watch Syracuse play at MSG in the Big East basketball tournament. I won't make up a name for Mollie because I think in the spirit of it being a St Patty's day story it is appropriate there is a Mollie in my story.  Anyways, I decided to head downtown first and partake in the festivities for a bit first but was really excited about my new plans for the day. When I got downtown I immediately lost Pot Hole and the rest of my group. I have some issues when I drink. I wander, I pay attention to no one and nothing, I don't listen to anyone, and I follow any group that looks fun. This usually ends with me losing my group, making new friends, and waking up 2 hours from my original destination with no car and 27 new phone numbers with names like “Mark plaid shirt” and “Alex blonde hair”.  But on this occasion I actually found people I knew and decided to hang with them for a few drinks before heading to Mollie’s to begin our adventure.

After 4 hours of driving and some hard core 80’s ballad singing and fist pumping we were in the city. We had booked a hotel on the way down, so when we got there we checked in, got ready and headed out to the bar to meet the guy we were buying the tickets from.  After getting the tickets we worked our way up to the bar and ordered up our first shots of the night and 2 Bud Lights. Because it’s NYC the total for that came to roughly $28. So it was time to start working the room.  When a shot costs $9 its time to find some dudes.  And by dudes, I mean wallets.  With each guy we talked to our names and jobs became more and more interesting.  I normally like to go with my usual, Gillian E Dubbs II, a marine biologist trying to save the Beluga Whale from what I believe to be the Lockness monster. I like to stick with Gillian, and just play around with the job. I have at one time or another been Gillian the local commercial actress, Gillian the painter who has an upcoming show (this is a fun one because I actually give them a time and place to go to see “my work”) and Gillian the Brit. I don't give a job with that one, I just ramble on and on about anything I want to as an excuse to practice my British accent. These are all of course aliases I only use if I have no interest in the guy whatsoever past him buying me a drink.  After he buys me the drink and starts asking questions is when Gillian comes to play before walking away. If it is a guy I'm actually interested in I'm Amy, emotionally unavailable and only in town for one night. Either way, it works out. That night I was still partially decked out in St Patty's day gear so I went with some fun Irish names. I think at one point I was McGillian Maggie O’IrishGuiness-stein.  After a couple hours of those shenanigans it was game time. We walked to the garden, got our seats, and made friends with the beer guy.  We let him know we would be loyal customers all night.  And what we meant by loyal customers, is that the guys behind us we were going to get to buy us drinks would be loyal customers.

It was a good game, we ended up losing, but still a good game. It was now 10pm and I had started drinking in Syracuse at 9am. I knew nothing good was going to come of this. We walked to a bar called Local after the game with the guys who were buying us beer the whole time. The least we could do to repay them was to continue to allow them to buy us drinks at the bar. I'm not sure how long we were at that bar, but we wanted to go back to Stout. It was apparently our new favorite place ever. 

When we arrived Mollie realized she had lost her wallet.  We had no idea where it could be. We traced our steps back to Local and MSG after ditching the guys but didn't find it. So we went back to the hotel.  I was washing up in the bathroom and when I walked from the bathroom to the room I found Mollie completely passed out sprawled across the bed, phone in hand, shoes on, and a whole mess of items scattered around her. I'm not even sure where she found some of these items to be honest. There was a camera, a brochure, some papers, a few $1 bills scattered around making her look like a hooker, and I swear I'm not lying...a spoon. I distinctly remember a spoon. I said to myself right there and then that I would find this poor hooker's wallet so she had a place to put her $1 bills and her spoon. So I left the hotel on a search for the wallet. I went back to Local to look around and I decided to go check the bathroom for it. I was in the bathroom looking when a whole group of girls came piling into the bathroom yelling and fighting with each other. So here's another fun fact about me, I have this problem where I don't always realize when I say something out loud that most people would just say to themselves. This happened to be one of those moments.


"Let's all be bitches and fight in the bathroom." I said at an obviously loud volume and sarcastic pitch.


I barely finished saying ‘bathroom’ and one of them punched me directly next to my ear. Who gets punched in the side of the head? She didn't even have the common courtesy to let me finish. I was going to also mention how classy it was to fight in the bathroom, but she cut me off by punching me in the head. So I did what my instincts told me to. I turned around, swung my fist like a scared 6 year old girl because I don't know how to fight, and punched the first girl I saw and then ran away screaming, also like a scared 6 year old girl. I ran out of the bar, still screaming, possibly more of a whimper at this point, and decided I should probably head back.


I was defeated. I left the hotel on a mission which I had failed miserably at. The girl who punched me was apparently wearing a ring so I was also bleeding slightly. Defeated, cold, bloody, drunk and hungry I did what any self respecting Italian would do. I found the nearest pizza place and ordered a slice. As I walked back to the hotel eating my pizza, noticing my jaw click every time I chewed, I realized the utter ridiculousness of the whole day. So I just started bursting out laughing.  I wasn't even scared that I was a young female walking the city streets at 3am by myself. I mean honestly, who was going to mess with me? I was bleeding from the head, eating pizza, staggering around the streets laughing at myself. I probably looked like a drunk hobo on a meth binge.


When we woke in the morning we started talking about how crazy the night was. I very dryly and briefly stated what happened to me after she fell asleep stating I got punched in the head. She is used to me saying things that aren't true and aren't relevant to anything going on so she shrugged it off with an "oh, ok" not actually realizing what I had said. I rolled over and she looked up and saw the cut on my head and jumped up asking what happened. To which I repeated at a louder volume and enunciated very carefully, "I-got-punched-in-the-head." I told her the whole story as we laughed at the ridiculousness of the night in general.


So we packed up and before heading home decided we would hit up China town to replace her real Coach wallet she had lost with a fake one made by Chinese children in the backrooms of restaurants on Canal St. If you have never been to Canal St just picture a typical NYC street but with 100’s of Chinese people screaming brand names at you and giving you a “come hither” look that puts a bit of fear in you.  They say things like "pretty white girl get pretty bag" and they will repeat that phrase over and over again getting increasingly louder until you buy it.  And that's when you begin to wonder if their English vocabulary exceeds anything other than that phrase, American dollar amounts, and designer names. So we did some shopping there, and then escaped China Town before more of the vultures attacked with perfumes that will make your skin burn and rings that will turn your skin green, and possibly make your fingers fall off.


The drive was another beautiful day, sunroof open, songs blasting, us singing perfect harmony in our minds to American Pie and Benny and the Jets.  It was quite a trip, we had booze, laughter, guys buying us drinks, adventure, crazy bar bitches, illegal Chinese immigrant children making bags for us…a spoon. Life doesn't get any better.  But when we got back to Mollie's we decided to make a pact: 

Next trip to the city Mollie was not allowed to bring a wallet and I would wear a helmet.

Are You There Ellen DeGeneres? It's Me, Amy

Dear Ellen-

Let’s dive right in here.  I am a huge fan.  I am a comedian.  I bleed for US women’s soccer.  If you add all of these things together what do you get? (Said as an overly eager and slightly obnoxious cheerleader) You get me, being your official correspondent to Women’s Professional Soccer next season and also the Olympics next summer to cover the US Women’s National Soccer Team! (Feel free to do some cheer kicks and spirit fingers in excitement over this idea.  I’ll give you a moment, read on once you’re done.)

Ok, welcome back.  I loved that you got into this Women’s World Cup and were tweeting your support for the team.  I have loved and played soccer since I was 4.  I started writing and performing comedy when I was 14.  Those are the only two things in my life that I can honestly say I have ever been passionate about.  There is nothing I love more than putting a smile on someone’s face and making people laugh.  I always debate if I should have stuck with soccer, but I know in my heart I was meant to make people laugh and bring smiles and laughter to people’s lives.  Well, that, and also play with puppies. I love puppies.

So Ellen, I am going to try in every form possible to contact you.  I have a writing packet I would love to get to you as well.  If you would like to read on to more of my blog entries, to get a better feel for my writing and general lack of good decision making, please do.  My dream is to be successful in comedy and someday work for you and learn from you.  If I could start that dream by covering women’s soccer for you, I might actually explode from excitement.  Literally.  But don’t let that sway you from contacting me; I will risk combustion for this.  I have so many ideas for different skits, interviews, and coverage that would all be funny, entertaining, and helpful to promoting the sport and the amazing female athletes we have here playing soccer. Your show would be perfect for this idea as a brief segment from time to time covering the WPS league and possibly something for your website for the Olympics next summer.  WPS needs all the support it can get and I want to help in the effort.  Also, once the Olympics come I suppose I could cover some of those other sports they do there as well.  I tend to forget there are other sports happening there, other than soccer.  But for you, I would cover anything and everything. Except maybe pole vaulting, that looks terrifying to me.

So please have your people contact my people.  I’m sorry, that’s a lie. I don’t have people.  If you could get me people, that would be awesome.  But I won’t push it, we can talk details later.  I hope you get to see this and you see something in me and in this idea.

Thanks for inspiring comedians like me every day.

-Amy
@Gillian_E_Dubbs

PS: Tell Portia I am super excited for the Arrested Development movie.  We want the Bluth’s back!!!  And also let her know she had the best chicken dance…hands down.