The Cakes Made of Cheese

Last evening, my friend H-bomb wanted to get together for some eating and socialization. I’ve had a gift card for a chain restaurant for about a year (one that specializes in making cake of the cheese variety… if you get my drift).  I generally don’t eat food there because the menu is huge and varied and the food is overpriced and fairly mediocre. However, I certainly don’t mind their cakes of cheese (See, cakes of cheese? Means cheesecake. Get it?).  Anyway, since I had this gift card that I was trying to get rid of and she wanted to eat dinner, I suggested she come on over to the cakes of cheese place and I would pick up the majority of our bill with the gift certificate.  Sounds great, right?

So we both ordered the spicy chicken sandwich – mine was a little gamey, but sometimes you’ll have that with chicken, so I just ate the parts that tasted ok and went about my business (my fries were delicious, btw). H-Bomb was too full for dessert, but by golly, if I was gonna be at the place that specialized in cheesecakes, I wanted some cheesecake, so I ordered a piece to go thinking I would eat it later while I watched my Thursday night programs.

I got home, excited to eat my cheesecake, and sat down to watch some Big Brother (don’t judge me!).  When I opened my cheesecake, I immediately flipped the hell out.  There was a pubic hair in my cheesecake.  No lie.  A goddamn pubic hair!  And it wasn’t just sitting on top like perhaps the guy had made the cheesecake then right before he put the lid on the container, decided he needed to scratch his balls.  NO. It was sticking out of the side of it, so obviously it had gotten trapped somewhere in the cheesecake baking or assembly process.  My guess is it happened while the vanilla bean mousse was being slathered on top.  And yes, I tried to come up with every scenario possible because I wanted to be able to justify how it happened.  And you KNOW I pulled that thing out just to be SURE it was what I thought it was.  AND IT WAS.  And then I gagged.  And then I had to throw my cheesecake in the trash.  FROWN!

A strongly worded email was sent via the corporate website.

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From the Vault: The Romantic Comedy

Back in the days of myspace (oh, I miss the aughts), I had a blog there that I kept up fairly regularly.  Every once in a while here, I’d like to pull out one of those old posts and share them here in a series called From the Vault

Last night I was relaying this story to some girlfriends and, after remembering I had written a blog about it on myspace when it happened, decided that it should be the first in my From the Vault series. So for your reading pleasure:

The Romantic Comedy

So tonight I received a call from Jill to go to SS Works for a Monday night movie.  You see, on Monday nights, movies are $5 and they give you a free small popcorn!  Yay!  So after a little hesitation (I shouldn’t be allowed out of my house until I rip the whole thing apart, clean and put it back together again), I agreed to join her for  a viewing of The Heartbreak Kid starring Ben Stiller.

Jill was already on the south side for a meeting so I headed out to meet her down there.  Since it was so damn hot outside (come on, fall, where the eff are you?) I had my windows down and of course the CD player was up pretty loud.  As I came to a stop at the red light at the McKee’s Rocks bridge, The Blower’s Daughter by Damien Rice came on so I was enjoying it, minding my own business when I hear the guy in the car next to me yell, “Hey!”  Being the master of ignoring, I ignored.  Then again, “HEY!”  So reluctantly, hoping he just needed directions or the time, I look over to see a man in a blue beat up minivan wearing a dirty grey tshirt and missing a couple of teeth smiling at me.  Fan-Fucking-Tastic, think I. 

So I say, “Yeah?”  And he says, “You jammin’?”  And I note to myself that jammin’ really isn’t the term I would use for listening to The Blower’s Daughter but whatever.  So I just kind of nod and say, “Uh, yeah, kinda…..”  He says, “You look good.  You married?”  I roll my eyes and reply, “Yeah.”  Rico Suave says, “Well, that’s ok.  We can just stick it around, right?” 

WHAT?  Stick it around?  Ok, aside from stick it being a fairly accurate description of what I think he was getting at, what the fuck does that even mean?  And uh, hello?  GROSS!

So I give him a look and say, “Excuse me??”  Again he says, “You wanna stick it around?”   I, horrified, hit the button to roll up my window.  Thank heaven for automatic windows!!!  He is of course muttering something like, “Oh, I see how it is…” or something equally as ridiculous; like he is surprised that I didn’t immediately put on my flashers, hop out of my car and fuck him senseless right there in his shit-ass van while he looked at me with those fucking summer teeth flashing at me.

You see this sort of thing in movies all the time except usually it’s a romantic comedy starring say, Ben Stiller and the girl is someone like Cameron Diaz and he’s slightly neurotic but in a cute way, not a creepy weirdo way and she is way too hot for him but is really smart and cool with a killer fashion sense.   Unfortuntely in the movie of my life, the dude is some douche in a ghetto-ass nasty van with bad dental hygiene. 

So, speaking of Ben Stiller.  I have a couple things to say about the movie.  First off there is a hillarious part where he and his new wife are road tripping down to Cabo for their honeymoon and she is totally into every single song that comes on, grooving and singing along in a way too enthusiastic manner.  Jill and I were cracking up because we came to the consensus that if I ever get married, that would be me and my husband would be Ben Stiller, who was just wishing she would shut the eff up. 

Second, I didn’t think I’d like the movie as much as I did, but the Farrelly Brothers did it again.  It was really funny and quite honestly, as long as Jerry Stiller is in something I will watch it!  He was so funny and inappropriate for an old man!!  I also think it was the first time I ever heard the word “queef” used in a movie.  I laughed so hard I almost peed.

Oh, and we forgot that it’s a holiday so we had to pay full freakin’ price!

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Tales from the dating battlefield…

A few years ago my sister was on the show Who Wants to Be a Millionaire (the Meredith version, not the Regis version).  What the hell does this have to do with the dating battlefield?  You’ll see.

I went to New York to watch my sister tape the show.  Unfortunately, they over schedule taping days and she wasn’t able to get in that day, and I wasn’t able to make it back the next week, so I missed the taping.  I was bummed, as I was ready to be her family member in the audience, but c’est la vie. 

So when the time came for the show to air (it takes a LONG time, by the way…she taped in November, it didn’t air until the following summer), my cousin and his lovely wife were kind enough to host a party so my family could go watch my sister try to win a million bucks.  So there we were – the whole family including my mom, my dad, his wife (yes they all get along and that makes things easier), both of my grandmas, and a few aunts, uncles and cousins – watching my sister on the show, rooting her on to win her million.  She didn’t win the million, but walked away with enough money to buy herself a new car which was great!  After she was done, they announced the next contestant as “Matt [insert last name  here] from Pittsburgh!”  So of course all eyes focus on me because I live in Pittsburgh (the rest of my family does not) and my mom says to me, “Oh! He’s from Pittsburgh! Do you know him??”  And I’m not sure if she could tell from the look on my face or not…but after a moment of absolutely flabbergastery (Look! I made up a word!) I managed to stammer out, “Um, well yeah…I mean, not really…I mean, I met him like, once…but I don’t really KNOW him know him…”

Can you guess why I was so flustered?  Yeah, I fucked that guy.  Once.  And never saw him again.  So yeah, my sister was on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire with basically my one and only one night stand (I think…well, not really my one and only I guess, but…um, I don’t count the others really as one night stands.  Whatever! Don’t judge me!!).   So I don’t know what the hell my mom was thinking as I was blabbering on and on about how well I DIDN’T know this guy, but one of my cousins that was there (one that I have always been pretty close with growing up – we’re only two years apart in age) caught on.  When she saw the look on my face, she harassed me (she at least did it in a low whisper so no one could hear), saying, “Oh, so you DO know that guy?  Or you DON’T know that guy?”  And as I stammered, she took it to the next level, “Do you know that guy in a naked way?”  Arrggghh!!

I explained to her that yes, I did know him one time in a naked way.  And then she cackled that super loud cackle that she has, which made my mom say, “What are you girls cackling about over there?”  And me to immediately respond, “NOTHING.”

Then came the time for us to call my sister on the phone to talk about how exciting everything was.  So when I got on the phone with her we chit chatted for a second and then I was like, “Yeah, so that guy that was on after you?  I hooked up with him.”  And my sister – my dear, naive, sweet, Catholic sister – said to me, “Really? That’s weird because I introduced myself with my first and last name and even mentioned that my sister lives in Pittsburgh and he didn’t mention knowing you or anything.” 

Cut to my shame-filled response, “Um, I’m pretty sure we didn’t exchange last names…” 

And her sweet, innocent, “Ohhhhh….” in response to that statement. 

I could tell that she wasn’t quite sure what level of debauchery I meant when I said “hook up” but I didn’t really feel it necessary to explain it to her.   These sorts of things are on a need to know basis and she did not need to know the details.

Needless to say, Matt [insert last name here] from Pittsburgh, while on the show, talked about his girlfriend, who I’m pretty sure he had at the time we did it (considering it hadn’t been THAT far prior to taping and he said they lived together which indicates at least in my mind, at least a year of dating).  She was his lifeline phone call.  Which he had to use super early.  He only walked away with $8,000.  What a dummy.

[Side note: I saw him a few months later at an event on the South Side with his girlfriend. And as much as I wanted to walk right up to him, tap him on the shoulder and say, “Hey, remember me? We fucked a year ago.  Well, you were on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire with my sister!  What a small world!”  I didn’t.]

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Xtina, revisited.

Well, well, well! It looks like Xtina may have her makeunder chance after all!  Just did a little research on Jane Pratt (because it’s 2 a.m. and I should be SLEEPING!), who I thought kind of disappeared, and read that she has NOT disappeared at all and has just launched a new website/online magazine-type thing that has a few features from her past endeavors (Sassy, Jane magazine) including the makeunder!  I guess I need to pay more attention, because this was pretty big news among the lady-type sites (bust.com, jezebel, etc).  Also, Jane will be launching a little sister magazine & website to xoJane with ubercool teen fashion blogger Tavi Gevinson that will be in the vein of Sassy – content for teens that doesn’t suck.  Goddamn, I loved that shit when I was a teen.  I initially read about it here (then subsequently surfed around and read a ton more) – take a look and get pumped!

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Dirty Little Secrets.

I live in constant fear of dying. I probably think about it at least once an hour. No kidding.  And it’s not just the whole dying and ceasing to exist part that gives me anxiety.  Once I let my mind go there, all I can think about is all of the stuff that will still be there after I’m gone and the shame that comes with all of those things left behind. 

The dishes aren’t done, the litter box is a mess, the spare bedroom and office are still in a state of disorganization (I’ve been there a year and a half now…come on, it’s time I got my shit together).  Every room needs dusted, mopped, vacuumed.  If I die tomorrow will my poor mother have to come down and take care of all this crap?  The most upsetting thing is I don’t want anyone near my undies.  For Christ’s sake!  Who will clean out my underwear drawer?  And what about the Special Bag of Fun (SBOF)?  You know the bag I’m talking about (perhaps yours is not a bag at all, but a drawer in your bedside table).  It has stuff in there.  FUN stuff.   Miraculously, I actually do have a plan for the SBOF!  But what if the person who has been commissioned to take care of the SBOF doesn’t have a chance to get there to remove the SBOF before my poor mother sees it?  If she sees it, maybe my dear mother will be glad that I actually had a sex life at one point.  She’ll likely feel sorry for me because it obviously wasn’t a recent sex life, evidenced by the bountiful supply of very expired condoms.

Now that we live in the future, there’s also electronic evidence to think about!  If all the normal shames weren’t enough for us, we’ve basically been screwed by modern-day technology.  Maybe this comes to mind especially in the wake of Weinergate.  I’m not married and haven’t been sending naked pictures of myself to skanks online (Like our friend Weiner!), but there may be some naughty IMs on my computer and text messages on my phone that aren’t really appropriate for anyone’s eyes but my own and the receiver of those messages. Though truthfully, most of those are to and from my gay bff.  We often will see who can be the most explicitly and grossly sexual in text messages.  It’s kind of like a game of chicken – whoever gets grossed out enough to quit first loses.  Along those same lines, at times we try to find unusual and weird “videos” (when you put “videos” in “quotes” that means they are “dirty videos”) and send those links to each other to view on our computers and then laugh and laugh as we watch them.  One that particularly stands out in my mind was called Old Farts and Young Tarts. 

I’m thinking a major purge may be in order at the indiesinglegirl household this weekend…

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The MakeUnder

Jane magazine used to have a feature every month called MakeUnder. It’s just what it sounds like – it’s a make over, but for people who need to tone it down. They did Pam Anderson once and I was absolutely flabbergasted at how cute she actually was without all the lashes, bronzer, fluffed up hair, etc.  Did you know that Pam Anderson has some cute freckles??  Where’s Jane Pratt now that Christina Aguilera needs her the most??

I love Christina Aguilera. And I LOVE make up. But someone (I’m looking at YOU, Jane Pratt!) needs to have a sit-down with Xtina and tell her about herself. I’ve spent hours of my life Googling and YouTubing Christina Aguilera performances and interviews (Don’t look at me like that, Judgy McJudgerson! I love her.). I’ve sung along with her at the top of my lungs from beginning to end of her CDs. She is one of the few artists I won’t even attempt at karaoke because she is so good and I’m so not worthy. I’ve seen her in concert and afterward hung out at a gross, smokey dive bar in her hometown of Wexford because I heard she went there once after a show. I love her! I love her I love her I love her. But she looks a hot drag queen mess. So much make up! So many extensions! Remember when she did Back to Basics and had kind of a retro throw-back style? Loved it. Remember the Hope for Haiti fundraiser? She looked FANTASTIC. Her hair was awesome and her makeup, clothes and accessories subtle.

I was watching her last night on The Voice (a show that I kind of love right now, by the way) and I had to avert my eyes more than once because I feared I would see a nipple pop out or god forbid, a hair extension fly free and kill someone. She definitely should follow the take one thing off before leaving the house rule. Actually, I should specify that she should take one thing off when it comes to hair extensions, accessories and makeup. As far as clothing is concerned she’s better off putting on more article of clothing before she leaves the house. Like pants.

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Rapture! I hardly know her!

So if you didn’t laugh at the title of today’s blog you’re lame.

So today Jesus was supposed to come and take all the believers upstairs and leave the rest of us poor saps here to suffer.  I’m sure y’all are just as surprised as I am that this did not happen.  I mean, it makes total sense that someone would come down from the sky and take people back up with him, right?  About as much sense as it makes that that guy died and then came back to life three days later.  You might as well believe in vampires.

I generally don’t like talking about religion and life and death because the whole thing gives me the willies.  And honestly, the whole concept is crazy to me.  I mean everyone makes fun of the Scientologists because they are total whacks who believe some super crazy shit, but isn’t the premise of Christianity just as crazy? Honestly?  And yet, even as I typed that, I felt a little scared.  Like, what if it’s all true!??!!  And now I’ve totally insulted God and Jesus and now I’ll never get into Heaven!!  Call me Agnostic, I guess.

I have a pretty religious sister. One that probably prays every day that I will see the light.  And I’m going to be point blank honest with you all here: I wish I was like her.  I wish I had faith that something bigger was out there and that everything was going to be ok.  But I don’t.  It scares the hell out of me, but I just don’t.  I’ve tried to feel it.  I’ve tried again and again.  Sometimes I think I do feel it, but frankly, that feeling is probably just panic.  Life would be so much easier in my head if I knew I was going to live on in some form after death. Death scares the fuck out of me.  Ceasing to exist?  Eternal darkness??  No thank you!  Unfortunately the way I see it now, that seems to be what the reality is. It’s what makes the most logical sense.  Out of all the times I’m illogical, why can’t this be one of them?  For realziez.

I could go on and on about this topic but I suppose I would just be saying the same thing over and over, just in different ways: I’m just not sure of anything and it’s scary.  Life is scary.  Death is scary.  Whatevs.

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