My Life as an Alfred Hitchcock Movie

I'm walking by the lake with a friend, and she needs to go to the bathroom. God forbid she goes when we actually have access to a public facility. She decides to go when there are none around...in the bushes. She finds some and asks me to cover her. She's peeing, and I'm leaning over trying to shield her from the public. BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT CLASSY BROADS DO. Everything is going smoothly until I feel three horrendously sharp jabs on my head. When I reach up to touch it, A BIRD FLIES OFF. That's right. A bird. The size of my hand. As I scream, I look to the left and see that it's now perched on one of the bushes. If that wasn't bad enough, about 12 of its friends/cousins/siblings are there too. So now I'm running away, with my friend at my side digging in her pants to get leaves out. "Did you fucking see that?" I ask. "No, what happened?" she pants, one hand in her underwear. Passerbys are now staring at us. "A bird just attacked me. Straight up just landed on my head and pecked at me." "Well it probably thought your head was a nest" she responds. "WELL CLEARLY. But did it break flesh?" She checks my head and thankfully there's no blood, but the fact remains that I was thisclose from starring in my very own version of Birds. And being pecked to death. I'm guessing this means I should probably start straightening my curly, nappy hair to avoid this happening again...but I just don't have that kind of time.

I'm on the A-list...of jackholes

Last weekend I was out with my friends Shanel and Katie. Katie saw a guy that she found attractive. "He looks like Josh Henderson from the new Dallas show," she said. I barely heard her, and continued dancing. "Look, he's going to the bar. Let's go get a drink." I walked up with her and Shanel. As it turns out, I ended up standing right next to him. And because my friends are just as obnoxious as me, they pushed me into him. Three times. It was then I finally opened my mouth. The conversation went something like this: Josh Henderson look alike: (glaring) Me: I'm really sorry. My friends have no manners. JH: It's ok. Me: Wow, that is some jacket. (he's wearing a grey leather jacket. It's hot as balls). JH: Yeah. Me: Did you...ride your motorcycle here? JH: I didn't know it was going to be so hot in Chicago. Me: God. You must be sweating like crazy. JH: It's actually not that bad. Me: So you're not from here? JH: No, California. Me: You look like you're from California. Me: So you want a shot or something? JH: No thanks, I don't like shots. Me: What are you going to order? An avocado salad? JH: (orders two shots) Me: Prick. I went back to my friends and Katie was looking at me quizzically. I asked her what was up. "You do realize that WAS Josh Henderson right?" "Who?" "JOSH HENDERSON. The guy from Dallas. WHO I TOLD YOU ABOUT LIKE 10 MINUTES AGO." "Oh. No. But can you believe he was wearing that jacket?" And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I should never talk to 'celebrities.'

Paging Doogie Howser

The dream I had the other night was so random and amazing I have to write about it. It was winter, and I was snow tubing with a friend of mine from high school. Her name was Sarah, and people used to call us the twins because we both have curly hair. Anyway, I'm coming down the hill and whose arms do I run into but those of Neil Patrick Harris. He was just chillin' at the bottom of the hill like he was waiting for me. So we start flirting because he's CLEARLY NOT GAY in this dream, and he says "everyone's been talking about you and your friend." "Oh yeah?" I ask. "What's the word on the street?" "Well, we've been trying to figure out who's more attractive." I nod. "And I was definitely going to say you but there's something a little, I don't know, ghetto about you." Fast forward to us in a HOT TUB and I'm squeezing his arm thinking, wow, I thought he'd be much skinnier. Except it's Neil Patrick Harris, but as his character in How I Met Your Mother so he's super smooth and knows all the right things to say. We start to make out and then...I wake up. Definitely beats the one where I sat on an AIDS needle.

Ball buster

So it's warm out and I've been boozing pretty hard. Over the past couple of weeks I've been hitting the bars with my friends and in doing so, busting the tiny little balls of pretty much every guy that I meet. How has it become so damn easy? Where have all the witty men gone? I've heard I'm abrasive, intimidating and scary more times than I can count. A 5'3 cherub like myself. The only thing that can be considered scary is that I relish in this shit. It's like ammunition and I've got SO MANY GUNS. Case in point: I'm sitting at a bar, clearly inebriated, when I see a super hot, tall guy. I wave and smile. We make eye contact. Finally he comes over and with his sour breath tells me I look like I have my guard up. I ask him if he knows the capital of Poland. He does not. He asks me why I didn't come over to him and say hello. I tell him I'm paralyzed from the waist down. He stares at me. I move my legs. I find him amusing enough to have late night food with, and as our unfriendly Russian waitress tossed a menu at me, I felt the need to search within the deep confines of this guy's innards to see if he had a soul. Because how ELSE can you find out if you're having breakfast with a zombie or not? "That waitress hates me," I said as I buttered an entire loaf of bread. "Oh yeah? Why?" he asked. "Well I was in here last week and she forgot to bring me my nachos, so I kind of went off." "What do you mean she forgot your nachos?" "I mean I ordered nachos and she brought me my two entrees WITHOUT THE NACHOS." "Wow, you really eat a lot, huh?" "I mean, do you understand the severity of this? I ask for extra cheese and sour cream, but instead I'm met with a bacon lettuce club and cheeseburger and fries. I NEEDED those nachos to prepare me for my meal." (crickets) "See, that's why this is never going to work." (look of confusion/beginnings of a scowl). "You didn't order me nachos after hearing that story. You fucking men today." And yes, I know this is why I'm still single.

Beam me up...

Scientology. Where you check your soul and homoeroticism at the door.

Top 10 random quotes from the time I turned 30

1. They ran out of cake, so I got you cakeballs. 2. Don't do what I did when I turned 30. Note: this meant get pregnant. 3. You look like Shirley Temple, and not a day over 21. 4. Since there aren't any straight black men here, I'll just fill in for now. Note: said by a gay black man. 5. Judging by your ass you're only 25. 6. I hope you're wearing a dress to your party and not pants. Note: said by a 90 year old woman who likes to call herself my grandmother. 7. My wish for you is to find a husband. 8. We got you something we knew you'd appreciate. Money. 9. This fried ice cream tastes too fried. Note: who says that? 10. If you ever want to have kids, now would be the time.

St. Peter's Hands

If you're like me and grew up going to private school, I'm sure you can remember daily mass and the misery that came with it. For the other young girls and myself, it was the perfect place to get our giggle on. Maybe because making any kind of noise was so forbidden, the moment someone did all hell broke loose. And if someone farted; we were goners. Looking back, everyone seemed to have their own special way of trying to hide their laughter from the nuns. The ones who laughed nasally and honked like geese would try to cover it up by sneezing louder than they were laughing. Ones who had chortles building in the back of their throats began coughing. And then there was me...beet faced and shoulders shaking uncontrollably. A silent laugh, yes, but still dangerous because the moment I had to take a breath I would usually make some kind of inhuman sound that resulted in being separated from the class and forced to sit next to the teacher. "Shh. Saint Peter is watching you," Sister Rosemary would say. God those women were boring. But they made an impression that would last a lifetime. Recently I went to church with two of my girlfriends. We sat in the middle. We were hungover. We looked like we had been run over by a semi truck. Midway through the mass, one of us said something that likely caused the most ridiculous display of immaturity ever to have graced Our Lady of Mount Carmel. I looked over at my friend Moni and she was wearing her sunglasses. Her shoulders were shaking, which could only indicate one thing. And then I felt it. The laughter creeping up from within me. I looked down at my lap and hoped for the best. Too late. Our friend Katie had seen and by then, three grown women managed to have a full on laughing attack for no good reason whatsoever. There we were, the rejects of Catholic school, fighting back tears and completely mortified, but somehow unable to stop. That was of course until Katie looked up at one of the stain glassed windows and said "Saint Peter is giving us the hand." The three of us turned to the window and sure as shit, Saint Peter's hand was outstretched in a way that said "you have got to be kidding me." With that, we filed out.