...Hairdo

I have become re-obsessed with Britney Spears. Not the hot mess she is today (or has been for the past six years), but the pop star sensation she embodied from 1998-2002. I spent the day listening to NSYNC and then naturally changed over to Brit-Brit, at which point "Lucky" came on my iPod (yep, I'm admitting it). I immediately recall having major hair envy of her in that video as she sang from atop an imaginary billboard along a fake Hollywood strip. Is it wrong of me to reconsider attempting her hairstyle this late in her career? Would it have a trickle-down effect and help her return to her roots of pure pop and only suggestive slutiness? If so, I'm all in. Also, as I look at the picture above, is that a Kaballah string on her wrist? I wish I had noticed that when this video came out as a sign of the weirdness to come.

And speaking of NSYNC--I totally think they should do a reunion tour. It's not taboo to have a reunion before 10 years, right? I mean, Cher has been on her farewell tour several times, so why shouldn't they reunite? Who doesn't want to see what the heck J.C., Chris, Joey and Lance have been up to? And who wouldn't want to see Justin back on stage to return them to glory? Maybe they could open for Gaga? Or Justin Beiber? Now that would be just sad.

...Mistress

Mistressing is the new dating. Forget the weirdness and emotional instability of dating, and head right for mistressing. This way, you get the best of all worlds (if you are in fact the kind of person like me who doesn't really have time for dating): no strings attached, high stakes makeouts, and plenty of intrigue. I'm not sure how good I am at this in my first foray, but it's all about building foundations, right?

It's just too bad that I was nearly blacked out when it all went down. I guess there's always next time...

xoxo, Monica Lewinsky

P.S. He only has a girlfriend. I'm not ready for true homewrecking.

...15 Hour Day

I fell off the planet after an intense 2 months of all work and no play. It was wild and wonderful, and kept me so busy that I didn't have time to eat, much less post to my blog. My apartment is totally disheveled, which always indicates the levels of fun and work stress I'm encountering at the time.

I'm heading to Puerto Rico for a mini-break with 6 other gals this weekend to relax and unwind--and to gather many more stories for these pages. The only caveat is a tropical storm is headed to the island. Imagine 7 Manhattanettes in a boarded up hotel along what are supposedly beautiful white sand beaches. Rage face will be omnipresent.

Will be back with live coverage of Tropical Storm Rage Face tomorrow!

...Decade

Today, fair readers, I leave my 20s behind. It has been a wild ride filled with ups, downs and in-betweens. But the bottom line? It has been one hell of a decade. The highlights in Top 20 format:

20. Turning 21.

19. Ragtime.

18. Getting the hell out of LA, but keeping in touch with the forever friends I met there.

17. Not having a clue what I wanted to do when I grow up, but finding it anyway.

16. Community theatre production of South Pacific. Bali Ha'i, bitches.

15. Graduation week at UCLA.

14. Moving to NYC and everything falling into place.

13. My NYC apartment.

12. Buying my first Burberry item: a wallet that I love every single time I use it.

11. The invention of the iPhone.

10. Trip to Greece and falling in love with Santorini (also, Nescafe Frappes).

9. My discovery of Guest Bartending.

8. The Tony Awards.

7. Homie's Thanksgiving and First Thanksgiving not with my family.

6. 2 Weddings in 2 weeks in CA.

5. The day this blog was born.

4. Reverse double surprise birthday visit from my brother.

3. Deciding I finally can buy happiness.

2. 80s themed 90th Birthday with two of my best gemini friends, surrounded by drinks, dancing and 5 Hour Energy.

1. Every single year I learned something about myself, for better or worse.

This list was slightly out of character and tone for this blog, but tonight is one of reflection on the life I have experienced during the past 10 years. Conclusion? New York wins. But was that ever really a question?

Cheers to the wild and even more ridiculous times ahead...we will return to our regularly scheduled blogging when I'm 30. Which means immediately tomorrow, as I go to a Mets game with all of the gals. Stories will ensue.

...Steroid?

Just as I begin to fancy myself invincible to the effects of stress, late nights, little sleep, and enough champage to fill a bathtub, my temple of a nearly 30 year old body becomes a diva and demands attention. This attention usually takes the form of a sinus infection, which keeps me just nerdy enough to never develop an ego that would get out of control. I swoon over Puffs Plus with Vicks for crying out loud.

Well, dear old body of mine, I believe you have been thwarted with the help of my new ENT doc. He prescribed a short course of steroids which cleared me up in one dose. It's a miracle! Hopefully no one will be curious when I am able to bend steel with my bare hands or develop a case of 'roid rage.

Interestingly, as I write this post lauding the power of drugs, Leighton Meister's "Your Love's a Drug" is playing. She can't sing worth anything, but she sure can talk really well to a beat through a vocoder.

I created this post as a public service announcement in case a whole flock of computer programmers or scientists suddenly become avid fans of this blog. They'll get a balanced mix of nerd-specific health advice and much-needed exposure to surely the best/worst pop music ever created.

...Skinned Knee

In a throwback to what could only be called my most awkward years of life when I had glasses, braces, and the coordination of a newborn foal, I made sure to skin my knees last Sunday night. Was I slipping on ice, you ask? Did I slide into home plate? As if I would stoop so low!

The reality of the scraped knees was the result of all-u-can-drink champagne brunch followed immediately by an opening of a Broadway show. One would think that the 2 hours between unlimited champagne and open bar would have given me some sense, but it was quite the opposite. I was shocked to find myself (slightly) sober after the show, so I quickly remedied the situation with Jack and Cokes all night long. And at the after-after-party? Oh, then I realized I needed to start buying myself more drinks. And then I rightfully skidded down some concrete stairs and skinned both my knees.

Just when I think I'm getting a hold of myself as I near a new decade of life, I take a few steps in the wrong direction. In this case, these were drunken, stumbly steps. At least my 20s will go out with a bang, if not with an ounce of class.

...Giant Boot

I either feel validated or manly for the fact that Justin Timberlake and I have the same snowboots from Sorel. I cannot say enough good things about these boots, but the one issue is that they give me giant man/clown feet. So, all you ladies out there who are afraid to truly protect yourselves from the elements, know this: embrace the yeti-like boots, but always wear them with leggings or skinny jeans. No one wants to see a giant clown boot peeping out from under your pant hem.

OH GOD--I just realized I also have nearly the same jacket as him, too. Again, I'm torn as to how to feel about this. JT has quite the style, and yes, it skews metro, which some see as fem, so I guess I'm in the clear? Of course I own nothing that would resemble any of Cameron's ensemble. Dammit.

...Broom Closet Makeout

My night on Thursday began with the image to the left. And it ended with a makeout with a restaurant manager in the broom closet at his fine establishment around 5am. What transpired in between to lead me from fancy to floozy in roughly 6 hours? Booze, my dear readers, booze. Also a bit of Broadway and some interesting bacon guacamole, but mostly booze.

These adventures begin late Wednesday night when my brother's BFF from CA (we'll call him Sean) met up with me both pre- and post-show. The night's journey began with beer towers, had a pit stop at a piano bar with Cement Mixer shots (woof!), and then finished at the happy hour spot of the famed broom closet. Mr. Broom Closet was so generous and welcoming on Wed. night, buying our drinks and hanging out. Laying the groundwork, indeed!

I woke up Thurs morning to a post-barf scenario. Sean crashed on my pullout couch an managed to wake up puking at 6am. He tried to clean up and then took off with a bag of barfy blankets. He also managed to lose his cell phone on the cab home, so he was really winning on all fronts.

Oddly, I was in perfect shape that morning. Amateur!

Anyway, I survive the day at work while Sean doubles back to my apt in search of the phone (didn't yet know he lost it in the cab), so I get to call both my doorman and cleaning lady to inform them my "friend" left his phone at my apartment. And I'm sure they knew it was platonic, right? Sean doesn't find the phone, so he is now the proud owner of my old Palm Treo.

Thurs night started off mellow--I even wondered if I'd stay out late that evening. And then...5 frozen margs, 7 shots (of Patron AND Jameson), and 4 beers later, it's no wonder I found myself in a broom closet makeout session. And yes, I did knock a broom down the stairs, so it's a legit moniker.

Moral of the story? Just when you least expect it booze will separate the weak from the strong and reward the survivors with a broom closet makeout.

...Grandpa Crush

John Getz (the gentleman to the left) is currently performing in an Off-Broadway play at New York Theatre Workshop. And I spent nearly the entire play trying to figure out why he looked so familiar. Wasn't until the after party with the cast that someone pointed out that he was in Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead. Mind you, he has been on Broadway in Madame Butterfly, in films like Born on the Fourth of July, and on TV in West Wing, but I only know him from the 1991 Christina Applegate charmer pictured above.

Regardless, the man formerly known as Gus in DTMTBD, has aged quite well and I fully admit to having a grandpa crush on him. We all assumed he was in his early 50s--I looked him up on IMDB.com in the cab home and realized that he's 64. Either my taste in men is changing as I near that next decade of my life, or he has gotten hotter with every passing year. I pray it's the latter--not sure how I could introduce my parents to my boyfriend who is a whole generation above them. Awwwwk-waaaaard!

The play itself was quite good, if you are a fan of the freedom of the press and the fight to preserve it. Watch the promo video!

...Pleather Fail

I regretfully inform my loyal readers that the pleather pants produced zero amounts of adventure. Instead, they added to my hatred of hipsters because apparently those are the only people who go out in the East Village these days. And let me tell you, they sure DON'T appreciate the wonders of pleather pants.

I shall not give up on my pleather-driven adventures, but need to look for better venues in which to show them off.

Side note--this is the first sunny day in NYC in ages, which is lining up for a drunktastic St. Patrick's Day tomorrow. I feel like the blog will be blowing up as I follow the Rainbow all over midtown. First stop--green beer at Angus McIndoe.