It's Like the Song Was Written for Karaoke

A Photographic Homage to My Feverblister

Although my current feverblister has swelled up to extreme dimensions AND is oozing AND is causing me to drool, because it won't for the love of god let me close my mouth without extreme pain, this, unbelievably, is not the worst feverblister of my life. That honor is bestowed upon The Great Grotesque Growth of 1990, aka The Spring Break Terror aka What Not to Wear With a Bikini aka Why Doesn't Anyone From the Opposite Sex Want to Talk to Me?

Since it was a vacation, there were copious pictures taken, of course. Quickly, I realized that I DID NOT want to be remembered as the icky girl with the feverblister for a bottom lip. So, I devised a tactic. A crafty, quick witted, and quite effective tactic, if I may pat myself on the back for my masterful handling of the situation.
Witness:


Look! My hand is in front of my mouth! INGENIOUS! You can't see the feverblister, can you?

Believe it or not, that was not my only diverting tactic. I had more up my sleeve. Witness:


I have placed a camera in front of my mouth! What crazy skill! How did I come up with this?! Sometimes I amaze myself.

Eventually, I think my friends caught on to my maneuverings. I'm still not sure if they thought I was on the cutting edge of posing for pictures, or if they just started mocking me, but soon everyone was on the bandwagon:


And that, for good or bad, is how my first Spring Break will always be remembered.

The Good Times Are Killing Me

It's official. I have had the worst dream ever:

I dreamt I was one of the adopted children of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt.

Not cool, man. Not cool.

I will blame this 100% on the fever that's rocking my body right now. My body's an inferno. I woke up in a pool of sweat and I'm nursing one of the biggest feverblisters of my life. It's so ungodly big, I can't close my mouth. I guess all of the good times have finally caught up with me.

Or maybe french kissing a duck was one of the worst ideas ever.

Doesn't this actually look strangely like me?

I'll Go Ahead and Cross Off 'French Kiss A Duck' From My To Do List

I've posted the picture book version of my night below. LOTS of eating took place. Not only did we hit up Cha Fahn and Craigie Street Bistrot, we also made a run for Pizza Hut at the end of the night. I know all this food sounds egregious, but Craigie Street forced us to seek out the Pizza Hut. Let me tell you why:

Duck Tongues

Our first course was DUCK TONGUES. Now, I'm always up for trying new things, but the tongues were whole. Have you ever seen a duck tongue before? It's not something you really have a craving to see, right? Particularly not floating in some brown liquid in a bowl in front of you either, right? The tongues were about the size of half my pinky, and as I swished them around in my plate working up the courage to stick one in my mouth, the wholeness of the tongue made me envision a real duck, more specifically, a real duck's mouth opening wide, and coming closer, and closer, and closer, and AAAAAAAAAAh!

Well, I ate the little fuckers. And they tasted exactly like you would imagine a whole duck's tongue would taste. Oh man. Quickly moving on!

The restaurant really makes an effort to appear, first of all, French. They have all of these random, "Look! We are a cute, little French bistro!" books lying around, like: a Learn to Speak French workbook, and the 2002 Zagat guide to Parisian restaurants. I know, I know. They more scream, "WE ARE AMERICANS AND WE VISITED PARIS ONCE AND TRIED TO LEARN A BIT OF FRENCH WHILE WE WERE THERE." In all fairness, I have no idea whether the chef is French or not. Maybe he is and he just has very questionable taste in all departments.

They also make an exerted effort to appear fresh. Pretty much everywhere you look, they have posted info telling you that all of the ingredients are procured each morning and the menu is based on the day's bounty. Meaning, of course, that duck tongues were somehow fun and fresh that morning. Oh no! The mental image is returning! Make it go away! Make it go away! But, the duck tongues weren't the end of it. My date's dish also included a side of bone marrow. BONE MARROW! Our (actually super sweet) waitress informed us that it is best enjoyed spread on bread. Like jam! Can you imagine spreading bone marrow on bread?! It's crazy! The French are crazy!

Although I made a concerted effort to try everything, the textures and the mental images defeated me in the end. Maybe it's something you have to acclimate up to. Don't get me wrong, I love the French. And I'll take some crazy experimenting any day over burgers or pasta. My squeamishness did make me feel guilty, though; as if my red state heritage was bubbling up in some unfiltered reaction. So, although weird and crazy, I will give the French bistro another chance.

Though, I may scarf down a Taco Bell Burrito Supreme for dessert.

First stop

The Good Times Keep On Rollin'

There was some bad-ass rollerskating going on last night. Admittedly, I have never boogied while skating before. Now, I can't seem to stop. But, they were playing Madonna, Prince, Elvis Costello, Axel F...I couldn't help myself! Too much goodness!! Too much goodness!! I don't know if you noticed my 80s regalia in the photo below. I was a bit anachronistic, though. Everyone else was properly adorned in glittery 70s flair. Among the fab wardrobe sightings were: one-piece-towel-shorts-jumpsuits, gold lame, skinny belts, Chips sunglasses, fuschia jumpsuits, short shorts, flowy sparkly tops, and on and on and on. The hipsters were out in full effect, no doubt.

Now, I pray to the skating gods, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE make this a weekly event.

There's can always be more room for the goodness.

Boston Cinefiles?

Oxymoron? Evidently not. How many of you make an effort to watch obtuse, self-indulgent works by forgotten auteurs on a holiday weekend? I mean, really now. What were all of those frat looking dudes doing there? Not to mention, the line out the door and the fight to find two seats together. What's happening?? Bizarro world? Well, that was the scene Monday night at the Harvard Film Archive. We all filed in to let Godard torture us with his Histoire(s) du Cinema, wherein we listened to him murmur insightful statements through dense cigar smoke, such as, "What is form? (deep guttural breath) Is it not man?" and "The witch is illuminated in the echoes of darkness." Please, no.

But, I Wasn't Drunk

Really, I wasn't. I just somehow managed to camera-phone blog the same pic twice. Again.

We very surprisingly witnessed a drag show Sunday night. One minute you're ordering a mozzarella and prosciutto panini, the next minute you're being serenaded by J-Lo in a fur bikini. Really, there's just no room for dessert after that. And the drag queens were loving my date. They pretty much caressed him during each song. For those of you in Boston, all of this entertainment was happening at 28 Degrees. Have you been yet? It's 5 million steps up from the previous restaurant/bar that occupied the space, Flux. With a dj spinning and a George Michael video playing every now and then, you can't go wrong in my book.

On our way...

Ready/Show

You can also view the clip on Vimeo.

You Know What's Awesome About Valentine's Day?

I get sent the most freaking adorable pictures of my friends' kids. They're so cute, they almost make me want one.

Please, let me introduce to you, Sir Hugs A Lot:


Now, let me introduce the super happy singing sensation known as Little Richard:


I can hear my uterus screaming at me now.

A Socialite Toast to the Weekend

Bring It On!

Llamas = Love

Llamas!! Check out that blurb in today's Metro. They equal LOVE. They do! See!

Forget the hot tub, I am SO going to get some hot llama lovin' this weekend.

Mini-Holiday!!!!!

Cute Couple Alert:
Weird, Identically Outfitted Couple Alert:
It is ON. A wintry, couple-y, mini escape is in full throttle planning mode at the moment. Because I'm not ready to throw in the socialite towel yet, I'm taking the party on the road. With that person I live with...let's call him "boyfriend" today...and another man and another woman who refer to each other as "fiancé" now and which I will never, ever get used to, even when I'm drunk and scarfing down cake at their wedding. Ok, the agenda I have come up with so far includes a B&B on some massive farm in Charlemont, complete with llamas and hot tubs. And, YOU KNOW who will be the first in line for those llama rides. I don't care how many 8 year olds I have to push out of my way. We will feast our way through Shelburne Falls and freeze our booties off at night while snowboarding/falling down a lot. Then, we will get our contemporary art fix at the MassMoCA before heading home all worn out and stuff.

If anyone has any tips on what to do/check out/other towns to see in the Berkshires, LET ME KNOW.

I mean, please? I'll give you a muffin.

The Socialite Eats & Dances & Gets Full & Mmmmmmm Pillow

Rendezvous
dBar
Rumor
The Butcher Shop
Martsa On Elm
Pho Republique
Om

The Fetish List

Muppets
Veggie Planet
Rachel McAdams
Scene preceding Intermission in 2001
Manohla Dargis
Perfect posture
Your Hand In Mine
Fresca
Owen Wilson's drawl

I'm Playing Hookey Today

I hope no one catches me!

It's Tricky

It happened. I went out and purchased a Su Doku book of those silly number games. Randomly, I decided to try the one in the Metro this morning. A friend has recently admitted his addiction to me, so maybe I was curious. But this guy also does inane things like watch The Island on opening night, so to be honest I just chalked it up to another infatuation train of the masses that'd I'd be more than happy to watch pass me by.

What really got me, though, was the fact that I COULD NOT FINISH THE PUZZLE. Talk about a blow to the ego. I've done the crosswords in the Metro before and I recognize how elementary they are, so I can only assume that I was not able to do a simple, super easy, who the hell made these popular? Su Doku puzzle. The thought of my friend kicking my ass at these evil games is...is...killing me. Ok yeah, he's about to have an article published in Nature and he's younger than me. Nonetheless! My competitive drive has kicked into effect.

I am nothing if not a game person.

Of course, I have no choice but to spend my day obsessively figuring out all of the games in my new book. Without my bosses realizing what I'm doing...

It's all so tricky.