Is your car a hybrid?

Range: 17 miles. Weather: bloody dreadful and destination: 37 minutes and 25 miles. This is what i found out from my “hybrid” car yesterday. I used to have an Acura tsx until i totaled it into a tree. No it wasn’t raining, snowing or night time and i was not drunk. It was 10 am, i was on my “free period” from high school, completely sober and about 1/2 a mile away from my house.

 As precocious as it may sound,  i have never pumped my own gas. So when i had a range of 17 miles, i drove to our regular gas station (which was conveniently on the way). I sat in my car for about 8 minutes before realizing that the owner wasn’t acknowledging me and that their sketchy half assed “open” sign was turned off. I was already late (due to a wardrobe malfunction) so i revved up my acting skills by looking both desperate and hopeless. I honked my horn  (three times) and put my two hands together ( like i was five) pleading for the owner to get off the cell phone and pump my gas. I guess the cute factor wasn’t working because instead of shaking his head, he put up both fists into a big X and then pointed to the sign on the door that said they closed at 8. 

At that point, i decided i would have to man up. I found a gas station that was actually open, Hess. As i didn’t have time to use google, Wikipedia or e-how i decided to use common knowledge. Lift nozzle, place, press. It sounded simple, but needless to say i stood their for about 16 minutes, pretending i knew what i was doing. I was close to tears, the screen had a bunch of zeros on it, and the stupid gas nozzle was not cooperating. I was in heels, leggings, and a black tie up top with a head full of blonde and pumping my own gas at 9 pm. This was not safe. 

Just as i was about to give up and kick the bloody thing/cry hysterically i see this man on the other side of the station saying something. He wasn’t cute, and looked old so i figured/hoped he was offering to help me pump my gas. I said “yes i need help pumping my gas!” he looked bewildered and didn’t move. So then i progressed to say “okay, don’t worry” and sat in my car. The next thing i knew he was at my window saying “all i wanted to know was is your car a hybrid?” I sat there expressing that i couldn’t pump my gas, and that yes my car was a hybrid. From there he kept trying to keep a conversation flowing by asking me multiple questions including why i was on long island. I figured that if i said the words “i go to school” he would mathematically calculate that he was to old for me. That of course failed and he then suggested we “grab a drink sometime”. He grabbed my phone and put his very (not wanted) number and name in.  I drove off, without gas, and with a sketchy memory of a bald guy named frank trying to pick me up at a Hess station at 9 pm. With the pick up line “is that car a hybrid”. 

After resistance to ever want to leave my car (EVER) again, i managed to find a different gas station. I got out, swiped my card and lasted 7 minutes before seeing three drunks with four lokos stumbling out of a pick up truck. I stopped the nozzle, plugged it back in, closed my cap and drove off. When i finally got to my boyfriends house it was 10.15 pm. I walked into his house and heard all these screams and curse words coming from upstairs, i hesitantly walked up the stairs to find three things: a chair, a 50 inch TV, and call of duty. And a boyfriend who was more interested in shooting people, and talking screaming to strangers through a head piece than me. I sat on my cell phone in disbelief and started to study his room. He then had the audacity, to tell me that i was bad luck, because he usually does great in the game and just got defeated. 

As i was observing his room, i noticed that his calender (above his desk) was still on November. I told him that this was bad luck, and in his video-game frenzy he told me to change it. I walked to the calender and saw a big heart on the 21st. Knowing that our anniversary was the 10th of every month, i decided to flip through the rest of it. Starting from July onwards, there was a heart around the 21st of each and every month. At this point i decided to ask what was going on. He said that his ex had brought him the calender, and marked their anniversary. I was flabbergasted and told him that if i were to ever buy my boyfriend a calender, it would not be of landscapes, nor would i ever mark our unpredicted future on a calender.

As you can imagine my anger level between frank (the bald guy at hess), call of duty (the shooting video game), and my boyfriends calender (from his ex) was equating to one furious mood. I sat there in silence, crossed my arms and waited 15 MORE minutes before he got the hint.  He suggested we go grab drinks and as my night could not get any worse, this time i agreed.

Usually my Thursday nights consists of three things: Champagne, Chanel, and Caviar. Not tonight. Tonight would be the night i end up sitting in a booth, watching my boyfriend watch the football game. With two strawberry daqoris, two long island ice teas,  nachos with 10,000 toppings, and a cell phone to entertain me. Something must have caught my attention because while playing angry birds in my (very) drunken state, i look up to find my lovely boyfriend checking out these two girls. I’m talking eyes about to pop out of his head, sly meets sneeky smile, and a vibe of suspision. I asked him who had just walked by, and he refused to “dignify my question” with an answer.

I watched the girls walk out and spotted three things; Uggs, laughter and sweat pants. Horrified i repeated the question as to who the mystery (and slovenly)  girls were, and asked him if he had slept with them in the past. He shrugged his shoulders and then said no one walked by.  Five questions later, and two drinks (intoxicated) he finally admits he “thought he knew one of them”. I was beyond pissed off that he had lied. Indicating that i was in fact going crazy and i did not watch anyone walk by. He then had the nerve to defend himself, claiming that they didn’t walk by. They walked to the left and then to the right, past the door and then took another right to the exit. Avoiding our table, not “walking by” our table.

When we finally got back to his house i was way to pissed (mentally, emotionally and alcohol-licly) to drive back to my house. I agreed to sleepover and he then decided that he would romantically put on this show. The show was called “MANswers”. The ultimate man survival guide. For 2 hours “we” learnt which vegetables can cause erectile dysfunction, how to have sex while driving a motor cycle, how to binge drink without brain damage, and how to know if “shes” a screamer.

Joan rivers.

For 78 years old, Joan Rivers looks phenomenal. If you ask me, she looks younger now than she does when she was in her mid 30’s. So did she just get lucky with not looking like a plastic cat women? (i wont mention names) Plastic surgery can either go horribly wrong, or drastically right. So would you risk it? Ever since the movie Awake starting Jessica Alba and Hayden Christensen was released, i have been absolutely timorous of surgery..and anesthesia.

Every risk possible, i have frantically analyzed. I won’t even get my wisdom teeth pulled, because i’m afraid that i will wake up during the procedure or even worse, that i wont wake up after the procedure! So how do people do it? How do people risk there lives in order to feel beautiful!? i’m still sitting in awe trying to figure out this (not so simple) answer.

Anyway enough on plastic surgery and back to reality. Apparently NYC has had a weather malfunction and the very anticipated and overdue snow forecast, is indeed rain. The only good part of rain is getting to wear my Gucci rain boots (i kid you not). Other than that it’s a big dangerous, umbrellas flying inside out, outfit ruin-er muddy mess. Especially when your walking the streets of Manhattan. Instead of walking in and out of tourists looking up (at the buildings) and not where there walking, your focused on dodging umbrellas. Mainly advertisements for hotels, or companies.

 In fact umbrellas can speak wonders about a New Yorker. If you have a Henri Bendel umbrella, your prepared. If you have an ugly black flimsy umbrella (that flips inside out every 5 minutes) your hopeless. Congratulations on just waisting $25 at a vendor who lures people in (with rain). If you have a hotel umbrella your probably a tourist or maybe just a creep who steels umbrellas, and lastly if you have a bright pink umbrella with yellow spots that folds into your bag and reads tool: your name is Mercedes Chloe.

Usually i wouldn’t be spotted dead presenting such an obnoxious umbrella to the world, but the truth is when a head of blonde is underneath you stop caring. The smirks, sneers and simpers all have the same meaning to me: sod all. If you love me, congratulations. If you hate me, congratulations. And if you think i shouldn’t be blogging and laugh at everything i have to say/write once again..congratulations!

Kelly Cutrone was the start to my nonchalant attitude, as well as songs like “look at me now” and “walking on a dream”. I’ve learnt that 70% of people take me way to seriously, i’m fluent in sarcasm and unless your someone i love (which i doubt) i really don’t care your opinion, outlook or outtake on me.

Pretty woman

My roots need touching up, i have chipped nail polish and i’m hung over. With a sunset beaming into my apartment, and the thought of vodka taunting me. Should i jump off the tram now or later? Yesterday i was having a Martha Stewart moment attempt, and decided to cook a pizza from scratch. My “boyfriend” was coming over and i thought this would be the perfect opportunity to get in the Christmas spirit. I made my version of a candy cane martini ( with vodka, a sugar rim and a candy cane hanging out of it). Let’s just say the more i drunk, the better my drink became. I slipped on a satin red dress, put on red lipstick, and drunk my “martini” gracefully while waiting for him to arrive. One hour later, and two martinis down my phone rang. Of course I’m not the smartest of people (when intoxicated) so i jump of my black leather bar stool to grab the phone,  spilling my martini in my lap while getting told that my boyfriends being sent up, and will be ringing my doorbell in two minutes (by my doorman).

He then See’s my pizza (which is now freezing cold), ignoring my lovely dress and lipstick, cuts himself a slice, and progresses to tell me that i used the wrong sauce. At that point i was ready to give up on the night, but instead i decided to drink more. At this point my vodka tasted like water, i had forgotten about the pizza and all of my problems started to fade away. As well as my sobriety.

M and ken?

So as I’ve been craving a massive 10,000 calorie crumbs cupcake, listening to Rhianna’s new CD, and resisting Christmas shopping all in the same week, i have one word: UGH. December is finally here which means snow, presents, and weight gain. Every single Christmas i manage to gain at least 2-5 pounds from chocolate, cake, and cold weather. Mathematically speaking, if i know that i am going to gain those five dreadful pounds each and every winter, i should know how to prevent it ( or just go to the gym/stop being a fat cow).

Getting me to a gym is harder than plucking eyelashes. I feel good once i’m there, or after i work out but pre-gym?forget it. I would rather sit home, watching reruns of the OC or grays anatomy than be on a treadmill (on an endless road). Clearly this has to change, as well as my mindset. I need to realize the basics:

a) workout clothes can be sexy
b) you could meet guys (who are also sexy)
c) who cares if the wanker next to you (twice your age) is going faster than you

Tomorrow never comes with me. I always say tomorrow this, tomorrow that. The time is now! So everyone needs to step up to the plate, and start caring about their health. If your in a relationship and have totally let yourself go (aka me) December is the time to change this! Do whatever you have to do, to engage the new you. Dye your hair, paint your nails, tan, get a wax, shop and most importantly: head to the gym and trade in that Creme brulle frappachino for a salad.