Woof.

I will oblige Julie Gong with a picture of me as Amy Winehouse as soon as I get batteries for my digi. Which ended up in my car for most of the evening at the party... along with my car keys. They were in the ignition. I had to call Triple A, even though everyone said the police would come faster. I was not calling the police to let me into my car while dressed like a crackhead/prostitute. I was in Brentwood, for Christ's sakes. It would have looked really bad.

I don't really have a lot to say this week. I'm moving next week on Wednesday to Regent Square. I'm pretty amped up for the move, for 2, no 3 reasons. 1. I'll be out of the place I shared with my ex, so I won't be reminded of him all the time. 2. It's 850 square feet of mine all mine space with exposed brick walls making my apartment way cooler than yours. 3. There's a rooftop deck. I'm into that kind of shit.

I posted a couple things here and you should go give me a "thumbs up" ASAP so that I can work for them full-time and become a freelancer, leading a life of leisure. I'd stay in bed till at least 10 a.m. every day. Only watch the Price Is Right occasionally, because Drew Carey is a little weird to me (although, I was watching it one day and the prize was a jet ski and a years supply of Centrum Silver, which I thought was weird, and he said, "Well, I guess you can jet ski while taking your vitmains, huh? Okay, then..." and I appreciated that he saw the oddness of the combo, too). I'd do the things that I wanted to do and sing the songs that I wanted to sing. I'd go with Nas to Fox's headquarters and do back-up rapping while he performed "Sly Fox." I'd go to the Carnegie Science Center and spend the day on the submarine. Maybe what I need is a sugar daddy? However, I just don't think I could force myself to copulate with someone I was repulsed by. How do prostitutes do that? Oh yeah, drugs. Ah, well, guess I won't quit my day job afterall... Sigh. I'm having a martini with my lunch today.

I Said Nooo, Nooo, Nooo!

I'm going to a party this weekend. Not just any party. A celebrity costume party. Jealous? I would be of me if I weren't me. Did ya get that? Guess who I'm being? WRONG! Not Rosie O'Donnel! We look too much alike and are both mortal enemies of Donald Trump! That'd be way too obvious. Jk. I'm being Amy Winehouse, complete with torn up fishnets, a beehive, tons of tats and eyeliner, and plenty o' scratches and bruises from fightin' with my man (or her man, as the case may be).

I went to the wig shop dahntahn today. You know the one (if you live in Pittsburgh)... it's on Fifth Ave, I think, and it's owned by little old Asian ladies that bustle around and ask you if you need help every five minutes. There are wigs all over, and tons of packages of weave with the words, "REAL HUMAN HAIR" splashed across them.

I waltzed in, after buying a pair of $5 shoes at some real ghetto place that was approximately the same temperature as my microwave when I put it on the "defrost chicken" setting, and began browsing. Asian lady #1 quickly accosted me.

"Can I heep yewww?"

I told her I needed a hair piece to clip in that would give me a beehive.

"Ohhh, okay, yesh."

She then showed me a spiky, red, punk rock-esque piece.

"No, too spiky. I need something that's like 50's style that I can put my own hair over."

After she pulled strange curly, red, purple, and other various and wildly innapropriate chunks of horse hair off the walls and out of packages, I finally saw what I needed-- A big, gross looking, brown braided bun. I pointed to it and she attached it to the top of my head with a comb and then stood back and admired her work like she was Picasso and I was the Self Portrait.

"Ohhh, yesh. Veray niceee."

Indeed, it is perfect. I have to dye my hair darker to match it (and Amy), and luckily CVS is havin'a 2 for $5 sale on hair dye (I need 2 boxes 'cause I gots long hair)! It's going to be a lovely weekend.

BTW, Kennywood's open! If you're from the Burgh you know that means your fly is down. But, my point is, I'm going to Kennywood tomorrow for free with my friend who's law firm is having a picnic there. This is going to be one great weekend. Holla back young'n!

Me too, Jack Handey... Me, too.

"I wish I would have a real tragic love affair, and get so bummed out that I just quit my job, and become a bum for a few years, because I was thinking about doing that anyway." -Jack Handey

Nothing against the bums in the 'Burgh, but it's really starting to smell like urine in the Cherry Way tunnel that is lovingly referred to as "Bum Tunnel." It used to smell like bacon. I'm not dizz-own with the change in smell.

I didn't come to work yesterday. What are you gonna do about it? Nothing. I was thinking getting fired might be okay. Collect unemployment for a few months. It might be nice. You know what? I have 4 friends who've already been on unemployment... and we're all under 24. What the fuck does that say about this economy and the work-world of Pittsburgh? Brutal.

I had a big pepperoni roll from Mancini's for lunch. Mancini's is this delish bakery in the Strip District that sells glorious loaves of bread. If you're single, you can't buy them, though, unless you are a carb-monster. Within 48 hours, whatever bread is remaining, uneaten, on the counter, in the paper bag, will be growing new forms of mold that the medical community would love to get their hands on. And you will not eat it. I hope. If you do, let me know what happens. I'm interested.

I met this foreign guy. He's Italian and Moroccan and was born & raised in France. He calls me things like "sexy" and "cutie" and it makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit each time. What's up with pet names? I hate that shit. Especially with someone I don't know that well. I'm afraid to hang out with him one-on-one because I think he'll annoy the shit out of me. Is it weird that I have a phobia and avoid going out with men because I think they'll annoy me or just be a big let-down? What does it mean? WHAT DOES IT MEAN?! (Envision that being said like Jack Skellington says it in The Nightmare Before Christmas, because that's how I said it in my head). Welp, have a lovely night. I'm going to ride the T to South Hills to pick up my car from being inspected. I walked 4 miles today, so if I don't get a seat, someone's gonna die. By die, I mean I will shoot daggers with my eyes and listen to my Ipod on an obnoxiously loud volume level. Now get off my back!

It's Monday and Everybody's Already Workin' for the Weekend.

My 4th consisted of drinking a bottle of vodka, tailgating outside Heinz Field for no real reason, and throwing up in my hair at Calico Jack's. Also going to Barry's in the Southside and being mean and angry because the hangover was already kicking in by that point. There was an extensive blackout period.

I live in an apartment building. A big one. Probably about ehh, I'm just ballparking it here, maybe 200 people? My management company is Mozart Management. Read all kinds of horrors about them here. Anywho, it appears they were charged in the past with some form of racial discrimination. From what I can tell, it's still going on. There are zero black people in my building. Then again, there are probably only 5 black people in all of Squirrel Hill. It's a very white (Jewish) neighborhood. However, it also seems like they've segregated the apartment building. Different floors smell like different ethnic cuisines.

When I go down to floor 2, I smell Indian food and it sounds like roughly 9 people occupy a 1 bedroom apartment.

Floor 3 smells like Chinese food all the time, and I'm always in the elevator with people who get off there and speak Chinese the whole way up. Why do I always feel like they're talking about me? "Haha, look at the silly white girl in her pink shoes and black and white striped dress! She will never be able to match the style and sophistication of the Harujuku girls! Only Gwen Stefani can do that."

My floor seems to be mostly us 20-somethings (sidenote: my building is 21+. No one under that age is allowed to live in it unless it's with a parent/guardian). The guys down the hall from me smoke weed incessantly and as a result, the whole floor smells like it. It was kind of embarassing when I was bringing a family up with their teenage daughter to try on an old prom dress that I was selling via Craigslist. They probably thought I was selling the dress for drug money. They were wrong. It was alcohol money.

Regardless of all this, I'll be movin' on soon, to the East Side. Actually to Regent Square. Smaller building. Bigger apartment. No reminders of my ex-boyfriend. A lot more people walking dogs. And new bars to become a regular at. Ahhh.

Inebriation = Celebrating Independence.

How is it that virtually all holidays = getting drunk? Is it just me? Or is it everybody? Don't leave me hangin' and feelin' like I have a drinking problem, c'mon! But seriously, think about it...

The year begins with New Years Eve. If that isn't a drunkfest, I don't know what is. My NYE took place at Town Tavern, which normally I despise, but it was the most expensive ticket in town, so we figured it'd be less crowded. Plus, my cousin knew some Duq sorority that was having a private party there, and sneaking wristbands was too easy. I ended the night by running 11 blocks barefoot back to the Holiday Inn on 10th St. in the South Side, taking a shower for some reason, then having a half-naked cage fight with my friend and some boy I went to college with, wherein I dumped a gallon of Arizona green tea on his head. I hate that shit. My credit card got charged extra for clean-up. Woof.

Next, we have Valentine's Day, which I despise. It's so dumb. This past V-Day I was dating this guy who smiled like Buddy the Elf during sex and he got me this $400 Coach watch and 3 bottles of my fav Three Olives vodka (he said he wanted to get something he was sure I'd like). I made him take the watch back and take me on a shopping spree at Forever 21, because it's like impossible to spend $400 there, so I didn't feel guilty at all! Then I got drunk. When I've been single on the big V, I also get drunk. Doesn't change much.

What's next? ST. PATTY'S DAY. A huge drunkfest! This past year on the day of the parade, my friends and I made shirts with iron on letters from Wal-Mart. Mine said "Shit me, I'm kiss-faced" on the front, and "Woof- the drink tax SUCKS" on the back. We were at Carson City by like 9:30 a.m. and my friend B and I didn't even go downtown for the parade. There was a free breakfast buffet at Carson City! There were also green call-a-cabs on special, which if you don't know, are meant to be shared by 4 people and are in a ginormous margarita glass. Like you could bathe a baby in it. B and I shared about 4 of those, as well as chugged green beer, and did some mind eraser shots. I was blacked out by 10:30, I think, seeing as how I'd had vodka and champagne starting at 7 a.m.

Easter comes next, which, okay, ya got me... You don't drink a lot. But you probably have wine, right?

Around Easter we have a holiday in Pittsburgh known as the Bucco's Home Opener. I've already told you my H.O. involved bonging a gin bucket and various costumes. Plus my mom shot-gunned beer with us and kicked all of our asses. Go mom!

Now, we're at the 4th of July. The Regatta is going on. Fireworks. I plan on tailgating outside of Heinz Field tomorrow, where there'll be bands and vendors and a LASER SHOW, then heading down to the South Side for some fireworks action on Casey's rooftop deck. Casey's the bar. I don't know anyone named Casey, personally.

Labor days and memorial days are the same thing to me because I never know when they are. Both of them, though-- day off work = picnics and booze.

Fall comes... bringing with it Halloween, or as Mean Girls pointed out, the day that all females dress up like sluts and no one can say anything about it. It also involves copious amounts of alcohol. My past halloween involved me chugging chocolate covered cherry martinis at Buckhead Saloon, then blowing chunks all over my ex's car. Man, cleaning that up the next day sucked. It was pink 'n chunky!

Then we have Thanksgiving, during which you basically get drunk off of food and tons of triptophan from the turkey. Man, do I love turkey!

Christmas Eve for my family involves roughly 20 bottles of homemade dego wine and my cousins and I doing shots at grandma's downstairs bar. A few Christmas Eve's ago my cousin and I were going shot for shot with Galliano-- it tastes like thick, sickening minty-sweetness. Then he vomited on the carpet and his older brother and I had to hurry up and clean it up. I remember my mom coming downstairs and telling me they were going home. Then she whispered to me, "You are too drunk!" I got drunk-mad and came home with my fam, ran into the hosue, threw up in the bathroom I shared with my sister immediately, then knocked my bed off its frame and slept on a slanted bed that night. I woke up with a wicked hangover, but had to pass it off like I was fine, so I walked into the living room at 8 a.m., the rest of my fam bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and said, "Ohhhhh, I'm so hungover! Who am I? Where am I?" In all reality, a drummer was beating on my brain and my stomach was full of hydrochloric acid that was slowly eating away the lining. I love Christmas!

The point of all this is: I love alcohol and on my lunchbreak today I bought a bottle of cherry vodka and a bottle of grape vodka. It's sitting next to me in my office right now.

Happy 4th of July Eve!

I NEED THIS!

What an informative article. I needed to share it. Julie Gong, what do you say to a taste-test-fest? It could turn into Vomitfest 2008? Or a great dance off at Bar 11 where Rob might let us wear his cowboy hat with the beer caps around the brim? Who knows...

Mark the Creeper.

So, I was at Whack Arnold's downtown yesterday, getting my daily fix of sweet tea (seriously, I need a 12 step program to lay off this sauce). I could feel someone walking really closely behind me on the street on the way there, but figured the chances that they were also going to enter the land of bright red and yellow and plastic seating was slim. However, they did.

Instead of standing in line behind me, like a normal human, this guy stood right next to me. He was about 2" shorter than me, had completely gray hair, and was wearing a business suit... and staring at me like a creep. Then, he went in for the kill...

"Excuse me, do you have the time?"

Seems innocent, right? I get out my cellphone and respond, "8:25 a.m.," and only then do I look directly at him and notice he's wearing a giant watch, which he's awkwardly trying to hide.

I turn back to the $1 menu and contemplating a sausage biscuit. But, oh no, he's not done.

"That's a really sexy outfit," he leans in and whispers in a conspiratorial voice, "I love boots and stockings."

What. The. Fuck. "Uhh, yeah, I like my boots, too," I say.

"Are those fishnet stockings?" he whispers.

"No. They are patterned tights." I bluntly responded, hoping he'd get the hint. At this point, it's very clear he's one of these guys on craigslist.

"My name is Mark. CanIcallyousometime?"

The last question was uttered really quickly as if he thought that if I didn't really understand what he said, I'd be more likely to hand over my number on a Mickey D's napkin.

"I live with my boyfriend." was my reply.

With that, Mark turned on his heel and left the Wood St. McDonald's, hopefully never to be seen again.

I would love to know what this man was thinking. For a 50+ guy to pick up a girl half his age, he's got to offer something guys her age can't or don't: charm, intelligence, worldliness, or just good ol' fashioned money! Not creepiness. Guys in their 20's have tons of that. Man, do I attract the freaks.

P.S. I was not wearing a remotely sexy outfit and def did not have on thigh highs like in the pic. I had on a past-knee length black dress from H & M, black tights, a caramel-brown leather thick belt around my waist, and matching brown round-toed Steve Madden boots. Not sexy ones. More like pirate boots. You know that wearing black and brown together now is cool, right?