Beer, Baseball, & (My) Boobs

Moving the blog to Tumblr - check it!

2011-07-31T19:46:00.000-07:00

Not that I've updated in a while (whoops!), but I'm moving my blog over to a new tumblr account. That will get all updated and be pretty soon too, and I'm hoping it will get me to blog a bit more too. The idea is to be more just about me in California and trying to figure this place out, not so much the beer/baseball/boobs thing - not that that's going away. =)

Hope to see ya there! http://jerseygirlincali.tumblr.com/

Palm trees in my yard

2011-04-18T01:14:00.000-07:00

Growing up in New Jersey, all I wanted was a palm tree in my backyard. There are countless pictures of me in various places on this planet hugging palm trees: Las Vegas, Savannah, Australia. I contemplated getting a palm tree tattoo, but then I realized they're kind of ugly if they're not stuck in the ground.

I went to sit on my front porch today, on an 80+ degree day in April, and I looked up. I haven't looked up since I moved. And I realized I have not one but two palm trees in my front yard. I think that still counts.

There were a number of things I was supposed to do when I moved to California. I was supposed to start eating healthy and working out more. I was supposed to join a softball team. I was supposed to go to as many shows as I could. I was supposed to make new friends, seeing as I left most of my old ones back on the East Coast. I was probably supposed to learn to make chicken without the use of a George Foreman grill.

But today, when I was done writing and needed a break from my brain, I drove to Yogurtland. I have become obsessed with yogurt since I moved out here because they're on every corner, worse than a Starbucks in Seattle or a Dunkin' Donuts in Boston. Not only that, they're self-serve and come complete with cookie toppings. It's like heaven by the ounce. I didn't even go there on purpose. I just got in my car and when I saw it, I stopped. It seemed like a good idea. I hadn't eaten dinner yet.

On the way out of the store, I looked up. There was a line of palm trees along the boulevard, right in front of a boarded-up grocery store. The sun was setting, a hazy shade of pink that probably wanted to be orange but couldn't because there is so much smog in this city, so it decided to look purpleish instead. And I stopped. And I thought, I can't believe this is my life.

There are palm trees everywhere. It feels like a vacation but no one's making me go back to reality yet. All the people who grew up here probably think I'm crazy. They'd probably remind me that I was two steps away from a ghetto or that plenty of states have palm trees or, hey, I'm not on vacation. I, in fact, have a job and bills to pay.

But to them I'd say: I have a palm tree. In my front yard. Two, in fact. And I can't believe this is my life.

Remembering Phil: Seven Years Later

2011-04-17T02:08:00.000-07:00

Seven years ago, Philip Augustin died. There's a chance you don't know that name, but if you grew up with him in West Orange or went to school with him at George Washington University, he's impossible to forget.

His name came up today when I was hanging out with my friend Jasmine, who I've known since high school, and we also spoke about him the first time we were catching up when I first moved out here. Years before Barack Obama was sworn into office, everyone in town used to say Phil would be the first black president of the United States - and West Orange was not a small town. Everyone loved him. He had the biggest personality. He could make anyone feel comfortable and like you were his best friend. He always had a story to tell and a smile on his face.

When Jasmine and I speak of him, we do so with a sense of sadness and confusion. Phil drowned in the Tidal Basin in Washington, D.C. He yelled something to his friends before jumping in the water, though what those exact words were was never information released by the police. Anyone who knew Phil knew he was afraid of the water, so it never made any sense. Because the situation was so strange and untimely, and because everyone had such faith that Phil would be someone truly important some day, rumors that drugs or alcohol were involved spread, but nothing had even been proven, but Jasmine and I wanted to know if anything else had ever been revealed about what happened. She had been close with the family, and I, like everyone else from high school, had nothing but good memories of him. A classmate, one of his best friends, had created an online memorial for Phil (http://rememberingphil.blogspot.com), a place for family and friends to write what they were feeling and speak to one another about what had happened. I looked at the site right after it was created, but I had forgotten about it until Jasmine and I stumbled upon it this evening.

My most distinct memory was from 11th grade, when we had to act out a chapter from The Great Gatsby for an English class assignment. He was over my house, I think because we had to grab the camcorder so we could film this great work of art we were about to produce, and he immediately sat down at our piano, which no one in the family ever used anymore, and started playing. Then he had a full conversation with my parents. He charmed them like no other, and that wasn't even his goal. He was just being Phil. And I remember my dad saying, "He's a good kid. You should bring him around more often." And he was a good kid. He was a good friend to a lot of people.

But this memory wasn't in the "Remembering Phil" blog. I never posted anything, though I distinctly remember looking at the site and writing my thoughts down, and I could swear that I had posted something. What is there is a quote from my friend Kristine, a direct piece of an IM conversation we had after we found out that Phil had passed away. She wrote, "I was talking to Emily Krauser. She said this to me: 'My way of viewing death, personally, which I know is different for everyone, is that you never go before your time. So it sucks because he was only 20, but look at how many people he impacted. I really believe he did what he was supposed to do. And I think it’s the only way I can think about it – because then I know he did achieve something. And he did – he touched all of us.' It’s hard for me to think that Phil’s time was up, but it does help to think about how he touched us all. Reading everyone’s comments helps me realize this too." To this day, I don't know if that's what I really believe, the whole theory on someone's time being up. I think it's what I said then, and what I have said about others who have passed away since then, to make myself feel better. To give death, especially an untimely one, some meaning. The strangest part of all was that Jasmine had said that exact same thing, about believing that G-d has a plan for us and knows when to take us from this world before something bad can happen, just before we came upon the blog. It's different for her, as she's very spiritual. I don't really know what I am. I just know I have lots of thoughts on lots of things and lots of worries and lots of feelings on top of those lots of thoughts. And I want to believe what Jasmine believes and what I've said in the past, I really do, but at the same time, I have a lot of trouble with the idea.

What we both do believe though is that someone can have a presence in your life. She asked if I ever gave the distinct feeling that someone was watching me or in the room with me, and I actually woke up feeling that way yesterday morning; in fact, I shot straight up out of bed with that exact feeling. I knew who it was then, but like a dream, the fleeting realization was gone by breakfast. But as we discussed Phil, as we tried to figure out if anyone knew anything more than what had been written about or said seven years ago, we both felt like, somewhere, he was watching. A lot of people loved Phil, and he probably has a lot more important people to watch than the two of us (or at least more entertaining people), but I can't really shake that feeling. I'd bet that Jasmine can't either. I don't know what it means, but it is rather reassuring to think that things do happen for a reason (that is one concept I've always believed in with no doubt at all) and that maybe there was a reason we spent so much time thinking about Phil tonight. And maybe, just maybe, there's a reason we spend so much time thinking about everyone in our lives, whether they're with us or not.

You wouldn't know I have writer's block from this babbling blog post.

2011-04-04T00:10:00.000-07:00

I'm a writer. I just need some inspiration.

I have plenty of thoughts. I can ramble on about any subject to no end, so much so that I often forget where (or why) I started the conversation. I just drove across the country by myself. I should have a million things to say. I took a thousand photos and, supposedly, picture is worth a thousand words, so why haven't I been able to string together one thousand of my own words?

When people ask what I do, I tell them that I'm a writer. And I am -- I was a magazine editor for four years. I wrote plenty and can describe Justin Bieber's hair with many intriguing adjectives (but I'll spare you). I'll start stories or outlines here and there, but I haven't finished them. I have a couple of stories that I wrote for Fiction I in college that I'd love to turn into full-length novels, but I haven't. Why not? Am I scared? Have I convinced myself that I was too busy when I was working three jobs in New Jersey or that I can't do anything on the West Coast until I'm settled in? Are these the same procrastinating excuses I use when I don't want to go to the gym and think the yogurt shop next door looks much better than an elliptical (trust me, it does).

I spent two hours in a Borders today that's going out of business. I started with 15 books in my hand, but I whittled it down to two (Now I know why Borders is going out of business - an Amazon.com search made me realize I could get half of the books for all of $3 online. Sorry, Borders.). I love book stores and libraries. I find hints of inspiration in them, even when I don't write down a single line for months after. Joan Didion is brilliant. Tom Perrota is hilarious. Chuck Palahniuk is insane. How are they inspired? What makes them want to sit down and write? Are they real writers, wired differently than me?

I hope that's not the case. I want to be a writer. I want to sit down and write a book. And no way in hell will I let that moron of a barely successful nature writer who visited Ithaca my senior year be right when he said I was the only one in his lecture class whose name didn't have an author's ring to it (Listen, Mister So-Important-I-Can't-Even-Remember-Your-Name-Author-Man, as fun as it must be to write about how many rings line the stumps of every dead oak tree in your backyard all day, most people have a pen name anyway. Feel free to go trip over a twig.)

Maybe this blog will be just what I need to get rid of my years-long writers block. Or maybe I'm just trying to give you a babbling blog to read. Or maybe I will finally really write when I'm settled into Los Angeles - at least, once I've bought a desk. Or maybe I'll come up with a thousand excuses instead of a thousand words.

Or maybe I can look at it this way - at least I finally wrote something again.

My people... how do I date one?

2011-03-30T21:19:00.000-07:00

A couple of years ago, not long after my ex and I split up, I went on a semi-blind date. I was nowhere close to being over the break up, but I felt like it couldn't hurt to put myself out there again. I say semi-blind date because I knew two things about him: like me, he was Jewish and into baseball. If that's not a match made in heaven, then I don't know what is. Except for the fact that I have never dated my people. I dated a half-Irish, half-Jewish kid once. He was a wrestler in law school. That didn't end well.

But I digress.

I didn't want to be judgmental from the get-go, but his kid was maybe three or four inches taller than me, skinny, and well, Jewish. Aside from the wrestler, I've only dated large football players. Either large as in tall or large as in fat or large as in both, and I felt very comfortable in their giant presence. Large this kid was not. From the moment we walked from his apartment to the restaurant, everything was awkward. It could have been my fault: I kept staring at his reddish hair and thinking, 'Here we go again.' I hope he couldn't hear my thoughts. They were loud in my head. It didn't help that he brought up his ex five minutes into the walk. I figured at least I'll get a free burger out of this. And it better be the greatest burger that I've ever consumed.

We went to Black Bear in Hoboken, but it was a Friday and Hoboken and the bar-restaurant had a thirty minute wait, so we decided to go across the street to grab a pre-dinner drink. I ordered a Bud Light, and Skinny Redhead seemed impressed. "You got a beer!" he exclaimed. "Yes. Yes I did," I replied, confused. "A lot of girls don't get beer. Especially on a first date," he explained. Well damnit if I'm not special. I had nothing to say to this kid, and I never have nothing to say. Thankfully, the Mets game was on, and they were playing the Padres. I don't remember much about the game except that the Mets came back to win, even with Oliver Perez closing. Perez is to me what Armando Benitez is to all Mets fans - a general pain in the ass who causes nothing but mini heart attacks every time he gets on the mound. I've literally bitten through shirts because Perez's poor pitching stressed me out that badly. Without thinking, I went on a rant about Perez and the rest of the Mets pitching staff, how even though it was only April, the only times the Mets could win was when Johan Santana started. Most people advise against rants on first dates.

Scrawny Redhead smiled. Then he started talking baseball. Let me be honest: at least one of my brilliant lines came directly from an announcer I heaed talking about the Mets on SportsCenter as I was putting on makeup and strapping my heels for this date. Nonetheless, I could hold my own, and I conversed with this sad Yankees fan that I was stuck on a date with, so I did nothing but talk sports and his ex. Classy.

As we said good night, S.R. seemed impressed. "I didn't think you were really a sports fan at all. Because of the black jacket and the makeup," he said. Seriously? It was cold. And it was black eyeliner and lip gloss, not Taylor Momsen raccoon-eyes here. It was my turn to smile, then remember two important things: 1) Thank god I love baseball, because it saves you from boring conversations on first dates. 2) Never go on a date just because he's Jewish and loves baseball. Unless he's a baseball player. That's another story, and the only exception to the football player rule.

Anyone have Kevin Youkilis' number?

damn you, bad hair day... when i was 14.

2011-01-06T21:06:00.000-08:00

Do you ever wonder why you remember certain things that have been said to you but not others? We like to think we can remember everything we're ever told, everything we've ever thought, and everything we've ever seen, but in reality, our brains don't have the capacity to hold all of that information. Honestly, we probably wouldn't want them to remember that much crap anyway - talk about memory overload.

Lucky for me, most of the random sentences I remember people saying to me are about physical things. I was a chubby kid which made me fairly insecure, so it makes sense. Before you ask, my parents loved me and told me I was pretty, that they were proud of me, that I could be whatever I wanted to be... yada, yada yada. It has nothing to do with being one of those kids that was ignored or told they were ugly (those poor sad fugly babies). I was just fat. It makes you a bit crazy in the head. So I remember comments about how I looked, whether they were positive, negative, or just irrelevant.

When I was in fourth grade, my entire class was standing in the hallway near the water fountain outside of our classroom. I was talking to my friends when one of the boys (who today has a receding hairline) told me I shouldn't wear the same outfits all the time because I was wearing the exact same thing that I had worn the day before. For the record, I hadn't. I was wearing one of my favorite outfits, a blue shortall and matching t-shirt combo that wouldn't fly in any decade but the '90s, but I knew I hadn't worn it the day before. Maybe the week before. I'm also pretty sure I made fun of something he said or the way his face just looked stupid when he spoke (I was 9 -- at least I didn't call him a poopyhead). To this day I'm still paranoid that someone will realize that I wore an outfit recently, and I notice when anyone else wears an outfit way too soon after the last time that they wore it. Especially if it's ugly.

In ninth grade, I chopped off my hair. It went from long and curly to short and frizzy. I straightened it constantly in the winter, well before I had a decent straightening iron or knew what hair serum was, and it always looked like a fuzzy triangle of bad highlights and split ends. During basketball practice, I had to wear it in a ponytail, which is tough to do when your hair doesn't actually fit into a hair tie. One of my teammates came up behind me on the court, poked my nearly invisible ponytail, and said, "It looks like a bunny rabbit's tail!" I didn't ask for her opinion, and I didn't want to look like a rabbit, so I didn't cut my hair again until college.

I met my ex-boyfriend's entire extended family over a Fourth of July weekend. I was a month into a blonde dye job, and I was already sick of it. I made a terrible blonde, but bleached it every summer anyway. I mentioned that I might dye it back to brown soon, and his sister asked if it was for my then-not-ex. I shook my head; he laughed. One of those, 'Please, she'd doesn't do what I say just to be the girl who won't do what I say' laughs (those exist, you know). A few months later, we were out with friends when one of the girls said she wanted to chop her hair. I had just chopped my hair off the December before, having not really learned my lesson from high school, and it was way too short. I hated it and was willing it to grow longer as fast as possible, which apparently willed it to just stop growing altogether. My ex said he liked long hair. It wasn't a dig at me. He was just telling our friend to not chop her hair off (or just remember the Carmen Electra posters of his childhood, either or). But I hated my short hair, so it felt like a dig, and I made it personal. I'll guarantee no one else remembers that conversation, including the girl who started it, but I do. I was really mad at my hair and the Super Cuts lady I was cheap enough to trust with it.

I've cut my hair maybe twice in the two years since. It has nothing to do with the ex and everything to do with not wanting to look like a rabbit. Over the last couple of months, my friends keep saying, 'Your hair looks so long!' It's really not -- it's only long if you cut your hair to a misshapen bob and it didn't grow out for a year, so that's what people remember being on your head. Honestly, it's still not long enough for me. I don't know if hair down to my butt would be long enough. While none of these incidents were people making fun of me (well, the kid in fourth grade was, but he'll get his), but I remember them all. And they drive me crazy.

Just goes to show you that your brain doesn't have the capacity for much, but it does have the capacity to hold many of the things you wish it wouldn't and not many of the things you hope it would. I blame Cosmo.

cut. it. out.

2010-10-05T21:23:00.000-07:00

why is it so hard to cut people out of your life who are useless yet so easy to cut people out who matter? the answer is entertainment purposes.

i had an epiphany today. i decided that people who don't need me in their lives -- or at the very least make absolutely no effort, regardless of if they care about me or not -- don't deserve a place in mine.

i've come to this conclusion before. but then i'll call or write on a wall or think, 'well, i'm bored, wonder what they're doing...' but no more. because really, it's just drama. or annoyance. and who the hell wants that? i'd rather have two important people than twenty useless people that are just bodies to entertain me in a bar. or small apartment space. or car. wherever.

but again, i've had this epiphany before. maybe i can make it last more than 48 hours this time.

after all, the mets fired jerry manuel and omar minaya. i have bigger fish to fry on this blog, now don't i?

Brett, who?

2010-08-18T12:26:00.000-07:00

Dear Brett Favre,

None of us are surprised. If you were any more of a drama queen, you'd be a Hollywood actor. We all knew you were coming back. You love the game. You want to win a Super Bowl ring with the Minnesota Vikings.

But do you really need this drawn out story every damn year? At least you didn't plan a primetime press conference like Lebron James and your photos aren't being ripped down by anyone in the Metrodome vicinity. I even own a Green Pay Backers #4 t-shirt. Hey, I was thrilled when you came to the New York Jets, even though we all knew you were an old man who was only going to last one year when they didn't have a shot at the playoffs.

This drawn out announcement year after year has got to stop. Now just get to the Championship, finish your 20th season, and call it a day. For the sake of all NFL fans. The Sportscenter coverage is just getting boring now.

Sincerely,

Emily

friends with an ex: brilliant idea or demented and stupid? discuss.

2010-07-28T12:14:00.001-07:00

i haven't decided if it's possible to be friends with an ex. i always say i want to be because these people were important to me at one point in my life, and i'd guess yours were important to you at once point as well. you wouldn't have been with them if you thought they were shmucks to begin with, unless you have some sort of self-destruction complex. ironically, i do -- but more on that at a later time, eh?

but is the fact that at one point in your life they were exactly what you wanted or needed any reason to keep them around? i've been completely willing to cut off friends who did horrible or truly stupid things. but exes? i can't do it. maybe it's because i do still have feelings. maybe it's because these guys were much closer to me than any friends could be, for obvious reasons. or maybe it's because i hate two things: change and not being in control. cutting off an ex would mean changing a once decent relationship to nothing (which it is at this point anyway, right?) and not being in control of the situation.

i have the belief that if you had feelings once, you always have them or you never had feelings at all. but i also don't like not talking to people anymore. i feel like everyone is in your life for a reason, not that they passed through and should never come by again. that doesn't mean the second the come around again you want to jump them. it simply means keeping friends as friends - whether they were friends with benefits, boyfriends, or boy friends.

or i just live in my own fantasy bubble where you can get along with whoever you want and dismiss all the people you can't stand.

my bubble is a very pretty place.

hi. my name is emily, and i like emo music.

2010-07-19T19:37:00.000-07:00

i went to warped tour. the 15-year-old in me was thrilled, namely because the 15-year-old in me never went to warped tour. see, none of my friends like the same music i do. never have. okay, that's not entirely true... kayla likes counting crows. heather likes dashboard confessional. andy likes dave matthews band. jess likes fall out boy, but they're on "hiatus."

but my emo/pop punk/punk? harldy anyone. i love my emo music. it makes me feel better, namely when i pretend i can sing and could be in a band. yeah, pink helped, but hey monday's "candles" got me through a break up. motion city soundtrack writes metaphors i wish i could come up with. and fall out boy is damn fuckin' catchy. but i'm not 15 anymore, which means the only people who really admit to liking this music - if they're over the age of 23 - are in the bands. or work for the bands. or tour with the bands. basically, they're everyone i want to be. the fact that people figured out how to tour 24/7, 365 days a week and be in an industry where no one questions how tattooed or pierced they are is mind boggling to me.

i don't want to be the girl who shows up to shows and concerts by myself, but should i avoid going to shows because people don't want to go with me or don't like the same music? should i be afraid to show up to hear music i like because i don't have any musical kindred spirits? or should i just stop listening to it because, hey, i may work for a teen magazine but i'm not a teen anymore?

what i have to figure out is how to find people who do like the same things i do. i'm so used to having the same friends i've had for years, since elementary school or the first day of college. and i love my friends, but it's strange to be into music no one's ever heard of or not look quite like everyone else you know. i don't want to be normal. i don't want to not pierce every damn piece of my ear lobes. but it's so weird to not have people quite understand. this isn't a woe-is-me post. this is more like a "what the fuck" or "why has everyone else figured out who they are or where they want to be" post.

or maybe this is just, "why couldn't i have a good voice so i could be a rockstar" post. maybe i should just start practicing on that target guitar i have - that'd probably be a better start than whining.

excuse me, sir, which way to maine?

2010-04-11T21:49:00.000-07:00

when anything is going wrong in my life, i feel the need to drive. do not listen to anyone says you can't run away from your problems because, honey, if skipping town for two hours will make you feel better, then log as many miles as you need to. yes, your problems will still be there when you get back, but hell, at least you enjoyed those two hours.

i mean, i enjoyed my eight hours. normally i run away all by myself, but i dragged leah and amanda along on my last road trip for two reasons: one, nothing was actually wrong in my life at that particular moment, and two, it was completely spontaneous. at 11:30 p.m., i came up with the brilliant idea that we could get to maine and back in time for both amanda and i to be back for our family obligations the next day. sure, we'd be on no sleep, but we'd be back in time.

we left at midnight. we blasted miley songs. no one was on the road. i downed the biggest coffee mcdonald's had that wouldn't give me the jitters. we took pictures. it was the most ridiculous, strange thing we could've done, but here's the thing - when else am i going to be able to get in a car and drive with my best friends for absolutely no reason other than the fact that this will make a really good story?

plus i have a list of things i want to do. (doesn't everyone?) number one on that list is visit all 50 states. until a week ago, i had never been to new hampshire or maine.

mission accomplished. i still have a few states to go, but i'm one step closer to achieving something on that list. and with everything that's gone on in that last year, that step is a pretty important one right now.

poetic flow and bracket busters

2010-03-21T19:30:00.000-07:00

ever have so many thoughts that you think, 'if i just sat down to write them all i'd be here forever?' i think that's why i haven't updated my blog in two months. that or i'm lazy. or easily distracted by dumb things like life and boys and saint patrick's day beads. (which is a collection i added mightily to this year, and i didn't have to flash one boob to do it, thank you very much -- it's not mardi gras, people, it's saint patrick's day.)

what i've realized this week is what everybody already knows -- the people you don't want in your life are the ones who call, text, appear at random hours when you don't want them to. the people you do want around are the ones who don't respond when you are the one calling, texting, or appearing (actually, i've never appeared at random hours, but i couldn't just break that poetic flow).

except for your best friends and your family. they're around all the time. they know you better than anyone else, whether you wish they did or not. your best attributes, your faults. the job you probably should be doing, the boy you probably should be with, the cookie you probably shouldn't be eating, the road you probably should be taking. they're the people you probably should be listening to and hopefully, they're the people you are listening to. at least i did this weekend. maybe not on every topic discussed, but on many. on most. most of the time, we listen to everything but take in only what we care to hear -- it doesn't matter who is on the other end of the conversation. it's not that we talk just to hear ourselves talk. sometimes we just don't want to listen to our own advice. sometimes we hope someone we trust will give us advice that just sounds better but truth be told, if they're that good a friend, anything they're telling us is probably exactly what we knew all along. sucks ass, right?

but if you think i won't be staring and yelling at my phone, you've got another thing coming. just because i listen doesn't mean i learn any lessons. at least not today. after all, i am still just a 25-year-old girl. albeit one who probably kicked your ass because she did, in fact, have ohio university in the first round of her march madness pool.

Darrelle Revis is my hero

2010-01-17T10:49:00.000-08:00

I am beyond excited for today's afternoon game. Okay, yes, part of the reason is because I am very simply a Jets fan. The Jets Nation is used to disappointment, failure, regret. Really, really stupid losses that should have been wins (please reference the game vs. Atlanta as the most recent checkpoint on that list).

But there is a beacon of hope for Jets Nation. And no, it's just just that they're about to begin their second game in the 2009 Playoffs. That beacon of hope has a specific name: Darrelle Revis. And I am a fan of his on Facebook.

Darrelle Revis should have been the defensive player of the year. Despite shutting down New England's Randy Moss, Buffalo's Terrell Owens, Carolina's Steve Smith, Houston's Andre Johnson, Indianapolis' Reggie Wayne, and New Orleans' Marques Colston, and actually causing Cincinnati's Chad Ochicinco to shut his mouth (almost as impossible as shutting him down), Revis lost out to Green Bay's Charles Woodson.

"This, in my opinion, was the best year a corner has ever had, the most impact a corner has ever had in the National Football League," Jets head coach Rex Ryan said. "That's my opinion. Apparently that wasn't how everybody felt."

Well, that's how I feel and that's how the rest of Jets Nation feels. None of those big names Revis shut down had more than five catches or 35 yards against Revis, and only one scored a touchdown. And the guy is only 24. If anyone should have swagger, it's Revis. I know Philip Rivers is good and the San Diego Chargers will bring everything they have today, but it's not rookie Mark Sanchez who gives me hope -- it's Revis.

LT catches that pass!

2010-01-15T08:32:00.000-08:00

Right now I consider the San Diego Chargers to be the equivalent of Voldemort (you know, he who shall not be named), but I had to post on LaDainian Tomlinson. I know, I know. He's the enemy. He reached 100 TD passes faster than any other player in history. He's going to test the #1 New York Jets defense like no one else will this Sunday.

But before he does that, he's going to dance:

Thank you, LT, for that how to be a running back lesson for
dummies - you read the defense, side step four times, then
catch that pass (catch that pass). Oh, and don't forget to say
hi to mom! Someone give me a pigskin and the first version
of Final Cut Pro ever invented 'cause I wanna be just like LT!

I hope when he's on the field, he has disco music playing in his
head every time he reads the defense. I really, really do.

Photo: Courtesy of The Washington Post

I'll put $40 on the Jets. That's right, i said the Jets.

2010-01-14T20:36:00.000-08:00

I just got back from Las Vegas. Normally that one sentence would be enough to not conjure up a few ideas in your head or make up my entire post and you'd all be perfectly happy. But I'm not going to write about any debauchery (though I did win the majority of my money on a Playboy penny slot machine at the Excalibur). Why? I was sick for the first 72 hours of it with a cold that had knocked me flat on my feet for 5 straight days, long before I had even set foot in Vegas.

Plus, the New York Jets were playing. That's right, the New York Jets were in the playoffs. The only thing I talked about for six straight days was how I was determined to watch this game while in Las Vegas. I don't care if all a long the strip there were women dressed in flamingo costumes, little foreign men snapping cards of naked women at us, $1 margarita stands as far as the eye could see. No, no - the Jets who started off 3-0 before they decided to break our hearts and make us wonder why the hell a rookie named Mark Sanchez felt the need to eat a hot dog on the sideline and constantly overturn the ball.

This was a team that beat the previously undefeated Indianapolis Colts and then convinced themselves that they had no hope after they lost to the Atlanta Falcons, a pathetic game they should have won but, being the good ol' Jets, did not. "We're obviously out of the playoffs, and that's unfortunate," head coach Rex Ryan said. But statistically, they were in -- and went on to beat Cleveland in the regular season, thus letting me sit in a bar drinking $2 Miller Lites, screaming at the TV whenever Sanchez didn't complete a pass.

But I was the only one screaming. I was the only Jets fan in the bar. The only one in the bar! I'm not sure how I got out-numbered by Cleveland fans in Las Vegas, but let me tell you, despite the dirty looks I got for cheering when the Jets took a knee with 1:30 left to go in the game, I was the only one who walked out of that bar with a huge grin on my face because I had put money on my team to win.

Take that, fairweather fans. See ya in San Diego. Well, New Jersey. I mean, hello, I was just in Las Vegas - how much traveling do you think I'm doing?

Blizzard of 2009

2009-12-21T08:47:00.000-08:00

I spent the blizzard of 2009 stuck in Philly. I say stuck, but I wasn't really - I knew it was coming. Philly got almost two feet of snow. It was gorgeous. We walked to a house party through the blizzard Saturday night, stopping at a bar halfway to stay warm with yes, more beer, watch the end of the Cowboys/New Orleans game (Cowboys, you've redeemed yourself in December for once), and contemplate how crazy we were to walk right past the Eastern State Penitentiary for yes, more beer and a mini IC reunion. I was freezing cold on the way back but really, really happy because how often do you get to wander through two feet of snow with your friends or walk smack in the middle of a normally very busy and very clear city street? And the next morning, four strangers not only helped us clean off two cars and clear a parking space, but it was really nice to see all these people out trying to figure out what the hell to do with all this snow. You don't get that in the 'burbs -- you just get people cursing at their long driveways and sidewalks that they have to shovel off.

I liked seeing all the people out on a freezing cold Sunday morning, I really did, even when I had free tickets to the Jets game -- which would have been my first live NFL game EVER -- that I couldn't use because I couldn't get back up to Jersey in time. Hell, they lost anyway. But I WILL see an NFL game in the flesh already. Now I'm just determined.

This is my life. Or my brain. Or both.

2009-12-15T08:05:00.001-08:00

I overanalyze everything. It's just how I roll. It's a take it or leave it part of my personality -- you have to appreciate or at least respect that everything plays through my mind on repeat because I can't make an inherent part of me disappear. Now do I like this? Of course not. It'd be awesome to just go through life without questioning what happens, but conversations run over and over again through my head. Just when I think I'm done overanalyzing, I've moved on to the next piece of the word puzzle. Why was that brought up first? Why was this said at all? Did I say everything I needed to? When is it okay to keep the conversation going if it happened days or weeks ago?

I usually think I've said something dumb, but don't realize it until two days later -- and can you fix what you said or do you just let it go? Did the other person even notice? Or if you've done something you know they wouldn't like or aren't a fan of, not major, a little thing, did you lose them forever? Should you have thought before moving or talking or looking or thinking? And the real question -- did you even do anything wrong at all if you were being yourself, saying whatever you were thinking, or simply asking questions? Probably not, feels like that anyway.

I wasn't always like this. Sure I've overanalyzed my entire life, but the point it's at now can only be blamed on one person and/or incident, however you (or I) would like to call it. Over-analytical? Sure. Over-emotional? No. But times change, the people in your life change, even if you're still in the same spot. And so now I'm stuck being that girl who can't shut her brain off, who would be so happy if she could, and is betting anyone else she's had a conversation with has all but dropped it from their brains while it's still running through hers.

When someone discovers how to fix the broken record that is the human brain, let me know, eh?

Time to move to Vegas & become a Monopoly millionaire!

2009-10-28T18:26:00.001-07:00

A 19-year-old Norwegian kid with more o's in his name than Bill Gates' bank account won $20,580 in the Monopoly world championship.

Why the weird number? Well= kids, that's how much money is in your 20-year-old board game. And why is there a Monopoly world championship? Well kids, because there are also champions of Guitar Hero, Nathan's hot dog eating contests, and curling. And since this tournament was held in Las Vegas, the same city that holds a rocks paper scissors championship and let Celine Dion live for almost five years, it really comes as no surprise that a board game bonanza such as this one exists.

Now if only I could use $20,580 of Monopoly money at the mall, I'd feel as lucky as that Norwegian boy with no life and a bigger bank account than I have.

Or I'd roll like Kanye West and buy these:

The most expensive water bottle in history.

2009-10-27T16:25:00.000-07:00

Oh, Mangini. Remember when we thought you were going to take the Jets somewhere, back when Farve donned a gangreen #4 and the team was still 8-1. Somewhere between the Jets hitting 8-2 and your current 1-6 record with the Cleveland Browns, you decided you had to prove how tough you really were. After all, you are the same coach who prefers to play it safe over taking chances, which is respectable in many games. Like when you play, say, the Patriots.

Mangini, we know you come from the Bill Belichick School of Say Nothing To The Press And Wear Sleeves-Cut-off Hoodies [fine education at that university], but did you really have to prove this by fining one of your players $1,701 for forgetting to pay for a bottle of water from his hotel room...that cost $3? That is one expensive plastic bottle. And here I thought Poland Spring had gotten pricey.

We get it, Mangini. You've got to teach those players a lesson! Show them that they can't get away with nothin' round these here parts of Ohio! But maybe asking him nicely to pay the hotel the $3 would have been acceptable? Hell, charge him interest - make him pay $5! There's a very thin line between hardass coach and trying-too-hard coach, and, Mangini, you've proven that you are still a Belichick student. Almost there, head coach. Almost.

Could be worse for that unnamed Browns player though. He could have worn a Jason mask during pregame introductions and been fined $10,000 for being an idiot. Yes, I'm talking to you, Sheldon Brown. Save that for Halloween, eh?

Photos: Courtesy of Deadspin.com; US Presswire

Sometimes we're all just a little bit crazy

2009-10-19T18:21:00.000-07:00

For someone who prides themselves on thinking like a boy, I do excessively dumb girl-like things. You know, because I am one. Like, being needy or over-texting or running conversations (or non-conversations) through my brain over and over again until they're nothing but crazy sounds.

The funny thing is, I have told myself many times to change, to not do things that I know are stupid or that might get me hurt or, hey, are just plain crazy. But you know how trying to change other people never gets you anywhere? Trying to change yourself can be just as difficult. We all have deeply embedded habits and tendencies and trying to make yourself, well, less nuts, is often very difficult. It takes time and tripping over yourself and screwing up until you figure it out for yourself, not because other people tell you what you should or shouldn't do.

This probably sounds like a random rant, but truth is there are certain things that have bothered me for a very long time and that have gotten worse rather than better in the last year or so. As much as I want to fix some of the dumb things in my brain and stuff I've said to others, I'm just making things worse. As Leah made the valid point of: "I think you have a tendency to try to fix things, and that's where you get in trouble."

True. So the question is - how do you fix something you can't control? Trying to change your personality is like, well, trying to change your boyfriend. It ain't never gonna happen, honey. Move on to the next boy if this one isn't working. But I can't move on from my brain. In conclusion, I may pretend I can think like a boy, but clearly I do not about many, many things. And that just sucks sometimes.

January Jones Is My New Hero

2009-10-14T09:09:00.000-07:00

I don't watch Mad Men. I recognized January Jones' name from being on fashion pages before anyone knew anything about her. I certainly knew nothing about her except that she has a cool name. But I learned lots of fun facts from her GQ cover story like:

1. "I hung out with dudes in high school,” she says. “We were the hippies—into the Dead, Zeppelin, Phish. I was a lifeguard at the water park, and I remember the day Jerry died."

2. "I’m a beer-pong champion! Among my friends, anyway."

3. "I don’t really go to clubs all that much—I just like going to friends’ houses, playing Wii, having a beach fire in Malibu. I’m always the first person at every party to ask if we can make a fire.”

4. “Dear men of America, I like beer, I like football. I’m probably the most interesting girl you’ll ever meet.”

Aside from the fact that January Jones is insanely hot and much blonder than I am, the majority of those quotes could have come out of my mouth. In fact they have, save the one about the day Jerry Garcia died (though I did just buy a dancing bears bumper sticker, and when I was 13, my biggest goal in life was to be a hippie).

I like beer and football and hippies. I've tried to take boys down in beer pong (that story will come soon -- don't you worry). I have told many boys before that I like bars and sports bars and sports, and I get one of two reactions -- one, that I say that so they'll like me but I'm really lying, or two, that I'm a really cool chick who can hang with the boys and not make fun of their beer guts. Little do they know that I'm like any other needy, over-analytical chick, but let them figure that out later. Truth is, it's not a lie. I hate wine and first date dinners and ruffly shirts.

I like dive bars and house parties and mix tapes and not needing to make excuses for it, but turns out, you always have to make excuses. If you're too girly, if you're too tomboy-ish, if you try too hard to please others, if you're too selfish, if you're too sexy, if you're too prudish. Ever notice that boys never have to make excuses for who they are? They just... are. Most things in life are full of double-standards for girls and guys. Just saying "I like beer" can be taken as something besides, oh, "I like beer." Sometimes I think it must be so much easier being a dude. Actually, I think that all the time.

But then again, doesn't "I'm a beer pong champion" seem way hotter coming out of January Jones' mouth than say, your frat boy ex?

Thought so.

Photo: Courtesy of GQ

She may have been on American Idol, but Kelly Clarkson is a badass.

2009-10-07T18:45:00.000-07:00

I went to the absolutely sick Kelly Clarkson show last night. That girl can sing. I kept turning to Leah and going, 'My voice doesn't do that.' Sure she looked, well, awful in those black & gold bell-bottoms, but she was so damn cute and happy and talking to the crowd and rocking out to a cover of The White Stripes' "Seven Nation Army" and her own songs off All I Ever Wanted (that I didn't know most of because Leah gave me that album during my post-breakup traumatic stress disorder, and I therefore didn't want to listen to anything involving boys. Couldn't listen to my Pink CD during that period either, and I heart Pink. So sad).

Kelly's "Since U Been Gone" was our anthem senior year. Every time it came on at Moonie's, you sang-screamed at the top of your lungs. Even the nerdy asexual boy who squeaked as he sang rocked out, to our ears' dismay. Every time. Always hammered.

I've sang that song a billion times with friends and looked like an idiot belting it out in the car, but does anyone actually pay attention to the lyrics with a melody that catchy? 'Cause Kelly is saying some decent shit -- worth a listen if you've ever had your heart broken into itty bitty glass shard-sized pieces.

As in: "how can i put it / you put me on / i even fell for that stupid love song / yeah yeah / since you been gone / how come i never hear you say / i just wanna be with you / guess you never felt that way."

And: "i can breathe for the first time / i'm so movin' on / yeah yeah / thanks to you (thanks to you) / now i get (i get) / you should know (you should know) that i get / i get what i want."

It's badass. Kelly (or whoever wrote it) was all like, 'Look loser, you suck ass, I always get what I want, and, yeah, you suck.' But eloquently. And with a catchy tune behind it. I think I've lived my life more in the refrain part than the chorus part as of late, but I'm working on it. The reason for that will come up in due time. For now, let's enjoy the ex-free posts, shall we? I'm going to go find some more Kelly lyrics to tweet about and think, 'Wish I wrote that. Wish boys weren't stupid. Kelly, why aren't you going back to those red and blonde highlights that I'm gettin myself this Saturday, as I do every fall?'

So many important thoughts tonight...

Photo: Courtesy of Getty Images

He muffed a what? That makes perfect sense!

2009-10-05T20:42:00.001-07:00

I wish I knew more about sports. Baseball I'm golden -- I used to play softball. But football? I love watching it. I like dating those who play it. I just don't know shit past the fact that touchdowns are 6 points, footballs are called pigskins, and the 'J-E-T-S, JETS, JETS, JETS!' cheer is very easy to learn.

Okay, I know more than I give myself credit for, though I thought I knew a whole lot more until I read Sports Illustrated's 2009 NFL Preview. I starting reading it 3 weeks ago, and I'm still only on the AFC East. Look, the tiny print makes for difficult reading on an elliptical. Plus I had to make my dad thoroughly explain the difference between a 3-4 vs. a 4-3 defense and why the Dolphins' Wildcat formation can't possibly work forever before continuing said reading. Thanks, Dad, for the crash course in football 101 you would've thought I learned 5 years ago.

Then I read this week's Sports Illustrated and felt stupid all over again. In "Who's Hot, Who's Not," they describe one of the Titans' Ryan Mouton's mistakes against the Jets as "muffing a punt after calling a fair catch." I'm sorry -- muffed a punt? That just sounds dirty. Granted I laugh at the word balls and any "That's what she said" joke uttered, but how does one muff in a non-dirty context? Lady Gaga would not be pleased with a clean use of this word, nor am I. That's why I said, 'That's what she said!' out loud to no one after reading it. High five!

Then again, at least three guy friends told me they stopped their Sports Illustrated subscriptions a few years ago because the mag started sucking. So, hey, I've got that in my confused favor.

Photo: Courtesy Knoxnews.com via AP/Mark Humphrey

I probably should've started blogging a week ago...

2009-10-04T17:37:00.000-07:00

My sister asked when I got so into football. She was getting ready to head back to her new apartment, and my dad and I were trying to shove her out the door because she had the audacity to leave after kickoff. C'mon, the Jets were playing the Patriots. Sanchez vs. Brady. It was a big freakin' deal. My response? College.

Fact is I've always liked sports; I played softball, basketball, and soccer growing up (all poorly), then threw heavy metal objects in the air during high school (track & field accepted me when b-ball said, 'Oh hell no, you can't even pull off a layup... because I still can't). And I've always got along better with guys, even if I had pretty much only female friends before college. Luckily, I made up for that in undergrad, thanks to six boys living behind me senior year, my best guy friends who could quote every Family Guy episode ever made, and only dating, well, football players. I made an exception for a wrestler, but that was after I graduated anyway.

But a ridiculous pattern of O-liners in my life is not the reason I like the Jets or football in general. I mean, hi, I like the Mets, too; did you think my blog title was just about alliteration (okay, I do really like that, but besides the point)? I like sports. I like writing. I might as well combine both.

Thing is, there are a million blogs. There are even more people who think they're the most important person in the world, people who think everything they has to say is fantastic, people who think anybody can write, and people who think everyone gives a shit about everything they have to say. None of us are as awesome as we think we are, or wish we are. And I don't know where I stand in general, but one day I'd like to write something that matters. Right now, I'm just a twentysomething chick who really likes sports and tries way too hard to be just one of the boys, and I'm just trying to figure out my life, but hey, that might be good enough.