12 Days of Bitchness

On the 12th day of Christmas, Mikey Lowell gave to me...


12 Obama posters



11 hours on Facebook



10 puerile comments


9 pseudo beaches


8 "It's on you, Babe"s


7 winning beagles


6 guys named "Jimmy"


5 trips 'round San Juan


4 whiffle balls


3 dead mice


2 douchey hats


And a black eye with a bruised cheek

Goodnight Saigon

First night pre-boot camp.

I was going to take it easy (and healthy) and have a salad or something for dinner, but then I got invited to Keen’s which is like one of the best steakhouses ever and they don’t even have anything green other than MAYBE the chives on the baked potato. Since this is PROBABLY the last piece of meat I will eat before I turn vegan, I might as well make it a good one. Also, red wine is supposed to be especially good for helping you run a timed mile.

I am terrified and feel like I’m going to actual boot camp. I just hope that when I have “nowhere else to go!” I won’t puke when Louis Gossett Jr beats the crap out of me. Even though I want another drink, I am going to get my bag ready, have some water, and get into bed. I will not be able to sleep because it’s Sunday night (and the nights, they seem to last as long as six weeks. On Parris Island. But I have my Doors tapes and I know that we will all go down together, so it’s all good.) I will report back tomorrow, provided I don’t go to jail for going all My Lai on my ANNOYING upstairs neighbor and her VERY LOUD TV.

Das Boot*

I recently suffered a stroke and decided to sign up for a 5:30 am fitness boot camp. Let’s put aside the fact it’s at 5:30 am for now (but have I mentioned that I don’t do mornings? That the last time I voluntarily got up early was never?) and let’s discuss the fact that I am so out of shape that I get chest pains reading the words “boot camp.” No, really. Chest pains. That radiate down my left arm. And let’s talk about how I got beat up in gym class (or would have if I’d ever gone), and how I was ALWAYS picked last at camp (don’t even get me started on camp) and how the last time I actually exerted myself was when I pushed an old lady out of the way to get a subway seat.

What in holy hell was I thinking?

Boot camp doesn’t start until Dec. 1, but I got my first email from instructor “Stacy” today. Stacy sounds very strident. (Then again, what did I expect my boot camp drill sergeant to sound like, rainbows and kittens?) Stacy likes to write in ALL CAPS a lot and has a moral objection to juice (“avoid juice. And that means always, not just on camp days.”). That’s kind of scary. I mean, what did juice ever do to her? Did juice burn down her house, kill her family and rape her pets? I may not be the biggest fan of juice (unless it’s paired with vodka), but I don’t have anything against it. And if she’s anti-juice, I seriously doubt she’ll approve of Amstel Light. Is she going to shame and bully me until I become one of those people who only orders water at dinner? Will I one day go to a party and nurse a single wine spritzer the whole night? I don’t know about this. I mean getting up a 4:45 am is one thing, but becoming a teetotaler is another thing entirely.

Also, Stacy says I have to make short-term goals for the first week, such as “I will show up to camp every day” and “I will not eat out during the first week.” Unfortunately, I already have plans to eat out every night the first week. So my goals will be have to be more along the lines of “I won’t order from Lenny’s more than once a day” and “I will only drink white wine and vodka because clear liquors are healthier.”

Yeah, I can see how this might not work. But I’m going to try it, and lucky for you, I’ve decided to come out of retirement to chronicle it (just like Brett Favre!). (Don’t thank me, accolades make me uncomfortable.) Since it doesn’t start until Dec. 1, I have ten days to eat and drink as much as possible. If you need me, I’ll be at Lenny’s.

*Yes, I'm aware that "boot" actually means "boat" and not "boot."

Onward

Hi Kittens,

I know you've missed me terribly. But here's a new fun project I'll be excited about for two weeks or until The Hills starts again:

http://leopardreport.wordpress.com/

Enjoy!
Kate the Great

Sick and Tired

Now that I have a normal schedule, I’ve been looking for some kind of evening volunteer opportunity to supplement my TV watching. Problem is, I don’t really like sick people or poor people or rich snotty people. Isn’t there a non-profit dedicated to beer drinking and baseball watching? Because damn if I wouldn’t be really good at that.

Speaking of charities, I’m so sick of all these “Walk for My Vagina” charity events that clog up Central Park every weekend. I don’t understand how a bunch of assholes wearing pink boas and taking up all the seats on the C train is going to cure cancer, but then what do I know. If I ever catch a life-threatening disease (which I will, because I constantly make fun of them), I’m asking my friends to please hold a giant kegger at Rosemont Park instead of annoying everyone on the planet with a “when I’m an old lady I’ll wear purple” bullshit charity walk.

Whatever. Don’t email me. I already know I’m going to hell.

Raindrops on Roses

My favorite scene in Sound of Music is when Captain von Trapp gets up on stage at the festival and says, “I’d like to sing you a love song,” and then he busts out the Edelweiss and everyone joins in and the Nazis are pissed and it’s awesome.

In the same vein, I’d like to sing you a love song, not for Austria before I leave "to accept my naval command at Bremerhaven” (or: “flee to America like a pussy”), but for the $3 flip flops I bought at CVS in 2005. There’s nothing spectacular about them and they’re so disgusting I’m scared to touch them without plastic bags on my hands, but man, if I wanted to, I could walk from Brooklyn Heights to the Upper West Side in them. Not that I would, mind you, but I could. So, te amo, gross $3 CVS flip flops.

Speaking of My Favorite Things, I’d like to inaugurate Favorite Things Friday, which will come out every week or whenever I feel like it.

I will start off by admitting that Favorite Things Friday is a small rip-off of my first favorite thing, which is Musical Mondays. If you love musicals and are as mystified by them as I am (“wait, you belong to a violent inner city New York gang and you call yourself a… Jet? And you do ballet? Okay.”), check this shit out. (Especially on Mondays!)

Secondly, The Hills. Lauren, Heidi, Spencer. Beef curtains, vacant stares, and drunk crying? OH-EM-GEE!

Three: lolcats. I know it's ridiculous, but I’m a sucker for cats. (And yes, I’m aware this came out in 1997.)

Four: I don’t know if they sell these outside New York, but these are the best chocolate chip cookies in the history of ever. Get some. Or, buy me some, my birthday is coming up. (Just saying.)

Five: F.U. Johnny Damon. Meet my NEW baseball boyfriend.

Six: Speaking of baseball, this guy beats out Jimmy Gobble for best baseball name ever. Hell, best NAME ever.

Seven: I’m obsessed with this show. Maybe because Jon Hamm is Hott or maybe because all they do is drink and smoke. Either way, two thumbs very enthusiastically up.

Eight: Gratuitous pictures of Tony Blair and Bono… me-OW! (Cherie, you lucky ho.)