Have You Ever Seen The Rain

Have You Ever Seen The Rain
(Coming down, on a sunny day)

This past Saturday was my birthday. The whole weekend in fact. Not in the actual sense of the word, as my real birthday is in July, but in the fact that I feel as if I've literally been reborn.

A couple of months ago, I went through a pretty difficult time. I can't remember another time when I've felt such despair. Adhering to my need to always present a strong front, I didn't tell a single soul about what I was feeling. I would just randomly go into the bathroom and cry, then wash my face, re-apply make-up and walk back outside pretending I had just had an allergy attack. I did this for about a month. Then one night, in a fit of anger someone said something that highlighted everything I had been thinking, that I was a horrible mother, wife, pretty much a crappy person overall and I just straight out broke down and started sobbing. Steve happened to be there when this happened, being that we were in his apartment at the time.

I tried to leave so that I could cry in solitude but he literally held me down and forced me to address what was behind my breakdown. In the next couple of weeks, through hours of conversation, he continued to encourage me to take a look at what I was feeling and the forces behind it. Up until that point, Steve and I had just been casual friends. But when someone gives you the compassion you need to stop crying, then helps you find the strength to stand up, dust yourself off and walk again, that person pretty much becomes one of your best friends for life, one of your soul friends.

One night, I asked Steve why he was so grounded and positive. How he could be so committed to his word and not get bogged down by the insignificant things in life. He hesitated a moment, then told me that ten years ago, he went to a seminar called The Landmark Forum, and that it had provided him with a different outlook on life and the tools to live better. I didn't say it out loud but a small voice in my head went "What a crock of shit." I jokingly asked him if it was a cult, but then thought about it a bit more. I thought about how Steve is smarter than I am, but never makes anyone he speaks to feel stupid. How he can get people to do certain things, but there's no force, manipulation, coercion or bribery involved. How he faces the same problems that everyone else does (money issues, self issues, the random annoyances of everyday life) but never gets stressed out or bogged down by them. And he attributes all that to this one forum that he attended ten years ago when he was 20 years old. After that, when he asked me if I would attend one with him, I agreed. I was eminently skeptical, but I agreed.

This past weekend, we attended the forum in New York City. It was three days long, intensive sessions from 9 a.m. to almost 11 p.m. with minimal breaks in between. I said I was going to be open-minded about the whole thing, but during the Friday session all I did was sit and listen and think things like "I already know this" "I don't need a seminar to empower myself" "That's counter-intuitive" and "What are you talking about, I don't care I don't care I don't care I don't care." That night, Steve and I went home with the assignment to look at the areas of our life where we lie to ourselves and others, and I couldn't think of a single thing. Even on Saturday morning, I woke up, having not done the assignment and thought "There's nothing I can put on this list, I am a genuine person. I am always honest about how I feel, I am the most blunt person I know. I don't have any complaints about myself, I am very true. Sure I'm impatient sometimes, but the motivation behind that isn't negative. I just don't like having to wait for people to understand what I'm saying."

On Saturday morning, we sat down at the seminar and a man stood up to speak. He was visibly upset as he stood there and told a room filled with 150 strangers that he realized just then that for 25 years, he had made his partner out to be the one who was always wrong, the person who wasn't as good, the person who was lucky to be in the relationship. And then his partner died of a terminal illness and he moved on, never acknowledging anything he had done wrong in their life together. As I sat there, listening to this person, I thought to myself "Okay Riss. Here is someone who has found the courage to face himself and the ugliness of his past, the least you could do is take an honest look at yourself without fear of what you will find." And I did. It was like a slot machine, paying out ugly, shit-covered coins.

All the crappy things that I do in life, came into focus. The way I become apathetic so that I don't have to deal with things and people, even people I claim to love. The way I hide my fears. The way I wear not caring what people think as a cloak in certain situations, to protect against the fact that deep down inside I do. The way I impatiently snap and deride even the people close to me, under the guise of impatience, to assert my intelligence and compensate for the fact that I have nothing tangible to point to that proves I am worthy of the expectations I feel people have placed on me as a result of that intelligence. The way I say I am committed to things, then do no actions to support my empty words. The way when something is important, like writing a book, I hide behind my own laziness and procrastination, to hide a fear of failure. Because if you don't attempt anything, you won't fail at it. All this hit me like a train and I just sat there in shock. I'd always known those ugly things were there, but there's a huge difference between feeling like they're there and understanding with crystal clarity that not only are they there, they've been controlling your life and your actions, from the little things to the big ones. That was my first break-through.

After that I was open to the things I was listening to in the forum. And it opened a lot of doors, windows, keyholes, everything. Over the next two days, I made some very difficult phone calls, to people I hadn't been completely authentic with. It was scary, and painful and I have to say that one in particular, to my ex-husband, almost had me vomiting into a trash can on Eighth Avenue beforehand. I also called my dad, though that was an easier call, to let him know that I appreciated every sacrifice he had ever made for me, every call he ever made inquiring after my well-being, every piece of advice he tried to give. I let him know that if I could have chosen my own parents, I would have chosen them. I also let him know that the moments I lashed out in anger as a response to his well-intentioned advice were not a reflection of anything he had done wrong. I was just lashing out because I interpreted his advice to mean he was disappointed in me and the way I turned out. Imagine that. Your father says to you "You really need to make sure your credit history is solid" and you take it to mean "You are failing at one of the important aspects of being an adult. You should have been much more successful than this. I thought my daughter would turn out better." What the fuck, who does that? Oh, me.

This morning, I made another difficult call, this time to my mother. I called her in the Philippines and told her that I loved her, and that even though kids always say that to their parents, sometimes they say it out of rote, because it's what they feel they should say to be a good kid. But that this time, I meant it. I called her and told her that the things she had blessed me with weren't always apparent, but that they were there and a direct result of her. My caring about other people is because of her. What sensitivity I have that hadn't been stifled by my need to appear strong is because of her. I told her I was sorry, that I realize now that I sometimes wielded the strength of my beliefs and personality like a bat, to trivialize her opinions. That for 30 years I've been hearing what she had to say, but not really listening, and avoiding her out of guilt because a part of me knew that I wasn't trying to be the best daughter I could be. She cried.

We spoke for well over an hour and I felt like it was the first conversation we had ever had. For the first time in my life, I didn't view the phone call as something obligatory or necessary, I was happy to be talking openly with the woman who had birthed me. Keep in mind, up until this point I never even for a moment thought anything should be changed in our relationship. I thought, hey, she knows I love her. I'm a good kid. I do what I can to let her know she is important. No, no I didn't. I did what I felt like doing, not what I could have been doing. It's not a matter of what you should be doing. It's a matter of what you can be doing, if you are genuinely committed to something or someone. I tell people all the time that my family and friends are the most important thing in my life. And they are. But my actions have not given power to those words, and without the actions to support your words those words are meaningless.

Another ugly truth I've been forced to look at are all of my individual fears and superstitions. And anyone who knows me understands how difficult it is for me to even admit I have fears. But I do. They were endless. I have a fear of flying, resulting from the fact that I flew back on the morning of September 11, 2001 from Los Angeles then watched a plane crash into the World Trade Center while outside my building across the river. I never write about this fear, except to allude to it, because a voice inside of me says that if I write about it then I will die on the first plane I ride on. So I don't. Isn't that ridiculous?? And this fear has so consumed me that I haven't gotten on a plane since then. I used to fly 5 times a month and I haven't flown in over 5 years. I have missed the weddings of some of my closest friends and the birth of my only nephew, telling everyone that it was a monetary issue, which was only the case a few times. But the truth is I've just been too scared to get my ass on a plane and so I don't. Isn't that ridiculous?

This has been a very difficult post to write. I am alternately crying and laughing, and a part of me is shaking its head in disgust at the idea that I have stripped down and shown everyone who knows me, as well as complete strangers, what I look like inside after a lifetime of hiding it. But I am doing it because I have committed to the possibility that I can live better, and part of that is shaking off the restraints of how I look to others. More importantly, I am doing it in case it touches anyone else, or inspires them to at least consider the idea that maybe they can have this for themselves as well. If a thousand people read this and roll their eyes, that's okay if even one person read it and said they want that for themselves and are going to try and get it.

One of the most amazing things of the forum was watching the transformation in everyone else. There were 150 people in the forum, many of whom were just as openly resistant and skeptical as I was. If you had told me on Friday that my life would be completely different by Saturday morning, I would have laughed. Or rolled my eyes. Or hit you. But you would have been right. Some people are reading this and thinking "Holy fuck, Riss has been brainwashed." Maybe. But I don't see how that's a bad thing. My brain has been cleansed. I looked into it on Friday and everything looked orderly and fine, but by Saturday I started to see things I didn't even realize were there. The self-doubt, the annoyance, the stress, the fears, the ugly feelings I've been dragging around as a result of random experiences of the past, they were there in little compartments, hidden out of sight. Now, I've cleaned up and thrown them away. They're all gone. In 60 hours. Isn't that wild? They may come back but I'll know how not to let them control me. I still can't get over it. And the funny thing is, it was so basic. No one ever had to be convinced to do anything and you didn't even need to speak if you didn't want to. The point the forum tries to drive home is that people don't have to change, they're fine the way they are. I don't feel changed at all, what I feel is optimistic and energized because I've removed the things that were holding me back.

Of course some people may be skeptical or even cynical about this all. But wouldn't I be the last person on earth you think would need or benefit from something like this? I always thought I was a happy person, and I'm sure on a thousand levels I was. But this happiness I feel now is beyond words. It's like happiness, wrapped in freedom, coated in power, sprinkled with optimism and garnished with the idea that the rest of my life is going to be amazing, even if I never attain all the things that used to be important to me. And that's the main reason I decided to man up and write this post. I have it now, and I want everyone else to have it too. Not just the people, I care about, but everyone else. You, you, you and you and you.

The title of this post is "Have You Ever Seen The Rain" because it's my happy song, and also because the lyrics say that after a storm it'll rain on a sunny day. This morning I left Steve's apartment and it was bright, sunny, blue and then little flakes of snow (extra cold rain) started coming down. It was awesome. It was exhilarating. It was inspiring. I'm inspired.

Baby It's Cold Outside

Baby It's Cold Outside
(The latest 24 recap is right underneath this, plus a Wednesday night edit to this post)

So yeah, we did the New Jersey Polar Bear Plunge on Saturday. Thank you so much for your donations, and here is the pic I promised:

"I'm blue da-ba-dee-da-ba-di da-ba-dee-da-ba-di...."

Heh. Doot doot...

Okay, per Abe and Steve's request I was just fucking with you guys. We took a bunch of pics, because I explained to everyone that the Australians want to see Mr. Modesty have to prance around half-nekkid in public, in front of hundreds of people and yet more on the internet. By the way mates, I'm really sorry that I almost inadvertently killed your friend. But we'll get to that.

On Saturday morning, Geo, Abel, Steve, Tony and I headed down to Seaside Heights, where the plunge was taking place (Mike was driving straight there from his house). It wasn't too bad out, it was cold but sunny and they said the water temp was 35 degrees. Paul flaked completely, which sucks since he was the one that got me to do it in the first place. I even brought him a little bottle of After Shock, since I was going to do the plunge sober. I think it was all some elaborate plan to send my idiot ass into the fucking ocean in the middle of February. I'll tell you what though. We made a bet, which he lost even if he flaked and SOMEBODY is going to be running through Times Square one day in a pair of socks and a thong.

After registering, we headed onto the beach. Holy crap, let me just say that cold sand feels like snow under your bare feet. We stripped down about 15 minutes before 1 p.m. then tried to use the crowd for body heat. Or at least, I did. Stevie is stupidly warm for someone who has less total body fat than my middle finger. At one point, some guy in a Vikings jersey whom I was trying to use as a shield from the wind, turned around and said to him "What are you going to do in there, you have no body fat. You're going to be so cold."

What the guys were thinking before the plunge:
"What the fuck are they thinking?"


What we were thinking before the plunge:
"What the fuck are we thinking?"


What THE OTHERS were thinking before the plunge:
"Our enemies may take our lives but they will never take our freedom!!!"

At exactly 1 p.m. some type of horn sounded, then people started yelling and everyone began running for the ocean. I think I was skipping though. I tend to skip while other people are running. Two seconds after it registered that my feet were in the water, I fell off some sort of mini underwater cliff and boom was submerged over my head. (Steve wants to make sure I tell the following story) I broke the surface, got pulled under by a wave, then broke the surface again and looked for him. He was over a bit and apparently attempting to do the backstroke. So I dove over and dunked him, as in pushed his head fully underwater.

Except that... I didn't know he CAN'T SWIM. Actually, I think I did at one point know but forgot about it, because I mean seriously, who dives into the ocean and can't freaking swim??? Especially when he's from a country entirely surrounded by water AND is a licensed scuba diver? (The explanation has something to do with his nasal cavity and water getting in while submerged.) Anyway, I got pulled under by another wave so I ran out of the water then waited on the shore to make sure the guys in the wetsuits weren't having to organize a rescue attempt for Steve. And yes, I realize you're supposed to plunge in and plunge out of the ocean, and probably not fuck around trying to do the backstroke or dunk your friends.

What I was thinking AFTER the plunge:
"Let's go get some real food, I am so fucking tired of oatmeal."


WORD.

After the plunge, we went and ate Italian sausage sandwiches on the boardwalk. Considering the tasteless food diet we'd been on, we decided in advance to binge the rest of the weekend. On the way to the Cheesecake Factory, we stopped off at Wawa and Geo bought Steve every single snack item he'd ever wanted to try but never did. One thing that was funny was that we tried to get Mike to come with us to the restaurant but he wasn't hungry so he said he was heading home. But on Route 37 after Wawa, we randomly saw him on the road and convinced him to come with us.

I said one of us should ride with him and since I was sitting in my underwear at the time, it should be Tony. Tony hopped out of the car at the next light and ran into Mike's. Except that 5 seconds later, Abel goes "I've never ridden in Mike's car" so we were all like "Then go! Send Tony back in here." So at the next light, Abe hopped out and sent Tony back into our car. Yes, Chinese Fire drills on some random highway in Jersey. The people in the other cars were like "What the fuck are these people doing." Geo was going to run and switch spots with Mike but we weren't sure Mike would go for it. At one point we were dying over the idea of all being in Mike's car, while he's alone in ours like when we started.

Incidentally, it amuses me that I sat around in my underwear for 2 hours and no one thought it was weird. The rest of the weekend was pretty much the same as last weekend, Tony, Abel and Steve stayed over for hours of playing with the kiddos, Guitar Hero, Nintendo Wii, drinking and guitaraoke (G came over on Friday and we went to the gym then guitaraoked while Geo played the drums). Except that unlike those other weekends, Steve and I ate regular food... a lot. Here is a list of everything we ate this weekend, and if I never see another french fry again I won't give a shit:

Blazin Buffalo and Ranch Doritos with sour cream, Funyuns, potato skins, Sour Cream and Onion Sun Chips, Cheez Doodles, Honey BBQ Fritos, Lifesaver gummies, slim jims, Pizzeria Pretzel combos, Wawa Peach Iced Tea, lemonade, crispy crab won-tons, buffalo wings, shrimp summer rolls, avocado eggrolls, tacquitos, popcorn shrimp, calimari, edamame, ribs, roadside sliders, french fries, quesedillas, spinach and artichoke dip, pot stickers, corn tamale cakes, guacamole, chicken marsala, chicken tikka masala, aloo gobi, lachcha paratha, raita, rice, gulab jamun, vegetable samosas, stewed chickpeas, white hot chocolate, maple sausage sandwiches, quiche, Honey Graham Oh's, mochi, twinkies, Wise hot popcorn, crab alfredo, garlic breadsticks, chicken parm something or other, steak Gorgonzola alfredo, toasted meat raviolis, crab stuffed mushrooms, egg custards from Neptune, coolattas/milkshakes from Baskin Robbins, ice cream, Grey's Papaya hot dogs with sauerkraut, fried onions and mustard, homemade oatmeal cookies, lechon kawali, salmon with cauliflower and spinach, Jose Cuervo, Patron, Black Label, Malibu Mango rum, Malibu Pineapple rum, Malibu Passion Fruit rum, Jim Beam, Goldschlagger, Stoli, Stoli Raspberry and Sambuca.

I don't know how we're still alive. Tony just barely pulled through, I think he got food poisoning from his Dunkin Donuts sandwich. The rest of us are recuperating but everyone's immune system is shot. I heard "Riss, it's tiring being your friend" a bunch of times. Yeah, even I get tired being my friend.

By the way, Kwame said he'd pay a dollar for every black person I saw, so Kwam, oddly enough you owe about $20 (I think they were all cops). Other than that it was me, Steve, two Puerto Rican guys and a whole lot of white people. There's a bit of video shot by Geo, but the file is messed up so I have to play around with it in Adobe Premiere. The rest of the pics, awesome shots taken courtesy of the wonderful photographer Tony, are located here, via con Dios.

Wednesday night edit: As the author of this blog, I feel compelled to ask that people stop leaving comments about how hot Steve looks with his abs upon abs upon abs. It is really, REALLY , REALLY embarrassing him. He doesn't even know what to type anymore. So please, enough already. Seriously. Especially don't be a gay guy asking for his number with great enthusiasm (unless you've got a twenty bucks and my Paypal account info. All you need is some whiskey.) And ESPECIALLY don't forward this link on to all your friends who have ever met him. We don't want to keep embarrassing our friend with things like this:

2006 U.S. Open

2006 U.S. Open

On Monday Geo and I busted out these:

And headed on over to Queens to join the masses converging on the U.S. Tennis Center for Andre Agassi's last U.S. Open. The last time Geo and I went was in 2002, before our kiddos were born. That day we apparently smoked some imaginary crack because we spent the entire day watching tennis matches, then headed to Jones Beach at night to catch Aerosmith live.

You know this picture gets taken like 46304 times a day.

When we got to the tennis center, we were scared out of our minds by this really long line that wrapped around the entrance. Turns out it was the security line though, so it moved pretty fast. Tennis fans don't carry too many suspicious-looking objects, except maybe the sunscreen and Evian. We went to go watch Tommy Robredo play, but the previous match was still on. Since we didn't recognize either of the women playing, Geo and I placed bets on the outcome. I joked that I was rooting for the Asian chick because I'm racist, but really I rooted for her because she brought a grocery bag filled with food onto the court. She's like my twin. She also whooped her opponent's ass, which won me a free homemade dinner of my choice from Geo (I'm thinking steamed crab legs and garlic mashed potatoes.)

Tommy Robredo played next, versus some guy who looked as if he'd been recently shipwrecked, as in "I HAVE MADE FIRE!" Not only wasn't he the cleanest-looking of people, he also hocked a huge lugie onto the court, right at the feet of two visibly disgusted ballboys. I am not racist when I pick who I want to win the match, by the way. I am a cleanist. I vote for whoever looks like they bathe regularly. Extra enthusiasm for people who brush their hair and maybe moisturize. Robredo's game started out well though, the first hour was basically a slugfest from the baseline. It's always fun to watch two players with awesome groundstrokes, the rallies are extra long.

One thing that irked me though concerned the guy sitting next to me. He looked like Niles (from the show Frasier) and picked his nose regularly. It didn't bother me that he was picking his nose, just that I couldn't stop watching him do it. I missed quite a few good points in the match while watching his finger go from his left nostril, to the right one, to his jeans and back up. You have to be careful at sporting events, there are cameras everywhere. Leave the wedgie in your crack until you can get to the bathroom, no matter how uncomfortable it is. During All-Star Weekend once, one of my friends told me that the MSG television guys thought I was attractive so they followed me around with their cameras (unbeknownst to me). He said they had like 20 minutes of footage. Hopefully in that 20 minutes I didn't do anything like scratch my ass or blow my nose, then study the contents of the tissue.

We left the match early and headed into Arthur Ashe stadium, to catch the end of Andy Roddick's game. Our seats were in the nosebleeds, we were closer to the jumbotron with Andy Roddick's picture on it than we were to Andy Roddick. But it's still worth it just to feel the energy of the place for a bit.

At one point an airplane flew over the stadium and it
seemed a lot closer to us than the tennis court.

After Roddick was done spanking his opponent, we wandered by the practice courts to see who was there. I was hoping to see Martina Hingis or Rafael Nadal, but no such luck. We did however get to see Martina Navratilova, who can still kick ass on the tennis court.

Since we were already there, we sat down at the court next to her to watch the match in progress. It was Justin Gimelstob versus some guy. His dad was sitting right next to us and kept up a running commentary during the game. "Come on Jay. You can do this Jay. Don't let it go. Right here. Right here." To be honest, it sounded like really bad gay pron. But it was funny as hell. And in all honesty, I do it too when my favorite players are on and I don't even have the excuse of being their dad.

"Yeah Jay. Right here." On a funny note,
some old man thought I was a player.

Afterwards, we jumped courts and watched someone named Marco Chiudinelli play Fernando Vicente, the 89th player in the world. Battle of the qualifiers I guess. Vicente is from Spain and every time anyone would cheer for the other player, his entourage would turn around and glare and say nasty words in Spanish. This of course, only encouraged me to cheer loudly whenever possible. It was also helped by the fact that Vicente must be like 30 and his girlfriend was about 16. After he lost I shook my head and said "You see? Pedophiles never prosper. Except R Kelly. And Michael Jackson. But just them. Not you." Geo still thought the girl might be his little sister, but I hope not since they started tonguing it up after the match.

I posed for this picture so everyone could see
the lovebird and his love egg in the background.

At one point though, I was a bit worried. I was reaching into my bag, which has metal chain straps and one of them fell onto the metal bleacher. The resounding noise caused my Swiss player to fuck up his first serve. Everyone turned to glare at me as I studiously avoided meeting the player's eyes. I had momentary nightmares that he would get broken that game, which would lean to a downward spiral that caused him to lose the next two sets. Luckily that didn't happen. On a side note, it wasn't as bad as the time I got shushed by Roger Federer by association.

At long last, it was time for what the entire U.S. Open grounds had been waiting for, Andre Agassi's potentially last match ever at Arthur Ashe. We weren't able to get tickets so we sat with the hundreds of people watching on the big screens outside the stadium. Agassi was losing and so I kept changing seats, trying to find the one that would help him win. YES, I'm one of those fans. We already knew this. Someone gave me a ticket to go in (after hundreds of people left without even glancing at us) but we only had one and I wasn't about to leave Geo. Plus I was obsessed with finding the perfect seat to help Agassi win.

So not the perfect seat.

Finally, after he was down in the third set I told Geo if it gets to 3-0 then we have to leave because we are "malas"-ing him. Malas means "bad luck" in Tagalog. So at 3-0, I rushed us out of the tennis center, despite wanting very badly to actually be in the stadium during what looked to be Agassi's last U.S. Open match. But I still had hope that if I could find the perfect seat somewhere that he would win. YES, I KNOW I'M A COMPLETE IDIOT. It was 4-0 when we pulled out of the lot, and I turned off the radio. An hour later, as we were crossing the GW Bridge, Agassi had come back and won that set. By the time we pulled into our house, he was serving for the match. Do you see??? Do you see how spectator sports work now???? You have to find the perfect seat!!! Incidentally, never have fireworks at an event with bomb-sniffing dogs everywhere. Please.

And that was Monday, good times.

Antarctica

Antarctica

Last night Geo and I hit up Antarctica Bar on Hudson and Spring, for a charity fundraiser my friend Cris helped organize. Cris had asked me earlier if I wanted to be a guest bartender and naturally, anything to do with liquor is a go. Although asking me to guard liquor is like asking a lion to guard a limping zebra, but whatever.

Some notes:

-There was this creepy guy there who was hitting on every woman in the bar. His actions were of much interest to the rest of us. At one point he cornered this really nice lady and Geo told me I should save her. As if bartenders have some sort of legal obligation to save patrons from excess sleaze. I very selfishly refused, knowing that any provided assistance would only ensare me in his creepy trap. Dave from Maximum Awesome tried to stick me with the task of helping His Royal Creepiness but my self-preservation skills are pretty diesel.

Kwame: He's like on the All-Star Team of Creepy.
Me: HAHAHA! He's "All-Creepy, All Team."

-The real bartender despised me on sight. I of course, was super nice to her in return because that's even more funny than reciprocating with bitchiness. Take away their ammo and all they're left holding is a big jar of petty dislike. She was sweet to all the other guest bartenders though, even showed them where everything was and how to make drinks. Woman are so triflin' sometimes.

-I bullied Kwame's wife into doing a SoCo and lime shot. After she was done, the older white woman next to us said "You go girl" and went in for an enthusiastic high five. I just about died from trying not to laugh. Black people have to deal with serious issues with regards to race, but they also have to deal with some funny as hell ones. "You go girl" even. Hee. The woman and her husband were really great people though.

-Dave and I were both dying to use the random bartending tools around. Like the strainer thing with the slinky attached. I finally used it, thus breaking with me and Dave's Offical Bartending Plan. We had decided prior to jumping behind the bar that no matter what anyone asked us for, he was just going to hand them a Coors Light and I was just going to give them a shot of Jaeger. "This bar sucks. That bartender only gives out crappy beer and that other one is even worse."

-The owner of the bar is actually friends with some people I used to work with. This mutual friendship resulted in free Antarctica T-shirts for Geo and Kwame. Their combined happiness over this was a bit scary to behold. The owner is actually pretty lucky that Cris didn't manage to convince anyone to do a cartwheel on top of the bar for 10 bucks. Liabilities and all.

-Min showed up for a hot second during which we made plans to stalk Jesse L Martin in Tribeca. Mike J showed up late and was actually going to leave after one coke. He decided to stay and break his liquor embargo, which had been in effect since the night a couple of weeks ago that he drank so much he passed out on the purloined White Castle doormat outside Steve's bathroom.

-I subjected everyone to some Dragostea Din Tei. Thank Heaven for those new-fangled jukeboxes with a jillion song choices. Although it took forever to pick songs, since reading while drunk is like trying to watch a silent movie upside-down. Also, I was in the perfect drunken pool land. I am the Goldilock's of bar pool. Too much or too little liquor and nothing is going in the hole. Yeah yeah make the jokes.

-To celebrate our meeting for the first time (I'd hung out with Cris and Heide once before but Dave, Alix and company were new) we did Dr. Peppers. To drink a Dr. Pepper you take a glass of light beer 3/4ths full, drop a shot of amaretto in it and then down the whole thing. It's even more potent when they're flaming, meaning you coat the amaretto on top with Bacardi 151 then light it on fire. Once, I convinced a barful of people to do them with me and when it splashed, the bar caught fire with the blue flame. I paused in mid-drink, blew out the fire and then finished downing the drink. Hey, with great power comes great responsibility.

Geo, me, Kwame and Kesha. I tried to get Kesha nice and liquored up
for Kwam. That's what friends are for.


Dave had a stoge in his mouth and a Guinness in his hand for much of the night. I like him.


Photographic evidence of the shot Kesha actually drank. It took a few tries
but finally, with everyone egging her on, she gave in. "Everyone's doing it."


Me, Cris and Heide. And Alix is right, I do like hugging girls.
It's because I know they're not going to poke me with anything.


An action shot of the Dr. Pepper fun.
Kevin (in the glasses) even participated, like any good pub owner should.


Me, Dave, Alix, Cris and Heide looking like "real people" versus message board avatars.

All in all, good times.

Renaissance Faire

Renaissance Faire

On Saturday me, Geo, Tony, Abel, Mike J and the kiddos hit up the Renaissance Faire in upstate NY. We had a lot of fun last year so this year we increased our posse and headed up to Tuxedo, NY for some food and laughs. About 5 minutes after we strolled through the gates, I was holding an Italian sausage sandwich and a cup of mead ("mulled wine"), while munching on a turkey leg bigger than my forearm. In the next couple of hours I added french fries, more mead, a frozen chocolate banana, "fryed" ice cream, a pickle and another cup of mead. I really felt at one with Leonardo Da Vinci as I hunted desperately around in my bag for some Tums.

(L-R) Yes, I took a picture of my kids under this sign. Tony and Mike
got caught with their loincloths down. I was accosted by the "Village Idiot."
I looked like a bigger idiot though because I had a huge stye in my right eye.

One of the funnier things I heard all day was a lady who told her husband "Some of these people take this thing really seriously." That's kind of what makes the faire so much fun. While perusing jewelry at a booth, a woman in her late sixties walked up, wearing a corset that pushed her breasts all the way up to her neck. She tried on a necklace then turned to me and in a really bad faux British wench accent asked "Do ye lyke et?" I told her it matched her costume and she almost went ballistic. "It's not called a costume, it's called garb!!!!!" She then went on to accuse me of being a faire newbie and instructed me to learn the proper terminology as to not insult people. In her affront she forgot to use the wench accent, which I forgot to point out since I was too busy trying not to laugh. And you wonder why I go to these things.

(L-R) The pink dress I wanted to jack off some chick. Tony listening to
a "This Bud's For Ye" ad. Proof that the best swords used during the
Renaissance were made in Texas.

Here are some tips for people who are thinking of attending the faire next year:

1. No man, no matter how big, can look manly in a costume that resembles a leather miniskirt with slits over daisy dukes.
2. The term "fairy" is an offensive term but embracing it doesn't necessarily empower. You just end up looking really gay.
3. A leather bustier does not, a Renaissance costume make.

4. Likewise, I'm not certain the leather bikini or strapless dress was big during the Renaissance. Didn't women have rather strict dress codes back then? Pushed up boobs notwithstanding of course.
5. The chess match using people as chess pieces was a lot of fun. The joust was a bit lame. They had to get all politically correct on us and have Maid Marian win. Did they not study the joust at all.
6. Bring your glasses, the costumes can be tricky. Tony was ogling a group of wenches that upon closer observation turned out to be wenches AND a bunch of guys with long hair.
7. Drink lots of mead. I still don't know what constitutes the process of "mulling" but it could be a synonym for "messing with this wine to fuck people UP."
8. Bring lots of money, it's a Renaissance event without the Renaissance prices. You could fund a hundred crusades back then for what you'll pay for a souvenir.
9. Wear shoes appropriate for tracking around in the mud.
10. This will sound funny coming from the Food Whore, or should I say Food Wench, but don't go overboard on the food. The "privies" are port-a-pottys, which I'm convinced line the seventh layer of hell.

Introducing Caleb Ronin

Introducing Caleb Ronin

Congratulations to my sister Leah and her husband Mike who welcomed their first child Caleb Ronin into the world just an hour ago in Los Angeles, weighing all of 5 lbs and 4 oz. Mother and son are doing just fine! And they picked the name because Leah liked the name Caleb (and being that she lugged him around for 9 months she got first pick) and Mike likes renegade Japanese ex-samurai that kill other samurai.

Take Me Out To The Ballgame

Take Me Out To The Ballgame
(I know, unoriginal as hell but you have to give me some latitude, it was my first time going to a Yankee game. Prior to tonight I was a Yankee virgin. Okay that sounds like the title of some sports-themed porn.)

The owner of the company Mike works for gave away two of his seats, he has a whole crapload of season tickets in the FIRST FRICKEN ROW right past third base. At first I was apprehensive about going. I admit it, I had fears of one of the following occuring:

A) I get hit by a foul ball off a 90 mph fastball.

-or-

B) A fly ball gets hit into our section and instictively I interfere, when it would have been the last out of the inning with bases loaded, so I get booed and escorted from the stadium, while people throw food (not so bad) and beer bottles (bad) at me.

Can you just imagine someone throwing a half-eaten hot dog at me and me catching it and then eating it anyway? I can.

But my fears were unfounded because we didn't get hit by anything and no plays came our way. Except one, a grounder which brought Derek Jeter in close proximity to us. I motioned to him and he came over, leaning over into the box questioningly. I leaned over in a cloud of Bath and Body Works' Sun-Ripened Raspberry, looked up at him with smoldering eyes and in my sultriest voice said....

"Hey Derek, can I have Jessica Alba when you're done with her? Thanks."

Okay so that didn't happen but it was a good night anyway.

This is me about to turn around and hug Yankee Stadium.

We got to the stadium in the 3rd inning, and the score was tied at 4-4. Mike said that we had to order a crapload of drinks and food from the waitress because they don't come around very often and the food takes awhile. Let's just say that by the time I stumbled into my house, the contents of my stomach included four Budweisers drunk from a PLASTIC bottle (ghetto ass Yankee fans need special precautions), one Italian sausage sandwich with grilled red peppers and onions, two bags of potato chips, some fries, two captain and cokes, one Ketel one and cran, four SoCo and lime shots which I just remembered right this very second, two White Castle Jalapeno cheeseburgers, White Castle fries, onion rings and chicken rings. Yes, you fucking read all that right.

But back to the game.

Sitting close enough to pick the players' noses definitely has its advantages, mainly that you REALLY get into the game because it's almost as if you're actually playing too.

Fun Fact #1: The front row that Mike and I were in was added to the original seating, it used to be part of the field. You guys can thank Mike for that one.

So the score was tied, but then Tampa Bay scored some more and then there was some really exciting moments when the bases were loaded and the Yankees could have tied it. It was especially exciting for me because I looked up at the Jumbotron or whatever it's called in a baseball stadium and it said "WARMING UP IN THE BULLPEN: MARIANO RIVERA" and I jumped up and down because he's my favorite player and if this fucking Yankee at bat would just hit a double they would be bringing him out in the next inning. Alas. It was not to be. They didn't score so they didn't bring out their closer. But I did get to watch him sit in the dugout and blow bubbles.

Fun Fact #2: I am NEVER going to a baseball game again unless I am sitting in seats like those. Otherwise it's just not going to be as much fun. Which won't be for awhile though becuase the next time Mike gets seats, he's taking Tony, since the time he took Tony it was raining. Rain schmain.

The game went downhill from there, but it was still a good night. There was this dorky little Staff guy who was walking around all full of self-importance. Two hoochie-esque girls a bit younger than him asked to be let past, even though he denied a whiole bunch of big guys that were behind them. He let them in and one of the Tampa Bay outfielders tossed one of them a ball. The guys were so pissed, I've never seen people angrier. They started threatening the dorky guy and he was mad quiet... until they started walking away. He heard Mike and I making fun of what he'd done so he kind of tossed out a weak little "You should have said that when you came in" comeback to the pissed guys. I was like "Quiet, you're going to get your ass kicked. And we won't help you." I wouldn't have either. Any guy that pulls shit like that because he thinks he might get some poontang deserves to get his ass whooped. I still had some fries and half my beer left, would have been a good show.

Fun Fact #3: The chick behind us almost got bitchslapped because she kept yelling "HOLLER!!!" First of all, you're not supposed to pronounce the "er." Second of all, article 12 section five of the White People Constitution says "None of our people shall use terminology like 'fo shizzle' and 'holla' and 'wack' unless they are named Eminem." Just like Commandment 7 of the 10 Asian Commandments is "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's dog for a good stir fry."

On our way back to the VIP parking lot one of the players almost ran us over. Forgot which one though.

Anyway, here are the pics:

Couldn't resist a picture of me and the field.


Everyone else was sending Derek mindwaves like "Hit the ball."
I was sending mindwaves like "Come on Derek, give me Jessica."


Ooooh Joe Torre does NOT look happy. Not that he ever does.


Who says taking it to the head isn't ladylike? Do you SEE the
extension of the pinky? Ladylike. All I need are some crumpets.


There's no indignity in having to clean up after people...
unless maybe, they make you do the YMCA dance while doing it.


Thanks Mike, you rock!! And thanks staff guy, for providing the entertainment!!

Wedding Crashers

Wedding Crashers

Okay not really, Tony and I were invited. Well, we were invited because the groom found out that his caterer was one of my favorite Indian restaurants. The food whore is good at not-so-subtly soliciting invitations to places where there will be good food.

Anyway, I picked the title of this post because T and I were talking on the way to the wedding and we think we'd make good wedding crashers. We have no shame, have good conversation skills, can lie at the drop of a hat and worship places where they have free food and liquor. We can cha-cha, do the chicken dance, the electric slide AND don't mind being the first ones out onto the dance floor. We'd crash like it was nobody's business.

So we got to the wedding and literally within 5 minutes I had a plate in hand and was standing in line at the buffet. We thought it was supremely funny that the only person we knew was the groom, so we could totally have been at the wrong wedding and not known it.

Me: Those fricken eggroll things are good as hell.
Tony: What's in them?
Me: I don't know but it's good as hell. Where's that waiter with the tray..
Tony: You already had a whole bunch of them and plus a whole plate of food.
Me: And? There's the waiter. He needs to come over here.
Tony: Use The Force.
Me: I'm trying. Crap, this big lady's in my way. The Force won't go around her.
Tony: I'm going to use The Force to get him to go the other way. HA!
Me: You're an ass. Hold on I'm concentrating. Yes, here he comes. Score.

Prior to dinner they had a whole bunch of Indian dance performances, by the bride and groom's family and friends. It was pretty awesome. I want my friends to do that when Geo and I have our renewal of vows wedding in 2008. Hear that guys? You people are dancing.

Tony: Woman, pour me some soda.
Me: Okay.
Tony: Hey that's not my cup!
Me: It's your cup NOW, bitch.

Tony and I were the only people at the wedding who weren't Indian, except one white guy who was married to an Indian woman. Now I know how Mike J feels when he hangs out with all us Filipinos. Everyone at our table was a lot older than us and pretty much silent. I don't think they said a word to us the entire night. We didn't even see them leave.

Tony: Did you see that?
Me: No, what?
Tony: That woman took our centerpiece.
Me: What woman, was she sitting at our table?
Tony: No, she was from another table. She came over and got it and I thought they were just clearing out all the centerpieces. But it was just ours. We got jacked.
Me: Seriously.
Tony: That was some major jackage.
Me: I can't believe we got centerpiece-jacked. She was stealthy as hell. We're the only ones at this table and I didn't see her at all.
Tony: I know.
Me: Like I didn't want it or anything, but she could have asked.
Tony: She just straight up took it.
Me: Bitch. Should I jack another table for theirs?
Tony: No, we're the only ones here who aren't Indian. We stick out too much.

We were a bit apprehensive about approaching the dance floor because we didn't understand the music, but after awhile they started playing some hip-hop/dance and we made it out there. We were just getting down to that Spanish "Gasolina" song (that Tony enlightened me is about a chick who likes sperm) when the DJ blew a fuse. So the dance floor cleared after that and never quite recovered. I of course, found the dessert table with a quickness when the lights came on.

Tony: What is that?
Me: Gulab Jamun.
Tony: Huh?
Me: It's like these little sweet balls made of bread that's been sweetened and then soaked in... warm sweetness. Fuck. That doesn't even make any sense.
Tony: Um okay, no sticky sweet balls for me.
Me: Here just try it.
Tony: Hey, you dropped some juice from your sticky ball on my jacket.
Me: Sorry, my balls are so sloppy.

Tony and I are 12-year-olds so of course we snickered throughout this entire conversation.

Everyone at the wedding kept looking at us like we were total wedding crashers, until we took a picture with the bride and groom. Then everyone was like "Ohhhh okay, they DO know them." Plus we chit-chatted and schmoozed and looked like great friends so people stopped giving us suspicious looks.

I was the only woman in the entire place who wasn't
wearing a sari. I want a sari! I like this one.

All in all, a good time, despite the fact that there was no bar. What? Yeah you heard me, NO BAR. There was however, a Friday's in the same parking lot as the hotel. We stared at it for a solid three minutes before deciding to stick around. I consider it a moral victory that we didn't give in to the temptation. Jesus had his desert and we had the parking lot of the Ramada in East Brunswick.

Tony: It feels very weird to be going home from a wedding sober.
Me: Yeah. I don't think I've ever done it before. Ever.
Tony: Yeah me neither.
Me: It's unsettling.
Tony: Yes it is.
Me: Everyone knows the best way to celebrate a couple's love is by getting trashed.
Tony: I might have to come into your house and do a shot or something.
Me: I've got 7 and tequila.

Firemen's Ball

Firemen's Ball

So at precisely 4 o'clock on Saturday afternoon, Mike J called me, his Official Back-up Date into service. A couple of weeks ago he had asked me to stand in in case his Date Who Shall Not Be Named flaked on him. Otherwise he would have had to pay his firehouse 70 bucks to cover the cost of a missing person. He said he'd be by to pick me up in two hours, which I took to mean "Sit around and do nothing for an hour and a half and then at 5:45 look at the clock and go AHHHHH!!!!!"

Supposedly the event was "top shelf open bar" but I'm skeptical of that. I was a bit hung over on Sunday even though I only had 7 or 8 drinks. That only happens when the liquor isn't (completely) top shelf. My stomach is a liquor snob.

The high point of dinner was our conversation with our friend Ron. Ron is a lot older than us... I'd say at least 30 or so years. But the guy gets mad play. Even from chicks MY age. So Mike J clues me in on the fact that Ron has banged a local mother-daughter team, banged the other chick's best friend, then almost hit on the best friend's mother. I was like "So pretty much you were loving the whole Viagra thing huh?" We said we'd bow to him if he could nail both chicks and both mothers simultaneously. Later on we wandered around and ended up crashing some bar mitzvah. We weren't invited or anything but Mike said that being Jewish WAS his invitation.

Mike said as a thank-you for my being such a gracious back-up date, he'd pay for me to re-pierce my nose. I said he didn't have to, but he insisted. So after the ball, I was feeling pretty nice, and suggested that we head over to a piercing place in the Village and get it done that night. So apparently I was definitely feeling nice, if by "nice" you mean totally gone.

We ended up at some piercing place on Sixth Ave and 4th Street. The top floor is a tattoo parlor and when you say you're there for piercing, they send you downstairs. You're a bit apprehensive heading down the stairs because you don't know what you'll find but when you get there it's even bigger than the top floor and there are like 15 other people getting piercings done too. Like some crazy holepunch drive-through.

Venus The Piercer began the preparations, all the while being a good sport about the fact that I was grilling her on sanitizing procedures. When the time came, she gripped the needle and my nostril, and I gripped some old man's hand who randomly happened to be sitting on a seat near me. Funny how such a memorable moment was shared with a complete stranger. Afterwards, Venus and I tried to get Mike to get a tattoo but he refused. Spoilsport. What's a little body art between friends?

So thanks for voting in my poll two months ago but I did it anyway.

We exited the parlor then stood around for awhile (I was chit-chatting with some crackheads) outside Mike's truck. The rest of our party was still at the reception hall for some reason. Spying a porn shop, we decided we should kill time in there. Or rather I decided and Mike had to come along because where else is he going to go. To make matters worse, I drunkenly bullied Mike into buying me a porn DVD, because all my porn was on tape. How last century. He said he didn't mind, it was fun listening to the "Siskel and Ebert porn reviews" given by the salesperson, who I was grilling about porn content.

"Is this real or soft shit? I won't want that soft Skinemax crap."
"Are the chicks hot?"
"Is there anal?"

Then of course I had to negotiate the guy down on price. I mean come on, it took some 10-year-old Honduran boy 2 minutes and 28 cents to make this DVD. The stars probably don't even get royalties. Charging 35 bucks for it is just highway porn robbery. After that we headed over to Culture Club to meet up with the rest of Mike's firemen buddies. I hadn't been there in 7 years. And for good reason apparently, damn that place blows. Oh well.

But last night was fun! Open bar, nose-piercing, porn, watching white people dance and Hop-Kee. Good times. Even though I was a mess today. Fucking well drinks. They should be outlawed.

Congrats Leah and Mike!!

Congrats Leah and Mike!!

Much much much congratulations to my not-so-baby sister Leah and her new husband Mike in Los Angeles. The crazy lovebirds eloped to Viva Las Vegas yesterday to tie the knot. Geo and I wish you much much happiness in the years to come. Geo however, would also like to inform Mike that despite the distance, he himself has already called dibs on the whole "favorite son-in-law" title. And the plaque and lifetime supply of macaroni and cheese that come with it. Welcome to the family Mike!!

P.S. - Hey Leah... In case you're looking for an intimate, luxurious, magical and tropical place to honeymoon in, forget that. Come honeymoon here in Jersey City. Recreations include buying and selling drugs, playing that game "I-Spy Some Garbage" and running from stray dogs. Doesn't that sound like the best place to start your new life together?

Speaking of marriage, Geo and I had yet another pleasant marital conversation the other day:

Me: Some of the blogs I've read get pretty specific about marital sexual relations.
Geo: What's wrong with that?
Me: Nothing really. I just don't know if I'd want people reading something as private as that. I mean they get very detailed.
Geo: OH!!! I thought you meant specific like "And then I slipped three inches of my left middle and fore finger into her vagina, then rotated it counter-clockwise five times."
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

Renaissance Faire

Renaissance Faire

Yesterday we hit up the Renaissance Faire in New York, since it's almost over. I went to something like this in Cali about 15 years ago or something and always wanted to go again. See how long it takes me to do shit.

We got there about one o'clock and of course, immediately headed for the food. I was hungry and all my friends know I get kinda bitchy when I'm hungry. I can't help it. What Tony refers to as my "hollow leg" needs constant refilling. It's the way of the world. Cars need gasoline, fish need water, humans need food, I need food every two hours. We ate what has got to be the world's best Italian sausage sandwich, then felt bad because that is so not Renaissance-y. It's like how Leah goes to steakhouses to eat chicken fingers. So we picked up a turkey drumstick, the kind big men in tights used to wave around during yesteryear. This thing was the size of my head and good as hell!! Well, actually the first 10 bites or so were amazing and then after that I was like holy crap how much turkey is on this genetically-engineered thing?? Keep in mind Geo and I shared this monstrous "drumstick" and still didn't finish it. The turkey that was left on it could have made enough sandwiches for the Giants' defensive line.

We were feeling kinda parched about this time so Mike went to one of the numerous Ye Olde Pubs scattered around and picked up some mead. Okay, I've read about a million trashy romance novels and it never occurred to me to find out what mead was (I mean yes I knew it's "mulled wine" but what the hell does it mean to mull something.) Anyway I still don't know how the process of mulling goes but I do know now that mead is pretty damn good. Mead will fuck you up. Mead will have you waking up next to some pox-ridden wench and going "Ye Gods, what hath I done."

Sorry, had to take a moment there. I really crack myself up sometimes.

After all the food, we started wandering the various shops and stalls they've got going there. The vendors' "wares" (Mike J used that word about 80 times in the last weekend) are highly wantable. They're the kind of stuff you don't need but really want. Like you don't need a jewel-encrusted sword for any practical reason but it'd be neat as hell to have it. We saw belly-dancers, the Sheriff of Nottingham's thugs beating up on Will Scarlet and a knife-throwing act. Mike wanted to see the chess match using real-live chessmen, but the girls were a bit antsy from being in the stroller all day. So we meandered some more until it was time for the joust.

One thing I will say is that it's kind of lame the way they changed historical practices to allow for modern political correctness. Because Maid Marian competed in the joust. And she won. Huh?? They're supposed to be competing for her hand (i.e. the rest of her in bed.) What was she going to do if she won, jerk off in the Royal Bedchamber. Anyway that was annoying. I could see the win as viable if she was a member of the Chinese women's volleyball team. But that scrawny little girl was not going to be winning a competition where two knights gallop to a full charge on large stallions, then proceed to ram each other with long, heavy wooden poles. Damn. Apparently, the joust is just like gay porn.

So, other than the political correctness, the joust was pretty neat. I was a bit disappointed because I thought it was going to be a lot more violent but I guess that's a dumb expectation considering the faire organizers don't want the actors to actually die.

Oh my God, I almost forgot to mention the funniest thing that happened all day. We saw the guy from that one thing on Conan when Triumph the Insult Comic Dog goes to the Phantom Menace showing at the Ziegfield. Remember that guy that dressed up as a wizard that was eating a Filet O' Fish? "Fresh hound!!!" Yeah that nutcase. He was at the Faire as well. We were trying to figure out if he worked there, or just had a season pass. I'm thinking he just had a season pass, but was crazy so he thought every day was the Renaissance Faire. I did a search on him and apparently he has his own website.

I'm not making fun of the people in costume though because next year that's going to be us. I made Geo and Mike J pinky swear!!! And everyone knows that pinky swears are as good as blood oaths. Thanks to Mike for sponsoring our outing. "This Bud's For Ye!!!"

Saturday and Sunday

Saturday and Sunday

I have no idea what Geo and I did on Saturday. Oh wait, I remember. We went to my friend's daughter's birthday party in Long Island. Cute kid, good food, good cake, good company. Fine way to spend a stormy Saturday afternoon. Afterwards we went to my aunt's house in Queens for dinner. Good food, no cake, good company. And then we went home to sleep because we fricken got in at 6am that day, then left at noon.

Yesterday we hit up the Philippine Fiesta 2004 thingy they have every year at the Meadowlands Exposition Center. Every year for the last 5 years, I've seen the ads for this event and said "Oooh I want to go to that." And every year I forget about it. Not this year. But I so wish I had. What a waste of money. What a big fat enormous gargantuan waste of money. I couldn't have wasted my money more if I burned it then flushed the ashes down the toilet. If you're Filipino and you live in the tri-state area, never ever ever ever ever ever ever go to this. EVER. There, I've done my good deed for the day. The event had a lot of possibilities, but in the end poor organization and greed ruined its potential to be decent.

First off, the entry fee was 15 fucking dollars. FIFTEEN FUCKING DOLLARS. But fine, to fulfill a 5-year-long desire we shell it out. The moment we walk in I'm appalled. Not only is it ghetto as hell, a crappy sound system is pushing out music at like a jillion decibels. Most of the exhibitors are random companies passing out flyers and there are only a few stores, because the exhibition fee was a grand. We pay $5 for a cantaloupe shake that was okay but had about three tablespoons of sugar at the bottom. We shell out another 8 bucks for a combo meal that was decent, until Mike J told us he didn't get any of the rice because he saw some guy pick his nose then reach into the rice tray to sample the rice. Then we pay out another $6 for a halo-halo shake that was almost worth half the price because it was pretty good.

In between all this horrific purchasing of overpriced food and beverages, they had a singing competition. We thought it would be over after they awarded the trophies but more people came on and started singing. Geo just turned around and left, after an ultra annoyed "They need to stop with the live singing performances, these people suck." We wandered around for awhile, trying to find a wife for Mike. But that didn't work out because most of the females there were either over the age of 60 or under the age of 16. We were standing around, trying to figure out what to do (I didn't want to use the restroom at the expo center because ICK, nastiness) when a table about ten feet away came crashing down, spilling about $100 worth of food everywhere. We figured it wasn't going to get better than that, so we bounced.

It's nice to support your peoples and all but not when they're robbing you blind and making you listen to things that make you want to cut your ears off. At least we got to see a couple of the traditional Filipino dances. Traditional Filipino dances are amazing to watch. In college, I used to love it when our Pagkakaisa dance troupe performed. They need to eliminate the singing competition and pageant at the Fiesta and just have those dancers all day. They rock. I didn't get to see them perform the tinikling or pandanggo dances though, which are my favorites. Sadness!! And we didn't even find Mike a wife!!!

My favorite weekend quote from Mike:
"Are you sure these people aren't Jewish? I just paid $3 for a can of Sprite."

My favorite weekend quote from myself:
(In response to Geo saying Tony wasn't going because he wanted to go bowling): "Duh, that's right. He wants to marry a white girl. Why would he want to go to this thing."

My favorite weekend quote from Geo:
(In response to someone who said their daughter said she never wanted to get married): "That's because no guy wants to marry your daughter."

A Birthday Party and a Wedding

A Birthday Party and a Wedding

So yesterday was pretty action-packed. We had a birthday party for Paul's uber cute son Jake to attend during the day, then Geo's cousin Mildred's wedding to go to at night. The birthday party was fun (Thanks Paul and Jamie!!) and the food was super ultra yummy. I ate: steamed, chilled crab legs and shrimp, oysters, a fresh mozarella and tomato sandwich, deviled eggs, pasta in a basil-olive oil type sauce, cauliflower in spinach dip and some neat little club sandwiches. Yes I was a pig. But it was really really good. Everyone knows I can't resist good food. I mean why would I. That's like turning down free money. I once asked myself would I rather have really awesome sex for the rest of my life and bland food every day, or amazing food every day and generic sex for the rest of my life. It was a very difficult question to ponder. In fact, I asked myself that two years ago and still don't have an answer.

After the party, Geo and I headed home to change and get ready for the family gala event of the year. The wardrobe issue was a little tricky. I knew I would be drinking a whole lot so I went with my fail-safe little black dress. When you drink a whole lot the midsection puffs out a little to accomodate for the extra liquid. The little black number disguises that better than my red dress. Of course, after three or four or ten shots you really don't care anymore. And we all did a whole lot more than that. I know I drank two glasses of merlot and did at least 6 SoCo and lime shots and 6 tequila shots and 3 lemon drops and 3 kamikazes but after that I lost count. Net, Janelle, Aris, Sean and Manny were doing a shitload of shots too and let me tell you that by the time they served dinner we were all pretty drunk. Here are the before pictures:

And here are the after pictures:

That one pic is Net cockblocking her own brother as he tried to dip me. Then she jumped into Manny and Janelle's kinky little pic. Hey you know what they say. If you can't keep it in your pants, keep it in the family. Geo is pretty much sober though, because he had to drive home. Aris and Sean are so wasted they're not even pictured, they were in the lobby too drunk and tired to move. We had a great time but as usual, Net and I got a bit loud and obnoxious while drunk. I mean, we're loud and obnoxious enough when we're sober. When we're drunk people run for cover, like oh my God, these two people are insane. Mildred married a really nice Persian guy, and so they played Persian music for 3 hours. Which is understandable but Net and I really wanted to dance so we tried to get the DJ to play something else. We go up to him and the exchange goes like this:

Net: What should I say?
Me: Ask him to play a couple hip-hop songs.
Net: I don't want to dance to hip-hop.
Me: So ask him to play whatever you want as long as it's in English.
Net (to the DJ): *both palms down on the booth for effect* "Ya got any music in ENGLISH???"

Okay I grabbed her and ran. I didn't quite mean for her to quote me directly, I was just trying to say that anything she picked was fine by me. We couldn't stop laughing though, the DJ gave us the look of death. In our defense, of which there is very little, this was after about 10 shots. I mean by the end of the night we weren't even requesting drinks anymore. We were just walking up to Joseph the bartender and waiting for whatever he gave us. Someone would yell "SHOTS!!!!!" and we would all hightail it to the bar and then browbeat anyone who had the misfortune to approach the bar at the same time into doing shots with us. Yes, we were THOSE people. Good times. That was the best wedding ever. It's fun to get smashed with the family. And of course, Congratulations to Mildred and Amir. The food was great, the bridesmaid dresses were gorgeous, we had a wonderful time and everything was beautiful, especially the bride. May your marriage be long and happy and filled with children who don't grow up and act like your insane brothers, sister-in-law, cousins and cousin-in-law.

To Hooch or Not To Hooch

To Hooch or Not To Hooch
That is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in mind to bear the slings and arrows of those who cannot appreciate controlled hoochiness. I told Net that she had to look sluttier than me at her cousin Mildred's bridal shower because she was family by blood while I was family by marriage. It's like a rule or something, Thou Shalt Not Look Hoochier Than Any of the People They're Really Related To. She and Geo both stated that she officially looked hoochier than me, because her skirt was several inches shorter. I still wasn't convinced but decided to rock the outfit anyway. I said we'd just take a picture and see how people vote.



Quote of the day (provided so thoughtfully by Net): "Should I change before the drive home? Nahh. You only get so many opportunities to look like a whorebag."

I love Net.

Aerosmith Live At Jones Beach

Aerosmith Live At Jones Beach

Geo and I went to the Aerosmith concert last night at Jones Beach, using the tickets he got me as an anniversary present. I'm really tired as a result (not so much as Geo though, thanks to bullshit traffic on the LIE it took us 4 hours to go 60 miles.) So since I'm tired I'm going to cop out of the whole using segues thing and just list my thoughts...

1. I counted:

-12 Indian people (or 6, depending on if the ones we saw outside were the same ones that were two sections over inside.) And by "Indian" people I meant curry not cornmeal.
-7 Asian people (including us, one of the cops in the parking lot and the guy who worked the Starbucks stand. By the way, who the fuck goes to a rock concert and drinks a Mocha Frappacino.)
-3 black people (including the ticket scalper)
-0 Spanish or to use non-East Coast terminology "Hispanic" people (this number should have been 2 since our friends Carlos and Liana were supposed to go with us but flaked.)
-14,582 white people

2. The chic in front of us was annoying as hell. You could tell she was one of those people that liked hard rock when she was younger and decided to attend the concert as a lark. As a result she spent half the concert pretending to be too cool to enjoy it and the other half singing along. She was also quite possibly the biggest dork ever. Which is what happens when you're 29 and your mom still picks your clothes out. The two guys she was with were also coked out to hell but she had no idea. She just thought they were really funny. Go home little girl before you hurt yourself.

3. I love them but Aerosmith's new album sounds like that crappy music that fat white guys in Louisiana play, while in some place referred to as "the bayou." This unpleasant phenomenon was exacerbated by the fact that Steven Tyler pulled some chic up onstage to line dance with him. But what can you expect from an album titled Honking On Bobo, which is apparently bayou-speak for "Album that blows." Then again, I'm a Filipino chic in Jersey City so I have zero appreciation for rock blues or rockabilly or whatever the hell it's called.

4. They played: Love In An Elevator.Cryin.Jaded.Toys In The Attic.Sweet Emotion.Dream On.The Other Side.Livin On The Edge.Same Old Song And Dance.Walk This Way
They didn't play (which they played when we went 2 years ago): I Don't Wanna Miss A Thing.Crazy.Rag Doll.Janie's Got A Gun.What It Takes
They both times didn't play: Angel.Amazin
Geo was especially happy about them playing: Jaded
But especially mad about them not playing: What It Takes
I was especially happy about them playing: Cryin
But especially mad about them not playing: Rag Doll

5. We don't actively get lifted anymore but last night we got passively lifted. I haven't gotten a contact high like that since 1997, when me, Prency and Eric hotboxed down Route 17 on our way to pick up our friend Alvin from the San Jose Airport. Oh right. That was Eric that had the contact high. Never mind.

6. Steven Tyler yelled out "I'm gonna be a grandfather!!" which was super cute as hell. I had read in the news before we left for the concert that his daughter Liv Tyler is pregnant with her and her husband's first child. But I forgot to make the connection. His exuberant yell reminded me, but guitarist Joe Perry kind of ruined it when he leaned over and said "It's not like it's your first time." He was probably alluding to any grandchildren Tyler might have as a result from being on the road for 29 years. Way to be an ass and ruin "my" moment.

7. We had an awesome time, but will probably skip their next concert if they release an album right before it. When we went in 2002 it was THE BOMB because they pretty much played every good song they've had in almost 3 decades worth of albums. Here are some pics for you guys, taken with Geo's not-the-greatest resolution camera phone:

Public Service Announcement

Public Service Announcement
But first, Blogger is cracking me up. Their ads, I assume, are electronically assigned based on the most recent things the person writes about. Normally my ads are just for Blogger itself, I guess they don't have any ads about "banging chickens." But today as a result of my last few posts my ads are for "Oral Fixation Mints" and "Discount Christian Books" and the automatic search links are "Greed" and "Sloth." If people new to the site decide to judge me based on Blogger's banner ad, they will think I am a mercenary and lazy yet religious ho. Which I take exception to. I am NOT mercenary.

So anyway, we had the girls' Christening this past weekend. Let me just say once again that if you want to know who your real friends are, have kids. The people you see around you on their special occasions are the people who are still going to be in your life, years on down the road. Except of course, people who have real reasons for not being there, like weddings or family barbeques at the same time or their own baby showers/engagement parties. But other than those friends, the people who you will still love and will still love you in 20 years will be standing next to you, smiling at you while you cry because your children are being baptised. Or they'll be in their car, driving a little too fast, hoping the ceremony doesn't start on time (Paul and Kwame.) Thank all of you for coming, especially the godparents who were able to make it. You guys rock. Even you Tony, who offered Angelina a beer when you know full well that she only drinks hard liquor. By the way, I didn't get the memo about godparents only wearing black, white or pale green.

It makes me feel a bit sad, but the more time passes, the more I realize that I wasn't as close to some of my friends as I thought I was. I wanted to think that we had more of a bond than instant messenger, drunken nights in the city, dinners at Friday's, random road trips and shots of Jaeggermeister in the parking lot of some packed club. But when you grow up and strip all that away and there's nothing left, not even a "How are the kids doing" from someone you spent every Wednesday and Friday with for five years... well that just sucks. I guess maybe I'm taking it personally that some people I know can't be bothered with me now that I have kids, because having kids has been the best thing that has ever happened to me. Nothing I have ever done before has ever mattered even half as much. All those tequila shots at some dinghy bar, the dancing at clubs with names that change every three weeks, the drunken nights at strip joints with strippers named after flowers, the blunts smoked at 3am on the roof of a car parked on some unknown country road... all that was garbage. That wasn't my life, that was crap to pass the time because I was bored.

So pretty much what I'm saying is, to all you people who could have come on Saturday but figured sitting around on your couch or going to the mall or going to a barbeque hosted by some person you barely know was a more important thing to do, FUCK YOU. Don't let the door of our friendship hit your fat ass on the way out.

This Is What I Did Yesterday...

This Is What I Did Yesterday...

Yup, I woke up at 8:00 and headed out to Flushing where we stayed at the U.S. Open from 10:30 to 7:30. Then, me and George left and headed over to Jones Beach to watch Aerosmith perform. We got back at around 2 in the morning, tired as hell. I think I slept in my shoes.

U.S. Open Day 3 Diary
At 10:30 we strolled onto the grounds and decided to watch Angelique Widjaja play the chic who beat Alexandra Stevenson. Stevenson by the way, is Julius Erving's illegitimate child. It's interesting when indiscriminate sex crosses sports boundaries, don't you think? Widjaja whooped her ass for about 15 minutes at the beginning of the match, but it went downhill from there. I was sad to see her eliminated, she's fun to watch which is not something I often say about women's tennis. I'll be honest, if I'm not a fan of either of the players, watching women's tennis for me is like watching paint dry or water drip. It's all just a slow-moving flurry of topspin, lobs and volleys. That's why even if the Williams sisters are built like men I'm still glad they're on the circuit. I used to love the women's pro tennis tour but now I find I'm annoyed by it. I miss Steffi Graf, Monica Seles, Gabriela Sabatini, Mary Jo Fernandez, Martina Navratilova... players with class. All the women players do these days is whine. Like later in the evening we watched the marathon match between David Sanchez and Tommy Haas. They played for 3 and a half hours. By the end of the 5th set they were both cramping and stretching before points. They were exhausted and still battling it out ferociously with every last ounce of energy they had. When the match ended the entire stadium gave both players an extended standing ovation. I never understood why the women pros felt they deserved equal money as the men. Sure they draw people in, but you could also pay models in bikinis money to walk around the U.S. Open and that would draw men in as well. It's not something exclusive. Watching these two guys sweat it out for 3 and a half hours made me a bit ashamed to be female, and have other females believing they deserve the same amount of money for matches that never go past one and a half hours. It's like they're saying they deserve the same amount of money for less work, just because they did it in skimpier clothing. Of course, if I were a pro player I'd probably be saying the complete opposite right now. I'd be serving on center court in my bikini and demanding to be paid as much as Pete Sampras.

Okay, now that I've pissed off every female reading this, I'll continue. After Widjaja lost we headed over to Court 13 to watch my cousin Emer's friend Eric Taino play against Kristian Pless. Eric came out strong but wavered when Pless found his game. The chair umpire overruled two calls which helped Eric's opponent, so we were getting a trifle rowdy. After he lost the first set, Pless slammed the ball into the scoreboard so I was like "HEY!! You break it, you buy it!!!" Which of course, being some random guy from Denmark, he didn't get the joke. After Pless started acting up again I called out "Technical!! T him up ref!!!" which prompted the chair umpire to turn around in his chair and roll his eyes at me. He was laughing though so at least he had a really good sense of humor.

After Eric's match we headed over to the Grandstand because Geo wanted to watch Elena Dementieva play. Dementieva was seeded 12 going into the tournament, but wasn't playing very well. Sensing the impending upset, Geo took pity on my boredom and we headed over to the Louis Armstrong stadium to watch the Haas/Sanchez match. Once again... AMAZING. Probably the best U.S. Open match I've seen since the Agassi/Sampras match last year. After that we went to watch Jan-Michael Gambill's doubles match. Jan-Michael Gambill is the Anna Kournikova of men's tennis. All eye candy, little substance. The guy is super-gorgeous but a mediocre player AND a prick. He spent most of the match making his partner feel bad over his mistakes, conveniently forgetting the fact that his own mistakes caused them to lose the first set. I had an epiphany during the match though, I realized that despite my many years of tennis playing, I have a lob deficiency. I do not know how to lob. I can do the motions but it's a crapshoot as to whether it goes in or not. And if it did it was purely luck, not me employing any strategy of any kind. The chair umpire in Gambill's game was like 16 years old. He should have been a ballboy really. Gambill kept yelling at him and he didn't try to defend himself once.

In the final analysis, U.S. Open Day 3 was a whole lot of fun as well. Patrick wasn't there to talk shit with, but George was so I was okay. Filipino men have a gift for shit talk. More ticket money well spent.

"Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet Emoooooooooooooootion"
At 7:30 we exited the U.S. Open grounds and headed over to the Tommy Hilfiger Theatre at Jones Beach. After getting lost and ending up on some random peninsula, we finally made it to the bright lights and loud music. We got there right as Kid Rock was stepping off the stage which was perfect, since we don't really like Kid Rock anyway. How many good songs does he have, point five? It's like "Badwitaba" or whatever it's called isn't THAT BAD of a song, but the rest suck.

Aero finally came on and let me tell you it was worth all the stress of trying to find a theatre without any type of highway signage and every penny that I paid the thieving bastards at Ticketmaster. They opened the show with the classic "Toys In The Attic" and went through "Rag Doll"..."What It Takes"..."Dream On"...."Sweet Emotion"..."Girls Of Summer"..."Don't Wanna Miss A Thing"..."Crying"..."Dude Looks Like A Lady"..."Big Ten Inch Record"..."Jaded"..."Same Old Song And Dance" ...probably about 4 songs I can't think of right now and then finally ended with (of course) the "Walk This Way" duet with Run DMC. Kid Rock was there but I don't know why or what he was doing.

Random Notes:

1. Seeing Aerosmith live in concert was like #43 on my List Of Things To Do Sometime Ever so I can finally cross that off and add them to my list of bands I've seen live. That list is: Bon Jovi, Skid Row, Motley Crue, Faster Pussycat, Guns N Roses, INXS, Oingo Boingo, Gin Blossoms/UB40, Funkdoobiest/House of Pain, Cypress Hill, System Of A Down, Methodman/Redman and Limp Bizkit. I feel like I missed some but I can't remember who they are right now.

2. On the way to the theatre, I saw this Alitalia billboard in Queens. Alitalia (if I'm even spelling it correctly, since I can't read the font they use in their ads) is an Italian airline. This ad was a picture of a woman sucking on a canoli. No blue skies, no clouds, no airplanes, just a woman sucking on a long canoli. It wasn't even a subliminal image, it was a blatantly phallic image. They might as well have said "Fly our airlines and beautiful Italian women will go down on you ALL NIGHT LONG. We promise."

3. On the way out of the theatre, we were stuck at what I thought was a police check point. Later on I realized what a naive idiot I was to have thought the police would actually be smart enough to be doing drunk driving or drug tests on concertgoers exiting the concert. They were just stopping us and creating a 2-mile-long traffic jam so they could wait for all the buses to exit the lot. Fucking idiots. Who cares about the buses. Why don't you go peek into that Camaro over there and ask the driver why he's sniffing white powder off his dashboard.

4. The car in front of us in the traffic jam was a Saab with the license plate "WhaaSaab"... That should be punishable by death don't you think?? All those harmless murderers incarcerated and THIS GUY gets to drive around freely.

5. You don't want to know what people wear at an Aerosmith concert. It defies description. Even for me.

U.S. Open Day 1 Diary

U.S. Open Day 1 Diary

Me, my cousin Carmela and our friend Patrick went to the U.S. Open yesterday for a fun-filled day of tennis spectating. We started off the day by checking out Anastasia Myskina's match. Myskina is the chick who whomped Martina Hingis last week at the Pilot Open in Toronto. She has a flat serve and wicked angles off her forehand. I tried to focus on the match but I kept getting distracted by one of the ballgirls, this short plump Asian chick whose arms flailed around every time she ran. I'm surprised the players weren't distracted by it. I couldn't even concentrate on watching the game, I don't know how they could concentrate on playing it. Myskina's coach was sitting right in front of us and he scribbled on a notepad the entire game. I thought it might have been a letter to his mother... "Dear Mama, I am at the U.S. Open now and having fun. Wish you were here." Then I thought it might have been notes, like "Get new second serve. Bend knees more." But I looked over his shoulder and it was actually game statistics of some kind. At least I assume they were game stats, I don't speak Russian. They might have been other statistics like "Number of times Anastasia made the crowd go 'Ooooooh'" or "Number of people wearing green."

Around this time we got hungry so we went to go eat. The tournament organizers are super smart. They schedule the first matches at 11:00, which is too early for people to eat lunch before they get there. So everyone watches a game for like 45 minutes then goes and drops $18.00 on a cheeseburger and some fries. Or in my case, $12.00 for a hot dog and some water. After lunch we strolled over to the practice courts to scope out Pete Sampras. We couldn't really get a good view of his court so we went to another court next to it that had high bleachers, so we could watch over the fence. We watched him for a few minutes and then I got curious as to who was actually playing on the court we were actually on. It was Andy Roddick. Hooray!!!!! Carmela got super excited because Mandy Moore was sitting right near us. She went to go get her autograph while Patrick explained to me who she was. When Carmela got back giddy as hell, I was like "Are you 29 or 12?" which she naturally didn't appreciate. Roddick kept hitting balls long, so I think he was nervous because Mandy Moore was in the crowd. We thought maybe they were a new couple and he was nervous because he wanted to impress her.

Patrick and I had been playing "I spy a dork" all day, but I think I won when I spotted the Spanish guy with dyed yellow hair, wearing a lavender tank top. He was standing by Roddick's service line, trying to make eye contact with him. Three people to his left, there was a gaggle of tennis groupies. I didn't even know there were such a thing as tennis groupies, but lo and behold there they were in all their Banana Republic sale rack glory. Incidentally, "I spy a dork" is as easy to play at the U.S. Open as shooting fish in a barrel. I never noticed this before but tennis fans are kind of dorks. It's like they go to tennis tournaments and try as hard as possible to look like tennis players. The only exceptions to this rule were uh the members of my party and Mpip's entourage. Of course.

After lunch we watched the end of Roger Federer's match. I think it would behoove him to bathe more often... he's one of those people that just looks unclean. Also, courtesy of my cousin's displeasure at her seating location, Federer shushed her. And thus by association, shushed me. Good Lord. It's good I am singularly unembarassable.

By this time it was mid-afternoon so we rolled over to the Louis Armstrong stadium to watch Anna Kournikova play. I'm sorry, let me revise that.... to watch Anna Kournikova get fucked up the ass by some young Indonesian chick named Angelique Widjaja. We had arrived during the 4th set of Yevgeny Kafelnikov's game and the stadium was fairly empty. It's kind of sad for the sport of tennis to think that this guy is seeded number 4 in the tournament and the only reason people were there were to get good seats for Kournikova's game. We were sitting in the nosebleeds and Carmela wanted to move to the bottom, so I told her to go ahead and move down without me. It's not like we were about to watch scintillating tennis. If Hingis or the Williams sisters were playing, it would have been a different story. But I wasn't about to hike 5 minutes down into the bowels of a stadium to watch mediocre tennis. That's like waiting in line for 5 hours to watch Fred Hoiberg shoot free throws.

Patrick: I wonder if she even still has a trainer, or if she just has a hairstylist.
Me: Her make-up artist is not going to be pleased with all this sweating.
Patrick: "More foundation to the Louis Armstrong stadium please."
Me: Oooh I hope Widjaja wins... she needs to put Indonesia on the map, and not just as the place where they made my shirt.

I've never really seen Kournikova play a full singles match and it was pretty painful to watch. She was so bad I was embarrassed FOR her. I felt sorry for her until I realized that she was going to go home and wipe away her tears with her millions. Sympathy became difficult at that point, especially after watching her double fault about 20 times in the first set, hit 50 mph first serves and hit over 40 unforced errors. Imagine being one of the worst tennis players ever to play a grand slam event and yet still being the highest-paid and most famous, just because you have a tight ass.

Patrick was most upset that everyone was cheering for Kournikova. He felt it was bad enough that Widjaja had to make her first-ever U.S. Open debut in front of thousands of people, but those thousands of people weren't even applauding when she hit a good shot. I pointed out that every foreign player usually has some sort of entourage (even if it's comprised of 4 people) but that this chic didn't appear to have one. I figured the two of us would more than suffice. So we started applauding and cheering loudly. After noticing the increasing number of pointed stares our way, I told Patrick everyone thought we were her friends just because we're two Asian people cheering for her. So we started yelling shit like "Yeah Angie!!!!" "Just like that Angie!!!" and making comments to each other like "She looks tired... we shouldn't have kept her out so late last night." After the match which Widjaja won in straight sets (6-3, 6-0) people were turning to us and congratulating us. We accepted it as our due, as her best friends and all, who sit up in the nosebleeds in the first round. The match time was 43 minutes. I've taken pisses longer than that.

After the bloodbath, we hurried on over to Court 4 where some half-Filipino chick was playing. She was playing Tatiana Panova who is 5-3 and "built like a bull terrier" to quote Carmela. I tried to focus on the match but (again) I kept getting distracted by another ballgirl who was a little too ungainly to be in her current "profession." She seemed to agree with me too, because she let the other ballgirl do all the work. The players picked up more balls than her.

Patrick: Now you KNOW that ball girl has some sort of in connection here. Like her father donated THAT court.
Me: She just let that other ballgirl run all the way across the court to pick up a ball that was two feet away from her.
Patrick: She's like over there eating ribs or something.
Me: I think she wants some cole slaw.
Patrick: "A little help here please..."

We were laughing so hard I thought we were going to get kicked out of the stands. Yes, I realize that we're both going straight to hell. I couldn't even look at the court anymore. People were looking at us because they thought we were finding the Filipina chick getting her ass whooped funny. I think all the Filipinos at the U.S. Open were at that court. Patrick was surprised they weren't serving food courtside, like a buffet table loaded with rice, pancit, lechon (roast pig), lumpia (eggrolls) and sinigang (tamarind soup with pork or fish). Okay I just made myself hungry. I hate it when that happens!! So... after that last match we headed back to the subway for the trek home. All in all, it was worth my $40.

MPip's U.S. Open Day 1 Diary

For the 3rd straight year I went to the U.S. Open. I love that tournament. Tennis kicks ass. Here are my thoughts on what I saw at the Open this year:

I bought my tickets via 866-OPEN-TIX, a not-so-clever front for Ticketbastard. I hate that company. Talk about a monopoly. So I called them last week and bought 4 "nosebleed specials" for $44 each. Oh wait, there's a $6 per ticket "handling/convenience charge", upping ticket prices to $50/each. When I said to the ticket girl, "Convenience charge? Convenient for you, maybe" she laughed a sarcastic "Yeah, never heard that one before" laugh. My tickets would be waiting at Will-Call.

So there we were, my wife and I on the notorious #7 train that John Rocker railed against, on Monday morning at 9:45 a.m. I personally didn't feel like I was "riding through Beirut" as Rocker so infamously declared. Damn rednecks.

When we first got off the train their were actually scalpers trying to sell Open tickets. Scalpers for tennis? I'm convinced these guys believe that the U.S. Open is a tournament-style gang bang featuring the best porn actresses in America.

We arrived at the US Tennis Center and found my friends and certified tennis nuts (they know every ranked player ever) Eric and Rich and headed for Will-Call. The Will-Call experience is supposed to consist of me walking up to an unoccupied window, showing I.D. and snaring my tickets. Not this time.

There were about 7 million people in one line, the "ticket buyers, will-call and people who just like standing around in line" line. Everyone that had will-call was freaking out and yelling at the harried employees in their shiny new U.S. Open polos by Fila. "We're not supposed to be in this line. We have tickets!" they whined.

Some crazy chain-smoking Lady In Red finally came by and diverted a bunch of us Will-Callers to the opposite side of the line to wait for our tickets. Good idea. Until we had to merge with people who had been waiting in Will-Call for an hour. They yelled at us, we yelled at them and the Lady In Red was nowhere to be found. Some old guy that was about 90 started screaming how it was "bullshit" that we were horning in on their line. I was waiting for someone to deliver the "hey old man river zip it or i'll break your hip" line from Big Daddy. The Lady In Red was hiding behind some bushes smoking cigarettes. Seriously. I'm not making that up.

No melees ensued and after about 40 minutes in line I got my tickets. This disrupted my plan to get front-row seats for the Michael Chang match.

No matter. Our seats for Chang were pretty good anyway. Michael Chang is fun to watch. He plays every point like his life depends on it. Maybe it does, I don't know much about Asian cultures. He was playing "Spaniard clay court specialist with too-long hair and lame bandanna" # 42, 612 Francisco Clavet. Michael Chang versus a clay court guy had all the makings of a 5 hour match. Naturally the first set went to a tiebreaker.

I remember watching Chang years ago and his whole family, known by the media as "The Chang Gang" was always on hand. Now that Michael's ranked #130, it's down to just his brother and coach Carl, known by me as "The Chang Link". We left early in the second set, with Chang leading. He won in 4.

Now, we saw a lot of tennis afterwards and I don't remember the order of who I saw when, so bear with me.

We wandered to a side court to watch Federer play some guy Jiri Vanek. Eric and Rich wandered into the stadium part of the court for a better view while Isabel and I sat in the little bleacher. Turns out we were seated next to Vanek's girlfriend. Quite an attractive young lady as Isabel even observed. Her and Jiri would make eye contact and she'd offer encouraging words in Czech. My favorite, after most Jiri points was her clucking "pawt pawt pawt". I think it means "Beat this guy and you get to tap me all night long". But it probably doesn't mean that since he lost in 4 sets.

Federer's another of those "long hair with ponytail and lame bandana" guys. Isabel was impressed that a guy that looked like Vanek had such a good-looking girlfriend. I wondered if "Jiri Vanek" and "Jiri Novak" were the same guy. They must be. How can 2 guys have the same first name and similar last names? Implausible.

We then went and saw angry Andrei Pavel play Harel Levy on another side court where you're practically on the court with guys. Pavel cursed in Romanian and seemed to look our way every time he sprayed forehands 6 feet long. Frightened, we left. Pavel lost in 4 sets. Wish I'd seen the end of the match, he must've really flipped out.

We were hungry and felt like we had way too much money in our pockets so we went to the food court. The food court was guilty of ripping us off. Rich got 2 buckets of chicken wings, a bottle of water and french fries for $29. I got a hot dog and 2 Gatorades, courtesy of Marissa's desirable spot in line at "Hot Dog Row" for $13 and a dry ass chicken sandwich for $7.75. I nearly choked. First at the prices and then on my chicken sandwich.

With our wallets considerably lighter we quickly moved along. We got to see some players practice. First we saw one of my favorites, Todd Martin. Todd's great, a 6'6" 32-year old guy who looks like the dad from a 60's family sitcom like "Father Knows Best". I think Todd's actually 32 squared years old. He looks like a guy that should be wearing a sweater with leather elbow pads, smoking a pipe, wearing slippers and reading an evening paper. But he's a nice guy and I root for him feverishly.

From a "catbird" seat we also watched Jennifer Capriati and Marat Safin practice. That Capriati is a cutie. Isabel wondered how bad her body would be if she wasn't a professional athlete. If you've ever seen J-Cap (I can't believe I called her that) in a tank top and spandex shorts you'll understand that Isabel's question sends the mind racing.

Rich and Eric then bolted to watch some other foreign guy play while Isabel and I used our reserved seats at Ashe to see James Blake play a little bit. He's a young black kid that came out of a Harlem youth program. I'm down with introducing tennis to the masses. Next we need a good young Hispanic-American player to come through the ranks. Blake was playing some guy named "Habathy" or something, who turned out to be American. And there I was rooting against this "damn foreigner". Wait, I'm a foreigner, too!

Arther Ashe stadium was so quiet that Isabel dozed off.

We then ran into Marissa and friends again, who told us that they saw Pete "I used to be really good" Sampras practicing. Eric almost fainted with excitement and dismay at having missed Pete.

We all ended up going to Armstrong to see Kafelnikov play. Actually we were just waiting for the Kournikova show to begin. Personally I don't think she's that good-looking but Eric and Rich were like 3-year olds at "Rugrats on Ice".

The stadium was packed, waiting for Kafelnikov to finish off a guy whose name was almost as long as "Kafelnikov". Dirty old men and horny teenage boys were everywhere. Curious women (likely praying for Anna to break a leg while losing 6-0, 6-0) filled out the crowd.

Rich and Eric got very antsy as Kafelnikov, up 2 sets to love dropped the 3rd and puttered through the 4th set. I think he was intentionally banging the ball into the net to get the pretty ballgirl to run out. Angry, Eric declared "If Yevgeny loses this set, I'm rooting for the other guy". Rich dropped the bill of his cap over his eyes and said "Wake me when it's over". Never has a crowd so lustily cheered for Yevgeny Kafelnikov. If the stadium had a roof it would've blown off when Kafelnikov won. I don't think anyone even knew that he's a Top 5 player.

And then....she walked in. The tannest, crappiest female player ever. Cover girl on all those "they're real magazines, not porno magazines" rags like Maxim, et al. When she was introduced the crowd was louder than when Kafelnikov won. It was insane.

The match started and Isabel began to realize why I'm so frustrated with all the Anna-loving that goes around.

"She's not very good" she commented.

"I know!" I nearly screamed.

"She hits the ball into the net a lot"

"I know!"

When Anna pulled a Mike Pipercic "blow a wide open lob 10 feet long" shot, I knew she was toast. She went down quickly in the first, 6-3.

We escaped the carnage. It was like a train wreck and I had no interest in watching. Anna hit the ball into the net so many times, I'm sure they had to replace it before the following match. She got bageled in the second. She sucks. Nice 52-mile/hour serve. Are you kidding me? I'm actually getting mad, so I'll stop.

Rich and Eric went to watch Krajicek play. Isabel and I went to the Grandstand to watch former #1 and known jackass Marcelo Rios play Jonas Bjorkman. Despite his name, Bjorkman is no Bjorn Borg. He's more like the singer Bjork.

Rios lived up to his reputation within 10 minutes, first bitching out the umpire for saying "4th set" when he was about to serve and later bitching out an usher for letting fans walk behind Bjorkman as he was about to serve. For the rest of the match a nervous usher standing near us would practically tackle people that even approached Marcelo Rios's field of vision.

As an aside, I don't understand why in hoops you can hold up pictures of a free throw shooter's mother having sex with a goat, but in tennis you can't even wander behind a player without disrupting their concentration. Anyway....

Rios cruised. Bjorkman's play was an insult to the word "feeble". Rios even signed autographs for a few people. Good thing he won, I think I saw a semi-automatic in his bag.

We never saw Eric and Rich again. Krajicek ended up quitting (in tennis they call it "retiring") so we couldn't find them. We went back to Armstrong to wait for Todd Martin to play. But the damn delay was so long that we went to the top of the stadium and looked into the Grandstand to see Dr. J's illegitimate daughter Alexandra Stevenson and Stephanie Foretz play. Now those women can hit! 100 mph serves all over the place.

Todd was warming up so Isabel and I ran to get a good seat on the baseline. We had second row behind the empty reserved seats. Todd held serve in the first game and than Gaston Gaudio fired off 4 aces in his first service game. The pro-Todd Martin crowd groaned. The stadium was full of den mother types pleading "Come on Tooooddddd!" Todd played like he really was 132 years old. He dropped the first set 6-3. My expert opinion is that Todd should've played that set from the baseline, but he kept following his shots and Gaudio kept passing him. My dad would say Gaudio was hitting passing shots "like a robot", but I don't know what that means so I'll just say he was kicking Todd's ass. With Todd struggling to take a 2-1 lead in the second set at around 8:30, we made our way out. Isabel's favorite part of the Martin match was declaring that the woman in the front row of the reserved seats was Mrs. Todd Martin because her 47 karat ring was sparkling so much. We were far away from her, but we were almost blinded.

During the first set, in Arthur Ashe they were having some ceremony with Marines and stuff and suddenly fireworks exploded overhead. Everyone, and I mean everyone, in Armstrong thought a bomb went off. We all turned and saw red, white and blue fireworks. Memo to the U.S. Open: if you're going to shoot off fireworks, you might want to warn people in other stadiums. I nearly crapped my pants when I heard the explosion. I had planned an escape route for me and Isabel by the time I saw that it was just fireworks.

Exhausted and slightly hungry but not willing to sell our blood for food at the Open, we got on the "John Rocker Express" and went home.