let's play dress-up

Top 5 Favorite Costumes of Halloween Past:

5. Nancy Spungen (2000)
I was dating someone who, after shaving his chest, donning tight jeans, and securing a lock and chain around his neck, did bear a striking resemblance to Sid Vicious. I made a pretty good Nancy with lots of eye makeup and pleather skirt. Together we looked great; that is, of course, until he'd walk away to get a beer and without any context, I looked like a two-bit hooker.

4. Alice in Wonderland (sometime mid-1980s)
I loved the Disney animated movie in third grade, and so my Mom slaved away for weeks on her sewing machine, making me the most perfect Alice costume ever. With my long stick-straight (?!) blonde hair, I felt just like her.

3. An extra from "Caligula" (2005)
It was my first Halloween as a resident of New York, but I spent it in Athens, GA. I thought it would be appropriate to be Athena -- or some sort of Greco-Roman goddess. Upon seeing my revealing costume, however, someone (KB?) remarked that I looked more like an extra in the infamous Penthouse flick. And so I was.

2. Pregnant bride (1997)
I had a plastic bouquet of flowers and a garter with a shotgun on it. I went to a party with my then-boyfriend and a stranger remarked (as I stepped outside for a cigarette) in all seriousness that smoking was "bad for the baby". Realistic costuming, I guess.

1. Tippy Hedren from "The Birds" (2003)
I bought an authentic blue vintage suit from Agora and ripped it up, ratted my hair into oblivion, and applied fake scratches, fake birds, and fake feathers to myself. At our annual Yonah H'ween party another girl attended as the same character, but damn if I didn't look better. I'm just sayin'.

she's killer-diller when she's dressed to the hilt

Sometime between the end of my love for the New Kids on the Block (yeah, yeah) and the beginning of my appreciation of Nirvana, I was living in San Diego, skipping school on a regular basis, volunteering as a peer counselor, and eating too much ice cream.

I was also a wee bit obsessed with the Beatles, a little-known band that broke up seven years before I was born.

I announced to my family (with a requisite dramatic flourish) that after my death, my ashes were to be scattered in Central Park's Strawberry Fields.

I incessantly listened to "Abbey Road" on vinyl, whose Side Two medley alone secured the entire record as (still) my favorite of all time.

I even wore out my VHS copy of "Help!", a film that I certainly preferred over "Magical Mystery Tour" and "A Hard Day's Night" (though the latter was most critically-acclaimed).

Though John Lennon later publicly complained about the filming, and even said that they "felt like extras" in their own movie, don't they look like they're having a good time?


"Help!" was on the Sundance Channel tonight and I watched it for the first time in over a decade -- but could still recall almost every line.

bawlin'

My Halloween costume is slowly morphing into gym teacher, rather than camp counselor.

I absolutely scoured thrift stores this morning for a camp t-shirt, which I personally feel is necessary (though I know some of you do not), but found an old NYC public school shirt instead.

I think that paired with sweatband, whistle, shorts, tube socks, etc. it just may work. Sort of a hybrid of Robbie Beers' costume circa 1999 and KB's summer camp party of 2007.

Either way, who cares?! I always put too much pressure on myself regarding this holiday and inevitably just end up just tipsy and having a good time, anyhow. I think I need to relax and concentrate more on where the hell I'm going to meet up with the crew before we hit up the Greenpoint party.

l'américain

So, the Sox won it all last night, and I watched from my perch at Angry Wade's with a light beer in hand, popcorn in my belly, and Josh next to me who just wouldn't let me leave until the bitter end of the game. This, even though I was tired, cranky, and achingly full of Halloween candy. I'll admit it: it's nice to have friends who want you around even when you're being sorta pouty.

We discussed getting a big Victorian home in Ditmas Park with multiple bedrooms and a wrap-around porch and room for a studio and having communal dinners.

Rewind: saw KM and Dave at the bar, too, where they'd been since 4-ish to see the Chargers slaughter the Texans. Prior to that, split a pitcher with Josh at GYC and remarked several times on the cold weather. (Note: Our regular bar of the summer will close on November 3rd and we may have to wear parkas to the party.) I arrived at GYC after spending the night in New Jersey, where I made my Mom a delicious (if I may say so!) birthday brunch of baked french toast with raspberries and walnuts, cheese souffle, and spicy Bloody Marys.

Friday night was spent melding groups of friends (or, rather, introducing TRich to Josh, Paul, Porkchop, and Colleen) and eating beef jerky and playing Rampage (poorly) and drinking hard cider -- that is, until Josh, Paul, and I took a cab to Rope. Home at 5:30 AM.

In other news, what shall Halloween bring? I'm certain one of my smart and clever pals out there is ready to whip out a brilliant costume, yes? I've decided I'll be a camp counselor, if I can finally track down the elusive (and quite necessary) camp t-shirt.

Tell me what you'll be.

I need more coffee. I want to subsist on only coffee for a few days.

masochism

Post-interview (ugh, don't ask!), I met TRich at Teany for a delicious vegetarian chef salad, a glass of wine, and fabulous conversation. I then ran home, made a batch of Alice Medrich's Mexican chocolate cookies (whose flavor improved the more the dough chilled -- and I know this because I had a spoonful of it later in the night), met Porkchop and Colleen at Angry Wade's, headed to Camp, watched the game, headed back to Angry Wade's, met up with Josh and Mindy, and finally ended up at home around 2:00 AM.

I need to stop going out on school nights.

we just kind of had a party and everybody came

Kurt Cobain's suicide was brought to my attention one April day after school while I was watching MTV. I called my boyfriend, Donald, and told him the news.

Donald was actually my ex-boyfriend at that point -- I remember this because Kurt's death saddened us to the point that the only thing we could even think to do was head to Kaldi's coffeehouse in the French Quarter, smoke clove cigarettes, and decide that we should just get back together.

On the way to work this morning, I was listening to an interview with Dave Grohl on NPR's "Fresh Air". Terry Gross played snippets of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and "Heart-Shaped Box" during the piece and it was the first time I had heard those songs in years.

Call it Clinton Nostalgia, but I miss the 90s.

josh, local celebrity

waaaaay too late

So, yeah, what the hell have I been up to, other than facilitating haiku contests, you ask?

Let me think.

I was in my pajamas, drinking a glass of red wine, and catching up on "Tell Me You Love Me" last Wednesday night when I was rousted out of my apartment and toward the GYC and Abilene to hang with Josh, Porkchop, and Pat.

(Stayed up waaaaay too late.)

I traveled to Albany on Friday and interviewed for a job that I don't believe I got -- and I'm not so sure I'm bummed out over it.

I awoke early on Saturday and painted at a Fort Greene elementary school with Porkchop and Paul. (Please note my talent in the picture above. Ended the day with an after-party at Bowlmor Lanes where we were happily able to hang with Colleen for a bit.

Later that evening, I was in my pajamas, drinking a cup of tea, and catching up on "Real Time with Bill Maher" when I was rousted out of my apartment and toward the GYC to hang with Josh, Tom, and Pat. We later hit up Trout and various establishments in Williamsburg.

(Stayed up waaaaay too late.)

Baked cookies and watched "60 Minutes" on Sunday, naturally.

Monday night was spent with KM, her pops, Dave, and Josh at Joya and Angry Wade's and finished the night off at Brooklyn Social.

(Didn't stay out too late, relatively.)

Tonight is the gym, tomorrow is yet another interview and some QT with TRich, and this weekend I travel down the shore for a birthday celebration for my Mom.

Yawwwwwwn. I'm a party girl.

the winner

As the winner of the Overundulating Fever Haiku-for-Cookies Contest, you win the prize of two dozen cookies, baked from scratch by yours truly.

Please consult with your cronies and choose from:

chocolate chip
double chocolate chunk
chocolate toffee
mocha chocolate chip
chocolate peanut butter chip
peanut butter
peanut butter chocolate chip
peanut butter & (any flavor) jelly
oatmeal
oatmeal raisin
oatmeal cranberry
oatmeal chocolate chip
oatmeal peanut butter chocolate chip
oatmeal raisin chocolate chip
oatmeal cranberry chocolate chip
oatmeal butterscotch chip
oatmeal molasses
molasses
molasses white chocolate chip
gingersnap
soft ginger
pumpkin ginger
pumpkin chocolate chip
pumpkin butterscotch
pumpkin white chocolate chip
ranger
snickerdoodle
sugar
m&m

Congratulations on having many fans and friends who voted for you.

Big ups to the other haiku finalists: (1) Scarny, (2) Cocaine Bref, (3) Caddy, and (4) AC.

Good show!

haiku finalists

Leaving house at eight
Train to volunteering site
Bring me coffee, chump.

Eggplant sandwich lunch
Tiny waters and bagels
Stolen from the team

After-party time
Bowlmor Lanes and many beers
Sleep time comes early

So, the contest entries have been submitted, and though I at first felt I could judge this solely by myself, and then felt I could narrow it down to a mere three gems, the response has been overwhelming.

I'm going to need to narrow it down to five.

I give you the finalists:

(1)
seventeen dollars
a bloody from the carlyle
where's my reacharound?

(2)
Science may sex me
With all of its mighty brawn
I touch your lazer?

(3)
Big Papi. My heart.
You swing and make the world right.
Save this series please.

(4)
call for a good time.
577-7
775

(5)
This is very dumb
I hate this stupid haiku
I hope this blog dies

(Oh, and though I did love his entry, Porkchop purposefully took himself out of the running by posting in the original comments section. You know I'll make you and Colleen cookies eventually anyhow, buddy.)

Okay, kids, vote in the comments section or shoot me an email, please sidebar. You have until 12:01 AM ET on Tuesday, October 23.

Let the (relatively) best poet win.

perdido e encontrado

Date: Oct 18, 2007 11:14 AM
Subject: what's up jen
Body:

this is pat, an old friend of your brother's. i don't know if you remember me but, hello.

this is going to sound stupid/dorky but i always felt bad for using your expensive soap when we were kids. you probably don't remember, but i am sorry, so i'm sending some to your brother's house for the next time you are over there.

well. much love and keep in touch
-patrick

haiku update

I have received some excellent haiku submissions, folks, and I'm not sure I can even choose between them. You have until 12:01 Saturday morning to send me your entry and I think I'll go ahead and post my favorite three and let you, the reader(s), choose the big winner.

Did I mention you have until 12:01 Saturday morning to send me your entry?

Did I mention cookies?

In other news, this succinctly sums up my Wednesday:

Having absinthe drinks
Partying late in the night
Oh my head, it hurts

5-7-5

It's the First Official Overundulating Fever Haiku-for-Cookies Contest!

I want you to write me a haiku. It can be about anything your little creative heart desires, but it must be written in the traditional 5-7-5 syllable haiku format. You may submit as many entries as you wish.

The haiku that I deem the bestest will be published on this here blog AND (if that weren't enough!), will receive two dozen cookies (of any variety you choose) in the mail -- baked and shipped by yours truly.

Email your entries and post any general comments here.

You have until 12:01 AM on Saturday, October 20. Go go go!

Yay! It's a contest!

is there anybody alive out there

When I hear Bush yak about his S-CHIP veto, it makes my skin crawl.

The new Springsteen tune, "Radio Nowhere" is rad.

After baking many peanut-butter-chocolate-chip cookies for AB and successfully shipping them via USPS, I'm thinking that I have a new weekend hobby. Email me with orders, please.

I'm visiting my Dad in Tennessee for Thanksgiving this year. It will be the closest I get to Georgia for a while, I'm afraid.

I'm in love with Carl Kasell's voice.

Oh, and Satan's Cheerleaders didn't win at trivia last night (big shocker there, kids), but I did learn that a) Twinkies used to be stuffed with banana-flavored filling (not as yummy as lard, I'm afraid), b) I can successfully identify 4 out of 5 porn stars in the visual round (I'm sorry you slipped my mind, Annie Sprinkle), c) the word "ornery" needs to be used more often, and d) Jean-Paul Sartre couldn't give a fig about the Nobel Foundation.

apple-picking

Anyone ever been to the capital of New York, the town known informally as "SmAlbany". (No, really. It is.)

Taking the train up next Friday for a job interview in the field of childhood obesity prevention. If nothing comes of it, I always have the LSAT waiting for me -- and a day off of work to enjoy Upstate.

a collective nervous breakdown

I may have sabotaged myself at work today, exasperatingly remarking to my supervisor that, despite attempting to take initiative, I haven't done much work in, oh, eight or nine months. I also mentioned that I feel my skills aren't being effectively utilized (or utilized at all, for that matter). What does he suggest? That I sit on some committee. More meetings! All meetings and no action have made me a relative basket-case.

It's not all bad: I have time to IM and email my friends and job hunt and blog (!) and count the minutes before lunch and count the minutes before an afternoon snack and count the minutes before I race to the train to go home.

If only I were one who could eloquently document my boredom and slap a cover on it and call it a novel.

they think it's environmental -- toxins and such

It's an italics-heavy post.

You know those so-called "fat camps" for kids? I want to work at one.

This morning I was asked, "So, you want to work at a fat camp and work at a prison?" Yes, smarty pants, and I want to practice law and work on a political campaign and I want to decorate cakes and I want to finally land that elusive job at the CDC and I want to do it all in Atlanta or San Francisco or Iowa or Seattle or Brooklyn.

It's all I ask.

Alexis Stewart, daughter of Martha, is spending $28,000 of her mother's money each month to get pregnant because, in her words, her 42-year old eggs are now "old and crusty".

The things we learn on Oprah, kids.

Went to the gym for boot camp class on Monday and I'm still sore. My severely out-of-shape body (thanks to a summer of beer and chorizo) will just have to suck it up, however, because I'm going back for more weight training this evening.

And that's all I got today.

personal statement

As I am gearing up to begin LSAT prep courses and have been retrieving letters of recommendation, I am still working on my personal statement.

I asked Scarny for some assistance in the matter.

Dear school,

It is with great pleasure that I pen this letter to inform you of my intent to matriculate to your much lauded academy. All of my life I have pondered the difference between right and wrong, the thin blue line between lawful and unlawful. Years ago when my mother read to me from the Old Testament and I heard the story of Adam's sons Cain and Abel and their fratricide, I've been beset with a burning desire to defend the weak who are savaged upon by the mighty. Please congratulate me in joining your much heralded institution.

Yours in passion,

JBD

it's a tiny bit arrogant of people to go around worrying about those less fortunate

Watched the last half of "Le Charme Discret de la Bourgeoisie" today while nursing a touch of a hangover after raging until 6am. (Note: that is, if "raging" means falling asleep while boys play Wii.) Porkchop was right; it was quite good. I should watch the first half at some point.

Randomly: oatmeal made with chocolate soy milk is decadent and delicious, whiskey shots are never a good idea, balloons make everything much more festive, I want to be a debutante, I want to travel to the South for Thanksgiving, I want to travel to the South and remain there permanently, I want to do all of my holiday shopping before December begins, I change my mind a lot, I change my mind too much, my nails are so long and manicured that I fear they resemble Lee Press-On Nails, watching "60 Minutes" is my favorite way to end a weekend.

Where is Scarny? He was supposed to call me back.

fixation

I'm taking a forensic psych class at CUNY this month and we kicked it off last night with a 90 minute lecture on sexual offenders.

I still don't understand how Dateline NBC's "To Catch a Predator" doesn't constitute entrapment, but whatever.

overseen

Used car salesman-esque fellow, slicked back salt-and-pepper hair, with tight, black V-neck shirt, slacks, a chunky, brown cable-knit cardigan, a bright and shiny silver chain around his neck, and sporting weights Velcro'd snugly around both his ankles and wrists.

Asleep.

On the Manhattan-bound R train around 6:45 this evening.

the loudest guffaws

Spent almost an hour last night talking to KB and in the course of the conversation, the idea of the adopted home was broached; it is still quite clear that Georgia is mine, even after three years in New York. Perhaps it is because I have just come down from a weekend in which I was able to spend good times with former and current Georgians, but I do miss the state and its people so. I love New York for what it is, but it still just doesn't feel like being at home. I've had fleeting moments when it did, I suppose, but overall, no.

We briefly discussed how I have been able to bounce around from place to place for years: three different towns during my high school career alone, driving off to Texas where I didn't know a soul, hopping over to Atlanta for four odd months, being willing to pursue a job in Iowa.

Am I just perpetually restless?

Alcoholics Anonymous members often talk of the "geographic cure", whereby one blames a place, rather than oneself, for one's woes; if you escape the location, you'll escape the frustration.

This is not lost on me.

I am contemplating lopping my hair off.

I am broke as fuck.

You should check this out if you have not already.

You should check this out if you have not already.