It’s okay to miss me

I apologize to the people who actually read my blog with any regularity. And to those who just stumbled upon this for the first time, well, I apologize to you too.

As mentioned in an earlier entry, I packed up and moved to the big city. That being said, I am working 11 hour days, living on a couch, and basically lacking blog time. But I promise, once I actually find a place to live, I’ll be back in full force! And trust me…I’ve got stories.

So thanks for the patience. It’s okay to miss me, but I’ll be back.

You’re way too beautiful girl*

Nice compliment. And that is why this song works.

Sean Kingston is, by far, my favorite new artist. Never before have I heard such depressing lyrics that could put me in such a great mood.

Sean’s summer jams included “Beautiful Girls” and “Me Love.” Both upbeat, both easy to sing along with, even after 1 listen (which, if you’ve ever been in a car with me, you know is key to any good song).

The bouncy beats in “Me Love” actually make me forget that poor, heartbroken Sean is singing about his girl leaving him. The 50’s-style do-wop feel to “Beautiful Girls” puts a smile on my face before I can remember that the thought of it not working with this girl makes him want to kill himself.

Seriously…let’s take a look at some of Sean’s lyrics, shall we? Here’s a section from “Beautiful Girls” (excuse the phonetics. This how the lyrics show up).

Now we’re a fussin’
And now we’re a fightin’
Please tell me why
I’m feelin’ slighted
And I don’t know
How to make it better (make it better)
You’re datin’ other guys
You’re tellin’ me lies
Oh I can’t believe
What I’m seein’ with my eyes
I’m losin’ my mind
And I don’t think it’s clever (think it’s clever)

You’re way too beautiful girl
That’s why it’ll never work
You’ll have me suicidal, suicidal,
when they say its over

And how bout this bit from “Me Love”?

Now I’m sittin in a chair wit no one here
and I’m feelin’ all alone (all alone)
thinkin’ to myself like
damn why my baby up and gone (up and gone)
it’s like I’m missin’ her and I know she’s missin’ me (missin’ me)
it’s been two years an a half, in july will make it three (make it three).

I feel like im drownin in da ocean
somebody come and take me away

If he spilled his guts like this in therapy, he’d be heavily medicated for depression by this point–he even admits to being suicidal–but somehow, in this peppy format, I can overlook the fact that he is sad and lonely. I can not only overlook it, I can dance along to it (which is a skill while driving, let me tell you).

Depression aside, as it turns out, between “Beautiful Girls” and “Me Love” I have never been so happy listening to the radio.

* NOTE: This title is not just another cheap ploy to make sure my blog shows up in Google searches for Sean Kingston lyrics. Okay, you got me, that’s exactly what the title is.

Nothing like projectile vomit to really get ratings

So, this week has been filled with season premieres of some of my favorite reality shows– America’s Next Top Model, Survivor, Beauty and the Geek–and nearly all of them contained one thing. Any guesses as to what that one thing was?

Dumb blondes? Sure, there were plenty of those (seriously, you’re going on Survivor…why would you not wear a bra?), but that’s not exactly what I was thinking.

Eye rolling? Well, come on, you’ve got beauties and geeks in the same house…of course there’s bound to be some eye rolling. But again, not quite what I was thinking.

Any more guesses? Really? None? Not even based on the title? Well, okay, I’ll give you a hint: VOMITING! ANTM and Survivor both featured the tossing of cookies and it really made me wonder, what is it about vomiting that seems to attract producers?

In all of my reality TV experience I’ve seen chunks blown on the following shows:

• Survivor (nearly every season)
• America’s Next Top Model
• Rock of Love
• The Next Pussycat Doll
• The Real World
• Amazing Race

This is by no means a complete list–I only have so many hours in my day people, I’m sure I’ve missed some yakking along the way. Also, I’m hugely vomit-phobic (or emetophobic for those who happen to know these things…or look them up) so I tend to just not look when I sense a projectile puking scene approaching.

But I’m still at a complete loss. What is it about vomit that makes producers think, “You know what will really get the numbers for us this season? A good barfing scene…yeah, that’ll do it.” Nobody that I know likes vomiting and I can’t say that I know anyone who likes being around other people vomiting. Sure, everyone I know has had to deal with it at some point (I just graduated…from a party school…there was bound to be an upchuck encounter at some point), but no one that I know actually likes their vomit involvement.

So how is it that retching makes it onto the screen every chance it gets? Are audiences writing in? Saying things like “I really enjoy the show but I thought it would have been better if someone had thrown up and you guys had filmed it…that would have been really great!” I kind of doubt that that’s the case.

There’s nothing I can do about it now–the fall lineup is already on the air– but here is my plea for next season: (Are you paying attention Hollywood? This concerns you too) skip the gagging. Americans do not like to watch other people vomit. If we did, we would hang around bars during senior week and would host case races with cheap liquor. All we want when we tune in to our favorite reality shows is some backstabbing, some tears and some cheap and fabricated romance.

Movin’ on up

Shoot me right now for the cliche, but how else could I both grab your attention and ensure that this post would come up on someone’s Google search for the lyrics to the Jefferson’s theme song? Exactly. But aside from greedy, attention-getting ploys, that title does actually serve a purpose. It seems the time has come for me to end my days as a Pittsburgh blogger. I got a job in NYC and I’m heading there soon, but don’t worry, I’ll take the blog with me. And hey, a change of scenery might do me good.

I’ve been getting a little stir crazy — who wouldn’t be after 4 months at home? In the midst of a between-job meltdown, I learned a little bit about myself — and my heritage.

Turns out my great-grandpa came to PA straight off the boat with his brother. After a lot of hardships (working the coal mines and the loss of his brother) he knew it was time to get out of this state. He found out that a lot of people from his town in Italy were living in Schenectady so he high-tailed it out of here. A while later he sent for my great-grandma and my grand-aunt (is that even a word?). With a lot of hard work, he ended up being hugely successful, and my family was in good shape by the time the Depression hit. I guess that whole “not a quitter, work real hard and you’ll be successful” thing is in my genes.

And apparently, so is the desire to get the hell out of Pennsylvania.

Adventures in air travel (part deux) and other signs that I know everyone in the world

I just finished a stint in New York for yet another round of interviews. This was my first solo trip to the city so I was a little nervous (I’m from the suburbs…we don’t exactly do subways here), but all in all I handled myself pretty well. I got a cab from the airport with no problem. I got myself to the subway, got my metro card and not only got off at the right stop, but even managed to exit the subway at the right corner to get me where I needed to go. And I managed to (admittedly with slight assistance on this part) call a cab to get back to the airport.

Now I know what you’re thinking at this point in the story. You’re thinking, “gee, this all went really well for her…oh man, something really bad happened when she got to the airport. After all, these are ‘adventures in air travel,’ that flight must have suuuucked.” Nope! Ha!

Okay, I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to mock your guessing skills. I mean, the story was kind of heading in that direction.

So, to get to the actual airport part of the story. I’m sitting in LaGuardia, hanging out, reading my book and they finally call our flight to board. I’m toward the end of the line so I’m standing around waiting. Then I hear a familiar voice. Strange, considering that I’m not at home. Well, apparently nothing is strange for me anymore. And apparently, I will never escape college…or high school for that matter. Because that familiar voice I heard actually did belong to a friend of mine from high school, who went to the same college as me and is now working in the city where I’m trying to get a job. And I think it shocked the hell out of her too because when I walked over, she blurted out “I have to go–Lauren’s in the airport.”

All I can really say about my high school at this point is that we’re kind of like Visa…we’re everywhere you want to be.

Adventures in timing and other signs Pittsburgh fans have no self control

Ah…the long awaited post! Get excited, it’s a fun one. It involves food! Ahem…anyway…so I mentioned that I’ve been sick. For anyone who’s ever had a stomach thing, you know that the best part of the stomach thing is the day you finally feel like you can eat something.

For me, my weapon of choice was a sandwich. I’d been dreaming about this sandwich for days (due in part to that new Bailey’s commercial where the guy makes that killer sub while his friend talks him into making the frozen drink). I knew what bread I wanted it on, I knew what cheese I wanted on it, I even knew what condiments I wanted–suffice it to say, I was ready for this sandwich. Unfortunately, my kitchen was not as equipped to satisfy my craving as I could have hoped. No worries though, because all could be solved with a quick trip to a local store. Easy right?

So, so wrong. My first trip back into the land of the eating was on Sunday. No real problem there. My craving hit around 12:45.Problem there. Sunday in the Wild Wild Wex equals Steelers mania and this store was no exception. 15 minutes before kickoff…well, after 18 years in this city we really should have known better.

As soon as we pulled up to the store we knew we were in trouble. The parking lot was chaos. The cold cut line was a mob scene (literally). The deli workers were dishing out pierogies like there was no tomorrow. People were grabbing chicken in every form they could find it; rotisserie, fried, wings. And every single person was decked out in Steelers garb. Except for those still in church clothes…running late from the late service and still hoping to get home for kickoff.

If I hadn’t wanted that sandwich so badly we wouldn’t have risked our lives going in there. But we sucked it up, braved the crowds (and by braved I mean let 2 or 3 women who could have actually played for the Steelers go ahead of us in the deli line. Women….WOMEN!!) and thus, I was fed.

All’s well that ends well I suppose, and in Steelers country, sometimes you’re lucky to just get out alive.

No longer M.I.A.

Generally, I wouldn’t devote an entire post to explain my absence, but since I haven’t written in about a week, I feel I owe an explanation.

I’ve been sick and couch-ridden for the past week. Stomach flu in nature, which sucks, but I’ve got to say, my abs definitely came out of this thing looking Britney-esque. (I should clarify that: pre-baby Britney, not VMA Britney).

Illness aside, I’m out of town for a night or 2, but I’ll be back and posting asap (because I know you were all concerned!). And I promise…this will not be my only post for the night.

What I did on my summer vacation

that about sums it up.