Tag Archives: nyc

I got 99 problems, but bed bugs ain’t one

JK, they’re #1. Right up there with my waist being wider than my hips and the fact that I haven’t yet won the lottery. As a former aspiring songwriter (my saddest label) I like to make up songs about my life. “Where did you go/ My strainer” sung to the tune of No Mercy’s “Where do you go?” is on heavy rotation in my kitchen and “I don’t want to go to work,” my folk tune original has topped my Monday morning charts since 2010.

The bed bugs and all of the information I’ve learned about them have provided me with ample material for a host of songs. Ha ha, get it? Host. Because I’m being eaten alive in my own apartment… too soon?

Possible tag lines for the TV ad: “All the music you’ve been itching to hear” / “It’ll keep you up all night long!” / “Reality bites… your music shouldn’t”

Man, I miss CD compilations. If it were the nineties, I could be all –


“Now: That’s What I Call a Bed Bug Infestation” features hits from today’s top artists:

Lil Wayne / Future / Drake – “My Bitches [bed bug sniffing dogs] Luv Me” 

Sample lyrics – “I’ve got dem bed bugs and rubbing alcohol / I’ve got an exterminator I can call / I don’t know what I would do witout OFF© / Ima heat things til they cannot crawl / That’s why my bitches luv me.” 

The Black Eyed Peas – “Where Are the Bugs?

Sample lyrics – “I’ve been itchin’ / I ain’t lyin’ / I can’t sleep and I feel like cryin’ / I’m so grossed out I could shriek / I think a bed bug bit my cheek / Pest Pro, Pest Pro, Pest Pro, help me / Send some an expert who wears gloves / I’ve been lookin’ but I’m still questioning / Where are the bugs?” 

PSY – “Bed Bug Style

Sample lyrics – ” Najeneun ttasaroun inganjeogin yeoja / Keopi hanjanui yeoyureul aneun pumgyeok inneun yeoja / Bami omyeon simjangi tteugeowojineun yeoja / Geureon banjeon inneun yeoj / EHHHH Rashy Lady / Op, Op, Op / Oppa Bed Bug Style” 

I wish this were a real

Justin Timberlake – “Pack & Tite

Sample lyrics – “I be always packing my shit tite / shit tite / I can’t wait til I can move outta my apartment / Been heatin’ fabric so much / It’s hot like an oven…”

Taylor Swift – “Trouble (I Knew You Had Bed Bugs When You Walked In)

Sample lyrics – “I knew you had bed bugs when you walked in / So shame on me now / You’ve been shopping at thrift stores againnnn / Keep your blankets on the ground oh / I knew you had bed bugs when you walked in / So shame on me now / Should have sent you vacuum-packing / Now I’m throwing all my bedding out!” 

The video to that one is great because it opens with a minute and a half of Taylor dramatically inspecting her suitcase after returning from a stay at the Ritz Carlton while talking about how she felt compelled to keep it on the floor even though she’d been burned before. Something about the carpeting was calling to her.


Journey – “Don’t Stop Your Steaming”

Aretha Franklin – “B.I.T.I.N.G.ME”

The Beatles – “We Can Get Them Out”

Britney Spears – “Oops! They Bit Me Again”

Frank Sinatra – “Strangers in the Night” (I know, too easy!)

Carly Simon – “You’re so Vein (I bet you think that they’re gonna bite you)”



Peace, love and call 1-800-got-bugs to buy now, 


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Post-Valentine’s Day Recovery tips

It’s over! No more cupids or roses for a year! Still, I have a sneaking suspicion that some of you are still suffering today from Vday-related ailments. Here’s a list of recovery tips for every situation I can imagine you getting yourself into last night:

You sat on the couch drinking (listening to the playlist I made for you, of course)
Congrats! You probably don’t have that bad of a hangover from getting to bed at a reasonable hour. If you’re feeling a little iffy, those sweethearts in your office will totally serve as replacement Tums. Celebrate the end of the romantic holiday season with a glass of champagne. You deserve it.

You went out drinking with your friends.
I do not envy you, friend. Last night started innocently enough; a glass of wine over a nice dinner with some friends, then you figured what the hell? It’s Valentines Day, lets get a bottle! Before you know it it’s 3 am and you’re ripping shots of – oh god you can’t even think the word shots without wanting to die in the bathroom at your office. Can anyone else hear the computers buzzing? It’s like earth-shatteringly loud, right?

Ok, probably a lot. I never update Flash and I’m sorry.

I have five words for you: breakfast sandwich and a Rockstar.

Wait 30 mins for them to digest while you think about throwing up on the coworker who sits across from you and you will be golden. You’ll be totally ready to repeat last night.

You had a crazy Valentine’s Day one night stand.
Those exist in real life, right? They’re all over the movies and TV and I really want to believe there are people awesome enough to do this, but to date I’ve only ever heard on V-day sex scandal.

If you’re reading this proudly (or shamefully) because you are this years one night stand unicorn, you win at life. Call in sick to work – who cares what they think? Walk of shame your hot mess of a self over to Soho and buy yourself something sexy. You officially won Valentine’s Day 2013. Damn, you’re cool.

Your romantic date turned into a teary, bitter fight with your significant other.
The evening started out so nicely, but before you knew it the pressure of a holiday invented for you and your significant other to prove to one another that your love is the Best Love caused you to crack. A romantic Italian dinner turned into you sobbing while stuffing hunks of bread in your mouth so as to shoo away the accordion players with your utter disgustingness.

Now you’re sitting at work, poofy-eyed, having to swallow back tears when your coworkers ask you how your fairy tale evening with Mr. Perfect went. Why didn’t you decide to skip Valentine’s all together instead of subjecting yourselves to the torture of flower arrangements and overpriced Pre Fixe?

So, last night sucked. Sometimes the worst times come when we’ve built up our expectations so high that we have nowhere to go but down.

Facts: Your boyfriend didn’t propose; that Pesto wasn’t fresh; and at the end of the night your cab driver took the worst route home ever. Valentine’s Day may have sucked, but now it’s over and all of those giant, unclaimed heart boxes full of chocolate are on sale for at least 50% off! Go get yourself some and feel better.

You skipped Valentine’s Day altogether?

You didn’t wallow, drink or cry? Yesterday was just another day and you’re sitting there at your desk watching the fallout around you?

Good for you! Rub it in everyone else’s faces by eating a fruit salad for breakfast and telling all the hungover people about your favorite types of tequila… Get really detailed with it. If there were more people like you, we could forget this whole day ever existed in the first place.

All, the week is over so I will return to my usual Tuesday/Thursday posting schedule. Thank you so much for reading, sharing and commenting!

Peace, love and I’m still listening to “Wide Awake”,

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Battles, part II

If you haven’t read battles, part I, it’s here. If you don’t want to read part I, it’s basically the first half of this list of people I want to battle.

BATTLE #4 – Tiffany VERSUS the person on the other side of the phone (who I’ve never met before)

It turns out this is a common emotion

Weapon: Some sort of phone generated electrical shock seems impossible, so probably hiring a hitman

I remember when email and AIM first came out, people were all, “it’s so easy to misunderstand each other! There’s no inflection!” I think the Internet generation feels the same way about the phone. All disembodied voices sound threatening and offensive.

The phone is missing so much information. Who IS this person anyway?

Do they open every email with salutations even when it’s a thread? That means they take themselves too seriously.

Do they have a hotmail address? That means they’re old.

What is their signature like? Pink and in Lucinda Grande? They’re dumb.

These are incredibly important pieces of information, none of which are determined by a phone call.

I have this avoidance behavior with the phone that is definitely not suited to my profession (but may be a result of said profession): I am constantly trying to get off of the phone with people I don’t know. Once I’ve met the person, we’re BFF and I’m all, “OMG, Mondays! I know, rigggghhhht? Let’s have a meeting soon just so we can hang out.” But before that I’m all, “Ok so the topic of this call has four points. Just FYI, I have a hard stop in 30 minutes.”

The problem with this battle is that once I meet the person, I’d likely not want to battle them. I’d be prepared, amped up, phone set in hand and ready to beat them with it, and then I’d see their haircut, or jeans, or college sweatshirt and immediately be like, “OMG ME TOO!! Let’s have these meetings weekly! Can we hug?” Because I love everyone.

BATTLE #5 – Tiffany VESUS that Person who acts all pissed on the street because they’re in a hurry and no one is moving fast enough

Such a good movie. Her things really were the most important things.

Weapon of choice: Taking up as much space as possible while walking really slowly

BATTLE #6 – Tiffany VERSUS the Person who is not moving fast enough when I’m in a hurry

Weapon of choice: Violent shoving (Full disclosure: I don’t care if these people are children. I want to shove the children.)

I know, I’m such a hypocrite. But aren’t we all? I think this is very similar to the car versus pedestrian battle, which btw is really car versus pedestrian versus biker battle but no one thinks about bikes until you start riding one. Trust me, the bikes are part of it. Don’t leave the bikes out.

Whenever I’m behind a group of people (usually tourists) taking up the whole sidewalk and walking slower than people who consider speed walking exercise, I feel impulse to part the sea of Midwestern body types and off-brand sneakers and yell “TOURISTS!!” at the top of my lungs. This works even if they’re not tourists because everyone in New York is always striving to seem like the ultimate New Yorker. Fast-walking, well-dressed, and definitely not from anywhere other than New York since the second they breathed the oxygen of this world.

My problem is that every time I’m walking down the street, thinking “Aw, this is so relaxing. God, I love this pandora station,” and someone pushes by dramatically, throwing her hands in the air and yelling, “Come on people!!” I’m immediately like, “Wow… What a fucking douche. I bet she’s not even going anywhere important.” I feel the urge to run in front of her and get in their way more, or tell something insulting like, “Why such a rush to get back to Bushwick??”

There’s no winning here. I should basically just battle myself. Which I already do every so often because sometimes I sneeze violently and accidentally hit myself in the face.

BATTLE #7 – Tiffany VERUS the person whose life is better than hers

Those of you who have been reading for a while know how I feel about Zooey Deschanel… That perfect bitch.

Weapon of choice: My life

First of all, I think you’re lying. Second, YOU’RE LYING.

Third, let’s start with when I was 8 years old and McKenzie McsomethingIrishorSocttish called me a freak on the playground because no one wanted to play, “Cats and Guinea Pigs” with me. As lucky is I am for all of the wonderful things in my life, I will crack your happy bubble with little to no effort on my part. Have you heard of learned helplessness? Because Nina told me about that like two years ago and I’ve been depressed ever since! The rats, they just give up! I feel you, rats. Seriously, my first world sadness is going to destroy you. Get ready.


When it comes down to it, I’m probably never going to have a battle. I’m small, very scared, and I’ve already decided that if the zombie apocalypse ever occurs, I’m going to give myself over to the winning team immediately because I can’t handle the stress of trying not to become a zombie. This is not a fight-winning mentality. I also think I could never drink a raw egg, and doesn’t Rocky have to do that?

I digress… Basically, these fights are highly unlikely, unless you’d like to fight with me. Now I’d like to open the floor to all of you and see who you’d like to battle. Allison has started this by mentioning women with large purses. Allison – we may have to battle one day. I’m sorry, that’s just how it is. Watch out for my tailbone. If you’d like more battle posts, let me know who (or what) gives you violent feelings, and I will try my best to come up with a battle plan.

Peace, love and I hope that bitch McKenzie is a stripper now,

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Survival backpacks

Sunday, 11/4
Email from my dad:

So, now that you’ve lived through a real storm, my supplies don’t seem so nerdy, do they?

Goddamnit. I hate when he’s right. When I was in high school, my dad came home one day with four red backpacks, one for each car.

“Put this in your trunk and DO NOT take it out.” He then unloaded one of the bags onto the kitchen table. He pulled out a rope, water purification tablets, vacuum packed astronaut food, a flashlight, flares, a space blanket and a book with a picture of someone’s butt in 90’s mom jeans and The Art of Keeping Your Ass Alive! splashed across the cover.

My father had purchased survival backpacks for us to keep in our cars in case we ever ended up stranded somewhere. It’s super sweet and fatherly, but at age sixteen I was like, “OMG dad. We live in Sandy Springs. What am I going to fall into a ravine in between McMansions and lose cellphone service?”

He explained that it was better to be prepared than not and then I asked him if he included the book for some reading in case I got bored in the ravine. He did not laugh. A brief tutorial on items most necessary to our survival followed shortly thereafter… My little brother and I had way too much fun provoking our father during the tutorial.

“What is the number one reason people die in the wild?”
“Because they don’t have a space blanket!!!”
Giant sigh, “No, because they don’t have rope.”

There was a reason the number one cause of trapped-in-the-wild deaths is lack of rope, but I don’t remember it. All I know is if I’m ever in a fight-or-flight situation, I’ll be all, WHERE THE FUCK IS MY ROPE?!?”

My dad was totally serious about these survival backpacks. Any time he’d find one in the garage he’d immediately figure out who’d tried to ditch theirs and reprimand us. I didn’t ever see the value in the bag, but found it to be a great conversation piece anytime someone opened up my trunk, and I figured at some point astronaut food could be cool so it stayed there until I finally sold that car.

Last week I got a brief taste of what it’s like to need a survival backpack. Sure, the situation in Manhattan was in no way dire, but realizing that I don’t so much as own a flashlight was a reminder of my complete lack of disaster preparation. Living in a city doesn’t make you conscious of the elements. I’m conditioned to hold my keys in between my fingers late at night so I can stab an attacker in the eye, but the closest thing I have to a “wilderness” skills is my ability to light a cigarette with a match when it’s windy out.

Ok, enough about how I need to ask my dad to mail me that backpack so I can wear it everywhere… In other news, completely dark lower Manhattan was eerie, but for me (who had power), it was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Chris and I sat on the steps of a church on 7th street and drank wine in the dark while watching the cops circle the block.

Blacked out Flatiron building

After that we found a ramen restaurant that was open and running in candlelight.
We made friends with four other people and hatched a plan to meet up anytime there was a not-so-dangerous natural disaster.

Pork bun by candlelight

We spent hours debating whether or not it was ok to open the freezer and hung out with all my friends who took refuge at our powered, wifi-equipped apartment.

As with any storm, memories were made, like the renegade West Village Halloween parade. Powerless Manhattan is one of my first experiences here that made me feel like I’ve lived a piece of this city’s history.

Of course, while Manhattan is nearly back to normal, there are still so many people who need help and I would be remiss to not remind everyone of ways to support those in need of disaster relief from near of far. So here are some links:

Red Cross
NYC Service

Also, for anyone in need of survival backpacks, I found this link. It’s not my dad’s exact backpack, but it’s close…

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Brooklyn Bowl

“Are you actually British?”

Ever since two of my friends pretended to be British for an entire night as a ploy to get free drinks from guys, I don’t trust that people I meet are actually British.

“Yes… We are actually British.”

I’d stepped outside Brooklyn Bowl to try to buy a cigarette from someone. For some reason, once in Brooklyn I decided that I should ask if I could purchase a cigarette, rather than ask if I could bum one. I don’t know if that’s an indication of how I feel about Brooklyn or a result of the fact that for once I had money in my wallet. Either way, the British guys I met outside the venue would not let me purchase a cigarette, but gave me one for free… God bless them.

First I met Alistair Robinson (his real name, no joke!), who commented on the fact that we both have a lot of hair.

“WE COULD START A WIG COMPANY!!!” We yelled this in unison… Insta-friends. Really anytime someone wants to start a company that’s sure to fail with me, we become insta-friends. Then his friend Dan took over the conversation while Alistair went to find the ‘toilet.’ We had the usual conversation you have with British people about how Americans call it the ‘restroom’, haha, isn’t that funny, you don’t rest in there, what about the water closet? Oh you mean the WC? Cultural differences. OMG so fun!! 

Dan and I talked about how I mispronounced his name (“It’s Dahhhhn”), how he wasn’t from London (it turns out that not all British people are from London!) and then he started saying something about Americans and nationalism and I remembered that Chris was ordering food inside. At some point Dan accidentally head-butted me and I told him it’s ok, in America that’s like a handshake. I then promised him that I’d bring him a chicken wing even though I was uncertain as to whether or not Chris had ordered chicken wings (it’s like 3 to 1 odds in any drinking/dining scenario).

When I got inside Chris had not ordered chicken wings, but Dan came by and I have him a nacho. He head-butted me and then told me he loved me. Seriously, insta-friends with both of the British dudes.

Ok, here’s the part where I rate the venue.

If you haven’t been reading so long that you remember how it works, here’s how it works:

  • I go to a bar/club/venue.
  • I take pictures that are usually blurry because I’m a bad photographer/ have only an iphone/ am usually embarrassingly drunk.
  • I rate the club on a scale created entirely by me, using my criteria for going out. Keep in mind that I have the preferences of a 65 year old antisocial man, that my favorite bar is housed in a building that once caught on fire and no one evacuated, and that I usually write these lists in a state of still-drunk hangover while yelling that I could really use a mimosa right now.
  • Sometimes the list is disjointed because I lose focus searching seamless web to see if they deliver mimosas.
  • Based on my entirely made up scale, I calculate the score, most of the time incorrectly (re:hangover), and then completely disregard said score and give the place a rating of Best or Worst Club Ever based on my overall opinion.

Brooklyn Bowl:

In Brooklyn: -500 points

Cool stamp: +5 Points. Please disregard other stamps, the one we’re focusing on is the bowling pin stamp, even though the heart stamp is also quite cute.

Bouncer who didn’t take too long to inspect my passport: +20 Points. It’s a fucking passport people. Who gets a fake ID that’s a passport?

Mexican/Tribal-looking bowling pins: +30 points, and also some clapping and bouncing.

Potential for meeting new friends: +50 points. Seriously, those British dudes were awesome.

Number of Black Eyed Peas songs played (0): +27 points. The Black Eyed Peas are the worst. Every time “I Got A Feeling” plays, a puppy is euthanized.

Bad band that we had fun making fun of played: +52. I love every time the a band tries to be Kings of Leon post Brian Eno. There are only so many ways to rewrite old U2 songs, guys.

Bands that were good played:  +43. There were also good bands, probably because of CMJ.

I don’t know the name of the band but if they were on Pandora I wouldn’t skip their song.

Not having to bowl: +76. I didn’t have to bowl, which is awesome because I suck at and hate bowling.

Wishing I could have watched other people bowl: -32. I do wish I could have watched other people bowl while eating my nachos or listening to music. I guess you can’t have it all (without risking getting hit in the head with a bowling ball).

Not getting hit in the head with a bowling ball: +100. Well done, Brooklyn Bowl. I am like a magnet when it comes to injuries. The fact that I didn’t end up in the emergency room while drinking near heavy objects is a true testament of your risk-management team’s planning skills. I applaud you.

This thing: 

+8 points

One time I saw a fight between a Hasidic Jew and a bro from Jersey at Brooklyn Bowl: +78 points. It happened the last time I was there, but is definitely worth mentioning. Both got kicked out. It was totally the bro’s fault. It was totally awesome.

Having enough people in our group to take a cab (rather than the L) back: +700 points.

Final rating for Brooklyn Bowl: Best Club Ever

Brooklyn Bowl, come for the music (or bowling), stay for the food and friends and/or fights you might see between Hasidic Jews and bros, leave when you have enough people to split a cab ride back to Manhattan.

Drunk pirouettes by Chris and Mark. No idea why they did that…

Peace, love and happy Saturday,


PS – If you’d like tips on how to use a fake British accent to get drinks from dudes, please comment. I will tell you everything.

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The Gansevoort On Park Ave Is like the hotel california, and other notes from the weekend.

Baby Alexa turned 23. To celebrate we brought her lots of goodies from the Mexican dollar store on our block. Stolen Equal packaged and priced at $1.25, anyone?

The As having a Worst Club Ever experience in the line at the Gansevoort on Park Ave. It was equally as hard to find our way out, surprisingly enough. It's like the Hotel California, with a longer line to get in but a promoter grabs you and brings you in after five minutes of standing in the rain and bouncers keep telling you the doors that say Exit aren't really exits so you almost start crying because you think you're trapped in the Gansevoort and all you want are chicken wings from the Bodega.
So, pretty much the same.

Making this super small because Austin will hate me for posting it. Austin, you really wanted me to take a picture with the most bruisedbanana.
You were disgusted by the bananas.

Evidence that a Saturday night crime was committed.
Late night eating, I hate how much I love you.
The existence of this photo made me realize how annoying I am when I'm taking photos of stupid shit and I'm all, "OMG YOU GUYS I'M GOING TO PUT THIS ON MY BLOG."

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