Category Archives: no i’m not drunk

Piano Man

Nov

2013

Billy Joel drawing by me. Incredible, isn’t it?

Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” has reached now legendary status, but it wasn’t always that way. My cousin and his fiancé told me a story about Billy Joel that I hope is true, because if it isn’t, it really ruins everything I’m about to write.

They said that Billy Joel was struggling with his record label. He hadn’t delivered what they wanted and they were ready to drop him. They gave him one last chance. “Come in tomorrow,” I imagine they said, “And play us whatever you got left.” That night, a young Mr. William Joel trudged home to Long Island, or wherever the hell he was living, and said to himself, “Billy? It’s time to shine.”

I imagine he sat down at his piano and thought very hard. “It’s time,” he said quietly. “It’s time I give them ‘The Piano Guy.'” (I like to imagine at that point, he hadn’t come up with the now title “Piano Man” but that he was working instead on “The Piano Guy”.)

The song is full of characters who are in dead-end job living sad lives. There’s Paul, a real estate novelist, who never had time for a wife. And he’s talking to Davy, who’s still in the navy, and probably will be for life. That’s heavy stuff for a pop song, Doc. I bet Joel had a talk with a bartender who told him, word-for-word, “Bill, I believe this is killing me. Well I’m sure that I could be a movie star if I could get out of this place.” And then the smile ran away from his face and won a MEDAL for its speed.

Anyway, Joel hammered out this song in one night. He had the bare bones, but it was time for the meat. They wanted a burger, he was going to give them a burger. The next morning he strolled in, with “The Piano Guy” in his head. No sheet music, no nothing — it was all in Casa de Joel en la Cabeza. “William,” I imagine his stuffy manager said. “We’re all in the mood for a melody. And you got us feeling alright.”

“Shit, that’s good,” Joel thought, as he mentally scribbled those lyrics in. “Much better than, ‘we’d like to hear a big fat song and you’ve got us feeling not wrong.'” He sat down at the piano, about to play.

“Uh…William?” his manager interrupted. “Billy, sir.” “Yes, Billy. Are you going to…show us, anything son? Sheet music? Lyrics? Can you tell us anything? How long this is?” “No,” Mr. Billy said, taking a drag of a cigarette that materialized out of nowhere. “I got this.”

And he puts on his sunglasses and starts to play. And keep in mind, it’s just him and some executives in a room. (This part is apparently true.) It’s just him, singing and playing for his life, with “Piano Man.” He’s fighting for his career with this one song. And it’s the song that becomes one of the most legendary songs of his career and of singer/songwriter history. “Piano Man” is actually one of my least favorite Joel songs; it’s so long and involved, it feels like I’m listening to a book on tape. But you can’t deny the power and endurability of “Piano Man.”

They couldn’t either. After Joel finished playing, the room was silent. Was this a good thing? He wasn’t sure. He takes off his sunglasses. “I guess you guys aren’t ready for that yet. But your kids are gonna love it.”

And their kids did love it. “Piano Man” was Billy Joel’s biggest hit ever and even inspired Bill Clinton to run for President of the United States of America (note: this is probably not true at all as I just made it up, but who knows?)

The point to ALL OF THIS is, Joel was on his last chance and he cranked out his biggest song. What if he gave up? And what if YOU gave up? What if you’re giving up your own “Piano Man”? Get my point here? We can’t give up, because we could be giving up our biggest success without even realizing it. That’s why we have to keep trying, we have to keep going, even when all we want to do is just crash our cars into trees in the Hamptons. We have to keep moving. We have to keep singing our song. We don’t stop until we have our “Piano Man” and then we just keep on flying. Please follow my advice to get to your own “River Of Dreams” and I know you may think I don’t know what I’m talking about, and “You May Be Right” but do it anyway as a “A Matter of Trust” and take my advice even though I’m just “The Stranger” with a weird blog.

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Just Some Things To Think About On Your Next Date

Jun

2013

What if your date brings a lamb? Or eats a lamb? Or is a lamb? What then?

What if you ordered something really delicious and your date ordering something very average and you feel bad for them but at the same time you’re just full of disgust and annoyance, because why the hell would you order anything but melted cheese on top of something?

What if you were on a dinner date and suddenly someone came up to you and said, “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, MICHAEL BUBLE!!!” and Michael Buble was behind you playing a piano and you were like, oh this is cool, and then you go to a bar after your date and then the same person comes up to you and says, “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, MICHAEL BUBLE!!!” and Michael Buble was behind you playing a piano AGAIN? I think that would be too much. Am I wrong?

And then let’s say you’re at this bar, and Michael Buble is playing, but you don’t really care about his music, but your date does. Which one do you ignore? Michael Buble or your date?

What if you just don’t fucking feel like putting the accent on the “e” in Michael Buble’s last name?

What if you never find the person who wants to do happy hour with you? What if you invite them to happy hour and they say yes, but they don’t believe that happy hour starts at 3 PM? What if they think it doesn’t start until 5? Or 6? What the hell will you do then? Are you even thinking about stuff like this? You should be.

“American Cyanamid, Girl & Lamb” by Nickolas Muray from George Eastman House Collection via Flickr.

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my future self.

May

2013

Okay so I’m just sitting here watching the wheels go ’round and ’round but there’s really no wheels aside from the ones in my head and they are spinning. I cannot focus on anything except the wrong things, like how loud this typing sounds and how annoying those goddamn children are next door and how I don’t know if I’m hungry and I think that logically I must be as I haven’t eaten since 11:30 AM and it’s 6 PM now and that I’m not sure if I’m hungry really concerns me. I am completely overwhelmed to the point of just being stuck and unable to move, though clearly I am able to type and get this all out there. Every sound is way too present. They are talking upstairs too. Why are they doing this. Why are they walking around. Just stop and stay in one place. I was walking around too and it was making things worse.

Really, on the outside, everything looks fine and probably is fine. I love to take the fine in life and stretch and contort it into “kind of fine” and then “not very fine” and then “fuck, I’ve ruined my life.” That’s fun. I am getting better at not doing this but on days like these when you see the work piled up, it’s piled in your mind, on your computer, when you see it, you think there is no way I am going to catch up with my future self. I know she’ll be there, because that’s how time works, it is inevitable that at some point I will have made these deadlines and I will come out on the other end and try to use this panic as I reminder to myself that things are never as bad as they seem and that I always pull through but

THESE. GODDAMN. CHILDREN. NEXT. DOOR. Fuck this, I’m done, I can’t write anymore.

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Minor annoyances: Starbucks edition.

Mar

2013

This is the face I have to put on when I go into Starbucks, otherwise they just FUCK YOU. (Not like that.)

Starbucks is full of minor annoyances that make my life really, really hard. It’s like, I have to return some videotapes and make my reservation at Dorsia and I don’t have time to deal with your fucking bullshit, Starbucks. There’s a Starbucks that knows me, and do you know what that feeling is like? It’s like being in the best relationship ever. There’s trust and understanding. And baristas, if you’re reading this, you’re going to want to throw a fucking hissy fit and talk about how I’m the worst customer ever, but listen up:

1. I am really, really polite. I never yell at anyone. I never lose my temper. I smile and say hi, and if shit goes wrong, I just put on my Michael Caine face. 2. I tip. 3. I worked in retail and wanted to kill everyone who walked into the store, so I get it, I really do.

THAT BEING SAID, FUCK OFF STARBUCKS, HERE’S WHY. (I’m taking the bullet of all of us here, I’m just saying what we all want to say, I’m like a hero right now, shine a pedestal and put me on it.)

It costs money. But, like, a lot. But I keep buying stuff. But l’m still going to complain in my head about it. No but shut up.

There’s no hot people. Again, nothing baristas can do about this one. Do hot people not go to Starbucks? I have never seen a hot person in Starbucks. This one time I was walking up to Starbucks and this chubby woman in stirrup tights in Tory Birch sandals with a Tory Birch handbag practically dove in front of me to get into the door first to get into line first…while I just casually strolled behind her. I’m not sure what her reasoning was there, for her to practically cut in front of me. It saved her maybe 12 seconds. This has nothing to do with the hot people thing by the way. I’m into guys. Guys who are so skinny it looks like maybe they have a drug problem or are severely anemic. And if it’s both? JACKPOT!

They get my name wrong, even when I spell it out for them. I know that my name is weird and different. Usually when I give my name I’m met with a blank stare. So to help everyone out, I just start spelling it (Almie. A-L-M-I-E.). I am very polite and patient throughout all of this because I used to work in retail and I understand how much it sucks to deal with people all day. And then I get a drink that says “Aelmie” “Elmie” “Elmy” “Almy “Almee” “Alli” “Alley” “Amy” “Ami” and even “Abby.” What the HELL? I’M SPELLING IT FOR YOU.

Or they do this, they start to write my name and then suddenly stop. This is a new one.

They get my name wrong, even when it’s spelled correctly on the cup in front of them. Barista at the counter spells the name right on the cup. Barista 2 makes the drink, looks at it, puts it on the bar and announces, “…AMY.” NO. THERE IS AN “L” THERE. Sometimes okay, the handwriting is bad, but dude sometimes the cup clearly says “ALMIE” just say “ALMIE” just because you’ve never heard the name before doesn’t mean it isn’t correct, don’t just stare at the cup like, “What is this sorcery?” JUST SAY ALMIE, because the problem is that there ARE women named Amy and sometimes when you shout Amy when you mean Almie, shit gets confusing for all of us. And then we have to do the polite customer shuffle of, “Oh, I’m sorry, I think this is mine” “Oh I’m sorry” JUST SAY ALMIE, IT ISN’T AMY, IT’S ENTIRELY POSSIBLE THAT THERE ARE WOMEN OUT THERE WHO ARE NAMED SOMETHING THAT LOOKS LIKE AMY BUT ISN’T.

They don’t even try to pronounce my name. That’s just. Ugh. If they shout the order out correctly, then I get that it’s mine, but don’t just stare at the cup, set it down on the counter, and then try to disappear into the cappuccino machine.

Like this.

Children are allowed to go in there. Hey, protip, if your child is ill-behaved, don’t bring them into Starbucks. Starbucks is a place where people 1. Just want to get coffee so they aren’t cranky anymore and can then proceed to get the hell out of there 2. Go on awkward first dates. 3. Have awkward job interviews (which I NEVER understood). 4. Want to work on their laptops and leave each other alone. I could understand if there was a fucking ball pit or something in Starbucks, but there isn’t. Starbucks sells coffee, and coffee is not for children. “Oh but my children don’t have coffee, they drink that Frappuccino thing that has no coffee in it.” Holy fuck, do you have any idea how bad that is, nutritionally? It’s healthier to give them a milkshake from a diner than one of those bullshit things. “What am I supposed to do, leave my kid in the car?” Sure, I don’t give a fuck. Leave your goddamn kid in the car, tie it to a post, put it in a Sergeant Pepper costume and have it beg for change on the sidewalk — those are all better options than bringing it into the store, IF it isn’t well-behaved.

Anyway, an independent coffee shop opened up just near me and their coffee is delicious and their WiFi is fast and free, so I’ll probably just go there most of the time. Except that they don’t have those delicious sandwiches that are 5,000+ calories even though the whole thing could fit into the palms of my small, chubby, elf-like hands.. DAMN YOU STARBUCKS!

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Why OKCupid is terrible.

Nov

2012

Disclaimer because this post will probably upset people: to the guys I’ve been out with on OKC lately, who are probably not even reading this, this doesn’t refer to you, so calm the fuck down, even though you pretend you don’t care, but you totally do, because all anyone wants is to be flattered, especially on the Internet. This post is about OKC and my experience with it in general, not the exceptions.

I am tired of doing this. I am tired of dating. Tired of OKCupid dating, mostly. I can’t. This is getting ridiculous. Guys, hot tip: if you don’t look like Chris Pine, do not use the photo that someone took of you on that one day where the lighting was just right and you looked, for once in your life, like Chris Pine for two seconds. Especially do not use it as your main profile photo. You have to let us know right away if you’re ugly. (And maybe you’re not actually ugly, maybe you’re just picking terrible photos that you think are flattering.) And here’s the thing, before you yell at me: I have very specific, crazy standards. Most of the guys I consider ugly are men that most people consider attractive. So don’t get angry with me, like I just sent you an email saying, “Hi, ______, I was just looking you up online and you are ugly.” No. And I’ve been called ugly. And I get it. I look like Mick Jagger. I get this. I have a weird face. Some people consider my weird face weird enough to somehow work and be beautiful. Other people see my face and think that nothing works and it’s a mess and that it’s ugly. And that’s fine. I don’t give a fuck.

Everyone tells me to change my standards. No. How about you stop being ugly? Why the fuck should I change my standards? If you don’t like my standards, then don’t date me. Find someone else who sees you and wants you for you who are. I like men who look like this. Or this. And this. I do not like men who look like this. Or this. And those last two men are men that lots of women think are insanely attractive. See? I’m not asking for Ryan Reynolds-Gosling. That isn’t my type. Do you get what I’m saying here?

Be thin. Yeah, sucks to conform to the same standards we’ve had to deal with for years, doesn’t it? Go fuck yourself. Be thin. Be creative. Be smart. Be able to play an instrument, even if it’s just barely. Be able to have an awesome conversation with me. Be kind. Be generous. And I don’t mean just with money. I mean with your time. With your patience.

Almost every time I meet a man who fits these standards, they either 1. live in New York, 2. Leave me for an ex, or 3. Both. I’ve tried long distance. If you’re worth it, I’ll do it. I visit New York a lot now that my dad lives there. But you give up on me. And I go back to OKCupid and try again. And I don’t find anyone I like, and if I do like them, they of course do not like me.

Or maybe, I hate you. Maybe you hate me. But if you’re hot, and we have heated arguments, and then hatefuck each other, I’m okay with that. Because at least there’s passion in hate.

If you want help with your OKCupid profile, I can help you. Because I really just want you to find someone who loves you as you are. I don’t want you to be an asshole like I am. I want you to be happy. I want to help you be happy. I won’t judge you. I will find the most attractive and awesome thing about you and amplify it times a thousand. And why? Because I am sick of these stupid, inane, misleading, diabolical online dating profiles. So help me help you.

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FUCK YOU, KOREA MAN.

Oct

2012

This post was written last Friday around 10:30 PM.

Have you felt that moment when you look up someone you had a crush on and they have a girlfriend and live in fucking KOREA I AM SO FUCKING LONELY? What the hell and why do I ruin everything? This was in college and I had my moment and I didn’t resist the shining adventure and we had sex in my bathroom while my friend was sleeping on the couch, it was a studio apartment, I’m not really sure what you want from me, and it was New York (!) and I was young and blonde, I mean, that’s just going to happen. He wanted me, I wanted him, and then, the way things happen in New York City when you’re on your own for the first time, he became a bisexual drug addict and left school.

AND, BECAUSE HE DELETED HIS FACEBOOK ACCOUNT, I NEVER HEARD OF HIM AGAIN. Until now. Until this sad moment, when I stuffed my face with meat and cheese and chocolate and then almost did Wii fit but stopped to look up this ASSHAT on Google and now I’m sitting here in a push-up bra and sweatpants BECAUSE THAT’S HOW I WORK OUT, FUCK YOU, and I discover that he still exists, has a girlfriend, and lives in Korea. This is the same boy who once adored me. The same boy who once came into class, excited, and said, “Last night was crazy. I slept in an arm chair man,” the same boy who couldn’t afford to buy a GAP shirt so instead he went the a thrift store across the street and bought a GAP shirt from there.

FUCK YOU, DUDE. FUCK YOU FOR MOVING ON WITH YOUR LIFE AND BEING HAPPY AND MOVING TO KOREA. Even though I only remembered your existence about 20 minutes ago. How could you do this to me? How could I let you do this to me? What is this? Why am I so sad and lonely and pathetic and undesirable to those I desire? DAMN IT. WHY DO YOU LIVE IN KOREA???

HERE’S A PICTURE OF MAYOR STUBBS, FUCK YOU.

AND FUCK THIS, I’M GOING TO A PARTY.

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Shit that I am so into right now (part 1).

Jun

2012

Here are some things that I’m ~~really into~~ lately. I found all of these photos on Pinterest and Instagram.

10. Me.

I am just soooo into me right now. Look at what an amazing child I was. Not much has changed. I’ve had bags under my eyes since I was six and I have the same stupid bangs and my lips have gotten bigger but that’s it, I am still incredibly, wonderfully, unscathed by time and by the harshness of people just, like, not getting me.

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