Happy Birthday Mom!!! Love, Alisa…and the internet

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Birthday, February 11, love, mom, Sheryl Crow

On February 11th 19__, the world welcomed one of the most free-spirited chicks known to man…

…I clearly am referring to Sheryl Crow.  I mean, my mother is many things: clean freak, intelligent, great with a mop, classy, elegant, etc. but free-spirited isn’t the first-or last-quality that I would associate her with.

So what did God/Allah/Buddha/Betty White/insert higher power of choice here/ do in an attempt to be freakin’ hilarious?  She got me as a daughter.  The same “me” who drops F bombs regularly, believes that there really is a Mr. Clean who can come and do his effing job so I don’t have to (don’t kill my dream), loves vintage stores, wears earrings the size of actual chandeliers, and has a weekend wardrobe best described as “funky homeless hippie chic.”  My closet is a vortex of unorganized chaos and I enjoy being literally attacked by my possessions everytime I walk in.  Guess how much mom loves it?  No really, guess.

Our life is a functioning example of Freaky Friday and our relationship is a delicate balance of compromise and respect.  Luckily, our mutual love of chocolate is able to transcend my messy (or as I like to call them…creative) tendencies and her militant, fascist clean sprees.  Although, we differ on the chocolate front as well as I prefer milk chocolate and she strangely prefers dark.  Dude, if I wanted to eat something that looked and tasted like bitter tree bark…I would fucking eat tree bark.

She is a beautiful woman who looks amazing for her 35 years (You really thought I’d give you her real age???  Come on people!  I live with her and she sometimes makes my food.  I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference if she dropped poison in there.  Just kidding, mom.  The eggplant, brussel sprout, woodland creature soup was INCREDIBLE.  Really, please give me the recipe…so I can burn it.)

If I were a cheesy person, I would tell you all how much I love my mom.   I would say that she is a fascinating person who inspires me.  I would say that I aspire to be like her (minus the micro-managing, anal-retentive tendencies that kill my soul and damage my fragile spirit) and I respect her ambition as much as I love her nurturing ways.  I would go on and on about her killer sense of style and I would also make sure to mention that I was the one who introduced her to colors that were not white, beige, dishwater brown, or black.  I would also go on to say that I appreciate her support in all my artistic endeavors and I like that she is the first person to tell me that I need to stop dating “emotionally unavailable immature douchebags” every time I mention a new boy that I’m interested in.  Luckily I’m not cheesy…so while all of the above is true, you can stop gagging.

So mama, I hope you have an amazing birthday (or at least an okay birthday considering that we still have a buttload of snow to shovel and who knows how long the power will stay on) because you deserve it.  Thank you for putting up with me because I know that I can be quite a handful…okay, five handfuls.  (PS, I thought it was spelled “handfull” but google and some scholarly articles say no so it’s not my fault if it’s spelled wrong).  I’m lucky to have a fierce bitch like you in my life…even though you’re the sort of person who will spend an entire day choosing the right shade of beige to paint a wall (I’m actually not kidding…it was like Sophie’s Choice: The Home Depot version).

In honor of your special day, you don’t have to worry about doing any sort of cleaning around the house.  Mr. Clean will take care of it  

I love you.

Birthday girl

She loves that beige!

SNOw way, man! This is getting snowtarded (see what I did there?)

Tags

2010, Blizzard, blog, Maryland, movies, snowmageddon, snowpocolypse, twilight

Things to do during Snowpocolypse/Snowmageddon (I really hope someone trademarked this) 2010:

*Make up more pointless snow-themed words because we all have too much time on our hands. 

*Play a drinking game.  You drink whenever it keeps snowing.  Could cause death…but you’re already bored to death so how bad can the real thing be?

*Play a drinking game while watching the WBAL “news” anchors. You drink whenever they talk about the snow…or give annoying tidbits about their lives…or make corny jokes…or wear stupid pantsuits. (Warning: GUARANTEED to cause death).

*Sleep in…until Spring.  Bears do it so why not you?  Productivity and social lives are over-rated and people sometimes suck balls.  However, your bed never lets you down.

*Watch EVERY movie trailer from the past few years (guilty as charged.  Exhibit A: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NBCNgnaFVI8) …even the five dollar budget independent films that only the director’s mom saw (Exhibit B: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uYVRTuMYw9E)  I’m sorry, this movie looks fucking terrible.  And the “film company” is called “Blatantly Subtle productions???”  What a bunch of toolbags.

*Eat foods that you can’t eat because you’re on a strict diet that has lasted since May but chocolate is really good and snow calories don’t count.  I mean, we could die in these weather conditions so I want to go out with a bang.  And if I can’t bang, then I want to go out in a chocolate coma. Is that so fucking wrong?  Absolutely not.

*Read all of the Twilight books (again) in one sitting because you’re a fucking toolbag.  Guilty as charged.

*Get pissed because you just had your picture taken by your dad, who is documenting this “historic event.”  Not sure whether he means how bad I look or how much snow we got.  I’m going for the former.  Snow days= pajama days.

*Write a blog post about how much you don’t want to write a blog post because you’d rather stay in your bed than do anything even remotely productive during this snowdiculous (I’m really talented with words, clearly) storm. 

my backyard, essentially

My resolution is to to tell you that your resolution will fail

Tags

2010, cars, cicadas, fat, gym, motivation, New Year, resolutions

Today, I had a lot of trouble finding a parking spot at the gym.  For some reason I didn’t have trouble finding parking on November 12th.  Nor did I have trouble on December 22nd. Either we need to call search and rescue to find these missing spaces OR the resolutioners have arrived.  Like cicadas, they hit hard and fast in intense swarms.  However, unlike cicadas, they hit EVERY year. 

January 1st is that miracle day when everything can change.  THIS is the year that you’re going to make it happen.  Those ten (thirty) extra pounds will be gone, you’re going to stop spending excess money (on shoes…and bags…and jewelry), and you’re going to run a marathon (go for a walk)!  January 1st is that clean slate that you have to wait all year for and you know that you’re not going to mess it up…until you mess it up.

January 1st creates a pressure cooker.  You want a magic bullet so badly that you’re practically guaranteed to fail.  It’s like saying that you’re going to start your diet on Monday, so you gorge yourself to official Shamu proportions on Sunday.  Quick fixes don’t work and if you really want to make a change, it requires time, patience, food that looks like cardboard (only less delicious) and lots of frustration (I fucking hate that this statement is true.  I want calorie-free junkfood as much as you all do, people).  For years (since fifth grade, when I lost baby fat status and gained “you’re fat, baby” status), I tried to lose weight the fast way.  Especially during the teenage years when I was angsty and emo and decided that I didn’t need food to survive; I only needed my sadness and black eyeliner to keep me going.  Oy, kids these days! 

Long story short…I lost the weight, then I gained the weight, then I lost some of the weight, then I gained a lot, then I lost a ton but then college started and I found that I was good at beer pong and junk food was yummy and too hungover to go to the gym and sleep?  What’s sleep? and then I graduated with a diploma and thirty extra pounds to cushion (literally) the blow of how much was spent on college.

The dark summer of unemployment that followed (see: entries from May through October) changed something in me and I realized that if I was shit out of luck in the job department, the least I could do was manage the chub.  And so I did.  I ate right, worked out (without a gym…how was I going to pay the membership fee?  Chocolate kisses?  Don’t think so) and slowly (verrrryyyyyyyy slowly) the weight started coming off.  As of today, I am 21 pounds lighter and employed.  Dude, total Hollywood ending, I know but I still have a way to go.  If I were ballsy, I would post some really bad “before” photos but I’m not so…sorry.  You’ll just have to take my word on it…on the internet.

Anyway, my point is this…

Resolutions fail so please stop going to my gym.  Thanks! :)

Love and encouragement (at another workout facility),

Alisa

A possible workout alternative

S’Novim Godom everyone!

Tags

2010, Christmas, demotivators, despair inc, Hanukkah, Jews, New Year, Russia

I haven’t written in a while but I have a good excuse!  For starters, I was busy turning 22 (it took longer than I thought due to the two days of recovery required) and then I was celebrating New Year.  Now, for those of you who aren’t aware, New Year is one of the biggest Russian holidays and my American friends have given me shit about it for as long as I can remember.  Here’s why:

*New Year in Russia is a Christmas-esque holiday minus the christianity.  It is one big party and the Jews can celebrate too, bitches.  My American amigos think that Russians are a crazy bunch to begin with so they are the first in line to hate on my favorite winter holiday.

*Get it straight: We don’t have Santa Claus, we have Grandfather Frost and he brings the presents.  I am also sure that Grandfather Frost is way more of a lush than Santa Claus will ever be.

*We don’t have a Christmas tree, we have a New Year tree and even though we decorate it with ornaments and put a star on top, it is NOT a fucking christmas tree.  Nor is it a glorified Hanukkah bush so don’t even go there.

*We open presents (which are kept under the new year tree, obviously) on the morning of January 1st (after the hangover subsides) and then we spend all day tinkering with said presents (or planning what we’re going to exchange them for).

So while it is LIKE Christmas, it is not fucking Christmas because…it is New Year.  Now that we got that covered, we can talk about all the New Year presents I got.

Now, I have to preface this by saying that I love shoes.  I love crazy 5″ heels that cut off my circulation and my dancing abilities after I’ve worn them for a few hours.  I love wedges and platforms and stilettos so who would have thought that my favorite pair of shoes would be these sexy stunners:

My brother Jesse got them for me and I haven’t taken them off since the 1st.  I was seriously ready to go out in them but decided that my membership to the Crazy Cat Lady Society of America  (or as it’s affectionately referred to, CCLSOA)would need to wait a few more years.  I am always cold and since parts of our house are always set at a comfortable (for dead people) morgue-like temperature, these were the perfect gift to ensure that I didn’t get frost-bite on my toes because footless people have REALLY hard lives.

Another winning present had to be the calendar I got from my parents.  Now, if you’ve been reading this blog for a while (Legg Mason, I’m totally looking at you) then you are aware of my parents’ sense of humor and supportive attitudes.  I often write like a truck driver who wouldn’t know classy if he/she sat on its face and yet my parents are still pimping out my blog to their co-workers and other innocent people whom I have corrupted with my barbaric babblings.  We all know that calendars are a super lame present.  They are in the same gift genre as cheese of the month clubs and tube socks.  HOWEVER, if you know my parents, then you know that I didn’t get a lame calendar.  I got a Despair inc. calendar.  For those of you who don’t know, Despair inc makes Demotivators.  These are like the inspirational teamwork posters you see at work only with a twist.  The twist is that Demotivators are funny and witty and your teamwork posters are retarded and lame.  Anyway, my mom sat for hours picking out the best ones for my calendar (you can personalize them) and these are by far the favorites:

This one kills me every time. Thanks mom and dad!

I have a particular fondness for this one...obviously

As you can see, it was a wonderful New Year and I wish all of you a lot of happiness, love, health, and boredombreedsblog reading in 2010.

Love and hangovers,

Alisa

One whore’s quest for more…

Tags

advice, Ashley dupre, Elliot Spitzer, New York Post, sex, whore

Little girls are taught from a young age that they can grow up to be anything that they want to be as long as they work hard and persevere.  I knew that I wanted to be a writer so I took endless workshops, studied all the genres, and wrote incredibly emo poetry until I realized in 9th grade that there are only so many times you can rhyme “death” and “last breath.”  Seriously.  That shit gets old.

I knew that one day my hard work would pay off because life is fair that way.  Well, I’m still waiting for my book deal but it’s nice to know that Ms. Ashley Dupre (the skank who schtupped Spitzer) is going to be writing an advice column for the New York Post.  Her topic?  Love and relationships.  The jokes really just write themselves with this one.  Suzie Homewrecker is going to be telling us how to have better relationships.  I can see her prose going something like, “Yo, if he won’t take you out, then find someone who will.  And charge extra for any weird shit.  That’s what I did and look where I am.”  Yeah, Slutty McHobag (she’s Irish apparently) has a point.  I am starting to see that I might have taken the wrong career route.  And if I’m getting second thoughts, think about all those little girls with their big dreams.  Yes kids, prostitution WILL land you that dream job.  However, it will also land you syphilis so there’s really a lot to think about.

And you know what?  You’re probably thinking that I’m just a hater.  Who knows?  Maybe this girl is, like, as smart as Stephen Hawking (no, I am not going to make a Stephen Hawking joke, assholes.  I have a heart…somewhere) and she could stun us with her profound and original dating advice.  Maybe she was a child prodigy and then lost her talents because she started selling her body to pay for her mom’s cocaine addiction and her clients made her feel loved and safe, which was a great feeling, since her dad abandoned the family to work in a mine in China and was never heard from again and…  Yeah, doubtful.  Take a look for yourselves:

Okayyyy…so maybe not Stephen Hawking smart.  You want my advice?  Those glasses do not help the porn star image.

You might say that I am just trying to rip her a new asshole with this mean post but you’d be so wrong.  Her clients already took care of that for her.  Literally.

Skanks and Tigers and Sluts, Oh My!

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barbie, bimbos, cheater, elin, golf, sluts, tiger woods

Okay.  Time for a lesson in colossal douche-baggery.

You are married to this:

Hitler <3's Me!

…But you think that you can do better so you start collecting a bunch of bimbo barbies over the course of two and a half years while your ultra bangin’ wife is popping out your inevitably gorgeous children.  Ummm?

Dear Tiger Woods,

You play GOLF.  You wear pastel polos and drive little carts because you can’t be bothered to chase your balls (HA, in more ways than one).  Contrary to your beliefs, you are not some womanizing rap star.  You are a GOLFER.  And magically, because you’re kind of good-looking and you can tie words into sentences, you managed to bag a blonde and foreign supermodel…even though you’re a GOLFER.  A total hole in one.  This reminds me of that time that Hugh Grant cheated on Elizabeth Fucking Hurley with that disgusting toothless hooker.  Why?  What is the appeal?  Where’s the thrill of the chase when you already have the prize at home?  Why are men such space cadets in this department?  Case in point:  My dad was clearly appalled by Tiger’s behavior but not because he cheated.  Rather, my dad wondered why his cocktail waitress ”other woman” looked dumb.  Well dad, I don’t think they were spending all their time doing math problems so I doubt her intelligence was a factor.

Anyway, the point is that you’re still an asshole…and a GOLFER.

Best,

Alisa

Also, I have decided that I need to marry someone like this:

Ooooh that dress so scandalous!

I need to make sure that my man doesn’t have the stamina, energy, or mental capacity to cheat.  Where you at, honeybuns???

THIS is why I don’t do dating services…

Tags

80s, dating, gag me, gross, mullet

It’s seriously mullet-tastic!  This video is probably the main reason why the 80′s ended.  I honestly could only sit through 2 minutes so I don’t know how this riveting montage ends.  Does mullet number 12 get the girl?  Does the blind guy get his romantic bubble bath? (anyone will do…he can’t see them anyway)  Does the stud with the rose finally realize that he is the reason the word “douchebag” is used in reference to men?

Like, totally gag me with a spoon. For Sure.

My mother, the dating service. Can I get an Oy Veh?

Tags

dating, gmail, Jewish, mom, Russian

Now that I’m happily employed, my mom has taken it upon herself to find me a boyfriend.  This seems pretty normal because I guess all mothers want the best for their kids, however knowing my mom, she will use her Type A+++ personality and put everything she has into this quest.

When I was looking for jobs, my mom took it upon herself to email me countless craigs list and hotjobs links every morning.  I would open my gmail and see about ten separate emails with titles like “Thought you might want to see these…” or “These are good!!” or “ALISA!  LOOK!!”  Granted, it was one of these very emails that contained the ad for my current job so as usual…YOU WERE RIGHT, MOM.  (That physically hurt but I have to give credit where credit is due).

I’m just worried that now I’ll wake up to a barrage of very different emails: “Alisa, he’s Jewish AND he’s studying to be a doctor!”  OR “Alisa, he seems good!” OR “Alisa, he’s Jewish and speaks Russian…your grandparents will be able to communicate with him…jackpot.”  It’s not that I’ve ever had trouble dating.  It’s just that I typically date trouble.  Now that college is over, I figure it’s time to find someone that knows how to return phone calls and texts.  A text message doesn’t take that fucking long, asshole.  I’m sure you could have found a second during your “busy” booze-filled weekend to say “hi, how r u?” without straining yourself. But I digress.  I need to find a way to transition from dumbass douchebags to decent men without taking the eharmony route because I’m sure that some matches don’t end up being very eharmonious.  Jdate is also a scary thought because other than a few key Yiddish phrases, I’m essentially a Shiksa Jew and no [insert stereotypical Jewish name] is going to want to marry that.

Also, there’s another problem.  I don’t plan to get married for quite a while.  I’m not trying to bear children until I have reached my career goals.  I am a woman of the 2000′s.  I don’t need to pop out an army of kids so they can work in my farm.  I adore children but I also love the parents that I can give them back to when they cry.  I will make a great mom someday (I promise I will get rid of my potty mouth…eventually) but there is definitely no rush. 

So guys, if you’re looking for a sarcastic but harmless, slightly neurotic, Jewish but not really, Russian but can’t hold my alcohol, independent person, then I am your girl.

Call me!  You can get my number from my mom.

 

My mom's keyboard

I’m a bit tardy for the party on this one but…

Tags

anorexia, fat baby, fox news, insurance, obesity, toddler

Okay, I honestly went apeshit when I heard about the BEYOND adorable four-month-old boy who was denied insurance coverage because of his “weighty” pre-existing condition.  Yes, 17 pounds is big for a four-month-old but pudgy babies are infinitely cuter.  It’s been (probably) scientifically proven that fatter babies live longer.  I mean, look at the holocaust.  Those kids?  NOT A CHANCE (oy veh, I’m going to hell).  Anyway, before I douse myself with any more verbal lighter fluid, I will attempt to explain the logic that these insurance companies must have been working with:

“I mean clearly the kid is a huge fatass.  Maybe if he lays off the baby formual and spends less time being a crib potato, then he can spend more time doing baby aerobics and baby yoga like all the other normal four-month-olds.  Obesity is a national problem and as long as this tiny tot looks like a tater tot, he can’t be covered.  What if he gets a baby heart attack because his baby cholesterol is too high?  He’s even spilling out of his onesies…”

Perhaps this is why healthcare needs to be reformed.  What’s next?  Denying skinny toddlers coverage because they’re anorexic?

…

…

…SERIOUSLY?????!!!!

Meet two-year-old Aislin Bates.  She weighs 22 pounds and is perfectly healthy, yet cannot find health coverage due to her “pre-existing condition.”  What. The. Fuck?  What are these people thinking? Probably:

“Maybe if little Aislin enrolled in some self-esteem workshops and stopped counting her calories (she can only count to 10 so this severely limits her food choices) she could gain the weight she desperately needs and we could cover her.  But she can’t gain TOO much weight because that will be a new pre-existing condition since it didn’t exist prior to existing and in order to exist now it would have to replace her former pre-existing condition.”

Fuck. that. shit.

So apparently, the lesson here is this: Kids, embrace an unhealthy lifestyle because you’re probably not eligible for insurance coverage anyway…and you’ll go broke because of it…and you’ll die anyway.  However, not from obesity or anorexia, but from getting run over by a bus.  Because that’s how life works.

HOW CAN YOU DENY THIS FACE????!!!

I’m still here!

Tags

blog, job, write

I was wondering whether or not I should continue with this blog because I’ve found a job to keep me pretty busy but then I decided to think of the greater good.  What else are you people going to do?  Be productive at your respective jobs?  Yeah, didn’t think so.  Therefore, I will extend your ride on my LOLercoaster and continue amusing with my random musings.

I’m not feeling very inspired today but I’m sure it won’t be long until there’s another balloon boy-esque scandal, or someone talks about idiotic things, or Megan Fox talks in general.  I’m here to stay bitches

xoxo

Alisa

In that case, I'll figure out a caption later too