If I Were a Gif...

I like me time. Me time consists of Law & Order: SVU, some beauty-related activity (i.e. painting my nails for 3 hours because I keep messing fingers up or just making faces at the mirror while moisturizing) and lots of dancing like it's 1998 and we're doing a freak train at the final 8th grade dance to 112's "Peaches 'N Cream."

"Dirrty" came on shuffle last night and I was instantly mentally transported to my days of studying that Christina Aguilera video, gyrating with reckless abandon. If I were an animated GIF it'd be like these two but with more humping:

 

My version of the trademark Carlton dance is the tripod or booty drop or splits bounce or unwanted grinding.

That Top Gun-ish episode of SBTB where the fellas have a guys' night at Screech's house and break his mother's prized Elvis bust.

RIP Whitney

I am deeply devastated by the death of Whitney Elizabeth Houston and listening to her "Greatest Hits" album as I type. So rarely do we encounter an album that truly consists of nothing but songs worthy of being deemed as a greatest hit. Rarer still for the world to experience such a talent and a star as Whitney Houston.


I dreamed of her singing at the first legal mass gay wedding in California. I dreamed of more albums of her vocal glory. Will i dream no more?


This is the post I put on Facebook to show grieving solidarity with my similarly saddened friends:


"Listening to "I Will Always Love You" is giving me strength. Whitney is watching over us.

She hopes life treats us kind.
And she hopes we have all we dreamed of.
She wishes us joy and happiness.
But above all this, she wishes us love.

She's going to watch over us like when she was Cinderella's fairy godmother in the Brandy adaptation.

Be strong, my gays."

Whitney's songs epitomize all the hope I have for love. I feel that any ideals I had for love have died with her.


"Sometimes you'll laugh, sometimes you'll cry.
Life never tells us the whens or whys.
When you've got friends to wish you well, you'll find a point when you will exhale."


Breathe, breathe. One breath at a time is how we'll get through this.


Thank you, Whitney, for all the beauty you have shown me and all that you have taught me. I will always love you.

Birthdays

Thank you to all the birthday well-wishers.

I was going to write a post about how birthdays don't matter but I don't care enough to not be lazy about it. So I just made a chart. See below.

FYI- 24th birthdays are negligible but I am going to have a massive blowout for my 25th.

It's almost my birthday...

I'll stay home if I want to, stay home if I want to, stay home if I want to.
You'd stay home too if you're addicted to SVU.

(sing loosely to the tune of "It's My Party and I'll Cry If I Want To.")
My musical pacing rhythm at almost 24 years isn't what it used to be. Meh. What is what it used to be? Fuck you, metabolism, for abandoning me in my hour of need.

Jam-packed birthday plans for tomorrow. I have every intention of getting a manicure, exercising to kick off my healthy future and then I have a date with my laundry.

My Birthday Eve:
Today, I splurged on myself with some online shopping. Tonight, I baked myself a pizza with the words "HAPPY BDAY ME" written in diced jalapenos. You can't really make out the words, what with all the grease glare and all but when it comes to gifts, it's the thought that counts and this was a gift to myself and I thought it was delicious.

Meaningful and wise 24-year-old revelations likely to be posted tomorrow. Tune back in for guaranteed enlightenment. I sense self-deprecating online dating in my old lady future. And drastic yet extremely short-lived hysteria diets. Because that's what grown-ups do.

End of an Era

I am leaving GSP.

I have so many fond memories of the past 2 years and 2 months. I'd share my goodbye email here but that's an intimate love letter I am sharing only with the other several hundred people working out of the SF office. There's no way I can summarize my time here but here's some of the appropriate lessons learned:

Always stimulate yourself with challenging work.

Inspire yourself with the greatness of others.

Be optimistic in the face of failure (or getting robbed).

Persevere and you will finally attain victory.

Always try to adapt.

Work well with others.

Put others before yourself.

All in all, an invaluable experience that has made me who I am today…anxious but happy. Tough act to follow.

I'm off to do ad sales next, still in SF. And I'm hoping pursue my other passion: myself…in the form of blog posts, books, follow-up music to my hit single, etcetera. Stay tuned.

Happy 2 Year Anniversary, GSP!

It's hard to believe ANOTHER year has gone by. What a wonderfully long, short year.

We just had an all-agency meeting, undoubtedly called in my honor, but instead of showing the montage video about how amazing I am, I had them use the time to present a really great project our agency has undertaken: hackingautism.org
I highly encourage anyone reading this, all four of you, to check it out and get involved if you can.

I'll embellish more later but right now I have to get my bangs trimmed.

Writer's block

Home sick from running through the 'loin (that's the Tenderloin for all you non-SFers, arguable the worst part of the city) to get to a bar last night but for a much nobler reason than you'd expect. I had just downloaded a cut of a commercial we had to ship by a certain time that night and needed to go to a happy hour to get someone to watch and approve it ASAP. It was a "fire drill" if you will (that's an urgent situation for all you non-corporate folks who haven't become linguistically sterile from too many work emails). Anyway, the running got my body all hot and so I took my jacket off and kept it off for most of the several hours I ended up staying at the bar, caught a cold, stayed out late, got up early to do pilates while feeling vomatose (like comatose but in the state of feeling like you are going to throw up versus being in a coma), blah blah. Anyway, this paragraph has been a huge digression instead of a segue as intended.

Trying to write (one of) my book(s)––contain your excitement, people––and struggling to focus my words. At first, blogging was hard because I had to think of my own topics and create my own constructs but now that I am attempting to hone my thinking, I can't do it. The grass is always greener, am I right?

Ugh, I don't know how my predecessors did it. My book will be very Chelsea Handler's My Horizontal Life meets Jane Eyre. Try to guess which book I am referencing to allude to my writing style and which book I am mentioning to foreshadow the laughably-unfortunate plot that is my life. Hint: there is no horizontal in my book. It's very Bridget Jones' Diary (the movie more than the book) minus the obesity, smoking and accents.

Anyhoo, I don't know how Chelsea Handler and Tina Fey wrote their memoirs. Do you think they were writing at their vanity, alternately typing and staring at themselves in the mirror? Do you think they listened to the Alanis Morissette Pandora station, too? They wrote on Friday nights in the prime of their youth too, right? Right?