Re: I'm a Creep, I'm a Weirdo.

One of the greatest questions I've ever been asked, like ever, was: "Wanna go to Endor later?" We were midway across the Williamsburg Bridge and I said: "Yes!"

We didn't go to Endor that day, we went some place else instead. I don't remember where we went, but I remember thinking someday, if time allowed, if things don't get in the way and fuck it up, we'll go. I don't know now... I guess we'll have to wait and see, and of course, figure out how we'll get there...

Endor, or course, is the home of the Ewoks, for those of you who don't know. Ewoks are what I dream about when I sleep at night, because they're short and furry, and based on previous posts, this seems to be for what I have a penchant.

After brunch on Saturday, before we left for Fire Island, I found this 80's themed store a few blocks from my house. It certainly wasn't there before I left, but now it is, so I guess that's all that matters. I saw Wicket the Ewok staring back at me from the case, and knew I must have him. I immediately envisioned us strolling through the park, he accompanying me to faraway places... and well, the point has been made, I suppose. So after explaining the difference between Chewy and Wicket to the clueless salesperson, and embarrassing the friend who was unfortunate enough to be with me, I brought him home. I also brought him to Fire Island despite being warned against it by the aforementioned friend, and I'm glad I did because someone dumped a beer on him, then thought he needed sunblock, so he smells just like the beach now.

I'm supposed to be writing about pearl necklaces, twenty-year old boys, fashion week and the American Analog Set... however, Wicket is far more interesting, and I'm a big fan of procrastination.

xo.

Mandy.

Re: I Would Like to Tell You I Love You, but I'm Trying to Find a Better Way to Say It.

These ladies were the Cherry Grove welcoming committee who gleefully bounced about the dock as we were drinking cheap beer at Cherry's across the way. The two in the middle were kind enough to bend over after minimal harassment and show us what they didn't have on under their skirts. I live around the corner from Lucky Cheng's so it's nothing I haven't seen before, or several times a week, or like every night after 10pm to be exact.

A few of us went out to Fire Island for a couple days to drink and beach and sun and dance to bad, but yet kinda great 70's disco. Disco is more than palatable when you've been drinking Blue Moon since 10am.

I'm back just in time for Taco Tuesdays at Enid's in Brooklyn, where I'll also be interviewing a band who is playing at Bruar Falls tonight. It's my first face-to-face interview where I'll be using a tape recorder and everything. Truth be told, bitches be nervous, but I watched Almost Famous before bed last night and got some tips... so we'll see how it goes.

xo.

Mandy.

Re: And I'm Still Thinking About You Where I'm There.

My friend Lyndsay is an actress and to make ends meet between performances, she works part time at one of those big modeling agencies here in the city. Her part time status makes her the ideal midday and mid-week playmate. During lunch with her on Friday, I started in with my whole Zach Galifianakis obsession:

Me: I really want Zach to impregnate me. I don't even care about the money that might come with it, but I think deep down, I'm a starfucker. Like that guy over there?

Lyndsay: That nasty one?

Me: Yes. If he were funny and famous or in a cool band or even just some pretentious downtown artist, I'd fuck him.

Lyndsay: You used to date one of those...

Me: Which one?

Lyndsay: The pretentious downtown artist one.

Me: Oh, yeah, I guess so... but back to Zach. I think he is beyond sexy.

Lyndsay: Don't - he's a modelizer.

Me: Really? That's upsetting.

Lyndsay: He used to date this model we represent at the agency and he thought she looked ugly with short hair, so we could never send her on hair related shoots, because she had to keep it long for him...

Me: Ew! This is horrible! How could he be like that? This is ruining my dreams of carrying his bastard child.

Lyndsay: Not only that but he really broke her, destroyed her... she had a nervous breakdown when he dumped her and she had to leave the city for awhile. Who does this remind me of....

Me: Hush, funny girl. So how is she now?

Lyndsay: Well, she tried to kill herself over him, but she seems to be better - she cut her hair off and now it's even shorter than yours. Guess it was her way of liberating herself.

Me: I just still can't believe someone who looks like Zach would be that way. I mean, I think he's hot and funny, but he's so furry and has a belly and...

Lyndsay: No, he doesn't.

Me: Um, yes, he does. I only look at photos of him like thirty times a day...

Lyndsay: No, he's thin, but doesn't have a chin. He's...yuck...

Me: Are you high? He has a huge belly and it's hot!

Lyndsay: No, he doesn't. He used to come to the shoots and monitor her and she'd fawn over him like a stupid puppy. Actually like you did that one time you met Conor Oberst...

Me: That was like a decade ago! I wouldn't fawn over him anymore... he's too mainstream for my taste.

Lyndsay: And Zach isn't? He was in that stupid show Scrubs... that's pretty fucking mainstream to me.

Me: Like he had a guest appearance? I never saw that show.

Lyndsay: No, he was the star... oh, shit, wait... I'm thinking of Zach Braff! This whole time I've been thinking about him! I was really thinking you had lost your mind and was starting to feel uncomfortable that obsessing over Zach Braff was what your life had become...

Me: I'm really insulted right now, to be honest.

Lyndsay: I know. I'm sorry, and yes, you should be.

Me: So looking up photos of Zach Galifianakis several times a day is cool then?

Lyndsay: Yeah, totally normal! And wanting to have his babies is really good goal; unrealistic, but good.

Me: Why unrealistic?

Lyndsay: Because he's a modelizer... they all are...

Re: The Suffering Season.

My friends made me join the Twitter.

To quote: "I'm sick of you texting me your wonky ass thoughts and ideas between 3 and 4 am, bitch." Which is true... normally people save their thoughts on that text thing on the BlackBerry, not me. I text them to my sister and my closest friends... but no more. Now I'm too legit to quit. Like MC Hammer, but sans the the fancy pants. It's mostly random thoughts and things too crass for the Facebook. (Yes, everything deserves a "the" in front of it.) It's also a great way for me to make drunken notes and feel embarrassed about them later, but only in the view of the few friends who follow me (okay, so I only have 3 followers at this point); the same friends who have to put up with me on daily basis... lucky them.

My first official tweet was (don't judge, we'd been talking penis size and I was really trying to make a point): "I coulda put his dick, his balls and a sandwich in my mouth all at once and been able to talk normally..."

I said shit was crass... or poetic? You decide.

xxxo.

Mandy.

Re: So I Drink Again, And I Play the Game.

The other night I went to my friend's book launch party. I go to these things from time to time and while I have moments where I'm genuine, most of the evening I'm this version of myself I hate... the one who plays along. I usually go alone, so my real friends don't have to witness my fakeness, but the majority of my friends are writers, so I lugged a small group to this party because it can never hurt to schmooze with people in your industry. Not more than five minutes after we arrived, I ran into that girl. That girl, the drunk one with the loud whiny voice, the one who's too self-involved to ever get the details about anyone else correctly, but just so happens to work at one of the biggest publishing companies in New York City, if not the world, so you kinda have to be nice, all but pinned me up against the wall to give me the this and that of things... but mostly to brag about her engagement, I'm sure:

That Girl: Amanda fucking ______! Shut up! I heard you skipped town and moved to some completely exquisite Provençal!

Me: Nope. I'm still here, barely. But is that what they're saying? That's kinda fun! (insert fake laugh)

That Girl: Yes! I also heard you're going to Amsterdam with our new favorite author! Lucky you!

Me: Well, I was thinking about it, but...

That Girl: So let's talk about the book! Is it done yet? No one takes an entire year to do a rewrite, you know!

Me: Um, well, I changed a lot of it, so...

That Girl: O-M-G! I loved your article on secret affairs!

Me: It was actually about secret sex...

That Girl: And the guy from Finland...

Me: Sweden...

That Girl: And the other guy named... oh, what was it... Leonard!

Me: Well, Liam, but close enough...

That Girl: You scandalous bitch, you! Ah! Loves it! And the metaphor of the couch! Great!

Me: Bed sheets, the metaphor was about imprints on sheets...

That Girl: Now that I'm engaged, I'll have to keep him away from you! You're so bad!

Me: Not really... but...

That Girl: You know he's still waiting to read your pitches for the music column! You need to get on that!

Me: I suck at pitching, so...

That Girl: Shit! I think that's Carly from Penguin! I thought she skipped town! Send me a chapter this month!

(Breathe).

My friend Kathleen: Can we go now? I'd like to hit up Ace Bar on the way home and hang around with some respectable people... like tattooed heroin addicts and shit.

******

Read: new Pomegranate Seeds: Purple Walls

Listen: "Oh, La" by Ra Ra Riot. I'm supposed to be reviewing their new album, but can't stop listening to this song from their last album. It's kinda perfect:

Ra Ra Riot - Oh, La by Kaniballos

Re: I Can't Be Sober and Win You Over.

This is my great, great grandmother, Mary. She was a dancer with the Ziegfeld Follies in New York City from 1909 to 1912. Isn't she lovely? I'm thinking about being her for Halloween, or Max from Where the Wild Things Are, or an ewok, or... oh, I don't really know.

I've spent several days with my parents at the beach and am now ready to run like hell away from them and back to the pretty city. In celebration of family, I have compiled some of family's award-winning quotes from this latest visit:

"I thought I had two daughters, but when I look at you I realize that you have no idea you're a girl." - mom to me.

"You really need to stop spending money on underwear - it's not like anyone besides you sees it anyway." - mom to me.

"You should seriously think about marrying for money instead of love. You never really had luck in the love category anyway." - dad to me.

"Sometimes I wish my life were like Tom Cruise's in the Last Samurai, wouldn't that be cool?" - dad.

"My son associates pickles and dancing on the coffee table with you... what does that say about your auntie ability?" - my sister to me.

"You're not technically a loser, because you dress better than a loser." - my sister to me.

"It's like you're the whore, she's the saint and we're all in that really good movie with Ray Liotta and Robert DeNiro!" - my sister to me.

"Mandy is quoting dead people at me again." - my sister to mom.

"I'd really appreciate it if you didn't share everything with me... there are some things a mother isn't supposed to know, and that's one of them. It's bad enough I know you had sex... once." - mom to me.

"I think I've found the dress I'm going to wear when I'm your maid of honor in 2035...god, I'm funny." - my sister to me.

To summarize, my dad wants to be a samurai, my mom is annoyed that I'm not more girly and my sister is planning my future wedding... oh, the bourgeois trite shite of it all...

Re: Well Happy Birthday Anyway.

Tonight we rage, as my birthday is exactly one month away. Unfortunately my Colorado friends won't be able to make it out to NYC for my party this year, so tonight we'll don our fanciest duds, and head over to The Med in Boulder. There will be cake, of course... and I will be sporting my new oxfords with pink socks and an elaborate 1950's party dress I picked up at a vintage store in Denver. In fact, between the dress and the obscenely large record collection I've acquired over the last couple months, I'll be checking two bags at the airport... argh.

Tomorrow morning I'll board a plane to Boston, and from there I'll head out to Martha's Vineyard. While NYCers have the Hamptons, us New Englanders prefer the Cape. By Sunday morning I'll be back in the East Village; by Sunday afternoon I'll be on Williamsburg's waterfront with beer in hand listening to Delorean... I get goosebumps at the thought alone...

Read: new Pomegranate Seeds: Sidewalk Shopping

Now listen to Panda Bear and swoon a wee bit... "Slow Motion," is what we call Dreamtown 2010...

Panda Bear - Tomboy Single by markwall53

Re: Sperrys on the Dashboard Until the State Line.

Bon Iver and goat cheese the whole way west. Now it's time for Blitzen Trapper, Broken Social Scene and maybe some Woods...oh, and a salty snack to match as we head back inland.

I'll never understand how my sister can live in the middle of the country having been raised so close to the ocean. A week from now I'll be on the Cape; a week from Sunday I'll be back in that dirty city I love so.

xo.

Mandy.

Re: I Lie When I Say I Changed Your Name.

I'm going to be speaking to a college freshman English class this morning about why I'm a writer and not a teacher... you know, because when you have a degree in English, teaching seems to be the inevitable career step to make. I had been asked by a friend of a friend to give the talk a few weeks ago, and although I told him I was in no position to be giving any sort of career advice, he looked at me and said, "You're published, right?" "I guess so," was my response.

So I tortured myself endlessly over what I was going to say, how I was going to justify the reason I was there, then I had the most amazing three days:

- I was asked to write a weekly music column by an online indie publication. I even get to pick out a fancy title for my column, like "Blah Blah with Amanda Blah Blah or whatever."

- I received an email telling me that a story I had submitted to a well-respected (read: pretentious) quarterly will be printed in January. I'll be bragging about this one until the day I die.

- I was invited to be one of three writers reading at not one, but two Brooklyn bookstores in September that showcases up and coming writers.

- I received rave reviews for a piece I wrote on secret sex that was published yesterday, and the editor wants me to write a weekly "confessional" piece because it was so "relatable."

- I received back payment for several pieces I've written over the last few months... this will go straight into the Frye James Wingtip Oxford fund, as I'm pretty sure they will be a necessary item in my fall wardrobe.

If I believed in the placement of stars and the cosmic force of things of which I have zero control, I'd think that the planets are miraculously aligned and threw me a bone... or, if I was the cranky lil' shit I am, I'd say things are fucked up and this is fleeting... or maybe, just maybe, my time has come? Meh...

After my talk this morning, if I don't die from fright or embarrassment over pissing my paunts, my friend and I will load up the car and we'll head west to Big Sur. I've never been, but I have a feeling I might like it quite a bit.

Read: new Pomegranate Seeds: Limes... which was written while listening to "Re: Stacks" by Bon Iver on repeat for over an hour.

Listen: "Learning," by Perfume Genius.

xo.

Mandy.

Mandy vs. The Employee at Hobby Lobby (and My Sister).

There's this store called Hobby Lobby that my sister goes to from time to time when she needs to pick up some cheap, crafty related item. I only go with her because I'm fascinated by the religious paraphernalia and always end up dropping a few cents on crucifix shaped sponges or chocolate or a plate for a friend. My friends just love getting boxes of crucifixes from Colorado. So since Hobby Lobby is sooo religious, one would assume their employees would follow suit, um, no.

H.L. Cashier: Did you find everything all right?

Me: Sure did. Thanks. How are you?

H.L. Cashier: I'm okay. But if you asked me last week I would've told you that I was freaking out about how I'm pregnant. (she's not more than 20)

Me: Okay. (glancing at my sister)

Sister: I'm sorry, did you just say you're pregnant?

H.L. Cashier: Yeah, but I'm going to try a natural miscarriage...

Me: How? By hurling yourself down a flight of stairs?

Sister: Mandy! Be sensitive!

H.L. Cashier: No, I'm taking an herbal tea with lots vitamin C and parsley in it.

Me: Does that even work?

H.L. Cashier: I don't know. I hope so, but we'll see.

Sister: Well, I wish you the best of luck with that...have a nice day.

After the shock dissipated, outside in the car:

Me: Did she admit to us she's trying to self-abort her fetus?

Sister: I think so.

Me: Do you think she was kidding? Like trying to shock us or something?

Sister: No, you could tell she was terrified.

Me: Should I go back in and offer to take her to an abortion clinic?

Sister: No, she doesn't believe in abortion because she works at Hobby Lobby.

Me: Because a self-induced miscarriage isn't an abortion?

Sister: I don't want you going back in there and making another crack about throwing herself down some stairs...I don't want her doing that if the tea isn't going to work.

Me: Hobby Lobby is going to fire her ass when they find out she's been doing the sex before marriage...

Sister: Maybe I should go back in and offer some help.

Me: I could go to the store and buy her some condoms...

(Silence)

Sister: Are you crying?

Me: Kinda...

Sister: Why?

Me: Because I'm sad for her...

Sister: We really need to ship you back to New York asap...you're losing your shit out here.

*It should be noted, we did go back in...

Re: I Told You to Be Bad Ass, I Told You to Be Kind.

Yesterday when we were driving back from the park through one of those awful residential neighborhoods where every house is identical, my sister was cut off by a girl in her early twenties. Had I been driving, I would've put up my middle finger, made a vulgar gesture and been on my way. My sister, however, a new mother and a former crazy driver herself, decided to take things a few steps further. When she realized the girl was pulling into a driveway just a few houses away, she put her car in reverse and followed the girl home. She then put her car in neutral, pulled up the emergency break, and got out of the car. From the sidewalk she yelled at the girl about driving safely, social graces and everything else a girl of twenty-four or so couldn't give a rat's ass about... all while I ducked down in the passenger seat hoping to god the girl wasn't packing or some crazy meth head, because based on all the meth commercials they have out here, crazy meth heads are fairly common.

Although their verbal altercation lasted less than a few minutes, the whole time my sister keeping her cool and being quite eloquent, while the trashy youngster dropped F-bombs left and right, it was pretty much something you'd expect to see out of a movie. After the girl gave my sister the finger for the fourth time, my sister threw her arms up in the air and said, "I wish I had a thesaurus to throw at you!"

My sister, the new mother and former crazy driver, got back into her car, put it in drive and drove off. When I finally pulled myself up from my hiding position a few blocks away, she looked at me and asked: "Do you think I'm crazy?" I told her yes I did, but I'd never want it any other way.

Read: new Pomegranate Seeds: Half Sour.

Listen: "Follow the Birds," by Like Bells.

Re: Steve Slater, My New Hero.

Very few people have been able to enjoy the thrill of walking out on their job. I did one day back in 2005 after my boss, Marc, berated me for the last time, and in front of fashion designer Thom Browne, no less. I looked at my coworker, Coec, and told her I was leaving. She suggested a "walk around the block" would do me some good. I corrected her and said yes, I was indeed walking, but I wasn't coming back. And out the door I went...

I cried for the first ten minutes or so; I am an emotional girl after all, and that usually tends to be my initial reaction to most, if not all, scenarios. But once I got over the crying, I realized I was free, I was liberated, and I also realized I was never going to let myself be treated that way in the workplace again. Sure, I've had jobs since that I have been belittling and I've had to deal with bosses and coworkers that were horrible specimens of human beings, but not like Marc... Marc was something else.

It took me awhile to really understand just how much I changed the day I walked out of that office just two days before Fall Fashion Week in 2005, but I know now I'm better for it. I didn't snap, I didn't have a breakdown, I just simply had enough, and in that moment something clicked: an epiphany. I was empowered, so empowered, in fact, that I ended a relationship that was going nowhere two days after walking out of my job.

So three cheers to JetBlue's (now former) flight attendant, Steve Slater. The man should be thrown a gd party instead of being handcuffed and hauled off to jail. He is an inspiration to us all and has given a new meaning to the term: "fuck it." I, for one, am really happy that when I fly back into NYC later this month, I'll be on JetBlue... if those are the kind of employees they've got working over there, I'm all for it.

xo.

Mandy.

PS. This just in... this girl, "Jenny," should also be getting a party thrown in her honor...

Re: Walked Home, Showing Me Your Scars.

It was back in January, from my Paris flat that I composed "Open Letter to a Fella." At the time, I declared the fella in question my muse, my villain, and my tragedy... I still anoint him all these things. In the same post, I quoted F. Scott Fitzgerald from "The Crack-Up," and while my copy of this book is underlined, dog-eared, highlighted and falling apart at the binding, it is that one quote in particular that I never stop thinking of... so, I went and tattooed it on my arm.

I had always wanted to tattoo words somewhere on me, and considering the importance of the quote, and where I chose to put it, the black ink will save me in more ways than one. It still looks a lil' wonky because it's covered in a thick coat of A&D and will be for the next few days. I always said I wouldn't get another tattoo until I got some fancy shmancy book deal...but fuck it, I needed a permanent reminder...

xo.

Mandy.

Re: Fake It 'Til It Hurts.

I went into Denver last night with Jonas, the bartender from last week. We went to see Tokyo Police Club and Freelance Whales. It was a proper date, and something I haven't been on in...oh, wow, a long time. Since people use cars out here in the boonies, he picked me up... came to the door and everything... we went out for sushi in the "city," then headed to the show.

When I got in the car, he gave me a mix CD he had me, and I found myself, from those early minutes, lying to him. I knew every band and song on the CD, but faked it and said I had only heard of a few of them. I haven't pretended in a long time, so I'm out of practice.

At dinner, I felt myself being that stupid girl, the one whom I would roll my eyes at, if I were unfortunate to be privy to the conversation. I laughed at his jokes, even the ones that weren't very funny; and I was both polite and grateful. He paid for dinner, he paid for the tickets, and so in return, I bought us a couple rounds of drinks. After the show, we wandered the streets of Denver, a city that goes to sleep too early for my blood, and we talked about music and art and movies and how he was raised in Colorado but went to school in New York City: the bartender has his MFA from Parsons. He said he'd never move back to New York. I didn't understand, but pretended I did.

He drove me home, or rather, back to my sister's. We talked for a few minutes in the car and I was immediately brought back to college, and high school before it. I hadn't sat in a car anticipating what was going to come next in so long. I felt awkward and uncomfortable, so when he leaned in to kiss me, like something out of movie, I pulled away and all but fell out of the car. I apologized profusely and invited him in to make up for my ridiculousness. I could only imagine the look on my sister's face when she came down the next morning to wake me for our usual coffee run and found the pretty tattooed boy in bed next to me.

He followed me downstairs to my bedroom, where I told him to put on some music while I went to find my brother-in-law's stash of expensive scotch. When I returned, his long, lean body was stretched out my floor listening to the new Department of Eagles album. I poured us each a scotch and pulled the pillows from my bed...

Read: new Pomegranate Seeds: The Visitor.

Listen: "Misplaced," by The Acorn.

xo.

Mandy.

Re: The My So-Called Life Drinking Game.

Despite giving my liver a well needed rest, my friends and I came up with several drinking games this past weekend, that we intend to try out later this week. All of them evolve around favorite TV shows and/or movies. We have The John Hughes drinking game, which, as I'm sure you guessed, must be done while watching a John Hughes movie (we've also lumped Say Anything in there, although it's a Cameron Crowe film), and it involves reciting lines from the movies. If you fuck up a line, you drink... if everyone can flawlessly quote the line together, then we all drink. Of course, this game needs a little work, and you'd have to be a true child of the 80's to play this one...

In college we used to play The My So-Called Life drinking game, which, in my humble opinion, is the greatest game we ever came up with, and since purchasing the DVDs (finally!) last week, I've anxiously been waiting to play this game yet again.

The game can be played either during one episode, several, or if you have the time and nothing else on your social roster, it can be played while watching the entire series back-to-back (it was senselessly cut short, after all)... this of course will provide the greatest level of drunkeness.

The rules are simple, you drink whenever:

- anyone says "like"

- Jordan Catalano leans

- Angela Chase cocks her head to the side

- Ricky is in the girl's bathroom

- Angela's younger sister does something annoying

- Brian Krakow gets frustrated/yells at Angela

(the amount of "likes" that are said, alone, will get anyone more than tipsy...my sister and I once counted 43 "likes" in one episode.)

So I suggest you all give it a whirl...it is the only decent thing Claire Danes every did, and I'm sure we can all agree the same thing for Jared Leto, too...

xo.

Mandy.