My name is Judy and this is one of my boyfriend's feet. Bear in mind that this is AFTER he's hacked at them with our industrial-strength nail clipper. He only trimmed them after I noticed his nails were making a clickety-clacking noise as he trotted across the apartment.
As I'm sure you'll all agree, this condition is unacceptable. So today, I took him for a pedicure.
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I've attended the annual Coney Island Mermaid Parade many times, and while I always have fun, up until this year I have never marched in it. I guess I just never got around to it. Plus, in recent years it's gotten a little too crowded for my taste. (I have also gotten older, crankier, and less tolerant of my fellow humans in recent years, so there's that.)
But the Large Greek loves the Mermaid Parade like a five-year-old loves Christmas. (He was even King of the parade in 1995—this year it was Harvey Keitel.) In the interest of being a good girlfriend, I decided I'd get into the spirit too, and march along with him and his friends from Otto's Shrunken Head. They constructed a giant octopus float they called the "Ottopuss." Get it?!? It was truly a marvel turned miracle after a week of construction was foiled by a simultaneous week of rain. They had many moist setbacks, but as you can see by photos here, here and here, it came out looking mighty fine.
I decided I'd go whole hog and make myself into a hot pink jellyfish. Never mind that my crafting/sewing skills are minimal. We bought a bunch of fabric and some battery-operated lights and away I went. I was pretty happy with the final result—and I credit the influence of my crafty friends for giving me the inspiration that got me there. Sure, it wasn't perfect and a lot of it was stapled together, but now I think I want to take sewing lessons.
Unfortunately the cold rain put a bit of a damper on the day. I don't know how all those topless ladies managed it. I was wearing a t-shirt and leggings and was freezing my ass off.
Coney is in a state of transition—and that's putting an optimistic spin on it—a lot of the amusements have been driven out of the park by greedy developers (and a mayor whose only concern is money). So in a lot of ways, this year's parade was probably the most important one they've ever had. Coney Island is one of the last bastions of the old New York. It's not slick like Great Adventure so even if you only have five bucks, you can have a good time. (Though you'll have a much better time with a twenty.) Now there's talk of filling it with luxury hotels and mall stores. I'm sure there are condos mixed in there somewhere as well. Because it seems there are always condos. . . .
I need to stop whining and start working, but if you want a charming look at olde Coney Island, I recommend you Netflix Little Fugitive (the 1953 original, not the remake!).
UPDATE: I've been advised that not everyone is my Facebook friend, so additional "making of" photos after the jump. For captions you have to go to Facebook because I can't be bothered.
So me and the Large Greek have been together for FIVE YEARS now! It hasn't always been easy—like now, when he's out of work and I'm working from home and we're both trapped together in a 600-square-foot apartment all day, with very little money, 24/7. But aside from some bumps, we've been doing pretty well. So we decided to celebrate this milestone, not by going to Spain, like I originally wanted (hello, economy crash!), but to Jersey City. The recession is all about compromise, people.
It only costs $1.75 to get to JC (as opposed to $600+ to get to Espana) and because I pulled the old "it's our anniversary" card on the reservations person at the Hyatt, we got a good rate on a great room. Here's our view:
Pretty fantastic, especially as the sun went down and the lights went up. This wall was basically all glass, which excited the man to no end. In fact, upon entering the room and seeing this vista, the BF inexplicably dropped trou and mooned Manhattan. Then he started dancing around pantsless! I asked him what he was doing and he explained that it was special "hotel glass" and that we could see out of, but people couldn't see into. Er, no.
I told him I didn't think that was the case, but he was not to be dissuaded. I finally got him to pull up his pants and change into his swim trunks. We hit the pool, the gym, and then had a fab dinner on the roof of the Iron Monkey. On our walk back, I pointed up at the hotel and showed him that you actually could see into the rooms when the curtains were open. He laughed, not the least bit embarrassed. That's my boy!
I've been reading New York Magazine's collection of people recalling their first years in New York City and it got me to thinking about mine. My first birthday here was twenty years ago today. My then-boyfriend declined to spend the evening with me (asshole!), so I went out with my sister Stephanie, and we spent the night drinking at the Continental. I don't know if it was called that back then, but that's where we were.
So anyway, it was around 4AM and she and I were stumbling home from the bar. She lived on 3rd & B, while I lived a half-block further, between Aves B & C. Now there are sushi restaurants and frat boys, but 20 years ago it was a pretty sketchy neighborhood. I'd heard a guy beg for his life and then subsequently get murdered outside my building and gunshots were so ever-present that I'd sworn they were firecrackers. Never mind that explanation would mean it was the Fourth of July every day.
Though I was drunk, I still knew to be wary, and always walked with my keys sticking out from between my fingers. The idea being I'd cut a bitch who tried to rob me. Tough girl!
Predictably, some skell sees two drunk girls wobbling home and decides we'd be an easy mark. The guy comes running up behind us and tries to grab my sister's bag. Except she won't let go, and falls to the ground, still holding on. We both start screaming holy hell. You don't know loud until you've heard two drunk Irish broads howling their faces off.
I shriek something along the lines of "I'M GOING TO KILL YOOOOOOOUUU!!!!" and go after him with my keyed up fists. Lights start to snap on down the block and our mugger decides that we're more trouble than we're worth (if he'd only known we had about four bucks between us). So he takes off, but I'm on an adrenaline (and beer) high and take off after him, screaming that he's dead meat or something else equally stupid.
I chase his ass for about half a block until the realization hits us both at the same time that he's about twice my size. He turns around to come after me. I make like Macauley Culkin in Home Alone and just stand there frozen, screaming at the top of my lungs.
Someone yells from across the street, snapping us out of our staredown. The mugger runs off again and I sprint back to see if my sister was okay. (She was.) Our neighbors were pissed that we woke them up (though they said it would've been okay if we'd been hurt or you know, actually robbed) and the cops rolled their eyes after my sister swore the guy had "come out of nowhere." She lost an earring in the struggle, but otherwise we escaped unscathed.
Still, I hope this birthday is a bit better than that one.
Friday is my birthday and I'm kind of stumped as to what to do. I wanted to go out to City Island and stay at this place, but their phone is out of order which doesn't bode well. I thought we'd have some oysters and romance, but now that plan is shot.
Then, the BF suggested Mohegan Sun. I wasn't wild about the idea, but I looked into it. Lord knows I love a hotel. Except rooms start at $599. No thanks! We considered Montauk, but that seems pricey even off-season. My dad thought a trip to Jersey City was a great idea—but why stop there? Why not Bayonne? This classy joint has something called a "jacuzzi room" and I have a pretty good idea we could pay by the hour.
So if you have any good, cheap(ish) ideas, please leave them in the comments. I like boats, oysters, chocolate cake, riv vu's, and cute places that aren't all attitudey. Isn't this cake nice? When I was a little girl my grandfather bought me a cowgirl outfit because I loved horses. Though this wasn't my cake, apparently some other Judy is quite the aspiring cowgirl as well.
This past weekend, my youngest brother and his wife squeezed out their first child! Her name is Viviana Frances (Frances was my mom's name) and she's very cute as tiny babies go. Thankfully she's avoided the squeezed-up old man face you often find in newborns, but perhaps more importantly for her mom's sake, she also missed out on the McGuire Giant Head gene. She's an Aries (like me!) and is, according to my astrologer friend Kiki T, destined to be quite the handful.
She's only about five hours old in this photo and already giving 'tude.
Don't try to fight it. Sorry boys (and girls!), but this bitch is taken.
This is how I spent my morning—darkening the head hairs (and my ear and parts of my shoulder—rest assured, I meant to do that) and lightening the 'stache. I know some ladies prefer to wax theirs, but that just gives me a bright red scab for days.
Because I'm going to see Morrissey at Carnegie Hall! The last time I saw him, Rose and I caught the show at Radio City Music Hall. I love these grand old venues in my old age. I saw Coraline 3D at the Ziegfeld. Another amazing beautiful old theater.
I've been kind of mopey lately, but I'm trying to bust my ass workwise so I can go to London with absolutely no work to do there. It's a tall order, but I'm trying my best. If anyone has any questions for Dategirl, please email me or leave it in the comments.
Um, why can't the state pitch in and help pay for my dental nightmare? It doesn't seem fair that they'll pay for toothless prisoners to get their invisible teeth cleaned, but I'm facing major work and I don't get a dime. And why isn't dental included in health insurance? Your mouth is part of your body, ferchrissakes.
Let's see, what else? How about this wacko who handcuffed her husband to herself and kept biting him? Yikes.
Speaking of crazy bitches, I know I'm not the only one who watches the Real Housewives of New York. How about that Kelly Bensimon? What a cow. And what up with the red, flaky face? Woman, you used to be a model—you should know that you don't go on camera right after a chemical peel unless you want to look like a burn victim.
Though I've spent much more of my life living in New York than I ever did Jersey, I was born in Newark and went to high school in Millburn, so I will always be a Jersey girl. Plus, I love the Boss (he's on Jon Stewart tonite!).
So didn't the Garden State make me proud when I read that they were thinking of being the first state in the Union to ban the nefarious Brazilian bikini wax. I know this may make me unpopular with certain people, but I am against full-on bush-waxing. Sure, keep it neat and trim, but the idea of someone pouring hot wax into my ass crack and up and into my most delicate folds, and then ripping it out once it has hardened, really skeeves me. I mean, don't we women go through enough pain and suffering to look good? We have long legs to shave, eyebrows, chin and nipple hairs to tweeze and makeup to wear. Do we really need to be ripping out our pubes too? I'm sorry, but a dude who can't wack my bush is not a guy I want rooting around down there anyway.
In other news, I am so psyched that Bravo's "Real Housewives" series is taking on the Dirty Jerz. My favorite of the three shows is definitely New York (I can't tell those OC blondes apart and Atlanta leaves me cold), I have a feeling that is all about to change once the Real Housewives of New Jersey starts. One of the women was already on a VH1 show about her multi-million dollar wedding (which still managed to be uber-tacky). I can't wait to see these ladies chomping down dogs at Rutt's Hut or dropping their husband's dough at the Short Hills Mall, where I spent one summer folding shirts at the Gap.
In self-promotion news, here's a story I wrote about dealing with a sick boyfriend, my Seattle column about a guy who thinks he's too big for love, and my Time story on volunteer vacations. Also, the Large Greek interviewed me and my buddy Diane Mapes for Flavorwire. Please read it and rate it!
The boyfriend is playing in New Orleans this weekend and I'm going with him, though I doubt I'll stay up late enough to actually see the show. But isn't the poster pretty? If anyone has any tips for what I should be doing there, please share in the comments because I've never been to New Orleans before.
