eefers

Where to find me these days, take II

2010-07-27T09:59:00.002-04:00

So, things at KCFreePress.com were great until they weren't. If you do enough Googling, you can find all of the (mostly true) gossip on your own. Now I'm back to full-time freelance and I couldn't be happier. Does that mean I'll update eefers more often and maybe even get it looking nice? Perhaps, but I'm so busy with all of my other freelance projects it's unlikely, at least anytime soon. But one never knows. In the mean time, feel free to keep up with me on Twitter or my "portfolio" site, which I update somewhat more frequently than eefers.

Where to find me these days

2010-02-11T13:29:00.001-05:00

KCFreePress.com. You should go there.

Self-Fulfilling Prophecies

2009-01-05T22:31:00.004-05:00

Yesterday my dad left this message on my voice mail:

'On January 9, 2010 I blasted off into space on the NASA space shuttle to the moon with the other astronauts. I brought my diary so I could write when there was nothing to do. But I had to go to college for six years and I brought back three moon rocks.' Can you tell me where this quote is from?

I thought, and thought, and Googled and Googled some more, thinking it must have been from a book I loved as a child. It didn't make the most sense in the world, but pretty poetic, right?

Tonight I sent him an email telling him I gave up.

Oh. I found it while going through some boxes yesterday. It's from a student newspaper "printed" at Courtney Elementary. It's your prediction as to what you will be doing in 2010. Second grade, I think. Maybe a little later.

Seriously? In the second grade I knew it would take me six years to finish college?

More or less scary than my crazy cat lady prediction?

The Night My Cat Saw Her Ghost (And So Did I)

2008-11-24T00:42:00.002-05:00

I woke up to a strange sound. Eve was at the window hissing. Usually the window is open but because it was so cold, I had closed it. I pulled back the curtain. At first all I could see was that every time Eve hissed she fogged up the glass. It took me a minute to realize that on the other side of the glass was an all-white cat, sitting still as a statue, on the fire escape, just staring at her.

If You Can Make It Here, You Can Make It Anywhere, or, Kansas City, Here I Come

2008-11-14T11:46:00.002-05:00

The time has come for me to say goodbye to the city I've called home for eight years. I spent the entire Bush administration in New York, and guess what? Now that Barack Obama has been elected President, I'm no longer afraid of the Midwest. But that's not the only reason I'm moving. I went home to do promotion for the book and fell in love. I've grown a lot in eight years, and so has Kansas City. I saw buses with bike racks!

When I left at 18, I was fleeing my Meth-ridden hometown of Independence (a suburb of KC) and a foreseeable future as a knocked up bank teller with dark roots and sweat pants. I can safely say I've evaded that path in life and I'm now free to live out my fantasy of residing in an amazing apartment in the urban center of a not so urban place (a place that's constantly changing, for the better).

And when I say amazing apartment, I mean you should come stay in my guest room. Then I'll cook you dinner in my fully equipped kitchen. I'll serve it via the butler's pantry and you'll be seated in the built-in bench in my dining room (the bench that's up against a bay window and flocked by two built-in China cabinets). While the dishes do themselves in the dishwasher, we'll retire to my front balcony through the french doors and sip whiskey while we look upon West 36th Street. When it gets too chilly, we'll go inside and sit in front of my tiled fire place. Before you sleep peacefully in the guest bedroom (which will be separate from my office, which will be separate from my living room, which will be separate from my bedroom), you'll soak in my claw-foot tub.

I'll be using all of that space to continue my freelance writing career (and my job at Nerve), and I feel like having more mental and physical space will really open me up to write the things I've wanted to write for a long time.

This is not to say I'm not scared to death. I'm scared of falling off the face of the Earth, and I'm just plain scared to leave. New York sucked me in and promised to never let me go. And that freaked me out. I'm not ready for the lifetime commitment. I certainly don't want to be that lady on the subway (you know who I'm talking about).

Lucky for me, as Gawker so famously pointed out last year, Kansas City is the new Greenpoint. I will find out if this is true and report back. Who knows? Maybe I'll hate it there and return to the original Greenpoint. But I'm going to give it a year. And in the mean time, I'll be back often.

I'll definitely be back for at least a week in April to attend a friend's wedding and meet another friend's new baby. I'll need couches to crash on and I'll probably want to go out for sushi and Indian and Thai food. And I will come back for the Casserole Party and other food/book related events throughout the year. But I see it this way: I leave New York in the summer anyway and I hate it here in the winter, so if I come back for a few weeks in the spring and fall I'm getting the best of all worlds. And I can spend my winters in KC sitting by my fireplace, sipping hot toddies.

Thank you all for making my time here amazing. It breaks my heart to leave. But I'm excited to start a new life with space and family and central air. Oh, and Dairy Queen. I have really missed Dairy Queen.

Dammit All to Hell

2008-06-26T03:08:00.004-04:00

It's 3:08 a.m. I was just about to fall asleep and heard a rustling coming from the closet. I looked to my left. My cat was there. I grabbed the flashlight (that I happened to have in bed, because my new bedroom layout didn't allow for my bedside lamp to be plugged in and I've been too lazy to rig it any other way) looked to my right and a giant cockroach was making a mad dash for my bed. Then he flipped over on his back and started flailing his legs wildly in the air. Knowing he was too injured to chase me (hey, it's happened before), I jumped out of bed and looked for the bug spray, only to notice it was between me and the big guy.

I tried to direct the cat from the bed to the floor, tempting her with the flashlight, but she just stared at me, who had also begun to flail wildy. (Seriously, why do these things only happen when I'm naked?)

Realizing the cat was of no fucking use to me in this time of crisis, I ran to the kitchen to get a heavy Pyrex lid to put over the intruder, but realized that would actually require getting close enough to be accurate with the placement of the lid... and that one of my Pyrex lids would be forever tainted. So I went to the living room and found the heaviest book I have, a Spanish textbook from college. I stood in the doorway and threw it on top of him. Thank goodness it was big, because my aim is never good with these things.

Problem is, now I'm sleeping next to a giant fucking cockroach which is "sleeping" under my Spanish textbook. Er, should I say giant fucking la cucaracha? Anyway, I'm glad the textbook finally came in handy (I totally had to google the spelling of "la cucaracha") but I'm so fucking jumpy I'll never be able to sleep. Seriously. It is right next to me. I'm not even asleep and I'm already having nightmares of his mighty cockroach strength overcoming the weight of the textbook.

You Can Get Back on a Horse, A Bike... Just Not Roller Skates

2008-06-18T20:04:00.003-04:00

This is what happens when one has four shots of whiskey and decides she can roller skate. Well, really, this is what happens:

So, I probably should not go to the roller disco that's coming up next weekend, huh?

Top 10 Childish Things I Wish I Could Get Away With as an Adult

2008-06-11T21:16:00.008-04:00

As George Bernard Shaw so famously said, "Youth is wasted on the young." I wouldn't have believed it when I was a kid, because I wanted nothing more than to be a grown up who could do whatever I wanted. Guess what? Doing whatever I want sometimes sucks, especially when doing whatever I want involves not paying my bills on time or going three years without a visit to the dentist.

Ah, what I wouldn't give now for a strict bed time and some fish sticks -- two of the Top 10 Childish Things I Wish I Could Get Away With as an Adult.

10. Going to summer camp.

Is there anything more exciting for a kid than going away to summer camp for the first time? For most kids, it's the first time they spend extended periods away from their parents and for me, it was when I learned the most about myself as a young person. Luckily, I still go back as a counselor (yes, I'm quite possibly the oldest camp counselor in the history of the world) every summer and run the journalism department at a camp for the fine and technical arts. I have to hold on to my youth somehow, right?

9. Eating fish sticks for dinner, and that being okay.

How can anyone not love fish sticks? They're like fish 'n chips minus the chips and the sexy British accent. Sure, they come from the freezer section, but they're fucking delicious. All that breading would probably make me fat if I consumed as many as I did when I was a kid, though. And you'd probably laugh at me.

8. Going to bed at 8:30.

I can only dream of going to bed at 8:30 when I finally go to bed at 3 a.m. after getting most--but not all--of my work done for the day.

7. Going to the doctor and never seeing a bill.

I used to think the doctor took care of me because he wanted me to get better, not because he wanted a new car. Now I have to truly believe I'm on my death bed or be absolutely certain a bone is broken before I'd even consider getting within 500 feet of a medical professional, lest I want to default on my student loans (which brings me to an honorable mention: free school).

6. Picking my nose.

Sometimes there's just one you have to get. Definitely loses all charm when an adult does it.

5. Being applauded for everything.

When was the last time someone clapped when you pooped in the toilet?

4. Bursting into tears when I don't get what I want.

Not that I haven't cried over unrequited love, lost apartments or plane tickets that doubled in price over night, forcing me to cancel my vacation, but it's not the same when Dad isn't there to comfort me and give me my first lesson in personal finance while explaining that he just doesn't have the money for that Shetland pony I was so, so in love with.

3. Running around the yard naked.

Not only would this require a yard, it would require the self confidence to actually run while naked. There are so many things wrong with that picture I won't even begin to go there.

2. Believing my parents are immortal.

1. Asking random boys to show me their penises.

The "I'll show you mine if you show me yours" line only works until about 11. Then you're expected to do more. But I could have saved myself a lot of disappointment in my teens and early twenties had I been able to check out the goods before committing to any physical contact.

Originally posted at Nerve.com's Scanner blog.

I Feel You, Joyce

2008-04-07T02:24:00.002-04:00

Link

Quite Possibly The Greatest Thing I've Ever Heard

2008-03-24T02:39:00.001-04:00

Reason #2 to Leave New York

2008-03-05T19:26:00.001-05:00

I run into people I'd rather not run into far too often.

Reason #1 To Leave New York

2008-03-03T23:20:00.003-05:00

Tonight I bought a one-liter bottle of Poland Spring and a four-pack of Charmin and it cost me $6.49. Also, I refer to items by their brand names.

This Made Me Laugh

2008-02-15T14:05:00.001-05:00

I recently attended a burlesque class and wrote it up for Nerve. And when googling myself (as I often do, yeah, so what?) I found this. I don't know why I'm so amused by it, but I am.

eefers @ Rififi Tuesday Night

2008-02-07T12:07:00.001-05:00

Scanner's Stories of Love and Hate: A Pre-Valentine's Day Reading of Sorts
Featuring Nerve.com's Scanner Bloggers and Special Guests
Tuesday, February 12, 8 p.m.
Rififi, 332 East 11th Street, NYC
$5

Featuring Bobby Tisdale, Will Doig, Emily Farris, Katie Halper, Bryan Christian, Brian Fairbanks and special guests. We promise chocolates, red hots and maybe you'll laugh so hard you'll pee your pants. Or cry. Or neither and then you can eat chocolate and scowl.

Buy a Vowel for The Prospering Cheaters: We Can't Prosper Without Your Help

2008-01-03T18:29:00.000-05:00

Don't forget eefers is playing in the Scrabble for Cheaters tournament January 19 to benefit 826NYC. 826NYC is a nonprofit organization dedicated to supporting students ages 6-18 with their creative and expository writing skills, and to helping teachers inspire their students to write. Based in Brooklyn, it's part of a growing umbrella of youth writing centers across the country, all modeled after Dave Eggers' 826 Valencia writing lab in San Francisco.

Alongside such luminaries as John Oliver ('The Daily Show'), John Hodgman (he plays 'PC' in the Mac/PC commercials) and Peter Dinklage ('The Station Agent'), The Prospering Cheaters be competing in the first annual 'Scrabble For Cheaters' tournament. All proceeds will benefit 826NYC.

The way the tournament works is simple: the more money a team raises, the more it's allowed to cheat. For example, if we raise $25, we'll be able to trade out one of our letters during a game. If we raise $500, we'll be able to invent a word of our choice. The list of cheats is below.

Any support you're able to give our team (The Prospering Cheaters) would be most appreciated. You'll doin' it for us, and a tad more importantly, you'll be doin' it for the kids.

Thanks in advance/happy new year,
Dan & Emily (eefers), The Prospering Cheaters

The Cheats:
1. Trade out a letter $25
2. Wheel of Fortune: buy a vowel $50
3. Flip a letter over and make it blank $100
4. Add 10 to any letter's value $150
5. Add Q, Z, or X to any word, anywhere $200
6. Passport: play a word in any language $250
7. Consult the dictionary for one turn $300
8. Consult the Scrabble word list for one turn $400
9. Reject another team's word $450
10. Invent a word (must have a definition) $500

DONATE TODAY to The Prospering Cheaters, we can't prosper without your help (hey, it's 100% tax-deductible).

New Year's: No Longer Just Another Shitty Holiday

2007-12-30T17:11:00.000-05:00

Have you ever:

a) spent New Year's Eve on the D train hugging a 4-pack of Charmin, crying?
b) run around a New Year's party screaming "I haven't been this high since high school!" only to spend the next day so hungover that you could do nothing but lie in bed and watch 17 hours of "Flip That House?"
c) been punched in the vagina on New Year's Eve by your little sister's drunk friend?

If you answered "yes" to any of the above, then you probably hate New Year's as much as I do. But I think that's all because I looked at New Year's as a holiday that was supposed to be wildly celebrated, and not a fresh start. This year, I'm going to celebrate the beginning of 2008--for real. 2007 was probably the best and worst year of my life. And I'm damn glad that it's almost over (the year, not my life).

Last Minute Tax Write-Off Anyone?

2007-12-30T16:01:00.000-05:00

As many of you know, I'm a little obsessed with Scrabble lately. I'm getting pretty good at it. But not good enough to win a tournament without cheating.

Before I began spending my days glued to the computer "professionally," I was a volunteer tutor at 826NYC, a non-profit, after-school drop-in center founded in California (826 Valencia) by Dave Eggers. While 826 helps kids with all of their homework, the main goal of the organization is to support students age 6-18 with their creative and expository writing skills.

Great right? A free after-school, drop-in writing lab! Yes! But it costs money to run. That's why I've signed up with my friend Dan(Team: The Prospering Cheaters) for Scrabble for Cheaters, January 19. But it costs us every time we cheat. Plus, we're playing with the likes of John Hodgman and John Oliver (The Daily Show) and Peter Dinklage (The Station Agent), and frankly we want to kick their asses... while raising money for the kids, of course.

Don't you want The Prospering Cheaters to invent a word in your honor ($500) or maybe just buy an extra vowel ($50)? Also, don't you want a tax write-off before January 1?

Donate to the Prospering Cheaters

Learn more about 826NYC

Thanks and happy New Year!

eefers Has Moved. Sort Of.

2007-12-12T17:32:00.000-05:00

It looks I'm now a permanent fixture over at Nerve's Scanner. So come visit. I post much more frequently, and frankly, it's better stuff.

Elsewhere.

2007-11-27T19:16:00.000-05:00

Hey Kids. I'm guest blogging over at Nerve's Scanner blog this week. Come visit.

132 Brooklyn Buildings Have Four Months to Improve

2007-11-21T11:19:00.001-05:00

The Department of Housing preservation compiled a list of 200 buildings in the city with numerous outstanding violations and has given them four months to make the majority of the repairs. While the Astral is not mentioned in the NYT article, I would be surprised if it's not on the list. With 120 units, many of which are infested with bedbugs and have leaky ceilings (and probably mold), I imagine it has to be at the top of the HDP's list. If not, it should be.

Some Things That Have Annoyed Me in the Last 18 Hours

2007-10-28T16:58:00.000-04:00

1. ThosefuckingATMsthateatyourcard. Yeah. I left my card in an ATM last night and didn't realize it until this morning when I went to buy some breakfast.

2. Rather, this afternoon. My phone decided last night that it would switch over to Daylight Savings Time a week early, and I didn't know any better. As far as I knew, I woke early. So I took my sweet time getting ready and opened the store an hour late today. Now, every time I set it back to the correct time manually, it changes back to what it thinks it should be (an hour earlier). I'm going to be so screwed this week.

Halloween Costumes

2007-10-28T15:38:00.001-04:00

I always pull together my Halloween costume at the last minute. No matter how much thought I put into it the entire month of October, the perfect costume never comes to me until I'm on my way out the door to celebrate with slutty cats and French maids. Last night was no exception. I arrived home at 8 with the vague idea of dressing up as VMA Britney, but needed to leave by 8:30 and didn't have time to buy a wig and my silver bikini was no where to be found. I thought about what I could utilize (my red hair) and took an inventory of the clothes I haven't yet packed for my move (very few). What I came up with was a pretty-dam-good-if-I-do-say-so-myself Pippi Longstocking.

I can't take credit for this industrious Halloweening of mine. I owe it to my father. My parents divorced when I was three, and my mother never celebrated Halloween because her crazy religion didn't allow it. Dad arrived one year realizing we didn't have costumes and not wanting to endure the picked through pink plastic princesses and black wigs of K-Mart. He did, however, have a few sheets in his car--a pale blue sheet and a Budweiser sheet (maybe he'd just done laundry? or he knew we weren't going to be dressed up?). A few holes and a piece or two of string later, my sister Jo and I were instantly transformed into ghosts. I don't remember which one of us actually ended up as the Budweiser ghost; I know neither of us wanted to be, and we fought about it. I also know my dad felt bad, but what I wouldn't give to be the Budweiser ghost now.

Beware

2007-10-19T15:32:00.000-04:00

Welcome to the world of CHAIN TEXT MESSAGES. Maybe this isn't news (I'm throwing my cell phone out the window if it's not) but I just got my first:

"I better get this back! I love you to pieces! =) Today is best friend day. Send to twelve friends you can't live without."

Dad to Me: Drop the Subject

2007-10-19T00:47:00.000-04:00

My dad refuses to go to my website. I shouldn't be all that surprised, he had to hang up the phone after he called to tell me that my health insurance statement had been sent to him and I warned him that he would find birth control on it. We didn't talk for weeks after that. Later, he googled me, only to find a first-person piece I'd written on colonic irrigation. I guess the "my ass had finally lost its virginity" line really got to him.

Tonight, he called to tell me he'd seen that I'd made the July 8 New York Times. He had searched that site for my name, assuming it was safe and that he'd not find anything he didn't want to. I told him to visit the press section of my casserole website to see all the other press I'd gotten, and that there was only one thing that might bother him, "but I'd be happy to warn--"

"No, I won't go to your website."

"But it's just--"

"No, Emily. Drop the subject."

"But I can warn you wha--"

"Emily, drop the subject now. I'm not going to your website."

"This is ridiculous, it's not even-"

"DROP the subject, Emily."

Alright. How 'bout them Chiefs?

Best Craigslist Missed Connection Title. Ever.

2007-10-07T12:07:00.000-04:00

Here. [NSFW]

UPDATE: It's gone now, but the title was something like "sucked your dick a little in McDonald's."

Life in the Astral

2007-10-01T22:48:00.000-04:00

I live in The Astral, a landmarked building in Greenpoint. From the outside it is beautiful. From the inside, it is a death trap. My lease is up in a month; I've been here eleven miserable months. Since I moved in, my bathroom has flooded multiple times through the ceiling and I've been fighting an uphill battle to keep the building's bedbugs from closing in on me. To keep this post short, I'll give you just a brief overview of the past few months.

June 15-ish: I ask the super to replace my bathroom floor which has been coming up in pieces, and to remove the mold -- both results of the constant flooding. He says he'll do it while I'm in New Hampshire.

August 21: I return from New Hampshire to a still moldy, flooded bathroom.

August 27, 2007: When walking out of my apartment to take some trash to the street, I slip and fall on the wet stairs. I fall straight onto my back, and cannot move. Instead of helping me up, the man who had been cleaning the floor grabs his mop to sop up the rest of the water. There were no signs warning me of wet stairs. After about a minute and a half of crying, immobile (while being mopped around), I crawl back to my apartment and get myself halfway onto my bed, where I wait for friends to come help me.

September 15-ish: I ask the super to please fix the bathroom, and tell him that water is pouring out of the ceiling "right now." He says he's busy fixing the pipes and when that's all done, he will fix my bathroom.

September 20th-ish (a weekday, mid-afternoon): I look out my kitchen window into the building's "courtyard" and see the super accompanying a young woman dressed in stilettos and a bathrobe to the "work" shed. He is carrying a camera.

September 25: I return from a night out to find a giant cockroach in the entry way to the building. I find a man on the street to kill it for me before I can go in (yes, I'm a girl).

September 26: My bathroom floods again. Super says he'll send someone in ten minutes. Thirty minutes pass and I have to leave. I come home and nothing is fixed.

Bathroom mid-flood:

September 28: My friend leaves my place and says she saw a dog pissing on the dead cockroach... that's still there (see September 25).

September 30: As I'm walking home with boxes a local business owner asks me what's up. "I'm finally leaving the Atral," I say. "My apartment is falling down around me and the super won't fix it."

"Maybe if you pose for him he will," jokes the man. I ask him what he knows. Apparently the super runs an amateur pornography photo business. Apparently he also does this during business hours, when he could be fixing my bathroom (see September 20-ish). Eh?

The mold in the bathroom is growing out of control and is impossible to clean. In the evening, a mushroom begins to grow from the ceiling.

October 1: I'm in the bathroom brushing and flossing and get very dizzy. My throat has been burning for hours. I remember I'm allergic to mold. I remember that I often wake up with a headache. This is most likely toxic mold.

I won't bother to mention the bedbugs. Not even that one I caught biting me last night. In addition to moving costs, I now have to buy a new bed. Among other things.

I've given my notice, and am refusing to pay rent for October. What are the next steps I should take? Help!?

Bonus Picture: The Crack in my Kitchen Wall (Behind that wall is the bathroom. Days ago, it was hairline.. or so I thought.):

Venus in Furs, Live

2007-09-30T20:36:00.000-04:00

Found this via boingboing: the Velvet Underground playing Venus in Furs at The Factory.

Simpsonized

2007-09-27T01:19:00.000-04:00

Deep Thoughts, by Jack Handy

2007-09-15T11:59:00.001-04:00

Last night, a friend called for advice. Her cat's butt was particularly smelly. I had no advice for her other than seeing the vet, and when she showed up at my house later, she admitted to trying to solve the problem with Febreze.

Later that night, in my drunken state, when considering just how ridiculous her solution was, I was reminded of a similarly ridiculous little story that my sister Jo and I used to laugh about for hours. It was in a collection of "Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy," and Jo and I discovered it when visiting my aunt in Atlanta ten years ago. She kept the book in the guest room and we opened it up one night in bed and read this particular story and could not stop laughing:

If you want to sue somebody, just get a little plastic skeleton and lay it in their yard. Then tell them their ants ate your baby.

Lay, Lady, Lay

2007-09-14T02:03:00.000-04:00

I am not a pretty sleeper. I know this. In fact, one Halloween, when I'd passed out on the couch, my then-boyfriend decided it would be funny to take a series of pictures of me asleep, dressed up like a mouse, with my little mouse nose in its final stages of being smudged off, looking like one of Jerry's Kids. It was funny. Then.

Those things are funny when you're in love. And when the person laughing at you has already decided that s/he wants to be with you even if you're a retarded, drooling sleeper with frequent gas and a tendency to cry at episodes of Grey's Anatomy.

That is comfort, I guess. And after my break-up, I wanted comfort more than anything. I was so used to sleeping next to someone big and warm, that whether it was my best girlfriend (who was not big) or a rebound (who was not big, either), I just needed to fall asleep next to a warm body. I asked my friend Liz to stay the night probably far too often--so often that the one time (that I know of) that a giant cockroach made a pilgrimage across my bed, Liz's face was there to serve as a buffer between la cuca rocha and me. She was there. And I was grateful. Not only was I grateful that the cockroach had crawled on her face and not mine, but I was grateful that she was there in spite of whatever noises or fluids may have been coming out of my body at the time. I slept better with someone else in my bed. Period.

Fast forward a few months and I'm back to my old, pre-relationship ways. I love my bed. And I love that if the corner of the sheet is coming off of the mattress, that I did it, and I'm responsible for putting it back. I want to drool and snore alone, and, for the most part, I want my bed to myself. Sharing a bed makes me conscious of the fact that I'm an ugly sleeper, and who wants their last thought of the day to be "I'm falling into ugly?"

Maybe this is what getting over something is--getting re-acquainted and comfortable with old habits... while getting comfortable with new ones, like cooking dinner for oneself and Running for Fat People.

The Things We Learn by Accident

2007-09-10T13:03:00.001-04:00

The older I get, the more I learn, by accident. I'm sure this is something my parents knew all along, and I'm just beginning to figure it out. Anyway, turns out if I run at noon when it's overcast and rainy, as opposed to running at noon when it's 80º in the blazing sun, I don't feel like I'm going to die so much. In fact, I can extend Running for Fat People for ten minutes and still not feel like I'm going to die. I knew I wanted fall to come for a reason, I just couldn't figure out the reason.

Old Lady Hips

2007-09-06T11:06:00.000-04:00

One thing I didn't mention about camp is that, surprisingly, I gained about ten pounds while I was there (or so I'm guessing it was ten pounds, I don't believe in scales). Because there were 100 people fighting for the food, my survival instincts would kick in at meal time. Fearful that I'd be hungry by the next meal (because I always was) or that some eleven-year-old would take the last piece of French toast, I binged, or hoarded, as it were. It's fair to say that I ate as much at every meal as I generally do in a day in Brooklyn.

Upon returning to the city and trying to regain some semblance of Greenpoint chic (skinny jeans, etc.), I realized that my clothes no longer fit. And by no longer fit, I mean that every pair of pants I have to suck in to zip up gives me a giant muffin top when I breathe out. If you don't know what a a muffin top is, think about it. Still don't know? Picture me in a pair of jeans that's too tight at the waist and think about it again.

Add to this the fact that I am now making at least eight casseroles a week.

So I did what any somewhat shallow 25-year-old would do and began a running program. It's not just any running program. In fact, I call it "Running for Fat People," and it might as well be called that because it's really called "From Couch to 5K." It's simple. Really simple. This is not to say that I didn't feel like I was going to die when I was done yesterday, because I did, a little. But in the spirit of wanting to burn the fat as quickly as possible, yesterday I decided that I would run again today, even though "Running for Fat People" advised me not to. I believed for the past 24 hours that I would be running right now. And then I woke up a while ago to find that my hips hurt. My hips! Of all the places on my body that shouldn't hurt me until I'm 65, my fucking hips hurt.

The Only Reality Show I Ever Need to Go On. Ever. (Except Maybe "The Next Pussycat Doll")

2007-09-04T20:46:00.000-04:00

And no, it's not The Next Food Network Star.

Anyone who has spent any significant amount of time with me knows that I often spontaneously break into song. And I don't stop after just one line; I keep going, and going, and going, and going, and going.

On NBC's The Singing Bee, contestants are fed the beginning of pop songs by karaoke-grade singers and must fill in the lyrics when the singer suddenly stops. So far, I'm nailing this show (Love is a Battlefield, Like a Virgin, Son of a Preacher Man, I'll be There, Stand by Your Man).

Thank you, NBC for teaching me two things:
1. I am not, as I once believed, too good for reality TV, and
2. My ex-boyfriend looks just like Joey Fatone. The resemblance is scary, and not in a good way.

P.S. The grand prize is $50,000. In the bag.

One Time, at Arts Camp

2007-08-25T20:11:00.000-04:00

I edited video. For the first time since doing it on an A-B Roller in high school ten years ago:

Camp rocks my world.

It's Gonna Blow Your Effing Mind

2007-08-25T19:57:00.001-04:00

I haven't posted much lately. Mostly because I'm lazy, but also because I was a counselor at an arts camp in New Hampshire for a month. We did many, many cool things, but the coolest of all, I'm convinced, is the barbarian movie, titled simply and ingeniously "Barbarian Movie." Watch the trailer. It will blow your mind.

Would You Rather?

2007-07-13T02:31:00.000-04:00

Remember this game? Let's play:

Would you rather find the bloody stump of a human leg or the jointed curvature of a centipede leg in your bed upon coming home from a night out?

Me? I'd take a bloody stump any day.

Please Watch My Friend's Hilarious Video

2007-07-10T15:14:00.000-04:00

Life Imitates Art

2007-07-06T04:14:00.000-04:00

It's about 4 a.m. and I'm lying in bed. I just was working on a piece about the giant cockroaches that have taken over my life and I look over and a giant fucking house centipede (remember those guys?) was crawling across the wall. I jumped up and sprayed it. I thought it fell down behind the bed and proceeded to sit on the bed (I was naked, mind you) to make sure I'd eliminated it. I didn't see any traces of it, save a leg or twelve stuck to the wall where I'd sprayed, so I figured I'd killed it. I stood up to get a tissue for the wall and realized it had been under my bare ass cheek the entire time, still squirming. Now, I admit I was getting a little too sentimental with the cockroach story--no one wants to hear about my formative years in subsidized housing--and needed to be stopped, but this is just too much to handle. Seriously, I'm now freaked out by the sight of my own hair on my pillow. I just cannot deal with this shit. We won't even talk about what happened to my friend Liz.. OK, we will: a giant cockroach crawled across her face in my bed a couple weeks ago. I live in squalor.

Karma

2007-06-28T01:20:00.001-04:00

Sometimes I just feel like there's good karma, or energy--or whatever you choose to call it--floating around me. These past few days, I've felt it. In addition to having my first lunch with my editor, signing my book contract, and seeing Wilco yet again (I'm obsessed; it began as good break-up music and now is just damn good music), I've very randomly met so many cool, wonderful people. And it just makes me so fucking happy. Sure, the people upstairs just flooded my bathroom for the fourth time in two months and it's three hundred degrees here and I have absolutely no money. Life is still good; I can't really complain. That's all I'm sayin'.

Sexy, Sexy Casserole

2007-06-21T01:08:00.000-04:00

Check out Sex Advice from Casserole Bakers at nerve.com, featuring eefers and a few Casserole Party competitors (there's even a champion in there).

The Saddest Girl Ever

2007-06-20T22:52:00.000-04:00

It's beginning to sink in that I'm not going to get to see Wilco at the Warsaw on June 26... or at any of their New York shows. Somehow I missed the pre-sale and now I can't afford to pay some asshole $225 for a ticket. If I could afford it, believe me I would, but I can't. And that sucks. I can't believe that Wilco will be in my city and I won't be there to see it.

For anyone out there with an extra ticket, I'm on the verge of selling myself into prostitution here...

Shallow Democrat

2007-06-20T12:27:00.000-04:00

Call me a shallow Democrat. I was so excited about Hillary's new ad, I went to her website to watch it again. This is when I learned that her campaign song is by none other than the most annoying Canadian ever: Celine Dion. Apparently a vote took place. Obviously I missed it. So, I sent Hillary's staff this message:

I think the choice of Celine Dion's "You and I" is a terrible choice for a campaign song. Forget the fact that she's Canadian (that barely concerns me). Let's focus on the fact that she's terrible/cheesy/annoying. I am a would-be/could-be Hillary supporter (undecided Democrat) who has voted for Senator Clinton in the past. I am a seasoned canvasser who could even end up with some volunteer time on my hands, but if I have to listen to that song for the next year, I might have to seriously reconsider.

Sincerely,
Emily Farris
Brooklyn, NY

I realize now that I used "choice" twice in the same sentence. And I apologize.

Rha Rha Rhee Rhee Cyclones Had a Victory

2007-06-20T10:06:00.000-04:00

Last night I went to the Brooklyn Cyclones season opener, and it was much better than last year, when the Cyclones lost 0-18 to the Staten Island Yankees. The Cyclones pulled off a 5-1 win against the Yanks this year.

Again, post-game we (though a different we than last year) went to ride the Cyclone. The person I was with had never been on it and I suggested we sit in the last seat, to get the full effect. I think we both got off with whiplash (though I think his was worse than mine, I had some idea what to expect).

I then decided that having a Nathan's hot dog post Cyclone was a good idea. It was not. The last two times I've had a hot dog, said hot dog has been a night cap of sorts. And both times I ended up on the bathroom floor around 2 a.m. No more hot dogs for eefers.

The Twilight Zone

2007-06-17T10:59:00.000-04:00

OK, not exactly twilight, but the world is a very different place in the morning. Since returning from my trip, I've had a hard time sleeping late. I never quite recovered from Netherlands time, which is fine, because getting up at 7 in Amsterdam is like getting up at 1 in the afternoon on the East Coast. And I used to do that -- often. I've now found a happy medium and wake up around 9 every day. Fine. I'm actually more productive when I get up early. Go figure.

Anyway, I'm going to The Meatwave today and wanted to pick up a nice cut of steak and some sausage, but at 10:00 on a Sunday none of the meat markets in Greenpoint are open. I'm going to blame it on Sunday and not this crazy time we call "morning."

Not Cool

2007-06-12T14:29:00.001-04:00

Apparently, I am not cool enough to sell my clothes in Williamsburg.

When I lived in Park Slope (and its general vicinity), I would take my clothes that I no longer wore or that no longer fit to Beacon's Closet, to sell. More often than not, they'd buy what I took in. I have a pretty good eye for what's wearable and what's not... or so I'd like to think.

Today, I took about five pair of jeans, many cute, vintage dresses, and even a few pairs of lightly worn shoes to the Williamsburg branch. I left with $15 and most of what I walked in with.

I already knew my hipness wasn't quite up to par in this neighborhood, but it didn't really affect me. Until now. Park Slope geeks: prepare yourself for my flared Gap jeans and Hush Puppies. They're coming your way.

My Favorite Part

2007-06-11T16:21:00.000-04:00

Everyone keeps asking me what was my favorite part of my European Adventure. And it was strangely non-European, in a way.

Imagine spending the day in a Dutch market with a koffie (not that watered down drip crap they serve here, but actual espresso with a little cookie) in one hand and the best damn gelato ever, in the other. Then, riding a bike to a church turned concert venue to see Wilco. Not only did I get to see Wilco, I was right up front. And I was making eyes at Jeff Tweedy the entire time; whether or not he was making eyes back can be debated. To end a perfect day, I had frites mayo for dinner and rode a bike home in the light rain.

Does life get any better than that? I think not.

I'm Baaack

2007-06-06T17:33:00.000-04:00

Yeah, yeah. I'm home. I'm going through a bit of Europe withdraw, coupled with a head cold, it's giving me little pangs of depression. But it's good to be back in Amurrrica and beginning tomorrow I'm a busy bee.

First Round of Photos...

2007-06-02T12:52:00.001-04:00

...from my European Adventure here.

I'd write more but it's time for more Frites Mayo.

Checking In

2007-05-29T11:06:00.001-04:00

I can't believe my trip is almost half over. Where did I leave off? Drunk and lost in London? Yeah, that was fun, but I have to say Amsterdam is probably my new favorite city (aside from New York).

But first, getting here was a trip (pun intended). My plan was to take the Underground to the airport. When I arrived at the stop, however, the Underground was closed (they're doing repairs/expansions for the 2012 Olympics). Desperate to not miss my flight, and standing in the rain with what felt like a 50 pound backpack, I asked the nearest locals--tour bus drivers--for advice. They offered to take me to the Heathrow Express train for 2 pounds; I hopped on.

Tour busses are slow; they make many stops and wet, dumbfounded tourists stand in the step well deciding whether or not to get on. But finally, I made it to the train station and waited in line to get my ticket. Apparently, though, that was like waiting in the Metrocard line for a LIRR ticket. After fifteen wasted minutes, I found the real train station, got an express ticket and was happy to be on my way. But of course, there was track work on the Express. Needless to say, I made my flight to Amsterdam. Barely.

I spent two nights in Amsterdam, and other than being followed around by multiple dorky American college boys, I had a great time and far too much food. I'm now in a small town on the coast of Holland and just visited what I imagine is the Dutch version of Target. There I found the most beautifully packaged tampons I've ever seen; they'll probably end up displayed in my apartment somewhere, and I'll post pictures when I'm home.

After two nights here, I head back to Amsterdam for another four. Then one more night in London, then home.

Day 2

2007-05-24T20:02:00.001-04:00

While getting lost when drunk in London is not unfun, it would be far more fun if the people were friendlier.

First Thoughts on London

2007-05-23T12:39:00.000-04:00

I arrived in London this morning. But before I left JFK, I exchanged my money and almost cried. You know what 1,000 U.S. dollars get you? 100 pounds and 500 euros -- that's what, rather, that's all. Little ole' eefers didn't realize you have to pay to exchange your money. It's not like getting 8 quarters from the guy at the bodega for the bus. No, they sell you money by hiking up the exchange rate and then charging a commission. I did, however, turn on the charm (read: pathetic poor girl act) to have the commission waved.

So, I'm on a 20 pounds/day budget in London (luckily I'm staying with a family I used to sit for in the city and their fridge is stocked) and will be on a 40 euros/day budget in Amsterdam (after I pay for my hostels which include a free continental breakfast).

Being on said budget, I stopped into McDonald's for a 1.99 Big Mac. And you know what? The people who work at McDonald's are not unattractive. And the female employees wear skirts and nylons and little black ballet flats. They're friendly, and helpful and my Big Mac was hot, if not so fresh.

Now, if I can just avoid getting run down by a car before I have a chance to spend my fortune....

P.S. The tube costs about 6 pounds! Good thing I bought some Birkenstocks.

Hot Shot

2007-05-22T08:07:00.000-04:00

My friend Daniel took this great shot on the Brooklyn Bridge yesterday. Yes, that's my nose. We were shooting for a piece I'm doing on sun damage for the Brooklyn Paper, hence my comment about my "sun damaged nose."

Visit Daniel Krieger's website or find him on flickr.

Book Deal

2007-05-14T20:55:00.000-04:00

Lil' ole' me has a book deal. My contemporary casserole cookbook, tentatively titled "Hot Stuff: Not Your Mama's Casserole" will be published by Perigee books in Fall 2008. More casserole goodness here.

In It to Win It

2007-05-14T14:39:00.000-04:00

Congratulations to my awesome (and I mean that in the godliest sense) kickball team the Divine Sisterhood of the Sacred Bleeding Heart for our first win last night. And to our captain Lia for scoring three runs!

Personally, I think the little chant I composed had a little something to do with our win:

Hail Mary
Full of speed
Make those mother kickers
bleed!

Thanks be to kickball

[Brooklyn Kickball]

Fun With Paint

2007-05-11T20:21:00.000-04:00

We just painted these rad stripes on the kitchen floor.

More images on my crazy casserole blog.

25 Ain't So Bad

2007-05-10T12:49:00.000-04:00

As many of my loyal readers know, I was freaking out a bit about turning 25 (it happened yesterday; if you didn't call, let the guilt ensue). My upcoming trip to Europe has eased the blow a bit and yesterday, I got a call from my agent that someone actually wants to publish my contemporary casserole cookbook (tentatively titled: Hot Stuff: Not Your Mama's Casserole). I can't say much more than that, as nothing has been signed, but this is huge, huge, huge news. To get things going, I've created a casserole-centric website, independent of eefers. Go check out casserolecrazy.com, comment, and mooch the off the recipe section.

Countdowns

2007-05-05T00:39:00.000-04:00

5 days from now I will be 25.
13 days from now it will have been a month since I've had sex.
1 month from now I will already be back from Europe.

Totally random numbers; just thought I'd share.

Also, I really hope I don't make it to the whole "a month since I've had sex" thing.

Seriously, Officer?

2007-04-29T02:54:00.000-04:00

Tonight, while riding west on Bedford Avenue (with traffic, towards Williamsburg), as I was about to cross Willoughby--at a green light, mind you--I was nearly hit by a cop car. The headlights were turned off and the officer driving was very obviously and consciously running a red light.

Now, not only was I being a good biker and wearing a helmet and a flashing red light, I was obeying traffic laws. Yet I was still almost run down by a cop car. That's bad, right? Right. But it gets worse.

I, of course, gave the "what the hell?!" arm signal to the cops (basically just throwing my left arm up in the air). And instead of waving me on apologetically or even driving off to avoid me taking down the car number, the officer in the passenger seat hurled a paper cup out the window at me. No, s/he didn't casually toss it. S/he fucking hurled it. Just as obviously as the officer driving ran the red light, the officer in the passenger seat hurled a fucking cup at me. Hurled! Yeah...I know.

Unfortunately, after that, the car sped off and I wasn't able to get the number down. And while I believe the last two of the four digits were 77, I can't be certain. This means I can't do much about it. But I can put it out there in the blogosphere in hopes that things like this will get back to the NYPD. And yeah, I'll report it to the CCRB, but without a car number, there's not much they can do. Most likely, it will end up on the long list of unreported cop on cyclist aggression. Assholes.

Deep Thoughts

2007-04-28T18:19:00.000-04:00

Let's say you shed more tears while in a relationship than over the end of it...

That's all.

Help Send a Poor Girl Packing

2007-04-28T02:09:00.000-04:00

Backpacking through Europe, that is. You see, I've booked my first trip out of the country. Ever. Like I've mentioned before, that's what happens when you grow up poor in middle America. What also happens when you grow up poor in middle America, is that you have a shopping problem. And when you book your flights and hostels, find out you don't really have enough money to feel secure in your trip because you've spent too much on shoes that will be way too uncomfortable to wear while in Europe, anyway.

Now, I'm not one to go asking strangers for money, but I've heard of people who've paid off their credit card debts by posting for help online (and believe me, I won't ask you all to help me with that mess). I figure it's almost my birthday, there are probably a few loyal readers out there, or maybe some of you just want me to go away for two weeks. Or maybe you want to read about my adventures while I'm away. Either way, what I'm saying is, if you feel like donating some non- tax- deductible fun money to eefers, you'll be doing someone, somewhere, a favor. That's all. And rest assured, it's all secure.

Donate today to eefers' European Adventure.

I Want to be the Next Pussycat Doll

2007-04-25T21:39:00.000-04:00

Wow. I just caught the finale of Pussycat Dolls: Search for the Next Doll. It's a shame I didn't know about this sooner, because I really believe I have what it takes to be the next Pussycat Doll.

One of the judges, who I assume is already a Doll, told the three remaining girls, "You all look like the true meaning of a Pussycat Doll." Now, I don't know what "the true meaning of a Pussycat Doll" is, but I've seen them perform "Don't Cha." And if I had to guess, the true meaning of a Pussycat Doll is a girl who can dance hot, sing pretty, and look good in Spandex.

Let's begin with dancing. I not only danced in Fort Osage High School's production of "The King and I" but I was also on the drill team. What's more, is that my fellow Indianettes called me "PT." That stands for Pelvic Thrust, yo.

Second, I can sing better than those bitches. The Dolls could really use a classically-trained vocalist. Plus, I'm a professional tambourinist. How many of them can dance, sing, and play an instrument all at the same time?

Now let's talk about the clothes. It's true that I look a little lumpy in Spandex and I'm really pale. But they're always in black, anyway, and black is very slimming. And hello ladies, I can totally get a girdle and a spray-on tan.

And for extra credit, I have something that I bet none of those girls has: I can do the entire rap from TLC's "Waterfalls" from memory.

It's About Damn Time

2007-04-24T11:15:00.000-04:00

I just booked my first trip out of the country. Ever. (That's what happens when you grow up poor in middle-America.)

It's a Beautiful Day

2007-04-21T12:54:00.000-04:00

R.I.P. Sludgie

2007-04-19T12:34:00.000-04:00

Calling All Boob Men

2007-04-17T14:11:00.000-04:00

The JANE Guide to Breast Health, read: a boob slide show [via Gawker].

Juicy tidbit: My boobs once appeared on Gawker.

Freak Out: The Final Countdown

2007-04-09T11:49:00.000-04:00

I turn 25 exactly one month from today. So, start shopping for my presents (cash is always good, too) and get the straight jacket ready.

Peaness

2007-04-09T11:22:00.000-04:00

Since the beginning of time (OK, last summer) Chris and I have argued over the goodness of Cascadian Farm's organic sweet peas. He thinks I'm crazy for calling them "the good peas" and going to as many as three stores in search of them if I'm going to include peas in a dish.

Last Tuesday, we were eating at The Good Fork in Red Hook and the first thing I said when I tasted my sweet mushroom risotto was, "Oh my god, these are the good peas!"

Massive eye roll ensues.

"No one company has the monopoly on good peas," Chris argued.

After a petulant "Uh-huh!" I explained that recently, when babysitting, I'd tasted the baby's pureed peas. I asked the father if they were "the good peas... you know, Cascadian Farm?" They were.

Massive eye roll ensues. Again.

In my ongoing effort to prove I'm right about the things I truly believe in (and god dammit, I believe in these peas), I asked the server if he knew where the restaurant got their peas. He didn't but offered to ask the chef. I heard him over at the window, "Chef, where do you get your peas?" I knew by the look on her face--the look that she was slightly embarrassed to use frozen peas in her dishes--that she could only use one kind. "Cascadian Farm?" our server yelled into the kitchen.

"Yeah, Cascadian Farm," she yelled back with a pleased smile.

Someone else had a pleased smile that night, too.

Thanks to my friend Julie Powell for the awesome title.

Oh Those Kids at Google...

2007-04-01T23:11:00.000-04:00

Pretty funny shit. Pun intended. I love it when the Powers That Be play April Fool's jokes on us. And I love it that Google is a Power That Be.

Squashing the Competition

2007-03-30T12:52:00.000-04:00

Check out coverage of the Casserole Party in this week's Time Out. Finally, finally! I've been dubbed the "Queen of Casseroles" in print. I'd like to change it to "Casserole Queen" but it will do for now.

Goddamn You, Jonathan Lethem

2007-03-12T23:45:00.000-04:00

Tonight, my friend and I were enjoying a nice, quiet dinner at Bar Tabac, our usual date spot. The host crammed us next to another two-top, instead of giving us some space, because they were obviously reserving a six-top for someone. Fine. We try to order the "cheapest bottle of red" and end up with the next-to-cheapest bottle of red. Fine. We order dinner and before I've even finished my goat cheese salad, our waiter asks us to move to a table in the other room because they need ours for "another party." I look over and fucking Jonathan Lethem has filled the six top with his writer friends, and apparently has more coming. Who knew he was that important? Who knew that the ridiculously-aloof Bar Tabac staff had any idea who Jonathan Lethem is? We move to the other table in the other room. Does anyone at Jonathan Lethem's table thank us for giving up our table mid-meal? No. We try for fifteen minutes to get a dessert menu, and after the busboy gives us new bread (as if we've just been seated for dinner) we talk him into sending our waiter--who has decided since Jonathan Lethem & Co. are in--that we no longer exist. We order a flourless chocolate cake, thinking "he'll of course comp us; he moved us in the middle of our dinner for Christ's sake." We order another piece. I have to wave my candle in the air to get the waiter to notice that we want the check. It arrives. Finally. No comps. Goddamn you, Jonathan Lethem. You owe me chocolate cake.

Gone Red

2007-03-11T13:22:00.000-04:00

There's a lot going on in my life right now, and since I'm not a 17-year-old blogging on MySpace, I won't tell you all about it. What I will tell you, is that I needed a change. The result? A new tattoo, and this:

"Just Be Gentle, I'm Like a Flower"

2007-03-10T03:13:00.000-05:00

Thanks, Booboo!

How Not to Max Out My Credit Cards

2007-03-09T22:31:00.000-05:00

Here's an idea: I start wearing really frumpy, baggy clothes ("Poor girl. She's about to turn 25 and she dresses like a 65-year-old lunch lady."). Then, someone nominates me for What Not to Wear. I pretend I have no idea how to make myself look good. They give me $5,000 to spend on new clothes. Who's down?

Wilco

2007-03-07T14:04:00.000-05:00

Best. Breakup. Music. Ever.

Homophobia's New York Home

2007-02-28T10:30:00.000-05:00

As much as I love their Signature Salad, Cosi (the coffee shop/sandwich chain with so-so coffee) has done gone and pissed me off (allegedly). From an email alert someone forwarded me this morning:

"Last night, I went to the opening of an exhibit at a Cosi restaurant here in New Rochelle, sponsored by the Empire State Pride Agenda. The exhibit features about 35 pictures of same sex couples, framed in rainbow colors, each with a few words about why marriage equality is important. It's a very simple, and very powerful, exhibition, and felt very personal for me, seeing the movement that I've helped to build come to my hometown for the first time.

And now, a day later, we need to come together to fight ignorance: Cosi corporate has announced that they will be TAKING THE EXHIBIT DOWN THIS MORNING (Wed 2/28) at 11:00 AM, in response to numerous complaints and threats the corporation has received from anti-gay people. We need to let Cosi know that the symbolism of their cowardice will not be lost on anyone, and that, if they follow through with this repudiation of their own gesture of openness, they're going to lose a hell of a lot of business from fair-minded people here in New York and all their markets across the country."

If any of this pisses you off you can leave a comment on Cosi's corporate website, or better yet, call the New Rochelle store to voice your displeasure at 914-637-8300.

Why Macs Rule and PCs Drool

2007-02-26T23:51:00.000-05:00

This sucks.

Shameless Self Promotion

2007-02-23T13:00:00.000-05:00

I'm all about the country music this week. Check out my Sex Advice from Country Musicians for Nerve and my story about the Johnny Cash Birthday Bash for the Brooklyn Papers (disclaimer, I did not include, or approve the inclusion of, the Yiddish in my nut graph... a shiksa writing about country music? Come on. Nor is that my conclusion. Just needed to state that.)

You Know You've Made it When

2007-02-12T01:32:00.000-05:00

...an article you've written has been cited in a text book. [Item 1, Row 5]

Yes, it was a crappy round-up I wrote on beauty companies selling special products for Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Yes, I wrote it while doing a college internship at Women's Wear Daily. Yes, there was "additional reporting from." And, yes, the text book is the third edition of Marketing Management, which is only available online.

You also know you google yourself too much when you find this out on page 15 of your name. At 1:32 a.m.

Adulthood

2007-02-11T13:12:00.000-05:00

Question: At what point does one really become an adult? Because I'm going through this quarter-life crisis thing (don't worry, I'll save the long version for some low-rent chick mag). There are times I still feel like I'm a teenager, or even a kid, pretending to be an adult, but when I look at it objectively (I'm 24, have been living on my own since I was 18, bitch about my bills every day and have far surpassed puberty), I'm just a bad adult. And then I have these terrifying moments when I realize that I am absolutely an adult.

Last night was one of them. I spent the evening--a Friday, mind you--sitting in front of the TV, drinking beer and watching an entire hour of QVC. At the end of said hour, I placed my first ever QVC order. And I say things like "mind you."

Bittersweet

2007-02-08T23:13:00.000-05:00

This set of 5,000-6,000-year-old skeletons, found by archaeologists in Italy might possibly be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Does that make me morbid?

Grammar Police

2007-02-08T16:33:00.000-05:00

I've had my fair share of complaints about Gothamist's total disregard for the English language, but this time they've gone too far. They sound like a 17-year-old at a mall in Independence, Missouri (I'm from Independence; I can say that). Maybe it's a little insensitive to complain about this--considering the nature of the post--but somebody get Jen ~~Chung~~ Carlson a grammar lesson:

"Seems a bit odd that her son and her would both die within months of each other, and you know, there's a lot of money at stake."

Here's a little screen shot in case they decide to fix that.

Diet Pills are Bad, Mmmmmmkay?

2007-02-08T16:05:00.000-05:00

R.I.P. Anna Nicole Smith.

It Ain't Fiction, Just a Natural Fact

2007-01-30T23:21:00.000-05:00

Paula Abdul is one drunk bitch.

Bedbugs: I Got Them From a Toilet Seat, I Swear

2007-01-26T16:37:00.003-05:00

Fuck. I have bedbugs. While I doubt they've made it to my room yet (I have no bites), my roommate has had a steady stream of 7-12 bites (that she's convinced are bedbug bites) for the past month or so. Yesterday, she found what she thought was a baby bedbug on the shower curtain.

I spent the morning in Inspector Gadget mode, using magnifying glasses and flashlights to inspect every nook and cranny in my room, ready to attack with a product called "Kills Bedbugs." Luckily, nothing... yet.

I spent the remainder of my day on the phone trying to get someone at my management company to understand the urgency of this situation. "Don't worry, I have it under control," said the woman who minutes before told me she'd call an exterminator on Monday. Monday?!?

Then I tried calling 311 and after a series of transfers, I finally made it to the housing court of Kings County, where a woman told me they won't tell me my tenant rights over the phone. "We only give legal advice in person."

I called the management company back. Still "under control." What's been done? "I'll call the super." Great.

The worst part? The guy who lived in my apartment before me--who I happen to know--never told me he'd had bedbugs. Three fucking times. When we went to look at the place we specifically asked if they had bug problems. "Nope."

Here's how my conversation went down with him today:

me: quick question... did you guys ever have a bed bug problem?
him: oh yeah
I'm pretty sure that they come in through the front window
people drop bedbug infested matresses [sic] out there all the time
they are horrendous little fuckers
me: seriously, you guys had bed bugs?
him: 3 separate times
me: wow, i wish i would have known that
him: we got rid of them each time
shit, they're everywhere in the hood [greenpoint]
it's impossible to avoid them anymore
...
me: i have to admit, had i known you guys had had a problem, i wouldn't have taken this apartment
him: well...
it's not a problem in the apartment
it's a problem in the neighborhood
I guess I figured it was everywhere by now

Obviously, I'm disturbed on many levels. And obviously, I was way too nice to "him."

UPDATE: False alarm! Whew. We did a thorough investigation and extermination, and have been doing regular maintenance exterminations. I have yet to get a bite or see one. I'm not letting those fuckers in here. Ever.

UPDATE Again: We had them. Bad.

It's What's For Dinner

2007-01-23T21:34:00.000-05:00

Did they feed Pelosi and Cheney steak before the State of the Union? They're definitely digging in there for something. Get those tongues a pumpin!

The Way Forward: The Neighborhood Watch

2007-01-23T14:59:00.000-05:00

Friends don't let friends watch alone--the State of the Union Address, that is. Sure it's depressing, but if you skip it, what will you talk about at the water cooler tomorrow? Because this shit preempts all of your regularly scheduled programming, eefers has taken the liberty of rounding up a few of tonight's State of the Union watch parties for you. I know there will be beer at at least two, and solidarity at all three. Note that the parties start at different times but the address begins at 9.

BROOKLYN

Park Slope Drinking Liberally & Commonwealth Bar invite you to their Third Annual State of the Union Watch Party
8:30 p.m.
Commonwealth Bar
5th Avenue at 12th Street, Brooklyn
Take the R or F to 4th Ave/9th Street

MANHATTAN

Democracy for NYC, ACT NOW and Drinking Liberally host a night of cheers, jeers, and beers (and other drinks)
8PM - 11PM
The Irish Rogue, private room upstairs
346 W 44th St (b/w 8th and 9th Aves)
RSVP

Demos, GenerationEngage and Metro New York invite you to
THE STATE OF OUR UNION, 2007 A COMMUNITY DISCUSSION & SCREENING OF THE PRESIDENTS SPEECH
with discussion led by Mr. Ted Sorensen, Speechwriter and Special Counsel to President Kennedy and Mr. Bill Safire, Speechwriter to Presidents Nixon, Columnist
7:00 PM: Doors open; food and refreshments served
7:30 PM: Community Q&A with Mr. Sorensen and Mr. Safire
9:00 PM: Live screening of the Presidents State of the Union Address
Marble Collegiate Church, Fifth Avenue at 29th Street
NOTE: There is no fee to attend this event. All are welcome, but RSVP is required to Jason@GenerationEngage.org with names and e-mail addresses for you and all your guests.

Don't Adjust Your Monitor

2007-01-15T15:39:00.000-05:00

Turn and face the strain. eefers is going through even more ch-ch-ch-changes. And if you navigated here through blogspot or blogger, as opposed to plain old eefers.com, it's even more whack. Navigate through eefers.com, and maybe you'll get it. And I promise to start blogging more soon.

Happy New Year!

2007-01-02T16:54:00.000-05:00

Resolution? Don't take pictures after three glasses of wine, two vodka cocktails and the better half of a bottle of cheap champagne.

All I Want for Christmas

2006-12-17T19:04:00.000-05:00

Is a dick in a box:

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

2006-11-30T16:33:00.000-05:00

So, I'm preparing a new home for eefers. It's time to grow this beast to include multiple pages, as (believe it or not) eefers.com will also serve as my "professional website," including this blog in all its gauche glory. Check it out and let me know what you think. I'm going to rearrange some of the pages, and the blog probably won't be the homepage, but I'm digging the new format.

Rheeeee, Rheeeee, Rheeee!

2006-11-28T23:46:00.000-05:00

If you couldn't tell, that's the stabbing sound I associate with the shower scene in Psycho.

I'm scared to death of knives--can't even look at them. Forget about medical dramas where they cut into people, I can't even watch Mario Batali chop asparagus on Iron Chef for fear he'll take off one of his chubby fingers along with the stalks. So it should come as no surprise that the only two things I ever attempt in the kitchen are cocktails and casseroles. And the one that requires precision requires only this evil thing I call Knife for garnish--and that's what houseguests are for. It usually goes a little something like this:

Guest: "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Me: "Youbetcha! Can you grab that knife and cut some lemons and limes?"

Guest: "This knife is so cool. Where'd you get it?"

I then go on to explain that this "cool" ceramic knife is the one knife I own. And I don't even really own it.

A few years back I was dating a very nice teacher I'd met on lavalife.com. He shared my love of Indian food and dared, for our third date, to travel to my Brighton Beach apartment from his on the Upper East Side to prepare my favorite Indian dish, Chicken Tikka Masala. He inquired about my knife situation and thought I was kidding when I admitted I only had one knife that I'd used as a screwdriver so it was missing a tip, in addition to being cheap and dull, very dull.

Long story short (here you fill in your own story that involves absolutely no sex and very little heavy petting), I lost Dan and somehow kept the knife. (It happens to also be missing a tiny bit of its tip because, yeah, I used it as a screwdriver, but at least it's still sharp as hell.)

Where is this story going, you ask? Well, it is going to tell you that today I just signed with a literary agency where a very cool agent will work to publish MY COOKBOOK--on casseroles, of course. And why am I telling you this? I guess out of a sense of self-pride, and also to give a little hope to people who have given up on that whole you-can-do-anything-you-put-your-mind-to bullshit. Guess what? Turns out it's not bullshit. A girl who's afraid of knives is writing a cookbook that might actually be published. What's next? Authors who can't write? Stupid presidents? The possibilities are endless. Though I will give myself more credit than W, and go out on a limb and say I can make a better casserole than he can make... a complete sentence?

It's Fun to Stay at The...

2006-11-21T10:20:00.000-05:00

I sometimes feel like it's a federal offense to not belong to a gym in New York City. Rather, it's a federal offense to be fat in New York City. While (I hope) I don't qualify as fat, I'm certainly festively plump and my food baby has been growing at a rapid speed lately -- in part, thanks to the fantastic meals my boyfriend prepares and my general lack of exercise. I'm absolutely not going to stop scarfing those meals, either. So, I broke down and joined the gym last night...after taking a class that seriously kicked my ass. Aquarobics and Movement for the Older Adult, here I come! And that class where you pay a little extra for them to massage you sounds fun, too.

Another Straphanger Saved From My Wrath

2006-11-20T15:35:00.000-05:00

Anything I can do to keep from riding the subway during rush hours, I do -- as much for my sanity, as for my fellow commuters, the ones I consider bludgeoning every day for such offenses as clipping their nails and smelling bad. I've even gone so far as to quit my job (but that doesn't come until later). In the mean time, Water Taxi just lowered their rates from something like $17 to $2 and added service from Dumbo.

OMG, I Can Finally Save the Mushroom Princess!

2006-11-20T10:24:00.000-05:00

Fifteen freaking years later, someone finally figured out that a motion-sensitive controller might help those of us who are a little video game-tarded get past level one of anything but Duck Hunt and Clay Shooting. You see, as a kid, I always let the poor Mushroom Princess die, because instead of pushing the right buttons in the correct sequence, I'd flail my arms in an attemt to rescue her from the evil pods. So all you button pushers better watch out once I get my hands on a Nintendo Wii. This flailer is coming for you... but in, like, six months when the line dies down.

Fun With Braces

2006-11-15T17:24:00.000-05:00

I was poking around my old orthodontist's website (don't ask me why) and found this fun game where you can preview colored brace bands on a metal mouth. Anyone else used to change their bands for the holidays? I once did red, white and blue for 4th of July but then ate too much chocolate cake and spent the next five weeks with red, yellow and blue bands.

A Farewell to Pants

2006-11-10T09:59:00.000-05:00

I'd like to share a little of my learned wisdom with my loyal readers: when you spill coffee on your pants during your morning commute and proceed to blame your employer for forcing you to wear pants in the first place, it's probably time to leave your job. And that's exactly what I have done. Well, I'm still here through mid-December, but I filed my official letter of resignation yesterday. And hot damn, am I excited to begin my new life... you guessed it: without pants.

Those of you who know me well have probably seen me naked. Not because I'm an exhibitionist or have posed (completely) nude for anyone, but because I just don't like to wear clothes -- especially pants. So, I've decided that from this point forward, the majority of my income will come from jobs that don't require me to wear pants, like writing, and website design -- things I can do from home.

Sure, in the beginning, I'll have to shop a little less and have fewer dinners out, but hey, those activities require pants, so I'm sure the transition will be an easy one. In fact, not wearing pants will probably save me money. Since taking my 9-to-5 job a little over a year ago, I've spent hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars on freaking pants.

So, on Monday, December 11, my first day of freedom from the shackles of pants, I will be the guest of honor at my own Pants Free Party. Everyone's invited. Except the fat guy from the Borat movie. That guy should always wear pants.

And I'm Proud to Be a Missourian

2006-11-08T10:09:00.000-05:00

Let's face it: there are many reasons to not be so proud that I'm from Missouri. Number one would have to be our number one claim to fame — Crystal Meth. That's right, kids, eefers grew up in the Meth Capital of the World, Independence, MO. Then there's that whole John Ascroft thing. And who can forget all the teen pregancies? But sometimes, just sometimes, I'm so damned proud of my home state that I can barely keep from wetting myself, and right now happens to be one of those times. Not only did my homies elect a Democratic WOMAN to the U.S. Senate, they also voted in favor of stem cell research. Oh my god, I can't wait for the Michael J. Fox + Claire McCaskill aborted fetus stem cells to grow into the cutest clone baby ever!

Grand Army Plaza is a Giant Vagina

2006-11-07T16:51:00.000-05:00

Oh, yes, it is. [Standard Deviant via Curbed]

Taking Dating to a Whole New Level of Lazy

2006-11-07T16:29:00.000-05:00

How desperate does one have to be, really, to get someone else to manage his online personal? From the Craigslist writing/editing jobs:

I need help writing my profile and writing responses to other people's ads using the online personals. Pay is $50 for the profile and $2 per response for writing to other people. If you're in my age range (18 to 30) and really social then please get back to me with why you think you're a good fit. You can work from home or from my office. I don't care but I want to get work on this project done immediately.

How lazy does one have to be to not only not want to get off his ass to meet women, but then to not even have the wherewithall to write his own personal ad and reply to the ads of people he finds interesting? How would that even work? I'd get a really witty email from this guy on Nerve then meet him and find out he's lazy, monotone and has the personality of a stapler?

Now, I know it does not indicate that this is a dude, but it has lazy, anti-social guy written all over it.

Don't Forget to Vote Today, Seriously

2006-11-07T12:53:00.000-05:00

And, um, is it terrible that I think W was attractive as a young man? True, he was a Republican coke head and I wouldn't have given him the time of day, but his face wasn't so bad. Poor Laura. I wonder if she had any idea what she was getting herself into...