dots.

you know what i hate? cheaters. not the relationship kind. they are too easy to hate. i hate people who cheat at games. crosswords, video games, football – you name it.

so this one day my kid brother and i are home during the afternoon with nothing but reruns of jerry and maury when he announces we should play “dots”. you know, that game where you draw a grid of dots and then take turns connecting them to create little boxes. when you finish a box, you claim it as you own by placing your initial in it. don’t roll your eyes just yet.

my little brother... my eighteen-year-old (now almost 21) little brother... cheated at dots. who the hell cheats at dots?! and no, im not just saying it. he cheated. honestly he did. sure he claims to be skilled in the game because he used to play with his coworkers at club monaco but i figured out how he does it. what a little jerk.

he watches you. he watches how you play. where do you draw a line? whats your pattern? he is confident that there is a strategy involved in order to win this game. keep in mind we are still talking about dots.

then when he sees you struggling, he’ll offer to let you skip a turn and take two turns next time. seems innocent enough. so you stop, smile, and stupidly say “aww thanks man.” and the whole time this little freakshow has figured out some mathematical way to screw you out of boxes that belong to you. i think statistics come into play – i really dont know.

meanwhile you are grinning like a fool because you think the two turns you’re gonna get will cause you to go on a line striking frenzy. he knows this when he offers it to you. in reality your second line was meant to be his death sentence. but not anymore. all of a sudden, he’s got a hand cramp from finishing boxes. see every time you finish a box, you get to draw an additional line. if that line finishes a box, you go again. its like dominoes.

in the end he’s got more boxes than effing UPS.

stupid cheater.

chicago.

chicago... chicago... that toddling town!

i adore chicago. i lived downtown in river north. just across from the merchandise mart. down the street from the house of blues. just a few blocks from pops for champagne, water tower, and whole foods. 3 blocks from michigan. a hop, skip, and jump from nordstrom. a quick cab ride to lincoln park. a train ride from wrigley.

this town is incredible. its clean, friendly, and so much fun. its a bulls, bears, and cubs kinda town. beer gardens, alfresco brunching, and summer street fairs. its the taste of chicago, lollapalooza, and sheffield garden walk. its the frozen chicago river, the green chicago river, and the sparkley chicago river during an architecture tour. its the first snow on the el tracks in winter, the blankets of tulips in spring, north ave beach in summer, and evening strolls in fall. its the wrigley building, tribune tower, johnny hancock, and the ole sears tower too.

chicago is late night burgers at the weiner circle. its tacos at TBP2, its sangria at iberico. its specialty cupcake shops, trendy hair salons, and relaxing day spas.

its my kind of town.

laundry.

so i moved back to florida almost a year ago. but i still tell people that i "just moved back". if you don't already know, i lived in chicago for the past 2 years. really, it was only a year and a half but this is my blog and i can say what i want.

about 8 months ago i began working for a company in ft lauderdale. big girl job here i come. the problem with this whole job thing is this... when the hell do normal working people have time to get anything done? i get to work between 830 and 9 am and then i hit the gym after work til about 8 pm. home to shower and eat and check some email and then bed. if i can, i squeeze in a walk for scooter.

in the past 8 months i think my wardrobe has doubled. if not, tripled. i have no time to do any goddamn laundry so i just buy new clothes. sounds great doesnt it? its not. this just adds to the laundry that i am not doing. argh! seriously, in the movies they make dropping off and picking up your dry cleaning look so easy. i still have not figured out how people do this. what about groceries? the bank? post office?

petrol.

ive been riding on fumes for a few days now. every time i hit the the gas light i pull into a gas station and throw about 15 bucks at them. take my 4-5 gallons and get going. that holds me another day. until yesterday. do you know i paid 4.20 a gallon for gas? what a bunch of crooks. are these people on drugs? 4.20? really?

the other day i heard on y-100 that gas may reach 10 bucks in the next 2 years. no thanks. throw an extra 100 g's in my bank account and we are good to go. until then... i hope they set me up to work from home cause thats gonna be ridiculous. either that or set up a nice extra deep pillow top in my office.

whats sad is i think it will get to 5 bucks a gallon (premium of course) by 2009. i mean i think some people will be choosing between gas and food. unless this is some kind of a diet being implemented by the government i think it needs to be over and done with already.

at least there wont be as many people on the road during rush hour.

cover.

so last night was my good friend vanessa's wedding. she looked so beautiful. and her new husband, richard, just adores her. their wedding was so pretty. small and laid back with lots of jack johnson and really cute eats.

jamie was my date. surprise. i love that girl. so we goto the wedding and of course i cry. because, well, thats what i do. and after the wedding there is the reception right on the water - think wedding crashers. seriously it was so pretty. of course, we were fashionably late. and i say fashionably because jamie decided she needed different shoes for the reception. (i knew i liked her for a reason) so we pull into city place in west palm, manage to find ONE meter. we get out after my amazing 9 point turn into the spot only to find that the meter is 15 minutes only. wtf? 15 minutes? what the hell is the point of that? we hit macy's and get back to the car with 5 minutes to spare on the meter. can you believe it? this guy near the meter though waves an orange envelope my way and all im thinking is "goddamn cop bastards"... yeah - this loser had his number written on the inside. nice pick up method... stress the crap out of me with a fake ticket. that's really gonna make me want to call you.

after the reception it was only right to show jamie around palm beach so we could play "not my town". this is one of my most favorite games. doesnt matter what you do, how much you drink, who you insult, or how ridiculous you behave... cause after all - its not my town! so we goto resort, which is now called hotel bar or something. did you know that jamie is a magician when it comes to the cover charge at a lounge/bar/club? ill tell you her secret... they take your id, and then try and charge cover. this is when jamie says "oh, hmm. ok well i guess we have to go then. maybe there is an atm or something." upon hearing this, doormen at any given venue just smile and say "dont worry ladies, i got this". yeah no shit youve got this. did you really think we were going to pay 10 bucks to get into this place? this technique also worked at the blue martini. i love it. why didnt i ever think of this?

so we eventually end up at cucina. you have your fair share of sugar daddies, yuppies, and trumpettes. (a trumpette is an affluent girl or woman who doesnt need a man to pay for her things cause shes loaded but still has guys falling over themselves to pay for her drinks etc) ahh palm beach. jamie meets a cute boy. he was funny and everything too. again - we can leave him unnamed. but it starts with k and rhymes with lyle. anyway i guess by the end of the night his friends have left him (nice friends) and he needs a ride to delray. umm... i drive an audi tt. there is no room for a 3rd person, let alone a 6'3 guy. so were driving him home and he has a random outburst half way through and im not gonna lie i think he even called me a bitch. umm excuse me? we are helping you asshole! are you even kidding me right now? then the retard even left his crackberry in my car. so we went back to return it. dammit i wish i was a bigger asshole. i would have kept it and just replaced the sim card. after all the crap he was dishing out i think i kind of deserved the blackberry.

humble.

so im sifting through my messages on match and today i get this from someone who shall remain unnamed because even i am not THAT mean. sorry to disappoint.

he ends his message with the following:

PS- You are the first person who writes "I'm quite humble" and "i stand out in a crowd and am one of a kind" in the same paragraph.

its called sarcasm retard.

match.

so im new to this whole blog thing and ive been asking around for some topics. i need material people! and thats when it hit me. idea! i joined match.com the other day and in the past 4 days i have amassed 3492 views. wait - 3493. goddamn people. and do you know what these characters have to say when they send you a message?

"great eyebrows!" - umm, thanks?

"can i interest you in an older man with a private jet, secluded island, and passion for buying shiny things?" - yeah...no.

"im looking for the love of my life. i really think it could be you and this is why..." - are you kidding me right now?

umm. wow. look people, dont message me. im a jerk. im only on this thing to gather fodder for my blog. so youd think maybe the weirdo factor would shy me away from some of these people. nope. anyway tonight i went out for a mini drink with someone. oh god. here we go...

i meet this one particular wack job at mizner park in boca. first of all - you do not look like your pictures. i mean, he did but maybe a lil heavier and more forehead. please kill me. anyway the first thing i say is "umm are you ok? why are you all bugged out?" and he simply says "i didnt take my adderall today" isnt that stuff for 10 yr olds that cant sit still? this guy was wigging out. his eyes were darting all over the place and then he has the cojones to tell me that he thinks im more of a friend. babe, are you kidding right now? i have been wanting to leave since i parked my car. so we painfully sit through some small talk and the worst mojito ive ever had when i think my brain is finally falling into a coma i say "alrighty i think its time to go" to which he replies... "so i dont think ill see you again". umm no shit.

at least he paid for the drinks.

i can tell this month will be full of entertaining situations.

vino.

i was out buying some boozing supplies today (read: wine for my dad). as im walking up to the door i notice a few guys standing outside. ok whatever. i go in, find what i need, and head to the register. ps this is like the biggest liquor store i have ever seen (outside of binny's in chicago). all i could think while i was in this place is how cool it would have been in gainesville. as im paying i notice 2 of the guys from outside. they have just finished paying and are slowly getting ready to leave. we leave together.

"hey mami!"

excuse me? you are buying cheap beer, you have corn rows or corn rolls or whatever, you are chewing on a toothpick and your pants are falling off. why in gods name would you think i want to talk to you? and why would you yell at me in spanish. listen ese... we are not in mexico or cuba or someplace that serves chalupas. i am not your mami, nor will i ever be.

lightspeed.

i hate spin class. up. down. up. down. make up your goddamn mind. that class makes my knees hurt so bad i wish someone would just kick the instructor in the face so we could get out early. the instructor, by the way, looks exactly like britney spears pre-fat ugly babies. wow. sorry, but her kids are not cute. and shes always talking about keeping up your lightspeed. what the hell does that even mean? if i could travel at lightspeed i sure as shit wouldn't be in this class.

after spin class, jamie and i venture out into the weight area. you've really gotta weave your way through the steroids and fake boobs to even manage a workout. and then right when you think you can peacefully push your way through a workout some socially inept meathead has to make comments about your form and that he likes when you bend over. first of all, you look like you fell asleep in the tanning bed. get a life. none of the girls in here are interested in you. so mind your own business and leave me alone. you have too much gel in your hair for the gym and youre wearing a baby tee. get real. la fitness has more douchebags per square foot than any other gym. i wonder how high the douche factor is at an la fitness in miami. holy moses - i cant even imagine.

props.

if you saw me hopping around south beach last night you'll understand my love for props.

jamie and i arrived and headed straight to sushi samba. after a few free lychee mojitos for me and coconut mojitos for jamie - made by the greatest penelope cruz look alike bartender (merli) - we were in prime prop scouting mode. the drunk prop is always better than the sober prop. it's more random and makes a lot less sense. tonight's prop was the mini lobster claw that came with my sushi. his name is heathrow. yeah, like the airport.

jamie carefully tucked our new friend into her clutch (bad idea) and he would come out later in the night when we were making new friends or getting to know the door men at various places like the delano, cameo, mynt, and some random rooftop party. we were a hit. this was until we got out of a cab at the delano - well i got out, jamie fell out. i laughed. as she fell something popped out of her clutch and fell right into the drainage thing at the curb. holy shit. we were not concerned about it being the car keys, camera, or cell phone. it was heathrow. goddamit - we just acquired that prop. i suddenly broke out my faux british accent as a replacement for the lost lobster claw. but then i had a genius idea... "jamie you gotta put your hand down there and save him! leave no man behind!"

we saved heathrow and walked right into the delano. heathrow began making friends and combined with my accent - we were golden. why do i do this accent? i have no idea. because it makes me laugh. people are so stupid they actually believe it's real. i call it bristralian. yeah cause i'm indian, british, and i lived in australia so "it's become quite a hodge podge of an accent". oh and jamie was promoting my argentinian heritage. i am none of these things - except indian. this is great until someone challenges the authenticity of your fake accent.