Love & Lipgloss

2010-09-15T09:18:00.001-07:00

How Not To Hit On Girls.

We open at the House of Blues in Anaheim, CA. Two extremely attractive girls are leaning against the bar, post-show.

A guy, about 21, approaches.

Guy: "Hey, my friend and I just moved into a phat apartment a few miles from here, do you want to come over?"

Girl 1, dripping with sarcasm: "A frat apartment?"

Guy: "No, a phat apartment."

Girl 2: "Who uses the word 'phat' anymore?"

Girl 1: "Is it 1998?"

Guy: "Do you want to come over?"

Girl 1: "I don't like frat apartments."

Guy: "It's not a frat apartment, we're not in a frat."

Girl 2: "Yea, it's a PHAT apartment!"

Guy: "We play ice hockey."

Girl 1: "But, there's no ice in southern California."

Girl 2: "Or snow. There's no snow either."

Guy: "We're from Canada."

Girl 1: "Why would you move out of Canada to play hockey? And more importantly, do you watch Degrassi?"

Girl 2: "Are you in college?"

Guy: "No, we're not in college."

Girl 2: "Oh, we only like college guys."

Girl 1: "Yeah. Educated guys."

Guy (patronizing): "Oh, so you're still in that phase where you only like college dudes, huh?"

Girl 2: "Yes. I love guys who went to college."

Girl 1: "But not guys who live in frat apartments. I don't like frats."

Girl 2: "It's not a frat apartment, it's a phat apartment."

The girls look at each other and laugh. When they turn their heads back to the guy, they see he has walked away without saying goodnight.

FIN.

TRUE STORY.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2010-09-12T23:22:00.001-07:00

MTV VMA Fail.

While the VMAs took over the Gibson Amphitheater in Los Angeles tonight, I spent the evening curled up on my friend's couch a few miles away, watching it all play out on TV. I thought to myself, could this be the year that tops Nirvana's epic guitar disaster during the 1992 VMA's? (Ok, I was a mere elementary school child when this happened, but I still appreciated its greatness/madness years later when I found out about it). Will this year's VMAs showcase pop and rock greatness and leave gossip blogs, E! and MTV abuzz for weeks? Will I have a "when I was your age" story to tell my rock-loving children years from now?

Answer: No.

This year's VMAs was sincerely lacking in diversity. Way to honor the same 7 artists in every. single. category. THERE ARE MORE THAN 7 ARTISTS MAKING VIDEOS, MTV. Maybe if you actually played videos instead of rerunning episodes about a bunch of herpes-infested Jersey Shore goers trying to spread their infections all day, you would realize that.

MTV should have just given one giant Moonman to Lady Gaga for being ah-mazing (she won everything, anyway) and then thrown one giant concert on that crazy, circular, laser-happy stage for two hours.

Instead of airing groundbreaking performances or trying to stir up new controversy, the 2010 VMAs were trying to ride the coattails of the 2009 VMAs, when Kanye stole Taylor's mic and made her experience something other than the fairy tales she always sings about. Did we really have to sit through another out-of-key Swift performance and listen to Kanye pay homage to his fellow "douchebags, assholes and scumbags?" So. lame. And, I love female artists (Hayley Williams KILLED it, as expected), but listening to Taylor Swift sing live just gives me secondhand embarrassment. Someone get that girl live autotune.

2010 VMAs pros: Hayley Williams and Paramore, using Griffith Park Observatory as a stage, Lady Gaga, Chelsea Handler being the first woman to host in 16 years.

2010 VMAs cons: Everything else that happened.

2010 VMAs sidenote: Jason Derulo deserved a performance or an Honorable Mention Moonman. Heart him.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2009-04-01T16:30:00.000-07:00

Stolen Goods.

It's time for an oldie but never-before-shared goodie that will make you laugh, cry, and order Indian food as soon as you're done reading.

One warm spring evening, I made a reservation at Baluchi's in Midtown to dine with my friend M.E. I love Indian Food, I love Baluchi's, and I love bright city lights during spring evenings, so this dining excursion was clearly the highlight of my week. When our convo had wrapped up and my stomach was so full it was in danger of bursting the button on my jeans, I asked our waiter if I could take the rest of my meal to go. He came back with a neat little to-go box and a bag, I bid M.E. goodbye, and off I went to the Path train (I was still living in Hoboken at this point).

As I meandered down the city streets, I breathed in the fresh car exhaust, tuned out the honking taxis, and looked up to admire the lights on the buildings towering over me in Times Square. Life is so beautiful! I proclaimed in my head. I am so happy to be alive! Indian Food! A warm breeze! (or is it man-hole steam?) A hot pedicab guy's ass! Life does not get any better than this. I fucking love this city. And so I continued wandering toward the Path train in a daze, swinging my leftover Indian food at my side.

The BEEP after I swiped my Metrocard to gain entry to the 33rd St Path train momentarily snapped me back to reality. The DEPARTING sign was flashing over the train, and people were pushing past me in order to beat the closing doors. Eep! The next train wouldn't come for 20 minutes- a near-eternity when you're waiting underground. I made a mad dash for it. The train doors were shutting. I shoved my right arm into the car and tried desperately to push the door back open with my left.

Alas, I am only 5 feet tall and 95 lbs. My biceps are about as useful as a penguin's wings.

The doors shut on my right wrist, and I couldn't pry them back open. My hand was stuck inside the Path train. The same hand that was holding my leftover Indian food. My eyes grew wide. There was a guy in a suit standing right next to my fingers. "Are you ok?" he mouthed (well, he probably spoke this but I couldn't hear him, being on the outside of the train and all). My wrist hurt. Would the train start moving? Would I be dragged through the Path tunnel and die an untimely underwater death somewhere between the border of NY and NJ?

I quickly yanked my wrist out and the doors snapped shut, trapping the handle of my Indian food bag. My Baluchi's! The handle of the bag was hanging on the outside of the train in front of me, while the container was on the inside, next to Suit Guy. It looked ridiculous hanging there, 4 feet above the ground, like it was levitating.

I turned toward the train operator window to see if she would reopen the doors for a second so I could grab it. But, the train shifted into gear and started inching toward NJ.

"Your food!" Suit Guy shouted. I could hear him this time. He was pointing frantically at my leftovers. I shrugged my shoulders, raised my brows and scrunched my mouth to the side.

"You can have it!" I shouted back to him, completely aware that he would not eat a stranger's leftovers, no matter how enticing they smelled. But really, what else was I supposed to say? Put it in your fridge so I can retrieve it when I make it to Hoboken?

"Buuuuuuut---" he was shouting something else at me as I watched him and my leftovers get smaller and smaller, and finally disappear into the tunnel. Gone forever.

They wouldn't hang there for the entire ride. The doors would open again in a few blocks and they would ceremoniously fall to the ground, perhaps get crushed by a boarding passenger, or spill all over the car, filling the air with the scent of Vegetable Jalfreezi. I kind of felt bad, unknowingly giving a stranger the responsibility of my leftovers. But, I wasn't really given a choice. So, I slowly turned around, sat on the wooden waiting bench, rested my head on my hands and sighed. At least I still have the spicy after taste in my mouth.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2009-03-18T09:35:00.000-07:00

Received via text at 7:45pm: "Hey, I just got really tired and lazy. Can we meet up another night instead?"

I was already dressed and ready to go out and drunk-watch downtown in honor of St Pat's. Jillian either had a hot date or she really was beat from substitute teaching all day. Both of these are totally acceptable excuses, and I don't hold a grudge. So, I found a fun green lollipop that I took pictures with via PhotoBooth and then watched American Idol.

Luck-o-the-Irishly, I still do have a drunken debauchery story.

Last Saturday, my mom, my aunt and I road tripped to Newport, RI. We do this twice a year, usually in the summer. However, this particular Saturday was calling us. It was cloudless, unusually warm, and I think the three of us needed some single-lady bonding time due to recent events.

We crossed over the Newport Bridge, and instead of the quaint lil' village that we usually expect, we were greeted with scores of drunks in green stumbling down the historic streets. We looked at each other with raised brows.

"They're having a St. Patrick's Day parade TODAY?!" I exclaimed. Wow. We came to Newport in search of some authentic clam chowder and a cute boutique or two. Instead we got a bunch of non-authentic Irish chicks under-dressed for the sea breeze in polyester mini skirts from Forever 21. Most guys were either dressed as what I THINK was a cheap attempt at a leprechaun, with a plastic beard and faux velvet green cape (from... The Party Store?). Everyone was desperately clinging to each other in an effort to walk (nowhere near in a straight line), slur-yelling at each other, or puking. If I had gone to a state college, I imagine this is what my weekends would have been like.

Among all the college kids partying, we were able to find a true gem. As we rounded a corner, three old men, one with straggly gray hair past his shoulders, stumbled out of a bar. His friend on the left was easily a douce fifty, while his buddy on the right had boxers spilling out of his pants, which were uber-low despite his belt. Think Kriss Kross in the old days, only this dude was old enough to be Kriss Kross' grampy.

"DJWANNAAAAAA GOVERRRR DER?" straggly hair slurred as he lunged to the right, his entourage carrying his weight. They stumble-lurched into the cobblestone street.

"That guy is totally going to fall," I said to my aunt, snickering. I hoped this priceless image was not lost on the surrounding just-turned-21 crowd. It's ok to party now, but if you don't eventually put down that bottle, you will be these losers. They probably have super-embarrassed kids that hate them and show up for work smelling like alcohol (if they even have jobs). There is nothing sadder than a middle-aged drunk trying to party with people half his age.

"OH MY GOD!" My aunt grabs my shoulders and spins me around. "He DID fall!" I look across the street to see straggly man face-planted on the sidewalk with his legs up in the air. Surprisingly, boxer-mans pants don't budge as he bends down, ass out, to help him up. They're immediately flanked on all sides by college kids who are clearly humoring them.

That was our cue to leave.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2009-03-17T06:24:00.001-07:00

St. Patrick's Day was fun when I was in elementary school and got to spend an hour of my day naively gluing green sparkles to a construction paper cut-out of a four leaf clover. In Middle School and High School it was semi-amusing to wear green with my friends, but by college, I was wondering what was really going on. Why was everyone stumbling around drunk at 9 a.m. and since when did a seemingly-Catholic holiday become a corporate ad campaign for Guinness? Are people really that desperate for an excuse to get black-out-drunk and hook up with someone? Um, you could do that every weekend if you really wanted to... hell, you could even dress in head to toe green and I'm sure no one would give you a second look. Not after midnight, anyway.

This is how I think all this nonsense came to be:

1) Based on his name, people assume that Saint Patrick was an Irish Saint.*

2) Irish people have a reputation for drinking.

3) Guinness is made in Ireland.

4) Let's get wasted!

Sounds like third grade logic to me, which means it was created by a huge ad agency. Pub owners jumped on the band wagon in order to lure consumers into dropping huge wads of cash that are usually reserved for a Friday or Saturday. China saw an opportunity to move massive amounts of cheap plastic shamrocks, beads and leprechauns, and a corporate holiday was born. It's all a completely ridiculous scam to me, and I'm even part Irish and enjoy Guinness.

You won't see me stumbling around on the streets this evening. I will probably go downtown with Jillian to get a heavy dose of people watching, and then write about it here tomorrow.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

*St. Patrick wasn't Irish, he was born in Wales. He did spread Christianity in Ireland, but I'm sure he wouldn't have wanted everyone drooling all over themselves and passing around VD because of it.

2009-02-11T16:47:00.000-08:00

I didn't think it was possible for me to take a bad picture. But apparently, I can take 165 of them. In a row.

I am now the not-so-proud owner of the worst headshots ever taken in the history of photography. Each shot is more painful than the next, and reminiscent of my most awkward pre-pubescent years. My face is bloated, my hair is limp and staticky, and I even look 20 lbs heavier than I actually am. The background is a drab middle gray, and the angle is that of an elementary school portrait.

I looked at them and wanted to cry. Maybe I have a really distorted self-image, I thought to myself. Maybe I should get a new haircut, start working out hardcore and limit myself to 600 calories per day.

So, I turned to my most honest critics (who also happen to love & support me unconditionally)... my mom and brother.

Brother: "Yeah, that guy fucked up."
Mother: "Those are very unflattering."

I want my money back so I can go buy a gym membership.

2009-02-03T15:37:00.000-08:00

Instead of braving today's wet afternoon snow, I curled up on my couch to catch an episode of Dr. Phil. I tuned in half way to discover that 16-year-old Zoe uses her Myspace profile to pick up older guys and have sex with them. She posts pictures of herself looking all scene (read: multi-colored hair and over-drawn eyeliner), half-naked and pouting for the camera, chats away, invites them over (or goes out to meet them) and then gets it on.

Obviously, this is very dangerous.

So, what was Dr. Phil's advice to poor, misguided Zoe?

(cue Southern Drawl): "Mom, Dad, you have to take away Zoe's computer."

WHAT?!??!

This is why Dr. Phil is not actually a licensed therapist in every state. This is the stupidest advice I have ever heard. Is the world not littered with computers? Don't you think Zoe has computer access at school, at her friend's houses, at an Internet Cafe, at the freaking Library?!?! Taking away her computer is NOT the answer. She will always find a way. Anyway. I'll tell you what IS the answer:

Find out why Zoe acts the way she does. Does her father neglect her? Is she seeking male attention? Is she a sex addict?

Then, work on curing that problem. Once that problem is solved, she won't need to turn to Myspace. And Zoe will be able to function in the real world, independently and safe. And when she goes off to college in 2 years, she won't sit behind her computer the whole time, posting nude pics of herself for the frats across campus.

Zoe, please have your mom or dad take you to see an actual therapist with an actual clue who will agree with what I've said here. And please see him on a weekly basis until you feel better. I promise, it will help you. I wish you the best.

P.S.- Your hair is super cute.

Love and Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2009-01-31T18:13:00.000-08:00

Looking for an apartment in NYC sucks. Craigslist is the National Enquirer of Real Estate- every apartment is totally bogus. And, every broker I've dealt with thus far is a complete scumbag. I am too exhausted to go into detail, but just know that I have pathetically not left my bed all day because I have been too drained and bummed to do so. Everything is a total buzz kill.

Cue emo music.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2009-01-29T19:39:00.001-08:00

The trouble with working in the entertainment industry is that you're surrounded by incredibly hot people at all times. Your fellow actors? Totally drool-worthy. The director? Scrumptious. Even the camera guy and the PA's tend to be super-cute and scruffy with their worn-in t-shirts and jeans. They're like big teddy bears that just make you want to snuggle while listening to ultra-hip music. Sigh. I don't condone extracurricular sexual activities if you're spoken for. My boyfriend is super hot and could easily co-star alongside me in nearly anything. But geez, if I were single, I don't think I would be able to concentrate on my lines. I should host a match-making soiree when I get my new apartment.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2009-01-28T16:44:00.000-08:00

I'm officially declaring Myspace dead. Like many other social networkers, I have moved on to Facebook and am even considering checking out Digsby, which is promoted on every trash can in Times Square. The days of giving yourself a mysterious online nickname, posting over-Photoshopped pictures of yourself in come-hither poses, and checking out that hot new local band are over. You can still stalk your ex friends, ex boyfriends, and your ex friends ex boyfriends, but you'll have to find other ways of finding out who is talking to who... because the days of over-commenting times ten are long past. You could try Twitter for some uber-personal updates, but do you really want up-to-the-minute coffee run info? Well, I guess it depends on who it is.

I think the people who will suffer most are the up-and-coming bands. How will you update members on when you post a new song or are playing a show? How will you gain access to thousands of people to harass into listening to you? It may be time to bring back the mass email. But those are super-annoying.

The downfall of myspace definitely had something to do with Tom selling out to that British dude... what was his name? Rupert Murdock. Sorry, Rup. Your image just isn't cool or quick enough to keep up with the ever-finicky social web trolls. I think that deep down, when people log on to Facebook, they feel connected to the Ivy Leaguers who created it. And that makes them feel smart. And everyone knows you'd rather feel smart than British. Tally-ho!

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2009-01-21T18:34:00.001-08:00

Facebook should have a frenemy setting.

I don't have too many frenemies. This is because I usually like most everyone (I can hear my boyfriend snickering now... and it's true, I don't like some of his friends. But some of the people he hangs out with I would just never have associated with in the first place. Case in point: his friend who got so drunk he jumped off a couch and landed on my foot, breaking it in three places. But that was so 2007.)

Anyhow. I make an effort to like everyone I meet. But there is aaaalways going to be someone who is friends with someone you know who rubs you the wrong way. And usually, you'd just avoid them. But you can't, because you run in the same social circles or even work together. They want to know eeeevery detail about eeeeverything you're doing. They can't take the hint that you're so not into talking to them. And every time you see them they ask you a miiiiillion questions about the things you mentioned you were doing the last time you saw them. Who has room in their brain for that much mundane gossip? Pas moi. Besides, I think interrogating someone you barely know is tactless, unless you're Barbara Walters & there's a TV camera in front of you.

I know a friend request from this chick is coming. And I have the feeling that she is one of those super-Facebook-stalkers who would check all 500 of her friends' profiles nightly and memorize every changed detail. If I deny her friendship, she just might bring it up the next time I see her. And if I accept, then I have to live in fear that she is cataloging and indexing my profile in her pea brain.

And, I know... I shouldn't put anything up there that I wouldn't want the whole world to know. I actually don't share anything other than a few general likes & dislikes. But maybe it's time to bury the Facebook profile in the www graveyard by hitting delete...

Nah. Status updates are too fun.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-11-04T07:21:00.000-08:00

My Election Experience.

Lady at the polling booth to me: "Oh! First time?"
Me: "Nope! Second!"

Apparently I still look 18, even though I am 26.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-10-09T21:44:00.000-07:00

Today I learned that you should not wear hot pink tights if you do not want to be stared at by creepy men while walking down the street. I also learned that if you're carrying a bag, you should make sure that all of your writing utensils are safely zipped inside. Otherwise, if your pen is dangling from your totally cute but un-functional outside pocket, it will rub against you in erratic patterns and cause you to have embarrassing ink stains all over your hot pink tights. These stains can not be removed by spit and a couple of rubs with your thumb. I am not yet sure if they can be removed by a 10-year-old washing machine.

Today has been a great day.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-09-02T14:20:00.000-07:00

Thoughts on Sarah Palin.

She promotes abstinence-only education in public schools, and lives with the failure of such limited sex education every day because her 17-year-old daughter is preggo. Wake up, Palin. Everyone is going to have sex eventually. Teaching kids about contraception is a good thing and prepares them for REAL LIFE.

She is pro-life to the EXTREME, even opposing abortion rights for incest and rape victims. This is absolutely disgusting. Would you want to live with child fathered by your brother, your uncle, a random disgusting stranger from a gang bang? I think every woman should have the right to choose no matter who the father is, but hearing that she has these extreme views makes me want to cry.

She's a member of the NRA... ok, I guess people in Alaska need guns to hunt for their food.

She promotes oil drilling in Alaskan National Parks. While I'm not a fan of ruining wildlife, if this stops our current War for Oil, maybe Alaska drilling isn't such a bad idea. But then again... what kind of a person wants to destroy their own home?

Sigh. I'd love to see a woman in the White House... but Palin isn't the one.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-08-28T18:23:00.000-07:00

I might be going to Vegas in February. So naturally, the first thought that crosses my mind is- should I get married? Pros: No need to worry about seating arrangements, menus, or who you're going to insult by not inviting, no stress of planning for months, it'll happen so fast I won't have time to chicken out, low cost, and I can wear a hot pink Betsey dress if I REALLY wanted to. Plus, the shock value would be AWESOME. Mwah ha ha ha ha.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-08-27T19:32:00.000-07:00

L&L Word of the Day: CORE

Definition: Corporate Whore

Use it in a sentence:

"My boss says I am a Core member of this team!"

"So what if I'm a starving artist? At least I'm not a Core!"

Overheard between two women in a waiting room...

"You're all dressed up, you even wore heels! What's the occasion?"
"Oh you know, my other job is working as a prostitute. Ha ha!"
"For one of those business men? Lovely!"
"Could you imagine? 20 minutes and bing, bang, boom, you're done. I wish!"
"Then you'd be a REAL Core!"
"Core?"
"You know, Corporate Whore!"
"Hee hee hee!"

Brought to you by Love & Lipgloss... resisting Corporate Whoredom since birth.
Cassandra

2008-08-27T19:20:00.000-07:00

Like many other young women in America (and especially in Brooklyn), I now have the same haircut I did in 1986. Hooray for bangs! Who wants to play My Little Ponies?

It's a phone pic... so naturally it is small and taken in a random location, such as in the front seat of my Honda.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-08-26T18:22:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, my P.I.C. (partner-in-crime) and I like to reminisce about our CT high school moments. Remember the pudgy guy who was a sweetheart all the way up until senior year, when he discovered the gym, Creatine, and how to ask out a blond chick? And all of a sudden he ditched the nice-guy act & became a typical jerko because had new-found arm definition? We were simply stunned... crushed by the betrayal.

Big sigh for our average lives. I'm sure this happened in every school across the U.S. of A. It seemed so unique at the time.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

P.S. Someone make me a sandwich.

2008-08-26T17:27:00.000-07:00

Foaming at the mouth to watch amateur entertainers get their big break? America's Got Talent premieres tonight-- I'm watching it on mute as we speak. It's just another one of those shows* that bottles the American Dream, advertises the hell out of it, and shoves it down the throats of primetime viewers. Not that I mind- I need SOMETHING mindless to unwind to at the end of my day.

Anyway, during one of my YouTube jaunts, I found a nice little gem... BRITAIN'S GOT TALENT. Accents! Bad teeth! Phrases like "Off you go!" and the winner gets to perform for the QUEEN!

Even though they're super-serious, all these things make it seem super-funny. Check out this Bad Sport:

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

*American Idol, America's Next Dance Crew, et al.

2008-08-25T08:19:00.000-07:00

For the past three days, there has been a strange beep in my apartment.

At first, I thought nothing of it. My apartment is sort of old (I always fall for the "charming" properties- even though it means they rarely have a dishwasher) and makes funny noises at night when all the lights are off. Since I'm a paranormal-nonbeliever, I can deal. But I'm sure Ghost Hunters would have a heyday if they ever got in here.

Anyway, the beep sounded like a cross between a dying cricket and a security alarm. It wasn't coming from my bedroom, bathroom, or living room. It was most definitely the kitchen. And it didn't really bother me until it started beeping every 30 seconds.

A beep every 30 seconds is equivalent to Chinese Water Torture. It got so bad that I just left for the day and went to the beach, hoping it would cease when I returned. It didn't.

So, I stood in the middle of my kitchen, trying to detect the precise spot it was coming from. Beep. Not the refrigerator. Beep. The stove? Beep. Definitely the top cabinet. I opened the cabinet doors and found a bunch of dishes that I never use. Strange. Beep. Wait, now it sounded like it was coming from the cabinet below. I opened those doors, and found a bunch of pots that I never use. Beep. Omg. Ok. It's definitely coming from underneath the sink.

I opened the cabinet underneath the sink, and found a bunch of cleaning supplies. I rifled around them. Beep. I was a woman on a mission. Nevermind the fact that the beep now sounded like it was coming from the stove again. I was going to find either a large bug and squash it, or an abandoned smoke detector from a previous tenant.

A-HA!!

There it was. A round, slightly rusted carbon monoxide detector. I grabbed it and stared at it menacingly, waiting for it to beep. It didn't. Strange... it had no batteries.

A fleeting thought crossed my mind... did my landlord tap my apartment with a security camera while I was away? Is she watching me walk around naked while recording all my phone conversations and taking notes on what I cook for dinner? Shudder.

Needing to take some sort of action, I threw the detector into the trash, sealed the bag, hauled it down my steps and hurled it into my trash bin. Then I ran back into my apartment as fast as I could.

As soon as I reached the top of my steps, I heard it again. Beep. My mouth dropped open and emitted a frustrated scream. I stood in the middle of my kitchen, crossed my arms and let the clock tick. 30 seconds... 60 seconds... 120 seconds... no sound. Not one beep. And I haven't heard a beep since then.

Maybe I should reconsider calling Ghost Hunters.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-08-20T11:38:00.000-07:00

I am the next American Idol.

2008-08-19T12:21:00.000-07:00

Alicia Sacramone not only kicks gymnastic ass, she can knock a guy out in a single punch. POWZA!

On another Alicia note, stop being so damn hard on the girl! The US Team won a silver medal in the all-around competition... the media is acting like they placed last. Get a clue.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-08-17T17:22:00.000-07:00

Dear Cablevision,

Why did you call me twice on a cloudless, beach-perfect Saturday afternoon to offer me a lower price on my cable bill? My mind was not focused, considering, or anywhere near how I could get a better deal on my monthly expenses. Rather, it was focused, considering and everywhere near whether or not I put on enough sunscreen, if I could paddle fast enough to catch a wave without having Jonny push me, and how I could perfect my beach hair after I got out of the salty Jersey Shore water. My thoughts will NEVER be on bills during the weekend. (Happily, in case you're wondering, all three of my super-important Saturday thoughts were accomplished to my satisfaction.)

Is Saturday afternoon the new "dinner hour" for tele-marketers? Have cable/phone/fund-raising companies stooped so low that they now need to interrupt people in the middle of their weekend? What's next, pseudo-drunk dials between the hours of 11pm and 1am, where tele-marketers pose as intoxicated friends who try to talk me into a better deal on my car insurance?! Seriously, lose my number. The last thing us workaholic Americans want to discuss on the weekends is BILLS. The only people who are going to be psyched about this new marketing strategy are friendless losers whose weekend plans consist of visiting 3 different grocery stores in order to find the best deal on cat food and who haven't gotten laid since Clinton and Lewinsky hooked up. Stop calling me. If you really must contact me, I prefer email.

Love & Lipgloss,

Cassandra

2008-06-21T10:21:00.001-07:00

Today is one of those days when everyone you know is out of town. And the people you know who don't live near you are also out of town, but they are not visiting you. Someone forgot to send me the memo that the first weekend of summer is supposed to be spent nowhere near where you reside. Sigh.

It's 1:30 pm and so far I've finished a novel, went for a 2 mile run, an 8 mile bike ride, flirted with a guy at the farmer's market who gave me a discount on zucchini (how strangely phallic!), and talked to my ex boyfriend on the phone (who happens to be working in California until Monday). Now I'm attempting to broil the vegetables I bought, because I have never grilled by myself before. I hope this is a good idea. I'm not really sure what is going to happen. I'm not exactly domestically inclined. It smells good, though.

Love and Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-06-04T20:47:00.001-07:00

Today I was the target of an improv, a dare, or maybe it was a bonafide recognition on the street.

I was walking down Park Ave when a guy sporting dirty blond hair and a zip up yelled out, "Hey! I know her!!" He thrust an arm and a finger in my direction. The girl he was with gave him a raised eyebrow. Instead of pretending like I didn't hear or see him (which is what I usually do when I encounter a possible sociopath on the street), I stopped and turned to face him on the near-empty sidewalk. I never do this. But, with an opening line like that, how could I not?

"You went to LaGuardia, right?" he yelled across the 7-foot distance between us. LaGuardia is a NYC public high school specializing in the Arts. Although I am an actress, I did not go to LaGuardia. I went to a public high school in preppy, suburban Connecticut.

I began to shake my head "no." He must have mistaken me for someone else.

"Hunter?" He tried again. Hunter is a college on the Upper East Side. I shook my head. Is he just naming schools in NYC? "NYU?"

"Um... yeah I went to NYU." I said awkwardly.

"I KNEW I KNEW YOU!" he threw a fist into the air. "YEAH!" The girl he was with giggled. They looked way younger than me, and I didn't recognize the guy's face at all. Feeling weird, I turned and kept walking down the street.

I honestly think this guy had no idea who I was at all. I think someone challenged him to an improv or dared him to pick out a random person on the street who looked like they went to school in NYC, then get them to think they were being recognized.

I find this hilarious.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-06-03T19:14:00.000-07:00

Today will forever go down in history as the day that I, Cassandra, was officially reared off a horse. I'm talking up-on-both-hind-legs, head thrown back, old-western-flick-style neighing reared. Fortunately, I slid back off my horse's back and landed on my knees. I have seen horses land on their backs and crush their riders after rearing, so I'm considering myself "lucky."

After ditching me, my horse took off at a gallop down the trail we were on, and stopped a little ways down to graze. When I caught up to him, I cracked him in the head with my whip, forgetting to hold on to his reins because I was livid. He galloped back the barn.

I'm considering a new hobby.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-06-01T19:10:00.000-07:00

VH1 is showing reruns of The Bachelor.

Of course these women are falling head-over-high-heels in love with this beefy dude. They are all essentially on vacation. Beautiful scenery, no work stress, no family drama, no plans outside of whatever "date" the producers have planned for them. The only thing these people need to worry about is what they're wearing that day. Anyone could fall in love in such an idyllic situation.

I just got back from vacationing in the BVI's with my boyfriend. We had a blast. Duh. Now we're back, and we're having the same problems we had before we left.

No surprise that after a million seasons of The Bachelor and The Bachelorette, only one couple has survived.

Love and Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-05-29T21:33:00.000-07:00

Is it possible to have respect for someone who has no respect for themselves? I think that people treat you the way you treat yourself. Another person's attitude towards you is a reflection of what you're projecting.

What's that old saying? You'll only feel inferior if you allow someone to MAKE you feel inferior? However it goes, it's true.

2008-05-27T20:10:00.000-07:00

Things I don't have time or energy to deal with:

1) "Friend" drama
2) Ghosts
3) Cooking anything other than pasta
4) Driveway parking wars

Sorry.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-04-28T06:44:00.000-07:00

Have you ever looked back through old photos on your computer, seen an ex-boyfriend and thought... how did I ever date that person? Yeeesh.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-04-10T04:32:00.001-07:00

Today's L&L Pet Peeve: Violence coverage in the news.

The last thing I want to accompany my morning bowl of organic cereal is a video of a student beating the crap out of his teacher in a classroom. Not only is this atrocious behavior that does not deserve to be glorified in any way, but it truly makes me want to hurl... especially after I've just woken up.

When I watch the news, I hope it will benefit me in some way. Give me traffic, weather, an update on the election & let me know when AA flights are going to be back in line. School violence? Keep it to yourselves, Today Show. Disgusting.

I'm purposely not linking my readers to that video or news story.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

P.S.- Someone send that kid to Juvie & lock him up until he's 18.

2008-04-09T10:50:00.000-07:00

It's no secret that many of the "slightly imbalanced" like to call NYC home. Well. I was walking down the notoriously-crowded 23rd Street today when I came to a disheveled man carrying a large plastic bag over his shoulder. Instead of walking in a straight line, he kept veering side to side, dangerously close to tipping over and spilling the mysterious contents of his bag. He was also muttering to himself . I didn't want to walk behind him, for fear he would fall over in my tracks or suddenly erupt in a psychotic rage. So, I waited until there was a break in on-coming foot traffic, and passed him on the left.

As soon as my body was parallel to his, he turned his head toward me and let out a giant, hacking cough. I could feel his breath penetrate my hair. UGH. Shudder.

I hope I don't have TB now...

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-04-09T07:36:00.000-07:00

Today's L&L Pet Peeve comes directly from reality TV & surgery shows. Do women really have to wear full make-up when they go under the knife? Puh-lease! Au-Naturel is always the way to go when operating rooms are involved. You're spending an hour or more in an anesthetic coma with a huge plastic mask across your face. Make-up isn't going to help here, honey. Everyone is going to look weird passed out. Plus, your pores could get ultra-clogged. If you're not supposed to sleep with make-up, why would you go into surgery without a clean face?

Vanity...

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-04-08T08:18:00.000-07:00

What exactly does Love & Lipgloss mean?

L&L is a mantra. It's a way of life. Being an L&L chick means that you're fiercely independent & you're not afraid to state your opinion. When everyone's wearing black, you show up in neon. You express yourself through the arts, whether it's writing, photography, performing, fashion, painting, or even collage. Your hair is forever sporting the messy look, because you're too active to keep it straight. You're not content to just lay in the sand, you have to jump in the ocean.

Your look is forever changing- the only thing consistent about it is that it's constantly different. Your wardrobe is envied, and people wish they could pull it off like you do. You're not a fan of personal gossip, but celebrity gossip is a different story. You're slowly traveling the world. If you were in an animal, you'd be a social butterfly.

Friends come to you for advice, and you can keep a secret. It's never occurred to you to "play dumb," because smart is one of your sexiest qualities. You try to set a good example. You're determined to make a mark on this world.

You are the raddest girl anyone has ever met.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-04-04T16:13:00.001-07:00

Compared to other humans, I am pretty small. 5'0" and not even a hundred pounds soaking wet. When I was younger, I would get the following lame-o comments: "Wow. You're really short!" "Are you a legal midget?" Today, I get different but equally lame-o comments like "How tall ARE you?" and "I have never been in the presence of someone so little." Um, where do you people come from? Giants.

Anyway, sometimes larger humans like to show their strength by picking me up. This is what happened to me Tuesday night. Eh, I didn't mind. She asked if she could do it. But, if anyone just came up to me and lifted me off the ground, they'd get a heel to their crotch, or spit in their eye.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-04-04T13:33:00.000-07:00

Rock Invasion Festival TOMORROW!

Come hang out, rock out and of course SHOP! Love & Lipgloss will be set up with sponsor Killbrand tomorrow at the Wall Sports Arena in Farmingdale, NJ. Tickets are just $15. Not bad for a full roster of rock and a major shopping experience. See you there, dahlings.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-04-04T06:31:00.000-07:00

New Kids On The Block Are Back!

When I was in third grade, NKOTB was the ish. Though I never got to see them live, I cranked my Step by Step cassette tape as loud as it would go and danced around my bedroom whenever I had friends over. I had all their trading cards, except for the elusive card #1, which I was never able to get my grubby lil' hands on. I also had NKOTB bedding & an NKOTB sleeping bag. My friend Jocelyn & I would practice kissing the pictures of Joey McIntyre (my fav) and Jordan Knight (her fav) that graced my pillowcase.

Of course, like all poptart boybands, their fame started to fade. And when they were declared absolutely the un-coolest thing ever, and admitting you liked them was the equivalent of elementary-school-social-suicide, I STILL had my neon NKOTB sleeping bag. My parents refused to buy me a new, non-NKOTB sleeping bag, which meant I was crucified at every sleepover I went to for the next 2 years. Even a mom made fun of me. Oh, the humiliation.

Anyway. May 16th on the Today Show. New Kids On The Block will reunite for the performance of a lifetime. Get that retro-NKOTB merch on eBay now. Will I be watching? Of course, silly...

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-04-03T09:49:00.001-07:00

Ladies, would you ever get your hair cut at a place called The Hairport?

Seriously, we're no strangers to the English language. Native and non-native speakers alike know that "hair" rhymes with many words, including air, there, and share, and also sounds like many other words, including heir. But that doesn't mean a salon should actually keep this in mind when naming itself.

Here are a few of the worst salon names I've heard:

THE HAIR PORT, located in Michigan, Connecticut and North Carolina, among other states, makes me think I'm going to get a coif while sitting in one of those kiddie seats that looks like a plane, while listening to in-flight music and watching a hairdresser dressed in a stewards uniform (maybe one of those retro-blue 1960's style ones).

HAIR, THERE AND EVERYWHERE, located somewhere in Europe, conjures images of my locks being hacked by scissors and then strewn carelessly on the floor by a hairdresser who never cleans up after his/her clients.

HAIR'S TALENT, located in Connecticut... um, am I getting a haircut or attending a Broadway show? Is there a chorus line to usher me in and a full-cast curtain call to see me out?

THE MANE EVENT, located in Alabama, sounds more like a horse show than a place for coiffures. Neigh! Should I saddle up Freckles and bring him along for the ride? I'll pack the Bengay in case I get saddle sores.

HAIR APPARENT, in Oregon. Ugh... as if people aren't obsessed with famous heirs as it is. Maybe they chairs reserved for the Hiltons, Kennedy's and Onassis'.

There are many more, I'm sure... and call me a salon snob, but I shy away from off-putting names.

Or maybe I was just traumatized by my experience with "Sza," pronounced "Siz-ah," which is slang for "Scissor," a young man who chopped off my hair on NYC's Upper East Side one mild spring afternoon. It took me nearly two weeks to grow used to the cut he gave me, and almost as much time to forget the stale cigarette smell that lingered on his fingers. Blech.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra
around naming themselves some cutesy
Usually hair salons try to come up with some chic-y name to differentiate themselves from all the other hair salons they're competing with.

2008-04-02T12:06:00.000-07:00

My PIC (Partner in Crime) Shannon just made her music video debut in Crime in Stereo's "Small Skeletal." Yes, she's the hot music video girl... but instead of donning a thong and shaking her buttocks, she brings her signature mod-bob, black eyeliner, red lipstick, and chic-y wardrobe to the table... and I love her for it. Watch below!

Crime In Stereo - Small Skeletal (altpress.com exclusive) from Alternative Press on Vimeo.

2008-04-02T11:32:00.001-07:00

I love cheesy celebreality dating shows... Tila Tequila, Rock of Love, I Love New York, Flavor of Love... they're a total mindless indulgence & the crazy contestants make me feel oh-so-sane.

I know, I know... they're totally scripted, the producers plan who gets sent home, and the "winner" never gets to have a lasting relationship with the star... but WGAS? (Who Gives A Shit?)

So let's talk Rock of Love 2, aka The Ultimate Groupie Showdown. Daisy, anyone? Cute petite blonde with huge collagen lips and DD implants? She's my absolute fav. I'm always a sucker for the short girls... because at only 5'0", I can relate! If Daisy doesn't win, not only will I be pissed for a good 30 seconds (and then forget about it forev), but I think she will have a mental breakdown and end up in Cedars-Sinai's psych ward. She is just sooooo passionate about Bret Michaels.

As for the others... Destiny is a crazy hot head and Ambre is boring and too old to be a groupie. Give it up, woman! 37 years old & you really want to follow around an aging rockstar on his tour bus? Puh-lease.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-04-01T16:07:00.000-07:00

It's obvi that you don't even need a personality to be famous these days. You just need a nice rack & some pics to show them off... sans shirt or bra, of course.

No one gave a crap about Audrina Partridge before those nude pics of her surfaced. What does she even do on The Hills? And why is her face always so droopy-looking? She has these vacant eyes that make it clear there's nothing going on behind them.

Now that anyone and everyone can see her in her birthday suit via the www, Audrina is, for the first time, making TV & mag headlines. I'll bet she achieves Kim Kardashian fame now. Well... maybe not. I doubt she has the personality to carry on the 15 minutes...

OH wait! But she DOES have the willingness to leak even more nude pics of herself on the Internet, because apparently that's all she's good for? More naked Audrina pics! Hooray! I was wondering what I was going to do with my Tuesday night and now I have the answer! Yes! Print that ish out for the fridge! Woooo!

Seriously, it's like the world has never seen a pair of 19-year-old breasts before. Um, need I mention Playboy and The Girls Next Door (my fav guilty-pleasure TV show) have been doing this forev?

Over it, Audrina. OVER IT!

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

P.S. Instead of keeping your breasts bare, you should cover them with a sweet L&L tee, available now! Just click on the shirt you desire on the right ;-) xxo

2008-03-17T19:16:00.000-07:00

Taste of Chaos.

Convention Hall gets an A for location (right on the beach!), a B for architecture (I'm a fan of crumbling buildings decades after their heyday, but the dust is tres annoying), and a D- for sound. That shit doesn't even sound good with earplugs. The crowd always gets a gold star for being super-sweet. SO, L&L and Killbrand teamed up to take over Taste of Chaos when it came to the infamous ConHall, alongside our buddy Ben of Six Barrel Hooliguns. Though I was more a fan of last year's headliners (The Used! aka my uber-obsession of life), it was still a fab time. Next stop- Bamboozle!

2008-03-11T15:41:00.000-07:00

China vs. Europe.

One of my favorite friends from high school was recently given a gorgeous family heirloom diamond by her boyfriend of 4 years. They're officially tying the knot in July, and it will mark my bridesmaid debut. I'm up in the air as to what gift to give her, but I can tell you for sure what she absolutely does not want: china.

Unfortunately, her grandmother is giving her a complete (expensive!) set of china with six full place settings. Ironically, the one bedroom apartment she shares with her guy doesn't even have a table to seat six.

Instead of lavish china, she would rather receive a large travel stipend for a 3-week European honeymoon, which she & her man are in the midst of saving and planning for.

Honestly, I would rather receive plane tickets, too. If something is going to collect dust in my apartment, I'd rather it be scrapbooks of my exotic and life-changing trip to Europe than a hutch full of china.

Sorry, grandma, but china is so passe. All the dinner parties I've attended have been held at lounges and restaurants, not in-house. Perhaps that's because all of my go-getting, career-minded girl friends don't have time to cook (or in my case, even learn how to cook... sorry mom), or because all of our city apartments are too awkwardly-shaped and small to hold a crowd larger than 2. Or maybe it's because we're all surrounded by such tempting, scrrrrumptious restaurants serving dishes we know we could never make ourselves. I mean, Thai Chili Shrimp, Crab Apple California Rolls, authentic Cuban Empanadas & Medium Rare Organic Steak straight from Wolfe's Neck Farm in Upstate New York is hands-down better prepared by an educated sous chef.

Oh man, I'm hungry...

Of course, my friend can't break her grandmother's heart and deny the gift. To her grandmother, it's obviously important. And perhaps she & her man will use it someday...

But someday isn't today. Today is all about adventures and traveling, and un-traditional gifts for un-traditional honeymoons.

China is out. Europe is in.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-03-10T21:31:00.000-07:00

I recently attended a party with a couple whose affairs are far from private. Recent rumors have flown that the girl has been sleeping around behind the guy's back, whether he's out of town for the night or the weekend. Several of the rumored rendez-vous have actually been confirmed by these "other men," who have blabbed to my close guy friend all about their encounters. It's a small world, my friends. Be careful who you shag with.

It's tres obvious this chick isn't so stoked on her bf, which leaves me in a serious social dilemma. Do I spill the beans to her bf? Or do I keep quiet and try not to stare?

Is their relationship even any of my business?

My intentions are good. If I spill the beans, I could be helping both of them. He would move on to someone more faithful, while she could be free to un-secretively shop for boys. In a perfect world, they'd part peacefully and move on with their young lives.

In the actual world, I'd probably be inducing a massive fight between the two. Or, they'd turn on me, deny it, and call me a liar. Then all of our mutual friends would think I was a meddler & a gossiper.

If I were still in 7th grade, I probably would nose my way into their business. In 7th grade, I was quite happy to be involved in any sort of drama, especially drama involving love. But today, as an older (but unfortunately not any taller) chick, I have learned that messing with other people's love lives is seriously not my place. Unless someone asks me for advice in the lurve department, it's wise for me to keep my glossed lips sealed... especially if I don't want to get my hair yanked out in chunks.

I'll continue to watch this soap opera unfold from the sidelines.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-03-04T11:55:00.000-08:00

Brush With A Starlet.

I was riding my pink Hello Kitty bike on the Asbury Park boardwalk this morning, letting the unseasonably warm air breeze over my skin, gazing at the Atlantic Ocean, when I realized I had ridden right into the middle of a movie set.

Apparently me and some famous director share the same love for the rundown Asbury Park Casino. And for the actress Evan Rachel Wood. There she was, 15 feet away from me, bundled up against the spring wind.

I loved her in Thirteen and Across The Universe. And I still loved her as she stared at the spectacle that was me on a bright pink bike, looking right at her and trying to see what color her hair was and what she was wearing.

In baggy grey pants and a hoodie, I did not look so cute. I should have worn pink and white, to match my bike. Then she would've thought I was really out there. Mwah ha ha.

Then the PA made me move because they were going to start rolling. Jerk.

Love and Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-02-28T10:25:00.000-08:00

Fate brought me to Loehmann's today.

I was wandering down 8th Avenue in NYC between auditions, desperately seeking a bathroom. McDonald's can was going to be too gross, it's usually a favorite of bums. There was a long wait at Starbucks' loo. Then, in the distance, I spotted the discount designer heaven that is Loehmann's. Sweet memories of Juicy Couture and Miss Sixty finds filled my head with a fuzzy glow. Ahh, savings. Ahh, designer clothes. Ahh, a public bathroom on the ground floor!

I threw open the glass doors and avoided the stare of the security guard in an effort to make it look like I wasn't just entering the store to relieve myself. Speed-skipping down the steps, I made it to the ladies' lounge just in time to drop my pants before I had a major leakage. Whew.

I emerged several minutes later and checked my watch. One hour before my next audition. Sigh. It was too cold to wander the streets and people watch. I might as well wander through the shoe aisle instead...

OH. MY. GOD.

There it was. The signature hot pink box was so blinding it stopped me in my tracks. Betsey. Johnson. Shoes.

Not just one style, but two, three, four, five... every time I turned around I saw a new heel. I've never seen so many pretty pink boxes stacked inside Loehmann's shelves, and I've been coming to Loehmann's for a decade. Each pair was 50% off. And they all came in my extremely tiny and seriously rare size. 5.

I collapsed on the department store floor in a fit of ecstasy. After several minutes I came to, unzipped my boots and proceeded to try on 8 pairs of sky-high, frilly, totally un-functional but utterly stunning heels. I probably looked like a 3-year-old on a sugar high who just laid eyes on the complete My Little Pony collection for years '82-'08.

Using all the self control I could muster, I narrowed down my selection and marched to the cash register. Only my eyes peeked over the 4 boxes stacked on top of each other in my arms.

I whipped out my debit card (yes, debit, for we must never spend money we don't already have!) and gave it a satisfactory swipe through the machine.

I'll be teetering around my apartment, practicing balancing on 4-inch heels for the next month before these babies make a public appearance.

Shoes, glorious Betsey Johnson shoes.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-02-22T18:56:00.000-08:00

Shredding the Slopes of CT.

I grew up in CT... yea, we're in New England, but we're not quite as mountainous as Vermont or even Massachusetts. CT "mountains" are more like hills. Still. Hitting these hills with my bro, cuz, & bf was fantastical. GNARLY.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-02-20T18:29:00.000-08:00

You'd never be able to tell, but Jonny and I are actually at Marquee. OMG! Is it really as great as all the hype it gets? I've only been there three or four times, and if you have a table and bottle service, ten of your closest friends and someone else's wallet to play with, it's still just ok. The DJ is rad, but there's no dance floor. Talking is impossible because the music is ear-splitting, so I guess you're just supposed to sit around looking glam, making eyes and getting drunk. I could do that in my living room... but then I wouldn't be surrounded be Europeans.

And in case any cops are wondering, girls are still sneaking in underage and being hit on by 35 year olds.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2008-02-19T18:40:00.000-08:00

SPICE GIRLS. OMG!

I will not lie to you. If you peel away all my alt rock obsessions, you will find a sugary dose of POP. I thought the Spice Girls were the ISH when they jumped the pond and came to the USA. Wannabe? 2 Become 1? Spice Up Your Life? Still know all the words, and proud of it. So, when they announced a reunion tour, OF COURSE I went!

Their voices? On. Moves? Killer. Bodies? Amazing! Color me jeal.

A shot of Girl Power was exactly what I needed. It helps banish those teeny feelings of self-doubt that sometimes creep into my life.

Also, I'm pretty sure that Sporty is a lesbian. Girl power, indeed.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2007-11-15T17:28:00.000-08:00

Mini-Vaca in Florida! When the Northeast gets brisk... we flee to the south. Kind of like birds.

2007-10-31T17:41:00.000-07:00

Happy Halloween, from an evil fairy.

2007-09-07T17:36:00.000-07:00

Last Central Park Picnic of the Summer.

2007-07-01T17:42:00.000-07:00

Pirates, Pizza & Playdates in our nation's capital. USA! USA! USA!

2007-06-30T17:27:00.000-07:00

Fall Out Boy in Anaheim!

2007-05-30T17:38:00.000-07:00

Montreal and Cirque Du Soleil... Eh?!

Mon amie Nicola works for Cirque Du Soleil... and when she asked if I wanted to come visit her while she was in Montreal, of course I said oui! The show was so breathtaking it almost gave me a heart attack. We had dinner in a pitch black restaurant called O.Noir, run by the blind. We also explored the aquarium, Montreal's highest point, Chinatown and a club or two ;-)

Yeah, I'd become a Canadian...

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2007-04-20T05:53:00.000-07:00

Birthday Party Pics!

60 friends, a 6-foot-tall hare in stripper heels known as Scotty The Blue Bunny, and my fav East Village bar Plan B helped me ring in my 25th year on earth. In true L&L style, mayhem ensued. Special thanks to my girl Cassie at New York Couture for the awesome dress!

2007-04-05T06:16:00.000-07:00

Easter With The Morris'! Only one Peep was harmed in the making of this photo blog.

Love&Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2007-01-22T06:38:00.000-08:00

My Egypt Adventure.

I was obsessed with Egypt in grade school. I copycatted Cleopatra's eyeliner, made up my own version of hieroglyphics to use to pass secret notes, read the book The Egypt Game over and over, and even did my class project on the mysterious & ancient country. When my friend Kim asked if I wanted to join her on a trip and sail down the Nile, of course I said yes.

Aside from several brushes with death, including a near-boating accident on the Nile in Aswan and a crazed taxi driver in Cairo with no regards for traffic rules, the trip was AH-mazing. It changed my life. I felt like I discovered King Tut and was the first person to ever climb inside the Great Pyramid.

Selected pics are below, with cameos by Kim, Hilary and Brent.

We're pretty scrubby. The airline lost my luggage and I didn't get it back for 3 days, and showers were hard to come by. None of us cared :-) Did I mention the trip was AH-MAZING?!

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2007-01-21T07:32:00.000-08:00

Amsterdam It!

Before Kim & I landed in Egypt, we had an 8-hour layover in Amsterdam! I want to go back soooo badly, it's BEAUTIFUL. I had no idea the city was filled with canals... it's the Venice of the North ;-)

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2007-01-01T16:35:00.000-08:00

Happy 2007, from the palest New Yorkers.

2005-05-05T11:11:00.000-07:00

"uh, i think i hurt my wrist..."

those were my first words as i sat up, in a bed of pricker bushes, next to a makeshift two foot jump in the woods. i saw my horses hooves flash by. shit. i held my right arm, now the shape of a curvy dinner fork. i prayed for it to be a really bad sprain.
"oh my god cassandra are you ok???" one of the girls i'm riding with comes trotting up.
"you can cry if you want to." the other girl says. they are so cute.
"can you ride back?"
"i'm gonna have to... can you give me a leg up?"

i ride the mile back to the barn, then wince as my wrist is wrapped in ice and a horse leg bandage. heh. then i call my special guy friend, who is always good to have on hand in an emergency, and we head to the ER.

3 X-rays, two vials of morphine, and one local anesthetic later, i'm being held down by a nurse and an orthopaedic doctor as they snap my disjointed wrist bones back together. one word can sum up this experience... OUCH.

now i have an awesome splint cast past my elbow, lots of pain killers, and A PLANE TICKET OVERSEAS. with boarding call in just a couple days, i don't know how i'm going to be able to backpack with a freaking 5 lb cast on my dominant hand.

did i mention i'm typing this with my left hand? a hand that, up until now, just kind of hung at my side and looked pretty?

because i'm a positive person, i've comprised a short list titled:

"THINGS THAT ARE COOL ABOUT BREAKING YOUR DOMINANT WRIST JUST DAYS BEFORE YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO GO BACKPACKING IN EUROPE:"
1. i've always wanted to be ambidexterous. after this experience, i definitely will be.
2. a light blue cast will be the season's hottest fashion accessory.
3. a cast is a great attention- grabber in bars. it's an easy pick up line for guys.
4. painkillers.
5. maybe the foreign lands will take pity on me and let me cut ahead in lines to see famous museums, monuments, and archaeological sites.
6. my bicep will bulge after all the heavy cast- supporting.
7. i don't have to commute to work because... well... i can't exactly drive right now.
8. my travel partner will have to carry the bulk of my stuff...mwah ha ha ha.
9. people will get to write cool messages to me on my cast... like a yearbook... only without pictures.
10. painkillers.
11. atleast it wasn't my leg.
12. or my neck.

ok. it took me over 30 mins to left- handedly type this. my broken wrist hurts. so.... later on....

2005-04-30T23:13:00.000-07:00

Bonjour, mes amies.

"God, Cassandra. 11:13 on a Saturday night and you're updating your BLOG? Woa, simma. You don't want to over- exert yourself."

Shutup. I have good reason to be sitting in front of my computer in PJ's and a ponytail right now.

"Pray- tell, oh boring one. I'm warning you now. If this isn't a good excuse, I'm going to drag your ass out of your cushy chair right now, and take you somewhere before you can change out of your fuzzy slippers."

I spent all day trudging up and down the East Side in the rain. My bones are soaked through. Also, I have to be at work tomorrow morning at 8:30 am.

"Hun... tomorrow is Sunday."

I know. That's why I'm moping right now.

"Dudette. Seriously. That sucks. Are you getting overtime?"

No.

"Um... why not?"

Because the people I work for are greedy and expect me to do the jobs of three people, and not one.

"You should quit."

I know. But there's this stuff called money that I kind of need to survive right now...

"Well YEAH. But you're obviously not making any at the place you're at... so what's the difference?"

Alter- ego... you may have a point there.

2005-04-27T11:14:00.000-07:00

The best birthday message I received this year was from my P.I.C...

"For your birthday I got you a new Pope! Enjoy!"

...my stomach still hurts from giggling. not that i mind... it's a great ab work out ;-)

2005-04-26T11:15:00.000-07:00

There is this woman who rides at the same stable I do... who drives. me. nuts.

I know what you're thinking.

"Cassandra, there's someone EVERYWHERE who drives you nuts."

Ok... that might be true.

But

this woman is like... nuts- driving- overkill.

Most girls at the stable are pretty young

while this woman is like, 40.

Which is fine...

(I plan on riding when I'm 40)

But for some reason

She feels like she has to prove something to everyone.

And attempts to boss the other riders around.

Including me.

Now

I'm not one that likes to be bossed by non- boss people.

I listen to my instructor...

she knows what she's talking about.

I also pay her to tell me what to do :-)

But

There is no need for me to listen to this woman.

Especially

when the things she says

are retarded.

Example One:

I am cleaning my saddle in the tack room

after a nice long ride.

I pause

to lift my saddle onto the saddle rack

"You need to put those stirrups up,"

she says to me from behind.

Which was completely unnecessary.

Because

"I'm not done cleaning my saddle,"

I reply.

"Oh," is her respsonse.

As if

Anyone who rides there

doesn't know

to put their stirrups up

when storing their saddles.

Leave me alone.

Example Two:

I am trotting over some low cross- rails

on my favorite horse.

Our instructor isn't there

which is not a problem

because

she lets me ride

anytime i want.

Low cross rails aren't a big deal, either.

It's the high jumps I'm banned from

When my instructor isn't around.

Yet

I can feel her disapproving looks

as Ms. Prove-Something

watches me from across the ring.

and she doesn't let up

until our instructor arrives

and confirms

that yes...

Cassandra is allowed to jump low cross- rails

without supervision.

because

Cassandra isn't retarded.

Example Three.

I am exercising a horse around the ring

just before sunset

in perfect weather

when you- know- who comes trotting up to me

on the horse she's leasing.

"How long have you been riding?" she asks.

"'bout two hours..." I say.

There it is, again...

that disapproving look.

"That's a long time..." she says with an edge.

Excuse me

but what business is it of yours?

Sure, it would be a long time

if I were cantering non- stop or

repeatedly jumping a complicated course or

galloping across the trail

in heat.

but... i wasn't.

How does one react to that statement?

"Time flies when you're riding..." is my answer.

And I trot away.

I don't know why she thinks I have bad judgement

or the over-zealous riding capacity of a 12 yr old.

Or why she feels the need to play "instructor"

when ours isn't around.

but it really pisses me off

when people won't just leave me alone

when i know i'm not doing anything wrong

and am perfectly capable of taking care of myself

and my horse.

Please.

Find someone or something else to worry about

and comment about.

Better yet...

put all that discriminatory energy into your own riding.

It would make you a better rider

and be more worthwhile of your time...

2005-04-21T11:18:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday To Me!
Bonjour, mes amies. I celebrated the start of my 23rd year on Earth this week. If I were Jessica Simpson, I would have said:

"23 is almost 25 which is almost mid- twenties."

But, since I'm not a blonde babe with a bra size bigger than my IQ, I'm going to recap all of my 20- something birthdays for your nosiness and general enjoyment.

April, 2002: I was wearing a denim skirt, a funky brown leather and metal belt, and a lacy seagreen, yellow, and light blue lacy tank/corset- looking thing. The night commenced with a dinner at one of my fav cafe's in the village, with a desert of Oreo cheesecake. All of the Oopsa's were in attendance. From there we went to a club, where I got searched by a security guard who I swear was getting off on feeling me up. Shudder. That club kinda sucked, so around midnite I bailed with one of my friends and headed over to Vinyl, which has since burned down in a fire. Anyway, we partied there 'til the wee hours to the beats of Danny Tartaglia. All in all, not bad.

April, 2003: The year I turned the age of blackjack jackpot and legal consumption of alcohol. I was wearing tight dark denim Dollhouse jeans, black Bebe tank top with rhinestones, and a pink zip up Manchester Ping Pong Tournament jacket over it. Dinner was held at one of my fav midtown restaurants, which I guess was out of the price range for some of my friends, because two of them didn't even order anything... which I found a little embarassing. Anyway, we had a champagne toast and dinner. Then we headed downtown, where, for the first time in 3 years, I entered a lounge showing my REAL ID. Fast forward to... 5 bars later? I'm sitting outside the entrance to one of my fav Alphabet City haunts, near tears, because somewhere in my drunken travels I LOST MY ID. The only proof of age I have and IT'S GONE! So, we head to a local college bar where they would let you in with a Blockbuster Card, and I see way too many people I know, or can handle in my drunken state. So, we head down the block for the best drunk pizza everrrr. Some guy steals my bag and I just sit there and say, "Oh, he'll bring it back." Which he actually does. When I'm drunk, I'm psychic. It's like I have ESPN or something. I can't remember if I had a hangover the next day but I probably did. That's ok. It's how everyone is supposed to spend their 21st year.

April, 2004. I invite my friends to a bar/lounge in the village with a small dance floor and DJ. Let the soiree begin. I was wearing a way-too-short army green skirt, yellow t-shirt, lots of sparkly eye makeup and platform shoes with charms on them that were really hard to walk in. Let the dancing begin. After partying the night away, I spent the rest of the weekend in NJ, because my then-"boyfriend" bought me tickets to see his favorite band for my birthday. You don't have to re-read that sentence. My present really was tickets to see HIS favorite band! Uh, thanks? I didn't tell him I was disappointed, but I probably should have. If he had bought tix for the next night, I could have seen one of my REAL favorite bands. Anyway, I don't remember what I was wearing. But I did buy a t-shirt.

April, 2005. Man, am I starting to feel old! I dressed up for work in designer jeans, a lacy pink tank and a cuuuute white fitted jacket from Banana over it. Gold flats, new watch from mom, new Tiffany's (ahhhh!!!) necklace from mom, hair down. My co-worker got me a BARBIE cake to celebrate! Hahaha. So fitting. After work I met up with my special guy friend and headed to a concert to see.. dun dun da dun! Taking Back Sunday and Jimmy Eat World!!! Did I mention that Taking Back Sunday is my SECOND FAVORITE BAND (although it might actually be my first fav now...) ROCK. I wore (birthday new) Etnies, pink fishnets poking through ripped jeans, pink and black spray painted tank, hair up to show off the star tattoo. I practically straddled a bouncer as he yanked me off the top of the crowd so I wouldn't go flying into the stage after my crowd surf. Didn't socialize that much because the crowd was way unfriendly. What happened to unity at shows? Poseurs. Whatev. My special guy friend and I had lots of fun.

And now, I am still recovering from my birthday madness and trying to burn off all the cake and ice cream calories I've accumulated over the past week. Mm mmm goood.

Until next year...
Love&Lipgloss,
xox
23 me

2005-04-12T11:22:00.000-07:00

Public Drunkeness

I was riding the train home last night with my friend Erik. The train just pulled out of the station, and we were chillin', still a little wound up from the Mojitos we had for dinner. Suddenly, this 60-ish man stumbles down the aisle and grabs onto our seat. He looks like he's going to hurl. His well- dressed wife is right behind him.

"Are you ok, Fred?" she says.
Fred grunts and hunches over.

The entire train car twists their necks to look at the spectacle. The man collapses. The car gasps. He's sprawled in the train aisle on his ass. I jump out of my seat, unsure of what to do. Is he having a heart attack? Chest pain? He's pretty old- is he going to die?!

I look at Erik. The same thoughts are racing through our head. I open the train window to give the man air. Someone fans him with a piece of paper. A conductor comes barreling down the aisle, to the rescue. Is there medical help on the train?

I look at the wife, expecting her to be freaking out. But she's not. She's calm. Somewhat embarassed, but in control. It registers that she's done this before. Fred isn't going to die of a heart attack. He's drunk.

I want to cry. I wonder how long this woman has been married to an alcoholic. And what it would be like to have to drag your husband, who can't even walk because he's consumed so much alcohol, home on a Monday night.

"You can have our seat," I say to the woman. I don't know why this didn't occur to me sooner. But it's like, all of a sudden I was back in real- time. I gesture to Erik to get up. The wife looks at us, grateful to be out of the aisle, but still embarassed. Everyone else on the train just watches. Stares. They don't do anything.

At the next stop, the police come on board and kick the drunk man and his wife off. I watch them book him out the window. Public Drunkeness, probably. God.

In college, dragging your drunk friends home is almost acceptable. It's funny. But after graduation, it kinda loses its... I can't think of the word for it. Once in awhile it's okay, but if it's a daily habit, that's a definite no no. And when you're older... come on now. Shouldn't you know better? Even older... time to go to AA. And if it's a lifestyle, like it is with Fred... well, that's just sad. For real.

2005-04-04T11:23:00.000-07:00

Oh geez look at this...

I feel nauseous.

It started this morning. My alarm blared at 6:45 am, which would have been 5:45 am just two days ago, so my entire body is utterly confused and grumpy. My brain tries to communicate to it that it needs to roll out of bed. Somehow that translates into, "reach for the remote." That, and my eyes blinking at the television, is all the movement it can handle for about 10 minutes. My alarm goes off again. Sleep timer. Ugh. My arm is forced to move one more time. Might as well move my entire body if I have to move my arm. Ready? One, two, three! I was supposed to move on three. I'm still horizontal. Sigh. One, two, two and a half, three... four, five, six.... twenty nine, thirty. Grrrrrrrrrrrrr. Finally. I'm sitting up. I stumble forward off my bed. I gaze back at it longily. It's the most comfortable bed. Ever. But I can't think about that right now. I have to think about showering. Shower, shower, shower. I enter my bathroom. Do I really have to shower? Look in the mirror. Yes. And I might still smell like horse from yesterday. And while that's a smell I enjoy, I'm sure my coworkers won't. So. Woa. What was that? My vision shifts and my stomach churns. I refrain from dry- heaving into the toilet. There's nothing in my stomach to ralph, and my esophagus doesn't need the extra exercise this early in the morning. Or any morning. Ugh. I put my head between my knees. My face is probably a hideous shade of green. Pull yourself together, girl. Ready? One, two, three! My head is still closer to my knees than the shower. Sigh. Try it again. One, two, two and a half, three... four, five, six... eighty seven, eighty eight... one hundred! Stand! Steady there. You need to go to work today. Okay. Into the shower you go....

Fast forward to lunch time. I just ate a salad, raisins, peaches, and a few fries that I stole from my coworker. I heart fries. Anyway. These are all normal, natural, healthy (ok, minus the fries) that I eat on a regular basis (add the fries again). SO WHY. DO I. STILL FEEL. LIKE. I'M GOING TO HURL?!?!?!

UGGGGGGH.

2005-03-30T11:25:00.000-08:00

Oh My God, Becky...
'Twas a fantabulous day to skip work today, no? I went riding in the morning with my horse, Freckles. I use "my" loosely... ;-) A girl can wish. Anyway, after capitalizing on the country weather, I headed in to the big city. As usual, it resulted in a "story." And, as usual, I will now share it with the entire internet world:

I illegally park my car in a permit- only parking lot, hoping the town police will be too busy socializing at the local Dunkin' to notice. I gather my stuff and high- tail it to the train platform to buy my ticket before the train pulls into the station. As I approach the first ticket machine, a woman steps in front of me. Okay. Giving her the benefit of the doubt (perhaps I just didn't see her waiting there) I start towards the second ticket machine down at the other end of the platform. Humming my fav tune, enjoying the springtime air, the sun on my face, the walk doesn't bother me a bit. Then, I notice a shadow creeping up on my right. It's bouncing briskly, curly hair outlined by the sun. Instinctively, I speed up. I can feel the person who the shadow belongs to tense up. Odd. Am I about to get mugged? Finally, I reach the second ticket machine and touch "begin" on the screen.

"Can I use that machine before you so I have time to run back to my car?" says the curly- haired shadow, now a human figure next to me. It's the same woman who cut in front of me at the other ticket machine. The one that only takes credit cards. She's holding a handful of cash.
"Uh, isn't the train coming soon?" I say, continuing my transaction.
"Yeah, in like TEN minutes," she says sarcastically. I look at my watch. The train is due in 3 minutes.
"I'll just be a sec," I say. She huffs. I continue punching the screen.
"I hope you hurry. I WAS before you in line but that's beside the fact..." she says behind me.

Excuse me? Since when does cutting in front of someone at a DIFFERENT ticket machine qualify a person to be "first in line"? No. Ignoring her obnoxiousness, I get out my debit card and slide it through. This sets the woman off.

"Ugh!" She says, high pitched. "Some people are soooo clueless," she says.

Listen, lady. It's not my problem the other machine doesn't take cash and that's all you have. If anyone is clueless, it's you. It clearly says "CURRENTLY ACCEPTING DEBIT AND CREDIT CARDS ONLY" in blinking yellow font at the other machine. You're the one who tried to shove cash in there. If you wanted me to use that machine, then you shouldn't have cut in front of me in the first place. You got yourself into this mess. Deal with it. Also, it's not my problem that you forgot something in your car. I could give two shits that you forgot something. My main concern is buying a ticket so I can get on the train when it rolls up in three minutes. Do you honestly think I'm going to be nice to someone who cuts me in line, stalks me down the platform, and gives me an attitude? Hell no.

Now, you've pissed me off. And, as you're going to learn, I am NOT someone you want to piss off.

I take extra time entering my secret debit card code. I even mess it up the first time, so I have to go back and start again. I punch in the code s l o w l y. I start to giggle. I can feel the woman fuming behind me. She mutters something to herself. My ticket starts to print. I wait a few seconds before I "realize" that it's down there, waiting for me to grab. To mess with her, I start to take a step away from the machine. Frizz thinks it's her turn now. But wait! What's that? Oops! I forgot my receipt. I step back towards the machine and make a big show out of reaching down for it. Then, I turn and look her straight in the eye. Hideous. I almost recommend her to send a tape into "Extreme Makeover." Instead, I open my mouth and out comes...

"Have a LOVELY day!" Perky, sweet, sarcastic... my specialty. I flash her a smile and stride down the platform.
"Ugh! You too!" She calls after me, sarcastic. Ugly sarcastic. Hideous sarcastic. Frizzy sarcastic.

People are nuts. Insane. Nutty AND insane. This woman clearly has issues, because normal people don't just go off on strangers in public. Or mutter to themselves in public. Or act like that, period. My diagnosis? She's a bitch. A raging bitch.

2005-03-27T11:26:00.000-08:00

Interstate Driving
Can you imagine driving from upstate Connecticut to the Jersey Shore, in icy and snowy conditions, at night, with one windshield wiper? You'd have to be a complete dumbass to do that. Since I don't classify myself as a complete dumbass, I got my windshield wiper fixed to the tune of $208 before I set out on that excursion.

I begged the car-fixing place to take my car that day. Since I have mad connections, they did. Since they were especially busy, my car wasn't ready until 5 pm... juuuust when the first flakes of snow were falling from the gray sky above. Awesome. By the time I got on the highway, the snowflakes were huge and pounding down on my windshield. Traffic topped out at 30 mph. Once I got the wipers going, the new one started squeaking. And squeaking. AND SQUEAKING. Ahhhh! Thank god for my Ipod and its car adapter. I should have arrived down the Shore at 7:30. I didn't roll up until 9:45. Roar.

And of course, once I crossed into the Shore region, the ice and sleet and snow magically changed into rain. Traffic topped out at 80, finally. Although, once my car hit 85, a high pitched buzzing sound came from inside my dashboard. That was new. I'm just glad my car actually made it to the Shore and back in one piece.

And now, a list of why driving in New Jersey sucks:

1) Jughandles. They make. No sense. Who turns right to go left? I don't think like that. If I want to make a left, I turn my steering wheel left. That makes sense. Die, jughandles, die.
2) Forks. Why are there so many? I'd rather drive in a straight line. None of this 'slight left' 'slight right' 'around the bend' 'then a sharp curve' business.
3) No U-Turns. Um, WHY? No seriously... WHY? Since this request was so ridiculous, I made a couple U-turns anyway, laughing maliciously all the while.
4) Potholes. Have you heard of asphalt? Stupid question. Because judging from the conditions of your roads, you haven't.
5) Jeeps and SUVs. Show me a person in New Jersey who isn't driving a Jeep or SUV, and they'll show you their out-of-state drivers license.
6) Gas. Why is it so much cheaper than in CT? And how come they don't let you pump your own gas, either? And what is with the weird-ass gas station names? U.S. Gas or American Gas or something like that. Thanks, but I'll take Texaco.
7) Tolls. There is a toll every 3 miles. On the highway. At highway exit ramps. At highway entrance ramps. They charge miniscule amounts of money. 15 cents. 35 cents. WHY. My favorite toll was THE ONE THAT DIDN'T EVEN EXIST. Yes, there was a whole line of phantom toll booths, smack in the middle of the highway, that were closed. Cars still had to slow down, go through their separate little toll things, then merge back together. FOR NO REASON AT ALL. Hey Jersey... if you're not using one of your tolls, THEN TEAR IT DOWN. Maybe this will make you think twice the next time you want to charge me 2 cents to drive on a strip of highway that's as long as my highschool football field.
8) What the hell are you doing with all the toll money you're collecting, anyway? Here's a suggestion. Highway air freshners. Because all of those chemical/sanitation/whatever plants that line the Turnpike SMELL. BAD. REALLY, REALLY BAD. And you wonder why people refer to you as the 'armpit of America.' I'm going to let you in on a little secret. It's not because Jersey curves in and out again, like a human armpit. No. It's BECAUSE YOU STINK!!!
9) Scenery. I'd like something a little nicer to look at. It's either boring ass trees, or a billion strip malls that all have a Home Depot and a car dealership. Who needs that many Home Depots? And who the hell is Ray Catana? Why do you own so many car dealerships? And why do you plaster your name in Lexus- font across the top of all of your buildings? I'm going to spill another secret. SELLING CARS DOES NOT MAKE YOU FAMOUS. YOU HAVE AN EGO PROBLEM.
10) Express lane driving. There are two lanes in the express lane. The pedal-to-the-metal-tailgaiting-flash-my-l

ights-at-you-get-the-hell-out-of-my-way-look-how-fast-my-car-can-go lane... and the sloooow, take it eeeeeasy, 'honk if you have grandchildren' bumper sticker lane. I don't qualify for either of these lanes. I am a normal- speed driver. I suggest a driver's ed course at the start of every express lane. There are some basic road etiquette rules that seem to have been forgotten.

In conclusion, I prefer driving in Connecticut. Or Westchester. Or taking the subway.

The End.

2005-03-23T11:28:00.000-08:00

Reasons my car is ghetto:
1) It only has one windshield wiper
2) The windshield wiper is tricked out, ghetto fab style. It's raised way up above the car hood. So it goes up, down, then up again before it stops.
3) The 'check engine' light goes on and off when it feels like it
4) So does the 'srs airbag' light
5) And the oil leak light
6) When the temperature is below freezing, the starter rolls over a bunch of times before the car starts
7) It rolls backward when stopped on hills, which would be normal for a standard car, but it's not standard, it's automatic.
8) When I stop short, the gears shift themselves into neutral (well, that's what it feels like anyway). I have to wait a bit before I can start moving again.
9) There was a huge crack halfway across my windshield until I had it replaced yesterday
10) The front left headlight is cracked (The side of my house looked further away than it actually was)
11) So is the bottom right light, and maybe the bottom left too... but that might be dirt, I'm not sure
12) When I turn it off, a grunting sound (like a pig oinking) comes from inside the dashboard for 10 secs
13) There are no seatbelts in the backseat
14) The back right window doesn't roll down
15) The air conditioner does not work. At all.
16) There is sand and dirt from 1995 under the floormats
17) No CD player... only a cassette tape player
18) The sunroof gets stuck intermittently
19) I spilled windshield wiper fluid underneath the car hood. That can't have been good. But I didn't know what to do... so I just left it.
20) It pulls to the left a lot. But that just might be my mad (I mean bad) driving skills.

2005-03-20T11:28:00.000-08:00

I know you want to know what I did for St. Patrick's Day.
Even though it was three days ago, it was possibly the best St. Patrick's Day I've ever had in my entire life. I'm kidding. I have no idea which of the 22 St. Patrick's Days that I've celebrated is the best one. Or if there even IS a best one.

I wasn't even going to acknowledge the day this year, because St. Patrick's Day isn't really a holiday. It's an excuse for everyone who is in alchie-denial to get wasted and pretend that they're not alcoholics. I think that's pretty reeetarded. If you want to go out and get drunk on a Thursday, then fucking go out and get drunk on a Thursday. You don't need some fake- ass cartoon leprechaun decorations to tell you that it's okay. Do you ask your mom permission to use the bathroom, too?

I woke up at 8 am and did my morning routine of news channel- surfing. As always, Fox wowed me with their journalistic integrity and reporting skills. One of the anchors was broadcasting live from a bar in Midtown where a bunch of male Manhattanites were already on their second pitchers. The slurred interviews provided fascinating commentary. The closeups of the drool trickling out of their mouths was news videography at its finest. As I watched the 30- something males stagger around the dive and shield their eyes from the morning sun streaming in through the entrance, I was proud to be an American.

Later that day I wandered over to a bar on 3rd Ave. One of my ex- frat friends was there and I hadn't seen him in awhile. I figured... if I'm going to actually celebrate St. Patty's Day, I might as well do it with a frat boy. Outside the bar was a red headed man, about 6'2'', standing guard. Green- sleeved arms crossed, clover- medallions swinging, he stared down at me through his green tinted glasses.

"ID."
Roar. The day I dont get carded because I look old... I'm going to throw a party. A Botox party.
"Here." I hand him my ID.
"tHISSSSsss looKsss FAKE." Hm. Mr. Bouncer has had a few.
"It's not fake you fucking moron." Ok... I didn't actually say 'you fucking moron.'
"YOUUUUuUU LOOK like you'RE at THE BEEEACH."
"Yeah. Can I go in now?"
"Howww oooldDDD aASRE you REALY?>"
"22."
"RIGHTHTIT. Don'ttt Drrink too mucccch hoky?"
"Ok.... you drunk bastard."

I stuff my ID back into my bag and walk through the little bar entryway.

"ID?" this guy clad in black from head to toe says to me.
"What?" I say, mostly to myself, confused. I look back at the drunk red headed guy. "But that guy just checked..." Oh god. No. Yes.
"ID?" the real bouncer says again. He stares down at me, clearly UNintoxicated. I was tricked. Stupid drunk red head guy out front. Him and his friends must be having a hearty har-dee-har-har over my naiveness. I look back at him. Yep. They're pointing and laughing. At me. Ha. Ha. Ha. YOU'RE SO FUCKING FUNNY.

ROAR!!!

"You look like you could be my daughter!" a 35-ish guy says as he comes up next to me, pint in hand. "Lemmeeeee sheeee your ID!"
"Pedophile." I say to him. Ok, I didn't say that either. But I really wish I had. Instead, I pushed past him and scanned the crowd.

"You just got carded three times!" Finally, a familiar face. A friendly face.
"Hey," I hug my frat friend, who has decked himself out in probably every green thing he owns. Hehehe.

Erin Go Bragh. Happy Alcoholics In Denial Day. Yay for potatos, corned beef hash, Irish soda bread, and real Irish blood running through my veins.

Love & Lipgloss,
Your Lassie,
Cassandra

2005-03-14T11:29:00.000-08:00

"Can I leave early?"
I watched the snow fall lightly to the ground through the hanging blinds of the office window. It didn't look too bad, but I wanted to get a head start on my hour commute. It was 2 pm. I'd have plenty of time.
"Sure," my boss said. If I asked him for the rest of the month off, he'd give me the same answer. My manipulation tactics have grown over the past couple months. Being short and cute in the workplace has its advantages. You just can't abuse them.
I gathered my Ugg coat, Ugg bag, and adjusted my Ugg boots. Hey, might as well work my preppiness while residing in the preppiest state in New England. Pardon me, in the country.
"Be careful out there, Cass," my coworker Omar warned. I brushed him off.
"Yeah, yeah. I can handle it," I said, distracted.
"It's all ice," he said, his voice on a worried edge. I walked past him and headed for the door. "Bye!" I called to no one in general. I let the door slam behind me.

My beat up BMW was covered in a thin layer of snow. I started up the engine and dug out my ice scraper from the backseat. Humming along to Motion City Soundtrack, I brushed off my car. I had tickets to see them tonite. Yes. They were playing with Matchbook Romance. Double yes.

I climbed in my car and tried the windshield wipers. They cranked into motion, breaking away from a layer of ice. Never seen that happen before. I put my car into gear and pulled out of the parking lot. The snow was coming down heavier now. My car skidded as I turned. There wasn't a snow plow in sight, so I could hardly see the road. 10 mph seemed like speeding.

I tried my windshield wipers again, but it was useless. A thin layer of ice had already hardened over my windshield. I blasted the heat. The engine hummed, laughing at me. The lights from the car in front of me were the only thing I could see.

45 minutes later, I pulled over to the side of the road to clear off my car again. I had only made it three miles. I hadn't even reached the highway yet. Should I turn around and go back to work? Nah. Once I reach the highway, the roads will be a little more clear. Traffic will be moving. And what would I do back at work, anyway?

Finally, the highway ramp. I got on at exit 41. The van in front of me suddenly stopped. Shit. Its bumper was getting closer. I made a hard turn to the right and my car rolled safely into a snowbank. Phew.

Traffic was crawling... crawling... crawling... and then, it stopped. I waited for it to start moving again. I waited some more. Then it hit me. I was stuck. The two lane highway morphed into a 5 and a half lane parking lot. People got out of their cars to clear the snow off their windshields. Everything was white. The snow was coming down harder now. I couldn't see 10 feet in front of me. Then I couldn't see 5 feet in front of me. My windows were fogged up. I traced "This sucks" backwards on the glass. I threw my car into park, sat back, and tried not to panic.

To be continued...

2005-03-13T11:30:00.000-08:00

To Do:
-Be fabulous

Not To Do:
-Be UNfabulous

2005-03-04T11:37:00.000-08:00

About love...
Bundled up in a furry Ugg jacket, hood pulled over my head, scarf wrapped around my neck, fuzzy gloved- hands stuffed in my pockets, I was waiting on the train station platform in a crisp 25 degrees. Brrrr. I was two minutes away from hypothermia when the train finally pulled up to the station, sending last night's snowflakes whirling up from the train tracks. I peeked out from under my hood- the train was already packed.

All aboard. As soon as I set a slushy foot onto the train, the stench hit me. Onions. Pee-yoo! The bathroom car smelled better than this. I frantically looked behind me for a way out. Other passengers were closing in. I'd never get to another car in time. If I didn't sit down now, I would have to stand for the 90 minute ride into Manhattan. There was only one seat left.

I took a deep breath (through my mouth) and sat down, hoping my eau de toilette would overpower the eau de grossness. Where was it coming from? I took off my hood. To my right was an Asian girl devouring a Greek salad chock full of onions. I almost ralphed imagining her bad breath. Did the other passengers smell this? Do I have a hyper sensitive sense of smell? What must the guy sitting next to her think? He's pretty cute, in a JCrew Fairfield County sort of way. Oh god.

I felt the bile rising in my esophagus as JCrew guy leaned in towards onion girl, and put his face right next to hers. He whispered something in her ear. She shoved a forkful of onion in her mouth. Then he kissed her.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is true love.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2005-02-09T11:32:00.000-08:00

Why I Hate Fancy Restaurants (an essay)

It has recently come to my attention that I am capable of driving any sane man completely insane within a matter of seconds. I don't do it on purpose. It just happens. It's unavoidable.

Case in point: Dustin (whose name has been changed for privacy purposes, of course). Dustin knows that I thrive on girliness. I like to put on a dress, kohl black eyeliner, sparkly eye shadow and lipgloss to match, and look absolutely fabulous while gallavanting around the city. A sane man, such as Dustin, would reason that I would like to be taken out on Valentine's Day to a chi-chi restaurant in NYC where dress code is strictly enforced and there is a wine list longer than I am tall. It makes perfect sense in Sane World. But, I am not living in Sane World. I am living in Cassandra World.

In Cassandra World, chi-chi restaurants are the enemy. They embody all that is evil about food, waiters, wine, tablecloths, and worst of all, utensils.

Exhibit A- Chi-chi restaurant food. I get very nervous when I am forced to shovel food in my mouth while sitting directly across from someone I find attractive. Instead of thinking, "Yum! This cavier is smashing!" I think, "Oh my god, is there something in my teeth? I think I feel a piece of fish egg. If I use my tongue to get it out, it'll look like I'm trying to makeout with myself. If I leave it, I'll have a very noticable black spot on my pearly whites. Shit! What do I do?" I end up not opening my mouth for a prolonged period of time, thus not carrying on conversation, thus being very boring, thus making a bad date.

Exhibit B- Chi-chi restaurant waiters. Only cream-of-the-crop waiters are hired at tres cher restaurants, especially tres cher restaurants in New York City. These waiters have an attitude. They serve the best of the best, and if they don't think you are chi-chi restaurant material, they have no problem letting you know. I don't want to be judged when I sit down to chow down. I just want to eat and enjoy the atmosphere! A little difficult when a snotty out-of-work-actor-of-a-waiter is looking down his Jewish nose at you.

Exhibit C- Chi-chi restaurant wine. I like wine. What kind of wine? White. And that's all I can say about that. Wine lists, while pretty to look at, are damn confusing. Chardonnay? Vintage? 1945? Fruity aftertaste? Who knows! Normally, I randomly pick a wine and hope for the best. But, at chi-chi restaurants, a special wine waiter uncorks a bottle for you, pours you a quarter of a glass, watches you try it, and then asks you if that's the wine you want with your meal. Did somebody say pressure? I'm aware there's a certain way to taste wine, but I don't know how to do it. And if I did taste a wine, hate it, and then sent it back, I'd be a complete poseur! I don't know what taste I'm looking for! I'm feeling overwhelmed just writing this. Moving on.

Exhibit D- Chi-chi restaurant tablecloths. Every chi-chi restaurant has starched white tablecloths. They look nice when I sit down to eat. When I get up to leave... that's a different story. Crumbs, salad dressing, tomato sauce... most of it ends up in my mouth or on my plate... but there's always that little bit that splashes onto the white tablecloth. I never notice it until the very end of the meal when the waiter comes to clear all the dishes off the table. Waiter clears up my date's side of the table, the tablecloth still looks white. Waiter clears my side... well look at that! There's no way to hide this messiness, either. Even if it's a teeny tiny dot of red sauce, it will look like a volcanic eruption against the rest of the starched white tablecloth. Embarassing.

Exhibit E- Chi-chi restaurant utensils. Ok. I'm not a complete moron. I do know which fork or spoon or knife to use with which course. My problem is actually picking up these utensils and putting them to use. I can't cut food. At all. Fork and knife? I look like the Elephant Man probably did when he tried to simultaneously use a fork and a knife. I can't coordinate. It's awkward. It's frustrating. It's reality. The reality of living in Cassandra World.

So, Dustin, I am sorry if I caused you temporary insanity when I freaked out at your invitation. I hope this clarified your confusion. Although I can see how this would make you even more insane. I'm sorry. I would still like to spend this Monday night with you. Perhaps we can do something a little more... low key?

Love, Lipgloss, Cupid Wings and Heart Shaped Arrows,
Cassandra

2005-01-23T11:34:00.000-08:00

Letter
To: Everyone who hounded me to watch Garden State
From: Cassandra
Body: Thanks.

2005-01-22T11:33:00.000-08:00

Is monogamy a cruel joke on mankind?
I'm conducting a case study. My question: Is monogamy a cruel joke on mankind?

I asked three men in my office (whose names have been changed due to me not wanting a pink slip) to share their thoughts about married life.

Antonio: 50 years old, married 25 years. Proposed to his wife 6 weeks after meeting her. Two children. Says he is happy in his marriage.

Marcus: mid forties, married about 16 years. Self proclaimed "nice guy." Says he can make any woman happy because he is intune with his feminine side (aka shopping, cooking, decorating), but his wife doesn't see it. Two children. Says he is happy in his marriage.

Antonio, jr: 22 years old, married 4 years. Married his high school sweetheart. Two kids. Says he is content in his marriage.

These three men can sit around for hours and rank on their wives. Nothing horrible, just little things. "She's not interested in my work and never wants to talk about it," "She gets mad when I don't put the tupperware away in the right place," "She talks through TV shows," "She yells when I hire someone to do the yardwork instead of doing it myself," "She expects me, after a 10 hour work day, to come home and immediately start taking care of the kids. I need 15 minutes to cool down, at least!"

I asked them if they could tell me something they liked about their wives. Silence. Then, after some coaxing: "She loves me and supports my business," "She cooks a good meal," and "She's passionate about her work."

Why can these married men yap and yap about how annoying their wives are, even when not prompted? Why is it so difficult for them to praise their wives, or talk excitedly about them?

I assume these couples were once passionately in love. Antonio must have fell hard during a whirlwind romance, because he proposed to his wife after a mere 6 weeks! Shouldn't marriage deepen a relationship? In an ideal world, it would. But this isn't an ideal world.

Marcus has an interesting theory: Men go into a marriage expecting a woman to never, ever change. "'My wife used to have this dark, long, gorgeous hair,'" he told me. "'Then one day she walked into my office with all of her hair chopped off. She didn't even look like herself! This wasn't the woman I married! 'What did you do?' I asked her. 'I thought I'd get a haircut,' she said. 'Do you like it?' 'Like it? You look like a boy!' I said to her. Then she got upset." Many men are unhappily married because they don't anticipate their wives changing from the moment they say "I do," until the day they bite the dust. This is an unrealistic expectation. Everyone changes.

Marcus went on to say that women go into a marriage expecting a man to change into an ideal husband. All of his perceived flaws (examples: his hatred of Valentine's Day, his lack of affection in public, his lack of motivation in career/school, his bad money management) will magically disappear when a ring is slipped on his index finger. This is also an unrealistic expectation. People change, but not always into the person you want. Character flaws are rarely reversed. You can't morph a man into Prince Charming with a wedding ceremony.

The married men agreed on the following:
1) You can not go into a marriage with any expectations
2) You must learn to accept your significant other's flaws
3) One person will never, ever be able to satisfy all of your physical and emotional needs
3a) Harems and polygamy are ideal

Married men's conclusion: Yes. Monogamy is a cruel joke on mankind.

My research didn't stop there. I talked to three unmarried people working in my office as well.

Jason- 23 years old, single. One serious relationship and several not-as-serious relationships under his belt. Frequently refers to women as "evil."

Otto- 26 years old, in a relationship. Says he loves his girlfriend, and is talking about moving in with her.

Evie- 23 years old, engaged. Has been with her fiancee for 5 years. Says she loves him, but lately has petty fights with him. Says she is looking forward to married life.

Jason, Otto, and Evie were present for my interviews with the married men. Their reactions varied. Evie was visibly bothered, and grew increasingly angry. She believes in love, she believes her marriage will work. She thinks it is ridiculous to not have some expectations of the person you're marrying. The key is to have the right expectations. She expects her fiancee to figure out what he wants to do with his life, career-wise. She expects to have children with him. She expects him to be a good dad. Without such expectations, no one would ever strive to achieve in life.

Otto agreed with the married men that one shouldn't enter a marriage with unrealistic expectations. He believes in thoroughly knowing a person and understanding a person before marrying them. He wants to get married someday. From an objective view, Otto seems to have the healthiest relationship out of everyone in the office.

Jason did not say one word throughout the entire marriage debate. He sat quietly, listening, watching. I asked him what he thought about the married men's conclusions later that afternoon, in private. He looked at me and said, "They forgot about love."

Unmarried people's conclusion: No. Monogamy is not a cruel joke on mankind.

Two different groups of people, two different answers. Unfortunately, it's no coincidence that the marrieds are all on one side and the unmarrieds are on the other. Marriage affects love, and it doesn't look like for the better.

Jason is the furthest away from marriage, and he is a strong believer in love. Otto has a girlfriend, but there are no rings involved. Otto believes in love. Evie is on her way to marriage, and the stress is already showing itself in petty fights. She's holding on to the idea of love. Antonio, Marcus, and Antonio, jr. are married, and think monogamy is a joke. They explained love as a choice. You choose to love someone despite their flaws.

Antonio, Marcus, and Antonio, jr. were all unmarried at one point. They dated their wives before proposing. They were engaged before they were married. They had to have been in love for all of this to happen. They were all in Jason, Otto, and Evie's shoes. They were once strong believers in love and marriage. They got married, and look what happened. It's a doomed path.

This pattern of thinking led to my (unfortunate) case study conclusion: Yes. Monogamy is a cruel joke on mankind.

My research is not over, however. The true test of my conclusion lies in the results of Evie's, Otto's, and Jason's marriages. This will keep me busy for years to come...

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2005-01-22T11:32:00.000-08:00

Winter Correspondence
TO: Mother Nature
FROM: Cassandra
RE: The Blizzard of '05
SUBJECT: It's really cold

Dear Mother Nature,

Thank you for pounding the Southern Connecticut shoreline with snow. I enjoyed being trapped inside my home for 24 hours with my mom. The added wind was a nice touch. The walls of my house almost caved in from the gusts. My bed shook from the gales.

What really impressed me is your sense of direction. The snow fell, but not always down. Most of the flakes were skewed right by the wind. The 20 inches of snow that should have froze in my driveway ended up in my neighbors lawn. When the storm cleared, my driveway was completely black. No need to haul out the shovel and give myself a heart attack battling 50 lbs of snow. Bravo, Mrs. Nature, bravo!

I actually don't mind the below- freezing temperatures you've been causing. I look forward to them every year. The cold air stinging my skin reminds me that I'm alive. And it gives me a reason to wear my Coach hat, gloves, and scarf all at the same time. Just a suggestion, though: have the temperatures rise significantly toward the end of February, and by the beginning of March. We have four seasons here in New England. Please try not to forget that.

Well, I'm off to snuggle up by my fireplace with a mug of hot cocoa. Keep up the good work.

Love, Lipgloss & Eskimo Kisses,
Cassandra

2005-01-16T11:35:00.000-08:00

thoughts of an insomniac.
i spent half of last week's paycheck on one pair of boots. i also earned induction into the fashion slave hall of fame (before, i was only a nominee).

my boss sent me home friday with two of the company's high- limit credit cards. my instructions were to buy clothes for my shoot on monday. he gave me a spending limit. which i exceeded. by a lot. my only regret is that he didn't give me the cards one week earlier, when i was shopping for boots.

my belly button is sporting my little pony jewelry. big kiss to kim for decorating my navel. you are z'best.

my shin is sporting a two inch long yellow and purple bruise. no thanks to ben for tackling me on kim's couch. dick.

after two case studies, i've come to the conclusion that i should not date any man over 30. 20- something issues and 30- something issues are vastly different. and if a 30-something guy is having what i'd consider a 20- something guy issue, then he is not in the place i would want someone i'm seeing to be in.

after countless case studies, i've come to the conclusion that i should be a professional poker player. say hello to the future first female to win one of those vegas tournaments they're always showing on the travel channel.

president bush is an asshole. pre-election: "there are weapons of mass destruction in iraq!! so if you don't re-elect me, you will die!! even you in podunk, south dakota are not safe!!" post- election: "woops! there are no weapons of mass destruction in iraq! the last 4 years have been a complete waste of time, lives, and money. sorry, everyone!"

i am bummed. my neighbors, hope and lia, are moving. they are 4 and a half and 3 years old, respectively. i'd rather spend an afternoon with them than anyone else i know.

note to kevin: i've sent the guiness book of world records a bid for the longest game of phone tag in history. i'm almost positive we'll appear in next year's book.

note to myself: i'm glad you're feeling better, since you have been sick lately.

meaningful quote of the week: "i can protect you from anything, but i can't protect you from yourself."

Love & Lipgloss,
your resident insomniac.

2004-12-25T11:36:00.000-08:00

Christmas Guessing Game
Get them all right and win a cool prize.

Match the quote to the person who said it.
1) "I don't want to play a game. I'm already playing with myself."

2) "I forgot all of my medication at home, ma! You're gonna have fun dealing with me tomorrow, ahhh ha ha ha!"

3) "Huh? Oh! I misheard you! I thought you said, 'would you like another scotch.'"

4) "You can't come to Walmart to steal a Christmas tree with us! No! Get out of the car! YOU RUIN EVERYTHING!"

5) "The last time we spoke, I told her off and made her cry. So today should be interesting..."

6) "Cassandra! I haven't seen you since you were this big... well actually, you were probably the same height."

7) "Here's my number. You can come to the casino with me and my brother on Christmas instead."

8) "45, 46, 47, 48... we're counting how long it takes for Grandpa to repeat himself. He has a record of three minutes."

9) "She took the pumpkin pie? Who does she think she is? My, she's really weasling her way into the family. Second wife. She's not even a real family member."

10) "OOoooOOOoOOOoOOOO..."

Who said what? Was it my...
Self, loather of anything family oriented
Brother, a snowboarding, party- hard college sophomore
Cousin, a 13 year old trouble maker
"Aunt" Lulu, a total firecracker
Grandpa, who is slowly losing his mind
Dead Grandma, who supposedly haunts living family members
Aunt Deb, fashionista and hostess extraordinaire
Dad's girlfriend, who strangely resembles Fergie
Estranged 30- something cousin, who lives in Atlanta
Co-worker, a bonafide film geek

Scroll down for the answers
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drum roll, please...
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1) "I don't want to play a game. I'm already playing with myself."
ANSWER: Cousin, a 13 year old trouble maker

2) "I forgot all of my medication at home, ma! You're gonna have fun dealing with me tomorrow, ahhh ha ha ha!"
ANSWER: "Aunt" Lulu, a total firecracker

3) "Huh? Oh! I misheard you! I thought you said, 'would you like another scotch.'"
ANSWER: Grandpa, who is slowly losing his mind

4) "You can't come to Walmart to steal a Christmas tree with us! No! Get out of the car! YOU RUIN EVERYTHING!"
ANSWER: Brother, a snowboarding, party- hard college sophomore

5) "The last time we spoke, I told her off and made her cry. So today should be interesting..."
ANSWER: Myself, loather of anything family oriented

6) "Cassandra! I haven't seen you since you were this big... well actually, you were probably the same height."
ANSWER: Estranged 30- something cousin, who lives in Atlanta

7) "Here's my number. You can come to the casino with me and my brother on Christmas instead."
ANSWER: Co-worker, a bonafide film geek

8) "45, 46, 47, 48... we're counting how long it takes for Grandpa to repeat himself. He has a record of three minutes."
ANSWER: Aunt Deb, fashionista and hostess extraordinaire

9) "She took the pumpkin pie? Who does she think she is? My, she's really weasling her way into the family. Second wife. She's not even a real family member."
ANSWER: Dad's girlfriend, who strangely resembles Fergie

10) "OOoooOOOoOOOoOOOO..."
ANSWER: Dead Grandma, who supposedly haunts living family members

That wasn't hard, was it? Now just for fun, some holiday banter:

"I was going to show up drunk."
"Really? I was thinking of showing up high."
"Ha ha ha."
"Seriously though, it would save us time once we got there."

"What size do you think she is?"
"Small?"
"No way, atleast a medium."
"Cass, don't be a bitch."
"If I wanted to be a bitch, I would buy her an extra large. No wait... an extra small."

2004-12-19T11:38:00.000-08:00

Public Letter to Nerds

TO: Creators of Spyware, Adware
FROM: Cassandra
RE: Your profession
SUBJECT: Go to hell

Dear Spyware scum,

My computer has recently become infested with hidden programs that regularly hijack my browser, launch pop-up ad after pop-up ad after pop-up ad, and a nifty little virus that shuts down internet explorer whenever it feels like it, and then reboots my computer with no warning. Over the past week I’ve repeatedly scanned my entire system with an expensive adware/virus removal program that I stole from my boss, but the pop-ups just won’t die. They keep resurrecting themselves. Online casinos, fake search engines, javascript errors, bogus computer scans… it’s madness.

These cute little internet explorer boxes don’t appear one by one… they rapid fire across my screen in groups of three or four or even five. I just left my computer to run downstairs, and returned to 53 pop-ups. 53 pop-up ads in 10 minutes. And the only program I have running right now is Word.

Enough is enough, spyware scum. Don’t you have anything better to do than stay up until 6 a.m. creating programs that make internet users want to rip their hair out strand by strand? What’s so fascinating about logging every website I visit? And what’s with the beastiality porn? It’s disgusting. You’re disgusting. Drop the mouse, back away from the glow of your computer screen, and run. I know this may be difficult because you haven’t engaged in any physical activity other than typing since May, but you’d better get those skinny legs moving, because I am royally pissed off.

Cassandra

TO: Cassandra
FROM: Spyware, Adware creators
RE: Your letter
SUBJECT: Gotcha

Dear Cassandra,

We read your letter moments after you clicked send, because us computer nerds have nothing better to do than check our e-mail every 5 seconds. Heh. In between creating advanced pornographic versions of the adware that has already invaded your computer, we shared a hearty har-dee-har-har over your angst. Because we got you! Nyah nyah nyah nyah!

You see, my brother Russ and I really don’t have anything better to do than hole ourselves up in our parent’s basement, listen to the hum of our machines, and write computer programs. Oh, and play Dungeons and Dragons (thanks Russ). Heh. The last time we left our house was for the annual Star Trek convention. But no one recognized us because we were in costume.

Our family avoids us during holidays, we don’t have any friends, and have never had a real girlfriend (but who needs a real girl when you can jerk off to cyber porn?) We think it’s funny that you visit the same five websites every time you log on to your computer (your email, livejournal, pbase, nytimes, and gawker). We’re losers. Our skin is so pasty white that it actually glows. Russ hasn’t showered in 3 weeks, and I have perpetual acne. Heh.

Launching viruses, browser hijackers, data miners, and pop-up programs is our form of revenge. Everyone made fun of us in high school. They aimed spit wads at us during lunch, tied our shoelaces together during gym, stuffed us in recycling bins, and laughed at our matching Final Fantasy t-shirts. Well guess what. Now it’s our turn to laugh. Revenge of the nerds! Heh heh heh. High five, Russ! Ouch! That was my index finger!

Spyware, Adware Creators Roger & Russ Rogers

2004-12-06T11:38:00.000-08:00

Office Etiquette 101

INT. OFFICE-- 1 p.m.

Enter Tony, my big, bald, Italian boss.
"How's the script coming, Cassandra?"
"Good," I answer, barely acknowledging his presence. I'm in the zone.
"Would you like to go home early today because of the weather?"
"Huh?"
I take my eyes off my computer screen for the first time in two hours. I look out the expansive wall-to-wall window my desk sits under.
"It's snowing?!?!"
Tony looks at me curiously, as does Tom, the guy I share an office with.
"You can leave now before it gets worse," Tony offers.
"YESSS!!" I exclaim like a kid who was just told school was letting out early.
Tony and Tom exchange glances.
"I mean... thank you. That would be very helpful," I say.
Awkward pause.
"Because my commute sucks," I add.
My boss looks at me.
"In the snow..." I try to save face, badly. It hasn't snowed yet this season. Maybe he'll have a temporary brain lapse and forget this. I smile.
"Drive carefully," Tony says, and walks out.

My shoe tastes really good right now.

2004-11-30T11:40:00.000-08:00

Congratulations! You've been accepted into NYU...

Ah, the infamous college admission essay... dug up after 4 years of collecting dust on a floppy disk.

Topic: Discuss a film that has changed the way you view yourself and the world around you

Perfection!

Too often teenagers like myself compare themselves to the airbrushed perfection on the covers of popular magazines such as Vogue, Seventeen, and Cosmopolitan. Much of Martha Rosler’s work brutally attacks these bogus Barbie-Doll images sent by the media, specifically her feminist film “Vital Statistics of a Citizen- Simply Obtained.” Viewing this film changed the way I see myself, and changed my reactions to the media’s portrayal of women.

In “Vital Statistics of a Citizen- Simply Obtained” a woman stands naked in the center of a room, the subject of scrutiny throughout the entire thirty- eight minutes of the film. Two doctors dressed in white lab coats inspect, measure and record every inch of her exposed body- every fat cell, mole, wrinkle, or other sign of “imperfection” is noted. A voiceover comments on societal standards and ideal body image as this is occurring.

Viewing these disturbing images led me to question where these cookie- cutter standards for the idyllic, beautiful and admirable woman came from. I realized that the media had been dominating what size breasts, what size waist and what shape nose I “should” have. I had been degrading myself for so long because I kept trying and failing to live up to the societal standard of what women were “supposed” to look like. My body would never be squeezed into the shape of the perfectly sculpted media- made superwoman.

I resolved to stop paying attention to the twig-like models featured in magazine spreads, the bodies of the actresses on the television show “Friends”, and any bikini- clad woman on MTV. These pseudo- perfection images had been pushed upon me for so long as I could remember and did nothing but lower my self- esteem and calorie intake each day. Slowly I learned to accept my body for what it was and live up to standards that I set for myself, rather than those set by popular culture. Being able to exercise and eat healthily are the principles I have set for the ideal woman and I have lived up to them. Rosler’s film has positively influenced the way I see myself as a woman, and today I am much happier and healthier than I ever was. I have rejected the media’s portrayal of a perfect woman. For this, I have Rosler to thank.

2004-11-26T11:41:00.000-08:00

"In honor of the death of Bohemia, an impromptu salon will commence immediately following dinner..."

I hate Thanksgiving.

8:30 a.m. I'm hurled against my will into reality. My eyelids pop open and I sit up, dazed and slightly dizzy. My room shifts into focus. I blink once. Twice. My senses grind into gear. What is that noise? It sounds like drilling. Downstairs, potatos are meeting their violent death via eggbeater. In a glass bowl.

8:42 a.m. Escapism. I grab a book and try to pretend it's not Thanksgiving. I pull the covers over my nose to block out scents from the upcoming feast wafting into my room. Immersed in the writings of Megan McCafferty, it almost seems like any other day.

9:27 a.m. I throw my book down in disgust. Downstairs my brother is clomping around, undoubtedly trying to conquer his hangover before it gets the best of him. If I get up now, it's because I want to... not because my mom throws open my door and demands I help her in the kitchen. Grrroan. Grunt.

9:33 a.m. My mirror bounces my reflection at me. Tousled hair, last night's smudged black eyeliner, scowl. I check my waistline and memorize it's circumfrence. No way am I getting fat today. Not like the rest of the nation.

9:34 a.m. I wonder why people are puzzled over America's obescity epidemic. Uh, hello? We reserve an entire day to stuff ourselves silly. Second, third, even fourth helpings are encouraged. We serve 300-calories-a-tablespoon gravy, carb- loaded stuffing and mashed potatos, and cake, pie, and ice cream for dessert. It's a calorie bonanza! I heard that Americans gain 5-7 lbs this weekend. Well, not this Yankee. If my scale reads anything other than 89 lbs tomorrow morning, I will puke. Literally.

9:46 a.m. Enough ranting. I shuffle downstairs.

9:48 a.m. "GOOD MORNING!" greets my mother. I can tell she's loaded on caffeine as she attacks a bowl of stuffing with wisk. "Happy Thanksgiving," I say and force a smile. I scan the room and recognize the curled up lump on the couch as my brother. I plop next to him and turn my attention to the big- screen tv in front of me.

9:55 a.m. I watch a one and a half hour long commercial, a.k.a. The Macy's Day Parade. Every float is an advertisement for a cartoon or tv show or third-rate pop lip-syncher. I am happy to report that none of these "singers" are graduates of the Ashlee Simpson School Of Lip-Synching For Live TV. Oh, snap.

11:30 a.m. Unable to decipher my own body odor from my brother's, I roll off the couch and drag my feet upstairs. Destination: shower.

12:01 p.m. So fresh and so clean, I half- heartedly blow dry my hair and apply mascara and lip gloss to my apathetic visage.

12:07 p.m. "DINNER IS READY!" screeches momma caffeine from downstairs. I gaze out my window. My eyes land on the tent my neighbor's have set up. Underneath is one long folding table with 20 plastic chairs pushed in around it. 20 place settings for 20 family members. The picture of how a Thanksgiving is supposed to be.

12:11 p.m. Back downstairs. My brother has turned the big screen TV to face our Thanksgiving feast. "I want to watch football," he says, and turns up the volume. I look at the screen. Rutgers vs. Connecticut. Why, turkey gods, why? I try not to cringe each time the announcers scream "RUTGERS!" into their microphones.

12:12 p.m. "I don't want to say Grace," says my brother. "I DON'T EITHER," says my mom. "Uh... I don't know how," I say, even though I do. My family. So religious, so thankful, so going to hell.

12:12:30 p.m. The chowdown begins. My mom bets me one hundred dollars I can't clear my plate. I take her up on the bet, even though I know I'll lose. It gives me an excuse to stuff my mouth and not talk to anyone.

12:16 p.m. The caller id flashes the last name, first name, phone number of, woa, my ex-boyfriend. I freeze. Then click 'talk.' "Helloooo?" "Ola, coma-estas-usted?" the familiar baritone says. He was always such a character. "Uh... bien," I giggle. Why am I nervous? We exchange Thanksgiving Day greetings. "We're eating," I say. "Oops," he's embarassed. "Didn't mean to interrupt the festivities." "Trust me, you're making them more exciting," I say. "WHO IS IT?" mom interrupts. When I tell her she grabs the phone: "HIIII!" I should really switch her coffee when she's sleeping. "WHAT WAS CASSANDRA TALKING ABOUT, MAKING THIS MORE EXCITING?" SQUAWK! SQUAWK! SQUAWK! Isn't it tradition to kill birds today? I fantasize.

12:19 p.m. Mom hangs up. "HOW NICE OF HIM TO CALL!" she says. "Mom," says Bryan. "Cassie's whole life, she's been asking you to keep out of her boyfriend life. And you never do. Especially with him. You should just stay out of it next time, ok?" Woa. My brother is a man of few words, but when he opens his mouth, he opens his mouth. My mom looks crushed. Nice timing, lil' bro. While everything he said was true, he couldn't have picked a worse time to say it. I give him a "thanks" smile across the table anyway.

12:22 p.m. "So what are we doing for Christmas?" my brother says. My god. Is he going for a world record in ruining holiday dinners? Christmas is a touchy subject because my parents are divorced. My brother and I are forced to spend Christmas Eve with one parent and Christmas Day with the other. This sucks for my mom because she'll be alone and depressed one of those days. This sucks for my dad because... actually I'm not sure why, ask him. This sucks for me and my brother because no matter who we choose to spend each day with, someone gives us a pathetic look, or bitches and moans, or yells, or cries to try and get us to change our minds. Plus, we have to travel. Traveling is a constant reminder of how we all got in this situation in the first place. Worst of all, Christmas just doesn't feel like Christmas with this arrangement. Moving on.

12:36 p.m. Connecticut appropriately kicks Rutgers' ass. Hallelujah!

12:40 p.m. With half my plate cleared, I sit back and sigh. Everyone out-ate me... not a big loss when there are only three of us at the table anyway. We begin clean up. I dare my brother to eat the half- melted stick of butter on the counter. I swear, he almost does it.

1:02 p.m. I retreat to the couch and fall into a tryptophan- induced coma.

Love & Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2003-12-26T11:49:00.000-08:00

Pop Goes Your Image

There are two former members of the teeny bopper royalty that are really pissing me off lately: Christina Aguilera and Justin Timberlake.

Ms. Aguilera shocked fans with her white chaps-baring ass in her video "Dirrty". She basked in the glory of the spotlight (which had long ignored her bleached blonde semi-dreads) and the controversy over her bare-all video (she's a skank! no- this is her true self!). She was eagerly anticipating all the name calling (slut) just so she could release her next song, entitled "Beautiful." ("I am beautiful, no matter what they say, words can't bring me down...) THEY is clearly the media, the public. Hello, this retaliation to the controversy was totally contrived, and I can guarantee she wasn't the one behind it. Also, have you ever wondered why there was such a large gap between her first and second albums? The record execs found her recordings so awful they refused to release them. How do I know? I interned at Us Weekly. Never trust a reporter with a tape recorder when they say something will be "off the record." Many reporters don't transcribe their own interviews, and the person who does will hear everything.

Justin Timberlake had big hopes for his solo album, but the sales didn't amount to what he expected. So, he has taken to bashing his infamous ex, Britney Spears (duh), to increase his status. His entire album and videos are based around dissing her, and his solo fame is in large part due to the original teeny bopping queen. What is he going to do when the Britney bad-mouthing gets old. What will he use to hold onto his A-list status? His entire SOLO image is based on the break up.

Bubblegum Pop died long ago. When will the final burial take place?

Love and Lipgloss,

Cassandra

2003-02-22T11:09:00.000-08:00

Slush Puppies.

Remember the 2 feet of snow you heard NYC got on the news? That was gone the day after the storm. It turned into about a foot of disgusting, gray SLUSH, clogging the sidewalks and spilling out into the streets. Where there's not slush, there's a 6 inch deep puddle that looks exactly like pavement. You only step in one of those once before learning your lesson.

My favorite slush moment occured just outside Gallatin. An asshole truck driver accelerated down Broadway, passing out all the cars to his left. He sped so fast that he sent a ton of slush flying into the air in a giant 6-foot wave, directly over 3 girls crossing the street, drenching them. They screamed so loud the entire block stopped and stared. Ha.

Love and Lipgloss,

Cassandra

2003-02-21T11:42:00.000-08:00

Snow My God.

It's a little early to starty proclaiming the "Storm of the Millennium." We're only in our third year people... I'm sure New York City will get assaulted with just as much snow, or even more, during the next 997 years. The media is really pissing me off lately.

So are the snow plows in my 'hood. Oh wait, where are they? I guess city funding doesn't cover snow removal in the GHETTO. Thank you NYU, for sticking me in the most attractive building in the most exclusive neighborhood. Really.

Due to the 20 inches of fresh snow outside my building, I haven't left my room all day. How fucking exciting is that?

Love and Lipgloss,

Cassandra

2003-02-16T11:46:00.000-08:00

Cream Puff

Damn, this site hasn't been updated in a while. I'm sorry! A lot has happened, so I'll divide it all up and you can read at your leisure!

Hairspray

What's fire engine red and orange and brunette all over? My hair. Tired of my old appearance, I decided to do a 180 and put unnaturally bright red and orange streaks in my hair... a tamed punk rock style... sort of. My own creation. I thought it looked really cool, and I did get a lot of compliments on it. Not just from my 14 year old cousin, but from random people on the street, and my friends. I would have kept the style... but, I am not 100% in control of my appearance, like most people. My agent, Bonnie, FLIPPED out when I walked into her office 3 days later. (Side note: Bonnie's regular speaking voice is what most would consider yelling. When she actually is yelling... hold your ears.)

BONNIE: What is wrong with you?! You lay on your couch for a week after surgery and decide to do THIS?!

ME: You don't like it?

BONNIE: YOU LOOK RIDICULOUS!

ME: I think it looks cool...

BONNIE: GO BUY A WIG AT RICKY'S ON 8TH STREET IF YOU WANT TO HAVE COLORED HAIR!! I AM NOT SENDING YOU OUT ON ANYTHING UNTIL YOU CHANGE YOUR HAIR BACK!!!

ME: But Bonnie... it's more me...

I don't think Bonnie actually heard any of my comments because she has this habit of talking/yelling for 3 minutes straight without letting anyone get a word in edgewise, but if she was listening, that's what she wold have heard. She was the ONLY person who didn't like it!! But, since my only source of income is acting, I changed my hair back a week later.

Or, I tried to change my hair back.... My stylist, who goes by the name of Joker, colored my hair BLACK!!! I asked for light brown... you know, my OLD hair color.... I was pissed, but I guess he had to go darker in order to cover up the red and orange. So for the next month (atleast), I will be sporting BLACK hair. (P.S.- Bonnie likes the black, thank God. If I colored my hair one more time, it would probably fall out).

GONE...You're GONE....Baby you're GONE.... girl you're GONE

Unlike Justin Timberlake, I was not that upset when I came back to New York City and learned that a girl in my life was gone. My roommate decided not to come back to NYU... and since 26th Street is the GHETTO-est of all dorms, no one moved in! That means I have a single... Y E S!! Now, my roommate was chill and all, and I did get along with her, but... a SINGLE ROOM, my own space, privacy... "Now my dreams are comin' true... through the good times and the bad...I'm in heaven" (does anyone remember that song?)

I don't wanna grow up... (and at this rate, I probably never will)

If anyone is still 13 years old like me (if not in appearance, then at heart), you may have watched one of Nickelodeon's other channels, Noggin, or The-N. If you are like most normal 20 year olds, you probably haven't. Anyways, I got an internship at Noggin and it's SO FUN!! I've only gone two days and so far, and when there is downtime, they tell me to watch TV... or play Grand Theft Auto Vice City... no joke! Since it's in development, I get to watch TV shows that people pitch to Noggin and give my opinion on them. And they all play video games and do "kid" things because, since they work for a kids channel, they have to think like kids, and figure out why kids like what they like... if that makes sense. They also tell me to watch tapes of all their shows, which besides preschool shows like Blues Clues and Dora the Explorer, includes such vintage favorites as Daria, Clarissa Explains It All, and Pete and Pete. New to the line-up is this show Degrassi: The Next Generation, which is MY FAVORITE SHOW ON TELEVISION. It is actually a famous Canadian show, and about these kids in high school. If any of you happen to get Noggin, watch Degrassi and I swear, you will like it.

I'd like to interrupt your broadcast and punch you in the face.

I am a print journalism major, but just to experience the other side of journalism, I decided to take a Broadcast Newswriting class this semester. WHAT THE HELL. I never realized how different print and broadcast people are at NYU... Print people ROCK. My last print class was SO FUN, everyone was friends, such good writers, etc etc. The people in my broadcast class ARE PSYCHO. No one talks to each other. They're stuck up and think they're going to be on air TOMORROW. This Asian girl thinks she's Connie Chung. Her hair is perfectly blowdried like Connie Chung's, she comes to class wearing little Connie Chung outfits (last class she wore a collared shirt with a button down vest over it and dress pants), and reads her copy all dramatically, with emotion, and uses crazy metaphors. She is the biggest brown noser I have ever witnessed... she laughs way too hard at EVERYTHING the professor says. Now, a polite titter is acceptable when the professor cracks a small, semi-funny joke. However, head tilted back, mouth wide open laughter is not appropriate. This is not The Comedy Cellar. It's also not ABC, CBS, MSNBC, or CNN. It's NYU. And you are just a student.

Well, it's Tuesday, my day off, so I am off to do fun things like laundry, and attempt to write a computer program without throwing my laptop against the wall from frustration.

Love and Lipgloss,

Cassandra

2003-02-16T11:45:00.000-08:00

OMG I AM TOTALLY ON CRACK!

Like Oh my GAWD... I am in the valley-est mood ever! Ah-ha! I don't know when it started but, I am totally feeling the blonde thing right now... even though my hair is currently black...totally weird! Oh my gawd!

So right now I am listening to Simple Plan's song I'd Do Anything. And I am sitting infront of my computer in Connecticut.

Connecticut?! CASSANDRA! You're not in New York? WHY?

Well, I totally bought into all the orange alert terrorist bullshit that the news has been airing 24/7 for the past week, and I totally psyched myself out and panicked and went home. ALSO, my little bro is turning 18 this weekend! And we're having a party for him tomorrow! Super COOL!

Rewind... you actually believed Fox News?

Like YEAH! Think about it- I am a journalism major. All we talk about in class is the newz. Our homework is to watch the newz. I was totally immersed in the newz for 3 days straight. After a while, those broadcast people start to get to you!

Yea but-

Also, I saw cops in Times Square in full out terrorist gear... like black metal helmets with glass masks, those cane things that you beat people with, and those chem/bio protectant (is that a word?) suits. HELLO- I intern in Times Square, and staring at those guys all day really got to me! And I'm not talking about their fashion faux-pas.

Okay, okay. Maybe that would get to me too. Did you say you interned in Times Square? For where?

NOGGIN!

What the hell is Noggin?

Umm don't you get Digital?! Geez! I'll explain- It's one of Nickelodeon's "other channels." It's like, sort of educational, but fun, and there's no commercials. There's two programming blocks, one for preschoolerz and one for tweenz! Super cute!

What, did they hire you because they thought you were 12?

Uh, NO! BTW, could you think of, like, a more original insult next time? I've heard that one about a bazillion and five times. And besides, everyone already knows I don't look 20. I mean, just look at me.

Where did you go? Oh, there you are.

Are you being serious? Pulling the "young" insult and the "short" thing back to back? Gawd, you are almost as bad as that lame-o boy at Finnerty's.

Yeah, that guy is pretty lame. I'm sorry. I try to be funny sometimes but it doesn't work. I also try to be original but I can't because I'm scared of what other people will think.

Eh-heh, this is not your therapist's couch buddy. I am totally not your shoulder to cry on. And besides, it's not MY problem you have issues! I have more important things to worry about. Like, do these shoes match my bag?

Ok fashionista. So how has Connecticut been?

WELL since I've been here... I've been getting these really weird phone calls! One from a drunk ex-boyfriend, one from a guy who drunkenly confesses his love for me every now and then, and one from a guy who claims to be called "Nelson."

Nelson?

In the message he said he wanted to "get it on" and "take a ride" that night, in a real "gay" voice. Like, it was a prank. But I'm not sure if it was someone I knew or not. Anyways, because my dorm has Caller ID, I have his phone number! It's 914-769-1173. So like, if you want to call HIM, you totally can!

Hey thanks, I think I will. Whatever happened to those phone calls you kept getting between 3 and 5 a.m., the ones where the person would just hang up and their number would show as "Unavailable?"

Oh my gawd I totally know what you're talking about! Yea, I got those calls over winter break, and then I got them like 2 weekends ago too! You know, I should really stop giving out my number to random people!

That sounds like a good idea. I took your "friend test" by the way.

COOLNESS!!! But you know what I think is soooo retarded? When like, people make up a special screen name just to take my test! Like "CassieSux?" And then they score high on the test?! Geez, I must not suck if you know THAT much about me!!

Pitiful. And just think, you know them. Anyway, what are your plans for tonite?

Well since I am in, like, the middle of nowhere, there is not much going on. I went shopping like ALL DAY so I am actually kind of tired! Tee-hee! ALSO, the Oopsas keep calling me from the party they're at tonite, so I am living vicariously through them. Wow, that was a big word! I'm going to say it again! Vicariously!

What are the Oopsas?

My girls, my ladies, my chiquita bonitas! Duuuuh!! Woa, speaking of, my phone just rang! It's Liz!! We are totally on the same wavelength tonite, that is so awesome! Wow!

I guess that's what comes with sisterhood.

Anyways, it was great chatting, but I gotta go! But, let's do this again sometime, k?! Muah! Toodles!

Love and Lipgloss,

Cassandra

2003-01-16T11:47:00.000-08:00

Subway Stories

Forgive me, for I have taken NYC for granted.

After nearly a month in the 'burbs, I went to the city yesterday for the first time to do a radio commercial for Wheel of Fortune (my first job of the year- woo hoo!). I forgot how amusing one ride on the subway can be. Or perhaps it was only overwhelmingly entertaining because my life has been overwhelmingly dull for the past week.

I was sitting on the S, waiting for it to depart from Grand Central, looking intently at the ground to avoid the blood shot eyes of the Mexican man sitting across from me, when three pairs of beat-up sneakers entered my line of vision.

ADIDAS: "And if it weren't for them, the white man would be gone! The white man would be gone!"

NEW BALANCE: "You really think that?"

ADIDAS: "I hate the white man! But, I love the white woman..."

Adidas, New Balance, and their friend Nike turn in my direction. Great.

ADIDAS: "Especially the white woman who smokes pot!"

They all laugh and turn back toward each other. I take this opportunity to look at their faces. Adidas is Puerto Rican, New Balance and Nike are both white hippie-looking guys. New Balance has an oversized orange knit hat on with his hair stuffed into it. Adidas then turns his attention to a mid twenty-ish man wearing khakis and a peacoat.

ADIDAS: "Where are you from?"

20s GUY: "Canada."

ADIDAS: "Well maybe in Canada they laugh at jokes about Puerto Ricans, but in the U.S., Puerto Ricans can be rich!"

New Balance and Nike laugh and the Canadian looks freaked.

ADIDAS: "RICH!!"

Finally we arrive in Times Square and everyone rushes out of the car. What a bizarre conversation. I was still thinking about it when I got on the N to go downtown. A woman with a colorful workbook was next to me, and I looked over her shoulder to see what she was looking at. I was greeted by a large photograph of an open vagina. Well. I looked around the subway to see if anyone else had noticed this woman's light reading. One man was leaning in for a better look, another was stealing short glances, and yet another was looking at the floor, slightly embarassed. Proof that women really do control men- haha!

Love and Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2003-01-13T11:48:00.000-08:00

I'm Alive

Yes, adoring fans (you are out there, aren't you?) after spending 4 days horizontal on my couch post-surgery, I am alive and well, despite some internal stitches, swelling, and nasty black and blues. This past weekend, I swallowed more pills than your average Valley of the Dolls character and watched more consecutive hours of TV than...anyone ever. Surgery is not fun, and I wouldn't recommend it. But, "what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger," or makes you crack up. So here's my hospital story:

Anesthesia freaks me out. I won't remember 2 hours of my life?! What if I don't wake up? Ahh! Luckily I had a good support team- my mom and my ex-boyfriend Derick (the nicest ex-boyfriend ever in the history of the world) accompanied me to the hospital. I had to wear one of those gay robes that was of course 5x too big for me because one size fits all never fits ME. I also had a stick-on thermometer stuck to the center of my forehead. Everyone found this very amusing.

As soon as I lie down in the hospital bed, I start to freak out. Shaking, sweating, hyperventilating, the works. No one could calm me down. Derick watched my little thermometer rise to 101, fall to 98, then rise again. Sweet talking nurses didn't help. Distraction didn't help. I was scared shitless of anesthesia. So scared, that the nurses were replaced by resident doctors, including the head of anesthesia, who proceeded to start my IV and give me not 1, not 2, but 6 vials of stuff just to calm me down. This included morphine. Holy shit.

ME: "Is that wall moving?"

DERICK: "No Cass."

ME: "It looks like it's moving but it's not really moving. It's just because they gave me stuff."

DERICK: "Leave it to you to get all intellectual when you're messed up."

ME: "Hey Derick..."

DERICK: "Yea?"

ME: "We should do this every day!"

I guess it wasn't as bad as I thought! Everything was swimming. Every time I closed my eyes I would see an intricate scene, from a play or something. Very weird.

Two and a half hours later, when I was coming to, lying in my bed alone behind a curtain, I was groggy and wanted attention :-) There was a nurse who looked like my mom's friend Heidi. So naturally, I called out "Heidi! Heidi!" She evenutally realized I was talking to her and came over. Ha ha. You know, I never found out her real name.

I spent the next 3 days on Percoset. And boy did I need it. I was in pain. But, now I feel 4 trillion times better, and even though I am not yet fully healed, I can actually leave my house and resume a somewhat normal lifestyle :-)

Love and Lipgloss,

Cassandra

2003-01-05T11:48:00.000-08:00

Dead Brain Cells and Burnouts

Being home reminds me exactly why I love living by myself in New York City so much. Some examples:

I'm watching TV when the phone rings:

ME: "Hello?"

Silence.

ME: "HELLO?"

"Uhh... Hello?"

ME: "Yes HELLO?!"

"Uhh... I forgot who I was calling..."

ME: "Right."

I hang up. Obviously one of my brother's friends. None of my friends are that stupid, so I normally don't have to worry about such brain cell killing encounters like that one.

On the bright side, I did catch the attention of a semi-cute guy today in Borders when I asked if he had the DVD Donnie Darko in stock. But, negative, he was out. This Borders also did not carry Savage Love by Dan Savage (my favorite sex columnist in the Village Voice) or The Bad Girl's 2003 Calendar. What a fabulous selection available here in Connecticut. I miss the Astor Place Barnes and Noble.

I am still suffering through learning to drive stick shift. The neighborhood has come to expect my burnouts as I attempt to back out of my driveway and head up my street, which happens to be a large hill. I think I owe my mom a new set of tires. Now if I were in NYC, I wouldn't have to worry about providing my own transportation.

Also, my dad is practically stalking me now that I'm home. AND I have to get surgery on Wednesday, for which I get to stay overnight in the hospital for. WOW. This is hands down the most amazing winter break I have ever experienced.

Love and Lipgloss,

Cassandra

2003-01-01T11:49:00.000-08:00

"Uh Oh...Trouble In Paradise?"

I have never caused so much trouble on New Year's Eve. (All names have been changed to avoid embarassment or potential lawsuits)

"Sharon" and I decided to go to a party with kids from our high school that neither of us have really seen since graduation. We thought it'd make for an interesting night, and besides, what else is there to do in suburbia? So, we grab a bottle of Luna di Luna (my fav cheap Chardonnay), hop in her dad's jeep, and head up the Merrit Parkway.

We get to the party and opt to walk in the back door, which puts us smack in the middle of a beer pong game. Everyone turns, stops talking, and stares at us. They are either in shock or have no idea who we are (Sharon looks really different). We utter hellos and someone says, "Look, twins." We look at each other and decide we need to crack open our bottle of wine.

Sharon gets "rediculously" trashed and starts using the furniture as a walking aid. She decides "Ty", who she's known since second grade, has gotten really hot, and vice versa. It's a match made in drunken heaven.

Also at the party are "Fred" and "Brittany." Fred and I briefly dated my junior year of high school, and save the times he randomly (drunkenly?) called me from Italy this summer, I have not spoken to him since graduation. He started dating Brittany after we broke up, and I have heard rumors that they have since gotten engaged. However, when I asked him this summer if he propsed to her, he said, "There's no ring." So, I don't know the status of their relationship. At the very least, I would say they are seriously exclusive.

I hold no feelings for Fred. Whatsoever. Period. End-of-story.

While I'm catching up with some old friends from high school, Fred and Brittany start arguing infront of a slightly intoxicated me. Fred looks at me and rolls his eyes, and once again my mouth gets me in trouble. I say, "Uh-oh, trouble in paradise?"

This triggers a slew of events that would make this week's All My Children look tame in comparison.

Brittany flips a shit. She runs into the main room of the party and starts SCREAMING at the top of her lungs, "You heard what she said! Trouble in paradise?! TROUBLE IN PARADISE?!" The entire party goes silent while listening to her shriek, and I am standing in the other room with my mouth wide open. I guess my comment hit a little too close to home.

Fred and Brittany start arguing- loudly, and I think over my presence. This is completely lame because: HELLO! We dated 4 YEARS AGO for a couple of months, and were far from serious. I ignore them and start talking to "Jed", who I used to chill with in high school, and find out he somehow ended up at one of my younger brother's parties this past semester and drank with him! Fred then makes two attempts to talk to me but is interrupted by Brittany either dragging him away or putting her arm around him and giving me a death stare. I end up sitting on the couch with some guy from East Lyme (where the hell is East Lyme?) who keeps slurring to me that I have "beautiful eyes." That was my exit cue. I look for Sharon and find her entangled in a blanket with Ty, and being the nice friend that I am, decide to leave her be for a while. At this point, everyone else at the party is either hooking up with each other or at a diner down the street. I end up in the kitchen with another drunk guy that I did not go to high school with who decides telling me I have a "sweet ass" is a good opening line to start conversation. Exit cue number two. I decide to go sit in the jeep to a) warm up, because the house is freezing and b) call all the Oopsas to wish them a Happy New Year.

While I'm on the phone with Liz, Fred comes ambling up to the jeep window.

"Can I talk to you?"

I let him in the passenger side. He says nothing. Brittany comes trotting up to my window. I roll it down. They start arguing and I am LITERALLY IN THE MIDDLE OF IT. Wow. Exit cue number 3.

I go back into the kitchen and find drunk guy, who I spill my entire night's story to because Sharon is still entangled in a blanket with Ty. He tries to console me, then asks me to come a little closer. I look at him like he's deranged. Then he gets pissed because I will talk to him but won't hook up with him. Triple Ewww. He's sloppy.

It's now 4am, I am sober, and I want to go home. I practically drag still intoxicated Sharon off of Ty and into the car. She keeps saying, "Cassandra, my stockings and underwear are in my hand, and not on my body!" Oh boy. We decide she needs to sleep at my house.

4:30 am, we're getting ready for bed and discussing the evening's events. I get a random voicemail from Chris, the guy who slept through every one of my Shakespeare classes (see my entry Sleepless Nights). We decide we're glad we went to the party, despite the fact I may have started World War 3.

Love and Lipgloss,

Cassandra

2002-12-21T11:50:00.000-08:00

Sleepless Nights

I stayed awake for almost 24 hours Thursday into Friday, despite the dark circles under my eyes from not having slept all week because of finals. My last night of the semester was appropriately spent at Finnerty's (the NYU bar) with Liz and Puja, some Sammy boys, a guy from my Shakespeare class that slept through every lecture and recitation (he was awake at the bar), his hilarious friend Adam that was hungover in every one of my friday morning science recitations spring semester, an asshole dreadlocked man that lamely kept hitting on me at the computerized jukebox, and two jerks that challenged me, Liz and Puja to a game of darts (and were rejected). Afterwards I went to Around the Clock (24 hour diner) with Liz, a freshman frat boy that kept hitting on her, and our old guy friend that we really hadn't seen all semester. The freshman gets points because he picked up the tab, hehe.

I had never spoken to Chris in my Shakespeare class before because he was, literally, always asleep. The boy had guts. No matter what seat he occupied, including the one directly infront of the professor, his head would nod 10 minutes into class and he'd be out. So, when we recognized each other at Finnerty's and he came over to chat, I had to ask him about his class sleeping habits. Plain and simple, he told me he had narcolepsy. He said since high school, he'd never been able to stay awake for an entire class, and that he had to have talks with the professors about it so he wouldn't fail. Then he told me out of all the Shakespeare characters, he relates to Romeo the most... the forlorn lover off in an alternate reality for the entire play who kills himself at the end. Then he told me he was suicidal. THEN he said he wanted to hang out with me after break because I was so happy and cheerful, and because I brought a streak of light into his otherwise grim world. Yes folks, these are the people I go to school with.

Now I am sitting in the computer room at my house... smack in the middle of a Connecticut suburb... sans automobile. Depressing much?

Love and Lipgloss,

Cassandra

2002-09-22T20:55:00.000-07:00

WHACK! POW!!
On the train:
"Puja, these tickets say 'lawn', not 'general admission'"
"Yeah?"
"So that means the concert is outside, and we should have brought a blanket, and jackets... did you find out anything about this venue before you bought the tickets?"
"No... this is one of those situations where I just bought the tickets and didn't really know what I was doing."

And so began our adventure from New York City to New Jersey to see the awesome band Incubus, that I am enamored with. We missed the first train out to Mattawan, but caught the second and arrived at the Arts Center just in time to grab center lawn seats directly behind the last row of actual seating. 30 Seconds to Mars opened, who I wasn't too fond of, but that's okay because Incubus fucking rocked out. They played every song I wanted them to, and their lighting and stage set up was amaaaazing! At one point all the lights went out and when they came back up, the lead guitarist was chillin on a couch with an acoustic and the singer was sitting next to him. Voila- Incubus unplugged. So fab.

Highlight of the night: I'm standing, swaying to a slow song, when WHACK- I get hit in the back and fall into the person standing in front of me. I apologized and tried to turn around to see what was going on when WHACK- I get hit again and launched into this guy that I practically knock over. I turn around and see all these big dudes moshing- to a fucking slow song! More people started joining in, and I'm almost in the center of it... no way am I going to survive these football players. The guy I knocked over is like- "hold on to the guard rail!" I grab onto it but instead of just standing there and acting like a wall for the moshers, I climb over the rail into the row of seats and steal someone's chair- Puja does the same, and pretty soon we have a whole new view of ::swoon:: Incubus for the last fourth of the concert. Oh yeah- we're awesome.

Saturday night I went to a "superhero party" dressed as CaveGirl- feline defender of all cave dwellers. Other superheros in attendance: UberBoy, Mistress Maren, Erection Boy, Sleepwalker, Zorro, Mountain Man, Oversize Guy, and oh so many more. One of the aforementioned got completely inebriated and spent half the night in the bathroom with me and Liz desperately attempting to help them puke in the toilet and not all over the tiled floor. Where was Inebriation Boy when we needed him?

Love and Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2002-09-12T16:32:00.000-07:00

Teenybopper Heaven. Whenever I go on an audition I have to lie about my age and tell them I'm 16. Consequently, my competition, who are all actually in their young teens, believe I'm about the same age as them.

So today I'm in the waiting room of a casting office surrounded by young teenage girls & guys, and older men who are being cast as our father. In walks a 15 year old guy with huge gelled and highlighted hair, a tight black t-shirt, and faded jeans. The minute he passes, this group of girls starts hyperventilating, whispering and pointing in his direction. Word spreads fast throughout the office, and pretty soon EVERY girl there is in a state of excited but subdued shock, and I can't figure out what's going on. I go over to my friend Mackenzie, who's standing with another girl.
"What the hell is going on?"
"That's Chris from Dreamstreet!!" they screech.
"Who?"
"DREAMSTREET!!"
Ow, my ear.
"What's Dreamstreet?"
"You know, that boyband?!"
Ahh yes, the mini version of *Nsync who jumped on the pop music bandwagon just a little too late. Their fan base ranges from girls about ages 8-14, respectively.
"Ohhh yeah. Woop-de-doo" I say sarcastically.
"YOU DON'T LIKE DREAMSTREET?!"
There goes my other eardrum.
"No, they suck ass."
"What?! No they don't!"
They look at me in shock. I've broken the rules of the Teenybopper Bible.
"And Chris is sooooo hot..."
I look in Chris' direction. I see a babyface with over processed hair and style that could only be that of a gay man's.
"Girls, he's gay."
The older men in the office overhear and start to chuckle.
"No he's NOT! How do you know?!"
"I can just tell!"
The older men in the office double over with laughter.
Chris comes back into earshot and the girls in the office follow him with their eyes and tongues hanging out. Poor things, their young gaydars have yet to be tuned, and musical tastes need to be honed.
I guess blatant homosexuality isn't obvious at that age.

Love and Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2002-09-09T21:17:00.000-07:00

Things That Go Bump in the Night. I have bonded with my roommate and one of my suitemate's really well. My other suitemate, however, I have not grown too fond of. There's just something about her that rubs me the wrong way. Tonite sealed that emotion.

I was in the bathroom, washing my face, brushing my teeth, doing my regular nightly routine. When finished, I open the door, shut off the light, and find that the common room light is off. No big deal, it's pitch black but I can still see the outline of light coming from my door. So, I walk in the dark across the room when I hear a movement behind me. I turn around and I see her shadow. She's just standing there in the dark, watching me walk across the room.

I think she wants me dead. I'm locking my door tonite...

Love and Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2002-09-03T20:48:00.000-07:00

Secrets Revealed. Tonite my roommates realized the bitter, awful truth about guys that attend NYU at our first floor meeting. I already revealed my theory to them earlier- all guys that go to NYU are gay, taken, or in Tisch... yet they took it with a grain of salt. Alas, when our floor gathered tonite, they saw that all the hot ones talked with a lisp, the cute ones mentioned a significant other, and the remaining were acting/film/dramatic writing/etc majors... people that no girl should ever consider dating. ::sigh::

Onto an interesting discovery I made last night. While under the influence of too much Sangria, I had a conversation with a girl who was bi about the use of the word "queer." Somehow that led her to revealing to me that gay people refer to straight people as "breeders," and that's supposed to be some sort of an insult to us. Now I don't know if it was the alcohol, but I thought this was the fucking funniest thing I ever heard in my life. Breeders! But now that I think about it, how can calling me a breeder be an insult? YES I breed, that's what I was made to do... where is the problem in that?

Love and Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2002-09-01T20:51:00.000-07:00

This weekend was brought to you by black eyeliner, fuck-me-boots, and various glamwear with loads of sequins, sparkles, and the label Betsey Johnson. Jordan and Joe threw a soiree in their Alphabet City pad Friday night, which I attended with Derick and managed to get completely smashed off of a single glass of white wine. Yes, I am the epitomy of a lightweight when it comes to wine, yet when hard stuff or beer enters the picture, I have no problem. If anyone can see the logic in this, please let me know, because I certainly can't. Wine has always had this effect on me. I used to go out with this guy who liked to order a bottle of wine with dinner. I would always try to finish more than a glass... but half way through the main entree I'd be somewhat drunk and would have to start shoving food down my throat to try to counter the effect of the alcohol. Needless to say, we did not date for very long.

Saturday Liz and I dressed up as Spacegirl Hookers and met Bridget to go to Webster Hall. We of course never made it because every time I try to go to Webster, something happens and I never make it past the line outside. We ended up at a bar/lounge on Second Avenue where some asshole spit out his gum ON MY DRESS. I unfortunately did not notice until the gum managed to get all over my arm and, subsequently, in my hair. I hailed a cab home after that, only to have Jordan come over and keep me company until 5 in the morning. You can imagine the antics that ensued...

Jordan, being the tortured artist that he is, brought over a self portrait of himself that he decided to fold up and address to my roommate. "To Cristina, From Jordan. I love you." They've met once. Her exclamation in the morning was enough to keep me laughing for the entire day :-)

Love and Lipgloss,
Cassandra

2002-08-28T17:45:00.000-07:00

She's baaaack! That's right, after returning to NYC I've decided to resurrect Love and Lipgloss for your pleasure and enjoyment. The question of the moment seems to be, "What did you do this summer?" Here's a brief breakdown:

June: Took an Astronomy class at NYU where I got to read all about Black Holes, Worm Holes, Time Warps, and Vortexes. Weee!

1st week of July: Took Kevin to the beach for some extreme tubing, sailing, and 4th of July celebrating with my fabulous cousins and crazy family.

2nd week of July: Hopped a plane to Los Angeles to explore the West Coast for the first time. Hit up Santa Monica, L.A., Hollywood, Studio City, Venice Beach, and learned to surf in Malibu. I've been told I'm a natural born surfer girl :-)

3rd week of July: I cast a film and did a fucking fine job if I do say so myself.

4th week of July: Enjoyed the CT suburbs and the sleepy town I grew up in... well, as much as I could anyway.

1st week of August: Took a cruise from New York City to Bermuda for 7 days. Went horseback riding on the beach, swimming in clear blue water, mo-peding around the Island of Bermuda and hit up clubs every single night. Oh, and I won $300 in black jack on the cruise ship casino. Woo Hoo!

Remainder of August: Spent the $300 on vintage clothes and random trips to NYC to visit my friends who still lived there. And, caught up with some Trumbull friends including Kim, Jillian, and Shannon. Yay! (Amanda had left for 'cuse at this point so I'll have to wait until a break to see her)

I also took in a lot of concerts this summer, including: Pop Disaster Tour with Green Day (who fucking rocked out) and Blink 182 (who I was actually disappointed with), Korn and Puddle of Mudd (holy shit), Weezer (Jones Beach was cool, but Weezer's set could've been arranged better), and the Vans Warped Tour (it was like a mini- Woodstock! so awesome and such a good time! ask me about my Good Charlotte experience). I also saw Rent on Broadway with Joey Fatone of *NSync playing Mark. Surprisingly, Joey was SO GOOD- he blended perfectly with the cast and 10 minutes into the show I forgot his boy band roots altogether.

I'm now moved in to my new dorm, which is unfortunately a haul from "campus", next to an insane asylum, and atleast a 10 minute walk from the subway. Let the fun begin! I also have an internship at Us Weekly Magazine and a schedule to die for.

Love and Lipgloss,
Cassandra