Archive | July, 2013

Sitting on the Floor eating Pizza at 2 a.m.

30 Jul

Here is some advice from a soon-to-be-bachelor-of-journalism-holder. If you write a really successful blog post that generates some buzz, DEFINITELY take a really long time to get back in the swing of things because:

1. It makes readers miss you, and people REALLY like waiting for things these days. Love it. Can’t get enough.

2. It might make people angry and people LOVE being angry on the internet.

Anyways, one reason I have been on a mini hiatus is because 2 weeks ago my friend Abbey showed up on my doorstep to stay with me and it turns out that when you actually have people to talk to after work, you’re less inclined to talk to yourself on the internet.

So I need to fill you in on things I’ve discovered about Baltimore. People in Baltimore seem to think that they are always part of your conversation. I haven’t noticed this too much in New York (except for that one time I was at Dress Barn with my mom and I mentioned to her that I was allergic to lettuce and this woman turned around to say “No you’re not!” which was a little rude because I definitely WAS allergic to salad for like 2 years.) Also another story about strangers in NY is one time I was in a boutique in the city when a tiny old lady in  giant fur coat came in. She starts going through the clothes on the rack when a cutesy salesgirl came over to her.

“Hi there, can I help you something?” she asked.

The woman kept looking through stuff totally not responding. The girl tried again.

“Hello? Is something you need? Can I help you find something?”

The old woman finally noticed her and looked a little startled before she tilted her head and suspiciously said “What? What do you want?” The salesgirl was taken a back and said “Umm..I just wanted to know…if you needed help finding..something?”

The old lady smiled and said “OH! You’re being friendly. How cute. Hi!” then did a little baby-wave at the woman and then turned her attention back to sifting through dresses.

Also, another time a homeless man chased me down through Penn station to return a tampon that had fallen out of my bag, screaming “MISS! MISS! YOU DROPPED SOMETHING!”

Ugh, I miss New York. What was I talking about?

Oh, right. So, so far in Baltimore, I’ve had people comment on conversations I’ve had with people in stores or cafes. Like I was in Marshall’s with Abbey debating the pros and cons if asymmetrical dresses when a woman turned around to say “I also hate asymmetrical dresses!” and then walked away. I happen to be really bad with these drive-by convos because I have a TERRIBLE reaction time. So I just stare and try to think of a response while the person just keeps walking by. Like I was walking in University of Maryland when this car drove by and the dude went “OWW OWWWW LOOKING GOOD!” and by the time I realized that I wanted to shout back “COMMENTS LIKE THAT MAKE ME FEEL UNSAFE!” the guy was looonnggg gone. So I’ve trained myself to either nod at comments or stick my middle finger up is usually a good go-to response.

I’ve also been a smidge busy because it’s….WEDDING SEASON! Well, not for me but for two of my closest friends for which I have been/will be bridesmaidsing for. Shira and Shimon’s was last week and Joy and Sruli’s is this Thursday.

Now it’s not that weird that my friends are getting married, in the Jewish orthodox world, kids get hitched pretty early. A girl from my high school got married senior year and I remember I overheard her one time complain that she was going to be a wife that only had her learner’s permit. It’s all very surreal.

It’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that my friends are like, settling down because it all seems to arbitrary. When you’re younger you kind of all have the same experiences very closely, you all graduate elementary school together, you all have that weird lets-iron-our-bangs-but-leave-the-rest-of-the-hair-curly phase (oh, is that just me?), we all get our licenses at around the same time. And now some people are committing themselves to another person and all sorts of responsibilities like joint checking accounts and other people are eating pizza on their floor at 2 a.m. watching TLC wondering when everyone decided to be real people.

I really want to expand on my thoughts on weddings ‘n things but I just found out that I’m homeless starting Aug. 1st. So BRB.

A Mini Post

17 Jul

Good afternoon campers,

Two little notices for you.

1. I learned how to reply to people that comment on my posts! (Like, not how to think of replies but how to click the right things that will let me respond to individual comments) So comment away because I will be waiting with something WITTY or possibly NOT WITTY. That is the game you play when you comment on my stuff, champ.

2. My pal Liana Beer is the best jewelry designer you’ve never heard of. She has her own Etsy shop, called Oak & Ivy, here. If you’re looking for something funky to give to a mom/sister/girlfriend/political prisoner/gynecologist/mailman/grandma, I’d suggest taking a gander at some of her pieces. Here are some now!



Carry on my wayward sons.

Thank You My Little Ducklings

17 Jul

Whelp. This has been an interesting past couple of days.

My blog went from being read by my mom (Hi, Mom!) and a handful of Facebook friends to the 17th most visited site on WordPress (which has oh, roughly 68 million sites on the internet at the moment.) And not only did people read it, but people liked it. And not only did people like it but you guys left super nice comments* and wrote to me on Facebook telling me how much it resonated with you.

At first I was like Oh Lordy this is crazy. How did this little post about hate and Boy Meets World references reach around the world?! And then I said You dummy, wasn’t that the whole point? That words can have an affect? That thoughts and speech can have a huge impact on others?

So, thanks for proving me right kids.  And thanks for showing me that no matter how much hate we’ll see in life or in the news (sorry for that…) there will always be people to take the time to shoot you a nice “Hey, I liked what you said that one time,” e-mail.

Now that we’ve solved baseless hatred, what shall we fix next? Hunger? Is the O-Zone still in a thing that’s in trouble? Did Timmy fall down the well again?!

Let me know.


"What's that? You just need help unloading the groceries? Then I'm uhh...busy."

“What’s that? You just need help unloading the groceries? Then I’m uhh…busy.”


Now that I have broken my Tisha B’av fast and don’t feel like chomping off my own hands anymore, I can get back to the nitty-gritty task of blogging.

This year has been the first time in my life that I worked on Tisha B’av. My tradition has always been watch sad, sad, movies all day (except for Schindler’s List because to me, I couldn’t get into it, all the characters looked the same and that’s not me being racist it’s me not being used to black and white movies), go food shopping with my friend Liana, buy all sorts of nonsense food (because when you shop while you’re starving, your cart ends up being full of whipped cream, gherkins, baguettes, ravioli and granola bars) and then eat until I feel really sick vowing never to eat so much after a fast again. Ah, beautiful traditions.

This year, since I’m in Baltimore and away from my family – I went in to work at The Newspaper. Thankfully, I didn’t have to interact with too many people (and also had to resist the urge to tell my editor that my blog was getting more hits than the features section I was currently Tweeting for – because VANITY). I have learned that working is hard when your job includes Facebooking articles such as “Top 10 Ice Cream Recipes for National Ice Cream Month!” I just wanted to write “AAHH DAMN YOU ALL FOR BEING ABLE TO EAT TODAAYYY I HOPE YOU CHOKE ON YOUR SUNDAES” but I had a feeling my editor wouldn’t be too keen on that.


"Jokes on you because I STOLE ALL THIS CRAP"

“Jokes on you because I STOLE ALL THIS CRAP”


By the time I was gathering up my things at 5 p.m.– I was feeling dizzy but pretty OK…until I looked in the far right corner of the office and saw a giant deer. A giant plastic deer. I turned to Nicole, the other intern, “Do you see that deer?”

She turned to where I was pointing. “No…are you hallucinating?” she asked all concerned.

“No! It’s a deer! I see it. I’m not crazy? Am I? Is there a deer?” I started walking towards it.

Nicole started laughing, “ Yes it’s a real deer! I was just joking.”

I knew it was time to lie down.

Also, if you’re wondering why there was a giant life size deer in my office it’s because I’ve learned that journalists in a newsroom are kind of like Little Mermaids. They will decorate with random thingamabobs either given to them from movie press packets or doo-dads from home. You’re more likely to see Anchorman bobble-head dolls on cubicle walls than pictures of family. And is the case with one unknown worker whom I pass often, a cubicle full of Aquaman paraphernalia (I know right? Aquaman? Are you sure?).


I'd add a joke but Aquaman is his own joke.

I’d add a joke but Aquaman is his own joke


It is literally the most distracting thing when your trying to focus and are staring at 19 different posters of Oriole’s players. Good thing my sad little desk just has a nameplate that says INTERN. And a dictionary.

So although I still have more cake-in-a-cup to finish (I bought it by accident while nonsense-food-shopping earlier, I hadn’t decided if I wanted it in while the bakery aisle but when I was deciding the plastic top of the container accidently came off and my finger smooshed into it. And when I looked up the baker was staring at me. So, I awkwardly put it in my cart) and some homework left to finish, I just wanted to write this little post to say thanks to everyone who took the time to tell me how they felt about my post**.  And I hope we can continue this symbiotic relationship we have that I cherish.

Thank you from the bottom of my cake-in-a-cup filled heart,




* And also telling me they weren’t happy with the curse words. Although I can’t prove conclusively that that wasn’t just my mom commenting under different names.

**Tomorrow, it’s back to writing about more shenanigans!

Tisha B’av – As Told By Someone Who Only Understands Pop Culture

15 Jul

Tuesday is Tisha Ba’v. For those of you who aren’t familiar, Tisha Ba’v is the 9th day of the month of Av in the Jewish calendar. It commemorates the day when the first and second temple were destroyed. On that day, practicing Jews refrain from eating and drinking, bathing, listening to music and sitting comfortably. Jews in summer camps burn words made out of sticks, watch Schindler’s List and play cards.


"Oh no my stick collection!"

“Oh no my stick collection!”


A couple of years ago, I wrote about why I liked the holiday of Tisha Ba’v – because it forces us to confront the worst aspects of our history as well as ourselves. It’s uncomfortable to sit on the floor of your temple and hear accounts of the bloody and awful destruction, it’s awkward to be forced to watch movies about the Holocaust. Three-hundred-and-sixty-four days of the year, we cheer each other up with jokes, we drown our sorrows with Ben & Jerry’s, we play the same Adele song over and over again. But not on Tisha B’av.

For those not familiar with the story of why the Jews were expelled from the second temple, it almost reads like the plot of Mean Girls.

Imagine you go to Israelite High school (class of ’70 CE! whoo- hoo!) It’s a pretty good school, you guys get good grades and you’re always winning sports things (nationals? Are sports not the same as the glee club?) and whenever nearby schools play any pranks you guys totally get them back. Sure there are cliques, every school has ‘em. There are the athletes, the kids in College Bowl, the really rich girls, the boys who spend 7th period hanging out setting things on fire in the chemistry lab, that girl who looks way too old to be in high school and is always asking you questions about what normal teens do.



"Mmm...blending in."

“Mmm…blending in.”



You guys used to be tight in elementary school but something’s changed. The lines between the groups are hardly crossed anymore. It’s gotten to the point where people have started being cruel. Everyone talks shit about each other. Your friends are ragging on a boy you know for a fact they’ve never talked to. Different groups accuse the other of not caring about the school or your teams, the worst offense. You can’t sit with us!

Then finally, at the end of the year there’s a huge party at this popular girl Kaitlyn’s house. And Kaitlyn fucked up the email addresses of the people she wanted to come and accidentally invited this girl who she hated. And when this girl showed up with some Smirnoff and was like “Hey girl, I’m glad we can put this whole dumb fight behind us.” Kaitlyn was like “GTFO and don’t come back.” You thought it was stupid drama but everyone couldn’t stop talking about it. (This isn’t even a fake anecdote to add to the high school theme – this crazy party ordeal actually happened)

Finally, your principal gets mad. Really mad. He’s like “Fine, you don’t want to be a unified school anymore? You’re all expelled!” and then to make sure no one can come back he burns the school down and immediately retires. (Well, more like Mr. Feeny retires, in the sense that you won’t find him at school every day but he’ll pop up sometimes when you go to college, or at your wedding or when you realize that you signed up for gibberish college classes and fly to Wyoming.)



I get it C, i had gibberish college classes to. They were called math.

I get it Cory, I had gibberish college classes too. They were called math.



Now you all have to go to different schools – rival schools. Roman High. And all those kids are jerks. They don’t know your football cheers, or have Pajama Day or remember the time Brian Masters got his head stuck in the volleyball net. They suck. You miss Israelite High.

Now replace high school with nation and that’s pretty much why the Jews were exiled – baseless hatred. Being judgmental assholes. And it’s not surprise we haven’t learned our lessons yet.

We are a society that loves to hate.

We hate Justin Bieber. We hate Kim Kardashaian. We hate the barista that fucked up our drink order even though it was so simple. We hate that girl from high school who keeps sending us dumb game requests on Facebook. We hate our ex-boyfriends. We hate Taylor Swfit’s ex-boyfriends. We hate Taylor Swift. We hate Obama. We hate Romney. We hate that guy who traps you in a conversation about how stressed he is and how much he hates his professor. God, we hate that guy. Because guess what? Hating feels awesome. Hating feels powerful. Hating means that you are better than something and someone. That you have the ability to say you have other options. You’re different. And it’s tearing us apart.



How could you hate a face like that?

“Why did you call me a cry baby??”



Confession: When I was 15-years-old I went on a travel trip with a bunch of other teens, mostly from the New York area. And it was awful. I cried all the time. I was shy and awkward and couldn’t make friends very easily. One day I was sitting in a hotel room with a bunch of obnoxious girls talking about other kids on the program.

One girl stops brushing her hair to say, “I hate X.” And another girl asks why. The first girl shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know. I just do.”

I was speechless. I couldn’t even get someone to be nice to me. I didn’t have the luxury to decide that I hated someone.

Then in high school, for a short time, I was ran with a crowd of girls who loved talking shit about other people. It felt good to be on the other side. I had the ability to say I don’t need you. You mean nothing to me and therefore I can say whatever I want about you. But after a while, I felt sick. I had too much empathy for the people they were picking on. And after I decided I didn’t want to partake in their little games, I realized I didn’t really have that much in common with them. And I was much happier with the new friends I eventually made when I realized that there’s more to friendships than gossip; like talking about TV shows.



And by "other friends" I mean these guys. And by "TV shows" I mean, these were my friends.

And by “other friends” I mean these guys. And by “TV show” I mean, these were my  only friends.


As hard as it is to believe, Judaism is all about teamwork. God hates when we talk shit about each other and hate each other for no reason. There’s something that used to be a thing back in the day of the temple but not anymore. When someone committed Lashon Harah, or “evil talk”/gossip, they would contract an awful skin disease. God was literally saying “You wanna be ugly on the inside? Cool, now you’re ugly on the outside.” And then the gossiper had to live in a house on the outskirts of town until they could be given the cure.

Can you imagine? Imagine if every time you wanted to say something awful about someone you had to live in a house with other gossipy bitches. Do you know what house that is? It’s the America’s Next Top Model house. It’s the Kardashian household. It’s the Jersey Shore. I’m not asking you to stop talking about other people, that’s unrealistic and irresponsible to ask but JUST imagine that before you spoke about someone think Is this worth not seeing any of my friends again? Is it worth it? Today we might not have physical walls keeping people who judge unfavorably apart but speech builds its own walls. Hate keeps people out.

Recently, on a website I found on how to live minimalistic, I read a post about decluttering the negative thoughts from your life. It said Take responsibility for your mind. Realize that your thoughts and speech have a profound effect on the universe. We don’t have the temple because we’re still having petty thoughts and arguments. Take responsibility for your role in uniting the Jewish people. If Tisha B’av teaches us anything is that we have to stop being assholes to each other. There’s nothing you have to wake up early to do, nothing you have to spend extra money on, nothing you have to announce to your family at your next holiday….you don’t even have to start being nice. Just stop adding hate.



"Mom, Dad...I'm converting to...niceness."

“Mom, Dad…I’m converting to…niceness.”


I hope one day to be in a setting where someone makes an offhand comment about how much she likes someone. And when another person asks why, she’ll shrug and say “I don’t know, I just do.”

My New New Year’s Resolution

12 Jul

Today, my boss was absent. You know what that means – rampant exclamationnnn pointss!!!! ON EVERYTHING!!!

Jokes, but I did have a mildly productive day – we’re working on something called the Fall Arts Guide which is a compilation that comes out in September cataloguing all the cool things that are happening in Baltimore. All of today I emailed various galleries and theaters asking them if they could email us a list of their events. I think the most exciting thing that happened today was that I realized that the patten on the tables they have in the mini-cafeteria is tiny letters! How could I not have seen this before?! I mean, who’s decision was that? “When the reporters take a much-needed break from writing all day, let’s make them look at an alphabet soup jumble of teeny letters! They’ll love it!”

One time I thought I should get newspaper print bedspread because I thought it would be adorable but all it did was make me super stressed since I would be like “Ugh, I can’t look at this stupid layout anymore I’m gonna go take a na-AAHHH”

It didn't help that the "headlines" were nonsense like "Mangoes  invade paris drones"

It didn’t help that the “headlines” were nonsense like “Mangoes invade paris drones”

I finished my assignment by about 12 p.m. today and spent the rest of the time clicking around the interwebz as we call it in my head. Website hopping is always a little dangerous when it comes to me because I have an EXTREMELY short attention span and I am also super impulsive. That bedspread up there? I didn’t even need it! I walked into Bed, Bath and Beyond to buy a lamp! And I didn’t need a lamp!

Last summer I was looking up recipes for turkey-burgers and ended up spending 3 hours trying to learn how to lucid dream.  And this past semester I was procrastinating from my paper on women portrayed in advertising and started my 5-months-thus-far journey to live without processed sugar. So it didn’t really surprise me that after a good chunk a time today I went from reading about freelance journalists in Syria to a website about simplifying your life with less consumerism. About how things take up all our time, how we have a responsibility to know where our things come from, about how we treasure our things and then tire of them after a while and go out and just buy more stuff.

It really resonated with me. Because it made me confront something I had been uncomfortably suspecting for a while now. I am probably a shopoholic. Although I don’t have any debt (thank God) I have a really unhealthy relationship with things. Sure, everyone buys something to cheer them up now and then – but for some reason I feel that this is different. I’ll tell you a story.

When I was 17, I had to go to a podiatrist every Friday for a couple of months (because I had hurt my ankle walking 3 miles in high heels because my brain was lacking in any sort of functional good decision making). And I hated going there. The office smelled weird and I didn’t like the nurses there. I felt bad for myself every time I had to go. So I would stop in a little jewelry shop next door called You and I. They had sweet necklaces with little kooky charms. Every time I made it through an appointment I would stop in the store. I deserved it. If the store was closed or I had to hurry home after the doctor’s I felt anxious and cheated. I needed a necklace. Recently, I found one of those trinkets in my bedroom. The charm was a little copper book that opened, the cover said “May Angels Guard Us As We Sleep” while the inside said “Til Morning Light Appears.” I stared at it remembering how happy I had been when I bought it and then tossed it back into the drawer with other forgotten pieces. It meant nothing.

Shopping to me is love. I shop with my mother – we hit outlets, spending all day trying on clothing and talking about our lives. I shop with my sister – heading out to Old Navy or Target when we got bored. I shop with my best friends – spending our money at the mall on this season’s maxi dresses and sales racks. I go to the Rugged at University of Maryland when I get a bad grade, when I get a good grade, when no one wants to hang out, when I’m waiting for a friend. Buying clothing, shoes, and jewelry validates who I am. Is it society that convinces me that women are defined by their appearance or do I genuinely enjoy going from store to store, savoring the thrill of finding something in my size?

I try to convince myself that I’m just fashionable! I *like* fashion, it’s not different than being an art collector and spending money on art! And that would be true if I spent real money on tailored pieces or one of a kind creations. But they’re all inexpensive clothing that I don’t give two thoughts about who made it, where it came from, do I even need it? The average American spends $121 on clothing every month.

I have gotten so used to setting my sights on something I need to have right this second (black wedge sneakers, galaxy leggings, more bow headbands) and then feeling so guilty and stupid afterwards that it’s spilled into things that are not monetary. My sense of satisfaction with something wears off so quickly. I think I need to start a website (and then lose interest the moment I set it all up) I need to get in shape (and then stuff the sneakers to the back of the closet once I buy them).  No one makes me stick to things, ideas or goals and so I don’t discipline myself to go through with things once I have them in my possession.

Right now I’m still on the cusp of being an adult. I haven’t committed to anything yet that someone could hold me to, and would have real consequences if I backed out of. I don’t have a lease that I pay for. I don’t have a job that I can’t just quit because the boss is annoying and I’ll just get another one at a different kiosk at the student union. Marriage terrifies me, you are literally buying someone, signing a contract. What happens when that same high wears off?

But enough is enough. I’m tired of getting satisfaction from shoes. From thinking “Oh, if I just had this black dress, I’d be done. Everything would be perfect. I’d be happy.” I don’t want to organize or de-clutter. I want to take responsibility for my things. I don’t want to buy things anymore to make me happy when I’m sad or as a reward when I’m happy. I want to know that people weren’t hurt in the process of making the t-shirt I haphazardly stuff into drawers and then neglectfully leave at the gym.  I want to start off my self-supporting life knowing that I can survive without relying on surplus items controlling me.

The best things in life are not only free, but the line is shorter. ~Robert Brault

So I officially pledge starting today that I  won’t needlessly buy anything new for a year. I will borrow or DIY. But I have to write this here and put it out there so others will hold me responsible. I need to find my happiness somewhere else – I want to be happy with what I have. I need to start taking responsibility.

I hope my boss comes back tomorrow so I don’t start clicking around and become vegan or something.

Jerry and Crazy Tony

8 Jul

Hello children! I have returned, just as I promised.

The Fourth is over and done with and now we can all turn our attention to the next big thing we’re counting down to: Take Your Pants for a Walk Day! I don’t really understand it either, but some people really like their pants so don’t knock it. Man + Pants love 4evaaaaa make it legal already, it’s 2013 ammiright?

I hope you all had nice vacations, those of you who were off (sorry, Gadget). As I said ages ago, I was in Florida for the past week. Super excited to be in the sun, on the beach, in ma bikini and with ma best pals. Alas, 24 hours after we landed in Fort Lauderdale I am hacking up stuff and my head feels like it’s been filled with hot egg-drop soup. Spring Break! Time for my signature Robitussintini. (I’m joking, don’t drink that. You’ll literally have psychosis and be forced to write an awkward ‘humor’ column.)

It still turned out to be a pretty solid vacation. Joy and Liana have been like my sisters since 3rd grade. August marks the first time one of us, Joy,  will be getting married and things will never be the same (DUN DUN). Which is why we obviously had to prank the shit out of her.

Haha! The ole' burn her wedding dress a month before the wedding!

Haha! Your face is so red!

See, Tuesday, I was still talking with something like a gravelly smoker’s voice that would’ve let me fit right in with the leathery elderly gambling their social security away at the Hard Rock casino nearby so Joy and Liana decided to  have an indoor day and because we have a limited understanding of what 23 year old chicks on vacation in Florida do for fun, we went to the Hollywood Science Museum. We were the only ones there over 19 who were not a parent or a camp counselor or lost. NO SHAME. Children’s science museums are awesome! (Except for the fact that you have to wait on line alone to take a picture in the fake mars rover while mothers give you the side-eye) But there’s touch-tanks and brain teaser puzzles and whatever the fuck this is!

"It's Jerry!"

“It’s Jerry!”

There was also something that was a drunk-driving simulator. It looked like a arcade racing game except instead of putting in a coin, you plugged in your sex, age and how many “drinks” you’ve had. Then depending on your BAC, the game screen would change blurriness. Then it was your job to follow the GPS directions home without hitting anyone, speeding,or crashing into buildings while your wheel jolted and made you drift lanes. It was also timed, because everyone knows when you drive drunk it’s important to feel the pressure of making it home in time. The game should’ve specified a reason why you needed to get home in 2 min and 30 seconds, like maybe your parole officer was coming to visit or maybe you’re trying to catch your wife cheating again, but weirdly they didn’t. We watched two kids play before we did and both times they either rammed their car into oncoming traffic or turned too early and slammed into a school. Joy’s turn, she had 6 “drinks” but then maneuvered her car all the way home without any violations. The screen said “Congratulations! You made it home in time with no speeding tickets or collisions.” Don’t you think a game like this should ALWAYS BE RIGGED TO LOSE? I mean, we knew it was a joke and that drunk driving is probably a bad idea but kids are dumb, what does “winning” this game show them? The game should be, enter your information and oh no, the car won’t start because your friends took your keys away. The end. You still win.

Oh, so the prank. We had finished the museum at 3 p.m., the same time Liana’s dad was supposed to pick us up but his phone was off. We sat outside the museum watching children chase pigeons like the creepers we were. At some point Liana and I decided to explore the gift shop while Joy watched our stuff (ie 5 boxes of Zours we bought at Walgreens for lunch). In the gift shop we noticed a basket full of fake but EXTREMELY realistic looking cockroaches. We didn’t even have to say anything to each other. Our minds were one. We needed a fake cockroach to hide in the shower for Joy. At 27 cents a roach it was definitely worth it.

Saved us a bundle when we brought him out to dinner with us.

Saved us a bundle when we brought him out to dinner with us.

Later that night, we planted it in the shower and waited outside. “No, no, no!!” We heard from inside. Joy ran out in a towel. “There is a HUGE big in the shower!” she shouted. We started cracking up. She was confused. Until we explained the bug was plastic. She was mad but we WERE NOT SATISFIED with her response. We decided to do the prank right this time and so we put it on Liana’s mom’s couch cushion. And waited again.

“Ugh! A bug!! Get it out!” we heard her yell to her husband. “Don’t squish it on the couch!” “It’s so big! Get rid of it!” Liana’s dad got a paper towel and grabbed the bug about to throw it outside, but Liana (who realized her newfound best friend, whom she named Crazy Tony since we had been watching Honey Boo Boo all week was going to be thrown far into the yard) jumped on her dad’s back. “NO! DON’T THROW IT!” as her dad tossed it onto the ground.

Then he watched in horror as Liana went after the cockroach and put it right into her mouth. “HAVE YOU BEEN DRINKING?!” he shouted at her. “WHATS WRONG WITH YOU GET THAT OUT OF YOUR MOUTH!” Liana spit it into her hand laughing, “It’s fake! It’s fake!” He didn’t hear her and slapped it out of her hand. Thus a new member of our group was born. Crazy Tony would come everywhere with us the rest of the week. Liana took him out at the airport to more than one’s person’s confusion.

Later that night we were in bed at 1 a.m.(or three beds pushed together because why would you sleep any other way?) when a REAL 3 inch cockroach started climbing on the walls. Liana ran to beg her dad to get rid of it.

“Why don’t you just put it in your mouth?” he answered dryly.


Alas, now I am back in Baltimore after spending the weekend in New York. Work starts back up tomorrow. My article about the celebrities in Baltimore actually did get published but after other reporters added more interviews. Whatevs, I still helped and I don’t have to read any more information about One Direction’s new tattoos! Happy Day!

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