I HATE TUESDAYS

Subway rides to and from Astoria: $4
Cab from one Subway stop to where I should have been, after taking the wrong train and getting hopelessly lost: $6
Coffee for me and The Latest Boy: $6
Food to replace feelings after dragging my ass to Queens so that The Latest Boy could end our non-committed, non-relationship* (all the while begging me to "please dear God Ariella show some sort of emotion"): $8.50

Understanding the consequences of ignoring all of those red flags: $24.50, not including all of the shit I bought him, plus the cost of the Plan B (thank you again for that one, assface). So it's at least $150, easy. I bet you thought I was going to say "priceless!" Nope! This one cost me!

*Who knew that could happen??

I am a delicate flower

What up, party people? Apologies for the long hiatus. I finished yet another mediocre school year, and then spent some quality time in Israel. A fun place, but holyfuckisithotthere. I still recommend that everyone pay a visit there, though.

Here is a story you might appreciate. Since I had absolutely no clean clothes upon my return from Israel, the first thing I had to do when I got back to the city was laundry. I emptied out my suitcase and realized that even my typical choices for laundry-day attire were dirty. I usually have the benefit of choosing between the gigantic, too-big for Rosie O'Donnell underwear or the fetus-sized underwear. I had already worn the giant pair, so I guess my choice was made for me. On went the tight ones. I gathered my clothes and schlepped them down the four flights of stairs to the laundry room, which would have been fine, except for my underwear was already causing a loss of blood flow to...vital...areas. By the time I made it to the washing machine, I had perhaps the worst wedgie ever.

The kind where you feel like picking your nose might help. The kind where once you take care of it, you are so happy, you feel the need to call someone and tell them. You get the idea.

There were two other guys in the laundry room, but there were standing next to me and appeared to be looking toward the opposite wall. I couldn't wait any longer, and decided that instead of losing my ability to bear children, fuck it. I was gonna solve this wedgie problem. So I did. I salvaged my underwear from the depths of my...oh, well you know. I even think leg bending was involved. I let out a nice sigh, and glanced over to make sure those guys were still looking at the other wall. They were not looking at the wall. They were looking at the VIDEO CAMERA in front of the wall. They were taping some sort of skit, and I had just unknowingly lent my skills as an extra.

Not only am I disgusting in person, there is now video proof of me acting like the most indelicate pig in the universe. "Where is Ariella's elbow?" Oh right. UP HER ASS, along with the rest of her arm, retrieving her underpants. I panicked, finishing my laundry as fast as humanly possible. Then, I ran out of there as fast as my constricting little underpants would let me go.

The video is probably on YouTube already. "FUNNY HAHA GIRLS PICKS ASS WATCH NOW XX69XX" or something like that.

There you have it.

When I wrote about the first fire alarm in my building, I didn't think things could get any more uncomfortable. Let's discuss Friday evening (why do these kids love fire?).

I was in the shower, absorbed in deep thought and deep conditioning, when I heard the familiar screeching of the fire alarm. I was not let a little smoke ruin a perfectly good shower, so I finished, put some clothes on (respectable clothes, this time) and went outside to wait for the fire department. They came. They left. It was nothing. Now here comes the fun part. It was Friday night dinner for the Jewish students, and as a Person Somewhat In Charge, I was asked to tell them to wait until everyone else went in the building before they could enter. As I shout this directive to the Chosen Children, a young man begins to argue with me. He said the food was getting cold. I told him I was sorry, but he would have to wait. He said that they were already running behind. Again, quite sorry, but tough break.

Then, he called me an anti-Semite.

Pardon?

Me, queen of the JAPs, eater of unleavened bread, an anti-Semite? Was this kid not wearing his glasses? Curly hair. Wide hips. Commanding ass. All signs point to JEW. I was so stunned that I couldn't even laugh until about twenty minutes afterwards. I had no idea postponing dinner for another three minutes would elicit this reaction. I can't even imagine the bloodshed that would have ensued had I tried to tell them to wait five minutes.

Apparently, God's Chosen People are not God's Patient People.

I don't do break-ups

After my most recent bout of crazy, my insurance company assigned me some sort of mental health case worker. I don't know what that means or how it happens, but gosh, do I feel special! I can only surmise that the cost of me offing myself is an expense Aetna would rather not incur. Anywho, "Brad" tells me I should be seeing a new shrink. Fine. The problem is, how do I break up with my old one?

I wish there was some sort of manual for break-ups. Do I have to call them and tell them it's over, or can I just cancel all of my appointments and never show up again? Am I supposed to apologize? Tell him it was good while it lasted? Do I still call on birthdays?! I just have no idea.

I thought about sending a card, because that's just what I do. I'm a card-sender. Unfortunately, Hallmark doesn't make a "parting ways with your mental health professional" greeting card. I thought about a singing telegram, but I don't think he would find it funny. Cookies? Flowers? Empty pill bottles filled with love notes? If someone would just write a book or something that tells me how to part ways, I would be really appreciative.

My favorite!

It's impossible to be in a bad mood when you watch this.

Enjoy!

Captain Obvious strikes again!

Since I watch a lot of shitty "family programming" on tv, I see a lot of shitty ads for family-oriented products. This, good friends, is by far my favorite product ever marketed to the 2-kids-a-dog-and-a-white-picket-fence demographic:

I cannot imagine a product more suitable for the most stoned of stoners than this, the Glade light show. The commercials show little Timmy thanking his mom for buying him such a nifty toy! Now, if Glade actually wanted to make money, they would air commercials aimed at college kids. Covers the pot smell? Check. Endless fun and entertainment? Check. Consumers with disposable incomes that allow them to waste their money on such useless pieces of shit? CHECK!

I thought it was a pretty ridiculous concept when I thought it was dispensing pine cone smell. Not only is it making the room smell like fake forest, but now I have to watch the lights change too?

This particular one is "Vanilla & Cream" scented. My first instinct is to vomit. My second is to laugh. My third? Get stoned and take this puppy for a spin.