Fare Well, Summer Vacation

Oh, how I just loved this weekend! The best part about this past weekend was just how much like summer, it really felt. Over the weekend I had a lovely gathering of friends at my new apartment. It's too bad that I only remember sixteen percent of the night. But, from what I do remember--it was glorious (and hilarious). Thank you to my Meelzy for your thoughtful housewarming gift; authentic and straight from 1991...THE CLAPPER. (That's right...clap on. Clap off. The clapper. Are my friends da bomb, or what!?) And, oh yes, also thank you to Meelz for covering my bed with a small army of condoms. You're welcome to the guests who took them home as unexpected party favors.

On Saturday, I spent the whole day in Central Park with Meelz, BG, Parslay, J. Branz, and Nate. It was perfect. Sunday afternoon was spent at Galzbabi's pool on the roof of her apartment building. Also perfect. This weekend was truly summer. The irony of this is that after tonight, my summer will have officially commenced. As of tomorrow at 9 am, I report to duty. I will say this just once: I LOVE YOU SUMMER TIME, PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME.

I know. Ninety-seven percent of you don't feel sorry for me. And, yes...I know that I am lucky to have a vacation. But, trust me--there is a reason that teachers have off in the summer. (We might murder our students otherwise). I am not ready to go back to work. But even more, I am not ready for summer to end. I love the heat, flip-flops, icecream trucks, and my inner boob sweat. I love it all. Was I a bum this past month? Yes, of course. Do I feel bad about it? No, absolutely not. I had the time of my life. So, as I sit here on my couch, Sunday night blues hitting me hard, crying softly on the inside, I say goodbye to summer vacation. I miss you, already.

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9.02.10

The picture posted above (Faceinahole.com) was created by my main squeeze, BGbabe. That's right. She inserted my face where Brenda Walsh's should be, and I am in my rightful place in this world, wrapped in Luke Perry's arms.

Less than one week from today is September 2, 2010. Big whoop, right? Wrong. To me, and every other 90210 fanatic across the globe, this is the day that we have been waiting for, for the past twenty years. September 2, 2010... otherwise known as, 9.02.10. That's right, it is my luckiest of days when the calender date matches my all time favorite television show/borderline not-okay obsession.

Could Aaron Spelling, the cast and crew of 90210,and God have predicted that when Beverly Hills, 90210 first aired on October 4, 1990, that one day people across the world would rejoice and celebrate this very day? No, probably not.

How will I be celebrating this momentous occasion, might you wonder? Well, it's simple really. I am attending an actual 9.02.10 party at M-15 bar, (come!) next Thursday night complete with DJ's spinning your favorite dance songs from the mid 90's. (Picture: The Peach Pit After Dark). And, oh yes...90's dress is encouraged. Will this be the best night of my life? Most likely, yes.

Perhaps the greatest part of this 90210 party, is that it is being thrown by three BOYS...who came up with this idea back in 1995 (when they were eleven years old--just like me!). This is a party that has been in the making for the last fifteen years; and they are happy to include 90210 lovers alike in New York City. (Quite honestly, I'm disappointed that I didn't think of this idea myself). If ever a night was more destined for me to meet my future husband, this is it. You can find me next Thursday, at the 90210 party, dressed in my finest 90's garb, searching for my very own 2010, Dylan McKay.

I'm in Love with a Stripper

What happens when you attend a male strip club to celebrate a friend's birthday on a Thursday night? Well, it's simple really. One of your female friends might just be used like a pendulum, being swung upside down between a male stripper's legs; and the birthday boy's bare ass just might be spanked in front of the entire bar. And as for that picture posted above, (can you believe that I learned how to post pictures in an actual blog entry!? Yeah, me neither). Well, that photo is just one of many of my Becca Girl living her dream of being ravaged on stage).

Last night, the Camp Schodack crew, plus a select group of others attended Dave's birthday party at a male strip club. In my life, the male strip clubs that I have been to, involved a red carpet, cheesy dance moves, and male stripper thongs.

This strip club, however, was nothing like the strip clubs of my past. Set in Brooklyn, it was a seemingly regular bar, with great music. The only thing that set it apart was the stage where both male and female strippers danced. And, oh yeah. There were male strippers giving lap dances around the perimeter of the bar. What I did not expect going into the evening, was to see my friends being used as stripper props. BGbabe was swung around on stage like a rag doll. The male stripper REALLY had his way with her, (and I think she liked it). I also did not expect to see Dave (birthday boy) bare assed, exposed to the entire bar, sandwiched between a male and female stripper. It was just perfect, and the night exceeded all of my expectations. Schodack, we know how to party. And, Dave--Happy Birthday to you, dude-bro. Love ya.

A Wedding Weekend

This past weekend was da best weekend eva!!! (Yes, I know that I make that statement quite often, but I pretty much almost mean it this time). If you have ever been to a wedding with twenty of your high school friends, then you know just what I mean. On Saturday night I watched one of my closest friends take that irreversible plunge towards adulthood, and it was a dang good time. It was a bar-mitzvah, it was a prom, it was Josh and Diana's wedding, 2010.

Josh and Diana (the groom and bride) looked so relaxed and happy during the ceremony, it was impossible not to feel anything but genuine happiness for the two of them. And, as for watching my old friend walk down the aisle with his parents...well, that's what water proof mascara is for, right? During college, Josh and I would visit each other at our respective schools quite frequently, and as a result--I know, (and love) all of his college friends. So, yes...I knew the vast majority of the twenty-somethings in the room, and if that doesn't spell fun, then well...I just don't know what does.

There was laughing, drinking, and bat-mitzvah dancing across the dance floor. (You can find Rockoff doing the running man amongst various other 90's dance moves, as there are videos posted to facebook to prove it). And, then there's Sheetal-my tiny faced friend--who couldn't have been happier as she was at the perfect height to motoroboat Lorea's tits during the party. There were hot bitches, (or were there?), and there was my constant hope that I would hear the band's rendition of California Gurls. (An aside: I went into this wedding feeling good. Thanks to Barrie's Girlfriend party (Yes, that is what it was actually called), I had my make up professionally done, (fo free yo!) and thanks to my Loders--my hair looked stupendous. That was at the beginning of the night. By the night's end, (after four hours of sweaty dancing), I looked something similar to a run-over cat.

The wedding was beautiful, lovely, and perfect--and I love the bride and groom very much. But, perhaps even greater than the wedding was the post-wedding aftermath. Josh in his single-minded glory just wanted to see all of his single friends at the wedding get laid. It was his wedding night wish. What happens when sixty or so twenty-somethings drink heavily over the course of seven hours? Really hilarious people hook up with each other...and Josh got his wish come true. (An aside: I would love to elaborate on this portion of the night, as I feel it provided much entertainment and comedy for all; but for all parties involved, I will keep it blog-free).

The morning after brunch in the hotel was simply perfect. It involved french toast, omelettes, and the constant replaying of the previous night's hilarity and high points. The wedding set in Westchester is one hour away from our hometown of Livingston, New Jersey. The weekend would not have been complete if it did not take us (Rockoff, Sheets and Lorea) over three hours to get home. Really guys? Why am I always the driver? I'm not good at it. I got us lost for two hours, had to turn around nine times, and drove us the opposite way into Connecticut. But you know what? We couldn't have been happier about it--right you guys!?! We thought that the car ride would never end, and in a way I hoped that it never would.

So, thank you to Josh and Diana for being my friends, for marrying each other, and for letting me sweat on your dance floor. And so, as an amazing weekend comes to close, I feel a teensy bit sad that something I have been looking forward to for the past year is over. However, this feeling is largely overshadowed in the knowledge of just how lucky I am to have such a great group of friends...who really know how to shake it on the dance floor.

So, This is Growing Up.

Ya know, time is a funny thing.

Ever notice that when you look away for a little; you can see the change in others, you can notice the people around you growing up? But, why is it so incredibly difficult to see this growth and change within yourself?

This past week, Brooke and I went to visit Camp Schodack for the night. (Yes, again). On our drive up to camp, one of my best friends from highschool called me. And, yes. He just so happens to be getting married this weekend. As I listened to him speak about his upcoming nuptials, and that in five days he would have a wife, I couldn't help but think that this was the ultimate paradox of who I am; and how time affects everyone in different ways. As my friend was getting ready for his WEDDING this Saturday, I was driving to SLEEPAWAY camp. Are we on the same page in life or what!?

Being up at camp is always amazing. However, this time I had a very different experience--one that made me wonder about the essence of time; and one that made me see how much everyone has grown and changed. (Including me). I was chatting with the CIT's (Counselors in Training--girls, ages fifteen and sixteen). I could tell by the way that the girls looked at me, that they didn't see what I saw. ( A topless shimmying, constantly singing, Frosted Flakes eating, Bacardi guzzling, silly, secretly fourteen year old girl at heart). I could tell by the way that they spoke to me; that what they saw was someone who grew up at camp, and had now returned to camp as a real grown-up.

The girls asked me what it was like to be a CIT long ago. (Eleven years ago to be precise). I felt like their grandmother. But, more than that--I remembered when these girls started at camp, as eight year olds, I was around eighteen at the time. I knew this group of girls because they were the youngest bunk on camp, and were damn cute. And, suddenly--here they are--hot ass teenagers with killer bods, and pretty faces. And while I know they are still very young--I couldn't help but wonder--how did this happen? Where did the time go?

This whole growing up business is also evident in my relationship with my old campers--who have become seasoned counselors at Schodack, and more importantly, actual, real friends of mine. If my old campers are growing up, I guess this means that I am growing up too. If growing up means that I get to go back and visit a place that I love, and still feel the same fondness for it that I always have...then okay. I'll take it.

We didn't start the Fire (Island).

What happens in Fire Island, stays in Fire Island! And that is mostly due to the fact that I only remember about eleven percent of this past weekend spent there. As per usual, I was with my best travel companions, (BGbabe and Meelzy). Two-thirds of the people staying in our hotel room (with twin beds) made Fire Island weekend boyfriends. So what if the Fire Island bf's didn't remember us the next night? We didn't care! We were in it, to win it.

The weekend simply put; was a barrel of laughs, a barrel of good sirs, (I'll take your finest wine), a barrel of cheese doodles, a barrel of vodker, and a barrel of vomit. (My vomit). I loved every minute of my Fire Island experience (minus the nineteen consecutive minutes of vomiting). My besties and I stayed at the W Hotel. (Aka--Clegg's Motel). A perfect little hellhole, with bikes to ride and a continental breakfast fit for queens. (Stale bagels and day old doughnuts). Each morning, we took our daily morning photos, while we tried to piece together the events of the night before. We loved our weekend home, and never wanted to leave, (until this morning when we were so hungover, and exhausted that we all wanted to die, (but only a little bit).

The nightlife of Fire Island is fantastical. House party pregame culture was perfect, and the bars were fun and laid back. And, perhaps most importantly of all, each bar played California Girls a multitude of times. In short, we had an amazing time sitting in our rainbow colored chairs; people watching, kitty-cats in pouches watching, and laughing about lots of things, none of which I remember. Until next summer, I'll miss you, Fire Island.

Ma New Digz

Greetings from Apartment 3C, my new digs to be precise. My oh my, it is just glorious here. Just glorious. I have to give myself (and Bonk) credit, where credit is due. I don't know any other roommate duo that would be unpacked, with pictures on the wall, apartment in perfect order, completely spotless, looks like we've lived here for months, in under twenty-fours. Roommate superstars, that's who!

I've never been one to care about having a big room. (Though that is probably because I have never had one before). But, my room is quite large, (by NYC standards), and I just can't help but to fantasize about all of the future naked alone dance parties I will be able to have. (Without banging into any of my furniture) of course. Additionally, my bedroom faces the back of the building which features some lovely patios and courtyards from other apartments. I may have even spotted two hunks enjoying an adult beverage or two, on the patio directly behind my apartment.

3C also features a dining room; a table, and a set of chairs. We have an actual place to sit and eat in a civilized manner. (You know, not hunched over the coffee table, pummeling food into our mouths).

On the down side, I am 79% certain that I may be allergic to my new apartment. Despite all of it's glory and splendor--ever since moving here on Saturday, I have had a scratchy, sore throat, and have not been able to stop sneezing. (Just ask Ja Rule and BG).

And, lastly--I'd like to leave you with a thought from a famous comedian. It has almost nothing to do with what I just wrote about, but I like it just the same. He said, "Why are New Yorkers so competitive about what neighborhoods they live in, within the city? I can see my refrigerator from my bed...We're all in this together."