Your Girlfriend is Ugly

Donde estan mis pantelones?

In case you hadn't heard I moved to the tri-state area. My company relocated me so I'm living in Hoboken which is awesome (and also where they hide all of the hot men) and working out of our office in the Jersey suburbs as well as the office in Manhattan. Here's the thing; when I was working in the office in Boston it was super casual. I'm talking like wife beaters and lululemon yoga pants to work. Now it's all business casual. This includes no jeans.

Even on Fridays. I have two dresser drawers filled with jeans so you can imagine how annoying this is.

My dilemma is that I don't own any dress pants. Iiiiiiiiiiiiiii know! Like dress pants to me are a foreign concept. Plenty of dresses sure? cute little baby doll tops to wear with leggins? You got it. But no dress pants. And with the weather being so craptastic and rainy lately getting dressed in the morning causes me to have severe agida.

Thus far I've spent about $500 shopping online for pants. I could save myself the returning headache and just go to a mall to shop but 1.) I'm new to the area and have no idea where anything is and 2.) I'm so paranoid about driving when I don't have to because finding parking in my neighborhood blows (see this blogto read all about it.) At present time I loathe all of the pants I've received from J.Crew.com, Anntaylorloft.com and Gap.com.

So what am I doing? Wearing a pair of former fat pants from the Gap. These were purchased long before I joined Weight Watchers and lost 35 pounds. Right now they are falling off me. Plus it makes me look like I have an extra stomach because the waist has stretched out and causing the illusion of a paunch.

I am a mess. And I need pants.

Don't try to be lawless in Hoboken. It will cost you $80.

I'm now three weeks into my new life in the tri-state area. So far so good! My apartment is all set up, pictures are hung up on the wall and I even have the recycling schedule committed to memory...even though I haven't been recycling. Bad Lisa Bad!!!

The only downside to Hoboken is the parking. Parking blows the big one. And not yet having a resident sticker makes it even more difficult.

See, when I lived in South Boston (Southie for you locals) you could park in a cross-walk and the most you'd get is a $10 ticket. Totally worth it! But here in Hoboken forget it! From the end of the sidewalk to about two car lengths in is a yellow line. And if you park anywhere near that yellow line your ass is booted, towed and ticketed. It's so unreal!

I was at dinner with one of my co-workers who lives in the neighborhood and I was telling her how stressed out I was about parking. She explained to me how she used to be very nervous about parking as well but after a while she would park her car in the yellow line and she noticed that as long as she left for work early she never got a ticket.

So, last Thursday I'm driving around and driving around and ready to rip my blond hair out because there is not a single spot to park! It was one of those times where everyone in front of me was finding a parking spot except me. I was on the verge of tears when I saw half of a parking spot, the other half was in the yellow line.

"Fuck it."

I had a dentist appointment the next morning at 8am. I figured I'd be done by 8:30 and would be able to just scurry out of the illegal spot unscathed.

Fast forward the next morning.

The Scene: Hoboken, NJ. Cold, cloudy and raining like a mofo.

Lisa in the dentist chair, looking dreamily at her new dentist as he pokes and prods in her mouth.

The outfit: Lisa wearing a dress with footless leggins and rubber flip flops with no traction (this information comes in handy at the end of the story)

Now guys. Let's talk about my new dentist. He was hot. Like hotter than hot. Like he was hot like the fire that consumes other fire. He could've put his entire fist in my mouth to check for cavities and I would've been OK with it.

The only thing is that he talked. A. LOT. And he was so dreamy that when I finally exited the dentist office I didn't realize how late it was. I glanced down at my Fauxlex and saw that it was 9:30.

"Shit."

With the rain coming from every which way and my flip flops offering no support I made a mad dash for Clinton and 12th street.

"It's gonna be there! It's gonna be there! It's gonna be there," I chanted to myself as I passed the Fresh Picked Deli.

"Lisa. Who are you kidding. You parked illegally and you have Mass plates. Your car is so towed," said my other self.

"SHUT UP!"

I came to the corner where I distinctly remember parking the night before and there was no Suzi.

"Fuck."

I dialed the Hoboken Police station and said that this was not an emergency but I think my car got towed.

"What kinda car is it sweetie?"

"Jetta. White. Mass plates."

"Yeah we got it. You need to go to the Tow place on Jefferson and 16th."

"Ok. Thanks."

I did not have the number for a cab, I was wearing flip flops and it was down pouring. Naturally I walked to Jefferson and 16th which was about a 10 minute walk away. Thank God I had my white umbrella with multi-colored polka dots so shield me from the horrific weather.

I finally arrived.

"Can I help you?"

"Hi. That's my car," I pointed to Suzi.

"Ok. Do you have your release form?"

"My who and what now?"

"Your release form."

"I'm from Boston.....?"

"Ok. Go to that window and talk to Ronnie."

Ronnie was a tall and slender man who looked kind of like Clint Eastwood, but less squinty.

"Hi. I need to get my car."

"Do you have your release form?"

"No."

"Ok. You need to take your registration, insurance card, and license and go to the Police Station so they can release your car."

"Ooooohkaaaay. Do you have a number for a cab since I can't actually drive to the police station?"

"Here. Come with me."

I followed Ronnie back to the front where all of the cars were chilling. There scrawled on the wall was a 201 phone number for a Hoboken car service.

"Wait, Ronnie. You said I need an insurance card?"

"Yeah."

"Ok well I moved here two weeks ago from Boston and they don't give out insurance cards in Massachusetts."

Ronnie stroked his 5 o'clock shadow. "Hmmm...well you need that in New Jersey to get your car back...hmmm..."

I looked at him with the doe-iest of eyes I could muster.

"Ok. When you get to the police station ask for Officer Bobby Castellano. I'll give him a call to let him know you're on your way."

"Officer Castellano."

"Yeah."

Ten minutes later the car service dropped me off at the station. Now, let me tell you something readers. Those Hoboken cops are HOT. Like I walked in and thought I was at a model casting. This one guy walked by me with those tight cop pants tucked into the high boots and he was bald and had a huge tattoo with the name ALVEREZ on his bicep. I was like "CUFF ME NOW!"

I must've been standing in the middle of the hallway for a while checking out the fine cop ass that was surrounding me because finally an officer asked me if I needed help.

"Oh. Yes I'm uh looking for Officer Castellano...?"

"Sure. He's right in there."

I walked into a room that was marked "Autos" and stood in line behind a guy who was getting finger printed. Jesus! Do they finger print you here too if your car gets towed? They are no joke!

The man identified as Officer Castellano walked over to me and asked if I needed help.

"Hi. I was sent over by Ronnie...?"

Bobby gave me a nod and asked in a loud voice if I had my registration and insurance card.

"I uh moved here from Boston two weeks ago. They don't do insurance cards in Mass."

He gave a curt nod and walked over to a clerk who filled out my paperwork in 2 minutes. The nice lady then walked over to me, told me to be mindful of the signs and handed me my release form for my car.

I then called a cab to take me BACK to the tow place so I could get my car. Upon entering the tow place a guy who looked liked he belonged on Deadliest Catch greeted me with a nod and a wink.

"Can I help ya?"

"Yes. Hi. I'm here to get my car back."

"Got ya release form?"

"I do."

"Ok. Follow me."

I followed Deadliest Catch guy to the little window.

"How much is this going to cost me?"

"$80."

"And you guys take cards?"

"Yup."

Well this was an improvement at least from when I'd get my car towed in Boston. There it was $110 and CASH ONLY.

I paid the guy, got my receipt and said, "I hope to never see you again."

He gave a hearty laugh and said, "Well at least not here." Then he winked at me.

WELCOME TO HOBOKEN!

Life changes and how they will effect my TV time.

In case you don't stalk me on Twitter or are not privvy to my insane amount of Facebook updates then you might not know that I'm moving to New York in about two weeks.

Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii know.

It happened kind of fast. But it's good; it's exactly the change I need.

So the fact that I'm moving and having this major life change isn't really bothering me so much. I mean do I worry about packing up all of my shit in two weeks? Sure. Am I bummed that I probably can't have a proper going away party? Well, yeah. But I can have a welcome to New York party so that's fine.

What I am most freaking out about is how in the world am I going to watch all of my DVR in time before the big move?!???!!!!

Seriously the thought gives me agida. I've only downloaded 4 episodes of 24 on my iPod and the rest are all on my precious Digital Video Recorder. Plus, all of those Millionaire Match Makers and One Tree Hill's that I save for a rainy day! GAH! How am I going to pull this one off???

I'm not tech-savvy so if anyone knows a way to transfer DVR to your iPod then please let me know because quite frankly I don't think I can pull this one off.

Mashed potatoes, motorboating and moving

I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving! I know I'm a little bit behind with the holiday well wishes but, well I've been busy and important.

My Turkey Day was great. It was totally chill and delicious and just what I needed. Some of the highlights were the stuffing and teaching my cousin Pam what the term "motorboating" means.  ("Above the waist! Not below!"). God, I love my family...

On Thanksgiving weekend I moved. Now, mind you I have moved multiple times. Hiring movers is the way to go. You pack up all your stuff, you organize it nice and neat and they do all the heavy lifting. All you have to do is drink coffee, talk on the phone and be available to point to where the bathroom is.

With that being said, this was bar-none my weirdeset move to date.

First the dudes were late. Which, you know whatever. It happens. Peeps be late. But when they did arrive they smelled like booze and stale ass.

Awesome.

So the movers couldn't pull their truck right in front of my building because there was a lonely car still parked there, so they pulled into the alley a few feet away. This is the alley that leads to my white trash neighbors house. We call them Domestic Dispute because they are always screaming and yelling at eachother and on one occassion the mother was hollering that she was going to hang herself and "is that how he wanted his son to find her?!?!!?!?? Hanging from the ceiling."

Oh and did I mention she wears an alcohol monitoring bracelet? (What? House Arrest is classy.)

The two movers come up and start to tell me how the neighbor is yelling at the them to move their truck because the mother-in-law can't even git by with her strollah. For the record there was plenty of room for a triple-wide strollah let alone a single strollah.

So we think all is cool until I notice that only one of the movers is coming up and down the stairs. Finally, while he's carrying 1 of the 5 boxes filled with shoes he says to me, "I feel so bad for Eric. Your neighbors won't leave him alone."

It was at this point that my sister sauntered down the stairs and in her best Boston accent asked Domestic Dispute what the problem was and what can we do hea to remedy it.

"Well my motha-in-law can't get by with her strollah."

"Sir. If ya'd just let the guyz do thei-ah jobs we can be outta hea in like a half hou-ah."

"Well ya know. A half hou-ah turns inta two hou-ahs."

"You know. We've been good neighbahs to yiz. This isn't very neighbahly."

"No No I know. And you know I don't want to get the police involved since I just got outta jail."

With that Domestic Dispute took one last drag of his Kool and went back to his shackled wife to let Gentle Giant finish the job.

About twenty minutes went by when I noticed something that didn't quite fit. I stood up and saw a dog running around my now empty living room.

"There's a dog in the apartment."

My sister's eyes got all wide. I totally knew she was thinking Rotweiller.

"Shana. Relax."

I walked down the hallway and saw the pooch. White. Curly hair. Friendly enough.

"Um. Hi pup."

*woof*

"I think you're lost."

*sniff*

I took hold of his dog tags and saw that he lived at 68 Marine Road. Right around the corner.

"Ok buddy. Let's get you home."

He followed me out the door and then instead of taking a left with me took a right and peaced out down Columbia Road.

"Uh. Ok..."

I decided to go knock on 68 Marine Roads door anyway to let them know that their dog was barking and entering.

No one was home. Cool.

The movers finally finished up around 1:30.

"It would've been a lot faster if we could've parked outside. But what can you do?"

"Yeah what can you do right?"

I hopped in my car and prepared to drive away. That was when I noticed my downstairs neighbor come out with her boyfriend. They looked around timidly and then exited into the sunlight right into the car that was parked out front! That was her car! That bitch! And she knew I was moving too. I knocked on her door the night before and asked her if she wanted any furniture. So effing rude. It's not like she was hard up for parking. All she had to do was move up four feet and she still would've been out front and left plenty of room for the moving truck.

I'm going to miss living in Southie but not going to miss having rude trashy assholes for neighbahs.

Farewell

I had a good time in college. I lived in a prime apartment in the city with two guys and another girl. I was nineteen and never without liquor because either Tony Bologna or Stu would buy for me. We partied every night and there were always crazy shenanigans happening on our roof which looked into the Prudential Center. But that's what college is all about right? Hooking up with too many guys and drinking too many nips of Puckers.

I tried to relive my glory days when I moved to Southie four years ago. I was partying every weekend and drinking like it was my job. I even passed out in my friends bath tub and later on that night eventually puked pink stuff all over the street. Too much red wine and special brownies. 

Then there comes a point when you enter your mid-twenties that you say to yourself, "I can't drink like that any more." Don't get me wrong. I'll enjoy the bottle of red wine all to myself and I'm all for grabbing drinks after work. But gone are the days when I wake up at 7am on St. Patty's day and drink until midnight.

However, my responsible drinking self was shoved aside on Saturday for my Last Hurrah in Southie. I am moving out of the neighborhood that I've called home for the past four years and I wanted to remember the evening. Remember I did...until 6pm the following night.

Hooker made it a point to come up from NYC for the weekend so she could see me off in style. She used to live in the neighborhood and she was also my drinking buddy when she lived in Boston so it was totally fitting that she made it a point to be here.

At 5pm I cracked open a Stella and started to get ready for the evening. By 7pm I was totally buzzed and decided it was a good idea to pop open the bottle of Vueve Cliquot that was burning a hole in my fridge. The Ukrainian Princess had joined us by this time so the three of us bopped around my apartment sipping Vueve and applying eye liner.

By 9pm everyone had arrived at my place and I was reliving the Stairwell Story compliments of Iggy and Hooker. I don't know why those two feel the need to always retell it. Oh I know why. BECAUSE IT'S THE BEST STORY EV-ER.

The entire group of us made our way to the L Street Tavern around 10pm and the place was bumping. By this time I was totally buzzed and kept telling the random wicked drunk guy that my (sober) friend Rose liked him. This made him stand really close to her and rub up against her.

"YA FUCKIN' DEAD!" She shouted to me from across the bar as I collapsed in giggles. 

One thing you should know about me when I get drunk is that I ALWAYS want to do shots. It's like a relax or a gift from God or something. Saturday night was no different. I turned to my friends Jessie and T and told them I wanted to do a shot. 

"ANNNYFRING BUT JAEGAH MMKAY? I'LL BAHF IF WE DO JAEGAH."

"Irish Car Bomb?"

"What's that? I nevah done one."

"It's delicious."

"Ok. BAHTENDAH! THREE IRISH CAH BOMBS!!!!"

You should also know that when I get drunk my Boston accent comes out full force.

I pounded that Irish Car Bomb and after licking the Bailey's from my thumb proclaimed the Bahtendah to BRING ME ANOTHA!

"Leeeees....." JSutt had sidled up to my left, "Ok Leees. So you just did an Irish Car Bomb. Maybe you should wait 15 mins. If you want another one then come back and get one ok?"

"K." And with that I slithered off my stool and went outside to get some air.

During all of this drinking and debauchery I decided to undress Jhilll's fiancee Dave. I don't know what it is about Dave but whenever I'm drunk around him I feel the need to either take his clothes off or breath heavily near him. It's a wonder he even still talks to me. In between Irish Car Bombs -yes I did another one- I started to chat up this guy in a striped sweater. He walked by me and I just gave him a nod and said "HEY."

"Hey. How are you?"

"I'm good. You look like Pacey from Dawson's Creek."

"Really??? No one's ever told me that before!"

"Well you do."

We talked a little more but I had the attention span of a gnat and he eventually got sick of  me and walked to the other end of the bar. By 12:30 I had a revelation that we had to leave L Street immediately and head to Murphy's Law, the dive bar down the street that's open super late. I don't know why I felt the need to leave. L Street was bumping and Pacey and I were making bar eyes. I passed him on the way out and he asked where I was going.

"Murphy's."

"Why? It's so shady!"

"Yeah but it's open late!"

"So is my apartment."

I was too drunk to process this. "Mmmmkay byeeeee."

Hooker asked me later why I didn't get my boyfriends number. I told her I had two Irish Car Bombs. 'Nuff said.

Murphy's was filled with the usual clowns. One guy in a Patriot's hoodie kept telling us his friend was going to whip it out for us. Another guy with the smallest head I've ever seen started talking to Jessie and some guy named Dave kept grabbing my nose and saying, "HA! GOT IT!"

The nose grabbing thing was new to me. The threat to whip out a penis, unfortunately was not.

Saturday night was one of those great nights where everyone is in a good mood, the crowd is cool, the vibe is chill and even though you drink like you're going to the chair you don't hurl. That last point is the difference between grown up drinking and college drinking. When I was 20 I totes would've ralphed -totally the best synonym for puking Chris-.