Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Upper East Side Bomb Scare

NEW YORK (June 28, 2006)——There's a bomb scare going in the Upper East Side at this very moment (8:00 pm). At the Chirping Chicken (where I ate dinner two and a half weeks ago) at 66th and First Avenue. That's a whole block and a half from my apartment.

I can't find any news on the TV or on the Web, so I guess I am going to have to play journalist, here's what I know:

all of which is speculation, but who cares because I am first, FIRST! to put it on the internet

A man went into the Chirping Chicken the other day with a fake bomb.

Today he went in with a real bomb.

They got him.

He lives a building across the street from me and a couple of buildings up (and his neighbor really freaked out when she found out it was him).

He's Russian and had a long-time girlfriend.

There are men in space suits outside of the Chirping Chicken.

Traffic is at a standstill on First Avenue. Just imagine that.

There's lots of yellow tape and cute police officers standing around. (Bridget should put on something nice and try to get herself a date.)

There's a fire truck. (Probably more than one, but I can only see one.)

No one has been hurt. As far as I know. (Hopefully, this is true.)

I'm watching the 10 o'clock news tonight.

My roommate wants to go watch the Red Sox/Mets game at Baker Street Pub on 63rd and First. (I wonder how long it will take her to get there.)

Saturday, June 24, 2006

Blacksburg, VA, Live and on Craigslist!

So I already thought Craig was, like, the best guy ever, and now he's put The Burg on The List. He is EVEN cooler.

Thanks to Craig, when I moved to New York I found an apartment in TWO DAYS! (Which, I now realize was pure luck. I met some real crazies when I was looking for apartments in May because Heather and I thought we were going to be kicked out of our apartment to end up homeless and living under a bridge in Central Park.)

Blacksburg has arrived. You go Hokies. Craigslist is really something that the Hokies have needed for awhile, think subleases, selling microwaves, online dating—no—online hooking up?

I also recently discovered that Craigslist has a "Best of" page that is, in flynnfact, the most hilarious thing EVER, after The Onion.

And now that I'm on the subject of The Coolest Things on the Internet, totally rules.

Friday, June 23, 2006

Let's Go Hokies! I mean, Yankees! I mean, Pointy Shoes?

I just returned from my very first New York Yankees game. And if that's not New York enough, I wore heels. Really super cool white heels that I got in Venice, Italy—very pointy and witch-like, with zippers and studs.

I wanted to take a pic of my shoes with the field in the background, but we were with Jessica's uncle and I didn't want to freak him out by swinging my feet over the seat in front of me (no one was sitting there when I came up with this brillant work of art in my mind's eye) and whipping out my camera phone to document the event. Italian shoes + Yankees game = If one of the players saw my shoes, he would totally want to date me.

Why was I wearing heels you ask? Because Jessica got the tickets in the middle of the work day and I didn't have time to go home and change because we were...what was that? The flip-flops I walk to work in? Yes, I had them in my bag the whole time. Huh? Well, because I didn't want to wear them! I wanted to wear my damn heels! They look so good! Shut up! NO! My feet do NOT desperately hurt because I ALWAYS RUN AROUND NEW YORK IN HEELS JUST LIKE CARRIE BRADSHAW!

I lie.

But! If there was such a place as fashion heaven, shoes would be my saving grace. In a city like New York where people are running around looking so damn good all the time, I have realized that I:

-am not fashionable, AT ALL
-couldn't afford to be even if I wanted to be.

Luckily, most of my shoes ROCK and people compliment them.

I would like to be more fashionable, alas, I realize that with no Stacey and Clinton in sight, I will be continuing to leave my apartment every morning looking like a dork.

Time Out: If I ever saw Stacey or Clinton on the street, I would stop them and beg them shamelessly for help.

It didn't always used to be like this. I remember being at the mall in 4th grade, standing in front of a mirror at Hetch's while my mom waited in line at the cashier and thinking about HOW GOOD I looked. I was wearing my hair DOWN (big deal, I hated to shower in those days and only did so once a week) and was dressed in a white pocket t-shirt from the GAP (which, with the Limited Too, I considered to be the ONLY acceptable stores, but was OBSESSED with the Gap) tucked into my jeans that were rolled and folded up over my white socks (when I changed the color of the t-shirt, I would change the color of the socks so they MATCHED, very important) and my school shoes that were basically black leather cowboy boots that stopped at the ankles, more like cowboy shoes. This was my quintessential outfit. This was fashion. In DC. (Oh we are so plain in DC.) But that was 1992 and I did. look. DAMN. GOOD.

But 14 years later, it's 2006 and I desparately need summer clothes that I can wear to work. I counted a mere four shirts that are short sleeves in closet. Yikes!

The last time I faced the shit-I-have-to-actually-dress-myself-everyday experience was a couple of weeks into college. After 12 years wearing a uniform, dressing yourself in the morning within five minutes is just NOT possible. Of course, a few weeks later I discovered a new uniform—jeans, flip-flops and a t-shirt or sweatshirt...

So this was suppose to be a post about going to a Yankees game and yet I rambled about my wardrobe (I totally care about sports) and that I always feel like a major dork, especially when I wear those khaki pants from the Gap that are cut REALLY bad, but were only $17.

So yeah, next time I'm in DC wearing the college uniform and someone says, "Oh, I thought you would be wearing, you know, pointy shoes, since you live in New York."

I'll say, "I do. I wear them to Yankees games!"

Thursday, June 22, 2006

A Four Hour Lunch, A Four Hour Lunch

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale,
a tale of a fateful lunch.
That started in a Central Park,
amid this crowded isle.
The mag was a mighty pub of trade,
of spirits, wine and beer.
Two editors set off that day,
for a four hour lunch, a four hour lunch...
The shmoozing started getting rough,
they could not get away.
If not for the tasting of the vintage wine,
the Bridget would be lost; the Bridget would be lost.
The lunch took long oh much too long, how disorganized they were,
with journalists, the Gondelier too,
the Man that cheats on his wife,
the Half Naked Model, the Chilean, and rosé wine,
at Central Park Boat House.


Before the lunch we saw a nun leisurely riding a bike through Central Park. She was dressed full robes and habit. I was so mad I couldn't get to my camera phone. So I drew a picture:

Freelance Swim Instructor

Meet Coach Bridget: the crazy, goofy clown, er, swim coach that will definitely teach your PRECIOUS child to swim WITHOUT drowning. She may be wacky. She may be silly. She may not be on time. But she WILL jump in the pool fully clothed (t-shirt, shorts, flip-flops, maybe sunglasses, hell, prescription glasses) JUST to entertain YOUR KID.

Coach Bridget specializes in teaching your child how to:
-swim with SPOONS (closed hands) and not FORKS (open fingers)
-dive, not jump, a la SUPERMAN style into the water
-touch with TWO HANDS, or not
-frog kick, "UP, OUT, aaaaaaaaand AROUND" (She can say it 7-times fast with a duct-taped mouth.)
-pick up stuff off the BOTTOM OF THE POOL

and most importantly,not really for swim team, but FOR LIFE...


Yes, she is a miracle worker, and in four half-hour sessions, YOUR KID, yes the very one that will not put his/her face in the water, WILL PUT HIS/HER FACE IN THE WATER for only $20 per session! Parents of New York, do not let this unique opportunity pass you by, it is already the second day of summer and your kid is a LOOOSER that CAN'T SWIM, yet.


I swear I'm not making this up. I rock at swim lessons. Just read the testimonials:

PK got his nickname because he was afraid to swim without a kickboard, "Patrick with a Kickboard." But Coach Bridget changed that. Now, he's "Patrick withOUT a Kickboard," still "PK."

Vivian wouldn't stick her face in the water until Coach Bridget showed her that if you pretend to blow your nose in the water, bubbles come out. Thanks to Coach Bridget, she wants to be a dolphin trainer when she grows up.

Christopher didn't like to put his face in the water. Coach Bridget tricked him to go under the buoys and then Christopher really hated Coach Bridget after that and wouldn't get in the water anymore. When he grows up, he plans to sue.

Sunday, June 18, 2006


At my sissy's 22nd bday BBQ today, I learned that my mother, my father and the DeBucks witnessed my second kiss EVER.


I don't even remember that boy kissing me goodbye. Apparently, my mom does.

Did they witness the god-awful-open-mouth-swirling-tongue-bit that was my first kiss? Or was the second round more tasteful? (Ha. Taste.)

I do remember the first kiss as it was long awaited. Since, like, the first day I of high school. And I was already in the middle of my sophmore year! I had spent the better part of my freshman year swooning over Leonardo DiCaprio in "Titantic" (FOUR times in the theater!) and at least once a week in "Romeo and Juliet." (Oh the pool scene!) I just knew that my first kiss was going to be AWESOME, even if I had to wait for it, for like forever.

I finally got that kiss when I turned 16. During my sweet 16th birthday party. He a freshman. Who became my boyfriend for a month. And now I know why my mom didn't like him.

It was a majorly lame first kiss. A bunch of people were in my room and then everyone cleared out. We sat on my bed. Our lips met, we opened our mouths and swirled our tongues in a circular motion. It was: EVERYTHING I DREAMED IT WOULD BE.

Saturday, June 17, 2006

Bridget and Lizzie's Crosstown Bus Adventure

I was almost killed last night.

I'm going to start a lobbying group that aims to install seatbelts in buses across the United States by 2011.

Most people that visit from DC are apprehensive about riding the public bus in New York. Northern Virginia's bus system is so complicated that we just avoid it all together--er, Northern Virginians are major lazy asses and would never walk to a bus stop, much less figure out how to take a public bus to work when they can drive their VERY OWN SUV!

Anyways--the buses in New York are straight shots north, south, east and west. They drop me off on the corner of my street, much closer than the subway! They take me through Central Park, while the subway does not. And I love them. Cell phone service, hello! And after a night of celebrating sissy's birthday with happy hour and sushi, I thought I would give her a call to inform that I had fun on her bday and I hope she did too.

Midcall, at approximately 10 pm Thursday night, the M 72 Bus slammed its breaks in the middle of Central Park. Sitting in one of the sideways seats, I slid and crashed into the seat in front of me that was occupied by a Jewish man wearing a Jamaican-inspired--red, black, green and yellow--kippot (I personally like these).
Lizzie came flying behind and crashed into me. Before I had realized that my skull was not cracked open, we had launched into a fit of loud, annoying, happy hour-induced laughter that went on for longer than it should have.

My poor sister was confused. Various friends were later drunk dialed on the walk home. My mom wrote me an e-mail this morning to say it was very nice that I called my sister, but "Why were you drunk?"

"A car bomb, Mom. Don't ask, you don't want to know what it is."

Sunday, June 11, 2006

My Very Own Penguin!

Media parties are pretty cool...booze, "Cheese, Gromit!" and gift bags! The schmoozing intimidates me, but I recently got a box of my VERY OWN BUISNESS CARDS and I just can't wait to hand those babies out.

"Hello Ms. X. So nice to meet you!"

Whamp. Whamp. Whamp.

"Why you don't say! Here's my card. Please keep in touch and let me know what is going on with your company!"

The last event I attended was at BED, which I honestly only attened because the nightclub was featured in an episode of Sex and the City and if I tried to get in on a Saturday night I'd be waiting in line for two hours. So I braved the rainstorm and I'm glad I did because Little Penguin Wine has started a promotion to save the little penguins of Austalia and I got a penguin adoption (and two bottles of wine and penguin earrings) in my giftbag! Woo! I am a proud penguin parent!

Ah! My Virgin Eyes!

Yesterday I went to the Museum of Sex. hehe.

It was like looking at drawings of reproductive organs in a science textbook in middle school and giggling with friends, but a whole lot dirtier. Shower please!

I thought it was going to be more like: In the 1950s, Lucy and Ricky Ricardo of "I Love Lucy" slept in separate beds. But by the late 90s, characters were not only sleeping together, but baring it all on HBO's "Sex and the City." And Alfred C. Kinsey was the first person to study sex....

And less like: Invention. Red button with a sign that says "Press." And under the photograph of the inventor, "Joe Schmo from Springfield developed this spinning..."

Flynn Fact: Japanese prints and Pokemon will never be the same after "Peeping, Probing and Porn: Four Centuries of Graphic Sex in Japan."

Friday, June 09, 2006

Frenchmen. Frenchmen. Everywhere.

The bootycall is living in an apartment with Frenchmen. And I can't get "Hee hee hee! Haw haw haw!" from The Little Mermaid's "Les Poissons" out of my head. It was a giggle fit at Lizzie's apartment last weekend when we could hear them speaking French upstairs, but were too shy to say, "HALLO!" So when we left her apartment, we spoke in bad French accents the rest of the night.

Lizzie: "I want to run up there and yell, 'SACRE BLEU!'"

I still haven't gotten over HOW FRENCH they pronounce their own names...DaMEEON! and OLeeeVIEER!

But it seems that it is le week of le french, because I was in Starbucks wearing these very awesome shoes:
The Polka Dots

When the man in line behind me said, "Ah! Beeautiful shoes!"

"Oh! Thank you!"

"Very beautiful!"

"I got them in Italy." LOVE telling people that.

"Oh! Well! I am FRENCH!"

Mental: "HE! HE! HE! HAW! HAW! HAW!"

Ben Stiller! Part 2

I tried to write something. I failed. So I bring you, fair internet, an IM conversation—in pure unedited typing debauchery—between sissyface and myself regarding the week's Us Magazine-worthy event.

me: i saw ben stiller!
sissy: how?
me: how what?
sissy: how did you see him?
sissy: ben stiller
me: i was walking to central park with lizzie he was wlaking in the opposite direction
sissy: just by himself?
sissy: did you walk right past him?
me: yes and yes
sissy: wait so ben stiller
sissy: explain
me: he was walking and i was in awe
me: blushed and asked lizzie if that was really him
me: and she was like: mouth haning open
sissy: and he walked right by you?
me: yup
sissy: dizzy damn
sissy: did he look at you?
me: yup
sissy: were other people noticing him?
me: he knows i exist!!
sissy: hahahaha
me: not really
sissy: whoa dude
sissy: did he smile at all?
sissy: or was he like oh geez
sissy: peeeeooooooople noticingme
me: he smiled because we probably looked like blithering idiots
sissy: hahaha
sissy: that's cool
me: i think it was: these girls are dumb
sissy: see you can't just say that you saw ben stiller
sissy: you have to say that ben stiller walked by and looked and smiled at you
me: and knows i exist!!!
me: he was short
sissy: oh really?
me: if he married lizzie and they had kids...the kids would be pocket-sized
sissy: like 8 or 9 million people in the city and you ran into ben stiller
sissy: hahahahahaha
sissy: pocket-sized
sissy: they should name one of them polly

Monday, June 05, 2006


A real celebrity sighting on the Upper East Side tonight. None of that “How do I know him?” crap. This was the jaw-dropping-face-reddening-trying-to-be-cool-while-you-ask-your-friend-under-your-breath-is-that-a-famous-person-?-kind of deal. And I know that celebrities are human beings, but I was SHOCKED to see Ben Stiller walking down the street in real life just like he walks in the movies! Yes, one foot in front of the other. But I’m talking about the way he walks—walking all Ben Stiller-like down LIZZIE’S STREET. A whole hell of a lot closer to Central Park, but still, her street!

Speaking of how stars are “Just like Us!” I think that I am going to have to join Annie’s Us Magazine (Book) Club.