Amanda Elizabeth Kusek

The Best of Rush Hour

akaymayday — Sat, 19 May 2012 01:07:35 -0400

And now a glimpse into New Yorkers daily lives. On average I’d say New Yorkers spend 40 hours a month in or on some sort of public transportation. We have buses, ferries, trains, subways… miles and miles of shared rails and paths. With so much time to kill we end up mostly just staring at each other and forming opinions.

THIS WOMAN WILL SHOVE HER WAY OFF THE TRAIN ONLY TO WALK AT A GLACIAL PACE RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU

THIS MAN WILL STARE AT YOUR CHEST

THIS GUY WILL BREATHE INTO YOUR MOUTH

THIS WOMAN WILL CALL YOU A BITCH FOR NO REASON

YOU’LL BE DREAMING OF THIS

BUT IN REALITY YOU’LL BE IN THIS

How to Graduate

akaymayday — Sat, 12 May 2012 17:54:55 -0400

There is very little I can speak knowledgeably about because I am merely 24 years old and in the eyes of the world, that’s not very much. (I feel like I’ve been through Vietnam at this point but like I said… my opinion never really matters.) But what I can lay down, and you can kind of believe, is this girl knows how to graduate!

I get down in a cap and gown, believe me.

I have many, many friends graduating today. Which is hard to believe as I graduated 2 years ago this weekend. But hey, the longer you can stay in school the better. Props to you and all your hard work! (That’s not sarcasm.)

1. ENJOY THIS TIME
(God I love a good list.) Enjoy this moment. This is the moment when you go out all weekend and you burn your textbooks using a high-flame lighter and Everclear. You think long and hard about the last 4, 5, 6 years and how hard you worked. The nights you spent up all night trying to finish off a bottle of Captain Morgan. You have a couple of weeks before reality sets in so just go completely crazy and binge eat/drink/sleep/tan for as long as you can endure. At the end of it will be your brand new adult life. It’s waiting to teach you a lesson or two.

2. IT’S OKAY TO ONLY BE HALF-A-PERSON
Do not get hung up on the meaning of “success”. I should have measured my accomplishments against the goals I had set in college. If I would do that more I’d be pretty proud of myself. I live in New York City, I never had to live with my parents, and I have a really cute dog. (I didn’t plan the cute dog but he’s so cute I had to toss him in.) Don’t get caught up with the bankers, the finance majors, the people who are already locking down 6 figure jobs and buying houses in the country. Feel free to make fun of them to nurse your own wounds. For example, they have a house in the country…

3. BUT DON’T FORGET WHAT YOU HAVE SET OUT TO DO
The next couple of years are going to completely suck. Especially if you cut yourself off from your parents and move out to a brand new world. Suck, suck, and suck some more. You’re going to miss being fulfilled by interesting classes everyday. You’re going to miss the freedom of a lazy class-free afternoon. Everyday will start to feel the same and the stresses of your day-to-day life are going to be different and they are going to have some serious weight behind them. Don’t forget what you have set out to do. This is a big mistake I made and make everyday. Don’t forget that college happiness and don’t forget that “I can do anything, f*#! the rules” attitude. If you get too old too fast you’re never going to get to enjoy being dead-ass broke and lonely in a city full of millions. (Okay, maybe that got too personal.)

4. GET SOME HOBBIES
In the real world, you have to do this for yourself. There are no RAs, or Campus Activities Board who are going to force you to make new friends. You have to do this on your own. Volunteer, play sports, have fun. Give yourself something to do to pass the time that you are lonely, scared, confused and broke. Spend your money on things that make you happy and no, I don’t mean empty calories… though that will be an urge you’ll have quite frequently.

5. EVERYTHING IS AN ACCOMPLISHMENT
You have to celebrate yourself because there is no one there to do it for you anymore. If you finish an assignment at work no one is going to slap a big, red ‘A’ on it and then give you 4 weeks off because “you’ve been working so hard.” Chances are, if you do well, they’ll turn around and give you something harder and more stressful to complete. I never learned to celebrate the small things. My completion of a half-marathon, or my new muscles (I used to be a bit “portly”), or my new apartment… My list runs out there because I don’t feel very accomplished… which only proves my point.

I’m not trying to be a complete downer and suck all the joy out of your weekend. Besides, if you are graduating right, you aren’t going to read this until next week when you wake up from your crazed, booze-daze. I just want to be real with you. Because I know when you were studying for finals and all of us “graduates” were posting pictures of us out having a good time… you need to know that we’re all liars and we do that to hurt your feelings purposely. We’re having a tough time and don’t want you to know it. I’m just putting an end to those lies right now.

News Collage

akaymayday — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 21:58:00 -0400

Time to get a little creative and spice this monster up.

_____________________________________________________________________

April 30th, 2012 - The End of a Month

Woman with a Lens, Restored
Prosecutor won’t call murder suspect serial killer
The Red Flag in the Flowerpot
A Feast in Disguise
They Eat Puppies, Don’t they?

Trade Center is Back
Cosmopolitan is Designing Things for JC Penney
Up in Smoke
Bin Laden Bonanza
Sure Bets

What do Prairie Dogs have Words for?

There's Only One Person Standing in My Way

akaymayday — Tue, 24 Apr 2012 22:37:39 -0400

…And it’s you Shannen Doherty.

Ok… not really. I wish it was. Then I could just bulldoze her right over with insults about this commercial and be on my way to my dream life.

The only person holding me back is me. God, that is so cliche I can just hear my professors rolling in their graves. (None of them are actually dead, I just always pictured them living in Poe-esque coffins). But in my defense nothing ever came to be a cliche because it wasn’t true.

I know it’s me and I know it’s true and yet I can’t get this 300 pound version of myself off of my chest. She’s just holding me down, strangling the crap out of me, yelling: “You’re nothing! You’re worthless! Get me a shake!” All while spewing wet potato chip morsels onto my face.

I know I could fight her off of me. All I’d have to do is build enough strength, find her weaknesses and, after a long time, just heave her off me just like that. It’s easier, though, to just let her sit there…slowly suffocating me and punishing me. I convince myself that, hey, the chip grease ain’t so bad and I’ve got a great view of the TV if I tilt my head a certain way. But in reality… I know I should be slapping her the hell off of me.

The fat lady keeps me from writing sometimes. She doesn’t apologize. That skank.

Being 24: Expectations vs. Reality

akaymayday — Sat, 07 Apr 2012 14:05:00 -0400

My good friend and fellow blogger Justin Wade posted this article on his Facebook this week. It’s one of those, it’s funny because it’s true. You move to Manhattan and to everyone you say: “Yes, I know. It’ll be tough.” But deep down you are thinking: “I am going to make it. I am the next big thing.” And that doesn’t make you stupid because this is a city full of people who believe in that. The city itself believes that it’s the best. We’re egotistical maniacs here… and we love it.

That article led me to start thinking about my other position in life, not a New Yorker, but a twenty-something, a twenty-four year old to be more specific. Being 24 has the same pull, same love/hate relationship, that New York has except you don’t have a choice in experiencing it. No matter what, you will be 24 during your lifetime. It’s coming or it’s gone but you have no choice either way.

Being 24 is like being a schizophrenic. Two people live inside of you and they both romanticize what it’s like to be 24, without actually letting you be 24.

For example, you romanticize being poor, being a starving artist or down-on-your-luck future business maven. It doesn’t matter if you’re bohemian, (I’m completely over the word hipster) or graduated with a business degree. All of you (all of us) go out and get drinks together and yell YOLO at the top of our lungs. I learned recently that this means You Only Live Once. (Maybe I am secretly 25 because I had to text Kate Hayes over at straightupnewyork.com and ask her what it meant. I knew we were still best friends when she said, “Um NO clue. Urban Dictionary it and let me know!!”)

We are craving, dying to be a big deal, to have cash-money like Rihanna and have a secure home life where we aren’t stripping for ones, or worse, photocopying for quarters. But we also want to live in a perfectly dingy loft apartment and eat pop-tarts every night. The problem with being 24 is that we are JUST DYING to be 24.

Whatever TV tells us, whatever Drake tells us 24 years old means, we want that. We want cheap shots and multiple partners. (If this is too intellectual, click here to see a simplified version.)

This is our way of allowing ourselves to be completely out of control, depressed, single, drunk, dirty, fat, skinny, poor, sell-outs, or whatever else we have become that we don’t like about ourselves. When really, I think if we spent more time doing what we actually like (making bad jokes, writing, being alone) we’d be happier.

But… if we were happy we wouldn’t be 24, now would we?

Social Media is Now Professional Media

akaymayday — Tue, 03 Apr 2012 22:04:44 -0400

I Googled myself the other day and I was thinking about what type of person I portray. I guess it was because of this crazy Facebook controversy where employers are asking for their applicants’ Facebook passwords. Naturally, I think, most of us go:

Already, I think we are losing a battle against the freak flag. I understand the need for professionalism. I understand that I wouldn’t want to make a call at work and have someone like Snooki answer. But I don’t understand why we constantly have to battle against our inner freaks.

You’re trying to tell me that people snooping around Facebook profile inboxes have never done anything wrong? Never dropped an F bomb? Never stuck their tongue out in a photo? I realize that in 2012 we live a public life like never before (and don’t argue with me that you can change that, you can’t. I just Googled an ex-boyfriend who refuses to use Facebook and in 3 seconds I found out he won an Academic Excellence award in high school. I dated him for 2 years and didn’t know that.) But when it comes to that public life, can’t we be a little bit more lenient and understand that it’s ALL personal now? Why do these employers expect people to be professional and well-mannered in their Facebook messages? They’re dealing with heartbreaks, hefty bills, and sick kids. If they can’t cry at their desks than let them be SOCIAL (on SOCIAL media) and do it. Yes, it is public but it is also social and we can’t forget that.

[[Are you picking up what I am putting down?]]

I get it. I probably shouldn’t use as much foul language as I do on here. My grandchildren will Google me one day and find out that I have a dirty mouth. Or do I? How does anyone know that this blog is really me and not an muddy-mouthed Internet persona? Look at Stephen Colbert. Most people still don’t know he is joking. (I used this article in some research back in the day… *sigh*).

Sure, I should probably portray myself as cleaner, more professional (but those blogs are so boring! Just say it!) but I will definitely not start writing business jargon into my Facebook chat boxes with friends.

What do these employers expect to find on Facebook? Pictures of me working hard in business attire? Messages to my friends with Excel spreadsheets attached? There is a reason they call it SOCIAL MEDIA. Because we’re being social… not productive. That’s why they made LinkedIn, mmkay?

My Dog is my Drinking Buddy

akaymayday — Mon, 26 Mar 2012 15:42:03 -0400

I figured out why my dog wasn’t eating or moving after a great first week:

I had depressed the f*!k out of him.

The past two weeks have been rough. I’m not going to run everything down because this isn’t a diary but I will briefly tell you what happened and then make fun of it. Humor and sarcasm are the only I can deal with anything. Call me wounded.

In very, very short detail… I am sick, the dog had a cold, I have no money, Jeff has no money. And it’s not like this is “Oh, now I can’t go drinking” poverty… it’s more of a “Holy shit my medical bills!!!!!!!!” situation.

And, oh, I don’t know, when most parts of your life hit your already shit-ladden fan, you aren’t the MOST fun person to be around unless your sipping on a cool bottle of $12 vodka. And my dog sensed this and now he is depressed, depressing me in return and I just want to take him out for beers so we can do something stupid and pretend we’re 20 again. Only to wake up in the morning with matching, pounding headaches and empty pockets for Advil.

It is, of course, better for me not to give my dog an alcohol dependency. But still wouldn’t it be great? We could leer at women together and he’d hiccup about how his bitch owner left him at the shelter so she could “move” when really he’s certain she wanted to get a cat. And I can complain about my dairy/gluten/everything-except-lettuce allergy that has suddenly cropped up during a time in my life when I just NEED cheese and pizza and Ben & Jerry’s.

(I’m waiting for them to knock alcohol out next, at which point I’ll just stop living altogether. I won’t die… I just won’t be living.)

To make him feel better and ease his anxiety I had to pretend I was happy last night. I talked to him constantly hand fed him (he ate!) and played with him. Jeff and I actually had to get along (yes, we fight too) and I had to be quiet and loving.

My dog is making me a better person. Or, at least he is trying. I have to wade through it all and realize that no matter how bad it gets, I am still alive and $12 vodka still exists. (The day that goes… I make no guarantees). My dog is going to force me to fake it ‘til I make it and I actually don’t think I have a problem with that.

Life gets shitty… but you can always hose of a bit and if you’re lucky… the smell will fade after awhile too.

What Coors Light Means to Me

akaymayday — Tue, 06 Mar 2012 22:56:00 -0500

It means never having to say you’re sorry.

(I wouldn’t be totally out of line if that’s all I wrote, because that statement is entirely true and encompasses Coors Light entirely.)

Coors Light graced me with its presence two weeks ago when I was amidst what must be the busiest week at work I have had to date. It was absurd, it was like I was being offered a heart attack on a silver platter (that I had to spec, price out, and ship). I was walking home mid-week knowing it wasn’t going to slow down and my feet carried me into my neighboring Rite-Aid establishment. It was as if my 20-year-old self realized that it was Tuesday night and it being dark is the best excuse to drink. (It being light is also a good excuse. I could write an entire manual on good excuses to drink.)

When I approached the cooler, I saw adult beers in their edgy packaging and 6 bottles and I felt nothing. When I saw an 18 pack of canned Coors Light with a SALE sign on it, I almost wept with joy.

I had Jeff snap a photo to capture the moment. Here I am in Rite-Aid super excited!

I know. I am stunning.

I carried the box into my building unashamed, almost proud. Yeah, these 18 cans cost me $13, jealous? My apartment felt like home for the first time; my counter hugged the box and my fridge begged to cool those sweet little cans. I cracked one open and was transported to the crisp, clear, Super Bowl money, mountains of Coors Light.

Coors Light transported me that night and every night following. I let its filth wash away the taste of Brooklyn micro-brews and $7 pints of Guinness.

I tasted college. I was in sweaty, hopeful, Fieldhouse. Tiger Hawks filled my eyes instead of tears. I was almost stabbed in a bathroom in Union. Someone tried to shove their tongue down my throat (from behind!) in Brothers. I was at a cookout where all I had to do was bring my own meat. I was 18 and in a dorm room. I was on a sunny field playing frisbee. The future was never coming and the sidewalks were sticky with last night’s vomit. There were bean bag chairs and Solo cups littering my kitchen. My slacks were skinny jeans, my heels were sneakers. A long day was 3 classes and my favorite professors encouraged me. It was cool night on the steps of the Old Capitol and I knew I could be something. Far off voices reminded me that we were all in it together. And I couldn’t wait to get downtown.

And then the can was empty. And the one after that. And then it was time for bed. And another day frighteningly like the one before it.

And that is the meaning of Coors Light.

Research that Makes You Dumber-er

akaymayday — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 22:45:11 -0500

I decided tonight that if I am going to start writing more comedy that I need to sharpen my humor knives.

To do this, I dove headfirst into The Real Housewives of Orange County. I’ll admit three things right away: 1. I watched an episode and a half. 2. I’ve seen it before. 3. It might fall into the category of “classic” because there are spin-offs all over the country. (I am still holding out on Real Housewives of South Boston to be real.)

I watched 1.5 episodes, that’s 1.5 hours, and I came out on the other end like coming out of anesthesia. I couldn’t remember what had happened to me but I knew it must have been bad. I know it’s a cliche to rag on a bad movie or television program and say you’ve lost X amount of minutes in your life, but I honestly think I did.

I received so little mental stimulation that if I had been hooked up to a machine measuring brain waves the doctors would have found a blackhole. And yes, I definitely sound like an asshole trying to be an asshole for the sake of being an asshole. Mainly because many assholes before me have torn this show to shreds and composted it.

But I still think it’s important to note that many of us, everyday, fall victim to lying in a pool of spittle, our hands down our pants, entranced by Vicki’s jowls and Tamra’s tan. This is not about making fun of how none of them can read but making fun of the rest of us who can’t read and give them the ratings that keep them on the air.

See kids, this is because we live in a time of dumb shit. A time of the hipster. A time where bad taste is good taste (I am looking at you Ke$ha) and ugly cat sweaters are “hip.”

Bad shit goes through a life cycle: First, it is mocked endlessly, then destroyed by critics, thirdly it becomes a trending topic on Twitter, and then some jerk, who is dying to be different, says he likes it (because no one else does.) Eventually, everyone else trying to be different does this too and the irony disappears and suddenly we’re all Jersey Shore fans and we aren’t afraid to admit it. Like all things, the dumb shit dies and will appear later on a VH1 special when we all reminisce about how fucking off the mark we were. Which is always.

You aren’t cool for liking complete crap. You’re complete crap for liking complete crap. I should know.

I am one of you.

The Movies Near My Apartment Suck

akaymayday — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 15:22:00 -0500

I have either become very pessimistic, a depressive (more so than usual), or undeniably old. My argument stems from the lack of movies I want to spend $13 on. Granted, I rarely see movies at night. I typically engage in Booze-in-my-Dunkin’ $6 before noon films at the various AMC theaters in the city. Gotta love a $6 matinee.

These are my opinions on some of the crap that fills our theaters. Mind you, I don’t mean the stuff at Film Forum, or Sunshine… I’m sure those places are putting on great $13 movies. But I live on 100th street and I just don’t have it in my heart to go below Houston most days. (+1 Depressive, +3 Old)

One for the Money

If I wanted to see Katherine Heigl run around in a bad wig, or at the very least, a bad dye job, I would go to one of her auditions where she plays a character who thinks they are holding out for really good roles, and auditions are how all the big movie stars still get job offers. Meanwhile, her agent makes up 3 or 4 versions of why she left Grey’s Anatomy. Oh wait, that’s real life! Also, I think the title refers to her daughter, who she has been seen hocking to the press. Oh and this one is “unscripted.”
(+4 Pessimistic)

Big Miracle

John Krasinksi, Drew Barrymore. And according to Google Movies, Kristen Bell! I can’t be certain but I think she plays the role of a catty narrator who finds out that Drew’s character forgot her tampon today and oops, now everyone knows! XOXO

This appears to be the only movie that has premiered lately for families. (Other than the latest Chipmunks installment which I am not even going to try and tackle). I hardly think The Grey starring Liam Neeson kicking the shit out of some wolves qualifies as a film to take the kids to when they won’t shut up. Then again, didn’t Swiss Family Robinson involve “an unruly group of oil-rig roughnecks”??
(+2 Old, +5 Pessimistic)

Contraband

Okay, honestly, if this was showing in my neighborhood on Thursday I totally would have gone. First of all, I love Marky-Mark almost more than I love his cousin’s appearances on The Real Housewives of South Boston. And I love a trashy picture that even AM New York gives like, a star and a half. I just can’t hate the man. And now, I am even more invested as Google Movies claims Diego Luna is in it. He must be desperate for work since that Mexican Will Ferrell movie hasn’t been released yet. I’m sold. Not for $13 but definitely for a tipsy $6.
(-3 Pessimistic, -5 Old, +2 Depressive)

Underworld: Awakening 3D

I don’t even know what the fuck this is.
(+10 Depressive)

Joyful Noise

It’s like someone just wanted to give bloggers something new to bitch about. I have to give it to Dolly Parton for being in this. I don’t remember any recent movies of hers and honestly I am just too lazy to even look. Queen Latifiah makes me blush… she came from this and this, with a layover in this to well… THIS.
(-One Rapper)

GRAND TOTAL: 6 Pessimistic Points, 13 Depressive Points, 0 Old Points, and down 1 female rapper.

That’s not so bad. I swear I didn’t rig it so I am not any older…

A Lot Can Change in a Month

akaymayday — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 17:49:41 -0500

…or while I am in the toilet-room. I just got three texts while I was in there.

I know I haven’t been here in awhile. The holidays really took their toll on me. I took a lot of deserved time off and then I tried to get those resolutions from last year off the ground in running. And I have accomplished a lot!!

From memory (and I have been at brunch all day…) my THREE resolutions from last year were:
1. Submit writing to be published
2. Take a improv/stand up class
3. Learn to box

GUESS WHAT I DID IN JANUARY?! Yeah, that’s right, all three. I had all year to accomplish those things I did them the first month of 2012. Way to go, Amanda.

I submitted work, took a free stand-up class, and am in a boxing class now thanks to Jeff. A lot of magic can happen when you actually try.

So my new resolutions? God, I know this is such a terribly boring entry but you follow me so I mean… whose fault is it really? New resolutions I haven’t gotten a chance to record so I am just going to do it.

1. Re-learn French
2. Go on a volunteer-vacation with Jeff
3. Get a dog

I may wind up trying to accomplish these things in January of 2013 but at least then they will actually get done.

I promise the next entry will be hilarious and wonderful but right now I am drunk and tired so don’t really try to be impressed.

Love,
Amanda

So Justin and I tried our hands at Vlogging. We wrote a blog...

akaymayday — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 07:59:49 -0500

So Justin and I tried our hands at Vlogging. We wrote a blog together a bit a go and some people (I swear) requested a video. Came out interesting… and funny? Try it out!?

I give to you: THE MUPPETS ARE COMMUNISTS LIKE IN JAMES BOND

Succeeding One Non-Goal at a Time

akaymayday — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 16:09:49 -0500

or Failing One Goal At a Time
or How I Lost Sleep Last Night

I couldn’t decide on a title because one is pessimistic (the usual “me”) and one is somewhat optimistic (the usual “me” with a vodka soda in hand) and one is the truth (I stopped myself from drifting off to a restful dream place wrapped in my boyfriend’s arms to write these titles down… I spent the next 2 hours hopelessly suffering from insomnia.).

Tomorrow is December 1st. The end of 2011 is approaching as is my 24th birthday and subsequent end of the world. (It’s not a coincidence that the Mayan’s predicted the end of the world 3 days after my 25th birthday.) December is a time for reflection, to think back on all the ways you ruined your past year and think of new ways to ruin the following 365 days.

Last year I thought it would be brilliant to write down my goals for 2011. Well I am here to tell you that I accomplished NOT A SINGLE ONE. Someone play Auld Lang Syne!! I agree it’s a weird song choice…

Yes, I failed at boxing, doing improv (or was it stand up?), and submitting work to be published. I will say I started writing A LOT more starting in August but I have a long way to go. So, 2011 has been a complete waste of time when it comes to a poorly written list on a blog that garners little attention. Because it has my name on it and no one knows who I am. To be fair, I read in US Weekly that Justin Timberlake has a blog and I have never read that shit, so there!

I have, however, accomplished other list-worthy things that never had a chance at being written down. (Get the title now?) I ran a half marathon, I moved in with Jeff, I became a bit more social, and became Director of Writing and Critical Thinking at Minds Matter (mind you, they had no one else but I’ll take the glory and fame anyway). I bought my first adult pieces of furniture (a sofa AND a couch) and learned that I make MEAN guacamole without a recipe. I’ve also gotten better at writing in this thing EVERY WEEK. I mean COME ON!

This is where you, dear reader, can help a sister out. To me, running a half marathon does not compare with boxing lessons, this blog is not a submission, and cooking is not funny (seriously, Jeff and I fight all the time while in the kitchen). But to you dear reader, boxing is kind of lame when compared to running a half marathon, you read my blog so you must like it or pity me, and maybe my cooking is funny because none of you believe me when I say I am good at it.

I have accomplished things this year. Not what I wanted while still living in East Harlem. Not while there was still snow on the ground. But things I wanted in the moment. I made that shit happen.

I just hope that guacamole-making will get my through my thirties when I still have yet to submit any writing.

Making Light of Death

akaymayday — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 21:34:48 -0500

So I skipped writing on Wednesday. That is because I have been inexplicably dizzy since Wednesday morning. Just straight up dizzy. It is as horrible as it sounds. I’m starting to think I have vertigo like my Dad but other people in my office are also dizzy so I am just going to peg it down as we are all being poisoned through the ventilation system.

I won’t be around for much longer. Either I’ll no longer be able to stand with throwing up, my head will spin off completely, or I will just drop dead.

In honor of my final days on this planet I have called home for at least 20 years (I still think I was born on Saturn or Jupiter… one of those big gassy bastards) I leave behind my final will and testament.

THE FINAL WILL AND TESTAMENT of AMANDA ELIZABETH KUSEK — DIZZY VICTIM

I, Amanda Kusek of _______ in New York, NY (who am I kidding? Just Foursquare me and stalk me) declare that this is my last Will and Testament.

Preliminary Declarations
I revoke all prior wills and codicils (I don’t know what that word means). So this means that Will I did when I had my first hangover and thought it possibly couldn’t worse is OUT. Sam, we are no longer dating, my parents sold the house, and I burned most of my belongings long ago.

I have no hubby. Any mention of a spouse is a lie. I live in a studio apartment with Jeff Winter. Any reference to Manfriend will refer to Jeffrey M. Winter.

If I have any kids I am not aware and they don’t get shit.

Specific Bequests and Devises
I give my half of my studio apartment I was “living” in at the time of my death to my Manfriend. Though I doubt he will be able to pay for my half of the rent. Time to cozy up to another human being and fast.

I give and bequest all of my interest in the following property to the persons or entities as follows:
My books to the New York Public Library so they can invariably be maimed, lost, beaten, eaten, used as toilet paper, and loved.

My Manfriend, Jeff Winter, to Justin Wade Dewey. You’re welcome.

That weird drawer of shit in the plastic container in my closet that I should probably throw out anyway to, Jeff Winter, my manfriend. He’ll finally get to throw it out.

My hopes, dreams, and aspirations to any sad f*#! who wants to live a shell of a life as well.

Distribution of Residue of the Estate
This is where I tell you all to take my money after all my debts have paid. But that will barely make a scratch on my student loans. So I leave behind over $50k in student loans and all of bills to my loving family. Got ya!

Executor and Administrative Powers
Just pull the plug I guess.

Guardianship Provisions
They aren’t mine.

"I have an Addiction, Sir"

akaymayday — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 20:11:01 -0400

I clearly like to bring up archaic pop culture references ~~now and again~~…every week.

Which is why I am NOT writing about Kim Kardashian this week. Give me crotch shots! Give me Friends finale spoilers! …Give me candy now you gap-toothed bitch. (Alyssa, I’m sorry I called you a gap-toothed bitch. It’s not your fault you’re so gap-toothed.)

In the spirit of post-Halloween and what is now known as “Christmas” for Starbucks and East Coast weather… I bring you the short but sweet (yes) tale of sugar addiction, focusing strictly on my life now. And not when I was 25 pounds heavier (yikes).

It is no coincidence that recent research came out to say junk food can be just as addicting as hard core DRUGS. I think deep down we all knew this but even deeper our inner meth head (who, let’s get real, looks like Fergie Ferg) convinced us otherwise. I totally see it in my own patterns. I can go for weeks (okay maybe days?) without craving junk, actually abhorring it. Thinking of smelling a donut, let alone, eating it would make my skin crawl. But eventually, I give in, have a sweet, a donut hole, a sugary treat.

And then out of no where I turn into THIS. Is it processed? Made of weird cow parts? Coated in sugar? Grease? Both? GIVE IT TO ME NOW. This is what has exactly happened to me post Halloween.

All of my co-workers with kids brought in their trick-or-treating candy so they wouldn’t eat it but so that my fat ass would. I mean it clearly does not go to waste in the hands of myself and those surrounding me but it’s almost cruel to give people who sit side-by-side so much heroin-crack-cocaine-Snickers.

Every time I hear Drew crinkle a wrapper or close the candy box (which mind you is now overflowing and their are two bags also on his poor, sad, crack addict desk) I’m up, out of my seat and by his side. Digging to find the “good” stuff. I’ve discovered Warheads, Twizzlers— amazing finds in our war against health. Today it definitely peaked. Alex was up and over there. I was joining her. Roland was hollering over the wall for more, more, more. Drew chose strawberry Laffy Taffy. I forced a gummy LifeSaver down his throat.

Not only are we enablers but we physically force each other to eat more.

It’s a thing of beauty and disgust. Like Charlie Sheen’s ability to apparently take more drugs than God and “live” to tell the tale. We agreed, long before these bags of candy appeared, that we would go cold turkey next week from sugar. As our need grows stronger this week… I fear the worse for our mental stability come November 6th.

My name is Amanda. And I am addicted to candy.

A Pre-Halloween Post Thingy

akaymayday — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 13:18:00 -0400

First off I’d like to name-drop/say I am so sad without Justin Dewey by my side. Comedy is A LOT easier when you have someone with you. I have duly noted this in my brain and when I have the funds I will take Improv classes. Not stand-up classes. I’m not very funny alone. *weep*

Anyway, I was dry for ideas this week and this is what happened:

jwinter:  fucking greta barbo
garbo
me:  hahaha
i have to write a new blog
what do i write?
jwinter:  Write halloween.about
me:  a pre-halloween post?
jwinter:  shar.

So there you have it. I am writing a pre-halloween post thingy! Ok but first I think I am going to have to write about how I obtained an iPhone last night at my local Verizon store. It took a couple hundred dollars, my arm, and 1.5 hours to get this thing. I guess it was worth it. The new pair of iPod headphones was DEFINITELY worth it. I like the sounds it makes and the fact that I keep downloading random free apps. I can carve pumpkins!

Which brings me back to Halloween… Can you tell I am resisting just about everything right now?

Halloween is my favorite holiday. I REPEAT, my FAVORITE holiday. I have been debating, while eating popcorn crumbs off my desk, if I should write about what it is I love about Halloween or I hate.

Instead I am going to write about why EVERYONE else loves Halloween.

TOP 5 REASONS EVERYONE ELSE LOVES HALLOWEEN

5. Sleeping with actual strangers
Yes, yes y’all. For NYC singles, or Iowa City singles, or Western Mass. singles… ok SINGLES, it means you can go out and hookup with someone and never be required to actually know their names. Rather than waking up beside Tom the Marketing Manager, who you hooked up with because Surprise! You go to the same Starbucks, which ultimately means you have to now go to the one without the toilet that smells like street food, you can choose not too!

No, no. You can keep your Starbucks/B&N/Taco Truck Guy/Hungover Breakfast Sandwich Guy all to yourself. Because after Halloween, you crawled out of Superman’s bed (let’s get real though, he was really Clark Kent) and you’ll never know if he goes to the same shitty locations as you because Halloween means NO REAL CONVERSATION. You talk about what it feels like to fly and if you like cheese (“I’m a mouse, duh.”) or not.

4. Not acting your age
I stood in line behind a 45, maybe 50, year old woman last night at HalloweenCityVilleTown or whatever pop-up store is on 96th who was actually, physically purchasing a Sexy Gangster outfit. And I don’t mean gangster, I mean GANGSTER. She was wearing the fedora and had to take if off for the poor kid to ring it up. He looked visibly ill and had to ask her if she tried it on.

I feel sick. I have to leave that story alone. In short, you can be 22 or 12 or 65 if you want and no one can technically judge you although I and the Glee character behind the register are.

3. Bar specials
Yeah.

2. Fat Asian Babies Dressed as Bees
Or really any other adorable animal or vegetable. Parents love dressing up their kids as shit that doesn’t talk or you could potentially eat.
Monkeys
Lobster
Turkey
Sub Sandwich (if you click on anything, click this one!)
Oh and the promised Asian Baby Bee

1. Going as someone you “hate” but actually really love
Seriously, all year ‘round you can say you hate Snooki or Britney or The Situation and then on Halloween you CAN BE THEM and claim that you are mocking them. It’s so brilliant. No one has to know you are a closeted Justin Bieber fan because HAHA you’re making fun of him. By being him. Really?

And girls claim to hate sluts, but really wish they had the nerve to be them. So they can go as that too.

Double Penetration. (The news as told by Amanda Kusek and Justin Dewey)

akaymayday — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 19:50:35 -0400

We (Amanda and Justin) decided it would be fun to write a blog together. So, when reading, if you see text in BOLD it is Justin speaking, and if see text in italics it is Amanda speaking. Below you’ll find some topics we found in the news this week - and don’t worry, we didn’t believe them at first either.

Two people did the nasty while jumping out of a plane.

Ok, so I’ll start with this one. Any boy who grew up with cinemax (which turned to skinemax after 11pm) knows this isn’t real sex. When watching this, I felt like a thirteen-year-old boy again, only this time I know given the angles of their bodies, there is no way his penis is inside her.

Ok, there was definitely penetration in the plane, that was duly noted on my part. They were strapped together WITH HIS PENIS IN THERE, so I mean how is she going to get out of that? Also, please note the turtle-like humping. I’ll admit, I was skeptical of said angles myself… but let’s get real. If you are going to jump out of plane doing it AND get fired for it… you might as well actually do it. Otherwise, what’s the point?

Valid point, however, it was also noted that his main reason was to get on Howard Stern, so either way, cum shot or not, this guy is definitely a loser…and unemployed. Welcome to the 99%.

I can’t disagree. The facial hair said it all. But where did you read the Stern stuff? All I heard was “ARE YOU READY? ARE YOU READY?” And then that girl “came.”

Amanda, I read that in the article accompanying the video.

I had my priorities. Moving on…

Some people spend a lot of money to gather and learn about a local YETI population.

So yeah, that pretty much sums it up. All these people gathered to look at some Yeti artifacts! I don’t remember if it is this article or another (as we noted above my critical reading skills aren’t up to par) but my favorite attendee was the woman from the good ‘ol USA who claims she has a family of Yeti living in her backyard. A family of TEN. She “sees them everyday.” Right. Anyway, they found some fur but if this is Siberia it is probably just lady’s armpit fur.

So, this made me kind of irate. I mean, you find SOME FUR and then spend god knows how much money to host a conference in SIBERIA? What is that? You mean to tell me that we PAY people to research YETI’S? WHAT THE HELL?

I know, why bother, because we all know they exist! I believe in Yeti… or Big Foot. Are they the same thing? I need Wikipedia. I also need to Google how much flights to Siberia are because it’s upsetting Justin.

Amanda, we all know the only way to get to Siberia is a dog-sled and a drunk Russian guide. You can’t fly there.

Vodka!

I’m too mad about this.

Vodka!

Lindsey Lohan to do Community Service at a Morgue

I guess she was late to day one, but can we really be surprised after the whole “GEORGIA HOUSE RULES” incident?

So after lightly skimming that article I think whatever county this is… “LA” I guess. Should charge tickets to go see Lindsey Lohan perform janitorial duties IN A MORGUE. She has to complete 16 hours before Nov. 2nd. I hear a Halloween special coming!

I think the real story here is ~~how she got kicked out of women’s shelter,~~ that she has to bring her own lunch. How horrifying is that? Do you think she can order out at all? Does she have to eat next to dead bodies? There are so many unanswered questions!

I’m running the numbers. If you charge $25 a head and can get 50 people through the door an hour, that’s $20,000 by Nov. 2nd! Wouldn’t you pay $25 to see her clean a toilet for once? Instead of puking in it? (From drinking not from purging.) (God you people are sick.)

I’m sure she’ll be puking after wiping bile off the floor. Like, dead people bile, from their ass as their bowels release. Does this happen in Morgues? I don’t know.

Who are you!? Oh right… remember when you dropped an F bomb in front of a 3 year old ten minutes ago and had to apologize to her insanely proper British mother who was scaring me because she kept saying “grubby?”

I felt bad about that. I usually don’t swear in front of kids, but we ARE in a Starbucks, so you can only assume profanity will be spoken.

I swear in front of kids all the time. Especially in Starbucks… because they keep playing folk music. Grubby folk music.

All of those animals died in Ohio.

I cried a little bit about this one. Kind of sad, really. What was not sad was my Friend Kate’s status updates on Facebook as she experienced this in REAL LIFE. Thank God she knows how to wield a knife.

I wanted to talk about Rihanna’s new music video but Justin said we should talk about something topical and really important. (Rihanna is really topical and important by the way. AND she didn’t shoot 56 animals.) The story is sad though. That state needs some rules and I mean rules that aren’t “shoot to kill” more like… laws in which some psychopath doesn’t own 56 wild animals. On a positive note, no one went to work or school for a day or two. I like free days off. Instead of a snow day they got a jungle day. Wee! But still… sad. And still NOT Rihanna.

I’m going to agree and disagree with you on a couple of points. First, Rihanna hasn’t been topical since Chris Brown beat her in the back of his car and she cut her hair to look like a man. Truth. I do, agree, however, that there should be laws about individuals owning Tigers or Lions…Monkeys as well. Maybe we shouldn’t even have Zoo’s anymore. Can you imagine a Lion running about the Bronx? That thing wouldn’t stand a chance.

Justin Dewey: Savior of animals, not women’s rights.

I can’t help it if you’re a lesbian for Rihanna, Amanda. And why is her name so hard to spell? WTF?

So what if I am, Justin? Rihanna is on top of the world right now. She is killing it. Also, let’s not kid ourselves… you haven’t been able to spell all night.

I also attended a happy hour today, after spending all dar shopping for a black dress to wear. I’m a little tired. But at least we aren’t fighting over Lady Gaga, cuz would both cut that bitch. Too bad she wasn’t in Ohio, I’m sure they’d mistake her for a wild animal.

They could use her meat dress to lure the beasts. But I stand by my suggestion of Rihanna and your inability to spell… thus leaving the typos above.

What typos? I don’t see them.

You can’t change them if I point them out.

Ok, I won’t. Can I point out quickly the backdrop of Sting’s FIELDS OF GOLD and the old man coughing out his liver?

Yes you can because it’s brilliant. Errors: “all dar” instead of “all day” and “cuz would” instead of “cuz we would” JUS SAYIN.

Note: “JUS SAYING” instead of “JUST SAYING.” So there, neither of us are perfect. And this is why we can’t have nice things.

Fine, I don’t want to fight anymore! Let’s go watch HAPPY ENDINGS like we do every week. I DVR’d it for us, lover.

Deal. This music is making me sad in the heart.

</3

"Work it... Are you worth it?"

akaymayday — Wed, 12 Oct 2011 20:15:00 -0400

You can pretty much exercise anything. Your rights, your body, your mind, your ability to piss people off. (I do that one almost daily, it’s not easy to keep up with.) And let me say I have the strength to exercise the my power of word to tell you that I just burned the HELL out of my tongue on this dumb ass tea.

The reason you haven’t been blessed with a post from me in nearly, or actually, 2 weeks is because I have been busy “exercising” and hauling up to Portland, Maine to run my first half marathon. That’s 13.1 miles of basic insanity. I finished under my goal time despite the 50 degree weather and POURING ocean rain. I trained for a couple of months turning down drinks, dinners, sleep, and writing in my blog to accomplish something for myself. If you are an avid reader of my blog you may remember me mentioning but chances are you only read my really amazing posts and missed the fact that I was running my legs into little stubs for 8+ weeks.

And now it’s over. And now I am finding excuses to not run. My knee hurts, it’s dark, it’s wet, I’m tired. And now I am not exercising that part of me. I ran for the first time post race on Monday. I did 2ish miles and it felt wrong, different, not the same. It had only been a week (riddled with drinking in Iowa…) but already my body seemed to have forgotten that it ran 13.1 miles (yeah, I am going to write that as much as physically possible in here) and it was back to feeling fat and sassy.

Routine is a gift. A gift that I am always excited to get but leave in the box for too long and try to resell in a moment of 23 year old desperation. (Sorry Anne Lamott.) Once you open that box and start reading that book you’ll probably finish it, unless the library takes it back too soon! You can check out my Goodreads to witness that.

Routine is something that my good friend Ryan Kenkel has been doing for years (he hasn’t missed a day of running in nearly 2 years!)

Routine is why I am sitting in Starbucks on 96th and Lexington, ~~drinking~~ burning my tongue on tea with Justin Wade Dewey. It is the reason I write a blog every week (usually on Wednesdays) and write 500 words of prose and 20 lines of poetry every other day. Now that the marathon is over, sorry, HALF marathon, I can go back to focusing on my writing… and eating carrots.

Routine is going to make sure I make something of myself. Routine is me (3 hours, 3 weeks, 3 years ago) reminding me that I want to be something great. Whether I decided I want to get something published this year (btw Manda, it’s October, you haven’t submitted crap) or finishing a race (13.1 miles everyone) routine is how I manage to not forget past me, old me, silly little me who always thinks up painful things (a race, a tattoo), questions them during (a race, a tattoo) but always loves them after (I am not listing those again… I am not that predictable!) (But I am… sadly!) (And seriously, I am never Googling myself again.)

So now I have to get into some sort of exercise routine and maintain the writing routine and exercise every bit of myself to get somewhere. Luckily, winter is coming and I am allowed to look like this:

While covering up with this:

I'm Cheating on James Franco with Ryan Gosling

akaymayday — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 22:11:15 -0400

There I said it. I thought that if I wrote about it and just got it all into the open I’d feel a lot better. I think my load already feels lighter. I am cheating on James Franco with Ryan Gosling… frequently. I blame Crazy, Stupid, Love and Drive especially. To clear my name of scandal, I have to start from the beginning, because Ryan and I have a history that’s quite complicated.

When I was coming of age there were men and boys who peaked my interest. Jake Gyllenhaal in October Sky, this up and comer that Seventeen magazine told me I should like (read: James Franco), and that blonde kid who dances in Remember the Titans (yes, Ryan Gosling). I remember frantically waiting for the credits to roll so that I could read their names and memorize them because one day I was going to be famous and they were going to be my boyfriends.

Now that I am famous, it’s difficult because my old flames are all of sudden doing really well. Even silly little Jimmy Fallon who I had to get a restraining order against. Poor chimp.

Ryan Gosling is blowing up now and I just can’t stop consuming Gosling articles, videos, stories. I’m damn near obsessive and I haven’t been this star-struck in years. Outside of James Franco, whom, let’s face it, had the best Gucci ad campaign of all time. And I think, what it is, is his body of work is so intriguing to me and his personality so different without being all drugged-out Franco style on me. He doesn’t bore me like Gyllenhaal has started to and let’s face it: when a star is popular there is a lot more to ogle and many more articles that focus on his package.

Even Leonardo DiCaprio has moved down to number 3 on my list. And that is huge considering the lady boner I had for Inception, The Departed, and Revolutionary Road. He and I are on bad terms anyway because he accepted the role of GATSBY in the Baz Luhrmann project of MY FAVORITE BOOK. I am seriously walking on egg shells about that. I’m still chuckling to myself over the Paul Rudd version. Before I digress too much though I will say I am so pleased with the Carey Mulligan casting. Remember when they wanted Blake Lively?! *well-read, over-educated snort* She’s such a Jordan!

But I get carried away as I always do when discussing Fitzgerald… Back to my point. Ryan Gosling (and actually the Drive soundtrack) are taking up all of my Internet search and daydream time. It’s time to pull it together, and I hope this entry helps in that, because my real boyfriend, Jeff Winter, is starting to question my sanity.

New York City, I just DON'T CARE

akaymayday — Sat, 17 Sep 2011 16:13:06 -0400

Do me a favor and click on this link. Look at the photos of these women that they just found on the “street.” The segment is called “Street Style.”

Right.

Since when is a pantsuit and heels Street Style? Where are the Asians in high tops?! I think I’ve missed the definition of the street somewhere… THIS LINK is why I have a hard time feeling like I fit in anywhere below 96th street. Actually, I don’t fit in anywhere above 96th either. New York is full of people with money. And people without money who don’t eat to buy a pair of nice shoes. It is full of people who like shopping. Full of women who SPEND THEIR DAYS shopping. People who would use my clothes to scrub their floors. Wait a second, they don’t scrub their own floors, who am I kidding?

This is a place where your appearance REALLY matters. What you wear and what you walk around in really matters to these people. As I result I am suffering some kind of identity crisis because I have no idea what to buy so I just buy work clothes and call it a day.

My fabrics feel cheap and chintzy. My heels not tall enough. My kicks not white enough. Forget doing my makeup. And I’m not just ragging on rich Park Avenue types. People without any money still manage to look stunning in that way that is so hip right now. They pull it together.

My problem really is… I just don’t CARE. I don’t care at all. I can’t follow a trend to save my life. I’d rather read a book or watch TV than spend time doing my make-up. The idea of getting my nails done weekly makes me cringe. I mean really, who has time for that? I hate sewing so if something loses a button or a hole rips… I just leave it.

And still wear it.

I’m 23 and can’t be bothered to sew my clothes. I also don’t separate my laundry. All of this is exacerbated by the fact that my boyfriend is a walking, talking model and moved in here 3 months ago and literally gets comments every time we walk down the street “You could be in movies.” “You look great, nice jacket.” And then I feel like they look over at his down trodden girlfriend in the ripped dress and dock shoes because she can’t bother to walk around in her heels and they just cringe. He separates the laundry. He taught me to iron. He taught me how to hang my pants on hangars. He even started me using the dry cleaner once in awhile. Did you know if you wash your jeans inside out the color stays?

I had no friggin. Clue. And now I live somewhere where it is expected of me and I have no money and I’d rather buy a bottle of cheap Vodka than a pair of jeans.

I’ve been here for a year and I don’t quite think I’ll ever fit in. But that’s okay. My sneakers from high school and I are going to make a stiff drink and watch the trends expire.