Party Trick......Gone Bad

Everyone should have a party trick, whether it is breakdancing, belching the alphabet, doing the worm or being able to do a back handspring on command. My party trick? Opening a bottle of champagne with a butcher knife like Cameron Diaz did in What Happens in Vegas. And yes, I did spend hours practicing that trick after I saw the movie until I perfected it. Last weekend, I taught my friend Nicole how to do it during our Sunday Funday brunch which reminded me of that one time my party trick went bad…

A few New Year’s Eves ago, after I had just learned the champagne trick, I was at a house party FULL of people that I didn’t know. After a few drinks, I thought, what a better way to ring in the New Year, then popping a bottle of champagne at the stroke of midnight? Feeling overly confident, I was telling people all night about my party trick and how I was going to blow their minds when they saw it. Well, my moment came and I guess I didn’t anticipate the entire party stopping what they were doing and following me into the kitchen to see my trick, so I got a little bit nervous. The key to the trick is shaking the bottle first, and then making sure you slide the backside of the knife up the seam of the bottle. Easy, right? Not when you have about a hundred people staring at you. My first attempt failed, as did my second and my third. Knowing I had to show these people what I had told them I could do made me more and more determined to open this sucker. So, instead of being patient and doing it the right way, I took the knife and kept chopping until I chopped the top off the bottle harshly sending glass and champagne flying through the air and all over me. I had never cleared a room so quickly. As everyone stood there in shock, the floor wet, shards of glass everywhere and blood dripping down my arm, I looked at my friends Beth and Kris (who was also bleeding from the glass) and nervously smiled. Happy New Year!?? Not only was I never invited back to that house, I made sure that I never performed that trick until I was certain that it would be a success. And to this day, I haven’t failed. Knock on glass…..er, wood! Lucky for you, I have a video (below).....and yes, it's embarrassing!

http://vimeo.com/18469177

Living In A Frat House?

Everyone has experienced an odd living situation, right? Whether it was sharing a room with a friend when you were first thrown out into the real world to save money, or an odd dorm experience in college, we have all been there. I may have you all beat on this one though…

A few years back, my little sister Grace and I lived in a house in Boston with my best friend, Alicia, and her boyfriend, Ryan. When our landlady suddenly sprung upon us that she was selling the house, we had to find a place to move sooner rather than later, like our normal plans were. Grace was planning on moving to the North End in a few months with her college friends, Ryan and Alicia already had plans to move to Maine and I was planning on moving back to LA, but not right away. So, we all hoped that the house wouldn’t sell right away, buying us that time we needed to perfectly overlap our next living situations. But of course, the house sold faster than the newest Taylor Swift album, which meant we were screwed. Alicia and Ryan packed up and moved to Maine and Grace and I were left scratching our heads looking for a cheap, temporary solution.

We both had solid plans to move in about a month and a half so we couldn’t do anything permanent and living in a hotel was way too expensive. We got very creative with our ideas, thought about crashing on our friend’s couches, contemplated creating a “bed” under our desks at work (George Costanza style) and even tried to convince our parents to let us sleep in their RV at a national park close to Boston. We even weighed the option of moving back home to Maine and commuting to Boston every day! One by one these ideas seemed to get more and more ridiculous and no one seemed to want to take us in for a one and a half month temporary lease. Just when we thought we were totally screwed and on the verge of being homeless, we got a call from a girl in Allston (college student central) named Patricia who called me “home girl” and said she may be able to help. I loved her already!

She was occupying one bedroom of a three bedroom apartment at the time, while the college guys that lived there were home for the summer. Patricia just bought a condo and wanted to move out sooner, but since the guys weren’t coming back to their apartment until early September, she needed someone to sublet the bedroom she was subletting for a little over a month. Perfect! Well, I thought it was perfect…Grace, not so much (I think she still resents me for this decision). But she had no other choice and she wouldn’t be alone, so she couldn’t really pass it up, right? In theory, this subleasing of a sublease sounded ideal (considering it was only $200 each), but there were a few issues….

The guys who lived there kept all their stuff there while they were home for the summer, including the stripper pole in the living room and the rotting food in the fridge. They weren’t the cleanest frat boys in the world so we literally sat on towels on the couch (they didn’t have cable so we watched movies on our laptops) and found slices of moldy limes in between the couch cushions almost daily. Another issue? Since we were sharing a room, we were also sharing a bed every night…of course we slept in sleeping bags on top of the bed, which forced me to think I was having a slumber party every night with my kid sister. The best part? We were A.) convinced that there was a hidden web cam somewhere, and B.) were given fair warning by Patricia that the guys may come back a few days earlier than we expected. So Grace and I were constantly aware of every noise in the house and anytime we got home from work, we nervously crept up the stairs with a big, “HELLO?” Looking back, it makes me appreciate any living situation that I have been in since. I told Grace that we would laugh about it one day and as I chuckle to myself thinking about it, I still don’t think she has laughed yet….

(In Alicia Keys' Voice) "Your Leg Is On Fire!"

While I was in college, I worked at a hot dog stand in Maine during the summers where I met some of my greatest friends and made pretty good tips. As I began to become poorer and poorer, as most college kids do, I also took on the hot dog stand duties on my Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks, standing outside in the freezing cold, slinging wieners for the tourists. Some days we would stand outside for hours in the snow, freezing rain and ice chilling wind. The winters in Maine are pretty brutal. Our one savior were the heaters that were provided to us, that we kept behind the hot dog stand and in front of the cooler. I would get as close as I could to that little propane miracle, trying to keep myself warm and motivated enough to stay out there as long as I could.

One day, I was fixing up an Italian sausage for this man and his wife, really taking my time with the spicy mustard, grilled onions and peppers and toasted bun. I noticed him looking at me in horror and I thought, is there mold on the bread or something? All of a sudden, I felt a warm sensation running up my leg and when I looked down, my jeans were on fire right below the knee. Naturally, I finished dressing the sausage and handed it to him as he ran behind the stand. I knew my leg was on fire but I didn't think it was that bad....I bet you have never heard that line before. I kept saying, "I'm fine, I'm fine!" Hardly the truth with fire on your body is involved.

As my customer (who turned out to be a doctor) knelt down and helped me put out the fire on my leg, he grabbed a snowball and told me to put it on my wound. It turned out not to be that bad (although I still have a scar today) and I continued to work until closing time. My boss thought I was an idiot for not wanting to go home but I just said I was a hard worker as I finished up the day in my ripped up pirate jeans.

Mr. Rollover, Ira Rollover

Although my dream in life is to be a writer and an entertainment host, I do have to pay the bills; therefore I need a stable income. Currently, I am working at an investment advisory firm where I am very comfortable with retirement plans, profit sharing plans and trusts, but that wasn’t the case in 2004 when I worked at an insurance firm downtown. After graduating from Sacred Heart University with a degree in Media Studies, I got my first real job in Los Angeles at Chiat Day, an advertising agency, where we were basically paid in pennies and peanuts. After a year at the agency, I was in serious credit card debt, had a running tab with my parents and was sick of eating Ramen noodles, so I started looking for a higher paying job- doing anything. Thanks to a former co-worker at Chiat, I was hired as an administrative assistant at an insurance agency where I went from making $20,000 per year to $34,500. I was rich, bitch- I felt like Oprah Winfrey!

Even though I was shown what to do every day at my new job and was comfortable answering the phones and assisting the salesmen, I was so unfamiliar with all these terms being thrown around that I felt like the only English speaking person in an office that only spoke Mandarin. I had no financial background and the only thing I knew about insurance was how much a paid every month for my car. One of my weekly duties was to file all client statements and correspondence in the file cabinet next to my desk, sorted by the client’s last name. I kept seeing these statements with the name ‘Ira Rollover’ at the top, and although I thought ‘Rollover’ was a strange last name, I figured that he was just an old, rich Jewish man. The ‘R’ folder kept growing thicker and thicker until months later when I realized that an IRA Rollover was a retirement plan and not an old, wealthy guy from Beverly Hills.

Luckily no one but me went into those file cabinets and once I made the realization, I came in extra early one morning to re-file all the ‘Rollovers’ to their proper folders, saving me a ton of embarrassment. I still laugh every time I hear IRA Rollover and thank God no one at my old job ever knew of my little mishap…until now!

Which Floor, Mr. Voight?

My boyfriend, Anthony, is currently working on a new show for Showtime starring Liev Schreiber and Jon Voight and I couldn't be prouder! I also couldn't be more excited to visit him on set and meet Mr. Voight aka Angelina Jolie's father one day. When I told him that I was more excited to meet Mr. Voight than Liev he was a little surprised and told me that if I did, I couldn't get star struck! Erin, star struck? I used to work at Peet's Coffee on Sunset Blvd. when my regulars were Katie Holmes and Hugh Jackman AND Britney Spears is my eleventh cousin- I can handle my celebrities! Except of course when I was introduced to Malcolm-Jamal Warner aka Theo Huxtable at my old job and oddly I was the most star struck I have ever been! Even more so than when I met Ryan Gosling! Maybe it was because I grew up watching The Cosby Show or maybe because there was an actual introduction that took place with a handshake and a "Erin, this is Malcolm, Malcolm, this is Erin." Whatever it was, it was one of the best moments in my life- strange, I know. Anyways, back to Mr. Voight.

Last month after my company holiday party, I took a cab downtown to Anthony's, pretty drunk from the night's festivities. He was at the vodka bar below his apartment (I scored a dream man, huh?) and told me that I should meet him there for a drink before going upstairs. Feeling a bit too tipsy for public, I turned him down and told him that I should go to bed. As I stepped out of the cab, Anthony walked out of the bar to meet me and make sure I made it to his apartment OK. Sweet man, right? Sweet until a Lexus pulled up to the sidewalk carrying who Anthony claimed was Jon Voight. I looked at him like he was crazy! Why would Jon Voight be going to a vodka bar downtown? That was too ironic for my drunk ass and I told him to have fun with "Jon Voight" who was in my mind probably an old geezer who resembled him a bit and I got into the elevator as Anthony went outside.

Turns out, it was Jon Voight and he was actually going to the penthouse in Anthony's building for a party. Anthony rode the elevator with him (I could have been in that elevator too), told him he was working on his new show, and became buddies with him. I cannot tell you how pissed I was when he told me this the next morning. Moral of the story? When your boyfriend tells you he sees Jon Voight- believe him!

Yonanas, Yo Problems!

I am blonde and do occasionally have my moments, which my boyfriend loves to point out to me. But I am a smart cookie and although no one is perfect, sometimes the blonde moments get the best of me. Like this weekend when I suggested we buy Yonanas at Bed Bath and Beyond, the ice cream maker that turns frozen fruit into a creamy dessert. But I didn't realize a major detail until after we bought it, got home and tried it out. The detail I didn't notice? It is called YoNANAS for a reason- because you must make every frozen treat with bananas. My problem with that one? I don't like bananas mixed with anything, I only like them on their own. So in order to get those mango, strawberry and blueberry ice creams that I wanted to make, you have to also use bananas. Boooooo! And trust me, we tried to blend up frozen strawberries on their own and it came out like ice chips. You want that creamy dessert Yonanas promises on the box? You must use bananas. To quote Gwen Stefani- "this appliance is yonanas, Y-O-N-A-N-A-S!" And as Notorious BIG would have said, "yo nanas, yo problems!" So I packed up my yonanas and said, "yo, you're going back to Bed Bath and Beyond!"

What Do You Mean You Don’t Own a Plunger!!??!!

Okay ladies, as much as we hate to confess or admit it to our men (even though they obviously know) we all poop. It’s a natural thing- haven’t you read the book, “Everybody Poops?” Well, my boyfriend found out that I too am a human being on Saturday morning. We had been on a 3 day juice cleanse since New Year’s Day consuming only leafy greens, carrots, citrus, and other fruits that can easily be juiced in our juicer that we got on New Year’s Eve as a part of our new toxic free lifestyle. Yes, we watched way too many documentaries one day that caused us to throw away all of our “toxic” cleaning and beauty products and replace them with all natural products from Whole Foods. You only live one life, right? Anyways….after three days of eating, or should I say drinking only fruit or veggie drinks (and not pooping might I add), we went out for Persian food Friday night for our friend Ray’s birthday. It was delicious and I ate my little heart out, filling my belly with pickled cabbage, mahi mahi kabobs, rice and plenty of hummus. I am sure you can see where this is going…

I woke up the next morning at 5:30 am with a familiar feeling in my tummy and tiptoed to the bathroom to do my business without waking up Anthony. Hey- maybe there was a chance that he DIDN’T know that I pooped yet. After I was finished and feeling 100% better, I naturally took the next step and flushed. Except it didn’t flush….the water rose and nothing happened. I immediately began to sweat and began searching through the “plumbing” file in my brain trying to figure out what to do next. I will just grab the plunger and fix it, I have done it in the past- no big deal. And by the silence in the air, I knew Anthony was still asleep-so,  he’ll never know. I knew that he didn’t have a plunger in the bathroom so I figured that maybe he kept it in his closet or under the sink. I tiptoed to the closet to find nothing, then to the kitchen and again found nothing. Oh, shit! My eyes widened a bit and I felt a warm rush fill my body. I searched through the “plumbing” file again and turned to Plan B- let the water go down a bit, flush again and pray that it wouldn’t overflow. And if it did, write a note saying, “nice knowing you,” immediately leave the premises, get in my car and drive as fast as I could back to Maine.

I noticed that the water did go down a bit, so I tried to flush it again, praying to God that it would work. Although it didn’t overflow, it also didn’t go down. As desperate as I was, I wouldn’t be taking any extreme measures like sticking my hand in there or having Anthony deal with this. The next best thing to do was wake him up and as much as I didn’t want to do that, I had reached the end of the “plumbing” file and was short of a solution. I walked out to the bedroom, threw my hands up in the air as if surrendering to a crime and blurted out, “I clogged the damn toilet babe!” I was mortified but hoped that maybe he had a solution. He turned over, looked at me with sleepy eyes, trying to wake up and understand what was happening all at once and said, “huh?” I asked him where his plunger was and he responded that he didn’t have one. “What do you mean, you don’t have a plunger?” I was screwed. I assured him I would take care of the situation and went back into the bathroom, to panic and figure out the best solution to this major problem I had on my hands. I first went downstairs to his lobby, woke up the doorman and asked him if he had a plunger. Mortifying moment number two of the day. He didn’t have one- of course! So, the next best thing? I would just go buy a plunger- duh! I called Ralph’s and prayed that a.) they were open and b.) they carried plungers. To my liking, it was a yes to both and I was out the door at 6:00am on a Saturday morning to go buy a plunger at the grocery store. Not before telling Anthony that if he went into the bathroom I would kill him, of course…in my mind, he would have changed the locks while I was at the store and disconnected his phone if he saw the “situation” in there. It was not my finest moment. After purchasing the LAST plunger in the entire store and a few extra items to make it look like I didn’t just wake up and clog a toilet (even though my pajamas, squinty half-asleep eyes and Russell Brand looking hair wasn’t an obvious giveaway) I was out the door and on my way back to clean this mess up. LITERALLY. 

I got back to his apartment, walked directly into the bathroom and went to work. After about 15 minutes, more nervous sweating that it wouldn’t work because it has never taken this long and an intense arm workout, everything went down. It was the happiest moment of my life. I cleaned everything up, gave a little wink to the toilet, which I had bonded with over the course of the morning, almost thanking him for working with me and went back to bed. All I kept thinking was, thank god my boyfriend still loves me…what a good man!