Chasing The Starbucks Mocha Frappuccino Dragon

It started innocently enough: Grabbing a bottle of Starbucks Mocha Frappuccino out of a convenience store cold-chest before embarking on a long day exploring NYC. It hit the spot: Cold and refreshing; and the caffeine/sugar combo gave me just the energy jolt I needed to walk 43 blocks to the meatpacking district so we could explore block after block of 10'x10' boutiques peddling $300 vintage jeans (On another topic. . .wha? How do these places stay in business?) Then I did the same thing the next day. . .sip, sip, gulp, gulp. . ..ahh. Then again the next day. You get the picture. Before long, I was jonesing and desperately searching every grocery store, gas station, and 7 Eleven in the area for more. I was waking up in the morning thinking of them. At 3 each afternoon, as I was hitting my "I could use a nappy" daily slump, I was craving them. And then it hit me: I'm F-ing addicted to these GD Frappuccinos! It happened so quickly (less than a week, in my case). It was a startling (and less destructive, at least so far) glimpse into the world of addiction--how fast something recreational and fun can become debilitating and all-consuming. Tripp has only made the situation worse. God love him, his desire for me to enjoy myself causes him to encourage my dependence on these enslaving bottles of good/evil. "You're a new mom! You need this now!" He's so enabling! Fortunately, I've discovered Starbucks makes a Mocha Lite Frappuccino (all of the caffeine with less of the sugar). They don't give me nearly the jolt of crazed pep as the full-sugar variety, but I've come to see that as a good thing.

They DO Exist.

Tripp and I spent a great weekend in NYC. I could go on and on about how I love NY and all the fun stuff we did, but that wouldn't be bitching; and this is after all Bitching With Bethany. So instead I'm going to go on and on about some skank we were exposed to at a comedy club. We went to several late-night comedy shows, which were wonderful and amazing. During one show we sat front and center, making us prime targets for mocking by comedians. I felt dread and excitement as I imagined being referred to as "Velma" from "Scooby Doo". But that was not to be because we were seated next to the most insufferable couple (in particular, the most insufferable woman) in the universe. When asked by the opening act about their first date, the BF (a prematurely balding trust fund baby who, I can only assume, purposefully paired a white vest with his jeans and sports coat) answered, "We went to Blah [some random restaurant]"; but GF (an attractive blonde wearing a patent leather belt directly under her boobs) interrupted, "No! We were at a party in the Hamptons, and I got a sunburn, and he took me to the store to get aloe in his Ferrari." Haha! Seriously? I found it hilarious that GF felt the need to say this, and I immediately liked her for being such an insecure freak. But then the rest of the night happened. During the remainder of the 2 hour show GF monopolized audience participation by her frequent public pronouncements. We learned, among other things, she fancies herself a master fly-fisherman, raced Ferraris in Spain as a teenager, and wouldn't date another audience member one comedian labeled, "Indian Harry Potter." The best part of the evening came when she told one comedian, "you don't want to know" her thoughts on God's existence. The guy paused for a beat, smirked, then looked straight at her and said, "Oh yeah? You gonna blow my mind?"
Sometimes it's hard for me to believe that people like this really exist. How do you go around day after day shamelessly bragging and forcing attention onto yourself without the slightest realization that you're being a complete douche? What if two such people found themselves in a social situation in which they had to interact? What would happen? And how could each of them not walk away without some degree of self-awareness/hatred and resolve to stop being such an asshole? So odd.
Oh God. Just had an awful thought. If these people have no self-awareness I could be one of them. Someone please tell me if I'm ever remotely like this.

Movie Review 5: Can You Dig It?!

I can't believe I hadn't seen The Warriors before now. Maybe God or the universe knew I wasn't ready for it until this past weekend. But, oh, what a ride! Have you ever experienced something so surreal you couldn't believe it actually happened? That sums up this movie. The plot is simple and easy to follow: A rag-tag gang of skinny, dancing sociopaths whose sole membership requirement seems to be "refusal to remove maroon leather vest under any circumstance" (The Warriors) entrechat their way out of Coney Island and into our hearts when they are falsely accused of killing a Polynesian gang-banger whose wholesome aim was to unite all gangs, take over NYC and, we are left to assume, cause mayhem. I know what you're thinking: Not fair! The Warriors didn't do it! But it gets worse. All the other area gangs (who are, let's say, themed (one gang's silent members all don Yankee baseball uniforms and wear makeup a la Marilyn Manson)) are after The Warriors because that Samoan was going to bring unity to the community, dammit! What? All of this is made more surreal by an R & B DJ played by a pair of lips who fuels the opposing gangs' fires, an Oscar-worthy performance by a circa-Fast Times at Ridgemont High Sean Penn lookalike who plays what I (thankfully) can only assume is a realistic bat-shit crazy anarchist, and an un-ironic director's commentary in which Walter Hill continually refers to The Warriors as heroes. Again. . .what?
All in all, a great movie. 10 Stars.

It Takes All Kinds

I love that there's a market for this.

Awesome

I'm a sucker for kids playing rock and roll. Check out Connor and Emma.