Lucy Quintanilla

Potter mania

2007-07-11T13:58:00.001-07:00

I was one of those crazy people at a midnight showing of Harry Potter yesterday … eh, today. (This morning to be exact.) Honestly, I don’t know what possessed me to see this movie at midnight. I could have waited just a couple of hours and seen it after work, heck I’ve waited years for it to be released.

But no.

In 2001, I went on opening day to the first showing of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone – little did I know I would be starting an insane tradition.

I’ve now see the first showing on opening day of every Potter movie, by myself (a hard and fast rule) with popcorn, drink and candy. While in college, I kept up the tradition even though I had not slept having just turned in a 15 page paper two hours before the movie; I did this in Florida when Prisoner of Azkaban opened, so of course I was going to do this is Jersey. Tradition is tradition.

The first showing today was at 1 PM, that was just too late for me. Plus, I don’t think my boss would have approved of me coming in at 4 PM because I HAD to see Harry Potter.

While waiting in the theater for an hour–and-half for the movie to start (yeah, you read that right) I decided to take notes on my fellow Potter fanatics. Some came in costume (no, before you ask, I wore my normal Muggle clothes) and others just showed up for the heck of it. Note to those who do the midnight showings: bring a book and buy the medium popcorn.

10: 15 PM
Arrive at the theater. Pay too much money for the large popcorn and a hotdog. My well-balanced diner along with the bottle of water and snickers sitting in my purse that I didn’t eat for lunch.

10:30 PM
Go to theater 14 and get a seat.

10:31 PM
Play games on my iPod.

10:35 PM
Wait, wait and wait. There are numerous high school kids here, I guess they got permission to stay out past their curfew. Wait, some are probably 18 or older. Wow, I’m really bad at telling peoples ages. I must be one of 12 ‘adults’ in the theater. I bet a some point I’ll be telling someone to stop talking during he movie. Probably the amazingly loud ‘adult’ behind me yelling at the top of his lungs about being a big boy – I can’t make this stuff up.

10:42 PM
“Look how full it is already,” some dude says while entering the theater.
Yeah guy, you should have gotten here early. Some people chat, others play video games or listen to their iPods to pass the time. I note the lack of iPhones. I really should have brought a book!

“Don’t laugh at me if I cry,” I hear one girl tell her friends. “Don’t worry, I will.” I like this kid, cynical and jaded at such a young age.

10:46 PM
An hour-and-a-half to go. This is insane. What was I thinking? Now two kids are left to guard the four open chairs next to me, while an older gentleman holds three others. He seems very disinterested in all the hoopla, but seems to be loving his nachos. I get the distinct feeling he was roped into this.

Feakin’ A. Now I want nachos.

10:47PM
I scroll though my music, Kelly Clarkson, Lilly Allen, Amy Whinehouse, JustinTimberlake, The Bravery, Rhiana, Beastie Boys. I settle on Justin.

10:48 PM
“#@!$% *&#$&!!!,” a man says after seeing it’s close to capacity.
Yeah guy, you should have gotten here earlier! I really should have gotten a Coke.

11:06 PM
I need a magazine.
Or a book.
Or a something.

Did I forget to mention that they turned on the lights, nearly blinding us?

11:07 PM
Mullet spotted. The party can officially begin.

11:08 PM
Finished my hotdog and in half-and-hour I can go swimming.

11:09 PM
“What the … we still have an hour wait,” a man says while coming into the theater. It’s obvious he didn’t get the memo about arriving two hours early.

11:16 PM
I really wish I had bought a Coke. I hope I stay awake until the movies over. I’ll be really angry if I fall asleep before it even starts. Man, it’s past my bed time.

11:17 PM
I’m hoping the clock on my iPod is wrong and that it’s really 11:57 PM. No such luck.

11:30 PM
My butt is numb. I really need to stretch. Would it be weird if I did downward facing dog in the aisle?

11:36 PM
Sceenvision previews start. Awesome, I really wanted to learn more about Diet Coke.

11:38 PM
I give up on the iPod.

11:43 PM
Vince Gill sings about underwear with a giant apple for a Foot of the Loom ad. Words escape me about this; he used to be a well-respected county musician. Seriously, underwear?

11:45 PM
I really need a nap.

11:52 PM
Lights go out and there is thunderous applause. But it’s premature, like when people clap for the stage crew at a concert because they think the bands about to start.

12:01 PM
It’s start time. But no movie. The natives are getting restless. People start clapping and chanting “HARRY, HARRY, HARRY.”

Nothing happens. The AMC logo is on the screen and it feels like it’s starting to mock me, or that may be the sleep deprivation talking.

12:05 PM
The screen goes blank, and PREVIEWS start. Previews? You got to be kidding me, there are five of them.

12 something.
The movie starts. SWEET! People clap, cheer and yell. Finally.

… 2:35 AM
I only ate a third of my popcorn, I should have gotten the medium. It’s too late now, the movie’s over. It was wonderful. I can’t wait to see it again, and well, probably a third time. I really liked how they kept it dark, and didn’t try to make it all happy go lucky. It’s late I need to go home, and start the countdown all over again … movie six should be out in a couple of years.

Run for the border

2007-05-03T20:24:00.000-07:00

LEFT: My cousin, Shane, me and his girlfriend, Mira, at the after paty for his film.

Quesadilla.

Not only is it a delicious Tex-Mex dish, but also how a woman at the Tribeca Film Festival pronounced Quintanilla. But let me start at the beginning.

While visiting my family during South by Southwest we learned the documentary (The Ballad of Esequiel Hernandez) my cousin co-produced would get it’s first American viewing at Tribeca . I was jazzed. I would get to see my cousin, Shane, his movie and what Tribeca Film Fest was all about.

[***WHAT THE FILM IS ABOUT*** Nearly ten years after the murder of 18-year-old American citizen Esequiel Hernández by a U.S. Marine team in Texas, the border continues to see increased militarization. Juxtaposing the grief of the victim's family with the Marines' frustration and guilt in their first on-screen interviews, this probing documentary, narrated by Tommy Lee Jones, asks: is history doomed to repeat itself?]

Las Friday I headed to the City. My Brooklyn friend attends with me, and we headed out at 7:30 p.m. to get to the 9 p.m. screening. We needed ample time for tickets and most importantly, a large bucket of buttered popcorn.

Upon reaching the theater we saw line -- not just one, not just two, but four -- one for each movie showing that night. But I was on the case – we already had tickets waiting for us at will call.

While in line we looked for my cousin but unbeknownst to me he was standing right in front of me. Not until I heard someone say, “Shane” from an escalator did I even recognize him.

Hey, the last time I saw him was almost four years ago. And now, looking less like a college student and more like Vincent Chase – head to toe black suit and three days of stubble – I didn’t even recognize him.

We said our hellos and headed to get our seats and popcorn. There were a fair amount of people, but soon enough it was packed -- a full house in fact.

The lights went dim, the movie started, and hour and a half later it closed with thunderous applause and a standing ovation.

This is where the quesadilla comes in.

After the film finished, the director, producer and my cousin (co-producer) stood at the front of the house for a Q&A session. People asked how it was developed, how they got Tommy Lee Jones to be the narrator, what the families thought.

Then it happened, the woman thanked the crowd and then said each persons name…. so and so, so and so and then Shane Slattery-Quesadilla.

I turned to my friend who looked at me mouth-hanging open, only able to mouth “quesadilla.” I don’t know if she was more shocked at the woman butchering our last name, or that the woman saying “quesadilla” didn’t even faze me.

Yes, I told here. I’ve been called quesadilla – my last name even ran like that in our college newspaper.

Quesadilla. Now, I know Quintanilla is a bit of a tongue twister for people, but quesadilla? Seriously?

Yet, to me none of that mattered, I was able to see my cousin’s film on opening night and attend the after party at a bar that served fondue. (Yummy, but slightly more messy than the popcorn.)

So to my cousin, congratulations! The Quesadilla family is proud of you!

Let's get physical

2007-04-23T21:12:00.001-07:00

I’ve become a gym rat.

Yeah, you read that right.

Sure, I’ve been a member at my club for more than two years, but it wasn’t until recently I actually started getting something out of those monthly dues.

I like going to the gym. I know it’s crazy, but in college it was my one-hour of quiet time -- when everything slipped away and I would elliptical like a crazy lady.

Since January I’ve been hitting the gym, working out and doing the fitness thing. (No it wasn’t a New Years resolution, I’m calling it a life style change. Stop laughing.) Now I’ve learned something very important – there’s a gym culture and maybe one specific to Jersey.

The thing is, you only see the cliques and the “types” when you go to the gym often and on a regular schedule.

I’ve learned that there are the “hard cores” those men and women who look like Arnold Schwarzenegger of years past.

The odd balls – you know, the people who show up in jeans, a t-shirt and sometimes wear boots. That can’t be comfortable on a Stairmaster.

The rookies who are too shy and timid to go beyond the basic treadmill -- you can spot those easily by their inability to work the TV remote on the machines.

Then you have the well -- how do I put it -- the big men in the tiny shorts and wife beaters, with chest hair everywhere (yuck!). Often they will stare at you with a head nod and “how you doin’ ” look. Usually they are covered with copious amounts of sweat that seems to be coming from everywhere.

The spandex people, mostly women (but some men) who’ll only wear spandex to workout in. The problem is some of them wear it the wrong way (you know what I’m talking about ladies.)

Then there are people like me; we wear comfortable shoes, loose clothing made of natural fibers and are sort of the hippies of the gym. A very relaxed, almost Zen-like quality of to us, we’re often found laughing at the shows on the TV while others stare at us and smirk.

Of course those are only a couple of the top clique. And like high school they’re subsets, offshoots, and those that defy labels.

Like a certain group of high school boys -- who wear baggy shorts circa Kris Kross of the early ’90s, wife beaters and backwards baseball caps while using the weight machines. Often they slam down the weight stack (a big no-no in gym culture) and can be found saying, “No man, this is how it’s done.” In all honesty, I don’t think any of them really know how to use the machines. Plus, those backwards baseball caps must be a hazard to those knuckleheads. I bet money one of them gets it suck in a machine and that most defiantly is not “how it’s done.”

Moral of the story: Please wear spandex wisely, don’t slam down the weights stacks, and don’t laugh at the girl on the elliptical machine laughing her butt off to The George Lopez Show. Thank you.

On Tivo: The New Adventures of Old Christine

Virginia Tech

2007-04-17T03:06:00.000-07:00

It made no sense. Then again, these things never do.

I was checking my e-mail like always when I got into work yesterday morning. There was breaking news from CNN. “One person has been killed and one wounded in a shooting at Virginia Tech in Blacksburg, Virginia, a state government official tells The Associated Press.”

I read the next e-mail. “At least 20 people were fatally shot Monday on the campus of Virginia Tech University in Blacksburg, police said, according to WDBJ. CNN working to confirm.”

I turned to a co-worker. Had he heard this? Did he know what was going on? No.

We made our way to the TV in the newsroom and flipped it to MSNBC. There it was -- police cars, students running, gun shots. At that moment we didn’t realize what we were seeing, I don’t think anybody did. We didn’t realize it would end up becoming the deadliest mass shootings or school shooting in American history.

I knew coming from Texas (and the University of Texas at Austin) this tragedy was going to have a massive impact -- not only on the community, but the nation.

See until yesterday, the deadliest mass shooting in the US occurred in 1991 in Killeen, Texas, when a man went into a Luby’s cafeteria and killed 23 people, then himself. It took years for me to go to a Luby’s after that.

Until yesterday, the 1966 Charles Whitman shootings at the University of Texas tower was the deadliest shooting on a campus. UT closed the tower after that, and didn’t reopen it for nearly 25 years. But now there are metal detectors, security guards and a new “safety lattice.” There are still bullet holes in the buildings on Guadalupe Street on west campus and the shooting was the reason SWAT teams were created.

Now your saying this happened around you, not to you? Why such an impact. I don’t know. Maybe because just a couple of years ago I was on a college campus, because you don’t think someone will walk into your dorm and shoot you, because when you’re in college – you should be thinking about finals, parties, projects and grades – not whether your friends have survived a mass shooting.

Reading the early accounts from the students, I got the feeling that there was no warning. It was just another morning on a sleepy campus – and then it happened. And as I watch it all unfold on the web, I read each updated report. The death toll rose, 21, 22, 30, 31, 32 and then as I was at the gym at 10 PM – 33 people were dead.

Thirty-three people. I just stared at the TV while on the treadmill. Thirty-three people. I closed my eyes and ran, and ran. Maybe if I believed hard enough I would wake-up from the nightmare. Surly there were not 33 people dead. But instead I saw Date Line interviewing students. I couldn’t take it and turned off the TV.

The woman next to me kept flipping between MSNBC and Family Guy. Then she stopped. She left it on a movie. Maybe she too couldn’t watch anymore. We both just ran.

I hoped that maybe by this morning there would be more answers, there would be more information – at least a hint as to why he did this. Or maybe as this is being posted there are only more unanswered questions as to why Monday, April 16 will be marked as the worst shooting rampage in US history.

GO! RUTGERS! GO! (I mean Texas!)

2006-11-10T01:17:00.000-08:00

I feel dirty.

I did something I said I wouldn't do.

I cheered for another football team. I cheered for Rutgers.

Last night, I sat in front of the TV slowly biting my nails, twisting my hair; tapping my foot impatiently . . . I was also designing the sports page. See, my page was dependent on this game -- the art and stories -- 90 percent of it hung in the balance until the last seconds.

But let's start at the beginning.

This week I've designed the sports cover, and my interests in the Rutgers vs. Louisville game got peaked. In the BCS standings No. 3 Louisville is ranked above my beloved No.5 Texas Longhorns.

See where I come from football is king. You may have heard the sayings "live and die by the Friday night Lights" and "football is second only to God." Then there are movies like Varsity Blues and Friday Night Lights. It's not something Hollywood made up; it is life in Texas in some form or another.

It's not just high school football, but college too.

In Austin, my hometown, the burnt orange of the Texas Longhorns is in every aspect of city life. It doesn't matter if you went to the school or not because during a home game the city is a sea of orange. In high school my Friday nights were defined by the lights and in college -- I didn't miss a home in five years. So you see, I'm a bit of a fan. As we say in Austin, I bleed orange.

When I moved to New Jersey, I felt like I left behind the lights. I realized people didn't have a football addiction the way we do in Texas. It was a shocker and a little heart breaking.

Last night as I sat there, yelling at the TV for Rutgers defense to get their act together in the first half, it shocked my co-workers. So did my fists pumping in the air as Rutgers scored touchdowns and fingers crossed as they kicked field goals.

As the clock ran down with a score of 25-25, I felt like I was back home. Sure, it wan't orange and white I was routing for -- but for a moment the "Friday night lights" adrenalin ran through New Jersey.

Ok, Thursday night lights. But what's one day among friends?

On Tivo: Arrested Development

Fashion Forward

2006-10-26T20:41:00.000-07:00

Hello Ladies and Gentlemen,

Sorry for being absent for the past, well month. Here I go again telling y'all why I've been a no show. Well, at least this time I brought photos.

So for the past month I've been immersed in what we call "Good Life." It's the luxury magazine we produce at the paper. Well, if you can believe it, I got the opportunity to art direct our latest fashion shoot.

What does 'art direct' mean exactly?

Well, I worked with Ellen, Good Life editor, and Karyn, style editor, to create a concept for the shoot. Next Jim, our head photographer, Ellen and I scouted the location. Then I wrote a script or storyboard for each shot; including which of the four models would be in each frame, where it would take place and how it fit into the storyline. Then Karyn and I headed off to the City to meet with our stylists, Jersey and Susan, to choose clothes for each shot. The following day we were at the venue with five fashion stylist, four models, three photographers, two art peeps and one magazine editor. Not a bad weeks work.

So what I present to y'all is a couple, O.K. 12, behind the scenes photos from our latest fashion shoot at Count Basie Theatre in Red Bank. Enjoy.

P.S. Much thanks to Count Basie Theatre - NUMA SAISSELIN, VANTONY JENKINS, ANTHONY CALICCHIO. And to Retromedia Sound Studios, Red Bank; for the VIntage microphone.

Fashion Forward II

2006-10-26T20:37:00.000-07:00

Click on any photo to enlarge it.

1)Makeup artist Dina, stylist Jersey and hair stylist Sarah on the fire escape of the theatre. 2) Models Steven and Chanue wait during a photo op outside. 3) Models Julia, Chanue and Irsida. 4) Photo assistant Treola strikes a pose so photographer Jim (not pictured) can check the lighting.

Fashion Forward III

2006-10-26T20:35:00.000-07:00

Click on any photo to enlarge it.

1) Model Julia shows off her sweeping up-do. 2) Photographer Jim, art assistant Megan, and style assistant Deana fawn over model Chanue. 3) Jim photographs Irsida and Julia. 4) Photographers Keith and Jim engage in tomfoolery while setting up an outdoor shot.

Fashion Forward IV

2006-10-26T20:32:00.000-07:00

Click on any photo to enlarge it.

1) Megan poses in a beaded leather jacket with fox collar by Escada COST:$10,550. And check out her right wrist -- that's a platinum antique diamond bracelet courtesy of Gem of an Idea. COST: $20,000. She was in charge of wearing that bracelet all day and guarding it with her life. 2) Jersey gets model Steven ready for the first shot of the day. 3) Models Irsida and Steven chat while Julia gets her hair and makeup done. 4) Stylist Jersey and Deana get racks of clothes ready for the shoot.

This is where I tell you what to watch.

2006-10-01T22:59:00.000-07:00

Dude, what are you watching Monday nights at 10 p.m.? Ok let me rephrase that -- you need to be watching "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip." Ok, listen to me. You NEED to be watching this show.

All the reviews said it was going to be great but, personally, I rarely listen to what critics say. If I like something, I watch it -- even if others think it's crap.

So here I was, trying to decide between my regular show, "CSI: Miami" or this new show from the peeps who did "West Wing." I decided I'd give "Studio 60" a shot. I loved "West Wing" and even now can watch continuous reruns on BRAVO.

At 2 a.m., I settled in to watch "Studio 60" on Tivo. I went in with low expectations. I mean, it couldn't be as great as "The West Wing" ... could it?

Well, one word: AWESOME.

That's right Jersey folk, you need to give this show a try. It's smart, witty, well written and has Matthew Perry, my favorite "Friend." What more could you ask for?

Now you are asking, "You keep blathering on about this show, but what the heck is it about?" Take SNL and move it to L.A. and call it "Studio 60." Next, the creator of the show has a "Network"-style breakdown. (Remember "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore.") Now, get Matthew Perry and Bradley Whitford (who were fired from this very show years ago) to come in and run "Studio 60." Nice.

Now, listen. I don't tell people to watch things often, as my tastes are all over the place. I know only two shows have aired, and there's a chance it might suck tonight (I totally doubt it!). But if "West Wing" is any indication, this has the potential to be big. And I'm not talking last two seasons "West Wing" big, I'm talking season two cliffhanger finale 'Josh in the ER this is insane' awesome.

So set those VCRs and DVRs (or get someone who know how to do it) to record this show. I think the critics got this one right: "Studio 60" might just have what it takes to knock out "CSI: Miami" in this battle royale on Monday nights. And if not, I just hope it doesn't get the boot mid-season to make room for something really depressing. Like a reality show where people have to eat bugs to win prizes. ... Oh, yeah. too late.

On the Tivo: Cold Case

New house on the block

2006-09-19T17:46:00.000-07:00

My friend is buying a house.

A house. I can't image looking for a house, much less buying one.

As I sat on an early Saturday morning (3 a.m.), it hit me. I'm getting older. Not that it's a bad thing, but I'm not 17 anymore.

Of all the stuff they teach you in high school and college, none of them prepares you for getting older. Literally. For that moment when you realized you're not a kid anymore and you have responsibilities and choices to make. I wish they taught "GETTING OLDER 101" and "LIFE CHOICES 313." That would have been more useful than Algebra 301.

I can't live like a college student forever. And I probably shouldn't. My friends are getting married, having babies, buying houses, settling down and putting down roots.

Well, some of them are, and then there the people like me.

We rent apartments, we're single or just dating, we're not looking to get married or to settle down anytime soon. We don't want to take care of a yard or mortgage, or think about staying in anyplace for too long. For some that's a year, for others it's five. No matter -- we just don't put down roots.

So back to my friend, he told me out of the blue he's buying a house. (Sorry, even now I'm in a state of shock.) I didn't know what to say. It's not like buying a car or an iPod. It's a freaking house.

I asked him how this happened. He said he liked his job, it is near family and friends, and he likes the people he works with. But most of all that he really wanted to do it. I'm really proud and exited that he's building a life in a place he enjoys.

But at that moment I realized I wasn't in the position to buy a house. I wouldn't even know what to do with a house. Who would work on the yard? I would need to hire a gardener. I can't even keep an apartment clean; if I had a house it would be a complete mess.

So for now, I'm foregoing the gardener, the maid and the house, and sticking to paying rent.

I know at some point I'll put down roots and, who knows, maybe I'll even like working in the yard. OK, I'll end up with a gardener ... who are we kidding?

On the TV: MI-5 (Never watched the show, but I hear it's good.)

Wherefore art thou TIVO?

2006-09-17T04:32:00.000-07:00

OK, here's the thing. I was going to write about the anniversary of Katrina or about 9/11 five years later. But saying I was going to write about those and actually being able to is another thing. Give me some time, and I'll tell you about it. But after a long month let's talk about something fun.

I'm currently cheating on someone I really care about.

Yes that's right. I'm cheating on iPod.

With Tivo.

I worked up the courage to get Tivo after months of longingly reading the Web site and studying the features and discounts available.

I wanted to make sure I was ready for the commitment -- to take that next step and build a longterm relationship with a new electronic device.

Then it happened: My VCR started to show signs of wear and tear.

So one sleep deprived night, I ordered Tivo, thus ending my eight-year relationship with the VCR. But the separation would take weeks, until Tivo arrived on my door one Wednesday afternoon.

Now, I'm a tech-savvy person. I become one with most electronics the moment they're out of the box. Not Tivo, oh no. The box said it would be a 20-minuet setup. LIARS!

It ended up taking two people and four hours.

I tried every possible combination, I plugged and re-plugged cables and went though the menus again and again. And I got NOTHING, nothing but an error message! I had to get to work, so I left the BFF and her mom (my house guest at the time) to see if she could get it to work.

Hours later, I called home and she had gotten it up and running. How, you ask? She has no idea. She just plugged and moved cables and changed numbers and kept pressing buttons on the remote. And viola, Tivo.

Now, less than a month later, I question how I lived without it for so long. And like Netflix, the more you tell Tivo your interests, likes and dislikes, the better it knows you. It's almost like it's reading my thoughts.

I just hope it doesn't figure out I'm sneaking around it's back, with digital cable and On Demand.

ON TIVO: "Friends"

Look. More photos.

2006-08-10T10:30:00.000-07:00

Listen, I told you I take a lot of photos. So while I try to get back onto a regular bloggin' schedule, please enjoy these random photos of the Jersey Shore. I couldn't sleep one morning while the heat wave was in full effect. So I headed to the beach around 9 a.m. before it got really hot, armed with a camera and $7 for a beach badge. Here are some of the photos. Enjoy.

On TV: Mr. & Mrs. Smith

Leaving Atlantic City

2006-07-16T19:37:00.000-07:00

Insert 20 bucks, clink, clink, clink, lights flash, clink, bet, hit button, hit button, hit button, clink, hit button, bet, hit button, clink, I'm up, clink, clink, bet, hit button, I'm losing, flashing lights, clink, hit button, you get to go fishing, win, win, clink, clink, clink, place bet, hit button, hit button, hit button, flashing lights, must keep hitting button, clink, click, clink, clink, I'm winning, lots of numbers on the screen, How much is that, must keep betting, must keep hitting button, must keep winning, lots of numbers, winning, clink, losing, bet, losing, hitting button, losing, losing, hit button, hit button, lights flashing, must keep hitting shiny button, must hear the clink sound, losing, losing, losing, losing, I can win it back, hit button, hit button, hit button, numbers dwindling, hit button, losing, losing, I can't be losing, numbers almost gone, numbers gone. They can't be gone, I just had oh ... no, I just lost ... oh no. Nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach. Think I might vomit. Where's Mom? I want my mommy. I want to go home.

So what was all that, you ask? That was an account of my last trip to Atlantic City. Before the state was shut down and gambling not allowed for a week, my mom and I headed to AC for the day. It was supposed to be a short day trip -- you know, see the boardwalk, buy some saltwater taffy, gamble A LITTLE, have a nice meal and be back at a reasonable hour.

Yeah, not so much. We did everything we had on our agenda, but then we decided to go gamble some more after dinner. This was at 8 p.m. We headed back to the Tropicana's casino for more slots. And if you can believe it, I was seduced by a fishing-themed slot machine. I was enamored with the graphics, and loved "going fishing." It's insane how quickly I learned to love fishing for gold.

Now, before I knew it, I was losing money and wanted to leave. Let's not get into numbers, but say it was a learning experience. OK, so that's what my mom called it. She also said we're no longer taking a trip to Las Vegas. And that next time the BFF is to hold my wallet, and $20 is all I'm allowed to spend. Oh, and as we exited the casino, my mom told me it was past midnight. We still had a two-hour drive ahead of us.

So what did I learn from this: 1) don't take your ATM card to AC unless you have some crazy willpower; 2) if you always have to wait to be seated at a restaurant in the casino, then why is there not more seating? 3) the exit to GSP North is right after the toll booth, make sure you're in the right lane or that you have a map and 4) always listen to your mother ... or at least my mother!

Where's the queso?

2006-06-28T13:01:00.000-07:00

I'm hungry.

I want queso.

I want fresh tortillas.

But the food I want is nowhere near me. I don't mean it's not within walking distance, or driving distance. Heck, it's not even in this part of the U.S.

What I want is Taco Cabana (TacoC as we call it), a 24-hour fast food Tex-Mex restaurant in Austin. Yes, people: Austin, Texas. I want queso, fresh tortillas, refried beans and chicken flamente. (Yes, fresh food made 24 hours a day. FRESH.) Oh great, now my mouth is watering.

Does this happen to anyone else? It has to; it can't only be me.

You move to a new place and really want something to eat -- the only problem what you want is in another state. And I don't mean Philly or NYC; I mean Florida, California and Texas. The pack a suitcase, get a boarding pass and have a flight attendant ask you what kind of drink you want kind of travel. That's what I would have to do to get me some TacoC. ***big sigh***

I figured this would eventually pass, that my mind would stop craving something I have no chance of getting. But NOPE!

So what do you do when this happens? You look for something else and try to find a suitable replacement. I've tried to find alternatives to my cravings, but so far no luck. Not a lot of chicken fried chicken (NO, it's not the same as fried chicken), or chicken fried steak in these parts. Not a lot of Tex-Mex either. Like I've said before, finding queso up North is like finding the Holy Grail. And don't even get me started on barbecue. ***bigger sigh***

Seeking a replacement works ... for a while. You enjoy the local fare and tell yourself you don't really "need" barbecue. Then one day you're sitting there eating your pizza and realize something. You don't want anymore stinkin' pizza. You want queso. You want tacos. You want chicken fried chicken.

And that day, kids, was today. ***biggest sigh***

So, as I look into getting a plane ticket to Austin so I can go to dinner, remember this: Chicken fried chicken is not the same as fried chicken. Trust me.

On the iPod: The Beatles, "1"

The pickup artist

2006-06-22T11:41:00.000-07:00

Three girls walk into a bar ...

No really. That's not the start of a joke, but the beginning to my story of why guys should not use pickup lines anymore. Three girls -- the Brooklyn girl, the Jersey girl (me) and the Texas girl -- walk into a bar in Park Slope. (OK, so we're all originally from Texas and went to school together in Austin, but for the sake of the story that's how I'm identifying us.)

We sit at a corner booth that faces the bar and settle in. It's nearing 1 a.m. Brooklyn girl's friend comes up and starts chatting with us, and it seems like a quiet night. Then this happens.

A boy (at least an 8 out of 10) in a button-down white shirt and tattered jeans gets up from the bar. He saunters over to our table and looks at Texas friend sandwiched between Brooklyn friend and I. With a straight face and total honesty the dude asks, "Do you come here often?"

SERIOUSLY? I bite my tongue. I hold back the laughter. This guy didn't just use one of the oldest pickup lines on our friend -- in front of three other people? But ever the lady, Texas friend looks at him with a straight face and says "no." Brooklyn friend, who is able to hold laughter back better than I am, answers with a simple, "She's from Texas."

In my head I'm thinking, "What the hell? I just picked her us from JFK less than six hours ago. Hello, no she doesn't come here often. Can't you think of a better pickup line? COME ON!"

Then he rambles on about the bartender being from Texas, that someone else at the bar wanted to know, that blah, blah, blah. I was too busy trying not to bust out with laughter to really pay any attention to him at this point.

All the while Brooklyn girl's friend had this look on his face. You know the look. The "dude, your striking out; leave before this gets any worse" look.

The boy returns to the bar, and Texas girl losses it. She starts laughing and buries her face in my shoulder so he doesn't hear her. We all look at each other and start to laugh. This wouldn't have been so bad if the guy in the white shirt didn't make an encore appearance. That's right, people, he came back for seconds.

Less than 10 minutes later the guy is in front of us again. Now he claims he didn't mean to hit on Texas girl, he was just asking a question. Right. People, how many times at a bar do you ask someone "Do you come here often?" I make it a point not to. It's one of those bad lines like: "How do you like your eggs in the morning?" or "What's your sign?"

He mumbles about stuff again and then leaves us. You know, he was really good looking, but after that line, he was downgraded. The ladies agreed: It wasn't just a cheesy moment; it was a Cheese Wiz moment.

So, people, what have we learned today? Ladies, if a man asks you this question, politely hold back the laughter. And, gentlemen, try not to use these lines anymore. Like so many other things these days, your words might end up on someone's blog. ***Wicked smile springs from me*** Or commented about on MySpace pages for weeks and weeks and weeks.

By the way, "Do you come here often?" The blog I mean.

On TV: Wolfmother video, "Woman"

Party hearty marty

2006-06-13T20:05:00.000-07:00

As a reformed party girl, I'm trying to be on my best behavior while being led into temptation. As I'm trying to break my bad college habits, I find living near the Jersey Shore in the summer a constant lure.

Growing up in Austin I had 6th Street -- a legendary seven blocks of bars/clubs (one right after another), restaurants and shops. That doesn't even include the Warehouse District or Red River sections that border 6th Street. I think there are more than 100 bars within walking distance.

I know bars/clubs are everywhere no matter how large or small the city. But living here presents a problem. There are three, yes THREE, states I could party in.

To people from here, that may not seem like a big deal, but remember, in Austin you have to drive an hour just to get to San Antonio. It takes a whole day to get out of the freakin' state.

When people invade the shore, I head north to the City or west to Philly for salvation.

I don't have to drive; I can simply take the train to NYC. And before you know it, I'm in the Lower East Side having a vodka sour or in Chelsea getting another shot from the cute Irish bartender. (Ah, memories.)

Then again, I could stay with the Bennie and party at the shore. Which is always amusing.

Everyone told me things would change at the shore during the summer.

Then I saw for myself: more people flooded the beaches, and stores and restaurants that were once closed opened their doors. Then there were the fugly men in Speedos roaming the beaches. (Yuck, memories.)

So this summer ... I may not be able to escape the Bennies but I can try to escape the tequila shots.

On the iPod: Red Hot Chili Peppers, "Dani California"

In Vince I Trusted

2006-06-04T23:30:00.000-07:00

Off on a tangent #79 Break-ups shouldn't be this bad

SPOILER ALERT: IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN "THE BREAK-UP" AND PLAN ON DOING SO, THEN DON'T READ THIS NEW POST. OR READ IT AND GO SEE "X-MEN" AGAIN -- Y'ALL WILL THANK ME LATER!

The break-up was bad.
No, not my break-up. I didn't break up with anyone.
I mean the movie. "The Break-Up." It was bad.

Now listen. I like chick flicks, I like Vince Vaughn, and I can even tolerate Jennifer Aniston at times -- but this movie . Half the time I was rooting for Vaughn to dump her and the rest of the time wishing someone else was acting opposite him. I decided at this moment that Aniston is not a good actress; she's the same person in all her movies. Maybe she was meant to be Rachel, and that's all.

We see an opening montage of the happy couple, laughing, kissing and opening Christmas presents. It got that "ah" factor out of me, but that soon quickly faded as the movie went on. The more I watched, the less I believed they could ever be in a committed relationship -- much less for two years. I know opposites attract, but they were beyond opposite -- they were wrong for each other.

So why am I blogging about this?
1) I go to an abundance of movies; they're my way of escaping from life. Some watch TV, some go to the gym, some drink. I go to the movies.
2) Sometimes you'll see yourself a little in one of the characters. I spent the first half of the movie rooting for Vaughn and the last half siding with her -- I should have bought a bigger ICEE.

So get some popcorn, a large coke, and some Goobers; the break up's about to begin.

Vince Vaughn as Gary Grobowski: I sat there and agreed with a good number of things he said, thinking to myself, "Shouldn't I be siding with Aniston?" Nope. I was with him. They could do the dishes later, and the apartment was big enough for a pool table (he wanted one; she said when they got a bigger place). She wanted him to go to the ballet with her; he hated the ballet -- why didn't she take one of her friends who actually liked "Swan Lake"? When she broke up with him, I thought "there it is, your out, run, don't look back, forget about the condo. RUN." But then it hit me. He didn't do anything she wanted, he didn't take her feelings into account, he didn't "get" her. So I spent the next part of the movie wanting him to realize what was going on, for the light bulb to go off above his head. Oh, and that guys suck.

Jennifer Aniston as Brooke Meyers: As I watched the first half of the movie, I found myself wanting her to shut up and stop whining. Seriously, "Baby wanted 12 lemons for a centerpiece." Twelve lemons. Who does she think she is -- Martha Stewart? She "wanted him to want to do the dishes." I'm with Vaughn: "No one wants to do the dishes." But then I saw myself in her; I was the scorned ex who wanted payback and acted immature, who obsessed about it, rather than letting go and moving on. I was the one who wept and had nothing else to give in the relationship. At that moment, I called the BFF to apologize for my behavior. (She was one of the people who had to hear about all that crap.) I didn't mean to be a nut. And to all the other BFFs from puberty on: I owe y'all a drink, or several. I never meant to be "that girl."

So where does this leave us? I'll skip Aniston-heavy movies, and instead watch "Friends" reruns on TBS. I still believe in Vaughn. I mean he did do "Wedding Crashes" and "Swingers." He did teach us about being, "So money." But I wish he had bought baby the 12 lemons; maybe then the movie would have ended sooner.

Can't wait for: "Entourage" Season 3 to premiere next Sunday

Beach Badge Bingo

2006-05-30T22:22:00.000-07:00

"You have to pay to go to the beach?" screeched the BFF over the cell phone. "I thought you would have to pay for parking, but the beach?"

"You have to pay," said the friend from Brooklyn. "We don't really need to go to the beach."

"Seriously," said my mom as I told here we would need to pay to go to the beach. "Seriously?"

I think y'all get the point. People don't understand why we buy beach badges to go onto the Jersey Shore. And honestly I don't know why either. Which makes it even harder to explain it to friends and family.

The first time my peeps from the City came to hang out I had to explain the infamous beach badge. And believe me, there were way more questions than answers.

See I used to live in Florida, and I'm sort of spoiled when it comes to beaches. The water is warm and the parking is pretty reasonable. Ah, the good old days of St. Pete beach and Treasure Island . Then there was Miami Beach and Key West -- you can see how I would get spoiled. And even though Austin is land locked, I spent my summers on the Gulf Coast in Corpus Christi. Not to mention I've been to the beaches in California.

So I'm no newbie when it comes to the shore, just one when it comes to Jersey's. Even today, as I headed to the beach, I found myself standing on the opposite side of the boardwalk talking to the BFF on my cell phone.

That's when she screeched, "You have to pay to go to the beach?" Again, I tried to explain the badges and the traffic and the bennies.

That's when I agreed with her that it sucked. Then recanted, "I'll get a season pass or whatever it's called; it'll be cheaper in the long run." At least I hope so.

Season Beach Badge: $50
Tank of gas: $30
Train ticket to NYC: $20
A summer escaping bennies on the Jersey Shore: Priceless

Song I can't get out of my head: Pussy Cat Dolls, "Buttons"

And it begins ...

2006-05-28T22:37:00.000-07:00

It has begun.
When "the others" begin to invade us.
When they start to take over our restaurants, our shops, and our parking spaces.
Yes, my friends, it has begun.

The invasion of ... the bennies.
At least with the invasion of the Fantanas, I get surgary orange soda. But with the bennies, I mostly just get a headache. OK, so they are not all that bad, but seriously, can you not block the driveway?

Now y'all know what I'm talking about. People tried to warn me about it; they told me it would change in the summer. They tried to tell me that the Shore would magically triple in population during the summer.

I didn't listen.

I figured it would be no big deal; I mean I did go to the largest university in the United States with more than 50,000 students and 20,000 faculty and staff. So what were a few more people during the summer, right?

Wrong! Totally wrong.

I really had no idea. They seem to come from everywhere and invade everything. So to help you with the summer, here are some tidbits I've learned about the Jersey Shore:

1) Speedos should be reserved for professional swimmers and water polo players. Really, guys, board shorts are so much nicer.
2) Guys, those girls didn't date you in college or high school -- please give it up. It doesn't matter how many hurricanes they've had. No, really, I hear the stories and then I might blog about them. You wouldn't want that, would you?
3) The "frat daddy" quota nearly triples during the summer. Now, don't get me wrong, I have some dear friends who were in frats, so I'm not dissing frats. You ladies know what I mean when I say "frat daddy" they're a specific breed of "gentleman."
4) Beware of drunken people walking down the streets in dark clothing coming back from bars on Main Street. No, really, you never know when one might slide off the sidewalk.
5) And finally -- if all else fails, take the train to the City and invade their territory. It's what I do.

On iTunes: "Almost Famous" Soundtrack

The greatest (fashion) show on earth

2006-05-19T18:31:00.000-07:00

I ran off and joined the circus.

Ok, I didn't. But I did hang out with Ringling Bros. on the latest Good Life magazine fashion shoot. Elephants and zedonks and models. Oh my!

We (designers, photographers, editors, stylist, models) headed to Trenton last Thursday to meet with the circus. Once there, we had two hours to set up and then less than five hours between the two performances to get everything shot. A normal shoot (not including set-up time) can go for more than seven hours, but this had to be done quickly. In that small amount of time, we needed to get 10 intricate shots: Some shots called for performers, others included animals, all had beautiful clothing.

So without giving too much away, here's a behind-the-scenes sneak peak at the upcoming fall fashion spread.

Beth walkie talkies to the art director to see when the models are needed on the floor. On top of her head sit three hats that will be used in a later shot.
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Our model, Nadia, gets prepped by stylists and hair and make-up upstairs in the skybox at Sovereign Bank Arena.
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Models, Eileen and Nadia meet with Hercules (Joszef Pakucza) before the first shot of the day.
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Model, Nadia, flips though the current issue of Good Life while chatting with the art director, Harris, before the elephants are brought to the main stage.
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The three models, Eileen, Nadia and Alex, are introduced to the elephants under the supervision of their trainers.
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Zelda, a zedonk, her trainer, Adam and model, Eileen, pose for the last shot of the day. A zedonk is half zebra, half donkey.

Heard at the circus: Gwen Stefani's "Rich Girl" done like musack

Where is Broad Street?

2006-05-17T08:45:00.000-07:00

Off on a tangent
Issue #20 Philly state of mind

I know, I know. I haven't blogged in a while. And much like "my dog ate my homework," my excuse is just as lame. I've been busy and tired. I know, I know. I can hear my mom saying, "That's no excuse, young lady."

Well Mom, you're right. So why have I been tired? Well work has been hectic, as has my personal life. So here's a little story of why yours truly is so tired. It started last year when the BFF decided to go back to grad school and applied to places all over the U.S. She recently accepted an opening at a school right outside of Philly.

So last weekend BFF, BFF's mom and I had a single mission -- find her an apartment in three days. Simple, right? I mean, I found mine in a couple of hours; I was totally sure we would be able to do this. It was going to be an adventure: We would see her school, meet some of her future classmates and see a bell. We were in Philly after all, where they keep the history.

Here you go, the Cliffs notes version of my weekend in Philly. Get some popcorn and settle in:

1) I get directions off Google Local that say I would be there in about and hour and a half. I proceed to throw whatever is clean into a suitcase, get my keys and go. I follow the directions all the way into Penn., no problem. But then it tells me to exit at 309. 309? Really? Wait, 309 would put me near Hershey, Pa. That's no good. I look at the map, I look at the directions, I look at the map again. There has to be a mistake. I finally realize that 309 is not an exit number but a highway. Awesome.

2) We constantly get lost. It seems like the roads change names even when all you do is go straight. It's like *poof* sorry the street you were on just expired; enjoy your ride on the new street. Half the time it seemed like the map didn't even match the city.

3) We go to this restaurant named Houlihan's that I proceed to constantly call hooligans. We were meeting one of her new classmates, and I looked like a dork constantly calling the restaurant hooligans. Hum ... that would be an interesting name for a place. Scalawags and hooligans. Anyways, BFF and BFF's mom went to the ladies room, leaving me to sit with the new classmate all alone. On any other day I would have tried to make polite conversation or at least asked a half decent question to jump-start the dialogue. But oh no, not that day -- that day I had the verbal skills of Beavis and Butthead. I think I mumbled something about being tired; I'm not too sure. So there we sat in that awkward silence looking away from each other. Rockin'. Because that's the kind of impression I need to make on a dude I'll be seeing for the next two years. Way to go Lucy.

4) We see the history -- OK, so we see the outside of Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell from the side of the road. Both are cool. You know, you look up, stare at the old stuff, think about our founding fathers and all that stuff.

5) They leave at 5 a.m. to go to the airport. I decided to wait in philly until 11 a.m. Know why? IKEA. Yes, people, I stayed in Philly just to go to IKEA. I was already there, I figured I would go and spend more of that money I don't have and should be saving for gas. But, much like MySpace, the place is addictive. I'm like a junkie feeding a fix in that store. And let me tell you, shopping at IKEA on three hours of sleep is never good. You think you need all that crap from the Market Place, but you don't really need rubber ice trays shaped like stars. You really don't.

So you're asking, "What about the apartment?" Well, we found her one, and it's really cute and really inexpensive. What every college students need, plus it's near the train, so we can avoid that whole getting stuck in the circle around City Hall in Center City again. (Remember that scene from "National Lampoon's European Vacation"? That's pretty much what it was like.)

OK, enough about Philly; the next one will be about Jersey. I promise. I know y'all are laughing at me thinking 309 was the exit, but come on, like I knew they meant Exit 339. And I know it's long, but I am making up for the dog eating my blog. You know what I mean.

On the iPod: Nothing; it needs to be charged.

Pretzel with a side of drama, please

2006-05-09T21:31:00.000-07:00

OFF ON A TANGENT
Isssue #33 So the drama

This whole drama thing was supposed to stop in high school.

No, seriously guys, why hasn't the "Laguna Beach" drama ended?

I thought the older I got the less drama-filled my days would be. The less crap I would have to deal with, leaving me to think about more serious matters -- like how to pay for gas.

But oh, no. The drama has not left; it's just had a facelift.

Gone is the high school clique, college drunken nights, parents not understanding you during your teen years drama. Gone is the US vs. THEM of high school drama -- here to say it the US vs. LIFE drama.

So you're asking where all this is coming from. Well, while at the mall this weekend I found someone who was as sick and tired of "the drama" as I was.

"Drama," the girl behind the counter said, while shaking her head and handing me a plain pretzel. "I thought it would end after high school."

She gave a hopeful look my direction, as if being older I might have some words of wisdom. I didn't.

"I thought it would end after college," I said while taking my $1.23 in change. "But apparently it's always going to be like an episode of 'The OC.' "

She smirked and gave a little head nod before returning to talk to her co-worker.

DRAMA is more and more becoming a dirty five-letter word that seems to stick with us long after high school and college end. I foolishly thought it would stop, or at least simmer down, after I entered the real world. I was wrong.

At times I find my life to mirror a telenovela. You know, those Univision soaps where everything is ultra dramatic and in a language I don't understand. Much like my own life. Good thing I don't have a gardener, or I would really be in trouble.

If pretzel place girl is reading this, just remember you may have drama, but it's not as bad as 'The OC.' Unless your gold digger of a mom is sleeping with your ex-boyfriend who beat up your current boyfriend whose best friend is in love with your best friend. If that's the case, I can only give you this advice: buy Phantom Planet's "The Guest" so you can have a theme song, and make sure Ryan is wearing a clean wife beater.

On the Ipod: Better than Ezra, "Friction Baby"

Lucy + iPod 4 EVER

2006-05-07T23:07:00.000-07:00

In the last couple of days I've gotten a lot of comments on my blog profile information. Manly on how I can be in a committed relationship with an iPod.

The thing is, I'm finding more and more of my friends in committed relationships with technology.

I have to wonder if this is a product of our environment. If my generation is looking elsewhere for commitment when our relationships go south.

My friend's in a serious relationship with her laptop; they have been together for years. One night I admitted my love for iPod to her, and she in turn told me it was OK, that she too had a love, and it's name was iBook.

Another is in the honeymoon stage with her new record player. Before that, she was in a committed relationship with her MP3 player. Now, she scours the streets of NYC early Saturday mornings for vinyl to spin. Every time she plays a new record, her eyes widen like a child's on Christmas morning. She loves her record player, and it loves her.

iPod and I found each other when I moved to Jersey. I finally found him at the Target in Howell last year. It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

We go everywhere together, the train, the subways, the laundromat, the grocery store and even work. I buy him accessories and fill his hard drive with music. I make sure his battery is charged and have him protected in a case.

In return he gives me unconditional love and music.

And like a marriage certificate, we have a binding legal contract. If he ever stops playing music or hurts me, I can have him fixed or replaced. That's more than I can say for my exes.

Now, you're asking what this has to do with Jersey?

Until I moved here, I didn't have iPod, and I didn't think I really needed one. Then I took my first trek on the trains, and I knew I had to get one. It was further confirmed when I rode the subways in the City.

It's moving here that pushed me to get iPod -- and honestly I don't know how I lived without him for so long.

On the iPod: Death Cab for Cutie, "Transatlanticism"

Worth a thousand words ...

2006-05-02T21:16:00.000-07:00

Random Jersey Photos

I have this bad habit of carrying a camera around with me wherever I go. To the point where I was nicknamed "stalker-azzi" by some fellow interns a few years ago. I'm one of "those" people who take photos at any moment, not just birthdays and holidays. You never know when you'll need a picture of bagels in a suitcase. (See below.) So, it's only natural I give you these five random photos and the Jersey stories behind them.

I don't know what these pink flowering trees are, but they're beautiful. They're blooming everywhere I go. I love them, but I wonder if I'm allergic to them, like everything else in Jersey. No really, I have some serious allergies, to the point where my doctor said I was allergic to the whole freakin' state.

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Funny story. On a recent trip to Jersey, my mom's coworkers requested she bring them back "real bagels." We ordered three dozen from Bagels International in Bradley Beach and picked them up only hours before she needed to be at the airport. After they were packed into plastic bags, we put them into regular shopping bags for her to carry on. We realized it was a lost cause, so I offered up my suitcase to her. She got some strange looks from security checkpoints and I got some bad news: My luggage smelled of onion. Yuck!

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Florida plates that say "I MISS TX" in the Jersey snow. So totally me.

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While on the Good Life fashion shoot last year, we photographed the models sitting on a plane. Here, the art and photo directors, with the help of a kid, pushed the plane in place.

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When I first moved here, I stayed in Jersey City for a while. I took this randomly from a pier before boarding the Path Train to Manhattan for the first time.

On the iPod: Steve Perry, "Greatest Hits"

You are overdrawn ...

2006-04-30T22:14:00.000-07:00

Off on a tanget
Issue #98: Debt sucks

I really needed that shirt. Oh, and those concert tickets, and, all that girly-stuff from Sophora. No really, I did. And all those purchases from iTunes are totally necessary.

OK, they aren't, but that's what I tell myself when I have to look at my bank statement each month. Even now I'm getting chills down my spine just thinking about it.

So here's the thing about being in your 20s. It seems no matter what we do, we're always in debt.

I don't know if it's our failure to see the big picture, massive student loans, the constant need to upgrade our technology, or just our inability to balance a checkbook that's left many of us in this situation.

A good number of my friends have been able to save money, but it's been an uphill battle to do so. We're constantly bled dry with all of the post-college expenses of moving, job hunting, graduate school or simply trying to stay afloat in this economy. (Not to mention gas prices!)

Some (including I) have given up going out to dinner, to bars -- actually, going out period -- in hopes of saving something. Anything. Just realizing how much money I threw down on beer and vodka while in the City freaked me out. Now I'm dryer than the prohibition.

I know what some people are saying. We don't know the value of a dollar. We need to learn to save better. We need to learn to spend wisely.

Well let me tell you.

I KNOW. I KNOW. I KNOW THIS ... NOW.

It took more than 10 years for me to grasp this concept.

It's like an unending cycle of pain. Just when you think you've paid off all the bills, some "life event" screws up your plans -- and there you are, giving up beer again to save money.

Even the BFF who's known for her wise monetary investments is going to be like me soon --because of grad school. "Being poor sucks. I'm not even broke yet, and I can sense the pain," she said. Grad school is a money hungry machine that takes everything you've got, and then asks for your first-born.

So here I am, realizing I didn't need that shirt or all that makeup. What I needed was to be out of debt so I could lease a car or think about buying a home. Maybe I didn't need those tickets to the Foo Fighters ... well, I did need those.

On the iPod: Ashley Parker Angel, "Let U Go"

I have gas problems

2006-04-28T00:28:00.000-07:00

Most of the time, 26 doesn't feel old to me; then again most times I'm not talking about gas prices. When it comes to that topic, I feel freaking ancient.

See, I remember the good old days (imagine me in a rocking chair, knitting) when I could fill my tank for fewer than 20 bucks. Then again, at the time, I was also listening to alternative music, wearing flannel and waxing poetic with Angela Chase.

Simply put, I was in high school and had just gotten my drivers license. It was a rite of passage, as was learning the value of a dollar each time I went to the pump.

Plus, you get to play that game where you see if you can get the price to be exactly $5.00 ... $10.00 ... $35.00. It's a fun game; I got really good at it in college.

So a little more than 10 years later, I feel like I'm getting robbed each time I fill my tank.

In fact, I feel like the frat guys in "Animal House." Thank you sir, may I have another?

So what does this all have to do with Jersey? Well beyond soaring gas prices that leave me choosing between filling up and buying groceries, I find myself feeling awk-weird every time I go to the pump.

Why you ask? Simple. I'm not allowed to pump my own gas.

Now listen, I know you guys are used to it, but it's weird for me. W-E-I-R-D.

First off, when someone else pumps my gas in Austin, it's because I'm in a full service station. Where they also check the fluids in my car, wash the windows and check the air in the tires. You pay more for the service and tip the attendant.

The thing is, finding a full service station in Austin is like finding the Holy Grail, the diamond in the rough, queso in Jersey. It's impossible.

While in Jersey, there's always a good chance I'll forget and start to get out of my car. In turn, I'll get peculiar looks and slowly pretend that I needed something from the convenience store. (I didn't really need those CornNuts, but I'll take them.)

It really boggles the mind of visiting friends and family. I tried explaining it to my mom, but it was about as successful as explaining a jug handle. (Another thing I just don't get, AT ALL!)

She asked all the same questions I did. "Do you tip them? Do they check the tires? Why do they do this? Does gas cost more or less because of it? Can we tip them? Will they check the oil?"

All great questions, and I had the same answer for all.

"I don't know."

So today as I filled up the tank for $30 I realized something -- who needs groceries this week anyways? Good thing I bought those CornNuts.

On TV: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Let the fighting begin ...

2006-04-25T09:03:00.000-07:00

There are a few controversial issues I don't like talking about; I always end up in fights, and that's just not healthy for friendships. In fact I make it a rule not to talk about politics, religion or the death penalty. I believe people have the right to their own opinions and beliefs, but seriously, I don't want to get into it.

That said, I'm about to do something I hate. Talk about a controversial issue. I'm about to unleash Pandora's box. I'm sorry.

So here we go: dating in the workplace.

There, I said it. I mean it's no TomKat, but it's a controversial topic. Everyone's got an opinion. Everyone. It doesn't matter what your age, race, sexual orientation or gender are, because this topic is universal.

A good number of people I know are PDC (pro dating co-workers) and ADC (against dating co-workers).

PDCs are totally for it; they date co-workers (or are willing too) and don't feel it's a problem. Some say it's never an issue if they work with their significant other; it's great to have them around and see so much of each other. Sure working with them 'could' cause problems, but so could a lot of things. You have to work at it, just like other relationships. Many say it's the PDA levels they need to watch at work, as kissy-kissy face can lead to a gag reflex among co-workers.

ADCs say they'll never do it (or do it again); dating a co-worker is just never a good idea. Things can end up messy. Seeing someone for that much time can drive you mad or lead you to more drinking. (No really, people have told me that.) What happens if one of you has more power or status in the workplace? What happens if you break up -- could you bring yourself to still work with them? It's not like you could "just avoid them" or ship them to a small island off the coast of Guam.

Then there are people like me who straddle the fence.

I'm not saying I would, but I'm not saying I wouldn't. I've seen it go both ways.

One of the best couples I know met at work (years and years ago) and got engaged recently. Back in the day, I saw them interact in and out of the work place and it gave me hope. They somehow found a balance, as she was in charge of the place and he was an underling.

Then again, I've seen the worst: where the two break-up and hate each other. No, REALLY HATE EACH OTHER and make the environment hostile for everyone. Dude, I never like choosing side, much less at work. Come on, do I really need to be dragged into this?

A good friend put it this way: I don't think anyone is really looking to date a co-worker. It just seems like we fall into it; it's proximity. It happens.

Here's hoping if I do fall, that I land softly.

On the iPod: Damone, "Out Here All Night"

You looked hotter on MySpace

2006-04-23T16:42:00.000-07:00

Off on a tangent:
ISSUE #78 - MySpace

Living away from home you find ways to reconnect and stay in touch with people.

I found salvation in MySpace. But now it seems to have stolen my soul, as I check daily to see if there are new comments, friend requests and blog entries.

Before I moved here, it was one of those things I checked every now and then. But since moving to Jersey, it's become like breathing.

Why has it stolen my soul?

Well, it really hasn't.

But one of my friends told me that, and I'm pretty sure she's right. It seems like all I do is check that freakin' site.

Another told me it was like getting a new toy, you'll play with it for a while and then it'll get boring.

I hope so; I can only be witty on people's comment section for so long.

Have you ever had a random person message you or try to post a comment?

You know, when they look you up because you're in the "area" and they want to say "Hi." But they don't have a picture in their profile and their only friend is Tom. That's a red flag, and the reason "Block User" was invented.

On the iPod: Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs, "Show Your Bones"

Do your thing on the runway.

2006-04-21T08:46:00.000-07:00

There was a catwalk, a DJ, a bar, some food, awards and the press.

No, it wasn't the Oscars, Globes or New York Fashion Week.

This was the NJPA Awards in Trenton last night. That's the New Jersey Press Association for you non-newspaper types.

As a first-place winner, I was extended an invitation to the banquet to receive my award and mingle with peers and, unbeknownst to me, to walk a runway.

Now, from the moment I walked into the place, I knew this was going to have to be a blog. Heck, the journey there made me realize I needed to get this on the Web.

So here we go:

* I leave more than an hour early to get to Trenton. Come on, it's me -- I'm always late, but for some reason not only did I arrive on time, but early. I know. Most of you who know me well might assume that hell has just frozen over.

* I get my nametag and feel underdressed. Guys are in suits, women are in heels; I'm in pants and some flats. Now I know to break out the Kenneth Cole shoes next time.

* I attempt to mingle with people. Here's the problem: I don't really know that many people. (Hello, this was my first social event with other Jersey journalists, and I'm from Texas. Cut me some slack.) As that seems to not work, I go outside and call my friend in the City; I want to make an attempt to at least "look" cool. I don't think it worked.

* Someone I know talks to me and introduces me to other people. Hallelujah. I explain my Southern roots, how to pronounce my last name and the "fried Twinkie." The lights begin to flicker like at an opera house, alerting us to dinner. Pretty fancy.

* The Asbury bunch sit together, and dinner is served. It's chicken, the safety entree; it always is at banquets like these. You know what I'm talking about. The only thing was we couldn't identify the vegetable. It was green and small and oozing some sort of sauce. We asked the waitress what it was; she had to get a menu and still couldn't tell us. I left it on the plate.

* There was a "Woo-Hoo Girl." While one of the Journalist of the Years is awarded and while this guy talks about the war in Iraq and the environment, she woo hoos as loud as possible. Come on, it was a serious moment; you don't "WOO HOO" a serious moment. I don't know who it was, but I figured it was time to cut her off from the bar.

* The awards start, and I don't understand what category is being award. What I did find out: We must walk down a RUNWAY to get our award. Yeah, you read that right. Us journalist types strutted our stuff to get our award after our names were called, while a DJ spun some tunes. It was strange, but also sort of awesome. It may have not been "Project Runway," but I'll take it.

* Runway moments included four "Entourage" dudes standing on stage and strutting their stuff with their Vincent Chase-like leader, everything from The Beatles to Sean Paul blaring while awardees walked the catwalk, and some dude rockin' the runway -- arms up, award over his head and pumping the crowed up. Dude, you rocked!

I know this is long, but come on -- you know you laughed at the idea of journalists walking a catwalk. And if nothing else, you learned that fried Twinkies exist.

No iPod, but music I heard during the night: Sean Paul, "Temperature"; The Beatles "Hard Days Night"; KC and the Sunshine Band, "Play That Funky Music"; Kenny Loggins, "Footloose"; "Do You Love Me" from "Dirty Dancing" and some sort of techno music (and me without my glow sticks!)

I blog; therefore I am

2006-04-20T08:09:00.000-07:00

I knew at some point this would happen: I would blog about blogging.

So here we go.

I think blogging is like cheap therapy.

No really, I think it's becoming our new version of journaling.

Sometimes you really need to get things off your chest; you just need to put it out there.

And in this day and age, the "there" is becoming the great abyss of the World Wide Web.

There are blogs for everything, and for everyone. I've got friends with photo blogs (she's actually getting her Ph.D. in neuroscience), and photo friends with "word" blogs.

I've seen some by grandparents boasting about their grandkids. And some about travels to exotic lands, like Milwaukee.

But many seem to be about day-to-day life and how people are dealing with pressures of work, school, dating and such.

Now back to the whole cheap therapy thing.

I think in some ways this is awesome. If it helps relieve some of the stress and gets your blood pressure down, that's awesom-rific.

Then again, if you're like me, you could constantly wonder if people are getting the wrong impression of you. You start to wonder, "is this funny, is this too serious, is it too much or to little? Do they 'get' me?"

But if you're like me, you'll end up throwing your hands up and saying "whatever."

The thing about blogging: you're almost always guaranteed to have someone blogging about a worse topic than yours.

Like the dude blogging about Milwaukee.

On the iPod: Lostprophets, "Start something"

Cigars, cigarettes, the Patch?

2006-04-18T00:00:00.000-07:00

LUCY GETS SERIOUS. SERIOUSLY.

"Table for four please."

"Do you want SMOKING or NONSMOKING?"

The girls (smokers) and I (nonsmoker) look at each other dumbfounded and mouths open, all thinking the same thing: "You can smoke in here?" No one says anything, and instead we look at one another in bewilderment.

My friend steps up, "NONSMOKING?"

"How archaic," I thought when this happened last summer. I had no idea until that moment you could even smoke at restaurants anymore. Did they need special permits, did they need air filtration systems, and was it like this everywhere in Jersey?

I figured you could smoke at bars and concert venues; places where most of the money came from liquor sales.

I was wrong. You could smoke almost anywhere, or it seemed like it.

Austin, my hometown, has had a smoking ban for a while. While some of the larger bars and establishments fell under a grandfather clause, others need special air filtration systems to allow smoking in their facilities.

That was until last year, when Austin went smoke free. Now only a handful of places have special permits.

When I moved to the Garden State and was asked, "smoking or nonsmoking," it was more than a little shocking.

I wondered if there were dividing lines between the sections, like when you get mad at a sibling and lay a piece of masking tape on the floor. What was to stop the smoke coming into our area, what did the wait staff think of this, what did patrons think of this?

Now, I can tell some smokers are getting irate with me. But listen, 80 to 90 percent of my friends have smoked at one time or another. I've been in the "smoking sections" of bars, club, diners, bowling alleys and restaurants. I know it's your choice to smoke, and why should it be taken away?

But times, they are a-changing. With new information about smoking, its link to cancer and how harmful secondhand smoke is, is it any wonder the state of New Jersey enacted this smoking ban?

Gone are the days of Joe Camel, smoking on airplanes and cigarettes being recommended by doctors. Instead we have things like truth.com, surgeon general warnings and the Patch.

To all my smoking friends out there who haven't been told this enough this week: Thank you for not smoking.

SERIOUS MOMENT OVER. SERIOUSLY.

On the iPod: Queens of the Stone Age, "Songs for the deaf"

Where are my sesame sticks?

2006-04-16T16:14:00.000-07:00

When the Whole Foods Market opened in Middletown, saying I was ecstatic would be an understatement. Going into a WFM is like being home, if only for a moment.

When I found out, I did what some may call a "happy dance."

I was hoping for things like gelato, raw foods, and sushi and sandwich bars to be included in the floor plans. But then again, when it comes to Whole Foods, I'm somewhat spoiled.

I grew up near the original store in Austin, and as a kid frequented it to get my two favorite snacks: banana chips and sesame sticks. Now, some 25 years after it opened, the remodeled flagship store sits on a city block with underground parking and valet grocery service. Oh and the gelato, raw foods, sandwich and sushi bars are also there.

This made me super happy, but there was one thing that I couldn't escape ...

Now repeat after me: Whole Foods originated in Austin, Texas.

Go on. Repeat it. I'll wait.

Good.

Now, why am I making you do this? Well, it seems on a monthly basis someone tries to tell me or convince me Whole Foods is from California. Now, this happened a few times while I was in Florida, but since moving up here, it's taken on a life of its own.

The conversation usually goes like this, "Dude, you know Whole Foods started in California. It's so West Coast, don't you think so?" Now this is said with so much assurance that challenging them almost seems like a fool's errand.

Hello, my name is Fool.

I then proceed into a diatribe that rivals most political officials. I take a deep breath and go into the whole story: How the original story opened in Austin, how it was a small shack on Lamar in 1980, how it grew into the legend it is now.

It's only when I produce photographical proof of the landmark store and world headquarters at 5th and Lamar (pictued above) that people seemed satisfied. Seriously.

Now, if you excuse me, I have some banana chips calling my name.

On the iPod: Kelly Clarkson, "Breakaway"

Confetti head: An Easter tradition

2006-04-12T22:07:00.000-07:00

In Texas, we have an Easter tradition of making Cascarones.

First off, it's pronounced kas-ka-ron-nes.

What are these gems? They're hollowed out eggshells filled with confetti and designed to be cracked on someone else's head.

This is the moment when you look puzzled, much like I do when people mention pork roll. But trust me -- this is one tradition you'll want to get in on.

The 10-second history: Historians traced their roots to China, where eggshells were filled with perfume power and often given as gifts. Marco Polo then brought them from Asia to Europe. Carlotta, wife of Emperor Maximilian, took them from Europe to Mexico during her husband's rule of Mexico. When in Mexico, the perfume power was replaced with confetti. Then in the 1970s, South Texans revived the tradition, helping it spread through the Southwest.

How do I make these wonderful treats? I'm glad you asked.

What your need: dye color tabs, vinegar, paper towels, spoon, confetti and eggs (*Note: My family will save eggshells all year long to have dozens of Cascarones for Easter. But you can make as many or as few as you want.),

STEP 1: Drain eggs by cutting a small hole in one end of the egg with a kitchen knife. WASH EGG SHELL VERY WELL WITH DISH SOAP/ HANDLE WITH CARE. (TIP: My BFF suggests poking a pin-sized hole at the top end of the egg, and blow the yoak and whites out the larger opening.)

STEP 2: Dye the empty, dry eggshells. You can use the same dye you would for hard-boiled eggs. Just make sure you're gentle with the eggshells. (TIP: Use two or three dye tablets instead of one for more vibrant colors.)

STEP 3: Take your DRY dyed eggshells and get them ready to be stuffed with confetti. The best way is to dump the confetti in a bowl and fill each egg with a spoon or your fingers.

STEP 4 (OPTIONAL): There is some debate about this step. Some, like me, skip this step; others swear by it. Simply take a small piece of tissue paper and glue it to the egg to cover the hole. Let it dry completely.

TIP: Smash the egg in your hand then rub it into the other person's hair. This will optimize confetti coverage.

Now, if I can only get y'all to barbecue on Easter; that would be awesome.

On the iPod: Damien Rice, "O"

Sorry, soul mate unavailable ...

2006-04-11T13:22:00.000-07:00

Off on a tangent
Issue # 54 Online dating

My sister used one of those online dating services.

My sister is UNMATCHABLE so they say.

My sister's not even old enough to get into a bar.

Now, before any of this started, I was skeptical of online dating services.

You know the ones where they tell you there's a perfect match for everyone. Where the happy couples hold hands and laugh and make lovey-dovey eyes at each other. The ones more and more people are using to find a date, to find a match, to find their soul mates based on a "profile."

Now, if you're reading this and saying, "Hey, that's me. It worked for me." Then please know this ... I'm happy for you. Really. I just wish my sister could have found the same happiness and not been told she's UNMATCHABLE.

Let's note that my sister is smart, creative, funny and a knockout. She's the one who frequently gets hit on by well-known recording artists and has Hollywood-types put their number in her cell phone.

In the day of speed dating and the age of divorce, should we turn to online dating to help us find our one and only? Should we take the time to fill out a profile -- that makes us rank our life in order of importance -- to help us find a suitable match? Or should we do what we've done for ages and go to a bar?

I wish I knew the answer to these questions. I wish there were an easy way to find that perfect person for each of us, but "date" seems to be a four-letter word for most. It seems more and more, we need a little push in the pursuit of a significant other.

Now my sister has another push toward finding a relationship: A friend is playing matchmaker for her.

At least they're not promising to find her a perfect match; just a date for Friday night.

On the iPod: Jack's Mannequin, "The Lights and Buzz"

I'm a sucker for guys in eyeliner

2006-04-09T19:48:00.000-07:00

Billie Joe Armstrong. Mike Dirnt. Tre Cool.

Green Day.

One of the perks of living in this area is the line-up of concerts that come our way. Had I not moved up here, I would have never had one of the best concert experiences to date.

Now, I'm no concert rookie; my top-10 includes Pearl Jam, the Ramones, Beastie Boys, NIN, David Bowie, Weezer and REM.

Simply put: I'm a concert junkie. This being said, I wanted -- no, needed -- to see Green Day. But I missed my opportunity to get tickets to the Atlantic City show. There I was like an addict thinking about throwing down $200+ for a ticket from an "online ticket agent."

But I didn't. I figured I didn't get the tickets for a reason.

I was right. I ended up with more than I could have imagined: four floor tickets to Green Day at Giants Stadium.

GIANTS STADIUM! GREEN DAY!

Before I knew it, the concert was upon us. I was skeptical. Stadium shows are notorious for being bad; unless you get really good seats, you usually can't even see the band. I didn't know if I would be able to see anything from the floor.

My friend Stephanie and I arrived early to stake out a place on the floor and to get some over-priced food in our stomachs.

This was it, the moment of truth.

The truth was awesome.

Unbeknownst to me, we were able to get arms' length from the stage. There they were in full view; it was mind-blowing. I had been waiting to see them since I was in high school.

And like a schoolgirl, I screamed with glee the moment they took the stage. I sang my heart out to each song and threw my hands up when Billie Joe told us too. It was a moment.

During one of the sets, I did a 360-degree turn. When else was I going to be on the turf of Giants Stadium with a sold-out crowd? It was one of those moments where I realized, "Dude, I'm living in Jersey."

So there it was, one of the best shows I've seen, fireworks and all.

THANK YOU NEW JERSEY!
*Imagine a microphone in hand, standing on a stage*

On the iPod: Bush, "Sixteen Stone"

Shacking up, living alone and all that

2006-04-06T11:32:00.000-07:00

Off on a tangent:
ISSUE #15 - Relationships in Your 20s

For some reason, dating in your 20s has been a big topic with people this week. I don't know where it's coming from. But there it is, like the elephant in the room that no one likes to talk about, but we do anyway.

A good number of people I know are living together, engaged, married or married with kids. I think it's awesome that they can find someone in this crazy mixed-up world. Plus the girly-girl in me loves to romanticize about things like soul mates and "the one."

The winter issue of Jetty got me wondering: Is moving in with someone something I should be thinking about? Heck, is dating someone long-term something I really need to consider?

And then it hit me. I don't like to share. Chalk it up to being an only child. Whatever it is, I like to have sole possession of the remote control, and I never keep my apartment clean.

My BFF told me she didn't want to go to her 10-year high school reunion because she wasn't married with kids. That's what most people expected from her and her classmates. I told her it was ridiculous. If these people really cared about her, they wouldn't be concerned about her social life, but would congratulate her on all her accomplishments. (*Note: She's about to get her second master's degree.)

After I had been here awhile, someone asked me if my mom wanted me to settle down. I remarked that she would be happy if I stopped moving every year to a new apartment or city. This was settled for me, for now: Living in the same place for more than a year and buying "grown-up" furniture. (Thank you, IKEA.)

Last year, I renewed the lease on my current apartment. It may not be shacking up with someone, but it's a long-term relationship to me.

On the iPod: Artic Monkeys, "Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not"

When Lucy met HBO ...

2006-04-04T12:57:00.000-07:00

So I did it.

I got HBO.

I had to. It was a moral imperative. I never listened to the chatter about "The Sopranos" before. I didn't care who was sick or who got whacked.

Then Season Six began, and it started to get spoiled. All the TV channels flashed Tony getting shot. My co-workers/friends/family talked about the show. I tried to tune them out; I wanted to watch the whole season -- not just hear about bits and pieces.

It's worse than missing an episode of "Lost" and trying to not get people to talk about it.

Then it happened. During the Good Life photo shoot, someone said, "Can you believe Tony's in a coma?"

I couldn't believe it. There it was. It was spoiled. The dude apologized. But I was mad. Not even two episodes into the show, and it was spoiled.

That night I was still fuming and wanted to watch the new season.

Instead I tried to On Demand a movie. But, I didn't have the pin to purchase it. I didn't even know there was a pin, much less the actual number. So I had to call the cable company at 11:53 p.m. (yeah, I know -- I can't believe I remember that either).

After the pin matter was settled, I asked casually, "How much for HBO?"

She gave me a price. But I didn't hear it -- I only remember that it was under $20 -- I didn't care. She said could I get HBO On Demand for a month for free. FREE.

My mind raced to watching "The Sopranos" whenever I wanted. I was sold. Eleven HBOs and HBO On Demand. Then came the cherry. I got them in seconds. SECONDS.

And what would be starting at that exact moment? That's right: "The Sopranos."

Sometime things just fall into place and are meant to be. This was one of them.

I don't know why it took me so long to get into this show. Maybe moving to Jersey gave me more reason to watch, or helped me appreciate it more. Whatever it was, I'm lovin' Tony S. in my life.

On the iPod: My Chemical Romance, "Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge"

You spring forward I'll fall back

2006-04-02T20:34:00.000-07:00

I'm all for falling back; I love gaining an hour. It's this whole spring forward thing that sucks.

I didn't even know until midnight that it was going to happen.

Now your saying "Lucy, this happens each year. How can you possibly be surprised?"

Well, I knew at some point the time gods would make us spring forward; I just didn't know it was going to happen this morning.

Now there are only three clocks in my life that are right -- cell phone, cable box and computer -- and they all reset automatically.

Even when I got to work today the clocks were wrong. I was so confused.

Not to mention my internal clock is still set to Central Time, an hour behind Jersey time.

Now lets make matters worse.

I'm notorious for being late to everything and anything. Really, check it out:
1) My mom says this started in the womb, as I was two weeks late.
2) Friends have taken to telling me to be at places 30 minute before I really need to be. Some have even started to make it an hour.
3) People say I have my own time; "Lucy time" is half an hour after normal time. Much like party time, less like Miller time.

Currently telling time for me is like a bad SAT word problem:

If you take the actual time, subtract one hour for Central Time, add 30 minutes for Lucy time, and add 30 minutes for being late, what time is it?
a) Lucy time
b) Daylight Savings Time
c) Party time
d) None of the above

If I did the math correctly, then I'm on time. Who would have known?

On the iPod: Gorillaz, "Demon Days"

My, what big sunglasses you have

2006-03-30T22:05:00.000-08:00

Off on a tangent:
ISSUE #55 - My Photo

There's a good reason I have on enormous sunglasses.

We had the Good Life photo shoot at 9 am last week. That might not seem early for some, but for me it was an ungodly hour. Not to mention I went to a photo shoot the day before at 8:15 a.m.

Oh yeah, and this was after the 12-hour day of travel from Austin to New Jersey.

Anyways, the stylist brought all these sunglasses. For some reason the large ones with rhinestones caught my eye. I don't know why. Maybe it's my love of sparkly things.

The catch: They were by JLo. That alone was hard to stomach.

I liked them nonetheless and put them on. That was it. This was going to be my new blog photo.

They had already taken my picture earlier that morning. I looked pretty crappy.

So we took it again.

This time with the rhinestone sunglass (mainly to cover the circles under my eyes) and exposing my new "Austin" T-shirt.

The photo editor snapped one shot and said, "That's it. Why go on? That was perfect."

So there it is. My "perfect" photo.

Yeah, at least you can't see the dark circles under my eyes.

On the iPod: Trapt - "Waiting" single

I heart Tony

2006-03-29T18:05:00.000-08:00

Hello. My name is Lucy, and I'm a Sopranoaholic.

No more than a couple of months ago, I hadn't seen an episode. I was blissfully ignorant of who got whacked and if Tony and Carmella were still together.

I wasn't one of those people who talked about the show and looked into the deeper meaning for plot points.

I also didn't have HBO. Friends recorded the shows I did watch ("Sex and the City" and "Entourage") for me. That was it.

So how did I become a Sopranoaholic? How did this turn into an obsession, an addiction?

It started in January when I had to stay at home and recover from surgery for six weeks. My mom came to stay with me and brought her Netflix. Among her movies was disc two from Season One of the "The Sopranos." I never watched the show, so she figured she'd watch a few when I napped.

Then it happened.

I watched an episode. Then another. Then another.

And then I knew the theme song by heart. (It got to the point where my mom would fast forward through it just so she wouldn't hear me sing. I could hear it only once per DVD, that was the compromise.)

I knew the characters' names; I knew the actors who played them. I could point out the Shore, and I knew places they talked about. I knew the backstory. I checked online for more information, for anything related to the show.

And then it happened. I went from being hooked on the show ... to obsessed.

When did I reach that point?

The Season Four disc three was bad. It wouldn't play. It was cracked. I was heartbroken. I couldn't stop, not at that moment. There were more disks to watch. I couldn't skip those episodes and return to them later.

So I called Blockbuster. They had it. They had the Holy Grail. But I didn't have a membership; my mom left hers in Texas. So there it was. I opened a membership just to get one disc of the show instead of waiting the two days to get the replacement from Netflix.

I knew I was an addict at that moment. That and when I decided to take "The Sopranos" tour and see all the places from the show.

So kids, I ended up watching five seasons in five weeks.

Now, with the new season. I have a bigger challenge. No HBO ...

On the iPod: Madonna -- "Confessions on a dance floor"

Hi y'all!

2006-03-27T12:49:00.000-08:00

I'm really tired. No really, I'm tired.

I just spent 12 hours in airports, cars and shuttle buses to get from the Lone Star State to the Garden State.

I left 80-degree spring weather and returned to a 30-degree winter. It's always a shock for this Southern girl to step out of EWR and freeze her butt off.

Not so good.

I left hipsters invading my hometown and returned to Don's Pizza King.

Pretty good.

Now, back to my story. I'm originally from Austin, Texas. (Do you understand the hipster comment now?), the Live Music Capitol of the World, the birthplace of Austin City Limits and Whole Foods, home of the University of Texas Longhorns and where I lived until three years ago.

In 2003 I lived in Florida. I may have been out of Austin, but I was not too far from friends and family. I was still a short plane ride away and still living in the South.

Now, 1,728 miles away (according to Google local; yes I checked) and on the East Coast -- I find myself with culture shock.

Things that boggle my mind: circles/jug handles, Dunkin' Donuts on EVERY corner and all the little towns that could really be one city.

Things I love about Jersey: pizza by the slice, NJ Transit and The Sopranos.

This is a fish out of water blog. What it's like for a Southern girl on the East Coast. And it's a chance for y'all to help me understand you folks better. Shoot me an e-mail at lucyq@app.com. Someone explain the Dunkin' Donuts obsession to me, please.

What's next: My addiction to The Sopranos and Don's Pizza King
On the iPod: The Toadies, Rubberneck