THE WAYS IN WHICH NONNA TRICKS MY FRIENDS INTO EATING DEER AND LAMB.

       Sundays are either extremely comical or extremely boring in my home. Depends on who is over and what type of meat nonna chooses to cook. This Sunday was more on the comical side. A childhood friend of mine named Kathy came over just in time for lunch. Lunch meaning, eggplant, chicken cutlet, lamb, filette, pasta with tomato sauce, pasta with meat sauce and steamed vegetables. A lot of food for four people right?

       “If I don’t cook it all now, it will go to waste,” nonna said. “Do you want tomato sauce or meat sauce in your pasta?”

      “Depends on what kind of meat it is,” Kathy replied. 

      “Lamb."
        Kathy’s eyes shot open in bewilderment. As if people don't eat lamb all of the time. 

       “Lamb? No thank you. I don’t eat lamb.”

       “Neither does your sister but when I fed her deer last week she had no idea,” nonna replied.

       “You fed my sister deer?”

         Good thing I wasn’t home for that.

       “Funny right? She didn't know until the next day when I called to ask if she liked the meat.”

         I could tell that Kathy was having second thoughts about eating lunch at my house. I myself was having second thoughts about eating at my house.

       “Guess what my friends down the block are eating today?” Nonna added. Her butcher friend who lives down the block? I could only imagine.
       “Bear.”

         For some reason, the idea of eating a beautiful and holy animal like a lamb seemed less absurd than eating a bear. Probably because bears are scary. We decided on the steamed vegetables after that and went on our way. The next morning Kathy’s older sister called my grandmother and this is what I heard from my side.

       “Kathy went home hungry last night? She said she didn’t eat? Well of course she was hungry, she wouldn’t eat the meat! I even told her to bring some to your house and she said no. She said you put leftovers in the garbage. How could you throw out food?”

         I couldn’t believe they were talking about this just as I was in the middle of writing about them. Magic.

       “Anyway, I fed you deer. Big deal. I don’t make bad food. Whatever we make here is good. Some people eat liver too, depends on the way you make it. You can cook it with onion and vinegar. It tastes good.” That’s when the details behind the bear story were revealed.
      “That’s just liver. People eat bear in my neighborhood. They clean the bear up and make chopped meat, steak and sauce.” There was a moment of silence.

       “I saw the bear! No one told me about it! Yes, it was a 350-pound bear. I SWEAR ASK NONNO. They went upstate, killed the bear and brought it home to Queens.”
         I wanted to go upstate with these people. After that conversation Nonna and I began one of our own.

      “Do you like deer Bianca?” she asked.
       What was she implying?

      “No.”

      “Have you ever tried it?”

      “No.”

       She began laughing. Uncontrollable laughter.

      “Yes you have. Many times.”

     
       Sorry animal lovers. I am one of those. 

Cuddling In Science

Cuddling, we've all done it and if you proclaim that you haven’t, well then you’re just a liar. Recently, I have taken on quite the fascination with this social experience. Why do we hug one another when we're sleeping, for hours at a time? We definitely don’t hug one another that much when we're awake. A further question is; why do some enjoy this experience more than others? So I asked a few men and women their views on the subject.

“I don’t cuddle,” says Lisa Roberts, a 23-year-old dance teacher from Long Island, NY. “If I have to I will be the big spoon. This way I can throw one arm over the person to give the effect as if I was cuddling, but really, I’m not.” In cuddling culture, the “big spoon” is the individual who hugs the person from the outside, while the “little spoon” is the individual being hugged. This is usually a butt to stomach position. Others cuddle facing one another, but this position makes it more difficult to breathe, therefore it is less popular. Maybe some also cuddle in 69 position, but I wouldn’t know. I later asked whether or not Lisa’s previous partners were “cuddlers.” They weren't. Is lack of interest in cuddling a coincidence? I don’t think so.

  “Cuddling is more important than sex,” confessed a friend of mine recently who doesn’t wish to disclose his information due to fear of embarrassment. “If my girlfriend and I don’t have sex for a month, I don’t give it much thought. But if a night goes by where there’s lack of cuddling… I’m not having it.” Cuddling more important than sex? It is nice to know there are people out there who believe that, however strange they may be.

Through my recent research I have found that 78 percent of men and women find cuddling to be very important in a relationship. As for the other 22 percent, well the thought of someone touching them while asleep is unnerving.

One of my girl friends used to punch men in her sleep. Literally, if they even dared to put their hand on her shoulder in the middle of the night they were being punched full force. Maybe people should ask for permission to do these things, rather than going ahead and doing them.

Over the weekend I went on vacation with Lisa, the girl that I mentioned above. She is a childhood friend and our relationship is plutonic. Embarrassingly enough, one night while on vacation I threw my arm around her and went in for a cuddle. I think I forgot who I was laying next to… oops. Afraid to offend me or interrupt my sleep, she did not object. Instead she made fun of me for the remainder of the weekend. This is how some respond to the experience. Luckily, I wasn’t punched.

             

IT ISN'T A STORY IT'S A SENTIMENT

I realize that it has been quite some time since I’ve written a blog post. Well about a few weeks but nonetheless, it feels like a long time. It is difficult being sarcastic when you’re not feeling particularly cynical or down with life. Right now I am sitting on my couch, thinking of how to gather the sardonic energy to allow me to write something interesting for you. Because when I’m not doing this, I am writing things I would be forced to publish under a different name, or things repressed housewives would spend their hours reading while their husbands are at work and stuffing it under the mattress as soon as their kids get home from school.

So I am sitting here, wishing I could talk about things that I just can’t find the words for, or at least, not for you. 

CHEATING THROUGH DATING WEBSITES, THE NEW PHENOMENON?

Not too long ago, a dear friend of mine came to me with some questionable news “As we speak, my boyfriend is out to coffee with a girl he met through Ok Cupid," she said. This information left me without words. So I asked if they were in an open relationship and she said "No."

Then they are in a monogamous relationship? Ok.

“But I don't understand,” she said. "He has been texting me the entire time."

Ok… so he is texting his girlfriend about his date with another girl… What?

Not even my social science degree could help me interpret this one.

I was feeling extraordinarily forgiving that day, so I gave her some comforting but very unrealistic advice. “Let’s look on the bright side,” I said. “He told you about the date, so maybe he just wants to make a new friend. He's a small town boy in a big scary city, we should cut him some slack.”


WRONG.

I think she felt better for point five seconds. That is, until she used her rational mind to understand that this was all very bizarre behavior. I don’t know why people come to me for relationship advice anyway. The fantasy world residing in my head doesn’t allow for much rational thought.

After analyzing the situation from a normal person’s perspective, I came to the conclusion that meeting someone you were introduced to on dating website, telling your partner about it, and later texting them every 5 minutes while on the date IS RUDE.  

With every text message he was saying, “Hey I am on a date with another girl right now, even though we woke up together this morning. But I will see you tonight ok?” The constant reminder being her cellphone ring. 


Honey, affirmation from other women isn’t going to make you any more secure.

Now these two… they were a happy couple. What a shame. 

I am no expert but from what I’ve gathered, people usually try and AVOID cheating when in a relationship. Hopping on a dating website to make new friends is asking for trouble. Plus, you are paying to cheat. And this is somehow different from hiring a prostitute? 

 More than that, all of your information is open to everyone on the internet meaning, your partner is probably going to see it.

We all graduated from High School right? I thought we had grown smarter since then. 

Now this whole dating and hook up website thing is out of control. I heard of a couple the other day that met on ihookup.com. What a great idea. I was told ihookup.com was for random hookups. So last week, you were both on a website looking for animalistic and group sex, but now you’ve found the one? How romantic.


Well at least you have something in common. 


Now this couple, they prided themselves on being adventurous. Oh the adrenaline rush, not knowing who is going to walk into the door and what problems they are going to bring with them. 


And we are still on gay marriage? Let's keep up with the times America. There is a lot more going on here. 

Searching For Significant Other

No luck finding a personal assistant, so I am just going try and find a significant other that I don’t have to pay to do things for me.

Now if this whole thing is going to involve actually wanting to spend time with the person, I am going to have to be really selective with what I ask for. Let’s start with what I don’t want.

Cheap. If you are cheap you are unattractive. No one likes someone who is too cheap to go to the movies, or too cheap to refrain from the impulse of asking for those two dollars back. I mean, who does that? People who never want to get laid.

If male, I don’t want you to be less than 6 foot… that is unless you have beautiful features. Face over height. 

Next, I don’t want a Virgo or Cancer. I am sorry but you bore me. I would say I don’t want a Gemini because they are bipolar... but that would exclude Shane West and I may still be in love with him. Even if I saw him with another woman, and cry over it every night while admiring his photograph on my dresser.

Next, I don’t want a serial cheater. “It isn’t cheating unless you’re married” doesn’t fly with me. You know who you are. 

I also don’t want someone who is “confused.” You’re not confused you’re bisexual. Own it.

As for what I do want. I want a lot of things.

Lets start with my preferred zodiac signs. I love Scorpios. If you are a Scorpio I will give you special consideration. Next comes Capricorn and Aquarius. You aren't afraid of emotion and I like that. 

Speaking of emotions. If you have none, you freak me out. Men who claim they haven't cried in years are men to run from fast. We need to practice cardio to have the endurance to run even faster. 

Dancing skills are also a plus. I have loads of energy and you will have to keep up with me. If you are lazy stop reading now.

If you are shy I might find you intriguing and mysterious at first and try to get under your skin, but that will soon turn into annoyance. You annoy me. 

Brown hair, brown eyes and a button nose are also a plus. People with light eyes get too much credit and I am bitter about it. I also want my children to look like me. Exactly like me. 

I want a freak in the streets and a freak in the ...... I’m just being honest.

If Harry Potter and The Craft were two of your favorite movies growing up then we might have something to talk about. 

Did I just describe myself?

Seeking Personal Assistant

Now in days, people are so desperate for work they will do anything. I just saw a post on Craigs List looking for girls with pretty feet to entertain men with foot fetishes. That really creeped me out, but to each his own right?

I was recently inspired to create my own job post. If these people can post such ridiculous jobs, why can't I?  If interested, email me a biography of yourself at biancolina89@gmail.com.

SEEKING PERSONAL ASSISTANT

I am a 22 year old dancer, writer and intern seeking a personal assistant. My day is very busy, filled with internships, dance practice and writing in my notepad whenever inspiration hits.

I am looking for someone who is EXTREMELY open minded, creative, patient, a good driver, and able to do hair and makeup.

I would need you to come to my house in Queens at around 8am every morning to help me pick out an outfit. This won't require too much work on your part, being I have a pretty nice wardrobe.
The hardest part however, would be doing my hair. I like elaborate hair styles, with braids, curls, etc. If you aren't good with cool hair styles, please don't respond to this post. As far as makeup is concerned, I can handle that on my own. Maybe I will need you to do some smokey eyes, but that's about it.

A great perk is, you don't have to worry about breakfast or lunch, my grandparents will take care of that for us. They are Italian and make delicious home cooked meals. They can whip up anything in about 15 minutes so really, you are getting a lot for your time.

Now, I would need you to drive me places. I have a purple ford escort that gets a lot of attention on the road so you can't be shy. The truth is, I hate driving, so this is an important part of the job. If you have a problem driving, DO NOT REPLY. I need a car lover for the job. You won't have to drive far, just from Queens to Manhattan once or twice a day. I would like to be driven to work and then around Manhattan for a bit until you drive me home after work.

The hardest part will probably be dealing with my self absorbed nature. I will talk about myself a lot, ask you to read my writing regularly and try to make you laugh. Now, I do not want you to fold under pressure. You need to be strong. If you don't think a joke is funny, do not laugh because my career is at stake. I would prefer someone who has writing experience for the job, honestly.

I will also sing a lot because that is a repressed passion of mine, but please don't gas my head up by telling me I'm a wonderful singer when I'm really just mediocre. I am a bit manic and tend to get overly excited about things so next thing you know, I will audition for American Idol. I don't want that to happen. It is a waste of my time and yours.

As far as dancing is concerned I would like you to attend all of my dance performances for moral support. I need help with wardrobe, hair and makeup. I also need someone to make sure food is always available, because I am always hungry. I would prefer someone with a lot of energy and enthusiasm for the job, because I like a lot of praise after performances.

If you have any experience in psychotherapy, I will pay you extra.

Other than that, I don't really know what else I need from a personal assistant.

Compensation is based on your experience. I will be holding auditions soon. Email me if interested.

Thank you

MY ROOM IS ALWAYS MESSY ACCORDING TO NONNA

            “Bianca, I need to talk to you about nonna,” said nonno rather seriously in the car today. I knew exactly what he was going to say before it came out of his mouth and I was already bored. “You know that nonna isn’t young anymore, “ he said. “She is tired, so you need to keep your room cleaner. She doesn’t have the energy to clean like she used to.”

  My room is messy? Again? But I just cleaned the damn thing. Only one of my friends has a room half as neat as mine, and that is because she has a live in nanny. But I have a live in nonna and it’s different. She yells at me before taking charge.

Really, I literally almost vomit every time I step into my friend Audrey’s room. I almost vomit because once after taking my shoes off, I stepped in her cats vomit. Now I have post cat vomit disgust disorder. If nonna ever saw this girl’s room she would have a nervous breakdown. She wouldn’t let the girl into my house. I am more open minded however, realizing some people don’t have the luxury of living with an Italian nonna who is also a Virgo. Italian and Virgo, the recipe for obsessive compulsive cleaning disorder. It is annoying that I am constantly reprimanded as a result of someones delusions. 

Now, if you think my room is messy in the slightest think again. All of my friends joke about how my room is so neat it’s scary and also, I’m never home to mess it up. After being away for days I don’t understand how I get phone calls from nonna complaining about how “clothes are in the way" but I think this is just a bribe to lure me home.

You know, sometimes I wish they would teach me more important things like how to drive or how to avoid heartbreak, but no... it’s always, “Bianca, let me teach you something. See this… watch carefully… now this is how you fold a sweater.” I don’t care about the sweater! Actually, there is nothing I would rather learn less than how to fold a sweater. Once I folded a sweater the “right way” and nonna almost threw a party she was so happy. As if being the first person in my family to graduate college wasn’t big enough of a deal for her, she needed to know that I could fold a sweater to feel any sense of satisfaction. This I find annoying and a blow to my accomplishments.

I now take my clothes folding ways with me wherever I go. I think it is a nervous habit actually, because I’m always nervous. Usually, after ripping my clothes off, I don’t throw them into the distance like normal people… instead I pause to place them neatly by the bedside. All of that build up for me to stop and make sure my clothes are in place. What a mood kill.

Other than that, I am also the go to person when my friends need help cleaning their room. Strangely enough, I find helping with their rooms to be rather enjoyable. It gives me a sense of power I think. Like all of nonnas cleaning lessons have not gone to waste. Maybe nonna would even be proud. But the truth is, I don’t know shit about cleaning rooms. I am still learning from nonna.

P.s If you need a professional cleaning lady there is a really great woman across the street I can refer you just reply to the post with your contact information. 

WHEN I DECIDED I WAS GOING TO BE A SINGER

They say that people create the best art out of their darkest moments. One morning, after an interesting sequence of events, I walked through the streets of Manhattan like a zombie. Words were floating through my head like paper planes in elementary school. I was talking to myself, singing to myself; I even bought myself a black dress. “Retail therapy” they call it. Then I jumped on the train where I wrote my second poem of the day. “Hopelessly Devoted,” I called it, like the song Sandy sang in Greece. How pathetic I was that morning. You know how babies cry and get emotional because they haven’t slept enough? Yeah, I think that happened to me.

So I’m writing this poem on the train, right? In between talking to my self and emitting random bursts of laughter, the person next to me switches seats. (This happens pretty often). After writing my poem and feeling really good about myself (in other words, depressed as shit), I walk into my aunt’s hair salon to find Roberto. Roberto: the beautiful shampoo guy from Venezuela.

When I asked if he was gay, he replied, “I’m not, but my partner is.” You get the point.
Roberto is also a part-time counselor, so he immediately sensed my despair.
“What’s wrong darling?” he asked, in his most exquisite accent. While complaining about my first world problems, “Hopelessly Devoted” came on the radio. I stopped talking and started singing. Every word came straight from the heart. It felt amazing.

That’s when my middle aged, off-the-boat Italian aunt said those life-changing words: “Wow Bianca, you have an amazing voice. Quit your internship and follow your dream. Become a singer.” Everyone in the hair salon agreed with her. I didn’t believe a word. I though she was bullshitting me…but my aunt wasn’t the type to beat around the bush. She would have straight up told me to “SHUT UP!” if I was bad.

I immediately turned to Roberto, desperate for an inch of positive reinforcement: “Am I good? Really?” He nodded his handsome head. “Fantastic,” he said.

I was skeptical, but they continued reassuring me of my singing talent for the rest of the day. So I sang every song that came on the radio like it was mine. I even talked about how it was “meant to be” and that I was “psychic” because I wrote a poem called “Hopelessly Devoted” earlier that day only to hear it later play on the radio
(I put that occurrence in my psychic portfolio).

It wasn’t long before I called my musically inclined friends and said, “Let’s start a band!”

“I write and sing, you play the instruments.” Everyone seemed interested, so we arranged our first band practice.

I always liked to sing. When I was a kid I used to sing in the shower. On the bus in middle school I used to sing Italian songs and make up raps with my friends. In high school I took opera lessons, but that wasn’t my thing. In college I was a member of the glee club (for a day). I recently acted as a “singer” in a music video. I thought this all happened for a reason. It was fate.

For the rest of the week I was singing all the time. I walked down the streets of Manhattan singing songs from Joan Jett and the Yeah Yeah Yeah’s.
(Good thing I live in a city where people are used to crazy).

I also talked about my new idea to people at my internship.

One day, while my intern friends and I were returning to the office with a car driver, I began singing songs from the radio. Everyone was silent but the car driver. “I want your autograph,” he said. “You think I’m good? Really?” I said. “Yes, you will be famous, sign here.”

Now that I think about it, it was the stupid bill he wanted me to sign.

So…I walked back into a half empty office feeling really good and screamed out to one of my bosses, “the car driver wanted my autograph because he thinks I’m going to be a famous singer.”
“I hope you gave it to him,” was all she said.

“I’ll take a spread in the next issue,” I then told her. “But I choose the photographer and stylist,” and walked out.

I hope I don’t get fired for that.

Things were starting to look up. I was going to get my magazine spread, I signed my second autograph: little could stop me now. (The first was my elementary school teacher. I’ve been at this for a while)

The next day my friend and I even discussed my singing career over dinner.
“I will give you lessons,” she said. “Then I think you should learn the piano and the guitar.” This was becoming too much for me. Piano and guitar? All I wanted was to sing my poetry. I just wanted to be heard.

The next morning I woke up at my aunt’s house and began singing again. “How was that?” I asked. “Can you shut up,” she said.

No she didn’t. I thought she liked my singing. What was she implying here? “Please, don’t quit your day job,” she then blurted out.

It was all a lie, all of it. My dream of the week was being shot down.

Then she looked at me. “Bianca, you thought I was serious? I was being sarcastic. Oh mamma mia. If someone gives you dog shit wrapped nicely, you’ll buy it.”

Whatever, my poem is still awesome.

PREPARING FOR THE WORST DAY OF THE YEAR, VALENTINES DAY

            I despise Valentines Day. Every year Valentines Day creeps up on me, slowly, and when it hits, it’s painful. I always complain about not having a date on Valentines Day, and then I remember all of the men who asked me out. I have a different excuse for everyone. For the good male friends who are always trying to make the moves I say, “I’m sorry, I’m in love with someone else.” For the acquaintances I reply, “I am going to the movies with my best friend,” and for most I ignore the text.

            I am petrified to give these kids a chance on Valentines Day; it is way too risky. The stars are aligned especially for "love," which causes people to get in weird romantic moods, and later want to make out with you. I would just rather not. Don’t get me wrong; I am by no means a cold and frigid woman. I am in fact a very loving and kind person. It's you, it's not me. 

 Preparing for Valentines Day usually requires both physical and psychological preparation. First, I must make sure I have all of the necessities, which are: chocolate, wine, toilette paper, and a sarcastic girl friend to be cynical with me. Second, I must make sure I do everything in my power to feel extra unromantic and unkind. “I must be strong. I must be wise. I must be a bitch.”

I don’t know why I’m like this.

            I’ve only had one Valentine throughout my whole life. I don’t know what the rest were. It was great, we exchanged gifts in the lunchroom while all of our friends surrounded us like puppies.  He told me exactly what he wanted weeks in advance without making me have to come up with a gift idea on my own. He even told me the price and the location of where to buy it. I think his mother or someone picked out my present. So not too much work on his part. It was one of those perfumes that make you smell like a child prostitute. 

One day my best friend came over, went into my closet and sprayed herself with it. No one but myself had ever used that perfume before. I flipped out. She was going to walk around wearing my perfume from my childhood crush all day. It just didn’t sit well with me. I had only used half an inch of the bottle in 8 years. It wasn’t just something you sprayed around. What the hell was she thinking? I do recall her reaction to my outburst: “It's kind of scary that you still have this, Bianca."

I treasure my memories, I don’t know about you.

Then she told me that if I liked it so much, I should go to the store, buy another perfume, and pour it into the bottle; but it just isn't the same.

            My second "Valentine" was this guy from Italy. After speaking on the phone for a couple of hours my phone bill was pretty expensive, that’s when I realized long distance wasn’t for me. If he wanted to email, even send letters, fine, but no more phone calls. Plus, his Italian accent was way too enticing. What a tease. No more European boyfriends... no way.

            To feel better about myself, I called a few of my single girl friends to ask them what they were doing tomorrow. One said she was "lurking around the house," and the other said she was "going to a bar, alone."
Good thing I have a nonpaying job that keeps me super busy until all hours of the evening. I hope they tire me out tomorrow before my - oh no - date. 

             Just in case you were wondering, I like Ferrero Rocher and Kinder chocolate. As for wine, I actually prefer rum, and I have toilette paper so don’t worry about that. 

:)

Fur Coat for Christmas

I cannot get this phrase out of my head, “Fur coat for Christmas,” and I will tell you why. I know that Christmas is far-gone, but take this post as an informational session, a way for you to learn how to get what you want for the holidays next year. Believe me, it is a lengthy process that requires a great deal of conditioning and groveling.

As a spoiled & overgrown teenager, I know what I do to get what I want for Christmas. “But Nonna, I absolutely need all of these Mac products for work. When my boss texts or calls me on their iPhone, it is necessary that I have the same phone so communication is easy and quick. Complications will arise if I am not up to date technologically. Also, I need all of these new clothes because I need to look good for work.” Do I get what I want, yes, but it takes a lot of complaining and pretending to be too “stressed out” to eat her pasta. Once she realizes no one is eating her pasta she will do anything.

I know I am cute but I have a better story for you. My friend Kristie from high school knew exactly what she wanted for Christmas months in advance, and that was a fur coat. We all know a good fur coat is not cheap. The trick is to hold off on buying really nice things, now matter how badly you want them, because then, someone will just buy it for you for Christmas. Genius, right?

Now, how do we ascertain that someone will buy us exactly what we want? How do we make sure that it will be the right design, color, texture and most importantly, designer? We condition them. And that is exactly what Kristie did with her long time boyfriend Keith.

September – Kristie and Keith meet up for lunch. Kristie notices a woman wearing a fur coat. Kristie acknowledges how beautiful the coat looks on the woman and later states, “If that woman weren’t wearing that gorgeous fur coat she really wouldn’t look pretty at all, but it just brings out her eyes.” Keith nods in confusion.

October - Kristie and Keith are in a clothing store. After separating into their different sections, Kristie emerges from a pool of clothes to find Keith sitting on a couch waiting for her to finish shopping. To his, and apparently her surprise, she is wearing a fur coat. “Wow, how… how did this get on me?” she asked. “Anyway, how do I look?” Obviously, she looked fantastic in the coat. He wouldn’t forget it.

November -  “Fur coat for Christmas,” Kristie whispered in Keith’s ear while he was asleep. The “Fur coat for Christmas” actually started a few months prior, but she knew that she had to go full force the month before the big day, so she arranged more sleepovers than usual.

December – It is Christmas day and Kristie is impatiently waiting to see if all of her hard work had paid off.  She spent hours planning and working at trying to put the fur coat in the bag. All of her friends know about the coat and are expecting her to come to the next party in it.
Everyone is anticipating… FUR COAT.

While unwrapping, Keith gives her no signs as to what the present it. She bites her lip; her hand shakes while tearing the gift-wrap. The final moment has come. Has he gotten her the fur coat? Only the box is left. She opens the box. FURRRRRRRR

I caved, said Keith. I had to.

Kids, that is how you get what you want for Christmas. Now go get it.