I was about to write this article *cough* to tell you that I am tired *sneeze* of feeling so *wheeze* sick all the tme *louder wheeze*.

But truth be told *hiccup* I can barely even sit here and write this article *cough cough* because I am so distracted by everything involved *grabbing tissues* in being sick.

First and foremost, the entire idea of being apathetic *ears popping* actually kills me. I have to sit around all day and watch TBS movies *eyes watering* from 1997??! I mean frankly there is nothing good *blows nose* to do when you are sitting around being sick. How many magazines can I possible read *wipes eyes* that have Vienna and Jake on the cover. I mean I GET IT, they are over, Vienna, is well, Vienna *cough, hack, cough*. To put it plainly, as my boyfriend always says, “Isn’t Vienna the name of a sausage?”.  *blows nose*

And Saved By The Bell still airs?! *loud sneeze* When are they going to put that shit to rest?! Speaking of rest (less) , The Young and the Restless *hack, wheeze* The Bold and the Beautiful…The Trampy And The Overdramatatic…I can’t watch that stuff, I don’t even know what is going on. I mean I know it always *muffled hacking* involves some rich doctor, trying to help save some poor girl *double sneeze* who is really her sister’s dead twin sister back from the underworld. But I can’t follow one plotline *sniff sniff* let alone many.

The other annoying thing about being sick *weird tummy noise*, is the whole, up and down to the fridge. I look in the fridge, I shut the door. I open the door, stare back into it. *cough* It is as though *hack hack hack*  think I am going to see something new in there. But frankly I am so *nose wipe* bored that even an unnamed olive sitting in the back corner could be of excitement to me.

I have been on Facebook, been on Gmail…Perez..Jezebel..BricksandStones…NonSociety…FUPenguin….and there is nothing on any *wheeze* of those sites I have seen before. She looks fat, she looks thin, vagina vagina vagina.  *blows nose*  Enough with the celebrity website, I need something interesting to look at, something like…..a book…a good  book. *coughs up flem into tissue* (sorry for TMI).

So I read Something Borrowed…and Something Blue…and [Something] Baby Proof…and frankly, I get it there also. There is a girl, and she likes this guy *sneeze, hiccup* and he used to love her, but someone else loves her who is really the better man…..have I said enough?

So what have we learned today? I know the ending to ever book…every TBS movie…every website caption. And frankly *cough, hack, wheeze, sneeze, hiccup* none of it excites me.

 Ok so I guess it is back to going back to sleep. ….

*wipes sweat off face* (Spent this entire column breathing through my mouth very loudly, while trying to chew a Gardetto bagel chip…just thought you should know).

Was I going anywhere with this article? I don’t know, I feel confused again, maybe it is just the Nyquil, I conveniently take during the day.

I was one of the first people ever to tell everyone (even my grandmother who had to drink 3 scotches that night to get over the shock of it all) that my classmate Rebbecca was still wearing a sweatshirt given to her by an ex boyfriend, which she passed off as simply a ‘new’ sweatshirt to her ‘very new’ boyfriend, whom was also hanging out near Alison Tinley’s car near the tanning salon the day that I went in to get a ‘double dipper’, if you will. What did it mean? Why was he by HER car? Why was his girlfriend wearing someone else’s clothes? How much wood would a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood?

In essence, I couldn’t wait for the drama. I awaited it like a child looking for candy bars in their care package at Diet Camp. Nothing could stop me from being involved in every drama that occurred within a five mile radius of my dorm room. Someones boyfriend cheated on them with a member of the lacrosse team?…The boy’s lacrosse team that is?…When can I tell her? Can I tell her? Has anyone been elected to tell her yet? If not, can I elect myself?

By Senior year, it had gotten so bad, there was a fight on Halloween night outside the campus apartment buildings and someone shoved their friend right into the side of my SUV…and my only worry, was about my car insurance. I wanted the fight to continue of course… minus my side door being dented.   I even stood behind the fighting duo, urging them to move it closer to the bush.

There was excitement in people not getting along and hearts being broken. I was enthused with the post-gossip discussions, just like the blogs on Bravo TV, hashing out last night’s Real Housewives episode.

And suddenly, about two years ago, it all came to an end for me. I remember clearly a friend of mine calling me up to tell me about a cheating ex and a stalker who turned out to be a good friend’s cousin….and at that moment, all I knew was, I wanted no part in it. “Please, just don’t tell me, I honestly don’t care”, was all I could say.

My ‘drama’ days were officially over. I just wanted to live a normal life. Go to cookouts, meet for drinks, sunbath in the nude….all while not being forced to speak vainly over someone else’s misfortune. I had no more gossip. I wanted Drama to officially find a new friend. Me and Mary J. Blige were becoming soul mates.

Maybe it was venturing into my late 20’s (almost 30’s), but suddenly talking about others had no more interest. I really didn’t care whether so and so had an argument at McGreevy’s…or who threw a macaroni noodle at so and so’s girlfriend….or even who had a box of condoms bursting out of their purse during a bridal church ceremony (God help us all with that one).

Not only can I not be a part of it anymore, but I actually get annoyed having gossip even brought to my attention at all. My new favorite word is ‘petty’. “That is petty”, “stop being pretty”,” I don’t need to deal with anything so petty”. ..And who am I to judge what is “petty” and what is not? It was as though I elected myself officially as Mayor of ‘Petty-town’…population, 1. But in my world, if you are complaining to me about a hair dresser who gave you golden highlights instead of ‘ash blonde’ highlight I will throw a whole heap of ‘petty’ right in your face.

I could care less anymore about OPP. Yes, Other People’s Problems. A friend of mine recently deleted his Facebook because he couldn’t stand reading about OPP.  At first I was shocked, but then the next day when I saw a mutual friend post about her ‘Skinny Jeans’… I wanted to reach across the Internet and shove my laptop up her skinny jean’d ass.

Does everyone get to a point in their life where you can’t even bear the thought of ‘drama’? Will one day we all be of the age of ‘Drama free’ in our lives?

The Walking Reader

Seriously I am going to slap that fucking book/magazine/Kindle/iPad right out of your goddamn hand and stomp on it if you don’t look where you’re going, pick up the pace, and get out of my way. I don’t care if you did just get to the most hilarious passage (who am I kidding, they’re all hilarious!) in one of David Sedaris’s deliciously witty and urbane memoirs about being gay or having a crazy family, if you’re walking around in the most crowded city in the U.S. and reading at the same time you’re just asking to get kicked in the vagina.  This is double true if you are in or around the subway entrance/exit - I don’t have time for your intellectual pursuits and I will fucking body check you.

The Transparent Parent

What the hell is this kid doing spinning around the subway pole and shrieking loudly? He must be a midget or “little person” because there seems to be no parent in sight. Oh wait, perhaps he belongs to the blond woman who is halfway down the subway car with a massive stroller and a book in her lap who is doing her best to the ignore the little Satan spawn. Oh great, now he is drooling on my pant leg and getting jelly residue all over the place. Look lady, the subway isn’t a daycare or a jungle gym and you can bet I’m going to laugh when the train stops suddenly and your kid goes flying because it will be hilarious. Or maybe he’ll get stuffed into a homeless man’s sack of terrors to be sold for crack money/made into hobo stew, but really, who cares? If you don’t, I sure as shit don’t. And hey, if I’m not allowed to swing from the subway bars and shout rudely while eating a drippy ice cream cone without being glared at, neither is your little Firestarter-in-Training.

Bluetooth Guy

Hey guy, that’s a nice shouting voice you’ve got there! I bet you developed that as a reaction to the fact that most people ignore you, because you are boring and annoying as fuck. Like, maybe if you talk a little louder about that wine bar you went to last night or your investments in Russian orange juice concentrate or the hot waitress you slept with people would give a shit! Oh, you’re not talking to me from halfway down the block? You’re speaking into a headset that is four inches from your mouth? Well I hope whatever elderly relative you’re talking to who still pretends to care has their hearing aid turned all the way down, because they’re guaranteed to be deaf (and bored) as shit by now if they weren’t already. Also, you might want to take it easy on the cologne.  Just sayin’, I can also smell you coming.

I don’t know if anyone else is experiencing this, but it seems to me that the only thing anyone does anymore is work. Has the world gone mad? When did marketing Applebee’s salted pork ribs become more important than spending one’s free time with their family/drinking excessively in a beach environment? I think we as a culture need to reassess our priorities and get back to what’s important in life: a basic routine of daily activities that exist with the intention of sustaining a comfortable quality of life.

All the late nights I’ve spent at work lately has given me some time to fantasize, mostly about what I’d be doing if I weren’t at work.

Firstly, I would get off work at 4pm. This is late enough to still be considered “evening” for the purposes of this post (and to fulfill the requirements set forth in the title) yet still early enough to be a completely unrealistic unless I was bleeding from the eyes or experiencing some other kind of fatal, personal emergency.

After leaving work, I would take a very calm and uncrowded F train home to my apartment. Then I’d probably try to do some exercise like a normal person. It seems like everyone in this workhole of a town manages to hit the gym at least 5 times a day, yet I’m struggling to make it twice a year. What the fuck, people? Does your job not require you to work 15 hours a day? Quit slacking.

On the perfect evening, I’d finish working out and still have enough time to take a shower, get changed, and go do something with my peers for once in my life. Maybe we would go to Coney Island and walk on the boardwalk while enjoying a hot dog and the sunset, or go to a local bar for a relaxing drink or five, or maybe we would just sit around someone’s apartment watching hours upon hours of made-for-TV Stephen King movie adaptations. I don’t even care. The only thing that matters is that I’m talking to other human beings with whom I do not work all day.

In addition to general “hanging out,” there would certainly be some kind of food. Considering that most nights I get stuck eating dinner at work or have to order out because I don’t have time to cook, I’d probably go to the grocery store and buy some healthy yet delicious ingredients to cook my own meal. Sounds crazy, I know, but I like to imagine a future where I can provide nourishment for myself, instead of relying on Thai Sesame to do all the work. And, I actually enjoy cooking because it reminds me that I possess a whole set of skills I can fall back on for survival, literally, like in case some Cloverfield-like circumstances should arise.

So after I’ve completed all these normal, mundane, average tasks that I assume normal people with normal jobs do on a very regular, possibly daily basis, I would get into bed at a reasonable hour, let’s say 11pm, and wake up happy and refreshed for the next day of hell that awaits me.

I blame my disability on my parents, my mom especially, because as the first child, I wasn’t allowed to do anything fun, and that included sleepovers, unless it was a family member, or my mom knew the kid’s parents really well. Nevermind that by the time my younger sister came around, my parents stopped caring and she was having sleepovers with boys. But I’m not bitter . . . . The point is that my parents pretty much scarred me for life by restricting my sleepover options when I was younger because now, as an adult, I never want to sleepover someone’s house.

However, I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to blame all of this on my parents, because there are a bunch of logical reasons that I don’t enjoy sleepovers:

1. My bed is comfortable, and I enjoy sleeping in it. Given the option of sleeping in my bed or on the floor or couch of another person’s home, I am always going to choose my own, comfortable, familiar bed.
2. It ruins the entire next day. Usually, the reason I’m sleeping over someone else’s house is because I was partying hard that night and was in no condition to drive home, which means that when I wake up the next day, I am guaranteed to feel awful for many hours. By the time I’m finally feeling ready to face the day, the  better part of it is already over.
3. I hate packing and unpacking. I’m lazy, so the idea of choosing what to pack for the evening and the next day, the physical act of packing it, and the thought of having to unpack it all the very next day, is exhausting! And very unappealing.
4. Travel is inconvenient. Being a New York City gal, I don’t have a car, which means I have to rely on the kindness of others with cars or our faithful public transportation system (note sarcasm) to get around, and in the case of traveling by way of public transportation, doing that with a 30lb bag on your shoulder is neither fun, easy or comfortable. Case in point: Today. I had a 20 minute wait at the Jamaica LIRR station, having just come from Long Beach, to my train transfer back to Forest Hills, so I was just going to take a subway home, but then I find out that it isn’t running. So then I trek back upstairs to the LIRR platforms, with my 30 lb overnight bag on my shoulder, and I wind up taking the LIRR back to the Forest Hills station. Once there, I attempted to take the subway home instead of walking back to my apartment with my 30 lb bag, but of course, it wasn’t running either and I wound up walking home. And as Boyfriend can attest to, when I finally made it back home, it was not pretty.

So, any other Anti-Sleepovers out there??

I fought for the dirty apartments on campus. And fought. And fought. I remember a girl I was presumably going to be living with, debating me, “Why would you NOT want to live in the newer apartment?! “

“Because..” I would snarl back, “It is NOT on campus. How can I get to class on time? How can I walk back from the Library late at night? How can I meet up easily with study groups?”

But in reality, I wasn’t telling her the one main question that plagued me. …How would I meet guys?

When one is single, living in proximately to parties, bars, social gatherings and more importantly OTHER SINGLES is not a luxury, it is a necessity.

After college, I moved into a Manhattan apartment and would sometimes scroll through the New Jersey Craigslist ads, thinking how lonely and sad it must be for those singles living in the (gulp) suburbs! Where did they meet people?! How did they go out at night?! Whenever I heard of a coworker or acquaintance moving to a single-studio outside the city I felt dread and queasy, I would imagine them looking out their window at night to a lonely tree or park, while a depressing flavored Lean Cuisine baked in the microwave.

Now truth be told, PLENTY of my single-suburban living friends found men and a majority of them are married. More so than my city friends. But to me, living in the city was everything.

My roommate-to-be at the time, had no anxious feeling over proximity to social events. She did not worry about missing out on some fraternity party….as her needs included ‘couple’ needs. The need to have space and alone time. The need to do couple things such as cook in a nice size kitchen  and cuddle in a large living room. She wanted a bigger place with more bedrooms for the sheer option of being allotted more places to spend quality time with her man.

The irony of the entire ‘city’ situation, is odds have it, you will more likely find a relationship being in the ‘burbs than you will being in a city. What gives? I believe plain and simple the answer is, more options.

So maybe had I been less scared of Jersey and more scared of living in a mouse dwelling shithole, I might not have done, just that. And spent year s and years living in 1500 a month money pit, where most of the only men I saw at night had a tail and long whiskers.

8:45 a.m. Wake up fifteen minutes before my alarm goes off and lose fifteen quality minutes of sleep. I immediately sense an allegy attack on the horizon and take a Clarinex (pill No. 1) as a precaution.

10:50 a.m. Little Sister texts me to say dad has turned onto Queens Blvd (my family is picking me and Boyfriend up to go to our aunt and uncle’s house for Easter). I am still standing in my bedroom in a towel, so I text back saying that I will not be ready, but I will been ten minutes, at 11 a.m., the previously agreed upon time.

10:53 a.m. Little sister texts to say that they are here, which is impossible if they just turned onto Queens Blvd three minutes ago, but whatever. I finish getting ready, notice that the Clarinex is not working, pop an Actifed (pill No. 2) and head out the door with Boyfriend at 10 after 11 to meet the fam.

12:05 p.m. After sneezing, sniffling and blowing my nose the entire car ride to Jersey, my mom suggests that my dad make a stop at a drugstore so I can get some additional meds. He says he will drop us off at the house and then go pickup the stuff by himself. It’s about this time that I look in the mirror and notice a big blemish on my face and freak because I do not have any coverup with me. I say that I am not getting out of the car  looking like this and will go with my dad to the store to also purchase coverup.

12: 35 p.m. I have purchased the medicine and coverup at the local drugstore and I immediately take two Benadryls (pills No. 3 and 4). My dad and I are in the car on the way back to the house to join the rest of the our family when I discover that the coverup I bought is a piece of crap and is only making the situation worse. I start to panic.

12:45 p.m. We pull up to the house and, still in panic mode, I tell my father to go in alone and let everyone know that I’m on the way. Then I immediately change my mind and run out of the car, fly through the front door and, with one hand covering my face and the other one waving to everyone, make a mad dash to the bathroom. Once safely inside, I raid my aunt’s drawers, find her makeup and attempt to repair the situation as best as possible.

12:55 p.m. My other aunt knocks on the door to ask if I’m  ok.

1:10 p.m. I grab my glass of zinfandel and my sister and I drag my uncle outside for our annual photoshoot, which consists of him taking pictures of us, with my sister’s camera, looking like a**holes, with the goal of finding a new kick-ass default pic for Facebook.

1:40 p.m. I notice that I am still felling like horseshit and take another Benadryl (pill No. 5). My nose is still running like a faucet, so it is at this point that I think it will make the most sense to stuff a tissue up my nostrils for the remainder of the afternoon to stop the leak. I also start to feel woozy as a result of all the pills and wine.

2:00 p.m. As we get ready to sit down to lunch/really early dinner, I see my father holding a fruity drink and ask him to please make me one too.

2:15 p.m. We are sitting down to dinner and I spill my fruity drink all over the the dining room table and my aunt’s beautiful tablecloth. I feel embarrassed for myself and sad that a perfectly delicious, half-full drink was wasted (spill No.1).

3:00 p.m.  The coverup is starting to fade and I head back into the bathroom to do damage control.

3:05 p.m. I lean against the shower door and blow my nose. I fall backwards into the shower and start to scream as the door gives way. I think I’ve broken the door and my pants are wet. My mom rushes over to make sure I’m ok.

3:07 p.m. My cousin fixes the bathroom door and my mother, after having seen that I wasn’t hurt, calls me embarrassing and leaves.

4:00 p.m. I’m sitting at the table talking to Little Sister and and Boyfriend when I knock over the cup of soda in front of me (spill No.2).

5:15 p.m. We are back in the car and on our way home when I ask my dad if we can make a Dunkin stop because I have an iced coffee craving. We pull up to the store and my mom and I run in to grab a few drinks. I’m walking over to grab straws with my drink in one hand and my sister’s in the other, when I somehow spill my sister’s drink into the garbage can (spill No. 3). I tell the girls working the counter what happened and they make me another drink on the house, after telling me that was the funniest thing they heard all day. Great. Happy to spread the Easter joy. Meanwhile, my mom is standing by the door flirting with a twenty-something guy and telling him about my spill and how clumsy I am.

6:30 p.m. Boyfriend and I arrive back at our apartment in Queens and I swallow two more Benadryl (pill Nos. 6 and 7), inhale two different types of nasal sprays, and throw myself on the couch with Boyfriend in front of Friday’s episode of “General Hospital.”

But then everything changed, at least for me, when, in 2004, he appeared as a cracked-out whore version of himself in “Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle,” which was the funniest cameo in movie history. Suddenly, NPH was relevant, and wanted again. In 2005 he landed the role of womanizing Gary Stinson on “How I Met Your Mother” and soon became a multiple award-nominated actor. Then, in 2006, he came out of the closet and seemed to become even more popular. He did what child stars such as Mayim Bialik and Alfonso Ribeiro only dream of. He stayed relevant, without the help of VH1 or E! reality shows. He became even more talented over the years and was suddenly beloved to audiences everywhere. NPH became America’s Gay Sweetheart.

Now let’s take a look at some former child actors who didn’t fair as well as Mr. Howser, shall we? . . . .

Jaleel White. His adorable nerd appeal only lasted for so long and after “Family Matters,” this guy could not  get steady work.

Tiffany Brissette. Who? Exactly. After landing the star role as “Vicki the Robot” in “Small Wonder,” this child actor seemed to fall off the radar and IMDb has her Hollywood career dying somewhere in the early nineties.

Danica McKellar. Best known as the love of Kevin Arnold’s life, Winnie Cooper, the girl has done virtually nothing since the series ended more than 15 years ago years ago, except a couple of lame guest appearances and semi-nude photo spreads in men’s magazine.

Jodie Sweetin. This hot mess has done absolutely nothing noteworthy since “Full House” and the only reason we still know who she is is because she landed the cover of People in June 2008 discussing how she went from being a “Meth Addict to New Mom.” Like that’s something new and impressive. Courtney Love has conquered the same battle. Multiple times. In fact, I think she still is. This is not new news, and it is even less newsworthy when it’s about a has-been who is best known for one of the worst tagline’s of my childhood.

Jonathan Lipnicki. This kid was super-cute in “Jerry Maguire,” almost too cute, which I think is the reason he never did anything noteworthy after that. If you’re too cute as a child actor, you have too be really cute, or super-hot, as an adult actor to have half a chance, but most cute children can’t live up to those expectations. History shows that people who aren’t that cute as kids and turn into attractive adults have a higher rate of success because people just assume that they will grow up to be unattractive, unsuccessful adults, and then are pleasantly surprised when they turn into attractive, successful stars. Just look at Jennifer Aniston, and Lacey Chabert, and Anthony Michael Hall.

Who are your favorite child star has-beens?

I’ve always been the type of person with big ambitions who worked hard and, not too brag, but, as a reward, usually got what I wanted. It was a great life. But I was naive and thought it would last forever. Sadly, it did not. I can’t pinpoint the exact time things started to go south, but I think it was right around the time I graduated from college, moved into my own apartment in Queens and started my first PR job in Manhattan. It’s around this time that things stopped going my way.  I realized that my supposed “dream job” actually sucked and living the life of  a fun, independent single gal in the city got old pretty quickly. I spent the next several years switching between several PR jobs, stunting my career growth in the process, and continuing to hookup with various hotties while searching for Mr. Right. And then I met Boyfriend. Boyfriend was perfect and seemed to want everything I did - a 2-year courtship followed by an engagement, marriage, a house in the burbs, a small house staff and 2-4 kids. But here we are, nearly four years later, still just dating, childless, and living in a one-bedroom apartment in Queens that we rent. Not exactly the stuff dreams are made of.

I’ve often wondered why things stopped going my way and I have a pretty good idea of what went wrong. In college, I dated a guy named Tom who was head-over-heels in love with me. I mean, the guy would do anything for me, and he did. For instance, on several different occasions, when my car was in the shop in need of repair and I had no money, Tom stole money from his work to pay my bills. But alas, I was not good to Tom. I took his kindness for granted and while I was away at college upstate New York and he was home on Long Island pining for me, I cheated on him. Several times. With more than one person. I never told Tom about my indiscretions, but I’m pretty sure he found out because one day he just stopped talking to me. He vanished from my life and I never heard from him again.

I suppose the lesson learned is that you should always try to treat people well, because if you don’t, karma is a bitch and it will get you.