The EYE

Katie: do u want to know my worst nightmare
Jess: k what
Katie: the LONDON eye
Katie: I would DIE
Katie: no way in hell could u get me on that thing
Jess: why does it look like it's going so fast???
Katie: i dont know
Katie: its like the biggest thing i have ever seen
Katie: it takes 30 min to go around
Jess: haha and when u got to the bottom and cried.... another 30 minutes before they let u off

Man oh man

I love The Daily Show so much...

that I'm not at all bothered that when I went, we saw some dood who writes for the Washington Post. The next consecutive guests were, Ricky Gervais, Charlize Theron, Tony Blair, and BILL CLINTON. God hates me.

The best f'ing fake news show ever

I love The Daily Show.
I love The Daily Show so much, that I didn’t mind waiting on 11th avenue for 2 hours just to get within 100 feet (lord I’m bad with distance estimations, but that’s what the restraining order said) of Jon Stewart.
I love The Daily Show and yes, my t-shirt, which was a gift from my brother, says Stewart/Colbert '08 and it's AWESOME.
I love The Daily Show enough that I didn’t mind following the barrage of rules that the 20 year old kid on his first day of work yelled at me, which included turning off my cell phone (ugh annoying I never do that), going to the bathroom before the show (do you need a sample as well?), not asking for autographs or photos with Jon and generally “not being weird” (umm... Yea, that might be a problem).
I love The Daily Show for September 15, 2008 that literally almost taped in one take, was funny as hell and forever will include my laughter... Yes that’s right, the sounds of my unique laughter that were captured just for Jon... CRAP I broke rule #3 again...

I drove all night

If there's a Celine song, I've sung it, or considered it at some point and therefore associate it with a very specific memory. "If that's what it takes" was what I was listening to on my Walkman while riding on a tour bus junior year of high school in England with some of my closest friends. Celine sang that Friday night in French. "My heart will go on," which we were all pretty sick of 10 years ago but is likely one of the most beautiful songs ever, was the song I performed as my first big solo at a concert senior year of high school. Celine closed the show with that Friday night. "Because you loved me" I sang at my high school graduation, "To love you more" I performed at Syracuse and recruited one of my classmates to play violin, "The prayer" I duetted with another voice student, "Alone" a Heart cover on her lastest album has always been my go-to karaoke song, "Have you ever been in love" I sang at both of my best friend's weddings, and "I'm your angel" which was also part of Celine's set list Friday night, was one of their wedding songs.

Needless to say, I will take all the jabs anyone wants to send my way about Celine, because I can admit it, she’s a cheeseball, but Friday night was incredible. The woman is an animal. Almost every one of her songs has at least one ridiculous note in it and she hits them all like it’s easy. Nothing short of amazing. Luckily for everyone surrounding me, I had somehow misplaced my voice so I had to let Celine sing most of them herself this time. Basically the concert was perfect, minus the fact that it took me 45 minutes just to get out of the parking lot and then I somehow managed to get lost in Newark thereby making what should have been a 20 minute ride home, into a 2 hour ride home. Celine is worth it though.

Five straight for Federer, straight jacket for me

I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?

Bad news is that as I was running out of work yesterday in an attempt to not miss the entire Federer championship match, Cameron Mathison was coming into my building. Basically business as usual, I stare into his eyes and try to form words, he walks by and instead of finally speaking to him like I vowed to do last time, I smack Caryn’s arm so hard that she probably has a bruise. I am now a shameful 0-3 in Cameron conversations. Embarassing, this has got to stop.

Good news? My Rogy poo won the US Open! Roger easily took care of Andy Murray who should immediately go home, find a razor and shave his gross dirty neck. The day before, Andy took care of “Rafa” (whenever I hear that I think of Raffi), who should immediately find some alternative bottoms to wear in match play because I personally am tired of watching him pick his wedgie every time he goes to serve. He could wear any pants he wants in the entire world and he chooses to wear pairs that creep up his ass? I refuse to understand.

Tropic Thunder and a Tropical Storm

A couple of months ago, Katie and I were on one of our summer adventures downtown when it started pouring. I of course had no umbrella, because the story is much funnier that way, and ended up standing in the 6 train station at 77th street for a half hour, running to 79th street and standing under a bank awning until the bus came. Not shockingly the second I got home, it stopped raining. I hate irony.

Luckily today I learned my lesson and decided to take along my umbrella on my escapades to brunch and a movie. Unluckily, even though I have the largest umbrella known to man, I somehow still ended up soaking wet. WTF? People walking next to me with much smaller inferior umbrellas weren’t half as drenched as I managed to get. My jeans were soaked up to my thigh, my bag was like a sponge, and my flip-flops were showing off their unique hydroplaning abilities. I looked like one of those lunatic Weather Channel reporters getting blown around while sprinting across 34th street in an attempt to not miss the heavenly dry bus that was pulling up. As soon as I got on, I started cracking up. Hurricane 1, Jessica 0.

T-minus 11 Days

In honor of my extreme excitedness (not a word) about going to The Daily Show taping on September 15 (yippee, yee-haw, hellllllsss yea!!!!), I have carefully chosen one of the many, many clips that made me crack up uncontrollably from last week's coverage of the DNC. Classic.

40-LOVE

I know some of us were getting a bit tired of the Phelps entries... you know who you are... so why not go back to the old standard. Oh Rog, I heart you. Now that I've perfected my form at Tennis Camp... I really think it's time for us to hit around, or whatever the kids are calling it these days...

Paris and Nicole go to Tennis Camp

In high school I was on the track team for a day. I wanted to be a sprinter. I also wanted to be Mariah Carey, and yes as you can tell, I was delusional back then as well. You can easily ascertain how well the track team went for me based on my first statement, so instead I decided to stick to my musical talents and leave sports for another day. That fateful day, was this weekend... As Meredith and I stumbled into Tennis Camp with our McDonald’s bags, large dark sunglasses, and platform heels half an hour late because we were busy shopping at Woodbury Commons. Priorities people! First we couldn’t find the office to check in, then I couldn’t find our room. Basically as we walked up to the courts for our first afternoon of instruction, late and still wearing our obnoxious sunglasses, right past all of the pros, I only wish I could properly describe to you what their faces looked like. Some kind of awesome mix of horror, amusement, curiosity, and comedy. Or maybe they’d just never seen anyone with the audacity to wear shorts, which according to my brother is against ladies tennis etiquette. I actually do own a tennis skirt, however I purchased it many years ago because I thought it was really cute as a skirt and proceeded to cut out those pesky shorts that came sewn into it. Yea, I was pretty much regretting that at this point. However after my weekend at the most awesomest place on earth, I feel like a kid again on the last day of summer camp. I miss my friends (LeeAnn, Dirk, Andrea, Rita, and the posse from Staten Island), I miss my counselor (that would be our super cool pro Vic) and I miss camp. In an effort to keep the spirit alive until we hopefully return in November, I give you my Top Five Total Tennis memories from Labor Day weekend.

5 – We desperately needed bug spray, shampoo, snacks and other assorted pharmacy merchandise. Vic offered to bring bug spray because he didn’t want to give us directions to CVS because he thought we’d get lost... Which, we did. Even though we told the people at our dinner table that we were fine because “we have GPS.” Once we finally located the CVS, because the GPS led us to an Eckerd that was no longer at that location, we decided on the fantastically healthy snacks of Pringles and Oreos to go with our McDonalds from earlier in the day. You’d think we were at Fat Camp instead of Tennis Camp. Arriving back at camp, we watched the US Open and saw a big Oreo logo on the backboards... Turning to Meredith I said “OMG look, we’re sponsored by Oreo too!”

4 – The tennis racket that can technically be called mine is metallic blue with multi-color strings and designed for a 14 year old. So naturally I decided not to show up at camp with that hot mess and bring rackets that belonged to my Mom and Dad. On the first day while learning how to serve in my private lesson, Vic noticed that the racket I was using had a huge crack in the frame. I contend that the crack was most likely already there the whole time, even though it could have happened minutes prior when Vic asked if I could swing fast and get that “whoosh” sound... And I whooshed the racket right into my left knee. I probably would have been better off with my child size racket! Luckily Vic didn’t fail sharing in kindergarten and allowed me to use his extra racket all weekend.

3 – After 5 hours of tennis a day, honestly the only thing I can say I really wanted to do more than anything else in the world was watch more tennis on TV. Or not. I missed the Obama acceptance speech because the one TV at camp was playing the US Open. Then the next night, Steve-o from Scarsdale was none too happy about missing the Mets game seeing as Beltran hit a Grand Slam in the ninth with two outs to give them the lead. However, we were once again forcibly watching the US Open. Steve-o was monitoring the game on my Blackberry... That he refused to give back to me for 20 minutes even as Meredith and I repeatedly told him we wanted to go to sleep and his wife scolded him “Steve, they want to leave.”

2 – We went there to play tennis and play we did. When I wasn’t eating net, and hearing Vic repeat my mantra of the weekend “get out that net”, both Meredith and I hit shots that went hole in one right back into the ball hopper. I hit almost every part of poor Vic’s body, including one shot that may or may not have made him sterile. But the best was when he hit a couple straight to Mer, then one off to the side that she watched go by in shock and said “I have to run? A little warning would be nice...”

1 – Saturday night we had a dance in the barn. There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say! Apparently while I was busy auditioning for The Grind and dragging along unsuspecting Vic to get low, low, low, low, low, low,... Meredith was playing pool with some guy named Mark and Winston from Jamaica, who said things to me that were vastly inappropriate and will not be repeated. Later in the night when we were introduced to Vic’s secret dance move... That should really remain a secret, I decided that maybe we could trade tennis lessons for dance lessons and that way he’d have some tips to use when he, as Meredith proclaimed “practices in front of his dolls”...

Greatest weekend ever.