Elyse writes a post drunk on her 32nd birthday!!!!!!!!!!

What I got for my birthday:
• An adorable email from my dad that, when I told him I thought it was adorable, he responded with “I know.” Excerpt:

 “At least due to changes in NFL scheduling your birthday is no longer dwarfed by the Super Bowl. Although, in your case, due to your footballess thought processes it never was. Sometimes I wonder if your total under-appreciation of football results from your dad being slightly distracted by the Super Bowl while holding you in his arms at the hospital in North Miami. (Not really). This is a total fabrication since I think you were placed in a separate room at that time. I’m pretty sure you had a slight case of jaundice, and sequestered to another room with warm lights with other babies having similar problems. Anyway, even with a slightly yellow tinge you were still the most beautiful baby ever.” 

• A piece of cake
• Three cupcakes
 • Two whoopee pies
• Duck meatloaf and a plate of fried chicken
• Sold out for shuffle board (!!!!!!!)
• A wine dildo:'

 And now I’m going to binge-watch Homeland, ‘cause it’s ma berfday beeches.

Elyse’s shamelessness works

Boom:

"Re:Yeah, I’m going to go there

Oh my GOODNESS, Elyse. 

 How can we possibly resist?!? Come on over! Bring a friend! Two even! 

 Happy almost birthday. May everything come up tacos this year. 

 See you in no time!”

Elyse is shameless

So, for the past week I’ve had this reoccurring thought rolling through my mind: “I’m bored, I’m bored, I’m so fucking bored.”

And I know, it sounds really immature. Bratty even. But I am. I’m trying to be good, going to work, coming home from work, eating a healthy dinner, not drinking, going to the gym, writing, being cautious with my spending (i.e. I do nothing on the weekends) — all the things I need to do in order to move on with my life and become more successful personally, financially, and professionally, but fuck, I just want to go to a bar, get drunk, flirt with a random buy, and break some glass.

So, as I’ve said in my last post, I’m making a list of things to do every week to shake up the monotony of every day life. Something new every week, be it little or huge. This week I’m going to drink milk, dammit. It’s going to happen (with Oreos, to soften the blow) and it’s going to be epic. But before I do that, I feel like I need a warm up and last night, in an attempt to not write, I listened to the latest episode of This American Life about good guys and this thing called a “Good Guy Discount.” Basically a guy at NPR goes around asking people for a “good guy discount” when he buys things. Which, basically, is nothing more than just saying to vendors “Hey, I’m a good guy, you’re a good guy, is there any kind of discount you can give me?” And 25% of the time, the guy gets some kind of a discount.

Ben Calhoun decided to test this theory but felt kind of dirty about doing it. In fact, it took him almost an entire year to actually do the fieldwork for the story. And, I have to admit, although I’ve done some morally questionable things for a story, I totally relate with his frame of thought. Asking for a discount simply because you’re good is the opposite of good. It’s manipulative, and essentially not a nice thing to do.

An old friend of mine used to date a guy who used to do things like this all the time. And because he did these kinds of things, he was pretty wealthy. His theory was “What’s the worst someone can do? Say no? Big deal.” And sure, this kind of attitude shows an extreme amount of moxie, but this is also a guy who sold expired, Chinese machine guns to the U.S. military during the Bush administration and is now in jail. So, being sincerely good has its merits, I suppose.

But, a week from today is my birthday. And maybe it’s because when I chose the number “32” for a Super Bowl pool today at work and said “I chose 32 because I’m going to be 32 next week,” paused and then said “Ugh, that’s so gross” I feel a need to jump out of my skin a little bit. Do something not me. Or maybe it’s because I just learned how to play shuffle board last week, but when I found out that I lost out on getting free tickets to test out a new shuffle board place down the street from my house on my birthday, I tested out the “Nice Guy Discount,” in my own weird way with this email:

Subject: Yeah, I’m going to go there

 Hi,

I know this is far-fetched, but I got some moxie, so I’m going to try: I know you gave out free shuffle board tickets for January 22nd to Brooklyn Based subscribers (which I am) and you’re sold out but January 22nd is my birthday and I wanted to know if there was ANY way you could give out just two more free tickets and make my birthday extra special with a taco (tacos are better than cherries) on top.

Reasons why you should do this:

1) I live right down the street (438 Union St.) and I would probably come to your fine establishment all the time.
2) I’m from South Florida, shuffle board is in my bones the way Metamucil runs through my veins.
3) I was the 2863rd person to like you on Facebook, and everyone knows 2863 is a lucky number.
 4) *I smell like cinnamon.
5) It’s my birthday, dammit.
6) Please?

Love and kisses and Jennifer Lawrence (because everyone loves her too), 
Elyse Wanshel

Will it work? I figure I’ve got a 25% chance. But I know that I so have a 100% chance at eating at a badass place on my birthday c/o my best friend, which in my book is pretty sweet. Oh, and a 100% chance that I will turn 32, which, I guess is okay.

Better than being in jail.

* I know I’ve been saying I smell like cinnamon a lot lately, but it’s a lie. I really smell like bleach and raspberry body lotion, but cinnamon makes me giggle.


p.s. I just realized that I should’ve also mentioned that I share a birthday with DJ Jazzy Jeff. Lower my percentage to 20%.

Elyse writes an unfocused blog post

So I haven’t blogged anything in a while and I’m going to blame it on the holidays. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, the ten or so days after New Years — this span of time has been one big blur of food, airports, booze, cold, and a plummeting checking account. I also spent a lot of my free time writing a short story about an eel and a ferret who live in a hole full of scissor pillows BUT that’s all I’m going to tell you about that because you’re just going to have to read the rest of the story in The New Yorker when it’s published there in 15 years.

Anyway, like most I have a New Years resolution, or several. The usual suspects include losing enough weight that I don’t rub crotch holes into the thighs of my jeans every few months, getting out of debt, and getting published in publications that people actually read. But I think a fun one to do with this blog, so I always have something new and sparkly to write about, is trying something new every week. And this can vary. From learning how to make cocktails to doing my own laundry, from looking each person I pass on the street dead in the eye for a day, to learning how to throw knives. From drinking milk for the first time in 29 years (seriously, I have an issue) to going to a show alone. Basically I’m bored and I can die tomorrow without ever knowing what it’s like to climb Machu Pichu, eat foie gras, walk on stilts, watch the Godfather trilogy, build a rubber band ball, take care of a Venus fly trap, or learn to French braid my own hair. So, this will be a challenge, but, hey, why not? Life is becoming very wash and repeat for me, so let me try to liven it up a bit.

But, in the mean time, let me do one of my most favoritest things in the world and blog about random pictures I forgot I took on my phone!

Let’s start with the oldest and move to the most current.

Halloween. I was Katniss Everdeen but made brief appearances as:

Charlie Chaplin

Adolf Hitler

I went on a 40-hour date. This picture was taken on the third hour:

 This one of the 20th:

 There are no pictures taken past this point because I was grungy and we all have to obtain our fake, fantasy-based, glossy magzinesque online personas and mine is way cool and smells like cinnamon.

Thanksgiving. I went back home to Miami and, despite popular belief, it’s cesspool of palm trees, red tiled roofs, superficiality, and Britto paintings. Aside from seeing my family, eating home-cooked meals I didn’t cook, watching the last season of the Walking Dead for free, and an epic game of Apples to Apples, this was the highlight: 

I love and miss you, Cuban food. Stay greasy.

 Back in Brooklyn, I went to a Vikings game at a dive bar and brought along Twiggy:

This is why dogs should not be allowed in bars. Drunk humans are evil.

Our TV broke, we live on a three-story walkup, and Christmas came. So, this happened:

Then Christmas died:

 And … I saw the royal baby:

Happy New Year!

Elyse finds the essence of true love

Today, while searching Flickr’s Creative Commons to find free, public images that could illustrate an article about taking engagement photos, I stumbled upon this couple. Here are a few of my favorites:

Nothing fishy about this engagement photo.

Aw, it’s the first gutter they woke up in together.

A delivery that is scarier than anthrax.

Classy ladies cross their legs.

Want an open relationship? Reach a compromise

Nothing says true love like motor boating.

Elyse creates Twiggy Tumblr

Real conversation on Facebook:

Friend from college: Hey, how are you? 

Me: Good. Just hanging out with friends, working, writing, nothing too momentous to note, but I'm happy 
FFC: I was just curious. You post a lot of dog pics, but I never see much more of you on my news feed. 
Me: Yeah, I need to stop with the dog postings. Makes me feel like a spinster. 
FFC: Nothing wrong with the dog postings other than the fact you have a weird looking dog 
Me: Haha, it's technically not even mine it's my roommate’s 
FFC: lol, that's even worse. 

It’s true, I do post a lot of pictures of my roommate’s dog — a strange, tiny, Italian greyhound named Twiggy who lives to eat chicken and sniff dirty panties. It’s because I created a Tumblr page for her and annoying the 300 (I’m so lying, it’s more like 10) friends I have on Facebook is my best marketing strategy because I really hate promoting myself. It makes me feel dirty and cheap and I only like to feel that way when I’m grilling and eating American cheese off of a skillet at 4 am after a one-night stand in Bushwick.

 Anyway, enough about me, check out Twiggy’s Tumblr “Chicken & Panties!” Here’s a little taste of what you can see on a weekly basis:

Hello, world. My name is Twiggy. I’m a 7-lb. Italian greyhound who lives in Brooklyn, New York with my very tall, human mother. I enjoy all things chicken, panties, pink, and smelly. I also love riding the subway to my big job in fashion! Licking myself is quite a delight as is sitting on laps. I hate the wind, because a big gust could easily blow me away. My farts smell awful.

Hi, I poop in a box.

Twiggy in the City: Will she ever find love? Probably not. Because she’s a total Samantha.

The cutest butthole you’ll ever see

I will eat your soul.

Does this Snuggie make me look fat?

Princess Twiggy

So, you’re a Libra and a vegetarian? You learn so much from sniffing butt.

Solemnly preparing for Shabbat tomorrow. Oy vey, I love being a Jew.

The species, “the Twiggy,” bares a coat that allows it to blend into its natural habitat, the couch.

Elyse has shoe issues OR (alternative headline: Elyse has ‘Jimny Choo’ issues, har de har har … not really … I’m sleepy)

Hahhaahahah, I can’t afford you, pretty lady.

Every time I go shoe shopping, I end up making a “shoe buddy” in hopes that this total stranger will help me decide between two pairs of shoes. The end result always seems to be that we convince each other that we both really need two new pairs of shoes.