Elyse’s blindness gets her bloody

Point Break Live!

Due to my love for all things Gary Busey (see monkey above), I went to see “Point Break Live!” a theatrical parody of the epic 1991 surfer thriller, “Point Break,” in which he co-stars as a FBI agent. It was being performed at Littlefield, a small but well-stocked (with booze, that is) venue in Gowanus, a few blocks from my apartment. So my strange-event-loving friend and I decided to get there early, so that my blind ass could have the pick of the theater in regards to plastic, folding seats. I chose the aisle seats in the front row and we patiently waited for the show to begin, three feet from the stage. I thought that I totally scored.

Once the show started, it began with a bang to the brain, being that a girl got up on stage and started screeching at the audience through a bullhorn. She screamed through the mouthpiece like she didn’t understand that her voice would be amplified and that we were in a relatively small venue (it could seat about 50, though there were 100 people there). After I regained a little bit of my hearing, it seemed as if she was playing the role of casting director, or director, or something that involved rupturing eardrums and wearing tiny shorts and a loose fitting tank top that revealed her mid-drift. She made the throaty announcement that Keanu Reeves did not show up to casting that day and they needed a member of the audience to play Johnny Utah, the ex-football star turned FBI agent turned undercover surfer bank robber. A gaggle of graduates from the Keanu Reeves School of Acting jumped on stage, emptied their minds, and delivered lines like “You gonna jump or jerk off?” with all the head-jerky, monotone, male bimbo swagger they could muster. # Selection of Johnny Utah was based on applause and the Keanu replacement that was chosen for my show ended up being a cute meaty guy who barely fit into the wet suit the cast made him sport the entire show. Beefy had won the coveted role not because of his Keanu Reeves impersonation, but because his large group of friends that had most likely coaxed him on stage were really loud.

The show began and the cast literally acted out the whole movie, scene by scene, with the aid of really bad bleach blonde synthetic wigs and surf boards. When the characters would surf, cast members would run around the audience squirting people with Super Soakers for pure surfing authenticity. Thankfully they provided the audience with hooded ponchos that covered everything but your shoes.

Fake Keanu in his awkward shyness was entertaining enough, especially during the skydiving scene where the cast forced him into a harness so he could be hung from the rafters like he was actually free-falling and all the poor guy could mutter was “Don’t make me do this, I have a weight problem,” over and over again. But the true stars of the show were – of course – the actor who played Gary Busey who did a flawless impersonation and a tiny girl who played Reeves’ stunt double.

The stunt double whose function was showing fake Keanu cue cards with his lines on it throughout the performance and then jumping in during action scenes to kung-fu battle shirtless surfers in plastic US President masks was adorably funny.

Then there was the scene where everyone dies at the end in a bloody shoot out and the cast felt it necessary to pop a ton of balloons filled with fake blood and splatter is all over the audience. Sure, we were wearing ponchos, but we were also wearing shoes and hair. I didn’t have the hood of my poncho up, thinking the worse I would get was sprayed with some water, and had corn syrup in my hair for days.

And since I was sitting in the front, my friend and I got it bad.

I apologized to my roommate for being blind after the show was over, and we immediately went home. I stayed in on a Friday night when I originally had intentions of going out. Much like a lady’s holiday, the blood put a damper on our nights.

So, if you plan to go to this show, don’t be blind, and sit far back. And if you plan on being Keanu, don’t have a weight problem.

Elyse tells the fairytale story of a magical princess date: Part II

A sad princess.

So, the court date finally rolled around three months later, and it happened to be a few days after Superstorm Sandy plowed through town and things in NYC were a little chaotic. In fact, the courthouse I was supposed to go to in Red Hook, an area that got hit pretty hard, was out of power. The morning of my court date, not really knowing what to do, I texted the only other person I knew in the same weird position I was in, Plugs.

We had not spoken since our date but the courthouse and local government in general was impossible to reach and I figured he would know what to do – his sister was a cop, after all.

He told me he had already gone to the courthouse. He said to just show up, sign a piece of paper proving you showed up, and they would assign you a new court date when the power came back on. I showed up, signed my name, told an officer why I was there, and he just laughed and said: “That will definitely be dismissed, don’t even count on getting a date in the mail.”

I never did. But my panicked texting reopened the flood gates between Plugs and I. He texted me up a storm that was *way more damaging for me that Sandy. Here is the juiciest part of our text-exchange. Keep in mind, I got this when I was sitting at my desk at work:

Me: So what’s new with you? 

Plugs: Not much. Working. My bday is Saturday, getting a new bike! Being a perv. Living the dream. 

Me: Happy birthday. Are you planning on being a perv with your new bike?

Plugs: Ha. No. But I have a few pervy ideas for my bday involving girls. Ha.

Me: Well, I hope you get your birthday wish. 

Plugs: Ha. Maybe you can be part of it. 

Me: Oh? I assumed you moved on. 

 Plugs: Well I had a nasty idea. But up to you. I figured we had a tough start. 

Me: Uh, yeah. 

Plugs: Something nasty. I shouldn’t even say :)

Me: What is it?

Plugs: I have a girl that I am fucking now. I want someone to watch me fuck her :) If I must admit. 

Me: Hmm. I think you need to find another girl.

Plugs: Ha. I was just saying…………….Told you I shouldn’t have said it. Ha.

 Me: Nah, that’s cool. Have fun fucking that girl! 

Plugs: I will :) Have fun showing strangers ur panties. 

Me: Oh, I will. 

Plugs: Oh, I’m sure you will. 

I just stopped. You know this was going to become a game of “Oh, no. I’m sure YOU will,”, “No, no, NO, I’m sure!!!” and then we would have ended up sexting and having little cyber babies and who wants cyber babies? I don’t need another device I have to charge every night.

*Side note: I’m from Miami where we take our hurricanes seriously. I know Breezy Point, Coney Island, Long Beach, and parts of Jersey got tore up, but, I was able to order a pizza in the middle of the storm in my neighborhood. A pizza! It blew my mind and my taste buds because that pizza was really good … unlike any encounter with Plugs. Ha.

Elyse feels compelled to take a photo of a stranger 2

It’s okay, little dude. I know it’s a long train ride, but once you’re at your stop, Santa will be there with milk and cookies.

Elyse does Bethenny's Skinnygirl Workout

I like Bethenny Frankel and I like yoga. I also like the smell of gasoline and chocolate ice cream, and as you can imagine, those two go horribly together. So does Bethenny and yoga.
I liked this workout in theory, especially the aspect of being able to do 15, 30, and 45 increments. The workout is pretty good as well, challenging enough with interesting shifts from pose to pose. The problem is Bethenny, who I usually like on reality television, but don't when I'm trying to zone out and do some yoga. Her loud voice tears into your zen-like state with arbitrary comments that aren't very helpful but feel more like a constant reminder that THIS IS HER YOGA DVD, HER BRAND. And it's annoying.
Also, the vocal instructions are sometimes unclear, so you're constantly looking at the screen to figure out what you're supposed to be doing, which, in my opinion isn't a strong characteristic for a yoga DVD. 
One positive? Cookie makes an appearance!
I'd suggest this DVD for people that really like Bethenny Frankel and find her acquired brand of charm endearing enough to put up with her endless yapping.

Elyse tries to be a fucking adult

Yesterday I returned two 40 oz., $5 cans of Modelo because they were too expensive. This is a big deal for me. I’m not a huge returner. In fact, I’m a big, let’s just get it done and move on with our lives type of person, which equates to “Oh, HowAboutWe.com automatically charged me an $80 renewal fee for their site even though I don’t use it and forgot to cancel before the deadline. Oh well.” I spend $4 on a latte a day, $40 on wine every week, and $90 on brunch and takeout every weekend. I let Groupons expire and veggies rot in my crisper. I take cabs when I’m too drunk to figure out the GPS on my phone, go to expensive restaurants when I’m flat broke and slap the entire expense on a credit card, and spend $2 an episode on “The Vampire Diaries” on Amazon when I’m bored instead of just waiting for them to come out for free on Netflix. Yes, the fucking Vampire Diaries. There is a gratuitous amount of hot male shirtlessness on that show, okay?

I’m paycheck to paycheck and I act like I don’t know why.

The result of my recklessness has trickled down into other aspects of my life that don’t involve having $60 to my name after paying rent, most recently, my weight.

I went to get a physical last week and I found out that since I moved to New York two years ago, I’ve put on 20 lbs. I was shocked. I knew I had put on weight, but not that much. And it’s a result I should have foreseen a year ago when I began ditching the gym in favor of the thrift shop located directly across the street. I’d literally sign up for a spinning class, go over to the store to kill some time, spend an hour finding the perfect faux fur coat I’d probably wear twice, and ultimately, not work out. Then I’d go home, drink half a bottle of wine, and look at vampire abs before passing out.

Yet, my disinterest in the gym wasn’t a pure result of my laziness, lushness, hedonism, vanity, or materialism, I also I didn’t like my gym. I had been going for a year and found their aerobic classes to be boring, every instructor would do the same kind of class every time I showed up. Wash, repeat, yawn. There was no challenge, their machines would frequently break down, and no one would ever fix them. I started showing up and sitting on a machine I didn’t particularly like just so I could watch re-runs of “The Real Housewives of New Jersey” because I don’t have cable. And no one’s going to get thoroughly into a workout when their distracted by Teresa Giudice flipping tables.

So, I quit my gym and started buying Groupons for other gyms in my neighborhood in the hopes that I’d find something I liked. But I was frequently disappointed. So, I started jogging (well, walking and some jogging) and doing at-home workouts. I started eating more pizza because, well, it’s pizza and it wasn’t like I was taking a hardcore boot camp class the morning of to remind myself “hey, you worked your ass off this morning, don’t ruin it by going nuts on this pizza.”

Then, last weekend, days after finding out I gained 20 lbs., I actually found a gym I like. A gym I can see myself going to several times a week that can smack me back into gear. Only problem is, it’s $89 a month. And how can I afford that?

Easy.

I’m going to watch my money. I’m cutting out fancy lattes and bottles of wine during the week. That alone should cover my payment. But I don’t want to it end there. I want to actually start saving money again, maybe even afford to go on a vacation and pay off a credit card or two. Maybe I can afford cable!

So, yesterday, when I bought those two cans of Modelo – which were for cooking by the way, not for boozing – and realized how expensive they were after buying them, my initial reaction was “fuck it.”

It was raining, I wanted to go home, and the overpriced grocery store where I bought them was convenient. I got half way down the block with the pricy 40s (an oxymoron? Not quite, but conceptually, almost) when I stopped dead in my tracks. I wanted to keep walking home, but I couldn’t, not if I wanted to afford this gym. Not if I wanted to change. Not if I wanted to be a fucking adult for once.

 So, I turned around and walked back into the store. I plopped the two tall cans of beer on the counter.

 “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I need to return these. They’re way too expensive."

The cashier looked at me like I was crazy but refunded my money. I left and walked home in the rain instead of taking the subway so I would pass a bodega where I knew they sold the same kind of beer for $3 a pop.

And I know I didn’t save that much, but once my dinner was done last night, it tasted delicious. More so than usual, so I had a tiny extra serving. One day at a time, right?

Elyse tells the fairytale story of a magical princess date: Part I

According to Google: “a happy princess”

This happened over a year ago, but it’s a nightmarish story of online dating disasters – so, enjoy!:

We bounded over a mutual love of turkey sandwiches, the great outdoors, and Bea Arthur. Of course, this all started online. Then it turned into texting and two nights of long phone conversations. I actually liked him, I felt like we had a genuine connection, despite the fact that he had stretched lobes, which grosses me out because I’ve heard plugs make your ears smell like cheese.

We wanted our first date to be at a park, maybe the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, but our schedules were always off. Then we thought it would be nice to meet up at Brooklyn Bridge Park. But, things never panned out. So, one night he ended up riding his bike to my apartment and we went to a bar called Camp. He was pretty high-energy. Sometimes when my roommate’s tiny Italian greyhound, Twiggy

Yo!

acts up, I say “tranquilo” to her (because she speaks Spanish) and she automatically calms the fuck down. I felt like saying “tranquilo” to this dude numerous times. But he was really good looking despite the plugs and having his entire right forearm tattooed black, no actual tattoos, just black, so I rode the wave.

Things were going okay until karaoke started. Cheesy 90s (think: lots of Soul Train) karaoke. So, because we have ears – stretched and un-stretched – we had to leave. We decided, utilizing our whiskey-infused logic that since I lived near a park and we originally wanted our first date to be at a park, it would be nice to go to a park and make-out in private.

He was a weird kisser. He liked to do a lot of tongue-twirling stuff. I took a break from all the tongue rolling and flashed him my panties playfully, because, well, I was drunk. Then two cops showed up.

Why were we in the park at night? Did we not see a very tiny sign on the wide-open gate that says you can’t be in this park past nightfall? Why was I wearing boy shorts when the dress I was wearing clearly called for a thong? We stood next to their patrol car for about 20 minutes getting super un-makeoutty as they checked to make sure I wasn’t a hooker doing a John in a park.

I spent my time standing there wishing I was at home watching an episode of “Firefly” on Netflix. He spent his time yelling at the cops about how his sister-in-law was a cop. We ended up getting citations complete with a court date. Here’s proof!:

Yay!

We walked back to my place, he got his bike, said he’d call, and left.

I ended up watching something on Netflix but it wasn’t “Firefly.” It didn’t seem right to get something I actually wanted that night. So I watched “The Secret Life of the American Teenager” instead and it was awful, which was perfect.

Elyse feels compelled to take a photo of a stranger

My sister once tried this with a parakeet. It had devastating results.