waaaaaaahhhhh.

today marks day three of feeling like a pukey nasty mess.  i've been curled on my couch in the fetal position for the past 12 hours and called out sick today.  saltines, peanut butter and bananas? A GIRL NEEDS REAL FOOD DAMMIT! WHY CAN'T I JUST EAT LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!? WHYYYY?!  this is pretty bad, but what makes it infinitely worse, you ask?

today is the jimmy fund scooper bowl down at city hall plaza and christoph and the rest of mcalister drive will be there rocking out while scarfing all you can eat ice cream.

WHY CAN'T HIL HAVE ALL YOU CAN EAT ICE CREAM?! BECAUSE HIL HAS FOOD POISONING.  

WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

NOOOOOOO

i am a very grumpy hil right now.

it's marathon monday, and instead of wearing my sweet new sweatband and tube socks and slapping runners high-fives along beacon street today, i am home, on my couch, wearing my sweet new sweatband and making tea and sippin' on chicken soup instead of cold brewskis and sulking while watching benson and stabler bust the bad guys on Law & Order: SVU.  i have a sunburn,  a runny nose and an awful sore throat.  long story short? hil is not joining the throngs of revelers and her friends in back bay/brookline today.  hil is moping and sniffling and chowing down tylenol and airborne and not enjoying herself.

these pictures from wine riot/mcalister drive/the mcalister drive afterparty extravaganza that jessie snapped with her gorgeous new camera the other night do make me feel better, however:

"wino forever" fake tatz at wine riot. yessss.

these mustachioed glasses will remain prized possessions in my apartment forever.  so ludicrous. hahaha.

our friends are like suuuuuuch dreamy rockstars.  here's christoph rockin' out.

and here's me and jessie after a round or two of beer pong.  if there was a "lolhipsterz" blog, i wouldn't be surprised if this made it with a big ol' "SWOOP BANGZ OM NOM NOM" on it.

so yeah.  go drink cheap beer and work on your fitness for me on marathon monday on my behalf, all you lucky bastards out there who don't have awful head colds.

"this one tastes more librarian-y."

wine riot gave me an adhesive mustache, four hours worth of wine sippage and a godawful hangover.  these are mine and jessie's glasses from the event last night which went over swimmingly (congrats to everyone over at the second glass!)  i think it's pretty goofy that i now have two stemless goblets rocking sweet facial hair.

i'll write up wine riot/gab's bday festivities/mcalister drive's splendid precinct show in more accurate detail later, as "the departed" is playing on FX for the gazillionth time this week and i have cookies in the oven.  what a productive sunday NAHT.

this FACEPALM is brought to you live on saturday night.

F A C E P A L M.

while getting ready to go to some "gold"-themed BC birthday party in allston with marcy, i was blasting guns n' roses/bodega girls/madonna (1984-1988, not any of this disco revival shit) and i somehow COMPLETELY lost track of time and am now sitting on my couch smacking myself in the face because i should've left my house an HOUR AND A HALF AGO.

lessons learned:

+ "sweet child o' mine" on repeat is a procrastination enabler.  it just makes me make my hair all huge (or huger, i guess), dance like a maniac in front of my full length mirror for an hour and scare my neighbors when i scream the high notes with axl in the last 1:20 of the song.  

+ i own several articles of clothing/pieces of jewelry/assorted accessories that would be appropriate for a "gold"-themed soiree.  why this is unfortunate: a) my gold sequined tom's are now so rank and disgusting that i can't even take them out of my closet they reek so bad b) my necklace with the huge pearls wrapped in gold filigree leaves royally snag on my hair/various articles of clothing and as a result the necklace is boasting hunks of bright purple thread leftover from when i wore the necklace with my flapper dress on halloween, ugh. c) the gold jewelry i do own isn't ostentatiously gold (a la "bling bling." word.) or relatively classy therefore it looks kind of awkward as most of it is vintage-y or weird. i do, however, own the best purse ever for this kind of affair:

um hi impromptu vanna white? ok.

+ TURN THE RADIO OFF AND GO HANG OUT WITH YOUR FRIENDS, DAMMIT!  IT DOESN'T MATTER THAT YOU HAVE TO TAKE THE 66 TO GET THERE!  JUST GOOO.

ok! and now a buddy is swinging by to save me and take me to a party in somerville? did my saturday night just get salvaged?  wtf life.

um.

a couple of things:

#1. anyone else in boston watching "the office" right now?  because they definitely had a commercial for the massachusetts tourism bureau (www.massvacations.com/) playing in ... uh, massachusetts.  what?  that's dumb. they should be playing that shit in florida or texas or somewhere else.  who FROM massachusetts is going to book a vacation TO massachusetts? stupid. [i do understand that this could be a national advertisement, but i highly doubt it. c'mon people.]

#2. i was just pokin' through apartment therapy, which i make a point to browse through every couple of days, and found this:

and promptly swooned.  what i wouldn't GIVE for my apartment walls to just be bookcases filled with books assorted by color.  brilliant.

anyways, that's all.  tomorrow is friday, meaning i've got another three days in store that'll consist of dance parties, fantastic live music and brunch with my three favorite people on saturday.  jessie, los, maya and i, together at laaaast! 

love/hate: st. patrick's day.

reasons why hil loves st. patrick's day:

+ this is the only day of the year where i can actually do an irish car bomb and be excited about it.

+ i look good in green, which makes dressing for the festivities easy.

+ my dad's family is kind of old school north shore proud to be irish american and he's making corned beef and cabbage tonight and he's all cute about it.  i can't go for dinner, but it's sweet to see him get all excited.

reasons why hil hates st. patrick's day:

+ this is the only day of the year where i can actually do an irish car bomb and be excited about it.   (yes. i know that i wrote that twice.)

+ i will punt a small child/puppy/something else wholesome and good if i have to listen to the dropkick murphys' "shipping up to boston" or "the state of massachusetts" ONE. MORE. TIME.  i will beat a stranger into submission with my bare hands if i have to listen to them trying to wail either song on the T/on the bus/in the general vicinity of my apartment.

+ overhearing the following in line at the coffee shop, on the t, at the grocery store, and most assuredly at the bar later: "OH MY GAHD DOOD I'M SO IRISH.  I'M 110% IRISH.  110%. LIKE SO WICKED IRISH. LIKE I KNOW ALL THE WORDS TO DANNY BOY AND I DRINK GUINNESSS LIKE WATER AND "BOONDOCK SAINTS" IS MY FAVORITE MOVIE DOOD AND I HAVE A SHAMROCK TATTOO FOR MY HERITAGE BECAUSE I'M SOOOO IRISH. MY LAST NAME IS Mc-/O'- SEE I'M MORE IRISH THAN YOU ARE."  you are not from ireland.  your parents were not from ireland.  i highly doubt your great great grandparents were irish, you tool.  i bet you're about as irish as i am at best, and even though i have so many freckles that it looks like someone threw mud at me through a screen door, i'm not gonna parade my "heritage" around suffolk county to impress randos and try to get laid for love of the republic.  jump off the MGH bridge, brah.  or go back to the suburbs.  i don't care.  stop existing.  you give my city a bad name.

+ nothing good can come from this holiday except for an upset stomach from corned beef and cabbage and a blistering hangover.  three years ago (when i was still in college and therefore didn't know better, c'mon), i woke up the morning after st. paddy's on a balcony in astoria with a shamrock painted on my face.  no one needs that. ever.

so, for those of you looking to avoid what's sure to be an incredibly unpleasant scenario, avoid the following bars/neighborhoods tonight:

1) faneuil hall/causeway street/the north end.  any bar (the purple shamrock, the bell and hand, kitty o'shea's, emmett's, hurricane o'reilly's) that's anywhere near faneuil hall.  this goes without saying.  any self-respecting bostonian avoids faneuil/government center like the plague anyway when it comes to nightlife and st. paddy's day is hardly the day to make this mistake.  lines, college kids and cover charges? hellllllll no.

2) landsdowne street.  do you want to get puked on by some sorority girl from one of the colleges of the fenway who can't match her brah of a boyfriend baileys shot for baileys shot? do you want to get shoved around by drunken buffoons in scally caps only to get punched in the teeth by one of them in front of the cask and flagon?  i didn't think so.

3) the intersection of brighton ave/harvard ave in allston.  i don't mind the bars in allston on the week nights when it's a bit more chill and especially during the summertime.  with that said, two that i refuse to ever go to are the kells and the joshua tree. (j-tree isn't on brighton ave, it's actually on comm, but it's close enough.)  expect to see/hear a lot of drunk girls crying on the sidewalk because the bouncers took their fake ids. 

4) southie.  don't be stupid.

whoooa.  that's a lot of saint paddy's day hate.  sorry for the negativity, guys, but i had to get it out.  should you chose to frequent one of the previously mentioned establishments this evening, get housed before you go.  it's the only way you'll enjoy it/make it out alive.

erin go bragh,

hil.

no words.

los in this is just pure gold.

couch fort? why, yes. yes indeed.

things i should be doing instead of building another hangover induced couch fort and watching law and order svu episodes before marcy and los come over and we make brownies:

+saving my apartment from the hellish mess devouring it at present.  it was created by a merry band of spaghetti-and-meatball-eating friends who wound up at my place after another rowdy sunday at precinct for tiramisu and hookah and, apparently, leftovers.  my kitchen is D E S T R O Y E D.

+picking out a green outfit for eighties st. paddy's dance party tomorrow evening at phoenix landing.  

+taking a shower.  i'm still wearing my makeup from last night and my hair looks ... interesting.  that requires leaving the couch fort, though. hmmm.

+committing to memory the list of reasons why i never, ever need to go to southie ever again after going to the parade yesterday.  as a local, i grew up with parents who forbade trips to southie for any reason whatsoever and who frowned upon the annual saint patrick's day parade because they deemed it an obnoxious, booze-soaked walk of shame perpetrated by good for nothins' and stupid college kids.  my parents? kind of right.  if i see one more wasted girl with flat-ironed hair, an oversized paul pierce/kevin garnett jersey, leggings and uggs, i'm going to vomit.  on their uggs. on the green line.  on the way back to suffolk/bu/bc.  which is where they can be found in their natural habitat. ugh ugh ugh hate so much hate so much seething searing hate.

+going to the gym.

+cutting up my credit card. NO MORE SHOPPING FOR A LONG LONG LONG TIME.  the stuff (headband, belt, dress and shirt) i picked up at urban today is grrrreat and completely unnecessary but i had to have them. a;sjdfal;sdjkf.

+getting coffee. 1369 please.  the starbucks on somerville ave made me want to eat glass a couple of days ago and i haven't been back since: basically, the girl working the bar (read: making the drinks, putting them up on the counter for customers to collect 'em) was real bad at her job.  i hate when people bitch and moan about food service ("how hard can it be? you work with coffee." "how long does it take to heat a croissant?" etc.) unless they, like myself, have actual food service/bartending/waitressing experience and they can tell the difference between someone who's awful at their job/lazy and someone who's slammed/unlucky/having a bad day.  this girl was either stoned or lazy or both.  laaaaaame.

+sending in my audition tape for rock of love four.  jessie and i are going to romance bret michaels.  (just kidding! we like/respect ourselves too much to do that, i think.)

saint bono in somerville.

image courtesy of the big green.

the following phone conversation just took place about two minutes ago.

dad: ARE YOU GOING TO SEE BONO TONIGHT?!

hil: ... no.

dad: HE'S GOING TO BE RIGHT DOWN THE STREET FROM YOU!!!

hil: ... i have to go to the gym bye.

dad: BONO'S GOING TO BE NEAR YOUR GYM.

hil: ......

my family is easily excitable.

(i didn't tell my dad that i may, in fact, be ransacking davis square this evening hoping to see bono and the edge slummin' it at sligo's or the burren or something. it is free pool night at flat top johnny's, however, so we'll see.)

wintry mix? wintry HELL.

like everyone else in this slushy mushy gross city, los and i are sick. to. death. of. this. snowy slushy nasty substance we fondly refer to as a "wintry mix".

anyways, we're here learning the choreography to michael jackson's "thriller" because los has to teach her hip hop club class at the winter hill school this afternoon and needs something for the kiddos to do.  i am her guinea pig.  i am not the most mj-inclined dancer, we've discovered.

in other news: the cold war kids' hospital beds is song of the moment for me.  they're coming to town on april 2nd; seriously considering getting tickets because i'm obsessed with them, but alas it's los' birthday!  they're playing terminal 5 in new york the following night, so maybe i'll just suck it up and head down to my former stompin' ground to see the show and hang out with some favorites.  here's an acoustic version of hospital beds for your listening pleasure.  so hauntingly gorgeous.  so perfect on a day like today.

so did anyone wake up with a splitting gin and dance party induced headache this morning? because i know that jessie and i did.  to quote jessietron, blergh.

also, i give you baby on a roomba.

love, hil.

on impulse purchases:

ok, so someone needs to come over and cut my credit card up into teeny tiny little pieces.  i've been desperately seeking different outlets for my creativity since acquiring all this newfound free time post-layoff, and i finally went out last week, bought a hammer, and decided to attack the white, naked walls of my apartment.  jessie and i have been spending the past couple of sunday afternoons painting, so i had a few canvases i wanted to tack up in my living room in addition to the slew of framed postcards and photographs i've got hanging around.   i don't have any "before" pictures, but here's a look at my humble abode in its current, more aesthetically pleasing state:

first, a shot of the boudoir:

and some [blurry, sorry] shots of the living room:

and then, after i put the hammer down and the picture hooks away, i. couldn't. stop.

the pictures looked great and everything and painting was fun, but i wanted more. i wanted new chairs! i wanted a bookshelf for the cookbooks i don't have in my kitchen! i wanted a standing coat hanger and another dresser for the bedroom and more paintings!  so, what did hil do, ladies and gentlemen? like a crazy person, she stopped into that adorable little antiques & restoration haven down the street from her apartment and she bought THIS:

a gigantic, hil-sized map of south america.

I DON'T HAVE A JOB AT PRESENT.  WHY AM I DROPPING CASH ON A MASSIVE MAP OF SOUTH AMERICA WHEN I COULD BE SPENDING IT ON FOOD OR INTERVIEW CLOTHES OR I DON'T KNOW SAVING IT.  RAHHHHH.

(i would be lying, however, if i said i wasn't obsessed with it.  it's pretty great. the bookcase underneath it was part of the purchase as well and i got both for a fantastic price but STILLLL i shouldn't be doing that i know better ugh.)