Smarter Than A Monkey

Good Morning!

I'm not sure if I mentioned this...but my apartment is kind of a piece of shit. It's not quite a crack-den, but my landlord has done a lot of the carpentry by himself...and clearly has no business building cupboards/counter-tops from scratch. So when I told him our bathroom doorknob wasn't closing properly, he said he'd gladly fix it...by replacing it with an even older doorknob from his pile of stuff in the garage. Not surprisingly, this one works even worse than the previous knob. And by "works even worse," I mean, "If you pull on it at all, the thing flies out."

As a result, we've taken to very gingerly closing the door...but it still falls out all the time. It was purely an annoyance until the other day...when I locked myself into the bathroom. Here's what happened:

Usually when the handle flies off, it's when the door is still open and we can just pop it back in and we're back in business. But this time, I managed to close the door shut, while simultaneously pulling the knob out. So to be clear: The knob he's "installed" has two parts - the knob that's inside the bathroom fell off, but the other side (with a long metal piece that goes through the hole in the door to connect with the other knob) was still in there - but you can't put the knob back together from that side. If you just push it in, you knock the long part out. And the door is shut.

Realizing I could be stuck in here awhile, I hold off on panicking, do my business, (washed my hands), then take inventory of the situation: I literally couldn't get out of the bathroom. My roommate/bestie, Lauren, had texted me a half hour before saying she was on her way home, so I was thinking I could just wait it out and have her rescue me when she got home. I sat there for a couple minutes, waiting, and then got too bored.

I attempted to stick my fingers into the hole in the door and grab the metal stick to turn the handle, but no dice. I sat back down to regroup.

Bored again after about 30 seconds, I was now determined to make a break for it, on principle alone. If monkeys can use tools, I sure as hell wasn't going to get stuck in my own bathroom until my roommate came home to me whimpering and scratching at the door to let me out. So I started rummaging through the medicine cabinet for something I could use. I found a bobby pin...which if I learned anything from Hollywood, would totally get me out. It did not work. I just bent the shit out of a perfectly good bobby pin. I tried a nail file, a toothbrush handle and my fingers again, to no avail.

Finally, I found nail clippers that seemed to match the shape of the mechanism, wedged them in there and it turned! Not only was I happy to finally break out, but turns out...spending 2 weeks watching the entire "Prison Break" series actually paid off!

First stop, locked in a bathroom at my own fault...next stop...breaking out of a maximum security prison.

Safe & Sound in Astoria,
Jordan

PS, The entire time I was locked in the bathroom, I kept thinking of R. Kelly's 100-part music video, "Trapped in the Closet" (if you can even call it a music video. They weren't even songs. He was basically just singing a poorly written story). Look forward to my remix, "Trapped in the Bathroom."

Meeting Your Idol Never Goes As Planned.

Hey Readers...(all 2 of you. Shout out to our 1 follower & my father!)

I was just catching up on this weeks' episode of "Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List,"and I remembered I never posted about the time I got to meet her!

Little bit o' back-story: I'm a big fan of Kathy Griffin's (yes, I will only refer to her by her first-and-last name. It's what you do with famous people) and love, love, love her show. Not only is she a fellow Ginger, (which automatically makes her more awesome than other non-Ginger comics), but I like her story-telling style of comedy and her sarcasm and self-deprecating humor.

So, on to the point. This was in February, when she was in NYC doing a few shows and stopped by a Barnes & Noble to do a book signing. The good fan that I am, I bought her book when it came out, read it immediately and pretended to be inspired to work harder at stand-up comedy for about a week. So when I heard she was doing a signing, I had to go meet her.

Problem was, it started at 12:30pm, but I had to work at the ice skating rink (I was coaching kid's hockey at the time) and didn't have a break until 1:30pm & had to be back by 3pm. I called the store and they had no clue how long she was staying. The lovely gentleman on the phone said - and I quote - "it could be another couple hours, or another 5 minutes." Game on, friendly gay Barnes & Noble employee.

Reminder to set the scene: this was February and it snowed a lot this winter. I'm in my work snowpants and big old winter jacket that says "COACH" on the back. This was NOT my ideal "Meet Kathy Griffin, Make Her Want to be My Mentor/Adoptive Mother Outfit." And yet, there was no time for a costume change, so "Snow-Mobile Barbie" I would have to be.

As soon as I'm done with my lesson, I throw my snow boots on and start heading downtown. I decided it would be faster to walk the 15 blocks then wait for a subway train that would only take me part-way. A few blocks into the commute, I realized I forgot my phone in my locker...so I have no idea what time it is and start to panic because walking was an awful choice. 15 crowded blocks, dodging tourists, when you're in a hurry seems to take forever. So I start running down 5th avenue...in snow pants and snow boots. Sketcher's "Shape-ups" my ass...you run 15 city blocks in 5lb snow boots and then we can talk about a leg workout. I was actually a little sore the next morning.

So I make it to Barnes & Noble and there's a line all the way through the store and ends up outside. The man at the end is like 57 years-old and looks like a financial guy...my first thought was, "Oh fuck, I'm at the wrong Barnes & Noble...is Rush Limbaugh at this one today?" But I asked him what he was waiting for and sure enough, he was there for Kathy. He said he was getting an autograph for his "wife." Still thinking maybe he was gay. I can't be sure.

I waited in line for like 45 minutes and was able to get my book signed (but since I forgot my phone, I didn't get a picture...sad face). I wanted to get her talking, because it was a very "Hi, sign my book, okay bye" kind of thing. So I told her she was the reason I got into stand-up comedy (not exactly true). She lit up (I knew it would work) and we chatted about comedy for a second. Now, even though this was my plan, I did not have the foresight to actually come up with some other points-of-conversation. I went to the first thing I could think of: we both have red hair. I then told her I got compared to her because I have red hair (a little true), but I'm pretty sure the way I phrased it was "Yeah, I really love doing stand up. And I get compared to you all the time (eye roll)...I guess it's because I'm super funny and have red hair." In retrospect, that probably sounded a little...okay really douchey, but she didn't seem to take offense. At least she didn't roll her eyes back at me.

Feeling like our conversation was sparkling, I decided to continue...i.e. push my luck. I asked her if she needed a warm-up comedian - and I did this thing I tend to do, where I tap the tip of my nose a couple times with my finger as I'm saying something - and she asked me if I was on coke. As in cocaine. Awesome. Couldn't ask for a more perfect meeting with my idol. I'm a douche bag that's on coke. Couldn't wait to tell mom about that one. Needless to say, I did not get that gig.

I Didn't Like You Either, Anyways.

Hey Readers!

Much has changed since our last post. Melissa's Australian boyfriend moved to NYC. While things are going well, Melissa is a little disturbed by the fact she usually eats more than he does…and usually finishes off his plate. In her defense, there is never an excuse for wasting even a bite of Broccoli-Cheese-Ritz Cracker Casserole. While Melissa has gained over 12 pounds, she maintains that “dainty is a state of mind.” And, in shocking news, Jordan is still single!

Here's the thing. Being single in Wisconsin is completely different than being single in New York City. Mainly because, being single in NY is awful. No longer can you impress the local bachelors by drinking your weight in Miller Genuine Draft, being the biggest football fan in the bar or with your ability to eat cheese with no regard for the fat content or how it will probably give you adult acne.

No, NYC is the land of yuppies with seersucker shorts and Lacoste polos, top shelf cocktails and hoards of skinny bitches who won't even blink at not eating solid food for 2 days during beach season.  These 2 worlds definitely don't compliment each other...and yet here we are. 2 gals shot straight from the Dairyland to the Big Apple.

Side note: We do find these state nicknames interesting and not at all coincidental. Wisconsin is the Dairy State and New York is the Big Apple. You do the math. And let’s be honest; we'd take a bite out of a cheese wheel over an apple any day.

One thing we have noticed, is that whenever we go back to Wisconsin, it's blaringly obvious that attractiveness is all relative. In New York, we'd place ourselves at about a 6. In Wisconsin, we're as high as an 8.5. Mathematically speaking, that makes us 15% hotter in Wisco. I think it's important to note, we've said this for years. And now Betty White and that harlot Valerie Bertinelli are on a show about it. I’m not saying we thought of it first and TV Land stole our idea….but someone owes us a piece of that pie. “Hotter in Cleveland,” my ass. Although I've been to Cleveland...anyone with a full set of teeth and not wearing a NASCAR jacket is relatively hotter in that town.

Which leads us to a list we’ve compiled (and will be adding to). It’s called:

Reasons I'll always be single in NYC

1. No one will hit on you while you're wearing an Aaron Rogers jersey and screaming "on your bike, kid!!!" through a mouthful of nachos. (Correction: the only guy that will hit on you is 54 and has liver spots on his face. On the plus side, talking to said gentleman got us 2 free cans of PBR and a song request for "Walking on Broken Glass" by Annie Lennox).

2. I don't want to see your headshot. Ever. 

           2a. Your blossoming R&B career isn’t going to pan out, either.

3. Because cooking a casserole is not an impressive, date-worthy home cooked meal. Apparently heart disease is never on the menu.

4. Shot-gunning a beer does not scream “take me home, I’m a sex kitten.”

5. Because a flannel nightie never gave anyone a hard-on.

Easter Sunday-Funday...a wee bit late

This post is way late (apologies), but I hope it's worth the delay.

This Easter, neither Melissa, my roommate & bestie, Lauren, nor I went home for the long weekend. And since none of us have family/kids in this city to entertain us/allow us to indulge in fun traditions like Easter Egg decorating (because let's be honest...kids are a great excuse to do all the stuff you're supposedly too old to do), we decided to have our own Easter Sunday extravaganza.

In our ridiculous excitement, we started planning our day early...the culmination of the which was going to be The First Annual Easter Casserole Cook-Off. Each of us would select a casserole recipe (Melissa and Lauren had family recipes in mind...my fam was not a casserole family, so I was left to Google "casserole recipes" and take her chances). We would then make said casseroles and decide who made the best one.

And because I am OCD, I felt the need to make the day's itinerary to make sure we fit in all of our activities. I maintain it was a great idea, because usually our game plan when we get together is to have dinner/cocktail hour, then get some writing done...but what ends up happening is having dinner/cocktail hour for about 2 hours then watching Discovery I.D. for 3 hours.

I emailed the itinerary to Lauren and Melissa to make sure they knew we had an action packed day. Email was as follows:


Mel & Lauren -
I picked out my casserole - I'll be making a Tex-Mex Chicken casserole.  I thought since you and Lauren were making a Broccoli/Cheese & Corn Casserole, respectively, we might want to have some chicken thrown in there. Lord knows we could use the protein.

Here is the day's Itinerary: (times are subject to change)

10:30 - Guests (ok, just you, Mel) arrive for breakfast cocktails

11:00 - Lauren returns from her morning run, then showers while we cat-call at her through the door & make her uncomfortable. It's a fun game.

11:15 - Begin making brunch.

11:45 - Brunch - eat our faces off.
            For the menu, I'm thinking eggs & turkey bacon, then pancakes - maybe of the banana & PB variety. And of course, boozy morning drinks.

12:15 - Do dishes because I'm OCD.

12:45 - Dye egss

1:45 - Eggs dry, go to store for casserole fixin's.

2:30 - 1st Annual Easter Egg Hunt. You & Lauren find the eggs, person who finds the most gets the aforementioned prize (it's a surprise...but I'll give you a clue. It rhymes with "clap dance").

3:00 - Open the wine. Begin drinking. Bitch about other people we don't like.

3:30 - Casserole cook-off begins!!

4:30/5:00 - Eat our faces off again.

6:00 - Free time.

(Now, I can't take credit for the "scheduled free time." That's a Dr. K (my father) classic.)

Lauren replied:

No pressure. But this is going to be the best day of my life! P.S. Clap dance? Sound likes the prize is gonorrhea.

...And I couldn't agree more!...except the STD part. That was not the prize.

Thinking back - and I think I speak for the whole crew when I say this - it was one of the most fun days of my life. Highlights include:

1. Me declaring "Easter was ruined" because the egg decorating kit didn't include the magic-crayon—the perfect tool for pervy egg decorating.

2. Melissa dropping her casserole (face-up...phew) on the kitchen floor because it was "too heavy," Ritz cracker crumbs scatter everywhere. Kitchen turns into quasi-skating rink. The butter makes her shine.

3. Cat-calling at Melissa (wearing a red dress) in the Path Mark, singing “lady in Red” as she peruses the tomatoes. Large black man with wife busts out laughing at us: a chubby white Midwesterner, a ginger, and a token Mexican.

4. Discussing the best way to flirt over text. While inebriated, Melissa and Jordan persuade Lauren to text a gentleman caller “Wanna play a game?”(The gentleman in question did NOT respond. We maintain it was good advice. Please note: 2 out of 3 of us are single.)

Needless to say, it's been decided this WILL be a yearly tradition. Only next year...we must have a magic egg crayon & maybe we shouldn't grocery shop after having a bottle of wine. I'm positive the other Sunday shoppers didn't actually want to watch our produce-aisle variety show.

Why Do The Gays Get Everything?!!?

As I'm sure you've all heard, a high school student, Constance McMillen, was forbidden to bring her girlfriend to prom this year. Melissa sent me this gem today:

Constance McMillen, the lesbian high school student embroiled in a legal flap over her school's prom policy, received a $30,000 scholarship on "The Ellen DeGeneres Show." / AP

I should have pretended to be a lesbian in high school. I think my dad would have bought me my own Chevy Tahoe and tuxedo if he was off the hook for $30K.

Seriously though, it seems like being gay is better than being black these days. From what I hear, it carries about the same weight as far as college applications go. That's ridiculous! Where are the scholarships for white girls who didn't need to over-come adversity, unless you count a muffin top & a prolonged awkward phase that lasted from ages 12 to 19?! I'm just saying, I deserved some monetary compensation for wearing over-sized t-shirts, a baseball cap & black stirrup pants for the better part of a decade.

Now that I'm thinking about it though, I did sort-of claim I was a lesbian on the Census this year. For 2 years, I've lived with my best-friend, Lauren. We spend a lot of time together & went to Hawaii this year on a romantic getaway (Travelocity.com messed up our reservation & we had to share a Queen bed. Like that's never happened to you before). 

As a result, we like to make inappropriate (and often ill-received) jokes about being lesbians/life-partners...To the point where people have asked us if we "like each other...or like-like each other." Because we're 10 years old, apparently.

So obviously, we thought the best (i.e. obviously worst) way to deal with these acusations would be to check "domestic partners" in the "Relationship" section of the census. (Take that, mom! I TOLD you I was straight!!)

I'm wondering if filing for Domestic Partnership comes with a tax break? If so, I'm ready to make this official.

Extra Weight, At-Home Liposuction and You

The following entry is an email exchange we had yesterday. Because we have actual jobs and live in different boroughs (Melissa: Manhattan; Jordan: Astoria), we only get to hang out a couple times a week. To keep in touch/pass the time at work, we email throughout the day.

As we previously mentioned, we come from a more - we’ll say “well fed” – part of the United States. Living in NYC, there are a lot of really pretty, really thin women. We are not these women. Although neither of us are by any means fat, we definitely would love to lose a little weight. I’m just saying, we don’t want to end up on “The Biggest Loser” next season. I think this is the first of many posts of such an exchange.

Melissa: Thanks for so much fun!!

I am so hungry. Mama Bear needs food.

Jordan: I need to lose 20lbs asap. My jeans are so tight. And not in a cute way.

Melissa: You ran 8 miles yesterday. Give yourself a break. The weight will come off. (not implying you need to lose any)

I may lay in bed with a beer tonight. Just to be classy.

Jordan: Let's have a lemonade stand to raise money for lipo?

Melissa: Just to raise enough money to buy another vacuum. We can use the one we have for at-home lipo. Ya know, save a few bucks.

Jordan: Boom. Done. I love your Midwestern proclivity towards penny-pinching.

A Little Bit About Us.

Welcome to “Corn-Fed in the Big Apple.” This blog will be run by Jordan & Melissa, 2 hilarious girls hailing from the good ole Midwest. Before we start posting, we think it’s imperative you get to know us a little bit.

Melissa: A Green Bay gal, with a hearty laugh and a hunger for life. While this may sound like an ad for “largefriends.com” don’t read too much into it. You see, Midwestern women appreciate a good meal shared with family and friends, which actually means cooking BRAHHTS over da grill before the Pack plays, with your friend’s mom serving cheese curds in her wolf sweatshirt. I never really felt like I was too different from a lot of other girls…I prefer high heels over flats, enjoy wine and great book, cry at Steel Magnolias, watch LOST for the many profound, thought-provoking questions about life, yet drool over Jack and Sawyer. But I started to realize, things are a little different here in the Big Apple.

Jordan: I grew up in Shorewood, WI, just a stiff breeze away from Milwaukee. That breeze often carried the smell of barley and yeast, which I believe is the root of my alcoholism (much more on that later). While Shorewood was, by no means, a farm town, I am no stranger to deer hunting & school field trips where I learned the important art of making buttermilk and cheddar cheese. I’m the youngest in my family, which is how I explain my constant need to make jokes, be sarcastic & generally be the center of attention. Never mind that I am the youngest of 2. I think most psychologists would agree it’s all the same. I moved to NY a week after graduating from MU (where I met Melissa, but we didn’t actually become friends until we both made it to the city).

It was only after spending many-a-night getting shit-faced in a local watering hole we will henceforth refer to as “Sister Jenny’s,” we discovered something. We don’t belong here. And here is why: there are a few rules that we believe all Midwesterners learn:

1. When food is put in front of you, you eat. All. Only clean-plate members get to eat custard for dessert.
2. Practical footwear is a must. I don’t care if you’re going on a first date with someone hotter than you. No matter that your snow boots weigh 10lbs each and make you look like a lumberjack. If it’s snowing, the boots go on, no questions asked.
3. Drinking beer is always a good idea. Coming from Milwaukee, it stimulates the economy.
1. Beer and eggs compliment each other nicely.
4. Having a big ass and saddlebags is par for the course. You can’t possibly do manual labor as a size 2. Plus, with all that beer & fried food, it’s just physically impossible. No judgments.

The more time we spend here, the longer this mis-matched set of ideals seems to grow. So, in this blog, we'll not only add to this list, but regale you with our tales of woe, dating misfortunes, and the many ways 2 corn-fed girls don't really fit in the Big Apple.

We hope you enjoy laughing at our misadventures as we do. Please comment & let us know what you think!