The Grand Finale, or I'm Too Old for This Shit

And so it is that all good things must come to an end. This is the tone for this last piece of Bougie on a Budget. If you have a hard time with goodbyes, better do a Google search for something a little more your speed.

Ricky Diamond has left the building. He moved back to Gloucester, Massachusetts just 2 weeks ago. He told me the news a few weeks back, on a trip to get fried chicken from Church’s in Paramore, just like old times. The talk of the move was nestled somewhere between comments on how we missed the grits at Pom Pom’s Teahouse and Nancy Grace’s head exploding from the acquittal of Casey Anthony. I quickly segwayed the conversation to reliving the night a light bulb exploded inside of Church’s and sounded like a gunshot, and to our surprise nobody flinched.

I’m glad that Ricky went off in search to make a better life. Orlando couldn’t handle the kooky antics of this performer, and now that he and Danny have created Diamond Dolls he has some real potential. He just needs to find a more open audience and the right person to get their hands on the demo. Unlike so many other people who are not around these days, either by intense falling outs, mental illness, or simply losing touch, Ricky Diamond will always be more than a misunderstood artist with good intentions, one of the major contributors to my life here in Orlando, and a best friend named Paul.

And he will be back, so I won’t remorse too much here.

The following weekend after Paul’s departure, Collin and I actually made it out to Independent Bar downtown- the scene of so many memories and even a few of these posts. My childhood friend Courtney was celebrating her 25th birthday, and since I ended up blacked out during my own I will grace this blog with a recount of hers. I knew things would be different, since I rarely make it out here anymore, but I didn’t know how shell-shocked the whole night would make me. I was prepared to show my ID to some new kid working the door now that I had dropped my Regular status. The dancefloor wasn’t quite as filled as it used to be, and I chuckled as I told Collin that the soundtrack was comfortingly the same. But then I took a sip of the whiskey and cranberry I ordered at the bar and grimaced as a flavor that I predominantly remember in my vomit filled my mouth. Kids that looked at least 8 years younger bumped and shoved past me. I recognized the faces, but none of them recognized me. As I tried to manage another sip I thought, “I’m not drunk enough for this shit.”

We found Courtney and her friends that came with her from New Smyrna Beach by the front bar. It was endearing how overdressed they were in strapless dresses and longsleeve shirts amongst a sea of boys wearing girls’ jeans and ballet flats that have walked the streets too many nights. Courtney was ecstatic, and we eagerly bellied up to the bar for a few rounds of birthday shots. Then I saw Johnny, a face I had come to count on seeing wherever there was good music and ecstasy. We embraced in a full-force hug, and I immediately knew something was different: Johnny was sober. He looked great, perfectly coiffed as usual. He said he had graduated school and was moving to Brooklyn in a few weeks. He looked like he had never been happier.

A few minutes later, I ran into Marvin, a breakdancer that I became friends with when I started hanging out at parties like Crush and I Like it Raw before Fusian Sushi shut down. We chatted long enough for me to find out that he was doing great, and was moving in to his own place in a few weeks. He slipped off into the crowd the way he always did after just a few sentences; a lanky, nearly 7-foot-tall figure cloaked in black much like a shadow, and I rejoined my group out on the dancefloor.

The typical shenanigans ensued. Songs that we recognized came on and we’d stay on the floor. Songs that we were hearing for the first time came on and we weren’t feeling pushed us off it and up to the bar. A random kid kept on creeping up to either Courtney or myself- whomever was closer- and would try to make a pass despite seeing me holding Collin’s hand, Courtney dancing with the guy she has been seeing, and me flat out telling him that she and I were with someone and not interested. I even tried to tell him I was too old for him, since I spotted black X’s on his hands, but to no avail. Courtney’s date Cliff eventually went up to the kid, kissed him on the cheek, and said that was the most action he would be seeing all night.

At some point later on I headed to a bathroom I once had become far too familiar with. As I washed my hands, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. For once the person staring back was in focus. No makeup bleeding under my eyes, my hair still looking somewhat like it did when I left the house. My black tunic held to my more toned frame, and I sipped the gin and tonic I was partial to. I smiled, said, “I’m too old for this shit,” and walked out.

My friend Dave was on my way back to the dancefloor, his mass of curly blond hair pulled back into a tight bun high atop his head. Not too long after he and I became friends, he started working at IBar as a bouncer. The usual conversation of how we were doing commenced, and I found out he was working at the Y as a swim instructor for children on top of his night job, which was no surprise given his background as a youth camp counselor. Dave is one of those rare guys that you find in this world who doesn’t get his kicks from partying- he’s high on life and a night out dancing, he has a good outlook on life, and he genuinely enjoys giving back to the world. If you’re ever at IBar, find him and strike up a conversation.

I told him about my own few highlights, namely how I was giving up the condo downtown to move in with the boyfriend. His eyes widened and he smiled as he took in the seriousness of Collin and I’s relationship. I found myself rambling, “Remember that night you and I went out to Backbooth? My friend Megan came, and she brought him, and we all hung out? It was a Saturday night, and afterwards we went back to Megan’s after, and we thought we saw the ghost in the room next door, and Megan and Collin didn’t see it! Then you and I went back to my place and we stayed up till 4 or 5 in the morning chatting on my couch… Yeah… That was the first night I met him.” Dave smiled, gave me a hug, and said he had to make his rounds. I looked at my shuffling feet, smiling, and realized I was making the right move.

I did see Johnny again at one point. He and one of his hipster friends that I remember him paling around with were on the dancefloor. He sauntered over just as “Skeleton Boy” by Friendly Fires came on- the song that Paul and I danced to the first night we ran into each other at IBar. Every time I hear it, I think of him, me, and the sense that I finally had made a friend in Orlando. It wasn’t the last song I heard that night, but it will always stick with me the soundtrack of the beginning and now the end. Just listen to the lyrics. What a song to close with.


The end.

They're Coming to Get You, Heather!!

Its that’s special time of the year here in central Florida: that time where nature can’t decide to take the plunge from sweltering hot to what us Floridians call ‘freezing’. Mother Nature is a child teetering on the edge of a pool, dipping their toe into the water before building up the courage to commit. Someone needs to walk by and push this bitch in.

Right now it’s a comfortable upper-sixties-something, and I have the A/C off and the windows open. Soon it will be back to the lower 80’s this afternoon, and my friends will start seeing who wants to carpool to the beach. 80-degree weather and pumpkin-flavored everything? Gotta love Florida in October! However, I should have gone home to New Smyrna Beach to take advantage of this last weekend I’ve got free of any predetermined plans but I’ve been running back there nearly every weekend for the last 5 or 6 weeks. I can’t remember the last time I went to Backbooth for Midnight Mass. The last time I went to Independent Bar with the usual group was probably around the last time I actually folded the laundry after getting it out of the dryer…

Either way, the fact that it is already well into October has me slightly freaked out. Everything has been going by so fast, as it does when you’re completely swamped with work and plans. No complaints here: it’s been a journey nothing short of amazing and I can’t get over all that I’m accomplishing here in the last 2 or so months. I recently started writing for Drink Magazine, published by Orlando Weekly (2nd biggest newspaper here in central Florida). I’m really excited about it as a side gig, and I’ve been in the September issue for covering a few great drinks at a few great bars as well as the one for October. It’s on newsstands now, so go pick up a copy and see what my friends and I think the most overplayed Halloween costumes are before you make a costume faux pas, because NO ONE wants to do that on Halloween… But really, I hope you read and have a chuckle. All of my friends have asked how I got involved with it. I just tell them that I went to enough of the monthly launch parties hosted by Drink, and found myself telling editor Meghan that I really, really, really, really wanted to be involved. After 3 or 6 free cocktails, you can find yourself confessing any desire to anyone, as we all know.

I’m also writing for NotNorthNews.org, a site that focuses on the Florida music scene. I’m stoked about this one because, like hitting up bars around Orlando, this gig fits my lifestyle perfectly. I have a ton of things that I need to be writing for the site. I’ve done 2 short pieces so far, and I have an album review, a few interviews, and maybe an editorial on the way. Halloween weekend I’ll be up in Gainesville for The Fest 9 covering it as press, if you will, and though I’ve never been I can safely chalk it up to nonstop PBR-fueled punk rock mayhem running amok in the streets of the city.

I. Can’t. Wait.

So besides being a total workaholic and having too much housework to catch up on, I’ve found another reason to keep me in Orlando this weekend- The Enzian Theater in Winter Park is showing a midnight double-feature of King of the Zombies, followed by my favorite horror flick ever Night of the Living Dead. Both are being shown in 16mm film. What a rad way to kick off the Halloween season! Some friends are all going to be at Spooky Empire with its celebs and whatnot, but I figure by the time I’m doing all that needs getting done around here it will be midnight and thus perfect timing to catch George Romero’s debut. A little pumpkin pie gelati from Jeremiah’s right down the street, a pumpkin spice latte from Starbucks, or a pumpkin beer would make this night nearly perfect.

Decisions, decisions!

Little Ms. Popular

About three weeks ago was trying to find the time to write a posting on how I was starting to feel like one of those bad parents that you see in the movies. You know the ones that are always calling up the kid on their birthday (right when they are about to blow out the candles on their cake) and telling them, “Sorry honey. Mommy can’t make it to your birthday party because work/forgetfulness/drug addiction came up.” That was me. Except I was telling friends that I couldn’t make it to their event that they were promoting, their concert, or their poetry reading because I was tied up with something else.

I was always running late! Either I was jetting from one event to another, or being held up by a friend before I could even get out the door. All the while I would be scrambling to make it before the guest list cut off. However, it’s dreadfully tacky at the same time to be furiously texting your host as you stomp down Orange Ave. begging them to make sure you can still get in for free at 11:40p when the list stops at 11:30p. It’s also shameful to tell your host that you can’t make it at all since you missed the cut-off. I try to do both as little as possible.

Events aside, I feel as though I’ve also been the crutch for my friends as well. Maybe something is in the water here, but it seems as though everyone is going through some major issues, and they all seem to want to resolve them downtown. I’m pulled in a million directions via texts and Facebook status updates that I’ve been tagged in. I’ve looked at my notifications to see that apparently I’m slated to be at Independent Bar on a Tuesday night for Grits and Gravy, even though I have work the next morning and Diana Ross makes me want to slit my wrists. As much as I’d like to say no thanks, it’s a little hard to do so when you’ve got five people who have already started posting comments that they can’t wait to see you out… Even though I just saw many of them the night before, and the night before that one, and have already had two conversations via text with them that same day. And then there is my favorite line: “It’s not like you have to drive 45 minutes home anymore. You live downtown now!”

I’ve never been the ‘popular’ girl my entire life. It’s quite flattering to me that someone thinks that my presence will make or break their night out on the town. It’s fun to walk up to a group of people and hear one of them squeal, “Bougie’s here!” But here is the true reason why it’s all irritating me so: Surprise, surprise- I’m going through a lot, too. I’m trying to tackle issues that come with being an adult- bills, work, and attempting something called ‘dating’ but I have long since given up on that. I live in a shell of an apartment that I’ve barely felt connected to since I moved in nearly two months ago, because guess what? I’m never here. When I’m out, I’m not allowed to have feelings either. I’m not allowed to just sit back and take in the scenery with a water in my hand. Someone is always coming up to me shoving a drink to my lips, or asking me why I look melancholy. Yet before I can answer, I’m being told that I’m not allowed to be- not tonight, because Bougie is needed.

All I’ve wanted to do for the last few weeks is go home (wherever that is), throw on my NOFX t-shirt and a pair of boxers, crank the Greeley Estates on my iPod and relax on the couch after I organize more of the things I need to unpack around the apartment. I just want to be Heather.

Tonight I hit up Shari’s sushi happy hour (try saying that one five times fast) in Thornton Park with my good friend Dru. Over $3.75 cocktails and sushi rolls, I described how two weekends ago I lost my iPhone at Back Booth. I’ve broken down into tears over it several times since then, as well as nearly pulling a Naomi Campbell by smashing my previous BlackBerry into a million pieces because it won’t receive text messages or show me calls I’ve missed. Although my perfectionism is numero uno on the list of why I’m so distraught over losing my phone (I’ve never lost a phone- ever- let alone anything worth more than a few dollars) , the second reason I’ve been so torn up is because I feel completely disconnected from the world. When I’m bored at work, I can’t just shoot a text to my friend Lauren and have some of her wit hold me over for a few more hours. I can’t catch up with people via Facebook chat while I’m walking down Central Boulevard. I can’t watch a movie and IMDB it when I have an inquiry.

My friends have treaded lightly around this topic with me, but all have stated clearly that this is a good thing for me. They, as well as any guy that I’ve attempted to have a relationship with in the last 2 years, will say that I was always on my phone. Always. By now I’ve finally gotten over most of the anxiety associated with me losing it, and I’m agreeing and seeing this as one of those funny coincidences that makes you scratch your head and trust that things really do happen for a reason. Its funny how when you're least connected to everyone around you, it makes shutting the world down so much easier. Fancy that.

So here I sit, wearing my Devil Wears Prada t-shirt and A Day to Remember on the iPod, typing away from my favorite spot on the couch. I feel like I have finally come back to my center. Heather finally feels at home.

Oh, and my closet looks fabulous now that it’s not filled with random bags.

Whorelando

I love my good friends to pieces. Sometimes that means that we do things that we ordinarily wouldn’t do. Some would call this peer pressure.

I knew inevitably there would be the day where I would have to trek down Wall Street with Lauren and Rachel in order to keep friendship alive. After all, Lauren went to Independent Bar with me once, which led to a dance floor clothes swap between me and a friend (no, he is not missing teeth- he had something in his mouth... I don't remember what though), driving to find me an IHOP so I could eat pancakes in a drunken stupor but only making it to Steak N Shake, and me leading Lauren to the Winter Park Chamber of Commerce instead of my apartment… Which is by UCF. To this day, if I dare mutter the words, “Just trust me, I’ve got this,” I think Lauren will rip out my vocal chords. There are many more details to this story but that, children, is for another time.

Wall Street can be summed up in the repetitious “Ass and Titties” that I hear blasting over and over on the speakers. With jams like these, how can one not get laid in a place like this? No wonder so many people flock. Its the Orange Blossom Trail of Downtown Orlando. Demographically speaking, I would fit in here with the majority of post-college professionals. But my nights out don’t revolve around reliving Spring Break 2002, so I feel a little out of place as I try to order a drink. I see a bachelorette party scamper past, followed by a smaller group of guys. Its something that I notice here: larger groups of girls, and guys with a few wingmen at their side. After all, when going for a pack of margarita-filled corporate-world women its best to hunt like a lion.

I’m feeling spunky in my fresh threads from Dechoes that I bought earlier: a Ramones t-shirt that I got giddy over because in all of my years of loving punk I had somehow managed to never own a Ramones t-shirt. Pair it up with the skinny jeans and Converses I wore to work, and it’s a fun way to spice things up amongst a crowd of aging frat and sorority members that call Wall St home. My friend Kevin tells me he’s sure that the shirt will get me lots of ass, but I laugh it off. And just when I think I have thwarted the boys from lion-hunting me from my pack of ladies, I feel a hand on my shoulder and see Lauren’s Look of Uh-Oh.

Enter Mucho. Mucho is a boy I had a very brief fling with. He happens to work at Mucho, so for anonymity’s sake we shall call him as such. I try to keep my love life (or lack thereof) out of this site… But since we are talking about bars that will get you laid, it seems only fitting. Of course Mucho and I cover all of the topics: How Have You Been, I Haven’t Seen You Around, and of course Do You Still Have My Number. We talk for a few more minutes after making sure we have a way to contact each other, and he says he’s heading over to Finnhenry’s. He says to call him later, with the cute twinkle in his eye that a few months prior made me desperately want to hand over my panties.

I feel like I get an A+ in Running into an Ex Fling 101, but when I look at my phone I realize that I must have slept through Handling Texts from Unknown Numbers Workshop. I see the number and the little “Hey :-)” that goes along with it… And I have a feeling this is from someone that I used to know and deleted their number for very good reasons. I send the obligatory Sorry-New-Phone-Who-Is-This text and wait for a reply. Its Jason. And since he has no roots here in Orlando, so I have no other way to describe him, he shall remain as such. And his number did get deleted from my phone because when you mix alcohol with feelings stemming from a guy falling off the face of the Earth after you had some great times together, the outcome is generally disappointing. He’s hanging out with friends. I say I am too. He doesn’t disclose where. I do. He says that he doesn’t know how long its been since he’s been there, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Lauren diverts my attention from my text messages and we belly up to the bar for a second round, which takes about 5 tries since we find a bar, can’t get in, find a bar, can’t get served in a timely fashion, etc. Some nice boys make room for us at The Other Bar, and this naturally leads to conversation. But I soon realize that these are wingmen. And they, with help from a wingwoman, are introducing me to the bachelor in question. He likes my Ramones shirt. He looks like an accountant type and says he’s from Winter Park, which means I don’t see him as a threat when he follows the R-A-M-O-N-E-S across my clavicle with his finger. He is fairly tipsy, says he has a crush on me, and asks what bar I’ll be at later. I’m sure I won’t run into him again, and I feel a tinge of sadness as Lauren takes my hand.

Lauren leads me away back to the crowd that we left behind, and as we find Rachel and her 2 friends from Rollins I hear “Shake That Ass” by 2 Live Crew coming from Slingapours. Instantly, memories of Fall Semester 2005 overcome me and I’m hunting for a stage to dance on. Slingapours does not disappoint. And after I tell my story of how I got 2nd place in an ass-shaking competition at Mako’s back in the day, I feel a wave of somber wash over me as I start counting how many years ago that was. Before I get too worked up over how I’m not a co-ed anymore and how I’ve packed on about 30 pounds since then, Rachel saves the day and comes over with several Jager Bombs- the perfect drink, since we’re surrounded by men not too unlike those found in My New Haircut.

We still have an hour or so to kill, so we spend our time dancing to more sex-driven top 40 rap and finding bathrooms. I’m finally to the point where Lauren has since stopped questioning me if I’m having a good time, and I close out my bar tab to keep me from drinking anything else before I have to take the wheel. The texts from Jason have longer and longer pauses between them until they stop coming all together. I send out a friendly ‘How’s Finnhenry’s?’ text to Mucho, but I don’t really care when I don’t hear back from him and I don’t beat myself up over the fact that I shouldn’t have texted him to begin with. As the high of Wall St wears off, I feel sobriety- and myself- come back.

While walking Lauren to the bathroom, I see a woman stumble out, dressed to get laid with her short dress and heels. I see she brought a friend with her from the bathroom- a 3-square trail of toilet paper attached to her additional 4 inches. I smile to myself and let her keep walking.

The Kids Aren't Alright

A little piece of my hope for humanity died Saturday night: Some indie kid spitting in the face of a Holy Roller last night downtown and calling him a f*cking f*ggot. Hypocrisy, table for 1? I hope you're riding that bike you were on one day, saving the world from pollutants, and you get hit by a gas-guzzling Mack truck.

I just believe in people's rights to peaceful freedom of speech... And if you want someone to respect why you wear skinny jeans that are cutting off the circulation to your nutsack, don't wash the hair that is growing down to your mountain-man beard, and cover yourself in tattoos then you should respect their belief that you're going to hell in a handbasket.

I know that we’re in a recession, but come on people: why the violence? I have nothing against the indie kids in this town- don't get me wrong. I wish I could sport my body art, instead of having to cover it up for Corporate America, and stomach PBRs. I envy the way the girls can wear their high-wasted skirts and tank tops, and I just look like a dumpy sack of potatoes in mine. And damn it, how the hell do they all stay so skinny?! But apparently no one sent me the memo that if you play ‘Kids’ by MGMT backwards you can hear Satan telling you to beat up on people. Is that why there are now shootings at I-Bar, and the ‘free-thinkers’ are throwing fisticuffs?

Either way, College Indie Night at Independent Bar is still my favorite night of the week.

Birthdays on a Budget!

I made it to the ripe old age of 24!! No longer can I use the ‘I just graduated from college’ line, and I’m almost to the point where I don’t get carded every time I try to order a dirty martini! So how does a girl celebrate in the midst of a recession and still keep the swagger of a high roller?

Everyone likes to go out for dinner on their birthday! Sadly, my group of friends (most of us in our early 20’s), have all been hit pretty hard by the economy. If you are able to round up a group of your comrades, then you’re already familiar with the typical ordeal of finding a place that will make your friends’ bellies happy, their wallets full, and still be worthy of a celebration. Downtown Orlando is host to a variety of places, ranging from the cheap pizza-by-the-slice place you hit when the bars are closed to the upscale. Ceviche is one of those places that only looks expensive. Located on the corner of Garland and Church Street, Ceviche is a Spanish tapas restaurant that looks like it was plucked out of a fabulously old cathedral in Madrid and placed in sunny Orlando. When you walk in, take a gander at the wonderful architecture- those beams are really from a church, but I think the hostess said it was from France…

Ceviche’s menu is also not all about raw fish marinated in citrus juices, either! Although you really should try the salmon ceviche, the house ceviche is the best bang for your buck ($8.95, to be exact)- each oversized martini glass it is served in comes with oversized scallops, huge prawns, and massive chunks of fish. Like I said, though, their menu is not all about amazing fresh seafood! They have about 100 varied traditional Spanish tapas (not joking on the 100 number). Think of them as little mini-meals that you can order a few of and share with your friends. The prices of them range anywhere from $3.50 to about $9, give or take depending on what you order. The portions aren’t bad for the price, and everyone can find something that they’ll like. The food is built for ordering lots of different flavors, stealing bites off of other people’s plates, and really good conversations. Be prepared to spend about 2 hours there, since the food comes out little by little. You’ll also be taking in the beautiful décor and feeding off of the energy of the place to where you won’t want to leave! If you want to get a good experience of what tapas is all about, try the banderillas mixtas, croquetas, tortilla Española, and the champiñones de Sevilla. Bring a friend- you will leave with leftovers and still spend less than $25!

Ever spend tons of money on a birthday cake and it goes half-eaten because you bought too much and you had to throw it out after a week? I personally hate throwing out food, and throwing away dessert is one of the biggest sins one could commit in my home. But I’m also a big fan of desserts (my booty is proof!), so when I do have a birthday I like to have a really yummy slice of something special to seal the deal. The best place in Orlando I’ve found for that is The Dessert Lady! Located downtown on Church Street (and another location on Kirkman), The Dessert Lady is a chic little lounge in the beautiful Church Street Station building. It is lusciously decorated with rich reds and golds- almost as decadent as the desserts they serve up! I’m not going to lie- prices are a little steep at $10 a dessert, however (BIG emphasis on the ‘however’!) a slice of cake could easily serve 2-4 people! This is one place where I highly suggest the Buddy System!

Desserts are what they focus the most on- There are usually a few little things on the savory side if you’re looking for something of substance to go with your sugar high. They also have a good selection of wine and beer in case you’re not in the mood for ice cold milk or coffee. The service was great- the woman running the place was very knowledgeable and just as sweet as the desserts she was cutting in to. A few other couples came in while I was there splitting my zuccotto with Paul- some were there just to grab a late afternoon ‘snack’ (like myself), and one couple came in to look at potential wedding cakes. The space is also available to use for private parties, like bridal showers or birthday receptions.

Hopefully this helps gives you an idea of how to celebrate your birthday, or even just a fun night out! I know mine was a blast, and I was really glad I was able to do something where everyone was able to join in. After all, what’s a celebration without your friends?

XOXO

New Digs!

Thank God for Twitter!! The past few weeks have been non-stop craziness and if it wasn’t for my ability to update the world on my antics through 140-character blurbs then I would be denying everyone of awesome cheap things to do around Orlando. And that’s just selfish!

So anyways, I’m sitting here on the couch in my brand new apartment with a fresh cup of coffee. Yes, its almost 2:30p but I’m still enjoying breakfast (eaten long after noon…). Last night was great and I’m sure I’ll see photos of me all over SmileForCamera.com in a day or two. Independent Bar was great last night- can’t beat free cover till 1 and $3 mixed drinks till midnight, and the DJ that plays all my favorite indie rock songs!

Yes, I did say new apartment, and its positively bad ass! I have a new game plan for Year 2 of living in the real world. Last year I lived with Eric, my boyfriend at the time. We had our shabby-chic apartment in Casselberry, complete with roof leaks and all! Not sure if I posted it or not, but Eric lost his job at Circuit City. Add that with the fact that he never really grew to like living in Orlando, so he decided when our lease was up in mid-June he would move back to Ormond Beach with his family. Totally understandable J However, it left me in a predicament because I couldn’t exactly afford living on my own on top of paying things like student loans and not have a cozy corner on South OBT… So, around April I crafted the new plan of action:

All the cool kids seem to be doing it- Going back to school to defer their student loans! Whether you’re going for your Masters, a second bachelors, or just screwing around on the community college level, taking part-time classes (usually 6 credit hours a semester) will qualify your loans for an education deferment. For me, since I’d like to put my 4 years of French in high school to good use (and because one day working for Conde Nast would be pretty cool, so this might be a requisite), I’m studying French at Valencia Community College. I chose the 2^nd level beginning class since its been a little while since I’ve used vocabulary outside of a gastronomical context (i.e. fois gras, crème brulée, etc…). So far, I’m having fun with it! I’m also making A’s on pretty much anything, so even when I’m having a bad week at work I can still say that I have something boosting my ego. My second class is Abnormal Psych- something that I wanted to take in college but I never got the chance to after I completed my required Intro class. I just had my first class the other day, and I really think I’m going to like it. Only problem is that the class is over in 6 weeks, so I think I would have enjoyed it more if it was spread out over a full semester and not condensed over the summer, and also its going to make things pretty stressful. It’ll be fun, none the less!

So with an extra $600-something dollars in my bank account every month due to not having to make the loans payments, I can finally start to chip away at my credit card debt. Granted, putting your loans into deferment is going to make the payments go up significantly since you’re just earning more and more interest rather than paying things off, but for right now its what I have to do. Besides, the credit card carries something like 30% interest where as none of my loans are over 10%... Which would you pay of first??

Secondly, I moved! I met up with a really fantastic UCF student name Chris and we really hit it off. He was looking for someone mid-June, which was right when I needed to move out. The new place is ten times nicer than my last place, and still about $200 cheaper to live here than to stay in my old place. I do live all the way out by UCF now, so I have about an extra 20 minutes tacked on to anywhere I drive. It really doesn’t bother me, though, except on Fridays when I just want to get home but I have to deal with the brake-slamming traffic on Aloma between Semoran and Chapman. That gets old quick!

But aside from saving lots of money by living with another person (other than a significant other), I’m also making a new friend and meeting new people. We have a lot in common and one of those things is hitting the various parties around town. Chris and I went to the Good Look party held at The Beacon in Thornton Park a week or two ago- It sadly might be the last Good Look party, since The Beacon is slated to close soon. We got our photos taken by SmileForCamera.com, and hung out with Ricky Diamond (who I’m hoping is reading this right now and smiling, since he was supposed to look this blog up because he loved the name!) Last night, a group of us went to IBar for College Indie Night, which is always a blast! They also played a good bit of Michael Jackson in honor of the King of Pop’s passing. Tonight I think it will be Back Booth for Midnight Mass- No cover till for those of us who are 21 and up, and there is free beer till the keg floats! I’m not a beer drinker myself, so I’ll be sure to pregame it at Big Belly Brewery with Lauren from French class. BBB has a great deal from 10:30p-11:30p, so get there early!! Its 3-4-1’s on your basic mixed drinks. However, I took out my friend Eric M. for his 21^st the other week and taught him how to order at the bar. Tips I gave him included sticking to 1 bartender if at all possible, tipping well to establish report and a heavy hand, and letting them know, ‘Hey! I just turned 21!’ Although Eric M. was reluctant at first, it served him well and he got 7 Jaeger-amaretto-cokes (tastes like Dr. Pepper!!) all for the low, low price of 2 drinks J Yes, count them- 7 DRINKS! And Jaeger is usually not on that list of liquors that you can do 3-4-1 with.

Got any bar tips?? Post them!! Happy weekending!!!