Ok so aside from being a blogger extrodinare I am also a receptionist at Entercom Boston. Entercom Boston is a radio station company, we run WAAF, WEEI, WRKO and WMKK. WAAF is a rock station that's pretty popular in Boston. I used to intern for them for 4 months, then I was on their street team for 6 months, and that lead to me getting the receptionist gig. There are way too many ridiculous stories I could tell you from working at a rock radio station for over a year, it's just madness here sometimes.
But instead of telling you some tales I'll just post a video that they did recently. It's called "60 Seconds with Spaz" and they post a video weekly. Spaz is one of the guys on the morning show, and he's essentially the butt of all the jokes, the one that gets shit on the most. Mainly because he is quite ridiculous. They asked me to help out with their video this week, and I of course said yes! Check it out below and let me know what you think!
So remember, everyone is ridiculous, including every single employee at a radio station (on-air personality to receptionist).
Friday, March 11, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Top 10 Horror Roommate Stories: Part 2
So here is part two of my Top Ten Roommate Horror Stories. Story number 9 really just made me pity this girl more than anything. She is definitely a “lifer” as far as ridiculous behavior goes. Thank God she just subletted for a few months! If you have a horror roommate story I would LOVE to hear it, leave it in the comments below!
9) -Do I look like a slut? -Yes. -Great!
I actually feel kind of bad for the girl in this story, because she's so ridiculous and doesn't realize it. However I felt worse for myself because I had to deal with her. This took place "middler" year (for those of you who didn't go to Northeastern University, we are a 5-year program and the 3rd year is called middler) after 2 of my roommates already moved out to study abroad. One of their sublets was a nice, albeit ridiculous, girl named Jackie*.
Now Jackie was under 21 but had a fake id, so we invited her out with us one night. Mistake. The bar we were going to is tragically no longer in existence, but it was a very casual piano bar (Jake Ivory's for those of you in the know). Translation, it's a jeans and t-shirt kind of a bar. So when Jackie walked out of her room wearing booty shorts, a leopard print tube top, "fuck-me" heels, a face full of makeup, and hair teased to Snooki proportions, we were a little thrown off. But whatever, not my place if you don't want my opinion.
Here's the clincher though, she then asked us for our opinions. I'm not really one to sugar coat things, clearly. This is how the conversation went:
Jackie: Hey how do I look?
Me: Like a slut.
Jackie: Hahaha, no really! How do I look?
Me: Like a big slut.
Jackie: Hahah, oh Ashley! *walks away*
Me: *yells down the hallway* No, seriously, you look like an enormous slut!
Apparently she chose to either embrace the slut look, or she thought I was joking. Either way, she kept the outfit on. Now that's not really a big deal, if you want to dress like a hooker that's totally your prerogative! Anyways, the truly ridiculous part of this story has yet to come.
We're out, we're dancing, and we’re having a great time! All of a sudden it's like a flip was switched. A switch that was apparently labeled "sane” and "crazy." Jackie comes up to us with tears pouring down her face. Big, drunken, mascara streaked tears. She looked like she belonged in an Alice Cooper video.
So she's sobbing and we can't figure out why. In between breathes she tells us it's because she doesn't have a boyfriend. Like I said, the switch was flipped to "crazy." Apparently her big game-plan for the night was to dress like a whore, and then find some guy that wanted to take her home to mom. That was her logic. Jackie and her friend left, and we stayed to finish our night. We (wrongly) assumed by the time we got home she would have calmed down or fallen asleep.
As we walk into the kitchen we are greeted with the sounds of crying and yelling. She's all worked up about how she's single and is never going to meet anyone. I just want to repeat here that she wasn't even 21 yet. Also, everyone that lived in our apartment was single (there were 6 of us total) except for myself. For her to be having such a meltdown was just ridiculous.
Honestly at this point you can pretty much guess what happened. I told her to stop dressing slutty because the guys that will hit on you want to sleep with you, not date you. Also don't expect to meet your future husband at a crowded bar. Then I ate some snacks and went to bed. I also refused to go to a bar with her again after that.
So remember , everyone is ridiculous, including slutty, crying 20-year olds.
*Names have been changed to protect the innocent, the not so innocent, and myself.
9) -Do I look like a slut? -Yes. -Great!
I actually feel kind of bad for the girl in this story, because she's so ridiculous and doesn't realize it. However I felt worse for myself because I had to deal with her. This took place "middler" year (for those of you who didn't go to Northeastern University, we are a 5-year program and the 3rd year is called middler) after 2 of my roommates already moved out to study abroad. One of their sublets was a nice, albeit ridiculous, girl named Jackie*.
Now Jackie was under 21 but had a fake id, so we invited her out with us one night. Mistake. The bar we were going to is tragically no longer in existence, but it was a very casual piano bar (Jake Ivory's for those of you in the know). Translation, it's a jeans and t-shirt kind of a bar. So when Jackie walked out of her room wearing booty shorts, a leopard print tube top, "fuck-me" heels, a face full of makeup, and hair teased to Snooki proportions, we were a little thrown off. But whatever, not my place if you don't want my opinion.
Here's the clincher though, she then asked us for our opinions. I'm not really one to sugar coat things, clearly. This is how the conversation went:
Jackie: Hey how do I look?
Me: Like a slut.
Jackie: Hahaha, no really! How do I look?
Me: Like a big slut.
Jackie: Hahah, oh Ashley! *walks away*
Me: *yells down the hallway* No, seriously, you look like an enormous slut!
Apparently she chose to either embrace the slut look, or she thought I was joking. Either way, she kept the outfit on. Now that's not really a big deal, if you want to dress like a hooker that's totally your prerogative! Anyways, the truly ridiculous part of this story has yet to come.
We're out, we're dancing, and we’re having a great time! All of a sudden it's like a flip was switched. A switch that was apparently labeled "sane” and "crazy." Jackie comes up to us with tears pouring down her face. Big, drunken, mascara streaked tears. She looked like she belonged in an Alice Cooper video.
So she's sobbing and we can't figure out why. In between breathes she tells us it's because she doesn't have a boyfriend. Like I said, the switch was flipped to "crazy." Apparently her big game-plan for the night was to dress like a whore, and then find some guy that wanted to take her home to mom. That was her logic. Jackie and her friend left, and we stayed to finish our night. We (wrongly) assumed by the time we got home she would have calmed down or fallen asleep.
As we walk into the kitchen we are greeted with the sounds of crying and yelling. She's all worked up about how she's single and is never going to meet anyone. I just want to repeat here that she wasn't even 21 yet. Also, everyone that lived in our apartment was single (there were 6 of us total) except for myself. For her to be having such a meltdown was just ridiculous.
Honestly at this point you can pretty much guess what happened. I told her to stop dressing slutty because the guys that will hit on you want to sleep with you, not date you. Also don't expect to meet your future husband at a crowded bar. Then I ate some snacks and went to bed. I also refused to go to a bar with her again after that.
So remember , everyone is ridiculous, including slutty, crying 20-year olds.
*Names have been changed to protect the innocent, the not so innocent, and myself.
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