Depression, Party of One.

You know it's bad when...

The one source of joy in your life is the leftover penne vodka in the fridge. And then you lock yourself in your room and cry when the salt shaker's top falls off and all the salt falls in the bowl and it's ruined.

You don't cry at a Hallmark commercial and consider it an improvement in your mental state.

Work is a welcome distraction. WORK!! If that's not a sign of trouble, I don't know what is.

Brenna tells you to drink a beer because you're bumming her out. And the beer helps.(Side note: See, I always drink for fun. Never to solve any problems. But now I am dangerously teetering to that side in lieu of recent life events. Dammit!)

You eat two boxes of Super Pretzel bites in two days and these deliciously salty bites are the only thing that you can eat without being reminded of someone.

You've listened to Bon Iver's song "Skinny Love" thirty times in a row. (I should have never realized it was about a break up. It has not helped.)

The Backstreet Boys music is a comfort to you because it reminds you of an earlier time, when you didn't KNOW HEARTACHE. Life was simpler then, in 7th grade. Sure, I was ugly. But I was happy.

All your resolutions to improve yourself have flown out the window. Instead, you eat a box of Junior Mints before 10 AM and fried chicken for dinner. Every night.

You feel melancholy and start singing to yourself while walking down the streets, attracting the stares of others. And no, you're not singing along to an iPod. It's just the beat in your own, pathetic head.

You accidentally eat bleach and don't worry that you might die.

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This is normal, right?

When Brenna met my coworkers...A Real Life Love Story

My buddy Josh had his birthday party last night a lovely bar called The Trailer Park Lounge. After work, my colleagues and I went to catch the tail end of happy hour. I invited my bridegroom Brenna to come and hang out and enjoy pitchers of margaritas and Tater Tots. Interestingly enough, this blog isn't about what happens when Kelly drinks a pitcher of frozen margaritas and mingles with coworkers (note: bad, bad things). It's about what happens when I bring Brenna Hogan to interface with the professionals at H&S.

At first, I thought it might be a bad idea, because I didn't want Brenna to feel left out. See, Brenna is typically shy and reserved upon first meeting; she doesn't say much--just sits there awkwardly, pounding beers and biting her nails.

But last night, things were different. Last night, Brenna was a freakin' movie star.

She arrived, and the crowd was already sauced up after multiple margaritas. BKH jumped right in.

What followed can only be described as love at first sight, or in other words, MY WORST NIGHTMARE.

While I mingled with a few people, Brenna got to talking to my friends (re: superiors). She made the acquaintance of several men, all of whom asked for her phone number. She was invited to dinner, expeditions around the city. People bought her drinks. They asked who she came with and then responded "Who?" when she answered. One suitor even said "It was nice meeting you tonight. And Kelly". I've worked here for three months--and I've met that guy before. Numerous times!

This morning, five people, some of whom I barely know, told me how much they enjoyed Brenna.

"You're Kelly, right?", asked one.

"Yep. Last night was fun, huh?"

"Yeah, your roommate, Brenna K. Hogan of Braintree, Massachusetts, is such a fun girl. She is so great."

The man barely knew my own name but Brenna? Oh, he knew all about her!

I am seething with jealously over Brenna's obvious popularity at my office! I barely even know these people, and now Brenna's got playdates, sushi dinners and even found someone to hook up our wireless. I'm rotting in my cubicle, and she's star of the goddamn parade! I half expected to see her face on our website, or walk into work and find her at my desk.

I miss the shy Brenna. The one who didn't say much. Who let me be the star! Who didn't do the worst thing in the world: take attention from me! I had to drink a pitcher of margaritas just to get the attention back on me! I even played the cancer card! God, I'm pathetic.

I knew I should have lived with Gina.

Bergin Does Bikram

So I made good on my New Year's resolutions and signed up for a week of bikram yoga for only $23! Good deal, right? Too bad it'll probably kill me before the end of the week.

On Monday night, I had my first class. As soon as I got to the building, I knew it was going to be an disaster. The damn studio was on THE THIRD FLOOR! With no elevator. With a million steps. By the time I got upstairs, I was huffing and puffing so hard that I had to sit down! It's pretty embarrassing to sign up for a yoga class when you're so out of breath that you start fake coughing to cover it up.

After I signed up, I met with the teacher. She was way too bubbly for my taste (seriously-calm down lady. Yoga is not going to cure all my various diseases/cancer!). I wish I never even told her about my health problems because for one, she nearly kicked me out of the class due to my high blood pressure. Then she also started bragging about what great health she's in and that she hasn't seen the doctor for a cold in seven years (who would go to the doctor for a cold anyway? Hypochondriac!) Finally she finished lecturing me and let me into the class where I was immediately enveloped in 105 degree heat. It was like a steam room in there. People started trickling in, barely wearing clothes. Most men didn't have a shirt on and only wore boxer brief workout shorts! I'll admit I was looking forward to seeing some good looking men with no shirts, but all I saw were mid 40's businessmen with more hair on their back then on their head. Yoga was really losing points in my book.

And then...the 90 minutes of Hell began. I couldn't bend. I wasn't flexible. I am so out of shape that my heart felt like it was going to explode. My face was so red, it made tomatoes look pink. After about ten minutes, the heat got really intense. This was around the time that people started to sweat on me. First, the sweaty old man next to me dripped on my face. Then my own yoga teacher dripped on me! I felt betrayed; she was just standing there talking (being our "inner" voice. God, I'm too cynical for that shit!) IT WAS SO GROSS. I know sweat is natural, but come on. Not on my face.

When I finally left that God-forsaken studio, I got on the subway and headed back to Brooklyn. Now, I'm not cocky or anything but usually people don't look at me in disgust (Usually. But sometimes). However, after 90 minutes of sweating it out in that box of Hell, I looked...not my best. I wondered why everyone was sniffing around me, complaining about the smell. Then I got outside and took a whiff. I'm pretty sure the smell is not my fault; I was trapped in a small hot room with forty other people. Plus I don't sweat...I glow. I got right in the shower when I got home, after Brenna laughed for ten minutes at my appearance. I took a look in the mirror and saw why none of the hotties on the train even glanced my way. I looked like a giant pimple; red and swollen.

Tuesday, I was so sore and in so much pain that I vowed never to go back. I'm pretty cheap though, so I wasn't about to waste my 23 bucks. Wednesday night I went again. I feel a little better about myself...I even lost half a pound! But my hair was wet when I went outside and now I have a cold and a cough! Damn you, yoga!!!

My attempt to be all Zen like that chick in Eat, Pray, Love has failed. Will I be back to eating bon bons on the couch and lying to doctors about my exercise habits?? Time will tell!

God is totally testing me right now

I just picked up a package at the reception desk at work. It was intended for the creative assistant from many years ago, so I figured it was something work related.

I opened it up to find a card and a gift, beautifully wrapped. The note read:

Dear Gummy Bear,
I really am start to feel like I'm chasing wind in the field. However, there is just something about your distant but pleasant personality that keeps me drawn to you. I hope we can get to know each other better soon.
Happy Birthday, Love Konrad

And there's a really nice gift attached. I am so tempted to open it! WHAT DO I DO?!?! God is totally testing me right now. I swear, am I being filmed for Primtetime or Dateline or something? 'Cos I'm totally about to fail!

And BTW, who the hell uses Gummy Bear as a nickname??

P.S. No more comment moderation. And you don't have to sign in to comment. Just throwing that out there. I don't want your comments, or anything. OK FINE, I HUNGER FOR THEM!

7 Things You May Not Know

Write a post on your blog telling your readers (do I HAVE readers?) SEVEN things about yourself they are not very likely to know (through the blog specifically or people in general might not know) about you! (This is what I do when I can't think of anything to write about.)

1. I really love most of the children television shown on PBS (except for that chick with the comfy couch. I'm sorry, but girlfriend needs a new agent--then again, she is definitely making more money than me, and probably has a bed in her room. Unlike me). I'm not a fan of that Nickelodeon anymore; they have gone way downhill in terms of programming (except for the old throwbacks like Fairly Oddparents, and Spongebob). The twins from "Big Daddy" are NO LONGER CUTE. And they are way annoying. But the shows on PBS are a gem. Now, I know I was too old to really love "Arthur" as a child, but that show has a helluva lot of charm. When I was babysitting, before I got a real job, I used to force the two year old that I watched to tune in with me. I don't know if you know much about toddlers, but their attention spans are pretty short. So I would end up TiVoing it and watching it during naptime. Alone. Also, I will drop anything and watch "The Magic School Bus" if it comes on. Seriously- I learn a lot, and I have fun. Best show ever.

2. If you know me, you are painfully aware of my obsession with Ann Martin's late series, The Babysitter's Club. If you really know me, you also know that whenever I am depressed, angry, sad, or happy, I reread my favorite books of the series. I also read the holiday themed books around each holiday. I won't be in the Christmas spirit without reading about how Mallory saved her family's Christmas when her dad got laid off. (This book would be extremely timely had Ann Martin published it now. God, I love her.) And then, in another book, she tries to have an old-fashioned Christmas, and it, of course, goes awry! Damn you rampant commercialism!

3. My favorite color is blue. How come no one ever asks me this anymore? I think it's relevant, especially if you are buying me something. Take note, future suitors, relatives and friends.

4. I love Hanson. Oh wait, you ALL already knew that. I also love jazz music, but you might have known that too.

5. Got one! Bet you didn't know that thanks to me, Manhattan College has implemented a VERY strict policy when it comes to absences. I was too afraid to tell my jazz professor that I had multiple diseases. But when he docked my grade because of too many missed classes, I had to fess up. He then turned to administration to force them to implement a policy that requires students to inform their professors of this kind of stuff in a timely matter and NOT at the very end of the semester, as I did. The next semester, every syllabus had a whole page devoted to the matter. But that was the semester I got cancer, so I didn't care. HA! Anyway, sorry.

6. I am a great driver now (just ask Brenna), but as a fifteen year old studying for my permit test, I backed my mom's Volvo into the fence and completely knocked it down. To which my mother said "YOU ARE NO LONGER MY DAUGHTER!". I still think she overreacted. However, this story is not as good as a certain friend's story. He/she shall not be named, but he/she totally drove their car through a store. I still crack up everytime I think about it. And it's not Rachel, if that's what you're thinking.

7. The seventh thing you don't know about me is....okay, I have one. Yesterday I dropped my ID badge in front of my boss's office. I bent down to pick it up, tripped over my own very small feet, and slammed my head on the wall. Then I said, really loudly, "Ow, I sure am clumsy". No one responded/noticed/picked their heads up. I'm not sure I even exist.

So...tell me something about yourself...

I'm trying to get the family to join my band!

I'm trying to get the family to join my band!, originally uploaded by Kelly Bergin.

How come no one will take my drumming seriously? Look at how they are all laughing at me! And I'm so stoic, playing the beat in my head.

I'M THE NEXT KEITH MOON, BITCHES!

New Year's Resolutions

They are as follows:

1. Stop getting hit by cabs and falling all over cobblestone streets. My knees are bloody, my confidence shaken, my dignity destroyed.

2. To stop only being extremely, brutally honest when I'm drunk. I've found out Rachel will still hit me even though the ball is dropping and people are celebrating and hugging and we're in the middle of a bar on New Year's Eve.

3. Change my socks more often. The smell...it's not so good.

4. Exercise. I hear it's good for you? (I don't know about this one. I really hate to move. You know what's great? Laying in bed.)

5. Watch less television, read more about history and stuff. I love to read, but my picks are usually of the post-modern variety (or Princess Diaries, whatever, I'M NOT TOO OLD). Or memoirs. I love hearing about people's messed up lives. It'd be good to know stuff about the world...like what WAS the War of 1812? I mean do you know? You probably know. I should probably know this.

What are your New Year's Resolutions? I know it's a little late...and you've probably already broken 'em, but give it a chance. You CAN change! You can lose 50 lbs this year! Look at Star Jones! Look at that guy Jared from the Subway commercials.

This is your year, I can feel it.