But what does it all mean?

Does anybody ever just feel like.. 'What the hell's the point!?' I've recently taken a vacation, which I'll get to later, and come back to work feeling somewhat... how do you say, Blase. Unconcerned. Passionless. I make table linens for chrissake. I stare at numbers. I try to make sense of 8 cents here and 15 cents there. I scrutinize twenty seven colors of green to find just the right shade for Fall 2010...

I just read a book called A Thousand Splendid Suns. If you haven't read it, borrow it from someone (this is what poor people do.) And so I finished the book, and now I'm feeling like- God we are all so ridiculously spoiled. I complain about buying toilet paper and not being able to afford Kettle One. The women in this book were beaten if they tried to walk alone. They weren't allowed to have jobs so that they could feed themselves. In the year 2000..

And suddenly, I'm happy to stare into the abyss of my computer screen. I will gaily type out 50 pointless emails a day to people who live in India and Taiwan and be thankful that I have health insurance. We could all hope that our jobs would give us such a sense of satisfaction that every day we would arrive home feeling like we've left a little dent in the world. But in reality, we should just feel lucky to be able to work for our money, have roofs over our heads, and pay for our own shit.

While it may seem at this point like I've taken a wrong turn on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, the book really is a great story and I do reccommend it.

Carry on!

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd We're Back!

Yeahhhh...

The party has moved to the LES- 5 weeks with no internet has proved sufficient time for some fucking interesting stories. Since I have little to no recollection of a majority of these stories, I will instead put forth a list of random highlights that plague my mind for months to come. In no particular order, I:

-made friends with a guy dressed in a homemade lizard costume

-payed some guys in beer to move all my shit from St. Marks to LES

-got a piggy back ride through the rocks of Central Park by my roommate- a girl.

-carried a dresser from 97th St. and Amsterdam to Orchard St.

-smoked weed from a Jamaican homeless man outside of a pizza shop

-saw some nipples at a Chinese/Mexican restaurant

-dropped my phone off of a 7 story building

-went to church wearing a fur coat, boots, and no shred of dignity

-learned how to play drums on RockBand

-had a photo shoot on the roof and simultaneously broke a camera

-licked baked beans off of someone's thigh

I think that about covers it. Maybe I've missed some pieces, but I'm sure they'll come back to me eventually. Back for another round, New York. Buck up.

Don't tell. Anyone.

I can't stop watching Dancing with the Stars. I thought maybe this season I would ignore the first episode so that I wouldn't be tempted to keep following- devoting hours of time to watching dried up 'celebs' make fools of themselves in order to prove something to someone or otherwise remind America that they still exist. And isn't it odd how the professional dancers seem to make it their life mission to boost the self-esteem of these Stars?? I dunno- kinda creepy




Unfortunately for me, my roommate has DVRed the show, so here I sit. On a Tuesday night. Wasting my life away. There is, however, this one thing:

His name is Derek. I think he may be about 19- blonde- hairless. It's a weird attraction, I know. But I could watch him Samba around my screen all day. UGHHHH- fling your hair around some more Derek. Keep contributing to my disgusting habit. Love it-

Thank goodness..

I had a dream last night that my mom came up to NY just to tell me I was getting fat... I've had a distinct urge to throw up all day. I had some cereal for breakfast and then had to throw away half an orange for lunch. At some point this afternoon while my stomach was eating itself, I thought SCREW IT! There's good news:

15 minutes of laughter a day burns 40 calories

20 minutes of talking on the phone burns 18 calories... speaking expressively in an exaggerated tone can burn up to 40 (important to know)

120 minutes of shopping burns 238 calories

45 minutes of sex at burns 158 calories


This clearly means I can cut down the stairmaster to around 15 minutes. I wonder how many calories you burn riding on the train... Thanks mom!

Glorious Warmth

SO, I didn't get to attend the event with the Irish hobos, since someone had to work.. Sad. However, I did have a fantastical weekend because...........Wait for it... It was over 60 degrees!!!!!! Clearly this calls for good times and unexplained behavior. Friday night, SSS and I decide that going out is not even necessary. Not when we have the terrace available for our sweet drunken pleasure.

Since the terrace is not a terrace so much as a large fire escape, we will need some chairs, some tunes, and a plethora of alcohol choices. We also have the worst excuse ever for a couch, so we decide that couch cushions also make EXCELLENT terrace lounges. Two ladies, two terrace lounges, some Cabernet, vodka, and kettle corn. Honestly, what else could we possibly need? Oh right- some heinously loud and obnoxious country music with which we shall serenade all of St. Marks. Yes, guy coming out of Crif Dogs, yes we are out of our damn minds.

Saturday its all warm and semi-sunny. Its so much easier to walk around in this city when you're not bundled up like the kid from A Christmas Story, bracing yourself against the wind, and tripping down subway steps in your giant snow boots. We are decked out in our Spring attire, walking all over downtown when lo, we have stumbled upon our Goonie cave. It is in the form of a CHIK-FIL-A which is located deep in an NYU dorm near Washington Square Park. It is the only Chik-Fil-A in the entire state of NY. God, how I have missed the sound of my arteries squeezing shut as I take a bite of fried buttery goodness. A fabulous walking day followed by a concert featuring my genious viola-playing friend.

Why does warm weather make everything so much better? Sunday is still warm which means more walking. Then a trip to Upper East because a friend is moving to LA and giving away all of his belongings. Clearly there are things in his apartment that I need, since I can barely afford toothpaste. After a Jameson on the rocks and some good conversation, I leave his place with the following:

contact solution
a DVD player
fabulous metal coasters
Absolut vodka playing cards
a few novels I've been meaning to read
a pregnancy test
a spray bottle
some Durex condoms and a blue feather boa

I think I made out quite well. I did also acquire a TV that I have to figure out how to move 70 blocks but for now I'm just going to sit here and hope that it moves itself.. I love this city.

I have heard there is a place called Hoboken. I think that maybe this is where all the people related to hobos live. Hmm. Well, apparently they hold an early St. Pattys Day celebration. Since I make a point to join any celebration whenever possible, I plan on going. I hear that there is a parade in the afternoon. Only no one watches it because they are all wasted by 11am.

I also enjoy the thought that maybe Hoboken doesn't have open container laws. Or maybe they just dismiss the laws this weekend to celebrate the Irish. Either way, I would like to hang out with these Irish hobos. I think that this guy's pretzles and the McDonaldLand in the background are reason enough to check it out, huh? huh?

Or, this walking glass of Guiness being harassed by small children...
We shall see my friends, we shall see.

The HEX

I have spiralled, spiralled deep into the abyss. I believe that I have offended someone very important and/or scary. Here are some highlights of my week/weekend that lead me to this conclusion:

1. I have a Canadian man friend. He has an apartment. It has a bathroom that is shiny and white. I should not be allowed in. I am putting on makeup quickly, because as a girl, one must prove that they can ready themselves for any event in mere moments. Who wants to hang out with someone who spends all day painting and straightening? So, I am proud of my four minute routine and gathering my belongings when my large, beautiful bottle of Chanel foundation slips onto the ground. UGH- thank goodness it's intact. Feeling lucky, I reach down to grab it and instead FLING this shit into the white tile wall where it bursts and spurts EVERYWHERE. I hate my life. I tiptoe into the living room. "Uh, something bad happened......"

2. Upon arriving home, I find my room quite chilly because oh- in NY a lovely, sunny 65 degree day turns into a freezing cold wintery mix in a hot minute. I decide to turn on the heater at least for a while. Oh, right. I built my "closet" just above my radiator. (A happy side effect of this stupidity is that all of my outfits are delightfully warm in the morning.) Keep in mind that my clothes aren't even close to fitting in said "closet." It is a tight freakin fit and you need to know what you're looking for. I have to slide my formal dresses over slightly just for safety reasons, so I stick my hand in and push- simultaneously catching my wrist on a wooden pant hanger and ripping a huge gash down my hand. AWESOME. I look like I just arm wrestled fucking Freddy Crougar.


3. That is all...




















4. On Friday night I finally agree to go out and meet E's man companion. His friends and a few of ours are all meeting at his apartment beforehand. My New Year's resolution being to become more punctual, I arrive first. I am bored. I am drinking. If I don't talk, no one will. I go off on a monologue about where I'm from, how great my neighborhood is, and how if I could be any black man on earth, I would be Jay Z. Yes. All the important stuff. I need to increase my alcohol intake STAT if I'm going to keep this up. Honestly, I don't really remember leaving the apartment, but apparently had a lovely cab ride with my feet through the open partition. I am at Thompson Hotel in SoHo. I drunk dial the Canadian and when asked if I am at the Thompson Hotel in Lower East Side, I agree. WTF? I don't even know where I am? After about 45 minutes of him looking for me at the wrong hotel, I realize what I've done. I think I should get a cab and go find him since this is clearly my drunken fault. Okay, I'm in a cab and I have no clue where the other Thompson Hotel is. No clue. I'm just having this guy DRIVE. By the grace of God (and the patience of the Canadian) I find the other Thompson Hotel and stumble out to meet him at which point he must carry me home. Not like Sweet Chariot carry me home. Like physically haul my ass back to Chelsea, undress me, and put me to bed while listening to me ramble on about craving bread.
WHY ARE THERE TWO HOTELS CALLED THE SAME THING???? I hate my life. Part two.

I Ask, Shouldn't You??

- Why do Asian guys always have like mullet-esque uber pointy hairstyles that stay up even without hair product?



- Why is there so much trash in the East Village, but nowhere else? Where does all the other trash go? God forbid you need to hide something in our hood cause your trash will definitely end up on the street where all the scavengers can dig through it and steal your identity.



- Who waits 'on line'? How can you stand online? Are you physically on a line that you previously drew on the ground? Are you on the internet somewhere, like on my Netflix queue? WTF



- Why don't we all just tell each other when we have something stuck in our teeth and whatnot? What's the big deal? Do we all really want to be walking around with our zippers open and poppy seeds from this morning's bagel stuck in our teeth? Seriously, help a mother out...



- If they make pills that make you skinny, pills that calm anxiety, pills that help you stop smoking- why can't they make a pill that makes you tan? Market that shit all over the South. Southerners would stop smoking just so they could afford the tanning pills. Seriously, we have to be tan. I'm buying anti-anxiety pills just to calm my nerves from being so damn pale.


- Why the hell do we keep watching reality TV? Seriously, I just saw a show called I Love Money which entails a bunch of fucking losers who perform random acts of stupidity and then vote off whichever person has the smallest breasts. I dunno- that's what I got out of it. God, please help us to get our own realities..

Pussy, Sil, and T

Besides the fact that my Valentines Day was amazing- listen to the rest of my weekend. I wake up on Sunday in a champagne haze at 1.30pm. Since the Canadian is actually half Italian but has seen zero episodes of The Sopranos (I seriously wish I was a Soprano. I love this show) we decide that a marathon is in order.

We go grocery shopping for everything Italian that you can possibly think of. Olive oil- check. Tomatoes- check. Pasta- check. Mozzerella- check. Prosciutto- definitely check. The list goes on. Some Prosecco, firelogs, and a Blockbuster stop later we are in business. Swear to George, we get back and this guy puts on an apron and goes to town. I have never seen this much meat in my life. These meatballs were.... like bull. I'm talking huge.

For 2 days I do nothing but lie around watching Tony and Paulie take names while wearing a wife beater and eating ridiculous helpings of meat. This is the best idea ever. Too bad I can't be bothered to go outside and make it to the gym. At least my protein intake is up...

Happy V Day

thanks M...

Working Girl

So my company is doing all this restructuring after the layoffs- blah, blah, blah. My new EVP wants to have a meeting with each person on my team to determine their likes and dislikes- strengths and weaknesses. Wait, let me preface this by saying that my old VP, and even my director whose office is right across from me never spoke to me unless they needed a Diet Coke.

So I meet with my new EVP at 4pm and I'm a little nervous. He is a tall, uber-professional, Ferragamo wearing family man and he screams BUSINESS (probably because 98% of people in my building are either female or gay). Luckily, I discover that he is from Arkansas. And he loves college sports. And wine. Oh family man, this is going perfect so far. My nervousness is fading, so I begin telling him what I like about my job, what I'm good at, and what I would change.

At this point he puts down his pencil, which he has been using to draw rectangles around each sentence on his paper over and over, and says "I can tell by the way you dress that you have superior taste. Combine that with the analytics and I think you can be a powerhouse in this business.."

Um, family man, what the hell are you talking about???

Okay, I will not deny the fact that I am super into fashion- love getting dressed- will spend my last dime on the perfect hat and eat Ramen for the next month. However, at this point I mostly put on black stretch pants every day which I deem to be "business casual" when paired with boots. For this entire week, I've chosen a random, usually oversized top before leaving and then put on the same tuxedo jacket every day once I arrive at work. Combine that with the fact that I sometimes go 3 days or more without washing my hair, and you've got........ what is it again family man? a fucking POWERHOUSE!!!

At least I can feel confident that if I put on actual pants I could really be going somewhere. Is this not a weird statement to make the first time you speak to someone??? Anyone??

So, with my newfound confidence I decide to attend Pole Dancing at the gym tonight. BFM. Big Fucking Mistake. I will say this: there was no identification of this class- you know like Beginner, Advanced Only, Make A Complete Ass of Yourself and No One Will Judge You. Alas, I go through their "warm-up" with ease and am certain I'm clearly a better dancer than most of these chicks. However, when the yoga mats get put away and the lights come on, I realize that everyone is strapping on 6 inch high glow in the dark stripper shoes.

"Is anyone here a beginner?," she asks. Uh, fuck yeah. The only time I have touched a pole is in the subway- and I generally try to avoid that at all costs by leaning against doors, people, etc. Apparently I have chosen an intermediate class, but she assures me that "I should absolutely stay." 45 minutes later, I stumble out with bruises all over my feet and shins, a pulled hamstring, and what dignity I have left.

Here is the lesson kids- Just because you do not wash your hair does not mean your new boss won't like you.

And just because you are good at a lot of other things doesn't mean that you will not get your ass kicked by pole dancing. Take note.

Seusstastic

As we near that ridiculously unnecessary holiday known as Valentines Day, i have some thoughts. I personally think that it's stupid to observe a holiday such as this for obvious reasons. Those who are in a relationship don't need a day which forces them to spend money on gifts and dinner to prove their love for one another. And those who are alone have a miserable day thinking about their solitude.

However, i just read something:
You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams... -Dr. Seuss

I think I needed something to knock the cynicism out of me for a bit. So bring on the overpriced flower arrangements and the candy hearts. I can't wait until I can't fall asleep...

Lucky scars

I just want to say that in case no one noticed, the company I work for cut 7000 jobs this week. Way to fucking go. Way to interrupt buy week on a Monday afternoon and tell every office all over the country that we are restructuring and that people's lives will be ruined. After 3 days of watching people around me get cut, people's office doors perpetually closing in secrecy, people crying in the bathroom- FINALLY. Finally, thanks for telling me that I still have a job. I may have no receptionist, no assistant, no one to make coffee or clean the bathroom, but I can still go to work. I may be rationed pencils and toilet paper, but thank God I don't have to sing in the subway and begin selling my used underwear on craigslist.

Oh, and thanks for not including anyone who works at any of the twenty something overseas offices. Because I really love getting emails from my Chinese counterparts asking me if I think they have a job. WTF?? Omg, you guys have the internet???? You can actually read the press release that is available worldwide because you're not illiterate morons????? Holy crap- I can't believe that.

I guess I will forego planning my move to a foreign nation. For the moment, at least. Oh New York, you didn't think we were done yet, did you?? Silly...

PS

I actually attended the gym! For real! I took a class called Anti-Gravity yoga. This means that you wear tight pants and fling your body around in unnatural ways using this giant sling of cloth that hangs from the ceiling. IT IS AMAZING. Get on that.

Crying Game

Here are some highlights of this past week:

A. Last Friday I decide to go out with my cool roommate, who I will now refer to as my seersucker soulmate (us both being from the South and both being fucking fantastic and all). Seersucker soulmate (SSS) tells me we are going to a place called Burger, Shot, Beer. Literally- the items they serve are mini-burgers ($1), shots ($2), and beers ($3). This should equate to my version of Ecstasy. Yes, I will travel all the way to upper west nowhere to attend this party. After several- several shots and 3 disgustingly perfect burgers, SSS and I decide we are too cool for this scene. I mean look at our outfits and our dirty hair- we have to blow this joint. The obvious choice here is to trek downtown to meet some incredibly tall attractive Canadians, begin drinking dirty martinis, and stay out until 5 am. Done.

2. Sunday I have a date with girls to watch soccer at a Liverpool bar around the corner. The number of hot sweaty men with incomprehensible accents there is ridiculous. So there I sit with SSS roomie and some other fabulosos having bloody marys and yelling "BLOODY WANKERS!!" at 11am. After the game, everyone decides to head out- but me and SSS decide we should probably go to an all-you-can-drink brunch in the neighborhood. Burgers, fries, and greyhounds. I don't even know how long we were there but it was dark when we left. After brunch we have to stop in at the boutique across the street from our apartment since they are having a huge sale. This huge sale translates into huge debt for me and now my new fabulous dresses and I will wallow in self-pity for the entire month of February. Goodbye disposable income.

D. Monday night=Chinese New Year. I am pissed about this because I work very closely with our offices overseas. The Asians peace out for like the entire month of January for CNY, which means I can get NOTHING done. Why do we not adopt this same custom in America- ask yourself?? Anyway, the upside is that I'm having dinner at a new Asian fusion restaurant with my Canadian. Fan-fucking-tastic. Fois Gras, dumplings, and absinthe. Does it get better?

**I went to my first Rangers game this week- woot woooooot! Of course I got on camera- seriously?

Lastly, I would like to say that this weekend better be unbelievable after the week I've had at work. I generally consider myself a pretty emotionally stable person, but today... today I nearly cried. At work. Over linen napkins. Fucking bitches better provide some Xanex next time we have these meetings.

Le Gymnatorium

Blah blah- i joined a gym so that i could attend belly dancing class. Today I decided to attend said gym for the first time. Print out my "corporate email," take gym clothes to work, get off subway and walk in the freeeezing cold to the union square branch of gym which is about 3 feet wide and 5 stories tall. Hand "corporate email" to creepy guy (Mulan or something) at the counter to prove that I am a member, get a most important key card in order to access all gyms. "You're all set," he says....

Okay- what the fuck does that mean?? Aren't you going to give me a tour of the gym for ants and escort me to the locker room??? No, nothing? "What do you want me to do now," I say. "Oh- the locker rooms are downstairs and all the classes are on the upper levels."

Great. Thanks a million Mulan. So, through the maze I go to find the stairs which lead to a dungeon. Yes. Apparently lights are not necessary for lots of sweaty men and women all hanging out around lockers which resemble those from 6th grade that no one uses. Okay. Open one of the lockers- put in bag, boots, fur. Where do I change? I have no idea. I decide it's best to go into one of the bathroom stalls which I find by walking in circles at least 6 times and bumping into some woman's ridiculously large ass.

Whilst peeing I start to think about the fact that you should have a lock when you use a locker from 6th grade, lest some woman with a ridiculously large ass steal all of your belongings and leave you in a bathroom stall in your socked feet. I think that I should go to the front desk and buy one. So, I come out of the stall- and attempt to put my boots back on. One of them will not go on my foot, because I'm doing this so quickly that I crush the little heel cup part. Honestly, getting this shoe back on my foot takes at least 10 minutes. At this point I am freakin pissed.

I take all of my belongings back to the front desk and upon seeing no one there to help me, decide to keep walking right out the front door. All the way home I walk, listening to my mom on the phone yammering on about Michelle Obama's yellow dress. Get to my door and basically dump everything out of my bag looking for my keys. "Hold on, Mom." No keys. Seriously don't have them. It's ok because I know how to let myself in the front door with the keypad. I'll just walk up and bang on the door for someone to let me in.

Except that no one is home. Call all 3 roommates, none of them answer. It is so my night. Text them all that I'm locked out thinking that will conjure up some sense of urgency. Nothing. Decide to go downstairs to the bar for a vodka with myself. Finally N calls and tells me she's on the way home. When will this day subside? N and I share a drink, and decide on our plan for the evening.

Yes kids, tonight it'll be chicken McNuggets with a side of AIDS (anyone??) while watching Beauty and the Beast Special Edition DVD. If this isn't a classy Wednesday night, I don't know what is... Shove that in your 6th grade locker.

Things to consider:

This week I joined a gym. Why, you ask, would I shell out extra cash every month when I can barely afford my whole wheat noodles? When you are seeing someone who has the body of a professional athlete and you have been sitting on your ass in front of a computer all day eating Haribo raspberries- some initiative must be taken.

SO, be prepared for Pole Dancing 101, Urban Rebounding, and Anti-Gravity Yoga. I am about to put myself through fitness hell a la junior year of college. Welcome back Holocaust arm. I have missed you.

On the Avenue

When 3 roommates all get dressed and leave the apartment at 9 pm on a Tuesday in freezing rainy weather to go get several bottles of Andre and some Orangina, who will stay at home and clean out the refrigerator to make room for the beverages????

La New York

There have been few posts lately. I've been busy- in a good way. 2009ing. So, today I caught a good 15 minutes of this "show" called The City with some bitch from Laguna Hills or whatever. Apparently she "moved" to NYC to "work" for DVF. I am livid.

There are girls watching this bullshit who now think that it's possible to:

A. acquire job working for a major designer simply by jumping on a plane, walking into the office, and saying "and stuff..." at least 5 times.

B. secure attractive accent-clad man by walking into a bar where his "band" is playing wearing some braids and a slutty dress.

C. somehow convince said accent-clad man with no job to find a one-bedroom apartment for you in Gramercy while you are "working"

D. afford fabulous one bedroom 1200 sq ft apartment on the 30th floor of a secured elevator building on the salary of a PR assistant.

MTV- I will shove my financially unstable, H&M wearing, fabulous foot up your ASS