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...