The Crazys Are Out Tonight

Ahhhh Halloween. In college this was like my most favoriteist holiday ever. Now, eh. Gross, I’m old.

Actually I don’t think it is as much that I am old, as much as it is that I don’t really have any confirmed plans. If I was going to a fun party, oh I would be all over this ishmael. I’m not going to get into why I haven’t confirmed plans yet, because I do have options thank you very much, but it is just a boring story about work and etc. blah.

So anyways, on a trip to Duane Reade for wheat thins this week I giggled when I saw a little cheap devil headband. Then I bought it. So if I go out tonight, and since I didn’t have time to costume shop this week, I will have to wear that.

Now this presents a problem for me as my mind likes to think waaayyy too into things and I get all self-conscious and well it sucks. The problem is this: this “costume” (so not a costume) could be interpreted by many (ie. people like me) who are wearing costumes as “OK WHAT is wrong with that girl she sucks. She is “too cool” to wear a real costume or what?”. Or it could be interpreted by others as my attempt to be “cute” and failing. Gross.

Lucky for me I think I am just going to intake bad things for my body, go to a scary movie and bust out my devil headband in a non-party scene. HAPPY HALLOWEEN Y’ALL!

Won't Stop, Can't Stop

OMG I am such a dork you guys. I have taken to giving the thumbs up. I do it ALL THE TIME and in MULTIPLE SITUATIONS. I am actually getting really embarrassed.

A few thumbs up situations:

Sitch #1:

Co-Worker: Would it be OK if I get said work document to you tomorrow instead of today?
Me: (thumbs up) Sure, no problem that is cool.

No, not cool. Not cool at all.

Sitch #2:

Co-Worker comes over to my cube buddy’s desk and starts speaking in Spanish. Cube buddy fluently responds. Co-Worker walks away.

I turn around and bust the thumb while laughing.

Cube Buddy: haha did you just give me the thumbs up?
Me: haha, yup I did. You speak Spanish now? You are like surprising me and being all important these days; speaking foreign languages, busting out your writing skills because you were apparently an English major…

Though the cube buddy responded with multiple laughs, WHY with the thumb? Many other ways I could have gone about that to get my point across, and I chose the thumb.

Sitch #3:

No-Name with GF comes over to my desk and asks how I’m doing.

My response? Smile, “good”, and again with the thumb.

It is true that I have invented a variety of uses for the classic thumbs up. How are you doing today? So good, thumb. Is it OK if this happens? Sure, thumb. You are being super cool right now; I’ll give you the thumb. It is nice to have a positive finger gesture when the middle finger gesture has given finger gestures in general a bad name. But, WHY AM I MAKING IT MY SIGNATURE MOVE? I don’t want it to be; not even a little bit, not even at all.

If any of you have seen the movie with the now anorexic Kate Bosworth and that dude who should have stayed on That 70’s Show because all he is doing now is movies like this then you will know what I am taking about in the next few sentences. There is a part in the movie that makes girls like my friend B (and me in secret) swoon when that dude tells Kate that she has 6 smiles and that means he loves her because he knows her smiles and stuff. Now this is a worst case scenario of a “what if” but WHAT IF the thumb busting doesn’t stop and some guy finally falls in love with me and tells me he loves me and I should know because he knows all of my 6 thumb move situations. I will die. Dead.

Post Weekend Update

I had a wedding this weekend. My poor friend had arranged for an outdoor reception and it ended up pouring throughout the entire day. Long story short I feel really bad for her and my new red shoes which are now covered in mud.

I did actually discover that daytime- evening receptions can be a hoot. This is because I was mildly sober and got to watch people line dance to songs that I did not even know called for such a dance and speak to the bride’s drunk mom who called a girl at our table a “skank” for leaving the party early.

And then came Sunday. K and I got stuck in horrid traffic coming back into the city. Few things about this:
1) I know NYC is a melting pot and so multi-cultural and blah blah blah but can I PLEASE find a radio station that is not either 1. Spanish 2. Indian or 3. Rap. Please.

2) I had my first displeasing experience with Sheetz. A creepy truck driver stood behind me in the screen order line. This was the one-way conversation that took place:
Creepy Guy: What are you going to get?
I place my finger on the “wrapz”.
CG: Oh yeah! Get a wrap! Oh what kind you gonna get? Get the beef. You should totally get the beef. Oh no get the chicken.
Me: ha uhhh.
CG: Oh man you making me want to get a wrap now!
Then he walked away. Unfortunately the wrap did not override the awkwardness that I endured ordering it.

3) I think big cities have a conspiracy to get people to pay the city by taking public transportation instead of driving their cars. No I am not high I am just a genius. My theory behind this revolves around the huge “Beware Congestion Ahead” signs placed on the highways leading into said cities. Yes, you do hit congestion. But why? Ever notice that when the signs stop the congestion stops? Why is this? There is hardly ever a cause. Accident? No. Construction? Nope. The traffic simply speeds up and off you go. If everyone just kept going 65mph and a comfortable distance behind the car in front of them everything would be fine! However, when a nervous driver sees a “congestion” sign they get nervous and begin to tap his/her brakes. There are studies behind this that confirm that one retard driver tapping their brakes can cause a traffic jam. K told me so and I believe her. I’ve broken the code. The city is evil.

At least today the Work Gods love me. I am tired to the point of exhaustion. My eyes are Asian from lack of sleep. I can’t walk because I decided today would be the day to break in my new 4 ½ inch pumps. These issues combined have almost run me into a few co-workers and walls while walking the hallways. Then there is the issue of maintaining a professional appearance while exhausted. I got Subway for lunch and was so hungry that I caught one of my co-workers silently laughing at me while he walked by my desk and I drooled ranch dressing and black olives while manhandling my 5 dollar footlong. Uhhhh…that could be a “that’s what she said.”

Anyways, the three meetings I had scheduled today got miraculously canceled. Halleluiah Amen to the Work Gods. I will now continue to do any work that needs done and does not require human interaction.

Update

Regarding this post.

A work friend just asked me who I went to the concert with the other night. I hesitated as I know I have told him about going to events with my roomate one too many times. Fearing that he was going to start thinking that I am a major dork and/or lesbian (not that there is anything wrong with that), I said "my friend K". And just like that, I created another friend. It was that easy. All I had to do was make two people out of one.

Genius. Let's see how long I can get away with that. If I keep up with this "I don't really have many friends in the city thing" it's really going to become sad and/or pathetic. It may already have. Last time I am talking about it, done.

New York is Slowly Stripping Me of My Belongings

It all started one day on the subway. I was jamming to “My Drive Thru” by N.E.R.D. because that song makes you jam. I could see a guy with a backpack, also with headphones on, on the other side of the turnstile. Naturally, as I am slowly but surely becoming a New Yorker, I thought screw him I can totally beat him to it.

So, I swiped my card and briskly passed through the turnstile before him. However, we did manage to bump/ uncomfortably rub up against each other. And that is when he stole by headphones straight out of ears.

OK, “steal” is a bit exaggerated. His backpack was really the culprit here. It snatched onto the rubber string and wouldn’t let go. Then I was left standing in the middle of the subway confused and alarmed while I watched the oblivious thief walk away with my headphones swinging gaily from his backside man bag. Two days of silent subway rides and a new pair of iPod ear plugs= over $30 in NYC theft damages.

Then there is the issue of my earrings. I have to admit that the loss of my items in this category is partially my fault as I have a tendency to not put on my earring backers when they are a member of the non-post family.

I have lost I believe a total of three earrings while in the city. This did not happen before. It happens now as a result of shuffling in and out of the subway train with headphones in. Or another occurrence is attempting to duck and curve and finagle my way in and out of ridiculously small bathroom stalls in city bars, usually while drunk. Total cost of theft damages= the embarrassment that results from walking around oblivious that I am only wearing one earring.

The breaking point wherein I realized that the city was stripping me of my belongings was this morning when I threw on my black dress, lifted my arms to brush my hair and saw…my armpit. A HUGE hole now rests in my expensive black dress. Thank you New York City insane dryer at the local Laundromat.

Did I change? Nope. Screw you city. I was running late so I simply threw on a jacket over my dress. And since I can’t sew, that is probably what is going to happen until I travel home for Thanksgiving and ask my mom to do it.

Total cost= the occasional breeze felt in my arm pit region which leads to the embarrassment that I am trashy and decided not to change this morning; plus the effects on my moms free time.

Last night I attended a Margot and the Nuclear So and Sos concert. As with the first time I saw them, they were fantastic. What impressed me the most was the encore.

The lead singer came out all by his lonesome and sang the entire encore with just himself and his guitar as he claimed that a bunch of the gears broke during the show. I don’t know if this was planned or if he just took one for the team, but it was great.

What made it even better was that he kept taking sips of his Budlight while being quite humorous and finally admitting that he was wasted. Wasted or not, every note was on key.

How do these people get so talented, honestly? So talented that they can bust out an entire show in front of picky, music snobby, NYC hipsters and impress them all?

This begs one to consider, can I do anything while on the juice and pull it off with flying colors?

I know I played lacrosse more than a few times in college while drunk. One of the times I thought I pulled it off, our coach gave us a huge lecture about how he could smell the booze stink on all of us throughout the whole practice and don’t think that we got away with it/ you guys are irresponsible booze hounds.

To consider what I do well drunk, I first have to know what I do well. This really bothers me as I feel as though I shouldn’t have had to take a break from writing this to ponder what this is. And then instead of listing out my skills, I am writing this paragraph.

Let’s go out on a limb and say that I sketch. This is based on the two weeks when I first moved here that I was in the apartment by myself and had nothing to do. So I went to Duane Read and bought a sketch pad. Since I had just watched “The Secret” I decided my first masterpiece should be an optimistic visual. So I drew a cutely dressed “urban” girl on a city street with friends. This is a futuristic visual as 1) my sketch girl has cuter clothes than I do in real life and 2) my friend making skills seem to be lacking (see previous post).

Long story short, while the sketch turned out much better than I had expected, the characters faces are shadowed in to the point of unrecognizability and their hands could pass for oven mits. If I had been wasted it probably could have passed as an abstract piece.

Game of life: DW- 0, talented band hippies- 1.

Neighbor Scouting

At some point, K (my roommate) and I need to make some new NYC friends. She reads this blog and I know she won’t take offense to this as I know she agrees.

This wouldn’t even be a post topic for some as certain people, extroverts if you will, can simply walk up to an intriguing looking person, have a two minute conversation with them, and deem themselves “friends”. “I think I shall call up Bobby from the Pathmark isle tonight. He was a nice chap and mentioned that we should meet up sometime while discussing our interest in domestic beer and cold cuts.” Yeah, no. With me that would never happen.

I have made a few work friends. But those friendships take a while to blossom from work time conversations to after hours events. You really can’t push those friendships. 1. could get awkward and 2. if it did get awkward, you have to see them everyday and they know who your boss is.

The girls who lived upstairs when we first moved in have now moved out. We were first pissed off by the replacements. Hammering things at 11 pm WILL piss your neighbors off. However, as their stay in our building extended, the noise changed from hammer to what we believe to be high heels. High heels wearing at late week night hours must mean they are going out. Could this mean they are cool? Cool going out during the week people?

Then another night we heard a guy voice. Boyfriend? Date? Whatever, who cares. You brought an often thought about but seldom seen man creature into our all girl building. You’re cool.

With all this I have become very intrigued by these new neighbors; however, have yet to see either of them. (I presume there are two as it is a two bedroom and no one in NYC can afford a two bedroom as an individual. It’s just simple science.)

So last night we heard an upstairs girl voice descending the stairs. K and I immediately met eyes. You thinking what I’m thinking?, our eyes said. Then we darted to the peep hole.

Me: What does she look like can you see her?

K: Hold on, stop pushing...she has a…suitcase?

Me: Is she alone?

K: Oh…uh oh. (moving away from the peep hole)

Me: what?

K: ummm I think she heard us. She like stopped in the middle of the stairs and looked around.

Me: That’s embarrassing.

And then we shamefully went back to our designated couches to continue watching TV.

I think we need a better friend-making tactic.

My Date with Hipster Glasses

While walking to the designated meeting place:

KG (my more sophisticated Baltimore friend): Heeeyyy! How are you?

Me: I need help.

KG: Okkk…

Me: I’m going on a date with hipster glasses and since we’re meeting there I have to walk into the bar and recognize him either when I walk in or when he walks in. I don’t even know if I remember what he looks like.

KG: Well he has Buddy Holly glasses you know that.

Me: KG I am in Greenwich Village, every guy looks like that.

KG: Oh. This it true.

Me: I am going to a wine bar. You know I don’t do wine. What should I order and not sound ridiculous?

After 20 minutes of reviewing my wine likes and dislikes and finally feeling comfortable with my decision, he commented that this bar’s wine sucks and ordered a vodka martini. That was bad sign #1.

The conversation began with him discussing how he was in various bands since he was in high school up until a few years ago, even playing at CBGB, and is just starting to get back into it and writing songs with hopes to record. I mentioned how cool it was that he played there since it is so legendary and he commented, “well no not really, at least not in the past few years. I actually like the store they have there now better, have you been there?” Me, “um, nooo.”

Then we discussed his job at MTV, which he hates because he contributes to “making people stupid”, and the options for his band name of which included “We Sell Balloons” and “Adjective None” or something like that which I believe is supposed to be some intellectual joke involving his French friend which I don’t really get. Then he asked me how I am creative/ my creative interests.

Well, I have none. So I said this in so few words and, for an attempt to sound charming, I said, “well I do have a great interest in music even though I don’t play it myself. So I do sing a lot, although you would never want to hear it!” Then I smiled a charming smile. Then he said, “well you never know you could keep working at it and…” OK, he is serious. So I said, “No really. I can’t sing.” Bad sign #2. Actually, I think we surpassed 2 at this point.

The night went on with me asking him questions because I lead a boring life and he does not. After making multiple jabs at Sarah Palin he told me he was voting for John. Although confused, I nodded. Then he looked me straight in the face and said, “I’m not really.” I laughed and said how that makes sense, he had me confused, guess I haven’t yet figured out his sarcasm. To which he said, “It wasn’t as much sarcasm as a lie.” Intellectual ass.

He grew up in the city and doesn’t understand the need for suburbs. I was born and raised in a suburb. He goes clubbing on Sundays, of which I have no interest in ever doing so. He defines his friend groups by “French friends”, “Spanish friends”, “Romanian friends” and “Gay friends”. I have college friends, high school friends and work friends. He likes the Rangers, I like the Blackhawks. He thinks the world is polluted and too much concern goes into things like “How I met your Mother.” I could rehash HIMYM’s Monday episode for you right now in this post. And I thought it was DE….LIGHTFUL. He goes out pretty much every night of the week. To this I eluded that he leads a pretty exciting/ fun life. His response? “I wouldn’t say that at all. I just think I pursue my interests.” Get me out of this date.

Long story short, it was not a horrible first date, but I definitely think I bored the hell out of him and he is not going to call. And I am completely fine with that. I actually think I would dread a second date as we clearly are not a good match.

Optimistic side of this? It was a learning experience.

1. I am not as scared of NYC dates anymore. Not as big of a deal as I thought.
2. I feel as though I am “getting back into the game”.
3. I learned more about wine from KG.
4. I know I thought of other good things but can’t think of them at this moment.

First NYC date = A Bust. Until next time…

Gym Hate

Is it just me or does it always seem that gym machinery is breaking down? What are people doing?

Seriously, my parents have had the same treadmill since the 90s and that thing still runs smooth. My dad used to use it everyday, along with me and my brother …still smooth. The kid next door that for some reason wishes he was a member of the family and tends to make everyone feel weird by calling my father “dad” even in front of his own kin? Yup, he used it...still not broken. Even my mom gave it a few whirls except for the two times she went to Curves...still running strong.

Then why, outside of my family’s basement and in the confines of “Merritt Athletic Club” or “the NYSC”, where they have 24 hour maintenance on these machines, do they breakdown AT ALL TIMES.

This makes for numerous infuriating and potentially embarrassing circumstances.

Unmarked broken treadmills are the worst. You get on and think you are good. I have learned to first press start to see if the thing rolls before stretching. This prevents the embarrassing situation of completing a full stretch, ipod turn on and set, and towel place before you attempt to turn the machine on and get nothing. Then you end up playing Treadmill Duck Duck Goose by getting off and trying one treadmill after the other. Chances are, the first treadmill you were on is YOUR treadmill aka your comfort zone. Therefore, since someone broke your damn treadmill and the stupid person next to you allowed you to look like a jerk and stretch for a half hour instead of telling you, “hey dude just saw 15 people do the same thing, think that machine is broken,” you have to try out other unknown treadmills, of which it’s guaranteed one of those is broken as well. WORST.

Another worst: noisy machines. Oh I HATE noisy machines. I like to be completely invisible at the gym. Don’t look at me, don’t talk to me, I am sweaty and don’t want to interact with you. Then I hit start and the noise begins. Eeeehhh rrrrrr ehhhhh. Hmmm maybe when I hit the incline it will stop…eehhh rrrrr boom boom racket. Guess not. Everyone can hear it and you know they hate you. I always look around to see if there are any people without headphones on before I make the ultimate decision of staying on the machine or risking getting off and getting an even noisier one. WORST.

Still more. The multimedia deadzone. This occurs when you step on your machine and realize your ipod is dead. Then you try the TV on your machine and surprise! That is broken too. Then you are forced to stare at the silent TV/ back of sweaty person’s head in front of you while trying to figure out what the actors are saying because gyms refuse to put on closed captioning. What can make this worse? A noisy machine. Then you hate yourself AND the gym.

You would think with all this hate I would be a Good Samaritan and tell the front desk when something is broken. But I don’t.

I think work no-name boy (not the one with the gf, the other one) has taken a liking to me. He began by asking me to a concert, then randomly happening to walk by my desk and stopping by on his way to God knows where because his job doesn’t include people who work on my side of the office, and then the latest, sporadic emails.

Unfortunately, to his ultimate embarrassment, he accidently sent one of his emails to another co-worker. Turns out I guess he really didn’t know my name either. To my evil-minded enjoyment, he happened to send it to one of my new work friends.

I saw her today and got to discuss this.

New Work Friend: Sooooo I don’t know if I am allowed to talk about this with you butttt...

Me: OMG are you going to bring up The Email.

NWF: Yessssss…OMG so crazy.

Me: Yeah, I know really weird. I told him no worries though cause you are cool.

NWF: Are you aware of the fact that he wants whatever you got and totally wants to have your babies?

Me: uhhhh…

This was included in the latest email: (^0^)/

That is a really complicated and time consuming way to make a smiley face. Or it is an owl waving, I have no clue.

And So It Happened

Out of the corner of my eye I see him approaching. He's got really big glasses and a really angry face. This could be potentially upsetting.

He places his hand on my cube.

I.T. Man: [SHOUT VOICE] So I see that you have been using SMS text on your blackberry.

Oh Shit.

Me: Uhhhh...

I'm smiling. Why am I smiling? You smile in uncomfortable situations. Remember high school chemistry class when you got kicked out of class for giggling about dirty words on your friend's calculator and burning someone's plastic pencil on the bunson burner? You smiled then. It's just what you do. STOP smiling. Oh God he's going to get more angry...

I.T. Man: [STILL SHOUTING] Our plan doesn't include texting so we have to pay for each one. No more of that. It's just for business purposes from here on out.

Me: [still freaking smiling] Sure, OK, yes. mmm hmm.

He stalks away.

Oh God. That sucked. That blackberry is never to be used again. Damn...hitting people up on bbm made me feel really cool.

I Yell Things and Make Weird Noises

If you have been reading this blog for a while now, you are most likely familiar with the fact that I may or may not have a bladder problem. That sounds gross…lets just agree that I have to pee…a lot.

On Sunday evening I was being lazy on the couch watching TV. I was extremely tired considering that I didn’t get home from my Saturday activities until that morning. I then woke up early and opted to watch Sense and Sensibility on Hulu.com instead of go back to sleep. Point of all this is to convey that I was very very tired and feeling very very lazy.

Anyone who has ever lived with me knows that I tend to subconsciously yell random things. Be it song lyrics, swear words, etc. If it comes into my head and I am in the right mood, it will come out of my mouth and most likely as a yell and/or shout.

So there I was lying on the long couch while K lay on the short couch. (We have only lived in this apartment a few weeks and have already assigned ourselves, without even talking about it, our own designated couches) And that is when I yelled, “FUCK PENIS!”

Yup. FUCK. PENIS. By the way, this post is NSFW. Too late?

What I really meant to myself inside my head was “Fuck I have to pee. I hate this pee problem I have…ugh I will just call it PEE-NESS. Fuck this pee-ness.” But it came out “Fuck Penis.” Needless to say, I just kept lying there watching TV following my bout with Turrets, not realizing that what I just did was highly unappropriate.

K: WHAAAAAAAAT?!

DW: What?

K: WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?

DW: ummm I think Fuck Pee…OHHHHHHHHHH.

Laughter ensued.

Your Mamas

...so fat she daydreams about a Subway sandwich then gets the "Five Dollar Footlong" song stuck in her head for the last three hours of work.

Oh wait that's me.

We’ve Got All Them Connections

Stepping a little outside of our normal comfort zone, K and I decided to go to a west village bar/club on Saturday night to dance to various DJ sets and pretend to enjoy getting all sweaty while pumping our fists with a bunch of strangers. It is actually a ton of fun minus the getting sweaty part.

In the process, we got to jump to the head of the line because we were the nerds who bought online tickets, I decreased my age by four years (when asked my age at the door, I nervously responded 21. Guess I haven’t gotten over that college fake ID at the door fear), I fell in love with an English DJ with skeletal face paint who goes by the name “Drums of Death”, K made-out on the dance floor, I talked to/ kissed a guy with hipster glasses, I made fun English friends in the bathroom around a lack of mascara and, once home and at the grocery store at 6 AM in our pajamas, got hit on by a Pathmark worker. All in all, a pretty fun night.

When the bar closed around 4 AM, hipster glasses ushered us into some side bar to drink past close. Apparently, he is frienemies with a girl whose brother owns the bar. While I was playing kissy face at a side table (so embarrassing) a guy struck up some friendly conversation with K.

Guy: So, who do you know that you are able to still be here?

K: ummm…I guess you could say I’m friends of a friend.

Guy: Cool, who?

K: well…umm…I’m friends with her (pointing to me), who’s friends? (inserted weird face and questioning voice as me and hipster glasses were doing some close faced talking at the moment) with him who’s kind of friends with her (pointing at frenemy) who’s brother owns this bar.

Guy: Oh.

K: Yeah.

Right. Moments later the frenemy confronted hipster glasses about how he has always been a “dick” to her the last few times they have seen each other. I, of course, was standing right there while she chewed him out. To her credit, he was a jerk to her; still awkward for me however. I guess she wasn’t all that bad as I later learned that she played teacher with K doing a “repeat after me” on how to actually pronounce the name of the bar we were at.

Long story short, we got to stay late night at a cool west village club due to a random compilation of short lived connections. On the walk home from the subway I mentioned that I didn’t really know if I was interested in this guy.

K: DW you are only saying that because he had glasses. You have to get over that.

DW: (realization that I was actually being a judgemental ass) Huh…yeah I guess you are right. Shoot well I kept pushing him away when he went to kiss me…damn well I like him what if he doesn’t call because I did that and he thinks I’m not interested but I really am?!

K: Shut up.

Food Me

One thing that I have found is a good and yet bad thing about living in New York is it is hard to be lazy. This is good because when one allows his or herself to be lazy, it always ends with some sort of depression. Oh God I did like nothing yesterday except ordered a whole pizza and then ate the whole pizza, I feel so gross…etc.

In Baltimore I would get in my car each morning as late as humanly possible then drive as fast as humanly possible to get to work. Now I am in no control. The trains control me. I have to make sure I am ready and out the door by a certain time or I will most definitely be late. Then I can’t sit in the comfort of my own car but instead have to endure around 20 minutes of humping a stranger and avoiding awkward eye contact.

Grocery shopping, morning coffee, a trip to Bed, Bath and Beyond and laundry (that task can fill a whole new post) are other daily activities that do not allow any room for laziness.

I love Whole Foods already prepared foods. Their salad bar makes me drool with just the thought of whatever pasta and chicken salady mixture they have going on today. But shall I risk the annoyance of rush hour Whole Foods just to get dinner? I want it sooo bad but I am feeling sooo not like dealing with whatever may come from going there.

So there you have it. I am attempting to make the transition to a non-lazy New Yorker. It sucks but is still so worth it. Did I mention that I am STARVING.

Week Night Adventures

I went out last night. On a Wednesday you ask. I know, it’s impressive. It’s kind of going to be my new thing- going out during the week. I moved to New York to experience New York, so that is what I am going to do.

I also went out a few Wednesdays ago and got a little too liquored up. Needless to say, the next two days at work were extremely painful. Today is better. I certainly do not feel completely normal, and my stomach is randomly churning in an uncomfortable manner, but it is better than last time.

My mom and dad picked up on the fact that I was a “binge” drinker during college. I think the picture that my brother found and threw in their face of me squatting eyes wide with a beer funnel in my mouth may have tipped them off. After this they sat me down for a little talk wherein they said it is so much more “attractive” and “potentially less embarrassing” if I simply get one drink and nurse it for the night. The sip and hold trick if you will. All the drunkies around you think you are drinking but really you are sipping and watching them be assholes. Eh.

Last night, for example, was so fun. I saw two good bands, the music was going, I’m dancing…its times like those when you think to yourself keep the booze coming. Game face? On. You give me a drink, I will drink it.

Luckily our after concert plans fell through and I went home and drank some water. And now I am alive. Hopefully someday soon I will grow up and into the sip and hold. Until then I will just dream of the morning that I am sitting in a NY diner and I look at my still drunk friend and say “I’m not hungover. I didn’t even get drunk last night.” And then that friend will get up on the diner table and yell “ohhh DW’s all grows up! And she’s all grows up and she’s all grows up!” That’s right. I don’t know which one of my friends would actually do that, but that imaginary friend is awesome.

PS
Worst part of the subway= the walk back up to the platform. Insert stranger’s ass in your face. It’s like that Nike ad that people claimed was homophobic but this situation is neither homophobic or racist. Just straight up “that ain’t right.”

Fail.

In the fashion mecca of the east coast I get a big FAIL. In my new life I have decided to choose my outfit for the next day the night before. This leaves me more time in the morning to actually do up my hair and leave the apartment in a timely manner.

When I am in my humble abode of Harlem, I do not care what I look like walking the streets. However, take the train a few (actually with where I live- a good 100) blocks downtown and I totally care.

I usually leave the apartment thinking I look pretty damn cute. For having not gone shopping in a good long while, and only recently taking in my 20 lbs of drycleaning, I am still doing OK. And then, inevitably, I get outfit trumped. Today it happened in the bathroom. One of the super nice (she would be nice so I can’t hate her) VPs was in there doing her hair and make up. And I swear, only moments before I was thinking my outfit is kind of cute. Very Anthropologie. And this even marks my first day wearing tights- so fall! And then I leave the stall and see her standing there all nonchalant in an outfit I would die for, and probably need to sell my whole current wardrobe to afford.

These situations always leave me feeling very Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink. They are the cool girls at school and I am the poor pathetic girl who has to resort to making up her outfits out of random scraps in her closet and the only person who pretends to like the result is my father and/or Ducky.

On another note, on my fateful trip to and from the bathroom I walked by one of our receptionist desks. She is this super sweet older and non-fashion forward lady with a bit of a limp who always tells me she likes my shoes. Thus, the last thing I pictured her listening to this morning would be Sean Paul “Temperature.” Yeah, what? Then on the way back it was “Keep Me Hanging On” 80’s classic by Kim Wilde. What is this station? Who is this person?