Cute French girl in this video beware, you’ve got yourself some prime-time competition. And this competition is none other than the homeless man seated on the uptown D-Express train this morning.
You’ve got tales about hippos allergic to magic? Well he has real-life narratives documenting monkeys in women’s beds, complete with sound effects. And the monkeys were hairy. And the women were doing stuff to them. That’s drama.
I declare a fairy tale vlog-off. If I was bold, which I am not, I would take to the streets and subway stations with my video camera and walk up to noisy homeless men and say, “got any thoughts?” and see what happens. That’s when ish stops being polite and starts getting REAL.
Lots of bills and fame in this idea, guys. I’m serial.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Connecting the Dots
Spotting a famous person is an exciting experience. It is also a confusing experience. This is because it all happens in a flash; if you don’t spot and confirm the face within the first two seconds, its over, you will never know.
So today I spotted Marilu Henner. Don’t know who that is? Don’t feel bad, I wouldn’t either just by looking at the name (I googled). I guess the only reason I know her face is because of the childhood gift of Nick at Nite; really shows my age. And don’t bust on Nick at Nite in the comments because it was the best and I strongly believe that if they don’t, they should certainly still be doing something like that for kids.
Anyways, Marilu exited the elevator in my office building as I was getting on this morning. It was a lobby exchange, poor thing walked right into a group of us waiting for the elevator and had to walk by quickly hoping none of us would get overly excited and beg her for an autograph (none of us would have gotten overly excited and begged her for her autograph).
Now comes the confusing part of the famous person spotting experience. Was it Marilu Henner? Why would Marilu Henner be in my office building at approximately 9:10 AM on a Tuesday? To confirm your famous person spotting you have to use your brain. I am bringing myself back to a past elevator experience wherein I overheard an exchange between two people on the 13th floor. It involved, “did you get in?” And the woman said, “Actually yes. They asked where I was from and I said Inside Edition and they let me in.” BOOM.
Inside Edition is a trashy version of ET. It is possible that Inside Edition is on the 13th floor. Inside Edition would totally do one of those excerpts that no one cares about titled something like “Where is the lady from Taxi Now?”. And finally, since no one cares about poor Marilu, they would probably force her to come in and be interviewed before work hours on a Tuesday morning.
Case closed. Marilu Henner lives a sad life and was at my midtown west office building this morning sans disguise because no one cares about Marilu Henner anymore. I wonder if I would get laughed at if I Gawker Stalkered this.
So today I spotted Marilu Henner. Don’t know who that is? Don’t feel bad, I wouldn’t either just by looking at the name (I googled). I guess the only reason I know her face is because of the childhood gift of Nick at Nite; really shows my age. And don’t bust on Nick at Nite in the comments because it was the best and I strongly believe that if they don’t, they should certainly still be doing something like that for kids.
Anyways, Marilu exited the elevator in my office building as I was getting on this morning. It was a lobby exchange, poor thing walked right into a group of us waiting for the elevator and had to walk by quickly hoping none of us would get overly excited and beg her for an autograph (none of us would have gotten overly excited and begged her for her autograph).
Now comes the confusing part of the famous person spotting experience. Was it Marilu Henner? Why would Marilu Henner be in my office building at approximately 9:10 AM on a Tuesday? To confirm your famous person spotting you have to use your brain. I am bringing myself back to a past elevator experience wherein I overheard an exchange between two people on the 13th floor. It involved, “did you get in?” And the woman said, “Actually yes. They asked where I was from and I said Inside Edition and they let me in.” BOOM.
Inside Edition is a trashy version of ET. It is possible that Inside Edition is on the 13th floor. Inside Edition would totally do one of those excerpts that no one cares about titled something like “Where is the lady from Taxi Now?”. And finally, since no one cares about poor Marilu, they would probably force her to come in and be interviewed before work hours on a Tuesday morning.
Case closed. Marilu Henner lives a sad life and was at my midtown west office building this morning sans disguise because no one cares about Marilu Henner anymore. I wonder if I would get laughed at if I Gawker Stalkered this.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Things that Stress Me Out that Shouldn’t
1. Opening my umbrella on the street with people watching. I can never get it to latch, it takes me forever and is really embarrassing.
2. Eating anything crunchy at my desk for lunch. It is really quiet in here and I think everyone can hear me manging.
3. Becoming a regular at the deli by my office. I usually switch between two different kinds of wraps, so now they like call me out. Sometimes I want something different but end up getting one of those because they see me coming in the door and start to reach for one of the two wraps. It’s terrible.
4. The whole elevator corridor/ waiting area of my office. It’s a social deadzone: you never know who you are going to have to ride with and it’s socially and professionally rude to put in your ipod and not chat.
5. The thought of having to cook in front of other people. Not even the action, although that too- just the thought of it makes me stressed.
6. The decision of whether to stand on the subway train or take that seat squished in between two people, possibly pissing them off.
7. Going shopping with wet hair fresh from a shower after being at the gym. People think I’m sloppy.
8. Signing my credit card receipt after buying something. This, obviously, happens a lot. It’s minimally stressful, but still stressful. My signature sucks and I take a long time to write it because I still don’t have it down pat. The automatic pen one is worse because half the time I can’t get it to work.
9. Scheduling/ going to a meeting in my office. After 6 months at this job I still don’t really know what meeting rooms are named what and always end of having to ask one of the admins where to go and watch them look at me funny.
10. Poking on Facebook.
2. Eating anything crunchy at my desk for lunch. It is really quiet in here and I think everyone can hear me manging.
3. Becoming a regular at the deli by my office. I usually switch between two different kinds of wraps, so now they like call me out. Sometimes I want something different but end up getting one of those because they see me coming in the door and start to reach for one of the two wraps. It’s terrible.
4. The whole elevator corridor/ waiting area of my office. It’s a social deadzone: you never know who you are going to have to ride with and it’s socially and professionally rude to put in your ipod and not chat.
5. The thought of having to cook in front of other people. Not even the action, although that too- just the thought of it makes me stressed.
6. The decision of whether to stand on the subway train or take that seat squished in between two people, possibly pissing them off.
7. Going shopping with wet hair fresh from a shower after being at the gym. People think I’m sloppy.
8. Signing my credit card receipt after buying something. This, obviously, happens a lot. It’s minimally stressful, but still stressful. My signature sucks and I take a long time to write it because I still don’t have it down pat. The automatic pen one is worse because half the time I can’t get it to work.
9. Scheduling/ going to a meeting in my office. After 6 months at this job I still don’t really know what meeting rooms are named what and always end of having to ask one of the admins where to go and watch them look at me funny.
10. Poking on Facebook.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
The Age Old Question
Age being if you are not over the age of 33 because that is what I like to consider the approps age cut-off for Facebook. Why 33? Because I am too close to 30 yet it is still not 35 which is too close to 40. Although I know and care about a few violators of that "DW enacted law."
I got poked. Who pokes? Before this I did not know of anyone who pokes. Poking is for the kids I say.
Problem is this: I actually like this poker so I dont want to be rude and not poke back. But can people see on their home page updates that I poked back? Because if so that is embarassing on a few levels.
So my thought process has now gone to this: I can write a wall post and say something along the lines of "ha did you poke me? I didnt know people poked." Well not that because that is lame but something along those lines. But is that offensive because I am clearly calling him out on the dorky move of the poke?
This technological era of friendship is really throwing me off kilter. Also, I cant tell when he poked. It doesnt give a time on FB for BB. What the. Terrible. Did he poke yesterday and I am already rude?
How do I respond!? I am making too big of a deal of this?! This is what happens when you poke!!
Worst.
I got poked. Who pokes? Before this I did not know of anyone who pokes. Poking is for the kids I say.
Problem is this: I actually like this poker so I dont want to be rude and not poke back. But can people see on their home page updates that I poked back? Because if so that is embarassing on a few levels.
So my thought process has now gone to this: I can write a wall post and say something along the lines of "ha did you poke me? I didnt know people poked." Well not that because that is lame but something along those lines. But is that offensive because I am clearly calling him out on the dorky move of the poke?
This technological era of friendship is really throwing me off kilter. Also, I cant tell when he poked. It doesnt give a time on FB for BB. What the. Terrible. Did he poke yesterday and I am already rude?
How do I respond!? I am making too big of a deal of this?! This is what happens when you poke!!
Worst.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Operation Rid New York of Strangers' Dirty Germs
Being a health care company, my office has hand sanitizer dispensers all throughout the office. I mean, everywhere, staring you in the face and telling you that you are dirty. Well, at least that is how I feel when I don’t use them each time and walk away feeling guilty.
I remember being in the bathroom with a visitor and her commenting on how we really follow through on promoting sanitation. Everything in there is automatic: toilets, sinks, soap, paper towel dispensers, and finished off with a hand sanitizer dispenser at the exit. This is great in thought but always just ends up making you feel crazed by the end of your bathroom break. The toilets go off while you are on them (or floating over them, whichever technique you prefer), the soap dispensers are never refilled, the sinks go on when no one is at them which is insanely creepy, and the paper towel dispensers force you to do a hand dance in front of them to get even a tiny inch of paper released.
We have hand sanitizers by the printers, by the elevators, in the bathroom, you name it. I thoroughly agree that this is a great idea, but hate that it leaves me thinking about how dirty everything actually is. Take the printer for example. Yes, everyone touches it. Yes, my co-workers may not wash their hands and I just don’t know it, BUT, they are my co-workers and thus to me are normal. Now if my office printer is so dirty, how dirty is everything else in life and around New York that doesn’t have a designated hand sanitizer next to it?!?! Gross.
So today while I waited for my print job to complete I had an epiphany. New York should invest in hand sanitizer dispensers to place on the polls in the subways. Not everyone is as responsible as myself and carries a tiny hand held dispenser in his or her purse. Every little bit helps, guys.
I remember being in the bathroom with a visitor and her commenting on how we really follow through on promoting sanitation. Everything in there is automatic: toilets, sinks, soap, paper towel dispensers, and finished off with a hand sanitizer dispenser at the exit. This is great in thought but always just ends up making you feel crazed by the end of your bathroom break. The toilets go off while you are on them (or floating over them, whichever technique you prefer), the soap dispensers are never refilled, the sinks go on when no one is at them which is insanely creepy, and the paper towel dispensers force you to do a hand dance in front of them to get even a tiny inch of paper released.
We have hand sanitizers by the printers, by the elevators, in the bathroom, you name it. I thoroughly agree that this is a great idea, but hate that it leaves me thinking about how dirty everything actually is. Take the printer for example. Yes, everyone touches it. Yes, my co-workers may not wash their hands and I just don’t know it, BUT, they are my co-workers and thus to me are normal. Now if my office printer is so dirty, how dirty is everything else in life and around New York that doesn’t have a designated hand sanitizer next to it?!?! Gross.
So today while I waited for my print job to complete I had an epiphany. New York should invest in hand sanitizer dispensers to place on the polls in the subways. Not everyone is as responsible as myself and carries a tiny hand held dispenser in his or her purse. Every little bit helps, guys.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
The atmosphere of one’s office can really affect how well his or her day will go. My old office in Baltimore was a bit more quirky than my office here. It meant for some more interesting stories, but at the same time a few more annoying days.
The office kitchen is one of the few areas that really defines an organization’s culture. For example, my old office’s kitchen was a bit larger and was constantly filled during the lunch time hours, and in turn would get quite noisy. People loved to socialize there. Here, eh not so much. There is one group who frequents the lunch room each day but everyone else either goes out for lunch or eats at their desk. I do a little bit of both- leave to get food and come back and stuff my face in my cubicle.
The combination of on-the-edge-of-crazy people plus a popular office kitchen can get interesting. Those are the offices that contribute to the passive aggressive notes website. If I had known about that website in my earlier days, I most definitely could have contributed a few post-its from the office hater. “Office Hater’s Food- It would be appreciated if you don’t touch!” “Let’s have a clean kitchen- wash your dishes!” “Don’t leave paper in the printer!- help keep this area clean!!” Goodness gracious. So many times I wanted to post-it her face with “You’re such a hard worker, so much so that we all talk about you behind your back and named you after a swamp animal!”
Luckily, everything here is pretty mellow. I’m diggin’ it. However there is always the inevitable issue of wandering office smells that you have to deal with. The alright that guy just did a cube dusting smell, the that girl just put on lotion smell, that lunch smells good smell, that lunch smells disgusting smell, the really? You chose that perfume today? smell, the that guy has halitosis smell (old office), etc. Today I was walking through the hallway and smelled vomit. And then later I walked through the same hallway and smelled something like blueberry waffles.
I don’t know what else to say about that. This post kind of sucks.
The office kitchen is one of the few areas that really defines an organization’s culture. For example, my old office’s kitchen was a bit larger and was constantly filled during the lunch time hours, and in turn would get quite noisy. People loved to socialize there. Here, eh not so much. There is one group who frequents the lunch room each day but everyone else either goes out for lunch or eats at their desk. I do a little bit of both- leave to get food and come back and stuff my face in my cubicle.
The combination of on-the-edge-of-crazy people plus a popular office kitchen can get interesting. Those are the offices that contribute to the passive aggressive notes website. If I had known about that website in my earlier days, I most definitely could have contributed a few post-its from the office hater. “Office Hater’s Food- It would be appreciated if you don’t touch!” “Let’s have a clean kitchen- wash your dishes!” “Don’t leave paper in the printer!- help keep this area clean!!” Goodness gracious. So many times I wanted to post-it her face with “You’re such a hard worker, so much so that we all talk about you behind your back and named you after a swamp animal!”
Luckily, everything here is pretty mellow. I’m diggin’ it. However there is always the inevitable issue of wandering office smells that you have to deal with. The alright that guy just did a cube dusting smell, the that girl just put on lotion smell, that lunch smells good smell, that lunch smells disgusting smell, the really? You chose that perfume today? smell, the that guy has halitosis smell (old office), etc. Today I was walking through the hallway and smelled vomit. And then later I walked through the same hallway and smelled something like blueberry waffles.
I don’t know what else to say about that. This post kind of sucks.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Don't Mess With the Cabbie Unless You Want to Get Burned
I saw a street fight today. It involved a cab driver and some dude on a bike. It was intense.
Apparently it was all instigated by the bike guy spitting in the cab driver’s face. For this to happen, it must mean that the cab driver had his window down in the middle of a snow storm, which if you ask me is just plain not smart and asking for problems. That is like when my car got broken into and I put a black garbage bag in the window instead of a clear one and tried to pull out of my parking spot; like I said, asking for problems.
How It Went Down
The cab driver stopped his car, jumped out, and then chased the bike guy down the street. The bike guy was off of his bike for some reason (again not so smart), thus was forced to try to beat the cabbie in a race of the foot, which he lost poorly. Then some girl and I almost walked into traffic as we intently watched the cabbie pound on the culprit while screaming, “motherf-er spit in my face! Spit in my face!” End scene.
Of course, all of the passersby stopped, turned and watched. However, as Boondock Saints so fatefully taught us of the human reaction, no one did a thing. They all just stood there, watching.
And when the cabbie decided the battle was over and walked away, a few dudes turned and said to really no one in particular, “he spit in his face?” Mother Theresas.
The moral question here is whether or not the bike guy purposefully spit in the cab driver’s face. If so, he deserved it. If not, that sucks.
Now the outside question here is: why do people love fights? Love ‘em. Honestly, being a witness to that fight made my day because I can now go around and tell everyone I see that I saw a fight today. And I guarantee these people will be actually interested in who, what, where, why and when; and I will inform them, proudly.
Ed. Note: No one got hurt; the bike guy was up and walking away in no time.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Sunday in Central Park
So yesterday K and I were walking through Central Park and we ran into a rollar-skating dance party. Some may think haha that is funny, and it is, but it was totally overrided by THIS. (little blurry at first, just wait until the 50 sec to 1 minute mark)
And don't worry, he had an escape route as his trusty Bat Bike stood idly by on the side of the walkway. I am beginning to understand the phrase "only in New York". Fantastic.
And don't worry, he had an escape route as his trusty Bat Bike stood idly by on the side of the walkway. I am beginning to understand the phrase "only in New York". Fantastic.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
It Had to Be Done
The son of my parents' best friends is getting married. They are one of those close family friends that growing up I called them Aunt and Uncle because they were always around. Thus, the guy getting married is kind of like a cousin who I don't see or talk to anymore. Anyways, they all moved to Atlanta a few years ago and got rich, thus this upcoming wedding is supposed to be some sort of extravaganza.
My "Aunt" is worried that the bride's side is going to be a lot larger so has been harassing my mom and dad to have my brother and I bring dates. Well guess what, I don't have a date or anyone who I feel like forcing into being my date and buying their plane ticket, soooo tough nuts Auntie.
I have made the final decision to go because I want to see how fancy this wedding can be. However, with this I decided it was best to email my folks a few ground rules. The below is taken from this email:
Subject: OK its been done
Body:
I just placed the RSVP postcard and rehearsal dinner envelope for N’s wedding in the outgoing mail bin. After doing so I thought it best to lay out a few ground rules for how this is all going to play out…and before you start laughing and huffing and puffing about all this, please place yourself in my shoes, refocus, and read on. Thank you in advance.
#1: By no means, under any circumstances, at the rehearsal dinner, cocktail party, or reception, are you allowed to tell me (whether it be verbatim or any phrase sounding similar), “that guy is cute, why don’t you go talk to him.” Being there stag is embarrassing enough, I don’t need my parents to try to get me some game at a wedding.
#2: I am allowed to have as much beer as I want.
#3: If all of N’s friends are out dancing and I feel more comfortable sitting at a table with you two, you must let me and not make me feel like a loser about it. I don’t know them, I know you, this is already awkward enough, end of story.
#4: If Mike N. is there stag, Dad must initiate and involve me in a conversation with him because none of the above pertains to him because I kind of know him and he is cute.
#5: If the number of people who ask me what my relationship status is hits 5, before I leave to come back to New York I get to go shopping.
#6: By no means, under any circumstances, at the rehearsal dinner, cocktail party, or reception, are you allowed to tell me (whether it be verbatim or any phrase sounding similar), “that guy is cute, why don’t you go talk to him.” Being there stag is embarrassing enough, I don’t need my parents to try to get me some game at a wedding.
#7: I, and you if you feel so inclined, am allowed to embellish my job, apartment, and previous mini-almost relationship with the NYC fireman. And as the questions from strangers continue, this is bound to happen.
#8: I am allowed to add more rules to this list as I think of them and/or the weekend progresses.
Thank you for your understanding.
My "Aunt" is worried that the bride's side is going to be a lot larger so has been harassing my mom and dad to have my brother and I bring dates. Well guess what, I don't have a date or anyone who I feel like forcing into being my date and buying their plane ticket, soooo tough nuts Auntie.
I have made the final decision to go because I want to see how fancy this wedding can be. However, with this I decided it was best to email my folks a few ground rules. The below is taken from this email:
Subject: OK its been done
Body:
I just placed the RSVP postcard and rehearsal dinner envelope for N’s wedding in the outgoing mail bin. After doing so I thought it best to lay out a few ground rules for how this is all going to play out…and before you start laughing and huffing and puffing about all this, please place yourself in my shoes, refocus, and read on. Thank you in advance.
#1: By no means, under any circumstances, at the rehearsal dinner, cocktail party, or reception, are you allowed to tell me (whether it be verbatim or any phrase sounding similar), “that guy is cute, why don’t you go talk to him.” Being there stag is embarrassing enough, I don’t need my parents to try to get me some game at a wedding.
#2: I am allowed to have as much beer as I want.
#3: If all of N’s friends are out dancing and I feel more comfortable sitting at a table with you two, you must let me and not make me feel like a loser about it. I don’t know them, I know you, this is already awkward enough, end of story.
#4: If Mike N. is there stag, Dad must initiate and involve me in a conversation with him because none of the above pertains to him because I kind of know him and he is cute.
#5: If the number of people who ask me what my relationship status is hits 5, before I leave to come back to New York I get to go shopping.
#6: By no means, under any circumstances, at the rehearsal dinner, cocktail party, or reception, are you allowed to tell me (whether it be verbatim or any phrase sounding similar), “that guy is cute, why don’t you go talk to him.” Being there stag is embarrassing enough, I don’t need my parents to try to get me some game at a wedding.
#7: I, and you if you feel so inclined, am allowed to embellish my job, apartment, and previous mini-almost relationship with the NYC fireman. And as the questions from strangers continue, this is bound to happen.
#8: I am allowed to add more rules to this list as I think of them and/or the weekend progresses.
Thank you for your understanding.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Seen in New York
There is a man walking down Houston Street in the Lower Eastside of Manhattan. From a non-observant bystander, he could appear quite normal. He is dressed appropriately for the brisk winter weather, complete with his hands inside of his coat pockets.
And then whoops- out comes an open ketchup packet.
Witnesses are forced to wonder, was that necessary? Couldn’t he just have been a good New Yorker and waited until he hit the garbage can at the street corner to throw out the packet? Jeesh. Oh well, it’s forgotten.
Until…whoops, there goes another one.
Few sidewalk steps pass.
And then a third.
The witness is now fully creeped out and decides to pass on the left. There have been no other reports detailing if more OPEN ketchup packets or shoes of innocent bystanders were sacrificed following this update.
And then whoops- out comes an open ketchup packet.
Witnesses are forced to wonder, was that necessary? Couldn’t he just have been a good New Yorker and waited until he hit the garbage can at the street corner to throw out the packet? Jeesh. Oh well, it’s forgotten.
Until…whoops, there goes another one.
Few sidewalk steps pass.
And then a third.
The witness is now fully creeped out and decides to pass on the left. There have been no other reports detailing if more OPEN ketchup packets or shoes of innocent bystanders were sacrificed following this update.
"But Then Again, We Got Sh@# To Do"
In this new technological era, how does one constitute a good worker? Kids are instant messaging during class, college grads are blogging during work-time hours, etc. But then there are those choice few people who get away with it. Please note that I am not saying that is me, as I fear The Ginx.
I will say, however, that throughout the work week I experience a variety of feelings with the most prominent being fear and guilt.
Fear occurs when I am totally zoned into a specific article or blog post and don’t notice a higher-up passing by my desk. Then when that person decides to stop and talk to me I am forced to do the “immediate yet completely obvious screen minimization.”
Guilt occurs when I am praised for my work ethic. I feel as though I don’t need to explain this one.
I think the trick of the trade behind all of this is to actually try your best to word hard. Meet deadlines, ensure that you work really hard one day if you didn’t the day prior, etc. And then when the time comes that you feel the need to stop all tasks and Facebook a friend the message “raped in the face!” during work hours you can. Because you have been doing some work that day and that wall post is JUST THAT IMPORTANT.
Hamlet 2 people. Get in on it.
I will say, however, that throughout the work week I experience a variety of feelings with the most prominent being fear and guilt.
Fear occurs when I am totally zoned into a specific article or blog post and don’t notice a higher-up passing by my desk. Then when that person decides to stop and talk to me I am forced to do the “immediate yet completely obvious screen minimization.”
Guilt occurs when I am praised for my work ethic. I feel as though I don’t need to explain this one.
I think the trick of the trade behind all of this is to actually try your best to word hard. Meet deadlines, ensure that you work really hard one day if you didn’t the day prior, etc. And then when the time comes that you feel the need to stop all tasks and Facebook a friend the message “raped in the face!” during work hours you can. Because you have been doing some work that day and that wall post is JUST THAT IMPORTANT.
Hamlet 2 people. Get in on it.
Friday, January 23, 2009
If Dennis Leary is One, Then I Can Be One Too...Because He is Awesome
I saw a redhead who was cuter than me on the subway today. And she was with her boyfriend too. It was like a one-upping double-header…if that is such a thing that makes sense.
You see as there aren’t that many of us, we tend to judge each other. I really don’t think I am alone with this because when I met one of my guy friend’s girlfriends, who is also a daywalker, her first words to me were, “oh I am sooo happy that you are the pretty kind too! Eric said you were a redhead and I didn’t know…you know.” Yes, yes I do know. I think it’s a tad inapprops that those are your first words to me but at the same time, I catch your drift.
So there I stood, watching this girl with her cute hipster hairdo, skinny skinniness, dark green adorable coat (mental note to buy a green coat) and all around cuteness. And then I felt really vulnerable. It was like everyone in the train knew that there were two redheads in there and she won.
Now I know this is ridiculous. Ridiculous in that most likely no one was thinking this but me…and maybe her. In an attempt to make myself feel like less of an asshole, I am blaming my thoughts on human nature.
And it will also be human nature’s fault when I am out tonight and make a mental tally of other redheads that I am cuter than to re-up my self-esteem. Orrrr I am just an asshole and now all my blog readers know it.
You see as there aren’t that many of us, we tend to judge each other. I really don’t think I am alone with this because when I met one of my guy friend’s girlfriends, who is also a daywalker, her first words to me were, “oh I am sooo happy that you are the pretty kind too! Eric said you were a redhead and I didn’t know…you know.” Yes, yes I do know. I think it’s a tad inapprops that those are your first words to me but at the same time, I catch your drift.
So there I stood, watching this girl with her cute hipster hairdo, skinny skinniness, dark green adorable coat (mental note to buy a green coat) and all around cuteness. And then I felt really vulnerable. It was like everyone in the train knew that there were two redheads in there and she won.
Now I know this is ridiculous. Ridiculous in that most likely no one was thinking this but me…and maybe her. In an attempt to make myself feel like less of an asshole, I am blaming my thoughts on human nature.
And it will also be human nature’s fault when I am out tonight and make a mental tally of other redheads that I am cuter than to re-up my self-esteem. Orrrr I am just an asshole and now all my blog readers know it.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Jus' a Lil Bit
In being a girl/ woman, I feel as though my body has learned how to complete a variety of movements that could best be described as “shimmies” to prevent wardrobe malfunctions. I truly look at this as a skill, as these shimmies usually require one to complete them in a way that if others were to see, it would be deemed as a normal movement ie. not an underwear adjustment.
If not completed in this fashion, you risk a call-out. This happened to me once where in the middle of a party one of my guy friends pointed at me, laughed aloud, and yelled, “haha DW you just fixed your thong. Yeah I saw that!” It was the worst.
My shimmy skill roster includes:
1. The oops my low-rider jeans are showing butt-crack, move jeans up shimmy
2. Shimmy into good posture position to prevent boobs falling out of low-cut blouse
3. Shimmy bra strap back into place
4. Shimmy overall bra adjustment
5. Shimmy move my slip up to prevent slip spotting under slit in skirt
6. Shimmy get rid of the muffin-top caused by tights
7. Shimmy to adjust overall muffin-top caused by anything
I may have others, trust, I am very experienced with this. What made me think to write about this today? I am currently experiencing #’s 2, 4, 5, and 6. Needless to say, not the best outfit day. My co-workers may or may not think I have ants in my pants.
If not completed in this fashion, you risk a call-out. This happened to me once where in the middle of a party one of my guy friends pointed at me, laughed aloud, and yelled, “haha DW you just fixed your thong. Yeah I saw that!” It was the worst.
My shimmy skill roster includes:
1. The oops my low-rider jeans are showing butt-crack, move jeans up shimmy
2. Shimmy into good posture position to prevent boobs falling out of low-cut blouse
3. Shimmy bra strap back into place
4. Shimmy overall bra adjustment
5. Shimmy move my slip up to prevent slip spotting under slit in skirt
6. Shimmy get rid of the muffin-top caused by tights
7. Shimmy to adjust overall muffin-top caused by anything
I may have others, trust, I am very experienced with this. What made me think to write about this today? I am currently experiencing #’s 2, 4, 5, and 6. Needless to say, not the best outfit day. My co-workers may or may not think I have ants in my pants.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Well Whaddaya Know
Today I decided I wanted to play my little “today I feel” magnet. You know its one of those large magnets with feeling words associated to a mish-mash of faces.
I went to move the face-finder and realized that it was nicely settled on “Hopeful”. And then I smiled, a smile that I believe was quite similar to the one on the magnet, and left the magnet in its place. True story.
Get it? Because today was inauguration day and Obama is all about hope and stuff. And I honestly am feeling quite hopeful. About a few things. My past self was so smart. And for some reason I am often feeling hopeful, even though I don’t really understand what that “feeling” is really supposed to “feel” like.
Go America. Go life.
I went to move the face-finder and realized that it was nicely settled on “Hopeful”. And then I smiled, a smile that I believe was quite similar to the one on the magnet, and left the magnet in its place. True story.
Get it? Because today was inauguration day and Obama is all about hope and stuff. And I honestly am feeling quite hopeful. About a few things. My past self was so smart. And for some reason I am often feeling hopeful, even though I don’t really understand what that “feeling” is really supposed to “feel” like.
Go America. Go life.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Did I Ever Mention that I Hate Birds?
I have an abnormal hatred for birds. I really can't stand them. They are gross and mean and dirty and etc. And then this happened...
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/17/nyregion/17strikecnd.html?_r=1
They are now crashing planes. We are one step away from that Hitchcock movie, which I have never seen and will probably never see as most likely if I did, I would no longer be able to walk the streets of New York. (birds everywhere people, its truly atrocious)
All birds need to die, I rest my case.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/17/nyregion/17strikecnd.html?_r=1
They are now crashing planes. We are one step away from that Hitchcock movie, which I have never seen and will probably never see as most likely if I did, I would no longer be able to walk the streets of New York. (birds everywhere people, its truly atrocious)
All birds need to die, I rest my case.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
The Consequences of Being a Twenty-something Professional
I just had a meeting with my boss during which she handed me a piece of paper and told me to make a copy then give it back to her. And then she said, “and hide the evidence!” And that is when I wanted to yell “and place the dick behind your head! The police is comin’ its code 10!” (or code red, always forget the correct lyric there)
It was all very similar to my “Fck Penis” episode mentioned in a previous post except I was not in the confines of my home but rather MY BOSSES OFFICE.
For those of you who are confused at the moment, what I wanted to yell were the lyrics to an interlude from the Dr. Dre CD Chronic 2001 aka the best CD ever made by man. (PS what is up with rap CDs having interludes? And why do the interludes always have to be so dirty and sexy?)
So now I am walking around my office with a gay smile on my face thinking about how funny it would have been if I actually wouldn’t have been able to control it and just shouted that to her. What would she have done? Fired me? Smiled and said “ackrite bitch”? (OMG that would have been awesome)
Chances are, not. Am I still smiling? Oh yes. So, funny.
It was all very similar to my “Fck Penis” episode mentioned in a previous post except I was not in the confines of my home but rather MY BOSSES OFFICE.
For those of you who are confused at the moment, what I wanted to yell were the lyrics to an interlude from the Dr. Dre CD Chronic 2001 aka the best CD ever made by man. (PS what is up with rap CDs having interludes? And why do the interludes always have to be so dirty and sexy?)
So now I am walking around my office with a gay smile on my face thinking about how funny it would have been if I actually wouldn’t have been able to control it and just shouted that to her. What would she have done? Fired me? Smiled and said “ackrite bitch”? (OMG that would have been awesome)
Chances are, not. Am I still smiling? Oh yes. So, funny.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Facebook Photo Identity Crisis
Today I received an alert that one of my friends added a bunch of photos of me onto Facebook. Having this occur in the past (the massive Facebook photo dump, wherein a friend of yours decides to empty their digital camera in one fell swoop), I knew there was a chance, neh a sure thing, that there were some photos of me on there that needed to be “untagged” A.S.A.P.
Remarks have been made in the past about my untagging tendencies. I have been known to take an addition of 5 and knock that puppy right down to 1. Why I do this I do not know as chances are not many people are looking through my profile, let alone my photos. I guess I do it as a “just in case” measure. And lets be honest, I look through my photos fairly often as a precautionary process of what a new person looking through my photos would see. And in doing so, I really don’t feel like looking at a picture of myself pretending to lick my friend while squish faced causing double chin syndrome. Not necessary. I don’t care if you find it funny…that was a NFPV (not for public viewing) photo op. Yes, I just made that up. And yes, there are an odd number of photos of me “licking” people on the internet.
In looking through today’s new photo additions, I was forced to do so through my phone. This causes a problem for me. I am slightly technologically challenged and have a hard time hitting the remove button then successfully going back to the photo album while remaining positive that by doing so, I did not just negate my untag request. In this instance, I am forced to wait and wish that it did go through and if not, nobody will look at those photos before I can confirm…especially since some of the photos today caused a panic reaction.
Facebook Panic Reaction, noun.; Facebook Panic Reacting, verb.
Definition: The reaction that occurs while clicking through new photo additions, not added by your person. You then find a hideous photo of yourself: eyes widen, noises are made, and you may find yourself releasing the words, “oh GOD…wait what uhhh.” Then your fingers frantically reach for the untag request.
Warning: In this moment, one may risk an identity crisis where one has the horrible realization that even though you thought you looked good on the night of said photo, you actually looked like THAT.
Once you feel the relief of knowing that the photo has been removed from your profile (don’t allow yourself to think about how it really does still exist in the Facebook realm under another’s tag), you then can’t help but wonder, ummm does this person hate me? WHY would they put that photo on there? Didn’t they realize that there were three copies of the same picture with the reason being that three attempts for this pic were made because in the first two I looked like I had Down Syndrome? Relax. They do not hate you. I have thought about this and narrowed this down to two possible options:
1. He or she is in the photo with you and looks good. Therefore, they don’t really care what you look like in it, it is going up there.
2. They don’t get it. They are just one of those people that does not care. Whether they, he, she, you, or it looks like crap in the picture, it is a picture, it is funny, and it is being uploaded. Done and done.
At the closing of this post I would like make clear that I do not do status updates, make multiple friend requests, or add fun little snip its to my profile. And by no means do I ever “poke” anyone, whatever that is. I like to play it cool. My obsession will forever lie at deleting photos. Case dismissed.
Remarks have been made in the past about my untagging tendencies. I have been known to take an addition of 5 and knock that puppy right down to 1. Why I do this I do not know as chances are not many people are looking through my profile, let alone my photos. I guess I do it as a “just in case” measure. And lets be honest, I look through my photos fairly often as a precautionary process of what a new person looking through my photos would see. And in doing so, I really don’t feel like looking at a picture of myself pretending to lick my friend while squish faced causing double chin syndrome. Not necessary. I don’t care if you find it funny…that was a NFPV (not for public viewing) photo op. Yes, I just made that up. And yes, there are an odd number of photos of me “licking” people on the internet.
In looking through today’s new photo additions, I was forced to do so through my phone. This causes a problem for me. I am slightly technologically challenged and have a hard time hitting the remove button then successfully going back to the photo album while remaining positive that by doing so, I did not just negate my untag request. In this instance, I am forced to wait and wish that it did go through and if not, nobody will look at those photos before I can confirm…especially since some of the photos today caused a panic reaction.
Facebook Panic Reaction, noun.; Facebook Panic Reacting, verb.
Definition: The reaction that occurs while clicking through new photo additions, not added by your person. You then find a hideous photo of yourself: eyes widen, noises are made, and you may find yourself releasing the words, “oh GOD…wait what uhhh.” Then your fingers frantically reach for the untag request.
Warning: In this moment, one may risk an identity crisis where one has the horrible realization that even though you thought you looked good on the night of said photo, you actually looked like THAT.
Once you feel the relief of knowing that the photo has been removed from your profile (don’t allow yourself to think about how it really does still exist in the Facebook realm under another’s tag), you then can’t help but wonder, ummm does this person hate me? WHY would they put that photo on there? Didn’t they realize that there were three copies of the same picture with the reason being that three attempts for this pic were made because in the first two I looked like I had Down Syndrome? Relax. They do not hate you. I have thought about this and narrowed this down to two possible options:
1. He or she is in the photo with you and looks good. Therefore, they don’t really care what you look like in it, it is going up there.
2. They don’t get it. They are just one of those people that does not care. Whether they, he, she, you, or it looks like crap in the picture, it is a picture, it is funny, and it is being uploaded. Done and done.
At the closing of this post I would like make clear that I do not do status updates, make multiple friend requests, or add fun little snip its to my profile. And by no means do I ever “poke” anyone, whatever that is. I like to play it cool. My obsession will forever lie at deleting photos. Case dismissed.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
For All You Oldies Out There...
Such as myself, I just learned a new Text-Abbrev. This is a follow-up to my previous post, same violator of The-Line-You-Should-Not-Cross-Because-You-Are-Way-Over-Doing-It-With-The-Text-Abbrevs aka You-Are-Too-Old-For-This-Stop-It.
The other night K and I were perplexed as the text ended with Hagn. Hmmm typing error? Didn't seem like it. So today I thought what the heck, I'll goggle it. I swear I am busy today and not overthinking this, it really just popped into my mind. I swear, please believe.
Urband Dictionary says:
1. hagn
Have A Good Night.
Have a Great Night.
He told all his friends to hagn.
OH. MY. GOODNESS. GRACIOUS.
Did other people know that? Am I just "out of the loop"?
The other night K and I were perplexed as the text ended with Hagn. Hmmm typing error? Didn't seem like it. So today I thought what the heck, I'll goggle it. I swear I am busy today and not overthinking this, it really just popped into my mind. I swear, please believe.
Urband Dictionary says:
1. hagn
Have A Good Night.
Have a Great Night.
He told all his friends to hagn.
OH. MY. GOODNESS. GRACIOUS.
Did other people know that? Am I just "out of the loop"?
Monday, January 5, 2009
The Young American Life: A Futon’s Perspective
I just connected with my friend DPack who filled me in on some friends I have in BMore. She mentioned hanging out with my old roommate which got me to thinking, Good Lord I bet he still has my futon.
That futon, man. That futon has been through hell and back. And loves all them sex and booze as there has been lots of sex and booze on it. Or around it, or whichever blahblibeblah.
But anyways, that futon began in my parent’s basement with this ugly Indian heritage-type cover on it (note: not dising the heritage, just the cover, you know, for those concerned) then graduated to both of my Baltimore apartments and is now, I believe, living in a bachelor pad in Baltimore with my old roommate. Phew. I thoroughly believe one could write a novel, which would of course then be made into a film, of what this futon has lived through. And it’s still kicking. I believe.
The following is the Table of Contents for “A Young American Life, Through the Eyes of a Futon”: (we can work on the title)
I. The Innocent Years: Sleepovers and TV Dinners in My Prime
II. Shhh The Parents are Upstairs: A Virgin’s Confession
III. You Old People are Boring, Where is the Girl
IV. Can You People Work a Screw Driver Correctly?: Broken Up and Put Back Together Again, the Move to the City
V. In My New Skin: Stripped of My Indian Heritage and Trying Out Life as a Tan
VI. I Am Only One Couch: Buck Up and Buy Some More Furniture, No Need to Try to Fit Four People On Me at Once
VII. Clean Me: New Skin Again, This Time a Bed Sheet
VIII. I Get It: Roomates Are Away, You and Your Girlfriend Want to Play
IX. DW, Who is This Guy?
X. Seriously, CLEAN ME: There is Beer and Cat Hair All Over Me
XI. The Forgotten Year: I am Now in “The Junk Room”
XII. The Bachelor Years: TBD
I would read it.
That futon, man. That futon has been through hell and back. And loves all them sex and booze as there has been lots of sex and booze on it. Or around it, or whichever blahblibeblah.
But anyways, that futon began in my parent’s basement with this ugly Indian heritage-type cover on it (note: not dising the heritage, just the cover, you know, for those concerned) then graduated to both of my Baltimore apartments and is now, I believe, living in a bachelor pad in Baltimore with my old roommate. Phew. I thoroughly believe one could write a novel, which would of course then be made into a film, of what this futon has lived through. And it’s still kicking. I believe.
The following is the Table of Contents for “A Young American Life, Through the Eyes of a Futon”: (we can work on the title)
I. The Innocent Years: Sleepovers and TV Dinners in My Prime
II. Shhh The Parents are Upstairs: A Virgin’s Confession
III. You Old People are Boring, Where is the Girl
IV. Can You People Work a Screw Driver Correctly?: Broken Up and Put Back Together Again, the Move to the City
V. In My New Skin: Stripped of My Indian Heritage and Trying Out Life as a Tan
VI. I Am Only One Couch: Buck Up and Buy Some More Furniture, No Need to Try to Fit Four People On Me at Once
VII. Clean Me: New Skin Again, This Time a Bed Sheet
VIII. I Get It: Roomates Are Away, You and Your Girlfriend Want to Play
IX. DW, Who is This Guy?
X. Seriously, CLEAN ME: There is Beer and Cat Hair All Over Me
XI. The Forgotten Year: I am Now in “The Junk Room”
XII. The Bachelor Years: TBD
I would read it.
IDK My BFF Rose
May I present a question that sits at the forefront of young culture today: when do text messaging abbreviations become ridiculous? What is the line you should draw? And, equally if not more important, at what age are text abbreviations a NO-NO?
Capital letters are excluded from this. My personal opinion is that you come off as a bit of a d-bag when you use correct capital letters and punctuation when texting. Stray away from that if you can.
I am more speaking of the 2, u, r (HATE IT), tonite- not to be confused with 2nite (WORST), nite, b4, etc.
Let’s use a recent text that I received as a case study; very approps as this is the text that instigated my WHOA THERE HAS TO BE A LINE FOR THIS thinking.
“Yeah def. Im goin 2 philly this wknd but maybe sumtime nxt wk we can get a drink…”
OK I am down with the word shortenings- the def, wknd, goin, etc. Learn it, love it, use it. The 2 presents a problem for me. But then there is the pink elephant in the room/ middle of the sentence with the SUMTIME. Necessary? I think NOTS.
What is this person doing there? I will tell you what he is doing there. He is taking a word and going so far as to feel the need to “text-abbrev” it that he substituted a mathematical name into said word all to replace the need to type in ONE LETTER. Dude. Type the letter.
I hve 2 stop thinkin bout thz or I mgt get craz-e b4 2nite.
Oh, and I am getting a drink with him and am looking forward to it and attempting to not let the text-abbrev issues cloud my judgment.
Capital letters are excluded from this. My personal opinion is that you come off as a bit of a d-bag when you use correct capital letters and punctuation when texting. Stray away from that if you can.
I am more speaking of the 2, u, r (HATE IT), tonite- not to be confused with 2nite (WORST), nite, b4, etc.
Let’s use a recent text that I received as a case study; very approps as this is the text that instigated my WHOA THERE HAS TO BE A LINE FOR THIS thinking.
“Yeah def. Im goin 2 philly this wknd but maybe sumtime nxt wk we can get a drink…”
OK I am down with the word shortenings- the def, wknd, goin, etc. Learn it, love it, use it. The 2 presents a problem for me. But then there is the pink elephant in the room/ middle of the sentence with the SUMTIME. Necessary? I think NOTS.
What is this person doing there? I will tell you what he is doing there. He is taking a word and going so far as to feel the need to “text-abbrev” it that he substituted a mathematical name into said word all to replace the need to type in ONE LETTER. Dude. Type the letter.
I hve 2 stop thinkin bout thz or I mgt get craz-e b4 2nite.
Oh, and I am getting a drink with him and am looking forward to it and attempting to not let the text-abbrev issues cloud my judgment.
2009: The Year of Optimism and Liking Myself However I Am- Ness
It is slightly inconvenient that my nose is currently running like a faucet. I picture my dad cleaning dishes after our holiday meal when the dish washer suddenly broke and water plus holiday meal mush proceeded to force flood our kitchen floor. We’ll just smear that meme over and say that he didn’t curse repeatedly in front of my 85 year old grandmother but instead said, “meh, that’s inconvenient.” So that’s my nose.
One could say that it’s inconvenient that I forgot my expensive conditioner shouldn’t be left too long on my head or else my roots present that greasy I haven’t washed my hair in days and not in the stylish way look.
I’m looking at the current situation I have with my pants as slightly inconvenient. The liner is enjoying riding up my arse to make gross bunchy marks on the outside of my pants. And let’s not forgot the discomfort that it also is causing, thus leading me to walk down the hall like I need a hip-replacement. Also add on the miniature muffin top I have going on which I like to believe is a result of extreme dry-cleaning shrinkage and not holiday pounds. All only a minor inconveniences.
The fact that I slept in and didn’t have time to pack my gym clothes this morning is a slight inconvenience. Puts a damper on the whole New Years Resolution thing.
My blouse is doing that poof between buttons thing exposing my tan bra and lady bits. Only an inconvenience.
Some may wonder how I can view the fact that the boy I am crushing on texted me and wants to meet for drinks this Wednesday as an inconvenience. Well I will explain. Wednesday does NOT leave enough time for me to crash diet and lose an unrealistic 80 pounds before I see him again. His vision: drunken blurry readhead pre-holiday binge eating. Wednesday vision: sober, whoa dat readhead so fat pant liner runs up dat ass. (I have no clue why I made him ghetto, he is not. I don’t think.)
All these things, slight inconveniences. 2009 is like an open book. And I am going to fill that book with so many optimistic thoughts it will be like whoa.
One could say that it’s inconvenient that I forgot my expensive conditioner shouldn’t be left too long on my head or else my roots present that greasy I haven’t washed my hair in days and not in the stylish way look.
I’m looking at the current situation I have with my pants as slightly inconvenient. The liner is enjoying riding up my arse to make gross bunchy marks on the outside of my pants. And let’s not forgot the discomfort that it also is causing, thus leading me to walk down the hall like I need a hip-replacement. Also add on the miniature muffin top I have going on which I like to believe is a result of extreme dry-cleaning shrinkage and not holiday pounds. All only a minor inconveniences.
The fact that I slept in and didn’t have time to pack my gym clothes this morning is a slight inconvenience. Puts a damper on the whole New Years Resolution thing.
My blouse is doing that poof between buttons thing exposing my tan bra and lady bits. Only an inconvenience.
Some may wonder how I can view the fact that the boy I am crushing on texted me and wants to meet for drinks this Wednesday as an inconvenience. Well I will explain. Wednesday does NOT leave enough time for me to crash diet and lose an unrealistic 80 pounds before I see him again. His vision: drunken blurry readhead pre-holiday binge eating. Wednesday vision: sober, whoa dat readhead so fat pant liner runs up dat ass. (I have no clue why I made him ghetto, he is not. I don’t think.)
All these things, slight inconveniences. 2009 is like an open book. And I am going to fill that book with so many optimistic thoughts it will be like whoa.
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