Friday, January 30, 2009

An Open Letter to Myself

Dear Self,

Please, I beg you, look out the window before you leave for work in the morning.

This five second task will save you tons of aggravation, I promise. For example, when it is a blizzard outside, and you decide to wear glasses, moccasins, your hair down, and brin
g no umbrella with you, you might as well have been wearing bermuda shorts, a tank top, and flip flops—you are by no means prepared for the outdoors.

1. You never wear glasses. Why? Despite the fact that they a.) make you look smarter and b.) According to Abi, make you look more serious because they mask the "sarcastic smirk" that owns real estate on your face for the majority of the day, they ruin your depth perception when climbing subway steps and hey, when it's raining/snowing, they get wet and fog up, rendering you blind and helpless.

2. You try to wear your hair down often because it helps balance out your giant, round, Charlie Brown-like head. However, life gets in the way and finding time to blow dry and straighten your hair in the morning proves difficult. So the day you decide to wake up a little early and actually do your hair is also the day that winds are blowing at 630mph
and rain/snow is beating down on you like a redneck husband. You curse yourself for not keeping a spare hair tie in your bag and spend the duration of your work day sporting a hairdo not unlike the one Robert Smith had in the late 1980s.

3. You have about 500 umbrellas at home, just begging to be used, and because you are unaware of the monsoon occurring outside of your apartment, you do not grab one on your way out the door. 2 minutes into your walk to the subway, you decide you can handle the rain. 3 minutes into it, you realize that a) you a virtually blind because of
all the precipitation on your glasses and b) the hair you so carefully straightened is now sopping wet. You duck into Rite Aid and buy the cheapest umbrella-you know, the one with soccer balls all over it.

4. Despite the fact that you have a pair of boots, you opt for wearing your moccasins. After purchase of the moccasins, your family has given you a cute new nickname: Pocahontas. You don't care—you love your moccasins.

Way to ruin them trudging through sleet, snow, and those deceivingly large puddles that form at the corners of streets that are about 2 feet deep. The best part about having a pair of authentic Minnetonka moccasins is that when they get wet, they turn your socks and feet bright orange.

The moral of the story is simple: look out the fucking window in the morning, ahole.

Love always,


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Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Oh, My Shattered Dreams

This week's cover story of my magazine is about all the things you didn't know about New York City.

Useful information, I thought- my magazine is, if not anything else, a good subway read.
That is until I came to a little sidebar that details average workers' salaries in NYC.

I've always joked that I make less than the assistant manager at McDonald's, but there it was, in black and white: NYC sanitation workers make more money than me.

This is the point where I seriously consider jumping out of my boss's office window- especially since today was the day that I also found my first gray hair at the ripe old age of 22.

Honestly- garbage men make more than me and I have a gray hair.
Kill me, seriously.

But then I catch myself and say "Hey asshole, you love your job. You wouldn't love picking up garbage for a living."


All semantics.

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Wednesday, January 21, 2009

The Morning Everything Went Wrong

Since I was blessed with
Martin Luther King Day off, I decided to head up to Boston to visit Kari and Gabe.

Since the last Megabus Megasucks debacle (where I left NYC at 3pm on a Friday and got into Boston at 10-FYI Megabus, NY to Boston is not a 7 hour fucking drive), I decided to leave on Saturday morning instead. I figured there'd be less traffic and even if the trip did take a million hours, leaving at 7:30am, I'd still get there relatively early in the day.

I planned it all out- I'd leave my house at 6:20am and be at the Megabus stop outside of Penn Station just after 7.

I had started downloading two movies off of iTunes for the trip the night before and left my computer on so they could finish downloading while I slept.

I wake up. Apparently, iTunes doesn't continue to download things if your computer is shut. I only I had time to finish downloading one movie. In my haste, I drop my iPod on the ground. When I restart it, there's a faint clicking sound I've heard on past iPods- the hard drive is broken. It's okay though, because I have my iPhone, right? Wrong. I only have 10 songs on my iPhone and no movies to speak of. Whatever, I'll go to the Apple store next week and get a replacement iPod since I have a warranty.

I go to get on the subway and my monthly pass isn't working for some reason. I have to buy a $7 metro card for no reason.

The F train is taking forever. So long, that I realize I will miss the bus if I wait any longer for the train. I exit the station and call a car service. The car service gets me there right on time to get on the bus.

Let's do some basic math.

My round-trip bus ticket to Boston cost $30. My 15 minute car ride from Brooklyn to manhattan cost $23.

How does Megabus stay in business?

Someone tell me.

So despite the terrible morning the bus ride went smoothly and without all of the modern technological conveniences to keep me occupied, I slept and read a book. Imagine that.

Let's not talk about the ride back home on Monday that took 7 hours.

Yeah. We just won't go there.

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An Open Letter to New York Restaurants

Dear New York Restaurants,

I think it should be a law that you post in your front window that you;

A. Only accept cash, no credit cards
B. Do not have a liquor license

No offense, but if you don't take credit cards (even though your wine list boasts $70 bottles of wine), I do not want to patronize your establishment.

And if you don't have a liquor license... Well, I think that goes without saying...

There are a billion more restaurants for me to choose from. Get your act together.

Love always,


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Thursday, January 15, 2009

Scary Times

I'm sure everyone has heard about the us airways plane crash into the Hudson river. I watched it all from my boss's office window. Crazy stuff and even crazier that everyone survived.

We all saw the
tug boats and ferries rushing towards the plane to rescue the 150 passengers out of the water. Let me tell you that it was so ducking cold out today that during my ten minute walk to the gym I thought that my ears were going to snap off. Can you imagine how cold that water was?


Promote This!

Sometimes I feel like I should walk down the street being wary of falling anvils and pianos. I mean, my luck is bound to run out, right?

After just 7 months on the job, I've been promoted.

The new job absorbs my old one (I'll still be acting as my boss's assistant), but I will also be coordinating a very important, very lucrative arm of our company.

I told my boss I will never stop running.

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Monday, January 12, 2009

My, My, You Have a Ravishing Debit Card

I hate that credit card companies are taking new security measures. Fine, it's great that my identity is being protected, but really, Bank of America? Every day until my debit card expires in 2012 I will be reminded of that one day last spring I walked into a bank and opened a new account.


Because a horrendous photo of me is located in the upper left hand corner of my debit card.

Coincidentally, I went into my favorite bodega on the way home from work today and the Korean owner, you know, the one who can't speak English and couldn't read the difference between "customer copy" and "vendor copy" on charge receipts so I was forced to explain it to him, took a look at my photo on my card and told me that I have a "ravishing smile."


That's a mighty fine selective vocabulary you have Mr. Chinaman. And yes, I do have a ravishing smile.

Okay, honestly, Tina Fey

Can I love you any more than I do right now?

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Home Improvements

Whenever I tell anyone how much my rent is, their eyes get wide and they let out an audible gasp.

My rent is not a lot for New York City standards, but it's a lot for anyone in my age group/salary bracket.
Everybody asks, how do you do it? How can you possibly pay so much for rent on your abysmal salary?

To be honest, I really don't know. Even my father is curious.

"Are you selling drugs?" he asks.


"Are you working part time at that Japanese massage parlor down your street?" he asks.


I don't know what it is. And it's not like I'm living like a pauper. I spend a lot of money eating in nice restaurants and drinking like a fish. The only explanation I have is my steady stream of freelance assignments coupled with the fact that aside from food, booze, and going out (and the occasional new macbook), I'm not buying myself new things all the time–like clothes, handbags (ha!), and the like.

Because my apartment is so high in rent, it's very roomy and in a great neighborhood (for that price, it better fucking be). My issue with it from the time I moved in until now was that there was so much wall space and everything was painted stark white. It was like living in a freaking hospital.

So, I finally said I was going to do it. I convinced my landlord to let me paint even though he was reticent at first. Listen, it's my apartment, almost all of my paycheck goes toward rent, I want it to look nice—end of story.

This weekend, my roommate and I took the plunge and painted the living room. One accent wall red and the others a sandy color. It looks amazing. And it was completely painless. No disasters to speak of.

All I want to do is sit in this room, all day, for the rest of my life.

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Wednesday, January 07, 2009

Subway Thoughts

Things you think of when you're crammed into a crowded subway car for 20 minutes, packed in so tight you can't even reach into your pocket and get your iPod:

-Seriously, Belinda Carlisle?
-Why exactly do I have the cheers theme song in my music library?
-What ever happened to India Aire?
-Do I have all of these Disney songs on here to be ironic or is it because I actually like them?
-I really wish I could reach into my pocket and change this song ("every time we touch" by cascada is not acceptable morning commute music)
-When did I make the conscious decision to add "Endless Love" to my library?

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Tuesday, January 06, 2009

It's Good to Be Back

I got back to Brooklyn on Saturday and as I was heading out of the apartment to grab some food, I ran into my landlord, Irv, who told me that I need to put on a scarf, because it's cold out.

And I thought I moved out of my parents' house.

Also–there's been a new development, and while I can't divulge it just yet, let's just say, my future's so bright, I gotta wear shades.

Thursday, January 01, 2009

Board Game Olympics/I Fucking Hate Luke Russert

Gawker said it best with their brilliant 5 Types of New Year's Eve Parties post that New Year's Eve is so fucking formulaic and trite no matter what you do. Stay home, go out, it's all the same.

I never like to go out on New Year's because I'm crotchety and I don't like paying hundreds of dollars to get into a club that plays bad music and is unbelievably sweltering hot even though it's winter. And although the bar touts fabulous drinks specials or an open bar, it's so crowded that you end up having 1 and a half drinks by midnight.

One drink, because you finally got up to the bar, got the snobby "model" bartender to stop ignoring you, and a half a drink because some New Jersey bro in a wifebeater with crunchy gelled hair and bigger, more sparkly earrings than you bumped into you and spilled the precious watered-down concoction all over everywhere but where you want it- in your mouth (that's what she said).

Big surprise that I tend to stay at home. I'm still in Buffalo on vacation from work, so I decided to make an evening at home with the family a little more interesting. That's right, our first annual Board Game Olympics.

It consists of two rounds, each round involving a game of Scattergories, Apples to Apples, Planet Hollywood, and Guesswords (which is essentially charades). Each family member puts $10 into the pot and after each winner from Round 1 and Round 2 face off in the SUDDEN DEATH round, a winner is determined, and they win the money.

It also involved a lot of jagermeister on my part, screaming and yelling at my father by my mother because he sucks at Guesswords, and my childish pouting because my brother ended up winning because the SUDDEN DEATH game was Planet Hollywood and he could name more Henry Fonda movies than me. Henry Fonda? GET REAL.

The Board Game Olympics ended conveniently just before midnight, so we could catch Dick Clark, back from a stroke, host his annual New Year's Eve Bash. You can't understand what he's saying, and it's really, really sad. I know Dick Clark probably has more money than God and after nearly 200 years in the business, no one gets to tell him what to do, but come on. Someone needs to get the balls and tell him that he needs to STOP HOSTING. This is why celebrities need to have that one asshole friend who will always tell them the truth, no matter how much it hurts. I'll be holding a casting call next month for that friend, in case I ever get rich, famous, and delusional about my abilities.

Of course, because I couldn't watch Dick Clark anymore, I turned over to NBC to witness Luke Russert, my arch-nemesis, say his usual insightful remark, like, "Wow, we're here in Times Square, and it is just INCREDIBLE."


It's enough to make me want to put weights in my pockets and jump off the Brooklyn Bridge.

Honestly, this kid has no qualifications to be a network news correspondent. His father was a good journalist. Then he died. It was very sad. Hey, I know, let's give his 22-year-old son a job as our "youth correspondent." He'll let us know what all of the kids are thinking!

Hey, NBC, let me tell you what all of the kids are thinking.

Here goes:

You mean to tell me that I went to college, graduated with a degree in journalism, did four fucking internships, two of which involved a nearly 4 hour daily commute into the city, got a job and work my ass off for a salary that is akin to what the assistant manager at McDonald's makes, all so that a punk like Luke Russert, fresh out of clown college, can get a coveted network news correspondent position that people work YEARS to get just because his daddy was a good journalist and he died. I'd expect a venerable organization like NBC News to understand that just because someone's father was a good journalist doesn't mean that his child will be a good journalist, and that just because someone is young, doesn't mean that they have anything remotely insightful to say about the youth perspective.

But, yeah, Luke, the scene in Times Square on New Year's Eve is incredible. Great job. Someone give the kid a Peabody. His dad died, you know.

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