hold tight
we're in for nasty weather, indeed.
...less kilt, more cool...
danny-go-go and i caught david byrne last night at central park's summerstage under grey skies and unforgiving rain. it was good, relatively clean, fun. the crowd was very diverse... all ages, all sizes, all levels of sanity. there were swaying hippies, puddle jumpers, dancing with the stars*-wannabees, and then there was this one odd and obviously suburban middle aged couple. from the minute the talking head went up on stage, these two had absolutely no regard for rain, rhythm or the eyesight of others.
to elaborate, mr. spastic wore one of his i'm sure many many calloway golf shirts tucked into mid-life crisis length shorts and sported sockless loafers, which he proceeded to take off about two songs in. oh i almost forgot the clincher - his receding hairline covering baseball cap. it was not only worn frontwards, backwards, and everyway in between, but also on more than one occasion used as an attempt to barter with other slightly inebriated concertgoers (the show was sponsored in part by reingold) for items such as cigarettes, t-shirts, buttons (twice) and another hat (this one of the bucket persuasion) - but all to no avail. so take note, middle aged dancing men everywhere: nobody wants your hat. and now onto the mrs... dressed in a racerback aerobics tank, mom jean shorts (you know, the ones with the elastic sides for mom's comfort), and clark's sandals, her dance skills can only be described as a precise combination of denise austin's salsa workout and her own homebrewed batch of crazy. it was like an interpretive dance to her own (what i can only hope as chemically induced) streams of consciouness. needless to say, it was talking baby/car wreck mesmerizing. i could barely see david byrne over the ocean of umbrellas, but i had front row access to mr. and mrs. left the kids with the sitter for a couple days.
oh yeah, mr. byrne was good too. still had that captivating voice, which coupled with the gorgeous six piece string ensemble to the left of him, was almost hypnotic. and what a show it was.
*on a different (yet somehow related) note, co-worker julia told me all about this dancing with the stars show that's on abc. apparently it's pairs celebrity "dancers" with "professional" dancers. then she told me that j. peterman was on it. i was intrigued. i looked it up online only to find that poor attention starved rachel hunter was on it as well (even though she was eliminated already). she really should have stopped at stacy's mom. but then she did the real gilligan's island and i hate to admit that i watched it. and now this? if she's in next season's surreal life then i'll... actually i really wouldn't do anything. i'd just be a little sad for her. ok back to the celebrities dancing... wha? noooo... multiple heavyweight champion (not the crazy one) evander holyfield? are you kidding? hmm... i guess not.
i never learn
free starbuck's ice cream. and this fatty mcchickennuggetsandwafflefries will be getting some in about an hour. hopefully the caffeine will be offset by the cream so i won't go into manic panic like last
time.
urban meander
i have total respect for those city couriers, especially those on bicycles. they're always fast and fearless and they have great calves. however, this morning i see an urban express guy walking up broadway from 43rd toting a moderately full messenger bag, a small box, and a cane. not a pimp cane, not a gangster cane, but a full on ergonimic grip and four little rubber feet at the bottom of a lightweight aluminum post cane. i passed him at the corner of 43rd, walked halfway up the block, popped into the deli for a bacon, egg and cheese bagel and then caught up to him before i hit 44th. now, i'm not discriminating against those who are physically impaired, but a job that is solely based on speed of service isn't exactly eoe.
live 7.9999999999 (repeating)
i'm going to philthadelphia this weekend to catch a distant glimmer of live8. i tell people that it's a great cause and there are some great artists performing, but really, who am i kidding? i'm there to see mr blaze of glory, jonbonjovi.
yo, that ain't cool
i work for a multibillion dollar media company. multiples of billions of dollars. unfathomably huge role in shaping today's society. worldwide presence. celebrity endorsements galore. oh yeah, and many many many many dollars. however, despite all this, we are given the world's thinnest roughest most recycled looking toilet paper. ever. its absorbancy factor is equivalent to that of a slice of swiss cheese (my apologies for your subsequently disgusted imagination). it can't be environmental reasons - we use a gajillion styrofoam cups on a daily basis. it can't be economic - we waste money on useless things like my salary. so what's the deal?
in a nutshell
this is what last weekend looked like:
2 bottles of wine.
judy gets some.
karen misses nik.
the cheese pouts alone.
but then we dance
and we pose
and we rock.
the end.
bbq is for lovers
summer fun is all about going to the beach and barbequeing and hanging out on decks (or rooftops) and being lazy with your friends. and don't forget summer love. too bad i haven't experienced any of this. the closest i've gotten to summer was adding fresh blueberries to my morning granola. i know, wah wah wah, but i just wanted to get it out there in the odd chance that there are any takers (or givers) of aforementioned summer goodness.
mixtape monday
i am not a music blogger. i am merely a blogger who happens to like music. and i want to share. so this is my rendition of monday june 27, as an ep.
if you fall by azure ray
why do you have so much fun without me? by barcelona
best match by giant robot
grown so ugly by the black keys
barrio superstario by pilot to gunner
a little mellow, a little electronic, a little beats, a little blues & a little punk. enjoy!
myself, in wheat thins
chicken little is wicked hella bomb diggity.
this totally made my day.
i got 99 problems but a blog ain't one
1. box of salt water taffy on my desk: my desk is on a corner of the floor so it often acts as a hub for people gathering/free food and i don't like salt water taffy. i can actually feel the cavities forming when i eat it. plus you never know what flavor is what and what you thought was lemon or grape is actually banana or licorice. but i'm still curious. if i am given a box of salt water taffy, this is how i eat them: unwrap a piece, pop it in my mouth, taste it without chewing, decide that i don't like it, remove it from my mouth, throw it away, then repeat until the box is completely empty and my garbage can is full of a mixture of colorful blobs, wax paper and my spit.
2. smashed fruit: i bought peaches today in chinatown before i went to work. somehow between canal street and times square, 3 of the 5 peaches looked like they rode the train with bobby brown. grrrr...
3. overuse of cowbell: yeah yeah we all know and love the don't fear the reaper sketch with will ferrell and christopher walken but there are some songs out there that really abuse the cowbell. i don't have examples. just go with me on this one.
4. zzzzzz--whatthemotherfuckfuckinfuck: i was violently jarred awake at 6am this morning by a severe calf cramp. the next 3 hours involved manually moving my left leg in order to walk.
5. hitting it off with a guy and then finding out that he's 21. and lives with his parents: 4 vodka tonics + desperation = i guess i didn't really care because i made out with him anyway.
6. finding a box of stale girl scout cookies: leads to eating said box of stale girl scout cookies. all of them (to prevent further staleness, of course).
7.
the temp. boasting about her 1000 sq ft rent controlled apartment. talking about her boyfriend who is apparently just the nicest (not to mention most tolerant) person in the world. walking around like she owns the place (note: temp means temporary). making me feel totally guilty for asking for a favor because like she so busy schmoozing with everyone else and not doing real work (yeah, i'm a hypocrite). must. remain. calm.
8. being asked to get someone lunch as i am eating my own lunch: that's just not right. did i mention how much i
hate hate hate my job?
9. apparently i don't even have 9 problems.
update: the song that inspired the cowbell comment was one of the tracks off architecture in helsinki's fingers crossed album. and on another note, i do like the strategic placement of double hand claps. just one or two really gets the listener involved (you know what i'm talking about).
i got more hooks than a master baiter
so there was this kid who went to my elementary school named jeff bader. it was all too easy.
anyway, enough with my stupid stories, here's your music, you greedy sonsofbitches. (ps. i love you!) this week's picks are brought to you by the letter "i heart uk"
the dudley corporation are three guys [wheee!] from dublin [wheee!] who wear vintage-esque t-shirts [uh... whee?]. it's ok, they're still cool. for example, they use the word "squillion." nothing rocks more than making up new words that sound and mean pretty much the same as the word that it's bastardizing. uh, yeah, check out these tunes:
glancea.m.divil in the bitone in a squillionpanda kopanda needs no explanation. just listen:
letting gowhere i belongugh, back to work. heigh feckin ho.
fuck fuck fuckity fuck
please excuse my foul language. and redundancy. also please excuse me from civility so i can fully throttle the queen of the hen pen. [squeaky voice, note: not her normal voice] "shuwah! no praahblem hohney" i swear that if she uses that baby voice to talk to non-babies (or non-dogs) one more time, i will... yeah, pretty much do nothing. but no doubt i will be thinking murderous thoughts. eff me.
i say what i mean and i mean what i say
not really. i never say what i mean. because what i mean is terribly mean. if my life were a sitcom, it would be called "mean girl," starring my inner monologue.
i do, however, mean what i say. no, wait... actually i don't.
trademarks are for idiots
i'm talking about taglines, catch phrases, signature colors, and other sickeningly annoying quirks that some people possess that always elicit a figurative display of jazz hands. i'm done with hearing about your new purple skirt or your thirty seventh coach bag or "c'est la vie, yo" [vomit]. my patience is wearing nothing. i think it's time that i told you all about the little imaginary me who sits on my shoulder with a tranquilizer gun. she's a bit unstable.
it's funny because it's true
check this out
don't play with your--what the eff is that?
it's a gherkin. it's friends are
here.
soundtrack of our lives
so apparently i've been
memed. not fully grasping the entire concept of the post (i'm sorry chelsea, i'm just a kid who can't read good - or do other things good too), here's my attempt at a playlist...
1. for
becks - "dancing barefoot" by patti smith
2. for
chicknlil -
"the sun in california" by the
autumn defense3. for
chelseagirl - "chickfactor" by belle and sebastian
4. for
frannyd - "all i want" by joni mitchell
5. for
guppygirl - "new year's prayer" by jeff buckley
6. for
homeo - "we're so beautiful" by my bloody valentine
7. for
juliet -
"champagne from a paper cup" by
death cab8. for
t-do -
"in this home on ice" by
clap your hands say yeahchainmail rules apply: the 8 of you must now do the same for your own bloggy friends. or else your first born will look like corey feldman circa 1995. [shudder]
kill me now
i don't know what's worse... getting mistaken for an intern because i'm young and i'm doing menial tasks or doing said menial tasks as staff.
rejected by a parrot and a duck
my little b... her night was marked by consumption and destruction and just the right amount of shame. the wine hit her pretty hard so she hit on gilbert gottfried. and then he rejected her. don't feel bad, b. besides providing the voice of two nail screechingly annoying birds, his career highlight was hosting mtv labs last night - and even then he sucked. hard. but she was a trooper, only lamenting the loss of dignity for a sliver of a minute. she got back on her feet (literally) and went back out on the dance floor, successfully pulling 4 or 5 guys in the span of 4 or 5 minutes. she was a true inspiration to shy girls everywhere. and then we took her home and she puked on my feet.
a night to "i don't remember" indeed.
schmittle italy
between the hours of 12am to 10am, little italy schmells like unkempt hamster. that's great because that's the only time i'm actually walking to and from my apartment. don't get me wrong, i love my apartment... i just wish i had a helicopter pad on my roof and a heli-chauffer to bypass the tourists and the stink.
if yummy italian food is what you're looking for, don't go there. get your cannoli at veniero's (12th betw. 1st and 2nd) or get your pasta at frank's (2nd ave and 5th?). ritzy italian can be found at novita (grammercy somewhere). star chef italian is all about babbo's. homemade italian is all about rao's (harlem, duh). but if unkempt hamster is more like your cup of tea, then come visit me!
liquid thin mints
oh man. i don't normally drink coffee. not only does it make me irritable and hyper, but it also has this magical pseudo-alcoholic power of taking away any logic that may be lingering in my permanently semiretarded brain. so after a craptastic saturday night (i'll rant on that one later), i have a sunday morning espresso drink. then i jitterily wolf down a slice and a half of big fat ray's pizza. i know you're saying, "oh little jade, a slice and a half is totally weaksauce--" i must interject. this pizza was like a ten pound wheel of cheese. even when you do the new york fold, it was still over 2 inches in diameter. i kid you not. both judes and deedles can attest to this fact. and then this little cheapskateleftovermonkey ate more for dinner. and also some yogurt. and canned pineapples. and some lovely nicoise olives from the 5th avenue posh paradise garden of eden. in summary, my stomach was like that scene in anchorman when all the different newscaster teams go at it westside story style. there was definitely some airborne triton and live grenade action going on. obviously, i blame the coffee.
so today, after waking up with a raging stomach ache, i vowed to remain caffeine free. but then i went on a daddy starbucks run for the evp. and she made the mistake of telling me to get myself something while i'm at it (oh how very magnanimous of you). and then starbucks made the mistake of displaying a huge sign advertising a mint chip mocha that looked like 2-dimensional mania inducing mintchip ice cream blended in a cup and topped with whipped cream goodness. so then i made the mistake of getting a grande (which is medium, but everything in starbucks world is like a parallel universe). and it was good. like liquid thin mints with a touch of crack (honestly, i'm actually sucking my upper row of teeth). why do i do this to myself? i say this as my both my legs involuntarily shake as if they alone are in constant epileptic shock. i'm a wreck (and i have the t-shirt that says so).
no more caffeine. i swear.
can't. stand. her.
i hate hate hate the temp that's sitting in for my coworker. she's one of those people who calls your name, waits until you look at her, waits another few seconds sporting a deer in the headlights what do you want from me oh wait i called you look, then talks reaalllllly slooooooowly as if she must think about what she is saying. because the 10 minutes of staring at me blankly wasn't enough. for the love of God! spit it out! auuuuuughhhhh!
and to add insult to a pre-existing pool of vomit, she sucks up to the evp like it's her job. (note: it's not her job)
and she'll be here all summer.
i need a shovel, some duct tape and a good lawyer.
yes. no. maybe so.
What Piercing Are You?so judes, if we're getting something pierced...
always the same
every monday, it never fails. i see the same guy at the gym on the stair climber with his short red shorts. i see the same guy on the train with the bluest blue eyes. my co-worker asks me how my weekend was in the most sickingly sweet voice and i say "fine. and you?" never actually caring for a reply. and then i open my e-mail box to a slew of "i was so drunk on friday (and/or) saturday" and "when are we going out this week?" every. single. frickin. monday. is this what my life is coming to? when did routine become frightening? and when did new york become routine? feck.
pssh. what?
Which Buffy The Vampire Slayer Character Are You Most Like!?so i'm the mysteriously appearing in the middle of low ratings little sister who is totally annoying and just plain sucks at life? fanfreakintastic.
g'day mate!
chickenlittle can attest to my love of all things aussie. to that end, here are a couple bands from down under that are colonizing my ipod...
halogen is a female fronted pop/rock band with dancey beats and catchy hooks. think rilo kiley meets insx. you'll like them. go to their website and click on "listen" for their own little mp3 player.
eskimo joe are three australian dudes. one of them wears eyeliner. is that normal now?
self aware of the self
i'd like to dedicate this post to the vintage teeshirt skinny jeans receding hairline thirtysomething indieboy with a girly manbag who gave me a flat tire as i was stepping out of the q train this morning causing me to go face first into a large woman's undoubtedly large ass. here's to you, you walking lug of an identity crisis...
is being self aware a good thing? i know the term is often paired with other words like egotistical and asshole, but i think that it can be advantageous in many situations. again with the mta - i don't know why i everything of consequence in my life happens on the subway - i saw a guy on the escalator with one foot on one step (normal) and the other foot on the 4th step above the former foot (not normal). he was doing lunges on the escalator in the middle of rush hour. as i attempted to pass him on the left i looked at his face (i know, curiosity raped the cat) and he gave me a look that said "yes, i know i'm doing lunges. yes, i know everyone's looking at me. yes, i know you want my hot body. yes. yes. yessssss." for the record, i did NOT want his hot body. but the point i'm making is that he seemed totally above what passes as everyday conscious awareness of one's actions/appearance/statements/etc. i mean that it's one thing to be purposeful, but it's definitely something else when you're self aware. at first i was put off by it, but then i was midly impressed. am i wrong?
lerre, my love
the shoes, they are gorgeous...
don't cry for me
my right eye hurts. i tried closing it this morning and then i walked into a wall. plus i didn't go see
youth group last night but i heard that the show was really good. damn. hopefully my eye will be better in time for
sam champion tomorrow night or else i will wear an eyepatch and have danny-go-go lead me around like a drunken pirate. so that's my pity post.
and speaking of pity, newhotness is now an enslaved trader - note: not a trader of slaves, but rather a trader who is a slave to the company - which gives her even longer hours than when she was a... uh... marketer (or some other variety of excel monkey). that totally sucks. now everyone collectively say, "awwww."
whine whine (i know) whine.
should i? i should. but should i?
i've been going out all week and i still haven't been sleeping well. i haven't gone to the gym in awhile either. so now i can either go home and fall asleep doing crossword puzzles or i can go to the youth group/astronaut show at the mercury lounge. i really like youth groups sound. it would be a great bowery ballroom sitting upstairs kind of show, but alas, the sweet little merc has no chairs for the old and the weary. so should i?
you must
danny-go-go is so
right.
funny.
my name is blanket, an autobiography of a child of a child moles--uh, popstar.
t-rux
all the little kiddies of today will get to experience the joy that was teddy ruxpin. except he this time around he will be digital. equipped with an mp3 player (i think it will only play teddy ruxpin mp3s though), the new t-rux will teach kids how to read, while the old t-rux taught kids how to run the batteries down and giggle when he talked slooooowly. i haven't seen the new guy, but i have this fear of it being like those cgi barbies in the commercials. dolls coming to life are totally creepy. let's hope that this new rux won't have the capacity to move anything other than its mouth. otherwise he may use his newfound dexterity to kill you while you're sleeping. good luck kiddies.
randomness
bacon in my tofu salad is a delicious oxymoron.
((sorry jude. i'm no longer vegan, i'm no longer vegetarian... i'm back to my normal carnivorous self. cheers to you for lasting more than 24 hours. but then again, you do eat like nothing.))
ok so yeah
i say that a lot.
my canto of hell would be all of my english teachers in a firing line. but instead of guns, they'd be armed with books like strunk and white's elements of style or truss's eats, shoots and leaves or the mla handbook. the worst part is that i actually have all these books but i don't think i've ever even so much as cracked the spine. i actually do want to go back to school. i'd like to start with kindergarten through 3rd grade, jump to 7th grade, and then go straight to college. there was too much drama in those in-between years. and by drama i mean i was crazy in the head.
ok so yeah, i'll learn it all if i can just find those books and read them... but this month's vogue looks so much more appealing. i really should get my ass in gear. my mind is stagnant and i have to take the gmat before i turn completely vapid.
300 dollar piece of plastic
i just got fitted for a nightguard to quell the poltergeistish grinding when i sleep. i'm not sure if it was the cement or the $300 that's leaving a bad taste in my mouth. this little plastic sonofabitch better work.
retraction
i was recently informed that classy women don't dye their hair. they color. so excuse me. apparently i was so bored i wanted to color.
and if you're wondering, i did.
foo it to me baby
i heart dave growwwhl. i would totally foo him.
the new foo album is fooing tomorrow. but you can foo the album
here. i'm so excited i may foo myself. but i won't.
p.s. i've been fooing allllllllll day.
vegan no more
honestly, i tried. i was vegan for 14 hours. then i was given a plate of brownies.
feck.
wtf?
so there's this woman in my department (and i've talked about
her before) who asked me a couple weeks ago for a 2005 calendar (note: end of may/beginning of june) that has large print and one day per page for her mom. i'm not really supposed to order personal items for people, but whatever, if it will get her off my back. so i called the office supply place to figure out what 2005 calendars are left that have large print and one day per page and found one that had to be shipped in from seattle. fine. whatever. i didn't want to deal with this woman anymore so i ordered it despite the ridiculous situation. so it gets here and it's a 2006 calendar (logical, but not accurate). then she tells me that it's the wrong one, pointing to where it says 2006 in large print, and instead of jumping over my cubicle to grab the calendar from her and hit her over the head with it, i offer to call office max back and get her a 2005 calendar that doesn't have large print or one page per day. then she says, "no, my mother needs the large print and one page per day. don't bother, she may not be alive in a couple months." to which i say, "uhh, ok."
who says these things?
hi. i'm seven.
i'm listening to pat benetar. my hair makes me look like i'm in 2nd grade.
you're a heart breaker
dream maker
love taker
don't you mess around with me
i'm so bored i want to dye
(my hair)
ac/dc
did i mention that i now have central air?
it's
TOTALLY AWESOME
(yeah baby)
sometimes
another saturday night... and like the rest of my life, i don't think anything went right. yet i am still totally content. i saw some old friends, went to new places, stood in long lines and eventually (and inevitably) went home alone. i took the scenic route from maritime to littaly and walked the entire way by myself. aided people with directions, played a little eye contact chicken (he won), pet a really hyper pit bull, i even helped a group of guys get into a bar. it was quite satisfying. and i love that about new york. i can be by myself yet i never really feel alone. sometimes a good feeling is all you need for a perfect night.
wicked witch of the east... village
i'm melllllting! it's so frickin hot i can't stand it. no really, i truly cannot stand in this heat. the animated me would bemoaningly turn into a puddle and then immediately evaporate only to come back down as unexpected torrential thundershower in the middle of an otherwise sunny saturday afternoon. apparently my cartoon self is a vindictive weather phenomena, preying on the unsuspecting tourists sans unbrellas. (insert wicked laugh here - it just doesn't translate well in type)
disclaimer: ok fine so i don't live in the east village anymore, but wicked witch of little italy just didn't sound the same.
c is for
coney island! which on any day other than july 16 is just a beachfrontcrackpark, but july 16 is the
siren festival. so in honor of july 16, here is a preview of what you may hear if you come join me as i frolick amongst the hipsters and hypodermic needles.
spoon is the shit. a little beatles, a little morrissey, a little velvet underground, a little drums, a little guitar, a little keys... can't say anymore without doing them injustice. lots of mp3s and vids on their website. check 'em out.
mates of state. one boy. one girl. two shaggy haircuts. how cute is that? now i'm not a huge synth-pop fan, but they're pretty fun. i could probably stand a couple of songs without feeling the need to go out and buy a keytar while wearing a neon orange hypercolor t-shirt. and on that horrid mental picture, here's some videos to keep you visually stimulated as well.
gotta get a problemflukebrendan benson looks like a morph of ethan hawke and spike jonze. seriously, look:
other than that, he's totally pop. like hook, line and chorus (and repeat). you can stream his new album on his
website.
ok so there was this one video by the beta band that involved some kind of melon replacing a human head. i think it was a cantaloupe. maybe it was a casaba. either way, it frightened me a little. i could attribute my fear to the fact that i'm allergic to melon, but it really was a bit on the creepy side. anyway,
vhs or beta is not the same melon wielding band. in fact, they are four toocoolforschool guys who've played with such famous acts as the bravery, scissor sisters, von bondies, et al. you know they're all pretty much the same thing... boom-chik-ka-chik-boom-chik-ka-chik (say it out loud 3 times fast and then you'll understand). don't get me wrong, it doesn't make them bad, it just doesn't make them that original either. anyway, take a listen by going to their
site. they stream. also check out their remixes on the media page. sure to be played a
misshapes near you.
these
dungen boys haven't showered in weeks. but they're swedish, so we... uh, forgive them? sure. but my response to unkempt appearances is not posting their mp3s. ok, so i couldn't find any. ok, so i didn't look very hard. stop judging me!
q and not u doesn't have a website. but from the reviews i've read they can be likened to a cross between fugazi, the rapture, the lips, modest mouse and bootsy collins. in other words... actually i can't even picture what that would sound like. perhaps the din coming from a mental hospital under a full moon. or perhaps it's lovely and lyrical. i guess we shall see.
sorry, i'm getting totally lazy now.
the dears are from montreal. they must be good. actually,
homeo gave me their mp3s a couple weeks ago and i've been ipodding them ever since. here's one for you to enjoy:
heartless romanticyou can stream some of their stuff
hereand i'm spent. there are more bands but i choose to stop here.
((lemme know if you wanna go))
yayayayayayayay
ok so maybe my enthusiasm is an anticlimactic rebellion to this morning's shitty display of friday goodness, but i just got a new imac at work. i totally heart macs and really, there's no better feeling than a computer upgrade. oh man, i'm so excited that i may crap myself. but i won't.
note to self: grow a spine
[defeatist sigh]
another note:
fuck you barometer!
can't. sleep. going. crazy.
i don't know what's wrong with me. i can't sleep. i'm blaming the heat and the broken ac but i think it's more than that. i've been quite moodly lately too. i'm sick of work and fed up with people. i would say that i need a vacation but i just came back from one. i miss california and i miss philly. my ipod on random keeps playing bright eyes. i think it's a sign.
what should i do?
quote of the day
sue: i have so many problems it's not even funny.
julia: (deadpan) i bet i can find them funny.
sue: uh... i gotta go.
on another note: i just sat through 7 hours of diversity training. this is what i learned: don't discriminate. huh. mindboggling, ain't it?
needless to say, if it weren't for the large plate of chocolate chip cookies, i would have completely passed out. oh yeah, the facilitator had a serious spit accumulation problem that manifested on the side of his mouth. ew. but i really shouldn't discriminate.
for the love of God and everything that is holy...
i am sooooo bored. my eyes are involuntarily crossing.
btw, just noticing that i say "um" waaaay too much. i'm also very aware of my use of "like". if my hair were longer, i probably twirl it too. the rain in spain falls mainly on the plain.
frontin'
i love/hate/love the subway. today i sat across from an old man with brown shoes, white hair and a vacant look in his eyes. it was sweet. he was holding a ziploc bag (note: clear). contents of said bag were none other than (drumroll please...) his dentures. it was a little gross and a little adorable at the same time.
fuck monday
more specifically...
i hate the girl who sits at my desk when i'm gone because she drinks all my water and moves everything around. then when i ask her which water bottle (out of the 6 that are open on my desk) is mine, she says that she forgot so i throw all of them away.
i hate covering for people and then getting called out on it. i am not your blame monkey.
i hate being guilted into doing favors. if you want me to do something, just ask. i don't need your 20 minute story.
i hate people who take their sweetass time even when they know that you're waiting for them.
i hate my job. now more than ever.
update: more hatred...
i hate when parents extoll the virtues of their respective genius children. it would be refreshing if i heard a mother say, "yeah, she's not very smart. we're also banking on her growing into those elephant ears." i would so applaud her.
i heart photoshop
mad props to whoever did this.
scariest picture... ever.
note the position of the hands.
[shudder]
you like them
i don't. but i'll tell you anyway.
it's free doughnut day at
krispy kreme.
go get 'em fattie -- i mean, tiger.
wherefore art thou
homeo came to visit yesterday because he's replacing me in the east 12th street brothel. he's a fabulous designer and he gets cell phone reception where nobody else does. quite enviable indeed. we're going to go to shows together and make fun of all the hipsters, even though we secretly covet their shoes/purse/aloof stance. it'll be great.
rain rain go away
you're making me have a sucky day.
i'm terribly irritable. and hungry.
send me something to cheer me up : luckyjade3121@yahoo.com
i'm allergic to your face
(to preface this, i don't commonly eavesdrop. it's just that my desk is in a high traffic corner of the department and between the loitering drones and the jabbering
hens, i can't seem to get a quiet moment)
so today i overhear some people talking about allergies... cats, dust, grass, perfume... basically everything in the world. one particular woman was saying how people should be considerate of those with these allergies and not wear perfume or hairspray to work or not open windows in the spring or not put cat hair in other people's coffee (ok she didn't really say the last one, but it's just as ridiculous). she said how there are these essential oils that we can get from kiehl's that don't have any chemical additives and therefore won't aggravate people with perfume allergies.
it reminded me of my italian cinema professor in college who was so deathly allergic to mint that if she caught anyone chewing gum, she would practically throw him or her out of her class with instructions not to come back until the mint residue has completely left their system. she was also the type of person who filled in regular moments of silence with "uhhh" and "ummm" - even if she wasn't actually thinking about anything - perhaps she was also allergic to quiet. but that's beside the point.
what i'm trying to say is that some people are really going overboard with imposing their allergies on everyone else. i'm allergic to pollen. should i go tell the flowers to stop having flower sex? for that matter, i'm allergic to smelly subway cars, hipsters and selfish people (a-ha, the irony!)
suckers.
bootleg remixes
as an homage to this week's kick ass shortness, here are a couple bootleg remixes of stupid pop songs. nosh on these while i nosh on my fat kid lunch of chicken tenders and curly fries. yum.
rich girl (naughty remix) (gwen v. beyonce)
take me out (for a milkshake) (franz v. kelis)
waiting for vertigo (u2 v. gwen)
this just goes to show that crap + crap = (you guessed it) 2crap.
...and i heart algebra.
