If I were to be completely honest about myself and why I've been so upset with everything this week, what I would really say is that I am mean, I'm disappointing myself, and I'm frustrated how I haven't turned it around yet, even though I quit less than a week ago now, and I know I need time. I do feel right about doing that, for the reasons previously stated and so much more. I'm argumentative and I don't know what I am supposed to be doing right now.
Plus, I ruined the holiday party. Which was so nicely pointed out to me, days later, by my former CEO when he said, "I don't mean to embarrass you, but you ruined the holiday party."
Now, why would you say that to me, really? I had already put in my notice. Why would you say something like that, other than to upset me, when I'm already leaving? I can say, if nothing else, this helped push me a bit more towards the way I'm supposed to be going. Which is not that way.
So you know that horrible feeling you have after something truly terrible has happened - not trivial terrible like a fight or even a bad breakup, but something that bends the direction of everything - its the stomach feeling that I had after my mom died, the one that made you feel like raw nerves and when you're resting or asleep, you've not even calm then - that feeling, it's how I've felt the rest of the week, up til now, and I'm not sure why.
I don't really care how many times my face hits the pavement, or that people in an industry I never want(ed) to work in will never take me seriously, but maybe I can't shake the feeling that someone told me I ruined something.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
On my face hitting the pavement at least 50 times in a single night
I am so thankful that I did not break my glasses. And amazed, mostly amazed.
So to start near the beginning, early/mid October I accepted a crappy assistant job at an advertising agency. I don't know what made me decide to try this out. That's kind of a lie, I was sick of being broke, and although my heart is in publishing as I have come to realize, I decided to try something new that wasn't in danger of folding. I decided that I would be gung-ho about this and smiled my way through the interviews, assuring people that I didn't mind starting out at the bottom, since I was new to the industry, as long as it meant I would be considered for internal positions as they opened. 2.5 months of personal errands for the CEO later, and zero creative work done, despite my background in pitching, media experience, etc., I put in my two weeks on Monday, aka the day of the holiday party. This was a hard decision for me of course, because I don't quit things, but there really wasn't any other way. And I didn't want it on my resume, because it was/is seriously much crappier than anything I've done before. I may have sort of hated my first job after college as an Editorial Assistant, but at least I was miserable while holding down real responsibilities and tangible projects. Real work, in other words. This was a far, far cry from any of that.
Let's go back to Monday. I verbally gave my notice to the HR person, and told him that I was planning on giving it to my bosses in writing that day as well, except for one thing - I had just been asked to come to the company holiday party to hold the box for the raffle. Think about it. I must have had a look of mild horror on my face, because the CEO dude was like, "What?" and I responded that I wasn't dressed up (jeans, chucks, track jacket) because on Friday I had been told that I would be running around town buying gifts for the raffle. He said that's ok. Someone else chimed in that they could get me a Santa hat. So that day I was given the task of going out to get wrapping paper and pretty-ing up an old Poland Springs water box. So as everyone else packed themselves into cabs, and set off on the train downtown to the party locale, me and my box trailed behind.
They set me (and my denim and bright blue chucks) up at a table near the back, and every now and then someone made an announcement on the mic to come drop your name in the box for the company raffle. Now, since I was told to man the box, some kind souls offered to get my drinks from the open bar. I was ever so grateful, since it was just me at the table, furiously texting with Jive Turkey about how people were already getting drunk and asking me about what the prizes were, and how I didn't know, and hey, let's meet up at Metro in an hour.
I know it sounds lame, but I hadn't eaten all day. Not a damn thing. Sometimes I just don't. Blame drugs, blame my irresponsible and unhealthy nature, who knows. I must have been carrying some residual anger about the box, because I pounded a few g+t and declared them weak (to myself), probs because I am used to the strong drinks of the gay establishments I frequent. So I switched over to dirty martinis. Why? Why? The last thing I remember was finishing a martini and then I woke up in my bed.
I wandered into Jive Turkey's room where he so kindly informed me of how the evening played out. The short answer was awful. As I began to feel the effects on my body yesterday, today it is basically just one big bruise. I hit the pavement a million times, my legs stopped working, someone called JT to come get me, we all got stuck in a revolving door, I don't remember a damn thing. I sent a heartfelt Facebook apology and thanks to the dude who I thought, from JT's description, basically carried me out of the venue and into the cab. And of course, it was not him. I did have him fill me in on some of the events before JT showed up to come get me. Apparently he tried to make me eat and I refused. I am always a class act. I inquired politely, if by any chance, I vom'd in the raffle box? No, I did not. But I wish I had. And later, in front of my apartment building, I laid down in the street a few times, and also, passed out in the trash. One of our fine, sturdy landladies assisted the weak JT in getting my corpus up the stairs and into my apartment. She thought it was hilarious, apparently.
Consequently, I took Jive out for diner food after my very shameful work day, which I did manage to live through, despite the many shrill inquiries of "ARE YOU OK??" and the fact that one of the accountants said that she was there, if I ever wanted to talk. I basically made it through the day by volunteering for every single out-of-the office mission. And I got myself some new art supplies. For fucks sake, my jeans fell on the way to the cab (I need to start eating regularly, or get smaller clothes) apparently, but not my underwear. I am ok with an entire agency thinking I am an alcoholic, is my mantra. Although I do shudder each time the lovely Jive points out the irony of the fancy advertising agency's only person of color (who is of course the lowly bitch employee) being the one who gets entirely crunk at the office party, and yells "My roommate got this, yo" as people try to assist her into the cab. I do my heritage proud.
But let this single story not speak for the bigger picture, if it can be called that. Despite the fact that I am still filled with lots of shame, I am feeling a little better when I think about What Will I Do Next? I've actually felt the urge to write something again, thanks to some great books I've read lately. I'm painting, and I'll be fine to pay January's rent. I'm maybe warming up to the idea of j-school, and I've discovered the thing that is the craigslist odd jobs section.
Now I really want the weekend to get here. I've got a date with some pastrami, and also I hope by then my body looks less like that of an assault victim.
So to start near the beginning, early/mid October I accepted a crappy assistant job at an advertising agency. I don't know what made me decide to try this out. That's kind of a lie, I was sick of being broke, and although my heart is in publishing as I have come to realize, I decided to try something new that wasn't in danger of folding. I decided that I would be gung-ho about this and smiled my way through the interviews, assuring people that I didn't mind starting out at the bottom, since I was new to the industry, as long as it meant I would be considered for internal positions as they opened. 2.5 months of personal errands for the CEO later, and zero creative work done, despite my background in pitching, media experience, etc., I put in my two weeks on Monday, aka the day of the holiday party. This was a hard decision for me of course, because I don't quit things, but there really wasn't any other way. And I didn't want it on my resume, because it was/is seriously much crappier than anything I've done before. I may have sort of hated my first job after college as an Editorial Assistant, but at least I was miserable while holding down real responsibilities and tangible projects. Real work, in other words. This was a far, far cry from any of that.
Let's go back to Monday. I verbally gave my notice to the HR person, and told him that I was planning on giving it to my bosses in writing that day as well, except for one thing - I had just been asked to come to the company holiday party to hold the box for the raffle. Think about it. I must have had a look of mild horror on my face, because the CEO dude was like, "What?" and I responded that I wasn't dressed up (jeans, chucks, track jacket) because on Friday I had been told that I would be running around town buying gifts for the raffle. He said that's ok. Someone else chimed in that they could get me a Santa hat. So that day I was given the task of going out to get wrapping paper and pretty-ing up an old Poland Springs water box. So as everyone else packed themselves into cabs, and set off on the train downtown to the party locale, me and my box trailed behind.
They set me (and my denim and bright blue chucks) up at a table near the back, and every now and then someone made an announcement on the mic to come drop your name in the box for the company raffle. Now, since I was told to man the box, some kind souls offered to get my drinks from the open bar. I was ever so grateful, since it was just me at the table, furiously texting with Jive Turkey about how people were already getting drunk and asking me about what the prizes were, and how I didn't know, and hey, let's meet up at Metro in an hour.
I know it sounds lame, but I hadn't eaten all day. Not a damn thing. Sometimes I just don't. Blame drugs, blame my irresponsible and unhealthy nature, who knows. I must have been carrying some residual anger about the box, because I pounded a few g+t and declared them weak (to myself), probs because I am used to the strong drinks of the gay establishments I frequent. So I switched over to dirty martinis. Why? Why? The last thing I remember was finishing a martini and then I woke up in my bed.
I wandered into Jive Turkey's room where he so kindly informed me of how the evening played out. The short answer was awful. As I began to feel the effects on my body yesterday, today it is basically just one big bruise. I hit the pavement a million times, my legs stopped working, someone called JT to come get me, we all got stuck in a revolving door, I don't remember a damn thing. I sent a heartfelt Facebook apology and thanks to the dude who I thought, from JT's description, basically carried me out of the venue and into the cab. And of course, it was not him. I did have him fill me in on some of the events before JT showed up to come get me. Apparently he tried to make me eat and I refused. I am always a class act. I inquired politely, if by any chance, I vom'd in the raffle box? No, I did not. But I wish I had. And later, in front of my apartment building, I laid down in the street a few times, and also, passed out in the trash. One of our fine, sturdy landladies assisted the weak JT in getting my corpus up the stairs and into my apartment. She thought it was hilarious, apparently.
Consequently, I took Jive out for diner food after my very shameful work day, which I did manage to live through, despite the many shrill inquiries of "ARE YOU OK??" and the fact that one of the accountants said that she was there, if I ever wanted to talk. I basically made it through the day by volunteering for every single out-of-the office mission. And I got myself some new art supplies. For fucks sake, my jeans fell on the way to the cab (I need to start eating regularly, or get smaller clothes) apparently, but not my underwear. I am ok with an entire agency thinking I am an alcoholic, is my mantra. Although I do shudder each time the lovely Jive points out the irony of the fancy advertising agency's only person of color (who is of course the lowly bitch employee) being the one who gets entirely crunk at the office party, and yells "My roommate got this, yo" as people try to assist her into the cab. I do my heritage proud.
But let this single story not speak for the bigger picture, if it can be called that. Despite the fact that I am still filled with lots of shame, I am feeling a little better when I think about What Will I Do Next? I've actually felt the urge to write something again, thanks to some great books I've read lately. I'm painting, and I'll be fine to pay January's rent. I'm maybe warming up to the idea of j-school, and I've discovered the thing that is the craigslist odd jobs section.
Now I really want the weekend to get here. I've got a date with some pastrami, and also I hope by then my body looks less like that of an assault victim.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
On heart-ing Ira Glass before Showtime did.
Last month I got one of the new video nanos for myself. I must say, I first started listening to This American Life back in 6th grade - which was a year or two after the show started. It aired here on NYC NPR right after Selected Shorts, which I've also been rabidly downloading. I listened to these shows on that old timey device, the radio. I loved those damn shows, and I was also, needless to say, really fucking nerdy. And although I went off that track a bit, sometimes, I still would manage to catch both those shows over the years sometimes. But yeah, radio? So its been a while. This is a roundabout way of me saying that the soothing sounds of short stories and Ira Glass are both really helping me out these days. Probably in the same way that they transported my 12-year old egghead self back in the day. Which lately is pretty on par with myself now, aged 25. I holed up alone in my room, wishing I was in a P.G. Wodehouse story, or looking forward to when I would be clever, important and doing something like producing This American Life. Cut to now. Yeah.
I finally got myself a copy of The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao this week. I was so excited for this book to come out. Sometime in high school, the short story of the same name, by this author appeared in the New Yorker. I loved it so much that I made a photo copy of it and managed to keep track of it all these years. I've lost important documents, some of my best academic papers, cute + touching letters, but I've kept this story safe. Whenever I moved in and out of dorms, crappy apartments, I always knew where those photocopied pages were. Junot Díaz moved me so much then, and to this day not for my own recognition of self, and references to New Brunswick, Rutgers, and all that other familiar turf, but because it was some of the best fiction I'd ever read. I'm a sucker for immigrant generational family conflict misfit stories with a good healthy dose of myth and history, what can I say?
Oh, everything else? Is pretty fucked, but I've got all my limbs, a book, an ipod, and I'm going to work on the rest.
I finally got myself a copy of The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao this week. I was so excited for this book to come out. Sometime in high school, the short story of the same name, by this author appeared in the New Yorker. I loved it so much that I made a photo copy of it and managed to keep track of it all these years. I've lost important documents, some of my best academic papers, cute + touching letters, but I've kept this story safe. Whenever I moved in and out of dorms, crappy apartments, I always knew where those photocopied pages were. Junot Díaz moved me so much then, and to this day not for my own recognition of self, and references to New Brunswick, Rutgers, and all that other familiar turf, but because it was some of the best fiction I'd ever read. I'm a sucker for immigrant generational family conflict misfit stories with a good healthy dose of myth and history, what can I say?
Oh, everything else? Is pretty fucked, but I've got all my limbs, a book, an ipod, and I'm going to work on the rest.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
what do you mean no vacation pay
so as time creeps on by i obessively watch youtube as i sit on this damn stool awaiting the hour in which iam released from my work place....so i guess once again i will ramble endlessly...i can always talk about the parade stupidity and humor that i come across on a daily basis. so first off i come to work today to be acosted by a guest asking me if i had seen his wife cus he had lost her somewhere in the city streets and promptly after that these two guys and iam guessing one of the kids who iam guessin wasnt more than 4 started harassing me about prices so me being nice tried to get them the best possible price i could so while iam trin to get them a discount i notice that the one guy is beating this seemingly innocent kid like he was Rocky, so at that point i just asked them to leave with fear in my heart,cus there was nothing really stopping him from hitting me. the rest of the evening is going smoothly expect for the lady from budapest whose luggage got lost in brussells and she keeps calling to find out if it got here yet iam starting to really dislike her...so as i read i notice that it is a sad state of affair surrounding me and my fellow bloggermates. we aint got no money i cant even buy a crackhead soup at this point and iam starting to think that this BTICH NY and rearing her ugly head at us and saying FUCK YOU.but you know what were gonna thug this shit out and and work it out AB FAB style just wait and see all we need are out flutes to wave from side to side with some possible pill mixers.
And i would like to know when these I HEART NY shirts came into style. It seems like i cant go anywhere without seeing one of these damn shirts, i mean its getting a little crazy iam seeing them in different colors, some even with rhinestones. IAM STARTING TO LOSE FAITH.....
So iam thinking that when i get paid iam gonna buy some food and what not and then i might go to the movies, iam really intrested in seeing the movie ACROSS THE UNIVERSE. The preview had caught my intrest and iam huge fan of The Beatles so iam really intrested to see how this is all gonna work for this movie.It seems like its going to be a postive movie goin experince.
Oh to explain my title iam slowly finding out that my new job isnt as cool as i though it would be.....Apparently i get NO vaction pay, NO overtime, NO personal days, nothing.... so iam thinkging if its even worth it to stay past the 3 mionth mark......iam thinking of staying and learning all i can build up some kind of rap for myself with guest and other people in the hotel industry and make my knowledge to a better chain of hotels that will give the simple pleasure of a sick day. well thats all folks
And i would like to know when these I HEART NY shirts came into style. It seems like i cant go anywhere without seeing one of these damn shirts, i mean its getting a little crazy iam seeing them in different colors, some even with rhinestones. IAM STARTING TO LOSE FAITH.....
So iam thinking that when i get paid iam gonna buy some food and what not and then i might go to the movies, iam really intrested in seeing the movie ACROSS THE UNIVERSE. The preview had caught my intrest and iam huge fan of The Beatles so iam really intrested to see how this is all gonna work for this movie.It seems like its going to be a postive movie goin experince.
Oh to explain my title iam slowly finding out that my new job isnt as cool as i though it would be.....Apparently i get NO vaction pay, NO overtime, NO personal days, nothing.... so iam thinkging if its even worth it to stay past the 3 mionth mark......iam thinking of staying and learning all i can build up some kind of rap for myself with guest and other people in the hotel industry and make my knowledge to a better chain of hotels that will give the simple pleasure of a sick day. well thats all folks
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
What's better than one ginormous Scarface towel? Multiple ginormous Scarface towels!
As our bus pulled up to Jay St. I took note of a giant sign - "BEACH TOWELS 3 FOR $15" and one of them was the iconic image you see to your left. Man, if I hadn't been weighed down with a good chunk of worldly goods to go sell so that the check I wrote didn't bounce, you can bet I would be on that.
While I have an entirely un-ironic love of hip hop, my interest in Scarface is less than pure. I find the movie to be hilarious and I aim to understand the rap cross-over appeal. But at any rate, you can bet that I would totally be on that sale.
But back to the morning, did you ever had a day that started off seemingly so well, and by the end of it you were off to Manhattan again to sell your crap, and contemplating stealing a withered red pepper to make a decent dinner with, as well as purchasing some rock? Well, now I have. I narrowly avoided breaking down in Midtown after being turned away from a temp assignment for being late, despite my best fucking efforts to get there by 10 AM - I took a car part of the way but thanks to BQE traffic, I had to get out and get on the train anyway. I ended the day with another interview prospect, but since I would actually be overdrawing my account to take that car, and I wasn't even getting paid, that little trip really...cost me. Thanks to the good people at the Strand and the $6 I got from Kim's (thanks guys, for not buying my brand new, unopened Troma box set) and $7 from Gamestop for 2 of jive turkey's games, I'm going to be fine. In as far as fine means about $20 for the foreseeable future, but hey. I did keep some cash out to legitimately purchase a pepper and some coconut milk so at least after all that I could make my sweet curry dinner. That I managed to eat while watching Fogi is a Bastard instead of drinking all the liquor in the apartment and contemplating how far I have fallen. Still, everything will be fine. Til then, I eat one meal a day and the cats get only dry food (we must all make sacrifices). Word.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Over Night Shift=rambling
ok so i got this new job at the Luxurious Econolodge in Times Sq working fucking 11pm to 7am and i figure that now is as good a time as any to start this shit. well after a whole summer of not having a job and being a lady of lesiure i now have a job working the front desk at the econolodge and so far so good its been fun the ppl are nice and the pay is ok for now i guess. this past summer has been quite a expreince for me ive managed to meet Heather Matarzzo(or something like that)the girl from welcome to the dollhouse, ive manage to kinda become a pseudo celeb in the EV bar/club scene due to one mister mandulak. and its been fun being with him and meeting a crap load of ppl. i also went to A.C. with my friend provie, also went on a little excurisons to Great Adventure and to Liberty Ny to visit the rents. ive also been through it this summer, i really think that at any givien moment my body is gonna turn around and just say FUCK YOU!!! ive heard the motto your body is your temple and i believe that its about time that i start treating my body like a temple and not some dump for illicit drugs and booze. but you wanna know something its been fucking fun though doing it.
so getting back to my job......ive only been here for like a week and iam sure that soon iam gonna be coming home with some pretty intresting stories to tell you the blog readers and also the ppl near and dear to my heart.
ive also been thinking of making this blog sort of a food blog for park slope, you know i go around to all the resturants in my general area eat and then come on here and tell everyone about it cus iam sure that people would like to know about how good Biscuit BBQ is and how great the duck confit is at Blue Ribbon. so this will be my thing for this blog i mean of course i will supply random posting of silly things that have no importance whats so ever or i might even post some perosnal stuff for shits and giggles who knows.
till next time
so getting back to my job......ive only been here for like a week and iam sure that soon iam gonna be coming home with some pretty intresting stories to tell you the blog readers and also the ppl near and dear to my heart.
ive also been thinking of making this blog sort of a food blog for park slope, you know i go around to all the resturants in my general area eat and then come on here and tell everyone about it cus iam sure that people would like to know about how good Biscuit BBQ is and how great the duck confit is at Blue Ribbon. so this will be my thing for this blog i mean of course i will supply random posting of silly things that have no importance whats so ever or i might even post some perosnal stuff for shits and giggles who knows.
till next time
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
I kid. No, not really. Welcome.
So I decided to write a tiny bit about why we decided to add to Blogger's crowded roster. Why we inserted ourself into an already crowded format, like so many wannabe Carrie Bradshaws. I won' t lie, it's mostly for our own amusement. Besides, our aesthetic is more Brooklyn Industries (on sale) , and most of the time we're yelling about how we don't even have the $2 to get on the bus. Some of our conversations go something like this:
"Hey dude, can jive turkey borrow $20?"
"Why?"
"I dunno, to live with?"
"I only have $10."
"For how long?"
"Oh just til next week."
"Yeah, I just have $4. Til the end of this week. Or else I'd lend it to him"
"Fuck."
Like I said, to amuse ourselves.
So yesterday after I finished my Monday night grocery shopping (cat litter, a 12-pack of Stella, and hummus) and after my roomie returned home from his own fruitful mini-cupcake purchase,and we smoked a few bowls, we took the plunge.
A bit about us. Summer's ending and through various circumstances we spent all, or part of it without job. For now we have various forms of income that maybe aren't exactly on our desired career paths, so we're all in a weird little limbo like that. At least I am anyway. Personally, I'm one of those assholes who is all about the career. I was all about school, now it's all about career, so I had a fabulous job that I loved, and then my company closed. Them's the breaks. Since then I've been working some sort of weird at-home PR gig, that for now continues to pay me. And I'm also going to run out of places to interview soon it seems like. What the hell, media capital of the world? I struggle.
Anyway, welcome. To our little hovel. The place may be filthy, we may usually have single-digit checking account balances, yet somehow we always have beer in the fridge. Cheers.
And now...I was going to live-blog the phone convo with jive turkey as he was being stood up, but now his date has shown up. Bastard.
"Hey dude, can jive turkey borrow $20?"
"Why?"
"I dunno, to live with?"
"I only have $10."
"For how long?"
"Oh just til next week."
"Yeah, I just have $4. Til the end of this week. Or else I'd lend it to him"
"Fuck."
Like I said, to amuse ourselves.
So yesterday after I finished my Monday night grocery shopping (cat litter, a 12-pack of Stella, and hummus) and after my roomie returned home from his own fruitful mini-cupcake purchase,and we smoked a few bowls, we took the plunge.
A bit about us. Summer's ending and through various circumstances we spent all, or part of it without job. For now we have various forms of income that maybe aren't exactly on our desired career paths, so we're all in a weird little limbo like that. At least I am anyway. Personally, I'm one of those assholes who is all about the career. I was all about school, now it's all about career, so I had a fabulous job that I loved, and then my company closed. Them's the breaks. Since then I've been working some sort of weird at-home PR gig, that for now continues to pay me. And I'm also going to run out of places to interview soon it seems like. What the hell, media capital of the world? I struggle.
Anyway, welcome. To our little hovel. The place may be filthy, we may usually have single-digit checking account balances, yet somehow we always have beer in the fridge. Cheers.
And now...I was going to live-blog the phone convo with jive turkey as he was being stood up, but now his date has shown up. Bastard.
Bums, Bloody Shirts and Baton Twirlers, Oh My!: It's like the wizard of oz for gay crackheads.
Having just moved into Brooklyn, going home to Jersey to pick up things you've forgotten is never a fun prospect. The trip there went well enough, with MTA and NJ Transit running swiftly for a change. Once back home, I threw all of my business casual work clothing into the only bag available that was large enough to accommodate it. A shopping bag featuring a giant fucking Spongebob Squarepants frolicking in a field of jellyfish with his mildly retarded starfish friend, Patrick. Swell.
As soon as I get back on the train the handles of the bag break, forcing me to waddle through Penn Station carrying said giant bag, looking half crazed because I could barely see over it. Somewhere near Auntie Anne's, purveyor of horrible pretzels, a wigged out and bloody homeless man decided he'd taken a shine to my favorite button-down.
Now kids, my fashion sense in kind of like my gimpy leg: It may lag behind, but it'll get there eventually. For a long long time I had no notion of the fact that fitted clothing looks much better than shit you buy 2 sizes too big. So when I find a shirt that I love, that's actually well-fitted to my frame, I cherish it goddammit.
Even so, its probably not a good idea to throw the bag in a corner and go chasing after the much larger man while yelling like hell. When a cop noticed and ran after him, the guy tripped and fell, and promptly bled all over the shirt.
10 minutes later I find myself waiting for the A, sweaty and wild-eyed, and checking out a cute boy who is unfortunately twirling a baton with gusto all over the platform. Note to Self: Never again are you allowed to give your number to someone whose opening gambit focused on the awful bag and twirls a baton. He was kind of adorable and interesting but I couldn't take my eyes off the baton. What would I do if this dude actually called and did this in an even more public place? I'd probably develop a crippling fear of any open space.
"You got them crazy eyes. You smoke weed?"
Clearly this is what I needed to hear right before going home for the night. By the cashier at Fairway no less. I resent the fact that I apparently look stoned out of my mind even before I go home and smoke a large bowl. Yes, taking a full 5 minutes to decide between mini cupcakes and peanut butter chocolate chunk cookies is kind of annoying but I don't need to be high to enjoy 12 finger-food sized cupcakes.
Safely ensconced back in my apartment my odd day of transit has apparently inspired me and my room-mate/best friend, Heavy B, to create this blog. Word.
As soon as I get back on the train the handles of the bag break, forcing me to waddle through Penn Station carrying said giant bag, looking half crazed because I could barely see over it. Somewhere near Auntie Anne's, purveyor of horrible pretzels, a wigged out and bloody homeless man decided he'd taken a shine to my favorite button-down.
Now kids, my fashion sense in kind of like my gimpy leg: It may lag behind, but it'll get there eventually. For a long long time I had no notion of the fact that fitted clothing looks much better than shit you buy 2 sizes too big. So when I find a shirt that I love, that's actually well-fitted to my frame, I cherish it goddammit.
Even so, its probably not a good idea to throw the bag in a corner and go chasing after the much larger man while yelling like hell. When a cop noticed and ran after him, the guy tripped and fell, and promptly bled all over the shirt.
10 minutes later I find myself waiting for the A, sweaty and wild-eyed, and checking out a cute boy who is unfortunately twirling a baton with gusto all over the platform. Note to Self: Never again are you allowed to give your number to someone whose opening gambit focused on the awful bag and twirls a baton. He was kind of adorable and interesting but I couldn't take my eyes off the baton. What would I do if this dude actually called and did this in an even more public place? I'd probably develop a crippling fear of any open space.
"You got them crazy eyes. You smoke weed?"
Clearly this is what I needed to hear right before going home for the night. By the cashier at Fairway no less. I resent the fact that I apparently look stoned out of my mind even before I go home and smoke a large bowl. Yes, taking a full 5 minutes to decide between mini cupcakes and peanut butter chocolate chunk cookies is kind of annoying but I don't need to be high to enjoy 12 finger-food sized cupcakes.
Safely ensconced back in my apartment my odd day of transit has apparently inspired me and my room-mate/best friend, Heavy B, to create this blog. Word.
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