Category Archives: random

2013 is totally going to be my year! 5 ways I’ll get a man!

Guys! Just look at my new glasses! You know 2013 is going to be my year! I am going to get a total make over and radically change my life! I am going to get a husband this year! Oh yeah! Just you wait and see – I’m going to change into the Cheryl that banker dudes will be lining up around the block to put a ring on! Here’s how!

1. Get a job in “fashion”! Screw this comedy/day job bullshit. All the husbands are going for fashion chicks. Lord knows, I could use one of those guys! AND –  It’s not a job that anyone is ever sad to see you leave either. Catty bitches, I can’t wait to count myself among them. They can’t wait to talk about how fat any girls thighs actually were after they’ve left. “Gross! Her ass left an imprint on her chair even! Ew!” My man won’t be threatened by my job in fashion, but he’ll probably cheat on me with those catty bitches. I’ll just be prepared and  have cleaned out my closet to make room for all those forgive-me-presents I’ll get in handbag form.

2. Use “totally”, “totes” and “totes-mcgotes” more! How are I’m going to get a man if he thinks that I’ve actually have thoughts and can use vocabulary. Any man that gets a six figure bonus is lying when he says he wants a smart girl. He wants some one who went to Barnard just to be able to say she went to Barnard. Who majored in International Studies or some other marriageable subject. Not anything that would get her a career, or anything crazy! I can fool them!

3. Three words for you – Brunch, BRUnch, BRUNCH! That’s right! I am going have to spend my Saturdays either with my catty co-workers at brunch, or with my catty friends bitching about my catty co-workers, or trying to draw my man into conversation with either set of catty bitches while consuming over priced eggs and prosecco mimosas. I will not be a real lady unless I’m brunching hard core.

4.  Anal. No one wants to buy before they try any more. Where’d the good old fashioned days go?

5.  Listen only to Taylor Swift, Nikki Minaj and David Guetta while doing Pilates and Kegle exercises. Because I don’t need any music that will give me any ideas in my pretty head or distract me from the most important things about snagging and keeping a man. Keeping your stomach and pussy tight!

Here’s to 2013! When I spend all of my disposable income on eyelash extensions, manicures and dinner “dresses” from BeBe! That should work, right?

how you know that you are a real New Yorker

I love New York with it’s weird puddles when there hasn’t been any rain, it’s judgment of you based on your footwear choice and it’s fine sense of the ridiculous. I feel like New York is often lovingly vitriolic, just like Martha in “Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolf?” But at times, I hate it’s every changing nature. Things move so fast and so slow here. You blink and your favorite bar/restaurant/discount clothing store is gone. That is how you know that you are a real New Yorker.

When what used to be there matters to you more than what is there now.

When this dive bar that I loved so much, passed so many early evenings, post electropop band practice knocking back Stoli Vanilla and Sodas with lime transformed into….

This charming date place…

It’s a completely different atmosphere. I was thrown at first when I walked in. I knew that this used to be something else, a place that mattered to me a lot, but I couldn’t quite place it. It came on slow. Remembering sweaty nights, poor choices and friendly bonding all white washed over into a supremely art directed experience. The older me, loves this place. The cheeses, the oysters and the choice wines. But there’s a little noise in the back of my head that misses the summer nights at the dive bar when I’d get up to get a drink and the back of my legs stuck to the vinyl seats, tear up with a satisfying sting. A sharp pull at my skin in contrast to the soft drunk I was.

what does your captcha say about you


stats 5/17/2012

  • ran 3.5 miles
  • only about 50 million minutes of self-doubting thoughts and wracked nerves. I exaggerate, but only slightly
  • one killer show

my day job is just like waffles

Middling is a word that sounds like it should be used to describe a small, oddly footed mythical being, like a satyr, or a Hobbit or stripper. Far from that glorious sound, it means, fair, average or meh. Pithy and inconsequential, but a necessary measure. Otherwise how would know if things were larger or small? We need the middling to differentiate.

Despite the needs and the talk of cogs and well oiled machines, middle management sucks. Your are completely alienated, in that you don’t have any real power or control, but you have to act as if you do. You can’t make any real decisions, but are forced to make lots of annoying little ones. Like when that dude that sits in that cube over there who lords his advance degree over you like an academic hatchet, can take his stupid vacation days. Or if you can trust your Photoshop/blogger to work from home. You can’t. “I’ve got a leaky toilet again” is definitely code for cocaine hang over. Or what stupid platform to build your next website on. I guess that last one is a little important.

Your job as middling manager is to:

  1. Make your boss look good. He is definitely going to ask you to make a Power Point that will invariably be much better than he could ever make it, especially because it will be chock full of your ideas.
  2. Make your boss feel good. And I don’t mean hand jobs. This isn’t Mad Men. I mean, you will be his shield from the rest of the staff. He gets to say, “We’re going to have to cut the budget by 30%.” And you have to go tell people that they don’t have jobs any more. Wouldn’t a hand job just be easier?
  3. Make sure the copier has toner. Who else is going to do it? You think the office manager gives a shit? She’s too busy giving the FedEx guy hand jobs in the freight. You think she might be able to give one to the boss?

Does the world need middling managers? Sure. Do I love that middling sounds like meddling and that makes me think of Scooby Doo? Absolutely! Does that make me feel like my job is more like solving mysteries? Nope. But until I implement my exit strategy, it’s all I’ve got to make me feel like the days have endings and I can feed my three legged cat.

So how is my day job just like waffles? It’s hard going down without being slathered in butter and syrup. Waffles are gross with out stuff on top.