Have a Nice Trip

Because I am competitive by nature (and also- kind of a bitch) every morning I engage in a death-match race with a stupid little (what I can only assume is a) Russian (accent) girl to get to the lone one-seater on the top level of the train. Although it is childish and largely one-sided, I can’t help but feel victorious when I settle into my own little seat that I will not have to share with another commuter, stretch my legs out and look out of my own window to face the day ahead.

The best thing about this seat is that it is right by the stairs to the lower deck, so I am usually one of the first ones off the train and do not have to fight through masses of angry Jersey-ians to get up the elevator and into Penn Station. Today, however, I discovered another benefit to sitting right by the stairs when a young, boyishly handsome man made eyes with me as he was getting off the train- and then fell down the stairs.

What made this particular fall epic, however, was that as he was falling down the stairs he sang a song about falling down the stairs.

Yes- a song. Well, more of a little ditty. It went something like this: “ahh ahh I’m fall-ing down the stairs”. (Sing in ditty form).

Now, I am no stranger to falling. In fact, I fall once a week and tripped twice on the way to work this morning (new shoes). I fall so often that I have actually become good at it and when people see me fall for the first time they often comment on how graceful I am. I don’t fall so much as slide elegantly toward the ground at inappropriate moments and inconvenient places. Its something I am sort of proud of- like my useless knowledge of the American Revolution or ability to remember the names of my nail polishes (“Big Apple Red” this week- thanks, OPI).

I am also no stranger to epic falls. Last summer, during orientation, I got into the first of what would be many fight with Terrible Tom of the Oppressive Office of Co-Curricular Programs at Loyola. Terrible Tom fucked up my life hardcore that semester by completely disregarding any conversations or plans I had responsibly made with the OOCCP the prior semester AND then had the nerve to call AKPsi nationals and essentially tell on me (in case you are reading this Tom, even they thought you were a huge douche). We met the first day or orientation and by the last we were already glaring at each other across the quad and would continue glaring until I graduated. But, Tom unwittingly got his revenge, or more accurately, I handed him his revenge on a silver platter- when I emerged from the school bus transporting the orientation leaders and freshman to our own alcohol-free night at Venue (LOL) wearing an adorable black dress and my Marc Jacobs heels . When I say “emerged”, I mean “ate it hard down the stairs and landed spread eagle on the bottom step”. And, the piece de resistance of the epic nature of the tumble- Terrible Tom was standing right there, helping girls in their heels get off the bus. He was so close that if I were a less graceful fall-er, I surely would have landed right on him.

So anyway, long story short- I fall a lot. And I think if I could sing while falling, it would really add some flavor to the routine. I mean, I already have the physical aspect down, so really the only thing left is musical accompaniment. Sometimes, I involuntarily shout “FALLING!”, but that’s about as advanced as I get. So now I have to get to work on doing some serious composing. And, taking into account that a fall usually happens in less than 10 seconds, it will take considerable time and talent.

Sometimes I am amazed by my continual evolvement.

This is What Feminist Looks Like (Apparently)

Anyone who has been around me and/or talked to me in the past two weeks knows that I have been closely following the story of this wackjob in California who had octuplets recently (in addition to the six children she already had). I sort of had to at first- it directly pertains to one of our clients. But, as the weeks wore on and the client became satisfied, I still can’t tear my eyes away from this story. So many things offend me about this that I don’t know where to start. So, lets make a list:

1.Her publicist is an idiot and if Nadya Suleman paid me whatever she is paying this sketchy LA agency she could walk out of this mess with a somewhat decent reputation.

Exhibit A: Her publicist admitted she was on food stamps the SAME DAY that Nadya did an interview with dateline and said she never accepted any government money. Get your story straight, ladies.

Exhibit B: They both were on camera saying they didn’t expect to make any money off of this (although apparently Nadya was trying to sell her story to Oprah for $2 million, she ended up giving the first interview to Ann Curry at NBC for free) and then yesterday they set up this nightmare: http://www.thenadyasulemanfamily.com/ Setting the crimes against human decency thing aside for a moment, from a public relations perspective that was the most idiotic move I could ever imagine making. Wanting people to take you seriously and denying adamantly that you are asking for money and then SETTING UP A PROFESSIONAL WEBSITE (that probably cost a pretty penny) OF WHICH THE EXPLICIST PURPOSE IS TO ASK STRANGERS FOR MONEY.

That’s two lies (of many more to come, I am sure) that not only drag Nadya through the mud, they really give public relations a bad name, since people seem to think we are professional liars when really the whole job is about telling the truth and making sure a company and/or person never gets caught in a lie.

2.She calls herself a feminist and anyone who doesn’t support her choice to bring 14 children into the world without a partner (or job, incidentally) is judging her because of her lifestyle choice to be an independent single mom.

Hang on. I have to take a break because I am SEETHING WITH RAGE.

I am a feminist. I believe in equality of people. I believe that women can do anything a man can do and, conversely, that a woman does not need a man to do anything. Including having children. In fact, I think it is pretty badass when a woman does not let her marital status stop her from having children if that is what she wants.

Nadya Suleman, however, is a loonybird wackjob who only had babies to satisfy her own loneliness(this is not my personal judgement- she readily admitted this to Ann Curry in her dateline interview. Another obvious failure of media training from the crook in LA who is taking her money to ruin her reputation). When she started popping them out, she was uneducated and unemployed (she has a bachelors now, but is still unemployed). She lives in a house her parents own. She collects food stamps and workers compensation from the government. She needed to be a mother and needed someone to love her so bad she had completely reckless disregard for the 14 lives she was about to ruin (15 if you include her own, and 17 if you include her obviously embarrassed and horrified parents).

These are not the choices of an independent feminist. Nadya did not have children because she wanted them and could support them, she had them in a desperate attempt to try and fix herself. She had no identity and decided to create one as a mother and didn’t really give a second thought to how she would actually care for these human beings she was about to bring into the world.

No one is judging her because she is a single mother. We are judging her because she is clearly mentally unbalanced.

3.All of her eight kids have the middle name “angel”

No further explanation necessary.

4.She didn’t even know an eighth baby was in her womb until she had already birthed the other seven in under 5 minutes.

This doesn’t infuriate me as much as it does gross me out. When you have so many people living in you that you cant even count them all- well, it’s a problem.

And, okay I know they took them out via C-section but I cant be the only one who is dealing with some very serious and disturbing “slip n’ slide” imagery. Right?

5.No money for food, but plenty of money for fake nails.