Here I am again, blogging on a Saturday night like a winner. But, this time I have an excuse- snow. I was supposed to go to Motown with Aimee and Melissa, but it was too snowy. Then we were going to do a Weeds night (I WILL get through season three one day) but its too snowy to even drive over there. So now I am snowed in, watching Blades of Glory, flipping through People magazine. I am trying to will myself to finish this awful book that I plan on writing a post about but have to finish first, because I am one of those assholes who has to finish a book before they start the next, even though I have a pile of 4 or 5 good books I literally cannot wait to tear into and therefore sincerely resent this awful book even more (moment of self actualization: i just realized how lame is it to resent literature, but upon further reflection I realize that I really mean it and therefore will not delete it).
Anyway, this week was insanely busy. We are launching a big program for one of our new clients so we've been really busy working on that. Our media materials are crossing the wire on Tuesday so I predict next week to be even crazier than this one. I am really excited for this program though and I think our branding efforts for this client are going to be a lot of fun to work on, particularly as we get farther into it. For another client we have some pretty cool national hits in the making, so thats exciting as well. We also signed a new client this week and I dont think I will be working on it because its a corporate client, its a really interesting client with a lot of potential for some great outreach. I hope there will be some opportunity to work on it a little bit because I am really interested in what they do.
After work this week I went out basically every night which is definitely different for me. Mexican with Shayner on Monday, drinks with Sar on Tuesday, Thai with Mary on Wednesday (at this BOMB ass thai place right on my block that I had never even noticed before), and then last night was thai with Shayna again and one of her friends from school. After, we went to this bar (Dinky's? Ding Dong?), which was basically empty, decorated like a practice garage for teenaged boys who think they are in a "band", and sold us a 5-pack of Pabst for $10- or in one word "awesome". Good times with good people.
Also- I may have found an apt!! Its beautiful (from what I can tell), in Park Slope (which is one of my favorite areas of the city) right across from Prospect park, big closet and really affordable rent. And the girl who lives there (aka my potential roommate) sounds really normal and not like a psycho and I think expects nakedness to remain private (like in the shower or while boning). Also- she has a dog (yay!), it would be a straight shot commute and we are pretty much on the same move-in schedule. Anyway-- fingers crossed!
Oh- I watched Towelhead last Saturday night and holy shit I have never felt more uncomfortable as a result of the movie. I expected a good coming of age tale, mixed in with a little bit of the anti-war and "don't hate brown people" messages but no. It was about a 13 year old, having sex. With everyone, but particularly a fucking SEXY Aaron Eckhart and then getting smacked around by her dad for being a disgrace. And while there was a mild anti-war sentiment. And the "brown people are just like you and me" message was pretty clear-- brown, black, yellow, white, purple, we're all fucked up.
My problems with the movie were numerous- so much so that I have to talk them out. First of all, holy uncomfortable awkwardness, Batman. Watching a 13 year old realize her sexual identity in most movies is sort of quirky and adorable, stirring a nostalgia about the first time you realized you had boobs or that all of your friends had gotten their period and you still hadnt. Watching a 13 year old's hooha being shaved by her mom's bf in the first scene does not fit into any of those categories and certainly did not inspire any sort of nostalgia. That basically sets the stage for the entire movie, where she moves on from discovering her growing hair, to getting her period, to kissing, to foreplay, to having sex etc. And thats not part of the story line- that IS the story line. The whole time I was watching it it felt wrong- like the feds were going to bust in any moment or Chris Hansen was going to jump out of my closet (which would really be a dream come true for me, but thats a personality defect to explore in another post). Not only did the movie just feel wrong- it felt wrong for THREE HOURS. Also, Aaron Eckhart plays this sketchy neighbor who ends up having sex with her (of course) and he was an overall creep but HOLY SHIT did he look GOOD. I am not a fan of blondes (or white guys in general really) but damnit if he wasnt the sexiest statuatory rapist I've ever seen. Which made me even MORE uncomfortable that I found him attractive. Just thinking about it to write this posts makes me so uncomforatble I might have to shower after this.
Anyway-This post sucks. My creative energy has been zapped. I usually get the urge to blog at work, but I won't blog on their time so I have to wait until I get home and by then the ideas aren't really flowing anymore. Im going to go finish that book so hopefully I can rant about it tomorrow.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Knowing What It Means...
I'd like to start off this post by saying that while I do like New York and it is exciting to work (and soon to be live!) in one of the busiest cities in the world, I would undoubtedly move back to New Orleans in a heartbeat for a career-track job and a bowl of gumbo. The only reason I really honestly left was that there simply isn't that big career for me there. Sure, there are amazing PR jobs at award winning agencies and celebrated nonprofits (which incidentally- is where I honestly see myself in 20 years anyway), but it will always be small-pond because that's the nature of the city. Why go national when you can go local? Why represent a client in LA when you can go homegrown? Who needs the rest of the country when you live in the best city in it? And, like many other things in NOLA, that is both the reason I left and the reason I miss it. Because no one really understands New Orleans until they are New Orleans (go ahead- the rest of you can roll your eyes) and everything is different there and nothing is either good or bad- it's usually both.
I mean, let's break it down with the elements of Mardi Gras, which is really just a hyper-exaggerated version of what NOLA is like all the time. I think everyone can understand how five days of straight drinking (I am talking get up at 9 for parades, start drinking, don't stop until 4 am, rinse and repeat kind of straight drinking) would be both good and bad. Tourists- good of the economy, bad for my mood. Boobs- good from sorority girls from Mississippi, bad from 65 y/o ladies in dressed only in a fishnet body suit (which is an actual sighting, not a figment of my over-active imagination). Parades- good for 1 hour, bad for 120. You get the idea. And that's the way the city is all the time-- completely ridiculous and nonsensical which is both amazing and frustrating at the same time.
And to me, NY is the opposite. Everything just is in NY. There are pockets of culture and eccentricity here and there, but overall its sort of just is. Not good. Not bad. There is fun to be had here and I am extremely happy, but it will just never have the feel of New Orleans for certain reasons, most of which probably go unnoticed to the unfortunate souls who have never had the opportunity to experience anything else.
To be honest, I was inspired to write this post in the bathroom. Well not in the bathroom—at the door to the bathroom. Because I forgot the key and had to walk back to my office and get it. Why do we have a key to the bathroom on the 16th floor of an office building? Who are we trying to keep out? Or, more importantly, who is trying to get in? Going up to the 16th floor of a nondescript office building on Union Square to use the bathroom hardly seems like most people's definition of a good idea. In New Orleans, not only have countless businesses of which I was not a patron let me use their bathroom, I have actually been invited into strangers homes to use their personal ones**. But not here. Here, we need a key to the bathroom in our own offices sixteen stories above ground. But this is what I mean—its not good, its not really bad, its just the way it is for no apparent reason.
This is one of countless examples of things I run into on a daily basis. And that's not really annoying and its definitely not enough to dislike the city—they are just little observations and reminders of why New Orleans is better and why it is where I belong.
I mean, let's break it down with the elements of Mardi Gras, which is really just a hyper-exaggerated version of what NOLA is like all the time. I think everyone can understand how five days of straight drinking (I am talking get up at 9 for parades, start drinking, don't stop until 4 am, rinse and repeat kind of straight drinking) would be both good and bad. Tourists- good of the economy, bad for my mood. Boobs- good from sorority girls from Mississippi, bad from 65 y/o ladies in dressed only in a fishnet body suit (which is an actual sighting, not a figment of my over-active imagination). Parades- good for 1 hour, bad for 120. You get the idea. And that's the way the city is all the time-- completely ridiculous and nonsensical which is both amazing and frustrating at the same time.
And to me, NY is the opposite. Everything just is in NY. There are pockets of culture and eccentricity here and there, but overall its sort of just is. Not good. Not bad. There is fun to be had here and I am extremely happy, but it will just never have the feel of New Orleans for certain reasons, most of which probably go unnoticed to the unfortunate souls who have never had the opportunity to experience anything else.
To be honest, I was inspired to write this post in the bathroom. Well not in the bathroom—at the door to the bathroom. Because I forgot the key and had to walk back to my office and get it. Why do we have a key to the bathroom on the 16th floor of an office building? Who are we trying to keep out? Or, more importantly, who is trying to get in? Going up to the 16th floor of a nondescript office building on Union Square to use the bathroom hardly seems like most people's definition of a good idea. In New Orleans, not only have countless businesses of which I was not a patron let me use their bathroom, I have actually been invited into strangers homes to use their personal ones**. But not here. Here, we need a key to the bathroom in our own offices sixteen stories above ground. But this is what I mean—its not good, its not really bad, its just the way it is for no apparent reason.
This is one of countless examples of things I run into on a daily basis. And that's not really annoying and its definitely not enough to dislike the city—they are just little observations and reminders of why New Orleans is better and why it is where I belong.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Saturday Nights Used to be Much More Exciting
It is Saturday night at 10 pm and I am blogging. Even worse, I dont really have anything to say because literally nothing has happened in the past three days so this is going to be a random collection of thoughts because I am bored and missing college and trying not to think about how much it sucks to be 22 and home on a Saturday night by choice because I think about things like "oh, going out costs money" now and I am trying to milk this free ride for as long as I can before I move (i.e. dinner with the parents, an abundance of beer and free movies on demand).
Anyway, I have pretty much done nothing since new years because I am broke and tired and cold and I am waiting anxiously to get back to work, if only to hang out with people other than my parents and my dog. Also, I cant check my work email for some reason and this is stressing me out greatly. So in summation: I need a life.
In the spirit of having an active 2009 and holding true to my resolutions, I looked into joining the AKPsi alumni association and that shit is expensive. Damn, girlfriend is on a budget. Shouldn't my leadership and dedication and VPness at least get me a free semester? A tshirt or something? Shit. Colleen said she advises a chapter of Gamma Phi in LA and maybe I could do that. But I'm really not that invested and don't particularly feel like following all those stupid national rules. Maybe I could invite some head of membership guy into my new nudist-colony apartment and get a free year or something.
Anyway, I think I need a hobby. Mostly because when I was talking to Asher, he was telling me very interesting things like how to surgically perform a sex change operation and how to get more MPG on a Ferarri, and the only things I had to counter with was my knowledge of Lizard Man and Mojitos. My only hobby is reading a shit ton and (as nerdy as this sounds) researching things I find interesting, but the problem is that things that I find interesting no one else does. Like I haven't ever had the chance to really express my knowledge and passion for the Virginia Plan or the history of vibrators or civil war photography or social media (except at work) because no one cares (and really, rightfully so). I used to like to craft but now I cant think of anything I would want to make that I would need, even though its not really about needing it as much as it is about wanting to make it. And no one cares about crafts either so I am back to square one. I am not pretentious enough to be really into music or films, what's left?
Speaking of being the least pretentious film critic ever: I rented Mamma Mia and it sucked. A pox on everyone who said it was great. (a pox? is that real? did I make that up? I refuse to google). Colin Firth singing is a joke and basically the only thing good about it was watching Pierce Brosnan be sexy, which is ordinarily enough for me but I guess I was feeling particularly critical. Also, they totally blew the ABBA load like 15 minutes into the film because they had sung both "Mamma Mia" and "Dancing Queen" already and really, whats the point after that?
I am watching Towelhead after I write this thought provoking and highly intellectual post, and I have higher hopes for that one.
I got my hair dyed today, motivated by sheer boredom. Which i know i know, I was just complaining about being broke but I never said it wasn't self-inflicted. Anyway, I am waiting for an expense check from work which will basically cover the costs anyway. It is dark brown (but not blackish like the last time) and the cut is really great. I went to a new girl who fixed my terrible haircut from this summer where "bangs" were sticking out every which way. I will post a picture tomorrow when I have a chance to shower and style it myself, because everyone knows it looks better after you play with it yourself. Also, I am laying in the dark and dont feel like turning my lights on.
Blogging. In the dark. At 10:30 on a Saturday night.
Anyway, I have pretty much done nothing since new years because I am broke and tired and cold and I am waiting anxiously to get back to work, if only to hang out with people other than my parents and my dog. Also, I cant check my work email for some reason and this is stressing me out greatly. So in summation: I need a life.
In the spirit of having an active 2009 and holding true to my resolutions, I looked into joining the AKPsi alumni association and that shit is expensive. Damn, girlfriend is on a budget. Shouldn't my leadership and dedication and VPness at least get me a free semester? A tshirt or something? Shit. Colleen said she advises a chapter of Gamma Phi in LA and maybe I could do that. But I'm really not that invested and don't particularly feel like following all those stupid national rules. Maybe I could invite some head of membership guy into my new nudist-colony apartment and get a free year or something.
Anyway, I think I need a hobby. Mostly because when I was talking to Asher, he was telling me very interesting things like how to surgically perform a sex change operation and how to get more MPG on a Ferarri, and the only things I had to counter with was my knowledge of Lizard Man and Mojitos. My only hobby is reading a shit ton and (as nerdy as this sounds) researching things I find interesting, but the problem is that things that I find interesting no one else does. Like I haven't ever had the chance to really express my knowledge and passion for the Virginia Plan or the history of vibrators or civil war photography or social media (except at work) because no one cares (and really, rightfully so). I used to like to craft but now I cant think of anything I would want to make that I would need, even though its not really about needing it as much as it is about wanting to make it. And no one cares about crafts either so I am back to square one. I am not pretentious enough to be really into music or films, what's left?
Speaking of being the least pretentious film critic ever: I rented Mamma Mia and it sucked. A pox on everyone who said it was great. (a pox? is that real? did I make that up? I refuse to google). Colin Firth singing is a joke and basically the only thing good about it was watching Pierce Brosnan be sexy, which is ordinarily enough for me but I guess I was feeling particularly critical. Also, they totally blew the ABBA load like 15 minutes into the film because they had sung both "Mamma Mia" and "Dancing Queen" already and really, whats the point after that?
I am watching Towelhead after I write this thought provoking and highly intellectual post, and I have higher hopes for that one.
I got my hair dyed today, motivated by sheer boredom. Which i know i know, I was just complaining about being broke but I never said it wasn't self-inflicted. Anyway, I am waiting for an expense check from work which will basically cover the costs anyway. It is dark brown (but not blackish like the last time) and the cut is really great. I went to a new girl who fixed my terrible haircut from this summer where "bangs" were sticking out every which way. I will post a picture tomorrow when I have a chance to shower and style it myself, because everyone knows it looks better after you play with it yourself. Also, I am laying in the dark and dont feel like turning my lights on.
Blogging. In the dark. At 10:30 on a Saturday night.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
The Apartment Hunting Chronicles:Episode 1
Alternately titled: I can get a date but not an apartment
Let me preface this post by saying that I started typing this on my iphone while in bed next to Mary in her beautiful apartment on the upper east and I am literally seething with jealousy because it's so cute and big but cozy and delightful in the morning light. Also everyone is asleep but I wake up super early when I am hungover (which I am by the way because last night was epic..but that's a post I'm not writing until the pictures appear on facebook).
For those of you who know me**, you are probably aware of my love for Craigslist. My love for the list started when I lived in DC and had nothing to do for hours on end. Jenn and I would parouse the personals and the casual encounters and send each other cock shots and requests for orgies and spankings and guys dressed entirely in latex. It's not only a great time passer, but it also provdes valuable life lessons. Namely that everyone who lives in DC is a closeted kinky sex freak by night (sorry Tia, and the two friends I have from Georgetown and uhhh, my entire family) and no one who lives there should be trusted, let alone allowed to make our laws and collect taxes (probably to buy buttplugs and whips).
I still look at the list fairly often, but have moved on from the personals to the missed connections and the "free shit" sections. Missed connections because obviously people become enamoured with me daily and I am hoping one day the sexy stranger I made eyes with at the gyro stand will post about how he can't live without me and must find me or he will never be happy again. Pretty much as close you'll get to a fairy tale in 2009.
The free shit section is rather self explanatory: I like free shit. I also like to see what other people are giving away and why they felt the need to post about it instead of just taking it to the dump or giving it to some unsuspecting person as a gift. There have been some things I've actually considered taking, but ultimately it usually comes down to being not even remotely worth my time. Also, once I wanted something bad enough that I decided to reply, but couldn't figure out how. I mean "hi I want your free shit" should suffice right? But I mean, millions of people could be reading it and lots could want it so how do you differentiate yourself from the crowd? Do you describe why you want it, how you would lovingly care for it and would never dream of giving it away on cl? Like many things confusing and overwhelming- I quickly abandoned it and put on Spongebob instead.
In addition to being fun, craigslist is also quite functional. I went on dozens of craiglist job interviews and only one was sketchy, which is pretty good odds (all I am saying is that if your office is in your penthouse, you should probably put that in the ad so people dont think they are putting on a suit to get ax murdered at some crazy guys apartment in Brooklyn). Craigslist is SO MUCH faster than monster and career builder because theres no middle man. Its right from your email to theirs. In fact, I found my current job on craigslist. I applied on a Friday, interviewed on a Tuesday and was offered the job on a Wednesday. Craigslist changed my life in under a week.
And thats why I love craigslist- its quick and dirty, just like the city. Everything you want is just right there waiting for you. Want to get laid? No need to put on the hooker shoes and the push up bra, just place an ad, open a bag of cheetos and let Craig do the rest.
But dont put the hooker shoes away just yet- you will need them for apartment hunting in the 7th circle of hell (NY craigslist).
Obviously, I am looking for an apartment. Because the commute sucks and I am a grown up and should be living out of my parents house. And really- part of being a grown up is living alone I think. But I dont want to live alone. I've had nothing but good roommate experiences (okay, it was only one experience but it lasted 4 years and was wonderful) and I am not jaded enough to shudder at the thought of sharing an apartment with someone. In fact- its quite the contrary. I would rather live with someone, if not for the comraderie and friendship, than certainly for defense against robbers and rapists and crazy landlords and leaky faucets. So I am relegated to the rooms/shared section of CL. Which means having to deal with people, New Yorkers at that, instead of landlords.
Which wouldn't be so bad if all people were girls.
Heres a senario that routinely happens. There is an ad reading like this:
"Title: This is the Perfect Apartment for You
Hi. I have the perfect apartment for you. It is near your work and every single subway line and bus route. Also, its been rent controlled since 1942 so rent is only $100, including utilities. It is in a doorman building, and has an elevator and is huge and you would have your own bathroom with a jacuzzi tub and sauna. Also, we have a pool and the walls are made of rainbows and the bed is cotton candy. Near hot bars and cheap shopping and great restaraunts. Laundry room in the apartment.
I am a rich shoemaker who brings home lots of samples for my roommate to keep forever. I have a lot of money and I like to share it. I like to cook and would gladly prepare you all of your meals and even pack your lunch for you because I care. I nurse kittens and give them way to loving homes when they become ugly cats. I love reality TV and TIVO The Hills and am a Gormet cupcake maker. I have a girlfriend who I love, but she lives in siberia so she wont be in the apartment much. Obviously, there wont be any sexual tension because my heart belongs to Siberia girl. But if you ever need a comforting spoon or want to cuddle while watching Cold Case Files thats totally okay."
So I, thinking I finally found the perfect Manhattan apartment reply with my little "about me blurb" and get a response that looks something like this:
"Hey Heather,
Nice to hear from you. Unfortunately, in the 2 hours since you replied to that ad I actually burned the place down and had to move. It was a freak accident involving a cupcake and a kitty. Sorry about that.
But you sound like a really cool girl I'd like to get to know. My name is Stupid Manhead and I am 30 and work in finance and go to the gym and like long walks on the beach. Want to get dinner sometime next week?
Good luck on your apartment searching,
Stupid ManHead"
Seriously, out of every ten apartments I reply to, at least one comes back like this. One guy simply responded to my email (which was titled "Interested in Your Apartment") with one line; "Interested in this?" and a picture of his penis next to a stapler was attached. And the stapler was bigger. No, I am not interested.
Anyway, after playing this game for a few weeks, I am starting to become more jaded about finding a room in someone elses apartment. But I dont know anyone ready to move with me yet, so really if I found a perfect apartment I woudl still have to use craiglist to find the roommate anyway, so whats the point? At least this way, when i get there, there will already be a couch. Which is pretty much my only standard at this point, because they are getting pretty low.
Which is why, I fear, this next part of the post is completely 100% true. Please note that unlike the above ad which was a complete obvious fabrication, this one is basically how the ad read (i couldnt find it again to copy and paste).
Title: Interesting Arrangement for Room in Apartment in Chelsea- $850/month
I have a two bedroom apartment and I need to rent out one of the bedrooms. The room is decent sized for Manhattan and could easily fit a bed, dresser and desk. I am asking $850/month, not including utilities. There is a laundry room in the building and wireless internet and digitial cable hooked up for the whole building.
I am a nice, normal guy who works a lot of hours in finance and doesnt get to date much. In exchange for the room, I ask that you be okay walking around the apartment naked several times a week. No sex, or touching or inapropriate conduct, just you walking around naked and letting me watch. I know this situation isnt for everyone, but for the right girl it could be a great arrangement."
Now, you, a normal person is obviously thinking "no thanks, Ted Bundy" but here is my actual thought process upon reading this ad:
"ohhh 850 a month in chelsea, what could this be? What sort of interesting arrangment?.....laundry room, sweet....NAKED? the nerve. I should close this immediately....wellll, I mean, no sex or touching, thats not too bad right? I mean, the apartment is in freaking Chelsea for less than a grand a month. I could probably walk to work....Maybe he really is nice and normal...I mean, I really enjoy being naked. Seriously- the only thing better than yoga pants is no pants....I'd probably have to lose some weight first, maybe start hitting the gym more...I wonder how often? Like, everyday? strip when you come in the front door?....would i do things naked? like clean and make dinner, that could lead to injury...okay stop this is creepy. why are you thinking about this?...on the other hand, it would give me a chance to show off my boobs more. really, its about time they start pulling their weight around here anyway....i wonder what he looks like. will he be naked too?....then we'd be like a nudist colony, which is totally legit, lots of people live in nudist colonies and no one calls them prostitutes....did I just compare myself to a prostitute?....but i mean, okay, eventually we would become friends and nearly all of my best friends have seen me naked multiple times and none of them have ever offered me an 850/month apartment in Chelsea...some best friends they are..oh, utilities not included? fuck that"
And I am only on week three of the big search. It might be time to look into some no-fee brokers.
**I realize I refer to the collective "you" a lot and then no one comments which really just makes me look like a crazy person talking to myself (which really is the definition of a blog, but shhh). BUT, rest assured internet world, that since my shameless self promotion campaign (putting the link in my away message and also mentioning it in conversation. things like "oh thats a really cool story....lets talk about ME now, did you know I am blogging?!"*** orrrr the ever popular "this is SO going in the blog"...even though it never really does) that several people have told me they are reading it and it reaffirmed their faith in my net worth as their friend (or so I assume). Some have even told me they sent certain posts to their friends which is really just the coolest thing ever. So, in summation, I am not a crazy person and you all are the best friends (and the best friends of friends) that a girl who talks to herself can have.
***Also, I am now that asshole who TALKS about their blog in like conversations. Ithink i mentioned it twice today while Colleen, Mary and I were nomming on some greasy food at Big Daddy's. Sorry ladies. Thanks for still being friends with me.
Let me preface this post by saying that I started typing this on my iphone while in bed next to Mary in her beautiful apartment on the upper east and I am literally seething with jealousy because it's so cute and big but cozy and delightful in the morning light. Also everyone is asleep but I wake up super early when I am hungover (which I am by the way because last night was epic..but that's a post I'm not writing until the pictures appear on facebook).
For those of you who know me**, you are probably aware of my love for Craigslist. My love for the list started when I lived in DC and had nothing to do for hours on end. Jenn and I would parouse the personals and the casual encounters and send each other cock shots and requests for orgies and spankings and guys dressed entirely in latex. It's not only a great time passer, but it also provdes valuable life lessons. Namely that everyone who lives in DC is a closeted kinky sex freak by night (sorry Tia, and the two friends I have from Georgetown and uhhh, my entire family) and no one who lives there should be trusted, let alone allowed to make our laws and collect taxes (probably to buy buttplugs and whips).
I still look at the list fairly often, but have moved on from the personals to the missed connections and the "free shit" sections. Missed connections because obviously people become enamoured with me daily and I am hoping one day the sexy stranger I made eyes with at the gyro stand will post about how he can't live without me and must find me or he will never be happy again. Pretty much as close you'll get to a fairy tale in 2009.
The free shit section is rather self explanatory: I like free shit. I also like to see what other people are giving away and why they felt the need to post about it instead of just taking it to the dump or giving it to some unsuspecting person as a gift. There have been some things I've actually considered taking, but ultimately it usually comes down to being not even remotely worth my time. Also, once I wanted something bad enough that I decided to reply, but couldn't figure out how. I mean "hi I want your free shit" should suffice right? But I mean, millions of people could be reading it and lots could want it so how do you differentiate yourself from the crowd? Do you describe why you want it, how you would lovingly care for it and would never dream of giving it away on cl? Like many things confusing and overwhelming- I quickly abandoned it and put on Spongebob instead.
In addition to being fun, craigslist is also quite functional. I went on dozens of craiglist job interviews and only one was sketchy, which is pretty good odds (all I am saying is that if your office is in your penthouse, you should probably put that in the ad so people dont think they are putting on a suit to get ax murdered at some crazy guys apartment in Brooklyn). Craigslist is SO MUCH faster than monster and career builder because theres no middle man. Its right from your email to theirs. In fact, I found my current job on craigslist. I applied on a Friday, interviewed on a Tuesday and was offered the job on a Wednesday. Craigslist changed my life in under a week.
And thats why I love craigslist- its quick and dirty, just like the city. Everything you want is just right there waiting for you. Want to get laid? No need to put on the hooker shoes and the push up bra, just place an ad, open a bag of cheetos and let Craig do the rest.
But dont put the hooker shoes away just yet- you will need them for apartment hunting in the 7th circle of hell (NY craigslist).
Obviously, I am looking for an apartment. Because the commute sucks and I am a grown up and should be living out of my parents house. And really- part of being a grown up is living alone I think. But I dont want to live alone. I've had nothing but good roommate experiences (okay, it was only one experience but it lasted 4 years and was wonderful) and I am not jaded enough to shudder at the thought of sharing an apartment with someone. In fact- its quite the contrary. I would rather live with someone, if not for the comraderie and friendship, than certainly for defense against robbers and rapists and crazy landlords and leaky faucets. So I am relegated to the rooms/shared section of CL. Which means having to deal with people, New Yorkers at that, instead of landlords.
Which wouldn't be so bad if all people were girls.
Heres a senario that routinely happens. There is an ad reading like this:
"Title: This is the Perfect Apartment for You
Hi. I have the perfect apartment for you. It is near your work and every single subway line and bus route. Also, its been rent controlled since 1942 so rent is only $100, including utilities. It is in a doorman building, and has an elevator and is huge and you would have your own bathroom with a jacuzzi tub and sauna. Also, we have a pool and the walls are made of rainbows and the bed is cotton candy. Near hot bars and cheap shopping and great restaraunts. Laundry room in the apartment.
I am a rich shoemaker who brings home lots of samples for my roommate to keep forever. I have a lot of money and I like to share it. I like to cook and would gladly prepare you all of your meals and even pack your lunch for you because I care. I nurse kittens and give them way to loving homes when they become ugly cats. I love reality TV and TIVO The Hills and am a Gormet cupcake maker. I have a girlfriend who I love, but she lives in siberia so she wont be in the apartment much. Obviously, there wont be any sexual tension because my heart belongs to Siberia girl. But if you ever need a comforting spoon or want to cuddle while watching Cold Case Files thats totally okay."
So I, thinking I finally found the perfect Manhattan apartment reply with my little "about me blurb" and get a response that looks something like this:
"Hey Heather,
Nice to hear from you. Unfortunately, in the 2 hours since you replied to that ad I actually burned the place down and had to move. It was a freak accident involving a cupcake and a kitty. Sorry about that.
But you sound like a really cool girl I'd like to get to know. My name is Stupid Manhead and I am 30 and work in finance and go to the gym and like long walks on the beach. Want to get dinner sometime next week?
Good luck on your apartment searching,
Stupid ManHead"
Seriously, out of every ten apartments I reply to, at least one comes back like this. One guy simply responded to my email (which was titled "Interested in Your Apartment") with one line; "Interested in this?" and a picture of his penis next to a stapler was attached. And the stapler was bigger. No, I am not interested.
Anyway, after playing this game for a few weeks, I am starting to become more jaded about finding a room in someone elses apartment. But I dont know anyone ready to move with me yet, so really if I found a perfect apartment I woudl still have to use craiglist to find the roommate anyway, so whats the point? At least this way, when i get there, there will already be a couch. Which is pretty much my only standard at this point, because they are getting pretty low.
Which is why, I fear, this next part of the post is completely 100% true. Please note that unlike the above ad which was a complete obvious fabrication, this one is basically how the ad read (i couldnt find it again to copy and paste).
Title: Interesting Arrangement for Room in Apartment in Chelsea- $850/month
I have a two bedroom apartment and I need to rent out one of the bedrooms. The room is decent sized for Manhattan and could easily fit a bed, dresser and desk. I am asking $850/month, not including utilities. There is a laundry room in the building and wireless internet and digitial cable hooked up for the whole building.
I am a nice, normal guy who works a lot of hours in finance and doesnt get to date much. In exchange for the room, I ask that you be okay walking around the apartment naked several times a week. No sex, or touching or inapropriate conduct, just you walking around naked and letting me watch. I know this situation isnt for everyone, but for the right girl it could be a great arrangement."
Now, you, a normal person is obviously thinking "no thanks, Ted Bundy" but here is my actual thought process upon reading this ad:
"ohhh 850 a month in chelsea, what could this be? What sort of interesting arrangment?.....laundry room, sweet....NAKED? the nerve. I should close this immediately....wellll, I mean, no sex or touching, thats not too bad right? I mean, the apartment is in freaking Chelsea for less than a grand a month. I could probably walk to work....Maybe he really is nice and normal...I mean, I really enjoy being naked. Seriously- the only thing better than yoga pants is no pants....I'd probably have to lose some weight first, maybe start hitting the gym more...I wonder how often? Like, everyday? strip when you come in the front door?....would i do things naked? like clean and make dinner, that could lead to injury...okay stop this is creepy. why are you thinking about this?...on the other hand, it would give me a chance to show off my boobs more. really, its about time they start pulling their weight around here anyway....i wonder what he looks like. will he be naked too?....then we'd be like a nudist colony, which is totally legit, lots of people live in nudist colonies and no one calls them prostitutes....did I just compare myself to a prostitute?....but i mean, okay, eventually we would become friends and nearly all of my best friends have seen me naked multiple times and none of them have ever offered me an 850/month apartment in Chelsea...some best friends they are..oh, utilities not included? fuck that"
And I am only on week three of the big search. It might be time to look into some no-fee brokers.
**I realize I refer to the collective "you" a lot and then no one comments which really just makes me look like a crazy person talking to myself (which really is the definition of a blog, but shhh). BUT, rest assured internet world, that since my shameless self promotion campaign (putting the link in my away message and also mentioning it in conversation. things like "oh thats a really cool story....lets talk about ME now, did you know I am blogging?!"*** orrrr the ever popular "this is SO going in the blog"...even though it never really does) that several people have told me they are reading it and it reaffirmed their faith in my net worth as their friend (or so I assume). Some have even told me they sent certain posts to their friends which is really just the coolest thing ever. So, in summation, I am not a crazy person and you all are the best friends (and the best friends of friends) that a girl who talks to herself can have.
***Also, I am now that asshole who TALKS about their blog in like conversations. Ithink i mentioned it twice today while Colleen, Mary and I were nomming on some greasy food at Big Daddy's. Sorry ladies. Thanks for still being friends with me.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
The Many Ways in Which I Plan To Kick 2009's Ass
2008 could have been a better year. Without going into specifics, what should have been one of the best years of my life (senior year! graduating college! Entering the real world! Being an adult!) quickly dissolved into a year of stress, sadness, and a lot of loneliness. Details aren’t really important, but overall 2008 pretty much bit it (save for a few redeeming moments with the people who make my world go ‘round).
New years is nice and all, however, I prefer to break my years up by age. After all, I feel that from 16-22 every single year I was a distinctly different human being at each age interval. At 22 I am content and happy with myself whereas at 16 i was an insecure mess (okay, I'll admit it, I was a bit on the emo-kid side. 16 wasn't very sweet to me. I had a tortured soul, but at least I outgrew it). 17 was “omg get me out of here” and 18 was…well, I don’t really remember much of it (thanks to my first year in a city still run by Napoleonic code). 19 was hurricane- survival, recovery and revival. At 20 I met many of my closest friends, my brothers, my lifelines of support and the people who changed me forever and all for the better. 21- for those of you paying attention- could have gone better for reasons still undisclosed. But at least I could drink in public, in any city I so desired. No longer an outlaw, I became officially legit.
Anyway, this is all leading up to New Years Resolutions and why I never make them. Because to me, December 31st 2008 is exactly the same as January 1st 2009. I’ll still be 22 and in my mind my new year started October 5th. And really, its an appropriate starting date. I began my job on October 1st which really started a whole new chapter of my life. I love my job, I look forward to going to work in the morning and I think about it often on the weekends. It is also nice to be validated as worth giving money to- I like things to come with a price tag because I like to quantify and even if I'm not worth very much right now, I am working my way up. I also have much less time to mope about missing New Orleans and have gotten out a lot more, meeting some new people, getting to know my coworkers, and reconnecting with old friends. I have been meeting a lot of people lately and I believe it has to do with my hair, which looks fierce in the winter (essentially in the winter I sweat a lot less, and ergo am more attractive to strangers as a friend or potential mate or subway seat companion, as compared to the summer when I am sweaty and have a Jew-fro). Anyway, I am extremely happy and everything is working out the way I had hoped and I really couldn't possibly be more content. 22 is pretty fucking awesome so far.
But, for the sake of being festive and hearing myself talk (or, type), here are my goals for 22:
1. Keep loving work and keep working there. Uh, I love my job, have I mentioned?
2. Move out. Soon.
3. Keep saving money, which will be impossible because of number 2.
4. Network more. I seriously should be going to a lot more networking events given my business but they are SO awkward.
5. Stop being awkward. At work, on dates, in line at the super market, in life.
6. Fall less. I would like to find my center of balance on the Wii Fit and use it while doing things such as walking or standing upright.
7. Go to New Orleans soooooon! I cant wait to complain about the heat, cuddle with Jose, visit old professors and friends, happy hour at the Boot, Bourbon and ending the night at F&Ms (if you want to know the truth, I miss F&M's most of all). I'm thinking March, but I would leave tomorrow if I could.
8. Go to Seattle to see Anna. Fuck I miss her so much I can't even write about.
9. Spend more time at museums and flea markets. Furnish my new apartment with knick-knacks and feel settled and like an adult.
10. Develop a taste for fine wines and liquors. Start drinking Jack straight up at bars, enabling me to save money (See: Number 3) and look like a fucking bad ass.
11. Be an active New Yorker. Find things to do, know about things like flea markets (see: Number 9) and concerts in the park and parties BEFORE hand, instead of hearing about them later.
12. Watch less Spongebob.
13. Join a club. Maybe AKPsi alumni? Volunteer work? Something!
14. Don't become jaded. Keep being excited and enthusiastic.
15. Keep kicking some serious ass.
Anyway, for those of you who might actually read this: I got the broadcast coverage :-). I am pretty amped about it because its my first time getting any broadcast coverage ever and its on a Fox news channel on the 11 O clock news, which I feel is pretty big league for the first time. As much as I hate that it was Fox who took my virginity, I cant help but be excited.
Tomorrow I work from home in the morning and then I am staying at Marys and going to ~da club~. I am really excited to see Colleen and have a good ol' Loyola New Years in New York. I am also excited to wear my fucking sexy outfit, which really showcases my boobs in all of my glory. I plan on being pretty obliterated. Expect drunk texts.
An aside: I realize this might be the first time I have talked about my boobs on here, but I love them. It goes beyond thinking they are the most flattering part of my body (which they are, duh) but I genuinely enjoy them, think they are fun and am often times impressed with myself when I look down during the day. Its not really a sexual thing, I just love them and I am glad they are attached to my body to bounce and rest my hands on at my leisure. In all likeliness I will talk about them again because I sincerely cannot get enough of them.
Anyway, what the fuck am I going on about? Happy New Years, digital world. Be safe, drink a lot, and send me a dirty text message. We'll both forget about it by morning.
New years is nice and all, however, I prefer to break my years up by age. After all, I feel that from 16-22 every single year I was a distinctly different human being at each age interval. At 22 I am content and happy with myself whereas at 16 i was an insecure mess (okay, I'll admit it, I was a bit on the emo-kid side. 16 wasn't very sweet to me. I had a tortured soul, but at least I outgrew it). 17 was “omg get me out of here” and 18 was…well, I don’t really remember much of it (thanks to my first year in a city still run by Napoleonic code). 19 was hurricane- survival, recovery and revival. At 20 I met many of my closest friends, my brothers, my lifelines of support and the people who changed me forever and all for the better. 21- for those of you paying attention- could have gone better for reasons still undisclosed. But at least I could drink in public, in any city I so desired. No longer an outlaw, I became officially legit.
Anyway, this is all leading up to New Years Resolutions and why I never make them. Because to me, December 31st 2008 is exactly the same as January 1st 2009. I’ll still be 22 and in my mind my new year started October 5th. And really, its an appropriate starting date. I began my job on October 1st which really started a whole new chapter of my life. I love my job, I look forward to going to work in the morning and I think about it often on the weekends. It is also nice to be validated as worth giving money to- I like things to come with a price tag because I like to quantify and even if I'm not worth very much right now, I am working my way up. I also have much less time to mope about missing New Orleans and have gotten out a lot more, meeting some new people, getting to know my coworkers, and reconnecting with old friends. I have been meeting a lot of people lately and I believe it has to do with my hair, which looks fierce in the winter (essentially in the winter I sweat a lot less, and ergo am more attractive to strangers as a friend or potential mate or subway seat companion, as compared to the summer when I am sweaty and have a Jew-fro). Anyway, I am extremely happy and everything is working out the way I had hoped and I really couldn't possibly be more content. 22 is pretty fucking awesome so far.
But, for the sake of being festive and hearing myself talk (or, type), here are my goals for 22:
1. Keep loving work and keep working there. Uh, I love my job, have I mentioned?
2. Move out. Soon.
3. Keep saving money, which will be impossible because of number 2.
4. Network more. I seriously should be going to a lot more networking events given my business but they are SO awkward.
5. Stop being awkward. At work, on dates, in line at the super market, in life.
6. Fall less. I would like to find my center of balance on the Wii Fit and use it while doing things such as walking or standing upright.
7. Go to New Orleans soooooon! I cant wait to complain about the heat, cuddle with Jose, visit old professors and friends, happy hour at the Boot, Bourbon and ending the night at F&Ms (if you want to know the truth, I miss F&M's most of all). I'm thinking March, but I would leave tomorrow if I could.
8. Go to Seattle to see Anna. Fuck I miss her so much I can't even write about.
9. Spend more time at museums and flea markets. Furnish my new apartment with knick-knacks and feel settled and like an adult.
10. Develop a taste for fine wines and liquors. Start drinking Jack straight up at bars, enabling me to save money (See: Number 3) and look like a fucking bad ass.
11. Be an active New Yorker. Find things to do, know about things like flea markets (see: Number 9) and concerts in the park and parties BEFORE hand, instead of hearing about them later.
12. Watch less Spongebob.
13. Join a club. Maybe AKPsi alumni? Volunteer work? Something!
14. Don't become jaded. Keep being excited and enthusiastic.
15. Keep kicking some serious ass.
Anyway, for those of you who might actually read this: I got the broadcast coverage :-). I am pretty amped about it because its my first time getting any broadcast coverage ever and its on a Fox news channel on the 11 O clock news, which I feel is pretty big league for the first time. As much as I hate that it was Fox who took my virginity, I cant help but be excited.
Tomorrow I work from home in the morning and then I am staying at Marys and going to ~da club~. I am really excited to see Colleen and have a good ol' Loyola New Years in New York. I am also excited to wear my fucking sexy outfit, which really showcases my boobs in all of my glory. I plan on being pretty obliterated. Expect drunk texts.
An aside: I realize this might be the first time I have talked about my boobs on here, but I love them. It goes beyond thinking they are the most flattering part of my body (which they are, duh) but I genuinely enjoy them, think they are fun and am often times impressed with myself when I look down during the day. Its not really a sexual thing, I just love them and I am glad they are attached to my body to bounce and rest my hands on at my leisure. In all likeliness I will talk about them again because I sincerely cannot get enough of them.
Anyway, what the fuck am I going on about? Happy New Years, digital world. Be safe, drink a lot, and send me a dirty text message. We'll both forget about it by morning.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Jewish Christmas
For years, I denied my heritage. Yes- I was Jewish when I wanted to be different. Yes- I would always know a correct spelling for Chanukah when asked. Yes- I would open the door for Elijah. Yes- I would expect eight wonderful gifts and latkes and maybe even play the Dreidel l if there was money or good chocolate involved.
But Fuck No Moses, I was not giving up Christmas.
In high school, come Christmas time, I’d find myself getting uncharacteristically excited. Uncharacteristic because 1. I am a Jew, through and through. And 2. I’m not really the festive type. But Christmas always got to me. I loved the lights, loved the Christmas specials and the merriment and the shopping and the time off school and buying gifts and receiving them and always figuring out who had who for Secret Santa and ruining Aimee’s entire year. When I worked at the daycare (which was nearly all of high school) we would start using Santa as a threat immediately after Thanksgiving. For those of you who have never worked in childcare or actually like your children, the threat goes something like this “If you do not sit down and listen I am telling Santa not to come and to give all of your toys to the good little children, you nasty little brat!” or, the shorter version “Santa is watching and he is pissed”. Sometimes, when feeling particularly malicious, I would whip out my cell phone and pretend to call him until I heard the magic words: “I’ll be good! I promise!”
Yeah right, like Santa would ever take a call from a Jew.
During those times, I had a best friend, a BFF if you will, who always invited me to her apartment for Christmas merriment with her family. I loved those Christmas days. So cozy and warm, wearing a Christmas themed outfit, assembling her little sister’s presents from Santa, chatting with her family, eating so much shrimp that the food coma came long before the main course was served and watching a Christmas Story over and over again. Good times had by all of Jesus’ children. And me.
As often happens, said BFF started dating a psycho and moved on from us. Or any friends at all. Once again, that’s an entire separate post that I most likely will never be writing.
Anyway, afterwards, Christmas sort of lost its luster. Its not that I blame her entirely. I went to college where Christmas break became the much longer (and ever so missed, incidentally) winter break. I stopped working at the daycare, so there was no pitter-patter of excitement from little germ carriers. The Christmas spirit passed me over entirely, the first two weeks of the season consumed entirely by finals and the next so exhausted and happy to be home that I rarely left my house.
So I started to assimilate back into Jewish culture. Well, sort of. I’m still a heathen because lets be honest, being Jewish is a LOT of work. But, if there is one time a year where being a good Jew means being lazier than everyone else- its Christmas time. So now I have embraced the loveliness that is a Jewish Christmas.
The first Christmas after I was ditched by my BFF (not bitter), my whole family (cousins and grandparents included) went on an all inclusive vacation to a Mexican resort, which is pretty much as Jewish as you can get for Christmas, seeing as it was like Christmas never happen. We got on a plane on the 22nd, came back on the 28th and skipped the whole mess while sunning ourselves on the beach, eating and drinking unlimited amounts and getting drunk at the resorts "club" (the highlight of the decor of said "club" was a paper-mache spaceship....but hey- the drinks were free so you can't beat it*). But given that we are comfortable Jews, but not extravagant ones, that was a one time deal (although, I mentioned it this Thanksgiving and wasn’t immediately shot down, so maybe we will have to launch an 2009 nagging campaign to rediscover our Jewish heritage among the margaritas and all-you-can-eat sushi buffets).
Since then, I have really come to like not celebrating Christmas. Dare-I-say, I celebrate not celebrating. All the pressure to buy the perfect gift, all the lines at the mall, all the holiday traveling and cooking and hanging up lights and decorating trees and wearing of Christmas sweaters. No thanks. I would much rather watch a movie (or maybe two) and then nom-nom on some Chinese food. Because I like the movies, and I LOVE Chinese food, and laying in bed and watching a Christmas Story sounds like the perfect amount of holiday cheer. I don’t ever even have to change out of my yoga pants.
Today my plans are:
Sleep until 1 pm: Check
Eat Chocolate Chip Pancakes: Check
Play Wii**
Finish My Book
Start Reading a New One
Cold Case Marathon!
Hit up some online sales to try and find a New Years Dress
Talk to friends to see what loot they got
Eat Chinese Food
Have Aimee and Shayna over for Wii** and wine
Be Merry, Motherfuckers
*I went on the Iberostar website to try to find a picture of said paper-mache spaceship, because it really needs to be seen by one and all. No picture, but they have resorts in Brazil, Greece, Morocco etc. 2009 nagging campaign is SO ON. I wonder if they are offering recession deals?
**OMG WE GOT A WII! SERIOUSLY, WHO NEEDS SANTA?
But Fuck No Moses, I was not giving up Christmas.
In high school, come Christmas time, I’d find myself getting uncharacteristically excited. Uncharacteristic because 1. I am a Jew, through and through. And 2. I’m not really the festive type. But Christmas always got to me. I loved the lights, loved the Christmas specials and the merriment and the shopping and the time off school and buying gifts and receiving them and always figuring out who had who for Secret Santa and ruining Aimee’s entire year. When I worked at the daycare (which was nearly all of high school) we would start using Santa as a threat immediately after Thanksgiving. For those of you who have never worked in childcare or actually like your children, the threat goes something like this “If you do not sit down and listen I am telling Santa not to come and to give all of your toys to the good little children, you nasty little brat!” or, the shorter version “Santa is watching and he is pissed”. Sometimes, when feeling particularly malicious, I would whip out my cell phone and pretend to call him until I heard the magic words: “I’ll be good! I promise!”
Yeah right, like Santa would ever take a call from a Jew.
During those times, I had a best friend, a BFF if you will, who always invited me to her apartment for Christmas merriment with her family. I loved those Christmas days. So cozy and warm, wearing a Christmas themed outfit, assembling her little sister’s presents from Santa, chatting with her family, eating so much shrimp that the food coma came long before the main course was served and watching a Christmas Story over and over again. Good times had by all of Jesus’ children. And me.
As often happens, said BFF started dating a psycho and moved on from us. Or any friends at all. Once again, that’s an entire separate post that I most likely will never be writing.
Anyway, afterwards, Christmas sort of lost its luster. Its not that I blame her entirely. I went to college where Christmas break became the much longer (and ever so missed, incidentally) winter break. I stopped working at the daycare, so there was no pitter-patter of excitement from little germ carriers. The Christmas spirit passed me over entirely, the first two weeks of the season consumed entirely by finals and the next so exhausted and happy to be home that I rarely left my house.
So I started to assimilate back into Jewish culture. Well, sort of. I’m still a heathen because lets be honest, being Jewish is a LOT of work. But, if there is one time a year where being a good Jew means being lazier than everyone else- its Christmas time. So now I have embraced the loveliness that is a Jewish Christmas.
The first Christmas after I was ditched by my BFF (not bitter), my whole family (cousins and grandparents included) went on an all inclusive vacation to a Mexican resort, which is pretty much as Jewish as you can get for Christmas, seeing as it was like Christmas never happen. We got on a plane on the 22nd, came back on the 28th and skipped the whole mess while sunning ourselves on the beach, eating and drinking unlimited amounts and getting drunk at the resorts "club" (the highlight of the decor of said "club" was a paper-mache spaceship....but hey- the drinks were free so you can't beat it*). But given that we are comfortable Jews, but not extravagant ones, that was a one time deal (although, I mentioned it this Thanksgiving and wasn’t immediately shot down, so maybe we will have to launch an 2009 nagging campaign to rediscover our Jewish heritage among the margaritas and all-you-can-eat sushi buffets).
Since then, I have really come to like not celebrating Christmas. Dare-I-say, I celebrate not celebrating. All the pressure to buy the perfect gift, all the lines at the mall, all the holiday traveling and cooking and hanging up lights and decorating trees and wearing of Christmas sweaters. No thanks. I would much rather watch a movie (or maybe two) and then nom-nom on some Chinese food. Because I like the movies, and I LOVE Chinese food, and laying in bed and watching a Christmas Story sounds like the perfect amount of holiday cheer. I don’t ever even have to change out of my yoga pants.
Today my plans are:
Sleep until 1 pm: Check
Eat Chocolate Chip Pancakes: Check
Play Wii**
Finish My Book
Start Reading a New One
Cold Case Marathon!
Hit up some online sales to try and find a New Years Dress
Talk to friends to see what loot they got
Eat Chinese Food
Have Aimee and Shayna over for Wii** and wine
Be Merry, Motherfuckers
*I went on the Iberostar website to try to find a picture of said paper-mache spaceship, because it really needs to be seen by one and all. No picture, but they have resorts in Brazil, Greece, Morocco etc. 2009 nagging campaign is SO ON. I wonder if they are offering recession deals?
**OMG WE GOT A WII! SERIOUSLY, WHO NEEDS SANTA?
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Bring it on reverse Scurvy: An Ode to EmergenC
When my roommate arrived my freshman year of college with a first aid shoe-box filled with winter and dorm-ailments necessities, I was sure I would be putting in for a switch. Here was this girl from Arizona, armed with an arsenal of cold and flu remedies ready for the rough New Orleans winters. Was she nuts? Mentally unbalanced perhaps? A hypochondriac who would spend the entire year in bed and Lysol everything I touched for fear of germs?
Well, I was wrong. About quite a few things. First of all, my roommate was not nuts. I would have sooner cut off my right hand than voluntarily switch roommates by the second day in. We ended up living together for the remainder of college (although we did move out of the germ-infested dorms, only to be confronted with the mold infested city post-K, but that’s besides the point) and she became one of my very good friends with whom I share countless memories.
An aside: Although, in my defense, she did spend a lot of the winter in bed however, not because of hypochondria but because I have never seen anyone with a weaker immune system and allergies to generic medication. One of those treasured memories I mentioned above was having my Catholic friends over for fake-Chanukah with a Velcro Menorah and then crawling into bed with her and spoon-feeding her soup…she was too weak to sit up. It was all very Little House on the Prairie, except as far as we know she wasn’t suffering from Cholera.
I was also wrong about the first-aid shoe box, that would not only become incredibly useful, but would follow us out of the dorms, survive Katrina (unlike my bed, furniture, clothing and all other worldly possessions) and sit on the same shelf in our new apartment until the very day I moved out. It was replenished and cared for and the beacon of cures for all ailments. Menstrual cramps? Let me check the Nike box for Midol. Headache? Just do it- Advil in the Nike box. Allergies flaring up? Doctor Nike is in.
The shoe-box, it turns out, was the portal for my obsession and love for EmergenC.
For those of you unfamiliar with EmergenC, they are delicious little packets filled with 1000% of the daily value of Vitamin C. EmergenC wards off any potential illness (you know, that “ugh, I’m definitely getting sick” feeling) and gives you a boost of energy and really just tastes delicious. I have often likened the taste to Tang (mostly because while spoon-feeding it to my ex-boyfriend who was also suffering from Cholera like-symptoms, he for no apparent reason shot up in bed and said, nay shouted, “TANGY!”, which was incidentally the most animated he had been since he had become a human host for multiple unknown viruses and decided my bed would be the perfect infirmary).
Another aside: Apparently, I spoon-feed a lot of people.
Coming from a family who never made me wear a coat, let alone pumped my body with enough vitamins to kill a small goldfish, I couldn’t immediately see the benefits of EmergenC. It seemed like a marketing scam (and in truth, still does, although now instead of the word “scam”, I’d be more inclined to replace it with the word “genius”) and couldn’t possibly work. But I have been reformed.
EmergenC has saved me from many a virus. I am certain last week I would have been sprawled out in bed miserable instead of drinking martinis with my coworkers had it not been for a nearly dangerous dose of EmergenC. As I was pouring another packet in the kitchen, my coworker pointed out that too much of anything is not good and my body can’t even absorb 1000% percent of the daily value of vitamin C, let alone 4000% (okay, so I had four packets. In case you missed it, it is delicious and tastes like TANG so don’t judge me), but I am 4000% positive that EmergenC warded off whatever illness was creeping around my bloodstream (is that where viruses creep?).
But just in case I was accidentally poisoning myself, I decided to look up the dangers of having too much vitamin C. I found the standard expected stuff of course- orange skin and pupils mostly. But I also found that having too much Vitamin C and then stopping can lead to Reverse Scurvy, where your body goes into Vitamin C withdrawals. Although I am sure Reverse Scurvy is devastating to those who suffer, I cannot be alone in thinking it would be cool to have a PIRATE disease. I mean, Pirates are undeniably cool. If I were to get that disease because my EmergenC consumption is out of control, then I would surely volunteer to create the Reverse Scurvy Awareness Ribbon, which would obviously feature skulls and orange-cross bones. Really, I would be a pioneer and a champion for the cause. I would speak at dinners and make people cry and then ride the Reverse Scurvy Awareness Float at the Thanksgiving Day parade. I would obviously also get a pet Parrot named Polly, and any place that did not allow Polly on their premises would be slapped with a discrimination lawsuit. Reverse scurvy patients should not have to suffer in silence.
So really, the only risk factor involved in drinking too much EmergenC is becoming a martyr for a very worthy cause. Which is worth it, because I am very self-serving and enjoy it immensely when others think I am great. And in the meantime, I get a tasty beverage and a burst of energy AND an immune system of steel. The way I see it, its win-win.
And I hope those of you who I have spoon-fed over the years will be by my side in my hour of need, ready with spoons and non-citrus nourishment.
Well, I was wrong. About quite a few things. First of all, my roommate was not nuts. I would have sooner cut off my right hand than voluntarily switch roommates by the second day in. We ended up living together for the remainder of college (although we did move out of the germ-infested dorms, only to be confronted with the mold infested city post-K, but that’s besides the point) and she became one of my very good friends with whom I share countless memories.
An aside: Although, in my defense, she did spend a lot of the winter in bed however, not because of hypochondria but because I have never seen anyone with a weaker immune system and allergies to generic medication. One of those treasured memories I mentioned above was having my Catholic friends over for fake-Chanukah with a Velcro Menorah and then crawling into bed with her and spoon-feeding her soup…she was too weak to sit up. It was all very Little House on the Prairie, except as far as we know she wasn’t suffering from Cholera.
I was also wrong about the first-aid shoe box, that would not only become incredibly useful, but would follow us out of the dorms, survive Katrina (unlike my bed, furniture, clothing and all other worldly possessions) and sit on the same shelf in our new apartment until the very day I moved out. It was replenished and cared for and the beacon of cures for all ailments. Menstrual cramps? Let me check the Nike box for Midol. Headache? Just do it- Advil in the Nike box. Allergies flaring up? Doctor Nike is in.
The shoe-box, it turns out, was the portal for my obsession and love for EmergenC.
For those of you unfamiliar with EmergenC, they are delicious little packets filled with 1000% of the daily value of Vitamin C. EmergenC wards off any potential illness (you know, that “ugh, I’m definitely getting sick” feeling) and gives you a boost of energy and really just tastes delicious. I have often likened the taste to Tang (mostly because while spoon-feeding it to my ex-boyfriend who was also suffering from Cholera like-symptoms, he for no apparent reason shot up in bed and said, nay shouted, “TANGY!”, which was incidentally the most animated he had been since he had become a human host for multiple unknown viruses and decided my bed would be the perfect infirmary).
Another aside: Apparently, I spoon-feed a lot of people.
Coming from a family who never made me wear a coat, let alone pumped my body with enough vitamins to kill a small goldfish, I couldn’t immediately see the benefits of EmergenC. It seemed like a marketing scam (and in truth, still does, although now instead of the word “scam”, I’d be more inclined to replace it with the word “genius”) and couldn’t possibly work. But I have been reformed.
EmergenC has saved me from many a virus. I am certain last week I would have been sprawled out in bed miserable instead of drinking martinis with my coworkers had it not been for a nearly dangerous dose of EmergenC. As I was pouring another packet in the kitchen, my coworker pointed out that too much of anything is not good and my body can’t even absorb 1000% percent of the daily value of vitamin C, let alone 4000% (okay, so I had four packets. In case you missed it, it is delicious and tastes like TANG so don’t judge me), but I am 4000% positive that EmergenC warded off whatever illness was creeping around my bloodstream (is that where viruses creep?).
But just in case I was accidentally poisoning myself, I decided to look up the dangers of having too much vitamin C. I found the standard expected stuff of course- orange skin and pupils mostly. But I also found that having too much Vitamin C and then stopping can lead to Reverse Scurvy, where your body goes into Vitamin C withdrawals. Although I am sure Reverse Scurvy is devastating to those who suffer, I cannot be alone in thinking it would be cool to have a PIRATE disease. I mean, Pirates are undeniably cool. If I were to get that disease because my EmergenC consumption is out of control, then I would surely volunteer to create the Reverse Scurvy Awareness Ribbon, which would obviously feature skulls and orange-cross bones. Really, I would be a pioneer and a champion for the cause. I would speak at dinners and make people cry and then ride the Reverse Scurvy Awareness Float at the Thanksgiving Day parade. I would obviously also get a pet Parrot named Polly, and any place that did not allow Polly on their premises would be slapped with a discrimination lawsuit. Reverse scurvy patients should not have to suffer in silence.
So really, the only risk factor involved in drinking too much EmergenC is becoming a martyr for a very worthy cause. Which is worth it, because I am very self-serving and enjoy it immensely when others think I am great. And in the meantime, I get a tasty beverage and a burst of energy AND an immune system of steel. The way I see it, its win-win.
And I hope those of you who I have spoon-fed over the years will be by my side in my hour of need, ready with spoons and non-citrus nourishment.
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