Tag Archives: fail

Slow descent into insanity or best idea ever?

But... It SMELLS like vodka

Yesterday as I was standing in Duane Reade, buying my lunch (yes… I do buy my lunch at the pharmacy), I was thinking about what a bad mood I was in. I’m two years into this whole financial independence thing, but I have yet to learn any lessons about not spending with reckless abandon for the first three weeks of the month, only to suffer for the last. I become an insufferable human in the days leading up to payday, and it’s my own damn fault every time.

I don’t know if I’m getting worse at handling my money and therefore more pathetic, or if the level of self-hatred is growing because, seriously… WTF is my problem? Today I got super depressed about the fact that my inner monologue took this turn:

“Ok, what type of cheese should I buy? Oh, damnit, this Duane Reade doesn’t have light cheese. Oh wait, they have string cheese. Aw shit, I can’t afford $6 string cheese. Well… there’s American cheese. How many calories are in a piece of American cheese? 60? Ok, I can do that. Oh look! They have lite American cheese! Aw shit, I can’t afford the lite American cheese either.”

After a moment of feeling sorry for myself, I realized how great it would be to keep track of these moments in my life. Why can’t life be like a video game, except one that gives me points for hitting new lows? If standing in a pharmacy, contemplating the price to calorie ratio of cheese prompted a booming, “NEW LOW ACHIEVED!” and then one of those stars from Mario Party showed up over my head, sucking at life be amazing! So many people would be happier!

I mentioned this to Austin later, and he immediately made me a picture… Because that’s what we do for each other when we’re sad. Suddenly, I was able to transform the cheese episode into an awesome video game moment:

It helped. And today, when I found myself (half-heartedly) contemplating drinking hand sanitizer because I can’t afford a martini and I could really, really use one today, a little voice in my head went, “NEW LOW ACHIEVED!”

I’ve named my little icon guy George FuckYouton, and Austin and I have some ideas for ways the Presidents can help document my lows (and maybe even highs). Get ready for the best video game ever (or for me to be institutionalized very shortly).

Peace, love and could you spare some string cheese?


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No, Bowlmor. Just… No.

As you know, subway posters are an endless source of entertainment to me. This morning as I was riding the train and feeling angry about the fact that I didn’t win last night’s $550 million dollar lottery drawing, I suddenly realized I was staring at this terrible advertisement for Bowlmor.

Who goes bowling in a cocktail dress?

Ohhh, look! They’re having so much fun bowling!

BUT WAIT. Take a closer look –


“Getting jumped in an alley has never been THIS much fun…”?!?!?!

I’m pretty sure this conversation has never occurred in the history of anything EVER.

Guy walks into a bar, guy has a black eye and his jacket is ripped up. 

Guy’s Friend – “DUDE! What happened?? Are you ok?”

Guy – “Yeah, I’m fine. I just got jumped in the alley on my way here from work.”

Guy’s Friend – “Oh, shit man…. So… How was it?” 

Guy – “You know, I’ve had better.”


I am using a lot of exclamation points, I know. But that’s because this ad is a total fail and I’m still pissed about the fact that I didn’t magically become a millionaire last night. I’m directing my anger towards Bowlmor. They deserve it.

Bowlmor people, if for some reason you happen across this post, I’ve designed a new poster for your Spring campaign.
I think you’re going to LOVE it.

Original photo courtesy of http://www.kravchicks.org. I think your site is serious, Krav Chicks, I’m sorry.

Angry, angry, and still angry about the lotto results, 


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And this is why I’m not a fashion blogger

My sister-in-law recently launched an awesome new website – it’s kinda like Forever21, but there’s less teeny/tie-dyed things and a better curated handbag selection. So, she sent me some super cute accessories and I promised to take some Lookbook style photos for her.

After trying to do this, I now have mad respect for my favorite fashion bloggers. Every time I read Cupcakes and Cashmere I’m all, “Whatever, her boyfriend takes those photos and she knows how to use photoshop.” Now that I’ve attempted this formula, I understand how difficult it is to 1. Look effortlessly cute while standing in a street/ alley/ barn and 2. Instruct your significant other, who doesn’t spend hours reading fashion blogs, on how to choose the best moments to take a photo AND 3. Learn how to use fucking photoshop. Shit is hard. Also, I have now decided that fashion bloggers probably don’t use an iPhone to take their pictures.

ANYWAY. While, I won’t be sending these photos to my sister-in-law, I realized when boyfriend and I slid into the cab last Friday night that I had to share them with all of you. We’d just finished dinner at the Smith, and after 2 or so glasses of wine I was feeling brave enough to be photographed.

“Here! This is the perfect spot!” I threw my purse on the ground because it didn’t match my shoes.

“Ummm, how do I work this thing?” Chris as an android. Poor thing.

“Focus mainly on my shoes. It’s about the shoes.”

“I don’t know that the light directly above your forehead is the best choice for this photo shoot.”

“Just take a picture of my shoes and make the rest blurry!!” I clearly don’t understand how cameras work.

The ‘photoshoot’ ended by a group of older, drunk people walking out of the back exit of the restaurant and stepping onto my purse, and then the guy who stepped on my pursing didn’t apologize but instead said, “Oh! Good! For a second I thought that was a rat.”

Annnnndddddd here’s why I’ll never have a fashion blog:

Attempted look: “Effortlessly cute.”

Attempted look: “Oh, you’re taking a pic of me? I was just looking to the side and thinking about how awesome I am.”
Actual look: “No, I’m really sorry. I don’t have 25 cents. Oh… God bless you too?”

Attempted look: “Super blurry, yet amazingly fashionable pic of my shoes!”
Actual look: Chris accidentally pressed the ‘capture’ button while trying to figure out the whole focus-on-the-shoes-everything-else-is-blurry thing.

Attempted look: “Something unexpected happened, but I’m so fashionable that the only way you can tell something unexpected happened is that my hair is now wavy.”
Actual look: “WTF. My purse is NOT a rat. If he broke my BRAND NEW F21 sunglasses I’m gonna freak out bc I can’t afford another pair!”

After my failed photo session with Chris, I comforted myself by knowing that both Austin and Shiva have the blog/photo thing on lockdown. One day I’ll look all model-y as a result of their photo skills…. Or I’ll just use Angela instead of me. She always looks model-y.

If you’d like to read my non-photo related fashion blogging debut, you can right here. I don’t curse or talk about alcohol once! Can you believe it?

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Notes from the week

The past week was full of important landmarks for me. Here’s a list of them, as well as some not-so-important but noteworthy items:

1.) Weekend wins: Some of my favorite friends came to visit New York last weekend, and we didn’t waste a second of our time on things like sobriety or culture. It was one of the best weekends I’ve had since moving here. As a result of all the drinking, I made two bodega stops over the course of the weekend and BOTH TIMES I WON. The less exciting win was the discount I received on an arm full of candy I purchased – “All of this is five dollars, but for you, I charge three.” #fatwin. The super exciting win happened around 4 AM on Friday night, when I was waiting for my spicy special, philly cheesesteak and mozzarella sticks to finish cooking. A drunk, old fat man walked into the bodega to buy beer. He looked me up and down and walked to get his six pack. He must have been struck by my beauty; I was wearing a skimpy peach minidress and clinging to an assortment of cookies and candy… Sexy, right? Anyway, he walked up to the counter and says, “This beer and everything she’s having.” The clerk looked at him like you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into buddy, and goes, “Nonono. She has many other things.” The drunk man waved his hand up as if money was immaterial, purchased my $30 worth of drunk binge food and disappeared into the the night. Now I understand the allure of a sugar daddy…

2.) Summer’s arrival: Sure, it rained all week, but last weekend I got a fucking sun tan. I can honestly tell you the last time my skin was anything but disgustingly pale was two years ago. I’ve started carrying printer paper to the Duane Reade so I can make sure I’m properly matching my skin tone to my makeup.

Of course, along with the heat comes the need for an AC, so on Tuesday night I carried my window unit down our long hallways and propped it up in my window. I love my AC so much that I named him last year.

This is Coolio-

Welcome back Coolio, I’ll sing the theme song to Kenan & Kel to you all summer

3.) I STARTED MY NEW JOB!!!!: I’m super excited about this one. After a week of not fielding angry phone calls and emails from everyone and (sometimes literally) their mom, I remember that I like working. On top of that, working for a more established company comes with big perks like A KEURIG, AN IT DEPARTMENT, A REGULAR SIZED REFRIGERATOR, FAST ELEVATORS. I even have an ID badge to get into my building. Bad. Ass.

4.) Failing at the Financial District: I’m working in an entirely different area of town and it’s really cool to be somewhere new, especially a place that’s so iconically New York. On my walk to the subway every night I stare up at the new World Trade Center, and I walk past all these beautiful historical churches and cemeteries every day. That being said, it’s a confusing area. It’s not a grid, there are tourists everywhere and I keep fucking up with the subway.

Example 1 – There are like 14 entrances to the Fulton Street station, and I found a new one that’s super close to my gym yesterday. I was feeling so cool and I was so enthralled with playing Angry Birds on the platform/train that I wasn’t paying attention to anything going on around me. About 20 minutes later I looked up and realized I was not, in fact, almost to 23rd street, but instead I was deep in Brooklyn.

Example 2 – Earlier in the week, I’d found another entrance to Fulton Street that was more convenient than my first station and I hadn’t yet remembered Angry Birds, so I was very focused on my surroundings. As soon as I swiped into the station I realized that I’d swiped into a platform with a train only going in one direction. I wasn’t sure of the direction, and rather than asking someone I decided to walk out of the station and check for myself. It turned out it was the correct direction, but when I went to reswipe my monthly MetroCard I got the stupid Just Used message that turnstiles give you to avoid people sharing MetroCards. I’m poorer than anything right now, so rather than purchasing a one ride ticket for $3, I walked the four blocks to another station.

The turnstiles are smarter than I anticipated. I got the Just Used message from that one too. After a few very frustrating minutes of waiting, I saw a Youth jump over one of the turnstiles. I looked around, waited for all the people in suits to swipe in, and then attempted to jump over the turnstile. It turns out I do not have the tricep strength, and I ended up having to crawl underneath the turnstile. I got through this way, but not without awkwardly getting stuck underneath it for what was probably five seconds but felt like a minute.

Lesson learned (I think). I will be more conscious of my surroundings and I will not try to swipe in twice.

5.) Flailing at the gym: Now that I’m in a new area, I’m also going to a different gym than I was going to before. On Tuesday night I tried a class called Abs & Ass. There’s a couple men who like to teach classes in a ‘military style’ at Crunch, but like any other aerobic instructor they are still definitely gay. Imagine listening to a techno remix of Michael Jackson’s Black or White while some super-effeminate yet totally jacked guy yells, “Left, Left, Left Right Left!” at you. That’s really all that happens.

Eric, the Abs & Ass teacher was one of these. I’m fairly new to fitness – I started working out on a regular basis about two years ago with an amazing trainer I had in Atlanta named Ali. Our training sessions involved him making me do really simple things like squats and then laughing at me. He once said to me, “When I started training you, you were so weak that I didn’t understand how you could walk.” I miss Ali. While I’ve gotten a lot better – I can run several miles, I don’t throw up every time I work out and I understand that the elliptical was something invented so fat people can feel better – I’m still clumsy as fuck.

Eric had us doing these plank exercises that involved us laying on our side and then lifting our hips. It should have been simple enough, everyone else seemed to have no problem with it. I, on the other hand, could not manage to keep myself laying on my hip. I’m not talking about the actual movement he wanted us to do (a side plank), I just couldn’t lay on my side. As Eric walked around the classroom and yelled that we were not trying hard enough, I was continually trying to roll myself to my side, falling over onto my stomach and flailing my arms in attempts to regain my balance. Pathetic, Tiffany… Pathetic.

6.) My first Katz Deli experience: Katz Deli is super famous because it was the setting for Meg Ryan’s faked orgasm scene in When Harry Met Sally. On Thursday night, I got to try a pastrami on rye sandwich from the deli for my first time. HolyFuckingShit. I don’t even like pastrami OR rye, but oh my god this sandwich was amazing. Sidenote: It does cost $18…

I stole this photo from a google search

7.) Last, but definitely not least, my street interview: About 30 minutes before my Katz experience, I was standing outside of a concert in the LES, smoking a cigarette I’d bummed from some guy who seemed like he was giving me the cigarette just so I’d leave him alone. Another guy comes and stands next to me and introduces himself. He was a Bangladeshi masseuse who was very drunk. He offered me a free massage (which I declined) and somehow, despite my tremendous arsenal of standing outside a bar talking to a stranger questions, the conversation veered very quickly into him telling me that he masturbated a lot. It took him saying this three times, because it was hard to understand his accent, so I can assure you that it wasn’t one of those drunken word-vomit situations. He definitely meant to tell me about his extensive ‘personal’ time.

He then proceeded to interview-style ask me a number of questions about my sexual history, preferences, etc., including but not limited to asking if my gay roommate sleeps with girls too, if I like to sleep with girls and how my one-night stands have gone down. I answered far too many of these questions (mainly because I still had cigarette to finish, but also) because I figured at a certain point there would be no more questions, but the Bangladeshi guy was full of them. I eventually had to run back into the concert and hope that he wasn’t secretly a Candid Camera person asking me all about my sex life as a joke.


All in all, it was a typical New York in the summer kind of week. I’m so excited for so many more of them this year.

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