Friday, February 27, 2009

friendly advice

Do you have a friend (or acquaintance or co-worker or relative) who gives horrible advice? The kind of advice giver who, when you say "Hey take a look at the two sleeper sofas I post-it-noted in the Macy's catalogue on the coffee table and tell me what you think," say "I think you should scrap the whole couch idea and just get a bunch of pillows; like a Moroccan theme!" And while you're looking around at your 1920s bungalow filled with craftsman furniture and furrowing your brow trying to formulate a response, they continue to sputter away "ooh, you could hang fabric on the walls...and get a hookah!" Now picturing your living room as a harem set for a Christina Aguilera video, you mumble something like "hm... hookah... right...oh! coffee's ready!" At this point your friend will mentally snap back from Rabat and you will forget about the whole thing for two weeks, until she stops by and, upon seeing your new slate grey sectional, remarks "oh...I though you were going with the pillow idea?"

My version of this friend is Gwyneth Paltrow. I mean, she hasn't personally come over and tutted at the drapes or anything, but she does regularly dispense to me the most worthless advice on the planet. It's not that the advice in her weekly e-newsletter, GOOP, is horrible, it's just utterly and completely useless. Ranging from cooking tips and parenting wisdom to travel guides and workouts ideas, the weekly dispatch is exceedingly generic, not to mention, completely ignorant of the budgets and time constraints of us mere mortals. Further, it is all written in an earnest yet patronizing voice that screams "Like me! Please, like me!...I mean you should, really for your own good."

The most recent newsletter is a traveler's guide to Paris; where to stay, what to eat, etc. On the whole it is pretty average; nothing any guidebook (or google) could't tell you. The main annoyance is when she recommends you stay at the Ritz. The Ritz? In Paris? What a ground breaking suggestion! It's like the Moroccan oasis living room; a cliche you could have thought of on your own, had you been so inclined. Mrs. Coldplay demures, "yes, it costs and arm and a leg, but it's worth it." Are you being literal? Or figurative? Because with the economy in decline, the black market has been flooded with organ donors, which is driving down prices. So really, nowadays, an arm and a leg would probably only get you a hostel with private bath. But I digress. What I had intended to say is that if you market yourself as an expert in something (or at least as someone qualified to educate others) you should be prepared to say more on the topic than Wikipedia can.
So let's amend the old adage to say "If you don't have anything inventive or useful, to say, then at least cleverly word it. Or don't say anything at all." Besides, everyone knows that the best low budget food solution in Paris is to eat falafel from the Jewish Quarter for every meal. Practical advice I didn't need an Oscar to dispense.

moroccan living room from here
photo of Gwynnie and article about GOOP here
world's best falafel from my personal collection
subscribe to GOOP

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

embarrassing fact #8

I am a lazy bitch. For any of you thinking "but you graduated college! in three years!" shut up. I have absolutely no idea how that happened since I spent most of those three years watching House on DVD, playing super nintendo, drinking, and judging hipsters. Anyways, somehow for teacher-training-school I got assigned almost THREE TIMES the amount of work that anyone else did (I know this because I went online to look at their list of assignments. lazy AND vengeful). Instead of working, like, super hard on all this, I've spent the past week watching House on DVD, playing geo-quiz on Facebook, drinking, and judging rednecks. Will I be the first to fail teacher training school? By some twist of fate will my teacher-training teacher slip and fall in the same way my freshman year piano teacher did? Leaving him clutching his back and popping pain killers all class? Until his eyes glaze over and he just starts staring at my boobs (A cups, that's how stoned he was) and ignoring how massively incorrect all my chord transpositions are? Because I'm all about easy A's. 

photo from here

either or

So this is either:

A) The cast of Lexington's School for the Creative and Performing Arts High School production of "Splendor in the Grass." This avant-garde production is set on an orbiting biodome meant to emulate the small Kansas town of the original screenplay. Deanie (center, in grey hooded top), is institutionalized in a floating capsule; driven insane after losing her first love, Bud. After his family loses their fortune in Earth's demise, Bud and his wife (standing and seated in center, both wearing knitted pants) become organic farmers in the space station's agricultural sector. After a brief reunion, Deanie and Bud realize that they cannot truly be together and she drifts off into the universal ether alone. An inspiring portrayal of a post apocalyptic return to 20th century morality gone bad. 

B) Chloƫ Sevigny's new line for Opening Cermony.

photo from here

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

ways to be cool

  • I went to work an hour late today, which meant I had to stay an hour late. Past five o'clock is when all the guys gather around one office door and talk about their corporate basketball team. They dissect each play like an NBA title was on the line, even trash talking some other office teams. All this commentary is most delightful in light of the fact that they are middle aged white men and their "plays" usually include getting poked in the eye or tripping on the way to a lay up. Occasionally, someone tosses out a gem like "I think I can be there on Saturday but it's my wife's birthday so I'll have to get permission.
  • The "payroll guy" at the test prep office uses smiley faces in his e-mails. Nothing makes me angrier than smiley faces. I don't know why. 
  • I feel like this blog should be something bigger than a narcissistic outlet for my awkward tendencies. But unfortunately, occasionally humorous, mini-essays about my embarrassing existence are the only things I have any expertise in. Except economics. Would you rather read about economics? I guess I could share my insight on the stimulus package. Main street versus wall street and the like. Although, all the major news outlets have information on that sort of thing. I'm probably the only site that can tell you about how today someone walked in on me practicing my "runway walk" in the bathroom this afternoon. 

photo from here

Monday, February 23, 2009


Yesterday my dad said he wanted to go grocery shopping. That may be a mild declaration in some households but Papa Strapless Living hadn't been in a grocery store since the late 1970s when he worked in one in college. I'm not even sure that I really believe he worked in one then; he also claims to have picked beans and tarred roofs during this era whenever he wants to let me know how lucky (lazy) I am. Anyways, apparently while on business in Pennsylvania he had some free time and went to visit Valley Forge. Why? I don't know. But on his way back to Philadelphia he stopped in Phoenixville and went to an intuitively titled establishment called "Mexican Restaurant." While there, apparently he not only had the best enchilada ever, but also drowned himself in Jarritos Tamarindo, a tamarind flavored soft drink. 
Now obsessed with the south of the border beverage, yesterday he decides he MUST go to one of the Mexican supermarkets in town to find them (do you see how I became the person that I am? Totally obsessive over random things?). Which is how I ended up across town pushing a little blue shopping cart next to my dad, in a North Face fleece and New Balances, gleefully tossing in bags of tomatillos, dried chilis, and tortillas. We also walked out with a flat of tamarind sodas. A flat. As in a wooden crate. Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go warm up the panini maker for quesadillas and work on a banner to hang over our front door. It will read "Mexican Restaurant."

photo of the beverage from here
p.s. my personal favorite jarrito is the guava.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

an open letter

Dear Saks:

Congratulations on exclusively carrying this Richard Chai lambskin coat! It's so shiny! And pleathery looking! You must be super psyched to be the only store allowed to charge $1,795 for it. How much for the bottom half?



Nook [nook] -noun: The crook of a boy's shoulder where a girl's head fits perfectly in a very snug way. Although the nook may be exercised in a standing or seated position, it is considered ideal when in a prone position. With the female's head perched between shoulder and neck she will find it easy to drape her leg over his, flutter her eyelashes against his neck, and trace the outline of his jaw, collarbone or ear. He will find it easy to smell her hair, run his fingers over her back, and playfully smack her on the butt. When two participants properly utilize a nook they will find themselves suspended in time and space; squishy and a little sweaty but not even considering showering or exercising or working or doing anything other than pressing their nose up against the neck of the other and sneaking in the smell of their skin. It is widely considered to be the nirvana of the snuggling world. 

photo from here

Saturday, February 21, 2009

a true fan

Today my friend J invited me to the University of Kentucky vs. University of Tennessee basketball game, which was pretty fabulous since I've only made it out to a couple games so far this season. Not only did I get to experience a winning UK game but all of the following:
  • The Swirl Cone: Nothing makes me more happy than soft serve ice cream. Seriously, I could probably survive on McFlurries alone (also, how weird is it that I properly pluralized McFlurry?). This is epitomized by the great swirl cone. While waiting in line for ice cream, J asked what I was getting. When I said the swirl cone she breathed a sigh of relief and said "Okay good, I was worried we couldn't be friends anymore." Real friendships are built on the perfect combination of vanilla and chocolate.

  • The Foam Finger: As a huge fan of the fist pump, I've needed a foam finger in my life for a long time. Not only does it lend a vintage vibe to your cheering, it also breeds awkwardness, which clearly I need more of.

  • The Ridiculous People Sitting Next to Us: To my left I had the sonic boom clapper. The woman was an average sized gray haired lady with manicured red nails, a Wildcat charm bracelet, and victorian style lace up boots that women of a certain age seem to like. She appeared to be totally harmless. And she was until someone: scored, made a rebound, dribbled the ball well, was substituted in, went to the bench, made a layup, made a free throw, etc. Because at these moments (approximately every 7 seconds) she would start clapping. And her clap was eerily reminiscent of a firecracker.  Two minutes into the first half I felt my hearing start to dwindle in my left ear.
Anatomy of a Hand Clap

          Sitting to J's right was a man in a white v-neck undershirt, bright blue columbia fleece, and white sneakers that men of a certain age seem to like. He appeared to be totally harmless. Until two seconds into the game. Apparently this man dislikes people from all walks of life (although has a unique hatred of referees), dispositions, races, and appearances. He is also very fond of creative and colorful language, even if he is not totally sure which genre of human being he is meant to be offending. Here are excerpts from his diatribes, as dutifully recorded by J and I on my phone:
  • "Put that jacket back on you sweat hog!" and also "Take that jacket off, it's yellow!" Tennesse coach Bruce Pearl wears a bright orange blazer when playing UK or Vanderbilt in honor of the late UT coach Ray Mears. Apparently this offended our neighbor, but he couldn't decide how to channel that anger into an effective suggestion for the coach.
  • "We're not going to lose to a bunch of rednecks/hillbillys! Go back to your trailer!" I later suggested to J that perhaps we should have recommended Jeff Foxworthy's DVD "You Might Be a Redneck If..." to him for some self awareness education. 
  • "They're from Tennessee, it's okay if you need to hit them in the mouth!" UK was the recipient of some really unfortunately refereeing choices tonight, one of them being that anytime one of our players touched a UT player we got called but they were allowed to do whatever they wanted to us without penalty. This happens all the time so I let it go, but this man decided that the answer was an increased level of violence. This way, whenever we got called it would at least be for a reason. He at several time advocated for them to all just start punching each other. 
  • "I hope you choke on a Pearl!" I'm thinking this in reference to the last name of the Coach, but I think it's one of those pre-thought out insults that works better in your head.

Bruce Pearl, not choking.
  • To the referee, "How much is that Jew paying you?" And in reference to the coach "A-rab! Get back on your camel and go home!" Bruce Pearl is Jewish and from Boston. As far as I know he has no Arabic ties. So not only is this blatantly offensive to both Jews and Arabs, it is made additionally offensive by his inability to recognize the two as separate groups of people. Awesome. Way to prove everyone's prejudices against the South right. Now excuse me while I go spend the rest of my life spreading goodwill to others to cancel out your existence. 
Bruce Pearl, as confused as I am that in 2009 people are still going for the Jew joke.
  • "Put some nuts on top and he'd be a drumstick." Does anyone know what this means? At first I was really confused because I was associating drumstick with chicken wings, until I remembered they are a type of ice cream bar often plucked from gas station freezers. But is being called an ice cream bar offensive? The next time I'm mad at someone should I say "Scallop his edges decoratively and he'd be an ice cream sandwich?"

photos from here, here, and here

Thursday, February 19, 2009


Guys, something horrible has happened. MY ACT CLASS WAS TOTALLY NORMAL. This was due to the absence of two key characters; The Kid quit the class and Ducky had strep throat. Without them, nothing complete absurd happened; just your average four hours of Hannah-induced-uncomfortableness. Since I normally attract strangeness like a magnet, someone in the class must be so resoundingly normal that it nullifies the effect. 
  • Chacos: Was wearing a plaid shirt and khakis, again. Suspect this is a uniform and in the summer the only difference is the khakis become khaki shorts. This is probably for the best because is clearly incapable of buying correctly fitting pants. Too tight, and too short. Clearly hasn't gotten to that point in his marriage where his wife buys all his clothes.
  • Stripes: Again with the striped socks! Isn't the sort of person that would answer "what time is it?" with instructions for building a clock but rather a historic look at the use of clocks throughout transcendental literature. Tonight I noticed that his left hand fingernails were clipped but not the right. Probably plays the cello. Hopefully in a jazz quartet.
  • Ted: Had a similar khaki length issue. And was wearing frightful brown shoes. Feel like by the end of the session will have found a way to sneak in lesson on inseam length and non-square-toed-loafers as an ACT example. 
                  Hopefully the return of Ducky next week will lead to a flurry of anecdotes, otherwise I promise to set sail in search of more awkward waters. 

a lizard ate my blog post

I wrote a blog post today, I swear I did. But it got stuck in my Blackberry and I can't get it to go to the internet so I'm sorry. It had to do with me being awkward at work (surprise!), i.e. getting bored and then jogging down and then back up nine flights of stairs. It wasn't really that interesting but so it goes. I would write you a new one but I have to run to teacher school at the moment so I will later.

photo from here

Tuesday, February 17, 2009


  • Today at work I was a fatty and ate my lunch during my 10 o'clock break. So in an effort to avoid eating two lunches, I scurried to the library at noon to browse for books with titles like "Men, Who Needs 'Em!" and "Cheating Men and the Women who Love Them" just for funsies. Unfortunately, I underestimated the degree to which the public library attracts homeless men like flies. And now am pretty sure I have developed some sort of disease from being trapped in an elevator with a good half dozen of them all coughing up a storm for just under thirty seconds.

  • In relaying my cast of characters from ACT training, I totally left out the actual teachers! I shall call the main instructor "Chaco," in reference to the footwear, because he graduated from a small biblical college near Lexington (where you're not allowed to dance, wear sweatpants, etc.), has a full beard, wears Patagonia-esque plaid collared shirts, MUST be a youth group leader and, I imagine, takes the aforementioned youth group on camping trips and says things like "hey man, let's go around the circle and share our feelings about JC." (FYI: I'm not trying to harsh on the Christians here. I'm just really sensitive to the antics of youth group leaders because I was raised agnostic and spent many many childhood and teenage years fending them off and saying "seriously! I don't have a void! I have my virginity and a great relationship with my parents!").  
  • The assistant teacher  (who I wish I could call by his real name because it so aptly works for him) I shall call "Stripes." Think "zany" socks, strawberry blond curls, and the most patronizing voice you have ever heard. He poses the biggest threat to my employment because nothing annoys me more than someone using their super faux-mellow 'hey are you coming on the dominican mission trip? it's gonna be really rad' patronizing voice when it is in reference to something completely asinine, like how I need to remind kids to use the online study materials. 

  • In other news, now that I'm back to ground zero in my job search, I've gone back to considering the Lexington apartment I looked at. It perfectly suits my needs and is cheap; the only thing standing in the way of me moving out is having to summon up the courage to tell my mother. It may be an insurmountable task.
shoes and cake from here, books from here, chacos from here

Monday, February 16, 2009

happiness for less than $25

I've taken up online shopping in order to dull the pain of my job rejection. It's like when you break up with a boy; even though you did the dumping it still sucks a big one. Here are a couple things that are contending to perk me up for less than a tank of gas:
I have a tendency to get addicted to exfoliator. The copy for this one specifically says "Automatically eliminates the potential for overdoing the exfoliation process" and after using a couple free samples from Sephora, I'm sold. $15 will get you a teensy tiny 1.35 oz bottle.

I desperately want to be that girl in skinny jeans, cute nubby tees and headbands but I've got to grow out my hair a few more inches and start popping Valium like crazy to get that "laid back chick that you want to take on your cross country tour" vibe. But this $22 tee might help get me there.

I do not wear animal prints ever. I have forever assigned them to headband and shoe accent arenas to avoid the dreaded "white trash" look that I've been concerned about since my mom wouldn't let me buy LA Gear light up shoes in the second grade. But wouldn't you know, in the face of all that WASP decorum, the first time a boy called me a slut was in the 7th grade before I had even had my first kiss. Since I still have a tendency to invite that label without getting to have any of the raunchy fun that can accompany it, I might as well let loose with this dress, right? $22.80 at Forever 21. 

I have a thing for oversized, kind of ridiculous, maybe even a little ugly, rings. This would be a welcome addition to my collection for $10.


So see how below it says I'm going to DC? Ignore that. The company I was going to interview with revoked their offer to pay for my airfare there (three days before the interview!). Had they told me originally I'd only be reimbursed if I was hired, I would have considered it. But how can I justify flying to DC to interview with a company so disorganized they couldn't even give me the right information off the bat or suck up the cost of their mistake? Anyways, I'm a little bummed about this development but am trying to stay positive; maybe I'll take that apartment in Lexington after all?

totally unrelated photo from here

Sunday, February 15, 2009

heading to washington

  • Guess who is going to DC next week for a job interview? Unfortunately this means I'm going to miss my next ACT training class so it'll be two weeks before my next update on Ducky and Standardized Test gang but you will get to hear: travel horror stories, tales of how ridiculous I look in skirt suits, and epic "an example of when I resolved a workplace conflict" sagas.
  • This weekend I went to Virginia for an under 24 hour vacation to attend a gallery opening of my cousin's. In exchange for driving 5 hours into the hills of Virginia and being on "alcoholic grandfather at open bar event" duty, Mama Strapless Living treated me to a trip to Beaty's shoes in Kingsport, TN. And behold:
Cole Haans for $40. It took me forever to get on board with to "bootie" but these are super comfortable (they're made in partnership with Nike Air?) and classic black.

Photobooth makes me really nervous, hence the "quoi?" expression. But check out those vicious Nine Wests ($30!!); not a bad Louboutin knockoff, eh? And yes, that is Real Housewives of Orange County on in the background. I'm nothing if not ruthlessly commited to educational programming.

Friday, February 13, 2009

class is in session

                        Today I am happy to announce that in the very near future, a whole new set of cast and characters will be appearing on Strapless Living. No, I haven't recruited more narcissistic, sometimes clever, twentysomethings to ramble in bullet form. Rather, I have stumbled upon a goldmine of ridiculousness in the form of the SAT teacher training course I am currently taking. A couple weeks ago I realized that my ratio of expendable income to free time was painfully low so I decided to share my standardized test taking prowess with the public (part time, of course). As a result I will spend four hours a week for the next month learning to mold the minds of young, probably kind-of-stupid, college bound kids into ACT test taking machines. Along with six other people who are training to teach a whole host of other exams. They are the following:

* Ducky: The "golly gee aww shucks" attorney that is training to teach the SAT. Did not score high enough on the LSAT to administer the exam, which makes me really nervous that she is actually practicing law. Is married to a man from Holland and has a child. Has super short butch hair cut and is either pregnant or severely apple shaped. Wore extremely high heels that caused her to flop excessively from side to side while walking. Is color blind.

* Ted: First year medical student at UK, training to teach the MCAT. Has two bachelors and a masters and was wearing a very slim fitting polo probably because he hasn't bought clothes since high school. Is the sort of guy that doesn't understand the reasoning behind undershirts and wears Steve Madden "casual bowling style" shoes. When the teacher told us how much the courses cost for students (A LOT) and what you would want to get for paying that much he laughed and said "a massage," but I'm pretty sure he really wanted to say "a happy ending?"

* Thin Mint (TM): Really friendly Indian guy in Abercrombie and Fitch; going to teach the MCAT. Is already the teacher's favorite. Has super strict parents so thinks that going away to Gatlinburg for the weekend his senior year of college is "wild." Talks incessantly about how much he skips class, as if this makes him appear smarter. Is going to get on the nerves of Ted halfway through next week. Kept referring to himself as a "third year senior," which I know is annoying because I wanted to do it all the time last year (what's the point of working so hard if people don't know about it?) but recognized it was totally shameless.

* Peanut Butter Pattie (PBP): Knows Thin Mint from school, also a "third year senior" Indian kid going to UK medical school next year. Is more "nice guy you want to be your lab partner" than frat boy though. Has a sort of...warble(?) in his voice that makes it difficult to understand him but he will probably annoy me the least overall.

* Pepper Ann: Going to teach the MCAT. Goes to the same small school in Lexington as my best friend (host of the BC themed party) but whom my friend doesn't really "know or like" (not a good sign when there are only 1200 people on campus). Carried a Mickey Mouse tote bag and talked about how her boyfriend is deciding between going to Harvard Business School or straight to work for Microsoft. I will try to like here because I'll feel guilty for not but will be unable to get past the Disney accessories.

* The Kid: Preparing to teach the PCAT (pharmacy school exam). Although he didn't explicitly do this, seems like the kind of guy that would say "hey, alright" before and after every sentence. Makes girls uncomfortable because it's hard to tell if he's hitting on you. Was the person who showed up without a pen.

                    So there you have it; introductions all around. Now be prepared to get a weekly update every Thursday night or Friday morning for the next month on their nuances, awkward moments, and balatantly obnoxious behavior.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

things i have learned recently

  • when listening to NPR talk about the recession, it is totally acceptable to yell pretentious things at your car stereo like "oh my god are you retarded? that is totally a monopoly under the Sherman Act! you just have to define you market in different terms! like they did with netscape navigator!" because it will make you feel better about having a degree in something nonsensical like economics.
  • some magazines claim that when you're craving chocolate you can kill that craving by eating a tablespoon of peanut butter. leaving a jar of peanut butter in your filing cabinet (um, did you think I actually have files in there?) is a good idea. Not being bothered to get a spoon from the break room and taking a big glob with your index finger is not a good idea if your boss is coming around the corner. Peanut butter finger=gross for others to see.
  • do not joke to your pharmacist that taking birth control is cheaper than a boob job. she will not laugh. in fact she will sternly stare you down and tell you all the potential side effects from the pill until you are convinced you are going to die of a blood clot.

time space continuum

I have a horrible sense of time. For real; I've lived in the same city on and off since birth and am still convinced that it takes 15 minutes to get anywhere within it. Which is why I am 49% awkwardly early, 49% awkwardly late, and 2% perfectly on time whenever I go anywhere. It is also why, when I got home at 5:00 knowing I had to leave at 5:30 thought I had enough time to: idly wander around eat chocolates from this big box of cheap valentine's candy that magically appeared on our counter, make a huge quesadilla, eat the quesadilla, and write a blog entry. And now it's 5:29 and here I am rattling this off unintelligibly. GOOD. Okay, gotta run, will be back. 

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

no words

Today I didn't blog at work (still too scared to use e-mail. although since HR already knows that my friend suggested I take condoms to my last date, I don't know what I have to be scared of) and then on my way home (in the middle of a tornado. seriously, god is like "dude, hannah, between the ice storm and your mom, I don't know how else to convince you to move out of this state") I got called for an impromptu phone interview. Which I'm really pscyhed about but it robbed me of my ability to properly string words together. I had to use so much energy to give examples of my leadership style that now if you asked me to tell you a story I would just stare blankly and then perhaps hiccup. But there are things to be told. So tomorrow I promise to do absolutely no work at work and put pen to paper for you instead. Because I love all three of you dedicated readers and I know you sat around today going "I know Hannah royally embarrassed herself this afternoon but how?"

photo from here

Tuesday, February 10, 2009


  • For some reason I think it's totally okay to say "ugh, abort." whenever I do something retarded, see something ugly, or someone is telling a run on joke that will never be funny. More than once someone has been talking about a baby and I've been clueless enough to not change my catch phrase. Am pretty sure this makes me evil.
  • Am going to look at a place to sublet tomorrow. Realize that if I don't change something about my current living situation I will fall into a deep pit of despair (perhaps fall further into a deep pit of despair is more accurate). Ideally this change would include a new area code and place of employment but cutting my 45 minute commute down to 3 minutes is at least a step in the right direction.
  • I tivoed "Lagerfeld Confidential" from the Sundance Channel last night and have been surprised how much Karl and I have in common. Seriously, he's all "I was raised without religion, worrying about sin is such a waste of time," and "I hate people that try too hard. Work hard but always appear casual." If I didn't have my father's nose I would be convinced that he was my real father. Have already upped my daily ring wearing quota from two to three since viewing. 

Monday, February 9, 2009


  • It was like a hundred degrees today. And I was that asshole at lunch who went out in their coat and scarf while there were people walking around in shorts. Awkwardly disrobing while walking and then carrying your coat around=looking like an idiot.
  • Troy was on FX tonight and I tivoed it just so I could watch that part with Brad Pitt and the priestess where he slides his hand up her dress. Does this make me a perv?
  • I think I need to go on a cell phone hiatus. Sometimes I actually hallucinate my text message noise. But without it I'll have to work all day at work. Not sure that is going to be feasible. I'd probably turn into one of those girls that eats their hair. 

Saturday, February 7, 2009

hungover saturday morning thoughts

  • I broke my old prescription sunglasses and had to drop an unfortunately large penny on new ones since I am extremely blind and not super attracted to clip on shades. But, they are super adorable and now all I have to do is wait eagerly for spring.
  • Panera hazelnut cream cheese has fewer grams of saturated fat than the regular reduced fat kind. Just in case you, like me, forgo the hazelnut because you think it's bad for you, you're now off the hook.
  • Last night I went drinking with my friend and we ran into a boy she went to school with. I decided that he was adorable and they need to go on dates and so I undertook the task of distracting his OBNOXIOUS friend. At the end of the night I was pretty drunk and obnoxious friend asked for my phone number. For some reason I felt like if I gave him an entirely fake number that would be too mean, so I would just change the last digit of my real phone number (I recognize this makes you no sense, like I said, I was drunk). Of course in my intoxicated state I totally failed this mission and gave him my real number. He called. I now have another phone number listed as "do not pick up."Good. 

Friday, February 6, 2009

I'm thinking I might just start doing my entire blog in bullet format, what do you all think? I'd have to come up with some sort of reason tying that to my blog title (free from the ties of paragraph structure? excuse me while I go kill myself) but anyways, here are random thoughts from this afternoon:
  • If you ever make homemade macaroni and cheese (which you totally should, it's so easy and good, I'll send you my recipe if you want) you should for sure bake tomato slices on the top and put paprika and nutmeg in it. But make sure you're not using old nutmeg that will get all lumpy because then you'll be merrily eating your leftovers and bite into a huge clump of nutmeg and the overwhelming taste will send you into eye watering coughing fit in your workplace break room. It will be embarrassing.
  • If you skateboard, please do not do so in the middle of the road. I respect your right to use an alternative vehicle but when I come over a hill and you're going 7 miles per hour in front of me there is a good chance I will kill you. Or at least freak out and start screaming while slamming on my breaks. So, please, take your environmentally friendly form of transportation to less busy streets (i.e. ones without a 45mph speed limit) or the sidewalk.
  • Dear friendly middle aged man in the post office: I am in a good mood today because it was sunny for the first time in months and that is why I did not initially give you my patented glare when you struck up conversation in line. But under no circumstances do I want to know how much your packages weighs, guess what is in your package, or give you credit for making perverted puns using the word "package."

Three bullet points is the best I can do for a Friday, more special thoughts in abridged format on Monday!

quick question

Sorry if my post last night was nonsensical, I literally passed out after writing it (at 7:30) with the worst headache ever and an unfinished plate of cornbread and a baked sweet potato on top of my duvet. Anyways, just wanted to send in a quick post asking if anyone has heard the new pop song that has a line that sounds like "are we human or are we dancers?" I could be hearing that wrong but sort of hope that's the actual line. Does anyone know who sings this? Or why? Or what it means?

UPDATE: Jennifer kindly informed me that this is The Killers and it's "are we dancer(singular)?" Although I love a Hunter S. Thompson references as much as the next person (and once inadvertently hotboxed at a halloween party with a danish boy dressed as Hunter S. Thompson who asked, no insisted, that my friend punch him in the face) I'm still "meh" about this song. If I happen to come across any acid this weekend, however, I'll promptly drop it and perhaps my opinion will change.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

hair cut time

I understand that when you get your hair cut and styled you need to be realistic about the type of hair you have. I have wimpy thin hair that is all "i'm curly! i'm straight! i'm frizz!" and I accept that. I'm not super demanding when I go to the hair salon, I'm open to buying the products they sell to you, and I have never once burst into tears in the chair (I usually just run out and shove my hair in a ponytail). But when you offer to diffuse my hair, since that's what I do at home, instead of straightening it, don't try to convince me that this:

Is the same as this:
I understand if you underestimated the degree to which my hair would immediately turn to fluff after being introduced to the hair dryer but y0u can't just say that it doesn't look like 1980s pageant hair when, clearly, it does. I won't believe you.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

shoe lust

I have been coveting these shoes at Macy's for months. They were originally $110, down to $55, which is a really good price but here's the thing: A)They're Steve Maddens, which I know is a popular brand but always makes me think "cheap and uncomfortable" and B) I will probably only be able to wear them perhaps twice in my lifetime since they have a 4.5 inch heel, rendering me almost 6'3. But aren't they bad ass? I feel pretty fierce (sorry sorry sorry, couldn't think of a less cliche word) stomping around in them in the shoe department. There's like twenty pairs of them left in clearance because, hello, this is Lexington, not so much need for glamazon shoes in the sorority circuit, so I keep hoping they go below $40 so I can justify the expense to myself. But I have a feeling I might just cave...

photos from nordstroms, where they're still $110.


Could have been a bigger baby in that last post? I sounded like one of those women that write sob stories to Cosmo while drinking appletinis (no offense appletini drinkers. you can envision wine coolers). Anyways, there will be no more of that silliness around here! Well, there will be (I'm only two years past a teenager, remember?) but I'll try to keep it to a minimum. Especially since I have bigger fish to fry! The first fish being that I have to do something about my job/living situation. I got semi in trouble yesterday for "personal e-mail with bad language." I was less embarassed for whatever the e-mail was (I think it was discussing the Michael Phelps drug situation) then for our pathetic HR woman (who is one of those women that is in her late twenties but acts like she's forty in oversized clothes, a penchant for hiking, and a morally righteous attitude) who had to read all my e-mail. This episode aside, I MUST, in the next thirty days or so, get either a new job or an apartment in Lexington. Neither one is fully destroying my will to live but together it's pretty tragic. Of course everytime I think about chucking my job and/or abandoning my childhood home I am hit with a waive of "responsibility guilt," which says I should be saving all the money I'd put towards rent for when I move for reals. What do you think? Pay for a mini move, some IKEA furniture and a cheap Lexington apartment or enjoy my mother's cooking until I finally cash in for a better job, at which point I won't have to go into debt to move?

Tuesday, February 3, 2009


How is it only Tuesday? Seriously, today feels like it should be, at the very least, a Wednesday. I'm totally over the work week, my new Ben Kweller album that came in the mail yesterday was a disappointment, and it snowed here again (FYI: Kentuckians, not so good in the snow). Plus, I'm having post hook up anxiety regarding Friday Night Boy. Mostly in the fact that I would greatly enjoy going out with him again but realize I totally screwed that up by getting naked on our first date (love of puns and nautical themes? how was I supposed to keep my clothes on?). Anybody have any good advice for deslutting myself? Mediocre advice, even, would be appreciated. Or should I trade in my grandmother's pearls, my patent leather headbands, and a closet full of Ralph Lauren and admit that maybe I'm just not as classy as I thought? 

photo from here


                        I have not turned into a bandit. Rather, someone in my office is microwaving fish and the smell is very close to rendering me unconscious. Disclaimer: I am extremely sensitive to smells. I can smell a clementine being peeled within fifty yards and will instantly get a migraine. Once, while snuggling into a boy's "perfect shoulder spot" I inhaled and asked "is that the blue speedstick?" (it was). So maybe I'm more pained by this smell then your average person but it is still an olfactory disaster. Imagine sauteeing wet cat food. Because this pungent odor is slowly permeating my office, I have taken to wrapping a scarf around my face and hoping that no culturally insensitive office mates suspect terrorism.

P.S. I'm getting hair cut on Thursday; please excuse the fug bangs.

Monday, February 2, 2009


I'm not sure if this is going to work but for some reason I need you all to listen to the song I've been playing on repeat all weekend (much like the way I played "Bitch" by Meredith Brooks on loop in the fifth grade). The song is Glue Girls by Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin and it is the perfect song for the moment. Not that I'm having a particularly interesting moment but the song is walking a floss-thin line of being so good and happy and pushing for spring that I have a tendency to dance around like an asshole to it and delivering a punch of insecurity, the feeling that I'm totally alone, and the want for someone to share these stupid indie band moments with. I know that's not technically a moment but that's my moment right now and when I listen to it I want to smile and be coy and cute but my stomach also tenses up and I feel a pressure on my shoulders that says "no one else is listening." So here, listen. 


Random thoughts from 1:51 on a Monday afternoon.

  • Did anyone watch the super bowl last night? I totally forgot it was on until like ten o'clock. But congratulations to any members of the "steelers' nation" that might be reading. I was super impressed by the last quarter, but I don't know ANYTHING about football so that might not count for much; I kept going "wow, that was awesome!" on totally mediocre plays and not understanding the exciting ones. But when they made the final touchdown my dad actually jumped up and down on our ottoman and attempted to justify the behavior by saying that President Obama was probably doing the same thing
  • Do all moms capitalize MOM when ending their e-mails? It always feels like she's yelling at me. 
  • Last night I had a dream that I was in charge of relocating an entire fraternity to this crazy futuristic hotel and it required lots of manipulating the hotel staff on my part. Am trying not to read too much into this. 
  • My dad is taking my mother to Paris for their 25th wedding anniversary. Am trying to find this cute since for most of my youth my parents' barely noticed eachother and a couple of years' ago my dad felt the need to complain to me about how my mother pressured him into marrying her even though he wasn't ready. Pretty much ruined any delusion I had that men will eventually mature and stop saying things like "I wasn't ready!" when they are 50 years old. 
  • Michael Phelps got caught smoking a bong. I find this hilarious. NerF/Designer's Brew, maybe you should add this illegal substance to your swimming regimen? Love New York Magazine's Daily Intel blog post about it which included the following: His apology was clevery worded. "I'm 23 years old and despite the successes I've had in the pool, I acted in a youthful and inappropriate way, not in a manner people have come to expect from me." Translation: "I'm just a kid. Remember when you were 23? You smoked pot and sat around with your hand down your pants. I won eight gold medals wearing pants so tight my junk barely fits down there."

Sunday, February 1, 2009

lyrically speaking

Sometimes when the XMU station on my radio switches to ambient noise muzak, and the pop station is playing a Leona Lewis tune, I turn to the country station. I had heard this song a couple of times but the message of it never really sunk in until I was walking downtown saturday night and not one, not two, but three boys in pick up trucks (who were all apparently listening to the same station) felt the need to sing along/holler the lyrics at me while I walked. So I present to you, Alan Jackson's "Country Boy:"

Verse One:
Excuse me ma'am, I saw you walk in
I turned around, I'm not a stalker
Where you goin? Maybe I can help ya
My tank is full, and I'd be obliged to take ya.

First of all, boys who say they aren't stalkers are almost always stalkers. Who else would feel the need to say they weren't? And as I previously explained when dissecting Taylor Swift's song, Love Story, do not go places alone with creepy boys! Did we all miss that afternoon special in fifth grade? FOCUS.

I'm a country boy, I've got a 4 wheel drive
Pile in my bed, I can take ya for a ride
Up city streets, down country roads
I can get ya where you need to go
'Cause I'm a country boy.

At this point in the song I always go, "that is the most shamelessly tacky metaphor I have ever heard." Trust me, you do not want this boy to take you "where you need to go." Find an ex-boyfriend, someone you can booty call, or buy a rabbit (once, last year, when I was lamenting my lack of boy attention, Leah suggested I could "pay for that you know" and I freaked out and screamed "LEAH! I am not getting a male escort!" so maybe my WASPishness has hindered my vibrator understanding but don't let that stop you).

Verse Two:
You sure look good, sittin' in my right seat
Buckle up, I'll take you through the five speeds
Wind it up, or I can slow it way down
In the woods or right uptown.

If this doesn't motivate you to mace any guy that comes near you in a pick up truck, maybe seeing what Alan Jackson actually looks like will:

Does the FCC know about this?