Thursday, May 29, 2008
Luckily for you, today, I experienced one such surge of inspiration.
This afternoon, I was hastily riding the elevator (I'm not entirely sure you can ride an elevator hastily) downstairs to the cafeteria. The hour was 2:38 PM; the cafeteria closes daily at 3 PM, however, in typical jumping-the-gun fashion, the cafeteria staff usually begins removing all the food around 2:45 PM. (Now you see why I was trying to ride the elevator hastily.) Since it was a few hours past the usual lunch rush, I was hoping that no one would get on as I was going down. 17, 16, 15, keep going, keep going, 14, 13, almost in the clear, fingers crossed, 12, 11... and then it happens - someone gets on the elevator at the 10th floor... and GETS OFF ON THE 9th FLOOR!?!?!
Is that a joke? Who really takes the elevator one floor AND going down for Pete's sake?? I was so flabbergasted by this person's sheer laziness that I must have been standing there with my mouth hanging open. If I was going down one flight, or even up one flight, for that matter, I would take the stairs. For sure.
Clearly, I was so infuriated because I was rushing downstairs to get food before the cafe closed, but I was under the impression that elevator etiquette was an established code. Fewer than three floors? Take the stairs. More than three floors, by all means, take the elevator! Am I alone in this assumption? Have all those dirty looks I've given to people who took the elevator up or down less then three floors fallen by the wayside? Are others unaware of this code? Did I make this up?
No - I'm right - people are just lazy. And I hate it.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
After killing time, making my way down to the cafeteria as slowly as humanly possible and leisurely walking back and forth in front of the salad bar a half dozen times, pondering whether to get the soup or the tortellini, I found myself back upstairs, sitting at my desk staring off into space while twirling my hair. What to do, what to do? I had checked my go-to gossip blogs only a few moments ago - nothing new to report. My news sites (one from each side of the political spectrum) were also, sadly, without updates. Nothing new on the AP wire? How is that even possible? No new emails - in any of my 4 email accounts. I even went ahead and deleted a bunch of old emails in an attempt to kill time while simultaneously trying to tidy up and be productive. I read the newspapers I usually save for my train home. I perused hundreds of photos of celebrities from the Cannes Film Festival and the Sex and the City movie premiere and internally critiqued each and every fashion choice. (Fabulous or fashion roadkill? It was all for me to decide!) I even went as far as to look up things I had always wondered about...just for kicks - i.e. how to cook an artichoke (I've been wondering about that for a while - and now I know!) I finally resorted to having Wiki present me with random articles. But alas, I still found myself laying my head down on my desk. Isn't it sad when the Internet - the world wide web for God's sake - can't even cure my boredom?
I must have had 7 cups of coffee just so I could venture down the hall to the pantry to kill some time. And get this - I even volunteered to go down the street to pick up my boss' prescriptions at the pharmacy! Clearly, you can imagine how desperate I was to get out of the office and away from the monotony of staring at the same news article about how a British boy managed to skewer himself on a set of dried-out shark teeth while sleepwalking on Foxnews.com.
The 'Box' in this particular circumstance, refers to the actual area of intersection between two streets, usually flanked on all four sides by traffic lights. Often times, overzealous drivers will pull their cars too far into the intersection when the light is red, thus 'blocking' the aforementioned box and in the same swift motion, these cars block the crosswalk for pedestrians attempting to cross the street. See that X in the street sign above? That X signifies no entry into that zone. And those dozens of little lines all situated right next to each other? Those represent the pedestrian crosswalks - PEDESTRIAN CROSSWALKS - they are not meant to be occupied by vehicles stopped at the red light.
Not very difficult to comprehend, right? Wrong! I can't even tell you how many times I've tried to cross the street, but have been unsuccessful because my efforts have been thwarted by overzealous drivers that pull up into the intersection! Jesus! Pulling all the way up into the intersection is not going to make the red light turn green any faster. You're not going to shave off more than a few seconds from your commute by racing up the light and slamming on your breaks. I promise that you will still get through the intersection when the light finally does turn green, even if you pull up (god forbid!) behind the crosswalk instead of in the middle of the intersection.
You may be thinking - 'Elizabeth, why is this such a big deal? You don't have a car in New York City! Why are you bemoaning this so?' Let me assure you, oh patient reader, this is a big deal. As a faithful New York City pedestrian and frequent cross-walker, I find it appalling, and frankly, fucking ANNOYING, when cars sit at a light in the middle of the cross walk. Not only is it dangerous for other drivers coming in the perpendicular direction, but it eradicates any safe place for pedestrians to cross the street. And, it's really f-ing annoying to have to weave in and out in between cars just to get to the other side of the street.
I have been very tempted, when being forced to weave in between the various vehicles blocking my crosswalk, to bang on people's hoods and/or throw rocks at people's windshields. And I've come damn close let me tell you.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Do you know what I really hate?
No - not Amy Winehouse impersonators (although I just noticed the chic in the picture is so obviously attempting to replicate (a low-rent version of) the trainwreck / singer) - I hate Skunk Hair. Skunk Hair is what I refer to the - I guess it's an emo look - hairstyle in which some chunks of hair, usually the under layers, are dyed dark brown or black, and the top layers are dyed white or bleach-blond, resulting in the interesting effect modeled by our fake Ms. Winehouse. I hate this hairstyle - and really for no other reason than the fact that it's hideous. This look is not attractive in any way. Why would you want your hair to look like an oreo cookie, a cow, a converse all-star, a newspaper...? I could go on.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought the original point of dying your hair was to make it all one color - women with greying hair could rejoice and return their stray grey strands to their natural color. How did the use of hair dye evolve so? Who deemed Skunk Hair acceptable? Where did this trend originate and why? Was it an accident? Perhaps a young emo child decided to welcome the sun into his life and opted to bleach his angsty jet-black hair to a sunny blond. Perhaps he could not recruit anyone to help him, so he tried to bleach his hair himself. And perhaps, it didn't work out so well and he ended up missing a few spots and looking like a sad, sad Dalmatian. Huh?
Although I think the more likely possibility is that some egomaniac concocted the most hideous hairstyle he could think of just to see if people would mindlessly mimic it.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
By now, you probably know that I do not like being touched by strangers, having to touch strangers, rubbing up against strangers, being in any sort of close proximity to strangers etc. etc. I am easily skeeved when someone inadvertently brushes up against me on the street / in passing for 5 seconds. When a stranger's extremity leans /brushes / touches / sits / rests upon any part of me for more than those quasi-tolerable 5 seconds, I can't help but lose my mind. And this morning (ugh - I shudder to reflect on it), I traveled uptown on the 4 /5 train - one which, normally, I don't have to take (and thank god because it's always so damn crowded!) - for a doctor's appointment. The ride up to the appointment was relatively uneventful, except the train was very crowded, but I expected it to be so and therefore, it was bearable. The way back, however, was vomit-inducing.
The train was even more crowded then it was on the way uptown, but I took a deep breath, grinned (ok, i didn't grin - if you must know, I put on an angry face), and bore it... that is, until people continued to try to force themselves into the already-packed train at each and every subsequent stop. After jockeying for a better position holding onto one of the bars above the seated (lucky bastards) train patrons, and one that didn't include my face being smushed into the bossom of an abnormally tall amazon-esque woman, I, all of sudden, felt... (I can't even bring myself to conjure up the image / feeling again) someone else's ass pressing against mine. The moment I felt it, I tried to move to the right, to the left, anywhere I could to prevent the asses from pressing against each other. I swear to God, when I moved, the other ass moved along with mine. It's as if the stupid guy had squeezed himself in between my ass and some other passenger's body and could only mimic our movements due to lack of mobility. I couldn't escape the ass on ass! (Side note: was I possibly being sexually harassed, but just didn't realize it? Discuss.) I wanted to die! It was horrible. I tried to inch forward, closer to the knees of the people sitting in the seats below me, but I couldn't manage to do that without pressing my legs against the row of stranger-knees.
Let me just interject here that I hate being touched by strangers' arms, legs, backs, heads, feet, knees, etc., but being touched by someone else's butt, even if it's clothed, is truly unbearable. I honestly thought I could feel my skin crawling from sheer disgust.
Anyway - back to the story.
So I was freaking out - and I mean freaking. I was trapped with nowhere to go! I keep trying to angrily turn around and 'accidentally' nudge the dude that belonged to the offending ass, but he wouldn't turn around! I then tried to 'accidentally' loose my grip on the bar and 'bump' (ok - it was more like a plow) into his back with my elbows. Unfortunately for me, none of my usual attention-getting tactics worked and he continued his tour of obliviousness!
After trying several discreet (and not-so-discreet) defensive maneuvers, some silent gagging, and the welling up of a few tears, the ass-offender (thankfully!) got off the train leaving me and my ass alone. On his way off the train, I did notice that the ass-guy had been the same one who had struggled to squeeze himself into the train when there most-definitely was no room for him.
Ass! (Haha - no pun intended!) Clearly this fellow does not know anything about train etiquette! Let's hope I don't ever bump into him again. I may have to kill him.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Frankly, it's insulting. Getting coffee for someone is comparable to cleaning up someone else's mess. Unless, I am already out of the office (and near one of Starbucks' 2,390,478,239,048 locations) or making a trip down the hall to the pantry and offer to get you coffee, asking me to go and get you a cup of coffee is like a slap in the face. I'm already running around catering to everyone else's needs - asking me to get you coffee is basically forcing me into indentured servitude. I can't say no - because you're my boss - but it pains me to have to do it. Every time I'm asked to do this, I can feel my face muscles tighten up into an angry snarl, and no matter how much I attempt to hide my disdain, it is displayed across my face. If I ever am in the position where asking someone else to get my coffee for me is an option, I never, ever will. Swear.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Ok - so, if you're confused about the title of this post, let me clarify that I'm not talking about actual sheep here. (Who could hate sheep? They look so soft and comfy!) The term 'sheep' is what my mother and (non-conformist) 16-year-old sister use to refer to the unfortunate uniform-esque look that so many teenage girls have adopted without thought. Specifically, when traveling in packs, this phenomenon makes it impossible to identify an individual girl in the mass of stick-straight hair and head-to-toe Abercrombie / American Eagle. Hence the term sheep - each and every one of them look the same.
I find the term sheep hilarious, and hence, have decided to write angerly about it, because in the fashion melting pot that is New York City, these so-called 'sheep' stick out like a sore thumb after being slammed in a car door over and over again. So in my case, I can spot a 'sheep' - complete with thermal half-button down Abercrombie top emblazoned with the unmistakable moose logo, faded and rhinestoned American Eagle jeans with strategically-placed pre-ripped knee, Uggs, and stick-straight flat-ironed hair - a mile away, as if they had been tragically stolen away from their native habitat and dropped helpless and alone into a foreign setting.
I mean, I understand wanting to fit in with your friends, but isn't becoming a carbon copy of every other girl in Middle America a tad overkill? Seriously girls - you look foolish. No one's going to appreciate your uncanny ability to look exactly like your friends after you hit the 17 year-old mark. If you're a typical teenage girl and acceptance is the most coveted thing since the Ugg boot, spare yourself the horror that will inevitably surface within you during the first couple of weeks of college when you realize that being an Abercrombie robo-clone doesn't fly anymore.
I don't know about anyone else, but whenever I showed up at school wearing the same outfit as someone else, I was embarrassed - not pleased. Maybe times have changed since I was in high school, maybe now it's cool to look exactly like the girl that sits behind you in English class. I realize this post was a bit of a diatribe, but seriously, Abercrombie uses child labor, the clothes are made from the cheapest materials possible, and frankly, nothing in the store is that cute. We're talking Abercrombie here, not couture!
Monday, May 12, 2008
Courtesy of the Hot Topic Collection
What I'm essentially trying to say here is that Hot Topic falls into the category that stores like Joyce Leslie, Mandee, DEB, and Wet Seal fall into, although the Hot Topic brand seems to be a little more goth. These stores sell glorified stripper-wear under the guise that it's trendy and fashionable. Pleather, glitter, nylon, and mesh are not fashionable (never have been!) nor are they age-appropriate for the demographic that these stores market to.
The clothes that these stores sell are cheaply made and the shoddy construction is obvious. I cringe anytime I see a gaggle of teeny-bopper girls running around decked out in Wet Seal's finest. I tend to steer clear of stores that specialize in all things plastic, stretchy, and shiny. These materials generally do not exude class, but apparently, 15-year-old girls from Middle America haven't yet caught on. Wet Seal must have one hell of a PR guy - no matter how cheaply made and shoddily-constructed the store's garments are, the tweens keep on coming in - in droves.
I understand that Wet Seal or Mandee may be a cheaper alternative to overly-expensive trendy stores that cater to to the teeny-bopper set like Anthropologie, Armani Exchange, and Diesel. But there is a way to go inexpensive without looking like a $2 a-night-child prostitute. Ever heard of The Gap or H&M? The ratio of pleather to cotton at either of these two stores is far smaller than at Hot Topic / Wet Seat / Mandee / Joyce Leslie. And I'm pretty sure the prices are comparable - not that I've been into a Joyce Leslie since freshman year in college when I purchased a 100% polyester plaid kilt with an up-to-there hemline to wear as part of my naughty Catholic school girl Halloween costume. And for the record, I would just like to say that I only ventured into Joyce Leslie because it was around the corner from my dorm and I had less than two hours to throw together the costume.
Anyway, all I am saying here is that there really is no excuse to patronize any of the aforementioned stores - unless you are deliberately trying to go for the baby prostitute look. See below for more examples.
Courtesy of the Wet Seal Collection
Above is a particularly hideous example of the what I like to call to 80s Slouchy Boots. Surprise surprise! I hate 80s Slouchy Boots! This is not going to be a very lengthy post because, for this particular topic, I really have no good reason behind my hatred. I just think 80s Slouchy Boots are disgusting. The way the slouch falls and gathers around the wearer's ankle, the ambiguity generated from the kind of rounded / kind of pointed toe, the heinous kitten heel - I can't pinpoint just one reason why these particualr boots offend me so; I think it's the combination of the aforementioned characteristics that repulses me.
And you might say, 'Liz, come on - you're being dramatic. They're just shoes; how could you really hate them so much?' And, in response, I would say(probably in a pretty snippy way) that shoes make the man and that walking around New York City, I see hundreds of pairs of these atrocities EVERY SINGLE DAY. I could not escape them if I tried. It's as if every hipster girl walking around the city has decided to flaut their boots in my face to make me uncomfortable. And yes, these boots do make me uncomfortable.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
So I can't believe I didn't think about this earlier - I really hate white people who wear their hair in dreads. And I'm going to get right to the point here and not dilly-dally around the root of the issue. Dreads on white people are really gross because the texture of white people's hair makes their hair look dirty more or less after one day of not washing it. That's the reality. The texture just does not accommodate this look. If you're white and you wear dreads, your hair will inevitably look dirty, greasy, and unkempt (I get that that's kind of the intention with dreadlocks, but white people hair looks particuarly bad when left unbrushed for 11 months.)
I, for one, could never wear dreads, even if I wanted to, because (let me give you an example) my hair will be dirty by the time I wake up in the morning even if I've washed it the night before. So just imagine what that would look like a million times over: pretty grim, isn't it? By the time my hair would even form the dreads (if it could even do that is debatable because my hair is so freaking thin), there would most definitely be animals or insects nesting there and/or an oil slick would have developed. It's really an unattractive concept.
And I am all for self-expression, etc., but I also can't help feeling that white people with dreads are trying to present an image of themselves as something that they're not. Disagree if you will, but most of the whities with dreads that I've met have all turned out to be HUGE posers. Maybe it's just those few who sully the good name for the rest of the white-dread-wearers; maybe not, but I am going to stand firm on my belief that white people should stay away from dreads at all cost. There's just something icky about it - both to look at and the general vibe that it gives off.
So I just read the Perez Hilton, the self-absorbed gossip blogger turned 'celebrity' (in his own mind), has just been offered the opportunity to design a line of clothes for Hot Topic. GIVE ME A MOTHERFUCKING BREAK! Have you seen the things that this fellow wears out? He looks like a walking balloon animal. I hope to the heavens that no one buys this line. If anyone does they'll only be adding another dimension to Perez's already-overstuffed, pompous, and inflated ego. I will also mention that the dude has absolutely no design or fashion credentials. Apparently (according to an article from OK Magazine: http://www.okmagazine.com/news/view/6461), this line is "a natural next step" for Perez (who's real name is Mario Lavandeira, which, in my opinion, is a much better name than Perez Hilton - could he be any more desperate to be a celebrity/socialite?) because he has a "good eye for what's hot and what's not." Oh my goodness, I am going to vomit. He has got to be kidding! If the offer had been extended by a store any more reputable than Hot Topic, I would be forced to riot. I think I'm going to need to sit in front of the toilet for a little while. That is all.
Example Numero Uno
Example Numero Dos
Monday, May 5, 2008
I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that every single dish that I found in our cupboards (and that I did not wash myself) was dirty even though it was supposed to be clean. I don't know what to do! I wasn't going to re-wash all the dishes in the cabinent and I certainly did not feel like re-washing each dish before I went to use it.
Perhaps I am mistaken, but I was under the impression that washing a dish was a pretty simple concept. All you need to do is wet the dish, soap it up via sponge, Brillo pad, scrubbing brush, or whatever your dish-washing weapon of choice may be, scrub off all of the caked-on food, and then rinse under the faucet. Apparently this concept must not be as easy to handle as I had originally thought as I continued to reach into the cabinent and pull out bowls with caked on macaroni, plates sprinkled with green crud, and cups covered in water and soap stains.
First of all, this is gross and second of all, if you're going to wash a dish half-assed, you might as well not wash it at all because when food's been stuck to and dried on a dish for days on end, there's not much hope in getting it off.
Needless to say, I stopped eating at the apartment.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
What do you know about design Heidi Montag, Amanda Bynes, Jennifer Lopez or Paris Hilton? Clearly nothing. Has anyone ever taken a peek at the so-called fashion line Just Sweet designed by J. Lo? Everything in the line looks like it was carved out of the same huge piece of shiny purple polyester. I had the unfortunate experience of accidentally brushing up against one of J. Lo's polyester tent dresses and instantaneously developed a rash from the sheer cheapness of the fabric.
"No self-respecting grown woman should allow herself to be seen in these garments. Only two of the twelve items have sleeves, and just one — a pair of jeans — extends past mid-thigh. In fact, only one other thing extends past the upper thigh: a dress that would have been mildly acceptable had it not been made from the kind of cotton you usually only see on Target’s discount panties."
Maybe so many celebrities are given their own clothing lines because so many people try to emulate the way celebrities dress. But I'll let you in on a little secret: celebrities are dressed by stylists. Celebrities' styles are created by stylists. Celebrities don't dress themselves! The stylists should be the ones given the clothing lines. They know about fashion! They're stylists!
And another question: do we actually think that the celebrities would where their own lines? Absolutely not! And you want to know why? Because celebrity lines are watered-down, cheaply-made versions of the clothes they wear. We're talking obvious emulations of last season's Dolce & Gabanna, Fendi, and Marc Jacobs designs that celebrity stylists picked out for stars to wear several award shows ago. The celebrity is not concerned with creating well-designed, good quality clothes; a hastily-designed clothing line allows a celebrity to add the title of 'designer' to their resume. You better believe that that's the only reason celebrities do it.