*11:42 AM July 26, 2010
I have some great news... I got a job! And now that we're on the same level, employment wise, I can go back to being better than you, world. I know, I'm just as happy as you are. I work as a barista at a cafe in Columbus Circle. It's so typical for a new New Yorker girl to get her first job in the city at a coffee shop. And to confirm my official New Yorker status, I got stuck in my elevator alone for a half an hour on Friday night. And lucky for you, I wrote down everything I was thinking in my phone. Enjoy...
"Totes stuck in an elevator right now... Should be feeling scared and nauseous. No. I'm pissed. I was on my way out to have a good time [despite my exhaustion and the fact that it was 11PM]. But because I'm a terrible person (who is a good friend, nurses orphaned kittens, and reads to the blind... Okay, that last one is false, but I write an awesome blog) I don't deserve to go out and have fun. Nope. Looking at a brick wall out the [elevator] window. Curse the storm and all its awesome power. And now I have to pee."
I finally figured I should work on getting out.
"Man, I wish my iPod wasn't dead. But once again, this would happen to a terrible person like me. I pushed the emergency button and it talked at me some emergency stuff. I talked back to it and it didn't answer... I then felt dumb because it isn't supposed to answer [it was a prerecorded message]. And then I felt dumb again for feeling dumb when no one even witnessed my interaction with the robot. I am ALONE in this elevator... Okay, a little nauseous now."
No one ever did come for me... glad I know for next time that there's a possibility of dying of starvation. I then started getting a little silly and weird.
"What I don't understand is how I lost service. I could send texts at the beginning of this debacle. Not now. I have no idea if someone is coming for me or anything. I can hear jingling keys from people out in the real world. I wonder what floor I'm on...? I'm so Alice In Wonderland right now. Okay my head is kind of woozy now. Yet I'm completely fine while writing this down. Ah! I moved! And again! This is terrifying hahahahahahaha."
I then started talking directly to you, world. Clearly going insane.
"Just like to add, that I'm brilliant for thinking to write this down for you, world. Win. Ugh moved again... to the first floor... I'm free! Now I can puke."
I never actually puked. I'm no wuss. Walking up the stairs.
"Awesome. I'm not going out now, so I get to walk the awesome six flight of stairs."
In bed.
"I love that my head is throbbing now that I'm OUT of the confinement cell (elevator)."
The End. I can go back to being a blob now.
Love, Me
If You Jump, I Will Too.
*9:04 AM July 20, 2010
Yes, world. I didn't accidentally put an "A" instead of a "P". It is very much nine in the morning. I don't think I have ever blogged this early. I was up at the ungodly hour of 7:30 to move my car so that I wouldn't get a ticket. And I was surprised to see screaming devil children running around the park with all the old people doing their old person version of yoga. It is the child's sole interest to disturb any sort of calm...
Since I couldn't go back to sleep I decided to finish my book. Yes, I can read. And let me ruin it for you so you feel no desire to start it. Woman is married, doesn't want children (I thought this was a safe bet for me), gets a divorce from her husband because he wants children, 250 pages go by, they get back together without resolving the baby issue... QUITE the page turner. I thought this woman was going to be my hero and be the start of the world realizing that repopulating the earth is not worth the boogers, drool and diapers. I guess it's up to me...
I went to Warped Tour this Saturday only to be blinded by pasty scenester clones with rainbow hair, walking around half naked with messages written all over them like "free hugs," "free kisses" and "free SPANKS" with an arrow pointing down to their butts. Oh, and to turn the vomit taste in your mouth to real vomit, the average age of these girls was 13. I wanted to cross out the word "spanks" and replace it with "penetration". I usually don't get so vulgar in my blog, but honestly, these girls need a slap in the face by a nun with a ruler.
I was very sorry to not see Envy On The Coast at Warped Tour because, unfortunately, they announced their break-up this week. And it's all my fault. Yes. When I found out Mike left Monty Are I, I had just finished playing their song on guitar about how much the lead singer loves his band. A half an hour before I found out about EOTC, I decided to wear their t-shirt that I haven't worn since I bought it.
So the good news is: I'm the most useless form of psychic!
The bad news is: I'm cursed.
Love, Me
Yes, world. I didn't accidentally put an "A" instead of a "P". It is very much nine in the morning. I don't think I have ever blogged this early. I was up at the ungodly hour of 7:30 to move my car so that I wouldn't get a ticket. And I was surprised to see screaming devil children running around the park with all the old people doing their old person version of yoga. It is the child's sole interest to disturb any sort of calm...
Since I couldn't go back to sleep I decided to finish my book. Yes, I can read. And let me ruin it for you so you feel no desire to start it. Woman is married, doesn't want children (I thought this was a safe bet for me), gets a divorce from her husband because he wants children, 250 pages go by, they get back together without resolving the baby issue... QUITE the page turner. I thought this woman was going to be my hero and be the start of the world realizing that repopulating the earth is not worth the boogers, drool and diapers. I guess it's up to me...
I went to Warped Tour this Saturday only to be blinded by pasty scenester clones with rainbow hair, walking around half naked with messages written all over them like "free hugs," "free kisses" and "free SPANKS" with an arrow pointing down to their butts. Oh, and to turn the vomit taste in your mouth to real vomit, the average age of these girls was 13. I wanted to cross out the word "spanks" and replace it with "penetration". I usually don't get so vulgar in my blog, but honestly, these girls need a slap in the face by a nun with a ruler.
I was very sorry to not see Envy On The Coast at Warped Tour because, unfortunately, they announced their break-up this week. And it's all my fault. Yes. When I found out Mike left Monty Are I, I had just finished playing their song on guitar about how much the lead singer loves his band. A half an hour before I found out about EOTC, I decided to wear their t-shirt that I haven't worn since I bought it.
So the good news is: I'm the most useless form of psychic!
The bad news is: I'm cursed.
Love, Me
I Hope The Radiation From My Head Exploding Makes You Sterile, World
11:38 PM July 11, 2010
When I started this blog 19 posts ago, I started it out of sadness. Lo and behold, my sadness is hilarious. And for those of you who have been dedicated readers and have followed me through my blogging journey, you know what makes my posts even more entertaining... Anger.
And so our story begins...
I took a little journey on the subway tonight. I'm a New Yorker, I don't have any other choice but to take the unreliable, rat infested, stupid, STUPID subway. I wait a good ten minutes on the platform for the F train to make an appearance. My destination is the Essex and Delancey Street stop.
I step into a fairly empty car and sit at the far end of it. I break out my trusty iPod to listen to music and to, of course, kick ass at solitaire, or as those jerks at Apple like to call it, "Klondike." That is a delectable ice cream treat guys, get over yourselves! Anyways...
Cue Mr. Creep/ potential terrorist. A greasy man from another seat comes over and sets his black bag down next to me. I look up to see him mouth and gesture something. The idiot is clearly blind and cannot see the headphones in my ear, so I take them out. He then decides to skip the verbal part and just gesture like I know ghetto sign language. This is when I firmly and not at all politely say "What?!" He says "I'll be right back," points to his bag and leaves the car. So like any other rational person, I think: Awesome. Bomb. Why didn't I write a will? Bitch is going to steal all my clothes.
Turns out he smoked a cigarette in between the cars. But this is still A. terrifying and B. not at all safe for the rest of us passengers. He comes back in, and instead of returning to his seat, he decides to sit down next to me and fill my nostrils with his tobacco stankness (if that's not a word, I just made it one).
While all of this is going on, the conductor is mumbling "Due to subway construction, this train will not be stopping at *mumble*mumble*mumble*" over the intercom. None of us can understand what the hell he's saying because who can understand "Shnarffgust barlgalham stuffancey humfgh?" So I double check with the conductor himself and ask if this train is going to stop at Essex Street. I'm quoting his exact words so there's no confusion of whether he is a complete and total LIAR. "Yes, this train. I'll get you there." Okay awesome, I continue my ride only to pass by, stop after stop, streets I don't know.
Of course it takes me very far away from Essex Street and in complete frustration, I stomped like a little girl off the train and struggled to find my way home from the downest of downtown. During this my phone AND iPod die. Cue crying baby.
The moral of the story is: My life sucks.
Love, Me
When I started this blog 19 posts ago, I started it out of sadness. Lo and behold, my sadness is hilarious. And for those of you who have been dedicated readers and have followed me through my blogging journey, you know what makes my posts even more entertaining... Anger.
And so our story begins...
I took a little journey on the subway tonight. I'm a New Yorker, I don't have any other choice but to take the unreliable, rat infested, stupid, STUPID subway. I wait a good ten minutes on the platform for the F train to make an appearance. My destination is the Essex and Delancey Street stop.
I step into a fairly empty car and sit at the far end of it. I break out my trusty iPod to listen to music and to, of course, kick ass at solitaire, or as those jerks at Apple like to call it, "Klondike." That is a delectable ice cream treat guys, get over yourselves! Anyways...
Cue Mr. Creep/ potential terrorist. A greasy man from another seat comes over and sets his black bag down next to me. I look up to see him mouth and gesture something. The idiot is clearly blind and cannot see the headphones in my ear, so I take them out. He then decides to skip the verbal part and just gesture like I know ghetto sign language. This is when I firmly and not at all politely say "What?!" He says "I'll be right back," points to his bag and leaves the car. So like any other rational person, I think: Awesome. Bomb. Why didn't I write a will? Bitch is going to steal all my clothes.
Turns out he smoked a cigarette in between the cars. But this is still A. terrifying and B. not at all safe for the rest of us passengers. He comes back in, and instead of returning to his seat, he decides to sit down next to me and fill my nostrils with his tobacco stankness (if that's not a word, I just made it one).
While all of this is going on, the conductor is mumbling "Due to subway construction, this train will not be stopping at *mumble*mumble*mumble*" over the intercom. None of us can understand what the hell he's saying because who can understand "Shnarffgust barlgalham stuffancey humfgh?" So I double check with the conductor himself and ask if this train is going to stop at Essex Street. I'm quoting his exact words so there's no confusion of whether he is a complete and total LIAR. "Yes, this train. I'll get you there." Okay awesome, I continue my ride only to pass by, stop after stop, streets I don't know.
Of course it takes me very far away from Essex Street and in complete frustration, I stomped like a little girl off the train and struggled to find my way home from the downest of downtown. During this my phone AND iPod die. Cue crying baby.
The moral of the story is: My life sucks.
Love, Me
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