i just thought of something. i work in a publishing house. people are always going in and out of meetings, and to the bathroom in between.

so they're always carrying books to the bathroom. it looks like everyone is pooping.

hell nails

Rather than leaving my manicure feeling refreshed, satisfied, and really happy with my nails, I left the nail salon yesterday extremely pissed off and swearing off the salon forever.
I go to Heaven Nails NOT because of the decor, nail technicians, or even polish selection. It's small, not that nice, and the color selection is okay at best, although I do admit I've seen worse. Its saving grace is the fact that it is literally a couple of blocks away. First I get there, and I make the mistake of asking how long the wait will be. I should have just taken a look around and gauged for myself, but everyone was staring at me in the doorway I felt like I had to say something instead of creepily look around at peoples' fingers and toes in trying to measure how far into their mani/pedi they were. The owner, too nice and meek to the point it makes me uncomfortable, answers nervously "Uhhhhhhhh 10 meeeneeetts? Seven?" Even though I knew she was bullshitting I figured I'd already parked and made the effort (and I didn't know if other nail salons, other than this semi-illegitamate one, would be open on Labor day), so I decided to stay.
Since it was the last official weekend of summer I should have let my nails have their last hurrah and get the brightest pink I could find. But I wanted something fancy and shiny looking - if I'm getting my nails done I want them to shine and sparkle like the million......or eleven dollars I spent on them. So I chose OPI's Russian Navy. It's become the color of this summer, I can't bring myself to get anything else. I love black, but it's too nice out for that gothness. So the navy is my notch-down, plus it has a little sparkle - only in bright light, not like tranny style.
And here is where everythign began to go wrong. I waited 25 minutes, that's 18 more than what she promised. I'm irritated and annoyed with the trashy people around me getting their acrylic tips machine-filed down. Then I get the one woman I never liked. There's something that rubs me the wrong way about her. I think it's because the last time I was there, I declined the mani-pedi deal for just a manicure, heaven nails forbid. She peers down at my toenails. And by peers down I mean she fully bent over and inspected them. My toes curled into my cheapo flip flops in shame, I clearly needed a pedi. I don't have time, I told her, to which she answers "HONEY YOU NEED PEDICURE". So, she offered a "deal" where I pay for the mani-pedi but just get the mani today, if I don't have time, and get the pedi next time(?!) umm no thanks Bank of Heaven Nails. Her eyes pierced into my soul and she sneered, "OK, you the boss." umm.. k..what??
So I'm sitting there really aggravated that the one manicurist I've ever semi disliked in my life is the one I have to spend 20 minutes with. She starts filing. I ask, "Can you actually cut them?" She denied me. She actually said no. Followed by something in broken English. I couldn't understand, so I clarify "They get uncomfortable when they're long and when I'm at work, typing." More broken English. Finally, I go "Plus it's scary looking when I get a dark color and my nails are long." She continues filing. I give up. I'm a little scared of her. The overly nice owner asks HER customer next to me "Can I cut?" I'm jealous.

So I got the color I love, except I feel like a fucking witch, or my elementary he-she gym teacher Ms. Spina who always sported 10" long acrylic tips with Cowboys logo decal'ed on. Woe is me.

While visiting my friend on 3rd and 28th I spotted a cute little salon with 7$ manicures/20 manipedis. I'm excited to try this place out, especially because it's in Curry Hill. Till next time!

summer cocktails

I'm looking forward to the weekend and the insanely good weather that has been predicted. Since this is the last, not to mention long, weekend of promising sun & pool time, I need to set up shop by the pool approximately from 10am-8pm Sat-Mon evening.
This is the best I can do to preserve my tan until I dust off my Uggs and go back to overloading on BareMinerals Warmth. Oh the days of dry, winter, fake-tan skin. Can't wait to see you again.

Well for the long weekend, since I'm being lazy, I invited my friends to be lazy by my pool with me. These invitations are as scarce and sacred as the golden tickets the giant pervert candy distributor gave out, since I can't stand the following: complainers (I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, I have to pee, ...go home), ADD tanners (I have the magical ability to lay still and silently for up to 5 hours in a pool of my own sweat), not to mention it's annoying to cut into my sun time to let my guests in. Darkening my skin tone in order to appear skinnier than I am has seemingly replaced my 3-4 mile daily runs. But I decided its Labor Day weekend, I should be semi-social. So we have tentative plans to BBQ by my pool this weekend.

Thinking about the all the meat and sun to come this weekend excites me. And inspires me to mix some pretty summer cocktails. Some possible beverages of my choice this weekend:

Classic Margarita
Something about the summer makes me want to have a margarita. Oh, maybe because it's frozen and cools my sweaty body. So I thought about margaritas for a little but then remembered, 700+ calories per serving. And why the salt rim? So I can further bloat after I've consumed your thousand calorie evilness? Tequila makes my insides do backflips in fear. Only when I am desperately trying to get drunk - or am already drunk - I will shut my eyes and pinch my nose tight and then take the shot of gasoline as fast as I can, then cry a little. The salt and lime does not help, but it does make the shot-taking a fun group activity out of the worst tasting alcohol (after Zambuca). Someone took it too far with body shots, though...ew.

Having worked at Williams-Sonoma (upscale domestic goods store, or rather, the store that gives out free food) for a ridiculous 4 years - a couple of hours here and there during college breaks, I was able to sample almost everything in the store. It's actually a really fun place to work.......if you're 30 something. I worked with the cutest newlywed Susie Homemakers, and we ate and drank everything in the store. This margarita is so good you could mix an entire plastic handle of cheap tequila with it, and it would still be worth the tears pouring down your cheeks post-sip. I wonder if they still sell it? I mean honestly, it fucking better taste good considering how much WS charges for their products.

White Sangria

I love interactive food. What I mean by this is "fun" food, like fajitas (build-your-own, so fun), Thai lettuce wraps (party on a platter), multicolored drinks (I'm so easily amused) and drinks with things you can chew. I.e. bubble tea:

And the adult version:

Since I haven't been the healthiest of eaters this summer, maybe this is how I will get my vitamin C. This drink's so pretty and I won't feel like a total heifer sipping this. I found a recipe for fruity fizz white sangria, and am seriously considering attempting to create a pitcher this weekend.



Miller Chill

Recently, my parents had company over for dinner. And they brought alcoholic beverages. Did I mention they're church friends? I still feel like I'm the baby of the house, so I felt really really weird/uncomfortable drinking at the dinner table. They were grilling lots of meat, so we were drinking Miller Chill beer. Contrary to popular opinion, I fucking hate Coronas(even though shoving the lime into the skinny longneck is as "interactive" as a beer can be without doing a handstand on a keg). So I had been really hesitant to try Miller Chill. Fruity beer is weird to me. Except the orangey Blue Moon, yum. But all that beef had me parched, and my first sip was glorious. I basically chugged a couple of bottles as casually as I could at the dinner table. But whatever, I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only one, my dad and his friend were Asian glowing HARD.

Light Lime Beer- most importantly 100 calories a bottle.

So as summer-y, nice, and refreshing as all this sounds, lets face it, this is probably what I'll be "sipping" poolside all weekend:

Happy Labor Day Weekend!

...someone at my office agrees with me, and is planning on getting a head start:

wtf?

commuting gripes

I don't mind commuting. The bus comes right to my front door, and the subway drops me a block away from work. I like the fact that $200 a month buys me about 2 hours a day to be transported place to place, while napping. The bus driver can deal with the stress and anxiety that comes hand in hand with driving in New York/New Jersey, in rush hour, no less. But during those hours I have the freedom to a)fall out of consciousness or b)catch up on bbm-ing.
I don't mean - or try- to sugarcoat public transportation. It can get weird, uncomfortable, unpredictable, so on and so forth. The following really fucking pissed me off this week.

temperature control
Last summer when I was interning, I would shamelessly bring an ugly green fleece blanket onto the freezing, over-air conditioned bus, and go right to sleep. I need to do that again. On Monday, the bus was practically empty. Which made it even colder. Was the bus driver mad at us? The below-zero air blew out of the quarter-sized vents above me with such force my bones ached. It's August, so I'm obviously usually in a dress or short sleeves. I will rethink my outfit choices from here on forth. That morning, I curled up into a ball so tight someone could put me back into my mom's womb. Just kidding, she's like 85lbs. I actually had goosebumps. I was so miserable for those 45 minutes I almost cried, but held back in fear of them freezing onto my cheeks.

oh look its the 162 bus.

And that goes in the other direction, too. When my sister and I haul ass through the subway system and port authority to try and get on the bus home as soon as possible, we almost always find ourselves in a really crowded line at the gate. Everyone is sweating. I'm not kidding, everyone is glistening or has fat balls of sweat on their forehead. Even my sister who never sweats to the point that I think she lacks pores. One time we got on the bus, and I was ready to pass out from the heat (but keep in mind I have hot flashes like a menopausal woman too). We sat in the front, and I leaned over to (politely) ask the bus driver to turn the air conditioning on. In my mind, I pictured me asking, him apologizing, why of course, then turning it on, everyone clapping and cooling off. In real life....ignored. Completely. The asshole didn't bat an eyelash. I immediately became EXTREMELY aware of all the strangers around me, the passengers staring. I sank back into my seat full of shame and, oh, still sweating.

the phone talker
I, personally, let my relationships suffer because I ignore their phone calls or don't call them back. But I have reason! When I'm not working, I'm hauling ass to get TO work or to get home. Otherwise, I'm either underground or submersed in water (...tunnel) or binge eating at the dinner table or showering or getting to bed. You get my point. So sorry for my lack of service or, most importantly, my CONSIDERATION for those around me.
I got on the bus home the other day, really excited to put on my iPod and not really listen to it - or maybe for the 30 seconds before I fall into a dead coma. (PS does anyone else magically wake up right before their stop? crazy) This crazy bitch decided to dial up an old relative, or something, as soon as the bus got to rolling. What the hell, I heard everything from her daughter going on interviews to her next scheduled pedicure. And she had this ridiculous, obnoxious, honky laugh. I fucking hated her. I liked her shoes though.

the person that does not deserve public transportation
You will get this once a month, or when you've wronged the gods and they're making you pay. Sit down, adjust seat, get comfy, close your eyes. Then......a sharp finger poking at your arm fat. "EXCUSE ME??EXCUSE ME. Can you please move up your chair." No, they didn't ask, they demanded. I'm a passive aggressive vagina, so I give them my best "hate you" look and pull my chair up a little..very slowly..who has the last laugh now? Okay I'm pathetic. But honestly, and I've talked about this with many commuters, NJ Transit wouldn't give you the option of reclining if they felt it was that unbearable for an hour MAXIMUM. I've even sat in front of the asshole with the giant cardboard box in his lap that forced me to sit at a ninety degree angle for 30 minutes. I felt like I was getting punished. So sorry your legs are fat/unnecessarily long/or you yourself are just fat. Let me recline in peace, motherfucker.

smelly person
no example necessary.. you know.

I think I'm going to keep this post an open post, because I'm sure you have your stories too. peace love and nj transit.