11.18.2009

ki-oui


say oui to kiwi.

11.17.2009

two letters...


...make a hell of a difference.

11.11.2009

my eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the NO...

i'd like to preface this entry with a simple fact...
i am not a mean person.

far from it.
i consider myself the short stop on team forgiveness most days of the week (including the very hated tuesday).
i just don't have the energy to go out of my way to be negative...
this is, of course, unless it has something to do solely with myself.

right.
...but i digress.
(have i mentioned that i hated the way my hair looked today? i'm so trite!)

so, it's settled. i'm not wicked.

now, with that said, let me tell you something.
i was visually offended today, my readers.
visually offended in a way i have never been visually offended in my life.

i usually save this phrase for things like orangey-beige colored walls, the overuse of neon or tartan...cadavers...and they have to be cadavers that are really far along...and even then i'm more likely to be olfactorily (friday, that's not a word! i know. don't judge me!) offended before being visually offended.

so, it came as quite a surprise when i groggily emerged from the office kitchen this morning, lightly toasted bagel and coffee in hand, and bumped into von tack (see this entry as a reference point).

now, usually her daily garb only makes me mildly uncomfortable.
her wardrobe is a small snippet of post-haircut hair in the cardigan of my office existence.
it often doesn't seem to come from the land of reason...and, admittedly, i'm often a stranger there, but i find it a good place to vacation...especially when it comes to bodily coverings.

back to the issue of urgency...
i bumped into her.
...now it took a few seconds for me to focus...
but the instant i did, my eyes burst into flames...flames of confusion and disbelief.

first i saw the "streamline" (another word for disproportionately small), bright orange, patent, iridescent, metallic sneaker-shoes...i'm not giving them the full title of "sneaker"...i'd like to see an athlete get even close to a quarter mile in these things before their utter ugliness swallowed their feet whole.

then came the knee-high, crayola blue socks...a look that even lord fauntleroy gave up after he reached pre-pubescence upon which he opted for black socks and, probably, black nail polish so he could play a few emo songs on his harpsichord about his disturbing childhood. (oh, there i go again...so tangenty!)

knee-high, people...
that's the visual equivalent to playing holiday songs backwards on high speed.

next up, the bubble skirt.
now, for those of you who are not aware of what a bubble skirt is, wikipedia defines it as:

a voluminous skirt whose hem is tucked back under to create a "bubble effect" at the bottom

now, picture a bubble skirt that is iridescent blue/yellow and metallic.
...puffing out like the baked goods of an overzealous child with a muffin tray too small and a propensity for over-pouring batter.
just plain sloppy and cartoonish.
did i mention that it rustled when she walked by...
it touched my leg too and i almost screamed.

moving along, there was the black shirt...which seemed ok at first.
a brief respite from the fire that had been melting my eyes into puddles of NO...that is until i realized that the back of it was slit and tied up like a corset.
these kinds of "charming details" are best left for halloween and goth-themed parties...perhaps a premiere of one of the many vampire-based shows and/or movies that have been attacking my senses over the last couple of months.

...but, yes, corseted shirts should be something you pull out once a year to laugh at and quickly hide or send to the goodwill...
or something your pull out every 5 years to wear...
as a joke.

...and on top of this black shirt was another choice piece of eye candy ("candy" in this case means deadly poison that will crush your soul with the force of a thousand stalactites falling from the cieling of your mind and piercing the floor of your mental stability)...
a jacket...
but not just any jacket.
it was a cropped, orange, iridescent, metallic, michael jacksonian jacket...
this was the icing on the muffin.

it looked like something a disco astronaut would wear...
well, a caricature of a disco astronaut.
wait a second...was there ever a disco astronaut to begin with?
well, i assure you, if there was, he would've been wearing that jacket...but probably would've had the sense to leave all his other iridescent items at home.

my eye flames were so fierce by this point, i almost dropped to the floor to feign death for fear that her outfit would sense me and eat me alive...or at least threaten to annihilate my meek style sense.

i won't even get into her hair (ok, ok...just a little bit - fake bangs and crimping were involved!).

so, what have we learned today?
  • when leaving your home in the morning, be sure to take a quick look in the mirror and ask yourself, "would a random person on the street suspect that i'm blind and fell into a box of discarded costumes from xanadu?" - if the answer is yes, change.
  • iridescence should be left to oil puddles in parking lots and the surfaces of bubbles...if you own more than one piece of iridescent clothing, burn all but one...and make sure the one you keep is small...like a handkerchief or headband. wear this one small item with extreme caution.
  • speaking of bubbles, unless your legs are twice the length of your torso and have the same circumference as a pool cue, you are not allowed to wear a bubble skirt. if you're over 30, you should mentally prepare to be laughed at. in fact, no matter who you are, don't wear short bubble skirts...i just...just NO, ok? NO.
  • the lethal combination of "streamline" sneaker-shoes and knee-high socks may cause children, small pets and foliage to disintegrate upon your passing by...and if that effect does not occur, you can expect that you will, at least, receive many looks of disbelief from women wearing sensible shoes and slacks - please note, they are not wishing they were you. at some point, an older gentleman may offer to buy you a new outfit in order to save the world from having to see this combination ever again...and this older gentleman will be considered a hero and a philanthropist for the rest of his days on earth.
  • hair should never be two textures simultaneously...even barbie couldn't pull off that kind of poppycock.
  • do not wear orange...if you are going to wear orange, do not wear blue (blue and orange are opposites on the color-wheel, people...it makes your eyes hurt)...in the same vein, if you are going to wear orange, do not wear black...contrary to popular belief, every day is not halloween...even if this is a really liberal city.
these are the lessons...repeat them daily and this will ensure that, though you may not have a stellar wardrobe (but i'm going to assume you do if you're still reading this and aren't hurt by it - if you are hurt, i'm sorry...i'm sure you wear your iridescent clothing very well), you will be able to avoid setting people's eyes on fire...

and, really, isn't that a relief unto itself?

11.10.2009

what once was lost...now is found...

there are certain things in life that we cannot live without.

oxygen, for instance.
a good facial cleanser.
a friend that will tell you if those printed tights make you look like a textile sausage.
cookies.

the list goes on...

however, my dear readers, there was one item that i had forgotten to put on that list.
i didn't realize its importance until i was waiting to get checked by security, boarding pass in hand, at newark airport.
oh, right, right. i need a photo ID...let's see now.
where did i put my driver's license?

i rummaged through my wallet, knowing i'd find it there.
knowing it would be jammed between all those receipts.
knowing it would be the key to my entry onto that plane.
knowing it would prove that i was, in fact, who i said i was.
...then suddenly knowing that i did not have it.

panic ensues...
i felt like i was being chased down by a band of zombies...fast moving zombies burning posters of idealized depictions of los angeles.
not only did they threaten to eat my brains, but they also threatened to ruin my trip.
oh, those cursed ID-demanding airport zombies.
like airports aren't little packages of stress to begin with.

i could feel the tears welling up in my eyes.
like my day hadn't started off difficult enough with time-sensitive office demands and a failed attempt to get a ride to newark.
no. it couldn't stop there.
i had to lose my driver's license.

they (the travel gods...obviously) might as well have wrapped the entire plane with heavy duty duct tape (i'm talking about the quality stuff here, folks) and challenged me to try to tear my way in with the only equipment they found worthy of the quest...a rubber mallet.

people, i don't ever lose my license.
12 years have passed since i procured my very first one and i never once misplaced it.
suddenly, visions of me buying cigarettes in a number of drug stores flooded my mind.
the question: did they return my ID after the purchase?
...of course, at this point in my travels, the question was neither here nor there.
i mean, great.
great if i left it at the duane reade...a lot of good it would do me at that point.

so, i very meekly walked over to one of the guides...you know, the ones that look at your boarding pass and point at a line that you're supposed to run over to.
he stared at me, unforgivingly, like i was walking up to him wearing pants made of dead children.
i took a deep breath and made my plea...nearly falling to my knees with arms outstretched, willing to give up my first born and all the cookies i was planning to eat over the winter months.

he didn't flinch.
he just pointed at a line.
man, they're good at that.
ya know. pointing at lines.

so, i hastily rushed over to the line and waited.
i surveyed the various security guards checking IDs.
  • Guard 1: no nonsense type - furrowed eyebrows and a perfectly pressed uniform. possibly the kind of person that enjoyed giving people grief for wearing their pants too low. possible hobbies include...nothing. it's business all the time. ok, maybe a coin collection or they're secretly into macramé.
  • Guard 2: the joker - tie slightly askew, nudging fellow security guards. owner of overzealous eyebrows. possibly the kind of person you would not trust with your life as they would probably be the 2nd person to go in a horror movie. possible hobbies include going to bro bars and sincerely enjoying the electric slide at weddings.
  • Guard #3: the father - worn in uniform and spectacles hanging precariously at the end of the nose. likes greeting airport patrons with "and how are we today?" possibly the kind of person that owns more than one large dog and pretends to eat cookies made of playdoh gifted to them by their grandchildren just to see them smile. possible hobbies include community service and planning nice weekend excursions with their wife of 40+ years.
i think it's obvious which guard i was hoping for...
lo and behold...
"and how are we today?"

i slowly shook my head..."not good."
his response would tell me just how this was going to all go down.

his eyes turned into azure pools of complete and utter concern.
"what's wrong?"
i felt like telling him that i got beat up at school or that i ran out of my favorite crayon color.

"i lost my driver's license."

he paused and cocked his head.
he was really thinking about this.
"hm. well, let's see whatcha got!" he sang enthusiastically.

clearly, this man was going to make sure that my day was only going to get better.

i threw out every credit card, my health insurance card, and an old academic photo ID out on his table. he brought the photo ID up to my face, "let's just make sure this is you."
i condensed any remaining shreds of positivity i owned into a ball and threw out a winning smile.

he laughed, gathered up my things, called over another guard and explained my situation.

this guard looked like he was made of concrete...
rigid.
arms bent out like two parentheses hugging his torso.
he looked kinda like this:

( overcompenstation )

he had an underbite and i'm fairly certain his neck was actually a flesh-colored neck brace as it didn't afford his head an ounce of side-to-side movement.

he calmly explained that i would have to go through some extra security check points.
he said this while using a "calming" hand gesture...
i suspect it's the same gesture one would use to check the softness of a pillow constructed solely out of toothpicks and scotch tape. slow, soft, downward palm movement.
caaaaalm. caaaaalm, little lady.
i nodded and noted, in the frankiest frank tone a girl could ever frankly produce, "well, this is good. i was afraid i would be bored. this is much more interesting."

he looked at me confused and blinked a few times.
he managed a strained smile and mumbled, "the woman over there will take care of you once you're through this point."

then, as if practicing for fatherhood, the concrete man leaned over and gave me a gruff, disarmingly sturdy pat on the lower back while proclaiming, "everything will be fine."
it was just one of those moments.
it's as if he had handed me a book entitled "the art of eating glue and how to acid wash your own denim...simultaneously"...
in other words, bewildering.

i thanked him and slowly backed away, fearing that if i turned my back on him he would do something equally bizarre like break into a round of london bridge.

aaaaaaaaanyway, my dears, crisis averted.
i hopped on the bullet train to easyberg soon after...
a few swabs of boots and bags...some opening and closing of doors into "secure" areas...a handful of random comments from yours truly and i was sitting at the gate with a jamba juice in hand with a few minutes to spare.

all in all, a good experience...even without my government issued photo identification.

...and wouldn't ya know it?
after all that panic, i found it in the pocket of my parka the day i returned.

a perfect golden ticket moment...
i never thought i'd ever be so happy to see a slice of plastic in my life...especially a slice of plastic donning a highly unflattering photograph of my mug.
if i had a pension for singing catchy tunes and dancing with an old man in his PJs, you bet i would've been hopping down the street on the way to the chocolate factory...
if by chocolate factory you mean any location that isn't the DMV.

sidenote: what i forgot about was the fact that lacking government-issued identification will also hinder your ability to enter shows and bars...fail whale.

the alternative? watching a mind-blowing number of episodes of lost atop a comfy couch with your paramour while nommin' on blue chips.
what i really mean to say is that the alternative is sometimes a better option.

11.09.2009

arrivals & departures


sunrises are better shared.

11.02.2009

dear lunch, (part 4)


you're just what i needed.

11.01.2009

SAD: a recipe for attempt loaf

so, i've been thinking...pondering this general malaise of mine...and i think i've come to some sort of conclusion to explain my general journey down the emotional interstate, straight to the heart of you-make-bunny-cry-berg; a cold, dark place where things die and the land freezes over.

also known as winter.

it's the season!

the realization drop kicked me like the jackie chan of life.

that's right.
it looks like miss friday is ailing from a case of S.A.D (yes, Seasonal Affective Disorder...as much as i wished it actually stood for Super Awesome Disorder).
i never thought it would happen, but a quick wiki search has led me to believe it's true. (yes, yes, i know self-diagnosis is the devil's anvil - assuming the devil uses anvils like cartoons do.)

some people experience a serious mood change when the seasons change. They may sleep too much, have little energy, and crave sweets and starchy foods. They may also feel depressed. Though symptoms can be severe, they usually clear up.

i'm sorry, but did you get a chance to read two posts ago?
did you notice my obsession with comfort food?
did i mention that i slept till 3pm this last saturday?
did you know i eat at least 5 cookies a day?...
i bet you didn't.
i also bet you didn't know that i usually eat the first 3 all at once...like a zealous trash compactor.

so, i'm doing what any sane person with writing floating on the waves of internet ether would do.
i'm posting about it...

so, these dark mornings, dank days and darker evenings are dampening my general disposition. (did you catch the alliteration there? yes, it's all about clever literary devices here!)

i have several blog posts that haven't been posted sitting in my cue...waiting to be finished...like a row of unfrosted cupcakes.
that's sacrilege!
what is a cupcake without frosting?
it's merely a muffin, people!!!

so, i have a row of muffins...
sad muffins that aren't satisfying my standard of absurdity and ridiculous banter.
i keep revisiting these unfinished mental cakes of mine and find myself unamused, in search of something to enhance them.
literary vanilla essence...humor-inducing buttercream...
something.

SADly though, dear reader, the time has come for me to transform 3 of these half-baked muffins (or fail whale cupcakes, if you'd like to call them by their true name) and consolidate them into what could be called attempt loaf.

what you are currently reading is attempt loaf.

...so, yes, my malaise and my muffins...(there go those pesky literary devices again).

what i really need is some sort of portable sun lamp...
i'm certain if i were to procure such a device, it would be like waltzing with your favorite cartoon characters on rainbows made of candy while chocolate rain falls from the sky! (in retrospect, this sounds extremely disturbing...but, i assure you, it wouldn't be if only for the fact that you too would be animated...and i'm pretty sure i'd be much happier as an animated version of myself - please refer to this entire blog and it's lack of actual real proof that i don't exist as anything other than a drawing.)

speaking of the need for light...

"don't forget to set your clocks back!"
why, thank you for reminding me, cheerful radio personality!
i just love how happy the folks on the radio sound every year at this time.
you know what time it is...it's time to fall back.
it's time to succumb to the darkness and hope that, in the end, you don't end up a sad little lump on a broken wheelbarrow, abandoned on the side of the road somewhere in frowntown.

i get it, people.
i get that you're all really happy to get that "extra hour" of sleep, but you know what?
they stole that extra hour from somewhere else...namely, the daylight at the end of the day.
people are making excuses for it...they say it's ok...that it all makes sense.
well, you know what?
stealing is not ok.
stealing is never ok.

ok. enough. this attempt loaf need to be set out to cool.
...because it's piping hot...
if by piping hot you mean piping...not...?

i'm gonna go eat something comforting now.