1. How do you like your grits? With cheese, grillades, or shrimp.
2. Biscuits or cornbread? Tough call - biscuits are good all the time, but cornbread is AMAZING if it’s prepared properly (and, really, nothing beats some good ole Jiffy cornbread).
3. Where’s the strangest place you’ve seen bait for sale? Where haven’t I seen bait for sale…
4. What’s the funniest thing you’ve seen at a football game? My best friend burning her Ole Miss shirt on the side of the road while tailgating for an LSU game because a crazy LSU fan a) paid her to and b) bought her a new LSU shirt.
5. What’s the best deep-fried food you ever ate? Deep-fried Oreos are pretty epic. As are fried pickles. But there are so many more things that I want to try deep-fried, like Kool-Aid balls.
6. What do you mean when you say barbecue? Anything done on the grill. The sauce part is sort of beside the point.
7. What, in your opinion, is the northernmost Southern state? Virginia, though I don’t consider North Carolina to be a Southern state.
8. What do you call your grandparents?
Grandma/Grandpa - nothing exciting.
9. What’s the best dog name you’ve ever heard? Gumbo is a pretty good one, though maybe not the best. Grits is a really good one. I’m a fan of my own dog’s name, Tuxedo, but that’s not Southern.
10. What’s your beer and/or bourbon of choice? Abita Purple Haze and Maker’s Mark.
Thank you Mayor Bloomberg for continuing to say exactly what you think about anything and everything (especially because your opinions often align with mine). Street fairs are the most terrible, awful fucking things ever. Brooklyn Flea, Hester Street Fair - you guys are great. A) You don’t restrict access to 10+ city blocks, thereby compounding existing traffic issues and B) You actually have vendors with cool, unique products, delicious gourmet foods, etc. These goddamn street fairs are so incredibly awful though. Who ever thought it was a good idea to have 3 falafel stands per block for 10 blocks? Why are we allowing people to sell questionably “unused” pairs of socks - 10 pairs for $10? Why is someone forcing stale popcorn covered in cheese dust into my hand? Jesus, all I want to do is walk home from work on a Sunday afternoon in peace - navigating through a crowd full of overweight people, small children, and Asian ladies flinging beaded necklaces in my face is not enjoyable. I mean, these street fairs pretty much cost the city money. In 2007, 357 fairs only earned the city $1.6 million, which is not net of the costs that the city incurs to do things like provide police for street fairs.
Today, however, I had a pretty epic street fair experience. First, I was approached by a man with a stack of hardcover books who asked me if I would like a free book about Kabbalah. After I hesitated for a moment, he said, “I have one for women.” OK, sure, I’ll take that. He handed it to me and I walked away, at which point I realized it’s called “God Wears Lipstick.” Of course, my first thought was - oh, so God is a drag queen?
Then, I came across a Native American man walking around with a cross preaching about who-knows-what while wearing the most amazing outfit ever. He also had the most fantastic hair I’ve ever seen up close and in person. It was a mullet/braid/ponytail extravaganza.
Thank you for making today’s street messapalooza bearable, sir.
I am convinced. There is a gang in and around the Union Square Greenmarket. It’s not a typical “gang,” however. They aren’t selling drugs or poppin’ caps or doing anything of the sort. No, this “gang” is a group of men who go around preying on women that they clearly do not find attractive. I have yet to decide why they do this, but I’m going to call them “The Con Artists of Romance.” In my experience, they are primarily African American and Latino and have really great, Kanye West-esque style. They will approach a woman (usually petite and white, often one who’s looking especially sloppy at that moment) and rattle off very similar lines. It goes something like this:
Random Man: Excuse me, I just have to tell you, I saw you from afar and I had to come over and tell you how beautiful you are (usually grabs your hand at this point, or tries to), and I was just wondering if you had a boyfriend or if I could get your phone number.
Now, if one person had ever done this to me while I was at or just near the Greenmarket, I wouldn’t think it was so odd. To have had roughly four men do this in a matter of a couple months is a little strange though. Particularly because I know I am neither looking sexy when they come across me, nor am I their type. First, I am typically in workout attire (to be fair, this does involve tight, spandex leggings on most days) with dirty hair and no makeup when I go to the Greenmarket. These men, on the other hand, are impeccably dressed - some kind of hybrid between hipster and gangster. Again, like Kanye. Second, no black or Hispanic man has ever actually found me attractive. I have the body of a prepubescent teenage boy and a super preppy, J.Crew-like style. So, I just cannot understand why these men are approaching me and feeding me the same bullshit lines. Is it a social experiment? Is it some attempt to rob me or get with me for my health insurance (a man tried to do this to my mother once; thankfully, she ain’t no fool)? I really don’t know, and if anyone on here has any thoughts, let me know.
But in any case, I haven’t even gotten to the best part of this story. Last weekend, after leaving a friend’s apartment in the Murray Hill/Midtown East area, I saw one of them. Yes, one of the creepers from Union Square was walking right toward me. Suddenly, we were making eye contact. I was thinking to myself “Oh my god, this man is actually stalking me. What is going on??? Why is he approaching me?!” We finally crossed paths and he stopped me. Oh no. He said something, but I had headphones in and didn’t hear it, so - with a panicked look on my face - I took them out and prayed that a car would drive by before this man kidnapped/killed me.
Creeper: Excuse me, do you know if there’s a Starbucks around here?
Oh. My. God. What a relief. I guess I wasn’t looking grungy enough for him that day, slash I guess he didn’t recognize me. But I know who you are, sir, and I am not going to fall for your trickery and false flattery next time I see you in Union Square.
Definition: A man who essentially treats you like his girlfriend, but gets very little upside from this. He takes you on dates, pays you compliments, and cuddles with you - all while you still get to flirt with (et cetera) other men. You also use him as a hook-up buddy, but purely on your terms.
Fairly recently, I was finally convinced by a friend to create an online dating profile. Not only is that really the thing to do here in New York where people won’t even make eye contact with you, let alone ask you on a date, but it’s also something that several of my friends/sorority sisters who live all around the country are doing (one even found an actual boyfriend!). See, we all graduated from a school where, though only a handful of people were in actual “relationships,” guys and girls were always coupled up in some capacity. Therefore, I think we were all kind of looking for that out here in the real world, and it just doesn’t happen with the same kind of ease as it does when you’re drinking with boys at a frat party every night (maybe every night is an exaggeration, but you get what I’m saying). In any case, I picked OkCupid because, well, I am not going to pay money to find a man. Honestly, it’s more of a novelty than something I’m expecting to see results from (my dad always says relationships happen when you’re not looking for them), and what I like most about it isn’t even the messages from guys or the potential to meet someone. No, what I really enjoy are the personality questions and quizzes. I guess that means I’m sort of self-involved…. But I digress.
Pretty much immediately after setting up my account and filling out “About Me” questions in all kinds of silly, candid ways, I started getting a lot of profile views and messages. It started out being fun and flattering, and I was even reaching out to people that seemed interesting and who looked attractive. However, I quickly realized that most people on there, even the ones that I initially thought I had or could have some tiny spark with, are some combination of:
D) Just looking for a slampiece
Also, do you all have a startup internet company ? What does that even mean???
In addition to the bizarro people I come across on there, I’m a little bit weirded out by the “matching software” that underlies the OkCupid system. Just because I am 92% compatible with someone does not mean he is actually a good match. Just because we both enjoy cuddling does not mean he’s going to be nice to me. Just because we both believe book burning is worse than flag burning does not mean he’s going to want me for anything more than casual sex. Just because we both believe that creationism has no place in our schools does not mean he wants to give up all the random sluts on OkCupid and date me. Moreover, OkCupid seems inclined to match you with people on a really shallow level. Take a look at the email I received from them a couple of weeks in:
Just because ~125 really creepy men look at my profile every week does not mean I am “Hot!” Also, how is OkCupid going to know which men are more attractive than others in order to give me “better” match results? Furthermore, I have been getting a lot of messages and profile views from some pretty whack looking dudes, so I’m not sure that OkCupid is even holding up its end of the bargain.
However, what this website seems to be pretty spot-on with is telling you about your own personality. The more “match questions” you answer, the more OkCupid will tell you about yourself. A couple of weeks ago, it basically just said I was old fashioned and love-driven (like, duh, what girl isn’t…thank you for that revelatory diagnosis, OkCupid). Today though, after having answered 300 of these questions (I get bored late at night…), it seems to actually get me pretty well:
Sure, some of these results may look a little strange and sometimes even contradictory. But they are still pretttttay, pretttttay accurate. Anyway, I will be sure to chronicle some of the ridiculous men I come across (instead of immediately deleting their messages so as to avoid being scarred for life), so stay tuned!
After discovering this website, I may not ever leave my computer again. Holy sweet baby Jesus. I don’t typically even find some of these men attractive, but then they put on these insanely tailored suits with beautiful pick stitching and such and I am like, “Oh my god, I would do you right now.” For example (although I always think this one is sexy as hell):
Even though I haven’t lived at home since I was in high school, I also haven’t ever really been “independent.” I lived in dorms, sorority houses, off campus shitholes. Other people paid my rent and my bills. There were always people to call when things broke. When I moved to New York, however, this all changed. At first, being an independent woman was fun and exciting. I felt like Beyonce (although the song that comes to mind right now is Bootylicious, not that awful yet more fitting one from Charlie’s Angels). Then, I realized it was actually pretty challenging.
I’ve had to do things like carry desks up four flights of stairs, build furniture, and buy a drill/drill holes in things. The most awful thing I’ve had to do though is deal with the world’s most absurd refrigerator.
Okay, so raise your hand if you really know how a refrigerator works. Yeah, you probably don’t. I assumed it somehow sucked air in, cooled it, and then circulated it around the inside. Apparently not (which I’ll get to). Anyway, over time, the inside of the freezer portion of my refrigerator unit started to get pretty coated in ice. To the point that nothing would fit inside of it. And because I love ice cream and just wanted to store some in there, it was a huge problem.
I had just been gifted a pint of Chozen by a friend and just wanted to keep it frozen. So, instead of unplugging the unit, putting warm water in it, and waiting 3 hours while the ice cream melted and everything else in the fridge spoiled, I decided to just chip away at the ice with a knife (no ice picks handy). I had seen this done in the movies. Although, the movie that came to mind was one with Mandy Moore where her mom goes nuts defrosting their freezer by hand after her ex-husband remarries some young thang. So that was probably not a good movie on which to base my assumption that this was a normal, acceptable thing to do…
In any case, I started chipping away and, all of a sudden - “pshhhhhhhh” - something was spraying out of the freezer. At first, I just sat and sort of blinked / stared blankly at the refrigerator like a dumb cow; however, I suddenly realized that whatever had sprayed out at me was cold and smelled kind of funny. Then I started panicking. After calling my father and having him crack up laughing at me, I realized that what had sprayed out was coolant (even though coolant is supposed to be odorless). It circulates around the walls of the freezer/fridge all the time to keep the things inside cold and expel heat. I really started freaking out then, thinking that I had just ingested poison slash was going to go blind. So I called several refrigerator repair shops who confirmed what my father told me, but also informed me that I was not going to die or go blind (thank god). They did let me know, however, that my refrigerator would never be cold again. Needless to say, I had to buy a new fridge. Awesome. I subsequently read the user’s manual and it specifically says NOT to take any sharp objects to the interior of the unit.
What you don’t realize growing up is that independence actually just means hemorrhaging money and realizing how stupid and helpless you actually are.
Let’s face it - being a girl and getting your annual check up is not fun. The day that someone told me I only needed to go once every two years was a good one. Unfortunately, that day finally rolled around this past week. I was going to put it off, but because I have zero interest in getting preggers and wanted that BC scrip (that is, if I ever hook up again), I did the responsible thing and made an appointment. However, because I am still pretty junior at work and because I don’t really have a compelling reason to be at a doctor’s appointment instead of at work (I am young, healthy, and don’t have a pregnant wife like EVERY PERSON I WORK WITH), I decided to go and have this delightful appointment at the ass crack of dawn. What I’m about to describe was awful at the time but hi-fucking-larious in hindsight.
I arrive at 8:00am ready to fill out forms slash refuse to give them information that I can’t find a good reason to provide. In with me walks a tiny Asian woman. Really, diminutive. This lady could hardly see over the receptionist’s desk. In any case, she manages to scurry past me and get to the desk first. Fine. Whatever.
So, it wasn’t really fine. This woman was clearly batshit crazy. Started screaming about how someone called her even though she isn’t a patient. Refused to believe them when they tried to explain that it was probably a wrong number. Made this poor receptionist figure out who was working that day, if they knew her primary doctor, and all of this dumb crap. All the while, I am sitting flipping through brochures on water births and stupid things like that, stomach growling, waiting to fill out my damn forms.
Finally, this woman gives up and leaves. I fill out my papers and quickly get escorted to the room (there wasn’t anyone else there; they were all probably too busy having water births with midwives and gypsy healers or whatever these crazy modern women do). We do the appointment, blah blah blah, and then they tell me they need to take some blood to make sure I’m A-OK.
So, basically, this is my #1 fear in life. I am going to have to start taking shots of scotch before anything like this ever occurs again. The entire time, I am shaking and hyperventilating and pressing my hand so hard over my eyes to avoid seeing what’s happening that I’m surprised I didn’t go blind. Afterward, I start feeling dizzy. Like, really dizzy. Probably David Gest-level vertigo. There are spots and stars and the ground is slipping out from under me and all kinds of crazy, non-drug-induced things are happening. I inform the nurse that I’m feeling woozy. “Oh, you probably need some juice. Did you eat breakfast?” No, I didn’t, because it is pretty much 4:00am right now and I didn’t have time for that yet. Can I get some juice? “No, we don’t have that. But we do need this room.” REALLY??!? There are ZERO people here and literally 25 empty rooms. Such a helpful suggestion on the juice… Ok, fine, let me grab my purse and attempt to walk to the waiting room. I stand. And I faint. Collapsing and falling onto a large, metal scale is exciting and awesome.
Have you ever had an egg cream? I don’t think I’ve ever had a really authentic one, but I’ve had something that I think was an egg cream. Anyway, they are delicious, and this soda tastes like one. And, it’s zero calories.
Seriously, where has this been all my life? Christmas done come early.
Dating in New York is kind of difficult. There are a lot of clowns, egomaniacs, Patrick Bateman wannabes, guys who “have a start-up company.” At this point, I’m kind of over it. So, this past weekend, a friend convinced me to go out with someone who is completely not my type in an attempt to “broaden my horizons” or some ridiculous crap like that. I probably took his advice a little far when I agreed to drinks with a guy covered in tattoos who has no college degree and cuts glass for a living. I’ll admit, this guy was genuinely nice and I didn’t have an awful time, but I officially knew that things just weren’t going to work out when this conversation transpired (pretty much verbatim):
Tat Boy: You know, you have a really amazing vocabulary.
Me: (Thinking he’s making fun of me) Haha, thanks.
Tat Boy: No really, I mean, “plethora,” “juxtaposition”? That’s impressive
So, okay, maybe I’m an asshole because I somehow managed to work those words into casual conversation - but still, if they qualify as having an “amazing vocabulary,” you have probably just indicated to me that you’re not quite smart enough for me. I liked your Alien vs. Predator tattoo though…no actually I didn’t. Who spends money on that?
I’ve seen two movies in the past two weeks, and at both, I was treated to a preview for the new Footloose move. There are so many things about this preview that are terrible.
A male bonding/car fixer-upper scene
Unrealistic dance throwdowns
Julianna Hough continuing to pretend that she can act (Burlesque should have proved that one wrong for all of us, especially her)
Lines like “We didn’t come here to dance.” (Yep, we showed up to some abandoned warehouse to shank you while you have a romantic night of dancing with the scantily-clad preacher’s daughter - these stereotypes are insane)
That list could have gone on indefinitely. But the worst part of this trailer is around the 2:17 minute mark, when Julianna Hough stands on some train tracks waiting to get pancaked. Of course, the leading man saves her. But honestly, JUST LET THE BITCH GET FLATTENED. I mean, come ON. Sure, all girls like chivalry. We all secretly want a knight in shining armor. But if you are literally risking death because A) your dad is strict and won’t let you shake your groove thing in an abandoned parking lot and you are just so angsty and B) you want some boy to notice you - you probably need to be committed. I can’t be totally sure what the context of this scene is, but I am going to go out on a limb and say I probably won’t be finding out (I haven’t even seen the original). If any of you happen tofind out though, let me know (assuming you don’t gouge your eyes out before that part of the movie).
Oh, and thank you Footloose producers for using portions of slash tainting an awesome Lissie song that none of the characters in this craptastic trailer would ever actually listen to.
At some point during my college days, Wayfarers had a triumphant return. I blame Lindsay Lohan. Literally, you could not look anywhere without seeing them. For a while, I was OK with this - Grace Kelly and Ferris Bueller had both rocked them and looked pretty good while doing so. However, when people started bastardizing these classics, I decided it was high time to stow mine away. The worst form of “wayfarers” are these neon plastic beauties that you can buy in bulk from companies like Oriental Trading:
At a school that was roughly 85% Greek, these were naturally a HUGE hit amongst girls in their oversized srat tanks and matching Nike running shorts (um, don’t mind me that I am literally wearing that EXACT THING RIGHT NOW, oops). They were also pretty popular in the frat bro crowd and were typically paired with some egregious combination of basketball jerseys, flat brimmed/fitted hats, and untied Air Force 1’s (and, no, I didn’t go to school with any rap superstars).
When I moved to New York, I was pretty happy that only a small portion of the population seemed to own these awful, heinous creations - mostly just hipsters with their tight vests, coiffed facial hair, and plastic Timex watches. But then, this morning, I had the pleasure of running into a 25 or 30-year-old man heading to his Midtown office in a full suit wearing these. Seriously? What self-respecting man does this? This is why I’m not dating anyone in the city. Gross.