Hi few and loyal readers! I’ve had to put the blog baby on the backburner, and here’s why:
I’m writing/arranging a weekly playlist newsletter called High Fidelity and it’s WAY more regular than this thing ever was. Think of it as like the crusty red wine stain on This American Life’s crisp white button-up. Every week I pick a theme and create a Spotify playlist around that theme. Then you get some super fun content revolving around that theme. Plus jokes. I got jokes. The first four weeks have included:
Dolla Dolla Bills, Y’all
Coachella: Daisy Dukes, Feathered Headdress on Top
Hungry, Lazy & Paranoid
BUT WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN? You’ll just have to subscribe to find out. (Or don’t and then I’ll look like an asshole. Your move, hotshots. JUST KIDDING I LOVE YOU!)
“I cannot go to work today!” said little Parry E., SHAWTAY!
I have girl cramps and a dry throat,
My pants feel tight, I’ve got that bloat,
My calves are tight from one gym class,
I’m real grossed out by my fat ass,
Last night one glass turned into four,
And not just small ones, Parry Pours,
This weather’s weird, should I wear socks?
Remember when I had green Crocs?
Seriously. I had green Crocs and wore them in public for several years during college.
My neck hurts when I do my hair,
Screw this milkmaid braid, I DON’T CARE!
I swore I’d wear a pencil skirt,
And iron that new stark white shirt,
But fuck that shit, I ain’t got time,
To waste on irons in my prime,
I’m ironed out from senior year,
When I worked at Cheesecake Factory and had to produce five fucking creases in my heinous all-white uniform (with matching clogs).
Instead I’ll throw on dark green jeans,
Baggy sweater (sniff) — Is this clean?
Studded boots and drapey coat,
Can’t … button … GODDAMN THIS LADYTIME BLOAT!
Grouchy, crabby, grumpy, BOO.
I hate Mondays. How about you?
And … what? What’s that you say? You say I get paid hourly so I should probably suck it up, grab a latte and get a move on? Wait. They increased the subway fare by $.25? When did that happen?! Does anyone actually read more than 3 full pages of AM New York? What a waste.
I just wrote this really long thing about how I’m going to the gym again after a lengthy hiatus that rivals the assumed end through recent rebirth of the Backstreet Boys, but then decided to go with a quick list instead. You know, in case you want to let me earfuck you with the extended version in a book someday instead of posting it here and then rehashing it later and having people get pissy because it’s not “new” material and therefore I’m not “original” and all the sudden I’m being crucified for copying my own goddamn work. These are my struggles.
So here’s a list of the kind of people I want to bludgeon with a bodybar when I’m at the aforementioned gym:
1. Skinny people: The gym is for fatties, flabbies and average white girls with cellulite. You’re making us feel bad if we have to watch you get “toned” while we try not to suffocate in a sportsbra.
2. Fatties: Gross. So red and sweaty! Nobody wants to see that.
3. Scented people: Have you ever gotten like, SO wasted one night and then briskly walked to brunch the next day, sans shower, and like, halfway through your jalapeno-infused egg white Mexican omelet souffle with wheat toast and turkey bacon, you get really hot and suddenly you’re sweating and your sweat smells JUST like the seven jalapeno-infused margaritas you had last night when you were like, SO wasted? Yeah? It’s not cute, right? Okay, well neither is your cheap-ass, designer-impostor Bath & Body Works Vanilla Bean perfume-spritz-shit when you’re sweating next to me on a treadmill. I’m gagging. Can you not see me gagging?
4. Anorexics: We get it. You’re working just as hard as the rest of us to be skinny.
5. Pregnant Kim Kardashian: Granted, I have never seen her at my gym, but I have seen enough photos of her chin-grazing cleavage in self-suffocating sports tops to last me from now until forever. I’m sure Jessica Simpson has a few spare caftans she can borrow.
It’s been a long time. I shouldn’ta left you. Without a dope beat to step to. Step to, step to, step to. Step to, Step to. FREAKY-FREAKY!
But fear not friends, because I got the GOOD shit today. I’m juggling several editorial balls at the moment (some bigger than others, although I don’t discriminate based on size), and this week brings me to Rolling Stone, where I’m working in the research department. Today, one of my tasks included some Justin Bieber-related research and 1. I finally listed to “Boyfriend” and I hate that I love it. It’s a total panty splash despite the fact that he looks like a lesbian. 2. While trying to figure out if Bieber’s song with Nicki Minaj is titled “Beauty and the Beat” or “Beauty and A Beat” (it’s the latter, in case you care) I came across the best thing I’ve ever seen. Ever. Like, ever. Since forever. Foreva-eva, foreva-eva? Yes. Forever.
Watch. Love. Laugh. Pat ya’ weave out.
(Shout out to the creator of the video, Todrick Hall, for making me pee my pants a little at my desk. Granted, I’ve been holding it through a latte and a 20 oz. Diet Coke, but still).
Can someone who’s not Lady Gaga please tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to do with these?
Also please note that they cost SIX-HUNDRED-SIXTY-EIGHT-AMERICAN-DOLLARS.
Furthermore, as of today, November 18th, 2012, when we are allegedly still (maybe) in a recession or whatever rich people say when they have to fly business instead of first class, they are “low in stock.” Now, I have an online shopping problem as big as the next girl, BUT YOU CAN’T EVEN USE THEM FOR SUN BLOCKING WHILE SEEING WITH YOUR EYES. YOUR SPECIAL EYES. LOOK, LOOK WITH YOUR SPECIAL EYES!
Things I like today: Honeydew-flavored Bubble Tea (ZOMG. a refreshing beverage that also kind of feels like a snack thanks to TAPIOCA BALLS, which I love and never thought I’d hear myself say) and HAIKUS. Yes, bitch. HAIKUS! Before there was the 9-9-9, there was the 5-7-5, and I’m about rock you like a Herman Cain in middle school English.
The topic (and a VERY real problem), as requested by Boyfriend: “Make one about the temperature going up and down and your winter/summer clothes being too far down in the bed-vault, so in the most privileged and amazing city in the world, you are extremely uncomfortable out of being too lazy to attack your highly organized and efficient space saving seasonal clothing rotation system.”
Oh cool, so we’re starting out easy?
1. global warming exists
the proof is in her wardrobe
crammed, lazily, in dust
2. binge shopping drawbacks
ten sweaters to unpack when
winter is one snow
3. big apple problems
looking good isn’t easy
i can’t reach my scarves