Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Queen of the Bargain Bin

Continuing on my path to become a "real" New Yorker, I completed one of the (many) initiation rites necessary today: attending a sample sale. Before you start licking your lips and reaching for your credit card just yet-it was a J.Crew sample sale. Don't get me wrong-I love J. Crew more than anything, and everytime I go in to that beautiful store I get the urge to weep with joy while simultaneously purchasing every. single. item. However, when I relocated to the city, I (loudly and quite obnoxiously) told everyone how cool and "trendy" I was going to become. Yet here I am, parked in line for good ol' J. Crew. Old habits die hard? (Or they die soft-as in cashmere cardigans! Plaid dresses! Beach totes and bathing suits!)

During lunch break (which was, um, a little extended), Emily and I (see above photo) were surprised to find a line around the block just to get in the freakin' door. It looked like an audition for America's Next Top Model: Under 5'7 and Preppy! After the tenth or so person walked out holding GARBAGE BAGS full of clothing, we also doubted if there would be anything left for us (see above photo, inset). Alas, the catch to sample sales, as my ego quickly discovered, is that they are selling SAMPLE SIZES. Luckily J. Crew is my friend and samples at 6-8, or S/M. Work with me people! As long as we've got some stretch, we're ok. Also, it helps to keep the bank account in check when you know you have to completely steer clear of anything that would touch your bottom half, based on the small range of sizes. Tops and dresses it is!

Sample sales are also a bit like fumbling around in the dark. There are no dressing rooms, so one must hold an item up to the glaring florescent lights until they recognize something that could possibly make their Amazonian/pear shaped body look, in essence, smokin' hot. Once it meets initial approval, you must pass said item to your partner in crime (aka the friend you came with) while she secures the perimeter (meaning gets in line while you toss her items). One can then rendezvous with said partner, deciding which items to toss or keep while productively standing in line. And it's still kind of a crap shoot. But a totally worthwhile one, as my new purchases do, in fact, make me look smokin' hot.

To sum:
Gold, gauzy beach dress: $25
Cobalt cotton tank: $10
Using lunch break to sample sale: Priceless! (Ok, not really. The value is actually $35 if anyone's counting)

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Shut Yo Mouth

Reason #885 I need to keep my mouth shut occasionally:

The Scene: The Editor-in-Chief (Ann) of Seventeen and I arrive at the water cooler/coffee station at the same time. While I stand in awe of her (it's hard not to when she's towering above me in Louboutins), she's awkwardly reaching around me for stirrers, cup lids, and straws. Being me, I decide a good ice breaker would be to say (loudly): "Man, it sure is a tight squeeze over here at the watercooler!"

First of all...what?

Second of all, she just blinked at me a few times and then walked away. I think there was a faint ringing of crickets in the background.

So my joke didn't go exactly as planned. I was HOPING that she would laugh, strike up a conversation (maybe starting with "what's your name?"), and wonder where I've been all her life. She'd invite me into her office just to gab and get my feedback on all things Seventeen (or maybe just allow me to update the miniboards while she's in there?). Everyone would be super jealous when they walked by her office and could see us laughing and laughing through the glass walls. She'd come grab me from my intern closet and toss me in her Town Car to go to lunch, and maybe we'd hit a sample sale on the way back to the office. I'm exhausted just thinking about the fun we were meant to have together.

But obviously she does NOT get my sense of humor, so where could this really go? Not that many people would have laughed at that, it being so stupid and all. I'll take a pity laugh Ann!

That is all...

Wednesday, March 4, 2009


A lesson in karma: The past few days, I've been trying to cajole my roommates (with no success) into braving the bitter cold and hitting the gym in the mornings before work. "It's so empty!" I tell them enthusiastically, "you'll NEVER have to wait for a machine!" Not suprisingly, they haven't budged. Maybe they knew something I didn't. This morning, the machines were full. No ellipticals or treadmills available as far as the eye could see. And you know who was on them?

Skinny bitches.

Now, if you know me (which you should-I'm great), you know I HATE skinny bitches. To clarify: there is a difference between being thin and healthy (such as in the book Skinny Bitch-which I love) and being a (dreaded) skinny bitch. Skinny bitch ain't natural. Skinny bitch is looking like I could snap you in half like a little toothpick. Skinny bitch is saying things like "I only eat desserts on Tuesdays," or..."I'm sooooo hungry. I need a salad!" A skinny bitch worries about whether she just poured 1 1/4 cups of All Bran vs. the 1 cup serving size, because that might mean thirty or so extra calories. Oh, and after all that? Skinny bitches ALWAYS think that they are "fat". I can't handle it. Just thinking about it makes me want to eat a brownie. For their sake.

How did this happen? Perhaps they had all turned to the side at the same time, rendering them invisible to the naked eye?These women were SCARY looking. It was straight muscle on bone, with no fat or curves for padding. They went straight from running to jump roping to doing pushups. I felt like I was working out just watching them. Why isn't "being critical" a workout? It takes a LOT of effort!

Perhaps in the future I'll be more admiring of the rewards their hard work at the gym has given them. For now, I'll unapologetically mock while not-so-secretly being glad that their existence means more cupcakes for the rest of us...

oooooo girl!

Needing entertainment last week, my favorite ginger, Ashley, and I went to see "Madea Goes to Jail." Those of you unfamiiar with Tyler Perry's genius may be confused-this is your own fault. Anyone who hasn't seen "Diary of a Mad Black Woman" is no friend of mine. Or at least no friend who knows good movies! Though Madea is in fact, Tyler Perry dressed as a large, fat, grandmother, his are no "Big Momma's House" type movies-just great stories with humor and depth. And you'll be talkin' like Madea in no time!

I must note, being the only two white folks in the movie theater is definitely an experience. An AWESOME experience. (Plus, thanks to our big, juicy boot-tays, Ashley and I look remarkably like black women when the lights are dimmed.) Watching a Tyler Perry movie is more of an interactive experience than traditional movie-goers may be used to. There were times the audience felt the need to direct characters, like when they get caught lying ("bitch, you best back up OFF IT") or needed to know how to escape from a pimp ("climb out that window bitch! RUN!"). At every pinnacle moment, there was a whoop, a clap, or extremely loud cackling.

And you should have heard how everyone ELSE was carrying on!

In the words of Madea: The LORT is GOOT, oh yes hes is!

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