keep your pants on!

As I got dressed yesterday morning, I started to have second thoughts about the leggings I was pulling onto my body.

The elastic at the waistband seemed a little droopy, although I had worn them over the weekend and had no problems.

I should probably add that said leggings also have a giant hole in the crotch, that extends halfway down the left thigh, and probably should have been discarded many wearings ago.

But, true to my slovenly nature of wearing things until they literally fall off my body, I slid the leggings over my shapley thighs and continued to get dressed.

Cut to 3 hours later, as I get off the 6 train on the upper east side for a doctor's appointment. My leggings are feeling kinda slippery. I suddenly feel slight terror as the waistband starts to slither down my hips and make it's way down. Oh God I am about to lose my pants right on 68th and Lex.

I wasn't panicking yet, as I gave them a good hike and figured that would do it the four long blocks to York Avenue.

Not so much. I got as far as 2nd, and realized that my ass was full on uncovered, leggings dangerously close to peeking out from underneath my very short sweater dress. Fuckkk!

I saw a Walgreens and ducked in, diving into an aisle and yanking my waistband as best I could without flashing the entire store. Fucking Walgreens I thought would at least have some cheapo black tights--all I saw was this type of shit-



I didn't even know that women still wore this shit. Is that even possible??

At any rate, no luck at Walgreens, so I stumbled out, holding my waistband up through my dress like a crazy-ish person, pawing at myself in near tears. I reeked of desperation and shame for not being grownup enough to have clothing that wasn't in tatters.

Aha. Ann Taylor Loft across the street. They shall have tights.

By the time I found the tights, got on line behine *one* person who decided to take forever, with a salesperson who was the most painstakingly slow mover I've ever seen in my lifetime, my leggings were dangerously close to hovering somewhere around my ankles.

What I don't understand is why I didn't just explain my predicament to the salesperson so she could allow me to change in the dressing room right then and there.

But no, I like to make things difficult for myself. So I yoinked on my waistband one last time, and hightailed it to the Doctor's office, where I would change in the bathroom and rid myself of the evil leggings for once and for all.

Once in the elevator, I lifted my dress up, and pulled the leggings back over my behind, where they belonged. Sweet relief at last!

And yes, I am fully aware that whoever was manning the security camera got a mighty nice free show, might I add.

I Ain't No Hoho "Ho"

I was sifting through my work email this morning,and I saw this in my inbox--

ho ho heel

What in God's name am I going to do with one of these???



Other than parade around in those and some pasties, of course.

Honestly, do people really buy these {at $2O-$3O a pop, mind you}? Is there really someone out there who is right now saying to themselves, "I think it would be a real hoot to hang some sexy lookin' shoes from my fireplace mantel and call them stockings. How quaint. How risque."

This is the sort of thing I would imagine that Anna Nicole Smith might have had hanging in her home. Nuff said.

Can You Spare Some Asparagus?

Saturday night my sister and I went to see Bill Maher at the Beacon Theatre.

I myself am not a big fan of Bill Maher, and would not normally have sat through two hours of his ire and sarcasm, but I got my sister the tix for her bday and she asked if I would accompany her to the show.

The need for alcohol was felt all around when the show was over, and we were kinda hungry too, but being on the Upper West Side, I wasn't really sure where to get some grub and a nice, cold beer. As many times as I have been to the UWS in my lifetime, everything always sort of melds together in my mind, and I can never seem to remember where anything is.

The one place that I always seem to end up at is Josies , on 75th and Amsterdam.

When Josie's first opened, probably about 1O years ago or so, we were all very excited about it. It was all organic, quasi-healthy, but the food was actually delicious.

Over the years, the place has gotten way too crowded, and the novelty of organic, quasi-healthy food has worn off, plus it's all so damn expensive--I mean, I'm paying $2O bucks on a turkey burger for god's sake--but somehow, when I'm in the neighborhood, I always end up there, because honestly, I don't know where the fuck else to go!

So, there we went, to Josies. The wait was only a few minutes, so we parked ourselves at the bar, and ordered $7 beers {yes, $7. And those were the cheap ones}. Soon after we got our beers, we were shown to our seats. We happened to get placed next to a large table filled with WAY too happy couples. You know the ones I mean...they were all adorable, one of the couples were the "ones with a baby" and the baby was well-behaved, and the parents still seemed to actually be attracted to each other, and all the friends around them were happy and girls were sitting on their guys' laps and feeding each other. VOM.

We chose to ignore them, and checked out the menus.

Just as I predicted, everything was way overpriced. Until I saw that there was a prix-fixe menu.

I did not know of this prix-fixe menu, and was very excited to note that you could get an app, dinner, dessert, AND a glass of wine for $33.95!

Yea, so it might make me a little early-bird special-esque, ordering from the prix-fixe menu, but whatevs! Girlfriend is poor!

So, my sister and I decided to order the exact same entree--grilled salmon over mashed sweet potatoes and a side of asparagus. How delish does that sound, right?

Our dinners arrived, and we took a good look at our plates.

Grilled Salmon-check.
Mashed sweet potatoes-check.
SIde of asparagus. Nope.

I mean, there was asparagus. Two spears,to be exact. But would one call that a "side"? One would think not.

My sister, never the shy one, called out to our waiter, "Do ya think I could get some more asparagus on my plate?" she demanded.

He assumed an appropriate, empathetic expression and said that actually, she couldn't, because asparagus at this time of year is really expensive, and it was really only a garnish.

Garnish? Garnish is a sprig of parsley, carelessly tossed onto a plate. Garnish is a lemon wedge. Garnish is not yummy, delicious, crisp spears of asparagus!

We shrugged, laughed it off, and continued eating {which was all yummy, garnish or not}.

It was decided that had we not been the cheap bastards that we are, and had we ordered from the regular, non pre-fixe menu, we would have gotten a proper serving of asparagus, with an actual garnish of parsley on the side.

You live, and you learn.

Wake up Cat

For all my fellow cat lovers, you will all be able to relate to this! Happy Monday!

paul mccartney's new girlfriend, and other stuff

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And All This TIme I Thought I Was a Chick

I always have to wonder what it is about me that screams "I'm a guy" when I walk into a Starbucks or other such establishments.

On more than one ocassion {why can't I spell this word? I have spelled it 3 different ways now, all of them look wrong}, I have been called "Sir" as I approached the counter to place my order. There is really nothing worse than bouncing into a place, excited for that tall, skim, iced decaf mocha, finally getting up to the server after waiting on that line that would drive anyone to insanity, and having the girl behind the counter smile and say "what can I get for you, Sir?"

What is it about me that screams guy? Is it my long, flowing golden locks? My ample cleavage? My high-pitched, feminine voice?

Do they think I'm this dude?



I dunno. I think Beehive might not be so thrilled upon finding out that he's been boning Michael Bolton all this time.

Veggie Tales

Yesterday I was really craving a salad from the place around the corner from my office. You know, the one with all the really fancy mix-ins. It even has turkey bacon. Mmm. I had made up my mind early on that I was going to splurge on the 9 buck tub of lettuce and such, and it was gonna be GREAT.

I got to the place, and I was greeted by a nice young man behind the counter who took my order. I got my usual mix of arugula and romaine, and as he expertly stuffed it into the plastic container, I noticed something wasn't right.

He had a large mass hanging from his left earlobe.

It was spongy and sort of crumpled, like a very large wad of gum.

AAAUGH.

It was way worse than this case of cauliflower ear



and nowhere near as bad as this ear tumor on a 19th century Chinese man



But nevertheless, it was difficult to watch a guy with a cauliflower-ish tumor dangling from his fleshy earlobe about to prepare my lunch!

I mean, I like cauliflower in my salad and all.

But cauliflower in my salad guy's ear? Wrong. Wrong wrong all sorts of wrong.

And now I begin my long descent into Hell.