I had to wait in line… behind a car

When we’re done and finally back in New Jersey, this road trip will have comprised around 2400 miles and 38 hours of driving. That’s a lot of time on the road and a ton of stops for gas. Back when I had a car, I was always paranoid about running out of gas, so I barely let the gauge go beneath a quarter of a tank. Why risk it? Well we made it our first 1200 miles without running out of gas, yet the other night we hit the beach, the outlets, dinner… and then empty. The entire day, I was leaning over to check the gas thinking hmm that is getting kinda low. We openly discussed adding it to the list of things to do, however I’m not quite sure why we didn’t make it more of a priority. We were literally 2 minutes from Meredith’s Dad’s apartment the other night and she announces that we have 4 miles to empty. With controlled panic, I ask where the gas stations are. She replies that they are at the end of this strip we’re on, which right now consists of nothing but marshland on either side, but she’s not sure how far that is in mileage… Super…

We’re going about 25 mph because Meredith claims that uses less gas, and still no gas stations in sight. At this point I cannot even look at Meredith because she can see the mileage display (which she later told me was on 0 miles to empty for a really long time), and if I could see her face, I would lose it. Instead I pulled my hood up over my face and began to hysterically laugh. The same uncontrollable hysterical laugh that came over me when I was on The Cyclone last summer and thought I was literally going to die. It’s the laugh that happens when you’re not sure whether you should be laughing or crying. Am I going to have to push this car? That is really not what I had in mind for my vacation. Could I even push a car? Then like out of a dream, a gas station appears on the right! I have never been happier to see one in my entire life. When they use the expression “running on fumes”… I now have a new appreciation for what that means…

Mmm… Mush

I realized on our way down here, driving through the different states, that I definitely did not belong. We stuck out like sore thumbs everywhere between Maryland and Florida. It became the most apparent while attempting to get coffee at a road stop McDonalds somewhere in South Carolina. I was pretty much convinced I wasn’t going to leave there with my life, my Louis Vuitton bag, or my coffee. But once we got into Florida, I figured we were okay… until our dinner at Pinchers. The Jets/Dolphins game was on and the dude on the bar stool next to us was trying to google the weather report for The Meadowlands mistakenly thinking it was in NYC. When I told him we were from New York, he said he had figured that out already. So we asked what gave us away. He replied “a couple of reasons.” Hmm what could those be? Our outfits? Our accents? Our bags? Definitely couldn’t have been our manners, because as much as I wanted to give him the stink face, I smiled and Meredith said “have a good night”…

We are like the picture of contentedness these days. How could you have any sort of aggression or anger on sunny vacation? It’s such an easy life down here. Especially on Sanibel Island. What an amazing place. Like a tropical isle, hard to believe it’s Florida. We attempted to answer the call for exercise by renting bikes for a couple of hours. You know what they say about that. How hard could it be? It’s just like riding a bike. Yea no problem, until I looked down to rearrange something in the basket and next thing I knew I was mating with a bush… full of thorns. I guess as Meredith summarized as we stared at my scratched up and bleeding arm, “it’s much harder when the bike isn’t planted to the gym floor”…

Who was in here? A gangster?

I’ve been down here for 2 and a half days and today is the first day that my tan has come anywhere close to meeting my tan expectations. Hello? Isn’t the sun supposed to be much stronger down here? Right now we’re at simmer, I’d like to be somewhere near grill by at least tomorrow. Today we went to the beach, which to me is more like a paradise cove. Definitely not like the beaches I’m used to on the East coast of things. The gulf coast has white sands, barely any waves, and a pelican. If I had felt like moving at all, I would have taken a picture of it because it was huge and floating pretty close to the shore. But alas I was too lazy…

Vacations are for lazy, but I really wish I could muster up the energy to exercise a bit. One would have thought that Meredith and I would have already played tennis like 4 times, however somehow the tanning is a mighty distraction. It would most likely be a good idea for me to attempt some sort of motion, other than walking up the two flights of stairs to get to Meredith’s Dad’s apartment… especially since they eat like champs down here. Last night we went to Ruth Chris. Basically, if Burger King had made a quality fragrance that lived up to its billing, it would smell something like the inside of Ruth Chris steakhouse. Trust me, if I could bottle that and pour it all over someone… I would have done it already. Our waiter Mike was like a walking Ken doll. Well, not as attractive as Ken, but he had obviously gone to the same barber. One butter smothered petit filet later and I was in afterglow. Let’s not tell my trainer…

Cancun is just like Florida, but we have more Mexicans here…

Florida rocks. It’s very hard to feel like it’s December here while I’m lounging out by the pool next to a palm tree. While we were in the car on our journey Southbound, we would periodically check the temperature gauge and be overcome with joy as it slowly crept up. I mean, when you’re shoveling snow on Sunday and on Wednesday, only a couple states to the South, the thermometer reads 64 degrees, that is one small step closer to happiness. Less clothing usually equals more happiness…

The other part of happy, is hour. Screw the early bird specials, we want drinks. And awesomely so do Meredith’s Dad and his buddy Cliff. These two are hilarious. All of a sudden at dinner, after Cliff has ordered a dozen oysters on the halfshell, he calls the waiter over and seriously asks for a shot of the cheapest tequila. This he says, just in case there is E Coli or Botulism present in his dinner. Of course, I immediately bust out laughing because one of my-coworkers had said almost this exact infamous line one fateful night, however he had asked for 9 shots and unfortunately that number had included me. Trust me the experience of doing a shot of battery acid is not one I would like to have again. I think I would rather have E Coli… or eat oysters...

What a bright coat you have… the better to see you with my dear…

Destination: Ft. Myers, FL
Time to arrival: 7 hours, 54 minutes

Finally we’re in the state of Florida. This is fortunate considering I have not only lost my desire to sing loudly in the car, but I have also lost my voice. Too bad there’s about 6 more hours to Ft. Myers. Meredith’s friend Jay is also driving down. However he might as well be a truck driver, because he left New Jersey this morning and was already in North Carolina. There is however something to be said for sight seeing, at least that’s what Meredith and I keep telling ourselves. So we decided to stop first at Amelia Island, and then at the University of Florida in Gainesville in order to be jealous that some people chose to go to school in paradise, while we chose Rutgers and Antarctica, I mean Syracuse. On our way to campus, we passed through Waldo, Florida. If you ever decide to ask yourself where’s Waldo?, don’t bother, it is the most infuriating town. Every 100 or so feet the speed limit would go from 45 to 55 to 65 and then back down again… and then back up again. By the time you slowed down, you could speed up again. Ridiculousness.

What’s also ridiculous is the amount of Asian food I consumed today. Chinese, or what passed for that in the South, for lunch and Hibatchi (that place where they cook in front of you, Mara) for dinner. We were two of the maybe 7 people in the restaurant, one of whom was wearing a day-glo flourescent yellow sweatshirt, the kind that reflects light. But we were really hungry, so we'd take whatever was open! I hate those chopstix that don’t break evenly down the middle. I always screw them up and our waiter kept feeling bad for me and giving me new ones to try and I kept breaking them unevenly… we could be here all night…

After leaving Gainesville, we decided to power through to Ft. Myers. Regardless of the fact that I was presently in a food coma and literally stunk of Hibatchi… we pressed on the next 4 hours to our destination. Meredith decided to take a nap, so I went into survival mode. Me, Britney Spears, and 90 mph. If Meredith had actually woken up, she’d have some serious blackmail material. Arrival in Ft. Myers, 1 a.m.… and we’ve come full circle… I am a crab…

Are you in the Daughters of the Confederacy?,.. Don’t worry neither are we…

Charleston is amazing. So quaint. So southern. Not sure anyone would know what to do with the two Northern girls both sporting Juicy outfits and taking pictures in front of the Daughters of the Confederacy building. Luckily for everyone involved, nobody had to find out because it was Christmas and there were about 2 people on the streets of Charleston. Those 2 people would be the one Black guy standing around on a corner who asked if we were going to allow him to be in our photos with us, and I replied.. well… basically I said exactly what this blog entry is named. Then there was the second person out, an older gentleman walking his white fluffy dog fully sporting (quite unfortunate) pants with Christmas trees all over them. My eyes almost didn’t believe what they were seeing… hence the above photo proof I’ve provided for ya’ll…

Destination: Savannah, GA
Time to arrival: 1 hour, 58 minutes

Savannah is only about 2 hours from Charleston. Peachy. We arrived around lunch time and decided to celebrate Christmas the Jew way. Might as well hold onto tradition even when away. We chose Wang II, because the name made me laugh. They serve odd Chinese food down here. Our sesame chicken was basically sweet and sour chicken with sesame seeds sprinkled on top, and our lo mein was practically made with fettuccine noodles. What is this nonsense? Clearly wankers work at Wang II. While in Savannah, I really just wanted to hear someone say “Frankly Scarlett I don’t give a damn,” but everyone down here just sounds like John Edwards…

I don’t think I’m gonna be able to get on this turtle…

Destination: Charleston, South Carolina
Time to arrival: 8 hours, 46 minutes

I love me some driving. It’s amazing. Cruising along. Open highway. Idiots who get into accidents and cause the rest of us to sit in hours of traffic. If I am stuck sitting in traffic, not moving, some idiot better need to be airlifted otherwise it is clearly not worth my time. I suppose I was silly to think we wouldn’t encounter any traffic on our 19 hour highway adventure, but this is really getting a little irritating. Why cannot people drive as safely as me?

If you define safely as making up 20 minutes of our 40 minute traffic expenditure by practically breaking the sound barrier in the 70mph speed limits in North Carolina. 70 mph speed limits!!?? Yee-haw baby! I can now proudly say I know what it feels like to go 90 mph. And it feels mighty fine… (just don’t tell my Dad)

All last week, Andrei kept trying to cajole me into stopping at South of the Border. Apparently this is some sort of touristy attraction (trap) that I really must see once in my life. Well I saw. Meredith and I stopped there for dinner. You know how they say that Disney World is the happiest place on Earth? South of the Border is definitely the tackiest place on earth. We dined at Pedro’s Sombrero Restaurant, complete with brown and white cow print upholstered booths. Halfway through our gourmet Christmas Eve meal, that by the way cost us a whopping $12.95 total, Meredith turns to me, fully serious, and says… “can you imagine working here?..” Um, NO? I most certainly cannot…

Merry Christmas ya’ll! (I am so Southern now, it’s scary…)

Oh it’s bigger than I thought it would be…

Jessica:

1 suitcase

2 overnight bags
Laptop
Tennis racket
2 grocery bags of junk food
1 extremely overpriced (yet muy chic) purse that I have no business owning

Meredith:
1 Florida bag
1 on the road bag
1 car-only bag
Laptop
1 bag of “thanks for being a great teacher” gifts
1 bottle of wine from some kid

Destination: Annapolis, MD
Time to arrival: 3 hours, 38 minutes

3 and a half hours is about how long it took me to drive between Syracuse and home. It’s really nothing, should be a piece of cake. Definitely no stopping will occur… um, why are we stopped? We are not even as far down the NJ turnpike as the exit for Merck, ie, really not far from home, and already we have encountered traffic. I am starting to think this may have been a really bad idea…

Fuck. We’re going 10 mph. And somehow we have managed to eat half a can of Pringles, and I managed to misplace the cap… someplace in the area of my seat. We have also managed at this point, to completely memorize and successfully predict the XM 20 on 20 songs. Luckily Meredith isn’t sick of my loud singing yet. In the area of unsuccessful, I would put my relentless but fruitless efforts to take photos of the highway signs at 75 mph, in the dark. I think we are delirious and we’ve only been in the car for 3 hours… only 16 more…

I would sum up our time in Annapolis as: crab dip, crab soup, crab cakes… and then my friend Julia, the unlucky host of the road trip loonies for the night, had to go and have the crab omelet for breakfast. Thankfully I am in a vacation state of mind, because if I was crabby… we’d be over the crab quota. Now, where are all the Navy men at??

Posting from the RTW archives

It's that time of year again. I have to admit, this year, I kinda didn't really think about anyone but myself. Hey... the first step is admitting it! I haven't seen my super all year, so it never occurred to me to give him cash. I probably should have given something to my trainer Oscar, but no offense, he makes me go completely out of my way to meet with him... and I'm the client. I have tried to finagle my way out of the holiday tips many times... I think in 2004, I definitely had the most creative idea though...

Volume CXCVII - Tis the Season

People who are nice all the time scare me. How is it possible to be happy and cheery 24/7? It's not, unless you live in a bubble or you're being totally fake. Why can't they just be moody and get cranky like the rest of us for Christ's sake! But people who are only nice with ulterior motives, those are the ones you really have to watch out for. So I started to wonder the other night why my doorman Adam, who doesn't even know my name, always makes me miss the elevator because he's trying to give me my roomate's dry cleaning when it's not there because she already took it, and probably just knows me as the quick change girl who comes in at 7:00PM and leaves for the gym at 7:03PM... started being overly friendly to me on November 30th. Then it hit me. For all the times I've opened the door for myself this year, all the times he's called up to my apartment and spoken so incoherently with his stupid accent that I just say "ok" and he sends up strangers... NOW it's time to smile and pretend he's special for 25 days. Every year at this time I am painfully reminded that it is not PC to be an el cheapo grinch. I have to be in the giving spirit if it kills me, or rather I have to give... screw the spirit. I HAVE to tip the doormen and other random strange men that roam my building claiming they do some kind of work there... for hypothetically saving me from the rapists that chase me home every night and signing for my 2 fed ex packages a year, but I don't have to enjoy it...
Then one day while I was on the subway, I heard a man begging for money. He claimed he was homeless and a veteran, anything we could give would be helpful. He wasn't one of those offensive bums who pretended they were blind or smelled like a barn... so I thought hmmm, maybe this year I will give to those less fortunate than me instead. Wouldn't that be really nice of me? A humongous mitzvah! My serotonin levels will go through the roof! To hell with the doormen, they are not less fortunate... they probably make more money at Christmas then I do for the entire month of December. Besides, the doormen expect like 50 bucks each, a bum... would be thrilled to get even a nice crisp $5, it's just simple economics. Or maybe I could somehow combine those two ideas into one really great super idea! I could give money to the bums and in the holiday cards to the doormen, print up some fancy thing saying I made a donation in their name to the "Sponsor a Subway Bum" foundation. It's just like the Boys and Girls Club, only... different. Could someone really be offended that I did a good deed to help others in their honor? At holiday time? Feed the birds, tuppence the bag? What do you think?? I think they'll be quite pleased!... to never see me again...

RTW © 2004

Mesmerized by meat scent

Who knew, or would have believed that a couple of days after my fateful purchase of FLAME the Burger King meat aroma, it is completely sold out at every Ricky's in the city. If that isn't enough ridiculousness... someone is selling it on ebay and the bidding is up to $102.50. What was once merely a token (gag) gift, is now a collector's item! Everyone is clamoring to smell like broiled beef... I fear Andrei might be attacked by a vicious mob of meaty odor seekers... He better lock that shit up somewhere, it's priceless...

Are work Pot Lucks the new Black?

Jessica: i'm shoveling carrot cake into my craw
Jessica: this is the perfect carrot cake
Jessica: there are no stupid raisins messing with my cake to frosting ratio
Andrei: hahaha...raisins ruin everything
Andrei: cake
Andrei: cookies
Jessica: seriously they're like walnuts
Jessica: get the F out of my baked goods
Andrei: my grandmother (italian one) used to put them in her meatballs
Andrei: who wants fruit with meat?
Jessica: raisin meatballs????
Andrei: apparently it was some old school recipe
Jessica: you will be bringing those to the next potluck?
Jessica: how could u keep us from this creation!?
Andrei: I should just add like raisins and chocolate chips to the meatballs
Andrei: whatever we have lying around the house...throw it in
Andrei: top em off with some sprinkles
Jessica: i might actually come in on Monday for those meatballs
Jessica: i signed u up for popem meatballs
Jessica: that’s what i coin them
Jessica: the sprinkles sealed that name
Andrei: I'll glaze some of them too
Jessica: you are going to be the Juice potluck meatball king of new york
Andrei: I like that

Come on baby, light my fire

I think now, I have seen it all. Burger King has come out with a cologne. Flame. They describe this magnificence as a “scent of seduction with a hint of flame-broiled meat.” Meat cologne? Junior Whoppers! How have I lived up until this point without this in my life and where do I get some... Now? I am so attracted to guys that smell like cooked cow...

My co-worker Lauren and I took one look at the above insanely hilarious photo, jumped out of our seats in an instant, and were on the elevator on the way to Ricky’s. Funny neither of us were embarrassed to ask the guy at the counter for the “Burger King meat cologne.” He said he’d sold out of it at his register, but alas there were a few left at the other counter. We bought 2.

When arriving at the perfect holiday gift for your male co-worker, what really could be more amazing than hamburger scented cologne? Who wouldn’t want to be sporting Eau d’ ground beef? Obviously Andrei will be bathing in this crap and attracting all of the lady carnivores in the bar later. Or... All of the neighborhood dogs... But definitely no vegetarians. Sadly though, it really does not smell like flame broiled meat. Instead, it sorta smells like dirty old man, or as the salesman at Rickys said “Bodega Joe.” However, nothing beats the fact that I can now say things to Andrei like... Vanessa wants to smell your meat.

Merry Christmas Andrei!! So much for having it your way...

Rationalizing 101

The human brain is an enigma. Especially a woman’s. Even more especially, mine. The way I rationalize things is seriously one inch from insanity. Example 1: When I was trying to lose weight, I used to say to myself, well you can have that piece of chocolate because tomorrow you will go to the gym and work it off. Then my brain would say, but... If you didn’t eat that piece of chocolate, when you’re at the gym tomorrow, you’d be working something else stupid that you ate yesterday off. It was like a strange form of playing guilty catch up. Somehow I let myself tell myself these things.

So I may or may not have just come into about $1500. I kinda feel guilty bringing it up since lots of people have or are losing their jobs recently, but I work hard and like to tell myself I earned it (example 2). This is the first year that I hadn’t been steadily compiling a list for months of entirely ridiculous overpriced garbage that I coveted and planned to buy with my holiday bonus. I honestly didn’t think I’d be getting one this year and rather than be disappointed that I couldn’t own the oh so essential $195 Burberry rubber rain boots, I decided to just be happy with the things I do own that I bought within my means. However now, I am ill prepared to deal with the $1500 burning a hole in my pocket. I have no list. Now is when my brain explodes! What completely pointless overpriced thing can I get!?!!

The googling begins. Do I want overpriced shoes? A television? Ridiculous amounts of clothing? A bag? Ahhh sigh, there’s that Louis Vuitton I half covet. $700. And here comes the hilarious rationalizing. I would rather die than spend that much of my own money on a purse. But in the scheme of having a $1500 gift card... $700 isn’t even HALF!! I am so frugal!!...

Road Trip 08

In 7 days, Meredith and I will be embarking on an awesome journey. This isn’t Paris and Nicole Go to Tennis Camp, or even Tennis Camp 2: The reunion... This is Thelma & Louise: Lost Highway. This is possibly going to be entered into the Guinness Book of World Records as the longest Bon Jovi sing along marathon EVER. This is Road Trip 08-Meredith and Jessica drive to Florida. Be scared (especially if you're a Chinese restaurant bathroom floor).

I have to say, I am super psyched! Although, that’s easy to say after not having spent even one minute in the car yet! Every person I’ve told about our voyage has schrunched up his or her face and said... Ugh why don’t you just fly? Because that takes all of the adventure out of it! Could I look forward to being forced to listen to Barbra Walters entire autobiography on audio book on a quick plane ride? No, certainly not. Could I bring literally almost everything I own because I have poor decision making skills for vacation attire on a plane? No. Would I have about a bazillion amazing blog entries from a quick 3 hour plane ride? Maybe only one, because I’d get stuck squashed between a fat person and a crying baby. Trust me people, it’s in your best interest that I take this road trip. I will most certainly be updating you from the road and seriously, if we break down... One of you best be an AAA member and send help immediately. Maybe this isn’t such a super idea...

I’m gonna need to start working on my southern accent... And get a parasol...

The Unbitch Chronicles

My new leaf of not being bitchy doesn’t seem to be working out very well for me. Honestly, I think it’d be going quite swimmingly if everyone else in the world didn’t insist on constantly being monumentally stupid and/or annoying...

... Like the saleswoman in Banana Republic last night who came over to me while I was literally the only person in line and motioned like she was going to ring me up, then asked if I had a Banana Republic card. Is that now a requirement to make a purchase? When I responded that I did in fact have one, she proceeded to allow me to follow her to the register. Cardholders get VIP checkout now? I might have felt special if I wasn’t the only person on the line. I wasn’t planning on paying with my Banana card though, and that’s where the trouble started. I had a coupon that stated “Exclusively for card members... $30 off a purchase of $100 or more” and the saleslady tried telling me that meant I had to use my card. Well no, it doesn’t say that. Nowhere in the fine print does it say that either. She points to the exclusively line and states her bogus claim.

Unfortunately for her, I am a writer... And also apparently a (sometimes?) bitch. “Exclusively for card members” could easily mean that the coupon was sent to me because I am a card member. If it was intended to mean that I had to use my card, they should have tried one of their other staple and not to mention much more straightforward lines like “when you use your Banana card.” I find it infuriating to argue with stupid people though. You can never seem to win because you can’t make them smart and you can’t make yourself stupider. Bad situation. Eventually I just gave in and handed her my Gap card, which was apparently also not correct. The Banana card is yellow. Super. And at this point, is when I lost it. I looked right at her and said “I am not going to play this game with you anymore. It’s all the same. The cards are accepted in all of the stores.” (ie, Banana, Gap, Old Navy) Was she kidding? There were about, oh lets see, 4 people in the store... none of whom were purchasing anything, and this lady thinks a good use of her time is arguing with me over a severely overpriced sweater and badly worded coupon. Do you fools want to make a sale OR NOT?...

Top Ten

Top ten reasons why this is a great headline:

Woman smuggles monkey to U.S. under blouse

10) Who the hell wants a monkey that badly?

9) 10 hours in a tiny plane seat with a sedated monkey up your shirt, I mean isn’t that funny enough?

8) Smuggling... K lemme guess. I’ll go with the usual... Drugs. Liquor. Diamonds. Prescription meds. Illegal aliens...? Nope... A monkey. I suppose that’s creative.

7) Couldn’t she just get a dog? A fish??

6) Was this animal tested for diseases before she shoved it up her shirt?

5) She definitely watches too much Friends.

4) We should be thankful she didn’t want to have a tiger.

3) Don’t we have f’ing monkeys here? I really don’t understand...

2) I guess it could have been worse, she could have smuggled it in by hiding it... Elsewhere.

And the number one reason why this is a great headline...

1) Did she go there planning to steal a monkey? Was there a monkey stealing scheme that involved pre-planning of bringing a maternity shirt to hide said monkey under for the big getaway? Or was this like completely spontaneous? Ohh what a cute monkey, I think I’ll stick it under my shirt and take it home with me... I kinda really have to know.

Wet-lap

So I literally just spilled an entire cup of water... In my lap. Yep, went to drink from the plastic cup, fumbled a little, and poured it into my crotch. I am soaked... And will probably be spending the next hour or so sitting at my desk because if I had to go anywhere, surely everyone would think I peed myself. That’s how bad it is. Sopping wet, soggy jeans. What is wrong with me!? Usually I just spill coffee all over my desk and my papers. That’s my typical M.O. I do it all the time. Although in the effort to make myself feel better right now, since we obviously can’t make me feel any less wet, one could argue that is much worse. Sticky, smelly, brown. I should be thankful, at least, that I didn’t spill coffee in my lap. Maybe I shouldn’t be allowed to partake in activities in the real world...

Posting from the RTW archives

I love shoes. They are wonderful. If I had no feeling in my feet, they'd be even better! A couple of new year's ago, my friend Meredith and I hobbled up Park Avenue, not finding a cab and basically so distraught with pain that when we finally saw a cab, we took it 3 blocks to my apartment just to bask in the bliss of not having to stand in our shoes for 2 minutes. This past weekend at my company holiday party, I literally had to leave because I physically could not stand up anymore... and not from being drunk. The balls of my feet seriously hate me right now... but oh how hot my shoes were. I will most certainly never learn my lesson...

Volume CCXIII - Foot Fetish

Part of the whole working/living in the city package most likely includes a serious amount of walking. Unless you're working from home, your office is in the building next door to your apartment, you're screwing a cab driver to get free rides, or you're so elite that your driver and the black towne car come to pick you up every morning... You're taking it on foot. Thinking of walking to work in the city always immediately brings up the horrifying visual of women in black skirt suits and white sneakers. Ghastly. Yet unfortunately most of the cute women's dress shoes are made by Satan and are so far from comfortable they're not even tolerable, and basically only nice to look at in the store. Too bad shoes are meant for wearing not staring. What options are we left with? Especially us vertically challenged individuals who would look cute in moccasins but much better in a hot pair of pumps. Shall we wear our sneakers on the walk while lugging our dress shoes in a bag that's so large it could easily be mistaken for a diaper bag? This is not mommy and me goes to work. Shall we suck it up and be mistaken for a midget? Or shall we sacrifice ourselves at the feet of fashion...FOR the feet of fashion? Sacrifice being the operative word because the other day, I hate to tell you this, but I actually drew blood all in the name of pedi-fashion...
There is no way to tell whether or not shoes are going to be comfortable by merely walking for two minutes around the shoe store before you purchase them. Ideally you need to take them for a test day to really get a true feel for how they're going to treat you. Like how I realized the great pair of cream colored pointy toe pumps with kitten heels that I bought were actually a modern day torture and blistering device. By the time I made it to the elevator in my office building the band aids that I mistakenly thought were a protective armor shield had fallen off and my feet were bleeding. I re-applied new band aids but I was in so much blinding, bleeding pain that I could barely walk to the bathroom which is no more than 20 feet from my desk. My friend Sari suggested I hobble over to a shoe store at lunch and get myself some relief in the form of new shoes. She even offered to pick up some rubber flip flops from a guy on the corner and deliver them to my office on her lunch break. Rubber flip flops? Can't I have jellies instead? Bleeders can't be choosers, but I opted to complete this mission on my own and make my way to a shoe store. Once inside the shoe store, I, genius of the world, replace my cream pointy toe pumps with smokin hot white pointy toe almost flats. The only criteria being that they were the slightest bit more comfortable than what I had on. Then the sales lady starts trying to sell me insoles and leather cleaner. Me being in a bloody foot coma, couldn't care less what she was putting in my bag... All I wanted was to put on the shoes. Give me the shoes, now. $100 later, no more pain...

RTW © 2005

Truckin it

I was walking down 26th street by my office today on my way to grab some lunch and I had a weird flashback.

Back when I used to commute from NYC to work in New Jersey, my lunch options were slim. I didn’t have a car, so if one of my coworkers with a car wasn’t offering to let me tag along with them, I was either bringing food to eat... Or partaking of whatever was edible on the Lunch Truck. The Lunch Truck was basically grease on 4 wheels that came 2 times a day, once at 11am and once at 1pm to peddle its wares. At first I was a bit wary. Food off a truck? The only food off a truck I had eaten before that point, god help me, was a catfish sandwich with my ex while completely hammered in Madison, WI at around 4am. And honestly as inebriated as I was, I would have probably found my own arm to be gourmet. As it turned out, the Lunch Truck wasn’t as bad as I had imagined. My favorite lunch from the truck consisted of cheesy, greasy, chicken quesadillas... that I ate everyday, clearly knowing from past experiences (like the day before) that they made me sick to my stomach. Gosh what I wouldn’t do for some down home delicious lunch truck food right about....

Oh. Is that a truck outside of the Tyra studio? Does that truck say White Castle? Yep... That is fully a White Castle Lunch Truck. Classy. I wonder if they serve quesadillas...