So wrong...but so right

Is it wrong that I love these:
















via Opening Ceremony.


I think they could work with a very simple outfit. Perhaps a casual black dress or chambray shirt/black jeans.

These No. 6 clog boots are like walking on air.















via Totokaelo.




I need to start my shopping ban, after the holidays, of course.

Personal "Don'ts"

Things I will never embrace:

*Sweaters with zippers
*Ugg Boots
*Bright yellow attire (Including yellow "leather" bags...but excluding the adorable yellow woven purse Kat got for me while abroad)
*Crocs
*Hippie skirts (Though they are probably comfortable.)
*Flared jeans (Not to be confused with a wide-leg trouser jean)
*Most polyester garments
*Excessive use of "jewel tones"

I'll revisit this list

P.S. How could I forget denim on denim?

As the Capital Region turns...

An "All America City" indeed. I still find it rather irksome that they chose not to include an "n" at the end of America. I suppose this illustrates my relationship with the area perfectly.

As it turns out we ARE moving. (I think) It's a lovely (cheap) apartment complex with parking spaces. Dear Lord I will rejoice every time I don't have to turn around on a busy street when I want to park near the front door. So back into boxes we go. I'll be sure to eat at Sue's Place one last time, feeling unbearably awkward as I am stared down because I am not one of the family. The Lansingburgh family, that is. Maybe I will take a trip to the disgusting Price Chopper on a day when I am both bloated and hungry. Instant appetite suppressor. Perhaps I will even grab a drink at the Troy Bar. Simple name for such a majestic place.

I don't want to curse myself, but I think we are finally out of the 'Burgh. What a cultural eye opener. I have learned so much about what NOT to do. And as a final hurrah, when we are pulling away for the last time...I really want to yell "GET A JOB!" at the porch sitting fixtures on the corner. I really hated them.

Out of Lansingburgh...

it has become more of a saga than "Out of Africa". I feel like I will never leave Troy. Sure the bathroom is bigger than most bedrooms; and the authenticity of its architecture is just so charming. But in reality the domestic disputes, unsavory porch dwellers & literal gifts of garbage left on our front stoop have left me yearning for a more civilized neighborhood. Hell, I miss the days of living in a dorm. Sure most of the people I was surrounded with had the same level of class, but that's youth at an art school for ya.

Early on in the search we were charmed by an over-zealous woman looking to rent her "in-law" apartment in the coveted Latham area. She seemed to love us. She clearly had empty nest syndrome as her own children had left the capital region for bigger and better things.(Don't they all?) Her warm demeanor and spotless apartment seemed too good to be true. I envisioned coming home to fresh baked brownies and simmering stew left on the counter just for us. We expressed our interest with utmost sincerity. The place was practically guaranteed. We called and left a voice mail after not hearing from her in a day or so. That should have been a clue, because we never heard from her again. This left me rather perplexed. It even put me in a funk for a few days. What had I missed about our interactions? Was she just a 50 year old flake? Did she not receive our messages? Or maybe she is just certifiably insane and its all the better because I didn't need a surrogate mother anyway. No, I am not bitter about the one that got away.

The second attempt was thwarted when the ceiling in our new dwelling literally caved in, or rather fell in. Not to mention the mice droppings, potential black mold and the crap left behind by the landlord. Just as we were about to meet with him and tactfully let him know the conditions were not sanitary upon further inspection, we walked into a kitchen of fallen ceiling tiles. One in particular had held on for dear life. We could see it swelling with water, about to burst over our heads. He tried to make the place look livable, but in the end a heavy rainstorm that seemed to last the entire month of July had its way with the roof. We had already relocated our belongings because of the aforementioned "issues". Thankfully nothing of ours was damaged, besides our sense of relief when we foolishly thought we were out of the 'Burgh. We ripped up the lease and got our money back. With our lives in boxes we were back at the starting point.

We have looked at several places since. None of which have wowed us, but at this rate...location location location. As captivating as the Budweiser drinking men on our front steps are, it's time to go. The way they naturally slur their words indicates they have been drinking since they woke up. They probably haven't even slept. They seem harmless and thankfully keep us informed of what's going on in the 'hood. They were particularly descriptive about the scooter accident on the corner. (That is, when I could understand them.)

I could also elaborate on the train wreck of a basement left by our former room mate who has the maturity of a six year old. Let's leave that tragedy for a different day. I can already feel the ulcer forming.

Hungry hunger

I think my problem lies within the fact that I am far from being inherently "Type A".
I need to get a fire under my a**.

This weather

is for the ducks.

Here is a special hate-filled post

I do not like cars. Namely my own. Sure she's been a real sweetheart, but at 160,000 miles...it seems she may be on her last legs. And then what? The verdict is out on that one. Now off to mope about cars and their issues.

Most females are

FLAKES! I suppose I can be as well, but I'm making a concerted effort to stop from being such.

Combustion would be preferable to...

mindless data entry on a day that I planned on reading magazines. I don't enjoy Mondays, and I don't enjoy putting in a bunch of letters and numbers regarding other people's accomplishments. I get used to doing nothing, and though it drives me insane my rate of pay matches the amount of tasks I normally need to accomplish. I.e.next to none. But that's OK, it's nice to break up monotony with more monotony.

I recently went on an interview where my would-be supervisor disclosed that they had 200 applicants for the position. They were interviewing forty people in person. I remained upbeat after hearing such discouraging facts, but as soon as I walked out the door my caffeine-fueled positive outlook dissolved rather quickly. FORTY PEOPLE? Should I have attached a head shot with my resume? Done a small dance routine to seem a bit more memorable? What's worse was that she had already interviewed 30 bodies.

She politely asked if I planned on doing anything with my degree. Of course I said I would just love the opportunity to be an admin for an engineering firm. I earnestly stated that I would jump for joy if I was hired to type up documents for 70% of the work day. (While the other 30% would likely be spent on a self-suicide watch because I can't imagine this job would be anymore fulfilling than staring at white walls for 9 hours.) Ah, the joys of interviewing. These people are basically looking for the person who can bullshit convincingly. I am working on it, while learning from those who seemingly lie all day and take great pleasure in it.

I am left to wonder if I will hear back from this cattle call. Give it another day, and another shot of espresso and I will be back at it, among millions of others who are searching during our great "recession". Keep spending Obama, who needs a pension or social security anyway?

Start a fight

They say staring is a tell-tale sign of a certain lack of intelligence. So that would probably explain this area's affinity for gazing whilst expressionless at people that confuse them. i.e. those who have a future, class or less of an appetite.

Palms sweaty

Is there a class I can take which will teach me how to say "I am awesome" more eloquently in interview settings? Because otherwise I act like a 15 year old girl being asked on a date. Red face, sweaty palms...lack of control over my words. Yep.

Fashion is Passion

I just bit into a Reese's cup that both tasted like soap, and crunched a bit. I used my better judgment to face my losses and chuck the candy. We have an 80 year old courier who comes bearing a canvas bag of treats twice a week. Could these off-putting realities be more cliche? Sometimes I wonder if he will bring in apples with razors lodged inside, waiting to cut my pink gums. Some of the selections are seemingly harmless. Some of them look like they have been through two world wars; and I wouldn't doubt for a second they have been around that long.

He is an interesting gentleman. Though in no way is he gentle. He gets his kicks out of telling dirty jokes and staring just a little too long. This could be deemed sexual harassment in most work places, but the owner just shakes his head and laughs whenever he hears the end of an uncomfortable joke. I am often left to wonder if dirty old men arrive at their destination after years of suppressing such behavior, or did they act this way since they could speak in complete sentences? I am hoping for the latter, but leaning towards the former.

He ambles in looking in need of a nap. I fear for other drivers as I see him lurch into traffic at approximately 2 miles per hour. He is likely the kind of ancient driver that causes accidents. I learn to ignore the comments and looks because hey, I get free candy. 50% of the time it's completely edible too!

Talk about upselling

A coworker's 15 year old daughter wants to see Fall Out Boy. BLEACHER tickets are $70. Are you goddamn kidding me? For that epic piece of musical garbage? What makes me even more distraught is the serious lack of quality music that shows up in this grand area of NY. I miss living near the city. My wallet however, does not.

Warranted to Aggravate

I get roughly 10 phone calls a day from different gendered computers telling me that the factory warranty on my vehicle has expired. These calls happen to come in via my work phone. I listen for a second and the same script launches from different area codes. Scam artists from Canada, California, and other far away reaches of North America are genuinely concerned about my automobile's health.

Little do they know that my 1997 Honda Civic's factory warranty expired about 70,000 miles ago. So yes, it is too late to renew; and no... I couldn't care less. A few times I have tried to remove the phone number from the list. I always reach a very frantic operator. I hope their job does not bank on anyone willing to sign up for this supposed warranty. I think it's safe to assume that no one does, and I am left to wonder how such a company stays in "business".

I don't even think I have the energy to get annoyed by these sales attempts. In fact I feel a certain joy when I realize the person calling is just a computer chip. Ah yes, much better than the other phone calls I receive that make me feel like this:





or

Feeling a bit...

sour today.

New music

just doesn't have enough soul.

Pizza Hut...

SUCKS. Their sauce was always too sweet or too much. Maybe it was really just not enough. I guess I can vaguely say I enjoyed the bread sticks and the seedy atmosphere. But let's face it folks, their pre-made fare leaves much to be desired.

Now that I have bared my inner soul, really shown you my disdain for "The Hut"; I will tell you something else. When the charge for $29.15 showed up on my debit card with the words "Pizza Hut" next to it, my heart dropped. I have not been to a Pizza Hut in quite some time. Though the aroma has tempted me within the confines of Target, I just cannot bring myself to spend one penny I make under their own red roof.

The last time I had a sit down feast, a large waitress ambled along while clearing tables, enjoying her own buffet... of customer leftovers. She nibbled on the stuffed crust, then took a bite of someone's forgotten bread stick. She had no shame, she worked at Pizza Hut. The waitress even sipped on an unfinished soda. Thoroughly disturbed, I made it a point to never return. Imagine my surprise when I found out that someone had committed 30 dollars worth of fraud at the pizza chain with my credit card.

I called my financial institution immediately. The teller told me the order had been called in at 4:56pm the previous day. At that same moment the order was placed, I was silently screaming at the clock so I could leave work. I didn't even know there was a Pizza Hut in Troy. What bullshit. She told me the charge was canceled, as was my bank card. I breathed a sigh of relief, only to find days later that the woman was a damn liar.

"FORCE CHARGE Pizza Hut Troy NY" showed up on my account. I called again. Another woman told me that debit charges legally had to post. I would have to go in and fill out a form to dispute this charge. I wanted to tell her that I hated Pizza Hut; and that I would never give my credit card information over the phone. I know she didn't care either way, so I saved my breath for cursing out America...and the world.

I started to put two and two together while obsessing over the subject. I had only used my card for a gas charge. This particular station was apparently called "Race Track". It is a veritable bodega with a highly visible bong in the window. They must have smoked, gotten the card information, and decided Pizza Hut would be the place they would feast with someone else's money. Of course there is virtually no way to prove this, but I think it's highly probable. Those stoners were more resourceful than most. I'll give 'em that, but in reality I would like to give them a bomb.

Hobbies=

Bank. Literally. I would need mucho money IN the bank to do most of the things I want to do. I would also need daylight hours to stick around, and for my hands not to turn blue after taking five photos. Such is life. I also need a sewing machine. Perhaps I could covertly take my mother's out of the house without her noticing. Probably not a good plan.

Health Insurance...

does not grow on trees. But a former supervisor vehemently begged to differ. She was equal parts pretentious and moronic. She argued that you could walk into any hospital without health insurance and they would be able to strike affordable deals with you. The fact that she used such a term shows hospitals are similar to loan sharks. The "deal" they will provide will include daily phone calls from collection agencies and severe damage to a credit score. This swell little offer doesn't stop there. Generally even a minor procedure without insurance will result in owing an equivalent to one year of higher education. I wondered if she was independently wealthy, but I snapped to my senses when I realized she got a free ride from the government because her husband was in the Navy. Oh well. Such luxuries can't erase the fact that she is violently annoying as a human being.

Seeing as I currently cannot afford $400 a month for health insurance I am living life dangerously without it. Relying on Planned Parenthood for the bare minimum they can offer... I make just under the limit to have these services rendered free of charge. It's a slight relief, but at the same time checking Web MD compulsively when something just "doesn't feel right" is not the same as having a regular doctor.

Today alone I convinced myself that my persistent yet mild stomach bug was the result of severe food poisoning and it was only a matter of time before I would become paralyzed. The symptoms matched perfectly...there was no way I was wrong. Earlier in the day I clearly had some form of stomach cancer. (Yet I was still weighing the odds of buying a purse instead of going to a doctor...couldn't have been that bad.)

Health Care is a different issue than Health Coverage. Of course if I were a multi-millionaire who elected to live life outside the parameters of insurance I could easily afford and obtain health care. But this is not the case for the vast majority of Americans. I graduated college and was kicked off of my father's health insurance the day of commencement. It was like a bitter break up. I only recently threw out the prescription and ID cards. For months I foolishly thought that maybe I could still go to a doctor and no one would realize the difference as long as I flashed those pieces of plastic in their direction. Much like a lost love that can't let go, you think maybe...just maybe... things could still work out.

But as of right now I am still in the bitter stage. I work for a small company that does not pay money toward employee insurance. It seems cruel but this is becoming the norm. Workplaces used to take care of those working full-time...but such instances are going by the way of cradle to grave jobs. I accept the change. I would go legitimately insane if I worked at the same company from 21 until 65. If people are accepting these changes regarding work habits, why isn't America adapting health-wise? Health is the single most important component in regards to human life. Seems like a simple...even stupidly obvious concept. But Insurance companies make such a necessary thing out of reach.

I am really not much for politics, but I hope that things start to change in a modern direction. Health...not war. (I hope that ends up on t-shirts) Because I am pretty damn sure that each time I assume I have a terrible disease thanks to google...it actually takes more minutes off my life.

This is your captain speaking...

I think "advertising" tactics have gone too far. This includes the text I received recently saying that "sam" (Lowercase... because we are apparently quite informal with each other) wanted me to visit a Viagra site. Clearly this Sam does not know me very well afterall. I am a female who happens to be dating someone under the age of 80. I am not a prime candidate for the audience they are attempting to reach. Albeit amusing... I don't want to pay 10 cents for receiving such a message. Is there a "Do Not Text" list yet?

I also received a phone call today which at first sounded like it was taking place at Barnum and Bailey's circus. Unintelligible noises, people yelping...I imagined monkeys crossing tight ropes. After I said Hello loudly multiple times... a jovial man exclaimed that my captain (him) was speaking. Huh. The vision switched now, to a Star Trek inspired setting. Visions of stars and far-off planets filled my head. The "captain" continued to tell me how I could win a cruise by entering some contest. What? A cruise? Oh right captains run those things too. I hung up the phone laughing. That was my favorite recorded message yet. Except for the three voicemails from someone in the middle of Florida who did not listen carefully to my voice mail message declaring my name. All of the messages were mumbled. Something about her leaving for work, saying to call back? I think a "Charles" was mentioned? I don't know him either.

The point is, well there isn't one. But I just don't want to be bothered by such things in my electronic life (or my real life either). If I suddenly find I need copious amounts of Viagra...I'll call you. The same goes for a contest in which I could win a CRUISE!!!! From that phone call alone I know that's the last vacation I would ever want to go on. But maybe some people enjoy that sort of thing.

Just as I was cursing out Troy...

3 large men shoved my car out of the ice it was floundering on.

After spending a good 40 minutes picking at the precipitation mixed with exhaust whilst shoveling until I hit pavement...I decided the car would likely be movable. I start my princess up...and the wheels did nothing but spin. Perhaps they even moved one centimeter. I started swearing I would never live in a place that required street parking again. No, I promised myself I would never live in a place that required a car, period. As I slammed my skull against the headrest repeatedly in frustration...a man with glassy eyes and pupils that spanned his entire eye socket walked by. Normally I would pray that someone would be so kind as to offer help. But I don't think I wanted assistance from the resident crack head.

I climbed out of the car almost face-planting on Second Avenue. A bus flew by; dangerously close to taking my young life. I continued picking at ice like a fisherman on a frozen lake. Though instead of catching fish...I would have the "privilege" of DRIVING my CAR. How novel. I took a few breaks to stare at people passing by. Pleading with my eyes for assistance, but I was too prideful to speak up. I moved forward, while almost convincing myself that it would be worth having the car towed on Tuesday in order to have it mobile again. $100+ seemed reasonable to me; so long as I didn't have to shovel dense snow blanketed by car fumes anymore.

Some people beeped and yelled at me as I kept at it. I realized later I had no idea what they were saying. Most around here speak a language unto itself...not quite English...maybe even closer to prehistoric grunting. Maybe they were offering words of encouragement. Maybe my attire was too radical like I'd been told so politely this previous summer. The only sure thing is that they should really mind their own damn business and read a book. Or a dead sea scroll because that's how evolved they seem to be. Perhaps their language has no written form yet, which would explain quite a bit. But they sure have mastered car horn technology.

Just as I was looking toward the sky pleading to a God I am not so sure I believe in, a man across the street asked if I would like him to try to get the car out. I enthusiastically said "yes", "please", and "thank you" thirty times consecutively. He also had trouble. At one point I covered my face because I honestly believed my tire would fly off and take my head with it. Shortly after, two other well fed men stepped outside of the small diner across the street I had eaten at mere hours before. Both of them pushed the back end of my car, as the original savior was steering. It finally jolted forward into safe territory. I rejoiced, and said my thank yous profusely. They laughed a little and responded with a nonchalant "you're welcome" as they sauntered across the street for more coffee and bacon.

Things to Do...

These are not "New Year's Resolutions"; but rather lifetime resolutions...as in I hope I do them before I am 80. If not I will be forever disappointed.

1.) Write more (Meaning: write things I wouldn't mind others seeing.)
2.) Learn to really use the beautiful camera I just bought.
3.) Buy a sewing machine...relearn to sew. (We all know I hate most clothing on the market...or the clothing I can actually afford. It's time to make my own shit.)
4.) Buy a damn GRE book...I guess.
5.) READ.

So I already exercise often, and I don't want to obsess over saving money because I do that. I hope this sets me apart from the banality of most resolutions that never come to fruition.