Fashion Show! Fashion Show! Fashion Show at Lunch!

Yes, I go to New School.

Yes, I have Animal Collective, Peter Bjorn and John, Passion Pit AND Grizzly Bear on my iTunes.

And yes, I do live in fucking Williamsburg.

I swear to you though, I have truly tried to resist my hipster impulses and not dress solely in bras, blazers and ripped lace shorts. But alas, today I fell. Not completely off the wagon, mind you. I was definitely hanging with the tips of my fingers to the little dignity I had left. 

You see, Cory and I went out to a fair today and my lazy ass didn't want to wear real clothes. So off I went into the depths of Williamsburg, dressed like this:

Yes, that is my bra you see.

And yes, those are booty bike shorts from Urban Outfitters.

I'm sure Emi is just rolling her eyes and vomiting all over me right now. She hates it when I wear leggings and a tie-dye t-shirt and this is a whole heck of a lot worse. But frankly, I don't care. 

I'm 20 years old. I show my bra and ass in public and I do what I want! I don't care if some townie on vacation snaps a pic and puts me on UIUC No Pants. I was fucking comfortable and that's all that matters.

And wouldn't you rather have me wear a little less clothes than have me wear something with some slutty saying or strategically placed graphics?

See? Wouldn't those be way worse? 

Though, the eyes on the tits one is pretty funny because it's like your boobs are staring down whose ever staring at your boobs and going "Bitch plz. Back the fuck up."

Plus, at least I don't dress like a slutty subway ad for a show about lesbians (I'm looking at you, people who bought this Mod Cloth swimsuit and thought it was "tres chic").

Point made. Case closed.

New Years Update

So I know I've kind of dropped the ball this year with the whole blogging thing. Joonbug usually blogs me out during the week and I'm still kind of catching up on sleep from winter break. I really promise that I will start updating more and speaking of updates, here's where I stand on my 2010 To Do List thus far.

In the first month of the year I have accomplished not one, but two of my goals. First off, dye my hair. No longer will people tell me I have black hair (it was brown, for your information). Now, I am a verrry dark brown auburn and I am loving it. I think I'm going to keep dying it, at least until I go home for the summer. Here's a nice little side-by-side of the before and after so you can marvel at the beauty.
Next off, Kelly and I finally got cable. And not just basic cable--we have 150 channels in two rooms PLUS two dvrs all for $35 a month. It is incredible and I'm kind of obsessed. And now that I can watch TV on an actual TV I think I'll blog more since it will allow me easier multi-tasking.

I think the most important thing that has come from all of this is my re-newed love for Johnny Weir. I have been searching for Be Good Johnny Weir online since it's debut and hadn't been able to find it anywhere. Now, I get Sundance Channel which means I have a season pass to the show and am going to avoid deleted episodes--at. all. costs. It's the new Hey Paula!
I really wish that I was more awake so that I could devote more time and effort to my love of Johnny Weir and of course, my other new love, my beta fish, Lucille. Yes, you've heard that right. Kelly and I got two beta fish, Buster and Lucille. Aren't we funny? We're kind of obsessed and are considering becoming "fish people."

Oh, that also reminds me--this year hasn't all been honkey-dorey so far. I am officially cursed. Do not hang around me at the semester beginning/end. The weekend fall semester started, I was roofied. The weekend it ended, my friend passed away. And now, the weekend this semester started, Nina and I decided to leave my cozy apartment and head over to hers (about a five minute walk) at about midnight because all of our friends were there. I grab my wallet in case I decided to buy a beer outside her apartment and then go back to grab my camera because it was the last night of break and who knew what hilarious antics might occcur, right?

Nina and I get about one block outside my apartment when a man pulls a gun on us and takes both of our purses and my cell phone. It was terrifying and horrible and just terrifying inconvenient.
I lost everything--my debit card, my new metrocard, my lisence, my fake ID, my student ID, my camera, my keys, and my Aquafor. What. The. Fuck. We had to get our locks changed and all this bullshit. I'm over it.

So yeah, that was January in a nutshell. I really will try to be better at this blogging stuff more for the rest of the year. I mean, Sadie Gaga is coming up, so that should be pretty fabulous.

Crawling In My Skin

Note: What if we all started Linkin Park Lyric Monday? Where we tried to incorporate at least one LP lyric into everyday life. Sound good? Sounds good. And now for the post:

So there I was: all cozy in bed, about to pass out (Yes, it was before midnight and no, I am not lame), when I see it---a cockroach.

That's right! There was a bug. In my room. Many of you know my rules on animals: "If it has more than four legs or less than two, I'd like to bid that monstrosity adieu."

I just made up that poem, but the rule still stands. I do not under any circumstances mess with bugs or snakes (Animals that swim are exempt from that rule. They have a whole other set of logic, mainly based on eyes). Señor Cockroach was across the floor, circling my riding boots. I was petrified. I think I even went into shock for a moment, but then my brain kicked in again."You wanna take a ride, Roachie? Oh, you'll take a ride...straight to Hell!"

I had finally pulled myself together. My mind was working again and I knew I could finally do what needed to be done: Scream for Kelly.

I know I screamed pretty damn loud too. There are a lot of times when I see something stupid online or my own thoughts make me laugh so hard I feel like I need to share them with someone just so my personal hilarity can fulfill its awesomeness potential, and so I yell out for Kellz. "Kelly!!!....Keelllyyyyyy!!!!" I'll even go Kanye Caps on it: "KEELLLYYYYY!!!" All that, and nothing. No response. Nada. This time though, Kelly came a 'runnin. So either she's figured out a way to decifer my distraction yells from my yells of terror or I yelled louder than I thought. Either way, Kelly walked in armed with a paper towel and squashed the little freak while I hovered in the corner of my bed, clutching Claude, and whimpering--actually whimpering.

I don't know why bugs freak me out so bad. Maybe it was all those years reading Animorphs with all those Yeerks slithering into people's ears and taking over their brain. Bugs are that small. They could do that. I'll probably never know why bugs are the absolute grossest and scariest things ever, but there are a few things I do know: Now I'm wide awake and feel like I'll never sleep again, I'm going to have nightmares a la The Mummy tonight, I have the greatest roommate ever, and I'm never EVER letting Claude leave my side again. Not at least while they're out there hatching their evil plans. Claude's the only barrier between me and the evil bug army that live in my riding boots (I know that's why he was checking them out earlier. They want to make it their not-so-secret lair. I won't try to fight it. I know I don't stand a chance against them. You may have my riding boots, but you shall never have my flats!!!! That's because my flats are on my chair right now Suck that, Roaches! Wait--cockroaches can't climb, right? Oh please Lord tell me cockroaches can't climb!)

UPDATE:
Apparently, the Yeerks are real. Just another thing for me to be irrationally afraid of.

I Want To Spend the Rest of My Life High-Fiving THIS

God, I love Missed Connections, but none will ever top this (click on the picture to see in full).

Nightmare on Leonard Street

I am so pissed right now. If you know me at all then you are aware of exactly how much I love love love Halloween. It's one of the few days of the year where I'm actually excited to do something and don't have a problem standing a lot or walking (two of my least favorite activities).

Of course, it is this weekend that my foot decides to stop working. Randomly yesterday, the arch of my left foot started hurting. By the end of the night I was hobbling around like a cripple. Even though I was so wasted that I couldn't read I could still feel the pain--it was that bad. But I kind of hoped that if I slept it off and kept off my foot for eight hours or so it'd be OK today.

I wake up and it's just as bad as it was last night, maybe worse. I've iced it, elevated it, stretched it, massaged it. None of it worked. The only thing I've found to help at all, oddly, is wearing heels. I'm sitting around, unshowered, unkempt, in sweats, no makeup,...and heels. It's weird. And obnoxious. I love Halloween almost as much as I love birthdays, maybe even more. And I don't even know if I can go to the big parade tonight! All I want to do tonight is dance and party and have an awesome time. I don't know how I'm going to do that if I can't even walk.

I knew I should have been Lady GaGa in Paparazzi. (That was a legit costume idea of mine. Don't judge.)

I Know I'm a Hard Act to Follow, But...

I know that very few people who read this actually live in New York, but for those of you who do, or for those who just love food and frugality, check out my roommate's new blog. It comes up first thing on Google blog search!

Weekend Highlights

So my sister visited over the weekend and it was pretty awesome. I'm too lazy/watching The OC at the moment to actually develop a well-written post about it so instead I'll give you a quick Best-of-line-up.

1. My dad asked to have some of my roommates snapper in exchange for his sausage
2. My dad said "I'm thinking about using The Craigslist"
4. Went to a Satanic themed birthday party
3. At the party Emi slapped someone after they grabbed her stomach (huge no-no, in case you didn't know)
4. Said someone then thought the appropriate response to someone slapping him was to kiss my roommate's neck and then my sister's
5. Emi walked down the street yelling about herself pooping
6. Emi told all my friends about how her boyfriend used to call me "period girl" when I started going through puberty
7. My Grandma turned 95 and my aunt and uncle wrote a horribly un-PC limmerick about her (they said she was a Jewish menace and insulted her tennis skills)
8. Emi woke up on the bathroom floor and hadn't been drunk the night before. She then learned that she had gone into my roommates room at 3 am. Then she realized she couldn't find her pants. We tear the apartment appart only to find them in the outdoor hallway at the top of the basement stairs, the door to which had been opened. We still don't know why this happened.

Oh, and they started selling my sister's comics at Desert Island here in Williamsburg. Hurray for her!

So if you just add about 30 PBR's and four bottles of wine that's my weekend in a nutshell.

I'm a Missed Connection!

Click the image to read it.

Just One Of Those Days

Do you ever wake up and not only not understand what happened last night but also how it happened? Because this is one of those days.

Last night my roommmate and I had to work a fashion party for our internship. We were banished to the models room to be dressers. Pretty much we just took their clothes and handed them clothes. It was hell...at first. Everyone was so serious and intense about everything and Kelly and I really didn't give a fuck passed not sending naked girls into the party. Then after the first change was done the stylist had a cocktail waitress bring us all a glass of wine. Kelly and I sipped on these slowly during the time lapse between changes. Then after second change the waitress left a bottle on the table. We had three, maaaybe four more glasses of wine for the rest of our time upstairs. At one point during this our boss (who was supposed to be a dresser as well but cannot stand fashion so got out of the job due to 'allergies') came up. We could not stop giggling, and she offered us a drink of water (which we believe to have been vodka) but she couldn't tell we were drunk at all, just two girls having a giggle attack. Passed that test.

So then the fashion show ends and we find our boss. All the fashion interns had done our cleanup job and wanted none of our help. We were nubes so now that there wasn't a time crunch they would rather do it themselves. Most of those interns were megabitches who would do those sly put downs right to your face ("I really appreciate you guys trying to hang these clothes to the best of your ability"). Since they're doing our job we go and find our boss who says the bar is still open and to hang around for about fifteen minutes, get a 'soda', or whatnot. Kelly and I get another glass of wine. This is when we lose it.

Our boss comes over again and cheers us, she learns of our drunkeness, it's all good. We think she left the party after that, but maybe she just left us. We don't see any of our other bosses and the place is packed (Kelly Kupowski was there). Then the hairdresser (who is apparently not gay) sticks his tongue down Kelly's throat knowing how young she is. Majorly creepy. After that she just needed to get out of there. On the walk to the subway we realize that we are completely and utterly smashed. It was not even eleven yet. Neither of us really remember the ride home or even transfering trains. All I remember was being so amazed at our state doing the drunken self-proclamation "I'M SOO DRUNKKKK" on the train while people judge mercilessly, which they had a right to.

We then burst into our friends apartment and Kelly knocks three chairs off the wall first thing. We don't really know what happened there either. I remember our friends told us they'd never seen us that drunk before and last year I drank an entire bottle of wine and then started chugging tequila. But no, five glasses of wine and Kelly and I are roll-around-on-the-floor-blackout drunk. Exhibit A.
We somehow make it to our apartment and put on Arrested. We try to get our friend to come and make us mac and cheese through texts like "we xabt move." We then passed out before midnight. Kelly and I both woke up at seven (her in all of my clothes, with the shirt on backwards) and still a little drunk. We have no idea how that happened off of five glasses of wine. Maybe we're just so used to Two Buck Chuck that the good stuff took us off guard. Now we're confused, embarrased, and a little bit worried. But on the plus side, we have no hangovers.

Best NYC Museum

Fuck the Moma. Fuck the Met. And definitely fuck the Guggenheim. None of those even compare to the Troll Museum. A museum so elite and awesome that it is by appointment only. A museum with its own theme song. A museum of dreams.

I've Made A Huge Mistake

Last Week in NYC

I don't think anyone's prepared for what comes next.

Sunny Sunday

After being sick and a rainy weekend in which I had to trek all over Williamsburg the sun has finally come out (literally and figuratively). I got my ideal apartment (more to come on that later), I'm healthy, I have food in my cabinets again, I'm going to a tarot reading at 3. This is the start of a brand new day. A beautiful, hardwood floored, exposed brick, garden apartment kind of day where I am regularly blessed with images like this one from Sarah:
So let's just all rejoice, put cheese on something and toast it!

Legal Lesson

Skateboarding is NOT a Crime

Thanks Cassidy, for that very important lesson.

Wherefore Art Though Hobo?

So here at the New School we get 175 big ones per semester to spend at our "cafeteria" but at the end of each semester your remaining balance is erased. One of my friends had spent about zero dollars this semester and didn't want all that money and potential overpriced organic food to go to waste. I met her after class at the supposed cafeteria where we loaded up four bags with drinks, sandwiches, bagels, cream cheese, cookies, crackers, you name it. Then we went out hobo hunting.

It's the holiday spirit, you know? Giving and all that. And we're in New York City, how hard can it be to find some beggars? Near impossible is the answer. We walked around for over two hours with these enormous and heavy bags looking for a homeless person. None. They had all disappeared. All we wanted to do was give away this food so we could go Christmas shopping. Win, win, win day. That was the plan. But no, our feet hurt, our arms killed us, I have some blisters on my hands from these goddamn bags. Eventually we had to ditch a bag of drinks near a subway entrance. It was survival. Then the lords above smiled on us and we ran into a very kind man asking for change. Hallelujah. Everyone left feeling good and we could finally go to the Marc by Marc store, the original plan for the afternoon. Then it rained.

And on this wonderful, dreary, exhausted, wet walk home do you know what we saw? About ten homeless men on the street asking for change and food. Where had they been four hours ago? There's no where else. It was as though someone had glamored us or done that creepy thing Tess did in Roswell where she overrides your vision. No other option. Some vampire or alien tried to stop our charity work.

And no my Battlestar Galactica won't load and I'm sore and tired and kind of hungry. But I have few groceries and don't actually have money to buy more until January. The irony.

My Life is Now Complete

Sitting outside my Veiling and Revealing class this morning was everyone's favorite cutter: Ellie Nash. Even though I kind of used to hate her on the show my singular goal this year has been to have some Degrassi stalkage. Now I can finally concentrate on my school work, thanks Elle.

When Hairy Met Sadie

So I got my haircut over the weekend. Big fucking deal. I've been growing it out since I got the Nicole Richie summer after sophomore year. Needless to say, my hair was looong. And I was getting worried that if I didn't act fast I'd have a Blake Lively problem on my hands. That girl just has too much hair. It's not sexy. It's not a hot mess. It's just a mess. I hate it. And yes, I might be a little biased. Serena Van der Woodsen might be my least favorite character on TV. Every time she cries, I'm pretty sure a manatee dies, but still--I think it's general knowledge that her mane needs to be tamed. It's just too much for me and every time I looked at my hair I couldn't help but worry if it was getting "too Serena". I hate when people have too much hair. How could I mock them if I was one of them? And mocking hair is sort of a hobby of mine. Once there was this girl with some of the worst bangs I'd ever seen (cut straight across her left eye). We stopped using her name in conversation and would just make the bang eyepatch with our hand. This went on for about a year. Even my dog got into it.
My point is that hair is important. It can make your or break you in the gossip world. Obviously, hacking all of mine off scared the shit out of me but I really wanted to donate it to Locks of Love. I went to this Ukranian salon in the Village and the woman cut off my ponytail and asked if I wanted to donate it. I enthusiastically said yes and she set it down. Then after she was done she handed me the ponytail and I was like "Uhh...don't you keep this?" She told me that they personally didn't donate hair and I'd have to find a location that did. Not wanted to sound like a lazy, uncaring bitch I took what was once my beloved, if not worrisome, hair in my hand. While paying and awkwardly holding the ponytail I asked for a bag. They didn't have any but they did have an envelope. So there I was: walking down first avenue with an envelope full of wet hair. It was gross. Plus, I had no idea where to donate it so I looked it up online. Turns out, my hair was about an inch too short so now I just had this soggy envelope full of hair. And of course my first reaction was that this ponytail was too weird to waste and that I should send it to someone (boyfriend of BFF, didn't really matter). But I couldn't just send them a plain ol' thing of hair. That's not nearly creepy enough. I had to do it, Cajun style.
Of course I didn't actually go through with it. That's a little to creepy, even for me. At least, even for me to do without being able to be there, witness the reaction, act innocent, until they figure out it was me (which would probably be the second they opened it. People always know. I can never figure out how). So now I just have a soggy envelope full of hair with a threat written in lipstick in my trash. That might be just as weird, if not weirder, than if I had sent it at all. In a way, mission accomplished.

I Got a 12 Pack of Celebrity, but What I Want is a Handle.

I've been in NYC two months now, right in the heart of the Village. There's always something filming and celebrities strutting about the area. My friend sneezes, Joseph Gordon-Levitt says "Bless you." She drops her stuff on the street, Elizabeth Berkely picks it up. You know who I've seen?This guy. That's right, two months in the city and all I have to show for it is 12 pack from the I Love New York/Money. That's it. What the frak is up with that? I came to New York expecting to bump into celebrities and then be so non-chalant about it that they fall in love with me ask and me if I'd like to go out dinner with them and their friends from Gossip Girl later. What is the point in living in a big city if you never get to gawk at celebrities? I'm not asking for JGL to excuse my allergies, I'd settle for that Kirstie Alley wannabe repremanding me when I burped. Just give me something!