What is the deal with dudes and ‘day-of’ texts? If you dont know me, or even if you DO know me, you will not make a good impression by trying to arrange a first date via text message. Let’s take that one step further – the Friday night day-of text is the most insulting. It translates.."hey, look. You don’t have anything going on on your Friday night". The night that every 9-5er has been awaiting all week. The night that most people have shit going on. Really - . Im attractive – Im funny – Im [therefore] popular*. What the hell makes you think that I don’t have the next ten Fridays lined up with dates?
*Are all of these things true? Probably not. Do I tell myself they are? Well, certainly.
Im not saying last minute plans aren't ok. They’re ok. Spontaneity? Awesome. But things come up.. yada yada. I get it. Alls im sayin is dont treat me like I dont have shit going on. I do. I have a lot of shit going on. Iv got work. and Steve Carrell left the office and Will Ferrel added an entirely new dynamic. My nails look like shit. Julie Taylor from Friday Night Light's is sleeping with her TA and getting slapped by his fiance. Tasti D Lite is changing their Summer flavors (fucking finally!). Like I said Iv got shit going on. So, please give me at least a four day warning so I can set my non-existant Tivo, re-schedule my manicure and tell Palo at Tasti-D’s that I wont be seeing him this Friday. Is that so much to ask??
And why all the texting anyway? Calling is classy. Call. Its a power move. It says "hey Im not just a living breathing thing that only uses their hands to communicate" as if you were Helen Keller by choice. It radiates with self-confidence and ease. It makes me think you do this all the time, and are therefore popular, which means you are funny and attractive (see above). Really, just call.
Lately I have been plagued by boys who well, Im just not into. I have a hard time trying to define what these boys are - its not that they're ugly. They're attractive in theory. Tall, nice features, one may even call "pretty". I was trying to determine what it is thats turns me off. I decided on a term that encompasses all that annoys me about this rising male epidemic. And my best friend Jackie so bluntly defined it.
Dough Face: One who has a face and/or body that is pale, tender and tinged pink. Often accompanied by early on-set rosacea and muscle tone that looks as though one could kneed the body easily. Puffy lips are often a symptom of being a dough face as is a soft double chin or "waggle" and effeminate hand motions.
Because of the passion I feel about all of the, err, suggestions noted above, I would like to introduce to you my newest blog addition, Meddy Made's Drake Break. Something I like to do (when I am bored, riding the subway, see freestylers on the street, have nothing in particular to write about, want to use a word from the English "ghetto" jargon, feel like embracing my alter ego [that could rival Lil Ma or Nikki Minaj] or envision myself being Lil Wayne's ghost writer dropping it like it is hot) is good old free-style rapping. Please do enjoy my skills as demonstrated below.
Meddy Made's Drake Break
Title: Last Minute Lady
Listen mother fucker I aint no last minute lady.
I got shit to do..
that aint sittin around waitin for you to dig ya balls up out ya pubes. shady.
See, Im a hot ticket. You can't kick it. Hollerin at me last minute?
Ya dough face be yeasty.. got me uneasy. sleezy.
Bitch it's Friday night.
Best believe I got a date tonight wit Friday Night Lights and my tasti d.lite.
ya, ya damn right.
So listen up dough face let's try this again.
Next time you wanna ask me on a date ask me what I'm doin?
Boy, do us all a favor and slap yaself. blind.
you mus be outta yo mind.
Cuz by sheer biological design? I gots to decline.
I don't fuck wit dudes who got skin more supple than mine.
Homeboys be callin me conceited?
I'm 325 degrees preheated.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Single Girl Walking
It was Saturday night, and I was having one those nights. The nights when you look at the clock and it's suddenly 10pm and you're still sitting on your couch in the same sick sweaty clothes you worked out in 5 hours ago with hair that's still matted to your head (how this is possible after 5 hours I am uncertain) but the idea of trying to create some sort of socially acceptable ensemble sounds like too arduous a task. So it's looking like a Saturday night ice cream and movie hibernation kind of night.. its the one chick cliché I allow myself...
(that and munching my cuticles· US weekly magazine
· the elliptical machine
· Bashing Kim Kardashian .. then secretly Googling what mascara she uses
· My over use of the word "cute"
· Youtubing The Warbler's on Glee then downloading Blaine's amazing rendition of Destiny Child's "Bills Bills Bills" and adding it to my gym playlist.
· Vodka soda's because lets face it, tonic really does have "too many calories"
· Late night taco truck because calories you cant remember are calories that don’t matter... riiiight??
· Spending 3 hours each morning mastering the "effortless" look only to sit at my desk for hours on end surrounded by females.
· Disecting a text for eight hours that says "what r u doin?"
· Drafting and re-drafting a response to the above. period? no period? ellipses...
· My obsession with the "Cake Boss" and the way he says the word "Fawndawnt" (what this is, I have no clue).
· Lifetime original movies.
· Bitching about NYC's unfair ratio of hot girls to guys.
· Twilight
· Obsessing about that one time, you left your number for a bartender who asked you out to a casual drink on a Tuesday night where you proceeded to drink three "casual" tequila gimlets on an empty stomach and somewhere between the bill and the door the offer of grabbing another drink was retracted and you never heard from him again... yiiiiiikes.
· Watching so many episodes of Hulu that a screen pops up and tells you just how many minutes you have been watching and if you would like a "break". oh god.
· Wonder why more guys don't approach you then put on sunglasses, headphones and open your book to read on the subway.
· Bake a batch of brownies for your room mate, realize you hate your room mate then eat them all yourself, Google weight watchers and wonder how many points you just consumed and how many days of fasting that equates.
· Get embarrassed when people invite you places and start assuming your plus one is always your brother.
· Question yourself and your friendship when your un-single best friend tells you on multiple occasions about how she's heard about a lot of people going on match.com. What are you trying to say?
· Guilty. Spending 30 dollars on a hair product that's description reads: "Brilliantine; is unique and hard to define. It gives hair polish and a sort of languid, slept in, sexy look". Who writes this shit? And why am I spending 30 dollars to roll out of bed. Damn you Bumble and Bumble with your oh so awesome packaging.
· Guilty. Spending 30 more dollars on another hair product. Description reads: "Hair (Un)Dressing Cream; It gives hair that elusive, un-done-yet-done quality, with a hint of grit, hold and tousled, shine free finish." Fuck you Bumble and Bumble. Really, fuck you. How do you do this to me?? Why am I spending my money on shit that makes my hair look like it always does; like shit. Fuck you.)
So I set out on my mission, Scouring every bodega on my block in search of the only two males that would find my completely heinous demeanor remotely acceptable; Ben and Jerry. Freezer after freezer I dug through; Cookie Dough, Coffee Heath Bar Crunch, Dublin Mudslide, Mud Pie, Chocolate Fudge Brownie... I was like the gluttonous Goldie Locks in search of the perfect flavor. This one had too many flavors, that one had too much chocolate, the other not enough.. It was exhausting. Finally, I found the perfect one. It encompassed my entire demeanor in the label: Clusterfluff. It was Peanut butter ice cream, with caramel cluster pieces and peanut butter and marshmallow swirls. Dear Christ.
As I walked home annihilating this big bucket of goodness I heard someone say "Meddy?". I pretended like I didn't just hear someone call my name. They must have said Betty or Neddy or Teddy or something. Please dear god do not be someone I know and have to engage in conversation and pretend like I do not have crusted marshmallow and peanut butter all over my face. FML. Sure enough I heard it again "Hey! Meddy". When I turned around of course it was my brother's friends. Why god? Why?
I quickly tried to cover my disgustingly sweaty head and wipe any remnants off my face from my molested pint of ice cream.
Me: Ohhhhh Heyyyy (awkwardly pulling at my Mexican poncho and stretch pants.. bc maybe if I do this they won't still resemble what they are; a poncho and stretch pants)
Friend: Hey, what are you doing?
Me: Ohhhh not much.. just having an ice cream and movie night. (I awkwardly hold up my pint of ice cream)
Friend: Hahahah on a Saturday night? So, you're single?
In that moment I realized it was time. Time to break up with Ben and Jerry, peel off the stretch pants and go on a Hulu sabbatical.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Audio Dharma
My brother gave me these podcasts that I listen to on my way to work. They're a series of lectures called "Audio Dharma". Sometimes I wonder what someone's thinking when they see my ipod screen scrolling "Seeing Suffering and Letting Go" or "Acceptance and Self Love". The speaker usually has a strangely comforting monotone nasally voice. Apparently these retreats take place in California where I envision them serving vegan cous cous cake and have a special happy hour on two for one wheatgrass shots. My favorite speaker is this woman with a thick New York accent, which is both comforting and discouraging as she now seems to be an avid Californian. She somehow manages to use the words "shit" and "shavasna" seamlessly in the same sentence.
What I like about these lectures is their concept of self acceptance and its complicated simplicity. They're about living in the moment, living in the now. Letting go of everything out of your control. It sounds so easy and when I finish listening I always feel such a sense of calm.
Then I take out my head phones and walk into my new office where I recently took a job in fashion, I open my inbox and receive an email flagged "URGENT" from my boss:
"Meredith, All of those samples MUST get to the style out down at 550 IMMEDIATELY. Email Frank to confirm IMMEDIATELY."
My mind starts to race; what samples is she talking about? Where the hell is 550? And who the fuck is Frank?! All that zen goes right out the fucking window.
This new job is like a foreign land with its own language that I am barely elementary in. I'd consider myself interesting, socially aware, sociable, but somehow here I am none of the above. My interests aren't interesting. I live in Brooklyn and when they say "Brooklyn" it almost sounds like a sexually transmitted disease. I create a series of questions to which I receive one word responses, groups of girls stand in the hall talking to one another and as I walk by it all goes silent.
This feeling of inadequacy reminds me of moments growing up as the perpetual new girl, attending five different schools in eight years. I can remember my first day of school in Woodstock, Connecticut. It was the fourth time my parents had given us the "we're moving" talk. This time I didn't have Zach or Georgia with me, they were now enrolled in my family's boarding school campus in Maine that I began to resent for traumatically transplanting me every two years. The bell rang and it was every new kids dreaded hour... lunch time. My grandmother Mimi had sent me this amazing lunchbox that I had eyed that summer in Virginia. It was rectangular covered in exotic animals, and it had this amazing thermos that had a button and when you pushed it the cap snapped back and a straw popped up.. it. was. amazing.
I found a seat by myself at the only vacant table available, the one next to the lunch monitor who stood at the door that every cool kid that bought hot lunch walked out of. I took out the only highlight of my day, my lunch box. It was packed with every Little Debbie snack imaginable, star crunch bars, nutty buddies, oatmeal cream pies, these were the joys of growing up in my household, my mom hadn't packed my lunch since kindergarten. I unpacked every snack we bought, and then I took out my classic salami and mayonnaise on the whitest hoagie imaginable, then my prized thermos which I had filled with a special concoction of cranberry juice and seltzer water. I laid everything out meticulously, as if Little Debbie herself had come to life, comforting me through with her moist goodness and sugary artery clogging love. So there I was, sitting alone as every cool kid that bought their lunch walked past my table snickering at the new girl wiping peanut butter and mayonnaise off her face with a sleeve... sick. I went to open my cool new thermos, hoping someone would look over and marvel at its absolute radicalness, that somehow this thermos, this elephant and giraffe covered thermos would be my one way ticket out of the lunchtime loser zone. And as I pushed the button it felt as if a choir should start singing to welcome the amazing straw contraption. However, as I pushed the button it was not a choir that I heard but more of a humming... a strange noise like a teapot bubbling and wheezing and just as the straw shot up so did my bright red bubbling carbonated mixture. The drink literally shot straight to the ceiling staining it in cranberry. My face looked up horrified, I was covered.
I can still catch myself in these moments of somehow feeling victimized by humanity. That life can be so hard and everyone else should be held responsible for my own comfort and positivity. That if everyone else would adjust or change in such a way so that I can be comfortable then everything would be right and good. But this just isn't so. My dad put it best when I was in high school and we got into one of the most epic confrontations of my life. He was my teacher my junior and senior year. He was running an accelerated learning program called "Scholars". I had government with him for a double period that felt like it lasted an eternity. Everyone in these classes were my friends but somehow when I walked through the door I felt as though we were all rivals competing for some intangible status.
We were reading Aristotle's** "Allegory of the Cave" and I can remember my dad calling on me for an answer, my stomach tied in knots, my mind went blank and when I looked around the room I only saw expressions on faces that to me read, "IDIOT, you don't belong here, the only reason you are here is because you're dad is the teacher". Every day I walked into the classroom and marked myself a loser before I even tried. It was a building insecurity, a barrier that grew exponentially, until it all came to a head after a lacrosse game. I had come home and I was pissed off at my coach for benching me, telling me that I wasn't working hard enough. My dad saw my game and I could hear him from the sidelines cheering me on, doing what every supportive father would do, yet somehow I took these cheers of encouragement, "come on" or "lets go", so negatively and each one just fueled my fire of rage even more. When I went home and my dad asked what happened out there, I said the refs were giving me a hard time, my coach lit into me about some bullshit about not trying hard enough. My dad started in on all the reasons why my coach was right, that I was in fact playing like I didn't care. I was enraged, the one thing I actually was good at, the one thing I put my all into and I still yet again was a loser. I felt misunderstood, defeated. So I responded in the only rational and completely justified way a teenager would, "Fuck you dad, Fuck you" and as I walked away I heard my dad yell "Get back here Meredith, Don't you walk away from me". I turned and stared at him "What dad? You're gonna spank me? Send me to my room?" He just stood there.
It was the first time I ever told my dad to Fuck off. And I could feel the heat in my face and the tears streaming. He looked at me not with anger but with compassion and said, "Med, the longer you keep living your life as if everyone owes you something the harder your life's gonna be".
It was so honest, so cutting. I slammed the door. He was right.
**I sent this to my Dad to read. He said "Honey, this is really great. Really great. By the way, it was Plato, not Aristotle. Love, Dad"
Clearly, I paid attention to the important things.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Blind Date.
It's Tuesday morning 3am. There's a pothole in the street outside my apartment window which insists on making the loudest thump every time a car drives over it. In Brooklyn.. that's quite a few times. I thought I'd adjusted to it by now but for some reason on this particular morning I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. I checked my email on my new phone that actually has internet since my computer is about to die and my last phone not only didn’t have internet (once a luxury of the age now a small necessity) wound up in the back of either a. a cab b. matchless bar's bathroom c. enid's bar's bathroom (apparently I have to pee a lot?) d. the bodega across the street fittingly named "God Bless Deli" where I supposedly made my pilgrimage to purchase a bag of chips with no money (they enlightened me to this fact the following morning when I returned to ask if I owed them money/ left behind my phone). So I ended up begrudgingly buying a new phone ... with internet.. and a bunch of other shit that is completely unnecessary.
Sidenote, a lovely friend of mine knew of my plight so when the nice little Verizon man was showing me how to operate this new phone he decided to show me how to check my texts.. thank you to the friend of mine who thought it would be hilarious to text "I don’t think we can hang out anymore, you're violent masturbation at night really freaks me out"... GAH! That really gave that man a scare.. After 5 minutes I decided to quit trying to explain why my friend thought it was funny to whomever it might be that actually had found my lost phone. Verizon man... not amused. Mildly terrified (or perhaps turned on?) at the potential nympho he was "helping out". eek.
Back to middle of the night. 3am. cant sleep. potholes. internet.. ok . so. checking my email... Facebook msg received 2am from Ben Morris.. Ben Morris. Ben Morris.. Ben Morris. I ran through my mental rolodex trying to figure out where had I heard this name? I knew only a few Ben's and the only Morris I knew was a Josh Morris; a middle school heartthrob and I was pretty sure the last time I spoke to him was when I was maybe eight years old, he was best friends with my cousin Jesse, we were all playing softball.. baseball? What the hell's the difference? (i was catcher) and someone was batting and when they HUCKED the bat back I got slammed in the face. Thank god no permanent damage was done.
No, this was Ben Morris, a guy I met briefly at my friend Hunter’s wedding in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. I decided to make friends with Maker’s Mark on the rocks who in turn introduced me to a slew of dance partners. My friend Sarah (the groom’s sister) came up to me and said she told every one of her cousins (in the South, I believe this is a lot) to ask me to dance. After my 7th pity dance I remembered a particularly attractive guy asking me to dance and then mentioning he was Sarah’s cousin which I then launched into a “if Sarah put you up to this…” tirade as he stood there staring at me completely confused (I should really know when to put my foot in my mouth). So I think we may have danced, not sure I even introduced myself and that was it, never even caught his name.
One month later it’s 3am and I read this message:
Ben Morris November 8, 2010 at 2:22am
Hey Meddy, This is probably the most random message you've ever gotten, and just like dancing at hunters wedding, no, Sarah did not put me up to it. I leave for Playa De Maderas on the pacific side of Nicaragua with six buddies and three girls this Sunday to surf for a week. Originally it was five dudes, five girls, and due to many different circumstances, (my gf cheated on me for one), we have changed to six guys and three girls. We've got a house on the beach thats paid for, and an empty spot that will go to waste.....unless we can round up a surfer in the next five days. Obviously we don't even know each other and obviously no expectations/obligations, I don't know if you have a BF/significant other that would object, and I'm sure you have to work. But on the off chance you have a flexible schedule, want to go surf for a week, get sunburned, day drink, and throw some adventure into your life.....I'll buy you a ticket and take you on the best blind date of your life. If not, no worries, I hope our paths cross one day in the future. -Ben
…I literally had one of those movie moments when you rub your eyes and blink really hard and wonder if this is some sort of joke? I have two internships and I waitress, I am not even sure how I am going to pay rent next month, this trip is in 4 days, I couldn’t go to Nicaragua for a week… or could I? Why wouldn’t I go? Isn’t crazy shit like this what life is all about? And how many people could I beat in a blind date story telling contest??? (those exist.. and they happen.. all the time..) So I wrote Ben back.
Meddy Hurd November 9, 2010 at 4:37am
Ben, Wow. First of all I am really sorry to hear about your gf. Things like that are really brutal, So I am really sorry that that happened. Secondly this is the most amazing message/offer. And hopefully you aren't regretting (drunk?) in the morning (I am slightly serious slightly joking) so if you decide this morning you would like to pretend you didnt offer I TOTALLY understand. Ha. However, to be honest... I don't know what the expectations or requirements are on the surfing side.. I have surfed before but am still pretty beginner so on that front I don't want to hold any of you back. Not sure how expert this trip might actually all be. I live in New York City and work 2 internships and waitress that I wouldnt mind taking off. I don't have a bf. I am slightly low on cash and I normally hate the idea of someone paying for me for anything let alone a plane ticket and place to stay. So typically I would really insist that you not pay for me, But to be honest a trip to Nicaragua wasnt in my November budget. However, I love the beach, new people, and totally random opportunities so if you are still looking for another person I am pretty down. I can check with my boss' (all of them. ha) tomorrow and give you a more definitive answer on the phone. Again, if you wake up and decide what was I thinking inviting this girl who writes a long ridiculous email at 4 am, sober, whom you dont even know and who actually wants to come haha... honestly NO WORRIES. And I still seriously feel uneasy about you paying.. I dont like that but if you really have sorted things out and just kinda have a spot going to waste I truly appreciate just being offered. So with all of that said (sorry to be long winded) Yeah. Id really like to come. I will give you a call tomorrow.
I decided I would tell my internships and see what they say and if I they said ok, then I would go, and as for my waitressing job… well.. I had to bend the truth on that one. So the next day I asked and they looked at me like I was crazy,
My Boss: So, you don’t even know this guy and you are going into the middle of no where Nicaragua for a week?
Me: Uh. Yah.. so is that going to be ok? Like me leaving for a few days and not being here to work? Because I totally understand this is completely last minute.
My Boss: Last minute? I think that should be the least of your worries. I mean I can’t tell you you can’t go but please just call your mother and think this through again.
Me: Ok.. but so you’re saying its ok for me to take the week off right?
My Boss: Christ Meredith, I mean… How much grey hair have you given your mother?! Just please promise me you will call your mother when you get there. And then email me.
So that was that, I was going. So what exactly did I know about Ben Morris? Well I had concluded from sufficient facebook stalking and a few phone conversations before our departure that Ben Morris was cute, he formerly attended Washington and Lee University where he played lacrosse, he enjoyed duck hunting on the weekends and made his own moon shine, he was currently employed on a “Southern Gentleman’s Farm” (I don’t know what this is really, but anything with the words “southern” and “gentleman” … I am sold.) So I threw as many bathing suits in a backpack and flew from NYC to Miami to meet Ben and his friends.
Sidenote, a lovely friend of mine knew of my plight so when the nice little Verizon man was showing me how to operate this new phone he decided to show me how to check my texts.. thank you to the friend of mine who thought it would be hilarious to text "I don’t think we can hang out anymore, you're violent masturbation at night really freaks me out"... GAH! That really gave that man a scare.. After 5 minutes I decided to quit trying to explain why my friend thought it was funny to whomever it might be that actually had found my lost phone. Verizon man... not amused. Mildly terrified (or perhaps turned on?) at the potential nympho he was "helping out". eek.
Back to middle of the night. 3am. cant sleep. potholes. internet.. ok . so. checking my email... Facebook msg received 2am from Ben Morris.. Ben Morris. Ben Morris.. Ben Morris. I ran through my mental rolodex trying to figure out where had I heard this name? I knew only a few Ben's and the only Morris I knew was a Josh Morris; a middle school heartthrob and I was pretty sure the last time I spoke to him was when I was maybe eight years old, he was best friends with my cousin Jesse, we were all playing softball.. baseball? What the hell's the difference? (i was catcher) and someone was batting and when they HUCKED the bat back I got slammed in the face. Thank god no permanent damage was done.
No, this was Ben Morris, a guy I met briefly at my friend Hunter’s wedding in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. I decided to make friends with Maker’s Mark on the rocks who in turn introduced me to a slew of dance partners. My friend Sarah (the groom’s sister) came up to me and said she told every one of her cousins (in the South, I believe this is a lot) to ask me to dance. After my 7th pity dance I remembered a particularly attractive guy asking me to dance and then mentioning he was Sarah’s cousin which I then launched into a “if Sarah put you up to this…” tirade as he stood there staring at me completely confused (I should really know when to put my foot in my mouth). So I think we may have danced, not sure I even introduced myself and that was it, never even caught his name.
One month later it’s 3am and I read this message:
Ben Morris November 8, 2010 at 2:22am
Hey Meddy, This is probably the most random message you've ever gotten, and just like dancing at hunters wedding, no, Sarah did not put me up to it. I leave for Playa De Maderas on the pacific side of Nicaragua with six buddies and three girls this Sunday to surf for a week. Originally it was five dudes, five girls, and due to many different circumstances, (my gf cheated on me for one), we have changed to six guys and three girls. We've got a house on the beach thats paid for, and an empty spot that will go to waste.....unless we can round up a surfer in the next five days. Obviously we don't even know each other and obviously no expectations/obligations, I don't know if you have a BF/significant other that would object, and I'm sure you have to work. But on the off chance you have a flexible schedule, want to go surf for a week, get sunburned, day drink, and throw some adventure into your life.....I'll buy you a ticket and take you on the best blind date of your life. If not, no worries, I hope our paths cross one day in the future. -Ben
…I literally had one of those movie moments when you rub your eyes and blink really hard and wonder if this is some sort of joke? I have two internships and I waitress, I am not even sure how I am going to pay rent next month, this trip is in 4 days, I couldn’t go to Nicaragua for a week… or could I? Why wouldn’t I go? Isn’t crazy shit like this what life is all about? And how many people could I beat in a blind date story telling contest??? (those exist.. and they happen.. all the time..) So I wrote Ben back.
Meddy Hurd November 9, 2010 at 4:37am
Ben, Wow. First of all I am really sorry to hear about your gf. Things like that are really brutal, So I am really sorry that that happened. Secondly this is the most amazing message/offer. And hopefully you aren't regretting (drunk?) in the morning (I am slightly serious slightly joking) so if you decide this morning you would like to pretend you didnt offer I TOTALLY understand. Ha. However, to be honest... I don't know what the expectations or requirements are on the surfing side.. I have surfed before but am still pretty beginner so on that front I don't want to hold any of you back. Not sure how expert this trip might actually all be. I live in New York City and work 2 internships and waitress that I wouldnt mind taking off. I don't have a bf. I am slightly low on cash and I normally hate the idea of someone paying for me for anything let alone a plane ticket and place to stay. So typically I would really insist that you not pay for me, But to be honest a trip to Nicaragua wasnt in my November budget. However, I love the beach, new people, and totally random opportunities so if you are still looking for another person I am pretty down. I can check with my boss' (all of them. ha) tomorrow and give you a more definitive answer on the phone. Again, if you wake up and decide what was I thinking inviting this girl who writes a long ridiculous email at 4 am, sober, whom you dont even know and who actually wants to come haha... honestly NO WORRIES. And I still seriously feel uneasy about you paying.. I dont like that but if you really have sorted things out and just kinda have a spot going to waste I truly appreciate just being offered. So with all of that said (sorry to be long winded) Yeah. Id really like to come. I will give you a call tomorrow.
I decided I would tell my internships and see what they say and if I they said ok, then I would go, and as for my waitressing job… well.. I had to bend the truth on that one. So the next day I asked and they looked at me like I was crazy,
My Boss: So, you don’t even know this guy and you are going into the middle of no where Nicaragua for a week?
Me: Uh. Yah.. so is that going to be ok? Like me leaving for a few days and not being here to work? Because I totally understand this is completely last minute.
My Boss: Last minute? I think that should be the least of your worries. I mean I can’t tell you you can’t go but please just call your mother and think this through again.
Me: Ok.. but so you’re saying its ok for me to take the week off right?
My Boss: Christ Meredith, I mean… How much grey hair have you given your mother?! Just please promise me you will call your mother when you get there. And then email me.
So that was that, I was going. So what exactly did I know about Ben Morris? Well I had concluded from sufficient facebook stalking and a few phone conversations before our departure that Ben Morris was cute, he formerly attended Washington and Lee University where he played lacrosse, he enjoyed duck hunting on the weekends and made his own moon shine, he was currently employed on a “Southern Gentleman’s Farm” (I don’t know what this is really, but anything with the words “southern” and “gentleman” … I am sold.) So I threw as many bathing suits in a backpack and flew from NYC to Miami to meet Ben and his friends.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
MeddyMade's Top 12 of 2010*
This time of year should be dubbed Christmas PMS. Holiday's annual cycle and everyone is fertile with fury. I swear generosity and kindness is just a myth around this time of year. Does no one move on the sidewalks in this city?! I literally have bruises from the amount of shoulder jabs Iv recieved from stubborn pedestrians. But I suppose it's not just this time of year. Reflecting on 2010 I have created a "best of" if you will; a reflection on this year's most memorable Meddy moments. A compilation of comments one would never want to hear at a particular time or any time for that matter. Enjoy.
January: When I first moved to NYC I was pretty desperate for a job. So I contacted everyone I knew. My friend Tyriek, a club promoter who seemed pretty well connected in the city and who took me to the MTV VMA's the year prior (baller, I know), said he knew a woman who ran a catering and cocktail waitressing company for private parties. I said I had never done catering or cocktailing.. he said "ohhh don't worry about it she just wants to know your attractive". I decided I wasnt that desperate yet and wanted to involve myself in things that demanded a little more of- you know, my BRAIN. Five employment rejections later I decided fiiiiine, I was blessed with this face and if I must use it, I shall. So, I called Tyriek. The woman's name was Jaclyn, and Tyriek said all she needed was a picture. I guess I've been told Im pretty.. by people.. ok so they're blood relatives that are forced to love me by association. But still it all feels so vain to think you're attractive enough to be employed solely on looks... I mean what do ugly people do? That day, I received an email response which said "Meredith- We received you’re email and based on your photo we are unable to confirm. If you would like, you can try to submit another picture for further consideration. Otherwise, Good Luck". Sooooo... what do ugly people do again?
February: Ew. This month comprised of horrific heartbreak activities consisting of routine love letter re-readings.. unproductive fb stalking. brutal self criticism. ben and jerrys pints.. "good cries"..bad cries.. cringe worthy cries.. again, ew. .. bridget jones diary viewings..repeatedly (1 and 2). typical breakup playlists on heavy rotation.. my brother walking into my apartment and saying "Meddy I think it's time you took a shower".
March: This month really wasn't memorable.
April: Neither was this one.
May: My friend had curated an art show in a Soho loft apartment. There were some really interesting pieces and some pieces that were pretty difficult to connect to and some pieces that were honestly just.. bad? (can I say that? Sorry JP) As I made my way around I passed a couch with 3 artsy looking hipster boys. I asked who they knew or how they heard about the art show, one of them said it was his cousins apartment. They introduced themselves, Rocko (don’t hold his name against him yet), Everett and Tod (really wish his name was Barney). They all were art students at Cooper Union. They asked me which pieces I really liked. (By the way, talking about art with people who go to an art school where their tuition is already paid is slightly intimidating, especially when I only see colors, not meaning). So I pointed out my favorite piece which happened to be a vampire cake (really.. shit was amazing!).
Rocko was very intriguing and he had a sort of... appeal that was very unassuming- he had the weirdest white-boy hair I have ever seen and he wore one earring with the NY skyline (umm, eww). I sat outside with Rocko while he smoked a cigarette and he told me two hilarious stories, both of which were about being arrested; one was in a canoe in Canada and the other was for "attempting to piss in a parking lot" (charming, I know).
I decided to head back to Brooklyn and they invited me to a warehouse party in Bushwick. We decided to walk over the Williamsburg Bridge and purchase a "bridge beverage" from a certain bodega he and his friends made a huge fuss about finding. I decided on a Diet Coke since I was still recovering from the previous night. I found it highly peculiar that neither Rocko nor his friends got anything, as they had been adamant in finding this particular bodega
Me: Hey, I thought the whole point of coming into this bodega was because you said they had your favorite drink?
Silence...
Me: Do you guys need cash?
Silence.. .
(Strange. We walk outside.)
Me: Guys! Go back in there and buy your drinks! (I say this while waving a $20 bill at him)
Rocko just looked at me with this sheepish expression and opened his coat to reveal 6 PBR's in his pockets...
Me: You stole them?! (I am shocked)
Rocko: God I really feel terrible, you don't even know me and you're offering me money...
Me: Silence. (I’m still shocked- I may be a good time gal, but I do not stand for petty thievery)
The name, strike one, the robbery, strikes two three four five six and seven…for those that can’t do math, that’s one for each stolen Pabst.
June: I was getting tired of my retail job at a boutique in the West Village and I could tell the feeling was mutual- several of the Mean Girl minions I was subjected to wait hand and foot on may have casually asked when my last day was to which I responded coyly, “well I wish it were today”. Bitter on the job is never a good look. So I reached out to every possible contact I could think of in the New York City area and finally I set up a luncheon with a family friend who worked at Polo Ralph Lauren for years. After lunch she had put me in touch with a woman Felicia whom I had been trying to get in touch with for the past five years and was the current beauty editor at Glamour Magazine. The next day on my lunch break, I called Felicia expecting to reach the same voice mail I had become so accustomed to hearing (followed by me leaving the same pathetic-slash-far too eager voicemail). But this time it was a live voice! Holy shit she picked up! She had a classy European accent and she said, “so where are you now Meredith? (Europeans love using full names)” I said, “ohh I live in Brooklyn now”. She said, “No, you misunderstand, I mean where are you right now?” I said, “ oh like right this minute? Midtown!” Annoyed, she said, “yes I know but where exactly where.. give me an address!” I looked up and said, “uhh.. 40th and Madison?” “If you can get to my office in 10 minutes, I’ll meet with you” Shit shit shit!!!.. but my lunch break is over! I said screw it and ran over to the Condé Nast building in Times Square, proceeded to the 16th floor, made it through reception, and plunked down at her desk. She looked at me, asked if I was interested in modeling, and asked me my age. I said I was 23 (which is young, no?) and her face twisted up as if I had just said I was inflicted with some contagious disease.. and she said "ooooohhhh well just wasnt your calling I suppose... moving on."
July: We had a family reunion in Maine this summer as it had been years since my entire family had been together. And it reminded me of summer vacations during high school. Going to boarding school in your home town means
1. the kids you grow up with all go to the public high school
2. when you do actually see them they pretend they don’t know you
3. vacation means all your new boarding school friends go home… far away.
So…. My sister Georgia and I got really creative with our free time. It was the summer Georgia got her license. We would go for little joyrides, make fun playlists, accost innocent pedestrians (and by pedestrians I mean townie hobos.. yes, yes i suppose technically that includes me)…
It started out pretty basic “Hey you!!” then it morphed into creating people, places, events… “Hey Jimmy, ya motha’s callin ya, ya late fa dinna!!” (we also occasionally became old lady New Yorkers?)
One night in particular, we were listening to some great tunes and saw some prime targets. We started repeatedly yelling, “WICKED PAHHHTY ON SOUTH STREET” whilst honking.. we found this hysterical… until police headlights went off and we were pulled over.
Turns out there really was a wicked party on south street and apparently there were about 5 cop cars waiting to bust it.
The cop flashed lights in our eyes and started drilling us with questions about where this “party” was…
Me: “No.. really.. there is no party.. I mean we don’t know about a party..”
Officer: “Rightttt.. you don’t know about any pahhties.” Clearly, he does not believe us- and why should he?.
Me: “Yea. Really, we seriously don’t even know about any parties. I swear… We were just joking around.”
Officer: “Jokin around? You girls drunk? Ya telling me you girls just drive around yellin at boys gettin em to go to some made up pahty?”
Oh god.
Me: “We’re not drunk.. I swear, Really! We don’t even know anyone.. I mean.. we don’t even know them.. I mean we don’t know about any parties..”
Oh god..
He was so confused that these 16 year old girls were actually spending their Saturday night just driving around making up parties with no where to go.. he gave us a warning and told us to go home. I was pitied by a middle-aged balding patrol cop.
Perhaps this is more of a depressing memory and maybe not funny?
August: I had made a contact with a woman named Amanda on Wall Street who had offered to meet with me to offer any connections that might help my job hunt. After our meeting she put me in touch with a publisher. Needless to say, I was thrilled at the prospect. Amanda offered to meet for coffee before the interview. After I had drilled myself on my strengths, weaknesses, passions, vision, future aspirations. I felt nervous but ready. Amanda looked at me and said "Meddy, all you have to do is just be yourself and be confident. You are a pleasure, you look great, but do you mind if I just run a comb through your hair?”
September: It was my birthday and I had sent out an invite to a bunch of people (those of you who did not attend.. you really missed out and you should feel terrible about it. really) So clearly I was pretty excited about myself and my [insert synonym for awesome here] outfit..Afterall, Birthdays are your day to say hey! wow! Im so great! So we decided to continue on with the party somewhere else and pile into cabs. In typical Meddy fashion I sat in front with Amar our driver, so Im chatting it up, he even let me DJ. He then looked at me about to say something and in my vain birthday state I suspected something may come out of his mouth along the lines of a compliment, however as my eyes met Amar's he said... How long have you been out? You really should go to bed. Really. do yourself a favor and go to bed.
There goes your tip, buddy.
Happy Birthday to me.
October: A creepy encounter...
Time: 1:30 Am Weekend before Halloween
Location: Manhattan Ave. Walking home from work
(Feel a tap on my shoulder.. turn around and see this long blonde haired weirdo staring at me)
Long blonde haired weirdo: Hi, Im Dean (Yeah, more like Throtmorton, a nickname my grandmother gave to the unfortunates crossing the street too slowly when she was driving. Such a fond memory.)
Me: Hi... (walking more briskly and turn onto a more busy street)
Dean: So.. I saw you walking and I was like wowww you must be like European or something.. you got this like whole European thing going on.
Me: Oh yeah, thats interesting
Dean: So.. where are you from?
Me: Not Europe
Dean: Halloween is coming up.
Me: Yep..
Dean: You gonna be some sort of sexy bunny or a sexy Lady Gaga or a sexy... pickle?
Me: (I can't stop laughing.. which I think makes him think Im interested in him... he will not stop saying the word pickle.. ok im not laughing anymore and now im thoroughly creeped out)
Dean: So can I call you sometime?
Me: I don't give my number out
Dean: But I just gave you all these great costume ideas. You owe me!
Me: No, Im sorry I dont give my number out
Dean: What the F%$^ you stupid Bitch....
Oh my god.. I start running home..
So that was a strange encounter.. well cut to first week of December I get off the L train on Bedford Avenue and I hear a guy come up next to me..
"Hey are you from Europe? You have this whole hot foreign thing going on"
.. before I even look over.. I recognize the voice.. Dean.
Me: "I think we've had this conversation before, and I think that line is really terrible"
Dean: Really? Like we have met before?
Me: Unfortunately
Dean: Well what happened? I mean did we keep in touch?
Me: Clearly not
Dean: Well I have a twin brother.. we're like 6 minutes apart. Look, can I get your number?
Me: No!
Dean: Come on, stop being such a bitch.
Me: Leave me the fuck alone!!!
I thought there were 8 MILLION people in New York and I have the exact same confrontation with the exact same person twice. FML.
November: I've been working two internships during the week and since one has been unpaid I waitress most nights. This makes for a very long week. It was Thursday night at my restaurant in Williamsburg and usually it's pretty busy. So I had a rather large table of guys who were particularly obnoxious; "I'll have the enchilladas with no cheese.." (that's essentially a taco) "What were the specials again?", "Ill have the burrito but can i just have veggies no rice no beans.. and guacomole.. yeah wait. actually with rice and can i get the sour cream on the side?" I almost yelled you sound like a bunch of fucking girls! So about 10 Tecates later they finally asked for their check. As one guy was paying he said "Look, I'd ask for your number if it weren't for your unfortunate nose" Outraged (clearly.. and to think all those years my grandmother Mimi told me I was perfect in every way) I said excuse me?! He said What? I walked away, he then had the audacity to follow me and say "Look I heard that if you harp on a girl's flaw it will make her like you more because she'll want like your approval.. and like.. stuff.."
Harp on her flaw?! You've got a lot to learn buddy... a. lot. to . learn.
Pff…Douchebag.
December: Oh the holidays. They were so great growing up, all five of us crammed into our car. 12 hour drive from Maine to Virginia, it was so fun back then, playing the wave game... this was when my sister Georgia and I put up signs on either side of the windows that said "PLEASE WAVE" and waved at people.. then tallied how many waves we got..sometimes we'd even break it up by state to see what was the friendliest state!! (Zach wanted nothing to do with this, so poor guy had to ride bitch with me and Georgia comfortable in the window seats)... Oh man, it just brings a smile to my face just thinking about how creative we were... sigh.
Sadly this trip is now done on the bus from New York and this year I unfortunately came down with the flu and therefore could not partake in the Hurd holiday festivities. Instead I was bed ridden in Brooklyn doped up on ny-quil. Christmas Eve I decided it would be a good idea to go to the grocery store and stock my empty apartment to at least pretend like I had something to make on Christmas. A few steps out of my apartment I was out of breath and sweating.. ew. When I got to the grocery store the line was out of control and I could already feel my entire body slowing down when the all too familiar taste of acid began to form in the back of my throat. That's right people, I was about to vom. I dropped my basket and walked out the front door and all of the sudden everything went black. I felt something resembling a wall behind me and slid down so that I was sitting. I could not even concentrate.. I dont even know how long i was sitting there. Next thing I knew, a woman was waving a dollar bill in my face and snapped "Mami, ya lips are turnin white." I realized I was sitting on the nasty sidewalk up against the wall of a liquor store, being mistaken for a vagabond homeless person. I managed to stand up and stagger back to my apartment empty handed.
Merry Christmas to Meddy.
*Special Thank you to Jaclyn Little for finding this entertaining enough to edit!
January: When I first moved to NYC I was pretty desperate for a job. So I contacted everyone I knew. My friend Tyriek, a club promoter who seemed pretty well connected in the city and who took me to the MTV VMA's the year prior (baller, I know), said he knew a woman who ran a catering and cocktail waitressing company for private parties. I said I had never done catering or cocktailing.. he said "ohhh don't worry about it she just wants to know your attractive". I decided I wasnt that desperate yet and wanted to involve myself in things that demanded a little more of- you know, my BRAIN. Five employment rejections later I decided fiiiiine, I was blessed with this face and if I must use it, I shall. So, I called Tyriek. The woman's name was Jaclyn, and Tyriek said all she needed was a picture. I guess I've been told Im pretty.. by people.. ok so they're blood relatives that are forced to love me by association. But still it all feels so vain to think you're attractive enough to be employed solely on looks... I mean what do ugly people do? That day, I received an email response which said "Meredith- We received you’re email and based on your photo we are unable to confirm. If you would like, you can try to submit another picture for further consideration. Otherwise, Good Luck". Sooooo... what do ugly people do again?
February: Ew. This month comprised of horrific heartbreak activities consisting of routine love letter re-readings.. unproductive fb stalking. brutal self criticism. ben and jerrys pints.. "good cries"..bad cries.. cringe worthy cries.. again, ew. .. bridget jones diary viewings..repeatedly (1 and 2). typical breakup playlists on heavy rotation.. my brother walking into my apartment and saying "Meddy I think it's time you took a shower".
March: This month really wasn't memorable.
April: Neither was this one.
May: My friend had curated an art show in a Soho loft apartment. There were some really interesting pieces and some pieces that were pretty difficult to connect to and some pieces that were honestly just.. bad? (can I say that? Sorry JP) As I made my way around I passed a couch with 3 artsy looking hipster boys. I asked who they knew or how they heard about the art show, one of them said it was his cousins apartment. They introduced themselves, Rocko (don’t hold his name against him yet), Everett and Tod (really wish his name was Barney). They all were art students at Cooper Union. They asked me which pieces I really liked. (By the way, talking about art with people who go to an art school where their tuition is already paid is slightly intimidating, especially when I only see colors, not meaning). So I pointed out my favorite piece which happened to be a vampire cake (really.. shit was amazing!).
Rocko was very intriguing and he had a sort of... appeal that was very unassuming- he had the weirdest white-boy hair I have ever seen and he wore one earring with the NY skyline (umm, eww). I sat outside with Rocko while he smoked a cigarette and he told me two hilarious stories, both of which were about being arrested; one was in a canoe in Canada and the other was for "attempting to piss in a parking lot" (charming, I know).
I decided to head back to Brooklyn and they invited me to a warehouse party in Bushwick. We decided to walk over the Williamsburg Bridge and purchase a "bridge beverage" from a certain bodega he and his friends made a huge fuss about finding. I decided on a Diet Coke since I was still recovering from the previous night. I found it highly peculiar that neither Rocko nor his friends got anything, as they had been adamant in finding this particular bodega
Me: Hey, I thought the whole point of coming into this bodega was because you said they had your favorite drink?
Silence...
Me: Do you guys need cash?
Silence.. .
(Strange. We walk outside.)
Me: Guys! Go back in there and buy your drinks! (I say this while waving a $20 bill at him)
Rocko just looked at me with this sheepish expression and opened his coat to reveal 6 PBR's in his pockets...
Me: You stole them?! (I am shocked)
Rocko: God I really feel terrible, you don't even know me and you're offering me money...
Me: Silence. (I’m still shocked- I may be a good time gal, but I do not stand for petty thievery)
The name, strike one, the robbery, strikes two three four five six and seven…for those that can’t do math, that’s one for each stolen Pabst.
June: I was getting tired of my retail job at a boutique in the West Village and I could tell the feeling was mutual- several of the Mean Girl minions I was subjected to wait hand and foot on may have casually asked when my last day was to which I responded coyly, “well I wish it were today”. Bitter on the job is never a good look. So I reached out to every possible contact I could think of in the New York City area and finally I set up a luncheon with a family friend who worked at Polo Ralph Lauren for years. After lunch she had put me in touch with a woman Felicia whom I had been trying to get in touch with for the past five years and was the current beauty editor at Glamour Magazine. The next day on my lunch break, I called Felicia expecting to reach the same voice mail I had become so accustomed to hearing (followed by me leaving the same pathetic-slash-far too eager voicemail). But this time it was a live voice! Holy shit she picked up! She had a classy European accent and she said, “so where are you now Meredith? (Europeans love using full names)” I said, “ohh I live in Brooklyn now”. She said, “No, you misunderstand, I mean where are you right now?” I said, “ oh like right this minute? Midtown!” Annoyed, she said, “yes I know but where exactly where.. give me an address!” I looked up and said, “uhh.. 40th and Madison?” “If you can get to my office in 10 minutes, I’ll meet with you” Shit shit shit!!!.. but my lunch break is over! I said screw it and ran over to the Condé Nast building in Times Square, proceeded to the 16th floor, made it through reception, and plunked down at her desk. She looked at me, asked if I was interested in modeling, and asked me my age. I said I was 23 (which is young, no?) and her face twisted up as if I had just said I was inflicted with some contagious disease.. and she said "ooooohhhh well just wasnt your calling I suppose... moving on."
July: We had a family reunion in Maine this summer as it had been years since my entire family had been together. And it reminded me of summer vacations during high school. Going to boarding school in your home town means
1. the kids you grow up with all go to the public high school
2. when you do actually see them they pretend they don’t know you
3. vacation means all your new boarding school friends go home… far away.
So…. My sister Georgia and I got really creative with our free time. It was the summer Georgia got her license. We would go for little joyrides, make fun playlists, accost innocent pedestrians (and by pedestrians I mean townie hobos.. yes, yes i suppose technically that includes me)…
It started out pretty basic “Hey you!!” then it morphed into creating people, places, events… “Hey Jimmy, ya motha’s callin ya, ya late fa dinna!!” (we also occasionally became old lady New Yorkers?)
One night in particular, we were listening to some great tunes and saw some prime targets. We started repeatedly yelling, “WICKED PAHHHTY ON SOUTH STREET” whilst honking.. we found this hysterical… until police headlights went off and we were pulled over.
Turns out there really was a wicked party on south street and apparently there were about 5 cop cars waiting to bust it.
The cop flashed lights in our eyes and started drilling us with questions about where this “party” was…
Me: “No.. really.. there is no party.. I mean we don’t know about a party..”
Officer: “Rightttt.. you don’t know about any pahhties.” Clearly, he does not believe us- and why should he?.
Me: “Yea. Really, we seriously don’t even know about any parties. I swear… We were just joking around.”
Officer: “Jokin around? You girls drunk? Ya telling me you girls just drive around yellin at boys gettin em to go to some made up pahty?”
Oh god.
Me: “We’re not drunk.. I swear, Really! We don’t even know anyone.. I mean.. we don’t even know them.. I mean we don’t know about any parties..”
Oh god..
He was so confused that these 16 year old girls were actually spending their Saturday night just driving around making up parties with no where to go.. he gave us a warning and told us to go home. I was pitied by a middle-aged balding patrol cop.
Perhaps this is more of a depressing memory and maybe not funny?
August: I had made a contact with a woman named Amanda on Wall Street who had offered to meet with me to offer any connections that might help my job hunt. After our meeting she put me in touch with a publisher. Needless to say, I was thrilled at the prospect. Amanda offered to meet for coffee before the interview. After I had drilled myself on my strengths, weaknesses, passions, vision, future aspirations. I felt nervous but ready. Amanda looked at me and said "Meddy, all you have to do is just be yourself and be confident. You are a pleasure, you look great, but do you mind if I just run a comb through your hair?”
September: It was my birthday and I had sent out an invite to a bunch of people (those of you who did not attend.. you really missed out and you should feel terrible about it. really) So clearly I was pretty excited about myself and my [insert synonym for awesome here] outfit..Afterall, Birthdays are your day to say hey! wow! Im so great! So we decided to continue on with the party somewhere else and pile into cabs. In typical Meddy fashion I sat in front with Amar our driver, so Im chatting it up, he even let me DJ. He then looked at me about to say something and in my vain birthday state I suspected something may come out of his mouth along the lines of a compliment, however as my eyes met Amar's he said... How long have you been out? You really should go to bed. Really. do yourself a favor and go to bed.
There goes your tip, buddy.
Happy Birthday to me.
October: A creepy encounter...
Time: 1:30 Am Weekend before Halloween
Location: Manhattan Ave. Walking home from work
(Feel a tap on my shoulder.. turn around and see this long blonde haired weirdo staring at me)
Long blonde haired weirdo: Hi, Im Dean (Yeah, more like Throtmorton, a nickname my grandmother gave to the unfortunates crossing the street too slowly when she was driving. Such a fond memory.)
Me: Hi... (walking more briskly and turn onto a more busy street)
Dean: So.. I saw you walking and I was like wowww you must be like European or something.. you got this like whole European thing going on.
Me: Oh yeah, thats interesting
Dean: So.. where are you from?
Me: Not Europe
Dean: Halloween is coming up.
Me: Yep..
Dean: You gonna be some sort of sexy bunny or a sexy Lady Gaga or a sexy... pickle?
Me: (I can't stop laughing.. which I think makes him think Im interested in him... he will not stop saying the word pickle.. ok im not laughing anymore and now im thoroughly creeped out)
Dean: So can I call you sometime?
Me: I don't give my number out
Dean: But I just gave you all these great costume ideas. You owe me!
Me: No, Im sorry I dont give my number out
Dean: What the F%$^ you stupid Bitch....
Oh my god.. I start running home..
So that was a strange encounter.. well cut to first week of December I get off the L train on Bedford Avenue and I hear a guy come up next to me..
"Hey are you from Europe? You have this whole hot foreign thing going on"
.. before I even look over.. I recognize the voice.. Dean.
Me: "I think we've had this conversation before, and I think that line is really terrible"
Dean: Really? Like we have met before?
Me: Unfortunately
Dean: Well what happened? I mean did we keep in touch?
Me: Clearly not
Dean: Well I have a twin brother.. we're like 6 minutes apart. Look, can I get your number?
Me: No!
Dean: Come on, stop being such a bitch.
Me: Leave me the fuck alone!!!
I thought there were 8 MILLION people in New York and I have the exact same confrontation with the exact same person twice. FML.
November: I've been working two internships during the week and since one has been unpaid I waitress most nights. This makes for a very long week. It was Thursday night at my restaurant in Williamsburg and usually it's pretty busy. So I had a rather large table of guys who were particularly obnoxious; "I'll have the enchilladas with no cheese.." (that's essentially a taco) "What were the specials again?", "Ill have the burrito but can i just have veggies no rice no beans.. and guacomole.. yeah wait. actually with rice and can i get the sour cream on the side?" I almost yelled you sound like a bunch of fucking girls! So about 10 Tecates later they finally asked for their check. As one guy was paying he said "Look, I'd ask for your number if it weren't for your unfortunate nose" Outraged (clearly.. and to think all those years my grandmother Mimi told me I was perfect in every way) I said excuse me?! He said What? I walked away, he then had the audacity to follow me and say "Look I heard that if you harp on a girl's flaw it will make her like you more because she'll want like your approval.. and like.. stuff.."
Harp on her flaw?! You've got a lot to learn buddy... a. lot. to . learn.
Pff…Douchebag.
December: Oh the holidays. They were so great growing up, all five of us crammed into our car. 12 hour drive from Maine to Virginia, it was so fun back then, playing the wave game... this was when my sister Georgia and I put up signs on either side of the windows that said "PLEASE WAVE" and waved at people.. then tallied how many waves we got..sometimes we'd even break it up by state to see what was the friendliest state!! (Zach wanted nothing to do with this, so poor guy had to ride bitch with me and Georgia comfortable in the window seats)... Oh man, it just brings a smile to my face just thinking about how creative we were... sigh.
Sadly this trip is now done on the bus from New York and this year I unfortunately came down with the flu and therefore could not partake in the Hurd holiday festivities. Instead I was bed ridden in Brooklyn doped up on ny-quil. Christmas Eve I decided it would be a good idea to go to the grocery store and stock my empty apartment to at least pretend like I had something to make on Christmas. A few steps out of my apartment I was out of breath and sweating.. ew. When I got to the grocery store the line was out of control and I could already feel my entire body slowing down when the all too familiar taste of acid began to form in the back of my throat. That's right people, I was about to vom. I dropped my basket and walked out the front door and all of the sudden everything went black. I felt something resembling a wall behind me and slid down so that I was sitting. I could not even concentrate.. I dont even know how long i was sitting there. Next thing I knew, a woman was waving a dollar bill in my face and snapped "Mami, ya lips are turnin white." I realized I was sitting on the nasty sidewalk up against the wall of a liquor store, being mistaken for a vagabond homeless person. I managed to stand up and stagger back to my apartment empty handed.
Merry Christmas to Meddy.
*Special Thank you to Jaclyn Little for finding this entertaining enough to edit!
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