Friday, October 10, 2008

Paulson regrets that time he watched "I Love New York" instead of finishing "Finance Regulation for Dummies"

If you're like me and keep all of your money in the cash registers of area nail and threading salons, then you're not exactly sure what all the hullabaloo on Wall Street is. Allow me to shed some light on the situation: We. Are. In. Financial. Apocalypse.

Perhaps I'm exaggerating a bit (I'm not), and it's not *THE* worst economic environments we've seen in decades (it is) that will force world leaders to close down their markets to re-write the rules of international finance (already working on it). Let's just pretend for a moment that I'm not overreacting -- how does something like this happen? I once got into an argument with an anarchist who said that we didn't need laws because people are naturally inclined to "do the right thing." To punctuate his point, he pulled out a pocket knife and said that I should stab him to prove him wrong. I didn't, but I like to think that eventually some other bored party-goer did, if only to shut him up. Because, at the end of the day, we very rarely do things because they are the "right" thing to do -- more often, we do them because they are the "non-illegal" things to do. Amsterdam has made a killing in tourism based entirely on this theory.

Being an event planner has taught me that, without rules and the means by which to enforce them, lawlessness abounds. It has also taught me that a 90-lb woman will jab a 300-lb bouncer in the foot with her stiletto for $30 worth of cosmetics. So, even as we all feign moral indignation at Fuld's reckless acts at Lehman Brothers, it's hard to believe that, given the chance, there aren't others would wouldn't risk destabilizing an entire financial market and
a punch in the face whilst on the treadmill to net $500 million. Sure, *most* people wouldn't, but Greyhound learned earlier this year, just because *most* people wouldn't kill a complete stranger, doesn't mean one person wouldn't. And while there are plenty of us that wish someone had beheaded Fuld, violence is not the answer. At least, not yet. No, what we need to do is pay more attention to who we put in charge of our money and what they are doing with it. Because, as nice as it is to believe that people will ultimately "do the right thing," Spike Lee has taught us and Radio Raheem that that is not always the case.

PHOTO: This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back. However, I can tell you that the blue one significantly decreases your chances of ever hearing the phrase "you betcha" again. Choose wisely.

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Thursday, August 21, 2008

Even I Don't Read My Blog. And That Has Cost Me Dearly.

If you're a fan of the Boredom Blog, you may remember this little humdinger of a post where I mention that Bank of America is now charging a three-dollar ATM fee for non-customers. Hmm, what's that you say? You don't remember? Um, yeah, me either, because in a fit of desperation (I was wearing heels!) last weekend, I totally made the mistake of using one of their machines. That coupled with my bank's "convenience fee" (read: "Sucka! I can't believe you just paid me to do NOTHING!"), means I paid a $4.50 surcharge just to get enough cash to get a cab home from midtown (and before you snark, it was like 2:30 AM, the trains were all wonky, and I live in Brooklyn, for god sakes. Have a heart!). Adding to the list yet another reason why Suze Orman won't return my calls.

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I Wish Someone Would Do Something About How Fat I Am*

Okay, a few days ago I wrote a platitude-laden blog about how my current weight-loss plateau has helped me to re-evaluate my definition of weight-loss success. Desperation has since caused me to re-re-evaluate the situation and deem that seemingly noble sentiment complete and utter bullshit. Because after 21+ days, all I* DO* care about right now is the fact that my scale appears to be a capricious asshole who takes delight in taunting me with my non-progress.

As I’ve previously asserted, I am truly a scientist at heart (admittedly though, less of an Albert Einstein and more of an L. Ron Hubbard), and as such, have taken pains to thoroughly research possible solutions to this crisis (read: I’ve Googled the term “weight-loss plateau” incessantly over the past few weeks). The challenge is, every website says the same thing – Increase your caloric intake. Increase your activity level. Decrease your reliance on the scale as an indicator of success. All of which I’ve done. And, still…. NOTHING! I am just as scale-disadvantaged as I was a fortnight and a half ago!

While I’ve tried to appease myself with alternative metrics (like the fact that my once aspirational “skinny pants” are now loose on me, or that I’m able to work out for incredibly long periods without tiring), I can’t help but feel that it’s utter bullshit. Because my goal when I started wasn’t “Be able to wear outdated pants that reek of mothballs and desperation” or “Ellipticate (It’s a word. Look it up. Make sure you use my dictionary) ad nauseam, ad infinitum.” My goal was to have a kick-ass body like Britney’s. You know, before the babies. But even that b*tch is on the front page of OK! touting her rapid weight-loss success, proving that even an overexposed underdeveloped tartlet who is an epic FAIL at almost everything not involving hip gyrations or pedophiliac allusions can do it. And now my resolve is fading faster than Rick Ross’s street cred (Although kudos to him on the perfect attendance reward. It has to be hard to prison guard every night when everyday you’re hustling).

So I implore you dear reader, what can I do to bust out of this dreaded plateau? Eating disorders are out of question. After all, I want to lose weight, not end up being played by
Raven Symoné (I know, I questioned the casting decision too) in a Lifetime Movie of the Week. Similarly, celebrity diets are also not going to work because I a) Don’t have a gazillion dollars to “invest” in my ass and b) if I did, I would probably just buy Eva Mendez and make her impersonate me (What?!?! I saw her in the clearance aisle at Costco, so I just assumed). So please post your helpful suggestions in Comments. All mean/snarky comments can be directed to your mother’s answering machine, because she’s probably the reason you’re so bitter anyway.

*Yes, I steal content. But I make it better by properly inserting it into topic, no?

PHOTO: If you're going to cast someone as me in a movie, may I make a humble suggestion? Because this is the exact face I make every morning when pondering breakfast selections. Or why it is that black face is still so taboo.

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Word of the Day: Ellipticate

Main Entry: Ellipticate
Function: verb
intransitive verb1 a: To use the elliptical machine; specifically: to move both feet in opposing directions in a running motion on a machine specifically designed to minimize impact. b: To abandon high-impact activities (e.g. running, etc.) for a lower-impact workout.

a: I ellipicated at the gym for over 2 hours yesterday.
b: After I pulled that last hammy, my doctor suggested I ellipticate my current routine.

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Monday, August 18, 2008

Please Stop Assuming that I Have a Drug Problem.

If you're my friend, you may have recently noticed that I dropped a few pounds. Ninety, to be exact. It's been a slow, steady process fraught (I've been waiting all week to use that word) with challenges, but I've persevered. Until recently.

The thing is, I hit a giant brick wall a few weeks ago. It's odd -- on the surface, it was made up of seemingly small things -- the backhanded compliments I had received from friends ("Seriously, are you on coke?"), the hopefully broken Taylor scale (which despite my best efforts, has refused to budget from 178), the excess skin on my now-deflated breasts. Taken individually, they would have been manageable, but collectively, they felt insurmountable.

And just when I started to feel sorry (and angry) at myself for failing once again, I did what any good scientist (or bullshit artist) would do -- I reassessed my metrics. My weight might be fixed, but I've dropped over 5% body fat in the last month alone. I just signed up for a introduction to ballet workshop, something that I would have never had the courage to do in the past. And shopping has regained its rightful place as my preferred lunchtime activity. For everything I've sacrificed, I've gained something new -- maybe not what I was expecting, or even hoping for, but more often, something better -- something I didn't even realize I was missing.

Maybe this then is the key to weight loss success -- the moment you realize that it is about so much more than a number on a scale. It's the sense of accomplishment that is instantly recognizable by everyone I see. The feeling that I CAN do anything that I set my mind to; I can succeed where so many others have failed, I can climb Mount Everest without freezing to death. I've come so far, to not finish now would be insanity.

So I will continue to demure when you inquire as to my drug of choice (after all, every good bad girl needs some sort of bad habit, even if only imagined), research (healthy) ways to ramp up my cardio, and start saving up for a breast lift. Because, as tough as it has been, it's still a hundred times better than the alternative.

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Saturday, March 15, 2008

In my house, wine glasses outnumber cooking utensils three-to-one.

My microwave broke recently (it happened during the Oscars this year -- one can only imagine it was in protest of Marion Cotillard's dress). Sadly, with it went my one real desire to be a part of the cooking world (I hear your ponderances on why I just didn't buy a new one and I dismiss them. Please stop questioning my blog logic), which derived almost entirely from that machine (and those wonderful labels that companies spend so much time preparing for the packaging. Yes, I'm NOT ashamed to admit I'm the reason they put cooking directions on chicken).

I've always had a natural aversion to using stoves, which I think has to do with a batch of spearmint taffy that I made once as a child that went horribly awry. I learned three things that day: 1) You can never substitute dark corn syrup for light corn syrup; 2) When they say a drop of spearmint flavor, it is not a typo; and 3) when you make a batch of taffy that goes horribly awry, don't put it in a tupperware container and hide it under the kitchen sink. I also grew up in a town where Pizza Hut was THE place to go for Italian, and going to Olive Garden meant that you were getting engaged (or at least, asked to move into his trailer). Because of this, I never really developed a refined palate, or even a desire to eat anything that doesn't come with safety packaging.

All of this probably wouldn't be a problem if I didn't live in New York City, where being a foodie is de rigeur and almost every neighborhood is a veritable orgasm of foodstuffs. I had hoped that when I moved here that I would become more discerning, but the fact remains, I *STILL* cannot taste the coriander in your soup, I continue to be uncertain of what kale looks like, and I remain baffled by how anyone can buy vegetables when manufacturers don't have the decency to provide expiration dates.

Still, while my ignorance can be a bit of an annoyance, I kind of like that, as I'm surrounded by co-workers discussing the merits of granite vs. marble for a mortar and pestle ("It's pestle, Erin, not pustule"), I'm wondering if the Chinatown Duane Reade still has Circus Peanuts on sale. And what of purchasing a new microwave? Maybe, but not anytime soon, as I have transitioned to a raw diet. Now I only buy things that can be eaten straight from the package.

PHOTO: Next time you're hating on my favorite candy, please remember that, without Circus Peanuts, the world would not have Lucky Charms. And you're welcome.

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Saturday, February 2, 2008

Quote of the Day

Those that can't do, teach. And those that can't teach, teach gym.
- Jack Black, School of Rock

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War-ri-ors, come out and play-ay!

Love this commercial for Randy Jackson's America's Best Dance Crew -- I may actually even watch the show.

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Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Quote of the Day

Jamie Lynn Spears announced that she’s pregnant. I think she should opt for adoption. I would never recommend abortion, unless you’ve got the punch card filled up, and the eighth one is free.
- Chelsea Handler

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Monday, January 28, 2008

Quote of the Day

Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination.
- Oscar Wilde

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The company's sexual harassment policy prevents me from being friendlier to my colleagues.

Should I be concerned that my work personality has been completely stunted by fear of violating the corporate harrassment policy? Seriously, I've never thought of myself as a risqué person until I attended the helpful (and mandatory) seminar about the subject. Ever since then, I've been frightened to speak to co-workers, lest I say something objectionable (and possibly actionable). The thing is, saying inappropriate things is kind of the crux of my whole character, and without it, I'm left with only my love of Celebrity Rehab, MMA and serial killers to recommend me, which, surprisingly, don't go over so well at the water cooler. Never fear, intrepid reader -- I shall persevere. Just be prepared for me to sexually harass the sh*t out of your *ss the next time we hang out, cause that crap has a way of backing up on you.

PHOTO: Seriously, who *DOESN'T* love John Cena? He's helped me to believe that white boys can rap again.

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Just because Merriam Webster doesn't recognize it, doesn't mean it's not a word.

I know you haters think it's a typo, but I stand by my spelling of hoboeing, for no other reason than it looks cool. Besides, Merriam Webster recognizes both "jiggy" and "smackdown," so I question THEIR authority to decide what is a word and what is a typo. I mean, do we really want to live in a society where we let the likes of Vince McMahon and Will Smith craft the vernacular? I think not. Let's leave the heavy lifting to the girl who brought you "d-lebrity" and "necessories," shall we?

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Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Commuting is for suckers. And poor people. But I repeat myself.

As you probably know, the MTA is raising fares. Again. Seriously though, wouldn't it be great if you could get a gig as sweet at the MTA? Imagine when your yearly review comes up, your boss is all like, "your work performance is extremely poor. You're never on time, there's $600 million missing out of the company coffers, Maintenance is pretty sure that you were responsible for the electrical fire we had last week, and we're still trying to figure out how you managed to flood the copy room." And you could be all like, "I see your point. You'd better raise my salary so I can turn this around."

It's times like these that I consider dropping out of society and pursuing a life of shiftless hoboeing. Say what you will about homelessness, you can't beat the commute.

PHOTO: New York is the only place in the world where people pay good money to stand in a BO-flavored underground tunnel filled with rats and other vermin. Good times.

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Put Back My Diet Coke on Penalty of Death

I think someone pinched the soda I left in the office fridge yesterday. The one that was labeled "Erin Elvi Slives". And "Do Not Touch on Penalty of Death". Okay, I didn't add that last part, but I'm regretting that decision now. Words cannot express how devastated I was to discover the theft this morning. Especially since our office coffee is kind of weak, and so is my morning tolerance for humanity.

Am I overreacting? Of course. However, if I ever run into the purloiner in a dark alley, whatever happens will be an accident.

PHOTO: "Dear Erin, I'm sorry I ran away to Mexico, but I got sick of living in a fridge that hasn't been defrosted since the Eisenhower administration. I hope you can forgive me... Hugs to the fam. -Love, DC"

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