Wednesday, April 30, 2008

I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here

First day of new job! Blogging already shows that my dedication to procrastination (I mean, to my readers) is unflagging!

Anyway, I just keep thinking of that scene from Annie, when she first gets to Daddy Warbucks' manse, and the waitstaff are all like, "What would you like to do first?" And Annie's all, "I'll start with the floors, then the windows ..." and she picks up a mop. And then Drake (or was it Mrs. Pugh?) says, "We don't expect you to clean, Annie --you're a guest here!"

So things are looking up. But at least if they do ask me to mop, thanks to BlackBook, I know how to mop.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

Run-In With My Inner Child?

Today I am test-driving a new pair of shoes. I bought them for my new job. They are office-friendly sandals that say (or at least I hope they say) "I am responsible yet stylish". They hurt like a motherfucker.

So I was walking, painstakingly, down the street this morning when I passed a mother and her young daughter. The child, petite and brunette, was walking alongside a pink tricycle and did not appear to be in pain, but as she passed me she said (without looking at me) "Owwwwwwwwwwww. Owwwwwwwwwwww!"

I mean, wow. That is some Shirley MacLaine shit right there. It was like my inner child found an earthly body in order to ask me "What are you doing?"

Then again, maybe that kid just had a splinter.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

TTDT Red Alert

A friend of mine -- I can't remember who -- introduced me to (or possibly coined) the phrase "TTDTs", or "Thighs That Don't Touch". Since the weather's been getting warmer, puffy coats have been peeled off to reveal many a New York woman who suffers from TTDT. They tend to travel in packs.

Now, I know that some of these women are tragically bow-legged, and I mean no disrespect, but I can't help but stare at these strange creatures with concave thighs. What must it be like to never know the sweet pain of chafing on a hot summer day? Is TTDT genetic? Why is New York such a hotbed of infection? Is this like bedbugs?

Please advise.

I Hate the Media (Ergo, I Hate Myself?)

This primary campaign has really made me loathe the media. I mean, take Pennsylvania's primary last night. Six to eight weeks ago, Clinton had some 20-point lead in the polls. Everyone assumed she would win. Then, as of a few weeks ago, the lead had dwindled to 6-8 points, give or take. It was still assumed that she would win, but by a smaller margin, not the landslide she needed.

Which is exactly what happened. Not a big shock to anyone who follows the news. (OK, some of us had hoped that Obama would pull off an upset, but we weren't betting on it).

So how come, this morning, news outlets are making a big deal about the win? It's not NEWS if people have ALREADY KNOWN ABOUT IT FOR MONTHS.

I guess that they realize the real story is boring and kind of depressing: The fight will continue on, and on, and on, Clinton will never give up until the nomination is wrenched from her cold, dead hands. But, barring some unimaginable error by Obama, like freebasing cocaine with Osama bin Laden on live video feed, or unless the entire democratic system implodes and Clinton buys a victory from superdelegates, Obama will eventually get the nomination, and will then have approximately five minutes to rally the tired, jaded, divided Democratic party behind him.

Try to fit that into a cover blurb. (NY Post, I am talking to you.)

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Cyn and Chris's Wedding

The bride, swooning, pre-ceremony in her presidential suite.

The beautiful couple!

The dashing photographer!

The bride and groom gettin' down!

Brother of the bride, John, and his main lady, Stephanie, showin' off their dance skillz!

It was a weekend (and a birthday) to remember.

Friday, April 18, 2008

Pool of the Damned

Estancia La Jolla, the resort/spa where Cyndi and Chris had their wedding last weekend, came equipped with a heated pool. We all took advantage of it during the day, but after some wine at the rehearsal dinner, we decided to do some night swimming, too.

Jeff went first:

I never actually submerged the camera (it's not waterproof, and I wasn't that drunk). Taking pictures from above the surface resulted in a surreal, painting-like texture.

Jeff directed me in various poses:

Including something that looked an awful lot like a watery corpse!

Close-up shots reveal that, in general, people tend to look constipated when they are holding their breath:

Sometimes, they look like Jay Leno!

But ... usually constipated.

More wedding photos to come soon.

New York Morning

I thought I saw a dead rat on the sidewalk this morning, but upon closer inspection it was revealed to be a discarded weave. Spring is here!

Thursday, April 17, 2008


So my grandmother sent me a sweet card and a birthday check, but she made the check out to "Una Zorabedian." Do I:

A. Tell her that I didn't change my name, opening myself up to potential judgment, and get the money, or

B. Keep my mouth shut and forgo the cash?

Movin' On Up

As Shelley Long once said, Hello again!

I'm back from my weekend wedding trip to San Diego, during which I sunned myself by a warm, tranquil pool, drank Lemon Drops at lunchtime, and witnessed Cynthia Zorabedian become Cynthia Zorabedian Wrona. I couldn't have asked for a more beautiful spot to spend my birthday. The place -- Estancia La Jolla -- is a sprawling resort and spa that feels, once inside its gates, like a tiny Spanish idyll in the middle of nowhere. Flowers and plants of all exotic shapes and colors line the sidewalks, and the rooms (in which, sadly, Jeff and I did not stay -- we were at the decidedly cheaper Homewood Suites a few miles north) are open, airy, and much nicer than every apartment I have ever lived in.

Jeff is currently using the memory card-reader to download his photos of the weekend (he was the wedding photographer, so I guess he has dibs), so I don't have mine yet, but you can look forward to a drunken underwater photo shoot that Jeff and I conducted after the rehearsal dinner.

In other news, I quit my job! I got a better offer from a new magazine, owned by a company that actually turns a profit! Sorry if I sound bitter, but I found out today that after I resigned most professionally, the CEO called me a name in private. So all I can say is, this fucking cunt sure is glad she got herself a new fucking job!

More soon.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Strange things are afoot at the Circle-K

I was totally going to write a post about my new denim jacket but y'all are in luck because something way more interesting is happening. I can't go into details yet, but strange and wonderful things are afoot at the Circle-K of life right now. I'm no mystic, but I'm convinced that there's some cosmic stuff going on. See, my magazine ran a cover story on Christina Ricci this month, and as I was editing it I was (duh) reading it and she said something about life cycles happening in 7-year increments. I realized (again, duh) that I'm about to turn 28 (yes, it is UBW08!) and that means that on Sunday a new life cycle will begin, if one is to believe those kinds of things. I decided to consult the all-knowing Internet. Here is what some unknown Aussie mystic names Anne Elisabeth has to say:

There are 7 year cycles which form the basis of experience in every person's life at particular ages, regardless of what Zodiac Sign etc. a person was born under. All the personal factors in an individual's own Horoscope modify the way these 7 year cycles are handled but does not and cannot avoid what is meant to be at certain stages of life. These are called the Generic Cycles of Uranus. (Author note: Way to make it sound reputable, guys).

That's pretty much the best part of that site, because the rest goes on to be extraordinarily vague (for instance, during the cycle beginning at 28 "a person will feel they have to 'create' something out of their life." Um, no shit.

Anyway, I like the idea of starting a new cycle. The stars certainly seem to be aligned ... there might be a major change for the better on the horizon. I will keep you posted.

Monday, April 7, 2008

PMS is for Petulant, Moody Spaz

Okay guys, look. I would love to write something witty and/or culturally relevant. I have been "cheating" for days now -- blogging photos or stream-of-consciousness diatribes, or, my favorite, cutting and pasting something someone else wrote to me. But I can't help it. I am on a two week-long PMS joyride and all I want to do is eat, forlornly rub my stomach, apply Clearasil, hate everyone, watch TV, throw tantrums, and read, in that order.

So this is pretty much my life right now:

Jeff is not so amused.

Friday, April 4, 2008

You Can't Make This Stuff Up: I am Going on an Off-Road Adventure in Utah

Dear Una,

You are invited for an opportunity to experience Land Rover in its natural habitat; no, not Beverly Hills… Moab, Utah! You and a guest will be flown out to Moab to spend three nights and four days in the area's most luxurious accommodations. By day, you will enjoy some of the best off-road terrain the U.S. has to offer. By night, you will indulge in a dining experience like no other.

Moab is widely known to be a great destination by off-road enthusiasts worldwide. With incredible red rock formations and a beautiful landscape, Moab is a perfect location for a Land Rover Adventure.

During the four days in Moab, you will be accompanied by Land Rover's world-class professional driving instructors to teach you about our vehicles and the proper ways to off-road to keep you safe during the challenging, yet exhilarating adventure.

As soon as this is over I expect I will have enough blog fodder for a month. If, of course, I survive.

Thursday, April 3, 2008

Jumping Jeff!

I know that this is cheap filler (sorry, honey), but I got nothing today.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

April Fool

Sorry about the morose post from yesterday. I was just really broken down. Also I had a massive breakout on my chin, which hasn't happened since college, and made me feel like an insecure teenager. I got flashbacks as I spackled concealer onto my face. It's bad enough when you're broke and downtrodden and get no respect at work. But then to be pimply on top of all of that is just a ticket to a pity party. My pity parties tend to involve wine and bad reality TV. Sometimes I wail and throw myself around my bedroom. During my pity parties Jeff gets a certain look on his face -- a mixture of pity and confusion -- and retreats into the office to smoke and contemplate his choice of wife.

Luckily I eventually sucked myself out of the bottle and away from The Pussycat Dolls Present: Girlicious and called my friend Betsy, who is the kind of funny, straight-talking friend that can pull you out of any funk. Somehow the conversation turned to terrible trends of yesteryear, and let me tell you, nothing lifts the spirits like remembering how clueless you used to be.

The other day, a friend who shall remain nameless admitted that she had been the leader of her middle school handbell choir. A handbell choir, for those unfamiliar, is a choir that, instead of signing, ring bells in different tones to create music. The bell-ringing happens with a sort of sweeping motion from the chest out, and the effect is that you are watching a live cuckoo clock play the theme to "Cheers" or somesuch random tune that was always insisted upon by the music teacher. The vision of my friend as a sweet middle-schooler ringing bells sent me into hysterics, until I remembered what I was doing in middle school; namely, wearing Troll dolls on my ears.

I loved Troll dolls, which doesn't really separate me from the 1991 masses, except that I also had a unibrow and braces and acne. I know I pull out the unibrow card a lot, but trust, when you have a unibrow every other dorky thing you do gets magnified by 500. Anyway, when I was in middle school I favored bulky cable-knit sweaters paired with leggings, and I liked to play Set in the hallways of my school. I also had a short haircut, and I wore earrings from which dangled two tiny troll dolls. It gets worse: they were dressed as Santa.

I purchased these earrings from a Park Slope store, Little Things, that was like the crack house of the 6th grade. They sold the kinds of precious, useless things that pubescent girls covet: small glass animals, stickers, scrunchie headbands (remember: 1991). The earring rack was my kryptonite. In addition to the troll monstrosities, I owned: earrings that featured babies sitting on top of globes; mismatched earrings shaped like a camera (right ear) and a film canister (left ear); earrings shaped like piglets; glitter-covered earring replicas of Dorothy's ruby slippers. I wore these every day, even though most of them weighed about a pound, since they were, basically, small toys attached to wire.

And thinking about that just ... cheered me. I mean, I may hate my job and I may barely be able to afford rent, but at least I look presentable. That's something, right?

More on Trolls later, I have a lot more humiliation where the above paragraphs came from!
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