New habit, same as the old habit

THERE'S NOT MUCH I can say about La Lohan's recent run in with The Laws, aka Sweet Sweet Justice, so I'm not even going to try. I'll let the picture below say it all.

But before I do, how has my blog become a source for celebrity arrest jokes and mildly raunchy (slash, totally sweet) makeout stories? What has become of my life? Let's all hop in the wayback machine to a time ("Professor, send us to 1999!") when I worked hard and envisioned making something of my life. Now I can't even manage finding someplace to store my shit (not to mention myself) in the NYSizzle, despite the fact that I'm moving in about two weeks.

Let's hop forward a few years to college. Remember when I was a religion major? A poet? That's interesting right? "Oh! What an unusual combination, religion and creative writing," you'd say, secretly worried I'd end up on the street (which I still might yet if NYC has anything to say about it).

"Not that unusual," I would say, "Just think of the Bible as a long, surprisingly popular piece of creative writing, heavy on the voodoo and the smiting." And then me and the religious fundamentalists would laugh and laugh...

And now business school? That's where unusual uniqueness goes to die. It's a slippery slope to a Bloomberg and coke habit to call my own.

So bring on the Lohan. Say what you will about her, but she's always there, making me feel better about my minor concerns in life. Thank you, Lindsay. Thank you.


[via lolhan]

Senior skip day of shame

[C’s bedroom, 8:15 AM. Sunlight filters through venetian blinds, casting horizontal stripes of light across the floor. C is asleep in his bed. K stumbles into the room.]

K: Okay, two things.

C: [startled awake] Ugh... Good morning. [props himself up on his elbows]

K: First, I don't think I can go into work today - I made out with a coworker.

C: [bursts out laughing] I was wondering where you were last night! What did you do? Were you drunk?

K: I'm still drunk. I woke up this morning in my bed, nude, and found my clothes scattered all over the living room.

C: Wow, that's a hot make out.

K: Yeah. I don't know how I can face him today.

C: I bet. [He nods. They are silent, contemplating her situation.] So what's the second thing?

K: What?

C: You said there were two things.

K: Oh. Number two, your dildo is in the shower again.

My friends, ladies and gentleman! Initials have been changed to protect the guilty.

Shop Boyz - Party Like a Rock Star
"On a money makin mission/but I party like a rockstar"

In which I decide to always wear khakis

MY COMPANY, like many, has Jeans Casual on Fridays when we don’t have clients in the building. They will occasionally give us Jeans Casual as a special treat on other days, like the days between Christmas and New Years for the poor suckers trapped in the office while the other poor suckers are trapped with their families.

I will occasionally give myself an unsanctioned Jeans Casual Friday. I’m not really one for breaking the rules, so giving myself Jeans Casual is my way of sticking it to The Man. I feel anxious every time I do it. I feel the way I imagine people at the Boston Tea Party would have felt, only they were dressed as Indians, and I’m a denim-wearing pansy.

Normally, my minor rebellion goes unnoticed – just the way I like it – but today was different.

As I step into the elevator this morning, who do I run into but our company’s CEO. He is not, I should mention, wearing jeans. I look from him, to my pants, back to him, and then try to slide inconspicuously beside him. I then do what everyone does instinctually in elevators: I stare up at the floor number display.

Silence. I exhale. This is going to be fine.

“It’s cold today, huh?” he says.

I panic. What is he implying? That I’m wearing jeans because it’s cold? I look over at him.

“Yeah. But I like it,” I respond. Great. Good job. Don’t say anything stupid. Pause. But what if he hates the cold? Normally, in that situation, I go on to say that I like cold weather because I went to school in New Hampshire. Thick blood and all that shit. But because my mind is so preoccupied thinking about my bedenimed legs, the 10% still focusing on the actual conversation decides that the whole school thing would be far too complicated.

“I’m from Canada,” I blurt out.

No you’re not! You’re from Connecticut! Why are you lying? Abort conversation! At this point, the panic has grasped my brain in a death-like vice, and I start imagining a conversation between my CEO, my boss and me. In this imagined conversation, my CEO brings up the fact that I’m from Canada, my boss looks confused. The truth comes out. I’m shamed. It’s horrible. I’m sweating.

“Really? My family has a house in Vermont,” he says, “right on the border. Beautiful country.”

“Yeah,” I say. My mind is totally blank. “Yeah, but Vermont’s not Canada.”

Nice job, asshole!

“That’s true,” he says.

Silence. The doors slide open.

“Well, uh, this is my floor,” I say. “Have a nice day.”

KILL SELF.

Staying Pretty

I HAVE A TENDENCY to be somewhat absentminded, and to do mildly idiotic things with startling frequency. When I was still living at home, I would notice my parents staring at me a little google eyed and shaking their heads. When I asked what was up, they would inevitably say something along the lines of, "For someone so smart, you sure do a lot of stupid shit." My friends here in DC have a more cutting response to this behavior. When I do something vaguely stupid, someone will look at me and sweetly say, "Aw. You're pretty."

I just had a distinctly pretty moment. I've been studying for the GMATs (a rare treat, like a laxative brownie), and have for weeks been planning my life around a test date of Wednesday, August 30th. I scheduled time off from work, planned my study schedule accordingly, and so forth. It's Sunday night and I just realized that my test is, in fact, on Thursday, August 31st. Nice job, Einstein. Whenever it is, lets try to remember to wear pants on test day, okay?