Stupid IMs to Pass the Day - 4/5/10

Me: Oh I wish I was an Oscar Meyer wiener. That is what I'd truly like to be. Cause if I was an Oscar Meyer wiener. Everyone would be in love with me.
Roommate: Yep
Me: except for probably PETA and other vegans or people who advocate organic foods
Roommate: Right
Me: or people who don't like weird pig parts
Me: or Kosher people
Roommate: Yeah
Me: they really didn't think that ad out very well

Stupid IMs to Pass the Day

During the course of an average workday, my friends and I send IMs about some pretty random things. I actually once got my roommate to admit that she'd sign up to have Google pipe fart smell through her computer speakers "if it's free, because... I mean... c'mon! It's Google!!"

I've decided to periodically post these here. Today's installment is below:

Friend: Wouldn't it be funny if it turned out that Jesus had bangs? Think about it.

Me: What if Jesus looked just like Burt Reynolds?

Friend: I'd probably go to church more.

With Love, Ray and Maria

Please see the email below. Sent by Ray (Jr.) to myself and our friend Dustin:

Um.

I just got a 2:45 drunk dial at my office from my parents. They are at applebees and then going to the casino to “spend my inheritance”

Dustin, my father would like your parents to bring him a quart of moonshine and he will pay them for it. Though I think they are flying so that request can most likely not be fulfilled.

My mother: “ok, ok you work. We’ll party”

"I think the worst time to have a heart attack is during a game of charades... or a game of fake heart attack." --Demetri Martin

I find the above quote both humorous and true – especially after a particularly disturbing subway ride yesterday.

I had left work on lunch, headed to my tanning salon in Union Square. I made my usual walk to the train station, down the stairs and through the tunnels, finally approaching my desired spot awaiting the uptown bound R train. As I waited on the platform, one of the usual groups of subterranean entertainers was belting harmonies from the Four Tops and the Temptations. I worked to ignore a particularly engaging rendition of “My Girl” and focused more intently on the book I was reading.

Finally the train arrived and I diverted to the next car down – hoping to avoid further guilt trip by the pan handlers. As I stepped into the car I immediately recognized my mistake. I knew did not want to be there – as any other New Yorker would – based on the lack of occupants. Only a few brave souls huddled at the end of the benches on the opposite end of the car – and one other passenger – directly in front of me – who was clearly the cause of all disruption.

She was slumped forward in a very unnatural way, her face hidden. Her right foot dangled out in the aisle, and was wrapped in a cast to about midway up her calf. In front of her sat an abandoned looking walker – duct taped in several places. Her clothes and posture would lead most to assume she was homeless. This sight on its own however, would not typically be enough to deter a train full of busy and hardened New Yorkers. What everyone was retreating from was the SMELL.

I don’t think I have the words to accurately describe what was emitting from this woman. It was of something soured and rotten and then soaked in urine. I tucked my face into my coat and continued to read – I only had 1 stop to go. But my mind kept wandering to the slumped woman. Was she even alive? Would anyone notice or stop to take action if she wasn’t? Could it be that her lifeless body was riding to and fro – not to be noticed until a policeman or train worker wandered into that particular cabin?

As we continued on, the quartet came through from a neighboring car. Their singing was abruptly replaced by loud and boisterous banter about the woman and the smell. “That’s that foot!” one of them said, with a sickened expression. “That’s the whole body” another replied, gravely. And despite this observation not they nor I nor anyone else on the train made moves to alert anyone.

There are a number of things I’ve taken from New York life that I think have made me a better person – and a number of things that probably work to my detriment. I came for the promise of expanding my horizons and increasing my tolerance. Instead I have grown more judgmental, less patient, and more self preserving. I came to prove that I could live with different cultures and lifestyles and find something real about the grit of the city. In reality I think we all just turn a blind eye to each other, and only see the bits of New York that our tunnel vision allows for.

This is not to say that it has to be that way. Perhaps the above can just serve as a reminder to not become too jaded, and to remain in touch with my own humanity. Perhaps I can work to view the city with the same wide, naïve eyes that I had when I came here.

Mom, Dad... I'd Like You to Meet Someone

So I’ve officially sold my soul to the devil. That’s right, ladies and gentleman. I finally broke down, lost the trusty Nokia, and got myself a crack berry. Now, living in New York City I have certainly encountered my share of addicts, but I’ve always sort of presumed they were your work-a-holic types - constantly checking to see if the Dow has shifted, or if an important client is in need of an urgent ass wiping. You know the kind. And since my work ethic falls *ahem* slightly short of this level, I reasoned that I could not be sucked in. The classic “I can quit whenever I want” story. And now I’m hooked.

As I’m sure many of you are aware – this handy little gadget is far more than an umbilical cord to your office. It now comes pre-equipped with tons of fun, reality numbing software like brickbreaker, wi-fi, and Napster mobile.

Perhaps the most evil of these though, is facebook for blackberry. I mean - seriously? What are these people trying to do to me?? As though the 9 hours I spend at work each day isn’t enough time for stalking the head cheerleader-turned-crack-smoker or college friend relating their recent breakup pains via depressing quotes and hourly status updates. No NOW I can follow their sorrows in real time while having my weekly pedicure or sweating it out at the gym.

And as if the age old drunk dial/tipsy text were not enough – NOW I can post these embarrassing rants/pity parties/love fests on friend’s walls – while I’m still AT the bar – for everyone else I know to see. Thanks a mill bberry. That’s gonna be fun to explain at the office Christmas party.

And since we’ve gone down this road – I must confess my newest, most heinous addiction - which can be directly attributed to the acquisition of the previously mentioned crackberry (who I will now be referring to as “Lois”).

Hello, my name is Honey. And I am a Twitterer.

I’ll give you just a moment to collect yourselves before I proceed.

All set? Good.

Now I know that my readers are having one of two reactions right now. You are thinking A) WTF is a Twitterer? You should probably lay off the Diet Mountain Dew for a while... or B) haha! I don’t get it and I’m never ever twittering (except for that one time I tried it – but that doesn’t count)

The fact is that I first heard of Twitter when a futurist from the New York Times came to speak in one of my meetings at NBC. And who doesn’t want to be ahead of the curve on the future right? He explained that it was “micro-blogging”. Basically a way to let everyone know about you in little bursts – much like updating your facebook or myspace status. I thought it would be a good thing for me to understand for my business – and plus I just wanted to be in the know about something before everyone else... let’s be honest.

But the first few times I tried it, I didn’t really get it either. What IS the point of another networking tool when you already have facebook? It really serves much the same purpose, and has a lesser following. But with Lois – it has become a whole different experience. I can link all my social networks, get tweets as texts, and can send them from anywhere. It’s like this whole stream of conscious about people and things I care about. Yes, Lois changed twittering for me – and now I have another reason to pick her up every second or two. Tricky crack!

So now I find myself alerting everyone about my whereabouts all the time, about things they’d never care to know. About Sherry Sheppard and her awful lip gloss on 8th avenue, or the bum bathing with pigeons in the fountain at Columbus Circle. About the restaurant I went to for lunch, or the stupid bicycle delivery man who nearly ran me down AGAIN when it was my turn to walk. I tweet about work and being out and seeing weirdos and fighting carb cravings. And I guess maybe part of it is taking an extra second just to appreciate the little things that really color a day.

Wow. See what just happened there? That’s Lois talking.

Getting Trumped

Only in New York.

Only in New York is there such a thing as an "it" workout regimin. Only in New York does said workout regimin cost you $250 (for a total of 6 classes that meet in Central Park at 6:00 in the morning and basically amount to surpervised self-torture). And Only in New York do you show up for said workout regimin, to find yourself doing squat thrusts along side Eric and Ivanka Trump.

No, your eyes do not deceive you. What you read is true. I am, in fact, enrolled in a Tuesday/Thursday morning "boot camp" training class with two of the offspring of one of the most powerful billionaires in the world. I look to my right and there is Ivanka. She is a former model, the Vice President of an enormous conglomerate, a panelist on NBC's "the Apprentice", and schooling me hard on tricep dips. Can this really be my life??

It as at this moment that I remember why I love New York City. To live here is to reify your dreams. The CEO, the TV Star, and the Billionairess all drift down to earth. They and the goals they represent suddenly seem touchable and real. It makes you feel as if you can do anything, be anyone, reach any position - with just a little bit of concerted effort. After all, the Trumps are just people too. Because here they are, huffing and pressing and crunching with the rest of us. And if they could do it, I can do it. Can't I??

At least that is how it makes you feel. I'm telling you... Only in New York.

Who's the Boss?

This entry is dedicated to my best friend, or "BFF", if you prefer. To protect her anonymity, I will herein be referring to her as "the Boss".

The Boss is an amazing friend for a lot of reasons. She is outgoing, fun, trustworthy, loves to go to biker bars and is the Myrtle Beach Booty Shake champ of spring break '98. On top of all of that, she always seems to know the right things to say. This is an especially useful quality to me, because I need another person I can count on to backup my boyfriend. He typically knows all the wrong things to say.

Today is a perfect example - and here is how it all transpired: I was able to procure some information about a mutual friend, thanks to my admittedly abhorrent proficiency at myspace snooping. Unfortunately, I cannot pinpoint the specifics of this information for you. A) because the person in question could be reading and B) because I feel that I may be judged for my levels of shock and horror at the information in question.

The important thing to understand is that I was looking for a commiserate. Someone who would validate my reaction, and echo my despair. I immediately called my boyfriend.

BF: "Hello"

HoneY: "Person... A... Is... Doing... X. Y. Z."

BF: "ok"

HoneY: "HELLO!!!?! DID YOU JUST HEAR ME!?! PERSON A IS DOING XYZ!"

BF: "Is that good or bad? That's good right?"

HoneY: "You have got to be kidding me! Don't you think that is just INSANE!!??!"

BF: "not really"

HoneY: "I've gotta go."

This was just wholly unacceptable. How could he not hear from the distress in my voice that this was not a GOOD thing! Not a good thing at all!! And not only is it bad - it's shocking. Be a little shocked - would ya?!?

At this point I knew that only a best friend could make the world right, so I texted the Boss, and she delivered:

HoneY: "Person A is doing XYZ"

The Boss: "Holy Shit!"