Wednesday, May 24, 2006

I mean, yeah...

Saying you have a blog is so comically convenient these days; it's like the perfect butt of a joke, except the joke is made at your expense. Because who really has a blog and who really has the time to dedicate to such things? I mean, I do, but I lead a life of leisure, so that's to be expected. A full day for me is like completing all my errands (read: shopping/self-pampering jaunts) in time to run home, order dinner, and watch The WB. If I can pull myself away from an old "Will & Grace" epi, I'll meet my friends for drinks, which I'm trying my best to be adult about these days. Y'know, not like get hands-down, ass-out wrecked. I do have a job, however; I'm that very chatty shop-girl, who is always dancing to Prince or Madonna (much to the grievance of my bosses) on the iPod, and trying on all the clothes. I kind of take my job seriously, though; but then again, I take fashion very seriously. The thing about retail, I've found, that it's all about vocabulary and factoids. I mean sure, you need to be able to relate to people, but you should have descriptive adjectives and proverbial bullet-points about all the pieces in the store at your finger-tips. Like the words, "versatile", "unique", "innovative", "slimming", "forgiving." Always try to mention that the piece is popular, has been written up somewhere, and a favorite amongst the store-employees; it's fucking sad, but American women's (albeit White American women's) self-image is at an all time low. I think it helps explain the baby boom happening right now.

But yeah, I do stuff. I like to do stuff. Stuff is rad, or whatever. I'm sorry, I'm just trying to convince myself of that, because I ran into an old college classmate today at work, and she's ACTUALLY pursuing writing and apparently getting paid for it, and I always get a pinch in the back of my neck when I realize that not everyone who graduated from Ivy-League colleges go on to fail in their first year out of college. Like some of them take that education and apply to it their "passion." Me? Well, I just use it to socially alienate strangers in bars. I'm actually going to the old alma mater this weekend to see all my best friends graduate from college, and I'm so dreading that look of pity that people give you when they realize you haven't made your first mil at the age of twenty-three. Their eyes get wide and they take a semi-step back from you, with their mouth making the shape of a lower-case "o". Eff you! Like mediocrity is contagious.... I like to think that I have procured a certain persona of "Ivy League ingenue gone lost" instead, which I've perfected with a vintage-inspired wardrobe, cigarette dangling ever-so between my index and middle digits, all whilst reading Black Liberation lit.

Anyhoo, I'm not completely made of bitterness; I like chais, skinny jeans, lobster, the park, the art work of Kara Walker, celebrity blogs, and Brooklyn. I'm a catch, I swear.


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