Posts Tagged ‘new york’


Stop drawing the deer…

May 9, 2011

Somedays I wish I had money. Mad money. The kind of money where I never had to work another job that required me to wear a single piece of flair or answer a phone. Let’s be honest…I could walk into the light never having answered another phone call and feel my life was more than complete. What would I do with all that time I wasn’t spending on the phone awkwardly talking over someone or sounding like a short circuiting Speak-N-Spell with a shit ass cell signal? I’d photodocument one of the most fascinating phenomenon’s known to modern man: the vanity plate.

It’s hard for some people to imagine that anyone would have such a desperate desire to be heard that they would ask a jumpsuit-laden inmate to pound it into metal for them. I can respect that observation. If you’ve ever sat next to someone in an all day seminar and never so much as heard them breathing you’ll know there are those who walk among us perfectly content with going unnoticed. I am not one of these people. And judging by the number of times each week I rear-end, scratch, or ding the door* of a car that has a custom plate, we far outnumber the stealthy ones. The uneven balance of narcissists to clueless-about-themselves is fine by me since it gives me a chance to put the Psych degree I never took a single course in order to complete to work guessing what it is people are really trying to say.


Let’s start with this guy. I had just left a grueling day of pushing pixels and trying to convince people who are not-at-all right brained that they should give a damn about user flow and typography and that not all designers are bubble-headed bimbos. Yes, my life is awesome. Brain fried, I pulled up behind this SUV. Immediately I was confused — was I in New York? Should I be in New York? It was gray and nasty outside and 3 people had spit at me that today so it wasn’t completely out possibility. Nope, that’s the ‘impossible to get into and out of QuickTrip’ on the right and the ‘please have a FREE FRYDAY McDonald’s’ on the left so I was most definitely still in Atlanta. It took me the entirety of the red light (which is far too long, by the way) to bring this thought process full circle I applauded this guy for his vanity choice. It’s good to keep people on their toes and remind them there’s a whole world out there far beyond the food processor most of us spend our day spinning in.


I came across this spicy number on my way back from a little league baseball game. My mind boggled: what in the hell? Why would anyone openly admit to be a ho? Or a toy? Or sloppy seconds?? None of it made sense and no matter how many different ways I tried to get into the head of the driver, I just couldn’t. There were too many flithy magazine renewal cards and fifths of cheap vodka in there to have any elbow room. So I did what any half-conscience and fully functional adult would do. I assumed it was meant to be read together to make a clever word. Yes, that had to be it. HOTOYTWO. HOTOYTWO. HOTOYTWO. Son of a bitch – HOTOYFUCKINGTWO makes no sense and now I’ve wasted this entire red light making my mouth into Donald Trump butthole shapes in my failed attempt to force something that required no effort to begin with. It is what it says: HO TOY2. I can accept that. What I still can’t get over is why someone would call themselves a ho. Or a toy. Or sloppy seconds. And pay a premium tag fee each year in order to do so when carrying a bottle of Valtrex around would be so much cheaper.


That brings us to me. Yep. Me. Shocking, I know – not just that I enjoying talking to myself on this blog (I actually really do a bit too much I think) but that I would have a vanity plate on my car. I’m just that much of an asshole with the burning piss and desire to get something out there. I’ve found it a very interesting study in human behavior having a vanity plate. Second only to the 3 years a drove a Miata and everyone at red lights, stop signs or strip club parking lots felt it gave them the right to ask me for directions, asprins, an extra pair of flip-flops or my ABBA CD. Hey dick-face, how about you download your own illegal music on your own ex-boyfriend’s computer and turn him into the Feds. Like I did.

*Before the police in my local area are called, please note that all of the outlined instances happen to my own vehicle at the hands of myself. Daily.


In a New York minute…

September 15, 2009

The following are detailed accounts of actual events.  No names or places were changed as there was no need to protect the innocent….this cab driver knows who he is and what he did.

Viewer discretion is advised.


You don't know it yet...but this is why you're here.

You don't know it yet...but this is why you're all here.

Monday, September 14, 2009 5:31AM
That had to be the most refreshing 45 minutes of sleep I’ve ever had. Good thing I’m more than 3.5 years into this mommy gig and fully conditioned to handle extreme sleep deprivation or there is no way I’d be up and making this flight this morning.

What the hell did Kanye do this time? There weren’t any recent natural disasters and – last I checked – the man in charge wasn’t named “Bush”. One can only imagine. Maybe he and Serena should enroll in anger management together. It could be filmed like a real life story of the movie with Adam Sandler and Jack Nicholson. Something tells me Serena would be playing Jack’s part.

Ahhhh, I see. Amy was right last night. Kanye indeed does = douchebag.

Who needs to worry about safety while flying when there’s a MARTA transit station parking lot? Apparently the asshole in the Corolla didn’t get the memo – the big, red 8-sided thing you just whizzed through at no less than 20MPH means “Stop”. Not your right of way. Must be sure other cars aren’t already coming through. Just in case this is too difficult for you to remember, the word “STOP” should help clue you in. Asshole.

I’m so proud of myself. I figured out how to use the fare machine without incident (well, ok…so there was that small matter of inserting my debit card backwards but – in my defense – the diagram is very small and I always confuse my right with my left). As is common in life, this feeling quickly fades as I am nearly trampled to death riding up the escalator and then “psssst’d” at by a nice stranger who points me to the train that is next in line to leave the station. Who knew there would be 2? The station should mark that stuff for people like me. I just ask that they use something other than “left” and “right” when creating the diagram.

Lady-with-tons-of-luggage just plowed over someones bag in the aisle. Thank you ma’am. Now no one remebers that I’m the chick who tried to board the wrong train.

Train just stopped, doors opened, and lady-with-bag-strapped-to-her-chest TOOK THE F*CK OFF! The mind bounces with ideas of what she could be running to (or from). Maybe the breakfast cart guy who parks in front of her office building runs out of blueberry scones by 7AM and she’ll be dammed if she doesn’t get one this morning. I know that would make me hustle. That and getting there before anyone has a chance to sneeze on all the offerings.

Seriously people – go back and read my post on elevator etiquette. The same basic rules apply to riding mass transit.

I keep looking at the posted sign “Do Not Lean on Doors”. As each train hurls by on the opposite track, I wonder who in their not-right mind would even attempt to lean in the direction of certain death.

Nothing like being herded as cattle in the name of security. I’m surprised no one has asked us to “strip down and spread your butt cheeks!” yet. Ridiculous. [And bring on the hate mail – I am very well aware these measures help keep us safe but that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy the process]

Mayhem- MAYHEM ENSUES – as people pack into this flight and scramble to put their what-they-believe-to-be carry on sized luggage into the overhead storage bins. To be honest, it shocks me to think that none of these flight attendants demand the baggage definition offenders to check their rhino-sized bags of mess. If I end up hit on the head and dead like Billy Mays* I’m gonna sue.
*Yes, I realize Billy died of a heart attack brought on by drug use but since his family chooses to deny that fact, I can chose to do so as well.

I keep telling myself not to test the tray table clip in front of me.

Been sitting on the tarmac for over 15 minutes now just waiting…waiting…waiting…  It reaffirms my wondering of how people who are stuck for HOURS do it. At least I have man-who-is-pissed-at-Delta and his wet-noodle girlfriend all cuddled up next to me for company.

Just landed at LaGuardia. Can’t wait to get out of this plane and start bumping elbows with New Yorkers. [No doubt a few bumps will result in facial bruising]

Been riding in the back of a Ford Escape cab for what feels like an eternity – and I’m pretty certain we’ve only gone 5 blocks and have struck and killed 2 pedestrians. I’m trying to contain my “yes, I’m an out-of-towner” dorkness and have refrained from hanging out the rear window to take any pictures. I also have an interest in keeping my head attached – so, I shall resist.

Licking not permitted.

Licking not permitted.

I was looking forward to having an ‘all beef’ frank directly from a street vendor named Abooboo but it turns out, lunch has been catered for us prior to our meetings this afternoon. I guess I’ll have to return to NYC some day in order to cross that item off my bucket list: acquire food borne illness at the hands of random street vendor.

Meeting is well underway and all I can think about is how my ass is completely numb from the folding chair. You read right – folding chair. After the delectable sandwiches and finely tuned salad for lunch, I guess my posh-tush was anticipating something a wee bit more ‘squishy’.

Just made the call for my backup in the office to “push the red button” at 4PM. Good things are about to transpire. [Keywords: Good Thing]

What a whirl-wind hour. The secret is out. All the hard work has come to a big ending. I am very proud to say that I played a role in making it all happen. Not many times in a webie gal’s career can she say “yeah, I worked with The Home Depot AND Martha Stewart. ” Now you all see why the boots were so important.

What the hell is wrong with CNN? As I sit here in the terminal waiting to board the flight back to Atlanta I’m listening to this ridiculous nonsense that tea parties are somehow connected to race. It honestly makes me want to walk over to the TV – put my sassy-ass boot through it – spit on the floor and walk away screaming “F*ck the media!”

There’s about to be a revolt if we don’t taxi down to the runway soon. Every time the captain checks back in with us it seems there’s another plane in line ahead of us. The good thing is I have a very nice neighbor who is chatting me up. Much better than man-who-is-pissed-at-Delta and his wet-noodle girlfriend from the flight this morning.

Hey! Will & Grace is on!

Hey! Will & Grace is on!

Holy shit my left ear is about to explode! Who knew that flying with pig bug would have this kind of effect. I am about to DIE if this ear doesn’t pop soon. There’s an infant 2 rows behind me who sounds like (from what my now half-deaf self can hear) it’s feeling my pain.

Sweet mother of pearl – we’re cleared for landing!! Salvation awaits (for my ear drum).

So the good news is we’ve landed and my ear is somewhat relieved from the pressure. The bad news is we’ve been sitting on the tarmac for over 15 minutes waiting for a plane to get the hell out of our gate. It better hurry – my exploding ear has been replaced by my bladder. Just imagine how much fun I am to sit next to.

Figures the only train out of the airport is going to the station that I don’t want to end at – nothing like having to transfer trains after a very [very] long day of traveling. Seriously, I don’t know how people do this all the time. Either I would end up dead or would need to start wearing my glasses. My eyes – my eyes! Add that to the growing list of complaints and you can picture just how absolutely stoked this guy is to be sitting next to me. Poor blissful man. He has no idea how my boot heel could crush his pinky toe.

Dude next to me just tickled my leg and said “see ya” as he got up to leave. WTF? Should I call in a possible molestation? Is this a normal behavior on mass transit? Did I just cheat on my hubs???

Nothin’ better to do on a Monday night than have to stand on the platform waiting for the right train back to my car. If I have to wait too long I might just end up going a little bonkers and start walking up and asking random people “Dude! Where’s my car?”

Finally – the last leg of my one-day NYC journey. I’m always bitching about how I want to have more adventure and experiences in my life. Well today, I had one. And you know what?  It’s E.X.H.A.U.S.T.I.N.G.

As is often true in life, my day has just come full circle.  I’ll let you in on a small secret about myself: I often do stupid things. Now I don’t mean the kinds of things done on purpose that are worthy of a Darwin Award, I mean things that I don’t mean to do that end up making me look stupid.  Since this is bound to happen at least once during a normal 24 hour day (not even R.E.M. sleep is safe) I warned one of my travel companions of my tendency early this morning so she wouldn’t be alarmed when I ended up boarding the wrong flight.  Well, obviously I didn’t so all day I kept on waiting for the stupid.  It never came.  Or – so I thought.  Turns out, stupid found me before I ever got out of my car at the train station this morning and I didn’t realize it until just this moment.  When I arrived at the ticketing check-in area at the airport this morning I suddenly noticed that I didn’t have my cell phone.  Ok.  Don’t panic.  It’s most likely [I think] to be sitting on the table at home.  No big whoop.  Fast forward to our meeting this afternoon.  The damn ‘pig bug’ decided it was time to commence “Operation Dry Heave” and I was digging through my purse for one of the half dozen or so throat lozenges I knew I had packed this morning.  Empty.  Not one to be found.  What the hell is going on here?  First my cell phone – now my please-God-help-me-stop-coughing-in-front-of-all-these-people drops were gone too?  Well, turns out I was doomed from the start.  Remember Corolla asshole from just after 6AM?  Apparently when I slammed on the brakes to avoid a head-on collision, my purse flew over and said items fell on the passenger side floor.

I was so flaming mad at that asshole (who ended up parking 3 spots over from me) that I wasn’t thinking and stormed off into the stairwell.  How does this come full circle you ask?  We ended up leaving at the exact same time from the parking deck.  Turns out asshole is really a bitch.  But so is karma.  So, I shall resist.

Like a beacon of light - Alton is there to guide me home...

Like a beacon of light - Alton is there to guide me home...