Blame it on the…

bad decision making. Depending on how old you are, you either thought I was going to say “alcohol”

(editor’s note: I think that whole video can be blamed on the alcohol. I mean, Ron Howard? Really? And while we are at it, I am blaming Jamie Foxx’s “singing career” on the alcohol too. Shit is whack. Who let this happen? But I do love T-pain, which makes it hard to hate the song, dammit!)

or “rain”.

(editor’s note: Honestly, Milli Vanilli was ahead of their time. What they did wasn’t much different from auto-tune. R.I.P Rob Pilatus. Also; I like using editor’s notes because they make feel important.)

Back to the matter at hand. There have been times; recent times; when I wish that I could blame the activities I was engaging in, on some sort of behavior altering substance–but I can’t. There may have been a (few) times where I have answered personal ads on Craigslist. Sad, I know. I’ll save the gory details for some other shame cleansing blog post; I’m not sure how much dignity will be left after this one; so stay tuned! I also may have joined an internet dating site–or two–and possibly met up with someone from one of them and then proceeded to make out with them in their apartment. Again, another post dear readers, another post. But the most horrific offense of them all happened about a month or so back. At a work function. Do you see where this is going?

So in early October, the organization that I work for, threw a staff appreciation party…on a boat…with an open bar. Now it’s not an exaggeration to say that the people that I work with cut loose–especially if there is an open bar. I’ve seen many a disgraceful thing happen at these parties. I only had a couple of beers, because I know better than to get all wild and crazy at a work party. Or so I thought. I was dancing; I honestly wish I could say that was the worst of it; but it’s not. At one point I went down to the bar to get another drink, maybe my 3rd Bud Light (keepin’ it classy!) and ran into a guy from another store that I had met last year at one of our fundraisers. This was near the end of the night, so I am just going to cut to the gory details and say that we ended up making out in the parking lot of  the boat dock, with other employees watching. I mean, the guy I was making out with was wearing a shirt/jacket like this:

I wish I was kidding, I really do.

However, in my own defense, I didn’t agree to make out with him until he took off the shirt/jacket thing. I have some standards. I actually put up a pretty good fight too–he thought it looked cool. And I think we all know, that it didn’t. That thing was a big F.A.I.L, if I have ever seen one. So finally, he came to his senses and realized what a prime piece of real estate I am and took off the crumby jacket. This makes me realize that I was not drunk, because if I was, I wouldn’t have cared about that stupid jacket. But I did care…that was the part of me that was saying, “hey sister, this is a bad idea, but if you must, at least make him take that off, he looks like a broke down Chris Tucker in Rush Hour 2.”

He had the nerve to ask, “So are we going back to your place or mine?” Um, excuse me? I don’t be thinking so. I firmly told him that he was going to his place, ALONE. I then, however, felt compelled to put my number in his phone. This learning curve is a hard one for me to get around. So later that night–after the work shindig, I kept the party going with a few coworkers–he texts me to ask if I want to hang out the next day. I had the day off, so I figured, “why not?” and plus I still thought I was hot shit for making out with someone (ugh, it had been a while! Give a girl a break!). If I had known, what I was going to be walking in to, I never would have said yes.

It looked a little something like this:

track jacket? check!

Combined with:

 

Terrible sungless? Check! Puff Daddy swagger...check and mate.

It was AWFUL. The moment I saw him, I knew that this was going to be one of the most painful experiences ever. The lenses of his sunglasses were two different colors. There are just some things, that are never okay. Thinking about it now still upsets me.

So, we decided to see the movie Whip It; about the roller derby. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. Although, it would have been better if I wasn’t with someone who was complaining the whole time about the people sitting behind us, not doing anything. And then he put his head on my shoulder. NOT IN TO IT. And it wasn’t like I was inviting it. I was practically sitting in another chair.

Afterwards, we went to get something to eat. We went to a taco place and he was really obnoxious and rude to the people behind the counter…which I can’t stand. And it took him forever to figure out what he wanted and was being an total spaz about it. When we sat down to eat, he started unloading all this personal information. It was a first date. I don’t need to know about your ex-girlfriend and how she dumped you because you didn’t want to marry her and now you have to live with roommates that you don’t like because they are gay and use your dishes. Then when two police officers came in, he said, “I was this close to taking the police officers test. Can you imagine me as a fucking cop?” He said it loud enough for them to hear. And then he said it again. I wanted to die. There are certain things you say in public when cops are around and certain things that you don’t. I would file “fucking cop” under the “Don’t” section. And he said that he collects knives and swords. And that he has the sword from the movie Blade that Wesley Snipes used. ::shudder:: Then on the way to the train we passed a Dunkin Donuts and he said, “You probably don’t want to hear my theory on Dunkin Donuts” and I was like, “Um, not really.” I mean, that is what I said…and he proceeded to tell me! So everyone out there, reading this. I went on a date with someone whose theory on Dunkin Donuts is this: “They are all owned by middle easterners and they are trying to poison America.” If a train had been approaching at that moment, I probably would have pushed him in front of it–that is one of the most atrocious and stupid things I have ever had to listen to.

The train ride home was painful because all he was doing was complaining about the train and trying to touch my knee. I was trying to debate whether or not it would be worth it to get off at the wrong stop and walk all the way back to my apartment. So about an hour after I got home, he sent me a text message saying, “Why’d you let me run my mouth like that?  now I feel stupid.” I wrote back, “thanks for dinner.” I mean, what was I supposed to say, “Trust me, I wanted you to shut up more than you regret talking”?  Then the next night he texts me at 2am! We are not on the 2am text level. That is reserved for family and close friends. I didn’t respond. Again! The next night he texts me asking if I got his last text or if I don’t want to talk. I. Didn’t. Text. Back. He got that message.

But! and this is important people! Don’t make out with people that you work with! Even if they work at a different store than you. Because they might come into your store a month or two later! And come over to you and say “hi”! And then you’ll have to not look up and say “hi.” and then walk away. Because that is how it always goes. Until you get another job. Which doesn’t seem likely.

Which is why, I wish I could blame it on the alcohol, but at this point, it’s just bad decision making.

 

 

 

 

No Whistling Zone

File this under “pet peeve” if you must, but hearing people whistle, aggravates me. I don’t mean a whistle to get someone’s attention, or whistling to hail a cab; I am talking about whistling a tune while on a train or a bus, whistling while you work, or WHISTLING FOR NO REASON AT ALL. Those caps indicated me shouting–that is how much I hate whistling! Don’t people understand that not everyone is interested in hearing them butcher innocent music notes with their inability to string them together into something decent? It doesn’t help they are always whistling at the worst possible time. No one wants to hear it in the morning before they have to go to their job they hate or in the evening after a long day at their job they can’t stand. Why are they whistling in the first place? Do they not have a job? Because if they had a job, they wouldn’t be so f’ing happy to the point that they are whistling like it is the best day in their whole g.d. life. 

I always think about telling them to shut up. Maybe saying something like, “Are you serious? Are you seriously whistling? When there are about 40 people in this subway car, who probably don’t want to hear it? Can it my friend, just f’ing can it.” Do they not realize how annoying it is to everyone? There should be “no whistling” zones, subways being the main one–or any public place, especially if it is a public place that I am likely to be at. Am I the only person who is bothered by whistling? Because if I am, I really need to rethink Earth as my planet of choice; because I’m not sure if I want to live in a world where people love whistling, it is just so, so annoying. I am normal and this is a normal feeling. End. of. story.

Subway Gross Out

I’m back after my hiatus. I got a little distracted, but I am back for the New Year, hopefully more often, hoping that this blog will really take off and have more than 3 readers. I moved to a new apartment before Christmas. I now live in Manhattan proper…well, I don’t know how proper Washington Heights is, but it’s a Manhattan address. I miss Brooklyn and my bodega, but I’m sure that I will soon fine something comparable here.

Now, on to the subject at hand. The subway. Now, I’ve ridden my few share of subway lines. When I was up in the Bronx, I took the 2 or the 5 train–bright and usually clean. When I lived in Brooklyn, I either took the D or the R train. They weren’t overly bright or all that clean. The D train was always packed during rush hour, but the R train I could always find a seat–plus the people that lived along where the R-train stopped, seemed to be more attractive. Now I take the A train every day. The A train is dingy like the D and the R and it has a diverse ridership.

The cleanliness of the train really isn’t the issue here–it’s the people riding the subway that are grossing me out. You know how sometimes you are in a place that has lots of people and you focus on one or two people because they have some sort of nervous tick, crossed eyes, or hair plugs? Well this is how I feel on the subway every day. I feel like there is always some on there, that my attention gets focused on. Sometimes it’s funny/uncomfortable; like the lady on Christmas eve, who was taking off her close while singing Alanis Morrisette’s “You Oughta Know“. It was actually more uncomfortable because she was obviously cray-cray, and that meant that I had to stifle my laughter and not look at her for fear that she would cut me. Other times you can make a connection with another subway rider who recognizes the ridiculousness that is taking place–like the time there were two voguing gay t’weens being obnoxious on the train. I love my gays and I love the voguing, but those two were dressed so brightly and screeching so loud it was harming my senses. But if you ever get the chance, go to the Christopher Street Piers and check out the voguing…occasionally there is a battle, and it’s awesome.

I’m getting sidetracked again. I’ve been on plenty of trains with gross people. It’s always gag-inducing when someone is clearing their throat and hocking up phlegm while they are sitting next to you, or picking their nose, or clipping their nails. Yes, clipping their nails. Why someone would do that on the train, is really beyond me. I should not be subjected to a stranger’s dirty nail clippings flying in my direction. It’s almost as if people don’t know any better.

Yesterday’s train ride home is really what triggered this post. So the train was packed because it was rush hour and a few stops into the ride this girl, who was probably around my age, or slightly younger got on the train. She was reading The Alchemist–that point really has nothing to do with anything, just so you know. She looked like your typical winter hipster; boots, stupid winter hat, wool coat, etc. She had to stand and hold on to one of the bars because there was no place to sit. She looked fairly normal, except that her hands were a little dirty. Which is fine, it happens–but she kept touching her face. Every few minutes she would keep touching her face in the same pattern–the forehead, the cheeks, the nostrils, and then the chin. EVERY FEW MINUTES. Then she would go back to holding on to the bar. Thousands of people touch that bar…and your hands are already dirty…and you’re rubbing them all over your face. She probably had some form of OCD, but it was seriously making throw-up a little in my mouth.

On top of being transfixed on this hipster girl’s gross OCD, there was this little girl who was standing next to me, holding on to the bar that I was holding on to. Her hand kept slipping and touching mine, which I could have overlooked, had she NOT BEEN STICKING HER FINGERS IN HER MOUTH! That is disgusting. You are basically sticking like 100o other fingers in your mouth too. I hope her parents get her tested. I’m surprised I didn’t throw up on that little girl, she was grossing me out so much. Her parent’s didn’t even tell her to get her fingers out of her mouth or anything. They should probably be reported to child protective services.  It sort of reminded me of the episode of the Simpson’s where Homer has to go to NYC to get his car back and Bart is on the subway panhandling and licks the subway pole. I would link you to a clip, but YouTube is lacking.

I hope I don’t do anything gross on the subway that makes people want to throw up. I know I do some stuff that turns guys on and makes them follow me off the train in the dead of night. Chapstick really gets a guy worked up. Too bad he wasn’t cute. Ha! I laugh about it now, but at the time it was frightening and also shows that I sort of have no regard for my personal safety by allowing him to actually talk to me. I need help.

Pet Peeves

I get peeved a lot. I’m not going to lie, I’m somewhat easily peeved–especially early in the morning or when I am tired. Now would be a poor time to try and back peddle and say that I am “easy-going; and let things roll off my back”, because I’ve already said that I get peeved easily. But those who know me, know that when I get peeved, I turn into a story, for all those around me to hear. I generally keep telling it, until everyone in my path has heard my story about how someone annoyed me on the subway, the sidewalk, work, or a store, etc. Most of the time, these stories are humorous, other times they fall short (we all have our off days, okay?!), and now I am about to share some of my pet peeves with all of you, my dear readers.

I was on the train yesterday, and there, across from me, were two things that bother me–all being done by one person. First of all, I don’t know who thought that these coats were a good idea; but they’re not. They’re terrible. They don’t flatter anyone, they are incredibly ugly, and I’m sure if I was ever unfortunate enough to get close to one, it would smell–like burnt rubber. Because that is what it looks like. It looks like someone has turned a tire into a jacket and then stamped in stupid designs–like an image of Scarface. Every time I see someone wearing one of these horrendous coats, it offends every sense that I have. It makes me hurt. It make me throw up in my mouth, at least 3 times. And this kid was wearing one. Not only was he wearing this jacket, but he was listening to music on his Sidekick, not only was he listening to music on his Sidekick, but so was I–because he wasn’t using headphones. Not everyone shares my taste in music, so I can only assume that not everyone shares his taste in music. The train is not your room, where you are free to play your music out in the open as loud as you would like–because there are other people around you! I don’t want to listen to R. Kelly on my way home from work, where I was just subjected to 8 hours of Madonna. Now you may be saying, “Why don’t you just listen to your own music?” and normally I would have put my Ipod on, but the battery was dead. That doesn’t make a difference to me, because I would still be annoyed even if I had my Ipod going. I would be annoyed for the people around me. The mere fact that I know that it’s going on, peeves me greatly, and that’s just the way it goes.

I think I’ve mentioned this before, but when people come up to the cash register to pay and have their earphones in or are talking on their cell phones bother me on a personal and professional level. First of all, it’s disrespectful, if you are going to be interacting with another human being, regardless of what hat interaction is, you should take a minute to pause your music or pause your conversation. I especially hate it when I have to repeat myself, because they can’t hear me, and then after the fifth time that I’ve repeated myself, they take out their earphone or hang up their phone. Then by that time, I have no interest in being nice to them, so they get all offended when I get all attitude-y. I once had an encounter with a woman, who the whole time while I was talking to her, was listening to her Ipod and then had the audacity to get upset with me, when she hadn’t been hearing clearly what I had been explaining to her–like how our credit card machine wasn’t working, but I would hold the chairs that she wanted to purchase for an hour while she went to get cash–which she took to mean that the chairs were hers and she could come back in two days and get them when she wanted, WITHOUT PAYING. Which is ridiculous. Maybe if she had turned off her James Taylor, she wouldn’t have stalked off all angry.

Sometimes the trains are crowded and we are all crammed in there like Crayola’s in crayon box, but that’s not what this is about. This is about those special times, when the trains aren’t crowded…when there are plenty of seats available, yet someone comes over and and sits RIGHT NEXT TO YOU. This happened to me today, on my way to work. Practically the whole was empty and this lady sat right on top of me. I don’t get it. I really don’t. There is no logical explanation for it. Try to find an explanation for it, makes my mind hurt. Also, one time, I was sort of in a coma, on my way home work. I mean, completely peaced out (definition number 1). Then I hear this man saying excuse me, because he wanted to sit down. I guess the two people on either side of me had gotten off the train, so I was still in the middle seat. Well, I look up, and to try and put it nicely, was not the smallest person I have ever seen. He needed me to scoot over, so he could sit down comfortably. Now, I’m no twig, by any means, but I certainly don’t take up two seats on the subway–and I wouldn’t be waking anyone up for them to scoot over if I did. I hate it when people try to squeeze themselves in spaces where they won’t fit. I try to gauge whether or not I am going to be able to fit my decent sized ass in that seat between people–because frankly, I don’t want to be uncomfortable, sitting with my arms straight out in front of me to make more room. I have limits. Also, if anyone else gets irritated when someone brushes up against them during their morning commute, chock it up to being more sensitive to touch early in the morning. I can’t link you to anything, because I read it in Cosmo a while ago–and it had nothing to do with what I just mentioned, it was more along the lines of, “surprise your man with a hand-job in the morning because we are more sensitive to touch and he will be greatly aroused,” or something. Do that, and have a sore wrist to add to your list of things that will irritate you for the rest of the day. Thanks Cosmo.

Girls who wear stupid accessories. I saw a girl on my way to work this morning wearing a really stupid hat. It was tiny, and she was wearing it at the front of her head and to the side–a cocktail hat. Like she was at a jazz club in Paris in the 30’s. All she needed was to be smoking a cigarette through one of those holders. I mean come on! It’s not like today was Halloween and it was 11 in the morning on a Wednesday, so I doubt she was heading to a costume party, plus, her hat didn’t really match the rest of her ensemble. She looked like a jack ass. I wanted to punch her in the face. Her tiny hat peeved me to the extreme for some reason.

I have a lot more pet peeves than this, but it is getting late and I have to work tomorrow. Perhaps I should turn my “Pet Peeves” into a weekly or monthly special. Anyone up for that? or should I just let this be it and move on? bottle up all my pet peeves until they finally bottle rocket out of me?

Strangers.

Every day, I encounter someone interesting, or gross, or weird, or smelly–but occasionally, some of these people have an interesting story to tell. Some have no story to tell you at all. Some ask you for a dollar. And some leave some pee for you to clean up at closing time while their ingrained stench offends your olfactory system. All of this can happen in the span of two days.

Yesterday, Wednesday: On my way to the train yesterday morning, a young girl, somewhat resembling Notorious B.I.G; weird eye included, was shouting on her phone to someone saying that she would call them when she got off the train. Then I hear her shout, “EXCUSE ME!”, so I turn around and she asks me where the subway is. So assume my role as good Samaritan, and tell Biggie Smalls that I’m on my way there now, so she can follow me if she wants. So I start on my way again, and she asks, “can you hold this, while I put on my coat. It’s cold out,” then hands me her purse, her cell phone, and her cell phone case. I must look trusting, because I would not be asking some random girl on the street to hold my purse. Bitches be all cray-cray! So as we are walking, the most conversation we really have is, “it’s so cold!”, because it was–and blustery–and I was ill prepared for such weather. Then, we are about a block away from the subway station, she asks, “Do have a dollar I could borrow?” Borrow?! Really?! Was she planning on getting my information to mail my dollar back to me? I really doubt it. I was like, “Um, I have no money. I’m broke.” I do not give handouts. Especially when I am in need of a handout of my own. She was less interested in me after that.

To end my day on Wednesday, there was an older homeless (I don’t actually know what his living situation was. Mole person maybe? Crazy, older eccentric? Hygienically challenged, most definitely.) gentlemen who came in to the store. He comes in very rarely, but the last time he came in, he fell asleep on a couch and my coworker had to wake him up–I thought he was dead–and the guy had a giant carbuncle (be thankful this is the image I chose. I threw up in my mouth at least 75 times researching, trying to find one that most resembled what ails this man) on his had. I think my coworker roused him gently by tapping him on the knee, using the very tip of his fingernail, which he then ripped off. Anyways, on Wednesday evening when he came in, to say his odor was offensive is an understatement. Every sense I had was accosted, harmed, DAMAGED. There are really no words that would be able to describe his odor in a way that could make you understand. He smelled worse than Times Square on a hot summer day. And his odor lingered. For an hour after he left. You know why? Because he piddled. Piddled on himself, and our floor. When I find when we were fixing up the store after we closed. Cleaning up hobo urine was not in my job description. I used a mop. Which came in handy for cleaning up my VOMIT. I feel bad for this old guy. I mean his suit is all wrinkled and stained and he ended up paying for a coat he couldn’t afford because I think he felt ashamed. It’s terrible. And I know making fun of a helpless, old man in a blog makes me terrible, but you know what, I feel somewhat justified, because I cleaned up his urine. Which didn’t smell like any urine I’ve ever expelled, which is also another sign of poor health, most likely, but I’m no doctor.

Today, Thursday: I was talking to my work BFF about Jocelyn Wildenstein and how she looks like a lion. I’m not sure how this really got started, but I think it had something to do with my work BFF pulling her face back with her hands and saying “plastic surgery” and from there I lept to Wildenstein–it’s not really that big of a leap, more like a shuffle over a crack in a sidewalk. Well, this middle aged gentleman; who I am assuming is a male gay because I don’t know that many male straights who care about Jocelyn Wildenstein; comes over to me and the conversation is as follows:

Presumed Male Gay: I heard you talking about Jocelyn Wildenstein, but I didn’t hear the last part. What were you saying about her?

Me: Oh, just that she looks like a lion.

PMG: I have a story about her. I was the 6 train going Uptown and she was sitting there reading a magazine. Well she wasn’t really reading it, but was pretending to read while everyone was staring at her. But everyone was staring at her because she had a wrap top on and she had her purse strap going across her chest, and it had moved the top so that her breast was exposed! Everyone was staring, but she didn’t notice. I guess she’s had so much plastic surgery that she couldn’t feel it. But there was a famous actor sitting down and we just looked at each other and were like, “oh my god, what the fuck?!”, it was really crazy!

Me: [laughing politely, would have laughed genuinely if hadn't tossed in that bit about a "famous actor"] That is crazy!

Pretty soon Jocelyn Wildenstein’s face is going to look like this. If I am going to have nightmares and choke on my own vomit, so is everyone who reads this.

Economic Crisis Diet

So, times are tough. I say this phrase at least 5 times a day, to try and make it really sink in to those around me. Especially my employer, because it’s the most passive away to imply that one needs a raise. Which I do. Because I am poor.

I basically live paycheck to paycheck–the last one I get in the month always being the one that I use to pay my rent. That paycheck is barely enough to cover my rent, and my rent really isn’t that high. But once you tack on things like electric (which is killer in the summer if you are not a hot/humid weather type of person, i.e. ME) and gas–generally not that expensive because the stove is more like a conversation piece than something I actually use on a regular basis–things get tight. Then there is my student loan, credit card, etc. I have no chance to save any money, because basically, I go through it like toilet paper–and I go through a lot of that because we aren’t allowed to put toilet paper in our toilet. It’s a long story that involves plumbing that I don’t quite understand, but maybe Joe the Plumber would.

So I am stretched financially. And that means something has to fall to the wayside. I’ve already practically given up on fashion–I’m wearing bootcut jeans that I got at a thrift store! Who wears bootcut jeans?! I might as well be wearing flares! It’s all about the skinny jeans, people. Also, I’m still wearing tank tops. It’s pretty much like 50 degrees outside. But I can’t afford the luxury of a long sleeve shirt. Not in this economy. Mostly all of my clothing at this point comes from the thrift store where I work. Sometimes I will buy a t-shirt–from work. Tres Faconnable. Tres Chic. Tres Pauvres.

Now this economic crisis of mine has asked to me to give up something else that I love. Something that I love almost as much as fashion–sometimes, even more, when I’m depressed. Food. Yes. Food. When did groceries become so expensive? When did eating a normal meal become a luxury? No longer can I enjoy a Chipotle burrito; my lifeblood; or a sausage, egg, and cheese on a bagel on those dreadful Sunday mornings when I have to work. No more.

But I know I am not suffering alone. And I want to help others out there, that are in a similar situation as I. I’m going to give some tips, some recipes, some advice.

If you work in retail, or anything sort of customer service related, where you interact with people–sometimes the same people–on a daily basis, try to make friends with a few of them. They are going to be essential in getting you the nutrients or snacks you so desperately need. This past Sunday, when I had forgotten my lunch, one of my favorite customers came bearing gifts of delightful little pastries, from a reputable bakery. They satisfied my sweet tooth for 3 days. Also, don’t be selfish; offer some to your coworkers–at least the ones you like anyways. When someone comes in asking to borrow a pair of scissors, try your best to find a pair, because you never know when they are going to be violently trying to open up a bag of Starburst Jellybeans and offer you some. When a customer comes in bringing food for your boss, who is not there that day, don’t be afraid to split it amongst you and your coworkers. That food could go bad, better yet, that food could be poisoned, and you will have saved your boss’s life. It is a great way to supplement the pathetic lunch you have packed for yourself (I added a soup to my sandwich today! For free!) and save you the hassle paying for a drink at the deli–with regards to that, just buy a can of soda, it’s only a buck and not as bad for the environment as those $1.25/1.50 bottles of soda. Arizona teas in the can are also a great bargoon for $.99. Also, if you buy one, $1 bottle of water, you can keep refilling it for free, from your own tap! Water is pretty much included in most people’s rent–and a lot of work places have water coolers.

If someone offers you some free food take it. Don’t ask questions, just be grateful that you are getting something for free. Also, mention foods you like, because a coworker may have some foodstuffs in her house that she gets from the government for free, like peanut butter, but doesn’t like and can’t feed to her child because they are allergic to nuts–you can benefit from that. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.

Don’t be afraid of brands you have never heard of or the generic stuff. Tropical Fantasy Soda comes in a variety of, well, tropical flavors in a generously sized bottle for only $.65 (at least that’s how much it costs at the bodega by my apartment.)! Go for the $1.39 loaf of bread with a name you can’t remember–it tastes like Wonderbread, but better because it’s not $3. Also, generic pretzels, pretty much the same thing as Rold Gold, but CHEAPER. Hotel Bar butter? Bet you haven’t heard of it. It’s cheap, but it looks like butter, tastes like butter, and it fucking is butter–but it’s cheap, because their logo is a g.d. bellhop from 1957. And when you see a name brand cereal box touting a special price of $2.79, grab that mofo because that won’t last. And Froot Loops taste better when you aren’t being charged $4.39 for a box that is going to last you, in all honesty, like 3 days. We are adults, not small children. Our cereal intake is at a different level and just can’t be compared to that of a small child.

If you are going to order out, which I don’t recommend, unless your Father is paying for it, try to extend that takeout for as long as possible. That Chinese food I ordered on Saturday? Lasted me until Tuesday. I was having that stuff for lunch and dinner. It’s all about portion control. Don’t order from places like Papa Johns…my roommate makes this mistake all the time. A large pizza is like $23. That is too much. I can get a large pizza from Nick’s/Frank’s/Whatever-his-name-might-be for $14. At 8 slices in a large, that’s 4 meals if you eat two at each sitting. Everybody’s different, but 2 slices of pizza is a reasonable serving for someone who is grown and not binge eating because they are drunk. Also, Subway, $5 footlong–sure you may find a knife in your sandwich, but how can you beat $5 for a footlong?! That’s two six inch subs. That is lunch and dinner, or lunch and lunch. However you want to spread it out. I believe Quizno’s offers a similar deal–choose your poison.

Buy pasta. Buy the cheapest pasta you can find. It is all going to end up in the same place eventually (get what I’m saying?), so why splurge at this point? Cook it, put a little bit of your Hotel Bar Butter on it while it’s still hot, sprinkle a little salt, a little pepper–maybe some garlic powder if you have some–and there is dinner, every night of the week until you can find a new job that pays better or until someone does you a favor and puts you out of your misery.

Buy pancake mix, but be sure to read the box so that you are buy the “just add water kind”. I recommend Aunt Jemima–lady knows a pancake, okay? That can be breakfast and dinner until the box is gone. It will last a while (I’ve had my box for a good 5 or 6 months), unless you consume massive quantities of pancakes at each meal. Pace yourself. Also, Aunt Jemima syrup is delicious. You’ll want to have that around. Not only is it good on pancakes, but when you realize that you have no food in your apartment, except for a jar of Peter Pan peanut butter your roommate bought you to replace the one he ate while he was drunk, you can drizzle it on a spoonful of peanut butter. I can sense that you are judging me right now, and I am okay with that. Because when you try it, you will know what I am talking about. It’s the right blend of salty and sweet.

What started this whole thing for me, was that fact that, yesterday, in order to save myself some money, I bought Smuckers Goober Grape. For those of you elitist consumers out there, this is what real America is about. It is peanut butter and grape jelly combined. In one jar. For only $3.19 (at my bodega). Skippy peanut butter alone was $2.39 with jelly around the same price. I am saving practically half. It tastes okay. It wouldn’t be my first choice if I gobs of cash to be grocery shopping with. But it does the job. Slathered on some $1.39 no-name bread, served with some generic $1.19 pretzels and a $.65 Tropical Fantasy ( I recommend the Peach or Mango flavor) soda and you basically have a lunch for a little over a $1. That is true savings people!

Also, Halloween is coming up. You can either go trick-or-treating yourself and collect yourself some delicious candy bar meals, or you can steal the candy from children. It’s up to you. November is coming and if McCain wins, we could be facing even tougher times, and no amount of Goober Grape is going to be able to get us through it.

As with any diet, try and think of the end goal. With the amount of weight one will lose, from the lack of nutrition and food that is being eaten, when that new job comes, and one’s personal economic crisis is over, those brand new skinny jeans are going to look great!